WHEN the embassador, without the object of his mission having returned in mortification and sadness, obtained the honour of kissing the carpet of the king of kings, and presented the denial-pourtraying letter, inimical to alliance, before the attendants on the steps of the imperial throne; the sovereign, on account of the characters of gratification not being impressed on the tablet of his desires, and the deviation of the father of Bherawir Banou from the straight path of friendship, became exceedingly sorrowful, and inexpressible anguish on this account afflicted his mind. Calling, therefore, the prince to a private audience, he informed him of the state of affairs; and again opening the portals of admonition, offered arguments against the ill effects of obstinacy and persistance in such a difficult business and hazardous undertaking. He hoped that, having heard them with the ear of attention, he would lay aside his design, and quit such a dangerous scheme: but, as the sea of passion agitated the prince, and the wine of love fermented in the still of his heart, the precious gems of advice had not with him the value of a grain of barley, nor had the remonstrances of propriety more effect with him than wind. Suddenly raising his head from the knee of sorrow, he exclaimed:
“The just observations and gracious admonitions of your Majesty, all merit to be impressed on the tablet of my heart, and to be written in characters of gold; but it is necessary to know, that love is all contradiction, and at perfect enmity against worldly wisdom. Like Mujjenou, I have yielded the reins of self-controul into the guidance of madness. What profit then can remonstrance yield, and what ease can wisdom afford me?
In short, the inward distraction and mental disorder of the prince passed all bounds; so that, Mujjenou like, love wresting the bridle of patience from the palm of his command, made him a wretched wanderer, bewildered in the mazes of search. Remediless, and determined upon exile from his family and country, he chose poverty before royalty, and gave the preference to wretchedness over the command of a world. He esteemed toil better than repose, and pilgrimage than home. Casting off the crown of royalty from the head of prosperity, he assumed in its room the cap of a fakeer; and tearing the silken robes from his delicate form, put on the coarsest raiment. His sun-resembling face, more gentle than the rose, he rubbed over with ashes; and with tortured heart, and tear-flowing eyes, in quest of his beloved, with the foot of desire and pace of search, measured the desart.
At sight of the prince’s unhappy state, lamentations issued from the bosoms of all, and high and low shed the tears of regret. All ranks, beating together the hand of sorrow, bit the fingers of amazement. The echo of sighs reached the skies from every blade of grass in the country; and the moanings of the afflicted people ascended to the azure vault of heaven. The pillars of the state and chiefs of the country, on hearing this soul-distracting event, becoming overpowered with the wine of regret, without delay hasted to the presence of the prince, and, with an hundred agonies and pangs, shed tulip-coloured tears from the goblets of their eyes on their venerable cheeks. Again introducing advice and entreaty, did they implore his relinquishment of such a soul-terrifying resolve. The prince, wandering from the mansion of sanity and understanding, having emitted from the fiery recess of his heart the ease-consuming sparks of sorrow, kindled upon his tongue, as in a lamp, the life-destroying flames of desire. Having poured forth his heart like grain, bit by bit, from his deluge-flowing eyes down his cheeks, he said:*
“O! ye wise men, since the dispensers of providence have from the table of the nine dishes* of heaven decreed my food to be the blood of my heart, and the pourtrayers of divine will have drawn on the tablet of my forehead the figures of ill fame, and my fate must be the sorrows of love and the vexations of pilgrimage, how can I try to obtain repose and lay hold of the reins of reputation?
“To erase the characters of fate, from the shining paper, with the penknife of contrivance, and to struggle with divine command, is in vain to human nature, which is bound in the chains of subjection, and confined in the enclosure of imbecility. Now that madness tortures my brain, and desire has rent the robes of patience, what room is there for advice and remonstrance? This is rather a time to soothe and assist me. If then you can, withhold not your favour, but help me from your hearts; or else withdraw your hands from me and my affairs, that I may commit myself as I chuse, in the path of search, to the thorns and rocks; plunge the adamant of calamity into my entrails, and pierce my heart with the point of despair. For me, the ground of my beloved’s path is a sufficient bed, and for a soft pillow, the stones of my mistress’s abode will suffice.
Having spoken the above, he laid hold of the strong handle of resignation, which is the best mirror for shewing the reflected charmer of attainment, and reclining on the staff of divine compassion, the surest support to wanderers in the path of distress, bound the burthen of design on the camel of desperation, and became, like the western breeze, intent in the road of travel. The parrot, who was the intimate confidant of the assembly of fidelity, he carried with him. Several of the loyal courtiers, who had their brains fresh moistened with oil of violets and almonds,* at such a crisis, regarding it as impiety against the faith of sincerity and constancy, and apostacy from the religion of truth and fidelity, to turn aside from the road of accompaniment; in order to prove their duty and attachment, and enjoy the felicity of acting right, seeking honour in the glorious attendance upon his stirrup, joined in the praise-worthy expedition.*