to be; and they were more than once tempted to abandon their
enterprise. As soon as either perceived that the other was tired, he
stopped; and they took breath together. Sometimes they were both so
fatigued, that all their strength failed them; they then gave up all
thoughts of proceeding, and expected to die through weariness, and
the consequences of exertion. Then again in a little time, as their
strength returned, they acquired fresh courage, animated each other,
and resumed their way.
In spite, however, of all their diligence, their perseverance, and
their exertions, they were unable to reach the summit while it was
day. Night overtook them, and prince Assad found himself so fatigued
and worn out, that he suddenly stopped. “My dear brother,” he
said to Amgiad, “I can go no farther; but must die in this
spot.”--“Let us rest ourselves here,” replied Amgiad, stopping
at the same time, “as long as you please, and get fresh courage
and strength. You may observe, that we have not much farther to
ascend; and the moon will favor our progress.”
After having rested for above half an hour, Assad made a fresh
effort; and they arrived at the summit of the mountain, where they
again sat down for some time. Amgiad was the first to rise, and
going a little forward, he observed a tree at a short distance. He
went up, and found it to be a pomegranate-tree, the branches of
which were almost borne down with the weight of the fruit. A
fountain, or small stream, also washed the foot of the tree. He
instantly ran to inform Assad of this good news, and led him to the
border of the fountain under the tree. They refreshed themselves
very much by eating a pomegranate, and then fell asleep.
The next morning when the princes awoke, Amgiad said to Assad,
“Let us proceed, brother, on our way; I see this mountain is much
less rugged and steep on this side than it was on the other, and we
have now only to descend.” Assad, however, was so fatigued with
the labors of the preceding day, that it required at least three
days for him entirely to recover. They passed this time in
conversation, as they had done on similar occasions; all their
discourse, however, constantly related to the excessive and
unnatural passions of their mothers, which had reduced them to so
deplorable a state. “But,” said they, “if God has declared
himself in our favor in so evident a manner, we ought to bear our
misfortunes with patience, and to console ourselves with the hope
that they will be one day at an end.”
The three days passed away, and the brothers then pursued their
journey. As the mountain on this side did not form one regular
descent, but was broken by some considerable surface of even ground
several times before they could arrive at its base, it took them
five days to reach the plain. They at length discovered a large
city, the sight of which exceedingly delighted them, “Do you not
think, my brother,” said Amgiad to Assad, “that it would be
better for you to remain in some place without the town, where, on
my return, I shall be able to find you, while I go and learn in what
country we are, what is the name of the place, and what language is
spoken there? When I come back, too, I will bring some fresh
provisions with me. It is, therefore, I think, much the best that we
do not go together, in case there should be any danger.”--“I
highly approve of your opinion,” replied Assad, “it is both
prudent and wise; but, my dear brother, if one of us must separate
himself from the other for this purpose, I will never suffer you to
be the person; you must permit me to undertake it. What agony should
I not endure, were any accident to happen to you!”--“But,
brother,” answered Amgiad, “ought not I to fear the very same
thing on your account which you do for me? I entreat you, therefore,
to suffer me to go; and do you wait patiently for me in this
place.”--“I will never permit it,” said Assad, “and if any
thing should happen to me, I shall, at least, have the consolation
of knowing that you are in safety.” Amgiad was at length obliged
to consent, and he sat down under some trees at the foot of the
mountain.
Prince Assad took some money out of the purse, of which Amgiad had
the charge, and continued his journey to the town. He had not walked
far in the first street he came to, before he met with a venerable
looking old man, well dressed, and with a cane in his hand. As he
did not doubt but that he was a person of some consequence, and,
therefore, one not likely to deceive him, he accosted him. “I
shall be much obliged to you, sir,” said Assad, “if you will
inform me which is the way to the market-place.”
The old man looked at the prince with a smiling countenance, and
said to him, “My son, you seem to be a stranger; otherwise surely
you would not put that question to me.”--“Yes, sir,” replied
Assad, “I am indeed a stranger.”--“You are welcome,” added
the old man, “and our country ought to esteem itself highly
honored, that a young man of such an appearance as yours, takes the
trouble to come and visit it. Pray inform me what business takes you
to the public market-place?”--“Sir,” replied Assad, “it is
near two months since my brother and I set out from a very distant
country. We have been all this time on our journey, and arrived here
only yesterday. My brother was so much fatigued with the length of
the way, that he remains at the bottom of the mountain, while I am
come to inquire about, and purchase some provisions for us both.”
“You could not possibly have arrived, my son,” replied the old
man, “more opportunely, and I heartily rejoice at it, from my
regard for you and your brother. I have this very day given a great
entertainment to many of my friends, and there is a great quantity
of provisions left untouched by any one. Come home, therefore, with
me, and I will give you abundance to eat, and when you shall have
satisfied yourself, I will add as much more as will be sufficient
for yourself and brother for many days. You have no occasion,
therefore, to take the trouble of going and spending your money in
the market; travellers, you know, have seldom too much. Besides,
while you are satisfying your hunger, I will inform you of all the
peculiarities and customs of our city, which I am better able to do
than most people. A person like me, who has been invested with all
the most honorable offices with distinction and credit to himself,
ought not to be ignorant of them. You may, indeed, think yourself
particularly fortunate in having addressing yourself to me, in
preference to any other person; for I am truly sorry to say, that
all our inhabitants are not like myself; some of them, I assure you,
are very wicked. Come then, and I will show you the difference
between an honest man, as I am, and those who boast of their
character without possessing any qualification to entitle them to a
good one.”--“I am infinitely obliged to you,” answered prince
Assad, “for the kindness and good intentions you express for me. I
put myself entirely under your protection, and am ready to go
wherever you please.”
The old man continued walking on, with the prince by his side,
laughing in his sleeve all the time; and for fear Assad should
perceive it, he conversed with him on many subjects, that he might
continue to have the same good opinion of him he at first had
formed. Among other things, he said, “I must confess to you, that
it is a fortunate circumstance, that you addressed me in preference
to any other person. I thank God that I have met you; you will know
why I say this so earnestly when you have got to my house.”
The old man at length arrived at home, and introduced Assad into a
large room, where he saw forty old men, sitting in a circle, round a
lighted fire, to which they were paying their adorations. Prince
Assad felt not less horror at thus seeing human beings, so far
deprived of their reason, as to offer that reverence to the creature
in preference to the Creator, than he experienced fear at seeing
himself so deceived, and in such an abominable and wicked place.
While the prince stood quite motionless in the spot where he was,
the artful old man, who had brought him, saluted the other forty.
“Fervent and devout adorers of fire,” said he to them, “this
is a most happy day for us. Where is Gazban?” added he, “let him
come in.” As these words were spoken in a loud tone of voice, a
black who heard them, without the room, immediately made his
appearance. This black, who was in fact Gasban, no sooner perceived
the disconsolate Assad, than he understood for what purpose he was
called. He ran towards him, and with a blow that he gave him,
knocked him down; he then bound his arms with the most surprising
quickness. He had no sooner done this, than the old man called out,
“Carry him below, and do not fail to tell my daughters, Bostana
and Cavama, to take particular care, and give him enough of the
bastinado every day, with only one piece of bread night and morning
for him to subsist upon. This will be quite enough for his mere
existence till the departure of the vessel for the blue sea, and the
mountain of fire; we will offer him as a most acceptable sacrifice
to our divinity.”
The old man had no sooner given these cruel orders, that Gazban
seized Assad in the most rough and brutal manner, and made him go
down under the room, and after leading him through several doors,
they came to a dungeon, into which they descended by twenty steps,
and in which the black fastened him by his legs to a large and very
heavy chain. As soon as he had done this, Gazban went to inform the
old man’s daughters; their father had, however, already spoken to
them himself. “My daughters,” he said to them, “go down below,
and bestow the bastinado in the manner you know that every
mussulman, whom I make captive, ought to receive it; and do not
spare him. You cannot, by any better means, evince, that you are
true worshippers of fire.”
Bostana and Cavama, having been brought up with the greatest
detestation of all mussulmen, accepted this office with joy. They
immediately went down to the dungeon, and having stripped Assad,
they beat him so inhumanly, that he was covered with blood, and at
last fainted. After this merciless action, they placed a piece of
bread and a jar of water by his side, and left him. It was a long
time before the prince returned to his senses, and he then only shed
torrents of tears, in deploring his miserable fate; consoling
himself, however, with the idea, that this misfortune had not
happened to his brother Amgiad.
In the mean time, prince Amgiad waited for his brother at the foot
of the mountain till sun-set with the greatest impatience. When he
found, that one, two, three, and even four hours of the night were
gone, and that Assad did not make his appearance, he began to be in
the greatest agitation, and even despair. He passed the night in
this most distressing and anxious state, and as soon as day
appeared, he set out towards the town. He was at first very much
astonished at seeing so few mussulmen. He stopped the first he met,
and asked him what was the name of the place. He was informed, it
was called the city of the Magi, because the Magi, who were
idolaters of fire, resided in great numbers in it, and that there
were very few mussulmen. He inquired also how far they reckoned it
to the Isle of Ebony; when he was told for answer, that by sea it
was about four months voyage, and a year’s journey by land. The
person, to whom he had addressed himself, after having satisfied him
in these particulars, abruptly left him, and continued his road, as
he was in haste.
Amgiad, who had not been more than six weeks in coming from the Isle
of Ebony with his brother Assad, could not comprehend how they had
come so far in so short a time, unless it were by enchantment, or
that the road over the mountain which they had traversed was much
shorter, though not at all frequented, on account of its difficulty
and danger. In walking about the town, he stopped at the shop of a
tailor, whom, by his dress, he knew to be a mussulman, as he had
also known the former person whom he had accosted. After having made
his compliments to him, he sat down and informed him of the cause of
the great distress he was in.
When prince Amgiad had finished, the tailor said to him, “If your
brother has fallen into the hands of any one of the Magi, you may
make up your mind never to see him again. He is gone past recovery;
and I advise you to console yourself, and only to endeavour to
preserve yourself from the same disgraceful fate. To assist you in
this, you may, if you please, remain with me; and I will inform you
of all the cunning and artful tricks of the Magi, in order that you
may be upon your guard against them, when you go out.” Amgiad was
greatly afflicted at the loss of his brother. He accepted the
tailor’s offer, and thanked him a thousand times for the kindness
he showed him.
This prince did not go out of the house for a whole month except in
company with the tailor. At the end of this time he risked going
alone to the bath. As he returned, he passed through a street, where
he did not see a single person, except a lady whom he met, and who
came up to him.
This lady, observing him to be a handsome and well-made young man,
and fresh from the bath, lifted up her veil, and asked him with a
smiling countenance where he was going; casting at the same time a
most enticing glance on him. Amgiad was unable to resist the
appearance of so many charms, and in reply said, “I am going to my
own house, or to yours, whichever you like best.”--“Sir,”
answered the lady, with an engaging smile, “ladies of my rank and
disposition never carry men home with them, they only accompany them
to their houses.”
Amgiad was in the greatest embarrassment at this answer, which he
did not in the least expect. He was afraid of taking the liberty to
carry her to the house of his host, who would be much scandalized at
it, and he should thus run the risk also of losing his protection,
which was so necessary in a town where so many precautions were to
be taken. The little experience, also, he had in the town, made him
ignorant of any place to which he might carry her; he could not,
however, resolve to let his good fortune escape him. In this
uncertain state he determined to leave every thing to chance; and
without answering the lady a word, he went on, and she followed him.
Prince Amgiad walked on for a long time from street to street, from
one cross way to another, and from square to square. They were at
last both greatly fatigued with walking so much, when they came down
a street, which was terminated by a large door, belonging to a house
of considerable appearance, with a bench, or seat, on each side of
it. Amgiad sat down on one to take breath, and the lady, even more
tired than he, sat down on the other.
“Is this your house?” said she to prince Amgiad, as soon as he
was seated.--“You see it is, madam,” replied the prince.--“Why
do you not then open the door?” added she, “What do you wait
for?”--“My charming creature,” answered Amgiad, “it is
because I have not the key. I left it with my slave, to whom I gave
some commission; and he is not yet returned from executing it. And
as I ordered him after that to go and purchase some provisions for a
good dinner, I am afraid that we shall have to wait a considerable
time.”
The difficulty in which the prince found himself in thus endeavoring
to complete his adventure, began to damp his passion, and make him
repent of his enterprise. He therefore made use of that evasive
pretence, in hopes that the lady would take offence at it, and in
her anger would leave him, to go and seek her fortune in some other
place; but he was mistaken. “What an impertinent slave is
yours,” said she, “to make you wait thus; I will chastise him
myself as he deserves, if you do not punish him well when he comes
back. It is not indeed quite the thing for me to remain here alone
at the door with a man.” Having said this, she got up, and took a
large stone, in order to break the lock, which, according to the
custom of that country, was made of wood, and not very strong.
Amgiad knew not what to do, nor how to prevent her intention.
“Madam,” he cried, “what are you going to do? Do me the favor
to have a little more patience.”--“What are you afraid of?”
said she. “Is not the house your own? There is no great harm in
breaking a wooden lock; and its place is easily supplied.” She
then broke the lock; and as soon as the door was open, she entered
and walked on before. When the prince saw the house broken open, he
gave himself up for lost. He hesitated whether he should go in, or
endeavour to make his escape in order to free himself from a danger
which seemed to him to be almost inevitable: and he was on the point
of determining upon the latter plan, when the lady came back and
found he was not going in. “What are you about,” she said,
“that you do not come into your own house?”--“I am looking,
madam,” he answered, “to see if my slave is returning; because I
am afraid we shall find nothing ready.”--“Come, come,” added
she, “we can wait much better within, than standing here in
expectation of his arrival.”
The prince, though much against his will, then went into a very
large and handsome paved court. From this they ascended by a few
steps to a grand vestibule, where both he and the lady perceived a
large open room handsomely furnished, and one table set out with
numerous excellent dishes; another, covered with a variety of fine
fruits; and a sideboard, well supplied with wine. When Amgiad saw
these preparations, he no longer doubted that his destruction was
near at hand. “It is all over with you, poor Amgiad,” said he to
himself: “you will not long survive your dear brother Assad.”
The lady, on the contrary, was delighted with this agreeable sight.
“What, sir!” she cried, “you were fearful that nothing was
ready; and you may now perceive, that your slave has even exceeded
his orders, and done more than you thought? But, if I do not deceive
myself, these preparations are for some other lady, and not intended
for me. Well, never mind; let her come; I promise you, not to be
jealous at it. The only favor that I ask of you is, that you will
suffer me to wait upon you both.”
Amgiad could not help laughing at the pleasantry of the lady,
notwithstanding the melancholy and painful sensations he felt.
“Madam,” said he, totally absorbed in the afflicting reflections
that preyed upon his mind, “I assure you, that you are much
mistaken in your conjectures: this is only my common fare.” As he
could not resolve to sit down at a table that had not been prepared
for him, he was going to a sofa, but the lady prevented him. “What
are you about?” she cried; “after having gone into the bath, you
ought to be almost famished with hunger. Come, let us sit down at
the table, and eat and enjoy ourselves.”
The prince was obliged to do as the lady liked. They therefore sat
down, and began to eat. After the first mouthful or two, she took a
bottle and glass, and poured out some wine. She drank the first
glass to the health of Amgiad. Having done this, she filled the same
glass again, and presented it to the prince, who did the same.
The more he reflected upon the adventure, the more astonished was he
at finding not only that the master of the house did not make his
appearance, but that not a single domestic was to be discovered,
although the house itself was so handsome, and so richly furnished.
“My happiness and good fortune will be extraordinary indeed,”
said he to himself, “if the master should not make his appearance
at all, and I should safely get out of this intrigue.” While these
thoughts continued to be uppermost in his mind, as well as others of
a more distressing nature, the lady continued to eat and to drink,
from time to time obliging him also to do the same. They were
already come to the fruit, when the master of the house arrived.
It was, in fact, the master of the horse to the king of the Magi,
and whose name was Bahadar. This house belonged to him, but he had
another, in which he commonly lived. He only made use of this, to
receive three or four chosen friends in, and for this purpose every
thing was brought from his other; and this was exactly what had been
done that day by some of his people, who had left it only a few
moments before Amgiad and the lady came there.
Bahadar himself arrived without any attendants, and in disguise, as
was his usual custom, and he came rather before the time on which he
had appointed to meet his friends. He was not a little surprised at
finding the door of his house forced open. He went in, therefore,
without making any noise; and as he heard some people talking and
enjoying themselves in the eating room, he crept round by the wall,
and put his head half into the room, to see who they were. And as he
observed only a young man and a female, who were eating at the
table, which had been prepared for himself and his friends, and that
the mischief they had done was not so great as he expected, he
resolved to divert himself with them.
The lady, who had her back turned towards the door, did not perceive
Bahadar; but Amgiad saw him the very first instant, while he was in
the act of drinking. At sight of him, he instantly changed colour,
and fixed his eyes upon Bahadar, who made him a sign not to say a
word, but to come and speak to him. Amgiad drank his glass, and got
up. “Where are you going?” inquired the lady. “Remain here a
moment, I beg of you, madam,” replied he, “I will be back
instantly: a trifling business obliges me to go out.” The prince
found Bahadar waiting for him in the vestibule; and they both went
down into the court, that the lady might not hear their conversation.
When they were got into the court, Bahadar asked the prince by what
means he came with the lady to his house; and why he had forced the
door? “Sir,” replied Amgiad, “I must in your eyes appear very
much to blame: but if you will have the patience to hear my story, I
hope you will be convinced of my innocence.” He then went on, and
related to Bahadar, in a few words, every thing as it exactly was,
without disguising a single circumstance: and to prove to him that
he was unable to commit so disgraceful an action as that of breaking
open a house, he did not even conceal from him that he was a prince,
or his motives for coming to the city of the Magi.
Bahadar, who was passionately fond of foreigners, was highly
delighted at having an opportunity of obliging one of so high a rank
and illustrious a quality as Amgiad. In fact, his air, his manners,
his chosen and correct conversation, left no doubt of the perfect
truth of his account. “Prince,” said he, “I am excessively
happy, at thus finding an occasion of obliging you, from so
accidental, singular, and pleasant a meeting as the present. So far
from disturbing your festivity, I shall take a great pleasure in
contributing all in my power to your satisfaction. Before I inform
you any further on this subject, I must tell you, that I am master
of the horse to the king, and that my name is Bahadar. I have
another house, in which I commonly live, and this is the place where
I sometimes come to enjoy myself without any ceremony with my
friends. You have made your lady believe that you have a slave,
though in fact you have none. I will be that slave; and that I may
not distress you by this proposal, nor you wish to excuse yourself
from having it so, I repeat again to you, that I particularly wish
it, and you shall hereafter know my motives for this conduct.
“Go then, and again take your place, and continue to divert
yourself; and when, after some time, I shall return, and shall
present myself before you, dressed like a slave, quarrel well with
me, and do not be afraid even of striking me. I will attend upon you
all the time you are at table, and even till night. You shall both
sleep here; and to-morrow morning you shall send the lady back in
the most honorable manner. After this, I will endeavor to render you
some services of greater consequence. Go, then, and lose no time.”
Amgiad wished to make some reply, but Bahadar would not suffer it,
and compelled him to go back directly to the lady.