“Nonsense!” cried Zopyrus.  “I’d rather lose my tongue than tell a he to a man, but our wives are so awfully deceitful, that one has no choice but to pay them back in their own coin.”

“The Greek women are different,” said Bartja, “because they are differently treated.  Sappho told me of one, I think her name was Penelope, who waited twenty years faithfully and lovingly for her husband, though every one believed he was dead, and she had fifty lovers a day at her house.”

“My wives would not wait so long for me,” said Zopyrus laughing.  “To tell the truth, I don’t think I should be sorry to find an empty house, if I came back after twenty years.  For then I could take some new wives into my harem, young and beautiful, instead of the unfaithful ones, who, besides, would have grown old.  But alas! every woman does not find some one to run away with her, and our women would rather have an absent husband than none at all.”

“If your wives could hear what you are saying!” said Araspes.

“They would declare war with me at once, or, what is still worse, conclude a peace with one another.”

“How would that be worse?”

“How? it is easy to see, that you have had no experience.”

“Then let us into the secrets of your married life.”

“With pleasure.  You can easily fancy, that five wives in one house do not live quite so peacefully as five doves in a cage; mine at least carry on an uninterrupted, mortal warfare.  But I have accustomed myself to that, and their sprightliness even amuses me.  A year ago, however, they came to terms with one another, and this day of peace was the most miserable in my life.”

“You are jesting.”

“No, indeed, I am quite in earnest.  The wretched eunuch who had to keep watch over the five, allowed them to see an old jewel-merchant from Tyre.  Each of them chose a separate and expensive set of jewels.  When I came home Sudabe came up and begged for money to pay for these ornaments.  The things were too dear, and I refused.  Every one of the five then came and begged me separately for the money; I refused each of them point blank and went off to court.  When I came back, there were all my wives weeping side by side, embracing one another and calling each other fellow-sufferers.  These former enemies rose up against me with the most touching unanimity, and so overwhelmed me with revilings and threats that I left the room.  They closed their doors against me.  The next morning the lamentations of the evening before were continued.  I fled once more and went hunting with the king, and when I came back, tired, hungry and half-frozen—­for it was in spring, we were already at Ecbatana, and the snow was lying an ell deep on the Orontes—­there was no fire on the hearth and nothing to eat.  These noble creatures had entered into an alliance in order to punish me, had put out the fire, forbidden the cooks to do their duty and, which was worse than