Quoth Ishac, ’Indeed, this was of thy fair fortune. By Allah, I know not that which thou knowest in this craft!’ Then he arose and going to a chest, brought out therefrom striped clothes of great price, netted with jewels and great pearls, and said to her, ‘In the name of God, don these, O my lady Tuhfeh.’ So she arose and donned those clothes and veiled herself and went up [with Ishac] to the palace of the Khalifate, where he made her stand without, whilst he himself went in to the Commander of the Faithful (with whom was Jaafer the Barmecide) and kissing the earth before him, said to him, ’O Commander of the Faithful, I have brought thee a damsel, never saw eyes her like for excellence in singing and touching the lute; and her name is Tuhfeh."[FN#186] ‘And where,’ asked Er Reshed, ’is this Tuhfeh, who hath not her like in the world?’ Quoth Ishac, ’Yonder she stands, O Commander of the Faithful;’ and he acquainted the Khalif with her case from first to last. Then said Er Reshid, ’It is a marvel to hear thee praise a slave-girl after this fashion. Admit her, so we may see her, for that the morning may not be hidden.’
Accordingly, Ishac bade admit her; so she entered, and when her eyes fell upon the Commander of the Faithful, she kissed the earth before him and said, ’Peace be upon thee, O Commander of the Faithful and asylum of the people of the faith and reviver of justice among all creatures! May God make plain the treading of thy feet and vouchsafe thee enjoyment of that which He hath bestowed on thee and make Paradise thy harbourage and the fire that of thine enemies!’ Quoth Er Reshid, ’And on thee be peace, O damsel! Sit.’ So she sat down and he bade her sing; whereupon she took the lute and tightening its strings, played thereon in many modes, so that the Commander of the Faithful and Jaafer were confounded and like to fly for delight. Then she returned to the first mode and sang the following verses:
By Him whom I worship, indeed, I swear, O thou that
mine eye dost
fill, By Him in whose
honour the pilgrims throng and fare to
Arafat’s hill,
Though over me be the tombstone laid, if ever thou
call on me,
Though rotten my bone
should be, thy voice I’ll answer, come
what will.
I crave none other than thou for friend, beloved of
my heart; So
trust in my speech,
for the generous are true and trusty
still.