One thousand and one nig.., p.227
One Thousand and One Nights, page 227
When shall the mourning heart be healed of anger and disdain?
When, rigour ceasing, shall the lips of union smile again?
Would God I knew if I shall lie, some night, within the arms Of a
beloved, in whose heart is somewhat of my pain!
When she heard this, she was angry and putting on a haughty air, said to him, “Hast thou a mind to shame me among the folk, that thou speakest thus of me in thy verse? By Allah, except thou leave this talk, I will assuredly complain of thee to the Grand Chamberlain, Sultan of Baghdad and Khorassan and lord of justice and equity, whereby disgrace and punishment will fall on thee?” To this Kanmakan made no reply, but returned to Baghdad: and Kuzia Fekan also returned home and complained of her cousin to her mother, who said to her, “O my daughter, belike he meant thee no ill, and is he not an orphan? Indeed, he said nought that implied reproach to thee; so look thou tell none of this, lest it come to the Sultan’s ears and he cut short his life and blot out his name and make it even as yesterday, whose remembrance hath passed away.” How ever, Kanmakan’s case was not hidden from the people, and his love for Kuzia Fekan became known in Baghdad, so that the women talked of it. Moreover, his heart became contracted and his patience waned and he knew not what to do. Then longed he to give vent to the anguish he endured, by reason of the pangs of separation; but he feared her anger and her rebuke: so he recited the following verses:
What though I be fearful, anon, of her wrath, Whose humour serene
is grown troubled and dour,
I bear it with patience, as he who is sick Endureth a caut’ry in
hopes of a cure.
His verses came one day to the knowledge of King Sasan (for so had they named the Grand Chamberlain, on his assumption of the Sultanate), as he sat on his throne, and he was told of the love the prince bore to Kuzia Fekan; whereat he was sore vexed, and going in to his wife Nuzhet ez Zeman, said to her, “Verily, to bring together fire and dry grass is of the greatest of risks; and men may not be trusted with women, so long as eyes cast furtive glances and eyelids quiver. Now thy nephew Kanmakan is come to man’s estate and it behoves us to forbid him access to the harem; nor is it less needful that thy daughter be kept from the company of men, for the like of her should be cloistered.” “Thou sayest sooth, O wise King,” answered she. Next day came Kanmakan, according to his wont, and going in to his aunt, saluted her. She returned his greeting and said to him, “O my son, I have somewhat to say to thee, that I would fain leave unsaid; yet must I tell it thee, in my own despite.” “Speak,” said he. “Know then,” rejoined she, “that thine uncle the Chamberlain, the father of Kuzia Fekan, has heard of thy love for her and the verses thou madest of her and has ordered that she be kept from thee; wherefore, if thou have occasion for aught from us, I will send it to thee from behind the door, and thou shalt not look upon Kuzia Fekan nor return hither from day forth.” When he heard this, he withdrew, without speaking a word, and betook himself to his mother, to whom he related what his aunt had said to him. Quoth she, “This all comes of thy much talk. Thou knowest that the news of thy passion for Kuzia Fekan is noised abroad everywhere and how thou eatest their victual and makest love to their daughter.” “And who should have her but I?” replied the prince. “She is the daughter of my father’s brother and I have the best of rights to her.” “These are idle words,” rejoined his mother. “Be silent, lest thy talk come to King Sasan’s ears and it prove the cause of thy losing her and of thy ruin and increase of affliction. They have not sent us the evening meal to-night and we shall die of want; and were we in any land other than this, we were already dead of the pangs of hunger or the humiliation of begging our bread.” When Kanmakan heard his mother’s words, his anguish redoubled; his eyes ran over with tears and he sobbed and complained and repeated the following verses:
Give o’er this unrelenting blame, that never lets me be! My heart
loves her to whom it’s thrall and may not struggle free.
Look not to me for any jot of patience, for I swear By God His
house, my patience all is clean divorced from me!
Blamers to prudence me exhort; I heed them not, for I In my
avouchment am sincere of love and constancy.
They hinder me by very force from visiting my dear, Though, by
the Merciful, nor rogue am I nor debauchee!
Indeed, my bones, whenas they hear the mention of her name, Do
quake and tremble even as birds from sparrow-hawks that
flee.
O daughter of my uncle, say to him who chides at love, That I, by
Allah, am distraught with love-longing for thee.
And he said to his mother, “I can dwell no longer in my aunt’s house nor among these people, but will go forth and abide in the corners of the city.” So he and his mother left the palace and took up their abode in one of the quarters of the poorer sort: and she used to go from time to time to King Sasan’s palace and take thence food for her own and her son’s subsistence. One day, Kuzia Fekan took her aside and said to her, “Alas, my aunt, how is it with thy son?” “O my daughter,” replied she, “sooth to say, he is tearful-eyed and mournful-hearted, being fallen into the snare of thy love.” And she repeated to her the verses he had made; whereupon Kuzia Fekan wept and said, “By Allah, I rebuked not him for his words of ill-will or dislike to him, but because I feared the malice of enemies for him. Indeed, my passion for him is double that he feels for me; words fail to set out my yearning for him; and were it not for the extravagances of his tongue and the wanderings of his wit, my father had not cut off his favours from him nor decreed unto him exclusion and prohibition. However, man’s fortune is nought but change, and patience in every case is most becoming; peradventure He who ordained our severance will vouchsafe us reunion!” And she repeated the following:
O son of mine uncle, the like of thine anguish I suffer, the like
of thy passion I feel;
Yet hide I from men what I suffer for longing, And shouldst thou
not also thy passion conceal?
When his mother heard this, she thanked her and blessed her: then she left her and returning to her son, told him what his mistress had said; whereupon his desire for her increased. But he took heart, being eased of his despair, and the turmoil of his spirits was quelled. And he said, “By Allah, I desire none but her!” And he repeated the following verses:
Give over thy chiding; I’ll hearken no whit to the flouts of my
foes: Indeed I’ve discovered my secret that nought should
have made me disclose;
And she, whose enjoyment I hoped for, alack! is far distant from
me; Mine eyes watch the hours of the dark, whilst she passes
the night in repose.
So the days and nights went by, whilst Kanmakan lay tossing upon coals of fire, till he reached the age of seventeen: and indeed his beauty was now come to perfection and his wit had ripened. One night, as he lay awake, he communed with himself and said, “Why should I keep silence, till I consume away, and see not my love? My only fault is poverty: so, by Allah, I will go out from this land and wander afar in the plains and valleys; for my condition in this city is one of misery and I have no friend nor lover in it to comfort me; wherefore I will distract myself by absence from my native land, till I die and am at peace from abasement and tribulation.” And he repeated the following verses:
Though my soul weary for distress and flutter fast for woe, Yet
of its nature was it ne’er to buckle to a foe.
Excuse me; for indeed my heart is like a book, whereof The
superscription’s nought but tears, that aye unceasing flow.
Behold my cousin, how she seems a maid of Paradise, A houri come,
by Rizwan’s grace, to visit us below!
Who seeks the glances of her eyes and dares the scathing stroke
Of their bright swords, shall hardly ‘scape their swift and
deadly blow.
Lo, I will wander o’er the world, to free my heart from bale And
compensation for its loss upon my soul bestow!
Yea, I will range the fields of war and tilt against the brave
And o’er the champions will I ride roughshod and lay them
low.
Then will I come back, glad at heart and rich in goods and store,
Driving the herds and flocks as spoil before me, as I go.
So he went out in the darkness of the night, barefoot, wearing a short-sleeved tunic and a skull-cap of felt seven years old and carrying a cake of dry bread, three days stale, and betook himself to the gate El Arij of Baghdad. Here he waited till the gate opened, when he was the first to go forth; and he went out at random and wandered in the deserts day and night. When the night came, his mother sought him, but found him not, whereupon the world, for all its wideness, was straitened upon her and she took no delight in aught of its good. She looked for him a first day and a second and a third, till ten days were past, but no news of him reached her. Then her breast became contracted and she shrieked and lamented, saying, “O my son, O my delight, thou hast revived my sorrows! Did not what I endured suffice, but thou must depart from the place of my abiding? After thee, I care not for food nor delight in sleep, and but tears and mourning are left me. O my son, from what land shall I call thee? What country hath given thee refuge?” And her sobs burst up, and she repeated the following verses:
We know that, since you went away, by grief and pain we’re tried.
The bows of severance on us full many a shaft have plied.
They girt their saddles on and gainst the agonies of death Left
me to strive alone, whilst they across the sand-wastes
tried.
Deep in the darkness of the night a ring-dove called to me,
Complaining of her case; but I, “Give o’er thy plaint,”
replied.
For, by thy life, an if her heart were full of dole, like mine,
She had not put a collar on nor yet her feet had dyed.
My cherished friend is gone and I for lack of him endure All
manner sorrows which with me for ever will abide.
Then she abstained from food and drink and gave herself up to weeping and lamentation. Her grief became known and all the people of the town and country wept with her and said, “Where is thine eye, O Zoulmekan?” And they bewailed the rigour of fate, saying, “What can have befallen him, that he left his native town and fled from the place where his father used to fill the hungry and do justice and mercy?” And his mother redoubled her tears and lamentations, till the news of Kanmakan’s departure came to King Sasan through the chief amirs, who said to him, “Verily, he is the son of our (late) King and the grandson of King Omar ben Ennuman and we hear that he hath exiled himself from the country.” When King Sasan heard these words, he was wroth with them and ordered one of them to be hanged, whereat the fear of him fell upon the hearts of the rest and they dared not speak one word. Then he called to mind all the kindness that Zoulmekan had done him and how he had commended his son to his care; wherefore he grieved for Kanmakan and said “Needs must I have search made for him in all countries.” So he summoned Terkash and bade him choose a hundred horse and go in quest of the prince. Accordingly he went out and was absent ten days, after which he returned and said, “I can learn no tidings of him and have come on no trace of him, nor can any tell me aught of him.” With this, King Sasan repented him of that which he had done with Kanmakan; whilst his mother abode without peace or comfort, nor would patience come at her call: and thus twenty heavy days passed over her.
To return to Kanmakan. When he left Baghdad, he went forth, perplexed about his case and knowing not whither he should go: so he fared on alone into the desert for the space of three days and saw neither footman nor horseman. Sleep deserted him and his wakefulness redoubled, for he pined for his people and his country. So he wandered on, eating of the herbs of the earth and drinking of its waters and resting under its trees at the hour of the noontide heats, till he came to another road, into which he turned and following it other three days, came to a land of green fields and smiling valleys, abounding in the fruits of the earth. It had drunken of the beakers of the clouds, to the sound of the voices of the turtle and the ring-dove, till its hill-sides were enamelled with verdure and its fields were fragrant. At this sight, Kanmakan recalled his father’s city Baghdad, and for excess of emotion repeated the following verses:
I wander on, in hope I may return Some day, yet know not when
that day shall be.
What drove me forth was that I found no means To fend awe, the
ills that pressed on me.
Then he wept, but presently wiped away his tears and ate of the fruits of the earth. Then he made his ablutions and prayed the ordained prayers that he had neglected all this time; after which he sat in that place, resting, the whole day. When the night came, he lay down and slept till midnight, when he awoke and heard a man’s voice repeating the following verses:
Life unto me is worthless, except I see the shine
Of the flashing teeth of my mistress and eke her face divine.
The bishops in the convents pray for her day and night
And in the mosques the imams fall prone before her shrine.
Death’s easier than the rigours of a beloved one,
Whose image never cheers me, whenas I lie and pine.
O joy of boon-companions, when they together be
And lover and beloved in one embrace entwine!
Still more so in the season of Spring, with all its flowers,
What time the world is fragrant with blossoms sweet and fine.
Up, drinker of the vine-juice, and forth, for seest thou not
Earth gilt with blooms and waters all welling forth like wine?
When Kanmakan heard this, it revived his sorrows; his tears ran down his cheeks like rivers and flames of fire raged in his heart. He rose to see who it was that spoke, but saw none, for the thickness of the dark; whereupon passion increased on him and he was alarmed and restlessness possessed him. So he descended to the bottom of the valley and followed the banks of the stream, till he heard one sighing heavily, and the same voice recited the followed verses:
Though thou have used to dissemble the love in thy heart for
fear, Give on the day of parting, free course to sob and
tear.
‘Twixt me and my beloved were vows of love and troth; So cease I
for her never to long and wish her near.
My heart is full of longing; the zephyr, when it blows, To many a
thought of passion stirs up my heavy cheer.
Doth she o’ the anklets hold me in mind, whilst far away, Though
between me and Saada were solemn vows and dear?
Shall the nights e’er unite us, the nights of dear delight, And
shall we tell our suff’rings, each in the other’s ear?
“Thou seduced by passion for us,” quoth she, and I, “God keep Thy
lovers all! How many have fallen to thy spear?”
If mine eyes taste the pleasance of sleep, while she’s afar, May
God deny their vision her beauties many a year!
O the wound in mine entrails! I see no cure for it Save
love-delight and kisses from crimson lips and clear.
When Kanmakan heard this, yet saw no one, he knew that the speaker was a lover like unto himself, debarred the company of her whom he loved; and he said to himself; “It were fitting that this man should lay his head to mine and become my comrade in this my strangerhood.” Then he hailed the speaker and cried out to him, saying “O thou that goest in the sombre night, draw near to me and tell me thy history. Haply thou shalt find in me one who will succour thee in shine affliction.” “O thou that answerest my complaint and wouldst know my history,” rejoined the other, “who art thou amongst the cavaliers? Art thou a man or a genie? Answer me speedily ere thy death draw near, for these twenty days have I wandered in this desert and have seen no one nor heard any voice but thine.” When Kanmakan heard this, he said to himself, “His case is like unto mine, for I also have wandered twenty days in the desert and have seen none nor heard any voice: but I will make him no answer till the day.” So he was silent and the other called out to him, saying, “O thou that callest, if thou be of the Jinn, go in peace, and if thou be a man, stay awhile, till the day break and the night flee with the dark.” So they abode each in his own place, reciting verses and weeping with abundant tears, till the light of day appeared and the night departed with the darkness. Then Kanmakan looked at the other and found him a youth of the Bedouin Arabs, clad in worn clothes and girt-with a rusty sword, and the signs of passion were apparent on him. So he went up to him and accosting him, saluted him. The Bedouin returned the salute and greeted him courteously, but made little account of him, for what he saw of his tender years and his condition, which was that of a poor man. So he said to him, “O youth, of what tribe art thou and to whom art thou kin among the Arabs? What is thy history and wherefore goest thou by night, after the fashion of champions? Indeed, thou spokest to me in the night words such as are spoken of none but magnanimous cavaliers and lionhearted warriors; and now thy life is in my hand. But I have compassion on thee by reason of thy tender age; so I will make thee my companion, and thou shalt go with me, to do me service.” When Kanmakan heard him speak thus unseemly, after what he had shown him of skill in verse, he knew that he despised him and thought to presume with him; so he answered him with soft and dulcet speech, saying, “O chief of the Arabs, leave my tenderness of age and tell me thy story and why thou wanderest by night in the desert, reciting verses. Thou talkest of my serving thee; who then art thou and what moved thee to speak thus?” “Harkye, boy!” answered the Bedouin, “I am Subbah, son of Remmah ben Hummam. My people are of the Arabs of Syria, and I have a cousin called Nejmeh, who brings delight to all that look on her. My father died, and I was brought up in the house of my uncle, the father of Nejmeh; but when I grew up and my cousin became a woman, they excluded her from me and me from her, seeing that I was poor and of little estate. However, the chiefs of the Arabs and the heads of the tribes went in to her father and rebuked him, and he was abashed before them and consented to give me his daughter, but upon condition that I should bring him as her dower fifty head of horses and fifty dromedaries and fifty camels laden with wheat and a like number laden with barley, together with ten male and ten female slaves. The dowry he imposed upon me was beyond my competence; for he exacted more than the due marriage portion. So now I am travelling from Syria to Irak, having passed twenty days without seeing other than thyself, and I mean to go to Baghdad, that I may note what rich and considerable merchants start thence. Then I will go out in their track and seize their goods, for I will kill their men and drive off their camels with their loads. But what manner of man art thou?” “Thy case is like unto mine,” replied Kanmakan; “save that my complaint is more grievous than thine; for my cousin is a king’s daughter, and the dowry of which thou hast spoken would not content her family, nor would they be satisfied with the like of that from me.” “Surely,” said Subbah, “thou art mad or light-headed for excess of passion! How can thy cousin be a king’s daughter? Thou hast no sign of princely rank on thee, for thou art but a mendicant.” “O chief of the Arabs,” rejoined Kanmakan, “marvel not at my case, for it is due to the shifts of fortune; and if thou desire proof of me, behold, I am Kanmakan, son of King Zoulmekan, son of King Omar ben Ennuman, lord of Baghdad and Khorassan, and fortune hath played the tyrant with me; for my father died and (my uncle) King Sasan took the Sultanate. So I fled forth from Baghdad, secretly, lest any should see me, and have wandered twenty days, without seeing any but thyself. So now I have discovered to thee my case, and my history is as thy history and my need as thy need.” When Subbah heard this, he cried out and said, “O joy! I have attained my desire! I will have no booty this day but thyself; for, since thou art of the lineage of kings and hast come out in the habit of a beggar, it cannot be but thy people will seek thee, and if they find thee in any one’s hand, they will ransom thee with much treasure. So put thy hands behind thee, O my lad, and walk before me.” “Softly, O brother of the Arabs,” answered Kanmakan; “my people will not ransom me with silver nor with gold, no, not with a brass dirhem; and I am a poor man, having with me neither much nor little: so leave this behaviour with me and take me to comrade. Let us go forth of the land of Irak and wander over the world, so haply we may win dower and marriage-portion and enjoy our cousins’ embraces.” When Subbah heard this, he was angry; his arrogance and heat redoubled and he said, “Out on thee, O vilest of dogs! Dost thou bandy words with me? Turn thy back, or I will chastise thee.” At this Kanmakan smiled and answered, “Why should I turn my back for thee? Is there no equity in thee? Dost thou not fear to bring reproach upon the Arabs by driving a man like myself captive, in dishonour and humiliation, before thou hast proved him in the field, to know if he be a warrior or a coward?” The Bedouin laughed and replied, “By Allah, I wonder at thee! Thou art a boy in years, but old in talk. These words should come from none but a doughty champion: what wantest thou of equity? “If thou wilt have me be thy captive, to serve thee,” said Kanmakan, “throw down thine arms and put off thine upper clothes and wrestle with me; and whichever of us throws the other shall have his will of him and make him his servant.” The other laughed and said, “I think thy much talk denotes the nearness of thy death.” Then he threw down his sword and tucking up his skirt, drew near unto Kanmakan, and they gripped each other. But the Bedouin found that Kanmakan had the better of him and outweighed him, as the quintal outweighs the dinar; and he looked at his legs and saw that they were as firmly planted as two well-builded minarets or two tent-poles driven into the ground or two immovable mountains. So he knew that he himself was not able to cope with him and repented of having come to wrestle with him, saying in himself, “Would I had fallen on him with my weapons!” Then Kanmakan took hold of him and mastering him shook him, till he thought his guts would burst in his belly and roared out, “Hold thy hand, O boy!” He heeded him not, but shook him again, and lifting him from the ground, made with him towards the stream, that he might throw him therein: whereupon the Bedouin cried out, saying, “O valiant man, what wilt thou do with me?” Quoth Kanmakan, “I mean to throw thee into this stream: it will carry thee to the Tigris. The Tigris will bring thee to the river Isa and the Isa to the Euphrates, and the Euphrates will bear thee to thine own country; so thy people will see thee and know thy manlihead and the sincerity of thy passion.” When Subbah heard this, he cried out and said, “O champion of the desert, do not with me the deed of the wicked, but let me go, by the life of thy cousin, the jewel of the fair!” With this, Kanmakan set him down; and when he found himself at liberty, he ran to his sword and buckler and taking them up, stood plotting in himself treachery and a sudden attack on Kanmakan. The latter read his intent in his eye and said to him, “I know what is in thy mind, now thou hast hold of thy sword and buckler. Thou hast neither strength nor skill for wrestling, but thou thinkest that, wert thou on horseback and couldst wheel about and ply me with thy sword, I had been slain long ago. But I will give thee thy will, so there may be no despite left in thy heart. Give me the buckler and fall on me with thy sword; either I shall kill thee or thou me.” “Here it is,” answered Subbah and throwing him the shield, drew his sword and rushed at him. Kanmakan took the buckler in his right hand and began to fend himself with it, whilst Subbah struck at him with the sword, saying at each stroke, “This is the finishing one!” But Kanmakan received all his blows on his buckler and they fell harmless, though he did not strike back again, having no weapon of offence; and Subbah ceased not to smite at him, till his arm was weary. When the prince saw this, he rushed at him and seizing him in his arms, shook him and threw him to the ground. Then he turned him over on his face and binding his arms behind him with the hangers of his sword, began to drag him by the feet towards the river: whereupon cried Subbah, “What wilt thou do with me, O youth and cavalier of the age and hero of the field?” “Did I not tell thee,” answered Kanmakan, “that it was my intent to send thee by the river to thy people and thy tribe, lest their hearts be troubled for thee and thou miss thy cousin’s bride-feast?” At this, Subbah shrieked aloud and wept and said, “Do not thus, O champion of the time! Let me go and make me one of thy servants.” And he wept and wailed and recited the following verses:
When, rigour ceasing, shall the lips of union smile again?
Would God I knew if I shall lie, some night, within the arms Of a
beloved, in whose heart is somewhat of my pain!
When she heard this, she was angry and putting on a haughty air, said to him, “Hast thou a mind to shame me among the folk, that thou speakest thus of me in thy verse? By Allah, except thou leave this talk, I will assuredly complain of thee to the Grand Chamberlain, Sultan of Baghdad and Khorassan and lord of justice and equity, whereby disgrace and punishment will fall on thee?” To this Kanmakan made no reply, but returned to Baghdad: and Kuzia Fekan also returned home and complained of her cousin to her mother, who said to her, “O my daughter, belike he meant thee no ill, and is he not an orphan? Indeed, he said nought that implied reproach to thee; so look thou tell none of this, lest it come to the Sultan’s ears and he cut short his life and blot out his name and make it even as yesterday, whose remembrance hath passed away.” How ever, Kanmakan’s case was not hidden from the people, and his love for Kuzia Fekan became known in Baghdad, so that the women talked of it. Moreover, his heart became contracted and his patience waned and he knew not what to do. Then longed he to give vent to the anguish he endured, by reason of the pangs of separation; but he feared her anger and her rebuke: so he recited the following verses:
What though I be fearful, anon, of her wrath, Whose humour serene
is grown troubled and dour,
I bear it with patience, as he who is sick Endureth a caut’ry in
hopes of a cure.
His verses came one day to the knowledge of King Sasan (for so had they named the Grand Chamberlain, on his assumption of the Sultanate), as he sat on his throne, and he was told of the love the prince bore to Kuzia Fekan; whereat he was sore vexed, and going in to his wife Nuzhet ez Zeman, said to her, “Verily, to bring together fire and dry grass is of the greatest of risks; and men may not be trusted with women, so long as eyes cast furtive glances and eyelids quiver. Now thy nephew Kanmakan is come to man’s estate and it behoves us to forbid him access to the harem; nor is it less needful that thy daughter be kept from the company of men, for the like of her should be cloistered.” “Thou sayest sooth, O wise King,” answered she. Next day came Kanmakan, according to his wont, and going in to his aunt, saluted her. She returned his greeting and said to him, “O my son, I have somewhat to say to thee, that I would fain leave unsaid; yet must I tell it thee, in my own despite.” “Speak,” said he. “Know then,” rejoined she, “that thine uncle the Chamberlain, the father of Kuzia Fekan, has heard of thy love for her and the verses thou madest of her and has ordered that she be kept from thee; wherefore, if thou have occasion for aught from us, I will send it to thee from behind the door, and thou shalt not look upon Kuzia Fekan nor return hither from day forth.” When he heard this, he withdrew, without speaking a word, and betook himself to his mother, to whom he related what his aunt had said to him. Quoth she, “This all comes of thy much talk. Thou knowest that the news of thy passion for Kuzia Fekan is noised abroad everywhere and how thou eatest their victual and makest love to their daughter.” “And who should have her but I?” replied the prince. “She is the daughter of my father’s brother and I have the best of rights to her.” “These are idle words,” rejoined his mother. “Be silent, lest thy talk come to King Sasan’s ears and it prove the cause of thy losing her and of thy ruin and increase of affliction. They have not sent us the evening meal to-night and we shall die of want; and were we in any land other than this, we were already dead of the pangs of hunger or the humiliation of begging our bread.” When Kanmakan heard his mother’s words, his anguish redoubled; his eyes ran over with tears and he sobbed and complained and repeated the following verses:
Give o’er this unrelenting blame, that never lets me be! My heart
loves her to whom it’s thrall and may not struggle free.
Look not to me for any jot of patience, for I swear By God His
house, my patience all is clean divorced from me!
Blamers to prudence me exhort; I heed them not, for I In my
avouchment am sincere of love and constancy.
They hinder me by very force from visiting my dear, Though, by
the Merciful, nor rogue am I nor debauchee!
Indeed, my bones, whenas they hear the mention of her name, Do
quake and tremble even as birds from sparrow-hawks that
flee.
O daughter of my uncle, say to him who chides at love, That I, by
Allah, am distraught with love-longing for thee.
And he said to his mother, “I can dwell no longer in my aunt’s house nor among these people, but will go forth and abide in the corners of the city.” So he and his mother left the palace and took up their abode in one of the quarters of the poorer sort: and she used to go from time to time to King Sasan’s palace and take thence food for her own and her son’s subsistence. One day, Kuzia Fekan took her aside and said to her, “Alas, my aunt, how is it with thy son?” “O my daughter,” replied she, “sooth to say, he is tearful-eyed and mournful-hearted, being fallen into the snare of thy love.” And she repeated to her the verses he had made; whereupon Kuzia Fekan wept and said, “By Allah, I rebuked not him for his words of ill-will or dislike to him, but because I feared the malice of enemies for him. Indeed, my passion for him is double that he feels for me; words fail to set out my yearning for him; and were it not for the extravagances of his tongue and the wanderings of his wit, my father had not cut off his favours from him nor decreed unto him exclusion and prohibition. However, man’s fortune is nought but change, and patience in every case is most becoming; peradventure He who ordained our severance will vouchsafe us reunion!” And she repeated the following:
O son of mine uncle, the like of thine anguish I suffer, the like
of thy passion I feel;
Yet hide I from men what I suffer for longing, And shouldst thou
not also thy passion conceal?
When his mother heard this, she thanked her and blessed her: then she left her and returning to her son, told him what his mistress had said; whereupon his desire for her increased. But he took heart, being eased of his despair, and the turmoil of his spirits was quelled. And he said, “By Allah, I desire none but her!” And he repeated the following verses:
Give over thy chiding; I’ll hearken no whit to the flouts of my
foes: Indeed I’ve discovered my secret that nought should
have made me disclose;
And she, whose enjoyment I hoped for, alack! is far distant from
me; Mine eyes watch the hours of the dark, whilst she passes
the night in repose.
So the days and nights went by, whilst Kanmakan lay tossing upon coals of fire, till he reached the age of seventeen: and indeed his beauty was now come to perfection and his wit had ripened. One night, as he lay awake, he communed with himself and said, “Why should I keep silence, till I consume away, and see not my love? My only fault is poverty: so, by Allah, I will go out from this land and wander afar in the plains and valleys; for my condition in this city is one of misery and I have no friend nor lover in it to comfort me; wherefore I will distract myself by absence from my native land, till I die and am at peace from abasement and tribulation.” And he repeated the following verses:
Though my soul weary for distress and flutter fast for woe, Yet
of its nature was it ne’er to buckle to a foe.
Excuse me; for indeed my heart is like a book, whereof The
superscription’s nought but tears, that aye unceasing flow.
Behold my cousin, how she seems a maid of Paradise, A houri come,
by Rizwan’s grace, to visit us below!
Who seeks the glances of her eyes and dares the scathing stroke
Of their bright swords, shall hardly ‘scape their swift and
deadly blow.
Lo, I will wander o’er the world, to free my heart from bale And
compensation for its loss upon my soul bestow!
Yea, I will range the fields of war and tilt against the brave
And o’er the champions will I ride roughshod and lay them
low.
Then will I come back, glad at heart and rich in goods and store,
Driving the herds and flocks as spoil before me, as I go.
So he went out in the darkness of the night, barefoot, wearing a short-sleeved tunic and a skull-cap of felt seven years old and carrying a cake of dry bread, three days stale, and betook himself to the gate El Arij of Baghdad. Here he waited till the gate opened, when he was the first to go forth; and he went out at random and wandered in the deserts day and night. When the night came, his mother sought him, but found him not, whereupon the world, for all its wideness, was straitened upon her and she took no delight in aught of its good. She looked for him a first day and a second and a third, till ten days were past, but no news of him reached her. Then her breast became contracted and she shrieked and lamented, saying, “O my son, O my delight, thou hast revived my sorrows! Did not what I endured suffice, but thou must depart from the place of my abiding? After thee, I care not for food nor delight in sleep, and but tears and mourning are left me. O my son, from what land shall I call thee? What country hath given thee refuge?” And her sobs burst up, and she repeated the following verses:
We know that, since you went away, by grief and pain we’re tried.
The bows of severance on us full many a shaft have plied.
They girt their saddles on and gainst the agonies of death Left
me to strive alone, whilst they across the sand-wastes
tried.
Deep in the darkness of the night a ring-dove called to me,
Complaining of her case; but I, “Give o’er thy plaint,”
replied.
For, by thy life, an if her heart were full of dole, like mine,
She had not put a collar on nor yet her feet had dyed.
My cherished friend is gone and I for lack of him endure All
manner sorrows which with me for ever will abide.
Then she abstained from food and drink and gave herself up to weeping and lamentation. Her grief became known and all the people of the town and country wept with her and said, “Where is thine eye, O Zoulmekan?” And they bewailed the rigour of fate, saying, “What can have befallen him, that he left his native town and fled from the place where his father used to fill the hungry and do justice and mercy?” And his mother redoubled her tears and lamentations, till the news of Kanmakan’s departure came to King Sasan through the chief amirs, who said to him, “Verily, he is the son of our (late) King and the grandson of King Omar ben Ennuman and we hear that he hath exiled himself from the country.” When King Sasan heard these words, he was wroth with them and ordered one of them to be hanged, whereat the fear of him fell upon the hearts of the rest and they dared not speak one word. Then he called to mind all the kindness that Zoulmekan had done him and how he had commended his son to his care; wherefore he grieved for Kanmakan and said “Needs must I have search made for him in all countries.” So he summoned Terkash and bade him choose a hundred horse and go in quest of the prince. Accordingly he went out and was absent ten days, after which he returned and said, “I can learn no tidings of him and have come on no trace of him, nor can any tell me aught of him.” With this, King Sasan repented him of that which he had done with Kanmakan; whilst his mother abode without peace or comfort, nor would patience come at her call: and thus twenty heavy days passed over her.
To return to Kanmakan. When he left Baghdad, he went forth, perplexed about his case and knowing not whither he should go: so he fared on alone into the desert for the space of three days and saw neither footman nor horseman. Sleep deserted him and his wakefulness redoubled, for he pined for his people and his country. So he wandered on, eating of the herbs of the earth and drinking of its waters and resting under its trees at the hour of the noontide heats, till he came to another road, into which he turned and following it other three days, came to a land of green fields and smiling valleys, abounding in the fruits of the earth. It had drunken of the beakers of the clouds, to the sound of the voices of the turtle and the ring-dove, till its hill-sides were enamelled with verdure and its fields were fragrant. At this sight, Kanmakan recalled his father’s city Baghdad, and for excess of emotion repeated the following verses:
I wander on, in hope I may return Some day, yet know not when
that day shall be.
What drove me forth was that I found no means To fend awe, the
ills that pressed on me.
Then he wept, but presently wiped away his tears and ate of the fruits of the earth. Then he made his ablutions and prayed the ordained prayers that he had neglected all this time; after which he sat in that place, resting, the whole day. When the night came, he lay down and slept till midnight, when he awoke and heard a man’s voice repeating the following verses:
Life unto me is worthless, except I see the shine
Of the flashing teeth of my mistress and eke her face divine.
The bishops in the convents pray for her day and night
And in the mosques the imams fall prone before her shrine.
Death’s easier than the rigours of a beloved one,
Whose image never cheers me, whenas I lie and pine.
O joy of boon-companions, when they together be
And lover and beloved in one embrace entwine!
Still more so in the season of Spring, with all its flowers,
What time the world is fragrant with blossoms sweet and fine.
Up, drinker of the vine-juice, and forth, for seest thou not
Earth gilt with blooms and waters all welling forth like wine?
When Kanmakan heard this, it revived his sorrows; his tears ran down his cheeks like rivers and flames of fire raged in his heart. He rose to see who it was that spoke, but saw none, for the thickness of the dark; whereupon passion increased on him and he was alarmed and restlessness possessed him. So he descended to the bottom of the valley and followed the banks of the stream, till he heard one sighing heavily, and the same voice recited the followed verses:
Though thou have used to dissemble the love in thy heart for
fear, Give on the day of parting, free course to sob and
tear.
‘Twixt me and my beloved were vows of love and troth; So cease I
for her never to long and wish her near.
My heart is full of longing; the zephyr, when it blows, To many a
thought of passion stirs up my heavy cheer.
Doth she o’ the anklets hold me in mind, whilst far away, Though
between me and Saada were solemn vows and dear?
Shall the nights e’er unite us, the nights of dear delight, And
shall we tell our suff’rings, each in the other’s ear?
“Thou seduced by passion for us,” quoth she, and I, “God keep Thy
lovers all! How many have fallen to thy spear?”
If mine eyes taste the pleasance of sleep, while she’s afar, May
God deny their vision her beauties many a year!
O the wound in mine entrails! I see no cure for it Save
love-delight and kisses from crimson lips and clear.
When Kanmakan heard this, yet saw no one, he knew that the speaker was a lover like unto himself, debarred the company of her whom he loved; and he said to himself; “It were fitting that this man should lay his head to mine and become my comrade in this my strangerhood.” Then he hailed the speaker and cried out to him, saying “O thou that goest in the sombre night, draw near to me and tell me thy history. Haply thou shalt find in me one who will succour thee in shine affliction.” “O thou that answerest my complaint and wouldst know my history,” rejoined the other, “who art thou amongst the cavaliers? Art thou a man or a genie? Answer me speedily ere thy death draw near, for these twenty days have I wandered in this desert and have seen no one nor heard any voice but thine.” When Kanmakan heard this, he said to himself, “His case is like unto mine, for I also have wandered twenty days in the desert and have seen none nor heard any voice: but I will make him no answer till the day.” So he was silent and the other called out to him, saying, “O thou that callest, if thou be of the Jinn, go in peace, and if thou be a man, stay awhile, till the day break and the night flee with the dark.” So they abode each in his own place, reciting verses and weeping with abundant tears, till the light of day appeared and the night departed with the darkness. Then Kanmakan looked at the other and found him a youth of the Bedouin Arabs, clad in worn clothes and girt-with a rusty sword, and the signs of passion were apparent on him. So he went up to him and accosting him, saluted him. The Bedouin returned the salute and greeted him courteously, but made little account of him, for what he saw of his tender years and his condition, which was that of a poor man. So he said to him, “O youth, of what tribe art thou and to whom art thou kin among the Arabs? What is thy history and wherefore goest thou by night, after the fashion of champions? Indeed, thou spokest to me in the night words such as are spoken of none but magnanimous cavaliers and lionhearted warriors; and now thy life is in my hand. But I have compassion on thee by reason of thy tender age; so I will make thee my companion, and thou shalt go with me, to do me service.” When Kanmakan heard him speak thus unseemly, after what he had shown him of skill in verse, he knew that he despised him and thought to presume with him; so he answered him with soft and dulcet speech, saying, “O chief of the Arabs, leave my tenderness of age and tell me thy story and why thou wanderest by night in the desert, reciting verses. Thou talkest of my serving thee; who then art thou and what moved thee to speak thus?” “Harkye, boy!” answered the Bedouin, “I am Subbah, son of Remmah ben Hummam. My people are of the Arabs of Syria, and I have a cousin called Nejmeh, who brings delight to all that look on her. My father died, and I was brought up in the house of my uncle, the father of Nejmeh; but when I grew up and my cousin became a woman, they excluded her from me and me from her, seeing that I was poor and of little estate. However, the chiefs of the Arabs and the heads of the tribes went in to her father and rebuked him, and he was abashed before them and consented to give me his daughter, but upon condition that I should bring him as her dower fifty head of horses and fifty dromedaries and fifty camels laden with wheat and a like number laden with barley, together with ten male and ten female slaves. The dowry he imposed upon me was beyond my competence; for he exacted more than the due marriage portion. So now I am travelling from Syria to Irak, having passed twenty days without seeing other than thyself, and I mean to go to Baghdad, that I may note what rich and considerable merchants start thence. Then I will go out in their track and seize their goods, for I will kill their men and drive off their camels with their loads. But what manner of man art thou?” “Thy case is like unto mine,” replied Kanmakan; “save that my complaint is more grievous than thine; for my cousin is a king’s daughter, and the dowry of which thou hast spoken would not content her family, nor would they be satisfied with the like of that from me.” “Surely,” said Subbah, “thou art mad or light-headed for excess of passion! How can thy cousin be a king’s daughter? Thou hast no sign of princely rank on thee, for thou art but a mendicant.” “O chief of the Arabs,” rejoined Kanmakan, “marvel not at my case, for it is due to the shifts of fortune; and if thou desire proof of me, behold, I am Kanmakan, son of King Zoulmekan, son of King Omar ben Ennuman, lord of Baghdad and Khorassan, and fortune hath played the tyrant with me; for my father died and (my uncle) King Sasan took the Sultanate. So I fled forth from Baghdad, secretly, lest any should see me, and have wandered twenty days, without seeing any but thyself. So now I have discovered to thee my case, and my history is as thy history and my need as thy need.” When Subbah heard this, he cried out and said, “O joy! I have attained my desire! I will have no booty this day but thyself; for, since thou art of the lineage of kings and hast come out in the habit of a beggar, it cannot be but thy people will seek thee, and if they find thee in any one’s hand, they will ransom thee with much treasure. So put thy hands behind thee, O my lad, and walk before me.” “Softly, O brother of the Arabs,” answered Kanmakan; “my people will not ransom me with silver nor with gold, no, not with a brass dirhem; and I am a poor man, having with me neither much nor little: so leave this behaviour with me and take me to comrade. Let us go forth of the land of Irak and wander over the world, so haply we may win dower and marriage-portion and enjoy our cousins’ embraces.” When Subbah heard this, he was angry; his arrogance and heat redoubled and he said, “Out on thee, O vilest of dogs! Dost thou bandy words with me? Turn thy back, or I will chastise thee.” At this Kanmakan smiled and answered, “Why should I turn my back for thee? Is there no equity in thee? Dost thou not fear to bring reproach upon the Arabs by driving a man like myself captive, in dishonour and humiliation, before thou hast proved him in the field, to know if he be a warrior or a coward?” The Bedouin laughed and replied, “By Allah, I wonder at thee! Thou art a boy in years, but old in talk. These words should come from none but a doughty champion: what wantest thou of equity? “If thou wilt have me be thy captive, to serve thee,” said Kanmakan, “throw down thine arms and put off thine upper clothes and wrestle with me; and whichever of us throws the other shall have his will of him and make him his servant.” The other laughed and said, “I think thy much talk denotes the nearness of thy death.” Then he threw down his sword and tucking up his skirt, drew near unto Kanmakan, and they gripped each other. But the Bedouin found that Kanmakan had the better of him and outweighed him, as the quintal outweighs the dinar; and he looked at his legs and saw that they were as firmly planted as two well-builded minarets or two tent-poles driven into the ground or two immovable mountains. So he knew that he himself was not able to cope with him and repented of having come to wrestle with him, saying in himself, “Would I had fallen on him with my weapons!” Then Kanmakan took hold of him and mastering him shook him, till he thought his guts would burst in his belly and roared out, “Hold thy hand, O boy!” He heeded him not, but shook him again, and lifting him from the ground, made with him towards the stream, that he might throw him therein: whereupon the Bedouin cried out, saying, “O valiant man, what wilt thou do with me?” Quoth Kanmakan, “I mean to throw thee into this stream: it will carry thee to the Tigris. The Tigris will bring thee to the river Isa and the Isa to the Euphrates, and the Euphrates will bear thee to thine own country; so thy people will see thee and know thy manlihead and the sincerity of thy passion.” When Subbah heard this, he cried out and said, “O champion of the desert, do not with me the deed of the wicked, but let me go, by the life of thy cousin, the jewel of the fair!” With this, Kanmakan set him down; and when he found himself at liberty, he ran to his sword and buckler and taking them up, stood plotting in himself treachery and a sudden attack on Kanmakan. The latter read his intent in his eye and said to him, “I know what is in thy mind, now thou hast hold of thy sword and buckler. Thou hast neither strength nor skill for wrestling, but thou thinkest that, wert thou on horseback and couldst wheel about and ply me with thy sword, I had been slain long ago. But I will give thee thy will, so there may be no despite left in thy heart. Give me the buckler and fall on me with thy sword; either I shall kill thee or thou me.” “Here it is,” answered Subbah and throwing him the shield, drew his sword and rushed at him. Kanmakan took the buckler in his right hand and began to fend himself with it, whilst Subbah struck at him with the sword, saying at each stroke, “This is the finishing one!” But Kanmakan received all his blows on his buckler and they fell harmless, though he did not strike back again, having no weapon of offence; and Subbah ceased not to smite at him, till his arm was weary. When the prince saw this, he rushed at him and seizing him in his arms, shook him and threw him to the ground. Then he turned him over on his face and binding his arms behind him with the hangers of his sword, began to drag him by the feet towards the river: whereupon cried Subbah, “What wilt thou do with me, O youth and cavalier of the age and hero of the field?” “Did I not tell thee,” answered Kanmakan, “that it was my intent to send thee by the river to thy people and thy tribe, lest their hearts be troubled for thee and thou miss thy cousin’s bride-feast?” At this, Subbah shrieked aloud and wept and said, “Do not thus, O champion of the time! Let me go and make me one of thy servants.” And he wept and wailed and recited the following verses:
