[Illustration: Mezzomorto approaches Zarata in the garden]
One day he was occupied with his work, murmuring the while one of his now usual songs of sorrow, when the Dey, who was walking in the garden, came upon him without being perceived, and stopped to listen. Pleased with his voice, and moved by curiosity, he approached the captive and asked his name. The Toledan replied, that he was called Alvaro; for, following the usual custom with slaves, of concealing their station, he thought fit to change his name, and, as the outrage upon Donna Theodora was ever uppermost in his thoughts, the name of the detested Alvaro had come soonest to his lips when suddenly asked his own. Mezzomorto, who spoke the Spanish language tolerably well, then questioned him as to the customs of Spain, and particularly as to the conduct observed by those of its cavaliers who would render themselves agreeable to their ladies;--to all of which Don Juan replied in such a manner as to greatly please the Dey.
"Alvaro," said he to him at last, "you appear to be intelligent; and I judge you to have been a man of rank in your own country: but, however that may be, you are fortunate enough to please me, and I will honour you with my confidence." At these words, Don Juan prostrated himself before the Dey, and with well-affected humility, kissed the hem of his master's robe, and after touching with it his eyes and forehead, arose, and stood before him in silence.
"To begin by giving you proof of my regard," resumed the Dey, "you know, that in my seraglio, I have some of the fairest women which Europe can offer for my pleasures. Among these, however, there is one whose beauty is beyond compare; nor do I believe that the Grand Signor himself possesses so exquisite a creature, although for him the winds of heaven daily waft ships with their lovely burden from all quarters of the globe. In her visage the dazzling sun seems reflected, and her form is graceful as the rose's stem which grows in the gardens of Eram. My soul is enchanted with her perfections.
[Illustration: the unhappy beauty of the seraglio]
"Alas! this miracle of nature, all beauteous as she is, maintains and nourishes the deepest grief; which neither time nor all the efforts of my love can dissipate. Although fortune has yielded her to my will, I have ever respected her grief, and controlled my desires; and unlike those who, placed as I am, seek but the momentary gratifications of sense, I fain would win her heart, and have striven to gain it by respectful attentions, such as the vilest Mussulman that lives would feel degraded to offer to the fairest Christian slave.