she took to her bed she began to think of Prince Wa'il, and how he had hastened to grant her request; and she did not know whether the motive for granting it was indifference to her, or generosity of character. Perhaps he had not liked her; perhaps he knew another better and more beautiful than she.
The princess passed the second day secluded in her room. When night came she sat near the window, feeling sorrow and perplexity, and she heard a sad moan in the garden.
Who is there?
A man who saw a light in the window, and thought it a lamp keeping the Pleiades company at their rising.
Ah. But I did not send for you, and no lamp gleamed in my window.
— The light of your face lights the paths of the desert.
— Your coming does me wrong, and causes me anxiety.
— I found myself too weak to bear the separation.
— Do you still think of me?
— When did I ever think of anyone but you?
— Prince Wa'il has given me a space of three days to think it over.
— Why do you not answer?
— A generous husband was quicker to win the beauty than a destitute, unknown poet.
— You are jealous of Prince Wa'il.
— Rather I grieve for my own soul, for its adversary is great of soul, and so it is overborne.
Ah... my God... Wait. I shall come to you, that you may know I would choose you over Prince Wa'il.
I beg you not to do this.
After all this coldness, do you turn away from me?
Yes. Because I know that what prompts your coming is pity, and not love. And I hate to be the object of your pity.
— What a stubborn, haughty man you are!
Woe to those in whom love and pride meet.
Farewell — I hear voices, and we are in a strange palace.
* * *
On the third night it displeased the princess to find herself awaiting the return of Prince Wa'il. The hour of his return came and he did not come; her waiting grew long, and her heart filled with every color of doubt.
A week passed, during which the
princess suffered every color of doubt and perplexity. One night, while the princess sat on a seat in her room, sunk in a sea of gloom and despair, the door suddenly opened and the masked poet entered. Hurry, princess! Everyone in the palace is asleep, and I slipped in by the back door. Hurry — I have prepared for us a beautiful little house overlooking the desert. Oh, your face — how beautiful it is! But hurry.
To where? And Prince Wa'il? He has not returned even now.
And are you waiting for him?
Yes.
What a naive creature you are! Prince Wa'il is sunk in a world of slave girls and beauties, while you are here, a rose withering in a dreadful prison.
Is what you say true? I shall not believe such talk!
The princess's naivety stirs pity. But who would leave a beautiful bride like you, unless he were infatuated with another?
And where does the prince keep himself?
In one of his palaces overlooking the river.
O poet, my love for you has reached a fierce degree. You and I are like a flower and its fragrance, like a lyre and its melody — yet I cannot come with you. If the prince has treated me ill, and will not free me of his own free will, then I shall remain here, until the snows of loneliness and perplexity vanish. But as the sun's rays shine upon the snows and melt them into shimmering water, so shall your memory do to my loneliness and my perplexity. Go, poet, and do not return — even should my lamp be a flame of fire rising to the sky. Go, poet. I shall not ask you who you are, nor ask you to take the mask from your face; for when souls have come to know and grown intimate with one another, they have no need of names and features. Go, poet; and if the fire of love blazes up in your heart, make of it poetry — it may reach my ears, and in it I shall find comfort and solace.
Farewell, Jinan.
Farewell, O poet of the big heart.
The poet went down, and the princess stood watching him from the window, feeling a great pain tear her heart, as though he were a flame of light drawing away
from her.
She thought of Prince Wa'il's treatment of her, and his conduct grieved her, and it displeased her that his absence should grow so long. Just then the door opened and Prince Wa'il entered. But the princess did not receive him with joy and eagerness, for she felt she had become the object of his mockery and his sport. He noticed the coldness of her heart and said: It appears the princess has not changed her mind.
She answered: No — I still hold to my first request.
It grieves me to hear this reply from you.
There are women enough to make you forget Princess Jinan.
You would be mistaken if you believed that. But let your will be done: we have ordered a palace for you, where you may live as you please.
I have lost all taste for the life of palaces.
Then let the princess ask for whatever she desires.
The princess desires to know the reason for your delay.
Does my return matter to you so much?... Ah... But it had escaped me that you await my return so that you may be set free.
That was not, in fact, the reason. It is you who wrong me; I have never yet heard of a man who leaves his bride alone for seven days.
I believe my going was in deference to the wish of Princess Jinan.
You make a mockery of the princess's will in order to get what you want.
And what is it that I want?
The princess answered sharply, in anger: I do not know. You know better than I about a palace teeming with slave girls and beauties.
I understand from this that the princess is anxious that I should be near her.
No, no — that is not the truth of it.
But you have not yet put me to the test. What have you resolved upon?
I have resolved upon nothing.
Very well — take all the time you wish. As for me, I shall go to look into an important matter; and if my company pleases you, I shall return.
No sooner had Prince Wa'il gone out than the princess summoned her maid-in-waiting Marjana, opened her heart to her, and told her of her suspicions of Prince Wa'il. Among the things she said to her: Ah, Marjana, truly men are