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Your majesty will judge of this yourself, when, in telling my story, in obedience to your commands I shall inform you what that heinous crime was." The Story of Baba Abdoollah. Commander of the faithful, I was born at Bagdad, had a moderate fortune left me by my father and mother, who died within a few days of each other.
The next day, after afternoon prayers, the caliph retired to his own apartment, when the grand vizier introduced the three persons we have been speaking of, and presented them to the caliph. They all three prostrated themselves before the throne, and when they rose up, the caliph asked the blind man his name, who answered, it was Baba Abdoollah.
"Your highness will, I trust, have patience for a few minutes," said Baba, observing that the clock still indicated ten minutes short of the appointed hour, "while I perform the curious, but necessary, motions which are essential to a happy result."
Lo, the great Hall was breathless, nought heard save the splashing of the fountain in its fall, and the rustle of the robe of Baba Mustapha as he aired his right arm, hovering round Shagpat like a bird about the nest; and he was buzzing as a bee ere it entereth the flower, and quivered like a butterfly when 'tis fluttering over a blossom; and Baba Mustapha sniffed at Shagpat within arm's reach, fearing him, so that the people began to hum with a great rapture, and the King Shahpushan cried, 'Aha! mark him! this monkey knoweth the fire!
Omar laughed heartily at this, and Hadji Baba, much relieved, retired to have his case tried before the cadi, taking his daughter with him, for she had assured him that she had seen the old servant take it. The old servant pleaded not guilty with earnest solemnity. "Are you quite sure you saw him take the ring?" demanded the cadi of Ziffa. "Quite sure," replied the girl.
"I liked the story well enough," piped up the little Tailor who had killed seven flies at a blow. "Twas a good enough story of its sort, but why does nobody tell a tale of good big giants, and of wild boars, and of unicorns, such as I killed in my adventures you wot of?" Old Ali Baba had been sitting with his hands folded and his eyes closed. Now he opened them and looked at the Little Tailor.
He therefore acquainted his father, Ali Baba, with his wish to invite him in return. Ali Baba with great pleasure took the treat upon himself. "Son," said he, "to-morrow being Friday, which is a day that the shops of such great merchants as Cogia Houssain and yourself are shut, get him to accompany you, and as you pass by my door, call in. I will go and order Morgiana to provide a supper."
"If I felt a craving for food, I would have to eat." Simply yet regally she stated this axiomatic truth, one known too well by a world revolving around three meals a day! "But you do eat something!" My tone held a note of remonstrance. "Of course!" She smiled in swift understanding. "Baba knows." Again she acquiesced, her manner soothing and unemphatic.
"The Old Colonel," a relic of the great changes caused by the disappearance of many regiments during the Indian Mutiny, and the alterations in Army organisation due to the introduction of the "Staff corps" system, has disappeared from the scene, having long since attained the pensioned rank for which he was ripening when depicted by Ali Baba.
Cherubini found a retreat at La Chartreuse, near Rouen, the country seat of his friend, the architect Louis. Here he lived in tranquillity, and composed several minor pieces and a three-act opera, never produced, but afterward worked over into "Ali Baba" and "Faniska."
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