Chapter 15

His faltering breath protracted speech denied: Still from his eye-lids flowed a gushing tide; Through Rustem's soul redoubled horror ran, Heart-rending thoughts subdued the mighty man, And now, at last, with joy-illumined eye, The Zábul bands their glorious Chief descry; But when they saw his pale and haggard look, Knew from what mournful cause he gazed and shook, With downcast mien they moaned and wept aloud; While Rustem thus addressed the weeping crowd "Here ends the war! let gentle peace succeed, Enough of death, I--I have done the deed!" Then to his brother, groaning deep, he said-- "O what a curse upon a parent's head! But go--and to the Tartar say--no more, Let war between us steep the earth with gore." Zúára flew and wildly spoke his grief, To crafty Húmán, the Túránian Chief, Who, with dissembled sorrow, heard him tell The dismal tidings which he knew too well; "And who," he said, "has caused these tears to flow? Who, but Hujír? He might have stayed the blow, But when Sohráb his Father's banners sought; He still denied that here the Champion fought; He spread the ruin, he the secret knew, Hence should his crime receive the vengeance due!" Zúára, frantic, breathed in Rustem's ear, The treachery of the captive Chief, Hujír; Whose headless trunk had weltered on the strand, But prayers and force withheld the lifted hand. Then to his dying son the Champion turned, Remorse more deep within his bosom burned; A burst of frenzy fired his throbbing brain; He clenched his sword, but found his fury vain; The Persian Chiefs the desperate act represt, And tried to calm the tumult in his breast: Thus Gúdarz spoke--"Alas! wert thou to give Thyself a thousand wounds, and cease to live; What would it be to him thou sorrowest o'er? It would not save one pang--then weep no more; For if removed by death, O say, to whom Has ever been vouchsafed a different doom? All are the prey of death--the crowned, the low, And man, through life, the victim still of woe." Then Rustem: "Fly! and to the King relate, The pressing horrors which involve my fate; And if the memory of my deeds e'er swayed His mind, O supplicate his generous aid; A sovereign balm he has whose wondrous power, All wounds can heal, and fleeting life restore;[47] Swift from his tent the potent medicine bring." --But mark the malice of the brainless King! Hard as the flinty rock, he stern denies The healthful draught, and gloomy thus replies: "Can I forgive his foul and slanderous tongue? The sharp disdain on me contemptuous flung? Scorned 'midst my army by a shameless boy, Who sought my throne, my sceptre to destroy! Nothing but mischief from his heart can flow, Is it, then, wise to cherish such a foe? The fool who warms his enemy to life, Only prepares for scenes of future strife."

Gúdarz, returning, told the hopeless tale-- And thinking Rustem's presence might prevail; The Champion rose, but ere he reached the throne, Sohráb had breathed the last expiring groan.

Now keener anguish rack'd the father's mind, Reft of his son, a murderer of his kind; His guilty sword distained with filial gore, He beat his burning breast, his hair he tore; The breathless corse before his shuddering view, A shower of ashes o'er his head he threw; "In my old age," he cried, "what have I done? Why have I slain my son, my innocent son! Why o'er his splendid dawning did I roll The clouds of death--and plunge my burthened soul In agony? My son! from heroes sprung; Better these hands were from my body wrung; And solitude and darkness, deep and drear, Fold me from sight than hated linger here. But when his mother hears, with horror wild, That I have shed the life-blood of her child, So nobly brave, so dearly loved, in vain, How can her heart that rending shock sustain?"

Now on a bier the Persian warriors place The breathless Youth, and shade his pallid face; And turning from that fatal field away, Move towards the Champion's home in long array. Then Rustem, sick of martial pomp and show, Himself the spring of all this scene of woe, Doomed to the flames the pageantry he loved, Shield, spear, and mace, so oft in battle proved; Now lost to all, encompassed by despair; His bright pavilion crackling blazed in air; The sparkling throne the ascending column fed; In smoking fragments fell the golden bed; The raging fire red glimmering died away, And all the Warrior's pride in dust and ashes lay.

Káús, the King, now joins the mournful Chief, And tries to soothe his deep and settled grief; For soon or late we yield our vital breath, And all our worldly troubles end in death! "When first I saw him, graceful in his might, He looked far other than a Tartar knight; Wondering I gazed--now Destiny has thrown Him on thy sword--he fought, and he is gone; And should even Heaven against the earth be hurled, Or fire inwrap in crackling flames the world, That which is past--we never can restore, His soul has travelled to some happier shore. Alas! no good from sorrow canst thou reap, Then wherefore thus in gloom and misery weep?"

But Rustem's mighty woes disdained his aid, His heart was drowned in grief, and thus he said: "Yes, he is gone! to me for ever lost! O then protect his brave unguided host; From war removed and this detested place, Let them, unharmed, their mountain-wilds retrace; Bid them secure my brother's will obey, The careful guardian of their weary way,[48] To where the Jihún's distant waters stray." To this the King: "My soul is sad to see Thy hopeless grief--but, since approved by thee, The war shall cease--though the Túránian brand Has spread dismay and terror through the land."

The King, appeased, no more with vengeance burned, The Tartar legions to their homes returned; The Persian warriors, gathering round the dead, Grovelled in dust, and tears of sorrow shed; Then back to loved Irán their steps the monarch led.

But Rustem, midst his native bands, remained, And further rites of sacrifice maintained; A thousand horses bled at his command, And the torn drums were scattered o'er the sand; And now through Zábul's deep and bowery groves, In mournful pomp the sad procession moves. The mighty Chief on foot precedes the bier; His Warrior-friends, in grief assembled near: The dismal cadence rose upon the gale, And Zál astonished heard the piercing wail; He and his kindred joined the solemn train; Hung round the bier and wondering viewed the slain. "There gaze, and weep!" the sorrowing Father said, "For there, behold my glorious offspring dead!" The hoary Sire shrunk backward with surprise, And tears of blood o'erflowed his aged eyes; And now the Champion's rural palace gate Receives the funeral group in gloomy state; Rúdábeh loud bemoaned the Stripling's doom; Sweet flower, all drooping in the hour of bloom, His tender youth in distant bowers had past, Sheltered at home he felt no withering blast; In the soft prison of his mother's arms, Secure from danger and the world's alarms. O ruthless Fortune! flushed with generous pride, He sought his sire, and thus unhappy, died.

Rustem again the sacred bier unclosed; Again Sohráb to public view exposed; Husbands, and wives, and warriors, old and young, Struck with amaze, around the body hung, With garments rent and loosely flowing hair; Their shrieks and clamours filled the echoing air; Frequent they cried: "Thus Sám the Champion slept! Thus sleeps Sohráb!" Again they groaned, and wept.

Now o'er the corpse a yellow robe is spread, The aloes bier is closed upon the dead; And, to preserve the hapless hero's name, Fragrant and fresh, that his unblemished fame Might live and bloom through all succeeding days, A mound sepulchral on the spot they raise, Formed like a charger's hoof.

In every ear The story has been told--and many a tear, Shed at the sad recital. Through Túrán, Afrásiyáb's wide realm, and Samengán, Deep sunk the tidings--nuptial bower, and bed, And all that promised happiness, had fled!

But when Tahmíneh heard this tale of woe, Think how a mother bore the mortal blow! Distracted, wild, she sprang from place to place; With frenzied hands deformed her beauteous face; The musky locks her polished temples crowned. Furious she tore, and flung upon the ground; Starting, in agony of grief, she gazed-- Her swimming eyes to Heaven imploring raised; And groaning cried: "Sole comfort of my life! Doomed the sad victim of unnatural strife, Where art thou now with dust and blood defiled? Thou darling boy, my lost, my murdered child! When thou wert gone--how, night and lingering day, Did thy fond mother watch the time away; For hope still pictured all I wished to see, Thy father found, and thou returned to me, Yes--thou, exulting in thy father's fame! And yet, nor sire nor son, nor tidings, came: How could I dream of this? ye met--but how? That noble aspect--that ingenuous brow, Moved not a nerve in him--ye met--to part, Alas! the life-blood issuing from the heart Short was the day which gave to me delight, Soon, soon, succeeds a long and dismal night; On whom shall now devolve my tender care? Who, loved like thee, my bosom-sorrows share? Whom shall I take to fill thy vacant place, To whom extend a mother's soft embrace? Sad fate! for one so young, so fair, so brave, Seeking thy father thus to find a grave. These arms no more shall fold thee to my breast, No more with thee my soul be doubly blest; No, drowned in blood thy lifeless body lies, For ever torn from these desiring eyes; Friendless, alone, beneath a foreign sky, Thy mail thy death-clothes--and thy father, by; Why did not I conduct thee on the way, And point where Rustem's bright pavilion lay? Thou hadst the tokens--why didst thou withhold Those dear remembrances--that pledge of gold? Hadst thou the bracelet to his view restored, Thy precious blood had never stained his sword."

The strong emotion choked her panting breath, Her veins seemed withered by the cold of death: The trembling matrons hastening round her mourned, With piercing cries, till fluttering life returned; Then gazing up, distraught, she wept again, And frantic, seeing 'midst her pitying train, The favourite steed--now more than ever dear, The hoofs she kissed, and bathed with many a tear; Clasping the mail Sohráb in battle wore, With burning lips she kissed it o'er and o'er; His martial robes she in her arms comprest, And like an infant strained them to her breast; The reins, and trappings, club, and spear, were brought, The sword, and shield, with which the Stripling fought, These she embraced with melancholy joy, In sad remembrance of her darling boy. And still she beat her face, and o'er them hung, As in a trance--or to them wildly clung-- Day after day she thus indulged her grief, Night after night, disdaining all relief; At length worn out--from earthly anguish riven, The mother's spirit joined her child in Heaven.

THE STORY OF SAIÁWUSH

Early one morning as the cock crew, Tús arose, and accompanied by Gíw and Gúdarz and a company of horsemen, proceeded on a hunting excursion, not far from the banks of the Jihún, where, after ranging about the forest for some time, they happened to fall in with a damsel of extreme beauty, with smiling lips, blooming cheeks, and fascinating mien. They said to her:

"Never was seen so sweet a flower, In garden, vale, or fairy bower; The moon is on thy lovely face, Thy cypress-form is full of grace; But why, with charms so soft and meek, Dost thou the lonely forest seek?"

She replied that her father was a violent man, and that she had left her home to escape his anger. She had crossed the river Jihún, and had travelled several leagues on foot, in consequence of her horse being too much fatigued to bear her farther. She had at that time been three days in the forest. On being questioned respecting her parentage, she said her father's name was Shíwer, of the race of Feridún. Many sovereigns had been suitors for her hand, but she did not approve of one of them. At last he wanted to marry her to Poshang, the ruler of Túrán, but she refused him on account of his ugliness and bad temper! This she said was the cause of her father's violence, and of her flight from home.

"But when his angry mood is o'er, He'll love his daughter as before; And send his horsemen far and near, To take me to my mother dear; Therefore, I would not further stray, But here, without a murmur, stay."

The hearts of both Tús and Gíw were equally inflamed with love for the damsel, and each was equally determined to support his own pretensions, in consequence of which a quarrel arose between them. At length it was agreed to refer the matter to the king, and to abide by his decision. When, however, the king beheld the lovely object of contention, he was not disposed to give her to either claimant, but without hesitation took her to himself, after having first ascertained that she was of distinguished family and connection. In due time a son was born to him, who was, according to the calculations of the astrologers, of wonderful promise, and named Saiáwush. The prophecies about his surprising virtues, and his future renown, made Káús anxious that justice should be done to his opening talents, and he was highly gratified when Rustem agreed to take him to Zábulistán, and there instruct him in all the accomplishments which were suitable to his illustrious rank. He was accordingly taught horsemanship and archery, how to conduct himself at banquets, how to hunt with the falcon and the leopard, and made familiar with the manners and duty of kings, and the hardy chivalry of the age. His progress in the attainment of every species of knowledge and science was surprising, and in hunting he never stooped to the pursuit of animals inferior to the lion or the tiger. It was not long before the youth felt anxious to pay a visit to his father, and Rustem willingly complying with his wishes, accompanied his accomplished pupil to the royal court, where they were both received with becoming distinction, Saiáwush having fulfilled Káús's expectations in the highest degree, and the king's gratitude to the champion being in proportion to the eminent merit of his services on the interesting occasion. After this, however, preceptors were continued to enlighten his mind seven years longer, and then he was emancipated from further application and study.

One day Súdáveh, the daughter of the Sháh of Hámáverán, happening to see Saiáwush sitting with his father, the beauty of his person made an instantaneous impression on her heart,

The fire of love consumed her breast, The thoughts of him denied her rest. For him alone she pined in grief, From him alone she sought relief, And called him to her secret bower, To while away the passing hour: But Saiáwush refused the call, He would not shame his father's hall.

The enamoured Súdáveh, however, was not to be disappointed without further effort, and on a subsequent day she boldly went to the king, and praising the character and attainments of his son, proposed that he should be united in marriage to one of the damsels of royal lineage under her care. For the pretended purpose therefore of making his choice, she requested he might be sent to the harem, to see all the ladies and fix on one the most suited to his taste. The king approved of the proposal, and intimated it to Saiáwush; but Saiáwush was modest, timid, and bashful, and mentally suspected in this overture some artifice of Súdáveh. He accordingly hesitated, but the king overcame his scruples, and the youth at length repaired to the shubistán, as the retired apartments of the women are called, with fear and trembling. When he entered within the precincts of the sacred place, he was surprised by the richness and magnificence of everything that struck his sight. He was delighted with the company of beautiful women, and he observed Súdáveh sitting on a splendid throne in an interior chamber, like Heaven in beauty and loveliness, with a coronet on her head, and her hair floating round her in musky ringlets. Seeing him she descended gracefully, and clasping him in her arms, kissed his eyes and face with such ardor and enthusiasm that he thought proper to retire from her endearments and mix among the other damsels, who placed him on a golden chair and kept him in agreeable conversation for some time. After this pleasing interview he returned to the king, and gave him a very favorable account of his reception, and the heavenly splendor of the retirement, worthy of Jemshíd, Feridún, or Húsheng, which gladdened his father's heart. Káús repeated to him his wish that he would at once choose one of the lights of the harem for his wife, as the astrologers had prophesied on his marriage the birth of a prince. But Saiáwush endeavored to excuse himself from going again to Súdáveh's apartments. The king smiled at his weakness, and assured him that Súdáveh was alone anxious for his happiness, upon which the youth found himself again in her power. She was surrounded by the damsels as before, but, whilst his eyes were cast down, they shortly disappeared, leaving him and the enamoured Súdáveh together. She soon approached him, and lovingly said:--

"O why the secret keep from one, Whose heart is fixed on thee alone! Say who thou art, from whom descended, Some Peri with a mortal blended. For every maid who sees that face, That cypress-form replete with grace, Becomes a victim to the wiles Which nestle in those dimpled smiles; Becomes thy own adoring slave, Whom nothing but thy love can save."

To this Saiáwush made no reply. The history of the adventure of Káús at Hámáverán, and what the king and his warriors endured in consequence of the treachery of the father of Súdáveh, flashed upon his mind. He therefore was full of apprehension, and breathed not a word in answer to her fondness. Súdáveh observing his silence and reluctance, threw away from herself the veil of modesty,

And said: "O be my own, for I am thine, And clasp me in thy arms!" And then she sprang To the astonished boy, and eagerly Kissed his deep crimsoned cheek, which filled his soul With strange confusion. "When the king is dead, O take me to thyself; see how I stand, Body and soul devoted unto thee." In his heart he said: "This never can be: This is a demon's work--shall I be treacherous? What! to my own dear father? Never, never; I will not thus be tempted by the devil; Yet must I not be cold to this wild woman, For fear of further folly."

Saiáwush then expressed his readiness to be united in marriage to her daughter, and to no other; and when this intelligence was conveyed to Káús by Súdáveh herself, His Majesty was extremely pleased, and munificently opened his treasury on the happy occasion. But Súdáveh still kept in view her own design, and still laboring for its success, sedulously read her own incantations to prevent disappointment, at any rate to punish the uncomplying youth if she failed. On another day she sent for him, and exclaimed:--

"I cannot now dissemble; since I saw thee I seem to be as dead--my heart all withered. Seven years have passed in unrequited love-- Seven long, long years. O! be not still obdurate, But with the generous impulse of affection, Oh, bless my anxious spirit, or, refusing, Thy life will be in peril; thou shalt die!" "Never," replied the youth; "O, never, never; Oh, ask me not, for this can never be."

Saiáwush then rose to depart precipitately, but Súdáveh observing him, endeavored to cling round him and arrest his flight. The endeavor, however, was fruitless; and finding at length her situation desperate, she determined to turn the adventure into her own favor, by accusing Saiáwush of an atrocious outrage on her own person and virtue. She accordingly tore her dress, screamed aloud, and rushed out of her apartment to inform Káús of the indignity she had suffered. Among her women the most clamorous lamentations arose, and echoed on every side. The king, on hearing that Saiáwush had preferred Súdáveh to her daughter, and that he had meditated so abominable an offence, thought that death alone could expiate his crime. He therefore summoned him to his presence; but satisfied that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to ascertain the truth of the case from either party concerned, he had recourse to a test which he thought would be infallible and conclusive. He first smelt the hands of Saiáwush, and then his garments, which had the scent of rose-water; and then he took the garments of Súdáveh, which, on the contrary, had a strong flavor of wine and musk. Upon this discovery, the king resolved on the death of Súdáveh, being convinced of the falsehood of the accusation she had made against his son. But when his indignation subsided, he was induced on various accounts to forego that resolution. Yet he said to her, "I am sure that Saiáwush is innocent, but let that remain concealed."--Súdáveh, however, persisted in asserting his guilt, and continually urged him to punish the reputed offender, but without being attended to.

At length he resolved to ascertain the innocence of Saiáwush by the ordeal of fire; and the fearless youth prepared to undergo the terrible trial to which he was sentenced, telling his father to be under no alarm.

"The truth (and its reward I claim), Will bear me safe through fiercest flame."

A tremendous fire was accordingly lighted on the adjacent plain, which blazed to an immense distance. The youth was attired in his golden helmet and a white robe, and mounted on a black horse. He put up a prayer to the Almighty for protection, and then rushed amidst the conflagration, as collectedly as if the act had been entirely free from peril. When Súdáveh heard the confused exclamations that were uttered at that moment, she hurried upon the terrace of the palace and witnessed the appalling sight, and in the fondness of her heart, wished even that she could share his fate, the fate of him of whom she was so deeply enamoured. The king himself fell from his throne in horror on seeing him surrounded and enveloped in the flames, from which there seemed no chance of extrication; but the gallant youth soon rose up, like the moon from the bursting element, and went through the ordeal unharmed and untouched by the fire. Káús, on coming to his senses, rejoiced exceedingly on the happy occasion, and his severest anger was directed against Súdáveh, whom he now determined to put to death, not only for her own guilt, but for exposing his son to such imminent danger. The noble youth, however, interceded for her. Súdáveh, notwithstanding, still continued to practise her charms and incantations in secret, to the end that Saiáwush might be put out of the way; and in this pursuit she was indeed indefatigable.