bitterly than before; and after he had pressed them again and
again to tell him, queen Badoura at last answered him: "Sir, our
grief is so well founded, that we ought not to see the light of
the sun, or live a day, after the violence that has been offered
us by the unparalleled brutality of the princes your sons. They
formed a horrid design, encouraged by your absence, and had the
boldness and insolence to attempt our honour. Your majesty will
excuse us from saying any more; you may guess the rest by our
affliction."
The king sent for the two princes, and would have killed them both
with his own hand, had not old king Armanos his father-in-law, who was
present, held his hand: "Son," said he, "what are you going to do?
Will you stain your hands and your palace with your own blood? There
are other ways of punishing them, if they are really guilty."
He endeavoured thus to appease him, and desired him to examine
whether they did indeed commit the crime of which they were
accused.
It was no difficult matter for Kummir al Zummaun to restrain himself
so far as not to butcher his own children. He ordered them to be put
under arrest, and sent for an emir called Jehaun-dar, whom he
commanded to conduct them out of the city, and put them to death, at a
great distance, and in what place he pleased, but not to see him
again, unless he brought their clothes with him, as a token of his
having executed his orders.
Jehaun-dar travelled with them all night, and early next morning
made them alight, telling them, with tears in his eyes, the
commands he had received. "Believe me, princes," said he, "it is
a trying duty imposed on me by your father, to execute this cruel
order: would to heaven I could avoid it!" The princes replied,
"Do your duty; we know well you are not the cause of our death,
and forgive you with all our hearts."
They then embraced, and bade each other a last adieu with so much
tenderness, that it was a long time before they could leave one
another's arms. Prince Assad was the first who prepared himself
for the fatal stroke. "Begin with me," said he "that I may not
have the affliction to see my dear brother Amgiad die." To this
Amgiad objected; and Jehaun-dar could not, without weeping more
than before, be witness of this dispute between them; which
shewed how perfect and sincere was their affection.
At last they determined the contest, by desiring Jehaun-dar to
tie them together, and put them in the most convenient posture
for him to give them the fatal stroke at one blow. "Do not refuse
the comfort of dying together to two unfortunate brothers, who
from their birth have shared every thing, even their innocence,"
said the generous princes.
Jehaun-dar granted their request; he tied them to each other,
breast to breast; and when he had placed them so that he thought
he might strike the blow with more certainty, asked them if they
had any thing to command him before they died.
"We have only one thing to desire of you," replied the princes,
"which is, to assure the king our father on your return, that we
are innocent; but that we do not charge him with our deaths,
knowing he is not well informed of the truth of the crime of
which we are accused."
Jehaun-dar promised to do what they desired and drew his sabre,
when his horse, being tied to a tree just by, started at the
sight of the sabre, which glittered against the sun, broke his
bridle, and ran away into the country.
He was a very valuable horse, and so richly caparisoned, that the
emir could not bear the loss of him. This accident so vexed him,
that instead of beheading the two princes, he threw away his
sabre, and ran after his horse.
The horse galloped on before him, and led him several miles into
a wood. Jehaun-dar followed him, and the horse's neighing roused
a lion that was asleep. The lion started up, and instead of
running after the horse, made directly towards Jehaun-dar, who
thought no more of his horse, but how to save his life. He ran
into the thickest of the wood, the lion keeping him in view,
pursuing him among the trees. In this extremity he said to
himself, "Heaven had not punished me in this manner, but to shew
the innocence of the princes whom I was commanded to put to
death; and now, to my misfortune, I have not my sabre to defend
myself."
While Jehaun-dar was gone, the two princes were seized with a
violent thirst, occasioned by the fear of death, notwithstanding
their noble resolution to submit to the king their father's cruel
order.
Prince Amgiad told the prince his brother there was a spring not
far off. "Ah! brother," said Assad, "we have so little time to
live, what need have we to quench our thirst? We can bear it a
few minutes longer."
Amgiad taking no notice of his brother's remonstrance, unbound
himself, and the prince his brother. They went to the spring, and
having refreshed themselves, heard the roaring of the lion. They
also heard Jehaun-dar's dreadful cries in the wood, which he and
the horse had entered. Amgiad took up the sabre which lay on the
ground, saying to Assad, "Come, brother, let us go and save the
unfortunate Jehaun-dar; perhaps we may arrive soon enough to
deliver him from the danger to which he is now exposed."
The two princes ran to the wood, and entered it just as the lion
was going to fall on Jehaun-dar. The beast seeing prince Amgiad
advancing towards him with a sabre in his hand, left his prey,
and rushed towards him with great fury. The prince met him
intrepidly, and gave him a blow so forcibly and dexterously, that
it felled him to the ground.
When Jehaun-dar saw that he owed his life to the two princes, he
threw himself at their feet, and thanked them for the obligation,
in words which sufficiently testified his gratitude. "Princes,"
said he, rising up and kissing their hands, with tears in his
eyes, "God forbid that ever I should attempt any thing against
your lives, after you have so kindly and bravely saved mine. It
shall never be said that the emir Jehaun-dar was guilty of such
ingratitude."
"The service we have done you," answered the princes, "ought not
to prevent you from executing the orders you have received: let
us first catch your horse, and then return to the place where you
left us."--They were at no great trouble to take the horse, whose
mettle was abated with running. When they had restored him to
Jehaun-dar, and were come near the fountain, they begged of him
to do as their father had commanded; but all to no purpose. "I
only take the liberty to desire," said Jehaun-dar, "and I pray
you not to deny me, that you will divide my clothes between you,
and give me yours; and go to such a distance, that the king your
father may never hear of you more."
The princes were forced to comply with his request. Each of them
gave him his clothes, and covered themselves with what he could
spare them of his. He also gave them all the money he had about
him, and took his leave of them.
After the emir Jehaun-dar had parted from the princes, he passed
through the wood where Amgiad had killed the lion, in whose blood
he dipped their clothes: which having done, he proceeded on his
way to the capital of the isle of Ebene.
On his arrival there, Kummir al Zummaun inquired if he had done
as commanded? Jehaun-dar replied, "Behold, sir, the proofs of my
obedience;" giving him at the same time the princes' clothes.
"How did they bear their punishment?" Jehaun-dar answered, "With
wonderful constancy and resignation to the decrees of heaven,
which shewed how sincerely they made profession of their
religion: but particularly with great respect towards your
majesty, and an inconceivable submission to the sentence of
death. 'We die innocent,' said they; 'but we do not murmur: we
take our death from the hand of heaven, and forgive our father;
for we know he has not been rightly informed of the truth.'"
Kummir al Zummaun was sensibly touched at Jehaun-dar's relation.
A thought occurred to him to search the princes' pockets; he
began with prince Amgiad's where he found a letter open, which he
read. He no sooner recognized the hand-writing than he was
chilled with horror. He then, trembling, put his hand into that
of Assad, and finding there queen Badoura's letter, his horror
was so great, that he fainted.
Never was grief equal to Kummir all Zummaun's, when he recovered
from his fit: "Barbarous father," cried he, "what hast thou done?
Thou hast murdered thy own children, thy innocent children! Did
not their wisdom, their modesty, their obedience, their
submission to thy will in all things, their virtue, all plead in
their behalf? Blind and insensible father! dost thou deserve to
live after the execrable crime thou hast committed? I have
brought this abomination on my own head; and heaven chastises me
for not persevering in that aversion to women with which I was
born. And, oh ye detestable wives! I will not, no, I will not, as
ye deserve, wash off the guilt of your sins with your blood; ye
are unworthy of my rage: but I will never see you more!"
Kummir al Zummaun was a man of too much religion to break his
vow: he commanded the two queens to be lodged in separate
apartments that very day, where they were kept under strong
guards, and he never saw them again as long as he lived.
While the king of the isle of Ebene was afflicting himself for
the loss of his sons, of whose death he thought he had been the
author by his too rashly condemning them, the royal youths
wandered through deserts, endeavouring to avoid all places that
were inhabited, and shun every human creature. They lived on
herbs and wild fruits, and drank only rain-water, which they
found in the crevices of the rocks. They slept and watched by
turns at night, for fear of wild beasts.
When they had travelled about a month, they came to the foot of a
frightful mountain of black stones, and to all appearance
inaccessible. They at last espied a kind of path, but so narrow
and difficult that they durst not venture to follow it: this
obliged them to go along by the foot of the mountain, in hopes of
finding a more easy way to reach the summit, but could discover
nothing like a path, so they were forced to return to that which
they had neglected. They still thought it would be in vain for
them to attempt it. They deliberated for a long time what they
should do, and at last, encouraging one another, resolved to
ascend.
The more they advanced the higher and steeper the mountain
appeared, which made them think several times of giving over
their enterprise. When the one was weary, the other stopped, and
they took breath together; sometimes they were both so tired,
that they wanted strength to proceed: then despairing of being
able to reach the top they thought they must lie down and die of
fatigue and weariness. A few minutes after, when they found they
recovered strength, they animated each other and went on.
Notwithstanding all their endeavours, their courage and
perseverance, they could not reach the summit that day; night
came on, and prince Assad was so spent, that he stopped and said
to Amgiad, "Brother, I can go no farther, I am just dying." "Let
us rest ourselves," replied prince Amgiad, "as long as you will,
and have a good heart: it is but a little way to the top, and the
moon befriends us."
They rested about half an hour, and then Assad making a new
effort, they ascended what remained of the way to the summit,
where they both at last arrived, and lay down. Amgiad rose first,
and advancing, saw a tree at a little distance. He went to it,
and found it was a pomegranate, with large fruit upon it, and he
perceived there was a spring at its foot: he ran to his brother
Assad to tell him the good news, and conduct him to the tree by
the fountain side. Here they refreshed themselves by eating each
a pomegranate, after which they fell asleep.
When they awoke the next morning, "Come, brother," said Amgiad to
Assad, "let us go on; I see the mountain is easier to be
travelled over on this side than the other, all our way now is
down hill." But Assad was so tired with the preceding day's
exertions, that he wanted three days' repose to recover himself.
They spent these days as they had done many before, in conversing
on their mothers' inordinate passion, which had reduced them to
such a deplorable state: but, said they, "Since heaven has so
visibly declared itself in our favour, we ought to bear our
misfortunes with patience, and comfort ourselves with hopes that
we shall see an end of them."
After having rested three days, the two brothers continued their
travels. As the mountain on that side was composed of several
shelves of extensive flat, they were five days in descending
before they came into the plain. They then discovered a large
city, at which they rejoiced: "Brother," said Amgiad to Assad,
"are not you of my opinion that you should stay in some place out
of the city, where I may find you again, while I go and inform
myself what country we are in, and when I come back I will bring
provisions with me? It may not be safe for us to go there
together."
"Brother," replied Assad, "your plan is both safe and prudent,
and I approve of what you say but if one of us must part from the
other on that account, I will not suffer it shall be you; you
must allow me to go; for what shall I suffer, if any accident
should befall you?"
"But, brother," answered Amgiad, "the very accident you fear
would befall me, I have as much reason to fear would happen to
you: I entreat you to let me go, and do you remain here
patiently." "I will never consent to this," said Assad; "if any
ill happen to me, it will be some comfort to think you are safe."
Amgiad was forced to submit, and Assad going towards the city, he
stayed under the trees at the foot of the mountain.
Prince Assad took the purse of money which Amgiad had in charge,
and went forwards towards the city. He had not proceeded far in
the first street, before he met with a reverend old man with a
cane in his hand. He was neatly dressed, and the prince took him
for a man of note in the place, who would not put a trick upon
him, so he accosted him thus: "Pray, my lord, which is the way to
the market-place?" The old man looked at prince Assad smiling;
"Child," said he, "it is plain you are a stranger, or you would
not have asked that question."
"Yes, my lord, I am a stranger," replied Assad. The old man
answered, "You are welcome then; our country will be honoured by
the presence of so handsome a young man as you are: tell me what
business you have at the market-place."
"My lord," replied Assad, "it is near two months since my brother
and I set out from our own country: we have not ceased
travelling, and we arrived here but to-day; my brother, tired
with such a long journey, stays at the foot of the mountain, and
I am come to buy some provisions for him and myself."
"Son," said the old man, "you could not have come in a better
time, and I am glad of it for your and your brother's sake. I
made a feast today for some friends of mine: come along with me;
you shall eat as much as you please; and when you have done, I
will give you enough to last your brother and yourself several
days. Do not spend your money, when there is no occasion;
travellers are always in want of it: while you are eating I will
give you an account of our city, which no one can do better than
myself, who have borne all the honourable offices in it. It is
well for you that you happen to light upon me; for I must tell
you, all our citizens cannot so well assist and inform you. I can
assure you some of them are very wicked. Come, you shall see the
difference between a real honest man, as I am, and such as boast
of being so, and are not."
"I am infinitely obliged to you," replied Assad, "for your
kindness; I put myself entirely into your hands, and am ready to
go with you where you please."
The old man, as he walked along by his side, laughed inwardly, to
think he had got the prince in his clutches; and all the way,
lest he should perceive his dissimulation, talked of various
subjects, to preserve the favourable opinion Assad had of him.
Among other things, he said, "It must be confessed you were very
fortunate to have spoken to me, rather than to any one else: I
thank God I met with you; you will know why, when you come to my
house."
At length they arrived at the residence of the old man, who
introduced Assad into a hall, where there were forty such old
fellows as himself, who made a circle round a flaming fire, which
they were adoring. The prince was not less struck with horror at
the sight of so many men mistakenly worshipping the creature for
the Creator, than he was with fear at finding himself betrayed
into so abominable a place.
While the prince stood motionless with astonishment, the old
cheat saluted the forty gray-headed men. "Devout adorers of
fire," said he to them, "this is a happy day for us; where is
Gazban? call him."
He spake these words aloud, when a negro who waited at the lower
end of the hall immediately came up to him. This black was
Gazban, who, as soon as he saw the disconsolate Assad, imagined
for what purpose he was called. He rushed upon him immediately,
threw him down, and bound his hands with wonderful activity. When
he had done, "Carry him down," said the old man, "and fail not to
order my daughters, Bostama and Cavama, to give him every day a
severe bastinado, with only a loaf morning and night for his
subsistence; this is enough to keep him alive till the next ship
departs for the blue sea and the fiery mountain, where he shall
be offered up an acceptable sacrifice to our divinity."
As soon as the old man had given the cruel order, Gazban hurried
prince Assad under the hall, through several doors, till they
came to a dungeon, down to which led twenty steps; there he left
him in chains of prodigious weight and bigness, fastened to his
feet. When he had done, he went to give the old man's daughters
notice: but their father had before sent for them, and given them
their instructions himself: "Daughters," said he to them, "go
down and give the Mussulmaun I just now brought in the bastinado:
do not spare him; you cannot better shew your zeal for the
worship of the fire."
Bostama and Cavama, who were bred up in their hatred to the
faithful, received this order with joy. They descended into the
dungeon that instant, stripped Assad, and bastinadoed him
unmercifully, till the blood issued out of his wounds and he was
almost dead. After this cruel treatment, they put a loaf of bread
and a pot of water by him, and retired.
Assad did not come to himself again for a long time; when he
revived, he burst out into a flood of tears, deploring his
misery. His comfort however was, that this misfortune had not
happened to his brother.
Amgiad waited for his brother till evening with impatience; as
two, three, or four of the clock in the morning arrived, and
Assad did not return, he was in despair. He spent the night in
extreme uneasiness; and as soon as it was day went to the city,
where he was surprised to see but very few Mussulmauns. He
accosted the first he met, and asked him the name of the place.
He was told it was the city of the Magicians, so called from the
great number of magicians, who adored the fire; and that it
contained but few Mussulmauns. Amgiad then demanded how far it
was to the isle of Ebene? He was answered, four months' voyage by
sea, and a year's journey by land. The man he talked to left him
hastily, having satisfied him as to these two questions.
Amgiad, who had been but six weeks coming from the isle of Ebene
with his brother Assad, could not comprehend how they had reached
this city in so short a time, unless it was by enchantment, or
that the way across the mountain was a much shorter one, but not
frequented because of its difficulty.
Going farther into the town, he stopped at a tailor's shop, whom
he knew to be a Mussulmaun by his dress. Having saluted him, he
sat down, and told him the occasion of the trouble he was in.
When prince Amgiad had done talking, the tailor replied, "If your
brother has fallen into the hands of some magicians, depend upon
it you will never see him more. He is lost past all recovery; and
I advise you to comfort yourself as well as you can, and to
beware of falling into the same misfortune: to which end, if you
will take my advice, you shall stay at my house, and I will tell
you all the tricks of these magicians, that you may take care of
yourself, when you go out." Amgiad, afflicted for the loss of his
brother, accepted the tailor's offer and thanked him a thousand
times for his kindness to him.
The Story of the Prince Amgiad and a Lady of the City of the
Magicians.
For a whole month prince Amgiad never went out of the tailor's
house without being accompanied by his host. At last he ventured
to go alone to the bath. As he was returning home, he met a lady
on the way. Seeing a handsome young man, she lifted up her veil,
asked him with a smiling air, and bewitching look, whither he was
going? Amgiad was overpowered by her charms, and replied, "Madam,
I am going to my own house, or, if you please, I will go to
yours."
"My lord," resumed the lady, with a smile, "ladies of my quality
never take men to their houses, they always accompany them to
theirs."
Amgiad was much perplexed by this unexpected reply. He durst not
venture to take her home to his landlord's house, lest he should
give him offence, and thereby lose his protection, of which he
had so much need, in a city which required him to be always on
his guard. He knew so little of the town, that he could not tell
where to convey her, and he could not make up his mind to suffer
the adventure to go unimproved. In this uncertainty, he
determined to throw himself upon chance; and without making any
answer, went on, and the lady followed him. Amgiad led her from
street to street, from square to square, till they were both
weary with walking. At last they entered a street, at the end of
which was a closed gateway leading to a handsome mansion. On each
side of the gateway was a bench. Amgiad sat down on one of them,
as if to take breath: and the lady, more weary than he, seated
herself on the other.
When she had taken her seat, she asked him, whether that was his
house? "You see it, madam," said Amgiad. "Why do you not open the
gate then," demanded the lady; "what do you wait for?" "Fair
lady," answered Amgiad, "I have not the key; I left it with my
slave, when I sent him on an errand, and he cannot be come back
yet: besides, I ordered him afterwards to provide something good
for dinner; so that I am afraid we shall wait a long time for
him."
The prince, meeting with so many obstacles to the satisfying of
his passion, began to repent of having proceeded so far, and
contrived this answer, in hopes that the lady would take the
hint, would leave him out of resentment, and seek elsewhere for a
lover; but he was mistaken.
"This is a most impertinent slave," said the lady, "to make us
wait so long. I will chastise him myself as he deserves, if you
do not, when he comes back. It is not decent that I should sit
here alone with a man." Saying this, she arose, and took up a
stone to break the lock, which was only of wood, and weak,
according to the fashion of the country.
Amgiad gave himself over for a lost man, when he saw the door
forced open. He paused to consider whether he should go into the
house or make off as fast as he could, to avoid the danger which
he believed was inevitable; and he was going to fly when the lady
returned.
Seeing he did not enter, she asked, "Why do not you come into
your house?" The prince answered, "I am looking to see if my
slave is coming, fearing we have nothing ready." "Come in, come
in," resumed she, "we had better wait for him within doors than
without."
Amgiad, much against his will, followed her into the house.
Passing through a spacious court, neatly paved, they ascended by
several steps into a grand vestibule, which led to a large open
hall very well furnished, where he and the lady found a table
ready spread with all sorts of delicacies, another heaped with
fruit, and a sideboard covered with bottles of wine.
When Amgiad beheld these preparations, he gave himself up for
lost. "Unfortunate Amgiad," said he to himself, "thou wilt soon
follow thy dear brother Assad."