Importance of Forms--Description of those used at Visits in
Persia--Difficulties on this subject--Happy termination of a Battle
of Ceremonies between the first Mission and the petty Court of
Shiraz--Persian Society--Fables and Apologues.
When we arrived at the garden of Shâh Cherâgh, within a few miles of
the city of Shiraz, a halt was ordered for the purpose of settling the
forms of our reception. These were easily arranged, as the Elchee,
though his military rank, from the period of his first mission to the
present, had advanced from that of Captain to General, claimed only
the same respect and attention he had before insisted upon as the
representative of a great and powerful government.
Ceremonies and forms have, and merit, consideration in all countries,
but particularly among Asiatic nations. With these the intercourse of
private as well as public life is much regulated by their observance.
From the spirit and decision of a public Envoy upon such points, the
Persians very generally form their opinion of the character of the
country he represents. This fact I had read in books, and all I saw
convinced me of its truth. Fortunately the Elchee had resided at some
of the principal courts of India, whose usages are very similar. He
was, therefore, deeply versed in that important science denominated
"Kâida-e-nishest-oo-berkhâst" (or the art of sitting and rising), in
which is included a knowledge of the forms and manners of good society,
and particularly those of Asiatic kings and their courts.
He was quite aware, on his first arrival in Persia, of the consequence
of every step he took on such delicate points; he was, therefore,
anxious to fight all his battles regarding ceremonies before he came
near the footstool of royalty. We were consequently plagued, from the
moment we landed at Abusheher, till we reached Shiraz, with daily,
almost hourly drilling, that we might be perfect in our demeanour at
all places, and under all circumstances. We were carefully instructed
where to ride in a procession, where to stand or sit within-doors, when
to rise from our seats, how far to advance to meet a visitor, and to
what part of the tent or house we were to follow him when he departed,
if he was of sufficient rank to make us stir a step.
The regulations of our risings and standings, and movings and
reseatings, were, however, of comparatively less importance than the
time and manner of smoking our Kelliâns and taking our coffee. It is
quite astonishing how much depends upon coffee and tobacco in Persia.
Men are gratified or offended, according to the mode in which these
favourite refreshments are offered. You welcome a visitor, or send
him off, by the way in which you call for a pipe or a cup of coffee.
Then you mark, in the most minute manner, every shade of attention
and consideration, by the mode in which he is treated. If he be above
you, you present these refreshments yourself, and do not partake till
commanded: if equal, you exchange pipes, and present him with coffee,
taking the next cup yourself: if a little below you, and you wish
to pay him attention, you leave him to smoke his own pipe, but the
servant gives him, according to your condescending nod, the first cup
of coffee: if much inferior, you keep your distance and maintain your
rank, by taking the first cup of coffee yourself, and then directing
the servant, by a wave of the hand, to help the guest.
When a visitor arrives, the coffee and pipe are called for to welcome
him; a second call for these articles announces that he may depart;
but this part of the ceremony varies according to the relative rank or
intimacy of the parties.
These matters may appear light to those with whom observances of this
character are habits, not rules; but in this country they are of
primary consideration, a man's importance with himself and with others
depending on them.
From the hour the first mission reached Persia, servants, merchants,
governors of towns, chiefs, and high public officers, presuming upon
our ignorance, made constant attempts to trespass upon our dignity,
and though repelled at all points, they continued their efforts, till
a battle royal at Shiraz put the question to rest, by establishing our
reputation, as to a just sense of our own pretensions, upon a basis
which was never afterwards shaken. But this memorable event merits a
particular description.
The first mission arrived at Shiraz on the 13th of June, 1800. The
King of Persia was at this time in Khorassan, and the province of
Fars, of which Shiraz is the capital, was nominally ruled by one of
his sons, called Hoosein Ali Meerzâ, a boy of twelve years of age. He
was under the tuition of his mother, a clever woman, and a Minister
called Cherâgh Ali Khan. With the latter redoubtable personage there
had been many fights upon minor ceremonies, but all were merged in a
consideration of those forms which were to be observed on our visit to
the young Prince.
According to Persian usage, Hoosein Ali Meerzâ was seated on a Nemmed,
or thick felt, which was laid on the carpet, and went half across the
upper end of the room in which he received the Mission. Two slips of
felt, lower by two or three inches than that of the Prince, extended
down each side of the apartment. On one of these sat the Ministers and
Nobles of the petty Court, while the other was allotted to the Elchee
and Suite; but according to a written "Destoor-ool-Amal," (or program)
to which a plan of the apartment was annexed, the Elchee was not only
to sit at the top of our slip, but his right thigh was to rest on the
Prince's Nemmed.
The Elchee, on entering this apartment, saluted the Prince, and then
walked up to his appointed seat; but the master of the ceremonies[32]
pointed to one lower, and on seeing the Elchee took no notice of his
signal, he interposed his person between him and the place stated in
the program. Here he kept his position, fixed as a statue, and in his
turn paid no attention to the Elchee, who waved his hand for him to
go on one side. This was the crisis of the battle. The Elchee looked
to the Minister; but he stood mute, with his hands crossed before his
body, looking down on the carpet. The young Prince, who had hitherto
been as silent and dignified as the others, now requested the Elchee to
be seated; which the latter, making a low bow to him, and looking with
no slight indignation at the Minister, complied with. Coffee and pipes
were handed round; but as soon as that ceremony was over, and before
the second course of refreshments were called for, the Elchee requested
the Prince to give him leave to depart; and, without waiting a reply,
arose and retired.
The Minister seeing matters were wrong, and being repulsed in an
advance he made to an explanation, sent Mahomed Shereef Khan, the
Mehmandar, to speak to the Elchee; but he was told to return, and tell
Cherâgh Ali Khan "That the British Representative would not wait at
Shiraz to receive a second insult. Say to him," he added, "that regard
for the King, who is absent from his dominions, prevented my showing
disrespect to his son, who is a mere child; I therefore seated myself
for a moment; but I have no such consideration for his Minister, who
has shown himself alike ignorant of what is due to the honour of his
sovereign and his country, by breaking his agreement with a foreign
Envoy."
The Elchee mounted his horse, after delivering this message, which he
did in a loud and indignant tone, and rode away apparently in a great
rage. It was amusing to see the confusion to which his strong sense
of the indignity put upon him threw those, who a moment before were
pluming themselves on the clever manner by which they had compelled
him to seat himself fully two feet lower on the carpet than he had
bargained for. Meerzâs and Omrâhs came galloping one after another,
praying different persons of his suite to try and pacify him. The
latter shook their heads; but those who solicited them appeared to
indulge hopes, till they heard the orders given for the immediate
movement of the English camp. All was then dismay; message after
message was brought deprecating the Elchee's wrath. He was accused
of giving too much importance to a trifle; it was a mistake of my
lord of the ceremonies; would his disgrace--his punishment--the
bastinado--putting his eyes out--cutting off his head, satisfy or
gratify the offended Elchee?--To all such evasions and propositions
the Envoy returned but one answer:--"Let Cherâgh Ali Khan write an
acknowledgment that he has broken his agreement, and that he entreats
my forgiveness: if such a paper is brought me, I remain; if not, I
march from Shiraz."
Every effort was tried in vain to alter this resolution, and the
Minister, seeing no escape, at last gave way, and sent the required
apology, adding, if ever it reached his Majesty's ear that the Elchee
was offended, no punishment would be deemed too severe for those who
had ruffled his Excellency's temper or hurt his feelings.
The reply was, the explanation was ample and satisfactory, and that
the Elchee would not for worlds be the cause of injury to the meanest
person in Persia, much less to his dear friend Cherâgh Ali Khan; and
a sentence was added to this letter by particular desire of Meerzâ
Aga Meer, who penned it, stating, "That everything disagreeable was
erased from the tablet of the Elchee's memory, on which nothing was now
written but the golden letters of amity and concord."
The day after this affair was settled, the Minister paid the Elchee
a long visit, and insisted upon his going again to see the Prince.
We went--but what a difference in our reception: all parties were
attentive; the master of the ceremonies bent almost to the ground;
and though the Elchee only desired to take his appointed seat, that
would neither satisfy the Prince nor the Minister, who insisted
that, instead of his placing one thigh on the Nemmed, which was
before unapproachable, he should sit altogether on its edge! This
was "miherbânee, ser-afrâzee," (favour, exaltation), and we were all
favoured and exalted.
Such is the history of this battle of ceremony, which was the only one
of any consequence there was occasion to fight in Persia; for in wars
of this kind, as in other wars, if you once establish your fame for
skill and courage, victory follows as a matter of course.
It must not be supposed from what has been stated, that the Persians
are all grave formal persons. They are the most cheerful people in
the world; and they delight in familiar conversation; and every
sort of recreation appears, like that of children, increased by
those occasional restraints to which their customs condemn them.
They contrive every means to add to the pleasures of their social
hours; and as far as society can be agreeable, divested of its chief
ornament, females, it is to be met with in this country. Princes,
chiefs, and officers of state, while they pride themselves, and with
justice, on their superior manners, use their utmost efforts to make
themselves pleasant companions. Poets, historians, astrologers, wits,
and reciters of stories and fables, who have acquired eminence, are
not only admitted into the first circles, but honoured. It is not
uncommon to see a nobleman of high rank give precedence to a man of
wit or of letters, who is expected to amuse or instruct the company;
and the latter, confident in those acquirements to which he owes his
distinction, shows, by his manner and observations, that usage has
given him a right to the place he occupies.
I heard, before I mixed in it, very different accounts of Persian
society. With one class of persons it was an infliction, to another
a delight. I soon found that its enjoyment depended upon a certain
preparation; and from the moment I landed in the country, I devoted a
portion of my time to their most popular works in verse and prose. I
made translations, not only of history and poetry, but of fables and
tales, being satisfied that this occupation, while it improved me in
the knowledge of the language, gave me a better idea of the manners
and mode of thinking of this people than I could derive from any other
source. Besides, it is a species of literature with which almost every
man in Persia is acquainted; and allusions to works of fancy and
fiction are so common in conversation, that you can never enjoy their
society if ignorant of such familiar topics.
I have formerly alluded to the cause which leads all ranks in Persia to
blend fables and apologues in their discourse, but this subject merits
a more particular notice. There has been a serious and protracted
discussion among the learned in Europe as to the original country of
those tales which have delighted and continue to delight successive
generations. One or two facts connected with this abstruse question
are admitted by all.--First, that the said tales are not the native
produce of our western clime. They are decidedly exotics, though we
have improved upon the original stock by careful culture, by grafting,
and other expedients, so as to render them more suited to the soil into
which they have been transplanted.
The next admission is, that some of our best fables and tales came with
the Sun from the East, that genial clime, where nature pours forth
her stores with so liberal a hand that she spoils by her indulgence
those on whom she bestows her choicest gifts. In that favoured land
the imagination of authors grows and flourishes, like their own
evergreens, in unpruned luxuriance. This exuberance is condemned by the
fastidious critics of the West. As for myself, though an admirer of
art, I like to contemplate Nature in all her forms; and it is amidst
her varied scenes that I have observed how much man takes his shape
and pursuits from the character of the land in which he is born. Our
admirable and philosophic poet, after asserting the command which the
uncircumscribed soul, when it chooses to exert itself, has over both
the frigid and torrid zones, beautifully and truly adds--
"Not but the human fabric from its birth
Imbibes a flavour of its parent earth;
As various tracts enforce a various toil,
The manners speak the idiom of the soil."
The warmth of the climate of the East, the ever-teeming abundance of
the earth, while it fosters lively imaginations and strong passions,
disposes the frame to the enjoyment of that luxurious ease which is
adverse to freedom. That noblest of all plants which ever flourished
on earth has, from the creation to the present day, been unknown in
the East. This being the case, the fathers of families, the chiefs of
tribes, and the sovereigns of kingdoms, are, within their separate
circles, alike despotic; their children, followers, and subjects are
consequently compelled to address these dreaded superiors in apologues,
parables, fables, and tales, lest the plain truth, spoken in plain
language, should offend; and the person who made a complaint or offered
advice should receive the bastinado, or have his head struck off on
the first impulse of passion, and before his mighty master had time to
reflect on the reasonableness of such prompt punishment.
To avoid such unpleasant results, every bird that flies, every beast
that walks, and even fish that swim, have received the gift of speech,
and have been made to represent kings, queens, ministers, courtiers,
soldiers, wise men, foolish men, old women, and little children, in
order, as a Persian author says, "That the ear of authority may be
safely approached by the tongue of wisdom."
There is another reason why tales and fables continue so popular in
the East; we observe how pleasing and useful they are as a medium of
conveying instruction in childhood: a great proportion of the men
and women of the countries of which we speak are, in point of general
knowledge, but children; and while they learn, through allegories and
apologues, interspersed with maxims, to appreciate the merits of their
superiors, the latter are, in their turn, taught by the same means
lessons of humanity, generosity, and justice.
"Have you no laws," said I one day to Aga Meer, "but the Koran, and the
traditions upon that volume?" "We have," said he, gravely, "the maxims
of Sâdee." Were I to judge from my own observations, I should say, that
these stories and maxims, which are known to all, from the king to the
peasant, have fully as great an effect, in restraining the arbitrary
and unjust exercise of power as the laws of the Prophet.
It is through allegories and fables that we receive the earliest
accounts we have of all nations, but particularly those of the Eastern
hemisphere. We may, in these days in which exactness is so much valued,
deplore this medium as liable to mislead; but must recollect, that if
we had not their ancient records in this form we should have them in
none. One of the wisest men in the West, Francis Bacon, has truly said,
"Fiction gives to mankind what history denies, and in some measure
satisfies the mind with shadows when it cannot enjoy the substance."
Those who rank highest amongst the Eastern nations for genius have
employed their talents in works of fiction; and they have added to the
moral lessons they desired to convey so much of grace and ornament,
that their volumes have found currency in every nation of the world.
The great influx of them into Europe may be dated from the crusades;
and if that quarter of the globe derived no other benefits from these
holy wars, the enthusiastic admirers of such narrations may consider
the tales of Boccaccio and similar works as sufficient to compensate
all the blood and treasure expended in that memorable contest!
England has benefited largely from these tales of the East. Amongst
other boons from that land of imagination, we have the groundwork on
which Shakspeare has founded his inimitable play of the Merchant of
Venice.
The story of the Mahomedan and the Jew has been found in several books
of Eastern Tales. In one Persian version love is made to mix with
avarice in the breast of the Israelite, who had cast the eye of desire
upon the wife of the Mahomedan, and expected, when he came to exact his
bond, the lady would make any sacrifice to save her husband.
At the close of this tale, when the parties come before the judge, the
Jew puts forth his claim to the forfeited security of a pound of flesh.
"How answerest thou?" said the judge, turning to the Mahomedan. "It
is so," replied the latter; "the money is due by me, but I am unable
to pay it." "Then," continued the judge, "since thou hast failed in
payment, thou must give the pledge; go, bring a sharp knife." When
that was brought, the judge turned to the Jew, and said, "Arise, and
separate one pound of flesh from his body, so that there be not a grain
more or less; for if there is, the governor shall be informed, and thou
shalt be put to death." "I cannot," said the Jew, "cut off one pound
exactly; there will be a little more or less." But the judge persisted
that it should be the precise weight. On this the Jew said he would
give up his claim and depart. This was not allowed, and the Jew being
compelled to take his bond with all its hazards, or pay a fine for a
vexatious prosecution, he preferred the latter, and returned home a
disappointed usurer.
Admitting that the inhabitants of Europe received these tales and
apologues from the Saracens, the next question is, where did they get
them? Mahomed and his immediate successors, while they proscribed all
such false and wicked lies and inventions, accuse the Persians of
being the possessors and propagators of those delusive tales, which
were, according to them, preferred by many of their followers to the
Koran. But in the course of time Caliphs became less rigid. The taste
for poetry and fiction revived, and Persian stories and Arabian tales
deluged the land.
For some centuries the above countries were the supposed sources of
this branch of literature, but, since the sacred language of the Hindus
has become more generally known, the Persians are discovered to have
been not only the plunderers of their real goods and chattels, but
also of their works of imagination. These we, in our ignorance, long
believed to belong to the nations from whom we obtained them; but now
that Orientalists abound, who are deeply read in Sanscrit, Pràcrit,
Marhatta, Guzerattee, Canarese, Syamese, Chinese, Talingana, Tamil,
and a hundred other languages, unknown to our ignorant ancestors, the
said Persians and Arabians have been tried and convicted, not only of
robbing the poor Hindus of their tales and fables, but of an attempt
to disguise their plagiarisms, by the alteration of names, and by
introducing, in place of the gods and goddesses of the Hindu Pantheon,
the magi, and all the spirits of the Heaven and the Earth, which
peculiarly belong to the followers of Zoroaster.
Nothing, however, can impose upon the present enlightened age, and our
antiquaries have long been and are still occupied in detecting thefts
committed twenty centuries ago. In spite of the Persian and Arabian
cloaks in which tales and fables have been enveloped, the trace of
their Hindu origin has been discovered in the various customs and
usages referred to, and it has been decided that almost all the ancient
tales are taken from the Hitôpadêsa, and that still more famous work,
the Pancha-Tantra, or more properly the Panchôpâkhyân, or Five Tales;
while many of the more modern are stolen from the Kathâ-Sarit-Sâgar, or
Ocean of the Stream of Narration, a well-known work, which was compiled
about the middle of the twelfth century by order of that equally
well-known Prince Sree Hertha of Cashmere!
I have sometimes had doubts whether it was quite fair to rake up the
ashes of the long-departed Pehlevee writers; more particularly as there
does not now exist one solitary book in their language which we could
compare with the Hindu MSS., of which we have lately become enamoured;
but reverence for the learning of those who have decided this question,
and dread of their hard words, with the very spelling of which I am
always puzzled, has kept me silent. As I am, however, rather partial to
my Persian friends, I must vindicate them from this general charge of
robbery and fraud. They certainly acquired one of their most celebrated
works of imagination from India, under circumstances that do equal
honour to the just king Noosheerwân, his wise minister Boozoorchimihr,
and the learned doctor Barzooyeh.
The work to which I refer is the Kartaka-Damnaka of the Brahmins, the
Kalîla-wa-Damna of the Arabians, and the Fables of Pilpay of Europe.
This book, originally written in the Sanscrit, was first translated
into Pehlevee, from that into Arabic, and next into Persian. So many
learned Oriental critics, French and English, have given the names and
dates of the translations, that I shall not repeat them, but give a
short account of the first introduction of these famous fables into
Persia, with some facts of the life and opinions of the wise and
disinterested man through whose efforts his native country became
possessed of this treasure.
Noosheerwân, deservedly styled the Just, who governed Persia in the
beginning of the seventh century, hearing of the fame of a work which
a Brahmin of Ceylon had composed, employed the celebrated physician
named Barzooyeh to obtain for him a copy of this production. This was a
delicate and hazardous enterprise, for the work, ever since the reign
of a certain Indian King, named Dabshileem, for whom it was written,
had been guarded with great care and jealousy, lest the profane should
learn the wisdom that ought only to appertain to the wise and holy.
Barzooyeh, confident in knowledge and strong in allegiance, undertook
to fulfil the commands of his Sovereign. He proceeded towards India,
furnished with money and every thing that could forward the objects
of his journey. When he arrived at the Indian capital, he pretended
that the motive which induced him to visit it was the improvement of
his mind, by communication with the wise men for which it was at that
period renowned. Amongst those whose society he courted, he early
discovered one Brahmin, who appeared to him the very model of wisdom.
His efforts were directed to gain his friendship, and believing he had
succeeded, he resolved to intrust him with his real design.
"I have a secret to confide to you," said he, one day to his friend:
"and you know, 'a sign to the wise is enough.'" "I know what you mean,"
said the penetrating Brahmin, "without your sign; you came to rob us of
our knowledge, that you might with it enrich Persia. Your purpose is
deceit; but you have conducted yourself with such consummate address
and ability that I cannot help entertaining a regard for you. I have,"
continued the Indian, "observed in you the eight qualities which must
combine to form a perfect man: forbearance, self-knowledge, true
allegiance, judgment in placing confidence, secrecy, power to obtain
respect at court, self-command, and a reserve, both as to speech in
general society and intermeddling with the affairs of others. Now you
have those qualities, and though your object in seeking my friendship
is not pure but interested, nevertheless I have such an esteem for you
that I will incur all hazards to forward your object of stealing our
wisdom."
The Brahmin obtained the far-sought book, and by his aid and connivance
a copy was soon completed. Noosheerwân, who had been informed of the
success of his literary envoy, was impatient for his return; and when
he arrived at the frontier, he was met by some of the most favoured
courtiers sent by the monarch to conduct him to the capital. He was
welcomed with joy, particularly by Noosheerwân; a great court was held,
at which all who were dignified or learned in the kingdom were present.
Barzooyeh was commanded to read from the volume he had brought: he did
so; and the admiration of its contents was universal.
"Open my treasury!" said the grateful Noosheerwân; "and let the man who
has conferred such a benefit on his country enter, and take what he
finds most valuable." "I desire neither jewels nor precious metals,"
said Barzooyeh; "I have laboured not for them but for the favour of my
Sovereign; and that I have succeeded is rather to be referred to his
auspices, than to my humble efforts. But I have," said he, "a request
to make: the King has directed his able minister, Boozoorchimihr,
to translate this work into Pehlevee; let him be further instructed
that mention be made of me in some part of the book, and that he
particularly specify my family, my profession, and my faith. Let all
this be written, so that my name may go down to future ages, and the
fame of my Sovereign be spread throughout the world."
The King was delighted with this further proof of the elevated mind
of Barzooyeh; all present applauded his perfect wisdom, and joined in
supplicating that his request might be granted.
Noosheerwân, addressing the assembly, said--"You have witnessed
the noble disinterestedness of this man, you know how faithfully
he has discharged his duty, and what difficulties and dangers he
has encountered and overcome in my service. I desired to enrich him
with jewels and money, but such rewards have no value in his mind,
his generous heart is above them; he has only asked that his name
shall have a separate mention, and that his life up to this date
shall be faithfully written. Let it," said the Monarch, turning to
Boozoorchimihr, "have a place at the very commencement of that book of
wisdom which he has procured for his country."
The above is the substance of the story, as given in the Persian
translation of this work, made by Aboo'l-Fazl, and called
Eiyâr-e-Dânish, or the Touchstone of Wisdom; and we have in the same
volume some particulars of the religious tenets, or rather doubts, of
the philosophic Barzooyeh, which merit a short mention.
The wise doctor, who is made to speak in his own person, expresses
himself to this effect:--"The questions regarding the attributes of the
Creator, and the nature of futurity, have been sources of never-ending
doubt and discussion. Every one deems his own opinions regarding these
important subjects as the only true ones, and his life is wasted in
efforts to raise his own sect and to disparage others; but how many of
these persons are mere self-worshippers, in whom there is not a trace
of real religion, or of the knowledge of God!
"How deeply do I regret that time which I myself lost in pursuit of
these vain imaginations, searching every path, but never finding the
true way, and never even discovering a guide. I have consulted the wise
and learned of all religions as to the origin of that faith in which
they believed; but I have found them only busied with propping up their
own notions, and trying to overset those of others.
"At last, finding no medicine for the sickness of my heart, and no balm
for the wounds of my soul, I came to a conclusion, that the foundation
of all these sects was self-conceit. I had heard nothing that a wise
man could approve; and I thought that if I gave my faith to their
creed, I should be as foolish as the poor thief who, by an unmeaning
word, was deluded to his destruction.
"Some thieves mounted to the top of a rich man's house; but he, hearing
their footsteps, and guessing their object, waked his wife, to whom he
whispered what had occurred. 'I shall feign sleep,' said he to her; 'do
you pretend to awake me, and commence a conversation, in a tone loud
enough to be heard by the thieves. Demand of me with great earnestness
how I amassed my wealth; and, notwithstanding my refusal, urge me to
a confession.'
"The woman did as she was desired, but the husband replied, 'Do forbear
such questions; perhaps if I give you true answers somebody may hear,
and I may be exposed to disagreeable consequences.'
"This denial to gratify her curiosity only made the lady more earnestly
repeat her interrogatories. Apparently wearied with her importunities,
the husband said, 'If I comply with your wishes, it will be contrary to
the maxim of the wise, who have said, 'Never tell a secret to a woman.'"
"'Who,' said the irritated lady, 'do you take me for? Am not I the
cherished wife of your bosom?' 'Well, well,' said the man, 'be patient,
for God's sake; as you are my true and confidential friend, I suppose
I must tell you all; but never reveal to any one what you shall now
hear.' She made a thousand protestations that his secret should never
pass her lips. The husband appearing quite satisfied, proceeded to
state as follows:
"'Learn, my dear wife, that all my wealth is plunder. I was possessed
of a mysterious charm, by which, when standing on moonlight nights
near the walls of the houses of the rich, I could, by repeating the
word Sholim, Sholim, Sholim, seven times, and at the same time laying
my hand on a moonbeam, vault on the terrace; when there, I again
exclaimed, Sholim, Sholim, Sholim, seven times, and with the utmost
ease jumped down into the house, and again pronouncing Sholim, Sholim,
Sholim, seven times, all the riches in the house were brought to my
view. I took what I liked best, and for the last time calling out
Sholim, Sholim, Sholim, I sprung through the window with my booty;
and through the blessing of this charm, I was not only invisible, but
preserved from even the suspicion of guilt.
"'This is the mode in which I have accumulated that great wealth with
which you are surrounded. But beware and reveal not this secret; let no
mortal know it, or the consequences may be fatal to us all.'
"The robbers, who had anxiously listened to this conversation,
treasured up with delight the magic words. Some time afterwards the
leader of the band, believing all in the house asleep, and having got
upon the window, called out Sholim, Sholim, Sholim, seven times,
and springing forward fell headlong into the room. The master of the
dwelling, who was awake, expecting this result, instantly seized the
fellow, and began to soften[33] his shoulders with a cudgel, saying,
'Have I all my life been plaguing mankind in acquiring wealth just to
enable a fellow like you to tie it up in a bundle and carry it away;
but now tell me who you are?' The thief replied, 'I am that senseless
blockhead that a breath of yours has consigned to dust. The proverb,'
said the wretched man, 'is completely verified in my fate; I have
spread my carpet for prayer on the surface of the waters.' But the
measure of my misfortune is full; I have only one request to make, that
you now put a handful of earth over me.'
"In fine," adds Barzooyeh, "I came to the conclusion, that if, without
better proof than delusive words, I were to follow any of the modes of
faith which I have described, my final condition would be no better
than that of the fool in this tale, who trusted to Sholim, Sholim,
Sholim.
"I said therefore to my soul, if I run once more after these pursuits,
a life would not be sufficient; my end approaches, and if I continue
in the maze of worldly concerns I shall lose that opportunity I now
possess, and be unprepared for the great journey which awaits me.
"As my desire was righteous, and my search after truth honest, my mind
was favoured with the conviction that it was better to devote myself to
those actions which all faiths approve, and which all who are wise and
good applaud.
"By the blessing of God, after I was released from such a state of
distraction, I commenced my efforts; I endeavoured to the utmost of my
power to do good, and to cease from causing pain to animals, or injury
to men."
The wise physician adds in this passage a list of all the virtues after
which he sought, and all the vices he shunned. This list is long, and
appears to me to include the whole catalogue of human virtues and
vices. Suffice it here to say, that his biographer assures us that
his latter end was blessed, and that he left behind him a name as
celebrated for virtue as it was for wisdom.
FOOTNOTES:
[32] Ashkakas Bâshee.
[33] This is a literal translation.