Hazar yik ruz - The Thousand and One Days (Mcarthy)

AFTER having heard the story of Couloufe, you are going to hear that of the Prince Calaf, the son of an old khan of the Nogaïs Tartars.

The history of his century makes glorious mention of him. It says that he surpassed all the princes of his time in appearance, in mind, and in valour; that he was as learned as the greatest doctors; that he understood the mystic meaning of the commentaries of the Koran, and knew by heart the sentences of Mahomet. It finally call him the hero of Asia and the phœnix of the East.

Indeed, this prince, from the age of eighteen had perhaps no equal in the world; he was the soul of the councils of his father Timurtasch. I he proffered an advice, the most experienced ministers approved it, and could not enough admire his prudence and sagacity. Beside this, if it were a time of war he was always seen at the head of the troops, seeking out the enemy, fighting and defeating it.

He had already won several victories, and the Nogaïs had become so redoubtable by their fortunate successes, that the neighbouring nations did not dare embroil themselves with them. The affairs of the khan his father were in this condition when there came to his court an ambassador from the Sultan of Carizma, who in the audience given him declared that his master required in future that the Nogaïs Tartars should pay him a yearly tribute, otherwise he would come in person to force them to it with two hundred thousand men, to punish them for not having submitted with a good grace.

The khan thereupon assembled his council. It was discussed whether the tribute should be paid rather than come to blows with so powerful an enemy, or whether his threats should be ignored. Calaf and the majority of those present at the council were of this latter opinion, so that the ambassador was sent back with a refusal.

After that they sent deputies to the neighbouring peoples to represent to them that it would be to their interest to unite with the khan against the Sultan of Carizma, whose ambition was excessive, and who would not fail to exact from them also the same tribute, if he could force the Nogaïs to it. The deputies succeeded in their negotiations; the neighbouring nations, and among others the Circassians, promised to join themselves to the khan, and to furnish him with fifty thousand men.

On this promise, besides the standing army which the prince usually had, he raised new troops.

During these preparations among the Nogaïs, the Sultan of Carizma on his side assembled two hundred thousand combatants and crossed the Jaxartes to Khokand.

He traversed many rich countries, where he found abundance of provision and advanced far on his way before the army of the khan, commanded by Prince Calaf, could be put in the field, because the Circassians and the other auxiliary troops had not been able to join sooner.

As soon as Calaf had received all the aid he expected, he marched straight to meet the enemy. After a few days his outposts reported to him that the enemy had appeared and was coming towards him in battle array. The prince immediately called a halt, and disposed his troops for combat.

The two armies were nearly equal in number, and the peoples composing them were not less bellicose the one than the other. So the combat that ensued was bloody and determined. It began in the morning and lasted till night. On both sides the officers and soldiers did their duty well. The sultan during action did all that a warrior perfected in the art of warfare could do, and the Prince Calaf more than was to be expected of so young a general. Sometimes the Nogaïs Tartars had the advantage, and sometimes they were obliged to yield to the efforts of the Carizmians; so that the two parties, successively conquerors and conquered, sounded the retreat at nightfall, resolved to begin the combat again on the morrow.

But the commander of the Circassians went secretly to the sultan and promised to abandon the Nogaïs, provided that, by a treaty which he would swear to observe religiously, he engaged never to exact tribute from the people of Circassia under any pretext whatever. The sultan consented; the treaty was made, the commander regained his quarters, and the following day, when the battle was about to begin again, the Circassians were seen suddenly to detach themselves from their allies and take the road back to their country.

This treachery caused much chagrin to Prince Calaf, who, seeing himself then much weaker than the sultan, would much have wished to avoid the combat; but it was not possible. The Carizmians attacked suddenly, and, profiting by the ground which permitted them to spread themselves out, they enveloped the Nogaïs on all sides.

The latter, however, although abandoned by their best auxiliary troops, and surrounded by enemies, did not lose courage. Animated by the example of their prince, they formed a square, and sustained for a long time the most formidable charges of the sultan; they were, nevertheless, broken in, and then Calaf, in despair of victory, only thought of escaping the enemy.

He chose several squadrons, and putting himself at their head, he made his way through the Carizmians. The sultan, informed of his retreat, despatched six thousand cavalry to pursue him. But he evaded them by taking roads which were unknown to them; he arrived a few days after the battle at his father’s court, where he spread sadness and terror by informing them of the misfortune which had befallen him.

If this news depressed Timurtasch, that which he received soon after drove him to utter despair. An officer escaped from the battle came to say that the Sultan of Carizma had put almost all the Nogaïs to the sword, and that he was advancing by forced marches, resolved to put all the khan’s family to death and to make the nation subservient to him. The khan then repented having refused to pay tribute; but as the Arab proverb says, ‘What avails repentance after the ruin of the town of Bassora?’

As time pressed and it was necessary to take flight for fear of falling into the power of the sultan, the khan, the Princess Elmaze his wife, and Calaf took all that was most precious in their treasury, and left their capital, accompanied by several officers of the palace who would not abandon them, and the troops which had cut their way through the enemy with the young prince.

They took the road to Greater Bulgaria; their intention was to go and beg a refuge with some sovereign prince. They had been several days on the march and had already gained Mount Caucasus, when a thousand brigands, inhabitants of the mountain, burst suddenly upon them. Although Calaf had hardly four hundred men, he withstood the impetuosity of the brigands; he even killed a large number of them; but he lost all his troops and finally remained at the mercy of these bandits, some of whom seized the riches they found, whilst the others took the life of all those who followed the khan.

They spared only the prince, his wife, and son, whom they left however almost naked in the midst of the mountains.

It is impossible to describe the grief of Timurtasch when he saw himself reduced to this extremity. He envied the fate of those who had just perished before his eyes, and giving himself up to despair, he wished to take his life. The princess burst into tears and made the air resound with cries and groans. Calaf alone had the strength to bear up under the weight of bad fortune; imbued with the maxims of the Koran and the sentences of Mahomet on predestination, he had a strength of soul that was not to be shaken. The extreme grief to which the khan and his wife gave way was his greatest trouble.

‘O my father! O my mother!’ he said to them, ‘do not succumb to your misfortunes. Think that it is God who wishes you to be miserable. Let us submit without murmuring to his decrees. Are we the first princes whom his justice has scourged? How many sovereigns before us have been chased from their dominions, and after having led a wandering life and even being taken for the vilest mortals in foreign lands, have remounted their thrones! If God has power to take away crowns, he can also give them back. Let us hope that he will be touched by our misery, and that he will make prosperity follow the deplorable situation we are in.’

He added several other consoling words, and as he spoke, his father and mother listening attentively, felt a secret consolation. They finally let themselves be persuaded.

‘So be it, my son,’ said the khan, ‘let us abandon ourselves to Providence, and since the evils which surround us are written on the fatal tablet, let us suffer them without complaining.’

At these words the prince, his wife, and son resolved to be brave in their misfortune, continued their way on foot, for the robbers had taken their horses from them. After several days’ march they arrived in the territory of the tribe of Berlas.

The khan was exhausted; he declared he could go no further.

‘My lord,’ said Calaf, ‘do not let us despair of seeing the end of our troubles. Let us go to the principal horde of this tribe, I have a presentiment that our luck may turn.’

They went therefore to the horde where the Khan of Berlas lived. They entered a large tent which served as a hospital for poor strangers, and they slept in a corner, very troubled as to how they would subsist. Calaf left his father and mother in this place and went out and visited the horde, asking charity of the passers by; he received from them a small sum of money, with which he purchased provisions, which he took at the end of the day to his father and mother. They could not help weeping when they knew their son had been soliciting alms.

Calaf shared their distress, and said: ‘Nothing, I admit, appears to me more mortifying than being reduced to beg; however, if I cannot otherwise procure succour for you, I shall do it, whatever shame it costs me. But,’ he added, ‘you have only to sell me as a slave, and with the money you will get, you will have means of living for a long time.’

‘What are you saying, my son?’ cried Timurtasch. ‘You propose to us to live at the expense of your liberty! Ah! rather let the misfortune which overwhelms us endure always! If one of us three must be sold to help the two others, it is I. I am not loth to bear the yoke of servitude for you two.’

‘My lord,’ replied Calaf, ‘a thought occurs to me. To-morrow I shall go and join the porters; some one will employ me, and we shall thus live by my work. They decided on this. The following day the prince placed himself among the porters of the horde, and waited for someone to employ him, but unfortunately it happened that no one employed him, so that half the day had already passed without his having earned anything. That distressed him much. ‘If I do not do better,’ he said to himself, ‘how can I nourish my father and mother?’

He wearied of waiting in vain among the porters until some one should address him, so he left the horde to think more freely of a means of subsistence. He sat under a tree, where, after having implored Heaven to have pity upon him, he fell asleep. On awaking, he perceived a falcon of singular beauty; it had a crest of a thousand colours on its head, and wore round its neck a chain of gold leaves, set with diamonds, topazes, and rubies.

Calaf, who understood falconry, offered it his wrist, and the bird perched on it. The Prince of the Nogaïs was much delighted. ‘Let us see,’ he said to himself, ‘where this will lead us; this bird, according to all appearance, belongs to the king of this horde.’ He was not mistaken; it was the falcon of Alinguer, Khan of Berlas, which the prince had lost at the chase the day before. His huntsmen and falconers were searching the country for it, with all the more ardour and anxiety that their master had threatened them with the extreme penalty if they returned to his court without his bird, which he loved passionately.

Prince Calaf returned to the horde with the falcon. All the people began immediately to cry, ‘There is the khan’s falcon found! Blessed be the young man who is going to rejoice our prince by bringing him his bird!’ When Calaf had arrived at the royal tent, and appeared there with the falcon, the khan, in a transport of joy, ran to his bird and caressed it a thousand times. Then, addressing the Prince of the Nogaïs, he asked him where he had found it. Calaf related what had happened. After that the khan said to him:

‘You seem to me a stranger. What country are you from, and what is your profession?’

‘My lord,’ replied the son of Timurtasch, prostrating himself at his feet, ‘I am the son of a merchant of Bulgaria, who possessed great wealth. I was travelling with my father and mother when we met some robbers, who took from us everything but our lives, and we came to this horde, begging by the way.’

‘Young man,’ replied the khan, ‘I am very glad it is you who have found my falcon, for I have sworn to give to the person who brought it back to me the three things he chose to ask me, so you have only to speak. Tell me what you wish me to give you, and be sure of obtaining it.’

‘Since I am permitted to ask three things,’ replied Calaf, ‘I would wish, firstly, that my father and mother, who are in the hospital, might have a private tent in your majesty’s quarter, be kept at your majesty’s expense the rest of their days, and even served by the officers of your house. Secondly I desire one of the finest horses in your stables, all saddled and bridled; and finally, a complete and magnificent suit with a rich sabre, and a purse full of gold pieces, in order to make with comfort a journey I am meditating.’

‘Your wishes shall be satisfied,’ said Alinguer. ‘Bring your father and mother to me. I will begin from to-day to have them treated as you wish, and to-morrow, dressed in rich clothes, and mounted on the finest horse in my stables, you can go where you wish.’

Calaf prostrated himself a second time before the khan, and after having thanked him for his kindness, he went to the tent where Elmaze and Timurtasch awaited him impatiently.

‘I bring you good news,’ he said; ‘our fate is changed.’ At the same time he related to them all that had happened to him. This adventure pleased them; they looked upon it as an infallible mark that the rigour of their destiny was beginning to be softened. They willingly followed Calaf, who conducted them to the royal tent and presented them to the khan. This prince received them very well, and promised them to keep faithfully the vow he had made their son. He did not fail to do so; he gave them that very day a private tent, had them waited on by the slaves and officers of his house, and ordered them to be treated as himself.

The following day Calaf was clothed in rich garments, he received from the hand of the Prince Alinguer himself a sabre with a diamond hilt, together with a purse filled with gold sequins, and then a very beautiful Turcoman horse was brought to him. He mounted it before all the court, and to show that he knew how to handle a horse, he made it prance in a hundred ways, which charmed the prince and his courtiers.

After having thanked the khan for all his kindness, he took leave of him. He went to find Timurtasch and the Princess Elmaze,

‘I have a great wish,’ he said to them, ‘to see the mighty kingdom of China; permit me to satisfy it. I have a presentiment that I shall distinguish myself by some brilliant action, and that I shall gain the friendship of the monarch who holds under his sway such vast territory. Permit that, leaving you in a place of safety where you want for nothing, I may follow the impulse which animates me, or rather that I may abandon myself to Heaven which guides me.’

‘Go, my son,’ said Timurtasch to him; ‘yield to the noble impulse which animates you. Run to the fate which awaits you; hasten, by your virtue, the slow prosperity which must succeed our misfortune, or, by a gallant death, deserve a dazzling place in the history of unfortunate princes. Depart, we shall await news of you in this tribe, and we will regulate our fortune by yours.’

The young Prince of the Nogaïs embraced his father and mother, and took the road to China.

It is not related by historians that he met with any adventure on the road. They merely say that, having arrived at the great town of Pekin, he alighted near a house which was at the entrance, and where dwelt a little old woman who was a widow.

Calaf presented himself at the door. The old woman immediately appeared. He saluted her and said: ‘My good mother, will you receive a stranger in your house? If you can give me a lodging in your house, I dare assure you that you will not regret it.’

The old woman looked at the young man, and judging by his well-to-do appearance, as well as by his clothes, that he was not a guest to be despised, she made him a profound inclination of the head, and replied: ‘Young stranger of fine appearance, my house is at your service, as well as everything that is in it.’

‘And have you,’ he replied, ‘a fit place in which to put my horse?’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I have.’

At the same time she took the horse by the bridle and led it into a little stable at the back of the house.

Then she returned to Calaf, who, feeling very hungry, asked her if she had no one who could go and buy him something in the market.

The widow replied that she had a grandson of twelve who lived with her, and who would acquit himself very well of this commission. Then the prince took from his purse a gold sequin, and put it into the child’s hands, who went off to the market.

In the meanwhile the hostess was much occupied in satisfying the curiosity of Calaf. He asked her a thousand questions: What the customs were of the inhabitants of the town; how many families there were in Pekin; and, finally, the conversation turned to the King of China.

‘Tell me, pray,’ said Calaf, ‘what is the character of this prince? Is he generous, and do you think he would pay any attention to the zeal of a young stranger who offered to serve him against his enemies? In a word, does he deserve that one should attach oneself to his interests?’

‘Without doubt,’ replied the old woman. ‘He is a very good prince, who loves his subjects as much as he is loved by them, and I am very surprised that you have not heard speak of our good King Altoun-Khan, for the reputation of his kindness has spread throughout the world.’

‘By the portrait you have drawn me of him,’ replied Prince Calaf, ‘I gather that he must be the happiest and most contented monarch of the world.’

‘He is not so, however,’ replied the widow. ‘One may even say that he is very unhappy. Firstly, he has no prince to succeed him: he has had no male child, pray and do good works as he will. I must tell you, however, that the sorrow of having no son does not constitute his greatest trouble. What troubles his life is the Princess Tourandot, his only daughter.’

‘And why,’ replied Calaf, ‘is she a trouble to him?’

‘I am going to tell you,’ replied the widow. ‘I can talk of that with authority, because it has often been told me by my daughter, who has the honour to be in the palace, among the slaves of the princess.

‘The Princess Tourandot,’ pursued the old hostess of the Prince of the Nogaïs, ‘is in her nineteenth year. She is so beautiful that the painters who have drawn her portrait, although the most skilful in the East, have all admitted that they were ashamed of their work, and that the brush which best succeeded in doing justice to the charms of a beautiful face could not depict all those of the Princess of China. However, the divers portraits which have been made of her, although inferior to the original, have not failed to produce terrible effects. She unites with her ravishing beauty such a cultivated mind that she not only knows everything which it is customary to teach persons of her rank, but even the sciences which are only learned by men. She knows how to write the different characters of several languages, she knows arithmetic, geography, philosophy, mathematics, and, above all, theology. She has read the laws and precepts of our legislator, Confucius. In fact, she is as clever as all the doctors together. But her fine qualities are effaced by an unexampled harshness of soul. She tarnishes her merits by a detestable cruelty. Two years ago the King of Thibet sent to ask her in marriage for the prince his son, who had become enamoured of her from a portrait he had seen of her. Altoun-Khan, delighted with this alliance, proposed it to Tourandot. This proud princess, to whom all men appear contemptible, so vain has her beauty made her, rejected the proposal with disdain. The king became angry with her, and declared that he would be obeyed. But, instead of submitting with a good grace to the wishes of her father, she wept with rage at the idea of being constrained. She was immoderately incensed, as though they had wished to do her some great wrong. In fact, she fretted so that she became ill. The physicians, knowing the cause of her malady, told the king that all their remedies were useless, and that the princess would inevitably lose her life if he persisted in wishing to make her marry the Prince of Thibet. Then the king, who loved his daughter devotedly, alarmed at the danger she was in, went to see her, and assured her that he would send away the ambassador of Thibet with a refusal.

‘“It is not enough, my lord,” said the princess; “I have resolved to let myself die unless you grant me what I am going to ask you. If you wish me to live, you must take an inviolable oath not to oppose my sentiments, and publish an edict by which you will declare that of all the princes who seek my hand, none shall be able to marry me till he has first replied pertinently to the questions which I shall put to him, before all the legal men in this town; that if he answers well, I consent to take him as my husband, but that if he replies ill, his head shall be cut off in the courtyard of your palace. By this edict,” she added, “which will be made known to the foreign princes who arrive at Pekin, all desire to ask me in marriage will be taken from them, which is what I wish; for I hate men and do not wish to marry.”

‘“But, my daughter,” said the king; “if anyone, despising my edict, presents himself, and answers your questions correctly——”

‘“Oh! I do not fear that,” she interrupted with precipitation. “I know how to frame such difficult ones that I should embarrass the greatest doctors. I willingly run the risk.”

‘Altoun-Khan reflected for some time on what the princess exacted from him. “I quite see,” he said to himself, “that my daughter does not wish to marry, and that this edict will effectually alarm all her lovers; so I hazard nothing in giving her this satisfaction; no harm can come of it. What prince would be fool enough to face such a frightful peril?” Finally the king, persuaded that his edict would have no evil effects, and that the entire recovery of his daughter depended on it, had it published, and swore by the laws of China to observe it exactly. Tourandot, reassured by this sacred oath, which she knew the king, her father, would not dare violate, took strength again and enjoyed perfect health. However, the rumour of her beauty attracted several young foreign princes to Pekin. In vain was the tenour of the edict made known to them. As everyone has a good opinion of his own intelligence, and young people especially, they had the audacity to present themselves to reply to the questions of the princess, and not being able to discover their obscure meaning, they all perished miserably one after the other. The king, to whom this justice must be done, seems much touched by their fate. He repents of having taken an oath which binds him, and with all the affection he has for his daughter he would rather have let her die than have preserved her at that price. He does all that he can to prevent these misfortunes. When a lover whom the edict cannot restrain comes to ask him for the hand of the princess, he tries to deter him from his resolution, and he only consents regretfully to his exposing his life. But it generally happens that he cannot persuade these bold young men. They think only of Tourandot, and the hope of winning her makes them indifferent to the difficulty of obtaining her. But if the king at least appears sensible to the destruction of these unhappy princes, it is not so with his barbaric daughter. She delights in the bloody spectacles which her beauty affords the Chinese. She has so much vanity that the most amiable prince appears not only unworthy of her, but even very insolent to dare to raise his thoughts to alliance with her, and she looks upon his death as a just punishment of his temerity. What is still more deplorable is that Heaven often permits princes to come and sacrifice themselves to this inhuman princess. It is not long since a prince who flattered himself that he was intelligent enough to reply to her questions, lost his life; and to-night another must perish who has, unfortunately for him, come to the court of the King of China in the same hope.’

Calaf was very attentive to what the old woman told him. ‘I do not understand,’ he said, when she had finished speaking, ‘how there are found princes ill-judged enough to go and ask the hand of the Princess of China. What man can be otherwise than alarmed at the condition without which it cannot be obtained! Moreover, whatever the artists who have painted her portrait may say of her, although they assert that their work is only an imperfect reflection of her beauty, I believe they have lent her charms, and that their paintings are flattering, since they have produced such powerful effects. In fact, I cannot think that Tourandot is as beautiful as you say.’

‘My lord,’ replied the widow, ‘she is still more charming than I have told you, and you may believe me, for I have seen her several times in going to see my daughter in the palace. Imagine to yourself what you will, depict in your imagination all that can contribute to form a perfect beauty, and be persuaded that you will not be able to represent to yourself anything approaching to the princess.’

The Prince of the Nogaïs could not credit his hostess’s remarks, so hyperbolical did he find them; he took, however, without knowing why, a secret pleasure in them.

‘But, my mother,’ he replied, ‘are the questions which the king’s daughter puts so difficult that they cannot be answered in a way to satisfy the legal men who judge of them? For myself, I think that the princes who cannot penetrate the meaning of them are all of small genius, or ignorant men.’

‘No, no,’ replied the old woman, ‘there are no enigmas more obscure than the princess’s questions, and it is almost impossible to reply to them well.’

Whilst they were speaking thus of Tourandot and her unfortunate lovers, the little boy who had been sent to the market returned laden with provisions. Calaf seated himself at a table laid for him by the widow, and ate like a man dying of hunger.

In the meanwhile night came on, and soon the kettle-drums of justice were heard in the town. The prince asked what this noise meant.

‘It is,’ said the old woman, ‘to inform the people that someone is about to be executed, and the unfortunate wretch who is going to be immolated is the prince I told you of, who must to-night lose his life for having answered the princess’s questions badly. It is the custom to punish the guilty during the day; but this is a particular case. The king in his heart detests the punishment meted out to his daughter’s suitors, and he does not wish the sun to be the witness of so cruel an action.’

The son of Timurtasch desired to see this execution, the cause of which seemed very singular to him: he left his hostess’s house, and, encountering in the street a large crowd of Chinese animated by the same curiosity, he mingled with them and arrived in the courtyard of the palace where so tragic a scene was to take place.

He saw erected in the middle a very high tower of wood, the outside of which from the top to the bottom was covered with branches of cypress, among which were a large quantity of lamps very well arranged, which spread such a strong light that all the courtyard was lit up by them. Fifteen paces from the tower was raised a scaffold all covered with white satin, and around which were ranged several pavilions of taffetas of the same colour. Behind these tents two thousand soldiers of the guard of Altoun-Khan, with naked swords and axes in their hands, formed a double hedge, which served as a barrier to the people. Calaf was looking attentively at everything, when all of a sudden the sad ceremony, the preparations for which were seen, began by a confused sound of drums and bells from the top of the tower, which were heard afar off; at the same time twenty mandarins, and as many legal men, all clad in long robes of white wool, came out of the palace, advanced towards the scaffold, and, after having walked three times round it, went to seat themselves under the pavilions.

Then appeared the victim, adorned with flowers entwined with cypress leaves, with a blue scarf on his head, and not a red scarf like the criminals whom justice has condemned. He was a young prince hardly eighteen years of age: he was accompanied by a mandarin who held him by the hand, and was followed by the executioner. They all three mounted the scaffold; the sound of the drums and bells immediately ceased.

The mandarin then addressed the prince, in a tone of voice loud enough for half the people to hear. ‘Prince,’ he said to him, ‘is it not true that the tenour of the edict was made known to you as soon as you presented yourself to ask the princess in marriage? Is it not also true that the king made every effort to deter you from your bold resolution?’

The prince replied, ‘Yes.’

‘Recognise, then,’ continued the mandarin, ‘that it is your fault if you lose your life to-day, and that the king and the princess are not guilty of your death.’

‘I pardon it them,’ replied the prince. ‘I impute it to myself only, and I pray Heaven never to call them to account for the blood which is going to be spilled.’

He had hardly finished these words than the executioner cut off his head with one stroke of the sword. The air immediately resounded anew with the sound of the bells and the noise of the drums. Twelve mandarins came to take the body; they enclosed it in a coffin of ivory and ebony, and put it in a small litter which six of them carried on their shoulders into the garden of the palace, under a dome of white marble, which the king had had built expressly to be the place of sepulture of all the unfortunate princes who were to share the same fate. He often went to weep over the tomb of those who were there, and he endeavoured by honouring their ashes, to expiate in a measure the barbarity of his daughter.

As soon as the mandarins had borne off the prince who had just perished, the people and the legal men returned home, blaming the king for having been imprudent enough to consecrate his daughter’s fury by an oath which he could not violate. Calaf remained in the courtyard of the palace, filled with a thousand perplexing thoughts. He saw near him a man who was in tears; he judged him to be someone who was interested in the execution which had just taken place, and hoping to know more about it, he spoke to him. ‘I am touched,’ he said, ‘at the keen grief you display, and I sympathise with your trouble, for I do not doubt but you have known well the prince who has just died.’

‘Ah! my lord,’ replied the afflicted man, whose tears redoubled, ‘I ought to have known him well, since I was his tutor. O unhappy King of Samarcand!’ he added, how great will be your grief when you know the strange death of your son: and what man will dare bring you the news of it?’

Calaf asked how the Prince of Samarcand had become amorous of the Princess of China.

‘I will tell you,’ said the tutor, ‘and you will doubtless be astonished at the story I am going to relate. The Prince of Samarcand,’ he continued, ‘lived happily at his father’s court; the courtiers, looking upon him as a prince who must one day be their sovereign, did not study less to please him than the king himself. He generally spent the day in hunting or throwing the sledge-hammer, and at night he introduced secretly into his apartment the noble youth of the court, with whom he drank all sorts of beverages. He also took pleasure sometimes in seeing beautiful slaves dance and in listening to voices and instruments. In a word, his life was a round of pleasure.

‘Meanwhile, there arrived a famous painter at Samarcand, with several portraits of princesses which he had painted in the different courts he had visited. He came to show them to the prince, who said in looking at the first which he showed him: “These are very fine paintings; I am persuaded that the originals of these portraits are under much obligation to you.”

‘“My lord,” replied the painter, “I admit that these portraits are a little flattered, but I may tell you that I have at the same time one still more beautiful than these, and which, nevertheless, does not approach the original.”

‘Thus speaking he drew from a small case in which were his portraits, that of the Princess of China. Hardly had my master got it in his hands than, not being able to imagine that nature was capable of producing so perfect a beauty, he cried that there was in all the world no woman so charming and that the portrait of the Princess of China must be still more flattered than the others. The painter protested that it was not so, and assured him that no brush could ever render the grace and charm that there was in the face of the Princess Tourandot. Thus assured, my master bought the portrait, which made such an impression on him that, forsaking one day his father’s court, he left Samarcand accompanied only by me; and without telling me his intention he took the road to China and arrived in this town. He proposed serving Altoun-Khan for some time against his enemies, and then to ask his daughter in marriage; but on arriving we learnt the rigour of the edict, and what is most strange is, that my prince, instead of being keenly afflicted by this news, was rejoiced at it.

‘“I am going,” he said, “to present myself to reply to the questions of Tourandot. I am not wanting in intelligence. I shall obtain this princess.”

‘There is no need to tell you the rest, my lord,’ continued the tutor sobbing; ‘you may judge by the sad spectacle which you have just seen that the deplorable Prince of Samarcand was not able to reply, as he hoped, to the fatal questions of this barbaric beauty, who delights in shedding blood and who has already cost the life of several sons of kings. He gave me just now the portrait of this cruel princess when he saw that he must prepare to die. “I entrust to you,” he said, “this rare painting. Take good care of this precious trust; you have only to show it to my father when informing him of my fate, and I do not doubt that on seeing so charming a picture, he will pardon me my temerity.” But,’ added the tutor, ‘let who will go and bear to the king his father such sad news; for myself, absorbed in my grief, I shall go far from here and Samarcand to bemoan one so dear. That is what you wished to know; and here is this dangerous portrait,’ he pursued, taking it from under his robe, and throwing it on the ground with indignation; ‘here is the cause of my prince’s misfortune. Oh, detestable painting! Why had not my master my eyes when you fell into his hands? Oh, inhuman princess! may all the princes of the earth have for you the sentiments which you inspire in me! Instead of being the object of their love, you would inspire them with horror.’

At these words the tutor of the Prince of Samarcand retired full of anger, casting a furious glance at the palace, and without further speech with the Prince of Timurtasch, who promptly picked up the portrait of Tourandot, and, wishing to retire to the old woman’s house, got lost in the darkness and insensibly found himself outside the town. He impatiently awaited the daylight in order to contemplate the beauty of the Princess of China. As soon as it dawned, and he could satisfy his curiosity, he opened the box which contained the portrait.

He hesitated, however, before looking at it. ‘What am I about to do?’ he cried. ‘Ought I to place before my eyes so dangerous an object? Think, Calaf, think of the fatal effects it has had; have you already forgotten what the tutor of the Prince of Samarcand has just told you? Do not look at this painting; resist the impulse which moves you whilst it is still only one of curiosity. Whilst you enjoy your reason, you can prevent your destruction. But what am I saying—prevent? What false reasoning is inspiring in me a timid prudence? If I am to love the princess, is not my love already written in the heavens in ineffaceable characters? Moreover, I believe the finest portrait can be seen with impunity; one must be very weak to be troubled at the sight of a vain mingling of colours. Let us fear nothing; let us calmly consider these conquering and assassinating features. I wish to find defects in them and taste the new pleasure of censuring the charms of this too superb princess; and I would wish, for the mortification of her vanity, that she should know that I have looked upon her face without emotion.’

The son of Timurtasch assured himself that he would look with an indifferent eye on the portrait of Tourandot; he looked at it, examined it, admired the contour of the face, the regularity of the features, the vivacity of the eyes, the mouth, the nose—all seemed perfect to him. He was astonished at so rare a combination, and although on guard against what he saw, he let himself be subject to the charm. An inconceivable trouble agitated him in spite of himself; he knew himself no more. ‘What fire,’ he said, ‘is suddenly animating me?—how is this portrait disordering my senses? Just Heaven! is it the fate of all those who look at this painting to love the inhuman princess it represents? Alas! I feel too well that it is making on me the same impression that it has made on the unhappy Prince of Samarcand. I succumb to the features which were his ruin, and far from being terrified at his pitiable fate I almost envy his misfortune. What a change! Great God! I did not conceive just now how one could be mad enough to despise the rigour of the edict, and at this moment I see nothing to alarm me, all the danger has disappeared. No, incomparable princess,’ he continued, looking at the portrait with a tender air, ‘no obstacle deters me. I love you in spite of your barbarity, and since it is permitted to me to aspire to your hand I wish from to-day to try to obtain you. If I perish in such a fine enterprise, I shall feel in dying only the grief of not being able to win you.’ Calaf, having resolved to ask the princess in marriage, returned to his old widow, whose house he had no little difficulty in finding, for he had wandered far from it in the night.

‘Ah! my son,’ said his hostess as soon as she saw him, ‘I am charmed to see you again. I was very troubled about you, I feared some disastrous accident had happened to you; why did not you return sooner?’

‘My good mother,’ he replied, ‘I am sorry to have caused you anxiety, but I lost my way in the dark.’ Then he related to her how he had met the prince’s tutor, and he did not fail to repeat all he had told him; then, showing the portrait of Tourandot, ‘See,’ he said, ‘whether this painting is merely an imperfect image of the Princess of China; for myself, I cannot imagine that it does not equal the beauty of the original.’

‘By the soul of the Prophet!’ cried the old woman, after having examined the portrait, ‘the princess is a thousand times more beautiful and more charming still than she is represented here. I would you had seen her; you would be persuaded that all the painters of the world who might undertake to paint her as she is would not succeed, I do not except even the most famous.’

‘You give me great pleasure,’ replied Prince Calaf, ‘in assuring me that the beauty of Tourandot is above all efforts of painting. How this assurance flatters me! It strengthens me in my intention, and excites me to attempt at once such a fine enterprise. Were I only now before the princess! I am burning with impatience to try whether I shall be more fortunate than the Prince of Samarcand.’

‘What are you saying, my son?’ replied the widow. ‘What enterprise are you daring to form and think of executing?’

‘My good mother,’ replied Calaf, ‘I propose to-day to present myself to answer the questions of the princess. I only came to China to offer my sword to the great King Altoun-Khan, but it is better to be his son-in-law than an officer of his army.’

At these words the old woman began to cry. ‘Ah, my lord,’ she said, ‘in God’s name do not persist in such a bold resolution. You will perish without doubt if you are bold enough to come forward as a suitor of the princess. Instead of being charmed with her beauty detest her rather, since she is the cause of so many tragic events; represent to yourself that it will cause grief to your parents when they receive news of your death; be touched at the mortal grief in which you are about to plunge them.’

‘Pray, good mother,’ interrupted the son of Timurtasch, ‘cease depicting to me things so calculated to distress me. I know that if I end my life to-day it will be an inexhaustible source of tears to the authors of my being, perhaps even, for I know their love for me, they may die of grief at hearing of my death. However cognisant, nevertheless, I should be, and indeed am, of their sentiments, I must yield to the ardour which dominates me. But what am I saying? Is it not also to make them happier that I wish to expose my life? Yes, doubtless their interest is in accord with the desire which animates me, and if my father were here, so far from opposing my design, he would incite me to execute it promptly. I am resolved upon it; therefore do not waste time in trying to persuade me, for nothing can shake me.’

When the old woman saw that her young guest did not listen to her advice, her grief redoubled. ‘So be it, my lord,’ she said; ‘you cannot be prevented from rushing on to your destruction. Why need you have come to lodge in my house? Why have I spoken to you of Tourandot? You became enamoured of her from the portrait I drew of her. Unhappy woman that I am, it is I who have destroyed you; why must I have your death on my conscience?’

‘No, good mother,’ the Prince Calaf interrupted a second time, ‘it is not you who cause my misfortune. Do not impute to yourself the love I have for the princess, I was bound to love her, and I am fulfilling my destiny. Moreover, who has told you that I shall reply badly to her questions? I am not uneducated, nor without intelligence, and Heaven has perhaps reserved to me the honour of delivering the King of China from the distress which a terrible oath causes him. But,’ he added, drawing out the purse which the Khan of Berlas had given him, and in which there were still a considerable number of gold pieces, ‘my fate is, I admit, uncertain, and I may die, so I make you a present of this purse to console you for my death. You may even also sell my horse and keep the money, for I shall not want it, whether I receive the daughter of Altoun-Khan as the price of my audacity, or whether my death must be the sad reward of it.’

The widow took the proffered purse, saying: ‘O my son! you are much mistaken if you think these gold pieces console me for your loss. I am going to employ them in good works, distributing a part of it in the hospitals for the poor, who suffer their misery in patience and whose prayers in consequence are so agreeable to God. I shall give the rest to the ministers of our religion, so that they may all pray Heaven to inspire you and not permit you to expose yourself to death. All the favour that I ask of you is not to go to-day and present yourself to answer the questions of Tourandot. Wait till to-morrow. The time is not long; give me time to interest good people and Heaven in you. After that you can do as you please. Grant me, I beg, this satisfaction. I venture to say you owe it to a person who has already conceived for you so much friendship that she would be inconsolable were you to perish.’

Certainly, Calaf had an appearance which spoke well in his favour; beside being one of the handsomest and best made princes in the world, he had easy and agreeable manners, so that to see him was to love him. He was touched at the grief and affection which this good old woman displayed.

‘Well, my mother,’ he said, ‘I will grant you the favour you ask me; I will not go and ask the hand of the princess to-day. But to tell you the truth, I do not think anything can make me change my mind.’

He did not leave the widow’s house all day. She went to distribute alms in the hospitals, and bought with good solid cash the intercession of the priests with Heaven; she also had chickens and fish sacrificed to the idols.

The genii were not forgotten either; rice and vegetables were offered them in sacrifice in the places consecrated to this ceremony. But all the prayers of the priests and the ministers of the idols, although well prayed, did not produce the effect which Calaf’s good hostess had expected; for the next morning he seemed more determined than ever to ask the hand of Tourandot.

‘Farewell, my good mother,’ he said to the widow. ‘I am sorry you gave yourself so much trouble for me yesterday; you might have spared yourself, for I assured you that I should not be of a different mind to-day.’

At these words he quitted the old woman, who, overcome by the keenest grief, covered her face with her veil, and remained with her head on her knees, inexpressibly overwhelmed.

The young Prince of the Nogaïs, perfumed with essences and more beautiful than the moon, betook himself to the palace. He saw at the gate five elephants joined together, and on both sides was a hedge of two thousand soldiers with helmets on their heads, armed with bucklers and covered with iron plates. One of the commanding officers, judging by Calaf’s appearance that he was a stranger, stopped him and asked him his business at the palace.

‘I am a foreign prince,’ replied the son of Timurtasch, ‘and I come to present myself to the king to pray him to accord me permission to answer the questions of the princess his daughter.’

The officer at these words, looking at him with astonishment, said to him: ‘Prince, do you know that you come here to seek death? You would have done better to remain in your own country than to form the design which brings you here. Retrace your steps and do not flatter yourself with the false hope that you will obtain the barbarous Tourandot. Were you more learned than a mandarin of science you would never discover the meaning of her ambiguous words.’

‘I thank you for your advice,’ replied Calaf; ‘but I have not come so far to recoil.’

‘Go then to death,’ replied the officer, with a chagrined air, since it is impossible to prevent you.’ At the same time he let him enter the palace, and then turning towards several other officers who had heard their conversation: ‘How beautiful and well made that prince is,’ he said to them. ‘It is a pity he should die so soon.’

Calaf, however, traversed several halls, and at last found himself in the one in which the king was accustomed to give audience to his people. There was in it a throne of steel, made in the form of a dragon about six feet high. Four lofty columns of the same material upheld a vast daïs of yellow satin ornamented with precious stones. Altoun-Khan, dressed in a caftan of gold brocade on a red ground, was seated on the throne with an air of gravity which was marvellously enhanced by a tuft of very long black hair divided into three curls which he had in the middle of his beard.

This monarch after having listened to some of his subjects, cast his eyes by chance on Prince Calaf who was in the crowd. As he seemed to him a stranger, and as he saw by his noble appearance as well as by his magnificent clothes that he was no ordinary person, he called one of his mandarins, and pointing out Calaf, ordered him in a low voice to inform himself as to his station and the object which had brought him to his court.

The mandarin approached the son of Timurtasch and told him that the king wished to know who he was, and whether he had anything to ask him.

‘You may tell the king your master,’ replied the young prince, ‘that I am the only son of a sovereign, and that I have come to endeavour to merit the honour of being his son-in-law.’

Altoun-Khan no sooner heard the answer of the Prince of the Nogaïs than he changed colour: his august countenance became pale as death; he ceased giving audience; he dismissed everybody; then he descended his throne and approached Calaf.

‘Bold young man,’ he said to him, ‘do you know the rigour of my edict, and the unhappy fate of all those who up till now have persisted in wishing to obtain the princess my daughter?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ replied the son of Timurtasch, ‘I know all the danger I run: my eyes have even been the witness of the final and just punishment which your majesty has made the Prince of Samarcand suffer; but the deplorable end of these audacious men who have vainly flattered themselves with the sweet hope of possessing the Princess Tourandot, only stimulates the desire that I have to deserve her.’

‘What madness!’ replied the king; ‘hardly has one prince lost his life than another offers himself for the same fate. It would seem they take pleasure in immolating themselves. What blindness! Consider, prince, and be less prodigal with your blood. You inspire more pity in me than all those who have already come here to seek death, and I feel an inclination for you growing in me, and I wish to do all in my power to prevent your perishing. Return to your father’s states and do not cause him the unhappiness of hearing the report that he will not see his only son again.’

‘My lord,’ replied Calaf, ‘it is very pleasant to me to hear from the lips of your majesty himself that I have the good fortune to please you. It presages well for me. Perhaps, touched by the misfortunes which the beauty of the princess causes, Heaven wishes to make use of me to put a stop to them, and at the same time assure the repose of your life which is troubled by the necessity of authorising such cruel actions. Do you indeed know that I shall reply badly to the questions which will be put to me? What certainty have you that I shall perish? If others have not been able to unravel the meaning of the obscure words of Tourandot, does it follow that I shall not be able to do so? No, my lord, their example cannot make me renounce the dazzling honour of having you for a father-in-law.’

‘Ah! unfortunate prince,’ replied the king, sorrowfully, ‘you wish to end your life; the lovers who presented themselves before you to reply to my daughter’s fatal questions employed the same language. They all hoped they would discover her meaning, and they could not succeed. Once more, my son,’ he continued, ‘let yourself be persuaded. I like you, and wish to save you: do not make my good intention futile by your obstinacy. Place no trust in the intelligence you feel yourself possessed of. You mistake if you think you can answer immediately what the princess will put to you. However, you will not have many minutes to reply; it is the rule. If you do not immediately give an accurate answer, and one approved by all the doctors who will be the judges, you will be immediately declared worthy of death, and will be led to punishment the following night. So, prince, retire. Pass the rest of the day in thinking what you have to do: consult wise people: reflect and come to-morrow and tell me what you have resolved upon.’

Thus saying, he left Calaf, who went from the palace very mortified at what the king had said to him, and returned to his hostess without paying the least attention to the terrible danger to which he wished to expose himself. As soon as he returned to the old woman and had related to her all that had passed at the palace, she began again to harangue him and do all she could to deter him from the undertaking; but she gained nothing by her fresh efforts, except that she irritated her young guest and made him still more determined in his resolution. He returned the following day to the palace and had himself announced to the king, who received him in his cabinet, not wishing anyone to be present at their conversation.

‘Well, prince,’ said Altoun-Khan, ‘am I to rejoice or be afflicted at the sight of you? What are your feelings?’

‘My lord,’ replied Calaf, ‘I am still in the same disposition. When I had the honour yesterday of presenting myself before your majesty, I had already reflected. I am determined to suffer the same punishment as my rivals, if Heaven has not otherwise ordained.’

At this speech, the king smote his breast, tore his necklace and some hairs from his beard.

‘How unhappy I am,’ he cried, ‘to have conceived so much friendship for this man! The death of the others has not caused me such pain as this. Ah! my son,’ he continued, embracing the young prince with an emotion which affected him much, ‘yield to my grief, if my arguments are not enough to shake you. I feel that the stroke which takes your life will inflict a mortal blow on me. Renounce, I beg, the possession of my cruel daughter; you will find in the world other princesses enough whom you can possess. Why persist in the pursuit of an inhuman woman whom you cannot obtain? Live, if you wish, at my court. You shall hold the first place in it after me, you shall have beautiful slaves, pleasure shall pursue you everywhere, in a word, I shall look upon you as my own son. Desist, then, from the pursuit of Tourandot, that I may at least have the satisfaction of snatching one victim from this sanguinary princess.’

The son of Timurtasch was very sensible of the friendship which the King of China displayed towards him, but he replied, ‘My lord, let me, I beg, expose myself to the danger from which you wish to turn me. The greater it is the more it tempts me. I will even admit to you that the cruelty of the princess secretly flatters my love. It is a delightful pleasure to me to think that I am perhaps the happy mortal who is to triumph over this proud woman. In God’s name,’ he continued, ‘let your majesty cease to combat a design which my glory, my repose, and my life require me to execute, for I cannot live if I do not obtain Tourandot.’

Altoun-Khan, seeing Calaf unshakable in his resolution, was keenly afflicted at it. ‘Ah! bold young man,’ he said, ‘your destruction is assured since you persist in asking for my daughter. Heaven is witness that I have done all I can to inspire reasonable sentiments in you; you reject my advice, and prefer to perish to following it. Do not let us speak of it any more. You shall soon receive the reward of your foolish persistency. I consent to your undertaking to answer the questions of Tourandot. But I must first do you the honours which I am accustomed to offer to the princes who seek alliance with me.’

At these words, he called the chief of the first corps of eunuchs; he ordered him to conduct Calaf to the prince’s palace, and to give him two hundred eunuchs to wait upon him.

Hardly had the prince arrived in the palace to which he had been conducted than the principal mandarins came to salute him, that is to say they fell on their knees and lowered their heads to the ground, saying one after another: ‘Prince, the perpetual servant of your illustrious race comes to make reverence to you in that capacity.’ Then they made him presents and retired.

The king, however, who felt a great friendship for the son of Timurtasch and had compassion on him, sent for the most talented, or at least the most famous professor of his royal college, and said to him: ‘Doctor, there is at my court a new prince who asks for my daughter. I have spared nothing to deter him, but in vain. I would wish you to bring him to reason with your eloquence; it is for that I summon you here.’

The doctor obeyed; he went to see Calaf and had a very long conversation with him. Then he returned to Altoun-Khan and said: ‘My lord, it is impossible to persuade this young prince; he is determined to win the princess or die. When I recognised that it was a mistake to attempt to conquer his resolution, I was curious to see whether his obstinacy had any other foundation than his love. I interrogated him on several different matters and I found him so learned that I was surprised. He is a Mussulman, and he seems to me perfectly instructed in all that appertains to his religion. In fact, to tell your majesty what I think, I believe that if any prince is capable of replying well to the princess’s questions, it is he.’

‘O doctor!’ cried the king, ‘what you say delights me. Please Heaven this prince may become my son-in-law. As soon as I saw him, I felt an affection for him: may he be more fortunate than the others who have come to die in this town!’ The good King Altoun-Khan did not content himself with making vows for Calaf, he endeavoured to make propitious to him the spirits who preside in the heavens, in the sun and the moon.

To this end he ordered public prayers, and made solemn sacrifices in the temples. By his order a bullock was sacrificed to Heaven, a goat to the sun, and a sucking-pig to the moon. Moreover, he had it published in Pekin that everyone should appeal to Heaven in favour of the prince who came to ask for the princess.

After the prayers and sacrifices, the Chinese monarch sent his chancellor to Calaf, to warn him to hold himself in readiness to reply on the morrow to the princess’s questions and to tell him that they would not fail to conduct him to the divan, and that the persons who were to compose the assembly had already received the order to appear there.

Determined as was Calaf on the adventure, he did not pass the night without uneasiness. If sometimes he dared to trust to his genius and promise himself a happy success, sometimes, losing this confidence, he represented to himself the shame he would experience if his replies did not please the divan. He also thought sometimes of Elmaze and Timurtasch. ‘Alas!’ he said, ‘if I die, what will become of my father and mother?’

The daylight found him still in this agitated state. He presently heard the sound of several bells and a great noise of drums. He guessed that it was to summon to the council all those who were to appear there. Then, turning his thoughts to Mahomet: ‘O great Prophet!’ he said, ‘you see the state I am in; inspire me. Shall I go to the divan or shall I turn and tell the king that the danger alarms me?’

He had hardly said these words than he felt all his fears melt away and his courage revive; he rose and put on a caftan and a mantle of red silk with gold flowers which Altoun-Khan sent him, with blue silk stockings and shoes.

As he finished dressing six mandarins, with shoes on their feet and dressed in very large robes of a crimson colour, entered his apartment, and after having saluted him in the same manner as those of the preceding day, they told him that they came from the king to conduct him to the divan. He allowed himself to be conducted; they traversed a courtyard, walking through a double line of soldiers, and when they had arrived in the first council-hall they found more than a thousand singers and players on instruments, who, singing and playing in concert, made an astonishing noise. From there they advanced into the hall where the council was held, a hall which communicated with the inner palace. All the persons who were to be present at this assembly were already seated under pavilions of different colours, which were ranged around the hall.

The most prominent mandarins appeared on one side, the chancellor with the professors of the royal college were on the other, and several doctors whose capacity was well known occupied the other places. In the midst were two golden thrones placed on two triangular seats. As soon as Prince Calaf appeared, the noble and learned audience saluted him with every mark of great respect, but without saying a word to him, because everyone, expecting the arrival of the king, kept a profound silence.

The sun was about to rise. As soon as the first rays were seen to shine, two eunuchs opened on both sides the curtains of the door of the inner palace, and immediately the king came out, accompanied by the Princess Tourandot, who wore a long robe of silken tissue of gold, and a veil of the same stuff which covered her face.

They both mounted their thrones by five silver steps.

When they had taken their places, two young girls of perfect beauty appeared, one at the side of the king and the other at the side of the princess. They were palace slaves of Altoun-Khan. Their faces were uncovered, they had great pearls in their ears, and they stood with a pen and paper, ready to write what the king ordered them.

During this time, all the persons in the assembly who had risen at the sight of Altoun-Khan, remained standing with much gravity and half-closed eyes. Calaf alone looked about everywhere, or rather he looked only at the princess, whose majestic bearing he admired.

When the powerful monarch of China had ordered the mandarins and doctors to be seated, one of the six lords who had conducted Calaf, and who were standing with him at fifteen arms’ lengths from the two thrones, knelt and read a notice containing the demand made by this foreign prince for the Princess Tourandot. Then he rose and told Calaf to make three reverences to the king. The Prince of the Nogaïs did so with such grace that Altoun-Khan could not help smiling to show him that he regarded him with pleasure.

Then the chancellor rose from his place and read aloud the fatal edict which condemned to death all the bold lovers who replied ill to the questions of Tourandot. Then addressing Calaf: ‘Prince,’ said he, ‘you have just heard on what conditions the princess can be obtained; if the picture of the present danger makes any impression on your mind, it is still permitted to you to retire.’

‘No,’ replied Prince Calaf; ‘the reward to be gained is too beautiful for me to be cowardly enough to renounce it.’

The king, seeing Calaf resolved to reply to the questions of Tourandot, turned towards the princess, and said to her: ‘My daughter, it is for you to speak; put to this young prince the questions you have prepared, and may it please all the spirits to whom sacrifices were made yesterday, that he may discover the meaning of your words!’

Tourandot at these words said: ‘I call Heaven to witness that it is with regret that I see so many princes die, but why do they persist in wishing me to be theirs, why will they not let me live quietly in my palace, without coming to attack my liberty? Know then, bold young man,’ she added, addressing Calaf, ‘you will have no reproach to make me when, following the example of your rivals, you will have to suffer a cruel death. You alone are the cause of your destruction, since I do not force you to come and ask my hand.’

‘Beautiful princess,’ replied the Prince of the Nogaïs, ‘I know all that can be said on the subject. Put, I pray you, your questions to me, and I am going to try and unravel their meaning.’

‘Well,’ replied Tourandot, ‘tell me what is the creature which belongs to all countries, is beloved by all, and who cannot endure its like?’

‘Madam,’ replied Calaf, ‘it is the sun.’

‘He is right,’ cried the doctors. ‘It is the sun.’

‘Who is the mother,’ asked the princess, ‘who, after having given birth to her children, devours them all when they have grown up?’

‘It is the sea,’ replied the Prince of the Nogaïs, ‘because the rivers which discharge themselves into the sea draw from it their source.’

Tourandot, seeing that the young prince replied correctly to her questions, was so piqued at it that she resolved to spare nothing to bring about his destruction.

‘What is the tree,’ she said, ‘the leaves of which are white on one side and black on the other?’

She did not content herself with proposing this question. The malignant princess, in order to dazzle and confuse Calaf, lifted her veil at the same time and let all the assembly see the beauty of her face, to which rage and shame added fresh charms. Her head was adorned with natural flowers, arranged with infinite art, and her eyes appeared more brilliant than the stars. She was as beautiful as the sun when it shows itself in all its splendour through an opening in a dark cloud.

The amorous son of Timurtasch, at the sight of this incomparable princess, instead of replying to the question put to him, remained silent and immovable.

Immediately the whole divan, which was interested on his behalf, was seized with a mortal terror. The king himself grew pale and thought the young prince was done for.

But Calaf, recovering from the surprise which the beauty of Tourandot had suddenly caused him, soon reassured the assembly by these words: ‘Charming princess, I beg you to pardon me if I have remained confused for a few moments: I thought I saw one of those heavenly objects which form the most beautiful adornment of the abode promised to the faithful after death. I could not see so many attractions without being troubled. Have the kindness to repeat the question you put to me, for I do not remember it. You have made me forget everything.’

‘I asked you,’ said Tourandot, ‘what the tree was, all the leaves of which are white on one side and black on the other?’

‘That tree,’ replied Calaf, ‘represents the year, which is composed of days and nights.’

This answer again received applause in the divan; the mandarins and doctors said it was correct, and bestowed much praise on the young prince.

Then Altoun-Khan said to Tourandot:

‘Come, my daughter, confess yourself conquered, and consent to marry your vanquisher. The others were not able to answer even one of your questions, and he, as you see, explains them all.’

‘He has not yet won the victory,’ replied the princess, putting on her veil again to hide her confusion and the tears she could not help shedding. ‘I have other questions to put to him, but I shall put them to-morrow.’

‘Oh, as for that, certainly not!’ replied the king. ‘I shall not allow you to put questions to him eternally; all that I can allow is that you put another to him presently.’

The princess protested, saying she had only prepared those which had just been interpreted, and she begged the king her father not to refuse her permission to interrogate the prince on the following day.

‘I will not grant it you,’ cried the Chinese monarch in anger. ‘You only seek to put the young prince at fault, and I only think of freeing myself from the frightful oath which I was imprudent enough to make. Ah! cruel woman, you only thirst for blood; the death of your lovers is a pleasant spectacle for you. The queen, your mother, affected by the first misfortunes you caused, died of grief at having given birth to so barbarous a daughter; and, as for myself, as you know, I am plunged in a melancholy nothing can dissipate since I have seen the fatal consequences of my complaisance towards you. But, thanks to the spirits which preside in Heaven, in the sun, and in the moon, and to whom my sacrifices have been agreeable, no more of those horrible executions which make your name execrable shall take place in my palace. Since this prince has replied well to what you have put to him, I ask all this assembly whether it is not just that he should be your husband?’

The mandarins and doctors broke out into murmurs, and the chancellor said: ‘My lord, your majesty is no longer bound by the oath which you took to have this rigorous edict executed. It is for the princess now to perform her part of it. She promised her hand to him who should reply correctly to her questions. A prince has just answered them in a manner which has satisfied all the divan. She must keep her promise, or, without doubt, the spirits charged with the punishment of perjurers will punish her soon.’

Tourandot kept silence during this time. Her head on her knees, she appeared absorbed in deep grief.

Calaf, perceiving it, prostrated himself before Altoun-Khan and said to him: ‘Great king, whose justice and goodness make the vast empire of China to flourish, I ask pardon of your majesty. I see that the princess is in despair at my having had the good fortune to answer her questions. She would doubtless much rather I had merited death. Since she has such an aversion to men that, in spite of her given word, she refuses herself to me, I readily renounce the rights I have over her, on condition that in her turn she replies correctly to a question I am going to put to her.’

The whole assembly was somewhat surprised at this speech. ‘Is this young prince mad?’ they said low to one another, ‘to risk losing what he has just won at the peril of his life? Does he think he can put a question which will embarrass Tourandot? He must have lost his wits.’ Altoun-Khan was also very much astonished at what Calaf dared to ask him.

‘Prince,’ he said, ‘have you well weighed the words you have just spoken?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ replied the Prince of the Nogaïs, ‘and I implore you to grant me this favour.’

‘I will,’ replied the king; ‘but whatever may result from it I declare I am no longer bound by the oath that I have made, and that henceforth I shall have no prince put to death.’

‘Divine Tourandot,’ replied the son of Timurtasch, addressing the princess, ‘you have heard what I have said. Although in the judgment of this learned assembly your hand is due to me; although you belong to me, I give you back to yourself; I abandon marriage with you; I deprive myself of so precious a possession, provided you reply precisely to the question I am going to put to you; but on your side swear that if you do not reply correctly to it, you will consent with a good grace to my happiness and will crown my love.’

‘Yes, prince,’ said Tourandot, ‘I accept the condition. I swear it by all that is most sacred, and call upon this assembly to witness my oath.’

All the divan was in a state of expectancy as to the question Calaf was going to put to the princess, and there was not one of them but blamed the young prince for exposing himself unnecessarily to losing the daughter of Altoun-Khan; they were all shocked at his boldness.

‘Beautiful princess,’ said Calaf, ‘what is the name of the prince, who, after having suffered endless fatigue and begged his bread, is at this moment crowned with glory and joy?’

The princess remained some time reflecting, then she said: ‘It is impossible for me to reply to that immediately, but I promise to tell you to-morrow the name of that prince.’

‘Madam,’ cried Calaf, ‘I did not ask for delay, and it is not just to grant it you; however, I will give you this satisfaction as well; I hope after that you will be too pleased with me to make any difficulty about marrying me.’

‘She must make up her mind to it then,’ said Altoun-Khan, ‘if she does not reply to the question proposed. Let her not attempt, by falling ill, or feigning to do so, to escape her lover; if my oath did not engage me to grant her to him, and if she were not his according to the edict, I would rather let her die than dismiss this young prince. What more amiable man can she ever encounter?’

Thus saying, he rose from his throne and dismissed the assembly. He entered the inner palace with the princess, whence she retired to her own palace.

As soon as the king had left the divan, all the doctors and mandarins complimented Calaf on his intelligence. ‘I admire,’ said one, ‘your prompt and easy conception.’ ‘There is not,’ said another, ‘either a bachelor, master, or even a doctor more penetrating than yourself. All the princes who have presented themselves up till now had nothing like your merit: and we are extremely rejoiced that you have succeeded in your enterprise.’ The Prince of the Nogaïs was not a little occupied in thanking all those who hastened to felicitate him.

Finally the six mandarins who had conducted him to the council led him back to the same palace whence they had fetched him, whilst the others, with the doctors, went away, not without uneasiness as to the answer which the daughter of Altoun-Khan would make to his question.

The Princess Tourandot regained her palace, followed by two young slaves who were in her confidence. As soon as she reached her apartment she removed her veil, and throwing herself on the sofa she gave free vent to the affliction which agitated her. Shame and grief were seen depicted on her countenance; her eyes, already bathed in tears, shed tears afresh; she tore out the flowers which adorned her head, and disordered her beautiful hair. When her two favourite slaves wished to console her, she said to them: ‘Leave me both of you; cease to pay superfluous attentions to me, I listen to nothing but my despair, I wish to weep and grieve. Ah! what will be my confusion to-morrow, when in the midst of the council, before the greatest doctors of China, I have to admit that I cannot answer the proposed question. “Is that,” they will say, “the brilliant princess who prides herself on knowing everything, and to whom the guessing of the most difficult enigma is as nothing!” Alas!’ she continued, ‘they are all on the side of the young prince. I saw them become pale, alarmed, when he appeared embarrassed, and full of joy when he unravelled the meaning of my questions. I shall have the cruel mortification to see them rejoice again in my trouble when I confess myself conquered. What pleasure will not this shameful avowal cause them, and what torture for me to be reduced to to make it!’

‘My princess,’ said one of the slaves to her, ‘instead of grieving beforehand, instead of representing to yourself the shame you must experience to-morrow, would it not be better to think of avoiding it? Is what he has asked you so difficult that you cannot answer it? With your genius and penetration, will you not be able to achieve it?’

‘No,’ replied Tourandot, ‘it is impossible. He asks me what the name is of the prince who, after having suffered endless fatigue, and begged his bread, is at this moment crowned with joy and glory? I know well that he is himself this prince, but, not knowing him, I cannot say his name.’

‘However, madam,’ replied the same slave, ‘you have promised to name this prince to-morrow at the divan. When you made this promise, you doubtless hoped to keep it?’

‘I hoped nothing,’ replied the princess, ‘and I only asked for time in order to let myself die of grief before being obliged to admit my shame and marry the prince.’

‘What a violent resolution!’ then said the other favourite slave. ‘I know well, madam, no man is worthy of you, but it must be admitted that this one is of singular merit; his beauty, his good appearance, and his intelligence, ought to speak to you in his favour.’

‘I do him justice,’ interrupted the princess; ‘if there be in the world a prince who deserves that I should look upon him with a favourable eye, it is he. Just now even, I confess, before interrogating him, I pitied him, I sighed on seeing him, and, as has never happened to me before, I almost hoped he might reply correctly to my questions. It is true that at the moment I blushed at my weakness, but my pride surmounted it, and the correct replies he made me ended by revolting me against him; the applause of the doctors mortified me so much that I felt and still feel only hatred for him. O unhappy Tourandot! die at once of regret and rage at having found a young man who has been able to cover you with shame, and to force you to become his wife.’

At these words her tears fell afresh, and in the violence of her grief she spared neither her hair nor her clothes. More than once she even put her hands to her cheeks, to tear them and punish them as the first indicators of her confusion, but her slaves, who watched over her, saved her countenance. But it was in vain they tried to succour her, they could not calm her agitation. Whilst she was in this frightful state, the Prince of the Nogaïs, charmed at the result of the divan, was overcome with joy, and indulged the hope of winning his love the following day.

The king having returned from the council chamber to his apartment, sent for Calaf to talk in private over what had taken place at the divan. The prince immediately obeyed the summons of the monarch, who said to him, after having embraced him with much tenderness: ‘Ah, my son, come and relieve me from the uneasiness I am in. I fear lest my daughter may reply to the question you have put to her. Why have you run the risk of losing the object of your love?’

‘My lord,’ replied Calaf, ‘let not your majesty be apprehensive. It is impossible for the princess to tell me who is the prince whose name I asked her, since I am that prince, and no one at your court knows me.’

‘You have reassured me,’ cried the delighted king. ‘I was alarmed, I admit. Tourandot is very penetrating, the subtlety of her mind made me tremble for you, but, Heaven be thanked, you have quieted me. Whatever facility she may have in detecting the meaning of enigmas, she cannot guess your name. I do not accuse you any longer of being a bold man, and I perceive that what appeared to me a defect of prudence is an ingenious trick which you have made use of, to remove all pretext from my daughter for refusing herself to you.’

Altoun-Khan, after having laughed with Calaf over the question put to the princess, prepared to amuse himself with hunting. He put on a light and narrow caftan, and enclosed his beard in a black satin bag. He ordered the mandarins to hold themselves in readiness to accompany him, and had hunting clothes given to the Prince of the Nogaïs. They hastily ate some morsels of food, then left the palace. The mandarins, in ivory chairs enriched with gold, and uncovered, were at the head. Each one had six men who carried him, two who walked before him with whips of cord, and two others who followed him with silver tablets, on which were written in large characters all his qualities.

The king and Calaf appeared after the mandarins, borne by twenty military officers in a litter of red sandal wood, also uncovered, on which the first letter of the monarch’s name and several figures of animals were painted in silver characters. Two generals of the armies of Altoun-Khan each held by the side of the litter a large fan, to preserve them from the heat, and three thousand eunuchs who marched behind ended the procession.

When they had arrived at the place where the officers of the hunt awaited the king with falcons, a quail hunt was begun which lasted till sunset. Then the prince and the persons of his suite returned to the palace in the same order as they started. They found in a courtyard, under several pavilions of different coloured taffetas, a quantity of little tables, highly varnished and covered with all sorts of meats. Calaf and the mandarins seated themselves, after the example of the king, each at a little separate table, near which was another which served as a buffet. They began by drinking several draughts of rice wine before touching the meats; then they only ate without drinking.

The repast over, Altoun-Khan conducted the Prince of the Nogaïs into a great hall brilliantly lit, and full of chairs arranged as for a spectacle, and they were followed by all the mandarins. The king arranged the audience and made Calaf seat himself beside him on a great ebony throne ornamented with gold filigree.

As soon as everybody had taken his seat, singers and musicians entered, who began a very pleasant concert. Altoun-Khan was charmed with it. Very fond of Chinese music, he asked the son of Timurtasch from time to time what he thought of it, and the young prince, from complaisance, estimated it above all other music in the world.

The concert over, the singers and players retired to make room for an artificial elephant, which, advancing by means of a spring into the middle of the hall, threw out six acrobats, who indulged in many perilous feats. They were almost naked; they wore only sandals, breeches of Indian cloth, and caps of brocade. After they had shown their suppleness and agility by a thousand surprising tricks, they re-entered the elephant, which went out as it had entered. Then appeared comedians, who represented an impromptu piece, the subject of which was suggested to them by the king.

When all these amusements were over, the night being far advanced, Altoun-Khan and Calaf rose to retire to rest in their apartments and all the mandarins retired.

The young Prince of the Nogaïs, conducted by eunuchs who bore tapers in golden torches, was preparing to taste the sweets of sleep so far as the impatience to return to the divan permitted him, when, on entering his apartment, he found there a young lady clothed in a very full robe of red brocade with silver flowers, over another narrower one of white satin, all embroidered in gold and scattered with rubies and emeralds.

She wore on her head a cap of rose-coloured taffetas, trimmed with pearls and light silver embroidery, which only covered the top of the head, and displayed very beautiful curly hair in which were some artificial flowers. As regards her figure and face, nothing more beautiful nor more perfect, after the Princess of China, could be seen.

The son of Timurtasch was somewhat surprised to see so charming a lady alone in his apartment in the middle of the night. He would not have looked upon her without admiration had he not seen Tourandot, but could a lover of that princess have eyes for another? As soon as the lady perceived Calaf, she rose from the sofa on which she was seated, and on which she had placed her veil, and, after having bowed rather low:

‘Prince,’ she said, ‘I do not doubt but that you are very astonished to find a woman here, for you doubtless know that it is forbidden under pain of very rigorous punishment, to the men and women who inhabit this palace to have any communication with each other, but the importance of what I have to tell you has made me despise all dangers. I have been skilful and fortunate enough to remove all the obstacles which presented themselves to me. I have won over the eunuchs who serve you; finally, I got into your apartment. There only remains for me to tell you what brings me and that is what you are going to hear.’

This preface interested Calaf; he did not doubt but that the lady, since she had taken so dangerous a step, had things to tell him worthy of his attention. He begged her to reseat herself on the sofa; they both sat down, then the lady continued thus:

‘My lord, I think I had better begin by telling you that I am the daughter of a khan, tributary to Altoun-Khan. My father, several years ago, was bold enough to refuse to pay the ordinary tribute; and trusting a little too much to his experience in the art of war as well as to the valour of his soldiers, he put himself on the defensive in case of attack. The attack did not fail to come. The king of China, irritated at his audacity, sent against him the most skilful of his generals with a powerful army; my father, although less strong, went to meet him. After a bloody combat, which took place on the bank of a river, the Chinese general remained victorious. My father, pierced with a thousand wounds, died during the action; but dying, he ordered that his wives and children should be thrown into the river, to preserve them from slavery. Those whom he entrusted with the carrying out of this generous but inhuman order, executed it. They threw me into the water with my mother, my sisters, and two brothers, who were kept with us on account of their youth. The Chinese general arrived at that moment at that part of the river where they had thrown us in, and where we were perishing miserably. This sad and horrible spectacle excited his compassion; he promised a reward to those of his soldiers who should save some remnant of the family of the vanquished khan. Several Chinese horsemen, in spite of the rapidity of the river, immediately entered it and urged their horses in every direction in which they saw our expiring bodies floating. They rescued some of them, but their succour was only of avail to me. I was still breathing when they carried me ashore; the remainder were lifeless. The general took great care of me, as though it were necessary to his glory, and my captivity had given fresh honour to his victory. He brought me to this town and presented me to the king, after having given him an account of his doings. Altoun-Khan placed me about the princess his daughter, who is two or three years younger than I. Although I was little more than a child, I did not cease thinking that I was a slave, and that I ought to behave in accordance with my unfortunate position; so I studied the temper of Tourandot. I set myself to please her, and I was so obliging and attentive that I gained her friendship. Since that time I share her confidence with a young person of illustrious birth, who has been reduced to slavery by the misfortunes attending her birth. Pardon me, my lord,’ she continued, ‘this story, which has nothing to do with the subject of my visit. I thought it my duty to acquaint you with the fact that I am of noble birth, to inspire you with more confidence in me, for the important story I have to tell you is such that, coming from a simple slave, it might find little credit in your mind. I do not know even whether, although a khan’s daughter, I shall be able to persuade you; will a prince, charmed with Tourandot, put faith in what I am going to tell him of her?’

‘Princess,’ interrupted the son of Timurtasch at this moment, ‘do not keep me longer in suspense. Tell me, I beg, what you have to say about the Princess of China.’

‘My lord,’ replied the lady, ‘Tourandot, the barbarous Tourandot, has formed the design of having you assassinated.’

At these words, Calaf, throwing himself back on his sofa, remained in a state of horror and astonishment.

The slave-princess, who had anticipated the surprise of the young prince, said to him: ‘I am not astonished that you have received this terrible news thus, and I see I was right in doubting your willingness to believe it.’

‘Just Heaven!’ cried Calaf, when he had recovered from his prostration, ‘have I heard aright? Can the Princess of China be capable of so sinister an attempt? How can she have conceived it?’

‘Prince,’ said the lady to him, ‘this is how she took this horrible resolution. This morning when she left the divan, where I was behind her throne, she was furious at what had passed; she returned to her apartment, agitated with the most violent rage and hate. She thought for a long time over the question you put to her, and not being able to reply as she wished, she gave way to despair. I and the other favourite slave have spared nothing to calm her violence. We even did all we could to inspire in her feelings favourable to yourself; we praised your beauty and intelligence to her, and we represented to her that instead of grieving immoderately, she should rather resolve to give you her hand. But she silenced us with a torrent of insults against men, of whom the most amiable does not make more impression on her than the ugliest and most deformed. “They are all,” she said, “contemptible objects, for whom I shall never have anything but aversion. As for the one who now presents himself, I hate him more than the others, and since I cannot free myself from him but by an assassination, I shall have him assassinated.” I opposed this hideous design,’ continued the slave; ‘I represented to Tourandot its terrible consequences. I represented to her the wrong she would do herself, and the just horror that future centuries would have of her memory. On her side, the other slave did not fail to add her arguments to mine; but all our talking has been useless, we have not been able to turn her from her enterprise. She has charged some faithful eunuchs to take your life to-morrow morning when you leave your palace to go to the divan.’

‘O inhuman princess, perfidious Tourandot!’ cried the Prince of the Nogaïs. ‘Is it thus you prepare to reward the love of the unhappy son of Timurtasch? Calaf is so horrible to you then that you prefer to rid yourself of him by a crime which will dishonour you, rather than join your destiny to his. Great God! of what strange adventures is my life made up? Sometimes I seem about to enjoy enviable happiness and sometimes I am plunged in an abyss of woe.’

‘My lord,’ said the slave to him, ‘if Heaven sends you misfortunes it does not, at least, wish you to succumb to them, since it warns you of the dangers which threaten you. Yes, prince, it is Heaven who has inspired me with the thought of saving you, for I not only come to reveal to you a plot against your life, I come to give you means of avoiding it. By the agency of some devoted eunuchs I have gained over some soldiers of the guard, who will facilitate for you the exit from the palace. As after your flight they will not fail to make inquiries and learn that I am the author of it, I have resolved to fly with you, to leave this fatal court where I have more than one source of annoyance; my slavery makes me hate it, and you make it more odious to me. There are,’ she continued, ‘in a place in the town horses awaiting us; let us go and reach, if possible, the lands of the tribe of Berlas. I have blood-ties with the Prince Alinguer who is sovereign over them; he will be extremely rejoiced to see his relation escaped from the haughty Altoun-Khan, and he will receive you as my liberator. We will both live beneath his tents more tranquilly and more happily than here; I, freed from the bonds of my captivity, shall enjoy a gentler fate, and you, my lord, you may find there some princess beautiful enough to merit being loved, and who, far from attempting your life to escape being your wife, will only be careful of pleasing you if she can make happy such a prince as you. Let us lose no time, let us go, and may the sun on beginning its course to-morrow find us far from Pekin!’

Calaf replied: ‘Beautiful princess, I have to thank you a thousand times for having wished to deliver me from the danger I am in. Would that I could out of gratitude take you from slavery and conduct you to the horde of the Khan of Berlas, your relation! What pleasure I should have in placing you in his care! Thereby I should acquit myself of some obligations under which I am to him. But tell me, princess, ought I to disappear thus from the eyes of Altoun-Khan? What would he think of me? He would think I had only come to his court to carry you off, and whilst I was only flying to save his daughter from crime, he would accuse me of having violated the laws of hospitality. Moreover, I must confess to you, barbarous as is the Princess of China, my heart will not let me hate her. What am I saying? Hate her? I adore her; I am devoted to her every whim, and since she wishes to sacrifice me, the victim is quite ready.’

The slave seeing the Prince of the Nogaïs resolved to die rather than fly with her, began to cry, saying to him: ‘Is it possible, my lord, that you prefer death to the gratitude of a captive princess whose chains you can break? If Tourandot is more beautiful than I, on the other hand I have a better heart than hers. Alas! when you presented yourself this morning at the divan, I trembled for you. I feared you would not answer the questions of the daughter of Altoun-Khan, and when you replied well to them I felt a fresh trouble arise in me; I felt that without doubt your life would be attempted. Ah! my dear prince,’ she added, ‘I conjure you to reflect and not let yourself be carried away by the passion which makes you face death without flinching. Let not a blind love make you despise a danger which alarms me; yield to the fear which I feel for you, and let us both, without delay, leave this place where I suffer cruel torments.’

‘Fair princess,’ replied the son of Timurtasch at these words, ‘whatever misfortune may befall me, I cannot make up my mind to so sudden a flight. You have, I admit, the means of rewarding your liberator and giving him a future full of charm. But I am not born to be happy; my fate is to love Tourandot, in spite of the horror in which she holds me; far from her, I should drag out languishing days.’

‘Well, ungrateful man, remain!’ abruptly interrupted the lady, rising. ‘Do not leave this place which has such delights for you, even if you must water it with your blood. I do not urge you to leave any longer; flight with a slave does not please you. Whatever ardour the Princess of China inspires in you, you have less love for her than aversion for me.’

Thus saying, she put on her veil again and left Calaf’s apartment.

The young prince, after the departure of the lady, remained on the sofa in great perplexity. ‘Can I believe,’ he said, ‘what I have just heard? Can barbarity be carried to this extent? But, alas! I cannot doubt it: this slave-princess was horrified at the step meditated by Tourandot. She came to warn me of it, and the sentiments alone that she gave expression to are sure guarantees of her sincerity. Ah! cruel daughter of the best of kings, is it thus you abuse the gifts you have received from Heaven? O Heaven! how could you have endowed this inhuman princess with such perfect beauty, or why have you given her so barbarous a soul combined with so much charm?’

Instead of seeking to procure some hours’ sleep, he passed the rest of the night absorbed in the most afflicting reflections. At last the day appeared, the sound of bells and drums was heard, and soon six mandarins came, as on the preceding day, to conduct him to the council. He crossed the courtyard where the soldiers of the king’s guard were drawn up in rows. He feared to lose his life here, thinking that, doubtless, the people chosen to assassinate him awaited him on his way. Far from being on his guard and thinking of defending himself, he walked like a man resolved to die, and even seemed to accuse his assassins of slowness. However, he passed through the courtyard without anyone attacking him, and he arrived in the first hall of the divan. ‘Ah! it is doubtless here,’ he said to himself, ‘that the sanguinary order of the princess is to be carried out.’ At the same time he looked all round, and everyone he saw seemed to him his murderer. He advanced, nevertheless, and entered the council chamber without receiving the mortal blow he expected. All the doctors and mandarins were already under their pavilions, and Altoun-Khan was about to appear. ‘What is the princess’s design?’ he then said to himself. ‘Does she wish to be the witness of my death, and does she wish to have me assassinated before the eyes of her father? Can the king be an accomplice in this? What am I to think? Can her feelings have changed. Can she have revoked my death warrant?’

Whilst in this state of uncertainty, the door of the inner palace opened and the king, accompanied by Tourandot, entered the hall. They placed themselves on their thrones. The Prince of the Nogaïs stood before them, and at the same distance as on the preceding day.

The chancellor, as soon as he saw the king seated, rose and asked the young prince whether he remembered having promised to renounce the princess if she replied correctly to the question which he had put to her. Calaf replied in the affirmative, and protested anew that on that condition he would cease to pretend to the honour of being the king’s son-in-law.

The chancellor then addressed Tourandot: ‘And you, great princess,’ he said, ‘you know the oath that binds you, and to which you have subjected yourself, if you do not to-day name the prince whose name has been asked of you.’

The king, persuaded that she could not reply to the question of Calaf, said to her: ‘My daughter, you have had ample time to reflect upon what has been proposed to you: but were a year given to you to think over it, I am of opinion that, in spite of your penetration, you would be obliged to admit at the end that it is beyond your powers. So, since you cannot guess it, yield with a good grace to the love of this young prince, and satisfy the wish I have to see him as your husband. He is worthy to be it, and to reign with you after me over the peoples of China.’

‘My lord,’ said Tourandot, ‘why do you suppose I cannot reply to this prince’s question? That is not as difficult as you think. If yesterday I suffered the ignominy of being beaten, to-day I aspire to the honour of victory. I am going to defeat this intrepid young man who has had too bad an opinion of my intelligence. Let him put his question to me, and I will answer it.’

‘Madam,’ then said the Prince of the Nogaïs, ‘I ask you the name of the prince who, after having suffered endless fatigue, and begged his bread, is at this moment overwhelmed with joy and glory?’

‘That prince,’ replied Tourandot, ‘is named Calaf, and he is the son of Timurtasch.’

As soon as Calaf heard his name spoken, he changed colour, his sight became obscured and he suddenly fell senseless. The king and the whole assembly, judging by this that Tourandot had really named the prince whose name had been asked her, grew pale and remained in great consternation.

After Prince Calaf had recovered from his swoon, through the attentions of the mandarins and of the king himself, who had descended from his throne to succour him, he addressed Tourandot: ‘Beautiful princess,’ he said to her, ‘you are wrong if you think you have replied well to my question. The son of Timurtasch is not at all overwhelmed with joy and glory, he is rather covered with shame and overwhelmed with grief.’

‘I admit,’ said the princess, ‘that you are not filled with joy and glory at this moment, but you were when you put your question to me. So, prince, instead of having recourse to vain subtleties, admit that you have lost the rights which you had over Tourandot. I can, therefore, refuse you my hand, and abandon you to regret at having lost it. However, I wish you to know, and I declare it publicly here, that I am otherwise disposed towards you. The friendship which the king my father has conceived for you, and your particular merits, determine me to take you as my husband.’

At this speech the hall of the divan resounded with joy. The mandarins and doctors applauded the words of the princess. The king approached her, embraced her, and said: ‘My daughter, you could not take a resolution which would be more agreeable to me; thereby you will efface the bad impression which you have made on the mind of my people, and you will give to a father the satisfaction which he has long expected from you and which he despaired of ever receiving. Yes, the aversion you had for men, this aversion so contrary to nature, made me lose the sweet hope of seeing princes of my blood born to you. Happily this hatred ends to-day, and what crowns my wishes is that you have extinguished it in favour of a young hero who is dear to me. But tell us,’ he added, ‘how you have been able to guess the name of a prince who was unknown to you? By what charm have you discovered it?’

‘My lord,’ replied Tourandot, ‘it is not by enchantment that I have known it, it is by natural means; one of my slaves went last night to find Prince Calaf, and was ingenious enough to draw his secret from him; he ought to pardon me for having availed myself of this treachery, since I do not put it to bad use.’

‘Ah, charming Tourandot,’ cried the Prince of the Nogaïs at that moment, ‘is it possible that your sentiments are so favourable to me? From what a frightful abyss have you rescued me, to put me in the foremost place in the world. Alas! how unjust I was. Whilst you were preparing for me so beautiful a fate, I thought you capable of the blackest perfidy. Deceived by a horrible fable which disturbed my reason, I repaid your goodness with injurious suspicions. I am impatient to expiate my injustice at your feet.’

The amorous son of Timurtasch was continuing to indulge in tender and passionate speeches, when all of a sudden he was obliged to be silent to listen to, and observe a slave who had stood till then behind the Princess of China, and who, advancing now into the midst of the audience, surprised every one by her proceedings. She lifted her veil, and Calaf immediately recognised her as the same person whom he had seen in the night in his apartment; her face was as pale as death, her eyes wandered, and she seemed to be meditating some terrible deed. All the spectators looked at her with astonishment, and Altoun-Khan, like the others, was in a state of expectancy as to what she was going to say, when, turning to Tourandot, she spoke to her thus:

‘Princess, it is time to disabuse you; I did not go to seek the Prince Calaf to get him to reveal his name to me, I did not take this step to serve you; it was in my own interest that I risked it, I wished to free myself from slavery, and take your lover from you. I had arranged everything to fly with him; he rejected my proposal, or rather the ungrateful man despised my affection. I have nevertheless spared nothing to detach him from you. I painted your pride to him in the blackest colours, I even said you were going to have him assassinated to-day, but I charged you in vain with this intended crime. I have not been able to shake his constancy. He knows how I gave way on leaving him, and his eyes have been the witness of my rage and confusion. Jealous and desperate I returned to your apartment, and by a false confidence I earned your approbation by a step which has only led to my shame. It was not in order to relieve your embarrassment that I told you the name you wished to know; it escaped the prince in an outburst he could not restrain, and I thought that, still inimical to men, you would be very glad to be able to dismiss Calaf. In fact, I thought thereby to prevent the tying of the knots which are going to bind you together. But since my artifice has proved futile, and you are determined to marry your lover, I have no other alternative but to do this.’ Saying these words, she drew from beneath her dress a dagger, and plunged it in her breast.

The whole assembly shuddered at this action. Altoun-Khan was seized with horror at it; Calaf felt his joy diminish, and Tourandot, uttering a loud cry, descended from her throne to go to the assistance of her slave and save her if possible from perishing.

The other favourite slave also ran forward with the same intention, as well as the two others who held the ink and paper; but before they reached her, the unhappy woman enamoured of the son of Timurtasch, as though the blow she had given herself had not been sufficient to take her life, withdrew her dagger and stabbed herself again. All that they could do was to receive in their arms her tottering body.

‘Adelmuc,’ said the distressed Princess of China, ‘my dear Adelmuc, what have you done? Why have you gone to this extremity? Why did you not open your heart to me last night? Why did you not say you would take your life if I married Prince Calaf? What efforts would I not have made for a rival such as you?’

At these words the princess’s slave, opening her eyes already closing in death, turned them towards Tourandot and said to her: ‘It is all over, my princess, I am about to cease to live and suffer; do not pity my fate, rather praise my generous resolution. In dying, I free myself from a double slavery; I escape from the chains of Altoun-Khan, and from those of love which are much more rigorous. I imbibed with my mother’s milk the principles of fortitude, so it need not excite surprise that I have been capable of this determination.’ Saying these words, she sighed a deep sigh and died.

The mandarins and doctors were touched at the pitiable end of Adelmuc: Tourandot broke out afresh in tears, and Calaf, looking upon himself as the author of this tragic event, was deeply grieved at it. The good King of China in his turn seemed greatly affected.

‘Ah, unfortunate princess,’ he said, ‘only and precious relic of a celebrated family, what does it avail you now to have been saved from the fury of the waters? Alas! you would have been happier had you achieved your destiny the day that saw that unhappy monarch, your father, and all your family perish. May you at least, after having passed through the nine hells, be born again, the daughter of another sovereign, at the first transmigration.’

Altoun-Khan did not content himself with deploring thus the misfortune of the Princess Adelmuc. He ordered a superb funeral. Her body was borne into a separate palace, where it was clothed with rich white garments, and before placing it in a coffin, the king, with all the officers of his household, went to make reverence and offer perfumes to it: then it was enclosed in a coffin of aloe wood, and it was placed on a sort of throne which had been raised for this purpose in the middle of a great courtyard. It remained there a whole week, and every day the wives of the mandarins, in mourning from head to foot, were obliged to go and visit it and make before it four reverences, each with demonstrations of grief.

After this ceremony, the day which the king had designated for the burial having come, the coffin was placed on a triumphal car, covered with silver plates mingled with figures of animals painted on cardboard; then a sacrifice was made to the genius who guarded the car, so that the funeral might be happily concluded, and after having watered the coffin with scented water, the procession began. It lasted three days, on account of the various ceremonies and the pauses it was necessary to make before arriving at the mountain where the tombs of the Kings of China are; for Altoun-Khan wished that the ashes of the Princess Adelmuc should be mingled with those of the princes of his house. It is true that Tourandot, out of friendship for her favourite slave, had begged the king to do her this honour. When the procession was near the mountain the coffin was removed from the car which had borne it thus far, to be placed on another still richer. Then a bull was sacrificed which was sprinkled with aromatic wine, and the coffin was given to the Earth, that was entreated to receive the body of the princess favourably.

When the obsequies of Adelmuc were over, the aspect of the court of China changed: mourning was put aside and pleasure succeeded the grief which had occupied it. Altoun-Khan ordered preparations to be made for the marriage of Calaf with Tourandot, and whilst they were engaged on them, he sent ambassadors to the tribe of Berlas to inform the Khan of the Nogaïs of all that had passed in China, and to beg him to come thither with the princess his wife.

The preparations being completed, the marriage took place with all the pomp and magnificence due to the quality of the bridal pair. No mandarins were given to Calaf for masters, as is customary in China. Moreover, the king declared publicly that, to mark the particular esteem and consideration he had for his son-in-law, he dispensed him from making the ordinary four daily reverences to his wife that are enjoined upon the husband of the daughter of a king of that land until she has given him children. For a whole month there were nothing but spectacles and feasts at the court, and there were also great rejoicings in the town.

The possession of Tourandot did not at all abate the love of Calaf; and this princess, who had till then looked upon men with so much contempt, could not help loving so perfect a prince. Some time after their marriage the ambassadors whom Altoun-Khan had sent to the country of Berlas returned with a goodly company; they had with them not only the father and mother of their king’s son-in-law, but even prince Alinguer, who, to do greater honour to Elmaze and Timurtasch, had wished to accompany them with the greatest lords of his court, and conduct them as far as Pekin.

The young prince of the Nogaïs, informed of their arrival, hastened to meet them. He met them at the door of the palace. The joy he had in seeing his father and mother again, and the delight they experienced at sight of him, must be imagined, for it is impossible to express it in words.

They embraced each other again and again, and the tears they shed moved the Chinese and Tartars who were present to do likewise.

After such sweet embraces, Calaf saluted the Khan of Berlas: he assured him how deeply he was touched at his kindness, and especially at his having wished to accompany the authors of his being as far as the court of China; to whieh Prince Alinguer replied that, being ignorant of the quality of Timurtasch and Elmaze, he had not paid them all the regard due to them, and so, in order to make reparation for the ill-treatment he might have shown them, he had thought it his duty to take this step.

Thereupon the Khan of the Nogaïs and the Princess his wife complimented the sovereign of Berlas; then they all entered the palace to go and see Altoun-Khan. They found this monarch, who awaited them in the first hall. He embraced them all one after the other, and received them very agreeably; he then conducted them into his cabinet, where, after having expressed to Timurtasch the pleasure he had in seeing him and his sympathy in his misfortunes, he assured him he would do all he could to avenge him upon the Sultan of Carizma; and it was no vain assurance, for that very day orders were sent to the governors of the province to put on the road without delay the soldiers who were in the towns of their jurisdictions, and to make them take the route to that place which had been chosen as the rendezvous of the formidable army which was to be assembled. On his side, the Khan of Berlas, who had foreseen this war, and who hoped to contribute to the re-establishment of Timurtasch in his states, had ordered the commander-in-chief of his troops to hold himself in readiness to commence a campaign of the first order. He commanded him to join the Chinese army as soon as possible.

Whilst the officers and soldiers who were to compose the army of Altoun-Khan, and who were dispersed in the towns of the kingdom, were on the march to assemble all together in the same place, the king spared nothing to receive his new guests well. He gave to each a separate palace with a large number of eunuchs, and a guard of two thousand men. Every day he had some fresh feast for their amusement, and gave all his attention to seeking what could give them pleasure.

Calaf, although occupied with many things, did not forget his old hostess; he remembered with pleasure the part she had played in his destiny; he sent for her to the palace and begged Tourandot to receive her among the persons of her suite.

The hope which Timurtasch and the Princess Elmaze entertained of remounting the throne of the Nogaïs Tartars, with the help of the King of China, made them insensibly forget their past misfortunes, and the beautiful prince to whom Tourandot gave birth in due time overwhelmed them with joy. The birth of this child, who was named Prince of China, was celebrated in all the towns of this vast empire with public rejoicings.

They were still going on when the couriers sent by the officers who had orders to assemble the army announced that all the troops of the kingdom and even those of the Khan of Berlas had arrived at the tryst. Timurtasch, Calaf, and Alinguer immediately departed for the camp, where they found everything in readiness and seven hundred thousand men ready to march. They soon took the road to the enemy’s country, and finally they entered the territory of the Sultan of Carizma.

This prince, warned of their advance and their numbers by couriers sent him by the governors of his frontier, instead of being discouraged, prepared courageously to receive so large an enemy; instead even of intrenching himself he had the audacity to march towards them at the head of four hundred thousand men whom he had hastily got together. They met near Khokand and gave battle. On the side of the Chinese, Timurtasch commanded the right wing, Prince Alinguer the left, and Calaf was in the centre; on the other side the sultan entrusted the command of his right wing to the most skilful of his generals, opposed the Prince of Carizma to the Prince of the Nogaïs, and reserved to himself the left wing, in which was the flower of his cavalry.

The Khan of Berlas began the combat with the soldiers of his tribe, who, fighting like men who had the eyes of their leader upon them, soon made the right wing of the enemy give way, but the officer commanding it brought it into order again.

It was not thus with Timurtasch. The sultan broke his force through at the first onslaught, and the Chinese in disorder were ready to take flight, without the Khan of the Nogaïs being able to restrain them, when Calaf, informed of what was passing, left the care of the centre to an old Chinese general, and ran to the assistance of his father with some selected troops. In a short while the aspect of affairs changed; the left wing of the Carizmians was broken through in its turn; the ranks opened and were then easily broken; the whole wing was put to rout.

The sultan, who wished to conquer or die, made incredible efforts to rally his soldiers, but Timurtasch and Calaf did not give him time, and surrounded him on all sides, so that the Prince Alinguer, having also defeated the right wing, the victory declared itself for the Chinese.

There remained for the Sultan of Carizma only one course to pursue, and that was to make a passage through his enemies and to take refuge with some foreign prince; but this Prince, preferring not to survive his defeat, rather than offer to the nations the spectacle of his head despoiled of all its diadems, threw himself blindly where he saw great carnage going on, and he did not cease fighting until, pierced with a thousand mortal wounds, he fell lifeless amongst the crowd of dead.

The Prince of Carizma, his son, met the same fate; two hundred thousand of their men were killed or made prisoners, the rest sought safety in flight. The Chinese also lost many men; but if the battle had been sanguinary it was decisive. Timurtasch, after having given thanks to Heaven for this happy success, sent an officer to Pekin to give details of it to the King of China; then he advanced into the sultan’s country and took possession of the town of Carizma.

He had it published in this capital that he wished to confiscate neither the riches nor the liberty of the Carizmians; that God having made him master of the throne of his enemy, he proposed preserving it; that henceforth all the countries which had been under the obedience of the sultan would recognise as their sovereign Prince Calaf his son.

The Carizmians, tired of the sway of their master, and persuaded that that of Calaf would be milder, submitted with a good grace, and proclaimed as sultan the young prince, whose merits they knew.

Whilst the new Sultan of Carizma was taking all necessary measures to confirm his power, Timurtasch set out with a part of the Chinese troops, and returned with all possible speed to his territories. The Nogaïs Tartars received him like faithful subjects, charmed to see their legitimate sovereign again; but he did not content himself with remounting his throne: he declared war against the Circassians to revenge himself for the treachery they had shown to Prince Calaf. Instead of seeking to appease him by submission, these people formed in haste an army to resist him; he fought them, cut them almost to pieces, and had himself declared King of Circassia. After that, having returned to Carizma, he found there the princesses Elmaze and Tourandot, whom Altoun-Khan had had escorted to Carizma, with a large following.

Here ended the misfortunes of Prince Calaf, who attracted to himself the love and esteem of the Carizmians by his virtues. He reigned long and peaceably over them, and was always charmed with Tourandot. He had a second son by her, who was Sultan of Carizma after him; for Altoun-Khan had the Prince of China brought up and chose him as his successor.

Timurtasch and the princess his wife went to pass the rest of their days at Astrakan; and the Khan of Berlas, after having received from them and their son all the marks of gratitude that his generosity merited, retired to his tribe with the rest of his troops.

The nurse of the Princess of Cashmere having finished relating the story of Calaf, asked the women of Farrukhnaz what they thought of it. They all said it was very interesting, and that Calaf seemed to them a virtuous prince and a perfect lover.

‘For myself,’ said the princess, ‘I think him more vain than loving, a little thoughtless—in a word, what is called a young man.’

‘Well, my princess,’ said the nurse, ‘since Calaf does not yet satisfy your taste, I will, with your permission, relate to you the story of a King of Damascus and his vizir; perhaps it will please you better.’

‘Very willingly,’ replied Farrukhnaz. ‘My women love your stories too much for me not to give them the pleasure of hearing you. It is true you know how to paint agreeable portraits, but Sutlumemé,’ she added, ‘my dear Sutlumemé, it is in vain you paint men with the loveliest colours; their defects always appear through your painting.

BEDREDDIN-LOLO, King of Damascus, had as his grand vizir a man of wealth —so says the history of his time.

This minister, who was named Atalmulc, which means a Present to the Kingdom, was very worthy of the fine name he bore. His zeal in the king’s service was indefatigable, his vigilance would not be deceived, his genius was penetrating and far-reaching, and with all this his disinterestedness was the admiration of all; but he was surnamed the Sad Vizir, for he usually appeared plunged in profound melancholy.

He was always serious, whatever absurd action he saw take place at court; he never laughed, however amusing a thing was said before him.

One day the king was conversing with him in private, and related to him, laughing heartily, an adventure he had just heard; the vizir listened so seriously that Bedreddin was disconcerted. ‘Atalmulc,’ he said, ‘you are a strange character, you always look sombre and sad; for all the years you have been with me I have never seen on your face the least expression of joy.’

‘My lord,’ replied the vizir, ‘your majesty should not be astonished at it; everyone has his troubles; there is no man on earth who is exempt from grief.’

‘Your answer is not correct,’ replied the king; ‘because you have doubtless some secret trouble, on that account must all men have one too? Do you really believe what you say?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ replied Atalmulc, ‘such is the condition of the children of Adam, our hearts cannot know entire satisfaction. Judge of others by yourself, sire: is your majesty perfectly content?’

‘Oh! as for me,’ cried Bedreddin, ‘I cannot be so. I have enemies. I am bowed down with the weight of an empire, a thousand cares occupy my mind and trouble the tranquillity of my life; but I am persuaded that there are in the world endless private persons whose happy days are spent in pleasure unmixed with bitterness, and at least, if no one is exempt from grief, everyone is not, like you, absorbed in his affliction. You rouse, I admit, in me a keen curiosity to know what makes you so dreamy and sad. Tell me why you are so insensible to smiles, which form the sweetest charm of society.’

‘I will obey you, my lord,’ replied the vizir, ‘and discover to you the cause of my secret troubles by relating to you the story of my life.’

‘I am the only son of a rich jeweller of Bagdad. My father, who was called Coaja-Abdallah, spared nothing for my education; he gave me, almost from my infancy, masters who taught me all sorts of sciences, such as philosophy, law, theology; and, above all, he made me learn all the different languages spoken in Asia, so that if at any time I travelled in that part of the world they might be useful to me on my travels.

‘I had a natural taste for pleasure and expenditure. My father perceived it with grief; he even tried by wise remonstrances to destroy this inclination in me; but what impression can the sensible advice of a father make on a libertine son? I paid no attention to that of Abdallah, and imputed it to the chagrin caused by old age. One day that I was walking with him in the garden of our house and that he, as usual, was chiding my conduct, he said to me: “O, my son ! I have remarked that till now my reprimands have only wearied you; but you will soon be relieved of an importunate censor; the Angel of Death is hovering over me, I am about to descend into the abyss of eternity and leave you great wealth; take care not to put it to a bad use, or, at least, if you are unfortunate enough to dissipate it foolishly, do not fail to have recourse to that tree which you see in the middle of the garden; attach a fatal rope to one of its branches and prevent thereby all the evils which accompany poverty.”

‘He died shortly afterwards, as he had predicted. I gave him a superb funeral and then took possession of all his wealth. I found it so enormous that I thought I could with impunity indulge the inclination I had for pleasure. I increased the number of my servants, I gathered round me all the young men of the town. I kept open table and indulged in every kind of debauch, so that I insensibly consumed my patrimony. My friends immediately abandoned me, and all my servants left me one after the other. What a change in my fortune! my courage was destroyed by it. I remembered then, but too late, the last words of my father. “How fully I deserve the situation in which I am placed,” I said. “Why did I not profit by the advice of Abdallah? It was not without reason that he recommended me to be careful of my wealth. Is any state more terrible than that of a man who experiences want after having known abundance? Ah! at least I will not forget all his counsels. I have not forgotten that he advised me to terminate my life if misery befell me: it has befallen me. I will follow this advice, which is not less wise than the other; for when I shall have sold my house, the only thing remaining to me, and which would only suffice to keep me for a few years, what must become of me? I shall be reduced to beg or die of hunger. What an alternative! I had better immediately hand myself. I cannot too soon free my mind from these cruel ideas.”

‘Thus saying, I went to buy a rope. I entered my garden, and approached the tree my father had indicated to me, and which seemed to me very well fitted for my design. I put two large stones at the foot of this tree, mounted them and proceeded to attach one end of the rope to a large branch; I made of the other a slip-knot, which I passed round my neck; then I sprang into the air from the two stones. The slip-knot, which I had made very well, was about to strangle me, when the branch to which the fatal rope was attached, yielding to the weight, broke off from the trunk, to which it only held feebly, and fell with me.

‘I was at first very mortified at having made a futile effort to hang myself; but, on looking at the branch which had served my despair so ill, I perceived with surprise that some diamonds fell from it, and that it was hollow as well as the whole trunk of the tree. I ran to seek a hatchet in the house, and cut down the tree, which I found full of rubies, emeralds and other precious stones. I quickly removed the slip-knot from my neck, and passed from despair to the keenest joy. Instead of abandoning myself to pleasure, and living as before, I resolved to embrace the profession of my father. I understood about precious stones, and I had reason to hope that I should not do badly in the business. I associated myself with two merchant-jewellers of Bagdad who were friends of Abdallah, and who were going to do business at Ormus.

‘We betook ourselves all three to Bassora. We chartered a vessel there and embarked upon the gulf named after this town. We lived happily together, and our vessel, impelled by a favourable wind, ploughed the waves lightly.

‘We passed our days enjoyably, and our voyage was about to finish as we wished, when my two associates caused me to recognise the fact that I was not in the society of very honest people. We were about to arrive at the head of the gulf and land, which put us in a good humour. In our joy we did not spare the exquisite wines, which we had been careful to make provision of at Bassora.

‘After having drunk well, I fell asleep in the middle of the night, quite dressed, on a sofa. Whilst I was sleeping profoundly my associates took me in their arms and threw me into the sea by a porthole of the vessel.

‘I thought to drown in the depths, and I do not understand how I am still alive after that adventure. But the sea was rough, and the waves, as if Heaven had forbidden them to swallow me up, bore me to the foot of a mountain which bordered the head of the gulf on one side. I even found myself safe and sound on the bank, where I passed the rest of the night in thanking God for my delivery, which I could not be sufficiently grateful for.

‘As soon as the day dawned I climbed with much trouble to the summit of the mountain, which was very jagged. I met several peasants of the neighbourhood, who were occupied in digging for crystal which they afterwards sold at Ormus. I related to them the danger to which my life had been exposed, and it seemed to them, as to me, that I had only escaped by a miracle. These good people took pity on me, they shared their provisions with me, which consisted of millet-seed and rice, and they conducted me to the great town of Ormus as soon as they had their loads of crystal. I went to lodge in a caravanserai, where the first thing I saw was one of my associates.

‘He seemed rather surprised to see a man whom he had thought had already served as prey to some marine monster: he ran to find his companion, to warn him of my arrival and to discuss the reception they should both give me. They had soon formed their decision. I saw them both a moment after: they entered the courtyard where I was, and presented themselves before me, without seeming to recognise me. “Ah! traitors,” I said, “Heaven rendered your treachery futile. I still live in spite of your barbarity; return me promptly all my precious stones. I wish no longer to associate with such bad men.” To this speech, which should have confused them, they had the impudence to reply thus:

‘“Oh, robber! Oh, rogue! who are you and whence do you come? What stones? what effects have we which belong to you?”

‘Thus saying, they struck me several blows with a stick; and as I threatened to go and complain to the cadi, they anticipated me and went to the judge. They made profound reverences to him, and after having presented several stones to him which they had about them, and which were, perhaps, mine, they said to him:

‘“Oh, torch of justice, light which dissipates the darkness of dishonesty, we have recourse to you. We are weak strangers; we come from the ends of the world to traffic here. Is it just that a thief should insult us, and will you permit him to take from us, by an imposture, what we have only acquired after endless labour, and at the risk of our lives?”

‘“Who is the man whom you complain of?” said the cadi to them.

‘“My lord,” they replied, “we do not know him; we have never seen him.”

‘I arrived at the judge’s house at that moment. They cried out as soon as they saw me:

‘“There he is, my lord, this wretch, this thief, who is even bold enough to come to your palace, and to confront your glances, which should terrify the guilty. Great judge, deign to protect us.”

‘I approached the cadi to speak in my turn; but having no presents to offer him, it was impossible to me to make myself heard. The resolute and tranquil manner which the ease of my conscience gave me, passed in his prejudiced mind for a mark of effrontery. He ordered his archers to conduct me to prison, which they did. Whilst they loaded me with chains, my companions went away triumphant, and well persuaded that I should have need of a fresh miracle to escape from the hands of the cadi.

‘I should not indeed have escaped as happily as from the gulf, but for an incident which occurred, which was another visible sign of the goodness of Heaven.

‘The peasants who had brought me to Ormus learnt by chance that I had been imprisoned. Touched with compassion, they went to the cadi; they told him how they had met me and detailed all I had told them on the mountain. The judge, on their report, opened his eyes, repented of not having wished to hear me, and resolved to investigate the matter.

‘He sent for the two merchants at the caravanserai, but they were not there. They had already regained their vessel and set sail; for, in spite of the intervention of the judge, I did not fail to cause them uneasiness.

‘So prompt a flight persuaded the cadi that I was unjustly imprisoned. He set me at liberty, and this was the end of my association with these two dishonest jewellers.

‘Escaped from the sea and justice, I ought to have felt not a little grateful to Heaven; but I was not in a situation calculated to inspire great gratitude at being saved. Without money, without friends, without credit, I saw myself reduced to subsist on charity or die of hunger. I left Ormus without knowing what would become of me, and went towards the country which is between the mountains and the Persian Sea. There I met a caravan of merchants from Hindoostan, who were setting out to take the road to Shiraz. I joined these merchants, and through the little services I rendered them I found means of subsisting. I went with them to Shiraz, where I stopped.

‘The king, Shah Tahmasp, was holding his court in this town.

‘One day that I was returning from the grand mosque to the caravanserai where I was lodged, I perceived an officer of the king of Persia: he was richly dressed and well-built; he looked at me very attentively, approached me and said: “O young man, from what country are you? I see you are a stranger, and I do not think you are in prosperity.”

‘I replied that I was from Bagdad, and that as regarded his conjecture, it was but too true. Then I related my story succinctly to him: he seemed to listen with attention and showed himself sensible to my misfortune.

‘“How old are you?” he said to me.

‘“I am,” I replied, “in my nineteenth year.”

‘He ordered me to follow him. He preceded me and took the road to the king’s palace, which I entered with him. He led me into a very fine apartment, where he said me:

‘“What is your name?”

‘I replied that I was named Hassan. He asked me several other questions, and, satisfied with my replies:

‘“Hassan,” he replied, “I am touched at your misfortune and I am anxious to act as a father to you. Know that I am the captain of the door of the chamber of the King of Persia. There is a vacant place in the king’s chamber. I select you to fill it: you are handsome, young, and well-made. I cannot make a better choice. There are no pages of the king’s chamber at this moment whom you do not surpass in appearance.”

‘I thanked the captain for all the kindness he showed me: he took me under his protection and had a page’s dress given me. I was instructed in all my duties, and I began to acquit myself in a manner which soon attracted to me the esteem of all the officers of the king’s pages and did honour to my patron.

‘It was forbidden, under pain of death, to all the pages of the twelve chambers, as well as to all the officers of the palace and the soldiers of the guard, to remain at night in the gardens of the seraglio after a certain hour indicated, because the women walked here sometimes. I was quite alone there one evening, and was dreaming of my misfortunes. I was so absorbed in my reflections that I let the time prescribed for the men to retire pass. My reverie came to an end, however, and thinking that the moment for retreat could not be far off, I hastened precipitately to re-enter the palace, when a lady, at the turning of an alley, presented herself suddenly before me. She had a majestic bearing, and in spite of the darkness of the night I remarked that she possessed youth and beauty.

‘“You are hurrying very much,” she said to me; “what makes you run thus?”

‘“I have my reasons,” I replied; “if you belong to this palace, as I do not doubt, you cannot be in ignorance of them? You know it is forbidden to men to be seen in these gardens after a certain hour, and that their life is endangered if this order is disobeyed.”

‘“You are rather late in thinking of retiring,” replied the lady, “the hour has passed; but you may thank your stars, for otherwise you would not have met me.”

‘“How unhappy I am!” I cried, heeding nothing but the new danger in which I saw myself placed. Why did I let myself be overtaken by the time?”

‘“Do not grieve,” said the lady, “your grief is an insult to me. Ought you not to be consoled already for your misfortune? Look at me, I am not ill-made; I am only eighteen, and as for my face, I flatter myself it is not disagreeable.”

‘“Beautiful lady, although the night partly conceals your charms from me, I see more than enough to enchant me; but consider my position and admit it is rather an unhappy one.”

‘“It is true,” she replied, “that the danger you are in does not offer a very bright aspect to your mind. Your destruction, however, is perhaps not so assured as you imagine: the king is a good prince who might pardon you. Who are you?

‘“Madam,” I replied, “I am a page.”

‘“Ah !indeed,” she interrupted, “you reason well for a page; the grand vizir could not do better. Believe me, do not fret to-day about what may happen to-morrow. You do not know what may occur: Heaven alone knows and has, perhaps, already prepared a way out of your dilemma: let the future, then, alone, and only occupy yourself with the present. Believe me that if you knew who I am and all the honour done to you by this adventure, instead of poisoning such sweet moments by bitter reflections you would esteem yourself the happiest of men.”

‘The lady, by dint of persuasion, ended by driving away the fear which agitated me. The picture of the punishment which threatened me gradually faded away from my mind, and, yielding myself entirely to the flattering hopes which I had been allowed to conceive, I only thought to profit by the occasion. I embraced the lady enthusiastically; but far from lending herself to my embraces, she uttered a cry, repulsing me the while, and immediately I saw ten or twelve women appear, who were hidden to listen to our conversation.

‘It was not difficult for me to perceive then that the person who had just been so pleasant to me was laughing at me. I imagined her to be some slave of the Princess of Persia, who, for her own amusement, had wished to play the adventuress. All the other women ran promptly to her assistance, laughing heartily: they found her trembling with the fright I had caused her. “Calé-Cairi,” said one of them to her, “do you still wish to play such games again?”

‘“Oh! indeed no,” said Calé-Cairi; “that will never do again. I am well rewarded for my curiosity.”

‘The slaves then began to surround and jest with me. “This page,” said one, “is rather hasty; he is born for fine adventures.” “If ever,” said another, “I walk alone at night, I hope I may not meet a more foolish one.”

‘Although a page, I was very disconcerted by all their pleasantries, which they accompanied by outbursts of laughter. Had they rallied me for being too timid, I should not have been more ashamed.

‘They also joked me about the hour for retiring, which I had let pass; they said it was a pity I should perish, and I deserved to have my life saved, since I was so devoted to the service of the ladies. Then she whom I had heard called Calé-Cairi, addressing another, said: “It is for you, princess, to decide his fate; do you wish him to be abandoned or to be succoured?’

‘“He must be saved from the danger he is in,” replied the princess. “I consent to his living. So that he may ever remember this adventure, it must be made still more agreeable for him. Let us bring him into my apartment, which no man till now can boast of having seen.”

‘Two slaves went immediately to fetch a woman’s dress and brought it to me. I put it on, and, mingling among the persons of the princess’s suite, I accompanied her to her apartment, which was illumined by a large number of perfumed candles. It seemed to me as rich as that of the king: gold and silver glittered everywhere.

‘On entering the chamber of Zelica-Beghume— it was thus the Princess of Persia was named—I remarked that there were in the middle, on the carpet, fifteen or twenty large squares of brocade ranged around. All the ladies threw themselves down on them, and they obliged me to seat myself there too: then Zelica asked for refreshments. Six aged slaves, less richly dressed than those who were seated, instantly appeared; they distributed napkins amongst us, and served shortly afterwards, in a large basin of green porcelain, a salad composed of scalded milk, lemon juice, and slices of cucumber. They brought a spoon made of the beak of a bird to the princess, who first took a spoonful of salad, ate it, and immediately gave the spoon to the first slave who was seated at her right; this slave did the same thing as her mistress, so that the whole company used the same spoon all round till there was nothing left in the basin. Then the three aged slaves presented fresh water to us in crystal cups.

‘After this repast the conversation became as animated as if we had drunk wine or date-brandy. Calé-Cairi, who by chance or otherwise was placed opposite to me, sometimes looked at me and smiled, and seemed to wish me to understand by her glances that she pardoned me the impetuosity I had displayed in the garden. I, on my side, cast my eyes on her from time to time, but I lowered them as soon as I saw she had hers on me. I looked very embarrassed, try as I would to appear self-possessed. The princess and her women, who perceived it, tried to inspire me with boldness. Zelica asked me my name, and how long I had been a page. As soon as I had satisfied her curiosity, she said to me: “Well, Hassan, look less embarrassed; forget that you are in an apartment the entrance to which is forbidden to men; forget that I am Zelica; speak to us as if you were with the young town girls of Shiraz. Look at all these young persons, examine them with attention, and say frankly which is the one amongst us who pleases you most.”

‘The Princess of Persia, instead of reassuring me by this speech, as she imagined, only augmented my confusion. “I see, Hassan,” she said to me, “that I ask of you something that pains you; you are doubtless afraid that in declaring yourself in favour of one you will displease all the others. But do not let this fear stop you; let nothing restrain you; my women are so united that you could not make them disagree. Look at us, there- fore, and tell us which you would choose as a mistress if it were permitted to you to choose.”

‘Although the slaves of Zelica were perfectly beautiful, and the princess herself had reason to flatter herself she would have the preference, my heart immediately decided for Calé-Cairi; but, hiding feelings which seemed insulting to Zelica, I told the princess she ought not to enter into the competition, nor dispute a heart with her slaves, since her beauty was such that, wherever she appeared, it was impossible to have eyes but for her. Saying these words, I could not help looking at Calé-Cairi in a manner for her to judge that flattery alone had dictated them. Zelica perceived it also. “Hassan,” she said to me, “you are too flattering. I wish for more sincerity. I am persuaded you do not say what you think. Give me the satisfaction I ask of you; reveal your innermost soul to us; all my women beg it of you; you cannot give us greater pleasure.” All the slaves pressed me; Calé-Cairi especially showed herself the most ardent in wishing me to speak, as though she had guessed she was most concerned.

‘I yielded at last to their entreaties. I banished my timidity, and, addressing Zelica, “My princess,” I said, “I am going to satisfy you. It would be difficult to decide who is the most beautiful lady, but the amiable Calé-Cairi is the one for whom I feel most inclination.”

‘I had hardly said these words than the slaves began to laugh loudly, without the least annoyance appearing on their faces. “Are these women?” I said to myself. Zelica, instead of showing that my frankness had offended her, said to me:

‘“I am very glad, Hassan, that you have given the preference to Calé-Cairi: she is my favourite, and that shows you have not bad taste. You do not know the entire worth of the person you have chosen; such as you see us, we are all ready to admit that we are not her equal.”

‘The princess and the slaves, with much wit, then bantered Calé-Cairi on the triumph her charms had won.

‘After that Zelica had a lute brought and, putting it in Calé-Cairi’s hands, “Show your lover,” she said, “what you can do.”

‘The slave tuned the lute, and played in a way that charmed me. She accompanied it with her voice, and sang a song whose burden was that, having chosen a lovable object, it should be loved through life. In singing she turned her eyes towards me so tenderly from time to time, that, forgetting in whose presence I was, I threw myself at her feet in a transport of love and pleasure. My actions gave rise to renewed laughter, which lasted until an aged slave came to say that day was about to break, and that if they wished to get me out of the women’s apartment there was no time to lose.

‘Then Zelica, as well as her women, thinking only of resting, bade me follow the old slave, who led me through several galleries, and by many windings brought me to a door of which she had the key. She opened it and I went out, and as soon as it was daylight I perceived that I was beyond the precincts of the palace.

‘It was in this manner that I left the apartment of the Princess Zelica-Beghume and escaped from the new danger in which I had placed myself. I rejoined my comrades some hours after. The master of the pages at once asked me why I had slept out of the palace. I replied that one of my friends, a merchant of Shiraz, who had just left for Bassora with all his family, had kept me with him, and that we had passed the night in drinking. He believed me, and I got off with a reprimand. I was too delighted with my adventure to forget it. I perpetually recalled its smallest details, particularly those which most flattered my vanity, that is to say, those which led me to believe that I had attracted the attention of the favourite slave of the princess.

‘A week after, a eunuch came to the door of the king’s chamber and said he wished to speak to me. I went to ask him what he wanted. “Are you not named Hassan?” he said. I replied in the affirmative. He then put a note in my hand and disappeared immediately. It was intimated to me that if I were inclined to remain the following night in the seraglio gardens, after the time for retiring, in the same place where I had been encountered, I should see a person who was very sensible to the preference I had shown her over all the other women of the princess.

‘Although I had suspected Calé-Cairi of being well inclined towards me, I did not at all expect to receive this letter.

‘Enchanted at my good fortune, I asked the Master’s permission to go and see a dervish of my native land recently arrived at Meccha; this being granted me, I ran—I flew to the seraglio gardens as soon as night fell.

‘If on the first occasion I had let myself be overtaken by the time, now it seemed to me very long to wait for the pleasures I promised myself. I thought the hour for retiring would never come. It came, nevertheless. I perceived a short time afterwards a lady whom I recognised by her figure and her bearing to be Calé-Cairi.

‘I approached her in a transport of pleasure and joy, and, throwing myself at her feet, I remained with face to the ground, unable to say a word, so beside myself was I.

‘“Rise, Hassan,” she said, “I wish to know whether you love me: to persuade me of it, I want other proofs than this tender and passionate silence. Speak to me without restraint; is it possible that you think me more beautiful than all my companions —than the Princess Zelica even? Can I really believe that your eyes are more favourable to me than to her?”

‘“Do not doubt it,” I replied, “too amiable Calé-Cairi. When the princess and her women forced me to decide between you and them, my heart had already long declared itself for you. Since that happy night, I have not been able to turn from your image, and you would always have been present in my mind had you never shown kindness to me.”

‘“I am enchanted,” she replied, “at having inspired so much love in you, for, on my part, I admit I have not been able to prevent myself having a friendly feeling for you. Your youth, your goodly appearance, your quick and brilliant intelligence; and more than all that, perhaps, the preference you have shown for me over very pretty people, made you very pleasing in my eyes: the step I have taken sufficiently proves it; but, alas! my dear Hassan,” she added sighing, “I do not know whether I ought to be pleased at my conquest, or whether I ought not rather to look upon it as the cause of the future unhappiness of my life.”

‘“Ah, madam,” I said, “why, in the midst of the delight which your presence causes me, do you give way to such a gloomy presentiment?”

‘“It is not,” she replied, “a foolish fear which troubles our pleasure at this moment; my fears are but too well justified, and you do not know what causes my trouble: the Princess Zelica loves you, and freeing herself soon from the superb yoke under which she is bowed, she will announce your good fortune to you. When she announces to you that you are pleasing to her, how will you receive so glorious an avowal? Will the love you have for me withstand the honour of having as your mistress the first princess in the world?”

‘“Yes, charming Calé-Cairi,” I interrupted at that moment, “you will triumph over Zelica. Did it please Heaven you should have a still more redoubtable rival, you would see that nothing could shake the constancy of a heart which is devoted to you. If Shah Tahmasp should have no son to succeed him, and he should despoil himself of the kingdom of Persia to give it to his son-in-law, whom it depended on me to become, I would sacrifice for you so great a fortune.”

‘“Ah! unhappy Hassan,” cried the lady, “to what lengths does your love carry you? What dire assurance do you give me of your fidelity. You forget that I am the slave of the Princess of Persia. If you repay her kindness with ingratitude, you will draw down her anger upon us and we shall both perish. It were better I should yield you to such a powerful rival; it is the only way to save ourselves.”

‘“No, no,” I replied abruptly, “there is another which I in my despair would rather choose, and that is to banish myself from the court. My flight will protect you from the vengeance of Zelica, will restore your tranquillity to you; and whilst little by little you will forget the unfortunate Hassan, he will seek in the desert the end of his misfortunes.”

‘I was so overcome with what I was saying that the lady, sympathising with my grief, said, “Cease, Hassan, to abandon yourself to a superfluous distress; you are in error, and you seem to deserve to be undeceived. I am not a slave of the Princess Zelica—I am Zelica herself. The night that you came to my apartment I passed as Calé-Cairi and you took Calé-Cairi for me.”

‘At these words she called one of her women, who, issuing from behind some cypresses where she had remained hidden, came forward quickly, and I recognised the slave whom I had taken for the Princess of Persia.

‘“You see, Hassan,” said Zelica, “there is the real Calé-Cairi. I give her back her name and resume mine. I do not wish to disguise myself any longer, nor conceal from you the importance of the conquest you have made; realise, therefore, all the glory of your triumph. Although you have more love than ambition, I am sure you will not hear without experiencing fresh pleasure that it is a princess who loves you.”

‘I did not fail to tell Zelica that I could not realise the extent of my good fortune, nor how I had deserved that she should descend from the grandeur in which she had been brought up, and seek me out in my nothingness, in order to confer on me a fate worthy of the envoy of the greatest king in the world.

‘Surprised, enchanted, by the kindness of the princess, I began to indulge in expressions of gratitude; but she interrupted me. “Hassan,” she said, “do not be astonished any longer at what I have done for you. Pride has little empire over women who lead enclosed lives. We follow without resistance the movements of our hearts; you are lovable, you have pleased me; that is sufficient to merit my kindness.”

‘We spent all the night walking about and talking, and daylight would have doubtless surprised us in the gardens, if Calé-Cairi, who was with us, had not taken care to warn us that it was time to separate; but before I quitted Zelica, she said: “Farewell, Hassan, always think of me; we shall see each other again, and I promise to show you soon how dear you are to me.” I threw myself at her feet to thank her for so flattering a promise, after which Calé-Cairi made me make the same round that I had made the first time, and then led me beyond the precincts of the seraglio.

‘Loved by the august princess whom I idolised, and indulging my imagination with the charming promise she had made me, I gave myself up the next and following days to the pleasantest ideas imaginable. It might be truly said that there was a happy man upon earth, if the impatience to see Zelica again permitted me to be happy.

‘I was in the position which gives most pleasure to lovers, that is to say, the moment was approaching when my love was to be returned, when an unforeseen event suddenly dispelled my proud hopes. I heard that the Princess Zelica had fallen ill, and, two days after, the rumour of her death spread through the palace, and to confirm it I saw preparations begun for the funeral. My eyes, alas! were the sad witnesses of it, and it was in this order:

‘All the pages of the twelve chambers walked first, naked from head to waist; some scarred their arms to testify to their grief, others marked characters on them, and I, profiting by the occasion to mark the sincere regret, or rather the despair, I felt, tore my body, and covered myself with blood. Our officers followed us with a slow step and a grave air. They had behind them long rolls of Chinese paper, unrolled and attached to their turbans, on which were written various passages of the Alcoran, with some verses in praise of Zelica, which they sang sadly and respectfully. After them appeared the body in a coffin of sandal wood, raised on an ivory bier borne by twelve men of quality; and twenty princes related to Shah-Tahmasp held each the end of a silken cord attached to the coffin. All the women of the palace followed, uttering cries of lament, and when the body had arrived at the place of burial everyone commenced to cry, “There is no God but God!”

‘I did not see the rest of the ceremony, because the excess of my grief and the blood I had lost produced a prolonged swoon. One of our officers had me carried into our room, where great care was taken of me. My body was rubbed with an excellent balm, so that at the end of two days I felt my strength returning; but the remembrance of the princess almost drove me mad. “Oh! Zelica,” I said to myself every moment, is it thus that you keep the promise you made on leaving me? Is this the mark of affection you wished to give me?” I could not console myself, and sojourn in Shiraz becoming insupportable to me, I left the court of Persia secretly three days after the obsequies of the Princess Zelica.

‘Possessed with grief I walked all night without knowing where I was going or where I should go. The following morning, having stopped to rest, a young man passed near me who was extraordinarily attired. He came to me, saluted me, and presented to me a green palm which he held in his hand, and, having obliged me to accept it, he began to recite Persian verses to persuade me to give him alms. As I had nothing I could give him nothing. He thought I did not understand the Persian language; he recited some Arabic verses; but seeing that he did not succeed better one way than another, and that I did not do as he wished, he said to me: “Brother, I cannot believe that you are wanting in charity. I believe rather that you have not the means of exercising it.”

‘“You are right,” I replied, “I have not the smallest coin, and I do not know where to lay my head.”

‘“Ah! unhappy man,” he cried, “what a strange condition is yours! I pity you, I wish to succour you.”

‘I was somewhat surprised to hear a man speak thus who had just asked alms of me, and I believed the help he offered me was nothing else but prayers and vows, when, continuing, he said: “I am one of those good fellows called fakirs. Although we live on charity we live, nevertheless, in abundance, because we know how to excite the pity of men by an air of mortification and penance. There are, indeed, fakirs who are simple enough to be what they appear, who lead so austere a life that they sometimes go ten whole days without taking the least nourishment. We are a little less rigid than those. We do not pride ourselves upon having their virtues, we merely preserve the appearance of them. Will you become one of us? I am going to seek two who are at Bost; if you are inclined to make the fourth you have only to follow me.”

‘“Not very accustomed to your devotional practices, I fear to acquit myself badly—”

‘“You are laughing,” he interrupted. “Practices indeed! I repeat to you we are not rigid fakirs; in a word, we wear their habit only.”

‘Although this fakir by his words made me understand that his two fakirs and himself were three libertines, I did not refuse to join them. Beside finding myself in a deplorable state, I had not learnt amongst the pages to be scrupulous in my connections. As soon as I had told the fakir that I consented to do what he wished, he conducted me to Bost, living on the way on dates, rice, and other provisions given him in the towns and villages through which we passed. As soon as his bell and cry were heard, the good Mussulmans hastened to load him with provisions.

‘We arrived in this way at the town of Bost; we entered a little house situated in the suburbs where the two other fakirs lived. They received us with open arms, and seemed charmed at my resolution to live with them. They soon initiated me into their mysteries, that is to say, they taught me all their grimaces. When I was well instructed in the art of deceiving people, they dressed me like themselves, and required me to go into the town to present flowers and palms to the worthy people and recite verses to them. I always returned home with some pieces of silver, which enabled us to make good cheer.

‘I was still too young, and was naturally too fond of pleasure, to be able to resist the example set by these fakirs. I plunged into all sorts of debauch, and thereby lost insensibly the remembrance of the Princess of Persia. I still thought of her sometimes and sighed for her; but instead of cherishing these poor remains of my grief, I spared nothing to destroy them, and I often said: “Why think of Zelica, since Zelica is no more? Were I to lament her all my life what would my tears avail?”

‘I passed almost two years with these fakirs, and I should have remained there longer if the one who had persuaded me to join them, and whom I loved more than the others, had not proposed to me to travel. “Hassan,” he said one day to me, “I begin to be wearied of this town. I feel a desire to travel. I have heard tell wonders of the town of Candahar, if you wish to accompany me we will see if a faithful picture has been given me of it.” I consented, impelled by curiosity to see new countries; or, rather, carried away by that superior power which forces us to act.

‘We both left Bost, therefore, and after having passed through several towns without stopping, we arrived at the beautiful town of Candahar, which appeared before us enclosed by strong walls.

‘We lodged in a caravanserai, where we were charitably received by reason of the habits we wore, which was about all we had to recommend us. We found all the inhabitants of the town in a state of commotion because the following day the feast of the anniversary of the king’s coronation was to be celebrated. We heard that they were not less occupied at the court, everyone wishing to display his zeal for the King Firouzshah, who was beloved of the good for his equity, and feared of the bad for the rigour with which he treated them.

‘As fakirs enter everywhere without anyone being able to prevent them, we went to the court the following day to see the feast, which had nothing to charm the eyes of a man who had seen the feasts of the kings of Persia. Whilst we were attentively watching all that took place I felt myself touched on the arm. At the same time I turned my head and perceived beside me the eunuch who, in the palace of Shah Tahmasp had given me a letter from Calé-Cairi; or, rather, from Zelica.

‘“My lord Hassan,” he said, “I recognised you in spite of the strange garment which covers you. Although I do not seem to be mistaken, I do not know whether I ought not to mistrust the testimony of my eyes. Is it possible that I meet you here?”

‘“And you,” I replied, “what are you doing at Candahar? Why have you left the court of Persia? Was it, as in my case, because of the death of the Princess Zelica?”

‘“That,” he replied, “I cannot tell you now, but I will satisfy your curiosity fully if you will be here to-morrow at the same time. I will tell you things which will astonish you; they concern you, moreover.”

‘I promised him to return alone to the same place the following day, and I did not fail to keep my promise. The eunuch appeared, he came to me and said, “Let us leave this palace; let us seek a more convenient place for conversation.” We entered the town, traversed several streets, and finally we stopped at the door of a rather large house of which he had the key. We entered, I saw well-furnished apartments, beautiful foot-carpets, rich sofas, also a well-cultivated garden, in the midst of which was a basin full of lovely water and bordered with jasper.

‘“Lord Hassan,” said the eunuch, “do you like this house?”

‘“Very much,” I replied.

‘“I am very glad of it,” he rejoined, “for I hired it yesterday for you, just as you see it. You require slaves to wait on you. I am going to buy some for you whilst you bathe.” Thus saying, he conducted me into a room where there were baths prepared.

‘“In God’s name,” I said, “tell me why you have brought me here, and what you have to tell me.”

‘“You will be told,” he said, “in due time. Suffice it for you to know that your destiny has greatly changed since I met you, and that I have orders to treat you as I am doing.” At the same time he helped me to undress, which was soon done. I entered the bath and the eunuch went out, begging me not to be impatient.

‘The mysterious treatment I was receiving gave me much food for thought, but I wearied my mind in vain in endeavouring to understand it. Schapour left me a long time in the water, and I was beginning to lose patience, when he returned, followed by four slaves, two of whom were laden with linen and clothes and the others with all sorts of provisions. “I beg pardon, my lord,” he said. “I am sorry to have made you wait so long.”

‘The slaves immediately put their packets on the sofa and hastened to wait on me. They rubbed me with fine new linen, then they dressed me in a rich vest with a magnificent robe and a turban. “Where is all this to end?” I said to myself; “by whose order does this eunuch treat me in this manner?” I was consumed with impatience to be enlightened on the subject.

‘Schapour noticed it. “I regret to see you a prey to your anxiety, but I cannot relieve you. Had I not been expressly forbidden to speak, and if betraying my duty I were to inform you of all that I know, I should not make you more tranquil. Other desires still more violent would succeed those which animate you now. You will not know till to-night what you wish to learn.”

‘Although the speech of the eunuch augured well for me, I remained for the rest of the day in a state of cruel suspense. I believe the anticipation of evil causes less suffering than the expectation of a great pleasure.

‘Night came, however; candles were lit everywhere, and particular care was taken to light the finest apartment in the house. I was there with Schapour, who, to relieve my weariness, said every minute: “Have a little more patience, they are coming.” At last we heard knocking at the door: the eunuch went to open it himself, and returned with a lady, who had no sooner lifted her veil than I recognised her to be Calé-Cairi. At sight of her my surprise was extreme, for I thought this lady was at Shiraz. “Lord Hassan,” she said, “however astonished you may be to see me, you will be much more so when you hear what I have to tell you.” At these words Schapour and the slaves went out and left me alone with Calé-Cairi. We both sat on the same sofa and she began thus:

‘“You remember, lord Hassan, the night Zelica chose to discover herself to you, and the promise she made on leaving you cannot yet have faded from your memory.

‘“The following day I asked her what resolution she had taken, and what evidence of affection she proposed giving you. She replied that she wished to make you happy, and often have secret interviews with you, whatever danger she might have to run. I will not deny that, opposed to her sentiments, I spared nothing to dispel them. I represented to her that it was an extravagant idea for a princess of her rank to think of exposing her life for a page. In a word, I combated her love strenuously, and you must forgive me, since all my arguments only served to augment her passion. When I saw that I could not persuade her, ‘Madam,’ I said, ‘I cannot contemplate without a shudder the dangers you are going to expose yourself to, and since nothing can detach you from your lover, you must seek a means of seeing him without compromising your life or his. I know a way which would doubtless flatter your love, but I should not dare propose it to you, so delicate does it seem to me.’

‘“‘Speak, Calé-Cairi,’ said the princess, ‘whatever the means may be do not hide it from me.’ ‘If you employ it,’ I replied, ‘you must resolve to quit the court, to live as though Heaven had caused you to be born in the commonest condition of life. You must renounce all the honours which are attached to your rank; do you love Hassan enough to make so great a sacrifice for him?’

‘“‘Do I love him!’ she replied with a deep sigh. ‘The lowliest lot with him will please me more than all the pomp which surrounds me. Tell me what I ought to do to see him unrestrainedly, and I will do it without hesitation.’ ‘Since it is useless to oppose you, I will yield to your wish,’ I said. ‘I know a herb which has a somewhat singular virtue; if you place but one leaf of it in your ear, you will fall an hour afterwards into a lethargy: you will pass for dead; your funeral will be held, and at night I shall get you out of the tomb’”

‘At these words I interrupted Calé-Cairi. “Oh Heaven!” I cried, “is it possible that the princess Zelica is not dead? What has become of her?”

‘“My lord,” said Calé-Cairi, “she still lives, but I beg you to listen to me; you shall hear all you wish to know. My mistress,” she continued, “embraced me with joy, so ingenious did this project appear to her; but, reflecting upon the difficulty of executing it on account of the ceremonies observed at funerals, she told me what she thought of it. I removed all the difficulties, and this is how we carried out this great enterprise. Zelica complained of a head-ache and went to bed. The following day I spread the rumour that she was dangerously ill. The king’s physician came, allowed himself to be deceived, and ordered remedies which were not taken. The following days the illness increased, and when I thought the time came to announce that the princess was in extremity, I put in her ear a leaf of the herb in question. I then ran to inform Shah Tahmasp that Zelica had only a few more moments to live and wished to speak with him.

‘“He hastened to her side, and remarking, because of the working of the herb, that her face changed every moment, he grew sad and began to weep. ‘My lord,’ said his daughter to him then, ‘I conjure you by the affection you have always had for me, to command that my last wishes shall be exactly carried out. I wish that after my death no other woman but Calé-Cairi shall wash my body and rub it with perfumes; I do not wish my other slaves to share this honour with her; I also ask that she may watch alone with me the first night, and that no one but she shall water my tomb with tears; I wish it to be this zealous slave who shall pray the Prophet to save me from the assaults of the bad angels.’

‘“Shah Tahmasp promised his daughter that I should render her these sad services as she desired. ‘That is not all, my lord,’ she said, ‘I pray you to set Calé-Cairi free as soon as I am no more, and with her liberty give her presents worthy of you and of the attachment she has always had for me.’

‘“‘My daughter,’ replied Shah Tahmasp, ‘set your mind at rest with regard to everything you ask me; if I have the misfortune to lose you, I swear that your favourite slave, laden with presents, shall be able to retire where she pleases.’

‘“Hardly had he finished these words than the herb produced its effect; Zelica lost consciousness, and her father, believing her to be dead, retired weeping to his apartment. He ordered that I alone should wash and perfume the body, which I did. I then wrapped it in a white cloth and put it in a coffin, after which it was borne to the place of burial, where, by order of the king, I was left alone the first night. I looked everywhere to see whether anyone were hidden to observe me, and having found no one, I drew my mistress from the coffin and from her lethargy. I made her put on a robe which I had under mine with a veil, and we both betook ourselves to a place where Schapour awaited us. This faithful eunuch conducted the princess to a little house which he had hired, and I returned to the tomb to pass the rest of the night. I made a bundle of stuff in the form of a corpse; I covered it with the cloth which had served to envelop Zelica and enclosed it in the coffin.

‘“The following morning the other slaves of the princess came to take my place, which I did not leave without making beforehand all the grimaces which usually accompany false grief. They told the king of the evidences of sorrow which I had shown, which would have prompted him to make me presents had he not already been determined to do so. He had ten thousand sequins counted out to me from his treasury, and he granted me the permission I asked of him to retire and take with me the eunuch Schapour; after which I went to find my mistress, to rejoice with her on the happy success of our strategy. The following day we sent the eunuch to the king’s chambers with a note, in which I begged you to come and see me; but one of your companions said you were indisposed, and that you could not be spoken to. Three days after we sent him back; he learned that you were no longer in the seraglio, and that they did not know what had become of you.”

‘I interrupted Calé-Cairi at this juncture. “Ah! why was I not informed of your project? Why did you not let me know of it through Schapour? Ah! what pain one word would have spared me!”

‘“Ah! would to Heaven,” interrupted Calé-Cairi in her turn, “a mystery had not been made of it to you. Zelica would have been living with you now in some part of the world; had it depended on me you would both have been happy. Hardly had we formed our plan than I wished to acquaint you with it; but my mistress did not wish it. ‘No, no,’ she said, ‘he must feel my loss; he will be more sensible to the pleasure of seeing me again, and his surprise will be all the more agreeable for the grief caused him by the idea of my death.’

‘“I could not enjoy this refinement of affection. It seemed to me that I foresaw its sad consequences: and bitterly has Zelica repented of it. I cannot say how grieved she was at your disappearance. ‘Ah! unhappy woman that I am,’ she cried perpetually, ‘what does it avail me to have sacrificed everything to love, if Hassan is to be lost for ever?’ We had you sought for everywhere. Schapour spared nothing to find you; and when we had lost hope of it we left Shiraz. We went towards the Indus, because we imagined you had perhaps wended your steps in that direction; and, stopping at all the towns which are on the banks of that river, we made enquiries for you as searching as they were vain. One day, going from one town to another, although we were with a caravan, a great band of robbers surrounded us, beat the merchants, and pillaged their merchandise. They made themselves our masters, took the gold and jewels they found with us, took us then to Candahar, and sold us to a slave merchant whom they knew.

‘“This merchant had no sooner got possession of Zelica than he resolved to show her to the King of Candahar. Firouzshah was charmed with her as soon as she appeared before him; he asked her whence she came. She replied that Ormus was her birthplace, and did not reply with more truth to the other questions this prince put to her. He bought us, put us in his women’s palace, and gave us the finest apartment in it.”

‘Calé-Cairi ceased speaking; or, rather, I interrupted her. “Oh! Heaven,” I cried, “ought I to rejoice at meeting Zelica? But is it finding her again to learn that a powerful king keeps her enclosed in his seraglio? If, rebellious to the love of Firouzshah, she only drags out languishing days, what grief for me to see her suffer! And if she be contented with her fate, can I be so with mine?”

‘“I am delighted,” said Calé-Cairi, “that your sentiments are so delicate. The princess deserves them. Although passionately beloved by the King of Candahar, she has not been able to forget you; and never was such joy as hers yesterday when Schapour told her he had met you. She was beside herself the rest of the day; she immediately ordered her eunuch to hire a furnished house, to conduct you thither to-day, and not to let you want for anything there.

‘“I come from her to explain everything that I have told you, and to prepare you to see her to-morrow during the night. We shall leave the palace and come here by a little door in the garden, of which we have had a key made to use when we wish.” Saying these words, the favourite slave of the Princess of Persia rose and went out, accompanied by Schapour, to return to her mistress.

‘I did nothing during the night but think of Zelica, for whom I felt all my love rekindle. Sleep could not close my eyes a moment, and the following day seemed to me a century. Finally, after having been the prey to the keenest impatience, I heard knocking at the door of the house.

‘My slaves went to open it, and soon I saw my princess enter my apartment. How her presence moved me! And she, on her side, how overjoyed she was to see me! I threw myself at her feet, I held them in a long embrace, without being able to say a word. She compelled me to rise, and having made me seat myself beside her on the sofa:

‘“Hassan,” she said, “I thank Heaven for having brought us together. Let us hope its kindness will not stop there, and that it will remove the fresh obstacle which prevents our being together. Awaiting that happy time you will live here tranquilly and in abundance. If we do not have the pleasure of meeting without constraint, we shall at least have the consolation of being able to have news of each other every day, and to see each other secretly sometimes. Calé-Cairi,” she continued, “has related my adventures to you; tell me yours.”

‘I depicted to her the grief the belief in her death had caused me, and I told her that it so saddened me that I became a fakir.

‘“Ah! my dear Hassan,” cried Zelica, “can it be for love of me that you lived so long with such austere people? Alas! I am the cause of your having suffered much.”

‘If she had known the life I had led under this religious habit, she would have pitied me a little less; but I took care not to tell her of it, and only thought of paying my passionate addresses to her. How quickly flew the moments of our interview! Although it lasted three hours, we were angry with Schapour and Calé-Cairi when they warned us we must separate. “Ah! how inconsiderate are the people who do not love,” we said to them. “We have only been together a moment; leave us in peace.” However, had we continued talking much longer, daylight would have surprised us, and shortly afterwards the princess retired.

‘In spite of the agreeable thoughts which occupied me, I did not forget the fakir with whom I had come to Candahar, and representing to myself his uneasiness at not knowing what had become of me, I went out to look for him. I met him by chance in the street. We embraced each other.

‘“My friend,” I said, “I was going to your caravanserai to inform you of what had happened to me, and to set your mind at rest. I have doubtless caused you alarm.”

‘“Yes,” he replied, “I was very troubled about you. But what a change! In what clothes do you appear before me? You seem to me to have encountered good fortune. Whilst uncertainty as to your fate was distressing me, you were apparently passing your time agreeably.”

‘“I admit it,” I replied, “my dear friend. I will confess to you that I am a thousand times happier than you can imagine. I wish you to be a witness of my happiness and to profit by it. Leave your caravanserai and come and lodge with me.”

‘Thus saying I conducted him to my house. I showed him all the apartments; I found them beautiful and well-furnished. Every moment he exclaimed, “O Heaven! what has Hassan done more than others to deserve such favours from you?”

‘“But, fakir,” I said to him, “do you look with chagrin upon the state I am in? My prosperity would seem to afflict you.”

‘“No,” he replied; “on the contrary, I am greatly rejoiced at it. Far from envying the happiness of my friends, I am charmed to see them in a flourishing condition.”

‘Saying these words, he pressed me closely in his arms, to better persuade me that he was speaking truly. I thought him sincere, and, acting in good faith with him, I gave myself over unsuspectingly to the most cowardly, the most envious, the most perfidious of men.

‘“We must make merry together to-day,” he said.

‘At the same moment I took him by the hand and led him into a hall where my slaves had arranged a table for two.

‘We both seated ourselves. Several dishes of rice of different colours were brought to us, with dates preserved in syrup. We ate of other dishes too, after which I sent one of my slaves to buy wine at a place in the town where he knew it was sold secretly. He brought back some that was excellent, and we drank of it with so little discretion that we should not have dared appear in public. We would not have shown ourselves there with impunity. In the midst of our debauch the fakir said to me, “Tell me, Hassan, the mysterious adventure that has happened to you; you risk nothing, I am discreet, and your very best friend. You cannot doubt me without insulting me. Open yourself to me, then, and make known all your good fortune to me, so that we may rejoice at it together. Moreover I flatter myself that I am a good counsellor, and you know that such a character is not worthless.”

‘Heated by the wine I had drunk, and deceived by the evidence of friendship which he gave me, I yielded to his entreaties. “I am sure,” I said, “you are not capable of abusing the confidence which I am going to place in you, so I wish to conceal nothing from you. When I met you do you remember that I was very sad? I had just lost at Shiraz a lady whom I loved and by whom I was beloved. I believed her dead, and yet she is still alive. I have found her again at Candahar, and to tell you the truth she is the favourite of the King Firouzshah.”

‘The fakir exhibited extreme astonishment at this speech. “Hassan,” he said, “you give me a charming impression of this lady; she must be marvellously endowed with beauty since the King of Candahar is enamoured of her.”

‘“She is an incomparable person,” I replied. “However advantageously a lover may depict her to you, he could not make a flattering portrait of her. She will not fail to come here soon; you will see her. I wish you to judge of her charms with your own eyes.”

‘At these words the fakir embraced me with fervour, saying I should give him much pleasure if I fulfilled my promise. I gave him renewed assurances, after which we both rose from table to go to rest. One of my slaves led my friend into a room where they had prepared a bed for him.

‘The next morning Schapour brought me a note from Zelica. She informed me she would come the next night to feast with me. I showed the letter to the fakir, who was infinitely delighted at it. He did nothing during the day but talk of the lady whose beauty I had praised to him, and he awaited the night with as much impatience as if he had had the same reasons as I to wish for her arrival. I made preparations to receive Zelica. I sent for the best dishes, and for some of the excellent wine we had tested so well the day before.

‘When night had come I said to the fakir, “When the lady enters my apartment you must not be here. She might think it indiscreet. Let me go and ask her for permission to present you to her as my friend. I am sure I shall obtain it.”

‘We soon heard knocking at the door; it was the princess. The fakir hid himself in a cabinet; I went to meet Zelica. I gave her my hand, and, having conducted her to my apartment, “My princess,” I said, “I beg you to grant me a favour. The fakir with whom I came to Candahar is lodged in this house. I have given him an apartment; he is my friend. Will you allow him to join us?”

‘“Hassan,” she replied, “you do not think what you are asking of me. Instead of exposing me to a man’s glances you should take care to shield me from them.”

‘“Madam,” I cried, “he is a prudent and discreet fellow, whose friendship I can rely upon. I will guarantee that you will have no occasion to regret having given me the satisfaction which I ask of you.”

‘“I can refuse you nothing,” replied Zelica, “but I have a presentiment we shall regret it.”

‘“Oh no, my princess,” I said to her, “do not be uneasy about that. Rely on my word, and let no fear prevent your sharing the pleasure I take in seeing you.”

‘Saying these words, I called the fakir and presented him to Zelica. She received him very graciously to please me, and after many mutual compliments we all three sat down to table with Calé-Cairi. My comrade was a man thirty years of age; he was very intelligent; he soon made known to the ladies by his rallies and witticisms that he was not averse to pleasure, or rather that he dishonoured his habit. As soon as we had eaten of all the dishes which were served to us, wine was brought; the slaves poured it out to us in agate cups. The fakir did not long leave his empty; he had it replenished perpetually, so that by dint of drinking he was soon in a pretty state. He was not very respectful by nature, so that the wine augmented his boldness and made him lose the little restraint he had preserved till then. He was not content with shocking the modesty of the ladies by bold speeches; he threw his arms abruptly round the neck of the Princess of Persia, and insolently snatched a kiss.

‘Zelica was indignant at the boldness of the fakir, and her anger lent her strength to snatch herself from his insolent clutches. “Stop, wretch!” she said, “and do not abuse the kindness shown you in suffering you to be here. You deserve to be punished by the slaves in this house, but the consideration which I have for your friend restrains me.” Thus saying, she took her veil, covered her face, and left my apartment. I ran after her, asking pardon for what had passed; I tried in vain to appease her, she was too irritated. “You now see,” she said, “whether you were wrong in wishing this fakir to join us; it was not without reason that I opposed it. I shall not put my foot here again whilst he is here.” At these words she retired, say what I would to stop her.

‘I returned to my friend in my apartment. “Ah, what have you done?” I said to him; “to show such want of respect to the favourite of Firouzshah! By your indiscreet behaviour you have incurred her hatred, and perhaps she will never forgive me for having let her be seen by you.”

‘“Don’t be afraid, Hassan,” he replied, “you don’t know women well if you think she is really angry; be persuaded rather that at heart she is really delighted; there is not a lady whom such outbursts displease; the anger she gave vent to is feigned. Do you know why she appeared annoyed at my boldness? It is because your eyes were witness to it. If I had been alone with her, I am sure I should have found her more human.”

‘At this speech, which sufficiently indicated that he was intoxicated, I ceased reproaching him. I hoped that the following day he would better listen to reason, and that he would recognise his fault. I ordered one of my slaves to conduct him to his apartment, and I remained in mine, where my reflections on what had passed did not permit me to rest quietly. The following day the fakir had, indeed, adopted another tone; he showed me how mortified he was at having caused me so much annoyance, and as a punishment for his indiscretion he had resolved to retire from Candahar. He spoke to me in a way that touched me. I wrote immediately to the princess that our fakir repented of his audacity, and very humbly begged her and me to forgive it on account of the wine which had been the cause of it.

‘As I finished writing, Schapour arrived; he told me that his mistress was still very irritated; I entrusted my letter to him. He returned, and came back some hours after with an answer. Zelica informed me that she was willing to excuse the insolence of the fakir since he assured her that he repented, but on condition that he did not remain longer in my house, and that he left Candahar in twenty-four hours. I showed the note to my friend, who told me before Schapour that his sentiments were in conformity with those of the lady; that he would not dare appear before her after the bold action he had had the misfortune to commit, and that he proposed leaving Candahar that very hour. The eunuch immediately returned to the palace, and went to inform Zelica of the disposition in which he had left the fakir.

‘I was enchanted to see calm succeed the storm which had alarmed me. I will admit, however, I was sorry to lose my friend, and I kept him that day. “Wait,” I said, “you shall depart to-morrow I wish to rejoice with you another day; perhaps we shall never see each other again. Ah! since we must separate, let us delay at least the sad moment of our separation.”

‘To better celebrate our farewell I ordered a big supper; when it was ready, we sat down to table. We had already tasted several dishes, when we saw Schapour enter, bearing a gold dish in which was a curry.

‘“Lord Hassan,” he said to me, “I bring you a dish which has just been served at the king’s supper. His majesty found it so delicious that he had it taken to his favourite, who sends it to you.”

‘We ate this dish, and it seemed indeed excellent. The fakir during the meal could not tire of praising my good fortune, and he said to me twenty times: “Oh, young man, what a charming fate is yours!”

‘We passed the night in drinking, and as soon as it was day my friend said to me: “Now we must part.” Then I went to fetch a purse full of sequins which Schapour had brought me the day before from his mistress, and, giving it to the fakir:

‘“Take my purse,” I said, “it may be of use to you.” He thanked me; we embraced each other. He left, and after his departure I remained some time feeling sad. “Oh, too imprudent friend,” I said, “it is you who are the cause of our separation; you should have been contented with seeing Zelica and enjoying so beautiful a sight.”

‘As I had need of repose, I threw myself upon a sofa and fell asleep. At the end of several hours I was awoke by a great noise which was heard in my house. I rose to see the cause of it, and I perceived with much alarm that it was a troop of soldiers of Firouzshah’s guard.

‘“Follow us,” said the officer who was at their head. “We have orders to conduct you to the palace.”

‘“What crime have I committed?” I replied. “Of what am I accused?”

‘“We do not know,” replied the officer; “we only have orders to conduct you to the king, we do not know the reason. But I will tell you, to reassure you, that if you are innocent you have nothing to fear. You have to do with a just prince who does not lightly accuse persons of having committed faults; there must be convincing proofs for him to pronounce a fatal sentence. It is true that he punishes the guilty with rigour; if you are among them, I pity you.”

‘I was obliged to follow the officer. On the way to the seraglio I said to myself: “Firouzshah has probably discovered the understanding that I have with Zelica; but how has he learnt it?” When we were in the courtyard of the palace I saw four beams erected; I well knew that that concerned me, and that this kind of death was the least punishment I had to expect from Firouzshah. I raised my eyes to heaven and prayed that the Princess of Persia at least might be saved.

‘We entered the seraglio; the officer who conducted me led me into the king’s apartment. The prince was there with his grand vizir only and the fakir whom I had thought to be already far from Candahar. As soon as I saw this treacherous friend I knew all his perfidy.

‘“It is you, then,” said Firouzshah, “who have secret interviews with my favourite! Oh! rogue. you must be very bold to dare to trifle with me. Speak, and reply precisely to what I have to ask you. When you arrived at Candahar were you not told that I punished criminals severely?’

‘I replied in the affirmative.

‘“Well,” he replied, “since you were warned, why have you committed the greatest of all crimes?”

‘“Sire,” I said to him, “may your majesty’s days endure through all the centuries; but you know that love makes bold the dove; a man possessed by a violent passion fears nothing. I am ready to serve as a victim to your just anger, and torture me as you will, I shall not complain of your rigour if you pardon your favourite slave. Alas! she lived tranquilly in your seraglio before my arrival, and content to make a great king happy, she began to forget an unhappy lover, whom she thought never to see again. She became aware that I was in this town; her first fire became re-kindled; it is I who have snatched her from your love; it is therefore I alone whom you ought to punish.”

‘Whilst I was speaking thus, Zelica, whom they had gone to fetch by order of the king, entered, followed by Schapour and Calé-Cairi; and having heard my last words, she ran to throw herself at the feet of Firouzshah.

‘“My lord,” she said, “pardon this young man; it is upon the guilty slave who has betrayed you that your blows should fall.”

‘“Ah! traitors,” cried the king, “let neither of you expect mercy; you shall perish. The ungrateful woman! she implores my mercy only for the bold fellow who has offended me; and he shows himself sensible only to the loss of her whom he loves; they both dare to display before my eyes their love’s passion. What insolence! Vizir,” he added, turning towards his minister, “conduct them to their punishment; let them be attached to beams, and after their death let them become the prey of dogs and birds.”

‘“Stop! sire,” I then cried; “beware of treating a king’s daughter with so much ignominy. Let your jealous anger respect the august blood which flows in your favourite’s veins!”

‘At these words Firouzshah appeared astonished. “What prince,” he said to Zelica, “is then the author of your being?”

‘The princess looked proudly at me and said: “Indiscreet Hassan, why have you revealed what I would have wished to keep secret? I had in dying the consolation of knowing that they were ignorant of my rank; in making known my identity you cover me with shame. Well, Firouzshah,” she continued, addressing the King of Candahar, “learn, then, who I am. The slave whom you condemn to an infamous death is the daughter of Shah Tahmasp.” At the same time she related to him her whole history, without forgetting a single circumstance of it.

‘After she had finished this story, which increased the astonishment of the king: “That, my lord,” she said, “is a secret which I had not intended to reveal to you, and which the indiscretion of my lover alone has drawn from me. After this avowal, which I do not make without extreme confusion, I pray you to order my life to be taken immediately; it is the only favour which I ask of your majesty.”

‘“Madam,” said the king to her, “I revoke the decree of your death; I am too just not to forgive you your infidelity. What you have just told me makes me look at it differently; I cease to complain of you, and I even give you your liberty. Live for Hassan, and let the happy Hassan live for you. I also give life and liberty to Schapour and your confidant. Go, perfect lovers; go and pass the rest of your days together, and may nothing interrupt the course of your happiness. As for you, traitor,” he continued, turning to the fakir, “you shall be punished for your treachery. Mean and envious-hearted man! you could not endure the happiness of your friend, you have come yourself to give him over to my vengeance. Ah, miserable fellow! it is you who shall serve as a victim to my jealousy.” At these words he ordered the grand vizir to take the fakir away, and to give him over to the executioners.

‘Whilst they were taking this scoundrel to death, Zelica and I threw ourselves at the feet of the King of Candahar. We watered them with our tears in a transport of gratitude and joy, and finally we assured him that, sensible to his generous kindness, we should preserve an eternal remembrance of him. We then left his apartment with Schapour and Calé-Cairi. We took the road to the house where I had been arrested, but we found it razed to the ground; the king had ordered it to be demolished, and the soldiers whom he had charged with this order had executed it so promptly that all the materials had already been removed and carried elsewhere; not a stone remained of it, and the people had pillaged all the furniture.

‘Charmed as we were to see ourselves together once more, the princess and I, although more enamoured of each other than ever, were not a little startled at this spectacle. This house was a hired furnished one, and consequently the furniture did not belong to us, but Zelica had had brought thither by Schapour an infinity of precious objects which had not been respected in the pillage. We had little money; we began to consult the eunuch and Calé-Cairi on the steps which we had to take, and after a long deliberation we thought it best to go and lodge in a caravanserai.

‘We were ready to betake ourselves thither when an officer of the king approached us. “I come,” he said, “on behalf of Firouzshah, my master, to offer you a lodging. The grand vizir lends you a house of his at the gates of the city, which is far more beautiful than that which has just been razed; you will be very comfortably lodged there. I am going, if you will, to conduct you thither; kindly follow me.”

‘We went thither with him. We saw a fine-looking and perfectly well-built house; the interior corresponded to the outside, the whole was magnificent and in good taste. We found more than twenty slaves there, who told us that their master had just sent to order them to furnish us abundantly with everything we wanted, and to wait upon us as upon himself during all the time we chose to stay at his house.

‘Two days after we received a visit from the grand vizir, who brought us, on behalf of the king, a large quantity of presents. There were several packets of silken stuffs and Indian cloths, with twenty purses each full of gold sequins. As we felt ill at ease in a borrowed house, and the presents of the king placed us in a position to establish ourselves elsewhere, we soon joined a large caravan of merchants of Candahar, and arrived happily with them at Bagdad.

‘We went to lodge in my house, where we spent the first days after our arrival in resting and recovering from the fatigue of such a long journey. After that I appeared in the town, and sought out my friends. They were somewhat astonished to see me again. “Is it possible,” said they to me, “that you are still in the flesh? Your associates who returned assured us you were dead.” As soon as I heard that my fellow jewel-merchants were at Bagdad, I ran to the grand vizir, threw myself at his feet, and related their perfidy to him. He sent to have them both arrested at once; he ordered me to interrogate them both in his presence.

‘“Is it not true,” I said to them, “that I awoke when you took me in your arms, that I asked you what you wished to do, and that without answering me you threw me into the sea through a port-hole of the vessel?”

‘They replied that I had dreamt that, and that I must have thrown myself into the gulf when asleep.

‘“But why,” said the vizir then to them, “did you pretend not to know him at Ormus?”

‘They replied that they had not seen me at Ormus.

‘“But what will you say, traitors,” he replied, looking at them with a threatening air, “when I show you a certificate from the cadi of Ormus which proves the contrary?”

‘At these words, which the vizir pronounced to test them, my associates grew pale and were troubled.

‘“You change colour,” he said to them. “Well, admit your crime yourselves; spare yourselves the tortures which are in preparation to draw this confession from you.”

‘Then they confessed everything, and on this confession he had them imprisoned, until the caliph, whom he wished, he said, to inform of this affair, should order what kind of death he wished they should die. But they found means to evade the vigilance of their guards or to corrupt their fidelity. They escaped from prison, and hid themselves so well in Bagdad that they could not be discovered, search as the grand vizir would,

‘All their goods, however, were confiscated and remained with the caliph, with the exception of a small portion which was given me to compensate me for what was stolen from me. After that I thought of nothing but living tranquilly with my princess. We passed our days in perfect unison, and I made vows to Heaven praying only that I might be left the rest of my days in the happy situation in which I found myself. Futile wishes! Can men long enjoy an agreeable fate? Is not their rest unceasingly troubled by misfortunes and annoyances.

‘One evening I was returning from amusing myself with my friends. I knocked at my door; I knocked loudly. In vain, no one came to open it. I was surprised at it, and, without knowing why, it caused me a sad foreboding. I redoubled my knocks. No slave came, my astonishment increased. What must I think of this, I said to myself; is this some new misfortune come to me? At the noise I made, several neighbours came out of their houses and, as astonished as I at my servants not answering, they helped me to break in the door. We entered; we found in the courtyard and in the first hall my slaves with their throats cut. We entered Zelica’s apartment. Oh, shocking sight! I beheld Schapour and Calé-Cairi lifeless and bathed in their blood. I called my princess, she did not reply; I ran through the house, and not finding what I sought, I felt my body fainting and I fell senseless in the arms of my neighbours.

‘Would that the Angel of Death had carried me away at that moment! But no, Heaven willed I should live to see all the horror of my fate. When my neighbours had recalled me to life, I asked them how it was possible that so great a carnage could have taken place in my house without their hearing the least sound. They told me they had heard nothing, and that they were not less surprised at it than I. I ran immediately to the cadi, who sent out his lieutenant with all his archers, but their inquiries were useless.

‘I, like others, thought that my associates might be the cause of this tragic event, and I felt so grieved at it that I fell ill. I passed languishing days at Bagdad. I then sold my house and I went to live at Moussul with all the wealth I had. I took this course because I had a relation whom I loved very much, and who was attached to the first vizir of the King of Moussul. This relation received me very well, and in a little time I was known to the minister, who, thinking to perceive in me a talent for business, gave me occupation. I endeavoured to do the things he entrusted to me well, and I had the good fortune to succeed. He became day by day more pleased with me; I gained his confidence little by little, and I insensibly entered into the most secret affairs of State. I soon helped him to even support its weight. Some years after, this minister died, and the king, too well favoured towards me perhaps, gave me his place. I filled it for two years to the satisfaction of the king and his people. And this monarch, to show me how satisfied he was with me as a minister, called me Atalmulc. I soon saw envy armed against me. Several great lords became my secret enemies and resolved to destroy me. To better succeed, they made me an object of suspicion to the Prince of Moussul, who, allowing himself to be influenced by their bad insinuations, asked my deposition of his father. The king did not wish to consent at first, but he could not resist the pressure put upon him by his son. I left Moussul and came to Damascus, where I soon had the honour of being presented to your majesty.

‘This, sire, is the cause of the profound sadness in which I appear wrapped. The disappearance of Zelica is always present in my thoughts, and makes me insensible to pleasure. If I learnt that this princess were dead, I should perhaps lose remembrance of her, but the uncertainty of her fate makes her ever present in my memory and nourishes my grief.’

When the vizir Atalmulc had finished the story of his adventures, the king said to him: ‘I am no longer surprised that you are sad. You have just cause to be so, but everyone has not, like you, lost a princess, and you are wrong in thinking that there is not a man to be found who is perfectly content. You are greatly mistaken, and without mentioning thousands of others, I am persuaded that the Prince Seyf el Mulouk, my favourite, enjoys perfect happiness.’

‘I do not know, my lord,’ replied Atalmulc. ‘Although he appears very happy, I would not dare say he is really so.’

‘That is a point,’ cried the king, ‘on which I wish to be assured immediately.’ Saying these words, he called the captain of his guard and ordered him to go and fetch the Prince Seyf el Mulouk. The captain of the guard did so immediately. The favourite came to the apartment of the king his master, who said to him: ‘Prince, I wish to know whether you are contented with your lot?’

‘Ah! my lord,’ replied the favourite, ‘how can your majesty put that question to me? Although a stranger, I am respected in the town of Damascus; the great lords seek to please me, others pay court to me; I am the channel through which flow all your favours. In a word, you love me; what more could be wanting to my happiness?’

‘I want you to tell me the truth,’ replied the king. ‘Atalmulc maintains that there is no such thing as a happy man. I think to the contrary, I think you to be one; tell me whether I am mistaken and whether any secret sorrow taints with its bitterness the sweetness of the lot I prescribe for you. Speak, reveal your secret feeling to me here?’

‘My lord,’ then said Seyf el Mulouk, ‘since your majesty orders me to reveal my soul to you, I will tell you that, in spite of all your kindness to me, in spite of the pleasures which follow upon my steps here, I experience an uneasiness which disturbs the peace of my life. I have in my heart an undying worm, and to crown my misfortunes my trouble is without remedy.’

The King of Damascus was somewhat astonished to hear his favourite speak thus, and he imagined some princess had been taken from him too. ‘Relate your history to me,’ he said; ‘some lady is doubtless involved in it, and I am much mistaken if your troubles are not of the same nature as those of Atalmulc.’ The favourite of Bedreddin began the recital of his adventures thus: