Part 27

The princess Badoura had no sooner formed this resolution, in concert with the princess Haiatalnefous, than she spoke to prince Camaralzaman, in private, on the same day: “Camaralzaman,” said she, “I wish to converse with you on an affair, which will require some discussion, and on which I want your advice. As I think I cannot do it more conveniently than at night, come to me this evening; tell your people not to wait for you, and I will provide you with a bed.”

Camaralzaman did not fail to repair to the palace at the hour appointed by the princess. She took him with her into the inner palace, and having told the chief of the eunuchs, who was preparing to follow her, that she did not require his attendance, and that he had only to keep the door fastened, she conducted him into a different apartment from that of the princess Haiatalnefous, in which she was accustomed to sleep.

When the prince and princess were in a chamber, which contained a bed, and had fastened the door, the princess took the talisman out of a little box, and presented it to Camaralzaman: “It is not long since an astrologer gave me this talisman,” said she, “and as I know you to be well informed in every science, you perhaps can tell me its peculiar properties.” Camaralzaman took the talisman, and approached a light, to examine it. He no sooner recognised it, than, with a degree of surprise which delighted the princess, he exclaimed, “Ah, sire, your majesty asks me the properties of this talisman? Alas! its properties are such, as to make me die with grief and sadness, if I do not shortly find the most charming and amiable princess that was ever beheld under heaven, to whom this talisman belonged, and which was the cause of my losing her. The adventure was of so singular a nature, that the recital of it would excite your majesty’s compassion for a husband and a lover so unfortunate as I am, if you would have the patience to listen to it.”

“You will relate it to me some other time,” replied the princess, “but I am very happy,” added she, “to tell you, that I know something concerning it: wait for me here, I will return in a moment.”

Saying this, the princess went into a closet, where she took off the royal turban, and having in a few minutes put on a woman’s dress, together with the girdle she wore on the day of their separation, she returned to the chamber where she had left the prince.

Camaralzaman instantly knew his dear princess. He ran to her, and embracing her with the utmost tenderness, “Ah,” cried he, “how much I am obliged to the king for having surprised me so agreeably.”--“Do not expect to see the king again,” replied the princess, embracing him in her turn, and with tears in her eyes, “in me you behold the king: sit down, that I may explain to you this enigma.”

They seated themselves, and the princess related to Camaralzaman the resolution she had formed in the plain, where they had encamped together for the last time, when she discovered that she waited for him in vain; in what manner she had executed it until her arrival at the Isle of Ebony, where she had been obliged to marry the princess Haiatalnefous, and to accept the crown, which king Armanos had offered her in consequence of the marriage; that the princess, whose merits she spoke of in the most exaggerated terms, had received the declaration she had made of her sex in a favourable manner; and at last acquainted him with the adventure of the talisman, found in one of the jars of olives and gold dust, which she had purchased, and which had induced her to send for him to the city of idolaters.

When the princess Badoura had concluded, she begged the prince to inform her by what accident the talisman had occasioned his departure; he satisfied her curiosity, and when he had finished, he complained to her, in an affectionate manner, of her cruelty in making him languish so long a time. She gave him the reasons we have already heard, after which, as the night was far advanced, they went to bed.

They arose the next morning, as soon as it was day; the princess no longer wore the royal robe, but resumed her own dress, and when she was ready, she dispatched the chief of the eunuchs, to request king Armanos, her father-in-law, to take the trouble of coming to her apartment.

When king Armanos arrived, he was very much surprised to see a lady, who was totally unknown to him; and the grand treasurer, who was not allowed to enter the inner palace, any more than the other nobles belonging to the court. When he had taken his seat, he inquired for the king.

“Sire,” replied the princess, “yesterday I was king; to-day I am nothing more than the princess of China, the wife of the true prince Camaralzaman, who is the true son of king Schahzaman. If your majesty will have the patience to listen to our separate histories, I flatter myself you will not condemn me for having conceived and continued a deceit of so innocent a nature.” King Armanos granted her an audience, and listened to her with the utmost astonishment, from beginning to end.

When she had concluded the history of their adventures, “Sire,” added she, “although the liberty, granted by our religion to men to have several wives, is not very agreeable to our sex, yet if your majesty will consent to give the princess Haiatalnefous, your daughter, in marriage to prince Camaralzaman, I will cheerfully resign the rank and quality of queen, which properly belongs to her, and will myself be content with the second rank. Even if this preference were not her due, I should have insisted on her accepting it, after the obligation I am under to her, for having so generously kept the secret with which I entrusted her. If your majesty’s determination depends upon her consent, I have already obtained that, and am certain she will be happy.”

King Armanos listened with every mark of admiration to this discourse of the princess Badoura; and when she had finished speaking, he turned to prince Camaralzaman, “My son,” said he to him, “since the princess Badoura, your wife, whom I had hitherto considered as my son-in-law, in consequence of a deception which I know not how to complain of, has offered to share your bed with my daughter, I have nothing to do but to inquire if you also are willing to marry her, and will accept the crown, which the princess Badoura would well deserve to wear for the rest of her life, if she did not prefer resigning it through her love for you.”--“Sire,” replied Camaralzaman, “however strong my desire of seeing the king, my father, may be, the obligations I owe to your majesty and to the princess Haiatalnefous are so great and powerful, that I cannot refuse you any thing.”

Camaralzaman was proclaimed king, and married the same day with the greatest magnificence; and he was thoroughly satisfied with the beauty, wit, and affection of the princess Haiatalnefous.

The two queens continued to live together in the same friendship and union which they had hitherto done, and were each well contented with the equality which king Camaralzaman observed in his conduct towards them, in sharing his bed with them alternately.

They each presented him with a son in the same year, and nearly at the same period, and the birth of the two princes was celebrated by public rejoicings. Camaralzaman gave the name of Amgiad, or “the most glorious,” to the first, whom the queen Badoura had borne, and that of Assad, or “the most happy,” to him whom the queen Haiatalnefous had brought into the world.

THE HISTORY OF PRINCE AMGIAD, AND OF PRINCE ASSAD.

These two princes were brought up with great care. And when they were of a proper age, they had each the same governor, and the same masters in all those sciences and branches of the polite arts which king Camaralzaman wished them to be skilled in. The same person also taught them both the same personal exercises. The great regard they showed for each other, even from their infancy, produced a certain uniformity in all their thoughts and actions, which in itself tended still to augment their friendship.

When they were far enough advanced in years for each of them to have a separate house and establishment, they were so strongly attached to each other, that they requested their father to suffer them to have but one between them. They obtained their wishes; and in this manner they had the same officers appointed for each, the same attendants, the same equipage, the same apartment, and the same table. Camaralzaman indeed insensibly placed so implicit a confidence both in their ability and their ideas of rectitude, that, when they were about nineteen years old, he did not hesitate to appoint them alternately to preside at the council, whenever he was for a few days engaged in hunting.

As these two princes were of equal beauty, both in face and person, and had always been esteemed so from their infancy, the two queens felt an almost incredible attachment to them; yet it nevertheless happened, that the princess Badoura had a greater affection for Assad, the son of queen Haiatalnefous, than she had for Amgiad, her own son: and in the same manner queen Haiatalnefous was much fonder of Amgiad than she was of her own son Assad.

The queens each thought at first that this affection only proceeded from the great friendship they had for each other. But as the princes advanced in age, this regard, which commenced in friendship, changed to a more tender feeling, and at length became the most violent love. The princes, indeed, appeared in their eyes possessed of so many accomplishments, that they were absolutely blinded and led away by their charms. All the infamy of their passion was well known to them, and they made the greatest efforts to resist it: but the freedom and familiarity with which they saw the princes every day, and the continued habit they always had of admiring them from their earliest infancy, of praising them, and of caressing them, which it was scarcely in their power to break themselves of, inflamed their passions to such a degree, that they could get no rest, and lost all their appetite. To heighten their misfortune, as well as that of the princes, the latter had not, so much were they ever accustomed to their manners, the slightest suspicion of this hateful and horrid attachment.

As the two queens had not entrusted each other with the secret of their passion, and as neither of them had the audacity openly to make a declaration of it in person to the prince whom she loved, they both agreed, though unknown to each other, to explain it by letter. And in order to execute this fatal design, they took advantage of the absence of king Camaralzaman, who was gone for a few days on a hunting party.

The day after the king’s departure, prince Amgiad presided at the council, and was employed two or three hours in the afternoon in hearing complaints and administering justice. As he came out from the council, and was going back to the palace, an eunuch took him aside, and gave him a letter from queen Haiatalnefous. Amgiad immediately opened it, and read its contents with the greatest degree of horror. “What,” cried he to the eunuch, the moment he had perused it, and drawing his sabre, “is this the fidelity you owe to your king and master?” And, in saying this, he struck off his head.

He had no sooner done this, than Amgiad went in the greatest possible rage to find his mother, queen Badoura, and with an air that plainly showed his anger, held out the letter to her, and informed her of the contents; first telling her from whom it came. Instead, however, of listening to him, the queen herself began to be angry. “Be assured, my son,” she replied, “that what you tell me is nothing but a calumnious falsehood. Queen Haiatalnefous is both prudent and wise, and indeed I consider it a great act of boldness in you to speak against her with so much insolence.” To this speech of the queen, the prince said, “You are both equally wicked, and were it not for the respect I owe to the king, my father, this day should be the last which Haiatalnefous has to live.”

From the manner in which prince Amgiad conducted himself, queen Badoura might easily judge what she had to expect from prince Assad, who was equally virtuous, and who would not, therefore, receive the similar declaration more favorably, which she intended to make to him. This, however, did not prevent her from pursuing her detestable plan; the next day, therefore, she wrote a letter to him, which she entrusted to an old woman, who had free admission into the palace.

This old woman chose the moment that prince Assad left the council, where he went to preside in turn, as a proper opportunity to execute her commission. The prince took the letter, and without even giving himself time to finish the perusal of it, he was so transported with rage, that he drew his sabre, and punished the old woman as she deserved. He then ran to the apartment of queen Haiatalnefous, his mother, with the letter in his hand. He was going to show it her, but she did not give him time, either for that, or even to open his lips. “I know what you want of me,” she cried, “but you are equally as impertinent as your brother Amgiad. Go, retire; and never again appear in my presence.”

Assad was in the utmost astonishment at these words, which he was totally unprepared for: and they put him into so violent a rage, that he was upon the point of showing the most direful marks of it; he, however, had the resolution to restrain himself, and retired without reply, lest any thing should escape him, unworthy of his own greatness of soul. As prince Amgiad had not mentioned his having received a letter the day before, Assad went to his brother to chide him for his silence, and to mingle his own grief with his; for from what his own mother said, he easily conjectured she was not less criminal than queen Badoura.

The two queens were driven almost to desperation at finding the princes possessed of so much virtue, which, instead of bringing them back to a sense of their duty, made them, in fact, renounce every natural and maternal feeling. They consulted together how they should be able to destroy their sons. They made their women believe, that the princes had themselves endeavoured to violate their persons; and attempted to pass off this trick for a reality by the tears they shed, as well as the lamentations and invectives they uttered. They went and slept in the same bed, as if the resistance they thus pretended to have made, had driven them to the greatest distress.

When king Camaralzaman returned the next day from the chase, he was in so great astonishment at finding the two queens in bed together, bathed in tears, and in a condition they so well knew how to feign, that it excited his compassion. He eagerly inquired of them what had happened to them.

To this question the cunning queens only answered by redoubling their sighs and groans, when, at length, after the greatest entreaty, queen Badoura broke silence, and said, “Considering, sire, the deep yet proper grief with which we are afflicted, we ought not even to expose ourselves to the light of the sun, after the outrage which the princes, your sons, with a brutality almost without example, have attempted. By a conspiracy, altogether unworthy of their illustrious birth, they have had the boldness and insolence during your absence to attempt our honour. We entreat your majesty not to make any further inquiries, our grief is sufficient to explain the rest.”

The king then ordered the two princes to be called, and would absolutely have killed them with his own hand, if old king Armanos, his father-in-law, who happened to be present, had not prevented him. “What, my son,” he cried out, “are you going to do? Do you wish to embrue your hands, nay your very palace, with your own blood? There are other means of punishing them, if they are really guilty of any crime.” In this manner he endeavoured to appease him, and entreated him thoroughly to examine, whether it was quite certain they had committed the crime which was laid to their charge.

It was no difficult task for Camaralzaman so far to get the better of his rage as to refrain from being the executioner of his own children. Having, however, ordered them to be arrested, he desired an emir, called Giondar, to come in the evening to him; and he then commanded him to conduct the princes to the outside of the city, in what part, and to any distance he pleased, and there to take their lives. As a proof also of having executed the orders he thus received, Giondar was not to return without their clothes.

Giondar continued travelling the whole night; and the next morning, as he got off his horse, he informed the princes, with tears in his eyes, of the order he had received. “This command, princes,” said he to them, “is most cruel; and to me it is a mortification of the most painful kind, to have been chosen for the executioner. I wish to God that I could avoid it.”--“Do your duty,” replied they, “we know well enough that you are not the cause of our death; and sincerely pardon you.” In saying this they embraced and took an eternal farewell of each other with so much tenderness and affection, that it was a long time before they could separate. Prince Assad was then the first, who prepared himself to receive his death from the hands of Giondar. “Begin with me,” said he, “that I may not have the grief of seeing my dear brother Amgiad expire.” Amgiad opposed this plan, and Giondar was unable, without again renewing his tears, to witness their amiable contest, which so evidently proved the sincerity and strength of their mutual affection.

This interesting dispute was at last terminated by their entreating Giondar to bind them both together, and place them in such a way, that they might both, as nearly as possible, receive their death at the same moment. “Do not refuse,” they said to him, “to afford two unfortunate brothers the consolation of dying together, who have, not excepting even their innocence in this affair, from their earliest infancy, possessed every thing in common.” Giondar granted the two princes what they wished. He bound them, and having placed them, as he thought, in the most convenient manner to strike off both their heads at one blow, he asked them if they had any request to make to him before their death. “There is only one thing,” answered the princes, “which we wish you to do; and that is, to assure the king, our father, upon your return, that we die innocent: but that we nevertheless do not impute to him the crime of shedding our blood. We know, indeed, that he is not acquainted with the truth of what we are accused.” Giondar promised not to fail doing what they desired, and at the same instant drew out his scimitar; his horse, who was fastened to a tree, alarmed at this action, and also at the glittering of the blade, broke his bridle, and began to gallop over the country at full speed.

This horse was very valuable, and also very richly caparisoned, and Giondar did not at all like the thoughts of losing him. Vexed, therefore, at this accident, instead of cutting off the heads of the princes, he threw down his scimitar and ran after his horse, endeavouring to catch him. The horse, who was both vigorous and playful, galloped about for some time just before Giondar, and led him, by the pursuit, close to a wood, into which he ran. The emir followed him; when the neighing of the horse disturbed a lion, who was asleep. The lion instantly roused himself, but instead of pursuing the horse, he ran directly at Giondar, as soon as he perceived him.

He then thought no more of his horse, but was in the greatest distress how to save his own life. He endeavoured to avoid the attack of the lion, who never lost sight of him, and kept pursuing him among the trees. “God,” said he to himself in this extremity, “would not have inflicted this punishment upon me, if the princes, whom I have been ordered to kill, were not innocent. Unfortunately, too, I have not my scimitar to defend myself with.”

During the absence of Giondar, the two princes experienced the most burning thirst, brought on by the fear of death, which they felt, notwithstanding their manly and generous resolution to submit to the cruel order of their father. Prince Amgiad then observed to his brother that they were not far from a spring of water, and proposed to him to unbind themselves and go and drink. “It is not worth the trouble, my brother,” said Assad, “to quench our thirst for the few moments we have to live: we shall have to support it only for a short time longer.” Without, however, paying any attention to this speech, Amgiad unbound both himself and his brother, though against the inclination of the latter. They went to the spring; and when they had thus refreshed themselves they heard the roaring of the lion, accompanied by the most piercing cries, issue from the wood into which Giondar had run after his horse. Amgiad instantly took up the scimitar which Giondar had thrown down. “Brother,” he cried out, “let us hasten to the assistance of the unfortunate Giondar; perhaps we may arrive in time to deliver him from the danger he seems to be in.”

The two princes lost no time; and they arrived at the very instant in which the lion had pulled Giondar down to the ground. No sooner did the animal observe prince Amgiad approaching with his scimitar in his hand, than he let his prey go and ran at him with the greatest fury. The prince waited to receive him with intrepidity and coolness, and gave him a blow, with so much strength and skill, that the lion fell instantly dead at his feet.

As soon as Giondar perceived that he was indebted for his life to the two princes, he threw himself at their feet, and thanked them for the great favor and assistance they had shown him, in a manner that evinced the strongest gratitude. “Princes,” said he to them when he got up, while his tears fell upon their hands, “God forbid, that I should ever attempt to take your lives after the essential help you have afforded me in saving my own. It shall never be said, that the emir Giondar was capable of such black ingratitude.”

“The service we have done you,” replied the princes, “ought by no means to prevent you from executing your orders. Go and take your horse; and let us return to the spot where you left us.” They had now no difficulty in catching the horse, whose alarm and spirit was much abated, and who stopped of himself. In spite, however, of every thing they could urge to Giondar, as they were returning towards the spring, either by entreaty or prayer, they could not persuade him to be the instrument of their death. “The only thing that I take the liberty to ask of you,” said he, “and which I beg you not to refuse, is to accommodate yourselves as well as you can with my clothes between you, and to let me have yours; and then to save yourselves at such a distance, that the king, your father, may never again even hear your names mentioned.”

The princes at length complied with all his wishes; and after having given him both their dresses, they put on as much as he could spare of his clothes. Giondar then obliged them to take whatever money he had about him, and departed.