in the act of copulation, books on the subject of generation are indispensable. In every country, large or small, both the rich and poor have a taste for this sort of book, which may be compared to the stone of philosophy transforming common metals into gold.

It is related (and God penetrates the most obscure matters, and is most wise!) that once upon a time, before the reign of the great Caliph Haroun er Rachid, there lived a buffoon, who was the amusement of women, old people and children. His name was Djoâidi. Many women granted him their favours freely, and he was much liked and well received by all. By princes, vizirs and caïds he was likewise very well treated; in general all the world pampered him; at that time, indeed, any man that was a buffoon enjoyed the greatest consideration, for which reason the poet has said:

Oh, Time! Of all the dwellers here below
You only elevate buffoons or fools,
Or him whose mother was a prostitute,
Or him whose anus as an inkstand serves,
Or him who from his youth has been a pander;
Who has no other work but to bring the two sexes together.

The History of Djoâidi and Fadehat el Djemal

As to her vulva, it was white, prominent, round as an arch; the centre of it was red, and breathed fire, without a trace of humidity; for, sweet :o the touch, it was quite dry. When she walked it showed in relief like a dome or an inverted cup. In reclining it was visible between her thighs, looking like a kid couched on a hillock.

This woman was my neighbour. All the others played and laughed with me, jested with me, and met my suggestions with great pleasure. I revelled in their kisses, their close embraces and nibbling, and in sucking their lips, breasts, and necks. I had coition with all of them, except my neighbour, and it was exactly her I wanted to possess in preference to all the rest; but instead of being kind to me, she avoided me rather. When I contrived to take her aside to trifle with her and try to rouse her gaiety, and spoke to her of my desires, she recited to me the following verses, the sense of which was a mystery to me:

Among the mountain tops I saw a tent placed firmly,
Apparent to all eyes high up in mid-air.
But, oh! the pole that held it up was gone.
And like a vase without a handle it remained,
With all its cords undone, its centre sinking in,
Forming a hollow like that of a kettle.

Nevertheless I continued my investigations, until at last I heard of a savant named Abou Nouass, who lived in a far-off country, and who, I was told, was the only man capable of solving the enigma. I betook to him, apprised him of the distress I had with the woman, and recited to him the above-mentioned verses.

Abou Nouass said to me, `This woman loves you to the exclusion of every other man. She is very corpulent and plump.' I answered, `It is exactly as you say. You have given her likeness as if she were before you, excepting what you say in respect of her love for me, for, until now, she has never given me any proof of it.'

`She has no husband.'