The palace was proud of its beau-tiful princess, Jinan, glorying in her beauty and loveliness. Whenever she swept through the halls of the palace in her lovely gowns, eyes followed her, captivated by her charm and the radiance of her countenance.

The princess was tall of stature, slender of figure, with a dark com-plexion, a luminous brow, and black eyes adorned with long lashes. On her right cheek was a beauty mark of deepest black, which lent her charm and allure whenever she laughed or spoke. But the princess hardly ever laughed or spoke; she was sunk, rather, in a gloom and silence whose cause no one knew, and often she would leave her bed at night and sit at her window, contemplating the trees as they swayed with dignity in the silver rays of the moon.

Her father wished to marry her to Prince Wa'il, and she had heard much of his courage, his forbearance, and his generosity. It would have been reasonable for her to count herself happy if Prince Wa'il asked for her hand — had not that lovelorn poet reached her heart before him, bewitching it with his poetry, his graceful talk, and his sad songs. As for how she heard him the first time, it was on a moonlit night, when she heard a soft melody and the words of this song:

"How wretched are they whose hearts are bound to the love of princesses.

For the doors of palaces are hard; every pride is shattered upon their thresholds.

So look out at me from your window, O beautiful princess, that I may see your face a single time.

God knows I want no more than this reward. Would I were one of the flowers your delicate hand reaches, or the mirror that reflects your enchanting face.

In my childhood the old women told me of the jinn who change human beings into things.

And I have searched long for the dwelling of these jinn, that they might take pity on me and make of me a flower or a mirror."

The princess looked out from her window and saw a young man, slim of figure, his face masked; and no

sooner did he see her than a deep silence took hold of him.

The princess said: Who is this who steals into the palaces of kings to disturb them with his poetry and his passions?

The young man answered: How hard are the hearts of beauti-ful princesses!

Woe to you! How dare you say such a thing, when I could summon my servants to cut you to pieces?

A life that ends at your hands is better than a life that continues without you.

But who are you, you who would trouble us with your killing?

A poet who saw you and loved you.

What boldness! How do you allow yourself to fasten your heart upon those above your station?

Love, my lady, wrests from our lips every kind of confession; it knows neither class nor clan.

Listen — I shall pardon you if you tell me who you are.

A poet, a stranger, who saw you and loved you.

What evasion! And where is your birthplace?

A land where people worship love, and die as martyrs for its sake.

I know of no place where the rites of worship are held for love.

I should like to remind the princess of the desert — if she will permit me.

A Bedouin, then, are you?

Though I fall short of the Bedouin in zeal and daring.

How so?

Because the Bedouin are not frightened by the doors of palaces, nor by their guards. They rush upon death, if death will join them to their dreams.

And who told you that your Layla dwells here?

Your enchanting voice, your radiant countenance, and this thing that blazes in my heart whenever I see you or remember you!

Young man, take care — I am the princess of this palace!

A truth that tears my heart. Were it not for this heavy crown of yours, and were it not for the hard doors that keep freedom from you, things would be otherwise than they now are.

But — farewell, O princess. Treasures of memory I have won

tonight, and they will be my provision on my hard road.

Wait... wait. I love this that you say.

But he leapt from the wall, and vanished like a beautiful dream.

* * *

On the second night it displeased the princess to find herself listening for the sounds of the garden, and she rose from her bed to await the unknown poet. A week passed, and no trace of the strange young man appeared.

At the beginning of the second week the princess heard the melody of a lyre that made her imagine outspread meadows, many-colored flowers, and the vast, great open spaces; and when she looked out of the window she heard the poet say:

"Do not drive me away, O cruel princess, for my presence will not harm you.

But if it troubles your temper, dismiss me gently,

and say to me: I shall remember you, O stranger, once every year.

Then you shall see how my bones stir within the grave

and say to you that my love for you is stronger than death."

The princess answered: Woe to you, poet! You grieve me with this that you say. I do not wish you death — rather I should be sorely grieved if I were the cause of your parting from life.

What a gracious angel you are!

And now, will you not tell me who you are?

A poet, a stranger, destitute, who saw you and loved you.

Can he be destitute who has a heart like yours?

Those with big hearts have thin pockets.

A big heart is more precious than a fat pocket.

In those words of yours is consolation.

I want to see you from close by.

How is it to be done?

Wait — I shall slip quietly down to the garden, for I fear they might see you if you climbed up here.

What a grace the princess would bestow upon me! Am I awake, or in a dream? But, my lady, may a slave such as I set a condition?

What do you want?

That you not ask me to lift the mask from my face!

Mercy — you frighten me with this request of yours. You might be a thief, or an enemy. No, I shall not come down. What a reckless creature I am, trying to draw near an unknown man in the pitch-black night! Go, man, and do not come back here, for I fear the consequence.

It grieves me that the princess does not trust me. Farewell.