Praise Allah! my dear comrade is alive! This morning we landed early
and began our search for him. As we passed before the building which
bears the inscription
. . . DORF ASTORIA
upon its front, we heard his voice from within in answer to our calls.
We entered, and after climbing the ruined stairway found him seated
upon the floor above. He had a swollen leg from an ugly sprain, and
various bruises were also his. While our friends were constructing a
litter on which to bear him hence we conversed together. The walls
about us bore traces of having once enclosed a hall of some beauty. In
idling about I pulled open the decaying door of an old closet and saw
upon the rotting shelves many pieces of glass and earthenware of fine
workmanship. Taking one in my hand, a small wine-cup of glass, I
approached my comrade calling his attention to its slender stem and
curious form. As his eyes fell upon it they opened wide in amazement.
I also observed a trembling of his hand as he reached forth to touch
it. He then recounted to me his marvellous adventure of the night
before, but saying before he began:
"Thou knowest, O Prince, I am no believer in visions, and I should
never tell the tale but for thy discovery of this cup. I drank from
such an one last night, proffered by a ghostly hand."
I would have smiled, but he was much in earnest. As I made a movement
to sit beside him, he said:
"Taste first, O my master, of the grapes hanging from yonder wall."
I did so, and to my great surprise found them of an exquisite flavor,
finer even than the cultivated fruit of Persia, sweeter and more
delicate, of a different nature from the wild grapes we have been
eating. My astonishment appeared to delight him, and he said with a
laugh:
"The grapes are impossible, but they exist; even more absurd is my
story!" and he then narrated his adventure.
It was this: