THE TENDER STORY OF PRINCE JASMINE AND PRINCESS ALMOND
ON THE NINE HUNDRED AND NINETY-EIGHTH NIGHT
Doniazade, once the thing was over between the King and Sheherazade, cried from the place where she was huddled:
"O my sister, please, what are you still waiting for to begin the promised story of Prince Jasmine and Princess Almond?"
And Sheherazade, smiling, replied: “I only await permission from this well-bred and well-mannered King! Then King Schahriar said: “You can!"
Sheherazade started:
THE TENDER STORY OF PRINCE JASMINE AND PRINCESS ALMOND
It is narrated — but Allah the Exalted knows better! — that there was, in a country among the Muslim countries, an old king whose heart was like the ocean, whose intelligence was equal to that of Aflatoun, whose nature was that of the Sages, whose glory surpassed that of Faridoun, whose star was the very star of Iskandar, and happiness that of Khosroes Anouchirwan. And he had seven shining sons, like the seven stars of the Pleiades. But the youngest was the brightest and most beautiful. He was pink and white, and his name was Prince Jasmine.
And, verily, the lily and the rose faded in his presence. For he had the height of a cypress, a face of a new tulip, hair of violet, musky locks which were a sample of a thousand dark nights, a complexion of blond amber, curved darts for eyelashes, long eyes of narcissus; and two pistachios were her charming lips. As for his forehead, it was ashamed, by its brilliance, of the full moon, with which it smeared his face with blue; and her mouth, with its jeweled teeth and rosy tongue, secreted a sweet language that made you forget the sugar cane. Thus made, and sprightly, and bold, he was an idol of seduction to the eyes of lovers.
Now, Prince Jasmin was the one of the seven brothers who had custody of the innumerable herd of buffaloes of King Noujoum-Schah. And his dwelling was in the vast wastelands and pastures. And one day he was sitting watching his animals, playing the flute, when he saw a venerable dervish coming towards him who, after the salams, begged him to milk him a little milk. And Prince Jasmine answered: “O holy dervish, a sharp sorrow is in me not to be able to satisfy you. For I milked my buffaloes this morning, and it pains me not to have the means to quench your thirst at this moment. And the dervish said to him: “Invoke all the same, without delay, the name of Allah, and go and milk your buffaloes again. And the blessing will descend." And the narcissus-like prince answered by hearing and obedience, and went, pronouncing the formula of invocation, to the teat of his fairest beast. And the blessing descended; and the vase was filled with blue foaming milk. And the handsome Jasmine placed it before the dervish, who drank his thirst and was content.
And then he turned smiling towards the young prince, and said to him: “O delicate child, you have not nourished an infertile land, and nothing is more advantageous for you than what has just happened. Know, indeed, that I come to you as a messenger of love. And I see that you truly deserve the gift of love, which is the first of the gifts and the last, according to these words of the poet:
When nothing existed, love existed; and when there is nothing left,
Love will remain. He is the first and the last.
He is the bridge of truth; he is above all that can be said.
He is the companion in the corner of the tomb.
He is the ivy that clings to the tree and
Takes its beautiful green life from the heart that it devours."
Then the old dervish continued: “Yes, my son, I come to your heart as a messenger of love; but no one sent me but myself. And if I crossed the plains and the deserts, it was because I was looking for someone perfect enough to deserve to approach the magical young girl whom one morning, passing through a garden, I was given a glimpse." And he paused for a moment, then resumed: "Know indeed, O lighter than the zephyr, that in the kingdom bordering on this kingdom of your father Noujoum-Schah, lives in expectation of the youngster of his dream, waiting for you, O Jasmine, a houri of royal race, with the face of a fairy, shame of the moon, a unique pearl in the casket of excellence, a spring of freshness, a niche of beauty. Its delicate silver-colored body is molded like boxwood; a hairline waist; a sun port; a partridge gait. Her hair is hyacinth; his eyes are like the sabers of Isfahan; her cheeks are like, in the Koran, the verse of Beauty; his arcing eyebrows, like the surah of reed pen; his mouth, cut in a ruby, is astonishing; a small, dimpled apple is her chin, and the mole on it is a cure for the evil eye. Her very small ears are not ears but mines of kindness, and carry, suspended as earrings, the enamored hearts; and the ring of his nose — a hazelnut — compels the full moon to pass the buckle of slavery around its neck. As for the soles of her two little feet, it is quite charming. Her heart is a sealed vial of scent, and her mind is endowed with the supreme gift of intelligence. Let her advance, and it is the tumult of the resurrection! She is the daughter of King Akbar and is called Princess Almond; O blessed be the names which designate such creatures!"
And, having thus spoken, the old dervish took a long breath, then added...
At this point in her narration, Sheherazade saw the morning appear and quietly fell silent.
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