I was not ill pleased that she made use of this pretext to hide the true cause of her grief, and I thought she had not suspected me to have killed her gallant. Madam, said I, I am so far from blaming your grief, that I assure you I am willing to bear what share of it is proper for me. I should very much wonder if you were insensible of so great a loss. Mourn on, your tears are so many proofs of your good-nature; but I hope, however, that time and reason will moderate your grief.
She retired into her apartment, where, giving herself wholly up to sorrow, she spent a whole year in mourning and afflicting herself. At the end of that time, she begged leave of me to build a burying-place for herself within the bounds of the palace, where she would continue, she told me, to the end of her days. I agreed to it, and she built a stately palace, with a cupola, that may be seen here, and she called it the Palace of Tears. When it was finished, she caused her gallant to be brought thither from the place that she made him to be carried the same night that I wounded him; she had hindered his dying by the drink she gave him, and carried to him herself every day after he came to the Palace of Tears.
Yet, with all her enchantments, she could not cure the wretch; he was not only unable to walk, and to help himself, but had also lost the use of his speech, and gave no sign of life but only by his looks. Though the queen had no other consolation but to see him, and to say to him all that her foolish passion could inspire her with, yet every day she made him two long visits; I was very well informed of all this, but pretended to know nothing of it.
One day I went out of curiosity to the Palace of Tears to see how the princess employed herself, and, going to a place where she could not see me, I heard her speak thus to her gallant: I am afflicted to the highest degree to see you in this condition; I am as sensible as you are yourself of the tormenting grief you endure; but, dear soul, I always speak to you, and you do not answer me. How long will you be silent? speak only one word: Alas! the sweetest moments of my life are those I spend here in partaking of your grief. I cannot live at a distance from you, and would prefer the pleasure of always seeing you to the empire of the universe.
At these words, which were several times interrupted by her sighs and sobs, I lost all patience; and, discovering myself, came up to her, and said, Madam, you have mourned enough, it is time to give over this sorrow which dishonours us both; you have too much forgotten what you owe to me and to yourself. Sir, says she, if you have any kindness or complaisance left for me, I beseech you to put no force upon me; allow me to give myself up to mortal grief; it is impossible for time to lessen it.
When I saw that my discourse, instead of bringing her to her duty, served only to increase her rage, I gave over and retired. She continued every day to visit her gallant, and for two long years gave herself up to excessive grief.
I went a second time to the Palace of Tears while she was there; I hid myself again, and heard her speak thus to her gallant: It is now three years since you spoke one word to me; you return no answer to the marks of love I give you by my discourse and groans. Is it from want of sense, or out of contempt? O tomb! have you abated that excessive love he had for me? Have you shut those eyes that showed me so much love, and were all my joy? No, no, I believe nothing of it. Tell me rather by what miracle you became intrusted with the rarest treasure that ever was in the world?
I must confess, my lord, I was enraged at these words; for, in short, this gallant so much doted upon, this adored mortal, was not such a one as you would imagine him to have been; he was a black Indian, a native of that country. I say, I was so enraged at this discourse, that I discovered myself all of a sudden, and addressing the tomb in my turn, O tomb! cried I, why do you not swallow up that monster in nature, or rather why do you not swallow up the gallant and his mistress?
I had scarcely finished these words, when the queen, who sat by the black, rose up like a fury. Ah, cruel man! says she, thou art the cause of my grief; do not you think but I know it. I have dissembled it but too long; it is thy barbarous hand which hath brought the object of my love to this lamentable condition; and you are so hard-hearted as to come and insult a despairing lover. Yes, said I, in a rage, it is I who chastized that monster according to his desert; I ought to have treated thee in the same manner; I repent now that I did not do it; thou hast abused my goodness too long. As I spoke these words, I drew out my scimitar, and lifted up my hand to punish her; but she, steadfastly beholding me, said, with a jeering smile, Moderate thy anger. At the same time she pronounced words I did not understand, and afterwards added, By virtue of my enchantments, I command thee immediately to become half marble and half man. Immediately, my lord, I became such as you see me, already 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.