Arab countries -- Fiction; English fiction; Gothic fiction
In the meantime the inhabitants of Samarah, scared at the light which
shone over the city, arose in haste, ascended their roofs, beheld the
tower on fire, and hurried half naked to the square. Their love to their
sovereign immediately awoke; and, apprehending him in danger of perishing
in his tower, their whole thoughts were occupied with the means of his
safety. Morakanabad flew from his retirement, wiped away his tears, and
cried out for water like the rest. Bababalouk, whose olfactory nerves
were more familiarised to magical odours, readily conjecturing that
Carathis was engaged in her favourite amusements, strenuously exhorted
them not to be alarmed. Him, however, they treated as an old poltroon,
and forbore not to style him a rascally traitor. The camels and
dromedaries were advancing with water, but no one knew by which way to
enter the tower. Whilst the populace was obstinate in forcing the doors
a violent east wind drove such a volume of flame against them, as at
first forced them off, but afterwards re-kindled their zeal; at the same
time the stench of the horns and mummies increasing, most of the crowd
fell backward in a state of suffocation; those that kept their feet
mutually wondered at the cause of the smell, and admonished each other to
retire. Morakanabad, more sick than the rest, remained in a piteous
condition; holding his nose with one hand, he persisted in his efforts
with the other to burst open the doors and obtain admission. A hundred
and forty of the strongest and most resolute at length accomplished their
purpose; having gained the staircase by their violent exertions, they
attained a great height in a quarter of an hour.
Carathis, alarmed at the signs of her mutes, advanced to the staircase,
went down a few steps, and heard several voices calling out from below:
“You shall in a moment have water!” Being rather alert, considering her
age, she presently regained the top of the tower, and bade her son
suspend the sacrifice for some minutes, adding: “We shall soon be enabled
to render it more grateful; certain dolts of your subjects, imagining no
doubt that we were on fire, have been rash enough to break through those
doors which had hitherto remained inviolate, for the sake of bringing up
water; they are very kind, you must allow, so soon to forget the wrongs
you have done them, but that is of little moment. Let us offer them to
the Giaour; let them come up; our mutes, who neither want strength nor
experience, will soon despatch them, exhausted as they are with fatigue.”
“Be it so,” answered the Caliph, “provided we finish and I dine.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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