a dead man among the living, and a living man among the dead. Here Scheherazade, perceiving day, broke off her story.
Upon which Dinarzade says, Dear sister, I am exceedingly obligated to the sultan, for it is to his goodness I owe the extraordinary pleasure I have in your stories. My sister, replies the sultaness, if the sultan will be so good as to suffer me to live till to-morrow, I shall tell you a thing that will afford as much satisfaction as any thing you have yet heard. Though Schahriar had not resolved to defer the death of Scheherazade a month longer, he could not have ordered her to be put to death that day.
The Twenty-fifth Night.
Towards the end of the night, Dinarzade cried, Sister, if I do not trespass too much upon your complaisance, I would pray you to finish the history of the king of the Black Islands. Scheherazade, having awaked upon her sister's call, prepared to give the satisfaction she required, and began thus:
The king, half marble half man, continued his history to the sultan thus: After this cruel magician, unworthy of the name of a queen, had metamorphosed me thus, and brought me into this hall by another enchantment, she destroyed my capital, which was very flourishing and full of people; she abolished the houses, the public places, and markets, and made a pond and desert field of it, which you may have seen; the fishes of four colours in the pond are the four sorts of people, of different religions, that inhabited the place. The white are the Mussulmen; the red, the Persians, who worshipped the fire; the blue, the Christians; and the yellow, the Jews. The four little hills were the four islands that gave name to this kingdom. I learned all this from the magician, who, to add to my affliction, told me with her own mouth these effects of her rage. But this is not all; her revenge was not satisfied with the destruction of my dominions, and the metamorphosis of my person; she comes every day, and gives me, over my naked shoulders, an hundred blows with ox pizzles, which makes me all over blood; and, when she has done so, covers me with a coarse stuff of goats hair, and throws over it this robe of brocade that you see, not to do me honour, but to mock me.
At this part of the discourse, the king could not withhold his tears; and the sultan's heart was so pierced with the relation, that he could not speak one word to comfort him. A little time after, the young king, lifting up his ryes to heaven, cried out, Mighty Creator of all things, I submit myself to your judgments, and to the decrees of your providence; I endure my calamities with patience, since it is your will it should be so; but I hope your infinite goodness will reward me for it.
The sultan, being much moved by the recital of so strange a story, and animated to avenge this unfortunate prince, says to him, Tell me whither this perfidious magician retires, and where her unworthy gallant may be, who is buried before his death? My lord, replies the prince, her gallant, as I have already told you, is in the Palace of Tears, in a tomb in form of a dome, and that palace joins to this castle on the side of the gate. As to the magician, I cannot precisely tell whither she retires; but every day at sun-rising she goes to see her gallant, after having executed her bloody vengeance upon me, as I have told you: and you see I am not in a condition to defend myself against so great cruelty. She carries him the drink with which she has hitherto prevented his dying, and always complains of his never speaking to her since he was wounded.
Oh, unfortunate prince, says the sultan, you can never enough be bewailed! Nobody can be more sensibly touched with your condition than I am; never did such an extraordinary misfortune befal any man; and those who write your history will have the advantage to relate a passage that surpasses all that has ever yet been recorded. There is nothing wanting but one thing, the revenge which is due to you, and I will omit nothing that can be done to procure it.
While the sultan discoursed upon this subject with the young prince, he told him who he was, and for what end he entered the castle, and thought on a plan of revenge, which he communicated to him. They agreed upon the measures they were to take for effecting their design, but deferred the execution of it till the next day. In the mean time, the night being far spent, the sultan took some rest, but the poor young prince passed the night without sleep as usual, having never slept since he was enchanted; but he conceived some hopes of being speedily delivered from his misery.
Next morning the sultan got up before day, and, in order to execute his design, he hid in a corner his upper garment, that would have been cumbersome to him, and went to the Palace of Tears. He found it illuminated with an infinite number of flambeaux of white wax, and a delicious scent issued from several boxes of fine gold, of admirable workmanship, all ranged in excellent order. As soon as he saw the bed where the black lay, lie drew his scimitar, killed the wretch without resistance, dragged his corpse into the court of the castle, and threw it into a well. After this he went and lay down in the black's bed, took his scimitar with him under the counterpane, and lay there to execute what he had designed.
The magician arrived in a little time; she first went into the chamber where her husband, the king of the Black Islands, was; stripped him, and beat him with bull pizzles in a most barbarous manner. The poor prince filled the palace with his lamentations to no purpose; and conjured her, in the most affecting manner that could be, to take pity on him; but the cruel woman would not give over till she had given him an hundred blows. You had no compassion on my lover, said she, and you are to expect none from me. Scheherazade, perceiving day, stopped, and could go no further.
O heaven! says Dinarzade, sister, this was a barbarous enchantress indeed. But must we stop here? Will you not tell us whether she received the chastisement she deserved? My dear sister, says the sultaness, I desire nothing more than to acquaint you with it to-morrow; but you know that depends on the sultan's pleasure. After what Schahriar had heard, he was far from any design to put Scheherazade to death; on the contrary, says he to himself, I will not take away her life till she has finished this surprising story, though it should last for two months. It shall always be in my power to keep the oath I have made.
The Twenty-sixth Night.
As soon as Dinarzade thought it was time to call the sultaness, she says to her, How much should I be obliged to you, dear sister, if you would tell us what passed in the Palace of Tears. Schahriar having signified that he was as curious to know it as Dinarzade, the sultaness resumed the story of the young enchanted prince as follows:
Sir, after the enchantress had given the king her husband an hundred blows with bull pizzles, she put on again his covering of goat hair, and his brocade gown over all; she went afterwards to the Palace of Tears, and, as she entered the same, she renewed her tears and lamentations; then approaching the bed, where she thought her gallant was, What cruelty, cries she, was it to disturb the contentment of so tender and passionate a lover as I am! O thou who reproachest me that I am too inhuman, when I make thee feel the effects of my resentment! cruel prince! does not thy barbarity surpass my vengeance? Ah, traitor! in attempting the life of the object whom I adore, hast thou not robbed me of mine? Alas! says she, addressing herself to the sultan, while she thought she spoke to the black, my soul, my life, will you always be silent? Are you resolved to let me die, without giving me so much comfort as to tell me that you love me? My soul! speak one word to me at least, I conjure you.
The sultan, making as if he had awakened out of a deep sleep, and counterfeiting the language of the blacks, answers the queen with a grave tone, 'There is no force nor power but in God alone, who is almighty.' At these words, the enchantress, who did not expect them, gave a great shout, to signify her excessive joy. My dear lord, says she, do not I deceive myself? is it certain that I hear you, and that you speak to me? Unhappy wretch, said the sultan, art thou worthy that I should answer thy discourse? Alas! replies the queen, why do you reproach me thus? The cries, replied he, the groans and tears of thy husband, whom thou treatest every day with so much indignity and barbarity, hinder me to sleep night and day. I should have been cured long ago, and have recovered the use of my speech, hadst thou disenchanted him. This is the cause of my silence, which you complain of. Very well, says the enchantress, to pacify you, I am ready to do what you will command me; would you that I restore him as he was? Yes, replies the sultan, make haste to set him at liberty, that I be no more disturbed with his cries.
The enchantress went immediately out of the Palace of Tears; she took a cup of water, and pronounced words over it, which caused it to boil as if it had been on the fire. She went afterwards to the hall to the young king her husband, and threw the water upon him, saying, 'If the Creator of all things did form