In the month, of Ramzan, in the year 899 [A. D. 1494], and in the
twelfth year of my age, I became King of Ferghana.
The country of Ferghana is situated in the fifth climate, on the extreme
boundary of the habitable world. On the east it has Kashgar; on the
west, Samarkand; on the south, the hill country; on the north, in former
times there were cities, yet at the present time, in consequence of the
incursions of the Usbeks, no population remains. Ferghana is a country
of small extent, abounding in grain and fruits. The revenues may
suffice, without oppressing the country, to maintain three or four
thousand troops.
My father, Omer Sheikh Mirza, was of low stature, had a short, bushy
beard, brownish hair, and was very corpulent. As for his opinions and
habits, he was of the sect of Hanifah, and strict in his belief. He
never neglected the five regular and stated prayers. He read elegantly,
and he was particularly fond of reading the 'Shahnameh[7].' Though he
had a turn for poetry, he did not cultivate it. He was so strictly just,
that when the caravan from [China] had once reached the hill country to
the east of Ardejan, and the snow fell so deep as to bury it, so that
of the whole only two persons escaped; he no sooner received information
of the occurrence than he dispatched overseers to take charge of all the
property, and he placed it under guard and preserved it untouched, till
in the course of one or two years, the heirs coming from Khorasan, he
delivered back the goods safe into their hands. His generosity was
large, and so was his whole soul; he was of an excellent temper,
affable, eloquent, and sweet in his conversation, yet brave withal
and manly.
[Footnote 7: The 'Book of Kings,' by the Persian poet Firdausi.]
The early portion of Baber's 'Memoirs' is given to portraits of the
officers of his court and country. A few of these may be quoted.
Khosrou Shah, though a Turk, applied his attention to the mode of
raising his revenues, and he spent them liberally. At the death of
Sultan Mahmud Mirza, he reached the highest pitch of greatness, and his
retainers rose to the number of twenty thousand. Though he prayed
regularly and abstained from forbidden foods, yet he was black-hearted
and vicious, of mean understanding and slender talents, faithless and a
traitor. For the sake of the short and fleeting pomp of this vain world,
he put out the eyes of one and murdered another of the sons of the
benefactor in whose service he had been, and by whom he had been
protected; rendering himself accursed of God, abhorred of men, and
worthy of execration and shame till the day of final retribution. These
crimes he perpetrated merely to secure the enjoyment of some poor
worldly vanities; yet with all the power of his many and populous
territories, in spite of his magazines of warlike stores, he had not the
spirit to face a barnyard chicken. He will often be mentioned in
these memoirs.
Ali Shir Beg was celebrated for the elegance of his manners; and this
elegance and polish were ascribed to the conscious pride of high
fortune: but this was not the case; they were natural to him. Indeed,
Ali Shir Beg was an incomparable person. From the time that poetry was
first written in the Turki language, no man has written so much and so
well. He has also left excellent pieces of music; they are excellent
both as to the airs themselves and as to the preludes. There is not upon
record in history any man who was a greater patron and protector of men
of talent than he. He had no son nor daughter, nor wife nor family; he
passed through the world single and unincumbered.
Another poet was Sheikhem Beg. He composed a sort of verses, in which
both the words and the sense are terrifying and correspond with each
other. The following is one of his couplets:--
_During my sorrows of the night, the whirlpool of my sighs bears
the firmament from its place;
The dragons of the inundations of my tears bear down the four
quarters of the habitable world_!
It is well known that on one occasion, having repeated these verses to
Moulana Abdal Rahman Jami, the Mulla said, "Are you repeating poetry, or
are you terrifying folks?"
A good many men who wrote verses happened to be present. During the
party the following verse of Muhammed Salikh was repeated:--
_What can one do to regulate his thoughts, with a mistress possessed
of every blandishment_?
_Where you are, how is it possible for our thoughts to wander to
another_?
It was agreed that every one should make an extempore couplet to the
same rhyme and measure. Every one accordingly repeated his verse. As we
had been very merry, I repeated the following extempore
satirical verses:--
_What can one do with a drunken sot like you?
What can be done with one foolish as a she-ass?_
Before this, whatever had come into my head, good or bad, I had always
committed it to writing. On the present occasion, when I had composed
these lines, my mind led me to reflections, and my heart was struck with
regret that a tongue which could repeat the sublimest productions should
bestow any trouble on such unworthy verses; that it was melancholy that
a heart elevated to nobler conceptions should submit to occupy itself
with these meaner and despicable fancies. From that time forward I
religiously abstained from satirical poetry. I had not then formed my
resolution, nor considered how objectionable the practice was.