Shorter novels, vol. 3 : $b Eighteenth centuryJohnson, Samuel
General
Shorter novels, vol. 3 : $b Eighteenth century
Johnson, Samuel
English fiction -- 18th century
At the noise which this strange conflict occasioned in the valley,
Gulchenrouz awoke, and, bewildered with terror, sprung impetuously and
climbed an old fig-tree that rose against the acclivity of the rocks;
from thence he gained their summits, and ran for two hours without once
looking back. At last, exhausted with fatigue, he fell senseless into
the arms of a good old genius, whose fondness for the company of
children had made it his sole occupation to protect them. Whilst
performing his wonted rounds through the air, he had pounced on the
cruel Giaour, at the instant of his growling in the horrible chasm, and
had rescued the fifty little victims which the impiety of Vathek had
devoted to his voracity. These the genius brought up in nests still
higher than the clouds, and himself fixed his abode in a nest more
capacious than the rest, from which he had expelled the rocs that had
built it.
These inviolable asylums were defended against the dives and the afrits
by waving streamers; on which were inscribed in characters of gold, that
flashed like lightning, the names of Alla and the Prophet. It was there
that Gulchenrouz, who as yet remained undeceived with respect to his
pretended death, thought himself in the mansions of eternal peace. He
admitted without fear the congratulations of his little friends, who
were all assembled in the nest of the venerable genius, and vied with
each other in kissing his serene forehead and beautiful eyelids. Remote
from the inquietudes of the world, the impertinence of harems, the
brutality of eunuchs, and the inconstancy of women, there he found a
place truly congenial to the delights of his soul. In this peaceable
society his days, months, and years glided on; nor was he less happy
than the rest of his companions: for the genius, instead of burdening
his pupils with perishable riches and vain sciences, conferred upon them
the boon of perpetual childhood.
Carathis, unaccustomed to the loss of her prey, vented a thousand
execrations on her negresses, for not seizing the child, instead of
amusing themselves with pinching to death two insignificant dwarfs from
which they could gain no advantage. She returned into the valley
murmuring; and, finding that her son was not risen from the arms of
Nouronihar, discharged her ill-humour upon both. The idea, however, of
departing next day for Istakar, and of cultivating, through the good
offices of the Giaour, an intimacy with Eblis himself, at length
consoled her chagrin. But fate had ordained it otherwise.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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