Then the King said to Rasakósha in ecstasy and despair: My friend,
though owing to the answer of the Princess five days only now remain to
me, yet I would not have had to-day's answer otherwise for all my
kingdom; and freely do I forgive you. Oh! her confusion when she spoke
almost broke my heart in twain, and if I dared, I would venture to
think that she does not view me with indifference. But alas! how am I
to survive the period of separation! For all virtue has gone out of
the portrait, and from snow to cool my fever, it has now become a fire
to increase it. And the King passed the night in a state of
apprehension, alternately gazing at and flinging aside the portrait.
And when the sun rose, he rose also, and hardly managed to get through
the day with the aid of Rasakósha and the garden. And when the sun
set, they went again to the hall of audience. And there they saw the
Princess, clad in a robe of pearl-grey, and a bodice studded with
agates, and her crown and other ornaments, sitting on her throne. And
she looked shyly at the King, who sank upon a couch, speechless and
fascinated, under the spell of her beauty. Then Rasakósha came forward
and stood before her, and began again:
Lady, outside the wall of a certain city there was an old sacred banian
tree. And in its hollow root there lived a black cobra. And every day
it used to come out and lie in the sun before the tree, coiled round
upon itself, and the people brought it offerings of milk and sweetmeats.
Now in that city there lived a very rich jewel merchant, who had a very
beautiful daughter. And she was very fond of gems and precious stones,
of which she possessed a very great number. But there was one which
she had not got, and that was the jewel in the head of a snake. And
this she desired so much that she thought all her other jewels of no
account in comparison with it. And she heard of the sacred cobra, and
being filled with cupidity, she hired a man of the Dómba caste to go by
night and kill it, and bring her the gem in its hood. And when she had
obtained it, she considered that she had obtained the fruit of her
birth, and she valued it above all her other jewels, and wore it
incessantly as a crest-jewel in her hair.
But Wásuki[1] heard of the slaughter of his subject, and he was wroth,
and determined to punish the criminal. So he assumed the form of a
man, and went to that city. And he made enquiries, till at length he
discovered that a certain merchant's daughter possessed the hood-gem of
a snake. Then the lord of snakes assumed the form of a young and
handsome jewel merchant. And he hired a house, close to that of the
jewel merchant, and giving out that he was travelling on business, he
lived magnificently, and gave feasts and banquets to all whom he met.
And becoming acquainted with that jewel merchant, he charmed him by his
wealth and accomplishments, and gave him many rare and inestimable
jewels. And finally, he asked him for the hand of his daughter in
marriage. And the merchant joyfully consented, thinking that nowhere
in the world could he find such another son-in-law. And when he told
his daughter, she was beside herself with delight, for she had seen
that young merchant from a window, and heard of his great wealth and
accomplishments; and she thought she was going to get as it were the
very ocean itself for a husband[2].
Then an auspicious day was chosen, and the preparations for the wedding
went on: and every day the lord of snakes sent baskets of jewels to his
bride, whose senses almost left her in her joy. And at last the day
came, and the nuptial ceremony was over, and the bridegroom went with
his bride into the nuptial chamber. And he lifted her on to the
marriage bed, and called her by her name. And as she turned towards
him, he approached her slowly, with a smile on his face. And she
looked and saw, issuing from his mouth and disappearing alternately, a
long tongue, thin, forked, and quivering like that of a snake.
And in the morning the musicians played to waken the bride and
bridegroom. But the day went on, and they never came forth. Then the
merchant, her father, and his friends, after waiting a long time,
became alarmed, and went and broke the door, which was closed with a
lock. And there they saw the bride lying dead in the bed, alone, and
on her bosom were two small marks. And they saw no bridegroom. But a
black cobra crept out of the bed, and disappeared through a hole in the
wall[3].
So now, Princess, tell me, what was there in the snake's hood-jewel to
make that merchant's daughter so desirous of it? And Rasakósha ceased.
Then the Princess said: The attraction lay not in the jewel itself, nor
its magic properties. But in this that she had not got it. For this
is the nature of women, that they make light of what they have, and
sigh for what they have not got.
And when the Princess had spoken, she rose up and went out, looking at
the King with a deep sigh, and the King's heart went with her. But the
King and Rasakósha returned to their own apartments.
[1] The king of the snakes.
[2] _i.e._ 'the mine, or receptacle of jewels,' a common appellation of
the sea.
[3] The _dénouement_ of this story has a most singular resemblance to
that of Prosper Merimée's _Lokis_. But apparently he drew that
admirable story (as he did his _Carmen_ and his _Venus_) from older
sources, of Lithuanian, Gipsy, possibly even Hindoo origin.