than the friends whom Bahadar had invited arrived. He requested
them, as a favor, to excuse him from entertaining them at that time;
giving them to understand, that they would approve of his conduct
when they should know the cause, and which they should be informed
of the first opportunity. They were no sooner gone, than he went
out, and procured the habit of a slave, in which he dressed himself.
The prince rejoined the lady, highly delighted at having thus
fortunately stumbled, as it were, upon a house belonging to a person
of so much consequence, and one who treated him in this unpleasant
situation so kindly. “Madam,” said he, as he again sat down to
the table, “I beg you a thousand pardons for my incivility, and
the bad humor in which I felt myself on account of my slave’s
absence. The rascal shall pay for it well; I will let him see, that
he shall not be absent so long a time with impunity.”--“Do not
let this disturb you,” replied the lady, “it will only be so
much the worse for him. If he commits any faults, he will suffer for
it. Trouble yourself no more about him, but let us only think of
enjoying ourselves.”
They continued at table with much more pleasure and delight than
before, because Amgiad was no longer uneasy at any consequence that
might have arisen from the indiscretion of the lady, who ought not
to have forced the door, although it had even belonged to Amgiad. He
did not now feel himself in a worse humor than the lady herself; and
while they continued to drink more than they eat, they amused
themselves with saying a thousand pleasant and humorous things, till
the arrival of Bahadar, in his disguise.
He came in like a slave, who was much mortified at finding his
master with company before he returned. He immediately threw himself
at his feet, and kissing the ground, begged his pardon for being so
late. And when he got up, he stood still with his hands crossed, and
his eyes cast down, waiting for what he was commanded to do.
“Impudent fellow,” cried Amgiad, in a tone and manner of voice
as if he were in a great passion, “tell me, if there is in the
whole world a worse slave than yourself? Where have you been? What
have you been about, not to come back till this time of
day?”--“My lord,” replied Bahadar, “I entreat your pardon; I
am now come from executing the orders you gave me; and I did not
think you would return so early.” “You are a rascal,” said the
prince, “and I will give you a good beating, to teach you not to
tell falsehoods, and be so negligent of your duty.” He then got
up, took a stick, and gave him three or four very slight blows,
after which he returned to the table.
The lady, however, was not satisfied with this trifling punishment.
She got up in her turn, and taking the stick, she beat Bahadar so
unmercifully, that the tears came into his eyes. Amgiad was
excessively hurt at the liberty which she allowed herself; and the
manner in which she had treated one of the first officers of the
king. He kept calling out that she had beaten him quite enough, but
she nevertheless went on striking him. “Let me alone,” she
cried, “I wish to satisfy myself, and teach him not to be absent
so long another time.” She continued to beat him with so much
violence, that Amgiad was forced to get up, and take the stick out
of her hands; which he had some difficulty in doing. When she found
she could not longer beat him, she sat down in her place, and kept
saying a thousand abusive things to him.
Bahadar dried his tears, and remained standing behind them to pour
out their wine. As soon as he saw that they had finished both eating
and drinking, he took away all the things, cleaned out the room, put
every thing in its proper place; and when night came on, he lighted
up the candles. Every time that he went out, or came in, the lady
did not fail to scold at, threaten, and abuse him; all of which was
done to the great discontent of Amgiad, who would willingly have
prevented her, but was afraid of saying a word. When it was the
proper time to retire to rest, Bahadar prepared a bed for them upon
the sofa, and then went to another apartment, where he, in a very
short time, fell asleep through the great fatigue he had undergone.
Amgiad and the lady continued in conversation for at least half an
hour longer; and before they retired to rest, the latter having
occasion to pass through the vestibule, heard Bahadar, who was
already fast asleep, snore very loud. As she had observed that there
was a scimitar hanging up in the room where they had been feasting,
she went back and said to Amgiad, “I beg of you to do one thing
for love of me.”--“What can I do to serve you?” replied the
prince.--“Oblige me, by taking this scimitar,” added she, “and
go and cut off the head of your slave.”
This proposal excited the greatest astonishment in the prince; and
he had no doubt, but that the quantity of wine she had drank was the
cause of it. “Madam,” he replied, “let us not regard my slave;
he is not worthy of your thoughts: I have punished him, and so have
you also; let this be sufficient. Besides, I am very well satisfied
with him upon the whole, as he is not in general accustomed to be
guilty of these faults.”--“That is of no consequence to me,”
replied the enraged female, “I wish the rascal dead, and if he is
not to be killed by your hands, he shall by mine.” Having said
this, she took up the scimitar, drew it from the scabbard, and ran
out, to put her diabolical design in execution.
Amgiad followed and overtook her in the vestibule, “You must be
satisfied, madam,” he cried, “since you insist upon it. I am,
however, determined, that no one but myself shall kill my slave.”
As soon as she had given him the scimitar, he said, “Follow me,
and do not make any noise for fear of waking him.” They went into
the chamber where Bahadar was; but, instead of aiming the blow at
him, Amgiad directed it at the lady, whose head fell upon Bahadar.
If the noise made by the action of cutting off the lady’s head
would not have disturbed his sleep, the head itself gave him a
sufficient blow to rouse him. Astonished at seeing Amgiad standing
by him with the bloody scimitar in his hand, and the headless body
of the female upon the ground, Bahadar eagerly inquired the meaning
of all this. The prince related every thing to him exactly as it had
passed, and in conclusion, he added, “To prevent this enraged
creature from taking your life, I could discover no other sure
method than destroying her own.”
“Sir,” replied Bahadar, impressed with the greatest gratitude,
“persons of your rank and generous character are not capable of
giving aid to any actions of so wicked a nature. You are my
preserver, and I cannot sufficiently thank you.” So great was his
sense of the obligation, that he instantly embraced him. “Before
the day breaks,” said he, “this body must be carried out. I will
undertake to do this.” Amgiad, however, opposed it: and said that
he would take that charge upon himself, as he had been the cause of
her death. “A stranger in this place, like you, will not be so
well able to manage it,” replied Bahadar. “Leave it to me, and
do you retire to rest. If I do not return before day-break, you may
be assured that the watch has surprised me. For fear this should
happen, I will now make over to you, in writing, this house, and all
it contains, and you may live here at your ease.”
As soon as Bahadar had written what was sufficient to transfer the
house to Amgiad, and had put this deed of gift into his hands, he
took the lady’s body and head, and inclosed them in a sack. He
then threw it across his shoulders, and walked along, from street to
street, towards the sea. He had not, however, proceeded very far,
before he encountered the officer of the police, who was going his
rounds in person. His attendants stopped Bahadar, and, opening the
sack, discovered the body and head of the murdered lady. The
magistrate, who knew the master of the horse notwithstanding his
disguise, carried him home with him; as he durst not put a person of
his high rank and dignity to death, without acquainting the king
with it. The next morning, therefore, he took Bahadar into the royal
presence. The king had no sooner been informed, from the report of
the officer, of this cruel action, which, as appeared from all the
circumstances, Bahadar had been guilty of, than he loaded him with
abuse. “Is this the way,” he cried, “that you murder my
subjects, in order to plunder them, and then throw their bodies into
the sea, to prevent the discovery of your tyranny? Let them be freed
from such a monster, and hang him.”
Notwithstanding the conscious innocence of Bahadar, he received the
sentence of death with perfect resignation, and said not a word in
his own justification. The judge reconducted him to prison, and
while the gibbet was preparing, he sent criers to publish in all the
quarters of the city, the justice, which was going to be executed at
noon, on the grand master of the horse, for having committed murder.
Prince Amgiad, who ineffectually waited for Bahadar, was in
inexpressible consternation, when he heard the crier proclaiming
this sentence from the house in which he was. “If any one is to
die for the death of so wicked a woman,” said he to himself, “it
is not Bahadar who should suffer, but myself; and I cannot bear that
the innocent should be punished for the guilty.” Without further
deliberation, he went immediately to the spot, where the execution
was to take place; and mingled with the crowd, which was collecting
from all parts.
As soon as Amgiad saw the judge make his appearance, leading Bahadar
to the gibbet, he went and presented himself before him: “My
lord,” said he, “I come to declare to you, and assure you, that
the master of the horse, whom you are going to lead to execution, is
quite innocent of the death of the lady for which he is to suffer.
It was I who committed this crime, if a crime indeed it can be
called, to deprive a detestable woman of life, who was on the point
of murdering the master of the horse; the thing happened thus.”
When prince Amgiad had informed the judge of the manner in which the
lady had accosted him on his coming out of the bath; of her being
the cause of his breaking into the house of Bahadar, and of all that
had passed, until he found himself obliged to cut off her head to
save the life of Bahadar, the judge suspended the execution, and
took them both before the king.
The monarch desired to be informed of the whole affair by Amgiad
himself; and in order to exculpate himself, as well as the master of
the horse the better, he took advantage of the opportunity to relate
the whole of his history, together with that of prince Assad, his
brother, from the beginning up to the present time.
When the prince had concluded his narrative, the king said to him,
“I am very much pleased, prince, that this affair has afforded me
the opportunity of becoming acquainted with you: I not only grant
you your life and pardon, together with that of the master of the
horse, whose good intention towards you I commend and admire, and
whom I re-establish in his office; but I also confer on you the
dignity of grand vizier, to console you for the unjust, although
excusable treatment you have experienced from the king, your father.
As for prince Assad, I give you free permission to exercise all the
authority you are invested with, to discover where he is.”
After Amgiad had thanked the king of the city of the Magi, and
entered into his office of grand vizier, he made use of every method
he could devise to find the prince, his brother. He proclaimed, by
means of the public criers, in all quarters of the city, the promise
of a considerable reward to any one who should bring Assad to him,
or even give him information where he might be found. He employed
people to make inquiries in all parts; but notwithstanding all his
researches, he could obtain no intelligence of him.
Assad, in the mean time, was constantly chained down in the dungeon,
where he had been confined through the artifice of the old man; and
Bostana and Cavama, his daughters, continued to treat him in the
same cruel and inhuman manner. The solemn festival of the idolaters
of fire drew near: the vessel, which usually sailed to the mountain
of fire, was equipped for that purpose, and a captain, named Behram,
who was a zealous promoter of the religion of the Magi, undertook to
lade it with merchandise. When it was ready to put to sea, Behram
contrived for Assad to be placed in a case half full of merchandise,
leaving sufficient space between the planks to admit air for him to
breathe; and then had the case let down into the hold of the ship.
Before the vessel set sail, the grand vizier Amgiad, who had been
informed that the worshippers of fire made it an annual custom to
sacrifice a mussulman on the fiery mountain, and that Assad, who had
probably fallen into their hands, might be the destined victim of
this bloody ceremony, wished to inspect the vessel. He went in
person, and ordered all the seamen and passengers to come on deck,
while his people searched the vessel; but Assad was too well
concealed to be discovered.
The search being concluded, the ship left the harbour, and when it
was in the open sea, Behram took Assad out of his case, but kept him
confined by a chain; fearing, that as he was not ignorant of the
fate to which he was destined, he might, in despair, throw himself
headlong into the sea.
After some days sail, the wind, which had hitherto been favorable,
became suddenly contrary; and increased to such a violent degree,
that it at length terminated in a furious tempest. The vessel not
only lost its track, but Behram and the pilot did not know where
they were; and were fearful every moment of dashing on a rock, and
going to pieces. During the height of the storm, they discovered
land, and Behram knew it to be the situation of the harbour and
capital of queen Margiana, which occasioned him great vexation and
sorrow.
The fact was, that queen Margiana, who was a mussulman, professed a
mortal enmity to the idolaters of fire. She not only did not
tolerate one in her dominions, but she would not even suffer any of
their vessels to come into her port.
It was, however, totally out of the power of Behram to avoid making
for the harbour of this city, unless he had exposed himself to the
danger of being cast away on the dangerous rocks which lined the
shore. In this extremity, he held a council with his pilot and
seamen: “My lads,” said he, “you see the necessity we are
reduced to. Of two things we must choose one; we must either be
swallowed up by the waves, or take refuge with queen Margiana; but
you well know her implacable hatred to our religion, and to all who
profess it. She will not fail to seize our ship, and condemn us all
to death, without mercy. I see but one remedy, which may perhaps
succeed. I propose, that we take off the chains from the mussulman
who is with us, and dress him as a slave. When queen Margiana sends
for me to appear before her, and asks me what I trade in, I will
tell her that I am a merchant who sells slaves, that I have sold all
I had, with the exception of one only, whom I have reserved for
myself, as a sort of secretary, because he can read and write. She
will desire to see him; and as he is well-looking, and moreover is
of her religion, she will be moved with compassion for him, and
will, no doubt, propose to purchase him of me, on condition,
however, that we shall remain in her harbour until the weather is
fair. If you can mention a better plan, speak, and I will hear
you.” The pilot and seamen applauded it very much, and it was put
in practice.
Behram ordered prince Assad’s chains to be taken off; and had him
neatly dressed as a slave who was in the office of writer, or
secretary, to his ship, in which character he wished him to appear
before the queen. Assad was scarcely dressed and prepared for his
part, when the vessel entered the harbour, and cast anchor. As soon
as queen Margiana, whose palace was situated near the sea, so that
the garden extended along the shore, had perceived the ship at
anchor in the port, she sent to the captain to come to her; and,
that she might the sooner gratify her curiosity, she went to meet
him in the garden.
Behram, who expected this summons, went on shore with prince Assad,
having first exacted a promise from him, of confirming what he
should say of his being a slave and secretary to the ship; they were
conducted before the queen, and Behram, throwing himself at her
feet, described to her the necessity he had been under of taking
refuge in her harbour; he then told her, that he was a merchant
dealing in slaves, and that Assad, whom he had brought with him, was
the only one remaining; but that he kept him for himself in the
capacity of secretary.
Margiana had felt a predilection for Assad from the first moment she
cast her eyes on him; and she was delighted to hear that he was a
slave. Determined, therefore, to purchase him at whatever price, she
asked Assad his name. “Great queen,” replied he, with tears in
his eyes, “Does your majesty wish to know the name I formerly
bore, or that by which I am now called?”
“What, have you two names?” inquired the queen. “Alas!”
resumed the prince, “I have indeed; I was formerly called Assad,
or the most happy, but my name now is Motar, or one destined for
sacrifice.”
Margiana, who could not understand the true meaning of this reply,
supposed he applied it to his present state of slavery; and at the
same time discovered he had a ready wit. “As you are a
secretary,” said she afterwards, “I conclude you can write very
well; let me see some of your writing.” Assad, who was provided
with an ink-horn, which was fastened to his girdle, and some paper,
for Behram had not forgotten these circumstances, the better to
persuade the queen that he was in reality what she believed him to
be, withdrew to a little distance, and wrote the following
sentences, which bore some relation to his miserable condition.
“The blind man avoids the ditch into which the clear-sighted
stumbles. The ignorant man elevates himself to the highest dignities
by speeches which signify nothing; while the wise man remains
neglected as the dust, though possessed of the greatest eloquence.
The mussulman is in the deepest misery, notwithstanding his riches,
but the infidel triumphs in the midst of his prosperity. We must not
hope that things will change; the Almighty decrees that they should
remain in their present state.”
Assad presented the paper to queen Margiana, who did not bestow less
commendation on the morality of the sentences, than on the beauty of
the writing; in short, nothing more was requisite to inflame her
heart and make her feel unfeigned compassion for the unfortunate
youth. She had no sooner finished reading it, than she addressed
herself to Behram; “Choose which you will do,” said she,
“either sell me this slave or give him to me; perhaps you may find
it most to your advantage to do the latter.” Behram replied, in a
very insolent manner, that he had no choice to make, for that he
wanted his slave and should therefore keep him.
Margiana, irritated by this behaviour, said no more to Behram, but
taking Assad by the arm, made him walk before her, till they reached
the palace, when she sent to acquaint Behram, that she should
confiscate all his property, and set fire to his vessel in the
middle of the harbour if he attempted to pass the night there. He
was obliged to return to his vessel truly mortified; and, to prepare
with the utmost diligence for sailing, although the tempest had not
entirely subsided.
The queen having, on her return to the palace, ordered supper to be
instantly served, conducted prince Assad to her apartment, where she
made him sit next her. Assad wished to decline it, saying that so
great an honor was not to be conferred on a slave. “On a slave!”
exclaimed the queen, “a moment since and you were one, but you are
now no longer a slave. Sit down next me, I tell you, and relate your
history to me; for I am certain, by what you wrote just now, as well
as by the insolence of that merchant, that it must be very
extraordinary.”
Prince Assad obeyed; and when he was seated, “Most powerful
queen,” said he, “your majesty is not mistaken; my history is
indeed extraordinary, and more so perhaps than you can imagine. The
grief, the almost inconceivable torments I have undergone, and the
cruel species of death to which I was destined, and from which you
have delivered me with truly royal generosity, will convince you of
the magnitude of your kind office, which will be indelibly impressed
on my memory. But before I enter on this detail, which can only
excite horror, you must permit me to begin from the earliest date of
my misfortunes.”
After this preface, which very much increased the curiosity of
Margiana, Assad began by acquainting her of his royal birth,
together with that of his brother, prince Amgiad, of their
reciprocal friendship, of the odious passion conceived for them by
their mothers-in-law, which so suddenly changed into an implacable
hatred, and thus became the origin of their singular adventures. He
then told her of the anger of the king, his father, of the almost
miraculous manner in which their lives had been preserved, and
lastly, of the irreparable loss he had sustained in his brother, and
the long and cruel imprisonment he was but just relieved from, only
to be immolated on the fiery mountain.
When Assad had finished his relation, Margiana, more than ever
irritated against the idolaters of fire, said to him, “Prince,
notwithstanding the aversion I have always felt against the
worshippers of fire, I have nevertheless conducted myself with great
humanity towards them; but after the barbarous treatment you have
experienced from them, and their execrable design of sacrificing you
as a victim to the object of their idolatory, I henceforth declare
implacable war against them.” She would have indulged her
invectives still further on this subject, had not supper been
served; and she sat down to table with prince Assad, charmed with
his presence, and delighted to hear him; being already prejudiced in
his favor by a rising flame, which she purposed to take an early
opportunity of disclosing to him. “Prince,” said she, “you
must now make up for all the fasting and bad meals which the
pitiless worshippers of fire obliged you to endure. You want
nourishment after so many sufferings.” Saying these and other
words of the same nature, she helped him repeatedly both to eat and
drink; the repast lasted a considerable time, and Assad drank some
glasses more than he could well bear. When the table was cleared,
Assad wished to breathe the fresh air, and took the opportunity of
going out when the queen did not perceive him. He went down into the
court, and seeing the gate of the garden open he entered it.
Attracted by the various beauties of the spot, he walked about for
some time. He at length went towards a fountain, which formed one of
the principal ornaments of the garden, and washed his hands and face
in it to refresh himself; then sitting down to rest himself on the
lawn which bordered it, he insensibly fell asleep.
Night was approaching, and Behram, who did not wish to afford
Margiana an opportunity of executing her menaces, had already
weighed anchor, not a little vexed at having lost Assad, and being
thus frustrated in his hope of sacrificing his victim. He
endeavoured, however, to console himself with the reflection that
the storm had ceased, and that a land-breeze favored his departure.
As soon as he had got out of the harbour with the assistance of his
boat, before he drew it up into the ship, “My lads,” said he to
the sailors who were in it, “Stay a little and don’t come up
yet; I am going to give you the casks to fetch water, and I will
wait for you just off the shore.” The sailors, who did not know
where they should be able to procure any, excused themselves from
going; but Behram, while he was speaking with the queen in the
garden, had remarked the fountain: “Go ashore at the garden of the
palace,” said he, “get over the wall, which is not breast high,
and you will find plenty of water in the bason that is in the middle
of the garden.”