You say, milady, you love virtue best.
I do respect that, as indeed I must—
Yet piety’s by many paths expressed,
As Alibech once learned through holy trust
And good hard works. But here, you look nonplussed:
You haven’t heard of her? Then let me tell
Of how she put the Devil back in Hell.

Time was, a merchant lived in Barbary
Who, though a Saracen, had grown quite rich
Through pagan virtue—and his own hard work.
He had, for God is merciful, such sons
And daughters anyone would envy him—
The youngest one, a girl named Alibech.
At fourteen, though, this Alibech was not,
What should I say? —Not quite a woman yet:
She hadn’t come into a lady’s grace.
While others saw the signs of coming growth,
She saw only her gangly, coltish pose,
Pimples that never cleared, and horsy nose;
Comparing herself to lovely older sisters
Courted by all the better bucks of town
(In no small part because of Daddy’s wealth)
She soon concluded that she was, in short,
A scrawny, gawkish, dismal botch of nature
Who otherwise was just unlovable.

Although their sire was not a Christian man,
Some faithful lived in Al-Gafsir (their town),
And came a night he—purely for business, yes?—
Invited one to dinner. It went well,
And conversation, like the wine, flowed forth
Into the channel of the different faiths
That rubbed their neighbor shoulders in this city
Like swirling customers in market squares.
When they compared the ways that each served God,
This latter phrase intrigued young Alibech,
Who asked them, “So which service is the best?”
“The ones who best serve God,” answered the guest,
“Remove themselves from corrupting earthly ways—
Like those who have retreated to the south
Into the desert beyond the sea-cooled hills.”
Her worldly father laughed at such ascetics,
As did his sons, and conversation ebbed
To other streams of conscientiousness—
But Alibech, who was convinced that she,
Like a sand-grain added to Sahara’s dunes,
Was useless to the world, burned with the words:
Here at least was something she could do.
She vowed to serve our Lord as best she could,
And secretly slipped off before pale dawn
Away down desert roads into the wastes.

A few days later in the wilderness,
A humble hermit found before his door
An apparent angel who opened her sweet mouth
To speak God’s Word—then fainted to the ground.
No, not an angel, but our Alibech,
Now tired, hungry, parched—for she, poor soul,
Had brought no water, food, or even coins—
And human, all too human, on his cot.
While nursing her, he noticed she was young—
Pretty and nubile too: a strong temptation.
When finally she woke and asked if he’d
Instruct her on the way to best serve God,
Afraid he’d not resist the devil long,
He praised the purity of her intention
(Though doubted it was more than girlish whim)
And said, “A little further on, there lives
A man most holy in the sight of God:
Seek him—I’m not the teacher meant for you.”
With water, bitter herbs, and dates, he sent
The girl upon her way away from him.
And yes, she did go on: she’d started out
On one night’s impulse more than real vocation,
But this far down a hard road, she was now
Too stubborn to give in to giving up—
Even when the second hermit said the same
And passed her on, and so the next, and next,
Until she found the cell of Rustico.

This new monk, burning with his vow’s first fire,
Only saw in her female form his chance
To prove to God his will was steel, and said,
“My daughter, gladly will I teach you all
I know of holiness.” She thanked him deeply,
As did her sore, almost regretful feet.
He started even as they pulled together
A pallet in his cell, teaching the hours
Of the canon day with the prayers for each—
And as they did so, Rustico could feel
Temptation warring with his piety:
He clearly saw his acolyte was female,
Each nubile curve of hers a demon sent
To force his footsteps from the Lord’s straight road;
And when she sang the psalms he taught, her bodice
Besieged not just her bosom but his virtue;
And when they labored, digging for roots to eat,
Each movement of her maiden flesh
Catapulted sin inside his walls;
And when he praised her prayers in the evening,
Her glad smiles sapped his crumbling resolution;
And when he lay awake in the same cell
As luscious Alibech, each restless toss
Felt like another sally in the breaches;
All senses were assaulted, day on day,
Until the night temptation stormed his soul,
Raped his resolve, and sacked his celibacy.
Panting, he stared into the dark: No more.
And so he plotted how to get the girl.

Now you might wonder, what of Alibech?
Our girl was unaware of her effect:
As her confessor, Rustico had learned
She was in faith the innocent she seemed,
That gluttony (for more substantial fare)
Was her besetting sin—not lust, like him.
With wicked cleverness, he planned his ambush
And sprung his trap on her that afternoon:
“You have the basics down,” he said, “so now
For more advanced instruction in God’s ways.
When the Lord’s first enemy rebelled
Against the Heavens, God threw him in Hell,
But soon the sneaky fiend escaped his bonds
And fights on, seeking to corrupt men’s souls
And lead the weak away from holiness.
Of all the ways to serve him, God loves most
Our putting back the devil into Hell.”