THE following day Sutlumemé said, ‘Allow me to tell you a little story which proves that travelling is not altogether dangerous.’ Farrukhnaz was willing, and the slave began thus:
Salem and Ganem were friends, and were making a several days’ journey together. One day they arrived at a high mountain, and in skirting its base, they found a fountain, the water of which was fresh and excellent. Near the fountain was a canal of water, bordered and shaded by cypresses, pines, and plantains, which flowed in the midst of a meadow strewn with flowers, and which made the place still more agreeable. All these delights invited the two travellers to stop there and take a little rest, in order to recover from the fatigues of crossing a dreary desert. They chose a suitable spot, where they seated themselves on the grass. After they had rested some time, they walked round the fountain and along the canal. They approached the place where the water of the spring fell into a large basin, and on the edge of it they perceived a piece of white marble ornamented with azure characters so well formed that it was easy to judge of the skill of the workman who had carved them.
The inscription ran thus: ‘Traveller, who honour this spot with your presence, we have a magnificent lodging in which to receive you if you will be our guest, but on condition that you swim across this canal, without fearing its depth or the rapidity of the current.
‘When you have reached the further bank, you will take the marble lion which lies at the foot of the mountain upon your shoulder, and, without hesitation, you will carry it without pausing to the summit, without regard to the roaring lions you may meet or the thorns on your path. This done, you will be happy for ever. Without walking, rest is not obtained. He who does not work does not obtain what he wishes. The light of the sun fills the whole universe: the least delicate and the more determined receive and endure its keenest and most ardent rays.’
Having finished reading, Ganem said to Salem, ‘Come, let us surmount the danger put before us. Let us try and see whether the promise of the talisman is genuine: let us see what will happen to us.’
‘Dear friend,’ replied Salem, ‘there would be little sense in exposing oneself to so evident a danger on the strength of a simple writing which promises a very uncertain happiness. A reasonable man would not risk his life for so imaginary an advantage as that, and a wise man would not court present and visible danger for a non-apparent pleasure. Believe me, a thousand years of delight are not worth a moment’s risk of one’s life.’
Ganem was not influenced by these maxims. ‘Comrade,’ he replied, ‘the desire to live at one’s ease without risking anything is the precursor of a contemptible and ignominious life: but the road to glory and happiness is through danger. He who gives way to effeminacy tastes neither the joy nor pleasure of having suffered, and he who fears headache denies himself the sweetness of good wine. He who has courage does not limit his happiness to the leading of a penurious and miserable life.
‘True repose is that which superiority over one’s fellow creatures gives one. Let us deliberate no longer.
‘It is not less to our honour than to our interest not to continue our journey until we have climbed to the summit of this mountain, in spite of the rapid current, in spite of the lions and the thorns. We shall suffer somewhat, but after that we may hope that in reward for our troubles and the deserts we have crossed we shall find beautiful countries.’
‘Do as you wish,’ replied Salem; ‘for myself, I cannot help saying that it is not less foolish to undertake what you propose than to wish to cross a desert, the extremity of which one is not certain to find soon, or to embark on a sea the shores of which are never to be found.
‘In whatever enterprise one undertakes one should always know how one will come out of it, and how to begin so as not to work uselessly and not to expose one’s life, which we ought to cherish more than anything else in the world. Listen to the words of a sage, who says:
‘“Wherever you are about to step never put out your foot without having well tested the spot on which you wish to place it, and seeing that the egress is sufficiently large.”
‘Moreover, perhaps this writing is not very correct, or it has been put there simply for amusement and to take advantage of the simplicity of fools; mayhap, too, the water is not to be passed, and it is not possible to gain the other shore. Even if you could cross, perhaps when you have crossed you will find the stone lion so heavy that you will not be able to even lift it from the ground. But, supposing you can lift it, are you sure of being able to carry it without stopping to the summit of the mountain? And after all you do not know what so many difficulties will lead to. For myself, I declare that I have not joined company with you in order to share a danger of this nature. All I can do is to conjure you to abandon, as I do, so ill-conceived a design.’
Ganem still resisted Salem’s arguments. ‘I cannot,’ he said, ‘listen to your prayer, and nothing can prevent my carrying out the resolution I have taken. Neither demons nor spirits shall deter me by their warnings. I know you did not join me on this journey in order to follow me in this, and I see you do not wish to oblige me so far. Come at least and approach only to see and accompany what I am going to do with your prayers and your vows. Let me remind you of what a poet says: “I know that you are not given to drinking wine; nevertheless, do not mind coming into the wine-shop to see the drinkers with their glasses in their hands.”’
When Salem saw that Ganem was resolved, he said again to him: ‘From this jest which offends me I recognise that you are not affected by my counsels, and that you will not desist from your intention, which has no good foundation. I do not feel equal to witnessing the carrying out of it. Besides, I am not curious to witness a spectacle to which I have a natural repugnance. So I will let you alone and avoid what would give me pain to see.’
So saying, he bade farewell to Ganem and continued his journey.
When Ganem was alone he approached the canal. ‘I must,’ he said, ‘plunge into this sea either to perish in it or to bring out of it the pearl I hope for.’
Thus resolved, he plunged into the water, which was very deep and very rapid; but he acquitted himself so well in this courageous attempt that he landed happily on the other bank. He drew breath, took the marble lion on his shoulders and ascended to the summit of the mountain without pausing, notwithstanding the difficulties he encountered and the weight of his burden, which he put on the ground on reaching the top.
On the other side, at the foot of the mountain, Ganem perceived a beautiful town, the suburbs of which were scattered with well-built country houses with large gardens, which were charming to look upon. The marble lion suddenly uttered so terrible a cry that the mountains shook and the surrounding country re-echoed. At this cry, which was heard in the town, the inhabitants came crowding out and advanced towards the mountain, which caused Ganem no less astonishment than the cry of the lion. The more prominent and distinguished among them advanced at the head of the others and made profound obeisance to Ganem and complimented him highly, wishing him every prosperity. Then they presented to him a beautiful horse richly caparisoned. He mounted it, and they escorted him to the town with all the people who had come to meet him. They conducted him to a magnificent palace, and made him enter a rose-water bath, after which they rubbed him with essence of musk and amber. They finally clothed him with a royal mantle, proclaimed him their king, and did homage to him.
Until now Ganem had not thought anything extraordinary of the honours done to him, he had looked upon them as a result of the singular consideration on the part of this people towards strangers, but when he saw that they proclaimed him king, he asked the reason of the choice which they had made of him to command and reign over them.
‘Sire,’ replied one of the heads of the people, ‘the ancient philosophers of this country have placed a talisman on the fountain which you have seen, drawn up beneath constellations made according to the rules of their art. When any brave man, after having swum across the water, carries the marble lion to the summit of the mountain —which only happens when the king of this town and State is dead—the town, as your majesty has seen, goes out to meet him on the roaring of the lion, and places him on the throne in the place of the deceased. For a number of years and even centuries this custom has been in usage amongst us.’
At this speech Ganem knew that all the troubles and difficulties he had encountered had been so many steps to arrive at this great good fortune, and that when fine actions have glory for their object, glory on its side takes all the steps necessary for their reward.
‘From this adventure,’ added the slave, ‘you can easily conclude that pleasure is only enjoyed after hardship. It is a maxim as old as the world, and you will find it in every book on morals.’
THE nurse related many other stories, doubtless less memorable than those we have chronicled, since the memory of them has not come down to us.
She had been amusing the princess for a thousand and one days when Farrukrouz fell ill. The king, Togrul Bey, who loved his son tenderly, sent for the most skilful physicians in Hindostan, but they could not cure him. The consternation which his dangerous malady spread at court suspended all amusements. The Princess of Cashmere would hear no more stories. Togrul Bey ceased hunting. The prince alone occupied their thoughts, everyone trembled for his life.
One day the king, who often went to see the high priest of the temple, said to him: ‘You know that I love my son better than life. The doctors have exhausted all their art without being able to restore his health. I expect nothing from their remedies, and I have recourse to your prayers. I flatter myself with the hope that through your intercession I shall obtain what I desire.’
‘Everything is to be hoped for,’ replied the priest, ‘when one implores the mercy of Heaven. I am going to pass the night in the temple, I shall pray Heaven to intercede for the prince, and to-morrow I will tell you whether my prayers have been granted.’
The following day the priest went to Togrul Bey, who, full of impatience, advanced to meet him. ‘Well, holy dervish,’ he said, ‘have you obtained the recovery of my son?’
‘Yes, sire,’ replied the priest. ‘The Prophet has asked it of the Lord, who has been gracious enough to grant it.’
At this answer the king, seized with joy, embraced the holy man, and conducted him himself to the apartment of the prince Farrukrouz.
The dervish sat down beside the bed of the sick man, and said a prayer in a voice full of mystery.
He had barely finished than the prince, who had long lost the power of speech, uttered a cry and said: ‘O my father, be consoled, I am cured!’ At these words he rose, and in the town of Cashmere they spoke only of the holiness of the high priest.
Farrukhnaz could not hear the praises of so devout a person without wishing to see him and converse with him. To do this, she left the palace accompanied by her eunuchs and her women, and went to the monastery of the priest; but she was very surprised when they came to tell her that the high priest forbad her to enter. The princess, annoyed at this rebuff, went immediately to complain to the king, who wished to know the cause of it. He went to the chief priest, and asked him why he had made a difficulty about receiving a visit from Farrukhnaz.
‘My lord,’ replied the dervish, ‘it is because the princess is not obedient to the Most High; she flies from men, she looks upon them as her enemies and lives in idleness. Unless she changes her views it is not permitted to me to speak to her. Heaven has forbidden me to do so, but,’ he added, ‘if she corrects herself I will do her every service in my power.’ The king, having nothing to reply to this speech, returned to his seraglio.
Some days after, Togrul Bey went again to visit the dervish, who said, ‘I have at last obtained from Heaven permission to speak to the princess. I wish to exhort her; perhaps I may put her in the way of salvation.’ The king, enchanted that the holy man had taken this resolution, informed Farrukhnaz, who the very next day did not fail to present herself at the gate of the monastery and ask for the holy dervish. The porter made her enter, and conducted her by order of the high priest into a great hall, where he begged her to wait a moment.
On the wall in three different places were seen painted a doe caught in a trap and a stag who was making every effort to deliver her, and in one place only was represented a stag caught, and a doe who looked at it in the trap without troubling to help it. The princess looked upon these pictures with astonishment.
‘What do I see?’ she said. ‘Just Heaven, here is the opposite to my dream! These three stags make every effort to deliver the does, and I perceive a doe forsaking a stag. What am I to think of these? Ah! I am doubtless mistaken in my estimate of men! They are more grateful than I thought. How sorry I am to have done them this injustice.’
Whilst the princess was reflecting thus, the high priest entered the hall gravely. She wished to throw herself at his feet; but he prevented her, and having made her sit down, he said, ‘O Farrukhnaz, the king your father is very distressed to see you influenced by sentiments so contrary to nature and the laws of the Lord. You are in the power of the demon; it is he who has prejudiced you against men. I have prayed the great Prophet to have pity on you; but in spite of his power, do not think that he can extract you from the abyss you have fallen into if you do not make some effort on your part to get out of it.’
The dervish perceiving that the princess now began to weep, so frightened was she at this speech, said to her: ‘My daughter, dry your tears! I see your heart is changed. I promise to snatch you from the demon, provided that you yield to my advice.’
Farrukhnaz promised to do all that he prescribed for her, then she kissed the holy man’s hand and returned to the palace.
The following day she returned to the monastery, and when she was alone with the dervish, he said: ‘Princess, I have seen the great Prophet to-night in a dream. He said to me: “O religious man, Farrukhnaz is no longer hated by the Most High; she has no longer a bad opinion of men. But she must have pity on a young prince who burns and languishes for her night and day; for the Almighty has written on the tablet of predestination that she shall be his spouse.”’
The princess was astonished at these words. ‘How can I,’ she said, ‘relieve the young prince if I do not know who he is?’
‘The Prophet,’ replied the high priest, ‘tells me that he is the Prince of Persia; that he is called Farrukschad; that he is so handsome, so charming, that no mother ever gave birth to so perfect a man.’
‘Oh, my father,’ replied Farrukhnaz, ‘what you say surprises me. Can a young prince who has never seen me be enamoured of me?’
‘I will tell you,’ replied the dervish, ‘how that is; for the Prophet, who foresaw all the questions you would ask me, took care to instruct me in all the details; so that, to satisfy your curiosity fully, I will tell you that the Prince Farrukhschad dreamt that he saw you in a meadow. Charmed with your beauty, he wished to declare his love to you; but you left him abruptly, saying that all men were but traitors. The pain your disappearance caused him awoke him; but far from seeking to put this sad dream from him, he took pleasure in dwelling upon it. It was always in his thoughts, and although hopeless of possessing your charms he cherishes the memory of them.’
At this speech of the high priest the Cashmerian princess sighed deeply, and raising her eyes to heaven: ‘O God,’ she cried, ‘is it possible this prince can have dreamt the same dream as myself! Holy dervish,’ she continued, ‘the Prophet has not told you everything. I also dreamt that I saw, in a meadow scattered with every kind of flower, the handsomest prince in the world; that he made me a declaration of love which I received ill. But whilst ill-treating him I felt that my heart began to interest itself in him, and I was obliged to fly precipitately from him for fear lest his good looks and flattering speeches triumphed over the hatred I had for men. This hatred was the effect of another dream, to which these pictures give the lie. I recognise my mistake; I think better of men. I believe them capable of friendship; and if it is the will of Heaven that I marry the Prince of Persia, I submit without repugnance.’
The high priest was charmed to hear the princess speak thus, and, profiting by her present disposition: ‘My daughter,’ he said, ‘I wish to pass the night in the temple, and consult Heaven as to what you must do to obtain the realisation of your wishes; I will tell you his answer to-morrow.’
Farrukhnaz retired, thinking much of the Prince Farrukhschad. She recalled perpetually to her memory the dream in which he had appeared before her so amorously; and the more inclined she felt towards him the more charming she depicted him to herself. She was very uneasy the rest of the day, and she could not sleep a wink all night.
As soon as the day dawned she rose to go and find the dervish, who saw immediately that she was somewhat disturbed. She did not wait for him to tell her Heaven’s answer. ‘Well, my father,’ she said; ‘has Heaven ruled my destiny? Has it made known to you what is exacted of my obedience?’
‘Yes, my daughter,’ replied the holy man; ‘the great Prophet has spoken to me. He wishes you to take an oath to do all that I am going to order you.’
The princess swore that she would execute his orders exactly.
‘We must,’ he said, ‘depart to-night. I will lead you to the State of the prince who loves you, and who will endow you with a crown richer than that of Cashmere. You are doubtless astonished that I should propose an elopement, but the Prophet wishes it.’
‘What!’ interrupted Farrukhnaz, very surprised; ‘he orders me, without telling the king, my father, to leave the court of Cashmere to go and seek a prince who is not yet my husband!’
‘I do not say that,’ replied the high priest; ‘Togrul-Bey will know of your departure. I undertake to get his consent; but the Prophet thinks it expedient that things should be done thus in order to make you expiate your pride.’
‘This step,’ replied the princess, ‘is not to my taste, I confess; however, I am ready to follow you, provided that my father consents.’
‘I answer for his consent,’ replied the dervish; rely on me for that. Return to the palace and prepare to depart.
Farrukhnaz did what the holy man prescribed, and he went shortly afterwards to the king. He found Togrul Bey talking to the princess’s nurse. As soon as the king saw him appear, he said to him: ‘Approach, holy dervish, you are welcome! We were speaking of the quick change that has taken place in the heart of my daughter: you are responsible for this wonder. She hated men: you have in a moment triumphed over this hatred. One conversation with you has done more than all the stories of Sutlumemé.’
‘Sire,’ replied the high priest, ‘I have gone further; Farrukhnaz not only no longer hates men, she is even enamoured of the Prince of Persia.’
Then the dervish related all that had passed between the princess and himself, and declared the wishes of the Prophet.
Togrul Bey, after having reflected some time, said to the high priest: ‘I regret to see my daughter obliged to depart thus, but since the Prophet commands, I shall take care not to oppose it. Moreover, she will be under your escort; I need fear nothing.’
The king consented to the departure of Farrukhnaz, who left Cashmere that very night, with her nurse and the dervish only; for the holy man assured the princess that the Prophet wished her to make the journey unaccompanied.
They were all three on horseback. They travelled all night without stopping; they arrived at daybreak in a meadow where a thousand varieties of sweet-smelling flowers rejoiced the eye. The meadow bordered on a garden, the walls of which were of white marble. At one end of the wall rose a cabinet of red sandal-wood, with a gilt balcony, and below flowed a stream of the finest water in the world, which ran through the meadow and watered the flowers. The beauty of the place inviting them to stop, they dismounted, and seated themselves on the bank of the stream.
They were charmed with such a delicious spot; but whilst they were admiring it the dervish suddenly changed colour. His face became deadly pale, and his body trembled. Farrukhnaz and her nurse, alarmed at this change, asked the reason of it.
‘O my princess,’ replied the dervish, casting terrified glances on the daughter of Togrul Bey, ‘what demon has brought us here? This cabinet above us, this meadow, the walls of this garden all announce to me that this is the redoubtable dwelling of the magician Mehrefza. If she sees us, we are lost. Alas! I call Heaven to witness that I tremble only for you: if I were alone, I would form a great project, and I feel courageous enough to carry it out.’
‘Do,’ said Farrukhnaz, ‘as if we were not with you. If our evil destiny is to perish here, at least I will fulfil it with firmness worthy of my noble blood.’
‘Ah, beautiful princess,’ cried the dervish, ‘your firmness dissipates all my fear. I am going to acquire immortal glory or die. Remain here; if I do not return in an hour, it will be a certain sign that I have not succeeded in my project.’
Saying these words, he drew his sword and entered the magician’s garden. After his departure, Farrukhnaz and her nurse felt terribly agitated.
‘Ah! unhappy dervish,’ said Farrukhnaz, ‘what will become of you? I fear lest you lose your life.’
‘My princess,’ said Sutlumemé, ‘fear nothing. Can a priest of the temple succumb beneath a magician’s blow? No; however perilous may be the enterprise he has formed, do not doubt but that he will come out of it happily.’
Indeed, at the end of an hour they saw him return. He approached them laughing, and said:
‘Thanks to the Almighty, Mehrefza can hurt us no longer, and our sojourn here, which the cruel woman made terrible by her magic, has nothing but pleasures to offer us. But it is time, beautiful princess, to let you know who I am. Do not look upon me any longer as a dervish, as the head of the temple of Cashmere; see in me the confidant of the Prince Farrukhschad. I will tell you his story and mine in a few words; after that we will enter Mehrefza’s palace, where you will be received as you deserve, and where you will see things which will surprise you.
‘The great king who to-day rules over Persia, and whose court is at Shiraz, has as his heir an only son named Farrukhschad. One day this young prince fell ill. His father, who loves him tenderly, was alarmed at it; he sent for skilful physicians, who all said, after having observed Farrukhschad closely, that his illness was such as he himself alone could explain.
‘The king pressed him to tell the cause of it, but not being able to drag his secret from him, he sent for me.
‘“Symorgue,” he said, “I know my son hides nothing from you; go and see him, get him to open his soul to you, and do not scruple to come and tell me afterwards what he has said to you.”
‘“No, sire,” I replied, “as he is ill only because he persists in silence as to the subject of his trouble, I shall take care not to tell it to you. I am too interested in him to betray him thus.”
‘“Go and speak to him, then,” replied the king, “I await your return with much impatience.”
‘I ran to the prince’s apartment. He evinced much pleasure at the sight of me, and reproached me saying:
‘“O my dear friend, I have a complaint against you. Since I have been ill, I have not seen you; why have you delayed so long in coming to see me? I have received endless importunate visits; alas! yours alone could be agreeable to me in my present condition.”
‘“I was out hunting,” I said to him, “and I have only just arrived. But what ails you, prince? How is it that your complexion has partly lost its brilliancy?”
‘“Symorgue,” replied the prince, after having sent all the officers out of his room, “I have never had a secret from you; far from wishing to conceal the cause of my illness from you, I was only waiting to tell it you. Would you believe, my friend, that the condition in which you see me is caused by a dream?”
‘“Heavens! what are you saying?” I cried in surprise. “Can a dream have made so much impression on so reasonable a mind?”
‘“I foresaw your astonishment,” replied Farrukhschad, “but I confess my weakness to you. I hide it with care from everyone, and it is to you alone that I can make such a confidence. Listen, then, to the strange cause of my trouble. I dreamt I was in a meadow all strewn with flowers; there appeared a young lady more beautiful than a houri. I could not resist her charms, I prostrated myself at her feet, I confessed my love to her; but, instead of listening to me, the inhuman creature said to me in a contemptuous manner: ‘Go your way, men are traitors; for I saw in a dream a doe who, after having by her efforts disentangled a stag from a snare, herself fell into another, and the stag, far from helping her in his turn, was ungrateful enough to abandon her. I judge by that of the hearts of men; I believe them all to be ungrateful, and I have renounced their love.’”
‘“I wished,” pursued the prince, “to take up the cudgels for men and to undeceive her; but the cruel woman left me. ‘Ah! my goddess,’ I cried out, ‘say rather that it is the doe who abandons the stag.’ Saying these words, I lost sight of her, and awoke. This, dear friend, is the fatal dream which troubles the repose of my life. I know that were I reasonable I should dwell no longer upon this dream.”
‘“No, my lord,” I interrupted, “you must not efface it from your mind. I, like you, begin to lend myself to these agreeable phantoms; I believe them to be less formed by sleep than by some favourable genie who has wished to put before you the features of the princess whom Heaven destines to be your wife. Come, my prince, let us wander from kingdom to kingdom in search of this person; we may be able to find her, and see her more really than you have done. I shall tell your father that your trouble comes only from a violent desire to travel, and I am sure he will permit you to satisfy your desire.”
‘Farrukhschad, enchanted by this speech, embraced me, and I left him to go and give the king an account of this interview. I repeated to him word for word all that the prince had said to me. Then I added: “I did not combat the illusions which trouble him: I flattered them rather, and I perceived that my sympathy relieved him much. To complete his cure, your majesty must permit him and me to travel; it is the way to banish Farrukhschad’s melancholy, and make him forget the chimera which occupies him.” The king agreed with me, and ordered a magnificent equipage for the prince his son, who, followed by a large number of officers, soon left Shiraz with me.
‘After a somewhat long and uncertain journey we arrived at the town of Gazuine, where there reigns an old king who loves his subjects as much as they love him. This good old man sent the captain of his guards to meet Farrukhschad to testify to him the joy his happy arrival caused him, and to beg him to excuse him at the same time for not being able to leave his palace to go and receive him.
‘My prince received the captain very graciously, and asked him for news of the king’s health.
‘“My lord,” said the officer to him, “the king my master is sick with grief. He has recently lost his only son, who was a prince of great promise; he has not yet consoled himself for the loss.”
‘We were much touched, and we went to the king’s palace. He paid every imaginable honour to Farrukhschad, and, seeing in him some resemblance to his son, he could not help shedding tears.
‘“What do I see, my lord?” said my prince to him. “Does the sight of me draw tears from you? Am I unfortunate enough to recall a sad memory to you?”
‘“Yes, my prince,” replied the king; “the likeness between you and my son renews my grief; but I look upon you as another child whom Heaven has sent me to console me for the loss of the other. I begin already to feel for you part of the love I had for him. Stay, I beg, with me; hold the rank he held at my court, and you shall be my heir.”
‘Farrukhschad thanked the king for his kindness, and resolved to make a long stay at Gazuine, more out of sympathy for the old monarch than to assure to himself the throne which he offered him.
Every day the grief of the old king was seen to diminish; he became every day insensibly more attached to the Prince of Persia, who could not live without him. One day, whilst they were both talking, Farrukhschad asked of what malady the Prince of Gazuine had died.
‘“Alas,” said the king, “the cause of his death is very extraordinary; it is love which laid him in the tomb. Listen. My son had heard tell of the Princess of Cashmere, and from the portrait given him of her he became enamoured of her.
‘“I immediately sent rich presents to the King Togrul Bey by an ambassador, who asked for the princess his daughter for my son. The King of Cashmere replied that he held my alliance in great honour, but he had sworn by Heaven that he would not marry his daughter against her will; that this princess hated men mortally, and that this aversion was the result of a dream; that one night she had dreamt that a doe, after having delivered a stag from a snare in which he was caught, had got herself caught, and that the stag had been ungrateful enough to refuse to help her; that since this dream she looked upon men as so many monsters whom women should avoid. My ambassador brought me back this answer, and my unhappy son, losing hope of marrying the Cashmerian princess, fell into a decline, which carried him off in spite of the remedies my doctors gave him.”
‘Farrukhschad did not hear this story without agitation. If he had the consolation of thinking that his dream was not a delusion, on the other hand the rigour of the princess made him fear the fate of the Prince of Gazuine. The king perceived his agitation. “O my son,” he said; “why are you troubled? You seem to me quite beside yourself.”
‘“My lord,” replied the prince, “I have left my country only because of this inhuman princess.”
‘Then he related his dream, and the king having listened said, sighing: “Just Heaven! why must my life be a tissue of troubles and annoyances? I brought up my son with extreme care; I lost him, and when I begin to console myself for his loss a new trouble comes to me. O strange fate! But, my dear Farrukhschad,” he continued, “take courage, do not give way to your melancholy; it is not impossible to conquer the aversion which the Princess of Cashmere has for men. Alas! my son’s trouble was not without remedy! If he had had the patience to await the result of the stratagems which might have been employed he would not now be dead.”
‘The King of Gazuine, after having given some hope to the Prince of Persia, went to find his vizirs who awaited him in the council; and Farrukhschad, impatient to see me, sent for me, and related all he had just heard.
‘“Oh! my dear prince,” I then said, “your happiness is assured, since we know the name of the princess. If the king will permit me, I will go to the kingdom of Cashmere. I undertake to bring you the object of your desires. Do not ask me how I propose to succeed, for I do not know myself; I shall act as it seems best.”
‘The prince, enchanted to see with what confidence I promised to make him happy, embraced me, and we passed the rest of the day in rejoicing.
‘The following morning I took leave of my prince, and, with the permission of the King of Gazuine, I departed for the kingdom of Cashmere, well-armed and mounted on a very fine horse. After several days’ march I found myself in this meadow, on the side from which one sees the palace whither I am soon going to conduct you. Charmed with the beauty of the place, I dismounted, I let my horse graze, and I sat down under a leafy tree, on the border of a fountain, the pure and transparent water of which invited refreshment. I could not help drinking it, and I then sat down on the grass and fell asleep.
‘On awaking I perceived five or six white does with saddle-cloths of blue satin and gold rings on their feet. They came to me; I began to caress them, but in doing so I noticed that they shed great tears. That surprised me, and I did not know what to think of it, when, turning my eyes towards the palace, I saw at a window a charming lady who made a sign to me to approach. I immediately left my horse in the field, and I advanced to join her, although the does seemed to wish to prevent me by biting the edge of my robe and even putting themselves in front of me.
‘Astonished by the action and tears of these animals, I reflected at the time that there was perhaps some underlying mystery, but the pleasurable anticipation overruled my prudence and carried me away. I arrived at the palace gate, I entered. The lady, who seemed to me far more beautiful near than from afar off, received me with favour, took me by the hand, conducted me to a superb apartment, and made me sit down with her on a sofa. After the first compliments several slaves brought fruit in a porcelain basin. The lady took the finest, which she presented to me. But hardly had I tasted it than her face changed suddenly and she said to me: “Bold stranger, experience the punishment meted out to all those who like you are bold enough to enter the palace of Mehrefza. Leave your natural form and take that of a stag: lose the use of speech, but retain human understanding in order to feel your misfortune for ever.”
‘She had not finished these words before I found myself changed into a stag. At the same time a green satin saddle-cloth was brought which she herself placed on my back. Then I was led into a great park where there were more than two hundred other stags, or rather men whose misfortune it had been to be attracted to this spot and whom the cruel Mehrefza had also changed into stags.
‘I had leisure to reflect upon my misfortune which I felt less for my sake than because of Farrukhschad. “Alas!” I said to myself every moment, “what will become of my dear prince? How can he obtain the accomplishment of his desires? He is waiting for me to bring him the princess whom he adores, and he will never see me again.” I was continually absorbed in this reflection, which caused me great grief.
‘One day I saw eight or ten ladies enter the park, amongst whom was a perfectly beautiful young person, who, by the wealth of her attire, seemed to be the mistress of the others. She had with her a governess, to whom she said, on seeing all the stags: “Indeed I pity all these unfortunate creatures very much. How inhuman is the Princess Mehrefza, my sister! Heaven has given us both very different inclinations. Unceasingly engaged in tormenting the human species, she seems to have learnt magic only to make people miserable, and I, if I possess any secret powers, I have never put them to any bad use, I only employ them to secure the welfare of others. It pleases me to do charitable actions, and I feel inclined to do one to-day since my sister is absent. Go, my good mother,” she added, “and fetch me one of those stags and bring it to me in my apartment.” Saying these words, she re-entered the palace.
‘The governess took me by chance and led me to her mistress, who ordered one of her women to go and pick a certain herb which she named and bring it to her. The girl promptly executed the commission and returned with a great handful of this herb. The lady took half of it, which she crushed herself, and made me swallow the juice of it. Then she said these words: “O young man, forsake the form of a stag and resume your natural shape.” I immediately became what I was before. I threw myself at the feet of the lady to thank her. She asked me my name and my country, and what had brought me to the kingdom of Cashmere. I answered all her questions without reserve.
‘When I had finished speaking, she said to me: “I am the daughter of a prince of the court to which you wish to go. I am called the Princess Ghulnaze; she who has changed you into a stag is my eldest sister and is called Mehrefza; she is a magician of redoubtable power. I alone could deliver you out of her power, and although I am her sister, if she perceives what I have just done I fear I shall experience her anger; but, happen what may, I shall never repent of having released you from your position. I intend you to be still further under obligation to me; I wish to help you make the prince your friend happy. I admit it is very difficult to secure his happiness, because, in order to do that, you must gain the confidence of the princess whom he loves, which you can only do by passing as a holy person at the court of Cashmere.”
‘“What are you saying, my princess?” I cried. “How am I to get that reputation?”
‘“You have only to follow exactly the instructions I give you,” she replied. Thus saying she went to a wardrobe, whence she brought out a dervish’s dress, a girdle, and a little ebony box. “This,” she said, “is all that is necessary for you to succeed in your enterprise. Take these and go towards the town of Cashmere, which is not very far from here; but before entering, stop, remove your garments and rub your body all over with the grease which is in this box. Then you will take this dervish’s dress, and this magic girdle with which you will bind your loins, after which present yourself at the gates of the town. You will find guards there who will say to you, ‘O venerable religious, whence do you come?’ Answer, ‘I am a priest and I come from the extremities of the West on a pilgrimage to Cashmere to see the great temple.’ You know,” she added, “that this temple is a celebrated building revered by the people of that kingdom. As soon as you have told them that you have come from so far to see this temple, they will throw themselves at your feet, and will conduct you with respect to the king, Togrul Bey, who will place you in the hands of the chief priest, Ahran, head of the temple of Cashmere. This high priest and all the other ministers of the idol will conduct you to the temple, which for beauty and magnificence is above all the palaces in the world, but it is surrounded by a ditch twenty feet deep, filled with water which boils without the aid of fire, and beyond the ditch there is a border of steel blades, red-hot, so that the temple seems inaccessible. Then Ahran will say to you: ‘O phœnix of the century, you have passed through many dangers and fatigues before arriving here. The great temple, for which you have made so long and painful a journey, lies before you. But you cannot enter the sanctuary. You have only to offer your adorations from here, and then you will return to your country.’ You will reply to this speech that you have come to see the temple and that you wish to visit it. But the chief priest will tell you that in order to have that honour you must pass through the boiling water and cross the border. You will then utter a cry of joy and will go forward boldly. The grease with which you have rubbed yourself has the virtue of making the water harder than stone, and will prevent your being burnt. When you have entered the temple you will worship Heaven therein for a whole day; then you will rejoin Ahran, who will adopt you as a son. You will spend fourteen days with him, and the fifteenth, whilst he is asleep, you will rub his nose with a white powder I am going to give you. He will no sooner have smelt it than he will die, and the king will make you chief priest in his place. When you have attained this dignity, you will go and see the Prince of Cashmere, who has been ill for some time, and given over by the doctors. You will breathe a prayer over him, and he will be immediately cured. The rumour of his cure will be spread throughout the peoples of Hindostan, who will look upon you as a saint, and Farrukhnaz, the Princess of Cashmere, charmed with your reputation, will wish to see you. I do not tell you the rest, it depends upon your skill.”
‘I promised to follow accurately the instructions of Ghulnaze, who put in my hands another little box containing the white powder, and a folded paper on which was written the prayer which I was to say over the Prince of Cashmere.
“Depart, my lord,” she said to me; “leave this palace immediately. I fear my sister may return. Alas!” she added, sighing, “the harm she may do me for having destroyed her magic is not what I most fear!”
‘I thanked Ghulnaze again in terms of deep gratitude. We were both very pleased with each other, and we would have wished to be longer together, but as we feared Mehrefza might come and surprise us, we were obliged to separate. I then took the road to Cashmere. As soon as I was near this town I dressed myself in the dervish’s costume, after having rubbed my body with the grease which I had in the ebony box. I then presented myself at the gates; the guards led me to the king, who put me in the hands of the chief priest. I crossed the water and the border of steel blades without harm to myself; then I entered the temple, where I saw the Sanctuary and worshipped Heaven therein.
‘I stayed in the temple until the following day. Then I went to seek out the head of the temple priests, who adopted me as his son and kept me about him. Finally, for fear of losing the fruit of all my pains by omitting any detail, I got rid of Ahran in the manner prescribed by Ghulnaze, and became high priest in his place. I shortly afterwards cured the Prince Farrukhrouz, which gave me such a high reputation that you wished to see me. You know the rest, and what impression the pictures had on you which I had had painted in the hall where I received you. I watched you before showing myself, and I perceived that they gave you much to think about. This, charming Farrukhnaz,’ added Symorgue, ‘is what I thought I ought no longer to leave you in ignorance of. Forgive the artifice I have had recourse to in order to remove from you the false opinion you had of men, and in order to bind your lot with that of the most amiable of princes.’
The Princess of Cashmere blushed at this story, which showed her how deceived she had been, but the love she felt for the Prince of Persia prevented her being angry with the false dervish.
‘Finish telling us what you have done,’ she said. ‘What have you just been doing in the magician’s palace?’
‘Beautiful Farrukhnaz,’ he replied, ‘after having left you, I advanced towards the palace. I found the door open, I entered and saw no one, I only heard a plaintive voice, the sad accents of which drew me into a chamber whence it came. I found there, on a large sofa, a young lady having a yoke round her neck and iron chains on her feet; her arms were enclosed in a leather sack bound with ropes. The unhappy woman, bowed down under the weight of destiny, let her head fall sadly on her knees. I approached her out of pity, with the intention of comforting her. She raised her head, and I recognised in this unfortunate woman my liberator, the amiable Ghulnaze. I burst out into a fury at this touching sight. “O my queen,” I cried, “in what state do I find you? What barbarous hands can have laden you with irons?”
‘“O my dear Symorgue,” she replied, “is it you that I see? What evil genius brings you back hither? Alas! you will soon be the victim of my cruel sister. She discovered that I had saved you, and to punish me she keeps me in chains. I have been in them for a long time, but what distresses me more than all the rest is the danger to which you expose yourself. Fly at once; try to escape the inhuman Mehrefza.”
‘“What! my sultana,” I replied, “you wish me to fly and abandon you! Do you think me capable of such black ingratitude? Ah! I would a hundred times rather experience your sister’s anger. The most terrible death cannot terrify me when it is a question of extricating you from the situation in which I see you. Tell me, I pray you, what I must do to save you, and if the thing is possible I hope to succeed in it.”
‘“Since you are so courageous,” replied Ghulnaze, “my liberty depends on you. Go to the west side of the garden; you will find my sister there, asleep on the flower-strewn grass. She has under her head a satin pillow. If you can take this pillow from her without awaking her, the key of my chains is in it, you will save me; but if you wake Mehrefza you are lost. There is no other means of breaking my chains; no human effort can effect it.”
‘“Trust to me,” I then said to Ghulnaze; “I am going to bring you the key.”
‘I immediately left the palace and went to the western side of the garden, and perceived the magician asleep on the grass, her head resting on the cushion. I remained for some time uncertain what step to take, but the fear of awaking Mehrefza determined me to cut off her head with a sword. I killed the magician and brought the pillow to her sister, who awaited me with much impatience. I related to her what I had just done, and she appeared delighted. After that I took the key out of the bag and set my princess at liberty.
‘Thus,’ continued Symorgue, ‘I have rid myself of the wickedest woman in the world. We can presently, divine Farrukhnaz, enter the palace. We shall find Ghulnaze, who is preparing to receive us there; she is as rejoiced at your arrival here as at her own deliverance.’
At these words he offered his hand to the Princess of Cashmere and conducted her to the palace. They met Ghulnaze, who came to meet them. She prostrated herself at the feet of the daughter of her king, but Farrukhnaz raised her, kissed her tenderly, and showed her a thousand attentions.
‘Beautiful Ghulnaze,’ she said, ‘I am charmed that the brave and generous Symorgue has served you so well. It is true,’ she added smiling, ‘that he was under too much obligation to you not to expose himself to the greatest dangers rather than leave you in chains.’
‘O my princess,’ replied Ghulnaze in the same tone, ‘you see the stag does not forsake the doe when she is in need of his help.’
After talking a little while they entered the palace, which Farrukhnaz thought beautiful. Then they left it to go into the park, in which were more than three hundred stags. The magician’s sister restored them to their natural form in the same way as she had done to Symorgue.
As they became men again, they threw themselves at the feet of their charming liberator to give her the thanks due to her. They were all, for the most part, young and well made. Some were Tartars, others Chinese, and others Carizmians. There were some from all parts of Asia; but Farrukhnaz’s conductor was very surprised, and caused extreme astonishment to the princesses when, suddenly detecting Prince Farrukhschad amongst the crowd of men, he ran and threw himself at his feet, saying: ‘O my dear prince, is it possible that I find you here?’
‘O my friend,’ replied the Prince of Persia, ‘is it Symorgue who presents himself before my eyes?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ replied the confidant, ‘it is he himself, and to crown everything, he brings to you the Princess of Cashmere.’
At these words he conducted his master to Farrukhnaz, who recognised in the prince the features she had seen in her dream, as, on his part, Farrukhschad knew at once that it was the princess whose image he cherished in his memory.
Whilst the Prince of Persia endeavoured to express to his mistress all the joy which animated him, Ghulnaze went into the meadow where the white does were. She also restored them to their original form, and they turned out to be very charming young ladies whom the magician her sister had changed. She led them before Farrukhnaz, who made them tell their stories. All these ladies had their lovers there, who were enchanted to see them once more released like them from the magic power which had kept them in animal forms. As additional good fortune, every cavalier who had been changed into a stag found his horse again in the stables of the palace.
Thus, after having once more thanked Ghulnaze a thousand times, all the men whom she had delivered took leave of her, and returned with their ladies, each to their own country.
There only remained in the palace, Farrukhnaz, Ghulnaze, Sutlumemé, the Prince of Persia and his confidant. They remained there several days; then they all departed for the court of Gazuine, where they arrived safely. The King of Gazuine, in order to celebrate the return of Farrukhschad, had the town decorated, and ordered public rejoicings. He married the prince to the Princess of Cashmere, and Symorgue to Ghulnaze.
Whilst the court of Gazuine was rejoicing over these marriages, the old monarch wished to hear the story of Farrukhnaz. Symorgue related how he had succeeded in gaining the confidence of the princess, and when he had finished his story, Farrukhschad related how he had fallen into the hands of Mehrefza.
Shortly afterwards the King of Gazuine fell ill, and seeing himself on the point of being carried off by the Angel of Death, he named as his successor to the crown the Prince Farrukhschad, who mounted the throne as soon as the old king was dead; but, wishing to return to Persia, he gave the sceptre of Gazuine to Symorgue, to the satisfaction of the people. Symorgue reigned with the Princess Ghulnaze, and Farrukhschad conducted Farrukhnaz to the court of Persia, where he soon succeeded the king his father, who seemed only to wait for the return of his son to die.