The world has few great epics. In fact, it has been said that there are
perhaps but six in all. Yet the materials for an epic are to be found
among all nations in those traditions, half-fact, half-fiction, which
cluster about the great national heroes whose deeds of prowess make the
era in which they lived stand forth before our eyes, clear-cut and
brilliant, the canvas filled from end to end with deeds of daring,
scenes of love, violence, and romance which, through all ages, thrill
and make their own appeal to the heart of man.
Epics are written, as a rule, in the infancy of a race, and they all
have this in common, that they are not the invention of a single
individual, but being founded upon national traditions, are handed down
orally from one generation to another, until, in the fulness of time,
one of the world’s great poets stretches forth his hand, gathers
together all the beautiful flowers that have blossomed in the fancy of
his people—as has been so happily said of Firdusi—and having breathed
upon the precious blossoms, plants them in new beauty in the Gardens of
Paradise, there to bloom on among the immortals, a joy and delight
forever.
Among the truly great national epics, two fall to India—the Mahabharata
and the Ramayana; two to Greece—the Iliad and the Odyssey; one to the
North—the Nibelungenlied; and one to Persia—the Shah-Nameh.
The Shah-Nameh—without question the greatest of the Eastern epics—is
seven times the length of the Iliad, being in fact much longer than the
Iliad and the Odyssey together, comprising in all 60,000 couplets, and
having occupied Firdusi thirty years in writing. The poem presents us,
in most musical rhythm, with a complete view of a certain definite era
of civilization—the Persia of the Heroic Age; an age of chivalry
rivaling in mighty deeds of prowess and romantic interest the mediæval
chivalry of Charlemagne and the glorious Peers of France. And, moreover,
we have here a portrait gallery of distinct and unique individuals, the
bright, particular star being Rustem, the great hero whose superhuman
strength, courage, and loyalty prevented Persia, for hundreds of years,
from falling into the hands of her foes.
In writing the Shah-Nameh it is said that, in addition to his poetic and
historic incentives, Firdusi had a distinctly patriotic motive. For,
being an ardent lover of things Persian, he hoped thus to keep alive in
the hearts of his countrymen the glories of their ancestors, in order
that they might not degenerate into mere puppets under Arab domination.
Now that Firdusi had this end in view is shown not alone by the theme
and spirit of the epic, but also by the diction employed, for the poet
adheres rigorously throughout to the native Persian, using few Arabic
words, the consequence being that no work in the literature of Persia is
so free from foreign admixture as the Shah-Nameh.
Unfortunately, no complete copy of the great “Iliad of the East” is
known to exist, though there are innumerable MS. copies, some of them
wondrously beautiful, the scribes having used Egyptian reeds, and the
blackest of ink which never fades; the writing being done on the nest of
silk paper, powdered with gold and silver dust; the margins richly
illuminated; the whole perfumed with sandal-wood, or some costly
essence; and the title-page of elaborate design.
The best known translations of the Shah-Nameh are: an abridgment in
prose and verse, by Edward Atkinson; Jules Mohl’s French translation,
which is perhaps the most scholarly work; Helen Zimmern’s excellent
paraphrase; the versions given in Reed’s Persian literature, Benjamin’s
“History of Persia,” and various other partial adaptations.
As for Firdusi (Abul Kasim Mansur) the “Poet of Paradise,” who gave to
the world the Shah-Nameh, many are the poetic legends that cluster about
his name, making it extremely difficult to give any authentic account of
his life. Authorities differ as to the exact date, but he is said to
have been born at Shahdab, a suburb of Tus in Khorassan, somewhere about
A. D. 930. His father’s name is quite unknown, but he seems to have been
one of the Dihkan, or landed gentry of Persia. It is also said that he
was a gardener, and that Firdusi received his name from the spot which
he cultivated (Firdus, _i. e._, Paradise). However that may be, the
legend goes on to relate that, it having been communicated to the father
in a dream that his son would have a great future, he had given to
Firdusi the best education the time and place could afford. The boy was
carefully educated, therefore, in the Arabic language and literature,
the Old Persian, and the history and traditions of his country.
Firdusi seems to have been a dreamy youth, for it is recorded of him
that he spent many hours beside the canal which ran through his father’s
grounds, perusing eagerly the old legends of the early wars of his
country as exemplified in the splendid deeds of her heroes; or in
dreaming of the great things which he, himself, meant to accomplish one
day for the glory of Persia. Yea, and the lad was practical, too, for
aside from his own personal dream of greatness, his great hope was that,
having himself achieved, he might be able to build for Tus, his native
city, a great dike of stone which should prevent the fearful inundations
which, from time to time, wrought such devastation and ruin to the poor
people of Tus.
Little seems to be known of Firdusi’s younger manhood, but it appears
that his poetic gifts were early perceived and fostered, and that he
spent not his time in idle dreaming. For suddenly it came to light that,
while at the Court of Mahmud, the Sultan’s poets were laboring under the
direction of that great patron of literature to produce from the records
already accumulated a history of Persia in rhyme, all unaided, in an
obscure village, one unknown to fame was attempting the same great
undertaking. Now thus it came to pass that Mahmud who had the records,
and Firdusi, who possessed the gifts, were brought together.
And this having come to pass, Firdusi basked from this time forth in the
royal favor. A beautiful house was given him by the Sultan, the walls of
which were decorated with martial scenes painted by the great artists of
Persia, in order to fire the imagination of the poet; the Bustan-Nameh,
a collection of the chronicles and traditions of Persia, together with
other valuable records were placed at his disposal; and thus, happily
equipped and surrounded, the poet worked unhampered upon his great
masterpiece. Yea, for thirty long years Firdusi wrought, and when at
last the 60,000 couplets of the great Shah-Nameh were completed, he
rejoiced, for was he not to receive a reward of a thousand pieces of
gold for each thousand couplets? And with this princely sum could he not
now carry out his long-cherished dream of a dike for his
fellow-townsmen?
But, alas! Firdusi, while at the Court, had incurred the enmity of the
Sultan’s prime-minister, who resented the fact that he, the great
prime-minister, was not also mentioned in the eulogy to Mahmud which
prefaced the great epic poem. Poisoning the mind of the Sultan against
Firdusi, therefore, the spoiled favorite of the Court managed that the
money promised the poet should be paid in silver instead of gold. Now
Firdusi was at the bath when the money was brought to him, and in his
anger at the insult thus offered him, he immediately divided the money
into three parts, giving them respectively to the keeper of the baths,
the seller of refreshments, and the slave who brought the money. “The
Sultan shall learn,” he said proudly, “that Firdusi did not spend the
labor of thirty years to be rewarded with silver.”
Of course this independence of spirit upon the part of Firdusi angered
the haughty Sultan, who, when he learned that his gift had been
despised, condemned the poet to be trampled to death by an elephant upon
the following morning. But this vile deed came not to pass, for the
outraged poet fled, first giving into the hands of the prime-minister a
sealed paper containing a bitter satire upon Mahmud, which he desired to
be inserted in the epic in place of his former eulogy.
The chronicles relate that, as a result of this most unfortunate
incident, Firdusi, like Dante, became for long years an exile and
wanderer, being driven by the persecutions of the Sultan from court to
court, from country to country. Finally, however, after many weary years
of banishment and harassing care, friends of Firdusi, with great
difficulty, extorted from the Sultan a pardon, and the ill-starred poet,
old and broken, returned unobtrusively to his native town. Here the days
of the immortal bard soon drew to a close. It is related that, hearing a
little child singing in the streets of Tus some of his own verses, his
bitter wrongs and sufferings were so vividly recalled to him that he was
seized with faintness, and, being carried to his home, soon after
expired. His death occurred A. D. 1020, in the eighty-ninth year of his
age. Being refused burial in sacred ground, the Sheik also declining to
read the customary prayers over his grave, the old poet was buried in
the beautiful garden where so hopefully he had dreamed the long, long
thoughts of poetic youth. Now, alas! thus ended the earthly career of
grand old Firdusi, the “Oriental Homer,” as he has been called; also
greatest poet of Persia, and one of the greatest of all literature.
But, though Firdusi was now peacefully laid to rest, his story runs on.
For, according to one of the legends, it is related that the Sultan,
having at last learned of his minister’s treachery, banished him from
his court forever. And not only this, for being stricken with remorse at
having driven unjustly from his side the poet who had made his court
“resplendent as Paradise,” as he himself had said, Mahmud determined to
make reparation. Learning, therefore, that Firdusi was living obscurely
at Tus, he sent him the long-delayed payment, together with camels
loaded with princely gifts—but too late! The royal retinue met the
funeral of the great poet at the city gates. Firdusi being no more, the
Sultan’s gifts were offered to the poet’s daughter, by whom they were
disdainfully refused. Other relatives, however, accepted the peace
offering, building with it a bridge, the dreamed-of dike, and a house of
refuge for travellers—all of which memorials are now gone.
But Firdusi’s fame lives on, growing brighter with the years. When the
storm-tossed, unappreciated old poet, therefore, in self-justification
said that he had written what no tide should ever wash away, what men
unborn should read o’er oceans wide, he made no idle boast. For to-day
not only Persian boys and girls, but the young people of the world—as
well as all lovers of good literature—are reading with delight the
fascinating legends of Persia, as mirrored forth in the Shah-Nameh, or
Book of Kings, of the grand old poet, Firdusi the Persian.