Franz remained silent, uncertain what to think of this mixture of kindness and cruelty.
"Like the sailor whose na you’ve assud," Franz said, changing the subject, "you pass your life traveling?"
"Yes. I made a vow long ago when I thought I’d never accomplish it." Sinbad’s eyes glead with extraordinary ferocity. "I made others too, which I hope to fulfill in due season."
"You’ve suffered greatly?"
Sinbad stared at him. "What makes you think so?"
"Everything. Your voice, your look, your pallor, the life you lead."
"I live the happiest life possible, the real life of a pasha. I’m king of all creation. I’m free as a bird. My attendants obey my slightest wish. Sotis I deliver bandits or criminals from the law’s bonds. I have my own mode of justice, silent, sure, without respite or appeal. If you’d tasted my life, you’d never return to the world unless you had so great project to accomplish."
"Revenge, for instance?"
The unknown fixed Franz with a penetrating look. "Why revenge?"
"You seem like a man persecuted by society with a fearful account to settle."
Sinbad laughed, displaying sharp white teeth. "You haven’t guessed rightly. I’m a philosopher. Perhaps one day I’ll go to Paris."
"Will that be your first visit?"
"Yes. It will happen eventually."
"I’d like to be there when you co. I’d repay your hospitality."
"I’d accept your offer, but if I go, it will likely be incognito."
The al continued. The unknown barely touched the splendid banquet while Franz ate with appetite. Then Ali brought dessert, placing a small silver cup between the baskets. The care with which Ali handled it roused Franz’s curiosity. He lifted the cover and saw greenish paste like preserved angelica, perfectly unknown to him.
"You cannot guess what’s in that cup?"
"No."
"That green preserve is nothing less than the ambrosia Hebe served at Jupiter’s table."
"What’s its earthly na?"
"Are you a man for substantials, and is gold your god? Taste this, and the mines of Peru open to you. Are you a poet? Taste this, and infinite space opens before you. Are you ambitious? Taste this, and in an hour you’ll be king, not of so corner of Europe, but king of the universe, king of creation, without bowing to Satan. Is it not tempting?"
He uncovered the cup, took a teaspoonful, raised it to his lips, and swallowed slowly with eyes half-shut and head bent back.
When he finished, Franz asked, "What is this substance?"
"Did you ever hear of the Old Man of the Mountain who attempted to assassinate Philippe Auguste?"
"Of course."
"He reigned over a valley with magnificent gardens. Into isolated pavilions he admitted the elect and gave them a certain herb that transported them to Paradise, ever-blooming shrubs and ever-ripe fruit. What they took for reality was dream, but so soft, so voluptuous, they sold themselves body and soul to him. They struck down victims and died in torture without murmur, believing death was transition to that life of delights."
"Hashish!" Franz exclaid. "I know it by na."
"Precisely, Signor Aladdin. The purest hashish of Alexandria from Abou-Gor, the celebrated maker."
"I’m very inclined to judge for myself."
"Judge for yourself, but don’t confine yourself to one trial. Everything requires habituation. There’s a struggle in nature against this divine substance. Nature must yield, the dream must succeed reality, then the dream becos life and life becos dream. When you return to this mundane sphere from your visionary world, you’ll seem to leave Neapolitan spring for Lapland winter, to quit paradise for earth. Taste the hashish."
Franz took a teaspoonful and lifted it to his mouth.
"I don’t know if the result will be as agreeable as you describe," he said after swallowing. "It’s not as palatable as you claim."
"Your palate hasn’t been attuned yet. The first ti you tasted oysters, tea, or truffles, did you like them? It’s the sa with hashish. Eat for a week, and nothing will equal its flavor. Let’s go to the adjoining chamber. Ali will bring coffee and pipes."
They arose. Sinbad gave orders to Ali while Franz entered another apartnt.
It was simply yet richly furnished, round, with a large divan encircling it. Divan, walls, ceiling, floor were covered with magnificent animal skins, lion skins from Atlas, striped tiger skins from Bengal, panther skins from the Cape, bear skins from Siberia, fox skins from Norway. All were strewn in profusion, making it seem like walking over mossy turf or reclining on the most luxurious bed.
Both reclined on the divan. Pipes with jasmine tubes and amber mouthpieces lay within reach, already prepared. Each took one, which Ali lighted before retiring to prepare coffee.
Silence fell. Sinbad gave himself to thoughts that occupied him constantly. Franz abandoned himself to mute reverie, the kind that cos when smoking excellent tobacco that seems to remove ntal troubles and give the smoker the soul’s visions.
Ali brought coffee.
"How do you take it?" Sinbad asked. "French or Turkish style, strong or weak, with sugar or without, cool or boiling? It’s ready in all ways."
"Turkish style," Franz replied.
"You’re right. It shows your tendency for Oriental life. Ah, those Orientals, they’re the only n who know how to live. When I complete my affairs in Paris, I’ll go die in the East. Should you wish to see again, seek in Cairo, Baghdad, or Isfahan."
"I feel eagle’s wings springing from my shoulders," Franz said. "With them, I could tour the world in twenty-four hours."
"The hashish is beginning its work. Unfurl your wings and fly into superhuman regions. Fear nothing, there’s a watch over you."
Sinbad said sothing in Arabic to Ali, who withdrew but remained nearby.
A strange transformation took place in Franz. All bodily fatigue, all ntal preoccupation from the evening’s events disappeared as they do at sleep’s first approach. His body seed to acquire airy lightness, his perception brightened remarkably, his senses redoubled their power. The horizon expanded, not the gloomy horizon of vague alarms he’d seen before, but blue, transparent, unbounded, with all the ocean’s blue, all the sun’s spangles, all the sumr breeze’s perfus.
In the midst of sailors’ songs, so clear and sonorous they would have made divine harmony, he saw Monte Cristo no longer as threatening rock but as desert oasis. As his boat drew nearer, the songs grew louder, as if so Loreley intended to attract a soul or Amphion ant to build a city.
The boat touched shore without effort, without shock, as lips touch lips. He entered the grotto amid continued strains of delicious lody. He descended several steps, inhaling fresh balmy air like that around Circe’s grotto, ford from perfus that set the mind dreaming and fires that burn the senses.
He saw again everything from before, Sinbad, Ali, then all faded and beca confused like magic lantern shadows before extinction. He was again in the chamber of statues, lighted only by pale antique lamps watching over pleasure’s sleep.
They were the sa statues, rich in form and attraction, with fascinating eyes, smiles of love, bright flowing hair. Phryne, Cleopatra, ssalina, three celebrated courtesans. Among them glided one pure ray, one chaste figure like a Christian angel in Olympus, seeming to veil its virgin brow before these marble wantons.
The three statues advanced toward him with looks of love, approaching his couch, feet hidden in long white tunics, throats bare, hair flowing like waves, assuming attitudes gods couldn’t resist but saints withstood, with looks inflexible and ardent like serpents charming birds.
Franz closed his eyes and saw the modest vision completely veiled. Then followed a dream of passion like that promised by the Prophet. Stone lips turned to fla, ice breasts beca heated lava. For Franz, yielding for the first ti to the drug’s sway, love was sorrow and voluptuousness torture as burning mouths pressed his thirsty lips and cool serpent-like embraces held him.
The more he struggled against this passion, the more his senses yielded. At length, weary of struggle that taxed his soul, he gave way and sank back breathless and exhausted beneath the kisses of these marble goddesses and the enchantnt of his marvelous dream.
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