For a mighty warrior, the pride of his day,
Who loved, and married, and rode away,
For this is the romance of Rustem.
Behold, it is written, that never in the Garden of Kings bloomed there a fairer flower than Tamineh, only Princess of the house of Samengan. Fresh and sweet as a nosegay of lilies and pinks, this beauteous pomegranate flower, with her laughing dark eyes, her blue-black curls, and her soft, velvety voice was indeed a joy to behold, and many there were who loved her.
But alas! the Princess was wilful, as well as fair, and so, though she had many suitors from far and near, she was attracted by none of them. For lo! her eye was fixed and her heart was set upon a bright, particular star, blazing away with more than heavenly splendor, in far, far-off Persia. So, when her father would have married her unto this or that great Prince, half laughing, half earnest, she would say:
“Nay, nay, my father! One man only will I marry, and that is Rustem, the hero whose mighty prowess is exceeded only by his grandeur of soul.”
Now as it happened, the King of Samengan was feudatory unto Afrasiab, the deadly enemy of Iran, and though the two countries were now at peace, the probability that Rustem, the great Persian Pehliva, would ever visit the small kingdom of Samengan, or even so much as hear of the beautiful Tartar Princess, seemed most unlikely; therefore, when Tamineh thus spoke of Rustem, the King chided, saying unto her:
“Foolish child! Verily, as well mightst thou cry for the moon as to set thy heart upon so distant and so bright a star. For lo! the southern palm stretcheth forth not its arms unto the northern pine; neither doth the lion mate with the gazelle. Cast, therefore, O Pearl of my Heart, this hero from thy thoughts, since only grief and pain can it bring unto thee, forever to dream of the unattainable.”
But this Tamineh could not do, for Rustem had become a part of her life, both waking and dreaming, as you shall hear. For it happened that the Princess had for her nurse a Persian woman, Fatima by name, who loved nothing so well as to talk of the great champion of her country, so that from childhood up had the Tartar maiden heard the wonder tales of her hero. Yea, the most beautiful part of every day unto her, as far back as she could remember, was the twilight hour, when, seated at her nurse’s feet, her head pillowed in her soft lap, for hours she would sit spellbound, listening eagerly unto Fatima as she related the mighty deeds of Rustem: How, when only eight years old, he slew the King’s white elephant; of the capture of the magic fortress; of his wonderful march into Mazinderan; of Rakush; and of all his daring deeds as a warrior.
And behold! Fatima had also other things to relate of her hero: tales illustrating his beautiful tenderness, loyalty, and greatness of soul. And as the Princess grew older, these stories appealed more to her than the wonder tales or the deeds of prowess; but all was listened to with eagerness and delight by the infatuated Tamineh, who, thus fed upon romance, grew into a tall, beautiful maiden with never a thought for any man save Rustem the Mighty.