MEHER AND MŪSHTERI.
PERSIAN ROMANCE—THE TWO COMRADES—THE SEPARATION—THE QUEEN—THE DEPARTURE—
THE ANNOUNCEMENT.
Persian romance, as well as Persian poetry, is burdened with florid
description, and the redundancy of style which is everywhere found in
the works of even their best authors makes them tedious to the reader.
In these books of Oriental romance, it often happens that a new story is
begun before the first is finished, being introduced as a narrative by
one of the characters, and the second is in turn interrupted by a third,
when the author apparently forgets to finish any one of his fables
except the last. Whole volumes are constructed in this way, legends
being repeated as often by a bird or an animal as by men and women.
Story-telling was esteemed a great accomplishment in the East, and those
who excelled in the art were favorites at court as well as in other
grades of society. It sometimes happened that a victim who had been
selected for capital punishment, either deservedly or otherwise, could
save his life if he could find an opportunity of telling a pleasing tale
to some official, who would bear the news of his ability to the king.
Royalty considered this an easy method of entertainment, and the members
of the harem as well as the princes of the courts were often favored in
this way. It sometimes happened that a favorite of the king owed her
position in the affection of his majesty to the fact that she could
entertain him for hours together with pleasing myths of her own
composition.
In the life of Bāhram Gor, the poet prince, his seven wives are
represented as competing with each other for the royal favor by weaving
various romances for his amusement. But amidst all the literary rubbish
which is thus formulated for the public eye, there is an occasional gem
which is well worthy of preservation. One of these is an affecting story
of fraternal love which was written by Assar, an author of much ability,
although the Persian chronicles have preserved but little concerning his
life. The story of Meher and Mūshteri is considered the masterpiece of
Persian romance, and as it is deservedly a favorite with the literati of
the East, we give a brief outline of the story, which in the original
fills a superb manuscript of four hundred and thirty-four pages. It is
transcribed in beautiful Nastaalik characters, within lines of red,
blue, and gold, on paper which is richly powdered with gold. The double
title page is also richly ornamented, and the heads of the chapters are
illuminated in four colors, while the text is illustrated with miniature
paintings.[286] The plot, the characters and the incidents are of
Persian origin; the author has chosen, however, to tell the story in
simpler form and briefer phrase than any Persian writer would present
it.
THE TWO COMRADES.
Far from the dangerous boundaries, which were repeatedly crossed and
recrossed by invading kings, stood the beautiful city of Persepolis.
Amidst the mountains of Persia, the foundations of her palaces were laid
upon the solid rock, and the gray marble pillars reached upward to hold
cornice and roof above the gilded galleries.
Within were tesselated floors, and fountains whose silvery spray was
perfumed with the costly odors of the East.
The walls were hung with pictured annals of earlier thrones, and draped
with the richest tapestries of Persian looms, while silver urns gleamed
here and there, bearing fragrant fires fed with costly sandal wood, or
the spicy rods from more distant lands.
Beside this marble city there flowed the river Pulwār. Springing from
the dark mountains in the distance, it came down to water the gardens of
kings; the sunlight tinted its waves with gold, the blossoms opened
their velvet hearts upon its banks, and rich odors were wafted from
clusters of pink and purple.
The gray mountains stood like guardian kings above the capital city,
wearing crowns of snow and the heavy forest grew around their feet.
Here were gathered the treasures of Persia, the crown jewels, and the
imperial regalia, besides other wealth in goodly store; but the
conquering troops of Alexander marched upon the mountain city, her
store-houses were plundered, her palaces were destroyed, and her people
massacred by the ruthless invader.
It was afterward rebuilt, and, under the name of Iśtaker, it became the
capital of Shapur, the Sassanian king, who reigned with justice over his
great domain. He was blessed with a Vizīr, who was not only wise and
just, but also most loyal to his king; there was no service that he
would not gladly perform and by his wisdom and discretion he was enabled
to greatly lighten the responsibilities of royalty.
For a long time neither the king nor his faithful Vizīr were blessed
with children, but after a time a son was born to the royal house, and
while the songs of joy and shouts of congratulation were still ringing
through the land, a child was given to the grand Vizīr.
The young heir of the Persian throne was named Meher (the sun), while
the son of the Vizīr was called Mūshteri, or Jupiter. So intimate were
the relations between the monarch and his principal officer, that the
two beautiful children were brought up almost together; they saw each
other daily, even during their early childhood, and when it was time to
educate them they were taught by the same masters. They learned to ride,
to bear arms, and a little later in life they entered upon the study of
the sciences together. A strong attachment sprung up between them, and
long before they reached the age of manhood, they were united to each
other by a bond as strong as that of fraternal love; there was no
feeling of superiority on the one hand, no shade of envy on the other,
but hand in hand with each other, life seemed one long dream of
happiness.
There was one official, however, of the king’s house-hold, who looked
with disfavor upon this growing intimacy, for in time the young heir
would wear the crown of Persia, and then, unless their friendship could
be destroyed, the playmate of his childhood would surely occupy the
highest position within the gift of the king. The politic father at last
succeeded in having his own son Behrām appointed as the attendant of the
prince, and the son, who was fully in sympathy with his father’s evil
designs, became a spy upon the conduct of his master. The innocent boys
worked or played together in their happy friendship, all unconscious of
the schemes of their enemies; but at last the father of Behrām succeeded
in persuading the tutor of the boys, that Mūshteri was not a proper
associate for the heir of the throne. The tutor was a kind and
benevolent man, but he was somewhat advanced in years, and the testimony
of Behrām was so strong and so carefully prepared that he innocently
fell into the bold conspiracy, and when requested to do so he informed
the king that the son of the Grand Vizīr was not a suitable companion
for the prince.
THE SEPARATION.
The monarch was greatly excited by the advice of the tutor, and the
conspirators took good care that other reports should be borne to his
ears at the proper time, so at last he sent for his faithful Vizīr and
angrily commanded him to remove his son at once, and to see that no
further communication took place between the two youths.
The Vizīr took steps to enforce the unreasonable decree, but he was
sorely grieved, both by the evident cruelty of the command and the
unusual severity of the monarch, who for years had been, not only his
king, but also his warm personal friend. The tutor was ordered to attend
the prince in his own chambers, but the unhappy boy was in no mood for
study, and the work that had given him pleasure when his friend was by
his side became so irksome that the old tutor despaired of any success
in his efforts.
Mūshteri bore up bravely for a time in his cruel banishment, but at last
he drooped beneath his long suffering and fell seriously ill. He had a
faithful attendant, a boy named Bader, who volunteered to bring to his
master some tidings from his friend, and to this end he bribed the tutor
to allow him to visit him while he was instructing the prince.
He thus obtained access to the apartments of Meher, but Behrām, the ever
watchful and envious attendant, was constantly on the alert, and for a
long time there was no opportunity for Bader to communicate in any way
with the prince. At last, however, Meher succeeded in writing to his
friend, and confided the letter to the care of Bader; an occasional
correspondence was thus carried on until Behrām obtained one of the
letters, which he hastened to lay before the king.
Finding that his express commands were being disobeyed, the anger of the
Shāh knew no bounds, and sending for Mūshteri and his faithful attendant
he ordered them both to be executed in the royal presence. Meher was
also brought into the presence of his indignant father, and after being
bitterly reproached for his love for his friend, the command was given
that he too should be executed. A thrill of horror ran through the suite
of attendants when they heard this inhuman decree, and Behzād, who was a
nephew of the king, threw himself at the feet of the monarch and pleaded
for mercy for the victims; his plea was treated with scorn, and for a
time it looked as if the intercessor might share in the fate of the
condemned. But the brave boy was undaunted by the royal displeasure, and
continued to plead, even while he was answered by threats, until at last
the king consented to pardon Mūshteri and Bader upon condition that they
leave the kingdom at once and forever, while the punishment of the
prince was commuted to imprisonment. Still it was feared that the king
might even yet order the culprits beheaded, and Behzād hastily supplied
them with wardrobes, money and horses, advising them to make all
possible haste in leaving the Shāh’s dominions.
The Vizīr was tenderly attached to the prince, and knowing that he was
imprisoned and constantly in the power of a father whose whole nature
had been changed by evil associations, he grieved as much for him as for
his own banished boy; he grieved, too, over the estrangement which bad
influences had been able to effect in the heart of his royal friend
towards himself, and being advanced in years, his health gradually
failed beneath the weight of care and suffering.
One day the news was brought to the palace that the faithful Vizīr was
dead, but so completely was the king in the power of his evil
counsellors that he scarcely seemed to care for a loss which would have
caused him the greatest pain when his mind was in a normal condition.
The faithful Behzād was untiring in his efforts for the release of the
prince, and the king found also that the mother of the captive was very
far from approving of the course of her husband, even though she said
very little upon the subject, and after a time he was released. Finding
himself again at liberty, the prince paid no attention to his royal
father, but he went where his heart told him that he should find a warm
welcome—to the apartments of his mother.
THE QUEEN.
The dark-eyed queen sat alone in her splendid rooms, for she had sent
her maids away. Around her was all the beauty and luxury that art could
furnish or money could purchase; the ceilings of her apartments were
wrought in the richest mosaics, and the walls sparkled with designs
which seemed to be traced with diamonds.[287]
The rooms were draped with the richest portiéres of Kermān, and the pure
white centres were surrounded with heavy borders, where the soft colors
were blended in floral design; behind those Persian hangings were vases
of silver and gold where burned the costly gums from Thibet, filling the
air with the fragrance of incense.
The great windows opened into gardens where the citrons and rose-apples
kept their bright blossoms and gleaming fruits, and the broad leaved
bananas waved their silken flags in the sunlight. There were fountains
where jets of water, smooth and unbroken, gleamed like silver in the
sunshine, and in the marble basins below them the birds dipped their
wings in the cooling wave, and the bulbul sang of mornings without
clouds.
But amidst all the splendor which surrounded her, the eyes of the queen
were heavy with unshed tears; there were no flowers in her dark hair, no
jewels upon her shapely neck, for her heart was with her lonely boy in
his prison cell, and all her womanhood rebelled against the cruelty of
the Shāh. He who had been so kind, so just, so loving in his home, had
yielded himself so completely to the influence of his evil advisers that
his whole character seemed transformed. He was no longer gentle, patient
and loving, even to his wife; he was selfish and irritable, being
possibly troubled with some pangs of conscience, although he was a man
of such intense egotism that he usually looked upon his own conduct with
the utmost complacency.
A gentle knock disturbed the sad reverie of the queen, and in a moment
more her boy was in her arms; in her splendid isolation she had not
learned of his release, and the welcome that she gave him showed that he
had not been mistaken in the unfailing strength of mother-love. Long
they remained together, talking softly of the happy past and the future
with its threatening clouds; the boy dared not stay within reach of the
unreasonable father, who was liable at any moment to throw him into
prison, or hasten him away to the executioner, and he was also anxious
for the fate of the loyal friend who had suffered banishment for his
sake. He was determined therefore to leave the Shāh’s dominions, and he
had come to his mother for her consent and her blessing.
It was a sad trial to the queen, but true love is ever self-sacrificing,
and she could not ask him to stay in constant danger, preferring rather
that he should risk the unknown perils of a strange land.
Another difficulty, however, presented itself. Meher had no money, his
allowance having been cut off at the beginning of the trouble with his
father, and the queen was no better supplied, for the women of the East
were not supposed to have judgment enough to handle anything more than
the very small amounts required for the purchase of a few trinkets which
were comparatively worthless.
At length, however, the queen arose and went to a casket of jewels,
where rubies and amethysts reflected their color in the light of
diamonds whose purity seemed to mock the sunlight. Taking up in her
shapely hands the glittering mass of stones, she carried them to her son
and begged him to take them all; he refused to do so, saying that a very
small portion of these radiant gems would amply satisfy his modest
needs. The mother, however, pressed upon him a goodly share of them, for
they would be current in any clime, and being small in bulk they were
easily carried. Hours were passed in this last interview, for the mother
felt that she might never look into his loved face again, and she clung
to him with a devotion that would not be denied.
At last, however, he was compelled to bid her adieu, and make his
preparations for departure; his own magnificent Arabian steed was
standing in the royal stables, besides several other horses which were
rightfully his, though they were usually mounted by his attendants.
There were also among his friends, three young men whose loyalty he knew
that he could depend upon, and to them he hastily communicated his
wishes; these Persian youths were not averse to adventure, and an
opportunity to see the great world around them, in the company of the
prince, was a temptation which they could not resist.
THE DEPARTURE.
Softly the night came over the Persian city, and the moon swung high
above the eastern peaks, as the cool air floated down from the mountains
and caught the fragrant breath of the night-flowers in the valley. There
was the cautious tread of trained horses, for so sensitive were the
high-bred steeds that they caught the spirit of their riders as the
little cavalcade moved slowly out of the massive gateway. The moonlight
touched the river with silver, and all the sleeping land lay hushed in
fragrance, while the prince and his three faithful attendants rode
slowly down beside the stream and took the road leading to Hindūstān.
Thus they journeyed onward in easy stages until they reached the
seaside, where merchant-ships were trimming their white sails for long
voyages; here they were compelled to sell their horses, and the prince
stood long beside his petted steed, stroking the shapely head and
arching neck, while the magnificent animal pushed his face closely to
that of his master, and received the caresses with sadness, as if he too
knew that a long separation was coming. The dark eyes of Meher were
heavy with tears as he bade his faithful horse good bye, and stepped
upon the ship that was to bear him far away from his home, and far away
from the loving mother who wept alone in her splendid apartments.
THE ANNOUNCEMENT.
In the rich audience room of the Persian palace the Shāh was seated upon
the massive throne, and robed in royal raiment; he was holding a council
with his high officials, when a messenger was announced who bore news of
the greatest importance to the king. Then he learned that the heir of
his throne had deserted his domain, and was perhaps even now beyond the
reach of pursuit. The anger of the monarch was so uncontrolled that his
court officials were paralyzed with fear, knowing that any one of them
who spoke an unfortunate word might be hurried away to the executioner.
But his rage soon gave way to the most heart-rending grief, and he
demanded that he be carried at once to the apartments of his wife. Half
fainting and wholly helpless, he was taken through the luxurious halls
and fragrant gardens to the rooms of the queen. Here he was laid upon
the soft couch, rich with its costly cushions and embroidered hangings;
the anger of the indignant woman was softened by his evident suffering,
and she ministered gently to his needs, and listened to his wailings for
his only child. His pride was broken and his vindictiveness conquered,
for he could see only a cruel death for the unfortunate fugitive, who
knew so little how to care for himself among the barbarous tribes
whither he had doubtless gone.
For many hours he lay thus, and when he returned the next day to the
duties of his court, it was only to be approached by the hypocritical
Behrām, who was ever on the watch for an opportunity to promote his own
interests at the expense of others.
He came into the royal presence affecting the greatest grief for the
loss of his young master, and pleaded with the Shāh for an expensive
outfit, that he might follow him and bring him back.
“Give me,” said he, “a caravan, in order that I may pass for a merchant,
and thus travel without suspicion through the country, and I will find
my young master or lose my life in the attempt.”
“My ever faithful servant,” replied the king, “I will give thee camels
and money and goods and slaves, and thou shalt follow him even to the
far countries beyond my realm; if he is alive thou wilt bring him back,
for I know that I can depend upon thy loyalty to thy young master.”
Only a few days elapsed before a costly caravan was equipped, and Behrām
passed through the gates of the city with a long line of camels laden
with rich merchandise, and twenty slaves to do his bidding. He went
exulting on his mission, for if he found and returned the fugitive he
was sure of a rich reward, while if he failed he had wealth enough in
his caravan to enable him to live in affluence in other lands far beyond
the power of the Shāh.