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The World’s Greatest Literature
The Masterpieces of the World’s Greatest Authors in _History_,
_Biography_, _Philosophy_, _Economics_, _Politics_; _Epic and Dramatic
Literature_, _History of English Literature_, _Oriental Literature
(Sacred and Profane)_, _Orations_, _Essays_. Sixty-one Crown Octavo
Volumes
ILLUSTRATED WITH FRONTISPIECES, EACH A MASTER WORK OF ART IN PORTRAITURE
OR HISTORIC PAINTING
Editors
_LIBRARY COMMITTEE_
JUSTIN McCARTHY, M.P.
_Historian and Journalist_
TIMOTHY DWIGHT, D.D., LL.D.
_Ex-President Yale University_
RICHARD HENRY STODDARD
_Author and Critic_
PAUL VAN DYKE, D.D.
_Princeton University_
ALBERT ELLERY BERGH
_Managing Editor_
_ADVISORY COMMITTEE_
JOHN T. MORGAN
_United States Senate_
FREDERIC R. COUDERT, LL.D.
_New York Bar_
EDWARD EVERETT HALE
_Author and Editor_
MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN, LL.D.
_Catholic University of America_
JULIAN HAWTHORNE
_Literary Editor_
[Illustration: Sword Dance in a Café
_Photogravure from the original painting by Jean Léon Gérôme, exhibited
in the Paris Salon, 1888_
This fine picture is a thoroughly characteristic specimen of the work of
the most popular of modern French artists. Oriental subjects especially
attracted him, as he had an eye for striking figures and brilliant
colors. He died January 10, 1904.]
TURKISH LITERATURE
COMPRISING
FABLES, BELLES-LETTRES, AND SACRED TRADITIONS
TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH FOR THE FIRST TIME
WITH A SPECIAL INTRODUCTION BY
EPIPHANIUS WILSON, A.M.
REVISED EDITION
NEW YORK
P. F. COLLIER & SON
COPYRIGHT, 1901 BY THE COLONIAL PRESS
SPECIAL INTRODUCTION
The national literature of Turkey is something with which the European
and American mind is by no means familiar, and, indeed, it has only
recently become a distinctive feature in the world’s intellectual
activity. Turkey is really an oriental country transplanted into a
European environment, and the truest affinities of Turkey are with the
far East, with Arabia and Persia. There are at least twenty-five written
languages used in the Ottoman Empire, and Turkish is sometimes written
in Arabian, sometimes in Persian characters, yet in spite of the babel
of tongues which is found at Constantinople, the strong individuality of
the Turk has manifested itself in literature as it has in politics and
government, and there exists a considerable amount of epic and lyric
poetry, drama, romance and apologue which is neither Arabian nor
Persian, but is racy of the soil, the soil being principally that of
Constantinople, where the Sultans, up to the present time, have been
eminent patrons of the literary craft; some of them, Sultan Mustapha,
for instance, in the sixteenth century, being writers of no mean
accomplishments.
It is usual to divide the history of Turkish literature into three
periods. The primitive literature of Turkey flourished between the years
1301 and 1520, during which time the Persian influence was paramount in
the romantic and mystic productions of the Ottoman poets. The Shah-Nameh
furnished many of the heroes to these Ottoman romances, and the forms of
versification are all borrowed from Iran. “The Divan” and “History of
the Forty Vezirs” belong to this period.
The middle period of Ottoman literature extends from 1520 to 1730. This
is sometimes called the classic period, because in it the capabilities
of the genuine Turkish language were tested, developed, and fixed. It
opened with the reign of Suleyman I, whose splendid achievements, as a
warrior by land and sea, won him the name of the Brilliant. The general
history of literature teaches us that national triumph in war always
gives a stimulus to national literature, and accordingly this era is
adorned by the works of Fasli, and of a host of other poets, whose
productions will be found represented in the translations contained in
the present volume.
The third period of Ottoman literature shows the Turkish writers under
the influence of European models, but ending at last in Drama,
essentially the comedy of manners, and not of European, but of Turkish
manners. The plays of Mirza Feth-Ali Akhoud-Zaidé, of one of which we
publish a translation in this volume, reflect domestic, forensic, and
official life at Constantinople during the last century as truly as
those of Molière reflect the speech and manners of Parisian society as
they existed in the reign of _le grand monarque_. The last development
of literary activity at Constantinople is shown not only by the
developments of the drama, but by the vigor displayed in the domain of
journalism.
The Ottoman poems, of which we give the only English translation extant,
that by E. J. W. Gibb, reveal the high rank taken by Turkish verse in
the poesy of the East. The Turkish metres were many and varied, and the
flexibility of the language lent itself to intricate forms of
composition. In imagination and passion these Ottoman poems will hold
their own in any company.
“The Rose and the Nightingale” of Fasli, which has been for the first
time translated into English in the present volume, is the elaboration
of an ancient Persian myth with regard to the loves of Gul and Bulbul.
There are numberless allusions to this beautiful fable in such works as
“The Divan” of Hafiz, as for instance where he says:
In blossom is the crimson rose, and the rapt Bulbul trills his song,
A summons that to revel calls you, Sufis, wine-adoring throng.
The author of this Turkish poem, Mohammed Fasli, “Black Fasli,” as he
was called from his swarthy complexion, was the son of a saddler of
Constantinople, and early became a pupil of the poet Sati. He soon
attracted the attention of the Court, and was made secretary to the
Divan by Prince Mustapha, who, as we have seen, was himself a poet.
Fasli wrote several poems of the same character as the present one,
which is, however, his best and ripest production. He died in 1563.
“The Rose and the Nightingale” is a brilliant and gorgeous example of
oriental poetry, whose charm is rather increased than diminished by the
repetition and prolixity which characterize it. The poet gives it in his
closing passages a profoundly mystical meaning, which has been so far
developed by other writers that an Armenian Christian author says that
the Springtime of Fasli means the Creation, the Rose is Christ, the
Rose-garden the Church, the Brook is Baptism, the South Wind is the
Inspiration of the Gospel, the Nightingale, the Soul full of ardent
faith, and so on. This reminds one of Pico Mirandola reconciling Moses
and Homer.
The drama, “The Magistrates,” which is here for the first time
translated into English, is the work of Mirza Feth-Ali Akhoud-Zaidé. He
is the most original native dramatist whose works have appeared in
Constantinople. Up to a comparatively recent period the theatres of
Turkey were dependent for their comedies on translations from French,
sometimes even from German or English comedies and farces. The Turk is
fond of witnessing the exertions, the excitements and perturbations of
others, while he himself remains indolent and imperturbable; hence his
passion for story-telling and for the representations of the stage. In
the dramas of Feth-Ali he sees the life of Turkey vividly reproduced.
Love rules the scene, Eastern cruelty comes in with the bastinado,
Eastern duplicity and fraud are vividly portrayed in the law-court
scene. The arrangement and development of the play are good, and the
_dénouement_ is natural and satisfactory.
This will appear from the following analysis of “The Magistrates.” In
the first place, the modern playwright will be astonished by the long
list of personages in the play. There are twenty-seven in a short drama,
consisting of a series of scenes, brief, even to jerkiness.
At the opening of the play we learn that Hadji-Ghafour, a rich merchant,
has lately died and left no will; his property is therefore claimed by
Sekine-Khanoum, his only daughter, a girl of eighteen, who is engaged to
marry Aziz-Bey. The sum of money in which the legacy consists has been
placed in the hands of the President of the Council, but before he can
pay it over to the legatee, claims have been set up in favor of an
alleged child of the late Hadji-Ghafour, borne him by his mistress
Zeneib. A conspiracy is formed, with the aid of certain soldiers who are
suborned to say that they saw the child in Hadji-Ghafour’s arms, and
that he acknowledged the paternity. The complications are increased by
the fact that Zobeide, paternal aunt of Sekine-Khanoun, has promised the
hand of her niece to a richer man than Aziz-Bey, namely, Aga-Hassan, a
merchant. The young lady so enrages Hassan by the terms in which she
repudiates him, that he joins the ranks of the conspirators, among whom
the chief is Aga-Selman, who nevertheless has undertaken to be the
advocate of Sekine-Khanoun in the coming lawsuit. The suit at last is
opened, the witnesses come ready primed to the bar, but, instead of
telling their perjured tale, relate how they were induced to promise
their support to a fabrication. The tortuous diplomacy of Aga-Selman,
the corruption of the judges, the despair of Sekine and Aziz are
depicted in the liveliest manner, and the revelations of the soldiers,
who are called by the false advocate as witnesses for Sekine-Khanoun,
but bribed to testify against her, form a double climax which is a
skilful stroke of dramatic art. The play will be interesting to the
Teutonic reader, and seems even capable of adaptation to the American or
English stage.
“The History of the Forty Vezirs” is evidently a collection of very old
stories. Its compilation is attributed to Sheik-Zada, who lived in the
reign of Murad II, 1421-1451. To this Sultan the tales are dedicated.
They are like all oriental tales, barely tinged with any ethical
significance; they aim principally at amusing and distracting the mind
by a series of quickly changing incidents; there is no attempt at
character-drawing, and an amazing element of the improbable spices the
whole series. They form, however, the most notable work in prose
produced in that period which saw the dawn of a Turkish literature, and
are only inferior to the tales of Pilpay and the Hitopadesa in their
frivolity, exaggeration and evident lack of all those features which
would indicate an earnest and conscientious study of real life. They are
none the less entertaining, and their genuine Turkish characteristics
render them valuable to the student of Ottoman literature as well as to
the general reader who may take them up merely _pour passer le temps_.
The fables by unknown authors, which we include in this volume, and
which have never before been translated into English, are much later
productions of Turkish genius. In Europe the fable has always been, in
its original form, one of the most effective and pungent vehicles of
appeal to public opinion. Witness “The Belly and the Members” of
Menenius Agrippa, so nobly rendered in Shakespeare’s “Coriolanus.” It
well illustrates La Fontaine’s excuse for his own fables, namely, that
under some circumstances a man must be silent or “strike from afar.”
From the vantage ground of the fable Menenius could rebuke a raging mob,
and Le Fontaine score the ingratitude of kings, as in more recent times
Krilof has satirized the despotic abuses of the Russian government.
The Turkish fables also “hit from afar.” The tyranny of Turkish rulers
is pointed out in “The Farmer and His Hounds.” The corruption that
surrounds access to the great is vividly suggested in “The Sailors in
Distress.” But the weaknesses of the Turkish character are also
reflected in fables which contain but little wisdom; the apathy which
puts up with everything is expressed in the moral of “The Candle”; the
want of enterprise and energy which is characteristic of the Turk, in
“The Shark” and “The Clown Turned First Soldier, then Merchant.”
In the teachings of all these apologues there may be seen the same
features of languid and unresisting acquiescence in things as they are,
with a skit here and there on the oppression and ingratitude of those in
power. Yet they bear a reality about them which is lacking in the
artificial productions of Gay and Lessing. They come from the heart and
go to the heart of the people, and some of them are neat and pointed, if
not beautiful, in structure and expression. A collection of examples
from Turkish literature would be quite incomplete without these
specimens of the Turkish apologues, which reflect so plainly the ethical
standard and general opinions of those to whom they were addressed.
[Illustration: Signature of Epiphanius Wilson.]
CONTENTS
TURKISH FABLES: PAGE
The Gardener and His Wife 3
The Fly 4
The Widow and Her Friend 4
The Two Young Men and the Cook 5
The Buffaloes and the Log 5
The Old Man and His Son 5
The Bird-catcher and the Blackbird 6
The Hens and the Eagles 6
The Pigeon and the Painting 7
The Lion and the Man 7
The Compliment to the Vezir 7
The Ass and the Frogs 8
The Tortoise and the King of Animals 8
The Fox and the Lion 8
The Farmer and His Hounds 9
The Bear and His Mate 9
The Eel and the Serpent 9
The Sailors in Distress 10
The Father and Son 10
The Poet and the Clown 10
The Shark 11
The Wolf, the Nurse, and the Child 11
The Candle 12
The Clown, Turned First Soldier, Then Merchant 12
The Two Kings at War 13
The River and Its Source 13
The Hunter and His Hounds 14
The Fool Who Sells Wisdom 14
The Dicer 15
The Lamb and the Wolf 15
The Insects, the Bee, and the Ant 15
The Two Cocks 16
The Assembly of the Birds 16
The Fox and the Crab 16
The Goats and the Wolves 17
The Lion, the Wolf, and the Fox 18
The Wolf and the Ass 18
The Fox and the Partridge 19
The Fox and the Sparrow 19
The Syrian Priest and the Young Man 20
The Converted Cat 20
The Fox and the Wolf 21
The Horse and His Rider 21
The Rose and the Butterfly 22
The Archer and the Trumpeter 23
The Wolf, the Fox, and the Shepherd’s Dog 23
THE MAGISTRATES 25
OTTOMAN POEMS:
From the Asheq Pasha Diwani 69
From the Iskender Nama 69
From the Iskender Nama 70
From Khusrev and Shirin 71
From Khusrev and Shirin 72
Yaziji Oglu 73
Ruba’i 75
Gazel 75
Fragment of Gazel 76
Gazel 76
Gazel 77
Fragment of Gazel 77
Gazel 78
Gazel 78
Gazel 79
Fragment 79
Gazel 80
From the Winter Qasida 80
From the Spring Qasida 81
From the Qasida on Sultan Bayezid II. 82
Gazel 82
Ruba’is 83
From the Spring Qasida 83
Murebba’ 84
Fragment 86
Gazel 87
Gazel 87
Gazel 88
Gazel 88
Gazel 89
On Autumn 90
On Spring 90
Rose Time 91
From an Elegy on Sultan Selim I. 92
From an Elegy on Iskender Chelebi 93
Fragment 94
Gazel 94
On the Prophet Muhammed 95
Gazel 95
Gazel 96
Gazel 96
Gazel 97
Gazel 97
Gazel 98
Gazel 98
Gazel 99
Museddes 100
Mukhammes 102
From Leylī and Mejnūn 103
Mejnūn Addresses Nevfil 104
Mejnūn’s Gazel 104
Zeyd’s Vision 105
Gazel 106
Gazel 106
Gazel 107
Gazel 107
Gazel 108
From the King and the Beggar 108
Gazel 109
Qaīsda 109
Gazel 112
Gazel 113
Gazel 113
Gazel 114
Gazel 114
Gazel 115
On Autumn 115
Gazel 116
Gazel 116
Gazel 116
Gazel 117
Elegy on Sultan Suleymān I. 118
Gazel 122
Gazel 122
Gazel 123
Museddes 123
Gazel 125
To Sultan Murād IV. 125
In Reply to the Preceding 126
Lugaz 127
Sachli Zemān 127
Jihān Bānū 127
Lā’l Para 128
Āq-Ālem 128
Museddes 128
Gazel 130
Munājāt 130
Mukhammes 131
Gazel 133
Munājāt 133
Gazel 134
Farewell Poem 135
Gazel 136
Gazel 137
Gazel 137
On a Dancing-Girl 138
Gazel 139
Fragment 139
Gazel 140
Gazel 140
The Song of Love’s Nurse 141
Love’s Song 142
Gazel 143
Museddes 144
Gazel 145
Gazel 146
Gazel 146
Description of Circassian Women 147
Description of Greek Women 147
Defeat of the French in Egypt 149
Sharqī 152
Sharqī 153
Gazel 154
Gazel 154
Gazel 155
On the Death of ‘Andelīb Khānim 156
Takhmīs 157
Sharqī 158
Gazel 159
On a Beyt of Mahmūd Nedīm Pacha 160
COUNSELS OF NABI EFENDI:
Introduction 165
Prologue 167
Details of Nabi’s Station 169
Of Nabi’s Motives in Writing the Book 170
Of the Ranks of Islam 171
First Duty of True Religion 172
The Excellence of Prayer 172
The Excellence of Fasting 174
Of Pilgrimage 174
The Excellence of Almsgiving 176
The Desirability of Knowledge 179
The Knowledge of God 181
Eulogy of Constantinople 182
On Flight from Avidity and Avarice 185
Bad Effects of Pleasantry and Jocularity 186
Nobility of Generosity 187
Eulogy of Good Nature 188
Of Lying and Hypocrisy 191
Forbidding the Practice of Astrology 192
The Defilement of Drunkenness 193
The Vanity of Adornment 194
THE ASCENSION OF MAHOMET 201
THE ROSE AND THE NIGHTINGALE:
Prelude 231
The Praise of God 232
An Address to God’s Munificence 234
Hymn of Praise 237
Ascension of the Master 240
A Blessing on the Prophets 243
The Occasion of the Poem 244
Praise of the Pearl of Lordship 248
Beginning of the Narrative 251
Description of the Rose 253
The Shah Provides a Teacher 257
Morning and Evening in the Rose Garden 257
The Attendants of the Pure Rose 258
Praise of the Rose in Her Beauty 261
The East Wind Finds the Nightingale 264
The East Wind Counsels the Nightingale 271
The Nightingale Comes to the Rose 273
The Nightingale Enters the Rose Garden 276
The Nightingale Alone in the Night 277
The Nightingale Sleepless 279
The Nightingale Addresses the Moon 281
The Nightingale Talks to the Dawn 282
The Nightingale Addresses the Sun 283
The Nightingale Turns to God 285
The Rose Hears the Nightingale 287
The Narcissus Remonstrates 289
The East Wind Meets the Nightingale 291
The East Wind Encourages the Nightingale 293
The Colloquy of the Rose 295
The Nightingale Writes to the Rose 298
The Jasmine Bears the Letter 300
The Rose Answers 301
The Hyacinth and the Nightingale 303
The Treachery of the Hyacinth 306
The Thorn Advises the Rose 308
The Thorn Slanders the Nightingale 310
Captivity of the Nightingale 311
King August Appears 314
King August Sends the Hot Wind 316
Samum Arrives 318
King August Sends His Son 319
Flight of Spring 321
Autumn Comes 323
Autumn Conquers the Rose Garden 325
Winter Appears 327
Winter Devastates the Rose Garden 328
Spring Seeks Help from the Equinox 331
Spring Vanquishes Winter 333
Spring Resides in the Rose Garden 335
The Rose Sends to the Nightingale 336
The Nightingale Hears the East Wind 337
The Nightingale Answers the East Wind 339
The Rose Visits the Nightingale 341
The Rose Seeks the Release of the Nightingale 343
The Rose Hears of the Nightingale’s Release 346
The Feast Given by the Rose 347
Description of the Revel 350
Short-lived Happiness 352
Meaning of the Tale 353
Close of the Book 356
HISTORY OF THE FORTY VEZIRS:
Introduction 361
Trial of the Three Sons 366
Stratagem Greater than Strength 374
The Wiles of Woman 379
The Search for Khizr 381
The Vezir and Khizr 384
The Sherbet-seller and the Moor 385
The Tailor and the Woman 388
Story of the Adopted Son 391
The King and the Vezir 394
The Sparrow and His Mate 396
The Crafty Vezir 398
The Three Princes and the Cadi 401
The Caliph and the Slave Girl 404
The Foolish Princes 405
Story of the Egyptian Prince 409
The Merchant’s Bequest 414
The King and the Vezir’s Son 415
The King and the Weaver 418
The Vicissitudes of Life 420
The King and the Sheykh 426
The King’s Remorse 428
Luqman’s Device 430
The King and the Dervish 432
Mahmud and Hasan 436
Story of Sultan Mahmud 438
Story of the Merchant’s Son 440
Hasan of Basra 446
The Gardener and His Son 449
The Dervish’s Advice 450
The Turkman Children 452
A Queen’s Deceit 453
The Abdal and the King 455
The Sultan and His Traitorous Son 456
Conclusion 460
TURKISH FABLES
[_Translated by Epiphanius Wilson, A.M._]
TURKISH FABLES
THE GARDENER AND HIS WIFE
A certain Gardener had a young and pretty woman for his Wife. One day,
when, according to her habit, she had gone to wash her linen in the
river, the Gardener, entering his house, said to himself:
“I do not know, really, whether my Wife loves me. I must put it to the
test.”
On saying this, he stretched himself full length upon the ground, in the
middle of the room, as if dead. Soon, his Wife returned, carrying her
linen, and perceived her husband’s condition.
“Tired and hungry as I am,” she said to herself, “is it necessary that I
should begin at once to mourn and lament? Would it not be better to
begin by eating a morsel of something?”
She accordingly cut off a piece of _pasterma_ (dried smoked meat), and
set it to roast on the coals; then she hurriedly went upstairs to the
garret, took a pot of milk, drank some of it, and put the rest on the
fire. At this moment, an old woman, her neighbor, entered, with an
earthen vessel in her hand, and asked for some burning coals.
“Keep your eye on this pot,” she said to the old woman, rising to her
feet. Then she burst into sobs and lamentations.
“Alas!” she cried, “my poor husband is dead!”
The neighbors, who heard her voice, rushed in, and the deceitful hussy
kept on repeating:
“Alas! What a wretched fate has my husband met with!” and tears flowed
afresh.
At that instant the dead man opened his eyes.
“What are you doing?” he said to her. “Finish first the roasting of the
_pasterma_, quenching your throat in milk, and boiling the remainder of
it; afterward you will find time to weep for me.”
First myself, and then those I love, says a proverb.
THE FLY
A Fly who had carelessly fallen into a pot full of food was at the point
of death.
“What does it matter?” she said, “so long as hereafter I shall feel no
more hunger, and for the present have eaten and drunk my fill, and have
received a good bath.”
Patiently to accept the misfortunes which can neither be hindered nor
avoided is a proof of wisdom.
THE WIDOW AND HER FRIEND
A Widow, tired of single blessedness, was desirous of marrying again,
but feared to draw down upon herself the remarks of the public.
A Friend of hers, to show her how the tongues of neighbors discussed
everything, took in hand to paint the Widow’s ass green; then leading
the beast, she traversed all the streets of the town.
At first not only the children, but also their elders, who had never
seen anything like it before, came to see the sight, and followed behind
the ass.
At the end of a few days, when the Widow’s ass went forth people simply
remarked: “What a very singular animal!”
Soon, however, the people ceased to pay any more attention to the
spectacle.
The Friend of the Widow who wished to marry again returned to her and
said:
“You have seen what has just happened. It will be the same in your case.
For some days you will be on the tongues of the people and have to
endure the gossip and remarks; but at last they will leave off talking
about you.”
There is nothing so extraordinary in the world as not to become familiar
in time.
THE TWO YOUNG MEN AND THE COOK
Two Young Men entered a cook-shop for the purpose of buying some meat.
While the Cook was engaged in serving one of them the other seized a
huge piece of meat and popped it into his companion’s pocket.
The Cook began looking about for his meat, but in vain. Then he
addressed the two friends.
“I have not seen it,” said one.
“As for me,” added the other, “I am sure I have not taken it.”
Then each one confirmed his statement with an oath.
“Really, gentlemen,” said the owner of the shop, who well understood
their rascality, “although I do not know who has robbed me, the God by
whom you have sworn does.”
Although a man may conceal things from men like himself, God is not
deceived.
THE BUFFALOES AND THE LOG
A pair of Buffaloes were harnessed to a heavy piece of elm wood, and
were dragging it along.
“You are stupid,” said the Log, reproachfully, “for when you are hitched
to a light burden like me, why do you not gallop?”
“Poor wretch!” they replied, “we should doubtlessly move more quickly if
we were not fastened to you. But if we moved quickly now, another log
would be placed on top of you, to make up the load, and we do not wish
to see you broken down by exhaustion.”
This answer plunged the Log into profound thought.
The proverbial expression--“the Buffaloes’ answer”--a pretext for
laziness--is founded on this fable.
THE OLD MAN AND HIS SON
A feeble Old Man had given his home to his Son; soon the hapless father
found himself driven from his home and forced to take refuge in a
hospital.
Some time afterward, he saw his Son one day passing by, and called out
to him.
“For the love of God, my Son,” he said in a supplicating tone, “send me
out of all that I have gained with the sweat of my brow a simple pair of
sheets.”
The Son promised his unfortunate father to do so.
“I will send them at once,” he answered him.
When he arrived at home he said to his own son: “Take this pair of
sheets, and carry them to your grandfather at the hospital.”
The young man left one of the sheets at home and carried the other to
his grandfather. Some time afterward his father happened to count his
sheets.
“Why didn’t you do as I told you, and carry the two sheets to your
grandfather?” he asked of his son.
“When my father becomes old and goes to the hospital, I said to myself,
I shall need this sheet to send to him.”
Your child will behave toward you as you behaved toward your parents.
THE BIRD-CATCHER AND THE BLACKBIRD
A Bird-catcher was setting his snares; a Blackbird, as he flew by,
caught sight of him.
“For the love of God,” he said to him, “do tell me what you are building
there?”
“I am founding a complete city.”
The Blackbird believed this deceitful answer, and alighted on the net.
Scarcely had he touched it, before he found himself caught.
When the Bird-catcher came up the Blackbird said to him: “If this is the
way you build your city, you won’t attract many inhabitants.”
All men shun tyrannical magistrates and oppressors, who, by their
violence, scatter ruin around them.
THE HENS AND THE EAGLES
The Hens were at war with the Eagles.
When the day of battle came near, the Hens went and asked the foxes to
help them.
“We would willingly help you,” replied the foxes, “if we could forget
what you are, and what Eagles are.”
He who enters upon a quarrel with one more powerful than himself runs a
great risk, and is certain to meet with disaster.
THE PIGEON AND THE PAINTING
A Pigeon in its simplicity took for real water the stream represented in
a Painting.
He flew down toward it with a sudden swoop, fell to the ground, and was
quickly caught.
How many stupid and ignorant people ignore the real condition of things,
follow entirely their own silly notions, and at last find themselves in
serious trouble!
THE LION AND THE MAN
A Lion and a Man were journeying together as friends; they took turns in
boasting each of his own merits. As they advanced on their way, they saw
a mausoleum on which was carved in marble a man trampling a lion under
his feet.
The Man called the attention of the Lion to this sculpture.
“I need say no more,” he remarked, “this is sufficient to show that man
surpasses the Lion in strength and vigor.”
“The chisel is in the hands of men,” replied the beast, “so they
represent in sculpture whatever they like. If we could handle it as you
do, you would see what would be the subjects of our works.”
Artists do not base their creations upon the realities of life, but
follow the ideas which pass through their heads.
THE COMPLIMENT TO THE VEZIR
A Vezir had just received his appointment; those who had supported him
came to compliment him on his promotion to a post of honor.
He was so inflated by the homage he received, that he came at last to
pass by his former friends without noticing them.
“Who are you?” he asked one of them.
“My God,” exclaimed the other, who was a wit: “I feel sorry for you
indeed, for your Excellency, like most of those who have reached an
eminent position, has suddenly lost sight, hearing, and memory, so that
you no longer know your former friends.”
It generally happens that those who attain to high station feel contempt
for their friends.
THE ASS AND THE FROGS
An Ass was walking along loaded with wood; as he journeyed he fell into
a pond, and lamented because he could not get out.
The Frogs, dwellers in the pond, heard his cries and came up to him.
“Pray tell us,” they said to him, “how is it that you, who have been but
a moment in this pond, cry out so vehemently. What would you do, if like
us, you had been here for an infinite time?”
Such were the sarcastic consolations they addressed to him.
Young people full of vigor, and capable of enduring all sorts of
hardship, too often deride the feebleness of the old.
THE TORTOISE AND THE KING OF ANIMALS
The quadrupeds and birds assembled one day at an entertainment given by
the King of Beasts. Both those who go on foot and those who fly were
there.
The Tortoise arrived late because of his slow motion, and asked pardon
for his want of punctuality.
“I have such a pleasant home,” said he, “that I never leave it without
regret.”
“At some future time,” cried the Lion in a rage, “you will have a house
of stone which you can never leave.”
This fable is addressed to those who, instead of keeping to their own
vocation, are anxious to attend the entertainments of the great.
THE FOX AND THE LION
A Fox who had never seen a lion in his life met one of the greatest
size. In his terror and surprise, he thought that his last hour had
come. At the second meeting, he was still somewhat alarmed, but less so
than at first. At the third sight of the Lion, he felt no fear at all,
but walked up to the Lion and began to converse with him.
By force of habit we become enabled to confront, unmoved, things the
most terrible and dangerous.
THE FARMER AND HIS HOUNDS
A Farmer who lived remote from the city, was kept at home by the
severity of the winter. Soon, his provisions were exhausted, and
finally, he was compelled to kill his great black oxen.
On seeing this, his Hounds gathered together.
“If this man,” said they, “butchers such strong oxen as these, the
mainstay of his house, do you think he will spare us? Let us make our
escape!”
Keep away from the man who without hesitation does injury to everyone
else. To avoid him is a matter of haste and necessity.
THE BEAR AND HIS MATE
A Bear, in struggling with his Mate, used his claws with such violence
that he tore her eyes out. He was immediately seized with such sorrow
that he bit off his own claws.
A short time afterward, he conversed with her in a friendly manner in
his cave.
“My dear,” he remarked to her, “for your sake, I have sacrificed my
weapons of war.”
“What good,” said she, “is that to me, now that I am blind, and deprived
by you of my precious eyes?”
Repentance cannot repair an injury once inflicted.
THE EEL AND THE SERPENT
The Eel and the Serpent were talking together.
“Why is it,” said the Eel, “that I, although I undoubtedly resemble you,
in every point, am hunted by men, while they leave you in peace?”
“Because, if they caught me, they would do it to their cost.”
No one attacks the person who always repays an injury.
THE SAILORS IN DISTRESS
A ship at sea was caught in a violent tempest. The crew, seeing her on
the point of foundering, began to address their prayers, some to one
saint, some to another, imploring them to intercede with the Almighty,
that the suppliants might be delivered in their extremity.
While they thus poured out their prayers the Captain remained unmoved.
“Fools!” he said at length, “before your patron saints have time to
carry their prayers to God, and he has given them a hearing, all of
those on board this ship will be drowned. Let us address our prayers
directly to the Most High, and implore his help!”
In obedience to the suggestion of their Captain, the Sailors cried out
aloud to God himself, and were saved.
When a man of brains and intelligence wishes to ask a favor of the
great, he avoids addressing subordinates.
THE FATHER AND SON
A certain Father had a Son of extremely bad habits.
“He who abandons himself to vicious irregularities, and wanders from the
straight path,” he said to him, “gains nothing but shame and disgrace.”
It was thus he used to speak to him plainly, and give him good counsel
and advice.
“These,” answered the Son, “are words empty and irrational!”
“Alas,” cried the Father, “can I listen to such words!”
“When you consider,” went on the Son, “that I have continued deaf to the
admonitions of the most famous preachers, who are always talking of
virtue to me, do you think I could listen to you?”
He whose natural disposition is coarse and vicious would not give up his
criminal and debauched way of life, even if Plato, or the very angels of
paradise, appealed to him.
THE POET AND THE CLOWN
A certain countryman, who was engaged in sowing his field, saw a man of
letters, who was also a Poet, approaching:
“Sir,” said the Clown to him, “how can you study, as you do, in
solitude?”
“I am a Poet,” replied the other; “at first I studied in company with
others, but now I go on in my education alone.”
The uneducated man who begins by seeking the society of the learned, in
this way becomes educated. In time he grows capable of finishing his
education, unaided by others.
THE SHARK
A Shark, taking up his station at the mouth of a river, ruled over all
the inhabitants of the waters. As he conducted himself with extreme
violence toward them, they showed every sign of submissiveness. He had,
in fact, become their King, and they treated him as such.
The Shark was unduly elated by his situation. “Wherefore,” said he to
himself, “should I not extend my dominion still farther?”
Taking advantage of a favorable opportunity, he left the river and went
out to sea, with a view of expanding his domain. “I must now subjugate
the fishes who dwell here,” he remarked.
He was thus dreaming of ocean conquest, when he met the whale. Seized
with alarm, and frozen with terror, the would-be conqueror fled, and
regained the mouth of the river, feeling quite dejected. Henceforth he
was very careful not to leave his lurking-place.
Let us beware of giving up a satisfactory position, in pursuit of
vainglory, and for the sake of increasing our power; in all cases let us
limit our desires.
THE WOLF, THE NURSE, AND THE CHILD
A certain Wolf was wandering round in search of prey. He entered a
village and heard a Child crying.
“What are you crying for?” asked the Child’s old Nurse. “Unless you stop
I will give you to the Wolf.”
Some time afterward, when the Child had stopped crying, the old woman
began to flatter and humor him. “If the Wolf comes,” said she, “we will
tie him fast, then we will give him a beating, and hit him so hard that
it will kill him, and after that we will give him to the cat.”
“Lord deliver us from the people of this house!” cried the Wolf, on
hearing these words. “Nothing is less to be relied upon than their
words; one moment they speak in one way, and the next in another!”
Saying this, he took himself off, and hurriedly retired.
Do not trust the promises of people whose word is as changeable as the
color of the chameleon.
THE CANDLE
A Candle, made of soft and pliant wax, lamented over the fact that the
slightest touch injured it. It did nothing but sigh, and burst out into
bitter complaints against its dismal lot, especially dwelling upon the
fact that bricks, although at first tender and pasty, grow hard from
heat and thus acquire an age-long durability. In order to acquire the
same hardness, and to reap the same advantages, it leaped into the fire,
melted, and was consumed.
It is useless to rise up in irritation and revolt against the
disadvantages which are inherent in our nature, our constitution, or our
position.
THE CLOWN TURNED FIRST SOLDIER, THEN MERCHANT
A certain Clown, occupied in cultivating his field, guided the plough
now this way, now that, and in the midst of his task felt sorry that he
had not been more favored by fortune.
A number of volunteers, who formed part of a brigade, which had just
come back victorious from war, happened at this moment to pass by,
loaded with rich and abundant booty, and plentifully supplied with
provisions. Moved by the sight of them, the laborer set to work to sell
his sheep, goats, and oxen; with the price received for these he
collected horses, weapons, and ammunition, with a view of joining the
army on campaign. Just on his arrival, this army was beaten by the
enemy, and utterly routed; the baggage of the new-comer was seized, and
he himself returned home, crippled with wounds.
“I am disgusted with the military profession,” he said, “and I am going
to be a business man. In spite of my slender income I shall be able to
realize great profits in trade.”
He accordingly sold his remaining arms and ammunition, and employed the
proceeds in the purchase of goods which he put on board a ship and
embarked himself as passenger. As soon as they had put to sea, a tempest
fell upon the ship, which went down with the Merchant on board.
He who seeks for a better position in life, finds a worse one and falls
at last into misery. Do not try to learn by experience the disadvantages
of each several condition.
THE TWO KINGS AT WAR
A King, the hero of his age, had declared war upon one of his neighbors.
The enemy for want of resources, had not been able to make sufficient
preparations, and did not know how to meet the emergency. He sent out a
spy to meet the foe.
The fellow, gazing from a distance, saw advancing a countless multitude
of soldiers, armed with lances.
He immediately turned and galloped back to his sovereign.
“My Lord,” he said, “you are about to be attacked by an army as numerous
as current coin, for I saw advancing such a crowd of lances that they
hide the sun from us.”
“Take this robe of honor,” said the monarch; “please God we shall fight
to-day in the shadow of the enemy.”
By this warlike answer, he was able to inspire his troops with a daring
and courage which were invincible.
He who suffers himself neither to be cast down by alarm nor dismayed by
danger can surmount every obstacle.
THE RIVER AND ITS SOURCE
A River one day said to its Source: “How idle and good-for-nothing you
are! In spite of your incessant movement you do not contain the
slightest quantity of fish! In me, on the contrary, are seen more choice
fishes swimming than in any other watercourse; thus I produce joy and
happiness in all the plains and their inhabitants, through which I pass!
You seem to me to be a corpse, from which life has completely vanished.”
The Source, indignant at these insulting words, made no reply, but began
to diminish the quantity of water which she furnished to the River;
soon she entirely ceased to feed it. By this means the height of the
flood sank gradually, until at last water failed entirely, and River and
fish disappeared together.
This fable is addressed to those who treat their friends in a similar
manner and imagine that their prosperity is specially and directly due
to the munificence of God.
An ungrateful man, says the poet, is one who addresses no thanks to
Divine Providence for the innumerable gifts showered upon him: he is a
blasphemer, as well as an ingrate, who is grateful toward no one
excepting the giver of them all.
THE HUNTER AND HIS HOUNDS
A certain Hunter, who was seized with an ardent desire to make his prey
a superb anqua,[1] spent large sums of money in the keeping of Hounds.
By accident, one of his bitches bit his son, and the child died of the
wound.
“Since the Hounds have caused his death,” said the master to the
servants, “let us kill them all.”
“Alas!” cried one of the poor creatures, “all of us must die for the
fault committed by a single one of us!”
A single scoundrel is sufficient to bring ruin on a whole ward.
THE FOOL WHO SELLS WISDOM
A certain Fool kept constantly passing through the streets of a town.
“Who will buy Wisdom?” he cried in a loud voice. A passer-by met him on
his way, accosted him, and presented him with some small pieces of
money.
“Sell me a little Wisdom,” he said.
“Here it is,” replied the other, cuffing him heartily. Immediately
afterward he put into his hands a long thread.
“If you wish in future to be wise and prudent,” said the Fool to him,
“always keep as far away from fools as the length of this thread.”
We should avoid all connection and communication with fools and cranks.
THE DICER
A Dicer one day lost at play all that he possessed, even to his clothes.
Sitting at the door of a wine shop he burst into tears.
One of his friends happened to pass, and noticed the state he was in.
“Have you anything the matter with you that you are so mournful, my
friend?” he inquired.
“I have nothing,” replied the other.
“Nothing?” went on the other. “Then there is no reason for weeping.”
“It is really because I have nothing that I weep,” replied he.
Numerous are the applications of this profound fable.
THE LAMB AND THE WOLF
A tender lamb was in the fold, when suddenly a Wolf entered for the
purpose of devouring her. Throwing herself at the feet of the Wolf, she
said, weeping: “God has put me in your power; sound therefore your horn
in order to grant me one moment’s delight; my desires will then be
perfectly satisfied, for my parents have told me that the race of wolves
are the best players on the horn.” The Wolf heard this silly proposal,
and set himself to cry out with all his might and main; when lo and
behold, the dogs were waked up and attacked him. He took to flight, and
did not stop until he reached a hill, where he said, lamenting: “I
certainly deserve this mishap, for who has made me a musician, when I
have never been anything but a butcher?”
This fable proves that many good people are deceived by attending to
silly proposals, and afterward, like the Wolf, are sorry for it; and
that many others undertake, either in word or deed, things for which
they are not adapted, and consequently fall into misfortune.
THE INSECTS, THE BEE, AND THE ANT
The Insects betook themselves one winter to the dwellings of the Bee and
the Ant.
“Give us some food,” they said, “for we are dying of hunger.”
The others answered: “What do you do in summer time?”
“We rest on the spreading trees,” they replied, “and we cheer the
traveller with our pleasant songs.”
“If that be so,” was the reply, “it is no wonder that you are dying of
hunger; you are therefore no proper objects of charity.”
This fable shows that the foolish virgins ask charity, and those who are
wise refuse to give, because there comes a time when not charity but
justice is to be rendered.
During the time of this life, which is our summer, we must gather, by
wisdom and industry, the spiritual food, without which, we shall be
made, at the day of judgment, to die of hunger in hell.
THE TWO COCKS
Two Cocks were fighting in the middle of a street; he who defeated his
comrade and flung him to the ground was inflated with pride at his
victory.
He flew off, and taking his station on a high place, began to swagger up
and down and to crow, elated with victory. While he thus exhibited his
vanity an eagle unexpectedly swooped down upon him and carried him off.
This fable shows that he who rejoices over the defeat of his adversary,
or plumes himself upon victory over a foe, brings upon his own head,
without knowing it, torments and sufferings which will compel him to
deplore his own lot.
THE ASSEMBLY OF THE BIRDS
The Birds gathered together and elected the Peacock and crowned him
King, on account of his great beauty.
Then the Dove came to him and said: “O excellent King, if the Eagles
harass us, how will you be able to bring help?”
This fable shows that beauty is not the sole attribute to be sought for
in a king, but that he is required to show on every occasion, courage,
military valor, and ripe wisdom.
THE FOX AND THE CRAB
The Fox and the Crab lived together like brothers; together they sowed
their land, reaped the harvest, thrashed the grain and garnered it.
The Fox said one day: “Let us go to the hill-top, and whoever reaches it
first shall carry off the grain for his own.”
While they were mounting the steep the Crab said:
“Do me a favor; before you set off running, touch me with your tail, so
that I shall know it and be able to follow you.”
The Crab opened his claws, and when the Fox touched him with his tail,
he leaped forward and seized it, so that when the Fox reached the goal
and turned round to see where the Crab was, the latter fell upon the
heap of grain and said: “These three bushels and a half are all mine.”
The Fox was thunderstruck and exclaimed:
“How did you get here, you rascal?”
This fable shows that deceitful men devise many methods and actions for
getting things their own way, but that they are often defeated by the
feeble.
THE GOATS AND THE WOLVES
All the Goats gathered together and sent a message to the nation of the
Wolves. “Wherefore,” said they, “do you make upon us this ceaseless war?
We beseech you, make peace with us, as the kings of nations are wont to
do.”
The Wolves assembled in great joy, and sent a long letter and many
presents to the nation of the Goats. And they said to them:
“We have learned your excellent resolution and we have rendered thanks
to God for it. The news of this peace will occasion great joy in the
world. But we beg to inform your wisdom that the shepherd and his dog
are the causes of all our differences and quarrels; if you make an end
of them, tranquillity will soon return.”
On learning this, the Goats drove away the shepherds and their dogs, and
ratified a treaty of peace and friendship with the Wolves.
The Goats then went out and scattered themselves without fear among the
hills and valleys, and began to feed and render thanks to God. The
Wolves waited for ten days, then they gathered themselves together
against the Goats, and strangled them every one.
This fable shows that hatred and aversion between nations and families,
or between individuals, is deeply rooted in the heart of man, and that
peace and friendship are not established among them, excepting with the
greatest difficulty.
THE LION, THE WOLF, AND THE FOX
The Lion, the Wolf, and the Fox, having made an alliance, went forth to
hunt, and captured a ram, a sheep, and a lamb.
When dinner time came the Lion said to the Wolf, “Divide the prey among
us.”
The Wolf replied: “O King, God apportions them thus: the ram is for you,
the sheep for me, and the lamb for the Fox.”
The Lion flew into a violent rage at this and gave the Wolf a blow upon
the cheek that made his eyes bulge out. He retired in bitter tears.
Then the Lion addressed the Fox, bidding him apportion the prey.
“O King,” he answered, “God has already apportioned it. The ram is for
your dinner, we will join you in eating the sheep, and you shall sup
upon the lamb.”
“Little rogue of a Fox,” said the Lion, “who taught you to apportion
things with such equity?”
“The starting eyes of the Wolf taught me that,” replied the Fox.
This fable shows that many wicked men see the error of their ways, and
amend, so soon as kings and princes cause robbers and malefactors to be
hanged.
THE WOLF AND THE ASS
The Wolf having come upon an Ass who was in prime condition wished to
eat him.
Then the Ass said: “I beseech you, Mr. Wolf, cure me of a wound which I
have in the foot; an abominable nail has pierced it, and produces
intense suffering. Afterward, you can eat me, for God has destined me to
be your food.”
The Wolf accordingly went behind the Ass for the purpose of extracting
the nail; but at that moment the Ass flung out a kick with all his
strength, which struck the Wolf and smashed his teeth. The Wolf, weeping
bitterly, reflected:
“It is right that I suffer this disaster, for being by nature a butcher,
no one can make a blacksmith of me.”
This fable shows many people are filled with sorrow and regret, from
attempting to practise arts and accomplishments which they have never
learned, and which are unsuited to their life.
THE FOX AND THE PARTRIDGE
The Fox having caught a Partridge was preparing to eat it. But the
latter said:
“Blessed be God, who calls me to his kingdom, and delivers me from the
evils of this world. But do you, Mr. Fox, render thanks to God for this
feast upon me, which will be your great reward.”
The Fox sat down, looked up to heaven, and opened his mouth, saying:
“I thank thee, gracious God, for the excellent feast thou hast prepared
for me.”
As he spoke, the Partridge slipped from his jaws, and flew away. Then
the Fox said: “Fool and dotard that I am! I should have eaten first, and
thanked God afterward.”
This fable warns us not to count on things that are promised, and not to
thank anyone until we have actually received a favor.
THE FOX AND THE SPARROW
The Fox held a Sparrow in his mouth and was on the point of eating it,
when the latter said:
“You ought first to give thanks to God, and then you can eat me, for at
this moment I am on the point of laying an egg, big as that of an
ostrich. It is a priceless egg, but let me go, that I may lay it, and
afterward you may eat me. I swear that I will put myself at your
disposal.”
As soon as the Fox dropped him, he flew off and lighted on the branch of
a very high tree. Then the Fox said to him:
“Come, now, do as you have decided, and return when I ask you.”
“Do you think I am as senseless as you are?” asked the Sparrow, “that I
should return at your pleasure? How could you possibly believe me, or
imagine that such a little body could lay such a disproportionately
large egg? Listen to the advice I give you: Don’t you credit
extravagant statements, or go to sleep under a tottering wall.”
The Fox answered: “God will judge you for the trick you have played me.”
“Some falsehoods,” answered the Sparrow, “are praiseworthy; God highly
rewards the lie that delivers one from death or danger, and which saves
another’s life.”
The Fox then concealed himself near by, and began to plot and peer for
the capture of the Sparrow; but the latter dropped dung into his eyes,
saying: “O fool, listen to another piece of advice: Do not strive after
that which you cannot attain, and in the quarrels of husband and wife,
or of brothers, say not a single indiscreet word of which you may
afterward repent.”
THE SYRIAN PRIEST AND THE YOUNG MAN
A Syrian Priest, good and wise, and an Armenian were engaged in a
dispute. The Young Man, at last enraged, said to the Priest:
“I will drive this stone down your throat, in order that your thirty-two
teeth may choke you.”
The Priest returned hastily to his house, lost in astonishment, and said
to his wife:
“In the name of God, wife, light a candle, and count how many teeth I
have.”
She counted them and said:
“They are just thirty-two in number.”
The Priest at once returned to the Young Man and said:
“How did you learn the number of my teeth? And who told you?”
“Sir,” replied the other, “I learned the number of your teeth from the
number of my own.”
This fable shows that from my own bad qualities I am able to guess
yours, for all faults are common.
THE CONVERTED CAT
The Cat, having put on the cowl and become a monk, sent word to the mice
and said:
“It is an abominable thing to shed blood. As for me, I will shed no
more, for I am become religious.”
Then the mice replied: “Although we saw in you the whole Order of St.
Anthony, or of our holy Father St. Mark, we could have no confidence in
your hypocrisy.”
The Cat covered herself with a dust rag, and smeared herself with flour.
The mice approached her, saying:
“Wretch, we see through your dust rag!”
Then she pretended to be dead, and lay in the path of the mice, who
approached her and said:
“Miserable cheat, although your skin be made into a purse, we could not
believe that you had given up your habitual knavery.”
This fable shows that when you have once found out a person of
dishonest, treacherous, and evil character, you should not trust him,
even if he tries to do right, for he cannot change his nature.
THE FOX AND THE WOLF
The Fox deceived the Wolf, telling him that if he delivered a letter to
the heads of the village, they would give him food to bring back. When
the Wolf reached the village the dogs fell upon him, biting and wounding
him. When he returned in a sad plight the Fox said to him: “Why did you
not show your letter?”
“I did show it,” was the reply, “but there were a thousand dogs, who did
not know the handwriting.”
This fable shows that there are many people ignorant, though brave, with
whom it is best not to dispute or to mix, but prudently to keep away
from them.
THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER
The Horse complained to his Rider, saying that it was unjust that a fair
and powerful creature, such as he was, should be a slave and carry so
weak a thing as man.
His Rider replied: “I feed you, I shelter you with a roof, and I show
you where water and grass are to be found.”
“But you take away my liberty, and put a hard bit in my mouth. You weary
me with long journeys, and sometimes expose me to the dangers of
battle,” answered the Horse.
“Take, then, your liberty,” said his master, removing the bridle from
his head and the saddle from his back.
The Horse bounded off into the mountains, where grass and water
abounded. For many weeks he enjoyed ease and plenty. But a pack of
wolves, seeing him in good condition, pursued him. At first he easily
outstripped them, but he was now heavy with much nourishment, and his
breath began to fail. The wolves overtook and threw him to the ground.
When he found his last hour was come he exclaimed mournfully. “How happy
and safe I was with my master, and how much lighter and easier were his
bridle and spur than the fangs of these blood-thirsty enemies!”
This fable shows that many people do not estimate duly the blessings of
their condition, and complain about those duties, the performance of
which is the sole condition of their life and safety.
THE ROSE AND THE BUTTERFLY
A Rose growing in a garden of Tiflis saw in summer time a Butterfly of
many colors fluttering in a neighboring flower-bed.
“Poor creature,” said the flower, “how short your life is! You are here
to-day and gone to-morrow. But I remain on my stalk, spread my leaves in
the sun, and scatter scent on the air without change.”
“I have the power of going into many gardens,” replied the Butterfly.
“You are only a prisoner; I can get under shelter when it rains, seek
the shade when the sun is hot, and if my life is short, it is a merry
one. Besides, your life is short also, and a storm at any moment may
throw you to the ground and scatter your red petals in the dust.”
The Rose tossed her head in a burst of rage. “I am at least beautiful
and fragrant while my life lasts; but you are no more than a worm with a
pair of wings.”
There would have been more angry words between these two had not the
lady of the house come that moment and plucked the Rose, while a bird
from the bough of an oak-tree swooped down and carried off the
Butterfly.
This fable shows that pride and vanity make people very often fancy
themselves superior to others, while all are really of no importance,
being subject to the same condition of decay and death.
THE ARCHER AND THE TRUMPETER
The Archer and the Trumpeter were travelling together in a lonely place.
The Archer boasted of his skill as a warrior, and asked the Trumpeter if
he bore arms.
“No,” replied the Trumpeter, “I cannot fight. I can only blow my horn,
and make music for those who are at war.”
“But I can hit a mark at a hundred paces,” said the Archer. As he spoke
an eagle appeared, hovering over the tree tops. He drew out an arrow,
fitted it on the string, shot at the bird, which straightway fell to the
ground, transfixed to the heart.
“I am not afraid of any foe, for that bird might just as well have been
a man,” said the Archer proudly. “But you would be quite helpless if
anyone attacked you.”
They saw at that moment a band of robbers approaching them with drawn
swords. The Archer immediately discharged a sharp arrow, which laid low
the foremost of the wicked men. But the rest soon overpowered him and
bound his hands.
“As for this Trumpeter, he can do us no harm, for he has neither sword
nor bow,” they said, and did not bind him, but took away his purse and
wallet.
Then the Trumpeter said: “You are welcome, friends, but let me play you
a tune on my horn.”
With their consent he blew loud and long on his trumpet, and in a short
space of time the guards of the King came running up at the sound, and
surrounded the robbers and carried them off to prison.
When they unbound the hands of the Archer he said to the Trumpeter:
“Friend, I have learned to-day that a trumpet is better than a bow; for
you have saved our lives without doing harm to anyone.”
This fable shows that one man ought not to despise the trade of another.
It also shows that it is better to be able to gain the help of others
than to trust to our own strength.
THE WOLF, THE FOX, AND THE SHEPHERD’S DOG
A Fox was once carrying home to his young a leveret which he had caught
by stealth. On his way he met a Wolf, who said to him, “I am very
hungry, and I hope you will not refuse me a taste of your prey.”
“In the name of God,” cried the Fox, “eat your fill; but leave me a
fragment for the supper of my little ones.”
The Wolf, however, swallowed the dainty morsel at a mouthful. Although
the Fox was very angry he said in a humble voice: “I am glad that your
appetite is so good. Farewell. Perhaps some day I will gain for you
another meal of equal sweetness.”
When they parted the Fox began to plot how he might revenge himself upon
his enemy the Wolf. Now it happened that a Shepherd’s Dog came to the
Fox for advice. He asked him how he should destroy the Wolf, who every
night kept robbing his master’s folds.
“That is an easy matter,” replied the Fox. “You must put on a wolf’s
skin, so that when the Wolf sees you he will make up to you without
fear, and then you can seize him by the throat and strangle him.”
The Wolf also came to the Fox for counsel.
“The Shepherd’s Dog,” he complained, “barks when I approach the fold,
and the sticks and stones of the shepherds often give me a severe
mauling. How shall I be able to kill him?”
“That is easy,” said the Fox; “put on a sheep’s skin, enter the fold
with the flock, and lie down with them. At midnight you can strangle the
Dog unawares, afterward feast as much as you like.”
Then the Fox went back to the Dog and told him to look out for the Wolf
disguised as a Sheep.
When night came the Wolf entered the fold dressed like a sheep, and had
no fear, for he saw no dog, but only a wolf at the door. But the Dog saw
the fierce eyes of the Wolf and flew at his throat. Meanwhile the
shepherds heard the noise, and as they saw a wolf mangling a sheep, they
laid on the Dog’s back with their heavy staves until he died, but not
before he had strangled the Wolf.
This fable shows how unwise it is to seek help from people without
principle.
THE MAGISTRATES
BY
MIRZA FETH-ALI AKHOUD ZAIDÉ
[_Translated by Epiphanius Wilson, A.M._]
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN, a young lady of eighteen, sister of the late Hadji-Ghafour.
AZIZ-BEY, the lover and _fiancé_ of Sekiné-Khanoun.
ZOBEIDE, paternal aunt of Sekiné-Khanoun.
ZEINEB-KHANOUN, mistress of the late Hadji-Ghafour.
AGA-ABBAS, brother of Zeineb.
AGA-SELMAN, son of the sieve-maker, advocate of Sekiné-Khanoun.
AGA-MERADAN, son of the confectioner, advocate of Zeineb.
AGA-HASSAM, a merchant.
AGA-KERIM, chief of the courtiers.
GOUL-SEBAH, servant of Sekiné-Khanoun.
THE PRESIDENT OF THE TRIBUNAL.
AGA-REHIM, }
AGA-DJEBBAR, } Assessors of the Tribunal.
AGA-BECHIN, }
AGA-SETTAR, }
THE INSPECTOR OF THE MARKET.
HEPOU, }
CHEIDA, } witnesses for Zeineb.
QOURBAN ALI, }
HANIFE, }
BEDEL, }
QUHREMAN, } soldiers, witnesses for Sekiné-Khanoun.
GHAFFER, }
NEZER, }
THE CHIEF OF THE BAILIFFS.
ECED, domestic to the President of the Tribunal.
NASSER, a lackey.
A seven months’ old infant.
THE MAGISTRATES
ACT FIRST
Scene I--The Scene is laid in the House of the Late Merchant,
Hadji-Ghafour
_Sekiné-Khanoun, sister of Hadji-Ghafour, is discovered standing before
the window; she calls to her servant, Goul-Sebah._
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Goul-Sebah! Goul-Sebah!
GOUL-SEBAH [_entering the room_]. Here I am, madame. What do you wish?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Have you not heard of the trouble which my shameless
sister-in-law is bringing upon me, Goul-Sebah?
GOUL-SEBAH. No, madame. How could I hear about it?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. She has given notice to the President of the Tribunal
that she objects to his paying over to me the money which my brother had
placed in his hands for me. She claims that this sum should revert to
her. Good heavens! Goul-Sebah, was ever such a case heard of? I do not
know what sin I have committed against God, but things always fall out
unluckily for me.
GOUL-SEBAH. Whatever put such ideas in your head, madame? Why should
things fall out unluckily for you?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. As you are aware, Goul-Sebah, I am desperately in love
with Aziz-Bey. For two whole years did the unhappy youth in vain beseech
my brother to give him my hand; my brother would not consent, because
Aziz-Bey is the son of a heretic, and an officer of government. But now
that my brother is dead, and I am free to dispose of my hand as I
choose, I wish to enter into possession of the money which he has left
me, to provide for my wants in peace, and to fulfil the vow of my heart.
And lo and behold, this shameless sister-in-law has protested against
the payment of the legacy! We must therefore have all the worry of a
lawsuit.
GOUL-SEBAH. Is it not a fact, madame, that your sister-in-law has no
right to the legacy left by your brother?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. She certainly has none. What right could she have? She
was not his lawful wife, that she should inherit his fortune. She has
not even a child who could be co-heir to it! I do not really know why
she has protested.
GOUL-SEBAH. Do not trouble your head about it, madame. Please God,
nothing will be done against you. But make one promise to your servant;
I will pray God to bring out your business well, and to grant that you
may soon reach the goal of your desires.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. What is your desire? What promise do you wish me to make
to you?
GOUL-SEBAH. Promise me, when this affair is settled, by the favor of
God, and you have come into possession of your fortune, promise me to
defray the expenses of my wedding and to give me a husband. What could I
desire beside that?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Very well. Do you pray to God that our lawsuit may be
quickly ended, and I will give a husband to you also. But start at once,
and go to the house of Aziz-Bey, and tell him to come to me; I wish to
see what he says about all this. The President of the Tribunal has
induced me to ask an advocate to plead my cause. But I have no one in
this country excepting Aziz-Bey, and a paternal aunt--and she is, of
course, a woman, and what can a woman do for me?
GOUL-SEBAH [_she goes out and at once returns_]. Madame, here comes
Aziz-Bey himself at the very nick of time. [_Sekiné-Khanoun closes the
window and Aziz-Bey enters the room._]
=Scene II=
AZIZ-BEY [_abruptly_]. See what a mess you have led me into, Sekiné.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN [_with surprise_]. I! What mess have I led you into? But,
tell me, what has happened that you seem so vexed and gloomy?
AZIZ-BEY. Listen to me, Sekiné. You know that two years ago, just as I
left school, I fell sick with love for you, so that I had no longer
strength to leave the house, although your brother ill-treated me, and
made every effort to separate us two. During this whole time, I have
proved constant, and have put up with his harshness. My love, so far
from being cooled, has grown from day to day, and in the hope that
sooner or later we should be united, I have patiently endured all sorts
of outrage and persecutions. Meanwhile the moment of our union seemed to
be near, and my thoughts became somewhat more cheerful, and I enjoyed a
little more peace of mind--and now I learn that I am again to be plunged
into misfortune!
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. What do you say? Speak more plainly, that I may
understand your meaning. I do not comprehend you.
AZIZ-BEY. How is it you do not comprehend? Are you not aware that
yesterday, Aga-Hassam, the merchant, has sent the wife of the head of
the Traders’ Company, that of the mayor, and that of Bagis, the lawyer,
to the house of your aunt, to demand your hand of her? Your aunt has
given her word in assent.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. But my aunt talks nonsense! Who pays any attention to
her words?
AZIZ-BEY. I can stand this no longer. You must send at once and call for
your aunt, and let me with my own ears hear her declare that you shall
never be the wife of Aga-Hassam, or else I must decide to kill
Aga-Hassam this very day, and may I succeed in doing so! What is this
Hassam? A shopkeeper! He wishes to step into my shoes, to pay court to
my _fiancée_, and to cross my path, does he! By God, I will cut his
heart out with this dagger.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Very good. I will send to my aunt, and beg of her to
come at once. Then I will tell her that I am not, and never will be the
wife of Aga-Hassam. When my aunt arrives, you must go into this room,
and you will hear what she says with your own ears.--Goul-Sebah!
=Scene III=
GOUL-SEBAH. What is it, madame?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Goul-Sebah, go and ask my aunt to come here.
[_Goul-Sebah goes out_.]
=Scene IV=
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Well, but come now, whom shall we take for our advocate?
AZIZ-BEY. Advocate? For what purpose?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Alas, he asks me for what purpose! Have they not told
you, then, that my sister-in-law disputes the legacy, and wishes to
involve me in a lawsuit?
AZIZ-BEY. Yes, I have heard it said, but at present my head is whirling
round. First let your aunt come, and when she goes away, I will find an
advocate. [_At this moment a footstep is heard, Aziz-Bey returns to the
other room, and Zobeide, aunt of Sekiné-Khanoun enters the apartment._]
=Scene V=
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Good-day, my dear aunt.
ZOBEIDE. Good-day, Sekiné. How are you? Are you quite well?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Ah! how can I be well, when I have allowed you, aunt, to
promise me in marriage to Aga-Hassam? I have neither father nor brother,
and am altogether dependent on myself for the management of my life.
ZOBEIDE. Are you not ashamed to speak thus? What! not a blush! Has not
all been done in your interest? You need a husband; you must take him
who is given to you. It is not proper that young girls should speak in
this style before their elder relations. It is shameful! Fie upon you,
Sekiné!
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Not at all. I have spoken just as I choose; I will no
longer surrender my liberty, and no one shall force a husband upon me.
ZOBEIDE. Very good. You do not, then, wish to marry?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. No; I certainly do not wish to marry.
ZOBEIDE [_smiling_]. There are many girls who say no, like you; but
later on they come to reason.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. In the name of God, aunt, do not make fun of me; it is
absurd to wish me to marry Aga-Hassam; you may as well give up that idea
altogether.
ZOBEIDE. It is not possible for you to recede, my dear niece. You would
make enemies for me of all the leading people of the country.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. They may go to the devil for all I care. Aga-Hassam is
loathsome to me; the very sight of him makes me sick.
ZOBEIDE. Why is that?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. He is a low fellow.
ZOBEIDE. He may be a low fellow to everyone else, but to us he is of the
first water. He is successful in business, is very rich, and his
connections are among the leading people of the province. Where will you
find a better husband?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Even if Aga-Hassam were to load me with jewels from head
to foot I would never be his wife. Go and tell him to give up all idea
of this.
ZOBEIDE. Never. Who, pray, are you, that you presume to go back on the
word which I have given? Aga-Hassam sent to me the leading ladies of the
land. I am no child, and I, of course, consented to their offer; I had
your interest in view, and gave my word to them. Do you wish me to
appear in the eyes of the world as an imbecile? I have, I believe, both
name and rank; I have a position of dignity, and am an honorable woman.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. And so I am to be made unhappy for my whole life in
order that your reputation and your honor may suffer no damage! You have
laid a strange duty upon me, aunt. By Heaven, I swear that I will never,
never marry Aga-Hassam, even though the whole world be brought to ruin.
It is I who tell you this, and you must explain matters to him, and make
him abandon this proposal. If you do not, I will send for him myself,
and I will meet him face to face and give him such a tongue-lashing as
he never had before. I will treat him worse than a dog, and send him
away with a flea in his ear.
ZOBEIDE [_covering her face with both her hands_]. Oh! Oh! My God! Oh!
how the whole world is become topsy-turvy. The young girls of to-day
have neither shame nor reserve. Sekiné, I have never before met a girl
of such effrontery as you exhibit. I myself have been young, I have had
older relatives about me, but from respect toward them I would never
have dared to raise my head in contradiction to them. It is because of
this effrontery of yours that plague and cholera cease not to waste this
province.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. No, it is owing to the baseness of certain degraded
people that plague and cholera are raging here. This miserable wretch
has heard of my fortune of 60,000 tomans, and this is the reason why he
sent and asked for my hand. If this were not so, why did he not seek to
win me by the avenue of love and inclination? If he desired to espouse
me for my own sake, why did he keep his mouth shut, and refrain from
breathing a word during my brother’s lifetime?
ZOBEIDE. He might have had no desire to wed you in your brother’s
lifetime. But you do well to remind me of the 60,000 tomans. Are you not
aware that unless you marry Aga-Hassam he will cause you to forfeit this
sum of money?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Why, and in what way will he cause me to forfeit it?
ZOBEIDE. In what way? Why, he will go to your sister-in-law, and make
common cause with her. His kinsmen and family will support her claim and
confirm her declaration, and you will be compelled to abandon your
rights. The reason is palpable; it lies in the greed and devilish
trickery of those people whose minds are set on nothing else but the
absorption of other people’s fortunes, great and small. And what do you
know about such matters as these? Who will listen to your arguments or
pleas?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Very good. Let us admit that my rights are to be invaded
and my pleas disregarded. Still, I do not understand how a mistress, a
domestic servant, can pretend to the legacy that belongs to me. We shall
soon be told that there is neither right nor justice in this country,
and that everyone can do just what he likes, and as he understands it to
be best for himself!
ZOBEIDE. Ah, my child, is there any safeguard from the trickery of
mankind? What rights had the wife of Hadji-Rehim in the fortune of her
husband? Nevertheless 12,000 tomans in cash and a bathing establishment
were stolen from Aga-Riza, the son of Hadji-Rehim, to make a gift for
this vile woman. By all sorts of rascalities the advocate of this woman
forged a deed of gift, and pretended that Hadji-Rehim in his lifetime
transferred to his wife 12,000 tomans, in specie, and a bathing
establishment. Five or six persons were produced as witnesses, and in
spite of his cries and lamentations, the money and the _hammam_ were
stolen from poor Aga-Riza, who utterly failed to obtain justice. You are
quite unaware of the diabolical wiles of law officers in this country;
no one can escape from the manœuvres of these people, no one can see
through these manœuvres and false statements. Do you think that I have
promised your hand to Aga-Hassam to please myself? Not at all. I have
seen that there was no course to take, and I said to myself that we must
accept the situation with a good grace; and that this was the best thing
to be done.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Even though all my fortune should be swallowed up to the
last penny, I will never be the wife of Aga-Hassam. Go, then, and
explain this to him; tell him that your niece refused her consent.
ZOBEIDE. Do not speak in this way, Sekiné. I see your plan. You wish to
become the wife of Aziz-Bey, and to mingle the blood of our race with
heretics; to bring in those people, and to set them at the head of our
family; to do despite to the spirits of our ancestors, and to cover
yourself with disgrace. Never, up to this day, has such a thing been
seen in our family. How can the daughter of an honest, God-fearing
merchant become the wife of an unbeliever? How is it possible?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. How do you know that I desire to espouse Aziz-Bey? I
wish to espouse neither him nor anyone else. I wish to remain in my own
house. Be quick, then, and give my message to Aga-Hassam.
ZOBEIDE. You are a young girl, you have not reached years of discretion,
and cannot see your own interests. I have not the slightest intention of
going to find Aga-Hassam, and telling him that my niece is unwilling to
marry him. I have promised you to him, and he left after receiving my
word on it; you may spare yourself further talk on this matter.
[_Zobeide rises and goes out._]
=Scene VI=
AZIZ-BEY. You see now what real trouble I am in. I shall go off at once.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Where will you go?
AZIZ-BEY. To this villain, Aga-Hassam, to punish him as he deserves. I
can no longer restrain myself.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. What is the matter with you? Do not go; remain here. You
will otherwise commit some blunder. I intend sending someone from me to
this wretch, to tell him to come here, and I will compel him myself to
abandon these designs of his.--Goul-Sebah! [_Enter Goul-Sebah._]
=Scene VII=
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Goul-Sebah, go to the home of Aga-Hassam, the merchant,
take him aside, and tell him that a woman asks for him on a most
important errand; but do not mention my name. [_Exit Goul-Sebah. Then
Sekiné-Khanoun turns toward Aziz-Bey_.]
=Scene VIII=
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. By heavens, Aziz-Bey, you are a child whose lips are
still wet with your nurse’s milk! Go and look at yourself in the glass
and see how red your eyes are from rage. How is it you have so little
force of character? This base fellow cannot take me by force.
AZIZ-BEY. You are right; but what can I do when my heart is overflowing.
[_Footsteps heard without. Aziz-Bey returns to the other chamber.
Sekiné-Khanoun veils her face and seats herself. Enter Goul-Sebah with
Aga-Hassam_.]
=Scene IX=
AGA-HASSAM. Good-day, madame.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN [_pleasantly_]. Good-day, sir. Do you know who I am,
brother Hassam?
AGA-HASSAM. No, madame, I do not.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Really! Well, Aga-Hassam, I must inform you that I am
Sekiné, the sister of Hadji-Ghafour.
Aga-Hassam [_in astonishment_]. Indeed! I have heard of you. Can I do
any thing for you? I am your humble servant and your slave, your
domestic, your lackey.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. No, Aga-Hassam, let me beg you to be neither my slave
nor my servant; be my brother, both in this world and in the next, and
give up all idea of marrying me. It is for the purpose of making this
simple request that I have called you here; this is all I have to say to
you.
AGA-HASSAM [_in confusion_]. But, madame, why do you not permit me to be
your slave? What fault have I committed?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. You have committed no fault, and it is best that I
should speak plainly to you. I am informed that you sent to my aunt to
ask for my hand; but it is quite useless for her to give her consent to
your demand. I may as well tell you that I am not the person to suit you
in this matter; abandon, therefore, your purpose. From henceforth do not
name me in connection with this subject again.
AGA-HASSAM. And pray, madame, why is this? Give me the reason. Let me
understand why I am not worthy to offer you my services.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. The reason I need not explain. All I have to ask of you
is to leave me alone.
AGA-HASSAM. But really, madame, I must know what fault I have committed
which makes you repulse me.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. You have not committed a single fault, my brother. But I
am to-day mistress of my own actions, and I do not desire to become your
wife. I do not love you; nothing can force the heart to love.
AGA-HASSAM. It is very wrong of you to speak in this strain, madame. Do
not repeat such words.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. I understand what you mean. Well, do your worst. Spare
me, or spare me not, it matters not to me, vile wretch!
AGA-HASSAM. Ah! you will repent of this later on. But think again for a
while, and consider whether you have nothing more to say to me.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. I have considered the whole question, and I have but one
more observation to make. Leave me! and do whatever you will. There is
no one more despicable than you are.
AGA-HASSAM [_enraged_]. Are you mad? I intend to lead you such a dance
that everyone will talk about it; even to the day of your death you will
remember it. [_He rises._]
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Begone! Begone! He who fears you is lower than you are.
Do your worst against me. Begone!--What does he say? Does he fancy that
anyone is afraid of him? [_Aga-Hassam withdraws, and Aziz-Bey comes back
into the room._]
=Scene X=
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Come in and let me think over matters. One stone
frightens away a hundred crows.
AZIZ-BEY. I am going to tell the whole affair to Chah-Zade, the King’s
son, and ask him to settle it offhand.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. The Prince Royal cannot stop the lawsuit. In any case we
must have an advocate.
AZIZ-BEY. The Prince Royal cannot stop the lawsuit; but he can defeat
the artifices of a rascal like Aga-Hassam. I must inform him of the
affair. My father has long been devoted to his service, and he is well
disposed toward me; he has promised to give me employment and to
establish me in an office, and to give me my father’s fortune.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. That is all very good, but let us first secure the
services of an advocate; afterward you can go and tell the whole story
to the Prince Royal, and he will see what is best to be done.
AZIZ-BEY. Very good. Whom would you like to have for an advocate? [_At
this moment Goul-Sebah enters the room._]
=Scene XI=
GOUL-SEBAH. Madame, a certain individual who professes to have important
business to discuss with you is waiting at the door. He asks if there is
anyone who can serve as his representative with you.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Certainly, Aziz-Bey is here. Tell the man to come in; we
wish to know what he wants. [_Goul-Sebah goes out._]
=Scene XII=
AZIZ-BEY. Do you think it wise that the newcomer should see me with you?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Do people know who you are? Probably you will be taken
for one of my family. [_Aga-Kerim enters the room. Sekiné-Khanoun veils
herself._]
=Scene XIII=
AGA-KERIM. Good-day to you both.
AZIZ-BEY. Good-day, sir. Be seated, if you please; you are welcome.
AGA-KERIM [_seating himself and turning to Aziz-Bey._] My young master,
kindly tell me your name.
AZIZ-BEY. My name is Aziz-Bey.
AGA-KERIM. It is a fortunate name. But Aziz-Bey, may I speak to you on a
certain matter in the presence of Sekiné-Khanoun?
AZIZ-BEY. You may address your remarks directly to Sekiné-Khanoun. Do
not think that she is frivolous like other young ladies; she delights in
conversation, and will not be at all bashful in answering your
questions.
AGA-KERIM. She is right. But let me first of all inform you, Aziz-Bey,
that I am Aga-Kerim, the chief of the courtiers, and that I was a close
friend of the late Hadji-Ghafour. I happened to drop in on business a
moment ago, at the house of Aga-Merdan, the son of the confectioner. By
chance Aga-Hassam, the merchant, was also there. He greeted me, sat
down, and spoke as follows: “I am told, Aga-Merdan, that you are the
advocate of Zeineb, the widow of Hadji-Ghafour. I take your side in
this lawsuit, and I have something to say to you in confidence.” I saw
that they wanted to have a private talk, so I withdrew. I learned,
however, that they were plotting against Sekiné-Khanoun, and I therefore
came to warn her, merely from a feeling of gratitude toward
Hadji-Ghafour.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. I am delighted to find, Aga-Kerim, that you have not
forgotten the claims of friendship, and that in the present emergency
you have remembered the sister of an old friend.
AGA-KERIM. Ah yes, madame, friendship is a valuable thing in these days.
I have seen how things stood, for this Aga-Merdan is a rogue and a
scheming rascal whose equal is to be found neither in earth nor in
heaven. I therefore decided to come, and in a friendly spirit to warn
you beforehand of their intrigues, for if they are permitted to carry
them out, there will be no cure for the consequences.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. But, Aga-Kerim, what can Aga-Merdan do against me?
AGA-KERIM. What can he do? I am told that he is the advocate of your
sister-in-law, and intends to sue you at law in her name. He is very
clever and resourceful in affairs of this sort; you would be no match
for him. It is very difficult to get ahead of him.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. What can he do in this lawsuit? My brother has no child
to inherit his fortune. On the other hand, a woman who has been no more
than temporary wife can make no claim to the heritage. However clever
Aga-Merdan, or anyone else, may be, what injury can they do me in a case
which is so clear?
AGA-KERIM. You have had very little experience in affairs of this sort.
Aga-Merdan will find means to accomplish his ends. You must not let him
take you at a disadvantage in the struggle.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. But how can we help being taken at a disadvantage?
AGA-KERIM. Well, tell me in the first place who your advocate is, so
that I may see him, and make him acquainted with some of the tricks of
Aga-Merdan. If he is intelligent he won’t let himself be caught
napping.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. We do not know whom to take for our advocate.
AGA-KERIM. How is that? You don’t know whom to take, and have not
appointed anyone to defend you in this case?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. No, we do not know whom to choose; we are just on the
point of considering the question.
AZIZ-BEY. Could not you, Aga-Kerim, name someone to whom we could
intrust our case?
AGA-KERIM. No, I know no one who would be able to hold his own against
Aga-Merdan. I thought you had your advocate already on hand.
AZIZ-BEY. No, we have not appointed anyone. We were merely on the
lookout for a man of great ability whom we could intrust with the
defence of our interests. But think again; cudgel your brains. Have you
no idea of anyone?
AGA-KERIM. No, I can think of no man who is of great ability. There are
plenty of advocates, but there is none of them who could cope with
Aga-Merdan. But stay; there is someone, if he would consent to be your
advocate, for he has retired for some time from business of the kind. He
alone would be able to hold his own with Aga-Merdan.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Who is he?
AGA-KERIM. He is Aga-Selman, the son of the sieve-maker. Intrust your
case with him if he will undertake it.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Who would be able to see him and speak to him about it?
AGA-KERIM. It is not necessary to delegate anyone to see him. Send for
him, and speak to him yourself here. Perhaps your arguments may persuade
him to accept the case; the discourse of a woman has so much influence.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Aga-Kerim, could you not see him yourself, and send him
to us?
AGA-KERIM. No, madame. I have fallen out with him about a trifling
matter. Send somebody else to fetch him.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. But how can you in this case give him certain
information which you wish him to have?
AGA-KERIM. If you had another advocate, I should deem it necessary to
instruct him in these matters; but in the case of Aga-Selman it is
superfluous. He is clever enough to make slippers for the devil himself.
Although I have quarrelled with him, I cannot deny his merit. God grant
that your lawsuit may succeed.
AZIZ-BEY. I shall go and fetch him myself. [_Aziz-Bey and Aga-Kerim rise
from their seats and prepare to go out._]
AGA-KERIM. God preserve you, madame.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Thanks for your kind visit.
AGA-KERIM. I shall never forget your goodness. [_Aga-Kerim goes out with
Aziz-Bey._]
=Scene XIV=
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Goul-Sebah! bring in a lounge, and lay a cushion on it.
[_Scarcely has Goul-Sebah brought in the lounge and placed a cushion on
it, when a sound of footsteps is heard in the vestibule. Aziz-Bey enters
the room with Aga-Selman. Sekiné-Khanoun takes a seat at the back of the
stage; Goul-Sebah stands by her side._]
=Scene XV=
AGA-SELMAN. Good-day, madame!
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Good-day, sir. You are welcome, Aga-Selman, and your
visit gratifies me exceedingly. Have the goodness to take a seat. [_She
points with her finger to the lounge. Aga-Selman seats himself at the
foot of the lounge and Aziz-Bey takes a place by his side._]
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN [_in a melancholy voice_]. Aga-Selman, I am the sister of
Hadji-Ghafour. I hope that you will treat me as your daughter, and will
not refuse me your support in this day of misfortune.
AGA-SELMAN. Speak, madame, tell me what is your desire?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. You know, Aga-Selman, that seven or eight months ago
everyone forsook the city and fled in every direction because of the
cholera. Hadji-Ghafour was a man full of confidence in God; he declared
he would not leave, but as a precaution he took to the President of the
Tribunal and placed on deposit with him, in exchange for vouchers, and
in the presence of witnesses, a sum of 60,000 tomans, laid up in
strong-boxes. “If I should happen to die,” he said, “you must give this
money to my legal heir.” The President of the Tribunal took charge of
the money, and then, like everybody else, he quitted the city. All our
neighbors also left. No one was at home but my brother and I, with a
woman whom he had espoused in temporary marriage. It happened that my
brother fell sick. No one was left in the town but some soldiers whom
the government had left to guard the houses of the inhabitants, and to
carry the dead to the cemetery. On that day four soldiers came to our
house, and my brother said to them: “I am dying, and I have no other
heir in the world but my sister here. After my death take me away to the
cemetery.” Then my brother departed to the other world. Meanwhile my
sister-in-law, who is no more than a mistress to whom no legacy can
fall, pretends to be the heiress of my brother, and institutes a suit
against me. Her advocate is Aga-Merdan, the son of the confectioner, and
I hope that you will be willing to undertake the task of defending me.
AGA-SELMAN. Madame, I have retired from practice, and do not intend
henceforth to be anyone’s advocate.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. This business will not take long, Aga-Selman; it will
soon be finished; it is matter for a single session. If witnesses are
required to testify to the words of my brother, there are the
soldiers--you can summon them as witnesses. I hope that you will
undertake my case out of mere good-will toward me.
AGA-SELMAN. Do you know the names and addresses of these soldiers?
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Yes. Aziz-Bey will write the information on a sheet of
paper and will hand it to you.
AGA-SELMAN. Since you depend upon me, I accept the case; but on
condition that it is not to turn out a long one, for if it is likely to
last for any period, it will not be possible for me to devote myself to
it.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. It is matter for a single day, and in recompense for
your trouble I will give you a fee of 500 tomans.
AGA-SELMAN. That is scarcely necessary, madame. I engage in this
business purely out of regard for you, and without motives of
self-interest.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. I know it, Aga-Selman, but I offer you this sum as
pocket-money for your children.
AGA-SELMAN. Allow me now to retire, madame; I must go and find the
soldiers and ask them to come and testify at the trial. As for you, make
out a brief and send it to me.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Very good, I will prepare and send it to you. But I
would remind you, Aga-Selman, that Aga-Merdan is said to be very crafty;
leave nothing undone to defeat his tricks.
AGA-SELMAN. Keep your mind easy, madame, his tricks will avail nothing
against me. Aziz-Bey, make a note of the names and addresses of these
soldiers and send the particulars to me.
AZIZ-BEY. Yes, yes; they will be at your house in less than an hour.
[_Aga-Selman rises and goes out. Aziz-Bey and Sekiné-Khanoun remain
alone._]
=Scene XVI=
AZIZ-BEY. As for me, I am going to tell the whole story to the Prince
Royal.
SEKINÉ-KHANOUN. Sit down. First of all write the names and addresses of
the soldiers, and send them to Aga-Selman; then you can leave me.
[_Aziz-Bey sits down to write._]
ACT SECOND
=Scene I=
_The action passes in the house of Aga-Merdan, son of the confectioner._
AGA-MERDAN [_discovered seated alone_]. I do not know what can have
happened that Aga-Kerim is so late in coming. He must have been planning
that Aga-Selman may be Sekiné-Khanoun’s advocate, and this is probably
what has detained him. If this affair succeeds, as I predict, beside the
fact that I shall gain no small sum of money, my reputation will be
spread through the whole city and will rise sky high. That is to say,
that this lawsuit is an inexhaustible mine of wealth to the man who can
direct it and make it turn out aright. Thank God, I am not troubled
about that. [_While he speaks the door opens, and Aga-Kerim enters the
room._]
=Scene II=
AGA-KERIM [_gayly._] Good-day. Congratulate me; I have arranged
everything.
AGA-MERDAN [_with a smile_]. Really? Is it credible?
AGA-KERIM. Yes, on your soul it is. I have praised you so highly to the
widow of Hadji-Ghafour that if you had been there you would not have
believed your ears. “To-day,” I said to her, “there is no one of more
consideration with the President of the Tribunal than Aga-Merdan. He is
never deceived, and all he says comes to pass. At the palace among the
advocates he is the only one recognized. This is so true of his
reputation that on certain occasions he has public and private audiences
with the Prince Royal. For knowledge of affairs he is the Plato of the
century. Follow his advice implicitly, and do not be anxious about
anything. It is only under his direction that you will be able to enter
into possession of Hadji-Ghafour’s fortune; for, excepting through him,
you have no right to the legacy!” The woman was well satisfied, even
delighted, as was her brother, Aga-Abbas. Meanwhile they are coming to
see you, in order that you may dictate to them the line they are to
take.
AGA-MERDAN. Very good, very good. But, tell me, have you been equally
successful in securing for Aga-Selman the defence of the other party?
AGA-KERIM. Yes. Aga-Selman is at this very moment with Sekiné-Khanoun,
and as soon as he is at liberty he will come here.
AGA-MERDAN. It is wonderful, Aga-Kerim. By God, you work miracles with
your tongue. But, tell me, is the widow of Hadji-Ghafour pretty?
AGA-KERIM. Why do you ask?
AGA-MERDAN. Why, because I want her to fall in love with me, and marry
me. Why should she not be my wife?
AGA-KERIM. How can I tell you whether she will love you or not? Your age
is a little advanced and the woman is young.
AGA-MERDAN. No, Aga-Kerim, as sure as death, I am not so advanced in
age. I am exactly fifty-one.
AGA-KERIM. I shouldn’t have believed it; I thought you were seventy.
AGA-MERDAN. Seventy? Not on your life. You know I was born the year of
the great earthquake at Tebriz.
AGA-KERIM. You are married already.
AGA-MERDAN. I do not wish to marry her because I am in want of a wife.
But this is how I consider the matter: If we succeed in carrying off all
this fortune from Hadji-Ghafour’s sister, and transferring it to this
woman, why should it go to another husband? Let me marry the woman, and
the fortune becomes mine at the same time. This is also in your
interest; what advantage will you otherwise gain from it?
AGA-KERIM. Yes, but in that case what matters whether she be pretty or
plain? It would be much better that she should be a monster, if in that
way she would become enamored of you, and consent to marry you. But she
is not plain, and I do not believe she would find you to her taste.
AGA-MERDAN. Do you mean that I am not likely to please her, and to be
accepted by her?
AGA-KERIM. Come now, do not you know this yourself? Your face is
certainly not particularly captivating.
AGA-MERDAN. Of course I cannot truly say what effect I produce on you.
Let me look at myself a little in the glass. [_He looks at himself in a
wardrobe mirror._] By God, Aga-Kerim, what do you find to criticise in
my appearance? Do you mean that my teeth are gone? They fell out through
an inflammation, and not from old age. It is true that my jaws are
slightly wrinkled, but this is not seen, the beard hides it.
AGA-KERIM. Good for you. That is sufficient. Now sit down; she will soon
be here.
AGA-MERDAN. Wait a while; let me put on my cashmere robe, button my
surtout, and comb my beard. Then I will come and sit down. [_He begins
to dress himself._]
AGA-KERIM. Is all this necessary? Do sit down.
AGA-MERDAN. Certainly it is necessary. Our women always veil themselves
from the eyes of men, but they are extremely fond of gazing at us. If
the widow of Hadji-Ghafour sees me in full dress she will have more
consideration for me, and my words will have more influence on her mind.
It is even possible that I may prove captivating to her. [_He dresses,
combs his beard, and seats himself. At this moment the door opens, and
the widow of Hadji-Ghafour enters with her brother, Aga-Abbas._]
=Scene III=
AGA-ABBAS. Good-day, gentlemen.
AGA-MERDAN. Good-day to you both. You are very welcome, and your visit
gives me great pleasure. Be good enough to sit down. [_The widow of
Hadji-Ghafour, wearing a veil, sits down, and so does her brother._] I
am going to address my remarks to you, Aga-Abbas; Madame Zeineb will
hear, and will answer when necessary. Six months ago Hadji-Ghafour died.
It is necessary that the root of the matter be made clear, and without
mystery. Everyone knows that Zeineb-Khanoun was not the legal wife of
Hadji-Ghafour; she cannot, therefore, pretend to receive whatever of
fortune there is by right of inheritance. But having learned this
circumstance, I sent Aga-Kerim to you to inform you that if you wish to
take my advice, and govern yourselves according to the measures I shall
take, I can find a way to bring all this fortune into the hands of
Zeineb-Khanoun. As you know, the sister of Hadji-Ghafour is an orphan,
she has neither relatives nor family to abet her. The young lady has
indeed a lover, but this young man is no match for me. You have accepted
my proposals, and have forbidden the President of the Tribunal to
deliver to the sister of Hadji-Ghafour the sum which the latter had
deposited into the judge’s hands until you have shown cause why. The
President of the Tribunal has held the money, and has next notified you
and the sister of Hadji-Ghafour to employ counsel, and to bring your
case before the Tribunal, in order to state the object of your
petition. I am the man whom you have empowered to act for you. But it is
necessary that madame should listen attentively to all that I am going
to say, and that she comport herself in accordance with my advice; if
she wishes the affair to turn out in accordance with our desires.
AGA-ABBAS. Certainly. Nothing can be done without this. Come, then,
detail to us the conditions which you would impose upon Zeineb.
AGA-MERDAN. First of all, Zeineb-Khanoun must deposit with me a fund of
500 tomans to meet certain unavoidable expenses; the remainder of the
dues will be paid afterward. Zeineb-Khanoun has herself declared to
Aga-Kerim that at the death of Hadji-Ghafour there were a thousand
tomans left in the strong-box, and that she carried them off, without
the knowledge of the dead man’s sister.
ZEINEB-KHANOUN. I make no objection to your demands on this point; tell
me your other condition.
AGA-MERDAN. It will be also necessary, madame, that you be satisfied
with one-half of the legacy; that is to say, that of the 60,000 tomans
half goes to you and the other half, some 30,000 tomans, is to be
divided between Aga-Kerim and me, as comrades, friends, and associates.
ZEINEB-KHANOUN. Good gracious, Aga-Merdan, but this is exorbitant!
AGA-MERDAN. It is by no means excessive, Madame. You have no right to
this inheritance; the 30,000 tomans are therefore my free gift to you.
ZEINEB-KHANOUN. What do you mean? I have no rights? For years I have
trudged up and down the house of Hadji-Ghafour; all the closet keys were
in my hands; I had all I desired, and it was I who controlled the
expenses. So long as Hadji-Ghafour lived his sister could not dispose of
a single franc of his. What has happened that I am to be thrust on one
side, and that this adventuress is to come and carry off all the money;
that she is to drink it up, and spend it in order to have a wedding with
a young scamp?
AGA-MERDAN. Such reasons as these are not listened to by the Tribunal.
ZEINEB-KHANOUN. What! not listened to? Ought not justice to be
considered in a lawsuit? For ten years and more this fortune remained in
my hands, and now I am to be stripped of it!
AGA-MERDAN. Yes, indeed, and you ought to be stripped of it. Listen to
me. Surrender one-half of this inheritance, for in reality you have no
right to a single penny of it. Aga-Abbas is well acquainted with the
matter, and he knows what I say is true.
AGA-ABBAS. Yes, we accept the condition. What conditions beside these do
you impose?
AGA-MERDAN. My third condition is that Zeineb-Khanoun shall declare in
presence of the President of the Tribunal that she has by Hadji-Ghafour
a child now seven months old, and still at the breast; this child she
shall present before the Tribunal.
ZEINEB-KHANOUN. Oh, oh, Aga-Merdan, this is very, very hard. How can I
dare to tell such a lie? That I have a child seven months old!
AGA-MERDAN. It is not hard at all. While Hadji-Ghafour was living you
were _enceinte_. A month before his death you brought into the world a
little boy--now seven months old. Is there any difficulty in stating
that?
ZEINEB-KHANOUN. I look upon you as my father, Aga-Merdan, and I will
never contravene your counsels; but this condition is too hard. Will not
people say to me, knowing I have never had a child, “Where is your
child? Where is your child?”
AGA-MERDAN. Don’t distress yourself on that score. The child is all
ready. You have brought him into the world. The babe has been in your
arms, and in the arms of Hadji-Ghafour. There are even people that will
testify to that effect. Don’t distress yourself about these matters;
simply make your statement, and others will confirm it.
ZEINEB-KHANOUN. In the name of God, Aga-Merdan, impose upon me some
condition that I can fulfil; this is really too trying. How can I
perpetrate such a falsehood? I’d never dare to talk in that way.
AGA-MERDAN. You are talking nonsense, Zeineb-Khanoun! I know what you
mean by all this. Why would you not dare to say it? Why are you ashamed
to do so? Everybody knows that it is the business of women to produce
children. What shame is there in it? You have perhaps never been
_enceinte_, and you have never borne a child. Let it be so; but he who
wants to catch a fish must put his hand into cold water. It is quite
necessary that you make this declaration. There is no other way of
succeeding.
ZEINEB-KHANOUN. What end do you wish to gain by this, Aga-Merdan?
AGA-MERDAN. I wish by this means to have the fortune of Hadji-Ghafour
secured to you, and in order to arrive at this result, there is no other
expedient possible but this one. You cannot inherit from your husband in
your own name. Your child, on the other hand, is heir at law. When the
existence of your child is proved all the fortune reverts to him. I will
then have myself without difficulty appointed his guardian; then in five
or six months, I will give it out that the child is dead, and in that
case the inheritance will be legally transferred to you. You will take
half of it and give me the other half. God is the best foster-father.
ZEINEB-KHANOUN. O you for whom I would give my life, can such a lie be
uttered?
AGA-MERDAN. If the sister of Hadji-Ghafour had anyone to maintain her
cause do you think that she would fail to defeat us? But to-day she has
no one to oppose us, and plead her cause for her. If she had married
Aga-Hassam, the merchant, the business would have been very difficult
for us. But now, Aga-Hassam, himself, and all his influential kinsfolk
have become enemies of this young lady; they desire that this fortune
should not be hers. The girl is deserted and left with her lover, who is
good for nothing.
ZEINEB-KHANOUN. Well, well! and this child of whom you speak, where is
he?
AGA-MERDAN. You are going to see him this moment.--Aga-Kerim, go and
take the child from the arms of his nurse there in the chamber. Bring
him in for madame to see. [_Aga-Kerim goes out to fetch the child._]
=Scene IV=
ZEINEB-KHANOUN. Is she a wet-nurse?
AGA-MERDAN. No, it is his own mother who has him at the breast. But she
becomes his nurse now. [_Aga-Kerim returns, carrying the child in his
arms. Aga-Merdan takes it and gives it to Zeineb-Khanoun._]
=Scene V=
AGA-MERDAN. This is your child. You see his eyes and brows are exactly
those of Hadji-Ghafour.
ZEINEB-KHANOUN. My God, one might take it for his portrait! But I fear
that at the trial my tongue will refuse to tell this lie.
AGA-MERDAN. The cause of your fears, Zeineb-Khanoun, is that you are not
persuaded that you yourself are not the mother of this child. You must,
before everything else, bear well in mind that this is your child, or
else you will lose countenance at the hearing, and will stand before the
judge with closed mouth. Have no fear, and give me your word that you
will make the declaration as I dictate.
ZEINEB-KHANOUN. Yes, I promise you, if I am able.
AGA-MERDAN. You will be able, please God. It would be fine, in truth, if
your sister-in-law should carry off the whole inheritance, and squander
it with a scamp, trimming his mustache with it.
ZEINEB-KHANOUN. Yes, by God, you are right. But one thing troubles me.
Will not the advocate of Sekiné-Khanoun discover my falsehood?
AGA-MERDAN. Ha! ha! ha! See how frightened she is of him! Fear nothing.
He won’t say a single word to expose you. Go now and get your
application to the judge drawn up. All must be ready by to-morrow. As
for me, I have another matter to attend to. Another person is looking
for me; I have a thousand suits in hand. Take Aga-Kerim with you, and
give him the 500 tomans; he will bring them to me.
AGA-ABBAS. The money is ready. We have brought it. Aga-Kerim had told us
to do so beforehand.
AGA-MERDAN. Very good; leave it with me and retire. [_Aga-Abbas puts
down the sum of money in a purse before Aga-Kerim. At the moment when
Zeineb and Aga-Abbas rise to depart Nasser, the valet of the Prince
Royal, approaches Aga-Merdan._]
=Scene VI=
NASSER. Good-day, gentlemen. Aga-Merdan, the Prince Royal begs that you
will come to his house this evening and spend an hour with him. He
requires your services in an important affair.
AGA-MERDAN. Tell your master in reply that I am at his service. [_The
lackey retires. Soon afterward, Eced, the servant of the President of
the Tribunal, arrives._]
=Scene VII=
ECED. Good-day, gentlemen. Aga-Merdan, my master invites you to dine
with him this evening at the home of Hadji-Semi. He has pressing
business on which he wishes to consult you.
AGA-MERDAN. You may tell your master that I will be there, and consent
merely to please him. [_Aga-Abbas and his sister retire._]
=Scene VIII=
AGA-KERIM. I do not understand where this messenger of the Prince Royal
and this servant of the judge came from.
AGA-MERDAN. I felt that the woman might be troubled with regard to the
conditions which I imposed upon her. This is the reason why I bribed
these individuals to deliver such messages in her presence. I did so in
order that she might imagine me to be the friend of the Prince Royal and
the boon companion of the President of the Tribunal, in order that she
might recover her spirits. I was afraid that otherwise she would not
dare to make her allegations at the hearing of the case, and so we
should be nonsuited.
AGA-KERIM. By God, your idea was a happy one, but at the hearing of the
case we must keep our eye on her. If possible we must manage that she
gives her evidence after I have brought on the witnesses. You will
promise her as her share 500 tomans; fifty in cash, and the balance
later. The witnesses shall each have thirty tomans; fifteen in cash, and
fifteen afterward. We will give up this sum after winning the lawsuit,
in order that the inspector may not poke his nose into our business; but
you know that the affair cannot be made to succeed without his aid, he
is so crafty. You know he has already on one occasion detected our game.
We cannot cheat him.
AGA-KERIM. Very good. I will go and see about it. [_He rises from his
seat to retire._]
AGA-MERDAN. By the by, just stop one moment. I have an idea which I wish
to communicate, and do not forget the hint. When you see the widow of
Hadji-Ghafour, give her to understand, in one way or another, that she
must not call me “father.” As sure as death you must attend to this. I
don’t like the woman to address me by such a name as father, as if they
thought it pleased me. What need can there be to call me by this title?
AGA-KERIM. Well! Well! Do not swear any more. I know what you are
driving at. Let your mind be easy. I will tell her not to call you her
father again, but to call you her lord. [_Aga-Kerim leaves, and on his
departure, Aga-Selman enters._]
=Scene IX=
AGA-SELMAN. Good-day, Aga-Merdan.
AGA-MERDAN. Ah, good-day! Come now, how are things getting along?
AGA-SELMAN. I am intrusted with the defence; it is all arranged. But,
tell me, what do you think is now to be done?
AGA-MERDAN. I think we would do well to prepare the witnesses, and to
take them to the court-room. What honorarium have you been promised?
AGA-SELMAN. They have promised me only 500 tomans; their witnesses, they
say, are all ready, the course of the trial plain, and there is nothing
either obscure or mysterious in it. I have expressed my satisfaction.
AGA-MERDAN. You have done well; but you know that there is not much
profit in defending a good cause. The widow of Hadji-Ghafour sacrifices
30,000 tomans, these 30,000 tomans will be for us two and for Aga-Kerim.
Have you ascertained the names of the witnesses? Have you learned their
addresses?
AGA-SELMAN. Yes, I have learned and noted all these things. These
witnesses are four soldiers: Bedel, Quhreman, Ghaffer, and Nezer--all of
Nerdji Street.
AGA-MERDAN. I must send and fetch them, and impress upon them to testify
exactly opposite to what they saw. But, first of all, you must go and
find them, and beg them, on your part, to bear faithful testimony. As
soldiers are willing but poor, much the same as wretched beggars, these
men will ask you what present you intend to make them after the trial.
“My children,” you must answer them, “in an affair like this, it is not
good to ask for a fee. You ought to give in your testimony solely for
the sake of pleasing God, and he will fully reward you on the day of the
resurrection.”
AGA-SELMAN. Very good.
AGA-MERDAN. You cannot guess even approximately what will be the
testimony of these soldiers?
AGA-SELMAN. Oh, yes, I know that. They will declare that two hours
before the death of Hadji-Ghafour they betook themselves to his home,
and that he said to them: “I am dying; and have no one in the world
surviving me but a sister. Bury me as soon as I am dead.”
AGA-MERDAN. Very good; but they will have to change that, and say that
Hadji-Ghafour had a little son one month old. Exert yourself now, and go
after these soldiers. [_Aga-Selman rises and leaves._]
=Scene X=
AGA-MERDAN [_alone_]. Thanks be to God, events are turning out
excellently. This is the time when Aga-Kerim is to bring his witnesses.
[_At this moment the door opens, and Aga-Kerim enters the room with the
Inspector of the Market and four other individuals._]
=Scene XI=
THE INSPECTOR. Good-day, Aga-Merdan.
AGA-MERDAN [_to Aga-Kerim, without turning or recognizing the
Inspector_]. Good-day, you have found the Inspector?
THE INSPECTOR. No need to find him, for he was never lost. That was an
odd question of yours, Aga-Merdan. I see that you do not yet recognize
me.
AGA-MERDAN [_first of all leading aside Aga-Kerim_]. Go and fetch
Aga-Selman, and make him point out to you the soldiers he spoke of, then
bring them to me. [_Turns toward the Inspector._] My lord, present these
gentlemen to me and inform me what sort of men they are.
THE INSPECTOR. Here is Hepou, a professional gambler, who arrived here
from Ardebil yesterday; the next is the famous Cheida, of Quzvin, who
keeps a bank during the day, and dissipates during the night; then
follows Qourban-Ali, of Hamaden, who is Jack-of-all-trades during the
night, a hosier in the bazaar by daylight, and lodges with me at night.
AGA-MERDAN. God be praised, they are all honest people, of good
standing. But the profession of Hepou is slightly open to suspicion.
There will be some distrust roused by his presence.
THE INSPECTOR. Do not be alarmed. Hepou is an old fox who will fool
anyone. Do you wish him to appear as a distinguished merchant he will
present himself before you, and you yourself would not recognize him.
You are doubtless unaware of the fact that he is of a race whose skill
has been tested. He is the son of Heides-Qouli, whose foot was cut off.
One day, Heides-Qouli was seen in the city of Eher. He traversed on foot
two posts during the night, and reached Tebriz, stole from the house of
the defunct governor a casket of pearls belonging to the latter, and
returned to Eher the same night; at dawn, he was found asleep in the
corridor of the caravansary. Everyone was astounded at this feat. It was
only on account of the credit he got for it that he was not put to death
immediately on detection. They merely cut off his foot and let him go.
AGA-MERDAN. This, then, is the son of Heides of the docked foot? Very
good; but we will change his name. All these men are well acquainted
with legal procedure, are they not?
THE INSPECTOR. Let your mind be easy on that point; they are all
educated; by my life, they could make slippers for the devil. There is
none like them; every day they meet together and offer the Lord’s Prayer
in the mosque.
AGA-MERDAN. Very good. Do they know what sort of testimony they are
expected to give?
THE INSPECTOR. No, you will have to teach them that yourself.
AGA-MERDAN. Good. They must depose as follows: One evening at sunset a
week before the death of Hadji-Ghafour, we were going all four of us to
pay a visit to the houses of the dead. In passing before the house of
Hadji-Ghafour we saw him standing at his gate and holding in his arms a
babe in long clothes. We saluted him, and asked him how his health was?
“Whose child is that?” we said to him. “It is my own,” he answered, “he
was born three weeks ago. He is my only son; I have no other child.”
THE INSPECTOR [_turning to the witnesses_]. Do you understand, boys?
HEPOU. Yes, we understand.
AGA-MERDAN. Can you repeat the story as I told it?
HANIFE. Undoubtedly so; there are no far-fetched expressions to puzzle
us.
AGA-MERDAN. Very good, my friends. May God bless you!
CHEIDA. How in the name of everything, Aga-Merdan, would God bless such
a transaction as this?
AGA-MERDAN. Why not? My dear friend, if you were acquainted with the
whole affair you would certainly say yourself that God would bless it.
The unhappy widow of Hadji-Ghafour has been for ten years mistress of
his house and fortune. Would it be just that a sickly wench should carry
off all this money, and proceed to enjoy it with a base loafer, a
heretic, and for the sole reason that the latter is to have criminal
relations with her? According to the words of your doctors, the
Sunnites are excluded from the court of heaven.
CHEIDA. Now, by God, but you speak the truth!
THE INSPECTOR. Come now, Aga-Merdan, fix the fee to be paid the boys.
AGA-MERDAN. What? Has not Aga-Kerim done so? I said that I would give
thirty tomans to each of those gentlemen. You know, yourself, what your
share is to be.
THE INSPECTOR. Yes, but you must advance to the lads the half of their
fee.
AGA-MERDAN. Most willingly, if you will now retire. Aga-Kerim will bring
your fifty tomans for yourself, as well as half of the fee to be paid to
each of these young men.
The Inspector. Very good. God protect you. [_The Inspector retires with
his followers, then the door opens again, and four soldiers enter with
Aga-Kerim._]
=Scene XII=
THE SOLDIERS. Good-day, sir.
AGA-MERDAN. Good-day, my lads. Be good enough to take a seat. You are
extremely welcome. Excuse the trouble which I have given you.
ONE OF THE SOLDIERS. Don’t mention it, sir; it is ours to be grateful
for the honor of entering the house of a man so honorable.
AGA-MERDAN. A well-educated man is well received anywhere. Have you
lunched?
THE SOLDIERS. No, we arrived before luncheon time.
AGA-MERDAN. Aga-Kerim, send someone to the bazaar to purchase for the
boys four portions of rice of kebah, likewise of ice and citron cup. See
there be an extra supply of kebah, for they are very hungry. You’ll like
a great deal, won’t you?
A SOLDIER. Why take all this trouble, my lord? We will repair ourselves
to the bazaar, and eat a bit there.
AGA-MERDAN. What trouble is it, my dear friend? It is lunch time, why
should you wish to leave my house fasting and famished? Please God, my
plan is best.
THE SOLDIER. My lord, what do you desire of us?
AGA-MERDAN. Nothing much, my lad; I only wish to ask you a plain
question.
THE SOLDIER. Speak, my lord--two if you like.
AGA-MERDAN. Did you bear to burial Hadji-Ghafour?
THE SOLDIER. Yes, my lord, it was we who buried him. Why do you ask?
AGA-MERDAN. Ah, I congratulate you on your generous conduct. Your
company is always a great honor, not only because you are the defenders
of Islam, but also because you do good service to all people in their
days of distress. While the cholera prevailed there remained scarce a
living soul in the town; you alone did not quit it, making in advance
the sacrifice of your lives. May the Thrice Holy Majesty of God reward
you worthily for this! But did you ever see Hadji-Ghafour when he was
alive, my son?
THE SOLDIER. Yes, my lord, we saw him alive.
AGA-MERDAN. In that case, you must also at his side have seen his little
son in long clothes, who was then a month old.
THE SOLDIER. No, my lord, we never saw him.
AGA-MERDAN. Perhaps he was at that moment in his mother’s arms?
THE SOLDIER. No, my lord. We asked Hadji-Ghafour how many children he
had, sons or daughters, big or little, and he answered that only a
sister would survive him.
AGA-MERDAN. That is possible; he did not count his son because the
latter was only a baby, one month old. But this babe was then in the
arms of his mother; other people have seen him there; and I believe that
you have also seen him. There is no harm done; it is all right. But in
this case what testimony will you give? For, as you know, there is a
lawsuit between the heirs as to the rights of succession.
THE SOLDIER. We will testify of what we have been informed. The advocate
of Hadji-Ghafour’s sister has already questioned us on this point, and
we have corroborated his account.
AGA-MERDAN. Ah, I understand why you speak thus; it is because the
discourse of this wretched renegade has produced an impression on your
mind. Therefore you deny the existence of the child. He has doubtless
promised you for this twenty tomans, and has advanced you ten.
THE SOLDIER. No, my lord, he did not promise us a penny, and even when
we asked for a little present he told us that a witness ought to be
disinterested, and that we ought to expect our recompense from God
alone.
AGA-MERDAN. Oh, the accursed rogue! See how mean, grasping, and close he
is! He won’t let anyone profit by a penny excepting himself, and while
he tries unjustly to obtain evidence in his favor, in a suit for 60,000
tomans, he grudges to spend twenty or thirty tomans on such kind young
fellows as you! By God, there is not in the whole world another wretch
like him! May God punish him by utter ruin! His work is unjust, and his
conduct ignoble, and he himself a skinflint and a robber.
THE SOLDIER. How is his work unjust, my lord?
AGA-MERDAN. Because he evidently wishes to deny the existence of the
little seven months’ old child of Hadji-Ghafour. He wishes to cast out
this child, and deprive him of his patrimony, in order that the sister
of Hadji-Ghafour may get it. But God will not favor this action; he will
prove that the child is still alive, and that his existence cannot be
overlooked. Can such a thing be denied? I am the defender of this poor
little orphan. I have sworn to give thirty tomans to whoever will
testify in favor of this child, and as I know and believe that you have
seen him I have this sum ready here, in cash. But what good is it after
all, since you say that you have no recollection of the child? Yet
perhaps if you were to see him now, your mind might recall
him.--Aga-Kerim, go into the house, take the child from the arms of its
mother, Zeineb-Khanoun, and bring him here. [_Aga-Kerim soon returns
with the little boy, whom he has found in the next room._]
=Scene XIII=
AGA-MERDAN. Consider well, my lads, how is it possible that you have not
seen this little boy? Would it be humane to let another person swallow
up the heritage of this little orphan who cannot speak to defend
himself, and that the unhappy creature be abandoned to sigh and mourn
in the streets and behind doors. Perhaps in the excitement of all this
trouble you have paid no attention to this child. There are times when
people seem to lose their heads.--Aga-Kerim, take from the closet the
offering of this young child, and bring it here. [_Aga-Kerim immediately
takes from the closet four packets wrapped in paper and lays them within
Aga-Merdan’s reach._]
AGA-MERDAN. My dear friends, beside the reward which God will most
certainly give you, this little orphan has made to each one of you an
offering of thirty tomans enclosed in these four sheets of paper. He is
not like that cursed Aga-Selman, who would impose upon you a dishonest
action, yet from avarice gives you nothing as a recompense.
A SOLDIER [_suddenly turning to his comrades_]. Tell me, Quhreman, am I
mistaken, for it seems to me that I do recall hearing the voice of a
little child, while we were at the house of Hadji-Ghafour.
QUHREMAN. Yes, I remember it; there was a woman seated in the corner of
the house and she held in her arms a little child in long clothes.
GHAFFER. Why, of course! I remember that Hadji-Ghafour said to us: “This
is my wife, and this little child is my son; his mother brought him into
the world a month ago.”
NEZER. Well, now, to think how we have forgotten this incident! It is
true, there are days when people lose their wits. Yes, indeed; did not
Hadji-Ghafour ask us to watch over his house, his wife, and his little
child, until the inhabitants returned, for fear that the villains of the
town should do them some harm?
ALL THE SOLDIERS [_in chorus_]. Yes, he commended to our care his wife
and his child.
AGA-MERDAN. May God bless you, my lads! I knew well that you would
recall it to mind. Accept, then, the offering of this orphan, and spend
it as you choose. After the trial is over, please God, ten tomans more
will come to each one of you. A good and sincere action is never lost.
My lads, bear witness before the Tribunal exactly as you have done here,
and afterward pocket your money.
ONE OF THE SOLDIERS. But, my lord, we have promised to Aga-Selman to
testify in his favor. Must we meanwhile inform him that we cannot be his
witnesses?
AGA-MERDAN. No; you need not say anything to him. Let him think all the
time that you are his witnesses, and that he himself brings you before
the Tribunal; when there, deliver your testimony just as you have now
done. Aga-Selman has no rights over you, and he can make no claim upon
you. If he asks why you speak so, you must answer that it is because you
know what the truth is, and are bearing witness to it. Then, you shall
pocket your money. The rice has come; go into that room and do me the
favor to rest yourselves. But I have one thing to ask of you; no one
must know that you have been summoned, and have come here. It is solely
for the sake of pleasing God that you will keep this secret, but I
promise in return for your secrecy to give to each one of you a Bokhara
hat.
THE SOLDIERS. Have no fear on this point, my lord.
AGA-MERDAN. Aga-Kerim, lead these good fellows into that room that they
may take their repast; afterward you may dismiss them.
=Scene XIV=
AGA-MERDAN. [_alone_]. So far, so good. Let us start for the court. I am
going to get the assessors on my side, and to prepare them to act, so
that to-morrow, at the time of deliberation, they may give me the
necessary assistance.
ACT THIRD
=Scene I=
_The scene is the Tribunal. The President is seated on a cushion, in the
place of honor, having Aga-Rehim on his right, and Aga-Djebbar on his
left. By their side are seated the ordinary assessors of the Tribunal,
Aga-Bechin and Aga-Settar. On a lower bench is Aga-Merdan, advocate of
Hadji-Ghafour’s widow, lolling easily upon his seat._
AGA-BECHIN [_addressing the President of the Tribunal_]. Have you
detected, my lord, by your intelligence and wisdom, the wiles of that
woman who came yesterday to lodge a complaint? She stole three tomans
from her husband; she was herself bruised with blows, and had artfully
smeared her face with blood, and torn her hair--then she lodged a
complaint against her husband.
THE PRESIDENT. Did I not tell you that this woman inspired me with
suspicion? We must clear the matter up.
AGA-BECHIN. Yes, my lord, I wish merely to remark how marvellous is your
sagacity! None in the whole court doubted the sincerity of this woman,
but you at the first glance made us suspicious, and you were quite
right.
THE PRESIDENT. In such cases my opinion is often in accordance with the
facts.
AGA-BECHIN. One is quite right in the opinion that governments are
guided by Divine wisdom. What is this suspicion but a direct inspiration
from God?
AGA-REHIM. You seem very much astonished at it, Aga-Bechin, but the most
Holy Majesty of God chooses for their merit, and places at the head of
their contemporaries, those of his servants whom he has distinguished by
special favor. Now, the most Holy Majesty of God has distinguished the
President of the Tribunal with quite extraordinary gifts in regard to
the knowledge of affairs. Would you like to know what this really is? It
is not inspiration; it is, to my mind, a special gift of grace from
God.
AGA-DJEBBAR. Yes, you have the choice of the two opinions, either of
which may be maintained. Is it not so, Aga-Merdan?
AGA-MERDAN. Undoubtedly. It is certainly so.
AGA-REHIM. Aga-Merdan, how is the little boy of Hadji-Ghafour getting
on?
AGA-MERDAN. Very well, thank God. His mother understands it all, and he
will come as soon as he is summoned to appear.
AGA-DJEBBAR. He must be fully seven months old, is he not?
AGA-MERDAN. Yes, exactly seven months.
THE PRESIDENT. How is this? Does a son survive Hadji-Ghafour? They told
me that he had no child.
AGA-BECHIN. But he had one, my lord; you have been misinformed. He left
a little boy who is as beautiful as a crescent moon. Yesterday, as we
returned from prayer, we saw him on the doorstep in the arms of his
nurse.
AGA-MERDAN. He and Hadji-Ghafour are as much alike as two halves of an
apple.
AGA-SETTAR. Do you recall, my lord, the features of Hadji-Ghafour?
THE PRESIDENT. Yes, it is not so long since he died.
AGA-SETTAR. Well, when you see the face of this child you would think at
first sight that you beheld that of Hadji-Ghafour.
THE PRESIDENT. I did not know that. It is very good. But tell me,
Aga-Merdan, if there is a son of Hadji-Ghafour living, it is a waste of
time to open the case. It is evident that the fortune of his father
ought to revert to this child, and in such a case the other relatives
and collateral heirs have no claim upon it.
AGA-MERDAN [_in a tone of perfect humility_]. My lord, if I recounted to
you the reason on which their claims are based, you might doubt of my
sincerity. But Aga-Bechin will tell you the whole story.
AGA-BECHIN. Permit me to relate the whole affair, my lord. Hadji-Ghafour
left a sister, Sekiné-Khanoun. This woman is infatuated with a young
man, whom she loves to madness, and wishes to wed. But the rogue does
not so take it; he reminds her that he has nothing and expects no
fortune to come to him. What would he do with her? Meanwhile the damsel
works tooth and nail to get into her own hands the inheritance left by
Hadji-Ghafour, and so to bring about a marriage with this youngster. Her
aunt wishes to marry her to the merchant Aga-Hassam, who is a rich and
distinguished man; she refuses. She has chosen an advocate, and set up
witnesses in support of her plea that Hadji-Ghafour left no child, and
that the 60,000 tomans that constitute his heritage ought to come to
her. The woman is half-witted if she imagines that she can carry off the
heritage of Hadji-Ghafour by means of such tricks and artifices. This is
an absurd idea, and she is giving herself a great deal of useless
trouble.
THE PRESIDENT. Very well. The affair is not so complicated or involved
as to detain the court long; we shall probably be able to decide and
pass sentence in two hours. The two parties must support their claims by
testimony and proofs.
AGA-MERDAN. Yes, my lord, the witnesses are all ready.
AGA-SETTAR [_to the President of the Tribunal_]. There were brought here
yesterday, my lord, two little abandoned orphans. “We will look out,”
you said, “for a servant of God, pious and charitable, and confide the
children to him,” I believe you would do wisely by placing them in the
care of Aga-Merdan. He will care for them as if they were his own, for
he is always on the search for an opportunity of doing good.
THE PRESIDENT. Very good. Do you consent to this, Aga-Merdan?
AGA-MERDAN. With all my heart, my lord. I will care for them as if they
were my own children.
THE PRESIDENT. May the Master of the Universe recompense you as you
deserve! [_The door opens during these preliminaries and Aga-Selman
enters with Aziz-Bey, in company with four soldiers. Shortly afterward
Aga-Abbas and Zeineb-Khanoun, the widow of Hadji-Ghafour, arrive also,
accompanied by their four witnesses. Zeineb-Khanoun sits down at one
side of the hall, enveloped in a long veil. Aga-Selman, Aziz-Bey, and
Aga-Abbas stand up on the other side of the hall._]
=Scene II=
THE PRESIDENT. Aga-Selman, it is said that Hadji-Ghafour left a son. Can
you prove to the contrary?
AGA-SELMAN. I have witnesses, my lord, who will depose that in the hour
of his death, Hadji-Ghafour declared to them that he had no other heir
but his sister, Sekiné-Khanoun.
THE PRESIDENT. Let the witnesses make their statement.
AGA-SELMAN [_turning to the soldiers_]. Make your statement.
THE FIRST SOLDIER. My lord, one day before the death of Hadji-Ghafour we
went, my comrades and I, to pay him a visit. We asked him whether he had
any children, sons or daughters, and he replied: “I have no one in the
world but my sister, Sekiné-Khanoun.”
THE PRESIDENT. Swear by the name of God that this is just what you
heard.
THE FIRST SOLDIER. I swear by the name of God that this is just what I
heard. [_Aga-Merdan becomes quite pale, and seems thunderstruck, as does
Aga-Selman._]
THE PRESIDENT [_turning to the other soldiers_]. And you, what did you
hear? Speak in turn.
THE SECOND SOLDIER. I call God’s name to witness that this is just what
I heard.
THE THIRD SOLDIER. I call God’s name to witness that I also heard the
same.
AGA-MERDAN [_in a voice trembling with anxiety_]. But at that moment did
you not perceive a little child in the arms of Hadji-Ghafour’s wife?
THE FIRST SOLDIER. It was elsewhere we saw the little child. Would you
like us to state where?
AGA-MERDAN. It is well. Keep silence. [_Turning to the President of the
Tribunal._] My lord, I have witnesses who saw an infant one month old in
the arms of Hadji-Ghafour, on the very day of which the soldiers speak.
“Whose child is this?” they asked Hadji-Ghafour, and he said to them in
reply, “It is my son.” The witnesses are yonder, before you. [_Beckons
witnesses to advance._] They are all educated, honorable, and pious
people.
AGA-SETTAR [_in a tone full of kindness toward Aga-Merdan_]. Verily,
Aga-Merdan, the father of this young man was a certain Hadji-Cherif.
AGA-MERDAN. Yes, may God have mercy upon him! He belonged to a saintly
family.
AGA-SETTAR. The son of such a father cannot but be an honorable man, and
Hadji-Cherif was certainly a most strict man.
THE PRESIDENT [_turning to the witnesses_]. Tell me what you know about
it.
HEPOU. Shall I tell all I know?
THE PRESIDENT. Yes, all that you have learned about this affair.
HEPOU. Well, my lord, yesterday Aga-Merdan asked us to come to his
house, my companions and me. He gave each of us fifteen tomans to
present ourselves here before you, and to declare that at the time of
the cholera we saw in Hadji-Ghafour’s arms his little child, then one
month old. As I am a gambler by profession, I accepted the money and
took it; but this money had been given to me for doing evil, and brought
me no profit. That night I lost the fifteen tomans to the last penny,
for I had fallen in with a sad rogue to whom Leibadj himself could not
hold a candle. I know nothing more than that, my lord. I have never seen
Hadji-Ghafour, and didn’t even know him. [_Aga-Merdan gasps with
excitement._]
THE PRESIDENT [_to the other witnesses_]. And you, what have you to say?
THE OTHER WITNESSES [_in chorus_]. We can only repeat what our comrade
has said.
THE PRESIDENT [_to his assessors_]. And you were affirming a moment ago
that Aga-Merdan was a virtuous man! Your words prove your dishonesty and
deceit. Praised be God in his greatness and sublimity. I do not
understand what all this means.
AGA-BECHIN. No, my lord, what proves, on the contrary, that we are
honest and loyal men is that we have given faith to the words of
Aga-Merdan, and have believed him to be a man of honor.
AGA-REHIM [_sotto voce to Aga-Settar_]. Oh, the liar, may the devil
take him! Do you hear this scoundrel Aga-Bechin, what a good excuse he
has ready? The President believes him, and imagines that we are really
honest and sincere. [_At this moment the head bailiff of the Prince
Royal enters._]
=Scene III=
THE HEAD BAILIFF [_to the President of the Tribunal_]. My lord, the
Prince Royal asks whether the rights of Hadji-Ghafour’s sister have been
proved?
THE PRESIDENT. Yes, they have been established. But does the Prince
Royal know how the proof has been effected?
THE HEAD BAILIFF. Yes, my lord. The Inspector of the Market saw through
the designs of Aga-Merdan and Aga-Selman. He informed the Prince Royal,
who took the necessary measures for defeating their machinations.
Meanwhile the crime of these two individuals has been proved, and I have
received orders to lead them into the presence of the Prince Royal.
THE PRESIDENT. Is Aga-Selman also implicated in this plot?
THE BAILIFF. Yes, he was the secret accomplice of Aga-Merdan. [_The
bailiff seizes Aga-Merdan and Aga-Selman and carries them off_.]
=Scene IV=
THE PRESIDENT. Aziz-Bey, you are to-day the protector of Sekiné-Khanoun.
Go and tell her that in two hours I will take with me the sum of money
left by Hadji-Ghafour, and bring it to her, and place it in her hands
before the most honorable witnesses.
AZIZ-BEY. It is well, my lord; I will go.
=Scene V=
AGA-BECHIN [_striking his hands together_]. By the death of the
first-born, is it possible to utter fabrications such as those of this
Aga-Merdan? O my God, what dishonest people have you created in your
world! By his impostures, this wretch wished to set up a son to
Hadji-Ghafour! Gentlemen, have you ever seen such audacity? Ah, you may
now treat me as a fool, Aga-Djebbar, and may say that I am exceedingly
simple and guileless to believe what the first-comer tells me.
AGA-DJEBBAR [_turning his face and speaking sotto voce_]. Ah, the liar!
May the devil carry him off! Oh, yes, you are simple and guileless--that
is well known. [_Then in a loud tone:_] Let us adjourn, gentlemen. Let
us abridge the fatigue of the President; he has gone through much
exertion to-day. Why prolong this talk? [_The President of the Tribunal
leads the way out lost in thought. Then the others rise and leave._]
=OTTOMAN POEMS=
[_Metrical Translation by E. J. W. Gibb, M. R. A. S._]
FROM THE ‘ĀSHIQ PASHA DĪWĀNI
All the Universe, one mighty sign, is shown;
God hath myriads of creative acts unknown:
None hath seen them, of the races jinn and men,
None hath news brought from that realm far off from ken.
Never shall thy mind or reason reach that strand,
Nor can tongue the King’s name utter of that land.
Since ’tis his each nothingness with life to vest,
Trouble is there ne’er at all to his behest.
Eighteen thousand worlds, from end to end,
Do not with him one atom’s worth transcend.
_‘Āshiq Pasha_.
FROM THE ISKENDER-NĀMA
Up and sing! O ‘anqā-natured nightingale!
High in every business doth thy worth prevail:
Sing! for good the words are that from thee proceed;
Whatsoever thou dost say is prized indeed.
Then, since words to utter thee so well doth suit,
Pity were it surely if thy tongue were mute.
Blow a blast in utt’rance that the Trusted One,
When he hears, ten thousand times may cry: “Well done!”
Up and sing! O bird most holy! up and sing!
Unto us a story fair and beauteous bring.
Let not opportunity slip by, silent there;
Unto us the beauty of each word declare.
Seldom opportunities like this with thee lie;
Sing then, for th’ occasion now is thine, so hie!
Lose not opportunities that thy hand doth find,
For some day full suddenly Death thy tongue shall bind.
Of how many singers, eloquent of words,
Bound have Death and Doom the tongues fast in their cords!
Lose not, then, th’ occasion, but to joy look now,
For one day thy station ’neath earth seek must thou.
While the tongue yet floweth, now thy words collect;
Them as Meaning’s taper ’midst the feast erect,
That thy words, remaining long time after thee,
To the listeners’ hearing shall thy record be.
Thy mementoes lustrous biding here behind,
Through them they’ll recall thee, O my soul, to mind.
Those who’ve left mementoes ne’er have died in truth;
Those who’ve left no traces ne’er have lived in sooth.
Surely with this object didst thou come to earth,
That to mind should ever be recalled thy worth.
“May I die not!” say’st thou, one of noble race?
Strive, then, that thou leavest here a name of grace.
_Ahmedī_.
FROM THE ISKENDER-NĀMA
Once unto his Vezīr quoth the crownèd King:
“Thou, who in my world-realm knowest everything!
With my sword I’ve conquered many and many a shore;
Still I sigh right sorely: ‘Ah! to conquer more!’
Great desire is with me realms to overthrow;
Through this cause I comfort ne’er a moment know.
Is there yet a country whither we may wend,
Where as yet our mighty sway doth not extend,
That we may it conquer, conquer it outright?
Ours shall be the whole earth--ours it shall be quite.”
Then, when heard the Vezīr what the King did say,
Quoth he: “Realm-o’erthrowing Monarch, live for aye!
May the Mighty Ruler set thy crown on high,
That thy throne may ever all assaults defy!
May thy life’s rose-garden never fade away!
May thy glory’s orchard never see decay!
Thou’st the Peopled Quarter ta’en from end to end;
All of its inhabitants slaves before thee bend.
There’s on earth no city, neither any land,
That is not, O Monarch, under thy command.
In the Peopled Quarter Seven Climes are known,
And o’er all of these thy sway extends alone!”
_Ahmedī._
FROM KHUSREV AND SHĪRĪN
The spot at which did King Khusrev Pervīz light
Was e’en the ruined dwelling of that moon bright.
Whilst wand’ring on, he comes upon that parterre,
As on he strolls, it opes before his eyes fair.
Among the trees a night-hued courser stands bound
(On Heaven’s charger’s breast were envy’s scars found).
As softly moved he, sudden on his sight gleamed
A moon that in the water shining bright beamed.
O what a moon! a sun o’er earth that light rains--
Triumphant, happy, blest he who her shade gains.
She’d made the pool a casket for her frame fair,
And all about that casket spread her dark hair.
Her hand did yonder curling serpents back throw--
The dawn ’tis, and thereof we never tired grow.
He saw the water round about her ear play;
In rings upon her shoulders her dark locks lay.
When yon heart-winning moon before the King beamed,
The King became the sun--in him Love’s fire gleamed.
The tears e’en like to water from his eyes rolled;--
Was’t strange, when did a Watery Sign the Moon hold?
No power was left him, neither sport nor pleasure;
He bit his finger, wildered beyond measure.
Unconscious of his gaze, the jasmine-breasted--
The hyacinths o’er the narcissi rested.
When shone her day-face, from that musky cloud bare,
Her eyes oped Shīrīn and beheld the King there.
Within that fountain, through dismay and shamed fright,
She trembled as on water doth the moonlight.
Than this no other refuge could yon moon find
That she should round about her her own locks bind.
The moon yet beameth through the hair, the dark night,
With tresses how could be concealed the sun bright?
To hide her from him, round her she her hair flung,
And thus as veil her night before her day hung.
_Sheykhī_
FROM KHUSREV AND SHĪRĪN
When Ferhād bound to fair Shīrīn his heart’s core,
From out his breast Love many a bitter wail tore.
On tablet of his life graved, shown was Shīrīn;
Of all else emptied, filled alone with Shīrīn.
As loathed he the companionship of mankind,
In wild beasts ’midst the hills did he his friends find.
His guide was Pain; his boon companion, Grief’s throe;
His comrade, Sorrow; and his closest friend, Woe.
Thus wand’ring on, he knew not day from dark night;
For many days he onward strayed in sad plight.
Although before his face a wall of stone rise,
Until he strikes against it, blind his two eyes.
Through yearning for his love he from the world fled;
From out his soul into his body Death sped.
Because he knew that when the earthly frame goes,
Eternal, Everlasting Being love shows,
He fervent longed to be from fleshly bonds free,
That then his life in very truth might Life see.
In sooth, till dies the body, Life is ne’er found,
Nor with the love of life the Loved One e’er found.
_Sheykhī._
YAZIJI-OGLU
THE CREATION OF PARADISE
Hither come, O seeker after Truth! if joy thou wouldest share,
Enter on the Mystic Pathway, follow it, then joy thou’lt share.
Hearken now what God (exalted high his name!) from naught hath formed.
Eden’s bower he hath created; Light, its lamp, he did prepare;
Loftiest its sites, and best and fairest are its blest abodes;
Midst of each a hall of pearls--not ivory nor teak-wood rare.
Each pavilion he from seventy ruddy rubies raised aloft--
Dwellings these in which the dwellers sit secure from fear or care.
Round within each courtyard seventy splendid houses he hath ranged,
Formed of emeralds green--houses these no fault of form that bear.
There, within each house, are seventy pearl and gem-incrusted thrones;
He upon each throne hath stretched out seventy couches broidered fair;
Sits on every couch a maiden of the bourne of loveliness:
Moons their foreheads, days their faces, each a jewelled crown doth wear;
Wine their rubies, soft their eyes, their eyebrows troublous, causing woe:
All-enchanting, Paradise pays tribute to their witching air.
Sudden did they see the faces of those damsels dark of eye,
Blinded sun and moon were, and Life’s Stream grew bitter then and there.
Thou wouldst deem that each was formed of rubies, corals, and of pearls;
Question there is none, for God thus in the Qur’ān doth declare.
Tables seventy, fraught with bounties, he in every house hath placed,
And on every tray hath spread out seventy sorts of varied fare.
* * * * *
All these glories, all these honors, all these blessings of delight,
All these wondrous mercies surely for his sake he did prepare:
Through his love unto Muhammed, he the universe hath framed;
Happy, for his sake, the naked and the hungry enter there.
O Thou Perfectness of Potence! O Thou God of Awful Might!
O Thou Majesty of Glory! O Thou King of Perfect Right!
Since he Eden’s heaven created, all is there complete and whole,
So that naught is lacking; nothing he created needs repair.
Yonder, for his righteous servants, things so fair hath he devised,
That no eye hath e’er beheld them; ope thy soul’s eye, on them stare.
Never have his servants heard them, neither can their hearts conceive;
Reach unto their comprehension shall this understanding ne’er.
There that God a station lofty, of the loftiest, hath reared,
That unclouded station he the name Vesīla caused to bear,
That to his Belovèd yonder station a dear home may be,
Thence ordained is Heaven’s order free from every grief and care.
In its courtyard’s riven centre, planted he the Tūba-Tree;
That a tree which hangeth downward, high aloft its roots are there:
Thus its radiance all the Heavens lighteth up from end to end,
Flooding every tent and palace, every lane and every square.
Such a tree the Tūba, that the Gracious One hath in its sap
Hidden whatsoe’er there be of gifts and presents good and fair;
Forth therefrom crowns, thrones, and jewels, yea, and steeds
and coursers come,
Golden leaves and clearest crystals, wines most pure beyond compare.
For his sake there into being hath he called the Tūba-Tree,
That from Ebū-Qāsim’s hand might everyone receive his share.
* * * * *
_Yaziji-Oglu._
RUBĀ’Ī
Cup-Bearer, bring, bring here again my yester even’s wine;
My harp and rebec bring, them bid address this heart of mine:
While still I live, ’tis meet that I should mirth and glee enjoy;
The day shall come when none may e’en my resting-place divine.
_Sultan Murād II._
GAZEL
Souls are fluttered when the morning breezes through thy tresses stray;
Waving cypresses are wildered when thy motions they survey.
Since with witchcraft thou hast whetted keen the lancet of thy glance,
All my veins are bleeding inward through my longing and dismay.
“Why across thy cheek disordered float thy tresses?” asked I her.
“It is Rūm-Eylī; there high-starred heroes gallop,” did she say.
Thought I, though I spake not: “In thy quarter, through thy
tint and scent,
Wretched and head-giddy, wand’ring, those who hope hope not for stray.”
“Whence the anger in thy glances, O sweet love?” I said; then she:
“Silence! surely if I shed blood, I the ensigns should display.”
Even as thou sighest, ‘Avnī, shower thine eyes tears fast as rain,
Like as follow hard the thunder-roll the floods in dread array.
_‘Avnī._
FRAGMENT OF GAZEL
Torn and pierced my heart has been by thy scorn and tyranny’s blade;
Rent by the scissors of grief for thee is the robe that
my patience arrayed.
Like the mihrāb of the Ka’ba, as shrine where in worship to turn,
Thy ward would an angel take, if thy footprint there he surveyed.
They are pearls, O mine eye! thou sheddest her day-bright face before;
Not a tear is left--these all are dried by the beams by
her cheek displayed.
_‘Avnī._
GAZEL
To obey Fight hard for Allah is my aim and my desire;
’Tis but zeal for Faith, for Islām, that my ardor doth inspire.
Through the grace of Allah, and th’ assistance of the Band Unseen,
Is my earnest hope the Infidels to crush with ruin dire.
On the Saints and on the Prophets surely doth my trust repose;
Through the love of God, to triumph and to conquest I aspire.
What if I with soul and gold strive here to wage the Holy War?
Praise is God’s! ten thousand sighs for battle in my breast suspire.
O Muhammed! through the chosen Ahmed Mukhtār’s glorious aid,
Hope I that my might may triumph over Islām’s foes acquire!
_‘Avnī._
GAZEL
Who pleasure seeks must oftentimes experience sad pain, in sooth;
He must a beggar be who doth desire to win domain, in sooth.
Whene’er I sigh, up rise my tears, they, boiling, fast o’erflow my eyes;
Winds surely must full fiercely blow, with waves to fill
the main, in sooth.
My heart’s domain now thought of thee, now grief for thee, alternate rule;
This realm to wreck and waste to lay those two sublime Kings
strain, in sooth.
Spite zeal and prayers, Truth sure is found within the cup
that’s filled with wine;
So acts of rakes are free from all hypocrisy’s foul stain, in sooth.
O ‘Adenī, rub thou thy face low ’midst the dust that lines her path;
For eyes with blood filled stand in need of tūtyā, health
to gain, in sooth.
_‘Adenī._
FRAGMENT OF GAZEL
When I saw my love’s hair, ambergris-hued, o’er her visage shake,
“Strange,” I thought, “a moon, musk-shedding, ’midst the
flowers its bed should make!”
How thy locks, moon-face, are fallen o’er thy cheek in many a curl!
As in day he lies reposing, so in strength doth gain the snake.
From thy cheek the rose and tulip tint and scent have stol’n indeed;
Therefore through the bāzār round they bear them, bounden to the stake.
_‘Adenī._
GAZEL
Again, then, doth this apple, thy chin, tooth-marks wear!
Again they’ve eaten peaches in thine orchard fair!
If strange hands have not reached thee, O rosebud-lipped one,
Doth thy rose-garden’s pathway a foot-step print bear!
I cannot reach thee before rivals all throng thee round:
Less for true lover than vile dog dost thou care.
Witness that thou with my rivals the cup drain’dst last night,
Bears the sleepless and worn look thy languid eyes wear.
With whom didst thou last even carouse, that this day
Morn’s zephyr about thee did so much news declare?
Beholding thy lips hurt, Āfitābī hath said:
“Again, then, doth this apple, thy chin, tooth-marks wear!”
_Āfitābī._
GAZEL
Cast off thy veil, and heaven and earth in dazzling light array!
As radiant Paradise, this poor demented world display!
Move thou thy lips, make play the ripples light of Kevser’s pool!
Let loose thy scented locks, and odors sweet through earth convey!
A musky warrant by thy down was traced, and zephyr charged:
“Speed, with this scent subdue the realms of China and Cathay!”
O heart! should not thy portion be the Water bright of Life,
A thousand times mayst thou pursue Iskender’s darksome way.
O Zeyneb, woman’s love of earthly show leave thou behind;
Go manly forth, with single heart, forsake adornment gay!
_Zeyneb._
GAZEL
‘Ah! thine eyes lay waste the heart, they ’gainst the soul bare
daggers dread;
See how sanguinary gleam they--blood aye upon blood they shed.
Come, the picture of thy down bear unto this my scorchèd breast--
It is customary fresh greens over the broiled flesh to spread.
Said I: “O Life! since thy lip is life, to me vouchsafe a kiss.”
Smiling rose-like, “Surely, surely, by my life,” she answerèd.
As I weep sore, of my stainèd eyebrow and my tears of blood,
“’Tis the rainbow o’er the shower stretched,” were by all beholders said.
While within my heart thine eye’s shaft, send not to my breast despair;
Idol mine! guest after guest must not to one same house be led.
Through its grieving for thy hyacinth down, thus feeble grown
Is the basil, that the gardeners nightly o’er it water shed.
Quoth I: “O Life! do not shun Jem, he a pilgrim here hath come;”
“Though a pilgrim, yet his life doth on a child’s face hang,” she said.
_Prince Jem_
FRAGMENT
Lo! there the torrent, dashing ’gainst the rocks, doth wildly roll;
The whole wide realm of Space and Being ruth hath on my soul.
Through bitterness of grief and woe the morn hath rent its robe;
See! O in dawning’s place, the sky weeps blood, without control!
Tears shedding, o’er the mountain-tops the clouds of heaven pass;
Hear, deep the bursting thunder sobs and moans through stress of dole.
_Prince Jem._
GAZEL
He who longs for ruby lip’s kiss may not calm of soul remain;
He his head must yield who hopes the dusky locks’ sweet scent to gain.
Still in heart abides not longing’s flame when one her ward beholds;
Him who seeks her face contents not even Heaven’s flowery plain.
Yonder sugar-lip’s surrounded by her cheek’s down;--where art thou,
O thou seeker of the rose’s company without thorn’s pain?
Wouldest thou delight? Then plunge thou deep beneath Love’s ocean surge:
He who would for regal pearls dive, surely should know well the main.
Though the loved one mocks at Ahmed’s faults and failings, what of that?
He who seeks a friend that’s blameless must without a friend remain.
_Ahmed Pasha._
FROM THE WINTER QASĪDA
Locust-like down from the sky the snowflakes wing their way;
From the green-plumaged bird, Delight, O heart! hope not for lay.
Like drunken camels, spatter now the clouds earth’s winding sheet;
Laded the caravan of mirth and glee, and passed away.
With lighted lamps in daytime seek the people for the sun;
Yet scarce, with trouble, a dim, fitful spark discover they.
* * * * *
The Moon in Sign of Bounteousness! the Shade of Allah’s grace!
The King, star-armied! he in aspect fair as Hermes’ ray--
The Khān Muhammed! at the portal of whose sphere of might
To wait as servants would Darius and Key-Khusrev pray!
E’en should the sun till the Last Day it measure with gold beam,
Nor shore nor depth could e’er it find to th’ ocean of his sway!
_Nejātī._
FROM THE SPRING QASĪDA
The early springtide now hath made earth smiling bright again,
E’en as doth union with his mistress soothe the lover’s pain.
They say: “’Tis now the goblet’s turn, the time of mirth ’tis now;”
Beware that to the winds thou castest not this hour in vain.
Theriaca within their ruby pots the tulips lay:
See in the mead the running streamlet’s glistening, snake-like train.
Onward, beneath some cypress-tree’s loved foot its face to rub,
With turn and turn, and singing sweet, the brook goes through the plain.
Lord! may this happy union of felicity and earth,
Like turn of sun of Love, or Jesu’s life, standfast remain!
May glee and mirth, e’en as desired, continuous abide,
Like to a mighty Key-Khusrev’s, or Jemshīd’s, glorious reign!
* * * * *
Sultan Muhammed! Murād’s son! the Pride of Princes all;
He, the Darius, who to all earth’s Kings doth crowns ordain!
Monarch of stars! whose flag’s the sun, whose stirrup is the moon!
Prince dread as Doom, and strong as Fate, and bounteous as main!
_Nejātī._
FROM THE QASĪDA ON THE ACCESSION OF SULTAN BĀYEZĪD II
One eve, when had the Sun before her radiant beauty bright
Let down the veil of ambergris, the musky locks of night;
(Off had the royal hawk, the Sun, flown from the Orient’s hand,
And lighted in the West; flocked after him the crows in flight;)
To catch the gloomy raven, Night, the fowler skilled, the Sphere,
Had shaped the new-moon like the claw of eagle, sharp to smite;
In pity at the doleful sight of sunset’s crimson blood,
Its veil across the heaven’s eye had drawn the dusky Night.
* * * * *
Sultan of Rome! Khusrev of the Horizons! Bāyezīd!
King of the Epoch! Sovereign! and Centre of all Right!
The tablet of his heart doth all th’ affairs of earth disclose;
And eloquent as page of book the words he doth indite.
O Shāh! I’m he who, ’midst th’ assembly where thy praise is sung,
Will, rebec-like, a thousand notes upon one cord recite.
’Tis meet perfection through thy name to my poor words should come,
As to rose-water perfume sweet is brought by sunbeam’s light.
_Nejātī._
GAZEL
Truth this: a lasting home hath yielded ne’er earth’s spreading plain;
Scarce e’en an inn where may the caravan for rest remain.
Though every leaf of every tree is verily a book,
For those who understanding lack doth earth no leaf contain.
E’en though the Loved One be from thee as far as East from West,
“Bagdad to lovers is not far,” O heart, then strive and strain.
One moment opened were her ebriate, strife-causing eyne.
By us as scimitars, not merely daggers, were they ta’en.
Yearneth Nejātī for the court of thy fair Paradise,
Though this a wish which he while here on earth can ne’er attain.
_Nejātī._
RUBĀ’ĪS
O Handkerchief! I send thee--off to yonder maid of grace;
Around thee I my eyelashes will make the fringe of lace;
I will the black point of my eye rub up to paint therewith;
To yon coquettish beauty go--go look thou in her face.
O Handkerchief! the loved one’s hand take, kiss her lip so sweet,
Her chin, which mocks at apple and at orange, kissing greet;
If sudden any dust should light upon her blessèd heart,
Fall down before her, kiss her sandal’s sole, beneath her feet.
A sample of my tears of blood thou, Handkerchief, wilt show,
Through these within a moment would a thousand crimson grow;
Thou’lt be in company with her, while I am sad with grief;
To me no longer life may be, if things continue so.
_Nejātī._
FROM THE SPRING QASĪDA
Up from indolent sleep the eyes of the flowers to awake,
Over their faces each dawn the cloudlets of spring water shake.
Denizens all of the mead now with new life are so filled,
That were its foot not secured, into dancing the cypress would break.
Roses’ fair cheeks to describe, all of their beauty to tell,
Lines on the clear river’s page rain-drops and light ripples make.
Silvery rings, thou would’st say, they hung in the bright water’s ear,
When the fresh rain-drops of spring fall on the stretch of the lake.
Since the ring-dove, who aloft sits on the cypress, its praise
Sings, were it strange if he be sad and love-sick for its sake?
* * * * *
Prince of the Climate of Speech, noble Nishānji Pasha,
To the mark of whose kindness the shaft of thought can its way never make.
When poets into their hands the chaplet, thy verses, have ta’en,
“I pardon implore of the Lord” for litany ever they take.
_Mesīhī._
MUREBBA’
Hark the bulbul’s lay so joyous: “Now have come the days of spring.”
Merry shows and crowds on every mead they spread, a maze of spring;
There the almond-tree its silvern blossoms scatters, sprays of spring:
Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
Once again with varied flow’rets decked themselves have mead and plain;
Tents for pleasure have the blossoms raised in every rosy lane.
Who can tell, when spring hath ended, who and what may whole remain?
Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
All the alleys of the parterre filled with Ahmed’s Light appear,
Verdant herbs his Comrades, tulips like his Family bright appear;
O ye People of Muhammed! times now of delight appear:
Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
Sparkling dew-drops stud the lily’s leaf like sabre broad and keen;
Bent on merry gypsy-party, crowd they all the flow’ry green;
List to me, if thou desirest, these beholding, joy to glean:
Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
Rose and tulip, like to lovely maidens’ cheeks, all beauteous show,
While the dew-drops, like the jewels in their ears, resplendent glow;
Do not think, thyself beguiling, things will aye continue so:
Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
Rose, anemone, and tulip--these, the garden’s fairest flowers--
’Midst the parterre is their blood shed ’neath the lightning-darts
and showers.
Art thou wise?--then with thy comrades dear enjoy the fleeting hours:
Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
Past the moments when with sickness were the ailing herbs opprest,
When the garden’s care, the rose-bud, hid its sad head in its breast;
Come is now the time when hill and rock with tulips dense are drest:
Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
While each dawn the clouds are shedding jewels o’er the rosy land,
And the breath of morning’s zephyr, fraught with Tātār musk is bland;
While the world’s fair time is present, do not thou unheeding stand:
Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
With the fragrance of the garden, so imbued the musky air,
Every dew-drop, ere it reaches earth, is turned to attar rare;
O’er the parterre spread the incense-clouds a canopy right fair:
Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
Whatsoe’er the garden boasted smote the black autumnal blast;
But, to each one justice bringing, back hath come Earth’s King at last;
In his reign joyed the cup-bearer, round the call for wine is past:
Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
Ah! I fondly hope, Mesīhī, fame may to these quatrains cling;
May the worthy these four-eyebrowed beauties oft to mem’ry bring;
Stray among the rosy faces, Bulbul, who so sweet dost sing:
Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring.
_Mesīhī._
FRAGMENT
Both crown and robe forsake shall I, I’ll roam, by these unprest, a while;
’Midst foreign lands, far off from here, I’ll dwell a wayworn
guest, a while.
O minstrel fair, both harp and lute’s sweet music hushed must now remain;
Woe’s feast is spread, ah! there the flute:--my sighs by grief
opprest, a while.
Sometimes I’ll fall, sometimes I’ll rise, sometimes I’ll laugh,
sometimes I’ll weep,
Blood drinking now, woe tasting then, distracted sore I’ll rest, a while.
_Harīmī._
GAZEL
Once from sleep I oped my eyes, I raised my head, when full in sight
There before me stood a moon-faced beauty, lovely, shining, bright.
Thought I: “In th’ ascendant’s now my star, or I my fate have reached,
For within my chamber sure is risen Jupiter this night.”
Radiance from his beauty streaming saw I, though to outward view
(While himself a Muslim) he in garb of infidel is dight.
Though I oped my eyes or closed them, still the form was ever there;
Thus I fancied to myself: “A fairy this or angel bright?”
Till the Resurrection ne’er shall Mihrī gain the Stream of Life;
Yet in Night’s deep gloom Iskender gleamed before her wond’ring sight.
_Mihrī._
GAZEL
Faithful and kind a friend I hoped that thou wouldest prove to me;
Who would have thought so cruel and fierce a tyrant in thee to see?
Thou who the newly-oped rose art of the Garden of Paradise,
That every thorn and thistle thou lov’st--how can it fitting be?
I curse thee not, but of God Most High, Our Lord, I make this prayer--
That thou may’st love a pitiless one in tyranny like to thee.
In such a plight am I now, alack! that the curser saith to his foe:
“Be thy fortune dark and thy portion black, even as those of Mihrī!”
_Mihrī._
GAZEL
From Istāmbōl’s throne a mighty host to Īrān guided I;
Sunken deep in blood of shame I made the Golden Heads to lie.
Glad the Slave, my resolution, lord of Egypt’s realm became:
Thus I raised my royal banner e’en as the Nine Heavens high.
From the kingdom fair of ‘Irāq to Hijāz these tidings sped,
When I played the harp of Heavenly Aid at feast of victory.
Through my sabre Transoxania drowned was in a sea of blood;
Emptied I of kuhl of Isfahān the adversary’s eye.
Flowed adown a River Āmū from each foeman’s every hair--
Rolled the sweat of terror’s fever--if I happed him to espy.
Bishop-mated was the King of India by my Queenly troops,
When I played the Chess of empire on the Board of sov’reignty.
O Selīmī, in thy name was struck the coinage of the world,
When in crucible of Love Divine, like gold, that melted I.
_Selīmī._
GAZEL
My pain for thee balm in my sight resembles;
Thy face’s beam the clear moonlight resembles.
Thy black hair spread across thy cheeks, the roses,
O Liege, the garden’s basil quite resembles.
Beside thy lip oped wide its mouth, the rosebud;
For shame it blushed, it blood outright resembles.
Thy mouth, a casket fair of pearls and rubies,
Thy teeth, pearls, thy lip coral bright resembles;
Their diver I, each morning and each even;
My weeping, Liege, the ocean’s might resembles.
Lest he seduce thee, this my dread and terror,
That rival who Iblīs in spite resembles.
Around the taper bright, thy cheek, Muhibbī
Turns, and the moth in his sad plight resembles.
_Muhibbī._
GAZEL
He who poverty electeth, hall and fane desireth not;
Than the food of woe aught other bread to gain desireth not.
He who, king-like, on the throne of blest contentment sits aloft,
O’er the Seven Climes as Sultan high to reign desireth not.
He, who in his bosom strikes his nails, and opes the wound afresh,
On the garden looks not, sight of rosy lane desireth not.
He, who is of Love’s true subjects, bideth in the fair one’s ward,
Wand’ring there distracted, mountain lone or plain desireth not.
O Muhibbī, he who drinketh from the Loved One’s hand a glass,
E’en from Khizar’s hand Life’s Water bright to drain desireth not.
_Muhibbī_.
GAZEL
A flame that Picture’s sabre in its deadliness of blow;
Like sparks upon its face the marks of damaskeening glow.
Is’t strange that by thy side the bird, my heart, should rest secure?
Thy sabre damaskeened to it doth grain and water show!
The watered scimitar within thy grasp an ocean is,
In which the lines and marks are scattered pearls unique, I trow.
Thy sword a sky, its stars the marks of damaskeening shine,
My heart’s blood there upon its face like break of dawn doth glow.
What though I call that Picture’s brand a branch of Judas-tree?
For there the damask marks and grains like flowers and blossoms blow.
Figānī’s verse on yonder King of Beauty’s empire’s sword
Doth like unto a running stream of limpid water flow.
_Figānī_.
ON AUTUMN
O sad heart, come, distraction’s hour is now high,
The air’s cool, ’midst the fields to sit the time nigh.
The Sun hath to the Balance, Joseph-like, past,
The year’s Zuleykha hath her gold hoard wide cast.
By winds bronzed, like the Sun, the quince’s face glows;
Its Pleiads-clusters, hanging forth, the vine shows.
In saffron flow’rets have the meads themselves dight;
The trees, all scorched, to gold have turned, and shine bright.
The gilded leaves in showers falling to earth gleam;
With goldfish filled doth glisten brightly each stream.
Ablaze each tree, and blent are all in one glare,
And therefore charged with glistening fire the still air.
Amidst the yellow foliage perched the black crows--
As tulip, saffron-hued, that spotted cup shows.
A yellow-plumaged bird now every tree stands,
Which shakes itself and feathers sheds on all hands.
Each vine-leaf paints its face, bride-like, with gold ink;
The brook doth silver anklets round the vine link.
The plane-tree hath its hands, with hinna, red dyed,
And stands there of the parterre’s court the fair bride.
The erst green tree now like the starry sky shows,
And hurling meteors at the fiend, Earth, stones throws.
_Lāmi’ī_.
ON SPRING
From the pleasure, joy, and rapture of this hour,
In its frame to hold its soul earth scarce hath power.
Rent its collar, like the dawning, hath the rose;
From its heart the nightingale sighs forth its woes.
Dance the juniper and cypress like the sphere;
Filled with melody through joy all lands appear.
Gently sing the running brooks in murmurs soft;
While the birds with tuneful voices soar aloft.
Play the green and tender branches with delight,
And they shed with one accord gold, silver, bright.
Like to couriers fleet, the zephyrs speed away,
Resting ne’er a moment either night or day.
In that raid the rosebud filled with gold its hoard,
And the tulip with fresh musk its casket stored.
There the moon a purse of silver coin did seize;
Filled with ambergris its skirt the morning breeze;
Won the sun a golden disk of ruby dye,
And with glistening pearls its pocket filled the sky:
Those who poor were fruit and foliage attained;
All the people of the land some trophy gained.
_Lāmi’ī_.
ROSE TIME
O heart, come, wail, as nightingale thy woes show;
’Tis Pleasure’s moment this, come, then, as rose blow.
In burning notes make thou thy tuneful song rise;
These iron hearts soft render with thy sad sighs.
Within thy soul place not, like tulip, dark brand;
When opportunity doth come, then firm stand.
From earth take justice ere yet are these times left,
And ere yet from the soul’s harp is breath’s song reft.
They call thee--view the joys that sense would yield thee;
But, ere thou canst say “Hie!” the bird is flown, see.
Give ear, rose-like, because in truth the night-bird
From break of dawn its bitter wail hath made heard.
Their chorus all around the gleeful birds raise;
The streamlets sing, the nightingale the flute plays.
The jasmines with their fresh leaves tambourines ply;
The streams, hard pressed, raise up their glistening foam high
Of junipers and cypresses two ranks ’tween,
The zephyr sports and dances o’er the flower-green.
The streamlets ’midst the vineyard hide-and-seek play
The flowerets with, among the verdant leaves gay.
Away the morning’s breeze the jasmine’s crown tears,
As pearls most costly scatters it the plucked hairs.
The leader of the play’s the breeze of swift pace;
Like children, each the other all the flowers chase.
With green leaves dressed, the trees each other’s hands take;
The flowers and nightingales each other’s robes shake.
Like pigeon, there, before the gale that soft blows,
Doth turn in many a somersault the young rose.
As blaze up with gay flowerets all the red plains,
The wind each passes, and the vineyard next gains.
The clouds, pearl-raining, from the meteors sparks seize;
And flowers are all around strewn by the dawn-breeze.
The waters, eddying, in circles bright play,
Like shining swords the green leaves toss about they.
With bated breath the Judas-trees there stand by;
And each for other running brook and breeze sigh.
The gales tag with the basil play in high glee;
To dance with cypress gives its hand the plane-tree.
The soft winds have adorned the wanton bough fair,
The leader of the frolics ’midst the parterre.
The narcisse toward the almond-tree its glance throws;
With vineyard-love the pink upbraids the dog-rose.
The water’s mirror clear doth as the Sphere gleam;
Its stars, the flowers reflected, fair and bright beam.
The meads are skies; their stars, the drops of dew, glow;
The jasmine is the moon; the stream, the halo.
In short, each spot as Resurrection-plane seems;
None who beholds of everlasting pain dreams.
Those who it view, and ponder well with thought’s eye,
Is’t strange, if they be mazed and wildered thereby?
Up! breeze-like, Lāmi’ī, thy hermitage leave!
The roses’ days in sooth no time for fasts give
_Lāmi’ī_.
FROM AN ELEGY ON SULTAN SELĪM I
He, an old man in prudence, a youth in might;
His sword aye triumphant, his word ever right
Like Āsef in wisdom, the pride of his host;
He needed no vezīr, no mushīr in fight.
His hand was a sabre; a dagger, his tongue;
His finger, an arrow; his arm, a spear bright.
In shortest of time many high deeds he wrought,
Encircle the world did the shade of his might.
The Sun of his Day, but the sun at day’s close,
Throwing long shadow, but brief while in sight.
Of throne and of diadem sovereigns boast,
But boasted of him throne and diadem bright.
Delight would his heart in that festival find,
Whither doth sabre’s and fife’s clang invite.
In feats with the sword, eke at feasts at the board,
On his peer ne’er alight did the aged Sphere’s sight:
Sped he to the board’s feast--a Sun beaming bright!
Swept he to the sword’s field--a Lion of fight!
Whenever the war-cries: Seize! Hold! echo far,
The sword, weeping blood, shall that Lion’s fame cite.
Alas! Sultan Selīm! alas! woe is me!
Let both Pen and Sabre in tears mourn for thee!
_Kemāl Pasha-Zāda._
FROM AN ELEGY ON ISKENDER CHELEBI
High honored once was the noble Iskender;
O heart, from his destiny warning obtain.
Ah! do thou see what at length hath befall’n him!
What all this glory and panoply gain!
Drinking the poison of doom, ne’er a remnant
Of sweetness’s taste in his mouth did remain.
Retrograde, sank down his star, erst ascendant,
From perfect conjunction, alas, did it wane.
Dust on the face of his honor aye stainless
Strewn hath the blast of betrayal profane.
The Lofty Decree for his high exaltation
Did Equity’s Court, all unlocked for, ordain;
Forthwith to the Regions of Eden they bore him,
They raised him from earth’s abject baseness and stain.
Circling and soaring, he went on his journey,
From the land of his exile to Home back again.
Neck-bounden he stood as a slave at the palace,
Freed is he now from affliction’s hard chain.
Joyous he flew on his journey to Heaven,
Rescued forever from earth gross and vain.
In life or in death from him never, ay, never
Was honor most lofty, most glorious, ta’en!
_Gazālī._
FRAGMENT
Come is the autumn of my life, alas, it thus should pass away!
I have not reached the dawn of joy, to sorrow’s night there is no day.
Time after time the image of her cheek falls on my tear-filled eye;
Ah! no pretension to esteem can shadows in the water lay!
Oh! whither will these winds of Fate impel the frail barque of the heart?
Nor bound nor shore confining girds Time’s dreary ocean of dismay!
_Gazālī._
GAZEL
Dead am I of grief, my Moon no love who shows, ah! where art thou?
Reach the skies, the plaints and wails born of my woes, ah!
where art thou?
Save within thy rosy bower rests not the nightingale, the heart;
Figure fair as waving cypress, face as rose, ah! where art thou?
Through thy lips the rose drops sugar at the feast of heart and soul;
Where, my Parrot whose sweet voice doth love disclose, ah! where art thou?
Though with longing dead were Ishāaq, live should he, did once she say:
“O my poor one, wildered, weary, torn by woes, ah! where art thou?”
_Ishāq Chelebi._
ON THE PROPHET MUHAMMED
That thy form, O Beauty of his orchard who doth all pervade!
Is a cypress, wrought of light, that casteth on earth’s face no shade.
Though the gazers on the loveliness of Joseph cut their hands,
Cleft in twain the fair moon’s palm, when it thy day-bright face surveyed.
To the mart of the Hereafter, when a man hath passed, he gains
Through the money bright, thy love, which is of joy the stock-in-trade.
This, my hope, that yonder Cypress in the bowers of Paradise
Shelter Zātī, and all true believers, ’neath his blissful shade.
_Zātī._
GAZEL
Through thine absence, smiling Rosebud, forth my soul doth go, alas!
Earth is flooded by the tears down from my eyes that flow, alas!
Should’st thou ask about my days, without thee they’re black as thy hair;
’Midst of darkness, O my Stream of Life, I’m lying low, alas!
With the stones of slander stone me all the cruel rival throng;
O my Liege, my Queen, ’tis time now mercy thou should’st show, alas!
When I die through longing for thee, and thou passest o’er my breast,
From my dust thou’lt hear full many bitter sighs of woe, alas!
In his loved one’s cause will Lutfī surely die the martyr’s death;
Let her brigand eyes from mulct for blood of mine free go, alas!
_Lutfī._
GAZEL
If ’tis state thou seekest like the world-adorning sun’s array,
Lowly e’en as water rub thy face in earth’s dust every day.
Fair to see, but short enduring is this picture bright, the world;
’Tis a proverb: Fleeting like the realm of dreams is earth’s display.
Through the needle of its eyelash never hath the heart’s thread past;
Like unto the Lord Messiah bide I half-road on the way.
Athlete of the Universe through self-reliance grows the Heart,
With the ball, the Sphere--Time, Fortune--like an apple doth it play.
Mukhlisī, thy frame was formed from but one drop, yet, wonder great!
When thou verses sing’st, thy spirit like the ocean swells, they say.
_Mukhlisī._
GAZEL
One with Realms Eternal this my soul to make; what wouldest say?
All Creation’s empire’s fancies to forsake; what wouldest say?
Wearing to a hair my frame with bitter sighs and moans, in love,
Nestling in the Fair One’s tresses, rest to take; what wouldest say?
Yonder gold-faced birds within the quicksilver-resplendent deep:
Launching forth the hawk, my striving, these to take; what wouldest say?
Yonder Nine Smaragdine Bowls of Heaven to quaff at one deep draught,
Yet from all ebriety’s fumes free to break; what wouldest say?
To an autumn leaf the Sphere hath turned Khiyālī’s countenance;
To the Spring of Beauty, that a gift to make; what wouldest say?
_Khiyālī._
GAZEL
With longing fond and vain, why should I make my soul to mourn?
One trace of love of earth holds not my heart--all is forsworn.
There ready stands the caravan, to Death’s dim realms addrest,
E’en now the tinkling of its bells down on my ears is borne.
Come then, O bird, my soul, be still, disquiet leave far off;
See, how this cage, the body, is with years and suffering worn.
But yet, to weary, wasted, sin-stained Shāhī, what of fear?
Since Thou’rt the God of Love, the helping Friend of those forlorn!
_Shāhī._
GAZEL
O breeze, thou’rt kind, of balm to those whom pangs affright,
thou news hast brought,
To wounded frame of life, to life of life’s delight thou news
hast brought.
Thou’st seen the mourning nightingale’s despair in sorrow’s autumn drear,
Like springtide days, of smiling roseleaf fresh and bright, thou
news hast brought.
If I should say thy words are heaven-inspired, in truth, blaspheme I not;
Of Faith, whilst unbelief doth earth hold fast and tight, thou
news hast brought.
They say the loved one comes to soothe the hearts of all her lovers true;
If that the case, to yon fair maid of lovers’ plight thou news
hast brought.
Of rebel demon thou hast cut the hope Suleymān’s throne to gain;
That in the sea secure doth lie his Ring of might, thou news hast brought.
Fuzūlī, through the parting night, alas, how dark my fortune grew!
Like zephyr of the dawn, of shining sun’s fair light thou
news hast brought.
_Fuzūlī._
GAZEL
O thou Perfect Being, Source whence wisdom’s mysteries arise;
Things, the issue of thine essence, show wherein thy nature lies.
Manifester of all wisdom, thou art he whose pen of might
Hath with rays of stars illumined yonder gleaming page, the skies.
That a happy star, indeed, the essence clear of whose bright self
Truly knoweth how the blessings from thy word that flow to prize.
But a jewel flawed am faulty I: alas, forever stands
Blank the page of my heart’s journal from thought of thy writing wise.
In the journal of my actions Evil’s lines are black indeed;
When I think of Day of Gathering’s terrors, blood flows from my eyes.
Gathering of my tears will form a torrent on the Reckoning Day,
If the pearls, my tears, rejecting, he but view them to despise:
Pearls my tears are, O Fuzūlī, from the ocean deep of love;
But they’re pearls these, oh! most surely, that the Love of Allah buys!
_Fuzūlī._
GAZEL
Is’t strange if beauties’ hearts turn blood through envy of thy
cheek most fair?
For that which stone to ruby turns is but the radiant sunlight’s glare.
Or strange is’t if thine eyelash conquer all the stony-hearted ones?
For meet an ebon shaft like that a barb of adamant should bear!
Thy cheek’s sun-love hath on the hard, hard hearts of fairy
beauties fall’n,
And many a steely-eyed one hath received thy bright reflection fair.
The casket, thy sweet mouth, doth hold spell-bound the _hūrī_-faced
ones all;
The virtue of Suleymān’s Ring was that fays thereto fealty sware.
Is’t strange if, seeing thee, they rub their faces lowly midst the dust?
That down to Adam bowed the angel throng doth the Qur’ān declare!
On many and many a heart of stone have fall’n the pangs of love for thee!
A fire that lies in stone concealed is thy heart-burning love’s
dread glare!
Within her ward, with garments rent, on all sides rosy-cheeked ones stray;
Fuzūlī, through those radiant hues, that quarter beams a garden fair.
_Fuzūlī._
GAZEL
From the turning of the Sphere my luck hath seen reverse and woe;
Blood I’ve drunk, for from my banquet wine arose and forth did go.
With the flame, my burning sighs, I’ve lit the wand’ring wildered heart;
I’m a fire, doth not all that which turns about me roasted glow?
With thy rubies wine contended--oh! how it hath lost its wits!
Need ’tis yon ill-mannered wretch’s company that we forego.
Yonder Moon saw not my burning’s flame upon the parting day--
How can e’er the sun about the taper all night burning know?
Every eye that all around tears scatters, thinking of thy shaft,
Is an oyster-shell that causeth rain-drops into pearls to grow.
Forms my sighing’s smoke a cloud that veils the bright cheek of the moon;
Ah! that yon fair Moon will ne’er the veil from off her beauty throw!
Ne’er hath ceased the rival e’en within her ward to vex me sore;
How say they, Fuzūlī, “There’s in Paradise nor grief nor woe”?
_Fuzūlī._
MUSEDDES
A stately Cypress yesterday her shade threw o’er my head;
Her form was heart-ensnaring, heart-delighting her light tread;
When speaking, sudden opened she her smiling rubies red,
There a pistachio I beheld that drops of candy shed.
“This casket can it be a mouth? Ah! deign!” I said; said she:
Nay, nay, ’tis balm to cure thy hidden smart; aye, truly thine!”
Down o’er her crescents she had pressed the turban she did wear,
By which, from many broken hearts, sighs raised she of despair;
She loosed her tresses--hid within the cloud her moon so fair,
And o’er her visage I beheld the curls of her black hair.
“Those curling locks, say, are they then a chain?” I said; said she:
That round my cheek, a noose to take thy heart; aye, truly thine!”
The taper bright, her cheek, illumined day’s lamp in the sky;
The rose’s branch was bent before her figure, cypress-high;
She, cypress-like, her foot set down upon the fount, my eye,
But many a thorn did pierce her foot she suffered pain thereby.
“What thorn unto the roseleaf-foot gives pain?” I said; said she:
The lash of thy wet eye doth it impart; aye, truly thine!”
Promenading, to the garden did that jasmine-cheeked one go;
With many a bright adornment in the early springtide’s glow;
The hyacinths their musky locks did o’er the roses throw;
That Picture had tattooed her lovely feet rose-red to show.
“The tulip’s hue whence doth the dog-rose gain?” I said; said she:
“From blood of thine shed ’neath my glance’s dart; aye, truly thine!”
To earth within her ward my tears in torrents rolled apace;
The accents of her ruby lips my soul crazed by their grace;
My heart was taken in the snare her musky locks did trace,
That very moment when my eyes fell on her curls and face.
“Doth Scorpio the bright Moon’s House contain?” I said; said she:
“Fear! threatening this Conjunction dread, thy part; aye, truly thine!”
Her hair with ambergris perfumed was waving o’er her cheek,
On many grieving, passioned souls it cruel woe did wreak;
Her graceful form and many charms my wildered heart made weak;
The eye beheld her figure fair, then heart and soul did seek.
“Ah! what bright thing this cypress of the plain?” I said; said she:
“Tis that which thy fixed gaze beholds apart; aye, truly thine!”
When their veil her tulip and dog-rose had let down yesterday,
The morning breeze tore off that screen which o’er these flow’rets lay;
Came forth that Envy of the sun in garden fair to stray,
Like lustrous pearls the dew-drops shone, a bright and glistening spray.
“Pearls, say, are these, aye pearls from ‘Aden’s main?”
I said; said she:
“Tears, these, of poor Fuzūlī, sad of heart; aye, truly thine!”
_Fuzūlī._
MUKHAMMES
Attar within vase of crystal, such thy fair form silken-gowned;
And thy breast is gleaming water, where the bubbles clear abound;
Thou so bright none who may gaze upon thee on the earth is found;
Bold wert thou to cast the veil off, standing forth with garland crowned:
Not a doubt but woe and ruin all the wide world must confound!
Lures the heart thy gilded palace, points it to thy lips the way;
Eagerly the ear doth listen for the words thy rubies say;
Near thy hair the comb remaineth, I despairing far away;
Bites the comb, each curling ringlet, when it through thy locks
doth stray:
Jealous at its sight, my heart’s thread agonized goes curling round.
Ah! her face the rose, her shift rose-hued, her trousers red their shade;
With its flame burns us the fiery garb in which thou art arrayed.
Ne’er was born of Adam’s children one like thee, O cruel maid!
Moon and Sun, in beauty’s circle, at thy fairness stand dismayed:
Seems it thou the Sun for mother and the Moon for sire hast owned.
Captive bound in thy red fillet, grieve I through thy musky hair;
Prone I ’neath those golden anklets which thy silvern limbs do wear;
Think not I am like thy fillet, empty of thy grace, O fair!
Rather to the golden chain, which hangs thy cheek round, me compare:
In my sad heart pangs a thousand from thy glance’s shafts are found.
Eyes with antimony darkened, hands with hinna crimson dyed;
Through these beauties vain and wanton like to thee was ne’er a bride.
Bows of poplar green, thy painted brows; thy glances shafts provide.
Poor Fuzūlī for thine eyes and eyebrows aye hath longing cried:
That the bird from bow and arrow flees not, well may all astound.
_Fuzūlī._
FROM LEYLĪ AND MEJNŪN
Yield not the soul to pang of Love, for Love’s the soul’s fierce glow;
That Love’s the torment of the soul doth all the wide world know.
Seek not for gain from fancy wild of pang of Love at all;
For all that comes from fancy wild of Love’s pang is grief’s throe.
Each curving eyebrow is a blood-stained sabre thee to slay;
Each dusky curl, a deadly venomed snake to work thee woe.
Lovely, indeed, the forms of moon-like maidens are to see--
Lovely to see, but ah! the end doth bitter anguish show.
From this I know full well that torment dire in love abides,
That all who lovers are, engrossed with sighs, rove to and fro.
Call not to mind the pupils of the black-eyed damsels bright,
With thought, “I’m man”; be not deceived, ’tis blood they drink, I trow.
E’en if Fuzūlī should declare, “In fair ones there is troth,”
Be not deceived--“A poet’s words are falsehoods all men know.”
_Fuzūlī._
MEJNŪN ADDRESSES NEVFIL
Quoth Mejnūn: “O sole friend of true plight!
With counsel many have tried me to guide right;
Many with wisdom gifted have advice shown,
But yet this fiend hath been by no one o’erthrown;
Much gold has on the earth been strewn round,
But yet this Stone of Alchemist by none’s found.
Collyrium I know that doth increase light,
What use though is it if the eye doth lack sight?
I know that greatest kindliness in thee lies,
What use, though, when my fate doth ever dark rise?
Upon my gloomy fortune I no faith lay,
Impossible my hope appeareth alway.
Ah! though in this thou shouldest ever hard toil,
The end at length will surely all thy plans foil.
No kindliness to me my closest friends show;
Who is a friend to him whom he doth deem foe?
I know my fortune evil is and woe-fraught;
The search for solace is to me, save pain, naught.
There is a gazel that doth well my lot show,
Which constant I repeat where’er my steps go.”
_Fuzūlī._
MEJNŪN’S GAZEL
From whomsoever I’ve sought for troth but bitterest disdain I’ve seen;
Whome’er within this faithless world I’ve trusted, all most vain
I’ve seen.
To whomsoe’er I’ve told my woes, in hope to find some balm therefor,
Than e’en myself o’erwhelmed and sunk in deeper, sadder pain I’ve seen.
From out mine aching heart no one hath driven cruel grief away,
That those my friends of pleasure’s hour affection did but feign
I’ve seen.
Although I’ve clutched its mantle, life hath turned away its face from me;
And though I faith from mirror hoped, there persecuted swain I’ve seen.
At gate of hope I set my foot, bewilderment held forth its hand,
Alas! whene’er hope’s thread I’ve seized, in hand the serpent’s
train I’ve seen.
A hundred times the Sphere hath shown to me my darksome fortune’s star;
Whene’er my horoscope I’ve cast, but blackest, deepest stain I’ve seen.
Fuzūlī, blush not then, should I from mankind turn my face away;
For why? From all to whom I’ve looked, but reason sad too plain I’ve seen.
_Fuzūlī._
ZEYD’S VISION
His grief and mourning Zeyd renewèd alway,
From bitter wailing ceased he not, he wept aye.
That faithful, loving, ever-constant friend dear,
One night, when was the rise of the True Dawn near,
Feeling that in his wasted frame no strength stayed,
Had gone, and down upon that grave himself laid.
There, in his sleep, he saw a wondrous fair sight,
A lovely garden, and two beauties, moon-bright;
Through transport rapturous, their cheeks with light glow;
Far distant now, all fear of anguish, pain, woe;
With happiness and ecstasy and joy blest,
From rivals’ persecutions these have found rest;
A thousand angel-forms to each fair beauty,
With single heart, perform the servant’s duty.
He, wondering, question made: “What Moons so bright these?
What lofty, honored Sovereigns of might these?
What garden, most exalted, is this parterre?
What throng so bright and beautiful, the throng there?”
They answer gave: “Lo! Eden’s shining bowers these;
That radiant throng, the Heaven-born Youths and Hūrīs;
These two resplendent forms, bright as the fair moon,
These are the ever-faithful--Leylī, Mejnūn!
Since pure within the vale of love they sojourned,
And kept that purity till they to dust turned,
Are Eden’s everlasting bowers their home now,
To them the Hūrīs and the Youths as slaves bow:
Since these, while on the earth, all woe resigned met,
And patience aye before them in each grief set,
When forth they fled from this false, faithless world’s bound,
From all those pangs and sorrows they release found!”
_Fuzūlī._
GAZEL
I began love’s art to study, divers chapters did I read;
Longing’s texts and parting’s sections a whole book would fill indeed;
Union formed a short abridgment, but the pangs of love for thee
Have their commentaries endless made each other to succeed.
O Nishānī, hath the master, Love, thus truly taught to thee:
“This a question hard whose answer from the loved one must proceed!”
_Nishānī._
GAZEL
Hand in hand thy mole hath plotted with thy hair,
Many hearts made captive have they in their snare.
Thou in nature art an angel whom the Lord
In his might the human form hath caused to wear.
When he dealt out ’mongst his creatures union’s tray,
Absence from thee, God to me gave as my share.
Thou would’st deem that Power, the limner, for thy brows,
O’er the lights, thine eyes, two _nūns_ had painted fair.
O Selīmī, on the sweetheart’s cheek the down
Is thy sighs’ fume, which, alas, hath rested there.
_Selīmī._
GAZEL
Ta’en my sense and soul have those thy Leylī locks, thy glance’s spell,
Me, their Mejnūn, ’midst of love’s wild dreary desert they impel.
Since mine eyes have seen the beauty of the Joseph of thy grace,
Sense and heart have fall’n and lingered in thy chin’s sweet dimple-well.
Heart and soul of mine are broken through my passion for thy lips;
From the hand of patience struck they honor’s glass, to earth it fell.
The mirage, thy lips, O sweetheart, that doth like to water show;
For, through longing, making thirsty, vainly they my life dispel.
Since Selīmī hath the pearls, thy teeth, been praising, sense and heart
Have his head and soul abandoned, plunging ’neath love’s ocean-swell.
_Selīmī._
GAZEL
Thy veil raise, shake from cheeks those locks of thine then;
Unclouded beauty’s sun and moon bid shine then.
But one glance from those soft and drooping eyes throw,
The heart through joy to drunkenness consign then.
Were I thy lip to suck, ’twould heal the sick heart;
Be kind, an answer give, Physician mine, then.
Beware lest evil glance thy beauty’s rose smite,
From ill-eyed rival careful it confine then.
O heart, this is Life’s Water ’midst of darkness,
In night’s gloom hidden, drink the ruby wine then.
My love’s down grows upon her rosy-hued cheek,
A book write on the woes it doth enshrine then.
Thy wine-hued lip, O love, grant to Selīmī--
And by thy parting’s shaft my tears make wine then.
_Selīmī._
GAZEL
The rival entry free hath to the loved one’s ward, but none have I;
Regard unto the very dogs they there accord, but none have I.
The heart doth seize the Magian’s hand; the cup-bearer, his glass; but I--
For gentle love they grant to these their due reward, but none have I.
To gain regard I would complain loud as the dogs within thy ward,
For these have power their plight to show, their griefs record, but
none have I.
From all eternity have I to Mejnūn taught the pang of love,
How then do all the folk to him renown award, but none have I?
To God be praise that brightly shines the mirror of my heart, Shemsī,
For more or less earth’s glass with dust is soiled or marred, but
none have I.
_Shemsī Pacha._
FROM THE “KING AND BEGGAR”
Parrot, sweet of voice, thy song now raise!
All thy words purify in Love’s fierce blaze!
Every point of Love as whole book shows;
Every mote of Love as bright sun glows.
Drowned in one drop thereof Time, Space, in sooth;
Lost in one grain thereof Both Worlds, in truth.
Man becomes man through Love, pure, bright,
Teacher respected, guide of the right.
Through its beams everything man as chief owns,
Rays of sun into rubies turn black stones.
* * * * *
He who a Lover is on God relies;
On, on, upward still doth he rise.
One day he secrets all shall descry,
Love makes the soul from sleep raise the eye;
Unto him all things shall oped be and shown,
Off e’en the curtain from God shall be thrown.
_Yahya Beg._
GAZEL
Yea, on God’s favor all my trust I place;
Ah! how my soul desireth his dear grace!
Since with the Lord I have my heart made right,
All of my hope upon his aid I base.
I upon troops and treasures no faith lay;
Nay, to the Hosts Unseen I leave my case.
Bravely strive on, the Holy Warfare fight;
Firm, in God’s cause to war, I’ve set my face.
By him, I trust, received my prayer may be;
For, on acceptance I my whole hope place.
_Murādī._
QAĪSDA
One night when all the battlements Heaven’s castle doth display,
Illumed and decked were, with the shining lamps, the stars’ array,
Amidst the host of gleaming stars the Moon lit up his torch;
Athwart the field of Heaven with radiance beamed the Milky Way.
The Secretary of the Spheres had ta’en his meteor-pen,
That writer of his signature whom men and jinns obey.
There, at the banquet of the sky, had Venus struck her lyre,
In mirth and happiness, delighted, joyed and smiling gay.
Taking the keynote for her tune ’neath in the vaulted sphere,
The tambourinist Sun her visage bright had hid away.
Armed with a brand of gleaming gold had leapt into the plain
The Swordsman of the sky’s expanse, of heaven’s field of fray.
To give direction to the weighty matters of the earth
Had Jupiter, the wise, lit up reflection’s taper’s ray.
There raised aloft old Saturn high upon the Seventh Sphere
Sitting like Indian elephant-conductor on did stray.
“What means this decking of the universe?” I wond’ring said;
When, lo! with meditation’s gaze e’en whilst I it survey,
Casting its beams on every side, o’er all earth rose the Sun,
O’er the horizons, e’en as Seal of Suleymān’s display.
The eye of understanding looked upon this wondrous sight;
At length the soul’s ear learned the secret hid in this which lay:
What is it that hath decked earth’s hall with splendors such as this,
Saving the might and fortune of the King who earth doth sway?
He who sits high upon the throne above all crowned kings,
The Hero of the battlefield of dread Keyānī fray,
Jemshīd of happiness and joy, Darius of the fight,
Khusrev of right and clemency, Iskender of his day!
Lord of the East and West! King whom the kings of earth obey!
Prince of the Epoch! Sultan Suleymān! Triumphant Aye!
Meet ’tis before the steed of yonder Monarch of the realms
Of right and equity, should march earth’s rulers’ bright array.
Rebelled one ’gainst his word, secure he’d bind him in his bonds,
E’en like the dappled pard, the sky, chained with the Milky Way.
Lord of the land of graciousness and bounty, on whose board
Of favors, spread is all the wealth that sea and mine display;
Longs the perfumer, Early Spring, for th’ odor of his grace;
Need hath the merchant, Autumn, of his bounteous hand alway.
Through tyrant’s hard oppression no one groaneth in his reign,
And though may wail the flute and lute, the law they disobey.
Beside thy justice, tyranny’s the code of Key-Qubād;
Beside thy wrath, but mildness Qahramān’s most deadly fray.
Thy scimitar’s the gleaming guide empires to overthrow,
No foe of Islām can abide before thy sabre’s ray.
Saw it thy wrath, through dread of thee would trembling seize the pine;
The falling stars a chain around the heaven’s neck would lay.
Amidst thy sea-like armies vast, thy flags and standards fair,
The sails are which the ship of splendid triumph doth display.
Thrust it its beak into the Sphere, ’twould seize it as a grain,
The ‘_anqa_ strong, thy power, to which ’twere but a seed-like prey.
In past eternity the hand, thy might, it struck with bat,
That time is this time, for the Sky’s Ball spins upon its way.
Within the rosy garden of thy praise the bird, the heart,
Singeth this soul-bestowing, smooth-as-water-running lay.
If yonder mouth be not the soul, O heart-enslaver gay,
Then wherefore is it like the soul, hid from our eyes away?
Since in the casket of our mind thy ruby’s picture lies,
The mine is now no fitting home for gem of lustrous ray.
Thy tresses fall across thy cheek in many a twisting curl,
“To dance to Hijāz have the Shāmīs tucked their skirts,” we’d say.
Let both the youthful pine and cypress view thy motions fair;
The gardener now to rear the willow need no more assay.
The dark and cloudy brained of men thine eyebrows black depict,
While those of keen, discerning wit thy glistening teeth portray.
Before thy cheek the rose and jasmine bowèd in _sujūd_,
The cypress to thy figure in _qiyām_ did homage pay.
The heart’s throne is the seat of that great monarch, love for thee;
The soul, the secret court, where doth thy ruby’s picture stay.
The radiance of thy beauty bright hath filled earth like the sun,
The hall, “BE! and it is,” resounds with love of thee for aye.
The cries of those on plain of earth have risen to the skies,
The shouts of those who dwell above have found to earth their way.
Nor can the nightingale with songs as sweet as Bāqī’s sing,
Nor happy as thy star can beam the garden’s bright array.
The mead, the world, blooms through thy beauty’s rose, like Irem’s bower;
On every side are nightingales of sweet, melodious lay.
Now let us pray at Allah’s court: “May this for aye endure,
The might and glory of this prospered King’s resplendent sway;
Until the lamp, the world-illuming sun, at break of dawn,
A silver candelabrum on the circling skies display,
Oh! may the Ruler of the world with skirt of aid and grace
Protect the taper of his life from blast of doom, we pray!”
Glory’s the comrade; Fortune, the cup-bearer at our feast;
The beaker is the Sphere; the bowl, the Steel of gold-inlay!
_Bāqī._
GAZEL
’Tis love’s wild sea, my sighs’ fierce wind doth lash those waves
my tears uprear;
My head, the barque of sad despite; mine eyebrows twain, the anchors here.
Mine unkempt hair, the den of yonder tiger dread, the fair one’s love;
My head, dismay and sorrow’s realm’s deserted mountain region drear.
At whatsoever feast I drain the cup thy rubies’ mem’ry to,
Amidst all those who grace that feast, except the dregs, I’ve no
friend near.
Thou know’st, O Light of my poor eyes, with _tūtyā_ mixed are gems
full bright,
What then if weep on thy path’s dust mine eyes that scatter pearls
most clear!
The Sphere, old hag, with witchcraft’s spell hath parted me from
my fond love,
O Bāqī, see, by God, how vile a trick yon jade hath played me here!
_Bāqī._
GAZEL
Years trodden under foot have I lain on that path of thine;
Thy musky locks are noose-like cast, around my feet to twine.
O Princess mine! boast not thyself through loveliness of face,
For that, alas, is but a sun which must full soon decline!
The loved one’s stature tall, her form as fair as juniper,
Bright ’midst the rosy bowers of grace a slender tree doth shine.
Her figure, fair-proportioned as my poesy sublime,
Her slender waist is like its subtle thought--hard to divine.
Then yearn not, Bāqī, for the load of love’s misfortune dire;
For that to bear mayhap thy soul no power doth enshrine.
_Bāqī._
GAZEL
With her graceful-moving form, a Cypress jasmine-faced is she?
Or in Eden’s bower a branch upon the Lote or Tūba-tree?
That thy blood-stained shaft which rankles in my wounded breast, my love,
In the rosebud hid a lovely rose-leaf, sweetheart, can it be?
To the dead of pain of anguish doth its draught fresh life impart;
O cup-bearer, is the red wine Jesu’s breath? tell, tell to me!
Are they teeth those in thy mouth, or on the rosebud drops of dew?
Are they sparkling stars, or are they gleaming pearls, that there I see?
Through the many woes thou wreakest upon Bāqī, sick of heart,
Is’t thy will to slay him, or is it but sweet disdain in thee?
_Bāqī._
GAZEL
Before thy form, the box-tree’s lissom figure dwarfed would show;
Those locks of thine the pride of ambergris would overthrow.
Who, seeing thy cheek’s glow, recalls the ruby is deceived;
He who hath drunken deep of wine inebriate doth grow.
Should she move forth with figure like the juniper in grace,
The garden’s cypress to the loved one’s form must bend right low.
Beware, give not the mirror bright to yonder paynim maid,
Lest she idolater become, when there her face doth show.
Bāqī, doth he not drink the wine of obligation’s grape,
Who drunken with A-lestu’s cup’s o’erwhelming draught doth go?
_Bāqī._
GAZEL
Thy cheek, like limpid water, clear doth gleam;
Thy pouting mouth a bubble round doth seem.
The radiance of thy cheek’s sun on the heart
Like moonlight on the water’s face doth beam.
The heart’s page, through the tracings of thy down,
A volume all illumined one would deem.
That fair Moon’s sunny love the earth have burned,
It warm as rays of summer sun doth stream.
At woful sorrow’s feast my blood-shot eyes,
Two beakers of red wine would one esteem.
Bāqī, her mole dark-hued like ambergris,
A fragrant musk-pod all the world would deem.
_Bāqī._
GAZEL
All sick the heart with love for her, sad at the feast of woe;
Bent form, the harp; low wail, the flute; heart’s blood for wine
doth flow.
Prone lies the frame her path’s dust ’neath, in union’s stream the eye,
In air the mind, the soul ’midst separation’s fiery glow.
Oh, ever shall it be my lot, zone-like, thy waist to clasp!
’Twixt us, O love, the dagger blade of severance doth show!
Thou art the Queen of earth, thy cheeks are Towers of might, this day,
Before thy Horse, like Pawns, the Kings of grace and beauty go.
Him hinder not, beside thee let him creep, O Shade-like stay!
Bāqī, thy servant, O my Queen, before thee lieth low.
_Bāqī._
ON AUTUMN
Lo, ne’er a trace or sign of springtide’s beauty doth remain;
Fall’n ’midst the garden lie the leaves, now all their glory vain.
Bleak stand the orchard trees, all clad in tattered dervish rags;
Dark Autumn’s blast hath torn away the hands from off the plane.
From each hill-side they come and cast their gold low at the feet
Of garden trees, as hoped the streams from these some boon to gain.
Stay not within the parterre, let it tremble with its shame:
Bare every shrub, this day doth naught or leaf or fruit retain.
Bāqī, within the garden lies full many a fallen leaf;
Low lying there, it seems they ’gainst the winds of Fate complain.
_Bāqī._
GAZEL
Tulip-cheeked ones over rosy field and plain stray all around;
Mead and garden cross they, looking wistful each way, all around.
These the lovers true of radiant faces, aye, but who the fair?
Lissom Cypress, thou it is whom eager seek they all around.
Band on band Woe’s legions camped before the City of the Heart,
There, together leagued, sat Sorrow, Pain, Strife, Dismay, all around.
From my weeping flows the river of my tears on every side,
Like an ocean ’tis again, a sea that casts spray all around.
Forth through all the Seven Climates have the words of Bāqī gone;
This refulgent verse recited shall be alway, all around.
_Bāqī._
GAZEL
From thine own beauty’s radiant sun doth light flow;
How lustrously doth now the crystal glass show!
Thy friend’s the beaker, and the cup’s thy comrade;
Like to the dregs why dost thou me aside throw?
Hearts longing for thy beauty can resist not;
Hold, none can bear the dazzling vision’s bright glow!
United now the lover, and now parted;
This world is sometimes pleasure and sometimes woe.
Bound in the spell of thy locks’ chain is Bāqī,
Mad he, my Liege, and to the mad they grace show.
_Bāqī._
GAZEL
The goblet as affliction’s Khusrev’s bright Keyānī crown doth shine;
And surely doth the wine-jar love’s King’s Khusrevānī hoard enshrine.
Whene’er the feast recalls Jemshīd, down from its eyes the red blood
rolls;
The rosy-tinted wine its tears, the beakers its blood-weeping eyne.
At parting’s banquet should the cup, the heart, with blood brim o’er
were’t strange?
A bowl that, to the fair we’ll drain, a goblet filled full high with wine.
O Moon, if by thy door one day the foe should sudden me o’ertake--
A woe by Heaven decreed, a fate to which I must myself resign!
The fume of beauty’s and of grace’s censer is thy cheek’s sweet mole,
The smoke thereof thy musky locks that spreading fragrant curl and twine;
Thy cheek rose-hued doth light its taper at the moon that shines most
bright,
Its candlestick at grace’s feast is yonder collar fair of thine.
Of love and passion is the lustrous sheen of Bāqī’s verse the cause;
As Life’s Stream brightly this doth shine; but that, th’ Eternal
Life Divine.
_Bāqī._
GAZEL
When the sheets have yonder Torment to their bosom ta’en to rest,
Think I, “Hides the night-adorning Moon within the cloudlet’s breast.”
In the dawning, O thou turtle, mourn not with those senseless plaints;
In the bosom of some stately cypress thou’rt a nightly guest.
Why thou weepest from the heavens, never can I think, O dew;
Every night some lovely rose’s bosom fair thou enterest.
Hath the pearl seen in the story of thy teeth its tale of shame,
Since the sea hath hid the album of the shell within its breast?
Longing for thy cheeks, hath Bāqī all his bosom marked with scars,
Like as though he’d cast of rose-leaves fresh a handful o’er his chest.
_Bāqī._
ELEGY ON SULTAN SULEYMĀN I
O thou! foot-bounden in the mesh of fame and glory’s snare!
Till when shall last the lust of faithless earth’s pursuits and care?
At that first moment, which of life’s fair springtide is the last,
’Tis need the tulip cheek the tint of autumn leaf should wear;
’Tis need that thy last home should be, e’en like the dregs’, the dust;
’Tis need the stone from hand of Fate should be joy’s beaker’s share.
He is a man indeed whose heart is as a mirror clear;
Man art thou? why then doth thy breast the tiger’s fierceness bear?
In understanding’s eye how long shall heedless slumber bide?
Will not war’s Lion-Monarch’s fate suffice to make thee ware?
He, Prince of Fortune’s Cavaliers! he to whose charger bold,
Whene’er he caracoled or pranced, cramped was earth’s tourney square!
He, to the lustre of whose sword the Magyar bowed his head!
He, the dread gleaming of whose brand the Frank can well declare!
Like tender rose-leaf, gently laid he in the dust his face,
And Earth, the Treasurer, him placed like jewel in his case.
In truth, he was the radiance of rank high and glory great,
A Shah, Iskender-diademed, of Dārā’s armied state;
Before the dust beneath his feet the Sphere bent low its head;
Earth’s shrine of adoration was his royal pavilion’s gate.
The smallest of his gifts the meanest beggar made a prince;
Exceeding bounteous, exceeding kind a Potentate!
The court of glory of his kingly majesty most high
Was aye the centre where would hopes of sage and poet wait.
Although he yielded to Eternal Destiny’s command,
A King was he in might as Doom and puissant as Fate!
Weary and worn by this sad, changeful Sphere, deem not thou him:
Near God to be, did he his rank and glory abdicate.
What wonder if our eyes no more life and the world behold!
His beauty fair, as sun and moon, did earth irradiate!
If folk upon the bright sun look, with tears are filled their eyes;
For seeing it, doth yon moon-face before their minds arise!
Now let the cloud blood drop on drop weep, and its form bend low!
And let the Judas-tree anew in blossoms gore-hued blow!
With this sad anguish let the stars’ eyes rain down bitter tears!
And let the smoke from hearts on fire the heavens all darkened show!
Their azure garments let the skies change into deepest black!
Let the whole world attire itself in robes of princely woe!
In breasts of fairies and of men still let the flame burn on--
Of parting from the blest King Suleymān the fiery glow!
His home above the highest heaven’s ramparts he hath made;
This world was all unworthy of his majesty, I trow.
The bird, his soul, hath, _huma_-like, aloft flown to the skies,
And naught remaineth save a few bones on the earth below.
The speeding Horseman of the plain of Time and Space was he;
Fortune and Fame aye as his friends and bridle guides did go.
The wayward courser, cruel Fate, was wild and fierce of pace,
And fell to earth the Shade of God the Lord’s benignant Grace.
Through grief for thee, bereft of rest and tearful e’en as I,
Sore weeping let the cloud of spring go wand’ring through the sky!
And let the wailing of the birds of dawn the whole world fill!
Be roses torn! and let the nightingale distressful cry!
Their hyacinths as weeds of woe displaying, let them weep,
Down o’er their skirts their flowing tears let pour--the mountains high!
The odor of thy kindliness recalling, tulip-like,
Within the Tātār musk-deer’s heart let fire of anguish lie!
Through yearning for thee let the rose its ear lay on the path,
And, narcisse-like, till the last day the watchman’s calling ply!
Although the pearl-diffusing eye to oceans turned the world,
Ne’er into being should there come a pearl with thee to vie!
O heart! this hour ’tis thou that sympathizer art with me;
Come, let us like the flute bewail, and moan, and plaintive sigh!
The notes of mourning and of dole aloud let us rehearse;
And let all those who grieve be moved by this our sevenfold verse.
Will earth’s King ne’er awake from sleep?--broke hath the dawn of day:
Will ne’er he move forth from his tent, adorned as heaven’s display?
Long have our eyes dwelt on the road, and yet no news hath come
From yonder land, the threshold of his majesty’s array:
The color of his cheek hath paled, dry-lipped he lieth there,
E’en like that rose which from the vase of flowers hath fall’n away.
Goes now the Khusrev of the skies behind the cloudy veil,
For shame, remembering thy love and kindness, one would say.
My prayer is ever, “May the babes, his tears, go ’neath the sod,
Or old or young be he who weeps not thee in sad dismay.”
With flame of parting from thee let the sun burn and consume;
And o’er the wastes through grief let darkness of the clouds hold sway.
Thy talents and thy feats let it recall and weep in blood,
Yea, let thy sabre from its sheath plunge in the darksome clay.
Its collar, through its grief and anguish, let the reed-pen tear!
And let the earth its vestment rend through sorrow and despair!
Thy sabre made the foe the anguish dire of wounds to drain;
Their tongues are silenced, none who dares to gainsay doth remain.
The youthful cypress, head-exalted, looked upon thy lance,
And ne’er its lissom twigs their haughty airs displayed again.
Where’er thy stately charger placed his hoof, from far and near
Flocked nobles, all upon thy path their lives to offer fain.
In desert of mortality the bird, desire, rests ne’er;
Thy sword in cause of God did lives as sacrifice ordain.
As sweeps a scimitar, across earth’s face on every side,
Of iron-girded heroes of the world thou threw’st a chain.
Thou took’st a thousand idol temples, turnèdst all to mosques;
Where jangled bells thou mad’st be sung the Call to Prayers’ strain.
At length is struck the signal drum, and thou hast journeyed hence;
Lo! thy first resting-place is Eden’s flowery, verdant plain.
Praise is to God! for he in the Two Worlds hath blessèd thee,
And caused thy glorious name, Hero and Martyr both to be.
Bāqī, the beauty of the King, the heart’s delight, behold!
The mirror of the work of God, the Lord of Right, behold!
The dear old man hath passed away from th’ Egypt sad, the world;
The youthful Prince, alert and fair as Joseph bright, behold!
The Sun hath risen, and the Dawning gray hath touched its bourne;
The lovely face of yon Khusrev, whose soul is light, behold!
This chase now to the grave hath sent the Behrām of the Age;
Go, at his threshold serve, King Erdeshīr aright, behold!
The blast of Fate to all the winds hath blown Suleymān’s throne;
Sultan Selīm Khān on Iskender’s couch of might, behold!
The Tiger of the mount of war to rest in sleep hath gone;
The Lion who doth now keep watch on glory’s height, behold!
The Peacock fair of Eden’s mead hath soared to Heaven’s parterre;
The lustre of the _huma_ of high, happy flight, behold!
Eternal may the glory of the heaven-high Khusrev dwell!
Blessings be on the Monarch’s soul and spirit--and farewell!
_Bāqī._
GAZEL
Cruel tyranny we love not, nay, to justice we incline;
Full contentedly our eyes wait for the blest command divine.
Know we truly, for a mirror, world-reflecting, is our heart;
Yet conceive not us to Fortune’s ever-changeful ways supine.
To the rule of God submissive, all concern we cast aside;
We indeed on him confiding, on his providence recline.
Shall our heart anoint its eye then with the _kuhl_ of Isfahān?
Pleased it with this _tūtyā_: dust that doth the Fair One’s pathway line.
Since our heart, ‘Adlī, within Love’s crucible was purified,
’Midst the universe, from guile and guilt free, bright our soul
doth shine.
_‘Adlī._
GAZEL
Oh that a fragrant breath might reach the soul from early spring!
Oh that with warbling sweet of birds the groves once more might ring!
Oh that in melody the songs anew might rose-like swell!
That fresh in grace and voice the nightingale be heard to sing!
Oh that the New Year’s Day were come, when, minding times gone by,
Should each and all from Time and Fate demand their reckoning!
In short, O Bakhtī, would the early vernal days were here,
Then, ’midst the mead, ne’er should we part from brink of limpid spring.
_Bakhtī._
GAZEL
Soon as I beheld thee, mazed and wildered grew my sad heart;
How shall I my love disclose to thee who tyrant dread art?
How shall I hold straight upon my road, when yonder Torment
Smitten hath my breast with deadly wounds by her eyelash dart?
Face, a rose; and mouth, a rosebud; form, a slender sapling--
How shall I not be the slave of Princess such as thou art?
Ne’er hath heart a beauty seen like her of graceful figure;
Joyous would I for yon charmer’s eyebrow with my life part.
Fārisī, what can I do but love that peerless beauty?
Ah! this aged Sphere hath made me lover of yon sweetheart.
_Fārisī._
MUSEDDES
Ah! that once again my heart with blood is filled, like beaker, high;
At the feast of parting from my love I fell, and prostrate lie;
O’er this wildered heart the gloom of frenzy, conquering, doth fly;
In the valley of distraction ne’er a guide can I descry.
Heedless mistress! loveless Fortune! ever-shifting, restless sky!
Sorrows many! friends not any! strong-starred foeman! feeble I!
In the land of exile loomed dark on one side the night of woe,
Nowhere o’er me did the lustrous moon of beauty’s heaven glow;
Yonder glared the Two Infortunes, sank my helping planet low;
Here did fortune, there did gladness, parting from me, distant go.
Heedless mistress! loveless Fortune! ever-shifting, restless sky!
Sorrows many! friends not any! strong-starred foeman! feeble I!
Strange is’t if the nightingale, my heart, in thousand notes doth wail?
Fate to part it from the rosebud, the belovèd, did prevail;
Whilst I’m on the thorn of anguish, rivals with my love regale:
Why recite my woes, O comrades? space were none to tell their tale!
Heedless mistress! loveless Fortune! ever-shifting, restless sky!
Sorrows many! friends not any! strong-starred foeman! feeble I!
E’en a moment at the feast of woes from tears can I refrain?
How shall not the wine, my tears, down rolling, all my vestment stain?
Can it be with e’en one breath I should not like the reed complain?
Sad, confused, like end of banquet, why then should not I remain?
Heedless mistress! loveless Fortune! ever-shifting, restless sky!
Sorrows many! friends not any! strong-starred foeman! feeble I!
Yonder Princess, though I served her, pitiless drave me away,
Banished me far from her city, sent me from her court’s array:
When I parted from her tresses, black the world before me lay;
Helpless ’midst the darkness did I, like unto ‘Atā’ī, stray.
Heedless mistress! loveless Fortune! ever-shifting, restless sky!
Sorrows many! friends not any! strong-starred foeman! feeble I!
_‘Atā’ī._
GAZEL
Be thou wise and thoughtful, e’en as _qalender_ in mind be free;
Nor a faithless, graceless paynim, nor a bigot Moslem be.
Be not vain of wisdom, though thou be the Plato of the age;
Be a school-child when a learned man and righteous thou dost see.
Like the world-adorning sun, rub thou thy face low ’midst the dust;
Overwhelm earth with thy planet, yet without a planet be.
Fret not after Khizar, rather go, and, like to Nef’ī’s heart,
At the channel of Life’s Stream of grace drink full contentedly.
_Nefī._
TO SULTAN MURĀD IV
Round us foes throng, host to aid us here in sad plight, is there none?
In the cause of God to combat, chief of tried might, is there none?
None who will checkmate the foe, Castle to Castle, face to face
In the battle who will Queen-like guide the brave Knight, is there none?
Midst a fearful whirlpool we are fallen helpless, send us aid!
Us to rescue, a strong swimmer in our friends’ sight, is there none?
Midst the fight to be our comrade, head to give or heads to take,
On the field of earth a hero of renown bright, is there none?
Know we not wherefore in turning off our woes ye thus delay;
Day of Reckoning, aye, and question of the poor’s plight, is there none?
With us ’midst the foeman’s flaming streams of scorching fire to plunge,
Salamander with experience of Fate dight, is there none?
This our letter, to the court of Sultan Murād, quick to bear,
Pigeon, rapid as the storm wind in its swift flight, is there none?
_Hāfiz Pacha._
IN REPLY TO THE PRECEDING
To relieve Bagdad, O Hāfiz, man of tried might, is there none?
Aid from us thou seek’st, then with thee host of fame bright, is
there none?
“I’m the Queen the foe who’ll checkmate,” thus it was that thou didst say;
Room for action now against him with the brave Knight, is there none?
Though we know thou hast no rival in vainglorious, empty boasts,
Yet to take dread vengeance on thee, say, a Judge right, is there none?
While thou layest claim to manhood, whence this cowardice of thine?
Thou art frightened, yet beside thee fearing no fight, is there none?
Heedless of thy duty thou, the Rāfizīs have ta’en Bagdad;
Shall not God thy foe be? Day of Reckoning, sure, right, is there none?
They have wrecked Ebū-Hanīfa’s city through thy lack of care;
Oh, in thee of Islām’s and the Prophet’s zeal, light, is there none?
God who favored us, whilst yet we knew not, with the Sultanate,
Shall again accord Bagdad, decreed of God’s might, is there none?
Thou hast brought on Islām’s army direful ruin with thy bribes;
Have we not heard how thou say’st, “Word of this foul blight, is
there none?”
With the aid of God, fell vengeance on the enemy to take,
By me skilled and aged, vezīr, pious, zeal-dight, is there none?
Now shall I appoint commander a vezīr of high emprise,
Will not Khizar and the Prophet aid him? guide right, is there none?
Is it that thou dost the whole world void and empty now conceive?
Of the Seven Climes, Murādī, King of high might, is there none?
_Murādī._
LUGAZ
There’s an o’erhanging castle in which there flows a main,
And there within that castle a fish its home hath ta’en;
The fish within its mouth doth hold a shining gem,
Which wastes the fish as long as it therein doth remain.
This puzzle to the poets is offered by Murād;
Let him reply who office or place desires to gain.
_Murādī._
SACHLI ZEMĀN (FORTUNE THE LONG-HAIRED)
Zemān the Long-haired, ’midst these lovely ones see,
A wayward, wanton Torment of the world she.
Like Fortune, she nor clemency nor grace knows;
The number of her hairs her lovers’ tale shows.
The tribute from the realm of hearts her curls bore,
Seduced me have these locks that hang her neck o’er.
_‘Azīzī._
JIHĀN BĀNŪ (LADY WORLD)
She whom they call Jihān ’s a damsel moon-faced,
Who, like the World, is faithless, and doth hearts waste.
Save faithlessness, though comes not from the World aught;
The heart from that love of the soul can pass not.
Let but her mind contented be with poor me,
Then may the World divorced from me for aye be.
_‘Azīzī._
LĀ’L-PARA (RUBY-CHIP)
Lā’l-Para as her name doth one of these own,
A girl whose heart is hard as is the flint-stone.
Her mouth in very truth’s a ruby bright red,
Her teeth are pearls, so too the words by her said.
Strange were it, if my heart be by her love slaved?
For sooth her rubies bear the “coral-prayer” graved.
_‘Azīzī._
ĀQ-‘ĀLEM (WHITE UNIVERSE)
And Aq-‘Alem they one of yonder maids call,
For her the moon of heaven acteth jackal.
Is’t strange if through her loveliness she famed be?
A white Rose on the earth is yonder Hūrī.
He who with that bright Moon as friend goes,
A universe enjoys more fair than earth shows.
_’Azīzī._
MUSEDDES
Be mine for dress, the piercing thorn! be mine for couch, the
hard, hard stone!
Be mine for home, grief’s cot! be mine for bread, woe’s tears!
for work, pain’s moan!
Be all my bleeding frame with wounds of cruel foeman’s hatred sown!
Be these rejoiced in heart and gay who make my grieving soul to groan!
Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown!
Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes
cast prone!”
Unfaithfulness is aye the rule which guides the Sphere that loves to pain,
The inborn nature of the Skies is but to manifest disdain;
Within the breasts of those who pleasure seek there lurks some yearning
vain;
O heart, blest is the practice of the thought enshrined in this refrain:
Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown!
Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes cast
prone!”
When time is past, rejoiced shall swell the hearts of all my comrades
dear;
And through their cruelty--my choice--my foes shall mourn in sorrow drear.
Let all those learn this verse of me who hap to come my pathway near,
And let them from the tongues of that green sward which decks my grave
this hear:
Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown!
Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes cast
prone!”
Within this hostel of the world my portion is the tray of dole;
My eye, the birthplace of the flame, refuseth health’s most pleasant
stole;
Fatigue, the rest of my sad heart; anguish, the present to my soul;
Ne’er through Eternity to gain my longing is my longing’s goal.
Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown!
Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes
cast prone!”
O Nā‘ilī, is’t possible to change or alter Fate’s decree?
Annulled can ever be the edict writ by pen of Destiny?
My heart is gladdened with this thought, that ne’er an hour’s delay can be
In whetting keen and sharp that axe of pain which rust can never see.
Be all those glad by whom my aching heart is tortured and o’erthrown!
Be those blest with their wish who say of me, “Be all his hopes
cast prone!”
_Nā‘ilī._
GAZEL
He who union with the Lord gains, more delight desireth not!
He who looks on charms of fair one, other sight desireth not.
Pang of love is lover’s solace, eagerly he seeks therefor,
Joys he in it, balm or salve for yonder blight, desireth not.
Paradise he longs not after, nor doth aught beside regard;
Bower and Garden, Mead, and Youth, and Hūrī bright, desireth not.
From the hand of Power Unbounded draineth he the Wine of Life,
Aye inebriate with Knowledge, learning’s light, desireth not.
He who loves the Lord is monarch of an empire, such that he--
King of Inward Mysteries--Suleymān’s might, desireth not.
Thou art Sultan of my heart, aye, Soul of my soul e’en art Thou;
Thou art Soul enow, and Sidqī other plight desireth not.
_Sidqī._
MUNĀJĀT
Allah! Lord who liv’st for aye! O Sole! O King of Glory’s Ray!
Monarch who ne’er shalt pass away! show Thou to us Thy bounties fair.
In early morning shall our cry, our wail, mount to Thy Throne on high:
“Error and sin our wont,” we sigh: show Thou to us Thy bounties fair.
If cometh not from Thee Thy grace, evil shall all our works deface;
O Lord of Being and of Space! show Thou to us Thy bounties fair.
Creator of security! to Thy Belovèd greetings be!
These fair words are in sincerity: show Thou to us Thy bounties fair
Iqbālī sinnèd hath indeed, yet unto him Thy grace concede;
Eternal, Answerer in need! show Thou to us Thy bounties fair.
_Iqbālī._
MUKHAMMES
Alas! nor dew nor smiling rose within this mead is mine;
Within this market-place nor trade nor coin for need is mine;
Nor more nor less; nor power nor strength for act or deed is mine;
Nor might nor eminence; nor balm the cure to speed is mine.
Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
Being’s the bounty of the Lord; and Life, the gift Divine;
The Breath, the present of his love; and Speech his Grace’s sign;
The Body is the pile of God; the Soul, his Breath benign;
The Powers thereof, his Glory’s trust; the Senses, his design.
Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
No work, no business of my own within this mart have I;
All Being is of him alone--no life apart have I;
No choice of entering this world, or hence of start have I;
To cry, “I am! I am!” in truth, no power of heart have I.
Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
The Earth the carpet is of Power; the Sphere, the tent of Might;
The Stars, both fixed and wandering, are Glory’s lamps of light;
The World’s the issue of the grace of Mercy’s treasures bright;
With Forms of beings is the page of Wisdom’s volume dight.
Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
Being is but a loan to us, and Life in trust we hold:
In slaves a claim to Power’s pretension arrogant and bold;
The servant’s part is by submission and obedience told;
Should He, “My slave,” address to me, ’twere favors manifold.
Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
I’m poor and empty-handed, but grace free is of the Lord;
Nonentity’s my attribute: to Be is of the Lord:
For Being or Non-being’s rise, decree is of the Lord;
The surging of the Seen and Unseen’s sea is of the Lord.
Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
Of gifts from table of his Bounty is my daily bread;
My breath is from the Breath of God’s benignant Mercy fed;
My portion from the favors of Almighty Power is shed;
And my provision is from Providence’s kitchen spread.
Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
I cannot, unallotted, take my share from wet or dry;
From land or from the ocean, from earth or from the sky;
The silver or the gold will come, by Providence laid by;
I cannot grasp aught other than my fortune doth supply.
Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
Creation’s Pen the lines of billows of events hath traced;
Th’ illumined scroll of the Two Worlds, Creation’s Pencil graced;
Their garments upon earth and sky, Creation’s woof hath placed;
Men’s forms are pictures in Creation’s great Shāh-Nāma traced.
Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
I cannot make the morning eve, or the dark night the day;
I cannot turn the air to fire, or dust to water’s spray;
I cannot bid the Sphere stand still, or mountain region stray;
I cannot Autumn turn by will of mine to lovely May.
Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
From out of Nothingness his mighty Power made me appear;
Whilst in the womb I lay, saw he to all I need for here;
With kindness concealed and manifest did he me rear;
With me he drew a curtain o’er Distinction’s beauty dear.
Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
God’s Revelation is Discernment’s Eye, if’t oped remain;
The picturings of worlds are all things changing aye amain;
The showing of the Hidden Treasure is this raging main,
This work, this business of the Lord, this Majesty made plain.
Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
Now void, now full, are Possibility’s store-houses vast;
This glass-lined world’s the mirror where Lights Twain their phases cast;
The blinded thing--in scattering strange fruits its hours are past;
Ruined hath this old Vineyard been by autumn’s sullen blast.
Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!
_Nābī._
GAZEL
Ne’er a corner for the plaintive bulbul’s nest remaineth now;
Ne’er a palm-tree ’neath whose kindly shade is rest remaineth now.
Day and night some balm I’ve sought for, to relieve my wounded heart;
Ne’er a cure within the heavens’ turquoise chest remaineth now.
From its source, through every country, searched have I, but all in vain--
Ne’er a single drop, in mercy’s fountain blest, remaineth now.
Empty earthen pots are reckoned one with jewels rich and rare;
Ne’er a scale in value’s mart the worth to test remaineth now.
’Neath the earth may now the needy hide themselves, Nābī, away;
Ne’er a turret on the fort of interest remaineth now.
_Nābī._
MUNĀJĀT
O Lord, to Thee is never a beginning, neither end;
Thy mercy’s ocean, limitless, doth over all extend.
E’en though the value-weighing hand of Thine unbounded might
Hath wrought astounding marvels that all numbering transcend,
Yet, Lord, Thou formedst Adam in the best of symmetry;
Thou worthy of thy grace to make this folk didst condescend.
Unfathomed and unsounded lies thy mercy’s ocean vast,
Which truly hath made earth beneath its surging waves descend:
O Lord, could any hurt or harm befall that shoreless deep,
Did thou a single drop therefrom to this thy servant send?
Since ‘Ārif owns a Master kind in graciousness like thee,
O Lord, before another’s door were’t right for him to bend?
O Lord, thus ever doth in joy thy blest device appear--
Thy greatest glory from the works of vileness thou dost rear!
_‘Ārif._
GAZEL
The sun of love for thy fair cheek the heart’s core floods with radiant
light;
The soul’s most secret court is filled with dazzling rays at thy sweet
sight.
With union’s joys though blest one be, or though with pangs of absence
torn,
Are still sad wail and plaintive cry the e’er-true signs of lovelorn
plight.
Then welcome, O thou gentlest breeze, that bear’st to him who dwells
midst woe,
As news from yonder absent maid the sweet scent of her garment white.
Of gilded halls no need in sooth to libertines when wine flows free;
Some ruined den beseems them more, like Jemshīd’s hut of woful site.
The sparks raised by my passioned sighs’ and plainings’ smoke are each
one quenched;
For every tear that rolleth down upon my robe’s a rich pearl bright.
O ‘Ārif! this poor captive bird hath grown to love th’ entangling snare;
For curling locks to careworn hearts afford a refuge sure from fright.
_’Ārif._
FAREWELL POEM
Ah, my Joy! thou’rt gone, and my sad weeping heart hast borne indeed,
And my breast by bitter parting’s raging fires all worn indeed;
Grief for thee in hundred pieces hath my raiment torn indeed;
Be thy escort on the journey tears I weep, forlorn indeed.
Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed;
Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed.
Wheresoe’er thy footsteps wander, be the aid of God thy guide;
As the pilot to thy wishes be His grace aye at thy side;
Shadow for thy crown of glory may the _huma’s_ wing provide;
Ah! may ever-joyous, happy fortune on thy path abide.
Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed;
Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed.
O thou Source of joy and quiet unto my poor grieving breast!
Hence forever I with separation’s fires am sore opprest;
Thou, Crown of my joy! my Treasure! mercy show to me distrest!
Now, my Lord, to whom shall Master’s title be by me addrest?
Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed;
Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed.
Ever in thy court of service may th’ inconstant heavens be!
I am fallen, soul and body, to woe’s depths by their decree;
From a kindly master like thee, merciless, they’ve sundered me;
And into the dreary vale of exile have they driven thee.
Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed;
Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed.
Though I’m far now from the shadow of thy love, O Cypress straight,
Still my prayers I may offer for thy happiness of state.
Think at times upon thy servant ‘Ārif sitting desolate;
Him from near thy skirt of kindness taken hath his darksome fate.
Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed;
Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed.
_’Ārif._
GAZEL
The realm of patience thou’st laid waste, Helāgū hight art thou, Paynim?
O mercy! thou’st the world consumed, a blazing light art thou, Paynim?
A maiden’s grace, is that thy grace, a conquering hero’s voice, thy voice;
Thou Woe, I know not, maid or youthful lord of might art thou, Paynim?
What mean those hidden, secret sighs, and tears, and saddest grievings,
pray?
The wailing lover of some wanton gay and bright, art thou, Paynim?
Why on the polished mirror dost thou thus so frequent cast thine eyes?
Bewildered and distraught at thine own beauty’s sight art thou, Paynim?
I’ve heard that poor Nedīm hath been by cruel Paynim captive ta’en--
That fierce oppressor of the Faith, and foe of right, art thou, Paynim?
_Nedīm._
GAZEL
O heart! e’en though thou tell’st thy woes, yon maid will ne’er
compassion deign:
When constancy and troth thou seek’st, dost thou address the barren plain?
The student of the course of tyranny is yonder wanton wild;
To look for faith or grace from her who enmity desires is vain.
That paynim glance doth hold in hand a dagger sharp of point and keen;
And yet, O babe, my heart, thou dost to thousands sing her praises’
strain.
In hope that it would yield the soul a breath of favor’s odor sweet,
How yonder rosebud-mouth effaceth all, thou dost thereto explain.
O Sabqatī, what wondrous science hath thy magic talent learnt,
That thou right royally inditest every joyous, glad refrain?
_Sabqatī._
GAZEL
A rose-leaf o’er the spikenard fall’n--the red fez lies on her dark hair;
The perspiration studs her cheeks--the dew-drops which the roses wear.
Since mirrored in th’ o’erflowing bowl did yon cup-bearer’s chin beam
bright,
My eyes were fixed upon that wine, like bubbles which that wine did bear.
Behold thou, then, her braided locks, as musk, all dark and sweet
perfumed;
Like ambergris, her tresses shed abroad an odor rich and rare.
Those who set forth on Mystic Path behind soon leave the earth-born love;
The Bridge, as home, within this world of ours, no man hath taken e’er.
Now, O Belīg, that steed, thy reed, doth caracole across this page;
Thy finger-points, the Hayder bold whom that Duldul doth onward bear.
_Belīg._
ON A DANCING-GIRL
When that beauty of a dancing-girl her castanets hath ta’en,
Should the sun and moon behold her, jealous, each were rent in twain.
Patience from my soul is banished when beginneth she to dance;
Leaps with her my heart; my eyesight, faltering, is like to wane.
When the moon looks down upon her, must it not be seared of heart?
Yonder moon-fair one her crimson skirt for halo bright hath ta’en.
In her motions and her pausings what varieties of grace!
While her lovely frame doth tremble, like to quicksilver, amain!
Full delighted at her motions, loud as thunder roars the drum;
Beats its breast the tambourine, its bells commence to mourn and plain.
When she cometh, like a fairy, begging money from the crowd,
In her tambourine, had one a hundred lives, he’d cast them fain.
Deck her out on gala-days, and take her by the hand, Belīg;
Yonder spark-like Idol hath consumed my soul with fiery pain.
_Belīg._
GAZEL
Surge in waves my streaming tears, e’en like a rushing flood, once more,
From their smallest drop, the sources of a hundred Niles would pour.
Overwhelm the raging billows of my tears the heart’s frail bark,
Though the mem’ry of her cheek, like to the beacon, radiance throw.
What my pen writes down appeareth, in the eyes of brutish men,
Like the needle to the blinded, of discerning clear the foe.
One the beggar’s bowl would be with the tiara of the King,
Were it but reversed, for then like to the royal crown ’twould show.
Though it be coarse as a rush-mat, is that soul the seat of grace,
Which doth, like the wattle basket, freely bread to guests bestow,
“Yonder hair-waist I encircled,” did the braggart rival say;
But her waist exists not--hair-like slight his boasting’s truth doth show.
O thou vain one! see, what anguish to the head of Nimrod brought
Was by one gnat’s sting, which like to trunk of elephant did grow.
Sāmī, it is thy intention to compare to heaven’s bowers
These thy distichs eight, with shining flowers of rhetoric that glow.
_Sāmī._
FRAGMENT
Think not that with Kevser’s praises hearts become of joy full;
Preacher, rather doth the tale of mouth and kiss the soul rule.
Thinking of her rubies red, whene’er I drink tobacco,
The _nargila’s_ a flask of wine, the pipe-bowl is a _sumbul_.
Know how holy is her land: who dwelleth in Edirna,
Ere he to the Ka’ba bends, doth turn him to Istambul.
_Sāmī._
GAZEL
Near thy rubies, ne’er I bow my head to wine of rosy hue;
’Neath the shadow of the Magian priest, I ne’er the glass eschew.
Now it makes me exile’s prisoner, now the comrade close of pain--
What to do I know not, what with this sad fate of mine to do!
E’en the Home of Peace it turneth to the cot of woe for me,
Through the longing for thy dusky mole, when Shām I journey through.
Since ’tis needful midst the people that I still reside and move,
If the days ne’er suit me, I shall suit myself the days unto.
Never unto Nev-res, never, will thy sweet words bitter seem;
Speak thou, then, for I’m contented all reproach to hearken to.
_Nev-res_.
GAZEL
If the fair one would but come in her lover’s home to stay,
Were his eyes not filled with light by her face as bright as day?
Or would yonder Moon but dart that her glance as dagger keen,
And my rival’s bosom pierce that, like flute, he breathe dismay!
Fly not this poor one, Moon-face, who hath drunken deep of woe;
Order not that I be burned in the fire of love, I pray.
If the Grace of God the Lord to a slave should aider be,
Though he lack a single groat he’ll the Sphere as monarch sway.
Rush the tear drops from my eyes through their longing for thy face;
By its power thy sun-like face doth the dew-drops steal away.
By the Mystic Pathway’s side, if thou’rt wise, a hostel build,
For the travellers of Love, as a caravanserai.
Proud and noble mistress mine, with those eyebrows and those eyes,
Where a need of bow and shaft this thy lover fond to slay?
Thou hast loosed thy tresses dark, o’er thy day-face spread a veil--
Or in House of Scorpio is the Moon eclipsèd, say?
Should my loved one pierce my breast, right contented sooth were I;
Only worthy of her grace let that Moon-face me survey.
Write, O pen, that I desire, like the salamander, fire;
Thus declare, should she it will, yonder lovely Queen Humāy.
Is it then the shining moon that the world doth silver o’er,
Or the radiance of thy face that doth earth in light array?
Did the caviller dispute and thy sun-bright face decry,
Would thy lover, like the mote, to that fool the truth convey.
Lovers surely for their loves do their talents aye employ;
Is it thine thy tribute now to present, Shāhīn Girāy?
_Shāhīn Girāy._
THE SONG OF LOVE’S NURSE
O moon! sleep, sleep thou, for this night
The cry “O Lord!” upon thine ear shall smite;
Though formed, its purpose is yet hid from sight,
It shall be seen--the stars’ potential might.
Thou’lt be the roast upon the spit of pain!
O Rosebud! sleep thou, then, this little while;
The Sphere’s design against thee sooth is vile,
For pitiless is it and strong in guile;
Ah! never trust it, even though it smile.
Thou’lt have, I fear me, reason oft to plain!
O Love’s Narcissus! sleep the sleep of peace!
Fall at the skirt of Fate and beg surcease;
Thy soul’s eye ope--and, lo! thy fears increase!
Guard thee against the end of woe, nor cease.
Thou’lt be as plaything by Misfortune ta’en!
Come, in the cradle of repose thee rest
A few short nights, by sorrow undistrest;
Bid care and all it brings leave thee unprest;
In place of milk, blood shall be thy bequest.
Thou’lt need the goblet of despite to drain!
O Jasmine-breast! within the cradle lie;
Thus will not long remain the rolling Sky:
The stars do not aye in one circle hie;
See what they’ll do to thee, Love, by and by.
Thou’lt be the mill on sorrow’s torrent’s train!
From slumber do not thou thine eyelids keep,
If aid can reach thee, it will come through sleep;
The Sphere will give a draught of poison deep,
Then will thy work, like Gālib’s, be to weep.
Thou’lt be the _rebec_ at the feast of pain!
_Gālib._
LOVE’S SONG
Sweet were those moments when the heart was gay,
And the soul’s realm, the court of joy’s array;
Thoughts of those times now o’er my spirit stray,
For love of God! O Heavens! mercy! pray!
The pride of both the day and night was I.
A garden fair was that my soul’s repose;
Like those in Eden’s bower, its every rose;
But parting comes and all of that o’erthrows,
Now in my heart naught but its mem’ry glows.
With honor’s wine then drunken quite was I.
Then to the Sphere I never uttered prayer;
Feast, music, and delight--all mine--were there;
Moved ever by my side my Cypress fair;
Unopened then my secret and despair.
The envy of the springtide bright was I.
Now before grief and woe I’m fallen prone;
Like nightingale in early spring, I moan.
Through fire I’ve past and to the shore have flown,
And, like the shattered glass, to earth am thrown.
Sipping the wine, the fair’s despite, was I.
Ah me! alas! those happy hours are past;
The spring is past; the rose, the flowers, are past;
The smiles of her who graced the bowers are past;
The thirsty soul remains, the showers are past.
Drinking with her the wine so bright was I.
I with my loved one feast and banquet made,
Wild as the whirlpool then I romped and played;
At wine-feasts I myself in light arrayed,
And with my songs the nightingales dismayed.
Like Gālib, blest with all delight was I.
_Gālib._
GAZEL
The mem’ry of his glance hid in my breast deep laid I found;
It seemed as though a fawn within the lion’s glade I found.
O heart! a parallel unto those eyebrows and that glance,
In Rustem’s deadly bow and Qahramān’s bright blade I found.
When, through my grieving at thine absence, dead of woe was I,
That mem’ry of thy rubies’ kiss new life conveyed I found.
My heart’s wound, through the beauty of the spring of love for thee,
By turns, rose, tulip, Judas-tree of crimson shade, I found.
Is’t strange, O Fitnet, if my soul around do scatter gems?
Within the ink-horn’s vault a hidden treasure laid I found.
_Fitnet Khānim._
MUSEDDES
The fresh spring clouds across all earth their glistening pearls profuse
now sow;
The flowers, too, all appearing, forth the radiance of their beauty show.
Of mirth and joy ’tis now the time, the hour to wander to and fro;
The palm-tree o’er the fair ones’ picnic gay its grateful shade doth
throw.
O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth
glow;
’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow.
Behold the roses, how they shine, e’en like the cheeks of maids most fair;
The fresh-sprung hyacinth shows like to beauties’ dark, sweet, musky hair.
The loved one’s form behold, like cypress which the streamlet’s bank doth
bear;
In sooth, each side for soul and heart doth some delightful joy prepare.
O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth
glow;
’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow.
The parterre’s flowers have all bloomed forth, the roses, sweetly smiling,
shine;
On every side lorn nightingales, in plaintive notes discoursing, pine;
How fair, carnation and wallflower the borders of the garden line!
The long-haired hyacinth and jasmine both around the cyprèss twine.
O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth
glow;
’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow.
Arise, my Prince! the garden’s court hath wondrous joys in fair array;
Oh, hark, there midst the rose’s boughs, the wailing nightingale’s
fond lay
Thy bright cheek show the new-oped rose and make it blush with shamed
dismay;
With graceful air come then, thy cypress mien before the mead display.
O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth
glow;
’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow.
Enow! thy lovers pain no more, of faithful plight the days are now;
On streamlet’s banks, of mirth and joy and gay delight the days are now;
In hand then take the heart’s dear joy, the goblet bright, its days
are now;
O Fitnet, come, and these thy verses sweet recite, their days are now.
O Liege, come forth! from end to end with verdure doth the whole earth
glow;
’Tis springtide now again, once more the tulips and the roses blow.
_Fitnet Khānim._
GAZEL
Ah! through grief for thee mine eyes blood, every night and day, weep;
Those who know my bitter sorrow’s secret pang for aye weep.
When they see me blood-besmeared by my bosom’s red wound,
Pitying my doleful plight, the garden’s flowerets gay weep.
When he viewed my bleeding heart, ruth had yon physician;
Quoth he: “Doth the cure for thee, Sick of love-dismay, weep.”
Yet to me doth yonder Torment of the Soul no grace show;
For my plight do all my friends, who me thus sick survey, weep.
E’en as gazeth on thy cheek, amidst his woes, Ilhāmī,
Though his face may smiling be, his heart doth blood alway weep.
_Ilhāmī._
GAZEL
Midst the orchard of the world though empire may appear delight,
Still, if thou wouldst view it closely, empire is but ceaseless fight.
Vain let no one be who ruleth kingdoms in these woful days;
If in justice lie thy pleasure--then is empire truly right.
Reacheth e’en one lover union in the space of thousand years?
Let whoever sees it envy--empire is of faithless plight.
Think, O heart, alas! the revolutions of the rolling Sphere!
If at times ’tis joy, far oftener empire bringeth dire affright.
Do not envy, do not covet, then, the Kingship of the world;
Oh! take heed, Ilhāmī, empire bides not, swift indeed its flight.
_Ilhāmī._
GAZEL
The trees and flowers their turbans roll of black and white and red;
The garden fastens on its stole of black and white and red.
With sable eve and ermine dawn and fez of sunset bright,
The sky doth all its pomp unroll of black and white and red.
The pupils of my eyes are points upon the gleaming page,
With tears of blood I’ve writ a scroll of black and white and red.
The youthful Magian’s locks and breast were shadowed in the wine;
It seemed as though they filled the bowl with black and white and red.
Is’t ambergris, or is it pearl, or coral, Fāzil, say,
This poesy thy reed doth troll, of black and white and red?
_Fāzil Beg._
DESCRIPTION OF CIRCASSIAN WOMEN
Ah! her cheek doth rob the fair sun of its sight,
And her sweet grace envy brings to Venus bright.
Like to moons are the Circassian damsels fair;
Whatso’er the lover seeks he findeth there.
Like to tall palm-trees their slender forms in grace,
Or a ladder to the clear moon of the face.
With the two feet of the eyes doth one ascend,
But the vision of the mind too one must bend.
Since their lips and cheeks are taverns of wine,
Is it strange their eyes inebriate should shine?
Since like rubies are created their two lips,
Doubly seared the lover’s heart, like the tulip’s.
Since their bodies are distilled from moon and sun,
How an equal to their pure frame find can one?
Though they lovelier than Georgians may be,
Still in Georgians one will great attractions see.
Closely curtained sit they all in virtue’s place;
Pure of skirt is ever this unrivalled race;
Pure and free from stain is every act of theirs;
Not a soil the vestment of their honor bears;
Marked with chastity indeed, of noble heart,
Ever seeking to fulfil the righteous part;
Bright with bounty and fidelity and sense,
How that blessèd nature glows with light intense!
Think not with this race that any can compare
Upon earth, unless it be the Georgian fair.
_Fāzil Beg._
DESCRIPTION OF GREEK WOMEN
Oh! thou the Bell upon the church of pain!
Thou the Pride of all the Messianic train!
Source of being! if a mistress thou should seek,
Then, I pray thee, let thy loved one be a Greek.
Unto her the fancies of the joyous bend,
For there’s leave to woo the Grecian girl, my friend.
Caskets of coquetry are the Grecian maids,
And their grace the rest of womankind degrades.
What that slender waist so delicate and slight!
What those gentle words the sweet tongue doth indite!
What those blandishments, that heart-attracting talk!
What that elegance, that heart-attracting walk!
What that figure, as the cypress tall and free--
In the park of God’s creation a young tree!
What those attitudes, those motions, wondrous fair!
What that glance inebriate that showeth there!
Given those disdainful airs to her alone,
And her legacy that accent and that tone.
All those letters on her sweet tongue’s tip are rolled,
And those words with many graces she’ll unfold;
Strung the regal pearls of her enchanting speech,
Pounded seem they when her gentle mouth they reach;
To her tongue if come a letter harsh to say,
Then her sweet mouth causeth it to melt away;
Her mouth would fain the words conserve in sooth,
For her mouth is speech-conserves in very truth;
Speaking parrots are they surely one and all,
To their portion doth the birdies’ language fall.
With a thousand graces saith her rosebud lip:
“Zee vine, O noble Lord, vill zou no sip?
When thy glass is empty, fill it full again,
To my love drink, O my Pacha, drink amain!”
To the soul add life her ways and charms so dear,
Surely thus is it a mistress should appear.
E’en the old misogynist would conquered be,
Saw he yonder maid, uxorious were he.
So symmetrical the line her body shows,
One would it a balanced hemistich suppose.
Other women seek to imitate her grace,
As their pride and frontispiece she holds her place.
What that figure tall, and what that graceful mien!
Fair-proportioned is her body ever seen.
Moving lithely, she from side to side will turn,
That the hearts of all her lovers she may burn.
That cap which on one side she gayly wears;
That jaunty step; those joyous heedless airs;
Those motions--they are just what me delight;
And her tripping on two toes--how fair a sight!
’Twere as though with fire her pathway were inlaid,
That would burn the feet of yonder moon-like maid.
Thou wouldst deem her lovers’ hearts upon her way,
Burning with their love for her, all scattered lay.
* * * * *
Is’t herself they call “Qoqona” let us see?
Or her locks?--how wondrous sweet their odors be!
As the sash trails on the ground beneath thy feet,
So will she thy feet salute with kisses sweet.
Misbeliever, thou dost sense steal from the heart;
Torment thou--I know not what a Woe thou art;
Know not I if thou be _hūrī_ or _perī_,
Know not I of Mary what is found in thee;
Art thou Mary’s, child of ‘Imrān’s, rosebud bright?
Of the dwelling of the monks art thou the light?
Envy bearing to her hinna-crimsoned hand,
Doth the red egg covered o’er with blushes stand.
With the Greek cannot thy genus e’er compare,
Deem I, be thou genius or _hūrī_ fair!
_Fāzil Beg._
ON THE DEFEAT OF THE FRENCH IN EGYPT BY THE QAPUDAN HUSEYN PACHA
O thou Nīrem, battle-waging, of the world’s fierce field of fight!
O thou Sām, fell dragon-visaged, of the age’s plain of might!
Thou art he in whom the favors of the Lord Most High unite;
Earth and ocean thou hast conquered, waging war on left and right!
Gold, in Islām’s cause, thou pouredst like to water down a height;
Legions like the Nile on Egypt’s shore thou madest to alight.
With thy sabre’s blow right fiercely thou the foeman’s head didst smite;
Giddy made thy sword the misbelievers’ chieftains with affright.
Midst the earth’s oak-grove a valiant lion like to thee in might,
Since the days of Rustem, ne’er hath passed beneath the Heavens’ sight.
“Bravo! Champion of the Epoch! rending ranks in serried fight!
O’er the ‘Arsh hang now thy sabre, sparkling like the Pleiads bright!”
Lion! Alexander! had he seen that battle thou didst gain,
Crown and throne to thee to offer Key-Qubād were surely fain!
O most noble! thou a Vezīr to such fame that dost attain,
That the God of Hosts did surely Lord of Fortune thee ordain!
Like to flame, the fiery blast scathed foemen’s lives, it blazed amain;
Threw’st thou, cinder-like, the misbelievers’ ashes o’er the plain.
“Conqueror of the Nations’ Mother” as thy title should be ta’en;
Since thou’st saved the Nations’ Mother, all the nations joy again.
Wishing long ago, ’twould seem, to sing thy splendid glory’s strain,
Nef‘ī wrote for thee this couplet--for thy deeds a fit refrain:
“Bravo! Champion of the Epoch! rending ranks in serried fight!
O’er the ‘Arsh hang now thy sabre, sparkling like the Pleiads bright!”
When the misbelieving Frenchman sudden swooped on Egypt’s land,
Thither was the army’s leader sent by the Great King’s command;
But at length o’erthrown and vanquished by the foe his luckless band,
Then thou wentest and the vile foe scatter’dst wide on every hand;
Then, when they thy lightning-flashing, life-consuming cannon scanned,
Knew the hell-doomed misbelievers vain were all things they had planned.
Hundred vezīrs, joy-attended, countless foemen did withstand;
Day and night, three years the misbelievers fought they brand to brand;
Worn and wretched fell those at thy feet, and quarter did demand:
It beseems thee, howsoever high in glory thou mayst stand!
“Bravo! Champion of the Epoch! rending ranks in serried fight!
O’er the ‘Arsh hang now thy sabre, sparkling like the Pleiads bright!”
Through this joy beneath thy shade the world doth its desires behold;
With thy praises eloquent the tongues of all, both young and old.
Thou to Faith and Empire then didst render services untold
Hurling down to earth the foeman’s house in one assault right bold!
O Vezīr! Jem-high! think not that flattery my words enfold;
Though a poet, not with false or vaunting boasts I’ve thee extolled.
Midst the fight for Egypt’s conquest firm in stirrup was thy hold,
Under thy Egyptian charger trod’st thou foemen like the mould.
From the handle of thy sword, like water, down the red blood rolled;
Thou the foe mad’st turn his face, mill-like, in terror uncontrolled.
“Bravo! Champion of the Epoch! rending ranks in serried fight!
O’er the ‘Arsh hang now thy sabre, sparkling like the Pleiads bright!”
Those who sing thy glories, like to Wāsif, wildered aye must be;
Sayeth Wāsif: “None on earth like Huseyn Pacha I shall see.”
If there be who has in vision seen a peerless one like thee,
As a dream all void of meaning, let him it relate to me.
Cannon-ball like, ’gainst the foe thou threw’st thyself from terror free;
Like the winter blast thou mad’st the foeman shake in front of thee.
Claim to manliness forsaking, even as the blind was he,
Sword in hand despairing stood he, like to one who naught can see;
Quick his throat thou seizedst, like the dragon direful in his glee,
’Neath thy sabre’s wave thou drown’dst the misbeliever, like the sea!
“Bravo! Champion of the Epoch! rending ranks in serried fight!
O’er the ‘Arsh hang now thy sabre, sparkling like the Pleiads bright!”
_Wāsif._
SHARQĪ
O Rosebud of joy’s flowery lea!
O graceful one with step so free!
If thou wilt yield thee not to me,
On earth the glass of mirth and glee
To me’s forbid, apart from thee.
Behold my breast, by guile unprest,
Is’t not mid thousand treasures best?
Until thou tak’st me to thy breast,
On earth the glass of mirth and glee
To me’s forbid, apart from thee.
O Rose-leaf fresh! concealed from sight
With thee till morn a livelong night
If I may not enjoy delight,
On earth the glass of mirth and glee
To me’s forbid, apart from thee.
Yearning for union fills my soul,
Patience and peace have no control;
O wanton one! my longing’s goal!
On earth the glass of mirth and glee
To me’s forbid, apart from thee.
Seek, Wāsif, her who hearts doth snare
Yon maid with bosom silver-fair;
Until thou thither dost repair,
On earth the glass of mirth and glee
To me’s forbid, apart from thee.
_Wāsif._
SHARQĪ
To whom that wine-red ruby’s shown
Is captive by those locks o’erthrown;
’Tis meet like nightingale I moan:
A lovely Scio Rose is blown.
Unmatched yon maid with waist so spare,
Unrivalled too her wanton air;
Her ways than e’en herself more fair:
A lovely Scio Rose is blown.
The roses like her cheeks are few;
That rose--blush-pink its darling hue;
This summer ere the roses blew,
A lovely Scio Rose is blown.
The rose--the nightingale’s amaze;
The rose the nightingale dismays;
A smile of hers the world outweighs:
A lovely Scio Rose is blown.
O Wāsif, on the rosy lea,
The nightingale thus spake to me:
“Be joyful tidings now to thee--
A lovely Scio Rose is blown.”
_Wāsif._
GAZEL
Although my heart the truth of Those who wrong themselves doth show,
O Lord!
In virtue of the words Do not despair, Thy love bestow, O Lord!
Beside the mead of truth and calm make aye my soul to go, O Lord!
My virtue’s rose to tint and scent as captive do not throw, O Lord!
From vain attachments’ stain wash pure and clean my heart as snow, O Lord!
Against me place not Thou the loathsome pool of lies of foe, O Lord!
The burning pain of exile no relief can ever know, O Lord!
Enow, if Thou the camphor-salve, the dawn of hope, did show, O Lord!
Thy slave is Rāmiz; unto none save Thee doth he bend low, O Lord!
Before Thy mercy’s gate his tears from eyes and eyelids flow, O Lord!
_Rāmiz Pacha._
GAZEL
After old rags longing hath the figure tall and slight of Love?
Fresh and fresh renews itself aye the brocade fire-bright of Love.
’Gainst the flames from thorns and thistles ne’er a curtain can be wove,
Nor ’neath honor’s veil can hide the public shame, the blight of Love.
Through a needle’s eye it sometimes vieweth far-off Hindustān--
Blind anon in its own country is the piercing sight of Love.
It will turn it to a ruin where naught save the owl may dwell,
In a home should chance be set the erring foot of plight of Love.
Will a single spark a hundred thousand homes consume at times:
One to me are both the highest and the lowest site of Love.
Never saw I one who knoweth--O most ignorant am I!
Yet doth each one vainly deem himself a learned wight in Love.
Rent and shattered--laid in ruins--all my caution’s fortress vast
Have my evil Fate, my heart’s black grain, the rage, the blight of Love.
In its hell alike it tortures Mussulmān and infidel,
‘Izzet, is there chance of freedom from its pangs, this plight of Love?
Of reality hath made aware the seeker after Truth,
Showing lessons metaphoric, He, the Teacher bright, St. Love!
_’Izzet Molla._
GAZEL
That I’m fall’n her conquered slave, yon maiden bright feigns not to know;
Thus pretending, she who doth the soul despite feigns not to know.
Though I fail naught in her service, she doth me as alien treat;
Know not I why yonder Darling, earth’s Delight, feigns not to know.
If I dare to speak my eager longing those her lips to kiss,
Friendship she disclaims, in sooth with cruel slight feigns not to know.
That she whets her glance’s arrow and therewith doth pierce the heart,
E’en her bow-like eyebrow, yonder Ban of might feigns not to know.
Well the loved one knows the Sphere doth keep no faithful troth; but, ah!
How she copies it, that Heart-ensnarer bright feigns not to know.
There is ne’er a refuge, ‘Adlī, from the grief of rivals’ taunts;
I my love conceal not, still yon maiden slight feigns not to know.
_’Adlī._
ON THE DEATH OF ‘ANDELĪB KHĀNIM
‘Andelīb, th’ adopted sister, from this transient world hath flown,
Yonder midst the flowers of Eden while still in her youth to stray.
No physician, neither charmer, on the earth her pain could ease;
So that youthful beauty bided not to smile on earth’s mead gay.
With her two-and-twenty summers, cypress-like was she, ah me!
But the sullen blast of autumn smote her life’s bright, lovely May.
For its tyranny and rancor might have blushed the vile, hard Sphere,
As the sister of earth’s Monarch pined in grief without allay.
Though her kind friend never parted from her eye’s sweet, gentle beam,
Still did she to God her soul yield, and the call, Return, obey.
Down the wayward Sphere hath stricken that bright Jewel to the earth;
What avail though men and angels tears of blood shed in dismay?
Length of days to that great Sultan grant may He, the God of Truth!
And yon fair Pearl’s tomb make rival His own Eden’s bright display!
With the dotted letters, Leylā, thou the year tell’st of her death--
Calm among delightsome bowers may ‘Andelīb her nest array!
_Leylā Khānim._
TAKHMĪS
’Tis yonder Darling of my soul that wildering my sense o’er-throws;
My waving Cypress ’tis that freshness to the garden doth disclose;
The bird, my heart, my gardener is in Love’s fair parterre of the rose:
Mine eyes’ field with thy cheek’s reflection as my flowery orchard
shows;
For long my heart the picture of thy palm-like figure doth enclose.
The world seems in my eyes as prison that doth my dear love control;
Through love for thee my heart acquireth many a scar, and that’s the
whole;
From hour to hour thine absence makes my tears like rushing waters roll:
The heart bows down through grief for thee, and constant weeps the life,
the soul;
The fountain of this vineyard is the stream that from my weeping flows.
As well thou know’st, through fire of love for thee how sad my plight
of woe,
My smiling Rosebud, wilt thou ne’er a glance of pity toward me throw?
My sighs and wailings thou dost see, Oh, but for once compassion show:
Through gazing on the rose and bower, my heart repose shall never know,
The ward where doth my loved one dwell alone can yield my soul repose.
Oh, how I think upon thy box-tree form in sorrow’s night so drear!
My story would Mejnūn’s and Ferhād’s tales from mind make disappear.
My groans and sighs and wails thus high do I unto the Heavens uprear,
By reason of the sparks my sighings raise that steely bowl, the Sphere,
Revolves each night, my gold-enamelled beaker at the feast of woes.
From thought of yonder witching eye my heart is ne’er a moment free;
When flow thy tears recall not thou to mind, O Leylā, ‘Omān’s Sea.
Beneath thy shade my own heart’s blood is all that hath been gained by me:
My tears, an ocean vast; my lashes, coral branches, O Bāqī!
The mem’ry, ’tis of thy palm-form that as my Judas-tree bright glows.
_Leylā Khānim._
SHARQĪ
Our hopes, our thoughts, are for the weal of our dear native land;
Our bodies form the rampart strong to guard our frontier strand:
We’re Ottomans--a gory shroud our robe of honor grand.
“God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight;
We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright.
The name of Ottoman with terror doth the hearer thrill;
The glories of our valiant fathers all the wide world fill;
Think not that nature changeth--nay, this blood is yon blood still.
“God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight;
We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright.
A sabre on a blood-red field--our banner famed behold!
Fear in our country dwelleth not, in mountain or in wold:
In every corner of our land croucheth a lion bold.
“God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight;
We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright.
Then let the cannon roar, and shower its flames on every side!
For those our brothers brave let Heaven ope its portals wide!
What have we found on earth that one from death should flee or hide?
“God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight;
We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright.
_Ref’et Beg._
GAZEL
A tavern which each moment takes a life as pleasure’s pay is earth;
A glass which for a thousand souls doth sell each drop of spray is earth.
The world’s a Magian that adores the flame of power and fortune high;
If thou should brightly shine, a moth about thy taper’s ray is earth.
Anon one is, anon is not--thus ever runs the course of time;
From end to end a warning-fraught, a strange, romantic lay is earth,
’Twixt sense and frenzy ’tis indeed right hard to draw the sund’ring line,
Ah me! if understanding’s wise, demented sooth alway is earth.
The desolation of the world beside its weal is truth itself;
Just as prosperity it seems, so ruin and decay is earth.
How many Khusrevs and Jemshīds have come, and from its bower have passed!
A theatre that vieweth many and many an act and play is earth.
Ziyā, a thousand caravans of wise men through its realms have passed;
But yet not one can tell its tale, and all unknown this day is earth.
_Ziyā Beg._
ON A BEYT OF MAHMŪD NEDĪM PACHA
Heart! heart! how long shall last this sorrow, anguish, and dismay?
All things upon earth’s ruin-cumbered waste must needs decay.
What was the splendor of Jemshīd? where Khusrev and where Key?
Hold fast the goblet and the wine, let chance not fleet away!
“Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”
Be he Khusrev, or Rustem, or Nerīmān, or Jemshīd,
Or be he beggar; be Islām or heathenesse his creed;
A few days in earth’s inn a guest is he, then must he speed:
Something to render gay that time is surely wisdom’s need.
“Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”
When viewed with understanding’s eye, the mote hath no repose;
The world must thus be imaged for exemption from its woes:
Of my coming and my going it no lasting picture shows--
That a departure surely is which no returning knows.
“Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”
Events the workings of the Lord Most High make manifest;
Being the mirror is in which the Absolute’s exprest;
He who this mystery perceives in every state is blest;
The exit of each one who enters earth decreed doth rest.
“Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”
See that thou grievest not thyself with sorrows all unwise;
’Tis need all pleasure to enjoy as far as in thee lies;
Alike is he who lives in joy and he whom trouble tries;
If thou be prudent, ne’er thine opportunities despise.
“Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”
Since first the banquet fair, this world, was cast in form’s designs,
How many rakes have passed away! how many libertines!
As counsel meet for revellers, when he perceived those signs,
Around the goblet’s rim the Magian priest engraved these lines:
“Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”
At length, Ziya, shall joy beam forth, and grief an end shall find;
But yet, O man, these ever enter Fortune’s feast combined.
This hidden mystery learn thou, by Mahmūd Beg defined,
Who has the secret of the same within this verse enshrined:
“Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”
_Ziyā Beg._
THE COUNSELS OF NABI EFENDI TO HIS SON ABOUL KHAIR
[_Translated by A. P. de Courteille and Robert Arnot_]
INTRODUCTION
Nabi Yousouf Efendi was born at Roha, about the year 1632, during the
reign of Mourad IV. Coming to Constantinople in the time of Mahomet IV,
he there attached himself to the all-powerful favorite Mustafa Pacha,
who made him his secretary. In 1684, his protector having been made
Serasker, he accompanied him to Morée. From there, he undertook the
pilgrimage to Mecca and to Medina, and finally settled at Halep. It was
during his stay in this city, about the year 1694, that he wrote, as he
himself says, the poem dedicated to his son Aboul Khair. Some years
after, Baltadji Mohammed Pacha, who was much attached to Nabi, recalled
him to Constantinople, and appointed him president of the State treasury
of Anatolia. He exchanged this position, however, for that of
comptroller of the cavalry, in which he remained until his death, which
occurred the twelfth of April, 1712.
Nabi is one of the Turkish classic authors; he occupies in Ottoman
literature an exalted position, not only as a poet, but also as a prose
writer. Under the title of Zeili Nabi, he wrote in the purest and most
stately style an appendix to the “Life of Mahomet,” by Weïsi; this work
was printed in Cairo in 1248. The imperial library has a copy of the
complete works of Nabi. The manuscript is well written, but is filled
with clerical errors. Beside the poems, it contains the letters of Nabi
and his treatise on Mecca and Medina. The divan of our author is of
considerable length; therein are found kassidès, chronograms, gazels,
and two poems written for his son: the “Khai-riyè” and the “Khair-abâd.”
This divan was written at Cairo in 1257.
The manuscript which has been used to verify the text was obtained from
a learned teacher named Chinaci Efendi. The translator has also
referred, although with reserve, to the manuscript of the Imperial
Library. The Cairo edition has not been very useful; it includes many
readings, which are doubtful at best, and which have not been thought
sufficiently important to note.
Those who have translated oriental poems know how difficult it is to
remain exact without becoming unintelligible. The translator has
endeavored to condense the text as much as possible, and has only
departed from it insomuch as was necessary in order to make it
intelligible. There is an obscure vagueness in Turkish poetry which
passes for a kind of beauty in oriental eyes. The reader’s imagination
loves to wander among these brilliant clouds; but the translator, forced
to express himself clearly and openly, suffers much from this element of
uncertainty.
The translator’s aim has been, above all, to provide for persons who are
studying the Turkish language a work of a simple and elegant classic
style and of moderate price, which will be a preparation for the reading
of more difficult writings.
THE COUNSELS OF NABI EFENDI
CHAPTER I
All praise to the Most High God, Creator of all that exists; who with
his all-powerful pen has traced the characters of the world. Benign
Lord, whose mercy is stretched forth over all men, whose benevolent hand
has graven the image of existence on the tablet of the vow, from that
void which, like a funeral mound, opened and disclosed its secrets. The
Lord weighed in the balance of destiny chaos and existence; the aspect
of existence became brilliant, and its forms were reflected in the
mirror of chaos, whose burning gulf disappeared, and the veil which
concealed the world was raised. Land was extended like a mantle over the
world, and above was curved the celestial dome. The four elements and
heaven became as a festal cup adorned with four roses. The Lord, uniting
the two sexes, lit between them the torch of love. Then appeared the
three reigns of nature: the mineral, the vegetable, and the animal. The
inexhaustible munificence of the Almighty continued; next came the
creation of man. God placed him above all living beings; formed from the
slime of the earth, he was the noblest, the most perfect of all
creatures. Although he had been moulded of earth and mud, the angels
were ordered to bow down before him; the ladder of the divine decisions
having been placed, man ascended to the first place in creation.
In all things there are different degrees, distinctions, and divisions,
everything has different properties; nature has diversified all things,
all men form quite distinct classes, and from these distinctions issues
perfect order. Without them, the edifice of creation would be
demolished; but how can the ignorant understand the mysteries therein?
Water cannot have all the properties of fire; earth cannot produce the
effects of wind. Gold is impotent to replace iron; sugar will never have
the flavor of salt. The foot does not play the same role as the hand;
the lancet does not serve the purposes of the sword. Hearing cannot take
the place of sight; the shoulder cannot reflect as does the mind. The
jeweller does not know the weaver’s art, nor does the carpenter
understand the labors of the shoemaker. Nations understand nothing of
the actions of those who govern them, and kings, in their turn, know not
all that concerns their subjects. Warmth never produces the effect of
cold; dryness and humidity are incompatible. Shade does not undergo the
action of the sun, and the goblet is insensible to the transports
agitating Djemschid.
Therefore understand this truth: thy nature is but formed of incongruous
elements. Everywhere glaring contrasts are perceived in all objects. The
wisdom and the might of God have no bounds, it is a spectacle without
end. All the parts of creation are thus arranged: raise thy mind’s eye
as high as it can reach. In this world and in the next, in the form of
facts as in their reality, on all sides are encountered different
degrees. In the spiritual order there are also many distinctions, like a
sea with innumerable waves. He who has penetrated the farthest in the
mysteries of creation has said that society is only founded on the
distinction of classes. The friends of God are high-placed, but higher
still are those whom he has created prophets.
It may be said that the prophets are in the place of honor on the
light-giving throne as a brilliant star which irradiates its marvellous
splendor to far distant worlds. But above all, and in the most exalted
place, sits the king of creation, he for whom all was created,
pre-eminently the elect of God, the precious pearl of the ocean of
divine generosity, the luscious fruit of the garden of creation, he who
opened the gate of the treasure of light, he for whom was limned the
picture of this world, he of whom it is written in the beginning of the
book of fates, he in whom was all accomplished, the principle of the
operations of divine mercy, the last end of the omnipotence of the Lord,
he who includes in himself the form and essence of all things, the
dazzling light of the torch of immutable destiny, the ornament of
existence’s throne, the guardian of the treasures of altitude and depth,
and the seal of the mystery of the two worlds.
He it is who hath approached to God as near as two arcs, or even nearer,
to whom all has been revealed; who, mounted proudly on the mighty Boraq,
traversed the ethereal regions; the universal ruler throwing radiance
over the domain of sovereign authority; the luminous eastern star of
science, the all-excelling master of the apostolate of nations, on whom
descended the glorious revelation, the most beautiful among the children
of men, the most perfect of beings, the most noble of all creatures, the
fountain of the graces shed on mankind, the soul of the world, the
centre of creation, the illustrious and glorious Mahomet, in whom the
Lord delights, the origin of all bearers of that venerable name, the
most perfect of all in all degrees.
The word which proclaims him the first work come forth from the hands of
God has shed universal joy. His person is the seal of glory and
greatness; he is the centre of all purity, the arbiter of celestial
revolutions; in him is the consummation of all perfection. As a seed
concealed in the depths of the invisible earth, he appeared loaded with
fruit. If you trace the rounded figure of a _mim_ you will form Ahmed
from the word Ahad, and if you ask where is the first letter of the
Prophet’s name, you will find it in the second part of the word Mahomet.
The Lord has raised him above all; he has overwhelmed him with graces
and blessings. Benedictions upon him, on his family and his friends till
the day of resurrection!