Shorter novels, vol. 3 : $b Eighteenth centuryJohnson, Samuel
General
Shorter novels, vol. 3 : $b Eighteenth century
Johnson, Samuel
English fiction -- 18th century
“No, my children,” said Sutlememe, going towards them; “take comfort!
the exterminating angel, who conducted our souls hither after yours,
hath assured us, that the chastisement of your indolent and voluptuous
life shall be restricted to a certain series of years, which you must
pass in this dreary abode; where the sun is scarcely visible, and where
the soil yields neither fruits nor flowers. These,” continued she,
pointing to the dwarfs, “will provide for our wants; for souls so
mundane as ours retain too strong a tincture of their earthly
extraction. Instead of meats, your food will be nothing but rice; and
your bread shall be moistened in the fogs that brood over the surface of
the lake.”
At this desolating prospect, the poor children burst into tears, and
prostrated themselves before the dwarfs; who perfectly supported their
characters, and delivered an excellent discourse, of a customary length,
upon the sacred camel which, after a thousand years, was to convey them
to the paradise of the faithful.
The sermon being ended, and ablutions performed, they praised Alla and
the Prophet, supped very indifferently, and retired to their withered
leaves. Nouronihar and her little cousin consoled themselves on finding
that the dead might lie in one cabin. Having slept well before, the
remainder of the night was spent in conversation on what had befallen
them; and both, from a dread of apparitions, betook themselves for
protection to one another’s arms.
In the morning, which was lowering and rainy, the dwarfs mounted high
poles, like minarets, and called them to prayers. The whole
congregation, which consisted of Sutlememe, Shaban, the four eunuchs,
and a few storks that were tired of fishing, was already assembled. The
two children came forth from their cabin with a slow and dejected pace.
As their minds were in a tender and melancholy mood, their devotions
were performed with fervour. No sooner were they finished than
Gulchenrouz demanded of Sutlememe and the rest, “how they happened to
die so opportunely for his cousin and himself?”--“We killed ourselves,”
returned Sutlememe, “in despair at your death.” On this, Nouronihar,
who, notwithstanding what had passed, had not yet forgotten her vision,
said, “And the caliph! is he also dead of his grief? and will he
likewise come hither?” The dwarfs, who were prepared with an answer,
most demurely replied, “Vathek is damned beyond all redemption!”--“I
readily believe so,” said Gulchenrouz; “and am glad, from my heart, to
hear it; for I am convinced it was his horrible look that sent us
hither, to listen to sermons, and mess upon rice.” One week passed away
on the side of the lake unmarked by any variety; Nouronihar ruminating
on the grandeur of which death had deprived her, and Gulchenrouz
applying to prayers and basket-making with the dwarfs, who infinitely
pleased him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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