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Updated: June 19, 2025
"Father," said young Mezrimbi, his beautiful countenance distorted by the vilest passions of Jehanum, "I have planned as follows: I have mutes ready to obey my wishes, and a corrosive burning acid, which will eat deeply into the flesh of the proud Acota. I know that he will pass the time away in the garden of the royal grove. I know even the bower in which he hath wooed and won the fair princess.
Acota was not yet king, although he was proclaimed as such he was not king until his marriage with the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-bobu, "the cream tart of delight," and should he be scarred or blemished before the marriage of the ensuing day, then must the brahmin, by the will of the old king, choose his successor; and who could he choose but his own son?
Who can attempt to describe the magnificent procession which took place that evening, who can describe the proud and splendid bearing of king Acota, or the beaming eyes of the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-bobu. Shall I narrate how the nightingales sang themselves to death shall I "No, pray don't," interrupted the pacha, "only let us know one thing was the beautiful Babe-bi-bobu married at last?"
Acota seated himself, at a signal from the princess, and commenced his playing, if such it could be called, thrumming violently, and jarring every chord of his instrument to a tone of such dissonance, that the attendant girls put their fingers into their ears, and pitied the beautiful Babe-bi-bobu's bad taste in music. "Ah!
At the sight of him, the chief brahmin raised a cry, which was heard, not only further than the shriek of the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-bobu, but had the effect of recalling her to life and recollection. All joined in the cry of astonishment when they beheld Acota in the garments of Mezrimbi. "Who, then, art thou?" exclaimed the chief brahmin, to his son, in Acota's dress.
Acota was right; in a minute he perceived the dark beings crawling through the underwood like the jackals who had scented out their prey, and Acota was again concealed in the thick foliage. They approached like shadows in the dark, and perceived the sleeping Mezrimbi with the cloak of Acota and the mandolin, which Acota, after striking it, had laid by his side. It was sufficient.
At first Acota had intended to have reviled and scoffed at his treacherous enemy, but his good heart forbade it. Another idea then came into his head. He took off the cloak of Mezrimbi, and substituted his own; he exchanged turbans and scimitars, and then left him and went home.
Acota listened a few minutes to the soft voice of the princess, and then took up his broken-stringed mandolin, and with a profound reverence for the benefit of the old chamberlain, he departed.
Mezrimbi was the only one who was not motionless: he paced up and down in all the anxiety of anticipation and doubt, and at last he stopped, and, tired out with contending feelings, sat down at the foot of a tree, close to where Acota was concealed.
Let us call these mutes, explain to them what we wish, and by to-morrow's sun the throne of Souffraria will fall to the race of Mezrimbi. Are we not of the purest blood of the plains, and is not Acota but a rayah of the mountains?"
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