We are not without instances in European popular fictions of two young
persons dreaming of each other and falling in love, although they had
never met or known of each other's existence. A notable example is the
story of the Two Dreams in the famous _History of the Seven Wise
Masters_. Incidents of this kind are very common in Oriental stories:
the romance of _Kámarupa_ (of Indian origin, but now chiefly known
through the Persian version) is based upon a dream which the hero has of
a certain beautiful princess, with whom he falls in love, and he sets
forth with his companions to find her, should it be at the uttermost
ends of the earth. It so happens that the damsel also dreams of him,
and, when they do meet, they need no introduction to each other. The
Indian romance of _Vasayadatta_ has a similar plot. But the royal
dreamer and lover in the following story, told by the Parrot on the 39th
Night, according to the India Office MS. No. 2573, adopted a plan for
the discovery of the beauteous object of his vision more conformable to
his own ease:
_The Emperor's Dream._
An emperor of China dreamt of a very beautiful damsel whom he had never
seen or heard of, and, being sorely pierced with the darts of love for
the creature of his dreaming fancy, he could find no peace of mind. One
of his vazírs, who was an excellent portrait painter, receiving from the
emperor a minute description of the lady's features, drew the face, and
the imperial lover acknowledged the likeness to be very exact. The vazír
then went abroad with the portrait, to see whether any one could
identify it with the fair original. After many disappointments he met
with an old hermit, who at once recognised it as the portrait of the
princess of Rúm,[46] who, he informed the vazír, had an unconquerable
aversion against men ever since she beheld, in her garden, a peacock
basely desert his mate and their young ones, when the tree on which
their nest was built had been struck by lightning. She believed that all
men were quite as selfish as that peacock, and was resolved never to
marry. Returning to his imperial master with these most interesting
particulars regarding the object of his affection, he next undertakes to
conquer the strange and unnatural aversion of the princess. Taking with
him the emperor's portrait and other pictures, he procures access to the
princess of Rúm; shows her, first, the portrait of the emperor of China,
and then pictures of animals in the royal menagerie, among others that
of a deer, concerning which he relates a story to the effect that the
emperor, sitting one day in his summer-house, saw a deer, his doe, and
their fawn on the bank of the river, when suddenly the waters overflowed
the banks, and the doe, in terror for her life, fled away, while the
deer bravely remained with the fawn and was drowned. This story, so
closely resembling her own, struck the fair princess with wonder and
admiration, and she at once gave her consent to be united to the emperor
of China; and we may suppose that "they continued together in joy and
happiness until they were overtaken by the terminater of delights and
the separator of companions."
[46] Originally, Rúmelia (Rúm Eyli) was only implied by the
word _Rúm_, but in course of time it was employed to
designate the whole Turkish empire.
* * * * *
There can be little or no doubt, I think, that in this tale we find the
original of the frame, or leading story, of the Persian Tales, ascribed
to a dervish named Mukhlis, of Isfahán, and written after the _Arabian
Nights_, as it is believed, in which the nurse of the Princess has to
relate almost as many stories to overcome her aversion against men (the
result of an incident similar to that witnessed by the Lady of Rúm) as
the renowned Sheherazade had to tell her lord, who entertained--for a
very different reason--a bitter dislike of women.
* * * * *
I now present a story unabridged, translated by Gerrans in the latter
part of the last century. It is assuredly of Buddhistic origin:
_The Golden Apparition._
In the extreme boundaries of Khurasán there once lived, according to
general report, a merchant named Abdal-Malik, whose warehouses were
crowded with rich merchandise, and whose coffers overflowed with money.
The scions of genius ripened into maturity under the sunshine of his
liberality; the sons of indigence fattened on the bread of his
hospitality; and the parched traveller amply slaked his thirst in the
river of his generosity. One day, as he meditated on the favours which
his Creator had so luxuriantly showered upon him, he testified his
gratitude by the following resolution: "Long have I traded in the
theatre of the world, much have I received, and little have I bestowed.
This wealth was entrusted to my care, with no other design or intention
but to enable me to assist the unfortunate and indigent. Before,
therefore, the Angel of Death shall come to demand the spoil of my
mortality, it is my last wish and sole intention to expiate my sins and
follies by voluntary oblations of this she-camel [alluding to the Muslim
Feast of the Camel] in the last month of her pregnancy, and to proclaim
to all men, by this late breakfasting [alluding to the Feast of Ramadan,
when food is only permitted after sunset], my past mortification."
In the tranquil hour of midnight an apparition stood before him, in the
habit of a fakír. The merchant cried: "What art thou?" It answered: "I
am the apparition of thy good fortune and the genius of thy future
happiness. When thou, with such unbounded generosity, didst bequeath all
thy wealth to the poor, I determined not to pass by thy door unnoticed,
but to endow thee with an inexhaustible treasure, conformable to the
greatness of thy capacious soul. To accomplish which I will, every
morning, in this shape, appear to thee; thou shalt strike me a few blows
on the head, when I shall instantly fall low at thy feet, transformed
into an image of gold. From this freely take as much as thou shalt have
occasion for; and every member or joint that shall be separated from the
image shall be instantly replaced by another of the same precious
metal."[47]
[47] If the members severed from the golden image were to be
instantly replaced by others, what need was there for
the daily appearance of the "fakír," as promised?--But
_n'importe_!
At daybreak the demon of avarice had conducted Hajm, the covetous, to
the durbar of Abdal-Malik, the generous. Soon after his arrival the
apparition presented itself. Abdal-Malik immediately arose, and after
striking it several blows on the head it fell down before him, and was
changed into an image of gold. As much as sufficed for the necessities
of the day he took for himself, and gave a much larger portion to his
visitor. Hajm was overjoyed at the present, and concluded from what he
had seen that he or any other person who should treat a fakír in the
same manner could convert him into gold, and consequently that by
beating a number he might multiply his golden images. Heated with this
fond imagination, he quickly returned to his house and gave the
necessary orders for a most sumptuous entertainment, to which he invited
all the fakírs in the province.
When the keen appetite was assuaged, and the exhilarating sherbet began
to enliven the convivial meeting, Hajm seized a ponderous club, and with
it regaled his guests till he broke their heads, and the crimson torrent
stained the carpet of hospitality. The fakírs elevating the shriek of
sore distress, the kutwal's guard came to their assistance, and soon a
multitude of people assembled, who, after binding the offender with the
strong cord of captivity, carried him, together with the fakírs, before
the governor of the city. He demanded to know the reason why he had so
inhospitably and cruelly behaved to these harmless people. The
confounded Hajm replied: "As I was yesterday in the house of
Abdal-Malik, a fakír suddenly appeared. The merchant struck him some
blows on the head, and he fell prostrate before him, transformed into a
golden image. Imagining that any other person could, by a similar
behaviour, force any fakír to undergo the like metamorphosis, I invited
these men to a banquet, and regaled them with some blows of my cudgel to
compel them to a similar transformation; but the demon of avarice has
deceived me, and the fascinating temptation of gold has involved me in a
labyrinth of ills."
The governor at once sent for Abdal-Malik, and, demanding a solution of
Hajm's mysterious tale, was thus answered by the charitable merchant:
"The unfortunate Hajm is my neighbour. Some days ago he began to exhibit
symptoms of a disordered imagination and distracted brain, and during
these violent paroxysms of insanity he related some ridiculous fable of
me and the rest of my neighbours. No better specimen can be adduced than
the extravagant action of which he now stands accused, and the absurd
tale by which he attempts to apologise for the commission of it. That
madness may no longer usurp the palace of reason, to revel upon the
ruins of his mind, deliver him to the sons of ingenuity, the preservers
and restorers of health; let them purify his blood by sparing diet,
abridge him of his daily potations, and by the force of medicinal
beverage recall him from the precipice of ruin." This advice was warmly
applauded by the governor, who, after Hajm had been compelled to ask
pardon of the fakírs for the ill-treatment they had received, was
soundly bastinadoed before the tribunal, and carried to the hospital for
madness.
That each man has his "genius" of good or evil fortune is an essentially
Buddhistic idea. The same story occurs, in a different form, in the
_Hitopadesa_, or Friendly Counsel, an ancient Sanskrit collection of
apologues, and an abridgment of the _Panchatantra_, or Five Chapters,
where it forms Fable 10 of Book III: In the city of Ayodhya (Oude) there
was a soldier named Churamani, who, being anxious for money, for a long
time with pain of body worshipped the deity, the jewel of whose diadem
is the lunar crescent. Being at length purified from his sins, in his
sleep he had a vision in which, through the favour of the deity, he was
directed by the lord of the Yakshas [Kuvera, the god of wealth] to do as
follows: "Early in the morning, having been shaved, thou must stand,
club in hand, concealed behind the door of the house; and the beggar
whom thou seest come into the court thou wilt put to death without mercy
by blows of thy staff. Instantly the beggar will become a pot full of
gold, by which thou wilt be comfortable for the rest of thy life." These
instructions being followed, it came to pass accordingly; but the barber
who had been brought to shave him, having witnessed it all, said to
himself, "O is this the mode of gaining a treasure? Why, then, may not I
also do the same?" From that day forward the barber in like manner, with
club in hand, day after day awaited the coming of the beggar. One day a
beggar being so caught was attacked by him and killed with the stick,
for which offence the barber himself was beaten by the king's officers,
and died.--In the _Panchatantra_, in place of a soldier, a banker who
had lost all his wealth determines to put an end to his life, when he
dreams that the personification of Kuvera, the god of riches, appears
before him in the form of a Jaina mendicant--a conclusive proof of the
Buddhistic origin of the story.--A trunkless head performs the same part
in the Russian folk-tale of the Stepmother's Daughter, on which Mr.
Ralston remarks that, "according to Buddhist belief the treasure which
has belonged to anyone in a former existence may come to him in the form
of a man, who, when killed, is turned to gold."[48]
[48] Ralston's _Russian Folk-Tales_, p. 224, _note_.
* * * * *
There is an analogous story to this of the Golden Apparition in an
entertaining little book entitled, _The Orientalist; or, Letters of a
Rabbi_, by James Noble, published at Edinburgh in 1831, of which the
following is the outline:
An old Dervish falls ill in the house of a poor widow, who tends him
with great care, and when he recovers his health he offers to take
charge of her only son, Abdallah. The good woman gladly consents, and
the Dervish sets out accompanied by his young ward, having intimated to
his mother that they must perform a journey which would last about two
years. One day they arrived at a solitary place, and the Dervish said to
Abdallah: "My son, we are now at the end of our journey. I shall employ
my prayers to obtain from Allah that the earth shall open and make an
entrance wide enough to permit thee to descend into a place where thou
shalt find one of the greatest treasures that the earth contains. Hast
thou courage to descend into the vault?" Abdallah assured him that he
might depend on his fidelity; and then the Dervish lighted a small fire,
into which he cast a perfume: he read and prayed for some minutes, after
which the earth opened, and he said to the young man: "Thou mayest now
enter. Remember that it is in thy power to do me a great service; and
that this is perhaps the only opportunity thou shalt ever have of
testifying to me that thou art not ungrateful. Do not let thyself be
dazzled by the riches that thou shalt find there: think only of seizing
upon an iron candlestick with twelve branches, which thou shalt find
close to the door. That is absolutely necessary to me: come up with it
at once." Abdallah descended, and, neglecting the advice of the Dervish,
filled his vest and sleeves with the gold and jewels which he found
heaped up in the vault, whereupon the opening by which he had entered
closed of itself. He had, however, sufficient presence of mind to seize
the iron candlestick, and endeavoured to find some other means of escape
from the vault. At length he discovers a narrow passage, which he
follows until he reaches the surface of the earth, and looking for the
Dervish saw him not, but to his surprise found that he was close to his
mother's house. On showing his wealth to his mother, it all suddenly
vanished. But the candlestick remained. He lighted one of the branches,
upon which a dervish appeared, and after turning round an hour he threw
down an asper (about three farthings in value) and vanished. Next night
he put a lighted candle in each of the branches, when twelve dervishes
appeared, and having continued their gyrations for an hour each threw
down an asper and vanished. In this way did Abdallah and his mother
contrive to live for a time, till at length he resolved to carry the
candlestick to the good Dervish, hoping to obtain from him the treasure
which he had seen in the vault. He remembered his name and city, and on
reaching his dwelling found the Dervish living in a magnificent palace,
with fifty porters at the gate. The Dervish thus addressed Abdallah:
"Thou art an ungrateful wretch! Hadst thou known the value of the
candlestick thou wouldst never have brought it to me. I will show thee
its true use." Then the Dervish placed a light in each branch, whereupon
twelve dervishes appeared and began to whirl, but on his giving each a
blow with a stick, in an instant they were changed into twelve heaps of
sequins, diamonds, and other precious stones. Ungrateful as Abdallah had
shown himself, yet the Dervish gave him two camels laden with gold, and
a slave, telling him that he must depart the next morning. During the
night Abdallah stole the candlestick and placed it at the bottom of his
sacks. At daybreak he took leave of the generous Dervish and set off.
When about half a day's journey from his own city he sold the slave,
that there should be no witness to his former poverty, and bought
another in his stead. Arriving home, he carefully placed his loads of
treasure in a private chamber, and then put a light in each branch of
the candlestick; and when the twelve dervishes appeared, he dealt each
of them a blow with a stick. But he had not observed that the good
Dervish employed his left hand, and he had naturally used his right, in
consequence of which the twelve dervishes drew each from under their
robes a heavy club and beat him till he was nearly dead, and then
vanished, as did also the treasure, the camels, the slave, and the
wonder-working candlestick![49]
[49] The same story is given by the Comte de Caylus--but,
like Noble, without stating where the original is to be
found--in his _Contes Orientaux_, first published in
1745, under the title of "Histoire de Dervich
Abounadar." These entertaining tales are reproduced in
_Le Cabinet des Fées_, ed. 1786, tome xxv.--It will be
observed that the first part of the story bears a close
resemblance to that of our childhood's favourite, the
Arabian tale of "Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp," of
which many analogues and variants, both European and
Asiatic, are cited in the first volume of my _Popular
Tales and Fictions_, 1887;--see also a supplementary
note by me on Aladdin's Lamp in _Notes and Queries_,
Jan. 5, 1889, p. 1.
* * * * *
A warning against avarice is intended to be conveyed in the tale, or
rather apologue, or perhaps we should consider it as a sort of allegory,
related by the sagacious bird on the 47th Night, according to the India
Office MS., but the 16th Night of Kádirí's abridgment. It is to the
following effect, and may be entitled
_The Four Treasure-Seekers._
Once on a time four intimate friends, who made a common fund of all
their possessions, and had long enjoyed the wealth of their industrious
ancestors, at length lost all their goods and money, and, barely saving
their lives, quitted together the place of their nativity. In the course
of their travels they meet a wise Bráhman, to whom they relate the
history of their misfortunes. He gives each of them a pearl, which he
places on their heads, telling them, whenever the pearl drops from the
head of any of them, to examine the spot, and share equally what they
find there. After walking some distance the pearl drops from the head of
one of the companions, and on examining the place he discovers a copper
mine, the produce of which he offers to share with the others, but they
refuse, and, leaving him, continue their journey. By-and-by the pearl
drops from the head of another of the friends, and a silver mine is
found; but the two others, believing that better things were in store
farther on, left him to his treasure, and proceeded on their way till
the pearl of the third companion dropped, and they found in the place a
rich gold mine. In vain does he endeavour to persuade his companion to
be content with the wealth here obtainable: he disdainfully refuses,
saying that, since copper, silver, and gold had been found, fortune had
evidently reserved something infinitely better for him; and so he
quitted his friend and went on, till he reached a narrow valley
destitute of water; the air like that of Jehennan;[50] the surface of
the earth like infernal fire; no animal or bird was to be seen; and
chilling blasts alternated with sulphurous exhalations. Here the fourth
pearl dropped and the owner discovered a mine of diamonds and other
gems, but the ground was covered with snakes, cockatrices, and the most
venomous serpents. On seeing this he determines to return and share the
produce of the third companion's gold mine; but when he comes to the
spot he can find no trace of the mine or of the owner. Proceeding next
to the silver mine, he finds it is exhausted, and his friend who owned
it has gone; so he will now content himself with copper; but, alas! his
first friend had died the day before his arrival, and strangers were now
in possession of the mine, who laughed at his pretensions, and even beat
him for his impertinence. Sad at heart, he journeys on to where he and
his companions had met the Bráhman, but he had long since departed to a
far distant country; and thus, through his obstinacy and avarice, he was
overwhelmed with poverty and disgrace--without money and without
friends.
[50] That is, hell. Properly, it is Je-Hinnon, near
Jerusalem, which seems to have been in ancient times the
cremation ground for human corpses.
* * * * *
This story of the Four Treasure-seekers forms the third of Book V of the
_Panchatantra_, where the fourth companion, instead of finding a diamond
mine guarded by serpents, etc., discovers a man with a wheel upon his
head, and on his asking this man where he could procure water, who he
was, and why he stood with the wheel on his head, straightway the wheel
is transferred to his own head, as had been the case of the former
victim who had asked the same questions of his predecessor. The third
man, who had found the gold mine, wondering that his companion tarried
so long, sets off in search of him, and, finding him with the wheel on
his head, asks why he stood thus. The fourth acquaints him of the
property of the wheel, and then relates a number of stories to show that
those who want common sense will surely come to grief.
It is more than probable that several of the tales and apologues in the
_Panchatantra_ were derived from Buddhist sources; and the incident of a
man with a wheel on his head is found in the Chinese-Sanskrit work
entitled _Fu-pen-hing-tsi-king_, which Wassiljew translates 'Biography
of Sákyamuni and his Companions,' and of which Dr. Beal has published an
abridged English translation under the title of the _Romantic History of
Buddha_. In this work (p. 342 ff.) a merchant, who had struck his mother
because she would not sanction his going on a trading voyage, in the
course of his wanderings discovers a man "on whose head there was placed
an iron wheel, this wheel was red with heat, and glowing as from a
furnace, terrible to behold. Seeing this terrible sight, Máitri
exclaimed: 'Who are you? Why do you carry that terrible wheel on your
head?' On this the wretched man replied: 'Dear sir, is it possible you
know me not? I am a merchant chief called Gorinda.' Then Máitri asked
him and said: 'Pray, then, tell me, what dreadful crime have you
committed in former days that you are constrained to wear that fiery
wheel on your head.' Then Gorinda answered: 'In former days I was angry
with and struck my mother as she lay on the ground, and for this reason
I am condemned to wear this fiery iron wheel around my head.' At this
time Máitri, self-accused, began to cry out and lament; he was filled
with remorse on recollection of his own conduct, and exclaimed in agony:
'Now am I caught like a deer in the snare.' Then a certain Yaksha, who
kept guard over that city, whose name was Viruka, suddenly came to the
spot, and removing the fiery wheel from off the head of Gorinda, he
placed it on the head of Máitri. Then the wretched man cried out in his
agony and said: 'O what have I done to merit this torment?' to which the
Yaksha replied: 'You, wretched man, dared to strike your mother on the
head as she lay on the ground; now, therefore, on your head you shall
wear this fiery wheel; through 60,000 years your punishment shall last:
be assured of this, through all these years you shall wear this wheel.'"