Dinarzade being awaked somewhat before day, said to the sultaness,
Sister, if you are not asleep, I pray you acquaint us with what
happened in the subterranean palace after the prince had broken the
talisman. --I am just going to relate it, said Scheherazade. Upon
which, resuming her narrative, she continued her discourse thus, in
the person of the second calender.
The talisman was no sooner broken, but the palace began to shake,
and was ready to fall, with a hideous noise like thunder,
accompanied with flashes of lightning, and a great darkness. This
terrible noise in a moment dispelled the fumes of my wine, and made
me sensible, but too late, of the folly I had committed. Princess,
cried I, what means all this? She answered in a fright, and without
any concern for her own misfortune, Alas! you are undone, if you do
not escape presently.
I followed her advice, and my fears were so great, that I forgot my
hatchet and cords. I was scarcely got to the stairs by which I came
down, when the enchanted palace opened at once, and made a passage
for the genie; he asked the princess, in great anger, What has
happened to you, and why did you call me? --A qualm at my stomach,
said the princess, made me fetch this bottle which you see here, out
of which I drank twice or thrice, and by mischance made a false
step, and fell upon the talisman, which is broken, and that is all.
At this answer, the furious genie told her, You are a false woman,
and a liar: how came that axe and those cords there? --I never saw
them till this moment, said the princess. Your coming in such an
impetuous manner has, it may be, forced them up in some place, as
you came along, and so brought them hither without your knowing it.
The genie made no other answer but what was accompanied with
reproaches and blows, of which I heard the noise. I could not endure
to hear the pitiful cries and shouts of the princess, so cruelly
abused: I had already laid off the suit she made me put on, and
taken my own, which I had laid on the stairs the day before, when I
came out of the bagnio: I made haste up stairs, more distracted with
sorrow and compassion, as I had been the cause of so great a
misfortune; and by sacrificing the fairest princess on earth to the
barbarity of a merciless genie, I was become the most criminal and
ungrateful of mankind. It is true, said I, she has been a prisoner
these twenty-five years; but, liberty excepted, she wanted nothing
that could make her happy. My folly has put an end to her happiness,
and brought upon her the cruelty of an unmerciful devil: I let down
the trap-door, covered it again with earth, and returned to the city
with a burden of wood, which I bound up without knowing what I did,
so great was my trouble and sorrow.
My landlord, the tailor, was very much rejoiced to see me: Your
absence, said he, has disquieted me very much, by reason you had
entrusted me with the secret of your birth, and I knew not what to
think; I was afraid somebody had discovered you: God be thanked for
your return. I thanked him for his zeal and affection, but not a
word durst I say of what had passed, nor the reason why I came back
without my hatchet and cords.
I retired to my chamber, where I reproached myself a thousand times,
for my excessive imprudence: Nothing, said I, could have paralleled
the princess’s good fortune and mine, had I forborne to break the
talisman.
While I was thus giving myself over to melancholy thoughts, the
tailor came in. An old man, said he, whom I do not know, brings me
here your hatchet and cords, which he found in his way, as he tells
me, and understood by your comrades that go along with you to the
woods, that you lodge here; come out and speak to him, for he will
deliver them to none but yourself.
At this discourse I changed colour, and fell a trembling. While the
tailor was asking me the reason, my chamber door opened at once, and
the old man, having no patience to stay, appeared to us with my
hatchet and cords. This man was the genie, the ravisher of the fair
princess of the isle of Ebene, who had thus disguised himself, after
he had treated her with the utmost barbarity. I am a genie, said he,
son of the daughter of Eblis, prince of genies: is not this your
hatchet? said he, speaking to me, and are not these your cords?
Here Scheherazade saw day, and left off. The sultan found the story
of the second calender too curious not to desire that he might hear
it out; and therefore got up, with an intention to hear the rest
next morning.