Chapter X: Part 10

And what indeed could the jeweller have answered in the state this speech put him in! He remained motionless, like a person stunned by a blow. He was nevertheless aware, that the business required decisive and prompt measures. He, therefore, made all the haste he could to the prince of Persia’s, and as soon as he saw him, he accosted him in a way that instantly showed he was the messenger of bad news. “Prince,” he cried, “arm yourself with patience, constancy, and courage; prepare for an attack, the most dreadful you have ever encountered.”

“Tell me,” exclaimed the prince, “in two words, what has happened, and do not thus keep me in suspense. I am ready to die, if it be necessary.”

The jeweller then related to him every thing he had heard from the confidential slave. “You see,” added he, “that your destruction is inevitable. Get up then, and endeavour instantly to save yourself. The time is precious. You ought not to expose yourself to the rage of the caliph, still less to confess any thing, although you should be in the midst of torments.”

Very little more would at this moment have actually destroyed the prince, so much was he already broken down by affliction, sorrow, and terror. He at length recollected himself, and inquired of the jeweller what plan he advised him to pursue in so critical a conjuncture, and when he had only an instant to take advantage of it. “There is nothing to be done,” replied the jeweller, “but to get on horse-back as soon as possible, take the road to Anbar, and endeavour to arrive there before daylight to-morrow. Let as many of your people accompany you as you think necessary, and some good horses, and suffer me to save myself with you.”

The prince of Persia, who knew of no better method to pursue, gave orders to have prepared barely as much as was necessary for the journey; carried some money and jewels with him, and after taking leave of his mother, set out, and hastened as much as possible to get at a distance from Bagdad, in company with the jeweller, and the attendants he had chosen.

They travelled the rest of the day, and most of the following night, without making any stop on the road, till about two or three hours before day, when the fatigue of so long a journey, and the absolute inability of their horses to proceed, compelled them to alight, and take some little repose.

They had hardly had time to breathe, before they were attacked by a considerable troop of robbers. They defended themselves for some time with the greatest courage, till all the attendants of the prince were killed: the prince and the jeweller then laid down their arms, and yielded at discretion. The robbers gave them their lives; and after taking their horses and baggage, they rifled and even stripped their persons, and then retiring with their plunder, left them in the same place.

The robbers were no sooner at some distance, than the prince said to the jeweller, who was in the utmost distress, “Well, what think you of our late adventure, and the state we are now left in? Do you not rather wish that I had remained at Bagdad waiting there for my death, in what manner soever it might have been inflicted!”--“Prince,” replied the jeweller, “we must submit to the decrees of the Almighty. It is his will that we should suffer affliction upon affliction. Our business is not to murmur, but to receive every thing, whether good or evil, from his hands with absolute submission. Let us not, however, stop here; but proceed, and endeavour to find out some place, where we shall be able to obtain relief under our misfortune.”

“Let me alone,” cried the prince of Persia, “and suffer me to end my days in this place; for of what consequence is it where I breathe my last. Perhaps, at the very instant we are now speaking, Schemselnihar is herself no more; and it is neither my wish nor even in my power, to live a moment after her.” The jeweller at length, with much intreaty, persuaded him to move. They walked on for a long time, and at last came to a mosque, which they found open. They went in, and passed the rest of the night there.

At day-break, there was only one person came into the mosque. He said his prayers, and when he had finished them, as he was going out he perceived the prince of Persia and the jeweller, who were seated in one corner. He went up to them, and saluted them with great civility. “You seem to me,” he said to them, “if I may judge from your appearance, to be strangers.” The jeweller, who took upon himself to speak, answered, “You are not wrong in your supposition. Last night, in coming along the road from Bagdad, we were robbed, as you may conjecture from the state we are in; and we have great need of assistance, but know not to whom to apply.”--“If you will take the trouble,” replied the stranger, “to come to my house, I will very readily give you all the help and assistance in my power.”

On hearing this obliging offer, the jeweller turned towards the prince of Persia, and whispered in his ear, that he thought this man did not know either of them, and that they had some reason to think it possible another might come, who would recognise them. “We ought not, therefore,” said he, “to refuse the favor which this good man does us.”--“You are master,” replied the prince, “I agree to every thing you wish.”

As the stranger saw the prince and the jeweller consulting together, he thought that they made some difficulty in accepting the proposal he had made them. He asked, therefore, on what they had determined, “We are ready to follow you,” replied the jeweller, “but what affords us the greatest distress is, that we are almost naked, and are therefore ashamed to appear in this condition.” Fortunately, however, the man had sufficient clothes about him, to be able to bestow enough on them to cover them in their way to his house. And they were no sooner arrived, than their host ordered some clothes to be brought for each of them; and, as he naturally imagined that they were greatly in want of food, and would also be much more at ease by themselves, he sent a female slave with a variety of dishes. They scarcely, however, touched any thing, particularly the prince, who was reduced to such a languid state, and was so worn out, that the jeweller felt considerable alarms for his life.

Their host visited them several times during the day; but he left them early in the evening, as he knew they stood in great need of repose. The jeweller, however, was obliged, almost immediately, to call him again, to help him in attending on the prince of Persia, who, he thought, was very near dying. He perceived that his respiration was difficult and rapid, and from this he judged he had only a few moments to live. He went up to him, when the prince said, “It is, as you must perceive, all over with me; and I am well satisfied, that you should be a witness to the last sigh I shall ever breathe; I resign my life with much satisfaction, nor need I inform you why I do so. You know it. All the regret I feel is, that I do not breathe my last in the arms of my dearest mother, who has always shown the tenderest affection for me; and for whom, I trust, my respect has ever been such as was proper. She will suffer much, from not having the melancholy consolation of closing my eyes, and even of burying me with her own hands. Tell her, I beg of you, the pain I suffer; and request her, as from me, to have my body conveyed to Bagdad, chat she may water my grave with her tears, and may afford me the benefit of her prayers.” He did not forget the master of the house where he was; and thanked him for the generous reception he had given him, and after requesting that his body might be preserved in his house, till they came to bury it, he expired.

The day after the death of the prince of Persia, the jeweller took advantage of a large caravan, which happened at that time to be going to Bagdad; where he arrived in safety. He immediately went to his own house, and having changed his dress, he proceeded to that of the deceased prince of Persia, where they were all much alarmed at not seeing the prince himself come back with him. He desired the attendants to inform the prince’s mother, that he wished to speak to her; and it was not long before they introduced him into a hall, where she was surrounded by many of her females. “Madam,” said the jeweller on entering, but in a tone and manner that evidently proved he was the messenger of ill news, “may God preserve you, and heap abundance of his favors upon you. You are not ignorant, that the Almighty disposes of us as he pleases.”

The lady gave the jeweller no time to say more, “Ah,” she exclaimed, “you come to announce the death of my son!” She instantly uttered the most melancholy cries, which, together with those made by her women, renewed the grief, and made the tears of the jeweller flow afresh. She continued to suffer these torments, and remained a long time overcome by affliction, before she would permit the jeweller to go on with what he had to say. She at length suppressed for a time her lamentations and tears, and begged him to continue his account, and not to conceal any circumstance of this melancholy separation. He satisfied her; and when he had concluded, she asked him if the prince her son had not charged him with any thing in particular to say to her, when he was at the extremity of his life. He assured her, that he only expressed the greatest regret at breathing his last at a distance from her, and that the only thing he wished was, that she would take care and have his body brought to Bagdad. Early, therefore, the next morning, she set out, accompanied by all her women, and a considerable part of her slaves.

When the jeweller, who had been detained by the mother of the prince of Persia, had seen her take her departure, he returned home in the most melancholy state of mind: his eyes cast down, and himself deeply regretting the death of so accomplished and amiable a prince, in the very flower of his age.

As he was walking along, meditating thus within himself, a woman came up and stopped directly before him. He lifted his eyes, and perceived the confidential slave of Schemselnihar, dressed in mourning, and her eyes bathed in tears. The sight renewed his affliction to a great degree, and without even opening his lips to speak to her, he continued walking on, till he came to his own house, to which the confidant followed him, and entered at the same time.

They both sat down, and the jeweller began the conversation, by asking her, sighing deeply at the same time, if she had already been informed of the death of the prince of Persia, and if it was for him that she wept. “Alas, no,” she answered: “is then this charming prince dead? He has not indeed long survived his adorable Schemselnihar. Lovely spirits,” added she, addressing the departed lovers, “in whatever place you may be, you are now sufficiently satisfied in being able, for the future, to love each other without any obstacle. Your bodies were an invincible hindrance to your wishes, and Heaven has only freed you from them to enable you to be united in soul.”

The jeweller, who was hitherto ignorant of the death of Schemselnihar, and who had not as yet attended to the circumstance of the confidant’s being in mourning, felt an additional pang when he learnt this intelligence. “Schemselnihar dead too!” he exclaimed. “Is she no more?”--“Such indeed is her fate,” replied her slave, renewing her tears. “It is for her that I am in mourning. The circumstances attending her death are singular, and it is proper that you should be made acquainted with them. But previous to my giving you a narrative of this, I beg of you to inform me of every thing relative to the death of the prince of Persia, whose loss I shall continue all my life to lament, as well as that of my dear and amiable mistress of Schemselnihar.

The jeweller satisfied the confidant in every particular she wished to know, and as soon as he had finished his account, beginning from the time she left him to the moment in which the prince’s mother began her journey for the purpose of bringing her son’s body to Bagdad, she went on as follows: “I have already told you how the caliph sent for Schemselnihar to his own palace. It was true, as we had reason to believe, that the caliph had been informed of the attachment and meeting between Schemselnihar and the prince of Persia by the two slaves, whom he had separately questioned. You may already perhaps imagine, that he was in the greatest rage with the Favorite; and that he showed strong marks of jealousy and revenge against the prince of Persia. By no means. He thought not for an instant about him. He only pitied Schemselnihar. Nay, he attributed, as it is thought, what had happened only to himself, and to the permission which he had given her to go freely about the city, unaccompanied by any eunuchs. At least we cannot form any other conjecture, from the extraordinary manner in which he conducted himself towards her from first to last; as you shall hear.

“The caliph received her with an open countenance, and when he perceived the traces of that grief with which she was overwhelmed, but which nevertheless did not in the least diminish her beauty, for she appeared before him without any symptoms either of surprise or fear. ‘Schemselnihar,’ said he to her, with his usual accustomed goodness, ‘I cannot bear that you should appear before me with a countenance so strongly impressed by sorrow. You know with what ardour I have always loved you: You must be convinced of its sincerity by all the proofs I have given you of it. I am not changed; for I still love you more than ever. You have some enemies, and these enemies have made some ill reports of the manner in which you conduct yourself; every thing, however, that they can say of you, has not made the least impression upon my mind. Drive away then this melancholy, and dispose yourself to entertain me this evening with something as amusing and diverting as you used to do.’ He continued to say many other obliging things to her, and then conducted her into a magnificent apartment near his own; where he requested her to wait for him.

“The wretched Schemselnihar was sensibly affected at so many proofs of the caliph’s concern for her person: but the more she felt herself under obligations to him, the more was her bosom penetrated with grief at being separated, perhaps for ever, from the prince of Persia, without whom she was convinced she could not exist.

“This interview between the caliph and Schemselnihar,” continued the confidant, “took place while I was coming to speak to you; and I learnt the particulars of it from my companions, who were present. As soon, however, as I left you, I hastened back to Schemselnihar, and was witness to what passed in the evening. I found my mistress in the apartment I have mentioned; and as she was very sure I was come from your house, she desired me to approach her; and, without being overheard by any one, she said to me, ‘I am much obliged to you for the service you have just now rendered me: I feel that it will be the last.’ This was all she uttered, and I was not in a place where I could say any thing by way of endeavouring to afford her consolation.

The caliph in the evening entered Schemselnihar’s palace to the sound of instruments, which were touched by the females belonging to the Favorite, when a collation was instantly served up. The caliph took Schemselnihar by the hand, and made her sit near him upon a sofa. To comply with this action had such a violent effect upon her feelings, that in a few moments after we saw her expire. She was in fact hardly seated, before she fell backwards. The caliph thought that she had only fainted, nor had we at first any other idea. We gave her every assistance in our power; but she never breathed again. This then was the manner in which we suffered our great loss.

“The caliph honored her with his tears, which he was unable to restrain; and before he retired to his apartment he gave orders that all the musical instruments should be absolutely destroyed, which was accordingly done. I remained near the body the whole night, and both washed and prepared it for burial with my own hands, almost bathing it with my tears. It was the next day interred, by the command of the caliph, in a magnificent tomb, which he had before ordered to be built in a spot that Schemselnihar had herself chosen. And since,” added the slave, “you have told me the body of the prince of Persia is to be brought to Bagdad, I am determined that it shall be placed in the same tomb with that of the Favorite.”

The jeweller was very much astonished at this resolution of the confidant. “You do not surely recollect,” said he, “that the caliph will never suffer it.”--“You may believe the thing impossible,” replied she, “but I assure you, it is not. And you will agree with me, when I have informed you that the caliph has given their freedom to all the slaves that belonged to Schemselnihar, with a pension to each of them sufficient to support themselves; and that he has moreover appointed me to take care of, and watch her tomb, with a considerable salary both for its repair and my subsistence. Besides, the caliph, who is not ignorant of the mutual attachment of Schemselnihar and the prince of Persia, as I have already told you, and who is not now offended or hurt at it, will never have any objection to it.” In answer to this, the jeweller had nothing to say; he only requested the confidant to conduct him to the tomb, that he might offer up his prayers there. When he arrived, he was greatly surprised at seeing a crowd of people of both sexes, who had collected there from all parts of Bagdad. He could not even get near it; and could only pray at some distance. When he had finished his prayers, he said to the confidant in a satisfactory tone of voice, “I do not now think it impossible to accomplish what you so properly planned. We have only to make known the various facts we are acquainted with, concerning the Favorite and the prince of Persia, and particularly the death of the latter, which took place almost at the same instant with that of Schemselnihar.” Before his body arrived, all Bagdad agreed in demanding, that they should not be separated in the grave. The scheme succeeded, and on the day in which it was known the body would arrive, a multitude of people went out even twenty miles to meet it.”

The confidant waited at the gate of the city, where she presented herself before the mother of the prince of Persia, and requested her in the name of all the inhabitants, who so ardently desired it, to allow the bodies of the two lovers, whose hearts formed but one, from the commencement of their attachment to the last moment of their lives, to be united in one tomb. The lady agreed to it; and the body was carried to the tomb of Schemselnihar, an immense number of people of all ranks following it; and then placed by her side. From that time all the inhabitants of Bagdad, and even strangers from all parts of the world, where mussulmen are known, have never ceased from feeling a great veneration for that tomb, and going to offer up their prayers at its foot.

“This, sire,” said Scheherazadè in this place, “is what I had to relate to your majesty concerning the amours of the beautiful Schemselnihar, the Favorite of the caliph Haroun Alraschid, and the amiable Ali Ebn Becar, prince of Persia.”

When Dinarzadè perceived the sultana, her sister, had concluded her speech, she thanked her most kindly for the pleasure she had afforded her by the recital of so interesting a history: “If the sultan,” replied Scheherazadè, “would suffer me to live till to-morrow, I would relate to him the history of prince Camaralzaman, [14] which he would find still more agreeable.” She was then silent; and Schahriar, who could not yet determine to give orders for her death, deferred it, in order to listen to the new story, which the sultana began to relate, on the following night.

THE HISTORY OF THE AMOURS OF CAMARALZAMAN, PRINCE OF THE ISLE OF THE CHILDREN OF KHALEDAN, AND OF BADOURA, PRINCESS OF CHINA.

About twenty days sail from the coast of Persia, sire, there is, in the open sea, an island, which is called the Isle of the Children of Khaledan. This island is divided into several large provinces, with many large flourishing and well-peopled towns scattered over them, and forms altogether a very powerful kingdom. It was formerly governed by a king, named Schahzaman, who had four wives, as was the custom; all daughters of kings, and sixty concubines.

Schahzaman esteemed himself the happiest sovereign on the whole face of the earth, on account of the tranquillity and prosperity of his reign. One thing alone affected his happiness; he was already far advanced in years, and he had no children, notwithstanding he had so great a number of wives. He could not account in any way for this circumstance; and in the moments of his affliction he considered it as the greatest misfortune that could befal him, to die without leaving a successor to the throne, who was descended from him. He, for a considerable time, concealed the tormenting anxiety that preyed upon him; and he suffered so much the more as he endeavoured to assume an air of cheerfulness. At length he broke silence; and one day having complained of his misfortune in the bitterest terms of sorrow, in a private conversation he had with his grand vizier, he asked him if he knew of any means to remedy so great an evil.

“If what your majesty requires,” replied this wise minister, “depended on the common interference of human wisdom, you might soon have the gratification you so ardently desire; but I confess, my experience and knowledge is not equal to solve what you ask; to God alone you must apply in such cases; in the midst of our prosperity, which often makes us forget what we owe him, he sometimes mortifies us on some interesting point, that we may turn our thoughts to him, acknowledge his universal power, and ask of him that which we cannot obtain but by his interference. You have amongst your subjects some men, who devote themselves to the particular profession of knowing and serving him, and lead a life of penance and hardship for the love of him: my advice is, that your majesty should bestow alms on them, and request them to join their prayers to yours; perhaps amongst so great a number, one may be sufficiently pure and acceptable to God, to obtain from him the completion of your wishes.”

The King approved this advice, for which he thanked his grand vizier. He ordered alms to a considerable amount to be presented to each of these communities of people, consecrated to God; he then desired the superiors of them to come to him, and after having regaled them with a repast suited to their frugal manner of living, he declared his intention, and begged them to acquaint the devotees of it also, who were under their authority.

Schahzaman obtained from Heaven what he so much desired, and which was soon evident by the pregnancy of one of his wives, who, at the expiration of nine months, presented him with a son. To testify his gratitude, he sent fresh presents to the societies of devout mussulmen, which were worthy of his dignity and greatness; and the birth of the prince was celebrated by public rejoicings for a whole week, not only in his capital but throughout his extensive dominions. The young prince was taken to him immediately on his birth, and he thought him so very beautiful, that he gave him the name of Camaralzaman, which means the moon of the age.

Prince Camaralzaman was educated with all possible attention, and when he had reached a proper age, the sultan appointed him a prudent governor and able preceptors. These persons, distinguished by their superior understandings, found in him a docile and intelligent disposition, capable of receiving all the instruction they wished to give him, either for the forming of his morals, or the cultivation of his mind, in such acquirements as a prince in his situation ought to be possessed of. And, when of a more advanced age, he learned various exercises with the same degree of facility; and acquitted himself with so much grace and address, that he charmed every beholder, but more particularly the sultan his father.

When the prince had attained the age of fifteen years, Schahzaman, who loved him with the greatest tenderness, and of which he gave him every day new and stronger proofs, conceived the design of bestowing on him the most striking mark of his affection, by descending from the throne himself, and raising his son to that distinguished situation. He communicated it to his grand vizier: “I fear,” said he, “that in the idleness of youth, my son will lose not only those advantages which nature has bestowed on him, but also such as he has so successfully acquired by the good education I have given him. As I am now advanced to an age to make me think of retiring from the world, I have almost resolved to give up the government to him, and to pass the rest of my days in the satisfaction of seeing him reign. I have laboured a long time, and I now want repose.”

The grand vizier would not then represent to the sultan all the reasons that might dissuade him from putting this design into execution; on the contrary, he appeared to concur in his wish. “Sire,” replied he, “the prince is still too young, I think, to be charged at so early a period with a burden so heavy as that of governing a powerful state. Your majesty is fearful that he may be corrupted, if suffered to lead a life of inactivity and indolence, and indeed with reason; but to remedy that evil, would it not in your opinion be more proper to marry him first? Marriage is likely to render his affections steady, and to prevent his entering into dissipation; added to that, your majesty might allow him admittance to your councils, by which he would learn by degrees to sustain the brilliancy and weight of your crown with dignity; and when sufficiently qualified, and you by experience found him equal to the undertaking, you might still resign it in his favor.”

Schahzaman thought this advice from his prime minister very reasonable and prudent; he therefore summoned his son, prince Camaralzaman, to attend him as soon as the grand vizier had taken his leave.

The prince, who hitherto had only seen the sultan at certain stated hours, without requiring a summons, was rather surprised al this order. Instead, therefore, of presenting himself before him in his usual free manner, he saluted him with great respect, and stopped as soon as he was in his presence, fixing his eyes on the ground.

The sultan perceived the restraint of the prince; “My son,” said he, in a tone intended to inspire him with confidence, “do you know on what account I sent for you?”--“Sire,” replied the prince, modestly, “God alone can penetrate into the recesses of the heart: I shall learn the reason from your majesty’s lips with the greatest pleasure.”--“I did it to acquaint you,” resumed the sultan, “that I wish you to marry: what do you think of it?”

Prince Camaralzaman heard these words with great concern. He was quite disconcerted; a cold damp arose on his face; and he knew not how to reply. After some moments passed in silence he said, “Sire, I entreat you to pardon me, if I appear confused at the declaration your majesty has just made; I did not expect it at my very youthful age. I do not even know, whether I shall ever be able to submit myself to the bonds of marriage, for I am well aware of the embarrassment and trouble occasioned by women; besides which, I have frequently read in our authors of their arts, their cunning, and their perfidy. Perhaps I may not always remain of this opinion; at any rate I feel, that I should require a considerable length of time to induce me to agree to what your majesty requires of me.”

This answer of the prince extremely afflicted the sultan his father. This monarch felt real grief at finding in his son so great a repugnance to matrimony. He did not, however, think proper to treat it as disobedience, nor to make use of the authority of a parent; he contented himself with saying, “I will not use any undue influence over you on this subject; I give you time to think of it, and to consider, that a prince, destined as you are to govern a large kingdom, ought in the first place to turn his thoughts to provide a successor in his own family. In giving yourself this satisfaction you will afford me a very great one, who shall love to see myself live over again in you and in the children, who are to prolong my race.”

Schahzaman said no more to prince Camaralzaman. He allowed him free entrance to the councils of state, and in every other respect gave him reason to be satisfied with his conduct towards him. At the expiration of a year he took him aside; “Well, my son,” said he, “have you remembered to make your reflections on the design I formed last year, of marrying you? Will you still refuse me the joy I should experience from your compliance with my wishes, and do you intend that I should die without experiencing this satisfaction?”

The prince appeared less discontented than on the former occasion, and did not long hesitate to reply with firmness in these words, “I have not, sire, omitted to reflect upon the subject; I gave it all the attention which it deserves; but, after having maturely considered it; I am still more confirmed in my resolution to live without any matrimonial engagement. In fact, the numberless evils which women have from time immemorial been the occasion of in the universe, as I have been well informed by our histories, and the daily accounts I hear of their cunning and malice, are the motives which determine me never to have any connexion with them. Therefore your majesty will pardon me, if I dare to assure you, that any arguments you may use, to endeavour to persuade me to marry, will be fruitless.” Here he ceased, and left the presence of the sultan in an abrupt manner, without even waiting for him to return an answer.

Any other monarch besides Schahzaman would with difficulty have restrained himself from using violence, after the rude and obstinate way in which the prince, his son, had expressed himself, and would have ordered him some punishment; but he tenderly loved him, and wished to employ every gentle means of persuasion before he had recourse to more rigid methods. He communicated this new cause of sorrow which Camaralzaman had given to him, to his prime minister. “I have followed your advice,” said he, “but my son is still more adverse to matrimony than he was the first time I spoke to him on the subject; and he explained himself in such a determined manner, that I needed all my reason and moderation to restrain my anger. Fathers who pray for children as ardently as I did, are madmen and fools, who seek to deprive themselves of that repose and quiet which they might otherwise have tranquilly enjoyed. Tell me, I entreat you, by what means I can reclaim a mind so rebellious to my desires.”

“Sire,” replied the grand vizier, “a great many things are accomplished through the medium of patience; perhaps this may not be of a nature to be conquered by such means; but your majesty will not have to reproach yourself with being too precipitate, if you consent to allow the prince another year to form his determination. If, during this interval, he does not return to his duty, you will have a much greater satisfaction in the consciousness of having employed no method, but that of paternal kindness, to obtain his consent. If, on the contrary, he persists in his obstinacy, then, when the year is expired, I think your majesty will be fully justified in declaring to him, before the whole council, that the good of the state requires his marriage. It is not possible that he should be wanting in respect towards you before an assembly of enlightened and celebrated men, which you honour with your presence.”

The sultan, who so passionately and ardently wished to see his son married, that so long a delay appeared ages to him, had some difficulty in consenting to wait so much longer. He, however, was persuaded by the arguments of the grand vizier, which he could neither contradict nor disapprove.

When the prime minister had retired, the sultan Schahzaman went to the apartment of the mother of prince Camaralzaman, to whom he had long since imparted the ardent desire he had of marrying his son. When he had related to her the painful disappointment he had just met with from his second refusal, and also the indulgence he still intended to grant him by the advice of his grand vizier, he added, “I know, madam, that he has more confidence in you than in me, that you converse with him, and that he listens to you with more familiarity; I entreat you, therefore, to take an opportunity to speak to him seriously on this subject; and to make him sensible, that if he persists in his obstinacy, he will oblige me at last to have recourse to extremities, which I should be sorry to adopt, and which would make him repent of his disobedience.”

Fatima, for this was the name of the prince’s mother, informed Camaralzaman, the first time she had any conversation with him, that she had been acquainted with his fresh refusal to marry, which he had testified to the sultan; and expressed herself much chagrined at his having occasioned his father so great a cause for anger. “Madam,” replied Camaralzaman, “do not, I entreat you, renew my grief on this affair; I fear, that in my present state of mind, I might be guilty of saying something disrespectful to you.” Fatima knew by this answer, that the wound was too recent to continue the subject; she therefore dropped it for the present.

Some time after this, Fatima thought she had met with an opportunity of renewing it, and with more prospect of success in obtaining a hearing. “My son,” said she, “if it be not painful to you, pray tell me what are the reasons that have given you so great an aversion to marriage. If you have none stronger than the art and wickedness of women, believe me, you could not have chosen any more weak or unreasonable. I will not undertake the defence of artful women, for that there are numbers of that description, I am well persuaded; but it is the most flagrant injustice to accuse the whole sex of this crime. Surely my son, you do not form your opinion from the few examples which your books mention, and who have, I confess, occasioned great disorder and confusion in the world; such, I will not attempt to justify; but why, on the other hand, do not you remark also, the many monarchs, sultans, and inferior princes, whose tyranny, barbarity, and cruelty excite the deepest horror in those histories, which I have read as well as yourself. For one woman, who has been guilty of such crimes, you will find a thousand of these barbarians and tyrants. And do you think the poor women who have the misfortune to be married to these wretches, and who are, perhaps, good and prudent wives, can be very happy?”

“Madam,” replied Camaralzaman, “I do not doubt, that there is in the world a great number of prudent, good, and virtuous women, of gentle dispositions and good morals. Would to God they all resembled you! But what deters me is the doubtful choice a man is obliged to make, when marrying; or rather the dread, that he is often deprived of the liberty of making that choice himself.

“Let us suppose,” continued he, “that I had consented to form a matrimonial engagement, as the sultan my father so impatiently wishes; what wife would he give me? a princess, in all probability, whom he would request of some neighbouring prince, and who would, no doubt, think it a great honor. Handsome or ugly, she must be received; but even supposing she excels every other princess in beauty, who can ensure that her mind will be equal to her person? That she will be gentle, obliging, affable, and engaging? that her conversation will not be frivolous; of dress, of ornaments, of appearance, and a thousand other trifles, which must create contempt in a man of good sense? In a word, that she is not proud, haughty, irascible, disdainful, and one who will ruin a whole kingdom by her frivolous expenses in dresses, jewels, trinkets, or in tasteless and empty magnificence.

“Now you see, madam, on one subject only, how many things there are to give rise to my antipathy to matrimony; but even if this princess be so perfect and so accomplished, that she is irreproachable on all these points, I have a great number of reasons still stronger than any I have expressed, to make me continue in the same opinion, and adhere to my resolution.”

“What, my son!” exclaimed Fatima, “can you add more objections to those you have already stated? I was going to answer you, and refute your arguments with one word.”--“That need not prevent you, madam,” replied the prince, “I shall probably have some reply to make to your answers.”

“I was going to say, my son,” resumed Fatima, “that it is easy for a prince, who should have the misfortune to marry a princess, such as you describe, to leave her, and also to adopt such measures as might prevent her ruining the state.”

“Well, madam,” said prince Camaralzaman, “and do you not consider what a cruel mortification it must be to a prince to be under the necessity of having recourse to such extremities? Is it not much better both for his peace of mind, and for his reputation, not to expose himself to it?”

“But, my son,” replied Fatima, “from the way you treat this matter, I conclude that you intend to be the last king of the race from which you are descended; and which has so gloriously filled the throne of the island of the children of Khaledan.”

“Madam,” continued the prince, “I have no wish of surviving the king my father. Even should I die before him, he ought not to be surprised, since there are so many examples of children dying before their parents. But it is always glorious for a race of kings to finish with a prince so worthy of being a sovereign as I should endeavour to be, by imitating my predecessors and him, with whom the line began.”

After this, Fatima frequently had conversations of the same nature with the prince, her son: and she left no means untried, by which she hoped to eradicate his aversion. But he confuted all the reasons she could produce, by others equally strong, to which she knew not what to reply; and he remained unshaken in his determination.

The year passed on, and prince Camaralzaman, to the great regret of the sultan Schahzaman, did not show the least appearance of having altered his sentiments. At length one day, when the grand council met, and the first vizier, the other viziers, the principal officers of the crown, and the generals of the army were assembled, the sultan thus addressed the prince: “It is now a long time, my son, since I expressed to you the anxious desire I have of seeing you married: and I expected from you a greater attention to the wishes of a father who required of you nothing but what was reasonable. After so long a resistance on your part, which has entirely exhausted my patience, I now repeat the same thing to you, in the presence of my council. It is not only, that by persisting in your refusal, you disoblige your father, but the welfare of my dominions requires your compliance, and all these nobles join with me in requesting it. Declare your sentiments before them, that from the answer you make me, I may know what measures to adopt.

Prince Camaralzaman answered with so little temper, or rather with so much warmth, that the sultan, justly irritated by the behaviour of his son before the full council, exclaimed, “What, undutiful son! have you the insolence to speak thus to your father and your sultan?” He immediately ordered him to be arrested by the officers present, and to be conducted to an ancient tower which had been long neglected, where he was confined, with only a bed and very little furniture, a few books, and one slave to attend him.

Camaralzaman, satisfied with having the liberty of amusing himself with his books, looked on his imprisonment with indifference. Towards evening, he washed himself, repeated his prayers, and after having read some chapters in the Koran with the same tranquillity as if he had been in his own apartment in the palace of the sultan, he lay down without extinguishing his lamp, which he left by his bed’s side, and fell asleep.

In this tower there was a well, which, during the day, formed a retreat for a fairy, called Maimounè, the daughter of Damriat, the king or chief of a legion of Genii. It was about midnight when Maimounè lightly darted to the top of the well, to prepare for her nightly excursion, as was her usual custom, and wander about the world, wherever curiosity might lead her. She was much surprised to see a light in the chamber of Camaralzaman. She entered it; and without being stopped by the slave, who was stationed at the door, she approached the bed, the magnificence of which attracted her attention, but her surprise was much increased, at observing that somebody was in it.

Camaralzaman’s face was half concealed by the covering of the bed. Maimounè raised it a little, and beheld the handsomest youth she had ever seen in any part of the habitable world, through all of which she had frequently traversed. “What brilliancy,” said she to herself, “or rather what a prodigy of beauty must those eyes display, when no longer concealed, as they now are, by such well-formed eye-lids! What cause can he have given to be treated in a manner so unworthy of his rank?” for she had already heard of his disgrace, and did not doubt who it was.

Maimounè could not cease admiring the beauty of prince Camaralzaman; at length, however, having gently kissed him on the cheek, and on the middle of his forehead, without waking him, she replaced the covering as it was before, and took her flight through the air. When she had risen very high towards the middle region, she was suddenly struck with the sound of wings, which inclined her to fly to the quarter from whence it came. On approaching she found it to be a Genius, who occasioned the noise; but one of those who had rebelled against God. Maimounè was, on the contrary, one of those, whom the great Solomon had compelled to acknowledge his power.

This Genius, who was named Danhasch, and who was the son of Schamhourasch, recognised Maimounè, though not without very great terror. In fact, he knew that she possessed considerable superiority over him, in consequence of her submission to God. He would fain, therefore, have avoided this meeting, but he found he was so close to her, that he must either encounter a battle, or submit.

Danhasch was the first to speak; “Good Maimounè,” said he, in a supplicating tone, “swear to me, by the great name of God, that you will not hurt me, and I promise you on my part not to annoy you.”

“Cursed Genius,” cried Maimounè, “what harm canst thou do to me? I fear thee not. But I will grant thee this favor, and I make the oath thou requirest. Now tell me whence thou comest, what thou hast seen, and what thou hast done this night?”--“Beautiful lady,” replied Danhasch, “we meet opportunely for you to hear something wonderful. Since you wish it, I will tell you that I come from the extremity of China, where its coast overlooks the farthest islands of this hemisphere. But, charming Maimounè,” interrupted Danhasch, who trembled with fear in the presence of this fairy, and had some difficulty in speaking before her, “you promise at least to forgive me, and to permit me to depart, when I shall have satisfied your curiosity?”

“Go on, go on, wretch,” replied Maimounè, “and fear nothing. Dost thou think I am as perfidious as thyself, and that I am capable of breaking the terrible oath I have taken? take care only to relate nothing but what is true; otherwise I will cut thy wings, and shall treat thee as thou deservest.”

Danhasch felt a little relieved by these words of Maimounè; “my dear lady,” continued he, “I will tell you nothing but what is very true; have but the goodness to listen to me. The country of China, from whence I come, is one of the largest and most powerful kingdoms in the world; and attached to it are the most extreme isles of this hemisphere, of which I spoke just now. The present king is named Gaiour, who has an only daughter, the most beautiful creature that ever was beheld on earth, since this world has been a world. Neither you, nor I, nor the genii of your party, nor of mine, nor all mankind put together, can find proper terms, words sufficiently expressive, or eloquence suited to convey the most distant idea of what she is in reality. Her hair is of a fine brown, and of such a length, that it reaches below her feet, and in such abundance, that when she wears it in curls on her head, it resembles a fine bunch of grapes, of which the fruit is of an extraordinary size. Under her hair appears her well-formed forehead, as smooth as the finest polished mirror; her eyes even with it, a brilliant black, and full of fire; the nose, neither too long nor too short; the mouth small and tinted with vermillion; her teeth are like two rows of pearls, which surpass the finest in whiteness; and when she opens her mouth to speak, she utters a sweet and agreeable voice, and expresses herself in words which prove the liveliness of her wit. The most beautiful alabaster is not whiter than her bosom. In short, by this feeble sketch, you may easily suppose, that there is not a more perfect beauty in the world.

“Whoever is not well acquainted with the king her father would imagine, from the various proofs of affection he is continually giving her, that he is enamoured of her. The most tender lover was never known to do so much for the most beloved mistress, as he has done for his daughter. In fact, the most violent jealousy never invented so much, as his care to render her inaccessible to every one, except the fortunate person who is destined to marry her; and that she might not feel the retreat irksome, to which he has confined her, he has had seven palaces built for her, which surpass in magnificence every thing that was ever heard of.

“The first palace is composed of rock crystal, the second of bronze, the third of the finest steel, the fourth of another kind of bronze, more precious than either the first or steel, the fifth of touchstone, the sixth of silver, and the seventh of massive gold. He has furnished them in the most sumptuous style, each in a manner appropriate to the materials of which it is built. Nor has he forgotten to embellish the gardens, which are attached to them, with every thing that can delight the senses; smooth lawns, or pastures enamelled with flowers; fountains, canals, cascades; groves thickly planted with trees, through which the rays of the sun never penetrate, and all differently disposed in each garden. In short, King Gaiour’s paternal love alone has induced him to incur this enormous expence.

“The fame of this princess’s incomparable beauty has induced the most powerful of the neighbouring kings to demand her in marriage by the most solemn embassies. The King of China received all their proposals with the same degree of ceremony; but as he had determined not to marry the princess except with her own entire consent; and as she did not approve of any of the offers made her, the ambassadors returned unsuccessful with respect to the purport of their mission, yet all highly gratified by the civilities and attentions they had received.

“Sire,” would the princess say to the king of China, “you wish to marry me, and you think by so doing to make me happy. I know your motive, and feel obliged to you for your kindness. But where should I find such superb palaces and such delicious gardens, unless in the territories of your majesty? Added to which, by your goodness, I am under no restraint, and I receive the same honors as are paid to your own person. These are advantages which I should not enjoy in any other part of the world, whatever prince I might be united to. Husbands ever will be masters, and I am not of a disposition to brook command.”

“After several fruitless embassies, one at last arrived from a king, who was richer and more powerful than any who had before applied. The king of China proposed him to his daughter, and enlarged on all the advantages which would result from such an alliance. The princess entreated him to dispense with her compliance, urging the same reasons as on former occasions.

“He pressed her to accede; but instead of obeying, she forgot the respect due to the king, her father, and angrily replied, ‘Sire, speak to me no more of this, nor of any other marriage; if you persist in your importunities, I will plunge a dagger in my heart, and thus free myself from them.’

“The king of China, extremely irritated against the princess, replied, ‘My daughter, you are mad, and as such I must treat you.’ In fact, he had her confined to an apartment in one of his palaces, and allowed her only ten old women to associate with and attend on her, the principal of whom was her nurse. Then, that the neighbouring kings, who had sent embassies to request her, might not entertain any farther prospects of obtaining her, he dispatched envoys to announce to them all her absolute determination against marriage. And as he supposed that she really had lost her senses, he commanded the same envoys to make known in each court, that, if there were any physician sufficiently skilful to restore her, he should obtain her in marriage as a recompense.

“Beautiful Maimounè,” continued Danhasch, “things are at present in this situation, and I do not fail to go regularly every day to contemplate this wonderful beauty, whom I should grieve to injure in the slightest degree, notwithstanding my natural malicious inclinations. I entreat you to come and see her; it is well worth the trouble. When you are convinced by your own eyes that I do not tell an untruth, I am sure you will feel obliged to me for having shown you a princess, who has no equal in beauty. I am ready to conduct you to her, and you have only to command.”