It is written in the chronicles of the Sassanian monarchs that there
once lived an illustrious prince, beloved by his own subjects for his
wisdom and his prudence, and feared by his enemies for his courage and
for the hardy and well-disciplined army of which he was the leader.
This prince had two sons, the elder called Schah-riar, and the younger
Schah-zenan, both equally good and deserving of praise.
When the old king died at the end of a long and glorious reign,
Schah-riar, his eldest son, ascended the throne and reigned in his
stead. Schah-zenan, however, was not in the least envious, and a
friendly contest soon arose between the two brothers as to which could
best promote the happiness of the other. Schah-zenan did all he could
to show his loyalty and affection, while the new sultan loaded his
brother with all possible honors, and in order that he might in some
degree share the sultan's power and wealth, bestowed on him the
kingdom of Great Tartary. Schah-zenan immediately went to take
possession of the empire allotted him, and fixed his residence at
Samarcand, the chief city.
After a separation of ten years Schah-riar so ardently desired to see
his brother, that he sent his first vizier,[1] with a splendid
embassy, to invite him to revisit his court. As soon as Schah-zenan
was informed of the approach of the vizier, he went out to meet him,
with all his ministers, in most magnificent dress, and inquired after
the health of the sultan, his brother. Having replied to these
affectionate inquiries, the vizier told the purpose of his coming.
Schah-zenan, who was much affected at the kindness and recollection of
his brother, then addressed the vizier in these words: "Sage vizier,
the sultan, my brother, does me too much honor. It is impossible that
his wish to see me can exceed my desire of again beholding him. You
have come at a happy moment. My kingdom is tranquil, and in ten days'
time I will be ready to depart with you. Meanwhile pitch your tents on
this spot, and I will order every refreshment and accommodation for
you and your whole train."
[Footnote 1: Vazir, Vezir--literally, a porter, that is, the minister
who bears the principal burden of the state.--D'Herbelot,
_Bibliotheque Orientale._]
At the end of ten days everything was ready, and Schah-zenan took a
tender leave of the queen, his consort. Accompanied by such officers
as he had appointed to attend him, he left Samarcand in the evening
and camped near the tents of his brother's ambassador, that they might
proceed on their journey early the following morning. Wishing,
however, once more to see his queen, whom he tenderly loved, he
returned privately to the palace, and went directly to her apartment.
There, to his extreme grief, he found her in the company of a slave
whom she plainly loved better than himself. Yielding to the first
outburst of his indignation, the unfortunate monarch drew his
scimitar, and with one rapid stroke slew them both.
He then went from the city as privately as he had entered it, and
returned to his pavilion. Not a word did he say to any one of what
had happened. At dawn he ordered the tents to be struck, and the party
set forth on their journey to the sound of drums and other musical
instruments. The whole train was filled with joy, except the king, who
could think of nothing but his queen, and he was a prey to the deepest
grief and melancholy during the whole journey.
When he approached the capital of Persia he perceived the Sultan
Schah-riar and all his court coming out to greet him. As soon as the
parties met the two brothers alighted and embraced each other; and
after a thousand expressions of regard, remounted and entered the city
amid the shouts of the multitude. The sultan there conducted the king
his brother to a palace which had been prepared for him. This palace
communicated by a garden with the sultan's own and was even more
magnificent, as it was the spot where all the fêtes and splendid
entertainments of the court were given.
Schah-riar left the King of Tartary in order that he might bathe and
change his dress; but immediately on his return from the bath went to
him again. They seated themselves on a sofa, and conversed till supper
time. After so long a separation they seemed even more united by
affection than by blood. They ate supper together, and then continued
their conversation till Schah-riar, perceiving the night far advanced,
left his brother to repose.
The unfortunate Schah-zenan retired to his couch; but if in the
presence of the sultan he had for a while forgotten his grief, it now
returned with doubled force. Every circumstance of the queen's death
arose to his mind and kept him awake, and left such a look of sorrow
on his face that next morning the sultan could not fail to notice it.
He did all in his power to show his continued love and affection, and
sought to amuse his brother with the most splendid entertainments, but
the gayest fêtes served only to increase Schah-zenan's melancholy.
One morning when Schah-riar had given orders for a grand hunting party
at the distance of two days' journey from the city, Schah-zenan
requested permission to remain in his palace on account of a slight
illness. The sultan, wishing to please him, consented, but he himself
went with all his court to partake of the sport.
The King of Tartary was no sooner alone than he shut himself up in his
apartment, and gave way to his sorrow. But as he sat thus grieving at
the open window, looking out upon the beautiful garden of the palace,
he suddenly saw the sultana, the beloved wife of his brother, meet a
man in the garden with whom she held an affectionate conversation.
Upon witnessing this interview, Schah-zenan determined that he would
no longer give way to such inconsolable grief for a misfortune which
came to other husbands as well as to himself. He ordered supper to be
brought, and ate with a better appetite than he had before done since
leaving Samarcand. He even enjoyed the fine concert performed while he
sat at table.
Schah-riar returned from the hunt at the close of the second day, and
was delighted at the change which he soon found had taken place in his
brother. He urged him to explain the cause of his former depression
and of his present joy. The King of Tartary, feeling it his duty to
obey his suzerain lord, related the story of his wife's misconduct,
and of the severe punishment which he had visited on her. Schah-riar
expressed his full approval of his brother's conduct.
"I own," he said, "had I been in your place I should have been less
easily satisfied. I should not have been contented to take away the
life of one woman, but should have sacrificed a thousand to my
resentment. Your fate, surely, is most singular. Since, however, it
has pleased God to afford you consolation, which, I am sure, is as
well founded as was your grief, inform me, I beg, of that also."
Schah-zenan was very reluctant to relate what he had seen, but at last
yielded to the urgent commands and entreaties of his brother, and told
him of the faithlessness of his own queen.
At this unexpected news, the rage and grief of Schah-riar knew no
bounds. He far exceeded his brother in his invectives and indignation.
Not only did he sentence to death his unhappy sultana but bound
himself by a solemn vow that, immediately on the departure of the king
his brother, he would marry a new wife every night, and command her to
be strangled in the morning. Schah-zenan soon after had a solemn
audience of leave, and returned to his own kingdom, laden with the
most magnificent presents.
When Schah-zenan was gone the sultan began to carry out his unhappy
oath. Every night he married the daughter of some one of his subjects,
and the next morning she was ordered out and put to death. It was the
duty of the grand vizier to execute these commands of the sultan's,
and revolting as they were to him, he was obliged to submit or lose
his own head. The report of this unexampled inhumanity spread a panic
of consternation throughout the city. Instead of the praises and
blessings with which, until now, they had loaded their monarch, all
his subjects poured out curses on his head.
The grand vizier had two daughters, the elder of whom was called
Schehera-zade, and the younger Dinar-zade. Schehera-zade was possessed
of a remarkable degree of courage. She had read much, and had so good
a memory that she never forgot anything she had once read or heard.
Her beauty was equaled only by her virtuous disposition. The vizier
was passionately fond of her.
One day as they were talking together, she made the astonishing
request that she might have the honor of becoming the sultan's bride.
The grand vizier was horrified, and tried to dissuade her. He pointed
out the fearful penalty attached to the favor she sought.
Schehera-zade, however, persisted, telling her father she had in mind
a plan which she thought might put a stop to the sultan's dreadful
cruelty.
"I am aware of the danger I run, my father," she said, "but it does
not deter me from my purpose. If I die, my death will be glorious; if
I succeed, I shall render my country an important service."
Still the vizier was most reluctant to allow his beloved child to
enter on so dangerous an enterprise, and attempted to turn her from
her purpose by telling her the following story: