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.