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Updated: June 9, 2025
Whilst they were debating what was best to be done, the light shot forth so dazzling a blaze, that they all fled away shrieking; Nouronihar followed them a few steps, but, coming to the turn of a little bye-path, stopped, and went back alone; as she ran with an alertness peculiar to herself, it was not long before she came to the place where they had just been supping.
Nouronihar, compressing her hands upon her bosom, hesitated for some moments to advance; the solitude of her situation was new, the silence of the night awful, and every object inspired sensations which till then she never had felt: the affright of Gulchenrouz recurred to her mind, and she a thousand times turned to go back, but this luminous appearance was always before her; urged on by an irresistible impulse, she continued to approach it, in defiance of every obstacle that opposed her progress.
At these menaces Nouronihar indignantly raised her head, opened on Shaban her black eyes, which, since the important dialogue of the enchanted grot, were considerably enlarged, and said: “Go, speak thus to slaves, but learn to reverence her who is born to give laws, and subject all to her power.” She was proceeding in the same style, but was interrupted by a sudden exclamation of “The Caliph!
The irritated Emir drew forth his sabre, presented it to Vathek, and stretching out his neck, said in a firm tone of voice: “Strike your unhappy host, my lord! he has lived long enough, since he hath seen the Prophet’s Vicegerent violate the rites of hospitality.” At his uttering these words Nouronihar, unable to support any longer the conflict of her passions, sank down in a swoon.
In this manner they conversed for a day and a night; they bathed together in a basin of black marble, which admirably relieved the fairness of Nouronihar.
These unhappy beings recoiled with looks of the most furious distraction; Vathek beheld in the eyes of Nouronihar nothing but rage and vengeance, nor could she discern aught in his but aversion and despair. The two princes who were friends, and till that moment had preserved their attachment, shrank back, gnashing their teeth with mutual and unchangeable hatred.
The Caliph and Nouronihar remained in the most abject affliction; their tears unable to flow, scarcely could they support themselves.
“What!” exclaimed Nouronihar; “will the time come when I shall snatch my hand from thine!” “Ah!” said Vathek; “and shall my eyes ever cease to drink from thine long draughts of enjoyment! Shall the moments of our reciprocal ecstasies be reflected on with horror?
But the figure of Nouronihar, which Byron perhaps would have equalled if he could, stands alone in literature as a fantastic projection of the potentiality of evil magnificence in feminine character; and the closing scenes in the domain of Eblis have the grandeur of Blake combined with that finish which Blake's temperament, joined to his ignorance of literature and his lack of scholarship, made it impossible for him to give.
Nouronihar, as her hands evince, is solemnly promised to Gulchenrouz, the son of my brother Ali Hassan; they are united also in heart, their faith is mutually plighted, and affiances so sacred cannot be broken.”
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