path: root/56464-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 56464 ***













                    The World’s Greatest Literature


    The Masterpieces of the World’s Greatest Authors in _History_,
_Biography_, _Philosophy_, _Economics_, _Politics_; _Epic and Dramatic
  Literature_, _History of English Literature_, _Oriental Literature
  (Sacred and Profane)_, _Orations_, _Essays_. Sixty-one Crown Octavo
                                Volumes

ILLUSTRATED WITH FRONTISPIECES, EACH A MASTER WORK OF ART IN PORTRAITURE
                         OR HISTORIC PAINTING


                                Editors


                          _LIBRARY COMMITTEE_

                         JUSTIN McCARTHY, M.P.
                      _Historian and Journalist_

                      TIMOTHY DWIGHT, D.D., LL.D.
                    _Ex-President Yale University_

                        RICHARD HENRY STODDARD
                          _Author and Critic_

                          PAUL VAN DYKE, D.D.
                        _Princeton University_

                          ALBERT ELLERY BERGH
                           _Managing Editor_


                         _ADVISORY COMMITTEE_

                            JOHN T. MORGAN
                        _United States Senate_

                      FREDERIC R. COUDERT, LL.D.
                            _New York Bar_

                          EDWARD EVERETT HALE
                          _Author and Editor_

                      MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN, LL.D.
                   _Catholic University of America_

                           JULIAN HAWTHORNE
                           _Literary Editor_

                 [Illustration: Sword Dance in a Café

_Photogravure from the original painting by Jean Léon Gérôme, exhibited
                       in the Paris Salon, 1888_

This fine picture is a thoroughly characteristic specimen of the work of
the most popular of modern French artists. Oriental subjects especially
  attracted him, as he had an eye for striking figures and brilliant
                  colors. He died January 10, 1904.]




                          TURKISH LITERATURE

                              COMPRISING

             FABLES, BELLES-LETTRES, AND SACRED TRADITIONS

              TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH FOR THE FIRST TIME

                    WITH A SPECIAL INTRODUCTION BY

                        EPIPHANIUS WILSON, A.M.

                            REVISED EDITION

                               NEW YORK

                          P. F. COLLIER & SON

                 COPYRIGHT, 1901 BY THE COLONIAL PRESS




SPECIAL INTRODUCTION


The national literature of Turkey is something with which the European
and American mind is by no means familiar, and, indeed, it has only
recently become a distinctive feature in the world’s intellectual
activity. Turkey is really an oriental country transplanted into a
European environment, and the truest affinities of Turkey are with the
far East, with Arabia and Persia. There are at least twenty-five written
languages used in the Ottoman Empire, and Turkish is sometimes written
in Arabian, sometimes in Persian characters, yet in spite of the babel
of tongues which is found at Constantinople, the strong individuality of
the Turk has manifested itself in literature as it has in politics and
government, and there exists a considerable amount of epic and lyric
poetry, drama, romance and apologue which is neither Arabian nor
Persian, but is racy of the soil, the soil being principally that of
Constantinople, where the Sultans, up to the present time, have been
eminent patrons of the literary craft; some of them, Sultan Mustapha,
for instance, in the sixteenth century, being writers of no mean
accomplishments.

It is usual to divide the history of Turkish literature into three
periods. The primitive literature of Turkey flourished between the years
1301 and 1520, during which time the Persian influence was paramount in
the romantic and mystic productions of the Ottoman poets. The Shah-Nameh
furnished many of the heroes to these Ottoman romances, and the forms of
versification are all borrowed from Iran. “The Divan” and “History of
the Forty Vezirs” belong to this period.

The middle period of Ottoman literature extends from 1520 to 1730. This
is sometimes called the classic period, because in it the capabilities
of the genuine Turkish language were tested, developed, and fixed. It
opened with the reign of Suleyman I, whose splendid achievements, as a
warrior by land and sea, won him the name of the Brilliant. The general
history of literature teaches us that national triumph in war always
gives a stimulus to national literature, and accordingly this era is
adorned by the works of Fasli, and of a host of other poets, whose
productions will be found represented in the translations contained in
the present volume.

The third period of Ottoman literature shows the Turkish writers under
the influence of European models, but ending at last in Drama,
essentially the comedy of manners, and not of European, but of Turkish
manners. The plays of Mirza Feth-Ali Akhoud-Zaidé, of one of which we
publish a translation in this volume, reflect domestic, forensic, and
official life at Constantinople during the last century as truly as
those of Molière reflect the speech and manners of Parisian society as
they existed in the reign of _le grand monarque_. The last development
of literary activity at Constantinople is shown not only by the
developments of the drama, but by the vigor displayed in the domain of
journalism.

The Ottoman poems, of which we give the only English translation extant,
that by E. J. W. Gibb, reveal the high rank taken by Turkish verse in
the poesy of the East. The Turkish metres were many and varied, and the
flexibility of the language lent itself to intricate forms of
composition. In imagination and passion these Ottoman poems will hold
their own in any company.

“The Rose and the Nightingale” of Fasli, which has been for the first
time translated into English in the present volume, is the elaboration
of an ancient Persian myth with regard to the loves of Gul and Bulbul.
There are numberless allusions to this beautiful fable in such works as
“The Divan” of Hafiz, as for instance where he says:

    In blossom is the crimson rose, and the rapt Bulbul trills his song,
    A summons that to revel calls you, Sufis, wine-adoring throng.

The author of this Turkish poem, Mohammed Fasli, “Black Fasli,” as he
was called from his swarthy complexion, was the son of a saddler of
Constantinople, and early became a pupil of the poet Sati. He soon
attracted the attention of the Court, and was made secretary to the
Divan by Prince Mustapha, who, as we have seen, was himself a poet.
Fasli wrote several poems of the same character as the present one,
which is, however, his best and ripest production. He died in 1563.

“The Rose and the Nightingale” is a brilliant and gorgeous example of
oriental poetry, whose charm is rather increased than diminished by the
repetition and prolixity which characterize it. The poet gives it in his
closing passages a profoundly mystical meaning, which has been so far
developed by other writers that an Armenian Christian author says that
the Springtime of Fasli means the Creation, the Rose is Christ, the
Rose-garden the Church, the Brook is Baptism, the South Wind is the
Inspiration of the Gospel, the Nightingale, the Soul full of ardent
faith, and so on. This reminds one of Pico Mirandola reconciling Moses
and Homer.

The drama, “The Magistrates,” which is here for the first time
translated into English, is the work of Mirza Feth-Ali Akhoud-Zaidé. He
is the most original native dramatist whose works have appeared in
Constantinople. Up to a comparatively recent period the theatres of
Turkey were dependent for their comedies on translations from French,
sometimes even from German or English comedies and farces. The Turk is
fond of witnessing the exertions, the excitements and perturbations of
others, while he himself remains indolent and imperturbable; hence his
passion for story-telling and for the representations of the stage. In
the dramas of Feth-Ali he sees the life of Turkey vividly reproduced.
Love rules the scene, Eastern cruelty comes in with the bastinado,
Eastern duplicity and fraud are vividly portrayed in the law-court
scene. The arrangement and development of the play are good, and the
_dénouement_ is natural and satisfactory.

This will appear from the following analysis of “The Magistrates.” In
the first place, the modern playwright will be astonished by the long
list of personages in the play. There are twenty-seven in a short drama,
consisting of a series of scenes, brief, even to jerkiness.

At the opening of the play we learn that Hadji-Ghafour, a rich merchant,
has lately died and left no will; his property is therefore claimed by
Sekine-Khanoum, his only daughter, a girl of eighteen, who is engaged to
marry Aziz-Bey. The sum of money in which the legacy consists has been
placed in the hands of the President of the Council, but before he can
pay it over to the legatee, claims have been set up in favor of an
alleged child of the late Hadji-Ghafour, borne him by his mistress
Zeneib. A conspiracy is formed, with the aid of certain soldiers who are
suborned to say that they saw the child in Hadji-Ghafour’s arms, and
that he acknowledged the paternity. The complications are increased by
the fact that Zobeide, paternal aunt of Sekine-Khanoun, has promised the
hand of her niece to a richer man than Aziz-Bey, namely, Aga-Hassan, a
merchant. The young lady so enrages Hassan by the terms in which she
repudiates him, that he joins the ranks of the conspirators, among whom
the chief is Aga-Selman, who nevertheless has undertaken to be the
advocate of Sekine-Khanoun in the coming lawsuit. The suit at last is
opened, the witnesses come ready primed to the bar, but, instead of
telling their perjured tale, relate how they were induced to promise
their support to a fabrication. The tortuous diplomacy of Aga-Selman,
the corruption of the judges, the despair of Sekine and Aziz are
depicted in the liveliest manner, and the revelations of the soldiers,
who are called by the false advocate as witnesses for Sekine-Khanoun,
but bribed to testify against her, form a double climax which is a
skilful stroke of dramatic art. The play will be interesting to the
Teutonic reader, and seems even capable of adaptation to the American or
English stage.

“The History of the Forty Vezirs” is evidently a collection of very old
stories. Its compilation is attributed to Sheik-Zada, who lived in the
reign of Murad II, 1421-1451. To this Sultan the tales are dedicated.
They are like all oriental tales, barely tinged with any ethical
significance; they aim principally at amusing and distracting the mind
by a series of quickly changing incidents; there is no attempt at
character-drawing, and an amazing element of the improbable spices the
whole series. They form, however, the most notable work in prose
produced in that period which saw the dawn of a Turkish literature, and
are only inferior to the tales of Pilpay and the Hitopadesa in their
frivolity, exaggeration and evident lack of all those features which
would indicate an earnest and conscientious study of real life. They are
none the less entertaining, and their genuine Turkish characteristics
render them valuable to the student of Ottoman literature as well as to
the general reader who may take them up merely _pour passer le temps_.

The fables by unknown authors, which we include in this volume, and
which have never before been translated into English, are much later
productions of Turkish genius. In Europe the fable has always been, in
its original form, one of the most effective and pungent vehicles of
appeal to public opinion. Witness “The Belly and the Members” of
Menenius Agrippa, so nobly rendered in Shakespeare’s “Coriolanus.” It
well illustrates La Fontaine’s excuse for his own fables, namely, that
under some circumstances a man must be silent or “strike from afar.”
From the vantage ground of the fable Menenius could rebuke a raging mob,
and Le Fontaine score the ingratitude of kings, as in more recent times
Krilof has satirized the despotic abuses of the Russian government.

The Turkish fables also “hit from afar.” The tyranny of Turkish rulers
is pointed out in “The Farmer and His Hounds.” The corruption that
surrounds access to the great is vividly suggested in “The Sailors in
Distress.” But the weaknesses of the Turkish character are also
reflected in fables which contain but little wisdom; the apathy which
puts up with everything is expressed in the moral of “The Candle”; the
want of enterprise and energy which is characteristic of the Turk, in
“The Shark” and “The Clown Turned First Soldier, then Merchant.”

In the teachings of all these apologues there may be seen the same
features of languid and unresisting acquiescence in things as they are,
with a skit here and there on the oppression and ingratitude of those in
power. Yet they bear a reality about them which is lacking in the
artificial productions of Gay and Lessing. They come from the heart and
go to the heart of the people, and some of them are neat and pointed, if
not beautiful, in structure and expression. A collection of examples
from Turkish literature would be quite incomplete without these
specimens of the Turkish apologues, which reflect so plainly the ethical
standard and general opinions of those to whom they were addressed.

[Illustration: Signature of Epiphanius Wilson.]




CONTENTS

  TURKISH FABLES:                                                   PAGE
  The Gardener and His Wife                                            3
  The Fly                                                              4
  The Widow and Her Friend                                             4
  The Two Young Men and the Cook                                       5
  The Buffaloes and the Log                                            5
  The Old Man and His Son                                              5
  The Bird-catcher and the Blackbird                                   6
  The Hens and the Eagles                                              6
  The Pigeon and the Painting                                          7
  The Lion and the Man                                                 7
  The Compliment to the Vezir                                          7
  The Ass and the Frogs                                                8
  The Tortoise and the King of Animals                                 8
  The Fox and the Lion                                                 8
  The Farmer and His Hounds                                            9
  The Bear and His Mate                                                9
  The Eel and the Serpent                                              9
  The Sailors in Distress                                             10
  The Father and Son                                                  10
  The Poet and the Clown                                              10
  The Shark                                                           11
  The Wolf, the Nurse, and the Child                                  11
  The Candle                                                          12
  The Clown, Turned First Soldier, Then Merchant                      12
  The Two Kings at War                                                13
  The River and Its Source                                            13
  The Hunter and His Hounds                                           14
  The Fool Who Sells Wisdom                                           14
  The Dicer                                                           15
  The Lamb and the Wolf                                               15
  The Insects, the Bee, and the Ant                                   15
  The Two Cocks                                                       16
  The Assembly of the Birds                                           16
  The Fox and the Crab                                                16
  The Goats and the Wolves                                            17
  The Lion, the Wolf, and the Fox                                     18
  The Wolf and the Ass                                                18
  The Fox and the Partridge                                           19
  The Fox and the Sparrow                                             19
  The Syrian Priest and the Young Man                                 20
  The Converted Cat                                                   20
  The Fox and the Wolf                                                21
  The Horse and His Rider                                             21
  The Rose and the Butterfly                                          22
  The Archer and the Trumpeter                                        23
  The Wolf, the Fox, and the Shepherd’s Dog                           23


  THE MAGISTRATES                                                     25


  OTTOMAN POEMS:
  From the Asheq Pasha Diwani                                         69
  From the Iskender Nama                                              69
  From the Iskender Nama                                              70
  From Khusrev and Shirin                                             71
  From Khusrev and Shirin                                             72
  Yaziji Oglu                                                         73
  Ruba’i                                                              75
  Gazel                                                               75
  Fragment of Gazel                                                   76
  Gazel                                                               76
  Gazel                                                               77
  Fragment of Gazel                                                   77
  Gazel                                                               78
  Gazel                                                               78
  Gazel                                                               79
  Fragment                                                            79
  Gazel                                                               80
  From the Winter Qasida                                              80
  From the Spring Qasida                                              81
  From the Qasida on Sultan Bayezid II.                               82
  Gazel                                                               82
  Ruba’is                                                             83
  From the Spring Qasida                                              83
  Murebba’                                                            84
  Fragment                                                            86
  Gazel                                                               87
  Gazel                                                               87
  Gazel                                                               88
  Gazel                                                               88
  Gazel                                                               89
  On Autumn                                                           90
  On Spring                                                           90
  Rose Time                                                           91
  From an Elegy on Sultan Selim I.                                    92
  From an Elegy on Iskender Chelebi                                   93
  Fragment                                                            94
  Gazel                                                               94
  On the Prophet Muhammed                                             95
  Gazel                                                               95
  Gazel                                                               96
  Gazel                                                               96
  Gazel                                                               97
  Gazel                                                               97
  Gazel                                                               98
  Gazel                                                               98
  Gazel                                                               99
  Museddes                                                           100
  Mukhammes                                                          102
  From Leylī and Mejnūn                                              103
  Mejnūn Addresses Nevfil                                            104
  Mejnūn’s Gazel                                                     104
  Zeyd’s Vision                                                      105
  Gazel                                                              106
  Gazel                                                              106
  Gazel                                                              107
  Gazel                                                              107
  Gazel                                                              108
  From the King and the Beggar                                       108
  Gazel                                                              109
  Qaīsda                                                             109
  Gazel                                                              112
  Gazel                                                              113
  Gazel                                                              113
  Gazel                                                              114
  Gazel                                                              114
  Gazel                                                              115
  On Autumn                                                          115
  Gazel                                                              116
  Gazel                                                              116
  Gazel                                                              116
  Gazel                                                              117
  Elegy on Sultan Suleymān I.                                        118
  Gazel                                                              122
  Gazel                                                              122
  Gazel                                                              123
  Museddes                                                           123
  Gazel                                                              125
  To Sultan Murād IV.                                                125
  In Reply to the Preceding                                          126
  Lugaz                                                              127
  Sachli Zemān                                                       127
  Jihān Bānū                                                         127
  Lā’l Para                                                          128
  Āq-Ālem                                                            128
  Museddes                                                           128
  Gazel                                                              130
  Munājāt                                                            130
  Mukhammes                                                          131
  Gazel                                                              133
  Munājāt                                                            133
  Gazel                                                              134
  Farewell Poem                                                      135
  Gazel                                                              136
  Gazel                                                              137
  Gazel                                                              137
  On a Dancing-Girl                                                  138
  Gazel                                                              139
  Fragment                                                           139
  Gazel                                                              140
  Gazel                                                              140
  The Song of Love’s Nurse                                           141
  Love’s Song                                                        142
  Gazel                                                              143
  Museddes                                                           144
  Gazel                                                              145
  Gazel                                                              146
  Gazel                                                              146
  Description of Circassian Women                                    147
  Description of Greek Women                                         147
  Defeat of the French in Egypt                                      149
  Sharqī                                                             152
  Sharqī                                                             153
  Gazel                                                              154
  Gazel                                                              154
  Gazel                                                              155
  On the Death of ‘Andelīb Khānim                                    156
  Takhmīs                                                            157
  Sharqī                                                             158
  Gazel                                                              159
  On a Beyt of Mahmūd Nedīm Pacha                                    160


  COUNSELS OF NABI EFENDI:

  Introduction                                                       165
  Prologue                                                           167
  Details of Nabi’s Station                                          169
  Of Nabi’s Motives in Writing the Book                              170
  Of the Ranks of Islam                                              171
  First Duty of True Religion                                        172
  The Excellence of Prayer                                           172
  The Excellence of Fasting                                          174
  Of Pilgrimage                                                      174
  The Excellence of Almsgiving                                       176
  The Desirability of Knowledge                                      179
  The Knowledge of God                                               181
  Eulogy of Constantinople                                           182
  On Flight from Avidity and Avarice                                 185
  Bad Effects of Pleasantry and Jocularity                           186
  Nobility of Generosity                                             187
  Eulogy of Good Nature                                              188
  Of Lying and Hypocrisy                                             191
  Forbidding the Practice of Astrology                               192
  The Defilement of Drunkenness                                      193
  The Vanity of Adornment                                            194


  THE ASCENSION OF MAHOMET                                           201


  THE ROSE AND THE NIGHTINGALE:

  Prelude                                                            231
  The Praise of God                                                  232
  An Address to God’s Munificence                                    234
  Hymn of Praise                                                     237
  Ascension of the Master                                            240
  A Blessing on the Prophets                                         243
  The Occasion of the Poem                                           244
  Praise of the Pearl of Lordship                                    248
  Beginning of the Narrative                                         251
  Description of the Rose                                            253
  The Shah Provides a Teacher                                        257
  Morning and Evening in the Rose Garden                             257
  The Attendants of the Pure Rose                                    258
  Praise of the Rose in Her Beauty                                   261
  The East Wind Finds the Nightingale                                264
  The East Wind Counsels the Nightingale                             271
  The Nightingale Comes to the Rose                                  273
  The Nightingale Enters the Rose Garden                             276
  The Nightingale Alone in the Night                                 277
  The Nightingale Sleepless                                          279
  The Nightingale Addresses the Moon                                 281
  The Nightingale Talks to the Dawn                                  282
  The Nightingale Addresses the Sun                                  283
  The Nightingale Turns to God                                       285
  The Rose Hears the Nightingale                                     287
  The Narcissus Remonstrates                                         289
  The East Wind Meets the Nightingale                                291
  The East Wind Encourages the Nightingale                           293
  The Colloquy of the Rose                                           295
  The Nightingale Writes to the Rose                                 298
  The Jasmine Bears the Letter                                       300
  The Rose Answers                                                   301
  The Hyacinth and the Nightingale                                   303
  The Treachery of the Hyacinth                                      306
  The Thorn Advises the Rose                                         308
  The Thorn Slanders the Nightingale                                 310
  Captivity of the Nightingale                                       311
  King August Appears                                                314
  King August Sends the Hot Wind                                     316
  Samum Arrives                                                      318
  King August Sends His Son                                          319
  Flight of Spring                                                   321
  Autumn Comes                                                       323
  Autumn Conquers the Rose Garden                                    325
  Winter Appears                                                     327
  Winter Devastates the Rose Garden                                  328
  Spring Seeks Help from the Equinox                                 331
  Spring Vanquishes Winter                                           333
  Spring Resides in the Rose Garden                                  335
  The Rose Sends to the Nightingale                                  336
  The Nightingale Hears the East Wind                                337
  The Nightingale Answers the East Wind                              339
  The Rose Visits the Nightingale                                    341
  The Rose Seeks the Release of the Nightingale                      343
  The Rose Hears of the Nightingale’s Release                        346
  The Feast Given by the Rose                                        347
  Description of the Revel                                           350
  Short-lived Happiness                                              352
  Meaning of the Tale                                                353
  Close of the Book                                                  356


  HISTORY OF THE FORTY VEZIRS:

  Introduction                                                       361
  Trial of the Three Sons                                            366
  Stratagem Greater than Strength                                    374
  The Wiles of Woman                                                 379
  The Search for Khizr                                               381
  The Vezir and Khizr                                                384
  The Sherbet-seller and the Moor                                    385
  The Tailor and the Woman                                           388
  Story of the Adopted Son                                           391
  The King and the Vezir                                             394
  The Sparrow and His Mate                                           396
  The Crafty Vezir                                                   398
  The Three Princes and the Cadi                                     401
  The Caliph and the Slave Girl                                      404
  The Foolish Princes                                                405
  Story of the Egyptian Prince                                       409
  The Merchant’s Bequest                                             414
  The King and the Vezir’s Son                                       415
  The King and the Weaver                                            418
  The Vicissitudes of Life                                           420
  The King and the Sheykh                                            426
  The King’s Remorse                                                 428
  Luqman’s Device                                                    430
  The King and the Dervish                                           432
  Mahmud and Hasan                                                   436
  Story of Sultan Mahmud                                             438
  Story of the Merchant’s Son                                        440
  Hasan of Basra                                                     446
  The Gardener and His Son                                           449
  The Dervish’s Advice                                               450
  The Turkman Children                                               452
  A Queen’s Deceit                                                   453
  The Abdal and the King                                             455
  The Sultan and His Traitorous Son                                  456
  Conclusion                                                         460




TURKISH FABLES

[_Translated by Epiphanius Wilson, A.M._]




TURKISH FABLES




THE GARDENER AND HIS WIFE


A certain Gardener had a young and pretty woman for his Wife. One day,
when, according to her habit, she had gone to wash her linen in the
river, the Gardener, entering his house, said to himself:

“I do not know, really, whether my Wife loves me. I must put it to the
test.”

On saying this, he stretched himself full length upon the ground, in the
middle of the room, as if dead. Soon, his Wife returned, carrying her
linen, and perceived her husband’s condition.

“Tired and hungry as I am,” she said to herself, “is it necessary that I
should begin at once to mourn and lament? Would it not be better to
begin by eating a morsel of something?”

She accordingly cut off a piece of _pasterma_ (dried smoked meat), and
set it to roast on the coals; then she hurriedly went upstairs to the
garret, took a pot of milk, drank some of it, and put the rest on the
fire. At this moment, an old woman, her neighbor, entered, with an
earthen vessel in her hand, and asked for some burning coals.

“Keep your eye on this pot,” she said to the old woman, rising to her
feet. Then she burst into sobs and lamentations.

“Alas!” she cried, “my poor husband is dead!”

The neighbors, who heard her voice, rushed in, and the deceitful hussy
kept on repeating:

“Alas! What a wretched fate has my husband met with!” and tears flowed
afresh.

At that instant the dead man opened his eyes.

“What are you doing?” he said to her. “Finish first the roasting of the
_pasterma_, quenching your throat in milk, and boiling the remainder of
it; afterward you will find time to weep for me.”

First myself, and then those I love, says a proverb.




THE FLY


A Fly who had carelessly fallen into a pot full of food was at the point
of death.

“What does it matter?” she said, “so long as hereafter I shall feel no
more hunger, and for the present have eaten and drunk my fill, and have
received a good bath.”

Patiently to accept the misfortunes which can neither be hindered nor
avoided is a proof of wisdom.




THE WIDOW AND HER FRIEND


A Widow, tired of single blessedness, was desirous of marrying again,
but feared to draw down upon herself the remarks of the public.

A Friend of hers, to show her how the tongues of neighbors discussed
everything, took in hand to paint the Widow’s ass green; then leading
the beast, she traversed all the streets of the town.

At first not only the children, but also their elders, who had never
seen anything like it before, came to see the sight, and followed behind
the ass.

At the end of a few days, when the Widow’s ass went forth people simply
remarked: “What a very singular animal!”

Soon, however, the people ceased to pay any more attention to the
spectacle.

The Friend of the Widow who wished to marry again returned to her and
said:

“You have seen what has just happened. It will be the same in your case.
For some days you will be on the tongues of the people and have to
endure the gossip and remarks; but at last they will leave off talking
about you.”

There is nothing so extraordinary in the world as not to become familiar
in time.




THE TWO YOUNG MEN AND THE COOK


Two Young Men entered a cook-shop for the purpose of buying some meat.

While the Cook was engaged in serving one of them the other seized a
huge piece of meat and popped it into his companion’s pocket.

The Cook began looking about for his meat, but in vain. Then he
addressed the two friends.

“I have not seen it,” said one.

“As for me,” added the other, “I am sure I have not taken it.”

Then each one confirmed his statement with an oath.

“Really, gentlemen,” said the owner of the shop, who well understood
their rascality, “although I do not know who has robbed me, the God by
whom you have sworn does.”

Although a man may conceal things from men like himself, God is not
deceived.




THE BUFFALOES AND THE LOG


A pair of Buffaloes were harnessed to a heavy piece of elm wood, and
were dragging it along.

“You are stupid,” said the Log, reproachfully, “for when you are hitched
to a light burden like me, why do you not gallop?”

“Poor wretch!” they replied, “we should doubtlessly move more quickly if
we were not fastened to you. But if we moved quickly now, another log
would be placed on top of you, to make up the load, and we do not wish
to see you broken down by exhaustion.”

This answer plunged the Log into profound thought.

The proverbial expression--“the Buffaloes’ answer”--a pretext for
laziness--is founded on this fable.




THE OLD MAN AND HIS SON


A feeble Old Man had given his home to his Son; soon the hapless father
found himself driven from his home and forced to take refuge in a
hospital.

Some time afterward, he saw his Son one day passing by, and called out
to him.

“For the love of God, my Son,” he said in a supplicating tone, “send me
out of all that I have gained with the sweat of my brow a simple pair of
sheets.”

The Son promised his unfortunate father to do so.

“I will send them at once,” he answered him.

When he arrived at home he said to his own son: “Take this pair of
sheets, and carry them to your grandfather at the hospital.”

The young man left one of the sheets at home and carried the other to
his grandfather. Some time afterward his father happened to count his
sheets.

“Why didn’t you do as I told you, and carry the two sheets to your
grandfather?” he asked of his son.

“When my father becomes old and goes to the hospital, I said to myself,
I shall need this sheet to send to him.”

Your child will behave toward you as you behaved toward your parents.




THE BIRD-CATCHER AND THE BLACKBIRD


A Bird-catcher was setting his snares; a Blackbird, as he flew by,
caught sight of him.

“For the love of God,” he said to him, “do tell me what you are building
there?”

“I am founding a complete city.”

The Blackbird believed this deceitful answer, and alighted on the net.
Scarcely had he touched it, before he found himself caught.

When the Bird-catcher came up the Blackbird said to him: “If this is the
way you build your city, you won’t attract many inhabitants.”

All men shun tyrannical magistrates and oppressors, who, by their
violence, scatter ruin around them.




THE HENS AND THE EAGLES


The Hens were at war with the Eagles.

When the day of battle came near, the Hens went and asked the foxes to
help them.

“We would willingly help you,” replied the foxes, “if we could forget
what you are, and what Eagles are.”

He who enters upon a quarrel with one more powerful than himself runs a
great risk, and is certain to meet with disaster.




THE PIGEON AND THE PAINTING


A Pigeon in its simplicity took for real water the stream represented in
a Painting.

He flew down toward it with a sudden swoop, fell to the ground, and was
quickly caught.

How many stupid and ignorant people ignore the real condition of things,
follow entirely their own silly notions, and at last find themselves in
serious trouble!




THE LION AND THE MAN


A Lion and a Man were journeying together as friends; they took turns in
boasting each of his own merits. As they advanced on their way, they saw
a mausoleum on which was carved in marble a man trampling a lion under
his feet.

The Man called the attention of the Lion to this sculpture.

“I need say no more,” he remarked, “this is sufficient to show that man
surpasses the Lion in strength and vigor.”

“The chisel is in the hands of men,” replied the beast, “so they
represent in sculpture whatever they like. If we could handle it as you
do, you would see what would be the subjects of our works.”

Artists do not base their creations upon the realities of life, but
follow the ideas which pass through their heads.




THE COMPLIMENT TO THE VEZIR


A Vezir had just received his appointment; those who had supported him
came to compliment him on his promotion to a post of honor.

He was so inflated by the homage he received, that he came at last to
pass by his former friends without noticing them.

“Who are you?” he asked one of them.

“My God,” exclaimed the other, who was a wit: “I feel sorry for you
indeed, for your Excellency, like most of those who have reached an
eminent position, has suddenly lost sight, hearing, and memory, so that
you no longer know your former friends.”

It generally happens that those who attain to high station feel contempt
for their friends.




THE ASS AND THE FROGS


An Ass was walking along loaded with wood; as he journeyed he fell into
a pond, and lamented because he could not get out.

The Frogs, dwellers in the pond, heard his cries and came up to him.

“Pray tell us,” they said to him, “how is it that you, who have been but
a moment in this pond, cry out so vehemently. What would you do, if like
us, you had been here for an infinite time?”

Such were the sarcastic consolations they addressed to him.

Young people full of vigor, and capable of enduring all sorts of
hardship, too often deride the feebleness of the old.




THE TORTOISE AND THE KING OF ANIMALS


The quadrupeds and birds assembled one day at an entertainment given by
the King of Beasts. Both those who go on foot and those who fly were
there.

The Tortoise arrived late because of his slow motion, and asked pardon
for his want of punctuality.

“I have such a pleasant home,” said he, “that I never leave it without
regret.”

“At some future time,” cried the Lion in a rage, “you will have a house
of stone which you can never leave.”

This fable is addressed to those who, instead of keeping to their own
vocation, are anxious to attend the entertainments of the great.




THE FOX AND THE LION


A Fox who had never seen a lion in his life met one of the greatest
size. In his terror and surprise, he thought that his last hour had
come. At the second meeting, he was still somewhat alarmed, but less so
than at first. At the third sight of the Lion, he felt no fear at all,
but walked up to the Lion and began to converse with him.

By force of habit we become enabled to confront, unmoved, things the
most terrible and dangerous.




THE FARMER AND HIS HOUNDS


A Farmer who lived remote from the city, was kept at home by the
severity of the winter. Soon, his provisions were exhausted, and
finally, he was compelled to kill his great black oxen.

On seeing this, his Hounds gathered together.

“If this man,” said they, “butchers such strong oxen as these, the
mainstay of his house, do you think he will spare us? Let us make our
escape!”

Keep away from the man who without hesitation does injury to everyone
else. To avoid him is a matter of haste and necessity.




THE BEAR AND HIS MATE


A Bear, in struggling with his Mate, used his claws with such violence
that he tore her eyes out. He was immediately seized with such sorrow
that he bit off his own claws.

A short time afterward, he conversed with her in a friendly manner in
his cave.

“My dear,” he remarked to her, “for your sake, I have sacrificed my
weapons of war.”

“What good,” said she, “is that to me, now that I am blind, and deprived
by you of my precious eyes?”

Repentance cannot repair an injury once inflicted.




THE EEL AND THE SERPENT


The Eel and the Serpent were talking together.

“Why is it,” said the Eel, “that I, although I undoubtedly resemble you,
in every point, am hunted by men, while they leave you in peace?”

“Because, if they caught me, they would do it to their cost.”

No one attacks the person who always repays an injury.




THE SAILORS IN DISTRESS


A ship at sea was caught in a violent tempest. The crew, seeing her on
the point of foundering, began to address their prayers, some to one
saint, some to another, imploring them to intercede with the Almighty,
that the suppliants might be delivered in their extremity.

While they thus poured out their prayers the Captain remained unmoved.
“Fools!” he said at length, “before your patron saints have time to
carry their prayers to God, and he has given them a hearing, all of
those on board this ship will be drowned. Let us address our prayers
directly to the Most High, and implore his help!”

In obedience to the suggestion of their Captain, the Sailors cried out
aloud to God himself, and were saved.

When a man of brains and intelligence wishes to ask a favor of the
great, he avoids addressing subordinates.




THE FATHER AND SON


A certain Father had a Son of extremely bad habits.

“He who abandons himself to vicious irregularities, and wanders from the
straight path,” he said to him, “gains nothing but shame and disgrace.”

It was thus he used to speak to him plainly, and give him good counsel
and advice.

“These,” answered the Son, “are words empty and irrational!”

“Alas,” cried the Father, “can I listen to such words!”

“When you consider,” went on the Son, “that I have continued deaf to the
admonitions of the most famous preachers, who are always talking of
virtue to me, do you think I could listen to you?”

He whose natural disposition is coarse and vicious would not give up his
criminal and debauched way of life, even if Plato, or the very angels of
paradise, appealed to him.




THE POET AND THE CLOWN


A certain countryman, who was engaged in sowing his field, saw a man of
letters, who was also a Poet, approaching:

“Sir,” said the Clown to him, “how can you study, as you do, in
solitude?”

“I am a Poet,” replied the other; “at first I studied in company with
others, but now I go on in my education alone.”

The uneducated man who begins by seeking the society of the learned, in
this way becomes educated. In time he grows capable of finishing his
education, unaided by others.




THE SHARK


A Shark, taking up his station at the mouth of a river, ruled over all
the inhabitants of the waters. As he conducted himself with extreme
violence toward them, they showed every sign of submissiveness. He had,
in fact, become their King, and they treated him as such.

The Shark was unduly elated by his situation. “Wherefore,” said he to
himself, “should I not extend my dominion still farther?”

Taking advantage of a favorable opportunity, he left the river and went
out to sea, with a view of expanding his domain. “I must now subjugate
the fishes who dwell here,” he remarked.

He was thus dreaming of ocean conquest, when he met the whale. Seized
with alarm, and frozen with terror, the would-be conqueror fled, and
regained the mouth of the river, feeling quite dejected. Henceforth he
was very careful not to leave his lurking-place.

Let us beware of giving up a satisfactory position, in pursuit of
vainglory, and for the sake of increasing our power; in all cases let us
limit our desires.




THE WOLF, THE NURSE, AND THE CHILD


A certain Wolf was wandering round in search of prey. He entered a
village and heard a Child crying.

“What are you crying for?” asked the Child’s old Nurse. “Unless you stop
I will give you to the Wolf.”

Some time afterward, when the Child had stopped crying, the old woman
began to flatter and humor him. “If the Wolf comes,” said she, “we will
tie him fast, then we will give him a beating, and hit him so hard that
it will kill him, and after that we will give him to the cat.”

“Lord deliver us from the people of this house!” cried the Wolf, on
hearing these words. “Nothing is less to be relied upon than their
words; one moment they speak in one way, and the next in another!”

Saying this, he took himself off, and hurriedly retired.

Do not trust the promises of people whose word is as changeable as the
color of the chameleon.




THE CANDLE


A Candle, made of soft and pliant wax, lamented over the fact that the
slightest touch injured it. It did nothing but sigh, and burst out into
bitter complaints against its dismal lot, especially dwelling upon the
fact that bricks, although at first tender and pasty, grow hard from
heat and thus acquire an age-long durability. In order to acquire the
same hardness, and to reap the same advantages, it leaped into the fire,
melted, and was consumed.

It is useless to rise up in irritation and revolt against the
disadvantages which are inherent in our nature, our constitution, or our
position.




THE CLOWN TURNED FIRST SOLDIER, THEN MERCHANT


A certain Clown, occupied in cultivating his field, guided the plough
now this way, now that, and in the midst of his task felt sorry that he
had not been more favored by fortune.

A number of volunteers, who formed part of a brigade, which had just
come back victorious from war, happened at this moment to pass by,
loaded with rich and abundant booty, and plentifully supplied with
provisions. Moved by the sight of them, the laborer set to work to sell
his sheep, goats, and oxen; with the price received for these he
collected horses, weapons, and ammunition, with a view of joining the
army on campaign. Just on his arrival, this army was beaten by the
enemy, and utterly routed; the baggage of the new-comer was seized, and
he himself returned home, crippled with wounds.

“I am disgusted with the military profession,” he said, “and I am going
to be a business man. In spite of my slender income I shall be able to
realize great profits in trade.”

He accordingly sold his remaining arms and ammunition, and employed the
proceeds in the purchase of goods which he put on board a ship and
embarked himself as passenger. As soon as they had put to sea, a tempest
fell upon the ship, which went down with the Merchant on board.

He who seeks for a better position in life, finds a worse one and falls
at last into misery. Do not try to learn by experience the disadvantages
of each several condition.




THE TWO KINGS AT WAR


A King, the hero of his age, had declared war upon one of his neighbors.
The enemy for want of resources, had not been able to make sufficient
preparations, and did not know how to meet the emergency. He sent out a
spy to meet the foe.

The fellow, gazing from a distance, saw advancing a countless multitude
of soldiers, armed with lances.

He immediately turned and galloped back to his sovereign.

“My Lord,” he said, “you are about to be attacked by an army as numerous
as current coin, for I saw advancing such a crowd of lances that they
hide the sun from us.”

“Take this robe of honor,” said the monarch; “please God we shall fight
to-day in the shadow of the enemy.”

By this warlike answer, he was able to inspire his troops with a daring
and courage which were invincible.

He who suffers himself neither to be cast down by alarm nor dismayed by
danger can surmount every obstacle.




THE RIVER AND ITS SOURCE


A River one day said to its Source: “How idle and good-for-nothing you
are! In spite of your incessant movement you do not contain the
slightest quantity of fish! In me, on the contrary, are seen more choice
fishes swimming than in any other watercourse; thus I produce joy and
happiness in all the plains and their inhabitants, through which I pass!
You seem to me to be a corpse, from which life has completely vanished.”

The Source, indignant at these insulting words, made no reply, but began
to diminish the quantity of water which she furnished to the River;
soon she entirely ceased to feed it. By this means the height of the
flood sank gradually, until at last water failed entirely, and River and
fish disappeared together.

This fable is addressed to those who treat their friends in a similar
manner and imagine that their prosperity is specially and directly due
to the munificence of God.

An ungrateful man, says the poet, is one who addresses no thanks to
Divine Providence for the innumerable gifts showered upon him: he is a
blasphemer, as well as an ingrate, who is grateful toward no one
excepting the giver of them all.




THE HUNTER AND HIS HOUNDS


A certain Hunter, who was seized with an ardent desire to make his prey
a superb anqua,[1] spent large sums of money in the keeping of Hounds.
By accident, one of his bitches bit his son, and the child died of the
wound.

“Since the Hounds have caused his death,” said the master to the
servants, “let us kill them all.”

“Alas!” cried one of the poor creatures, “all of us must die for the
fault committed by a single one of us!”

A single scoundrel is sufficient to bring ruin on a whole ward.




THE FOOL WHO SELLS WISDOM


A certain Fool kept constantly passing through the streets of a town.

“Who will buy Wisdom?” he cried in a loud voice. A passer-by met him on
his way, accosted him, and presented him with some small pieces of
money.

“Sell me a little Wisdom,” he said.

“Here it is,” replied the other, cuffing him heartily. Immediately
afterward he put into his hands a long thread.

“If you wish in future to be wise and prudent,” said the Fool to him,
“always keep as far away from fools as the length of this thread.”

We should avoid all connection and communication with fools and cranks.




THE DICER


A Dicer one day lost at play all that he possessed, even to his clothes.
Sitting at the door of a wine shop he burst into tears.

One of his friends happened to pass, and noticed the state he was in.

“Have you anything the matter with you that you are so mournful, my
friend?” he inquired.

“I have nothing,” replied the other.

“Nothing?” went on the other. “Then there is no reason for weeping.”

“It is really because I have nothing that I weep,” replied he.

Numerous are the applications of this profound fable.




THE LAMB AND THE WOLF


A tender lamb was in the fold, when suddenly a Wolf entered for the
purpose of devouring her. Throwing herself at the feet of the Wolf, she
said, weeping: “God has put me in your power; sound therefore your horn
in order to grant me one moment’s delight; my desires will then be
perfectly satisfied, for my parents have told me that the race of wolves
are the best players on the horn.” The Wolf heard this silly proposal,
and set himself to cry out with all his might and main; when lo and
behold, the dogs were waked up and attacked him. He took to flight, and
did not stop until he reached a hill, where he said, lamenting: “I
certainly deserve this mishap, for who has made me a musician, when I
have never been anything but a butcher?”

This fable proves that many good people are deceived by attending to
silly proposals, and afterward, like the Wolf, are sorry for it; and
that many others undertake, either in word or deed, things for which
they are not adapted, and consequently fall into misfortune.




THE INSECTS, THE BEE, AND THE ANT


The Insects betook themselves one winter to the dwellings of the Bee and
the Ant.

“Give us some food,” they said, “for we are dying of hunger.”

The others answered: “What do you do in summer time?”

“We rest on the spreading trees,” they replied, “and we cheer the
traveller with our pleasant songs.”

“If that be so,” was the reply, “it is no wonder that you are dying of
hunger; you are therefore no proper objects of charity.”

This fable shows that the foolish virgins ask charity, and those who are
wise refuse to give, because there comes a time when not charity but
justice is to be rendered.

During the time of this life, which is our summer, we must gather, by
wisdom and industry, the spiritual food, without which, we shall be
made, at the day of judgment, to die of hunger in hell.




THE TWO COCKS


Two Cocks were fighting in the middle of a street; he who defeated his
comrade and flung him to the ground was inflated with pride at his
victory.

He flew off, and taking his station on a high place, began to swagger up
and down and to crow, elated with victory. While he thus exhibited his
vanity an eagle unexpectedly swooped down upon him and carried him off.

This fable shows that he who rejoices over the defeat of his adversary,
or plumes himself upon victory over a foe, brings upon his own head,
without knowing it, torments and sufferings which will compel him to
deplore his own lot.




THE ASSEMBLY OF THE BIRDS


The Birds gathered together and elected the Peacock and crowned him
King, on account of his great beauty.

Then the Dove came to him and said: “O excellent King, if the Eagles
harass us, how will you be able to bring help?”

This fable shows that beauty is not the sole attribute to be sought for
in a king, but that he is required to show on every occasion, courage,
military valor, and ripe wisdom.




THE FOX AND THE CRAB


The Fox and the Crab lived together like brothers; together they sowed
their land, reaped the harvest, thrashed the grain and garnered it.

The Fox said one day: “Let us go to the hill-top, and whoever reaches it
first shall carry off the grain for his own.”

While they were mounting the steep the Crab said:

“Do me a favor; before you set off running, touch me with your tail, so
that I shall know it and be able to follow you.”

The Crab opened his claws, and when the Fox touched him with his tail,
he leaped forward and seized it, so that when the Fox reached the goal
and turned round to see where the Crab was, the latter fell upon the
heap of grain and said: “These three bushels and a half are all mine.”
The Fox was thunderstruck and exclaimed:

“How did you get here, you rascal?”

This fable shows that deceitful men devise many methods and actions for
getting things their own way, but that they are often defeated by the
feeble.




THE GOATS AND THE WOLVES


All the Goats gathered together and sent a message to the nation of the
Wolves. “Wherefore,” said they, “do you make upon us this ceaseless war?
We beseech you, make peace with us, as the kings of nations are wont to
do.”

The Wolves assembled in great joy, and sent a long letter and many
presents to the nation of the Goats. And they said to them:

“We have learned your excellent resolution and we have rendered thanks
to God for it. The news of this peace will occasion great joy in the
world. But we beg to inform your wisdom that the shepherd and his dog
are the causes of all our differences and quarrels; if you make an end
of them, tranquillity will soon return.”

On learning this, the Goats drove away the shepherds and their dogs, and
ratified a treaty of peace and friendship with the Wolves.

The Goats then went out and scattered themselves without fear among the
hills and valleys, and began to feed and render thanks to God. The
Wolves waited for ten days, then they gathered themselves together
against the Goats, and strangled them every one.

This fable shows that hatred and aversion between nations and families,
or between individuals, is deeply rooted in the heart of man, and that
peace and friendship are not established among them, excepting with the
greatest difficulty.




THE LION, THE WOLF, AND THE FOX


The Lion, the Wolf, and the Fox, having made an alliance, went forth to
hunt, and captured a ram, a sheep, and a lamb.

When dinner time came the Lion said to the Wolf, “Divide the prey among
us.”

The Wolf replied: “O King, God apportions them thus: the ram is for you,
the sheep for me, and the lamb for the Fox.”

The Lion flew into a violent rage at this and gave the Wolf a blow upon
the cheek that made his eyes bulge out. He retired in bitter tears.

Then the Lion addressed the Fox, bidding him apportion the prey.

“O King,” he answered, “God has already apportioned it. The ram is for
your dinner, we will join you in eating the sheep, and you shall sup
upon the lamb.”

“Little rogue of a Fox,” said the Lion, “who taught you to apportion
things with such equity?”

“The starting eyes of the Wolf taught me that,” replied the Fox.

This fable shows that many wicked men see the error of their ways, and
amend, so soon as kings and princes cause robbers and malefactors to be
hanged.




THE WOLF AND THE ASS


The Wolf having come upon an Ass who was in prime condition wished to
eat him.

Then the Ass said: “I beseech you, Mr. Wolf, cure me of a wound which I
have in the foot; an abominable nail has pierced it, and produces
intense suffering. Afterward, you can eat me, for God has destined me to
be your food.”

The Wolf accordingly went behind the Ass for the purpose of extracting
the nail; but at that moment the Ass flung out a kick with all his
strength, which struck the Wolf and smashed his teeth. The Wolf, weeping
bitterly, reflected:

“It is right that I suffer this disaster, for being by nature a butcher,
no one can make a blacksmith of me.”

This fable shows many people are filled with sorrow and regret, from
attempting to practise arts and accomplishments which they have never
learned, and which are unsuited to their life.




THE FOX AND THE PARTRIDGE


The Fox having caught a Partridge was preparing to eat it. But the
latter said:

“Blessed be God, who calls me to his kingdom, and delivers me from the
evils of this world. But do you, Mr. Fox, render thanks to God for this
feast upon me, which will be your great reward.”

The Fox sat down, looked up to heaven, and opened his mouth, saying:

“I thank thee, gracious God, for the excellent feast thou hast prepared
for me.”

As he spoke, the Partridge slipped from his jaws, and flew away. Then
the Fox said: “Fool and dotard that I am! I should have eaten first, and
thanked God afterward.”

This fable warns us not to count on things that are promised, and not to
thank anyone until we have actually received a favor.




THE FOX AND THE SPARROW


The Fox held a Sparrow in his mouth and was on the point of eating it,
when the latter said:

“You ought first to give thanks to God, and then you can eat me, for at
this moment I am on the point of laying an egg, big as that of an
ostrich. It is a priceless egg, but let me go, that I may lay it, and
afterward you may eat me. I swear that I will put myself at your
disposal.”

As soon as the Fox dropped him, he flew off and lighted on the branch of
a very high tree. Then the Fox said to him:

“Come, now, do as you have decided, and return when I ask you.”

“Do you think I am as senseless as you are?” asked the Sparrow, “that I
should return at your pleasure? How could you possibly believe me, or
imagine that such a little body could lay such a disproportionately
large egg? Listen to the advice I give you: Don’t you credit
extravagant statements, or go to sleep under a tottering wall.”

The Fox answered: “God will judge you for the trick you have played me.”

“Some falsehoods,” answered the Sparrow, “are praiseworthy; God highly
rewards the lie that delivers one from death or danger, and which saves
another’s life.”

The Fox then concealed himself near by, and began to plot and peer for
the capture of the Sparrow; but the latter dropped dung into his eyes,
saying: “O fool, listen to another piece of advice: Do not strive after
that which you cannot attain, and in the quarrels of husband and wife,
or of brothers, say not a single indiscreet word of which you may
afterward repent.”




THE SYRIAN PRIEST AND THE YOUNG MAN


A Syrian Priest, good and wise, and an Armenian were engaged in a
dispute. The Young Man, at last enraged, said to the Priest:

“I will drive this stone down your throat, in order that your thirty-two
teeth may choke you.”

The Priest returned hastily to his house, lost in astonishment, and said
to his wife:

“In the name of God, wife, light a candle, and count how many teeth I
have.”

She counted them and said:

“They are just thirty-two in number.”

The Priest at once returned to the Young Man and said:

“How did you learn the number of my teeth? And who told you?”

“Sir,” replied the other, “I learned the number of your teeth from the
number of my own.”

This fable shows that from my own bad qualities I am able to guess
yours, for all faults are common.




THE CONVERTED CAT


The Cat, having put on the cowl and become a monk, sent word to the mice
and said:

“It is an abominable thing to shed blood. As for me, I will shed no
more, for I am become religious.”

Then the mice replied: “Although we saw in you the whole Order of St.
Anthony, or of our holy Father St. Mark, we could have no confidence in
your hypocrisy.”

The Cat covered herself with a dust rag, and smeared herself with flour.
The mice approached her, saying:

“Wretch, we see through your dust rag!”

Then she pretended to be dead, and lay in the path of the mice, who
approached her and said:

“Miserable cheat, although your skin be made into a purse, we could not
believe that you had given up your habitual knavery.”

This fable shows that when you have once found out a person of
dishonest, treacherous, and evil character, you should not trust him,
even if he tries to do right, for he cannot change his nature.




THE FOX AND THE WOLF


The Fox deceived the Wolf, telling him that if he delivered a letter to
the heads of the village, they would give him food to bring back. When
the Wolf reached the village the dogs fell upon him, biting and wounding
him. When he returned in a sad plight the Fox said to him: “Why did you
not show your letter?”

“I did show it,” was the reply, “but there were a thousand dogs, who did
not know the handwriting.”

This fable shows that there are many people ignorant, though brave, with
whom it is best not to dispute or to mix, but prudently to keep away
from them.




THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER


The Horse complained to his Rider, saying that it was unjust that a fair
and powerful creature, such as he was, should be a slave and carry so
weak a thing as man.

His Rider replied: “I feed you, I shelter you with a roof, and I show
you where water and grass are to be found.”

“But you take away my liberty, and put a hard bit in my mouth. You weary
me with long journeys, and sometimes expose me to the dangers of
battle,” answered the Horse.

“Take, then, your liberty,” said his master, removing the bridle from
his head and the saddle from his back.

The Horse bounded off into the mountains, where grass and water
abounded. For many weeks he enjoyed ease and plenty. But a pack of
wolves, seeing him in good condition, pursued him. At first he easily
outstripped them, but he was now heavy with much nourishment, and his
breath began to fail. The wolves overtook and threw him to the ground.

When he found his last hour was come he exclaimed mournfully. “How happy
and safe I was with my master, and how much lighter and easier were his
bridle and spur than the fangs of these blood-thirsty enemies!”

This fable shows that many people do not estimate duly the blessings of
their condition, and complain about those duties, the performance of
which is the sole condition of their life and safety.




THE ROSE AND THE BUTTERFLY


A Rose growing in a garden of Tiflis saw in summer time a Butterfly of
many colors fluttering in a neighboring flower-bed.

“Poor creature,” said the flower, “how short your life is! You are here
to-day and gone to-morrow. But I remain on my stalk, spread my leaves in
the sun, and scatter scent on the air without change.”

“I have the power of going into many gardens,” replied the Butterfly.
“You are only a prisoner; I can get under shelter when it rains, seek
the shade when the sun is hot, and if my life is short, it is a merry
one. Besides, your life is short also, and a storm at any moment may
throw you to the ground and scatter your red petals in the dust.”

The Rose tossed her head in a burst of rage. “I am at least beautiful
and fragrant while my life lasts; but you are no more than a worm with a
pair of wings.”

There would have been more angry words between these two had not the
lady of the house come that moment and plucked the Rose, while a bird
from the bough of an oak-tree swooped down and carried off the
Butterfly.

This fable shows that pride and vanity make people very often fancy
themselves superior to others, while all are really of no importance,
being subject to the same condition of decay and death.




THE ARCHER AND THE TRUMPETER


The Archer and the Trumpeter were travelling together in a lonely place.
The Archer boasted of his skill as a warrior, and asked the Trumpeter if
he bore arms.

“No,” replied the Trumpeter, “I cannot fight. I can only blow my horn,
and make music for those who are at war.”

“But I can hit a mark at a hundred paces,” said the Archer. As he spoke
an eagle appeared, hovering over the tree tops. He drew out an arrow,
fitted it on the string, shot at the bird, which straightway fell to the
ground, transfixed to the heart.

“I am not afraid of any foe, for that bird might just as well have been
a man,” said the Archer proudly. “But you would be quite helpless if
anyone attacked you.”

They saw at that moment a band of robbers approaching them with drawn
swords. The Archer immediately discharged a sharp arrow, which laid low
the foremost of the wicked men. But the rest soon overpowered him and
bound his hands.

“As for this Trumpeter, he can do us no harm, for he has neither sword
nor bow,” they said, and did not bind him, but took away his purse and
wallet.

Then the Trumpeter said: “You are welcome, friends, but let me play you
a tune on my horn.”

With their consent he blew loud and long on his trumpet, and in a short
space of time the guards of the King came running up at the sound, and
surrounded the robbers and carried them off to prison.

When they unbound the hands of the Archer he said to the Trumpeter:
“Friend, I have learned to-day that a trumpet is better than a bow; for
you have saved our lives without doing harm to anyone.”

This fable shows that one man ought not to despise the trade of another.
It also shows that it is better to be able to gain the help of others
than to trust to our own strength.




THE WOLF, THE FOX, AND THE SHEPHERD’S DOG


A Fox was once carrying home to his young a leveret which he had caught
by stealth. On his way he met a Wolf, who said to him, “I am very
hungry, and I hope you will not refuse me a taste of your prey.”

“In the name of God,” cried the Fox, “eat your fill; but leave me a
fragment for the supper of my little ones.”

The Wolf, however, swallowed the dainty morsel at a mouthful. Although
the Fox was very angry he said in a humble voice: “I am glad that your
appetite is so good. Farewell. Perhaps some day I will gain for you
another meal of equal sweetness.”

When they parted the Fox began to plot how he might revenge himself upon
his enemy the Wolf. Now it happened that a Shepherd’s Dog came to the
Fox for advice. He asked him how he should destroy the Wolf, who every
night kept robbing his master’s folds.

“That is an easy matter,” replied the Fox. “You must put on a wolf’s
skin, so that when the Wolf sees you he will make up to you without
fear, and then you can seize him by the throat and strangle him.”

The Wolf also came to the Fox for counsel.

“The Shepherd’s Dog,” he complained, “barks when I approach the fold,
and the sticks and stones of the shepherds often give me a severe
mauling. How shall I be able to kill him?”

“That is easy,” said the Fox; “put on a sheep’s skin, enter the fold
with the flock, and lie down with them. At midnight you can strangle the
Dog unawares, afterward feast as much as you like.”

Then the Fox went back to the Dog and told him to look out for the Wolf
disguised as a Sheep.

When night came the Wolf entered the fold dressed like a sheep, and had
no fear, for he saw no dog, but only a wolf at the door. But the Dog saw
the fierce eyes of the Wolf and flew at his throat. Meanwhile the
shepherds heard the noise, and as they saw a wolf mangling a sheep, they
laid on the Dog’s back with their heavy staves until he died, but not
before he had strangled the Wolf.

This fable shows how unwise it is to seek help from people without
principle.




THE MAGISTRATES

BY

MIRZA FETH-ALI AKHOUD ZAIDÉ

[_Translated by Epiphanius Wilson, A.M._]




DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

  SEKINÉ-KHANOUN, a young lady of eighteen, sister of the late Hadji-Ghafour.
  AZIZ-BEY, the lover and _fiancé_ of Sekiné-Khanoun.
  ZOBEIDE, paternal aunt of Sekiné-Khanoun.
  ZEINEB-KHANOUN, mistress of the late Hadji-Ghafour.
  AGA-ABBAS, brother of Zeineb.
  AGA-SELMAN, son of the sieve-maker, advocate of Sekiné-Khanoun.
  AGA-MERADAN, son of the confectioner, advocate of Zeineb.
  AGA-HASSAM, a merchant.
  AGA-KERIM, chief of the courtiers.
  GOUL-SEBAH, servant of Sekiné-Khanoun.
  THE PRESIDENT OF THE TRIBUNAL.

    AGA-REHIM,   }
    AGA-DJEBBAR, }  Assessors of the Tribunal.
    AGA-BECHIN,  }
    AGA-SETTAR,  }

    THE INSPECTOR OF THE MARKET.

    HEPOU,        }
    CHEIDA,       }  witnesses for Zeineb.
    QOURBAN ALI,  }
    HANIFE,       }

    BEDEL,     }
    QUHREMAN,  }  soldiers, witnesses for Sekiné-Khanoun.
    GHAFFER,   }
    NEZER,     }

  THE CHIEF OF THE BAILIFFS.
  ECED, domestic to the President of the Tribunal.
  NASSER, a lackey.
  A seven months’ old infant.




THE MAGISTRATES




ACT FIRST


Scene I--The Scene is laid in the House of the Late Merchant,
Hadji-Ghafour

_Sekiné-Khanoun, sister of Hadji-Ghafour, is discovered standing before
the window; she calls to her servant, Goul-Sebah._

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Goul-Sebah! Goul-Sebah!

GOUL-SEBAH [_entering the room_]. Here I am, madame. What do you wish?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Have you not heard of the trouble which my shameless
sister-in-law is bringing upon me, Goul-Sebah?

GOUL-SEBAH. No, madame. How could I hear about it?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. She has given notice to the President of the Tribunal
that she objects to his paying over to me the money which my brother had
placed in his hands for me. She claims that this sum should revert to
her. Good heavens! Goul-Sebah, was ever such a case heard of? I do not
know what sin I have committed against God, but things always fall out
unluckily for me.

GOUL-SEBAH. Whatever put such ideas in your head, madame? Why should
things fall out unluckily for you?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. As you are aware, Goul-Sebah, I am desperately in love
with Aziz-Bey. For two whole years did the unhappy youth in vain beseech
my brother to give him my hand; my brother would not consent, because
Aziz-Bey is the son of a heretic, and an officer of government. But now
that my brother is dead, and I am free to dispose of my hand as I
choose, I wish to enter into possession of the money which he has left
me, to provide for my wants in peace, and to fulfil the vow of my heart.
And lo and behold, this shameless sister-in-law has protested against
the payment of the legacy! We must therefore have all the worry of a
lawsuit.

GOUL-SEBAH. Is it not a fact, madame, that your sister-in-law has no
right to the legacy left by your brother?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. She certainly has none. What right could she have? She
was not his lawful wife, that she should inherit his fortune. She has
not even a child who could be co-heir to it! I do not really know why
she has protested.

GOUL-SEBAH. Do not trouble your head about it, madame. Please God,
nothing will be done against you. But make one promise to your servant;
I will pray God to bring out your business well, and to grant that you
may soon reach the goal of your desires.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. What is your desire? What promise do you wish me to make
to you?

GOUL-SEBAH. Promise me, when this affair is settled, by the favor of
God, and you have come into possession of your fortune, promise me to
defray the expenses of my wedding and to give me a husband. What could I
desire beside that?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Very well. Do you pray to God that our lawsuit may be
quickly ended, and I will give a husband to you also. But start at once,
and go to the house of Aziz-Bey, and tell him to come to me; I wish to
see what he says about all this. The President of the Tribunal has
induced me to ask an advocate to plead my cause. But I have no one in
this country excepting Aziz-Bey, and a paternal aunt--and she is, of
course, a woman, and what can a woman do for me?

GOUL-SEBAH [_she goes out and at once returns_]. Madame, here comes
Aziz-Bey himself at the very nick of time. [_Sekiné-Khanoun closes the
window and Aziz-Bey enters the room._]


=Scene II=

AZIZ-BEY [_abruptly_]. See what a mess you have led me into, Sekiné.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN [_with surprise_]. I! What mess have I led you into? But,
tell me, what has happened that you seem so vexed and gloomy?

AZIZ-BEY. Listen to me, Sekiné. You know that two years ago, just as I
left school, I fell sick with love for you, so that I had no longer
strength to leave the house, although your brother ill-treated me, and
made every effort to separate us two. During this whole time, I have
proved constant, and have put up with his harshness. My love, so far
from being cooled, has grown from day to day, and in the hope that
sooner or later we should be united, I have patiently endured all sorts
of outrage and persecutions. Meanwhile the moment of our union seemed to
be near, and my thoughts became somewhat more cheerful, and I enjoyed a
little more peace of mind--and now I learn that I am again to be plunged
into misfortune!

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. What do you say? Speak more plainly, that I may
understand your meaning. I do not comprehend you.

AZIZ-BEY. How is it you do not comprehend? Are you not aware that
yesterday, Aga-Hassam, the merchant, has sent the wife of the head of
the Traders’ Company, that of the mayor, and that of Bagis, the lawyer,
to the house of your aunt, to demand your hand of her? Your aunt has
given her word in assent.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. But my aunt talks nonsense! Who pays any attention to
her words?

AZIZ-BEY. I can stand this no longer. You must send at once and call for
your aunt, and let me with my own ears hear her declare that you shall
never be the wife of Aga-Hassam, or else I must decide to kill
Aga-Hassam this very day, and may I succeed in doing so! What is this
Hassam? A shopkeeper! He wishes to step into my shoes, to pay court to
my _fiancée_, and to cross my path, does he! By God, I will cut his
heart out with this dagger.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Very good. I will send to my aunt, and beg of her to
come at once. Then I will tell her that I am not, and never will be the
wife of Aga-Hassam. When my aunt arrives, you must go into this room,
and you will hear what she says with your own ears.--Goul-Sebah!


=Scene III=

GOUL-SEBAH. What is it, madame?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Goul-Sebah, go and ask my aunt to come here.
[_Goul-Sebah goes out_.]


=Scene IV=

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Well, but come now, whom shall we take for our advocate?

AZIZ-BEY. Advocate? For what purpose?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Alas, he asks me for what purpose! Have they not told
you, then, that my sister-in-law disputes the legacy, and wishes to
involve me in a lawsuit?

AZIZ-BEY. Yes, I have heard it said, but at present my head is whirling
round. First let your aunt come, and when she goes away, I will find an
advocate. [_At this moment a footstep is heard, Aziz-Bey returns to the
other room, and Zobeide, aunt of Sekiné-Khanoun enters the apartment._]


=Scene V=

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Good-day, my dear aunt.

ZOBEIDE. Good-day, Sekiné. How are you? Are you quite well?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Ah! how can I be well, when I have allowed you, aunt, to
promise me in marriage to Aga-Hassam? I have neither father nor brother,
and am altogether dependent on myself for the management of my life.

ZOBEIDE. Are you not ashamed to speak thus? What! not a blush! Has not
all been done in your interest? You need a husband; you must take him
who is given to you. It is not proper that young girls should speak in
this style before their elder relations. It is shameful! Fie upon you,
Sekiné!

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Not at all. I have spoken just as I choose; I will no
longer surrender my liberty, and no one shall force a husband upon me.

ZOBEIDE. Very good. You do not, then, wish to marry?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. No; I certainly do not wish to marry.

ZOBEIDE [_smiling_]. There are many girls who say no, like you; but
later on they come to reason.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. In the name of God, aunt, do not make fun of me; it is
absurd to wish me to marry Aga-Hassam; you may as well give up that idea
altogether.

ZOBEIDE. It is not possible for you to recede, my dear niece. You would
make enemies for me of all the leading people of the country.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. They may go to the devil for all I care. Aga-Hassam is
loathsome to me; the very sight of him makes me sick.

ZOBEIDE. Why is that?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. He is a low fellow.

ZOBEIDE. He may be a low fellow to everyone else, but to us he is of the
first water. He is successful in business, is very rich, and his
connections are among the leading people of the province. Where will you
find a better husband?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Even if Aga-Hassam were to load me with jewels from head
to foot I would never be his wife. Go and tell him to give up all idea
of this.

ZOBEIDE. Never. Who, pray, are you, that you presume to go back on the
word which I have given? Aga-Hassam sent to me the leading ladies of the
land. I am no child, and I, of course, consented to their offer; I had
your interest in view, and gave my word to them. Do you wish me to
appear in the eyes of the world as an imbecile? I have, I believe, both
name and rank; I have a position of dignity, and am an honorable woman.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. And so I am to be made unhappy for my whole life in
order that your reputation and your honor may suffer no damage! You have
laid a strange duty upon me, aunt. By Heaven, I swear that I will never,
never marry Aga-Hassam, even though the whole world be brought to ruin.
It is I who tell you this, and you must explain matters to him, and make
him abandon this proposal. If you do not, I will send for him myself,
and I will meet him face to face and give him such a tongue-lashing as
he never had before. I will treat him worse than a dog, and send him
away with a flea in his ear.

ZOBEIDE [_covering her face with both her hands_]. Oh! Oh! My God! Oh!
how the whole world is become topsy-turvy. The young girls of to-day
have neither shame nor reserve. Sekiné, I have never before met a girl
of such effrontery as you exhibit. I myself have been young, I have had
older relatives about me, but from respect toward them I would never
have dared to raise my head in contradiction to them. It is because of
this effrontery of yours that plague and cholera cease not to waste this
province.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. No, it is owing to the baseness of certain degraded
people that plague and cholera are raging here. This miserable wretch
has heard of my fortune of 60,000 tomans, and this is the reason why he
sent and asked for my hand. If this were not so, why did he not seek to
win me by the avenue of love and inclination? If he desired to espouse
me for my own sake, why did he keep his mouth shut, and refrain from
breathing a word during my brother’s lifetime?

ZOBEIDE. He might have had no desire to wed you in your brother’s
lifetime. But you do well to remind me of the 60,000 tomans. Are you not
aware that unless you marry Aga-Hassam he will cause you to forfeit this
sum of money?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Why, and in what way will he cause me to forfeit it?

ZOBEIDE. In what way? Why, he will go to your sister-in-law, and make
common cause with her. His kinsmen and family will support her claim and
confirm her declaration, and you will be compelled to abandon your
rights. The reason is palpable; it lies in the greed and devilish
trickery of those people whose minds are set on nothing else but the
absorption of other people’s fortunes, great and small. And what do you
know about such matters as these? Who will listen to your arguments or
pleas?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Very good. Let us admit that my rights are to be invaded
and my pleas disregarded. Still, I do not understand how a mistress, a
domestic servant, can pretend to the legacy that belongs to me. We shall
soon be told that there is neither right nor justice in this country,
and that everyone can do just what he likes, and as he understands it to
be best for himself!

ZOBEIDE. Ah, my child, is there any safeguard from the trickery of
mankind? What rights had the wife of Hadji-Rehim in the fortune of her
husband? Nevertheless 12,000 tomans in cash and a bathing establishment
were stolen from Aga-Riza, the son of Hadji-Rehim, to make a gift for
this vile woman. By all sorts of rascalities the advocate of this woman
forged a deed of gift, and pretended that Hadji-Rehim in his lifetime
transferred to his wife 12,000 tomans, in specie, and a bathing
establishment. Five or six persons were produced as witnesses, and in
spite of his cries and lamentations, the money and the _hammam_ were
stolen from poor Aga-Riza, who utterly failed to obtain justice. You are
quite unaware of the diabolical wiles of law officers in this country;
no one can escape from the manœuvres of these people, no one can see
through these manœuvres and false statements. Do you think that I have
promised your hand to Aga-Hassam to please myself? Not at all. I have
seen that there was no course to take, and I said to myself that we must
accept the situation with a good grace; and that this was the best thing
to be done.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Even though all my fortune should be swallowed up to the
last penny, I will never be the wife of Aga-Hassam. Go, then, and
explain this to him; tell him that your niece refused her consent.

ZOBEIDE. Do not speak in this way, Sekiné. I see your plan. You wish to
become the wife of Aziz-Bey, and to mingle the blood of our race with
heretics; to bring in those people, and to set them at the head of our
family; to do despite to the spirits of our ancestors, and to cover
yourself with disgrace. Never, up to this day, has such a thing been
seen in our family. How can the daughter of an honest, God-fearing
merchant become the wife of an unbeliever? How is it possible?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. How do you know that I desire to espouse Aziz-Bey? I
wish to espouse neither him nor anyone else. I wish to remain in my own
house. Be quick, then, and give my message to Aga-Hassam.

ZOBEIDE. You are a young girl, you have not reached years of discretion,
and cannot see your own interests. I have not the slightest intention of
going to find Aga-Hassam, and telling him that my niece is unwilling to
marry him. I have promised you to him, and he left after receiving my
word on it; you may spare yourself further talk on this matter.
[_Zobeide rises and goes out._]


=Scene VI=

AZIZ-BEY. You see now what real trouble I am in. I shall go off at once.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Where will you go?

AZIZ-BEY. To this villain, Aga-Hassam, to punish him as he deserves. I
can no longer restrain myself.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. What is the matter with you? Do not go; remain here. You
will otherwise commit some blunder. I intend sending someone from me to
this wretch, to tell him to come here, and I will compel him myself to
abandon these designs of his.--Goul-Sebah! [_Enter Goul-Sebah._]


=Scene VII=

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Goul-Sebah, go to the home of Aga-Hassam, the merchant,
take him aside, and tell him that a woman asks for him on a most
important errand; but do not mention my name. [_Exit Goul-Sebah. Then
Sekiné-Khanoun turns toward Aziz-Bey_.]


=Scene VIII=

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. By heavens, Aziz-Bey, you are a child whose lips are
still wet with your nurse’s milk! Go and look at yourself in the glass
and see how red your eyes are from rage. How is it you have so little
force of character? This base fellow cannot take me by force.

AZIZ-BEY. You are right; but what can I do when my heart is overflowing.
[_Footsteps heard without. Aziz-Bey returns to the other chamber.
Sekiné-Khanoun veils her face and seats herself. Enter Goul-Sebah with
Aga-Hassam_.]


=Scene IX=

AGA-HASSAM. Good-day, madame.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN [_pleasantly_]. Good-day, sir. Do you know who I am,
brother Hassam?

AGA-HASSAM. No, madame, I do not.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Really! Well, Aga-Hassam, I must inform you that I am
Sekiné, the sister of Hadji-Ghafour.

Aga-Hassam [_in astonishment_]. Indeed! I have heard of you. Can I do
any thing for you? I am your humble servant and your slave, your
domestic, your lackey.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. No, Aga-Hassam, let me beg you to be neither my slave
nor my servant; be my brother, both in this world and in the next, and
give up all idea of marrying me. It is for the purpose of making this
simple request that I have called you here; this is all I have to say to
you.

AGA-HASSAM [_in confusion_]. But, madame, why do you not permit me to be
your slave? What fault have I committed?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. You have committed no fault, and it is best that I
should speak plainly to you. I am informed that you sent to my aunt to
ask for my hand; but it is quite useless for her to give her consent to
your demand. I may as well tell you that I am not the person to suit you
in this matter; abandon, therefore, your purpose. From henceforth do not
name me in connection with this subject again.

AGA-HASSAM. And pray, madame, why is this? Give me the reason. Let me
understand why I am not worthy to offer you my services.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. The reason I need not explain. All I have to ask of you
is to leave me alone.

AGA-HASSAM. But really, madame, I must know what fault I have committed
which makes you repulse me.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. You have not committed a single fault, my brother. But I
am to-day mistress of my own actions, and I do not desire to become your
wife. I do not love you; nothing can force the heart to love.

AGA-HASSAM. It is very wrong of you to speak in this strain, madame. Do
not repeat such words.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. I understand what you mean. Well, do your worst. Spare
me, or spare me not, it matters not to me, vile wretch!

AGA-HASSAM. Ah! you will repent of this later on. But think again for a
while, and consider whether you have nothing more to say to me.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. I have considered the whole question, and I have but one
more observation to make. Leave me! and do whatever you will. There is
no one more despicable than you are.

AGA-HASSAM [_enraged_]. Are you mad? I intend to lead you such a dance
that everyone will talk about it; even to the day of your death you will
remember it. [_He rises._]

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Begone! Begone! He who fears you is lower than you are.
Do your worst against me. Begone!--What does he say? Does he fancy that
anyone is afraid of him? [_Aga-Hassam withdraws, and Aziz-Bey comes back
into the room._]


=Scene X=

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Come in and let me think over matters. One stone
frightens away a hundred crows.

AZIZ-BEY. I am going to tell the whole affair to Chah-Zade, the King’s
son, and ask him to settle it offhand.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. The Prince Royal cannot stop the lawsuit. In any case we
must have an advocate.

AZIZ-BEY. The Prince Royal cannot stop the lawsuit; but he can defeat
the artifices of a rascal like Aga-Hassam. I must inform him of the
affair. My father has long been devoted to his service, and he is well
disposed toward me; he has promised to give me employment and to
establish me in an office, and to give me my father’s fortune.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. That is all very good, but let us first secure the
services of an advocate; afterward you can go and tell the whole story
to the Prince Royal, and he will see what is best to be done.

AZIZ-BEY. Very good. Whom would you like to have for an advocate? [_At
this moment Goul-Sebah enters the room._]


=Scene XI=

GOUL-SEBAH. Madame, a certain individual who professes to have important
business to discuss with you is waiting at the door. He asks if there is
anyone who can serve as his representative with you.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Certainly, Aziz-Bey is here. Tell the man to come in; we
wish to know what he wants. [_Goul-Sebah goes out._]


=Scene XII=

AZIZ-BEY. Do you think it wise that the newcomer should see me with you?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Do people know who you are? Probably you will be taken
for one of my family. [_Aga-Kerim enters the room. Sekiné-Khanoun veils
herself._]


=Scene XIII=

AGA-KERIM. Good-day to you both.

AZIZ-BEY. Good-day, sir. Be seated, if you please; you are welcome.

AGA-KERIM [_seating himself and turning to Aziz-Bey._] My young master,
kindly tell me your name.

AZIZ-BEY. My name is Aziz-Bey.

AGA-KERIM. It is a fortunate name. But Aziz-Bey, may I speak to you on a
certain matter in the presence of Sekiné-Khanoun?

AZIZ-BEY. You may address your remarks directly to Sekiné-Khanoun. Do
not think that she is frivolous like other young ladies; she delights in
conversation, and will not be at all bashful in answering your
questions.

AGA-KERIM. She is right. But let me first of all inform you, Aziz-Bey,
that I am Aga-Kerim, the chief of the courtiers, and that I was a close
friend of the late Hadji-Ghafour. I happened to drop in on business a
moment ago, at the house of Aga-Merdan, the son of the confectioner. By
chance Aga-Hassam, the merchant, was also there. He greeted me, sat
down, and spoke as follows: “I am told, Aga-Merdan, that you are the
advocate of Zeineb, the widow of Hadji-Ghafour. I take your side in
this lawsuit, and I have something to say to you in confidence.” I saw
that they wanted to have a private talk, so I withdrew. I learned,
however, that they were plotting against Sekiné-Khanoun, and I therefore
came to warn her, merely from a feeling of gratitude toward
Hadji-Ghafour.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. I am delighted to find, Aga-Kerim, that you have not
forgotten the claims of friendship, and that in the present emergency
you have remembered the sister of an old friend.

AGA-KERIM. Ah yes, madame, friendship is a valuable thing in these days.
I have seen how things stood, for this Aga-Merdan is a rogue and a
scheming rascal whose equal is to be found neither in earth nor in
heaven. I therefore decided to come, and in a friendly spirit to warn
you beforehand of their intrigues, for if they are permitted to carry
them out, there will be no cure for the consequences.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. But, Aga-Kerim, what can Aga-Merdan do against me?

AGA-KERIM. What can he do? I am told that he is the advocate of your
sister-in-law, and intends to sue you at law in her name. He is very
clever and resourceful in affairs of this sort; you would be no match
for him. It is very difficult to get ahead of him.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. What can he do in this lawsuit? My brother has no child
to inherit his fortune. On the other hand, a woman who has been no more
than temporary wife can make no claim to the heritage. However clever
Aga-Merdan, or anyone else, may be, what injury can they do me in a case
which is so clear?

AGA-KERIM. You have had very little experience in affairs of this sort.
Aga-Merdan will find means to accomplish his ends. You must not let him
take you at a disadvantage in the struggle.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. But how can we help being taken at a disadvantage?

AGA-KERIM. Well, tell me in the first place who your advocate is, so
that I may see him, and make him acquainted with some of the tricks of
Aga-Merdan. If he is intelligent he won’t let himself be caught
napping.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. We do not know whom to take for our advocate.

AGA-KERIM. How is that? You don’t know whom to take, and have not
appointed anyone to defend you in this case?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. No, we do not know whom to choose; we are just on the
point of considering the question.

AZIZ-BEY. Could not you, Aga-Kerim, name someone to whom we could
intrust our case?

AGA-KERIM. No, I know no one who would be able to hold his own against
Aga-Merdan. I thought you had your advocate already on hand.

AZIZ-BEY. No, we have not appointed anyone. We were merely on the
lookout for a man of great ability whom we could intrust with the
defence of our interests. But think again; cudgel your brains. Have you
no idea of anyone?

AGA-KERIM. No, I can think of no man who is of great ability. There are
plenty of advocates, but there is none of them who could cope with
Aga-Merdan. But stay; there is someone, if he would consent to be your
advocate, for he has retired for some time from business of the kind. He
alone would be able to hold his own with Aga-Merdan.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Who is he?

AGA-KERIM. He is Aga-Selman, the son of the sieve-maker. Intrust your
case with him if he will undertake it.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Who would be able to see him and speak to him about it?

AGA-KERIM. It is not necessary to delegate anyone to see him. Send for
him, and speak to him yourself here. Perhaps your arguments may persuade
him to accept the case; the discourse of a woman has so much influence.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Aga-Kerim, could you not see him yourself, and send him
to us?

AGA-KERIM. No, madame. I have fallen out with him about a trifling
matter. Send somebody else to fetch him.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. But how can you in this case give him certain
information which you wish him to have?

AGA-KERIM. If you had another advocate, I should deem it necessary to
instruct him in these matters; but in the case of Aga-Selman it is
superfluous. He is clever enough to make slippers for the devil himself.
Although I have quarrelled with him, I cannot deny his merit. God grant
that your lawsuit may succeed.

AZIZ-BEY. I shall go and fetch him myself. [_Aziz-Bey and Aga-Kerim rise
from their seats and prepare to go out._]

AGA-KERIM. God preserve you, madame.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Thanks for your kind visit.

AGA-KERIM. I shall never forget your goodness. [_Aga-Kerim goes out with
Aziz-Bey._]


=Scene XIV=

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Goul-Sebah! bring in a lounge, and lay a cushion on it.
[_Scarcely has Goul-Sebah brought in the lounge and placed a cushion on
it, when a sound of footsteps is heard in the vestibule. Aziz-Bey enters
the room with Aga-Selman. Sekiné-Khanoun takes a seat at the back of the
stage; Goul-Sebah stands by her side._]


=Scene XV=

AGA-SELMAN. Good-day, madame!

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Good-day, sir. You are welcome, Aga-Selman, and your
visit gratifies me exceedingly. Have the goodness to take a seat. [_She
points with her finger to the lounge. Aga-Selman seats himself at the
foot of the lounge and Aziz-Bey takes a place by his side._]

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN [_in a melancholy voice_]. Aga-Selman, I am the sister of
Hadji-Ghafour. I hope that you will treat me as your daughter, and will
not refuse me your support in this day of misfortune.

AGA-SELMAN. Speak, madame, tell me what is your desire?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. You know, Aga-Selman, that seven or eight months ago
everyone forsook the city and fled in every direction because of the
cholera. Hadji-Ghafour was a man full of confidence in God; he declared
he would not leave, but as a precaution he took to the President of the
Tribunal and placed on deposit with him, in exchange for vouchers, and
in the presence of witnesses, a sum of 60,000 tomans, laid up in
strong-boxes. “If I should happen to die,” he said, “you must give this
money to my legal heir.” The President of the Tribunal took charge of
the money, and then, like everybody else, he quitted the city. All our
neighbors also left. No one was at home but my brother and I, with a
woman whom he had espoused in temporary marriage. It happened that my
brother fell sick. No one was left in the town but some soldiers whom
the government had left to guard the houses of the inhabitants, and to
carry the dead to the cemetery. On that day four soldiers came to our
house, and my brother said to them: “I am dying, and I have no other
heir in the world but my sister here. After my death take me away to the
cemetery.” Then my brother departed to the other world. Meanwhile my
sister-in-law, who is no more than a mistress to whom no legacy can
fall, pretends to be the heiress of my brother, and institutes a suit
against me. Her advocate is Aga-Merdan, the son of the confectioner, and
I hope that you will be willing to undertake the task of defending me.

AGA-SELMAN. Madame, I have retired from practice, and do not intend
henceforth to be anyone’s advocate.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. This business will not take long, Aga-Selman; it will
soon be finished; it is matter for a single session. If witnesses are
required to testify to the words of my brother, there are the
soldiers--you can summon them as witnesses. I hope that you will
undertake my case out of mere good-will toward me.

AGA-SELMAN. Do you know the names and addresses of these soldiers?

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Yes. Aziz-Bey will write the information on a sheet of
paper and will hand it to you.

AGA-SELMAN. Since you depend upon me, I accept the case; but on
condition that it is not to turn out a long one, for if it is likely to
last for any period, it will not be possible for me to devote myself to
it.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. It is matter for a single day, and in recompense for
your trouble I will give you a fee of 500 tomans.

AGA-SELMAN. That is scarcely necessary, madame. I engage in this
business purely out of regard for you, and without motives of
self-interest.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. I know it, Aga-Selman, but I offer you this sum as
pocket-money for your children.

AGA-SELMAN. Allow me now to retire, madame; I must go and find the
soldiers and ask them to come and testify at the trial. As for you, make
out a brief and send it to me.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Very good, I will prepare and send it to you. But I
would remind you, Aga-Selman, that Aga-Merdan is said to be very crafty;
leave nothing undone to defeat his tricks.

AGA-SELMAN. Keep your mind easy, madame, his tricks will avail nothing
against me. Aziz-Bey, make a note of the names and addresses of these
soldiers and send the particulars to me.

AZIZ-BEY. Yes, yes; they will be at your house in less than an hour.
[_Aga-Selman rises and goes out. Aziz-Bey and Sekiné-Khanoun remain
alone._]


=Scene XVI=

AZIZ-BEY. As for me, I am going to tell the whole story to the Prince
Royal.

SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Sit down. First of all write the names and addresses of
the soldiers, and send them to Aga-Selman; then you can leave me.
[_Aziz-Bey sits down to write._]




ACT SECOND


=Scene I=

_The action passes in the house of Aga-Merdan, son of the confectioner._

AGA-MERDAN [_discovered seated alone_]. I do not know what can have
happened that Aga-Kerim is so late in coming. He must have been planning
that Aga-Selman may be Sekiné-Khanoun’s advocate, and this is probably
what has detained him. If this affair succeeds, as I predict, beside the
fact that I shall gain no small sum of money, my reputation will be
spread through the whole city and will rise sky high. That is to say,
that this lawsuit is an inexhaustible mine of wealth to the man who can
direct it and make it turn out aright. Thank God, I am not troubled
about that. [_While he speaks the door opens, and Aga-Kerim enters the
room._]


=Scene II=

AGA-KERIM [_gayly._] Good-day. Congratulate me; I have arranged
everything.

AGA-MERDAN [_with a smile_]. Really? Is it credible?

AGA-KERIM. Yes, on your soul it is. I have praised you so highly to the
widow of Hadji-Ghafour that if you had been there you would not have
believed your ears. “To-day,” I said to her, “there is no one of more
consideration with the President of the Tribunal than Aga-Merdan. He is
never deceived, and all he says comes to pass. At the palace among the
advocates he is the only one recognized. This is so true of his
reputation that on certain occasions he has public and private audiences
with the Prince Royal. For knowledge of affairs he is the Plato of the
century. Follow his advice implicitly, and do not be anxious about
anything. It is only under his direction that you will be able to enter
into possession of Hadji-Ghafour’s fortune; for, excepting through him,
you have no right to the legacy!” The woman was well satisfied, even
delighted, as was her brother, Aga-Abbas. Meanwhile they are coming to
see you, in order that you may dictate to them the line they are to
take.

AGA-MERDAN. Very good, very good. But, tell me, have you been equally
successful in securing for Aga-Selman the defence of the other party?

AGA-KERIM. Yes. Aga-Selman is at this very moment with Sekiné-Khanoun,
and as soon as he is at liberty he will come here.

AGA-MERDAN. It is wonderful, Aga-Kerim. By God, you work miracles with
your tongue. But, tell me, is the widow of Hadji-Ghafour pretty?

AGA-KERIM. Why do you ask?

AGA-MERDAN. Why, because I want her to fall in love with me, and marry
me. Why should she not be my wife?

AGA-KERIM. How can I tell you whether she will love you or not? Your age
is a little advanced and the woman is young.

AGA-MERDAN. No, Aga-Kerim, as sure as death, I am not so advanced in
age. I am exactly fifty-one.

AGA-KERIM. I shouldn’t have believed it; I thought you were seventy.

AGA-MERDAN. Seventy? Not on your life. You know I was born the year of
the great earthquake at Tebriz.

AGA-KERIM. You are married already.

AGA-MERDAN. I do not wish to marry her because I am in want of a wife.
But this is how I consider the matter: If we succeed in carrying off all
this fortune from Hadji-Ghafour’s sister, and transferring it to this
woman, why should it go to another husband? Let me marry the woman, and
the fortune becomes mine at the same time. This is also in your
interest; what advantage will you otherwise gain from it?

AGA-KERIM. Yes, but in that case what matters whether she be pretty or
plain? It would be much better that she should be a monster, if in that
way she would become enamored of you, and consent to marry you. But she
is not plain, and I do not believe she would find you to her taste.

AGA-MERDAN. Do you mean that I am not likely to please her, and to be
accepted by her?

AGA-KERIM. Come now, do not you know this yourself? Your face is
certainly not particularly captivating.

AGA-MERDAN. Of course I cannot truly say what effect I produce on you.
Let me look at myself a little in the glass. [_He looks at himself in a
wardrobe mirror._] By God, Aga-Kerim, what do you find to criticise in
my appearance? Do you mean that my teeth are gone? They fell out through
an inflammation, and not from old age. It is true that my jaws are
slightly wrinkled, but this is not seen, the beard hides it.

AGA-KERIM. Good for you. That is sufficient. Now sit down; she will soon
be here.

AGA-MERDAN. Wait a while; let me put on my cashmere robe, button my
surtout, and comb my beard. Then I will come and sit down. [_He begins
to dress himself._]

AGA-KERIM. Is all this necessary? Do sit down.

AGA-MERDAN. Certainly it is necessary. Our women always veil themselves
from the eyes of men, but they are extremely fond of gazing at us. If
the widow of Hadji-Ghafour sees me in full dress she will have more
consideration for me, and my words will have more influence on her mind.
It is even possible that I may prove captivating to her. [_He dresses,
combs his beard, and seats himself. At this moment the door opens, and
the widow of Hadji-Ghafour enters with her brother, Aga-Abbas._]


=Scene III=

AGA-ABBAS. Good-day, gentlemen.

AGA-MERDAN. Good-day to you both. You are very welcome, and your visit
gives me great pleasure. Be good enough to sit down. [_The widow of
Hadji-Ghafour, wearing a veil, sits down, and so does her brother._] I
am going to address my remarks to you, Aga-Abbas; Madame Zeineb will
hear, and will answer when necessary. Six months ago Hadji-Ghafour died.
It is necessary that the root of the matter be made clear, and without
mystery. Everyone knows that Zeineb-Khanoun was not the legal wife of
Hadji-Ghafour; she cannot, therefore, pretend to receive whatever of
fortune there is by right of inheritance. But having learned this
circumstance, I sent Aga-Kerim to you to inform you that if you wish to
take my advice, and govern yourselves according to the measures I shall
take, I can find a way to bring all this fortune into the hands of
Zeineb-Khanoun. As you know, the sister of Hadji-Ghafour is an orphan,
she has neither relatives nor family to abet her. The young lady has
indeed a lover, but this young man is no match for me. You have accepted
my proposals, and have forbidden the President of the Tribunal to
deliver to the sister of Hadji-Ghafour the sum which the latter had
deposited into the judge’s hands until you have shown cause why. The
President of the Tribunal has held the money, and has next notified you
and the sister of Hadji-Ghafour to employ counsel, and to bring your
case before the Tribunal, in order to state the object of your
petition. I am the man whom you have empowered to act for you. But it is
necessary that madame should listen attentively to all that I am going
to say, and that she comport herself in accordance with my advice; if
she wishes the affair to turn out in accordance with our desires.

AGA-ABBAS. Certainly. Nothing can be done without this. Come, then,
detail to us the conditions which you would impose upon Zeineb.

AGA-MERDAN. First of all, Zeineb-Khanoun must deposit with me a fund of
500 tomans to meet certain unavoidable expenses; the remainder of the
dues will be paid afterward. Zeineb-Khanoun has herself declared to
Aga-Kerim that at the death of Hadji-Ghafour there were a thousand
tomans left in the strong-box, and that she carried them off, without
the knowledge of the dead man’s sister.

ZEINEB-KHANOUN. I make no objection to your demands on this point; tell
me your other condition.

AGA-MERDAN. It will be also necessary, madame, that you be satisfied
with one-half of the legacy; that is to say, that of the 60,000 tomans
half goes to you and the other half, some 30,000 tomans, is to be
divided between Aga-Kerim and me, as comrades, friends, and associates.

ZEINEB-KHANOUN. Good gracious, Aga-Merdan, but this is exorbitant!

AGA-MERDAN. It is by no means excessive, Madame. You have no right to
this inheritance; the 30,000 tomans are therefore my free gift to you.

ZEINEB-KHANOUN. What do you mean? I have no rights? For years I have
trudged up and down the house of Hadji-Ghafour; all the closet keys were
in my hands; I had all I desired, and it was I who controlled the
expenses. So long as Hadji-Ghafour lived his sister could not dispose of
a single franc of his. What has happened that I am to be thrust on one
side, and that this adventuress is to come and carry off all the money;
that she is to drink it up, and spend it in order to have a wedding with
a young scamp?

AGA-MERDAN. Such reasons as these are not listened to by the Tribunal.

ZEINEB-KHANOUN. What! not listened to? Ought not justice to be
considered in a lawsuit? For ten years and more this fortune remained in
my hands, and now I am to be stripped of it!

AGA-MERDAN. Yes, indeed, and you ought to be stripped of it. Listen to
me. Surrender one-half of this inheritance, for in reality you have no
right to a single penny of it. Aga-Abbas is well acquainted with the
matter, and he knows what I say is true.

AGA-ABBAS. Yes, we accept the condition. What conditions beside these do
you impose?

AGA-MERDAN. My third condition is that Zeineb-Khanoun shall declare in
presence of the President of the Tribunal that she has by Hadji-Ghafour
a child now seven months old, and still at the breast; this child she
shall present before the Tribunal.

ZEINEB-KHANOUN. Oh, oh, Aga-Merdan, this is very, very hard. How can I
dare to tell such a lie? That I have a child seven months old!

AGA-MERDAN. It is not hard at all. While Hadji-Ghafour was living you
were _enceinte_. A month before his death you brought into the world a
little boy--now seven months old. Is there any difficulty in stating
that?

ZEINEB-KHANOUN. I look upon you as my father, Aga-Merdan, and I will
never contravene your counsels; but this condition is too hard. Will not
people say to me, knowing I have never had a child, “Where is your
child? Where is your child?”

AGA-MERDAN. Don’t distress yourself on that score. The child is all
ready. You have brought him into the world. The babe has been in your
arms, and in the arms of Hadji-Ghafour. There are even people that will
testify to that effect. Don’t distress yourself about these matters;
simply make your statement, and others will confirm it.

ZEINEB-KHANOUN. In the name of God, Aga-Merdan, impose upon me some
condition that I can fulfil; this is really too trying. How can I
perpetrate such a falsehood? I’d never dare to talk in that way.

AGA-MERDAN. You are talking nonsense, Zeineb-Khanoun! I know what you
mean by all this. Why would you not dare to say it? Why are you ashamed
to do so? Everybody knows that it is the business of women to produce
children. What shame is there in it? You have perhaps never been
_enceinte_, and you have never borne a child. Let it be so; but he who
wants to catch a fish must put his hand into cold water. It is quite
necessary that you make this declaration. There is no other way of
succeeding.

ZEINEB-KHANOUN. What end do you wish to gain by this, Aga-Merdan?

AGA-MERDAN. I wish by this means to have the fortune of Hadji-Ghafour
secured to you, and in order to arrive at this result, there is no other
expedient possible but this one. You cannot inherit from your husband in
your own name. Your child, on the other hand, is heir at law. When the
existence of your child is proved all the fortune reverts to him. I will
then have myself without difficulty appointed his guardian; then in five
or six months, I will give it out that the child is dead, and in that
case the inheritance will be legally transferred to you. You will take
half of it and give me the other half. God is the best foster-father.

ZEINEB-KHANOUN. O you for whom I would give my life, can such a lie be
uttered?

AGA-MERDAN. If the sister of Hadji-Ghafour had anyone to maintain her
cause do you think that she would fail to defeat us? But to-day she has
no one to oppose us, and plead her cause for her. If she had married
Aga-Hassam, the merchant, the business would have been very difficult
for us. But now, Aga-Hassam, himself, and all his influential kinsfolk
have become enemies of this young lady; they desire that this fortune
should not be hers. The girl is deserted and left with her lover, who is
good for nothing.

ZEINEB-KHANOUN. Well, well! and this child of whom you speak, where is
he?

AGA-MERDAN. You are going to see him this moment.--Aga-Kerim, go and
take the child from the arms of his nurse there in the chamber. Bring
him in for madame to see. [_Aga-Kerim goes out to fetch the child._]


=Scene IV=

ZEINEB-KHANOUN. Is she a wet-nurse?

AGA-MERDAN. No, it is his own mother who has him at the breast. But she
becomes his nurse now. [_Aga-Kerim returns, carrying the child in his
arms. Aga-Merdan takes it and gives it to Zeineb-Khanoun._]


=Scene V=

AGA-MERDAN. This is your child. You see his eyes and brows are exactly
those of Hadji-Ghafour.

ZEINEB-KHANOUN. My God, one might take it for his portrait! But I fear
that at the trial my tongue will refuse to tell this lie.

AGA-MERDAN. The cause of your fears, Zeineb-Khanoun, is that you are not
persuaded that you yourself are not the mother of this child. You must,
before everything else, bear well in mind that this is your child, or
else you will lose countenance at the hearing, and will stand before the
judge with closed mouth. Have no fear, and give me your word that you
will make the declaration as I dictate.

ZEINEB-KHANOUN. Yes, I promise you, if I am able.

AGA-MERDAN. You will be able, please God. It would be fine, in truth, if
your sister-in-law should carry off the whole inheritance, and squander
it with a scamp, trimming his mustache with it.

ZEINEB-KHANOUN. Yes, by God, you are right. But one thing troubles me.
Will not the advocate of Sekiné-Khanoun discover my falsehood?

AGA-MERDAN. Ha! ha! ha! See how frightened she is of him! Fear nothing.
He won’t say a single word to expose you. Go now and get your
application to the judge drawn up. All must be ready by to-morrow. As
for me, I have another matter to attend to. Another person is looking
for me; I have a thousand suits in hand. Take Aga-Kerim with you, and
give him the 500 tomans; he will bring them to me.

AGA-ABBAS. The money is ready. We have brought it. Aga-Kerim had told us
to do so beforehand.

AGA-MERDAN. Very good; leave it with me and retire. [_Aga-Abbas puts
down the sum of money in a purse before Aga-Kerim. At the moment when
Zeineb and Aga-Abbas rise to depart Nasser, the valet of the Prince
Royal, approaches Aga-Merdan._]


=Scene VI=

NASSER. Good-day, gentlemen. Aga-Merdan, the Prince Royal begs that you
will come to his house this evening and spend an hour with him. He
requires your services in an important affair.

AGA-MERDAN. Tell your master in reply that I am at his service. [_The
lackey retires. Soon afterward, Eced, the servant of the President of
the Tribunal, arrives._]


=Scene VII=

ECED. Good-day, gentlemen. Aga-Merdan, my master invites you to dine
with him this evening at the home of Hadji-Semi. He has pressing
business on which he wishes to consult you.

AGA-MERDAN. You may tell your master that I will be there, and consent
merely to please him. [_Aga-Abbas and his sister retire._]


=Scene VIII=

AGA-KERIM. I do not understand where this messenger of the Prince Royal
and this servant of the judge came from.

AGA-MERDAN. I felt that the woman might be troubled with regard to the
conditions which I imposed upon her. This is the reason why I bribed
these individuals to deliver such messages in her presence. I did so in
order that she might imagine me to be the friend of the Prince Royal and
the boon companion of the President of the Tribunal, in order that she
might recover her spirits. I was afraid that otherwise she would not
dare to make her allegations at the hearing of the case, and so we
should be nonsuited.

AGA-KERIM. By God, your idea was a happy one, but at the hearing of the
case we must keep our eye on her. If possible we must manage that she
gives her evidence after I have brought on the witnesses. You will
promise her as her share 500 tomans; fifty in cash, and the balance
later. The witnesses shall each have thirty tomans; fifteen in cash, and
fifteen afterward. We will give up this sum after winning the lawsuit,
in order that the inspector may not poke his nose into our business; but
you know that the affair cannot be made to succeed without his aid, he
is so crafty. You know he has already on one occasion detected our game.
We cannot cheat him.

AGA-KERIM. Very good. I will go and see about it. [_He rises from his
seat to retire._]

AGA-MERDAN. By the by, just stop one moment. I have an idea which I wish
to communicate, and do not forget the hint. When you see the widow of
Hadji-Ghafour, give her to understand, in one way or another, that she
must not call me “father.” As sure as death you must attend to this. I
don’t like the woman to address me by such a name as father, as if they
thought it pleased me. What need can there be to call me by this title?

AGA-KERIM. Well! Well! Do not swear any more. I know what you are
driving at. Let your mind be easy. I will tell her not to call you her
father again, but to call you her lord. [_Aga-Kerim leaves, and on his
departure, Aga-Selman enters._]


=Scene IX=

AGA-SELMAN. Good-day, Aga-Merdan.

AGA-MERDAN. Ah, good-day! Come now, how are things getting along?

AGA-SELMAN. I am intrusted with the defence; it is all arranged. But,
tell me, what do you think is now to be done?

AGA-MERDAN. I think we would do well to prepare the witnesses, and to
take them to the court-room. What honorarium have you been promised?

AGA-SELMAN. They have promised me only 500 tomans; their witnesses, they
say, are all ready, the course of the trial plain, and there is nothing
either obscure or mysterious in it. I have expressed my satisfaction.

AGA-MERDAN. You have done well; but you know that there is not much
profit in defending a good cause. The widow of Hadji-Ghafour sacrifices
30,000 tomans, these 30,000 tomans will be for us two and for Aga-Kerim.
Have you ascertained the names of the witnesses? Have you learned their
addresses?

AGA-SELMAN. Yes, I have learned and noted all these things. These
witnesses are four soldiers: Bedel, Quhreman, Ghaffer, and Nezer--all of
Nerdji Street.

AGA-MERDAN. I must send and fetch them, and impress upon them to testify
exactly opposite to what they saw. But, first of all, you must go and
find them, and beg them, on your part, to bear faithful testimony. As
soldiers are willing but poor, much the same as wretched beggars, these
men will ask you what present you intend to make them after the trial.
“My children,” you must answer them, “in an affair like this, it is not
good to ask for a fee. You ought to give in your testimony solely for
the sake of pleasing God, and he will fully reward you on the day of the
resurrection.”

AGA-SELMAN. Very good.

AGA-MERDAN. You cannot guess even approximately what will be the
testimony of these soldiers?

AGA-SELMAN. Oh, yes, I know that. They will declare that two hours
before the death of Hadji-Ghafour they betook themselves to his home,
and that he said to them: “I am dying; and have no one in the world
surviving me but a sister. Bury me as soon as I am dead.”

AGA-MERDAN. Very good; but they will have to change that, and say that
Hadji-Ghafour had a little son one month old. Exert yourself now, and go
after these soldiers. [_Aga-Selman rises and leaves._]


=Scene X=

AGA-MERDAN [_alone_]. Thanks be to God, events are turning out
excellently. This is the time when Aga-Kerim is to bring his witnesses.
[_At this moment the door opens, and Aga-Kerim enters the room with the
Inspector of the Market and four other individuals._]


=Scene XI=

THE INSPECTOR. Good-day, Aga-Merdan.

AGA-MERDAN [_to Aga-Kerim, without turning or recognizing the
Inspector_]. Good-day, you have found the Inspector?

THE INSPECTOR. No need to find him, for he was never lost. That was an
odd question of yours, Aga-Merdan. I see that you do not yet recognize
me.

AGA-MERDAN [_first of all leading aside Aga-Kerim_]. Go and fetch
Aga-Selman, and make him point out to you the soldiers he spoke of, then
bring them to me. [_Turns toward the Inspector._] My lord, present these
gentlemen to me and inform me what sort of men they are.

THE INSPECTOR. Here is Hepou, a professional gambler, who arrived here
from Ardebil yesterday; the next is the famous Cheida, of Quzvin, who
keeps a bank during the day, and dissipates during the night; then
follows Qourban-Ali, of Hamaden, who is Jack-of-all-trades during the
night, a hosier in the bazaar by daylight, and lodges with me at night.

AGA-MERDAN. God be praised, they are all honest people, of good
standing. But the profession of Hepou is slightly open to suspicion.
There will be some distrust roused by his presence.

THE INSPECTOR. Do not be alarmed. Hepou is an old fox who will fool
anyone. Do you wish him to appear as a distinguished merchant he will
present himself before you, and you yourself would not recognize him.
You are doubtless unaware of the fact that he is of a race whose skill
has been tested. He is the son of Heides-Qouli, whose foot was cut off.
One day, Heides-Qouli was seen in the city of Eher. He traversed on foot
two posts during the night, and reached Tebriz, stole from the house of
the defunct governor a casket of pearls belonging to the latter, and
returned to Eher the same night; at dawn, he was found asleep in the
corridor of the caravansary. Everyone was astounded at this feat. It was
only on account of the credit he got for it that he was not put to death
immediately on detection. They merely cut off his foot and let him go.

AGA-MERDAN. This, then, is the son of Heides of the docked foot? Very
good; but we will change his name. All these men are well acquainted
with legal procedure, are they not?

THE INSPECTOR. Let your mind be easy on that point; they are all
educated; by my life, they could make slippers for the devil. There is
none like them; every day they meet together and offer the Lord’s Prayer
in the mosque.

AGA-MERDAN. Very good. Do they know what sort of testimony they are
expected to give?

THE INSPECTOR. No, you will have to teach them that yourself.

AGA-MERDAN. Good. They must depose as follows: One evening at sunset a
week before the death of Hadji-Ghafour, we were going all four of us to
pay a visit to the houses of the dead. In passing before the house of
Hadji-Ghafour we saw him standing at his gate and holding in his arms a
babe in long clothes. We saluted him, and asked him how his health was?
“Whose child is that?” we said to him. “It is my own,” he answered, “he
was born three weeks ago. He is my only son; I have no other child.”

THE INSPECTOR [_turning to the witnesses_]. Do you understand, boys?

HEPOU. Yes, we understand.

AGA-MERDAN. Can you repeat the story as I told it?

HANIFE. Undoubtedly so; there are no far-fetched expressions to puzzle
us.

AGA-MERDAN. Very good, my friends. May God bless you!

CHEIDA. How in the name of everything, Aga-Merdan, would God bless such
a transaction as this?

AGA-MERDAN. Why not? My dear friend, if you were acquainted with the
whole affair you would certainly say yourself that God would bless it.
The unhappy widow of Hadji-Ghafour has been for ten years mistress of
his house and fortune. Would it be just that a sickly wench should carry
off all this money, and proceed to enjoy it with a base loafer, a
heretic, and for the sole reason that the latter is to have criminal
relations with her? According to the words of your doctors, the
Sunnites are excluded from the court of heaven.

CHEIDA. Now, by God, but you speak the truth!

THE INSPECTOR. Come now, Aga-Merdan, fix the fee to be paid the boys.

AGA-MERDAN. What? Has not Aga-Kerim done so? I said that I would give
thirty tomans to each of those gentlemen. You know, yourself, what your
share is to be.

THE INSPECTOR. Yes, but you must advance to the lads the half of their
fee.

AGA-MERDAN. Most willingly, if you will now retire. Aga-Kerim will bring
your fifty tomans for yourself, as well as half of the fee to be paid to
each of these young men.

The Inspector. Very good. God protect you. [_The Inspector retires with
his followers, then the door opens again, and four soldiers enter with
Aga-Kerim._]


=Scene XII=

THE SOLDIERS. Good-day, sir.

AGA-MERDAN. Good-day, my lads. Be good enough to take a seat. You are
extremely welcome. Excuse the trouble which I have given you.

ONE OF THE SOLDIERS. Don’t mention it, sir; it is ours to be grateful
for the honor of entering the house of a man so honorable.

AGA-MERDAN. A well-educated man is well received anywhere. Have you
lunched?

THE SOLDIERS. No, we arrived before luncheon time.

AGA-MERDAN. Aga-Kerim, send someone to the bazaar to purchase for the
boys four portions of rice of kebah, likewise of ice and citron cup. See
there be an extra supply of kebah, for they are very hungry. You’ll like
a great deal, won’t you?

A SOLDIER. Why take all this trouble, my lord? We will repair ourselves
to the bazaar, and eat a bit there.

AGA-MERDAN. What trouble is it, my dear friend? It is lunch time, why
should you wish to leave my house fasting and famished? Please God, my
plan is best.

THE SOLDIER. My lord, what do you desire of us?

AGA-MERDAN. Nothing much, my lad; I only wish to ask you a plain
question.

THE SOLDIER. Speak, my lord--two if you like.

AGA-MERDAN. Did you bear to burial Hadji-Ghafour?

THE SOLDIER. Yes, my lord, it was we who buried him. Why do you ask?

AGA-MERDAN. Ah, I congratulate you on your generous conduct. Your
company is always a great honor, not only because you are the defenders
of Islam, but also because you do good service to all people in their
days of distress. While the cholera prevailed there remained scarce a
living soul in the town; you alone did not quit it, making in advance
the sacrifice of your lives. May the Thrice Holy Majesty of God reward
you worthily for this! But did you ever see Hadji-Ghafour when he was
alive, my son?

THE SOLDIER. Yes, my lord, we saw him alive.

AGA-MERDAN. In that case, you must also at his side have seen his little
son in long clothes, who was then a month old.

THE SOLDIER. No, my lord, we never saw him.

AGA-MERDAN. Perhaps he was at that moment in his mother’s arms?

THE SOLDIER. No, my lord. We asked Hadji-Ghafour how many children he
had, sons or daughters, big or little, and he answered that only a
sister would survive him.

AGA-MERDAN. That is possible; he did not count his son because the
latter was only a baby, one month old. But this babe was then in the
arms of his mother; other people have seen him there; and I believe that
you have also seen him. There is no harm done; it is all right. But in
this case what testimony will you give? For, as you know, there is a
lawsuit between the heirs as to the rights of succession.

THE SOLDIER. We will testify of what we have been informed. The advocate
of Hadji-Ghafour’s sister has already questioned us on this point, and
we have corroborated his account.

AGA-MERDAN. Ah, I understand why you speak thus; it is because the
discourse of this wretched renegade has produced an impression on your
mind. Therefore you deny the existence of the child. He has doubtless
promised you for this twenty tomans, and has advanced you ten.

THE SOLDIER. No, my lord, he did not promise us a penny, and even when
we asked for a little present he told us that a witness ought to be
disinterested, and that we ought to expect our recompense from God
alone.

AGA-MERDAN. Oh, the accursed rogue! See how mean, grasping, and close he
is! He won’t let anyone profit by a penny excepting himself, and while
he tries unjustly to obtain evidence in his favor, in a suit for 60,000
tomans, he grudges to spend twenty or thirty tomans on such kind young
fellows as you! By God, there is not in the whole world another wretch
like him! May God punish him by utter ruin! His work is unjust, and his
conduct ignoble, and he himself a skinflint and a robber.

THE SOLDIER. How is his work unjust, my lord?

AGA-MERDAN. Because he evidently wishes to deny the existence of the
little seven months’ old child of Hadji-Ghafour. He wishes to cast out
this child, and deprive him of his patrimony, in order that the sister
of Hadji-Ghafour may get it. But God will not favor this action; he will
prove that the child is still alive, and that his existence cannot be
overlooked. Can such a thing be denied? I am the defender of this poor
little orphan. I have sworn to give thirty tomans to whoever will
testify in favor of this child, and as I know and believe that you have
seen him I have this sum ready here, in cash. But what good is it after
all, since you say that you have no recollection of the child? Yet
perhaps if you were to see him now, your mind might recall
him.--Aga-Kerim, go into the house, take the child from the arms of its
mother, Zeineb-Khanoun, and bring him here. [_Aga-Kerim soon returns
with the little boy, whom he has found in the next room._]


=Scene XIII=

AGA-MERDAN. Consider well, my lads, how is it possible that you have not
seen this little boy? Would it be humane to let another person swallow
up the heritage of this little orphan who cannot speak to defend
himself, and that the unhappy creature be abandoned to sigh and mourn
in the streets and behind doors. Perhaps in the excitement of all this
trouble you have paid no attention to this child. There are times when
people seem to lose their heads.--Aga-Kerim, take from the closet the
offering of this young child, and bring it here. [_Aga-Kerim immediately
takes from the closet four packets wrapped in paper and lays them within
Aga-Merdan’s reach._]

AGA-MERDAN. My dear friends, beside the reward which God will most
certainly give you, this little orphan has made to each one of you an
offering of thirty tomans enclosed in these four sheets of paper. He is
not like that cursed Aga-Selman, who would impose upon you a dishonest
action, yet from avarice gives you nothing as a recompense.

A SOLDIER [_suddenly turning to his comrades_]. Tell me, Quhreman, am I
mistaken, for it seems to me that I do recall hearing the voice of a
little child, while we were at the house of Hadji-Ghafour.

QUHREMAN. Yes, I remember it; there was a woman seated in the corner of
the house and she held in her arms a little child in long clothes.

GHAFFER. Why, of course! I remember that Hadji-Ghafour said to us: “This
is my wife, and this little child is my son; his mother brought him into
the world a month ago.”

NEZER. Well, now, to think how we have forgotten this incident! It is
true, there are days when people lose their wits. Yes, indeed; did not
Hadji-Ghafour ask us to watch over his house, his wife, and his little
child, until the inhabitants returned, for fear that the villains of the
town should do them some harm?

ALL THE SOLDIERS [_in chorus_]. Yes, he commended to our care his wife
and his child.

AGA-MERDAN. May God bless you, my lads! I knew well that you would
recall it to mind. Accept, then, the offering of this orphan, and spend
it as you choose. After the trial is over, please God, ten tomans more
will come to each one of you. A good and sincere action is never lost.
My lads, bear witness before the Tribunal exactly as you have done here,
and afterward pocket your money.

ONE OF THE SOLDIERS. But, my lord, we have promised to Aga-Selman to
testify in his favor. Must we meanwhile inform him that we cannot be his
witnesses?

AGA-MERDAN. No; you need not say anything to him. Let him think all the
time that you are his witnesses, and that he himself brings you before
the Tribunal; when there, deliver your testimony just as you have now
done. Aga-Selman has no rights over you, and he can make no claim upon
you. If he asks why you speak so, you must answer that it is because you
know what the truth is, and are bearing witness to it. Then, you shall
pocket your money. The rice has come; go into that room and do me the
favor to rest yourselves. But I have one thing to ask of you; no one
must know that you have been summoned, and have come here. It is solely
for the sake of pleasing God that you will keep this secret, but I
promise in return for your secrecy to give to each one of you a Bokhara
hat.

THE SOLDIERS. Have no fear on this point, my lord.

AGA-MERDAN. Aga-Kerim, lead these good fellows into that room that they
may take their repast; afterward you may dismiss them.


=Scene XIV=

AGA-MERDAN. [_alone_]. So far, so good. Let us start for the court. I am
going to get the assessors on my side, and to prepare them to act, so
that to-morrow, at the time of deliberation, they may give me the
necessary assistance.




ACT THIRD


=Scene I=

_The scene is the Tribunal. The President is seated on a cushion, in the
place of honor, having Aga-Rehim on his right, and Aga-Djebbar on his
left. By their side are seated the ordinary assessors of the Tribunal,
Aga-Bechin and Aga-Settar. On a lower bench is Aga-Merdan, advocate of
Hadji-Ghafour’s widow, lolling easily upon his seat._


AGA-BECHIN [_addressing the President of the Tribunal_]. Have you
detected, my lord, by your intelligence and wisdom, the wiles of that
woman who came yesterday to lodge a complaint? She stole three tomans
from her husband; she was herself bruised with blows, and had artfully
smeared her face with blood, and torn her hair--then she lodged a
complaint against her husband.

THE PRESIDENT. Did I not tell you that this woman inspired me with
suspicion? We must clear the matter up.

AGA-BECHIN. Yes, my lord, I wish merely to remark how marvellous is your
sagacity! None in the whole court doubted the sincerity of this woman,
but you at the first glance made us suspicious, and you were quite
right.

THE PRESIDENT. In such cases my opinion is often in accordance with the
facts.

AGA-BECHIN. One is quite right in the opinion that governments are
guided by Divine wisdom. What is this suspicion but a direct inspiration
from God?

AGA-REHIM. You seem very much astonished at it, Aga-Bechin, but the most
Holy Majesty of God chooses for their merit, and places at the head of
their contemporaries, those of his servants whom he has distinguished by
special favor. Now, the most Holy Majesty of God has distinguished the
President of the Tribunal with quite extraordinary gifts in regard to
the knowledge of affairs. Would you like to know what this really is? It
is not inspiration; it is, to my mind, a special gift of grace from
God.

AGA-DJEBBAR. Yes, you have the choice of the two opinions, either of
which may be maintained. Is it not so, Aga-Merdan?

AGA-MERDAN. Undoubtedly. It is certainly so.

AGA-REHIM. Aga-Merdan, how is the little boy of Hadji-Ghafour getting
on?

AGA-MERDAN. Very well, thank God. His mother understands it all, and he
will come as soon as he is summoned to appear.

AGA-DJEBBAR. He must be fully seven months old, is he not?

AGA-MERDAN. Yes, exactly seven months.

THE PRESIDENT. How is this? Does a son survive Hadji-Ghafour? They told
me that he had no child.

AGA-BECHIN. But he had one, my lord; you have been misinformed. He left
a little boy who is as beautiful as a crescent moon. Yesterday, as we
returned from prayer, we saw him on the doorstep in the arms of his
nurse.

AGA-MERDAN. He and Hadji-Ghafour are as much alike as two halves of an
apple.

AGA-SETTAR. Do you recall, my lord, the features of Hadji-Ghafour?

THE PRESIDENT. Yes, it is not so long since he died.

AGA-SETTAR. Well, when you see the face of this child you would think at
first sight that you beheld that of Hadji-Ghafour.

THE PRESIDENT. I did not know that. It is very good. But tell me,
Aga-Merdan, if there is a son of Hadji-Ghafour living, it is a waste of
time to open the case. It is evident that the fortune of his father
ought to revert to this child, and in such a case the other relatives
and collateral heirs have no claim upon it.

AGA-MERDAN [_in a tone of perfect humility_]. My lord, if I recounted to
you the reason on which their claims are based, you might doubt of my
sincerity. But Aga-Bechin will tell you the whole story.

AGA-BECHIN. Permit me to relate the whole affair, my lord. Hadji-Ghafour
left a sister, Sekiné-Khanoun. This woman is infatuated with a young
man, whom she loves to madness, and wishes to wed. But the rogue does
not so take it; he reminds her that he has nothing and expects no
fortune to come to him. What would he do with her? Meanwhile the damsel
works tooth and nail to get into her own hands the inheritance left by
Hadji-Ghafour, and so to bring about a marriage with this youngster. Her
aunt wishes to marry her to the merchant Aga-Hassam, who is a rich and
distinguished man; she refuses. She has chosen an advocate, and set up
witnesses in support of her plea that Hadji-Ghafour left no child, and
that the 60,000 tomans that constitute his heritage ought to come to
her. The woman is half-witted if she imagines that she can carry off the
heritage of Hadji-Ghafour by means of such tricks and artifices. This is
an absurd idea, and she is giving herself a great deal of useless
trouble.

THE PRESIDENT. Very well. The affair is not so complicated or involved
as to detain the court long; we shall probably be able to decide and
pass sentence in two hours. The two parties must support their claims by
testimony and proofs.

AGA-MERDAN. Yes, my lord, the witnesses are all ready.

AGA-SETTAR [_to the President of the Tribunal_]. There were brought here
yesterday, my lord, two little abandoned orphans. “We will look out,”
you said, “for a servant of God, pious and charitable, and confide the
children to him,” I believe you would do wisely by placing them in the
care of Aga-Merdan. He will care for them as if they were his own, for
he is always on the search for an opportunity of doing good.

THE PRESIDENT. Very good. Do you consent to this, Aga-Merdan?

AGA-MERDAN. With all my heart, my lord. I will care for them as if they
were my own children.

THE PRESIDENT. May the Master of the Universe recompense you as you
deserve! [_The door opens during these preliminaries and Aga-Selman
enters with Aziz-Bey, in company with four soldiers. Shortly afterward
Aga-Abbas and Zeineb-Khanoun, the widow of Hadji-Ghafour, arrive also,
accompanied by their four witnesses. Zeineb-Khanoun sits down at one
side of the hall, enveloped in a long veil. Aga-Selman, Aziz-Bey, and
Aga-Abbas stand up on the other side of the hall._]


=Scene II=

THE PRESIDENT. Aga-Selman, it is said that Hadji-Ghafour left a son. Can
you prove to the contrary?

AGA-SELMAN. I have witnesses, my lord, who will depose that in the hour
of his death, Hadji-Ghafour declared to them that he had no other heir
but his sister, Sekiné-Khanoun.

THE PRESIDENT. Let the witnesses make their statement.

AGA-SELMAN [_turning to the soldiers_]. Make your statement.

THE FIRST SOLDIER. My lord, one day before the death of Hadji-Ghafour we
went, my comrades and I, to pay him a visit. We asked him whether he had
any children, sons or daughters, and he replied: “I have no one in the
world but my sister, Sekiné-Khanoun.”

THE PRESIDENT. Swear by the name of God that this is just what you
heard.

THE FIRST SOLDIER. I swear by the name of God that this is just what I
heard. [_Aga-Merdan becomes quite pale, and seems thunderstruck, as does
Aga-Selman._]

THE PRESIDENT [_turning to the other soldiers_]. And you, what did you
hear? Speak in turn.

THE SECOND SOLDIER. I call God’s name to witness that this is just what
I heard.

THE THIRD SOLDIER. I call God’s name to witness that I also heard the
same.

AGA-MERDAN [_in a voice trembling with anxiety_]. But at that moment did
you not perceive a little child in the arms of Hadji-Ghafour’s wife?

THE FIRST SOLDIER. It was elsewhere we saw the little child. Would you
like us to state where?

AGA-MERDAN. It is well. Keep silence. [_Turning to the President of the
Tribunal._] My lord, I have witnesses who saw an infant one month old in
the arms of Hadji-Ghafour, on the very day of which the soldiers speak.
“Whose child is this?” they asked Hadji-Ghafour, and he said to them in
reply, “It is my son.” The witnesses are yonder, before you. [_Beckons
witnesses to advance._] They are all educated, honorable, and pious
people.

AGA-SETTAR [_in a tone full of kindness toward Aga-Merdan_]. Verily,
Aga-Merdan, the father of this young man was a certain Hadji-Cherif.

AGA-MERDAN. Yes, may God have mercy upon him! He belonged to a saintly
family.

AGA-SETTAR. The son of such a father cannot but be an honorable man, and
Hadji-Cherif was certainly a most strict man.

THE PRESIDENT [_turning to the witnesses_]. Tell me what you know about
it.

HEPOU. Shall I tell all I know?

THE PRESIDENT. Yes, all that you have learned about this affair.

HEPOU. Well, my lord, yesterday Aga-Merdan asked us to come to his
house, my companions and me. He gave each of us fifteen tomans to
present ourselves here before you, and to declare that at the time of
the cholera we saw in Hadji-Ghafour’s arms his little child, then one
month old. As I am a gambler by profession, I accepted the money and
took it; but this money had been given to me for doing evil, and brought
me no profit. That night I lost the fifteen tomans to the last penny,
for I had fallen in with a sad rogue to whom Leibadj himself could not
hold a candle. I know nothing more than that, my lord. I have never seen
Hadji-Ghafour, and didn’t even know him. [_Aga-Merdan gasps with
excitement._]

THE PRESIDENT [_to the other witnesses_]. And you, what have you to say?

THE OTHER WITNESSES [_in chorus_]. We can only repeat what our comrade
has said.

THE PRESIDENT [_to his assessors_]. And you were affirming a moment ago
that Aga-Merdan was a virtuous man! Your words prove your dishonesty and
deceit. Praised be God in his greatness and sublimity. I do not
understand what all this means.

AGA-BECHIN. No, my lord, what proves, on the contrary, that we are
honest and loyal men is that we have given faith to the words of
Aga-Merdan, and have believed him to be a man of honor.

AGA-REHIM [_sotto voce to Aga-Settar_]. Oh, the liar, may the devil
take him! Do you hear this scoundrel Aga-Bechin, what a good excuse he
has ready? The President believes him, and imagines that we are really
honest and sincere. [_At this moment the head bailiff of the Prince
Royal enters._]


=Scene III=

THE HEAD BAILIFF [_to the President of the Tribunal_]. My lord, the
Prince Royal asks whether the rights of Hadji-Ghafour’s sister have been
proved?

THE PRESIDENT. Yes, they have been established. But does the Prince
Royal know how the proof has been effected?

THE HEAD BAILIFF. Yes, my lord. The Inspector of the Market saw through
the designs of Aga-Merdan and Aga-Selman. He informed the Prince Royal,
who took the necessary measures for defeating their machinations.
Meanwhile the crime of these two individuals has been proved, and I have
received orders to lead them into the presence of the Prince Royal.

THE PRESIDENT. Is Aga-Selman also implicated in this plot?

THE BAILIFF. Yes, he was the secret accomplice of Aga-Merdan. [_The
bailiff seizes Aga-Merdan and Aga-Selman and carries them off_.]


=Scene IV=

THE PRESIDENT. Aziz-Bey, you are to-day the protector of Sekiné-Khanoun.
Go and tell her that in two hours I will take with me the sum of money
left by Hadji-Ghafour, and bring it to her, and place it in her hands
before the most honorable witnesses.

AZIZ-BEY. It is well, my lord; I will go.


=Scene V=

AGA-BECHIN [_striking his hands together_]. By the death of the
first-born, is it possible to utter fabrications such as those of this
Aga-Merdan? O my God, what dishonest people have you created in your
world! By his impostures, this wretch wished to set up a son to
Hadji-Ghafour! Gentlemen, have you ever seen such audacity? Ah, you may
now treat me as a fool, Aga-Djebbar, and may say that I am exceedingly
simple and guileless to believe what the first-comer tells me.

AGA-DJEBBAR [_turning his face and speaking sotto voce_]. Ah, the liar!
May the devil carry him off! Oh, yes, you are simple and guileless--that
is well known. [_Then in a loud tone:_] Let us adjourn, gentlemen. Let
us abridge the fatigue of the President; he has gone through much
exertion to-day. Why prolong this talk? [_The President of the Tribunal
leads the way out lost in thought. Then the others rise and leave._]




=OTTOMAN POEMS=


[_Metrical Translation by E. J. W. Gibb, M. R. A. S._]




FROM THE ‘ĀSHIQ PASHA DĪWĀNI


    All the Universe, one mighty sign, is shown;
    God hath myriads of creative acts unknown:
    None hath seen them, of the races jinn and men,
    None hath news brought from that realm far off from ken.
    Never shall thy mind or reason reach that strand,
    Nor can tongue the King’s name utter of that land.
    Since ’tis his each nothingness with life to vest,
    Trouble is there ne’er at all to his behest.
    Eighteen thousand worlds, from end to end,
    Do not with him one atom’s worth transcend.

              _‘Āshiq Pasha_.




FROM THE ISKENDER-NĀMA


    Up and sing! O ‘anqā-natured nightingale!
    High in every business doth thy worth prevail:
    Sing! for good the words are that from thee proceed;
    Whatsoever thou dost say is prized indeed.
    Then, since words to utter thee so well doth suit,
    Pity were it surely if thy tongue were mute.
    Blow a blast in utt’rance that the Trusted One,
    When he hears, ten thousand times may cry: “Well done!”
    Up and sing! O bird most holy! up and sing!
    Unto us a story fair and beauteous bring.
    Let not opportunity slip by, silent there;
    Unto us the beauty of each word declare.
    Seldom opportunities like this with thee lie;
    Sing then, for th’ occasion now is thine, so hie!
    Lose not opportunities that thy hand doth find,
    For some day full suddenly Death thy tongue shall bind.
    Of how many singers, eloquent of words,
    Bound have Death and Doom the tongues fast in their cords!
    Lose not, then, th’ occasion, but to joy look now,
    For one day thy station ’neath earth seek must thou.
    While the tongue yet floweth, now thy words collect;
    Them as Meaning’s taper ’midst the feast erect,
    That thy words, remaining long time after thee,
    To the listeners’ hearing shall thy record be.
    Thy mementoes lustrous biding here behind,
    Through them they’ll recall thee, O my soul, to mind.
    Those who’ve left mementoes ne’er have died in truth;
    Those who’ve left no traces ne’er have lived in sooth.
    Surely with this object didst thou come to earth,
    That to mind should ever be recalled thy worth.
    “May I die not!” say’st thou, one of noble race?
    Strive, then, that thou leavest here a name of grace.

              _Ahmedī_.




FROM THE ISKENDER-NĀMA


    Once unto his Vezīr quoth the crownèd King:
    “Thou, who in my world-realm knowest everything!
    With my sword I’ve conquered many and many a shore;
    Still I sigh right sorely: ‘Ah! to conquer more!’
    Great desire is with me realms to overthrow;
    Through this cause I comfort ne’er a moment know.
    Is there yet a country whither we may wend,
    Where as yet our mighty sway doth not extend,
    That we may it conquer, conquer it outright?
    Ours shall be the whole earth--ours it shall be quite.”
    Then, when heard the Vezīr what the King did say,
    Quoth he: “Realm-o’erthrowing Monarch, live for aye!
    May the Mighty Ruler set thy crown on high,
    That thy throne may ever all assaults defy!
    May thy life’s rose-garden never fade away!
    May thy glory’s orchard never see decay!
    Thou’st the Peopled Quarter ta’en from end to end;
    All of its inhabitants slaves before thee bend.
    There’s on earth no city, neither any land,
    That is not, O Monarch, under thy command.
    In the Peopled Quarter Seven Climes are known,
    And o’er all of these thy sway extends alone!”

              _Ahmedī._




FROM KHUSREV AND SHĪRĪN


    The spot at which did King Khusrev Pervīz light
    Was e’en the ruined dwelling of that moon bright.
    Whilst wand’ring on, he comes upon that parterre,
    As on he strolls, it opes before his eyes fair.
    Among the trees a night-hued courser stands bound
    (On Heaven’s charger’s breast were envy’s scars found).
    As softly moved he, sudden on his sight gleamed
    A moon that in the water shining bright beamed.
    O what a moon! a sun o’er earth that light rains--
    Triumphant, happy, blest he who her shade gains.
    She’d made the pool a casket for her frame fair,
    And all about that casket spread her dark hair.
    Her hand did yonder curling serpents back throw--
    The dawn ’tis, and thereof we never tired grow.
    He saw the water round about her ear play;
    In rings upon her shoulders her dark locks lay.
    When yon heart-winning moon before the King beamed,
    The King became the sun--in him Love’s fire gleamed.
    The tears e’en like to water from his eyes rolled;--
    Was’t strange, when did a Watery Sign the Moon hold?
    No power was left him, neither sport nor pleasure;
    He bit his finger, wildered beyond measure.
    Unconscious of his gaze, the jasmine-breasted--
    The hyacinths o’er the narcissi rested.
    When shone her day-face, from that musky cloud bare,
    Her eyes oped Shīrīn and beheld the King there.
    Within that fountain, through dismay and shamed fright,
    She trembled as on water doth the moonlight.
    Than this no other refuge could yon moon find
    That she should round about her her own locks bind.
    The moon yet beameth through the hair, the dark night,
    With tresses how could be concealed the sun bright?
    To hide her from him, round her she her hair flung,
    And thus as veil her night before her day hung.

              _Sheykhī_



    FROM KHUSREV AND SHĪRĪN


    When Ferhād bound to fair Shīrīn his heart’s core,
    From out his breast Love many a bitter wail tore.
    On tablet of his life graved, shown was Shīrīn;
    Of all else emptied, filled alone with Shīrīn.
    As loathed he the companionship of mankind,
    In wild beasts ’midst the hills did he his friends find.
    His guide was Pain; his boon companion, Grief’s throe;
    His comrade, Sorrow; and his closest friend, Woe.
    Thus wand’ring on, he knew not day from dark night;
    For many days he onward strayed in sad plight.
    Although before his face a wall of stone rise,
    Until he strikes against it, blind his two eyes.
    Through yearning for his love he from the world fled;
    From out his soul into his body Death sped.
    Because he knew that when the earthly frame goes,
    Eternal, Everlasting Being love shows,
    He fervent longed to be from fleshly bonds free,
    That then his life in very truth might Life see.
    In sooth, till dies the body, Life is ne’er found,
    Nor with the love of life the Loved One e’er found.

              _Sheykhī._




YAZIJI-OGLU

THE CREATION OF PARADISE


    Hither come, O seeker after Truth! if joy thou wouldest share,
    Enter on the Mystic Pathway, follow it, then joy thou’lt share.
    Hearken now what God (exalted high his name!) from naught hath formed.
    Eden’s bower he hath created; Light, its lamp, he did prepare;
    Loftiest its sites, and best and fairest are its blest abodes;
    Midst of each a hall of pearls--not ivory nor teak-wood rare.
    Each pavilion he from seventy ruddy rubies raised aloft--
    Dwellings these in which the dwellers sit secure from fear or care.
    Round within each courtyard seventy splendid houses he hath ranged,
    Formed of emeralds green--houses these no fault of form that bear.
    There, within each house, are seventy pearl and gem-incrusted thrones;
    He upon each throne hath stretched out seventy couches broidered fair;
    Sits on every couch a maiden of the bourne of loveliness:
    Moons their foreheads, days their faces, each a jewelled crown doth wear;
    Wine their rubies, soft their eyes, their eyebrows troublous, causing woe:
    All-enchanting, Paradise pays tribute to their witching air.
    Sudden did they see the faces of those damsels dark of eye,
    Blinded sun and moon were, and Life’s Stream grew bitter then and there.
    Thou wouldst deem that each was formed of rubies, corals, and of pearls;
    Question there is none, for God thus in the Qur’ān doth declare.
    Tables seventy, fraught with bounties, he in every house hath placed,
    And on every tray hath spread out seventy sorts of varied fare.

           *       *       *       *       *

    All these glories, all these honors, all these blessings of delight,
    All these wondrous mercies surely for his sake he did prepare:
    Through his love unto Muhammed, he the universe hath framed;
    Happy, for his sake, the naked and the hungry enter there.
      O Thou Perfectness of Potence! O Thou God of Awful Might!
      O Thou Majesty of Glory! O Thou King of Perfect Right!

    Since he Eden’s heaven created, all is there complete and whole,
    So that naught is lacking; nothing he created needs repair.
    Yonder, for his righteous servants, things so fair hath he devised,
    That no eye hath e’er beheld them; ope thy soul’s eye, on them stare.
    Never have his servants heard them, neither can their hearts conceive;
    Reach unto their comprehension shall this understanding ne’er.
    There that God a station lofty, of the loftiest, hath reared,
    That unclouded station he the name Vesīla caused to bear,
    That to his Belovèd yonder station a dear home may be,
    Thence ordained is Heaven’s order free from every grief and care.
    In its courtyard’s riven centre, planted he the Tūba-Tree;
    That a tree which hangeth downward, high aloft its roots are there:
    Thus its radiance all the Heavens lighteth up from end to end,
    Flooding every tent and palace, every lane and every square.

    Such a tree the Tūba, that the Gracious One hath in its sap
    Hidden whatsoe’er there be of gifts and presents good and fair;
    Forth therefrom crowns, thrones, and jewels, yea, and steeds
          and coursers come,
    Golden leaves and clearest crystals, wines most pure beyond compare.
    For his sake there into being hath he called the Tūba-Tree,
    That from Ebū-Qāsim’s hand might everyone receive his share.

           *       *       *       *       *

              _Yaziji-Oglu._




RUBĀ’Ī


    Cup-Bearer, bring, bring here again my yester even’s wine;
    My harp and rebec bring, them bid address this heart of mine:
    While still I live, ’tis meet that I should mirth and glee enjoy;
    The day shall come when none may e’en my resting-place divine.

              _Sultan Murād II._




GAZEL


    Souls are fluttered when the morning breezes through thy tresses stray;
    Waving cypresses are wildered when thy motions they survey.
    Since with witchcraft thou hast whetted keen the lancet of thy glance,
    All my veins are bleeding inward through my longing and dismay.
    “Why across thy cheek disordered float thy tresses?” asked I her.
    “It is Rūm-Eylī; there high-starred heroes gallop,” did she say.
    Thought I, though I spake not: “In thy quarter, through thy
          tint and scent,
    Wretched and head-giddy, wand’ring, those who hope hope not for stray.”
    “Whence the anger in thy glances, O sweet love?” I said; then she:
    “Silence! surely if I shed blood, I the ensigns should display.”
    Even as thou sighest, ‘Avnī, shower thine eyes tears fast as rain,
    Like as follow hard the thunder-roll the floods in dread array.

              _‘Avnī._




FRAGMENT OF GAZEL


    Torn and pierced my heart has been by thy scorn and tyranny’s blade;
    Rent by the scissors of grief for thee is the robe that
          my patience arrayed.
    Like the mihrāb of the Ka’ba, as shrine where in worship to turn,
    Thy ward would an angel take, if thy footprint there he surveyed.
    They are pearls, O mine eye! thou sheddest her day-bright face before;
    Not a tear is left--these all are dried by the beams by
          her cheek displayed.

              _‘Avnī._




GAZEL


    To obey Fight hard for Allah is my aim and my desire;
    ’Tis but zeal for Faith, for Islām, that my ardor doth inspire.
    Through the grace of Allah, and th’ assistance of the Band Unseen,
    Is my earnest hope the Infidels to crush with ruin dire.
    On the Saints and on the Prophets surely doth my trust repose;
    Through the love of God, to triumph and to conquest I aspire.
    What if I with soul and gold strive here to wage the Holy War?
    Praise is God’s! ten thousand sighs for battle in my breast suspire.
    O Muhammed! through the chosen Ahmed Mukhtār’s glorious aid,
    Hope I that my might may triumph over Islām’s foes acquire!

              _‘Avnī._




GAZEL


    Who pleasure seeks must oftentimes experience sad pain, in sooth;
    He must a beggar be who doth desire to win domain, in sooth.
    Whene’er I sigh, up rise my tears, they, boiling, fast o’erflow my eyes;
    Winds surely must full fiercely blow, with waves to fill
          the main, in sooth.
    My heart’s domain now thought of thee, now grief for thee, alternate rule;
    This realm to wreck and waste to lay those two sublime Kings
          strain, in sooth.
    Spite zeal and prayers, Truth sure is found within the cup
          that’s filled with wine;
    So acts of rakes are free from all hypocrisy’s foul stain, in sooth.
    O ‘Adenī, rub thou thy face low ’midst the dust that lines her path;
    For eyes with blood filled stand in need of tūtyā, health
          to gain, in sooth.

              _‘Adenī._




FRAGMENT OF GAZEL


    When I saw my love’s hair, ambergris-hued, o’er her visage shake,
    “Strange,” I thought, “a moon, musk-shedding, ’midst the
          flowers its bed should make!”
    How thy locks, moon-face, are fallen o’er thy cheek in many a curl!
    As in day he lies reposing, so in strength doth gain the snake.
    From thy cheek the rose and tulip tint and scent have stol’n indeed;
    Therefore through the bāzār round they bear them, bounden to the stake.

              _‘Adenī._




GAZEL


    Again, then, doth this apple, thy chin, tooth-marks wear!
    Again they’ve eaten peaches in thine orchard fair!
    If strange hands have not reached thee, O rosebud-lipped one,
    Doth thy rose-garden’s pathway a foot-step print bear!
    I cannot reach thee before rivals all throng thee round:
    Less for true lover than vile dog dost thou care.
    Witness that thou with my rivals the cup drain’dst last night,
    Bears the sleepless and worn look thy languid eyes wear.
    With whom didst thou last even carouse, that this day
    Morn’s zephyr about thee did so much news declare?
    Beholding thy lips hurt, Āfitābī hath said:
    “Again, then, doth this apple, thy chin, tooth-marks wear!”

              _Āfitābī._




GAZEL


    Cast off thy veil, and heaven and earth in dazzling light array!
    As radiant Paradise, this poor demented world display!
    Move thou thy lips, make play the ripples light of Kevser’s pool!
    Let loose thy scented locks, and odors sweet through earth convey!
    A musky warrant by thy down was traced, and zephyr charged:
    “Speed, with this scent subdue the realms of China and Cathay!”
    O heart! should not thy portion be the Water bright of Life,
    A thousand times mayst thou pursue Iskender’s darksome way.
    O Zeyneb, woman’s love of earthly show leave thou behind;
    Go manly forth, with single heart, forsake adornment gay!

              _Zeyneb._




GAZEL


    ‘Ah! thine eyes lay waste the heart, they ’gainst the soul bare
          daggers dread;
    See how sanguinary gleam they--blood aye upon blood they shed.
    Come, the picture of thy down bear unto this my scorchèd breast--
    It is customary fresh greens over the broiled flesh to spread.
    Said I: “O Life! since thy lip is life, to me vouchsafe a kiss.”
    Smiling rose-like, “Surely, surely, by my life,” she answerèd.
    As I weep sore, of my stainèd eyebrow and my tears of blood,
    “’Tis the rainbow o’er the shower stretched,” were by all beholders said.
    While within my heart thine eye’s shaft, send not to my breast despair;
    Idol mine! guest after guest must not to one same house be led.
    Through its grieving for thy hyacinth down, thus feeble grown
    Is the basil, that the gardeners nightly o’er it water shed.
    Quoth I: “O Life! do not shun Jem, he a pilgrim here hath come;”
    “Though a pilgrim, yet his life doth on a child’s face hang,” she said.

              _Prince Jem_




    FRAGMENT


    Lo! there the torrent, dashing ’gainst the rocks, doth wildly roll;
    The whole wide realm of Space and Being ruth hath on my soul.
    Through bitterness of grief and woe the morn hath rent its robe;
    See! O in dawning’s place, the sky weeps blood, without control!
    Tears shedding, o’er the mountain-tops the clouds of heaven pass;
    Hear, deep the bursting thunder sobs and moans through stress of dole.

              _Prince Jem._




GAZEL


    He who longs for ruby lip’s kiss may not calm of soul remain;
    He his head must yield who hopes the dusky locks’ sweet scent to gain.
    Still in heart abides not longing’s flame when one her ward beholds;
    Him who seeks her face contents not even Heaven’s flowery plain.
    Yonder sugar-lip’s surrounded by her cheek’s down;--where art thou,
    O thou seeker of the rose’s company without thorn’s pain?
    Wouldest thou delight? Then plunge thou deep beneath Love’s ocean surge:
    He who would for regal pearls dive, surely should know well the main.
    Though the loved one mocks at Ahmed’s faults and failings, what of that?
    He who seeks a friend that’s blameless must without a friend remain.

              _Ahmed Pasha._




FROM THE WINTER QASĪDA


    Locust-like down from the sky the snowflakes wing their way;
    From the green-plumaged bird, Delight, O heart! hope not for lay.
    Like drunken camels, spatter now the clouds earth’s winding sheet;
    Laded the caravan of mirth and glee, and passed away.
    With lighted lamps in daytime seek the people for the sun;
    Yet scarce, with trouble, a dim, fitful spark discover they.

           *       *       *       *       *

    The Moon in Sign of Bounteousness! the Shade of Allah’s grace!
    The King, star-armied! he in aspect fair as Hermes’ ray--
    The Khān Muhammed! at the portal of whose sphere of might
    To wait as servants would Darius and Key-Khusrev pray!
    E’en should the sun till the Last Day it measure with gold beam,
    Nor shore nor depth could e’er it find to th’ ocean of his sway!

              _Nejātī._




FROM THE SPRING QASĪDA


    The early springtide now hath made earth smiling bright again,
    E’en as doth union with his mistress soothe the lover’s pain.
    They say: “’Tis now the goblet’s turn, the time of mirth ’tis now;”
    Beware that to the winds thou castest not this hour in vain.
    Theriaca within their ruby pots the tulips lay:
    See in the mead the running streamlet’s glistening, snake-like train.
    Onward, beneath some cypress-tree’s loved foot its face to rub,
    With turn and turn, and singing sweet, the brook goes through the plain.
    Lord! may this happy union of felicity and earth,
    Like turn of sun of Love, or Jesu’s life, standfast remain!
    May glee and mirth, e’en as desired, continuous abide,
    Like to a mighty Key-Khusrev’s, or Jemshīd’s, glorious reign!

           *       *       *       *       *

    Sultan Muhammed! Murād’s son! the Pride of Princes all;
    He, the Darius, who to all earth’s Kings doth crowns ordain!
    Monarch of stars! whose flag’s the sun, whose stirrup is the moon!
    Prince dread as Doom, and strong as Fate, and bounteous as main!

              _Nejātī._




FROM THE QASĪDA ON THE ACCESSION OF SULTAN BĀYEZĪD II


    One eve, when had the Sun before her radiant beauty bright
    Let down the veil of ambergris, the musky locks of night;
    (Off had the royal hawk, the Sun, flown from the Orient’s hand,
    And lighted in the West; flocked after him the crows in flight;)
    To catch the gloomy raven, Night, the fowler skilled, the Sphere,
    Had shaped the new-moon like the claw of eagle, sharp to smite;
    In pity at the doleful sight of sunset’s crimson blood,
    Its veil across the heaven’s eye had drawn the dusky Night.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Sultan of Rome! Khusrev of the Horizons! Bāyezīd!
    King of the Epoch! Sovereign! and Centre of all Right!
    The tablet of his heart doth all th’ affairs of earth disclose;
    And eloquent as page of book the words he doth indite.
    O Shāh! I’m he who, ’midst th’ assembly where thy praise is sung,
    Will, rebec-like, a thousand notes upon one cord recite.
    ’Tis meet perfection through thy name to my poor words should come,
    As to rose-water perfume sweet is brought by sunbeam’s light.

              _Nejātī._




GAZEL


    Truth this: a lasting home hath yielded ne’er earth’s spreading plain;
    Scarce e’en an inn where may the caravan for rest remain.
    Though every leaf of every tree is verily a book,
    For those who understanding lack doth earth no leaf contain.
    E’en though the Loved One be from thee as far as East from West,
    “Bagdad to lovers is not far,” O heart, then strive and strain.
    One moment opened were her ebriate, strife-causing eyne.
    By us as scimitars, not merely daggers, were they ta’en.
    Yearneth Nejātī for the court of thy fair Paradise,
    Though this a wish which he while here on earth can ne’er attain.

              _Nejātī._




RUBĀ’ĪS


    O Handkerchief! I send thee--off to yonder maid of grace;
    Around thee I my eyelashes will make the fringe of lace;
    I will the black point of my eye rub up to paint therewith;
    To yon coquettish beauty go--go look thou in her face.

    O Handkerchief! the loved one’s hand take, kiss her lip so sweet,
    Her chin, which mocks at apple and at orange, kissing greet;
    If sudden any dust should light upon her blessèd heart,
    Fall down before her, kiss her sandal’s sole, beneath her feet.

    A sample of my tears of blood thou, Handkerchief, wilt show,
    Through these within a moment would a thousand crimson grow;
    Thou’lt be in company with her, while I am sad with grief;
    To me no longer life may be, if things continue so.

              _Nejātī._




FROM THE SPRING QASĪDA


    Up from indolent sleep the eyes of the flowers to awake,
    Over their faces each dawn the cloudlets of spring water shake.
    Denizens all of the mead now with new life are so filled,
    That were its foot not secured, into dancing the cypress would break.
    Roses’ fair cheeks to describe, all of their beauty to tell,
    Lines on the clear river’s page rain-drops and light ripples make.
    Silvery rings, thou would’st say, they hung in the bright water’s ear,
    When the fresh rain-drops of spring fall on the stretch of the lake.
    Since the ring-dove, who aloft sits on the cypress, its praise
    Sings, were it strange if he be sad and love-sick for its sake?

           *       *       *       *       *

    Prince of the Climate of Speech, noble Nishānji Pasha,
    To the mark of whose kindness the shaft of thought can its way never make.
    When poets into their hands the chaplet, thy verses, have ta’en,
    “I pardon implore of the Lord” for litany ever they take.

              _Mesīhī._




MUREBBA’


    Hark the bulbul’s lay so joyous: “Now have come the days of spring.”
    Merry shows and crowds on every mead they spread, a maze of spring;
    There the almond-tree its silvern blossoms scatters, sprays of spring:
      Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.

    Once again with varied flow’rets decked themselves have mead and plain;
    Tents for pleasure have the blossoms raised in every rosy lane.
    Who can tell, when spring hath ended, who and what may whole remain?
      Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.

    All the alleys of the parterre filled with Ahmed’s Light appear,
    Verdant herbs his Comrades, tulips like his Family bright appear;
    O ye People of Muhammed! times now of delight appear:
      Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.

    Sparkling dew-drops stud the lily’s leaf like sabre broad and keen;
    Bent on merry gypsy-party, crowd they all the flow’ry green;
    List to me, if thou desirest, these beholding, joy to glean:
      Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.

    Rose and tulip, like to lovely maidens’ cheeks, all beauteous show,
    While the dew-drops, like the jewels in their ears, resplendent glow;
    Do not think, thyself beguiling, things will aye continue so:
      Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.

    Rose, anemone, and tulip--these, the garden’s fairest flowers--
    ’Midst the parterre is their blood shed ’neath the lightning-darts
          and showers.
    Art thou wise?--then with thy comrades dear enjoy the fleeting hours:
      Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.

    Past the moments when with sickness were the ailing herbs opprest,
    When the garden’s care, the rose-bud, hid its sad head in its breast;
    Come is now the time when hill and rock with tulips dense are drest:
      Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.

    While each dawn the clouds are shedding jewels o’er the rosy land,
    And the breath of morning’s zephyr, fraught with Tātār musk is bland;
    While the world’s fair time is present, do not thou unheeding stand:
      Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.

    With the fragrance of the garden, so imbued the musky air,
    Every dew-drop, ere it reaches earth, is turned to attar rare;
    O’er the parterre spread the incense-clouds a canopy right fair:
      Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.

    Whatsoe’er the garden boasted smote the black autumnal blast;
    But, to each one justice bringing, back hath come Earth’s King at last;
    In his reign joyed the cup-bearer, round the call for wine is past:
      Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.

    Ah! I fondly hope, Mesīhī, fame may to these quatrains cling;
    May the worthy these four-eyebrowed beauties oft to mem’ry bring;
    Stray among the rosy faces, Bulbul, who so sweet dost sing:
      Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.

              _Mesīhī._




FRAGMENT


    Both crown and robe forsake shall I, I’ll roam, by these unprest, a while;
    ’Midst foreign lands, far off from here, I’ll dwell a wayworn
          guest, a while.
    O minstrel fair, both harp and lute’s sweet music hushed must now remain;
    Woe’s feast is spread, ah! there the flute:--my sighs by grief
          opprest, a while.
    Sometimes I’ll fall, sometimes I’ll rise, sometimes I’ll laugh,
          sometimes I’ll weep,
    Blood drinking now, woe tasting then, distracted sore I’ll rest, a while.

              _Harīmī._




GAZEL


    Once from sleep I oped my eyes, I raised my head, when full in sight
    There before me stood a moon-faced beauty, lovely, shining, bright.
    Thought I: “In th’ ascendant’s now my star, or I my fate have reached,
    For within my chamber sure is risen Jupiter this night.”
    Radiance from his beauty streaming saw I, though to outward view
    (While himself a Muslim) he in garb of infidel is dight.
    Though I oped my eyes or closed them, still the form was ever there;
    Thus I fancied to myself: “A fairy this or angel bright?”
    Till the Resurrection ne’er shall Mihrī gain the Stream of Life;
    Yet in Night’s deep gloom Iskender gleamed before her wond’ring sight.

              _Mihrī._




GAZEL


    Faithful and kind a friend I hoped that thou wouldest prove to me;
    Who would have thought so cruel and fierce a tyrant in thee to see?
    Thou who the newly-oped rose art of the Garden of Paradise,
    That every thorn and thistle thou lov’st--how can it fitting be?
    I curse thee not, but of God Most High, Our Lord, I make this prayer--
    That thou may’st love a pitiless one in tyranny like to thee.
    In such a plight am I now, alack! that the curser saith to his foe:
    “Be thy fortune dark and thy portion black, even as those of Mihrī!”

              _Mihrī._




GAZEL


    From Istāmbōl’s throne a mighty host to Īrān guided I;
    Sunken deep in blood of shame I made the Golden Heads to lie.
    Glad the Slave, my resolution, lord of Egypt’s realm became:
    Thus I raised my royal banner e’en as the Nine Heavens high.
    From the kingdom fair of ‘Irāq to Hijāz these tidings sped,
    When I played the harp of Heavenly Aid at feast of victory.
    Through my sabre Transoxania drowned was in a sea of blood;
    Emptied I of kuhl of Isfahān the adversary’s eye.
    Flowed adown a River Āmū from each foeman’s every hair--
    Rolled the sweat of terror’s fever--if I happed him to espy.
    Bishop-mated was the King of India by my Queenly troops,
    When I played the Chess of empire on the Board of sov’reignty.
    O Selīmī, in thy name was struck the coinage of the world,
    When in crucible of Love Divine, like gold, that melted I.

              _Selīmī._




GAZEL


    My pain for thee balm in my sight resembles;
    Thy face’s beam the clear moonlight resembles.
    Thy black hair spread across thy cheeks, the roses,
    O Liege, the garden’s basil quite resembles.
    Beside thy lip oped wide its mouth, the rosebud;
    For shame it blushed, it blood outright resembles.
    Thy mouth, a casket fair of pearls and rubies,
    Thy teeth, pearls, thy lip coral bright resembles;
    Their diver I, each morning and each even;
    My weeping, Liege, the ocean’s might resembles.
    Lest he seduce thee, this my dread and terror,
    That rival who Iblīs in spite resembles.
    Around the taper bright, thy cheek, Muhibbī
    Turns, and the moth in his sad plight resembles.

              _Muhibbī._




GAZEL


    He who poverty electeth, hall and fane desireth not;
    Than the food of woe aught other bread to gain desireth not.
    He who, king-like, on the throne of blest contentment sits aloft,
    O’er the Seven Climes as Sultan high to reign desireth not.
    He, who in his bosom strikes his nails, and opes the wound afresh,
    On the garden looks not, sight of rosy lane desireth not.
    He, who is of Love’s true subjects, bideth in the fair one’s ward,
    Wand’ring there distracted, mountain lone or plain desireth not.
    O Muhibbī, he who drinketh from the Loved One’s hand a glass,
    E’en from Khizar’s hand Life’s Water bright to drain desireth not.

              _Muhibbī_.




GAZEL


    A flame that Picture’s sabre in its deadliness of blow;
    Like sparks upon its face the marks of damaskeening glow.
    Is’t strange that by thy side the bird, my heart, should rest secure?
    Thy sabre damaskeened to it doth grain and water show!
    The watered scimitar within thy grasp an ocean is,
    In which the lines and marks are scattered pearls unique, I trow.
    Thy sword a sky, its stars the marks of damaskeening shine,
    My heart’s blood there upon its face like break of dawn doth glow.
    What though I call that Picture’s brand a branch of Judas-tree?
    For there the damask marks and grains like flowers and blossoms blow.
    Figānī’s verse on yonder King of Beauty’s empire’s sword
    Doth like unto a running stream of limpid water flow.

              _Figānī_.




ON AUTUMN


    O sad heart, come, distraction’s hour is now high,
    The air’s cool, ’midst the fields to sit the time nigh.
    The Sun hath to the Balance, Joseph-like, past,
    The year’s Zuleykha hath her gold hoard wide cast.
    By winds bronzed, like the Sun, the quince’s face glows;
    Its Pleiads-clusters, hanging forth, the vine shows.
    In saffron flow’rets have the meads themselves dight;
    The trees, all scorched, to gold have turned, and shine bright.
    The gilded leaves in showers falling to earth gleam;
    With goldfish filled doth glisten brightly each stream.
    Ablaze each tree, and blent are all in one glare,
    And therefore charged with glistening fire the still air.
    Amidst the yellow foliage perched the black crows--
    As tulip, saffron-hued, that spotted cup shows.
    A yellow-plumaged bird now every tree stands,
    Which shakes itself and feathers sheds on all hands.
    Each vine-leaf paints its face, bride-like, with gold ink;
    The brook doth silver anklets round the vine link.
    The plane-tree hath its hands, with hinna, red dyed,
    And stands there of the parterre’s court the fair bride.
    The erst green tree now like the starry sky shows,
    And hurling meteors at the fiend, Earth, stones throws.

              _Lāmi’ī_.




ON SPRING


    From the pleasure, joy, and rapture of this hour,
    In its frame to hold its soul earth scarce hath power.
    Rent its collar, like the dawning, hath the rose;
    From its heart the nightingale sighs forth its woes.
    Dance the juniper and cypress like the sphere;
    Filled with melody through joy all lands appear.
    Gently sing the running brooks in murmurs soft;
    While the birds with tuneful voices soar aloft.
    Play the green and tender branches with delight,
    And they shed with one accord gold, silver, bright.
    Like to couriers fleet, the zephyrs speed away,
    Resting ne’er a moment either night or day.
    In that raid the rosebud filled with gold its hoard,
    And the tulip with fresh musk its casket stored.
    There the moon a purse of silver coin did seize;
    Filled with ambergris its skirt the morning breeze;
    Won the sun a golden disk of ruby dye,
    And with glistening pearls its pocket filled the sky:
    Those who poor were fruit and foliage attained;
    All the people of the land some trophy gained.

              _Lāmi’ī_.




ROSE TIME


    O heart, come, wail, as nightingale thy woes show;
    ’Tis Pleasure’s moment this, come, then, as rose blow.
    In burning notes make thou thy tuneful song rise;
    These iron hearts soft render with thy sad sighs.
    Within thy soul place not, like tulip, dark brand;
    When opportunity doth come, then firm stand.
    From earth take justice ere yet are these times left,
    And ere yet from the soul’s harp is breath’s song reft.
    They call thee--view the joys that sense would yield thee;
    But, ere thou canst say “Hie!” the bird is flown, see.
    Give ear, rose-like, because in truth the night-bird
    From break of dawn its bitter wail hath made heard.
    Their chorus all around the gleeful birds raise;
    The streamlets sing, the nightingale the flute plays.
    The jasmines with their fresh leaves tambourines ply;
    The streams, hard pressed, raise up their glistening foam high
    Of junipers and cypresses two ranks ’tween,
    The zephyr sports and dances o’er the flower-green.
    The streamlets ’midst the vineyard hide-and-seek play
    The flowerets with, among the verdant leaves gay.
    Away the morning’s breeze the jasmine’s crown tears,
    As pearls most costly scatters it the plucked hairs.
    The leader of the play’s the breeze of swift pace;
    Like children, each the other all the flowers chase.
    With green leaves dressed, the trees each other’s hands take;
    The flowers and nightingales each other’s robes shake.
    Like pigeon, there, before the gale that soft blows,
    Doth turn in many a somersault the young rose.
    As blaze up with gay flowerets all the red plains,
    The wind each passes, and the vineyard next gains.
    The clouds, pearl-raining, from the meteors sparks seize;
    And flowers are all around strewn by the dawn-breeze.
    The waters, eddying, in circles bright play,
    Like shining swords the green leaves toss about they.
    With bated breath the Judas-trees there stand by;
    And each for other running brook and breeze sigh.
    The gales tag with the basil play in high glee;
    To dance with cypress gives its hand the plane-tree.
    The soft winds have adorned the wanton bough fair,
    The leader of the frolics ’midst the parterre.
    The narcisse toward the almond-tree its glance throws;
    With vineyard-love the pink upbraids the dog-rose.
    The water’s mirror clear doth as the Sphere gleam;
    Its stars, the flowers reflected, fair and bright beam.
    The meads are skies; their stars, the drops of dew, glow;
    The jasmine is the moon; the stream, the halo.
    In short, each spot as Resurrection-plane seems;
    None who beholds of everlasting pain dreams.
    Those who it view, and ponder well with thought’s eye,
    Is’t strange, if they be mazed and wildered thereby?
    Up! breeze-like, Lāmi’ī, thy hermitage leave!
    The roses’ days in sooth no time for fasts give

              _Lāmi’ī_.




FROM AN ELEGY ON SULTAN SELĪM I


    He, an old man in prudence, a youth in might;
    His sword aye triumphant, his word ever right
    Like Āsef in wisdom, the pride of his host;
    He needed no vezīr, no mushīr in fight.
    His hand was a sabre; a dagger, his tongue;
    His finger, an arrow; his arm, a spear bright.
    In shortest of time many high deeds he wrought,
    Encircle the world did the shade of his might.
    The Sun of his Day, but the sun at day’s close,
    Throwing long shadow, but brief while in sight.
    Of throne and of diadem sovereigns boast,
    But boasted of him throne and diadem bright.
    Delight would his heart in that festival find,
    Whither doth sabre’s and fife’s clang invite.
    In feats with the sword, eke at feasts at the board,
    On his peer ne’er alight did the aged Sphere’s sight:
    Sped he to the board’s feast--a Sun beaming bright!
    Swept he to the sword’s field--a Lion of fight!
    Whenever the war-cries: Seize! Hold! echo far,
    The sword, weeping blood, shall that Lion’s fame cite.
      Alas! Sultan Selīm! alas! woe is me!
      Let both Pen and Sabre in tears mourn for thee!

              _Kemāl Pasha-Zāda._




FROM AN ELEGY ON ISKENDER CHELEBI


    High honored once was the noble Iskender;
    O heart, from his destiny warning obtain.
    Ah! do thou see what at length hath befall’n him!
    What all this glory and panoply gain!
    Drinking the poison of doom, ne’er a remnant
    Of sweetness’s taste in his mouth did remain.
    Retrograde, sank down his star, erst ascendant,
    From perfect conjunction, alas, did it wane.
    Dust on the face of his honor aye stainless
    Strewn hath the blast of betrayal profane.
    The Lofty Decree for his high exaltation
    Did Equity’s Court, all unlocked for, ordain;
    Forthwith to the Regions of Eden they bore him,
    They raised him from earth’s abject baseness and stain.
    Circling and soaring, he went on his journey,
    From the land of his exile to Home back again.
    Neck-bounden he stood as a slave at the palace,
    Freed is he now from affliction’s hard chain.
    Joyous he flew on his journey to Heaven,
    Rescued forever from earth gross and vain.
    In life or in death from him never, ay, never
    Was honor most lofty, most glorious, ta’en!

              _Gazālī._




FRAGMENT


    Come is the autumn of my life, alas, it thus should pass away!
    I have not reached the dawn of joy, to sorrow’s night there is no day.
    Time after time the image of her cheek falls on my tear-filled eye;
    Ah! no pretension to esteem can shadows in the water lay!
    Oh! whither will these winds of Fate impel the frail barque of the heart?
    Nor bound nor shore confining girds Time’s dreary ocean of dismay!

              _Gazālī._




GAZEL


    Dead am I of grief, my Moon no love who shows, ah! where art thou?
    Reach the skies, the plaints and wails born of my woes, ah!
          where art thou?
    Save within thy rosy bower rests not the nightingale, the heart;
    Figure fair as waving cypress, face as rose, ah! where art thou?
    Through thy lips the rose drops sugar at the feast of heart and soul;
    Where, my Parrot whose sweet voice doth love disclose, ah! where art thou?
    Though with longing dead were Ishāaq, live should he, did once she say:
    “O my poor one, wildered, weary, torn by woes, ah! where art thou?”

              _Ishāq Chelebi._




ON THE PROPHET MUHAMMED


    That thy form, O Beauty of his orchard who doth all pervade!
    Is a cypress, wrought of light, that casteth on earth’s face no shade.
    Though the gazers on the loveliness of Joseph cut their hands,
    Cleft in twain the fair moon’s palm, when it thy day-bright face surveyed.
    To the mart of the Hereafter, when a man hath passed, he gains
    Through the money bright, thy love, which is of joy the stock-in-trade.
    This, my hope, that yonder Cypress in the bowers of Paradise
    Shelter Zātī, and all true believers, ’neath his blissful shade.

              _Zātī._




GAZEL


    Through thine absence, smiling Rosebud, forth my soul doth go, alas!
    Earth is flooded by the tears down from my eyes that flow, alas!
    Should’st thou ask about my days, without thee they’re black as thy hair;
    ’Midst of darkness, O my Stream of Life, I’m lying low, alas!
    With the stones of slander stone me all the cruel rival throng;
    O my Liege, my Queen, ’tis time now mercy thou should’st show, alas!
    When I die through longing for thee, and thou passest o’er my breast,
    From my dust thou’lt hear full many bitter sighs of woe, alas!
    In his loved one’s cause will Lutfī surely die the martyr’s death;
    Let her brigand eyes from mulct for blood of mine free go, alas!

              _Lutfī._




GAZEL


    If ’tis state thou seekest like the world-adorning sun’s array,
    Lowly e’en as water rub thy face in earth’s dust every day.
    Fair to see, but short enduring is this picture bright, the world;
    ’Tis a proverb: Fleeting like the realm of dreams is earth’s display.
    Through the needle of its eyelash never hath the heart’s thread past;
    Like unto the Lord Messiah bide I half-road on the way.
    Athlete of the Universe through self-reliance grows the Heart,
    With the ball, the Sphere--Time, Fortune--like an apple doth it play.
    Mukhlisī, thy frame was formed from but one drop, yet, wonder great!
    When thou verses sing’st, thy spirit like the ocean swells, they say.

              _Mukhlisī._




GAZEL


    One with Realms Eternal this my soul to make; what wouldest say?
    All Creation’s empire’s fancies to forsake; what wouldest say?
    Wearing to a hair my frame with bitter sighs and moans, in love,
    Nestling in the Fair One’s tresses, rest to take; what wouldest say?
    Yonder gold-faced birds within the quicksilver-resplendent deep:
    Launching forth the hawk, my striving, these to take; what wouldest say?
    Yonder Nine Smaragdine Bowls of Heaven to quaff at one deep draught,
    Yet from all ebriety’s fumes free to break; what wouldest say?
    To an autumn leaf the Sphere hath turned Khiyālī’s countenance;
    To the Spring of Beauty, that a gift to make; what wouldest say?

              _Khiyālī._




GAZEL


    With longing fond and vain, why should I make my soul to mourn?
    One trace of love of earth holds not my heart--all is forsworn.
    There ready stands the caravan, to Death’s dim realms addrest,
    E’en now the tinkling of its bells down on my ears is borne.
    Come then, O bird, my soul, be still, disquiet leave far off;
    See, how this cage, the body, is with years and suffering worn.
    But yet, to weary, wasted, sin-stained Shāhī, what of fear?
    Since Thou’rt the God of Love, the helping Friend of those forlorn!

              _Shāhī._




GAZEL


    O breeze, thou’rt kind, of balm to those whom pangs affright,
          thou news hast brought,
    To wounded frame of life, to life of life’s delight thou news
          hast brought.
    Thou’st seen the mourning nightingale’s despair in sorrow’s autumn drear,
    Like springtide days, of smiling roseleaf fresh and bright, thou
          news hast brought.
    If I should say thy words are heaven-inspired, in truth, blaspheme I not;
    Of Faith, whilst unbelief doth earth hold fast and tight, thou
          news hast brought.
    They say the loved one comes to soothe the hearts of all her lovers true;
    If that the case, to yon fair maid of lovers’ plight thou news
          hast brought.
    Of rebel demon thou hast cut the hope Suleymān’s throne to gain;
    That in the sea secure doth lie his Ring of might, thou news hast brought.
    Fuzūlī, through the parting night, alas, how dark my fortune grew!
    Like zephyr of the dawn, of shining sun’s fair light thou
    news hast brought.

              _Fuzūlī._




GAZEL


    O thou Perfect Being, Source whence wisdom’s mysteries arise;
    Things, the issue of thine essence, show wherein thy nature lies.
    Manifester of all wisdom, thou art he whose pen of might
    Hath with rays of stars illumined yonder gleaming page, the skies.
    That a happy star, indeed, the essence clear of whose bright self
    Truly knoweth how the blessings from thy word that flow to prize.
    But a jewel flawed am faulty I: alas, forever stands
    Blank the page of my heart’s journal from thought of thy writing wise.
    In the journal of my actions Evil’s lines are black indeed;
    When I think of Day of Gathering’s terrors, blood flows from my eyes.
    Gathering of my tears will form a torrent on the Reckoning Day,
    If the pearls, my tears, rejecting, he but view them to despise:
    Pearls my tears are, O Fuzūlī, from the ocean deep of love;
    But they’re pearls these, oh! most surely, that the Love of Allah buys!

              _Fuzūlī._




GAZEL


    Is’t strange if beauties’ hearts turn blood through envy of thy
          cheek most fair?
    For that which stone to ruby turns is but the radiant sunlight’s glare.
    Or strange is’t if thine eyelash conquer all the stony-hearted ones?
    For meet an ebon shaft like that a barb of adamant should bear!
    Thy cheek’s sun-love hath on the hard, hard hearts of fairy
          beauties fall’n,
    And many a steely-eyed one hath received thy bright reflection fair.
    The casket, thy sweet mouth, doth hold spell-bound the _hūrī_-faced
          ones all;
    The virtue of Suleymān’s Ring was that fays thereto fealty sware.
    Is’t strange if, seeing thee, they rub their faces lowly midst the dust?
    That down to Adam bowed the angel throng doth the Qur’ān declare!
    On many and many a heart of stone have fall’n the pangs of love for thee!
    A fire that lies in stone concealed is thy heart-burning love’s
          dread glare!
    Within her ward, with garments rent, on all sides rosy-cheeked ones stray;
    Fuzūlī, through those radiant hues, that quarter beams a garden fair.

              _Fuzūlī._




GAZEL


    From the turning of the Sphere my luck hath seen reverse and woe;
    Blood I’ve drunk, for from my banquet wine arose and forth did go.
    With the flame, my burning sighs, I’ve lit the wand’ring wildered heart;
    I’m a fire, doth not all that which turns about me roasted glow?
    With thy rubies wine contended--oh! how it hath lost its wits!
    Need ’tis yon ill-mannered wretch’s company that we forego.
    Yonder Moon saw not my burning’s flame upon the parting day--
    How can e’er the sun about the taper all night burning know?
    Every eye that all around tears scatters, thinking of thy shaft,
    Is an oyster-shell that causeth rain-drops into pearls to grow.
    Forms my sighing’s smoke a cloud that veils the bright cheek of the moon;
    Ah! that yon fair Moon will ne’er the veil from off her beauty throw!
    Ne’er hath ceased the rival e’en within her ward to vex me sore;
    How say they, Fuzūlī, “There’s in Paradise nor grief nor woe”?

              _Fuzūlī._




MUSEDDES


    A stately Cypress yesterday her shade threw o’er my head;
    Her form was heart-ensnaring, heart-delighting her light tread;
    When speaking, sudden opened she her smiling rubies red,
    There a pistachio I beheld that drops of candy shed.
      “This casket can it be a mouth? Ah! deign!” I said; said she:
      Nay, nay, ’tis balm to cure thy hidden smart; aye, truly thine!”

    Down o’er her crescents she had pressed the turban she did wear,
    By which, from many broken hearts, sighs raised she of despair;
    She loosed her tresses--hid within the cloud her moon so fair,
    And o’er her visage I beheld the curls of her black hair.
      “Those curling locks, say, are they then a chain?” I said; said she:
      That round my cheek, a noose to take thy heart; aye, truly thine!”

    The taper bright, her cheek, illumined day’s lamp in the sky;
    The rose’s branch was bent before her figure, cypress-high;
    She, cypress-like, her foot set down upon the fount, my eye,
    But many a thorn did pierce her foot she suffered pain thereby.
      “What thorn unto the roseleaf-foot gives pain?” I said; said she:
      The lash of thy wet eye doth it impart; aye, truly thine!”

    Promenading, to the garden did that jasmine-cheeked one go;
    With many a bright adornment in the early springtide’s glow;
    The hyacinths their musky locks did o’er the roses throw;
    That Picture had tattooed her lovely feet rose-red to show.
      “The tulip’s hue whence doth the dog-rose gain?” I said; said she:
      “From blood of thine shed ’neath my glance’s dart; aye, truly thine!”

    To earth within her ward my tears in torrents rolled apace;
    The accents of her ruby lips my soul crazed by their grace;
    My heart was taken in the snare her musky locks did trace,
    That very moment when my eyes fell on her curls and face.
      “Doth Scorpio the bright Moon’s House contain?” I said; said she:
      “Fear! threatening this Conjunction dread, thy part; aye, truly thine!”

    Her hair with ambergris perfumed was waving o’er her cheek,
    On many grieving, passioned souls it cruel woe did wreak;
    Her graceful form and many charms my wildered heart made weak;
    The eye beheld her figure fair, then heart and soul did seek.
      “Ah! what bright thing this cypress of the plain?” I said; said she:
      “Tis that which thy fixed gaze beholds apart; aye, truly thine!”

    When their veil her tulip and dog-rose had let down yesterday,
    The morning breeze tore off that screen which o’er these flow’rets lay;
    Came forth that Envy of the sun in garden fair to stray,
    Like lustrous pearls the dew-drops shone, a bright and glistening spray.
      “Pearls, say, are these, aye pearls from ‘Aden’s main?”
          I said; said she:
      “Tears, these, of poor Fuzūlī, sad of heart; aye, truly thine!”

              _Fuzūlī._




MUKHAMMES


    Attar within vase of crystal, such thy fair form silken-gowned;
    And thy breast is gleaming water, where the bubbles clear abound;
    Thou so bright none who may gaze upon thee on the earth is found;
    Bold wert thou to cast the veil off, standing forth with garland crowned:
      Not a doubt but woe and ruin all the wide world must confound!

    Lures the heart thy gilded palace, points it to thy lips the way;
    Eagerly the ear doth listen for the words thy rubies say;
    Near thy hair the comb remaineth, I despairing far away;
    Bites the comb, each curling ringlet, when it through thy locks
          doth stray:
      Jealous at its sight, my heart’s thread agonized goes curling round.

    Ah! her face the rose, her shift rose-hued, her trousers red their shade;
    With its flame burns us the fiery garb in which thou art arrayed.
    Ne’er was born of Adam’s children one like thee, O cruel maid!
    Moon and Sun, in beauty’s circle, at thy fairness stand dismayed:
      Seems it thou the Sun for mother and the Moon for sire hast owned.

    Captive bound in thy red fillet, grieve I through thy musky hair;
    Prone I ’neath those golden anklets which thy silvern limbs do wear;
    Think not I am like thy fillet, empty of thy grace, O fair!
    Rather to the golden chain, which hangs thy cheek round, me compare:
      In my sad heart pangs a thousand from thy glance’s shafts are found.

    Eyes with antimony darkened, hands with hinna crimson dyed;
    Through these beauties vain and wanton like to thee was ne’er a bride.
    Bows of poplar green, thy painted brows; thy glances shafts provide.
    Poor Fuzūlī for thine eyes and eyebrows aye hath longing cried:
      That the bird from bow and arrow flees not, well may all astound.

              _Fuzūlī._




FROM LEYLĪ AND MEJNŪN


    Yield not the soul to pang of Love, for Love’s the soul’s fierce glow;
    That Love’s the torment of the soul doth all the wide world know.
    Seek not for gain from fancy wild of pang of Love at all;
    For all that comes from fancy wild of Love’s pang is grief’s throe.
    Each curving eyebrow is a blood-stained sabre thee to slay;
    Each dusky curl, a deadly venomed snake to work thee woe.
    Lovely, indeed, the forms of moon-like maidens are to see--
    Lovely to see, but ah! the end doth bitter anguish show.
    From this I know full well that torment dire in love abides,
    That all who lovers are, engrossed with sighs, rove to and fro.
    Call not to mind the pupils of the black-eyed damsels bright,
    With thought, “I’m man”; be not deceived, ’tis blood they drink, I trow.
    E’en if Fuzūlī should declare, “In fair ones there is troth,”
    Be not deceived--“A poet’s words are falsehoods all men know.”

              _Fuzūlī._




MEJNŪN ADDRESSES NEVFIL


    Quoth Mejnūn: “O sole friend of true plight!
    With counsel many have tried me to guide right;
    Many with wisdom gifted have advice shown,
    But yet this fiend hath been by no one o’erthrown;
    Much gold has on the earth been strewn round,
    But yet this Stone of Alchemist by none’s found.
    Collyrium I know that doth increase light,
    What use though is it if the eye doth lack sight?
    I know that greatest kindliness in thee lies,
    What use, though, when my fate doth ever dark rise?
    Upon my gloomy fortune I no faith lay,
    Impossible my hope appeareth alway.
    Ah! though in this thou shouldest ever hard toil,
    The end at length will surely all thy plans foil.
    No kindliness to me my closest friends show;
    Who is a friend to him whom he doth deem foe?
    I know my fortune evil is and woe-fraught;
    The search for solace is to me, save pain, naught.
    There is a gazel that doth well my lot show,
    Which constant I repeat where’er my steps go.”

              _Fuzūlī._




MEJNŪN’S GAZEL


    From whomsoever I’ve sought for troth but bitterest disdain I’ve seen;
    Whome’er within this faithless world I’ve trusted, all most vain
          I’ve seen.
    To whomsoe’er I’ve told my woes, in hope to find some balm therefor,
    Than e’en myself o’erwhelmed and sunk in deeper, sadder pain I’ve seen.
    From out mine aching heart no one hath driven cruel grief away,
    That those my friends of pleasure’s hour affection did but feign
          I’ve seen.
    Although I’ve clutched its mantle, life hath turned away its face from me;
    And though I faith from mirror hoped, there persecuted swain I’ve seen.
    At gate of hope I set my foot, bewilderment held forth its hand,
    Alas! whene’er hope’s thread I’ve seized, in hand the serpent’s
          train I’ve seen.
    A hundred times the Sphere hath shown to me my darksome fortune’s star;
    Whene’er my horoscope I’ve cast, but blackest, deepest stain I’ve seen.
    Fuzūlī, blush not then, should I from mankind turn my face away;
    For why? From all to whom I’ve looked, but reason sad too plain I’ve seen.

              _Fuzūlī._




ZEYD’S VISION


    His grief and mourning Zeyd renewèd alway,
    From bitter wailing ceased he not, he wept aye.
    That faithful, loving, ever-constant friend dear,
    One night, when was the rise of the True Dawn near,
    Feeling that in his wasted frame no strength stayed,
    Had gone, and down upon that grave himself laid.
    There, in his sleep, he saw a wondrous fair sight,
    A lovely garden, and two beauties, moon-bright;
    Through transport rapturous, their cheeks with light glow;
    Far distant now, all fear of anguish, pain, woe;
    With happiness and ecstasy and joy blest,
    From rivals’ persecutions these have found rest;
    A thousand angel-forms to each fair beauty,
    With single heart, perform the servant’s duty.
    He, wondering, question made: “What Moons so bright these?
    What lofty, honored Sovereigns of might these?
    What garden, most exalted, is this parterre?
    What throng so bright and beautiful, the throng there?”
    They answer gave: “Lo! Eden’s shining bowers these;
    That radiant throng, the Heaven-born Youths and Hūrīs;
    These two resplendent forms, bright as the fair moon,
    These are the ever-faithful--Leylī, Mejnūn!
    Since pure within the vale of love they sojourned,
    And kept that purity till they to dust turned,
    Are Eden’s everlasting bowers their home now,
    To them the Hūrīs and the Youths as slaves bow:
    Since these, while on the earth, all woe resigned met,
    And patience aye before them in each grief set,
    When forth they fled from this false, faithless world’s bound,
    From all those pangs and sorrows they release found!”

              _Fuzūlī._




GAZEL


    I began love’s art to study, divers chapters did I read;
    Longing’s texts and parting’s sections a whole book would fill indeed;
    Union formed a short abridgment, but the pangs of love for thee
    Have their commentaries endless made each other to succeed.
    O Nishānī, hath the master, Love, thus truly taught to thee:
    “This a question hard whose answer from the loved one must proceed!”

              _Nishānī._




GAZEL


    Hand in hand thy mole hath plotted with thy hair,
    Many hearts made captive have they in their snare.
    Thou in nature art an angel whom the Lord
    In his might the human form hath caused to wear.
    When he dealt out ’mongst his creatures union’s tray,
    Absence from thee, God to me gave as my share.
    Thou would’st deem that Power, the limner, for thy brows,
    O’er the lights, thine eyes, two _nūns_ had painted fair.
    O Selīmī, on the sweetheart’s cheek the down
    Is thy sighs’ fume, which, alas, hath rested there.

              _Selīmī._

GAZEL

    Ta’en my sense and soul have those thy Leylī locks, thy glance’s spell,
    Me, their Mejnūn, ’midst of love’s wild dreary desert they impel.
    Since mine eyes have seen the beauty of the Joseph of thy grace,
    Sense and heart have fall’n and lingered in thy chin’s sweet dimple-well.
    Heart and soul of mine are broken through my passion for thy lips;
    From the hand of patience struck they honor’s glass, to earth it fell.
    The mirage, thy lips, O sweetheart, that doth like to water show;
    For, through longing, making thirsty, vainly they my life dispel.
    Since Selīmī hath the pearls, thy teeth, been praising, sense and heart
    Have his head and soul abandoned, plunging ’neath love’s ocean-swell.

              _Selīmī._




GAZEL


    Thy veil raise, shake from cheeks those locks of thine then;
    Unclouded beauty’s sun and moon bid shine then.
    But one glance from those soft and drooping eyes throw,
    The heart through joy to drunkenness consign then.
    Were I thy lip to suck, ’twould heal the sick heart;
    Be kind, an answer give, Physician mine, then.
    Beware lest evil glance thy beauty’s rose smite,
    From ill-eyed rival careful it confine then.
    O heart, this is Life’s Water ’midst of darkness,
    In night’s gloom hidden, drink the ruby wine then.
    My love’s down grows upon her rosy-hued cheek,
    A book write on the woes it doth enshrine then.
    Thy wine-hued lip, O love, grant to Selīmī--
    And by thy parting’s shaft my tears make wine then.

              _Selīmī._




GAZEL


    The rival entry free hath to the loved one’s ward, but none have I;
    Regard unto the very dogs they there accord, but none have I.
    The heart doth seize the Magian’s hand; the cup-bearer, his glass; but I--
    For gentle love they grant to these their due reward, but none have I.
    To gain regard I would complain loud as the dogs within thy ward,
    For these have power their plight to show, their griefs record, but
          none have I.
    From all eternity have I to Mejnūn taught the pang of love,
    How then do all the folk to him renown award, but none have I?
    To God be praise that brightly shines the mirror of my heart, Shemsī,
    For more or less earth’s glass with dust is soiled or marred, but
          none have I.

              _Shemsī Pacha._




FROM THE “KING AND BEGGAR”


    Parrot, sweet of voice, thy song now raise!
    All thy words purify in Love’s fierce blaze!
    Every point of Love as whole book shows;
    Every mote of Love as bright sun glows.
    Drowned in one drop thereof Time, Space, in sooth;
    Lost in one grain thereof Both Worlds, in truth.
    Man becomes man through Love, pure, bright,
    Teacher respected, guide of the right.
    Through its beams everything man as chief owns,
    Rays of sun into rubies turn black stones.

           *       *       *       *       *

    He who a Lover is on God relies;
    On, on, upward still doth he rise.
    One day he secrets all shall descry,
    Love makes the soul from sleep raise the eye;
    Unto him all things shall oped be and shown,
    Off e’en the curtain from God shall be thrown.

              _Yahya Beg._




GAZEL


    Yea, on God’s favor all my trust I place;
    Ah! how my soul desireth his dear grace!
    Since with the Lord I have my heart made right,
    All of my hope upon his aid I base.
    I upon troops and treasures no faith lay;
    Nay, to the Hosts Unseen I leave my case.
    Bravely strive on, the Holy Warfare fight;
    Firm, in God’s cause to war, I’ve set my face.
    By him, I trust, received my prayer may be;
    For, on acceptance I my whole hope place.

              _Murādī._




QAĪSDA


    One night when all the battlements Heaven’s castle doth display,
    Illumed and decked were, with the shining lamps, the stars’ array,
    Amidst the host of gleaming stars the Moon lit up his torch;
    Athwart the field of Heaven with radiance beamed the Milky Way.
    The Secretary of the Spheres had ta’en his meteor-pen,
    That writer of his signature whom men and jinns obey.
    There, at the banquet of the sky, had Venus struck her lyre,
    In mirth and happiness, delighted, joyed and smiling gay.
    Taking the keynote for her tune ’neath in the vaulted sphere,
    The tambourinist Sun her visage bright had hid away.
    Armed with a brand of gleaming gold had leapt into the plain
    The Swordsman of the sky’s expanse, of heaven’s field of fray.
    To give direction to the weighty matters of the earth
    Had Jupiter, the wise, lit up reflection’s taper’s ray.
    There raised aloft old Saturn high upon the Seventh Sphere
    Sitting like Indian elephant-conductor on did stray.
    “What means this decking of the universe?” I wond’ring said;
    When, lo! with meditation’s gaze e’en whilst I it survey,
    Casting its beams on every side, o’er all earth rose the Sun,
    O’er the horizons, e’en as Seal of Suleymān’s display.
    The eye of understanding looked upon this wondrous sight;
    At length the soul’s ear learned the secret hid in this which lay:
    What is it that hath decked earth’s hall with splendors such as this,
    Saving the might and fortune of the King who earth doth sway?
    He who sits high upon the throne above all crowned kings,
    The Hero of the battlefield of dread Keyānī fray,
    Jemshīd of happiness and joy, Darius of the fight,
    Khusrev of right and clemency, Iskender of his day!

    Lord of the East and West! King whom the kings of earth obey!
    Prince of the Epoch! Sultan Suleymān! Triumphant Aye!

    Meet ’tis before the steed of yonder Monarch of the realms
    Of right and equity, should march earth’s rulers’ bright array.
    Rebelled one ’gainst his word, secure he’d bind him in his bonds,
    E’en like the dappled pard, the sky, chained with the Milky Way.
    Lord of the land of graciousness and bounty, on whose board
    Of favors, spread is all the wealth that sea and mine display;
    Longs the perfumer, Early Spring, for th’ odor of his grace;
    Need hath the merchant, Autumn, of his bounteous hand alway.
    Through tyrant’s hard oppression no one groaneth in his reign,
    And though may wail the flute and lute, the law they disobey.
    Beside thy justice, tyranny’s the code of Key-Qubād;
    Beside thy wrath, but mildness Qahramān’s most deadly fray.
    Thy scimitar’s the gleaming guide empires to overthrow,
    No foe of Islām can abide before thy sabre’s ray.
    Saw it thy wrath, through dread of thee would trembling seize the pine;
    The falling stars a chain around the heaven’s neck would lay.
    Amidst thy sea-like armies vast, thy flags and standards fair,
    The sails are which the ship of splendid triumph doth display.
    Thrust it its beak into the Sphere, ’twould seize it as a grain,
    The ‘_anqa_ strong, thy power, to which ’twere but a seed-like prey.
    In past eternity the hand, thy might, it struck with bat,
    That time is this time, for the Sky’s Ball spins upon its way.
    Within the rosy garden of thy praise the bird, the heart,
    Singeth this soul-bestowing, smooth-as-water-running lay.

    If yonder mouth be not the soul, O heart-enslaver gay,
    Then wherefore is it like the soul, hid from our eyes away?
    Since in the casket of our mind thy ruby’s picture lies,
    The mine is now no fitting home for gem of lustrous ray.
    Thy tresses fall across thy cheek in many a twisting curl,
    “To dance to Hijāz have the Shāmīs tucked their skirts,” we’d say.
    Let both the youthful pine and cypress view thy motions fair;
    The gardener now to rear the willow need no more assay.
    The dark and cloudy brained of men thine eyebrows black depict,
    While those of keen, discerning wit thy glistening teeth portray.
    Before thy cheek the rose and jasmine bowèd in _sujūd_,
    The cypress to thy figure in _qiyām_ did homage pay.
    The heart’s throne is the seat of that great monarch, love for thee;
    The soul, the secret court, where doth thy ruby’s picture stay.
    The radiance of thy beauty bright hath filled earth like the sun,
    The hall, “BE! and it is,” resounds with love of thee for aye.
    The cries of those on plain of earth have risen to the skies,
    The shouts of those who dwell above have found to earth their way.
    Nor can the nightingale with songs as sweet as Bāqī’s sing,
    Nor happy as thy star can beam the garden’s bright array.
    The mead, the world, blooms through thy beauty’s rose, like Irem’s bower;
    On every side are nightingales of sweet, melodious lay.
    Now let us pray at Allah’s court: “May this for aye endure,
    The might and glory of this prospered King’s resplendent sway;
    Until the lamp, the world-illuming sun, at break of dawn,
    A silver candelabrum on the circling skies display,
    Oh! may the Ruler of the world with skirt of aid and grace
    Protect the taper of his life from blast of doom, we pray!”
    Glory’s the comrade; Fortune, the cup-bearer at our feast;
    The beaker is the Sphere; the bowl, the Steel of gold-inlay!

              _Bāqī._




GAZEL


    ’Tis love’s wild sea, my sighs’ fierce wind doth lash those waves
          my tears uprear;
    My head, the barque of sad despite; mine eyebrows twain, the anchors here.
    Mine unkempt hair, the den of yonder tiger dread, the fair one’s love;
    My head, dismay and sorrow’s realm’s deserted mountain region drear.
    At whatsoever feast I drain the cup thy rubies’ mem’ry to,
    Amidst all those who grace that feast, except the dregs, I’ve no
          friend near.
    Thou know’st, O Light of my poor eyes, with _tūtyā_ mixed are gems
          full bright,
    What then if weep on thy path’s dust mine eyes that scatter pearls
          most clear!
    The Sphere, old hag, with witchcraft’s spell hath parted me from
          my fond love,
    O Bāqī, see, by God, how vile a trick yon jade hath played me here!

              _Bāqī._




GAZEL


    Years trodden under foot have I lain on that path of thine;
    Thy musky locks are noose-like cast, around my feet to twine.
    O Princess mine! boast not thyself through loveliness of face,
    For that, alas, is but a sun which must full soon decline!
    The loved one’s stature tall, her form as fair as juniper,
    Bright ’midst the rosy bowers of grace a slender tree doth shine.
    Her figure, fair-proportioned as my poesy sublime,
    Her slender waist is like its subtle thought--hard to divine.
    Then yearn not, Bāqī, for the load of love’s misfortune dire;
    For that to bear mayhap thy soul no power doth enshrine.

              _Bāqī._




GAZEL


    With her graceful-moving form, a Cypress jasmine-faced is she?
    Or in Eden’s bower a branch upon the Lote or Tūba-tree?
    That thy blood-stained shaft which rankles in my wounded breast, my love,
    In the rosebud hid a lovely rose-leaf, sweetheart, can it be?
    To the dead of pain of anguish doth its draught fresh life impart;
    O cup-bearer, is the red wine Jesu’s breath? tell, tell to me!
    Are they teeth those in thy mouth, or on the rosebud drops of dew?
    Are they sparkling stars, or are they gleaming pearls, that there I see?
    Through the many woes thou wreakest upon Bāqī, sick of heart,
    Is’t thy will to slay him, or is it but sweet disdain in thee?

              _Bāqī._




GAZEL


    Before thy form, the box-tree’s lissom figure dwarfed would show;
    Those locks of thine the pride of ambergris would overthrow.
    Who, seeing thy cheek’s glow, recalls the ruby is deceived;
    He who hath drunken deep of wine inebriate doth grow.
    Should she move forth with figure like the juniper in grace,
    The garden’s cypress to the loved one’s form must bend right low.
    Beware, give not the mirror bright to yonder paynim maid,
    Lest she idolater become, when there her face doth show.
    Bāqī, doth he not drink the wine of obligation’s grape,
    Who drunken with A-lestu’s cup’s o’erwhelming draught doth go?

              _Bāqī._




GAZEL


    Thy cheek, like limpid water, clear doth gleam;
    Thy pouting mouth a bubble round doth seem.
    The radiance of thy cheek’s sun on the heart
    Like moonlight on the water’s face doth beam.
    The heart’s page, through the tracings of thy down,
    A volume all illumined one would deem.
    That fair Moon’s sunny love the earth have burned,
    It warm as rays of summer sun doth stream.
    At woful sorrow’s feast my blood-shot eyes,
    Two beakers of red wine would one esteem.
    Bāqī, her mole dark-hued like ambergris,
    A fragrant musk-pod all the world would deem.

              _Bāqī._




GAZEL


    All sick the heart with love for her, sad at the feast of woe;
    Bent form, the harp; low wail, the flute; heart’s blood for wine
          doth flow.
    Prone lies the frame her path’s dust ’neath, in union’s stream the eye,
    In air the mind, the soul ’midst separation’s fiery glow.
    Oh, ever shall it be my lot, zone-like, thy waist to clasp!
    ’Twixt us, O love, the dagger blade of severance doth show!
    Thou art the Queen of earth, thy cheeks are Towers of might, this day,
    Before thy Horse, like Pawns, the Kings of grace and beauty go.
    Him hinder not, beside thee let him creep, O Shade-like stay!
    Bāqī, thy servant, O my Queen, before thee lieth low.

              _Bāqī._




ON AUTUMN


    Lo, ne’er a trace or sign of springtide’s beauty doth remain;
    Fall’n ’midst the garden lie the leaves, now all their glory vain.
    Bleak stand the orchard trees, all clad in tattered dervish rags;
    Dark Autumn’s blast hath torn away the hands from off the plane.
    From each hill-side they come and cast their gold low at the feet
    Of garden trees, as hoped the streams from these some boon to gain.
    Stay not within the parterre, let it tremble with its shame:
    Bare every shrub, this day doth naught or leaf or fruit retain.
    Bāqī, within the garden lies full many a fallen leaf;
    Low lying there, it seems they ’gainst the winds of Fate complain.

              _Bāqī._




GAZEL


    Tulip-cheeked ones over rosy field and plain stray all around;
    Mead and garden cross they, looking wistful each way, all around.
    These the lovers true of radiant faces, aye, but who the fair?
    Lissom Cypress, thou it is whom eager seek they all around.
    Band on band Woe’s legions camped before the City of the Heart,
    There, together leagued, sat Sorrow, Pain, Strife, Dismay, all around.
    From my weeping flows the river of my tears on every side,
    Like an ocean ’tis again, a sea that casts spray all around.
    Forth through all the Seven Climates have the words of Bāqī gone;
    This refulgent verse recited shall be alway, all around.

              _Bāqī._




GAZEL


    From thine own beauty’s radiant sun doth light flow;
    How lustrously doth now the crystal glass show!
    Thy friend’s the beaker, and the cup’s thy comrade;
    Like to the dregs why dost thou me aside throw?
    Hearts longing for thy beauty can resist not;
    Hold, none can bear the dazzling vision’s bright glow!
    United now the lover, and now parted;
    This world is sometimes pleasure and sometimes woe.
    Bound in the spell of thy locks’ chain is Bāqī,
    Mad he, my Liege, and to the mad they grace show.

              _Bāqī._




GAZEL


    The goblet as affliction’s Khusrev’s bright Keyānī crown doth shine;
    And surely doth the wine-jar love’s King’s Khusrevānī hoard enshrine.
    Whene’er the feast recalls Jemshīd, down from its eyes the red blood
          rolls;
    The rosy-tinted wine its tears, the beakers its blood-weeping eyne.
    At parting’s banquet should the cup, the heart, with blood brim o’er
          were’t strange?
    A bowl that, to the fair we’ll drain, a goblet filled full high with wine.
    O Moon, if by thy door one day the foe should sudden me o’ertake--
    A woe by Heaven decreed, a fate to which I must myself resign!
    The fume of beauty’s and of grace’s censer is thy cheek’s sweet mole,
    The smoke thereof thy musky locks that spreading fragrant curl and twine;
    Thy cheek rose-hued doth light its taper at the moon that shines most
          bright,
    Its candlestick at grace’s feast is yonder collar fair of thine.
    Of love and passion is the lustrous sheen of Bāqī’s verse the cause;
    As Life’s Stream brightly this doth shine; but that, th’ Eternal
          Life Divine.

              _Bāqī._




GAZEL


    When the sheets have yonder Torment to their bosom ta’en to rest,
    Think I, “Hides the night-adorning Moon within the cloudlet’s breast.”
    In the dawning, O thou turtle, mourn not with those senseless plaints;
    In the bosom of some stately cypress thou’rt a nightly guest.
    Why thou weepest from the heavens, never can I think, O dew;
    Every night some lovely rose’s bosom fair thou enterest.
    Hath the pearl seen in the story of thy teeth its tale of shame,
    Since the sea hath hid the album of the shell within its breast?
    Longing for thy cheeks, hath Bāqī all his bosom marked with scars,
    Like as though he’d cast of rose-leaves fresh a handful o’er his chest.

              _Bāqī._




ELEGY ON SULTAN SULEYMĀN I


    O thou! foot-bounden in the mesh of fame and glory’s snare!
    Till when shall last the lust of faithless earth’s pursuits and care?
    At that first moment, which of life’s fair springtide is the last,
    ’Tis need the tulip cheek the tint of autumn leaf should wear;
    ’Tis need that thy last home should be, e’en like the dregs’, the dust;
    ’Tis need the stone from hand of Fate should be joy’s beaker’s share.
    He is a man indeed whose heart is as a mirror clear;
    Man art thou? why then doth thy breast the tiger’s fierceness bear?
    In understanding’s eye how long shall heedless slumber bide?
    Will not war’s Lion-Monarch’s fate suffice to make thee ware?
    He, Prince of Fortune’s Cavaliers! he to whose charger bold,
    Whene’er he caracoled or pranced, cramped was earth’s tourney square!
    He, to the lustre of whose sword the Magyar bowed his head!
    He, the dread gleaming of whose brand the Frank can well declare!
      Like tender rose-leaf, gently laid he in the dust his face,
      And Earth, the Treasurer, him placed like jewel in his case.

    In truth, he was the radiance of rank high and glory great,
    A Shah, Iskender-diademed, of Dārā’s armied state;
    Before the dust beneath his feet the Sphere bent low its head;
    Earth’s shrine of adoration was his royal pavilion’s gate.
    The smallest of his gifts the meanest beggar made a prince;
    Exceeding bounteous, exceeding kind a Potentate!
    The court of glory of his kingly majesty most high
    Was aye the centre where would hopes of sage and poet wait.
    Although he yielded to Eternal Destiny’s command,
    A King was he in might as Doom and puissant as Fate!
    Weary and worn by this sad, changeful Sphere, deem not thou him:
    Near God to be, did he his rank and glory abdicate.
    What wonder if our eyes no more life and the world behold!
    His beauty fair, as sun and moon, did earth irradiate!
      If folk upon the bright sun look, with tears are filled their eyes;
      For seeing it, doth yon moon-face before their minds arise!

    Now let the cloud blood drop on drop weep, and its form bend low!
    And let the Judas-tree anew in blossoms gore-hued blow!
    With this sad anguish let the stars’ eyes rain down bitter tears!
    And let the smoke from hearts on fire the heavens all darkened show!
    Their azure garments let the skies change into deepest black!
    Let the whole world attire itself in robes of princely woe!
    In breasts of fairies and of men still let the flame burn on--
    Of parting from the blest King Suleymān the fiery glow!
    His home above the highest heaven’s ramparts he hath made;
    This world was all unworthy of his majesty, I trow.
    The bird, his soul, hath, _huma_-like, aloft flown to the skies,
    And naught remaineth save a few bones on the earth below.
    The speeding Horseman of the plain of Time and Space was he;
    Fortune and Fame aye as his friends and bridle guides did go.
      The wayward courser, cruel Fate, was wild and fierce of pace,
      And fell to earth the Shade of God the Lord’s benignant Grace.

    Through grief for thee, bereft of rest and tearful e’en as I,
    Sore weeping let the cloud of spring go wand’ring through the sky!
    And let the wailing of the birds of dawn the whole world fill!
    Be roses torn! and let the nightingale distressful cry!
    Their hyacinths as weeds of woe displaying, let them weep,
    Down o’er their skirts their flowing tears let pour--the mountains high!
    The odor of thy kindliness recalling, tulip-like,
    Within the Tātār musk-deer’s heart let fire of anguish lie!
    Through yearning for thee let the rose its ear lay on the path,
    And, narcisse-like, till the last day the watchman’s calling ply!
    Although the pearl-diffusing eye to oceans turned the world,
    Ne’er into being should there come a pearl with thee to vie!
    O heart! this hour ’tis thou that sympathizer art with me;
    Come, let us like the flute bewail, and moan, and plaintive sigh!
      The notes of mourning and of dole aloud let us rehearse;
      And let all those who grieve be moved by this our sevenfold verse.

    Will earth’s King ne’er awake from sleep?--broke hath the dawn of day:
    Will ne’er he move forth from his tent, adorned as heaven’s display?
    Long have our eyes dwelt on the road, and yet no news hath come
    From yonder land, the threshold of his majesty’s array:
    The color of his cheek hath paled, dry-lipped he lieth there,
    E’en like that rose which from the vase of flowers hath fall’n away.
    Goes now the Khusrev of the skies behind the cloudy veil,
    For shame, remembering thy love and kindness, one would say.
    My prayer is ever, “May the babes, his tears, go ’neath the sod,
    Or old or young be he who weeps not thee in sad dismay.”
    With flame of parting from thee let the sun burn and consume;
    And o’er the wastes through grief let darkness of the clouds hold sway.
    Thy talents and thy feats let it recall and weep in blood,
    Yea, let thy sabre from its sheath plunge in the darksome clay.
      Its collar, through its grief and anguish, let the reed-pen tear!
      And let the earth its vestment rend through sorrow and despair!

    Thy sabre made the foe the anguish dire of wounds to drain;
    Their tongues are silenced, none who dares to gainsay doth remain.
    The youthful cypress, head-exalted, looked upon thy lance,
    And ne’er its lissom twigs their haughty airs displayed again.
    Where’er thy stately charger placed his hoof, from far and near
    Flocked nobles, all upon thy path their lives to offer fain.
    In desert of mortality the bird, desire, rests ne’er;
    Thy sword in cause of God did lives as sacrifice ordain.
    As sweeps a scimitar, across earth’s face on every side,
    Of iron-girded heroes of the world thou threw’st a chain.
    Thou took’st a thousand idol temples, turnèdst all to mosques;
    Where jangled bells thou mad’st be sung the Call to Prayers’ strain.
    At length is struck the signal drum, and thou hast journeyed hence;
    Lo! thy first resting-place is Eden’s flowery, verdant plain.
      Praise is to God! for he in the Two Worlds hath blessèd thee,
      And caused thy glorious name, Hero and Martyr both to be.

    Bāqī, the beauty of the King, the heart’s delight, behold!
    The mirror of the work of God, the Lord of Right, behold!
    The dear old man hath passed away from th’ Egypt sad, the world;
    The youthful Prince, alert and fair as Joseph bright, behold!
    The Sun hath risen, and the Dawning gray hath touched its bourne;
    The lovely face of yon Khusrev, whose soul is light, behold!
    This chase now to the grave hath sent the Behrām of the Age;
    Go, at his threshold serve, King Erdeshīr aright, behold!
    The blast of Fate to all the winds hath blown Suleymān’s throne;
    Sultan Selīm Khān on Iskender’s couch of might, behold!
    The Tiger of the mount of war to rest in sleep hath gone;
    The Lion who doth now keep watch on glory’s height, behold!
    The Peacock fair of Eden’s mead hath soared to Heaven’s parterre;
    The lustre of the _huma_ of high, happy flight, behold!
      Eternal may the glory of the heaven-high Khusrev dwell!
      Blessings be on the Monarch’s soul and spirit--and farewell!

              _Bāqī._




GAZEL


    Cruel tyranny we love not, nay, to justice we incline;
    Full contentedly our eyes wait for the blest command divine.
    Know we truly, for a mirror, world-reflecting, is our heart;
    Yet conceive not us to Fortune’s ever-changeful ways supine.
    To the rule of God submissive, all concern we cast aside;
    We indeed on him confiding, on his providence recline.
    Shall our heart anoint its eye then with the _kuhl_ of Isfahān?
    Pleased it with this _tūtyā_: dust that doth the Fair One’s pathway line.
    Since our heart, ‘Adlī, within Love’s crucible was purified,
    ’Midst the universe, from guile and guilt free, bright our soul
          doth shine.

              _‘Adlī._




GAZEL


    Oh that a fragrant breath might reach the soul from early spring!
    Oh that with warbling sweet of birds the groves once more might ring!
    Oh that in melody the songs anew might rose-like swell!
    That fresh in grace and voice the nightingale be heard to sing!
    Oh that the New Year’s Day were come, when, minding times gone by,
    Should each and all from Time and Fate demand their reckoning!
    In short, O Bakhtī, would the early vernal days were here,
    Then, ’midst the mead, ne’er should we part from brink of limpid spring.

              _Bakhtī._




GAZEL


    Soon as I beheld thee, mazed and wildered grew my sad heart;
    How shall I my love disclose to thee who tyrant dread art?
    How shall I hold straight upon my road, when yonder Torment
    Smitten hath my breast with deadly wounds by her eyelash dart?
    Face, a rose; and mouth, a rosebud; form, a slender sapling--
    How shall I not be the slave of Princess such as thou art?
    Ne’er hath heart a beauty seen like her of graceful figure;
    Joyous would I for yon charmer’s eyebrow with my life part.
    Fārisī, what can I do but love that peerless beauty?
    Ah! this aged Sphere hath made me lover of yon sweetheart.

              _Fārisī._




MUSEDDES


    Ah! that once again my heart with blood is filled, like beaker, high;
    At the feast of parting from my love I fell, and prostrate lie;
    O’er this wildered heart the gloom of frenzy, conquering, doth fly;
    In the valley of distraction ne’er a guide can I descry.
      Heedless mistress! loveless Fortune! ever-shifting, restless sky!
      Sorrows many! friends not any! strong-starred foeman! feeble I!

    In the land of exile loomed dark on one side the night of woe,
    Nowhere o’er me did the lustrous moon of beauty’s heaven glow;
    Yonder glared the Two Infortunes, sank my helping planet low;
    Here did fortune, there did gladness, parting from me, distant go.
      Heedless mistress! loveless Fortune! ever-shifting, restless sky!
      Sorrows many! friends not any! strong-starred foeman! feeble I!

    Strange is’t if the nightingale, my heart, in thousand notes doth wail?
    Fate to part it from the rosebud, the belovèd, did prevail;
    Whilst I’m on the thorn of anguish, rivals with my love regale:
    Why recite my woes, O comrades? space were none to tell their tale!
      Heedless mistress! loveless Fortune! ever-shifting, restless sky!
      Sorrows many! friends not any! strong-starred foeman! feeble I!

    E’en a moment at the feast of woes from tears can I refrain?
    How shall not the wine, my tears, down rolling, all my vestment stain?
    Can it be with e’en one breath I should not like the reed complain?
    Sad, confused, like end of banquet, why then should not I remain?
      Heedless mistress! loveless Fortune! ever-shifting, restless sky!
      Sorrows many! friends not any! strong-starred foeman! feeble I!

    Yonder Princess, though I served her, pitiless drave me away,
    Banished me far from her city, sent me from her court’s array:
    When I parted from her tresses, black the world before me lay;
    Helpless ’midst the darkness did I, like unto ‘Atā’ī, stray.
      Heedless mistress! loveless Fortune! ever-shifting, restless sky!
      Sorrows many! friends not any! strong-starred foeman! feeble I!

              _‘Atā’ī._




GAZEL


    Be thou wise and thoughtful, e’en as _qalender_ in mind be free;
    Nor a faithless, graceless paynim, nor a bigot Moslem be.
    Be not vain of wisdom, though thou be the Plato of the age;
    Be a school-child when a learned man and righteous thou dost see.
    Like the world-adorning sun, rub thou thy face low ’midst the dust;
    Overwhelm earth with thy planet, yet without a planet be.
    Fret not after Khizar, rather go, and, like to Nef’ī’s heart,
    At the channel of Life’s Stream of grace drink full contentedly.

              _Nefī._




TO SULTAN MURĀD IV


    Round us foes throng, host to aid us here in sad plight, is there none?
    In the cause of God to combat, chief of tried might, is there none?
    None who will checkmate the foe, Castle to Castle, face to face
    In the battle who will Queen-like guide the brave Knight, is there none?
    Midst a fearful whirlpool we are fallen helpless, send us aid!
    Us to rescue, a strong swimmer in our friends’ sight, is there none?
    Midst the fight to be our comrade, head to give or heads to take,
    On the field of earth a hero of renown bright, is there none?
    Know we not wherefore in turning off our woes ye thus delay;
    Day of Reckoning, aye, and question of the poor’s plight, is there none?
    With us ’midst the foeman’s flaming streams of scorching fire to plunge,
    Salamander with experience of Fate dight, is there none?
    This our letter, to the court of Sultan Murād, quick to bear,
    Pigeon, rapid as the storm wind in its swift flight, is there none?

              _Hāfiz Pacha._




IN REPLY TO THE PRECEDING


    To relieve Bagdad, O Hāfiz, man of tried might, is there none?
    Aid from us thou seek’st, then with thee host of fame bright, is
          there none?
    “I’m the Queen the foe who’ll checkmate,” thus it was that thou didst say;
    Room for action now against him with the brave Knight, is there none?
    Though we know thou hast no rival in vainglorious, empty boasts,
    Yet to take dread vengeance on thee, say, a Judge right, is there none?
    While thou layest claim to manhood, whence this cowardice of thine?
    Thou art frightened, yet beside thee fearing no fight, is there none?
    Heedless of thy duty thou, the Rāfizīs have ta’en Bagdad;
    Shall not God thy foe be? Day of Reckoning, sure, right, is there none?
    They have wrecked Ebū-Hanīfa’s city through thy lack of care;
    Oh, in thee of Islām’s and the Prophet’s zeal, light, is there none?
    God who favored us, whilst yet we knew not, with the Sultanate,
    Shall again accord Bagdad, decreed of God’s might, is there none?
    Thou hast brought on Islām’s army direful ruin with thy bribes;
    Have we not heard how thou say’st, “Word of this foul blight, is
          there none?”
    With the aid of God, fell vengeance on the enemy to take,
    By me skilled and aged, vezīr, pious, zeal-dight, is there none?
    Now shall I appoint commander a vezīr of high emprise,
    Will not Khizar and the Prophet aid him? guide right, is there none?
    Is it that thou dost the whole world void and empty now conceive?
    Of the Seven Climes, Murādī, King of high might, is there none?

              _Murādī._




LUGAZ


    There’s an o’erhanging castle in which there flows a main,
    And there within that castle a fish its home hath ta’en;
    The fish within its mouth doth hold a shining gem,
    Which wastes the fish as long as it therein doth remain.
    This puzzle to the poets is offered by Murād;
    Let him reply who office or place desires to gain.

              _Murādī._




SACHLI ZEMĀN (FORTUNE THE LONG-HAIRED)


    Zemān the Long-haired, ’midst these lovely ones see,
    A wayward, wanton Torment of the world she.
    Like Fortune, she nor clemency nor grace knows;
    The number of her hairs her lovers’ tale shows.
    The tribute from the realm of hearts her curls bore,
    Seduced me have these locks that hang her neck o’er.

              _‘Azīzī._




JIHĀN BĀNŪ (LADY WORLD)


    She whom they call Jihān ’s a damsel moon-faced,
    Who, like the World, is faithless, and doth hearts waste.
    Save faithlessness, though comes not from the World aught;
    The heart from that love of the soul can pass not.
    Let but her mind contented be with poor me,
    Then may the World divorced from me for aye be.

              _‘Azīzī._




LĀ’L-PARA (RUBY-CHIP)


    Lā’l-Para as her name doth one of these own,
    A girl whose heart is hard as is the flint-stone.
    Her mouth in very truth’s a ruby bright red,
    Her teeth are pearls, so too the words by her said.
    Strange were it, if my heart be by her love slaved?
    For sooth her rubies bear the “coral-prayer” graved.

              _‘Azīzī._




ĀQ-‘ĀLEM (WHITE UNIVERSE)


    And Aq-‘Alem they one of yonder maids call,
    For her the moon of heaven acteth jackal.
    Is’t strange if through her loveliness she famed be?
    A white Rose on the earth is yonder Hūrī.
    He who with that bright Moon as friend goes,
    A universe enjoys more fair than earth shows.

              _’Azīzī._




MUSEDDES


    Be mine for dress, the piercing thorn! be mine for couch, the
          hard, hard stone!
    Be mine for home, grief’s cot! be mine for bread, woe’s tears!
          for work, pain’s moan!
    Be all my bleeding frame with wounds of cruel foeman’s hatred sown!
    Be these rejoiced in heart and gay who make my grieving soul to groan!
      Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown!
      Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes
          cast prone!”

    Unfaithfulness is aye the rule which guides the Sphere that loves to pain,
    The inborn nature of the Skies is but to manifest disdain;
    Within the breasts of those who pleasure seek there lurks some yearning
          vain;
    O heart, blest is the practice of the thought enshrined in this refrain:
      Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown!
      Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes cast
          prone!”

    When time is past, rejoiced shall swell the hearts of all my comrades
          dear;
    And through their cruelty--my choice--my foes shall mourn in sorrow drear.
    Let all those learn this verse of me who hap to come my pathway near,
    And let them from the tongues of that green sward which decks my grave
          this hear:
      Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown!
      Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes cast
          prone!”

    Within this hostel of the world my portion is the tray of dole;
    My eye, the birthplace of the flame, refuseth health’s most pleasant
          stole;
    Fatigue, the rest of my sad heart; anguish, the present to my soul;
    Ne’er through Eternity to gain my longing is my longing’s goal.
      Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown!
      Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes
          cast prone!”

    O Nā‘ilī, is’t possible to change or alter Fate’s decree?
    Annulled can ever be the edict writ by pen of Destiny?
    My heart is gladdened with this thought, that ne’er an hour’s delay can be
    In whetting keen and sharp that axe of pain which rust can never see.
      Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown!
      Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes
          cast prone!”

              _Nā‘ilī._




GAZEL


    He who union with the Lord gains, more delight desireth not!
    He who looks on charms of fair one, other sight desireth not.
    Pang of love is lover’s solace, eagerly he seeks therefor,
    Joys he in it, balm or salve for yonder blight, desireth not.
    Paradise he longs not after, nor doth aught beside regard;
    Bower and Garden, Mead, and Youth, and Hūrī bright, desireth not.
    From the hand of Power Unbounded draineth he the Wine of Life,
    Aye inebriate with Knowledge, learning’s light, desireth not.
    He who loves the Lord is monarch of an empire, such that he--
    King of Inward Mysteries--Suleymān’s might, desireth not.
    Thou art Sultan of my heart, aye, Soul of my soul e’en art Thou;
    Thou art Soul enow, and Sidqī other plight desireth not.

              _Sidqī._




MUNĀJĀT


    Allah! Lord who liv’st for aye! O Sole! O King of Glory’s Ray!
    Monarch who ne’er shalt pass away! show Thou to us Thy bounties fair.
    In early morning shall our cry, our wail, mount to Thy Throne on high:
    “Error and sin our wont,” we sigh: show Thou to us Thy bounties fair.
    If cometh not from Thee Thy grace, evil shall all our works deface;
    O Lord of Being and of Space! show Thou to us Thy bounties fair.
    Creator of security! to Thy Belovèd greetings be!
    These fair words are in sincerity: show Thou to us Thy bounties fair
    Iqbālī sinnèd hath indeed, yet unto him Thy grace concede;
    Eternal, Answerer in need! show Thou to us Thy bounties fair.

              _Iqbālī._




MUKHAMMES


    Alas! nor dew nor smiling rose within this mead is mine;
    Within this market-place nor trade nor coin for need is mine;
    Nor more nor less; nor power nor strength for act or deed is mine;
    Nor might nor eminence; nor balm the cure to speed is mine.
      Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

    Being’s the bounty of the Lord; and Life, the gift Divine;
    The Breath, the present of his love; and Speech his Grace’s sign;
    The Body is the pile of God; the Soul, his Breath benign;
    The Powers thereof, his Glory’s trust; the Senses, his design.
      Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

    No work, no business of my own within this mart have I;
    All Being is of him alone--no life apart have I;
    No choice of entering this world, or hence of start have I;
    To cry, “I am! I am!” in truth, no power of heart have I.
      Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

    The Earth the carpet is of Power; the Sphere, the tent of Might;
    The Stars, both fixed and wandering, are Glory’s lamps of light;
    The World’s the issue of the grace of Mercy’s treasures bright;
    With Forms of beings is the page of Wisdom’s volume dight.
      Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

    Being is but a loan to us, and Life in trust we hold:
    In slaves a claim to Power’s pretension arrogant and bold;
    The servant’s part is by submission and obedience told;
    Should He, “My slave,” address to me, ’twere favors manifold.
      Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

    I’m poor and empty-handed, but grace free is of the Lord;
    Nonentity’s my attribute: to Be is of the Lord:
    For Being or Non-being’s rise, decree is of the Lord;
    The surging of the Seen and Unseen’s sea is of the Lord.
      Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

    Of gifts from table of his Bounty is my daily bread;
    My breath is from the Breath of God’s benignant Mercy fed;
    My portion from the favors of Almighty Power is shed;
    And my provision is from Providence’s kitchen spread.
      Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

    I cannot, unallotted, take my share from wet or dry;
    From land or from the ocean, from earth or from the sky;
    The silver or the gold will come, by Providence laid by;
    I cannot grasp aught other than my fortune doth supply.
      Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

    Creation’s Pen the lines of billows of events hath traced;
    Th’ illumined scroll of the Two Worlds, Creation’s Pencil graced;
    Their garments upon earth and sky, Creation’s woof hath placed;
    Men’s forms are pictures in Creation’s great Shāh-Nāma traced.
      Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

    I cannot make the morning eve, or the dark night the day;
    I cannot turn the air to fire, or dust to water’s spray;
    I cannot bid the Sphere stand still, or mountain region stray;
    I cannot Autumn turn by will of mine to lovely May.
      Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

    From out of Nothingness his mighty Power made me appear;
    Whilst in the womb I lay, saw he to all I need for here;
    With kindness concealed and manifest did he me rear;
    With me he drew a curtain o’er Distinction’s beauty dear.
      Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

    God’s Revelation is Discernment’s Eye, if’t oped remain;
    The picturings of worlds are all things changing aye amain;
    The showing of the Hidden Treasure is this raging main,
    This work, this business of the Lord, this Majesty made plain.
      Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

    Now void, now full, are Possibility’s store-houses vast;
    This glass-lined world’s the mirror where Lights Twain their phases cast;
    The blinded thing--in scattering strange fruits its hours are past;
    Ruined hath this old Vineyard been by autumn’s sullen blast.
      Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

              _Nābī._




GAZEL


    Ne’er a corner for the plaintive bulbul’s nest remaineth now;
    Ne’er a palm-tree ’neath whose kindly shade is rest remaineth now.
    Day and night some balm I’ve sought for, to relieve my wounded heart;
    Ne’er a cure within the heavens’ turquoise chest remaineth now.
    From its source, through every country, searched have I, but all in vain--
    Ne’er a single drop, in mercy’s fountain blest, remaineth now.
    Empty earthen pots are reckoned one with jewels rich and rare;
    Ne’er a scale in value’s mart the worth to test remaineth now.
    ’Neath the earth may now the needy hide themselves, Nābī, away;
    Ne’er a turret on the fort of interest remaineth now.

              _Nābī._




MUNĀJĀT


    O Lord, to Thee is never a beginning, neither end;
    Thy mercy’s ocean, limitless, doth over all extend.
    E’en though the value-weighing hand of Thine unbounded might
    Hath wrought astounding marvels that all numbering transcend,
    Yet, Lord, Thou formedst Adam in the best of symmetry;
    Thou worthy of thy grace to make this folk didst condescend.
    Unfathomed and unsounded lies thy mercy’s ocean vast,
    Which truly hath made earth beneath its surging waves descend:
    O Lord, could any hurt or harm befall that shoreless deep,
    Did thou a single drop therefrom to this thy servant send?
    Since ‘Ārif owns a Master kind in graciousness like thee,
    O Lord, before another’s door were’t right for him to bend?
      O Lord, thus ever doth in joy thy blest device appear--
      Thy greatest glory from the works of vileness thou dost rear!

              _‘Ārif._




GAZEL


    The sun of love for thy fair cheek the heart’s core floods with radiant
          light;
    The soul’s most secret court is filled with dazzling rays at thy sweet
          sight.
    With union’s joys though blest one be, or though with pangs of absence
          torn,
    Are still sad wail and plaintive cry the e’er-true signs of lovelorn
          plight.
    Then welcome, O thou gentlest breeze, that bear’st to him who dwells
      midst woe,
    As news from yonder absent maid the sweet scent of her garment white.
    Of gilded halls no need in sooth to libertines when wine flows free;
          Some ruined den beseems them more, like Jemshīd’s hut of woful site.
    The sparks raised by my passioned sighs’ and plainings’ smoke are each
          one quenched;
    For every tear that rolleth down upon my robe’s a rich pearl bright.
    O ‘Ārif! this poor captive bird hath grown to love th’ entangling snare;
    For curling locks to careworn hearts afford a refuge sure from fright.

              _’Ārif._




FAREWELL POEM


    Ah, my Joy! thou’rt gone, and my sad weeping heart hast borne indeed,
    And my breast by bitter parting’s raging fires all worn indeed;
    Grief for thee in hundred pieces hath my raiment torn indeed;
    Be thy escort on the journey tears I weep, forlorn indeed.
      Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed;
      Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed.

    Wheresoe’er thy footsteps wander, be the aid of God thy guide;
    As the pilot to thy wishes be His grace aye at thy side;
    Shadow for thy crown of glory may the _huma’s_ wing provide;
    Ah! may ever-joyous, happy fortune on thy path abide.
      Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed;
      Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed.

    O thou Source of joy and quiet unto my poor grieving breast!
    Hence forever I with separation’s fires am sore opprest;
    Thou, Crown of my joy! my Treasure! mercy show to me distrest!
    Now, my Lord, to whom shall Master’s title be by me addrest?
      Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed;
      Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed.

    Ever in thy court of service may th’ inconstant heavens be!
    I am fallen, soul and body, to woe’s depths by their decree;
    From a kindly master like thee, merciless, they’ve sundered me;
    And into the dreary vale of exile have they driven thee.
      Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed;
      Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed.

    Though I’m far now from the shadow of thy love, O Cypress straight,
    Still my prayers I may offer for thy happiness of state.
    Think at times upon thy servant ‘Ārif sitting desolate;
    Him from near thy skirt of kindness taken hath his darksome fate.
      Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed;
      Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed.

              _’Ārif._




GAZEL


    The realm of patience thou’st laid waste, Helāgū hight art thou, Paynim?
    O mercy! thou’st the world consumed, a blazing light art thou, Paynim?
    A maiden’s grace, is that thy grace, a conquering hero’s voice, thy voice;
    Thou Woe, I know not, maid or youthful lord of might art thou, Paynim?
    What mean those hidden, secret sighs, and tears, and saddest grievings,
          pray?
    The wailing lover of some wanton gay and bright, art thou, Paynim?
    Why on the polished mirror dost thou thus so frequent cast thine eyes?
    Bewildered and distraught at thine own beauty’s sight art thou, Paynim?
    I’ve heard that poor Nedīm hath been by cruel Paynim captive ta’en--
    That fierce oppressor of the Faith, and foe of right, art thou, Paynim?

              _Nedīm._




GAZEL


    O heart! e’en though thou tell’st thy woes, yon maid will ne’er
          compassion deign:
    When constancy and troth thou seek’st, dost thou address the barren plain?
    The student of the course of tyranny is yonder wanton wild;
    To look for faith or grace from her who enmity desires is vain.
    That paynim glance doth hold in hand a dagger sharp of point and keen;
    And yet, O babe, my heart, thou dost to thousands sing her praises’
          strain.
    In hope that it would yield the soul a breath of favor’s odor sweet,
    How yonder rosebud-mouth effaceth all, thou dost thereto explain.
    O Sabqatī, what wondrous science hath thy magic talent learnt,
    That thou right royally inditest every joyous, glad refrain?

              _Sabqatī._




GAZEL


    A rose-leaf o’er the spikenard fall’n--the red fez lies on her dark hair;
    The perspiration studs her cheeks--the dew-drops which the roses wear.
    Since mirrored in th’ o’erflowing bowl did yon cup-bearer’s chin beam
          bright,
    My eyes were fixed upon that wine, like bubbles which that wine did bear.
    Behold thou, then, her braided locks, as musk, all dark and sweet
          perfumed;
    Like ambergris, her tresses shed abroad an odor rich and rare.
    Those who set forth on Mystic Path behind soon leave the earth-born love;
    The Bridge, as home, within this world of ours, no man hath taken e’er.
    Now, O Belīg, that steed, thy reed, doth caracole across this page;
    Thy finger-points, the Hayder bold whom that Duldul doth onward bear.

              _Belīg._




ON A DANCING-GIRL


    When that beauty of a dancing-girl her castanets hath ta’en,
    Should the sun and moon behold her, jealous, each were rent in twain.
    Patience from my soul is banished when beginneth she to dance;
    Leaps with her my heart; my eyesight, faltering, is like to wane.
    When the moon looks down upon her, must it not be seared of heart?
    Yonder moon-fair one her crimson skirt for halo bright hath ta’en.
    In her motions and her pausings what varieties of grace!
    While her lovely frame doth tremble, like to quicksilver, amain!
    Full delighted at her motions, loud as thunder roars the drum;
    Beats its breast the tambourine, its bells commence to mourn and plain.
    When she cometh, like a fairy, begging money from the crowd,
    In her tambourine, had one a hundred lives, he’d cast them fain.
    Deck her out on gala-days, and take her by the hand, Belīg;
    Yonder spark-like Idol hath consumed my soul with fiery pain.

              _Belīg._




GAZEL


    Surge in waves my streaming tears, e’en like a rushing flood, once more,
    From their smallest drop, the sources of a hundred Niles would pour.
    Overwhelm the raging billows of my tears the heart’s frail bark,
    Though the mem’ry of her cheek, like to the beacon, radiance throw.
    What my pen writes down appeareth, in the eyes of brutish men,
    Like the needle to the blinded, of discerning clear the foe.
    One the beggar’s bowl would be with the tiara of the King,
    Were it but reversed, for then like to the royal crown ’twould show.
    Though it be coarse as a rush-mat, is that soul the seat of grace,
    Which doth, like the wattle basket, freely bread to guests bestow,
    “Yonder hair-waist I encircled,” did the braggart rival say;
    But her waist exists not--hair-like slight his boasting’s truth doth show.
    O thou vain one! see, what anguish to the head of Nimrod brought
    Was by one gnat’s sting, which like to trunk of elephant did grow.
    Sāmī, it is thy intention to compare to heaven’s bowers
    These thy distichs eight, with shining flowers of rhetoric that glow.

              _Sāmī._




FRAGMENT


    Think not that with Kevser’s praises hearts become of joy full;
    Preacher, rather doth the tale of mouth and kiss the soul rule.
    Thinking of her rubies red, whene’er I drink tobacco,
    The _nargila’s_ a flask of wine, the pipe-bowl is a _sumbul_.
    Know how holy is her land: who dwelleth in Edirna,
    Ere he to the Ka’ba bends, doth turn him to Istambul.

              _Sāmī._




GAZEL


    Near thy rubies, ne’er I bow my head to wine of rosy hue;
    ’Neath the shadow of the Magian priest, I ne’er the glass eschew.
    Now it makes me exile’s prisoner, now the comrade close of pain--
    What to do I know not, what with this sad fate of mine to do!
    E’en the Home of Peace it turneth to the cot of woe for me,
    Through the longing for thy dusky mole, when Shām I journey through.
    Since ’tis needful midst the people that I still reside and move,
    If the days ne’er suit me, I shall suit myself the days unto.
    Never unto Nev-res, never, will thy sweet words bitter seem;
    Speak thou, then, for I’m contented all reproach to hearken to.

              _Nev-res_.

GAZEL

    If the fair one would but come in her lover’s home to stay,
    Were his eyes not filled with light by her face as bright as day?
    Or would yonder Moon but dart that her glance as dagger keen,
    And my rival’s bosom pierce that, like flute, he breathe dismay!
    Fly not this poor one, Moon-face, who hath drunken deep of woe;
    Order not that I be burned in the fire of love, I pray.
    If the Grace of God the Lord to a slave should aider be,
    Though he lack a single groat he’ll the Sphere as monarch sway.
    Rush the tear drops from my eyes through their longing for thy face;
    By its power thy sun-like face doth the dew-drops steal away.
    By the Mystic Pathway’s side, if thou’rt wise, a hostel build,
    For the travellers of Love, as a caravanserai.
    Proud and noble mistress mine, with those eyebrows and those eyes,
    Where a need of bow and shaft this thy lover fond to slay?
    Thou hast loosed thy tresses dark, o’er thy day-face spread a veil--
    Or in House of Scorpio is the Moon eclipsèd, say?
    Should my loved one pierce my breast, right contented sooth were I;
    Only worthy of her grace let that Moon-face me survey.
    Write, O pen, that I desire, like the salamander, fire;
    Thus declare, should she it will, yonder lovely Queen Humāy.
    Is it then the shining moon that the world doth silver o’er,
    Or the radiance of thy face that doth earth in light array?
    Did the caviller dispute and thy sun-bright face decry,
    Would thy lover, like the mote, to that fool the truth convey.
    Lovers surely for their loves do their talents aye employ;
    Is it thine thy tribute now to present, Shāhīn Girāy?

              _Shāhīn Girāy._




THE SONG OF LOVE’S NURSE


    O moon! sleep, sleep thou, for this night
    The cry “O Lord!” upon thine ear shall smite;
    Though formed, its purpose is yet hid from sight,
    It shall be seen--the stars’ potential might.
      Thou’lt be the roast upon the spit of pain!

    O Rosebud! sleep thou, then, this little while;
    The Sphere’s design against thee sooth is vile,
    For pitiless is it and strong in guile;
    Ah! never trust it, even though it smile.
      Thou’lt have, I fear me, reason oft to plain!

    O Love’s Narcissus! sleep the sleep of peace!
    Fall at the skirt of Fate and beg surcease;
    Thy soul’s eye ope--and, lo! thy fears increase!
    Guard thee against the end of woe, nor cease.
      Thou’lt be as plaything by Misfortune ta’en!

    Come, in the cradle of repose thee rest
    A few short nights, by sorrow undistrest;
    Bid care and all it brings leave thee unprest;
    In place of milk, blood shall be thy bequest.
      Thou’lt need the goblet of despite to drain!

    O Jasmine-breast! within the cradle lie;
    Thus will not long remain the rolling Sky:
    The stars do not aye in one circle hie;
    See what they’ll do to thee, Love, by and by.
      Thou’lt be the mill on sorrow’s torrent’s train!

    From slumber do not thou thine eyelids keep,
    If aid can reach thee, it will come through sleep;
    The Sphere will give a draught of poison deep,
    Then will thy work, like Gālib’s, be to weep.
      Thou’lt be the _rebec_ at the feast of pain!

              _Gālib._




LOVE’S SONG


    Sweet were those moments when the heart was gay,
    And the soul’s realm, the court of joy’s array;
    Thoughts of those times now o’er my spirit stray,
    For love of God! O Heavens! mercy! pray!
      The pride of both the day and night was I.

    A garden fair was that my soul’s repose;
    Like those in Eden’s bower, its every rose;
    But parting comes and all of that o’erthrows,
    Now in my heart naught but its mem’ry glows.
      With honor’s wine then drunken quite was I.

    Then to the Sphere I never uttered prayer;
    Feast, music, and delight--all mine--were there;
    Moved ever by my side my Cypress fair;
    Unopened then my secret and despair.
      The envy of the springtide bright was I.

    Now before grief and woe I’m fallen prone;
    Like nightingale in early spring, I moan.
    Through fire I’ve past and to the shore have flown,
    And, like the shattered glass, to earth am thrown.
      Sipping the wine, the fair’s despite, was I.

    Ah me! alas! those happy hours are past;
    The spring is past; the rose, the flowers, are past;
    The smiles of her who graced the bowers are past;
    The thirsty soul remains, the showers are past.
      Drinking with her the wine so bright was I.

    I with my loved one feast and banquet made,
    Wild as the whirlpool then I romped and played;
    At wine-feasts I myself in light arrayed,
    And with my songs the nightingales dismayed.
      Like Gālib, blest with all delight was I.

              _Gālib._




GAZEL


    The mem’ry of his glance hid in my breast deep laid I found;
    It seemed as though a fawn within the lion’s glade I found.
    O heart! a parallel unto those eyebrows and that glance,
    In Rustem’s deadly bow and Qahramān’s bright blade I found.
    When, through my grieving at thine absence, dead of woe was I,
    That mem’ry of thy rubies’ kiss new life conveyed I found.
    My heart’s wound, through the beauty of the spring of love for thee,
    By turns, rose, tulip, Judas-tree of crimson shade, I found.
    Is’t strange, O Fitnet, if my soul around do scatter gems?
    Within the ink-horn’s vault a hidden treasure laid I found.

              _Fitnet Khānim._




MUSEDDES


    The fresh spring clouds across all earth their glistening pearls profuse
          now sow;
    The flowers, too, all appearing, forth the radiance of their beauty show.
    Of mirth and joy ’tis now the time, the hour to wander to and fro;
    The palm-tree o’er the fair ones’ picnic gay its grateful shade doth
          throw.
      O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth
          glow;
      ’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow.

    Behold the roses, how they shine, e’en like the cheeks of maids most fair;
    The fresh-sprung hyacinth shows like to beauties’ dark, sweet, musky hair.
    The loved one’s form behold, like cypress which the streamlet’s bank doth
          bear;
    In sooth, each side for soul and heart doth some delightful joy prepare.
      O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth
          glow;
      ’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow.

    The parterre’s flowers have all bloomed forth, the roses, sweetly smiling,
          shine;
    On every side lorn nightingales, in plaintive notes discoursing, pine;
    How fair, carnation and wallflower the borders of the garden line!
    The long-haired hyacinth and jasmine both around the cyprèss twine.
      O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth
          glow;
      ’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow.

    Arise, my Prince! the garden’s court hath wondrous joys in fair array;
    Oh, hark, there midst the rose’s boughs, the wailing nightingale’s
          fond lay
    Thy bright cheek show the new-oped rose and make it blush with shamed
          dismay;
    With graceful air come then, thy cypress mien before the mead display.
      O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth
          glow;
      ’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow.

    Enow! thy lovers pain no more, of faithful plight the days are now;
    On streamlet’s banks, of mirth and joy and gay delight the days are now;
    In hand then take the heart’s dear joy, the goblet bright, its days
          are now;
    O Fitnet, come, and these thy verses sweet recite, their days are now.
      O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth
          glow;
      ’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow.

              _Fitnet Khānim._




GAZEL


    Ah! through grief for thee mine eyes blood, every night and day, weep;
    Those who know my bitter sorrow’s secret pang for aye weep.
    When they see me blood-besmeared by my bosom’s red wound,
    Pitying my doleful plight, the garden’s flowerets gay weep.
    When he viewed my bleeding heart, ruth had yon physician;
    Quoth he: “Doth the cure for thee, Sick of love-dismay, weep.”
    Yet to me doth yonder Torment of the Soul no grace show;
    For my plight do all my friends, who me thus sick survey, weep.
    E’en as gazeth on thy cheek, amidst his woes, Ilhāmī,
    Though his face may smiling be, his heart doth blood alway weep.

              _Ilhāmī._




GAZEL


    Midst the orchard of the world though empire may appear delight,
    Still, if thou wouldst view it closely, empire is but ceaseless fight.
    Vain let no one be who ruleth kingdoms in these woful days;
    If in justice lie thy pleasure--then is empire truly right.
    Reacheth e’en one lover union in the space of thousand years?
    Let whoever sees it envy--empire is of faithless plight.
    Think, O heart, alas! the revolutions of the rolling Sphere!
    If at times ’tis joy, far oftener empire bringeth dire affright.
    Do not envy, do not covet, then, the Kingship of the world;
    Oh! take heed, Ilhāmī, empire bides not, swift indeed its flight.

              _Ilhāmī._




GAZEL


    The trees and flowers their turbans roll of black and white and red;
    The garden fastens on its stole of black and white and red.
    With sable eve and ermine dawn and fez of sunset bright,
    The sky doth all its pomp unroll of black and white and red.
    The pupils of my eyes are points upon the gleaming page,
    With tears of blood I’ve writ a scroll of black and white and red.
    The youthful Magian’s locks and breast were shadowed in the wine;
    It seemed as though they filled the bowl with black and white and red.
    Is’t ambergris, or is it pearl, or coral, Fāzil, say,
    This poesy thy reed doth troll, of black and white and red?

              _Fāzil Beg._




DESCRIPTION OF CIRCASSIAN WOMEN


    Ah! her cheek doth rob the fair sun of its sight,
    And her sweet grace envy brings to Venus bright.
    Like to moons are the Circassian damsels fair;
    Whatso’er the lover seeks he findeth there.
    Like to tall palm-trees their slender forms in grace,
    Or a ladder to the clear moon of the face.
    With the two feet of the eyes doth one ascend,
    But the vision of the mind too one must bend.
    Since their lips and cheeks are taverns of wine,
    Is it strange their eyes inebriate should shine?
    Since like rubies are created their two lips,
    Doubly seared the lover’s heart, like the tulip’s.
    Since their bodies are distilled from moon and sun,
    How an equal to their pure frame find can one?
    Though they lovelier than Georgians may be,
    Still in Georgians one will great attractions see.
    Closely curtained sit they all in virtue’s place;
    Pure of skirt is ever this unrivalled race;
    Pure and free from stain is every act of theirs;
    Not a soil the vestment of their honor bears;
    Marked with chastity indeed, of noble heart,
    Ever seeking to fulfil the righteous part;
    Bright with bounty and fidelity and sense,
    How that blessèd nature glows with light intense!
    Think not with this race that any can compare
    Upon earth, unless it be the Georgian fair.

              _Fāzil Beg._




DESCRIPTION OF GREEK WOMEN


    Oh! thou the Bell upon the church of pain!
    Thou the Pride of all the Messianic train!
    Source of being! if a mistress thou should seek,
    Then, I pray thee, let thy loved one be a Greek.
    Unto her the fancies of the joyous bend,
    For there’s leave to woo the Grecian girl, my friend.
    Caskets of coquetry are the Grecian maids,
    And their grace the rest of womankind degrades.
    What that slender waist so delicate and slight!
    What those gentle words the sweet tongue doth indite!
    What those blandishments, that heart-attracting talk!
    What that elegance, that heart-attracting walk!
    What that figure, as the cypress tall and free--
    In the park of God’s creation a young tree!
    What those attitudes, those motions, wondrous fair!
    What that glance inebriate that showeth there!
    Given those disdainful airs to her alone,
    And her legacy that accent and that tone.
    All those letters on her sweet tongue’s tip are rolled,
    And those words with many graces she’ll unfold;
    Strung the regal pearls of her enchanting speech,
    Pounded seem they when her gentle mouth they reach;
    To her tongue if come a letter harsh to say,
    Then her sweet mouth causeth it to melt away;
    Her mouth would fain the words conserve in sooth,
    For her mouth is speech-conserves in very truth;
    Speaking parrots are they surely one and all,
    To their portion doth the birdies’ language fall.
    With a thousand graces saith her rosebud lip:
    “Zee vine, O noble Lord, vill zou no sip?
    When thy glass is empty, fill it full again,
    To my love drink, O my Pacha, drink amain!”
    To the soul add life her ways and charms so dear,
    Surely thus is it a mistress should appear.
    E’en the old misogynist would conquered be,
    Saw he yonder maid, uxorious were he.
    So symmetrical the line her body shows,
    One would it a balanced hemistich suppose.
    Other women seek to imitate her grace,
    As their pride and frontispiece she holds her place.
    What that figure tall, and what that graceful mien!
    Fair-proportioned is her body ever seen.
    Moving lithely, she from side to side will turn,
    That the hearts of all her lovers she may burn.
    That cap which on one side she gayly wears;
    That jaunty step; those joyous heedless airs;
    Those motions--they are just what me delight;
    And her tripping on two toes--how fair a sight!
    ’Twere as though with fire her pathway were inlaid,
    That would burn the feet of yonder moon-like maid.
    Thou wouldst deem her lovers’ hearts upon her way,
    Burning with their love for her, all scattered lay.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Is’t herself they call “Qoqona” let us see?
    Or her locks?--how wondrous sweet their odors be!
    As the sash trails on the ground beneath thy feet,
    So will she thy feet salute with kisses sweet.
    Misbeliever, thou dost sense steal from the heart;
    Torment thou--I know not what a Woe thou art;
    Know not I if thou be _hūrī_ or _perī_,
    Know not I of Mary what is found in thee;
    Art thou Mary’s, child of ‘Imrān’s, rosebud bright?
    Of the dwelling of the monks art thou the light?
    Envy bearing to her hinna-crimsoned hand,
    Doth the red egg covered o’er with blushes stand.
    With the Greek cannot thy genus e’er compare,
    Deem I, be thou genius or _hūrī_ fair!

              _Fāzil Beg._




ON THE DEFEAT OF THE FRENCH IN EGYPT BY THE QAPUDAN HUSEYN PACHA



    O thou Nīrem, battle-waging, of the world’s fierce field of fight!
    O thou Sām, fell dragon-visaged, of the age’s plain of might!
    Thou art he in whom the favors of the Lord Most High unite;
    Earth and ocean thou hast conquered, waging war on left and right!
    Gold, in Islām’s cause, thou pouredst like to water down a height;
    Legions like the Nile on Egypt’s shore thou madest to alight.
    With thy sabre’s blow right fiercely thou the foeman’s head didst smite;
    Giddy made thy sword the misbelievers’ chieftains with affright.
    Midst the earth’s oak-grove a valiant lion like to thee in might,
    Since the days of Rustem, ne’er hath passed beneath the Heavens’ sight.
      “Bravo! Champion of the Epoch! rending ranks in serried fight!
      O’er the ‘Arsh hang now thy sabre, sparkling like the Pleiads bright!”

    Lion! Alexander! had he seen that battle thou didst gain,
    Crown and throne to thee to offer Key-Qubād were surely fain!
    O most noble! thou a Vezīr to such fame that dost attain,
    That the God of Hosts did surely Lord of Fortune thee ordain!
    Like to flame, the fiery blast scathed foemen’s lives, it blazed amain;
    Threw’st thou, cinder-like, the misbelievers’ ashes o’er the plain.
    “Conqueror of the Nations’ Mother” as thy title should be ta’en;
    Since thou’st saved the Nations’ Mother, all the nations joy again.
    Wishing long ago, ’twould seem, to sing thy splendid glory’s strain,
    Nef‘ī wrote for thee this couplet--for thy deeds a fit refrain:
      “Bravo! Champion of the Epoch! rending ranks in serried fight!
      O’er the ‘Arsh hang now thy sabre, sparkling like the Pleiads bright!”

    When the misbelieving Frenchman sudden swooped on Egypt’s land,
    Thither was the army’s leader sent by the Great King’s command;
    But at length o’erthrown and vanquished by the foe his luckless band,
    Then thou wentest and the vile foe scatter’dst wide on every hand;
    Then, when they thy lightning-flashing, life-consuming cannon scanned,
    Knew the hell-doomed misbelievers vain were all things they had planned.
    Hundred vezīrs, joy-attended, countless foemen did withstand;
    Day and night, three years the misbelievers fought they brand to brand;
    Worn and wretched fell those at thy feet, and quarter did demand:
    It beseems thee, howsoever high in glory thou mayst stand!
      “Bravo! Champion of the Epoch! rending ranks in serried fight!
      O’er the ‘Arsh hang now thy sabre, sparkling like the Pleiads bright!”

    Through this joy beneath thy shade the world doth its desires behold;
    With thy praises eloquent the tongues of all, both young and old.
    Thou to Faith and Empire then didst render services untold
    Hurling down to earth the foeman’s house in one assault right bold!
    O Vezīr! Jem-high! think not that flattery my words enfold;
    Though a poet, not with false or vaunting boasts I’ve thee extolled.
    Midst the fight for Egypt’s conquest firm in stirrup was thy hold,
    Under thy Egyptian charger trod’st thou foemen like the mould.
    From the handle of thy sword, like water, down the red blood rolled;
    Thou the foe mad’st turn his face, mill-like, in terror uncontrolled.
      “Bravo! Champion of the Epoch! rending ranks in serried fight!
      O’er the ‘Arsh hang now thy sabre, sparkling like the Pleiads bright!”
    Those who sing thy glories, like to Wāsif, wildered aye must be;
    Sayeth Wāsif: “None on earth like Huseyn Pacha I shall see.”
    If there be who has in vision seen a peerless one like thee,
    As a dream all void of meaning, let him it relate to me.
    Cannon-ball like, ’gainst the foe thou threw’st thyself from terror free;
    Like the winter blast thou mad’st the foeman shake in front of thee.
    Claim to manliness forsaking, even as the blind was he,
    Sword in hand despairing stood he, like to one who naught can see;
    Quick his throat thou seizedst, like the dragon direful in his glee,
    ’Neath thy sabre’s wave thou drown’dst the misbeliever, like the sea!
      “Bravo! Champion of the Epoch! rending ranks in serried fight!
      O’er the ‘Arsh hang now thy sabre, sparkling like the Pleiads bright!”

              _Wāsif._




SHARQĪ


    O Rosebud of joy’s flowery lea!
    O graceful one with step so free!
    If thou wilt yield thee not to me,
      On earth the glass of mirth and glee
      To me’s forbid, apart from thee.

    Behold my breast, by guile unprest,
    Is’t not mid thousand treasures best?
    Until thou tak’st me to thy breast,
      On earth the glass of mirth and glee
      To me’s forbid, apart from thee.

    O Rose-leaf fresh! concealed from sight
    With thee till morn a livelong night
    If I may not enjoy delight,
      On earth the glass of mirth and glee
      To me’s forbid, apart from thee.

    Yearning for union fills my soul,
    Patience and peace have no control;
    O wanton one! my longing’s goal!
      On earth the glass of mirth and glee
      To me’s forbid, apart from thee.

    Seek, Wāsif, her who hearts doth snare
    Yon maid with bosom silver-fair;
    Until thou thither dost repair,
      On earth the glass of mirth and glee
      To me’s forbid, apart from thee.

              _Wāsif._




SHARQĪ


    To whom that wine-red ruby’s shown
    Is captive by those locks o’erthrown;
    ’Tis meet like nightingale I moan:
      A lovely Scio Rose is blown.

    Unmatched yon maid with waist so spare,
    Unrivalled too her wanton air;
    Her ways than e’en herself more fair:
      A lovely Scio Rose is blown.

    The roses like her cheeks are few;
    That rose--blush-pink its darling hue;
    This summer ere the roses blew,
      A lovely Scio Rose is blown.

    The rose--the nightingale’s amaze;
    The rose the nightingale dismays;
    A smile of hers the world outweighs:
      A lovely Scio Rose is blown.

    O Wāsif, on the rosy lea,
    The nightingale thus spake to me:
    “Be joyful tidings now to thee--
      A lovely Scio Rose is blown.”

              _Wāsif._




GAZEL


    Although my heart the truth of Those who wrong themselves doth show,
          O Lord!
    In virtue of the words Do not despair, Thy love bestow, O Lord!
    Beside the mead of truth and calm make aye my soul to go, O Lord!
    My virtue’s rose to tint and scent as captive do not throw, O Lord!
    From vain attachments’ stain wash pure and clean my heart as snow, O Lord!
    Against me place not Thou the loathsome pool of lies of foe, O Lord!
    The burning pain of exile no relief can ever know, O Lord!
    Enow, if Thou the camphor-salve, the dawn of hope, did show, O Lord!
    Thy slave is Rāmiz; unto none save Thee doth he bend low, O Lord!
    Before Thy mercy’s gate his tears from eyes and eyelids flow, O Lord!

              _Rāmiz Pacha._




GAZEL


    After old rags longing hath the figure tall and slight of Love?
    Fresh and fresh renews itself aye the brocade fire-bright of Love.
    ’Gainst the flames from thorns and thistles ne’er a curtain can be wove,
    Nor ’neath honor’s veil can hide the public shame, the blight of Love.
    Through a needle’s eye it sometimes vieweth far-off Hindustān--
    Blind anon in its own country is the piercing sight of Love.
    It will turn it to a ruin where naught save the owl may dwell,
    In a home should chance be set the erring foot of plight of Love.
    Will a single spark a hundred thousand homes consume at times:
    One to me are both the highest and the lowest site of Love.
    Never saw I one who knoweth--O most ignorant am I!
    Yet doth each one vainly deem himself a learned wight in Love.
    Rent and shattered--laid in ruins--all my caution’s fortress vast
    Have my evil Fate, my heart’s black grain, the rage, the blight of Love.
    In its hell alike it tortures Mussulmān and infidel,
    ‘Izzet, is there chance of freedom from its pangs, this plight of Love?
    Of reality hath made aware the seeker after Truth,
    Showing lessons metaphoric, He, the Teacher bright, St. Love!

              _’Izzet Molla._




GAZEL


    That I’m fall’n her conquered slave, yon maiden bright feigns not to know;
    Thus pretending, she who doth the soul despite feigns not to know.
    Though I fail naught in her service, she doth me as alien treat;
    Know not I why yonder Darling, earth’s Delight, feigns not to know.
    If I dare to speak my eager longing those her lips to kiss,
    Friendship she disclaims, in sooth with cruel slight feigns not to know.
    That she whets her glance’s arrow and therewith doth pierce the heart,
    E’en her bow-like eyebrow, yonder Ban of might feigns not to know.
    Well the loved one knows the Sphere doth keep no faithful troth; but, ah!
    How she copies it, that Heart-ensnarer bright feigns not to know.
    There is ne’er a refuge, ‘Adlī, from the grief of rivals’ taunts;
    I my love conceal not, still yon maiden slight feigns not to know.

              _’Adlī._




ON THE DEATH OF ‘ANDELĪB KHĀNIM


    ‘Andelīb, th’ adopted sister, from this transient world hath flown,
    Yonder midst the flowers of Eden while still in her youth to stray.
    No physician, neither charmer, on the earth her pain could ease;
    So that youthful beauty bided not to smile on earth’s mead gay.
    With her two-and-twenty summers, cypress-like was she, ah me!
    But the sullen blast of autumn smote her life’s bright, lovely May.
    For its tyranny and rancor might have blushed the vile, hard Sphere,
    As the sister of earth’s Monarch pined in grief without allay.
    Though her kind friend never parted from her eye’s sweet, gentle beam,
    Still did she to God her soul yield, and the call, Return, obey.
    Down the wayward Sphere hath stricken that bright Jewel to the earth;
    What avail though men and angels tears of blood shed in dismay?
    Length of days to that great Sultan grant may He, the God of Truth!
    And yon fair Pearl’s tomb make rival His own Eden’s bright display!
    With the dotted letters, Leylā, thou the year tell’st of her death--
    Calm among delightsome bowers may ‘Andelīb her nest array!

              _Leylā Khānim._




TAKHMĪS


    ’Tis yonder Darling of my soul that wildering my sense o’er-throws;
    My waving Cypress ’tis that freshness to the garden doth disclose;
    The bird, my heart, my gardener is in Love’s fair parterre of the rose:
      Mine eyes’ field with thy cheek’s reflection as my flowery orchard
          shows;
      For long my heart the picture of thy palm-like figure doth enclose.

    The world seems in my eyes as prison that doth my dear love control;
    Through love for thee my heart acquireth many a scar, and that’s the
          whole;
    From hour to hour thine absence makes my tears like rushing waters roll:
      The heart bows down through grief for thee, and constant weeps the life,
          the soul;
      The fountain of this vineyard is the stream that from my weeping flows.

    As well thou know’st, through fire of love for thee how sad my plight
          of woe,
    My smiling Rosebud, wilt thou ne’er a glance of pity toward me throw?
    My sighs and wailings thou dost see, Oh, but for once compassion show:
      Through gazing on the rose and bower, my heart repose shall never know,
      The ward where doth my loved one dwell alone can yield my soul repose.

    Oh, how I think upon thy box-tree form in sorrow’s night so drear!
    My story would Mejnūn’s and Ferhād’s tales from mind make disappear.
    My groans and sighs and wails thus high do I unto the Heavens uprear,
      By reason of the sparks my sighings raise that steely bowl, the Sphere,
      Revolves each night, my gold-enamelled beaker at the feast of woes.

    From thought of yonder witching eye my heart is ne’er a moment free;
    When flow thy tears recall not thou to mind, O Leylā, ‘Omān’s Sea.
    Beneath thy shade my own heart’s blood is all that hath been gained by me:
      My tears, an ocean vast; my lashes, coral branches, O Bāqī!
      The mem’ry, ’tis of thy palm-form that as my Judas-tree bright glows.

              _Leylā Khānim._




SHARQĪ


    Our hopes, our thoughts, are for the weal of our dear native land;
    Our bodies form the rampart strong to guard our frontier strand:
    We’re Ottomans--a gory shroud our robe of honor grand.
      “God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight;
      We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright.

    The name of Ottoman with terror doth the hearer thrill;
    The glories of our valiant fathers all the wide world fill;
    Think not that nature changeth--nay, this blood is yon blood still.
      “God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight;
      We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright.

    A sabre on a blood-red field--our banner famed behold!
    Fear in our country dwelleth not, in mountain or in wold:
    In every corner of our land croucheth a lion bold.
      “God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight;
      We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright.

    Then let the cannon roar, and shower its flames on every side!
    For those our brothers brave let Heaven ope its portals wide!
    What have we found on earth that one from death should flee or hide?
      “God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight;
      We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright.

              _Ref’et Beg._




GAZEL


    A tavern which each moment takes a life as pleasure’s pay is earth;
    A glass which for a thousand souls doth sell each drop of spray is earth.
    The world’s a Magian that adores the flame of power and fortune high;
    If thou should brightly shine, a moth about thy taper’s ray is earth.
    Anon one is, anon is not--thus ever runs the course of time;
    From end to end a warning-fraught, a strange, romantic lay is earth,
    ’Twixt sense and frenzy ’tis indeed right hard to draw the sund’ring line,
    Ah me! if understanding’s wise, demented sooth alway is earth.
    The desolation of the world beside its weal is truth itself;
    Just as prosperity it seems, so ruin and decay is earth.
    How many Khusrevs and Jemshīds have come, and from its bower have passed!
    A theatre that vieweth many and many an act and play is earth.
    Ziyā, a thousand caravans of wise men through its realms have passed;
    But yet not one can tell its tale, and all unknown this day is earth.

              _Ziyā Beg._




ON A BEYT OF MAHMŪD NEDĪM PACHA


    Heart! heart! how long shall last this sorrow, anguish, and dismay?
    All things upon earth’s ruin-cumbered waste must needs decay.
    What was the splendor of Jemshīd? where Khusrev and where Key?
    Hold fast the goblet and the wine, let chance not fleet away!
      “Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
      Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”

    Be he Khusrev, or Rustem, or Nerīmān, or Jemshīd,
    Or be he beggar; be Islām or heathenesse his creed;
    A few days in earth’s inn a guest is he, then must he speed:
    Something to render gay that time is surely wisdom’s need.
      “Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
      Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”

    When viewed with understanding’s eye, the mote hath no repose;
    The world must thus be imaged for exemption from its woes:
    Of my coming and my going it no lasting picture shows--
    That a departure surely is which no returning knows.
      “Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
      Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”

    Events the workings of the Lord Most High make manifest;
    Being the mirror is in which the Absolute’s exprest;
    He who this mystery perceives in every state is blest;
    The exit of each one who enters earth decreed doth rest.
      “Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
      Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”

    See that thou grievest not thyself with sorrows all unwise;
    ’Tis need all pleasure to enjoy as far as in thee lies;
    Alike is he who lives in joy and he whom trouble tries;
    If thou be prudent, ne’er thine opportunities despise.
      “Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
      Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”

    Since first the banquet fair, this world, was cast in form’s designs,
    How many rakes have passed away! how many libertines!
    As counsel meet for revellers, when he perceived those signs,
    Around the goblet’s rim the Magian priest engraved these lines:
      “Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
      Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”

    At length, Ziya, shall joy beam forth, and grief an end shall find;
    But yet, O man, these ever enter Fortune’s feast combined.
    This hidden mystery learn thou, by Mahmūd Beg defined,
    Who has the secret of the same within this verse enshrined:
      “Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
      Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”

              _Ziyā Beg._




THE COUNSELS OF NABI EFENDI TO HIS SON ABOUL KHAIR


[_Translated by A. P. de Courteille and Robert Arnot_]




INTRODUCTION


Nabi Yousouf Efendi was born at Roha, about the year 1632, during the
reign of Mourad IV. Coming to Constantinople in the time of Mahomet IV,
he there attached himself to the all-powerful favorite Mustafa Pacha,
who made him his secretary. In 1684, his protector having been made
Serasker, he accompanied him to Morée. From there, he undertook the
pilgrimage to Mecca and to Medina, and finally settled at Halep. It was
during his stay in this city, about the year 1694, that he wrote, as he
himself says, the poem dedicated to his son Aboul Khair. Some years
after, Baltadji Mohammed Pacha, who was much attached to Nabi, recalled
him to Constantinople, and appointed him president of the State treasury
of Anatolia. He exchanged this position, however, for that of
comptroller of the cavalry, in which he remained until his death, which
occurred the twelfth of April, 1712.

Nabi is one of the Turkish classic authors; he occupies in Ottoman
literature an exalted position, not only as a poet, but also as a prose
writer. Under the title of Zeili Nabi, he wrote in the purest and most
stately style an appendix to the “Life of Mahomet,” by Weïsi; this work
was printed in Cairo in 1248. The imperial library has a copy of the
complete works of Nabi. The manuscript is well written, but is filled
with clerical errors. Beside the poems, it contains the letters of Nabi
and his treatise on Mecca and Medina. The divan of our author is of
considerable length; therein are found kassidès, chronograms, gazels,
and two poems written for his son: the “Khai-riyè” and the “Khair-abâd.”
This divan was written at Cairo in 1257.

The manuscript which has been used to verify the text was obtained from
a learned teacher named Chinaci Efendi. The translator has also
referred, although with reserve, to the manuscript of the Imperial
Library. The Cairo edition has not been very useful; it includes many
readings, which are doubtful at best, and which have not been thought
sufficiently important to note.

Those who have translated oriental poems know how difficult it is to
remain exact without becoming unintelligible. The translator has
endeavored to condense the text as much as possible, and has only
departed from it insomuch as was necessary in order to make it
intelligible. There is an obscure vagueness in Turkish poetry which
passes for a kind of beauty in oriental eyes. The reader’s imagination
loves to wander among these brilliant clouds; but the translator, forced
to express himself clearly and openly, suffers much from this element of
uncertainty.

The translator’s aim has been, above all, to provide for persons who are
studying the Turkish language a work of a simple and elegant classic
style and of moderate price, which will be a preparation for the reading
of more difficult writings.




THE COUNSELS OF NABI EFENDI




CHAPTER I


All praise to the Most High God, Creator of all that exists; who with
his all-powerful pen has traced the characters of the world. Benign
Lord, whose mercy is stretched forth over all men, whose benevolent hand
has graven the image of existence on the tablet of the vow, from that
void which, like a funeral mound, opened and disclosed its secrets. The
Lord weighed in the balance of destiny chaos and existence; the aspect
of existence became brilliant, and its forms were reflected in the
mirror of chaos, whose burning gulf disappeared, and the veil which
concealed the world was raised. Land was extended like a mantle over the
world, and above was curved the celestial dome. The four elements and
heaven became as a festal cup adorned with four roses. The Lord, uniting
the two sexes, lit between them the torch of love. Then appeared the
three reigns of nature: the mineral, the vegetable, and the animal. The
inexhaustible munificence of the Almighty continued; next came the
creation of man. God placed him above all living beings; formed from the
slime of the earth, he was the noblest, the most perfect of all
creatures. Although he had been moulded of earth and mud, the angels
were ordered to bow down before him; the ladder of the divine decisions
having been placed, man ascended to the first place in creation.

In all things there are different degrees, distinctions, and divisions,
everything has different properties; nature has diversified all things,
all men form quite distinct classes, and from these distinctions issues
perfect order. Without them, the edifice of creation would be
demolished; but how can the ignorant understand the mysteries therein?
Water cannot have all the properties of fire; earth cannot produce the
effects of wind. Gold is impotent to replace iron; sugar will never have
the flavor of salt. The foot does not play the same role as the hand;
the lancet does not serve the purposes of the sword. Hearing cannot take
the place of sight; the shoulder cannot reflect as does the mind. The
jeweller does not know the weaver’s art, nor does the carpenter
understand the labors of the shoemaker. Nations understand nothing of
the actions of those who govern them, and kings, in their turn, know not
all that concerns their subjects. Warmth never produces the effect of
cold; dryness and humidity are incompatible. Shade does not undergo the
action of the sun, and the goblet is insensible to the transports
agitating Djemschid.

Therefore understand this truth: thy nature is but formed of incongruous
elements. Everywhere glaring contrasts are perceived in all objects. The
wisdom and the might of God have no bounds, it is a spectacle without
end. All the parts of creation are thus arranged: raise thy mind’s eye
as high as it can reach. In this world and in the next, in the form of
facts as in their reality, on all sides are encountered different
degrees. In the spiritual order there are also many distinctions, like a
sea with innumerable waves. He who has penetrated the farthest in the
mysteries of creation has said that society is only founded on the
distinction of classes. The friends of God are high-placed, but higher
still are those whom he has created prophets.

It may be said that the prophets are in the place of honor on the
light-giving throne as a brilliant star which irradiates its marvellous
splendor to far distant worlds. But above all, and in the most exalted
place, sits the king of creation, he for whom all was created,
pre-eminently the elect of God, the precious pearl of the ocean of
divine generosity, the luscious fruit of the garden of creation, he who
opened the gate of the treasure of light, he for whom was limned the
picture of this world, he of whom it is written in the beginning of the
book of fates, he in whom was all accomplished, the principle of the
operations of divine mercy, the last end of the omnipotence of the Lord,
he who includes in himself the form and essence of all things, the
dazzling light of the torch of immutable destiny, the ornament of
existence’s throne, the guardian of the treasures of altitude and depth,
and the seal of the mystery of the two worlds.

He it is who hath approached to God as near as two arcs, or even nearer,
to whom all has been revealed; who, mounted proudly on the mighty Boraq,
traversed the ethereal regions; the universal ruler throwing radiance
over the domain of sovereign authority; the luminous eastern star of
science, the all-excelling master of the apostolate of nations, on whom
descended the glorious revelation, the most beautiful among the children
of men, the most perfect of beings, the most noble of all creatures, the
fountain of the graces shed on mankind, the soul of the world, the
centre of creation, the illustrious and glorious Mahomet, in whom the
Lord delights, the origin of all bearers of that venerable name, the
most perfect of all in all degrees.

The word which proclaims him the first work come forth from the hands of
God has shed universal joy. His person is the seal of glory and
greatness; he is the centre of all purity, the arbiter of celestial
revolutions; in him is the consummation of all perfection. As a seed
concealed in the depths of the invisible earth, he appeared loaded with
fruit. If you trace the rounded figure of a _mim_ you will form Ahmed
from the word Ahad, and if you ask where is the first letter of the
Prophet’s name, you will find it in the second part of the word Mahomet.
The Lord has raised him above all; he has overwhelmed him with graces
and blessings. Benedictions upon him, on his family and his friends till
the day of resurrection!




CHAPTER II

_Details of the Father’s Station in Life_


Aboul Khair Mohammed Tchélebi, thou who art the ornament of Halep, part
of my being, substance of my life, first fruit of the garden of my
happiness, thou art the luminous ray of my life, thou art the essence of
the blessings which make me prosper. The Lord in his bounty has given
thee to Nabi, O Joseph of thy father! O noble son! thou art indeed the
living proof of the truth that the son is the joy of the father. Thou
art, O light of mine eyes, the ornament of the garden-plot of paternal
existence. Since thou hast become a shade for my head I see thee alone
in this world. Thou who art endowed with all the graces, I have received
thee from the hand of the Almighty in my declining days.

When thou didst appear on the horizon of the world as a moon of beauty,
I had already passed my tenth lustre. Thou wert given to me when I was
fifty-four, and it is in thy eighth year that this book is written. My
place of nativity is the charming city of Edessa; but I was dwelling in
Halep when I wrote this work. Edessa! type of the eternal flower-garden,
native soil of the well-beloved of God, object of the emulation of all
Syria, scene of the marvellous deliverance of Abraham! I sojourned
thirty years at Adrianople and at Constantinople. Thanks to God! I, a
poor slave, have been honored with many dignities. Having no longer
taste for business, I enjoyed the repose given by retreat. The water and
the excellence of the climate determined me to select Halep as an
abiding place.




CHAPTER III

_Of the Motives which Decided the Author to Write the Book of Counsels_


Light of my hopes, gift bestowed on me by the omnipotent and glorious
God! God be praised, thou art of a noble family; thy ancestors have all
distinguished themselves in science. Although their worth is not
sufficiently esteemed, learned men all occupy an elevated position. But
of what use is the worth of thy father and of thy ancestors, if thou
dost not raise thyself by thy talent? Thy origin is pure, O creature of
God! He who is well born ought not to fall! All that nature has given me
of worth is found complete in thyself. Thou hast many noble and good
qualities which nothing, by the grace of God, can mar. Thy good nature
sheds afar its perfume, thou dost manifest the traces of innate
morality. The grace of God will come to thy aid, and thy natural
capacities will easily surmount all difficulties. God protect thee and
prosper thee! mayst thou long sojourn in this transitory world!

But in order that paternal advice may make a profound impression upon
children, and that you may cherish it as a precious jewel and make it
the subject of your meditations, after having practised my mind and
grasped the pen of art, and having brought forth from my heart’s mine
pearls worthy to wreathe a poetic garland, I wrote in verse a book of
morals which may perhaps charm the intelligent. I have adorned it with
the ornaments of poetry, and I have entitled it “The Good Book.”

Reverently press it to thy heart, and look upon it as a guardian amulet.
Each day, O soul of thy father, hearken to the words of this jewel.
Engrave them with care on thy mind, and never separate from it a single
instant. Let, until the day of the resurrection, its salutary influence
be exerted on thee and on all others. As long as this table shall be
prepared, may young people come to seat themselves here as thy guests.
And thou, as much as thou shalt relish the joy of these riches, bless
the name of thy father and of thy mother. Rejoice me by the expression
of thy gratitude; then remember me in thy prayers.




CHAPTER IV

_Of the Ranks of Islam_


O cypress of the slender form gracefully swaying in the garden of
creation, learn from me what is the thing most necessary to man above
all his temporal occupations. He should reflect on his end, he should
embellish the edifice of his religion; the five columns on which this
edifice rests are themselves based upon wisdom. It is within this
enclosure that peace reigns; beyond, the shocks of adversity are to be
feared. There extends a delightful garden; here opens the burning abyss
of hell. There, also, are the sectarians of the straight and perfect
road; here, those who are lost in error.

Observe religiously the precept of prayer; acquit thyself, if thou
canst, of the obligation of pilgrimage and of the tithe in alms. Show
proofs of zeal and activity in the accomplishment of these duties; do
not show a criminal tendency to exempt thyself from them. Be not
rebellious to the orders of the Almighty; obey all his commandments. All
the salutary practices taught by religion are for Mussulmen like a robe
with many folds. Recite the five prayers, O pure youth, if thou didst
but know what graces thou drawest down upon thyself! Each of these
practices has a mysterious meaning; a long discourse would be required
to detail their merits.

The Lord, generous in his gifts, has made each of them the instrument of
innumerable benefits. God has no need of thy works; ’tis thou alone who
dost profit from thy wealth. O generous soul! thou alone wilt gather the
fruit of thy good or evil actions.




CHAPTER V

_Of the First Duty of True Religion_


Charming branch of the garden of morality, thou who rejoicest the heart
and eye of thy father, confess candidly thy faith that all the mysteries
of creation may be revealed to thee. Make thy heart the shrine of truth;
light there the flaming torch of uprightness and sincerity. Fill thy
mouth with the honey of the profession of the Mahometan faith. Let all
thy words breathe submission to divine truths. The profession of faith
is the seal of the salvation of believers, the ornament of the blissful
gate of paradise.

It is this profession which establishes a striking distinction between
the shadow of impiety and the light of faith. On it rests the foundation
of true power, and on it has risen the edifice of religion. It is the
column of Islamism, the water which fills the ocean of divine decrees,
the key to the straight path and that which opens the gate of that
devotion agreeable unto God. It is, for the tongue which utters it, like
a dish of exceeding sweet savor. It is its salutary virtue which
vivifies those whose hearts are dead.




CHAPTER VI

_Of the Excellence of Prayer_


O rose of the ever-blooming garden, thou, the support of thy aged
father, at the prescribed time perform the ablutions and purify thyself
of exterior pre-occupation! Clothe thyself as with a robe of innocence
and light that thou mayst be worthy to sit among pure men. Prayer, for
the faithful, is as a celestial ascension; open thine eyes to this
divine rapture. Consider not prayer as an irksome task; it is an honor
which God deigns to grant us. It is the support of religion; and the
corner stone of the house of faith. Incline devoutly in thy adorations;
be among the faithful who surround the _mihrab_. Drag thy countenance in
the dust before the Lord; be a slave in thy heart; consider his majesty.
Prayer said without devotion is valueless in the sight of God; each time
that thou dost bow down send forth to him a thousand ardent sighs.
Plunge thyself completely in these holy practices; let thy reason
succumb to a mysterious intoxication.

Far be it from thee to think of the delights of paradise or the torments
of hell; love with all thy heart the sovereign Master of both. Yield not
to sleep in the morning; be vigilant and assiduous in praying for the
pardon of thy sins.

What happiness for thee to cross thy hands on thy breast and weep in the
presence of thy God! When thou dost bow down, strike the earth with thy
forehead; behold the potentates of this earth, O my son! is it permitted
to everyone to salute the steps of their thrones?

The intelligent man, prostrated in the dust, does not raise his head;
his eyes are not dazzled by a sudden brilliancy. Canst thou not be
assiduous in the exercises of thy piety, if thou dost understand how
precious they are to thee? I wish to disclose to thee a secret which is
not permitted to be told to children. Apply thyself with all thy
strength to understand it; thou wilt succeed in grasping its meaning.
When thou dost pray while standing, is it not true, O youth beautiful as
the full moon, that thou dost resemble an _élif_ But when thou art
inclined, one might believe thou wert a _dal_: it is the enigma of the
prophets, endeavor to understand it. If thou dost prostrate thyself the
rounded form of a _mim_ is seen, and then thou dost indeed merit the
name of man. Forget not this truth which is revealed unto thee: he who
neglects prayer is not a man.




CHAPTER VII

_On the Excellence of Fasting_


O most delicious of the fruits of the paternal garden! precious pearl of
the sea of life! dost thou wish to avoid the maladies which afflict the
body? neglect not the fast of Ramazan. Fasting is a grace which the Lord
grants to his servants; he does not leave it without recompense. Fasting
is a table prepared by the divine mercy: he who practises it wears a
robe of light. It demands mystery and retreat; hypocrisy should not come
to profane it. Fasting is a mysterious emanation from eternity: it is a
figure of spiritual royalty. The Prophet said, speaking with the breath
of one who fasts, that it was more pleasing to God than the odor of
musk! Fasting is the herald of the joys of paradise: to renounce these
joys is to condemn one’s self to despair.

Until the shades of night begin to appear, let the disk of the sun be as
a seal over thy mouth. As long as the jewel of thy being shall shine,
abstain until darkness delivers thee from the eyes of the curious. What
happiness for thee to have closed lips: to be beyond all agitation, with
closed mouth and quiet body, to polish the mirror of thine existence, to
deliver thy nature from the trammels of matter, to make it beam with a
radiance full of grace, to dissipate the shadows of thy soul’s
sanctuary, to be resplendent as the moon of the Ramazan!




CHAPTER VIII

_Of Pilgrimage, of Sacred Journeys, and of Mount Arafat_


O freshly blooming rose of the garden-plot of my soul, perfume that dost
charm the nostrils of courtesy, undertake no other journey but that of
Caaba. A useless journey is as disastrous as the fire of hell. Caaba is
the noblest of all the temples and the central point of the universe. It
is the seat of royalty; the ornament of the foot of the throne of the
Divinity; the trunk of the tree of divine mercy; the threshold of
religion and of felicity; the torch that burns in the shrine of
mysterious truths and whose brilliancy attracts suppliants as the candle
the butterfly. It is the mysterious reflection of the high heavens: the
abode veiled in black of Leila; the place of the adoration of men and
angels, where the celestial vault inclines in reverence.

It is the site of the garden-plot of delights, all shining with an
ineffable light. It is the station of the sacred mysteries; may God
forever increase their significance! It is the throne of the rule of the
Omnipotent and the threshold of the court of the All-Merciful. It is the
centre of the earth around which the heavens accomplish their
revolutions. It might be compared to a holy man, tall in stature; and
the black gem to the buckle of his girdle. The black gem is the jewel of
salvation kissed with awe by the friends of God. It is the first thing
honored by the hand of the Creator; the more precious than amber,
adorning the earth’s surface. The chief treasure of the secrets of the
Divinity’s palace, the ornament of humanity’s domain, the dust at its
portals is as a balm to the eyes; ’tis the abode of generosity and the
happy home of purity. The life-giving water of the well of Zemzem is all
prepared for the cleansing of our sins. The holy ground is the glory of
the well of Zemzem, itself the glory of the world.

Mercy escapes from its golden funnel in inexhaustible abundance,
purifying our faults. The water of Zemzem is a pure remedy which
restores health to those who languish in separation. When thou dost
arrive to the limits of the sacred territory, then visit the two walls
of the _ihrâm_. The visiting of holy spots gives new life; each band of
pilgrims participates in the divine mercy. Each breath which escapes
these breasts burning with love is as a spirit messenger ascending to
heaven. O felicity, O delight, O unspeakable honor, to revolve around
God’s throne! Over this sacred place of processions, that it be not
profaned, let thy forehead be as a tapestry! And thy heart, like a moth,
should circle around this holy candle! Diligently visit the court of the
Author of all good. L’Arifè is a figure of the gathering at resurrection
and the solemn day of the counsel of the merciful Lord. There the crowds
which cover Mount Arafat receive the certificate of the pardon of sins.

There are purified those who were burdened with crime; there are freed
the slaves of sin. These culprits form a dazzling ring whose setting is
the column of divine mercy. All that was dark becomes white as snow; the
record of evil deeds is thrown in the fire. Mina is a vast market where
pardon is given in exchange for sins. The temple of Caaba is as the
heart of the world, and its black gem is its inmost part. Exert thyself
to penetrate the mystery of thy nature, formed of slime and water; on
this question exhaust all thy faculties. If thou dost desire to discover
its central point, imitate the compass that always turns in the same
circle.




CHAPTER IX

_Of the Excellence of Alms-Giving_


O precious pearl, worthiest heir of a noble family, give till the last
_para_ the alms prescribed by law: they will amass for thee a capital of
salvation and blessings. Alms are due unto God: beware of negligence in
paying him. Thou with whom the Lord has so generously shared, dost thou
not hasten to purify thy wealth? Alms are the wealth of the poor; if
thou dost retain them unjustly, thou wilt tarnish a legitimately
acquired fortune. What thou dost give to obey the law of God, he will
return to thee tenfold. If thou dost refuse, he will withdraw his
benediction, and thy prosperity will vanish. Wealth not purified by alms
is soon spent, and serves as a target for the blows of adversity. That
blessed by this holy practice is as a seed which it pleases God to
fructify. The grains dispersed here and there will grow and multiply,
and thou wilt derive profit from them both in this world and in the
next.

He who created poverty and wealth made alms the share of the poor. By an
impenetrable mystery of his omnipotence, he has assigned to thee ease
and to another indigence. Retain not unjustly the rights of the poor;
pay them as soon as they are due. Complete legal alms by voluntary ones,
which are the branches which shoot forth from the trunk of the others.
How many passages of the Sacred Book bear witness to the excellence of
their merits! Without poverty riches would have no value, so has
ordained he who has done all things. The poor are as the mirrors of the
rich; thus the nature of each thing is revealed by contrasts. What
couldst thou have accomplished against fate, hadst thou been poor and
not rich? The sight of poverty provokes the rich to thankfulness; it
gives them occasion to congratulate themselves for their prosperity.

If there were no beggars in the roads of this perishable world, how
couldst thou purify thy goods by alms? If the pauper refuses thee, thou
hast reason to be sad; if he accepts, thou art his debtor. Is he not the
instrument of thy joy and of thy prosperity? What do I say: he is one
more benefit added to all those thou hast received from God. Know that
it is the liberality of the Lord which sends the mendicant to the
faithful, because the profit of alms is his who donates. Thank the Lord
for the gifts he has bestowed upon thee; thy glory will become more
brilliant. Look upon the poor with the eye of compassion; beware from
speaking harshly to them. Be affable and mild to them. Pour forth thy
riches upon those who suffer from hunger; it is their right.

Let thy door be the rendezvous of the poor that thy bounty may equal thy
power. Is it not better to come to the aid of the unfortunate, and
assuage the pangs of the hungry, than to impose on thyself an added
abstinence, and to defray the costs of repairing several mosques? There
is more merit in giving water to one who thirsts than to visit Caaba
annually. Glory and honor to him around whom press all those who suffer,
and happy indeed is the wealth which serves to solace the misery of the
poor. How worthy of envy is that powerful man who bestows bounty upon
thousands of paupers! Is he not a river of blessings, whose liberality
pours over all his brothers?

Do not regard the poor with disdain, nor reproach them with the gifts
thou hast made. May thy benevolence rejoice children, and thy caresses
console their afflicted hearts!

Blessed be the treasures destined by God for such glorious uses, that
are as a saving ointment on the wounded hearts of defenceless orphans!
Dry their tears with thy beneficent hand; may thy caresses make them
forget the parents they have lost! When thou dost prosper in thy
affairs, when Providence overwhelms thee with favors, put not thy foot
in the way of ingratitude; fly from it with all the strength of thy
soul! Gratitude is often only a vain word; let it be more in thy
actions than in thy speech. Thank God from the bottom of thy heart; be
generous to the poor. When thou seest the servants of God without bread
and without garments, close not before them the door of liberality;
repulse not those who extend to thee suppliant hands.

Whoever be the guest who takes shelter beneath thy roof, spare nothing
to spread before him the table of hospitality. Treat him according to
his deserts; honor him according to his dignity. If he makes himself
troublesome, have patience; perhaps a single word will win his heart to
thee. Let not disappointment fill his eyes with tears; refuse him
nothing, if it is possible. Dost not wish to deliver him from all
anxiety and to second with thy efforts all his desires? If it is not in
thy power to content him, at least let the mildness of thy refusal leave
him without regrets. Calm his mind with goodly words; fetter his heart
with benevolence. That he may not leave thee with a wounded heart, think
of what thou wouldst do in his place. How many ways thou hast to show
thy gratitude!

No, gratitude cannot be limited. The mind of man is as incapable of
understanding its merits as he is of worthily manifesting it. If thou
dost wish the sincerity of thy sentiments not to be suspected, bestow
liberally of thy wealth upon the poor. Let thy bounties, pure of all
ostentation, have no other witness than the Divine Majesty. Beware of
making allusions to them in words of pride; the Lord will know how to
raise the veil with which thy modesty has covered them. The misconduct
of intoxication is better than benefits accompanied with reproaches.
There are many whom shame prevents from begging; go to meet those who
have a right to thy compassion. How many men are divested of prosperity
and whom misfortune has thrown at thy feet! To him who remains so
overwhelmed in misery, even though he solicit not thy generosity, go,
extend a succoring hand; that is more profitable than the building of
sumptuous palaces.

Be convinced of this truth: thou wilt receive the reward for thy good
deeds. Hypocrisy soils thy bounties; they will be neither useful to thee
nor to them who have received them. Better is it to aid one unfortunate
than to invite the rich to luxurious repasts. Seated at thy table, they
would laugh at thy expense, and would criticise thy least faults.
Hospitality given thus to the opulent, what is it but prodigality? What
will it reap, in this world and in the next, but the eternal tortures of
hell? Except in the cases where it is absolutely necessary to avoid
serious inconvenience, to conciliate the good-will of thy brothers and
live on good terms with them, every time that abundance reigns with
thee, call in the poor and the orphans to share with thee.




CHAPTER X

_The Desirability of Knowledge_


O young and growing shrub, ornament of the meadow of education, thou who
dost lighten the heart and the eyes of thy father, apply thyself night
and day to the study of noble wisdom; remain not like the brute, plunged
in ignorance. Beware of a shameful idleness; knowledge and study are
inseparable. The numerical value of these words is a proof in itself of
this truth. Without study no knowledge; where one is not, the other
cannot exist. Knowledge is the attribute of God; it is the most precious
of all qualities. Neglect nothing to acquire it; such is the teaching of
the illustrious preceptor. He also has said: Devote thyself to study
from the cradle to the tomb. Exert, then, all thy strength to arrive at
a city whose gate is the son-in-law of the Prophet.

Knowledge, celestial gift, is the table of divine hospitality. Mediator
between being and void, it adorns the visage of existence. It is for it
that the king of the domain of light exclaimed: Lord, increase my
knowledge! It is the source of glory and of elevation; it gives an
authority free from all taint. It holds the empire of dignity and of
elucidation; it dispenses all knowledge. Vast ocean without bounds, he
who claims to possess it is without wisdom. Ignorance is death,
knowledge is life, said the Lord; dost thou then desire to be counted
among the dead? Do not deprive thyself of eternal life; learn, with the
aid of knowledge, to distinguish good from evil. Enrich thy mind with
all kinds of knowledge; who knows if thou wilt not have occasion to make
use of it? If thou art questioned concerning a difficulty, is it not
better to reply thereunto than to confess thy ignorance?

God said to men: Seek knowledge even to the ends of the earth. Blush not
to take lessons from a teacher skilful in archery; in all things it is
finer to know than to be ignorant. The unlearned, in comparison with the
learned, are dunces, and even less. How can an educated man be compared
to an ignorant one? are the blind and those that see on the same level?
Whatever be his rank and power, true dignity will never be the portion
of the ignorant. Ignorance is the capital of shame and dishonor; his lot
is debasement and contempt. It is a cursed prison, in which those who
fall never see liberty again. Ignorance is chaos, knowledge is
existence, how can two such contrary principles be associated?

Apply thyself to the study of the secrets of nature; do not stray in the
valley of philosophy. What is more precious than knowledge? have any
ever repented of devoting themselves to it? Subjects and kings all have
need of the assistance of learned men. The nobility of knowledge has no
more limits than the attributes of the Creator. As long as these cannot
be limited, how can one fix boundaries to the others? Do not pause at
the shell of things; seek to penetrate to the marrow. From the surface,
pass to the interior: does the bird fly in the air without wings? The
outside of a house is as a place of passage; it is within one seeks
repose. Pearls are not found on the borders of the sea; if thou dost
wish to possess them, thou must plunge in the depths.

The study of grammar, of syntax, and of literature is necessary; they
are indispensable instruments to learn Arabic; but it is not necessary
to give all one’s time to it: of what good is an instrument which one
does not use? It is good to acquire all sorts of knowledge; not,
however, to the same degree. It suffices thee to ornament thy mind with
the knowledge of jurisprudence, of the _hâdis_ and of the commentaries
of the Koran. For the rest, content thyself with theory, leave to others
the practice: fly lawsuits and contests. Abandon law for the practice of
good works; enter not in the domains of chicanery: if thou dost not
understand anything of the questions of purchase and sale, what
disadvantage will come to thee of it in this world and the next?




CHAPTER XI

_Of the Knowledge of God_


O most beautiful of the pages of the book of creatures, thou whose image
adorns the mirror of qualities! hearken to this paternal counsel: Boast
of thy merit to no one; do not pursue a vain science which is babbled of
in public lest thou consume thy strength to no purpose. Devote thyself
to some science worthy of thy Creator and of thyself. Only pass through
the realm of philosophy, but fasten thy attention on the writings of the
friends of God. The holy aspirations of these illustrious guides bring
men to truth. How difficult is it to find a perfect spiritual director!
For the present, these precepts may suffice for thee. Let thy piety be
enlightened. Far be it from thee to become a hypocrite and bigot, and
weary not of aspiring to perfection and of working to become a sincere
adorer of God.

Do not stray in the slippery places of doubt, for there are no wise men
save those who are learned in divine things. How can he who devotes
himself to grammatical subtilities penetrate the divine mysteries? The
Creator of love has said: Acquire knowledge; such should be the aim of
the two worlds. Knowledge is the ornament of man and the last places are
the share of the ignorant. Knowledge is a spiritual happiness and a gift
of divine beneficence. The ignorant reject knowledge because they cannot
raise themselves to the required level, for they would devote themselves
to it body and soul, were it possible. Examine closely, and then decide.

The mud of deception is not able to sully the garb of knowledge and the
garment of instruction. Thou knowest that it is God himself who hath put
thee in this world to serve him with all thy heart. Of necessity he is
the master of the house; the fool only sees the house and mistakes the
master. Labor courageously night and day to obtain the grace of the
abiding of God with thee. Let him be the constant object of thy thoughts
and of thy meditations, and be attentive to this great spectacle beneath
thy eyes. Trouble not thyself with heaven or with hell, for it is their
Master only whom thou must seek. If thou dost possess him, O life of my
soul, thou wilt possess two worlds.

Seek to know thyself well, if thou dost wish to fathom the mysteries of
this world. Seek morality eagerly, and give thyself no respite when thou
wilt have found it. Whoever knows it not is a blind man below the ox and
the ass. Morality is the chief riches of an enlightened soul and heart,
and the last step to the knowledge of God. He who hath not penetrated to
the light of morality remains lost in the shadows of error.

If thou dost well understand the truth of things, O pearl of Aden, thou
wilt be invulnerable against fear and sadness. There lies all the
mystery of unity; there is the secret of eternal felicity. Light of mine
eyes! how full of anguish it is to be struck with blindness in this
world and in the next! Anoint thine eyes with the salve of morality; if
not, the day of judgment will be that of thy condemnation. He is blind,
he that does not bear witness, for whom the gates of truth remain
closed. He who was the glory of prophets asked in his prayers that the
truth might be revealed to him. The writings of the men of God make the
mirror of the intelligence to burn: do thou apply thyself to understand
their meaning. Let these teachings be the safeguard of thy soul. He who
seeks God has no better guide than the _mesnévis_ of the greatest
Physician. The sublime truths of the “Book of Victories and of
Distinctions” are a balm of purity for the mind’s eye. The saints have
left many teachings which aid man to know his Creator. Therein are found
mystic and spiritual truths derived from the Koran. Outwardly, they are
only legal decisions, but beneath is a whole order of incontestable
revelations. Consecrate all thy hours to the study of these books: mayst
thou possess in full the doctrine which they contain!




CHAPTER XII

_Eulogy of Constantinople_


O moon that dost light the eye of hope, and dost adorn the days of thy
aged father! it availeth thee more to cultivate thy talents than to
break the seal of a treasure. Knowledge and instruction have no surer
asylum than Constantinople, which has not its equal for the flavor of
its intellectual fruit. May God prosper this abode of all greatness,
the home and school of all great men, and the seat of administration for
all people! There merit always finds consideration. Every perfection,
every talent, is there esteemed at its just value. There are all the
degrees of honor and of nobility; everywhere else life is lost and
wasted. There everything has its peaceable course, and merit has not the
injustice of fortune to fear. There are found all places, all dignities,
and all careers. Heaven in vain revolves around the world, it sees
nowhere a city like unto Constantinople. There are seen paintings,
drawings, writings, and gildings, dazzling and gleaming beyond belief.
All possible kinds of arts contribute their own brilliancy and splendor.
See how she gleams with a beauty all her own, as the sea languidly
caresses her!

At Constantinople all arts and all professions are esteemed and honored,
and one finds here talents whose names even are unknown elsewhere. Does
he who is outside the house know what is within? Does he who stands on
the shore see what is hidden by the depth of the sea? There also they
excel in archery and the names of conquerors are immortalized on stone.
Without mention of the rest, how pleasant and charming it is to fly over
the surface of the sea, to reign at the same time over the air and the
waves, like Solomon on his throne, and to recline luxuriously on a
cushion with eyes fixed on a mirror of silver! There are combined at
once music, song, and all pleasures. There, riding on the wings of the
wind, the eyes perceive a great number of cities. Tranquilly resting on
the breeze, one traverses the earth without fatigue. There are
marvellously reflected the most gorgeous spectacles, which seem to
mirror one another and give an enchanted aspect to the shores. The
_quaîqs_ glide lightly over the water, with their wind-filled sails like
a bird’s wings. How can so beautiful a sight be described? what need has
it of eulogy?

Behold Saint Sophia, marvel of the world, whose cupola might be termed
the eighth celestial body. Nowhere has she her equal, save, perhaps in
paradise. Contemplate the imperial seat of the sultans of the world, the
dwelling of the kings of time, the court of the Ottoman Empire, and the
centre of the rule of the khans. In this ever-blessed region is found
all that is desirable. Whatever thou canst imagine, she possesses in
the highest degree. She combines the elect of the beys, of the pachas,
and the efendis, the most illustrious warriors and the most renowned
wise men.

All the world’s difficulties there find their solutions: all efforts are
there crowned with success. The mind cannot conceive all the charms she
contains. If she were not afflicted with all kinds of disease and the
abominable plague, who would consent to leave this celestial abode
whence care is forever exiled? If her temperature were more equal, would
she not cause the rest of the world to be forgotten? Whoever has an
established fortune should not establish his home in any other country.
No city, no country, resembles or is comparable to her. She is the
asylum of all sciences: everywhere else study is neglected for gain,
commerce, agriculture, or usury, so that all vestiges of knowledge have
disappeared. Money takes the place of talent in a province, and it seems
as if merit could be extracted from it. In the provinces scientific men
have become extinct and books are forgotten. Poetry and prose are both
held in aversion, and even a Persian phrase is tabooed. The study of
Arabic has vanished as snow without consistency, and the principles of
grammar and syntax are entirely neglected. Luxury and presumption have
intoxicated all hearts, and there is no worship but that of dignities
and employments. There one finds neither virtue nor knowledge, and
morality is outraged.

The ambition to secure vain honors leaves no time for the labor for
perfection. How many do not lift up their voices unto the Lord except
when their fortunes are threatened by reverses! It is by a special
dispensation of Providence that God has withdrawn learning from the
provinces. If he had not first chained them in ignorance, who could have
governed such men? The seat of power belongs to the great, but pride is
the part of provincials. He who is high placed is not vainglorious; but
these wretches are filled with arrogance. They constantly compare their
dignity and importance to that of the representatives of authority.

But what would it be if they possessed learning? They would not deign to
look at their fellows. They know not their value, and take no account of
their worth.

Nothing teaches the inferiority of the provinces more than the sight of
Constantinople. In the gatherings of the capital he who passes
elsewhere for a wisest man of the century is but a blockhead; the
strong-minded loses his assurance, and the fine talker has no longer a
tongue. They who boasted so loudly of their rank and nobility are only
admitted to the most commonplace circles. The arrogant, who knit his
brows so disdainfully, eagerly seeks the door-keepers. He who bore a
title so pompously cannot even obtain the honor of kissing the hem of a
robe. He who occupied the first place is not even deemed worthy to
remain at the door. What city can be compared to Constantinople? Is not
the prince above him whose homages he receives? After the capital, there
is no place so charming as Halep. Halep! honor of the province,
illustrious and flourishing city; the resort of Indians, Europeans, and
Chinese; object of the envy of the whole universe; the market of all
merchandise; haven of joys and wealth, with thy delicious waters and
climate, thy vast plains and magnificent buildings.




CHAPTER XIII

_On Flight from Avidity and Avarice_


O new copy of the collection of mysteries, rosebud of the garden of
graces! discover thy needs to no one, bend not thy back under the load
of a favor received. Open not thy mouth to request; let not servile and
entreating speech soil thy lips. Cupidity always engenders a bad
reputation: the true secret to gain the esteem of others is to moderate
thy desires. Hast thou not received the portion assigned to thee by
destiny? What is the water of life, if it is not consideration? Should
we not always show it? Be animated by generous feelings, beware of
baseness, and do not demand all that thou seest. What is there so
desirable in thy brother’s hand that thou shouldst so unceasingly covet?
Has he not need of the gifts of the Lord, as thou hast? and is he not
also the debtor of his universal beneficence? Is he not able to show
thee favor, a weak mortal, and has he not sufficient wealth to share
with thee? God never reproaches us with the benefits he grants: but is
the hand of man other than an instrument?

Although in all things the first causes must be considered, what are
these causes without that which directs them? Seek not the creature to
the exclusion of the Creator; lose not thy trouble. Confide in the
generosity of the Lord; the portion he has allotted thee will return in
spite of thyself. How sweet it is to repose in the shade of a modest
retreat and to content one’s self with the gifts of Providence! Lay not
a bold hand on the object of thy covetousness; God knows what is
necessary for thee. Let thy heart, satisfied with the Creator’s gifts,
accept with gratitude all that he grants thee! In his high wisdom, he
knows all thy needs and he will provide for them at the seasonable time.
Pious legacies do not belong to thee; the universal Dispenser will
exhaust other sources to enrich thee. Money cannot appease hunger nor
can it serve for the nourishing of thy body. If thou didst amass
pyramids of gold or of silver, could they take the place of bread, or of
oil, or of rice? Why trouble thyself concerning thy subsistence? Does
not God provide for his servants’ needs? All that is not given willingly
loses its worth: were it a rose, it has no longer a perfume.

If thou art offered anything, O soul of thy father! sully not thy eyes
and thy heart with cupidity: be courageous, and abase not thyself by
looks which beg on all sides. However, thou canst accept with simplicity
what a friend offers. In thy turn, thou wilt evidence thy gratitude by
some present. Let thy promises remain always inviolable: be a religious
observer of thy word. Know that a promise is a sacred obligation, and
that to fail therein is to be covered with shame. Beware lest by lying
words thou plantest the tree of promise on the roots of bad faith.




CHAPTER XIV

_On the Bad Effects of Pleasantry and Jocularity_


O thou who dost aspire to repose in this world and in the next, who dost
seek the way of peace of soul, abandon not thyself to pleasantries and
jokes! This habit plunges into trouble all those who contract it.
Sacrifice not thy friend to a play on words; throw not to the wind the
rights of bread and salt. Pleasantry breaks the ties of intimacy, and
its results are sad and painful. However brilliant it may be, it
inflicts none the less deep wounds. How can the name of pleasantries be
given to those burning arrows aimed at a friend’s heart?

How many sallies, impregnated with venomous spleen, have filled with
anger and rage those whom thou dost love! True wit is that which is
appropriate, brief in expression, full of sense, innocent and
inoffensive, like a blooming rose of the heart’s garden, whose charms
attract from afar all the nightingales. Its perfume, breathed with
delight, drives from the heart all thoughts of hate. It charms the ear
like good tidings, and all who hear it are filled with joy. It is
carried from city to city, and passes into a proverb from age to age.
Nothing is more charming than such a pleasantry; if it is otherwise, it
were better to refrain from making it.

Beware of fault-finding and backbiting: a shame for all wise men. No
pleasure nor profit can be found therein, and a very great sin is
committed in yielding to it. The confidence of thy friends is lost; and
thy name is detested where it is uttered. Fault-finding and backbiting
render one as odious as does calumny. May God preserve thee from this
scourge; mayst thou live in purity of heart and tranquillity of body!




CHAPTER XV

_Of the Nobility of Generosity_


O thou who dost enumerate carefully the advantages of success, and dost
consider the spectacle of refusals and welcomes, throw not a look of
indifference on thy neighbor! Turn with interest to the unfortunate.
Observe the rights of thy neighbors with justice; let the expression of
thy countenance wound no one. Be not so parsimonious with thy food that
thou canst not share it with others. Provide for their needs as much as
possible. Let all the weak take refuge in the shadows of thy generosity!
Do not entertain sentiments of hate and enmity against anyone; do not
acquire the habit of tumult and agitation. Beware of anger, rage, and
revenge; show to no one a countenance furrowed with discontent.

Live on good terms with all the world and be always of an equable
disposition. Do not annoy thy inferiors, nor impose upon them the
constraint of cold formalities. Let not the expression of thy
countenance grieve anyone; captivate everyone with thy good-nature. Let
no one be a victim of thy injustice, never return evil for evil. Be not
a burden on thy friends, do not make thyself insupportable by thy bad
disposition. Let no soul be in anguish for thee; rather labor to elevate
those who are desperate. Bring no lawsuit against anyone, that God may
preserve thee in turn from litigants. Do not compromise thy honor in
this world and in the next for strange interests. Be neither guardian,
counsellor, nor trustee.

Fly the domain of chicanery; do not rush into profitless agitation with
lowered head. He who enters into quarrelling and strife with others
brings down upon himself trouble and anxiety. Never follow the road of
disputes and strife, for they provoke the flames of hatred! Raise not a
finger to do evil: let one of thy hands be always busy in doing good.
Carry not thy complaints to the door of the prince; refer to God’s
tribunal him who hath wronged thee. However great be thy weakness and
impotence, will the Lord therefore be less zealous for thy defence?
Resigned and modest, be without care and without anxiety.




CHAPTER XVI

_Eulogy of Good-nature_


O precious pearl of the sea of life, chosen model of the beauty of
virtues! practise modesty, have always a dervish’s heart. Content
thyself with little, practise humility: shoot forth roots in the
garden-plot of the roses of prosperity. Mildness, politeness, and good
deeds will win to thee all unprejudiced men. Is it fitting for
good-nature to knit the brow and contract the forehead? Kindness and
urbanity of character brighten the mirror of the heart. As truly as a
smiling countenance is an indication of the mercy of God, so is a sullen
face a cause for reprobation.

Bad morals, reprehensible habits, and ill-humor lead to eternal
damnation. How insupportable are the manners of whomsoever is given to
haughtiness! Presumption is a diabolical fault unknown to the court of
angels. Have no intercourse with the vainglorious; fly from him. If thou
be forced to sit near him, show humility. The wise men, although with
apparent moderation, have said: Be proud with him who is proud; but as
thereby there may be cause for discord, hasten to avoid it by thy
humility. Pride and presumption in human nature are an inevitable malady
and incurable wound. He who falls into this abyss cannot prosper; the
hurt of his misfortune becomes incurable.

Suffer not thyself to be intoxicated by honors and dignities; expose not
thus thy brow to the wrath of the lord. Grandeur and eminence are
fitting in God; but what can they accomplish in a slave? Let all thy
ways be submissive: never reach forth thy hand to do wrong to another.
If pride and haughtiness appear in thee, God will raise up enemies for
thee even among thy kindred. Let us suppose that thy rank lifts thee to
heaven, thou art none the less the last of the slaves of the Lord.
Repulse no one from thy door harshly; give neither thy hand nor the hem
of thy robe to be kissed.

However high placed thou mayst be, do not exact servile homage. It is
thou who shouldst prostrate thy countenance on the ground: is it fitting
for a slave to have his hand and his garment kissed? Do not conceive a
false opinion of thy own worth; as much as possible, do not take
precedence. Many candidates aspire to precedence, and perhaps they will
obtain it before thee. Boast to no one of thy rank and importance, for
fear of becoming a burden to him. Salute others with mildness and
modesty; oblige no one to remain standing. If thou art treated with
honor, there is nothing better; if otherwise, dispute not. If modesty
and good form reign in thy conduct, doubtless consideration will be
shown in turn to thee. Modesty is the ornament of the countenance of
faith; effrontery is pernicious in this world and the next. Let morality
perfect good-nature in thee; then see how many joys there are in
modesty!

Morality is the ornament of man; without it, he is but the slave of
Satan. Because he was without it, the envious one was driven from the
throne of celestial mercy. At the last judgment, on the day of the final
catastrophe, thou wilt not be able to lift thy head nor turn thy eyes.
But the judgment of God is omnipresent; his eye embraces all that is. In
the eyes of his omniscience there is no difference between this world
and the world to come. The Creator is beyond the vicissitudes of
fortune; no change can affect him. Knowing that he is omnipresent and
all-seeing, how dost thou dare to break the laws of morality?

Show not to the foolish the depths of thy heart; hearken unto the
prophets, practise their teachings. Did not the Apostle of God receive
the order to act with wise dissimulation? Without it, thou wilt have no
repose, says the Glory of the World, the Spring of all Wisdom. It is for
thee as a protecting arm; without its aid, how many quarrels and
disputes! It is the surest rampart against all the troubles of the
world. Do not turn like the wind in all directions; like the sun, do not
shine on the doors of all. Do not reveal thy secrets to strangers; open
not to fools the gate to thy private affairs. Give not thy confidence to
the first comer; do not retail in public what regards thee alone. Do not
believe that all men are sincere, but do not look upon them all as
hypocrites. Be not blinded by the praises that thou dost receive; be not
loath to overcome thy passions. How could these praises lavished on thee
be free from hypocrisy?

For myself I see no difference between the stings of the wasp and the
flattering words of the foolish. If they have nothing to hope from thee,
they will never gather in thy house. On a festival day, do not go to
anyone’s house without an invitation, nor to the homes of any save the
honorable. Let the gatherings that thou dost frequent be composed of
pious men. Let them not be meetings of corruption and perversity. While
thou must acknowledge an invitation, wilt thou not be out of place where
thy honor is compromised? When thou art in an assembly, abuse neither
speech nor silence; use in turn thy tongue and thy ear. Let thy words
like pearls be as brief as possible. Govern thy speech according to this
motto: brevity and clearness. Man has only one tongue and two ears;
speak, then, little and listen much.

However, if a garrulous person evinces stupidity the silent man ends by
becoming burdensome. Speak neither too little nor too much; keep a
correct medium. Be neither stupid nor importune. He who holds the
scales of good education said: to speak too much availeth a man nothing.
Do not recite in public the praises of God; prayer should be hidden in
solitude; before others it is only hypocrisy and importunity; a terrible
chastisement will be its just award.

Never reply harshly; when thou speakest to anyone let it be with sweet
courtesy. Reproach no one face to face with his hidden faults; lend to
his discourse a friendly ear. Never expose the ignorance of anyone. Why
cover with confusion a creature of God? Take care not to strike with the
weapon of slander; an eternal penalty will be its punishment. The
penetration of him who has given thee the jewel of knowledge has shown
him that ignorance was well for thy brother. Such is the providential
dispensation of the Creator; so has ordained the justice of his
omnipotence. Let these words be the ornament of thy mouth; woe unto thee
if thou dost not heed them!

Renounce injustice and violence; never utter harsh words that wound the
heart. Be generous, whatever happens, O soul of my soul; let thy tongue
outrage no one! To wound thy brother to the heart is the worst of sins,
the greatest of all iniquities. Labor with ardor to raise up those who
have fallen; wouldst thou desire to overthrow the throne of the Lord?
Will the avenging God suffer a temple to be ruined from dome to
foundation? Light of mine eyes! be convinced that there is no pardon for
such a sin.




CHAPTER XVII

_Of Lying and of Hypocrisy_


O thou who dost hearken unto my teachings, who dost take lessons in the
school of experience, never contract the habit of lying and of hypocrisy
which sap the foundations of concord. Give no access in thy heart to
deception; be simple, ingenuous, and without cunning. Lying and
deception are pollutions which only produce deception and confusion.
Forerunners of the works of Satan, they throw their authors in eternal
chains. Justly abhorred by men, they only produce disastrous results.

What is more horrible than never to open the mouth for good, and to
excite discord by false allegations? It is a speech passed into a
proverb that the perfidious die in grief. Infamy is the only good that
they can acquire; their life is consumed in sadness and grief. Perfidy,
bad faith, lying, hypocrisy, perversity of mind, and corruption of
heart; all these are the qualities of the damned, but they become not
the true faithful. The great teacher of religion said: The true
Mussulman is he whose hand and tongue are not to be feared. O thou who
dost seek happiness, should not the reputation, life, and riches of all
believers be regarded a sacred repository?




CHAPTER XVIII

_Forbidding the Practice of Astrology and Chiromancy_


O thou who dost aspire to a solidly founded happiness, who seekest the
ways to obtain the favors of Providence! be not addicted to the
sorceries of chiromancy and astrology; they draw down misfortune on
those who practise them; they precipitate them to ruin: instead of the
gold they hoped to receive, they draw forth a vile metal. Since
immutable destiny has ordained all that can come to pass, forget the
future to think only of the present. Why be troubled in advance by what
is not yet, and sow needlessly in thy heart the seeds of anguish and
trouble?

Believe not the lying words of chiromancy, for God above knows what is
concealed. Even if this were a science, the man who teaches it is of no
worth; his knowledge is null, his words false, his mind diseased. Do we
not see what happens to these diviners and astrologers; is there a
single one who prospers? Might we not say that misfortune is the
satellite of all these sorceries? Leave, then, loans, and enjoy thy
ready money. What wilt thou do when thou shalt have been plunged in all
these agonies? Believe my words, and may God preserve thee from so
disastrous a blindness.




CHAPTER XIX

_Of the Defilement of Drunkenness_


O precious pearl of the jewel casket of my soul, thou whose image is
stamped on my heart! be not seduced by the rosy cup; it debases man in
the eyes of his fellows, renders him odious to all, and deprives him of
his honor and respect. Have no connection with this mother of all vices,
who engenders all sorts of calamities. What a shame to pass for a
debauchee, to be known everywhere for thy passion for wine! Beware of
drunkenness, of that stupefaction which causes the loss of reason. Since
the all-wise Creator has forbidden this excess, be submissive to his
decision. Sully not thyself with the crime of revolt, have no cause to
blush before thy Creator. Fear to fall in the snares of sin; if that
occurs, entreat for pardon.

When thou dost visit an assembly, publicly reproach no one. Do not
jostle those who are drunk; do not throw stones at those without reason.
Why grieve these senseless persons, when thou thyself art able to share
their misfortune? Why molest them? Some time, doubtless, a like mishap
will befall thee. Avoid reproaching others for their blindness in sin,
and declaring thyself free from stain. O soul of thy father, know well;
when thou dost accuse thy brother, thou dost render thyself guilty. Must
thou attack with violence the errors of others, and turn thy eyes from
thy own conduct? Repentance always follows sin, for adversity is the
consequence of crime. One day, in a gathering, at the house of Djelal
eddin Roumi, someone said boastingly: “I have never seen the color of
wine, never have I tasted liquor.” “It were better still not to drink it
after having seen it,” answered this holy sage, the pole of good
conduct, the king of the domain of grace, shocked at this proud
presumption.

Suffer not thyself to be weakened by the assaults of drunkenness, do not
deliver thyself up to the seductions of hashish and opium. Bendj[1] and
esrar[2] are still more destructive; he who consumes them is a dunce.
These drugs make a man the laughing-stock of other men: he is an ape in
human form. Obscure not the light of thy soul’s jewel; cover not with
darkness the eye of thy intelligence. Wrap not opium in a shroud during
the Ramazan, so that thy body may become as the tomb of one dead. This
poison makes man wicked and immoral; perverts him, corrupts his heart,
alters his features, and bewilders his tongue. When intoxication
arrives, he hugs himself with delight; when it is dissipated, he is
beside himself; he is a corpse in the form of one living: the brilliancy
of his cheeks is blighted. Even though there appeared no exterior
effects, who would not blush to be called _Teriaki_?




CHAPTER XX

_Of the Vanity of Adornment_


O thou who art as the veil behind which hides seductive beauty, thou who
canst not be captivated by the wish for notoriety, fasten not thy heart
on ornaments and adornment; do not love inordinately pearls and precious
stones. Doubtless the sight of these objects rejoices the eye, but they
are not suitable for men. For him, gold is the source of all benefits;
for woman, it is the ornament of the body. Leave finery, then, to women,
make a generous use of thy riches. Be not with thy sparkling garments
like unto a gilded box of perfume.

Do not pride thyself on the splendor of thy raiment, but content thyself
with a modest outfit. Although moral purity is indeed estimable, still
the fabrics which cover thy body should be spotless. Do not torment
thyself with the search of all manner of tissues for thy adornment. All
who see anyone arrayed after that fashion shrug their shoulders in
passing him. Whatever be the costume adopted by thy equals, adopt it
thyself. Let thy garb be conformed to theirs, however different thy
fortune may be. Let the carpets and fringes of thy hangings, and all the
objects thou dost use, be not distinguished by inordinate luxury. If
thou art able to wear sable, is not the fox’s fur as useful? It is
nothing, after all, but the skin of a dead animal; nothing is less
precious in the eyes of wise men. Luxury in furs and raiment throws man
into ruinous expenses; he gets into debt to keep up his pomp, and adds
to his troubles and anxieties.

Do not dissipate thy goods inconsiderately: prodigality is detested by
God. A wise man, to teach the value of wealth, used this just and
reasonable comparison: To acquire riches, to accumulate a capital which
keeps us in ease, is as difficult as to tear a cliff away from the earth
and carry it to the summit of a mountain; to spend our money is as easy
as to let it roll to the base. Appreciate after that, which of the two
requires the more trouble, and weigh all thy actions in a just scale.
Suspend from thy ear the pearl of my words. O soul of thy father, beware
of debt! Debt changes a man completely; were he a Plato, it makes of him
a Medjnoun. His body is in perfect health, his morals are diseased; he
bears on his neck the yoke of his creditor. Debts make a fool of a wise
man; they enervate the most heroic hearts, their day of reckoning is
like that of death, and they lead to prison as death to the tomb. What
is that, then, when a harsh creditor throws every day trouble into the
heart of the debtor, when usurious interests, increasing the capital,
make his body bend under an unsupportable burden; when the creditor,
invoking the aid of the law, calls to his assistance false witnesses;
when, crushing his victim under the feet of violence, he dishonors him
in the eyes of everyone until that moment when, unable to vindicate
himself, the end of life draws near?

O light of mine eyes, may Almighty God preserve thee from the scourge of
debt! Better is it a thousand times to sell thy raiment and carpets, to
go to rest fasting and in tatters, than to have creditors and lose thy
peace in litigation. Lend to no one at usurious interest; it becomes the
source of disputes. The fear of God is rare in this world: people are
always ready to conceal and deny the truth; the most incontestable
rights are unceasingly contested; all are busy in denying or taking
oaths. A delay is demanded, then another. The money which is refused
thee is eaten up by the expenses of justice. Is thy debtor the relative
of some personage? claim thy money if thou dost dare; even at the hour
of payment he goes to see that personage, warms his zeal by some
present, and says to him: “What, lord, thou art here, and yet such an
one would force me to pay!” Immediately this oppressor mounts his horse,
and goes to the cadi and mufti; then thou wilt be threatened with the
wrath of the judges, and thou wilt be continually urged to renounce thy
pretensions. If all these artifices have no effect, thy adversary will
stir up the waves of lying, will raise up false witnesses, will produce
legal deeds and manufactured _fetvas_. Whatever thou mayst do in the
vain hope of winning thy cause, he will do all to make it of no avail.
Such is the custom of our times. Woe to him who lends his money to
another!




=THE ASCENSION OF MAHOMET=

[_Translated by A. P. Courteille and Robert Arnot_]




INTRODUCTION


In the journal of Antoine Galland, the celebrated translator of the
“Arabian Nights,” we read on page 29 of M. Charles Schefer’s edition:
“Thursday, January 14: I purchased for his excellency (M. de Nointel) a
book entitled ‘The Marvels of Creatures,’ written in old Cufic
characters with sixty-six illustrations representing different fabulous
actions of Mahomet for the establishment of his pernicious doctrines,
such as his ascension to heaven, his descent to hell, etc.; I bought it
for twenty-five piastres.”

This manuscript to which Galland, although he was of small experience in
such matters, gives so singular a title, was brought to France and
presented to Colbert by the Marquis de Nointel. Colbert, who prided
himself on his knowledge of the treasures of his library, commissioned
François Pétis de la Croix, the elder, to prepare a notice of his new
acquisition. The learned Orientalist, after a minute examination of the
manuscript, recognized the fact that it would be impossible for him to
decipher it. He, therefore, contented himself with giving a detailed
description of the curious miniatures with which the manuscript is
ornamented, and introduced it with the following note: “Translation of
the inscriptions in the Turkish language which give the subjects of the
sixty-four illustrations of the book ‘Leilet el Mirage,’ written in
curious script, in the library of Monseigneur Colbert, by La Croix,
Interpreter and Secretary to the King. ‘The Night of the Ascension’
treats of the Mahometan faith and of the story of Mahomet. This is
assumed with some justice, not only on account of the Turkish and Arabic
inscriptions which it contains, but also on account of the words that
have been deciphered in the queer script in which it is written. For
instance, the profession of faith of the Mahometans in the forty-fourth
and forty-fifth illustrations, which is painted in miniature capitals,
can be easily read. Its script is fundamentally Arabic and is ancient;
not that which we ordinarily call ancient Arabic, of which there are
several books from five to six hundred years old; but another ancient
script called Cufic, used by the people of Cufa, to distinguish them
from the other Arabs, several figures of their letters resembling that
Chaldaic script which was originally Syriac.”




THE ASCENSION OF MAHOMET


All praise and thanksgiving to the Almighty, the Everlasting, who has
created and disposed the 18,000 worlds, he who has no equal, the sole
pre-eminent Being, the sovereign Lord, the most high God. May his glory
shine forth forever! May his holy name be hallowed! There is no other
God but he. A hundred thousand prayers and blessings upon the Friend of
the most high God, the chief of the 124,000 prophets, Mahomet the chosen
of God! May the celestial graces fall in abundance on the children and
the four companions of the Prophet of God (on whom be benedictions!).
May the Lord deign to favor them all!

Now you must know that the title of this work is “The Book of the
Ascension.” We have translated it from that book known as “The Way of
Paradise” into the Turkish language, that a greater number of readers
may derive profit from it. Since it is completely translated, we hope,
by the grace of God, that many intelligences may be thereby enlightened.

Imam Bagavi (may the divine mercy rest doubly on him!) in his book
entitled “The Beacon Lights” has narrated an Arabic tradition, the
substance of which is as follows:

Enis Ibn Malek tells concerning the Prophet that, on the night of the
ascension, Gabriel came to him, leading Borak, all saddled and bridled.
When the Prophet (blessed be his name!) prepared to mount him, Borak was
restive. Whereupon Gabriel exclaimed, Never hath a nobler before God
than Mahomet mounted thee, O Borak! At which words Borak sweated from
fright.

Moreover, one of the Prophet’s companions, named Malik, gives the
following story of Oumm Hani, the sister of Ali: One night, the Prophet
(on whom be blessings forever!) lodged in our house. In the morning he
arose, and said to us: There happened to me many strange adventures last
night. What were they, O Mahomet? we asked. I will tell you. Listen to
me. Know that last night Gabriel and Michael came to me, each
accompanied by 66,000 angels, and leading with them an animal called
Borak, saddled and bridled. Smaller than a mule and larger than an ass,
his face was like that of a human being, while his tail and hoofs were
like those of a cow. (In another book we read that his tail and hoofs
resembled a goat’s.) He had the rump of a horse, and carried an emerald
green saddle, a harness of pearls, and turquoise stirrups. Gabriel
approached me and said: O Mahomet, almighty God, who hath overwhelmed
thee with his gifts, and hath granted thee innumerable favors, hath
decreed that this night thou shalt ascend to heaven to contemplate there
the works of his omnipotence, and to receive the graces which he
desireth to bestow on thee.

Hardly had I heard these words, continued the Prophet, when I sprang up
to perform my ablutions. Gabriel presented to me in a ewer of red
hyacinth the water of the Kaoucer, which flows in paradise, and when I
finished my ablutions, he poured on his wings the water I had used. Why
dost thou thus? I asked. That the most high God may not cast me into
hell-fire on the day of the resurrection, he answered.

When I left the house, Michael, leading Borak by the bridle, and other
angels carrying 66,000 luminous banners, around each of which were seven
divisions of angels--when they saw me they all bowed down, and I
returned the greeting. Then I mounted Borak, the distance between the
strides of whom when I made him tread the earth was as far as the eye
could reach; and when I turned the bridle toward heaven, he soared in
the air like a bird. We all repaired to the Holy House at Jerusalem, and
entered the Mosque el Aksa. There I beheld all the prophets, with
Abraham, Moses, and Isaac at their head. Advancing, they greeted me, and
exclaimed: Rejoice, O thou whom the Almighty hath loaded with gifts; for
all that thou dost ask of the Lord this night will be granted unto thee.

Then Gabriel made the call to prayer. Abraham the prophet said to me: O
Mahomet, do thou perform the functions of imam; for we should all pray
under thy direction. Then I, as imam, prayed; and immediately afterward,
implored the blessing of God for my followers, and all the prophets
raised their hands to heaven, crying Amen!

O Mahomet, arise, for we must continue our journey, said Gabriel, and
arising, I saw before me a ladder of light, resting on the earth and
reaching to heaven. Gabriel bade me mount the ladder, and I obeyed,
while repeating the invocation, In the name of the merciful and pitying
God, and many others. Thus without trouble I arrived within sight of
heaven, where I saw a sea so immense that none knew its extent save the
Lord of all. O Gabriel, I said, what is this sea? It is that which is
called the Sea of Kaoucer, he answered; which is suspended in space by
the divine omnipotence, and no one save almighty God knows its extent.

When we had traversed this sea and pursued our journeys by the order of
God, we reached the first heaven. I saw that it was made of an enamel
the color of turquoise, with a thickness which it would take 500 years
to cross. Gabriel knocked at the gate, and had no sooner called the
angel intrusted with the guard of the gate than he asked, Who art thou?
Gabriel, bringing Mahomet with me. Apostle of God, said the angel, has
the time of thy coming then arrived? And opening the gate of heaven with
great demonstrations of joy, he saluted me, and I him; then he added: Be
welcome, O Mahomet, enter and honor with thy presence the celestial
world. I entered and I perceived seven choirs of angels ready to receive
the commands of him who guarded the gate, and who all saluted me. There
I saw a personage whom I did not know. It is Adam the prophet, said
Gabriel, greet him.

I therefore went to salute him, which salute he returned, saying to me,
Be welcome, O Mahomet, thou art come at a seasonable hour. May
prosperity be with thee forever! Then I saw that Adam (on whom be
blessings!) glanced to his right, and smiled with a satisfied air; then
looked to his left, and became anxious and tearful. What aileth Adam? I
asked of Gabriel. At the right hand of Adam, answered he, are the souls
of the prophets, of the saints, and true believers. While contemplating
them his heart is joyous, and he smiles. On the contrary, at his left
are the souls of the infidels, of the perverse and incredulous. The
sight of them is painful to him, and he weeps.

I passed beyond, and saw a white cock, whose head was under the throne
of God, and whose feet clutched the earth. Who is that cock? I asked
Gabriel. ’Tis an angel, said he, who counts the hours of the day and
night. When the hour of prayer comes, he crows and recites the _tesbih_;
and when the cocks on earth hear him, they crow in their turn and recite
the _tesbih_.

Farther on, I saw an angel, who was half snow and half fire. Who is that
angel? I asked of Gabriel. ’Tis the angel whose voice is so sonorous
that when he recites the _tesbih_ men say, It thunders! He had two
_tesbihs_ in his hands.

Farther on, there was a white sea. What is this sea? I asked of Gabriel.
It is, said Gabriel, that which is called the Sea of Life.

We pushed forward, and at length we reached the second heaven. I saw
that it was of white pearls. Its breadth was that of a 500-years’
journey. Gabriel knocked at the gate, and a voice asked, Who art thou? I
am Gabriel, and with me is Mahomet, the chosen Prophet of God, he
replied. Immediately the angel, filled with joy, opened the gate of this
heaven. We entered and saluted the angel, who returned our salute, and
said: Rejoice, O Mahomet, for the Almighty grants thee great graces
to-night! Twenty choirs of angels, ready to receive the orders of him
who guarded the gate, surrounded us, and saluted.

Farther on, I came near unto a gigantic angel. Who is that angel? I
asked. It is he who rules the concerns of all creatures. At a distance I
beheld an angel who had seventy heads, and moreover, seventy tongues in
each of his heads. With each of these tongues, he was reciting seventy
kinds of _tesbih_. Passing beyond this place, I saw two personages. Who
are they? I asked. One, said Gabriel, is Jacob the prophet, and the
other is the prophet Zachariah. I saluted them, and they said to me: O
Mahomet! be welcome! Thou dost honor with thy presence the celestial
world. May the gifts of the most high God make thee to prosper!

Going on, I saw a white sea, on the shores of which a multitude of
angels recited the _tesbih_.

At length we reached the third heaven, where Gabriel, knocking at the
gate, had no sooner called than the angel who was the sentinel of the
gate asked, Who art thou? I am Gabriel, and Mahomet is with me. I saw
that this heaven was of red hyacinth. Then the angel said to me, Be
honored, O Mahomet, with the gifts of almighty God! There were thirty
choirs of archangels under the orders of this sentinel of the gate, and
30,000 angels beside were ready to obey each archangel. All saluted me,
which I returned, and then they wished me well. Going on, I saw two
personages in a delightful spot. The countenance of one of them was as
the full moon. Who are those persons? I inquired. They are, said
Gabriel, the prophets Jacob and Joseph. I approached them, and exchanged
greetings, whereupon they said: Welcome, O Mahomet! The Lord hath
promised us that we should behold Mahomet; a hundred thousand
thanksgivings to him for that we have gazed upon thy blessed face! All
that thou shalt beg of him to-night, he will grant unto thee.

Withdrawing from them, I perceived two more persons. I questioned
Gabriel, who answered, One is David the prophet, and the other is
Solomon the prophet. I greeted them, and they returned the salute,
saying, O Mahomet! enjoy the gifts of the Lord, and forget us not! Then
they added: Thanks to God, we have seen thy ever-glorious face! And they
wished me well. Passing on, I saw on the shore of a vast sea a gigantic
angel seated on a throne. He had seventy heads. A multitude of angels
seated on thrones surrounded him, and all were reciting the _tesbih_.

Farther on we arrived at the fourth heaven. Gabriel knocked on the gate
and called. The angel who guarded it opened it joyfully, and said to me,
bowing down, Welcome, O Mahomet! Be thou honored with the gifts of the
most high God!

Journeying farther, we reached the fifth heaven, which is made of gold.
When Gabriel had knocked at the gate and called, the angel joyfully
opened it, and saluted me, saying, Be thou welcome, O Mahomet, thou wilt
be honored with the gifts of the Lord! And he wished me well. After an
interval, I beheld together the prophets Ishmael, Isaiah, Haroun, and
Lot. I greeted them, and they said to me: Whatever thou dost beg this
night, O Mahomet, God will grant it unto thee without excepting
anything; ask of him the salvation of the souls of all those who follow
thy laws.

Pursuing my way, I came to a sea of fire. On the day of the
resurrection, said Gabriel, this sea of fire will be thrown into hell,
and those who dwell in hell will be tormented by this fire.

We passed this place, and reached the sixth heaven, which is made of
pearls. Gabriel knocked at the gate. The guarding angel opened it,
greeted me, and said, Be thou welcome, O Mahomet; thou dost crown us
with joy by coming to visit the celestial world; be thou crowned with
the graces of the Lord! And he called down upon me the blessings of God.
Sixty choirs of angels, standing around him, recited the _tesbih_.

Farther on I saw a _keuchk_ on which stood a person entirely veiled, and
surrounded by a great multitude. Who is that? I asked. It is the prophet
Moses (on whom be blessings!) answered Gabriel. I went to him, and
saluted him. He saluted me in his turn and said, O Mahomet, be thou
welcome! Happy is thy arrival! Proceed, said Gabriel to me, ascend
higher. At these words, Moses began to weep. Wherefore dost thou weep?
asked Gabriel of him. Alas! I imagined that my place and rank were above
all; and here is Mahomet, coming after me, who surpasseth me by far; his
followers will be more numerous than mine, and they will enter before
them into paradise. Then the august voice of almighty God spoke to Moses
in these words: O Moses! I have made thee illustrious among all by
speaking to thee face to face; I have delivered thee from the malice of
thine enemies. Why not return thanks unto me for the gifts thou hast
received from me? I passed on, and I saw the prophet Noah and the
prophet Edra. I exchanged salutations with them, and they loaded me with
benedictions: Be thou welcome, O Mahomet! they said, with demonstrations
of joy.

Pursuing our journey, we arrived at the seventh heaven. Gabriel, going
before me, knocked at the gate and called. The angel who guarded it
opened with joy, and we entered. Then he said to me: Welcome, O Mahomet!
who dost honor us with thy visit! Mayst thou be honored in thy turn!
There were seventy choirs of archangels under the command of the angel
who guarded this heaven made of light. There remained vacant not the
smallest space; the angels occupied the whole heaven. We passed through
this place and came to a vast _keuchk_, before which was erected a great
chair of emerald green. A person with a white beard, seated in this
chair, was leaning on the _keuchk_. Who is he? I asked. It is thy
ancestor, the prophet Abraham, said Gabriel. I went to salute him. He
returned the salute, saying, O pre-eminent prophet, be welcome! May God
bless thy coming! Gabriel said to me: Behold thy residence and that of
all those who follow in thy footsteps. Then he added, Enter that house
and visit it, for every day 70,000 angels come to visit it. I also saw a
band of creatures, half of whom were in white tunics, and the other half
in white tunics striped with black. They are those who follow thee, said
Gabriel. Then, addressing those who wore white tunics, he said, Enter
with your Prophet. And he permitted them to enter, but he refused
entrance to those garbed in the tunics striped with black and white.

Passing on, I saw a sea as black as ebony. On beholding it, my sight
became as it were obscured with gloomy shadows. In this sea, I saw an
innumerable throng of angels. I inquired of Gabriel: Why is the water of
this sea black? No one save the Lord of all knows the nature of this
sea, he answered. On the shore I saw a gigantic angel, his head touching
the base of the throne of God, and his feet resting on the earth, and
able to ingulf in his mouth the seven strata of the earth. At some
distance I saw another angel of gigantic proportions, having seventy
heads as large as this entire lower world. Each of these heads possessed
seventy tongues. Night and day he recited the _tesbih_ in honor of the
Most High. Near him was an angel so enormous that if the water of all
the earth’s seas had been poured into one of his eyes, it would not have
sufficed to fill it. Farther on was an angel bearing 10,000 wings.
Beside him was a sea, in the waters of which he plunged only to come
forth immediately shaking himself. Every one of the drops which fell
from his dripping wings became an angel by the creative power of God.
Not far distant was another angel with four heads: one resembling that
of a man, another like that of a lion, another still resembling the
head of the bird houmaï, and another like that of a bull.

Proceeding, we attained the _sidret-el-mountehâ_. That which is thus
called is a large tree, some of whose branches are of emerald, others of
pearls, with foliage similar to elephants’ ears. Its fruits are of
considerable size. From the foot of this tree gush four springs which
flow into as many canals. Two of these canals are open to the skies, but
the two others are covered. Of the first two, one is the Nile flowing
through the city of Misr, and the other is the Frat, which flows through
the city of Koufa. As to the other two whose beds are subterranean, one
is the Selsebil, which flows through paradise; and the other pours into
the basin of the Kaoucer. The water of these two rivers is whiter than
milk and sweeter than honey. Angels coming toward me, greeted me, and
brought three goblets, which they presented to me. In one was milk, in
another wine, and in the third was honey.

I took the one containing milk, and drank it. Seeing that I did not
touch the others, the angels said to me: Thou hast done well to choose
the milk and to drink it, for all those who follow in thy footsteps will
go forth from this world with faith. I was overjoyed at these words.
Then Gabriel said, I shall not go farther. And, pausing at this place,
he returned to his own form. I saw him stretch his 600 wings, with one
shoulder in the east and the other in the west. I said to him, What form
is this, O Gabriel? It is mine, he replied, that in which I was created.

As the wisdom and knowledge of the creatures who dwell on the surface of
the earth do not go beyond the _sidret-el-mountehâ_, they have given him
the name of Gabriel, which signifies, the lotus of the last boundary.
Then he added: O Mahomet, approach now as near as it is permitted unto
thee to approach, and prostrate thyself.

I therefore advanced, and when I reached that point nearest to the
throne, I prostrated myself to the earth, and I saw the supreme Lord
with the eyes of my heart. At that moment I heard the voice of God
saying to me: Lift up thy head, and glorify my name! Raising my head
immediately, I cried, _Etlaiyât lillahi ouessalaouât ouettaïbat_, which
means, Let all be for God, whether it be the praises, homages, and
_tesbihs_ uttered by the tongue, or acts of devotion, such as alms,
tithes, and offerings performed with the aid of temporal goods. After
which I heard these words: _Esselâm aleïka eïuânnebi oue rahmet ullah
oue berekâtouhou_, which, being interpreted, is, Mayst thou be delivered
from the terrors of the next world and from its chastisements! Mercy,
benedictions, and prosperity be upon thy head! Then I said: _Esselâm
aleïna oue ala ibâdillahissâlihina_, which signifies, May the salvation
which cometh from God and his divine mercy be with me and with his
faithful servants! At the same time, all the angels, seeing that I had
been accorded the honor of approaching so near to the divine Majesty,
exclaimed:

_Ach’ adou en lâ ilaha illâllahou oue ach’ adou enne Mahometan abdouhou
oue reçoulouhou_, that is, We bear witness that the supreme Lord is the
only living God, and that there is no other God but he. Furthermore we
testify that Mahomet is his servant, and his chosen Prophet!

Then the Lord said to me: O Mahomet, I impose upon thee fifty prayers to
be said within the space of a day and a night; go and prescribe these
fifty prayers for them who follow in thy footsteps.

I bowed down before the divine Will, and, retracing my steps, I betook
myself to the prophet Moses (on whom be blessings forever!). He asked
me: Mahomet, what hath the Lord required of thee? O Moses, I answered,
he hath required fifty prayers to be said in the space of a day and a
night.

Mahomet, he continued, thy followers will never recite those fifty
prayers. I, who went before thee, have known and proved many men, and I
have received many blows from the people of Israel. Go, then, and
proffer another request. It may be that the Lord God, out of his great
mercy, will excuse thee from some of these fifty prayers.

I therefore returned and groaned in entreaty before the throne of God.
Mahomet, said a voice, I remit ten of the fifty prayers. Thou shalt
therefore only recite forty.

Again I turned back to Moses, and told him what the Lord God had said.

Go once more, he answered, pray and lament; perchance God will make
another concession.

I went and prostrated myself, bewailing my fate. The Lord, hearkening
favorably unto me, remitted another ten prayers and only demanded thirty
of me. Moses, on my return, said,

O Mahomet, turn again to God, who will surely make another concession.
Thirty prayers are yet too many. I went, I entreated, I presented my
request. I obtained the remission of another decade, and was ordered to
say twenty only.

It is still too much, said Moses, when I had rejoined him. Thy followers
cannot acquit themselves of the obligation, and will be deemed
rebellious before the Lord. Seek again; doubtless thou wilt obtain what
thou askest.

I went, I implored, and God excused me from ten more prayers; there
remained now but ten. I came back to Moses. O Mahomet, ten prayers are
still too many; it is to be feared that the faithful cannot say them.
All that thou dost ask this night, God will grant unto thee. Arise,
therefore, and ask again. I went, and entreated, moaning, and God
excused me from five more prayers. When I returned to Moses, he said: If
thou shouldst return, the Lord God would not desire to send thee away
disappointed in thy hopes, but he will doubtless come to the rescue of
thy followers.

I rejoiced to have obtained so great favors, and was satisfied.

Then the voice of the Almighty said to me: O Mahomet, to him of thy
followers who will recite in the ardor of faith these five prayers, I
promise to give the recompense due to fifty. Nor is this all; should one
of the faithful form the resolution to perform a good work, I will order
the angels to inscribe ten good deeds on the record of his life. If, on
the contrary, he commit an evil deed, I will command it to be inscribed
as one only. I will blot out the sins of those who do penance with a
sincere heart, and to those who shall fast during thirty consecutive
days I will grant for each day the reward of ten, which will make a
total of 300 for the thirty days. Whoever will fast six days in the
month of Schevval, I will grant him for each day the recompense of sixty
days, so that he shall receive the reward for 360 days of abstinence.
And to all these I will grant paradise at their deaths.

I said unto the Lord God: My God, thou hast given sovereignty over all
to Solomon, the miraculous rod to Moses, and to Isaiah the power to
bring the dead to life.

The Voice of Voices replied: O Mahomet, I have raised thee above all.
Moreover, I have suffered all thy followers to approach me, and I will
grant them participation in my mercy.

And the voice of the Most High pronounced unto me 90,000 utterances:
30,000 on laws, 30,000 on the spiritual life, and 30,000 on the essence
of truth. Then I was given this commandment: Proclaim unto all the
30,000 utterances concerning the laws; tell those on the spiritual way
to those whom thou desirest, but not to those whom thou wilt reject;
repeat not importunely to anyone the words on the essence of truth.

Having passed beyond, I saw 700,000 (seventy _touman_) curtains, some of
light, others of fire, and of hyacinth; some of pearls, and others of
gold. Each one has seven choirs of angels for guardians. I had no sooner
reached a curtain when an angel, advancing, took me by the hand and made
me cross it. Having traversed in this manner 70,000 curtains, I
perceived the arch, the celestial throne. It was so large that in
comparison with it heaven and earth with its seven strata are as
nothing. God created the arch of red hyacinth. A multitude of angels
circled around it, reciting the _tesbih_ night and day in honor of the
Lord of all. I saw also, ranged in circles around the arch 700,000
tents, each one of the dimensions of this lower world, and the distance
from each tent to the next was a space the breadth of which was a
50,000-years’ journey. In each tent were fifty choirs of angels all
adoring God; some standing, others seated, and others bowing their
foreheads to the ground while they were reciting the _tesbih_. I passed
through the tents, and was preparing to take off my sandals, intending
to ascend the arch, when I heard the voice of the Almighty saying:

O Mahomet, remove not thy sandals, that their contact may bless my
throne.

I ascended the arch, and prostrating myself to the earth before the Lord
God, I cried, Glory and praise to thee forever! Then I returned.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now must be told how the Prophet (on whom be blessings forever!) visited
paradise and hell.

In his book entitled “The Beacon Lights,” Imam Bagavi (may the mercy of
God be with him!) has quoted this _hadis_ written in Persian, and which
is as follows: “Paradise is conquered by difficult tasks, such as
prayer, fasting, pilgrimage, and holy wars. To enter it we must bind
ourselves to spiritual exercises and be exact in all the practices of
the true religion. Hell, too, is gained by the toils of concupiscence
and by all kinds of desires.”

The Prophet (blessings upon him!) also says: When the Lord God, after
having created Paradise, had adorned it with all kinds of delights,
Gabriel was commanded to go to journey through it. Gabriel examined it,
and saw that God, by an effort of his omnipotence, had prepared for his
servants a multitude of delights which no eye had ever seen, and no ear
had ever heard described. O my God! he exclaimed, whoever hears the
description of paradise, will have no rest until he will have attained
it.

Then it was that the Almighty surrounded the four sides of paradise with
irksome tasks; such as fasting, prayer, pilgrimages, holy wars,
moderation of desires (contentment), and watches consecrated to
adoration. It was ordained by the supreme Will that no one should enter
paradise unless he had passed through these arduous trials. Gabriel
knowing this, said: If it is thus, no one will have access to this abode
of delights.

Likewise, when God had created hell, he called to Gabriel, Go, Gabriel,
and visit hell also. Gabriel beheld in hell all kinds of punishments and
tortures which no one could ever describe. O my God! he said, no one
will ever enter this hell.

Therefore the Lord surrounded the four sides of hell with all kinds of
inordinate desires, with the passion for wine, unlawful intercourse with
women, unbridled love of lucre, tyranny, and the exaggerated search for
pleasure. At this sight, Gabriel exclaimed, My God, I see well indeed
that no one will escape this hell.

Now let us return to the subject. When the Prophet returned, after
having been granted access to the throne, Gabriel received this
commandment from the Lord:

Guide my friend Mahomet that he may see the marvels of the paradise I
have prepared for believers; then let him also contemplate the various
punishments of hell that I have arranged for the wicked.

Whereupon Gabriel said unto me: O Mahomet, thou must first visit the
basin of Kaoucer, which was created for thee; then we shall see
paradise.

We proceeded then immediately to the Kaoucer. On the edge of this basin
I perceived a great quantity of _koubbèh_, that is domes, some of pearls
and others of red hyacinth or of emerald. The slime of these waters is
of musk and the pebbles which carpet the bottom of the basin are of red
hyacinth. The extent of the basin of Kaoucer is that of a month’s
journey. The waters are whiter than milk, sweeter than honey, and more
highly perfumed than musk. All around the basin, and more numerous than
the stars in heaven, there are golden vases and goblets of silver, of
hyacinth, of emerald, and of pearls for those who wish to quench their
thirst. Whoever drinks of this water never again feels the pangs of
thirst.

In the Word (the Koran), the supreme Lord thus expresses himself: “_Ana
ateïnakal kaoucera fe salli li rebbika ouenhar inna châniyaka houa
bilabtar_,” which, being interpreted, means: “O Mahomet, I have given
thee beside many goods the basin of Kaoucer. Pray, then, in honor of thy
Benefactor, and sacrifice victims unto him. Whoever saith unto thee that
thou art _abtar_ [maimed] will be so himself, and not thee.”

The Prophet had by Khadija a son named Abd Allah, who died at an early
age. A person called As, having been to see the Prophet to tender him
his condolences, was returning to his home, when he met on the way some
infidels of the tribe of Koraïchites. As, they said to him, where hast
thou been? I have been to see that _abtar_ to tender him my condolences,
he answered. Now it is a custom among the Arabs to call _abtar_ he whose
son dies at an early age; indeed the meaning of this term is really who
hath no offspring, no end. When the Prophet (on whom be blessings
forever!) learned that the heathens had treated him as _abtar_, he was
thereby much grieved. Then Gabriel brought him this _surate_.

O Mahomet, the supreme Lord giveth thee the basin of the Kaoucer;
evidence thy gratitude by prayers, supplications, and offerings. Whoever
doth treat thee as _abtar_ will merit himself that epithet; he will be
honored neither in this world nor in the next. As for thee, we will
raise thee to such a degree of veneration that until the day of
resurrection thy name shall be invoked after mine in prayer.

When the Prophet heard these words of the sovereign Lord, his heart was
filled with joy. Gabriel also said: O Mahomet, the first to drink of the
water of the Kaoucer will be those who threw in their lot with thee when
thou didst go from Mecca to Medina, and who accompanied thee to this
city, leaving behind their wives and children. Next will come those who
have renounced the pleasures of this world, the small, the humble, the
poor, and thy companions who were esteemed of no account. On the four
sides of the basin will be stationed Abou Bekr, Omar, Osman, and Ali.
Whoever hates one of thy companions, will not be given to drink of this
water.

Afterward Gabriel said, O Mahomet, now thou must visit paradise. When we
reached its gates, Gabriel knocked. Who art thou? asked the angel who
guarded the gate. Gabriel, and with me is Mahomet the chosen Prophet of
God.

Immediately the angel joyfully opened the gate and welcomed us. In a
garden created by the Lord of All for those who follow in my footsteps,
I saw a multitude of houris. Some were seated on thrones, and others
sportively clasped each other’s hands. Birds fluttered around and
finally alighted on the heads of these houris. On a certain day (the day
of Azineh, Friday) they mount goats and go to visit each other, and
spend their time in laughter and amusements; then they separate after an
exchange of good wishes.

I saw also a _keuchk_ in the centre of the gardens. A multitude of
houris were laughing and dallying on the lawns which surrounded it. To
whom does that _keuchk_ belong? I asked. To Omar, answered the houris,
among whom I recognized Romeïca, the wife of Talka.

Is it indeed thou whom I see here, O Romeïca? I said.

It is I indeed, O Prophet. The Most High hath shown mercy unto me, and
hath granted me the grace of entrance into paradise.

When the Prophet was asked for details concerning the dwellers in
paradise, he answered: These fortunate beings are of the stature of
Adam, whose height was sixty cubits, and of the age of the prophet
Isaac, who was thirty years of age when he was on earth; they are as
handsome as the prophet Joseph, and in their bearing they are like unto
the prophet Jacob, on whom be blessings forever! They have neither hair
nor beards, and their eyes are anointed with _surmeh_. In their hearts
there exists neither envy nor hate. They are no more susceptible to pain
than to old age, and they are subject to none of the necessities of
human nature. As for the houris, whatever the number of the tunics they
wear, they are all transparent; one beneath the other; their flesh is
seen under the tunics, and their bones beneath the flesh, and even the
marrow of the bones appears distinctly. Nor do the houris entertain
sentiments of envy. Each follower of the true faith has also a tent
entirely of gold, sixty _igadj_ (300 miles) in diameter.

Gabriel next said to me: O Mahomet, now that thou hast seen the dwelling
place of thy friends, it is time to visit the spot destined for the
enemies of the most high Lord.

Then did I see that hell was a terrible and horror-inspiring region. At
the gate stood an angel of sinister and terrifying mien. Who is that
angel? I asked Gabriel. His name is Mâlik, he replied. He is the prince
of hell whose entrance he guards. Since his creation, he has never
smiled, nor has he exchanged with anyone whomsoever the slightest
colloquy. I saluted him, but he did not return the salutation.

It is Mahomet, said Gabriel. Immediately Mâlik offered me apologies,
saying: Rejoice, O Mahomet, on account of the gifts of the Lord, who
hath desired thee to behold the works of his omnipotence, and who hath
generously loaded thee with so many benefits.

O Mâlik, said I, breathe once upon the fires of hell. Mâlik blew once,
and Gabriel and I stood stricken with terror.

I saw in the middle of hell a tree which shaded a space 500-years’
journey in dimension. Its thorns were like lances, and its excrescences
resembled the heads of _dio_ (demons). Gabriel said to me: This tree is
the _zakkoum_, whose fruit is more bitter than poison. The dwellers in
hell taste it only to reject it at once.

At the foot of this tree I saw a band of reprobates whom the angels were
torturing by cutting off their tongues, which were always renewed and
cut off anew. Who are these wretches? I inquired of Gabriel. They are,
he replied, those leaders who have not ceased to say to others: Drink
no wine, commit no impure actions, and beware of wicked and perverse
deeds, while they themselves, not practising their own precepts, commit
all kinds of reprehensible acts.

I also saw another company of persons whose flesh the angels were
cutting off and forcing them to eat.

And who are they? I asked. They are those, answered Gabriel, who mocked
Mussulmen to their faces, and said evil of them in their absence,
without fearing the day of the resurrection.

Again I saw a group of men whose abnormally enlarged stomachs prevented
them from moving an inch. Who are they? I asked. They are the greedy,
who were insatiable in their thirst for gain. Some more I saw whom the
angels were tormenting by pricking them with lances. Who are those
yonder? I inquired. Those, he answered, who, denouncing Mussulmen to
their oppressors, used violence to take possession of their goods; and
not content with that, by practising slander among Mussulmen, breed
rivalries, wrangling, and discord. Farther on was a band of men
suspended by chains in the midst of the flames of hell. And who are
they? They are those, said Gabriel, who prayed hypocritically when they
were on earth that they might be honored as pious and virtuous persons.
They had no other aim but temporal advantages, and thought not of the
rewards of the future life nor did they reflect upon the day of the last
judgment.

I saw also a number of women suspended by their hair in hell. From their
nostrils whirlwinds of flame gushed forth. Who are those women? I asked.
They are the immodest ones, said Gabriel, who allowed their hair to be
seen by strangers, who, enticed by this sight, coveted these women. And
thereby sprang up between them criminal relations, for they had lost all
fear of the last judgment.

Beyond were some women whose feet and hands were bound. Serpents and
scorpions swarmed over them, stinging and biting them. Who are these
women? I asked. They lived in impurity, Gabriel answered, without ever
praying, or performing ablutions, nor do they request anyone to teach
them the laws of ablutions. Neither have they ever learned in what
prayer consists. Again I saw some women hung by their tongues in the
midst of hell-fire. And who are these? They left their husbands no
repose by their unceasing scolding and bickerings. They went out from
their homes without permission and committed shameful actions.

[The Prophet (may salvation attend him!) said that paradise would be the
reward of the women who obey the commandments of the Lord of All, and
who trouble not their husbands with scolding and quarreling.]

At some distance, I beheld a group of people whom the angels were
tormenting by pouring poison down their throats. What have these people
done? said I. They consumed the goods of orphans without thought of the
day of the last judgment.

Next I saw a multitude of women suspended by their breasts, who were
being tormented without mercy or respite. I sought to learn who these
women were. They brought into the world, said Gabriel, the fruit of
their criminal deeds; then, by pretending that they were legitimate,
these mothers gave to them the inheritance of others, and bestowed on
them wealth which was not lawfully theirs.

Farther on, I perceived some with grindstones hung around their necks.
They were bound hand and foot, and angels tortured them unrelentingly.
Who are these? I inquired of Gabriel. They paid not the tithes of their
wealth. Full of indulgence for their desires, they thought not of this
great day, and through the avarice which filled their souls, they could
not resolve to purify their wealth by alms.

Again I beheld a band of wretches, with blackened faces, their necks and
hands loaded with chains, and who were undergoing frightful tortures. I
asked their crime. They always greeted the great with flattering
compliments, answered Gabriel.

At some distance was a group of men whose tongues protruded from their
mouths. Their heads were as those of swine, and they had legs and tails
similar to those of asses. They are, said Gabriel, those who bore false
witness, as they possessed not the fear of the Most High.

Some also I saw who were slain and brought to life alternately, while
they were asked, What good hast thou ever done?

Some, too, were enchained by their necks. Angels poured poison in their
throats and cruelly chastised them. Who are those unfortunates? I asked.
Those who drank wine, answered Gabriel, and died unrepentant.

I also saw at the gate of hell a certain number of chests, filled with
serpents and scorpions writhing out only to return. Gabriel, questioned
by me, replied: These are the haughty, with hearts full of pride and
harsh in their deeds, whom these serpents and scorpions will torment
until the day of the resurrection, and who will suffer eternally.

The Prophet (upon whom be blessings forever!) says: O ye who follow my
way, weep without ceasing through fear of hell, and do ye those deeds
which shall earn for thee happiness in the next world; for terrible are
the agonies of hell! Its depth is equal to the distance between heaven
and earth. When the Lord God created hell, he ordered the angels to keep
it burning for a thousand years in succession, when it became red. When
they had kept it burning for another thousand years, it became white.
Still another thousand years it was kept burning, and it became black.
As for the infidels who enter hell, their skin is of the thickness of
forty cubits; their teeth are as large as Mount Ohod. Everyone occupies
a space equal to the distance which separates Mecca from Medina. The
reprobates, in the very heart of hell, weep so that their countenances
have furrows like canals, and when their tears are exhausted, blood
commences to flow from their eyes.

When I returned, after having successfully visited paradise and hell, I
received from the Lord God the following commandment: O Mahomet, now
that thou hast seen the marvels of my omnipotence, go, tell them to
those who follow in thy footsteps. Promise paradise to the faithful, and
seek to warn the infidels, the hypocrites, and the vicious by inspiring
them with the fear of the tortures of hell. As for thee, do thou
persevere with patience in the holy practices of the true religion; be
thou mild in thy speech and kind in thy deeds. Invoke my name before all
thy actions, for I am nearer unto thee than is thy soul itself. Even if
the infidels invoke my name, I will not leave them without hope. O
Mahomet, let not thy heart be puffed up with pride, for I love not those
who are intoxicated with vanity.

After the Lord God had spoken to me, Gabriel made me mount on his
wings, and so brought me to the mount of Kâf. I saw that this mountain,
which is entirely of emerald, completely surrounds the earth. Gabriel,
by the command of God, showed me two cities on the summit of Mount Kâf,
one situated to the eastward, and the other to the west. One was called
Djabalaça and the other Djabalaka. Each of them had a thousand gates;
and from one gate to the next there was a distance of an _igadj_. All
the houses were exactly the same size. While the mosques were situated
far from the dwellings, the cemeteries were at their very doors. Who are
these people? I asked. Followers of the religion of Moses, answered
Gabriel, and said unto them, Here is Mahomet, whereupon they all cried
out, Praise to the most high Lord of all, who hath granted us a sight of
thy blessed countenance! And they all without an exception embraced my
faith at once. Then I inquired why all their houses were the same size.
It is because, answered they, there is no jealousy or envy among us, and
therefore no desire to excel each other. But what is the reason, I again
asked, of the distance of the mosques from your residences, while the
cemeteries are within a stone’s throw? If we have built our mosques at
some distance, said they, it is to remind us that heaven will be our
future reward, whereas we have our cemeteries near by that we may be
unceasingly reminded of death. Then they added, O Mahomet, we pray, we
observe the fasts, we practise charity toward each other, we entertain
no wicked sentiments in our hearts, we conceive no projects of hate nor
of revenge, nor do we encourage spite; honoring our fathers and mothers,
we avoid all that will give them pain; we beware of all wicked deeds.
Now give us advice, and enlighten us with thy precepts. I answered thus:
Live always in the fear of almighty God, suffer not your hearts to be
puffed up with pride, and humbly submit yourselves to the yoke of the
law.

All having unreservedly resolved to put my words into practice, I arose
and we went to visit them all individually, and they swore allegiance to
the true faith.

May the Lord of all accord them the grace of good works, and the
scrupulous practice of the true religion; may he deliver them from the
torments of hell, and make them participate in the joys of paradise.
Amen and amen, O Ruler of all worlds!


THE MARVELS OF THE FOURTH HEAVEN

The Prophet (may grace and blessings be upon him!) said also: I reached
the fourth heaven, which was created of pure silver and which is called
Aziloun. It has a portal of light adorned with a lock of light.
[According to another description, it was made of pearls.] Compared to
it, the seven strata of the earth are as a ring in the midst of a vast
plain. On the fastening of the gate are engraved these words: “There is
no other God but Allah; Mahomet is His Chosen Prophet.” At this gate was
stationed an angel [named Azraël according to one story, and Moucâil
according to another]. After we had knocked on the gate as before and
answered the question he put to us, he opened the gate. I saw there
innumerable marvels, eight only of which will be mentioned in this book:

First. Moucâil, the angel who is stationed at the gate, exercises a
supervision over all that exists, and he has under his command 400,000
angels. His _tesbih_ is as follows: Glory be to the Creator of darkness
and light, of the dazzling sun, and the silver moon! Glory be unto the
Lord God, the Most High!

Second. I saw there my brother Moses, blessings be upon him forever!
[According to another account, this interview took place in the sixth
heaven.] Gabriel having bidden me by a sign to do so, I approached, and
saluted him. He arose, pressed me to his heart, and kissed me between my
eyes, saying, Glory be to Allah, who hath permitted me to behold thy
countenance, and hath given me the honor of seeing thee. Then he
gladdened me by the tidings of a great number of marvellous gifts of the
Lord, and said:

This night thou wilt be brought even unto the feet of the sovereign
Majesty, to that sanctuary where no creature hath access. Forget not
when thou art there the feeble and the faithful; ask a share for them of
all that may be granted to thee; endeavor to obtain for them as many
mitigations of the lawful commandments as possible. I hearkened unto
him, and overheard him as he recited this _tesbih_: Glory be to him who
guides whom he wills in the right way, and leads astray whom he wills!
Glory be to the All-Merciful, the All-Pitiful!

Third. As I went away, Moses began to weep. When I asked him the cause
of his tears, It is because, he said, there has been sent after me a
young apostle whose followers will enter paradise in greater numbers
than mine.

[According to another account, he thus explained the motive of his
tears: The children of Israel regarded me as the most honored of all the
sons of Adam by the most high God, and now is this young man more
honored than I, and the favor of which he is the object will be
necessarily shared by his followers. He will be the first of the
prophets in the eyes of God, and his followers will be the first of all
nations.]

The Lord God having summoned the angels, all approached on their knees
and began to recite this _tesbih_: Glory be to the All-Merciful and
All-Pitiful! Glory unto him from whom nothing is hidden! Glory unto the
supreme Master of all worlds!

Is it thus that they worship? I asked of Gabriel.

Yes, he answered, and pray to God that thy followers may be granted the
grace to do likewise. I asked, and the Lord God, hearkening unto my
prayer, commanded this posture in the _namâz_ (orison).

Fourth. I beheld in this heaven Meriem-Khatoun, the mother of Moses, and
Acièh, the wife of Fer’oun. All three came toward me. Meriem had for her
use 70,000 _keuchk_, all of emerald. The mother of Moses had 70,000
_keuchk_ of white pearls, and Acièh had 70,000 of red hyacinth and
70,000 of red coral.

Fifth. An angel was seated on a throne, with moody air and contracted
brows. At each of the four corners of this throne were 700,000 steps of
gold and of silver. All around there was such a multitude of angels that
God alone could know their number.

On the right of the throne I saw resplendent angels, all clothed in
green, breathing exquisite perfumes, pronouncing words which charmed the
ear, and whose countenances were of such dazzling beauty that the eye
could not gaze upon them. On the left I saw the angels of darkness, with
faces and garments of black, of discordant speech, and exhaling a
pestilential odor. As they uttered the _tesbih_ flames leaped out from
their mouths. Before them were spears, maces, and piles of fire-arms
whose aspect could not be borne. The angel who was seated on the throne
was covered from head to foot with eyes as brilliant as Venus and Mars.
He had as great a number of wings. He held in his hand a leaflet, and
before him was a small board on which he fastened his eyes and never
raised them. There was also before him a tree whose leaves God alone
could number, and on each leaf was written the name of a mortal. The
angel had also a sort of basin at his disposal. Sometimes he plunged his
right hand therein and drew out an object which he handed to the
luminous angels on his right, sometimes he seized the object with his
left hand and delivered it to the angels of darkness.

At the sight of this angel, my heart was filled with awe, a trembling
seized my whole body, and I felt my strength abandoning me. I questioned
Gabriel, who said: It is Azraël, whose face no one can behold; he who
destroys joys and who sunders all ties. Then, addressing him directly,
Gabriel said, Behold, O Azraël, the Prophet of recent times, Mahomet,
the friend of the All-Merciful. Azraël raised his head, smiled, and
arose to do me honor.

Be thou welcome, he said. The Most High hath created none more worthy of
reverence than thou; thy people are also the most favored of all in his
sight. As for me, I feel more compassion for thine, than for their
fathers and mothers. Thou hast rejoiced my heart, I answered, and thou
hast freed my soul from its anguish. Nevertheless, there remains one
care. Why do I see thee so full of sadness and grief?

Apostle of God, he replied, since almighty God appointed me to this
ministry I fear that I shall not worthily fill the office and that I
shall be unable to render account for it. And what, then, is that bowl?
I asked. It is the entire lower world from Mount Kâf to Mount Kâf; it
occupies no more space than that in my eyes, and I wield there a supreme
power. And that small board? It is that which marks the appointed hour
of every creature. And this leaflet? It is the record of all that
happens. And that tree? On its leaves are inscribed the names of all
creatures, happy or unhappy, with their felicity or their misery. If
anyone be sick, his leaf becomes yellow. When the moment of his death
comes, this same leaf falls on the tablet, where his name is blotted
out. Then I stretch forth my hand and seize his soul whether it be in
the east or the west. If it be the soul of one blessed, I give it to the
angels on my right, who are the angels of divine mercy. If it be the
soul of a reprobate, I consign it to those on my left, who are the
angels of damnation.

And what is the number of all these angels?

I know not; only every time I receive the soul of one dying there are
present 600,000 angels of mercy and 600,000 angels of damnation, who
observe to which category the soul belongs, and those who have assisted
once at this function will never return to witness it again until the
day of the resurrection.

Angel of Death, I said, is it indeed thou who dost seize the souls of
all dying?

Since I was created I have never moved from this place where thou dost
see me now, but I have in my service 70,000 angels, each of whom has
likewise under his orders 70,000 angels. When I desire to seize a soul,
they go to conduct the soul of the dying one into his throat, whence I
receive it, stretching forth my hand from this throne.

I entreat thee, said the Prophet, to consider the weakness of my
followers and to take them only with gentleness and care.

I call Allah to witness, said Azraël, he who hath created thee the seal
of prophets and his chief friend, that the Creator (everlasting glory to
him!) in person urges me 70,000 times night and day to take the souls of
the followers of Mahomet gently, and to let all my dealings with them be
as considerate as possible. Assuredly I have more affection for them
than their own mothers.

Sixth. I also saw there a sea whose waters were whiter than snow.
Gabriel, questioned by me, told me that it was called the Sea of Snow,
and if a drop of its waters escape the heavens and earth would perish
with cold.

Seventh. I saw the blooming temple _beïti ma’mour_. [According to
others, the _beïti el ma’mour_ was situated on the _sidret-el-mountehâ_
above the seventh heaven. However this may be, this is the description
of it given by the Prophet.] It is a mansion of red hyacinth with two
portals of green emerald. Ten thousand lustres of red gold hung from the
ceiling, adorned with hyacinths and gems every one of which shed forth
more light than the sun. At the door of this temple was placed a pulpit
of gold and a minaret of white silver, whose height was that of a
500-years’ journey. Since the temple was created, and so it will be
until the day of the resurrection, every day 70,000 angels coming under
the arch bathe in a sea of light; they make the circuit like pilgrims
clad with the _ihrâm_, repeating _Lebbeïk, lebbeïk_ (We are here, we are
here); and once they have performed this duty their turn will never come
again until the day of the resurrection.

Then Gabriel, taking me by the hand, led me to the blossoming temple and
said to me, Apostle of God, perform here the functions of imam, and let
the angels take thee for a model. I said a prayer of two _rik’at_, and I
served as model for the angels who people the seven heights of the
heaven. At the sight of this multitude surrounding me there came to my
mind that my followers might unite in the same manner. He who penetrates
all secrets and hidden things made a commandment of the desire nestling
in my heart: O Mahomet, there should be among thy followers a meeting of
this kind and which will be a day of reunion, _yeomi djum’a_.

[In certain commentaries it is said that on the day of reunion the
angels who people the heavens meet at the blossoming temple. Gabriel
recites the _ezân_ upon the minaret, Esrâfil pronounces the _khotbèh_ in
the pulpit; Mikaïl fills the office of imam, and the angels of the seven
heavens follow his directions.

When the prayer of the day of reunion is finished, Gabriel says: O ye
angels, bear witness that I yield the recompense for my _ezân_ to the
_muezzin_ of the followers of Mahomet. Esrâfil, in his turn, says that
he yields to their _khatib_ the reward of the _khotbèh_, and Mikaïl
abandons to them the recompense for the _imamat_, while the angels do as
much for all the faithful who join in common prayer. Then the most high
God, speaking to the angels, says: Do ye think to show me what
generosity is, I who am the Creator of generosity! Be ye witnesses that
I remit all the sins of the followers of Mahomet, and that I deliver
them from hell!]

Eighth. There, it is said, the Prophet saw the sun, which, according to
a tradition, is 160 times the size of the terrestrial globe. According
to Ibn-Abbas, its breadth is that of a 60,000-years’ journey. When God
created the sun, he made for it a golden barge, on which he placed a
throne of red hyacinth, with 360 steps, on each one of which were 1,000
angels. The sun was placed on the barge, which is placed on a throne by
360,000 angels. Every day they guide the barge on the sea of the fourth
heaven from sunrise to sunset; then they devote themselves to the
adoration of the Most High. The next day, 360,000 other angels come to
take the places of those who did this service the day before; and so
will it be until the day of the resurrection without the recurrence of
the same angels’ turn. The Lord God has said: The sun goes to its fixed
point.

According to certain commentaries, the fixed point of the sun is beneath
the arch, to the foot of which this star is brought back every night,
and where it is prostrated before the Most High until the dawn. At that
moment, obedient to the divine command, it comes forth from the east,
and so it will be until the approach of resurrection day. It will then
receive the command to rise in the west. This tradition is preserved in
the book of the deceased Imam Talebi, entitled “Araïs” (“The
Betrothed”).

Then, said the Prophet, I reached the fifth heaven.

Without pausing, we proceeded forward. As soon as we had reached the
fourth heaven, Gabriel, always at his post, passing before me, knocked
at the gate, saying: Open! Who is there? he was asked. I, Gabriel, he
replied, accompanying Mahomet, the king of apostles. Be ye welcome!
exclaimed the angels who guarded the gate, and who, opening the gate,
approached us. This heaven was of gold entirely red. Here was an angel
named Salsail. He advanced to meet us, and Gabriel saluted him,
whereupon Salsail said to me: Receive our congratulations, O Mahomet!
Thou who art in so great favor with the Lord God, thou who art the
greatest of all prophets! It is for thee to intercede for thy followers,
O well-beloved of the Lord, for thee whose happy star has made thy
followers the most fortunate of all!

I saw innumerable choirs of angels standing to receive the commands of
Salsail. All recited unceasingly the _tesbih_, nor did they grow weary
night or day. Here, too, I saw David, whom I saluted. He returned the
salutation and said to me, Welcome, O apostle of truth, venerable
brother, august prophet! With David I also saw Solomon in this heaven.
As soon as they saw me they came to meet me, and exchanged salutations.
Here I saw seated on a throne an angel whose luminous brilliancy filled
the heaven. So imposing and majestic was his appearance that none can
look upon his countenance. His head almost touched the arch, while his
feet reached down below the earth. The entire universe was for him as a
plain where each particular man is as a porringer.

Before him also was a large tablet on which he constantly fixed his
eyes. Opposite the angel was a gigantic tree whose boughs were covered
with green leaves, and two awe-inspiring spears were suspended before
him; one white, and the other black. Entirely absorbed in his ministry,
the angel paid attention to no one, and his harsh and frowning features
gave him an altogether terrible and forbidding expression. At the sight
of him, my soul was seized with awe, my heart grew cold, and my body
trembled. Who, then, is that angel? I asked of Gabriel. At what task is
busied this being of such imposing mien? Behold, said Gabriel, him who
slays the sons despite their fathers’ cries, who makes children orphans,
and causes the rich to weep even as the poor; he who dissolves all
unions, and turns laughter into tears; Azraël himself, who bears away
all souls, and leaves lifeless those who were replete with life.

I then approached him, and saluted him, but so occupied was he, that he
did not glance toward me.

Brother, cried Gabriel to him, turn to this side; doff thy fierce
expression, for here is the prophet of recent times, the friend of
Allah, and the prince of apostles. He raised his head and saluted me,
saying: Pardon me, O imam, for during the long time that I have been
busy in accomplishing my work, I have not lifted my head a single time.
Tell me, I said, what is that tablet, what is that tree, and what are
those spears?

O Mahomet! he answered, this tree causes the death of all those who live
on earth. Every one of them has his leaf on this tree, although the
slime of which they were moulded was taken from the earth. Every one of
them also has his name written on the leaf which is assigned to him as
well as on this tablet. In whatever part of the world he is when his
existence reaches the fatal hour, his leaf dries and falls at once. At
the same time his name is erased from this tablet and disappears, even
as he himself is wiped out and departed from the life of the earth. It
is then that I take possession of his soul so inevitably that no one can
find a way to escape his destiny. As for myself, I never have one minute
of distraction and let nothing escape me, and never do I hearken unto
the entreaties of anyone. If it be the soul of one of the elect, I seize
it with this white spear. If it be, on the contrary, the soul of a
reprobate, I use the black lance. If the soul be that of a faithful
follower of thy creed, O Mahomet! I assist him to ascend to heaven in
light; but if it be that of an infidel, I suffer it to fall in torment
down to hell amid encircling gloom.

       *       *       *       *       *

Having again resumed our journey, we soon reached a lofty castle, to the
summit of which the eye could not attain, and the surpassing beauty of
which the intelligence was powerless to grasp to its full extent.




THE ROSE AND THE NIGHTINGALE (Gül and Bülbül)

BY

MOHAMMED FASLI


[_Metrical Translation by J. von Hammer-Purgstall and Epiphanius
Wilson_]




I


    Blessed is the phrase that praises Allah’s name;
    It is the very rosary of God’s word;
    For through it blooms the rose-bed of the soul;
    And through it sings the bosom’s nightingale.
    Each single letter has the rose’s hue,
    And thus adorns the rose-field of our faith.
    B is the bloom of the creation’s rise,
    The rose that stands on plains of Paradise.
    S is the sultan, ruling over M;
    The dew-drop sparkling on the lip of buds.
    A is the cypress of God’s kindliness,
    The buds of sanback, buds of promise true.
    The L leads on to leaves of happiness,
    Like the curled locks that deck the grove of truth;
    The H is like the eyes of hyacinths;
    Fresh as the rosebud when it starts to blow;
    The R is like the nation of the rose,
    Hither and thither tossed by morning wind.
    The H is the mild breeze that sweeps the plain,
    And is a symbol of eternal grace;
    What is the N but Eden’s Nenuphar
    The dot rests on it like a pistil point.
    The J is, as it were, a jasmine flower,
    Bending above a violet full in bloom.
    The double mark that stands above the L
    Is dew upon the leaf of hyacinths.
    The points are nothing else but drops of dew,
    That rest on tulip, rose, and violets.
    The vowels of the sentence breathe their sounds
    Like breezes scenting glades of Gulistan;
    Emblems of peace are seen on every side,
    Like to the peace of Eden in the world;
    So do we come at last to Gulistan,
    And on the new-blown roses gaze with joy.
    And you, oh Fasli! to the rose-bed come,
    And sing your ardent passion for the rose.




II

THE PRAISE OF GOD, THE WONDERS OF GOD, AND HIS MARVELLOUS WORKS


    Thou didst with fire make red the rose’s heart,
    And kindle passion in the nightingale;
    Thou didst lend sweetness to the open air,
    And scatter in the East the scent of musk;
    To thee the spring-time owes her living crown;
    The groves of roses owe their fame to thee.
    ’Tis thou didst paint the rose’s gallery;
    And China’s flowery land had birth from thee.
    The festival of roses is from thee;
    The rose guests owe their genial hours to thee;
    Thine is the burning aloe of the East;
    Thine, the loud warbling of the nightingale;
    From thee, the rose her glowing color takes;
    From thee, the nightingale her melody;
    The tulip’s bosom glows with love for thee;
    Delight in thee perfumes the cypress boughs;
    Great nature’s heart is opened at thy smile;
    And by thy grace the vernal waters flow.
    Thy wrath bows down the violet to the dust.
    ’Tis at thine indignation that it wilts.
    Thou lightest tapers in the forest glade,
    And sometimes in thy flames the tulip dies;
    And the narcissus, like a beggar crouched,
    Thou dost ennoble with thy crowns of gold;
    Yet, ’tis their voices and their tongues that praise
    With melody, thy name in woodland glades.
    Yea, from the very seeds thy praises rise;
    And the spring’s tender nurslings speak thy name.
    The living and the dead recount thy praise,
    The fount, from which the light of living streams;
    No man can worthily extol thy name.
    Sing then thyself, the glory that is thine;
    Who art the only power that at a word
    Didst call into existence heaven and earth.
    The breezes of the west did softly blow
    Where solid land and ocean were to be.
    And, as thy simple fiat sounded forth,
    The earth was fashioned and the world was framed.
    ’Tis thou that gavest her station to the earth,
    Thou madest hidden treasures in the hills.
    Thou sendest down thy rain-drops on the dust;
    Refreshing all the leafage of the plants.
    Thou didst unite the earthly elements
    And raise the arches of the firmament.
    And yoke the four refractory winds of heaven;
    The great world-dragon is thy talisman.
    The stream of life to all things didst thou yield;
    To snake and ant alike thou givest meat;
    And the earth’s treasures by thy grace are known,
    And by thy grace are all things possible.
    Upon the page of night, with master hand,
    The shining precepts of thy law are writ.
    And gloriously emblazoned by the signs
    And letters of the azure firmament.
    For wisdom of Bismillah is the B,
    As Allah is great nature’s origin.
    Next comes the spirit of the universe;
    Our Scripture is the mother of all books,
    And on its page is written plain to see,
    “He in the heavens has made himself a throne.”
    And under it the scribe Almighty wrote
    The verses that depict the holiest throne.
    Next the seven heavens in order he described;
    In the first chapter of Alcoran’s scroll.
    The sea and land are separated there,
    And holy Scripture was the volume named.
    Then did he write those jewels of the world,
    The Proofs, the Ordinances, and the Laws.
    In the last chapter did he treat of man,
    And so the sacred record was complete.




III

AN ADDRESS TO GOD’S MUNIFICENCE, HOLINESS AND PURITY


    Thou art the Maker, both of man and beast,
    Body and life, thou gavest unto both.
    Yet gavest man the attributes distinct
    Of beauty, and of intellectual light.
    Thou madest the face of man to be a glass,
    To mirror all thy beauty’s radiance;
    And as thy sun-like beauty shot its rays,
    So beauty in the beautiful is praised.
    In beauteous calm thou gleamest over all;
    Where’er I gaze, thy splendor I behold;
    And not a landscape owns a single charm
    But what thy shining beauty yields to it.
    Oh thou omnipotent, a pinch of dust
    Thou turnest to the splendor of the world.
    And a friend’s face becomes a face of fire,
    For there thy well-loved light is shining out.
    Thou to the fair dost give the radiant cheek,
    To those in love the light step of the dance.
    Thou makest wave the locks of Medschnuus,
    And every hair becomes a snare of love.
    Yet all this beauty flows again to thee;
    And every beauteous look reflects thy face;
    And in the eyes of lovers, thou dost see
    Naught but thine own perfection in a glass.
    Beloved in thine own beauty’s radiance,
    Art thou by all, as thou art meet to be.
    And wheresoe’er thy beauty shall be seen,
    The fame of thy great loveliness is loud.
    But when thy glance serenely shines on men,
    It makes the happiness of lovers full.
    For thou alone on earth art harmony;
    And aught beside is but an idle dream.
    The world’s life is illusive, nothing more
    Than the reflection on a mirror’s face;
    Things are no more than words to being brought,
    And names the sole realities of life.
    The sun of beauty casts its light abroad,
    And all it touches kindles into life.
    Thy power astounds the human reason; makes
    The mind to totter and the brain to reel.
    No human wit thine essence comprehends;
    Reason and intellect before it fail.
    No man can grasp thy nature, nor can plumb
    With intellectual glance thy truth’s abyss.
    Men’s understanding is a cradle-child;
    And only by thyself canst thou be known.
    O God, I was conceived and born to sin,
    And to the passion that degrades my soul;
    Fast held, enamored by the beautiful,
    Grief was my portion for my earliest years;
    In empty brains did sensual longing burn,
    And wine bedrenched me like an empty skin.
    Eager I yielded to the goblet’s charm,
    And lingered like a drunkard over cups;
    Draught after draught, I took the ruddy wine,
    And threw the pleas of virtue to the wind.
    And all of life’s religion I renounced,
    And turned from all devotion’s practices;
    Yet what would profit oft-repeated prayer
    To one like me who stand aloof from God?
    If to the mosque I sometimes turn my way
    ’Tis only to behold the beauty there.
    I lift mine hands in prayer toward the place
    Where the fair women of the assembly sit.
    Oft at the Portal Beautiful I wait,
    To mask my sins by such religious guise.
    Sad is the plight in which I find myself;
    O Lord, forgive the evil I have done.
    For under thy control, O Lord most high,
    Are works of good and works of evil set.
    Were it obedient for a thousand years,
    The world could never see thee as thou art
    And sins committed for a thousand years
    Could not impair one jot thy worthiness.
    And I, who can do nothing of myself,
    How could I, Lord, obedient prove to thee
    Yet in thy unity do I believe,
    And with a heart sincere observe thy law.
    Show me the pathway of the unity,
    That in it I may lead myself aright.
    Grant that mine eyes may still reflect thy face;
    My heart receive the light thy knowledge yields.
    Leave not my soul in darkness absolute,
    But cast the light of grace upon my path.
    Drive from my breast the instincts that degrade,
    And fill it with the radiance of thy love.
    Oh, make mine eyes reflect thee constantly;
    My tongue forever speak of thee alone;
    My heart be filled with love of thee, and lit
    With all the splendor of thy unity.
    Let me behold thy secret state unveiled,
    And manifest to me thyself alone.
    For why should human glances seek the light
    And turn toward the countenance of God?
    Make me with wine of love inebriate,
    And of my nothingness, thy creature form.
    I call for the delirium of love;
    And naught but thee, Jehovah, do I seek.
    Therefore the name of God is on my lips;
    And still I cry, “There is no god but God.”
    I care not that my soul perdition see
    So long as I behold the great Amen.
    Grant only that my soul be filled with truth.
    And my heart led along the path of light.
    Sincerity my rule I do ordain,
    And gratitude the watchword of my life.
    Of secret falsehoods shall my heart beware;
    Of pride and rancor’s desolating flame.
    Oh, change my being; open wide to me,
    Poor as I am, the treasury of thy grace,
    And quench the flame of anger in my soul.
    Kill in me avarice, and concupiscence;
    Let pleasure never dominate my life,
    Nor chastity be wanting in my heart.
    Inflame me not with wrath’s pernicious fire,
    But quench it in the steady stream of thought.
    Send me not forth on paths of cruelty
    And give thy justice to direct the world.
    Make truthfulness my guardian; and let me see
    The dear Kaaba stone of my desire.
    Contentment be my storehouse as I haste
    Upon my journey to the wished-for land,
    And when the vision dawns upon my sight,
    Grant that I never more may leave thy law.
    Grant that my habits ne’er may master me,
    But custom ever change at my command.
    May I be ne’er abandoned by thy grace,
    May my obedience ever perfect be;
    And bend my wishes to the mood of prayer,
    That they may burst in flowers of happiness.
    Cast, when I kneel, my intellect to earth,
    That thus my prayer may never be disturbed.
    When I am set on honor’s lofty seat,
    Give me the strength to bear prosperity.
    Keep me untainted by hypocrisy,
    And in thy service make my mind sincere.
    Grant daily growth to my obedience,
    May it be nourished on the Prophet’s lore,
    And let my tongue flow ever in thy praise.




IV

HYMN OF PRAISE TO THE LORD OF LORDS, TO THE GLORY OF HIS CREATURES, AND
TO THE PROPHETS


    He, the first cause of all created things;
    The bloom of planetary elements;
    In all the treasures of his mighty heart,
    Is the great light that lights existences;
    And in the order of celestial things
    He is the circle’s first and utmost line;
    And he, the all-respected, all-beloved,
    Mahomet, Mustapha, and Mahmoud named,
    Sprung from the house of Haschim, Koreish’ stem,
    First published to the world the Monuments.
    From out God’s secret treasure-house he came,
    Like to the light of morning in the East,
    To be on earth the prophets’ guide, to be
    The great director of the pure in heart.
    When on the world his features cease to shine,
    It seems as if the sun was veiled in heaven;
    And when his grandeur does not rear itself,
    The very heavens no longer soar aloft.
    Without the shadow of his mightiness,
    The throne itself would totter in decay.
    When he is wroth, he in confusion throws
    The water’s torrent and the dust of earth;
    His dazzling existence could not fail,
    But both the worlds of heaven and earth were gone.
    The world and all therein exist for him;
    Angels and men and demons of the air;
    And the nine heavens their being owe to him;
    For him the heavens their revelations make;
    He is the world’s foundation, cause, and end,
    And he preserves the beauty of the world.
    His law remains the age’s guiding light;
    And in his countenance does Allah shine.
    Mankind in guilt and dire perplexity
    Had wandered blindly from the way of truth.
    Until the loving-kindness of his law
    Recovered them, and brought them to the path,
    Before the splendor of his law arose,
    The human race was separate from God.
    Mahomet showed the path that led to God;
    He was the polestar in the arch of night;
    The leader of the pilgrims on their way;
    The refuge of the rulers of the world:
    For when Mahomet on the earth appeared,
    He shone the candle of intelligence.
    Mahomet, called the prophets’ prince to be,
    Was first in excellence of holiness.
    Mahomet rules the future of the world;
    In him existence is not bound by space;
    Mahomet is the source of light to all;
    The guide and guardian of the universe.
    Adam was once the glory of the world,
    But he is Adam’s greater counterpart.
    ’Twas he that rescued Noah from the flood;
    And so preserved the good of all the earth.
    Enoch ascended into paradise,
    But he, an earthly creature, mounted heaven.
    While Abraham was eminent for love,
    Mahomet only keeps the throne of love.
    And while on Sinai does Moses stand,
    Mahomet holds the highest place in heaven.
    ’Tis true that Jesus waked the dead to life;
    Life to the dust was by Mahomet given.
    Though Joseph was of comely countenance,
    Mahomet is the Saviour beautiful.
    God to King Solomon great wisdom gave,
    The prophet’s wisdom was Mahomet’s dower.
    Though David was God’s caliph on the earth,
    Truth in Mahomet is epitomized.
    Endless the pomp of his nobility,
    And endless is his honor and his power.
    When to his mighty power he gave free course,
    He ripped the curtain of the moon apart.
    And see what mighty miracles he wrought;
    “I have been poisoned,” said the lamb to him.
    Like the dim cypress that in summer springs,
    He cast no shadow on the ground he trod;
    But light invested him from head to foot,
    And people saw his pathway shadowless.
    Shadows from out the realm of darkness come,
    And never shadow yet has beamed with light.
    Yon full-orbed moon casts light, not shadow down,
    Yet on the cornfields flings the shadowed trees.
    So like a shade-tent did the people cast
    Their shadows on him in the sunlight clear.
    His beauteous eye, the window of his soul,
    Was raven black amid the dazzling light.
    He saw, at once, in all directions, all,
    Before, behind him, near him, or far off.
    For in that eye was light as sunbeam clear,
    And by it was the sun itself eclipsed.
    Vain were it all his miracles to count,
    Though I should labor to the judgment day;
    Though I should speak them with a thousand tongues,
    Ten thousand yet unsung I should omit.
    Only his passage to the highest heaven
    Can yield full witness of his excellence.




V

HOW HE, THE MASTER OF BOTH WORLDS, ON THE NIGHT OF HIS CELESTIAL JOURNEY
ROSE FROM THE BOSOM OF THE EARTHLY MULTITUDE TO THE SUMMIT OF THE DIVINE
UNITY


    ’Twas night, and yet, as in the light of day,
    The earth lay bathed in splendor brilliant.
    For like a company of princes ranged
    The happy stars were shining overhead.
    And the full moon her silver radiance poured;
    ’Twas the great feast time of the Ramazan.
    On such a night the moon was throned in heaven
    Above the thousand star specks of the world;
    A queen surrounded by nobility.
    His house was flooded by the moonlight clear.
    And from the moon, now fourteen nights in orb,
    Came Gabriel, the messenger of heaven.
    He said: “Oh thou who like the moon on earth,
    And like the sun in purity of light
    Art eminent, and lord of honors here,
    Accept the thousand greetings that I bring,
    For with this greeting God a summons sends,
    To the enjoyment of his majesty.
    This journey, then, with longing keen begin,
    For the All-Wise desires thee at his side.
    Forsake the crowd to meet the unity
    And taste the presence of all purity.
    The angels all are ranked below thy seat,
    Thou art the princely ruler of the heavens.”
    As Ahmed listened to the messenger
    He praised the Lord of heaven with fervent prayer.
    Calmly he mounted on the cherubim,
    And rose in haste toward his celestial friends.
    He moved like some fresh morning wind that blows,
    Toward the sanctuary of Zion’s hill.
    Soon he, the master of all grace, arrived;
    And, as the leader of the spirits pure,
    He stood in heaven, and through the stars he passed,
    While constellations honored his approach.
    As in the primal heaven he sat enthroned,
    The moon was waxing to her fullest orb.
    With deep obeisance did the queen of night
    Welcome the visit of the prophet form.
    Thence to the second heaven he bent his way;
    The heaven of Mercury blessed him as he came.
    There on heaven’s page were pointed out to him
    The dazzling wonders of creation’s work.
    To the third heaven at last he soared aloft,
    And Venus welcomed him with kindly grace.
    Deep bliss his ardent breast with rapture filled,
    As lutes of love their dulcet notes resound.
    In the fourth heaven o’er radiant meads he trod,
    His shadow lent a lustre to the sun.
    Peacefully fell that shadow on the star,
    Filling with light the spot that welcomed it.
    At the fifth heaven he glanced, and lo! he saw
    That Mars had drawn his falchion, full of fear,
    Yet with submissiveness the man of God
    He welcomed, greeting with obeisance due.
    On the sixth throne elate sat Jupiter,
    Once happy, festive, lord of heaven and earth.
    By him the Prophet was received with smiles
    And prospered on his way with happiness.
    Saturn, the ruler of the seventh ring,
    Received him in the circle of his light.
    “I come,” the Prophet said, “from dark to light;
    Repulse me not, I pray thee, from thy door.”
    Thence he ascended by the sunlit path,
    To that clear region where the stars are fixed,
    And in the radiance of his approach,
    Great joy was caused through all the region high.
    And as his gracious shadow there was cast,
    He found himself upon the meadow plain,
    Whose carpet spreads before the throne of God.
    And he who was the first in highest heaven,
    Heard in that radiant place a voice, that cried,
    “Oh, tread my plains, for in thy steps is peace.”
    O’er the whole region did he wend his way
    And stood at last before the Tree of Life.
    Before the Tree of Life he paused a while;
    For there his guide had bidden him to repose.
    Thence to the throne of his dear God he passed,
    The God unlimited by time or space.
    All the dark memories of the world were lost,
    For there the light of the one God beamed forth.
    And there he took his station next to God,
    Higher than prophet or than seraphim.
    His inmost soul was lost in ecstasy.
    For God within that circle sole exists;
    God infinite and absolute is there,
    In the full splendor of his attributes.
    There is the light of life divine revealed,
    Clear as a spotless diamond in heaven.
    There saw he what no eye before had seen,
    And heard what yet had reached no human ear.
    For speech in heaven is wordless, and the heart
    Speaks out aloud, yet with no uttered sound.
    From thence he was permitted to return
    To the waste hill land of his native home.
    He traversed heaven and blessed it with his face,
    Returning on his way to earth again.
    And when he reached his couch, he found that all
    That boundless journey through the infinite
    Had happened in the twinkling of an eye.
    The prophets greeted him with loud acclaim,
    And spread the joyous news of his return,
    And all who heard it, turned their minds to God.
    All were transported with celestial joy.
    All rendered thanks of gratitude to Heaven.
    The hearts and souls of all were filled with light,
    Plunged at the moment in the Sea of Truth.




VI

A BLESSING ON THE PROPHETS, THE MEDIATORS OF THE PEOPLE, WITH A PRAYER
OF INTERCESSION AND A GREETING TO HIS COMPANIONS


    All hail to thee, thou messenger of God!
    My heart goes out to thee, and ye, who stand
    As mediators in the path of truth,
    Weigh well the good and evil of the heart.
    Prophet, my spirit is with rapture filled.
    Be gracious to me, listen to my cry,
    For when thou pleadest for sinners all the band
    Of followers pay their homage at thy feet.
    For in the bygone days there was revealed
    A rule of right and wrong, and in the scale
    Of justice all was cast. The world for thee
    Has hoped, O mediator, all the world.
    Become thou, then, a mediator for me,
    And make me with the peace of Eden blest.
    Why fear I when my guilt is infinite,
    If infinite the grace that thou canst give?
    For my infirmities are without bound,
    And in transgression am I swallowed up.
    My sins, my sins are multitudinous
    And I have failed to see the end of God.
    Now at thy footstool do I prostrate lie,
    I touch thy hands, I supplicate thy face,
    For if thy kindness will not intercede
    What is the intercession of this sigh?
    And if thy tenderness refuse support
    My soul must wander in the maze of grief,
    And yet I hope thy interceding prayer
    Will win some respite to my tortured soul;
    And I call myriad blessings on thy head
    And upon all who follow in thy train,
    On all who travel on the path of good;
    To all the leaders of the saintly band;
    On those the four elect ones, on all friends;
    On the primordial powers of either world.
    Upon the sovereign king of wisdom’s realm,
    On Ebubeker, who is lord of truth,
    Then upon him who is the one just lord,
    Omer, the noblest, purest among men;
    Next upon him, the Koran’s faithful scribe,
    Upon the lordly Osman, Haffan’s son;
    On Ali, friend of me and friend of all;
    To whom all realms of knowledge were revealed.
    Next on the pair, for whom my vision thirsts--
    On Hassan and on Huscin, princes both,
    Noblest in purpose and in dignity;
    On Omar, Hamsa, Abbas, whom I greet,
    With myriad salutations, while I lay
    A thousand gratulations at their feet.




VII

WHAT WAS THE OCCASION OF THIS POEM AND THE ARRANGEMENT OF THE NARRATIVE


    Upon a morn, a glorious morn of June,
    When eastern light, with many colored charm,
    Tinted the gentle birth throes of the year;
    And streams with ardent longing ran their race,
    And cloudless azure floated o’er the world,
    The rose and tulip oped their petals wide,
    Within a garden fair as paradise,
    Where sand and soil were clothed in dazzling green.
    All earth was blushing in the morning ray,
    As if a second Eden had arisen.
    The tulips ranged along the mountain walls,
    Held up their chalices with eager hands.
    And all the flowers were waking out of sleep,
    And day was changing watch with vanished night.
    Narcissus flowers had filled their golden cups,
    Stanching their thirst in draughts of diamond dew.
    Each rose within the garden seemed a king,
    And every floweret was a belted knight.
    The nightingales were sighing in the grove,
    And deep delight the stream and forest filled.
    The cypresses were bending in their dance,
    And all the world was radiant with joy.
    Within the garden stood a company
    Of friends, on joy and recreation bent;
    For great and small, either by night or day,
    In pleasure banquets to that garden came.
    But I within the wood remained aloof,
    And wandered, lost in solitary thought.
    Then came to me a man of a refined
    And gentle aspect, and of noble race.
    For many a year this friend of mine had laughed
    And wept with me, in pleasure or in pain.
    Then said he, “Friend of mine, arouse thyself.”
    Nor dally here in listless indolence,
    For spring has tinted bright the dewy world,
    And God’s enchantments fill the garden glade;
    On the world’s leaf he writes the message clear:
    “Oh, come and see God’s monument on earth!
    Why tarriest thou? Behold this circling realm!
    How beautiful is earth--’tis paradise.
    For vernal life revives the blooming year,
    And if thou live the thought must raise thy heart.”
    I, as I heard these pleadings of my friend,
    By his benignant influence was swayed.
    Into the garden as he led the way,
    I entered; there a grove of roses stood.
    We crossed a level area, where we saw
    The scene adorned with flowering elder-trees.
    The place was noble, for the hillside shone
    With the fresh loveliness of Eden’s bower.
    Such scenes unlock the heart and make it glad,
    And over all they spread the balm of peace.
    The fresh blown roses hung on every side;
    From every copse the nightingales were heard.
    And in this place of beauty marvellous
    A thousand words passed swift ’twixt friend and friend,
    And kindly greetings rose, and hearts were soothed
    With genial conversation; poesy
    Lent to the converse of the band her charm,
    And prose and verse alternately they quote;
    Mesnevi’s tale was subject of debate;
    And meaning and expression were discussed.
    Then with my friend I held a colloquy;
    And, in a kindly mood, he said to me;
    “The nightingale is singing loud to-day,
    And thou, whose heart is drinking in delight
    From the soul utterance of the nightingale,
    How comes it thou art silent in the world?
    Thy breath and utterance should impart new life;
    Thy word give healing, from thy mouth should come
    The stream that yields refreshment unto men.
    Why art thou dumb and lifeless; without song?
    Write thou a volume with poetic grace
    Replete, and show the compass of thy power;
    God gave to thee the poet’s destiny.
    Whence is thy mood of careless indolence?
    He in whom mind is more than fleshly might
    Alone can frame a song that moves the heart.
    Write, then, a book which shall transmit thy name
    Down to the records of remotest time.
    For certainly, the name of him whose mind
    Dwells on the beautiful shall never die.”
    Now as I listened to this kind advice,
    A keen ambition seized upon my soul.
    I answered: “Friend, thy counsel I approve;
    Thy words have made me opulent in soul;
    I lend my ear to all that thou hast said,
    For he who would gainsay thee is a fool.
    But, though with ample skill and wit enough
    I might a book in one short week compose,
    The world would scorn imagination’s work,
    Although my power of utterance be supreme.”
    Then all the circle to my plea demurred,
    Laying a thousand fetters on my heart.
    “But,” I continued, “’tis for daily bread
    We toil, and scarce the pen can meet the need;
    When with my brain as pilot I proceed,
    A thousand cares for corporal wants molest;
    Entangled thus, invention fails my mind,
    And all my spirit’s best emotions die.”
    “Stay,” said my friend, “this argument is vain,
    Vain are these timid pretexts. Courage take.
    Is not the nightingale in prison bars
    Forever wont to pour her dolorous chant?
    And in its cage the cheerful popinjay
    Learns to repeat the words of human folk,
    And chatters with untiring gaiety,
    And warbles in a rapture of delight.”
    “My friend,” I answered, “in these times of ours
    The world is nothing but the slave of gold;
    Honor and office is the aim of all,
    While merit follows like a slave on foot.
    How sordid is the spirit of the world!
    True fame alone from generous wisdom springs.
    Where can we find the scholar exquisite?
    Alas! the world is full of ignorance;
    Who cares to-day for books of verse or prose?
    Who dares to tread the path of poetry?
    There may be magic in the song you sing,
    But the dull world is dull to every note.”
    He answered: “What does all this babbling mean?
    No man of purpose can this plea allow.
    Think’st thou the world as empty as thou say’st?
    Leave off repining, and, with courage bold,
    If thou hast jewels, bring them to the mart;
    The buyer is not difficult to find.
    If thou hast merit wherefore this delay?
    How canst thou heedless waste the fleeting hour?
    Merit will always win the praise of men.
    But bring thy beauty boldly into view.
    The Shah will first of all make recompense;
    He knows to treasure up the worth of words;
    A critic he, in poetry and prose,
    Expert, munificent as well as wise.
    To him thy poem must thou dedicate,
    Thy poem rare and writ in double rhyme.
    And in this work thy name along with his
    Shall live unto the very judgment day.”
    Soon as the Shah was named, I felt in vain
    Were all excuses, and I answered him:
    “Friend of my soul, I will the work begin.
    I swear it on my head, this very day!
    Yet in what style shall it accomplished be?
    That I may execute a splendid work.”
    He said: “My dearest friend, what other theme
    But the rose legend can suffice for thee?
    The legend of the beauty of the rose,
    The legend of the lover nightingale.
    Tell us the lot, the plight of bird and flower,
    And all they did and were; set this to rhyme
    In that fine book of thine, and with the skill
    Of thine unerring genius, tell the tale.”
    Moved by these words, I took my pen in hand
    And went with eager longing to the task.
    The legend of the nightingale I wrote,
    And dedicated it to him who rules
    The land, and with the Shah’s name in the front
    I made a book that all the world has praised.




VIII

PRAISE OF THE PEARL OF LORDSHIP, THE HEAVEN-GREAT PRINCE, WHOSE PITY AND
WHOSE PURPOSE EXTEND FROM HEAVEN TO EARTH


    The Shah, our heavenly highness and our king,
    Is as an angel or a Jupiter;
    Face of the moon and beauty of the sun
    Are his; his fortune and his blood are peers.
    A prince is he of high and happy line,
    Of fair renown and intellectual power.
    The very glory of the Osman house,
    Elected as the Sultan of the land,
    Is Shah Mustapha Ben Suleiman, born
    A very shah from royal ancestors.
    He is the man, who by his skill to guide,
    Has filled the earth, the age, with happiness.
    Worth is alone the banner and the crown
    Which win, by merit, throne and diadem.
    Worthy successor of the Osman kings
    Among the sultans, like a monument
    He stands, a sun of bright prosperity.
    Shah of the moon and mirror of success.
    He in the shining jewel case of bliss
    We style the pearl of lofty destinies,
    A shah who is so filled with rectitude,
    That he is the Nuschernan of his time;
    So brilliant he in generosity
    That he eclipses Hatim Tais’ renown.
    His justice is the ruler of the world,
    Which by his grace is nourished and upheld.
    His righteous mind gives happiness to all,
    His loving-kindness is their highest gain.
    He visits with severity the bad,
    But on the good he heaps his favors high.
    And as he grace and wrath in men perceives
    He takes the goblet or he draws the sword.
    He is a hero of full gallant mien,
    Whose aspect is the dread of Rusteman.
    As blows across the mead the autumn breeze
    And the reeds quake, so quake the hearts of foes.
    When Gog and Magog thunder forth their threats
    Their vanquished power is driven back again;
    And when the lands with panic fear are struck,
    The armies of the foe are trod in dust.
    And Tahmas trembles at his gleaming sword
    As Euas once before great Timur quailed.
    The Persian’s head was ruddy with his gore;
    No wine ran ever in a redder stream.
    His royal heart had then divided cares,
    To terrify his foes, and heal his friends.
    Fear of the Shah dissolved the foeman’s rage,
    His pity melted friendly hearts in love.
    The fear of him made Rusteman grow weak,
    And fly, with bloody spoils behind him trailed.
    And while his loving-kindness calmed the world
    He won the love alike of young and old.
    And while his might and power waxed eminent
    He brought the hearts of all to beat with his.
    As the high cypress flings a shadow round,
    His presence crushed in agony his foes;
    Before his greatness and his loftiness,
    The spirit of earth’s peoples ebbed away.
    And were the doughty Dschemschid living yet,
    He’d give himself in slavery to the Shah.
    When Skender first his gleaming grandeur saw
    He wished to be the slave of such a king.
    Were Feridum to see his greatness now,
    He would have promised fealty to his house.
    And on his threshold Cæsar would have dropped,
    Like to a slave, his laurel-covered sword.
    O clemency, thou hast the whole round world
    Led captive by thy rule of righteousness.
    Through all thine age of sighs and bitter tears,
    Thou only art beloved by night and day,
    And in that age, great Alexander sees
    The wolf and lamb together take their food.
    No robber now in ambush waits to kill,
    Our only ambush is in woman’s looks;
    And no man beats his breast for grief and woe,
    But beats a drum tap in the mood of joy.
    How shall I estimate thy happy peace!
    The happy splendor of thy sanctity!
    Were all the trees and bushes turned to pens,
    And every leaf were changed into a book,
    And the seven seas were darkened into ink,
    And every space was written o’er and o’er,
    By thousand writers, only one exploit,
    Out of one thousand, would recorded be.
    And as we here would offer up our prayer,
    Let our petition be on justice based.
    For thou, as is the sun among the stars,
    Art potentate o’er all the climes of heaven;
    Sagacious Padishah and Lord of Light
    Art thou; for wisdom has enthroned thee Shah.
    May God decree full length of years to thee,
    And bring a just dishonor on thy foes.
    Thee may God’s grace conduct to happiness;
    And fill the earth with thy transcendent name.
    Long mayst thou wear the crown upon thy brow,
    And may thine enemies be brought to naught.
    God grant long life to all the royal house
    And give the land joy, rain, and industry.
    May age and peace and happiness arrive,
    And all thy reign with endless glory shine.
    Who to this prayer of mine responds Amen
    May no misfortune ever plague his life!




IX

THE BEGINNING OF THE FASCINATING NARRATIVE AND OF THE HEART-RAVISHING
FABLE


    Speak, Nightingale, thy accents utter clear,
    And from thy secret haunt reveal thyself;
    Thou knowest full well the meaning that lies hid
    Within the rose-bed of the inmost mind.
    Long hast thou tarried, silent as a bud;
    Breathe out the meditation of the Rose,
    Let thy voice warble in the voice of love
    A song instinct with love’s own melody.
    So sweet that Sohre, when thy lay is heard,
    The lute shall fling in anger to the ground.
    And thus the Nightingale in Gulistan
    Began, with song, her legendary tale.
    Once, in the ancient days that long are past,
    Over a country pleasant above all,
    There lived a shah, the reigning king of Kum,
    And he was gracious, mild, and liberal.
    Good fortune followed every step he took;
    And he was fair in manner as in face.
    In every action was he moderate;
    And all his deeds were welcome to the folk.
    Pure was his mind, his lineage starred by fame;
    He drew all hearts by ruth and tenderness;
    He was a monarch of a high descent;
    They named him Springtime, for his look was spring.
    The earth he cheered, as if with vernal showers,
    His presence was a breath of paradise;
    Far famed for grandeur and for graciousness,
    For strictest justice bore he wide renown.
    His sovereign word flew wider than the wind,
    And poured its torrents like a foaming stream,
    Refreshing by its very righteousness,
    Like balmy eastern breezes, earth and time.
    For when he spoke, men heard no other sound,
    But his. So sang the happy Nightingale.
    And no man from the scabbard drew his sword;
    Even the sword-lily vanished from the heath;
    And never pointed weapon made a wound,
    Except the thorns that pierce the bulbul’s breast.
    And not a crown was ravished against right;
    And the east wind the tulip’s circlet spared.
    Though earth were mantled with a host of green,
    A leafy company that none may count,
    ’Twere easier far to number forest leaves
    Than count the flowers that in his palace grew.
    Like to a guard-troop, helmeted with gold,
    Narcissus flowers were ranged in countless bands;
    With lips and beakers blushing ruby red,
    The lovely flowers as cup-bearers attend;
    The lilies stand full-armed like sentinels,
    Mail clad in steely green, with flashing sword.
    There many cypresses toss high their heads,
    And verdant banners thickly cover them.
    From the high walls a shower of thorns is shot,
    As lances hurtle, and lay lions low.
    Ambassadors in crowds, from east and west,
    Bring crowns to him, and eager tribute yield--
    Jewels that blaze like planets of the sky,
    And gems the prize of fortune’s brightest hour.
    Within his grove he has a stately rose.
    The grace of God is watching over it;
    And he is happy in a daughter fair,
    Who, like the rose-bush, beautifies the world.
    Her name is Rose, though she is still a bud--
    A bud in beauty’s garden fresh as morn:
    Round were these buds, like ruddy lips that called
    For kisses with a passionate desire;
    Such was the beauty that belonged to them,
    That all the world enamored gazed on them.




X

DESCRIPTION OF THE ROSE’S BEAUTY IN EVERY MEMBER


    Graceful indeed are all the Rose’s tints,
    Above, beneath, they move with equal charm,
    And all their life expresses beauty’s self;
    And each is dowered with equal loveliness.
    Her restless-streaming and dishevelled locks
    Were long life to the heart of those who loved.
    And she was beauty’s sum and monogram,
    By whom to earth descended human bliss;
    And many a heart within those meshes lay,
    And pined as mine did, from a thousand wounds.
    Her figure was like boughs from paradise,
    The lotus at the sight obeisance made;
    Her figure kills all other trees, and puts
    The cypress and the plane-tree out of mind.
    Never did cypress wave with such a grace;
    For soulful was that figure of the Rose.
    The constellations’ signet crystalline
    Shines out like Alexander’s looking-glass.
    Venus in Sagittarius is she,
    Where sun and moon together cross the sky.
    And so her countenance a tablet is
    On which the Lord has written--“A child of light,”
    And in her eyebrows, rising o’er her eyes,
    We see the double moon that comes in Mars.
    Joined like the double arches of a bridge
    Are those twin bows of beauty and delight.
    Without that portico of loveliness,
    The house of beauty would to ruin fall.
    And those two arches lead into the house,
    Where beauty’s self is fostered as a child.
    How skilfully the magic bow is strung,
    The double bow with but a single span!
    And every glance that from this bow is shot
    Flies to the mark and makes the red blood flow.
    That eye--enchantment’s self is resting there,
    And sorcery’s fountain springs beneath that brow.
    Whoever looks upon those lustrous eyes
    Must cry “Now God be with you, lady fair.”
    For like Narcissus flowers the eyes adorn
    The happy beauty garden of the face.
    Twin stars of flame are they, which archers shoot,
    Like arrows, from the strong and bended bow.
    Two Turks, who in the court of Shinar’s plain
    Fall drowsy, after drinking, to the floor.
    The glance that subjugates the heart of all
    Is like a dagger by the acid worn,
    Which keener grows with every wound it deals;
    For every arrowed glance the heart’s blood draws.
    The sidelong glances are as skirmishers--
    A band of lancers rushing into fight.
    Each waving ringlet is a teazing bolt,
    That gives unrest, not comfort, to the soul.
    Her nose is like a shadow’s streak of cloud,
    In which the signature of beauty lives;
    It is a jasmine, budding and unblown,
    Set in the beauty garden of the face.
    A finger, which, by power of sorcery,
    Has cut the circle of the moon in twain.
    Her cheeks, what are they but two roses fresh,
    Which with the great archangel converse hold?
    Two ruddy pages in which boys have read
    Their earliest lesson in the lore of love?
    Nay, they are likest to the rising sun,
    From which the earth illumination draws.
    The little mole upon the lady’s cheek
    Is but a foil to set her beauty off;
    ’Tis but a sign of noble ancestry,
    A seed of beauty on a field of flowers.
    There never fails on every countenance
    Some line or feature that commands the whole;
    No mole can such pre-eminence assert;
    It is her eyes that captivate our gaze.
    The ears with pearls that not a blemish own
    Reflected on the sea their beauty show;
    They are two roses upon which the dew
    Of dazzling pearls is radiantly set.
    The lips which quite eclipse the world’s delights
    Are like the holiness which Mary showed,
    They are like rubies which attract men’s souls
    And touch their spirit e’en without a word.
    And if I should make known those lips’ delight,
    What shall I say in reference to the mouth?
    ’Tis true that God created worlds from naught.
    But I am uncreative, vain my words.
    The tongue is like a singing nightingale
    Which nests above a murmuring waterfall;
    It is a bird whose words are brilliant
    As are the rubies in a jewel case.
    A wise interpreter whose words are true,
    Revealing all the secrets of the heart,
    The teeth are nothing but the dewy pearls,
    Which glitter on the rosebuds of the grove.
    They are the precious stones that form a link
    Between two rows of ruddy carbuncle;
    They are the jewels in a jewel case,
    Which in concealment have their radiance hid.
    Their sugared sweetness every sweet excels;
    And even honey doubly sweet outvie.
    The chin is like a beauty apple hung,
    With ever-changing charms it wins the eye;
    The apple is the fairest fruit of all.
    The Rose’s chin is more desirable,
    And as the quince that hangs unplucked, she says,
    “I am the fruit of beauty; pluck me not.”
    The dimple on the chin is like a well;
    And he who falls therein must captive bide.
    The chin is like to beauty’s tambourine,
    On which the dangling locks their soft blows ply;
    And when their sporting pattering they begin
    It is the march of beauty that they sound.
    Her neck is like a taper camphor white
    And darkened with the film of falling locks.
    Without is light, within a burning fire,
    A flame of pride and yet of fickleness.
    Most it resembles some white cloud of heaven,
    A silver column set in beauty’s hall.
    And we may well divine her arms are like
    The handles of some vase in silver wrought.
    By the trumpeter of these fair arms
    A thousand heads have fallen in blood and wrath;
    Hers are the whitest arms in all the land,
    White as the hand of Moses once became,
    Her arm rests in a sleeve it fills with light;
    Like to a crystal, which itself is clear.
    The hand is matchless both in charming shape
    And in the light which beauty gives to it.
    The Lord has given this hand the bracelet fair
    Of fascination that surrounds the wrist.
    Under that hand, by its desired caress,
    The country and the people rest subdued.
    Nor does the henna dye those fingers red,
    But naturally the tips are coralline.
    For each fair finger is a silver pen
    Which writes the winning verses of the heart.
    The hand is like the moon; the fist, the sun.
    The fingers are the pleasant beams they cast.
    And as the almighty Scribe their outline formed,
    So wrote he beauty in each finger nail.
    For like a rose-leaf is each finger nail,
    A rose-leaf that adorns the Rose’s stem;
    And as each nail is like the moon at full,
    Each fragment cut from them a crescent seems.
    Her bosom is a tablet crystal clear,
    A waterfall that gleams in Paradise.
    ’Tis the most glorious and the purest light
    That ever broke in waves from height of heaven.
    The feet are silver pillars, pedestals
    Supporting beauty’s palace, firm and fair.
    They soar like arrows to heaven’s highest throne;
    They stand twin graces ever side by side,
    And like an anchor is the steady foot,
    Holding in heaven the white moon’s argosy.




XI

THE SHAH PROVIDES A TEACHER FOR HIS DAUGHTER ROSE


    As in daytime does the moon appear,
    In beauty tender, yet but half revealed,
    So did the father see his daughter’s face
    Grow fair, and thanked his God by day and night.
    He watched her beauty with an anxious eye,
    And prayed it might to full perfection come.
    And brought a teacher, who might lead his child
    Along the path where knowledge could be plucked.
    He wrote upon a book of pages old
    As flame the precious lore which she should scan.
    Into her hand he placed the precious book;
    It was a new adventure for the Rose.
    And from the ancient tutor she began
    To read the lines of learning’s alphabet.
    Page after page the volume was explored,
    But all was dull and comfortless to her.
    She learned the history of Gulistan,
    She learned by heart the annals of Bostan,
    It soon had mastered all Vaharistan,
    She read the booke of history in Divan,
    Yet full of grace, her mind by no means dull,
    She had no skill in writing prose or verse.




XII

MORNING AND EVENING IN THE ROSE GARDEN


    Upon a morning when the glittering ray
    Flooded the meadow green where bloomed the Rose,
    And when the sun upon the world’s high throne
    Showed the Rose the radiance of his orb,
    The sun saw joyfully that his daughter dear
    Was in her freshest beauty full bedecked.
    He knew that she was worthy happiness,
    That she was worthy of her princely lot.
    Another was sovereign of a realm that brought
    Quiet and happiness throughout the world,
    His castle was a fortress green in hue,
    Green was the hue of its foundation stones;
    Inside was decked with high magnificence,
    There tulip beds and cypress boughs abounded.
    The master who had raised this lofty pile
    Had given to it the name of Rosary;
    By those who knew the beauteous city well
    It very often bore another name.
    And every grove and gelder-rose and mead
    Had each its proper and especial title.
    And in this city did the ruling king
    Give to the Rose the highest post of state,
    And that the city might be full of grace
    He gave to it the Rose to be its flower;
    And going with great joy into the grove,
    She sat upon the throne in honor there;
    And straightway all the world was filled with glee,
    And all the world by balmy winds was swept,
    The fragrance of whose odors filled the world.
    And by their charm lapped it in ecstasy;
    In calm felicity the hours went by,
    And stream and soil in blessed peace reposed.




XIII

THE ATTENDANTS OF THE PURE ROSE, AND A DESCRIPTION OF HER NOBLE COURT
SERVICE


    Of rose gardens the Bulbul is the muse,
    And thus begins her clear and thrilling song:
    The Rose of simple mind and tender mood,
    With frank heart, and with disposition kind,
    Has chosen for the servants of her house
    A band of trusty followers true of heart.
    The first was guardian of the sherbet cup;
    Comrade of laughter, tears, and genial hours;
    Each morning she the rose-water prepared,
    The crimson-tinted wine that scents the glade.
    ’Twas the delight and joy of the Divan,
    And shared the name and honors of the dew.
    Another was the cheerful cup-bearer.
    Ruby his belt, and his cup a carbuncle;
    With rosy cheeks he was conspicuous,
    For loveliness of lip the painter’s choice.
    His inmost bosom was the home of love,
    And tinged blood-red with passionate desire.
    He drank the wine that fed his passion’s fire,
    And never failed the wine cup to his hand.
    He was the chief at each Rose festival,
    And the guests called him by the Tulip’s name.
    Another was the garden’s eye, and seemed
    The very lamp and eyelight to the grove.
    So full of contemplation was his face,
    So full of meditation’s sober glance.
    The radiance of his eye was in its orb,
    And wise men saw that it was crystal clear.
    This was the prophet of the sinless glance,
    Who stood the president of the Divan.
    Five golden coins he found, and in his hand
    He bore them on the petals of his cup:
    He handed round the goblet night and day,
    And late and early was he drunk with wine;
    So long as wine was flowing, at his board
    He would not close his eye till dawn of day.
    The eye-glance of the close in sooth was he,
    And in the rose-bed is Narcissus called;
    And since he holds his goblet in his hand
    The gold Cup is he among flowerets named.
    Sword-Bearer was another waiting-man;
    The guardian of the spacious Rosary;
    He bore his naked sword behind the Rose,
    And night and day he closely guarded her.
    A fencer of incomparable skill
    Was he, in short, the prefect of the burg.
    A valiant Cerberus and dragon he,
    Whose sword and dagger never left his hand.
    He was in very truth a trusty slave,
    And wide and free his reputation spread.
    In the rose garden his acquaintances
    Had styled him the Free Lily of the glade.
    And there was still another, free as he,
    Whose form had grown as lofty as his mind;
    Towering he stood, with high and graceful head,
    He was the very emir of the grove.
    Tall as a column did he seem to rise,
    And as an arrow straight his course he took;
    And so in Gulistan by day and night
    He watched as porter at the entrance gate.
    By night and day his faithful watch he kept,
    Upright to stand was what he most desired;
    He recked not that his day-long post was hard,
    While on one foot he stood before the gate;
    He was a man of stature eminent
    A mighty man, and Cypress was his name.
    There was another, like a messenger
    Becapped, who pilfered crowns for livelihood;
    No parallel of his this world has seen;
    He ever seemed to outstrip all rivalry.
    Soon as he burst from out the western post,
    He reached within a twinkling to the east.
    He was so light, that while his course he took,
    No cloud of dust arose beneath his feet.
    A youngster was he, boisterous in play,
    And East Wind was his title in the world.
    Another was of purest character,
    And simple in his mind, and frank in mien;
    His inmost bosom was a well unstained,
    And fair as were his cheeks, that all admired.
    And yielding was his tender heart to love;
    His artless nature moves another’s smile.
    And, while his heart was thus so pure and clear,
    He was the mirror-holder to the Rose;
    And winning was he from his babbling flow;
    And men had given to him the name of Brook.
    Another was a thief, as full of tricks
    Of knavery as a dusky Indian.
    Well could he snare his victim in a gin;
    He was a robber full of pranks and tricks.
    He could the thread spin out with marvellous skill
    And hang suspended by a single hair.
    His subtility was endless, and more crooks
    Were in it than in woman’s curling locks.
    His heart was full of trickeries and feints,
    And as a flower his name was Hyacinth.
    And each of these are ranged around the Rose
    As escorts at the throne of king and queen.
    And in the rose garden from time to time
    The Rose refreshment seeks in cups of wine.
    The Rose alone of all the flowers around
    Was decked with satisfying grace, and hence
    Fit opportunity she gained, in which
    She might for brighter happiness prepare.




XIV

HOW IN THE MORNING THE MIRROR-HOLDER OF THE TENDER-CHEEKED ROSE HOLDS
THE MIRROR, AND HOW THE ROSE IS PROUD OF HER BEAUTY


    It was in the bright morning of the day,
    And lo, her face was in the mirror shown;
    And in the radiance gleamed her lovely face,
    For it was mirrored in the placid brook.
    And in a thousand ways the Rose was ware
    That all the world believed how fair she was.
    She raised herself above her cloak of night,
    And freshly in the streaming sunlight waked;
    To lay her fair attire in fullest view
    She set herself upon a ruby throne;
    Radiant indeed her beauty there appeared;
    ’Twas red on red in brilliancy shone.
    She sat like monarch ’mid his people throned;
    All other kings were dust upon the road.
    But that her beauty may be manifest,
    Needs must she cast her image on the glass.
    And lo! the Brook before her ran his course,
    And laid the glittering mirror at her feet.
    And when she saw herself reflected there,
    So lovely, she was rapt in wonderment.
    And when she saw herself so fresh and bright
    And lovely, she was touched with vanity;
    And blushing red in her own charms delight,
    “Ah, God,” she cried, “there is no god but God!
    What beauty hast thou given to me, O Lord,
    What excellence among the flowers is mine!
    What gracious eyebrows arch above mine eyes!
    Like to a canopy they set them off.
    How diamond-like and gray those orbs appear!
    Their gaze might stir the pulses of the dead.
    How lustrous are those amber locks! Their light
    Must strike amazement to the minds of man.
    And oh, how dazzling are these cheeks of mine!
    For after these the moon itself is dim.
    And what a beauty mark that little mole,
    Which more becoming makes the tender cheek!
    Who now will value eyes that fiercely scowl,
    And the fell glances that like swords they wave?
    But here are eyelashes that twinkle fast,
    Like friends that stand together ranged in war.
    And then that mouth, whose breath is sweet enough
    To bring the mantling life-blush to the dead.”
    The bolt of self-love pierced her to the heart,
    And she was pride-struck by her loveliness,
    “And oh,” she said, “is houri in the world,
    Or peri, so delightsome to behold?
    Was ever one with beauty so bedecked,
    As I am in the universe beheld?
    Such beauteous charm as God has given to me,
    To none in this life has he given e’en this.
    And can my beauty now be paralleled,
    And is not this my face without compare?
    The world admits that ne’er in time before
    Has such a prize of beauty been revealed;
    I am the beauty that has never like,
    The only fair with whom not one can vie.”
    Thus she extolled herself to honor’s height,
    And made the claim of beauty absolute,
    Then called the Eastern Wind, her messenger,
    And said, “O faithful bearer of my words,
    Assist me in my dire perplexity,
    And lighten up for me the night of doubt.
    Traverse the realms of Syria and Kum,
    And glancing over all the plains you cross,
    (Either in Occident or Orient,
    Where evening darkles, or where morning glows),
    See if in any spot you chance to reach
    Aught fairer you can find in face than me;
    If anywhere there’s beauty like to mine,
    And whether there’s perfection reaching mine.
    Make thou my beauty known to all the world,
    That he who listens may with passion burn.
    Let people of the time be made aware,
    All beauty has been consecrate to me;
    That mortals have not had it as their dower
    In shape so faultless as belongs to me;
    The fair must learn to estimate their charms
    Aright, and know how few they do possess,
    And that I only may true beauty claim;
    The rest are slaves, while I alone am queen.”
    The herald East-Wind, as he heard her word,
    Kissed low the ground before the monarch’s feet.
    “Thou art indeed the only beautiful,
    My Queen, the beautiful, the Queen of Light.
    Who will refuse to say that this is true,
    Excepting him whose sight is lost to him?
    Who to thy beauty’s question answers ‘No’?
    All estimate thy grace as bright and pure,
    And own the whole wide world is filled with light
    From thy great beauty, as from dawn of day.
    I’ll make my circuit through the farthest nook,
    From the bright Orient to the cloudy West.”
    He spoke, and started straightway on his course,
    Blew a loud blast, and travelled with the wind;
    Like to the flocks of birds he shaped his course,
    And saw the beautiful in every place;
    He quickly travelled o’er the land of Kum,
    And soon on Persia’s confines found himself.
    Soon to the realms of India did he cross,
    Next to Manchuria, and to China’s plain.
    And here on beauty’s track he found himself,
    And heard of one called Beauty’s King Supreme.
    Into his presence eagerly he went,
    And, blowing softly, saw him face to face;
    So o’er the whole wide world he passed, and saw
    Naught far or near in beauty like his friend.
    By day and night he traversed hill and dale.
    Now hear what at the last befell to him.




XV

THE EAST WIND FINDS THE NIGHTINGALE, AND THEY DISCUSS THE BEAUTY OF THE
ROSE


    Thus the betrothed of that lorn lover sang,
    In verses such as these his song of pain:
    “There was a wanderer, the slave of want,
    Who had full many a wrong endured of love,
    His bosom had its pain, his heart its rage;
    He was a dervish, cowled like any monk.
    By day he gave full voice to his complaint,
    And in the night-time watched the skies of heaven.
    His sole existence nowadays was love,
    For love alone had claimed him for its slave.
    And in his day of trial was his dust
    In love compacted, and in love absorbed:
    With love his very essence was compounded,
    In love the letter of his life was writ.
    And now without an object in his life,
    He was in love’s consuming fire inflamed.
    At times he sang aloud a song of love,
    While sighs of bitter sorrow tore his breast.
    He sang Ghasele, winsome youth and fair,
    Who drew the souls of many a neophyte
    By his pure mind and by his brilliant charms;
    A noble stripling gay, and soft of heart.
    His voice brought cheerfulness to every heart,
    His music banished sorrow far away,
    And when his flute-like tones swelled out amain,
    In every soul he kindled passion’s fire.
    His breathing tones sent gladness through the land,
    And those who heard him plainly understood.
    In short, he was a tender juvenal,
    In all things ready for some enterprise.
    Though beggared now, forlorn, and sick for love,
    He was a noble in descent and birth,
    Who to the winds his lands and lineage threw,
    And gave himself to melancholy thoughts.
    His coronet and throne capricious spurned,
    And to the power of love surrendered all.
    For he indeed for very love was crazed,
    And as a doting maniac roved the world.
    His talk was nothing but the voice of love,
    And he was named the Wandering Nightingale.
    With rapid foot the East Wind sped his way
    Like a bird messenger o’er all the world;
    And lo! there reached his ear a strain of love,
    In tones of lamentation dolorous.
    Arrested by the song, the East Wind stood,
    Long listening with delight to that refrain;
    For such a _chanson_ made his heart to swell,
    And seemed like summer fragrance in the air.
    Forward he hasted to behold the wight,
    Who was so love-struck, and so woe-begone;
    And said: “Thou art indeed plunged deep in love,
    And from love’s goblet drunken with desire.
    Thy voice infuses passion in the soul,
    Why is it that thou kindlest thus our blood?
    Whence didst thy song its powerful spell obtain,
    That thus it sets on fire the human breast?
    Who art thou, by what name mayst thou be called?
    And from what master didst thou learn thy lay?
    Whence came to thee this chosen lot of thine?
    What inspiration is it makes thy soul?
    What means the ecstasy that rules thy strain,
    And gives thy voice its overmastering charm?
    Thou whom such gifts transcendent glorify,
    How is it thou art fallen thus so low?
    Why do thy brows this mournful cowl disgrace,
    And thou, why art thou seated in the dust?
    Love in thy very countenance is writ,
    And love’s wound plainly has transfixed thy heart.
    Art thou in love? How has thy passion fared?
    Now is the time to tell, so tell me true.”

    Now as these words the Bulbul listened to,
    She roused in Gulgul joy and love’s delight.
    “Thou seest here,” said he, “a mendicant,
    With tearful eyes, that plead to pity’s soul.
    ’Tis love has lessoned me in sorrow’s school,
    But never have I learned what is my name.
    Thou askest me the place from which I come,
    Love is my origin and native land.
    My foot turns backward still to beckoning love;
    ’Tis love inspires and gives me genius;
    For I am one whose mind is crazed by love;
    And in the world I wander lost for love.
    Heedless I hurry by, nor care for rest,
    Yet travel cannot give the balm I crave.
    And often to my love I give full rein,
    Until I am not master of my mind;
    And at the will of love, am driven adrift,
    And therefore ever wait I love’s behest;
    In short, this love pang quite o’ermasters me,
    And takes away from me the power of choice.
    Now I am brainless, footless, purposeless,
    Tossed like a plaything at the whim of Fate.
    I am constrained by love, and driven along
    Hither and thither like an autumn leaf.
    I have no other impulse in my soul,
    Where love and love alone predominates.
    The shame of love is more than honor’s meed
    To me, and more than fortune’s smile.
    The very gloom of love is sweet to me,
    For what were worldly bliss without this flame?
    The hand of pleasure has made smooth and clear
    The mirror of my heart with Love’s own glass.
    Love is no shame, for love is happiness;
    True shame in worldly happiness is found.”

    Soon as the East Wind heard these words of love
    He murmured loudly, thrilled with deep delight.
    Thus spoke he: “O thou, all afflicted one,
    Who from the love pang of thy secret wounds
    Groanest and sighest, like a man in love,
    Tell me where is the lady of thy love?
    Toward whom does thy soul’s intuition turn?
    Who is the Leila that enchains thee thus?
    Who is it that has burdened thee with grief?
    Where is the Schirin that thus plagues Ferhadan?
    Who is the Afra of thine ardent flame?
    Say to what king thou wouldst devote thy blood?
    For whom is it thou sufferest loss of rest?
    And whose compassion dost thou supplicate?
    What light in all the world has fame enough
    To keep thee moth-like hovering in its flame?
    And of what rose art thou the nightingale,
    That thou shouldst be the slave of music’s sound?”
    Thus spoke the warbler: “Gracious are thy words,
    And therefore will I make my chanson plain.
    From the first moment that I was conceived,
    Love with my inmost essence was entwined,
    And in my mother’s womb it came to me
    That love should be my only intellect.
    And that great painter Nature made for me
    The only form of beauty to be love.
    And since my life was in my spirit locked,
    Only by love can I my soul unlock.
    And without hindrance or reserve, so far,
    I have outpoured, unchecked, my song of love.
    Yet know I not for whom I burn, for whom
    By night and day I suffer in this flame.
    However may this flame continuous glow,
    I know not yet how it was kindled first.
    So runs my life; a solitary wight
    I live in ignorance of her I love,
    Of her who lit in me this flaming torch;
    To whom I ever lift this suppliant hand.
    Restless, ah me, these weary sighs I heave,
    Yet do not know the queen for whom I sigh.
    This bitter plight is all the life I know,
    Of all things else I am in ignorance.
    Now tell me, what thy current’s course may be,
    Whence comest thou, and whither dost thou wend?
    What message is it thou art sent upon,
    And who it is thou seekest in this land?
    What is the object of thy wandering search,
    And who thou art, and what thy name may be?
    What was the first beginning of thy life,
    And in what country was thine origin?
    Thou bringest fragrance of the truth sincere,
    And needst must be a creature trustworthy;
    Thy breath gives life to every human soul,
    And in thy fragrance is a human soul.
    The breath of health is certainly thy dower,
    Before it even the dead might come to life.”
    The East Wind to these golden words gave ear,
    Then answered: “Stranger, amiable and good,
    I, in return for all that thou hast told,
    Will tell my story with the strictest faith.
    I also, like Abdallah strenuous,
    Am in the same perplexity with thee.
    I think a child who is with beauty dowered
    As fickle and unstable as the wind;
    It is desire that sends me wandering,
    And yields to me the essence of my life.
    Like to a vortex runs my eddying course;
    And without head or foot I drift away.
    Nor can I stop a while and take repose;
    Desire is all the power to act I know.
    My origin is pleasure and desire,
    Which in the howling desert gave me life.
    And for my outward lot, my happy friend,
    I in a grove of roses have my home.
    And am a servant to the sovereign Rose,
    And wait upon her pleasure constantly,
    My breath refreshment brings to all the flowers,
    And cheers the rose parterre with cheerful light.”
    Then said the Nightingale: “O happy friend,
    Thy breath brings health and purity to me!
    But what is that you call a rose garden?
    And prithee tell me who this princess is?”
    Then said the Wind which fosters life in things:
    “Gladly I tell, and thou shalt joyful hear.
    There stands a place within the realms of Kum.
    ’Tis called the rose parterre, the Rose’s realm;
    There, in a climate genial, this burg
    Is equally renowned with paradise,
    Of paradise with Eden’s beauties blent;
    And flowers, fresh flowers are ever blooming there.
    The waters gleam like springs of paradise;
    The dust is fragrant as the purest musk;
    The watered plain is like the mirror stream
    That flashes over Eden’s happy realm;
    The dust is naught but amber all unpriced;
    This home of healing is a paradise.
    Within ’tis filled with all things beautiful,
    And siren strains incomparable resound.
    Well may it bear the name of paradise,
    For every glade with glowing houris shines.
    The Rose is queen and ruler of the town,
    Which holds the lordship over all the world.
    Unique for beauty is the reigning Rose,
    And her charm beautifies all other worlds.
    She is the princess of things beautiful,
    The moon of beauty in the arch of heaven.
    All spheres celestial lie below her feet
    When she sits throned on cushions of delight.
    Be she by me both praised and idolized,
    Whose sight might lap you into ecstasy!
    The bloom of love gives radiance to her eyes;
    Enchantment fills the meshes of her hair.
    Her brows are beauteous as the crescent moon;
    Her mole is like a glittering star of eve;
    The eye, when angry, like a dragon gleams;
    It draws the dagger against all who love.
    No courage can endure the terror spread
    By the arched brows that overstand her eyes.
    The flash, so soon as it is felt by man,
    Confounds his senses, and defeats his wit.
    Those eyes can rob the very soul of life;
    The whisper of the mouth alone restore it.
    He who their beauty looks upon, declares
    ’Tis God who sends a blessing on this face;
    In short, she only does the ideal show,
    As being the only beauty in the world.
    And I have wandered in a hundred realms,
    And never have I found the match of her.
    For beauty is in her so eminent
    That she is the perfection of the world.
    She is the padishah, the queen of light,
    And as a slave to such a queen I bow;
    I swiftly speed her errand when she bids,
    And flash along my journey like the wind.”

    When Bulbul had these words attentive heard,
    Straight to the earth he groaning fell for grief;
    For in his heart the love-fire had been lit
    And blazed like tapers in a holy place;
    Endurance now was overcome by love;
    He flung himself with cries into the dust.
    His breast was filled with passionate desire,
    And in the pain itself he found delight.
    The dew of ardent passion filled his eye,
    And pangs of love his inmost bosom tore;
    He cried aloud with anguish, sighed, and groaned,
    His eyes were wet with tears unworthy love.
    Then said he to the East Wind anxiously:
    “Why should this sudden flame consume my life?
    What is the arrow that unfeeling fate
    To my bared bosom has this instant shot?
    What is the goblet whose enticing draught
    Has robbed me of my senses while I drank?
    How shall I reason of the dazzling light
    That flutters round my spirit like a moth?
    What is this lightning flash, whose sudden blaze
    Kindles a world of terror in my soul?
    What blast is this that carries me away
    And strikes my very being as it flies?
    What stranger guest is this who comes to me
    And takes away my reason by his word?
    Peace like a bird escapes from out my hand,
    And all my soul in utter ashes lies.
    The old distress has taken the strength of new,
    And yonder beauty overwhelms my heart.”




XVI

THE WITTY EAST WIND COUNSELS THE WANDERING NIGHTINGALE


    The East Wind calmly on the vagrant gazed,
    Whose heart and soul were lit with raging flame,
    And said, “Now tell to me, thou shameless one,
    Where are thy courtesy and manners fled?
    Whence can a beggar claim such dignity,
    That he in love could ask a princess bride?
    What spurs and flogs thee on to such extremes?
    Beware, or thou will lose at last thy wits.
    Compare her loftiness with thy estate;
    What can a beggar want of royalty?
    The Rose is winsome in a thousand ways,
    The Nightingale is but a singer clear;
    Although a thousand times thy love thou sing,
    Hope not the Rose’s fragrant charm to win.
    Whence dost thou gain such fitting dower of worth,
    As makes thee fit to mate the balmy Rose?
    Abandon passion, with its torments sore,
    And shun this emptiness of wild desire.
    For even should’st thou live a thousand years,
    Ne’er wilt thou reach the level of the Rose.
    And though thou cry Gulgul a thousand times,
    Thou never wilt arouse the lady’s heart.
    Refrain, then, further to torment thyself,
    Nor strike on iron cold thine idle blows.”
    Now when the Nightingale had heard these words,
    He burst into a passionate lament;
    And said: “Although I but a dervish be,
    Yet still the wounds that pain my heart are fresh.
    A beggar am I in my outward guise,
    But I am none the less love’s padishah.
    Love makes me independent in the world,
    Such beggary as mine is worth a crown.
    I love the Rose, and shall forever love,
    And a fakir may sometimes love a shah;
    Sense is indeed the guide of sober life,
    But sense is never fostered by true love;
    The lover in his acts is privileged,
    As is the drunkard and the beggar-man.
    He who would moderation value first,
    Can never taste the luxury of love.
    The lover who is shamefaced and reserved
    Can never see the beauty which is coy.
    Until the lover scorns the public blame
    He gains no trust nor kindness from his love.
    Though I have no enjoyment of the Rose,
    ’Tis joy enough for me to speak of her.
    Though no return reward my passion’s pain,
    Yet love itself is fair enough for me,
    And he who knows the harmony of love
    Will think enjoyment less than absence is.
    Who lives in full fruition of his love
    Is always fearing it will fly away;
    He who contentedly has watched its flight
    Is happy hoping it will soon return.
    Absence to me is love and dignity,
    Although fruition be denied my heart.
    I live in agony’s o’erflowing stream
    And love’s fruition willingly renounce.”
    The East Wind saw that it was vain to try
    The ardor of this beggar wight to quench,
    For counsel did not profit him a jot.
    His love kept burning like an aloe-flower,
    And all his words were emphasized by sighs,
    And his heat withered him like foliage parched.
    And so he left him, and pursued his way
    Into the precints of the rose garden;
    There at the ruler’s feet he kissed the ground,
    And said to her, “O righteous queen of light,
    Let it be written with exactest care,
    That above all the Rose is beautiful,
    Though I through many realms have travelled
    I have not found a beauty like to thine.”




XVII

HOW THE LAMENTING NIGHTINGALE COMES TO THE GARDEN OF THE ROSE


    Beset with pain and sorrow of the heart
    And overmastered by a longing keen,
    The Nightingale began to utter loud
    His love forlorn in notes of bitterness;
    An ardent longing throbbed within his throat,
    And he was stabbed by keen misfortune’s thorn.
    Struck by love’s pang, like tree that feels the axe,
    He fell at last inanimate to earth;
    Fainting from wounds of love and pulseless limbs,
    There lay he down as if by absence slain.
    From songs despondent thus his love desponds,
    And pining grown as thin as is a hair.
    At last the truth was wrought into his soul
    That inactivity but adds to ill.
    So up he rose, and in fit garments clad,
    Set out upon his way to see his love.
    Love seemed to spread out pinions for his flight,
    O’er field and hillock bearing him along.
    By the discreet direction of his friend
    He travelled day and night in ardent love.
    He reached the post town of United Hearts;
    Thence straight he travelled to the rose garden.
    And now at last arrived at Gulistan,
    There breathed on him the fragrance of his love.
    And on the outside of the garden fence
    There came a friend who waited sedulous,
    A traveller, who without an hour’s delay
    Was hurrying from this garden to the sea.
    The stainless Brook, whose spirit shone in light,
    The pilgrim wandering to see the world.
    Straight from the garden of the Rose he came,
    His bosom clad in spotless fluttering folds,
    And when the Nightingale beheld him come,
    With eager greeting he drew near to him.
    The Brook a low obeisance made to him,
    And scanned the new-comer with eager eye.
    He saw it was a beggar stood before him,
    A beggar sick and all distraught with woe.
    ’Twas love had brought him to that low estate
    And he was branded on the brow by love,
    Then said the Brook, “O thou by love distraught,
    And bowed to earth by love and suffering,
    Why wearest thou this lorn and lifeless air?
    Does now no heart’s blood warm thy inmost veins?
    Who branded this love-token on thy face?
    Who is it laid on thee the name of love?
    Where is the Mecca of thy heart’s desire,
    Which claims thee and demands thee for itself?
    And what has made thee drunken by its draught?
    What cedar with its shadow blighted thee?”

    The Nightingale replied: “O kindly one,
    See what I am, and do not question me.
    I am enamored of a pictured face;
    And there are many thousands such as I;
    I am a beggar, and my love a queen.
    I am all destitute, but she is rich;
    She is with beauty radiant as the sun,
    And I am duskier than a sunbeam’s mote.
    In beauty’s garden does she bloom a Rose,
    And I am naught but the poor Nightingale.
    I by no name am known, but she speaks out,
    And by her very graces names herself.”

    So spoke the Nightingale, and down he fell,
    With dolorous cries of grief and notes of woe.
    Then he began a song of love forlorn,
    With trills and runs of a many a circling tone.
    “And love,” he said, “intoxicates my sense,
    Through ardent longing for that ruby mouth.
    The lightning flash of love that struck my heart,
    Laid ruin in the chambers of my breast.
    The heart’s endurance can no longer stand,
    It has been worn away by pangs of love.
    For love to ashes has reduced my life;
    Love only leaves to me the power of song;
    And love has filled my inmost heart with fire,
    ’Tis love that draws the sweat-drops of the heart,
    For love has banished me from house and home;
    My soul in sickness languishes through love.
    And love has wearied out my tuneful throat;
    The secrets of my soul hath love betrayed.
    The torch of love has fallen upon my heart,
    My soul is set on fire by force of love;
    For love has taken my heart to be its friend;
    But like a halter is this love to me.
    I am become a laughing-stock through Love,
    And love has set my name among the fools.”

    Now as these accents by his friend were heard,
    His heart with tender sympathy was touched.
    His heart with generous indignation burned,
    And to the pain of fierce desire he woke.
    He said: “Poor wretch, inebriate of love,
    Afflict thyself no more, for God is kind.
    For happier fortune has he destined thee,
    For it was he who gave thy love her charm;
    Thy breath of music penetrates my soul,
    And I will straight conduct thee to the Rose.
    Gaze once upon her beauty e’er thou die;
    And in her joys thine ardent passion breathe.”

    The Nightingale was gladdened by these words
    And joy that moment lighted up his mind,
    “O sir,” he said, “is this but sleep and dream?
    The fragrance of fruition hits my sense.
    Thou who has given me bliss, be happy thou,
    And fortunate in either universe.
    Thou who dost help me to my dearest wish,
    May all thy purpose lead to happiness.
    The best loved news dost thou convey to me;
    For guerdon, thou may’st take my very soul.
    I give to thee my soul, I give my life,
    O bring me to the jewel of my love.”

    He answered: “Patience and not haste be ours;
    And often in delay is safety found.
    Thou, dervish, must restrain thyself a while,
    For overhaste is slower in despatch.
    I bring thee to the bower of loveliness,
    To Cypress, who is porter of the gate.
    I hope by such expedient that the Rose
    May entertain thee as a man of truth.”

    So spoke to him the friend of purity
    And showed him where the Rose’s meadow lay;
    The Nightingale his footsteps followed fast
    Until they reached the garden of the Rose.




XVIII

HOW THE NIGHTINGALE ENTERED THE ROSE GARDEN THROUGH THE KINDLY OFFICES
OF THE CYPRESS


    He saw a lofty building fair bedight
    Like the green castle of the firmament,
    A castle emerald-bright in radiance.
    It twinkled like a marshalled host in arms;
    Pure was the water, earth was sweet as musk.
    An air of sanctity and plenty reigned.
    Whoever came to this from Edentown
    Might think his resting-place was paradise.
    How could it fail to be a paradise
    For him who hoped to find his love therein?
    When the sad Nightingale beheld the place
    Breathless and lost in wonder did he stand.
    Above him was the arch of azure sky,
    And at his feet the lovely river ran.
    Then said the river: “Take good heed, and see
    Thou give some respite to thy burning heart;
    Meanwhile I stand me here, and as a man
    I introduce thee to the portal’s guard.”

    This said, he greeting to the Cypress sent.
    Right quick the Cypress was his word to heed.
    Low in the dust his countenance he laid
    And with his tears bedewed the thirsty ground.

    He said: “O Cypress, loftiest of mien,
    Thou sittest at the footstool of the great,
    I have a courteous word to speak to thee.
    Open thy lips to me, I beg of thee;
    For if thou lend me for a while thine ear,
    I know my prayer at once will be fulfilled.
    Here with a stranger destitute I come,
    To show how the road lay to this place.
    He is a man both kind and dutiful,
    Of purest disposition and intent;
    A dervish, and a man of loving heart.
    But he is lorn and sick from pangs of love,
    In outward guise he seems like a fakir,
    But in the realm of science he is prince.
    A genial friend, a comrade tender-hearted,
    Of blameless mind and sympathetic soul,
    A poet full of spiritual light
    Is he, and in imagination young.”




XIX

HOW THE WANDERING NIGHTINGALE ALONE IN THE NIGHT ABIDES WITH HIS SIGHS
AND WEEPING TILL MORNING


    ’Twas night, when in the azure sky above
    The stars as sleeping closed their sparkling eyes,
    When friends and foes alike in slumber lay,
    Yet, at the music of the Nightingale,
    Awoke, for Bulbul then all sleepless sate
    And uttered to the world his dolorous chant,
    While thinking on the beauty of the Rose.
    For vivid passion wakened in his heart,
    And with his sad and melancholy voice
    He ’gan to mourn above his well-beloved.
    And thinking on his melancholy plight,
    And on his desolation all forlorn,
    He thus began his sad and mournful lay:
    “O queen who dwellest in a careless realm,
    O thou who art the moon of beauty’s heaven,
    Half of all beauty’s bloom belongs to thee;
    Thou the Rose-bloom of beauty’s paradise,
    Oh, listen to the message that I bring,
    As I begin to utter my lament.
    For love of thee I sicken to my death;
    And all my understanding fails in me;
    Some secret pang my patience has destroyed,
    I am distraught in this fair world of thine,
    My fettered heart is struggling in a snare,
    And all my soul is manacled in woe.
    And through the dolor of my dazzled sight,
    I am as faint as is the new-born moon.
    Some power, as in the chase, my spirit hunts;
    E’en now the gleaming knife is at my heart.
    For, oh! the beauty of thy cheek has cast
    Fire in the dreary dwelling of my mind;
    And all the perilous lustre of thine eye,
    Like a sharp sword, is levelled against me.
    My suffering has cleft my heart in twain,
    And in dire desolation ruined me.
    I melt to nothing in the grief of love,
    And plunge deep buried in a flood of woe;
    For I am overcome with passion’s wound,
    My inmost being heaves in pain and blood;
    I am consumed, and absence tortures me.
    And like a mote I hover in desire.
    My love pain burns me like a heated iron,
    My eye is like a beaker filled with wine;
    Oh, help me, for endurance can no more;
    Oh, spare me further buffets of disdain.
    My strength is all unequal to this load,
    And all my feebleness is free from guilt.
    O slender Rose, and wilt thou that thy bird
    Should still descant of absence and neglect
    With thorn-pierced bosom ever hid from thee?
    Now beauty in the lightest slumber lies,
    And deeper sorrow checks my prayers to thee.
    O Rose, beware thou of the gale of sighs,
    For, like the morning wind, it mars the Rose.
    On this distracted heart some pity take,
    Be merciful and heal me of my pain.”
    So sang the silver-throated nightingale,
    So sang he, with his soul aflame in love.
    But there was naught that noted or allayed
    His pain, and tears were still his sole relief.
    No one gave heed to his sad cantilene,
    And no one knew the meaning of his woe.
    To him the world in utter darkness lay,
    He was encompassed by a trackless maze,
    On one side were the shadows of the night,
    And on the other was the force of fate.
    The world in dreariness and sorrow lay,
    The very stars were dimmed in slumber deep,
    And darkness would not yield before the light,
    And not a sign of morn was on the hills.
    And long and lonesome were those darkling hours
    Of agony, while refuge there was none.




XX

THE SLEEPLESS NIGHTINGALE IS TORMENTED IN THE DARK NIGHT, AND MOURNS
ALOUD


    While he was thus oppressed with many a woe,
    Thus he addressed his _chanson_ to the night:
    “What means, O night, this dark and murkiness,
    Which so torments with terror every soul?
    Is it from absence from the loved one come,
    That now the moon withholds her welcome beam?
    Is all the radiance of the sunlight quenched?
    And all the circling Pleiads put to flight?
    Has my lament extinguished Saturn’s ray,
    So that his rings no longer flash their beams?
    Has Jupiter his happy seat forsaken
    Because of the unhappiness of earth?
    Is it that Mars has fallen by the sword,
    That therefore all the heavens are clothed in black?
    Why does the sun refuse to show his face?
    Is he, the fount of light, to darkness turned?
    Has Anahid, in hopeless apathy,
    Flung to the ground her lute of poesy?
    Is Mercury, heaven’s letter-writer, grown
    Black as the ink that dries upon his pen?
    Why does the world this face of darkness wear?
    Is it that my lament has brought it gloom?
    Why is it morning fails to show itself?
    Surely my _chanson_ has not held it back.
    Why is the night so slow in its advance?
    Is it that day brings absence from my love?
    Surely the day of resurrection dawns,
    When all the stars fall down upon the earth!
    Who has thus closed the window of the moon?
    And broken the golden lampstand of the sun?
    Is it the operation of my sighs
    That tinges all the earth with dismal hues?
    And has the dart of light forsaken heaven?
    And does the sky wear mourning for my woe?
    The constellated eagle stops his flight.
    Or has he flitted to the realms of gloom?
    Has Vega fallen, with a broken heart,
    Down from her pinnacle of happiness?”
    When he had uttered loud this lone complaint,
    He with his spirit thus soliloquized:
    “Why is it that the ruler of the world
    Has set me in this valley of distress?
    For neither to my mother nor my sire
    Have I been aught but minister of pain.
    Oh, better were it I had ne’er been born,
    And all my blood had flowed away like milk!
    So that, before I closed my eyes in sleep,
    Death’s sword had doomed me to forgetfulness.
    Or while I yet in cradle bands reposed,
    My life had early passed away from me.
    Oh, that the mother’s milk that wet my lips
    Had turned to poison in that very hour!
    Oh, that an arrow swift had struck my heart,
    And parted at a stroke the thread of life!
    Oh, that some poison-fanged and treacherous snake
    Had bitten me to death upon my bed!
    Oh, that some vulture fierce had carried me
    To its lone eyrie in the heights of Kaf!
    And when the soft hand of a mother dear
    Arrayed her infant in the richest robes,
    Oh, that some sturdy robber of the road,
    For love of all my gold and finery,
    Had without pity drawn his rapier keen
    And from my shoulders struck my head to earth!
    Why does the world refrain from setting me,
    As its great foe, ’mid perils and mishaps?
    Why is it this calamity of woe
    Has failed to cleave my bosom unawares?”
    As thus he sang aloud his dolorous lay,
    The moon came out upon the clearing sky,
    And when he looked on heaven’s expanded field,
    Thus he addressed the goddess of the night.




XXI

THE NIGHTINGALE IN HIS AMOROUS PAIN ANXIOUSLY ADDRESSES THE RADIANT MOON


    He sang in agony, “O radiant moon,
    That fillest all the welkin with thy light,
    Dost thou in some bright sun thy mansion find,
    Whence thou derivest thine enraptured beam?
    And hast thou thence a borrowed splendor gained,
    With which to fill the world thou gazest on?
    The darkness that is dense and hideous
    Turns at thy coming into splendor clear.
    Leave me not comfortless this whole night long,
    But guide me to my darling’s wakeful bower.
    To me, a wanderer on the rough highway,
    Be guide and leader on a path direct.
    And, when thou movest in thine orbit blest,
    Let thy light flow like some enchanting lay.
    Thou art indeed the glowing sun of night,
    Flinging o’er heaven the light flecks of thy face.
    Oh, cast thy radiance on this friend of thine,
    Who wanders with no sunshine in his life.
    Be to the poor, who consolation need,
    The balm for every wound ’neath which they faint.
    One glance of thine has power to dissipate
    The fevered pangs of sufferance in the poor.
    Needy and friendless and of all forlorn,
    Fit object he of thy consoling aid.
    And since his sorrows are beyond compare,
    And with no changing breath he bears thee love,
    And since his love to thee is reckoned crime,
    Do thou absolve him of his guiltiness.
    For if thou turn thee from a beggar’s path,
    Before the people thou shalt blush with shame.
    When men rebuke him, and blot out his name,
    Or make his name forgotten by his kind,
    If thou at last become averse to him,
    There is no hope of pity for his soul.”
    While the poor lover thus his mourning made,
    The welkin sparkled with the glance of day.




XXII

THE LOVESICK NIGHTINGALE ACCOSTS THE RISEN MORNING IN A CLEAR AND
FITTING MANNER


    “O light of morn, that beautifies the world,
    By force of truth and of sincerity,
    Thy heart is lit by the pure light of truth,
    And open to the world as day itself.
    Let thy pure joy illuminate my heart,
    Make thyself known to yonder moon of heaven;
    ’Tis she that sheds her rays upon this world,
    When thou hast flashed thy beams upon her disk;
    Oh, tear away this veil of gloom from me,
    And call to me the mistress of my heart.
    Say to her: ‘Sore is yonder poor man’s heart;
    He journeys o’er the world with silent lips.
    To this poor wanderer in the way of love
    Must thou show pity and compassion due,
    For want has torn the mantle from his back,
    And love has laid him prostrate on the earth.
    He sees before him nothing but the grave,
    And never turns his glance aside from it.
    Oh, do not tread the helpless in the dust,
    Dam up the flood of wrath that threatens him!
    When this poor man the needed morsel wants,
    The beggar still can boast a wallet full.
    He has nor wealth nor influence, my queen,
    Yet lacks he not accomplishment, my queen;
    And gold and silver failing, ’tis enough
    To see thy tears and sympathetic glance.
    Be gentle, then, to this accomplished man,
    And give assistance to a bard inspired.
    The prince who acts with kindness to the poor
    Proves by his deeds his loving gentleness.’”
    While in this wise the nightingale discoursed,
    The sun stood beaming in the arch of heaven,
    And as he marked it, from the moon he turned
    And fixed his contemplation on the sun.




XXIII

THE DESPONDING NIGHTINGALE ADDRESSES THE WORLD-ADORNING SUN, WHILE HIS
INMOST HEART GLOWS WITH ARDENT DESIRE


    He said: “O lord of light in heaven above,
    Thou art the lightener of the angel realm,
    Thy lustre fills with radiance all the world,
    And reaches to the garden of the Rose.
    ’Tis by thy diligence that all things are,
    And are from elemental atoms formed.
    Thou art the eye and lamp of all the world,
    Light to men’s sight, and lustre to the stars.
    Unless the moon derived her light from thee,
    She were in darkness to the judgment day;
    And but that thou dost gaze upon the morn,
    The gloom of night would never leave the east.
    Thou art indeed the morning gate of love,
    Spreading thy light in footprints of the morn;
    Oh, let my ardent passion shine on her,
    And fall with suppliant words before her gate.
    Go humbly to the place where she abides,
    And fling thyself before her fairy feet.
    Oh, speak to yonder moon about my love,
    And say to her, Fair regent of the heavens,
    For thy great beauty lies thy lover low,
    And like a shadow trodden in the dust.
    For him there is no daylight in the world,
    So sorely absence keeps him prisoner.
    The night of absence wounds him to the quick,
    Oh, give him but a glimpse of thy fair face.
    Oh, change the loneliness of one long night
    For the delightsomeness of cheerful day.
    Let him, who is with passion deep consumed,
    Look with his longing eye upon his love.
    This wretched one is prisoner of thine,
    Have pity on the wandering devotee.
    Suffering and despite is his only wealth,
    And he is despicable all for thee.
    He stands unnoticed in the world’s wide house,
    Stretch out thy hand to welcome the despised;
    The window-sill and threshold of thy house,
    Shall then his Sacred Stone and Mecca be.
    He watches through the night till morn arise,
    And speaks aloud thy name in his distress.
    Early and late he thinks alone of thee;
    Early and late his heart is set on thee.
    His prayers he utters in thine ear alone,
    He turns to thee alone his anxious eye.
    Thou art his creed, all others he forswears;
    Thou art the sect and ritual that he loves.
    The creed that he professes is thy love.
    Offend not, then, the Mussulman’s belief.
    Grant, queen, the prayer of thy fond devotee,
    O Queen, propitious be to his desire.”
    ’Twas thus he spake aloud his inmost thought,
    But vain was all his pleading and his pain.
    And so he turned him from the sun and moon,
    Like Abraham, and made appeal to God.




XXIV

THE NIGHTINGALE, IN HIS DISTRESS, TURNS FROM SUN AND MOON AND ADDRESSES
A PRAYER TO GOD


    He turned to the Creator with his prayer
    Of pain, to Wisdom and Omniscience,
    And cried: “O God, who art the Lord of all,
    Who easest sorrow, and who hearest prayer,
    Thou knowest the hidden secrets of the world,
    For thou art Ruler both of heaven and earth.
    Thou knowest well the plight in which I lie;
    And that my burden ever greater grows;
    No human mind can tell what I have borne,
    How I am bowed beneath a load of shame;
    How I have been the slave of luckless woe,
    And have succumbed to the sharp stroke of grief.
    I burn in passion’s longing and distress,
    But thy grace reigns in blest tranquillity;
    I cannot ope my heart to anyone,
    For utterance crushes me, and wearies me;
    For I am friendless in a stranger’s house,
    Hopeless in absence from my well-beloved.
    Nothing is constant to me, saving grief
    And obloquy. Was ever such a lot?
    And no one sorrows over my distress,
    My eye alone distils these pearly tears;
    No friend is partner of my obloquy,
    My gloom of sighs involves myself alone.
    No one has sympathy with my dread lot,
    Nor heeds the wounds upon my bleeding breast.
    If I should die, there would no mourners be,
    Excepting this impassioned heart of mine.
    I tread the valley of astonishment,
    O God, when shall I reach the house of joy?
    Oh, by this heart, that runs to thee for help,
    By the deep sighs that burn me as they rise,
    By the loud beatings of my whispering heart,
    By the belovèd Rose in which I trust,
    By all the beauty of some distant scene,
    By all the rapture of heroic love,
    By the high honor of my well-beloved,
    By the lorn lot of him who loveth her,
    By the black weeds that my devotion speak,
    And by the tears that fill my eyes like blood,
    By the misfortune and the wrath I feel,
    By him who separates me from my love,
    Yea, by the honeyed sweetness of her lips,
    And by my own sincerity of soul,
    By the unhappiness of him who loves,
    And by his unstained rectitude of heart,
    By that which to the lover causes woe,
    And by the night-long pain in which he pines,
    By all the light that glorifies the moon,
    By all the radiance of this world of ours,
    By daylight and the pomp of noonday suns,
    By the thick darkness of the midnight hour,
    By earth below, and by the heavens above,
    And by the hustling crowd on judgment day,
    By Adam’s early days of innocence,
    By him who is the lord of purity,
    By Seth, by Noah, and by Abraham,
    By Gabriel, who brought the message down,
    By Moses, who as prince and preacher spoke,
    By Jesus and the light that Mary shed,
    By all the love that great Mahomet won,
    By his forbearance and his majesty,
    By his young people and his dwelling-place,
    By his great might that nothing could subdue:
    By the prevailing virtue of God’s name
    And by his nature’s unity divine,
    Consume me not with separation’s flame,
    Give me enjoyment’s happiness supreme;
    Oh, softly warm her frozen heart for me,
    And soften it with gentlest influence;
    Pour out thy balm of pity in her heart,
    That so my pain at last may be allayed.”




XXV

THE BEAUTEOUS ROSE HEARS THE VOICE OF THE NIGHTINGALE, AND WHILE SHE
FEELS AN INWARD DELIGHT IN IT, SHE PUTS ON AN AIR OF RESERVE AND DISDAIN


    And while the Nightingale his lay prolongs,
    And offers up his orisons to God,
    The Rose in slumber suddenly perceived
    A wondrous strain of music in the air;
    Upon her listening ear there stole a strain
    Which gave the joy of passion to her heart.
    And as she heard the amorous Nightingale
    She asked: “What sound of music do I hear?
    How does the spirit of life pervade the song!
    Who is it that is uttering the lay?
    Ah, what a songster, a musician, he!
    A songster and a hierophant in one.
    Has Venus come from heaven to visit us,
    And pour such floods of melody on earth?”
    And then that she might hear the truth aright,
    She called Narcissus to investigate.
    And soon as he appeared at her behest,
    She said, “O thou, our circle’s watchful eye,
    I heard but now a burst of music rare.
    Who is it that can boast such gift of song?
    The soul so fondly feeds upon that sound,
    That it is rapt in utter ecstasy.
    Go forth and seek and hither bring me word,
    What craftsman is it that so sweetly sings?
    Did he descend from heaven, like the dew?
    Or did he spring, like tulip, from the mead?
    Go, question make, and learn whence came the sound,
    And what the singer’s name and place of birth.
    Dear friend, inquiries strict and searching make,
    And bring to me the answer that you find.”
    Then said Narcissus: “’Tis with vast delight,
    I go to learn what you have asked of me;
    So soon as I his countenance behold
    I shall his character at once discern.”
    So at that very hour Narcissus went,
    To fetch her information of the bird.
    He found at last the outcast miserable,
    That with the Cypress tree stood hand in hand,
    And night and day his dolorous chanson poured,
    And told his ardent passion to the world.
    He questioned graciously the Cypress tree,
    And learned the true condition of the bird.
    He learned the Nightingale was amorous,
    And deeply troubled with the pang of love.
    And to the Rose returning, told her all--
    His name, and in what mournful plight he lay.
    He was a wretch, he said, of reason reft,
    Consumed forever with the flame of love.
    An exile, whom his passion had inspired
    To rove in distant land from shore to shore.
    He now had come at last upon his way
    To lay his heart submissive at her feet.
    A creature full of virtuous qualities,
    And all accomplished in the tuneful art.
    Soon as the Rose had heard this narrative,
    Her heart was filled with secret joyfulness.
    And as her beauty kindled with desire,
    Her gracious charm was clouded o’er with wrath.
    Then spoke she: “Wherefore hies the beggar here?
    He stuns my ear with his unchecked lament.
    When will this shameless arrogance have end,
    Which clamors like a tocsin through the night?
    What will his daring lead him next to do?
    Perchance he wishes to abide with us.
    What is the cause for all this loud lament?
    Who is it with a sword thrust draws his blood?
    What bird does this poor wanderer call himself?
    I do not know the language that he speaks.
    His rhapsody but stuns my ear with pain,
    And yet the song he sings is kind to me.
    What does the bird of evil fortune here?
    There is no room with us for such a fowl.
    Who is the shameless beggar that is come
    To take at night a post so near the queen?
    Since he arrived among us with his din
    My head is giddy and my sense is gone.
    He hinders me from slumber all the night,
    Now tell me how this clamor to chastise.
    Why does he call upon me day and night,
    Reckons he not his passion’s hopelessness?
    Surely this fool and beggar does not hope
    In the rose garden to approach the Rose?
    Love has not paled his cheek; unheated iron
    Is not more dark than are those cheeks of his.
    Bid him begone, and leave our flowery home,
    Nor hope to cast his amorous eyes on me.
    Bid him o’ercome this passionate desire,
    No further sing in vain his tale of love.
    The wanderer may not in his mood presume
    To approach from far the empress of the world.”




XXVI

THE PRUDENT NARCISSUS REMONSTRATES WITH THE GARRULOUS NIGHTINGALE


    As the world’s bride these words of anger spake,
    Narcissus went the Bulbul to rebuke,
    And said: “What means this elegy of woe?
    How is it thou hast fallen on lot so black?
    What wit, what manners, canst thou boast to have
    Who weepest in this paradise of heaven?
    Thou, in the lap of misery born and bred,
    Has added shamelessness to suffering.
    Thy utterances have wakened up the flowers,
    And robbed of sleep the eyelids of our queen.
    How is it fitting that a beggar-man,
    Should join a princess in delight of love?
    Our Princess Rose is from her chamber come,
    And filled with mighty anger at thy words.
    She says: ‘The varlet must bethink himself,
    And ne’er again so boldly speak my name.
    He has his secret to the world proclaimed,
    And made my name a byword among men.
    My name, through him, all babbling tongues shall speak,
    Who makes me figure as his night-long prize:
    Now let him check the clamor of his song,
    Or I will meet him with avenging wrath.
    Let him consort with those who share his lot,
    Else will my anger fall upon his head.
    My name no longer on his lips be found,
    And from his memory let my image fade.
    For now he is arousing naught but wrath,
    And evil will befall him at the last.’”
    ’Twas thus Narcissus freely spoke to him
    And with a sigh the Nightingale replied;
    And, while he dared no longer sing aloud,
    His silent sighs were rising in his heart.
    He sickened under separation’s pang,
    He stood aghast, amazed, and faint in heart;
    And now Narcissus backward took his way,
    And left him lying like a lifeless clod.
    His heart was raging with a furious heat,
    Wrapt in the flaming whirlpool of its pangs.
    The pain of separation made him dumb;
    And all unconscious to the ground he fell;
    Long time he lay as he were drunk with wine,
    As if his love were quenched in longings vain.
    At last his senses came again to him,
    As he looked forth, his eyes were drowned in tears.
    He then resolves he will renew his lay,
    If only he be equal to the task.
    So all the day in solitude he sighs,
    And patiently endures his hapless plight.
    Yet keeps he silent and no longer sings,
    And no man knows the suffering he endured.




XXVII

THE EAST WIND MEETS THE WANDERING NIGHTINGALE AND BRINGS HIM TIDINGS
FROM THE TENDER ROSE


    One balmy morning when the night had fled
    And made surrender to the light of day,
    When buds had oped their eyelids once again,
    And nodded in the wind o’er all the earth,
    The Nightingale in utter misery sat,
    A wretched outcast in a cheerless world.
    His song had but increased his pang of woe,
    And now his silence tortured him the more.
    And suddenly the East Wind comes to him,
    The East Wind, nourisher of nature’s life;
    As his eyes fell upon the Nightingale,
    Within his mind a pang of pity smote,
    And hand in hand with him the Cypress moved.
    He found no balm to heal the bird of woe.
    The bird, deep stabbed by separation’s blade,
    For his friend’s fate he could not find escape.
    Nor would he trample on the pining wretch,
    Whose life seemed feeble as a fleeting shade.
    Then came he near and gracious greeted him,
    The bird made answer with a burst of sighs.
    “Welcome, good sir,” the East Wind said to him,
    “What breeze has brought thee to a haven here?
    Why is it that thou pinest thus in song?
    Does absence from thy loved one cause thy woe?
    How wasted and how lean thy countenance!
    Thou art forespent by all thy sufferings;
    Thine eyes are swimming in the tears of grief,
    Thy heart is bleeding from its passion’s pain.
    What can have thus disturbed thy being’s depth?
    Thank God, that thou art now before a friend!
    Thou in the Rose’s palace dwellest now,
    Why art thou not as happy as the Rose?
    Since thou art not defrauded of thy hope,
    Good fortune surely must have smiled on thee.
    Here thou art dwelling in a lonesome realm,
    Why shouldst thou manifest such grief and woe?
    What pleasure canst thou find in dolorous song,
    Oh, say, poor wretch, what pleasure canst thou find?”
    The lean-faced bird made answer with a sigh,
    And said: “O friend, companion of my grief,
    Though in the rose garden I now abide,
    I am no less a singer of laments.
    For still the door that leads to her I love
    Is shut upon me, as thou well canst see.
    Still like a pilgrim I am stranger here,
    And still my Mecca’s light is closed to me.
    The knife of grief is fixed within my breast,
    And absence from my love has laid me low;
    Absence has robbed me of the food of life,
    Absence has cast a gloom o’er my delight.
    Still in a friend I see nor trust nor stay,
    And a friend’s presence still new torture gives.
    Though outwardly I am in good estate,
    Still am I distant from my dear delight.
    I cannot yet enjoy my best beloved,
    And patient resolution fails in me.
    I see no sunlight in whose rays to trust;
    But myriad griefs and sorrows meet my gaze.
    O’er my distress all human pity sleeps
    And my great heap of anguish mounts to heaven.
    And no one pleads my cause before my love,
    That she should show compassion on my plight.
    Thus by my ardent passion worn away,
    By night and day I linger in distress.
    Oh, if that graceful creature knew of me,
    She would show less of cruelty to me.
    Then Pity’s face would stand before her eyes,
    She would not sacrifice my life to pain.
    Oh, help me, thou who art my only hope,
    Take by the hand and guide the fallen one;
    Tell her how fares this miserable wight
    And make me pledged to show thee gratitude.
    Oh, give her knowledge of my pining pangs,
    And of the many sufferings I endure,
    Let fires of ardent longing warm thy tongue,
    So that her heart be filled with ruth for me.”




XXVIII

THE SOUL-NURTURING EAST WIND TAKES KNOWLEDGE OF THE NIGHTINGALE AND SEES
TRACES OF PITY IN THE BEAUTEOUS ROSE


    Then said the East Wind that gives courage new:
    “Torment thyself no more, unhappy one,
    Thy sadness and thy mourning pierce my heart;
    And I am messenger from yonder queen;
    I will refuse thee nothing in my power,
    And I will work for thee with all my might.
    I will thy sufferings relate to her,
    And bear her message how it fares with thee.
    The lofty dame must take some note of thee;
    I will support thy cause as I have strength.
    Perchance my word will influence her mind
    And cause her to compassionate thy lot.
    Take courage!” So he spake and forth he went,
    Repairing to the palace of the Rose.
    Right eagerly he hastened to the Rose
    And threw himself before her on the ground.
    And said: “O lofty sun of loveliness,
    O moon, O heaven o’erflowing with delights,
    May God thy gracious beauty still increase,
    And give fulfilment to thy every wish!
    May he thy honor never bring to blight,
    And with full many a year thy life prolong!
    A stranger poor, no traitor, but true man,
    A suitor in the passion of his mind,
    Is come to thee as if he were thy slave,
    For he has fallen deep in love with thee;
    The breath of love which burns him to the heart
    For him life’s goblet sweet with poison taints.
    He is thy very slave in heart and soul,
    Devoted to thee through all pain and want;
    In thy disdain he finds his sustenance,
    And in the pain thou givest his delight.
    He mourns night long complaining to the world,
    How he is tortured by his love for thee,
    Helpless by day, enfeebled, and unnerved,
    He passes drunk with grief, through town and plain;
    The hand of love represses now his song,
    The bolt of sorrow now has laid him low.
    From song to song he speeds along in love,
    Weak as the new moon in the light of day,
    He loves thy pity and thy graciousness,
    Still freshly hurrying on the path of love.
    Oh, that thou wouldst, bright sun of loveliness,
    Show to him all the glories of thy grace!
    Since only smile of thine can make him rich,
    And cause the beggar-man to reign a king.
    Does the tall cedar droop from weariness,
    From shadowing the soil beneath it spread?
    And must the sun with lessened radiance beam,
    From shining in the beggar’s lowly hut?
    Does loftiness its dignity forego
    When Solomon converses with a fool?
    The watery stream that vivifies the world
    Is ever in its current downward turned.
    Think pitifully on his valiant life,
    Whose spirit ever was to goodness given.
    Now is the poor down stricken to the earth,
    Oh, let him find his rescuer in thee!”
    The Rose replied, when she had heard his speech,
    “Go to this beggar-man, this tempest tost
    And tell him, since he loves so ardently,
    And swears himself so ardently my slave,
    My grace he must a little longer wait
    And patient in his constancy abide.
    Suffer he must till healing be in train,
    For love to any man is smart enough.
    Love is by absence ofttimes perfected;
    And ofttimes by fruition brought to naught.
    He who would end the sufferance of love
    Must first the rule of selfishness forswear.
    The lover has no will to please himself;
    His will he yields in all to the beloved.
    And if the well-beloved for absence wish,
    How can he in fruition’s flame be warmed?
    And if she wishes to remain far off,
    How is this possible if he be near?
    When he who loves puts pleasure before all,
    His beauteous flame desires him to depart.
    Can anyone whose love is pure and high
    For any time abide at peace in it
    While he is thinking only of himself
    And hurts his well-beloved through selfishness,
    So that if he but graze her sandal’s tip
    She in hot anger turns away from him?
    For wounds are but the ornaments of love,
    And all the rest is passion dissolute.”
    Hearing these words, the morning wind in haste
    Departed to the Nightingale, who mourned.
    For when he heard the message of the Rose
    His self-control and understanding fled.
    Straight he began to cry aloud for grief,
    And beat the bushes of the rose garden.
    Sad song and sighing in his bosom raged,
    As passion in the glades of Gulistan.
    The day and night were all the same to him,
    For in love’s frenzy lay he night and day.




XXIX

DESCRIPTION OF THE MORNING AND OF THE COLLOQUY OF THE LOVELY ROSE WITH
HER NOBLES AND CHIEF MEN


    Upon a morning when the rising sun
    His jewelled cup had taken in his hand,
    And heaven’s arch shone with passionate desire,
    And dawn was like the glow of ruddy wine,
    And morning, sipping at the golden cup,
    Like to some wild disordered reveller seemed,
    The Rose, who saw the temper of the day,
    That morning was a bright and lovely thing,
    And all the landscape round with passion burned,
    And morning’s glory seemed with dalliance gay,
    Felt a desire within her flowery grove
    For high enjoyment in a merry feast.
    Therefore she order gave that on the lawn
    A throne of verdure should be raised for her,
    And that the sweet and placid morning dew
    Should fill the Tulip’s goblet with her wine.
    The dwellers in the grove acceptance gave
    And hastened to obey the queen’s command.
    And in accordance with her high behest,
    The flame of revelry was kindled round.
    The Rose herself presided o’er the rout,
    And at her feet the faithful Cypress stood,
    And all the guests regaled themselves on dew,
    And Tulip lackeys filled each crystal bowl.
    And as Narcissus took the goblet up
    A wave of ardent longing swept the throng.
    The Hyacinth unbound her waving hair,
    The Musk breathed out her tribute to the feast.
    The lilies laughed and out they thrust their tongues,
    Waking the feast with silvery melody.
    Dumb with astonishment at such a scene,
    The wry-necked violets stood and blinked their eyes.
    The mad Brook hurried by the surging crowd,
    With shouts re-echoing the noisy rout,
    And gushing forth with impulse of desire
    The joy that in his bosom overflowed.
    The Wind blew blandly like a breath from God,
    And never stopped upon its restless course.
    His touch was like caresses of desire,
    His murmur an enchantment of delight,
    So at full flood the tide voluptuous flowed,
    The revel’s din was echoed through the world.
    They drank full beakers of delight that day,
    And hugging tipplers crowded all the glade.
    The flowers drank all that nectar amorous,
    And with rent garments lay inebriate.
    The tulips seized the wineglass every one,
    Voluptuous ecstasy their bosoms filled.
    The Cypress, by the fumes of wind inflamed,
    Begin to dance and sport in dalliance gay,
    Not even the wind could tell which way he ran,
    For now his murmuring tongue with drink was dumb.
    Two draughts the violet at the beaker took,
    Then bowed his head in drowsy slumber lost--
    The rose garden was all in ruin laid,
    And on their swords the lilies threw themselves.
    The Nightingale, as fitted lover true,
    A stranger feeble, a tormented one,
    Is wholly sunk in amorous desire;
    And drunken with the very wine of love,
    As from the thicket he beheld the feast,
    Like wine his tears of bitter anguish flowed.
    Tears were his wine, his eyes the goblet bright,
    His sorrow’s song the reed-pipe of the dance,
    And all the while he gave himself to grief,
    Turning aside from such strange festival.
    Then he began to sigh and make lament
    And utter all his sorrows to the world.
    His very form was fashioned like a lute,
    From which is stricken note by note the strain.
    His bosom throbbed like some sweet sorrow lute,
    His voice was like some lute’s desponding lay,
    He fluted his love anguish in the crowd,
    As if his heart gave voice to its desire.
    He sighed and sobbed with his loud “Lack-a-day,”
    And burned like incense in some shrine of love.
    And while the Rose in pleasure’s throng was gay,
    Poor Bulbul pined in his misfortune’s gloom.
    The Rose drank deep amid her favorites,
    Poor Bulbul languished in his song of pain;
    And so went by full many days that brought
    Joy to the Rose and sorrow to the bird.




XXX

THE FAR-WANDERING NIGHTINGALE FINDS NO HEALING FOR HIS PAIN, AND AT LAST
WRITES A LETTER TO MAKE KNOWN HIS PLIGHT


    For a long time bewailed the Nightingale
    His agony in many a tender trill,
    And yet the Rose came never into view,
    And never saw one sparkle of the truth.
    He never saw her in his view appear,
    She never mentioned with her voice his name.
    The bird continued in his constancy,
    And her approach was ever far away.
    She had no true acquaintance with his grief,
    Though patience still was torture to his breast.
    Then said to him at last the fool of love,
    “Why is it that I do not write to her?
    I cannot speak to others my lament,
    I will to her myself my plight explain;
    I will the sufferings which o’erflow my heart
    And all my agony recount to her.
    My eyelashes shall serve me for a pen
    And from mine eyes I will my ink distil;
    The tears which drip like blood beneath my lids
    Are ink enough to write my love letter.”
    With pain he took the pen into his hand
    And wrote his letter with a bleeding heart.
    Praise formed the exordium of this love-letter,
    Praise both of God and of the prophets blest.
    Then said he: “O beloved of my heart,
    Thou uncompassionate of those who love,
    Is there no end to thy prevailing charm?
    Is there no end to my surpassing pain?
    Is thy hard-heartedness persistent still?
    And is thy love enchantment without bound?
    Is it indeed the custom of the fair
    That their great beauty should be pitiless?
    Oh, leave thine hardness, prayers of love regard,
    Look on the desolation of my heart.
    If lovely things were ever obdurate,
    Still might they with their hardness feel desire;
    Let not this soul in ardent passion faint,
    And this cleft bosom perish in its fire.
    From keen desire by night and day I mourn,
    My bosom and my eyes are wrought with grief.
    The sword of agony has pierced me through
    And altered quite the habit of my mind,
    For patience I no longer have the strength,
    Nor can I longer separation bear.
    Oh, pity me, mine own, for I am weak,
    I am o’erwrought and without strength to-day.
    The sword of separation cleaves my breast
    And tints me with the tulip’s ruddied eye.
    My tears are like the Oxus of mine eyes,
    Pale as the lime the color of my cheeks.
    Have pity on me in my feebleness--
    My strength and force have ebbed away from me.
    Have pity on me. Patience dies in me,
    The sword of absence penetrates my soul.
    No longer patience can endure the strain,
    And on thy head my blood will be avenged.
    Reject me not, O Rose, but pity me,
    Is not the Rose the Nightingale’s delight?
    The beauty of the Rose’s charm appeared
    Long since through coming of the Nightingale.
    Oh, look not angry on thy paramour;
    What is he but the mirror of thy charms?
    For still through Medshnun’s rapture wild and strange
    Was Leila’s flawless beauty long renowned.
    And if no moth had ever been consumed
    The taper ne’er had known the adoring wing,
    And the more love the pining lover feels,
    So much the more his love should pine for him.
    And when the lover still persists in love,
    The one beloved should never turn away.
    Oh, thou hard-hearted one, be not incensed,
    But hear the prayer of one who dies for thee,
    For through thy hardness and thy self-content
    Thou hast to nothing brought thy worshipper.
    Let it be granted I am not thy peer;
    No grace would be in pity if I were.
    O queen, with thy compassion make me glad,
    And free me from the fetters of despair.”
    And when the Nightingale his letter closed,
    His next reflection was on sending it.
    “How shall I light upon a messenger
    To bring this letter to my best beloved?”
    At last he found a fitting messenger
    To take his love epistle to the queen.




XXXI

THE NIGHTINGALE DESPATCHES THROUGH THE JASMINE THE LETTER WRITTEN OUT OF
THE FULLNESS OF HIS HEART


    In those times dwelt in Gulistan a youth,
    Lovely and silver-bright and kind in mien.
    He was a letter-carrier fast and safe,
    And stood as messenger before the queen.
    This youthful letter-carrier, silver-bright,
    Whose manners were as radiant as his face,
    Skilful and sure in bearing a despatch,
    Held ever in his hand a written roll.
    The jasmine’s starry radiance was his,
    The ardor and the stature of a tree,
    His elegance adorned the garden glade,
    And Sandbach is the name they gave to him.
    The Nightingale his orders gave to him
    And poured his secret in a faithful breast,
    And said to him, “O generous friend of mine,
    May the Most High have mercy on thy soul!
    Why shouldst thou not bring tidings to the queen
    Of all her slave has dreamt about her charms?
    If thou this letter wilt convey for me,
    All that I have in future shall be thine,
    Since yonder distant loveliness through thee
    May show itself propitious to my prayer.”
    The Sandbach the commission undertook,
    And said: “’Tis well; cheer up. I only hope
    Thy letter that is written by thy hand
    May carry no misfortune to the queen.”
    He took the folded missive in his hand,
    And his foot followed on his hand’s despatch.
    Low bowed he when he reached the Rose’s seat,
    And gave the love-letter into her hand.
    The Rose received from him the _billet-doux_,
    And read the running letters of its page.
    And when she understood the note’s intent,
    And how the wistful bird in torture pined,
    Then said she: “Tell me how the poor man fares.
    Does he still mourn, and for compassion cry?
    Does separation still his bosom tear?
    Does his heart bleed, as bleeds the tulip’s heart?
    Give my heart’s greeting to the wretched one,
    And wish him healing of his misery.
    May he no longer mourn if fate permit,
    And be his heart no more consumed in woe.
    I will henceforth be faithful unto him,
    And bend myself to succor his distress;
    Since he has separated been from me,
    Consumed within the furnace of his pain,
    I will henceforth with greater tenderness
    Assuage the fiery ardor of the wight.
    And for a proof I feel in honor bound
    To send an answer to these words of love.”
    Then straight she took into her hands a pen,
    And wrote an answer to the Nightingale.




XXXII

THE DAINTY ROSE SENDS THROUGH THE TALL JASMINE SANDBACH AN ANSWER TO THE
LETTER OF THE DISTRACTED NIGHTINGALE


    The letter thus began, “Now praise to God,
    A thousand greetings to his prophets be!”
    Then she continued: “O thou wanderer wild,
    O sick at heart that knowest no medicine,
    ’Tis love that has encumbered all thy life
    And bound thee up in this distraction’s coil.
    How is it that the misery of thy love
    And separation has so altered thee?
    How should my absence so affect thy heart,
    And what concern is my heart’s love to thee?
    Does separation’s knife thy spirit wound,
    And has concupiscence thy heart inflamed?
    And are thy eyes still wet with bitter tears,
    And sorrow, does it desolate thy soul?
    What ails thee, friend? Art thou not well in health?
    Or art thou always languishing in pain?
    Art thou of me so fiercely amorous
    That thou thus hastenest to enjoy my love?
    I see, poor wretch, that misery drives thee so,
    That I from sympathy must faithful be.
    ’Tis time that I obedient to thy need
    Should be, and thou shouldst take me for a friend.
    That I should yield my beauty to thy hand
    So long as thou art worthy of the gift.
    Thou hast so long been separation’s slave,
    Thou now should be fruition’s honored king.
    Long hast thou drunk dark separation’s draught.
    Now pledge me in enjoyment’s nectary cup.
    He who is bold upon the path of love
    Deserves to see his loved one face to face.
    Be happy, then, thy pain is ended now,
    The day of full fruition has arrived.”
    While thus the pen went over the lettered page,
    She closed the brief epistle with a kiss,
    Then gave it to the messenger, and so
    Let him who wept and sorrowed now rejoice.
    Into his hand the letter Sandbach took,
    The letter that should cheer the Nightingale,
    And said: “I bring to thee good news of joy,
    No more the wretch may sighing pass his hours,
    Now has happiness awoke from sleep
    And on the joyless now has joy bestowed.”
    With eagerness he gave to him the note.
    “The Lord is very merciful,” he said,
    “For after absence oft fruition comes.
    Cease, then, the clamor of thy lack-a-day.”
    Soon as the Nightingale the tidings heard
    He was beside himself from keen desire.
    He kissed the letter, read it with his eyes,
    Then opened it and closed it up again.
    He said: “The letter is an amulet,
    A written patent from the grace of God,
    A letter of reprieve in God’s own name,
    Of liberation from despair and grief.”
    And as the Nightingale the letter read
    The cry of ardent passion burst from him,
    A flood of inspiration seized his soul--
    He worshipped every cipher one by one,
    He thanked the Lord with loud hilarity,
    And with a burst of gladness praised the pen
    The soul of all those letters gave to him,
    Fresh life supplanting now the death of love.
    His keen desire inspired his throbbing throat,
    And he could nothing sing but of the Rose.




XXXIII

DESCRIPTION OF THE NIGHT AND OF THE REPROOF WHICH THE TREACHEROUS
HYACINTH GAVE IN ANSWER TO THE POOR NIGHTINGALE


    It was a night in which the rose garden
    Was clear illumined as with light of day,
    When tints of darkness interblent with light
    Went wandering over beds of hyacinths.
    The moon stood high upon the dome of heaven,
    And round her was the company of stars.
    Upon this night the Nightingale discoursed
    In dulcet notes the ardor of his soul.
    He sang at first in his delight and joy
    His song in every tone the poets knew.
    Upon this night a hyacinth came by,
    A vixen full of tricks and treachery.
    In her dark night attire she forward sped,
    To wander through the glades of Gulistan.
    Then suddenly she heard a tuneful note;
    Like Anka’s echo came the storm of song.
    Forward she came and saw the pilgrim poor,
    Who moaned as if he consolation claimed.
    Close to the minstrel she ensconced herself,
    And looking up to Bulbul, greeted him.
    And said to him, “Pray tell to me thy name.
    Why is it that thou clamorest so loud?”

    He said, “I call upon the one I love.
    Through love I did forget how loud I cried.”
    Quoth she, “To whom has love devoted thee?
    Who is it that thy heart and spirit love?”
    Quoth he, “I am the bondsman of my love,
    For one in love is thrall and pupil too.”
    Quoth she, “What bond and emblem bearest thou?
    Whence dost thou come? What is thy native land?”
    Quoth he, “Love hath no ensign and no home,
    No special dwelling-place in any realm.”
    Quoth she, “Explain to me this pain of thine,
    Tell me the secrets of thy loving heart.”
    Quoth he, “I have no other guide but love.”
    And here he stopped and spake no other word.
    Quoth she, “What is the character of love?
    And does it bring the lover aught of gain?”
    Quoth he, “Love brings its slave to nothingness,
    It forfeits every gain, but wins delight.”
    Quoth she, “And what is, then, the end of love?
    Does he who loves find rest his home at last?”
    Quoth he, “The goal of love is suffering’s lot,
    The heart through love finds all its end in pain.”
    Quoth she, “The wise man never longs for pain,
    More perfect he who shuns disquietude.”
    Quoth he, “Who suffers not is not a man,
    For manhood must be based on suffering,
    And he who suddenly in pain is plunged
    Befits him then to suffer patiently.”
    Quoth she, “In pain, then, thou dost take delight,
    Then cease thy sighs and study self-control.”
    Quoth he, “And hadst thou medicine for thy pain?”
    Quoth he, “I need none till my heart be broke.”
    Quoth she, “And over whom dost thou lament?”
    Quoth he, “My only one, my darling queen.”
    Quoth she, “But tell me what her name may be?”
    Quoth he, “Alas, I have forgot her name.”
    Quoth she, “Bethink thee, till it come again.”
    Quoth he, “Do lovers have the power of thought?”
    Quoth she, “What makes thy speech so riddling dark?”
    Quoth he, “My love’s hair has entangled me.”
    Quoth she, “Give up this passion for thy queen.”
    Quoth he, “But that were to give up my soul.”
    Quoth she, “Thy mistress is not true to thee.”
    Quoth he, “Enough to me is her disdain.”
    Quoth she, “Fruition of her cannot be.”
    Quoth he, “Without her I am bound to die.”
    Quoth she, “Begone and leave this rose garden.”
    Quoth he, “To leave this spot is leaving life.”
    Quoth she, “No pity is outpoured for thee.”
    Quoth he, “Yet pity still be praised by me.”
    Quoth she, “And dost thou hope for bliss at last?”
    Quoth he, “Does not the sun shed light over all?”
    Quoth she, “Thou liest beneath the sword of pain.”
    Quoth he, “So be it. I have naught to say.”
    Quoth she, “This separation costs thy blood.”
    Quoth he, “My blood, yes, and my soul as well.”
    She saw that this poor wretched stripling still
    An answer made to every jibe of hers.
    The hyacinth with jealous passion glowered,
    Her face grew black through bitterness and wrath.
    Quoth she: “’Tis palpable to me at last,
    This oaf is amorous of the Rose herself,
    And can it be that in the rose garden
    So dissolute a rover should appear?
    What is his business here in Gulistan?
    What is he doing in our garden realm?
    He must at once be banished from the place,
    So that he tread no more our glorious glade.
    It is a burning shame, in truth, that one
    So beggarly should at our threshold lie.”
    And so excited was the hyacinth
    That long she pondered trick and guile and ruse.
    Well versed was she in crooked ways of guile,
    And took delight in devious intrigue.
    And now she tried some method to devise
    By which to purge the bowers of Gulistan.




XXXIV

THE INSIDIOUS HYACINTH, HER MIND DARKENED WITH ENVY, CONTRIVES THAT THE
NIGHTINGALE IS EXPELLED FROM THE ROSE GARDEN


    Just when the sun of full fruition dawned,
    An obstacle that instant rose to sight.
    Oft the possessor of a faithful friend
    Is rescued from the clutches of despair,
    The Rose is circled round with many a thorn,
    And where the treasure lies do serpents coil.
    And where a friend appears to cheer the heart
    A foeman also rises to oppose,
    A cruel foe had thus appointed been
    To take his stand as guardian of the Rose.
    The royal watchman of her Majesty,
    Her careful master at her beck and call,
    Tyrannical, in nature envious,
    Evil in mind, rejoicing to give pain.
    Whose nod was dreadful as the cast of spears,
    Whose eyelashes were terrible as darts.
    He ever stood with dagger at his belt
    And in his hand the deadly partisan;
    Like Mars on guard within some prison-house,
    Armed was he on each limb with knife and spear,
    And he who merely offered him his hand
    Was ripped and mangled to the very quick.
    His every deed was full of rancorous wrath,
    And in the rose-garden his name was Thorn.
    The hyacinth fell in with him that day
    In her attempt to oust the Nightingale.
    And by the thorn she thought to bring him bane,
    And kept this secret in her darkling breast,
    That from the pleasant shades of Gulistan
    Bulbul might banished be for evermore.
    The hyacinth, in many an intrigue versed,
    Thus full of rage approached the deadly thorn,
    And said: “O thou, what dost thou rage for now?
    Hast thou no sense of honor and no pride?
    For in this rose garden a rover stands,
    A lover of the Rose, a noisy wight,
    A wanton fool, inspired by jealous whim,
    Who desecrates the Rose’s queenly name.
    But he is shameless, without reverence,
    And talks the whole night long of naught but love.
    Can it be possible, that such as he
    Is taken up with passion for the Rose?
    That he by sighing and by songs of love
    Should take the fair name of our queen away?
    That he should choose her name to be the theme
    Of common babble in the market-place?
    The Rose through him will now be scandal’s theme,
    And round the world will men revile the Rose.
    This vagabond hath thus behaved himself
    And many a lying vow has breathed to her.
    I fear that by his reckless impudence
    Her noble name at last may suffer loss.
    Soon as the thorn these treacherous tidings heard
    Each hair upon his head became a sword,
    And the assassin thorn spake full of wrath:
    “God blame thee for a worthless loon! And why
    Didst thou not long ere this the vagabond
    In fetters bind, a prisoner on the spot,
    And put the chain of serfdom round his neck,
    And lock him fast within the prison hold?”
    She answered: “Though I have not fettered him,
    Yet have I reasoned with him many times.
    My council yet was bootless to the churl,
    He answered every word with repartee.”
    The thorn replied: “Point out the wretch to me,
    The sot and the seducer of the town.
    His gore shall tinge my poniard scarlet bright,
    For I shall plunge it in his dastard blood.”
    So saying, from his seat out sprang the thorn
    And drew his dagger in a burst of rage.
    The very moment he the Bulbul found
    He dealt him many a wound with flashing blade,
    And said to him: “Audacious beggar, thou
    Who knowest neither modesty nor ruth,
    What brought thee to the harem of our Queen?
    Think of her rank and of thy base estate,
    Thou who each night dost shout thy lack-a-day
    Dost thou not feel some shame? Away with thee,
    Away with all this hubbub and this cry.
    Is this a prison, or a lady’s bower?
    How comes it that without a blush of shame
    Thou callest o’er and o’er again her name?
    Show thyself here no longer, beggar vile,
    Go hide that sottish countenance of thine.
    Or else without or hinderance or delay
    I with my dagger will thy bosom cleave.”
    With that the thorn transfixed the Nightingale,
    Giving him pangs of sufferings manifold.
    And now the Nightingale with cries of pain
    And thousand lamentations leaves the grove.
    He left the grove, the rose garden of love,
    And sang his sorrow to the break of morn.




XXXV

THE RUTHLESS THORN GIVES ADVICE TO THE SOFT-CHEEKED ROSE


    The thorn, his thoughts on hate and vengeance fixed,
    Soon as he had outraged the Nightingale
    Went straightway hurriedly to see the Rose,
    And gave her counsel in a long address.
    And said to her, “How did it happen, Rose,
    That such an oaf could make his love to thee,
    And that the very lowest of the low
    By his addresses could affront thy name?
    Thou art the pearl, the princess. Can it be
    A nameless beggar should draw nigh to thee?
    That night and day by his persistent song
    He causes all the grove to prate of thee?
    Is it that thou his daring would approve
    And smilest on his ardor and desires,
    And givest ear to such a rogue as this
    And listenest to the words he says to thee,
    So that the beggar in thy favor proud
    Shameless inflates himself and boasts his crime?
    He is a man of boundless arrogance,
    And of audacity untamable.
    Do not encourage him, my gracious queen.
    The beggar knows the truth about himself.
    I, with my sword, have pierced his breast with wounds
    And gladly stretched him bleeding on the ground.
    And that I did not out of fear for thee,
    But out of reverence for this pleasant grove.”
    Soon as the Rose these words of fury heard,
    Pained to the heart, her rage o’ermastered her.
    She said: “What has this beggar done to thee,
    That thou shouldst thus transfix his soul with pain?
    He is a harmless wretch in dire distress,
    In sorrow and perplexity involved.
    He came with all his melodies of love
    Two days ago a guest in this fair grove.
    Shame that thou thus hast wronged and injured him!
    Sure no one has this guest repulsed with scorn.
    Does it befit the soul magnanimous
    To outrage and bring scorn upon a guest?
    Tell me what harm he ever did to thee,
    This pilgrim foreigner and hermit pure,
    That thou hast undertaken thus to cleave
    His bosom with that cruel blade of thine?
    Was it because he sang with flowing heart?
    A song of sorrow gives our souls delight.
    He was the minstrel of our happy lawn,
    And won the flowers to raise their chalice higher.
    Not lawlessly my fetters he endured.
    Then what disgrace for me can be in this?
    For beauty and accomplishment complete
    Have always made their orisons to love.
    And beauty’s self is perfected through love,
    And beauty without love endures eclipse.
    When love entwines itself round beauty’s form
    It gives no stigma to the thing it holds.
    And nothing can the crown of beauty mar,
    Though thousand thousands babble out her name.
    Was Joseph in Egyptian lands disgraced,
    When he was object of the people’s love?
    Go, leave the poor man in tranquillity,
    Harass him not, be pitiful to him.
    Thou must not him with cruelty oppress,
    But treat him after this with kindliness.”
    When the thorn heard the Rose’s reprimand,
    Like needles on his head uprose his hair.
    What he had heard was not what he desired,
    And trouble overspread his countenance.
    And now the royal audience was o’er,
    He went to visit Spring, the garden’s king.




XXXVI

THE HARD-HEARTED THORN SLANDERS THE LOVESICK NIGHTINGALE BEFORE THE
MONARCH OF THE SPRING


    He hurried to the palace of the shah,
    And standing on his feet before the throne,
    He said: “My sovereign to the end of time,
    May thy prosperity unbroken be!
    There lingers in the rose garden a rogue
    By day and night, a rogue incurable
    Who by the Rose infatuated lives,
    And drunken with love’s goblet is distraught.
    Nor night nor day he ceases his complaint
    As he relates the beauties of the Rose,
    Nor night nor day can I o’ermaster him.
    The beggar still with fire poetic burns,
    He has nor shame nor self-respect in life,
    And finds alone in drunkenness delight.
    The Rose herself is fettered by his lay,
    And sympathizes with this amorous sot.
    Now the affair has reached the final stage,
    And he has gained the notice of the Rose.”
    Soon as the monarch had heard the thorn’s address,
    Perturbed, he thus addressed the listening slave:
    “Where is this beggar, pale and passionate?
    Let him be seized and in a cell confined.”
    And so he sent his hunter to the grove,
    A hunter of inexorable heart.
    And said to him, “Go seek the beggar-man
    And put him without pity into chains.”
    Soon as the firman of the king went out
    They quickly scoured the glades of Gulistan,
    And sought amid the rose-garden parterres
    For traces of the tuneful Nightingale.




XXXVII

THE WOUNDED NIGHTINGALE SEES THE VIOLETS, HIS COMPANIONS IN ADVERSITY;
THEY APPROACH EACH OTHER, AND THE NIGHTINGALE IS SHUT UP IN A CAGE


    He who sets out to adorn his countenance
    Makes plainer the expression of his face,
    And thus it fell that when the Nightingale
    Felt his breast severed by the thorn’s assault,
    Far wandering from the glade of Gulistan,
    He traversed many a field and meadow plain.
    And as he thus for consolation sought,
    He saw a poor man in a quiet nook,
    Who sat in weakness and in misery,
    His figure bowed in deep despondency.
    He seemed down-trodden, blue, and broken-limbed,
    As is the life of those whom love has crowned.
    He sat in weeds of sorrow on the plain,
    For he was clad in robes of mourning blue,
    His head sank low upon the mossy sod,
    As if his mind wandered beyond the world.
    He breathed the fragrant love breath of the grove,
    His cup was filled with wine of suffering.
    He had a tongue which never uttered sound,
    ’Twas oft thrust out from very weariness.
    And since he filled his vials with his tears,
    They called him in the garden violet.
    The wounded Nightingale accosted him,
    Beholding one all destitute of strength,
    But he was overcome with hopeless love,
    His frame convulsed with suffering and dismay.
    Here Bulbul found a comrade in distress,
    And with a question tried to hearten him,
    And said: “My friend, what has befallen thee?
    How is it love has dealt so hard with thee?
    I see, thou art a worthy slave of love,
    From which thou art so weak and overwrought.
    What is it in thy mind which makes thee sigh?
    Pilgrim, why wearest thou this mourning blue?
    Is it that thy beloved has done thee wrong?
    Or has a rival stepped into thy place?
    For grief has bent thee double by its load,
    And all thy soul is out tune through grief.
    Who is it that has flung thee to the dust?
    Who is it gave thee to be rapine’s sport?
    The feet of men have trod thee to the ground,
    As a poor weakling in the gay parterre.
    Was it the loved one pierced thee to the soul?
    Or is it that a rival tortures thee?
    Say, wretched one, what ails thee, for thy pain,
    Binds thee at once in kinship with my heart.”
    He noticed how the violet, weak in speech,
    With stammering tongue at length replied to him,
    “I, too, am wounded by the darts of love,
    And thus my case is witness to thy wit,
    ’Tis love that bows my bosom to the dust,
    ’Tis grief that thus has flung me to the earth.
    For oh, my soul has taken the fire of love,
    I burn for satisfaction and relief.
    The breath which from my lips forever comes
    Has tinged my raiment with this mournful blue,
    And longing for the Rose has done to death.
    Absence from her has thus afflicted me;
    ’Tis love that makes me grovel in the dust.
    And in this guise I traverse all the world.
    I am tormented by the pangs of love,
    And finally the dust becomes my home.
    Love as I may the beauty of the Rose,
    Alas, that beauty I may ne’er enjoy.
    For she is ignorant of my distress,
    And I may never paint it to her heart.
    And no man knows the anguish of my mind.
    I have no friend familiar on this plain,
    And now I am so wan and courageless,
    I cannot even speak of my distress.”
    Now when the Nightingale this poor man saw,
    He felt compassion for his misery,
    And each one to the other freely spoke
    Of all their woes, and many things besides.
    Then suddenly the royal spy approached,
    With darkling eyes and cunning looks askew,
    And while these two together converse held,
    And mourned over the ardor of their love,
    The cunning snare was spread above the bird,
    And corn was scattered for the prey’s decoy.
    The Nightingale was seized with cruel hand,
    And in a moment into durance cast.
    And for the pain and anguish of the wretch
    A cage was brought with many an iron bar,
    And then he was imprisoned in the cage.
    The cage must be his dungeon evermore,
    And now the Nightingale at last was caught,
    And banished evermore from peace and joy.
    Like a poor anxious prisoner was he now,
    For what more like a prison than a cage?
    And night and day within that cage he wept,
    O’erwrought by absence and the pang of love.
    They brought him in his cage before the shah,
    Before the shah he sang his well-a-day.
    The Nightingale was sick from suffering sore.
    Ah, see, what a deluding world can do!




XXXVIII

KING AUGUST APPEARS IN THE EAST AND DEVASTATES THE EARTH


    O heart, thy tongue now kindle into fire,
    Soften thy disposition with desire.
    Build up a burning story out of truth,
    And with hot breath go raging through the world.
    Oh, let the utterance of the pen stream fire,
    And let the world itself go off in fire.
    Whoever sets ablaze the narrative
    Shall lighten up the circle of the world.
    In Eastern lands there sat enthroned in might
    A mighty monarch potent and revered.
    A sovereign who could set afire the earth,
    He was a hero of a fiery heart.
    His marrow was with happiness aflame,
    And the world sighed beneath his conquering arm,
    And he was wont with his prevailing wrath
    To lay in devastation all the land.
    He blazed in every confine of the earth,
    And glowing ardor shone where’er he trod.
    Although he was of fervent nature born,
    All that he counselled was by wisdom marked.
    He touched the mountain with the brew of life,
    And gave to all the world her energy.
    A king of flame who sat enthroned in light,
    His name was that of sun and moon in one;
    His happiness was heat on heat increased,
    And the world swooned submissive to his sway.
    And more and more his fervor he increased,
    His rage and heat laid desolate the earth,
    The world was kindled like a flame of fire,
    His deadly hand threw conflagration round.
    The people doffed the garments they had worn,
    So much they feared the coming of his rage.
    During his reign went no one out of doors,
    And all the people kept themselves at home,
    Until they wearied of this quietude,
    And all were willing to endure his glow,
    And all were willing in the shade to be,
    Some in the garden, some by city wall.
    Meanwhile the world flamed out in cruel plight,
    And like a templed altar worshipped him.
    The sparks of horror seethed with higher glow,
    And the great banners of his power rose higher.
    At last he styled him “Emperor of the World,”
    His banners flaunted in the firmament,
    The hues of heat were painted in the sky.
    The dust was in his honor turned to flame,
    His blaze subdued the universe in light,
    His fury kindled like a furnace coal.
    In time he sent his heat out far and wide,
    The scent of scorched wild-fowl went o’er the land,
    His fury choked the very sigh of love,
    And in the watercourse he scorched the stone.
    And by the influence of his raging fire
    The circling birds were roasted as they flew,
    And every grain was parched upon its sod.
    The scent of musk, in conflagration quenched,
    The world made nothing but a pit of ash,
    And nothing green was left upon the plain.
    And greater still grew up the tyrant’s power,
    And the burnt streams were dried within their beds.
    And more and more with grisly cruelty,
    What time the people lay upon the rack,
    The ladder of the heavens was all aglow,
    And sent out sparks like to a furnace grate.
    And the earth felt his ardor like a scourge,
    And melted ashen-colored into dust.
    And no one wore a shoe for very heat,
    And the brain reeled beneath the overpowering blast,
    And in the river that reflecteth heaven
    The fish and cattle were but shrivelled forms.
    In short, the world was made a weary waste,
    Fire raged around on every side, and heat,
    Brought by the bitter fury of the blast,
    Took all the beauty from the realm of man.




XXXIX

KING AUGUST SENDS THE HOT WIND WITH FIRE TO THE ROSE GARDEN


    Whoever sets afire this history
    Has fed with fuel a refulgent lamp;
    For August, sitting on his royal throne,
    Is mighty in his exercise of power;
    He gathered all the nobles of the land
    To heaven, to meet him at the great Divan.
    He was by fortune and by greatness warmed,
    And through his power and lordship, filled with pride.
    And thus he spake among his mighty lords:
    “Speed as ye may o’er earth’s remotest line,
    I now am lord of all the universe;
    See in my hand it melt, how weak it is!
    The ardor of my fury works in it,
    And my heat flies from brow to sweating brow.
    And lives there now on earth a single wight
    Who has not felt the ardor of my breath?
    And is there king of greatness and of might
    Who has not felt the flaming of mine eyes?”
    They answered: “Sire, the world is all aglow!
    ’Tis very true thy fury sways the world.
    And yet in Rūm there is a little town
    Such as the world has never seen before.
    ’Tis governed by a monarch of its own;
    His throne with budding honor is adorned;
    The town is called the Garden of the Rose,
    The king is named the monarch of the spring.
    There the green blade that tranquil lifts its head
    Has never felt the fury of thy heat.”
    Soon as these words the monarch August heard
    His bosom with tempestuous heat was filled.
    He said: “At once we undertake the task
    Of devastating that forgotten realm.
    And while its monarch joys with placid heart
    Disaster shall rain down upon his head.
    And yet ’tis necessary, first of all,
    A messenger from me be sent to them,
    To testify my grandeur in their sight
    And bear the tidings that I send to them.
    That when they learn of my design, through fear
    Their courage may dissolve like ice in spring.
    For he must say that I to conquer come
    And captive take the people of the town.
    The monarch must be yielded to my hand,
    And all must live in terror of my power.”
    There stands a courier at his behest,
    Who, like a flea, now here, now there is found;
    Like lightning sudden is he in his flight,
    And rapid as the flame, or as the thought.
    From his breath, warmed as by a fever’s heat,
    He had been Samum named and known to all.
    And he was with the East Wind closely bound,
    His elder brother, as it seemed to be;
    The first of them is the delight of Spring,
    The second is King August’s servant true.
    He waits to bear the message of the king,
    Who said, “O lightning-speeding messenger,
    Now hie thee swift to yonder rose garden,
    And to the king who rules there stoutly speak
    With thy warm breath and with thy violent speech.
    Stir up fierce fire within that little realm,
    For from thy mouth does fire like rain descend,
    Thy tongue can scatter devastation round.
    Take care thou speak not gently to the king,
    Take care that not too furiously thou speak.
    Say to him: “Thou to ruin doomed, keep still,
    For soon my fury burns thee up with fire.
    For what permission has been given to thee
    To reign in peace amid this rose garden
    Without a fear for my o’ermastering might,
    Without a thought upon the season’s rage?
    Wilt thou not listen to the word which tells
    Of the resplendent lightning of my rage?
    Take to thy mind and in thy brain revolve
    How thou mayst save thy country from my drought.
    Surrender like a slave thy throne and crown,
    And stand outside the threshold of my gate.
    Give up thy realm, withdraw thy hand from it,
    And thus win peace and pardon for the land.
    But if thou art rebellious to my will,
    And dost not yield to me thy land and throne,
    Be sure of this, that on thy luckless head
    Swift ruin shall descend without reprieve.”
    When Samum took this message from the king
    Swift as a storm he hurried on his way,
    He blighted every meadow land he crossed,
    And found his journey’s end in Gulistan.




XL

SAMUM ARRIVES AT THE TOWN OF ROSE GARDEN AND GIVES TO THE MONARCH OF
SPRING THE MESSAGE OF FIERCE KING AUGUST


    Headlong he rushed into the rose garden,
    And furiously he set it full afire;
    The tulip drew her tongue that burned like fire,
    And panted feverish in the rose garden.
    The tulip glittered like a spark of fire,
    Narcissus, like a lantern, shot her ray,
    Then danger threatened the inhabitants,
    And the Rose blushed more beauteous still for shame.
    The king himself was in the direst need,
    And with a glance of fire his voice he raised.
    He pondered well what had befallen the state,
    And saw the true proportions of the case.
    And as he took full knowledge of his plight,
    The parching heat consumed him to the heart.
    Then full of royal courage bold and high,
    He braced his soul and searched for counsel fit
    And said: “What conflagration visits us?
    Who is this tyrant August, and what deed
    Of mine has roused his fury that he seems
    So headstrong and so burning in his rage?
    The rancor of his flames I will repress,
    My sword shall quench his ire as water flame.
    He is to me no object of alarm,
    Nor twenty thousand furnaces like him,
    He shall not venture further on this sod,
    My sword shall slay him as heat is slain by stream.
    Go, say to him, and bid him be ashamed,
    And mitigate this devastating heat,
    And draw away his flames from out the land,
    And cease this wild campaign about our walls,
    Or he himself in his own flames shall soon
    Be brought to ashes by command of mine.”
    With such an answer Samum made return
    Unto the monarch of the summer time;
    He gave him tidings from the Shah of Spring,
    Speaking the answer faithful word for word,
    And August, when the message he had heard,
    Burst out into a rage of frenzied heat.
    And storming, he at once gave his command,
    “Let all my kingdom gather under arms,
    And hot and fast be preparation made.
    The rose garden in ruin must be laid.”




XLI

KING AUGUST SENDS HIS SON AS FIELD MARSHAL TO THE CITY OF ROSE GARDEN,
AND THE KING OF SPRING, UNABLE TO OPPOSE HIM, RETIRES TO THE HEIGHTS


    There was a messenger by nature high,
    From head to foot he shone with dazzling light.
    His nature was illumination’s soul,
    His traffic was the ministry of fire,
    He scattered light throughout the universe,
    And to the zenith reared his lofty brow.
    ’Twas fire that wrought the jewelry of light,
    His name was nothing but the morning sun.
    As lord and as field marshal forth he went
    And spurred his courser into Gulistan.
    King Spring was startled by the news he heard,
    That thus his foe had hither made his way.
    He gathered all his nobles for advice,
    And stirred up all his force for feats of arms.
    He roused them all for war, the residents
    Of rose garden he summoned to the strife.
    The lily drew her broadsword from the sheath,
    The thorns in hand their pricking arrows held.
    Even the cypress now prepared for war,
    Stood ready with her needles like a lance.
    The tulips spread their petals like a bow,
    And even the dew prepared its pebble-stones.
    The violets bent them to a hostile bow,
    The daisies shot their arrows into air,
    The stream put on its glittering coat of mail,
    And stood enclothed in panoply of steel.
    Like janizaries all the plants around,
    Held in their hand their pikes and partisans.
    And every bud a threatening bludgeon bore,
    And put themselves as shields before the Rose.
    They stood in ordered ranks as warriors ranged
    For war and conflict in the cause of right.
    Now when the sun into rose garden came
    A fiery volley straightway he discharged,
    And with his heat began to devastate,
    Like to some torch-bearer of Eastern kings.
    And lo! the dwellers in the rose garden
    Dwindled, consumed like tapers in a mosque.
    The lily wilted like a sinking flame,
    And quickly dropped the broadsword from her hand.
    The crimson tulips burnt to dusky black,
    And dropped their blazoned targes from their hand.
    In a rude mass the verdant bowers collapsed,
    And the whole city into ashes turned.
    Who can withstand the ravages of the fire?
    Who can wage war against its deadly line?
    When to Shah Spring this news at last was brought
    His splendor and his power faded away.
    Although he struggled to maintain the strife,
    He saw that he was fated to defeat,
    And straightway he betook himself to flight,
    Forsook the field of battle for retreat.
    Retreat is cowardly, yet there are times
    When stoutest valor counsels a retreat.
    When stronger foes o’ermaster those who fight
    Retreat is better than to rashly stand.
    Such was the thought that swayed the monarch Spring,
    And so he took the Rose and fled with her.
    He mounted quickly to an alpine crag,
    Which bordered on a chain of savage hills,
    And all his followers he took with him,
    And all the mountain side was peopled o’er,
    And so he rested on the towering peak,
    And lived henceforth in safety and in peace.
    And from that alp there sloped a verdant plain
    Where happiness and fruitfulness abode.




XLII

THE MONARCH SPRING FLEES ALSO FROM THE PEAK OF THE MOUNTAIN AND
DISAPPEARS, AND THE MONARCH AUGUST, IN HIS FURY, BURNS UP THE CITY OF
ROSE GARDEN


    Meanwhile the sun, field marshal of the fray,
    Had to surrender brought the rose garden.
    Then comes the monarch August with great joy,
    To take his seat on the vacated throne.
    The garden dwellers mourned in anxious care,
    For still the flame of fury burnt its way,
    And all the noblest houses were consumed,
    For the fierce glow of fire had drunk their blood.
    Its fury hastily the tulips parched,
    And burnt to blindness the narcissus’ eyes,
    The Rose parterre is wrapt in dazzling flame,
    And fire amid the thickets reigns supreme.
    And soon as he had blasted every bower,
    He sallied forth to find the monarch Spring.
    And said to each, “Where is the monarch Spring?
    And whither has retired the Princess Rose?”
    They told him they had fled to mountain heights,
    Where cool fresh alps looked down upon the scene.
    And when the King of Summer learnt of this,
    He sent his army in pursuit of him,
    He said: “Despatch and lay the monster waste,
    Let the fire burn it like a living heart.
    Seize and bring hither monarch Spring to me,
    And drag the Rose into the mire for me.”
    As soon as he this firman had pronounced,
    The sun his way directed to the alps.
    And with his army devastation wrought,
    As if he would the world in ruin lay,
    And when the monarch Spring appeared in sight,
    The tyrant would him fain assassinate.
    In a short time he held the king at bay,
    Seized on the Rose, and straight forsook the land.
    Where’er he went was nothing left behind.
    Nothing appeared where once his path had been.
    No trace was left of monarch Spring’s domain,
    The Rose was nowhere seen upon the mead.
    Both from the mountain side had disappeared,
    And no one knew to what point they had fled.
    The sun triumphant had a victory
    Complete o’er every remnant of the foe.
    He said, “The monarch Spring is banished quite,
    And not a foot-track can be found of him,
    And no one seems to know where he is gone,
    And where to seek the glory of the Rose.”
    And when the monarch August pondered this,
    No longer was a care left in his breast,
    And in one day he made the rose garden
    Naught other but a revel place of fire.
    And yet he blent advantages with waste,
    Pouring a thousand graces on the spot.
    What was unripe he mellowed and made sweet,
    To what was crude maturity he brought.
    Into the landscape sent tranquillity,
    And mingled a bland sweetness with his rage.
    At last he quite forsook his camping ground,
    And made his homeward journey to the East.
    He glided lightly forth on ether’s wing,
    And reached at last his station permanent.
    And as he left the placid meadow land,
    He heard the news of more important things.




XLIII

AUTUMN COMES FROM THE NORTH WITH THE INTENTION OF ADMINISTERING THE CITY
OF ROSE GARDEN


    There was a king, distributor of gold,
    Well skilled the world to deck in brilliant hues,
    Upon the world he shed magnificence,
    A glorious king munificent of gold.
    High in the North his palace home was set,
    There ever throned in clemency he sat.
    This king was of a disposition cold,
    And moderation was his ruling trait.
    His sole employment was to scatter gold,
    To give mankind the pleasure of its glow.
    In other excellencies he was rich,
    But there was none that scattered gold like him.
    He was a painter, too, of rarest skill,
    Unique in art and generosity.
    Before the glory of his varied tints
    Pale all the masterpieces of the world.
    He tints the leafy curtain of the earth,
    And Mani’s self might wonder at the work.
    He is a painter great, of faultless touch,
    A colorist of an unerring skill,
    He gives a soul to every quivering leaf,
    Until it shows a hundred tints of fire.
    He stamps it with the lustre of the gold,
    Until its very shadow is aflame.
    He colors with the potency of skill
    With haze of rose and saffron every copse.
    The master of a double art is he,
    And famous for his skill in either part,
    And every artist to whom he is known
    Him by none other name but Autumn calls.
    In might and wisdom he is affluent,
    And by his grace and kindness ever warm,
    And through his reign the world was kept at peace,
    Because he gave such freedom to the world.
    He showered his gifts on every land and clime,
    A paragon of generosity,
    And through his gifts, at last reduced to earth,
    He leaves at least the hungry satisfied.
    Through him of little worth was reckoned gold,
    He scattered it around like dust and soil.
    Though he was famous for his graciousness,
    Well did he know to injure by his might.
    When he was angry all his breath was frost,
    And those who saw him with affright grew pale.
    The world its face of summer loveliness
    Was changed to other colors at his touch,
    For fear of him the rose garden grew faint,
    And sallowed into tints of mellow gold.
    He was a wonder worker of his kind,
    Pity in him went hand in hand with rage.
    Cold was he by his nature, half of ice
    And half of water was his intellect.
    Yet ofttimes did he blaze with glance of heat,
    The blessing that he brought outweighed the bane,
    And when he gently spoke with anyone
    His countenance was lit with radiant warmth.
    Yet toward the end he turned to bitter cold,
    And kept that bearing to the very end.
    Shah August once in regal state assumed
    His seat among the nobles in Divan.
    He gathered round him all his ministers
    To greet his emirs and his noblemen,
    When suddenly there came to him the news
    That all the garden’s realm in ruin lay.
    That banished was the monarch of the mead,
    And the bower’s beauty all was devastate.
    And when the monarch August heard the news
    The tidings made him quiver like a leaf.
    Full of impatience and anxiety
    He hastened to explore the garden glade.
    Although he well believed the tidings true,
    He wished to have authentic evidence,
    And that this evidence he might attain,
    A spy must needs be on the errand sent.



XLIV

KING AUTUMN SENDS A RECONNOITRING PARTY TO THE CITY OF ROSE GARDEN, AND
IN A MOMENT CONQUERS IT, AND PAINTS IT IN HIS OWN LIVERY


    A right swift messenger he had despatched,
    Like dust upon the wind the herald sped.
    His nature was of heat and frost combined,
    The Persians called him Scatterer of the Leaves;
    And when this title was accorded not,
    They called him Plucker of the Summer Leaves.
    The monarch August thus accosted him:
    “Now hear my words aright, thou speedy one,
    Beget thee at this instant to that bower,
    And bring me news of all that thou shalt see,
    And as thou flittest like a spirit free,
    Show thyself merciful to Gulistan.
    Let moderation all thy conduct rule,
    And gain the hearts of all the country side.
    Show not thyself a sudden blast of frost,
    But first appear a warm and sultry air;
    Begin to scatter round the kindly gold,
    And happiness through power and honor bring.
    As thyself thou art in color rich,
    Scatter thy tints o’er every leaf and blade.”
    As the leaf-plucker heard the monarch’s speech
    In silence he departed on his way.
    Quickly arrived he at the rose garden,
    Fulfilling the commission of his king.
    He scattered light and beauty as he went,
    And everything he overlaid with gold.
    And yet his bearing was not harsh or strict,
    And he brought blessing whereso’er he went.
    He mingled in the middle of the flowers,
    With kindly tenderness he played with them,
    He made inquiry, as he well was fit,
    With his impetuous pertinacity.
    And the parterres with many a hue were stained.
    Needless his operations to recount.
    When he the plight of the rose garden saw,
    Straight to the King he made a swift return.
    Telling to him of all that had befallen
    Of good and bad unto the rose garden.
    The king at once commanded that in arms
    His cavalry should charge the garden realm.
    He throned himself as monarch in the glade,
    And all the dwellers there were captive made.
    And as his wont, to happy make the world,
    He scattered wide his gold on every head.
    And everyone at once grew rich in life,
    And everyone a golden caftan wore.
    His hand was full of graciousness and gift,
    Wherewith he strewed the land on every side.
    He gave them such a mess of gold for prize
    That head to foot they glimmered with the ore.
    And thereupon the master of the realm
    His manner altered in a high degree.
    For where his voice was gracious and benign,
    He now displayed his fury and his hate.
    And all the garden people, white with fear,
    Fell to the earth overmastered by alarm,
    And as he was at first both sweet and kind,
    So now he ravaged with the wildest rage.
    He flung the dwellers of the garden out,
    The garden naked lay in horror vast.
    He threw the floral decorations low,
    The leaves and branches scattered o’er the sod,
    And as he devastated all day long,
    And at the last there followed placid calm.
    And thus while nature’s course its way pursues,
    Quiet and peace result from violence.




XLV

KING WINTER APPEARS IN THE EAST AND BLOWS HIS COLD BLASTS OVER THE EARTH


    The messenger upon his errand sped,
    With chilling words his message to convey.
    “A king,” he said, “was throned in the far West
    Whose breath was cold, whose very glance was frost.
    Chill was his breath and chill his aspect drear,
    His heart and every action cruelty.
    To moderation he was deadly foe,
    And plagued the people with his blasting frost.
    He was a sovereign who prevailed by cold,
    King of the world who men as Winter knew.
    Soon as his voice was heard amid the land
    The people shuddered at his fierce attack;
    His chilling breath could quench the heat of hell,
    For he was colder than the touch of ice,
    And as his power could cool the fire of hell,
    His rage could change an Eden into hell.
    For when his breath was fiercest, like a fire,
    He burnt and made men feel the pain of hell.
    His wild, inconstant, and unerring rage,
    In ruin laid the elemental world.
    When once his lance was on the people shot
    ’Twas like a poker stirring up the fire,
    And when a householder his face discerned,
    He swiftly turned him back into the house,
    And while his fury was without restraint,
    He drove the people to the ingle fire.
    And so he waxed in furiousness of frost
    That the world lit its fires and sat by them.
    The streets were blocked by his invading might,
    And in the houses piles of fuel blazed.
    The people in the mosques assembled thick,
    For refuge in the blaze of altar fires.
    To save herself from his invading power
    The rose garden became a blazing hearth,
    And yet he did not spare his breath of frost,
    But laid his hand on Autumn’s kindly glow.
    And when that monarch showed himself on earth
    He ran him neck to neck for victory,
    And like a flood his fury ran apace,
    And everything was stiffened in his way.
    The water curdled into solid ground,
    And the world’s eye was filled with crystal tears,
    And each one went about with covered head.
    The sun in heaven concealed himself for fear.
    The poor man and the rich alike were forced
    To warm themselves in skins and cloaks of felt.
    And each one of the city elegants
    Wound round his head a costly robe of fur.
    In short, the Winter reigns, a king supreme,
    Throughout the period of the dwindling days,
    And swift as water hurried his command,
    And like the wind o’er every country swept.
    While he himself in sombre dignity
    Scattered his silver frost on every side,
    His silver with such lavish hands he spread
    That house and heather shone with silvery gleams.




XLVI

KING WINTER DEVASTATES THE ROSE GARDEN IN A SNOWSTORM


    And then he gave command unto his hosts.
    “Make ready,” said he, “for a long campaign
    Let all our army speed to rose garden
    And fall upon it with the force of fire.”
    Upon the general a command was laid
    To overthrow the palace of the Rose.
    He stood at Winter’s beckoning, a slave,
    A minion, who attended his command.
    He was himself of Winter’s temperament,
    And in the world he bore the name of snow.
    White was he as the crystal camphor is,
    And he was as the crystal camphor cold,
    And he was soft as cotton to the touch,
    But chilly as the hardest cake of ice.
    He was the winter’s steadiest adjutant,
    And he was sent to ravage Gulistan.
    And straight he set himself upon the way
    To wage his warfare upon the rose garden.
    And suddenly as is the hand of fate
    The snow came down amain with fleecy cloud,
    And in one night within the rose garden
    Triumphant reigned in valley and in field.
    High was it piled above each arching roof,
    And over all the whitening cloak was spread.
    It threatened men and horses to ingulf,
    And like a camphor shower enshrouded all.
    When Gulistan this sad disaster saw
    A reign of terror rose in its domain.
    The snow was seen to dance on every roof,
    And glitter down like swords and lances bright.
    And as the snow covered the woodland limbs
    The winter on the garden settled down,
    And all his army in their tents encamped,
    And the whole city at their mercy lay.
    And Autumn, when of this he was aware,
    Shuddered and shook like aspen foliage.
    Though he would fain have entered on a fight,
    He saw ’twas vain to hope for victory.
    At last, quite conquered, in retreat he fled
    And sought his former dwelling and his seat.
    But Winter still his domination claimed,
    And sat enthroned as king in Gulistan.
    He gave command, “Let no one from this time
    Of bower and garden pleasance question make.”
    And while he stayed there all the rose garden
    Should to a heap of ashes be reduced,
    And he who would be rash enough to dare
    This edict to decry and disobey,
    He who should violate this strict command,
    With anger should be straightly visited.
    So everyone about that place was sad,
    And all the place was bound in bitter frost.
    And everyone who but held out his hand
    Was stripped and blighted like a withered bough.
    And by the direful tyranny of cold
    The happiness of all the folk was changed.
    And as this destiny befell the glade
    Each creature pressed impetuous round the fire.
    Gray hairs and hair still glossy bright with youth
    Pressed as to the high altar round the fire.
    Early and late the fire burned round the hearth,
    The fuel was as precious as the flame,
    And to give heat unto a single hearth
    Was worth the value of an aloe flower,
    And those who sold the fuel were in glee,
    And the wood market was a kingly realm,
    And he who bore with him a bag of gold
    Was poorer than the man who owned a wood.
    In short, the tyrant cold was lord o’er all,
    And each man found his house a prison cell.
    For Winter’s mighty tyrant reigned o’er all,
    And ravaged freely over all the wood.
    He scattered silver with a lavish hand,
    And all the world in silver frost was sunk.
    The cedars donned a silver coronet,
    And all the garden wore a silver braid.
    The very streams in silver mail were clad,
    And clumps of silvery ice adorned their banks.
    Thus Winter made his campaign for a time
    Within the precincts of the rose garden.
    But listen how it happened at the last
    That he retired and left the garden free.




XLVII

THE MONARCH SPRING RETIRES TO THE SOUTH TO THE KING OF THE EQUINOX, FROM
WHOM HE ASKS HELP, AND WHO IMMEDIATELY ASSURES IT TO HIM, AND HE RETURNS
THEREWITH TO THE CITY OF ROSE GARDEN


    O nightingale, whose voice is ever loud,
    And ever sounds within the entrance hall,
    Of what avail has been thy clamorous lay,
    For has the hour of thy fruition come?
    Within the cage thou must thy sojourn make,
    Who once couldst walk amid the rose garden.
    Surely thou hast enough of suffering spread,
    And now must still in disappointment pine.
    Thy flight has brought thee but to contumely,
    Now to fruition spread thy eager wings.
    For when misfortune gains its highest point,
    Relief is given to the suffering one.
    And all thy lamentations, what are they
    Unto the Rose who laughs amid thy woe?
    He who has drunk his full from legend’s cup
    Sings thus, deep, low in dregs of misery.
    And when the king who burns the world with fire,
    And has the happy August for his name,
    Conquered the city of the rose garden,
    And subjugated it and held it fast
    And vanquished all the treasures of the Spring,
    To leave his palace and his court behind,
    The monarch Spring, forsaking his estate,
    Fled to the safest city of the South.
    Many a day with toil and pain he rode,
    And came at last into a distant land,
    In the dominion of a mighty czar,
    Whose brows were crowned with buds of happiness.
    He was a monarch of astounding might,
    Full of munificence and mightiness.
    His noble bearing was with mildness formed.
    Gentle his mind, friendly, and delicate.
    For he was born beneath auspicious stars,
    Of those high stars that herald in the day.
    A lord of light was he, exalted high
    From his nobility and mighty fame;
    His happiness the world flooded with light,
    His name was called the Harbinger of Spring.
    Well was the Spring acquainted with this shah,
    Who was direct descendant of his line.
    And as King Spring these tidings spread abroad,
    The Harbinger of Spring the message took,
    And went to meet the Spring on his approach,
    Giving him honor high in every way.
    The monarch who ’mid gentle breezes moved,
    Gave many honors to the prince of Spring,
    And as he came, unto the throne drew near,
    He took him by his side upon the throne.
    And for one day was feast and welcome held
    In honor and in glad festivity.
    And lo! among the guests the question rose
    What is the true condition of affairs?
    Then spake the monarch, asking of the Spring,
    Why he had fled away from Gulistan.
    “How art thou come,” he said, “and whither bound?
    What has directed your affection here,
    To leave the garden’s blest tranquillity,
    And o’er the routes of travel toil thy way?”
    So monarch Spring narrated to him all
    That had befallen the town of rose garden,
    And how that king who man had August named
    With violence had overrun the land,
    How he had wasted it with furious flame,
    And all the bowers of roses turned to ash;
    How Autumn had the spot to ruin brought,
    And how black Winter devastated it.
    And all that happened in the rose garden
    He told in detail to the mighty shah.
    And when the king the dismal tidings learnt,
    His soul within him was to fury turned,
    And soon as monarch Spring had related all
    The Harbinger of Summer cried aloud:
    “Lord of the world, let naught confuse thy soul,
    Away with sorrow from thy anxious breast;
    No longer shall thy patient mind be tried,
    For there is hope again for Gulistan.
    And if the Lord of heaven good fortune give,
    Thou shalt again unto thy realm return,
    And throned in power once more in rose garden
    Shall trample every foeman in the dust.”
    And when the monarch Spring this comfort heard
    He seconded the promise with a wish,
    And said: “O king, thou art a constant friend,
    And never may misfortune cross thy path.
    Mayst thou live long in honor and renown,
    And thy felicity be girt with power,
    Soon as I heard that lofty word of thine
    Into my soul tranquillity returned.
    Though the campaign has devastated all,
    It has not taken from me all my hopes.”
    The Harbinger of Spring, when this he heard,
    In silence placed his hand upon his brow,
    And hurriedly his preparations made
    For a campaign toward the garden bower.
    So that the shah elected to this place
    Might in the bower of roses pitch his tent.




XLVIII

THE HARBINGER OF SPRING GAINS POSSESSION OF THE CITY OF ROSE GARDEN,
VANQUISHES KING WINTER, AND MAKES THE MONARCH OF THE SPRING TRIUMPHANT


    When o’er the land the breath of morning came,
    The world was filled with blissful radiancy.
    The news of fresh arrivals filled the glade,
    And the trees ranged themselves in serried ranks.
    And everything that in the garden grew
    Was seared and mildewed by the past distress,
    And yet anew life’s waters woke again,
    And all was tinged with Spring’s perennial green,
    Though all in death had lain for many a day,
    Now living once again they raised their hand,
    And everything with ardent passion throbbed.
    And the East Wind came by with soft approach,
    And benediction followed on his course.
    And all the flowers their faces showed again,
    And over all the light of summer shone.
    The cypresses wore garments of delight,
    And danced in many a ring along the mead
    And each narcissus started from its sleep.
    The tulips raised again their shining brows,
    And as war’s cruel visage disappeared
    The land again was peopled as of yore.
    And when King Winter in the sunlight saw
    The people of the land come back again,
    And that the meadows which he had o’errun
    Were finally relinquished to the foe,
    He was o’ercome with grief and shame and ire,
    And heated by the sense of his defeat.
    The snow, o’ercome by advent of the Spring,
    In utter shame betook itself to earth.
    In sooth, already had it drabbled o’er
    The rose garden with her enkindled wrath,
    For snow now felt itself o’ermastered, weak;
    His host was overcome at every point.
    And as the snow dissolved into the ground,
    A flood of tears was spread on every field.
    The Winter could no longer stand his ground,
    And rapidly he started in retreat.
    He turned him back again toward the West,
    And gave up occupancy of the land.
    And on the land the light of justice shone
    And truth prevailed and error was abashed.
    And as Spring’s herald occupied the land,
    King Spring himself returned to claim his own
    He took his seat once more upon his throne,
    And then his herald vanished from the scene.




XLIX

THE MONARCH SPRING MOUNTS UPON HIS THRONE AND MAKES HIS RESIDENCE IN THE
CITY OF THE ROSE GARDEN


    As monarch Spring now on his radiant throne
    Flourished, as in the glorious days of yore,
    He opened there the treasures of his might,
    And in the dust he scattered radiant pearls;
    He lavished honors on each denizen,
    And all were clad in mantles of the green,
    And Gulistan is once again restored;
    And grove and garden open wide their hearts,
    And light is shining in narcissus’ eyes,
    And joy is in the heart of all the world;
    The tulips don once more their ruby crowns;
    The glade of Gulistan is filled with flowers;
    The cypress once again his office takes,
    And stands as porter at the garden gate.
    And all the lilies drew their swords again,
    And every thorn whetted its arrow point,
    The sandbach opened out his gleaming rolls
    In harmony with nature’s odorous life.
    The tapestry of vegetation, new
    With satin green, the field and fallow clothed.
    And all the people of the world repaired
    Into the garden as a paradise.
    The world from happiness an Eden grew,
    And vernal freshness sparkled in the Spring.
    The Rose ascended to her throne again;
    The hyacinth her locks of purple wore,
    The messenger East Wind within the grove
    Awoke to life from out his skeleton;
    And every stream with ardent passion ran,
    And every flood with towering head advanced;
    The rose garden again its beauty takes,
    And peace and quiet reign on every side.
    And as the Rose her lofty throne ascends,
    In ranks the nobles at her bidding come;
    The dew her favorite beverage provides;
    The tulips in her service goblets bring,
    And each man drinks according to desire;
    And honor and good wishes follow wine.
    And all the time does festive gladness reign,
    By day and night the joyous feast goes on.




L

THE FAIR ROSE SENDS THE EAST WIND TO CHEER THE MOURNING NIGHTINGALE


    And once upon this festal holiday
    The Rose bethought her of the Nightingale,
    And said: “Where is that miserable fool
    Who was inebriate with wine and love?
    How fares it with the man of sighs and tears?
    How can he live dissociate from our grove?
    Shall we no longer hear that lute of his?
    What is it that has checked his thrilling lay?
    And has his heart been snatched away by pain?
    And was he haply driven from grief to dust?
    And has the flame of absence burnt him up?
    And is he slain by moody glance of mine?
    Is it the thorn has laid him suffering low,
    And him enlisted ’mid my deadliest foes?”
    They said to her, with salutation kind:
    “O Rose, the fairest paragon of charms,
    The wretch that was impaled upon the thorn
    Has since been prisoner made within a cage.
    By night and day behind the cage’s bar
    He sings aloud his melody of woe.
    Still he laments, and all his dolorous song
    Pierces the heart of hearers to the quick;
    And in the dreary prison-house enthralled
    Him no refreshment of delight consoles.”
    And when the tender Rose these tidings heard,
    She breathed a sigh over the beggar’s lot.
    “And shall the prisoner, detained in gyves,
    Never attain felicity again?”
    And full of pity, as his rescuer,
    She called for the East Wind, her messenger,
    And said: “East Wind, who cheerest every soul,
    Now let thy breath upon that beggar blow.
    Find him, and greet him wheresoe’er he be,
    And do him honor every way thou canst.
    And say to him, ‘O heart with suffering full,
    That without consolation feelest pain,
    How has the pang of absence slain thy soul?
    What is the blow that grief has dealt to thee?
    Thou art within this narrow cage confined,
    And overcome with pain and grief and fear.
    The dagger of thy grief has pierced thy heart;
    The agony of absence wastes thy breast;
    Long hast thou borne the languor absence brings;
    ’Tis time that thou should’st know fruition’s bliss.
    Though absence rages o’er thee like a storm,
    Thou still art worthy of the joy of love.’
    Go, my East Wind, and with such words as these,
    Seek to console him with the news of bliss.
    Absence no more shall waste his mind away,
    Console him, then, and bring back heart to him.”
    The messenger East Wind, when this he heard,
    Answered “Long live the Queen,” and forth he went.
    He journeyed wide, and everywhere he sought
    To find where dwelt the mournful nightingale.




LI

THE PINING NIGHTINGALE LIES IN AFFLICTION IN THE CAGE AND TURNS HIMSELF
TO GOD. THE KINDLY EAST WIND ARRIVES AND GIVES HIM INFORMATION AS TO THE
CONDITION OF AFFAIRS


    And Bulbul in the distance suffered pain,
    In the hard strait of absence from his love;
    And in the cage he sang his dolorous lay,
    Renouncing every hope of happiness.
    And in the cage he stood, lamenting loud,
    And mourning was his orison of morn;
    For every morning did he pray to God,
    To send him help in his disastrous plight,
    And said: “O God! I languish in the dust,
    A prey to anguish in this narrow cage;
    The halter of estrangement binds my neck;
    Estrangement from my love fetters me here.
    My soul within my sickening self confined
    Is like a wretched bird within a cage.
    Power and unrighteousness have dashed me down
    Into one narrow corner of the world.
    O God! Why does not life escape this cage
    And find its habitation in the stars?
    Sometimes thou art benign to mortal prayer,
    Oh, set me free from this accursed cage!
    I never cease to utter my lament,
    For I am slain by separation’s pain;
    And no one listens to my tale of woe,
    When I lament upon my absent love.
    And there is no one brings me, in my love,
    The tidings that I crave of my beloved.
    O that the Queen would some compassion show,
    And smile in recognition on her slave!
    O Lord, I flee to thee to gain thy help,
    And upon thee my firm foundation place;
    Therefore I melt thy Spirit with my sighs;
    Thou canst not fail at my petition’s plea.
    O God, my God, by all thy radiant light,
    Give succor to me, leave me not forlorn!
    Thou who the Author art of things that are,
    Open to me the door of my release.”
    As thus the wretched bird his song pursued,
    The deity the suffering suppliant heard;
    For when a tortured soul appeals to God
    God ever listens to his loud complaint.
    And all the time the Nightingale was heard,
    As is each soul that prays with earnestness.
    The sufferings that round that prisoner rose
    Were almost now unto their limit brought;
    For the East Wind, that cheers the souls of men,
    Arrived and saw the Nightingale encaged,
    And came and said, “My greeting to your Grace,”
    And bowed his forehead to the very dust.
    He said: “How fares it with thee, prisoner?
    How is it thou art prisoned thus by pain?
    And what transgression art thou guilty of,
    That thou art thus imprisoned in a cage?
    Who is it found thee guilty of a crime,
    That to confinement thou hast been consigned?
    Who is it that hath slandered thee abroad,
    And set thee thus behind the prison bar,
    When thou in freedom findest such delight,
    Who is it that has tortured thus thy heart?
    How is it thou art thus a prisoner found,
    Tormented with the anguish of thy heart?
    Come back again to glades of Gulistan,
    And let us hear thee speak thy heart’s desire.”




LII

THE CAPTIVE NIGHTINGALE ANSWERS THE KIND-HEARTED EAST WIND, WHO BRINGS
TO THE PINING LOVER GREETING FROM THE RADIANT ROSE



    Soon as the Nightingale this message heard
    He was in ardent passion overwhelmed.
    He cried aloud with sighs and deep lament;
    “Hear me; I will my woe relate to thee.
    I, a poor man, for lovingness atone,
    And all the guilt is in the jailer found.
    Love is the only guilt that I avow,
    This is the cause of all my sorrows here.
    While love has thus enchained my inmost life,
    My song alone the note of freedom sounds.”
    And the East Wind responded to this speech.
    “Heroic sufferer,” he replied to him,
    “Torment thyself no more, the course of love
    At last is tending to the goal desired;
    Long hast thou borne this dire adversity,
    The hour of happiness at last draws near.
    The queenly Rose her greeting sends to thee,
    And makes the message through this herald known;
    Thy long-continued passion finds its end,
    ’Tis time the volume of thy pain be closed.
    Soon shalt thou from thy prison-house be freed.
    Lament no more, thy succor is at hand.”
    Then the East Wind the pleasant message gave,
    With which the Rose had sent him on his way;
    And when the bird received that sweet despatch,
    He fell to earth, quite overcome with joy.
    And said: “Oh, let me know the news she sends,
    For it has reached me in a happy hour;
    The hour in which I fell to earth for grief,
    There comes to me the news of happiness.”
    And with a thankful heart he thanked the Lord;
    And to the East Wind every blessing wished,
    And on his backward way the East Wind went,
    And songs of thankfulness the bird began.
    And when the East Wind reached the happy Rose
    He said: “O Light that glorifiest the world,
    The Nightingale is prisoner in a cage;
    The cage is like a dungeon to the bird;
    And he is overwrought with love for thee;
    And languishes amid the pangs of love.
    His strains betray the languor of his heart,
    Oft as he breathes them on the listening wind.
    And ofttimes he reflects, that all his life,
    Is now surrendered to a narrow cage;
    And soon his spirit will surrendered be,
    Unless the anguish of his song be stilled.
    And tho’ full many a sufferer I have seen,
    Saw I none ever in such languishment.”




LIII

WHILE THE NIGHTINGALE LIES A PRISONER SUFFERING IN HIS CAGE, THE ROSE
COMES TO PAY HIM A SICK VISIT, AND TO LEARN OF HIS HEALTH


    And when the Rose these tidings had received
    She said: “Alas! him genius has endowed,
    Poor, wretched one, with melody of pain!
    Long has he lived devoted to my love,
    And many pains and anguish has he borne
    Because he cannot look upon my face.
    Yet since this mendicant is so forlorn,
    And so overwrought by his melodious pain,
    ’Tis time that I his disposition learn,
    And pay a visit to the lonely one.
    ’Tis duty bids us go and cheer the sick;
    And my great duty now concerns this bird.
    Come, thou East Wind, that cheerest earthly hearts,
    Point me the way unto his dwelling-place.
    ’Tis thine to bring the wandering outcast joy,
    And free him from the barriers of the cage.”
    Approvingly the Wind of East replied:
    “Thou, who, like gold, has stood the test of time,
    Long mayst thou all the bliss of life enjoy,
    And in both worlds mayst thou find happiness.
    Now it is time that thou shouldst yonder wretch
    Console in pity ere he breathe his last.”
    The graceful Rose straightway her journey took,
    And to the Nightingale her course she bent.
    And while the Nightingale his theme pursued,
    And still in disappointed ardor pined,
    His heart swelled high with tidings of delight,
    When all was told him of the Rose’s word.
    With full dependence on the grace of God,
    He decked himself in radiant array,
    And he bethought himself that he would be
    Like sunlight shining in the motes of earth;
    So should his face the happy sunlight show,
    When ’mid the stars the day god shines on high,
    And day has reached the zenith of the noon,
    And the orbed moon with its full radiance shines.
    And now the Rose to visit him appeared,
    And asked him the condition of his life.
    She saw him quite o’ermastered and undone,
    And all his strength by adverse fortune broken.
    And when she saw him, she astonished stood,
    And through astonishment was motionless.
    Soon as the Nightingale set eyes on her,
    He recommenced his melancholy song,
    And fainting, fell through passion to the ground,
    And motionless he lay from wounds of pain.
    He closed his eyes and to the dust he pressed
    His cheeks, by tears of absence long grown pale;
    While ardent passion through his bosom flamed.
    Like to a suppliant he lay grovelling there,
    And said: “O God, what dream is this I see?
    Am I transported into fancy’s realm,
    So that the sun of happiness shines out,
    And I behold the lustre of the moon?
    That happiness at last descends to me;
    And that the moon her face through tempests shows;
    That my disasters have an end at last;
    That exile in reunion comes to end;
    That healing falls upon the wounds of pain;
    And that my heart the balm of mercy meets?”
    While thus the bird in languishment reclined,
    The Rose regarded him with tenderness;
    And there was naught for him but kindly thought;
    In gentle pity opened out her soul.
    And sweetly did she question how he fared,
    And how it went with his calamities,
    And pity her majestic heart enthralled,
    While he, she saw, with ardent passion glowed.
    And while the Rose her jewels scattered round,
    The Nightingale gave utterance to his soul.
    The bird sang loud, the flower lent listening ear,
    And soft caresses thus were interchanged;
    And many things were said on either side,
    And when their mutual greetings closed at last,
    And the Rose started on her journey home,
    The Nightingale broke out in strains of song.
    And when the well-beloved had flown away,
    The amorous bird cried after her in vain;
    And once again began his loving lay,
    Reiterating echoes of his pain.
    All his great passion had come back to him,
    That momentary bliss was but a dream.
    He said, in wanderings of wonder lost,
    “Whither has fled this union sweet of bliss?
    Oh, what a wondrous incident is this!
    Hard to believe has this occurrence been;
    And since the world is unsubstantial show,
    How is it that to me true suffering comes?
    Where is distress, and where is happiness?
    Where is compassion, what is trustworthy?
    And this fair Rose who stood before my cage,
    Where are the sweet caresses of my friend?
    Shall happiness return to me through her?
    Or was my hope nothing but fantasy--
    The fantasy of overwrought desire--
    That it so quickly fades upon my sight?”
    And in this plight the wretched singer gave,
    From throbbing throat, his call for pity’s aid.




LIV

THE LOVELY ROSE SENDS THE CHEERFUL EAST WIND TO THE MONARCH OF SPRING
ASKING HIM TO FREE THE NIGHTINGALE


    Ah, lovely Rose, she has a heart of gold,
    And much she mourns for the lorn Nightingale;
    And said: “East Wind, my herald messenger,
    Blow thou my message o’er the world’s domain.
    I wish thee to become my instrument,
    Through which release and help my bird shall ease.
    Ah! that the Bulbul with the open heart,
    No more might suffer in the deadly cage!
    Now show thy pity for that wretched soul,
    And gain him freedom from the iron bars.
    Betake thee to the monarch of the world;
    And speak to him in many a pleading word;
    And then occasion will be granted thee
    The Bulbul’s dreary tale to tell to him.
    And tell him how the wretch in prison pines,
    O’erwhelmed in suffering and misery;
    The king will have compassion on his lot,
    And show his favor to the destitute.
    He will be just and kindly to the bird
    And willingly release him from the cage.”
    The East Wind ran on hearing this command,
    And quickly to the monarch took his way.
    Upon the palace threshold laid him down,
    And in the dust his countenance he set.
    His wishes and his prayer expressed to him,
    In answer to the royal questioning.
    And many tidings told of this and that,
    Till to the end of all his news he came.
    Of many things he spoke in many ways
    And information gave of this and that.
    And then it happened that he came at last
    To tell the story of the Nightingale,
    And said, “O thou, the high illustrious one,
    A king endowed with each attractive gift,
    How is it possible that in thy day
    The cry of guiltless suffering should arise?
    That the poor prisoner in a cage should pine?
    And that the mighty should oppress the weak?
    That night and day the weak should utter woe,
    And without guilt endure the stroke of pain?
    That he should lie in fetters and in gyves--
    He whose sweet voice is ever eloquent?
    And is it well that king so just as thou
    Should trample on so innocent a wretch?
    That he within the cage should cry for help,
    Through such a tedious period of distress?
    That he, by night and day, should make lament
    And no one listen to his dolorous song?”
    When this the lofty monarch of the world
    Had heard, he said: “And lives that beggar still?
    And is he still imprisoned in the cage,
    Caught in the meshes of his pain and woe?
    Now must his sad imprisonment have end.
    Fetch him and let me look upon his face.”
    Soon as the firman of the Shah went forth,
    The tidings of it reached the Nightingale.
    For one among the courtiers hurried forth,
    To bring the hapless one to happiness.
    And from the cage he was at once released
    And brought into the presence of the king.
    And soon as the celestial monarch’s eye
    Beheld the plight and misery of the wretch,
    And saw how vile and weak he did appear,
    And how he was reduced to skin and bone,
    And all forespent by separation’s pang,
    And dwindled like the crescent of the moon,
    He questioned him of each particular,
    And of his public conduct in the past.
    The Bulbul called down blessings on his head,
    And in the dust he bowed before his face;
    Then he ran on in ardent passion’s tone,
    As a gazelle in his swift circle turns;
    From his sweet lips he warbled to the Shah
    The whole expression of his gifted heart.
    And as his ardent trills and mournful notes
    Filled with astonishment the royal mind,
    He owned him, in the usage of his art,
    A singer perfect of consummate skill.
    And as the monarch listened to his strain,
    He felt the tide of pleasure flood his heart,
    And said: “Oh, what an artist do I hear!
    Well fit to fill my bosom with delight.
    It is injustice to this wretched man
    To put him pitiless in prison cell,
    Because forsooth within the rose garden
    He sets himself as friend beside the Rose.
    For since this beggar is a very seer,
    I think he is companion for a king.
    Now let the Nightingale attend the Rose,
    And let him stay with her where’er she bide.
    She has no slave so faithful to her heart,
    So let him speak with her where’er she be.”
    And instantly the monarch gave command
    Within the rose garden to bring the bird,
    That he might medicine and healing bring
    To all the suffering of the pining Rose.
    The Nightingale bowed low upon the ground,
    With songs of benediction did he praise
    The king, and beamed with longing and desire,
    And came at length unto the rose garden.




LV

THE GRACIOUS EAST WIND BRINGS NEWS TO THE ROSE OF THE NIGHTINGALE’S
RELEASE


    He met the cypress and with honor hailed,
    And courteous salutation yielded him.
    Who asked the Bulbul whither he was bound,
    And who had given peace to his desire;
    And he related to him every jot,
    How he had been released from bitter pain.
    The cypress wore a look of wonderment,
    Hither and thither did he toss his head,
    And said to him: “At last, my treasured bird,
    Upon my summit shall thy home be made.”
    So there the cypress and the Nightingale,
    Henceforth consorted in a friendship true.
    But the East Wind had fluttered to the Rose,
    Swift as the arrow from the bowstring shot,
    And in a voice of joy his message said:
    “O Rose, rejoice! for good the news I bring;
    The Shah at liberty has Bulbul set,
    And given happiness to the forlorn,”
    And then he told her all that had befallen;
    As everything he had been witness to.
    The day was warm and the Rose laughed aloud,
    And rocked herself with pleasure ’mid the leaves.
    In haste she put her crimson mantle on,
    And gave her garment, grateful, to the Wind.
    Into his hand she placed a ruby gem,
    And breathed upon him all her gracious scent.
    And gold was strewn about the rose garden,
    And all the folk for dust walked over gold.
    And the Rose bloomed in all her stateliest pomp,
    And laughed with joy in her enkindling heart.




LVI

DESCRIPTION OF THE MORNING FEAST GIVEN BY THE LOVELY ROSE, TO WHICH SHE
ASKS THE NIGHTINGALE, AND ENJOYS HERSELF WITH HIM IN ARDENT PASSION AND
KINDNESS AND PURE LOVE


    Upon a certain morning, when the day
    O’er all the world lay like an open rose,
    When day was bright with sweet fruition’s bliss,
    And the world’s face was like a rose fountain,
    When the world opened like a petaled rose,
    And folk like nightingales sang out for joy,
    Then was it that the Rose, in Gulistan,
    Adorned herself with caftan of pure gold.
    Red was she both without, and red within,
    And red the turban high that crowned her brow.
    She decked herself with gladness and with joy,
    And o’er her shoulders flung a mantle green.
    And to atone for all past suffering
    She sends out invitations to a feast,
    That she may cheer with brightness troubled hearts,
    And fill their goblets with the wine of joy.
    She gave the tulips word of her design,
    And bade them crown with wine the gleaming cup.
    She told the dew to pour its sparkling wine
    Into the chalice of each opening flower.
    She bade narcissus with his beaker full,
    To show himself that day a roysterer,
    And that the cypress should before the gate
    Stand seneschal, awaiting her command.
    She saw the meadow carpeted with green,
    And all new garmented the world of flowers.
    The stately lily dropped her gleaming sword,
    And stood with peaceful mien beside her hearth.
    The hyacinth forsook his plots of ill,
    And thought upon his rightful services.
    And as the Rose this firman sent abroad,
    All Gulistan was decked for holiday.
    And to the garden feast they hurried fast,
    Bent on the recreation of their hearts.
    The Rose herself, with happy mien, assumed
    The place of honor in the rose garden,
    And all the other nobles sat around,
    In ranks and orders at the garden feast;
    And the bright cup went round from lip to lip;
    And each to other pledged the beady wine.
    In cup of virgin gold, a foaming draught
    The Rose with loving laughter drank to all.
    And twice again the ruddy wine she quaffed,
    With heart and eye fixed on the Nightingale.
    She saw that from the circle of her court,
    The bird, all solitary, sat aloof.
    And then her veil she lifted from her face,
    That she, against her wont, might plain be seen;
    And said: “The time for sorrow has gone by,
    Now let each sufferer plead his cause to us.
    Then wherefore should the Bulbul sit apart,
    Rather than gladden with his lays our feast?
    For now in separation’s deadly night,
    Well has he earned the glory of the dawn.
    “Go,” to the East Wind said she, “bring to me
    That mourning minstrel for this festal hour.”
    The East Wind, nourisher of all that lives,
    Well knew the goodness of the princess’ heart;
    And thus he spoke unto the Nightingale:
    “O sorrow singer, let thy lot be bliss.
    The Rose, who greets thee now with kindliness,
    Invites thee to her festal gathering;
    O Bulbul, now distress thyself no more,
    For thou hast reached the goal of thy desire.”
    And as these words the pining Bulbul heard,
    He turned himself to God with thankful heart.
    At last he came, with many a tender thought,
    Unto the festival the Rose ordained.
    The Rose all honor did him in her power;
    And took him to herself to cherish him.
    And said, “Ah, sad one, what has pained thee now?
    Thou art for all thy absence now consoled.
    And now it is ordained by happy fate,
    That I should give to thee a little pledge.
    My flight has put thy song quite out of tune,
    And turned aside the music of thy song.
    Now let thyself no longer rove away,
    For thou canst rightly linger here a while;
    For all the sickness I have caused to thee,
    A thousand faithful pledges be returned.
    It is the custom of the beauteous one,
    That she should crown affliction with her trust.”
    As to the Nightingale these gracious words
    Were in caressing accents thus addressed,
    He charged himself with fault a thousand times,
    And mute he stood, and weak and tottering.
    He said: “The word that falls from thee is good,
    And trust that follows after suffering
    Is good, and what thou doest is well done.
    For above all a loving sweetheart stands;
    And I have shed my blood for love of thee,
    And shouldst thou slay me I would not complain.
    For thee, the breath of life within me heaves,
    E’en separation as delight I hail.”
    ’Twas thus the Rose and Nightingale beguiled
    The time in conversation amorous.
    Then they began to quaff the ruddy wine;
    And many a goblet sparkled to the brim.
    Draughts of the rosy-tinted wine they took,
    And in the feast the pastoral pipes were heard,
    And Bulbul his clear notes with ardor poured.
    They rang through all the ranks of Gulistan,
    Like some sweet lute they floated on the air,
    And oft in loudest trills they burst like flame.
    His look was fixed upon the lustrous Rose,
    In ardent longing soft as a caress.
    Now his love burst in flame like aloe flowers;
    And in his glowing song he uttered sighs.
    Although made happy by his keen delight,
    He still in sighs the longed-for kisses craved.
    With golden draughts the goblet oft was filled,
    But kisses were the sugar in the cup.
    For while the bird began to sip the wine,
    He stole a kiss from the fair Rose’s lips;
    Warmer and warmer with the feast he grew,
    With hearts quite melted went they arm in arm,
    And as the liquor mounted to his brain
    The banqueter lay senseless on the ground.
    And the glass circled round amid the feast,
    Till heaven its circuit had to evening brought.




LVII

THE DESCRIPTION OF THE NIGHT AND THE NIGHT-LONG REVEL AMID THE SOUND OF
TRUMPETS AND CASTANETS


    And when the day dissolved the company,
    The feast renewed itself through all the night.
    Soon as in heaven the constellations bright,
    Assembled round the moon, their empress queen.
    The stars that fluttering like butterflies,
    Were gathered in the palace of the moon,
    So gathered nobles in the rose garden,
    With friendship and with pledging of the wine.
    And now the Rose was filled with wild desire,
    The Nightingale his loveliest chanson poured.
    And the narcissus lit his golden lamps,
    And brightened all the spaces of the grove,
    And the glass circled ’mid the merry throng,
    And lute and castanet their music made.
    The flutes with their shrill notes began to sound,
    Commingled with the tinkling tambourine.
    And round in rank on rank the flowers were ranged.
    Buds blew the horn, and roses beat the drum,
    The very violets in the music joined.
    While all the larch-trees rustled in accord.
    Narcissus beat the drum with thundering note,
    Through the whole rout the pattering tomtom rang,
    The lilies took the hautboys in their hands,
    The tulips blew their bagpipes, and each played
    On every side the instrument he chose,
    And so the merry concert filled the groves.
    The cypress led the dance at his own will,
    His step kept time to the musician’s note,
    And the East Wind sighed softly over all,
    Amid the clangor of the flute and horn.
    And so the revel sounded deep and high
    As flutes, or dying harmonies ordained,
    And clamor filled with shouts the rose garden,
    And all the city rang to beat of drum.
    And drowsy fumes of wine made tottering feet,
    The red from many a lip was kissed away.
    The Nightingale is drunk for happiness,
    Sunk in the melody of his desire.
    He thinks upon the lips of her he loves,
    And ceases not to sip the ruddy wine,
    And the Rose blushes as she pledges him,
    And all his keen desire she turns to bliss.
    And tender protestations there are heard,
    And happy pledges are between them made,
    And love from both sides breathes its scented breath,
    And the sweet pang of passion fills that hour,
    And not a cloud was in the placid sky.
    The lover stood possessed of his beloved,
    And ever higher mantled pleasure’s tide,
    Till all the consciousness of life was lost.
    The Rose and Nightingale together there,
    In undisturbed communion abode.
    And many a word of tenderness they spoke,
    Threading in speech the mazes of their love,
    Propitious was the opportunity.
    They were united ne’er to be divorced.
    The lover and the object of his love
    Were rendered one in passion’s glowing hour.
    The dance of love went on till morning light,
    The feast of passion lasted till the dawn.
    No sleep their eyelids closed, and till the morn
    They ceased not quaffing of the ruby wine.




LVIII

THE HAPPINESS OF THE ROSE AND NIGHTINGALE DOES NOT CONTINUE


    And in this wise for many and many a day,
    The Rose and Nightingale held festival,
    Until the furious cruelty of fate
    Turned all their love to abject misery.
    The Rose became the prey of every wind,
    The Nightingale fell headlong in the dust,
    The course of fate ordained for them to drink
    The cup of desolation to the dregs.
    Those upon whom companion’s smile is turned,
    Are never infinitely destitute,
    And this too treacherous world betrays us all,
    With craft and the sharp edge of trickery.
    And when the dish gives honey to our lips,
    A deadly poison lurks within the bowl.
    And if we trust one moment to a cup
    It kills us till the blood in torrents flows.
    When did two days award an equal calm
    But that distress did not the next ensue?
    When was it that the highest bliss was given,
    But that at last there followed misery?
    The treasure is a snake, the gold but dross,
    Their grace a fading leaf, their balm is blight,
    And pain is but the sequel of delight,
    Their life to nothing but a vapor turns.
    Darius, Alexander, where are they,
    Who once were conquerors of every land?
    For both of them at last exchanged for grief,
    For grief of death, the glory of their life.
    Where is the sovereign Solomon, whose throne
    From peak to peak of Caucasus was set,
    He whose high throne was sport to every wind,
    To waft it as it wished to every pole?
    At last the wind bore off the lofty throne,
    And Solomon to-day is but a name.
    Where is Schamshid, through whose profound design
    The world was moulded into living form?
    But even his genius vanished in the wind,
    And suddenly he mouldered into dust.
    Where now is he, the Lord of all the world,
    The lord of lords, illustrious Feridun?
    He also to the spoiler yields his power,
    Flung to the ground to mingle with the dust.
    Still in this house there lingers only one,
    The everlasting, everliving God.
    This world has but two portals, which indeed
    Are separated from each other far,
    For by one door man enters to the house,
    And by the other he an exit makes.
    Who in this house forever gladly stays,
    From which the very Prophet took his flight?
    And since he never lingered in this house,
    How canst thou think eternal there thy lot?
    What is the world, O Fasli, but an inn
    Where caravans halt only for night?
    Put not thy trust, then, in its permanence,
    For ambush ever lies in wait for it.
    Distrust it, then, for it can ne’er endure,
    Despise it, for it has no help for thee.




LIX


DECLARATION OF THE HIDDEN MEANING WHICH FOR THE MYSTIC LIES IN THIS TRUE
HISTORY AND MOURNFUL NARRATIVE


    Thou who hast on these pages fixed thine eyes,
    If there is any knowledge in thy mind,
    Look not on these events as idle tales,
    For in the words a meaning there abides.
    And what from idle tales can come of good,
    Unless some meaning there be hid in them?
    Some doctrine from a fable often comes,
    So idle tales are often profitless.
    And hence the hidden sense of history
    Declares the sequel both to me and thee.
    For now when to an end the story comes,
    Thou needs must learn the lesson of the tale.
    The Shah, the radiant monarch of the Spring,
    Is intellect that bides for evermore.
    The Rose, which is the daughter of the Shah,
    Is genius, offspring of the intellect.
    The city which is named the rose garden
    Is life when spent on beds of luxury.
    The Nightingale upon the rose parterre
    The human heart, which after genius longs.
    The heart by genius is perfected,
    And therefore is of genius amorous.
    The East Wind is the breath of suffering,
    Which ever blows between the heart and soul,
    And the clear vision which in life abides
    Is the narcissus in the rose parterre.
    The tulip, in a circle bends its cup,--
    ’Tis friendship with its tender-heartedness.
    The cypress, I would fain expound to you,
    Is the free symbol of integrity.
    The rivulet is purity of soul,
    Wherein the well-beloved is mirrored clear.
    And in the dew which serves the flowers for wine
    Is seen the shining tenderness of God.
    What is the lily else but bravery?
    The violet is loveliness of heart,
    The hyacinth is bitter jealousy,
    The thorn is anger which estranges all.
    And that which Summer I and Winter call,
    Must also have a double sense to thee.
    For one brings many blessings to thy life,
    The other desolates this world of ours;
    And on the character of each of these
    All of the year’s vicissitudes depend.
    The one is strong as anger in its day,
    And with it carries off the strength of man;
    For man when fiery ardor rules the sky
    Finds all his life with flames of heat consumed.
    And this is August burning like a brand,
    Which desolates the city of the soul.
    Thus will be clear to thee how any fire
    Destroys the happiness of monarch Spring.
    So soon as suffering seizes on the life
    It overcomes the soul and intellect.
    For intellect its office fails to fill,
    So anger has with all things laid it waste.
    The other source of strength is love of kind,
    Which always brings a blessing in its train.
    Its action is to deepen graciousness,
    And give new color to the sense of life.
    And so I name it Autumn: well is known
    Its character as separate and distinct--
    Since rage and passion then are satisfied,
    And life into a mellow twilight comes.
    While all the time nature in calm decay
    Is like the chill of man’s declining day.
    And thus the king of winter seems at last
    The human life and spirit to usurp.
    The king who does the rose garden restore
    Is but the light and health that clears man’s soul.
    Anger and passion both give way to him,
    And God’s own light at last pours blessing down.
    This king brings help to heart and intellect,
    And takes possession of the whole domain.
    He frees the spirit from the charge of sense,
    And widens out the prospect of the soul;
    Then heart and spirit in a kiss unite,
    The bridal of the Rose and Nightingale.




LX


THE CLOSE OF THE BOOK


    Thank God, these pages, numbered to the full,
    Are pleasant as the petals of a Rose;
    Where genius is as the Nightingale,
    And plucks them ardently from off the flower.
    ’Tis genius blent the sweets of Gulistan,
    Tinting narcissus’ cheeks with fresher hue.
    Each verse is like a gayly-painted rose,
    And Bulbul is the guardian of the grove.
    The letters like to cedars stand in line,
    The lines run o’er the page like rivulets.
    The words like rank and file their order take,
    The sense is as the diamond in the mine.
    And thus the poet has prepared for you
    A feast of tenderness, a dainty feast,
    A bosom book of the sublimest lore,
    Which all the world will welcome with delight.
    The book towers up like some tall monument,
    And every verse of it is Eden’s door.
    And I have put a meaning under it,
    Which is the Gulistan of its fair words.
    It sprang from out the well of my pure wit,
    My genius is enthroned on its renown,
    ’Tis I who clothed the legend in these words,
    The language and the meaning both are mine,
    And in this legend there is naught of guile,
    My taper’s light no _ignis fatuus_,
    And he who sees the symbol will esteem,
    The book from title-page to colophon.
    I borrowed no man’s phrases and I trod
    No path that had been trodden hitherto.
    Forth from the portal of my intellect
    There streamed the words of evil and of good.
    And many a lovely lay have I composed
    From the sad music of the Nightingale.
    So that this book, so fascinating fair,
    Will by the fair ever be beloved.
    I hope that God the volume will protect,
    And keep it safe from misadventures twain.
    First from a critic ignorant and dull,
    Who like a mule the poet tramples down,
    A critic without intellect and sense,
    Who cannot see the meaning of the words,
    But twists the sense of every graceful line,
    And does not hear the music in the verse.
    One point he dwells on, to another blind,
    And mixes up the poetry and prose.
    Presumes himself to boast poetic fire,
    And to set right a hundred lines of mine.
    Then from the writer who, like one bewitched,
    Does naught but blot each blemish in the book.
    He scores the book with blots as with a cloak,
    And all its beauties in concealment keeps.
    He sticks his mark where is no need of it,
    And blunders every time he would correct;
    His criticism should be criticised,
    And his misuse of language makes me smile,
    Even misspelling he is guilty of.
    His very letters does he scarcely know,
    His very pen itself cannot run straight,
    His knotted fingers scarce can hold the pen.
    Now, Fasli, comes at length thy poem’s end.
    Thank God for all the beauty of thy lays.
    Leave poetry and turn thy mind to God,
    And thank him thou hast reached the colophon.
    Thy book is one of happiness and bliss,
    In lovers’ bosoms it will oft be borne.
    And now the numbered verses thus conclude
    The story of the Rose and Nightingale.




HISTORY OF THE FORTY VEZIRS




INTRODUCTION


It is related that the wife of a great king unjustly accused his son, by
another mother, of an act of treachery against his father; and that that
king was wroth, and for forty mornings caused his son to be led forth to
be slain; and that that king had many vezirs, all of whom were peerless
in the sea of understanding, and in thoughtfulness and sagacity, and
full of plans and devices; and that when the king each morning caused
his son to be led forth for execution, these vezirs gave the king
counsel, and each morning a vezir, telling a story, calmed the king’s
heart and turned away his wrath, and saved the prince from his hand; and
again, that each night that crafty lady, letting not the king rest, ever
incited him to the slaughter of the prince, and with enticing and
beguiling words, repeated each night a story to the king, and made his
understanding forsake him; and that through the words of that crafty
lady, every morning for forty days he caused his son to be led into his
presence to be slain; and that the vezirs by telling a story delivered
him. After forty days the innocence of the prince was manifested and the
falsehood and calumny of the crafty lady disclosed; and she received her
due, and the prince was greatly loved and esteemed before his father
when the truth of his affair was known. The adventures of the king, and
the lady and the prince, and his governor and the vezirs, and what
befell between them, will be related; and sixteen of the stories told by
the vezirs in the forty days, and by the lady in the forty nights will
be set forth and narrated. “With God is grace: how excellent a friend is
he!”

They tell in history books, that there was in Persia a great king, whose
name was Khānqīn, and in the grasp of whose possession were the Seven
Climes. As he was gracious and able and sagacious, kingliness and the
bases of empire were present in him. God most high had give him a fair
son, by whose beauty the people of the world were bewildered. Whosoever
looked upon his loveliness would say, “Is it magic, this?”[3] and he who
beheld his tall figure would exclaim, “This is no mortal!”[4] Fair was
his beauty and charming was his self, and desired of lovers. Moreover,
his were accomplishments and perfections; he had no rival in the reading
of science, or in penmanship, or in archery, or in horsemanship; and his
fair character was talked of and celebrated among high and low. The
king, too, whenever he saw him, experienced a hundred thousand
pleasures, and looked upon him as the source of his life. The mother of
this youth was of the lovely ones of China.[5] One day she fell ill, and
at length, no remedy availing, she was received into Mercy. Thereupon,
after some time had passed, his father married the daughter of a great
king and brought her to his palace.

After a while this lady fell in love with the prince. For a long time
she hid her love in her heart, and, saying in herself, “He is my
step-son, what help for it!” she disclosed it not. But when, day after
day, she looked upon his beauty, she was no longer able to bear with
patience the fire of love, and, bringing into the field the wallet of
craft, she was busy night and day with stratagems. Now the king had
given the prince to a governor to be taught the sciences of astronomy
and astrology, and the boy was night and day occupied acquiring them.
One day the governor looked at the youth’s horoscope, and perceived
there was a space of forty days in most sinister aspect. Did he say a
word about this, he would be pointing out a great calamity; so he was
exceeding grieved, and his heart was contracted. But he said to the
prince, “I have this day looked at thy horoscope and seen a most
sinister aspect; such is it, my life,[6] that thou must obey the command
and decree of God most high, and observe my injunction, else thou shalt
die.”

The prince heard these words of his governor and his color changed, and
he said to his teacher, “Order what thou wilt: command is thine.” Quoth
the teacher, “O son, the way of averting this calamity is thus stated in
the book: for the space of forty days thou shalt not speak one word
though a naked sword be above thy head.” Then he bade the prince bear in
mind certain of the holy names and blessed litanies, and sent him to his
father. The governor thereupon hid in a vault and concealed himself.[7]
When the prince came to his father, the latter said to him, “My son,
what hast thou read and written this day?” but the prince gave no answer
to his father. Again quoth the king, “O my life, what does thy master?”
again he gave no answer. Again his father said, “O life of my life, what
has befallen thee? Why dost thou not speak?” Again he gave no answer.
Then said the king to his son’s guardian, “The boy is sad to-day, take
him to his mother, maybe that his heart will expand.” Then the guardian
took the youth to the lady and said, “Lady, this youth is sad, he has
not uttered one syllable to his father this day, therefore has he sent
him to thee, that peradventure he may speak beside his mother.” The lady
was glad and said, “Clear the house, go, be off; that I may learn
somewhat of the prince, and banish his sadness and grief.”

When she was alone with the youth the lady threw her arm round his neck,
and said, “O my life, ah, my lord, what has befallen thee that thy heart
is thus sad, and that thou art disconsolate and mournful? Whatever thy
father possesses is in my hand; if thou wilt make thy heart one with
mine, and act according to my words, I will turn away thy sadness.” To
her too the prince gave no answer. Again said the lady, “Thou art a
grown-up youth, I too am a young lady; thy father is a decrepit old man,
with neither thought nor discernment; if thou wilt assure me, and swear
to me, and accept me as thy legal wife, I will make shift to kill thy
father and make thee king in his stead. First, I swear by God, and for
God, and in God, that I speak these words from the bottom of my heart
and from my very soul, and that I will not falsify these words; do thou
likewise assure me, and swear to me that I may act accordingly.” The
prince answered not a word.

Quoth the lady, “O dearer than my life, should thou ask how I will kill
thy father; lo, in the treasury are many kinds of poisons, of one of
which if a person eat, he turns ill and after three months dies. The
people will not know the cause of his death, and will not suspect that
he has eaten poison. They will say he but took ill, and will doubtless
make thee king. Should thou say I am thy step-mother and wonder how thou
art to marry me, the way is this: send me off to my own country, and
while yet on the road, send someone after me who shall come in the guise
of a robber and pounce upon us by night and seize me; so it will be said
that robbers have seized me. Then buy me as a slave girl from that man,
and make me thy wife; so none will know.” But the prince answered her
not at all, and spake not. Then the lady grew desperate at his not
speaking, and her patience was exhausted, and she said, “O my soul, O my
gliding angel, why wilt thou not speak to me?” And she put her arm round
his neck and drew him to her and made to kiss him. And the prince was
wroth, and he smote the lady’s mouth with the back of his hand, so that
her mouth filled with blood.

When she saw this conduct the fire of anger blazed up in the hearth of
her breast, and the sparks from the fumes of her pride gained her heart,
and she cried, “Out on thee! fool! boy! I sought to raise thee to the
throne and make thee king, and thou didst strike me thus; now will I
speak to thy father that he shall hew thee in pieces, small even as
thine ear.” And she dishevelled her hair and smeared the four sides of
her robe with the blood of her mouth and sat down, sad and tearful,
feeble and wailing. Then the youth went to his private apartments. After
a time the king came to the harem, thinking to inquire of the lady
concerning the affair of the prince, and he saw her seated besmeared
with red blood. And the king marvelled at this sight, and said to the
lady, “What is this matter? explain to me.” She said, “O king, that
degenerate son of thine! God forbid that he be son of thine!” “What is
the matter?” said the king.

The lady replied, “I saw that degenerate youth that he was sad, and I
cleared the palace that I might banish his sadness, and I said to him,
‘My son, why art thou sad?’ Then he stretched forth his hand and made to
do me wrong, but I prevented him. Then he said to me, ‘Why dost thou
flee me? if thou wilt be my mistress and make thy heart one with mine,
and assure me thereof, it is my intention to kill my father and make
thee my wife; and the riches, and the country, and the throne, and the
kingdom will be ours,’ But I consented not, and he desired to kill me
that I might not make known this matter to the king. And I cried out for
the saving of my life, and he left me in this plight and went away. Now,
O king, know of a surety that he purposes evil against thee, and see to
the saving of thine own life, else crown and throne will go from thy
hands; so ere he kill thee do thou kill him that thou be secure from his
wickedness.” When the king heard these words from the lady he was wroth,
and that night sleep came not to his eyes.

In the early morning he went forth and sat upon his throne, and caused
the prince to be brought before him, that he might order the executioner
to smite off his head. The courtiers who were beside him got the
executioner to delay, and at once sent word to the vezirs. As soon as
they knew what was happening, the vezirs came with all speed to the
presence of the king, and said, “O king, how has the prince this day
thus merited the anger of the king?”

The king related to the vezirs the events that had taken place,
whereupon the grand vezir said, “Slay not thy son, trusting on the
woman’s word; do not a deed beyond the ordinance of God and the law of
the Messenger:[8] and there is no permission in the law for one to act
on a woman’s word. If there were witnesses that the prince had done this
thing to the lady, then were command the king’s; but spill not blood
unjustly, that afterward thou suffer not regret and remorse. They have
said that whatsoever oppression there be in a country it is incumbent on
him who is king to banish it; where then were room for kings to do deeds
beyond the law and spill blood unjustly? If they be negligent in the
matter of banishing oppression, God most high will visit and afflict
them with four sorts of troubles: firstly, he will make their life
short; secondly, he will let the enemy prevail against them; thirdly,
he will give the enemy aid and victory; and fourthly, on the
resurrection day he will be wroth with them and consign them to the
torment of hell.

“He then is wise who will not for a five-days’ life lose the hereafter,
and is not needless. And, moreover, the holy Messenger (peace on him!)
when going to perform the ablution would first of all perform it with
sand; the companions asked, ‘O Apostle of God, is it lawful to perform
the sand ablution when there is water?’ The most noble beloved of God
replied, ‘I fear lest death let me not reach the water.’ Now, O king, be
not presumptuous through worldly fortune and kingship, and consent not
to a deed contrary to the law, and ruin not thy hereafter, trusting in
the woman’s word. For by reason of the craft of woman has many a head
been cut off; and the blessed Messenger hath said, ‘Whatsoever
misfortunes befall my people will befall them through women.’ And wise
is he who looks at the beginning and end of an affair, like that king
who took counsel with his sons and his vezirs and the elders of the
country, and was prospered alike in the world and the hereafter. And
that story is a fair story; if the king grant leave I will relate it.”
The king said, “Tell on.” Quoth the vezir:




TRIAL OF THE THREE SONS


“There was of old time in the palace of the world a great king, such
that the world was under his rule. He had lived enjoying sovereignty for
a hundred and twenty years in the palace of the world, and was grown old
and knew that in the near future he would be given to drink of the
potion of death. And the king had three moon-faced[9] sons and likewise
three able and skilful vezirs. One day quoth the king to his vezirs,
‘The end of this my life draws nigh; the natural life of man is a
hundred and twenty years, after that not an old man remains. Now I have
reached that state and the affair is thus, I wish to appoint one of my
sons to my place, and, leaning my back against the wall of abdication,
take rest. Which of my sons do ye deem worthy of the throne?’ The vezirs
said, ‘O king, long be thy life; a person’s good and bad are not known
till he have been proved; for two things are the touchstone of a man;
the first is wine, the second, office; in these two things is a person’s
manfulness apparent and manifest. This were best, for nine days let
these thy three sons enjoy the throne and sovereignty, and with this
touchstone let the king prove them; whatever be the character of each of
them, it will appear; for the rest, let the king order accordingly,’

“When the king heard these words from the vezirs they seemed right good
to his heart, and he commanded that each son should sit for three days
on the throne and exercise sovereignty, and declared that he would allow
whatever they should annul or appoint, and whatever they should grant
from the treasury, and whatever justice or oppression they might show,
and that no one should say aught. Then the eldest son of the king sat
upon the throne and directed the government, and he practised justice
and equity on such wise as cannot be described. He loved the doctors and
turned from the foolish, and gave the high offices to the learned, and
withdrew from listening to things forbidden and what was vain, and
strove much in well-doing.

“Then the king, to prove the judgment of his son, sent him three persons
from prison, one was a murderer, and one a thief, and one an adulterer;
and with them he sent the complainants. When they came before the prince
the complainants stated their case and the witnesses bore witness that
these three persons were indeed guilty, and that these words were no
calumny against them, but true. When the prince knew how the case was,
he said, ‘On a man’s coming into the world he is the blood of his
father’s and mother’s hearts; and, after bearing these many troubles and
afflictions, a man in forty years becomes mature; so it is not well to
slay him in a minute, as God most high will in the hereafter surely
punish him in hell.’ And he made them vow that henceforward they would
do no such deeds, and set all three at liberty. And for the whole three
days he ruled with justice.

“On the fourth day the turn came to the middle son, and he likewise sat
upon the throne and directed the government. He abased the learned and
promoted the foolish; and adopted as habit wine and music, and as
profession avarice and meanness. Brief, he was the opposite of his
elder brother. According to the custom, they sent to him too three
criminals. When the prince heard how the case was he said, ‘Men like
these are the thorns of the country;’ and he ordered that the three of
them perished. When he too had ruled for three days, the turn came to
the youngest prince, and he likewise sat upon the throne and directed
the government. He gave to the doctors the post suitable to the doctors,
and to the learned the high offices, and to the strong and impetuous
young heroes, military fiefs, and to the champions, feudal domains; and
he registered their pay. He honored each of them according to his
position, and abased the unmannerly. Brief, he put each one in his
proper place, like a string of pearls; and he left not his gate unlocked
lest the foe should triumph over him.

“The king again sent three culprits from the prison that he might try
his judgment. When they were present the servants informed him, and he
said, ‘Bring them one by one,’ Then when the witnesses had borne witness
that the man had indeed committed murder, the prince said, ‘Murder is of
two kinds, the one intentional, the other accidental; and the
intentional is also of two kinds, the first when a person strikes
another with an iron instrument and kills him, him it is needful to put
to death in retaliation; and they have written in the Book of Dues that
if one person strike another with a stick and kill him, or if he throw
him into a fire, then the fine for blood and the expiation alike become
necessary. And the other too is accidental, when the expiation is
incumbent, and he is culpable, but the fine for blood does not become
necessary. And that is accidental when a person shoots an arrow at a
deer, and it glances and hits a man and kills him; as God most high hath
said, “Then whoso killeth a believer by mischance, then (the expiation
is) the freeing of a believer from bondage ... but if he find not (the
means of doing so), then a fast for two consecutive months.”’[10]

“Then the prince asked and learned that he had murdered intentionally;
so they executed him. After that they brought the thief; and the prince
said, ‘If anyone, sane and of age, steal ten minted dirhems of silver,
his hand must be cut off, as also if he steal one dīnār of gold, even as
saith the Apostle (peace on him!), “No cutting save for a dīnār or ten
dirhems.” When one thus commits theft his right hand must be cut off at
the wrist; if he commit theft again, his left hand must be cut off; if
he commit it a third time, his right foot must be cut off; and if he
commit it yet again, he must be put in prison till he repent.’ Then the
prince caused the man to receive the due of his crime. After that they
brought him who had committed adultery, his case also they exposed, and
they gave him the due of his sin conformably to the law.

“The nine days were completed, and the king assembled his vezirs and
said, ‘Lo, ye have seen the rule of my three sons, which of them is
worthy the throne?’ Quoth the first vezir, ‘O king, thy eldest son is
worthy,’ Quoth the second vezir, ‘Thy middle son is worthy,’ Quoth the
third vezir, ‘Thy youngest son is worthy,’ When the king heard these
words of the vezirs his doubts were not removed; and he said, ‘O vezirs,
the words of the three of ye are contrary each to other.’ And forthwith
he commanded the people of the country that on the morrow they should
all come out to the plain. The next day the whole of the folk were
assembled on the plain; then the king rose on his feet and said, ‘O
people, do not to-morrow on the resurrection day seize hold of my collar
and say, “Thou hast oppressed us,” and so wrest from me my meritorious
acts and render me confounded and ashamed. Now be ye kind and look not
at my kingship and know that before God most high there is none meaner
or more abject than myself.’ And he wept full bitterly. And the rich and
poor assembled there wept all of them together.

“Then turning again, the king said, ‘O friends, lo, my time is at hand;
do ye absolve me for the hereafter. I have three sons, whichever of them
ye wish, him will I seat upon the throne. If he be just, ye will enjoy
rest and bless me, and I shall be at rest in the place where I lie; but
if he be cruel, ye will not have rest neither shall I have rest.’ The
people said, ‘May the king’s life endure full many a year! may God most
high be well pleased with our king! We are well pleased with our king;
whatever we may have against our king, let him be absolved. We are
pleased with whichever son he see worthy the throne; but since the king
has given the choice into our hands, let him seat his youngest son upon
the throne. He is wise as well as learned and skilled in the affairs of
the world; if the king see fit, the wise is worthy the seat of honor, as
this has come down in the traditions, “A wise youth taketh precedence of
a foolish elder.” For the rest, the king knows.’

“Then the king went to the palace and ordered that they adorned the
throne, and the grandees of the state came, and all were present. Then
he took his youngest son by the hand and made to seat him on the throne,
when his brothers came forward and said, ‘O father, all the folk say
that he is accomplished and wise and that he knows well the law and the
government; now we have some questions to ask of him, which if he
answer, we also will contentedly resign to him the throne and stand in
his presence with folded hands;[11] but if not, the crown and throne
indeed become him not.’

“The king said to his youngest son, ‘What sayest thou?’ He replied,
‘Whatsoever their questions be, let them ask them.’ They said, ‘What is
meant by Sultan?’ He answered, ‘By Sultan is meant one who has
certificate and warrant, that we obey the command and ordinance of God
most high: the Sultan is the shadow of God on the earth.’ And they
asked, ‘To whom is it worthy to be king by birth?’ He answered, ‘First
the king’s lineage must be manifest, then his descent must be perfect,
then he must observe the habits of the just monarchs. They said, ‘Who is
just?’ He answered, ‘The just is he who transgresses not the law.’ They
said, ‘Who is unjust?’ He replied, ‘He who rather than obey the law,
brings in innovations of his own, so that it may be easy to amass wealth
with oppression.’ They said, ‘What manner of persons should kings
appoint vezirs?’

“He answered, ‘They should appoint those persons in whom are two
characteristics, the first of which is that they be endowed with
prudence and resource, and the second that they be wise and
accomplished; for learning in a man is a second understanding.’ They
said, ‘How many sorts of people are needful to kings?’ He answered,
‘Four kinds of people; the first, skilful vezirs; the second, valiant
warriors; the third, an accomplished scribe who is perfect in Arabic and
Persian and the science of writing; and the fourth, a clever physician
who is most able in the science of philosophy.’ They said, ‘How many
different things ought always to be in the thoughts of a king?’ He
answered, ‘Four different things; the first, to do justice to the
people; the second, to use aright the money that is in the treasury; the
third, to distribute offices properly; and the fourth, to be not
negligent concerning enemies.’ They said, ‘How many different traits
should the king adopt as his wont?’ He answered, ‘Four; the first is a
smiling face; the second, a sweet speech; the third, generosity; and the
fourth, mercy to the poor.’ They said, ‘How many kinds of courtiers are
needful to the king?’ He answered, ‘Four classes are requisite; first,
the wise; second, the learned; third, the valiant champions; and fourth,
musicians: from the wise he will learn the law, from the learned he will
acquire the sciences, from the valiant champions he will acquire
chivalry, and by the musicians will his heart be expanded.’

“They said, ‘Of which class should the king consider himself one?’ He
answered, ‘Let him consider himself of the great sheykhs who have
reached God, for it will cause him to be just.’ Then he turned to his
brothers and said, ‘O my brothers, ye have put these many questions to
me and I have answered the whole of them to the best of my power: I too
have a question.’ So they said to him, ‘Ask on.’ Quoth he, ‘What do the
kings of the world resemble, and what do their agents resemble, and what
do the people resemble, and what do the king’s enemies resemble, and
what do the sheykhs resemble?’ Then they both bent their heads and
pondered. After a time the prince again said, ‘This is no time for
pondering; lo, there the question; lo, there the throne.’ Quoth they,
‘We are unequal to this question.’ Then the king took his youngest son
by the hand and seated him on the throne and said, ‘O son, may God ever
aid thee and may thy foes be overthrown!’ Then all the nobles of the
state and the people came and said, ‘May the throne be blessed!’ And
they made him king over them.

“Then the king said, ‘O son, do thou answer the question thou puttest to
thy brethren, that we may hear.’ Quoth the prince, ‘O my father, this
world resembles a pasture, and these people resemble the sheep that
wander in that pasture, and the king resembles their shepherd, and the
owner of the sheep is God most high, and the nobles resemble that
shepherd’s dogs, and the enemy resembles the wolf, and the sheykhs and
the wise resemble the guardians appointed by God most high over the
shepherd, who forbid the shepherd by the order of God most high whenever
he would do evil to the sheep. O father, in very truth I am a feeble
shepherd, I see the sheep, and I perceive that even while we say, “Let
not them come and hurt the sheep,” we become ourselves partners with the
wolf. Should the Owner of the sheep ask us about his lambs, woe, woe to
us!’ And he wept full bitterly. The princes acknowledged the sovereignty
of their younger brother.

“Then the King took up a handful of dust and put it on his eye and said,
‘O eye, how long a time is it I have been king, and how great wealth
have I amassed and brought before thee by this much oppression and
justice, and thou wast never satisfied! And with how many beauties have
I made merry and enjoyed the best of what they had till thou hast lost
all pleasure in taking it! And how many delicacies have I eaten and how
many sherbets have I drunk, and thou art not content! Why then didst
thou not look to these affairs and see not? True is it what they say,
“Naught fills the eye save a handful of dust.” Woe, woe, to us!’ And he
wept. And all the nobles assembled there were moved to pity and they
wept together. Then the king arose and went to his oratory and gave
himself up to devotion.

“After some time the king laid his head upon the pillow of death and
felt that his life had touched its end, and he said, ‘Do now before my
eyes that which ye should do when I am dead, that I may see it.’ Then
they laid the king upon his throne in the palace. And they scattered
sifted dust below the castle and cut up strips of damask and strewed
them with dust. And all the slave girls put on black and dishevelled
their hair and scattered dust upon their heads and began to weep
together, crying, ‘Alas! woe! alas!’ so that hearts were rent. Then came
the vezirs, who likewise fell to weeping together and exclaiming, ‘Shall
a king so just as this be found?’ After that they ordered that they
brought a coffin with great reverence; then the three princes, when they
saw the coffin, wept blood in place of tears and cried, ‘This is the
horse our father rideth now!’ And they adorned it with jewels and
placed upon it a jewel-set crown and held over it the royal parasol.

“Then four great lords came and took hold of the frame of the coffin and
bare it away. And before the coffin went the sheykhs singing chants and
hymns. And the devotees held copies of the sacred volume before them;
and great nobles and nobles’ sons marched in front. Before them were a
hundred sweet-voiced dirge singers who wept and cried, ‘Ah! woe! alas!’
And from one side they scattered gold and silver and jewels on the
coffin; and there were some 10,000 horsemen with golden saddles and
broken stirrups and snapped bows. And behind these was an array of slave
girls, all clad in black, whose wails and cries rose to the heavens.

“When the king saw those things he sighed and ordered that they took him
down from the throne; and he turned and said, ‘While yet alive I have
seen my death.’ And he took a handful of earth and threw it on his head
and said, ‘Earth, though this long sovereignty has been mine, I have
done no righteous deed which will endure.’ And again, ‘O vezirs, I would
that ye endow for me.’ Thereupon the vezirs wrote what amounted to
10,000 aspres a day; and they founded free kitchens and colleges, and
they settled the revenues of certain towns and villages on the free
kitchens. When the business of the endowments was finished, they brought
the sections of the Koran, and to each section reader they gave five
sequins; and to each of the devotees and dervishes they gave 500
sequins.[12] Then they brought the food, and all the plates were of gold
or silver; and to all before whom they placed a dish they said, ‘Thine
be food and plate.’ When the banquet too was finished they freed all the
male and female slaves; and three days later the king departed for the
Abiding Home.

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that the king may, like that
sovereign, inquire, and act conformably to the words of the vezirs and
the people, and in compliance with the command of the law, that he be
not a prey in the world to remorse and in the hereafter to torment.” And
he kissed the ground and made intercession for the prince. When the
king heard of these wondrous events from the vezir, he perceived how
the world had no stability and he sighed and sent the youth to the
prison and went himself to the chase.

When it was evening he returned and came to the palace, and went in to
the lady who rose to greet him, and they sat down. After the repast the
lady began to speak about the youth and asked concerning him. Quoth the
king, “I have again sent him to the prison.” The lady said, “This matter
which has happened is no light matter, but thou art negligent and
wouldst act upon everyone’s word; and they have said that the negligent
person is not exempt from one of three conditions; either he is a fool,
or he is ignorant, or fortune has turned its face from him. O king, the
negligent does no perfect deed; be not negligent, for to be negligent in
this affair is madness. O king, this thy story resembles that of another
king, upon whom five times fell the enemy by reason of his negligence;
but mayhap my king has not heard that story.” The king said, “Tell on,
let us hear.” Quoth the lady:




STRATAGEM GREATER THAN STRENGTH


“There was of old time a king, and he had an enemy greater than himself.
One day that hostile king assembled a mighty host and came against that
weak king. The latter, having no other resource, assembled all his army
and went forth to meet him. Although he much besought that strong king
and said, ‘War is not a good thing, come, consent not to this calamity,
make not thyself guilty of the blood of so many Moslems;’ and mentioned
how the holy Apostle hath said, ‘If two Moslems fight against each other
with swords or other implements of war, and one kill the other, both the
killer and the killed shall enter hell;’ and made many and many an
excuse, it was in vain.

“When the king saw that all his entreaty was of no avail with the enemy,
he perceived that it was necessary to find some plan to avert this evil.
Now the king had three skilful vezirs, these he summoned to give
counsel. He said, ‘O my vezirs, what is your advice in this matter?’ The
chief vezir came forward and said, ‘My king, in the present
circumstances the military might of our enemy is great; most assuredly
are we unable to oppose him. Now the best way were this, that we put
off the battle and return to our country; he will certainly come after
us, but we will enter into a strong castle and rest there till that time
when fortune will surely turn toward us likewise; thus are the affairs
of the world, now gladness, now woe.’ He likewise asked the second
vezir, ‘What is thy advice, let us see?’ So he said, ‘O my king, all
that the first vezir has said is wise; but it is never allowable to show
weakness before the enemy, for inasmuch as thou displayest weakness will
he become strong; so if now thou shun battle and flee, thou wilt be
giving him opportunity. Wise is he who, although the enemy appear
overwhelming, fears not death and gives the foe no answer but the
sword.’

“Then, said the king to the third vezir, ‘What is thine advice in this
matter?’ The vezir answered, ‘O king, manliness is of ten parts, nine of
which are stratagem and one of which is strength; and by stratagem is
the affair of enemies ever finished, for they have said that the affair
which one stratagem finishes 100,000 soldiers cannot finish. If the king
will be guided by this humble one, to-night of a sudden we will attack
the enemy and fall upon his camp, and, if it please God most high, we
will cut off the heads of many of them.’ The king approved this
stratagem of the vezir, so when it was midnight and the enemy was
negligent they fell upon his camp from every side, and slaughtered the
foes till morning, and their king fled to his own country.

“So was this weak king victorious, and he returned to his own land. But
that fugitive king went to his country and assembled an army, and again
marched against this king. Then the weak king, having no other resource,
went forth to meet him, and they pitched opposite each other.

“The weak king said to his vezirs, ‘What is your advice this time, let
us see?’ Then quoth the third vezir, ‘O king, we shall again finish our
affair by stratagem.’ Said the king, ‘What stratagem shall we use? they
will be very watchful this night.’ The vezir replied, ‘Stratagem is not
one; let them keep watch till morning, we shall this time employ another
stratagem.’ Quoth the king, ‘Speak on, let us see.’ The vezir said, ‘We
will hide in ambush 2,000 strong impetuous youths; and as soon as it is
morning we will go out against the enemy and fight a little, then we
will appear to flee, and they shall follow after, thinking to fall upon
us; and when the foremost of the host reaches us we will turn and fight
with them and cut them down. Thereupon our soldiers who are in ambush
will rush into the field and take the hostile army in the centre; and,
if it please God most high, we will strike hard with our swords and
seize their leaders, and take their flags, and tear in pieces their
ensigns; and in this way will we overcome the foe.’ The king liked this
plan of the vezir, and by this stratagem they sabred the foe and were
again victorious. And the king returned smiling to his country.

“The other strong king in the greatness of his wrath cried out, ‘What
means this that thus weak a king routs my army and puts me to flight on
this wise! God most high gives victory to whom he will!’ Then he
assembled an army of which he, himself, knew not the number, and went
against that poor weak king. They gave the king word, and he, having no
other resource, went forth again, and they pitched opposite each other.
Again the weak king questioned his vezirs. Then the third vezir said, ‘O
my king, our affair is finished by stratagem.’ Quoth the king, ‘What
stratagem shall we employ?’ The vezir said, ‘O king, let us send an
adroit headsman, who will go and by some stratagem kill him; and when
the head goes the foot is not steady.’

“The king approved the vezir’s words, and sent a headsman with a dagger,
who went and somehow made shift to smite that strong king that he
well-nigh slew him, and then took flight. But while he was fleeing they
caught him and hewed him in pieces. When they saw their king that he had
reached the bounds of death, they said, ‘There is no fighting in such
plight;’ and they fled, bearing their king. They came to their country
and appointed a physician, and after some days the wound got better. And
that king again assembled a host and came against the poor weak king.
The latter, having no other resource, went forth to meet him and again
sought counsel of his vezirs. The third vezir said, ‘O my king, our
affair is finished by stratagem.’ The king asked, ‘What stratagem wilt
thou employ this time?’ The vezir said, ‘This time let us send an
ambassador and offer some money and some slave girls and say, “We submit
to thee.” And we will give poison to one of the slave girls we send,
and tell her to give it to the king to eat when she finds an
opportunity; and in this way will we gain the victory over him.’

“The king deemed the vezir’s words good, and by that stratagem they
poisoned that king. And this king mounted and attacked his army, and, as
when the head goes the foot is not steady, it was beaten. They took
their king, and, after a thousand stratagems, conveyed him to a castle
and tended him, and at length he recovered. Again he assembled an army,
and again they went against that weak king. So the latter, having no
other resource, again went forth to meet him. He summoned his vezirs and
asked advice. Again the third vezir said, ‘O king, our affair is
finished by stratagem.’ Quoth the king, ‘Give advice.’ The vezir said.
‘O king, this time he comes with great caution, and has posted men on
the roads and at the stations who seize on everyone who passes. If the
king deem good, we will write a letter and address it to his vezirs and
great nobles, and it shall be on this wise:

“’“After greeting: Be it not concealed that your letter has come and all
that you say is understood. Long life and health to you! We indeed hoped
it from you. Now let me see you. Display manliness and valor. Seize him
on the road and bring him to me, and that country shall be yours; such
and such a place to so and so, and such and such a district to so and
so.” Then we will seal it, and split a staff and put it therein, and
give it to a man and send him to them. They will find the staff and take
it to the king, who will undoubtedly read it, and look upon those vezirs
and nobles as traitors, and murmurings will arise among them and they
will split into parties. And by this stratagem we will again find
relief.’

“The king did so. And in that way they brought the letter to that king,
and as soon as he had read it, fear for his life fell upon him. Then he
turned back and went to his country and seized those vezirs and nobles
and slew them. At length all the nobles turned from him and wrote a
letter and sent it to this king, and it was thus: ‘For the love of God
come against this tyrant, and we will aid thee.’ When the king had read
the letter he assembled an army and went to that country, and on the
battle day all the nobles came and submitted to him, and they seized the
other king and surrendered him. So he took that country through
stratagem; and because that strong king was negligent he lost his
country and his head, for they slew him.

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that my king may know and not
be negligent, and lose not life and kingdom through the stratagem of
that unworthy youth.” When the king heard this story from the lady he
was wroth, and said, “To-morrow will I slay him.”

When it was morning and the sun showed his face from behind the castle
of Qāf,[13] and illumined the world with light, the king came and sat
upon his throne, and commanded the executioner that he bring the youth
and he gave the word, “Smite off his head.” Then the fourth vezir came
forward and said, “O my king, it is not seemly in kings to hasten in all
things with precipitancy; above all the spilling of blood unjustly is
deemed by the wise most blameworthy and hateful. They have declared that
the trials of a king are four: one is haste; another, trusting to wrong;
another, considering not the end of matters; and another, negligence.
Haste is that which disappoints those who seek good and profit for
themselves; wrong is that which brings about wars and uses armies
unjustly and does evil things; considering not the end of matters is
that which employs hurry instead of deliberation; and negligence is that
which inclines to music, and lust, and taking counsel of women. And they
have said, ‘Let one take counsel of a woman and do the opposite of what
she says;’ even as spake the holy Apostle (peace on him!) ‘Consult them
and do clear contrary.’[14]

“In compliance with this tradition the king must not obey the woman’s
word; and through the words of women have many men suffered remorse and
fallen under the wrath of God. And the story of Balaam, the son of
Beor,[15] is a strange story; if the king grant leave, I will relate
it.” The king said, “Tell on, let us hear.” Quoth the vezir:




THE WILES OF WOMAN


“One day Moses (peace on him!) went against a tribe, and they were of
the people of ‘Ad, and they called their chief Og, the son of Anak.[16]
One day Moses (peace on him!) by command of God summoned these to the
faith, and resolved to fight and war with them if they were not
obedient. So Moses (peace on him!) assembled four hundred and four-score
thousand men and proceeded against the ‘Adīs. When they were come near
the ‘Adīs, he sent twelve men as ambassadors to that tribe. Now Og had
gone out to look about, and he saw the twelve men coming, so he put the
whole of them into his sack and slung it over his shoulder and turned
back and went away. He brought them to his tribe the ‘Adīs and said,
‘See the host of the Messenger Moses which is come seeking to make war
with us;’ and he held the mouth of the sack downward and the twelve men
rolled out.

“And that tribe saw them that they were small of stature, for their own
stature was twice that of these. And they all made mock of them and
laughed at them; but they killed them not, but sent them back. They
returned and told these things to Saint Moses, and fear fell upon all
the host. Then Saint Moses (peace on him!) took his rod in his hand and
went against that tribe of ‘Ad. Og the son of Anak saw that Moses (peace
on him!) was himself coming, and straightway he went and pulled up a
rock like a mountain and put it on his head, and went that he might cast
it upon the host of Moses (peace on him!). But God most high commanded
an angel that he went in the likeness of a bird and smote that rock with
his beak and clave it, and thereupon it passed like a circle of cursers
down before the face of Og. And straightway Saint Moses came up, and his
stature grew to forty cubits, and his rod to forty cubits, and he leaped
up forty cubits, and smote Og on the heel with his rod; and God most
high slew Og.

“Then Saint Moses (peace on him!) returned to his people and gave them
tidings of Og being slain; and they were all glad. Then Saint Moses
passed thence and made for the country of Sheykh Balaam, the son of
Beor. When he was come nigh, they brought word to the sheykh that Saint
Moses was coming against him with many warriors. Whereupon the sheykh’s
disciples said, ‘O sheykh, if that host come into our land, it will lay
waste all our land; thou must find some help for this.’ Then were they
silent. The sheykh said, ‘What should we do?’ They answered, ‘Curse
him.’ The sheykh said, ‘He is a Messenger; I cannot curse him.’ And
howsoever much they urged the sheykh, it was in vain. Now the sheykh had
a cunning brawling wife; her they besought, saying, ‘Speak to the
sheykh, and we will give thee much money,’ The woman answered, ‘I will
manage it.’ When the sheykh came to his house he desired to take counsel
of his wife; she said, ‘Curse him.’ The sheykh replied, ‘He is a
Messenger; how can I curse him?’

“The woman persisted so that the sheykh was constrained to lift up his
hands and curse him. His curse was heard; and Saint Moses, who was
fourteen leagues distant, remained for forty years in the wilderness;
even as God most high saith in his Word, ‘For forty years shall they
wander about in the earth,’[17] Then Saint Moses knew that there was
some reason for this, and he prayed and humbled himself before God most
high, and said, ‘My God, send him who is the cause of our thus
wandering, from the world to the hereafter without the faith.’ His
prayer was accepted at the court of God, and that sheykh went from the
world to the hereafter without the faith by reason of a woman; even as
God most high hath said, ‘And his likeness was as the likeness of a
dog.’[18]

“Now, O King, I have told this story for that these many men have been
cast forth from the court of God for following the words of women. Then
is it incumbent on the king that he judge accordingly, so that he become
not a prey to remorse; for too late repentance profits not. Beware and
beware, slay not the prince on the woman’s word.” And he kissed the
ground and made intercession for the prince for that day. When the king
heard this story from the vezir, he sent the prince to the prison and
went himself to the chase.

When it was evening the king came to the palace, and the lady rose to
greet him, and they sat down. After the repast the lady again began to
speak about the youth, and the king said, “This day too my vezirs would
not let me be, so I have sent him to the prison.” Quoth the lady, “I
know all the plot of those vezirs, day by day each of them plans some
trick or wile; they purpose to discredit me with thee, so they say that
women are lacking in understanding, and that by reason thereof they are
plotters and liars. These words of theirs are false, do not assail the
truth; for these see me, that my trust in my king is strong. Yet I am
aware of their case and their hurtful deeds; and for that I would defend
my king from their craft and malice, are they enemies to me. An thou
desire, my king, I shall say no more; and they may do whatsoever they
will. But all these are of single tongue and single aim, and I fear they
will bring some calamity upon thee and some evil upon me; and afterward
thou shalt repent, but it will avail not.

“My king, thou hast assembled some men of low birth and made them vezirs
and confided all thy affairs to them, and thou thinkest them honest;
Heaven forefend they should be honest when some of them are the sons of
cooks, and some of bakers, and some of butchers; it is even as when
Khizr[19] (peace on him!) showed another king the origin of his vezirs,
but mayhap my king has not heard that story.” The king said, “Tell on,
let us hear.” Quoth the lady:




THE SEARCH FOR KHIZR


“There was in the palace of the world a king who was very desirous of
seeing Khizr (peace on him!); and he would ever say, ‘If there be anyone
who will show me Khizr, I will give him whatsoever he may wish.’ Now
there was at that time a man poor of estate; and from the greatness of
his poverty he said in himself, ‘Let me go and bespeak the king that if
he provide for me during three years I will show him Khizr; by three
years either I shall be dead or the king will be dead, or he will
forgive me my fault, or I shall on somewise win to escape: and in this
way shall I make merry for a time.’ So he went to the king and spake
those words to him. The king said, ‘An thou show him not then, I will
kill thee;’ and that poor man consented.

“Then the king let give him much wealth and money, and the poor man took
that wealth and money and went to his house. Three years he spent in
merriment and delight, and he rested at ease till the term was
accomplished. At the end of the time he fled and hid himself in a
trackless place, and he began to quake for fear. Of a sudden he saw a
personage with white raiment and shining face who saluted him. The poor
man returned the salutation, and the radiant being asked, ‘Why art thou
thus sad?’ but he gave no answer. Again the radiant being asked him and
sware to him, saying, ‘Do indeed tell to me thy plight that I may find
thee some remedy.’ So that hapless one narrated his story from its
beginning to its end; and the radiant being said, ‘Come, I will go with
thee to the king and I will answer for thee;’ so they arose.

“Now the king wanted that hapless one; and, while they were going, some
of the king’s officers who were seeking met them, and they straightway
seized the poor man and brought him to the king. Quoth the king, ‘Lo,
the three years are accomplished; come now show me Khizr.’ That poor man
said, ‘My king, grace and bounty are the work of kings; forgive my sin.’
Quoth the king, ‘I made a pact; till I have killed thee I shall not have
fulfilled it!’ And he looked to his chief vezir and said, ‘How should
this be done?’ Quoth the vezir, ‘This man should be hewn in many pieces,
and these hung up on butcher’s hooks, that others may see and lie not
before the king.’ Said that radiant being, ‘True spake the vezir; all
things return to their origin.’ Then the king looked to the second vezir
and said, ‘What sayest thou?’ He replied, ‘This man should be boiled in
a caldron.’ Said that radiant being, ‘True spake the vezir; all things
return to their origin.’ The king looked to the third vezir and said,
‘What sayest thou?’ The vezir replied, ‘This man should be hewn in small
pieces and baked in an oven.’ Again said that elder, ‘True spake the
vezir; all things return to their origin.’

“Then quoth the king to the fourth vezir, ‘Let us see, what sayest
thou?’ The vezir replied, ‘O king, the wealth thou gavest this poor
creature was for the love of Khizr (peace on him!). He, thinking to find
him, accepted it; now that he has not found him he seeks pardon; this
were befitting, that thou set free this poor creature for the love of
Khizr.’ Said that elder, ‘True spake the vezir; all things return to
their origin.’ Then the king said to the elder, ‘O elder, all my vezirs
have said different things, contrary the one to the other, and thou hast
said concerning each of them, “True spake the vezir; all things return
to their origin.’ What is the reason thereof?’ That elder replied, ‘O
king, thy first vezir is a butcher’s son, therefore did he draw to his
origin; thy second vezir is a cook’s son, he likewise proposed a
punishment as became his origin; thy third vezir is a baker’s son, he
likewise proposed a punishment as became his origin; but thy fourth
vezir is of gentle birth, compassion therefore becomes his origin; so he
had compassion on that hapless one and sought to do good and counselled
liberation. O king, all things draw to their origin.’[20]

“And he gave the king much counsel and at last said, ‘Lo, I am Khizr!’
and vanished. Then the king went forth from his palace, but could see no
sign or trace of that radiant elder; and he said, ‘I much longed to see
Khizr (peace on him!); praise be to God, I have attained thereto, and he
has told me the origin of my vezirs.’ And he commanded that they gave
that poor man much wealth.

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that thou mayst know that thy
vezirs are of low origin, and that fidelity will not proceed from them.
In this matter too their words tally with their origin; lose not the
opportunity, for to spare an enemy is great folly.” The king heard this
story from the lady, and said, “To-morrow will I roll up the scroll of
his life.”

When it was morning and the world, like to him who had won to Khizr, was
illumined with light, the king sat upon his throne and commanded the
executioner that he bring the youth, and he gave the word, “Smite off
his head.” Thereupon the fifth vezir came forward and said, “O king of
the world, slay not the prince thus hastily, and cast not to the winds
the counsels of these many vezirs; for as they take pearls from the sea
and string them, so do these string their words; they are speakers such
that Mercury in the sky could not match their suggestions. O king, the
reason of that which thy vezirs have said to thee is this, that the
Apostle (peace on him!) hath said that whoso seeth his king do an act
contrary to the law, and hindereth him not therefrom, hath departed from
the Canon. Now, O king, deem not the words of thy vezirs mistaken; it is
even as they have said, ‘Let him who would see Khizr in the flesh, look
upon a wise, accomplished and learned vezir.’ And again, ‘If one seek to
do a righteous deed, let him arrange the affair of some poor creature
with a king.’ Mayhap the king has not heard the story of Khizr and a
vezir.” The king said, “Tell on, let us hear.” Quoth the vezir:




THE VEZIR AND KHIZR


“There was, of old time, a king who had an experienced vezir; and Khizr
(peace on him!) would ever come to that vezir. One day the vezir looked
upon the affairs of the world, how they abode not with anyone; and he
withdrew from the vezirship, and chose the corner of retirement, and
gave himself up to worship. A long time passed, and Khizr (peace on
him!) never once came to him. The vezir marvelled and said, ‘Why does
not Khizr (peace on him!) come to me? Now ought he to come every day.’
Then he said, ‘There must indeed be some reason for this.’ Thereupon he
saw that Khizr had appeared, and he said, ‘O Khizr, while I was vezir
thou didst ever come to me, is it for that I have withdrawn from the
world that thou comest not now?’ Khizr (peace on him!) replied, ‘O
vezir, outwardly thou didst perform the duties of vezir, inwardly I did;
therefore was there a bond between us; now thou hast withdrawn
therefrom, and that bond is gone from between us, so I come not to
thee.’ When the vezir heard these words from Khizr, he went and asked
back the vezirship, and he received it, and Khizr (peace on him!) came
to him as before and ceased not.

“O king, I have told this story for that the king may hearken to the
vezir’s words and follow them, and pass his life in happiness. Beware, O
king, be not overhasty in this affair, that afterward thou suffer not
remorse.” When the king heard this story from the vezir, he sent the
prince to the prison and went himself to the chase, and that day he
took much game.

In the evening he came to the palace, and the lady rose to greet him,
and they sat down. After the repast the lady asked about the youth; the
king said, “This day again such an one of my vezirs made intercession
for him, and I sent him to the prison.” Quoth the lady, “O my king, how
good were it, could he be reformed by such conduct; but this youth is
incapable of reform; for he resembles that snake which first stings his
mother as she bears him and kills her, and then stings his father and
kills him. God most high will take vengeance on him; and his eyes will
be blinded as though he had looked upon an emerald.[21] If a drop of an
April shower fall upon a snake it becomes poison, but if it fall into an
oyster it becomes a pearl;[22] and if the Koran, great of glory, fall
upon a believer’s heart, it is faith and knowledge. And it is notorious
that whoever nurses a snake falls at last a prey to its poison. A
certain man formed a friendship with a snake and used every day to bring
it a portion of food. He went to the snake’s hole and laid it there, and
the snake would put its head out of its hole and eat that food, and when
it was satisfied it would frolic about, and that man would play with it.
One day he came and saw that the snake was out of its place and quite
stiff from cold; ‘O poor thing,’ he said, and took and put it in his
bosom. When the snake got warm it at once raised its head and stung that
unhappy man, and killed him, and fled and entered its hole. And thus
have they said, that if one foster a swine, that brute will not leave
off till in the end it hurt him. It is even as the story of that
sherbet-seller and the Moor.” Said the king, “Tell on, let us hear.”
Quoth the lady:




THE SHERBET-SELLER AND THE MOOR


“There was of old time in a great city a sherbet-seller, and he had a
son, a loveling of the age, who was so fair that he seemed a second
Joseph;[23] and he used to sell sherbet in the shop. The folk would come
to gaze upon this youth’s beauty, and they would give a sequin for each
cup of sherbet, and drain it; and whenever they drank a cup they would
say it was the water of life. Now one day a swarthy Moor came to that
country; and as soon as he saw the youth, the hapless Moor’s power of
speech left him, and he could not stir one step from where he stood, but
leaned against the opposite wall bewildered. After a time he recovered
his understanding, and, rising and falling like one drunk, he came up as
best he could to the youth, and gave a sequin and drank a cup of
sherbet, and went away. For a time he came every day and drank cups of
sherbet at a sequin each, and looked on the beauty of the youth.

“One day the youth told this thing to his father, and his father
perceived that the Moor was ravished with the boy, and said, ‘O my son,
bring that Moor to the house to-morrow, and let us see what manner of
man he is.’ The next day when the Moor came to the youth, he invited him
to his house, and took him and went to his father. After they had eaten,
the father of the boy asked of the Moor’s case and dwelling. The Moor
saw what his intention was, and answered, ‘I have no dwelling, I am a
stranger.’ The boy’s father said, ‘Thou art a stranger; we will give
thee a dwelling, stay with us.’ The Moor was glad and counted it a boon
to his soul; even as they have said, ‘The loved one’s ward is paradise.’
So they showed the Moor a dwelling. He abode for some days, and
gradually his love for the boy increased; and one day he showed him a
precious stone, and said, ‘An thou let me take one kiss of thee, I will
give thee this stone.’ With a thousand graces the boy consented, and the
Moor gave him the stone and kissed him, and said, ‘My life, my master, I
love thee from heart and soul, flee me not; I know a talisman which will
open before thee; if thou wilt come with me I will open it, and give
thee so much gold that thou shalt never again know poverty.’

“The youth told this thing to his father, and his father gave him leave;
so the Moor took him, and they went without the city; and he brought him
to a ruin. Now there was a well there, full to the mouth with water; and
the Moor wrote on a piece of paper and laid it on the well, and
thereupon all the water vanished from the well. The Moor and the boy
descended to the bottom of the well, and saw a locked door. The Moor
wrote a charm and fastened it on the lock, and it opened forthwith. They
went in and saw a negro holding in one hand a great stone to throw upon
anyone who entered. The Moor repeated a charm and blew upon the negro,
and the negro laid the stone that was in his hand upon the ground, and
let them pass. They went on and saw a dome of crystal, and at the door
of the domed building were two dragons, who stood facing one the other
with open mouths like caverns. When they came near, these flew at them,
but the Moor repeated a charm and blew on them, and they vanished.

“Then the door of the domed building opened and they went in, and they
saw that in one corner thereof was gold, in another corner silver, in
another corner all manner of jewels, and in another corner was raised a
throne upon black earth, and on that throne was a coffin, and in that
coffin lay a renowned man dead. Upon his breast was a gold tablet, and
on that tablet was written: ‘I was a king, and I ruled the whole earth,
and whithersoever I went in this world I conquered. I had many many
champions and great wealth and treasure. Some little of the wealth I
owned I gathered here. Me too death spared not; but made me even as
though I had not come into the world. Now, O thou who seest me in this
plight, take warning by me, and remember my soul in prayer, and be not
presumptuous through the wealth of this world for a few days’ life.’ And
that was all. Then the Moor and the youth took as much as they desired
of the gold and silver and precious stones and black earth, which was
the philosopher’s stone, and went out. The Moor repeated a charm and
blew upon the well, and it was again all full of water; and he went back
with the boy to their house, and they gave themselves up to mirth and
merriment. Day and night they ceased not therefrom an instant.

“One day the boy asked the Moor to teach him the charms he had repeated
in the talisman. The Moor consented, and instructed him for many days
and taught him. One day, of a sudden, the boy said to his father, ‘O
father, I have learned the whole of the charms for the talisman, so we
have no longer any need of the Moor; let us poison him.’ But his father
consented not, and said, ‘Let us turn him away; let him go
elsewhither.’ Quoth the youth, ‘The turning away of him would not do;
he is a great master, he might do us an injury, so let us poison him ere
he play us some trick; and I will take as much gold and silver as is
needful from that buried treasure.’ The Moor heard him and knew that
fairness purposed foulness, and he straightway disappeared from there.

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that the king may know that no
good has ever happened to anyone from youths. Yea, O king, be not
negligent, kill the youth, else the affair will end in evil.” When the
king heard this story from the lady he was wroth and said, “On the
morrow will I slay him.”

When it was morning the king sat upon his throne and caused the youth to
be brought, and commanded the executioner, “Smite off his head.” The
sixth vezir came forward and said, “O king of the world, beware, act not
on anyone’s word till the crime be proved against the prince; for the
resurrection is at hand, and lying and cunning and craft abound. The
wise man is he who turns off sin and evil that he may not afterward
begin to bite upon the finger with regret and remorse and be repentant,
and who takes the woful by the hand and gives happiness to the unhappy,
and who repulses not him who comes to his door, but sees his needs and
provides for him, and who never lets himself be deceived by a woman’s
word; for these laugh in one’s face. Mayhap my king has not heard the
story of the tailor youth and the woman.” The king said, “Tell on, let
us hear.” Quoth the vezir:




THE TAILOR AND THE WOMAN


“Thus relate they: In the time of Saint Jesus (peace on him!) there was
a tailor youth who had a fair wife, and they greatly loved one another.
One day they made a pact that if the woman died first, her husband
should take no other wife, but throw his arms round her tombstone, and
weep till morning; and if the youth died first, the woman should do
likewise. By the decree of God the woman died. After the tailor had wept
and lamented he buried her, and fulfilled his pact, and threw his arms
round his wife’s tombstone and wept. And he constantly kept watch over
the grave. One day Jesus (peace on him!) when passing by that place, saw
a youth weeping and embracing a tombstone, and he went up to him and
asked why he wept. The youth related all.

“Then Jesus (peace on him!) prayed, and the woman became alive, and came
forth from the grave in her shroud. And Jesus (peace on him!) proceeded
on his way. The youth said, ‘One cannot go thus in a shroud; wait thou
here a moment till I go and fetch clothes from the house; then thou
shalt put on these clothes, and we will go together.’ And he went
quickly to the house, leaving the woman there. Suddenly the son of the
king of that country passed that spot, and saw a fair woman sitting
wrapped in a shroud. As soon as the prince saw that woman he fell in
love with her from heart and soul, and he said to her, ‘Who art thou?’
She answered, ‘I am a stranger; a robber has stripped me.’ Thereupon the
prince ordered his servants to take the woman to the palace, and clothe
her in clean garments.

“When the youth returned with the clothes he found not the woman there,
and he cried and asked of the passers-by. No one had seen her. The poor
man, asking and asking, met the prince’s servants. These asked the
tailor why he wept. He replied, ‘For a time my wife was dead; but now,
praise be to God, she is become alive through the prayer of the
messenger Jesus; I went to fetch her clothes, but she has disappeared:
therefore do I weep.’ They answered, ‘The prince sent that lady to the
palace this day.’ Thereupon the tailor went before the prince and
complained, saying, ‘The woman thou hast taken is my wife.’ The prince
asked the lady, she denied and said, ‘This is the robber who stripped me
of my clothes and made off; praise be to God, if thou kill him now, thou
shalt gain great reward.’ The prince commanded that they bound both the
tailor’s hands behind his back. Although the poor tailor cried aloud, it
was no avail; they put a rope round his neck and led him to the gallows.

“Then they perceived Saint Jesus on the road, and they waited. When he
came near he asked of their case, and they told him. Then he bade them
stop and went himself to the prince; they called the woman, and he said,
‘This woman is the wife of yonder youth; I prayed and she became alive.’
When the woman saw the messenger she was unable to deny, but spake the
truth. Jesus (peace on him!) prayed again, and that woman died; and the
youth was rescued from the abyss whereinto he had fallen, and he
repented of his having wept so long a time.

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that thou mayst know that the
inclinations of women are ever to works of evil, craft, and wickedness.”
And he kissed the ground and made intercession for the prince’s life.
When the king heard this story from the vezir he sent the prince to the
prison, and went himself to the chase.

In the evening he returned from the chase and came to the palace, and
the lady rose to greet him, and they sat down. After the repast the lady
fell to speaking about the youth. The king said, “To-day such an one of
my vezirs made intercession for him, so I have again sent him to the
prison.” Quoth the lady, “O king, thou dost not believe my words; but at
length, in the near future, some hurt will befall thee from the youth;
for this night I saw a vision, which it is, as it were, a duty on me to
tell my king, and incumbent on thee to hear.” Said the king, “Tell on,
let us hear.” The lady said, “This night thou wast holding in thy hand a
golden ball, and that ball was adorned and set round with rubies and
jewels, and its brilliancy lit up the world; and thou wast playing,
throwing up the ball and catching it in thy hand. And this youth was
sitting by thy side watching, and ever and anon he asked for the ball,
but thou gavest him it not.

“Of a sudden, while thou wast heedless, he snatched the ball, and for
that thou hadst not given it him when he had asked was he angry, and he
struck the ball upon a stone, so that it was shattered in pieces. And I
was grieved, and I went and picked up the fragments of the ball, and
gave them into thy hand, and thou didst look upon those fragments and
didst marvel, and with that I awoke.” Quoth the king, “What may the
interpretation of this vision be?” The lady said, “I interpreted this
dream: that ball is thy kingdom; and this youth’s snatching it from thy
hand is this, that this youth came to me and said, ‘I wish to kill my
father and sit upon the throne, and I desire to make thee my wife; and
all the men of the kingdom have turned to me, and now the kingdom is
wholly mine, do thou likewise submit to me?’ Had I submitted to him, ere
now he had killed thee and accomplished his affair. Ah! the fortune and
auspiciousness of my king averted it. And his striking the ball upon the
stone is this, that if he had become king after thee, he would have
utterly ruined the kingdom. And my going and picking up the fragments
and giving them to the king is this, that for that I obeyed not the
youth, but came and told the king, he seized him, and the kingdom
remained in his hand. But had not I done so, know of a surety that ere
now the kingdom would have passed from thy hand; yea, thy life, too,
would have gone. That is the interpretation of the dream. O king, the
story of this degenerate youth resembles that of a certain king’s son;
mayhap my king has not heard it.” The king said, “Tell on, let us hear.”
Quoth the lady:




STORY OF THE ADOPTED SON


“In the palace of the world there was a king in whose country was a
robber, such that none could escape from his hands. And in that king’s
country was a great khoja. That khoja and his wife were travelling with
some money, when of a sudden, while they were on the road they met that
robber. He forthwith stripped them and made them naked and took them
captives. He put their clothes in the cave which he had chosen for his
dwelling, and bound both the khoja’s hands behind his back and laid him
in a corner; and then he gave himself up to mirth and merriment with the
woman. After seven or eight months the robber released the khoja and his
wife. So these went forth from the cave, and saying, ‘There is nor
strength nor power save in God, the high, the mighty,’ they set their
faces in a certain direction, and fared on till one day they entered a
city. And they took a dwelling in that city and settled there.

“When the woman’s time was come she gave birth to a boy; but as they
knew that the boy was the robber’s, they would not accept him, and they
laid him at the door of the mosque. The king of that country happened to
pass by and asked concerning him, and the people who were present
answered that his parents had no means of bringing him up and so had
left him there. Now the king had no son, and he took pity on this child
and adopted him and made him his son, and said, ‘If God give him life
and he die not, he shall sit on the throne after me and be king.’ So
they took the boy and brought him to the palace, and appointed him a
nurse, and made him clothes of all manner of stuffs. Day by day he grew,
and when he had reached his seventh year he was a moon-faced boy, such
that he who looked upon his countenance desired to look thereon again.

“And the king appointed a teacher and a governor for the boy, and he
learned science and good conduct. When he had reached his twelfth year
he had acquired sciences and accomplishments. After that, they
instructed him in horsemanship; that too he acquired in a few days. And
every day he would go into the square and take a ball and play; and all
the world marvelled at his beauty and dexterity, and the king felt
delight as often as he looked upon him. Now the king had also a daughter
peerless in beauty. In the course of a few years this girl grew up and
reached the age of puberty, and the boy fell in love with her. He would
brood over this, saying, ‘Alas! would she were not my sister, that I
might marry her.’ Now the boy was a valiant youth, such that the king’s
emirs and vezirs applauded his valor; and he overcame the king’s enemies
who were round about, and made them subject to his father; and no one
could stand before his sword. The king had betrothed his daughter to
another king’s son, and when the time was come they wished to take the
girl from the king.

“And the king commanded that they should make ready; and thereupon the
youth, to make clear what was in his heart, asked a legist this
question, ‘If a person have a garden and the fruit of that garden ripen,
should that person eat it or another?’ The legist replied, ‘It were
better that person should eat it than another.’ Now the prince had a
learned companion, and that companion knew the prince’s desire; for
science is of three kinds: one the science of the faith, another the
science of physiognomy, and another the science of the body; but unless
there be the science of physiognomy, other science avails not.
Straightway that companion said, ‘O prince, if there be in that garden
you ask of, a fruit forbidden by God most high, it were better that the
owner eat it not; but if God most high have not forbidden it, then is it
lawful for that person to eat it.’ Quoth the prince, ‘Thou knowest not
as much as a legist; yon man is a legist; I look to his decision.’ And
he arose and went to his sister’s palace, and that hour he took his
sister and went forth the city, and made for another city.

“Then the slave girls with great crying informed the king, and thereupon
the king’s senses forsook him, and he commanded, ‘Let the soldiers
forthwith mount their horses and pursue the youth and seize him.’
Straightway the soldiers mounted and went after the youth; and the king
said, ‘From the low born fidelity comes not;’ and he repented him of his
having taken him to son. The king and the soldiers appeared behind the
youth, and the latter sprang into a hiding-place. And while the king and
the soldiers were passing he slew the king from that hiding-place; and
when the soldiers saw that the king was slain they each one fled in a
different direction, and were scattered in confusion. And the youth took
the girl and went to a city and took a house therein, and made her his
wife; and he adopted the whole of what had been his father’s business,
and turned robber.

“Now, O king, I have told this story, for that thou mayst know that the
desire of this degenerate youth is to kill his father as that low-born
one slew his; the rest the king knows.” When the king heard this strange
thing from the lady, he said, “On the morrow will I slay him.”

When it was morning the king went and sat upon his throne, and he caused
the youth to be brought and commanded the executioner, “Smite off his
head.” Whereupon the seventh vezir came forward and said, “O king of the
world, first look to the end of every business thou undertakest and then
act accordingly; for on the day of battle it is needful, first to think
of the way of retreat and then to set to, so that when it is ‘or fate or
state,’ one may save his life. They have said, ‘On the day of strife be
not far from the nobles: in the chase and the palace go not near them;’
and ‘He is profitable in the councils of a king, who in the day of
security looks to the matters of war and the provision of weapons, and
stints not money to the troops that these on the day of battle may be
lavish with their lives in the king’s cause.’ It is incumbent on the
king that he kill those who flee when they see the enemy (and after that
the foes); for they resemble those who give up a stronghold to the
adversary. And they have said that a good scribe and a man who knows the
science of the sword are very needful for a king; for with the pen is
wealth collected, and with the sword are countries taken. Mayhap the
king has not heard the story of a certain king and a vezir.” The king
said, “Tell on, let us hear.” Quoth the vezir:




THE KING AND THE VEZIR


“There was in the palace of the world a king and he had two vezirs, one
of whom was wise and learned and one of whom was foolish and ignorant.
On the king’s taking counsel of them concerning the management of the
affairs of the state, the ignorant vezir said, ‘O king, expend not
money, give not money to the soldiers and warriors, or if thou give,
give little; and let him who will stay, stay; and let him who will not
stay, go. When thou hast money on the battle day, many will be soldiers
to thee: where the honey is, there surely come the flies.’ His words
seemed good to the king, who one day said to the learned vezir, ‘Get me
a few men who will be content with little pay.’ On the vezir’s replying,
‘Men without pay are not to be had,’ the king said, ‘I shall have money
when anything befalls, and shall find many men.’ Quoth the vezir, ‘So be
it, I shall find men for the king who will take no pay and stir not day
or night from his gate.’ The king was glad and said, ‘Get them, let us
see.’

“The vezir went and found a painter and brought him, and he painted a
large room in the palace so that the four walls of that room were
covered with pictured figures of men, and he decked all the figures with
arms and implements of war, he depicted a mounted and armed host
standing rank on rank. When it was completed the vezir called the king,
and the king arose and went with him to that wall of pictures, and he
showed the king the whole of them. The king looked and said, ‘What are
these pictures? why hast thou ranged these here rank on rank?’ The vezir
replied, ‘O king, thou desiredst of me men without pay; lo, these youths
want no pay; so they will serve the king.’ The king said, ‘There is no
life in these; how can they serve?’ The vezir answered, ‘O king, if
lifeless pictures will not serve, no more will payless soldiers serve.
Fief and pay are as the life of the soldier; when thou givest not a man
his fief or pay, it is as though thou tookest away his life; judge if a
lifeless man could serve.’

“Again, ‘O king, if a paid army be not needful for thee, these will
suffice; but living men require to eat and drink. If they get no pay
they will not sacrifice their lives in the cause of the king or face the
enemy; but they will hate the king and turn from him and evil will
befall the king; but if the king be bountiful they will obey. Thus a
noble had a young steward who used to serve him. One day the noble asked
the youth his name. He replied, “God on thee, my name is Wittol.” Said
the noble, “Can anyone be so called?” The youth answered, “Anyhow it is
my nickname, never mind.” So they used to call that youth Wittol so long
as he was at that noble’s gate. One day he went from that noble’s gate
to another’s. One day that noble in whose service he had been happened
to meet him, when he cried out, “Ho, Wittol, how art thou?” The youth
replied, “O noble, say not so again, or thou shalt see.” The noble said,
“My life, thou didst tell me Wittol was thy name; why art thou now
angered?” The youth answered, “Then did I serve thee, and thou
bestowedst on me worlds of bounties, so though thou calledst me Wittol,
it offended me not; but now I never get a favor from this man that he
should call me so.”

“‘Quoth the noble, “He who called thee so just now was I, not he; yet
thou wast angered with me.” The youth replied, “God forbid I should be
angered with thee; but if to-morrow the other were to hear that word
from thee, he too would wish to use it; now was I angered lest he should
call me so.”’ Then that vezir laid a dish of honey before the king; as
it was night no flies came to it. And the vezir said, ‘They say that
where there is honey, thither will the flies surely flock; lo, here is
honey, where are the flies?’ Quoth the king, ‘It is night, therefore
they come not.’ The vezir said, ‘My king, it is necessary to give
soldiers money at the proper time; for bringing out money on the battle
day is like bringing out honey at night.’ When the king heard these
words from the vezir he was ashamed; but he greatly applauded the vezir,
and thenceforth did whatsoever he advised.

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that thou mayst know that
attendants and servants are needful for kings, and that masters of
device and resource are requisite. Kings should take counsel of their
vezirs in such matters that no defect may mar their fortune in the world
or the hereafter. Now the prince is thy support and asylum, and all the
folk, high and low, ask why he is fettered with the bonds of woe and a
prisoner of the dungeon. And slaying the prince were like slaying the
vezirs and all the world. Who would sit on the throne after thee that
should know our circumstances? All grandees of the empire and lords of
the state and noble seyyids would be cast down, and scattered to the
winds and ruined. This woman is a woman lacking in religion and
understanding; to give ear to and thus countenance those who are so
lacking is not worthy our king.” And he kissed the ground and begged for
the prince. So the king sent him to the prison.

Having returned from the chase, the king went to the palace, and the
lady rose to greet him, and they passed on and sat down. After the
repast the lady again asked for news of the youth. The king answered,
“To-day too I have sent him to the prison.” The lady said, “Thou art a
wise and just king; we will talk together this night and see whether or
no by principle, by the law, and by custom, thou dost sin in thus vexing
my heart. O king, there are many rights between husband and wife. And
they have said that it is better to give a woman a handful of words than
a skirtful of money. Mayhap the king has not heard the story of the
sparrow and his mate.” The king said, “Relate it, let us hear.” Quoth
the lady:




THE SPARROW AND HIS MATE


“There was in the blessed service of Saint Solomon (peace on him!) a
little sparrow whose many tricks and gambols were ever pleasing to Saint
Solomon. One day Saint Solomon saw not the sparrow by him, and he
commanded the sīmurgh[24] bird to go fetch the sparrow wherever he might
find him. For a long time the sparrow had not gone to his mate, and his
mate had upbraided him, saying, ‘For this long time thou hast left me
and been with Solomon; dost thou love him more than me, or dost thou
fear him? tell me.’ The sparrow answered, ‘By God, I would not give thee
for the world: I am come but once to earth and shall not come again; I
go to Solomon for diversion, I have no dread of him.’ While he was
talking with many such vaunts and boasts, the sīmurgh arrived in haste
and heard the sparrow bragging and said harshly, ‘Up, let us off; Saint
Solomon wants thee.’ Then the sparrow, being beside his mate, plucked up
courage and replied, ‘Off, begone, I will not go.’ The sīmurgh said, ‘I
will indeed take thee.’ The sparrow answered, ‘Off with thee, get thee
hence, or I will seize thee and rend thee in twain.’ Quoth the sīmurgh,
‘Until I take thee with me I will not budge from here.’

“Yet the sparrow heeded not, and the sīmurgh waited a while, but the
sparrow would not go. Again said the sīmurgh to the sparrow, ‘O my life,
give me an answer.’ Quoth the sparrow, ‘I tell thee begone from here; if
thou speak again, my heart will bid me do somewhat else; but no, I will
not slay thee. Off, begone, or I will do thee some hurt, and then go to
Solomon’s palace and smite it with my foot, and overturn it from its
foundations and pull it down about his head; now then, away fool, off,
begone the road thou camest. Thou chatterest here and sayest not, “This
is the sparrow’s harem; he is ill.”’ And he gave the sīmurgh a kick such
that the latter knew not where it touched him, but he flew thence and
reported the sparrow’s words to Saint Solomon. Solomon said, ‘When the
sparrow spake these words where was he?’ ‘His mate was there,’ answered
the sīmurgh. Then quoth Solomon (peace on him!), ‘There is no harm in
one thus boasting and bragging in his own house before his wife. Though
every stone of this my palace was raised by the toil of these many
demons, still wonder not at his saying when beside his wife that he
could shatter it with one foot.’ And this was pleasing to Solomon (peace
on him!), and when the sparrow came he made him of his boon companions.

“O king, I have told this story for that thou mayst know that one should
thus love his wife and vex not her little heart, so that his wife may
have naught against him. And God most high has given thee understanding;
weigh my words in the balance of understanding, and try them on the
touchstone of the heart; if they stand not the test, I shall speak no
more. I tell thee that this youth has stretched forth his hand to me and
has been treacherous, and has moreover purposed against thy life; can
there be greater crimes than these? O king, beware, be not negligent in
this matter; for there is fear and danger for thy life and kingdom.”
When the king heard these beguiling words of the lady he said, “On the
morrow will I make an end of his affair.”

When it was morning the king sat upon his throne and commanded the
executioner that he bring the youth, and he said, “Smite off his head.”
Whereupon the eighth vezir came forward and said, “O king of the world,
slay not the prince on the woman’s word. One should be forgiving; above
all, as no man is exempt from sin; for they have said that humanity is
composed of forgetfulness. A man falls sometimes through the intrigues
of an enemy and sometimes through the maleficence of the cruel sphere;
or else he attains prosperity and falls into adversity. Mayhap the king
has not heard the story of a certain vezir.” The king said, “Tell on,
let us hear.” Quoth the vezir:




THE CRAFTY VEZIR


“Of old time there was a king, and he had an experienced and learned
vezir. One day the latter went to the bath, and while he was sitting
beside the basin, his ring fell from his finger into the water; and it
sank not in the water, but floated on the surface. Whenever the vezir
saw this he sent men to his house and treasury, saying, ‘Go quickly, and
hide in a certain place whatsoever I have in the treasury of gold and
silver or rubies and jewels; for now is the king about to seize me.’
Then they went and acted according to his order. And as the vezir was
coming out from the bath, men from the king arrived and seized him; and
they put him in prison and took possession of whatever he had in his
house and treasury.

“One day, after the vezir had been imprisoned for a certain time, his
heart longed for a conserve of pomegranate pips, and he ordered the
jailer, saying, ‘Make me ready a conserve and bring it, for my heart
doth greatly desire it.’ Now the king had forbidden that dish, and the
jailer was afraid and made it not. And the vezir’s desire increased and
he begged it of all who came to him, but no one made it and brought it
through fear of the king. Brief, the vezir lay for a year in prison and
longed for that dish, but no one found means to bring him it. One day
the jailer made shift to cook that dish and bring it to the vezir. As
soon as the vezir saw it he was glad; and they put it before him, but
ere he had stretched out his hand to it, two mice, that were struggling
with each other above, fell into the dish, and the food became unclean.

“Thereupon the vezir said, ‘It is good;’ and he arose and commanded his
servants, saying, ‘Go, furnish the mansion, put that wealth you hid back
into its proper place; my king is about to take me from prison and make
me vezir.’ Then his retainers went and did as he had commanded. Hereupon
came a man from the king who took the vezir from the prison and brought
him before the king. Then said the king to comfort the vezir’s heart, ‘I
put thee in prison seemingly to afflict thee; but really that thou
mightest know, from experiencing imprisonment, speedily to intercede for
the men whom I cast into jail.’ Quoth the vezir, ‘Nearness to a sultan
is a burning fire: whatsoever conduct be observed toward me by the king
is pleasant teaching.’ The king was pleased and commanded that they
bring a robe of honor, and he put it on him and made him again vezir.

“Then when the vezir was come to his mansion his retainers and others
asked him, saying, ‘Whence knewest thou of the king’s being about to
imprison thee and seize thy wealth, and whence knewest thou of his being
about to take thee out and make thee vezir?’ The vezir replied, ‘While
in the bath my ring fell into the water and sank not, so I knew that my
fortune had reached its perfection, and that what follows every
perfection is declension, therefore did I so command; and for a whole
year, while I was in prison, I longed for a dish of pomegranate pips, at
length I got it, and mice polluted it so that I could not eat it, so I
knew that my misfortune was complete and that my former estate was
returned. And I was glad.’

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that the king may likewise know
that every perfection has its declension. Until now the prince and the
vezirs were safe and esteemed before the king. Now he knows not in what
malefic sign our stars may be imprisoned. A woman has rendered us
despicable before the king and has bound him about with craft and wiles,
so that these many learned and sagacious vezirs are impotent against her
incitements; even as it is clear that when a fool throws a stone down a
well a wise man is powerless to get it up again. O king, haste not in
this affair; too late repentance profits not; for the prince is like a
young bird that can neither fly nor flee, grant him a few days’ respite,
haply this difficulty may be solved; and there is a reason for his not
speaking. He is ever as a prisoner in thy hand; afterward, if thou will,
kill him; if thou will, free him.” And he kissed the ground and begged
for the prince. When the king heard this story from the vezir the fire
that was in his heart was increased ten-fold and the tears poured from
his eyes; and he sent the prince to the prison and mounted for the chase
with his own cares.

When the king returned he entered the palace, and the lady rose to greet
him, and they sat down. After the repast the lady asked for news of the
youth. The king said, “To-day too such an one of my vezirs made
intercession for him, and I sent him to the prison.” Quoth the lady, “O
king, I have given thee this much counsel, and it has produced no effect
upon thee. It is as though a physician treated a sick man, and the
treatment was without result, and that physician was powerless and
attempted no other treatment, but left off; for if he treated that sick
man again, he would kill him. Now, I too am powerless to speak to thee.
I should say, ‘I will speak no more nor waste my breath in vain;’ still
my heart pities thee, for the king’s realm and life will be destroyed.
My head, too, will fall; for that I am in the same peril with the king
do I speak. It is even as once when they cut off a person’s hand and he
uttered no sound; afterward he saw someone whose hand had been cut off,
and he wailed aloud and wept. Those who were present wondered and asked,
saying, ‘O man, when thy hand was cut off thou didst not weep; why
weepest thou now?’ That person answered, ‘By God, then, when they cut
off my hand, I saw that there was not among you one who had met the
like, and I said in myself that if I wept each of you would speak ill of
me, for ye knew not the pain of it; now that I have found a companion
in my plight do I weep, for he knows the anguish I have suffered,’ Now,
O king, thy head and my head are like to fall; if the king know not my
plight, who should know it? Mayhap my king has not heard the story of
the three princes and the cadi.” The king said, “Tell on, let us hear.”
Quoth the lady:




THE THREE PRINCES AND THE CADI


“In the palace of the world there was a king and he had three sons. One
day this king laid his head on the pillow of death and called those sons
to his side, and spake privately with them. He said, ‘In such and such a
corner of the palace I have hidden a vase full of pearls and jewels and
diverse gems; when I am dead do ye wash me well and bury me, then go and
take that vase from its place and divide its contents.’ The king lay for
three days, and on the fourth day he drained the wine of death and set
forth for the abiding home. When the princes had buried their father
according to his injunctions, they came together and went and beheld
that in the place of those jewels the winds blew. Now the princes began
to dispute, and they said, ‘Our father told this to us three in private,
this trick has been played by one of us.’ And the three of them went to
the cadi, and told their complaint. The cadi listened and then said to
them, ‘Come, I will tell you a story, and after that I will settle your
dispute.

“‘Once, in a certain city, a youth and a girl loved each other, and that
girl was betrothed to another youth. When the lover was alone with that
girl he said, “O my life, now thou comest to me and I am happy with
thee; to-morrow when thou art the bride of thy betrothed, how will be my
plight?” The girl said, “My master, do not grieve; that night when I am
bride, until I have come to thee and seen thee, I will not give the
bridegroom his desire.” And they made a pact to that end. Brief, when
the bridal night arrived, the girl and the youth went apart; and when
all the people were dispersed and the place was clear of others, the
girl told the bridegroom of the pact between her and the stricken lover,
and besought leave to fulfil it. Whenever the bridegroom heard these
words from the bride he said, “Go, fulfil thy plight and come again in
safety.” So the bride went forth, but while on the road she met a
robber. The robber looked at her attentively, and saw that she was a
beautiful girl like the moon of fourteen nights; never in his life had
he seen such a girl, and upon her was endless gold, and she was covered
with diverse jewels such as cannot be described. Thereupon the bridle of
choice slipped from the robber’s hands; and as the hungry wolf springs
upon the sheep, so did the robber spring upon that girl. Straightway the
girl began to sigh, and the robber felt pity and questioned her.

“‘So the bride related to the robber her story from its beginning to its
end, whereupon the robber exclaimed, “That is no common generosity! nor
shall I do any hurt or evil thing to her.” Then said he to the girl,
“Come, I will take thee to thy lover.” And he took her and led to her
lover’s door and said, “Now go in and be with thy lover.” Then the girl
knocked at the door, and that youth, who lay sighing, heard the knocking
and went with haste and said, “Who is that?” The girl answered, “Open
the door; lo, I have kept my plight, nor have I broken it, I am come to
thee.” The youth opened the door and came to the girl and said, “O my
life, my mistress, welcome, and fair welcome! how hast thou done it?”
She replied, “The folk assembled and gave me to the bridegroom, then all
dispersed and each went his way. And I explained my case to the
bridegroom and he gave me leave. While on the road I met a robber, and
that robber wished to stretch forth his hand to me, but I wept and told
him of my plight with thee, and he had pity and brought me to the door
and left me, and has gone away.”

“‘When the youth heard these things from the girl he said, “Since the
bridegroom is thus generous, and has given thee leave to fulfil thy
plight with me, and sent thee to me, there were no generosity in me did
I stretch forth my hand to thee and deal treacherously; from this day be
thou my sister; go, return to thy husband.” And he sent her off. When
the girl went out she saw that robber standing by the door; and he
walked in front of her, and conducted her to the bridegroom’s door. And
the girl went in, and the robber departed to his own affairs. While the
bridegroom was marvelling the bride entered, and the bridegroom leaped
up and took the bride’s hands in his, and they sat upon the bed. And
the bridegroom turned and asked her news of the bride; and she told all
her adventures from their beginning to their end.’ Then quoth the cadi,
‘O my sons, which of those showed manliness and generosity in this
matter?’ The eldest youth said, ‘The bridegroom, who, while she was his
lawful bride, and when he had spent thus much upon her, gave the girl
leave. What excellent generosity did he display!’ The middle youth said,
‘The generosity was that lover’s, who, while there was so much love
between them, had patience and sent her back. What excellent generosity:
can there be greater than this!’ Then asked he of the youngest boy, ‘O
you, what say you!’ Quoth he, ‘O ye, what say ye? when one hunting in
the night met thus fair a beauty, a torment of the world, a fresh rose;
above all, laden with these many jewels, and yet coveted her not but
took her to her place. What excellent patience, what excellent
generosity!’ When the cadi heard these words of the youngest boy he
said, ‘O prince, the jewels are with thee; for the lover praised the
lover; and the trustful, the trustful; and the robber, the robber.’ The
prince was unable to deny it, and he took the jewels from his breast and
laid them before the cadi.

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that thou mayst know that in
that I am true I would aid my king; and that the vezirs, in that they
are traitors, would aid the traitor prince. And they are forty men, each
one of them a wonder of the world, while as for me, I am but one and a
woman, lacking in understanding: the rest the king knows.” When the king
heard these enticing and beguiling words of the lady he said, “Grieve
not, to-morrow will I kill him.”

When it was morning the king sat upon his throne and thus commanded the
executioner, “Smite off the head of that traitor youth.” Whereupon the
ninth vezir came forward and said, “O king of the world, beware, slay
not thy son on the woman’s word, and be not heedless of the import of
this verse which God most high hath spoken in his Word: ‘And the
stiflers of wrath, and the pardoners of men; and God loveth the
beneficent:’[25] that is they are his peculiar servants. And the holy
Apostle (peace on him!) hath said, ‘Whoso bridleth his anger, he having
power to avenge--God will call him on the resurrection day over the
heads of the creatures that he may give him to choose from the houris
which he pleaseth:’ that is he shall surely enter Paradise. Let one
pardon him who has wronged him and forgive his servants their misdeeds,
that God most high may pardon him and be beneficent to him; even as
saith the Apostle (peace on him!) ‘The proclaimer shall proclaim on the
resurrection day:--Where are they whose reward is (incumbent) upon God;
none shall rise save him who hath forgiven.’ Mayhap the king has not
heard the story of Hārūn-er-Reshīd[26] and the slave girl.” The king
said, “Tell on, let us hear.” Quoth the vezir:




THE CALIPH AND THE SLAVE GIRL


“Once the Caliph Hārūn-er-Reshīd sat upon his throne of estate; and the
people of the city of Bagdad were late in coming to salute him.
Therefore was the caliph exceeding wroth, and he thus commanded the
chamberlains, ‘Whoso comes now do ye turn off and cast into prison.’ And
they seized and cast into prison all of the grandees of the city who
came. For three days the caliph went not out, neither spake with anyone;
but sat full of fury: who could have dared to address a word to him?

“While in this state he desired to eat, and he ordered one of the slave
girls to bring food. She brought it before him, but while laying down
the dish, she was careless and spilt some part of it over the caliph.
Forthwith the caliph rose in wrath and was about to hew the girl in
pieces, when she said, ‘O caliph, God most high saith in his glorious
Word, “And the stiflers of wrath.”‘[27] Straightway the caliph’s wrath
was calmed. Again saith the slave girl, ’“And the pardoners of
men.”‘[27] Quoth the caliph, ‘I have forgiven the crimes of all the
criminals who may be in prison.’ Again said the slave girl, ’“And God
loveth the beneficent.”‘[27] Quoth the caliph, ‘God be witness that I
have with my own wealth freed thee and as many unfreed male and female
slaves as I have, and that this day I have for the love of God given the
half of all my wealth to the poor in alms.’ After that he let bring
into his presence all the prisoners who were in the jail and begged
absolution of them; and as he had attained to the import of that noble
verse, he put on each of them a robe of honor, and devoted himself to
justice and equity. And now whoso mentions him doth add, ‘The mercy of
God on him!’[28]

“O king, I have told this story for that I have seen this day that thy
wrath was great. I would that thou pardon the prince and grant him his
life and so do a meritorious deed; and in this matter, beyond doubt and
beyond uncertainty, thou shalt become deserving of the mercy and
paradise of God most high.” And he kissed the ground and begged for the
prince. When the king heard this story from the vezir he sent the youth
to the prison and mounted for the chase.

That day he found no game and returned in wrath to the palace. Again the
lady rose to greet him and they sat down. After the repast the lady
began to speak of the youth. The king said, “Look, my mistress, now all
is over, and my prince is still upon thy tongue; to-day too one of my
vezirs begged for him and I sent him to the prison.” The lady saw that
the king was vexed and said, “My king, be kind, be not vexed with me;
for I know that soon no good will befall thee from that youth, for he is
very covetous of wealth and kingship, and the covetous is ever balked. I
saw him without understanding and without discretion; he knows neither
his words nor himself; he is even as the sons of that king who took the
metaphorical words of their father as literal, and at length lost what
wealth was in their hands. Mayhap my king has not heard that story.” The
king said, “Tell on, let us hear.” Quoth the lady:




THE FOOLISH PRINCES


“There was in the palace of the world a great king, and he had three
sons. One day that king laid his head upon the pillow of death and
called his sons before him and said, ‘O my sons, my life has reached its
end; I have counsel to give you, which when I am dead do ye observe.’
His sons replied, ‘On our heads be it; speak, father.’ To his eldest son
he said, ‘Build thou a house in every city.’ And to his middle son,
‘Marry thou every night.’ And to his youngest son, ‘Whenever thou
eatest, eat honey and butter.’ The king lived not long after giving
these injunctions, but died. The eldest son fell to building a house in
every city; the middle son married a wife every night, and on the morrow
gave her her dower and sent her to her father’s house; and the youngest
son, whenever he ate, mixed honey and butter and ate it. A long time
passed on this wise; we may say that though the middle and the youngest
sons spent money, they at least had pleasure for it; but that bewildered
and senseless eldest son spent this much money, and if the buildings he
raised were fit for habitation, still they pointed to folly.

“One day a wise man asked them, ‘Why do ye thus?’ The princes answered,
‘By God, our father thus enjoined us.’ The wise man said, ‘Your father’s
injunctions were not thus, but ye have not understood his riddles. And
there is a tale suitable to this your plight, I will tell it you;
afterward I will teach you your father’s riddles.’ The princes said,
‘Pray do so.’ Quoth the wise man, ‘Once there was a king who always
exacted tribute from the infidels. One day those infidels assembled
their monks and said, “Let us find some trick which the king will be
unable to understand, that thereby we may escape from this tribute: now
do ye each think of some plan.” Thereupon they dispersed and went away.
After a time a monk came to the infidel who was their chief and said, “I
shall go to them and put to them a question, and if they can answer it
we will give them tribute.”

“‘So the unbelieving king gave that monk a little money and sent him.
One day he entered the realms of Islam, and the event was reported to
the king, who said, “Our learned men of the faith will surely answer an
infidel without the faith; let him come.” They brought him into the
presence of the king; and the king straightway assembled his doctors and
pious men and grandees. Then the king said, “O monk, now what is thy
question; speak, let us see?” The monk first opened the five fingers of
his hand and held the palm opposite the folk, then he let the five
fingers droop downward, and said, “What means that? know ye?” And all
the doctors were silent and began to ponder, and they reflected, saying,
“What riddles can these riddles be? There is no such thing in the
Commentaries or the Traditions.”

“‘Now there was there a learned wanderer, and forthwith he came forward
and asked leave of the king that he might answer. The king gladly gave
leave; then that wanderer came forward and said to the monk, “What is
thy question? what need for the doctors? poor I can answer.” Then the
monk came forward and opened his hand and held it so before the dervish;
straightway the dervish closed his fist and held it opposite the monk.
Then the monk let his five fingers droop downward; the dervish opened
his fist and held his five fingers upward.

“‘When the monk saw these signs of the dervish, he said, “That is the
answer,” and gave up the money he had brought. But the king knew not
what these riddles meant, and he took the dervish apart and asked him.
The dervish replied, “When he opened his fingers and held his hand so to
me, it meant ‘now I strike thee so on the face;’ so I showed him my
fist, which meant, ‘I strike thy throat with my fist;’ he turned and let
his fingers droop downward, which meant, ‘thou dost so, then I strike
lower and seize thy throat with my hand;’ and my raising my fingers
upward meant, ‘if thou seekest to seize my throat, I too shall grasp thy
throat from underneath;’ so we fought with one another by signs.” Then
the king called the monk and said, “Thou madest signs with the dervish,
but what meant those signs?” The monk replied, “I held my five fingers
opposite him, that meant, ‘the five times ye do worship, is it right?’
The dervish presented his fist, which meant, ‘it is right,’ Then I held
my fingers downward, which meant, ‘why does the rain come down from
heaven?’ The dervish held his fingers upward, which meant, ‘the rain
falls down from heaven that the grass may spring up from the earth.’ Now
such are the answers to those questions in our books.” Then he returned
to his country.

“‘And the king knew that the dervish had not understood the monk’s
riddles; but the king was well pleased for that he had done what was
suitable; and he bestowed on the dervish a portion of the money which
the monk had left. O princes, ye have not understood your father’s
riddles and ye have wasted your wealth in vain.’ The princes said, ‘What
meant our father’s riddles?’ He replied, ‘Firstly, when he said, “Build
thou a house in every city,” he meant, “gain thou a friend in every
city, so that when thou goest to a city the house of the friend thou
hast gained may be thine.” Secondly, when he said, “Embrace thou a
virgin whenever thou embracest,” he meant, “be moderate in thy pleasures
that thou mayst enjoy them the more.” Thirdly, when he said, “Whenever
thou eatest, eat honey and butter,” he meant, “never when thou eatest,
eat to repletion; but eat so that if it be but dry bread thou eatest, it
will be to thee as honey and butter.”’ When the princes heard the words
of the wise dervish they knew that their father’s signs to them were so,
and not that which they had done; and they left off doing those things.

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that with youths is no
discretion, but in them ignorance and heedlessness abound. Though thou
through understanding have compassion on him, yet will he have none on
thee; it will be even as when one day Saint Bāyezīid of Bestām[29] saw a
mangy dog, and through pity took it and laid it in a place and tended it
many days till it became well, whereon it bit his foot. Bāyezīd said, ‘O
dog, this is the return for the kindness I did thee--that thou bitest
me.’ God most high gave speech to that dog, and it said, ‘O Bāyezīd, is
not the proverb well known, “A man acts as a man; a dog, as a dog”?’
Methinks, O king, that in that youth must be an evil vein: for if
kindness be to kindness, never so long as he lived could that unworthy
one have cast on me an envious glance; above all, never could he have
sought to slay my king, his father, the source of his being. I, where am
I? Take warning.” And she incited the king with very many evil words, so
that he was afraid and said, “Grieve not, to-morrow will I slay him.”
And that night was grievous to the king.

Scarce was it morning and had the sun shown forth the riddle of the
whiteness of dawn, like as that dervish showed to the king’s sons the
riddles of their father, and illumined the world with light, ere the
king sat upon his throne and caused the youth to be brought and ordered
the executioner, “Smite off his head.” Then the tenth vezir came forward
and said, “O king of the world, every king desires that whithersoever
he go he may triumph and conquer; and that the earth be subject to his
hand; and that whoso comes to his gate hoping, may find that which he
seeks; and that the heart of none be vexed. When in the country of a
king despairing hearts are many, that host of despairing hearts gathers
together and utterly destroys another gay host. Thus it becomes the
greatness and glory of kings, that when they see a beast under a heavy
load they have compassion on that beast; even as it was when an ass
came, dragging itself along, to the chain of the justice of Nūshīrvān
the Just.[30]

“Straightway the king caused it to be brought into his presence, and he
saw it to be a lean and worn black ass, whose back was broken with
bearing loads. When the king saw that animal in such plight his heart
bled, and he laid his hand on the beast’s face and wept full bitterly
and said, ‘See ye how this poor creature has been oppressed in my
kingdom?’ And he called for a physician and said to him, ‘Go, tend the
wounds of this beast, and give it abundance to eat, and wrap round it a
good horse-cloth that it be at ease.’ Now, it is incumbent on kings that
they have compassion on the unhappy and the weak, and pity them, and
believe not plotters and liars, nor trust their evil wicked words; and
such folk are very many. Mayhap my king has not heard the story of the
king’s son of Egypt and the crafty woman.” The king said, “Relate it,
let us hear.” Quoth the vezir:




STORY OF THE EGYPTIAN PRINCE


“In the city of Cairo there was a king and he had two sons. One day he
reflected on the doings of the cruel sphere and saw how the world was
without constancy and remained not to king nor yet to beggar, but trod
all under foot. At length he bethought him how it would not endure for
himself either; and he took his younger son and made him apprentice to a
master tailor, and said, ‘After all, a trade is needful for a man; and
they have said that the least knowledge of a trade is better than a
hundred thousand sequins.’ So in a short while the prince became a
tailor such that there was not in the city of Cairo one who could ply
his scissors and needle. One day the king passed to the abiding home,
and his elder son became king. His brother the tailor, fearing for his
head, fled and went to the Ka’ba.[31]

“While making the circumambulation,[32] his foot struck against
something hard, he looked and saw a girdle and took it up and bound it
round his loins, and continued the circumambulation. After a while he
saw a khoja who had a stone in either hand and who was beating his
breast with these stones and crying, ‘Ah woe! alas! I had hidden in that
girdle all the wealth I have gained from my youth; whatever Moslem has
found it, let him give it me for the love of God and the honor of the
Ka’ba, and the half of it shall be lawful for him as his mother’s milk.’

“When the prince saw and heard him he knew that that girdle was his, and
he said in his heart, ‘What has this much wealth and the kingdom of my
father done for me? and what should this do for me? I shall not let this
poor man weep; I shall give it him.’ And he went round and came before
the khoja and said, ‘O khoja, I have found that girdle of thine; lo, it
is round my loins.’ The khoja clung fast to the prince, and the prince
said, ‘What reward wilt thou give me? lo, the girdle is round my loins.’
Then the khoja took the prince and brought him to his own tent; and the
prince loosed the girdle from his loins and laid it before the khoja,
and the khoja took it and clasped it to his heart. Then he brake the
seal and poured out what was in it; and the prince saw it to be full of
precious stones.

“The khoja divided these stones into three heaps and said, ‘O youth,
wilt thou take one heap with my good-will, or two without it?’ The
prince replied, ‘Give me one heap with thy good-will.’ Then the khoja
divided one of those heaps into two and said, ‘Which of them wilt thou
take with my good-will?’ Again the prince made choice of a heap. At
length the khoja said, ‘Youth, wouldest thou have these remaining
jewels, or wouldest thou that we go and that I pray for thee under the
Golden Spout?’[33] The prince answered, ‘Wealth perishes, but prayers
endure; do thou bless me, I have relinquished all these riches.’ And
they went, and he held up his hands and said to the prince, ‘Say thou,
“Amen.”’ So the youth raised up his hands and the khoja began to pray.
He repeated many prayers in himself, and the prince said, ‘Amen.’ The
khoja drew his hands down his face and said, ‘O youth, I have prayed
much for thee; now go, and may thy end be good.’

“The prince went away; but after a little he thought in himself, ‘If I
go now to Cairo my brother will kill me, let me go along with this khoja
to Bagdad.’ So he went back to the khoja and said, ‘O khoja, I would go
with thee to Bagdad; take me that I may serve thee on the road.’ So the
khoja took him; and the prince was in the khoja’s service, and they
entered Bagdad and lighted at the khoja’s dwelling. For some days the
prince abode there, then he said to the khoja, ‘I may not stay here thus
idling; I have a trade, I am a master tailor, if thou hast any tailor
friend, pray take me to him that he may give me some work to do.’

“Now the khoja had a tailor friend, and he straightway took the prince
and brought him to the shop of that tailor and commended him to him, and
the tailor consented. Then the prince sat down and his master cut out
cloth for a robe and gave it him; now the prince had checkmated the
Cairo tailors, where then were those of Bagdad? The prince sewed that
robe and returned it, and the master took it and looked at it and saw
that it was a beautiful robe, made so that in all his life he had not
seen the like of it, and he said, ‘A thousand times well-done, youth.’
This news spread among the masters, and they all came to that shop and
saw it and admired; and this prince became very famous in that country.
The work in that master’s shop was now increased tenfold, and customers
in like measure. One day that khoja had a quarrel with his wife, and in
the greatness of his heat the words of the triple divorce passed his
lips.

“Then he repented and would have got back his wife, and his wife also
was willing. They sought a legal decision, but the muftī said, ‘It may
not be without an intermediary.’[34] The khoja bethought him whom he
could get for intermediary when the prince came into his mind, and he
said in himself, ‘That stranger youth is he; I shall make him
intermediary.’ So he married the woman to the prince. When it was
evening he took him and put him into a dark house with the lady; but the
lady made shift to light a candle, and as soon as she saw the prince she
fell in love with him with all her heart. And the prince as soon as he
saw her fell in love with her with all his heart. Then these two moons
came together, and, after making merry, the lady showed the prince
sumptuous stuffs, and countless gold, and precious stones, such as the
tale and number of them cannot be written, and she said, ‘O my life, all
this wealth is mine, it is my inheritance from my mother and my father,
and all the wealth too that that khoja has is mine; if thou will not
dismiss me to-morrow, but accept me as thy legal wife, all this wealth
is thine.’

“The prince consented to this proposal, and the woman said, ‘O youth,
when the khoja comes to-morrow he will say, “Come, let us go to the
cadi;” say thou, “Why should we go to the cadi?” If he say, “Divorce the
woman,” do thou reply, “By God, it were shame in us to take a wife and
then divorce her.” And he will be unable to find any answer thereto.’
The prince was glad and accepted the lady’s advice. When it was morning
the khoja came and knocked at the door, and the prince went forth and
kissed the khoja’s hand. The khoja said, ‘Come, let us go to the cadi;’
the prince answered, ‘Why should we go to the cadi?’ Quoth the khoja,
‘Divorce the woman.’ The prince replied, ‘By God, it were mighty shame
in us to divorce the woman; I will not divorce her.’ The khoja
exclaimed, ‘Ah youth, what word is that? I trusted thee, thinking thee
an upright youth, why speakest thou thus?’

“The prince answered, ‘Is not this which I have said the commandment of
God and the word of the Apostle?’ The khoja looked and saw that there
was no help; he wished to go to the cadi, but the folk said to him,
‘Khoja, now that woman is his, she is pleased with him and he is pleased
with her, they cannot be divorced by force.’ The khoja was filled with
grief and said, ‘He shall not be questioned concerning what he
doth;’[35] and he ceased from trying.

“He fell ill from his rage and became bedridden; then he called the
prince and said to him, ‘Hast thou any knowledge of what I prayed for
thee under the Golden Spout?’ The prince replied, ‘I know naught of it.’
The khoja said, ‘Although I would have prayed otherwise, this came upon
my tongue: “My God, apportion to this youth my wealth, my sustenance,
and my wife.” O youth, would I had not taken from thee yon girdle! O
youth, my wife was my existence, now that too is become thine. Now let
these sitting here be witnesses that when I am dead all that I possess
belongs to thee.’ Three days afterward he died; he perished through
grief for that scheming woman; and the prince became possessor of his
wealth.

“O king, I have told this story for that thou mayst know that fidelity
comes not from women, and that their love is not to be trusted. When
they cannot help it, they are obedient to their husbands, and, fearing
the rod of the law, they wrap their feet in their skirts and sit quiet,
otherwise they would ruin the world with craft and trickery. Now, O
king, act not on the woman’s word.” From seven places he performed the
salutation due to kings, and begged for the prince’s life. The king
heard this story from the vezir, and that day, too, he sent his son to
the prison, and went himself to the chase.

When it was evening, the king returned from the chase and came to the
palace, and the lady rose to greet him, and they sat down. After the
repast, the lady brought about an opportunity, and began upon the youth.
The king said, “To-day such an one of my vezirs made intercession for
him, and I have sent him to the prison.” Quoth the lady, “These vezirs
are all of them traitors to thee, and they are schemers and plotters.
Each of them says words concerning me which if he heard, no true man
would bear; a man’s wife is equal with his life. All the people marvel
at thee, and say thou hast no sense of honor. But these vezirs have
bewitched thee. Thy lies, too, are many; every night thou sayest, ‘I
will kill this youth;’ then thou killest him not, and falsifiest thy
words. O king, through truth is one acceptable both to God and man. O
king, no good will come from a youth like this; it were better such a
son did not remain after thee than that he did remain. Mayhap my king
has not heard the story of a certain merchant.” The king said, “Tell on,
let us hear.” Quoth the lady:




THE MERCHANT’S BEQUEST


“There was of old time a great merchant, and he had two sons. One day
the merchant laid his head on the pillow of death, and he called his
sons before him, and brought together some wise persons, and said,
‘Moslems, if it please God most high, these boys will live for many
years; reckon at the rate of a hundred years from to-day, and allow to
each of them a daily grant of a thousand aspres, and whatever the sum
may amount to, that sum will I give them, that after me they may stand
in need of no one till they die, but pass their lives in ease in this
transient world.’ Then they reckoned up, and he gave them much money;
and a few days afterward he passed to the abiding home.

“The sons buried their father, and then began to waste that money. Their
father’s friends gave them much advice, but they would not accept it.
One of them would enter the shop of a confectioner and buy up all the
sweetmeats that were therein, and load porters with them, and take them
to the square of the city, and cry out, ‘This is spoil!’ and the folk
would scramble for them, and he would laugh. And his business was ever
thus. The other youth would buy wine and meat, and enter a ship with
some flattering buffoons, and eat and drink and make merry; and when he
was drunk he would mix up gold and silver coins before him, and throw
them by handfuls into the sea, and their flashing into the water pleased
him, and he would laugh. And his business likewise was ever thus. By
reason of these follies, the wealth of both of them came to an end in
little time, in such wise that they were penniless, so that they sat by
the way and begged.

“At length the merchants, their father’s friends, came together, and
went to the king and said, ‘The sons of such and such a merchant are
fallen a prey to a plight like this; if they be not disgraced now,
to-morrow will our sons also act like them. Do thou now put them to
death, for the love of God, that they may be an example, and that others
may not act as they.’ Then the king commanded that they bring them both
into his presence, and the king said to them, ‘O unhappy ones, what
plight is this plight in which ye are? Where is the headsman?’ And he
ordered them to be killed. They said, ‘O king, be not wroth at our
having fallen into this plight, and kill us not; our father is the cause
of our being thus, for he commended us not to God most high, but
commended us to money; and the end of the child who is commended to
money is thus.’ Their words seemed good to the king, and he said, ‘By
God, had ye not answered thus, I had cleft ye in twain.’ And then he
bestowed on each of them a village.

“Now, O king, I have related this story for that among youths there is
nor shame nor honor, neither is there zeal for friend or foe. Beware and
beware, be not negligent, ere the youth kill thee do thou kill him, else
thou shalt perish.” When the king heard this story from the lady he
said, “On the morrow will I kill him.”

When it was morning, and the darkness of night, like the wealth of that
merchant, was scattered, the king sat upon his throne and commanded the
executioner, saying, “Smite off the youth’s head.” Then the eleventh
vezir came forward and said, “O king of the world, hurry not in this
affair, and whatsoever thou doest, do according to the command of God
and the word of the Apostle; and the holy Apostle hath said that when
the resurrection is near, knowledge will vanish and ignorance will
increase and the spilling of blood will be oft. O king, leave not the
Law, and spill not blood unjustly on thine own account, and pity the
innocent; for they have said that whoso taketh a fallen one by the hand
to raise him shall be happy; but whoso, having the power, raiseth him
not shall himself burn in the fire of regret. Mayhap the king has not
heard the story of a certain king and a vezir’s son.” The king said,
“Tell on, let us hear.” Quoth the vezir:




THE KING AND THE VEZIR’S SON


“Of old time there was a king, and that king had a sage vezir. God most
high had given that vezir a son; and the people of the world were
bewildered at the beauty of that boy. And the king loved him so that he
could not endure to be a moment without seeing him, and he never parted
from him. So his parents yearned for the boy, but what avail? they had
needs have patience through fear of the king. One day, the king while
drunk entered the palace and saw this boy playing with another page,
and thereupon was he wroth and he commanded the executioner, ‘Smite off
the head of this degenerate boy.’ And they dragged the boy out.
Thereupon word was sent to the vezir, and he came straightway, and
crying, ‘My life! my son!’ went up to the headsman and said, ‘O
headsman, now is the king drunk and senseless and he knows not the words
he says; if thou kill the boy to-night, to-morrow the king will not
spare thee; but will kill thee likewise.’ The headsman said, ‘How should
we do? he said to me, “Quick, smite off his head and bring it.”’

“The vezir answered, ‘Go to the prison and smite off the head of some
man meriting death, and bring it; at this time the king has not his
senses and will believe it.’ And he gave the headsman much gold. The
headsman took the sequins and was glad, and went forthwith to the prison
and smote off the head of a robber and brought it to the king. The king
was pleased and gave the headsman a robe of honor. And the vezir took
the boy and brought him to his own house and hid him there. When it was
morning and the king’s senses returned, he asked for the boy, and they
said, ‘This night thou didst command the executioner that he smote off
the boy’s head.’ As soon as the king heard this he fell senseless and
his understanding forsook him. After a while his understanding returned
and he sat beating his knees and he fell a-weeping. Then the vezir,
feigning not to know, came before the king and said, ‘O king, what
plight is this?’ Quoth the king, ‘O vezir, where is that source of my
life? where is that spring of my soul?’ The vezir said, ‘O king, whom
meanest thou?’ The king replied, ‘Thy son, who was the joy of my heart.’
And he cried and wept beyond control, and the vezir rent his collar and
wailed and lamented.

“For two months the one business of the king was sighing and crying;
during the nights he would not sleep till dawn for weeping, and he would
say, ‘My God, shall I never behold his face? mayhap I shall behold it at
the resurrection. To me henceforth life is not beseeming.’ Mad words
like these would he utter. And he ceased from eating and drinking, and
retired from the throne and sought a private house and wept ever, and it
wanted little but he died. When the vezir saw this, he one day decked
out the boy like a flower and took him and went to the private place
where the king dwelt. He left the boy at the door and went in himself
and saw that the king had bowed his head in adoration and was praying to
God and weeping and thus saying, ‘My God, henceforth is life unlawful
for me, do thou in thy mercy take my soul;’ and he was lamenting,
recalling the darling fashions of the boy.

“The vezir heard this wail of the king and said, ‘O king, how thou
weepest! thou hast forsaken manhood, and art become a by-word in the
world.’ The king replied, ‘Henceforth advice profits me not; lo,
begone.’ Quoth the vezir, ‘O king, if God most high took pity on thee
and brought the boy to life, wouldst thou forgive his fault? and what
wouldst thou give to him who brought thee news thereof?’ The king said,
‘O would that it could be so! all the wealth that I have in my treasury
would I give to him who brought me news thereof, and my kingdom would I
give to the boy; and I should be content to look from time to time on
the boy’s face.’ Then the vezir beckoned to the boy and he came in, and
went and kissed the king’s hand. As soon as the king saw the boy his
senses forsook him, and the vezir sprinkled rose-water on the king’s
face and withdrew. When the king’s senses returned he saw the boy beside
him and he thought that his soul had gone and returned.

“When it was morning the vezir came before the king, and the king said,
‘As thou hast brought the boy to me whole, go, all that is in my
treasury is thine.’ The vezir answered, ‘O king of the world, rather is
the wealth which is in my treasury thine; we are both of us the meanest
of the king’s slaves. May God (glorified and exalted be he!) grant
fortune to our king and long life! We too shall live in thy felicity.’
The king was glad at the words of the vezir, and bestowed many towns and
villages on the son of the vezir, and offered up many sacrifices, and
gave away much alms.

“O king, I have told this story for that the king may take profit and
not do a deed without reflection, that he be not afterward repentant,
like that king, and suffer not bitter regret and remorse. That king
suffered so great regret and remorse for a vezir’s son, yet this one is
the darling of thine own heart. The rest the king knows. Beware, O king,
slay not the prince on the woman’s word.” And he kissed the ground and
made intercession for the prince for that day. So the king sent the
youth to the prison and went himself to the chase.

When it was evening the king returned from the chase and came to the
palace, and the lady rose to greet him, and they sat down. After the
repast the lady commenced to speak about the youth. The king said,
“To-day too such an one of my vezirs made intercession for him and I
sent him to the prison.” The lady said, “O king, three things are the
signs of folly; the first is to put off to-day’s business till
to-morrow, the second is to speak words foolishly, and the third is to
act upon senseless words. O king, whatsoever thy vezirs say, that thou
believest straightway and actest upon. Satan is of a surety entered into
these thy vezirs and into thy boy; in whose heart soever he plants the
love of office or of wealth, him in the end does he leave without the
faith. Mayhap the king has not heard the story of the King and the
Weaver.” The king said, “Relate it, let us hear.” Quoth the lady:




THE KING AND THE WEAVER


“Of old time there was a great king. One day a man came before him and
said, ‘My king, I shall weave a turban such that one born in wedlock
will see it, while the bastard will see it not.’ The king marvelled and
ordered that that weaver should weave that turban; and the weaver
received an allowance from the king and tarried a long while. One day he
folded up this side and that side of a paper and brought it and laid it
before the king and said, ‘O king, I have woven that turban.’ So the
king opened the paper and saw that there was nothing; and all the vezirs
and nobles who stood there looked on the paper and saw nothing. Then the
king said in his heart, ‘Dost thou see? I am then a bastard;’ and he was
sad. And he thought, ‘Now, the remedy is this, that I say it is a goodly
turban and admire it, else will I be put to shame before the folk.’ And
he said ‘Blessed be God! O master, it is a goodly turban, I like it
much.’

“Then that weaver youth said, ‘O king, let them bring a cap that I may
wind the turban for the king.’ They brought a cap, and the weaver youth
laid that paper before him and moved his hands as though he wound the
turban, and he put it on the king’s head. All the nobles who were
standing there said, ‘Blessed be it! O king, how fair, how beautiful a
turban!’ and they applauded it much. Then the king rose and went with
two vezirs into a private room and said, “O vezirs, I am then a bastard;
I see not the turban.’ Quoth the vezirs, ‘O king, we too see it not,’ At
length they knew of a surety that the turban had no existence, and that
that weaver had thus played a trick for the sake of money.

“O king, thou too sayest, ‘On the morrow will I kill him; I will do this
and I will do that;’ and yet there is nothing. O king, I had that dream
this night, there is no doubt that it is as I have interpreted. O king,
if the king’s life and throne go, who knows what they will do to hapless
me?” And she began to weep. When the king saw the lady thus weeping his
heart was pained and he said, “On the morrow I will indeed refuse the
words of whichsoever of my vezirs makes intercession for him, and I will
indeed kill the youth; for, according to the dream thou hast had, this
is no light affair.”

When it was morning the king came and sat upon his throne, and he caused
the youth to be brought and commanded the executioner, “Smite off his
head.” Whereupon the thirteenth vezir came forward and sought to make
intercession, but the king was wroth and said, “Be silent, speak not.”
Thereupon the vezir drew a paper from his breast and said, “For God’s
sake read this paper, then thou wilt know.” Then the king looked at the
paper and saw that there was written thereon, “O king, yesterday I
looked at the astrolabe; for forty days is the prince’s ruling star in
very evil aspect, such that the prince may even lose his head.” Then all
the forty vezirs came forward at once and said, “O king, for the love of
God and the honor of Muhammed Mustafa, for the forty days have patience
and slay not the prince; thereafter it is certain that this affair will
be made clear, and when its origin is known must each one receive his
due.” Then said the vezir, “There is a story suitable to this; if the
king grant leave I will tell it.” The king said, “Tell on, let us hear.”
Quoth the vezir:




THE VICISSITUDES OF LIFE


“There was in the palace of the world a great king and he ruled over the
Seven Climes. But he had neither son nor daughter, and he was ever
offering sacrifices in the way of God. One day God most high accepted
his sacrifice and bestowed on him from his bounty a fair son who was in
his time a second Joseph. So the king was glad, and that day he held a
high feast, and at that feast he gave robes of honor and money to many
men. After that he assembled the astrologers and made them cast the
prince’s horoscope; and the astrologers looked the one at the other and
were bewildered and confounded. Then the king said, ‘What see ye that ye
stand looking the one at the other?’ The astrologers replied, ‘O king of
the world, we have cast the prince’s horoscope; and in the astrolabe and
the Jāmesb-Nāma they thus rule, that from his thirtieth year to his
sixtieth the prince’s ruling star is afflicted so that he shall wander
in strange lands, with tribulation and pain for his companions: “None
... knoweth the unseen save God.”‘[36] After the king had heard these
things from the astrologers, at times his heart would be sad and at
times he would plunge into the ocean of deliberation. Saying, ‘God knows
the end of the boy,’ he began to train up the prince. When the latter
entered his seventh year he appointed him a teacher, and he passed some
years in acquiring reading and writing. When he was become a young man
his father got for him a king’s daughter; and after a time the prince
had two sons. These children, too, in a little time acquired knowledge;
and from time to time they would go out a-pleasuring with their father.

“One day the prince’s heart desired a sea-voyage, and he commanded that
they prepare a ship, and with his children and forty slaves and
attendants he entered the ship. For many days they sailed the sea full
pleasantly. But there was there a Frankish corsair filled with infidels,
and they encountered the prince’s ship and straightway flung their
grappling-irons, and took captive the prince and his two sons and forty
servants, and went off. They took the prince and the forty men and sold
them to the cannibal negroes; but the two boys they sold not, but kept
by them. The negroes fed up the prince and the men with delicate and
delicious foods, and every day they took one of them to their king’s
kitchen and cut his throat, and cooked him at the fire and ate him. When
they had eaten the forty men, the prince’s turn came, him too they took
and brought to the kitchen that they might cut his throat. The prince
perceived that plight, and he entreated God in his heart to give him
strength, and he burst the fetters that were round his wrists and,
striking about with the chains that were in his hands, he slipped
through them and rushed out.

“While he was running on, a vast forest appeared before him, he entered
it, and although the negroes searched for him they could not find him.
Then he came out thence and fared on many stages till one day he came to
a great city. The people crying, ‘He is an enemy,’ rushed upon him. And
the prince exclaimed, ‘O Lord, what tribulation is this!’ and fought
with them. Word was brought to their king, and he came and saw that the
prince was fighting like a dragon. When the king saw the prince’s valor
he admired it, and said to his soldiers who were there, ‘Let no one
attack the stranger.’ Then the soldiers dispersed, and the king took the
prince and went to the palace. He prepared a suit of clothes, and sent
him to the bath, and caused his head to be shaven and made him put on
those clothes, and brought him back to the palace. The king said, ‘Come,
remain by me, I have a daughter, I will give her thee.’ The prince
consented; so they gave him the king’s daughter; and he remained there
two years and his lot was right pleasant. One day the prince’s wife
died; now this was their custom, they had a great deep pit, and if a man
died they put his wife with him alive into that pit, and if a woman died
they did the same with her husband; and they let down along with them a
loaf of bread and a pitcher of water, and covered over the pit with a
great stone.

“So they brought the prince and his wife with a loaf of bread and a
pitcher of water to that pit, and, saying, ‘It is our custom,’ lowered
both of them into the pit and placed that great stone over them. When
the prince saw himself in such case he was bewildered and said, ‘My God!
what plight is this!’ and he prayed to God. And he searched the inside
of the pit carefully and saw a fair girl seated there, and he asked her,
‘What manner of girl art thou?’ She replied, ‘I am a young bride; they
have put me into this pit with my husband.’ And the prince examined the
pit, and saw it to be all full of the bodies of men, some of which were
decayed and some of which were writhing in the agonies of death; and
dread overcame the prince. Of a sudden, while he was seated, a rustling
sound came from one part of the pit; the prince knew that it was some
beast, and he arose and went with the girl straight to that place, and
he found the passage through which that beast had come in. They went for
a time through that passage, and at length came out on the skirt of a
mountain on the bank of a great river. And they were glad thereat, and
thanked God much.

“And there they found a boat, and they gathered fruit from that mountain
and filled the boat, and they both entered the boat and went along with
the current of the river. That river grew wider day by day; but it
passed underneath a great mountain. When they came near to the tunnel
under that mountain they could not govern the boat, and the water took
the boat and bore it under the mountain. When the prince saw this he
exclaimed, ‘My God! O Lord! what tribulation is this too! how shall we
escape from this!’ Helpless they sat in the boat; now the water dashed
the boat against the rocks, now it made it fly down precipices, and now
the mountain became low and pushed the boat under the water; and they,
never ceasing, emptied the water out of the boat. They knew not at all
whither the boat was going, neither did they know whether it was night
or day. For a long time they were a prey to that anguish; and scarce a
spark of life remained in their bodies when, at length, after a hundred
thousand perils, their boat came out from under the mountain on to the
surface of the earth.

“They were glad, and they drew their boat to the shore and got out of
it, and took fruits from the trees that were there, and ate them. While
standing there they saw a great white vaulted building, the dome whereof
was of crystal. The prince and the girl went up to it, and they saw that
it was a great castle, and that the domed building was within the
castle, and on the door of the castle was written, ‘O thou who wouldst
open this door, O thou who desirest to overcome this talisman, bring a
five-footed animal and kill it before here, that the bolts of this
talisman may be opened thereby,’ The prince marvelled and said, ‘Is
there in the world a five-footed animal?’ and he wondered. And they sat
by the gate of the castle and lice tormented them, and they began to
louse themselves. The prince killed a louse, and straightway the bolts
of the castle fell, and they knew that the said five-footed animal was
the louse. Then they both entered by a door, and they saw a garden, such
that of every tree which is in the world there was therein; and ripe
fruits were hanging there and running streams were flowing.

“And the prince felt a longing for those fruits and he went to pluck one
of them that he might eat it, when he saw that those trees were of gold
and their fruits of silver and jewels, and that precious stones were
lying at the foot of the trees, scattered like pebbles in a brook. They
passed through and came to that dome, it was fashioned of crystal, they
entered by a silver door and saw that within that dome was another dome
all of pure gold. It too they entered and saw yet another dome, all the
walls and the top of which were of ruby, built after the fashion of
paradise. They entered it and saw a throne upon which was a coffin made
of jewels, and at the head of the coffin was a tablet whereon was
written: ‘O son of Adam, who comest hither and seest me, know thou that
I was a king, and that all the world was in my hands, and my wealth was
beyond bounds or computation. Men and demons and fairies and jinn were
my warriors; and I lived in the world for a thousand years, and I never
said, “I shall die;” and I made not any preparation against death. One
day, of a sudden, I fell sick, and I knew of a surety that I was about
to die, and I commanded that this dome was built in three days, and I
made it a sepulchre for myself. And by my head are two fountains; drink,
and pray for me.’

“And the prince saw those two fountains and drank; and from one of them
flowed sugared sherbet and from the other milk. And they drank of both
of them and remained a long while by that grave, and they nourished
themselves on the milk and drank of the sherbet. At length they found
some vases, and they took of the milk and the sherbet and the jewels and
the gold, and filled their boat with them, and again set forth on their
voyage. After they had gone for a time the wind drove their boat upon
an island, and they went forth from the boat to look for fruit on the
mountain that they might eat. Of a sudden a body of men came and seized
them; and the prince saw these that they had no heads, their mouths were
in their breasts and their eyes in their shoulders, and their speech,
when they spake together, was as the chirping of birds. And they took
the two and brought them to their king; and they remained there
prisoners a long time.

“At length one day they found an opportunity and escaped, and again they
entered their boat and sailed for a long time upon the sea. Brief, the
prince wandered for thirty years upon the seas, sometimes happening
among nine-headed men, and sometimes among bird-headed, and sometimes
falling among elephant-headed folk, and sometimes among ox-headed, and
then escaping; and each of them inflicted different torments on the
prince. Still God most high opened a way and he escaped. And he saw
these strange and wondrous creatures, and he marvelled. At length,
through the grace of God (glorified and exalted be he!), the wind drove
the prince’s ship before a city, and he saw that the inhabitants of that
country were all men, and he came out. When these saw the prince they
cried, ‘He is a spy,’ and seized him and bound his arms behind his back,
and tied a rope round his neck, and took him alongside a horse, and
said, ‘Our lord has put down: when ships come from the sea and touch at
our country, seize their spies and take them to our king.’ And the
prince exclaimed, ‘What tribulation is this too! how to go alongside a
horse!’ And while he was praying in his heart they reached the city. And
they took the prince in this plight to their king.

“When the king saw the prince he asked, ‘What manner of man art thou?’
The prince said, ‘Many marvellous things have befallen me;’ and he
related his adventures from their beginning to their end. When the king
heard his story he loosed the prince’s bands and took him to his side
and clad him in sumptuous robes of honor. The prince asked for the
jewels that were in his ship. The king bade bring them and said, ‘O
prince, I know thy kingdom, and I heard that the Franks had taken thee;
and I know thy father too. Come, go not away, stay; I have a daughter, I
will give her thee, and we shall live pleasantly together.’ The prince
replied, ‘O king, when I was born of my mother, my father caused my
horoscope to be cast, and the astrologers thus ruled, that my life was
afflicted for thirty years; mayhap if I took the king’s daughter, some
evil might befall the king’s daughter by reason of my affliction; I may
not consent.’ Then the king brought the astrologers and made them cast
the prince’s horoscope. The astrologers gave good news, saying, ‘Glad
tidings be to thee, those thirty afflicted years are passed, now his
ruling star has entered the sign of good fortune.’ The prince was
exceeding glad and joyful.

“Thereupon the king commanded that they made ready a festival, and he
gave his daughter to the prince, and he greatly honored and reverenced
him. After some time the king died, and the prince became king in his
stead. One day when he was seated on his throne they said, ‘O king, a
Frank has come with much merchandise; if the king grant leave, he will
bring his merchandise.’ The king replied, ‘There is leave, let him bring
it.’ And the Frank brought his merchandise before the king. The king saw
his two sons at the Frank’s side, then the blood of love boiled, and the
affection of paternity yearned for them; and he asked that Frank, ‘Are
these youths thine?’ The Frank answered, ‘They are my slaves.’ The king
said, ‘I will buy them.’ And he took the youths to a place apart and
said, ‘Where did this Frank get you?’ Then they related their adventures
from their beginning to their end; and the king knew of a certainty that
they were his own sons, and he pressed them to his heart and kissed each
of them on the eyes, and said, ‘I am your father.’ Then the king arose;
and they killed the Frank with a thousand torments.

“O king, I have told this story for that the king may know that haps
such as this often befall princes. Their happy fortune passes into the
sign of inauspiciousness, and they become a prey to a thousand
tribulations and distresses, so that even gold turns into black earth in
their hands, and all their friends become enemies to them. Afterward the
malefic aspect gives place to prosperity and auspiciousness, then
everyone is their friend. O king, this youth’s ruling star is likewise
afflicted for a few days. Beware, O king, until the days of the malefic
aspect be fulfilled, slay not the youth, else afterward thou wilt be
repentant, and too late repentance profits not. The rest the king
knows.” When the king heard this story from the vezir he asked for the
youth’s governor, but he could not be found. So again he sent the youth
to the prison and went himself to the chase.

When it was evening the king returned from the chase and came to the
palace, and the lady rose to greet him, and they sat down. After the
repast the lady again began to speak about the youth. The king said,
“To-day also such an one of my vezirs made intercession for him and I
sent him to the prison.” And he related to the lady that story which the
vezir had told. Then said the lady, “O king, the reason of these vezirs
stirring up trouble is that they wish to sow enmity between thee and me.
Beware, O king, go not by the words of these, but follow well my words,
that thy present state and thy hereafter may be happy. When God most
high decrees good between husband and wife he gives mildness and accord.
And, moreover, O king, be it good news to thee, a week ago did I
conceive by thee; till now I have not told thee, but now I have told
thee and do thou believe it true.” And the king believed it. Then she
continued, “O king, lo, these vezirs say that this youth’s star has
fallen into a malefic aspect. His star became afflicted what time he
made for thy life and thy kingdom and for me. God most high aided us and
afflicted his star and brought down his head.” And the lady was glad and
said, “Thy true son is he that is in my womb; that youth is without
doubt base-born. Mayhap the king has not heard the story of him who had
no sons.” The king said, “Tell on, let us hear.” Quoth the lady:




THE KING AND THE SHEYKH


“There was in the palace of the world a great king, and he had neither
son nor daughter. And there was in his country a sheykh whose prayers
were answered. One day the king, while conversing with the sheykh, said,
‘O sheykh, God most high has given me no son; do thou strive in prayer
that God most high give me a son.’ The sheykh replied, ‘Send an offering
to the convent that the dervishes may eat, and we shall pray for thee;
God most high is a gracious king, he will give thee a son.’ Now the king
had a golden-ankleted fat ram that was valiant in fight; and he sent
that ram to the sheykh’s convent with some loads of rice and honey and
oil. That night the dervishes ate and were pleased; and the sheykh sent
of that meat in an earthen bowl to the king, saying, ‘Let him desire a
son and eat of the dervishes’ portion.’ Then the dervishes danced, after
which they prayed and besought of God a son for the king. By the divine
decree the king’s wife conceived that night, and in a short time she
brought forth a moon-faced boy.

“The king was delighted, and called the people of the country to the
feast; and he took the prince and laid him on the sheykh’s skirt, and he
bestowed many gifts on the sheykh’s convent. One day, some time after
that, when the king was conversing with the sheykh, he said, ‘O sheykh,
what if thou were to pray and beseech of God another son for me?’ The
sheykh replied, ‘The favors of God are many; to pray is ours, to give is
his; send then an offering to the dervishes.’ Now the king had a
favorite plump horse, that sent he forthwith to the convent. The
devotees cut its throat and roasted it, and again sent an earthen bowl
of it to the king. They ate the rest themselves, and prayed and besought
of God a son for the king. By the divine decree the lady again
conceived, and in a short time she brought forth a moon-faced boy. And
the king was delighted and sent many gifts to the dervishes. Some time
afterward the king requested the sheykh to beg of God yet another son.
The sheykh said, ‘To pray is ours, to give is God’s; send again an
offering to the devotees.’ Now the king had a good mule, that sent he to
the convent. The devotees sold that mule and took its price and
therewith prepared a confection. And they sent a bowl of that too to the
king. After the dance they prayed and besought of God a son for the
king.

“Again the king’s wife conceived and gave birth to a moon-faced boy. And
the king was glad and sent many gifts to the dervishes. When the king’s
sons grew up, the eldest turned out very valiant; the second proved
swift of foot and accomplished and possessed of understanding and
sagacity; but the youngest was ill-omened and ill-natured, and oppressed
men, and wounded and wasted the hearts of many poor creatures with the
sword of his tongue. And the king was sore grieved because of him. One
day while conversing with the sheykh he complained of his youngest son
and said, ‘O sheykh, would that we had not besought of God that youngest
boy.’ The sheykh replied, ‘O king, why art thou grieved? thou art
thyself the cause of that youth being thus.’ The king asked, ‘How am I
the cause?’ The sheykh answered, ‘First thou gavest in the cause of God
a ram[37] among beasts, and God most high hath given thee a son of
courage among men; then thou gavest in the cause of God a courser of the
plain of earth among beasts, and God most high hath given thee a courser
of the plain of glory and fortune and understanding and accomplishments
among men; and after that thou gavest in the cause of God an ill-omened
and base-born brute among beasts, and God hath given thee such an one
among men. O king, he who sows barley reaps not wheat.’ In the end the
king got no rest until he had killed the youth.

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that the king may know that
from this ill-omened, base-born one no good will come. They have said
that the base-born are of two classes; the one the fruit of adultery,
the other the fruit of illicit union. This thy son is without doubt of
one of these two sets; lo, thy true-born offspring is about to come into
existence.” When the king heard these beguiling words of the lady he
said, “On the morrow will I kill the youth, be not sad.”

When it was morning the king came and sat upon his throne and ordered
the executioner that he bring the youth, and he said, “Smite off his
head.” The fifteenth vezir came forward and said, “O king of the world,
it is not seemly to kill the prince in compliance with the woman’s word,
for the angels that are in heaven are not safe against woman’s wiles.
Hast thou heard the story of the King’s Remorse?” The king said,

“Tell on, let us hear.” Quoth the vezir:




THE KING’S REMORSE


“There was in the palace of the world a famous king and God most high
had given him a son. After some time the son became afflicted with a
heartburn, and he would ever complain of his heart. The king brought
together all the physicians that were to be got, and they treated the
boy’s ailment; but it was in vain, the physicians were powerless. As
often as the boy said, ‘Father, my heart,’ the king would say, ‘Son, my
heart aches more than thy heart;’ and the king was afflicted at his
pain. At length the boy died. After the dismay, the king came up by the
boy and said, ‘Cut him open that I may see what pain was in his heart.’
When they had cut open the boy the king saw that a bone had grown on the
top of his heart. The king ordered that they took out that bone and then
buried the boy; and the king caused that bone to be made into the handle
of a knife.

“One day they placed a water-melon before the king; the king cut the
melon with that knife and ate some of it, and he stuck the knife into
the remains of the melon and left it. Then the king caused the chess
things to be brought and he began to play; afterward he went to take up
the knife when he saw that the part of the handle which had penetrated
into the melon was melted and had vanished. As soon as the king saw this
he exclaimed, ‘Dost thou see? the cure for my son’s sickness was
water-melon; and I knew it not.’ And his heart was grieved thereat, and
he began to weep, and said, ‘Son, it has gone from thy heart and come
into my heart; would that thou hadst not come to earth!’ And at length
that king died of anguish of soul.

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that thou mayst beware and slay
not thy child on the woman’s word, lest thou too die of anguish of
soul.” And he kissed the ground and made intercession for the prince.
When the king heard this story from the vezir he sent the youth to the
prison and went himself to the chase.

When it was evening the king returned from the chase and came to the
palace, and the lady rose to greet him, and they passed on and sat down.
After the repast the lady began to speak about the youth. The king said,
“This day also such an one of my vezirs made intercession for him and I
sent him to the prison.” The lady said, “O king, this youth is a dragon,
until he be killed thou shalt not be safe from his malice; it is even as
it was with a certain king who until he had killed his son could not
escape from his pain; mayhap the king has not heard that story.” Then
the king said, “Tell on, let us hear.” Quoth the lady:




LUQMĀN’S DEVICE


“They have related that a great king was wroth with Luqmān,[38] and
commanded that they lowered him into a pit and closed up the mouth of
the pit with a great stone. By Luqmān the sage was a pill, of the
bigness of a walnut, which he had made by his science. He ever smelled
it, and his hunger was satisfied and his thirst was quenched; and for a
long time he remained in that pit. The king who imprisoned him died, and
his son became king in his stead. And sickness seized upon this king;
and the physicians treated him, but he grew no better, and his trouble
increased upon him. They were helpless and said, ‘O king, had Luqmān
been alive he could have cured thy pain.’ Then said the king, ‘What
manner of man was Luqmān?’ They replied, ‘Thy father was wroth with him
and put him into the pit; by now his bones are rotten. But Luqmān was a
man such that God most high hath mentioned him in the noble Koran; such
a sage has never come to earth.’ The king said, ‘If it be so, open the
pit, belike he has in some way saved himself.’

“They went and opened that pit and went down and saw him sitting there,
and they came and told the king. The king said, ‘Quick, go bring him.’
They went to pull him out of the pit, when Luqmān said, ‘If the king
wish me, wrap me in cotton and draw me out; and bring to me a leech
every night.’ They did so, and after forty days he arose and came before
the king, and he saw the king lying without strength. After praising and
lauding him, he asked of the king’s trouble and felt his pulse, and
said, ‘O king, thou hast a hard sickness.’ Then he asked, ‘Has the king
a son?’ They replied, ‘He has.’ Luqmān said, ‘O king, until the throat
of thy son be cut and his blood rubbed on thy body, this thy pain will
not leave thee.’ The king answered, ‘O Luqmān, thou art thyself a great
man; I will consent to my own death, but I will not consent to my
son’s.’ Quoth Luqmān, ‘O king, I have told thee the cure; the rest thou
knowest.’ And he arose and went away.

“After some days the king’s trouble increased, and he called Luqmān to
his side and said, ‘O Luqmān, is there no other remedy?’ Luqmān
answered, ‘O king, there is no cure save the cutting of thy son’s
throat.’ The king’s soul came up to his throat through that trouble.
Quoth Luqmān, ‘O king, when thou art well, sons will not be lacking
thee.’ Then said the king, ‘Now get the boy and cut his throat in a
distant place that mine eyes see it not.’ Luqmān said, ‘There is no good
if it be done in another place, it is needful that it be done before
thine eyes.’ Then they gave the boy into Luqmān’s hands. And Luqmān
bound the boy’s hands and feet, and cunningly tied a bladder filled with
blood round the boy’s throat, and laid him down before the king. Then he
took a diamond knife in his hand and said, ‘O king, now look, see how I
cut the prince’s throat.’

“When the king’s two eyes were fixed on the boy, he struck against the
boy’s throat with the knife and the blood gushed out. When the king saw
the blood on the boy’s throat he sighed; and when Luqmān saw him he
thanked God. And straightway he raised the boy from the ground and
kissed his two eyes; and Luqmān said, ‘O king, I could find no other way
to turn off thy sickness than this trick.’ Then the king greatly
applauded Luqmān and bestowed upon him much wealth.

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that until the king have killed
his son, he too will have no security from trouble.” When the king heard
this story from the lady he was wroth and said, “To-morrow will I kill
him.”

When it was morning the king went and sat upon his throne and he caused
the youth to be brought and ordered the executioner, “Smite off his
head.” The sixteenth vezir came forward and said, “O king of the world,
it is not beseeming thy glory that thou castest to the waters the words
of the vezirs; for men are either good or bad concerning the king,
whatsoever they say, the king is informed thereof, and the king is given
word of evil or hurt about to be, and all that goes on without is known
to the king, that he may make preparation accordingly. It is even as in
the tradition, ‘Speak to men according to their understanding.’ Mayhap
my king has not heard the story of the dervish and the king.” The king
said, “Tell on, let us hear.” Quoth the vezir:




THE KING AND THE DERVISH


“There was in a palace of the world a king and his name was Aydin
(light). One day a dervish came before him and spake pleasantly with
fair discretion; and whatsoever they asked, he answered the whole of it,
and his every word seemed good to the king. The king said, ‘O dervish,
go not away, let us spend this evening together.’ The dervish blessed
him and said, ‘On head and eye.’ Now it was then very cold. So the king
took the dervish, and they went to the palace and sat down. The king
ordered that they laid wood upon the fireplace and set light to it,
whereupon the dervish repeated these verses--

    ‘Take in winter fire from garden-land;
     Take the goblet from the drunken band;
     Should there no loveling for cup-bearer be,
     Take from orange-breasted damsel’s hand.’

“As these verses seemed right good to the king, he wrote them in his
album; and he said to the dervish, ‘Tell some merry story.’ Quoth the
dervish, ‘O king, once there was a king, and by him there was a devotee.
One day they said to the king, “Yon devotee is a Rāfizī.”[39] The king,
to try him, one day asked that devotee, “O devotee, lovest thou Saint
Abu Bekr the True?” The devotee replied, “Nay.” He said, “Lovest thou
Saint ‘Omar?” He answered, “Nay.” “Then lovest thou Saint ‘Othmān?” He
answered, “Nay, nay.” “Then lovest thou Saint ‘Alī the Approved?” He
answered, “Nay.” Thereupon the king’s difficulties from being one became
two, and he thought and said in himself, “If this devotee were a Rāfizī,
he would love Saint ‘Alī, though he loved not the other Noble Companions
our Lords; if he were a Sunnī, he would love all of the Four Chosen
Friends our Lords.” And he turned and said to the devotee, “Thou lovest
none of the Glorious Companions, whom then lovest thou?”

“‘The devotee replied, “There is at the gate of the bazaar a loveling of
the age; lo, that is whom I love.” The king was pleased with this jest
of the devotee and gave him many gifts.’ And that dervish told stories
such as this to the king, and he amused the king with many jests. That
night they ate and drank, and when their converse was finished,
drowsiness came upon the king, and he would have lain down, but the
devotee was at ease and would not rise and go. The slaves thought to say
to the devotee, ‘Arise and go,’ but they feared the king and were
silent. The king too wished that the devotee might perceive by his
discretion that he should arise; but where was that discretion? The king
looked, but it was not.

“Then he called to his servants, ‘Strike the fagot that the glow (ishiq)
may go out.’ The servants understood not and remained still. Thereupon
the devotee said, ‘Why wait ye? Strike the log that the light (aydin)
may spring up.’ Now the king’s name was Aydin (light) and the devotee’s
name was Ishiq (glow).[40] The king said, ‘I sent thee off with a fagot,
that is struck thee with a fagot, but thou didst strike me with a log.’
The devotee said, ‘My king, thou didst not strike me with a fagot,
neither did I strike my king with a log; so do thou rest on the one side
of the hearth and I shall rest on the other.’ And the king was pleased
with these words of the devotee; and they lay down and rested.

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that thou mayst know that a
certain freedom is usual with the accomplished. Now there are no learned
men equal to these forty vezirs of my king, each one of whom utters
these many good sayings and fair words; and indeed the good or bad of
these has many a time been tried. And what is incumbent upon my king is
this, that he listen not to the words of these inattentively nor cast
them to the winds.” The king said, “This demand leaves me in
bewilderment. Our Lord the Apostle of God hath said concerning women,
that they are enemies to you, but that one of them is needful to each of
you. And God most high hath said in his glorious Word, ‘Your wealth and
your children are but a trial.’[41] Now I ask these affairs of this
youth and he answers not at all; and so long as he will not speak, will
my difficulty remain unsolved. Thus it seems to me that this youth has
done this wantonness, and therefore cannot speak.”

When the vezir saw this much consideration on the part of the king he
said, “My king, in everything the mysterious workings of God most high
are many; let not my king regard the not speaking of the youth. One day
will he speak indeed; yea, there is also in that noble verse concerning
children, ‘And God: with him is great reward.’” And he kissed the ground
and made intercession for the prince. And the king sent the youth to the
prison and went himself to the chase. That day, when they were hunting,
a deer rose, and the hounds pursued it, and all the attendants pushed
their horses after that deer, and the king too pushed on. Each one went
in a different direction, and the king was left alone. When it was
evening there was with him no attendant nor anyone; the king looked and
there was none, and he said, “There is in this some divine working.” And
straightway he disguised himself and pushed on and came to a village and
was guest in a shepherd’s house.

On the morrow he rose betimes, and while he was watching the sheep and
lambs, he looked and saw a lamb that had lost its mother. Seeking about,
it went up to a sheep, and that sheep butted at the lamb, and the lamb
fell. It rose again and went to another sheep; and that sheep likewise
butted at the lamb. The king asked this from the shepherd, “Why do these
sheep butt at that lamb?” The shepherd said, “To-day this lamb’s mother
died; these, being not its mother, receive it not.” Then the king sighed
in his soul and said in his heart, “May God most high leave not a
servant of his an orphan.”

Let us to our story: The attendants returned to the city, and each one
turned his horse’s head straight to the palace. They arrived at the
castle, and one of them called out and learned the circumstance (of the
king’s absence) from the watchmen; so they went to look for news of the
king. On the other hand the watchmen informed the grand vezir of the
matter; and straightway the grand vezir commanded that all of those
watchmen were secured in prison,[42] and he himself walked about the
city till morning. He sent a vezir to the king’s attendants, saying, “Go
tell the attendants that they publish not this affair, and do thou go
with the whole of them to seek the king.” On her part, the lady looked
and the time passed and the king came not, and she caused the grand
vezir to be questioned; the vezir sent word to her, “This night there
is a great council; our king will not go in.”

The vezir questioned the king’s attendants; and while they were going to
the place where they had left the king, the king himself set out from
the village where he was and came to the place where the attendants had
dispersed. The attendants saw the king, and brought word to the vezir;
so the vezir pushed on his horse and came up to the king. The king said
in his heart, “These will have enthroned the prince and sent this vezir
to me; now is he coming to give me the sherbet; O how the lady’s words
were true!” The vezir saw from the king’s countenance that he was
thinking thus, and he came up quickly to him, and kissed the ground
before the king, and said, “My king, what plight is this plight? Is it
beseeming to remain without at such a time? Above all, as the prince has
been these many days imprisoned, everyone says that the king’s senses
have well nigh left him.”

Thereupon the king said, “Have ye taken the prince from prison?” The
vezir replied, “Nay, my king; the grand vezir secured in prison the
watchmen who had learned of my king’s remaining out in the evening from
the attendants who came to the gate; and he sent me and the attendants
to seek my king.” The king’s mind was somewhat comforted, but his heart
would not believe. Then the vezir perceived that the king’s heart was
not at ease and he said to the king, “My king, thy grand vezir sent me
hither in the evening; to learn the events of to-day are my eyes now on
the road.” And he kissed the ground and was silent. The king said, “If
we went on now it were too quick; but let an attendant go and inform the
vezir of the affair.” They sent on an attendant; and that day, when it
was evening, the king came to the palace and found everything in its
proper place, and his heart was again at rest concerning his vezir.

After the repast he entered the harem. The lady had rubbed a dye upon
her eyes and made them red, and she rose to greet the king as if
weeping; and the king passed on and sat in his place. When coffee and
sherbets had been drunk she asked of the haps of the night, and the king
related the events to her. She said, “O king, the thing thou hast done
might be in two ways; the one, of purpose, to distinguish between friend
and foe; the other, by chance. In this instance thou hast passed the
evening outside by chance, and thy heart is at ease for that thy vezirs
have done no unseemly deed. But, my king, beware, trust not these
vezirs; for they would make the youth king. Praise be to God! thou art
well, but they still watch their opportunity; and this youth has no
dread of thee, thou hast brought him up full insolent; that is not good.
And they have said that if a person treat thee as a brother, do thou
treat him as a master and deem him great. Kings are like fire; if thou
be a lion, thou must be on thy guard against the fire, even as lions are
on their guard against fire.

“There is a fable suitable to this: The lynxes go along with the lion,
but they go not close to him. One day they asked one of them, ‘Thou
goest along with the lion; why goest thou not near to him?’ He replied,
‘Firstly, the lion hunts beasts and I eat his leavings; secondly, when
an enemy comes against me I go to him and take refuge; as these two
things are good for me I go along with him. And the reason of my going
not near is this, that his glory is that of a render, one day it might
be that he should rend me like the leopard; therefore go I not near
him.’ Wise is he who acts before kings like the lynx; for nearness to
the sultan is a burning fire. Even as the lynx is content with and eats
the lion’s leavings, must the wise man be content with the king’s
leavings; else, if he stretch forth his hand to the morsel that is in
the king’s mouth--the plight of him who stretches forth his hand is
notorious. If an enemy appear, it is needful to take refuge with the
king; so one must ever be between dread and entreaty, and must measure
his words. A word is like an arrow that has left the bow, when once it
leaves the mouth it returns not again. Mayhap my king has not heard the
story of Sultan Mahmūd[43] and Hasan of Maymand.”[44] The king said,
“Tell on, let us hear.” Quoth the lady:




MAHMŪD AND HASAN


“A word was the cause of Sultan Mahmūd dismissing his vezir Hasan of
Maymand, and confiscating all his property and banishing him. So what
could Hasan of Maymand do but yield consent to misfortune and bear
calamity with patience? One day, during his exile, while he was passing
along a street, a group of children were playing, one was prince and one
was vezir. The prince got angry and wished to banish the vezir and
confiscate his property. The child who was vezir said, ‘Art thou just or
art thou a tyrant?’ The prince answered, ‘I am just,’ Then said the
vezir, ‘Thou art just; well, when I came to thee I was young, and I have
spent my life in thy service and gained my property; now thou
confiscatest my property and takest away my office, I now ask back from
thee my life that I have spent in thy service; if thou be just, it is
right that thou give me my life.’ The prince was silent and made that
child vezir again.

“Hasan of Maymand liked the child’s words, and straightway he went and
composed a petition and sent it to Sultan Mahmūd. When the petition
arrived they took it and gave it to the king. The king read it, and when
he perceived its import, he straightway ordained that he was pardoned
and reinstated in his office. So he was dismissed by one word and
reinstated by one word.

“O king, I deemed this story suitable in that a master of speech comes
not readily to hand; and a master of speech is one who knows the speech
that ought to be spoken. For speech is of two kinds; one kind is truth,
another kind is folly. A wise man distinguishes between the speech of a
sage and the speech of a fool. A sage speaks with understanding, but a
fool speaks with trickery. The man who distinguishes not between these
is like a beast, for a beast knows only when it is hungry and when it is
full. Now this thy degenerate son has made for thy life and thy throne;
this is beseeming, that thou give him neither grace nor time. Thou must
kill him to-morrow, else he will slay thee.” When the king heard this
story from the lady he said, “To-morrow will I finish his affair.”

When it was morning and the sun shed light (aydin) and, like the words
of the king and the dervish, the glow (ishiq) appeared, and the world
was illuminated with radiance, the happy-fortuned king passed and sat
upon his throne, and he caused the executioner to bring the youth and
commanded, “Smite off his head.” The eighteenth vezir came forward and
said, “O king of the world, two things are indeed incumbent upon kings;
the first is to have pity on the folk, and the second is to have mercy
in the time of wrath. Long will be the life of the king who is thus, and
God most high will protect him from all calamities. It is even as said
our lord the Holy Apostle of God, ‘Be merciful to those upon the earth
that the dwellers in heaven may have mercy upon you.’ And the friends of
a king who is generous are many, and he triumphs over his enemies, and
is of the host of the prophets and the saints. And there is a story of
Sultan Mahmūd suitable to this; if the king grant leave, I will relate
it.” The king said, “Relate, let us hear.” Quoth the vezir:




STORY OF SULTAN MAHMŪD


“One day while Sultan Mahmūd, the son of Sebuktekīn, was hunting, he got
separated from his soldiers, and he saw someone going along in a
trackless place. He pushed on and came up to that man and saluted him
and said, ‘O man, whence art thou and what is thy origin?’ The man
replied, ‘From the kingdom; and my origin my mother knows.’ Then the
sultan saw that he was wrapped up in black clothes and mounted on a
black ass; and the king asked, ‘Whither goest thou now?’ That man
replied, ‘I go to Sultan Mahmūd,’ The king said, ‘What is thy desire of
the sultan?’ The man answered, ‘I want 10,000 aspres of him; I have a
debt, perchance he may give it me and I shall be freed from my debt.’
The sultan said, ‘If he give it not, how wilt thou act?’ The man
replied, ‘If he will not give 10,000, let him give 1,000.’ Again the
sultan said, ‘If he will not give even 1,000, what wilt thou do?’ The
man replied, ‘If he will not give a thousand aspres, let him give a
hundred aspres.’ The sultan said, ‘If he will not give even that, what
wilt thou do?’ Then the fellow replied, ‘If he will not give even a
hundred aspres, I shall say, _Bu qara eshegimin durt ayaghi ‘avretinin
ferjine!_[45] and shall turn and go.’ The king wondered at this man’s
self and words.

“After a little he met his soldiers and went to his palace and sat upon
his throne and thus commanded the grand chamberlain, ‘A man clad in
black and mounted on a black ass will come, give him leave to enter.’
The next day, early in the morning, that man came, and the grand
chamberlain took him and brought him into the king’s presence. When he
saw the king he knew that it was he whom he had seen yesterday, and
straightway he prayed for the king and asked 10,000 aspres. The king
said, ‘May God give it thee.’ The man said, ‘Give 1,000 aspres.’ Again
the king answered, ‘May God give it thee.’ The man said, ‘Let it be a
hundred aspres.’ Again the king answered, ‘May God give it thee.’ Then
the man said, ‘Be thou well; the black ass is tied at the door.’
Thereupon a courtier[46] said, ‘The king has bestowed nothing on thee;
let the black ass be.’ The man said, ‘If he has not, then it means,
_eshegimin durt ayaghi ‘avretinin ferjine!_ And I shall be off.’ But his
boldness pleased the king who said, ‘This poor man’s desire is but to be
delivered from distress and find rest, as he got no boon from us he
mounts his ass and goes.’ And this remained as a proverb, ‘The black ass
is tied at the door.’ However, he bestowed on him somewhat.

“And this story resembles it: A certain khoja was going from Hindustan
to Bagdad, and while on the road he thus thought, ‘When I enter the city
of Bagdad what goods should I buy?’ Anyhow he entered Bagdad, and there
was there a naked abdal[47] who had plucked out his beard and put it in
a piece of paper. He came up to the khoja and said, ‘I have heard, O
khoja, that thou hast come to buy goods; I have something, buy it.’ And
he gave the paper into the khoja’s hand. The khoja took it and opened it
and saw in it the hairs of the beard, and he said, ‘What shall I do with
this?’ The abdal said, ‘Take it, and give the money.’ The khoja
answered, ‘I shall not give money for this.’ The abdal said, ‘Why wilt
thou not give money? that is indeed a beard; is it not worth a hundred
aspres?’ The khoja replied, ‘It is not.’ The abdal said, ‘Let it be ten
aspres; is it not worth that?’ The khoja answered, ‘It is not.’ The
abdal said, ‘Let it be five aspres; is it not worth that?’ The khoja
said, ‘It is not.’ Then said the abdal, ‘A beard is not worth five
aspres; why then dost thou carry one? shave it off and let it go.’ The
khoja was pleased with this jest of the abdal and gave him a hundred
aspres.

“Now, O king, I have told these stories for that the king may know that
it is needful for kings to raise the fallen and bestow favors on the
poor.” And he kissed the ground and made intercession for the prince.
When the king heard these stories from the vezir he sent the prince to
the prison and went himself to the chase.

When it was evening the king returned from the chase and came to the
palace, and the lady rose to greet him, and they sat down. After the
repast the lady asked for news about the youth. The king said, “To-day
likewise such an one of my vezirs made intercession for him and I sent
him to the prison.” The lady said, “O king, think not thou this youth
would maintain thy place after thee and observe the ordinances of kings.
To exercise sovereignty is a hard work. I know that he is no true man;
he watches his opportunity, and one day he will slay thee and shed
blood, and then they will kill him too. Moreover, family and descent are
needful for one; he who is not of family cannot exercise sovereignty.
And one’s nature must be good. There are men of family and descent who
are yet themselves of evil nature; for there is not honey in every bee
nor a pearl in every oyster. Then this youth’s nature is evil; he has
not the qualities of a king; his work would ever be wickedness and he
would do wrong to those who do good. It is like the story of a certain
merchant’s son; mayhap my king has not heard it.” The king said, “Tell
on, let us hear.” Quoth the lady:




STORY OF THE MERCHANT’S SON


“There was of old time a cobbler in the city of Orfa. One day he saw a
dervish passing, the seams of whose shoes had given way. The cobbler
said, ‘Dervish, come, sit down till I sew up the seams of thy shoes and
patch the holes.’ The dervish answered, ‘If thou hast a remedy, apply it
to the hole in my heart.’ The cobbler gave him his right hand and he
came and sat down; and the cobbler gave him food to eat and sewed up the
holes in his shoes and said, ‘O dervish, I too wish to journey; what
counsel dost thou give me?’ The dervish answered, ‘I have three
counsels; see thou keep them: my first is this, set not out on the
journey till thou hast found a good fellow-traveller; for the Apostle of
God hath said, “The companion, then the road.” My second is this, light
not in a waterless place. My third is this, enter great cities when the
sun is rising.’ Then he went his way. After some days the cobbler found
some suitable fellow-travellers and set out. While they were on the
road, one day in the afternoon a city appeared before them. The cobbler
youth asked, ‘What city is this city?’ The companions answered, ‘It is
the city of Aleppo.’ The youth said, ‘To-day it is near evening; I shall
not enter the city to-day.’

“Howsoever the companions urged him, it was no use; so at length they
left him and went on. The youth went and lighted on the bank of a stream
and remained there that night. Now there were tombs near the youth; and
when it was midnight he saw two men coming from the city carrying
something which they laid in the graveyard, and then they went away.
Then the youth went up to that grave, and, striking a light with a flint
and steel, lit a candle; he saw that they had laid there a new coffin,
and that from the four sides of that coffin streams of blood were
running. The cobbler youth opened the lid of the coffin and looked to
see what he might see; there was a body bathed in blood, the garments
were of massive gold embroidery and on the finger was a ring in which a
stone glittered. The youth coveted the ring and took hold of it that he
might pull it off, whereupon the body raised its head and said, ‘O
youth, fearest thou not God that thou wouldst take my ring?’ Then the
youth saw that it was a girl like the moon of fourteen nights, a torment
of the age, like a lovely rose; and he said, ‘What is this plight?’ The
girl said, ‘Now is not the time for questions; if thou be able, relieve
me; and afterward I will help thine affairs.’

“Straightway the youth pulled off his outer robe and tore it in pieces
and bound up the girl’s wounds and laid her in a place. When it was
morning he took her on his back and brought her into the city and placed
her in a cell in a certain place; and to all who asked of her he said,
‘She is my sister; passion came upon me and I brought this plight upon
this poor creature, and she innocent.’ The youth tended the girl’s
wounds and in the course of a month or two she became well. One day she
went to the bath, and when she returned she asked the youth for inkhorn,
reed, and paper. The youth brought them and placed them before her. The
girl wrote a letter and gave it into the youth’s hands; and therein was
written thus: ‘Thou who art Khoja Dibāb, the superintendent of the
bazaar, give the bearer of this letter a hundred sequins and send him to
me; and disclose nothing to my father of my health or my death; if thou
do, thou shalt reflect well upon the issue.’ She sealed it and said,
‘Go, give this letter to a khoja who sits in such and such a place in
the bazaar, and take whatever he gives thee and bring it.’

“The youth took that letter and went to the bazaar and asked, and they
showed him to him, and he gave the letter into his hand. When the khoja
opened the letter and read it, he kissed it and raised it to his head,
and straightway drew forth a purse of gold and gave it to the youth. The
youth brought it and laid it before the girl. The girl said, ‘Go, take a
house, and buy with what is over clothes for thee and me.’ The youth
went and took a house and bought sumptuous clothes and brought them to
the girl. And they arose and went to that house which they had taken.
Again she wrote a letter which she gave to the youth who took it to the
khoja, who this time gave him two purses which he took to the girl. She
said to him, ‘Go, my youth, and buy some provisions and furniture for
the house.’ And the youth went and bought them. Then the girl got
another purse of sequins, and she said to the youth, ‘Go, buy thyself
horses and arms and male slaves and female slaves.’ And the youth went
and bought them, and he brought them and gave them to the girl, and he
said, ‘Now tell me what are these matters.’ The girl answered, ‘Now is
not the time, by and bye.’

“Gradually the girl built palaces there and increased the number of her
male slaves and female slaves, and whenever she gave the youth a letter
he went and got two or three purses of gold from that khoja. One day the
girl gave the youth a purse of gold and said, ‘In the bazaar is a youth
they call Ghazanfer Agha; now go and find him, and ask of him some
precious stuff, and he will show it thee, and whatever price he ask for
it, give him the double thereof, and take and bring it.’ So the youth
went and found him, and sat a while and talked with him; and whatever
the price of it was he gave the double, and took it; and Ghazanfer Agha
marvelled at this. The youth returned and gave it to the girl, and again
he asked of these matters, but the girl said that this too was not the
time. And she took out a purse of jewels and gave it to the youth and
said, ‘Take these jewels and go to Ghazanfer Agha and ask him to put a
value on them, and take them out and lay them before him, and see what
he will say to thee; and when putting the jewels back into the purse
present him with three of them.’ So she sent him off. The youth said, ‘I
shall go; but when I come back tell me the things that have befallen
thee.’ He went and did as the girl had said.

“When Ghazanfer Agha saw these gifts he said to the youth, ‘O youth,
thou hast made us ashamed; pray be troubled to come once to our house
and honor us that we may show our affection.’ The youth replied, ‘What
though it be so; to-morrow I shall go.’ And he bade him farewell and he
came and told the girl, and the girl said, ‘Go to-morrow; but when thou
enterest his house look not to this side nor that side, but look
straight before thee.’ And thus did she warn him. When it was morning
the youth arose; and Ghazanfer Agha looked and saw the youth coming and
he said, ‘Welcome!’ and took him and led him to his house. And the youth
looked at nothing, but passed on and sat down; and Ghazanfer Agha
treated and entertained that youth with all manner of delicious foods,
and then sent him away. And the youth came and told the girl, and she
said, ‘Go again to-morrow and talk with him, and when thou risest, do
thou too invite him; and be not jealous.’

“And the youth reflected and said in his heart. ‘This Ghazanfer Agha
must be the friend of this girl; anyhow we shall see; whatever God does
he does well.’ In the morning he went and invited him, and then came to
the girl and gave her word and said, ‘Tell me and let me hear of the
matters of that night.’ The girl answered, ‘Now is not the time; go and
get these things which are needful.’ The youth went and got them and
brought them and gave her them and said, ‘Lo, I have brought them; tell
me.’ The girl said, ‘Now is the guest coming, it cannot be; by and bye I
will tell thee.’ When Ghazanfer Agha came the youth gave the girl word
and she said, ‘Go and meet him, and lead him and bring him here.’ The
youth said in his heart, ‘This is not without reason; but wait, we shall
see.’ And he led him respectfully, and he entered and sat down with the
girl. After that, came foods and they ate and drank and made merry till
the evening. Then the girl sent word and the youth came in, and she
said, ‘Take care, be it not that thou lettest Ghazanfer Agha leave this
evening.’ And the youth said, ‘What is this of thee that thou dost not
dismiss him?’ The girl answered, ‘I will tell thee afterward.’ The youth
said in his heart, ‘I shall slay the two of you this night.’ And he went
out. When it was night Ghazanfer Agha asked leave to go away, but the
youth would not let him, and Ghazanfer Agha saw that it was not to be,
so he remained; and they brought out a clean coverlet and mattress and
made a bed for him. And Ghazanfer Agha lay down, and the youth lay down,
but he slept not that he might watch the girl.

“When it was midnight the girl arose and the youth saw her, but he made
no sound, and the girl went up close to Ghazanfer Agha. The youth,
unable to endure it any longer, rose from his place and said fiercely to
the girl, ‘What seekest thou there?’ The girl saw that the youth spake
angrily and she took him by the hand and drew him to a place apart and
said, ‘I am about to slay this Ghazanfer Agha.’ The youth said, ‘What is
the reason of it?’ The girl replied, ‘The reason of it is this: I am the
daughter of the king of this land, and this youth was a butcher’s
apprentice. One day, when going to the bath, I met this youth selling
meat upon the road; as soon as I saw him I fell in love with him, and
the bird, my heart, was taken, so that I was without rest and could not
remain quiet. I saw there was no help for it, so I got him by force of
money, and sometimes I went to his house, and sometimes I had him
brought in disguise to my palace. One night I went in disguise to his
house, and I saw him sitting conversing with a gipsy, and I got angry
and I cursed the two of them. This youth was wont to use the dagger, and
he gave me many wounds, and thought me dead and put me in a coffin and
sent me with two men who laid me in that tomb thou sawest. Praise be to
God! my time was not yet; thou didst come to me like Khizr: now, do thou
kill him.’

“The youth said, ‘I shall kill him. Wilt thou marry me according to the
ordinance of God?’ She answered, ‘I will not marry thee; but the vezir
has a daughter fairer than I, her will I get for thee.’ Then the youth
smote him and killed him. The girl said, ‘In the morning go to my father
and give him good news; and go to-night and bring here all the
possessions of this youth.’ The youth said, ‘To-morrow thy father will
bring them.’ When it was morning the youth went and gave the good news
to the king. And the king sent slave-girls who brought the girl to the
palace. And her mother was glad when she saw her safe and sound.[48] And
they confiscated the property of Ghazanfer Agha and bestowed it on that
youth.

“But what would the youth do with the wealth? his desire was the girl.
The king’s vezirs said, ‘My king, it were right if thou give the girl to
the youth.’ The king answered, ‘It is my desire too; for when my
daughter disappeared and we sought but could not find her, I made a
promise, saying, that to him who brought good news of my daughter I
should give her; but the girl does not wish it.’ The vezirs said, ‘My
king, our daughters are thine; make this youth thy client; whichever
girl thou pleasest, give her to him.’ The king said, ‘I shall make a
proposal;’ and he went and spake with her mother. And the girl’s mother
went to her and with difficulty persuaded her; and then sent word to the
king. That hour they performed the marriage ceremony, and the king made
the youth a vezir; and they lived for a long time in joyance and
delight.

“O king, I have told this story for that thou mayst know that thy son
will not accept counsel, but purposes for thy life. Because that cobbler
youth accepted the words of the saints he attained to fortune; and that
butcher’s apprentice, for that he was a fool, wounded his benefactress,
the king’s daughter; and if the girl had not killed him, he would have
made her disgraced before the world. Do thou then, O king, take profit
by the tale; beware, spare not this foolish youth, but kill him; else
thou shalt be repentant.” When the king heard this story from the lady
he said, “To-morrow will I kill him.”

When it was morning and the sun had appeared, like as appeared the
kindness shown by the king’s daughter to the butcher’s apprentice, and
the world was illumined with light, the king passed and sat upon his
throne, and he caused the youth to be brought and commanded the
executioner, “Smite off his head.” The nineteenth vezir came forward and
said, “O king, beware, hurry not in this matter, look to the thought of
the hereafter and the way of the Law. The Apostle (peace on him!) saith,
‘God most high maketh wise in the Truth him to whom he wisheth to do
good.’ According to this sacred tradition, what is befitting the king is
this, that he transgress not the bounds of God. The truth is this, that
in this matter the prince is sinless. O king, when can one obtain a son?
Slay not thy prince, or grief for thy son will be full hard, and in the
end thou shalt be unable to endure it. There is a story suitable to
this; if the king grant leave I will relate it.” The king said, “Relate
it, let us hear.” Quoth the vezir:




HASAN OF BASRA


“Hasan of Basra[49] (the mercy of God on him!) was in his first estate a
seller of jewels. One day he rose up to trade, and came before a king
and transacted business, and then he transacted business with the vezir.
The vezir said, ‘To-day we go to a pageant at a certain place; wilt thou
come with us?’ Hasan answered, ‘Yea, I shall go.’ When the vezir and the
king had mounted their steeds, they brought a horse for Hasan likewise,
and they all went out of the gate and came to a plain. Hasan saw that in
the middle of that plain was a white pavilion, the dome of which reared
its head into the air. Then they went up close to that pavilion and all
of them alighted. From another side came a procession of people; Hasan
of Basra saw that it was a party of doctors and holy men who were
carrying their lecterns and copies of the sacred volume. They came and
entered that pavilion and recited the Koran with sweet voice; then they
came and walked three times round that dome, and then stood at the door
and said, ‘O prince, what can we? were there release to thy sweet soul
by reading of the Koran, we would, all of us, cease not therefrom day or
night; but it is the decree of that almighty King; there is no avail for
his command save acquiescence and patience.’

“And they went away. After them came white-bearded elders and devotees
reciting chants, and they walked three times round that dome, and then
stood at the door and said, ‘O prince, what can we? were there release
to thy sweet soul by chant and prayer, we would, all of us, devote
ourselves to chant and prayer; but what profit? it is the decree of that
almighty King; there is no avail therefor save resignation.’ And they
went away. After them came many moon-faced damsels, in the hand of each
of whom was a golden dish filled full of all manner of jewels, and they
walked three times round that dome, and then stood at the door and said,
‘O prince, what can we? were there release to thy sweet soul by the
giving of riches, we would give all these jewels, and we ourselves would
become slaves; but what avail? it is the decree of that almighty King,
and he hath no need of such things; there is no help for his decree save
patience.’

“And they went away. After them came an innumerable army which
surrounded that dome, rank on rank, and they said, ‘O prince, were there
release to thy sweet soul by battle, night and day would we, all of us,
do battle in thy cause; but what avail? it is the decree of that
almighty King; there is no help therefor but patience and resignation.’
And they went away. After them came the king the father of that prince,
and the vezirs and the nobles, and they walked three times round that
dome, and then stood at the door, and the king said, ‘O light of my
eyes, darling of my heart, were there release to thy sweet soul to be
found by science, I had found it by means of the learned; or were it by
gifts and bounties, I had assembled all my army and made war and
attained it; but what avail? decree is God’s. He is in want of naught;
there is no help save patience and acquiescence in his judgment.’

“And he wept full bitterly, and all the nobles and vezirs wept likewise.
When Hasan of Basra saw these things he asked the vezir, ‘What plight is
this plight?’ The vezir said, ‘O Hasan, our king had a son: he was in
beauty a second Joseph; and in writing, reading, chivalry, and all
accomplishments he had no rival; and as he was the king’s only child he
loved him very much. One day death spared him not, and he passed to the
abiding home. After the wailing and dismay, as there was no help save
patience under the heavenly decree, they brought him and buried him in
this dome. And once every year they come and thus visit the tomb.’ When
Hasan of Basra heard these words from the vezir and saw these things
with his eyes, wealth and riches went forth from his eye and heart; and
he abandoned the whole of them and turned dervish and donned the
khirqa;[50] and now, when his name is mentioned, they add, ‘The mercy of
God on him!’

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that the king may know that
grief for children is full bitter. As yet thou hast not felt it, and may
God most high not show it thee thus through him. O king, slay not the
prince, else afterward thou shalt be repentant and shalt sigh and groan
until thou die.” And he made intercession for the prince for that day.
When the king heard this story from the vezir compassion came into his
heart, and he sent the youth to the prison and went himself to the
chase.

When it was evening the king returned from the chase and came to the
palace, and again the lady rose to greet him, and she sat with the king.
After the repast the lady asked for news of the youth. The king said,
“To-day likewise such an one of my vezirs made intercession for him, and
I have sent him again to the prison.” The lady said, “O king, why dost
thou leave my counsel and act according to thine own understanding? Hast
not thou heard these words they have said concerning the heedless:
‘Whoso is presumptuous through reason is abased.’ And the sages have
said that eight things bring disgrace upon a man: the first is going to
dine at a place without invitation, the second is interfering between
another and his wife, the third is giving ear to everyone’s words, the
fourth is slighting the king, the fifth is setting one’s self above a
great man, the sixth is speaking to those who listen not to one’s words,
the seventh is begging a favor of an avaricious and indifferent person,
and the eighth is going to the enemies’ gate.

“Now, O king, those vezirs interfere between thee and me. Beware, act
not according to their words. They have said that he who acts according
to a stranger’s word will divorce his wife. Their words are many; and
they are forty vezirs, and each one of them for this long time is
planning wiles. Mayhap my king has not heard the story of the old
gardener and his son.” The king said, “Tell on, let us hear.” Quoth the
lady:




THE GARDENER AND HIS SON


“In the by-gone time an old gardener had mounted his son upon an ass and
was proceeding to the garden, himself on foot. They met some men who
said, ‘See this old pederast, how he has mounted the boy upon the ass;
and is himself running alongside.’ Whenever the old man heard this he
made the boy alight and mounted himself. Again they met some other folk,
these likewise said, ‘Look at this heartless old man, he rides the ass
himself and makes the poor child go on foot.’ Whenever the old man heard
this he took his son up in front of him. Then some people saw them and
said, ‘See this old pederast, how he has taken the boy up in front of
him.’ The old man heard this, and he put his son up behind him. Again
certain folks saw them and said, ‘See this old catamite, how he has
taken the boy up behind him.’ The old man knew not what to do, so he put
his son down and alighted himself and drove the ass before them. The
garden was near, and both of them were on foot, and they reached the
garden before meeting with any others.

“Now, O king, I have told this story that thou mayst know that no one in
the world can escape the tongue of the folk. Each one says a different
thing. It is even as when a boil came out on the foot of a certain king
who showed it to someone and said, ‘Come, look at this boil; is it ripe
or unripe?’ He looked and said, ‘It is ripe.’ Then he showed it to
another person, and he said, ‘It is unripe.’ Then the king said, ‘We
cannot get sure information concerning even one foot.’ Do thou too, O
king, go by no one’s word, lose not the opportunity; no good will come
to thee from this youth.” When the king heard this story from the lady
he said, “To-morrow will I kill him.”

When it was morning the king came and sat upon his throne, and he caused
the youth to be brought and ordered the executioner, “Smite off his
head.” The twentieth vezir came forward and said, “O king of the world,
I will speak a good word to thee: all these vezirs who have spoken these
many words are well-wishers to thee. The holy Apostle of God hath said,
‘Whoso hath believed in God and the last day; when he witnesseth to
aught, let him speak with good or let him be silent,’ Now, what is best
for thee in this thy affair is this, as all thy vezirs say, ‘Slay not
the prince,’ I too say, have patience, else the end of this will be care
and sorrow. Mayhap the king has not heard the story of a certain king.”
The king said, “Tell on, let us hear.” Quoth the vezir:




THE DERVISH’S ADVICE


“Of old time there was a great king. One day, when returning from the
chase, he saw a dervish sitting by the way, crying, ‘I have a piece of
advice; to him who will give me 1,000 sequins I will tell it.’ When the
king heard these words of the dervish he drew in his horse’s head and
halted, and he said to the dervish, ‘What is thy counsel?’ The dervish
replied, ‘Bring the sequins and give me them that I may tell my
counsel.’ The king ordered that they count 1,000 sequins into the
dervish’s lap. The dervish said, ‘O king, my advice to thee is this,
whenever thou art about to do a deed, consider the end of that deed, and
then act.’ The nobles who were present laughed together at these words
and said, ‘Anyone knows that.’ But the king rewarded that poor man. He
was greatly pleased with the words of the dervish and commanded that
they wrote them on the palace gate and other places.

“Now that king had an enemy, a great king; and this hostile king was
ever watching his opportunity; but he could find no way save this, he
said in himself, ‘Let me go and promise the king’s barber some worldly
good and give him a poisoned lancet; some day when the king is sick he
can bleed him with that lancet.’ So he disguised himself, and went and
gave the barber a poisoned lancet and 10,000 sequins. And the barber was
covetous and undertook to bleed the king with that lancet what time it
should be needful. One day the king was sick, and he sent word to the
barber to come and bleed him. Thereupon the barber took that poisoned
lancet with him and went. The attendants prepared the basin, and the
barber saw written on the rim of the basin, ‘Whenever thou art about to
perform a deed, think on the end thereof.’

“When the barber saw this he said in himself, ‘I am now about to bleed
the king with this lancet and doubtless he will perish, then they will
not leave me alive, but will inevitably kill me; after I am dead what
use will these sequins be to me?’ And he took up that lancet and put it
in its place and drew out another lancet that he might bleed the king.
When he took his arm a second time, the king said, ‘Why didst thou not
bleed me with the first lancet?’ The barber answered, ‘O king, there was
some dust on its point.’ Then the king said, ‘I saw it, it is not the
treasury lancet; there is some secret here, quick, tell it, else I will
slay thee.’ When the barber saw this importunity, he related the story
from beginning to end and how he had seen the writing on the basin and
changed his intention. The king put a robe of honor on the barber and
let him keep the sequins which his enemy had given him. And the king
said, ‘The dervish’s counsel is worth not 1,000 sequins but 100,000
sequins.’

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that the king may know that it
is as when the dervish said, ‘Whatsoever deed thou doest, consider the
end thereof, then act.’ If thou slay the prince, at last thou shalt be
repentant. The rest the king knows.” And he made intercession for the
prince. When the king heard these words from the vezir he sent the
prince to the prison and himself mounted for the chase.

When it was evening the king returned from the chase and came to the
palace, and the lady rose to greet him, and they sat down. After the
repast the lady again asked for news of the youth. The king said,
“To-day such an one of my vezirs made intercession for him and I sent
him to the prison.” The lady said, “O king, it is related of the Caliph
Ma’mūn[51] that he said, ‘Four things are hurtful to kings; the first is
the nobles being negligent, the second is the ministers being envious,
the third is the mean being bold, and the fourth is the vezirs being
treacherous.’ And the Moorish sages say, ‘In nobles there is no
friendship, in liars there is no fidelity, in the envious there is no
peace, in the indifferent there is no generosity, and in the
evil-natured there is no greatness.’ O king, these thy vezirs are, like
thy traitor son, liars and evil-natured. Thou believest the words of
these. The story of thee and this youth altogether resembles the story
of those Turkman children.” The king said, “Tell that story, let us hear
it.” Quoth the lady:




THE TURKMAN CHILDREN


“Certain Turkmans from an encampment went one day into a city. When they
were returning from the city to the encampment they were an hungered,
and when they were come near they ate some bread and onions at a
spring-head. The juice of the onions went into the Turkmans’ eyes, and
the tears came forth from their eyes. Now the children of the Turkmans
had gone out to meet them, and they saw that the tears were streaming
from their fathers’ eyes and they thought that some one of them had died
in the city. So without asking and without knowing, they ran back and
came to the encampment and said to their mothers, ‘One of ours is dead
in the city, our fathers are coming weeping,’ All the women and children
of that encampment came forth to meet them, weeping together. The
Turkmans who were coming from the city thought that one of theirs had
died in the encampment; so were they without knowledge one of the other,
and they raised a weeping and crying together such that it cannot be
described.

“At length the elders of the camp stood up in the midst and said, ‘May
all ye remain whole; the command is God’s, there is none other help than
patience.’ And they questioned them. The Turkmans who were coming from
the city asked, ‘Who is dead in the encampment?’ The others said, ‘No
one is dead in the encampment; who has died in the city?’ Those coming
from the city answered, ‘No one has died in the city.’ They said, ‘Then
for whom are we wailing and lamenting?’ At length they perceived that
all this tumult arose from their thus trusting the words of children.

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that the king may know that
confusion like to that is brought about by youths. What I know is this,
if thou slay not the youth he will slay thee.” When the king heard these
words from the lady he said, “To-morrow will I kill him.”

When it was morning the king came and sat upon his throne, and he caused
the youth to be brought and ordered the executioner, “Smite off his
head.” The twenty-first vezir came forward and said, “O king of the
world, yesterday, when reading in a book, I saw that they had written
that there was a great king in the land of Hindustan, and in his time
there was a work on wisdom, and they laded three camels with it and
brought it to him. One day the king said to the sages, ‘Abridge this
book for me, that I may study it.’ Then all the sages of Hind came
together and collected the necessary words from that work and made a
book. When the king read it he was pleased. And the words that they
wrote were these: ‘O king, be not presumptuous, being deceived by the
world; for the world showeth itself like a fair woman and fondleth men
in its bosom; and when they are asleep and heedless, of a sudden it
woundeth and slayeth them. Knowing of a surety that it is thus, have
care if it offer itself to thee, that thou keep thyself from it, so that
thou be prosperous. And expend what thou gainest of wealth in the way of
God most high, and guard against iniquity, and show forth thy name
through generosity, and abandon avarice.

“‘O king, the light of the world is darkness, and its newness is
oldness, and its being is non-being. O king, strive that thou save
thyself from it; and incline not to the amassing of unlawful wealth, for
it will pass from thy hand and be a woe to thee. Strive to collect
wealth lawfully, and expend it on good works, and show thyself just
among the folk to the utmost of thy power, that all the people of the
world may love thee, and that thou be secured against the punishment of
God most high. And guard thy faith for the hereafter. And love not women
and tell not them thy secrets. O king, be not deceived by womankind; for
in body are they weak, but in guile are they strong.’ Now, O king, these
counsels are exceeding good counsels, and it behooves the king to keep
them; and their saying is true that women are weak in body but strong in
guile. Mayhap the king has not heard what befell a certain king with a
woman.” The king said, “Relate it, let us hear.” Quoth the vezir:




A QUEEN’S DECEIT


“There was in the palace of the world a great king, and he had a
beautiful wife, such that many a soul dangled in the tresses on her
cheek. That lady had a secret affair with a youth, and she used to hide
the youth in a chest in the palace. One day that youth said to the lady,
‘If the king were aware of this our work, he would slay the two of us.’
The lady said, ‘Leave that thought, I can do so that I shall hide thee
in the chest and say to the king, “Lo, my lover is lying in this
chest;” and then, when the king is about to kill thee, I shall make him
repentant by one word.’ While the youth and the lady were saying these
words, the king came, and the lady straightway put the youth into the
chest and locked it. The king said, ‘Why lockest thou that chest thus
hastily? What is in the chest?’ The lady answered, ‘By God, it is my
lover; I saw thee coming and I put him into the chest and locked it.’
Then was the king wroth, and he bared his sword and thought to slay him
who was in the chest, when the lady said, ‘O king, art thou mad, where
is gone thine understanding? Am I mad that I should advance a strange
man to thy couch and then say to thee, “Lo, he is in the chest?” In
truth, I wondered if thou were sincere in thy trust of me, and I tried
thee, and now I know that thou thinkest evil concerning me.’ And she
ceased and sat in a corner.

“Then did the king repent him of what he had done; and he begged and
besought of his wife, saying, ‘Forgive me,’ And he gave her many things,
and craved pardon for his fault. When the king had gone out from the
harem into the palace the lady took that youth forth of the chest and
said, ‘Didst thou see what a trick I played the king?’ And they gave
themselves up to mirth and merriment.

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that the king may know that
guile and trickery such as this abound in women. O king, beware, slay
not the prince on the woman’s word, else afterward thou shalt be
repentant, and too late repentance profits not.” And he made
intercession for the prince for that day. When the king heard this story
from the vezir he sent the prince to the prison and himself mounted for
the chase.

When it was evening the king returned from the chase and came to the
palace, and the lady rose to greet him, and they sat down. After the
repast the lady again began to speak about the youth. The king said,
“To-day too such an one of my vezirs made intercession for him and I
sent him to the prison.” The lady said, “O king, this youth is ignoble.
It is even as when God most high told Noah (peace on him!) of the
impurity of his son: said God most high, ‘He is not of thy family;
verily, it is a work that is not right.’[52] Then it is known that if a
person follow not the way of his father, and be not endowed with the
nature of his father, he cannot be called a lawful son. Therefore, when
the wise see a fault in others they hinder and cover it, and if they see
that fault in themselves they strive to banish it far from them. There
is no help for the ignoble that he should follow the path of the noble.
Mayhap the king has not heard the story of a certain abdal and a king.”
The king said, “Tell on, let us hear.” Quoth the lady:




THE ABDAL AND THE KING


“There was of old time a great king, and there was by him an abdal. One
day the king mounted for the chase, and the abdal said, ‘O king, I am
able for soldiering and hunting; give me too horse and gear and bird,
that I may go forth with thee to ride about and hunt.’ So the king gave
the abdal a horse and gear, and gave him a falcon on his wrist, and took
him along with him to the chase, and they went off. While they were
riding, the king saw a bird go into a bush, and he said to the abdal,
‘Go, cast the falcon at the bird.’ And the king stood to look on. The
abdal went up close to the bush with the falcon, and a man stirred the
bush, and the bird came out and flew off. The king said to the abdal,
‘The bird is away, throw off the falcon.’ And the abdal threw off the
falcon from his wrist without slipping the leash, and he swung it round
and round his head. The king shouted, ‘Out on thee! throw off the
falcon!’ The abdal said, ‘O king, I have thrown it off, what am I to
do?’ But he left not to swing the falcon round his head. The king
shouted, ‘Out on thee! let the falcon go!’ And the abdal let go the
leash; but the falcon’s eyes were darkened from its having been turned
round, and it could not fly, and fell to the ground. And the king was
angry and ill-pleased. Then the abdal said, ‘O king, wherefore art thou
angry? thou saidest, “Throw off the falcon,” and I threw it off; then
thou saidest, “Let it go,” and I let it go; this falcon knows not how to
fly: what fault is mine?’ These words of the abdal were pleasant to the
king and he fainted from laughing; and he perceived how no good comes
from anything ignoble.[53]

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that the king may know that no
good comes from the ignoble man who follows not the path of his father
and mother. Beware, O king, be not negligent in the affair of this
youth, or in the end some hurt will befall thee from him; the rest thou
knowest.” When the king heard this story from the lady he said, “On the
morrow will I kill the youth.”

When it was morning the king came and sat upon his throne, and he caused
the youth to be brought and commanded the executioner, “Smite off his
head.”

Thus did the king, day after day, order the execution of his innocent
son, being temporarily diverted from committing this crime by the
stories and wise advice of the forty vezirs, only to be urged again at
night to commit the crime by the false accusations of his baffled and
revengeful wife.

The story of the fortieth vezir demonstrated how the crafty wife of a
tailor played him false and then deceived him with a lying and plausible
version of what had happened. After relating this story the fortieth
vezir said:

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that the king may know that
tricks like to these and all manner of craftiness abound in women.
Beware, slay not the prince on the woman’s word, or afterward thou shalt
be repentant.” And he kissed the ground, and made intercession for the
prince for that day. And the king granted it, and sent the youth to the
prison, and went himself to the chase.

When it was evening the king returned from the chase and came to the
palace, and the lady rose to greet him, and they sat down. After the
repast the lady asked for news of the youth. The king said, “To-day,
too, such an one of my vezirs made intercession for him and I sent him
to the prison.” The lady said, “O king, be it known that not one of
those vezirs is thy friend; God knows what pact they have with the
youth. Mayhap the king has not heard what befel between the Sultan of
Egypt and his vezirs.” The king said, “Tell on, let us hear.” Quoth the
lady:




THE SULTAN AND HIS TRAITOROUS SON


“There was of old time in the city of Cairo a great sultan, and he had a
youthful son. And that youth made a pact with the vezirs, saying, ‘If
ye make me sultan, I will give you leave to do whatever ye may please.’
When they had agreed to this, he sowed enmity between the king and the
vezirs and nobles; and each of them rose in revolt in a different
quarter, and they took the youth for their chief, and waged war and did
battle with the king. The king could not overcome them, and at length
they made the youth king. They began to feast with the new king every
day, and to accomplish their desires. And the king’s father saw that the
purpose of the vezirs and the youth was evil, and he called a confidant,
and one night they fled in disguise and entered a cave; and for seven
days and seven nights the king went not forth from that cave. The new
king heard of his father having fled, and he and the vezirs began to
seek him and to send out criers, who proclaimed, ‘Whoso seizes my father
and brings him to me, him will I honor.’ And the old king and his
courtier went forth from the cave and came to a village, and were guests
of an old woman in that village; and that old woman sowed seed. And she
bestirred herself to entertain them, and brought them a mat, and they
sat down. The king was hungry, and he pulled out a sequin and gave it to
the old woman, and said, ‘Mother, go, fetch us food that we may eat.’
The woman said, ‘What will ye do with a sequin’s worth of food?’ The
king replied, ‘No harm, fetch it.’ And the woman went and brought all
manner of delicacies and set them before the king. And they sat down and
ate. After the repast they began to talk with the woman; and the woman
said, ‘What youths be ye?’ The king said, ‘We are of the servants of the
fugitive king; we are seeking our master.’ The woman said, ‘I fear that
ye too are followers of that unworthy youth, and would seize the king
and take him.’ The king asked, ‘Does that unworthy youth seek his
father?’ The woman replied, ‘Does he seek him? What means that? Those
traitor vezirs and nobles every day cause criers to proclaim, “To him
who seizes and brings that fugitive sultan we will give the lordship of
whatever place he may wish; but of him who conceals him, or in whose
house he is found, are the head and family gone.”’

“When the king heard these words from the woman his soul was troubled,
and he said to her, ‘And are the nobles also submissive to the youth?’
The woman answered, ‘He has deposed many nobles, and appointed other
nobles; these new nobles are all of them submissive to him.’ The king
said, ‘Is there any of those old nobles whom thou knowest?’ The woman
replied, ‘There is a vezir who was deposed by the fugitive sultan; I go
about his house on business--I know him.’ As soon as the king heard this
he turned and said to his confidant, ‘What sayest thou, shall I tell
this woman that I am the sultan?’ The confidant replied, ‘Command is the
king’s.’ The sultan turned and said to the woman, ‘O mother, I have a
secret; if I tell it thee, canst thou keep it?’ The woman said, ‘I will
give my head, but I will not give your secret,’ The king made the woman
swear, and then said, ‘O mother, dost thou know me who I am?’ She
answered, ‘Nay,’ Then the king said, ‘Lo, I am the fugitive sultan; be
it not that this word escape thy mouth,’ When the woman heard this the
blood went from her face, and she fell at the king’s feet. The king
said, ‘Hast thou son or daughter?’ She replied, ‘I have a son,’ The king
said, ‘If God most high seat me on my throne, I will give thy son
whatever lordship he please,’ The woman bowed down and fell at the
king’s feet. Then the king said to her, ‘Go now to the house of that
vezir, and call him to a private place and salute him from me, and say,
“The king is now seated in my house and wants thee, be it not that thou
flinchest and comest not.”’

“When it was evening the woman went to the vezir’s house, and took the
vezir to a private place, and gave him the king’s greeting, and told him
all and how that he was sitting in her house. The vezir was glad, and he
said, ‘Do thou now be off, I too will come now;’ and he sent her away.
The woman came and told these things to the king. After a little he saw
the vezir in the dress of an Arab, and he came and fell at the king’s
feet and mourned and wept. The king said, ‘O vezir, I wronged thee and
took thy wealth and deposed thee; ah! the past is past, the gone is
gone. Befriend me as much as in thee lies, and if God most high raise me
to my throne, I know the honor I will do thee.’ The vezir said, ‘O king,
if thou tookest my wealth, it was thine own wealth; if thou didst depose
me, I was thy slave and had done wrong; thou didst well. Now this is the
way, that thou follow my words and lay aside kingship till our plan be
accomplished; if afterward thou art wroth with me, then command; now
let us work.’ The king said, ‘Do what thou wilt; now is not the time for
words.’ The vezir said, ‘O king, arise and take my lamp in thine hand,
and go on through the desert before thee till thou comest to my house;
if anyone see thee he will think thee my man and recognize thee not.’
The king took the vezir’s lamp in his hand, and they went on and passed
through the bazaars of Cairo, and came to the vezir’s house; and the
vezir prepared a private room for the king.

“The king remained there some days, and the vezir secretly sent word to
all the great nobles who had been deposed, and assembled them. And one
night he brought them to the king and reconciled them, and said, ‘On the
morrow be ye ready and show zeal each one of you for his estate.’ That
night they gathered together all the disbanded soldiers who were there;
and when it was morning they beat the kettledrums on every side, and ere
those traitor nobles and vezirs had arisen they put many of them to the
sword; and they seized the king’s son and all the rest of his vezirs,
and brought them before the king. And the king executed the whole of
them, slaying each of them with a different torment. Thenceforth he sat
upon his throne with tranquillity of heart, and enjoyed happiness and
delight.

“Now, O king, I have told this story for that the king may know that
vezirs are not to be altogether trusted; and be thou ready, for these
vezirs purpose evil against the king, and the like of this story shall
befall thee. I have watched for my king and told him. And I know of a
surety that they have made a pact if left till the morrow to seat the
youth upon the throne, and to seize thee and to give thee into the
youth’s hands. God knows what will happen to ill-fortuned me. Woe is
me!” And she wept full bitterly. When the king heard this story from the
lady, and beheld this plight, he believed the lady’s words, and held
them to be true; and fear for his life fell upon the king. He said: “O
lady, weep not; on the morrow will I seize the whole of the vezirs, and,
after I have put the youth to death, I will give to each of them, one by
one, his due.” When the lady heard these words from the king she was
glad, and said, “O king, when thou hast slain the whole of them, appoint
nobles vezirs in their stead, and then lean thy back against the wall
of retirement, and give thyself up to mirth and merriment: till thou
hast done thus thou shalt not be at ease.” And the king consented to
this proposal, and they passed that night till the morning conversing.




CONCLUSION


When it was morning the king was wrathful, and he came and sat upon his
throne, and he said, “Where is the youth? let him come.” They brought
him, and the king said, “Ask ye him if he confesses to the charge of his
mother.” Thereupon the grand vezir said, “Let him come before you and be
asked, and it will be well; bring him, let us ask him.” The king
commanded that they brought him, and he said, “Youth, speak; how hast
thou done by thy mother?” The youth was silent. The king turned and
said, “Be not silent, there is leave to thee, speak.” The youth was
silent. Again the grand vezir said, “Perchance his governor might make
him tell.”

Straightway the king commanded that they should bring his governor; and
they sought him but found him not, and came and told the king. The king
said, “This day it is needful to make manifest my justice; let the
executioner come.” He came; and the king commanded, saying, “Take the
youth and all those vezirs; and kill them.” And they took the whole of
them from the presence of the king; and they made clean the
judgment-square and sprinkled it with sand. And they made the vezirs sit
down by tens, and they brought the youth too. Then the executioner set
the prince upon his knees and bound his eyes, and he drew his sword from
its scabbard and bared it, and said, “Is there leave, O king? In thy
glory is my arm strong and my sword keen. The cut-off head grows not
again, and too late repentance profits not.” And he went twice round the
divan and asked leave of the king; and the king commanded him, saying,
“Smite off his head.” The executioner went round the divan once more,
and as he was again asking leave of the king, the bearer of glad tidings
came, crying, “The prince’s governor comes!” The king said, “Quick,
seize and bring him.”

Forthwith the slaves brought the governor, not letting his feet touch
the ground. When the king saw the governor he was wroth, and said,
“Kill him!” The governor said, “O king, wherefore art thou angry? If it
be thy desire to make the youth speak, bring him and let him speak.”
Quoth the king, “Is it thou who saidest to the youth, ‘Speak not’?” The
governor answered, “Yea.” The king said, “Why?” The governor said, “O
king of the world, I saw the prince’s ruling star in the astrolabe that
for forty days it was in evil aspect, such evil aspect that if he
uttered the least word he should perish, but that if he spake not he
should escape. I taught him a Name, and charged him straitly that he
should not speak the least word. Now is the time accomplished, and I am
come; command that they bring him, and I shall give him leave to speak.”
The king commanded that they brought the youth, and the governor said,
“My prince, be my life a ransom for thy father and for thee! Praise be
to God! the evil aspect of thy star is accomplished; loose thy
nightingale tongue and speak; what is this plight?”

Straightway the youth said, “In the name of God!” And he related what
befell him with the lady from its beginning to its end; and then he fell
upon the ground and began to weep. And the king put his finger to his
mouth and wondered. And the members of the divan marvelled at this deed
of the woman, and they said, “The prince’s words are with reason and
truth, and such like trickery comes from womankind.”

Then the king asked the slave-girls, and they bare witness that they had
been behind the wall and had heard the thing, and that the prince spake
truly. And the king saw that the right was the prince’s, and he repented
him of what he had done. And he besought pardon, and kissed the prince’s
two eyes, and pressed him to his heart and wept full bitterly. And
straightway he commanded that they bring the vezirs; and the king made
many excuses to them, and clad each of them in sumptuous robes, and
bestowed boundless gifts and favors upon them, and begged forgiveness of
all of them. And the vezirs said, “My king, whatsoever cruelty and
injustice thou hast done us, be it all forgiven thee; our fear was lest
thou should slay the prince, acting on the woman’s word; for our
vezirship is by the health and safety of our king and our prince; and
their existence is a mercy to the world; after they were perished the
perishing of the whole of us were a thing assured.” And they all kissed
the ground together, and asked for retribution on the woman.

And the king commanded that they bring a wild ass; and they took the
lady to the square of judgment and set her upon that ass, and bound her
fast to his tail and legs, and took her forth to the desert. And they
smote the ass with a whip, and the ass began to gallop and the woman
fell from his back to the ground; and the wild ass looked, and when he
saw the woman behind him he shied and ran off. And the woman was torn
into pieces small even as her ear, and left upon the shrubs and stones.
Thus that which she had purposed against the prince befel herself. The
sires say, “Wish good that good may come to thee: if thou dig a pit for
another, dig it deep; for it is like thou shalt fall therein thyself;
then thou needest not trouble trying to get out.” And from that time has
the saying been among the folk, “May I see thee on the ass!” After that
the king summoned all the vezirs and the nobles and the commonalty, and
he made a great feast with all manner of minstrels and music, and for
forty days and forty nights they feasted and made merry gratefully. And
then they lived for many years, and did justice and dealt with equity.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] A fabulous bird, a species of vulture or gigantic condor.

[2] Drugs.

[3] Koran, lii. 15.

[4] Ib. xii. 31.

[5] Not necessarily a Chinese woman, simply a beauty; China and Chinese
Tartary being regarded as pre-eminent for the beauty of their women.

[6] A term of endearment.

[7] Probably he was afraid lest the king should put him to death for
giving such bad news.

[8] The Prophet Mahomet.

[9] I.e., beautiful.

[10] Koran, iv. 94.

[11] As servants do.

[12] In the time of Murad II an aspre was worth about 2½d. stg. Turkish
sequins were not struck till the time of his successor, Mahomet II,
when they were equivalent to about 12s. 6d. Foreign gold coins,
especially Venetian, were used previously.

[13] Qāf is the name of a fabled mountain chain, formerly supposed to
encircle the world: “the castle” is simply a metaphor for the mountain
peaks.

[14] This famous speech is usually attributed to ‘Omar, the second
caliph.

[15] Bal’am-bin-Bā’ūr.

[16] ‘Uj-bin-‘Unuq. He is said, in the Talmud, to have been a monstrous
giant. The ‘Adīs, we are told, were from sixty to one hundred cubits
high. Compare Numbers xiii. 33.

[17] Koran, v. 29.

[18] Koran, vii. 175.

[19] A mysterious being, of the number of the prophets, who appears to
and aids Moslems in distress; he is frequently mentioned in Mahometan
fiction, where he plays a part similar to that of Elijah in the Talmud.

[20] Compare Boethius thus translated by Chaucer: All thynges seken
ayen to hir propre course, and all thyngs rejoysen on hir retourninge
agayne to hir nature.

[21] The emerald was supposed to have the effect of blinding snakes
when they looked upon it.

[22] There is an Eastern myth to that effect.

[23] Joseph is the type of youthful beauty.

[24] A fabulous bird of great size. Solomon, it should be said,
according to the Talmudic and Koranic legends, was acquainted with the
language of beasts and birds, with whom he used often to converse.

[25] Koran, iii. 128.

[26] The celebrated Caliph of Bagdad, and hero of so many of the
stories in the “Thousand and One Nights.”

[27] Koran, iii. 128.

[28] D’Herbelot relates the same story in his “Bibliothèque Orientale,”
but substitutes Hasan son of ‘Ali, the Prophet’s son-in-law, for
Harun-er-Reshid.

[29] Bāyezīd of Bestam was a famous saint who, according to
Ibn-Khallikān, died in 261 or 264 (A.D. 875 or 878).

[30] One of the most famous kings of pre-Islamitic Persia, he reigned
from A.D. 531 to 579.

[31] The Cubical (House), i.e., the Sacred Temple at Mecca.

[32] One of the ceremonies performed by the pilgrims at Mecca.

[33] For a description of it see Captain Burton’s “Pilgrimage,” vol.
iii, p. 164.

[34] Such as is required by the Mahometan law in case of a triple
divorce.

[35] Koran, xxi. 23.

[36] Koran, xxvii. 66.

[37] The ram is a type of courage.

[38] A legendary sage. He here pretends to kill the boy, that the king
may recover through joy on finding his son alive.

[39] An adherent of the Shī’a sect, which acknowledges ‘Alī, but
rejects Abu-Bekr, ‘Othmān and ‘Omar as lawful caliphs.

[40] So the point of this story turns upon an untranslatable pun.

[41] Koran, viii. 128, and lxiv. 15.

[42] To prevent their spreading the report of the king’s disappearance.

[43] Sultan Mahmūd, the son of Sebuktekīn, of Ghazni.

[44] Hasan of Maymand was a minister, not of Sultan Mahmūd, but of that
monarch’s father. Hasan’s son, Ahmed, was Mahmūd’s vezir.

[45] I have thought it best to leave the uncivil remark of the owner of
the black ass in the inimitable simplicity of the uncivil remark of the
original.

[46] In Belletēte this courtier is said to be Firdausī of Tūs, and he
is made to tell Mahmūd the following story of the khoja and the abdal,
for which the Sultan rewards him with a purse of gold.

[47] A kind of religious mendicant.

[48] The original is somewhat more explicit here; Vālidesi qizin
muhrini teftīsh eyledi, chun muhrini muhrlu buldi, qizin iki guzinden
updi.

[49] Hasan of Basra was a very pious and learned man. He died in 110
(A.D. 728).

[50] The dervish’s cloak.

[51] El-Ma’mūn, the son of Hārūn-er-Reshīd, was proclaimed caliph in
198 (A.D. 813); he died in 218 (A.D. 833).

[52] Koran, xi. 48.

[53] The point of this story is lost in the translation. To let fly a
falcon at game, is, in Turkish, to swing a falcon; the king says to the
abdal, “Swing the falcon,” meaning, let it fly at the bird; but the
abdal understands him literally, and swings the falcon round his head.








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