CHAPTER X.

Early on the next morning the Tenth Vizier sent a woman to the Queen

with a message, urging her to exert her influence over the King, and

induce him to give orders for the execution of Bakhtyār. The Queen, in

consequence of this, addressed the King on the subject before he left

the palace, and he replied, that Bakhtyār’s fate was now decided, and

that his execution should not be any longer deferred. The King then went

forth, and the Viziers attended in their proper places. The Tenth Vizier

was rising to speak, when the King informed him of his resolution to

terminate the affair of Bakhtyār by putting him to death on that day.

He was brought accordingly from the prison; and the King on seeing him

said: “You have spoken a great deal of your innocence, yet have not been

able to make it appear; therefore no longer entertain any hopes of

mercy, for I have given orders for your execution.”—On hearing this,

Bakhtyār began to weep, and said: “I have hitherto endeavoured to gain

time, conscious of my innocence, and hoping that it might be proved, and

a guiltless person saved from an ignominious death; but I now find it

vain to struggle against the decrees of Heaven. Thus the King of Persia

foolishly attempted to counteract his destiny, and triumph over the will

of Providence, but in vain.”

The King expressed a desire of hearing the story to which Bakhtyār

alluded, and the young man began to relate it as follows:

STORY OF THE KING OF PERSIA.

There was a certain King of Persia, a very powerful and wealthy monarch,

who, not having any child, employed all the influence of prayers and of

alms to procure the blessing of a son from Heaven. At length one of his

handmaids became pregnant, and the King was transported with joy; but

one night, in a dream, he was addressed by an old man, who said: “The

Lord has complied with your request, and to-morrow you shall have a son;

but in his seventh year a lion shall seize and carry off this son to the

top of a mountain, from which he shall fall, rolling in blood and clay.”

When the King awoke, he assembled the viziers, and related to them the

horrors of his dream. They replied: “Long be the King’s life! If Heaven

has decreed such a calamity who can oppose or control it?”—The King

presumptuously declared that he would struggle against and counteract

it; but one of his viziers, eminently skilled in astrology, discovered

one day, by the power of his science, that the King would, after twenty

years, perish by the hand of his own son. In consequence of this, he

immediately waited on the King, and informed him that he had to

communicate a certain matter, for the truth and certainty of which he

would answer with his life. The King desired him to reveal it; and he,

falling on the knees of obedience, related all that he had discovered in

the stars. “If it happens not according to what you predict,” said the

King, “I shall certainly put you to death.”

In the meantime, however, he caused a subterraneous dwelling to be

constructed, to which he sent the boy, with a nurse. There they remained

during the space of seven years, when, in compliance with the heavenly

decree, a lion suddenly rushed into the cave, and devoured the nurse,

and having wounded the child, carried him up to the summit of a

neighbouring mountain, from which he let him fall to the bottom, covered

with blood and earth. It happened that one of the King’s secretaries

came by, in pursuit of game, and perceived the boy in this situation,

and the lion standing on the summit of the mountain. He immediately

resolved to save the child; and having taken him to his own house, he

healed his wounds, and instructed him in various accomplishments.

On the day after the nurse had been devoured and the child carried away

by the lion, the King resolved to visit the cave, and finding it

deserted, he concluded that the nurse had escaped to some other place.

He instantly despatched messengers to seek her in every quarter, but in

vain.

In process of time the boy grew up, and acted as keeper [of pen and ink]

to the secretary. In this situation, having been employed at the palace,

it happened that the King saw and was much pleased with him, and felt

within his bosom the force of paternal affection. In consequence of this

he demanded him of the secretary, and clothed him in splendid garments;

and after some time, when an enemy invaded the country, and required the

King’s presence with his army, he appointed the young man to be his

armour-bearer; and, accompanied by him, proceeded to battle.

After a bloody conflict, the troops of the enemy were victorious, and

those of the King began to fly; but he, in the impulse of rage and fury,

threw himself into the midst of his adversaries, fighting with the most

desperate valour. In this state of confusion it was impossible to know

one person from another; the young armour-bearer, who fought also with

the utmost bravery, no longer distinguishing the King, rushed into a

crowd of combatants, and striking furiously on all sides, cut off the

hand of one man whom he supposed to be of the enemy’s side; but this

person was the King, who, on recognising the armour-bearer, upbraided

him with this attempt upon his life, and being unable to remain any

longer in the field, he retired, with his troops, to the capital, and

the next day concluded a peace with the enemy, on condition of paying a

considerable sum of money. He then gave orders that the armour-bearer

should be arrested, and although he persevered in declarations of

innocence, they availed him not; he was thrown into prison, and loaded

with chains.

In the meantime the King was reposing on the pillow of death; and when

he found that all hopes of recovery were vain, he resolved to punish the

vizier who had told him that his son should be torn by a lion, and that

he should fall by the hand of that son. “Now,” said the King, “my son

has been carried away to some other country by his nurse, and I have

been wounded by the hand of a different person.” Having said this, he

sent for the vizier, and desired him to prepare for death. “This

armour-bearer,” added he, “and not my own son, has wounded me, contrary

to your prediction; and, as you consented to be punished in case your

prediction should not be accomplished, I have resolved to put you to

death.”—“Be it so,” replied the vizier; “but let us first inquire into

the birth of this young armour-bearer.”

The King immediately sent for the young man, and asked him concerning

his parents and his country. He answered that of the country which gave

him birth he was ignorant; but that he had been with his mother in a

subterraneous place, and that she had informed him of his father’s being

a king, but he had never seen his father; that one day a lion carried

him away to the summit of a mountain, from which he fell, and was taken

up by the secretary, by whom he was instructed in various

accomplishments, and from whose service he passed into that of the King.

When the King heard this, he was amazed, and his hair stood on end; and

he sent for the viziers and secretary, who confirmed what the young man

had said.

Having thus ascertained that the armour-bearer was his own son, he

resigned to him the crown and throne; and having invested the vizier

with the robe of prime-minister, he expired in the course of three days.

* * * * *

Here Bakhtyār concluded his narrative, and observed, that he had

struggled against his evil destiny, like that king, but in vain. Having

said this, the King wished to send him back to prison; but the Ten

Viziers unanimously declared that they would leave the country if

Bakhtyār’s punishment was any longer deferred.

The King then acknowledged that he could not bear to behold the

execution of the young man; in consequence of which the Viziers led him

away, and assembled all the people by proclamation, that they might see

him put to death.

CONCLUSION.

It happened at this time that Farrukhsuwār, who had found Bakhtyār at

the side of the well, came, with some of his companions, to the city,

and was wrapped in that embroidered cloak which the King and Queen had

left with the infant. In passing by the place of execution he beheld the

guards leading out Bakhtyār to punishment, on which he rushed amongst

them with his companions, and rescued the young man from their hands,

and then solicited an audience of the King.

On coming into the royal presence Farrukhsuwār exclaimed: “This young

man is my son; I cannot bear to see him executed: if he must perish, let

me also be put to death.”—“Your wish in this respect,” said the King,

“may be easily gratified.”—“Alas!” cried Farrukhsuwār, “if the father of

this youth, who was a king, or his mother, who was a queen, were

informed of his situation, they would save him from this ignominious

death!” The King laughed at the seeming inconsistency of Farrukhsuwār,

and said: “You told me at one time that Bakhtyār was your son, yet now

you describe him as the child of royal parents.”

Farrukhsuwār, in reply, told all the circumstances of his finding

Bakhtyār near the well, and showed the cloak in which he had been

wrapped. The King immediately knew it to be the same which he had left

with the infant, and asked whether Farrukhsuwār had found anything

besides. He produced the bracelet of pearls, and the King, now convinced

that Bakhtyār was not the son of Farrukhsuwār, but his own, took the

cloak and the bracelets to the Queen, and asked her if she had ever

before seen them. She instantly exclaimed: “They were my child’s!—what

tidings do you bring of him?”—“I shall bring himself,” replied the King;

and he immediately sent an order to the Viziers that they should conduct

Bakhtyār to the palace.

When he arrived, the King, with his own hands, took off his chains,

placed a royal turban on his head, and covered him with the embroidered

cloak, and then led him to the Queen, saying: “This is our son, whom we

left on the brink of the well.” When the Queen heard this, and beheld

Bakhtyār, the tears gushed forth from her eyes, and she embraced him

with the greatest emotion. Bakhtyār then asked the Queen why she had

endeavoured to destroy him by a false accusation, and she confessed that

the Viziers had induced her; on which the King ordered their immediate

execution, and then resigned the throne to Bakhtyār, who was

acknowledged sovereign by all the people. Farrukhsuwār was invested with

the dignity of chief Vizier, and his companions rewarded with honourable

appointments; and Bakhtyār continued for many years to govern with

justice, wisdom, and generosity.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

⁂ In the Preface to his translation and text of the _Bakhtyār Nāma_, Sir

William Ouseley states, that “as this work is chiefly designed for the

use of those who begin to study the Persian language,” he selected for

translation, from among three manuscripts in his own possession and five

or six others in the collections of several friends, “that which seemed

written in the most pure and simple style; for several copies, in

passing through the hands of ignorant or conceited transcribers, have

suffered a considerable depravation of the original text, and one, in

particular, is so disguised by the alterations and augmented by the

additions of some Indian Munshī, that it appears almost a different

work. These additions, however, are only turgid amplifications and

florid exuberancies, according to the modern corrupt style of Hindūstān,

which distinguishes the compositions of that country from the chaste and

classical productions of Īrān.” Regarding his own translation, he says

that, while it will be found sufficiently literal, he has “not retained

those idioms which would not only be uncouth, but perhaps

unintelligible, in English: some repetitions I have taken the liberty of

omitting; and as most of the stories begin and end nearly in the same

manner, I have on such occasions compressed into a few lines the subject

of a page.” But since the translation was mainly designed to aid

learners of Persian, it seems strange that he should have deemed it

advisable to take any “liberties” such as he mentions; and an

examination of the text appended to his translation shows that he has

occasionally done something more than omit mere “repetitions”: in

several instances he has omitted whole passages, of which many are

requisite to the proper connection of the incidents related in the

stories; and this, too, in dealing with a text which is itself evidently

abridged from “the original”—if indeed an original Persian text now

exists.

The more important deficiencies of Sir William Ouseley’s

translation—arising, as has been already explained, from his imperfect

text as well as from his own omissions—which will be found included in

the following Notes, have been supplied by my obliging friend Mr William

Platt, the veteran scholar, who has taken the trouble of comparing the

translation with the carefully edited lithographed text of the _Bakhtyār

Nāma_, published, at Paris, in 1839; and has, besides these notes of

omissions, &c., kindly furnished me with other valuable materials, of

which I have gladly availed myself, with the view of rendering this

curious and in many respects unique work more complete and interesting

to general English readers.

W. A. C.

NOTES ON CHAPTER I.

It is customary for Muslim authors to place at the beginning of all

their compositions the Arabic invocation—

_bi ’smi ’llāhi ’r-rahmānī ’r-rahīmī_

which Sale renders: “In the name of the most merciful God!” but which is

more correctly translated: “In the name of God, the Merciful, the

Compassionate!” The _`Ulama_, or professors of religion and law,

interpret “the merciful” to signify “merciful in small things,” and “the

compassionate,” as “merciful in great things.” This invocation, which is

placed at the head of each chapter of the Kur’ān, except the ninth, is

not only also prefixed to every Muhammadan book or writing, but is

pronounced by Muslims on their undertaking every lawful act. It is said

that Muhammad borrowed it from a similar practice of the Magians and

Rabbins. Following the invocation are usually praise and blessings on

the Prophet, his Family, and his Companions. In Sir William Ouseley’s

printed text only the customary invocation appears, which he does not

give in his English version. The following is a translation of the

introduction as given in the lithographed text:

“IN THE NAME OF GOD, THE MERCIFUL, THE COMPASSIONATE!

Thanksgiving and praise without end, and salutation and eulogium without

stint, to the Supreme Benefactor, who is above all commendation—the

Holy-One, beyond our imagination! May He be ever exalted on high, the

well-furnished table of whose generosity is spread over the surface of

the earth, and on the table of whose bounty every ant finds its food in

safety! And salutation and praise to all the prophets, and, above all,

to our Prophet, who is the Apostle, and the Director of the Path [of

God], and the Prince of Creation, and the purest of created

beings—Muhammad, the Elect! May God be propitious and vouchsafe

salvation to him, his Family, and Companions, one and all!—After this

introduction [be it known], this work and composition is divided into

ten chapters [gates], and each chapter affords to the intelligent moral

examples, and to the wise recognised forewarnings.”

_Page 3._ “The country of Sīstān,” or Sijistān (the ancient Drangiana),

lies to the east of Farsistān, or Persia proper. The Governor is

entitled Shah-i-nīmrūz (Sa`dī’s _Gulistān_, iii, 27). The famous Rustam,

the Hercules of Persia, held this country as a fief under the Kings of

Persia (see Ranking’s _Wars and Sports of the Mongols_, p. 93).

_Page 3._ Āzād-bakht: “Free-Fortune”—“Fortunate.”

_Page 3._ Sipah-sālār, here employed as a proper name, signifies a

general, a commander of an army, especially a chief of cavalry: from

asp, a horse, and _sālār_, a leader. _Sālār-i-jung_, a leader in war, is

one of the titles given by Eastern princes to their nobles.

_Page 3._ “The rose of the garden and the moon of the heavenly spheres

were confounded at the superior lustre of her cheeks.”—The comparison of

a beautiful woman’s face to the moon, however absurd it may appear to

some readers, is a very favourite one with Orientals, from Solomon

downwards; it is, moreover, employed by several of our own admired

English poets, as Spenser, Shakspeare, and Pope. In the Notes to my

_Arabian Poetry for English Readers_ many parallel passages on this

similitude are cited from Eastern and Western poets.

_Page 4._ “A litter was provided.”—Several kinds of litters are used in

Persia and India. Garcin de Tassy, in a note to his French translation

of the Persian romance of _Kāmarupa_ (chap. xxiii), quotes the following

interesting account of the palanquins and carriages of India, from the

_Arāish-i-Mahfil_:

“It is known that the _gāri_ is an invention of the people of India.

They who use them are sheltered from heat, cold, wind, or rain. The

Bayadīres [or dancing-girls], who employ these carriages drawn by oxen,

put silver ornaments on their horns, hang small bells on the axle-tree,

and place negroes on the pole. In this sumptuous carriage they frequent

fairs, the shrines visited by pilgrims, and public gardens. The

astonished lookers-on are inclined to regard them as strolling fairies,

travelling on thrones to the sound of cymbals; ... but the carriages of

discreet females, named _rath_, are covered with awnings, so closely

fastened that the opening of the breadth of a hair cannot be seen.

Unfortunately the wheeled carriages jolt, yet in other respects are

comfortable. Three or four men seated can travel without fatigue,

chatting the meanwhile, and perform the journey, enjoying the advantage

of repose. Some of the _gāri_ have curtains, some are without. The small

and light are called _manjhalī_, the very light and diminutive, _gainī_,

and the oxen drawing them are of a peculiarly small breed, and are

distinguished by the name of _gaina_. These small carriages are

preferable to the _rath_, which has four wheels. In fact, they jolt but

little, and are of sufficient importance to carry the Amīr. There are

some so well constructed, and adorned with such beautiful paintings,

that they throw into a frenzy those who behold them; and the blinds are

to such a degree pleasing and elegant that, if the Sun shone as they

were passing along, he would descend from his car and mount thereon; and

if the god Indra [King of Heaven] should see them, he would quit his

throne and place himself therein. So that persons of high rank, who do

not disdain to use them, vary the furniture according to the seasons:

during hot weather the blinds are made of veti-ver;[27] in the rainy

season, of oiled silk; and in winter, of wool. Those, however, who use

them most frequently are traders, bankers, government servants, and

Muslim and Hindū women.—Besides the carriages just described there is a

kind of throne, called _nālkī_, for sovereigns; and for the Amīr,

palanquins with trimmings of fringe, termed _pālkī_. The palanquins of

ladies are the _mahādol_, _chāndol_, _sukhpūl_, and _miāna_; and for the

female poor, _dolī_. So that a lady, _comme il faut_, need never walk,

and no individual who is not _mahram_ [who is not privileged to visit

the harem] can ever see her figure.”

Among the other kinds of litters or carriages used in the East are: the

_imari_, carried by elephants and camels, so named from Imar, the

inventor, also called _hodaj_, or _hawdaj_ (howdah), made of wood, or

cloth stretched over a frame, and either open or covered at the top; and

the _takht-i-ravan_, usually carried by mules within shafts before and

behind: it is the Armamaxa, in which the children of Darius and their

attendants were carried. (_Quintus Curtius_, b. iii, c. 3.)

_Page 4._ “The King ... was at that moment returning from the

chase.”—Hunting the antelope, wild-ass, &c., has been the favourite

pastime of the kings and nobles of Persia from the most ancient times.

The modern kings of Persia have palaces in many parts of their

dominions, whither they resort for the climate or for the chase. To

these palaces are attached villages, in which provisions are collected

for the use of the court as soon as the motions of the King are

decided.[28]—For a graphic description of the Persian mode of hunting

the antelope, with hawks as well as dogs, see Sir John Malcolm’s

_Sketches of Persia_.

_Page 4._ “Kissed the ground of respectful obedience.”—The Persians in

their salutations and acts of submission so prostrate themselves as

almost to place their faces on the ground. This prostration, called _rūy

zamīn_ (“the face on the ground”), is made by bowing the body at right

angles, the hands placed on the knees, and the legs a little apart.—In

allusion to this mode of salutation, the Persian poet Hāfiz declares

that, in the presence of his fair enslaver, he would _make besoms of his

eyelashes_; as Richardson paraphrases it:

O for one heavenly glance of that dear maid,

How would my raptured heart with joy rebound!

Down to her feet I’d lowly bend my head,

And with my eyebrows sweep the hallowed ground.[29]

Lane, in the Notes to his translation of the _Thousand and One Nights_,

thus describes the Arabian (or modern Egyptian) mode of paying respect

to superiors: touching the ground, and then the lips and forehead, or

turban, with the right hand.—The Khalif Hakim Biamri ’llah (11th

century) issued an order that no one in future should kiss the ground in

his presence, or salute him in the highway, or kiss his hand or stirrup;

because to prostrate oneself before a human being was an act of worship

introduced by the Greeks; and the only formula of salutation should be:

“May protection be vouchsafed to the Prince of the Faithful! May the

mercy and blessings of God rest upon him!”

_Page 5._ “Fixed by the fascinating beauty of the damsel,” &c.—The

lithographed text says: “From the effect of her glance the heart became

lost, and the bird of his soul began to take flight in the atmosphere of

love.... He pushed forward his courser, and recited this _gazal_ [or

ode]:

My heart has fallen into the hand of a sprightly lover, of marvellous

beauty;

This intelligent countenance, bright as the moon, has stolen my heart

from the hand of the Creator;

So that when I beheld the cypress form my unhappy heart began to bleed.

Her rose-like countenance has placed in a sorrowful soul a rankling

thorn!”

_Page 5._ “Ruler of the world.” The text gives the address of the

litter-attendants to the King as follows:

“Whatever may be the advice of the Pādishāh who adorns the world, it is

the eye [_i.e._ the essence] of correct judgment.

_Quatrain._

O mighty King of the chief city,

Thy counsel is always good;

How can any one oppose thy command—

Who would dare to express himself otherwise?

Thy command [will be] the support of the life and the happiness of the

father and the daughter. If they had seen in a dream this happiness,

they would not be able to contain themselves in this world, especially

in a state of wakefulness. But for every transaction there is custom and

propriety, [so that] if they [_i.e._ the litter attendants] escort at

this moment the daughter to the city, people will raise doubts, and

foster a suspicion touching the King, [on the score] of undue haste and

impatience, and will assert that the King had carried off this lady by

force and abuse of power, and [thus] would arise [tittle-tattle

respecting] the question and answer of the lovers, and the exulting

triumph[30] of the enemies. This is the right course to pursue: if the

King grant permission, we will convoy the daughter to Sipahsālār, that

he may do for this discharge of duty whatever is the custom; and, having

provided suitable paraphernalia, send back the daughter to the Pādishāh;

and thus both the vizier’s dignity would be maintained, and also the

[love] affair of the Pādishāh be accomplished in a becoming manner.”

The giving of a dowry is indispensable, and without it no marriage is

legal. According to the rank in life of the bride, it consists of a

wardrobe, jewels, furniture, slaves, eunuchs, and a sum of money varying

in amount. No portion of the dowry can be taken away by the husband

against the wife’s wish. She remains absolute mistress of the whole of

her own property, inherited, or otherwise acquired. (_Voyages de M.

Chardin en Perse, &c.; Lane’s Modern Egyptians._)

_Page 6._ “He caused the necessary ceremonies to be performed.”—Here

again the text is fuller than our translation:

“And the marriage-knot was tied in strict conformity with the law. And

when the ceremony was concluded, all the secretaries of the government

wrote letters of congratulation, and apprised Sipahsālār of the

submission to this insult. When Sipahsālār read the letters a flood of

tears poured down from his eyes, and the fire of enmity kindled a flame

in his heart. And although the King had settled the matter religiously

and according to the law, yet when all that had transpired reached his

ears, his heart bled to overflowing, by reason of the excess of

affection for his daughter. Sipahsālār, considering it good policy,

wrote a letter of thanks to his Excellency the Pādishāh, replete with

all kinds of expressions, evincing joy and felicity: ‘This is indeed

happiness, that such powerful support should be extended towards me! I

am utterly unable to quit myself of the obligation I am under for this

high honour, now that his Majesty has placed this crown of glory on the

head of his slave. As soon as I arrive in the royal presence, I will

kiss the ground of felicity.’

“Dissembling, he penned these phrases, and concealed the [evil]

intention of his wrath, and day and night was devising deceit and

stratagem.”

The Vizier of Āzādbakht could ill brook his rights as a father being set

at naught. The parent, or nearest adult relation, is always the deputy

of the future bride to effect the marriage contract. Moreover,

Sipahsālār considered this tyrannical proceeding as an ungrateful return

for his services with the army. Notwithstanding the King’s rather

brusque manner of wooing, however, the lady is represented as being

devotedly attached to him, and she braved the perils of the desert for

his sake.

_Page 8._ “To seek an asylum from the King of Kirmān.”—The text has also

the following quatrain:

The King of Kirmān is a great dispenser of justice;

On our behalf he will bestow a look of indulgence

He will furnish troops, gold, and silver:

Unless this course be pursued, there is no other remedy.

Kirmān (Carmania) is a province of Persia (the ancient Gedrasia), having

to the north Khurasan, to the east Afghanistān and Bilūchistān, to the

south the Persian Gulf, to the west Fars and Luristān. _Carmanicus

Sinus_: the Gulf of Ormuz. Kirmān is the plural of _kirm_, a worm, and

the province where silkworms were originally bred. It is celebrated for

the cultivation of the white rose, from which _`itr-i-gul_ (attar of

roses) is distilled; and also for a peculiar breed of sheep, called

_dumbadār_, small, short-legged, with a long bushy tail.

_Page 9._ “Directed their course towards the desert,” _i.e._ of

Kirmān.—The text has this quatrain:

Behold to what misery misfortune has thrown me!

Owing to breach of good faith, she has cast me into a sea of troubles;

For adverse Fortune has devised an evil design against me,

Inasmuch as she has separated friends from each other.

_Page 9._ “A hundred thousand lives such as mine are not in value equal

to a single hair of the King’s head.”—In less extravagant terms does a

distressed damsel in another romance express herself: “Of a truth, noble

man, you have displayed your compassionate nature; but I cannot consent

to save my body at the cost of yours: for who ought to save a common

stone by the sacrifice of a gem?”—_Vetāla Panchavinsati_, or Twenty-five

Tales of a Demon.

_Page 10._ “The Queen brought forth a son; in beauty he was lovely as

the moon,” &c.—The Orientals compare beautiful youths, as well as

damsels, to the moon: Hafiz styles Joseph the Hebrew patriarch—who is

throughout the Muhammadan world regarded as the type of youthful

beauty—“the Moon of Canaan.” Morier remarks, in his _Second Journey to

Persia, &c._: “The Eastern women suffer little from parturition, for the

better sort of them are frequently on foot the day after delivery, and

out of all confinement on the third day [this on the authority of

Harmer, vol. iv, p. 434]. They are sometimes ‘delivered ere the midwives

come in unto them’: Exodus, i, 19; and the lower orders often deliver

themselves. I knew an instance where a peasant’s wife, in Turkey, who

was at work in a vineyard, stepped behind the hedge, delivered herself,

and carried the child home slung behind her back.”

_Page 10._ “They wrapped up the child in a cloak embroidered with gold,

and fastened a bracelet of large pearls,” &c.—In the legend of Pope

Gregory, the child is exposed with gold at his head and silver at his

feet (see the English _Gesta Romanorum_, chapter 51; edited by

Herrtage); and in one of the Tales of the _Vetāla_, a child is similarly

exposed, with a sum of gold, at the gate of a royal palace, and the King

adopts him as his son and successor (_Kathā Sarit Sāgara_, Ocean of the

Rivers of Narrative).

_Page 10._ “He sent his servants to welcome them, and received them with

the greatest respect and hospitality;” that is, by a deputation

(_istikbāl_), one of the principal modes among the Persians of doing

honour to their guests. Those sent in advance to meet the guests are

called _pīsh vāz_, “openers of the way.” In the ninth chapter we find

the approaching guests met at the distance of two days’ journey[31] from

the city. “On the day of our entry,” says Morier, in his _Second

Journey_, “we were met by the youngest son of the Amīnu-’d-Dawla, a boy

of about thirteen years of age, who received the ambassador [Sir Gore

Ouseley] with all the ease of an old courtier.” So, too, the King of

Kirmān “sent his own son and two attendants to wait on Āzādbakht.”

_Page 11._ “The musicians singing and playing, and the guests

drinking.”—Music contributes as much as wine to the pleasures of an

Eastern carousal. “Wine,” they say, “is as the body, music is the soul,

and joy is their offspring.” The gamut, or scale of musical notes, is

called in the East, _durr-imafassal_, “separate pearls.” The musical

instruments commonly employed are: the _Kānūn_, the dulcimer or harp;

the _sitār_, a three-stringed instrument (from _si_, three, and _tār_,

string), whence cithara and guitar; and the _arghān_ or _orghanūn_, the

organ. Old Persian writers describe the _arghān_ as invented by

_Iflatūn_ (Plato), and as superior to all psalteries (_mazamīr_), and

used in Yūnan (Ionia or Greece) and in Rūm (Iconium). Also the _chang_

(Arabic, _junk_), the harp; the _rabāb_, rebeck; the _tambūr_,

tambourine; and the _barbat_, or barbitan.—Morier, in his Second Journey

(p. 92), was treated with a concert of four musicians; “one of whom

played on the _Kamāncha_ [viol]; a second sang, fanning his mouth with a

piece of paper to aid the undulations of his voice; the third was a

tambourine-player; and the last beat two little drums placed on the

ground before him.” Gentius, in a note to the _Gulistān_ of Sa`dī, says

that “music is in such consideration [in Persia], that it is a maxim of

their sages, that when a king is about to die, if he leaves for his

successor a very young son, his aptitude for reigning should be proved

by some agreeable songs; and if the child is pleasurably affected, then

it is a sign of his capacity and genius, but if the contrary, he should

be declared unfit.”—It would appear that the old Persian musicians, like

Timotheus, know the secret art of swaying the passions. The celebrated

philosopher Alfarabi (who died about the middle of the tenth century),

among his other accomplishments, excelled in music, in proof of which a

curious anecdote is told. Returning from the pilgrimage to Mecca, he

introduced himself, though a stranger, at the court of Sayfu-’d-Dawla,

Sultan of Syria, when a party of musicians chanced to be performing, and

he joined them. The prince admired his skill, and desiring to hear

something of his own, Alfarabi unfolded a composition, and distributed

the parts among the band. The first movement threw the prince and his

courtiers into violent and inextinguishable laughter, the next melted

all into tears, and the last lulled even the performers to sleep.—At the

retaking of Bagdād by the Turks, in 1638, when the springing of a mine,

whereby eight hundred janissaries perished, was the signal for a general

massacre, and thirty thousand Persians were put to the sword, “a Persian

musician, named Shāh Kūlī, who was brought before Murād, played and sang

so sweetly, first a song of triumph, and then a dirge, that the Sultan,

moved to pity by his music, gave orders to stop the massacre.”[32]

_Page 11._ “His eyes were filled with tears.”—Although Muslims are

remarkably calm and resigned under the heaviest afflictions, yet they do

not consider the shedding of tears as either evidence of effeminacy or

inconsistent with a heroic mind.—_Lane._ In the old Badawī _Romance of

`Antar_ (of which an epitome is given in my _Arabian Poetry for English

Readers_) the hero is frequently represented as weeping.

_Page 11._ “The King of Kirmān then inquired into the particulars of

Āzādbakht’s misfortunes.”—It thus appears that, in accordance with the

time-honoured rules of Eastern hospitality, the King received Āzādbakht

as his guest without subjecting him to any preliminary questioning; and

only diffidently “inquired into the particulars” after the unhappy

monarch had informed him that he was a fugitive from his kingdom. The

old Arabs, like the old Scottish Highlanders, were scrupulous in

abstaining from inquiring the name and tribe of a chance guest, lest he

should prove an enemy; and if, after the guest had eaten of their bread

and salt, he was found to belong to a hostile tribe or clan, he would be

entertained during three days, should he so desire, and then be

dismissed unharmed.

_Page 12._ Farrukhsuwār: from _farrukh_, fortunate, happy, and _suwār_,

a cavalier, a horseman; especially a Persian chief, as being skilled in

horsemanship and archery. Suwār-i-Sīstān: Rustam, the famous Persian

hero.

_Page 13._ “He resolved to adopt the infant as his own.”—The Muhammadan

law (says Lane) allows the adoption of sons, provided that the person to

be adopted consents to the act, if of age to judge for himself; also

that he has been deprived of his parents by death or other means; and

that there be such a difference of age between the two parties as might

subsist between a natural father and son. The adopted son enjoys the

same right of inheritance as the natural son.—Farrukhsuwār, we see,

though a chief of banditti, yet took care that his adopted son should be

“instructed in all the necessary accomplishments.” The adoption of sons

is universal throughout the East—in Persia, India, Japan; in the latter

country, “the principle of adoption,” says Mr Mitford, in his _Tales of

Old Japan_, “prevails among all classes, from the Emperor down to his

meanest subject; nor is the family line considered to have been broken

because an adopted son has succeeded to the estate.”

_Page 13._ Khudā-dād, _i.e._, “granted by God”: Deodatus; Theodore.

_Page 13._ “Able to fight, alone, five hundred men.” This is one of the

few instances of Oriental hyperbole which occur in the work; and since

we do not find our hero represented subsequently as distinguishing

himself by his prowess, except on the occasion which led to his capture,

it must be considered as introduced by the author conventionally, or by

way of embellishment. The heroes of Eastern romance, for the most part,

are not only beautiful as the moon, and accomplished in all the arts and

sciences, but also strong and courageous as a lion. In the romance of

_Dūshwanta and Sakūntalā_, an episode of the great Indian epic poem,

_Mahābharata_, the son of the beautiful heroine is thus described:

“Sakūntalā was delivered of a son, of inconceivable strength, bright as

the God of Fire, the image of Dūshwanta, endowed with personal beauty

and generosity of soul.... This mighty child seemed as if he could

destroy lions with the points of his white teeth. He bore on his hand

the mark of a wheel, which is the sign of sovereignty. His person was

beautiful, his head capacious, he possessed great bodily strength, and

his appearance was that of a celestial. During the short time that he

remained under the care of Kanwa, he grew exceedingly; and when he was

only six years old, his strength was so great that he was wont to bind

such beasts as lions, tigers, elephants, wild boars, and buffaloes to

the trees about the hermitage. He would even mount them, ride them

about, and play with them to tame them; whence the inhabitants of

Kanwa’s hermitage gave him a name: ‘Let him,’ said they, ‘be called

Sarva-damana, because he tameth all;’ and thus the child obtained the

name of Sarva-damana.”—And the Arabian hero `Antar, while yet a mere

stripling, slew a wolf, and carried home its paws to his slave-mother as

a trophy. (Compare with this the youthful exploit of David with a lion

and a bear, 1 Sam. xvii, 34, 35.) So, too, in the Early English Romance

of Sir Bevis of Hampton;—when only seven years old, Bevis knocked down

two stout men with his cudgel; and while still in his “teens” he slew

single-handed sixty Saracen knights.

_Page 14._ “The chief of the caravan.”—The _Mihtar Kārwān_, or _Kārwān

Bash_, held a position of responsibility and importance. By the payment

of armed attendants he took precautions against the attack of brigands,

as the merchants who formed a caravan were, it is said, on most

occasions, so devoid of courage that they cried “quarter” at the mere

sight of a drawn sword.

_Page 15._ “He also put on him his own robe” (_Kabā-i Khāss_).—The

_Kabā_ is a tunic, or long cloth coat, of any colour, quite open in

front, and worn over the shirt, and is the special garment of the rich,

and so distinguished by Sa`dī (_Gulistān_, ch. ii, story 17) from the

_aba_, or _abaya_, a kind of woollen cloak, either black or striped

brown and white, the garment of the poor.

_Page 15._ “The name of Bakhtyār,” that is, “he whom Fortune assists,”

or, “Fortune-befriended.”

_Page 16._ “The keys of the treasury” were of gold.

_Page 16._ “A splendid robe of honour.”—A _Khil`at_, or dress of honour,

is bestowed by Eastern monarchs on men of learning and genius, as well

as on tributary princes on their accession to their principalities, and

on viceroys and governors of provinces. The custom is very ancient; see

Esther vi, 8, 9. “A common _Khil`at_,” says Morier, “consists of a Kāba,

or coat; a _Kemerbend_, or zone; a _gūch pīch_, or shawl for the head:

when it is intended to be more distinguishing, a sword or a dagger is

superadded. To persons of distinction rich furs are given, such as a

_Katabī_, or a _Koordī_; but when the _Khal`at_ is complete it consists

exactly of the same articles as the present which Cyrus made to

Syennesis, namely: a horse with a golden bridle; a golden chain; a

golden sword[33]; besides the dress, which is complete in all its

parts.”[34]—In India an elephant and a palanquin splendidly decorated

are added to the dress, sword, &c. Dr Forbes, in a note to his

translation of the _Bāgh o Bahār_ (Garden and Spring), the Hindustani

version of the entertaining Persian romance, _Kissa Chehar Dervish_, or

Tale of the Four Dervishes, remarks that “in the zenith of the Mogul

empire Khil`ats were expensive honours, as the receivers were obliged to

make presents for the Khil`ats they received. The perfection of these

Oriental dresses,” he adds, “is to be so stiff with embroidery as to

stand on the floor unsupported.”—After Rustam’s Seven Adventures in

releasing Kai Kaus from the power of the White Giant, we read in

Firdausī’s _Shāh Nāma_ (or Book of Kings) that he received from Kaus a

splendid Khil`at besides other magnificent presents. And in the _Romance

of `Antar_, King Zuhayr causes a great feast to be prepared to celebrate

the defeat of the tribe of Taï, which was chiefly due to the hero; at

which he presents `Antar with a robe worked with gold, girds on him a

trusty sword, and placing in his hand a pike of Khāta, and mounting him

on a fine Arab horse, proclaims him champion of the tribes of `Abs and

`Adnān.

_Page 16._ “There were Ten Viziers.”—“Wezeer,” says Lane, “is an Arabic

word, and is pronounced by the Arabs as I have written it, but the Turks

and Persians pronounce the first letter _V_. There are three opinions

respecting the etymology of this word. Some derive it from _wizr_ (a

burden), because the Wezeer bears the burden of the King; others, from

_wezer_ (a refuge), because the King has recourse to the counsels of his

Wezeer, and his knowledge and prudence; others, again, from _azr_ (back,

or strength), because the King is strengthened by his Wezeer, as the

human frame is strengthened by the back. The proper and chief duties of

a Wezeer are explained by the above, and by a saying of the Prophet:

‘Whosoever is in authority over Muslims, if God would prosper him, He

giveth him a virtuous Wezeer, who when he forgetteth his duty remindeth

him, and when he remembereth assisteth him; but if He would do

otherwise, He giveth him an evil Wezeer, who when he forgetteth doth not

remind him, and when he remembereth doth not assist him.’”—The Kur’ān

and the Sūnna (or Traditions) both distinctly authorise a sovereign to

select a Vizier to assist him in the government. The Prophet makes Moses

say (_Kur._ xx, 30): “Give me a counsellor [Ar. _Wezeer_] of my family,

namely Aaron my brother;” and again, in ch. xxv, 37: “We appointed him

[Moses] Aaron his brother for a counsellor.” Wahidi, in his commentary

on the Kur’ān, says: “Wezeer signifies _refuge_ and _assistance_.” In

the fourth year of his mission Muhammad assumed the prophetic office,

when “he prepared a banquet, a lamb, as it is said, and a bowl of milk,

for the entertainment of forty guests of the race of Hashem. ‘Friends

and kinsmen,’ said Muhammad to the assembly, ‘I offer you, and I alone

can offer, the most precious of gifts, the treasures of this world and

of the world to come. God has commanded me to call you to His service.

Who among you will _support my burthen_? Who among you will _be my

companion and my vizier_?’”—_Gibbon_, chap. 1.

King Āzādbakht, we see, had no fewer than _ten_ of such

“burden-bearers”; in chapter ix there is another King with ten viziers;

and in an ancient Indian romance referred to by El-Mas’ūdī in his

_Meadows of Gold and Mines of Gems_, the same number of viziers is given

to a king: “Shelkand and Shimas, or the Story of an Indian King and his

Ten Viziers”; in what is probably a modernised version of the same

romance, included in the _Thousand and One Nights_, under the title of

“King Jilāa, the Vizier Shimas, and their Sons,” there are however but

Seven Viziers—the number in most of the romances of the _Sindibād_

cycle. According to the learned Imam El-Jara’ī, cited by Lane, _ten_ is

the proper number of counsellors for any man: “It is desirable,” says

he, “for a man, before he enters upon any important undertaking, to

consult ten intelligent persons among his particular friends; or if he

have not more than five such friends, let him consult each of them

twice; or if he have not more than one friend, he should consult him ten

times, at ten different visits[35];—if he have not one to consult, let

him return to his wife and consult her, and whatever she advises him to

do, _let him do the contrary_, so shall he proceed rightly in his affair

and attain his object.”—This reminds me of a story told of Khōja

Nasru-’d-Dīn Efendī, the Turkish joker, who, wishing to make Timūr a

present of some fruit, consulted his wife as to whether he should take

him figs or quinces, and on her answering, “Oh, quinces, of course,” the

Khōja, reflecting that a woman’s advice is never good, took Timūr a

basket of figs; and when the emperor ordered his attendants to pelt the

Khōja on his bald pate with the ripe, juicy figs, he thanked Heaven that

he had not taken his wife’s advice: “for had I, as she advised, brought

quinces instead of figs, my head had surely been broken!”[36] This most

unjust estimate of women, so generally held by Muslims and giving rise

to such proverbial sayings as “women have long hair and short wits,” is

in accordance with the atrocious saying ascribed (falsely, let us hope)

to the Prophet: “I stood at the gate of Paradise, and lo! most of its

inmates were poor; and I stood at the gate of Hell, and lo! most of its

inmates were _women_!” Contrast this with the following passage from the

_Mahābharata_: “The wife is half the man; a wife is man’s dearest

friend; a wife is the source of his religion, his worldly profit, and

his love. He who hath a wife maketh offerings in his house. Those who

have wives are blest with good fortune. Wives are friends, who by their

gentle speech soothe ye in your retirement. In the performance of

religious duties they are as fathers; in your distresses they are as

mothers[37]; and they are a refreshment to those who are travellers in

the rugged paths of life.”

_Page 16._ “Indulged in the pleasures of wine.”—The Kur’ān prohibits the

use of wine and all other intoxicating liquors: “They will ask thee

concerning wine and lots; answer, in both there is great sin” (ch. ii,

216). Some of the early followers of the Prophet held this text as

doubtful, and continued to indulge in wine; but another text enjoins

them not to come to prayer while they are drunk, until they know what

they would say (ch. iv, 46). From this it would appear that Muhammad

“meant merely to restrain his followers from unbecoming behaviour, and

other evil effects of intoxication;” serious quarrels, however,

resulting from drinking wine, a text in condemnation of the practice was

issued: “Ye who have become believers! verily wine, and lots, and

images, and divining arrows are an abomination of the work of the Devil;

therefore avoid them that ye may prosper” (ch. v, 92).—Mills was

certainly in error in stating that “for ages before the preaching of the

Prophet of Mecca, wine was but little drunk either in Egypt or

Arabia.”[38] In the _Mu`allaqāt_, or Seven Poems suspended in the Temple

at Mecca, which present true pictures of Arabian manners and customs

during the century immediately preceding the time of Muhammad,

wine-drinking is frequently mentioned. Thus the poet `Amru calls for his

morning draught of rich hoarded wine, saying that it is the liquor which

diverts the lover from his passion, and even causes the miser to forget

his pelf; Lebeid says that he often goes to the shop of the

wine-merchant, when he spreads his flag in the air, and sells his wine

at a high price; and the poet-hero `Antar quaffs old wine when the

noontide heat is abated. However this may be, the law of the Kur’ān is

clear—believers are not allowed to drink intoxicating liquors. Yet it

would appear, from the tales of the _Thousand and One Nights_, that wine

was extensively drunk by the higher classes of Muslims in all countries

until a comparatively recent date; and assuredly the wine there

mentioned was not the harmless beverage which the Prophet indulged in

and permitted to his followers—“prepared by putting grapes or dry dates

in water to extract their sweetness, and suffering the liquor to ferment

slightly until it acquired a little sharpness or pungency”—since we read

in the story, for instance, of “The Three Ladies of Bagdād and the

Porter,” that wine was drunk to intoxication. The modern Persians

justify their occasional excessive wine-drinking by the remark: “there

is as much sin in a flagon as in a glass;”[39] and the Turks despise the

small glasses commonly used by Europeans in their potations.[40]

Cantemir, in his _History of the Othman Empire_, relates a curious story

of how Murād IV, the seventeenth Turkish Sultan (1622–1639), became a

drunkard:

Not content to drink wine in private, Murād compelled even the Muftis

and other ministers to drink with him, and also, by a public edict,

allowed wine to be sold and drunk by men of all ranks. It is said Murād

was led into this degrading vice by a man named Bakrī Mustafa. As the

Sultan was one day going about the market-place in disguise, he chanced

to see this man wallowing in the mud, almost dead drunk. Wondering at

the novelty of the thing, he inquired of his attendants what was the

matter with the man, who seemed to him a lunatic. Being told that the

fellow was drunk with wine, he wanted to know what sort of liquor that

was, of whose effects he was yet ignorant. Meanwhile Mustafa gets up,

and with opprobrious words bids the Sultan stand off. Astonished at the

man’s boldness, “Rascal!” he exclaimed, “dost thou bid me, who am the

Sultan Murād, be gone?”—“And I,” answered the fellow, “am Bakrī [_i.e._

the Drunkard] Mustafa, and if thou wilt sell me this city, I will buy

it, and then I shall be Sultan Murād, and thou Bakrī Mustafa.”—Murād

demanding where he would get the money to purchase such a city, Mustafa

replied: “Don’t trouble thyself about that; for, what is more, I will

buy, too, the son of a bond-woman.”[41] Murād agreed to this, and

ordered Mustafa to be taken to the palace. After some hours, the fumes

of the wine being dispersed, Mustafa came to his senses, and finding

himself in a gilded and sumptuous room, he inquired of those who

attended him: “What does this mean?—am I dreaming?—or do I taste of the

pleasures of Paradise?” They told him of what had passed, and of his

bargain with the Sultan. Upon this he fell into a great fright, well

knowing Murād’s fierce disposition. But necessity abetting his

invention, he declared himself on the point of death, unless he could

have some wine to restore his spirits. The keepers, that he might not

die before being brought into the Sultan’s presence, gave him a pot full

of wine, which he concealed in his bosom. On being ushered into the

audience-chamber, the Sultan commanded him to pay so many millions as

the price of the city. Taking the pot of wine from his bosom, Mustafa

said: “This, O Sultan, is what would yesterday have purchased Istambol.

And were you likewise possessed of this wealth, you would think it

preferable to the sovereignty of the universe.” Murād asked how that

could be. “By drinking of this divine liquor,” answered Mustafa,

offering the cup to the Sultan, who, from curiosity, took a large

draught, which, as he was unused to wine, immediately made him so drunk

that he fancied the world could not contain him. Afterwards growing

giddy, he was seized with sleep, and in a few hours waking with a

headache, sent for Mustafa, in a great passion. Mustafa instantly

appeared, and perceiving the case, “Here,” said he, “is your remedy,”

and gave him a cup of wine, by which his headache was presently removed,

and his former gladness restored. When this had been repeated two or

three times, Murād was by degrees so addicted to wine that he was drunk

almost every day. Bakrī Mustafa, his tutor in drunkenness, was admitted

among the privy-counsellors, and was always near the Sultan. At his

death Murād ordered the whole court to go into mourning, but caused his

body to be buried with great pomp in a tavern among the wine-casks.

After his decease the Sultan declared he never enjoyed one merry day;

and when Mustafa chanced to be mentioned he was often seen to burst into

tears, and to sigh from the bottom of his heart. “Seldom, if ever,”

moralises Cantemir, “has so much favour been obtained by the precepts of

virtue as Mustafa acquired by the dictates of vice.”

To return to the quotation at the beginning of this long note; that the

wine in which our young hero Bakhtyār indulged to such an extent as to

deprive him of his senses was _not_ a mild beverage, admits of no

question: again, in chapter viii, page 93, we find a King and his

favourite companion carousing together, until the former falls into a

drunken sleep.

_Page 18._ “How could a person bred up in a desert, and by profession a

robber, be fit for the society of a king?”—Sa`dī, the celebrated Persian

poet, in his _Gulistān_, or Rose-Garden, says: “No one whose origin is

bad ever catches the reflection of the good” (ch. i, tale 4); and again:

“How can we make a good sword out of bad iron? A worthless person cannot

by education become a person of worth;” and yet again: “Evil habits,

which have taken root in one’s nature, will only be got rid of at the

hour of death.” Firdausī, the Homer of Persia, in his scathing satire on

the Sultan Mahmūd of Ghazni, has the following remarks on the same

subject:

To exalt the head of the unworthy,

To look for anything of good from them,

Is to lose the thread which guideth your purpose,

And to nourish a serpent in your bosom.

The tree which is by nature bitter,

Though thou shouldst plant it in the Garden of Paradise,

And spread honey about its roots—yea the purest honey-comb,

And water it in its season from the Fountain of Eternity,

Would in the end betray its nature,

And would still produce bitter fruit.

If thou shouldst pass through the shop of the seller of amber

Thy garments will retain its odour;

If thou shouldst enter the forge of the blacksmith,

Thou wilt there see nothing but blackness.

That evil should come of an evil disposition is no wonder,

For thou canst not sponge out the darkness from the night.

Of the son of the impure man entertain no hope,

For the Ethiopian by washing will never become white.[42]

_Page 19._ “You have entered the recesses of my harem.”—Only husbands,

fathers, brothers, uncles, fathers-in-law, and very young boys are

_mahram_, or privileged to enter the apartments of women in Muslim

countries. The fact of the chief Vizier visiting the Queen in the harem

(page 19) should lead us to conclude, either that the story is of Indian

origin, or that the worthy minister was “a neutral personage”—not to put

too fine a point on it.

_Page 20._ “By a false testimony.”—Among the Muslims falsehood in

certain cases is not only allowed but commended. Even oaths of different

kinds are more or less binding. Expiation is permitted by law for an

inconsiderate oath, and, according to some, even for the violation of a

deliberate oath. The expiation consists in once feeding or clothing ten

poor men, liberating a slave or captive, or fasting three days. An

unintentional oath requires no expiation; but the swearing to a

falsehood can only be expiated by deep repentance.—_Lane._

* * * * *

In Cazotte’s French rendering—or rather, adaptation—of the Arabian

version of this work, under the title of “The Story of King Bohetzad and

his Ten Viziers,” the name of the young hero is not Bakhtyār, but

Aladdin—properly, `Ala`u-’d-Dīn, “Exaltation of the Faith”; for

Sipahsālār there is a prime minister whose name is Asphand, and his

daughter, Baherjoa, was being conveyed, not to the Vizier, as in our

version, but to the Prince of Babylon, to whom she was to be married.

The order of the tales varies from that in the Persian work and two

additional tales are interpolated. There is one point, however, in which

this rendering, or version, is, I think, superior to the Persian,

namely, that while in the Bakhtyār-story we are told that after the King

recovered his throne and kingdom, he and the Queen “passed their days in

tranquillity, interrupted only by the remembrance of their child, whom

they had left in the desert, and whom, they were persuaded, wild beasts

must have devoured the same hour in which they abandoned him,” but they

do not appear to have taken any steps to ascertain his fate;—in

Cazotte’s version trusty messengers are despatched far and wide to

learn, if possible, tidings of the child, though without success. This

is but natural, and what we should expect, particularly on the part of

an Eastern monarch, from the well-known affection of Asiatics for their

male offspring, which are considered as the light or splendour of the

house; and if it be an interpolation by Cazotte—one of the

“disfigurements” of which he is accused by Deslongchamps[43]—it is very

decidedly an improvement on his original.—Bohetzād’s kingdom is called

Dineroux, “which comprehends all Syria, and the Isles of India lying at

the mouth of the Persian Gulf;” his capital is Issessara. One or two

other points of difference may also find a place here. In our

translation, when the royal fugitives abandoned their infant in the

desert, “their hearts were afflicted with anguish;” but in Lescallier’s

French rendering, the King is represented as exclaiming, on this

occasion: “O my dear infant! thy father sheds rivers of tears from his

eyes, because of thy absence, like the father of Joseph the Egyptian,

when his son was departed from the land of Canaan!”—while according to

Cazotte: “Great God!” cried the afflicted mother, bedewing her babe with

her tears, “who didst watch over the safety of young Ishmael, preserve

this innocent babe!” The reference to Ishmael is possibly an alteration

by the Arabian translator.—It is not, as in the Persian work, the King

of Kirmān of whom the fugitive pair seek protection and assistance, but

Kassera, King of Persia—no doubt, meaning Khusrū (called by the Greeks

Chosroes), the general title of the Persian Kings of the Sassanian

dynasty, thus, Khusrū Parvīz, Khusrū Nushirvān. He furnishes Bohetzād

with an immense army for the recovery of his kingdom, and the Queen

(Baherjoa) remains under his protection until Bohetzād should have

punished his rebellious Vizier. But meanwhile the King of Persia becomes

deeply enamoured of the beauteous Baherjoa; and when envoys arrive from

Bohetzād to bring back the Queen, Khusrū’s first impulse is to refuse to

deliver her up, but at length better feelings prevail over his passion,

and he restores her to the envoys in a magnificent litter, and with

numerous female attendants.

NOTES ON CHAPTER II.

_Page 22._ “Rooted out of the soil of his empire;” the text adds, “as an

example to evil-doers.”

_Page 22._ “On the eve of my departure from this world,” &c. The text

reads: “But the law of God hath commanded that an innocent person should

exculpate and exert himself in his own defence. God, the Most Holy and

the Most High (_hakk subhānāhu wa ta`āla_), knows that I am innocent of

these suspicions” [or allegations].

_Page 23._ Bakhtyār saluted the Pādishāh, and spoke out with fluency and

eloquence.

_Page 23._ Basra.—Situated on the Shattu-’l-`Arab (the river of the

Arabs—the united stream of the Tigris and the Euphrates), Basra is the

principal port in the Persian Gulf, and is so named from the white

stones (_basra_) near and around it. Renowned for its school of grammar,

the Arabic dual _al-basratān_ (the Two Basras) denotes the rival seats

of learning, Basra and Kūfa.—See D’Herbelot, art. _Coufeh._—Built by the

command of the pious Khalif `Omar, A.H. 15 (A.D. 636), it was called

“the land of purity,” never having been polluted by any idolatrous

worship. Irrigated by the river Ayla, which falls into the Tigris close

to it, its gardens are so fruitful that it is reckoned one of the four

earthly paradises of Asia—the other three being the valleys of Shīrāz,

Damascus, and Samarkand.

_Page 23._ “And the Merchant thought”—the text has “that a voyage by sea

and land might jeopardise life and property, but by laying out what

remained,” &c.—The antipathy of the Persians to a sea-voyage is well

known, and very distinctly professed by the poet Hāfiz. “He had heard of

the munificent encouragement which Sultan Mahmūd Shāh Bahamī, an

accomplished prince then reigning in the Dek’han, afforded to poets and

learned men, and became desirous of visiting his court. Hearing of this

wish, and desirous himself of forming an acquaintance with Hāfiz, Sultān

Mahmūd sent him, through the hands of his vizier, Mīr Fazlu’llāh Anjū,

an invitation and a handsome sum of money to defray the expenses of his

journey. Thereupon he set out and advanced on his expedition as far as

Lār. There he encountered a friend who had been plundered by robbers, on

whom he bestowed a part of his money, and not having left himself

sufficient to prosecute his journey, was compelled to accept the

assistance of two merchants whom he fortunately met with there, and who

kindly took him with them to Hurmuz. There he found a ship ready to sail

to the Dek’han, and took his passage in her. But a storm having arisen,

he was so terrified by it, that he abandoned his intention, and sending

a letter of excuse to the vizier, with an ode to the King, returned

himself to Shīrāz. He says:

“The splendour of a Sultan’s diadem, within which, like a casket

enclosed, are fears for one’s life,

May be heart-attracting as a cap, but is not worth the loss of the head

it covers.

· · · · ·

The sufferings of the sea may appear easy to bear in the prospect of its

pearls;

But I have erred, for its waves are not worth one hundred munns of

gold.”[44]

_Page 24._ “Most of the houses were washed away.”—Probably owing to the

non-adhesive qualities of the mortar generally employed in the

construction of Persian houses: a mixture, half of mud, one fourth of

lime, and the rest ashes of burnt straw and rubbish.

_Page 25._ “Trees and running streams.”—The dryness of the Persian

climate and the deficiency of rivers have exercised in ancient

(_Polybius_, lib. 10, 25) as in modern times the ingenuity of the

natives in the discovery of springs.—In the Story of Abū Temām (page 98)

a city is also described as “adorned with gardens and running streams.”

It was a saying of Muhammad that “three things fortify the sight:

looking at verdure, at running water, and at a handsome face.”

_Page 25._ Dihkān is a compound word, from _dih_, a village, and _khān_,

lord, or chief.

_Page 25._ “Erected a summer-house”—the text adds, “and on it a lofty

watch-tower.”

_Page 25._ “The stranger was entertained with politeness and

hospitality.”—The Kur’ān (iv, 40) enjoins the believer to “serve God ...

and show kindness unto ... your neighbour who is a _stranger_ ... and

the traveller” (_ibnu-’s sabīl_: son of the road). The practice of

hospitality among the pre-Islamite Arabs is too well known to require

more than passing mention, and reference to Professor Lee’s note on Job

xxi, 16.

_Page 25._ “A suit of his clothes”; his own _jubba_ and _dastār_. The

_jubba_ is a vest with cotton quilted between the outside and the

lining; the _dastār_ is the sash, or fine muslin cloth, wrapped round

the turban.

_Page 25._ “Account of his property” &c.—signet, chattels, and

ledger—“and said, ‘you must manifest your zeal in the seasons of sowing

and of harvest, and become the _mushrif_ of my property.’” A _mushrif_

is an officer of the treasury, who authenticates accounts and writings.

The _dihkān_ gave him his signet, in order that he might transact his

business with full authority. “Seals, or signets,” says Dr H. H. Wilson,

“were from the earliest periods commonly used in the East. Ahasuerus

takes his signet off his hand and gives it, first to Haman, and again to

Mordecai; and Herodotus notices that each of the Babylonians wore a

seal-ring. The Greeks and Romans had their rings curiously engraved with

devices, and that cast by Polycrates into the sea was the work of an

engraver whose name the historian has thought not unworthy of

commemoration. The use of the seal amongst the Orientals at the present

day is not, as with us, to secure an envelope, but to verify letters and

documents in place of a written signature. Amongst the natives of

Hindūstān, both Muhammadan and Hindū, the seal is engraved with the name

of the wearer, and the surface being smeared superficially only with

ink, the application of the seal to the paper leaves the letters which

are cut in the stone white on a black ground. Such also was the manner

in which the seals of the Greeks and Romans were applied.” Lane, in his

_Modern Egyptians_, says: “On the little finger of the right hand is

worn a seal-ring (_Khātim_), which is generally of silver, with a

cornelian, or other stone, upon which is engraved the wearer’s name; the

name is accompanied by the words ‘his servant’—signifying the servant,

or worshipper, of God—and often by other words expressive of the

person’s trust in God, &c. (see St. John’s Gospel iii, 33, and Exodus

xxxix, 30). The Prophet disapproved of gold; therefore few Muslims wear

gold rings; but the women have various ornaments (rings, bracelets &c.)

of that precious metal. The impression of the seal-ring is considered as

more valid than the sign-manual. Therefore giving the ring to another

person is the utmost mark of confidence.—See Genesis xli, 42.”

_Page 27._ “Bit the finger of amazement.”—Biting the hand or finger is a

common mode in the East of manifesting surprise, grief, or anger. Thus

in the Kur’ān, xxv, 29: “On that day the unjust person shall bite his

hands for anguish;” and iii, 119: “When they assemble together privately

they bite their fingers’-ends out of wrath against you.” In the

_Gulistān_ of Sa`dī, i, 4: “The King seized the hand of amazement with

his teeth;” again, v, 19: “Thine enemy bites the back of his hand

through vexation;” and again, vii, 19: “The fingers of astonishment were

between their teeth.” In one of the beautiful poems of Bahāu-’d-Dīn

Zuhayr, of Egypt (A.D. 1186–1258), elegantly translated by Professor E.

H. Palmer:

When she passed me without speaking, I declare,

I could almost bite my hand off with despair.

And in the Turkish poem of _Khusrev and Shīrīn_, by Shayki, _ob._ A.D.

1426 (Mr Gibb’s _Ottoman Poems_, p. 6):

No power was left him, neither sport nor pleasure,

He bit his finger, wildered beyond measure.

_Page 27._ “Driven forth from the village”; the text adds; “and they

deprived him of whatever they had given.”

_Page 27._ “For the sake of God:” a common phrase among Muslims. A

rather humorous example of its use occurs in the _Gulistān_ (chap, iv,

tale 14): A harsh-voiced man was reading the Kur’ān in a loud tone. A

pious man passed by him, and said: “What is thy monthly

stipend?”—“Nothing,” he replied.—“Why then,” he inquired, “dost thou

give thyself all this trouble?”—“I read _for the sake of God_,” he

replied.—“For God sake, then, _don’t read_,” said he.

_Page 27._ “A pearl of such exquisite beauty,” &c.—In the East it is

popularly believed that the pearl is formed in the oyster from a

rain-drop: Sa’dī, in the fourth book of his _Bustān_, has some beautiful

verses on this notion, in which he inculcates the practice of humility.

Pearls are called _marvārīd_, “production of light,” and, usually when

they are unpierced, _lū’lū’_, “luminous,” “brilliant.” They are divided

into twelve classes, each having a distinctive name, according to their

“water” or lustre; the first class being called _shahvār_, “the regal,”

the clearest, purest, and most lustrous. Pearls are also divided into

twelve classes, according to shape. They are further divided, in respect

of size, into fifteen classes, according to the number of holes in the

different sieves through which they are passed, from the smallest, of

which twelve hundred weigh a _miskal_, up to the largest, of which forty

weigh a _miskal_. The best pearl-fisheries are at Ceylon, and in the

Persian Gulf, at Bahrayn, Kīsh, and Sharak; but the Arabian pearls are

less prized than the Indian. Their colour and quality are said to depend

on the bottom of the sea where they are produced: in black slime they

are dark; in shallow waters, yellowish.—Tavernier mentions a remarkable

pearl found at Katifa, in Arabia, the fishery probably alluded to by

Pliny (_Nat. Hist._ b. ix, c. 54), which he purchased for £10,000 of our

money! It is said to be now in the possession of the Shah of Persia.

_Page 28._ “He put three of the pearls into his mouth and the other

three among his clothes.”—It is customary for travellers and others in

the East to conceal their money and valuables about their clothes and in

the folds of their turbans. Many Oriental stories illustrate this

practice. For example, in the tale of the Poor Ropemaker (_Arabian

Nights_—vol. vi, of Jonathan Scott’s edition), he receives a sum of

money from a benevolent stranger, and having laid out a moiety of it in

material for his trade, he places the remainder within the folds of his

turban-cloth, but unluckily a bird snatches it off his head and flies

away with it. And in the Talmud there is a story of a poor Hebrew, named

Joseph, who paid great respect to the Sabbath. This man had a wealthy

neighbour, who was a firm believer in judicial astrology, and having

been told by a sagacious professor of the science that all his riches

should one day become the property of the Sabbath-observing Joseph, he

straightway sold his estate and invested the proceeds in a large

diamond, which he secretly sewed within his turban, and departed in a

vessel for some distant country—thus preventing, as he fondly imagined,

the verification of the astrologer’s prediction. But his precautions

were of no avail, for while standing on the deck of the vessel, a sudden

gust of wind carried his turban, with all his wealth, into the sea. What

became of the ruined man after this misfortune we are not informed. But

we are told that, some time after this accident, the pious Joseph went

to the market and bought a fish to furnish his table on the Sabbath eve.

On opening the fish, the diamond which his old neighbour had lost with

his turban was found in its stomach—and thus was the good man’s strict

observance of the Sabbath rewarded, and the astrologer’s prediction

fulfilled to the letter.

_Page 28._ The unlucky Merchant’s adventure with the covetous and

dishonest jeweller finds a curious parallel in an incident in the “Story

of the Jackal, the Barber, and the Brāhman,” one of the charming fairy

tales in Miss Frere’s _Old Deccan Days_. The poor Brāhman, however,

though robbed of the precious stones he offers to the jeweller for sale,

escapes home all safe, unlike the Merchant of our story. Possibly the

incident in both tales had a common origin;—yet the “roguery of

villanous man” (to employ _honest_ Jack Falstaff’s phrase) is pretty

much alike in all ages and countries!

_Page 29._ “They distributed some money among those who were

confined.”—Alms are recommended in many passages of the Kur’ān: “Pay

your legal alms,” ii, 43; “alms are to be distributed to the poor and

the needy ... for the redemption of captives, insolvent debtors, and,

for religion’s sake, unto the traveller,” ix, 53, 60. Alms are of two

kinds: (1) obligatory (or _zakāt_), ii, 172; and (2) voluntary (or

_sadakāt_), as in the present instance. In scripture we find a trace of

the same doctrine: see Daniel iv, 27. The Khalif `Omar Ibn

`Abdu-’l-`Azīz used to say: “_Prayer_ carries us half-way to God;

_Fasting_ brings us to the door of the palace; and _Alms_ procure us

admission.” And assuredly no Eastern moralist has more frequently or

more impressively and beautifully inculcated the duty of alms-giving and

of liberality than Sa`dī. He tells us in the _Gulistān_, ii, 49, that on

the monument of Bahrām Gūr, a famous Persian King, was written: “The

liberal hand is better than the strong arm;” and adds: “Distribute in

alms the tithe of thy wealth; for the more the husbandman loppeth off

the exuberance of the vine, the more it will yield of grapes.” And in

his _Bustān_, or Fruit-Garden, b. ii, he says: “Bestow thy gold and thy

wealth while they are thine; for when thou art gone they will be no

longer in thy power.... Distribute thy treasure readily to-day, for

to-morrow the key may no longer be in thy hand.... Exert thyself to cast

a covering over the poor, that God’s own veil may be a covering for

thee.”[45]

_Page 30._ “When he had related the story of the Merchant and of the

pearls which they had given him”—the text adds, “and the other five

divers had confirmed what he said.”

_Page 30._ “He was then led away to execution; and the King caused to be

proclaimed throughout the city,” &c. So, too, in the _Thousand and One

Nights_, the Barber relates how his Fourth Brother was punished with a

hundred lashes, “after which they mounted him upon a camel, and

proclaimed before him: ‘This is the recompense of him who breaketh into

men’s houses.’” Morier, in his _Second Journey_, gives a graphic

description of the punishment of Muhammad Zamān Khān, governor of

Astrābād, who, in 1814, “entered into a league with the Turkmāns,

disavowed the King’s authority, and even made pretensions to the royal

power and prerogative.” The King offered a reward for his capture; and

the people of Astrābād surrounded the traitor’s palace, forced their way

into the room where he was seated, seized and bound him, and carried him

before the King. “When he had reached the camp, the King ordered the

chief of his camel-artillery to put a mock-crown upon the rebel’s head,

armlets on his arms, a sword by his side; to mount him upon an ass, with

his face towards the tail and the tail in his hand; then to parade him

throughout the camp, and to proclaim: ‘This is he who wished to be

King!’ After this was over, and the people had mocked and insulted him,

he was brought before the King, who called for the looties and ordered

them to turn him into ridicule by making him dance and perform antics

against his will. He then ordered that whoever chose might spit in his

face. After this he received the bastinado on the soles of his feet,

which was administered by the chiefs of his own tribe; and some time

after he had his eyes put out.—The strong coincidence,” adds Morier,

“between these details and the most awfully affecting part of our own

scripture history is a striking illustration of the permanence of

Eastern manners.”

_Page 30._ “Appointed him keeper of the treasury.”—The sudden elevation

of persons from a humble and even distressed condition to places of

great dignity and wealth has ever been a characteristic of the absolute

monarchs of Eastern countries, as well as the degradation and ruin,

frequently from mere caprice, and seldom with any justification, of men

of the highest rank. The most remarkable instance of the many which

Oriental history presents is the execrable conduct of the Khalif

Hārūnu-’r-Rāshīd, so undeservedly celebrated in the _Thousand and One

Nights_, in murdering his principal Vizier Ja`far and utterly ruining

the other members of the noble house of Barmak (the Barmecides of our

common translation of the _Arabian Nights_), all of whom were as famed

for their unbounded liberality as for their brilliant abilities. An

interesting account of the Barmakis and their ruin is given in Dr

Jonathan Scott’s _Tales, Anecdotes, &c., from the Arabic and Persian_.

_Page 32._ “Put out the Merchant’s eyes.”—A too common and barbarous

punishment in the East. In Turkey a needle was used for this purpose in

the case of state prisoners. The Arabian poet-hero `Antar is said to

have blinded his implacable and treacherous enemy Wezār by passing a

red-hot sword-blade close before his eyes. Years afterwards the blinded

chief executed poetical justice by slaying `Antar with a poisoned arrow,

which he shot at him on the bank of the Euphrates.

* * * * *

In Cazotte’s version this story is entitled “The Obstinate Man,” perhaps

more appropriately than our “Ill-fated Merchant,” since his own

wrong-headedness was the main cause of his misfortunes. His place of

abode is Bagdād, not Basra. The divers give him _ten_ pearls. The

jeweller, having been lately robbed of some pearls, believes Kaskas

(such is the man’s name) to be the thief, and accordingly he accuses

him; and when the latter is proved to be innocent, the jeweller is

punished with two hundred blows of the bastinado. The catastrophe is

very differently related: One day he observed in the apartment which had

been assigned to him, a door walled-up and concealed by a slight

covering of mastic, which was now so much wasted by the effects of time

that it crumbled into dust on the slightest touch. Without any exertion

of strength, he opened this door and entered unthinkingly into a rich

apartment entirely unknown to him, but which he found to be in the

interior of the palace. Hardly had he advanced two or three steps when

he was perceived by the chief of the eunuchs, who instantly reported

what he had seen to the King. The monarch came immediately to the spot.

The fragments of the mastic remained upon the ground to show that the

door had been forced open, and the stupid amazement of Kaskas completed

the appearance of his guilt. “Wretch!” said the King, “dost thou thus

repay my favours? My justice saved thee, when I believed thee innocent;

now thou art guilty, and I condemn thee to lose thy sight.” The

imprudent Kaskas durst not even attempt to justify himself, but was

immediately delivered into the hands of the executioner, of whom the

only favour he asked was, that he would give him his eyes when he had

torn them from their sockets.[46] He went groping through the streets of

the capital with them in his hands, crying: “Behold, all ye good people

who hear me, what the unfortunate Kaskas has gained by striving against

the decrees of Destiny, and despising the advice of his friends!”

NOTES ON CHAPTER III.

_Page 33._ “Expressed many apprehensions.”—The text gives the address of

the Third Vizier as follows: “I am apprehensive lest the affair of

Bakhtyār should be known in the out-lying provinces of the world

[kingdom], and reaching the ears of sovereigns, occasion scandal, an

evil repute arise therefrom. Before this story of Bakhtyār become the

common talk, it is expedient to put him to death.”

_Page 33._ “He petitioned for mercy:” he cried,

_al-amān!_—quarter!—pardon! Byron’s couplet in the _Giaour_ has rendered

this word familiar to English readers:

Resigned carbine or ataghān,

Nor ever raised the craven cry, _Amaun!_

_Page 33._ “If a king punish without due investigation.”—A Hindū

dramatist says:

Though the commands of royalty pervade

The world, yet sovereigns should remember,

The light of justice must direct their path.

And Sa`di, in his _Bustān_, b. I, regarding the duties of a king, says:

“If thou sheddest blood, it must not be done without a decree.” But

there is too much reason to believe that Eastern monarchs have seldom

been guided by the law in administering punishment. Many of the Muslim

princes of Northern Africa, in particular, have slain even favourite

attendants, from sheer wantonness and love of bloodshed.

_Page 34._ Aleppo.—The Berica of the Greeks; Aleppo is the Italian form

of _Hālab_, the native name. On the fall of Palmyra, Hālabu-’s-Shabha

(Hālab the ash-coloured) became the grand emporium for the productions

of Persia and India, conveyed by caravans from Bagdād and Basra to be

shipped at Iskenderūn, or Latakia, for the different ports of Europe.

Under the Greek sovereigns of Syria, Aleppo acquired great wealth and

consequence, and flourished still more under the Roman Emperors. An

aqueduct, constructed before the time of Constantine, conveys a

plentiful supply of water from the springs; and the mosques Jāmī,

Zacharī, and Halawé, originally Christian churches, are fine specimens

of the ancient Roman style, the latter built by the Empress Helena. To

the peculiar quality of the water of the Kuwayk (ancient Chalus), which

irrigates its far-famed gardens, is ascribed the ring-worm

(_hābala-’s-sina_), which attacks the natives once in their lives, and

leaves an indelible scar, which distinguishes an Aleppine throughout the

East. In 1797 Aleppo was the victim of the plague, and of earthquakes in

1822 and 1830.

_Page 34._ “Protected strangers.”—The text reads: “A friend of the

stranger; who never at any time injured any person, deemed all injustice

improper, and never deprived any one of aught.”

_Page 34._ “A son named Bih-zād,” meaning “well-born,” “legitimate.”

_Page 35._ “A magnificent litter”—the text adds, “and the curtains of

the litter were thrown back;”—thus the youth was able to obtain a view

of the lady’s beauty.

_Page 35._ “When the young man had advanced thus far in his narrative;”

the lithographed text says, “when the boon companion had described the

lady.”—Readers familiar with Oriental fictions will probably recollect

many instances of princes and others becoming enamoured, not only at

sight of the portrait of a beautiful woman, but at the mere description

of her charms: in such celebrated collections of tales as the _Arabian

Nights_, the Persian Tales ascribed to the Dervish Mokles of Isfahān,

and the _Bahār-i-Danish_ (Spring of Knowledge) of `Ināyatu-’llah of

Dihli. In the Bedawī _Romance of `Antar_, a noble `Absian named Amara,

“a conceited coxcomb, very particular in his dress, fond of perfumes,

and always keeping company with women and young girls,” having heard of

the beauty of Abla, sends a female slave to the tents of her family to

discover whether the damsel was as beautiful as was reported of her; and

the girl returning with a glowing account of Abla’s charms, the Bedawī

exquisite immediately conceives a violent passion for her—“his ears fell

in love before his eyes.”—There is at least one instance on record of a

European becoming enamoured from imagination; in the case of Geoffrey

Rudel, the gallant troubadour, who fell desperately in love with the

Countess of Tripoli, from a description of her beauty and

accomplishments: but see the story in Warton’s _History of English

Poetry_.

_Page 35._ “The city of Rūm, the capital and residence of the Kaisar, or

Greek Emperor”: Constantinople.—The signification of “Rūm” is very

vague, as it may denote Rome, the Turkish Empire, Greece, or Rumelia

(Rūm Eyli). The Persians called the chief of the Seljukī dynasty at

Konia (_i.e._ Iconium), Kaisar-i-Rūm. D’Herbelot defines the term Rūm as

applicable to the countries which the Romans, and afterwards the Greeks

and Turks, subdued under their domination. “Roumy [Rūmī],” observes

Burckhardt, “is a word applied by the Arabs to the Greeks of the Lower

Empire, and afterwards to all Christians.” (_Travels in Nubia_, App. n.

iii.) The Persian proverb, _Ez Rūm ta Shām_, “from Rūm to Syria,” is

quoted to indicate an extent of territory. Kaisar (Cæsar, whence Czar)

was the general title of the sovereigns of the Lower Empire, as Khusrū

was that of the Persian Kings of the Sassanian dynasty.

_Page 36._ “Prince Bihzād immediately arose, and hastened to the house

of the Vizier, and said,” &c.—The following is a close translation of

this passage as given in the lithographed text:

“You must go this moment and tell my father, Bihzād says thus: ‘Thou

dost not turn thine eye upon me and hast not any care for me. There is

no mortal in the world to whom a wife should not be given; if thou

carest for me, you would bestow on me a help-mate.’” The Vizier replied:

“Your order I obey;” then rose up and went to the King’s palace, asked

for an audience, and reported to the King all that Bihzād had said. The

King said: “Bihzād has fallen in love; say to him, ‘This wish is in my

thoughts; but I have paused until I could discover some companion for

thy sake; but if there be a longing for any one, speak out that I may

give it my attention—that I may effect a settlement, and bring this thy

desire within thy embrace.’”—The Vizier returned, and repeated to Bihzād

what the King had said, to which Bihzād replied: “Go and tell my father

that the Kaisar of Rūm has a daughter, Nigārīn[47] by name; he must send

ambassadors and demand the daughter on my behalf.” The Vizier returned

and told the King, who became unhappy.

_Page 37._ “The Vizier returned to Bihzād, and delivered him this

message from his father.”—The lithographed text says:

When Bihzād perceived that the King showed no eagerness in asking for

the lady, he said to the Vizier: “If the King will not demand the

daughter for me, I will leave the country.” The Vizier said: “I will go

and speak to the King to that effect.” He went, and repeated according

to Bihzād’s words. The King loved his son to excess, and seeing no

resource, sent ambassadors to the Kaisar of Rūm. When the ambassadors

arrived at the capital of Rūm, and the news reached the King, he

commanded an _istikbāl_, and that they should enter the city with all

due honours and respect. The next day the Kaisar invited the ambassadors

to a _durbar_. When they came before the King and had bowed their faces

to the ground, they delivered the message of the Shāh of Aleppo. The

King said: “Maybe the wealth [dominion, power?] of the Kaisar does not

enter into your [mind’s] eye;—you must be brief and laconic, and utter

this reply: ‘One hundred lacs of dīnars is the covenant of my daughter’s

hand; whoever will give one hundred lacs of dīnars, to him will I give

my daughter.’ Thus he spake; then rising up, dismissed the ambassadors.”

_Page 37._ “One hundred lacs of dīnars.”—The value of the _dīnar_

(originally _din-ār_, “brought into circulation by the law”) varied

considerably at different periods, but the average value is about ten

shillings. As a _lac_ is one hundred thousand, and the Kaisar demanded a

hundred lacs; taking the value of the dīnar at ten shillings, this would

amount to five million pounds of our money: but Oriental romancers are

fond of dealing with immense sums of money—on paper! “The Persians,”

says Chardin, “express silver money by the term _dirhem_, or _dragme_,

and that of gold by that of _dīnar_, or _denier_. They reckon by

_dīnar-bisty_ and _tomāns_, although they have not any pieces of money

so called. There is the common dīnar, and the legal dīnar (or chemy) and

the dīnar-chemy signify the weight and the value of a dīnar of gold, or

of a gold crown. A bisty makes ten dīnars, or deniers, and a tomān ten

thousand dīnars.” (_Voyage en Perse, &c._, ii, 91–2.)

_Page 38._ “They produced twenty lacs.”—Bihzād said: “Make a forced

contribution throughout the land, and [demand] one-eighth of the garden

[produce].” The Pādishāh replied: “This I will never do, for the city is

small and the people have not the means; every one would take flight and

be ruined.” Bihzād said: “A portion of the sum [required] exact by a

forced contribution; after that, about the remainder let us not concern

ourselves” [_lit._ eat anxiety]. The Pādishāh was incapable [of further

opposition]; he commanded that the land [owners] should make a present

of twenty lacs of dīnars.

_Page 40._ “Set out upon his journey.”—For what purpose? Surely not to

go and demand the Kaisar’s daughter in marriage, without payment of the

balance of the stipulated hundred lacs? Sir William Ouseley has omitted

to add that _loot_ was the object of Bihzād’s expedition. The text says

that, with two confidential attendants Bihzād set out upon his journey,

“_until he should fall in with a caravan, and make up the total sum

required_.” The “good old rule” of our own famous Scottish freebooter

Rob Roy—

the simple plan,

That they should take, who have the power,

And they should keep, who can—

was very commonly put into practice in former times by Arabian lovers in

order to procure the dowry. Thus, in the _Romance of `Antar_, which Von

Hammer says presents true pictures of Arabian life about the age of

Nushirvān the Just, King of Persia (sixth century), Malik, the father of

the beauteous Abla, requires `Antar to procure for her dowry a thousand

Asafīr camels by plundering the owner, Mundzir, King of Hīra; and when

Khalid demands his cousin Jaida in marriage of her father, the heroic

damsel consents, on condition that he provide for slaughter at her

wedding-feast a thousand camels belonging to the “Brandisher of Spears,”

which he does by plundering the tribe of `Āmir; and when Malik the

perfidious father of Abla betrothes her to the Bedawī exquisite Amara

(mentioned in a previous note), he collects a party of his followers and

sets out on a looting expedition to procure her dowry.—Prince Bihzād,

however, appears to have “caught a Tartar” in attacking the caravan

which he and his comrades overtook—“in the morning,” according to our

translation—“at the hour of mid-day prayer,” says the lithographed text.

The old Arabs always made their attacks on the tents of a hostile tribe,

and on caravans, in the early morning—on the first gray streaks of dawn

appearing, and this is frequently alluded to in their poetry. Thus in

the _Mu`allaqa_ of Hareth: “They assembled their forces at night, and as

soon as the dawn appeared, there was nothing heard among them but a

tumultuous noise, of those who called and those who answered; the

neighing of horses, and, among the rest, the lowing of camels.” In the

_Romance of `Antar_, the heroic Prince Malik is represented as being

slain in one of those morning raids, when his bridal party were attacked

by Hadifa and his tribesmen: “by morning their joys were converted into

sorrows, and shots were precipitated at them from arrows for which there

is no surgeon.” To wish peace in the morning was therefore among the

Arabs a most appropriate salutation. So `Antar, in his famous

_Mu`allaqa_ (verse 2), exclaims: “O bower of Abla, in the valley of

Jiwā, give me tidings of my love! O bower of Abla, may the morning rise

on thee with prosperity and health!” And Zuhayr, also author of a

_Mu`allaqa_, on viewing the traces of his mistress’ former abode: “Hail,

sweet bower! may thy morning be fair and auspicious!”

* * * * *

This story is the fourth in Cazotte’s version, in which it presents so

few points of resemblance to the tale as given in the Persian work that

we must conclude it has been thus altered by the Arabian translator.

Bihzād is the son of King Cyrus, founder of the Syrian empire; and the

beautiful lady with whom he falls in love from the description of her

charms is the daughter of one of his father’s vassals. He avows his

passion to the King his father, who immediately sends messengers to his

vassal, demanding his daughter in marriage to his son. The dowry of

three hundred thousand pieces of gold is agreed upon, but the lady’s

father stipulates that the marriage should be delayed for the space of

nine months. This seemed an eternity to the impatient Prince, so he

mounts his best horse, and sets out to claim his bride at once. On the

way he falls into the hands of a gang of robbers and is compelled to

join them. They attack a caravan and are defeated, the Prince, among

others, being taken prisoner. The merchants present Bihzād to their

King, who recognises him from the description of his person in a

circular letter which he had received from King Cyrus. This King

despatches some troops along with Bihzād to the young lady’s father. On

his arrival preparations are made for the celebration of the marriage:

only three days have now to pass; but Bihzād, impatient to behold his

bride, looks through a small grated window in her pavilion; and a

eunuch, placed there on guard, not knowing the Prince, struck him with

the point of his scimitar, which ran through both his eyes.

NOTES ON CHAPTER IV.

_Page 45._ According to the lithographed text: “The Fourth Vizier

presented himself before the King and said: ‘Of all the admirable

qualities [becoming] a King forbearance is the most praiseworthy, and

occasions general tranquillity; but inasmuch as the forbearance

[towards] Bakhtyār exceeds all bounds, it brings evil repute to the King

and kingdom, just as the [moderate] tasting of meat is legitimate, but

to eat to excess produces violent fever.’”

_Page 45._ “Let him not be precipitate in putting me to death.”—The text

goes on to say: “For precipitation in the end leads only to repentance.

Through impatience a man falls from sovereignty, but whoever practises

patience obtains it, and is free from calamity. If the King would

permit, just as his servant has described [the career of] the Impatient

Bihzād, he would also, at the service of the King, make known Abū

Saber’s patience, and thus shed light on the illumined mind of the King,

[showing] how by patience extensive dominion accrues to a human being.”

The King said: “Abū Saber, who was he? And practising what degree of

patience, and in what manner, did he acquire dominion and sovereignty?

Relate.”

_Page 46._ Abū Saber (_Sabr_), literally, “Father of Patience.”—This

story offers a striking example of the practice of patience, a virtue

enjoined by the Kur’ān (ii, 148): “O true believers, beg assistance with

patience (_bi-’s-sabri_) and prayer, for God is with the patient

(_inna-’llāha ma`a-’s-sabirīn_).”—Travellers in the East are daily

reminded of this text: you engage camels; at the time appointed, they

are not ready; you seek, and find the owner smoking in a coffee-shop; to

your remonstrances he replies: “Have patience, Efendī—_inna-’llāha

ma`a-’s-sabirīn_.” An Egyptian friend visits you while you are still

agitated, and his only words are: _Sabr kun—inna-’llāha

ma`a-’s-sabirīn_: Have patience—God is with the patient. In a flutter of

indignation you bring your complaint before my Lord Judge (_Māvlāna

Kazī_), who summons and expostulates with the offender, and then, with a

smile, assures you, _inna-’llāha ma`a-’s-sabirīn_!—Persian authors are

profuse in their praise of patience. Sa`dī (_Gulistān_, i, 27)

illustrates the double meaning of _Sabr_, which signifies the “aloe” as

well as “patience:”

Rest not sour because of the turns of Fortune, for Patience [or the

Aloe],

Although it is bitter, bringeth forth sweet fruit.

And in the same excellent work (iii, 1) he says: “The treasure chosen by

Lukmān was patience; without patience there is no such thing as wisdom.”

_Page 46._ “A tax-gatherer”—_`Amil_—is inferior to an _Amīn_, who

regulates the revenues of a district, and to a _Zamin-dār_, a landed

proprietor.

_Page 46._ “Extorted (_Kharāj_) tribute from the poor

peasants.”—_Kharāj-guzār_, “a tribute-paying subject,” differs from

_dhimī_ (_zimmiy_), who pays an annual tribute, and is entitled to the

protection of the Muslims and to most of the civil rights which they

enjoy; but he has also—in Egypt, at least—to pay the income-tax in

common with Muslims. (See Lane’s _Modern Egyptians_.)

_Page 46._ “With cruelty and injustice,” &c.—“Most of the governors of

provinces and districts,” says Lane (_Modern Egypt._), “carry their

oppression far beyond the limits to which they are authorised to proceed

by the Pasha; and even the Shaikh of a village, in executing the

commands of his superiors, abuses his lawful power: bribes and the ties

of relationship and marriage influence him and them; and by lessening

the oppression of some, who are more able to bear it, greatly increase

that of others.” The peasants of Egypt only pay taxes after a severe

bastinading: “the more easily the peasant pays, the more he is made to

pay;” they are “proud of the stripes they receive for withholding their

contributions; and are often heard to boast of the number of blows which

were inflicted upon them before they would give up their money.... It

may be hardly necessary to add, that few of them engage with assiduity

in the labours of agriculture, unless compelled to do so by their

superiors.”

_Page 47._ “He replied, that patience was his only remedy.”—The

lithographed text thus proceeds:

The peasants retired void of hope, and remained [quiet] in the village

until the day when the King of the territory came in that direction for

the chase. The peasants hastened out of the village, and raised a cry

[of lamentation], saying: “We are peasants, the tributaries and

well-wishers of his Majesty. At the time when the collector, entering

this village, executed his duties cruelly towards us, and had no mercy

upon us poor people, a party of evil-doers slew the tax-gatherer and

fled. This news reaching the ears of the King, he commanded the village

to be laid waste, and we, the guiltless, were set aside. After this we

were in misery and affliction, and could do but little seed-sowing and

harvest. Three years afterwards a lion formed his lair in the

neighbouring district of the village, and he killed many children and

camels; and from dread of the lion we were unable to go out of doors,

and were reduced to [a state of] starvation and nakedness.” Thus did

they speak, and, with lamentations and groans, shed tears. Pity for them

came over [the mind of] the King, who asked: “Why, at the time of the

murder of the collector, did you not come before me, and represent your

own state of affairs, and beg me to forbear from the command to lay your

village waste?” The peasants replied: “In the village there is a man who

is our chief; whatever affair we undertake, we confer with him, [that]

he may devise the proper course [to pursue]. We told him of this state

of affairs, and he was not one with us, and he did not think it

advisable we should come into the presence of the King.” At these words

the King became angry, and commanded they should expel this man from the

village.

_Page 48._—“Abū Saber recommended patience.”—According to the

lithographed text: Have patience (_sabr kun_); since by patience that

which was obscure becomes manifest, [even as] a lamp lights up

[darkness].

_Page 48._ “She contrived to write upon the ground with blood.”—Of what

service blood could be in tracing letters in the sand is not very

obvious: the lithographed text simply says, that “when she perceived

there was no remedy, she wrote on the ground: ‘A robber has carried me

off!’”

_Page 49._ “Every stranger ... was by his command seized and compelled

to work,” &c.—No doubt many of the magnificent palaces and other

edifices in Eastern countries, like the famous Pyramids near Cairo, were

thus raised by forced labour. Mūlī Isma`īl, emperor of Morocco, who

died, after a long reign, in 1714, was a great lover of architecture and

employed many people on his buildings; if he did not approve of the plan

or the performance, it was usual for him to show the delicacy of his

taste by demolishing the whole structure and putting to death all who

had a hand in it.

_Page 50._ “Providence would relieve him from the oppression under which

he suffered.”—Abū Saber said: “Be patient, since the Almighty (may He be

honoured and glorified!) is a friend of the patient, and quickly will

release thee from this oppression.”—Here, it will be observed, Abū Saber

refers to the text from the Kur’ān quoted in the third note to this

chapter, as above, “God is with the patient.”

_Page 51._ “Supporting his head on the knees of patience, implored the

protection of the Almighty.”—Abū Saber may be supposed to have assumed

an attitude of prayer (_reka_), by an inclination of the body, so that

the hands rested on the knees, saying (_tawakkal bar Khudā_), “put thy

trust in God,” Kur’ān xxxvii, 3; and recalling to mind: “whoso ...

persevereth with patience shall at length find relief.”—Kur’ān xii, 90.

_Page 51._ “It was resolved that they should go to the prison, and

propose three questions to the criminals confined there; and that

whoever gave the best answers should be chosen King.”—This will probably

strike most readers as a rather curious, not to say hap-hazard, mode of

electing a King; yet it goes, I think, to prove the antiquity of the

original story; and, moreover, if the “questions” were of such a subtle

nature as to require superior sagacity for their solution, it may have

been perhaps as good a way of choosing a sovereign as many that have

been adopted either in ancient or modern times. The circumstance that

the test-questions were proposed to _prisoners_ may seem still more

absurd; but the late King is represented as very tyrannical and impious,

“one who did not fear God, an infidel;” and the chiefs of the city were

doubtless aware that the prisoners were not really criminals, but the

innocent victims of a wicked tyrant. It is very tantalising that neither

in the lithographed text nor in those texts which Lescallier made use of

for his French translation, nor in Sir William Ouseley’s, are the

questions and Abū Saber’s answers given. One is naturally curious to

know whether they were of the nature of ingenious riddles or subtle

questions involving profound moral truths. The practice (apparently a

very ancient one) of proposing to certain kinds of candidates and

accused persons, riddles or “hard questions” to expound or answer is

common to the popular fictions of Europe as well as of Asia. In more

than one of the Arabian Tales a lady chooses for her husband him who

answers her “questions.” In the Scottish ballad of “Roslin’s Daughter”

the lady proposes a number of riddles or questions to her lover, which

he must answer before she will “gang to his bed.” In Mr Ralston’s

extremely entertaining and valuable _Russian Folk-Tales_, on the other

hand, a Princess makes it her rule, that “any one whose riddles she

cannot guess, him must she marry; but any one whose riddles she can

guess, him she may put to death.” In Chapter 70 of Swan’s translation of

the _Gesta Romanorum_, a collection of Latin stories, largely derived

from Eastern sources, very popular in the Middle Ages, a King’s daughter

vows that she will never marry except the man who answers three

questions. In the old English version of the _Gesta_, edited by Sir

Frederick Madden, Chapter 19, a certain good and righteous knight is

falsely accused of some crime, and the Emperor gives him the option of

answering six questions or forfeiting his life. The same story, with

variations of local colouring, &c., is found in the 4th novel of

Sacchetti, one of the early Italian novelists; in Tyl Eulenspiegel, the

celebrated German folk-book; and in our old English ballad of “King John

and the Abbot of Canterbury.” In an Indian work of fiction, said to have

been written in the 7th century, _Dasa Kumara Charita_ (Adventures of

Ten Princes),[48] Mitragupta meets with a terrible Rakshasa—a species of

demon in human form—who threatens to devour him if he cannot answer four

questions. These, with Mitragupta’s answers, are as follows: (1) What is

cruel? _Ans._ A wicked woman’s heart. (2) What is most to the advantage

of a householder? _Ans._ Good qualities in a wife. (3) What is love?

_Ans._ Imagination. (4) What best accomplishes difficult things? _Ans._

Cunning. Mitragupta then relates four stories in illustration of his

answers. In the Persian romance of _Hatim Ta`ī_—the author of which has

been greatly indebted to Hindū fiction for his materials—a young lady,

named Husn Bānū, makes it the condition of her bestowing her hand on any

of her numerous suitors, that he shall answer seven questions—or rather,

perform seven difficult and dangerous tasks in order to solve her

questions.—In the 14th of Mr Ralston’s _Tibetan Tales_,[49] the Dumb

Cripple, who does _not_ wish to succeed to the throne, is permitted to

renounce the world on condition of his answering three questions.—And

Voltaire, in his _Zadig_—imitating this feature of Oriental romance, as

he did others—represents a contention for the throne of Babylon, first

by a tournament, and finally by the champions attempting to solve a

number of enigmas.

Whether it was ever a custom in any Eastern land to choose a King from

among prisoners to whom certain difficult questions were proposed, is

itself a “difficult question.” But it is remarkable that in legendary

Indian stories, both those preserved in writing and by oral tradition,

mention is frequently made of the election of a King by the _elephant_

of the deceased monarch. For instance: in _Sivandhi Sthala Purana_, a

legendary account of the famous temple at Trinchinopoli, of which a

palm-leaf manuscript is described by Dr H. H. Wilson, in his Catalogue

of the Mackenzie Collection, it is related that a certain King having

mortally offended a holy Muni, his capital and all the inhabitants were,

in consequence of an imprecation pronounced on him by the enraged saint,

buried beneath a shower of dust. “Only the Queen escaped, and in her

flight she was delivered of a male child. After some interval, the

chiefs of the Chola kingdom, proceeding to elect a King, determined, by

advice of the Muni [the same whose curse had worked the mischief

aforesaid], to crown whomsoever the late monarch’s elephant should pitch

upon. Being turned loose for that purpose, the elephant discovered and

brought to Trisira-mālī the child of his former master, who accordingly

became the Chola King.”[50]—And in the Manipuri Story of the Two

Brothers, Turi and Basanta (translated by G. H. Damant, in the _Indian

Antiquary_, 1875), Turi, in the course of his wanderings, is chosen King

in a similar manner by an elephant, who meets the youth in the forest,

takes him up, and brings him to the palace, where he is immediately set

upon the throne.—A very singular custom in the election of a Khān seems

to have been once observed by the Kalmuks, if we may credit the

_Relations of Ssidi Kür_,[51] a Tartar version of the Sanskrit _Vetála

Panchavinsati_, or 25 Tales of a Demon: A sacred figure, of dough or

paste, usually in the shape of a pyramid, called a _baling_, was thrown

high into the air, and the person upon whose head it fell was proclaimed

Khān.—Still more curious, and savouring somewhat of the supernatural;—in

Mr Ralston’s _Tibetan Tales_, a king called Ananda, being attacked by

illness, considered which of his five sons he should invest with the

sovereign power. His four elder sons were rash, rude, and hot-tempered;

his youngest, Prince Adarsamukha, was the most suitable; but Ananda’s

kinsmen would probably reproach him should he pass over the elder sons,

and give his crown to the youngest. Then said he to his ministers: “Give

ear, O chieftains! After my death ye are to test each of the princes in

turn. Him among them whom the jewel-shoes fit when they are tried on;

under whom the throne remains steadfast when he is upon it; on whom the

diadem rests unshaken when it is placed upon his head; whom the women

recognise; and who guesses the six objects to be divined by his insight,

namely: the inner treasure, the outer treasure, the inner and outer

treasure, the treasure of the tree-top, the treasure of the hill-top,

and the treasure of the river-shore: him by whom all these conditions

are fulfilled shall ye invest with the sovereign power.” As is almost

invariably the case in the folk-tales of all countries, the youngest son

is the successful competitor.—In the good old times, when kings and

chiefs were chosen for their physical strength and prowess in battle,

one can see some propriety in rival candidates for the supreme power

settling their claims by a hand-to-hand contest; but surely only in such

countries as China and Japan could we conceive it possible for a dispute

of this kind to be settled _by proxy_. Mr Mitford, in his _Tales of Old

Japan_ (vol. i, 203, 204), tells us: “In the year 858 the throne of

Japan was _wrestled for_. The Emperor Buntoker had two sons, called

Koréshito and Korétaka, both of whom aspired to the throne. Their claims

were decided in a wrestling match, in which one Yoshirô was the champion

of Koréshito, and Natora the champion of Korétaka. Natora having been

defeated, Koréshito ascended his father’s throne, under the style of

Siewa.”

_Page 52._ “The robber he immediately recognised, but _was silent_.”—In

keeping with the Persian saying: _sina pur jūsh o lab khamūsh_,

“troubled breast and silent lip.”

_Page 52._ “We are freeborn, we are the sons of a Mussulmān—Slaves,

among the Muslims, are either captives in war (_saqāyā_) or by purchase

(_mavālāt_).” One of the fundamental points of the Muhammadan religion

consists in the ransom of slaves: “Alms should buy the freedom of

slaves”—Kurān ix, 60.

_Page 53._ “The merchant’s money to be deposited in the public

treasury.”—This, if correctly rendered, would have been an act of gross

injustice, not at all in accordance with the character of Abū Saber;

since the merchant had been guilty of nothing unlawful in purchasing the

boys, whom he did not know were freeborn and the sons of a Muslim. The

lithographed text says: “He sent the robber to prison, and _re-imbursed_

the merchant from the public treasury;”—and Lescallier (p. 96): “Il

ordonna au voleur de _restituer_ au marchand l’argent qu’il en avait

reçu, et le fit arrêter et jeter en prison.”

_Page 53._ “Because she wore a veil (_sitr_).”—Muslim women are

prescribed by their religion to conceal from all men whatever may be

attractive in their appearance, and the men are not permitted to see any

unveiled women save their wives, or slaves, and those women with whom

they are prohibited by law from marrying—see Kur’ān xxiv, 31. “The curse

of God,” said the Prophet, “is on the seer and the seen.” Lane, in his

_Modern Egyptians_, gives a very minute description, with numerous

engravings, of the veils worn by Muslim women, and remarks that “the

veil is of very remote antiquity”—see Genesis xxiv, 65, and Isaiah iii,

23.

_Page 53._ “Would not consent to perform the duties of a wife.”—When a

wife disobeys her husband’s lawful commands, he may take her (or two

Muslim witnesses) before the Kāzī. Should the complaint preferred be

just and proved, a certificate is written, declaring her _nashiza_,

rebellious, and the husband is then quite free from the obligation of

lodging, clothing, and maintaining her.

_Page 53._ “This man was not her husband.”—The 4th sura of the Kur’ān

(v. 20 _et seq._) treats of lawful and unlawful marriages. “Ye are all

forbidden to take to wife free women who are married” (v. 22); that is,

says Sale, whether they be Muslim women or not, unless they be legally

divorced from their husbands.—This incident, if the story be fictitious

(but it probably had some foundation in fact), is very ingeniously

conceived: Abū Saber’s happiness is rendered complete by the recovery of

his wife, with such a _credential_ of her purity!

* * * * *

The Arabian version of this story, according to Cazotte’s French

rendering (and Habicht’s German translation agrees with it in this

respect), gives a very different account of the circumstances of Abū

Saber’s elevation to the supreme power. Abū Saber, it seems, had been

cast by the wicked King into a deep, dry well in the palace-yard. Now it

happened that this impious and cruel King “had a brother whom he had

always concealed from every eye, in a secret part of the palace; but

suspicion and uneasiness made him afraid lest he should one day be

carried off and placed upon the throne. Some time before he had

privately let him down into this well. This unhappy victim of politics

soon sank under so many distresses: he died; but this event was not

known, although the other parts of the secret had transpired. The

grandees of the realm, and the whole nation, shocked at a capricious

cruelty which exposed them all to the same danger, rose, with one

accord, against the tyrant, and assassinated him. The adventure of Abū

Saber had been long since forgotten. One of the officers of the palace

reported that the King went every day to carry bread to a man who was in

the well, and to converse with him.[52] This idea led their thoughts to

the brother who had been so cruelly used by the tyrant. They ran to the

well, went down into it, and found there Abū Saber, whom they took for

the presumptive heir to the crown. Without giving him time to speak, or

to make himself known, they conducted him to a bath; and he was soon

clothed in the royal purple, and placed upon the throne.”

NOTES ON CHAPTER V.

_Page 56._ “The King of Yemen.”—As the Kings of Egypt were named

Pharaoh, those of the Sassanian dynasty of Persia, Khusrū, those of

Abyssinia, Negashi, so were the Kings of Yemen distinguished by the

title of Tobba, from being the paramount sovereign of a number of tribes

or _followers_ (_tābi`īn_). Some of the ancient Kings, having

considerably enlarged their dominions by conquest, became proverbial for

great power.

Yemen (or _Arabia Felix_) in the time of Strabo was divided into five

kingdoms (l. 16, p. 112), and has been successively subdued by the

Abyssinians, the Persians, the Sultans of Egypt, and the Turks.—On the

west Yemen has the Red Sea; on the south the Straits of Babu-’l-Mandab

and the Indian Ocean; on the east Hadramaut, and the north Nejed and the

Hijāz. The inhabitants plume themselves on their country being “the

birth-place of the sciences and religion” (_Biladu-’l-`Ulm o

Biladu-’d-Dīn_).—_Niebuhr_, par. ii, p. 247.

_Page 56._ “A certain slave named Abraha.”—Influenced, probably, by a

malevolent feeling towards the _Mushriks_ (those who attribute partners

to God—Christians), the Muslim author—or, more likely, translator and

adapter—gives the name of Abraha to an Ethiopian slave, disparaging, as

it were, the historical fame of Abraha Ebnu-’s-Sabā, the 46th King of

Yemen, surnamed Sahibu-’l-Fīl (Lord of the Elephant), an Ethiopian by

birth, and of the Christian religion, who in paynim times built a

magnificent church in the citadel of Grandam, at Sanaā, with the design

of inducing pilgrims to resort thither, instead of to the Ka`ba at

Mecca. (See Kur’ān cv, and Sale’s _note_.)

_Page 56._ “The arrow cut off one of his ears.”—According to Lescallier,

only a piece of his ear.

_Page 56._ “The King’s first impulse,” &c.—In Lescallier’s French

rendering this passage is to the following effect: “The King of Yemen at

once ordered that Abraha should be seized and beheaded. Abraha said to

the King: ‘Your Majesty knows that I am not blamable in this unfortunate

affair; I shot the arrow intending to wound the deer. If you pardon me

this time, you, in your turn, will be pardoned when you sin.’ The King

of Yemen, having heard these words, received him favourably, pardoned

him, and cancelled the order which he had given. Abraha was overjoyed at

this, and they re-entered the town together.”

_Page 57._ “They then returned to the city”—_i.e._ Sanaā in Yemen, so

called to distinguish it from another Sanaā, a village of Damascus,

anciently called Azāl, from its founder. The city is supposed to have

acquired its name from the Ethiopians, who conquered the country, and on

beholding its beauty, exclaimed: “This is Sana!” which in Ethiopic

means, “commodious,” “comfortable.”—At an elevation of 4000 feet above

the sea-level, near the source of the river Shāb, it is celebrated for

its trees and waters, and compared by `Abu-’l-Feda to Damascus. The city

is walled, as also the suburb, Birū-’l-Azāb. At present it is a large

mercantile town, the residence of an Imām. A handsome bridge is thrown

over the principal street, down which flows a stream of water, and all

the private dwellings of the higher classes have glass windows,

beautifully stained, and are furnished with fountains. At the eastern

and western extremities is a castle, having each a palace, built of hewn

stone, covered with gray-coloured plaster. Situated in the heart of the

coffee country, the principal trade is in that useful berry, which is

rarely used for home consumption, the common beverage being _keshr_, an

infusion of the husk. About twenty mosques, elaborately decorated, and

with gilt domes, adorn the city; and the public baths, numerous and

good, are the favourite resort of the merchants, who meet to discuss the

state of trade, and to listen to the news of the day, over a cup of

_keshr_ and the indispensable _hūkka_.

_Page 57._ “Was driven on the coast of Zangībār (or Zanzibar).”—Probably

the ancient island of Menuthias, southward of the Sea of Babu-’l-Mandab.

This is the island of the “Zonūj” mentioned in the _Arabian Nights_, and

they are also called “zinj” “zenj”—an Ethiopian nation of the country

known to us as Zangībār. (See Lane’s _1001 Nights_: “Abū Muhammad the

Lazy,” chap. xiv, text, p. 413, note 5.)—Zengī signifies “black,” and

_bār_, country or territory: Zangībār, “the country of blacks.”

_Page 57._ The reader can hardly fail to observe very considerable

indistinctness (to say the least) in the narrative of the incidents

which immediately follow the return of the King of Yemen and his slave

Abraha to the capital. We are told, “_they_ then returned to the city;

and after some time had elapsed, _having gone on board a vessel_,” &c.;

from which it may be naturally supposed that Abraha and the King were

still in company, although no mention is made of Abraha when the vessel

went to pieces. He turns up, however, very oddly, at page 59: “It

happened that Abraha, who had been the King of Yemen’s slave, was

standing near this wall, but his former master did not recognise him, as

they had been separated for some time, _Abraha having found means to

return to Zangībār, his native country_.” These last words, in italics,

seem to represent a passage, which the translator has strangely omitted

in its proper place, explaining the cause of the King of Yemen’s

undertaking a voyage by sea. The following is a translation of the

events which occurred after “they returned to the city” (p. 57),

according to the lithographed text:

A few days having elapsed, the King continued to be satisfied with

Abraha.—To return to the story.[53] Ever since Abraha had been absent

from his father, messengers had been despatched in every direction, and

they had pursued [to] such [an extent] research and inquiry, that it

became known to them that Abraha was in Yemen, and in the service of the

King. The Shāh of Zangībār was overjoyed, and took counsel of the

Vizier, saying, “What is the prudent plan [or proper policy—_tadbīr_] in

this affair?” The Vizier replied: “If the report should reach the King

of Yemen that he [Abraha] is the son of the Shāh of Zangibār, the affair

would be difficult.” In a word, this conversation resulted in this

resolve, that they should send an intelligent person to bring back

Abraha. This individual having turned his face towards Yemen, arrived in

the capital. He employed considerable exertions in search of Abraha.

When he happened to meet with him, and the Khōja[54] explained the cause

of his coming to Yemen, they both agreed to sally forth at once from the

city; and as soon as they were outside they set their faces in the

direction of Zangībār. Abraha had arrived only a short time near his

father, when the King of Yemen was informed of the departure of Abraha,

and he became morosely pensive, and could take no rest. One day he

commanded they should equip vessels, [as] he wished to pass over the sea

for the purpose of being free from anxiety [or, of enjoying social

intercourse]. When he was aboard the ship, and at some distance from

land, a hurricane sprang up suddenly, and shivered the vessel to pieces.

A portion of a plank was thrown against the King of Yemen. Six days and

nights he floated over the surface of the sea, until he was cast ashore

on the territory of Zangistān;[55] [certain] pearl-divers saw him; they

approached near him; they spoke a few words to him; he gave no

response—he was senseless. They sprinkled over his throat [and neck] a

quantity of oil of balsam; he opened his eyes, and his speech came back

to him. He asked them: “What territory is this?” The divers replied:

“This territory is Zangistān.” He then asked: “How far is it to the

capital?” They answered: “Four parasangs.”[56] The King of Yemen

proceeded onwards, until the hour of evening prayer, when he entered the

city.

Manuscripts of the _Bakhtyār Nāma_ vary so much in detail that probably

no two are exactly the same. Those used by M. Lescallier would appear to

have been more diffuse than the lithographed text of 1839. According to

his rendering, after the King of Zangībār’s messenger had been some time

in Yemen, “he chose a fitting occasion and place to see Abraha, and

converse with him. He spoke to him of his country, of his father, and of

the love which he had for his dear son, like that which Jacob bore to

his beloved son, Joseph.[57] Abraha, hearing news of his country and his

father, felt his sensibility re-awaken; his eyes shed gentle tears, like

the showers of spring, and he spoke these words, interrupted by sobs:

‘Whence come you, my dear sir? How and for what purpose are you arrived

in this country?’ The messenger then confided to him the secret reason

of his journey,[58] undertaken for the sole purpose of bringing him back

to his father. Abraha asked him urgently to take him away from that

town. The messenger, who was a very intelligent and clever man, took his

measures and time so well that he carried off Abraha, and made him start

with him for that capital, and they arrived without accident at

Zangībār. As soon as they were near the outskirts of the capital of

Zangībār, the King, being informed of the arrival of his son, sent some

people to meet him, and caused him to be escorted with pomp, and he

received him with demonstrations of the greatest joy.”

According to M. Cazotte’s rendering (_King Bohetzad_, &c.) of this

story, under the rather misleading title of “Baharkan, or the

Intemperate Man,” Abraha was not a slave but an officer, and his name

was Tirkan. “He was,” we read, “a young prince who had fled from his

father’s court in order to escape the punishment of a fault which he had

committed. After having wandered unknown from country to country, he at

length settled at the Court of King Baharkan, where he obtained

employment. He still remained there some time after the accident which

had befallen him [to wit, the accident to the King’s ear]. But his

father, having discovered the place of his retreat, sent him his pardon,

and conjured him to return to him. He did this in such affectionate and

paternal terms that Tirkan, trusting in his father’s goodness,

immediately departed. His hopes were not deceived, and he was

re-established in all his rights.” The sequel agrees for the most part

with that of the Persian text; only we are told that the King’s object

in going over sea was pearl-fishing for amusement.

_Page 57._ “Sheltered himself under the shade (_sāyabān_) of a

merchant’s house.”—_Sāyabān_, a canopy; an umbrella; a shade formed by

foliage, or any other projection. Against the front of shops in Eastern

countries is a raised bench, or rather a stone or brick platform

(_mastaba_), two feet from the ground, upon which the tradesman sits,

and a little above it is a covering (_sakīfat_) of matting; and

sometimes planks supported by beams, affording shelter and shade. (See

Lane’s _Modern Egyptians_, vol. ii, pp. 9, 10.)

_Page 58._ “He was sent to prison”—Lescallier’s rendering adds, “where

he passed his time praising God, and submitting to His will.”

_Page 59._ “He gave public audience to persons of all ranks” _khāss o

`amin_—noble and plebeian.

_Page 59._ “If I succeed in hitting that crow (properly, _raven_),”

&c.—The superstitious belief in divination from the flight, motions, and

positions of birds (_ez-zijr_, _el-īyafa_), which prevailed so much

among the Arabs at the time when the Prophet began his great mission,

although it is denounced by the Kur’ān, prevails even now in the East,

where the raven is called the “Father of Omens” (_Abū-Zājir_), and the

“Bird of Separation” (_ghurabi-’l-bain_); its appearance betokening a

change of circumstances, which for the King of Yemen denoted liberty

from a state of slavery. According to an author cited by Bochart

(_Hier._ i, p. 20), Noah sent forth from the ark a raven, to observe

whether the water had abated, and it did not return, hence it is called

“the bird of separation.” In the _Gulistān_, iv, 12, an execrable voice

is compared to the croak of the Raven of Separation, or, as some render

the passage, “the raven of ill omen” (see Lane’s Arabic Lexicon, vol.

i). Ravens in many countries have been considered as birds of ill omen.

Thus, in Dryden’s _Virgil_:

The hoarse raven on the blasted bough,

By croaking to the left, presaged the coming blow;

and in Gay’s _Fables_ (xxxvii, 27, 28):

That raven on yon left-hand oak,

Curse on his ill-betiding croak.

_Page 59._ “The law of retaliation, which would not award a head for an

ear.”—In accordance with the text of the Kur’ān, v, 49: “We have therein

commanded them that they should give life for life, and eye for eye, and

_ear for ear_, and tooth for tooth; and that wounds should also be

punished by retaliation,” &c. (compare Exod. xxi, 24; Levit. xxiv, 20;

Deut. xix, 21). For unintentional mutilation the Muhammadan law permits

the payment of half the price of blood, as for homicide; for a member of

which there are two, from the rich man 500 dīnars (£250), from the less

opulent 6000 direms (£150). The delinquent in the present instance,

being penniless, the King of Zangībār had no choice but to exact “ear

for ear.” (Sale’s _Kur’ān_, Prel. Disc., sec. vi; Mills’ _History of

Muhammedanism_, ed. 1817, pp. 319, 320.)

NOTES ON CHAPTER VI.

_Page 62._ “Represented the danger of letting an enemy live when in

one’s power.”—This unmerciful suggestion[59] ill accords with the humane

precept of Hūshung, an early King of Persia, surnamed Pīshdād (the First

Distributor of Justice), and dictated by him to Tahmuras, the heir

apparent: “The sovereign extends the skirt of pardon and the robe of

clemency over those who have erred; ... acting according to this

injunction: When thou hast prevailed over thy foe, pardon him, in

gratitude for the power obtained over him. ‘Bind him,’ says the poet,

‘with the chains of forgiveness, that he may become your slave.’”

_Page 62._ “Advised him not to be precipitate.”—With more eloquence does

a falsely accused lady plead to her husband in the _Anvār-i Suhailī_ (p.

243 of Eastwick’s translation): “The wise think deliberation requisite

in all affairs, especially in shedding blood, since if it be necessary

to take life, the opportunity of doing so is left; and if—which God

forbid!—they should, through precipitation, put an innocent person to

death, and it should afterwards be known that he did not deserve to be

slain, the remedy would be beyond the circle of possibility, and the

punishment thereof would hang to all eternity on the neck of the guilty

party.” And elsewhere in the same charming work we are told that “the

heart of a King ought to be like the billowy sea, so as not to be

discoloured by the dirt and rubbish of calumny; and the centre of his

clemency should be like the stately mountain, firm in a position of

stability, so that the furious wind of anger cannot move it.”

_Page 62._ King Dādīn, or Dādiyān—a title formerly given to the Persian

Kings of the first, or Pīshdādian, dynasty, and in a later age assumed

also by the Princes of Mingrelia. (_Chardin_, vol. i, p. 82.)

_Page 62._ Kārdār signifies busy, a money lender, a prime minister, and

is a compound of _kār_, work, occupation, and _dār_, possessing, lord,

master.—Kāmgār is composed of _kām_, desire, wish, and _gār_, a particle

which, subjoined to a word, denotes agency.

_Page 63._ “Having reason to believe her father would not consent to

bestow her on him.”—The text runs thus: “He said to himself, ‘Kāmgār is

an ascetic (_zāhid_) and a religious man (_pārsā_), and would not give

me his daughter.’”

_Page 64._ “Begged permission to inform his daughter”—the text adds,

“and, in conformity with the law of Muhammad (_sharī`at_), obtain her

consent.”—This is a proof that the lady had attained marriageable age,

as the consent of a girl not arrived at the age of puberty is not

required.

_Page 64._ “Related to her all that had passed.”—The text: “The daughter

said, ‘I am not worthy of the King; besides, once in the King’s service,

I cannot [devote myself to the] worship [of] God the Most High; and for

the least fault the King would punish me.’”

_Page 65._ “Sent her to his palace (_sarāy-harem_), and appointed

servants—_besides a cook_.” Here there is a very remarkable difference

between Ouseley’s and the lithographed texts, and between these again

and Lescallier and Habicht. This is what the lithographed text says:

“And in the service _i.e._ [of the late vizier Kāmgār] there was a

good man (_khayyir_) who had acted as a spiritual guide (_buzurg_),

whom the King did not admit in the harem. This holy person, who had

been constantly at the side of the daughter, wrote a letter [to this

effect]: ‘Do thou confirm the reward of service, and speak to the King

about my wish [in order] that he may admit me into thy service,

[seeing] that I should perish from disappointment.’ ... (the King gave

his consent) ... and the daughter continued her devotions in peace and

tranquillity.” Thus, in place of a _cook_, as in our version, the

lithographed text has, more appropriately, _a holy man_: but in

Lescallier and in Habicht, this person is, strange to say, a jester,

or merry-andrew—_bouffon_—_lustigmacher!_—while in Cazotte’s rendering

of the Arabic version, and in the Turkī version of this story (a

translation of which is appended to the present notes), he is simply

described as a _slave_.

_Page 66._ Discovered her sitting alone on the balcony (_bālkhāna_),

viz. a latticed window on the _upper storey_ of the harem—hence our word

“balcony.”

_Page 66._ “Kārdār, fearing lest she should relate to the King what had

passed,” &c.—Although many Oriental stories—Indian, Persian, Arabian—are

designed to show the malice and craft of women, there are yet some, and

the present tale is an example, in which men, when foiled in their

attempts upon the chastity of women, are exhibited as equally adroit and

unscrupulous. Another instance occurs in the _Anvar-iSuhailī_, ii, 10,

where a beautiful and virtuous wife is described in verses which are

also applicable to the Vizier’s daughter of our story:

To worldly matters she had closed her eye,

Sate curtained by the veil of chastity;

E’en to the glass her form would not display,

And from her shadow sank, alarmed, away.

This lady’s husband had a slave, who cast the eye of desire upon her,

and “when he despaired of success, as is the wont of evil men, he

determined to assail her reputation, and employ a stratagem to secure

her disgrace.” So he buys two parrots, and teaches them to say that the

lady had been unfaithful to her husband; but he fails in his diabolical

scheme.

_Page 67._ “He addressed her with the usual salutation, which she

returned.”—That is: _Es-salāmu `alaykum_, “Peace be on you!” to which

she replied: _`Alaykum es-salām_. But the lady devotee would probably

“salute with a better salutation,” in accordance with the Kur’ān, iv,

88: “When ye are saluted with a salutation, salute the person with a

better salutation, or at least, return the same.” “A better

salutation”—that is, by adding _rahmatu-`llāhi wa barakātuh_, “and the

mercy of God and His blessings!” In saluting a co-religionist, this

addition is obligatory.

_Page 67._ “It was a maxim of the wise men: When you have killed the

serpent, you should also kill its young.”—Can this “maxim” have been

borrowed from Sa`di, who says (_Gulistān_, i, 4): “To extinguish a fire

and leave the embers, or to kill a viper and preserve its young, is not

the act of wise men?” If so, this work, in its present form, must have

been composed after the 13th century.

_Page 68._ “Ordered the unfortunate cook to be instantly cut in two.”—A

horrible mode of putting a culprit to death, and peculiar, it is said,

to the criminal law of Persia.

_Page 69._ “Being dissuaded by an attendant from killing a woman.”—The

Persians seldom put women to death, as the shedding of their blood is

supposed to bring misfortune on the country. But when found guilty and

condemned, the injunction prescribed by the law, of another man’s wife

never being seen unveiled, is strictly respected, by conducting the

culprit, enveloped in the veil habitually worn by her, to the summit of

a lofty tower, and throwing her thence headlong.

_Page 68._ “Was turned into the dreary wilderness.”—In Indian Fairy

Tales daughters who offend their fathers are frequently sent into the

desert. For instance, in the Romance of the Four Dervishes (the Hindū

version, _Bāgh o Bahār_), a king has seven daughters, and one day he

impiously tells them that all their good fortune depends upon his life.

Six of them profess to agree with him in this sentiment; but the

seventh, and youngest, who has more sense and judgment than the others,

dissents, saying that the destinies of every one are with oneself. The

king, on hearing this, became angry. The reply displeased him highly,

and he said in wrath: “What great words issue from a little mouth! Now

let this be your punishment, that you strip off whatever jewels she has

on her hands and feet, and let her be placed in a litter and set down in

a wilderness, where no human traces are found; then shall we see what is

written in her destinies.” She is accordingly carried into the desert,

where she offers up fervent prayers to Heaven, and falls asleep. In this

way, praying and sleeping, she passed three days without food or water,

until on the fourth day a hermit appears, who relieves her wants, and,

to be brief, she discovers a hidden treasure, causes a magnificent

palace to be erected, and sends for her parents and sisters, who are

naturally confounded at her good fortune. In like manner, Husn Bānū, in

the _Romance of Hatim Ta`ī_, having justly accused a Dervish, who was a

favourite of the King, of robbing her house, is expelled from the city,

and in the desert she discovers, through a dream, the hidden treasure of

the Seven Regions, underneath a tree.

_Page 68._ “Resigned herself to the will of Providence, conscious of her

own innocence.”—The text states that she said this prayer: “O God!

Creator! thou knowest I am innocent; if Thou hast foreordained[60] that

I should die, vouchsafe at least a little water [inflow] in my mouth,

that my tongue may testify to thine incomparable unity.” The text also

says that when the fountain of water sprang up, she “performed the

ablution” (prescribed by the Kur’ān), and “stood up in prayer.” This

seems to imply that she turned her face towards the _Kibla_ (that is,

Mecca), and went through the different postures of prayer.—See Lane’s

_Modern Egyptians_, chapter iii.

_Page 69._ “The camel placed himself so as to afford her a shade from

the sunbeams.”—Although our author was, no doubt, a pious believer in

this miracle, including the part that was played in it by the camel, yet

it can only appear ludicrous to Europeans, and those who have had the

good fortune to read, either in the original Telūgū, or in Babington’s

translation, the _Adventures of the Gūrū Paramartan_, will probably be

reminded by this of the story of the Gūrū, who, having hired an ox to

ride upon, reposed under the shade of the animal during the heat of the

day, and the owner demanded additional pay, alleging that he did not

lend his ox as an umbrella against the sun’s rays. The case was referred

to the head-man of a village, who, after relating a somewhat similar

case within his own experience, decided as follows: “For journeying

hither on the ox, the proper hire is money; and for remaining in the

ox’s shadow, the _shadow of the hire-money_ is sufficient.”[61]

_Page 69._ “It happened that one of the King’s camel-keepers,”

&c.—According to the text, “had lost a _katar_ of camels,” that is,

several linked together, and following one another.

_Page 69._ “At his request she prayed for the recovery of the

camels.”—The text says: “The daughter, having raised her face towards

heaven, said, ‘O God! Creator! thou knowest that these camels are not

his own, and that he is a hired labourer (_muzdar_), but now is without

resource and afflicted, through thy loving kindness and bounty, [be

pleased to] restore to him the camels.’” Muhammadans often implore the

intercession of saints (and the cameleer, of course, believed the lady

to be nothing short of a saint), both living and dead, on their behalf.

To be worthy of the dignity of a true saint requires self-denial,

mortification, a perfect reliance on Providence, and the keeping aloof

from the habitations of men; above all, that, while professing the unity

of God (_lā ilāha illa-’llāh_), no living creature should see their lips

move. Lane, in a note to his translation of the _Thousand and One

Nights_ (ch. xi, n. 37) states that “the Sayyida Nafīsa, the

great-grandaughter of the Imām El-Hasan, was a very celebrated saint;

and many miracles are related to have been performed by her. Her tomb,

which is greatly venerated, is in a mosque in the southern suburb of

Cairo.”

_Page 70._ “He would provide for her a retired apartment,” &c.—The text

reads: “I will prepare an oratory (_sawma`ā_), and make ready for thy

sake the means (_asbāb_: furniture) for devotion (_asbāb-i-`ībāda_);”

such as a prayer-carpet (_sajjāda_), having a mark upon it pointing

towards Mecca, the _Kibla_ of Muslims, or point to which they direct

their faces in saying their prayers, as Jerusalem is that of the Jews

and Christians: within the mosque it is shown by a niche, and is called

_El-Mihrāb_. The hypocritical saint is thus described by Sa`dī

(_Gulistān_ ii, 17):

Devotees who fix their eyes on the world,

Say their prayers with their backs to the Kibla.

There should also be a fountain of running water (for ceremonial

ablution) and a copy of the Kur’ān.

_Page 70._ “Arrived at the city at the time of evening prayer.”—It is

incumbent on every good Muslim (says Dr Forbes, in a note to his

translation of _Bāgh o Bahār_) to pray five times in the 24 hours. The

stated periods are rather capriciously settled: (1) The morning prayer

is to be repeated between daybreak and sunrise; (2) The prayer of noon,

when the sun shows a sensible declination from the meridian; (3)

afternoon prayer, when the sun is so near the horizon that the shadow of

a perpendicular object is twice its length; (4) evening prayer, between

sunset and close on twilight; (5) the prayer of night, any time during

darkness.

_Page 71._ “She begged that he would conceal himself in the apartment

whilst she should converse with Kārdār.”—This, it seems to me, is quite

after the manner of a modern European play or novel—when the “villain”

is made to unmask himself, by a pious _ruse_ of “injured innocence.” I

cannot call to mind a similar scene in any other Eastern romance which I

have read.

_Page 72._ “Concealed behind the hangings” (see also p. 67, line 8 from

foot).—The use of hangings, pictured tapestry, and various coloured

carpets has been from the earliest ages prevalent in the East. We read

in the Book of Esther, chapter i, &c., of the magnificence of a Persian

monarch, who made a feast unto his nobles of Persia and Media, and in

his palace had hangings, white, green, and red, fastened with purple

cords to silver rings, with beds of gold and silver; and Plutarch, in

Themistocles, speaks of the rich Persian carpets, with highly-coloured

figures; and in his life of Cato the Censor, he mentions some Babylonian

tapestry sent to Rome as a present. The manufacture passed in very early

times from Asia into Greece, part of which, indeed, was itself Asiatic.

Iris found Helen employed on figured tapestry, and the web of Penelope

is sufficiently known (_Iliad iii_).—Sir William Ouseley’s _Persian

Miscellanies_.

* * * * *

This story of King Dādīn and his Two Viziers is, perhaps, the best of

the whole series; and it will doubtless interest the general reader to

see a Turkī version of it, according to a unique manuscript, preserved

in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, written, in 1434, in the Uygur

language and characters,[62] of which mention is made in the Second

Section of the INTRODUCTION. M. Jaubert, who wrote an account of this

manuscript in the _Journal Asiatique_, tom. x, 1827, remarks, that,

“apart from the interest which the writing and phraseology of the work

might possess for those who study the history of languages, it is rather

curious for the history of manners to see how a Tātār translator sets to

work to bring within the range of his readers stories embellished in the

original with descriptions and images familiar, doubtless, to a learned

and refined nation like the Persians, but foreign to shepherds.” The

following rendering of M. Jaubert’s translation of the Turkī version of

“King Dādīn and his Two Viziers” is, I believe, the first that has yet

appeared in English.

HISTORY OF THE FIFTH DAY.

One of the Vezīrs advanced and said: “O King! command that they put this

slave to death, for all the people murmur, indignant at his crime, and

we ourselves are grieved at such a rumour.” Then the King commanded, and

they made Bakhtyār approach, and he said to him: “Slave, wherefore

madest thou that attempt? Of a truth I will not spare thee this day.”

Bakhtyār replied: “O King, I am innocent, and I look from the Divine

pity that thou deliver me from these bonds, in like manner as the

guiltless bride of the King Dādīn was delivered from hers.” The King

said: “What befell that woman?”

There was in Tātāristan (answered Bakhtyār), a King who had a beautiful

wife and two Vezīrs.[63] One of these Vezīrs was called Kerdār, the

other Kārdān.[64] Kerdār was father of a maiden of beauty so perfect

that one could not find in the whole world anything to vie with it; and

she was so pious that not only did she recite the Kur’ān all day, but

she passed the nights in prayer. Impressed by the greatness of her

devotion, King Dādīn became enamoured of this maiden without having seen

her, and he demanded her of her father in marriage, and he promised to

advise her. He did so, but she replied: “Passing my life in prayer, I

cannot agree to become a great lady, and my ambition is limited to the

service of God.” The Vezīr reported these words to the King, who, in the

greatness of his anger, put him to death. Then he caused the maiden to

be brought to the palace, and he said to her: “I desire to raise thee to

the dignity of a princess; during the day thou shalt pray to God here,

during the night thou shalt serve me.” Just then there arrived a

courier, bearing important letters. The King ordered the maiden to pray

for him; he confided the care of his city to his Vezīr Kārdān; and

having mounted his horse, with a party of his nobles, went forth.

One day, when the Vezīr was repeating his prayers, his eyes fell upon

the maiden. Dazzled by the splendour of her beauty, he became suddenly

enamoured of her, and approached her and said: “O maiden, I am enamoured

of thee; if thou fearest God have pity on my sufferings and reward my

love!” The lady replied: “The King, in his trust, has left thee in his

house, and thou seekest to make me betray him! Take heed that thou

commit not this evil deed;—suffer not thyself to be taken in the snares

of Satan for a woman, and think not that all of my sex are in nature

alike. I pardon thee thy sin—beware of rushing on thy ruin.” When the

Vezīr heard these words he perceived that he could not succeed in his

design. Then he repented of his conduct, and said within himself: “If

the King learns of this event, he will kill me; so let me invent some

stratagem which will bring about the maiden’s ruin instead of mine.”

Now the Vezīr, father of the lady, had brought from his native country a

slave who had been brought up with her, and in whose company she was

accustomed to live.[65] When the King had finished his campaign, and

returned [to his capital], he called the Vezīr before him, and asked of

all that had happened during his absence, and particularly about the

lady. The Vezīr said: “O King! I have something to say, and yet I dare

not.” “Speak,” replied the King: “I know that thou art a good and

faithful minister, and that thou canst not betray the truth.” Then the

Vezīr replied: “Some one told me that a slave, brought from his native

country by the father of that maiden, had had guilty connection with

her. At first I regarded this imputation as a slander. ‘What is that?’

said I to myself. ‘The King loves that lady, so that with her the

sorrows of this world seem light to him. Besides, if the fault had been

committed, there would be witnesses—the thing cannot be.’ One day,

however, an [other] individual sought me out, to bring me to see what

was being done by the favourite of the King. I went, I listened, I

recognised the maiden’s voice, and that of the slave. She was saying to

him: ‘In thus dishonouring me as thou hast done, thou hast put me in

danger of perishing like my father, whose death I [involuntarily]

caused. I must be thy portion.’ The slave replied: ‘But what is thy

intention concerning the King?’ The maiden answered: ‘He must be killed

by means of some stratagem; if we work well together we shall succeed in

our design. Take thou measures concerning the King;—kill him, for he has

slain my father unjustly, and I am bound to take vengeance.’ When I

heard these words,” continued the Vezīr, “I felt my body tremble. The

reality of the fact was made clear to me, as it was to the person who

had informed me. Now it is yours, O King, to know what ought to be

done.”

When the King heard this story he was very angry. He caused the slave’s

head to be cut off. He called the maiden before him, and asked what

words she had used, and cruelly reproached her, for that, after being

overwhelmed with honours, she had dared to conceive so guilty a design.

She replied: “O King, deign to give full trust to my words, and if thou

fearest God, slay me not on the report of my most cruel enemies.” But

far from believing her sincerity, the King ordered his favourite to be

put to death. Happily, this Prince had a faithful slave, who showed to

him how the murder of a woman were a shameful deed; that it was enough

to have killed her accomplice; that it were better to banish that

unhappy woman to some wilderness far from the dwellings of man, where

she must inevitably perish; and that at least by refraining from

staining his hands with her blood, he should be doing an action pleasing

to God. So the King ordered an old woman to mount the maiden upon a

camel, to take her to a lonely desert and leave her there, and this was

forthwith done. And so that hapless one was left in the wilderness, with

no other aid than the Divine compassion.

This desert lay on the boundaries of the realms of the King of Persia,

one of whose cameleers[66] had lost a camel. He was seeking it vainly on

every side, when suddenly he perceived a beautiful lady praying to God.

Fearing to disturb her, the cameleer waited till she had finished her

prayers, when he went up to her, saluted her, and asked her who she was.

“I am,” said she, “a poor, weak handmaid of God.” “Who has brought thee

here?” continued the cameleer. She replied: “God.” Then the cameleer

said within himself: “This lady is indeed favoured with the grace of the

Most High.” He said to her: “I am in the service of the King of Persia;

if thou desirest, I shall marry thee, and have for thee the greatest

regard.” “I cannot consent thereto,” replied she; “but for the love of

God, lead me to some inhabited spot, where I may find water, and I will

remember thee in my prayers.” The cameleer complied with her request; he

mounted the maiden upon his camel, led her to a village, confided her to

the care of the head-man of the village till he should return; and set

out in quest of the camel he had lost, which he immediately found—a good

fortune which he attributed to the maiden’s prayers.

He gave thanks therefor to God, and returned to the King of Persia, to

whom he spoke of the maiden’s beauty, piety, and of all the perfections

with which she was adorned. “Such a lady,” said the King, “would suit

well to be my wife.” Thereupon he mounted his horse, and with a great

number of his servants proceeded to the village. When he saw the lady he

was filled with admiration, and he said to her: “Maiden, I am the King

of Persia; be my bride, and I will care for thee with the greatest of

care.” “O King!” replied she, “may the Divine favour increase thy

prosperity! Thou possessest a great number of women; and as for me, I

have no need of a husband; for the love of God appears to me more

desirable than the whole world.” And she continued her prayers. Then the

King gave orders that his tents should be erected in that spot, and that

they should cut there channels of running water; and he remained there

some days. At the end of that time, moved by the sweet words and piety

of the maiden, but hurried by the affairs of state, he mounted her in a

litter, led her to his capital, gave her apartments in his own kiosk,

and having ordered preparations for a brilliant nuptial feast, he

married her. After that he gave her great riches, beautiful clothes,

many servants, and a splendid palace. One night this lady related her

adventures to the King of Persia; and on the morrow that prince

assembled a vast army, set out, and took prisoner the King Dādīn, the

Vezīr Kārdān, and also the faithful servant to whom the lady owed her

life. She called King Dādīn before her, and said to him: “Though I was

innocent and true, thou sentest me into a desert to die; but God has had

compassion upon me, and has brought thee hither to me, loaded with

chains.” Then addressing the Vezīr Kārdān, she said: “How is it that

thou hast allowed thyself to be taken in the snare which thou didst

prepare for me?” The Vezīr replied: “O maiden! thou wast not guilty, and

all that I said was a lie; therefore hath God punished me!” “Praise be

to Him!” replied the lady, “for He has granted that I should live, and

that people should know my innocence! For the rest, I desire that they

who slew my father should receive their due reward.” So the King of

Persia ordered the Vezīr to be taken to the same desert whither the

maiden had been sent. There he died of hunger and thirst. King Dādīn was

beheaded as a punishment for the murder he had committed; and his

dominions were given to the faithful servant [whose good advice aided

the safety, the innocence, and the triumph of virtue].

NOTES ON CHAPTER VII.

_Page 72._ “Your Majesty can easily put to death a living man, but you

cannot restore a dead man to life.”—Here again (see note on page 184) we

have what seems to be an instance of borrowing from Sa`dī, who, in his

_Gulistān_, viii, maxim 54, thus finely expresses this sentiment

(Professor Eastwick’s translation):

’Tis very easy one alive to slay;

Not so to give back life thou tak’st away:

Reason demands that archers patience show,

For shafts once shot return not to the bow.[67]

Were it possible, we might suppose that our English poet Cowley had

simply paraphrased these couplets of Sa`dī in the following verses:

Easy it was the living to have slain,

But bring them, if thou canst, to life again:

The arrow’s shot—mark how it cuts the air,

Try now to bring it back, or stay it there:

That way impatience sent it; but thou’lt find

No track of it, alas! is left behind.

_Page 74._ “Women, for their own purposes, often devise falsehoods, and

are very expert in artifice and fraud.”—It was a saying of Muhammad that

“women are deficient in judgment and religion,” which induces their

co-religionists of the other sex to believe that they are more inclined

than men to practise whatever is unlawful. When woman was created, the

Devil, we are told, was delighted, and said: “Thou art half of my host,

and thou art the depositary of my secret, and thou art my arrow, with

which I shoot, and miss not.”[68] The Turkish Tales of the Forty Viziers

(another romance of the _Sindibād_ cycle—see INTRODUCTION) chiefly refer

to the craft and malice of women. In the present story, however, female

artifice is not employed for wicked ends.

_Page 74._ “The King of `Irāk.”—There are two `Irāks; one is a division

of Arabia to the south of the Tigris and the Euphrates. Towards the

north-east it is watered by the branches of the Euphrates, and is

consequently fertile and well inhabited, having many cities and towns,

of which Basra is the principal; to the south-west it is a barren

desert. By Orientals it is called `Irāk `Arabi, to distinguish it from

the other `Irāk, (`Irāk `Ajami) a province of Persia, bounded on the

north by Ghilān and Mazinderān, on the east by Khurāsān, on the south by

Farsistān, and on the west by `Irāk `Arabi. This province contains part

of ancient Media and Parthia. It is nearly a hundred and fifty leagues

in length, and one hundred and twenty in breadth; partly mountainous and

sterile, having vast sandy plains; but the greater part fruitful and

populous. Isfahān is the capital.[69] It is of Persian `Irāk that the

poet Nizāmī thus speaks:

`Irāk, the delightful, be thy darling,

For great is the fame of its redundancy;

And every rose which enraptureth the soul

Distilleth its balmy drops upon `Irāk!

_Page 74._ Abyssinia, or Habashat (that is, “a mixture,” or

“confusion”), forms an extensive country of Eastern Africa, the

boundaries of which are not well defined. The natives call their country

Manghesta Ityopia, or Kingdom of Ethiopia.

_Page 75._ “When they disclosed the object of their mission, he became

angry”—at the presumption of an unbeliever (who attributed partners to

God) asking in marriage the daughter of one of the faithful. The

conversion of Abyssinia to Christianity was prior to the fourth and

continued even as late as the twelfth century. The Coptic patriarch of

Cairo is still the nominal head of the Church, but the episcopal office

is confined to the Abūnā, the resident head, and author, of the

Abyssinian priesthood.—_Gibbon._

_Page 76._ “Caused so much money to be distributed among the soldiers

that they were satisfied.”—So says Sa`dī, _Gulistān_ i, 14 (Eastwick’s

translation):

Soldiers, from whom the State withholds its gold,

Will from the scimitar their hands withhold:

What valour in war’s ranks will he display,

Whose hand is empty on the reckoning day?

_Page 77._ “The King of `Irāk had some years previously given his

daughter in marriage to another man, by whom she had a son.”—This

concealment of a former marriage is incomprehensible. Lescallier’s

French rendering, made from other Persian texts, gives a different

account of this affair: “She had had previously a lover, with whom,

_unknown to her father_, she had intimate relations, and had given birth

to a beautiful boy, whose education she secretly confided to some trusty

servants.” Afterwards the Princess of `Irāk contrived to introduce him

to her father, who was so charmed with his beauty, grace of manner, and

varied accomplishments, that he at once took him into his service.

Habicht’s Breslau edition of the Arabian version agrees with Lescallier

on this point. In the version of this story in the _Tūtī Nāma_ (Tales of

a Parrot) of Nakshabī,[70] the lady is the daughter of the Emperor of

Rūm (see Note, p. 158), and, as in our text, had a son by a former

marriage, about whose existence her father charges her not to say a word

to her second husband.

_Page 78._ “The name of the boy was Farrukh-zād”—that is,

“fortunately-born”; from _farrukh_, happy, fortunate, and _zād_, born.

_Page 81._ “An old woman beheld the Queen, as she sat alone,

weeping.”—In Eastern fiction old women—and especially hypocritical

devotees—are useful go-betweens for lovers, and excellent, prudent

procuresses. In the present case, however, the old woman plays an

unusual _rôle_: employing her sage experience and skill in reconciling

husband and wife.

_Page 82._ “I have a certain talisman,” &c.—The word _talism_ is not in

the lithographed text; the sentence is to this effect: “I have that

which is precious, and possesses the same magical power as the precious

things of Solomon, written in Greek characters and in the Syrian

language”—which means, Syrian words disguised under the letters of the

Greek alphabet. Among the Arabs and Persians it is a common belief that

Solomon, the son of David, by virtue of a seal-ring (_Muhr-i-Sulaymāni_)

sent down from heaven, had unlimited control over the good and evil

spirits (_jinn_), and over birds, the winds, and beasts.[71]

The origin of Solomon’s magical signet-ring, which is so often mentioned

in Oriental poetry and romance, according to Muslim legends—borrowed or

adapted from the Talmudic writers—is as follows: Eight angels appeared

to Solomon in a vision, saying that Allah had sent them to surrender to

him the power over them and the eight winds at their command. The most

exalted of the angels presented him with a jewel with this inscription:

_To Allah belong greatness and might_. Whenever he raised the stone

towards heaven, they would appear and do his bidding. Next four others

appeared, differing from each other in form and name. One resembled an

immense whale, another an eagle, the third a lion, and the fourth a

serpent. These were lords of all creatures living in the earth and in

the water. The angel representing the kingdom of birds gave him a jewel

on which was inscribed: _All created things praise the Lord_. An angel

then appeared, whose upper part looked like the earth, and the lower

like water, having power over both earth and sea, and gave him a jewel

with the inscription: _Heaven and Earth are servants of Allah_. A third

angel surrendered to him power over the kingdom of spirits, with a jewel

on which was inscribed: _There is no God but one, and Muhammad is His

Messenger_.[72] Solomon caused the four jewels to be set in a

signet-ring, and the first purpose to which he applied its wondrous

powers was the subjugation of the demons and jinn—all but the mighty

Sakhr, who was concealed in an unknown island of the ocean, and Iblīs

(Satan), the monster of all evil spirits, to whom God had promised the

most perfect independence till the Day of Judgment.[73] In Oriental

fictions the most solemn and binding oath with Fairies is to swear by

the Seal of Solomon. Readers familiar with the _Arabian Nights_ will

recollect the Story of the Fisherman and the Genie (_jinnī_). A

confidence in the virtue of Talismans, whether for the protection of

persons, treasures, or cities, may be traced up to the earliest ages,

when so many Eastern nations were of the Sabean faith, and adored the

“host of heaven,” or the celestial bodies; and notwithstanding the

change of religion and the prohibition of magic, even Muhammadans can

reconcile to their consciences the preparation of certain amulets, after

rules transmitted through the Chaldeans and Nabatheans.[74] The magic of

Babylon is frequently alluded to by Muslim writers; the poets speak of

the “Babylonian witchery” of a beautiful woman’s eyes; and it is

believed that the two wicked angels Harūt and Marūt, mentioned in the

Kur’ān (see chap. ii, and Sale’s _note_), are still hanging, head

downwards, in a well at Babel, and will instruct any one in magic who is

bold enough to go and solicit them. Setting idle legends aside, it is

highly probable, as Sir William Ouseley remarks, in his _Persian

Miscellanies_, that at Babylon the Persians learnt the arts of magical

incantation from the conquered Chaldeans. “Time,” says Dr Jonathan

Scott, “has not eradicated in Asia belief in the magical powers of

cabalistical characters engraven on gems, or embroidered on standards,

or written upon small rolls of paper, which, enclosed in small boxes of

gold and silver, and strung on silken cord, are worn round the arm or

wrist, and sometimes as a pendant from the neck.”[75] The charms to

which the greatest efficacy is ascribed are those consisting of passages

of the Kur’ān; and Morier tells that such was Muhammad Riza Bey’s faith

in this species of talisman that he always wore the whole of the Kur’ān

about his person; half of it tied on one arm, and half on the other,

rolled up in small silver cases.[76] Next in estimation as potent charms

are passages transcribed from the celebrated _Burda_ (or Mantle-Poem) of

El-Busīrī, in praise of the Prophet, written in the 13th century; which

are framed and suspended on the walls of rooms, or, in cases, on the

person. The whole poem is also recited in times of sickness and during

the funeral procession.[77]

_Page 83._ “Scrawled on it some unmeaning characters.”—The word in the

text here rendered by “unmeaning” literally signifies “not known,” and

should be translated “mysterious.”

_Page 84._ “Desired him to point out the spot where his body lay,”

&c.—_ziyārat_, a visit, a pilgrimage. During the period of the great

festivals, and also on other occasions, it is customary to visit the

tomb of a relation, and place on it the leaves or broken branches of the

palm-tree, also sweet-basil and other flowers. On arriving at the tomb

the opening chapter of the Kur’ān, and sometimes a longer chapter, the

xxxvi, is recited.—See Lane’s _Modern Egyptians_, ii, pp. 209, 241, 253.

NOTES ON CHAPTER VIII.

_Page 86._ “Government resembles a tree, the root of which is legal

punishment”—_siyāzat_, that is, discretional punishment, such as the law

has not provided, but may be inflicted.—The lithographed text thus

proceeds: “And its extremity [_i.e._ of the root] is justice, and its

bough, mercy, and its flower, wisdom, and its leaf, liberality, and its

fruit, a degree of kindness, and the leaf of every tree, of which the

root becomes dry, assumes a yellow [tint], and does not produce fruit.

And as the root of government is legal punishment, delay on this point

is not permissible; and as in this legal punishment there is

postponement, I am apprehensive lest the root of the tree has become

dry; after which reparation is impossible.”

_Page 87._ “In case she should give birth to a boy, to call his name

Bihrūz”—an appropriate name for a jeweller’s son, since it denotes “a

species of blue crystal,” as well as “good day.” The lithographed text

adds: “If it should be a daughter, give her a name suitable and proper;”

alluding to the privilege accorded to a mother of naming her own

daughter; the name of a son is given by the father.

_Page 88._ “The boys had learned to read the Kur’ān” (properly, as I

have spelt it in the translation, Qur’ān).—Muslim children are not only

taught to read the whole, but commit to memory portions, of the Kur’ān.

After learning by heart the first chapter[78]—which is to the Muslim

what the Lord’s Prayer is to the Christian—the remaining chapters are

learnt in their inverse order, and those who have learnt to repeat the

whole of the Kur’ān may then claim the title of _Hāfiz_, or _Hāfizu

kalāmi ’llāh_, “rememberer of the Word of God,” or “one who knows God’s

Word by heart.”—“Much merit,” says Torrens, “is attributed by the

Muslims to recitations of the Kur’ān. On occasions of festivity persons

are hired to repeat either the whole or the principal parts of it. These

are _fickees_, a term usually applied to schoolmasters by modern Arabs,

but signifying, ‘a person learned in the law.’ They know by heart the

whole, or particular parts, of the Kur’ān, which each in turn recites.

These recitations are introduced among the Egyptians as an entertainment

at parties.”[79]

_Page 88._ “Were instructed in the art of penmanship.”—“Beautiful

writing,” says Sir John Malcolm, “is considered as a high

accomplishment. It is carefully taught in schools, and those who excel

in it are almost classed with literary men. They are employed to

transcribe copies of books, and some have attained such an eminence in

this art that a few lines written by one of these celebrated penmen are

often sold for a considerable sum. I have known seven pounds to have

been given for four lines written by Dervish Musjīd, a famous Persian

scribe.”[80] And a story is told of a celebrated Indian penman, in the

course of his walks one day, being solicited for alms by a beggar,

“Money,” he replied, “I have not;” but taking his pen and ink from his

girdle, he wrote a few words on a small slip of paper, and handed it to

the poor man, who received it with expressions of gratitude, and sold it

to the first wealthy person he met for a gold mohur—about ten shillings.

_Page 88._ “And other accomplishments”: _adab_, that is, “good manners;”

a decent and becoming behaviour at meals, a proper degree of respect to

be shown to the father, greeting him affectionately in the morning by

kissing his hand, and—as a well-bred son seldom sits in his father’s

presence—standing before him in a submissive attitude (_Lane_).

Reverence for parents, which is still a marked characteristic of Eastern

races, has ever been strongly inculcated by the Hebrew Rabbins; and the

noble conduct of one Dama, the son of Nethuna, towards both his father

and mother is adduced in the Talmud as an example for all times and

every condition of life. “His mother was unfortunately insane, and would

frequently not only abuse him, but strike him, in the presence of his

companions; yet would this dutiful son not suffer an ill word to escape

his lips, and all he used to say on such occasions was, ‘Enough, dear

mother, enough.’ One of the precious stones attached to the High

Priest’s sacerdotal garments was once, by some means or other, lost.

Learning that the son of Nethuna had one like it, the priests went to

him, and offered him a very large price for it. He consented to take the

sum offered, and went into the adjoining room to fetch the jewel. On

entering the room he found his father asleep, his foot resting on the

chest wherein the gem was deposited. Without disturbing his father, he

went back to the priests, and told them that he must for the present

forego the large profit he might make, as his father was asleep. The

case being urgent, and the priests, thinking that he only said so to

obtain a larger price, offered him more money. ‘No,’ said he, ‘I would

not, even for a moment, disturb my father’s rest for all the treasures

in the world.’ The priests waited till the father awoke, when Dama

brought them the jewel. They then presented to him the sum they had last

offered, but the good man refused to take it. ‘I will not,’ said he,

‘barter for gold the satisfaction of having done my duty. Give me what

you offered at first, and I shall be satisfied.’ This they did, and left

him with a blessing.”

_Page 89._ “His clothes and money _concealed in different places_”—the

words here printed in italics are not in the lithographed text.

_Page 90._ “With afflicted bosoms and bleeding hearts”—_ba dil-i kabāb,

wa sīna-i kharāb_, a jingle of words, of which Orientals are very fond,

as previously noticed, _foot_-note, p. 128.

_Page 91._ “I accept it as a favourable omen.”—Muslims are always on the

watch for lucky or unlucky omens. On first going out of a morning, the

looks and countenances of those who cross their path are scrutinised,

and a frown or a smile is deemed favourable or the reverse. To encounter

a person blind of the left eye, or with one eye, forebodes sorrow and

calamity. While Sir John Malcolm was in Persia, as British Ambassador,

he was told the following amusing story: When `Abbās the Great was

hunting, he met, one morning as the day dawned an uncommonly ugly man,

at the sight of whom his horse started. Being nearly dismounted, and

deeming it a bad omen, he called out in a rage to have his head struck

off. The poor peasant, whom they had seized and were on the point of

executing, prayed that he might be informed of his crime. “Your crime,”

said the King, “is your unlucky countenance, which is the first object I

saw this morning, and which has nearly caused me to fall from my horse.”

“Alas!” said the man, “by this reckoning, what term must I apply to your

Majesty’s countenance, which was the first object my eyes met this

morning, and which is to cause my death?” The King smiled at the wit of

the reply, ordered the man to be released, and gave him a present

instead of taking off his head.[81] Another Persian story to the same

purpose: A man said to his servant, “If you see two crows together early

in the morning, apprise me of it, that I may also behold them, as it

will be a good omen, whereby I shall pass the whole day pleasantly.”[82]

The servant did happen to see two crows sitting in one place, and

informed his master; but when he came he saw only one, the other having

in the meantime flown away. He was very angry, and began to beat the

servant, when a friend sent him a present of choice viands. Upon this

the servant exclaimed: “O my lord, you saw only one crow, and have

received a fine present: had you seen _two_, you would have met with my

fare.”[83] The old pagan Arabs never set out upon any important

expedition before consulting their fortune, either by divining arrows or

by the flight of birds; if a bird flew to the right, it was a good omen,

but if to the left, they would postpone their intended enterprise. In

allusion to this superstition the celebrated poet Bahā ’u-’d Dīn Zuhayr,

of Egypt, says:

My love is like a young gazelle,

Appearing on the huntsman’s _right_;

And oh! the bargain prospered well,

When she and I our troth did plight.

_Page 91._ “Heir to the crown.”—Bihrūz, no doubt, on being raised to the

throne, assumed another name, or the imperial title.

_Page 92._ “Purchased a young boy at the slave-market.”—Repellent as

even the name of slavery is to a European, and especially to a Briton,

it must not be supposed that the condition of slaves in Muhammadan

countries bears any resemblance to that of the slaves in the Southern

States of North America, before their emancipation, with which such

works as _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_ used to harrow up our souls. On the

contrary, Muslims are enjoined by their religion to be, and, as a

general rule, really are (all things considered), kind and even

indulgent to their slaves. Sir John Malcolm (an excellent authority)

remarks: “Slaves are not numerous [in Persia], and cannot be

distinguished by any peculiar habits or usages from the other classes,

further than that they are generally more trusted and more favoured by

their superiors. The name of slave in this country may be said to imply

confidence on one part and attachment on the other. They are mostly

Georgians or Africans; and being obtained or purchased when young, they

are usually brought up in the Muhammadan religion. Their master, who

takes the merit of their conversion, appropriates the females to his own

harem, or to the service of his wives; and when the males are at a

proper age, he marries them to female slaves in the family, or to free

women. Their children are brought up in the house, and have a rank only

below relations. In almost every family of consequence the person in

whom the greatest trust is reposed is a house-born slave; and instances

of their betraying their charge, or abusing the confidence that is

placed in them, are very rare.”[84] A curious story is related in the

Talmud, of a man making his will in favour of his slave, although he had

a son whom he loved fondly. This man, residing at some distance from

Jerusalem, had sent his son to the Holy City to “complete his education”

(to employ an absurd colloquial phrase for the nonce); and dying during

his son’s absence, he bequeathed his entire estate to one of his slaves,

on the condition that he should allow his son to select any one article

which pleased him for an inheritance. Surprised and naturally angry at

such gross injustice on the part of his father, in preferring a slave

for his heir instead of himself, the young man sought counsel of his

preceptor, who, after carefully considering the terms of the will, thus

explained its meaning and effect: “By this action thy father has simply

secured thy inheritance to thee. To prevent his slaves from plundering

the estate before thou couldst formally claim it, he left it to one of

them, who, believing himself to be the owner, would take good care of

the property. Now, what a slave possesses belongs to his master; choose,

therefore, the slave for thy portion, and then possess all that was thy

father’s.” The young man followed this advice, took possession of the

slave, and thus of his father’s wealth, and then gave the slave his

freedom, together with a considerable sum of money.[85]—“The manners of

Asia,” says Richardson, “seem in all ages to have pointed to domestic

slavery; and Muhammad, in Arabia, made that an article of religion which

had anciently been only a custom. The captives of war were, in

consequence, with few exceptions, constantly reduced to a state of

servitude; and little distinction seems in general to have been made

between a princess and her slave; excepting what she derived from a

superiority of personal accomplishments. These ideas the Arabians

entertained amidst their extensive conquests. Many instances might be

given, but two will suffice, as they were daughters of the two greatest

princes in the world. In an action after the siege of Damascus, in A.D.

635, amongst other prisoners was the daughter of Heraclius, emperor of

Greece, and widow of the governor of that city. Rasi, the Arabian

commander, to whose lot she fell, presented her without ceremony as a

slave to Jonas, a Grecian, who had embraced the Muhammadan religion; but

Jonas, from a principle of honour, returned her, with all her jewels,

unransomed to her father. When the Arabians conquered Persia, Shīrīn

Bānū, the daughter of the King Yazdejird, was one of the captives, and

was publicly exposed to sale in the city of Madīna; but the

liberal-minded `Alī thought differently from his countrymen on this

occasion; he declared that the offspring of princes ought not to be

sold, and married her immediately to his son.”[86]—The lot of women in

Arabia before the time of Muhammad was at the best a hard one, and it

certainly underwent no improvement when they happened to be taken

captive in any of the frequent tribal wars. (The brutal treatment of the

beauteous Abla, in the _Romance of `Antar_, when she fell into the hands

of the chief of a tribe hostile to that of `Abs, is doubtless a faithful

picture of Arabian life in those times.) And there can be no question

that the cruel and unnatural practice which prevailed among the

pre-Islamite Arabs of burying alive their new-born female children had

its origin in a desire to save them from the hardships they were so

likely to encounter when grown up. This practice seems to have been at

one time common to most of the nations of antiquity.

_Page 93._ “Several of the soldiers returned.”—They probably came to

report to the King that the enemy were in superior force, and that more

troops must be despatched to oppose them.

_Page 94._ “Day was beginning to dawn.” The text adds: “He performed the

morning-prayer (_namāz-i sabā_), at the time when [teaches the Kur’ān]

‘you can plainly distinguish a white thread from a black thread.’” The

Persians, who are _shī`a_ (unorthodox), prefer to “distinguish a white

horse from a gray horse.”

_Page 94._ “Say, King, shall I strike or not?”—It was customary, if I am

not mistaken, at the courts of some of the Khalifs or other Eastern

monarchs, for the executioner, after being ordered to decapitate a

culprit, to ask the King three times: “Shall I strike?”

_Page 95._ “It was the will of Heaven that they should fall into the

sea, where one of them perished, but the other was restored to us.”—The

unhappy couple could not bring themselves to confess that the father had

with his own hand tossed them into the water. There is something in this

that bears a resemblance to the answer of Joseph’s brethren when they

went down to Egypt to buy corn, and were arrested on suspicion of being

spies: “Thy servants are twelve brethren, the sons of one man in the

land of Canaan; and behold, the youngest is this day with our father,

and _one is not_.” (Gen. xlii, 13.)

_Page 96._ “Set at liberty all those who had been confined with him.”—To

the point is the following extract from the _Times_ newspaper, of

September 23, 1882, p. 8, col. 2: “The coronation of Czars is always

signalised by acts of imperial clemency, and in this respect the ukase

of Alexander II, on the 7th of September, 1856, remains honourable. It

granted a complete amnesty to all the political offenders of 1825–6, and

of the Polish rebellion of 1831, who were still in exile, or _in

prison_; also pardons to Press offenders, military defaulters, and to

about five thousand other individuals in gaols.”

NOTES ON CHAPTER IX.

_Page 97._ “The history of Abū Temām, and the envy of the envious.”—The

Muslim, in his daily prayers, says: “I fly for refuge unto the Lord of

the Daybreak; that He may deliver me from the mischief of the envious,

when he envieth.”—Kur`an cxiii. 5.

_Page 97._ Abū Temām.—Abū—literally, “Father”—has often the sense of

“endowed with,” or “possessed of,” and forms the figure called

“metonymy.” Thus, Abū Bakr, “father of the maid”—Muhammad’s

father-in-law and successor; Abū Hurayrat, “father of the kitten,” one

of Muhammad’s companions, so nicknamed by the Prophet, on account of his

having a pet cat.—Abū Temām signifies, “possessed of integrity.”

_Page 98._ “Any one possessed of above five direms”—equivalent to “any

one who had a sixpence.”—It is related of Mūlī Isma`īl, Emperor of

Morocco (who died in 1714), that when any of his subjects grew rich, in

order to keep him from being dangerous to the state, he used to send for

his goods and chattels. His governors of towns and provinces formed

themselves on the example of their dread monarch, practised rapine,

violence, extortion, and all the art of despotic government, that they

might the better send him their yearly presents: for the greatest of his

viceroys was in danger of being recalled or hanged if he did not remit

the bulk of his plunder to his sovereign. That he might make a right use

of these treasures, he took care to bury them under ground, by the hands

of his most trusty slaves, and then cut their throats, as the most

effectual method of securing secrecy. The following story will

illustrate his notions of property: Being upon the road, amidst his

life-guards, a little before the Ram feast, he met one of his kāzīs at

the head of his servants, who were driving a great flock of sheep to

market. The Emperor asked whose they were. The kāzī, with a profound

submission, answered: “They are mine, O Isma`īl, son of El-Sherīf.”

“Thine! thou wretch!” exclaimed Mūlī Isma`īl; “I thought I had been the

only proprietor in this country.” Upon which he ran him through the body

with his lance, and piously distributed the sheep among his guards for

the celebration of the feast. His determination of justice between man

and man will evince the blessings of his administration: A kāzī

complaining to him of a wife (whom he had received from his Majesty’s

hands, and therefore could not divorce her), that she used to pull him

by the beard, the Emperor ordered his beard to be plucked out by the

roots, that he might not be liable to any more such affronts. A farmer,

having accused some of his guards of having robbed him of a drove of

oxen, the Emperor shot the offenders; but afterwards demanding

reparation of the accuser for the loss of so many brave fellows, and

finding him insolent, he compounded the matter with him by taking away

his life.—One good thing he was celebrated for in the course of his long

reign, the clearing of the roads of robbers, with which they used to be

infested; but his method was to flay man, woman, and child that lived

within a certain distance of the district where a robbery was committed.

_Page 99._ “The erection of bridges, caravanserais, and mosques.”—It is

doubtful whether “caravanserais” be the correct rendering of the word

_ribāt_. It may denote one of the dome-shaped buildings (_kubba_),

having an oratory annexed, and an institution endowed for the

maintenance of students (_tālibān-i-`ilm_), who are to pass their lives

in reading and devotion.—Sa`dī, in his _Bustān_, b. i, says: “No one

hath come into the world for continuance, save him who leaveth behind

him a good name; nor hath any one died who hath left as an inheritance a

bridge, a mosque, a hostel, or an hospital. Whoever hath left no such

memorial behind him, his existence has been but that of a tree which

never bore fruit; and whoever hath departed and left no mark, his name

after his death will never be lauded.” The “erection of mosques” may

remind the reader of a passage in _Hamlet_, iii, 2: “There’s hope a

great man’s memory may outlive his life half a year; but, by’r Lady, _he

must build churches then_.”

_Page 99._ “His advice was followed in all matters of importance.”—The

text says: “he appointed him Grand Vizier” (_wazīr-i a`zam_).

_Page 99._ “This King had Ten Viziers, who conceived a mortal hatred

against Abū Temām,” &c.—See Note, pp. 137–9.—So too in Norse and other

European Folk-Tales, envious courtiers endeavour to ruin or destroy a

King’s favourite by inciting the monarch to set him to perform some

difficult and dangerous exploit, in which, however, he always succeeds.

_Page 100._ “Princess of Turkistān.”—Turān, Turkomania (or Transoxiana),

is the country which lies beyond the Jihūn, or Oxus. Under the names of

Irān and Turān the Eastern historians comprehend all the higher Asia,

excepting India and China; and sometimes they imply “the whole world.”

The Tātār nations in general have fine countenances, with large black

eyes. Of all the towns in Turkistān, Chighil is the most famous for

handsome men, expert archers, and beautiful maidens:

“The ringlets of the idols of Chighil

Are altogether the abode of the soul, and the dwelling of the

heart.”[87]

_Page 100._ “When the King heard the extravagant praises of her beauty

he became enamoured.”—See Note pp. 157–8.

_Page 101._ “When the King of Turkistān heard of Abū Temām’s arrival, he

sent proper officers to receive and compliment him.”—See third note, p.

131.—In Lescallier’s version the interview between the King and Abū

Temām is related in more detail, to the following effect:

Abū Temām, after presenting his credentials and paying his respects to

the King, informed him of the subject of his embassy. “The request which

the King your master makes for my daughter,” said the King of Turkistān,

“is for me a source of joy and happiness. But as it is to be feared that

my daughter is unworthy of the King your master, I desire you to enter

my harem to see her and to hear her speak, and to assure yourself if she

is capable of pleasing the sovereign who sends you. I will prepare my

daughter to receive you.” Abū Temām, who was full of cleverness and

discretion, replied to the King with the greatest politeness: “God

forbid, your Majesty, that my eyes should behold the Princess, or my

ears should dare to hear her voice! If she were not in all respects

worthy of the King my master, the Divine will would not have inspired

him with the desire of possessing her, nor enslaved his heart to her

perfections. My King did not send me with such instructions.” Abū Temām

had no sooner spoken these words than the King of Turkistān clasped him

in his arms with affection, and cried: “I regard thee as a father, for

thou freest my existence from a great burthen.” “O great King!” replied

Abū Temām, “since my happy star made me enter the service of my

sovereign, I have never experienced anything save benefits, kindness,

and peculiar favours. What is the difficulty that I can solve for your

Majesty? Let him command me.” “I was even now,” said the King, “busy

with the project of thy death, and thou hast happily escaped the

severity of my sharp sword. I shall tell thee the motive which urged me

to put thee to death, and how thou hast been delivered from that danger.

All the ambassadors who have come from different princes to ask my

daughter have received the same proposal which I made to thee, to enter

my harem, to judge of the beauty and perfections of the Princess; and

they all went in. I regarded the prudence and wisdom of these sovereigns

according to those of their ambassadors, and to punish their audacity I

put them all to death. This year four hundred ambassadors have been

beheaded. I preserve their heads in the room which thou wilt see.” Then

the King drew from his girdle a key, with which he opened the door of

that room, and showed to Abū Temām the four hundred heads of

ambassadors. He afterwards added: “The prudence which thou hast shown

has saved thy life. It has given me a good opinion of thy sovereign, and

I will grant him my daughter.”

Lescallier’s texts were probably in error in stating that the four

hundred ambassadors had all been put to death within a year. The

lithographed text, like that of Sir William Ouseley, gives us to

understand that the envoys had been beheaded in the course of years. In

Habicht’s Arabian text the King is represented as saying: “‘Come and

look into this well;’ and Abū Temām beheld a well filled with the heads

of the sons of Adam.”

_Page 103._ “The Ten Viziers finding ... their own importance and

dignity reduced,” &c.—How true to human nature, and how applicable to

the case of Abū Temām as well as to that of our young hero Bakhtyār, is

the “saying of the sage,” as cited in the _Anvār-i Suhailī_ (ii, 3):

“Whoever is unceasingly zealous in the service of the King quickly

reaches the rank of admission to his favour, and whoever has become the

intimate of the Sultan, all the friends and foes of the monarch become

his enemies: the friends, through envy of his post and dignity; and the

foes, by reason of his advising the King sincerely in matters of state

and religion.”

_Page 103._ “Whose office was to rub the King’s feet.”—The Arabs (says

Lane) are very fond of having their feet, and especially the soles,

slowly rubbed with the hand; and this operation, which is one of the

services commonly required of a wife or a female slave, is a usual mode

of waking a person; as it is also of lulling a person to sleep. Thus, in

the story of Maaroof (Lane’s _Arabian Nights_, iii, 721), “the damsel

then proceeded to rub and press gently the soles of his feet until sleep

overcame him.”

_Page 105._ “The King drew his scimitar, and cut off his head.”—Surely,

an instance of “haste and precipitancy”—with a _vengeance_! This despot

did not even acquaint his victim of the crime of which the lads had

accused him. It had been probably otherwise with Abū Temām had his royal

master shaped his conduct in “affairs of moment” after that of another

king, of whom we read, in the _Anvār-i Suhailī_ (xiii, 3), that in order

to moderate his anger, and judge cases like a king, a recluse gave him

three letters, which he was to place in the hands of a faithful and

confidential officer, who was to be permitted to read one of them to the

King when he beheld symptoms of anger in his countenance, and should

that not suffice to soothe his mind, the officer was to read the second

letter, and the third, if the second did not tame his rebellious spirit.

The contents of the three letters were to this effect: (1) While thou

still retainest the power, do not place the reins of choice in the grasp

of thy passions, for they will plunge thee into the whirlpool of

everlasting destruction. (2) In the time of wrath be merciful to those

in thy power, in order that in the hour of retribution thy superiors may

be merciful to thee. (3) In issuing thy commands do not overstep the

bounds of the law, and under no circumstances abandon what is just.

_Page 106._ “Their houses levelled with the ground.”—When a city was

solemnly destroyed by the Romans, the plough was drawn along where the

walls had stood. Thus Horace (Ode i, 16): “Rage has been the final

cause ... that an insolent army has driven the hostile ploughshare over

their walls.” Thus also we read in the sacred writings (Micah iii, 12):

“Therefore shall Zion for your sake be ploughed as a field;” and

likewise of salt being sown on the ground where cities stood (see Judges

ix, 45), indicating the last insult of a triumphant enemy. In allusion

to the usual practice of absolute Eastern monarchs wreaking their

vengeance not only on an offending minister, but also on his wife and

family, Sa`dī, in his _Bustān_, b. i, directs a king, in dealing with a

criminal, to slay him, if the law pronounce its decree; “but if thou

hast those who belong to his family, them forgive, and extend to them

thy mercy: the iniquitous man it was who committed the crime;—what was

the offence of his helpless wife and children?”

* * * * *

In Cazotte’s rendering of this story, under the corrupted title of Abou

Talmant, for a King of Turkistān is substituted a King of Cochin-China.

The plot for destroying the prudent minister by means of the prattle of

two young slaves in the King’s hearing is considerably amplified: the

malicious viziers having taught them to repeat some harem gossip while

the King was reposing, but not asleep, which, proving to be true,

prepared him to believe the false story of the Queen’s love for Abū

Temām. The King’s discovery of his favourite’s innocence is differently

related;—instead of his overhearing the two pages quarrel over the

division of the money, a day or two after Abū Temām had been put to

death, as in the Persian version—the King immediately returns to his

private chamber, and seeing the pieces of gold scattered on the floor,

sends for the pages, and compels them to tell the truth regarding their

possession of so much money. He then causes the _two_ Viziers to be

beheaded.

NOTES ON CHAPTER X.

_Page 107._ The King of Persia (_Shāh `Ajam_).—The term _`Ajam_

includes all who cannot speak Arabic, or who do not speak it with

elegance. Among the Arabs it applies to all people not of Arab

descent, and carries the same idea as Barbarians with the Greeks,

Gentiles with the Hebrews. Hence Persia is called `Ajamistān, the land

of the stranger, or barbarian. And so two famous Arabian poems are

distinguished respectively by the nationalities of their authors:

_Lāmiyyatu-’l-`Arab_, by the Arabian brigand-poet Shanfará, and

_Lāmiyyātu-’l-`Ajam_, by Et Tugrā`ī, a native of Isfahān: that is, the

L-Poem (from its rhyming in _lam_, or L) of the Arab, and the L-Poem

of the Foreigner.

_Page 108._ “Not having any child,” &c.—The desire of offspring, and

especially of male children, seems to have always been very strong among

Asiatics of all classes, and by Jews the want of children was considered

sufficient ground for divorce, as the following beautiful rabbinical

story will show: A man, it is related, brought his wife before Rabbi

Simon, expressing his desire to be divorced, since he had been married

over ten years without being blessed with children. The Rabbi at first

endeavoured to dissuade the man from his purpose, but finding him

resolute, he gravely addressed the pair thus: “My children, when you

were married did ye not make a feast and entertain your friends? Well,

since you are determined to be divorced, do likewise: go home, make a

feast, entertain your friends, and on the following day come to me and I

will comply with your wishes.” They returned home, and, in accordance

with the good Rabbi’s advice, the husband caused a splendid feast to be

prepared, to which were invited their friends and relations. In the

course of the entertainment, the husband, being gladdened with wine,

said to his wife: “My beloved, we have lived many happy years together;

it is only the want of children that makes me wish for a separation. To

convince thee, however, that I still love thee, I give thee leave to

take with thee out of my house whatever thou likest best.” “Be it so,”

answered his wife. The wine-cup was freely plied by the guests, and all

became merry, until at length many had fallen asleep, and amongst these

was the master of the house, which his wife perceiving, she caused him

to be carried to her father’s house and put to bed. Having slept off the

effects of his carouse, he awoke, and, finding himself in a strange

house, exclaimed: “Where am I?—how came I here?” His wife, who had

placed herself behind a curtain to await the issue of her little

stratagem, came up to him, and told him that he had no cause for alarm,

since he was in her father’s house. “In thy father’s house!” echoed the

astonished husband—“how should I come hither?” “I will soon explain, my

dear husband. Didst thou not tell me last night that I might take out of

thy house whatever I most valued? Now, my beloved, believe me, amongst

all thy treasures there is none I value so much as I do thyself.” The

sequel may be readily imagined: overcome by such devotion, the husband

affectionately embraced his wife, was reconciled to her, and they lived

happily together ever afterwards.[88]—Throughout the East, indeed, the

want of children is considered as a great disgrace. Readers of Oriental

romances, such as those contained in _Elf Layla wa Layla_, or The

Thousand and One Nights; _Bahār-i Dānish_, or the Spring of Knowledge,

and _Kissa-i Chehār Darvīsh_, or Tale of the Four Dervishes, will easily

call to mind the many stories of Khalīfs, Sultāns, Shāhs, Viziers, &c.

being childless, and of the pious and even magical means they adopted to

obtain the blessing of a son and heir.

_Page 108._ “In a dream.”—Muslims consider dreams as the predictions of

future events. Good dreams are believed to be from God, and false ones

from the Devil. “Whoever seeth me,” said the Prophet, “_in his sleep_,

seeth me truly; for Satan cannot assume the similitude of my

form.”—Lane’s _Thousand and One Nights_, iii, p. 512, _note_.

_Page 108._ “Was addressed by an old man,” &c.—According to Lescallier,

“by a genie, resplendent with light.”

_Page 109._ “The top of a mountain, from which he shall fall, rolling in

blood and clay.”—Lescallier’s rendering goes on to say: “He shall yet

escape the murderous teeth of that lion; and when he has attained his

twentieth year, he shall give you a wound, and put you to death.”

_Page 109._ “One of his Viziers eminently skilled in

astrology”—Lescallier adds, “assisted by many other astronomers.”—In

Eastern courts an astronomer would be held in disrespect if he did not

debase the truth of his science to the vain predictions of astrology

(_‘ilmu-’n-nujūn_). Every professional astrologer hangs an

astrolabe—which is not larger than the hollow of the hand—in a neat

case, at his girdle. Some have an astrolabe two or three inches in

diameter, which at a distance looks like a medal conferred on the wearer

as a mark of honour, or as an order of merit.[89] “A very slight

knowledge of astronomy,” says Sir John Malcolm, “is sufficient to allow

a Persian student to profess the occult science of judicial astrology.

If a person can take an altitude with an astrolabe, knows the names of

the planets and their different mansions, and a few technical phrases,

and understands the astrological almanacs that are annually published,

he deems himself entitled to offer his services to all who wish to

consult him; and that includes every person in Persia who has the means

to reward his skill. Nothing is done by a man of any consequence or

property without reference to the stars. If any measure is to be

adopted, if a voyage or journey is to be commenced, if a new dress is to

be put on—the lucky or unlucky moment must be discovered, and the

almanac and astrologer are consulted. A person wishing to commence a

journey will not allow a fortunate day to escape, even though he is not

ready to set out. He leaves his own house at the propitious moment, and

remains, till he can actually proceed, in some incommodious lodging in

its vicinity, satisfied that, by quitting his house, he has secured all

the benefit which the influence of good stars can afford him.”[90] When

Sir John Malcolm entered Tehrān as British Ambassador, the King’s

astrologer so timed the progress of the cavalcade that the “Elchī’s”

charger should put his foot over the threshold of the gate at the

precise lucky moment, which he had previously ascertained.

The Chaldeans were the first astrologers, and the so-called science was

sedulously cultivated and in high estimation among the Hindūs, the

Greeks, the Egyptians, and their Alexandrian disciples. Even the

illustrious Tycho Brahe was devoted to astrology from his early youth

until within a few years of his death, when he finally abandoned it as a

fallacy. At first, and for a very long period afterwards, astrology was

not separated into the two divisions or departments of _natural_

astrology, or observations of the regular motions of the heavenly bodies

(which is now termed _astronomy_), and _judicial_ astrology, or the

pretended science of foretelling events from observation of the relative

positions of the planets. Isidore of Seville, it is said, was the first

to distinguish between astronomy and astrology. The professors of

judicial astrology in Europe pretended—as those in Asiatic countries

still pretend—to be able to predict the destiny of any one who came to

consult them, by a process called _casting his horoscope_, which was

done by first ascertaining the precise hour of the person’s birth, and

the sign the sun was in at that time, and then drawing conclusions from

observation of the conjunction and relative position of the planets

towards each other. But European astrologers very frequently—probably as

a general rule—did not trouble themselves to “read the stars;” they were

for the most part accomplished physiognomists, and it may be said that

they usually contented themselves with telling fortunes by faces rather

than by the appearance of the heavenly bodies. There can be little doubt

that, with the exception of a few deluded individuals who thoroughly

believed in their own skill, those who professed a knowledge of

astrology were arrant impostors—cunning knaves, who traded on the

prevalent superstition and credulity of mankind in the days before

science began to shed its pure light.

El-Hajjāj, a general under the Khalīf El-Walīd I, consulted, in his last

illness, an astrologer, who predicted to him his approaching death. “I

rely so completely on your knowledge,” said El-Hajjāj to him, “that I

wish to have you with me in the next world, and I shall therefore send

you thither before me, in order that I may be able to employ your

services from the time of my arrival.” He then ordered the soothsayer to

be put to death, although the time fixed for this event by the planets

had not yet arrived.—Abū-’l-Ma`shar, the oracle of astrology, left in

writing, that he found the Christian religion, according to the

indications of the stars, should last but fourteen hundred years—he has

been belied by nearly five hundred years already.—Tiberius, when he was

at Rhodes, wished to satisfy his curiosity with respect to judicial

astrology. He sent, in succession, for all those who pretended to

foretell future events. One of his enfranchised slaves, of great stature

and extraordinary strength, conducted them to him through the

intricacies of the precipices. If Tiberius discovered that the

astrologer was a cheat, the slave, upon a given signal, immediately cast

him into the sea. At that time there was at Rhodes a man named

Trasullus, who was deeply skilled in astrology, and of a cunning

disposition. He was taken, in the same manner as the others, to this

retired spot, assured Tiberius that he should be Emperor, and revealed

to him many other events that should take place. Tiberius asked him if

he knew his own destiny, and if he had consulted his own horoscope.

Trasullus—who had had some suspicions when he did not see any of his

companions return, and felt his fears increase on viewing the

countenance of Tiberius, the man who had been his conductor (who did not

quit him for a moment), the elevated place where he stood, and the

precipice which lay beneath him—turned his eyes up to heaven, as if to

consult the stars; he immediately appeared fear-stricken, turned pale,

and exclaimed, in an apparent agony of terror, that he was menaced with

death. Tiberius was full of joy and admiration on hearing this reply,

ascribing to astrology what was only presence of mind and cunning,

cheered the spirits of Trasullus, embraced him, and from that time

regarded him as an oracle.—An astrologer foretold the death of a lady

whom Louis XI passionately loved. She did, in fact, die, and the King

imagined that the prediction of the astrologer was the cause of it. He

sent for the man, intending to have him thrown out of the window as a

punishment. “Tell me,” said the King, “thou who pretendest to be so

clever and learned a man, what thy own fate will be?” The soothsayer,

who suspected the intentions of the King, and knew his foible, replied:

“Sire, I foresee that I shall die three days before your Majesty.” Louis

believed him, and was careful of the astrologer’s life.—An astrologer,

fixing his eyes upon the Duke of Milan, said to him: “My Lord, arrange

your affairs, for you have not long to live.” The Duke asked: “How dost

thou know this?” “By my acquaintance with the stars,” answered the

astrologer. “And pray, how long art thou to live?” “My planet promises

me a long life.” “Well, thou shalt shortly discover that we ought not to

trust the stars.” And the Duke ordered him to be hanged instantly.—Our

own King Henry VIII asked an astrologer if he knew where he should pass

the festivities at Christmas. The astrologer answered that he knew

nothing on the subject. “Then,” said the King, “_I_ am wiser than _thou_

art; for I know that thou shalt pass them in the Tower of London;” and

the unlucky astrologer was at once conducted thither.—William, Duke of

Mantua, had in his stables a brood mare which gave birth to a mule. He

immediately sent to the most famous astrologers in Italy the hour of the

birth of this animal, requesting them to inform him what should be the

fortune of a bastard that had been born in his palace; he took care,

however, not to intimate that he was speaking of a mule. The soothsayers

used their best endeavours to flatter the Prince, not doubting that the

bastard belonged to himself. Some declared that it should be a general;

others made it a bishop; some raised it to the rank of cardinal; and

there were even some who elevated it to the papal chair!

It is truly marvellous that the same age which produced a Newton should

also have seen flourish that arch-astrologer William Lilly (inimitably

satirised by Butler under the name of Sidrophel),[91] whose preposterous

predictions were credited even by persons of education. Swift may be

said to have dealt the death-blow to astrology by his celebrated squib,

entitled “Prediction for the year 1718, by Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq.,” in

which he ridiculed the prophetic almanac-makers of the day. Astrology

having permeated all science and literature, it is not surprising that

many of its peculiar terms should have become embodied in our language,

as, for example, in the words _consider_ and _contemplate_, _disaster_

and _disastrous_; and we still speak of _jovial_, _mercurial_, and

_saturnine_ men.—Kepler, in the preface to his Rudolphine tables,

observes that Astrology, though a fool, was the daughter of a wise

mother, to whose support and life the foolish daughter was

indispensable.[92]

_Page 109._ “In the meantime he caused a subterraneous dwelling to be

constructed, to which he sent the boy, with a nurse.”—Sir William

Ouseley has omitted to mention that the boy _was_ born—on the following

day, according to Lescallier.—Many instances of a father trying to belie

the predictions of soothsayers occur in Eastern fiction, and also in

classical and European legends. The story of Danae, the daughter of

Acrisius, King of Argos, by Eurydice, who was confined in a brazen tower

by her father, who had been told by an oracle that his daughter’s son

should put him to death, is well known. The underground dwelling of our

present tale may be compared with that described in chapter 79 of the

English _Gesta Romanorum_; also that in the _Arabian Nights_ (Story of

the Second Kalender); and in the _Bāgh o Bahār_ (Tale of the Second

Dervish), a young prince, in consequence of the prediction of

astrologers that he is menaced with great danger until his fourteenth

year, is confined in a vault, lined with felt, so that he should not

behold the sun or moon. In Mr Ralston’s _Tibetan Tales_, under the title

of “The Fulfilled Prophecy,” the diviners declare that “a son should be

born who should take the King’s life and usurp the royal power, setting

the diadem on his own head.” In the Norse story of “Rich Peter the

Pedlar,”[93] a prediction that his daughter should one day wed a poor

man’s son is fulfilled in spite of many efforts to defeat it—a story

which seems to have been adapted from the _Gesta Romanorum_, Tale xx of

Swan’s translation. And in the Netherlandish Legend of “St Julian the

Ferryman,” it is predicted that Julian shall one day put his own father

and mother to death; and although the unhappy youth flies into a far

distant country, he cannot flee from his terrible destiny, for many

years afterwards the prediction proves only too true.[94]

_Page 110._ “Keeper [of pen and ink] to the secretary” (_dav dari_).—The

Orientals are great admirers of caligraphy. Jamshīd, the Pīshdādian

king, in respect to scribes and writers, thus expressed himself: “As the

monarch’s sword establishes the foundation of his kingdom, so the tongue

of the scribe’s pen transacts the concerns of the faith:

“The sharp-edged sword and pen are twins; the reigning monarch,

By reliance on these two supporters, elevates his neck on high.”

And the Persian Vizier Nizām declared that his cap and inkhorn, the

badges of his office, were connected by the divine decree with the

throne and diadem of the Sultan (_Gibbon_, ch. lvii). It is worthy of

remark that Mīrzā placed before a person’s name means “a man of the

pen;” but if it follow, it means Shāh-Zāda, a prince. For different

styles of writing see A.F.S. Herbin’s _Essai de Calligraphie Orientale_,

Paris, 1803, 4to; Chardin’s _Voyages en Perse, et autres lieux de

l’Orient_, t. ii, ch. iv, pp. 107–110; and Lane’s _Modern Egyptians_,

vol. i, ch. ix. (See also second Note, page 202.)

_Page 113._ “His hair stand on end.”—Thus Job, iv, 15: “The hair of my

flesh stood up;” and Homer, speaking of Priam, when terrified at the

appearance of Mercury: “His hair stood upright on his bending limbs;”

and the Ghost, addressing Hamlet, i, 4:

Thy knotted and combined locks to part,

And each particular hair to stand on end,

Like quills upon the fretful porcupine.

_Page 114._ “Assembled all the people by proclamation”—that they might

take warning from the young man’s fate. But the Persians require no

invitation to scenes of this nature. “The curiosity,” says Dr

Chodzko,[95] “which gathers crowds of people to witness the execution of

culprits in Europe is very feeble in comparison with what can be seen in

Asia on similar occasions. There many of those present are not only fond

of looking at, but even take an active part in tormenting the condemned,

though they never saw him before, or have any motive of revenge. To stab

the poor dying wretch with a knife, or at least to spit in his face, is

an innocent pleasure, which even the women do not refuse themselves.

Those who are moved by revenge are still more savage. Riza Kūlī Khān,

the governor of Yezd, having expelled from that town one of the sons of

the Shāh (in 1830), was afterwards taken prisoner and sent to Tehrān.

The Shāh gave the culprit up to the offended prince, who, after

promising to pardon and forget all, invited him to supper in the harem,

and there stabbed him with his own hands. His wives, and the

maid-servants of the harem, _cut to pieces_ the body, weltering in

blood, with scissors, and pricked and tortured him till he gave up his

last breath!—I can see no reason for this but their brutalising

education. A child begins by wringing off the heads of living sparrows.

When he grows up they buy him a little sword, and exercise the boy in

cutting in two halves, first living fowls, then lambs, sheep, and so on.

Grown-up people consider it as a very fashionable pastime to snatch a

ram from the flock, order two of their servants to hold it by the head

and feet, and placing a bundle of straw underneath, in order to prevent

the sword from striking against the ground, to cut the bleating animal

to pieces while it is alive. The most famous of such swordsmen in Persia

was Sulaymān Mīrza, son of Fatah `Alī Shāh. He has often, in the

presence of the Shāh and numerous witnesses, with one blow of his huge

scimitar cut in two an ass, and severed the head of a camel from its

neck.”

* * * * *

In Lescallier’s version, for the King of Persia we have the King of

Arabia.—In Cazotte’s rendering, under the title of “The Sultan Hebraim

[Ibrahīm] and his Son, or The Predestined,” is found a considerably

amplified but very interesting version of this story. After the young

prince has been discovered and carried away from the underground palace

by a huntsman (not the King’s secretary, but “a man of rank and

fortune”), the incidents are totally different from those of our

version. Abaquir—the young prince—is carefully brought up by his master,

and in course of time becomes accomplished in all the exercises

befitting a noble youth. One day he accompanies his master to the chase,

when they are suddenly attacked by robbers, who slay the elder of the

hunters, and having severely wounded Abaquir, leave him for dead.

Recovering after a long period of insensibility, he rises and walks

onwards through the forest, till he meets with a dervish, who takes him

to his cave and treats him with kindness and hospitality. This dervish

proves to be a wicked magician, who prevails upon Abaquir to descend

into the bowels of a mountain to bring up precious stones, which the

false dervish having drawn safely up, the poor youth is then cruelly

abandoned to his fate. From this cavern Abaquir escapes, and after a

long journey he reaches a city, where a kind-hearted man receives him

into his house, and he remains with him some time. Weary at length of

inaction, he resolves to go out to hunt, and meets with a party of

robbers, whose real avocation he does not know, and joins them—the

robbers binding him to fidelity by a solemn oath. Too late he discovers

the true character of his companions, but is compelled to accompany them

on their plundering expeditions. The daring outrages perpetrated by this

gang of robbers become so notorious that the Sultan Hebraim marches

against them at the head of some chosen troops. The robbers are utterly

defeated, but the Sultan himself is grievously wounded. On returning to

his capital he sends for his astrologers, and angrily asks them whether

in their predictions they had foreseen that he should die by the hand of

a robber. They affirm that what the stars had predicted could not prove

false, and suggest that the Sultan should ascertain who it was, among

the robbers, that wounded him, and then inquire into his birth and

history. Abaquir, his own son, is the robber who inflicted the fatal

wound; and after he has given the best account he could of his early

years, and shown the scars of the lion’s claws on his breast, the Sultan

submits to the decree of Fate, and dies shortly after declaring Abaquir

his successor.—In Habicht’s Arabian text (which agrees with Cazotte in

nearly all the details) it is stated that the King went once every month

to the opening of the underground dwelling, let down a rope, and drew up

his son, embraced and kissed and played with him awhile, then let him

down again.

NOTES ON CONCLUSION.

_Page 116._ “Sent an order to the Viziers,” &c. The lithographed text

says: “Instantly he commanded Bakhtyār to be fetched. The King with his

own hands drew off the fetters, brought him before the Queen, and put on

him a _kabā_ [see Note p. 135] and a _kulāh_”—that is, a robe and a

turban.—Certain officers of the King of Persia’s household who wear gold

tiaras are called _Zarrin-Kullāhān_, Golden Caps.

_Page 117._ “Resigned the throne to Bakhtyār.”—In Hindū stories a very

usual conclusion is the King’s abdication of his throne in favour of his

son; and it is highly probable that such was actually the custom

formerly. In the European mediæval romance of “The Knight with the

Swan,” King Oriant abdicates in favour of his son Helias.—See Mr W. J.

Thoms’ _Early English Prose Romances_.

_Page 117._ “Dignity of Chief Vizier.”—The text reads: “He conferred on

Farrukhsuwār, with complete honour and reverence, the Vizier’s _Khil`at_

[see Note p. 136], and appointed him Commander-in-chief (_Sipahsālār_).”

The lithographed text thus concludes: “This book is finished by the aid

of the King the Giver [_i.e._ God]”: _tamma-’l-kitāb bi

`awni-’l-Māliki-’l-Wahhāb_.

ADDITIONAL NOTES.

As a few notes remain to be added to the foregoing, I take the

opportunity of correcting in this place some errors which have occurred

while these sheets were passing through the press.

Page 157, line 1, for Berica _read_ Berœa.

Page 160, line 19 for chemy _read_ cheraiy, or sheraiy.

Page 167, lines 7 and 8.—It may be as well to explain that the words

_tavakkul bar Khudā_ are a Persian translation (in the text) of the

Arabic _tawakkal `ala-’llāhi_ of the Kur’ān, ch. xxxiii (_not_ xxxvii),

3—“put thy trust in God.”

Page 169, line 19, for Trinchinopoli _read_ Trichinopoli.

* * * * *

The following note, by mischance, has been omitted in its proper place

(Notes on Chapter VIII):

_Page 93._ “The King graciously received the present which Rūzbih

offered.”—It is well known that, in all parts of the East, whoever

visits a great person must carry him a present. “It is counted uncivil,”

says Maundrell, p. 26, “to visit in this country without an offering in

hand. All great men expect it as a tribute due to their character and

authority; and look upon themselves as affronted, and indeed defrauded,

when the compliment is omitted.” In the sacred writings we find mention

made of this custom. For instance, 1 Samuel ix, 7: “But behold, if we

go, what shall we bring the man? for the bread is spent in our vessels,

and there is not a present (_teshurah_) to bring to the man of God—what

have we?” Menachem explains _teshurah_ to signify “an offering or gift,

which is presented in order to be admitted into the presence of a King

or some great man.” See also Isaiah lvii, 9, _lit._: “And thou hast

visited the King with a present of oil.”

* * * * *

“The King of Yemen and his Slave”—see page 56, and last note, page

174.—This story in Habicht’s Arabian text is entitled “The History of

King Bihkard,” and the following passages may be compared with those of

our text and with Lescallier, above referred to: On a certain day he

went on a hunting excursion, and one of his servants shot an arrow, and

it struck the King’s ear, and cut it off. The King asked: “Who shot this

arrow?” The attendants instantly conducted the bowman to the front, and

his name was Yatrū. Fainting from fear, he threw himself on the ground,

and the King said: “Put him to death.” But Yatrū said: “O King, this

fault is not of my own choice or knowledge—pardon me, then, out of thy

kindness, since grace is the most gracious of actions, and oftentimes on

some future day becomes a treasure and a benefit, and in the sight of

God a recompense at the last day. Pardon me, then: as you avert evil

from me, so will God ward off from thee a similar evil.” When the King

heard these words, he admired and forgave Yatrū, yet never had he before

pardoned any one.

Now this servant was of royal extraction, and had fled from his country,

by reason of some transgression, and had entered the service of King

Bihkard. And this is what happened to him. By chance a person who knew

him passed that way, and gave information to his father, who sent him a

letter, which gratified his heart and disposition; and he returned to

his father, who inclined indulgently towards him. Yatrū rejoiced, and

his affairs were rectified.—Compare also Lescallier and Cazotte, cited

in pp. 178, 179.

_Arabian Version of Abū Temām’s Mission._

(Comp. pp. 101–103, and 212, 213.)

According to Habicht’s text, the account of Abū Temām’s delicate—not to

say dangerous—mission to the King of Turkistān is very different from

that of the Persian version. The King desires him to enter the harem,

and see and converse with the Princess; and he proceeds thither,

reflecting on the way that “Wise men have averred that whoever deprives

his sight [that is, closes his eyes] no evil can attach to him; and

whoever bridles his tongue hears nothing disagreeable; and whoever

restrains his hand, it can neither be shortened nor lengthened.” He

accordingly enters the chamber of the Princess, and sits down on the

floor, gathering together the extremities of his robe. When the King’s

daughter requests him to raise his head, look upon and converse with

her, Abū Temām remains mute, and with downcast eyes. She then requests

him to take the pearls, and the gold and silver which lie near him, but

he does not extend his hand towards anything. At this the Princess is

vexed, and tells her father that they have sent a blind, and deaf, and

foolish ambassador; whereupon the King of Turkistān demands of Abū Temām

why he had not looked upon and conversed with his daughter: he replies

that he had seen everything [he should see]; and in answer to the

inquiry, why he had not taken the proffered pearls, he says that it was

not proper for him to extend his hand to aught that belongs to another.

The King, overjoyed at his prudence, embraces him, shows him the heads

of former ambassadors (see page 214, line 4), consents to give his

daughter in marriage to Abū Temām’s royal master, and presents him with

a robe of honour, after which Abū Temām departs, and in due course the

Princess is sent to the palace of Īlan Shāh.

_Arabian Version of the Conclusion of the Romance._

In Habicht’s Arabian text the conclusion is as follows (comp. pp.

115–117):

When the youth had finished his narrative, the King said: “Still thou

wouldest bewilder us with thy discourses, but the time is now come for

your execution.”—At the moment when they were conducting the youth to

the gallows, the robber-chief who had educated him arrived in the town.

When he observed the people assembling together, he inquired the cause,

and they said to him: “The King has commanded a young culprit to be

executed.” The robber-chief, who wished to see the youth, immediately

recognised him, and kissed him on the mouth, and said: “This youth, when

a child, I found near a fountain. I adopted him, and brought him up. One

day we attacked a caravan, and were driven into flight, and he was taken

prisoner. Since then I have sought everywhere for him, and never could

gain any news respecting him.” When the King heard this he cried aloud,

threw himself on the youth, embraced and kissed him, and said: “I should

have put my own son to death, and in consequence should have died of

grief.” The King then unfettered the Prince, took the crown from his own

head, and placed it on that of his son. The news was made public by the

beating of drums and the braying of trumpets, the town was illuminated,

and there arose such a shouting of joy that the birds could scarcely

support themselves in the air. All prisoners were released by order of

the King, and a seven days’ festival proclaimed throughout the kingdom.

On the eighth day the King placed his son at his side, and summoned all

his friends, the city notables, and the viziers. To these last the

Prince said: “You see now the work of God’s providence—you now perceive

His aid was near.” The Viziers were struck dumb, and the King added: “I

observe that on this day all the people rejoice, even the birds of the

air—ye only are downcast; that is truly a proof of rancour against me.

Had I listened to your advice, I should have died from the effects of

despair and repentance.” The King then summoned to his presence the

robber-chief, made him many presents, and said: “Whoever loves the King,

let him lavish gifts on this man.” Whereupon he was so overwhelmed with

presents that he could not take any more; and the King then conferred

upon him the governorship of the province in which he had dwelt.

Soon afterwards the King ordered nine sets of gallows to be erected near

the one already set up, and said to his son: “Thou wast guiltless—these

wicked Viziers slandered thee in my eyes.” The Prince rejoined: “My

crime consisted of my loyalty to thee—seeing that I removed their hands

from thy treasures, they envied me, and wished my death.” “On that

account,” said the King, “let their punishment now be near, for their

crime is great: to destroy thee, they did not scruple to disgrace my

house in the opinion of all sovereigns.” He then turned to the Viziers,

and said to them: “Woe be to you! Wherewith can you excuse yourselves?”

They replied: “O King, there is no excuse for us—we were unkind to the

youth, and wished his misfortune, which has recoiled on us;—for him we

dug a grave and have fallen into it ourselves.” Hereupon the King issued

an order for their execution—“for,” said he, “God is just, and all His

judgments are true.” The King afterwards lived in happiness and

peacefully with his spouse and his son, until the disturber of all

earthly friends reached them likewise.

WILLIAM BURNS, PRINTER, LARKHALL, LANARKSHIRE.

-----

Footnote 1:

See Thoms’ _Lays and Legends of Germany_; Thorpe’s _Yule-Tide

Stories_; Roscoe’s _German Novelists_.

Footnote 2:

Grimm’s _German Popular Tales_.

Footnote 3:

Dasent’s _Popular Tales from the Norse_.

Footnote 4:

Perhaps one of the most curious instances of the migrations of popular

tales is the following. In Taylor’s _Wit and Mirth_, an excellent

jest-book, compiled by the celebrated Water-Poet (_temp._ James I of

England), we are told of a countryman who had come up to London on a

visit, and some wags having set a big dog at him in sport, the poor

fellow stooped to pick up a stone to throw at the brute, but finding

them all rammed hard and fast into the ground, he exclaimed in

astonishment: “What strange folk are these, who fasten the stones and

let loose their dogs!” More than three centuries before Taylor heard

this jest, the Persian poet Sa`dī related it in his _Gulistān_, or

Rose-Garden (ch. iv, story 10 of Eastwick’s translation): “A poet went

to the chief of a band of robbers, and recited a panegyric upon him.

He commanded them to strip off his clothes, and turn him out of the

village. The dogs, too, attacked him in the rear. He wanted to take up

a stone, but the ground was frozen. Unable to do anything, he said:

‘What a villanous set are these, who have untied their dogs, and tied

up the stones!’”—Here we have a jest, at the recital of which, in the

14th century, “grave and otiose” Easterns wagged their beards and

shook their portly sides, finding its way, three centuries later, to

London taverns, where Taylor probably heard it told amidst the

clinking of cans and fragrant clouds blown from pipes of Trinidado!

But how came it thither?—that is the question.

Footnote 5:

Of the numerous English translations of the _Arabian Nights_ which

have been published, that of the learned Arabist, Mr William Edward

Lane, made direct from the original text, is by far the best, and will

probably never be surpassed; while his elaborate and highly

interesting Notes to the translation furnish the most complete account

which we possess of the manners, customs, superstitions, &c., of the

modern Arabians in Egypt, with which his residence in that country,

and familiarity with the language as it is spoken, enabled him to

become intimately acquainted.

Footnote 6:

For example: before one story (1) is ended another (2) is begun, and

before it is finished another (3), springing out of the second, is

commenced; then out of story 3 springs yet another story (4), which

ended, number 3 is resumed and brought to an end, then number 2, after

which number 1 is resumed and concluded; and then the thread of the

_leading_ story—which runs throughout the whole work, like a brook

through a meadow, but often out of sight—is taken up once more;—to

lead presently to a fresh complication of stories, which “beget one

another to the end of the chapter!” The arrangement of the Tales in

the _Arabian Nights_ is on this plan; though not to be compared for

elaboration with that of the Indian Fables, above-mentioned, still

less so with the frame of _Kathá Sarit Ságara_.

Footnote 7:

A complete and unabridged translation of the _Thousand and One Nights_

(the first that has appeared in English), by Mr John Payne, author of

“The Masque of Shadows,” “Poems of Francis Villon,” &c., is in course

of publication. The first volume, now issued to subscribers, is well

printed on hand-made paper, and elegantly bound in gilt parchment.

This edition is limited to 500 copies, numbered, most of which, I

understand, have already been taken up.

Footnote 8:

The word _Nāma_ (often written _Namah_ and _Nameh_) signifies Book, or

History.

Footnote 9:

It is probably this version that is quoted by Sa`dī, in his _Bustān_,