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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  │  C. de  │   German   │Persian│
 │                                 │Translation.│Perceval.│Translation.│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.

-----

Footnote 1:

  See Thoms’ _Lays and Legends of Germany_; Thorpe’s _Yule-Tide
  Stories_; Roscoe’s _German Novelists_.

Footnote 2:

  Grimm’s _German Popular Tales_.

Footnote 3:

  Dasent’s _Popular Tales from the Norse_.

Footnote 4:

  Perhaps one of the most curious instances of the migrations of popular
  tales is the following. In Taylor’s _Wit and Mirth_, an excellent
  jest-book, compiled by the celebrated Water-Poet (_temp._ James I of
  England), we are told of a countryman who had come up to London on a
  visit, and some wags having set a big dog at him in sport, the poor
  fellow stooped to pick up a stone to throw at the brute, but finding
  them all rammed hard and fast into the ground, he exclaimed in
  astonishment: “What strange folk are these, who fasten the stones and
  let loose their dogs!” More than three centuries before Taylor heard
  this jest, the Persian poet Sa`dī related it in his _Gulistān_, or
  Rose-Garden (ch. iv, story 10 of Eastwick’s translation): “A poet went
  to the chief of a band of robbers, and recited a panegyric upon him.
  He commanded them to strip off his clothes, and turn him out of the
  village. The dogs, too, attacked him in the rear. He wanted to take up
  a stone, but the ground was frozen. Unable to do anything, he said:
  ‘What a villanous set are these, who have untied their dogs, and tied
  up the stones!’”—Here we have a jest, at the recital of which, in the
  14th century, “grave and otiose” Easterns wagged their beards and
  shook their portly sides, finding its way, three centuries later, to
  London taverns, where Taylor probably heard it told amidst the
  clinking of cans and fragrant clouds blown from pipes of Trinidado!
  But how came it thither?—that is the question.

Footnote 5:

  Of the numerous English translations of the _Arabian Nights_ which
  have been published, that of the learned Arabist, Mr William Edward
  Lane, made direct from the original text, is by far the best, and will
  probably never be surpassed; while his elaborate and highly
  interesting Notes to the translation furnish the most complete account
  which we possess of the manners, customs, superstitions, &c., of the
  modern Arabians in Egypt, with which his residence in that country,
  and familiarity with the language as it is spoken, enabled him to
  become intimately acquainted.

Footnote 6:

  For example: before one story (1) is ended another (2) is begun, and
  before it is finished another (3), springing out of the second, is
  commenced; then out of story 3 springs yet another story (4), which
  ended, number 3 is resumed and brought to an end, then number 2, after
  which number 1 is resumed and concluded; and then the thread of the
  _leading_ story—which runs throughout the whole work, like a brook
  through a meadow, but often out of sight—is taken up once more;—to
  lead presently to a fresh complication of stories, which “beget one
  another to the end of the chapter!” The arrangement of the Tales in
  the _Arabian Nights_ is on this plan; though not to be compared for
  elaboration with that of the Indian Fables, above-mentioned, still
  less so with the frame of _Kathá Sarit Ságara_.

Footnote 7:

  A complete and unabridged translation of the _Thousand and One Nights_
  (the first that has appeared in English), by Mr John Payne, author of
  “The Masque of Shadows,” “Poems of Francis Villon,” &c., is in course
  of publication. The first volume, now issued to subscribers, is well
  printed on hand-made paper, and elegantly bound in gilt parchment.
  This edition is limited to 500 copies, numbered, most of which, I
  understand, have already been taken up.

Footnote 8:

  The word _Nāma_ (often written _Namah_ and _Nameh_) signifies Book, or
  History.

Footnote 9:

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

               How nice comes this point in Sindibād,
               That “Love is a fire—O whirlwind-like sea!”

Footnote 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.”

Footnote 11:

  Wilson’s _Descriptive Catalogue of the Mackenzie MSS._ vol. i, p. 220.

Footnote 12:

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

Footnote 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.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 15:

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

Footnote 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.’”

Footnote 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.

Footnote 18:

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

Footnote 19:

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

Footnote 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.”

Footnote 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.

Footnote 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.”

Footnote 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.

Footnote 24:

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

Footnote 25:

  In allusion to the name, compounded of _Bakht_, Fortune, and _yār_, a
  friend, or companion.

Footnote 26:

  Bihrūz and Rūzbih are compounded of the words _bih_, good, excellent,
  and _rūz_, day; meaning “whose day is excellent.”—ED.

Footnote 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.”

Footnote 28:

  Morier’s _Second Journey_.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 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_.

Footnote 31:

  _Manzil_, a day’s journey—about twenty miles.

Footnote 32:

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

Footnote 33:

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

Footnote 34:

  _Second Journey to Persia, &c._

Footnote 35:

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

Footnote 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.

Footnote 37:

  Compare Scott:

                  “When pain and anguish wring the brow,
                  A ministering angel thou!”

Footnote 38:

  _History of Muhammedanism_, Second Edition, p. 322.

Footnote 39:

  Sir John Malcolm’s _History of Persia_, vol. ii p. 585.

Footnote 40:

  Russell’s _Natural History of Aleppo_, vol. i, chap. 3.

Footnote 41:

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

Footnote 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_.

Footnote 43:

  _Essai sur les Fables Indiennes._

Footnote 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.)

Footnote 45:

  _Flowers from the “Gulistān” and “Bostān”_ of Sadi. By S. R.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 47:

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

Footnote 48:

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

Footnote 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.

Footnote 50:

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

Footnote 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.

Footnote 52:

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

Footnote 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.”

Footnote 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.

Footnote 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.”

Footnote 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.

Footnote 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.”

Footnote 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.

Footnote 59:

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

Footnote 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.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 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.”

Footnote 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.

Footnote 64:

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

Footnote 65:

  Lit: without whom she could not live.—_Jaubert._

Footnote 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.

Footnote 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.”

Footnote 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.

Footnote 69:

  Dr Jonathan Scott: Notes to vol. vi. of his edition of the _Arabian
  Nights_.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 71:

  See Lane’s _Thousand and One Nights_, Introduction, note 21, ch. iii,
  note 14; Kur’ān ii, 96.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 74:

  Sir Gore Ouseley’s _Biographical Notices of Persian Poets_.

Footnote 75:

  _Arabian Nights’ Entertainments_, edited by Jonathan Scott. 6 vols,
  8vo. London, 1811. Vol. vi, _Notes_.

Footnote 76:

  Morier’s _Second Journey to Persia_, &c.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 80:

  Malcolm’s _History of Persia_, vol. ii.

Footnote 81:

  _Sketches of Persia_, 1861 ed., page 134.

Footnote 82:

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

Footnote 83:

  No. xliv of “Pleasant Stories,” in Gladwin’s _Persian Moonshee_, 1801.

Footnote 84:

  Malcolm’s _History of Persia_, vol. ii, pp. 594, 5.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 86:

  _Dissertation on the Literature, Languages, and Manners of Eastern
  Nations._

Footnote 87:

  _Anvar-i Suhaili_, or Lights of Canopus. By Hussain Vā’iz.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 89:

  Chardin’s _Voyages en Perse_, &c., vol. ii, pp. 149, 220.

Footnote 90:

  _History of Persia_, vol. ii, pp. 576–7.

Footnote 91:

             A cunning man, hight Sidrophel,
             That deals in Destiny’s dark counsels,
             And sage opinions of the moon sells.—_Hudibras._

Footnote 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.

Footnote 93:

  Dr Dasent’s _Popular Tales from the Norse_.

Footnote 94:

  Thorpe’s _Northern Mythology_, vol. iii.

Footnote 95:

  _Popular Poetry of Persia._




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Transcriber’s note:

 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.

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