The Sultan broke open the box in the presence of the Sultana Asseki, and
on perceiving therein the heavy cannon-ball at once understood Ibrahim's
message.
He was troubled to the depths of his soul when he understood it. He was
so good, so gentle to everyone, he tried so hard to avoid injuring
anybody, and yet everybody seemed to combine to make him miserable! It
seemed as though they envied him his sweet delights, and were determined
that he should find no repose even in the very bosom of his family.
He embraced and kissed the fair Sultana again and again, and stammered
with tears in his eyes:
"Die then, my pretty flower! fade away! wither before my very eyes! Die
if thou canst that at least my heart may have nothing to long for!"
The Sultana threw herself in despair at his feet, with her dishevelled
tresses waving all about her, and encircling Achmed's knees with her
white arms she besought him, sobbing loudly, not to go to the camp, at
any rate, not _that_ day. Let at least the memory of the evil dreams she
had dreamed the night before pass away, she said.
But no, he could remain behind no longer. In vain were all weeping and
wailing, however desperate. The Sultan had made up his mind that he must
go. One single moment only did he hesitate, for one single moment the
thought did occur to him: Am I a mere tool in the hands of my army, and
why do I wear a sword at all if I do not decapitate therewith those who
rise in rebellion against me? But he very soon let that thought escape.
Pages:
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100