Arab countries -- Fiction; Fantasy fiction; Gothic fiction; Middle East -- Fiction
Terrifying as these prodigies were, this impression upon him was no more
than momentary, and served only to stimulate his love of the marvellous.
Instead, therefore, of returning to his palace, he persisted in the
resolution of abiding where the Indian vanished from his view. One
night, however, while he was walking as usual on the plain, the moon and
the stars at once were eclipsed, and a total darkness ensued. The earth
trembled beneath him, and a voice came forth, the voice of the Giaour,
who in accents more sonorous than thunder, thus addressed him:
“Would’st thou devote thyself to me? adore then the terrestrial
influences, and abjure Mahomet. On these conditions I will bring thee to
the palace of subterranean fire: there shalt thou behold, in immense
depositories, the treasures which the stars have promised thee, and which
will be conferred by those intelligences whom thou shalt thus render
propitious. It was from thence I brought my sabres; and it is there that
Soliman Ben Daoud reposes, surrounded by the talismans that control the
world.”
The astonished Caliph trembled as he answered, yet in a style that showed
him to be no novice in preternatural adventures:
“Where art thou? Be present to my eyes; dissipate the gloom that
perplexes me, and of which I deem thee the cause. After the many
flambeaus I have burnt to discover thee, thou mayest at least grant a
glimpse of thy horrible visage.”
“Abjure then Mahomet,” replied the Indian, “and promise me full proofs of
thy sincerity; otherwise thou shalt never behold me again.”
The unhappy Caliph, instigated by insatiable curiosity, lavished his
promises in the utmost profusion. The sky immediately brightened; and by
the light of the planets, which seemed almost to blaze, Vathek beheld the
earth open, and at the extremity of a vast black chasm a portal of ebony,
before which stood the Indian, still blacker, holding in his hand a
golden key, that caused the lock to resound.
“How,” cried Vathek, “can I descend to thee, without the certainty of
breaking my neck? Come take me, and instantly open the portal.”
“Not so fast,” replied the Indian, “impatient Caliph! Know that I am
parched with thirst, and cannot open this door till my thirst be
thoroughly appeased. I require the blood of fifty of the most beautiful
sons of thy viziers and great men, or neither can my thirst nor thy
curiosity be satisfied. Return to Samarah; procure for me this necessary
libation; come back hither; throw it thyself into this chasm; and then
shalt thou see!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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