Kummir al Zummaun thanked the king in the most humble expressions, that he might the better shew his gratitude. “As for my condition,” said he, “I must own I am not an astrologer, as your majesty has guessed; I only put on the habit of one, that I might succeed the more easily in my ambition to be allied to the most potent monarch in the world. I was born a prince, and the son of a king and of a queen; my name is Kummir al Zummaun; my father is Shaw Zummaun, who now reigns over the islands that are well known by the name of the Islands of the Children of Khaledan.” He then related to him his history, and how wonderful had been the origin of his love; that the princess’s was altogether as marvellous; and that both were confirmed by the exchange of the two rings.
When the prince had done speaking, the king said to him, “This history is so extraordinary, it deserves to be known to posterity; I will take care it shall; and the original being deposited in my royal archives, I will spread copies of it abroad, that my own kingdoms and the kingdoms around me may know it.”
The marriage was solemnized the same day, and the rejoicings were universal all over the empire of China. Nor was Marzavan forgotten: the king gave him an honourable post in his court, and a promise of further advancement.
The prince and princess enjoyed the fulness of their wishes in the sweets of marriage; and the king kept continual feastings for several months, to manifest his joy on the occasion.
In the midst of these pleasures Kummir al Zummaun dreamt one night that he saw his father on his bed at the point of death, and heard him thus address his attendants: “My son, to whom I gave birth; my son, whom I so tenderly loved whom I bred with so much fondness, so much care, has abandoned me, and is himself the cause of my death.” He awoke with a profound sigh, which alarmed the princess, who asked him the cause.
“Alas! my love,” replied the prince, “perhaps at the very moment while I am speaking, the king my father is no more.” He then acquainted her with his melancholy dream, which occasioned him so much uneasiness. The princess, who studied to please him in every thing, went to her father the next day, kissed his hand, and thus addressed him: “I have a favour to beg of your majesty, and I beseech you not to deny me; but that you may not believe I ask it at the solicitation of the prince my husband, I assure you beforehand he knows nothing of my request: it is, that you will grant me your permission to go with him and visit his father.”
“Daughter,” replied the king, “though I shall be sorry to part with you for so long a time as a journey to a place so distant will require, yet I cannot disapprove of your resolution; it is worthy of yourself: go, child, I give you leave, but on condition that you stay no longer than a year in Shaw Zummaun’s court. I hope the king will agree to this, that we shall alternately see, he his son and his daughter-in-law, and I my daughter and my son-in-law.”
The princess communicated the king of China’s consent to her husband, who was transported to receive it, and returned her thanks for this new token of her love.
The king of China gave orders for preparations to be made for their departure; and when all things were ready, he accompanied the prince and princess several days’ journey on their way; they parted at length with much affliction on both sides: the king embraced them; and having desired the prince to be kind to his daughter, and to love her always with the same tenderness he now did, he left them to proceed, and to divert himself, hunted as he returned to his capital.
When the prince and princess had recovered from their grief, they comforted themselves with considering how glad Shaw Zummaun would be to see them, and how they should rejoice to see the king.
After travelling about a month, they one day entered a plain of great extent, planted at convenient distances with tall trees, forming an agreeable shade. The day being unusually hot, the prince thought it best to encamp there, and proposed it to Badoura, who, having the same wish, the more readily consented. They alighted in one of the finest spots; a tent was presently set up; the princess, rising from the shade under which she had sat down, entered it. The prince then ordered his attendants to pitch their tents, and went himself to give directions. The princess, weary with the fatigues of the journey, bade her women untie her girdle, which they laid down by her; and she falling asleep, they left her alone.
Kummir al Zummaun having seen all things in order, came to the tent where the princess was sleeping: he entered, and sat down without making any noise, intending to repose himself; but observing the princess’s girdle lying by her, he took it up, and looked at the diamonds and rubies one by one. In viewing it he observed a little purse hanging to it, sewed neatly on the stuff, and tied fast with a riband; he felt it, and found it contained something solid. Desirous to know what it was, he opened the purse, and took out a cornelian, engraven with unknown figures and characters. “This cornelian,” said the prince to himself, “must be something very valuable, or my princess would not carry it with so much care.” It was Badoura’s talisman, which the queen of China had given her daughter as a charm, that would keep her, as she said, from any harm as long as she had it about her.
The prince, the better to look at the talisman, took it out to the light, the tent being dark; and while he was holding it up in his hand, a bird darted down from the air and snatched it away from him.
One will easily conceive the concern and grief of the prince, when he saw the bird fly away with the talisman. He was more troubled than words can express, and cursed his unseasonable curiosity, by which his dear princess had lost a treasure, that was so precious, and so valued by her.
The bird having got its prize, settled on the ground not far off, with the talisman in its mouth. The prince drew near it, hoping it would drop it; but as he approached, the bird took wing, and settled again on the ground further off. Kummir al Zummaun followed, and the bird took a further flight: the prince being very dexterous at a mark, thought to kill it with a stone, and still pursued; the further it flew, the more eager he grew in pursuing, keeping it always in view. Thus the bird drew him along from hill to valley, and valley to hill, all the day, every step leading him out of the way from the plain where he had left his camp and the princess Badoura: and instead of perching at night on a bush, where he might probably have taken it, roosted on a high tree, safe from his pursuit. The prince, vexed to the heart at having taken so much pains to no purpose, thought of returning; “But,” said he to himself, “which way shall I return? Shall I go down the hills and valleys which I have passed overt’ Shall I wander in darkness? and will my strength bear me out? How shall I dare appear before my princess without her talisman?” Overwhelmed with such thoughts, and tired with the pursuit, sleep came upon him, and he lay down under a tree, where he passed the night.
He awoke the next morning before the bird had left the tree, and as soon as he saw it on the wing, followed it again the whole of that day, with no better success than he had done the last, eating nothing but herbs and fruits as he went. He did the same for ten days together, pursuing the bird, and keeping it in view from morning to night, lying always under the tree where it roosted. On the eleventh day, the bird continued flying, and Kummir al Zummaun pursuing it, came near a great city. When the bird had reached the walls, it flew over them, and the prince saw no more of it; so that he despaired of ever recovering the princess Badoura’s talisman.
The prince, whose grief was beyond expression, went into the city, which was built on the seaside, and had a fine port; he walked up and down the streets without knowing where he was, or where to stop. At last he came to the port, in as great uncertainty as ever what he should do. Walking along the shore, he perceived the gate of a garden open, and an old gardener at work in it; the good man looking up, saw he was a stranger and a Moosulmaun, and asked him to come in, and shut the door after him.
Kummir al Zummaun entered, and demanded of the gardener why he was so cautious? “Because,” replied the old man, “I see you are a stranger newly arrived; and this city is inhabited for the most part by idolaters, who have
a mortal aversion to us Moosulmauns, and treat a few of us that are here with great barbarity. I suppose you did not know this, and it is a miracle that you have escaped as you have thus far: these idolaters being very apt to fall upon strangers, or draw them into a snare. I bless God, who has brought you into a place of safety.”
Kummir al Zummaun thanked the honest gardener for his advice, and the security he offered him in his house; he would have said more, but the good man interrupted him, saying, “Let us leave complimenting; you are weary, and must want to refresh yourself. Come in, and rest.” He conducted him into his little hut; and after the prince had eaten heartily of what he set before him, with a cordiality that charmed him, he requested him to relate how he had come there.
The prince complied; and when he had finished his story, without concealing any part of it, asked him which was the nearest route to his father’s territories; saying, “It is in vain for me to think of finding my princess where I left her, after wandering eleven days from the spot by so extraordinary an adventure. Ah!” continued he, “how do I know she is alive?” and saying this, he burst into tears. The gardener replied, “There was no possibility of his going thither by land, the ways were so difficult, and the journey so long; besides, there was no accommodation for his subsistence; or, if there were, he must necessarily pass through the countries of so many barbarous nations, that he would never reach his father’s. It was a year’s journey from the city where he then was to any country inhabited only by Moosulmauns; that the quickest passage for him would be to go to the isle of Ebene, whence he might easily transport himself to the isles of the children of Khaledan; that a ship sailed from the port every year to Ebene, and he might take that opportunity of returning to those islands.” “The ship departed,” said he, “but a few days ago; if you had come a little sooner, you might have taken your passage in it. You must wait till it makes the voyage again, and if you will stay with me and accept of my house, such as it is, you shall be as welcome to it as to your own.”
The prince was glad he had met with such an asylum, in a place where he had no acquaintance. He accepted the offer, and lived with the gardener till the time arrived that the ship was to sail to the isle of Ebene. He spent the interval in working by day in the garden, and passing the night in sighs, tears, and complaints, thinking of his dear princess Badoura. We must leave him in this place, to return to the princess, whom we left asleep in her tent.
The princess slept a long time, and when she awoke, wondered that the prince was not with her; she called her women, and asked if they knew where he was. They told her they saw him enter the tent, but did not see him go out. While they were talking to her, she took up her girdle, found her little purse open, and that the talisman was gone. She did not doubt but that the prince had taken it to see what it was, and that he would bring it back with him. She waited for him impatiently till night, and could not imagine what made him stay away from her so long.
When it was quite dark, and she could hear no tidings of him, she fell into violent grief: she cursed the talisman, and him that made it; and, had not she been restrained by duty, would have cursed the queen her mother, who had given her such a fatal present. She was the more troubled, because she could not imagine how her talisman should have caused the prince’s separation from her; she did not however lose her judgment, and came to a courageous resolution, not common with persons of her sex.
Only herself and her women knew of the prince’s absence; for his men were reposing or asleep in their tents. The princess, fearing they would betray her, if they had any knowledge of this circumstance, moderated her grief, and forbade her women to say or do any thing that might create the least suspicion. She then laid aside her own habit, and put on one of Kummir al Zummaun’s. She was so much like him, that the next day, when she came abroad, the male attendants took her for the prince.
She commanded them to pack up their baggage and begin their march; and when all things were ready, she ordered one of her women to go into her litter, she herself mounting on horseback, and riding by her side.
She travelled several months by land and sea; the princess continuing the journey under the name of Kummir al Zummaun. They touched at Ebene in their way to the isles of the children of Khaledan, and went to the capital of the island, where a king reigned, whose name was Armanos. The persons who first landed, giving out that the ship carried prince Kummir al Zummaun, who was returning from a long voyage, and was forced in by a storm, the news of his arrival was soon carried to court.
King Armanos, accompanied by his courtiers’ went immediately to wait on the prince, and met the princess just as she was landing, and going to the palace that had been prepared for her. He received her as the son of a king, who was his friend, and with whom he always kept up a good understanding: he conducted her to the palace, where an apartment was prepared for her and all her attendants; though she would fain have excused herself. He shewed her all possible honour, and entertained her three days together with extraordinary magnificence. At the end of this time king Armanos understanding that the princess intended proceeding on her voyage, charmed with the air and qualities of such an accomplished prince, as he supposed her, took an opportunity when she was alone, and spoke to her in this manner: “You see, prince, that I am old, and to my great mortification have not a son to whom I may leave my crown. Heaven has only blest me with one daughter, whose beauty cannot be better matched than with a prince of your rank and accomplishments. Instead of going home, stay and accept my crown, which I will resign in your favour. It is time for me to rest, and nothing could be a greater pleasure to me in my retirement, than to see my people ruled by so worthy a successor to my throne.”
The king’s offer to bestow his only daughter in marriage, and with her his kingdom, on the princess Badoura, put her into unexpected perplexity. She thought it would not become a princess of her rank to undeceive the king, and to own that she was not prince Kummir al Zummaun, whose part she had hitherto acted so well. She was also afraid to decline the honour he offered her, lest, being so much bent upon the conclusion of the marriage, his kindness might turn to aversion, and he might attempt something even against her life.
These considerations, added to the prospect of obtaining a kingdom for the prince her husband, in case she found him again, determined her to accept the proposal of king Armanos, and marry his daughter. After having stood silent for some minutes, she with blushes, which the king took for a sign of modesty, answered, “I am infinitely obliged to your majesty for your good opinion of me, for the honour you do me, and the great favour you offer, which I cannot pretend to merit, and dare not refuse.”
“But,” continued she, “I cannot accept this great alliance on any other condition, than that your majesty will assist me with your counsels, and that I do nothing without having first obtained your approbation.”
The marriage treaty being thus concluded, the ceremony was put off till the next day. In the mean time princess Badoura gave notice to her officers, who still took her for their prince, of what she was about to do, that they might not be surprised, assuring them the princess Badoura consented. She talked also to her women, and charged them to continue to keep the secret she had entrusted to them.
The king of the isle of Ebene, rejoicing that he had found a son-in-law so much to his satisfaction, next morning summoned his council, and acquainted them with his design of marrying his daughter to prince Kummir al Zummaun, whom he introduced to them, and told them he resigned the crown to him, and required them to acknowledge him for their king, and swear fealty to him. Having said this, he descended from his throne, and the princess Badoura, by his order, ascended it. As soon as the council broke up, the new king was proclaimed through the city, rejoicings were appointed for several days, and couriers despatched over all the kingdom, to see the same ceremonies observed with the usual demonstrations of joy.
At night there were extraordinary feastings at the palace, and the princess Haiatalnefous was conduct
ed to the princess Badoura, whom every body took for a man, dressed like a royal bride: the wedding was solemnized with the utmost splendour: they were left together, and retired to bed. In the morning, while the princess Badoura went to receive the compliments of the nobility in the hall of audience, where they congratulated her on her marriage and accession to the throne, king Armanos and his queen went to the apartment of their daughter to inquire after her health. Instead of answering, she held down her head, and by her looks they saw plainly enough that she was disappointed.
King Armanos, to comfort the princess Haiatalnefous, bade her not be troubled. “Prince Kummir al Zummaun,” said he, “when he landed here might think only of going to his father’s court. Though we have engaged him to stay by arguments, with which he ought to be well satisfied, yet it is probable he grieves at being so suddenly deprived of the hopes of seeing either his father or any of his family. You must wait till those first emotions of filial love are over; he will then conduct himself towards you as a good husband ought to do.”
The princess Badoura, under the name and character of Kummir al Zummaun, the king of Ebene, spent the whole day in receiving the compliments of the courtiers and the nobility of the kingdom who were in and about the city, and in reviewing the regular troops of her household; and entered on the administration of affairs with so much dignity and judgment, that she gained the general applause of all who were witnesses of her conduct.
It was evening before she returned to queen Haiatalnefous’s apartment, and she perceived by the reception she gave her, that the bride was not at all pleased with the preceding night. She endeavoured to dissipate her grief by a long conversation, in which she employed all the wit she had (and she possessed a good share), to persuade her she loved her entirely. She then gave her time to go to bed, and while she was undressing she went to her devotions; her prayers were so long, that queen Haiatalnefous was asleep before they were ended. She then left off, and lay down softly by the new queen, without waking her, and was as much afflicted at being forced to act a part which did not belong to her, as in the loss of her dear Kummir al Zummaun, for whom she: ceased not to sigh. She rose as soon as it was day, before Haiatalnefous was awake; and, being dressed in her royal robes as king, went to council.
One Thousand and One Nights Page 61
