_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.