“My relations began to despair of my life, when an old lady of their acquaintance, being informed of my illness, arrived; she considered me with a great deal of attention, and after she had thoroughly examined me, she discovered, I know not by what chance, the cause of my disorder. She took them aside, and begged them to leave her alone with me, and to order my people to retire.
“The room being cleared, she seated herself near my pillow. ‘My son,’ said she, ‘you have hitherto persisted in concealing the cause of your illness; nor do I require you to confess it; I have sufficient experience to penetrate into this secret, and I am sure you will not disown what I am going to declare. It is love which occasions your indisposition. I can probably assist your cure, provided you will tell me who is the happy lady that has been able to wound a heart so insensible as yours; for you have the reputation of not liking the ladies, and I have not been the last to perceive it; however, what I foresaw is at last come to pass, and I shall be delighted if I can be of any service in releasing you from your pain.’
“The old lady having finished this speech, waited to hear my answer; but although it had made a strong impression on me, I did not dare to open my heart to her. I only turned towards her, and uttered a deep sigh, without saying a word. ‘Is it shame,’ continued she, ‘that prevents you from speaking, or is it want of confidence in my power to relieve you? Can you doubt the effects of my promise? I could mention to you an infinite number of young people of your acquaintance, who have endured the same pain that you do; and for whom I have obtained consolation.’
“In short, the good lady said so many things to me, that at length I broke silence, and declared to her the cause of my pain. I acquainted her with the place where I had seen the object that had given birth to it; and related all the circumstances of the adventure. ‘If you succeed,’ continued I, ‘and procure me the happiness of seeing this enchanting beauty, and of expressing to her the passion with which I burn, you may rely on my gratitude.’--‘My son,’ replied the old lady, ‘I know the person you mention; she is, as you justly suppose, the daughter of the principal cadi in this city. I am not surprised that you should love her; she is the most beautiful, as well as most amiable lady in Bagdad; but what grieves me is, she is very haughty, and difficult of access. You know, that many of our officers of justice are very exact, in making women observe the harsh laws which subject them to so irksome a restraint; they are still more strict in their own families, and the cadi you saw is himself alone more rigid on this point than all the others put together. As they are continually preaching to their daughters the enormity of the crime of showing themselves to men, the poor things are in general so cautious of being guilty of it, that, when necessity obliges them to walk in the streets, they make no use of their eyes, but to guide them on their way; I do not say, that this is absolutely the case with the daughter of the principal cadi; yet I am much afraid of having as great obstacles to overcome on her side, as on her father’s. Would to Heaven you loved any other lady! I should not have so many difficulties, as I foresee, to surmount. I will nevertheless employ all my address; but it will require time to succeed. At any rate take courage, and place confidence in me.’