The Bakhtyār Nāma: A Persian Romance
Author: Unknown
Date: 2019-09-17T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Persian poetry -- Translations into English

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Title: The Bakhtyār Nāma: A Persian Romance

Translator: William Ouseley

Editor: W. A. Clouston

Release date: September 17, 2019 [eBook #60316]
Most recently updated: October 17, 2024

Language: English

Credits: E-text prepared by Richard Tonsing, Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)

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The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Bakhtyār Nāma, by Anonymous, Edited by W. A. Clouston, Translated by Sir William Gore Ouseley

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The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

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THE
BAKHTYĀR NĀMA:
A PERSIAN ROMANCE.
TRANSLATED FROM A MANUSCRIPT TEXT,

BY
SIR WILLIAM OUSELEY.
Edited, with Introduction and Notes,
BY
W. A. CLOUSTON,

Editor of “Arabian Poetry for English Readers.”

Each order given by a reigning King
Should after long reflection be expressed;
For it may be that endless woe will spring
From a command he paused not to digest.

Anvār-i Suhailī.

PRIVATELY PRINTED.

MDCCCLXXXIII.

Edition:

330 Copies, of which 30 are printed on hand-made paper, and numbered.

WILLIAM BURNS, PRINTER, LARKHALL, LANARKSHIRE.

TO

GENERAL JAMES ABBOTT, C.B.,

MEMBER OF THE ROYAL ASIATIC SOCIETY OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND,

A TRIBUTE OF RESPECT
FROM
THE EDITOR.

PREFACE.

The Romance which forms the staple of this little volume is generally considered as belonging to the Sindibād cycle of tales. It has for ages been popular in the East, though to the average English reader the very name of Prince Bakhtyār is unknown. Many years ago the learned Orientalist Sir W. Ouseley presented his countrymen with an English translation of this romance, but copies of his work have now become extremely scarce. Dr Johnson’s dictum, that the scarcity of a book is evidence of its worthlessness, otherwise copies of it would have been multiplied, is (like not a few of his other tea-table sayings) more specious than true. Many causes, besides that of uselessness, may render a book scarce. A book may be a very good book yet lack interest, excepting for only a few readers; and such was doubtless the case of Sir W. Ouseley’s translation; for, strange to say, considering our vast Asiatic possessions, the cultivation of Oriental literature in this country has hitherto met with little or no encouragement from the English people generally.

But among the more intelligent class of readers there has lately sprung up considerable interest in the curious migrations and transformations of popular tales, the tracing of which from country to country, and from modern to remote times, is not only a fascinating, but a highly instructive pursuit; and the idea occurred to me that a reprint of Sir W. Ouseley’s translation of the Romance of Prince Bakhtyār, together with explanatory and illustrative notes, and—by way of introduction—such particulars as could be ascertained regarding its origin and that of similar Oriental fictions, might now find “readers fit, though few.” My little project has been supported by members of the Royal Asiatic Society and the Folk-Lore Society. I have, moreover, been materially assisted by several eminent scholars: amongst others, by Mr William Platt, to whom I am indebted for the substance of many of the Notes; and by Dr R. Rost, who not only very kindly supplied me with scarce and valuable books and manuscripts from the India Office Library, but also furnished me with much useful information on Eastern Fiction—a subject upon which he is one of the highest authorities in this country.

Of the present collection of Tales it is remarked by a learned and acute writer that they are, for the most part, well wrought-out, probable, and without anything magical or supernatural. And those readers who do not delight in the extravagant creations of Oriental fancy—enchanted groves and fairy palaces beneath lakes, where carbuncles of immense size supply the place of the sun—will find little in this romance to shock their “common sense.” Nor are there—except one or two expressions in the opening passages—any of those hyperbolical descriptions of female beauty and the puissance of monarchs which are so characteristic of most of the fictions of the East. These Tales are, indeed, singularly free from such extravagancies, and may be considered as well adapted to check the often fatal impetuosity of Eastern monarchs, which was doubtless the purpose of the original author.

The Notes and Illustrations may seem disproportionate in bulk to that of the text. They are, however, designed, not only to explain and illustrate allusions to Oriental manners and customs, but also to supply deficiencies of Sir W. Ouseley’s translation, from a comparison of other Persian texts, and furnish variants of the several tales as they are found in other versions of the Romance. And while it is not impossible that critics whose absurd shibboleth is “originality” may be disposed to consider my little book as “a thing of mere industry, without wit or invention—a very toy,” yet I venture to think that these Notes will prove to most readers not the least interesting part of the work. In the Introduction will be found some curious matter regarding this romance and its congeners which has not before been presented to English readers, the result of much research; for, however defective my share of the work may be, I have spared no pains to render it as complete and accurate as I could: in short, I would fain hope that, as a whole, the volume will be accepted as a humble contribution to the still unwritten History of Fiction; for even Dunlop’s meritorious work can now only be regarded as a large contribution to this “research of olde antiquitie.”

W. A. CLOUSTON.

Glasgow, December, 1882.

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION. | Page
| I—Oriental Fictions—The Arabian Nights—The Book of Sindibād | xiii
| II—The Bakhtyār Nāma and its Versions | xxxi
THE BAKHTYĀR NĀMA. |
CHAPTER I.
| History of King Āzādbakht and the Vizier’s Daughter | 3
CHAPTER II.
| Story of the Ill-Fated Merchant and his Adventures | 22
CHAPTER III.
| Story of the Impatient Prince of Aleppo | 33
CHAPTER IV.
| Story of Abū Saber; or, The Patient Man | 45
CHAPTER V.
| Story of the King of Yemen and his Slave Abraha | 55
CHAPTER VI.
| Story of King Dādīn and his Two Viziers | 62
CHAPTER VII.
| Story of the King of Abyssinia; showing the Artifice of Women | 73
CHAPTER VIII.
| Story of the Jewel-Merchant | 86
CHAPTER IX.
| Story of Abū Temām | 97
CHAPTER X.
| Story of the King of Persia | 107
| Conclusion | 115
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. |
| Prefatory | 121
| Chapter I—King Āzādbakht | 123
| Chapter II—Ill-Fated Merchant | 146
| Chapter III—Prince of Aleppo | 156
| Chapter IV—Abū Saber | 163
| Chapter V—King of Yemen | 173
| Chapter VI—King Dādīn | 181
| Chapter VII—King of Abyssinia | 195
| Chapter VIII—Jewel Merchant | 201
| Chapter IX—Abū Temām | 209
| Chapter X—King of Persia | 216
| Conclusion | 227
| Additional Notes | 228

INTRODUCTION.

IF THOU PERCEIVEST ERRORS, SUPPLY THE DEFECTS—GLORIOUS

IS HE IN WHOM IS NEITHER FAULT NOR BLEMISH.

INTRODUCTION.

I—ORIENTAL FICTIONS—THE ARABIAN NIGHTS—THE BOOK OF SINDIBĀD.

The Persians, like all Eastern nations, remarks Sir John Malcolm, “delight in Tales, Fables, and Apothegms; the reason of which appears obvious: for where liberty is unknown, and where power in all its shapes is despotic, knowledge must be veiled to be useful.” The ancient Persians also had their Tales and Romances, the substance of many of which is probably embodied in the celebrated Shāh Nāma, or Book of Kings, of Firdausī. And the fondness of the old pagan Arabs for the same class of compositions seems to have threatened the success of Muhammad’s great mission, to win them back from their vain idolatry to the worship of the ONE God. For an Arabian merchant having brought from Persia the marvellous stories of Rustam, Isfendiar, Feridūn, Zohāk, and other famous heroes, which he recited to the tribe of Kuraysh, they were so delighted with them, that they plainly told Muhammad that they much preferred hearing such stories to his legends and moral exhortations; upon which the Prophet promulgated some new passages of the Kur`ān (chapter xxx), in which the merchant who had brought the idle tales and all who listened to them were consigned to perdition. This had the desired effect: the converts to Islām rejected Tales and Poetry; and it was not until the brilliant series of Muslim conquests in all parts of the then known world were almost completed that the Arabs began to turn their attention to literature and science, and thus preserved to the world the remains of the learning and philosophy of antiquity, during the long period of intellectual darkness in Europe. And it is remarkable that to a people distinguished for nearly two centuries by their religious bigotry and intolerance, and contempt for every species of literature outside the Kur`ān, Commentaries, and Traditions—that to the descendants of the fanatical destroyers of the library at Alexandria and of the literary treasures of ancient Persia are we indebted for many of the pleasing fictions which have long been popular in Europe. For, while India seems to have been the cradle-land of those folk-tales, yet they came to us chiefly through an Arabian medium: brought to Europe, among other ways by the Saracens who settled in Spain in the eighth century, by crusaders and pilgrims returning from the Holy Land, and also, perhaps, by Venetian merchants trading in the Levant and the Muslim provinces of Northern Africa. However this may be, there can be no doubt that, as Isaac D’Israeli remarks, “tales have wings, whether they come from the East or the North, and they soon become denizens wherever they alight. Thus it has happened, that the tale which charmed the wandering Arab in his tent, or cheered the northern peasant by his winter’s fireside, alike held on its journey towards England and Scotland.”

Many of the Fabliaux of the Trouvères of northern France are evidently of Oriental origin; and their prose imitators, the early Italian Novelists, also drew much of their material—of course indirectly—from similar sources. German folk-tales comprise variants of the ever-charming Arabian story of `Alī Bābā and the Forty Robbers, as in the tale of “The Dumberg,”[1] and of Aladdin (`Alā-`u-`d-Dīn) and the Wonderful Lamp, as in the tale of “The Blue Light.”[2] Norse Tales, too, abound in parallels to stories common to Arabia, Persia, and India. And some of the incidents in one of them, “Big Peter and Little Peter,”[3] apparently find their origin in the Hebrew Talmud. A very considerable proportion of old European humorous stories ascribed to Arlotto, Tyl Eulenspiegel, Rabelais, Scogin (Andrew Borde), Skelton, Mother Bunch, George Peele, Dick Tarlton, etc., have somehow, and at some time or another, winged their way from the Far East; since they are found, with little modification save local colouring, in very old Indian works. Galland, well-nigh two hundred years ago, pointed out that the story of the fellow in a tavern (according to our version, a blundering Irishman in a coffee-house), who impudently looked over a gentleman’s shoulder while he was writing a letter, came from the East; and a version of it is given in Gladwin’s Persian Moonshee. The prototype of the popular Scottish song, “The Barrin’ o’ the Door,” is an Arabian anecdote. The jest of the Irishman who dreamt that he was invited to drink punch, but awoke before it was prepared, is identical with a Chinese anecdote translated by M. Stanislas Julien in vol. iv of the Journal Asiatique, and bears a close resemblance to one of the Turkish jests ascribed to Khōja Nasru-`d-Dīn Efendī.[4] Of stories of simpletons, such as the one last cited, perhaps the largest and oldest collection extant is contained in a section of that vast storehouse of tales and apologues, aptly entitled, Kathá Sarit Ságara, Ocean of the Rivers of Story, where may be found parallels to the famous—the truly admirable!—exploits of the Wise Men of Gotham, and to a similar class of stories of fools and their follies referred to in Mr Ralston’s Russian Folk-Tales. The story of “The Elves and the Envious Neighbour,” in Mr Mitford’s Tales of Old Japan, is practically identical with a fairy tale of a hunchbacked minstrel in Mr Thoms’ Lays and Legends of France. In the Arabian Nights (Story of Abou Neeut and Abou Neeuteen, vol. vi of Jonathan Scott’s edition) and in the Persian romance of the Seven Faces (Heft Paykar), by Nizāmī, the reader will find parallels to the “Three Crows” in Grimm’s German popular tales. Our favourite nursery story of Whittington and his Cat (also common to the folk-tales of Scandinavia and Russia, Italy and Spain) is related by the Persian historian Wasāf in his “Events of Ages and Fates of Cities,” written A.H. 699 (A.D. 1299). The original of the Goose that laid Eggs of Gold is a legend in the great Indian epic, Mahábharata, and variants exist in other Hindū works; but this may be a “primitive myth,” common to the whole Aryan race. Largely, indeed, are popular European tales indebted to Eastern sources.

For several centuries previous to the publication of the first professed translation of a work of Eastern fiction into a European language, there existed two celebrated collections of Tales, written in Latin, mainly derived from Oriental sources, to which may be traced many of the popular fictions of Europe; these are, the Clericali Disciplina of Peter Alfonsus, a Spanish Jew, who was baptized in the twelfth century; and the Gesta Romanorum, the authorship of which is doubtful, but it is believed to have been composed in the 14th century. The latter work greatly influenced the compositions of the early Italian Novelists, and its effect on English Poetry is at least equally marked. It furnished to Gower and Chaucer their history of Constance; to Shakspeare his King Lear, and his Merchant of Venice, which is an Eastern story; to Parnell the subject of his Hermit—primarily a Talmudic legend, afterwards adopted in the Kur’ān. The Clericali Disciplina, professedly a compilation from Eastern sources, contains a number of stories of undoubted Indian origin, which Alfonsus must have obtained through an Arabian medium in Spain, however they may have come thither. These fictions of Oriental birth were, of course, filtered through the clerical mind of mediæval Europe, and in the process they lost all their native flavour. But on the publication of Galland’s Les Mille et Une Nuits, the Thousand and One Nights, in the beginning of last century, garbled and Frenchified as was his translation, the richness of the Eastern fancy, as exhibited in these pleasing fictions, was at once recognised, and, as the learned Baron de Sacy has remarked, in the course of a few years this work filled Europe with its fame. And its success has continued to increase, so that there is perhaps no work of fiction, whether native or exotic, which is at the present day so universally popular throughout Europe: it is at once the delight of the school-boy and the recreation of the sage. Shortly after its appearance in a French dress, Addison introduced it to English readers in the Spectator, where he presented a translation—or adaptation—of the now famous story of Alnaschar (according to Galland’s French transliteration of the name) and his basket of brittle wares: a story which is not only calculated to please the “rising generation,” but may also instruct “children of larger growth.”

When this work was first published in England it seems to have made its way very rapidly into public favour; and Weber, in his Introduction to the Tales of the East, relates, as follows, a singular instance of the effects they produced soon after their first appearance: “Sir James Stewart, Lord Advocate for Scotland, having one Saturday evening found his daughters employed in reading the volumes, he seized them, with a rebuke for spending the evening before the Sabbath in such worldly amusements; but the grave advocate himself became a prey to the fascination of these tales, being found on the morning of the Sabbath itself employed upon their perusal, from which he had not risen during the whole night!” The popularity of the Arabian Nights is due, no doubt, to the peculiar charm of its descriptions of scenes and incidents which the reader is well aware could only exist and occur in the imagination; but we like to be taken away from our hard, matter-of-fact surroundings—away into a world where, if we cannot ourselves become endowed with supernatural powers, at least we may summon mighty spirits to do our will, to transport us whither we please, to bring us in an instant the choicest fruits from the most distant regions, to construct for us palaces of gold and silver, and precious gems, to supply us with dainties in dishes made of single diamonds and rubies. In this very outraging of probability, and even possibility, lies the strange fascination which some of these Tales exercise over the reader’s mind. He surrenders his judgment to the author, and such is the force of the spell, that even when it has been partly removed by closing the book, he will gravely ask himself: “And why may not such things be?” It has been justly observed by Lord Bacon, that, “as the active world is inferior to the rational soul, so Fiction gives to mankind what History denies, and in some measure satisfies the mind with shadows when it cannot enjoy the substance.”

This famous work is, of course, a compilation, and not by a single hand and at one time, or from a particular source, but from a variety of sources. Many of the Tales are found in the oldest Indian collections; probably the witty and humorous are purely Arabian, while the tender and sentimental love-tales are derived from the Persian. The origin of the Arabian Tales has long been (and perhaps needlessly) a vexed question among the learned. Baron De Sacy has stoutly contended with M. Langles and M. Von Hammer, on the questions of whether the work was a mere translation or adaptation of an old Persian collection, entitled the “Thousand Days,” and when and where it was composed. But the general opinion of scholars at the present day is that the work was probably compiled by different hands, in Egypt, about the 15th or 16th centuries, though it is very probable that many additions were made at a later date, by the insertion of romances, which formed no part of the original collection, as we shall presently see.[5]

A peculiarity of most collections of Eastern fictions is their being enclosed within a frame, so to say, or leading story; as in the Arabian Nights: a plan which appears to have been introduced into Europe by a Latin translation of a romance of Indian origin, known in this country by the title of The Seven Sages, and which was first adopted by Boccaccio in his celebrated Decameron, where it is represented that a party of ladies and gentlemen, during the prevalence of the great plague in Florence, retire for safety to a mansion at some distance from the city, and there amuse themselves by relating stories. And our English poet Chaucer, after the same fashion, in his Canterbury Tales, represents a number of pilgrims, of different classes, as bound for the shrine of Thomas à Becket, and, to alleviate the tediousness of the journey, reciting stories of varied character. But although this plan of making a number of stories all subordinate to a leading story was introduced into Europe in the 13th century, when the Latin version of the “Seven Sages” was published, yet in the East it had been in vogue many centuries previously.

The oldest extant collection of Fables and Tales (excepting the Buddhist Birth-Stories, recently made known to English readers by Mr T. W. Rhys Davids’ translation of a portion) is that called in Europe The Fables of Pilpay, or Bidpai, of which the Sanskrit prototype is entitled Panchatantra, or Five Sections, with its abridgment, Hitopadésa, or Friendly Instruction. This work, or one very similar, existed in India and in the Sanskrit language as early at least as the 6th century of our era, when it was translated into Pahlavi, the ancient language of Persia, during the reign of Nushīrvān, surnamed the Just (A.D. 531–579). This Pahlavi version—though no longer extant—escaped the general wreck of Persian literature on the conquest of the country by the Arabs, and was translated, during the reign of the Khalīf Mansur (A.D. 753–774), into Arabic, from which several versions were made in modern Persian, and also translations into Hebrew, Greek, Latin, and most of the European languages. Perhaps no book of mere human composition ever had such a remarkable literary history and enduring popularity. These Fables, although arranged in sections, are sphered one within another in a rather bewildering manner, yet all are subordinated to a leading story or general frame.[6] It is worthy of note that, while there is no proof that this work, in its present form, existed before the sixth century, yet many, if not all, of the Fables themselves have been discovered in Buddhistic works which were certainly written about or before the commencement of our era. Their translation from the Pali, which the learned Benfey seems to have conclusively proved, and their arrangement in the form in which they exist in Sanskrit, may have been done any time between the first and the sixth centuries.

But there was another Indian work, now apparently lost, formed on the same plan, which, if we may credit El-Mas’ūdī, the Arabian historian, who lived in the tenth century, certainly dates before our era; namely, the Book of Sindibād, of which there have been so many translations and imitations in Asiatic and European languages, and to which the Persian romance reproduced in the present volume is considered to bear some relation. El-Mas’ūdi, in his famous historical work, “Meadows of Gold and Mines of Gems,” states very plainly that “in the reign of Khūrūsh (Cyrus) lived Es-Sondbād, who was the author of the Book of the Seven Viziers, the Teacher, the Boy, and the Wife of the King.” According to another Arabian writer, Sindibād was an Indian philosopher who lived about a hundred years B.C. El-Mas’ūdī does not mention the version through which the work was known in his time, but it was probably either in Arabic or Persian. The oldest version known to exist is in Hebrew, and is entitled Mishlī Sindabar, Parables of Sindabar; the change of the name from Sindibād to Sindibar, Deslongchamps conjectures to be a mistake of the copyist, the Hebrew letters D and R being very similar in form. This Hebrew version has been proved to date as far back as the end of the twelfth century. Under the title of Historia Septem Sapientum Romæ, a Latin translation was made—from the Hebrew, it is supposed—by Dam Jehans, a monk of the abbey of Haute Selve, in the diocese of Nancy, early in the 13th century. A Greek version, entitled Syntipas, the date of which is not known, was made by a Christian named Andreopulus, who states in his prologue that he translated it from the Syriac. Notwithstanding this very distinct statement, several learned scholars—Senglemann, among others—have contended that the Syntipas was made from the Hebrew version; of late years, however, a unique but unfortunately mutilated manuscript of the Syriac version, transcribed about the year 1560, was discovered by Rödiger, and reproduced in his Syriac Chrestomathie, in 1868; and a year later Baethgens published, at Leipsic, this text, together with a German translation, under the title of Sindban, oder die Sieben wiesen Meister, from which it appears certain that the Greek version of Andreopulus was made from the Syriac, the order of the stories being the same in both. Besides the Hebrew and Syriac versions of the Book of Sindibād, there exist translations or adaptations in at least two other Oriental languages, the Arabic and the Persian. The Arabian version (to which perhaps El-Mas’ūdī alluded in his mention of the work, as above) now forms one of the romances comprised in the Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night (the “Arabian Nights’ Entertainments”), under the title of “The Story of the King, his Son, his Concubine, and his Seven Viziers;” and an English translation of it was published, in 1800, by Dr Jonathan Scott, in his Tales, Anecdotes, and Letters, from the Arabic and Persian.[7] Two poetical versions have been composed in Persian; one of which, entitled Sindibād Nama,[8] by Azraki, who died, at Herat, A.H. 527 (A.D. 1132–3), is mentioned by Daulet-Shāh, in his life of Azraki, in these terms: “And they say the Book of Sindibād, on precepts of practical philosophy, is one of his compositions.”[9] The other Persian version is known in Europe, I believe, only through Professor Forbes Falconer’s excellent analysis[10] of a unique manuscript, entitled Sindibād Nāma, composed A.H. 776 (A.D. 1374).

It was through the Latin version, Historia Septem Sapientum Romæ, that this very remarkable work was communicated to nearly all the languages of Western Europe; Herbers, or Hebers, an ecclesiastic of the 13th century, made a translation, or rather imitation, of it in French verse, under the title of Dolopatos. Many imitations in French prose subsequently appeared, and from one of these the work was rendered into English, under the title of The Sevyn Sages, and The Seven Wise Masters, one of which is among the reprints for the Percy Society, and of the other Ellis gives an analysis, with specimens in his Early English Metrical Romances. In 1516 an Italian version, entitled “The History of Prince Erastus,” was published, which was afterwards translated into French.

In all these works, a young prince is falsely accused by his step-mother of having attempted to violate her, and the King, his father, condemns him to death, but is induced to defer the execution of the sentence from day to day, during seven days, by one of his seven counsellors, viziers, or wise men, relating to the King one or more stories, designed to caution him against the wicked wiles of women; while the Queen, every night, urges the King to put his son to death, and, in her turn, tells him a story, intended to show that men are faithless and treacherous, and that fathers must not expect gratitude or consideration from their sons. In the sequel, the innocence of the Prince is established, and the wicked step-mother is duly punished for her gross iniquity. This is the leading story of most of the romances which have been derived, or imitated, from the Book of Sindibād; but the subordinate Tales vary materially in the several translations or versions.

Dunlop, in his History of Fiction, remarks that “the leading incident of a disappointed woman accusing the object of her passion is as old as the story of Joseph, and may thence be traced through the fables of mythology to the Italian novelists.” But surely there was nothing so very peculiar in the conduct of Zulaykha (as Muslims name the wife of Potiphar)—nothing very different from human (or woman) nature in general, that should lead us to conclude, with Dunlop, that all the numerous stories based upon a similar incident had their common origin in the celebrated tale of Joseph and Potiphar’s wife. We have no reason to suppose a Hebrew origin for the well-known classical legend of Phædra, who was enamoured of Hippolytus, and, unable to suppress her passion, made overtures to him, which were disdainfully rejected; upon which Phædra accused Hippolytus to her husband Theseus of attempting to dishonour her. And although the work ascribed to the Indian sage Sindibād now appears to be lost, yet this “leading incident” of works of the Sindibād-cycle forms the subject of several Indian romances, one of which is a story in verse of a Prince named Sárangdhara, whose step-mother Chitrángí falls in love with him. He rejects her advances, on which she accuses him to the King of attempting to violate her, and the King orders him to have his feet cut off and to be exposed to wild beasts in the forest. The innocence of the Prince is afterwards proved, and the wicked Queen is put to death.

There is yet another work usually considered as belonging to the Sindibād class of romances, namely, the Turkish Tales of the Forty Viziers, which is said to have been composed, during the reign of Sultān Murād II, in 1421, after an Arabian romance entitled “Tales of the Forty Mornings and Forty Evenings,” composed by Shaikh Zāda. But the author of this work, as M. Deslongchamps has justly remarked, has borrowed little from the Book of Sindibād besides the frame. The tales—which are eighty in number, forty of which are told by the Viziers, and forty by the Queen—are quite different from, yet no whit inferior to, those of any version of the King and his Seven Counsellors. M. Petit de Lacroix, last century, made a French translation of this work as far as the story of the Tenth Vizier, which was soon afterwards rendered into English, but divested of much of the Oriental costume and colour. In 1851 Behrnauer issued a German rendering of the Turkish text. And it may interest some readers to know that Mr E. J. W. Gibb—whose recently published translations of Ottoman Poems, with Introduction, Biographical Notices, and Notes, have received the approbation of competent judges—is at present engaged on a complete English translation of this highly entertaining romance.

II—THE BAKHTYĀR NĀMA AND ITS VERSIONS.

Having in the preceding section glanced at the various works of fiction in different languages which have been derived or imitated from the Book of Sindibād, let us now proceed to examine the degree of relationship which the Bakhtyār Nāma bears to the same work. The learned writer of an able and interesting analysis, in the Asiatic Journal, vol. xxx, 1839, of two different manuscripts of the Thousand and One Nights, preserved in the British Museum, has fallen into a singular mistake when he says: “It is curious enough that in each of the two MSS. a tale is interpolated on the plan of the Bakhtyār Nāma. A King wishes to destroy his son, and his Viziers relate stories to prove the malice of women, alternately with the King’s concubine, who has falsely accused the young man, and who tells stories of the subtlety of men.” This is the frame of the Sindibād Nāma, not that of the Bakhtyār Nāma, since in the former the Viziers are the defenders of the innocent, and relate stories on his behalf; while the case is precisely reversed in the Bakhytār Nāma, where the Viziers are the accusers, eager for the death of the innocent young man, and it is the accused youth himself who relates the stories. The only resemblance which the Romance of Prince Bakhtyār bears to the leading story of the Book of Sindibād (and its offspring) is the incident of a youth being falsely accused of attempting to violate the Queen, as will be seen from the following outline of the Bakhtyār Story.

A King, flying from his own kingdom, with his Queen, is obliged to abandon in the desert a new-born male infant, close to a well. This infant is discovered by a band of robbers, the chief of whom, struck with his beauty and the richness of his clothes, carries him to his house, adopts him as his own son and gives him an excellent education. At the age of fifteen years the youth accompanies all the banditti on a plundering expedition, in which they attack a caravan, but are defeated, and many of their number, including the adopted son of their chief, are taken prisoners and brought before the King—the father of the youth, who had in the meanwhile recovered his kingdom. The young man’s grace and beauty so win the King’s heart, that he not only pardons the whole company, but takes the youth into his service, changing his name from Khudādād (God-given) to Bakhtyār (Befriended by Fortune). Bakhtyār acquits himself of his new duties so well that the King promotes him to a more important position—that of keeper of the royal treasury, and his own intimate friend and counsellor. These distinguished favours excite the envy of the King’s Ten Viziers, who become eager for some opportunity of bringing the favourite to disgrace and ruin. And it so chances, one evening, that Bakhtyār, being muddled with wine, straggles into one of the chambers of the harem, and throws himself upon the royal couch, where he falls asleep. Shortly afterwards, the King enters, and, discovering his favourite in the forbidden part of the palace, his jealousy is aroused, and he orders the attendants to seize the unhappy young man, then sends for the Queen, and accuses her of having introduced Bakhtyār into the harem. The Queen protests that she is entirely innocent of the charge, and at her suggestion the King causes them both to be confined for that night in separate apartments, resolving to investigate the affair in the morning. Next day, the first of the Viziers, waiting on the King, is informed of the supposed violation of the harem by Bakhtyār, upon which the Vizier obtains leave to visit the Queen, and ascertain from her the particulars of the affair. The Queen, on being questioned by the Vizier, denies all knowledge of Bakhtyār’s presence in the King’s chamber (it does not appear, indeed, that she had ever seen him before); but the Vizier assures her that the King would not credit her assertion, and counsels her, if she would save her own life, to accuse Bakhtyār to the King of having presumed to make dishonourable proposals to her, which she had, of course, rejected with indignation. After much persuasion, she at length consents, and accordingly accuses the young man of this capital offence. The King immediately commands Bakhtyār to be brought before him, and after bitterly reproaching him with ingratitude for the many and unprecedented favours which he had bestowed upon him, in the meantime sends him back to prison. On the following day, the second Vizier urges the King to put him to death; and the King causes him to be brought into his presence, and tells him that he must forfeit his life. Bakhtyār, however, in eloquent terms, protests that he is perfectly innocent of the crime of which he is accused, but expresses his submission to the will of Providence, like a certain unlucky merchant, with whom no affair prospered. This arouses the King’s curiosity, and Bakhtyār is permitted to relate the story, after which the King sends him back to prison for that day. Every morning of the eight following days one of the Viziers, in turn, presents himself before the King, and urges that Bakhtyār’s execution should be no longer delayed; but when the youth is brought into the King’s presence, as on the first day, he pleads his own cause so well, and excites the King’s curiosity by reference to some remarkable story, which he is allowed to relate, that his execution is deferred from day to day, until at length the King is reluctantly compelled by the Viziers’ complaints to give orders for the public execution of the young man. It happens, however, that the robber-chief who had found the royal infant at the well, and brought him up, is, with a party of his men, among the crowd assembled round the scaffold, and recognising in Bakhtyār his adopted son, rescues him from the guard, and hastens to the palace, where, obtaining audience of the King, the secret of Bakhtyār’s birth is discovered; and the King resigns the throne in favour of his son, and causes the Ten envious Viziers to be put to death.

Such is the frame within which nine different stories are inserted; and although it was doubtless imitated from, it has but a faint likeness to, that of the Book of Sindibād. The work which appears most closely to resemble the Romance of Prince Bakhtyār, in the frame, is a collection of Tales in the Tamul language, entitled, Alakeswara Kathá, in which four ministers of the King of Alakapur are falsely accused of violating the King’s private apartments, and vindicate their innocence, and disarm the King’s wrath, by relating a number of stories.[11]

According to M. Deslongchamps, in his learned and elaborate Essai sur les Fables Indiennes, there exist in Oriental languages three versions of the Bakhtyār Nāma—Persian, Arabic, and Turkī (i.e., Eastern Turkish—Uygur). Of the Persian version it is said there are numerous manuscripts in the great libraries of England and France; and besides the printed text appended to Sir William Ouseley’s English translation, published in 1800, a lithographed text was issued, at Paris, in 1839, probably from a manuscript in the Royal Library. The Arabian version, under the title of “The History of the Ten Viziers,” forms part of the text of the Thousand and One Nights, in 12 volumes, of which Dr Maximilian Habicht edited vols. 1 to 8, published at uncertain intervals, at Breslau, from 1825 to 1838 inclusive, when the work was stopped by Habicht’s death. In 1842–3 Professor H. L. Fleischer issued the remaining vols., 9 to 12. The same year when Habicht began the publication of his Arabian text he issued a complete German translation, also at Breslau, in 15 small square volumes, under the title of Tausend und Eine Nacht: Arabische Erzählungen. Zum erstenmal aus einer Tunesischen Handschrift, ergänzt und vollständig übersetzt, von Max. Habicht, F. H. Von der Hagen, und Karl Schall.[12] But both the number and the order of the tales of our romance are quite different in the translation and the text: the sixth volume of the latter, which contains the romance, was not published till 1834, or nine years after the first issue of the translation; and it would seem that Habicht, in editing his Tunisian manuscript, compared it with other texts, and made very considerable changes. The romance is found in a dislocated form in a work, published at Paris in 1788, entitled, Nouveaux Contes Arabice, ou Supplement aux Mille et Une Nuits, &c., par M. l’Abbè * * * In this book (which is of little or no value) the several tales are not placed within the frame, or leading story, which, however, appears in connection with one of them. It is also included in the French Continuation of the Thousand and One Nights, translated by Dom Chavis and edited by M. Cazotte,[13] “but singularly disfigured,” says Deslongchamps, “like the other Oriental Tales published by Cazotte;” in Caussin de Perceval’s excellent edition of the Nights, published, at Paris, in 1806, vol. viii, and in Gauttier’s edition, vol. vi. The learned Swede Gustav Knös published, at Gœtingen, in 1806, a dissertation on the Romance of Prince Bakhtyār, and the year following the Arabic text, with a Latin translation, under the title of Historia Decem Vizirorum et filii Regis Azād-bacht. He also issued a translation in the Swedish language, at Upsal, in two parts, the second of which appeared in 1814. Of the Turkī version M. Amédée Jaubert has furnished, in the Journal Asiatique, Mars 1827, t. x, an interesting account, together with a translation of one of the stories,[14] from the unique manuscript preserved in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, which he describes as very beautifully written, the titles of the several tales and the names of the principal characters being in red ink. Unfortunately the manuscript is imperfect; at present it comprises 294 folia. M. Jaubert remarks that this Turkī version is characterised by “great sobriety of ornament and extreme simplicity of style, and the evident intention on the part of the translator to suppress all that may not have appeared to him sufficiently probable, and all that might justly be taxed with exaggeration.”

There is another Oriental rendering, of which M. Deslongchamps was ignorant, in the language of the Malays, with whom the romance is said to be a great favourite, indeed they have at least two very different versions of its frame, if not of the subordinate stories. In Newbold’s work on Malacca,[15] vol. ii, an outline is given of the leading story, or frame, of one Malay version, which exactly corresponds with that of the Persian original, excepting that for Āzād-bakht we find Zād-bokhtin, and that the minister’s daughter, who is carried to the city by the King and in our version is nameless, is called Mahrwat. I am indebted to the courtesy of the learned Dr R. Rost, Librarian to the India Office, for the following particulars regarding two other Malay versions, from Van den Berg’s account of Malay, Arabic, Javanese and other MSS., published at Batavia, 1877. One of these (p. 21, No. 132) is entitled “The History of Ghulām, son of Zād-bokhtān, King of Adān, in Persia,” and the frame agrees with that of our version, as already sketched in the present section, excepting that the robber-chief who had brought up Ghulām (our Bakhtyār),[16] “learning that he had become a person of consequence,” says Van den Berg, “came to his residence to visit him, but finding him imprisoned, he was much concerned, and asked the King’s pardon on his behalf, telling him at the same time how he had formerly found Ghulām in the jungle; from which the King knew that Ghulām was his son,” and so on. The other version (p. 32, No. 179), though similar in title to the Persian original, “History of Prince Bakhtyār,” differs very considerably in the frame, which is thus analysed by Van den Berg: “This Prince, when his father was put to flight by a younger brother, who wished to dethrone him, was born in a jungle and abandoned by his parents. A merchant, Idrīs (Enoch), took charge of him and brought him up. Later on he became one of the officers of state with his own father, who had in the meanwhile found another kingdom, and decided with fairness the cases laid before him. He was, however, put in prison, on account of a supposed attempt upon the King’s life, and he would have been put to death had he not stayed the execution by telling various beautiful stories. Even the King came repeatedly to listen to him. At one of these visits Bakhtyār’s foster-father Idrīs was likewise present, who related to his adopted son how he had found him in the jungle. The King, on hearing this, now perceived that it was his son who had been brought up by Idrīs, recognised Bakhtyār as such, and made over to him his kingdom.”

So far as I am aware, there are but two translations of the Persian version in European languages; one in English, by Sir William Ouseley,[17] which is reproduced in the present volume; the other in French, by M. Lescallier.[18] In his Preface, Sir William Ouseley states that he selected for translation a text composed in the least ornate style, and he seems to have contented himself with a rather free rendering (see prefatory remarks, Notes and Illustrations, page 121 of the present work). M. Lescallier takes care to inform his reader that he adopted another plan: picking out passages from two different manuscripts, and amalgamating his selections into a work which, it is safe to say, does not find its original in any single Persian text extant: his object, indeed, seems to have been to present an entertaining romance to French readers, rather than to produce a translation of any particular Persian original; and it must be admitted that many of the lengthy conversations which occur in his volume are quite as well omitted by Ouseley.

The name of the author of this romance and the precise time when it was composed are not known. Ouseley states that none of the manuscripts of the work which he had seen appeared to be much older than the end of the 17th century. But we are now able to place the date of its composition at least three centuries earlier, since the manuscript of the Turkī version, already referred to, bears to have been transcribed A.H. 838, or A.D. 1434; and it is not unlikely that the translation was made several years before that date. And as well-known or popular works are usually selected for translation, we may reasonably conclude that the Persian Romance of Prince Bakhtyār was composed not later than the end of the 14th century. That it is posterior to the end of the 13th century might be supposed from the circumstance that the author in two instances[19] employs maxims which are found in the writings of the great Persian poet Sa`dī, if we were sure that these maxims are really Sa`dī’s own.[20] It has struck me as rather singular that I can recognise only two of the nine stories which Bakhtyār relates as existing in another Eastern work, namely, the Tūtī Nāma, or Tales of a Parrot, of Nakshabī. This work, according to Pertsch, was written in A.D. 1330, and was preceded by another Persian book on the same subject, by an unknown writer, which was based on an older Sanskrit book (now lost), of which the Suka Saptati, or Seventy Tales of a Parrot, is only an abstract. Nakshabī’s work (adds Pertsch), copies of which are rare, has been greatly superseded by Kāderī’s abridgment, which was written in India, probably about the middle of the 17th century.[21] The “Story of the King of Abyssinia” (pp. 74–85 of the present work) is identical with the story told by the Parrot on the 50th Night in the Tūtī Nāma of Nakshabī (India Office MS. 2573), where it bears the title of “Story of the Daughter of the Kaisar of Rūm, and her trouble by reason of her Son;” and the “Story of the King of Abyssinia” (pp. 62–72) corresponds with the 51st Night, “Story of the Daughter of the Vizier Khāssa, and how she found safety through the blessing of her own purity” (for King Dādīn, and his Viziers Kāmkār and Kārdār of our story, Nakshabī has King Bahrām, and the Viziers Khāssa and Khalāssa). Here the question naturally suggests itself: did Nakshabī take these two stories from the Bakhtyār Nāma, or did the author of the latter borrow them from Nakshabī? It is at least a rather curious coincidence that in the Persian romance of the “Four Dervishes” (Chehār Darvīsh), ascribed to Amīr Khusrū (about A.D. 1300), a work which is best known by its Hindustanī version, Bāgh o Bāhar, or Garden and Spring, occur the names of three of the persons who figure in the Bakhtyār romance: the King, as in our work, is called Āzādbakht, his son Bakhtyār, and Bihzād is the name of a third.

Lescallier, in the Preface to his translation, makes a very extraordinary statement: he says that although nothing is known regarding the authorship and date of the romance, yet the work appears to be very ancient; and remarks that there is nothing found in the book to announce the institution of Muhammadanism—the invocation of the Deity and salutation of the Prophet, at the opening of the work, he thought likely to be an interpolation of the copyists. Now the fact is, that even in his own translation allusions to the rites of Islām, if they are not of frequent occurrence, are yet sufficiently numerous to prove beyond question that the Bakhtyār Nāma, as it exists at present in Persian, has been written, or modified, by a Muslim. To cite a few instances: At page 17 of Lescallier’s volume, we find the King, when he had abandoned his child in the desert, represented as comparing his condition to that of Jacob the Hebrew patriarch when he believed that his son Joseph was dead. M. Lescallier could never suppose that the romance was written either by a Jew or a Christian; therefore this passage clearly came from a Muslim pen. At page 27 mention is made of the “hour of mid-day prayer,” one of the five times of obligatory prayer prescribed to Muslims. At page 94 (p. 52 of the present volume) the two sons of Abū Saber are represented as having said to the merchant who purchased them of the robbers: “We are free-born and Mussulmans.” At page 140 (p. 70 of this work) the cameleer and the lady reach the city “at the hour of evening prayer.” Nevertheless M. Lescallier could not find anything in the work “qui annonce l’établissement du Mahométisme!”

Since the Arabian version of the Romance of the Ten Viziers given in the French Continuation of the Thousand and One Nights, translated, as already stated, by Dom Chavis and edited by M. Cazotte, is not mentioned by M. Lescallier, we must conclude, either that he did not know of it, or that he deemed it beneath his notice. Dom Chavis and M. Cazotte have, in truth, received rather hard treatment at the hands of their critics. Dr Jonathan Scott, amongst others, must gird at Cazotte, though without the shadow of reason. In his edition of the Arabian Nights, published in 1811,[22] Appendix to vol. vi, referring to the English translation of the “Continuation” (see foot-note, page xxxvii), he says that “the twelve first stories in the third volume had undoubtedly an Oriental foundation: they exist, among many others, in a Persian manuscript, lately in my possession, entitled Jamī’u-’l-Hikāyāt, or a Collection of Narratives. Sir William Ouseley has published a liberal[23] translation of them, with the Persian text, by reading which the liberties M. Cazotte has taken in the tale of ‘Bohetzād and his Ten Viziers’ may be fairly seen, and a reasonable conjecture formed of his amplification of all others. Sir William Ouseley’s hero is named Bakht-yār, i.e., Befriended by Destiny, as in my manuscript, in that of M. Cazotte it is probably Bakht-zād, i.e., Born under a Fortunate Planet.” In this last sentence Scott has strangely blundered: the hero of the Persian Tale is certainly called Bakhtyār, but in Cazotte’s version it is the King who is called Bohetzād (or Bakht-zād), and the hero, Aladdin. From these strictures of his it is very obvious that he was not aware of the existence of an Arabian version of this romance. According to Lowndes’ Bibliographer’s Manual, “a valuable edition of the Arabian Nights was published, in 1798, by Richard Gough, considerably enlarged, from the Paris edition, with notes of illustration, and a preface, in which the supplementary tales published by Dom Chavis are proved to be a palpable forgery.” Gough’s name has not come down to us in connection with the Arabian Nights—except through Lowndes, where it is but a name. And Habicht’s Arabian text has very conclusively disproved all Gough’s absurd “proofs;” and, what is more, a comparison of the Romance as given by M. Cazotte with Habicht’s text will not only show that in both are the Tales of the same number and placed in the same order, but the incidents are almost invariably identical. The following is a comparative table of the order of the Tales in the “History of the Ten Viziers,” as they are found in Habicht’s Arabian text, Cazotte, Caussin de Perceval, the German translation, and the Persian version—of the last the order and number of the tales are alike in Ouseley, Lescallier, and the lithographed text:

Habicht’s Arabian Text. | Cazotte’s Translation. | C. de Perceval. | German Translation. | Persian Texts.
1 | Introductory Story (King Āzādbakht) | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1
2 | History of the Merchant pursued by Ill-Fortune | 2 | 4 | 2 | 2
3 | History of the Jewel Merchant | 3 | 8 | 8 | 8
4 | History of Abū Saber | 4 | 7 | 4 | 4
5 | History of Prince Bihzād | 5 | 3 | 3 | 3
6 | History of King Dādbīn and his Two Viziers | 6 | 10 | 6 | 6
7 | History of Bakhtzamān | 7 | 6 | |
8 | History of King Bīhkard | 8 | 5 | 5 | 5
9 | History of Īlan Shāh and Abū Temām | 9 | [24] | 9 | 9
10 | History of King Ibrahīm and his Son | 10 | 9 | | 10
11 | History of Sulaymān Shāh, his Sons, his Niece, and their Children | 11 | 2 | 7 | 7

It will be observed from this table that in Habicht’s Arabian text, in Cazotte, and C. de Perceval there are eleven stories, including the Introductory Tale, which forms part of the frame; and this arrangement is more in accordance with what was evidently the original plan of the romance than is our Persian version, in which there is no story to counteract the arguments employed by the First Vizier against Bakhtyār. In all other romances of the Sindibād cycle, where the sages, or counsellors, relate stories in behalf of the accused, the narrators appear in regular succession, from the first to the seventh (or, in the case of the Forty Viziers, from the first to the fortieth); and there can be little doubt, I think, that in the original Persian romance—probably no longer extant—the First Vizier, as in the Arabian version, was represented as appearing before the King on the first day after Bakhtyār was committed to prison, urging his immediate execution, and the youth, on being brought into the King’s presence, as relating one of the tales included in Habicht’s text, but omitted in our present version. On the Eleventh Day in Cazotte (reckoning the day of our hero’s unhappy adventure as one) the young man relates two stories, that of “Sulaymān Shāh and his Family,” which exactly agrees with Habicht’s text; and a rather pointless story, entitled “The King of Haram and his Slave,” which is probably identical with the eleventh tale in C. de Perceval, entitled “The Freed Slave,” which takes the place of the story of Abū Temām, omitted. The titles of the several stories as given in the above table are those in Habicht’s text. No. 3 in Cazotte is entitled “Ilage Mahomet and his Sons.” No. 8 is “Baharkan, or the Intemperate (i.e., hasty-tempered) Man”—our “King of Yemen” and in the German translation “The Prince of Zanzībār.” No. 10 is in Cazotte also “Ibrahīm and his Son,” and the incidents are the same in both. No. 7, “The History of Bakht-zamān,” also in Cazotte and C. de Perceval, but omitted in the Persian version, treats of the vain attempts of a man to succeed in war or peace without God’s help—utterly vain, unless prayers are offered up for His assistance. No. 11 (our “King of Abyssinia”) has the same title in Cazotte, and in both the story is very differently told from the Persian narrative; it is, however, an excellent tale, and I regret that I have not space here for an analysis of it. In the German translation our tenth story (“King of Persia”) is omitted, although it is found in the Arabian text.

To conclude: I am disposed to believe that the Turkī translation was made from the Arabic, because the story of “King Dādīn and his Two Viziers,” given in pages 189–194, corresponds with Habicht’s text and with Cazotte’s translation, but varies materially from the Persian text, in which the cameleer, who discovers the pious daughter of the murdered Vizier, is represented as being in the service of King Dādīn, who, when informed of the lady’s wonderful sanctity, visits her at the cameleer’s house and becomes reconciled to her; while in the Turkī version, in Habicht’s text, and in Cazotte (who probably knew nothing of the Turkī translation) the cameleer is in the service of the King of Persia, who visits the maiden, marries her, and punishes King Dādīn and the wicked Vizier. If, then, the Turkī version, which dates as far back as A.D. 1434, was made from the Arabic, and if the latter was translated, or adapted, from the Persian, it is not unlikely that the History of the Ten Viziers in its Arabian dress existed some time before the Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night was composed in its present form; and therefore the Persian version may be, as Lescallier conjectured, “very ancient.” And since we have discovered that two of the stories exist in a work which is of Sanskrit origin (see pp. xliii and xliv—and in line 6 of the latter for “King of Abyssinia” read “King Dādīn,”), we may go a step farther, and suppose the other stories in the Romance of Bakhtyār to have been also derived from Indian sources.

THE BAKHTYĀR NĀMA.

THE BAKHTYĀR NĀMA.

CHAPTER I.

HISTORY OF KING ĀZĀDBAKHT AND THE VIZIER’S DAUGHTER.

Thus it is recorded by the authors of remarkable histories, and the narrators of delightful tales, that there was once in the country of Sīstān, a certain King, possessing a crown and a throne, whose name was Āzādbakht; and he had a Vizier entitled Sipahsālār, a person of such bravery and skill that the moon concealed herself among the clouds from fear of his scimitar. This Vizier had a daughter endowed with such exquisite beauty that the rose of the garden and the moon of the heavenly spheres were confounded at the superior lustre of her cheeks. Sipahsālār loved this daughter with excessive fondness, so that he could scarcely exist an hour without her. Having gone on an expedition to inspect the state of the country, it happened that he found himself under a necessity of passing some time from home. He immediately despatched confidential persons with orders to bring his daughter to him from the capital. These persons, having arrived at the Vizier’s palace, paid their obeisance to the damsel, who ordered her attendants to prepare for the journey to her father. The horses were instantly caparisoned, and a litter provided with magnificence suitable to a princely traveller. The damsel, seated in this, commenced her journey, and went forth from the city.

It happened that the King, who had gone on a hunting-party, was at that moment returning from the chase. He beheld the litter with its ornaments and splendid decorations; and, whilst he gazed, it was borne quite out of the town. He sent to inquire about it; and the attendants said that it belonged to the daughter of Sipahsālār, who was going to her father. When the King’s servants returned and reported to him this intelligence, he rode up to the litter that he might send his compliments to Sipahsālār. On his approach the attendants alighted from their horses, and kissed the ground of respectful obedience. The King, having desired that they would bear his salutations to the Vizier, and they having promised punctually to do so, was preparing to turn back, when suddenly, the wind lifting up a corner of the hangings which covered the litter, his eyes were fixed by the fascinating beauty of the damsel; and he who in the chase had sought for game became now the captive prey of this lovely maid, and fell into the snares of love. At length he ordered the attendants to despatch a messenger to the north, where Sipahsālār was, and to inform him that the King would accept his daughter as a wife, hoping that he might not be esteemed an unworthy son-in-law.

When the attendants heard this, they kissed the ground of obedience, saying: “Long be the King’s life!—the sovereign of the earth and of the age, and the ruler of the world! If Sipahsālār could even dream of this honour, he would be supreme in happiness. But, if the King permit, we will proceed with the damsel to her father, and inform him of what has happened, that he may prepare everything necessary for the occasion, and then send her back to the city.” When the servant of the damsel had thus spoken, the King, who was displeased with his discourse, exclaimed: “How darest thou presume to counsel or advise me?” He would have punished the servant on the spot, but he feared lest the tender heart of his fair mistress should be distressed thereby. He accordingly remitted the punishment; and taking the reins into his own hands, he conducted the litter back towards the city, which he entered at the time when the shades of evening began to fall.

The next day he assembled the magistrates and chief men; and, having asked the damsel’s consent to the marriage, he caused the necessary ceremonies to be performed. The secretaries were employed in writing letters of congratulation; and Sipahsālār was informed of the insult offered to him during his absence, which caused the tears to flow from his eyes whilst he perused the letters of congratulation. He dissembled, however; and, concealing his vexation, wrote letters to the King, and addressed him in language of the strongest gratitude, declaring himself at a loss for words whereby to express his sense of the honour conferred upon him.

Such was the purport of his letters; but in his mind he cherished hopes of revenge, and day and night were employed in devising stratagems by means of which he might obtain it.

After two or three months spent in this manner, Sipahsālār assembled all the chief officers of the army, and informed them that, confiding in their secrecy and fidelity, he would communicate to them an affair of considerable importance. They all assured him of their attachment and regard; and declared that the flourishing state of the empire was the result of his wisdom, prudent management, and bravery. To this Sipahsālār replied: “You all know what actions I have performed, and what troubles I have undergone, to raise the empire to its present state of glory and prosperity: but what has been my recompense? You have seen how the ungrateful monarch carried off my daughter.” Having thus spoken, a shower of tears fell from his eyes; and the chiefs who were assembled about him said: “We have been acquainted with this matter for some time, and it has given us great concern. But now the moment is arrived when we may depose this king.”

Then Sipahsālār threw open the doors of his treasury, and distributed considerable sums of money amongst the soldiers; so that in a little time he assembled a multitude of troops, almost innumerable. He then resolved to attack the King, and, with that intention, seized, during the night, upon all the avenues of the city, both on the right hand and on the left.

The King, astonished and alarmed at the tumult, consulted with the Queen, saying: “What can we do in this misfortune? For it is a night to which no morning shall succeed, and a war in which there is not any hope of peace.”—The Queen replied: “Our only remedy for this evil is to fly and seek protection in the dominions of some other prince, and solicit his assistance.”—Āzādbakht approved of this counsel, and resolved to seek an asylum from the King of Kirmān, who was renowned for his generosity throughout the world.

In the palace there was a certain door which opened into a subterraneous passage leading towards the desert. The King gave orders that two horses should be instantly saddled; and having put on his armour, and taken from the royal treasury many precious jewels and fastened them in his girdle, he placed the Queen on one of the horses, and mounting the other himself, they went forth privately through the door above-mentioned, and directed their course towards the desert.

Now it happened that the Queen had been for nine months in a state of pregnancy; and, after travelling during a whole day and night in the desert, they arrived at the side of a well, whose waters were more bitter than poison, and unpleasant as the revolutions of inconstant Fortune. Here the Queen was affected by the pains of labour; whilst heat and thirst reduced both the King and her to despair: their mouths were parched up for want of water, and they had no hopes of saving their lives; for the sword of the enemy was behind them, and before them the sand of the desert. In this forlorn situation the Queen said: “As it is impossible for me to proceed any farther, I entreat you to save your own life, and find out some place where water may be obtained. Though I must perish here, you may be saved; and a hundred thousand lives such as mine are not in value equal to a single hair of the King’s head.”—Āzādbakht replied: “Soul of the world! I can relinquish riches and resign a throne; but it is impossible to abandon my beloved: her who is dearer to me than existence itself.”

Thus were they engaged in conversation, when suddenly the Queen brought forth a son; in beauty he was lovely as the moon, and from the lustre of his eyes the dreary desert was illumined. The Queen, pressing the infant to her bosom, began to perform the duties of a mother, when the King told her that she must not fix her affections on the child, as it would be impossible to take him with them: “We must, therefore,” added the King, “leave the infant on the brink of this well, and commit him to the providence of the Almighty, whose infinite kindness will save him from destruction.”—They accordingly wrapped up the child in a cloak embroidered with gold and fastened a bracelet of ten large pearls round his shoulders; then, leaving him on the brink of the well, they both proceeded on their journey to Kirmān, whilst their hearts were afflicted with anguish on account of their helpless infant. When they approached the capital of Kirmān, the King of that place was informed of their arrival. He sent his servants to welcome them, and received them with the greatest respect and hospitality; he provided a princely banquet, and assembled all the minstrels, and sent his own son and two attendants to wait on Āzādbakht.

During the feast, whilst the musicians were employed in singing and playing, and the guests in drinking, whenever the wine came round to Āzādbakht, his eyes were filled with tears. The King of Kirmān, perceiving this, desired him to banish sorrow, and to entertain a hope that Heaven might yet be propitious to him. Āzādbakht replied: “O King of the world! how can I be cheerful, whilst thus an exile from my home, and whilst my kingdom and my treasures are in the possession of my enemies?”

The King of Kirmān then inquired into the particulars of Āzādbakht’s misfortunes, which he related from beginning to end. The heart of the King of Kirmān was moved with compassion; and during that whole day he endeavoured, by every sort of amusement, to divert the mind of his guest from dwelling on the past misfortunes. The next day he ordered a powerful army to be led forth, and placed it under the command of Āzādbakht, who marched immediately towards the capital of his own dominions. On the King’s approach, Sipahsālār, who had usurped his authority, fled in confusion, and all the troops, the peasants, and other inhabitants paid homage to Āzādbakht, and entreated his forgiveness. He pardoned them; and again ascending the royal throne, governed his people with justice and generosity; and having liberally rewarded the King of Kirmān’s soldiers, he sent them back with many rare and valuable presents for that monarch.

After these transactions, Āzādbakht and his Queen passed their time in a state of tranquillity, interrupted only by the remembrance of the 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 little knew the kindness which Providence had shown him.

It happened that the desert in which they had left the infant was frequented by a gang of robbers, the chief of whom was named Farrukhsuwār; and very soon after the King and Queen had departed, these robbers came to the well; there they discovered a beautiful infant crying bitterly. Farrukhsuwār alighted from his horse and took up the child; and his extraordinary beauty induced them to believe him the son of some prince or illustrious personage. In this opinion they were confirmed by the ten valuable pearls which were fastened on his shoulders. As Farrukhsuwār had not any child, he resolved to adopt this infant as his own, and accordingly bestowed on him the name of Khudādād; and having taken him to his home, committed him to the care of a nurse. When he was of a proper age, Farrukhsuwār instructed him in all necessary accomplishments, and in horsemanship and the use of arms, which rendered him, with his natural bravery, when fifteen years of age, able to fight, alone, five hundred men. Farrukhsuwār loved this youth with such affection that he could not exist one moment without him, and took him along with him wheresoever he went. Whenever it happened that the robbers were proceeding to attack a caravan, Khudādād, who felt compassion for the merchants and travellers, and at all times disliked the profession of a robber, requested that Farrukhsuwār might dispense with his attendance, and leave him to guard the castle. Farrukhsuwār consented that he should not join in attacking the caravan; but entreated him to accompany the robbers to the scene of action. It happened, however, one day, that they attacked a caravan consisting of superior numbers, and of such brave men that they fought against the robbers with success, and took several of them prisoners. In this action Farrukhsuwār received a wound, and was near falling into the hands of his enemies, when Khudādād, mounting his charger, galloped into the midst of the battle, and put many of them to death.

But it was so ordained that he should fall from his horse; in consequence of which, he was taken prisoner, and with many of the robbers, led in chains to the capital.

The chief of the caravan having brought them all before the tribunal of Āzādbakht, the King’s eyes were no sooner fixed upon the countenance of Khudādād, than paternal affection began to stir his heart: he wept, and said: “Alas! if the infant whom I abandoned in the desert were now alive, he would probably appear such a youth as this!” He continued to gaze involuntarily upon him, and, desiring him to approach, inquired his name, and said: “Art thou not ashamed to have abused the favours of Heaven, which has endowed thee with so much beauty and strength, by plundering travellers, and seizing on the property to which thou hadst not any right?”—Khudādād, with tears, replied: “The Lord knows my innocence, and that I have never partaken of the plunder.”—Āzādbakht then granted him a free pardon, and took him into his service, desiring that his chains might be taken off; he also put on him his own robe, and said: “I now give you the name of Bakhtyār; from this time forth Fortune shall be your friend.”[25] The King then dismissed the other robbers; to whom, on condition that they would never again commit any depredations, he granted not only their lives, but a pension, by which he engaged them in his service.

After this Bakhtyār continued day and night in attendance on the King, whose affection for him hourly increased. To his care were entrusted the royal stables, which he superintended with such skill and good management that in a few months the horses became fat and sleek; and the King, one day remarking their improved condition, understood that it was the result of Bakhtyār’s care and attention, and conceiving that a person who evinced such abilities was capable of managing more important matters, he sent for Bakhtyār, at his return to the palace, and ordered that the keys of the treasury should be presented to him, and thus constituted him keeper of the treasures. Bakhtyār, having kissed the ground, was invested with a splendid robe of honour. He discharged the duties of his high station with such fidelity and attention that he every day increased in favour with the King, and at length was consulted on every measure, and entrusted with every secret of his royal master. If on any day it happened that Bakhtyār absented himself from the palace, on that day the King would not give audience to any person: and the advice of Bakhtyār was followed on every occasion of importance. In short, he was next in power to the King, and his conduct was discreet and skilful.

But there were Ten Viziers, who became envious of his exaltation, and conspired against him, resolving to devise some stratagem whereby they might deprive him of the King’s esteem, and effect his degradation.

It happened one day that Bakhtyār, having indulged in the pleasures of wine beyond the bounds of moderation, lost the power of his reason, and continued in a state of sleepy intoxication until night came on and the world became dark; the porters fastened the gates, and the sentinels repaired to their respective stations. Bakhtyār, after some time, came forth from the treasury, but knew not whither he went, so completely had the wine deprived him of recollection: he wandered on, however, until he found himself in one of the King’s private apartments, where he saw tapers burning, a couch with pillows and cushions, a splendid throne, or seat, and various embroidered robes and silken coverings. This was the apartment in which the King used to sleep. Here, from excessive intoxication, Bakhtyār flung himself upon the throne: after a little while the King entered, and discovering the unfortunate young man, inquired, with violent anger, his business in that place. Bakhtyār, roused by the noise, threw himself from the throne, and crept beneath it, where again he fell asleep.

The King, having called some attendants, ordered them to seize him, and, drawing his sword, hastened to the Queen, of whom he asked how Bakhtyār found admittance to the private apartments of the palace; and added, that he could not have come there without her knowledge. The Queen, shocked at such an imputation, declared herself ignorant of the whole transaction but desired the King, if he still entertained any suspicions, to confine her that night, and inquire into the matter on the next morning, when her innocence would appear, and the guilty might be punished. The King accordingly ordered her to be confined, and suspended the execution of vengeance during that night.

When morning came, being seated on the royal throne, he gave audience to his ten Viziers. The first of these, having paid his respects to the King, inquired into the transactions of the preceding night, and was informed of all that had occurred. The enmity which this Vizier had long cherished in his heart against Bakhtyār induced him to conceive that a fair opportunity now offered of destroying that unfortunate young man; and he said within himself: “Though he may have a thousand lives, he shall not be able to save one of them.” He then addressed the King, and said: “How could a person bred up in the desert, and by profession a robber and assassin, be fit for the service of a King? I well knew that his wickedness would appear, but durst not say so; now, however, that it is manifest, let the King ordain for him such a punishment as may be a lesson to all the world.”—The King gave orders that Bakhtyār should be brought before him. “Ungrateful wretch!” said he, “I forgave your offences; I spared your life; I raised you to dignities almost equal to my own; and you requite these favours by treason and perfidy: you have entered into the recesses of my harem, and have presumed to occupy my place.”—Bakhtyār on hearing this began to weep; declared himself ignorant of all those transactions, and that if he had been found in the royal apartments, he must have wandered there unconsciously.

The first Vizier solicited the King’s permission that he might go to the harem, and inquire from the Queen all that she knew concerning this affair. Having obtained permission, he went to the Queen, and told her, that there were various reports on the subject of that young robber Bakhtyār, in which she was implicated; that, as the King was exceedingly enraged against her, the only means whereby she could appease his anger would be to accuse Bakhtyār, and to say,—“O King! thou hast brought hither the son of a robber; thou hast bestowed on him the name of ‘Fortune’s Favourite,’ and hast exalted him to honours; but his baseness has at length appeared: he has presumed to make amorous proposals to me, and has threatened, should I not comply with his licentious desires, to use violence with me, to kill the King, and to seize upon the throne.”

“This declaration,” said the Vizier to the Queen, “will induce the King to order the immediate execution of Bakhtyār, and you will at the same time reestablish yourself in his good opinion.”—The Queen was astonished, and replied: “How can I, even to save myself, thus destroy the life of an innocent person by a false testimony?”

“The life of Bakhtyār,” said the Vizier, “has long been forfeited to the laws, since he exercised the profession of a robber and a murderer; therefore, any scruples on that subject are vain; and I’ll answer at the day of judgment for your share in this transaction.”

The Queen at last consented to follow the Vizier’s advice; and he returned to the presence of the King, who desired to know the result of his conference with the Queen. The artful Vizier replied: “That which I have heard, I have not the power of relating; but the Queen herself will tell it.” The King, having retired, sent for the Queen, and she repeated to him all that the Vizier had instructed her to say. The King, acknowledging that he was himself to blame, as having bestowed favours on the base-born son of a robber, gave orders that heavy irons should be put on the feet of Bakhtyār, and sent him to prison; declaring that in due time he should suffer such a punishment as would strike terror into all men.

In the meantime, Bakhtyār languished in the prison, appealing to God for relief; and the Viziers returned to their homes, devising means whereby they might induce the King to hasten the execution of the young man.

CHAPTER II.

On the following day the second Vizier came before the King, and, having paid his respects, recommended that Bakhtyār should be no longer kept in prison, but led out to execution. The King approved of this advice, and gave orders that Bakhtyār and the executioner should be brought before him. When they were come, he addressed the young man, and told him that he had directed the tree of his existence to be rooted out from the soil of his empire. Bakhtyār replied: “Long be the King’s life! Such is my prayer, as I stand here on the eve of departure from this world; yet, as it is every man’s duty to endeavour by honest means to save himself, I appeal to the Almighty, who knows my innocence. But alas! my situation is like that of the Merchant, whom good fortune constantly avoided, and evil fortune incessantly pursued, so that all his exertions ended in disappointment, and all his projects failed of success.”—The King desired to hear the story of this ill-fated Merchant, and Bakhtyār, after the usual compliments, began to relate it as follows:

STORY OF THE ILL-FATED MERCHANT, AND HIS ADVENTURES.

In the city of Basra there was a certain man, a merchant, who possessed immense riches; but it was decreed that the light of prosperity should be changed into the darkness of misfortune, so that in a short space of time very little of all his wealth remained, and whatsoever commercial projects he tried invariably terminated in loss.

It happened one year, that the price of corn was increased, and the Merchant thought that, by laying out what remained of his money in purchasing some loads of corn and keeping it till the next year, he might profit considerably. He therefore hired a granary, purchased some corn, and laid it by, in expectation that the price would rise.

But corn became more abundant, and consequently more cheap, the following season. When the Merchant perceived this, he resolved to keep that which he had in store until the next year, thinking it probable that a barren season might succeed a plentiful one. But it happened that the next year, so much rain fell, that most of the houses were washed away, and the water found its way into the Merchant’s granary, where it spoiled all his corn, and caused it to send forth a smell so intolerable, that the people of the city compelled him to throw it away.

He was confounded by this misfortune; but after some time, finding that he could not derive any profit from idleness or inactivity, he sold his house, and joined a company of merchants, who were setting out on a voyage by sea. With them, he embarked on board a vessel, and after three days and three nights, the world became dark, the tempest arose, the billows rolled: at length the ship was wrecked, and many of the crew perished. The Merchant, with a few others, was saved on a plank, and cast on dry land.

Hungry and naked, he wandered into a desert, when, after advancing some leagues, he discovered a man at a little distance. Delighted to find that the country was inhabited, and hoping to be relieved from hunger and thirst, which had now become almost insupportable, he directed his course towards that man, and soon perceived an extensive and populous village, with trees and running streams. At the entrance to this village he stopped. The chief man, or dihkān, of the place was a person of considerable wealth, and of great generosity; he had erected in the outlets of this village, a summer-house, in which he happened to be when the Merchant arrived. As soon as he discovered the stranger, he ordered his servants to bring him into the summer-house. The stranger paid his respects, and was entertained by the dihkān with politeness and hospitality. Having satisfied his hunger and thirst, he related, at the desire of his host, all the circumstances of his past life, and all the misfortunes he had undergone. The story excited compassion in the breast of the generous dihkān, who gave the Merchant a suit of his own clothes, and bade him not despair, for he would keep him with himself until his affairs should be again in a prosperous condition.

After this, the dihkān gave into the Merchant’s charge the account of his property and possessions, and said that he would allow him, for his own share, the eleventh part of all the corn. The Merchant, much delighted, was very diligent in superintending the concerns of his employer; and as the harvest proved very abundant, when the corn was gathered in, he found his portion so considerable, that he said within himself: “The dihkān most probably will not consent to allow me such a share; I shall therefore take it and conceal it, until the settlement of accounts, when, if he think proper to bestow so much on me, I shall give back this.” He accordingly took this quantity of the corn, and concealed it in a cavern; but it happened that a thief discovered what he had done, and stole the corn away by night.

When the dihkān inspected the accounts of the harvest, and had made his calculation of the produce, he assigned to the Merchant the eleventh part of the corn. The Merchant returned him thanks, and acknowledged the doubts which he had entertained, and told him how he had set apart a certain portion of the corn, “which,” said he, “I shall now go and cause to be deposited in the granary.” The dihkān sent two of his people with him to the place where he had concealed the corn, but none could be found. They were astonished, and bit the finger of amazement. When the dihkān was informed of this circumstance, he became angry, and ordered that the Merchant should be driven forth out of the village.

In melancholy plight, the unlucky Merchant turned his face towards the road which led to the sea-shore. There he chanced to meet six of those persons who gain a livelihood by diving for pearls. They knew him, and inquired into his situation. He related to them all that had happened, and his story so much excited their compassion that they agreed to bestow on him, for the sake of God, whatsoever their next descent to the bottom of the sea should produce. They accordingly, with this charitable intention, plunged all six into the sea, and each brought up from the bottom a pearl of such exquisite beauty that its equal could not be found amongst the treasures of any monarch. The Merchant received from the divers those six precious pearls, and set forward with a joyful heart.

It happened that after some time he fell into company with certain robbers, whom he much feared, and he resolved to save part, at least, of his property, by concealing three of the pearls in his mouth, and the other three among his clothes; hoping that, if they should search him, they might be contented with these, and that he might save those concealed within his mouth. He accordingly put three of the pearls among his clothes, and the other three into his mouth, and went on for some time without exciting any suspicion, or attracting the notice of the robbers. But unluckily opening his mouth to address them, the pearls fell on the ground; and when the robbers saw them, they seized the Merchant, and so terrified him with their threats and violence that he became senseless. The robbers, perceiving this, took up the three pearls and went away. After some time the Merchant recovered his senses, and was overjoyed to find that he had still three of the pearls left.

Proceeding on his journey, he arrived by night at a certain city, where he slept; and next morning went to the shop of a jeweller, to whom he offered the pearls for sale. The jeweller, on beholding them, was astonished; for they far exceeded anything he had ever seen: then casting his eyes on the mean and squalid garments of the Merchant, he immediately seized him by the collar, and exclaimed with a loud voice, accusing the unfortunate stranger of having stolen the pearls from his shop: a violent struggle and dispute ensued, and at length they both proceeded to the tribunal of the King.

The jeweller was a man of some repute in the city, and that which he said was believed by the inhabitants. He accused the Merchant of having contrived a hole through which he stole away a casket of gold and jewels from his shop, and those three pearls were part of the contents of the casket. The Merchant declared himself innocent; but the King ordered him to deliver the pearls to the jeweller, and he was loaded with chains and thrown into prison.

There he pined in misery and affliction, until after some time those divers who had given him the pearls arrived in that city; and going to visit the prison, that they might benefit by seeing the punishment of vice and wickedness, they distributed some money among those who were confined, and at last discovered the Merchant in a corner, loaded with chains. They were astonished, and inquired into the occasion of his disgrace. He related the whole affair, and they, feeling great indignation on account of the injurious treatment which their friend had suffered, desired him not to despair, as they would soon procure him his liberty. They immediately hastened from the prison to the palace. The chief of them was a man whom the King much respected; and when he had related the story of the Merchant, and of the pearls which they had given him, the King became convinced of the jeweller’s guilt, and instantly ordered him to be seized and brought before him, and at the same time that the Merchant should be released from prison. When the jeweller appeared before the King, his confusion and trembling betrayed his guilt. The King asked him why he had thus injured a stranger; but he remained silent; and was then led away to execution. The King caused to be proclaimed throughout the city: “Such is to be the punishment of those who shall injure or do wrong to strangers.”

He directed also, that the property of the jeweller should be transferred to the Merchant. Supposing that a man who had seen so much of the world, both of prosperity and adversity, must be well qualified for the service of a King, he ordered a splendid robe to be given to the Merchant; and desired that he should be purified from the filth of a prison in a warm bath, and appointed him keeper of the treasury.

The Merchant employed himself diligently in the duties of his station; but there was a vizier who became envious of his good fortune, and resolved to devise some stratagem whereby to effect his ruin.

The King’s daughter had a summer-house adjoining the treasury, and it was her custom to visit this summer-house during six months of the year, once every month. It happened that a mouse had made a hole quite through the wall of the treasury; and one day the Merchant having reason to drive a nail into the wall, it entered into the hole which the mouse had made, and went through and caused a brick to fall out on the road which led to the Princess’s summer-house. The Merchant went immediately and stopped up the hole with clay.

The malicious vizier, having discovered this circumstance, hastened to the King, and informed him that he had seen the Merchant making a hole through the wall of the summer-house, and that, when he had found himself detected, he had, in shame and confusion, stopped it up with clay. The King was astonished at this information: he arose and proceeded to the treasury, where finding the Merchant’s hands yet dirty from the clay, he believed what the vizier had told him; and on returning to his palace, ordered his attendants to put out the Merchant’s eyes, and to turn him out at the palace-gate. After this the King went to the summer-house, that he might pay a visit to his daughter; but he found that she had not been there for some time, having gone to amuse herself in the gardens. On proceeding to the treasury, the King discovered the hole, which had evidently been the work of a mouse. From these circumstances he began to suspect the truth of the vizier’s information, and at last being convinced that the Merchant was innocent, he ordered the vizier to be punished. He lamented exceedingly the hard fate of the Merchant, and was much grieved at his own precipitancy; but his condolence and his sorrow were of no avail.

Having related this story, Bakhtyār observed, that the King would have prevented all this distress had he taken some time to inquire into the affair, and entreated a further respite, that he might be enabled to prove his innocence.—The King, being pleased with the recital of this story, complied with Bakhtyār’s request, and ordered him to be taken back to prison for that day.

CHAPTER III.

On the following morning the third Vizier presented himself before the King, and, having paid his respects, expressed many apprehensions that the indulgence shown to Bakhtyār might prove of dangerous consequences, by encouraging other criminals, and strongly advised his speedy execution. The King, having sent for Bakhtyār, the executioner prepared to blindfold him; but he petitioned for mercy, and said: “The imprisonment of suspected persons is certainly a just measure, as the guilt or innocence of the prisoner will probably be ascertained in the course of time; but if a King will not have patience, but punish without due investigation of the offence, what can result from such precipitancy but affliction and repentance? Thus it happened to a son of the King of Aleppo, whose impatience occasioned the loss of that kingdom, and infinite misery.”

The King’s curiosity being excited, he desired Bakhtyār to relate the story of the Impatient Prince of Aleppo; and Bakhtyār, having kissed the ground of obedience, thus began:

STORY OF THE IMPATIENT PRINCE OF ALEPPO.

The King of Aleppo was an upright and generous monarch, who protected strangers and permitted not any person to oppress or insult another; and he had a son named Bihzād, a young man of excellent genius, polite accomplishments, and many good qualities; but so very impatient, that he would not admit a moment’s delay in the gratification of any desire, whatsoever might be the consequences of his rash haste.

It happened once, that, being seated with several of his companions, he desired one of them to relate his adventures. The young man accordingly began his story in the following words:

“About two years ago, being in possession of considerable wealth, I purchased several beasts of burthen, and, having loaded them with various commodities, I undertook a journey, but on the way was attacked by robbers, who plundered me of all my property, and I proceeded with a disconsolate heart until night came on, and I found myself in a place without any vestige of inhabitants. I took shelter beneath a great tree, and had remained there for some time, when I perceived a light, and several persons who passed by with much festivity and mirth. After them came some who held vessels full of burning incense, so very fragrant, that the desert was perfumed by its delightful odour. When they had passed on, a magnificent litter appeared, before which walked several damsels holding torches, scented with ambergris. In this litter was seated a fair one, of such exquisite beauty, that the radiance of her charms far exceeded the light of the torches, and quite dazzled my fascinated eyes.”

When the young man had advanced thus far in his narrative, Bihzād began to show symptoms of impatience, having fallen in love with the lady, though unseen. The young man continued his story, and said:

“The next morning I proceeded on my journey, and arrived at the city of Rūm, the capital and residence of the Kaisar, or Greek Emperor; and having made inquiries, I was informed that the beautiful damsel whom I had seen was the Princess Nigārīn, daughter of the Kaisar, who had a villa at a little distance from the city, to which she sometimes went for recreation.”

Here the young man concluded his narrative, and Prince Bihzād immediately arose and hastened to the house of the vizier, and said: “You must go this moment to my father, and tell him that if he is solicitous about my happiness, he will provide me a wife without delay.” The vizier accordingly went to the palace and informed the King of Bihzād’s wishes. The King desired the vizier to assure the Prince that he only waited to find a suitable match for him; but that, if he had fixed his affections on any fair object, he would do everything in his power to obtain her for him.

This being reported to Bihzād, he sent back the vizier with another message to the King, informing him that the object of his choice was the Princess Nigārīn, the lovely daughter of the Kaisar of Rūm, and requesting that ambassadors might be sent to ask her in marriage for him. The King replied to this message, and said: “Tell Bihzād that it were in vain for me to send ambassadors on such an errand to the Kaisar: he is the powerful Emperor of Rūm, and I am only a petty sovereign of Aleppo; we are of different religions and of different manners; and there is not any probability that he would comply with our demand.”

The vizier returned to Bihzād, and delivered him this message from his father. The impatient Prince immediately declared that, if the King would not send ambassadors to solicit the Kaisar’s daughter in marriage for him, he would set out on that errand himself.

The King, being informed of his son’s resolution, sent for the Prince, whom he loved with a tender affection, and at last consented that ambassadors should be despatched to Rūm. The Kaisar received with due respect the ambassadors from the King of Aleppo; but when they disclosed the object of their mission, he replied, with great indignation, and informed them, that no one should obtain his daughter without paying the sum of one hundred lacs of dīnars (or pieces of gold); and that whoever should consent to pay that sum might become her husband.

The ambassadors returned to Aleppo, and related to the King all that the Kaisar had said. “Did I not tell you,” said the King to Bihzād, “that the Greek Emperor would refuse his consent to so unequal a match?”—“He has not refused his consent,” replied Bihzād; “but he requires money, which must be immediately sent.”—The King declared that he could not make up so considerable a sum; but, at Bihzād’s request, having collected all his wealth, he found he possessed thirty lacs. Bihzād then urged him to sell his male and female slaves, and all his household goods. Having done so, he found that they produced twenty lacs.

Then Bihzād advised the King to make up the requisite sum, by compelling his subjects to contribute their money; but the King was not willing to distress his people. However, by the persuasion of Bihzād, he extorted from them an additional sum of twenty lacs. Having thus collected seventy lacs of dīnars, Bihzād proposed that they should be immediately transmitted to the Kaisar of Rūm. Letters were accordingly written, and messengers despatched with the money, who were instructed to say, that the remaining sum of thirty lacs should speedily be sent after. When these messengers arrived at Rūm, they presented the letters and gifts to the Kaisar, with the money. He treated the messengers with great respect, accepted the money, and agreed to the proposed conditions; after which they returned to Aleppo, and reported their success. Bihzād then urged his father to collect by any means the thirty lacs of dīnars still deficient, either by a forced loan from the merchants, or by taxing the peasants of the country; but the King advised him to be patient, and wait until they should recover from the effects of the late exactions; and said: “You have already rendered me poor, and now you wish to complete my ruin, and occasion the loss of my kingdom.”

Bihzād desired his father to keep his kingdom, and declared his intention of setting out immediately. The King, much afflicted at the thought of his son’s departure, entreated him to wait one year, that the people might forget the sums they had already paid; but Bihzād would not consent. The King then begged that he would be patient for six months; this also he refused.—“Wait even three months,” said his father.—“I cannot wait three days,” said the impatient youth. On which the King, disgusted with such obstinacy, desired his son to go wherever he pleased. Bihzād immediately retired; and, having clothed himself in armour, with two confidential servants set out upon his journey.

It happened that one morning they overtook a caravan, consisting of a hundred camels loaded with valuable commodities, proceeding on the way to Rūm. The chief of this caravan was a man of considerable wealth, with a numerous train of attendants, and he was held in great esteem by the Kaisar. When Bihzād and his two companions espied the caravan, they rushed forward with loud shouts, but were instantly seized, and their hands and feet bound: they were then brought before the chief, who ordered that they should be flung upon a camel. When they arrived at Rūm, the chief took Bihzād to his own house, and kept him confined for three days.

On the third day, having looked attentively at his prisoner, he discovered in his air and manner something that bespoke his princely origin and education. He inquired into the circumstances of his adventure, but Bihzād answered only with tears. The chief then said: “If you tell me the truth of this affair, I will set you free; and if you do not, I shall inform the Kaisar of your offence, and he will cause you to be hanged.”

Bihzād, not knowing what else to do, related his whole history to the chief of the caravan, who, moved with compassion, desired him not to despair, for he would lend him the thirty lacs of dīnars, and procure him the Kaisar’s daughter, on condition of his being repaid whenever Bihzād should become king.

To this Bihzād gladly consented; and the chief, having unloosed his fetters, clothed him in royal garments, and dressed his servants also in splendid attire; and having given him thirty lacs of dīnars, he led him to the palace: then he left Bihzād at the door, whilst he himself went in and informed the Kaisar that the Prince of Aleppo was waiting for the honour of presenting to his Majesty the thirty lacs of dīnars, which he had brought sealed up.

The Kaisar consented to receive Bihzād, who, on being introduced, paid due homage, and was treated with great kindness, and placed by the Kaisar’s side. After much conversation, the Kaisar desired him to declare the object of his wishes, and promised that, whatever it might be, he would endeavour to procure it for him. Bihzād replied, that his only desire in this world was to obtain the Princess for his wife. The Kaisar begged that he would wait ten days; but to this delay he would not consent. The Kaisar then entreated that he would be patient for five days; and this also he refused to do.—“At least,” said the Kaisar, “wait three days, that the women may have time to make the necessary preparations.” But Bihzād would not consent.—“This one day, however,” then said the Kaisar, “you must be patient, and to-morrow you shall espouse my daughter.”—“Since it must be so,” replied Bihzād, “I’ll wait this day, but no longer.”

The Kaisar gave orders that the Princess should be brought to the garden of the palace, and all the nobles assembled, and banquets provided for the entertainment of Bihzād. When night came, Bihzād, having indulged in wine, became impatient to behold the Princess, and, going to the summer-house, in which she was, he discovered an aperture in the wall, to which he applied his eye. The Princess at that moment happened to perceive the aperture, and found that some person was looking at her through it. She immediately ordered her attendants to burn out his eyes with red-hot irons.

This order was put in execution without delay. The unhappy Bihzād, crying aloud, fell on the ground, deprived of sight. His voice being at length recognised, the servants ran out and beheld him rolling in agony on the ground. They exclaimed, and tore their hair, but all in vain. The news was brought to the Kaisar, who said: “What can be done? This silly youth has brought the evil on himself by his own impatience, and has occasioned the loss of his own eyes.” He then directed that Bihzād should be sent back to Aleppo, as he could not give his daughter to a person deprived of sight.

When the unhappy youth returned to Aleppo, his father and mother, and the inhabitants of the city, all wept at his misfortunes; but their compassion was of no avail. After some time the King died; but the people introduced a stranger, and placed him on the throne, saying that a blind man was not capable of governing. And the remainder of Bihzād’s life passed away in misery, and in repentance for his rashness and impatience.

“Now,” added Bakhtyār, “had that unfortunate young man waited until night, the Princess Nigārīn would have been his, and he would have saved his eyes and his kingdom, and not have had occasion to repent of impatience. If the King will send me back to prison, he will not be sorry for the delay, as my innocence will hereafter appear; and if he hasten my execution, any future repentance will not avail.”

The King ordered Bakhtyār to go back to prison for that day.

CHAPTER IV.

On the following day, the fourth Vizier presented himself before the King, and, having paid his respects, advised him not to defer any longer the execution of Bakhtyār. The King immediately gave orders that the young man should be brought from the prison; the executioner with a drawn sword stood ready to perform his part, when Bakhtyār exclaimed: “Long be the King’s life! Let him not be precipitate in putting me to death; but as I have, in the story of Bihzād, described the fatal consequences of rashness, let me be permitted to celebrate the blessings attendant on forbearance, and recount the adventures of Abū Saber, the Patient Man.”

The King’s curiosity being excited, he desired Bakhtyār to relate the story, which he accordingly began in the following words:

STORY OF ABŪ SABER; OR, THE PATIENT MAN.

There lived in a certain village, a worthy man, whose principal riches consisted in a good understanding and an inexhaustible stock of patience. On account of those qualifications he was so much respected by all his neighbours, that his advice was followed on every occasion of importance.

It happened once that a tax-gatherer came to this village, and extorted from the poor peasants their miserable pittance, with such circumstances of cruelty and injustice that they could not any longer submit to the oppression: a number of the young men, having assembled in a body, slew the tax-gatherer and fled.

The other inhabitants, who had not been concerned in this transaction, came to Abū Saber, and begged that he would accompany them to the King, and relate to his Majesty the circumstances as they had happened; but Abū Saber told them, that he had drank of the sherbet of patience, and would not intermeddle in such affairs. When the King was informed of the tax-gatherer’s death, he ordered his servants to punish the people of that village, and to strip them of all their property.

After two years it happened that a lion took up his abode in the neighbourhood, and destroyed so many children that no person would venture to cultivate the ground, or attend the harvest, from fear of being devoured. In this distress the villagers went to Abū Saber, and entreated him to associate with them in some measure for their relief; but he replied, that patience was his only remedy.

It happened soon after, that the King, being on a hunting-party, arrived in the vicinity of this place; and the inhabitants, presenting themselves before him, related the story of the tax-gatherer, the consequences of the King’s anger, and their dread of the lion. The King pitying them, asked why they had not sent some person to inform him of their distresses. They replied, that Abū Saber, the chief man of the village, whose assistance they solicited, had declined interfering in the matter. The King, hearing this, was enraged, and gave orders that Abū Saber should be driven forth from the village. These orders were instantly put in execution, and the King sent people to destroy the lion.

With a heavy heart, Abū Saber commenced his journey, accompanied by his wife and two sons. It happened that they were soon overtaken by some robbers, who, not perceiving any thing more valuable of which they might strip him, resolved to carry off the two boys and sell them; they accordingly seized the poor children and bore them away. The wife began to cry and weep most bitterly; but Abū Saber recommended patience. They then proceeded on their journey, and travelled all night and all day, till, faint from hunger and thirst, weary and fatigued, they at length approached a village, in the outlets of which Abū Saber left his wife, whilst he went to procure some food. He was employed on this business in the village, when a robber happened to discover the woman, and seeing that she was a stranger, handsome, and unprotected, he seized her with violence, and declared that he would take her as his wife. After many tears and supplications, finding the robber determined to carry her away, she contrived to write upon the ground with blood, which she had procured by biting her own finger. When Abū Saber returned from the village, and sought his wife in the spot where he had left her, the words which she had written sufficiently explained the occasion of her absence.

He wept at this new misfortune, and implored the Almighty to bestow patience on his wife, and enable her to bear whatever should befall her.

With a disconsolate heart, Abū Saber proceeded on his solitary journey, until he came to the gate of a certain city where a King resided, who was very tyrannical and impious. And it happened at this time that he had ordered a summer-house to be erected, and every stranger who approached the city was by his command seized and compelled to work, guarded day and night, and fed with a scanty portion of coarse black bread.

Abū Saber was immediately seized and dragged to the building; when a heavy load was placed upon his shoulders, and he was obliged to ascend a ladder of seventy steps. In this distress he consoled himself by reflections on the advantages of patience, the only remedy within his power, for the evils which had occurred.

It happened on this day, that the King was sitting in a corner of the building, superintending the work, when he overheard Abū Saber inquire of another man, what time they might expect to be relieved from this excessive fatigue. The man informed Abū Saber that it was three months since he had been thus laboriously employed, and languishing for a sight of his beloved wife and children. “During this space of time,” added he, “I have not had any intelligence of them; and I long for permission to visit them, were it but for one night.” Abū Saber desired him to be patient; for Providence would relieve him at last from the oppression under which he suffered.

All this conversation the King overheard. After some time Abū Saber, being faint from excessive fatigue, fell senseless from the steps of the ladder, by which accident his legs and arms were dislocated. The King, however, provoked to anger by what he had heard, ordered that Abū Saber should be brought before him, and, having upbraided him with inconsistency in recommending patience to another person, when he himself could not practise it, he ordered him to be punished with fifty stripes and thrown into prison. This sentence was immediately put into execution, and Abū Saber, supporting his head on the knees of patience, implored the protection of the Almighty, with perfect submission to His divine dispensations.

After some time had elapsed, it happened that the King was affected one night by a violent cholic, of which he died in excessive agony; and as he did not leave any heir to the crown, the people of the city assembled in order to elect a King.

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 answer should be chosen King. In consequence of this resolution, they proceeded to the prison, and asked the three questions, to which none of the prisoners replied, except Abū Saber, whose answers were so ingenious, that he was borne triumphantly away, washed in a warm bath, clothed in royal garments, and placed upon the throne; after which all the inhabitants came and paid him homage. And he governed with such mildness and wisdom, that the people night and day offered up their prayers for him; and the fame of his justice and liberality was spread all over the world.

One day it happened that two men attended at his tribunal and demanded an audience. Abū Saber caused them to be brought before him. One of those men was a merchant, and the other the robber who had carried off the sons of Abū Saber. The robber he immediately recognised, but was silent. The merchant then addressed him, and said: “Long be the King’s life! This man sold to me two boys; and after some time these boys began to say, ‘We are freemen—we are the sons of a Mussulman; and that man carried us away by force, and sold us, at which time, from fear of him, we were afraid to say that we were freemen.’ Now,” added the merchant, “let the King order this man to return me the money, and take back the boys.”

Abū Saber then asked the robber what he had to say. The man answered, that it was the merchant’s fault, who had not taken good care of the boys; but that for his own part he had always treated them well, which induced them to make this complaint, in order that he might take them back. Abū Saber then sent for the two boys, who proved to be his own sons. He knew them, but they had not any recollection of him. He desired them to explain this matter; and they declared that the robber had carried them away from their father and mother to his own dwelling, and had desired them not to say, on any account, that they were freemen; but that when sold as slaves they could not any longer suppress their complaints. Abū Saber, much affected by their story, ordered them to tell their names, and then sent them to his own apartments; after which he caused the robber to be imprisoned, and the merchant’s money to be deposited in the public treasury.

On another day it happened that two persons in like manner solicited an audience of the King. When they were admitted, one proved to be the wife of Abū Saber, and the other the man who had taken her away by force. But Abū Saber did not know his wife, because she wore her veil. The robber, having paid his respects, informed the King that this woman, who had lived with him for some time, would not consent to perform the duties of a wife. Abū Saber addressed the woman, and asked her why she refused to obey her husband. She immediately answered, that this man was not her husband; that she was the wife of a person named Abū Saber; and that this man had taken her to his house against her inclination.

Abū Saber ordered his servants to take the woman to his harem; and, having made a proclamation and assembled all the inhabitants of the city, caused the robber who had taken away his sons and the man who had carried off his wife to be brought before them; and, having explained the nature of their offences and related the circumstances of his own story, he gave orders for their execution.

After this he passed the remainder of his life in peaceful enjoyment of the supreme power, which at his death devolved upon his son, and continued for many generations in the family, as the reward of his patience.

Here Bakhtyār concluded his story, and by order of the King was sent back to prison.

CHAPTER V.

When the next morning arrived, the fifth Vizier waited upon the King, and represented the danger that might attend any further delay in the execution of Bakhtyār, as the indulgence which had been shown to him would be an encouragement to others, and induce them to commit offences, by giving them hopes of impunity. In consequence of this, the King ordered everything to be prepared for the execution of the young man, who, being brought before him, entreated his Majesty for a longer respite, and assured him that he would, on a future day, be as rejoiced at having spared his life, as a certain King of Yemen was at having pardoned the offence of his slave.

The King desired Bakhtyār to relate the particular circumstances of this story; and he accordingly began it in the following manner:

STORY OF THE KING OF YEMEN AND HIS SLAVE ABRAHA.

In former times the kingdom of Yemen was governed by a very powerful but tyrannical Prince, who, for the slightest offences, inflicted the most severe punishments. He had, however, a certain slave, named Abraha, of whom he was very fond. This young man was the son of the King of Zangībār, who by chance had fallen into slavery, and never disclosed the secret of his birth.

Abraha used frequently to attend the King of Yemen on his hunting parties. During one of these excursions, it happened that a deer bounded before the King’s horse: he discharged some arrows at it without effect; when Abraha, who was close behind him, spurred on his horse, and aimed a broad-bladed arrow at the deer; but it so happened that the arrow passed by the side of the King’s head, and cut off one of his ears. The King, in the first impulse of anger, ordered his attendants to seize Abraha; but afterwards declared that he pardoned his offence.

They then returned to the city; and, after some time had elapsed, having gone on board a vessel and sailed into the ocean, a tempest arose, and the ship was wrecked, and the King saved himself by clinging to a plank, and was driven on the coast of Zangībār.

Having returned thanks to Providence for his preservation, he proceeded till he reached the chief city of that country. As it was night, the doors of the houses and all the shops were shut; and, not knowing where he might find a better place of repose, he sheltered himself under the shade of a merchant’s house. It happened that some thieves, in the course of the night, broke open the house, and having murdered the merchant and his servants, plundered it of everything that was valuable. The King of Yemen, overcome by fatigue, had slept the whole time, unconscious of this transaction; but some of the blood had by accident fallen on his clothes.

When morning came, everybody was employed in endeavouring to discover the murderers of the merchant; and the stranger, being found so near the house, with blood upon his clothes, was immediately seized and dragged before the tribunal of the King.

The King of Zangībār asked him why he had chosen his capital as the scene of such an infamous murder; and desired him to acknowledge who were his accomplices, and how he had disposed of the merchant’s property. The King of Yemen declared that he was innocent, and perfectly ignorant of the whole transaction; that he was of a princely family; and, having been shipwrecked, was driven on the coast, and had by accident reposed himself under the shade of that house when the murder was committed. The King of Zangībār then inquired of him by what means his clothes had become stained with blood, and finding that the stranger could not account for that circumstance, he ordered the officers of justice to lead him away to execution. The unfortunate King of Yemen entreated for mercy, and asserted that his innocence would on some future day become apparent. The King consented to defer his execution for a while, and he was sent to prison.

On one side of the prison there was an extensive plain, with a running stream, to which every day the prisoners were brought, that they might wash themselves; and it was the custom that once every week the King resorted to that plain, where he gave public audience to persons of all ranks. On one of those days the King of Zangībār was on the plain, surrounded by his troops, and the prisoners were sitting by the side of the stream, along which ran a wall of the prison. 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.

At this moment a crow chanced to light upon the wall, which the King of Yemen perceived, and taking up a large flat bone, he threw it with his utmost strength, and exclaimed, “If I succeed in hitting that crow, I shall obtain my liberty,” but he missed his aim; the bone passed by the crow, and striking the cheek of Abraha, cut off one of his ears. Abraha immediately caused an inquiry to be made, and the person who had thrown the bone to be brought before the King, who called him a base-born dog, and ordered the executioner to cut off his head. The King of Yemen sued for mercy, and requested that at most he might be punished according to the law of retaliation, which would not award a head for an ear. The King gave orders that one of his ears should be cut off; and the executioner was preparing to fulfil this sentence when he perceived that the prisoner had already lost an ear.

This circumstance occasioned much surprise, and excited the King’s curiosity. He told the prisoner that he would pardon him, on condition of his relating the true story of his adventures.

The King of Yemen immediately disclosed his real name and rank, described the accident by which he lost his ear, the shipwreck which he suffered, and the circumstances which occasioned his imprisonment.

At the conclusion of his narrative, Abraha, having recognised his former master, fell at his feet, embraced him, and wept. They mutually forgave each other; and the King of Yemen, being taken to a warm bath, was clothed in royal garments, mounted on a noble charger, and conducted to the palace; after which he was furnished with a variety of splendid robes and suits of armour, horses, slaves, and damsels. During two months he was feasted and entertained with the utmost hospitality and magnificence, attended constantly by Abraha. In the course of this time, the robbers who had murdered the merchant were discovered and punished; and after that the King of Yemen returned to his own country.

Bakhtyār having thus demonstrated that appearances might be very strong against an innocent person, the King resolved to defer his execution for another day, and he was accordingly led back to prison.

CHAPTER VI.

On the following day the sixth Vizier, having paid his respects to the King, represented the danger of letting an enemy live when in one’s power, and, by many artful speeches, induced his Majesty to order the execution of Bakhtyār, who was immediately brought from the prison. When he came before the King, he persisted in declaring his innocence, and advised him not to be precipitate, like King Dādīn, in putting to death a person on the malicious accusation of an enemy. The King, desirous of hearing the story to which Bakhtyār alluded, ordered him to relate it; and he began as follows:

STORY OF KING DĀDĪN AND HIS TWO VIZIERS.

There was a certain King named Dādīn, who had two viziers, Kārdār and Kāmgār; and the daughter of Kāmgār was the most lovely creature of the age. It happened that the King, proceeding on a hunting excursion, took along with him the father of this beautiful damsel, and left the charge of government in the hands of Kārdār.

One day, during the warm season, Kārdār, passing near the palace of Kāmgār, beheld this fair damsel walking in the garden, and became enamoured of her beauty; but having reason to believe that her father would not consent to bestow her on him, he resolved to devise some stratagem whereby he might obtain the object of his desires. “At the King’s return from the chase,” said he, “I’ll represent the charms of this damsel in such glowing colours, that he will not fail to demand her in marriage; and I’ll then contrive to excite his anger against her, in consequence of which he shall deliver her to me for punishment; and thus my designs shall be accomplished.”

One day after the King’s return from the hunting party, he desired Kārdār to inform him of the principal events which had occurred during his absence. Kārdār replied that his Majesty’s subjects had all been solicitous for his prosperity; but that he had himself seen one of the most astonishing objects of the universe. The King’s curiosity being thus excited, he ordered Kārdār to describe what he had seen; and Kārdār dwelt with such praises on the fascinating charms of Kāmgār’s daughter, that the King became enamoured of her, and said: “But how is this damsel to be obtained?”—Kārdār replied: “There is not any difficulty in this business; it is not necessary to employ either money or messengers: your Majesty needs only to acquaint her father with your wishes.”

The King approved of this counsel, and having sent for Kāmgār, mentioned the affair to him accordingly. Kāmgār, with due submission, declared that if he possessed a hundred daughters they should all be at his Majesty’s command; but begged permission to retire and inform the damsel of the honour designed for her. Having obtained leave, he hastened to his daughter, and related to her all that had passed between the King and him. The damsel expressed her dislike to the proposed connection; and her father, dreading the King’s anger in case of a refusal, knew not how to act. “Contrive some delay,” said she; “solicit leave of absence for a few days, and let us fly from this country!” Kāmgār approved of this advice; and having waited on the King, obtained leave to absent himself from court for ten days, under pretence of making the preparations necessary for a female on the eve of matrimony; and when night came on, he fled from the city with his daughter.

Next day the King was informed of their flight; in consequence of which he sent off two hundred servants to seek them in various directions, and the officious Kārdār set out also in pursuit of them. After ten days they were surprised by the side of a well, taken and bound, and brought before the King, who, in his anger, dashed out the brains of Kāmgār; then looking on the daughter of the unfortunate man, her beauty so much affected him, that he sent her to his palace, and appointed servants to attend her, besides a cook, who, at his own request, was added to her establishment. After some time Kārdār became impatient, and enraged at the failure of his project; but he resolved to try the success of another scheme.

It happened that the encroachments of a powerful enemy rendered the King’s presence necessary among the troops; and on setting out to join the army, he committed the management of affairs and the government of the city to Kārdār, whose mind was wholly filled with stratagems for getting the daughter of Kāmgār into his power.

One day he was passing near the palace, and discovered her sitting alone on the balcony; to attract her attention, he threw up a piece of brick or tile, and on her looking down to see from whence it came she beheld Kārdār. He addressed her with the usual salutation, which she returned. He then began to declare his admiration of her beauty, and the violence of his love, which deprived him of repose both day and night; and concluded by urging her to elope with him, saying that he would take as much money as they could possibly want; or, if she would consent, he was ready to destroy the King by poison, and seize upon the throne himself.

The daughter of Kāmgār replied to this proposal by upbraiding Kārdār with his baseness and perfidy. When he asked her how she could ever fix her affections on the man who had killed her father, she answered, that such had been the will of God, and she was resolved to submit accordingly. Having spoken thus, she retired. Kārdār, fearing lest she should relate to the King what had passed between them, hastened to meet him as he returned in triumph after conquering his enemies; and whilst walking along by the side of the King’s horse, began to inform his Majesty of all that had happened in his absence. Having mentioned several occurrences, he added, that one circumstance was of such a nature that he could not prevail on himself to relate it, for it was such as the King would be very much displeased at hearing.

The King’s curiosity being thus excited, he ordered Kārdār to relate this occurrence; and he, declaring that it was a most ungrateful task, informed him that it was a maxim of the wise men: “When you have killed the serpent, you should also kill its young.” He then proceeded to relate that, one day during the warm season, being seated near the door of the harem, he overheard some voices, and his suspicions being excited, he concealed himself behind the hangings, and listened attentively, when he heard the daughter of Kāmgār express her affection for the cook, who, in return, declared his attachment; and they spoke of poisoning the King in revenge for his having killed her father. “I had not patience,” added Kārdār, “to listen any longer.”—At this intelligence the King changed colour with rage and indignation, and on arriving at the palace, ordered the unfortunate cook to be instantly cut in two. He then sent for the daughter of Kāmgār, and upbraided her with the intention of destroying him by poison. She immediately perceived that this accusation proceeded from the malevolence of Kārdār, and was going to speak in vindication of herself, when the King ordered her to be put to death; but being dissuaded by an attendant from killing a woman, he revoked the sentence of death; and she was tied hands and feet, and placed upon a camel, which was turned into a dreary wilderness, where there was neither water nor shade, nor any trace of cultivation.

Here she suffered from the intense heat and thirst, to such a degree that, expecting every moment to be her last, she resigned herself to the will of Providence, conscious of her own innocence. Just then the camel lay down, and on that spot where they were a fountain of delicious water sprang forth; the cords which bound her hands and feet dropped off: she refreshed herself by a hearty draught of the water, and fervently returned thanks to Heaven for this blessing and her wonderful preservation. On this the most verdant and fragrant herbage appeared around the borders of the fountain; it became a blooming and delightful spot, and the camel placed himself so as to afford his lovely companion a shade and shelter from the sunbeams.

It happened that one of the King’s camel-keepers was at this time in pursuit of some camels which had wandered into the desert, and without which he dared not return to the city. He had sought them for several days amidst hills and forests without any success. At length on coming to this spot he beheld the daughter of Kāmgār and the camel, which at first he thought was one of those he sought, and the clear fountain with the verdant banks, where neither grass nor water had ever been seen before. Astonished at this discovery, he resolved not to interrupt the lady, who was engaged in prayer; but when she had finished, he addressed her, and was so charmed by her gentleness and piety, that he offered to adopt her as his child, and expressed his belief that, through the efficacy of her prayers, he should recover the strayed camels.

This good man’s offer she thankfully accepted; and having partaken of a fowl and some bread which he had with him, at his request she prayed for the recovery of his camels. As soon as she had concluded her prayer, the camels appeared on the skirts of the wilderness, and of their own accord approached the camel-keeper.

He then represented to the daughter of Kāmgār the danger of remaining all night in the wilderness, which was the haunt of many wild beasts; and proposed that she should return with him to the city, and dwell with him in his house, where he would provide for her a retired apartment, in which she might perform her devotions without interruption. To this proposal she consented, and being mounted on her camel, she returned to the city, and arrived at the house of her companion at the time of evening prayer. Here she resided for some time, employing herself in exercises of piety and devotion.

One day the camel-keeper, being desired by the King to relate his past adventures, mentioned, among other circumstances, the losing of his camels, the finding them through the efficacy of a young woman’s prayers, the discovery of a spring where none had been before, and his adopting the damsel as his daughter: he concluded by telling the King that she was now at his house, and employed day and night in acts of devotion.

The King, on hearing this, expressed an earnest wish that he might be allowed to see this young woman, and prevail on her to intercede with Providence in his behalf. The camel-keeper, having consented, returned at once to his house accompanied by the King, who waited at the door of the apartment where the daughter of Kāmgār was engaged in prayer. When she had concluded he approached, and with astonishment recognised her. Having tenderly embraced her, he wept, and entreated her forgiveness. This she readily granted, but begged that he would conceal himself in the apartment whilst she should converse with Kārdār, whom she sent for.

When he arrived, and beheld her with a thousand expressions of fondness, he inquired the means whereby she had escaped; and he told her that on the day when the King had banished her into the wilderness, he had sent people to seek her, and to bring her to him. “How much better would it have been,” added he, “had you followed my advice, and agreed to my proposal of poisoning the King, who, I said, would endeavour to destroy you, as he had killed your father! But you rejected my advice, and declared yourself ready to submit to whatsoever Providence should decree. Hereafter,” continued he, “you will pay more attention to my words. But now let us not think of what is past: I am your slave, and you are dearer to me than my own eyes!” So saying, he attempted to clasp the daughter of Kāmgār in his arms, when the King, who was concealed behind the hangings, rushed furiously on him, and put him to death. After this he conducted the damsel to his palace, and constantly lamented his precipitancy in having killed her father.

Here Bakhtyār concluded the story; and having requested a further respite, that he might have an opportunity of proving his innocence, he was sent back to prison by order of the King.

CHAPTER VII.

The Seventh Vizier, on the following day, approached the King, and having told him that his lenity towards Bakhtyār was made the subject of public conversation, added many arguments to procure an order for the execution of that unfortunate young man. The King, changing colour with anger, sent immediately for the Queen, and asked her advice concerning Bakhtyār. She declared that he deserved death; in consequence of which the King ordered his attendants to bring him from the prison. When he came into the royal presence, he begged for mercy, saying: “My innocence will appear hereafter; and though your Majesty can easily put to death a living man, you cannot restore a dead man to life.”—“How,” said the King, “can you deny your guilt, since the women of the harem all bear witness against you?”—Bakhtyār replied: “Women, for their own purposes, often devise falsehoods, and are very expert in artifice and fraud, as appears from the story of the daughter of the King of `Irāk and her adventures with the King of Abyssinia, which, if your Majesty permit, I shall briefly relate.”—Having obtained permission, he began the story as follows:

STORY OF THE KING OF ABYSSINIA, SHOWING THE ARTIFICE OF WOMEN.

It is related that Abyssinia was once governed by a certain monarch, whose armies were very numerous, and his treasury well filled; but not having any enemy to engage him in war, he neglected his troops, and withheld their pay, so that they were reduced to great distress, and began to murmur, and at last made their complaints to the Vizier. He, pitying their situation, promised that he would take measures for their relief, and desired them to be patient for a little while. He then considered within himself what steps he should take; and at length, knowing the King’s inclination to women, and understanding that the Princess of `Irāk was uncommonly beautiful, he resolved to praise her charms in such extravagant language before the King, as to induce him to demand her from her father, who, from his excessive fondness, would not probably consent to bestow her on him, and thus a war would ensue, in which case the troops should be employed, and their arrears paid off.

Pleased with the ingenuity of this stratagem, the vizier hastened to the King, and after conversing for some time on various subjects, he contrived to mention the King of `Irāk, and immediately described the beauty of his daughter in such glowing colours, that the King became enamoured, and consulted the vizier on the means whereby he might hope to obtain possession of that lovely Princess. The vizier replied, that the first step was to send ambassadors to the King of `Irāk, soliciting his daughter in marriage. In consequence of this advice, some able and discreet persons were despatched as ambassadors to `Irāk. On their arrival in that country, the King received them courteously; but when they disclosed the object of their mission he became angry, and declared that he would not comply with their demand.

The ambassadors returned to Abyssinia, and having reported to the King the unsuccessful result of their negotiation, he vowed that he would send an army into `Irāk, and lay that country waste, unless his demands were complied with.

In consequence of this resolution, he ordered the doors of his treasury to be thrown open, and caused so much money to be distributed among the soldiers that they were satisfied. From all quarters the troops assembled, and zealously prepared for war. On the other hand, the King of `Irāk levied his forces, and sent them to oppose the Abyssinians, who invaded his dominions; but he did not lead them to the field himself, and they were defeated and put to flight. When the account of this disaster reached the King of `Irāk, he consulted his vizier, and asked what was next to be done. The vizier candidly declared that he did not think it necessary to prolong the war on account of a woman, and advised his Majesty to send ambassadors with overtures of peace, and an offer of giving the Princess to the King of Abyssinia. This advice the King of `Irāk followed, although reluctantly. Ambassadors were despatched to the enemy with offers of peace, and a declaration of the King’s consent to the marriage of his daughter.

These terms being accepted, the Princess was sent with confidential attendants to the King of Abyssinia, who retired with her to his own dominions, where he espoused her; and some time passed away in festivity and pleasure. But it happened that the King of `Irāk had some years before given his daughter in marriage to another man, by whom she had a son; and this boy was now grown up, and accomplished in all sciences, and such a favourite with the King of `Irāk, that he would never permit him to be one hour absent from him. The Princess, when obliged to leave him, felt all the anxiety of a mother, and resolved to devise some stratagem whereby she might enjoy his society in Abyssinia.

One day the King of Abyssinia, on some occasion, behaved harshly to the Queen, and spoke disrespectfully of her father. She in return said: “Your kingdom, it is true, is most fertile and abundant; but my father possesses such a treasure as no other monarch can boast of—a youth sent to him by the kindness of Heaven, skilled in every profound science, and accomplished in every manly exercise; so that he rather seems to be one of the inhabitants of Paradise than of this earth.” These praises so excited the curiosity of the King, that he vowed he would bring this boy to his court, were he even obliged to go himself for him. The Queen replied: “My father would be like a distracted person were he deprived, even for an hour, of this boy’s society; but some intelligent person must be sent to `Irāk in the character of a merchant, and endeavour by every means to steal him away.”

The King approved of this advice, and chose a person well skilled in business, who had experienced many reverses of fortune, and seen much of the world. To this man he promised a reward of a hundred male slaves and a hundred beautiful damsels, if he should succeed in bringing away this boy from the King of `Irāk’s court. The man inquired the name of the boy, which was Farrukhzād, and, disguised as a merchant, set out immediately for `Irāk.

Having arrived there, he presented various offerings to the King; and one day found an opportunity of conversing with the boy. At last he said: “With such accomplishments as you possess, were you in Abyssinia for one day, you would be rendered master of slaves and damsels, and riches of every kind.” He then described the delights of that country, which made such an impression on Farrukhzād, that he became disgusted with `Irāk, and attached himself to the merchant, and said: “I have often heard of Abyssinia, and have long wished to enjoy the pleasures which it yields. The King’s daughter is now in that country, and if I could contrive to go there, my happiness would be complete. But I know not how to escape from this place, as the King will not permit me to be one hour absent from him.”

The merchant gladly undertook to devise some means for the escape of Farrukhzād; and at last having put him into a chest, and placed him upon a camel, he contrived one evening to carry him off unnoticed. The next day the King of `Irāk sent messengers in all directions to seek him. They inquired of all the caravans and travellers, but could not obtain any intelligence concerning him. At last the merchant brought him to Abyssinia, and the King, finding that his accomplishments and talents had not been over-rated, was much delighted with his society; and as he had not any child, he bestowed on him a royal robe and crown, a horse, a sword, and a shield, and adopted him as his son, and brought him into the harem.

When the Queen beheld Farrukhzād, she wept for joy, embraced him, and kissed him with all the fondness of a mother. It happened that one of the servants was a witness, unperceived, of this interview. He immediately hastened to the King, and represented the transaction in such a manner as to excite all his jealousy and rage. However, he resolved to inquire into the matter; but Farrukhzād did not acknowledge that the Queen was his mother; and when he sent for her she answered his questions only by her tears. From these circumstances he concluded that they were guilty; and accordingly he ordered one of his attendants to take away the young man to a burying-ground without the city, and there to cut off his head.

The attendant led Farrukhzād away, and was preparing to put the King’s sentence into execution, but when he looked in the youth’s face, his heart was moved with compassion, and he said, “It must have been the woman’s fault, and not his crime;” and he resolved to save him. When he told Farrukhzād that he would conceal him in his own house, the boy was delighted, and promised that if ever it was in his power he would reward him for his kindness. Having taken him to his house, the man waited on the King, and told him that he had, in obedience to his orders, put Farrukhzād to death.

After this the King treated his wife with the utmost coldness; and she sat melancholy, lamenting the absence of her son. It happened that an old woman beheld the Queen as she sat alone, weeping, in her chamber. Pitying her situation, she approached, and humbly inquired the occasion of her grief. The Queen made no reply; but when the old woman promised, not only to observe the utmost secrecy, if entrusted with the story of her misfortunes, but to find a remedy for them, she related at length all that had happened, and disclosed the mystery of Farrukhzād’s birth.

The old woman desired the Queen to comfort herself, and said: “This night, before the King retires to rest, you must lay yourself down, and close your eyes, as if asleep; he will then place something, which I shall give him, on your bosom, and will command you, by the power of the writing contained in that, to reveal the truth. You must then begin to speak, and, without any apprehension, repeat all that you have now told me.”

The old woman, having then found that the King was alone in his summer-house, presented herself before him, and said: “O King, this solitary life occasions melancholy and sadness!” The King replied that it was not solitude which rendered him melancholy, but vexation on account of the Queen’s infidelity, and the ingratitude of Farrukhzād, on whom he had heaped so many favours, and whom he had adopted as his own son. “Yet,” added he, “I am not convinced of his guilt; and since the day that I caused him to be killed, I have not enjoyed repose, nor am I certain whether the fault was his or the Queen’s.”

“Let not the King be longer in suspense on this subject,” said the old woman, “I have a certain talisman, one of the talismans of Solomon, written in Grecian characters, and in the Syrian language; if your Majesty will watch an opportunity when the Queen shall be asleep, and lay it on her breast, and say: ‘O thou that sleepest! by virtue of the talisman, and of the name of God, which it contains, I conjure thee to speak to me, and to reveal all the secrets of thy heart,’ she will immediately begin to speak, and will declare everything that she knows, both true and false.”

The King, delighted at the hopes of discovering the truth by means of this talisman, desired the old woman to fetch it. She accordingly went home, and taking a piece of paper, scrawled on it some unmeaning characters, folded it up, and tied it with a cord, and sealed it with wax; then hastened to the King, and desired him to preserve it carefully till night should afford an opportunity of trying its efficacy.

When it was night, the King watched until he found that the Queen was in bed; then gently approaching, and believing her to be asleep, he laid the talisman on her breast, and repeated the words which the old woman had taught him. The Queen, who had also received her lesson, still affecting the appearance of one asleep, immediately began to speak, and related all the circumstances of her story.

On hearing this the King was much affected, and tenderly embraced the Queen, who started from her bed as if perfectly unconscious of having revealed the secrets of her breast. He then blamed her for not having candidly acknowledged the circumstance of Farrukhzād’s birth, who, he said, should have been considered as his own son.

All that night they passed in mutual condolence, and on the next morning the King sent for the person to whom he had delivered Farrukhzād, and desired him to point out the spot where his body lay, that he might perform the last duty to that unfortunate youth, and ask forgiveness from his departed spirit. The man replied: “It appears that your Majesty is ignorant of Farrukhzād’s situation: he is at present in a place of safety; for although you ordered me to kill him, I ventured to disobey, and have concealed him in my house, from whence, if you permit, I shall immediately bring him.” At this information the King was so delighted that he rewarded the man with a splendid robe, and sent with him several attendants to bring Farrukhzād to the palace.

On arriving in his presence, Farrukhzād threw himself at the King’s feet, but he raised him in his arms and asked his forgiveness, and thus the affair ended in rejoicing and festivity.

“Now,” said Bakhtyār, having concluded his story, “it appears that women are expert in stratagems; and if Farrukhzād had been put to death, according to the King’s command, what grief and sorrow would have been the consequence! To avoid such,” added he, “let not your Majesty be precipitate in ordering my execution.”

The King resolved to wait another day, and Bakhtyār was sent back to prison.

CHAPTER VIII.

On the next morning, the Eighth Vizier, having paid his compliments to the King, addressed him on the subject of Bakhtyār, and said: “Government resembles a tree, the root of which is legal punishment. Now, if the root of a tree become dry, the leaves will wither: why then should the punishment of Bakhtyār be any longer deferred?”

In consequence of this discourse, the King ordered the executioner to prepare himself, and Bakhtyār was brought from prison. When the unfortunate young man came before the King, he addressed him, and said: “If your Majesty will consider the consequences of haste and precipitancy, it will appear that they are invariably sorrow and repentance; as we find confirmed in the Story of the Jewel-Merchant.”

The King expressed his desire of hearing the story to which he alluded; and Bakhtyār began it accordingly, in the following manner:

STORY OF THE JEWEL-MERCHANT.

There was a certain jewel-merchant, a very wealthy man, and eminently skilled in the knowledge of precious stones. His wife, a very prudent and amiable woman, was in a state of pregnancy when it happened that the King sent a messenger to her husband, desiring his attendance at court, that he might consult him in the choice of jewels. The merchant received the King’s messenger with all due respect, and immediately prepared to set out on his journey to the capital. When taking leave of his wife, he desired her to remember him in her prayers; and, in case she should bring forth a boy, to call his name Bihrūz.

After this injunction he departed from his house, and at length arrived in the capital, where he waited on the King, and having paid his respects, was employed in selecting from a box of pearls those that were most valuable. The King was so much pleased with his skill and ingenuity, that he kept him constantly near his own person, and entrusted to him the making of various royal ornaments, crowns, and girdles studded with jewels.

At length the wife of this jewel-merchant was delivered of two boys; one of whom, in compliance with her husband’s desire, she called Bihrūz, the other Rūzbih; and she sent intelligence of this event to the father, who solicited permission from the King that he might return home for a while and visit his family; but the King would not grant him this indulgence. The next year he made the same request, and with the same success. Thus during eight years he as often solicited leave to visit his wife and sons, but could not obtain it.

In the course of this time the boys had learned to read the Qur’ān, and were instructed in the art of penmanship and other accomplishments; and they wrote a letter to their father, expressing their sorrow and anxiety on account of his absence. The jewel-merchant, no longer able to resist his desire of seeing his family, represented his situation to the King in such strong colours that he desired him to send for his wife and children, and allowed him an ample sum of money to defray the expenses of their journey.

A trusty messenger was immediately despatched to the jewel-merchant’s wife, who, on receipt of her husband’s letter, set out with her two sons on their way to the capital. One evening, after a journey of a month, they arrived at the sea-side. Here they resolved to wait until morning; and, being refreshed with a slight repast, the boys amused themselves in wandering along the shore.

It happened that the jewel-merchant, in expectation of meeting his wife and children, had come thus far on the way; and having left his clothes and money concealed in different places, he bathed himself in the sea, and on returning to the shore put on his clothes, but forgot his gold. Having taken some refreshment, he was proceeding on his journey, when he thought of his money, and went back to seek it, but could not find it. At this moment he perceived the two boys, who had wandered thus far, amusing themselves playing along the shore. He immediately suspected that these boys had discovered and taken the gold, and accused them accordingly. They declared their ignorance of the matter, which so enraged the jewel-merchant, that he seized them both, and cast them headlong into the sea.

After this he proceeded on his way; whilst the wife was so unhappy at the long absence of her sons, that the world became dark in her eyes, and she raised her voice and called upon the boys. When the jewel-merchant heard the voice of his wife, he hastened to meet her, and inquired after his two sons, expressing his eager desire of seeing them. The wife told him that they had left her some time before, and had wandered along the sea-side. At this intelligence the jewel-merchant began to lament, and tore his clothes, and exclaimed: “Alas, alas, I have drowned my sons!” He then related what had happened, and proceeded with his wife along the shore in search of the boys, but they sought in vain. Then they smote their breasts and wept. And when the next morning came, they said: “From this time forth, whatsoever happens must be to us a matter of indifference;” and they set out on their journey towards the city, with afflicted bosoms and bleeding hearts, being persuaded that their sons had perished in the water.

But they were ignorant of the wonderful kindness of Providence, which rescued the two boys from destruction; for it happened that the King of that country, being on a hunting excursion, passed along the shore on that side where Bihrūz had fallen. When he perceived the boy, he ordered his attendants to take him up, and finding him of a pleasing countenance, although pale from the terror of the water and the danger he had escaped, he inquired into the circumstances which had befallen him. The boy informed him, that with his brother he had been walking on the shore, when a stranger seized upon them, and flung them into the water. The King, not having any child, inquired the name of the boy; and when he answered, that his name was Bihrūz, he exclaimed: “I accept it as a favourable omen,[26] and adopt you as my own son.” After this, Bihrūz, mounted on a horse, accompanied the King to his capital, and all the subjects were enjoined to obey him as heir to the crown. After some time the King died, and Bihrūz reigned in his place, with such wisdom, liberality, and uprightness, that his fame resounded through all quarters of the world.

It happened in the meantime, that the other boy, whose name was Rūzbih, had been rescued from the water by some robbers, who agreed to sell him as a slave, and divide the price amongst them. The jewel-merchant and his wife had reached the city and purchased a house, where they resolved to pass the remainder of their lives in prayer and exercises of devotion. But finding it necessary to procure an attendant, the jewel-merchant purchased a young boy at the slave-market, whom he did not know, but whom natural affection prompted him to choose. On bringing home the young slave, his wife fainted away, and exclaimed: “This is your son Rūzbih!” The parents as well as the child wept with joy, and returned thanks to Heaven for such an unexpected blessing.

After this the jewel-merchant instructed Rūzbih in his own profession, so that in a little time he became perfectly skilled in the value of precious stones; and having collected a very considerable number, he expressed a wish of turning them to profit, by selling them to a certain King in a distant country, one who was celebrated for his generosity and kindness to strangers.

The father consented that he should visit the court of this monarch, on condition that he would not afflict his parents by too long an absence. Rūzbih accordingly set out, and arrived at the capital of that King, who happened to be his own brother Bihrūz. Him, however, after the lapse of many years, he did not recognise. The King, having graciously received the present which Rūzbih offered, purchased of him all the jewels, and conceived such an affection for him that he kept him constantly in the palace, day and night.

At this time a foreign enemy invaded the country; but the King thought the matter of so little importance, that he contented himself with sending some troops to the field, and remained at home carousing and drinking with Rūzbih. At length, one night, at a very late hour, all the servants being absent, the King became intoxicated, and fell asleep. Rūzbih, not perceiving any of the guards or attendants, resolved that he would watch the King until morning; and accordingly, taking a sword, he stationed himself near the King’s pillow.

After some time had elapsed, several of the soldiers who had gone to oppose the enemy returned, and, entering the palace, discovered Rūzbih and the King in this situation. They immediately seized Rūzbih; and when the King awoke, they told him that, by their coming, they had saved his Majesty from assassination, which the jeweller, with a drawn sword, had been ready to perpetrate. The King, at first, ordered his immediate execution; and as day was beginning to dawn, and the approach of the enemy required his presence at the head of his troops, he sent for the executioner, who, having bound the eyes of Rūzbih and drawn his sword, exclaimed: “Say, King of the world, shall I strike or not?”

The King, considering that it would be better to inquire more particularly into the affair, and, knowing that, although it is easy to kill, it is impossible to restore a man to life, resolved to defer the punishment until his return, and sent Rūzbih to prison.

After this he proceeded to join the army, and having subdued his enemies, returned to the capital; but, during the space of two years, forgot the unfortunate Rūzbih, who lingered away his life in confinement. In the meantime his father and mother, grieving on account of his absence, and, ignorant of what had befallen him, sent a letter of inquiry by a confidential messenger to the money-changers (or bankers) of that city. Having read this, they wrote back, in answer, that Rūzbih had been in prison for two years.

On receiving this information, the jewel-merchant and his wife resolved to set out and throw themselves at the feet of this King, and endeavour to obtain from him the pardon and liberty of their son. With heavy hearts they accordingly proceeded on their journey, and having arrived at the capital, presented themselves before the King, and said: “Be it known unto your exalted Majesty, that we are two wretched strangers, oppressed by the infirmities of age, and overwhelmed by misfortune. We were blessed with two sons, one named Bihrūz, the other Rūzbih; but 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 fame of your Majesty’s generosity and greatness induced our son to visit this imperial court; and we are informed that, by your orders, he is now in prison. The object of our petition is, that your Majesty might take compassion on our helpless situation, and restore to us our long-lost son.”

The King on hearing this was astonished, and for a while imagined that it was all a dream. At length, when convinced that the old man and woman were his own parents, and that Rūzbih was his own brother, he sent for him to the prison, embraced them and wept, and placed them beside him on the throne; and for the sake of Rūzbih, set at liberty all those who had been confined with him. After this he divided the empire with his brother, and their time passed away in pleasure and tranquillity.

This story being concluded, Bakhtyār observed, that the jewel-merchant, by his precipitancy, had nearly occasioned the death of his two sons; and that Bihrūz, by deferring the execution of his brother, had prevented an infinity of distress to himself and his parents. This observation induced the King to grant Bakhtyār another day’s reprieve, and he was taken back to prison.

CHAPTER IX.

When the next morning came, the Ninth Vizier appeared before the King and said, that his extraordinary forbearance and lenity in respect to Bakhtyār had given occasion to much scandal; as every criminal, however heinous his offence, began to think that he might escape punishment by amusing the King with idle stories.

The King, on hearing this, sent to the prison for Bakhtyār, and desired the executioner to attend. When the unfortunate young man came before the King, he requested a respite only of two days, in the course of which he hoped his innocence might be proved; “although,” said he, “I know that the malice of one’s enemies is a flame from which it is almost impossible to escape: as appears from the story of Abū Temām, who, on the strength of a false accusation, was put to death by the King, and his innocence acknowledged when too late.”

“Who was that Abū Temām?” demanded the King, “and what were those malicious accusations which prevailed against him?”

STORY OF ABŪ TEMĀM.

Abū Temām (said Bakhtyār) was a very wealthy man, who resided in a city, the King of which was so tyrannical and unjust, that whatever money any one possessed above five direms he seized on for his own use. Abū Temām was so disgusted and terrified by the oppressions and cruelties of this King, that he never enjoyed one meal in peace or comfort, until he had collected all his property together and contrived to escape from that place. After some time he settled in the capital of another King, a city adorned with gardens, and well supplied with running streams. This King was a man of upright and virtuous principles, renowned for hospitality and kindness to strangers. In this capital Abū Temām purchased a magnificent mansion, in which he sumptuously entertained the people of the city, presenting each of them, at his departure, with a handsome dress suited to his rank. The inhabitants were delighted with his generosity, and his hospitality was daily celebrated by the strangers who resorted to his house. He also expended considerable sums in the erection of bridges, caravanseries, and mosques. At last the fame of his liberality and munificence reached the King, who sent to him two servants with a very flattering message and an invitation to court. This Abū Temām thankfully accepted; and having prepared the necessary presents for the King, he hastened to the palace, where he kissed the ground of obedience and was graciously received.

In a short time he became so great a favourite that the King would not permit him to be one day absent, and heaped on him so many favours that he was next in power to his royal master; and his advice was followed in all matters of importance.

But this King had ten viziers, who conceived a mortal hatred against Abū Temām, and said, one to another: “He has robbed us of all dignity and power, and we must devise some means whereby we may banish him from this country.” The chief vizier proposed that, as the King was a very passionate admirer of beauty, and the Princess of Turkestān one of the loveliest creatures of the age, they should so praise her charms before him as to induce him to send Abū Temām to ask her in marriage; and as it was the custom of the King of Turkestān to send all ambassadors who came on that errand to his daughter, who always caused their heads to be cut off, so the destruction of Abū Temām would be certain.

This advice all the other viziers approved of; and, having proceeded to the palace, they took an opportunity of talking on various subjects, until the King of Turkestān was mentioned, when the chief vizier began to celebrate the charms of the lovely Princess.

When the King heard the extravagant praises of her beauty, he became enamoured, and declared his intention of despatching an ambassador to the court of Turkestān, and demanding the Princess in marriage. The viziers immediately said, that no person was so properly qualified for such an embassy as Abū Temām. The King accordingly sent for him, and, addressing him as his father and friend, informed him that he had now occasion for his assistance in the accomplishment of a matter on which his heart was bent. Abū Temām desired to know what his Majesty’s commands might be, and declared himself ready to obey them. The King having communicated his design, all the necessary preparations were made, and Abū Temām set out on his journey to the court of Turkestān. In the meantime the viziers congratulated one another on the success of their stratagem.

When the King of Turkestān heard of Abū Temām’s arrival, he sent proper officers to receive and compliment him, and on the following day gave him a public audience; and when the palace was cleared of the crowd, and Abū Temām had an opportunity of speaking with the King in private, he disclosed the object of his mission, and demanded the Princess for his master. The King acknowledged himself highly honoured by the proposal of such an alliance, and said: “I fear that my daughter is not qualified for so exalted a station as you offer; but if you will visit her in the harem, and converse with her, you may form an opinion of her beauty and accomplishments; and if you approve of her, preparations for the marriage shall be made without delay.”

Abū Temām thanked his Majesty for this readiness in complying with his demands; but said that he could not think of profaning the beauty of her who was destined for his sovereign by gazing on her, or of allowing his ears to hear the forbidden sounds of her voice;—besides, his King never entertained a doubt on the subject of her charms and qualifications: the daughter of such a monarch must be worthy of any King, but he was not sent to make any inquiry as to her merits, but to demand her in marriage.

The King of Turkestān, on hearing this reply, embraced Abū Temām, and said: “Within this hour I meditated thy destruction; for of all the ambassadors who have hitherto come to solicit my daughter, I have tried the wisdom and talents, and have judged by them of the Kings who employed them, and finding them deficient, I have caused their heads to be cut off.” On saying this, he took from under his robe a key, with which he opened a lock, and going into another part of the palace, he exhibited to Abū Temām the heads of four hundred ambassadors.

After this the King directed the necessary preparations for the departure of his daughter, and invested Abū Temām with a splendid robe of honour, who, when ten days had elapsed, embarked in a ship with the Princess, her damsels, and other attendants. The news of his arrival with the fair Princess of Turkestān being announced, the King, his master, was delighted, and the viziers, his mortal enemies, were confounded at the failure of their stratagems. The King, accompanied by all the people, great and small, went two stages to meet Abū Temām and the Princess, and, having led her into the city, after three days celebrated their marriage by the most sumptuous feasts and rejoicings, and bestowed a thousand thanks on Abū Temām, who every day became a greater favourite.

The ten viziers, finding, in consequence of this, their own importance and dignity gradually reduced, consulted one with another, saying: “All that we have hitherto done only tends to the exaltation of Abū Temām; we must devise some other means of disgracing him in the King’s esteem, and procuring his banishment from this country.”

After this they concerted together, and at length resolved to bribe two boys, whose office was to rub the King’s feet every night after he lay down on his bed; and they accordingly instructed these boys to take an opportunity, when the King should close his eyes, of saying that Abū Temām had been ungrateful for the favours bestowed on him; that he had violated the harem, and aspired to the Queen’s affections, and had boasted that she would not have come from Turkestān had she not been enamoured of himself. This lesson the viziers taught the boys, giving them a thousand dīnars, and promising five hundred more.

When it was night the boys were employed as usual in their office of rubbing the King’s feet; and when they perceived his eyes to be closed, they began to repeat all that the viziers had taught them to say concerning Abū Temām.

The King, hearing this, started up, and dismissing the boys, sent immediately for Abū Temām, and said to him: “A certain matter has occurred, on the subject of which I must consult you; and I expect that you will relieve my mind by answering the question that I shall ask.”—Abū Temām declared himself ready to obey.—“What, then,” demanded the King, “does that servant merit, who, in return for various favours, ungratefully attempts to violate the harem of his sovereign?”—“Such a servant,” answered Abū Temām, “should be punished with death: his blood should expiate his offence.” When Abū Temām had said this, the King drew his scimitar, and cut off his head, and ordered his body to be cast into a pit.

For some days he gave not audience to any person, and the viziers began to exult in the success of their stratagem; but the King was melancholy, and loved to sit alone, and was constantly thinking of the unfortunate Abū Temām.

It happened, however, that one day the two boys who had been bribed by the viziers were engaged in a dispute one with the other on the division of the money, each claiming for himself the larger share. In the course of their dispute they mentioned the innocence of Abū Temām, and the bribe which they had received for defaming him in the King’s hearing.

All this conversation the King overheard; and trembling with vexation, rage, and sorrow, he compelled the boys to relate all the circumstances of the affair; in consequence of which the ten viziers were immediately seized and put to death, and their houses levelled with the ground; after which the King passed his time in fruitless lamentation for the loss of Abū Temām.

“Thus,” said Bakhtyār, “does unrelenting malice persecute unto destruction; but if the King had not been so hasty in killing Abū Temām, he would have spared himself all his subsequent sorrow.”

The King, affected by this observation, resolved to indulge Bakhtyār with another day, and accordingly sent him back to prison.

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.

1. See Thoms’ Lays and Legends of Germany; Thorpe’s Yule-Tide Stories; Roscoe’s German Novelists.

2. Grimm’s German Popular Tales.

3. Dasent’s Popular Tales from the Norse.

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.

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.

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.

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.

8. The word Nāma (often written Namah and Nameh) signifies Book, or History.

9. It is probably this version that is quoted by Sa`dī, in his Bustān, book iii:

How nice comes this point in Sindibād,

That “Love is a fire—O whirlwind-like sea!”

10. Asiatic Journal, N.S., vols. xxxv, xxxvi, 1841.—These titles also appear on this manuscript. Mesneviyi Sindibād, “The couplet-rhymed Sindibād;” Nazmi hakim Sindibād, “Rhymed Story of the Philosopher Sindibād;” and Kitābi hakīm Sindibād, “Book of the Philosopher Sindibād.”

11. Wilson’s Descriptive Catalogue of the Mackenzie MSS. vol. i, p. 220.

12. The Thousand and One Nights: Arabian Tales. For the first time completely and fully translated from a Tunisian Manuscript, &c.

13. In 1792 an English translation of this work was published at Edinburgh, in 4 vols., under the title: Arabian Tales. Translated from the original Arabic into French; and from the French into English, by Robert Heron.

14. An English rendering of the Turkī version of the story translated into French by M. Jaubert will be found at the end of Notes on Chapter VI, pp. 189–194.

15. Political and Statistical Account of the British Settlements in the Straits of Malacca. By T. J. Newbold. 2 vols. London, 1839.

16. Mr J. W. Redhouse has kindly furnished me, as follows, with the various meanings attached to the word Ghulām; which in the Malay romance seems to be employed as a proper name: “Gulām (not Ghulām), an Arabic word, signifies ‘a boy,’ ‘a lad.’ The Persians have made it, in their language, signify ‘a slave,’ and thence ‘a life-guardsman,’ and ‘a king’s messenger;’ whence ‘any post-messenger who travels on horse-back’—or by rail, now, in some places: all these really mean ‘a lad.’ The Turks use the word in the first and last senses—‘a lad,’ ‘a Persian post-courier.’”

17. The Bakhtyar Nameh, or Story of Prince Bakhtyar and the Ten Viziers. A series of Persian Tales. From a Manuscript in the Collection of Sir William Ouseley. London, 1800.—This edition includes the original text; in 1801, according to Lowndes’ Bibliographer’s Manual, an edition was published without the Persian text.

18. Bakhtiar Nameh, ou le Favori de la Fortune. Conte traduit du Persan. Par M. Lescallier. Paris, 1805.

19. See third note, page 184, and first note, p. 195.

20. Mr Platt would date the work a century earlier; he writes to me, as follows, on this question: “First, be it observed, the only titles of Kings mentioned in the Persian text are, Shāh, Pādishāh, Malik, and Kaisar; nowhere do we find the sovereign title of Sultān, but it occurs in Habicht’s Arabic text. This title was first borne by Mahmood ibn Sabuktakeer, A.D. 1002 (A.H. 393), and did not exist in Egypt until A.D. 1171 (A.H. 567). At page 184 of your Notes and Illustrations reference is made to the Gulistān of Sa`dī: now that work was published A.D. 1257 (A.H. 655), and it is as well to bear in mind that the poet was born A.H. 1175 (A.H. 571), and by some said to have attained the advanced age of 102, by others 116 years. The work, therefore, is more likely to have been written towards the close of, rather than after, the 13th century. Next may be considered the arms of defence and offence, which required the appointment of an armour-bearer (see page 111, line 6), viz., bow, quiver—containing broad-bladed arrows—sword, or scimitar, mace, or bludgeon, shield, and a spear, or lance; all of which were employed by the Crusaders. Now the first of the eight crusades dates A.D. 1096 (A.H. 490), and the last A.D. 1270 (A.H. 669). These considerations are connected with the Seljukian kingdom of Rūm, of which the capital was Koniah (Iconium), founded A.D. 1074 (A.H. 467), and lasted until A.D. 1307 (A.H. 707); in all, 233 years. Much confusion arises from the Ruler of the Eastern Empire being called Kaisar-ī Rūm, a title also assumed by the Seljukian dynasty. The Kaisar-i Rūm of Chapter III may allude to any occupant of the Constantinopolitan throne between the years A.D. 1257 and 1434.”

21. In this entertaining book a Parrot is represented as relating stories night after night, in order to prevent a merchant’s wife from carrying on a criminal intrigue during her husband’s absence. Nakshabī’s work has not yet been wholly translated into English—see foot note, page 197. Of Kāderī’s abridgment (which is very clumsily done) a translation, together with his Persian text, was published at Calcutta, and reprinted at London in 1801. Kāderī has certainly done Nakshabī’s literary reputation no small injury, by the manner in which he has cut down the stories, and by substituting his own inexpressive and bald style for the graceful composition of the original. It is to be hoped that ere long some competent scholar will present English readers with a fair translation of Nakshabī’s excellent work, which would prove of considerable service to those interested in tracing the migrations and transformations of popular tales.—Besides the Suka Saptati, above mentioned, there is another Indian book, in Tamul, on the same plan, entitled Hamsa Vinsati, Twenty Tales of a Hamsa, or Goose, told with the same object as that of the Parrot—to keep an amorous lady at home until her husband returns.

22. Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. To which is added a Selection of New Tales, now first translated from the Arabic originals; also an Introduction and Notes, by Jonathan Scott, LL.D. London, 1811. 6 vols.—This edition, says Lowndes, “was carefully revised and corrected from the Arabic,” but it is not easy to discover any of the Editor’s emendations: the sixth volume consists of Scott’s additional Tales, one or two of which had been better left in the “original Arabic.”

23. Evidently a misprint for “literal,” since Scott accuses Cazotte of taking “liberties” with his originals, and contrasts his work with Ouseley’s more accurate translation. It is curious to find, for once, at least, a misprint proving to be no error; for Ouseley’s translation is in fact very “liberal,” and Scott assuredly could never have compared it with the text.

24. As the Eleventh Day, is the Story of the Freed Slave.

25. In allusion to the name, compounded of Bakht, Fortune, and yār, a friend, or companion.

26. Bihrūz and Rūzbih are compounded of the words bih, good, excellent, and rūz, day; meaning “whose day is excellent.”—Ed.

27. Veti-ver, Mr Platt writes to me, “is a French word, and yet I am unable to find it in any French Dictionary. It is a kind of grass, deriving its name from the Latin words veto and vermis, as it is used when dry in keeping clothes, etc. free from moths. In the Mauritius, I believe, mats and table-covers are manufactured from it.”

28. Morier’s Second Journey.

29. This is Mr Bicknell’s almost literal rendering:

If the young Magian dally with grace so coy and fine,

My eyes shall bend their fringes to sweep the house of wine.

30. Kīl va kāl, par va bāl, “question and answer,” “feather and wing:” a jingle of words which has a great charm to a Persian ear: “feather and wing,” pride of place; for the height of prosperity they say pār va bāl-i ikbāl.

31. Manzil, a day’s journey—about twenty miles.

32. Ottoman Poems. Translated, with Introduction, Biographical Notices, and Notes, by E. J. W. Gibb (Trübner & Co.) Page 211.

33. That is, a sword, the scabbard of which is ornamented with gold.

34. Second Journey to Persia, &c.

35. He would be a “friend indeed” to submit to so much consultation!

36. This droll story is also domiciled in Italy: see D’Israeli’s Curiosities of Literature—“On the Philosophy of Proverbs”; but the probable original is found in the Talmud, where it occurs as an addendum to the well-known tale of the emperor Hadrian and the old man who planted a fig-tree.

37. Compare Scott:

“When pain and anguish wring the brow,

A ministering angel thou!”

38. History of Muhammedanism, Second Edition, p. 322.

39. Sir John Malcolm’s History of Persia, vol. ii p. 585.

40. Russell’s Natural History of Aleppo, vol. i, chap. 3.

41. Meaning the Sultan himself; for the Turkish Sultans are all born of slave-women.

42. From Ferdusi, his Life and Writings, by S. R. (Mr Samuel Robinson), one of a series of admirable translations &c. of Persian Poetry, published some years ago, and now being reprinted for private circulation by the learned and venerable author, as a companion volume to my Arabian Poetry for English Readers.

43. Essai sur les Fables Indiennes.

44. A Century of Ghazels, or a Hundred Odes, selected and translated from the Divān of Hāfiz, by S.R. (Preliminary Notice, pp. viii, ix.)

45. Flowers from the “Gulistān” and “Bostān” of Sadi. By S. R.

46. It has long been a barbarous practice in Persia to pluck out the eyes of political offenders. Morier, in his romance of Zohrab the Hostage, represents the brutal tyrant Aga Muhammad Shāh, during the horrible massacre which followed the capture of Astrābād, as coolly counting, with the handle of his riding-switch, the number of pairs of eyes placed before him on a tray; and a reference to the account of this monster’s conduct after the capture of Kirmān, in Sir John Malcolm’s History of Persia, will show that the novelist has not exaggerated in this matter.

47. Nigārīn: idol-like, beautiful, embellished, a beloved object.

48. Under the title of Hindoo Tales (London: Strahan & Co.), Dr P. W. Jacob has issued a very readable translation of this entertaining romance.

49. Tibetan Tales, derived from Indian Sources. Translated from the Tibetan of the Kah-Gyur, by F. Anton Von Schiefner. Done into English, from the German, by W. R. S. Ralston, M.A. London: Trübner & Co.

50. Descriptive Catalogue of the Mackenzie Collection of Oriental MSS. By H. H. Wilson. Calcutta, 1828. Vol. i, p. 17.

51. Translated from the German of Bergmann, by Mr William J. Thoms, and published, in 1834, in his very interesting Lays and Legends of Various Nations, a work which is now become extremely scarce, and well merits being reprinted.

52. The King was wont to visit the well where Abū Saber lay, and to jeer and mock his practice of patience.

53. That is, the story of Abraha, obscurely referred to in the opening paragraph, page 56. Abraha, we are there informed, “was the son of the King of Zangībār, who, by chance, had fallen into slavery, and never disclosed the secret to any one.” Lescallier says, that he was reduced to slavery “by some extraordinary adventure,” but the text does not explain the nature of the “adventure.”

54. Khōja: in its more restricted meaning, a lord, a master; Muhammad is styled Khōja-i bas o nashr, literally, “lord of the raising and dispersing,” that is, the Resurrection. In its general signification, a man of distinction, doctor, professor, &c. But the title of Khōja, like our “Mr” is now very commonly applied to any respectable person.

55. “Zangistān.”—The Oriental adjunct stān or istān, the participle of istādan, “to reside,” or “dwell,” denotes “place,” or “country,” whence Moghol-istān, a port of Tartary; Fars-istān, Persia; Khūz-istān, Susiana. The root of stān may be seen in our English word “station.”

56. “Four parasangs.”—A Persian league, about 18,000 feet in length, is Fars-sang, that is, the Stone of Persia, which Herodotus and other Greek authors term Parasanga. It seems that in ancient times the distance of a league was marked in the East, as well as in the West, by large elevated stones.

57. The love of Jacob for his son Joseph, and his grief at his supposed death, are proverbial amongst Muslims, and very frequently alluded to by Persian poets. In the 12th sura of the Kur’ān it is stated that Jacob became blind through constant weeping for his lost son, and that his sight was restored by means of Joseph’s inner garment, which the Governor of Egypt sent to his father by his brethren. In the Makamat of El-Hariri, the celebrated Arabian poet, are such allusions as “passed a night of sorrow like Jacob’s,” “wept more than Jacob when he lost his son.”

58. Probably the messenger went to Yemen in the assumed capacity of a merchant, which would render him least liable to suspicion, and also enable him to smuggle Abraha out of the city without attracting particular notice.

59. The same savage maxim occurs in the Anvār-i Suhailī: “When thou hast got thy enemy fast, show him no mercy.”

60. Islām is not, as is commonly believed in Europe, synonymous with Fatalism. “What Muhammad taught,” remarks Mr Redhouse, “what the Kur’ān so eloquently and so persistently sets forth, and what real faithful Muslims believe, conformably with what is contained in the Gospels and accepted by devout Christians, is—that God’s Providence pre-ordains, as His Omniscience foreknows, all events, and over-rules the designs of men, to the sure fulfilment of His all-wise purposes.”—El-Esmā’u-’l-Husna, “The Most Comely Names” [i.e. of God], by J. W. Redhouse, M.R.A.S. Trübner & Co., London.

61. There are many varieties of this amusing story in Europe as well as in Asia—whether Father Beschi found it in India or took it with him.

62. “The ‘Uygur’ language,” Mr J. W. Redhouse writes to me, “is simply Turkish; what we should term ‘a little provincial.’ It is very much more consistent with the Ottoman Turkish of to-day than the English of four hundred years ago was like the modern English.”

63. Here, surely, the Tātār translator—or adapter—anticipates the course of the narrative; since the King (unfortunately for the Vezīr Kārdār) did not possess, at one and the same time, two Vezīrs and a beautiful wife—if by the latter be meant the pious daughter of Kerdār.

64. Kārdān signifies “knowing affairs”—“experienced.” The meaning of Kerdār (as Kārdār is pronounced by Turks) is already given in the foregoing notes.

65. Lit: without whom she could not live.—Jaubert.

66. In M. Cazotte’s rendering of the Arabian version (French translation of the Continuation of the Thousand and One Nights), it is also the cameleer of the King of Persia, and not of King Dādīn, as in the Persian Bakhtyār, who discovers the pious maiden in the desert, and from this point to the end of the narrative M. Cazotte’s and the Turkī versions correspond.

67. Husain Vā`iz, in his Anvār-i-Suhailī, had probably Sa`dī’s verses in mind when he wrote: “The arrow which has leapt from the string cannot be brought back, nor can the slain person be resuscitated either by strength or gold.”

68. Lane’s Thousand and One Nights, Introd. p. 27.—See a more just estimate of women, cited from the Mahābharata, p. 139 of the present volume.

69. Dr Jonathan Scott: Notes to vol. vi. of his edition of the Arabian Nights.

70. The 50th Night of the India Office MS. No. 2573; and the 35th tale of Muhammad Kaderi’s abridgment. Gerrans’ English translation, 1792, comprises barely one-fifth of the Tales, only the first volume of it having been published: he probably did not meet with sufficient encouragement to complete his work.

71. See Lane’s Thousand and One Nights, Introduction, note 21, ch. iii, note 14; Kur’ān ii, 96.

72. It is perhaps hardly necessary to say that Muhammad did not profess to introduce a new religion, but simply to restore the original and only true faith, which was held and taught by Abraham, David, Solomon, and the other great prophets.

73. See Dr Weil’s interesting little work, entitled, The Bible, the Koran, and the Talmud, where also will be found the curious legend of how the demon Sakhr, above mentioned, by obtaining possession of Solomon’s magical signet, personated the great Hebrew King, and of the wonderful recovery of the seal-ring, and Solomon’s restoration to his kingdom.

74. Sir Gore Ouseley’s Biographical Notices of Persian Poets.

75. Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, edited by Jonathan Scott. 6 vols, 8vo. London, 1811. Vol. vi, Notes.

76. Morier’s Second Journey to Persia, &c.

77. See Lane’s Modern Egyptians.—In my Arabian Poetry for English Readers is a translation (the first that has appeared in English) of the famous Burda-Poem of El-Busīrī, contributed by Mr J. W. Redhouse, with Preface and Notes.

78. Called El-Fātiha; according to Sale’s translation, it is as follows:

IN THE NAME OF THE MOST MERCIFUL GOD.

Praise be to God, the Lord of all creatures; the most merciful, the King of the Day of Judgment. Thee do we worship, and of thee do we beg assistance. Direct us in the right way, in the way of those to whom thou hast been gracious; not of those against whom thou art incensed, nor of those who go astray.

79. The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night. Translated by Henry Torrens. Calcutta: 1838. Vol. I. Notes.—This excellent translation comprises only the first 50 Nights, and it is much to be regretted that Torrens did not live to complete a task so well begun.

80. Malcolm’s History of Persia, vol. ii.

81. Sketches of Persia, 1861 ed., page 134.

82. Folk-Lore students will perhaps “make a note of this.”

83. No. xliv of “Pleasant Stories,” in Gladwin’s Persian Moonshee, 1801.

84. Malcolm’s History of Persia, vol. ii, pp. 594, 5.

85. This Rabbinical tale has been adopted in France, where it is told of a gentleman who left his wealth to a convent, provided they gave his son “whatever they chose”—they chose the bulk of the money, which, of course, they had to restore.

86. Dissertation on the Literature, Languages, and Manners of Eastern Nations.

87. Anvar-i Suhaili, or Lights of Canopus. By Hussain Vā’iz.

88. The Story of Semiletka, in Mr Ralston’s Russian Folk-Tales, bears so close a resemblance to this rabbinical story, in the stratagem adopted by the wife, that we must conclude it cannot be a mere coincidence.

89. Chardin’s Voyages en Perse, &c., vol. ii, pp. 149, 220.

90. History of Persia, vol. ii, pp. 576–7.

91. .sp 1

A cunning man, hight Sidrophel,

That deals in Destiny’s dark counsels,

And sage opinions of the moon sells.—Hudibras.

92. Should the reader feel any curiosity to ascertain the sentiments entertained by Muhammadans regarding the influence of the planets upon men’s dispositions and fortunes, he will find the fullest information on the subject in Qanoon-e-Islam, or the Customs of the Moosulmans of India. By Jaffer Shureef. Translated by G. A. Herklots, M.D. London, 1832.

93. Dr Dasent’s Popular Tales from the Norse.

94. Thorpe’s Northern Mythology, vol. iii.

95. Popular Poetry of Persia.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.

2. Retained anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.

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Table of Contents

- THE BAKHTYĀR NĀMA: A PERSIAN ROMANCE. TRANSLATED FROM A MANUSCRIPT TEXT,

- PREFACE.

- CONTENTS.

- INTRODUCTION.

- I—ORIENTAL FICTIONS—THE ARABIAN NIGHTS—THE BOOK OF SINDIBĀD.

- II—THE BAKHTYĀR NĀMA AND ITS VERSIONS.

- THE BAKHTYĀR NĀMA.

- CHAPTER I.

- HISTORY OF KING ĀZĀDBAKHT AND THE VIZIER’S DAUGHTER.

- CHAPTER II.

- STORY OF THE ILL-FATED MERCHANT, AND HIS ADVENTURES.

- CHAPTER III.

- STORY OF THE IMPATIENT PRINCE OF ALEPPO.

- CHAPTER IV.

- STORY OF ABŪ SABER; OR, THE PATIENT MAN.

- CHAPTER V.

- STORY OF THE KING OF YEMEN AND HIS SLAVE ABRAHA.

- CHAPTER VI.

- STORY OF KING DĀDĪN AND HIS TWO VIZIERS.

- CHAPTER VII.

- STORY OF THE KING OF ABYSSINIA, SHOWING THE ARTIFICE OF WOMEN.

- CHAPTER VIII.

- STORY OF THE JEWEL-MERCHANT.

- CHAPTER IX.

- STORY OF ABŪ TEMĀM.

- CHAPTER X.

- STORY OF THE KING OF PERSIA.

- CONCLUSION.

- NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

- Notes on Chapter I.

- Notes on Chapter II.

- Notes on Chapter III.

- Notes on Chapter IV.

- Notes on Chapter V.

- Notes on Chapter VI.

- HISTORY OF THE FIFTH DAY.

- Notes on Chapter VII.

- Notes on Chapter VIII.

- Notes on Chapter IX.

- Notes on Chapter X.

- Notes on Conclusion.

- Additional Notes.

- Arabian Version of Abū Temām’s Mission.

- Arabian Version of the Conclusion of the Romance.

- TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE