Wearing your precious spirit with annoy,
Know that these things you set your heart upon
Sooner or later must the soul destroy!
497.
Hear from the spirit world this mystery:
Creation is summed up, O man, in thee;
Angel and demon, man and beast art thou,
Yea, thou _art_ all thou dost _appear_ to be!
497. L. Man, the microcosm. Line 2 is one syllable short.
498.
If popularity you would ensue,
Speak well of Moslem, Christian, and Jew;
So shall you be esteemed of great and small,
And none will venture to speak ill of you.
498. L.
499.
O wheel of heaven, what have I done to you,
That you should thus annoy me? Tell me true;
To get a drink I have to cringe and stoop,
And for my bread you make me beg and sue.
499. L. _Abruy_, «honour.»
500.
No longer hug your grief and vain despair,
But in this unjust world be just and fair;
And since the issue of the world is naught,
Think you are naught, and so shake off dull care!
500. L. B. In line 3 scan _nesatiyast_.
THE
QUATRAINS OF OMAR KHAYYAM
TRANSLATED INTO PROSE FROM THE
FRENCH VERSION OF
MONSIEUR J.B. NICOLAS
THE QUATRAINS OF KHAYYAM
This grand old poet, who flourished in the 11th century and who brought
into Khorasan the delights of the Court of the Seldjoukides, still, in
our day, continues to charm with the pleasures of the palace of the
Kadjars at Teheran. But the difficulty, on the one hand, of translating
a writer so essentially abstract in his philosophic thought, so
Mystically foreign in his figurative expressions (too often presented in
the form of a repulsive materialism), and on the other, the
embarrassment I could foresee in the correcting of proofs at so great a
distance from Paris, and above all the feeling of my incapacity for
undertaking so great a work, always prevented my publishing anything up
to the present time.
On my last journey to Paris, I met some friends eager for something new
in the way of Oriental literature, among whom I am pleased to mention
Madam Blanchecotte, moralist and poet, known through her many witty and
impassioned publications. After having listened to the brief quotations
which I was able to cite to them from the quatrains of the poet with
whom we are now occupied, they so strongly urged me to publish a
complete translation, and put so much emphasis on their demand and so
much kindness in their offers of service, that I decided to conform to
their desires in editing this work to-day.
I should, however, still have considered it beyond my powers, without
the co-operation of Hassan-Ali-Khan, minister plenipotentiary from
Persia at the Court of the Tuileries, who put himself out to aid me with
his profound erudition and valuable advice.
The history of Khayyam, bound to that of two persons who played a great
rôle in the annals of the country, is, I believe, of sufficient
interest to warrant my telling it here as it has been transmitted to us
by the Persian historians.
Khayyam, born in a village situated near Nishapur, in Khorasan, went to
complete his studies at the celebrated _medresseh_ of that city, towards
the end of the year 1042 of the Christian era. Accounts tell us that
this college had acquired at that time the reputation of producing
pupils of rare distinction, from among whom men of talent and remarkable
skill often sprung up and rapidly attained to the highest positions in
the empire.
Abdul-Kassem and Hassan-Sebbah, fellow-students with Khayyam, were the
two comrades to whom he was especially attached, notwithstanding a
divergence of character and opinion which would seem to indicate in him
another choice. One day Khayyam asked his two friends, in a jesting
manner, if a compact entered into among them, and based upon absolute
necessity, for that one of the three whom Fortune most favored to come
to the aid of the other two, heaping benefits upon them, would appear to
them a childish thing. «No, no,» answered they, «the idea is excellent
and we will adopt it with all eagerness.» Immediately the three friends
clasped hands and vowed that when the time came they would be faithful
to their agreement. This pact but stimulated the emulation of the three
young people. They applied themselves to their studies with more ardor
even than was demanded of them, since in accordance with the tradition
of the college, the high places belong to those who merit them.
Khayyam, of a sweet and modest nature, was rather given to the
contemplation of divine things than to the pleasures of worldly life.
This tendency and the kind of study he cultivated made of him a Mystic
poet, a philosopher at once skeptical and fatalistic, a Sufi--in a word,
what most Oriental poets are.
Abdul-Kassem, on the contrary, ambitious and positive in the full
acceptation of the word, anxious to come into power, applied himself
principally to the study of the history of his country, which presented
to him numerous examples of celebrated men who, by their merit and
courage, had come into the highest offices, and where, besides, he found
excellent lessons in all branches of administration. He became an
illustrious statesman. As for Hassan-Sebbah, as ambitious as his
fellow-student Abdul-Kassem, but less skilful, and more violent than he
in the application of means, artful and jealous of the superiority of
his comrades, he followed somewhere nearly the same studies, holding
ever to the purpose of serving himself by the ruin of all those who
dared to oppose his advancement in the career he had chosen. He also
became celebrated, as will be shown farther on in this preface, through
the cruelties he committed and the blood he spilled.
Their studies ended, the three friends left college and separated to
return to their own homes, where they remained a certain length of time
without renown. Abdul-Kassem, however, was not long in making himself
advantageously known at the Court of Alp-Arslan, the second king of the
dynasty of the Seldjoukides, through divers writings on the subject of
administration, and soon became the private secretary of that monarch,
then under-secretary of State, and finally Prime Minister.
Alp-Arslan, in putting this skilful administrator at the head of affairs
in his empire, conferred upon him the honorary title of Nizam-el-Moulk,
«Regulator of the Empire,» a title which, among the Persians, replaces
the name of the person to whom it is granted. The historians of that
time write in eulogy of this great man and, attributing to his virtues
and his ability the success and prosperity of Alp-Arslan's reign, hold
in profound admiration the discernment of that monarch, who knew how to
attach to himself a minister endowed with so much skill in directing the
affairs of his vast Principalities, which attained, under his
administration, the highest degree of glory of which the Persian annals
make mention.
It was towards that epoch, where Nizam-el-Moulk (for henceforth it is by
this title that we shall designate him) had arrived at the apogee of his
power, that his two friends came to recall to him the contract
concluded amongst them. «What do you demand of me?» he said to them.
«I only ask,» responded Khayyam, «that I may enjoy the revenues of my
native village. I am a Sufi and not ambitious; if you accede to my
request, I could, under my paternal roof, far from the inseparable
fetters of the things of this world, cultivate poesy, which delights my
soul, and peaceably contemplate the works of the Creator, which is
acceptable to my mind.»
«As for me,» said Hassan-Sebbah, «I ask a place at Court.»
The minister granted everything: the young poet returned to his village,
of which he became chief, and Hassan-Sebbah took his place at Court,
where, crafty courtier that he was, he was not long in getting into the
good graces of the monarch. But, although he had already acquired the
highest distinction possible, thanks to the effective aid of
Nizam-el-Moulk, his envious and zealous mind could not accommodate
itself to the kind of submission in which he found himself, face to face
with his benefactor. He immediately went to work to overturn and
supplant him.
To this end, he commenced to insinuate to Alp-Arslan that the royal
finances were not in good state, the minister having neglected the
collecting of taxes, and not having rendered an account upon this
important subject for three years. The Prince gave ear to these
treacherous criticisms, and immediately Nizam-el-Moulk was sent for to
Court, where Alp-Arslan asked him, in presence of all the great
dignitaries, called together for this purpose, for a complete account of
uncollected taxes and a definite statement of all finances of State.
Nizam-el-Moulk excused himself as best he could for the delay of which
his Majesty complained, on the ground of certain circumstances beyond
his control, and promised to occupy himself seriously with the question,
with the aim of being able to present a complete accounting in six
months' time. The Prince appeared satisfied and allowed the minister to
retire. But he had scarcely passed the sill of the palace door when
Hassan-Sebbah, approaching the King remarked that if anything were
needed to prove the incapacity of the minister in a matter of this kind,
it was to be found precisely in the extraordinary delay that he asked
for putting the finances of the Empire in order. This observation struck
the Prince, who asked the courtier making it if he wished to take charge
of this work, and if he would engage to have it finished in a shorter
space of time. Upon the affirmative response of the artful Hassan, who
only asked for forty days for the accomplishment of the task, an order
was given to Nizam-el-Moulk to put the archives of the finances
immediately at his disposition, the _moustofis_ (writings of the Chief
Justice) and all the details of the management. Hassan, delighted at
finding himself so suddenly at the head of the most important branch of
the administration, already considered the complete ruin of
Nizam-el-Moulk as assured. The latter, on his side, perceived, but a
little too late, the imprudence he had been guilty of in placing in so
high a position a man whom he ought to have known, and concerning whom
he should have been on his guard. However, he did not despair of
frustrating, scheme against scheme, the well-advanced projects of his
ambitious antagonist. Knowing by experience how corruptible the men of
his time were, and recognizing, too, the proverbial greediness and
weakness of character of the confidant of Hassan-Sebbah to whom the
latter believed it possible to trust the work that he had undertaken
upon the order of Alp-Arslan, he did not hesitate to furnish to one of
his favorites, upon whose faithfulness he knew he could count, sums
large enough to be irresistible in the carrying out of the plan which he
had conceived.
The favorite of the minister, a safe man, accustomed to this kind of
service, so skilfully used this money that he was not long in winning
the good graces of Hassan's weak and interested confidant, and was thus
able to furnish to his master all the information which he awaited with
impatience, and of which he could make good use when the right moment
was come. That moment was the expiration of the forty days which
Hassan-Sebbah had demanded.
On the appointed day all was ready, and Hassan seemed to triumph; but
Nizam-el-Moulk had on that very day when the voluminous record which his
adversary had prepared was to be put before the King in official
audience, given his favorite some final instructions which should throw
Hassan into confusion. This faithful and adroit servitor went to find
the confidant, whose confidence he had gained by means of gifts, and
begged him to show him the wonderful statement which Nizam-el-Moulk had
declared could not be finished in less than six months, and his master
had had the skill to complete in forty days. Hassan's confidant was
occupied at this moment, and besides, suspected nothing; he turned over
to his friend the _defter_--the bundle of detached leaflets which formed
the record. He, putting to good use the distraction of the confidant,
detached the _defter_ and, in the twinkling of an eye, confounded the
order of the leaves, as his master had recommended to him. Then, placing
the _defter_ on the carpet, he launched forth into pompous eulogy upon
the skill of Hassan-Sebbah and of his worthy acolyte who had so actively
participated in this eminent work. Some hours afterward Alp-Arslan
received in grand audience his ministers and officers of the Empire, to
assist at the solemn presentation of the financial accounting of
Hassan-Sebbah.
Nizam-el-Moulk humbly kept himself in one corner of the audience hall,
awaiting the result of his stratagem. Upon the signal of Alp-Arslan,
Hassan-Sebbah deposited at the monarch's feet a _fhrist_, a little book
(an index), by means of which the Prince could call, in the order of the
provinces, for the leaflets contained in the _defter_, which
Hassan-Sebbah took from the hands of his trusted helper. At the first
call, Hassan sought in vain the desired leaflet. He was haunted by
treachery and was troubled; the rumor that this incident provoked in the
hall, the presence of the King who was irritated at finding such
disorder in a compilation of this importance, added to Hassan's
confusion, and he was immediately forced to retire, after a severe
reprimand on the part of Alp-Arslan. Nizam-el-Moulk was avenged; he
respectfully approached the King and made the observation to him that it
was hardly to be expected that there would be much regularity in so
serious a work, done in such haste by incapable people.
After this check, Hassan never again appeared at Court. History tells us
that he went on a voyage to Syria, where he adopted the dogmas of the
Ishmaelite sect, dogmas that he resolved to import into Persia, adding
to them other novelties more in accordance with the opinions of the
Sufis, then very numerous in the kingdom, with the aim of forming an
army and becoming thus a terror to his enemies. He did, in fact, return
to Persia, but concealed himself carefully, in order to escape the
notice of Nizam-el-Moulk, whose sentiments towards him he suspected. He
went back to his native city, Rhei, after having lived for some time at
Ispahan, where, emboldened by the facility with which he made new
recruits and aided by his neophytes, he formed no less a project than
that of making the sovereign himself tremble on his throne. At Rhei he
drew around him some malcontents, who did not hesitate to adopt the
dogmas that he taught them, and who declared themselves ready to second
him in his designs. He then resolved to go, with a limited number of his
disciples, and fortify himself in the mountain of Alamout, near the city
of Kazbin, where he commenced to make raids on the surrounding country,
by means of which he provided for the needs of the moment and prepared
an equipment for his little troop, which soon began to be formidable.
It was about this time that Alp-Arslan died, leaving his vast estates to
his son, Malek-Chah, whom he strongly recommended to confide the
administration to Nizam-el-Moulk, his faithful and pious minister. But
this minister did not long enjoy these new favors. Malek-Chah, having
had the weakness to lend his ear to the calumnious reports of his
enemies, took away from him his turban and his inkstand, insignia of the
high functions which he had so nobly fulfilled. This disgrace,
facilitating a particular vengeance, caused the death of the great
statesman. They found him one morning, stretched out under his tent in
the royal camp, assassinated by a satellite of Hassan-Sebbah. Before he
expired, according to the story of the chronicle, he had time to write a
piece of verse to Malek-Chah, in which he recommended to his benevolence
his twelve sons, to whom, he said, he bequeathed his old and loyal
services.
Hassan-Sebbah did not the less continue his bloody excursions,
respecting neither rank nor sex, cutting the throats of all that came
under his hand, without pity. Malek-Chah, frightened, was obliged to
send troops to put an end to these expeditions, which made trouble and
confusion in the whole extent of the Empire. But Hassan's followers
increased daily, and soon this chief saw himself strong enough to
repulse the royal troops in a vigorous attack, and compel them to beat a
retreat. After this success, Hassan put no limit to his exploits, and
acquired such renown that nothing appeared to be able to resist him.
The death of Malek-Chah took place unexpectedly soon after that of
Nizam-el-Moulk, and Hassan, hastening to profit by some experiments of
the celebrated Sultan Sandjar, Malek-Chah's successor, there were
incessant wars in the different branches of the House of Seldjoukides,
wars which prolonged themselves until the death of Tougroul III., or
from forty to forty-five years. Sultan Sandjar, rightly disturbed at the
progress of Hassan's invasion, resolved to entirely destroy a band of
brigands in his territory, whose depredations and murders had spread
terror in all the provinces. To this end, he re-organized an army with
which he marched in person against the aggressors; but, arrived at a
certain distance from Mount Alamout, he saw one morning, upon waking, a
dagger sunk in the earth near the bolster of his bed, whose blade
pierced a note addressed to him, where he read, with fright, these
words:
«O Sandjar! know that if I had not wished to respect your days, the
hand which sunk this dagger in the earth could as well have sunk it
in your heart.»
It is said that the Sultan was so overcome by the reading of this note,
which revealed to him the marvellous power of Hassan-Sebbah over his
trusty followers, that he relinquished for the time being his plan of
attack.
But let us return to Khayyam, who, remaining a stranger to all these
alternatives of wars, intrigues, and revolts with which this epoch was
so filled, lived tranquilly in his native village, giving himself up to
a passionate study of the philosophy of the Sufis. Surrounded by
numerous friends he sought with them, in study and entertainment, that
ecstatic contemplation which others believe that they find in uttering
cries and screams until the voice is gone, as the crying dervishes do;
or in the circular movements that are practiced with frenzy until
vertigo ensues, as by the whirling dervishes; or finally, in the
atrocious tortures which the Hindoos inflict upon themselves, until they
lose consciousness. The Persian historians state that Khayyam loved
especially to converse and drink with his friends, in the moonlight on a
terrace before his house, seated upon a carpet, surrounded by singers
and musicians, with a cup-bearer, who, cup in hand, presented it in turn
to the joyous guests. We believe we cannot better terminate this rapid
biographical and historic sketch than in adding to the life and works of
our poet two very characteristic quotations.
During one of these evenings of which we are speaking, there suddenly
came a gust of wind which extinguished the candles and overturned the
pitcher of wine that was imprudently placed too near the edge of the
terrace. The pitcher was broken and the wine spilled. Immediately
Khayyam, irritated, improvised this impious quatrain, addressed to the
All-Powerful:
«Thou hast broken my pitcher of wine, my God! Thus hast Thou shut upon
me the gate of joy, O Lord! It is I who drink, and it is Thou who
committest the disorder of drunkenness! Oh! (would that my mouth were
filled with earth!) couldst Thou be drunk, my Lord?»
The poet, after having pronounced this, casting his eyes upon a mirror,
perceived that his face was black as coal. It was a punishment from
heaven. Then he made this other quatrain, not less audacious than the
first, and which expresses in an absolute manner, the repulsion of the
poet for the doctrine of future punishment written in the Koran, and
preached so ardently by the mullahs. The Sufis consider this doctrine
not only in direct opposition to their own, but as unworthy the pity and
clemency of the Divinity. Here is the quatrain:
«What man here below has not sinned, can you say? And how could he have
lived, had he not committed sin, can you tell? So, if I do wrong and you
punish me wrongly, what is the difference which exists between you and
me, I ask?»
But let us come to the complete thought of the poet which deduces itself
so energetically and with so much unity through the fantasy or the
mysticism of his quatrains.
J.B. Nicolas.
NOTE.--The Translator being unfortunately familiar with at least
seven translations and paraphrases of Omar, has found it by no means
easy to expunge from memory the various renderings of the text. This
«sponging out» was necessary in order that a faithful presentation
of Nicolas' version of Omar should be made. With this comment, he
leaves the translation to be judged on its possible merit, adding
only this--that, declining metre (Fitzgerald's own domain), he has
sought to clothe the prose in verbal sonance which should not
disguise or mar the inherent music of the Omarian brook. Fidelity to
the text, however, has been the first consideration.
R.A.
THE QUATRAINS OF OMAR KHAYYAM
1.
One morning, coming from the tavern I heard a voice
which said: Come, joyous drinkers, youthful fools, arise,
and fill with me a cup of wine, ere Fate shall come to
fill the cup of our existence.
2.
O Thou who in the universe art the object chosen
of my heart! Thou who art more dear than the soul
which gives me life, than the eyes which give me light!
O Idol, though in life there be no thing more precious
than this life, Thou art indeed a hundred times more
precious than that life.
3.
Who led thee here this night, thus given up to wine?
Who, indeed, raising the veil which hid thee, has been
able to lead thee here? Who, finally, brought thee as
rapidly as the wind which fans the fire that still burned
in thy absence?
4.
We meet but chagrin and misfortune in this world,
which serves us as a tent for the time. Alas! No problem
of creation has been solved for us, and behold! we
leave it with hearts full of regret at knowing naught
about it.
5.
O Khadja, give us lawfully a single one of our desires;
reserve thy breath and lead us into the way of God.
Surely we walk aright, it is thou that seest crosswise;
heal, then, thine eyes and leave us here in peace.
6.
Come, come, arise, and, for the healing of my heart,
one problem solve for me: yet quickly bring me a pitcher
of wine, and let us drink before they make pitchers out
of our own dust.
7.
When I am dead, wash me with the juice of the vine;
in place of prayer, sing above my tomb the praise of
the cup and the wine, and, if you would find me again
at the day of doom, seek me in the dust of the tavern
floor.
8.
Since no one has ever been able to answer thee from
one day to the next, hasten to glad thy heart filled with
sadness. Drink, O adorable Moon! drink from thy silver
cup, for long shalt thou turn in the firmament without
finding us here again.
9.
Would that the lover [the true believer] were intoxicated
the whole year, mad, absorbed with wine, covered
with dishonor! For, when we have sound reason, chagrin
assails us on all sides; but when we are in wine, well,
let come what will!
10.
In Heaven's name! with what hope does the sage attach
his heart to the illusory treasures of this palace of misfortune?
Oh! that the One who gave me the name of
drunkard would recant his error, for how can he see the
tavern's sign from his exalted abode.
11.
The Koran, which is but a name for The Sublime
Word, is, however, read only from time to time and not
with constancy; while ever on the brim of the cup
is found a verse full of light which one can read always
and everywhere.
12.
Thou that drinkest not wine shouldst not for this reason
blame the drunkard, for I am ready to renounce God,
myself, should He order me to renounce wine. Thou
glorifiest thyself for not drinking wine, but such glory
but ill befits those who commit acts a hundredfold more
reprehensible than drunkenness.
13.