The unfortunate Schahzenan went to bed; and though the conversation of his brother had suspended his grief for some time, it returned upon him with more violence; so that, instead of taking his necessary rest, he tormented himself with cruel reflections. All the circumstances of his wife’s disloyalty presented themselves afresh to his imagination, in so lively a manner, that he was like one beside himself. In a word, not being able to sleep, he got up, and giving himself over to afflicting thoughts, they made such an impression upon his countenance, that the sultan could not but take notice of it, and said thus to himself: What can be the matter with the king of Tartary, that he is so melancholy? Has he any cause to complain of his reception? No, surely; I have received him as a brother whom I love, so that I can charge myself with no omission in that respect. Perhaps it grieves him to be at such a distance from his dominions, or from the queen his wife. Alas! if that be the matter, I must forthwith give him the presents I designed for him, that he may return to Samarcande when he pleases. Accordingly, next day Schahriar sent him part of those presents, being the greatest rarities and the richest things that the Indies could afford. At the same time he endeavoured to divert his brother every day, by new objects of pleasure, and the finest treats; which, instead of giving the king of Tartary any ease, only increased his sorrow. One day, Schahriar, having appointed a great hunting match, about two days’ journey from his capital, in a place that abounded with deer, Schahzenan prayed him to excuse him, for his health would not allow him to bear him company. The sultan, unwilling to put any constraint upon him, left him at his liberty, and went a hunting with his nobles. The king of Tartary being thus left alone, shut himself up in his apartment, and sat down at a window that looked into the garden. That delicious place, and the sweet harmony of an infinite number of birds which chose it for a place of retreat, must certainly have diverted him, had he been capable of taking pleasure in any thing; but being perpetually tormented with the fatal remembrance of his queen’s infamous conduct, his eyes were not so often fixed upon the garden, as lifted up to heaven to bewail his misfortunes.