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  THE SACRED BOOKS AND
  EARLY LITERATURE OF
  THE EAST

  WITH HISTORICAL SURVEYS OF THE CHIEF
  WRITINGS OF EACH NATION

  _Translations, Bibliographies, etc., by the following
  Leading Orientalists_:

  IN AMERICA:
 MORRIS JASTROW, LL.D., Professor of Semitic Languages, University
 of Pennsylvania; JAMES H. BREASTED, LL.D., Professor of Egyptology,
 University of Chicago; CHARLES C. TORREY, D.D., Professor of Semitic
 Languages, Yale University; A. V. W. JACKSON, LL.D., Professor of
 Indo-Iranian, Columbia University; CHARLES R. LANMAN, LL.D., Professor
 of Sanskrit, Harvard University; REV. CHARLES F. AIKEN, S.T.D., Dean
 of the Faculty of Theology, Catholic University; FRIEDRICH HIRTH,
 LL.D., Professor of Chinese, Columbia University; REV. WILLIAM E.
 GRIFFIS, D.D., former Professor at the Imperial University, Tokio.

  IN EUROPE:
 E. A. W. BUDGE, F.S.A., Director of Egyptology in the British Museum;
 SIR GASTON MASPERO, D.C.L., Member of the Royal Institute of France;
 REV. A. H. SAYCE, LL.D., Professor of Comparative Philology, Oxford
 University; W. FLINDERS-PETRIE, LL.D., Professor of Egyptology,
 University College, London; STEPHEN LANGDON, Ph.D., Professor of
 Assyriology, Oxford University; SIR ERNEST SATOW, LL.D., G.C.M.G.
 British Minister to Japan; H. OLDENBERG, LL.D., Professor of Sanskrit,
 Kiel University; T. W. RHYS-DAVIDS, LL.D, Librarian of the Royal
 Asiatic Society; ARMINIUS VAMBÉRY, LL.D, Professor of Oriental
 Languages, University of Budapest.

  IN ASIA:
 SIR M. COOMARA SWAMY, Legislative Council of Ceylon; ROMESH CHUNDER
 DUTT, C.I.E, Author of the History of Civilization in Ancient
 India; DARAB D. P. SANJANA, Educational Society of Bombay; VISCOUNT
 KENCHO SUYEMATSU LL.M, Japanese Minister of the Interior; SHEIK
 FAIZ-ULLAH-BHAI, Head Master of the Schools of Anjuman-i-Islam; RALPH
 T. GRIFFITH, President Benares College, India; JIVANJI JAMSHEDJI MODI,
 Fellow of Bombay University, Officier de l'Academie Française.

  _Under the editorship of a staff of specialists directed by_
  PROF. CHARLES F. HORNE, PH.D.

  PARKE, AUSTIN, AND LIPSCOMB, INC.
  NEW YORK      LONDON


  This Volume is one of a complete set of the Sacred Books
  and Early Literature of the East, consisting of fourteen
  volumes. In Volume I of the series will be found a certificate
  as to the limitation of the edition and the registered
  number of this set.

  Copyright, 1917,
  Parke, Austin, and Lipscomb, Inc.


[Illustration: THE SLAVE GIRL OF ABU ZAYD.

    "_Behold I had a slave girl, elegant of shape,
    Smooth of cheek, patient to labor._"
    AL HARIRI, The Eighth Assembly.]




                         THE SACRED BOOKS AND
                          EARLY LITERATURE OF
                               THE EAST


                               VOLUME VI

                 MEDIEVAL ARABIC, MOORISH, AND TURKISH

                         _In Translations by_
 E. J. W. GIBB of the Royal Asiatic Society; STANLEY LANE-POOLE,
 Litt.D., Professor of Arabic, Trinity College, Dublin; ARMINIUS
 VAMBERY, LL.D., Professor of Oriental Languages, University of
 Budapest; THOMAS CHENERY, M.A., Former Professor of Arabic at Oxford
 University; ERNEST RENAN, Former Professor of Hebrew, College of
 France; CLAUD FIELD, M.A.; and other authorities.

                      _With brief Bibliographies
                by_ PROF. CHARLES C. TORREY, LL.D., and
                     PROF. EDWARD H. JOHNS, Ph.D.


            _With an Historical Survey and Descriptions by_
                     PROF. CHARLES F. HORNE, PH.D.

                   PARKE, AUSTIN, AND LIPSCOMB, INC.
                         NEW YORK      LONDON




"_Let there be light._"—GENESIS 1, 3.

"_There never was a false god, nor was there ever
really a false religion, unless you call a child a
false man._"—MAX MÜLLER.




CONTENTS OF VOLUME VI


LITERATURES DESCENDED FROM THE ARABIC


                                                                   PAGE
  INTRODUCTION—How the Teaching of Mohammed
  Spread into Many Lands and Created Many
  Literatures                                                          1


  MEDIEVAL ARAB LITERATURE

  I.—THE SUNAN,

  Or Holy Traditions of Mohammed (A.D. 850-890)                        9

  II.—EARLY HISTORY AND SCIENCE                                       33

  Masoudi's "Golden Meadows" (A.D. 956)                               37

  _Legends of the Early Caliphs._

  Avicenna on "Medicine" (A.D. 1020)                                  90

  _The Chief Work of the Arabs' Chief Scientist._

  Al Biruni's "Existing Monuments" (A.D. 1040)                        92

  _The First Effort at Scientific Study of the Past._

  III.—PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION                                        97

  Al Ghazali's "Rescuer from Error" (A.D. 1106)                      102

  _The Spiritual Autobiography of a Great
  Teacher._

  Zamakhshari's "Kashshaf," or "Discoverer of
  Truth" (A.D. 1140)                                                 134

  _The Boldest Commentary on the Koran._

  Zamakhshari's "Golden Necklaces"                                   138

  _Mohammedan Precepts of Morality._

  IV.—ROMANCE                                                        141

  The "Assemblies" of Al Hariri (A.D. 1122)                          145

  _The Most Renowned Piece of Pure Literature
  in Arabic._

  V.—THE POETS OF ARABIA                                             203


  MOORISH LITERATURE

  VI.—SCIENCE AND HISTORY                                            235

  Averroes' "Philosophy" (A.D. 1195)                                 239

  Al Maqqari's "Breath of Perfumes" (A.D. 1628)                      241

  VII.—LOVE POETRY OF THE SPANISH MOORS                              243


  TURKISH LITERATURE

  VIII.—LEGENDS AND POETRY                                           257

  The Queen of Night, an Old Folk-lore Tale                          262

  The Earliest Turkish Poem (A.D. 1332)                              272

  Book of Alexander the Great (A.D. 1412)                            273

  The Loves of Shirin (A.D. 1426)                                    275

  The Book of Mohammed (A.D. 1449)                                   277

  Poems by Turkish Sultans                                           280

  Turkish Poetesses                                                  290

  The Great Turkish Poets                                            292

  IX.—THE TRAVELS OF SIDI ALI REIS                                   327

  The "Mirror of Countries" (A.D. 1556)                              332

  BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ARABIC LITERATURE                                  397




ILLUSTRATIONS IN VOLUME VI


                                                             FACING PAGE

  The Slave Girl of Abu Zayd                             _Frontispiece_

  The Death of Abu Mustem                                             42

  The Song of Abu Al Salam                                           210

  The Queen of Night                                                 264

  The Ancient Church of St. Sophia                                   320




SACRED BOOKS AND EARLY LITERATURE

OF

THE MEDIEVAL ARABS, MOORS, AND TURKS




INTRODUCTION

HOW THE TEACHING OF MOHAMMED SPREAD INTO MANY LANDS AND CREATED MANY
LITERATURES


The wide-spread Arabic empire and religion originated with Mohammed
and was founded on his book, the Koran. That tremendously important
work, with the primitive Arabic literature of even earlier date, formed
the theme of our preceding volume. We have now to trace the Arabic
literature and thought which, with the expanding of the Mohammedan
empire, spread over a large part of the Eastern world. Geographically
that empire reached from its Arabian center eastward through Babylonia
and Persia into India, westward through all North Africa into Spain,
southward through Egypt into the wilds of Central Africa, and northward
through Asia Minor to all the Turkish possessions. Through much of this
vast region, Arabic became the common speech, and books were written in
its tongue. Even in our own day, Arabic continues as the language of a
considerable part of Turkey in Asia, of Egypt, and of all North Africa.

We can scarcely, however, regard as a unit all the varying Mohammedan
literatures of these many lands. The Persians, for example, retained
their own language and wrote in it a literature of Mohammedan religious
spirit, so important that we shall devote to it a later separate
volume. Our present task, therefore, will confine itself to tracing
through the Middle Ages the more strictly Arabian development. This
includes first, the spread of literature and thought among the Arabs
themselves, or among those people who completely adopted the Arabic
faith and speech. Second, it includes the literature of the Moors, or
semi-Arabic peoples, of North Africa and Spain. And third, it leads us
to the Turks, the last Mohammedan conquerors, who took up and carried
on Arabic tradition, though in a language and spirit more Tartar than
Arabian.

For the purely Arabic development, that is for the literature and
thought that sprang directly from Mohammed's teaching, we turn first to
the "Sunan," or traditions about Mohammed. After the prophet's death in
A.D. 632, and while his followers were spreading his teachings by force
of arms, they talked much of the doings and sayings of their adored
master. Then, long after his own writings had been gathered in the
official form of the Koran, a similar collection was made of what might
be termed his unofficial teaching, that is of all his remembered words,
the ideas which he had not proclaimed as inspired by God, but had given
forth in ordinary conversation between man and man. The details of his
life were also treasured. Thus sprang up the "Sunan," from which we may
learn as much of Mohammed the man, and of the daily life and thought of
his people, as from the Koran we learn of Mohammed the poet and of the
poetic spirit of Arabia.

For a long time the Arabs developed no other religious literature than
this. Of the third leader of their new faith, the Caliph Omar, there is
a well-known legend which may be untrue in fact but is intensely true
to the fanatic spirit of the Caliph and his followers. It says that
when Omar's armies conquered Egypt the scholars of Alexandria entreated
him to protect the books of their great library, the largest in the
world. Instead, Omar ordered the thousands of manuscripts to be used to
feed the fires of the public baths; and he based the destruction upon
this verdict: "If these books disagree with the Koran they are evil; if
they agree they are unnecessary."

The Arabic literary spirit was thus compelled to cling to its old
pre-Mohammedan form. That is, it expressed itself only in brief
personal poems, in skilfully phrased epigrams, satiric couplets, or
"rubaiyat," called forth by a sudden occasion. A collection of the best
known of these poems, gathered from successive ages of gay and dashing
singers, is given at the close of our Arabic section.

Gradually, however, a change came over the victorious Arab race. The
warriors lost their intense religious inspiration. They fought among
themselves for place and power. The enormous wealth which they had
conquered, with its resulting temptations to luxury and ease and empty
vanity, weakened them, lured them from both the high moral strength
which they had really attained, and from the fanatic frenzy of faith
which had been their pride. They removed the capital of their empire
from the holy cities of Arabia, first to Damascus and then to Bagdad,
the wonderful dream-city of splendor which they built upon the banks of
the ancient Tigris river.

Under these gorgeous Caliphs of Bagdad, such as Haroun al Raschid
of "Arabian Nights'" fame, a civilization developed which Mohammed
would never have recognized as his own, which he would indeed have
been the first to repudiate. Unrestrained power bred a callous
indifference to the sufferings of its victims, and even a barbarous
delight in inflicting torture. The tyranny of the ruling classes bred
a corresponding falsity in their helpless but supple servitors. Truth,
the chief virtue in Mohammed's teaching, became unknown in human
intercourse, except as a poetic ideal. From their priest-king down,
through all the ranks of society, men talked much of the virtues, while
surrendering themselves almost wholly to the passions. One might of
course speak cynically of mankind's having found this somewhat true in
every age, but seldom has the tragic contrast between the ideal and the
actual been brought into such sharp and visible form as in the medieval
world of Bagdad.

From this fertile though unhealthy soil a new literature sprang up,
typical of the time and place. Here were centered the wealth and
leisure and most of what survived of the culture of ancient Asia and
Africa. So wit and learning journeyed there as well. At first the new
literature found voice mainly as history or biography, or as a rather
crude form of these collections of anecdotes purporting to give the
virtues and chief events in the lives of former caliphs. Among the
writers of these semi-biographic tales, by far the most noted and most
noteworthy is Masoudi (died A.D. 957). His huge work, the "Golden
Meadows," fills many volumes, from which we give the most attractive
anecdotes. While such tales must not be taken as genuine history, they
teach us very clearly the spirit of their age.

After these loose histories, a more careful science developed. The real
learning of the Arab scholars of the eleventh and twelfth centuries
far outranked that of their European and Christian contemporaries. As
yet the various fields of science were scarcely differentiated; the
student took all knowledge for his province. The earliest Arab writer,
who may perhaps be regarded as a genuine historian, in contrast to the
previous romancers, was Al Biruni (973-1048), whose "Chronology" our
volume quotes. But Al Biruni was far more than an historian; he was a
leading scientist of his day and also a geographer, his work on "India"
being almost as celebrated as his "Chronology." Of even greater fame
in science than Al Biruni was Avicenna (980-1037), a sort of universal
genius, known first as a physician. To his works on medicine he
afterward added religious tracts, poems, works on philosophy, on logic,
on physics, on mathematics, and on astronomy. He was also a statesman
and a soldier, and he is said to have died of debauchery. He is famed
as the most versatile and brilliant member of a versatile and brilliant
race.

With the increasing freedom of scientific thought and speech which
Avicenna typifies, there sprang up among the Eastern Mohammedans a new
religious impulse. They began to examine more carefully the faith which
they had before accepted blindly. To this age therefore we owe the
writings of Al Ghazali (1049-1111), whom some of his own countrymen
have regarded as second only to Mohammed as a teacher of their
religion. Indeed, it was a common saying of his day that "If there were
still prophets in the world Al Ghazali would be one."

Western scholars have, some of them, gone still further in their
admiration of Al Ghazali, declaring him to have been one of the
world's greatest thinkers, whom his Mohammedan contemporaries never
sufficiently appreciated, and to whose high moral stature the
Mohammedan world has not even yet grown up. Among his writings the most
interesting and useful to modern readers is his "Rescuer from Error,"
a sort of spiritual autobiography, his account of his own growth in
religious faith. This striking book our volume gives in full.

From Al Ghazali, or even from before his time, dates the great flow of
commentaries on the Koran. These half-philosophical, half-fanatical
discussions would have seemed irreligious to the earliest Mohammedan
age. The Koran had been originally accepted as perfect, and
therefore as completely clear. But now the analytic spirit of the
Semite reasserted itself; and even as the Hebrews in their Biblical
commentaries weighed every "and" and "but" and every carelessly
made letter in their Holy Book, so now the Mohammedan "mullahs," or
priests, began to draw deductions from their law, to interpret and
so develop it. Among these commentators two are chiefly celebrated.
Zamakhshari (1074-1143) was perhaps the most learned and the shrewdest,
but his ideas have seemed to his coreligionists a little too radical,
too independent of Mohammed, daring almost to question the divine
inspiration of the prophet. Therefore the work of Zamakhshari's more
submissive successor of a century later, Al Baidawi, has gradually
superseded the older book as the favorite exposition of the Koran. The
Western reader, however, will distinctly prefer the independence of
Zamakhshari.

Into the lighter literature of the medieval Arabs we need not look too
far. They had their wholly unreligious and fantastic romances such as
the "Arabian Nights." This famous work, however, draws largely upon
Persian sources. Indeed, as our later Persian volume will emphasize,
most of the pure romance of later Arab literature is of Persian origin,
and may best be studied in the Persian books. There is, however, an
intermediate class of tale peculiarly Arabian. This is the mingling of
romance with poetry and moral teachings, just as the earlier historians
had mingled it with history. Most celebrated in this peculiar class
of semi-religious, semi-poetic romances is the work presented in this
volume, the "Assemblies" of Al Hariri (1054-1122). Just as Masoudi
stands to his race for history, Al Biruni for geography, Avicenna for
science, Al Ghazali for philosophy, and Zamakhshari and Al Baidawi
for religious study, so does Al Hariri stand for literary skill, for
brilliancy and humor. His "Assemblies" is the Arabs' chief purely
literary achievement.


MOORISH LITERATURE

In the year 1258 Bagdad was stormed and conquered by a Tartar general.
It is true that most of the ravaging Tartars finally adopted the
religion of the conquered, and so the region continued to obey in
religious matters a Mohammedan caliph; but the rule of the Arabs, which
had been long undermined by Persian influences, ended definitely with
the fall of Bagdad. From the time of that disaster we must look to
other lands for the continuation of a semi-Arabic literature.

Chief of the secondary developments from the Arabian stock was the
remarkable and justly celebrated civilization of the Moors in Spain.
The fame of medieval Arabic scholarship was carried to its climax by
these first Mohammedan invaders of Europe. In the first wild onrush
of Arabian conquest most of Spain was captured in the year A.D. 712,
captured by an army having leaders of pure Arab blood, but with
followers mainly of the semi-Arabic, or Moorish, people of North
Africa. In the year 756 this Moorish kingdom in Spain broke completely
from the Arabian Caliph and set up a priest-king of its own, a caliph
whose capital was at Cordova in Spain, and whose connection with the
older Arab world was only one of race and religion and not of empire.
Our Hebraic volume has already spoken of the remarkable Hebrew writers
and philosophers who flourished within the shelter of this Cordova
caliphate. The Arabs themselves were not less able than their Hebrew
servitors.

Here then, under the sunny skies of Southern Spain, far, far indeed
from the first centers of Semitic civilization, was the last brilliant
blossoming of distinctively Semitic thought. We have in our previous
volumes traced the growth of Semitic thought and of the Semitic
religious progress from their earliest home by the Euphrates river,
where the Babylonian and the desert Arab warred in unrecognized
brotherhood of race. Now we are ready to glance briefly at them in
Spain, the last strong kingdom they were to possess, and the last
literature of note which the Semites, except as scattered members of
other communities, were to give the world.

Among the Arabic writers of Spain the most noted is the scientist and
philosopher, Averroes (1126-1198). To Mohammedans he is the religious
thinker, who strove to harmonize their faith with the advancing science
of a later day, and who opposed his practical, rational spirit to the
mysticism of Al Ghazali. To the European world he is the celebrated
commentator on that greatest of philosophers, Aristotle. As the voice
of Aristotle, Averroes thus became the leading teacher and philosopher
of his day; he is the link which connects our present thought and
science with the first splendor of independent inquiry under the
Greeks. The name of Aristotle, the chief scientific teacher of all the
world, is thus united forever with that of the great Arab teacher,
Averroes.

Moorish literature was also a shrine of poetry and romance, though
most of these lighter writings have only been preserved to us through
the Spanish tongue. Our own Washington Irving found in these Moorish
tales an inspiration for his genius, and has turned many of them into
English. Others will be found included in our volume.


TURKISH LITERATURE

Of the Turkish literature we need speak but briefly. The Turks were not
Semites, but a Tartar or East Asiatic stock who, after wandering into
Western Asia, accepted the Mohammedan faith about A.D. 1288. At the
very moment when the vast Mohammedan empire was crumbling to pieces,
assailed by pagan Tartar hordes and crusading Christian armies from
without, and withering from spiritual decadence within, the Turks took
up the waning faith, and with the energy of new and younger converts
carried it onward to the military conquests which built up the Turkish
Empire.

This new empire soon included geographically most of the older Arab
Empire; but the Turks brought to their new faith only the dubious glory
of victory in war. They added little, either to its thought or to its
literature. They were, in fact, a nation still semi-barbaric, strong
in the natural virtues of faith and honesty and a rude kindliness, but
wholly lacking in the subtlety and intellectual keenness which could
have advanced Mohammedan thought.

Hence we shall find in their literature, at first, only childish
tales, echoes of the childhood of the world, magic stories close akin
to those of our own fairyland. Then comes a native poetry, not rising
to remarkable heights in any one great poet, but full of a warm human
love of romance and justice. Later we come to more thoughtful and
elaborate writings, but these incline to deal with the practical world
rather than with that of religion and speculative thought. So that
we close our Turkish section with what is perhaps the most valuable
piece of early Turkish literature, a work of travel, the celebrated
autobiography of Sidi Ali Reis.




ARABIC LITERATURE


  THE SUNAN

  THE DEEDS AND SAYINGS OF MOHAMMED AS PRESERVED BY
  HIS FOLLOWERS

  "_The proof of a Mohammedan's sincerity is that he pays no
  heed to what is not his business._"
  —SUNAN OF ABU DA'UD.


  "_The sayings [of the Sunan] are very numerous and very detailed;
  but how far they are genuine it is not easy to determine._"
  —STANLEY LANE-POOLE.


  "_The first thing which God created was a pen, and he said to
  it, 'Write.'_"
  —THE SUNAN.


THE SUNAN

(INTRODUCTION)


The Sunan, or "traditions," of Mohammed are now gathered in six
books, though two of these are more specifically called the Sahihs,
or "sincere books." These six works bear to Mohammedanism much the
same relation as the Four Gospels do to Christianity. That is to say,
they are the accounts of the prophet's life as handed down by his
disciples. Of course to the Mohammedans the Sunan are not the main
source of teaching. That is the Koran, which, as we have seen, is
Mohammed's own book, dictated by the prophet himself. Moreover, the
Sunan do not approach Mohammed with anything like the same accuracy
and closeness with which the Gospels approach Jesus. The Sunan are
slight and fragmentary traditions, gathered from every possible source
at an interval of more than two centuries after their prophet's death.
They have, however, been accepted as holy books or "canons" of the
Mohammedan faith. Much of the Mohammedan religious law of to-day is
founded on them; and they are taught in all the schools and made the
basis of many a hair-splitting argument about right and wrong.

Unlike the Christian religion, that of Mohammed sprang immediately
into world-wide power; hence no sooner was the prophet dead than every
companion of the revered teacher, every listener who had ever heard him
speak, narrated to eager audiences each remembered trifle. Naturally
these became exaggerated in the telling. Moreover, when rival caliphs
fought and slew one another, each claiming rightful heirship from the
prophet, their followers would inevitably invent traditions to justify
each leader's claim. Exaggeration, if not direct falsehood, soon
became inextricably mixed with fact. When, later on, men tried to set
their faith upon a firmer basis, they sought to sift these manifold
traditions and decide which were worthy of belief.

The first man who set down these sifted traditions in a book was Al
Bukhari. He traveled all over the Arab Empire to gather all the tales
he could, and he continued elaborating on his book, the first Sahih,
until his death in A.D. 870. Al Bukhari himself tells us that in his
travels he gathered six hundred thousand tales about Mohammed. Of these
he admitted to his Sahih, as being most trustworthy, a little over
seven thousand. The second Sahih, written by a follower of Al Bukhari,
was garnered from three hundred thousand tales.

Of slightly later date than these two works were the four Sunan,
founded partly on the earlier books, but built upon a stricter critical
analysis of what should be accepted, and written after an even wider
gathering of all the legends of the empire. Hence the Sunan include
the earlier books, and the entire collection is commonly spoken of by
the later name. When, however, we speak of these Sunan as a "critical"
selection from the million legends, the modern reader must not think of
this as implying modern scientific criticism and analytical accuracy.
Each tale was chiefly accepted on the ground that, in the series of men
by whom it was said to have been handed down through the generations,
all the men were known and all were of reputed trustworthiness.

That is to say, in an age already become notorious for its lack of
veracity, a superficial confidence in individual veracity, extending
back through many links for over two hundred years, was accepted as the
ultimate proof of truth.

The most widely read and quoted of the Sunan is that of Abu Da'ud, who
sums up his own work by declaring that only four of all the thousands
of religious rules he has gathered need be remembered by each man
for his own religious guidance. These four laws Abu Da'ud gives as
follows: "Actions will be judged according to intentions. The proof of
a Moslem's sincerity is that he pays no heed to that which is not his
business. No man is a true believer unless he desires for his brother
that which he desires for himself. That which is lawful is clear, and
that which is unlawful likewise, but there are certain doubtful things
between the two, from which it is well to abstain."


SELECTIONS FROM THE

SUNAN

OR, SAYINGS AND TRADITIONS OF MOHAMMED


When God created the creation he wrote a book, which is near him upon
the sovran throne; and what is written in it is this: "Verily my
compassion overcometh my wrath."

Say not, if people do good to us, we will do good to them, and if
people oppress us, we will oppress them: but resolve that if people do
good to you, you will do good to them, and if they oppress you, oppress
them not again.

God saith: Whoso doth one good act, for him are ten rewards, and I also
give more to whomsoever I will; and whoso doth ill, its retaliation is
equal to it, or else I forgive him; and he who seeketh to approach me
one cubit, I will seek to approach him two fathoms; and he who walketh
toward me, I will run toward him; and he who cometh before me with the
earth full of sins, but joineth no partner to me, I will come before
him with an equal front of forgiveness.

There are seven people whom God will draw under his own shadow, on that
day when there will be no other shadow: one a just king; another, who
hath employed himself in devotion from his youth; the third, who fixeth
his heart on the mosque till he return to it; the fourth, two men whose
friendship is to please God, whether together or separate; the fifth, a
man who remembereth God when he is alone, and weepeth; the sixth, a man
who is tempted by a rich and beautiful woman, and saith, Verily I fear
God; the seventh, a man who hath given alms and concealed it, so that
his left hand knoweth not what his right hand doeth.

The most excellent of all actions is to befriend any one on God's
account, and to be at enmity with whosoever is the enemy of God.

Verily ye are in an age in which if ye abandon one-tenth of what is
ordered, ye will be ruined. After this a time will come when he who
shall observe one-tenth of what is now ordered will be redeemed.


_Concerning Prayer_

Angels come among you both night and day; then those of the night
ascend to heaven, and God asketh them how they left his creatures: they
say, We left them at prayer, and we found them at prayer.

The rewards for the prayers which are performed by people assembled
together are double of those which are said at home.

Ye must not say your prayers at the rising or the setting of the sun:
so when a limb of the sun appeareth, leave your prayers until her whole
orb is up: and when the sun beginneth to set, quit your prayers until
the whole orb hath disappeared; for, verily she riseth between the two
horns of the devil.

No neglect of duty is imputable during sleep; for neglect can only
take place when one is awake: therefore, when any of you forget your
prayers, say them when ye recollect.

When any one of you goeth to sleep, the devil tieth three knots upon
his neck; and saith over every knot, "The night is long, sleep."
Therefore, if a servant awake and remember God, it openeth one knot;
and if he perform the ablution, it openeth another; and if he say
prayers, it openeth the other; and he riseth in the morning in gladness
and purity: otherwise he riseth in a lethargic state.

When a Moslem performeth the ablution, it washeth from his face those
faults which he may have cast his eyes upon; and when he washeth
his hands, it removeth the faults they may have committed, and when
he washeth his feet, it dispelleth the faults toward which they may
have carried him: so that he will rise up in purity from the place of
ablution.


_Of Charity_

When God created the earth it began to shake and tremble; then God
created mountains, and put them upon the earth, and the land became
firm and fixed; and the angels were astonished at the hardness of the
hills, and said, "O God, is there anything of thy creation harder than
hills?" and God said, "Yes, water is harder than the hills, because it
breaketh them." Then the angel said, "O Lord, is there anything of thy
creation harder than water?" He said, "Yes, wind overcometh water: it
doth agitate it and put it in motion." They said, "O our Lord! is there
anything of thy creation harder than wind?" He said, "Yes, the children
of Adam giving alms: those who give with their right hand, and conceal
from their left, overcome all."

The liberal man is near the pleasure of God and is near paradise, which
he shall enter into, and is near the hearts of men as a friend, and he
is distant from hell; but the niggard is far from God's pleasure and
from paradise, and far from the hearts of men, and near the fire; and
verily a liberal ignorant man is more beloved by God than a niggardly
worshiper.

A man's giving in alms one piece of silver in his lifetime is better
for him than giving one hundred when about to die.

Think not that any good act is contemptible, though it be but your
brother's coming to you with an open countenance and good humor.

There is alms for a man's every joint, every day in which the sun
riseth; doing justice between two people is alms; and assisting a man
upon his beast, and with his baggage, is alms; and pure words, for
which are rewards; and answering a questioner with mildness is alms,
and every step which is made toward prayer is alms, and removing that
which is an inconvenience to man, such as stones and thorns, is alms.

The people of the Prophet's house killed a goat, and the Prophet said,
"What remaineth of it?" They said, "Nothing but the shoulder; for they
have sent the whole to the poor and neighbors, except a shoulder which
remaineth." The Prophet said, "Nay, it is the whole goat that remaineth
except its shoulder: that remaineth which they have given away, the
rewards of which will be eternal, and what remaineth in the house is
fleeting."

Feed the hungry, visit the sick, and free the captive if he be unjustly
bound.


_Of Fasting_

A keeper of fasts, who doth not abandon lying and slandering, God
careth not about his leaving off eating and drinking.

Keep fast and eat also, stay awake at night and sleep also, because
verily there is a duty on you to your body, not to labor overmuch, so
that ye may not get ill and destroy yourselves; and verily there is a
duty on you to your eyes, ye must sometimes sleep and give them rest;
and verily there is a duty on you to your wife, and to your visitors
and guests that come to see you; ye must talk to them; and nobody hath
kept fast who fasted always; the fast of three days in every month is
equal to constant fasting: then keep three days' fast in every month.


_Of Reading the Koran_

The state of a Moslem who readeth the Koran is like the orange fruit,
whose smell and taste are pleasant; and that of a Moslem who doth not
read the Koran is like a date which hath no smell, but a sweet taste;
and the condition of any hypocrite who doth not read the Koran is
like the colocynth which hath no smell, but a bitter taste; and the
hypocrite who readeth the Koran is like the sweet bazil, whose smell is
sweet, but taste bitter.

Read the Koran constantly; I sware by him in the hands of whose might
is my life, verily the Koran runneth away faster than a camel which is
not tied by the leg.


_Of Labor and Profit_

Verily the best things which ye eat are those which ye earn yourselves
or which your children earn.

Verily it is better for one of you to take a rope and bring a bundle
of wood upon his back and sell it, in which case God guardeth his
honor, than to beg of people, whether they give him or not; if they do
not give him, his reputation suffereth and he returneth disappointed;
and if they give him, it is worse than that, for it layeth him under
obligations.

A man came to the Prophet, begging of him something, and the Prophet
said, "Have you nothing at home?" He said, "Yes, there is a large
carpet, with one part of which I cover myself, and spread the other,
and there is a wooden cup in which I drink water." Then the Prophet
said, "Bring me the carpet and the cup." And the man brought them, and
the Prophet took them in his hand, and said, "Who will buy them?" A
man said, "I will take them at one silver piece." He said, "Who will
give more?" This he repeated twice or thrice. Another man said, "I will
take them for two pieces of silver." Then the Prophet gave the carpet
and cup to that man, and took the two pieces of silver, and gave them
to the helper, and said, "Buy food with one of these pieces, and give
it to your family, that they may make it their sustenance for a few
days; and buy a hatchet with the other piece and bring it to me." And
the man brought it; and the Prophet put a handle to it with his own
hands, and then said, "Go, cut wood, and sell it, and let me not see
you for fifteen days." Then the man went cutting wood, and selling
it; and he came to the Prophet, when verily he had got ten pieces of
silver, and he bought a garment with part of it, and food with part.
Then the Prophet said, "This cutting and selling of wood, and making
your livelihood by it, is better for you than coming on the day of
resurrection with black marks on your face."

Acts of begging are scratches and wounds by which a man woundeth his
own face; then he who wisheth to guard his face from scratches and
wounds must not beg, unless that a man asketh from his prince, or in
an affair in which there is no remedy.

The Prophet hath cursed ten persons on account of wine: one, the
first extractor of the juice of the grape for others; the second, for
himself; the third, the drinker of it; the fourth, the bearer of it;
the fifth, the person to whom it is brought; the sixth, the waiter;
the seventh, the seller of it; the eighth, the eater of its price; the
ninth, the buyer of it; the tenth, that person who hath purchased it
for another.

Merchants shall be raised up liars on the day of resurrection, except
he who abstaineth from that which is unlawful, and doth not swear
falsely, but speaketh true in the price of his goods.

The taker of interest and the giver of it, and the writer of its papers
and the witness to it, are equal in crime.

The holder of a monopoly is a sinner and offender.

The bringers of grain to the city to sell at a cheap rate gain immense
advantage by it, and he who keepeth back grain in order to sell at a
high rate is cursed.

He who desireth that God should redeem him from the sorrows and
difficulties of the day of resurrection must delay in calling on poor
debtors, or forgive the debt in part or whole.

A martyr shall be pardoned every fault but debt.

Whosoever has a thing with which to discharge a debt, and refuseth to
do it, it is right to dishonor and punish him.

A bier was brought to the Prophet, to say prayers over it. He said,
"Hath he left any debts?" They said, "Yes." He said, "Hath he left
anything to discharge them?" They said, "No." The Prophet said, "Say ye
prayers over him; I shall not."

Give the laborer his wage before his perspiration be dry.


_Of Fighting for the Faith_

We came out with the Prophet, with a part of the army, and a man passed
by a cavern in which were water and verdure, and he said in his heart,
"I shall stay here, and retire from the world." Then he asked the
Prophet's permission to live in the cavern; but he said, "Verily I have
not been sent on the Jewish religion, nor the Christian, to quit the
delights of society; but I have been sent on the religion inclining to
truth, and that which is easy, wherein is no difficulty or austerity. I
swear by God, in whose hand is my life, that marching about morning and
evening to fight for religion is better than the world and everything
that is in it: and verily the standing of one of you in the line of
battle is better than supererogatory prayers performed in your house
for sixty years."

When the Prophet sent an army out to fight, he would say, March in the
name of God and by his aid and on the religion of the Messenger of
God. Kill not the old man who can not fight, nor young children nor
women; and steal not the spoils of war, but put your spoils together;
and quarrel not among yourselves, but be good to one another, for God
loveth the doer of good.


_Of Judgments_

The first judgment that God will pass on man at the day of resurrection
will be for murder.

Whosoever throweth himself from the top of a mountain and killeth
himself is in hell fire forever; and whosoever killeth himself with
iron, his iron shall be in his hand, and he will stab his belly with it
in hell fire everlastingly.

No judge must decide between two persons whilst he is angry.

There is no judge who hath decided between men, whether just or unjust,
but will come to God's court on the day of resurrection held by the
neck by an angel; and the angel will raise his head toward the heavens
and wait for God's orders; and if God ordereth to throw him into hell,
the angel will do it from a height of forty years' journey.

Verily there will come on a just judge at the day of resurrection such
fear and horror, that he will wish, Would to God that I had not decided
between two persons in a trial for a single date.


_Of Women and Slaves_

The world and all things in it are valuable, but the most valuable
thing in the world is a virtuous woman.

I have not left any calamity more hurtful to man than woman.

A Moslem can not obtain (after righteousness) anything better than a
well-disposed, beautiful wife: such a wife as, when ordered by her
husband to do anything, obeyeth; and if her husband look at her, is
happy; and if her husband swear by her to do a thing, she doth it to
make his oath true; and if he be absent from her, she wisheth him well
in her own person by guarding herself from inchastity, and taketh care
of his property.

Verily the best of women are those who are content with little.

Admonish your wives with kindness; for women were created out of a
crooked rib of Adam, therefore if ye wish to straighten it, ye will
break it; and if ye let it alone, it will be always crooked.

Every woman who dieth, and her husband is pleased with her, shall enter
into paradise.

That which is lawful but disliked by God is divorce.

A woman may be married by four qualifications: one, on account of
her money; another, on account of the nobility of her pedigree;
another, on account of her beauty; a fourth, on account of her faith;
therefore look out for religious women, but if ye do it from any other
consideration, may your hands be rubbed in dirt.

A widow shall not be married until she be consulted; nor shall a virgin
be married until her consent be asked, whose consent is by her silence.

When the Prophet was informed that the people of Persia had made the
daughter of Chosroes their queen, he said, The tribe that constitutes a
woman its ruler will not find redemption.

Do not prevent your women from coming to the mosque; but their homes
are better for them.

O assembly of women, give alms, although it be of your gold and silver
ornaments; for verily ye are mostly of hell on the day of resurrection.

When ye return from a journey and enter your town at night, go not to
your houses, so that your wives may have time to comb their disheveled
hair.

God has ordained that your brothers should be your slaves: therefore
him whom God hath ordained to be the slave of his brother, his brother
must give him of the food which he eateth himself, and of the clothes
wherewith he clotheth himself, and not order him to do anything beyond
his power, and if he doth order such a work, he must himself assist him
in doing it.

He who beateth his slave without fault, or slappeth him in the face,
his atonement for this is freeing him.

A man who behaveth ill to his slave will not enter into paradise.

Forgive thy servant seventy times a day.


_Of Dumb Animals_

Fear God in respect of animals: ride them when they are fit to be
ridden, and get off when they are tired.

A man came before the Prophet with a carpet, and said, "O Prophet! I
passed through a wood, and heard the voices of the young of birds; and
I took and put them into my carpet; and their mother came fluttering
round my head, and I uncovered the young, and the mother fell down upon
them, then I wrapped them up in my carpet; and there are the young
which I have." Then the Prophet said, "Put them down." And when he did
so, their mother joined them: and the Prophet said, "Do you wonder at
the affection of the mother toward her young? I swear by him who hath
sent me, verily God is more loving to his servants than the mother to
these young birds. Return them to the place from which ye took them,
and let their mother be with them."

Verily there are rewards for our doing good to dumb animals, and giving
them water to drink. An adulteress was forgiven who passed by a dog at
a well; for the dog was holding out his tongue from thirst, which was
near killing him; and the woman took off her hoot, and tied it to the
end of her garment, and drew water for the dog, and gave him to drink;
and she was forgiven for that act.


_Of Hospitality_

When a man cometh into his house and remembereth God and repeateth his
name at eating his meals, the devil saith to his followers, "Here is no
place for you to stay in to-night, nor is there any supper for you."
And when a man cometh into his house without remembering God's name,
the devil saith to his followers, "You have got a place to spend the
night in."

Whosoever believeth in God and the day of resurrection must respect his
guest, and the time of being kind to him is one day and one night, and
the period of entertaining him is three days, and after that, if he
doth it longer, he benefiteth him more. It is not right for a guest to
stay in the house of the host so long as to inconvenience him.

I heard this, that God is pure, and loveth purity; and God is liberal,
and loveth liberality; God is munificent, and loveth munificence: then
keep the courts of your house clean, and do not be like Jews who do not
clean the courts of their houses.


_Of Government_

Government is a trust from God, and verily government will be at the
day of resurrection a cause of inquiry, unless he who hath taken it be
worthy of it and have acted justly and done good.

Verily a king is God's shadow upon the earth; and every one oppressed
turneth to him: then when the king doeth justice, for him are rewards
and gratitude from his subjects: but, if the king oppresseth, on him is
his sin, and for the oppressed resignation.

That is the best of men who disliketh power. Beware! ye are all
guardians; and ye will be asked about your subjects: then the leader
is the guardian of the subject, and he will be asked respecting the
subject; and a man is a shepherd to his own family, and will be asked
how they behaved, and his conduct to them; and a wife is guardian to
her husband's house and children, and will be interrogated about them;
and a slave is a shepherd to his master's property, and will be asked
about it, whether he took good care of it or not.

There is no prince who oppresseth the subject and dieth, but God
forbiddeth paradise to him.

If a <DW64> slave is appointed to rule over you, hear him, and obey him,
though his head should be like a dried grape.

There is no obedience due to sinful commands, nor to any other than
what is lawful.

O Prophet of God, if we have princes over us, wanting our rights, and
withholding our rights from us, then what do you order us? He said,
"Ye must hear them and obey their orders: it is on them to be just and
good, and on you to be obedient and submissive."

He is not strong or powerful who throws people down, but he is strong
who withholds himself from anger.

When one of you getteth angry, he must sit down, and if his anger goeth
away from sitting, so much the better; if not, let him lie down.


_Of Vanities and Sundry Matters_

The angels are not with the company with which is a dog, nor with the
company with which is a bell.

A bell is the devil's musical instrument.

The angels do not enter a house in which is a dog, nor that in which
there are pictures.

Every painter is in hell fire; and God will appoint a person at the day
of resurrection for every picture he shall have drawn, to punish him,
and they will punish him in hell. Then if you must make pictures, make
them of trees and things without souls.

Whosoever shall tell a dream, not having dreamed, shall be put to
the trouble at the day of resurrection of joining two barleycorns;
and he can by no means do it; and he will be punished. And whosoever
listeneth to others' conversation, who dislike to be heard by him,
and avoid him, boiling lead will be poured into his ears at the day
of resurrection. And whosoever draweth a picture shall be punished by
ordering him to breathe a spirit into it, and this he can never do, and
so he will be punished as long as God wills.

O servants of God, use medicine: because God hath not created a pain
without a remedy for it, to be the means of curing it, except age; for
that is a pain without a remedy.

He who is not loving to God's creatures and to his own children, God
will not be loving to him.

The truest words spoken by any poet are those of Lebid, who said, "Know
that everything is vanity except God."

Verily he who believeth fighteth with his sword and tongue: I swear by
God, verily abuse of infidels in verse is worse to them than arrows.

Meekness and shame are two branches of faith, and vain talking and
embellishing are two branches of hypocrisy.

The calamity of knowledge is forgetfulness, and to lose knowledge is
this, to speak of it to the unworthy.

Who pursueth the road to knowledge, God will direct him to the road of
paradise; and verily the angels spread their arms to receive him who
seeketh after knowledge; and everything in heaven and earth will ask
grace for him; and verily the superiority of a learned man over a mere
worshiper is like that of the full moon over all the stars.

Hearing is not like seeing: verily God acquainted Moses of his tribe's
worshiping a calf, but he did not throw down the tables; but when Moses
went to his tribe, and saw with his eyes the calf they had made, he
threw down the tables and broke them.

Be not extravagant in praising me, as the Christians are in praising
Jesus, Mary's Son, by calling him God, and the Son of God; I am only
the Lord's servant; then call me the servant of God, and his messenger.

It was asked, "O Messenger of God, what relation is most worthy of
doing good to?" He said, "Your mother"; this he repeated thrice:
"and after her your father, and after him your other relations by
propinquity."

God's pleasure is in a father's pleasure, and God's displeasure is a
father's displeasure.

Verily one of you is a mirror to his brother: Then if he see a vice in
his brother he must tell him to get rid of it.

The best person near God is the best among his friends; and the best of
neighbors near God is the best person in his own neighborhood.

Deliberation in undertaking is pleasing to God, and haste is pleasing
to the devil.

The heart of the old is always young in two things: in love for the
world, and length of hope.


_Of Death_

Wish not for death any one of you; either a doer of good works,
for peradventure he may increase them by an increase of life; or
an offender, for perhaps he may obtain the forgiveness of God by
repentance.

When the soul is taken from the body, the eyes follow it, and look
toward it: on this account the eyes remain open.

When a believer is nearly dead, angels of mercy come, clothed in white
silk garments, and say to the soul of the dying man, "Come out, O
thou who art satisfied with God, and with whom he is satisfied; come
out to rest, which is with God, and the sustenance of God's mercy and
compassion, and to the Lord, who is not angry." Then the soul cometh
out like the smell of the best musk, so that verily it is handed from
one angel to another, till they bring it to the doors of the celestial
regions. Then the angels say, "What a wonderful, pleasant smell this is
which is come to you from the earth!" Then they bring it to the souls
of the faithful, and they are very happy at its coming; more than ye
are at the coming of one of your family after a long journey. And the
souls of the faithful ask it, "What hath such a one done, and such a
one? how are they?" and they mention the names of their friends who are
left in the world. And some of them say, "Let it alone; do not ask it,
because it was grieved in the world, and came from thence aggrieved;
ask it when it is at rest." Then the soul saith when it is at ease,
"Verily such a one about whom ye ask is dead." And as they do not see
him among themselves, they say to one another, "Surely he was carried
to his mother, which is hell fire."

And verily when an infidel is near death, angels of punishment
come to him, clothed in sackcloth, and say to his soul, "Come out,
thou discontented, and with whom God is displeased; come to God's
punishments." Then it cometh out with a disagreeable smell, worse than
the worst stench of a dead body, until they bring it upon the earth,
and they say, "What an extraordinarily bad smell this is"; till they
bring it to the souls of the infidels.

A bier was passing, and the Prophet stood up for it; and we stood with
him and said, "O Prophet! verily this bier is of a Jewish woman; we
must not respect it." Then the Prophet said, "Verily death is dreadful:
therefore when ye see a bier, stand up."

Do not abuse or speak ill of the dead, because they have arrived at
what they sent before them; they have received the rewards of their
actions; if the reward is good, you must not mention them as sinful;
and if it is bad, perhaps they may be forgiven, but if not, your
mentioning their badness is of no use.

Sit not upon graves, nor say your prayers fronting them.

Whoso consoleth one in misfortune, for him is a reward equal to that of
the sufferer.

Whoso comforteth a woman who has lost her child will be covered with a
garment in paradise.

The Prophet passed by graves in Medina, and turned his face toward
them, and said, "Peace be to you, O people of the graves. God forgive
us and you! Ye have passed on before us, and we are following you."


_Of the State after Death_

To whomsoever God giveth wealth, and he doth not perform the charity
due from it, his wealth will be made into the shape of a serpent on
the day of resurrection, which shall not have any hair upon its head,
and this is a sign of its poison and long life, and it hath two
black spots upon its eyes, and it will be twisted round his neck like
a chain on the day of resurrection; then the serpent will seize the
man's jaw-bones, and will say, "I am thy wealth, the charity for which
thou didst not give, and I am thy treasure, from which thou didst not
separate any alms."

The Prophet asked us, "Did any one of you dream?" We said, "No." He
said, "But I did. Two men came to me and took hold of my hands, and
carried me to a pure land: and behold, there was a man sitting and
another standing: the first had an iron hook in his hand, and was
hooking the other in the lip, and split it to the back of the neck, and
then did the same with the other lip. While this was doing the first
healed, and the man kept on from one lip to the other. I said, 'What
is this?' They said, 'Move on,' and we did so till we reached a man
sleeping on his back, and another standing at his head with a stone in
his hand, with which he was breaking the other's head, and afterward
rolled the stone about and then followed it, and had not yet returned,
when the man's head was healed and well. Then he broke it again, and
I said, 'What is this?' They said, 'Walk on'; and we walked, till we
came to a hole like an oven, with its top narrow and its bottom wide,
and fire was burning under it, and there were naked men and women in
it; and when the fire burned high the people mounted also, and when the
fire subsided they subsided also. Then I said, 'What is this?' They
said, 'Move on'; and we went on till we came to a river of blood, with
a man standing in the middle of it, and another man on the bank, with
stones in his hands: and when the man in the river attempted to come
out, the other threw stones in his face, and made him return. And I
said, 'What is this'? They said, 'Advance'; and we moved forward, till
we arrived at a green garden, in which was a large tree, and an old man
and children sitting on the roots of it, and near it was a man lighting
a fire. Then I was carried upon the tree, and put into a house which
was in the middle of it—a better house I have never seen: and there
were old men, young men, women, and children. After that they brought
me out of the house and carried me to the top of the tree, and put me
into a better house, where were old men and young men. And I said to my
two conductors, 'Verily ye have shown me a great many things to-night,
then inform me of what I have seen.' They said, 'Yes: as to the man
whom you saw with split lips, he was a liar, and will be treated in
that way till the day of resurrection; and the person you saw getting
his head broken is a man whom God taught the Koran, and he did not
repeat it in the night, nor practise what is in it by day, and he will
be treated as you saw till the day of resurrection; and the people you
saw in the oven are adulterers; and those you saw in the river are
receivers of usury; and the old man you saw under the tree is Abraham;
and the children around them are the children of men: and the person
who was lighting the fire was Malik, the keeper of hell; and the first
house you entered was for the common believers; and as to the second
house, it is for the martyrs: and we who conducted you are one of us
Gabriel, and the other Michael; then raise up your head'; and I did
so, and saw above it as it were a cloud: and they said, 'That is your
dwelling.' I said, 'Call it here, that I may enter it'; and they said,
'Verily your life remaineth, but when you have completed it, you will
come into your house.'"

When God created paradise, he said to Gabriel, "Go and look at it";
then Gabriel went and looked at it and at the things which God had
prepared for the people of it. After that Gabriel came and said, "O my
Lord! I swear by thy glory no one will hear a description of paradise
but will be ambitious of entering it." After that God surrounded
paradise with distress and troubles, and said, "O Gabriel, go and look
at paradise." And he went and looked, and then returned and said, "O my
Lord, I fear that verily no one will enter it." And when God created
hell fire he said to Gabriel, "Go and take a look at it." And he went
and looked at it, and returned and said, "O my Lord, I swear by thy
glory that no one who shall hear a description of hell fire will wish
to enter it." Then God surrounded it with sins, desires, and vices;
after that he said to Gabriel, "Go and look at hell fire," and he went
and looked at it, and said, "O my Lord, I swear by thy glory I am
afraid that every one will enter hell, because sins are so sweet that
there is none but will incline to them."

If ye knew what I know of the condition of the resurrection and
futurity, verily ye would weep much and laugh little.

Then I said, "O messenger of God! shall we perish while the virtuous
are among us?" He said, Yes, when the wickedness shall be excessive,
verily there will be tribes of my sects that will consider the wearing
of silks and drinking liquor lawful, and will listen to the lute: and
there will be men with magnificent houses, and their milch-animals will
come to them in the evening, full of milk, and a man will come begging
a little and they will say, Come to-morrow. Then God will quickly
send a punishment upon them, and will change others into the shape of
monkeys and swine, unto the day of resurrection.

Verily among the signs of the resurrection will be the taking away of
knowledge from among men; and their being in great ignorance and much
wickedness and much drinking of liquor, and diminution of men, and
there being many women; to such a degree that there will be fifty women
to one man, and he will work for a livelihood for the women.

How can I be happy, when Israfil hath put the trumpet to his mouth
to blow it, leaning his ear toward the true God for orders, and hath
already knit his brow, waiting in expectation of orders to blow it?


_Of Destiny_

The hearts of men are at the disposal of God like unto one heart,
and he turneth them about in any way that he pleaseth. O Director of
hearts, turn our hearts to obey thee.

The first thing which God created was a pen, and he said to it,
"Write." It said, "What shall I write?" And God said, "Write down the
quantity of every separate thing to be created." And it wrote all that
was and all that will be to eternity.

There is not one among you whose sitting-place is not written by God,
whether in the fire or in paradise. The companions said, "O Prophet!
since God hath appointed our place, may we confide in this and abandon
our religious and moral duty?" He said, "No, because the happy will do
good works, and those who are of the miserable will do bad works."

The Prophet of God said that Adam and Moses (in the world of spirits)
maintained a debate before God, and Adam got the better of Moses; who
said, "Thou art that Adam whom God created by the power of his hands,
and breathed into thee from his own spirit, and made the angels bow
before thee, and gave thee an habitation in his own paradise: after
that thou threwest man upon the earth, from the fault which thou
committedst." Adam said, "Thou art that Moses whom God elected for his
prophecy, and to converse with, and he gave to thee twelve tables, in
which are explained everything, and God made thee his confidant, and
the bearer of his secrets: then how long was the Bible written before
I was created?" Moses said, "Forty years." Then Adam said, "Didst thou
see in the Bible that Adam disobeyed God?" He said, "Yes." Adam said,
"Dost thou then reproach me on a matter which God wrote in the Bible
forty years before creating me?"

Ayesha relates that the Prophet said to her, "Do you know, O Ayesha!
the excellence of this night?" (the fifteenth of Ramadan). I said,
"What is it, O Prophet?" He said, "One thing in this night is, that
all the children of Adam to be born in the year are written down; and
also those who are to die in it, and all the actions of the children
of Adam are carried up to heaven in this night; and their allowances
are sent down." Then I said, "O Prophet, do none enter Paradise except
by God's mercy?" He said, "No, none enter except by God's favor": this
he said thrice. I said, "You, also, O Prophet! will you not enter into
paradise, excepting by God's compassion?" Then the Prophet put his hand
on his head, and said, "I shall not enter, except God cover me with his
mercy": this he said thrice.

A man asked the Prophet what was the mark whereby a man might know
the reality of his faith. He said, "If thou derive pleasure from the
good which thou hast done, and be grieved for the evil which thou hast
committed, thou art a true believer." The man said, "What doth a fault
really consist in?" He said, "When anything pricketh thy conscience,
forsake it."

I am no more than man: when I order you anything with respect to
religion, receive it; and when I order you about the affairs of the
world, then I am nothing more than man.




ARABIC LITERATURE


EARLY HISTORY AND SCIENCE

    "_O Thou who diest not, have mercy on him who dies._"
    THE GOLDEN MEADOWS OF MASOUDI.




ARABIC LITERATURE


EARLY HISTORY AND SCIENCE

(INTRODUCTION)


Among the early chronicles of the Arabs, as we have already stated, by
far the most celebrated is the many-volumed work of Masoudi, called,
the "Book of Golden Meadows." It is a collection of interesting and
sometimes scandalous anecdotes about anything and everything in the
past, but chiefly about the earlier caliphs. These, with true Eastern
subtlety, Masoudi criticises where criticism will be safe, in order
that he may praise with a convincing air where he thinks praise will be
especially pleasing to the powerful of his own day. In other words, the
author is an accomplished courtier as well as a witty and entertaining
writer. His book begins, as do all Arab books, with the formula, "In
the name of the most merciful God," followed by the usual preface
praising Mohammed and the author's own work, and explaining its origin.
Then follow, chronologically arranged, the anecdotes of which we quote
some that refer to the best-known caliphs.

Masoudi himself was of the genuine Arab blood, a man of prominence
descended from one of the comrades of Mohammed. He was born at Bagdad,
but was, like many of his countrymen, a wanderer. After visiting all
lands, he finally selected Egypt as his dwelling-place, and there
died, probably in A.D. 957. Al Bukhari and other earlier travelers had
collected all the tales of the Prophet, so Masoudi devoted himself
to gathering other legends. From the vast bulk of these he made a
thirty-volume historical work, most of which has disappeared. He then
selected from this the material for a briefer work, and then, by a
third process of distillation, gathered the best of his anecdotes into
the "Golden Meadows."

Of the more careful historians and genuine scientists who followed,
Avicenna, from whose philosophical work we give an extract here, must
assuredly be ranked the first.




EARLY HISTORY AND SCIENCE


THE BOOK OF GOLDEN MEADOWS AND OF MINES OF PRECIOUS STONES


IN THE NAME OF THE MOST MERCIFUL GOD, PITIFUL AND HELPFUL:

Let us praise God, whose works we should study, and celebrate and
glorify. May God grant his blessing and his peace to Mohammed, chief of
the prophets, and to all his holy posterity.


THE CALIPHATE OF ABU BEKR, THE TRUTHFUL

Abu Bekr surpassed all the Mohammedans in his austerity, his frugality,
and the simplicity of his life and outward appearance. During his rule
he wore but a single linen garment and a cloak. In this simple dress
he gave audience to the chiefs of the noblest Arab tribes and to the
kings of Yemen. The latter appeared before him dressed in richest
robes, covered with gold embroideries and wearing splendid crowns. But
at sight of the Caliph, shamed by his mingling of pious humility and
earnest gravity, they followed his example and renounced their gorgeous
attire.


THE CALIPHATE OF AL MANSUR, THE BUILDER OF BAGDAD

Al Mansur, the third Caliph of the house of Abbas, succeeded his
brother Es-Saffah ("'the blood-shedder") A.D. 754. He was a prince of
great prudence, integrity, and discretion; but these good qualities
were sullied by his extraordinary covetousness and occasional cruelty.
He patronized poets and learned men, and was endowed with a remarkable
memory. It is said that he could remember a poem after having only once
heard it. He also had a slave who could commit to memory anything that
he had heard twice, and a slave-girl who could do the same with what
she had heard three times.

One day there came to him a poet bringing a congratulatory ode, and Al
Mansur said to him: "If it appears that anybody knows it by heart, or
that any one composed it—that is to say, that it was brought here by
some other person before thee—will give thee no recompense for it; but
if no one knows it, we will give thee the weight in money of that upon
which it is written."

So the poet repeated his poem, and the Caliph at once committed it to
memory, although it contained a thousand lines. Then he said to the
poet: "Listen to it from me," and he recited it perfectly. Then he
added: "And this slave, too, knows it by heart." This was the case, as
he had heard it twice, once from the poet and once from the Caliph.
Then the Caliph said: "And this slave-girl, who is concealed by the
curtain, she also recollects it." So she repeated every letter of it,
and the poet went away unrewarded.

Another poet, El Asmaïy, was among the intimate friends and
table-companions of the Caliph. He composed some very difficult verses,
and scratched them upon a fragment of a marble pillar, which he wrapped
in a cloak and placed on the back of a camel. Then he disguised himself
like a foreign Arab, and fastened on a face-cloth, so that nothing was
visible but his eyes, and came to the Caliph and said: "Verily I have
lauded the Commander of the Faithful in a 'Kasidah'" (ode).

Then said Al Mansur: "O brother of the Arabs! if the poem has been
brought by any one beside thee, we will give thee no recompense for it;
otherwise we will bestow on thee the weight in money of that upon which
it is written." So El Asmaïy recited the Kasidah, which, as it was
extraordinarily intricate and difficult, the Caliph could not commit to
memory. He looked toward the slave and the girl, but they had neither
of them learned it. So he cried: "O brother of the Arabs! bring hither
that whereon it is written, that we may give thee its weight."

Then said the seeming Arab: "O my Lord! of a truth I could find no
paper to write it upon; but I had amongst the things left me at my
father's death a piece of a marble column which had been thrown aside
as useless, so I scratched the Kasidah upon that."

Then the Caliph had no help for it but to give him its weight in gold,
and this nearly exhausted his treasury. The poet took it and departed.

When he had gone away, the Caliph said: "It forces itself upon my
mind that this is El Asmaïy." So he commanded him to be brought back,
and lo! it was El Asmaïy, who said: "O Commander of the Faithful!
verily the poets are poor and are fathers of families, and thou dost
debar them from receiving anything by the power of thy memory and the
memories of this slave and this slave-girl. But wert thou to bestow
upon them what thou couldst easily spare, they might with it support
their families, and it could not injure thee."

One day the poet Thalibi recited an ode in the presence of Al Mansur,
hoping for a reward. When he had finished, the Caliph said to him:
"Will you have three hundred dinars from my treasury, or hear three
wise sayings from my lips?" "Oh," said the poet, anxious to curry favor
with his master, "durable wisdom is better than transitory treasure."
"Very well," said the Caliph, "the first word of wisdom is: When your
garment is worn, don't sew on a new patch, for it looks badly." "Alas!
alas!" wailed the poet, "there go a hundred dinars at one blow." The
Caliph smiled, and continued: "The second piece of advice is: When you
anoint your beard, don't anoint the bottom of it, lest you soil your
clothes." "Ah!" sighed the poet, "there go the second hundred." Again
the Caliph smiled, and continued: "The third piece of advice-—-" "O
Caliph," cried the poet in an agony: "keep the third piece of advice
to yourself and let me have the last hundred dinars." Then the Caliph
laughed outright and ordered five hundred dinars to be paid him from
the treasury.


_Al Mansur and Abu Muslim_

Abu Muslim was one of the chief generals of Es-Saffah, Al Mansur's
brother and predecessor. On his accession Al Mansur became jealous of
Abu Muslim's great power and influence, but sent him notwithstanding to
put down a revolt raised by Abd Allah, the son of Ali. After several
battles, Abd Allah fled and took refuge in Bassorah, the whole of his
camp and treasure falling into the hands of Abu Muslim. Al Mansur sent
Yaktin bin Musa to take charge of the treasure. On appearing before Abu
Muslim, Yaktin said to him: "Peace be to thee, Emir!" "A murrain on
thee, son of a prostitute!" answered the general. "They can use me to
shed my blood, but not to guard a treasure." "My lord," answered the
messenger, "what has put such thoughts into your head?" "Has not thy
master," answered Abu Muslim, "sent thee to confiscate all the treasure
which has come into my possession?" "May my wife be divorced forever,"
said the Caliph's agent, "if he has not sent me simply and solely to
congratulate you upon your victory and success!" On these words Abu
Muslim embraced him and made him sit by his side. Notwithstanding this,
however, when he had bidden him farewell, he said to his officers: "By
Allah! I know this man will divorce his wife, simply out of fidelity to
his master."

When he had resolved to revolt against Al Mansur, Abu Muslim left
Mesopotamia, and set out for Khorassan; while on his part Al Mansur
left Anbar, and encamped near the city of Rumiyeh. From thence he sent
the following message to Abu Muslim: "I wish to consult you on matters
which can not be confided to a letter; come hither, and I shall not
detain you long." Abu Muslim read the letter, but would not go. Al
Mansur then sent to him Djerir, son of Yezid, the most accomplished
diplomatist of his time, who had already made the acquaintance of Abu
Muslim in Khorassan.

When Djerir came into Abu Muslim's presence, he addressed him as
follows: "My lord, you have fought hitherto faithfully for the
Abbassides (Al Mansur's family); why should you now turn against them?
No information has reached the Caliph which should inspire you with any
sort of fear; you have really, in my belief, no reason to pursue this
line of conduct." Abu Muslim was on the point of promising to return
with him, when one of his intimates pressed him not to do so. "My
friend," the chief answered him, "I can resist the suggestions of the
devil, but not those of a man like this." And in fact Djerir did not
cease his persuasions till he had induced him to proceed to the Caliph.

Abu Muslim had consulted astrologers, who told him that he was to
destroy a dynasty, create a dynasty,[1] and be slain in the land of Rum
(Asia Minor). Al Mansur was then at Rumaiyat al-Madain, a place founded
by one of the Persian kings, and Abu Muslim never suspected that he
should meet with his death there, as he fancied that it was Asia Minor
which was meant by the oracle.

On entering into Al Mansur's presence, he met with a most favorable
reception, and was then told to retire to his tent; but the Caliph only
waited a favorable opportunity to take him unawares. Abu Muslim then
rode a number of times to visit Al Mansur, whose manner appeared less
cordial than before. At last he went to the palace one day, and, being
informed that the Caliph was making his ablutions previously to his
prayers, sat down in an antechamber. In the meanwhile Al Mansur had
posted some persons behind a curtain near to the sofa where Abu Muslim
was sitting, with the orders not to appear till the Caliph clapped his
hands. On this signal they were to strike off Abu Muslim's head.

Al Mansur then took his seat on the throne, and Abu Muslim, being
introduced, made his salutation, which the Caliph returned. Al Mansur
then permitted him to sit, and, having commenced the conversation,
proceeded to level sundry reproaches against him. "Thou hast done
this," said he, "and thou hast done that." "Why does my lord speak so
to me," replied Abu Muslim, "after all my efforts and services?" "Son
of a prostitute!" exclaimed Al Mansur, "thou owest thy success to our
own good fortune. Had a negress slave been in thy place, she would
have done as much as thou! Was it not thou who soughtest to obtain in
marriage my aunt, Aasiya, pretending indeed that thou wast a descendant
of Salit, the son of Abd Allah Ibn Abbas? Thou hast undertaken,
infamous wretch! to mount where thou canst not reach."

On this Abu Muslim seized him by the hand, which he kissed and pressed,
offering excuses for his conduct; but Al Mansur shouted: "May God
not spare me if I spare thee!" He then clapped his hands, on which
the assassins rushed out upon Abu Muslim and cut him to pieces with
their swords, Al Mansur exclaiming all the time: "God cut your hands
off, rascals! Strike!" On receiving the first blow Abu Muslim said:
"Commander of the Faithful, spare me that I may be useful against thy
enemies." The Caliph replied: "May God never spare me if I do! Where
have I a greater enemy than thee?"

When Abu Muslim was slain, his body was rolled up in a carpet, and
soon after Al Mansur's general, Jafar Ibn Hanzala, entered. "What
think you of Abu Muslim?" the Caliph said to him. "Commander of the
Faithful," answered the other, "if you have ever the misfortune to
pull a single hair out of his head, there is no resource for you but
to kill him, and to kill him, and to kill him again." "God has given
thee understanding," replied Al Mansur: "here he is in the carpet." On
seeing him dead, Hanzala said: "Commander of the Faithful, count this
as the first day of your reign." Al Mansur then recited this verse: "He
threw away his staff of travel, and found repose after a long journey."
After this he turned toward the persons present, and recited these
lines over the prostrate body:

"Thou didst pretend that our debt to thee could never be paid! Receive
now thy account in full, O Abu Mujrim.[2] Drink of that draught which
thou didst so often serve to others a draught more bitter to the throat
than gall."

[Illustration: THE DEATH OF ABU MUSTEM.

_The Favorite Counsellor of the Caliph Al Mansur, slain for presuming
to imitate the Caliph._]


_Al Mansur and Ibn al Mukaffa_

Ibn al Mukaffa, the translator of the book "Kalilah and Dimnah" from
Pehlevi into Arabic, was one of the most learned men during the
reign of Al Mansur, but suspected of Zendikism, or free-thinking. Al
Mansur is reported to have said: "I never found a book on Zendikism
which did not owe its origin to Ibn al Mukaffa." The latter used to be
a thorn in the side of Sofyan, the governor of Basra. As Sofyan had
a large nose, Ibn al Mukaffa used to say to him when he visited him:
"How are you both?" meaning him and his nose. Sofyan once said: "I had
never reason to repent keeping silence." And Ibn al Mukaffa replied:
"Dumbness becomes you; why should you repent of it?"

These gibes rankled in Sofyan's mind, and ere long he had an
opportunity of glutting his vengeance on Ibn al Mukaffa.

Abdallah, the uncle of Al Mansur, had revolted against his nephew, and
aspired to the Caliphate; but being defeated by Abu Muslim, who had
been sent against him at the head of an army, he took to flight, and
dreading the vengeance of Al Mansur, lay concealed at the house of his
brothers, Sulaiman and Isa. These two then interceded for him with the
Caliph, who consented to forgive what had passed; and it was decided
that a letter of pardon should be granted by Al Mansur.

On coming to Basra the two brothers told Ibn al Mukaffa, who was
secretary to Isa, to draw up the letter of pardon, and to word it
in the strongest terms, so as to leave no pretext to Al Mansur for
making an attempt against Abdallah's life. Ibn al Mukaffa obeyed their
directions, and drew up the letter in the most binding terms, inserting
in it, among others, the following clause: "And if at any time the
Commander of the Faithful act perfidiously toward his uncle, Abdallah
Ibn Ali, his wives shall be divorced from him, his horses shall be
confiscated for the service of God in war, his slaves shall become
free, and the Moslems loosed from their allegiance to him." The other
conditions of the deed were expressed in a manner equally strict. Al
Mansur, having read the paper, was highly displeased, and asked who
wrote it. On being informed that it was Ibn al Mukaffa, his brother's
secretary, he sent a letter to Sofyan, the governor of Basra, ordering
him to put Ibn al Mukaffa to death. Sofyan was already filled with
rancor against Ibn al Mukaffa, for the reasons mentioned above. He
summoned him, and, when he appeared, reminded him of his gibes. "Emir!"
exclaimed Ibn al Mukaffa, "I implore you in the name of God to spare
my life." "May my mother be disgraced," replied Sofyan, "if I do not
kill thee in a manner such as none was ever killed in before." On this
he ordered an oven to be heated, and the limbs of Ibn al Mukaffa to be
cut off, joint by joint; these he cast into the oven before his eyes,
and he then threw him in bodily, and closed the oven on him, saying;
"It is not a crime in me to punish you thus, for you are a Zindik
(free-thinker) who corrupted the people."

Sulaiman and Isa, having made inquiries about their secretary, were
informed that he had gone into the palace of Sofyan in good health
and that he had not come out. They therefore cited Sofyan before Al
Mansur, and brought him with them in chains. Witnesses were produced,
who declared that they saw Ibn al Mukaffa enter Sofyan's palace, and
that he never came out after, and Al Mansur promised to examine into
the matter. He then said to them: "Suppose that I put Sofyan to death
in retaliation for the death of Ibn al Mukaffa, and that Ibn al Mukaffa
himself then came forth from that door" (pointing to one which was
behind him) "and spoke to you—what should I do to you in that case? I
should put you to death in retaliation for the death of Sofyan." On
this the witnesses retraced their evidence, and Isa and Sulaiman ceased
to speak of their secretary, knowing that he had been killed by order
of Al Mansur, who, disregarding his promise, cast Abdallah Ibn Ali into
prison.

Terrible as was the wrath of Al Mansur when roused, there were not
wanting on occasion those among his subjects who had the courage to
rebuke him. Once the Caliph was addressing an audience at Damascus, and
said: "O ye people! it is incumbent on you to give praise to the Most
High that he has sent me to reign over you. For verily since I began
to reign over you, he has taken away the plague which had come amongst
you." But a certain Arab cried out to him: "Of a truth Allah is too
merciful to give us both thee and the plague at one time!" On another
occasion the theologian Malik Ibn Anas relates the following: "One day
the Caliph Mansur sent for me and my friend Ibn Taous, against whom he
was known to entertain a grudge. When we entered the presence-chamber,
we beheld the executioner with his sword drawn and the leather carpet
spread, on which it was customary to behead criminals. The Caliph
signed to us to seat ourselves, and when we had done so he remained
a long time with his head bent in meditation. He then raised it, and
turning to Ibn Taous, said: 'Recite me a saying of the Prophet, on whom
be peace.'

"Ibn Taous replied: 'The Prophet of God has said, "The worst punished
criminals in the day of judgment will be those to whom God has
entrusted authority and who have abused it."' The Caliph was silent,
and there was a pause. I trembled, and drew my garments close round me,
lest any of the blood of Ibn Taous, whom I expected to see instantly
executed, should spurt upon them.

"Then the Caliph said to Ibn Taous: 'Hand me that ink-pot.' But he
never stirred. 'Why don't you hand it?' asked the Caliph. 'Because,'
he said, 'I fear you may write some wrong order, and I do not wish
to share the responsibility.' 'Get up and go,' the Caliph growled.
'Precisely what we were desiring,' answered Ibn Taous, of whose courage
and coolness I from that day formed a high opinion."

Another bold rebuker of Al Mansur was the saint and mystic, Amr Ibn
Obaid, of whom it was said that he had been "educated by the angels
and brought up by the prophets." Before Al Mansur's elevation to the
Caliphate, Amr Ibn Obaid had been his companion and intimate friend.
When Mansur came to the throne Amr went one day into his presence, and
was told by him to draw near and sit down. The Caliph then asked to
hear an exhortation from him. Amr addressed him an admonition, in which
he said, among other things: "The power which thou now wieldest, had
it remained in the hands of thy predecessors, would never have come to
thee. Be warned, then, of that night which shall give birth to a day
never more to be followed by another night." When Amr rose to depart,
Al Mansur said: "We have ordered ten thousand pieces of silver to be
given thee." "I stand not in need thereof," replied Amr. "By Allah,
thou shalt take it!" exclaimed the Caliph. "By Allah, I shall not take
it!" answered the other.

On this Al Mansur's son, Al Mahdi, who happened to be present, said to
Amr: "The Commander of the Faithful swears that a thing shall be done,
and yet thou art bold enough to swear that it shall not." "Who is this
youth?" said Amr, turning to Al Mansur. "He is the declared successor
to the Caliphate, my son, Al Mahdi," replied Mansur. "Thou hast clothed
him in raiment," said Amr, "which is not the raiment of the righteous,
and thou hast given him a name[3] which he deserveth not, and thou hast
smoothed for him a path wherein the more profit the less heed."

Al Mansur then asked him if there was anything he wished, and Amr made
answer: "Send not for me, but wait till I come to thee." "In that
case," said Mansur, "thou wilt never meet me." "That," replied Amr, "is
precisely what I desire." He then withdrew, and Al Mansur looked after
him and said: "All of you walk with stealthy steps; all of you are in
pursuit of prey—all except Amr Ibn Obaid!"


_How Al Mansur Was Tricked_

It has before been mentioned that Al Mansur, disregarding the promise
of pardon he had made to his uncle, Abdallah Ibn Ali, who had revolted
against him, cast him into prison, where he remained a long time. When
the Caliph set out on the pilgrimage to Mecca, he committed Abdallah to
the care of Isa Ibn Musa, with private orders to put him to death. Isa,
not wishing to kill Abdallah, contented himself with concealing him,
sending a message to the Caliph to say that he had been put to death.
This rumor spread about, and the Alides, the partisans of Abdallah,
petitioned Al Mansur on the subject. The Caliph declared that he
had been committed to the care of Isa. The Alides then went to Isa,
and hearing from him that Abdallah had been put to death, came again
with complaints to Al Mansur. The latter feigned to be in a rage, and
exclaimed: "Since Isa has killed my uncle without my authorizing him
to do so, he shall perish in his turn." The Caliph secretly desired
that Isa should have perpetrated this murder, so that he might have a
reasonable pretext for killing him, and thus ridding himself of two
enemies at once.

He accordingly sent for Isa, and said, "Is it true that you have killed
my uncle?" "Yes," replied Isa; "you yourself ordered me to do so." "I
never gave such an order!" cried the Caliph. "My lord, here is the
letter you sent me." "I never wrote it," said Mansur. Isa, seeing the
mood the Caliph was in, and fearing for his own life, confessed at last
that the prisoner had been spared, and was in safe-keeping. The Caliph
then ordered him to hand Abdallah over to the keeping of Abou 'l Azhar,
which was accordingly done, and Abdallah remained in prison till his
death was decided on.

When Abou 'l Azhar came to execute the sentence, he found Abdallah
with one of his female slaves. He strangled him first, but when he was
proceeding to strangle the slave also, she cried out: "Servant of God,
I pray thee for another kind of death." "It was the only time," Abou
'l Azhar said, "that I felt pity in carrying out a death-sentence.
I turned away my eyes while I gave the order to kill her. She was
strangled and placed by the side of her master. I then had the house
demolished, and they remained buried in the ruins."

Al Mansur visited Medina, and said to his chamberlain, Ar-Rabi, on
entering the city: "Find me some learned and intelligent person who
can point out to me the chief mansions of the place: it is now so
long since I saw the dwellings of my family." An intelligent youth
was discovered by Ar-Rabi, and presented to the Caliph. During their
excursion the guide did not make any observations unless asked by
Al Mansur to do so, but he then proceeded with great precision and
eloquence to furnish every requisite information.

Al Mansur was so highly pleased with him that he ordered him a
considerable sum of money, but the payment was delayed so long that
the youth found himself under the necessity of asking for it. On being
asked again to accompany Al Mansur, he fulfilled his object in the
following ingenious manner: As they passed by the house which belonged
to Aatika, the granddaughter of Abu Sofyan, the young man said, "This,
O Commander of the Faithful, is the house of that Aatika to whom Ibn
Muhammad al Ansari alluded in these lines:

"'Dwelling of Aatika! mansion which I avoid through dread of foes!
although my heart be fixed on thee, I turn away and fly thee; but yet
unconsciously I turn toward thee again.'"

These words caused Al Mansur to reflect; and he said to himself that
the youth here must have some reason for giving information, contrary
to his habit, without being asked for it. He therefore turned over
the leaves of the poem from which the verses were taken, passage by
passage, till he came to the following line:

"We see that you do what you promise, but there are persons with
deceitful tongues who promise but never perform."

He immediately asked his chamberlain if he had given the youth what
had been awarded him, and was informed by him that a particular
circumstance, which he mentioned, had caused delay in the payment.
The Caliph then ordered Ar-Rabi to give him immediately the double
of what had been promised. The youth had most ingeniously hinted the
circumstance, and Al Mansur showed great penetration in perceiving it.


_Death of Al Mansur_

Al Mansur was in the habit of saying: "I was born in the month of Z'ul
hajja, circumcised in it, attained the Caliphate in it, and I think I
shall die in the same month." And so it befell. Fadl, son of Rabi,
relates the following: "I accompanied Al Mansur in the journey during
which he died. When we had arrived at one of the stages of the march he
sent for me. I found him seated in his pavilion, with his face turned
toward the wall. He said to me: 'Have I not told you to prevent people
coming into this room and writing doleful sentences upon the wall?'
'What do you mean, Prince?' I asked. 'Don't you see what is written on
the wall?'

"' "Abu Jafar,[4] thou art about to die; thy years are fulfilled: the
will of God must be done.

"' "Abu Jafar, can any astrologer bind the decrees of God, or art thou
entirely blind?"

"'Truly, Prince,' I replied, 'I can see no inscription on this wall:
its surface is smooth and quite white.' 'Swear it, by God!' he said. I
did so. 'It is, then,' he replied, 'a warning given me to prepare for
my approaching demise. Let us hasten to reach the sacred territory,
that I may place myself under the protection of God, and ask pardon for
that wherein I have exceeded.'

"We continued our journey, during which the Caliph suffered great pain.
When we arrived at the well of Maimun, I told him the name of the
place, and that we had reached the sacred territory. He said, 'God be
praised!' and died the same day."


THE CALIPHATE OF AL MAHDI

Al Mahdi, the third Caliph of the Abbasside dynasty, succeeded his
father, Abu Jafar al Mansur, A.D. 774. He was as prodigal as his father
was avaricious, and rapidly squandered his vast inheritance. Al Mansur
had appointed as his instructor, before he succeeded to the throne,
Sharki Ibn Kotami, who was learned in all the lore and traditions of
the Arabs. One evening Al Mahdi asked his preceptor to divert him with
some amusing anecdote. "I obey, Prince. May God protect you," answered
Sharki. "They relate that a certain King of Hirah had two courtiers
whom he loved equally with himself. They never quitted his society
night or day, in the palace or on a journey. He took no decision
without consulting them, and his wishes coincided with theirs. Thus
they lived together a long time; but one evening the King, having drunk
to excess, drew his sword from the sheath, and, rushing upon his two
friends, killed them; then he fell into a drunken slumber.

"The next morning, when told of what he had done, he cast himself
upon the earth, biting it in his fury, weeping for his friends, and
bewailing the loss of them. He fasted for some days, and swore that
for the rest of his life he would abstain from the beverage which had
deprived him of reason. Then he had them buried, and erected a shrine
over their remains, to which he gave the title, 'El-Ghareiain' (The Two
Effigies). He commanded, in addition, that no persons should pass this
monument without prostrating themselves.

"Now, like the laws of the Medes and Persians, every custom set up
by a King of Hirah could not be changed, but became a hard-and-fast
tradition, handed on from generation to generation. The command,
therefore, of the King was rigidly obeyed: his subjects, of low and
high degree, never passed before the double tomb without prostrating
themselves. This usage gradually acquired the binding force of a
religious rite. The King had ordered that any one who refused to
conform to it should be punished with death after expressing two
wishes, which would be granted, no matter what they were.

"One day a fuller passed, bearing on his back a bundle of clothes and
a mallet. The guardians of the mausoleum ordered him to kneel down. He
refused. They threatened him with death. He persisted in his refusal.
They brought him before the King, whom they informed of the matter.
'Why did you refuse to bow down?' asked the King. 'I did bow down,'
answered the man; 'they are lying.' 'No; you are the liar!' said the
King. 'Express two wishes; they shall be granted, and then you will
die.' 'Nothing, then, can save me from death after those men have
accused me?' asked the fuller. 'Nothing.' 'Very well,' replied the
fuller, 'here is my wish: I wish to strike the King on the head with
this mallet.' 'Fool!' answered the King. 'It were better worth your
while to let me enrich those whom you leave behind you.' 'No,' said the
fuller; 'I only wish to strike the King on the back of his head.'

"The King then addressed his ministers: 'What do you think,' he said
to them, 'of the wish of this madman?' 'Your Majesty,' they answered,
'you yourself have instituted this law: your Majesty knows better than
any one that the violation of law is a shame, a calamity, a crime which
involves damnation. Besides, after having violated one law, you will
violate a second, then a third; your successors will do the same, and
all our laws will be profaned.' The King replied: 'Get this man to ask
anything he likes; provided he lets me off, I am ready to grant all his
requests, even to the half of my kingdom.'

"They laid these proposals before the fuller, but in vain; he declared
that he had no other wish but to strike the King. The latter, seeing
that the man was thoroughly resolved, convoked a public assembly. The
fuller was introduced. He took his mallet and struck the King on the
back of the head so violent a blow that he fell from his throne and lay
stretched on the ground unconscious. Subsequently he lay ill with fever
for six months, and was so severely injured that he could only drink a
drop at a time. At last he got well, recovered the use of his tongue
and could eat and drink. He asked for news of the fuller. On being told
that he was in prison, he summoned him and said: 'There is still a wish
remaining to you: express it, so that I may order your death according
to law.'

"'Since it is absolutely necessary that I must die,' replied the
fuller, 'I wish to strike you another blow on the head.' At these words
the King was seized with dismay and exclaimed that it was all over with
him. At last he said to the fuller: 'Wretch! renounce a claim which
is profitless to you. What advantage have you reaped from your first
wish? Ask for something else, and whatever it is, I will grant it.'
'No, said the man, 'I only demand my right—the right to strike you once
more.'

"The King again consulted his ministers, who answered that the best
thing for him was to resign himself to death, in obedience to the law.
'But,' said the King, 'if he strikes me again, I shall never be able to
drink any more; I know what I have already suffered.' 'We can not help
that, your Majesty,' answered the ministers.

"Finding himself in this extremity, the King said to the fuller:
'Answer, fellow! that day when you were brought hither by the guardians
of the mausoleum, did not I hear you declare that you had prostrated
yourself and that they had slandered you?' 'Yes, I did say so,'
answered the fuller, 'but you would not believe me.' The King jumped
from his seat, embraced the fuller, and exclaimed: 'I swear that you
are more truthful than these rascals, and that they have lied at your
expense. I give you their place, and authorize you to inflict upon them
the punishment they have deserved.'"

Al Mahdi laughed heartily on hearing this story, complimented the
narrator, and rewarded him generously.

The following anecdotes are related by Faika, the daughter of Abd
Allah: "We were one day with the Caliph Al Mahdi, who had just returned
from Anbar, to which he had made a pleasure excursion, when Ar-Kabi,
the chamberlain, came in, holding a piece of leather on which some
words were written in charcoal, and to which was attached a seal
composed of clay mixed with ashes and bearing the impression of the
Caliph's signet-ring. 'Commander of the Faithful,' said Ar-Kabi, 'I
never saw anything more extraordinary than this document; I received it
from an Arab of the desert who was crying out: "This is the Commander
of the Faithful's letter! Show me where to find the man who is called
Ar-Rabi, for it is to him that he told me to deliver it!"'

"Al Mahdi took the letter and laughed; he then said: 'It is true: this
is my writing and this is my seal. Shall I relate how it happened?' To
this we replied: 'If it please the Commander of the Faithful.' Then he
said: 'I went out to hunt yesterday evening when the shower was over.
The next morning a thick mist overwhelmed us, and I lost sight of my
companions; I then suffered such cold, hunger, and thirst as God only
knows, and I lost my way besides. At that moment came to my mind a form
of prayer which my father, Al Mansur, had taught me, saying that his
father, Muhammad, had learned it from his grandfather, Ali, who had
been taught it by his father, Abd Allah, the son of Abbas. It was this:
"In the name of God," and "By the might of God! We have no power or
force but in God! I fly to God for protection! I confide in God: God
sufficeth me! He protected, sufficeth, directeth, and healeth, from
fire and flood, from the fall of house, and from evil death!"

"'When I had uttered these words, God raised up a light before me,
and I went toward it, and lo! I found this very Arab of the desert in
his tent, with a fire which he had been just lighting up. "Arab of
the desert," said I, "hast thou withal to treat a guest?" "Dismount!"
said he. Then I dismounted, and he said to his wife: "Bring here
that barley"; and she brought it. "Grind it," said he; and she began
to grind it. I then said to him: "Give me a drink of water"; and he
brought me a skin in which was a little milk mixed with water, and
I drank thereof a drink such as I had never drunk before, it was so
sweet! and he gave me one of his saddle-cloths, and I laid my head on
it, and never did I sleep a sounder sleep.

"'On awaking, I saw him seize on a poor miserable sheep and kill it,
when his wife said to him: "Beware, wretched man! thou hast slain
thyself and thy children; our nourishment came from this sheep, and yet
thou hast killed it! What then have we to live upon?" On this I said:
"Do not mind. Bring the sheep here"; and I opened it with the knife I
wore in my boot, and I took out the liver, and having split it open, I
placed it upon the fire and I ate thereof. I then said to him: "Dost
thou want anything? I shall give thee a written order for it." On this
he brought me that piece of leather, and I wrote on it with a bit of
burnt wood which I picked up at his feet that very note. I then set
this seal on it, and told him to go and ask for one Ar-Rabi, to whom he
was to give it.' This note contained an order for five hundred thousand
dirhems, and Al Mahdi exclaimed on hearing it: 'By Allah! I meant only
fifty thousand, but since five hundred thousand are written in it, I
shall not diminish the sum one single dirhem; and were there no more in
the treasury, he should have it. So give him beasts of burden, and let
him take it away.'

"In a very short time that Arab had numerous flocks of camels and
sheep, and his dwelling became a halting-place for those who were going
on the pilgrimage, and it received the name of the 'Dwelling of the
host of Al Mahdi, the Commander of the Faithful.'"

On another occasion it is recorded that Al Mahdi went out hunting, and
his horse ran away with him until he came to the hut of an Arab. And
the Caliph cried: "O Arab! hast thou wherewith to feed a guest? "The
Arab replied, "Yes," and produced for him a barley loaf, which Al Mahdi
ate; then he brought some wine in a bottle, and gave him to drink. And
when Al Mahdi had drunk it, he said "O brother of the Arabs, dost thou
know who I am?" "No, by Allah," he replied. "I am one of the personal
attendants of the Commander of the Faithful," said Al Mahdi. "May Allah
prosper thee in thy situation!" returned the Arab. Then he poured out a
second glass, and when Al Mahdi had drunk it, he cried: "O Arab, dost
thou know who I am?"

He answered: "Thou hast stated that thou art one of the personal
attendants of the Commander of the Faithful." "No," said Al Mahdi, "but
I am one of the chief officers of the Commander of the Faithful." "May
thy country be enlarged and thy wishes fulfilled!" exclaimed the Arab.
Then he poured out a third glass for him, and when Al Mahdi had drained
it, he said: "O Arab! dost thou know who I am? "The man replied:
"Thou hast made me believe thou art one of the chief officers of the
Commander of the Faithful." "Not so," said Al Mahdi, "but I am the
Commander of the Faithful himself."

Then the Arab took the bottle and put it away and said: "By Allah! wert
thou to drink the fourth, thou wouldst declare thyself to be Mohammed
the Prophet of God!"

Then Al Mahdi laughed till he could laugh no more. And lo! the horsemen
surrounded them, and the Princes and nobles dismounted before him, and
the heart of the Arab stood still. But Al Mahdi said to him: "Fear not!
thou hast done no wrong." And he ordered a robe and a sum of money to
be given him.


_Al Mahdi and His Vizier Yakub ibn Daud_

When Al Mahdi's father, Al Mansur, died, he left in the treasury
nine hundred million and sixty thousand dirhems ($112,507,500), and
Abu Obaid Allah, the first Vizier of Al Mahdi, advised the Caliph to
be moderate in his expenses and to spare the public money. When Abu
Obaid Allah was deposed, his successor, Yakub ibn Daud, flattered the
inclinations of the Caliph, and encouraged him to spend money, enjoy
all sorts of pleasures, drink wine, and listen to music. By this means
he succeeded in obtaining the entire administration of the State. One
of the poets of the time composed an ode containing the following lines:

"Family of Abbas! your Caliphate is ruined! If you seek for the Vicar
of God, you will find him with a wine-flask on one side and a lute on
the other."

Abu Haritha, the guardian of the treasure-chambers, seeing that they
had become empty, waited on Al Mahdi with the keys, and said: "Since
you have spent all your treasures, what is the use of my keeping these
keys? Give orders that they be taken from me." Al Mahdi replied:
"Keep them still, for money will be coming in to you." He then
dispatched messengers to all quarters in order to press the payment
of the revenues, and in a very short time these sums arrived. They
were so abundant that Abu Haritha had enough to do in receiving them
and verifying the amount. During three days he did not appear before
Al Mahdi, who at length said: "What is he about, that silly Bedouin
Arab?" Being informed of the cause which kept him away, he sent for
him and said: "What prevented your coming to see us?" "The arrival of
cash," replied the other. "How foolish it was in you," said Al Mahdi,
"to suppose that money would not come in to us!" "Commander of the
Faithful," replied Abu Haritha, "if some unforeseen event happened
which could not be surmounted without the aid of money, we should not
have time to wait till you sent to have the cash brought in."

It is related that Al Mahdi made the pilgrimage one year, and passed by
a milestone on which he saw something written. He stopped to see what
it was, and read the following line:

"O Mahdi! you would be truly excellent if you had not taken for a
favorite Yakub, the son of Daud."

He then said to a person who was with him: "Write underneath that:
'It shall still be so, in spite of the fellow who wrote that—bad luck
attend him!' "On his return from the pilgrimage, he stopped at the same
milestone, because the verse had probably made an impression on his
mind; and such, in fact, appears to have been the case, for very soon
after he let his vengeance fall on Yakub. Rumors unfavorable to this
minister had greatly multiplied. His enemies had discovered a point by
which he might be attacked, and they reminded the Caliph of his having
seconded Ibn Abd Allah the Alide[5] in the revolt against Al Mansur.

One of Yakub's servants informed Al Mahdi that he had heard his master
say: "The Caliph has built a pleasure-house, and spent on it fifty
millions of dirhems ($6,250,000) out of the public money." The fact was
that Al Mahdi had just founded the town of Isabad.

Another time Al Mahdi was about to execute some project when Yakub said
to him: "Commander of the Faithful, that is mere profusion." To this Al
Mahdi answered: "Evil betide you! does not profusion befit persons of a
noble race?"

At last Yakub got so tired of the post which he filled that he
requested of Al Mahdi permission to give it up, but that favor he
could not obtain. Al Mahdi then wished to try if he was still inclined
toward the party of the Alides, and sent for him, after taking his
seat in a salon of which all the furniture was red. He himself had
on red clothes, and behind him stood a young female slave dressed in
red; before him was a garden filled with roses of all sorts. "Tell me,
Yakub," said he, "what do you think of this salon of ours?" The other
replied: "It is the very perfection of beauty. May God permit the
Commander of the Faithful to enjoy it long!" "Well," said Al Mahdi,
"all that it contains is yours, with this girl to crown your happiness,
and, moreover, a sum of one hundred thousand dirhems" ($12,500). Yakub
invoked God's blessing on the Caliph, who then said to him: "I have
something to ask of you." On this, Yakub stood up from his seat, and
exclaimed: "Commander of the Faithful, such words can only proceed from
anger. May God protect me from your wrath." Al Mahdi replied: "I wish
you to promise to do what I ask." Yakub answered: "I hear, and shall
obey." "Swear by Allah," said the Caliph. He swore. "Swear again by
Allah." He swore. "Swear again by Allah." He swore for the third time,
and the Caliph then said to him: "Lay your hand on my head and swear
again." Yakub did so.

Al Mahdi, having thus obtained from him the firmest promise that could
be made, said: "There is an Alide, and I wish you to deliver me from
the uneasiness which he causes me, and thus set my mind at rest. Here
he is; I give him up to you." He then delivered the Alide over to
him, and bestowed on him the girl, with all the furniture that was
in the salon and the money. When the Alide was alone with him, he
said: "Yakub, beware lest you have my blood to answer for before God.
I am descended from Fatima, the daughter of Mohammed, on whom God's
blessings and favors always repose." To this Yakub replied: "Tell me,
sir, if there be good in you." The Alide answered: "If you do good
to me, I shall be grateful and pray for your happiness." "Receive
the money," said Yakub, "and take whatever road you like." "Such a
road," said the Alide, naming it, "is the safest." "Depart with my good
wishes," said Yakub.

The girl heard all this conversation, and told a servant of hers to go
and relate it to Al Mahdi, and to say in her name: "Such is the conduct
of one whom in giving me to him you preferred to yourself; such is the
return he makes you for your kindness." Al Mahdi immediately had the
road watched, so that the Alide was taken prisoner. He then sent for
Yakub, and said to him: "What has become of that man?" Yakub replied:
"I have delivered you from the uneasiness he gave you." "Is he dead?"
"He is." "Swear by Allah." "I swear by Allah." "Lay your hand upon my
head." Yakub did so, and swore by his head. Al Mahdi then said to an
attendant: "Boy, bring out to us those who are in that room." The boy
opened the door, and there the Alide was seen with the very money which
Yakub had given him.

Yakub was so much astounded that he was unable to utter a word. "Your
life," said Al Mahdi, "is justly forfeited, and it is in my power to
shed your blood, but I will not. Shut him up in the _matbak_."[6]

He had him confined in that dungeon, and gave orders that no one should
ever speak to him or to any other about him. Yakub remained there
during the rest of Al Mahdi's reign (over two years), and during the
reign of Musa-al-Hadi, the son of Al Mahdi, and during five years and
seven months of the reign of Haroun al Rashid.


_Al Mahdi and the Poet Abu'l Atahiyah_

Some historians relate that the poet Abu'l Atahiyah had conceived
a passion for Otbah, the slave of Khayzuran, the chief wife of the
Caliph. This young girl complained to her mistress of the gossip to
which this affair gave rise. One day Al Mahdi found her seated near her
mistress in tears. He questioned her, and having discovered the cause
of her grief, sent for Abu'l Atahiyah. When the poet came and stood
before him, Al Mahdi said to him: "You are the author of this verse
concerning Otbah: 'May God judge between me and my mistress, since she
shows me nothing but disdain and reproach!'" He then continued: "What
kindness has Otbah ever shown you that you have the right to complain
of her disdainfulness?"

"Sire," answered Abu'l Atahiyah, "I am not the author of that verse,
but of these:

 "'O my camel, carry me rapidly; be not beguiled by what thou deemest
 repose— Carry me to a Prince to whom God has given the gift of working
 miracles; A Prince who, when the wind rises, says, "O wind, hast thou
 partaken of my benefits?" Two crowns adorn his brow the crown of
 beauty and the diadem of humility.'"

Al Mahdi sat silent for some time, looking at the ground, which he
tapped with his staff; then he lifted his head and continued: "You have
also said:

 "'What does my mistress think upon when she displays her charms and
 allurements? There is among the slaves of Princes a young girl who
 conceals beneath her veil Beauty itself.'

"How do you know what she conceals beneath her veil?" the Caliph asked.
Abu'l Atahiyah replied in the same flattering style:

 "Royalty has come to do him obeisance, and trailing her robe
 majestically, She only is fit for him, as he for her."

But as the Caliph continued to ply him with questions Abu'l Atahiyah
became embarrassed in his answers, and was condemned to expiate his
temerity by a flogging. He had just undergone his punishment when Otbah
met him in this piteous plight. The poet reproached her thus: "Praise
be to thee, Otbah! It is because of thee that the Caliph has shed the
blood of a man already dying of love." Tears started to Otbah's eyes;
she ran sobbing to her mistress, Khayzuran, and there met the Caliph.
He asked why she wept, and hearing she had seen the poet after his
flagellation, consoled her; then he caused a sum of fifty thousand
dirhems to be given to the former.

Abu'l Atahiyah distributed them to all those whom he met in the palace.
Al Mahdi, being informed of his generosity, asked him why he had thus
disposed of the money he had just received from the Caliph. The poet
answered: "I did not wish to profit by what my love had won." Al Mahdi
sent him fifty thousand more dirhems, making him swear not to employ
them in fresh benefactions.

Another historian relates that Abu'l Atahiyah, on a certain New Year's
Day, presented Al Mahdi with a Chinese vase containing perfumes. On the
vase were engraved these verses:

 "My soul is attached to one of the good things of this world; the
 accomplishment of its desires depends on God and Al Mahdi, his Vicar.
 I despair of obtaining my object, but thy contempt of the world and
 all which it contains reanimates my hope."

The Caliph thought of giving him Otbah, when she said to him. "Prince
of the believers! would you, in spite of my privileges, my rights, and
my services, bestow me upon a pottery merchant—a man who makes money
out of his poetry?" Al Mahdi then sent a message to the poet: "As to
Otbah, you will never obtain her, but I have ordered the vase you sent
to be filled with money."

Soon afterward Otbah, passing by, found the poet disputing with the
clerks of the treasury, and maintaining that by "money" the Caliph
meant gold dinars, while they alleged that he only intended silver
dirhems. "If you really loved Otbah," she said to him, "you would not
think of the difference between gold and silver."


_Death of Al Mahdi_

Tabari, the historian, describes the death of Al Mahdi as taking place
in the following tragic manner: Among his wives there were two for whom
he seems to have entertained an equal degree of affection; but as one
of them seemed to the other to have the preference in his heart, the
latter, whose name was Hassanna, conceived a bitter jealousy against
her rival, and determined to be avenged on her. In order to accomplish
her purpose, she prepared a dish of confectionery, in which she mixed a
malignant poison, and sent it as an offering to her rival.

As the damsel who was dispatched upon the errand happened to pass
beneath one of the balconies of the palace, Al Mahdi, who was watching
the sunset, saw her. The confectionery, which was uncovered, attracting
his notice, he asked the messenger whither she was bound. She having
informed him, he took and ate heartily of it, saying: "Hassanna will, I
am sure, be better pleased that I should partake of her sweets than any
one else." In a few hours he was a corpse.


THE CALIPH HAROUN AL RASHID

Haroun al Rashid became Caliph in the year A.D. 786, and he ranks among
the Caliphs who have been most distinguished by eloquence, learning,
and generosity. During the whole of his reign he performed the
pilgrimage to Mecca or carried on war with the unbelievers nearly every
year. His daily prayers exceeded the number fixed by the law,[7] and he
used to perform the pilgrimage on foot, an act which no previous Caliph
had done. When he went on pilgrimage he took with him a hundred learned
men and their sons, and when he did not perform it himself he sent
three hundred substitutes, whom he appareled richly, and whose expenses
he defrayed with generosity.

His conduct generally resembled that of the Caliph Mansur, but he did
not imitate the parsimony of the latter. He always repaid services done
to him, and that without much delay. He was fond of poetry and poets,
and patronized literary and learned men. Religious controversies were
hateful to him. Eulogy he relished highly, especially eulogy by gifted
poets, whom he richly rewarded.

The historian Asmai relates the following anecdote: One day the Caliph
gave a feast in a magnificently decorated hall. During the feast he
sent for the poet Abu'l Atahiyah, and commanded him to depict in verse
the gorgeous scene.

The poet began: "Live, O Caliph, in the fulfilment of all thy desire,
in the shelter of thy lofty palace!"

"Very good!" exclaimed Rashid. "Let us hear the rest."

The poet continued: "Each morn and eve be all thy servitors swift to
execute thy behests!"

"Excellent!" said the Caliph. "Go on!"

The poet replied: "But when the death-rattle chokes thy breath thou
wilt learn, alas! that all thy delights were a shadow."

Rashid burst into tears. Fadhl, the son of Yahya (Haroun's Vizier),
seeing this, said to the poet: "The Caliph sent for you to divert him,
and you have plunged him into melancholy." "Let him be," said Rashid;
"he saw us in a state of blindness, and tried to open our eyes."

This Prince treated learned men with great regard. Abou Moawia, one
of the most learned men of his time, related that when he was sitting
one day at food with the Caliph, the latter poured water on his hands
after the meal, and said to him: "Abou Moawia, do you know who has just
washed your hands?" He answered: "No." Rashid informed him that it was
himself. Abou Moawia replied: "Prince, you doubtless act in this manner
in order to do homage to learning." "You speak truth," answered Rashid.

Ibrahim Mouseli relates the following story: "Rashid one day summoned
all his musicians. I and Meskin of Medina were among the performers.
Rashid had partaken freely of wine, and wished to hear performed an
air which had suddenly occurred to his mind. The officer stationed
before the curtain which concealed the Caliph told Ibn Jami to sing
this piece. The latter obeyed, but did not succeed in pleasing the
Caliph. Each of the singers present attempted it, but were no more
successful than Ibn Jami. Then the officer, addressing Meskin, said:
'The Commander of the Faithful orders you to sing this air if you can
do it properly.'

"Meskin commenced at once to sing, to the great surprise of the
audience, who could not understand how a musician like him had the
courage to attempt, before us, an air which none of us had been able to
render to the satisfaction of the Caliph. As soon as he had finished I
heard Rashid raise his voice and ask to hear it a second time. Meskin
recommenced with a skill and spirit which won him everybody's applause.
The Caliph congratulated and praised him to the skies; then he had the
curtain behind which he had been sitting drawn aside.

"'Prince of the believers,' then said Meskin to him, 'a strange story
attaches to this piece'; and at the invitation of the Caliph he
narrated it in these words: 'I was formerly a slave of a member of
the family of Zobeir, and carried on the trade of a tailor. My master
claimed from me a tax of two dirhems daily, after paying which I was
free to do what I liked. I was passionately fond of singing. One day a
descendant of Ali, for whom I had just completed a tunic, paid me two
dirhems for it, kept me to eat with him, and made me drink generously.
As I left him I met a negress carrying her pitcher on her shoulder, and
singing the song you have just heard. I was so delighted at it that,
forgetting everything else, I said to her: "By the Prophet, I adjure
thee to teach me that air." "By the Prophet," she answered, "I will not
teach it unless you pay me two dirhems."

"'Then, Prince of believers, I took out the two dirhems, with which I
had intended to pay my daily tax, and gave them to the negress. She,
setting her pitcher down, sat on the ground and, keeping time with her
fingers on the pitcher, sang the piece, and repeated it till it was
well impressed on my memory.

"'I then proceeded to my master. As soon as he saw me he demanded his
two dirhems, and I related my adventure to him. "Scoundrel!" he said.
"Have I not warned you that I will take no excuse, even if a farthing
is missing?" Saying this, he laid me on the ground and, with the utmost
vigor of his arm, gave me fifty strokes of a rod, and, as an additional
disgrace, caused my head and chin to be shaved. Verily, O Prince, I
passed a melancholy night. The severe punishment I had undergone made
me forget the piece I had learned, and this was the saddest of all.
In the morning, wrapping my head in a cloak, I hid my large tailor's
scissors in my sleeve, and directed my steps to the spot where I had
met the negress. I waited there in perplexity, not knowing her name nor
her abode. All at once I saw her coming; the sight of her dispersed all
my cares. I approached her, and she said to me: "By the Lord of the
Kaaba, you have forgotten the song!" "Yes, I have," I answered. I told
her how my head and chin had been shaved, and offered her a reward if
she would sing her song again. "By the Prophet," she answered, "I will
not for less than two dirhems."

"'I took out my scissors and ran and pawned them for two dirhems, which
I gave her. She put down her pitcher, and began to sing as she had
done the evening before; but as soon as she began, I said: "Give me
back the two dirhems; I don't need your song." "By Allah," she said,
"you shall not see them again; don't think it." Then she added: "I
am certain that the four dirhems you have spent will be worth to you
four thousand dinars from the hand of the Caliph." Then she resumed
her song, accompanying herself, as before, on her pitcher, and did not
cease repeating it till I had got it by heart.

"'We separated. I returned to my master, but in a state of great
apprehension. When he saw me he demanded his daily due, while I
stammered out excuses. "Beast!" he shouted, "was not yesterday's
lesson enough for you?" "I wish to speak to you frankly and without
falsehood," I answered. "Yesterday's and to-day's dirhems went in
payment for a song"; and I began to sing it to him. "What!" he
exclaimed, "you have known an air like that for two days and told me
nothing of it? May my wife be divorced if it is not true that I would
have let you go yesterday if you had sung it to me! Your head and chin
have been shaved—I can not help that—but I let you off your tax till
your hair grows again."'

"Hearing this recital, Rashid laughed heartily, and said to the
musician: 'I don't know which is better, your song or your story; I
will see in my turn that the forecast of the negress is verified.' So
Meskin went out from the Caliph's presence richer by four thousand
dinars."


_The Barmecides, Viziers of Haroun al Rashid_

On attaining the Caliphate, Rashid conferred the Viziership on Yahya,
son of Khaled, son of Barmek. Yahya had served him as secretary before
his accession to the throne, and this was the foundation of the
magnificence of the family of the Barmecides, whose commencement and
whose tragic fall we are about to narrate.

The family of the Barmecides had originally been Zoroastrians in
religion, but from the time of their embracing Islam they continued
to be good Mussulmen. They were the crown and ornament of their age.
Their generosity passed into a proverb; adherents thronged to their
court from every side, and multitudes centered their hopes on them.
Fortune showered upon them a prodigality of favors. Yahya and his sons
were like brilliant stars, vast oceans, impetuous torrents, beneficent
showers. Every kind of talent and learning was represented in their
court, and men of worth received a hearty welcome there. The world
was revived under their administration, and the empire reached its
culminating point of splendor. They were a refuge for the afflicted and
a haven for the distressed. The poet Abou-Nowas said of them:

"Since the world has lost you, O sons of Barmek, we no longer see the
ways crowded with travelers at sunrise and sunset."

We have an example of the generosity of the Barmecides in the following
story, related by Salih bin Muhran, one of the intimate attendants of
Haroun al Rashid:

"One day Haroun sent for me, and when I arrived in his presence I saw
that he was vexed and perplexed, and full of thought, and very much
enraged. When I stood still awhile he lifted up his head, and said: 'Go
this moment to Mansur Bin Ziyad, and before night thou must have from
him ten thousand thousand dirhems, and, if not, cut off his head and
bring it to me; and if thou fail in this, I swear by the soul of Mahdi
I will command thy head to be severed from thy body.' I said: 'May the
life of the Commander of the Faithful be prolonged! If he gives a part
to-day, and sends somewhat more to-morrow on the condition that he
gives me a pledge for the payment of the whole-—-' He replied: 'No! If
he does not give thee to-day ten thousand thousand dirhems in coined
money, bring me his head. What concern hast thou in this matter?' When
he said this I knew he was aiming at the life of Mansur, and I went out
from him in great perplexity and distress, saying, 'O Lord, what has
come to me? It will be needful to slay Mansur, and he is one of the
most worthy and best-known men of Bagdad, and has a numerous following.'

"At length I went to the house of Mansur, and, taking him on one side,
told him the whole story as it had happened, and what my commands were.
When he heard he wept aloud, and fell at my feet, saying: 'In truth the
Commander of the Faithful seeks my life; for his courtiers and many
others know there is no such sum in my house. Nor could I in my whole
life bring together so much; how, then, can I do it in one day? But
do thou show me one favor, for God's sake-. take me to my house, that
I may bid farewell to my children and followers and clansmen, and ask
forgiveness of my offenses from my companions and acquaintances.'

"I took him to his house, as he desired, and when his family and chief
friends heard what had happened there was an outcry among them. They
wept and bewailed so that jinns and men, and wild beasts and birds,
were sorrowful for them, and my heart burned to see them. At last he
brought out what money and valuables he had, amounting to two million
dirhems, and gave it to me, saying: 'In days past, before Haroun al
Rashid was Caliph, I often vexed Yahya the Barmecide, and during this
present reign also he suffered much annoyance and persecution from
me. But on a certain occasion he treated me with kindness, and put my
hand in his, and I knew that he had forgiven my fault, and that there
was no feeling of revenge remaining in his heart; and afterward he
did me many kindnesses with the Caliph. If thou wilt deal kindly with
me—his house is at the head of the way—take me there. It may be his
heart will be touched for me; for all the members of his house are men
of liberality, and they desire that even their enemy and ill-wisher
may take refuge with them, that they may help him in his distress and
misery.'

"I said: 'Thou speakest truly, and it will be a delight to myself to
take thee there. Come, let us go. By Allah the Most High, it must needs
be they will cause thee to rejoice.' When we arrived at the house of
Yahya, he had just finished the afternoon prayer, and was repeating
the _Tesbih_.[8] When he saw Mansur, and he had explained to him his
distress and misery, Yahya came up to me and inquired of me the state
of the case, which I revealed to him. He comforted Mansur, and bade
him keep up his heart; 'For,' said he, 'I will not be wanting in doing
all that is in my power to help thee.' At the same time he called his
treasurer, and said to him: 'Bring me all that is in the treasury.' The
treasurer brought all that he had of coined money and jewels, and the
amount was two hundred thousand dirhems.

"Then he wrote a letter to his eldest son, Fadhl, bidding him send
what money he had, for that an unfortunate man was waiting for it.
When Fadhl had read the note, he immediately sent two hundred thousand
dirhems. Then he wrote a note to Jafar, his younger son, bidding him
send immediately all the money he had. He also sent three hundred
thousand dirhems. Then he said to me: 'Take this money to the Commander
of the Faithful, and represent to him that I will send to-morrow three
million dirhems more into his treasury.' I replied: 'This is not in
my orders. To-day, by the hour of evening prayer, I must be in the
presence of the Caliph with the gold or the head.'

"When Yahya heard this he sent for his slave Otbah, and bade her go to
Fatima, the sister of the Commander of the Faithful, and to explain
the case to her. When Otbah had told Fatima how the matter stood, that
lady, who was a woman of much generosity, took off a collar set with
jewels which she had received from the Caliph, of which the value was
estimated at two hundred thousand dinars of gold, and sent it to Yahya,
asking besides a thousand pardons that she could do no more.

"When at last the ten million of dirhems was raised, Yahya delivered
it all to porters, and sent it by me to the Caliph. It was near the
setting of the sun when I brought the money to Haroun al Rashid. When
he saw me, he cried: 'Hast thou brought Mansur?' I told him all that
had passed, whereupon he bade me send the money to the treasury and go
for Yahya. When I had placed the money in the treasury, I went to Yahya
and told him that the Caliph had accepted the money, and wished to see
him. He broke out into exclamations of gladness when he heard this,
and, calling for Mansur, he said: 'Take courage, for thou art saved
from destruction. The Commander of the Faithful has just asked for me,
and I will so contrive as to render him again favorably disposed toward
thee.'

"Then Mansur's soul again returned to his body, and he thanked Yahya
fervently. When Yahya arrived in the presence of the Caliph and saw his
face averted, he was afraid; for he thought: 'Perchance he will reprove
me for my want of respect in releasing Mansur.' So, after some time, he
prayed for pardon of his offense, and conciliated the Caliph. Afterward
he said: 'Wilt thou tell me what was the crime of which Mansur was
guilty?' The Caliph replied: 'His crime was his enmity against you and
his evil-speaking concerning you. For this reason I have long wished to
strike off his head. To-day I was so incensed that I commanded either
that he should pay this money or that his head should be cut off. But
thou hast done as the generous always do.' Yahya said: 'May the life
of the Commander of the Faithful be long! For if the Commander of the
Faithful had said, "The wealth of Yahya and his sons is of my gift, and
this necklace, too, of my sister's is a gift of mine. What has any one
to do in this matter? Go and cut off Mansur's head," what could he have
done and what could I have done?'

"This speech pleased Haroun al Rashid, but he blamed Yahya because he
had asked for his sister's necklace, and sent it to the treasury to
meet the demand on Mansur. He also blamed his sister for giving away
the necklace. She replied: 'It would have been shame if I had not
answered the request of one who was in the place of a father to me.'
This reply pleased the Caliph, and he restored to Fatima the jeweled
collar, and Yahya and Mansur were again glad at heart."


_The Fall of the Barmecides_

Haroun al Rashid had such an extraordinary affection to Jafar the
Barmecide that he could not bear to be one hour apart from him. Rashid
loved his own sister Abbasah also with an extreme affection, and could
not bear to be long absent from her. She was a woman of extraordinary
beauty, and exceeded all in science and knowledge. Zobeidah, who was
the chief favorite of the Caliph, and all her dependents were opposed
to Abbasah.

One day Rashid said to Jafar: "Thou knowest how great is my affection
to thee, and also how greatly I love my sister Abbasah, and that I can
not live without the company of either of you. I have thought of an
expedient whereby you may both accompany me in the same assembly—that
a marriage take place between you. That will legalize your meeting and
authorize your beholding one another. But all this is on condition that
you never meet except I am a third in the party."

When Jafar heard this, the world on all sides grew black with darkness
to his eyes. Distressed and confounded, he fell at the feet of Rashid,
and said: "Commander of the Faithful, wilt thou slay me? From the time
of Adam to our day no servant has been admitted to such confidence as
that he should marry with the family of his lords and benefactors;
or if any one hath treacherously imagined such a thing, very shortly
he hath been reduced to nothingness, and all men have counted him
a bread-and-salt traitor. And what sin hath thy slave committed, O
Commander of the Faithful, that thou shouldest seek after his blood?
Is this the reward of all my services and devotion? And, besides, how
should I, the son of a Persian _Guebre_ (fire-worshiper), be allied to
the family of Hashem and the nephews of the Prophet—may the mercy of
God be upon him and his family!—and by what right can I aspire to such
a distinction? If my father and mother heard of this, they would mourn
for me, and my enemies would rejoice."

Some days passed, and he neither ate nor drank, but all was of no
avail. He could not oppose the decrees of heaven and the ordainment of
God by remedy or contrivance. Unable to help himself, he submitted and
consented to a marriage on the terms before mentioned. When Yahya, the
father of Jafar and Fadhl, and his other brothers heard of this, they
were full of sorrow, and looked for the reversal of their fortune and
the downfall of their power.

These forebodings were soon justified. The cruel commands of Rashid
to his favorite and his sister were disregarded, and Abbasah became a
mother. The birth of the child, concealed for a time, was revealed to
Rashid by a revengeful slave-girl whom Abbasah had struck. The Caliph
was intensely wroth, but concealed his indignation for a time, though
betraying it at unguarded moments.

Ahmed Bin Muhammad Wasil, who was one of his confidential attendants,
relates as follows: "One day I was standing before Rashid in his
private apartment when no one besides was there. Perfumes were burning,
and the place was filled with sweet odors. Haroun al Rashid lay down
to rest, and wrapped his head in the skirt of his garment to keep his
eyes cool, when Jafar the Barmecide came in and told his business to
the Caliph, receiving in return a gracious answer, and retiring. In
those days the story of Abbasah and her union with Jafar was talked of
currently among the people.

"When Jafar was gone Rashid lifted his head out of his skirt, and
from his mouth came these words: 'O God, do thou so favor Jafar the
Barmecide that he may kill me, or make me quickly powerful over him
that I may cut off his head from his body; for with anger and jealousy
against him I am near to destruction.' These words he spoke to himself,
but they reached my ears, and I trembled within and without, and I said
to myself: 'If the Commander of the Faithful knows that I have heard
this, he will not leave me alive.'

"Suddenly Haroun al Rashid lifted up his head from its covering, and
said to me: 'Hast thou heard that which I said to myself just now?'
I said: 'I have not heard it.' The Commander of the Faithful said:
'There is no one but thyself here, and so truly as the censer is in thy
hand, thou hast heard all. If thou care for thy life, keep this secret
concealed; and if not, I will strike off thy head.' I replied: 'May the
life of the Commander of the Faithful be long! I have not heard any of
these words.' And with this the Caliph was satisfied."

It was not long after this that the blow fell on the Barmecides. On
his return from one of his pilgrimages to Mecca, Rashid came by water
from Hira to Anbar, on the River Euphrates. Here he invited the three
brothers Fadhl, Jafar, and Mousa, to his presence, and, having caressed
them with extraordinary cordiality, dismissed them once more to their
quarters, with rich _khelats_, the customary robe of honor. The Caliph
withdrew to his apartments, and betook himself to his usual indulgence
in wine. In a little time he sent one of his domestics to inquire if
Jafar was employed in the same way. Finding that such was not the case,
Rashid sent his attendant again to Jafar, urging him by the life of his
master to imitate his example without further delay, for that his wine
seemed deprived of all its zest until he knew that his faithful Jafar
partook of the same enjoyment.

Jafar felt, however, unaccountably alarmed and averse to such a
gratification, and, reluctantly withdrawing to his chamber, called for
the wine. It happened that he was attended by a favorite blind minstrel
named Abou Zaccar, to whom, after a few goblets, he could not forbear
from communicating his apprehensions. The minstrel treated them as
merely imaginary, urged his master to banish them from his thoughts,
and to resume his usual cheerfulness. But Jafar declared that he found
it impossible to dispel the uneasiness which seemed to haunt him. About
the hour of evening prayer another messenger arrived from Rashid with a
present of nuts and sweetmeats for Jafar, as a relish to his wine, from
his own table.

When midnight came, Rashid called for Mesrour, his favorite domestic,
and directed him to bring Jafar and strike off his head. Mesrour
proceeded accordingly, and entering Jafar's apartment while Abou
Zaccar was singing some Arabic verses, stood suddenly at the head of
Jafar, who started involuntarily at his appearance. Mesrour told him
that he was summoned to attend the Caliph. Jafar entreated that he
might be permitted to withdraw for a moment, to speak to the women
of his family. This last indulgence was withheld, Mesrour observing
that any instructions which he had to communicate might as well be
delivered where he was. This he was accordingly obliged to do, after
which he accompanied Mesrour to his tent, on entering which the latter
immediately drew his sword. Jafar asked that the Caliph's instructions
might be explained to him, and when he heard them, cautioned Mesrour to
beware how he carried into execution an order which had evidently been
given under the influence of wine, lest, when their sovereign should
be restored to himself, it might be followed by unavailing repentance
and remorse. He further adjured Mesrour by the memory of their past
friendship that he would return to the Caliph's presence, and require
his final commands.

Mesrour yielded to these entreaties, and appeared before Rashid, whom
he found expecting his return. "Is this the head of Jafar?" demanded
the Caliph. "Jafar is at the door, my lord," replied Mesrour, with
some trepidation. "I wanted not Jafar," said the Caliph sternly;
"I wanted his head." This sealed the fate of the unhappy favorite.
Mesrour immediately withdrew, decapitated Jafar in the antechamber,
and returned with his head, which he laid at the Caliph's feet. He was
then directed by Rashid to keep that head by him till he should receive
further orders.

In the meantime he was enjoined to proceed without delay and apprehend
Yahya, his three sons, Fadhl, Muhammad, and Mousa, and his brother
Muhammad. These commands were immediately carried into execution. The
head of Jafar was dispatched the next day, to be suspended to a gibbet
on the bridge of Bagdad, after which the Caliph continued his journey
to Rakkah.

Stripped of all their wealth and honors, Yahya, his three sons, and his
brother Muhammad, languished in confinement, until the former perished
in prison. At first they were allowed some liberty, but subsequently
they experienced alternatives of rigor and relaxation, according to the
reports which reached Rashid concerning them. He then confiscated the
property of every member of the family. It is said that Mesrour was
sent by him to the prison, and that he told the jailor to bring Fadhl
before him. When he was brought out, Mesrour addressed him thus: "The
Commander of the Faithful sends me to say that he ordered thee to make
a true statement of thy property, and that thou didst pretend to do so;
but he is assured that thou hast still great wealth in reserve, and his
orders to me are that, if thou dost not inform me where the money is,
I am to give thee two hundred strokes of a whip. I should therefore
advise thee not to prefer thy riches to thyself."

On this Fadhl looked up at him and said: "By Allah, I made no false
statements; and were the choice offered to me of being sent out of the
world or of receiving a single stroke of a whip, I should prefer the
former alternative—_that_ the Commander of the Faithful well knoweth,
and thou also knowest full well that we maintained our reputation at
the expense of our wealth. How, then, could we now shield our wealth at
the expense of our bodies? If thou hast really got any orders, let them
be executed."

On this Mesrour produced some whips, which he brought with him rolled
up in a napkin, and ordered his servants to inflict on Al Fadhl two
hundred stripes. They struck him with all their force, using no
moderation in their blows, so that they nearly killed him. There was
in that place a man skilled in treating wounds, who was called in to
attend Al Fadhl. When he saw him he observed that fifty strokes had
been inflicted on him; and when the others declared that two hundred
had been given, he asserted that his back bore the traces of fifty, and
not more. He then told Al Fadhl that he must lie down on his back on a
reed-mat, so that they might tread on his breast. Al Fadhl shuddered at
the proposal, but, having at length given his consent, they placed him
on his back. The operator then trod on him, after which he took him by
the arms and dragged him along the mat, by which means a great quantity
of flesh was torn off the back. He then proceeded to dress the wounds,
and continued his services regularly, till one day, when, on examining
them, he immediately prostrated himself in thanksgiving to God. They
asked him what was the matter, and he replied that the patient was
saved, because new flesh was forming. He then said: "Did I not say that
he had received fifty strokes? Well, by Allah! one thousand strokes
could not have left worse marks; but I merely said so that he might
take courage, and thus aid my efforts to cure him."

Al Fadhl, on his recovery, borrowed ten thousand dirhems from a friend,
and sent them to the doctor, who returned them. Thinking that he had
offered too little, he borrowed ten thousand more; but the man refused
them, and said: "I can not accept a fee for curing the greatest among
the generous. Were it even twenty thousand dinars, I should refuse
them." When this was told to Al Fadhl, he declared that such an act
of generosity surpassed all that he himself had done during the whole
course of his life.

When Rashid had overthrown the family of the Barmecides, he endeavored
to obliterate even their very name. He forbade the poets to compose
elegies on their fall, and commanded that those who did so should
be punished. One day one of the soldiers of the guard, passing near
some ruined and abandoned buildings, perceived a man standing upright
with a paper in his hand. It contained a lament for the ruin of the
Barmecides, which he was reciting with tears.

The soldier arrested him, and conducted him to the palace of Rashid. He
related the whole matter to the Caliph, who caused the accused to be
brought before him. When he was convinced by the man's own confession
of the truth of the accusation, he said to him: "Did you not know that
I have forbidden the utterance of any lament for the family of the
Barmecides? Assuredly I will treat thee according to thy deserts."
"Prince," the accused answered, "if thou wilt allow, I will relate my
history. Afterward deal with me as thou pleasest."

Rashid having allowed him to speak, he went on: "I was one of the petty
officials in the court of Yahya. One day he said to me: 'I must dine at
your house.' 'My lord,' I said to him, 'I am far too mean for such an
honor, and my house is not fit to receive you.' 'No,' replied Yahya,
'I must come to you.' 'In that case,' I said, 'will you allow me some
time to make the proper arrangements and put my house in order?—and
afterward do as you like.'

"He then wished to know how much time I wanted. At first I asked for a
year. This appeared to him too much; I therefore asked for some months.
He consented, and I immediately began to prepare everything necessary
for his reception. When all the preparations were complete I sent to
inform Yahya, who said he would come on the morrow. On the next day,
accordingly, he came, with his two sons Jafar and Fadhl and a few of
his most intimate friends. Scarcely had he dismounted than he addressed
me by name, and said: 'Make haste and get me something to eat, for I
am hungry.' Fadhl told me that his father was especially fond of roast
fowl; accordingly I brought some, and when Yahya had eaten he rose and
began to walk about the house, and asked me to show him all over it.
'My lord,' I said, 'you have just been over it: there is no more.'
'Certainly there is more,' he replied.

"It was in vain that I assured him, in the name of God, that that was
all I had: he had a mason sent for, and told him to make a hole in
the wall. The mason began to do so. I said to Yahya: 'My Lord, is it
permissible to make a hole into one's neighbor's house when God has
commanded us to respect our neighbors' rights?' 'Never mind,' said
he. And when the mason had made a sufficiently wide entrance, he went
through, with his sons.

"I followed them, and we came into a delicious garden, well planted and
watered by fountains. In this garden were pavilions and halls adorned
with all kinds of marbles and tapestry; on all sides were numbers of
beautiful slaves of both sexes. Yahya then said to me: This house and
all that you see is yours.' I hastened to kiss his hands and to pray
God to bless him, and then I learned that from the very day he had told
me that he was coming to my house he had bought the ground adjacent to
it, and caused a beautiful mansion to be constructed, furnished, and
adorned, without my knowing anything of it. I saw indeed that building
was going on, but I thought it was some work being carried on by one of
my neighbors.

"Yahya then, addressing his son Jafar, said to him: 'Well, here is a
house, with attendants, but how is he to keep it up?' 'I will make over
to him such and such a farm, with its revenues,' answered Jafar, 'and
sign a contract with him to that effect.' 'Very good,' said Yahya,
turning to his other son, Fadhl; 'but till he receives those revenues,
how is he to meet current expenses?' 'I will give him ten thousand
pieces of gold,' answered Fadhl, 'and have them conveyed to his house.'
'Be quick, then,' said Yahya, 'and fulfil your promises without delay.'
This they both did, so that I found myself rich of a sudden and living
a life of ease. Thus, O Commander of the Faithful, I have never failed
on all fitting occasions to rehearse their praises and to pray for
them, in order to discharge my debt of gratitude, but never shall I be
able to do so completely. If thou choosest, slay me for doing that."

Rashid was moved at this recital, and let him go. He also gave a
general permission to the poets to bewail the tragic end of the
Barmecides. A pathetic anecdote relating to their fall is recorded by
Muhammad, son of Abdur Bahman the Hashimite.

"Having gone to visit my mother on the day of the Feast of Sacrifice,
I found her talking with an old woman of venerable appearance, but
meanly clad. My mother asked if I knew her, and I answered, 'No.' She
replied: 'It is Abbadab, the mother of Jafar Bin Yahya.' I turned
to her and saluted her with respect. After some time I said to her:
'Madam, what is the strangest thing you have seen?' 'My friend,' she
replied, 'there was once a time when this same festival saw me escorted
by four hundred slaves, and still I thought that my son was not
sufficiently grateful to me. To-day the feast has returned, and all I
wish for is two sheepskins—one to lie down on and one to cover me.'

"I gave her," adds the narrator, "five hundred dirhems, and she nearly
died of joy. She did not cease her visits till the day death separated
us."

After the destruction of this family, the affairs of Rashid fell into
irretrievable confusion. Treason, revolt, and rebellion assailed him in
different parts of the empire. He himself became a prey to disease, and
was tortured by unavailing remorse. If any one blamed the Barmecides
in his presence he would say: "Cease to blame them or fill the void."
So great was the disaffection aroused by his treatment of them that he
removed the seat of government from Bagdad to Rakkah, on the Euphrates.

Yahya, the father of Jafar and Fadhl, died in prison, A.D. 805. On his
body was found a paper containing these words: "The accuser has gone
on before to the tribunal, and the accused shall follow soon. The Cadi
will be that just Judge who never errs and who needs no witnesses."
This, being reported to Rashid, deepened his gloom, which began to
wear the appearance of madness. One morning his physician, finding
him greatly discomposed, inquired the reason. Rashid replied: "I will
describe to thee what presented itself to my imagination. Methought I
saw an arm suddenly extend itself from beneath my pillow, holding in
the palm of the hand a quantity of red earth, while a voice addressed
me in the following words: 'Haroun, behold this handful of earth; it is
that in which they are about to bury thee.' I demanded to know where I
was about to find my grave, and the voice replied: 'At Tus.' The arm
disappeared and I awoke."

Shortly after this Rashid, though suffering from the disease which was
to end his life, set out to put down a rebellion in Transoxiana. When
one of the captured rebel leaders was brought into his presence, he
ordered him to be cut to pieces limb by limb on the spot.

When the execution was over Rashid fell into a swoon, and, on
recovering himself, asked his physician if he did not recollect the
dream which had occurred to him at Rakkah, for they were now in the
neighborhood of Tus. He also desired his chamberlain Mesrour to bring
him a sample of the native earth of the country. When Mesrour returned
with his naked arm extended, Rashid immediately exclaimed: "Behold the
arm and the earth, precisely as they appeared in my dream!"

The Caliph died at midnight the following Saturday, March 23, A.D. 809.


THE CALIPH AL MAMOUN

When Haroun al Rashid died he left the empire to his sons Emin and
Mamoun, giving the former Irak and Syria, and the latter Khorassan and
Persia. Emin had the title of Caliph, to which Mamoun was to succeed.
War broke out between the brothers; Emin fled from Bagdad, but was
captured and slain, and his head sent to Mamoun in Khorassan, who wept
at the sight of it. He had, however, previously, when his general Tahir
sent to him requesting to know what to do with Emin in case he caught
him, sent to the general a shirt with no opening in it for the head.
By this Tahir knew that he wished Emin to be put to death, and acted
accordingly.

The Caliph, however, bore a grudge against Tahir for the death of his
brother, as was shown by the following circumstance: Tahir went one
day to ask some favor from Al Mamoun; the latter granted it, and then
wept till his eyes were bathed in tears. "Commander of the Faithful,"
said Tahir, "why do you weep? May God never cause you to shed a tear!
The universe obeys you, and you have obtained your utmost wishes." "I
weep not," replied the Caliph, "from any humiliation which may have
befallen me, neither do I weep from grief, but my mind is never free
from cares."

These words gave great uneasiness to Tahir, and, on retiring, he said
to Husain, the eunuch who waited at the door of the Caliph's private
apartment: "I wish you to ask the Commander of the Faithful why he wept
on seeing me." On reaching home Tahir sent Husain one hundred thousand
dirhems. Some time afterward, when Al Mamoun was alone and in a good
humor, Husain said to him: "Why did you weep when Tahir came to see
you?" "What is that to you?" replied the Prince. "It made me sad to
see you weep," answered the eunuch. "I shall tell you the reason," the
Caliph said; "but if you ever allow it to pass your lips, I shall have
your head taken off." "O my master," the eunuch replied, "did I ever
disclose any of your secrets?" "I was thinking of my brother Emin,"
said the Caliph, "and of the misfortune which befell him, so that I was
nearly choked with weeping; but Tahir shall not escape me! I shall make
him feel what he will not like."

Husain related this to Tahir, who immediately rode off to the Vizier
Abi Khalid, and said to him: "I am not parsimonious in my gratitude,
and a service rendered to me is never lost; contrive to have me removed
away from Al Mamoun." "I shall," replied Abi Khalid. "Come to me
to-morrow morning." He then rode off to Al Mamoun, and said: "I was
not able to sleep last night." "Why so?" asked the Caliph. "Because
you have entrusted Ghassan with the government of Khorassan, and his
friends are very few, and I fear that ruin awaits him." "And whom do
you think a proper person for it?" said Al Mamoun. "Tahir," replied Abi
Khalid. "He is ambitious," observed the Caliph. "I will answer for his
conduct," said the other.

Al Mamoun then sent for Tahir, and named him governor of Khorassan
on the spot; he made him also a present of an eunuch, to whom he had
just given orders to poison his new master if he remarked anything
suspicious in his conduct. When Tahir was solidly established in his
government he ceased mentioning Al Mamoun's name in the public prayers
as the reigning Caliph. A dispatch was immediately sent off by express
to inform Al Mamoun of the circumstance, and the next morning Tahir
was found dead in his bed. It is said that the eunuch administered the
poison to him in some sauce.

Al Mamoun placed his two sons under the tuition of Al Farra, so that
they might be instructed in grammar. One day Al Farra rose to leave
the house, and the two young princes hastened to bring his shoes. They
struggled between themselves for the honor of offering them to him,
and they finally agreed that each of them should present him with one
slipper. As Al Mamoun had secret agents who informed him of everything
that passed, he learned what had taken place, and caused Al Farra to be
brought before him.

When he entered, the Caliph said to him: "Who is the most honored of
men?" Al Farra answered: "I know not any one more honored than the
Commander of the Faithful." "Nay," replied Al Mamoun, "it is he who
arose to go out, and the two designated successors of the Commander of
the Faithful contended for the honor of presenting him his slippers,
and at length agreed that each of them should offer him one."

Al Farra answered: "Commander of the Faithful, I should have prevented
them from doing so had I not been apprehensive of discouraging their
minds in the pursuit of that excellence to which they ardently aspire.
We know by tradition that Ibn Abbas held the stirrups of Hasan and
Husain, when they were getting on horseback after paying him a visit.
One of those who were present said to him: 'How is it that you hold the
stirrups of these striplings, you who are their elder?' To which he
replied: 'Ignorant man! No one can appreciate the merit of people of
merit except a man of merit.'"

Al Mamoun then said to him: "Had you prevented them, I should have
declared you in fault. That which they have done is no debasement
of their dignity; on the contrary, it exalts their merit. No man,
though great in rank, can be dispensed from three obligations: he must
respect his sovereign, venerate his father, and honor his preceptor.
As a reward for their conduct, I bestow upon them twenty thousand
dinars ($50,000), and on you for the good education you give them, ten
thousand dirhems" ($2,500).

When Al Mamoun was still in Khorassan, a revolt was raised against
him in Bagdad by his uncle, Ibrahim, the son of Mahdi. This prince
had great talent as a singer, and was a skilful performer on musical
instruments. Being of a dark complexion, which he inherited from his
mother, Shikla, who was a negress, and of a large frame of body, he
received the name of At-Tinnin (the Dragon). He was proclaimed Caliph
at Bagdad during the absence of Al Mamoun. The cause which led the
people to renounce Al Mamoun and choose Ibrahim was that the former
had chosen as his successor one of the descendants of Ali, and in
doing so had ordered the public to cease wearing black, which was the
distinctive color of the Abbassides, the reigning family, and to put on
green, the color of the family of Ali and their partizans.

On Mamoun's entry into Bagdad, Ibrahim fled disguised as a woman.
He was, however, detected and arrested by one of the <DW64> police.
When he was before Al Mamoun, who addressed him in ironic terms, he
replied: "Prince of the believers, my crime gives you the right of
retaliation, but 'forgiveness is near neighbor to piety.'[9] God has
placed you above all those who are generous, as he has placed me above
all criminals in the magnitude of my crime. If you punish me you will
be just; if you pardon me you will be great." "Then I pardon you," said
Mamoun, and prostrated himself in prayer.

He commanded, however, that Ibrahim should continue to wear the
_burqa_, or long female veil in which he had fled, so that people might
see in what disguise he had been arrested; he ordered also that he
should be exposed to view in the palace courtyard; then he committed
him to police supervision, and finally, after some days of detention,
set him free.

The following anecdote was related by Ibrahim regarding the time when
he was in hiding with a price set on his head: "I went out one day at
the hour of noon without knowing whither I was going. I found myself in
a narrow street, which ended in a _cul-de-sac_, and noticed a <DW64>
standing in front of the door of a house. I went straight to him, and
asked if he could afford me shelter for a short time. He consented, and
bade me enter. The hall was adorned with mats and leather cushions.
Then he left me alone, closed the door, and departed. A suspicion
flashed across my mind; this man knew that a price was set on my head,
and had gone to denounce me.

"While I was revolving these gloomy thoughts, he returned with a
servant bearing a tray loaded with victuals. 'May my life be a
sacrifice for you,' he said. 'I am a barber, and therefore I have not
touched any of these things with my hand; do me the honor to partake of
them.' Hunger pressed me; I rose and obeyed. 'What about some wine?'
he asked. 'I do not detest it,' I replied. He brought some, and then
said again: 'May my life be your ransom! Will you allow me to sit near
you and drink to your health?' I consented. After having emptied three
cups, he opened a cupboard and took out a lute. 'Sir,' he said, 'it
does not behoove a man of my low degree to beg you to sing, but your
kindness prompts me to do so; if you deign to consent it will be a
great honor for your slave.'

"'How do you know that I am a good singer?' I asked him. 'By Allah!'
he answered, with an air of astonishment, 'your reputation is too
great for me not to know it: you are Ibrahim, the son of Mahdi, and a
reward of a hundred thousand dirhems is promised by Al Mamoun to the
man who will find you.' At these words I took the lute, and was about
to commence, when he added: 'Sir, would you be so kind as first to sing
the piece which I shall choose?' When I consented he chose three airs
in which I had no rival. Then I said to him: 'You know me, I admit;
but where did you learn to know these three airs?' 'I have been,' he
answered, 'in the service of Ishak, son of Ibrahim Mausili,[10] and I
have often heard him speak of the great singers and the airs in which
they excelled; but who could have guessed that I would hear you myself
and in my own house?'

"I sang to him accordingly, and remained some time in his company,
charmed with his agreeable manners. At nightfall I took leave of him. I
had brought with me a purse full of gold pieces; I offered it to him,
promising him a greater reward some day. This is strange,' he said; 'it
is rather I who should offer you all I possess, and implore you to do
me the honor to accept it. Only respect has restrained me from doing
so.' He refused, accordingly, to receive anything from me; but he went
out with me and put me on the road to the place whither I wished to go.
Then he went off, and I have never seen him since."


_Al Mamoun and Ibrahim, the Son of Mahdi_

One day ten inhabitants of Basra were denounced to Al Mamoun as
heretics who held the doctrine of Manes (Manichæans) and the two
principles of light and darkness. He ordered them to be brought into
his presence. A parasite, who saw them being taken, said to himself:
"Here are folk who are going off for a jollification." He slipped in
among them, and accompanied them without perceiving who they were
till they reached the boat in which their guards made them embark.
"Doubtless this is a pleasure party!" he exclaimed, and went on board
with them. Soon, however, the guards brought chains and fettered the
whole band, including the parasite, who said to himself: "My greediness
has ended by making me a prisoner." Then he addressed the seniors of
the band: "Pardon me," he said; "may I ask who you are?" "Tell us,
rather, who _you_ are," they answered, "and whether we may reckon you
among our brothers." "God knows I scarcely know you," he replied. "As
for me, to tell the truth, I am a professional parasite. When I left
my home this morning I happened to fall in with you. Struck with your
agreeable appearance and good manners, I said to myself: 'Here are some
well-to-do people going to enjoy themselves.' Consequently I joined
your company, and took my place beside you as though I were one of you.
When we reached the boat, which was provided with carpets and cushions,
and I saw all these bags and well-filled baskets, I thought: 'They are
going for an outing in some park or pleasure-ground; this is a lucky
day for me.'

"I was still congratulating myself when the guards came and fettered
you, and me with you. I now feel quite bewildered; tell me, therefore,
what it is all about." These words amused the prisoners, and made them
smile. They replied: "Now that you are on the list of the suspected,
and are chained, know that we are Manichæans who have been denounced
to Mamoun, and are being taken to him. He will ask us who we are, will
question us concerning our belief, and will exhort us to repent and
to abjure our religion, proposing various tests to us; he will, for
example, show us an image of Manes, commanding us to spit upon it and
to renounce him; he will command us to sacrifice a pheasant. Whoever
will do so will save his life; whoever refuses will be put to death.
When you are called and put to the test you will say who you are and
what your belief is, according as you feel prompted. But did you not
say you were a parasite? Now, such people have an ample store of
anecdotes and stories; shorten our journey, then, by recounting some."

As soon as they arrived at Bagdad the prisoners were conducted into the
presence of Mamoun. He called each in turn as his name was on the list;
he asked each concerning his sect, and urged them to renounce Manes,
showing them his image, and commanding them to spit on it. As they
refused, he had them handed over one by one to the executioner.

At last the parasite's turn came. But as the ten prisoners had been
done with and the list was exhausted, Mamoun asked the guards who he
was. "Truly, we know nothing about him," they answered. "We found him
among them and brought him hither." "Who are you?" the Caliph asked
him. "Prince of the believers," he said, "may my wife be divorced if I
understand what they are talking about! I am only a poor parasite." And
he told him his whole story from beginning to end.

The Caliph was much amused, and ordered the image of Manes to be
presented to him; the parasite cursed and renounced the heretic
heartily. Al Mamoun, however, was about to punish him for his temerity
and impudence, when Ibrahim, the son of Mahdi, who was present, said:
"Sire, let this man off, and I will relate to you a kind of Bohemian
adventure, of which I was the hero." The Caliph assented, and Ibrahim
continued:

"Prince of the believers, I had gone out one day, and was roving at
random through the streets of Bagdad, when I came to the porch of a
lofty mansion, whence issued a delicious odor of spices and dressed
meats, by which I was strongly attracted. I addressed a passer-by, and
asked to whom the house belonged. 'To a linen-merchant,' he answered.
'What is his name?' I asked. 'Such a one, son of such a one,' was his
reply. I lifted my eyes to the house. Through the lattice-work which
covered one of the windows I saw appear such a beautiful hand and wrist
as I had never seen before. The charm of this apparition made me forget
the enticing odors, and I stood there troubled and perplexed. Finally,
I asked the man, who had remained standing near, if the master of the
house ever gave entertainments. 'Yes, I think he is giving one to-day,'
he answered; 'but his guests are merchants, staid and sober people like
himself.'

"We were thus engaged in talk when two persons of well-to-do appearance
came down the street toward us. 'There are his two guests,' the man
said to me. 'What are their names and their fathers' names?' I asked.
He informed me, and I accosted them immediately, saying: 'May my
life be your sacrifice; your host is waiting impatiently for you.' I
escorted them to the door as if I belonged to the house; they went in,
and I followed. The master of the house perceived me, and, supposing
that I had been brought by his friends, received me graciously, and
placed me in the seat of honor. Then the meal was brought; it was well
served, and we did honor to the dishes, whose savor excelled their
odor. When the food had been removed and we had washed our hands,
our host led us into another hall richly adorned. He redoubled his
politeness toward me, and specially addressed his conversation to me.
The two guests believed me to be an intimate friend of his, while the
host treated me in this fashion because he believed I had been brought
by his two friends.

"We had already emptied several cups when a young female slave came
forward, as graceful as a willow-branch, and saluted us without
timidity. She was offered a cushion to sit upon, and a lute was brought
to her, which she tuned with a skill which struck me. She then sang an
air in a most enchanting fashion; so great was the skill and art with
which she sang that I could not suppress a feeling of jealousy. 'Young
girl,' I said to her, 'you have still a good deal to learn.' These
words irritated her; she threw down the lute, and exclaimed to the
host: 'Since when do you admit to your intimacy such vexatious guests?'

"I repented of my remark when I saw the others look at me askance. 'Is
there a lute here?' I asked. 'Yes,' was the reply. They brought me one,
which I tuned to my liking, and then sang. I had hardly finished when
the young slave cast herself at my feet, and, embracing them, said:
'Sir, pardon me in the name of heaven; I have never heard that air sung
so exquisitely.' Her master and those present followed her example
in praising me; cheerfulness was restored, and the cups circulated
rapidly. I sang again, and the enthusiasm of my hearers was roused to
such a pitch that I thought they would take leave of their senses. I
waited awhile to let them recover themselves; then, taking my lute
again, I sang for the third time. 'By Allah!' cried the slave, 'that is
what deserves to be called singing!'

"The others, however, were beginning to feel the effects of the wine;
the master of the house, who had a stronger head than his guests,
entrusted them to the care of his own servants and of theirs, and had
them conveyed home. I remained alone with him. After we had emptied
some more cups, he said to me: 'Truly, sir, I consider the past days
of my life, in which I did not know you, wasted. Kindly inform me
who you are.' He pressed me so much that at last I told him my name.
Immediately he rose, kissed my hand, and said: 'I should have been
surprised, sir, had any one of a rank inferior to your own possessed
such skill. To think one of the royal house was with me all the time,
and I knew it not!' Being pressed by him to tell my story and what had
attracted me to his house, I told him how I had stopped when I smelt
the odor of the food, and described the hand and wrist I had seen at
the window.

"He straightway called one of his female slaves and said: 'Go and
tell So-and-so to come down.' He had all the slaves in succession
brought before me. After having examined their hands, I said: 'No! the
possessor of the hand I saw is not among them.' 'By Allah!' said my
host, 'there are only my mother and my sister left! I will send for
them.' Such generosity and kindness of heart surprised me. I said to
him: 'May my life be your sacrifice! Before calling your mother, call
your sister; it is probably she of whom I am in search.' 'Very well,'
he said, and sent for her.

"As soon as I set eyes on her hand and wrist I cried: 'It is she, my
dear host, it is she!' Without losing a moment, he ordered his servants
to bring together ten respectable elderly men from the neighborhood.
They came; he then sent for a sum of twenty thousand dirhems in two
bags, and, addressing the ten men, said: 'I take you to witness that
I give my sister here in marriage to Ibrahim, son of Mahdi, and that
I bestow upon her a dowry of twenty thousand dirhems.' His sister and
I both gave our agreement to the marriage, after which I gave one of
the bags of money to my young wife, and distributed the other among
the witnesses, saying: 'Excuse me, but this is all I have by me at
present.' They accepted my present and retired.

"My host then proposed to prepare in his own house an apartment for us.
Such generosity and kindness made me feel quite embarrassed. I said
that I only desired a litter to convey my wife. He readily agreed, and
sent along with it so magnificent a trousseau that it entirely fills
one of my houses."

Mamoun was astonished at the generosity of the merchant. He granted
his freedom and a rich present to the parasite, and ordered Ibrahim to
present his father-in-law at court. The latter became one of the most
intimate courtiers and companions of the Caliph.


_The Death of Al Mamoun_

During Al Mamoun's last campaign against the Greek Emperor he arrived
at the River Qushairah, and encamped on its banks. Charmed by the
clearness and purity of its waters, and by the beauty and fertility
of the surrounding country, he had a kind of arbor constructed by the
banks of the stream, intending to rest there some days. So clear was
the water that the inscription on a coin lying at the bottom could be
clearly read; but it was so cold that it was impossible for any one to
bathe in it.

All at once a fish, about a fathom in length and flashing like an ingot
of silver, appeared in the water. The Caliph promised a reward to any
one who would capture it; an attendant went down, caught the fish and
regained the shore, but as he approached the spot where Al Mamoun was
sitting, the fish slipped from his grasp, fell into the water, and
sank like a stone to the bottom. Some of the water was splashed on the
Caliph's neck, chest, and arms, and wetted his clothes. The attendant
went down again, recaptured the fish, and placed it, wriggling, in
a napkin before the Caliph. Just as he had ordered it to be fried,
Al Mamoun felt a sudden shiver, and could not move from the place.
In vain he was covered with rugs and skins; he trembled like a leaf,
and exclaimed: "I am cold! I am cold!" He was carried into his tent,
covered with clothes, and a fire was lit, but he continued to complain
of cold. When the fish had been cooked it was brought to him, but he
could neither taste nor touch it, so great was his suffering.

As he grew rapidly worse, his brother Mutasim questioned Bakhteshou
and Ibn Masouyieh, his physicians, on his condition, and whether they
could do him any good. Ibn Masouyieh took one of the patient's hands
and Bakhteshou the other, and felt his pulse together; the irregular
pulsations heralded his dissolution. Just then Al Mamoun awoke out of
his stupor; he opened his eyes, and caused some of the natives of the
place to be sent for, and questioned them regarding the stream and the
locality. When asked regarding the meaning of the name "Qushairah"
they replied that it signified "Stretch out thy feet" (_i.e._, "die").
Al Mamoun then inquired the Arabic name of the country, and was told
"Rakkah." Now, the horoscope drawn at the moment of his birth announced
that he would die in a place of that name; therefore he had always
avoided residing in the city of Rakkah, fearing to die there. When he
heard the answer given by these people, he felt sure that this was the
place predicted by his horoscope. Feeling himself becoming worse, he
commanded that he should be carried outside his tent in order to survey
his camp and his army once more. It was now night-time. As his gaze
wandered over the long lines of the camp and the lights twinkling into
the distance, he cried: "O thou whose reign will never end, have mercy
on him whose reign is now ending." He was then carried back to his bed.
Mutasim, seeing that he was sinking, commanded some one to whisper in
his ear the confession of the Mohammedan faith ("There is no God but
God, and Mohammed is the Apostle of God"). As the attendant was about
to speak, in order that Al Mamoun might repeat the words after him,
Ibn Masouyieh said to him: "Do not speak, for truly he could not now
distinguish between God and Manes." The dying man opened his eyes—they
seemed extraordinarily large, and shone with a wonderful luster; his
hands clutched at the doctor; he tried to speak to him, but could not;
then his eyes turned toward heaven and filled with tears; finally his
tongue was loosened, and he spoke: "O thou who diest not, have mercy
on him who dies," and he expired immediately. His body was carried to
Tarsus and buried there.


ON MEDICINE

(BY AVICENNA)


Medicine considers the human body as to the means by which it is cured
and by which it is driven away from health. The knowledge of anything,
since all things have causes, is not acquired or complete unless it
is known by its causes. Therefore in medicine we ought to know the
causes of sickness and health. And because health and sickness and
their causes are sometimes manifest, and sometimes hidden and not to be
comprehended except by the study of symptoms, we must also study the
symptoms of health and disease. Now it is established in the sciences
that no knowledge is acquired save through the study of its causes and
beginnings, if it has had causes and beginnings; nor completed except
by knowledge of its accidents and accompanying essentials. Of these
causes there are four kinds: material, efficient, formal, and final.

Material causes, on which health and sickness depend, are—the affected
member, which is the immediate subject, and the humors; and in these
are the elements. And these two are subjects that, according to their
mixing together, alter. In the composition and alteration of the
substance which is thus composed, a certain unity is attained.

Efficient causes are the causes changing and preserving the conditions
of the human body; as airs, and what are united with them; and
evacuation and retention; and districts and cities, and habitable
places, and what are united with them; and changes in age and
diversities in it, and in races and arts and manners, and bodily and
animate movings and restings, and sleepings and wakings on account of
them; and in things which befall the human body when they touch it, and
are either in accordance or at variance with nature.

Formal causes are physical constitutions, and combinations and virtues
which result from them.

Pinal causes are operations. And in the science of operations lies the
science of virtues, as we have set forth. These are the subjects of
the doctrine of medicine; whence one inquires concerning the disease
and curing of the human body. One ought to attain perfection in this
research; namely, how health may be preserved and sickness cured. And
the causes of this kind are rules in eating and drinking, and the
choice of air, and the measure of exercise and rest; and doctoring with
medicines and doctoring with the hands. All this with physicians is
according to three species: the well, the sick, and the medium of whom
we have spoken.


THE EXISTING MONUMENTS

OR "CHRONOLOGY" OF AL BIRUNI

IN THE NAME OF GOD, THE COMPASSIONATE, THE MERCIFUL


Praise be to God who is high above all things, and blessings be on
Mohammed, the elected, the best of all created beings, and on his
family, the guides of righteousness and truth.

One of the exquisite plans in God's management of the affairs of his
creation, one of the glorious benefits which he has bestowed upon
the entirety of his creatures, is that categorical decree of his,
not to leave in his world any period without a just guide, whom he
constitutes as a protector for his creatures, with whom to take refuge
in unfortunate and sorrowful cases and accidents, and upon whom to
devolve their affairs, when they seem indissolubly perplexed, so that
the order of the world should rest upon—and its existence be supported
by—his genius. And this decree (that the affairs of mankind should be
governed by a prophet) has been settled upon them as a religious duty,
and has been linked together with the obedience toward God, and the
obedience toward his prophet, through which alone a reward in future
life may be obtained—in accordance with the word of him, who is truth
and justice—and his word is judgment and decree, "O ye believers, obey
God, and obey the prophets, and those among yourselves who are invested
with the command."

ERA OF THE CREATION.—The first and most famous of the beginnings of
antiquity is the fact of the creation of mankind. But among those
who have a book of divine revelation, such as the Jews, Christians,
Magians, and their various sects, there exists such a difference of
opinion as to the nature of this fact, and as to the question how to
date from it, the like of which is not allowable for eras. Everything,
the knowledge of which is connected with creation and with the history
of bygone generations, is mixed up with falsifications and myths,
because it belongs to a far remote age; because a long interval
separates us therefrom, and because the student is incapable of keeping
it in memory, and of fixing it (so as to preserve it from confusion).
God says: "Have they not got the stories about those who were before
them gone but God knows them." (Surah ix, 71.) Therefore it is becoming
not to admit any account of a similar subject, if it is not attested
by a book, the correctness of which is relied upon, or by a tradition,
for which the conditions of authenticity, according to the prevalent
opinion, furnish grounds of proof.

If we now first consider this era, we find a considerable divergence of
opinion regarding it among these nations. For the Persians and Magians
think that the duration of the world is 12,000 years, corresponding
to the number of signs in the zodiac and of the months; and that
Zoroaster, the founder of their law, thought that of those there had
passed, till the time of his appearance, 3,000 years, intercalated with
the day-quarters, for he himself had made their computation, and had
taken into account that defect, which had accrued to them on account
of the day-quarters, till the time when they were intercalated and
made to agree with real time. From his appearance to the beginning of
the Aera Alexandri, they count 258 years; therefore they count from
the beginning of the world to Alexander 3,258 years. However, if we
compute the years from the creation of Gayomarth, whom they hold to
be the first man, and sum up the years of the reign of each of his
successors—for the rule of Iran remained with his descendants without
interruption—this number is, for the time till Alexander, the sum
total of 3,354 years. So the specification of the single items of the
addition does not agree with the sum total.

A section of the Persians is of the opinion that those past 3,000
years which we have mentioned are to be counted from the creation
of Gayomarth; because, before that, already six thousand years had
elapsed—a time during which the celestial globe stood motionless, the
natures (of created beings) did not interchange, the elements did not
mix—during which there was no growth, and no decay, and the earth was
not cultivated. Thereupon, when the celestial globe was set a-going,
the first man came into existence on the equator, so that part of him
in longitudinal direction was on the north, and part south of the line.
The animals were reproduced, and mankind commenced to reproduce their
own species and to multiply; the atoms of the elements mixed, so as to
give rise to growth and decay; the earth was cultivated, and the world
was arranged in conformity with fixed forms.

The Jews and Christians differ widely on this subject; for, according
to the doctrine of the Jews, the time between Adam and Alexander is
3,448 years, whilst, according to the Christian doctrine it is 5,180
years. The Christians reproach the Jews with having diminished the
number of years with the view of making the appearance of Jesus fall
into the fourth millennium in the middle of the seven millennia, which
are, according to their view, the time of the duration of the world, so
as not to coincide with that time at which, as the prophets after Moses
had prophesied, the birth of Jesus from a pure virgin at the end of
time, was to take place.

ERA OF THE DELUGE.—The next following era is the era of the great
deluge, in which everything perished at the time of Noah. Here, too,
there is such a difference of opinions, and such a confusion, that you
have no chance of deciding as to the correctness of the matter, and do
not even feel inclined to investigate thoroughly its historical truth.
The reason is, in the first instance, the difference regarding the
period between the Aera Adami and the Deluge, which we have mentioned
already; and secondly, that difference, which we shall have to mention,
regarding the period between the Deluge and the Aera Alexandri. For the
Jews derive from the Torah, and the following books, for this latter
period 1,792 years, whilst the Christians derive from _their_ Torah for
the same period 2,938 years.

The Persians, and the great mass of the Magians, deny the Deluge
altogether; they believe that the rule of the world has remained with
them without any interruption ever since Gayomarth Gilshah, who was,
according to them, the first man. In denying the Deluge, the Indians,
Chinese, and the various nations of the East, concur with them. Some,
however, of the Persians admit the fact of the Deluge, but they
describe it in a different way from what it is described in the books
of the prophets. They say, a partial deluge occurred in Syria and the
West at the time of Tahmurath, but it did not extend over the whole
of the then civilized world, and only a few nations were drowned in
it; it did not extend beyond the peak of Hulwan, and did not reach the
empires of the East. Further, they relate, that the inhabitants of the
West, when they were warned by their sages, constructed buildings of
the kind of the two pyramids that have been built in Egypt, saying: "If
the disaster comes from heaven, we shall go into them; if it comes from
the earth, we shall ascend above them." People are of opinion that the
traces of the water of the Deluge, and the efforts of the waves, are
still visible on these two pyramids half-way up, above which the water
did not rise. Another report says, that Joseph had made them a magazine
where he deposited the bread and victuals for the years of drought.

It is related that Tahmurath on receiving the warning of the Deluge—231
years before the Deluge—ordered his people to select a place of good
air and soil in his realm. Now they did not find a place that answered
better to this description than Ispahan. Thereupon, he ordered all
scientific books to be preserved for posterity and to be buried in a
part of that place least exposed to obnoxious influences. In favor of
this report we may state that in our time in Jay, the city of Ispahan,
there have been discovered hills, which, on being excavated, disclosed
houses, filled with many loads of that tree-bark with which arrows and
shields are covered, and which is called Tuz, bearing inscriptions, of
which no one was able to say what they are and what they mean.

These discrepancies in their reports inspire doubts in the student,
and make him inclined to believe what is related in some books, that
Gayomarth was not the first man, but that he was Gomer ben Yaphet ben
Noah, that he was a prince to whom a long life was given, that he
settled on the Mount Dumbawand, where he founded an empire, and that
finally his power became very great, whilst mankind was still living in
elementary conditions, similar to those at the time of creation and of
the first stage of the development of the world. Then he, and some of
his children, took control of the guidance of the world. Toward the end
of his life, he became tyrannical, and called himself Adam, saying: "If
anybody calls me by another name than this, I shall cut off his head."




ARABIC LITERATURE

PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION

AL GHAZALI'S "RESCUER FROM ERROR"


 "_If all the other books of Islam were destroyed, the loss would be
 small if but Al Ghazali's work were preserved._"
  MOHAMMEDAN PROVERB.

 "_The variety of doctrines and sects which divide men are like a deep
 ocean strewed with shipwrecks, from which very few escape._"
 AL GHAZALI IN "THE RESCUER FROM ERROR."

 "_Al Ghazali is the greatest, certainly the most sympathetic,
 figure in the history of Islam._"
  PROF. D. B. MACDONALD


PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION

(INTRODUCTION)


When we move with Al Ghazali or Zamakhshari through the deeply
searching paths of Arab philosophy, we feel that we are following the
guidance of men whom modern thought has in no way outgrown. They lacked
much of our scientific knowledge, but none of our reasoning powers.
Al Ghazali has sounded all philosophy's profundities of thought, and
Zamakhshari has soared to theology's highest peak of adoration.

Al Ghazali (1049-1111), as we have already said, is often ranked next
to Mohammed as a teacher and uplifter of his Arab brethren. He was a
native of Khorassan, named Abu Hamid Mohammed. Arab custom, however,
seldom designates a noted man by his birth-name. He is most often
honored with the distinctive prefix "Al," which means "The," much
as we use the word as a superlative. Thus just as Holy Writ speaks
of The Nazarine, so Al Ghazali probably means "The Man of Ghazali,"
the village of his birth, though the name may also be derived from
his father's trade in _gazzel_ (thread), and so may mean "The Thread
Merchant." As a youth Al Ghazali studied much and traveled widely; and
his wanderings led, as did those of most men in his day, to Bagdad.
Here he became famed as the foremost philosophic teacher of the age.
But his own philosophy did not satisfy him. Withdrawing from his
official position on the ground of ill-health, he wandered over the
world for eleven years, seeking true wisdom. He felt at last that he
had found it in the ecstasy of religious faith; and then, resuming
his public teaching, he led an earnest reform in Mohammedanism,
bringing his people to look more deeply and nobly upon their faith. So
convincing were his appeals and explanations that his people called
him "The Decisive Argument for the Faith."

Al Ghazali's own search for truth is told in his remarkable little
book here given in full, "The Rescuer from Error," in which the
Rescuer is Mohammed with his Koran. Al Ghazali wrote many other works,
religious and philosophical, but none which have so profoundly touched
modern readers as this simple, earnest account of himself. It is a
"confession" worthy to rank with the "Confessions of Saint Augustine,"
or any greatest work of its own type. Al Ghazali soon afterward
withdrew from public life, hoping to teach men more by his books than
by spoken words, and he died in seclusion in his native home.

Great as was the influence of Al Ghazali, he was scarcely a typical
Mohammedan teacher. He was, as his book will show, an independent
thinker who reached his firm religious faith only after seeking
through all systems of philosophy. He had tasted of the emptiness of
materialism, and had faced the black shadows of despair. Of far other
type was Zamakhshari, the most renowned of commentators on the Koran.
He seems never to have doubted the divinity of the holy book. He spent
years in studying it, and while he used keen intelligence in weighing
its every word, and even shocked his narrower coreligionists by the
freedom of his criticism, yet it was always criticism based on the
assumption that of course the Koran was right, and that the only danger
lay in that men might blunder in interpreting its meaning. He therefore
called his celebrated commentary the "Kashshaf," or "Discoverer of
Truth."

We give here the noted opening of this work. The main attack upon the
author by the orthodox Mohammedans of a later age was because the
commentary began with the words, "Praise be to God who created the
Koran," whereas the orthodox regarded the book as always existent with
God, so that instead of "created" they would have had the writer say
that God "revealed" the Koran.

Zamakhshari (1070-1143) was born and died in Khiva in Turkestan. He
was, however, another of the many youths eager for knowledge who took
advantage of the wide-spread dominion of the Arab caliphs to travel far
through the East. He journeyed indeed through such hardships that he
lost a leg, frozen in a snowstorm; and he dwelt so long in Mecca, the
holy city, that he was called the "neighbor of God." It was from such
earnest men as Zamakhshari and Al Ghazali, the "neighbor of God" and
the "Decisive Argument," that the Mohammedan religion learned its final
form, and the reader will be ignoring the real and manifest energy and
intellect of these great men if he dismisses their religion lightly as
a teaching easily to be disproved or childishly defective.




PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION

THE RESCUER FROM ERROR

IN THE NAME OF THE MOST MERCIFUL GOD


Quoth the Imam Ghazali:

Glory be to God, whose praise should precede every writing and every
speech! May the blessings of God rest on Mohammed, his Prophet and
his Apostle, on his family and companions, by whose guidance error is
escaped!

You have asked me, O brother in the faith, to expound the aim and
the mysteries of religious sciences, the boundaries and depths
of theological doctrines. You wish to know my experiences while
disentangling truth lost in the medley of sects and divergencies
of thought, and how I have dared to climb from the low levels of
traditional belief to the topmost summit of assurance. You desire to
learn what I have borrowed, first of all from scholastic theology; and
secondly from the method of the Ta'limites, who, in seeking truth, rest
upon the authority of a leader; and why, thirdly, I have been led to
reject philosophic systems; and finally, what I have accepted of the
doctrine of the Sufis, and the sum total of truth which I have gathered
in studying every variety of opinion. You ask me why, after resigning
at Bagdad a teaching post which attracted a number of hearers, I have,
long afterward, accepted a similar one at Nishapur. Convinced as I am
of the sincerity which prompts your inquiries, I proceed to answer
them, invoking the help and protection of God.

Know then, my brothers (may God direct you in the right way), that the
diversity in beliefs and religions, and the variety of doctrines and
sects which divide men, are like a deep ocean strewn with shipwrecks,
from which very few escape safe and sound. Each sect, it is true,
believes itself in possession of the truth and of salvation, "each
party," as the Koran saith, "rejoices in its own creed"; but as the
chief of the apostles, whose word is always truthful, has told us, "My
people will be divided into more than seventy sects, of whom only one
will be saved." This prediction, like all others of the Prophet, must
be fulfilled.

From the period of adolescence, that is to say, previous to reaching
my twentieth year to the present time when I have passed my fiftieth,
I have ventured into this vast ocean; I have fearlessly sounded its
depths, and like a resolute diver, I have penetrated its darkness and
dared its dangers and abysses. I have interrogated the beliefs of
each sect and scrutinized the mysteries of each doctrine, in order
to disentangle truth from error and orthodoxy from heresy. I have
never met one who maintained the hidden meaning of the Koran without
investigating the nature of his belief, nor a partizan of its exterior
sense without inquiring into the results of his doctrine. There is
no philosopher whose system I have not fathomed, nor theologian the
intricacies of whose doctrine I have not followed out.

Sufism has no secrets into which I have not penetrated; the devout
adorer of Deity has revealed to me the aim of his austerities; the
atheist has not been able to conceal from me the real reason of his
unbelief. The thirst for knowledge was innate in me from an early age;
it was like a second nature implanted by God, without any will on my
part. No sooner had I emerged from boyhood than I had already broken
the fetters of tradition and freed myself from hereditary beliefs.

Having noticed how easily the children of Christians become Christians,
and the children of Moslems embrace Islam, and remembering also the
traditional saying ascribed to the Prophet, "Every child has in him
the germ of Islam, then his parents make him Jew, Christian, or
Zoroastrian," I was moved by a keen desire to learn what was this
innate disposition in the child, the nature of the accidental beliefs
imposed on him by the authority of his parents and his masters,
and finally the unreasoned convictions which he derives from their
instructions.

Struck with the contradictions which I encountered in endeavoring to
disentangle the truth and falsehood of these opinions, I was led to
make the following reflection: "The search after truth being the aim
which I propose to myself, I ought in the first place to ascertain
what are the bases of certitude." In the next place I recognized that
certitude is the clear and complete knowledge of things, such knowledge
as leaves no room for doubt nor possibility of error and conjecture, so
that there remains no room in the mind for error to find an entrance.
In such a case it is necessary that the mind, fortified against all
possibility of going astray, should embrace such a strong conviction
that, if, for example, any one possessing the power of changing a stone
into gold, or a stick into a serpent, should seek to shake the bases
of this certitude, it would remain firm and immovable. Suppose, for
instance, a man should come and say to me, who am firmly convinced that
ten is more than three, "No; on the contrary, three is more than ten,
and, to prove it, I change this rod into a serpent," and supposing
that he actually did so, I should remain none the less convinced of
the falsity of his assertion, and although his miracle might arouse my
astonishment, it would not instil any doubt into my belief.

I then understood that all forms of knowledge which do not unite
these conditions (imperviousness to doubt, etc.) do not deserve any
confidence, because they are not beyond the reach of doubt, and what is
not impregnable to doubt can not constitute certitude.


_The Subterfuges of the Sophists_

I then examined what knowledge I possessed, and discovered that in
none of it, with the exception of sense-perceptions and necessary
principles, did I enjoy that degree of certitude which I have just
described. I then sadly reflected as follows: "We can not hope to find
truth except in matters which carry their evidence in themselves—that
is to say, in sense-perceptions and necessary principles; we must
therefore establish these on a firm basis. Is my absolute confidence
in sense-perceptions and on the infallibility of necessary principles
analogous to the confidence which I formerly possessed in matters
believed on the authority of others? Is it only analogous to the
reliance most people place on their organs of vision, or is it
rigorously true without admixture of illusion or doubt?"

I then set myself earnestly to examine the notions we derive from the
evidence of the senses and from sight in order to see if they could be
called in question. The result of a careful examination was that my
confidence in them was shaken. Our sight, for instance, perhaps the
best practised of all our senses, observes a shadow, and finding it
apparently stationary pronounces it devoid of movement. Observation
and experience, however, show subsequently that a shadow moves not
suddenly, it is true, but gradually and imperceptibly, so that it is
never really motionless.

Again, the eye sees a star and believes it as large as a piece of gold,
but mathematical calculations prove, on the contrary, that it is larger
than the earth. These notions, and all others which the senses declare
true, are subsequently contradicted and convicted of falsity in an
irrefragable manner by the verdict of reason.

Then I reflected in myself: "Since I can not trust to the evidence
of my senses, I must rely only on intellectual notions based on
fundamental principles, such as the following axioms: 'Ten is more
than three. Affirmation and negation can not coexist together. A thing
can not both be created and also existent from eternity, living and
annihilated simultaneously, at once necessary and impossible.'" To this
the notions I derived from my senses made the following objections:
"Who can guarantee you that you can trust to the evidence of reason
more than to that of the senses? You believed in our testimony till it
was contradicted by the verdict of reason, otherwise you would have
continued to believe it to this day. Well, perhaps, there is above
reason another judge who, if he appeared, would convict reason of
falsehood, just as reason has confuted us. And if such a third arbiter
is not yet apparent, it does not follow that he does not exist."

To this argument I remained some time without reply; a reflection drawn
from the phenomena of sleep deepened my doubt. "Do you not see," I
reflected, "that while asleep you assume your dreams to be indisputably
real? Once awake, you recognize them for what they are—baseless
chimeras. Who can assure you, then, of the reliability of notions
which, when awake, you derive from the senses and from reason? In
relation to your present state they may be real; but it is possible
also that you may enter upon another state of being which will bear the
same relation to your present state as this does to your condition when
asleep. In that new sphere you will recognize that the conclusions of
reason are only chimeras."

This possible condition is, perhaps, that which the Sufis call
"ecstasy" (_hal_), that is to say, according to them, a state in which,
absorbed in themselves and in the suspension of sense-perceptions, they
have visions beyond the reach of intellect. Perhaps also Death is that
state, according to that saying of the prince of prophets: "Men are
asleep; when they die, they wake." Our present life in relation to the
future is perhaps only a dream, and man, once dead, will see things in
direct opposition to those now before his eyes; he will then understand
that word of the Koran, "To-day we have removed the veil from thine
eyes and thy sight is keen."

Such thoughts as these threatened to shake my reason, and I sought to
find an escape from them. But how? In order to disentangle the knot
of this difficulty, a proof was necessary. Now a proof must be based
on primary assumptions, and it was precisely these of which I was in
doubt. This unhappy state lasted about two months, during which I
was, not, it is true, explicitly or by profession, but morally and
essentially, a thorough-going skeptic.

God at last deigned to heal me of this mental malady; my mind recovered
sanity and equilibrium, the primary assumptions of reason recovered
with me all their stringency and force. I owed my deliverance, not
to a concatenation of proofs and arguments, but to the light which
God caused to penetrate into my heart—the light which illuminates the
threshold of all knowledge. To suppose that certitude can be only based
upon formal arguments is to limit the boundless mercy of God. Some one
asked the Prophet the explanation of this passage in the Divine Book:
"God opens to Islam the heart of him whom he chooses to direct." "That
is spoken," replied the Prophet, "of the light which God sheds in the
heart." "And how can man recognize that light?" he was asked. "By his
detachment from this world of illusion and by a secret drawing toward
the eternal world," the Prophet replied.

On another occasion he said: "God has created his creatures in
darkness, and then has shed upon them his light." It is by the help
of this light that the search for truth must be carried on. As by
his mercy this light descends from time to time among men, we must
ceaselessly be on the watch for it. This is also corroborated by
another saying of the Apostle: "God sends upon you, at certain times,
breathings of his grace; be prepared for them."

My object in this account is to make others understand with what
earnestness we should search for truth, since it leads to results we
never dreamed of. Primary assumptions have not got to be sought for,
since they are always present to our minds; if we engage in such a
search, we only find them persistently elude our grasp. But those who
push their investigation beyond ordinary limits are safe from the
suspicion of negligence in pursuing what is within their reach.


_The Different Kinds of Seekers after Truth_

When God in the abundance of his mercy had healed me of this malady, I
ascertained that those who are engaged in the search for truth may be
divided into three groups.

I. Scholastic theologians, who profess to follow theory and speculation.

II. The philosophers, who profess to rely upon formal logic.

III. The Sufis, who call themselves the elect of God and possessors of
intuition and knowledge of the truth by means of ecstasy.

"The truth," I said to myself, "must be found among these three classes
of men who devote themselves to the search for it. If it escapes them,
one must give up all hope of attaining it. Having once surrendered
blind belief, it is impossible to return to it, for the essence of such
belief is to be unconscious of itself. As soon as this unconsciousness
ceases it is shattered like a glass whose fragments can not be again
reunited except by being cast again into the furnace and refashioned."
Determined to follow these paths and to search out these systems to
the bottom, I proceeded with my investigations in the following order:
Scholastic theology; philosophical systems; and, finally Sufism.


_The Aim of Scholastic Theology and Its Results_

Commencing with theological science, I carefully studied and meditated
upon it. I read the writings of the authorities in this department and
myself composed several treatises. I recognized that this science,
while sufficing its own requirements, could not assist me in arriving
at the desired goal. In short, its object is to preserve the purity
of orthodox beliefs from all heretical innovation. God, by means of
his apostle, has revealed to his creatures a belief which is true as
regards their temporal and eternal interests; the chief articles of it
are laid down in the Koran and in the traditions. Subsequently, Satan
suggested to innovators principles contrary to those of orthodoxy; they
listened greedily to his suggestions, and the purity of the faith was
menaced. God then raised up a school of theologians and inspired them
with the desire to defend orthodoxy by means of a system of proofs
adapted to unveil the devices of the heretics and to foil the attacks
which they made on the doctrines established by tradition.

Such is the origin of scholastic theology. Many of its adepts, worthy
of their high calling, valiantly defended the orthodox faith by proving
the reality of prophecy and the falsity of heretical innovations.
But, in order to do so, they had to rely upon a certain number of
premises, which they accepted in common with their adversaries, and
which authority and universal consent or simply the Koran and the
traditions obliged them to accept. Their principal effort was to expose
the self-contradictions of their opponents and to confute them by
means of the premises which they had professed to accept. Now a method
of argumentation like this has little value for one who only admits
self-evident truths. Scholastic theology could not consequently satisfy
me nor heal the malady from which I suffered.

It is true that in its later development theology was not content to
defend dogma; it betook itself to the study of first principles, of
substances, accidents and the laws which govern them; but through
want of a thoroughly scientific basis, it could not advance far in
its researches, nor succeed in dispelling entirely the overhanging
obscurity which springs from diversities of belief.

I do not, however, deny that it has had a more satisfactory result for
others; on the contrary, I admit that it has; but it is by introducing
the principle of authority in matters which are not self-evident.
Moreover, my object is to explain my own mental attitude and not to
dispute with those who have found healing for themselves. Remedies vary
according to the nature of the disease; those which benefit some may
injure others.


PHILOSOPHY.—How far it is open to censure or not—On what points its
adherents may be considered believers or unbelievers, orthodox or
heretical—What they have borrowed from the true doctrine to render
their chimerical theories acceptable—Why the minds of men swerve from
the truth—What criteria are available wherewith to separate the pure
gold from the alloy in their systems.

I proceeded from the study of scholastic theology to that of
philosophy. It was plain to me that, in order to discover where the
professors of any branch of knowledge have erred, one must make a
profound study of that science; must equal, nay surpass, those who
know most of it, so as to penetrate into secrets of it unknown to
them. Only by this method can they be completely answered, and of this
method I can find no trace in the theologians of Islam. In theological
writings devoted to the refutation of philosophy I have only found
a tangled mass of phrases full of contradictions and mistakes, and
incapable of deceiving, I will not say a critical mind, but even the
common crowd. Convinced that to dream of refuting a doctrine before
having thoroughly comprehended it was like shooting at an object in the
dark, I devoted myself zealously to the study of philosophy; but in
books only and without the aid of a teacher. I gave up to this work all
the leisure remaining from teaching and from composing works on law.
There were then attending my lectures three hundred of the students of
Bagdad. With the help of God, these studies, carried on in secret, so
to speak, put me in a condition to thoroughly comprehend philosophical
systems within a space of two years. I then spent about a year in
meditating on these systems after having thoroughly understood them. I
turned them over and over in my mind till they were thoroughly clear
of all obscurity. In this manner I acquired a complete knowledge of
all their subterfuges and subtleties, of what was truth and what was
illusion in them.

I now proceed to give a _résumé_ of these doctrines. I ascertained that
they were divided into different varieties, and that their adherents
might be ranged under diverse heads. All, in spite of their diversity,
are marked with the stamp of infidelity and irreligion, although there
is a considerable difference between the ancient and modern, between
the first and last of these philosophers, according as they have missed
or approximated to the truth in a greater or less degree.


_Concerning the Philosophical Sects and the Stigma of Infidelity Which
Attaches to Them All_

The philosophical systems, in spite of their number and variety, may be
reduced to three: (1) the Materialists; (2) the Naturalists; (3) the
Theists.

(1) _The Materialists._ They reject an intelligent and omnipotent
Creator and disposer of the universe. In their view the world exists
from all eternity and had no author. The animal comes from semen and
semen from the animal; so it had always been and will always be; those
who maintain this doctrine are atheists.

(2) _The Naturalists._ These devote themselves to the study of nature
and of the marvelous phenomena of the animal and vegetable world.
Having carefully analyzed animal organs with the help of anatomy,
struck with the wonders of God's work and with the wisdom therein
revealed, they are forced to admit the existence of a wise Creator
who knows the end and purpose of everything. And certainly no one can
study anatomy and the wonderful mechanism of living things without
being obliged to confess the profound wisdom of him who has framed
the bodies of animals and especially of man. But carried away by
their natural researches they believed that the existence of a being
absolutely depended upon the proper equilibrium of its organism.
According to them, as the latter perishes and is destroyed, so is the
thinking faculty which is bound up with it; and as they assert that the
restoration of a thing once destroyed to existence is unthinkable, they
deny the immortality of the soul. Consequently they deny heaven, hell,
resurrection, and judgment. Acknowledging neither a recompense for good
deeds nor a punishment for evil ones, they fling off all authority and
plunge into sensual pleasures with the avidity of brutes. These also
ought to be called atheists, for the true faith depends not only on the
acknowledgment of God, but of his Apostle and of the day of judgment.
And although they acknowledge God and his attributes, they deny a
judgment to come.

(3) Next come the _Theists_. Among them should be reckoned Socrates,
who was the teacher of Plato as Plato was of Aristotle. This latter
drew up for his disciples the rules of logic, organized the sciences,
elucidated what was formerly obscure, and expounded what had not been
understood. This school refuted the systems of the two others, _i.e._,
the Materialists and Naturalists; but in exposing their mistaken and
perverse beliefs, they made use of arguments which they should not.
"God suffices to protect the faithful in war" (Koran, xxxiii. 25).

Aristotle also contended with success against the theories of Plato,
Socrates, and the theists who had preceded him, and separated himself
entirely from them; but he could not eliminate from his doctrine the
stains of infidelity and heresy which disfigure the teaching of his
predecessors. We should therefore consider them all as unbelievers,
as well as the so-called Mussulman philosophers, such as Ibn Sina
(Avicenna) and Farabi, who have adopted their systems.

Let us, however, acknowledge that among Mussulman philosophers none
has better interpreted the doctrine of Aristotle than the latter. What
others have handed down as his teaching is full of error, confusion,
and obscurity adapted to disconcert the reader. The unintelligible
can neither be accepted nor rejected. The philosophy of Aristotle,
all serious knowledge of which we owe to the translation of these two
learned men, may be divided into three portions: the first contains
matter justly chargeable with impiety, the second is tainted with
heresy, and the third we are obliged to reject absolutely. We proceed
to details:


_Divisions of the Philosophic Sciences_

These sciences, in relation to the aim we have set before us, may be
divided into six sections: (1) Mathematics; (2) Logic; (3) Physics; (4)
Metaphysics; (5) Politics; (6) Moral Philosophy.

(1) _Mathematics._ Mathematics comprises the knowledge of calculation,
geometry, and cosmography: it has no connection with the religious
sciences, and proves nothing for or against religion; it rests on a
foundation of proofs which, once known and understood, can not be
refuted. Mathematics tend, however, to produce two bad results.

The first is this: Whoever studies this science admires the subtlety
and clearness of its proofs. His confidence in philosophy increases,
and he thinks that all its departments are capable of the same
clearness and solidity of proof as mathematics. But when he hears
people speak of the unbelief and impiety of mathematicians, of their
professed disregard for the Divine Law, which is notorious, it is true
that, out of regard for authority, he echoes these accusations, but he
says to himself at the same time that, if there was truth in religion,
it would not have escaped those who have displayed so much keenness of
intellect in the study of mathematics.

Next, when he becomes aware of the unbelief and rejection of religion
on the part of these learned men, he concludes that to reject religion
is reasonable. How many of such men gone astray I have met whose sole
argument was that just mentioned. And supposing one puts to them
the following objection: "It does not follow that a man who excels
in one branch of knowledge excels in all others, nor that he should
be equally versed in jurisprudence, theology, and medicine. It is
possible to be entirely ignorant of metaphysics, and yet to be an
excellent grammarian. There are past masters in every science who are
entirely ignorant of other branches of knowledge. The arguments of the
ancient philosophers are rigidly demonstrative in mathematics and only
conjectural in religious questions. In order to ascertain this one must
proceed to a thorough examination of the matter." Supposing, I say, one
makes the above objection to these "apes of unbelief," they find it
distasteful. Falling a prey to their passions, to a besotted vanity,
and the wish to pass for learned men, they persist in maintaining the
pre-eminence of mathematicians in all branches of knowledge. This is a
serious evil, and for this reason those who study mathematics should be
checked from going too far in their researches. For though far removed
as it may be from the things of religion, this study, serving as it
does as an introduction to the philosophic systems, casts over religion
its malign influence. It is rarely that a man devotes himself to it
without robbing himself of his faith and casting off the restraints of
religion.

The second evil comes from the sincere but ignorant Mussulman who
thinks the best way to defend religion is by rejecting all the exact
sciences. Accusing their professors of being astray, he rejects their
theories of the eclipses of the sun and moon, and condemns them in
the name of religion. These accusations are carried far and wide, they
reach the ears of the philosopher who knows that these theories rest
on infallible proofs; far from losing confidence in them, he believes,
on the contrary, that Islam has ignorance and the denial of scientific
proofs for its basis, and his devotion to philosophy increases with his
hatred to religion.

It is therefore a great injury to religion to suppose that the defense
of Islam involves the condemnation of the exact sciences. The religious
law contains nothing which approves them or condemns them, and in
their turn they make no attack on religion. The words of the Prophet,
"The sun and the moon are two signs of the power of God; they are not
eclipsed for the birth or the death of any one; when you see these
signs take refuge in prayer and invoke the name of God"—these words,
I say, do not in any way condemn the astronomical calculations which
define the orbits of these two bodies, their conjunction and opposition
according to particular laws. But as for the so-called tradition,
"When God reveals himself in anything, he abases himself thereto," it
is unauthentic, and not found in any trustworthy collection of the
traditions.

Such is the bearing and the possible danger of mathematics.

(2) _Logic._ This science, in the same manner, contains nothing for
or against religion. Its object is the study of different kinds of
proofs and syllogisms, the conditions which should hold between the
premises of a proposition, the way to combine them, the rules of a
good definition, and the art of formulating it. For knowledge consists
of conceptions which spring from a definition or of convictions which
arise from proofs. There is therefore nothing censurable in this
science, and it is laid under contribution by theologians as well as by
philosophers. The only difference is that the latter use a particular
set of technical formulæ and that they push their divisions and
subdivisions further.

It may be asked, What, then, this has to do with the grave questions
of religion, and on what ground opposition should be offered to the
methods of logic? The objector, it will be said, can only inspire the
logician with an unfavorable opinion of the intelligence and faith of
his adversary, since the latter's faith seems to be based upon such
objections. But, it must be admitted, logic _is_ liable to abuse.
Logicians demand in reasoning certain conditions which lead to absolute
certainty, but when they touch on religious questions they can no
longer postulate these conditions, and ought therefore to relax their
habitual rigor. It happens, accordingly, that a student who is enamored
of the evidential methods of logic, hearing his teachers accused of
irreligion, believes that this irreligion reposes on proofs as strong
as those of logic, and immediately, without attempting the study of
metaphysics, shares their mistake. This is a serious disadvantage
arising from the study of logic.

(3) _Physics._ The object of this science is the study of the bodies
which compose the universe: the sky and the stars, and, here below,
simple elements such as air, earth, water, fire, and compound
bodies—animals, plants, and minerals; the reasons of their changes,
developments, and intermixture. By the nature of its researches it is
closely connected with the study of medicine, the object of which is
the human body, its principal and secondary organs, and the law which
governs their changes. Religion having no fault to find with medical
science, can not justly do so with physical, except on some special,
matters which we have mentioned in the work entitled, "The Destruction
of the Philosophers." Besides these primary questions, there are some
subordinate ones depending on them, on which physical science is open
to objection. But all physical science rests, as we believe, on the
following principle: Nature is entirely subject to God; incapable of
acting by itself, it is an instrument in the hand of the Creator; sun,
moon, stars, and elements are subject to God and can produce nothing
of themselves. In a word, nothing in nature can act spontaneously and
apart from God.

(4) _Metaphysics._ This is the fruitful breeding-ground of the errors
of philosophers. Here they can no longer satisfy the laws of rigorous
argumentation such as logic demands, and this is what explains the
disputes which arise between them in the study of metaphysics. The
system most closely akin to the system of the Mohammedan doctors is
that of Aristotle as expounded to us by Farabi and Avicenna. The sum
total of their errors can be reduced to twenty propositions: three of
them are irreligious, and the other seventeen heretical. It was in
order to combat their system that we wrote the work, "Destruction of
the Philosophers." The three propositions in which they are opposed to
all the doctrines of Islam are the following:

(_a_) Bodies do not rise again; spirits alone will be rewarded or
punished; future punishments will be therefore spiritual and not
physical. They are right in admitting spiritual punishments, for there
will be such; but they are wrong in rejecting physical punishments, and
contradicting in this manner the assertions of the Divine Law.

(_b_) "God takes cognizance of universals, not of specials." This is
manifestly irreligious. The Koran asserts truly, "Not an atom's weight
in heaven or earth can escape his knowledge" (x. 62).

(_c_) They maintain that the universe exists from all eternity and will
never end.

None of these propositions has ever been admitted by Moslems.

Besides this, they deny that God has attributes, and maintain that
he knows by his essence only and not by means of any attribute
accessory to his essence. In this point they approach the doctrine
of the Mutazilites, doctrines which we are not obliged to condemn
as irreligious. On the contrary, in our work entitled, "Criteria of
the Differences Which Divide Islam from Atheism," we have proved the
wrongness of those who accuse of irreligion everything which is opposed
to their way of looking at things.

(5) _Political Science._ The professors of this confine themselves to
drawing up the rules which regulate temporal matters and the royal
power. They have borrowed their theories on this point from the books
which God has revealed to his prophets and from the sentences of
ancient sages, gathered by tradition.

(6) _Moral Philosophy._ The professors of this occupy themselves with
defining the attributes and qualities of the soul, grouping them
according to genus and species, and pointing out the way to moderate
and control them. They have borrowed this system from the Sufis. These
devout men, who are always engaged in invoking the name of God, in
combating concupiscence and following the way of God by renouncing the
pleasures of this world, have received, while in a state of ecstasy,
revelations regarding the qualities of the soul, its defects and its
evil inclinations. These revelations they have published, and the
philosophers making use of them have introduced them into their own
systems in order to embellish and give currency to their falsehoods. In
the times of the philosophers, as at every other period, there existed
some of these fervent mystics. God does not deprive this world of them,
for they are its sustainers, and they draw down to it the blessings
of heaven according to the tradition: "It is by them that you obtain
rain; it is by them that you receive your subsistence." Such were "the
Companions of the Cave," who lived in ancient times, as related by the
Koran (xviii.). Now this mixture of moral and philosophic doctrine
with the words of the Prophet and those of the Sufis gives rise to two
dangers, one for the upholder of those doctrines, the other for their
opponent.

The danger for their opponent is serious. A narrow-minded man, finding
in their writings moral philosophy mixed with unsupported theories,
believes that he ought to entirely reject them and to condemn those
who profess them. Having only heard them from their mouth he does not
hesitate in his ignorance to declare them false because those who teach
them are in error. It is as if some one was to reject the profession
of faith made by Christians, "There is only one God and Jesus is his
prophet," simply because it proceeds from Christians and without
inquiring whether it is the profession of this creed or the denial of
Mohammed's prophetic mission which makes Christians infidels. Now,
if they are only infidels because of their rejection of our Prophet,
we are not entitled to reject those of their doctrines which do not
wear the stamp of infidelity. In a word, truth does not cease to be
true because it is found among them. Such, however, is the tendency of
weak minds: they judge the truth according to its professors instead
of judging its professors by the standard of the truth. But a liberal
spirit will take as its guide this maxim of the prince of believers,
Ali the son of Abu Talib: "Do not seek for the truth by means of men;
find first the truth and then you will recognize those who follow it."
This is the procedure followed by a wise man. Once in possession of
the truth he examines the basis of various doctrines which come before
him, and when he has found them true, he accepts them without troubling
himself whether the person who teaches them is sincere or a deceiver.
Much rather, remembering how gold is buried in the bowels of the earth,
he endeavors to disengage the truth from the mass of errors in which
it is engulfed. The skilled coin-assayer plunges without hesitation
his hand into the purse of the coiner of false money, and relying on
experience, separates good coins from bad. It is the ignorant rustic,
and not the experienced assayer, who will ask why we should have
anything to do with a false coiner. The unskilled swimmer must be kept
away from the seashore, not the expert in diving. The child, not the
charmer, must be forbidden to handle serpents.

As a matter of fact, men have such a good opinion of themselves,
of their mental superiority and intellectual depth; they believe
themselves so skilled in discerning the true from the false, the path
of safety from those of error, that they should be forbidden as much as
possible the perusal of philosophic writings, for though they sometimes
escape the danger just pointed out, they can not avoid that which we
are about to indicate.

Some of the maxims found in my works regarding the mysteries of
religion have met with objectors of an inferior rank in science, whose
intellectual penetration is insufficient to fathom such depths. They
assert that these maxims are borrowed from the ancient philosophers,
whereas the truth is that they are the fruit of my own meditations,
but as the proverb says, "Sandal follows the impress of sandal."[11]
Some of them are found in our books of religious law, but the greater
part are derived from the writings of the Sufis.

But even if they were borrowed exclusively from the doctrines of the
philosophers, is it right to reject an opinion when it is reasonable
in itself, supported by solid proofs, and contradicting neither the
Koran nor the traditions? If we adopt this method and reject every
truth which has chanced to have been proclaimed by an impostor, how
many truths we should have to reject! How many verses of the Koran
and traditions of the prophets and Sufi discourses and maxims of
sages we must close our ears to because the author of the "Treatise
of the Brothers of Purity" has inserted them in his writings in order
to further his cause, and in order to lead minds gradually astray in
the paths of error! The consequence of this procedure would be that
impostors would snatch truths out of our hands in order to embellish
their own works. The wise man, at least, should not make common cause
with the bigot blinded by ignorance.

Honey does not become impure because it may happen to have been
placed in the glass which the surgeon uses for cupping purposes. The
impurity of blood is due, not to its contact with this glass, but to a
peculiarity inherent in its own nature; this peculiarity, not existing
in honey, can not be communicated to it by its being placed in the
cupping-glass; it is therefore wrong to regard it as impure. Such is,
however, the whimsical way of looking at things found in nearly all
men. Every word proceeding from an authority which they approve is
accepted by them, even were it false; every word proceeding from one
whom they suspect is rejected, even were it true. In every case they
judge of the truth according to its professors and not of men according
to the truth which they profess, a _ne plus ultra_ of error. Such is
the peril in which philosophy involves its opponents.

The second danger threatens those who accept the opinions of the
philosophers. When, for instance, we read the "Treatise of the
Brothers of Purity," and other works of the same kind, we find in
them sentences spoken by the Prophet and quotations from the Sufis.
We approve these works; we give them our confidence; and we finish by
accepting the errors which they contain, because of the good opinion
of them with which they have inspired us at the outset. Thus, by
insensible degrees, we are led astray. In view of this danger the
reading of philosophic writings so full of vain and delusive utopias
should be forbidden, just as the slippery banks of a river are
forbidden to one who knows not how to swim. The perusal of these false
teachings must be prevented just as one prevents children from touching
serpents. A snake-charmer himself will abstain from touching snakes
in the presence of his young child, because he knows that the child,
believing himself as clever as his father, will not fail to imitate
him; and in order to lend more weight to his prohibition the charmer
will not touch a serpent under the eyes of his son.

Such should be the conduct of a learned man who is also wise. But the
snake-charmer, after having taken the serpent and separated the venom
from the antidote, having put the latter on one side and destroyed the
venom, ought not to withhold the antidote from those who need it. In
the same way the skilled coin-assayer, after having put his hand in
the bag of the false coiner, taken out the good coins and thrown away
the bad ones, ought not to refuse the good to those who need and ask
for it. Such should be the conduct of the learned man. If the patient
feels a certain dislike of the antidote because he knows that it is
taken from a snake whose body is the receptacle of poison, he should be
disabused of this fallacy.

If a beggar hesitates to take a piece of gold which he knows comes from
the purse of a false coiner, he should be told that his hesitation is a
pure mistake which would deprive him of the advantage which he seeks.
It should be proved to him that the contact of the good coins with the
bad does not injure the former and does not improve the latter. In the
same way the contact of truth with falsehood does not change truth into
falsehood, any more than it changes falsehood into truth.

Thus much, then, we have to say regarding the inconveniences and
dangers which spring from the study of philosophy.


_Sufism_

When I had finished my examination of these doctrines I applied myself
to the study of Sufism. I saw that in order to understand it thoroughly
one must combine theory with practise. The aim which the Sufis set
before them is as follows: To free the soul from the tyrannical yoke
of the passions, to deliver it from its wrong inclinations and evil
instincts, in order that in the purified heart there should only remain
room for God and for the invocation of his holy name.

As it was more easy to learn their doctrine than to practise it, I
studied first of all those of their books which contain it: "The
Nourishment of Hearts," by Abu Talib of Mecca, the works of Hareth el
Muhasibi, and the fragments which still remain of Junaid, Shibli, Abu
Yezid Bustami, and other leaders (whose souls may God sanctify). I
acquired a thorough knowledge of their researches, and I learned all
that was possible to learn of their methods by study and oral teaching.
It became clear to me that the last stage could not be reached by mere
instruction, but only by transport, ecstasy, and the transformation of
the moral being.

To define health and satiety, to penetrate their causes and conditions,
is quite another thing from being well and satisfied. To define
drunkenness, to know that it is caused by vapors which rise from the
stomach and cloud the seat of intelligence, is quite a different
thing to being drunk. The drunken man has no idea of the nature of
drunkenness, just because he is drunk and not in a condition to
understand anything, while the doctor, not being under the influence of
drunkenness, knows its character and laws. Or if the doctor fall ill,
he has a theoretical knowledge of the health of which he is deprived.

In the same way there is a considerable difference between knowing
renouncement, comprehending its conditions and causes, and practising
renouncement and detachment from the things of this world. I saw that
Sufism consists in experiences rather than in definitions, and that
what I was lacking belonged to the domain, not of instruction, but of
ecstasy and initiation.

The researches to which I had devoted myself, the path which I had
traversed in studying religious and speculative branches of knowledge,
had given me a firm faith in three things—God, Inspiration, and
the Last Judgment. These three fundamental articles of belief were
confirmed in me, not merely by definite arguments, but by a chain of
causes, circumstances, and proofs which it is impossible to recount. I
saw that one can only hope for salvation by devotion and the conquest
of one's passions, a procedure which presupposes renouncement and
detachment from this world of falsehood in order to turn toward
eternity and meditation on God. Finally, I saw that the only condition
of success was to sacrifice honors and riches and to sever the ties and
attachments of worldly life.

Coming seriously to consider my state, I found myself bound down on all
sides by these trammels. Examining my actions, the most fair-seeming
of which were my lecturing and professorial occupations, I found to
my surprise that I was engrossed in several studies of little value,
and profitless as regards my salvation. I probed the motives of my
teaching and found that, in place of being sincerely consecrated to
God, it was only actuated by a vain desire of honor and reputation.
I perceived that I was on the edge of an abyss, and that without an
immediate conversion I should be doomed to eternal fire. In these
reflections I spent a long time. Still a prey to uncertainty, one day I
decided to leave Bagdad and to give up everything; the next day I gave
up my resolution. I advanced one step and immediately relapsed. In the
morning I was sincerely resolved only to occupy myself with the future
life; in the evening a crowd of carnal thoughts assailed and dispersed
my resolutions. On the one side the world kept me bound to my post in
the chains of covetousness, on the other side the voice of religion
cried to me, "Up! Up! Thy life is nearing its end, and thou hast a long
journey to make. All thy pretended knowledge is naught but falsehood
and fantasy. If thou dost not think now of thy salvation, when wilt
thou think of it? If thou dost not break thy chains to-day, when wilt
thou break them?" Then my resolve was strengthened, I wished to give
up all and flee; but the Tempter, returning to the attack, said, "You
are suffering from a transitory feeling; don't give way to it, for it
will soon pass. If you obey it, if you give up this fine position, this
honorable post exempt from trouble and rivalry, this seat of authority
safe from attack, you will regret it later on without being able to
recover it."

Thus I remained, torn asunder by the opposite forces of earthly
passions and religious aspirations, for about six months from the month
Rajab of the year A.D. 1096. At the close of them my will yielded and I
gave myself up to destiny. God caused an impediment to chain my tongue
and prevented me from lecturing. Vainly I desired, in the interest of
my pupils, to go on with my teaching, but my mouth became dumb. The
silence to which I was condemned cast me into a violent despair; my
stomach became weak; I lost all appetite; I could neither swallow a
morsel of bread nor drink a drop of water.

The enfeeblement of my physical powers was such that the doctors,
despairing of saving me, said, "The mischief is in the heart, and has
communicated itself to the whole organism; there is no hope unless the
cause of his grievous sadness be arrested."

Finally, conscious of my weakness and the prostration of my soul,
I took refuge in God as a man at the end of himself and without
resources. "He who hears the wretched when they cry" (Koran, xxvii.
63) deigned to hear me; He made easy to me the sacrifice of honors,
wealth, and family. I gave out publicly that I intended to make the
pilgrimage to Mecca, while I secretly resolved to go to Syria, not
wishing that the Caliph (may God magnify him) or my friends should know
my intention of settling in that country. I made all kinds of clever
excuses for leaving Bagdad with the fixed intention of not returning
thither. The Imams of Irak criticized me with one accord. Not one of
them could admit that this sacrifice had a religious motive, because
they considered my position as the highest attainable in the religious
community. "Behold how far their knowledge goes!" (Koran, liii. 31).
All kinds of explanations of my conduct were forthcoming. Those who
were outside the limits of Irak attributed it to the fear with which
the Government inspired me. Those who were on the spot and saw how the
authorities wished to detain me, their displeasure at my resolution
and my refusal of their request, said to themselves, "It is a calamity
which one can only impute to a fate which has befallen the Faithful and
Learning!"

At last I left Bagdad, giving up all my fortune. Only, as lands and
property in Irak can afford an endowment for pious purposes, I obtained
a legal authorization to preserve as much as was necessary for my
support and that of my children; for there is surely nothing more
lawful in the world than that a learned man should provide sufficient
to support his family. I then betook myself to Syria, where I remained
for two years, which I devoted to retirement, meditation, and devout
exercises. I only thought of self-improvement and discipline and of
purification of the heart by prayer in going through the forms of
devotion which the Sufis had taught me. I used to live a solitary life
in the Mosque of Damascus, and was in the habit of spending my days on
the minaret after closing the door behind me.

From thence I proceeded to Jerusalem, and every day secluded myself in
the Sanctuary of the Rock.[12] After that I felt a desire to accomplish
the pilgrimage, and to receive a full effusion of grace by visiting
Mecca, Medina, and the tomb of the Prophet. After visiting the shrine
of the Friend of God (Abraham), I went to the Hedjaz. Finally, the
longings of my heart and the prayers of my children brought me back to
my country, although I was so firmly resolved at first never to revisit
it. At any rate I meant, if I did return, to live there solitary and
in religious meditation; but events, family cares, and vicissitudes of
life changed my resolutions and troubled my meditative calm. However
irregular the intervals which I could give to devotional ecstasy, my
confidence in it did not diminish; and the more I was diverted by
hindrances, the more steadfastly I returned to it.

Ten years passed in this manner. During my successive periods of
meditation there were revealed to me things impossible to recount. All
that I shall say for the edification of the reader is this: I learned
from a sure source that the Sufis are the true pioneers on the path
of God; that there is nothing more beautiful than their life, nor
more praiseworthy than their rule of conduct, nor purer than their
morality. The intelligence of thinkers, the wisdom of philosophers,
the knowledge of the most learned doctors of the law would in vain
combine their efforts in order to modify or improve their doctrine and
morals; it would be impossible. With the Sufis, repose and movement,
exterior or interior, are illumined with the light which proceeds from
the Central Radiance of Inspiration. And what other light could shine
on the face of the earth? In a word, what can one criticize in them? To
purge the heart of all that does not belong to God is the first step
in their cathartic method. The drawing up of the heart by prayer is
the key-stone of it, as the cry "_Allahu Akbar_" (God is great) is the
key-stone of prayer, and the last stage is the being lost in God. I say
the last stage, with reference to what may be reached by an effort of
will; but, to tell the truth, it is only the first stage in the life of
contemplation, the vestibule by which the initiated enter.

From the time that they set out on this path, revelations commence
for them. They come to see in the waking state angels and souls of
prophets; they hear their voices and wise counsels. By means of this
contemplation of heavenly forms and images they rise by degrees
to heights which human language can not reach, which one can not
even indicate without falling into great and inevitable errors. The
degree of proximity to Deity which they attain is regarded by some
as intermixture of being (_haloul_), by others as identification
(_ittihad_), by others as intimate union (_wasl_). But all these
expressions are wrong, as we have explained in our work entitled, "The
Chief Aim." Those who have reached that stage should confine themselves
to repeating the verse—

    What I experience I shall not try to say;
    Call me happy, but ask me no more.

In short, he who does not arrive at the intuition of these truths by
means of ecstasy, knows only the _name_ of inspiration. The miracles
wrought by the saints are, in fact, merely the earliest forms of
prophetic manifestation. Such was the state of the Apostle of God,
when, before receiving his commission, he retired to Mount Hira to give
himself up to such intensity of prayer and meditation that the Arabs
said: "Mohammed is become enamored of God."

This state, then, can be revealed to the initiated in ecstasy, and
to him who is incapable of ecstasy, by obedience and attention, on
condition that he frequents the society of Sufis till he arrives, so
to speak, at an imitative initiation. Such is the faith which one can
obtain by remaining among them, and intercourse with them is never
painful.

But even when we are deprived of the advantage of their society, we
can comprehend the possibility of this state (revelation by means of
ecstasy) by a chain of manifest proofs. We have explained this in the
treatise entitled "Marvels of the Heart," which forms part of our
work, "The Revival of the Religious Sciences." The certitude derived
from proofs is called "knowledge"; passing into the state we describe
is called "transport"; believing the experience of others and oral
transmission is "faith." Such are the three degrees of knowledge, as it
is written, "The Lord will raise to different ranks those among you who
have believed and those who have received knowledge from him" (Koran,
lviii. 12).

But behind those who believe comes a crowd of ignorant people who deny
the reality of Sufism, hear discourses on it with incredulous irony,
and treat as charlatans those who profess it. To this ignorant crowd
the verse applies: "There are those among them who come to listen
to thee, and when they leave thee, ask of those who have received
knowledge, 'What has he just said?' These are they whose hearts God has
sealed up with blindness and who only follow their passions." Among
the number of convictions which I owe to the practise of the Sufi rule
is the knowledge of the true nature of inspiration. This knowledge is
of such great importance that I proceed to expound it in detail.


_The Reality of Inspiration: Its Importance for the Human Race_

The substance of man at the moment of its creation is a simple monad,
devoid of knowledge of the worlds subject to the Creator, worlds whose
infinite number is only known to him, as the Koran says: "Only thy Lord
knoweth the number of his armies."

Man arrives at this knowledge by the aid of his perceptions; each of
his senses is given him that he may comprehend the world of created
things, and by the term "world" we understand the different species
of creatures. The first sense revealed to man is touch, by means of
which he perceives a certain group of qualities—heat, cold, moist, dry.
The sense of touch does not perceive colors and forms, which are for
it as though they did not exist. Next comes the sense of sight, which
makes him acquainted with colors and forms; that is to say, with that
which occupies the highest rank in the world of sensation. The sense of
hearing succeeds, and then the senses of smell and taste.

When the human being can elevate himself above the world of sense,
toward the age of seven, he receives the faculty of discrimination; he
enters then upon a new phase of existence and can experience, thanks to
this faculty, impressions, superior to those of the senses, which do
not occur in the sphere of sensation.

He then passes to another phase and receives reason, by which he
discerns things necessary, possible, and impossible; in a word, all
the notions which he could not combine in the former stages of his
existence. But beyond reason and at a higher level by a new faculty of
vision is bestowed upon him, by which he perceives invisible things,
the secrets of the future and other concepts as inaccessible to reason
as the concepts of reason are inaccessible to mere discrimination
and what is perceived by discrimination to the senses. Just as the
man possessed only of discrimination rejects and denies the notions
acquired by reason, so do certain rationalists reject and deny the
notion of inspiration. It is a proof of their profound ignorance; for,
instead of argument, they merely deny inspiration as a sphere unknown
and possessing no real existence. In the same way, a man blind from
birth, who knows neither by experience nor by information what colors
and forms are, neither knows nor understands them when some one speaks
of them to him for the first time.

God, wishing to render intelligible to men the idea of inspiration, has
given them a kind of glimpse of it in sleep. In fact, man perceives
while asleep the things of the invisible world either clearly manifest
or under the veil of allegory to be subsequently lifted by divination.
If, however, one was to say to a person who had never himself
experienced these dreams that, in a state of lethargy resembling death
and during the complete suspension of sight, hearing, and all the
senses, a man can see the things of the invisible world, this person
would exclaim, and seek to prove the impossibility of these visions
by some such argument as the following: "The sensitive faculties are
the causes of perception. Now, if one can perceive certain things when
one is in full possession of these faculties, how much more is their
perception impossible when these faculties are suspended."

The falsity of such an argument is shown by evidence and experience.
For in the same way as reason constitutes a particular phase of
existence in which intellectual concepts are perceived which are hidden
from the senses, similarly, inspiration is a special state in which the
inner eye discovers, revealed by a celestial light, mysteries out of
the reach of reason. The doubts which are raised regarding inspiration
relate (1) to its possibility, (2) to its real and actual existence,
(3) to its manifestation in this or that person.

To prove the possibility of inspiration is to prove that it belongs
to a category of branches of knowledge which can not be attained by
reason. It is the same with medical science and astronomy. He who
studies them is obliged to recognize that they are derived solely from
the revelation and special grace of God. Some astronomical phenomena
only occur once in a thousand years; how then can we know them by
experience?

We may say the same of inspiration, which is one of the branches of
intuitional knowledge. Further, the perception of things which are
beyond the attainment of reason is only one of the features peculiar
to inspiration, which possesses a great number of others. The
characteristic which we have mentioned is only, as it were, a drop of
water in the ocean, and we have mentioned it because people experience
what is analogous to it in dreams and in the sciences of medicine
and astronomy. These branches of knowledge belong to the domain of
prophetic miracles, and reason can not attain to them.

As to the other characteristics of inspiration, they are only revealed
to adepts in Sufism and in a state of ecstatic transport. The little
that we know of the nature of inspiration we owe to the kind of
likeness to it which we find in sleep; without that we should be
incapable of comprehending it, and consequently of believing in it, for
conviction results from comprehension. The process of initiation into
Sufism exhibits this likeness to inspiration from the first. There is
in it a kind of ecstasy proportioned to the condition of the person
initiated, and a degree of certitude and conviction which can not be
attained by reason. This single fact is sufficient to make us believe
in inspiration.

We now come to deal with doubts relative to the inspiration of a
particular prophet. We shall not arrive at certitude on this point
except by ascertaining, either by ocular evidence or by reliable
tradition, the facts relating to that prophet. When we have ascertained
the real nature of inspiration and proceed to the serious study of the
Koran and the traditions, we shall then know certainly that Mohammed is
the greatest of prophets. After that we should fortify our conviction
by verifying the truth of his preaching and the salutary effect which
it has upon the soul. We should verify in experience the truth of
sentences such as the following: "He who makes his conduct accord with
his knowledge receives from God more knowledge"; or this, "God delivers
to the oppressor him who favors injustice"; or again, "Whosoever when
rising in the morning has only one anxiety (to please God), God will
preserve him from all anxiety in this world and the next."

When we have verified these sayings in experience thousands of times,
we shall be in possession of a certitude on which doubt can obtain no
hold. Such is the path we must traverse in order to realize the truth
of inspiration. It is not a question of finding out whether a rod has
been changed into a serpent, or whether the moon has been split in
two.[13] If we regard miracles in isolation, without their countless
attendant circumstances, we shall be liable to confound them with magic
and falsehood, or to regard them as a means of leading men astray, as
it is written, "God misleads and directs as he chooses" (Koran, xxxv.
9); we shall find ourselves involved in all the difficulties which
the question of miracles raises. If, for instance, we believe that
eloquence of style is a proof of inspiration, it is possible that an
eloquent style composed with this object may inspire us with a false
belief in the inspiration of him who wields it. The supernatural should
be only one of the constituents which go to form our belief, without
our placing too much reliance on this or that detail. We should rather
resemble a person who, learning a fact from a group of people, can
not point to this or that particular man as his informant, and who,
not distinguishing between them, can not explain precisely how his
conviction regarding the fact has been formed.

Such are the characteristics of scientific certitude. As to the
transport which permits men to see the truth and, so to speak, to
handle it, it is only known to the Sufis. What I have just said
regarding the true nature of inspiration is sufficient for the aim
which I have proposed to myself. I may return to the subject later, if
necessary.

I pass now to the causes of the decay of faith and show the means
of bringing back those who have erred and of preserving them from
the dangers which threaten them. To those who doubt because they are
tinctured with the doctrine of the Ta'limites, my treatise entitled,
"The Just Balance," affords a sufficient guide; therefore it is
unnecessary to return to the subject here.

As to the vain theories of the Ibahat, I have grouped them in seven
classes, and explained them in the work entitled, "Alchemy of
Happiness." For those whose faith has been undermined by philosophy,
so far that they deny the reality of inspiration, we have proved the
truth and necessity of it, seeking our proofs in the hidden properties
of medicines and of the heavenly bodies. It is for them that we have
written this treatise, and the reason for our seeking for proofs in the
sciences of medicine and of astronomy is because these sciences belong
to the domain of philosophy. All those branches of knowledge which our
opponents boast of—astronomy, medicine, physics, and divination—provide
us with arguments in favor of the Prophet.

As to those who, professing a lip-faith in the Prophet, adulterate
religion with philosophy, they really deny inspiration, since in their
view the Prophet is only a sage whom a superior destiny has appointed
as guide to men, and this view belies the true nature of inspiration.
To believe in the Prophet is to admit that there is above intelligence
a sphere in which are revealed to the inner vision truths beyond the
grasp of intelligence, just as things seen are not apprehended by
the sense of hearing, nor things understood by that of touch. If our
opponent denies the existence of such a higher region, we can prove to
him, not only its possibility, but its actuality. If, on the contrary,
he admits its existence, he recognizes at the same time that there are
in that sphere things which reason can not grasp; nay, which reason
rejects as false and absurd. Suppose, for instance, that the fact of
dreams occurring in sleep were not so common and notorious as it is,
our wise men would not fail to repudiate the assertion that the secrets
of the invisible world can be revealed while the senses are, so to
speak, suspended.

Again, if it were to be said to one of them, "Is it possible that
there is in the world a thing as small as a grain, which being carried
into a city can destroy it and afterward destroy itself so that
nothing remains either of the city or of itself?" "Certainly," he
would exclaim, "it is impossible and ridiculous." Such, however, is
the effect of fire, which would certainly be disputed by one who had
not witnessed it with his own eyes. Now, the refusal to believe in the
mysteries of the other life is of the same kind.

As to the fourth cause of the spread of unbelief—the decay of faith
owing to the bad example set by learned men—there are three ways of
checking it.

(1) One can answer thus: "The learned man whom you accuse of disobeying
the divine law knows that he disobeys, as you do when you drink wine or
exact usury or allow yourself in evil-speaking, lying, and slander. You
know your sin and yield to it, not through ignorance, but because you
are mastered by concupiscence. The same is the case with the learned
man. How many believe in doctors who do not abstain from fruit and cold
water when strictly forbidden them by a doctor! That does not prove
that those things are not dangerous, or that their faith in the doctor
was not solidly established. Similar errors on the part of learned men
are to be imputed solely to their weakness."

(2) Or again, one may say to a simple and ignorant man: "The learned
man reckons upon his knowledge as a viaticum for the next life. He
believes that his knowledge will save him and plead in his favor, and
that his intellectual superiority will entitle him to indulgence;
lastly, that if his knowledge increases his responsibility, it may also
entitle him to a higher degree of consideration. All that is possible;
and even if the learned man has neglected practise, he can at any rate
produce proofs of his knowledge. But you, poor, witless one, if, like
him, you neglect practise, destitute as you are of knowledge, you will
perish without anything to plead in your favor."

(3) Or one may answer, and this reason is the true one: "The truly
learned man only sins through carelessness, and does not remain in
a state of impenitence. For real knowledge shows sin to be a deadly
poison, and the other world to be superior to this. Convinced of this
truth, man ought not to exchange the precious for the vile. But the
knowledge of which we speak is not derived from sources accessible to
human diligence, and that is why progress in mere worldly knowledge
renders the sinner more hardened in his revolt against God."

True knowledge, on the contrary, inspires in him who is initiate in it
more fear and more reverence, and raises a barrier of defense between
him and sin. He may slip and stumble, it is true, as is inevitable
with one encompassed by human infirmity, but these slips and stumbles
will not weaken his faith. The true Moslem succumbs occasionally to
temptation, but he repents and will not persevere obstinately in the
path of error.

I pray God the Omnipotent to place us in the ranks of his chosen, among
the number of those whom he directs in the path of safety, in whom
he inspires fervor lest they forget him; whom he cleanses from all
defilement, that nothing may remain in them except himself; yea, of
those whom he indwells completely, that they may adore none beside him.

END OF THE RESCUES FROM ERROR


THE DISCOVERER OF TRUTH

ZAMAKHSHARI'S COMMENTARY ON THE KORAN


PREFACE

IN THE NAME OF THE MOST MERCIFUL GOD, KIND AND PITYING

Praise to God, who has sent from heaven the Koran, in the form of an
address of which the words are coherent and arranged in order, and
who has sent it in continuous chapters according to the demands of
necessity; who has willed that it should begin by expressing the praise
due to God, and end by recounting his power and protection; who has
included in it two kinds of revelations, the one obscure, the other
perfectly clear; who has divided the Koran into Suras, and the Suras
into verses, and has distinguished the different parts by divisions and
conclusions: qualifications which apply only to that which has been
created, and produced without a model, and could only be the attributes
of things which have had a beginning and recognize an author of whom
they are the work. Praise to him who has reserved to himself alone the
privilege of priority and eternity, and who has given to everything
save himself the characteristic of having been created.

Praise to him who has created the Koran, the sense of which is a light
to guide the spirit, the demonstrations of which are clear; like an
inspiration which blazons forth its proof and authentic title; like
a lecture written in the Arabic language, and free from all faults,
which is the key to open the treasures of all spiritual and temporal
blessings, and which confirms and witnesses the truth of all the Holy
Books which have preceded it; like a miracle which, alone among all
miracles, has existed during all the passage of the centuries, and a
book which, alone among all books, will be repeated in every language
and in every place.

By this book, he has shut the mouths of the most nobly born Arabs, in
that they are challenged to produce something to be compared with it,
he has rendered mute the most eloquent orators in that he has defied
them to imitate it. Amongst those who possess the greatest command of
the language in all its purity, no one has the enterprise to compose
anything which equals it, or even approaches it. No one of those who
are distinguished for their eloquence has dared to compete with him in
a single chapter equal to the shortest Sura included in the Koran. Yet
the orators of the land are more numerous than the pebbles of the Batha
valley and more plentiful than the grains of sand in the desert of
Dahna. The blood of patriotism has not boiled in their veins, and zeal
for the honor of their cause has not moved them to the undertaking,
although they are known to be naturally inclined to disputes and
quarrels, and ready to embrace with ardor and without moderation every
opportunity for rivalry and hostility; although when roused to fight
for the defense of their reputation, they are quick to face the gravest
dangers, and will plunge themselves into every excess to obtain the
object of their desires. If any one opposes their title to glory or
prevails against them, they oppose him in great numbers; if any one in
their hearing boasts of a glorious deed, they respond with a multitude
of glorious deeds.

God has employed against them two kinds of weapons, first the written
law, then the sword; but they have not challenged him to combat nor
attempted to cope with the sword, although the drawn sword is no more
than a trifling weapon, fitted only for badinage, if the strength of
authentic truth is not joined to the victorious point. Certainly, if
they have in no way put up even a semblance of resistance to the truth
which has been presented to them, it is simply because they know well
that the sea, released from its boundaries, would envelop and overflow
any mere well made by human hands; and the sun, by the brightness of
its fire, eclipses the light of all the stars.

May the favors of God shine on the most worthy of those who have
received revelations, on the friend of God, Abu'l-Kasem Mohammed,
son of Abd-Allah, son of Abd-Almotalleb, son of Haschem, whose
standard is raised amongst the descendants of Lowaiy; who has been
fortified by constant protection and assisted by wisdom, whose visage
radiates glory, and who shines with all the signs of nobility; on the
illustrious Prophet whose name has been inscribed in the Law and the
Gospel! May blessings fall also upon his sainted descendants, on those
successors to his authority who have with him the ties which are born
of marriage!

It is well known that, in the profundities of science and the
principles of the arts, there is little difference between the learned
of different classes. Those who practise the various arts are equal,
or nearly equal. If one professor outdistances another, it is only
by a few steps; and if one artist outstrips another, it is only by a
short distance. But where one sees a true difference among the classes,
where they make every effort to surpass each other, where there is true
emulation and rivalry, there one finds real inferiors and superiors,
of the sort that there is among those who pursue the same career from
incomprehensible distances, distances so great that one alone balances
a thousand others. There are, in the sciences as in the arts, the
beauties of certain delicate points; there are subtle thoughts which
arouse the wisdom of reflective spirits, profound, hidden secrets
covered with veils which very few men, even among those of the most
distinguished talent, can lift, secrets which can only be discovered
and brought to light by those who among men of merit are like the pearl
placed in the center of the necklace, and like the stone which is set
in the gold of the ring. Ordinary men have not the eyes to create such
excellences, and are as though chained to their seats by a servile
desire to imitate, and can not even flatter themselves that any one
will trim the hair from their foreheads[14] and give them freedom.

Of all the sciences, that which abounds in the most difficulties,
which demands the greatest effort in spirit, which offers the largest
number of problems capable of fatiguing the strongest intellect, I mean
those extraordinary subtleties from which it is difficult to extricate
oneself, which are locked as if in vaults, whose thread is cut and
difficult to regain—that science is the interpreting of the Koran.
It is a science for which, as has been said by Djahed in his work
entitled, "Composition of the Koran," no savants are fitted, and to
which they devote their lives without hope of complete success.

I have often noticed that my confrères in religion, men who hold the
foremost rank among the disciples of the true faith and law, men
exceptionally proficient in the knowledge of the language of the Arabs
and in the fundamental dogmas of religion, have been enthusiastic in
expressing their satisfaction and admiration every time that, consulted
by them for the interpretation of some passage of the Koran, I have
explained their difficulty and disclosed to them the truth which was
hidden from them. They expressed a keen desire for me to write a work
treating on the subject in all its phases. At last they joined in
begging me to dictate to them a commentary which should unveil all the
mysteries of the Holy Book, and help them to understand the different
explanations and opinions. I excused myself from doing as they desired,
but they continually renewed their pleading; and, to conquer my
resistance, they employed the mediation of the chief religious men,
and the most learned among those who professed doctrines of justice
and unity. I realized that it was obligatory upon me to defer to their
desires, so that I came to consider such a work as a personal duty
and task; but that which finally brought me to consent was that I
saw our age to be in a state of decay, and the men of our time to be
degenerating. I realized that far from being able to raise themselves
to worthy heights in the two sciences of thought and exposition, they
were not even capable of attaining to those weaker means which serve as
instruments in the interpretation of the Koran. I therefore resolved to
write this book that it might be for them The Discoverer of Truth.


GOLDEN NECKLACES

OR

THE MAXIMS OF ZAMAKHSHAHI


I

When you go to the mosque, walk with reverence; and when you pray, fill
your heart with humility. Think of the power of the glorious King,
and do not forget what is written concerning the temptations of the
devil. Consider before what all-powerful sovereign you kneel, and what
deceitful enemy you have to combat. Verily, no one can maintain himself
on a firm foundation in this difficult world, except it be the man who
is loyal to noble principles and fortified by his profession of faith;
the faithful who sighs in fear of chastisement, contrite, repentant,
eager in the pursuit of reward, who spurs his horse into the arena of
obedience, and disciplines his spirit in the practise of submission.


II

Did I say to you that our country is destined to mourning? That will
become true when an unjust sovereign rules. Tyranny is heavier than
the horse's hoofs, more destructive than the unchained torrents, more
deadly than the poisoned winds of Yemen, more devastating than the
plague. Tyranny prevents prayers rising to heaven and prevents the
blessings of heaven from falling upon the earth. Flee far from the
abode of this menace, even if you are one of the highest nobles of the
land, the most illustrious because of your wealth and your children.
Fear lest the birds of ruin fatten on the land, and earthquakes or
lightnings destroy its inhabitants.


III

Do not pride yourself on the nobility of your birth, for that belongs
to your father; join to your hereditary virtues those which you have
acquired recently. By this union you will be truly noble. Do not feel
elated over the nobility of your father, if you can not draw pride from
that which is in yourself; for the glory of your ancestors is vain if
you have not a personal glory. There is the same difference between the
fame of your ancestors and your own fame that there is between your
food of yesterday and of to-day; for the feast that has passed can not
calm the hunger of to-day, and still less can it provide for the days
which follow.




ARABIC LITERATURE

THE "ASSEMBLIES" OF AL HARIRI


 "_The richness of the style is even more wonderful than the delicate
 web of the stories._"
  CLEMENT HUART.

 "_I composed fifty assemblies, comprising the serious in language
 and the lively, the delicate and the dignified, the brilliancies
 of eloquence and its pearls, the beauties of scholarship and its
 rarities._"
  AL HARIRI.


THE "ASSEMBLIES" OF AL HARIRI

(INTRODUCTION)


The work of Al Hariri may well stand as our best example of typical
Arab prose. With regard to religious writing, a few thoughtful
Mohammedans, as we have seen, might travel, and seek new light, and
meditate profoundly; but the great mass of the people were merely
blindly fanatic. Mohammed was the prophet of God, and any one who
failed to shout this with the rest of the world, was to be killed.
Popular interest went but little further. But when you turned to the
art of stringing words together, every true Arab was immediately
attentive. There was an Arab proverb that God had given genius, or true
creative ability, to three things, the brain of the Frank, the hand of
the Chinaman, and the tongue of the Arab.

To our own more sober literary sense the clever twists of phrase
and sound in which these people took such pride, seem but the outer
garment of thought, more apt to confuse than to reveal its deeper
meaning. Yet what the Arabs admire, they admire; and they find it to
perfection in Al Hariri's "Assemblies." No mere translation can convey
its intricacies of sound and sense. Only such an artistic word-juggler
as Al Hariri himself could convey the impression of the original. And
Al Hariri himself labored long on each brief "Assembly," polishing
and repolishing, before he submitted each tale to the judgment of his
keenly critical listeners.

The name "Assemblies" he gave to his work because each tale pictures
an assembly of people. The form is highly artificial, for, while the
author represents himself as accidentally stumbling upon each assembly,
yet each proves ultimately to consist of a gathering of people
listening with admiration to the brilliant words and clever rascalities
of the same old beggar, Abu Zayd. The trick played by Abu Zayd is
usually slight, the chief interest from the Arab view-point depending
on the beggar's witty words and especially upon his supposedly
extemporaneous verse.

Neither should the reader pass unnoticed the moral side of Hariri's
work. He quite definitely thinks of himself as a teacher, and
studies to make each "Assembly" a worthy guide to righteousness. His
"Assemblies" number fifty in all, but the earlier ones are generally
accepted as the best, the eleventh and twelfth being particularly noted
for their excellence, after which the collection seems slightly to
decline.

Of course Al Hariri was by no means alone in composing this sort of
tale. Similar "Assemblies" had preceded his; many more were to follow.
In short we touch here upon the "popular literature" of the Arabs, the
collection of short stories which were to blossom into the "Arabian
Nights"—though in the later tales of this character we find less of
verse and more of story, in short less of the Arab and more of the
increasing Persian influence.


THE "ASSEMBLIES" OF AL HARIRI


PREFACE

IN THE NAME OF GOD THE MERCIFUL, MOST MERCIFUL

Thus saith the excellent, the incomparable, Abu Mohammed al Kasim
ibn 'Ali ibn Mohammed ibn 'Othman Al Hariri of Basrah (God cool his
resting-place).

O God, we praise thee for what perspicuity thou hast taught, and
what enunciation thou hast inspired; as we praise thee for what
bounty thou hast enlarged, what mercy thou hast diffused: And we take
refuge with thee from the vehemence of fluency and the immoderation
of talkativeness, as we take refuge with thee from the vice of
inarticulateness and the shame of hesitation. And by thee we seek to
be kept from temptation through the flattery of the praiser and the
connivance of the favor, as we seek to be kept from exposure to the
defaming of the slanderer and the betrayal of the informer. And we ask
pardon of thee if our desires carry us into the region of ambiguities,
as we ask pardon if our steps advance to the domain of errors. And we
ask of thee succor which shall lead us aright, and a heart turning with
justice, and a tongue adorned with truth, and a speech strengthened
with demonstration, and accuracy that shall keep us from mistake, and
resolution that shall conquer caprice, and perception by which we may
estimate duly: And that thou wilt help us by thy guidance to conceive,
and enable us by thy assistance to express; that thou wilt guard us
from error in narration, and turn us from unseemliness in jesting; that
we may be secure from slanders of the tongue; that we may be free from
the ill of tinseled speech; that we walk not in the road of sin, nor
stand in the place of repentance; that we be not pursued by suit or
censure, nor need to flee from hastiness to excuse. O God, fulfil to us
this wish; give us to attain to this desire: put us not forth of thy
large shadow, make us not a morsel for the devourer. For now we stretch
forth to thee the hand of entreaty; we are thorough in humiliation
to thee and abasement. And we call down thy abundant grace and thy
bounty that is over all, with humbleness of seeking and with the
venture of hope. Also approaching thee through the merits of Mohammed,
lord of men, the intercessor whose intercession shall be received at
the congregation of judgment. By whom thou hast set the seal to the
prophets, and whose degree thou hast exalted to the highest heaven;
whom thou hast described in thy clear-speaking Book, and hast said
(and thou art the most truthful of sayers): "It is the word of a noble
envoy, of him who is mighty in the presence of the Lord of the throne,
having authority, obeyed, yea, faithful." O God, send thy blessing on
him and his house who guide aright, and his companions who built up the
faith; and make us followers of his guidance and theirs, and profit us
all by the loving of him and them: for thou art Almighty, and one meet
to answer prayer.

And now: In a meeting devoted to that learning whose breeze has stilled
in this age, whose lights are nigh gone out, there ran a mention of
the Assemblies which had been invented by Badi'az Zeman, the sage of
Hamadan (God show him mercy); in which he had referred the composition
to Abu'l Fath of Alexandria and the relation of 'Isa, son of Hisham.
And both these are persons obscure, not known; vague, not to be
recognized. Then suggested to me one whose suggestion is as a decree,
and obedience to whom is as a prize, that I should compose Assemblies,
following in them the method of Badi' (although the lame steed attains
not to outrun like the stout one). Then I reminded him of what is said
concerning him who joins even two words, or strings together one or
two verses: and deprecated this position in which the understanding is
bewildered, and the fancy misses aim, and the depth of the intelligence
is probed, and a man's real value is made manifest: and in which one
is forced to be as a wood-gatherer by night, or as he who musters
footmen and horsemen together: considering, too, that the voluble
man is seldom secure or pardoned if he trips. But when he consented
not to forbearance, and freed me not from his demand, I assented to
his invitation with the assenting of the obedient, and displayed in
according with him all my endeavor; and composed, in spite of what
I suffered from frozen genius, and dimmed intelligence, and failing
judgment, and afflicting cares, fifty Assemblies, comprising what is
serious in language and lively, what is delicate in expression and
dignified; the brilliancies of eloquence and its pearls, and beauties
of scholarship and its rarities: besides what I have adorned them with
of verses of the Koran and goodly metonymies, and studded them with of
Arab proverbs, and scholarly elegancies, and grammatical riddles, and
decisions dependent on the meaning of words, and original addresses,
and ornate orations, and tear-moving exhortations, and amusing jests:
all of which I have indited as by the tongue of Abu Zayd of Seruj,
while I have attributed the relating of them to Al Harith, son of
Hammam, of Basra. And whenever I change the pasture I have no purpose
but to inspirit the reader, and to increase the number of those who
shall seek my book. And of the poetry of others I have introduced
nothing but two single verses, on which I have based the fabric of the
Assembly of Holwan; and two others, in a couplet, which I have inserted
at the conclusion of the Assembly of Kerej. And, as for the rest, my
own mind is the father of its virginity, the author of its sweet and
its bitter. Yet I acknowledge withal that Badi' (God show him mercy) is
a mighty passer of goals, a worker of wonders; and that he who essays
after him to the composition of an Assembly, even though he be gifted
with the eloquence of Kodameh, does but scoop up of his overflow, and
travels that path only by his guidance. And excellently said one:

 If before it mourned, I had mourned my love for Su'da, then should I
 have healed my soul, nor had afterward to repent.

 But it mourned before me, and its mourning excited mine, and I said,
 "The superiority is to the one that is first."

Now I hope I shall not be, in respect of the playful style that
I display, and the source that I repair to, like the beast that
scratched up its death with its hoof, or he who cut off his nose with
his own hand; so as to be joined to those who are "most of all losers
in their works, whose course on earth has been in vain, while they
count that they have done fair deeds." Since I know that although
he who is intelligent and liberal will connive at me, and he who is
friendly and partial may defend me, I can hardly escape from the
simpleton who is ignorant, or the spiteful man who feigns ignorance;
who will detract from me on account of this composition, and will give
out that it is among the things forbidden of the law. But yet, whoever
scans matters with the eye of intelligence, and makes good his insight
into principles, will rank these Assemblies in the order of useful
writings, and class them with the fables that relate to brutes and
lifeless objects. Now none was ever heard of whose hearing shrank from
such tales, or who held as sinful those who related them at ordinary
times. Moreover, since deeds depend on intentions, and in these lies
the effectiveness of religious obligations, what fault is there in
one who composes stories for instruction, not for display, and whose
purpose in them is the education and not the fablings? Nay, is he not
in the position of one who assents to doctrine, and "guides to the
right path"?

 Yet am I content if I may carry my caprice, and then be quit of it,
 without any debt against me or to me.

And of God I seek to be helped in what I purpose, and to be kept from
that which makes defective, and to be led to that which leads aright.
For there is no refuge but to him, and no seeking of succor but in him,
and no prospering but from him, and no sanctuary but he. On him I rely,
and to him I have recourse.


THE FIRST ASSEMBLY

(CALLED "OF SAN'A")[15]


Al Harith, son of Hammam, related: When I mounted the hump of exile,
and misery removed me from my fellows, the shocks of the time cast me
to San'a of Yemen. And I entered it with wallets empty, manifest in my
need; I had not a meal; I found not in my sack a mouthful. Then began
I to traverse its ways like one crazed, and to roam in its depths as
roams the thirsting bird. And wherever ranged my glances, wherever
ran my goings at morn or even, I sought some generous man before whom
I might fray the tissue of my countenance, to whom I might be open
concerning my need; or one well bred, whose aspect might dispel my
pain, whose anecdote might relieve my thirsting. Until the close of my
circuit brought me, and the overture of courtesy guided me, to a wide
place of concourse, in which was a throng and a wailing. Then I entered
the thicket of the crowd to explore what was drawing forth tears. And
I saw in the middle of the ring a person slender of make; upon him was
the equipment of pilgrimage, and he had the voice of lamentation. And
he was studding cadences with the jewels of his wording, and striking
hearings with the reproofs of his admonition. And now the medley of
the crowds had surrounded him, as the halo surrounds the moon, or the
shell the fruit. So I crept toward him, that I might catch of his
profitable sayings, and gather up of his gems. And I heard him say, as
he coursed along in his career, and the throat of his improvisation
made utterance:

O thou reckless in petulance, trailing the garment of vanity! O thou
headstrong in follies, turning aside to idle tales! How long wilt thou
persevere in thine error, and eat sweetly of the pasture of thy wrong?
How far wilt thou be extreme in thy pride, and not abstain from thy
wantonness? Thou provokest by thy rebellion the Master of thy forelock;
in the foulness of thy behaving thou goest boldly against the Knower
of thy secret. Thou hidest thyself from thy neighbor, but thou art
in the sight of thy Watcher; thou concealest from thy slave, but no
hidden thing is hidden from thy Ruler. Thinkest thou that thy state
will profit thee when thy departure draweth near? or that thy wealth
will deliver thee when thy deeds destroy thee? or that thy repentance
will suffice for thee when thy foot slippeth? or that thy kindred will
lean to thee in the day that thy judgment-place gathereth thee? How is
it thou hast not walked in the high-road of guidance, and hastened the
treatment of thy disease, and blunted the edge of thine iniquity, and
restrained thyself—thy chief enemy? Is not death thy doom? What then is
thy preparation? Is not gray hair thy warning? What then is thy excuse?
And in the grave's niche thy sleeping-place? What dost thou say? And
to God thy going? and who shall be thy defender? Oft hath the time
awakened thee, but thou hast set thyself to slumber; and admonition
hath drawn thee, but thou hast strained against it; and warnings have
been manifest to thee, but thou hast made thyself blind; and truth hath
been established to thee, but thou hast disputed it; and death hath bid
thee remember, but thou hast sought to forget; and it hath been in thy
power to impart of good, but thou hast not imparted. Thou preferrest
money which thou mayest hoard before piety which thou mayest keep in
mind: thou choosest a castle thou mayest rear rather than bounty thou
mayest confer. Thou inclinest from the guide from whom thou mightest
get guidance, to the pelf thou mayest gain as a gift; thou lettest
the love of the raiment thou covetest overcome the recompense thou
mightest earn. The rubies of gifts cling to thy heart more than the
seasons of prayer; and the heightening of dowries is preferred with
thee to continuance in almsgivings. The dishes of many meats are more
desired to thee than the leaves of doctrines; the jesting of comrades
is more cheerful to thee than the reading of the Koran. Thou commandest
to righteousness, but violatest its sanctuary; thou forbiddest from
deceit, but refrainest not thyself: thou turnest men from oppression,
and then thou drawest near to it; thou fearest mankind, but God is more
worthy that thou shouldest fear him. Then he recited:

 Woe to him who seeks the world, and turns to it his careering:

 And recovers not from his greediness for it, and the excess of his
 love.

 Oh, if he were wise, but a drop of what he seeks would content him.

Then he laid his dust, and let his spittle subside; and put his bottle
on his arm, and his staff under his armpit. And when the company gazed
on his uprising, and saw that he equipped himself to move away from
the midst, each of them put his hand into his bosom, and filled for
him a bucket from his stream: and said, "Use this for thy spending,
or divide it among thy friends." And he received it with half-closed
eyes, and turned away from them, giving thanks; and began to take
leave of whoever would escort him, that his road might be hidden from
them; and to dismiss whoever would follow him, that his dwelling might
be unknown. Said Al Harith, son of Hammam: Now I went after him,
concealing from him my person; and followed on his track from where
he could not see me; until he came to a cave, and slipped into it
suddenly. So I waited for him till he put off his sandals and washed
his feet, and then I ran in upon him; and found him sitting opposite an
attendant, at some white bread and a roast kid, and over against them
was a jar of date-wine. And I said to him, "Sirrah, was that thy story,
and is this thy reality? "But he puffed the puff of heat and went near
to burst with rage; and ceased not to stare at me till I thought he
would leap upon me. But when his fire was allayed, and his flame hid
itself, he recited:

 I don the black robe to seek my meal, and I fix my hook in the hardest
 prey:

 And of my preaching I make a noose, and steal with it against the
 chaser and the chased.

 Fortune has forced me to make way even to the lion of the thicket by
 the subtlety of my beguiling.

 Yet do I not fear its change, nor does my loin quiver at it:

 Nor does a covetous mind lead me to water at any well that will soil
 my honor.

 Now if Fortune were just in its decree it would not empower the
 worthless with authority.

Then he said to me, "Come and eat; or, if thou wilt, rise and tell."
But I turned to his attendant, and said, "I conjure thee, by him
through whom harm is deprecated, that thou tell me who is this." He
said, "This is Abu Zayd, of Seruj, the light of foreigners, the crown
of the learned." Then I turned back to whence I came, and was extreme
in wonder at what I saw.


THE SECOND ASSEMBLY

(CALLED "OF HOLWAN")[16]

Al Harith, son of Hammam, related: Ever since my amulets were doffed
and my turbans were donned, I was eager to visit learning's seat and
to jade to it the camels of seeking, that through it I might cleave
to what would be my ornament among men, my rain-cloud in thirst.
And through the excess of my longing to kindle at it, and my desire
to robe myself in its raiment, I discussed with every one, great and
small, and sought my draught both of the rain-flood and the dew, and
solaced myself with hope and desire. Now when I descended at Holwan,
and had already tried the brethren, and tested their values, and proved
what was worthless or fine, I found there Abu Zayd of Seruj, shifting
among the varieties of pedigree, beating about in various courses of
gain-getting; for at one time he claimed to be of the race of Sasan,
and at another he made himself kin to the princes of Ghassan; and
now he sallied forth in the vesture of poets; and anon he put on the
pride of nobles. And yet with all this diversifying of his condition,
and this display of contradiction, he is adorned with grace and
information, and courtesy and knowledge, and astonishing eloquence,
and obedient improvisation, and excelling accomplishments, and a
foot that mounts the hills of the sciences. Now, through his goodly
attainments he is associated with in spite of his faults; and through
the largeness of his information there is a fondness for the sight of
him; and through the blandishment of his fair-speaking men are loath
to oppose him; and through the sweetness of his address he is helped
to his desire. Then I clung to his skirts for the sake of his peculiar
accomplishments, and valued highly his affection by reason of his
precious qualities.

 With him I wiped away my cares, and beheld my fortune displayed to me,
 open of face, gleaming with light.

 I looked upon his nearness to me as kinship, his abiding as wealth,
 his aspect as a full draught, his life as rain.

Thus we remained a long season; he produced for me daily some
pleasantness, and drove some doubt from my heart, until the hand
of want mixed for him the cup of parting, and the lack of a meal
urged him to abandon Irak; and the failures of supply cast him into
desert regions, and the waving of the banner of distress ranged him
in the line of travelers; and he sharpened for departure the edge of
determination, and journeyed away, drawing my heart with his leading
cord.

 After he was gone none pleased me who kept by me, none filled me with
 affection by urging me to intimacy.

 Since he strayed away none has appeared to me his like in excellence;
 no friend has gotten the equal of his qualities.

So he was hidden from me a season: I knew not his lair; I found none
to tell of him; but when I had returned from my wandering to the place
where my branch had sprouted, I was once present in the town library,
which is the council-hall of scholars, the meeting-place of residents
and strangers: Then there entered one with a thick beard and a squalid
aspect, and he saluted those who sat, and took seat in the last rows
of the people. Then began he to produce what was in his wallet, and to
astonish those present by the sagacity of his judgment. And he said to
the man who was next him, "What is the book into which thou lookest?"
He said, "The poems of Abu 'Obadeh; him of whose excellence men bear
witness." He said, "In what thou hast seen hast thou hit on any fine
thing which thou admirest?" He said, "Yes; the line,

 As though she smiled from strung pearls or hailstones, or
 camomile-flowers.

For it is original in the use of similitude which it contains." He said
to him, "Here is a wonder! here is a lack of taste, Sir, thou hast
taken for fat what is only swollen; thou hast blown on that which is no
fuel: where art thou in comparison with the rare verse which unites the
similitudes of the teeth?

 My life a ransom for those teeth whose beauty charms, and which a
 purity adorns sufficing thee for all other.

 She parts her lips from fresh pearls, and from hail-stones, and from
 camomile-flowers, and from the palm-shoot, and from bubbles.

Then each one approved the couplet and admired it, and bade him repeat
it and dictate it. And he was asked, "Whose is this verse, and is its
author living or dead?" He said, "By Allah, right is most worthy to be
followed, and truth is most fitting to be listened to: Know, friends,
that it is his who talks with you to-day." Said Al Harith: Now it was
as though the company doubted of his fathering, and were unwilling to
give credit to his claim. And he perceived what had fallen into their
thoughts, and was aware of their inward unbelief; and was afraid that
blame might chance to him, or ill-fame reach him; so he quoted from
the Koran, "Some suspicions are a sin." Then he said, "O ye reciters
of verse, physicians of sickly phrase!—Truly the purity of the gem
is shown by the testing, and the hand of truth rends the cloak of
doubt.—Now it was said aforetime that by trial is a man honored or
contemned. So come! I now expose my hidden store to the proving, I
offer my saddle-bag for comparison." Then hastened one who was there
and said: "I know a verse such that there is no weaving on its beam,
such that no genius can supply one after its image. Now, if thou wish
to draw our hearts to thee, compose after this style:

 She rained pearls from the daffodil, and watered the rose, and bit
 upon the _'unnab_ with hail-stone.

And it was but the glance of an eye, or less, before he recited rarely:

 I asked her when she met me to put off her crimson veil, and to endow
 my hearing with the sweetest of tidings:

 And she removed the ruddy light which covered the brightness of her
 moon, and she dropped pearls from a perfumed ring.

Then all present were astonished at his readiness, and acknowledged his
honesty. And when he perceived that they approved his diction, and were
hastening into the path of honoring him, he looked down the twinkling
of an eye; then he said, "Here are two other verses for you"; and
recited:

 She came on the day when departure afflicted, in black robes, biting
 her fingers like one regretful, confounded:

 And night lowered on her morn, and a branch supported them both, and
 she bit into crystal with pearls.

Then did the company set high his value, and deem that his steady rain
was a plenteous one; and they made pleasant their converse with him,
and gave him goodly clothing. Said the teller of this story: Now when
I saw the blazing of his firebrand, and the gleam of his unveiled
brightness, I fixed a long look to guess at him, and made my eye to
stray over his countenance. And lo! he was our Shaykh of Seruj; but
now his dark night was moon-lit. Then I congratulated myself on his
coming thither, and hastened to kiss his hand: and said to him, "What
has changed thy appearance, so that I could not recognize thee? what
has made thy beard gray, so that I knew not thy countenance?" And he
indited and said:

 The stroke of calamities makes us hoary, and fortune to men is a
 changer.

 If it yields to-day to any, to-morrow it overcomes him.

 Trust not the gleam of its lightning, for it is a deceitful gleam.

 But be patient if it hounds calamities against thee, and drives them
 on.

 For there is no disgrace on the pure gold when it is turned about in
 the fire.

Then he rose and departed from his place, and carried away our hearts
with him.


THE THIRD ASSEMBLY

(CALLED "OF KAYLAH")[17]

Al Harith, son of Hammam, related: I was set with some comrades in
a company wherein he that made appeal was never bootless, and the
rubbing of the fire-shafts never failed, and the flame of contention
never blazed. And while we were catching from each other the cues of
recitations, and betaking ourselves to novelties of anecdote, behold
there stood by us one on whom was a worn garment, and in whose walk
was a limp. And he said, O ye best of treasures, joys of your kindred:
Health to you this morning; may ye enjoy your morning draught. Look
on one who was erewhile master of guest-room and largess, wealth and
bounty, land and villages, dishes and feasting. But the frowning of
calamities ceased not from him, and the warrings of sorrows, and
the fire-flakes of the malice of the envious, and the succession of
dark befallings, until the court was empty, and the yard was bare,
and the fountain sank, and the dwelling was desolate, and the hall
was void, and the chamber stone-strewed. And fortune shifted so that
the household wailed; and the stalls were vacant, so that the rival
had compassion; and the cattle and the goods they perished, so that
the envious and malignant pitied. And to such a pass did we come,
through assailing fortune and prostrating need, that we were shod with
soreness, and fed on choking, and filled our bellies with ache, and
wrapped our entrails upon hunger, and anointed our eyes with watching,
and made pits our home, and deemed thorns a smooth bed, and came to
forget our saddles, and thought destroying death to be sweet, and the
ordained day to be tardy. And now is there any one generous to heal,
bountiful to bestow? For by him who made me to spring from Kaylah,
surely I am now a brother of penury, I have not a night's victual.

Said Al Harith, son of Hammam: Now I pitied his distresses, and
inclined to the eliciting of his rhymes. So I drew forth for him a
denar, and said to him, to prove him, "If thou praise it in verse it
is thine, full surely." And he betook himself to recite on the spot,
borrowing nothing:

    How noble is that yellow one, whose yellowness is pure,
    Which traverses the regions, and whose journeying is afar.
    Told abroad are its fame and repute:
    Its lines are set as the secret sign of wealth;
    Its march is coupled with the success of endeavors;
    Its bright look is loved by mankind;
    As though its ore had been molten of their hearts.
    By its aid whoever has gotten it in his purse assails boldly,
    Though kindred be perished, or tardy to help.
    Oh charming are its purity and brightness;
    Charming are its sufficiency and help.
    How many a ruler is there whose rule has been perfected by it!
    How many a sumptuous one is there whose grief, but for it,
      would be endless!
    How many a host of cares has one charge of it put to flight!
    How many a full moon has a sum of it brought down!
    How many a one burning with rage, whose coal is flaming,
    Has it been secretly whispered to, and then his anger has softened.
    How many a prisoner, whom his kin had yielded,
    Has it delivered, so that his gladness has been unmingled,
    Now by the Truth of the Lord whose creation brought it forth,
    Were it not for his fear, I should say its power is supreme.

Then he stretched forth his hand after his recitation, and said, "The
honorable man performs what he promises, and the rain-cloud pours if
it has thundered." So I threw him the denar, and said, "Take it; no
grudging goes with it." And he put it in his mouth and said, "God bless
it." Then he girt up his skirts for departure, after that he had paid
his thanks. But there arose in me, through his pleasantry, a giddiness
of desire which made me ready to incur indebtedness. So I bared another
denar, and said, "Does it suit thee to blame this, and then gather it?"
And he recited impromptu, and sang with speed:

    Ruin on it for a deceiver and insincere,
    The yellow one with two faces like a hypocrite!
    It shows forth with two qualities to the eye of him that looks on it,
    The adornment of the loved one, the color of the lover.
    Affection for it, think they who judge truly,
    Tempts men to commit that which shall anger their Maker.
    But for it no thief's right hand were cut off;
    Nor would tyranny be displayed by the impious;
    Nor would the niggard shrink from the night-farer;
    Nor would the delayed claimant mourn the delay of him that withholds;
    Nor would men call to God from the envious who casts at them.
    Moreover, the worst quality that it possesses
    Is that it helps thee not in straits,
    Save by fleeing from thee like a runaway slave.
    Well done he who casts it away from a hill-top,
    And who, when it whispers to him with the whispering of a lover,
    Says to it in the words of the truth-speaking, the veracious,
    "I have no mind for intimacy with thee—begone!"

Then said I to him, "How abundant is thy shower!" He said, "Agreement
binds strongest." So I tossed him the second denar and said,
"Consecrate them both with the Twice-read Chapter." He cast it into
his mouth and joined it with its twin, and turned away blessing his
morning's walk, praising the assembly and its bounty. Said Al Harith,
son of Hammam: Now my heart whispered me that he was Abu Zayd, and
that his going lame was for a trick; so I called him back and said to
him, "Thou art recognized by thy eloquence, so straighten thy walk."
He said, "If thou be the son of Hammam, be thou greeted with honor
and live long among the honorable." I said, "I am Harith; but what is
thy condition amid all thy fortunes." He said, "I change between two
conditions, distress and ease; and I veer with two winds, the tempest
and the breeze." I said, "And how hast thou pretended lameness? the
like of thee plays not buffoon." Then his cheerfulness, which had shone
forth, waned; but he recited as he moved away:

 I have feigned to be lame, not from love of lameness, but that I may
 knock at the gate of relief.

 For my cord is thrown on my neck, and I go as one who ranges freely.

 Now if men blame me I say, "Excuse me: sure there is no guilt on the
 lame."


THE FOURTH ASSEMBLY

(CALLED "OF DAMIETTA")[18]


Al Harith, son of Hammam, related: I journeyed to Damietta in a year
of much coming and going, and in those days was I glanced after for
my affluence, desired in friendship: I trained the bordered robes of
wealth and looked upon the features of joy. And I was traveling with
companions who had broken the staff of dissension, who were suckled
on the milk-flows of concord, so that they showed like the teeth of
a comb in uniformity, and like one soul in agreement of desires; but
we coursed on withal apace, and not one of us but had saddled a fleet
she-camel; and if we alighted at a station or went aside to a spring,
we snatched the halt and lengthened not the staying.

Now it happened that we were urging our camels on a night youthful
in prime, raven-locked of complexion; and we journeyed until the
night-season had put off its prime, and the morning had wiped away
the dye of the dark; but when we wearied of the march and inclined to
drowsiness, we came upon a ground with dew-moistened hillocks, and a
faint east breeze: and we chose it as a resting-place for the white
camels, an abode for the night-halt. Now when the caravan had descended
there, and the groan and the roar of the beasts were still, I heard a
loud-voiced man say to his talk-fellow in the camp, "What is the rule
of thy conduct with thy people and neighbors?" The other answered, I am
duteous to my neighbor though he wrong me; and give my fellowship even
to the violent; and bear with a partner though he disorder my affairs;
and love my friend even though he drench me with a tepid draught; and
prefer my well-wisher above my brother; and fulfil to my comrade even
though he requite me not with a tenth; and think little of much if it
be of my guest; and whelm my companion with my kindness; and put my
talk-fellow in the place of my prince; and hold my intimate to be as my
chief; and commit my gifts to my acquaintance; and confer my comforts
on my associate; and soften my speech to him that hates me; and
continue to ask after him that disregards me; and am pleased with but
the crumbs of my due; and am content with but the least portion of my
reward; and complain not of wrong even when I am wronged; and revenge
not, even though a viper sting me.

Then said his companion to him, Alas! my boy, only he who clings
should be clung to; only he who is valuable should be prized. As
for me I give only to him who will requite; I distinguish not the
insolent by my regard; nor will I be of pure affection to one who
refuses me fair-dealing; nor treat as a brother one who would undo my
tethering-rope; nor aid one who would baulk my hopes; nor care for one
who would cut my cords; nor be courteous to him who ignores my value;
nor give my leading rope to one who breaks my covenant; nor be free
of my love to my adversaries; nor lay aside my menace to the hostile;
nor plant my benefits on the land of my enemies; nor be willing to
impart to him who rejoices at my ills; nor show my regard to him who
will exult at my death; nor favor with my gifts any but my friends; nor
call to the curing of my sickness any but those who love me; nor confer
my friendship on him who will not stop my breach; nor make my purpose
sincere to him who wishes my decease; nor be earnest in prayer for him
who will not fill my wallet; nor pour out my praise on him who empties
my jar. For who has adjudged that I should be lavish and thou shouldest
hoard, that I should be soft and thou rough, that I should melt and
thou freeze, that I should blaze and thou smolder? No, by Allah, but
let us balance in speech as coin, and match in deed as sandals, that
each to each we may be safe from fraud and free from hatred. For
else, why should I give thee full water and thou stint me? why should
I hear with thee and thou contemn me? why should I gain for thee and
thou wound me? why should I advance to thee and thou repel me? For how
should fair-dealing be attracted by injury? how can the sun rise clear
with cloud? And when did love follow docilely after wrong? and what man
of honor consents to a state of abasement? For excellently said thy
father:

 Whoso attaches his affection to me, I repay him as one who builds on
 his foundation:

 And I mete to a friend as he metes to me, according to the fulness of
 his meting or its defect.

 I make him not a loser! for the worst of men is he whose to-day falls
 short of his yesterday.

 Whoever seeks fruit of me gets only the fruit of his own planting.

 I seek not to defraud, but I will not come off with the bargain of one
 who is weak in his reason.

 I hold not truth binding on me toward a man who holds it not binding
 on himself.

 There may be some one insincere in love who fancies that I am true in
 my friendship for him, while he is false;

 And knows not in his ignorance that I pay my creditor his debt after
 its kind.

 Sunder, with the sundering of hate, from one who would make thee a
 fool, and hold him as one entombed in his grave.

 And toward him in whose intercourse there is aught doubtful put on the
 garb of one who shrinks from his intimacy.

 And hope not for affection from any who sees that thou art in want of
 his money.

Said Al Harith, son of Hammam: Now, when I had gathered what passed
between them, I longed to know them in person. And when the sun shone
forth, and robed the sky with light, I went forth before the camels
had risen, and with an earliness beyond the earliness of the crow, and
began to follow the direction of that night-voice, and to examine the
faces with a searching glance: until I caught sight of Abu Zayd and
his son talking together, and upon them were two worn mantles. Then
I knew that they were my two talkers of the night, the authors of my
recitation. So I approached them as one enamored of their refinement,
pitying their shabbiness; and offered them a removal to my lodging,
and the disposal of my much and my little; and began to tell abroad
their worth among the travelers, and to shake for them the fruited
branches; until they were whelmed with gifts, and taken as friends.
Now we were in a night-camp, whence we could discern the build of the
villages, and spy the fires of hospitality. And when Abu Zayd saw that
his purse was full, and his distress removed, he said to me, "Truly my
body is dirty, and my filth has caked: Wilt thou permit me to go to
a village, and bathe, and fulfil this urgent need?" I said, "If thou
wilt; but quick! return!" He said, "Thou shalt find me appear again to
thee, quicker than the glancing of thine eye." Then he coursed away,
as courses the good steed in the training-ground, and said to his son,
"Haste! haste!" And we imagined not that he was deceiving, or seeking
to escape. So we stayed and watched for him as men watch for the new
moons of feasts, and made search for him by spies and scouts, until the
sunlight was weak with age, and the wasted bank of the day had nigh
crumbled in. Then, when the term of waiting had been prolonged, and the
sun showed in faded garb, I said to my companions, "We have gone to the
extreme in delay, and have been long in the setting forth; so that we
have lost time, and it is plain that the man was lying. Now, therefore,
prepare for the journey, and turn not aside to the greenness of
dung-heaps." Then I rose to equip my camel and lade for the departure;
and found that Abu Zayd had written on the pack-saddle:

 Oh thou, who wast to me an arm and a helper, above all mankind!

 Reckon not that I have left thee through impatience or ingratitude:

 For since I was born I have been of those who "when they have eaten
 separate."

Said Al Harith: Then I made the company read the words of the Koran
that were on the pack-saddle, so that he who had blamed him might
excuse him. And they admired his witticism, but commanded themselves
from his mischief. Then we set forth, nor could we learn whose company
he had gotten in our place.


THE FIFTH ASSEMBLY

(CALLED "OF KUFA")[19]

Al Harith, son of Hammam, related: I was conversing at Kufa, in a
night whose complexion was of a two-fold hue, whose moon was as an
amulet of silver, with companions who had been nourished on the milk of
eloquence, who might draw the train of oblivion over Sahban. Each was a
man to remember from, and not to guard against; each was one whom his
friend would incline to, and not avoid. And the night talk fascinated
us until the moon had set, and the watching overcame us. Now when
night's unmingled dark had spread its awning, and there was naught but
nodding among us, we heard from the gate the faint sound of a wayfarer,
rousing the dogs; then followed the knock of one bidding to open. We
said, "Who is it that comes in the dark night?" Then the traveler
answered:

    O people of the mansion, be ye guarded from ill!
    Meet not harm as long as ye live!
    Lo! the night which glooms has driven
    To your abode one disheveled, dust-laden,
    A brother of journeying, that has been lengthened, extended,
    Till he has become bent and yellow
    Like the new moon of the horizon when it smiles.
    And now he approaches your courtyard, begging boldly,
    And repairs to you before all people else,
    To seek from you food and a lodging.
    Ye have in him a guest contented, ingenuous,
    One pleased with all, whether sweet or bitter,
    One who will withdraw from you, publishing your bounty.

Said Al Harith, son of Hammam: Now when we were caught by the sweetness
of his utterance, and knew what was behind his lightning, we hastened
to open the gate, and met him with welcome; and said to the boy "Quick,
quick! bring what is ready!" Then said our guest, "Now, by him who has
set me down at your abode, I will not roll my tongue over your food,
unless ye pledge me that ye will not make me a burden, that ye will
not, for my sake, task yourselves with a meal. For sometimes a morsel
aches the eater, and forbids him his repasts. And the worst of guests
is he who imposes trouble and annoys his host, and especially with a
harm that affects the body and tends to sickness. For, by that proverb,
which is widely current, 'The best Slippers are those that are clearly
seen,' is only meant that supper-time should be hastened, and eating
by night, which dims the sight, avoided. Unless, by Allah, the fire
of hunger kindle and stand in the way of sleep." Said Al Harith: Now
it was as though he had got sight of our desire, and so had shot with
the bow of our conviction. Accordingly we gratified him by agreeing
to the condition, and commended him for his easy temper. And when the
boy brought what was to be had, and lighted the candle in the midst of
us, I looked close at him, and lo! it was Abu Zayd. So I said to my
company, "Joy to you of the guest who has come! Nay, but the spoil is
lightly won! For if the moon of Sirius has gone down, truly the moon of
poetry has risen: Or if the full moon of the Lion has waned, the full
moon of eloquence shines forth." Then ran through them the wine-glow
of joy, and sleep flew away from their eye-corners. And they refused
the rest which they had purposed, and returned to the spreading out of
pleasantry, after they had folded it. But Abu Zayd kept intent upon
plying his hands; however, when what was before him might be removed,
I said to him, "Present us with one of the rare stories from thy night
talkings, or some wonder from among the wonders of thy journeys."
He said, "Of wonders I have met with such as no seers have seen, no
tellers have told. But among the most wondrous was that which I beheld
to-night, a little before my visit to you and my coming to your gate."
Then we bade him tell us of this new thing which he had seen in the
field of his night-faring. He said, Truly the hurlings of exile have
thrown me to this land: And I was in hunger and distress, with a scrip
like the heart of the mother of Moses. Now, as soon as the dark had
settled, I arose, in spite of all my footsoreness, to seek a host or to
gain a loaf. Then the driver hunger, and Fate, which is by-named the
Father of Wonders, urged me on, till I stood at the door of a house,
and spoke, improvising:

    Hail people of this dwelling,
    May ye live in the ease of a plenteous life!
    What have ye for a son of the road, one crushed to the sand,
    Worn with journeys, stumbling in the night-dark night,
    Aching in entrails, which enclose naught but hunger?
    For two days he has not tasted the savor of a meal:
    In your land there is no refuge for him.
    And already the van of the drooping darkness has gloomed;
    And through bewilderment he is in restlessness.
    Now in this abode is there any one, sweet of spring,
    Who will say to me, "Throw away thy staff and enter:
    Rejoice in a cheerful welcome and a ready meal?"

Then came forth to me a lad in a tunic, and answered:

    Now by the sanctity of the Shaykh who ordained hospitality,
    And founded the House of Pilgrimage in the Mother of cities,
    We have naught for the night-farer when he visits us
    But conversation and a lodging in our hall.
    For how should he entertain whom hinders from sleepfulness
    Hunger which peels his bones when it assails him?
    Now what thinkest thou of my tale? what thinkest thou?

I said, "What shall I do with an empty house, and a host the ally of
penury? But tell me, youth, what is thy name, for thy understanding
has charmed me." He said, "My name is Zayd, and my birth-place Fayd:
and I came to this city yesterday with my mother's kindred of the Benu
'Abs." I said to him, "Show me further, so mayest thou live and be
raised when thou fallest!" He said, "My mother Barrah told me (and she
is like her name, 'pious') that she married in the year of the foray on
Mawan a man of the nobles of Seruj and Ghassan; but when he was aware
of her pregnancy (for he was a crafty bird, it is said) he made off
from her by stealth, and away he has stayed, nor is it known whether
he is alive and to be looked for, or whether he has been laid in the
lonely tomb." Said Abu Zayd, "Now I knew by sure signs that he was my
child; but the emptiness of my hand turned me from making known to
him, so I parted from him with heart crushed and tears unsealed. And
now, ye men of understanding, have ye heard aught more wondrous than
this wonder?" We said, "No, by him who has knowledge of the Book." He
said, "Record it among the wonders of chance; bid it abide forever in
the hearts of scrolls; for nothing like it has been told abroad in the
world." Then he bade bring the ink-flask, and its snake-like reeds, and
we wrote the story elegantly as he worded it; after which we sought to
draw from him his wish about receiving his boy. He said, "If my purse
were heavy, then to take charge of my son would be light." We said,
"If a _nisab_ of money would suffice thee, we will collect it for thee
at once." He said, "And how should a _nisab_ not content me? would any
but a madman despise such a sum?" Said the narrator, Then each of us
undertook a share of it, and wrote for him an order for it. Whereupon
he gave thanks for the kindness, and exhausted the plenteousness of
praise; until we thought his speech long, or our merit little. And
then he spread out such a bright mantle of talk as might shame the
stuffs of Yemen, until the dawn appeared and the light-bearing morn
went forth. So we spent a night of which the mixed hues had departed,
until its hind-locks grew gray in the dawn; and whose lucky stars
were sovereign until its branch budded into light. But when the limb
of the sun peeped forth, he leaped up as leaps the gazelle, and said,
"Rise up, that we may take hold on the gifts and draw payment of the
checks: for the clefts of my heart are widening through yearning after
my child." So I went with him, hand in hand, to make easy his success.
But as soon as he had secured the coin in his purse the marks of his
joy flashed forth, and he said, "Be thou rewarded for the steps of thy
feet! be God my substitute toward thee!" I said, "I wish to follow
thee that I may behold thy noble child, and speak with him that he
may answer eloquently." Then looked he at me as looks the deceiver on
the deceived, and laughed till his eyeballs gushed with tears; and he
recited:

 O thou who didst fancy the mirage to be water when I quoted to thee
 what I quoted!

 I thought not that my guile would be hidden, or that it would be
 doubtful what I meant.

 By Allah, I have no Barrah for a spouse; I have no son from whom to
 take a by-name.

 Nothing is mine but divers kinds of magic, in which I am original and
 copy no one:

 They are such as Al Asma'i tells not of in what he has told; such as
 Al Komayt never wove.

 These I use when I will to reach whatever my hand would pluck:

 And were I to abandon them, changed would be my state, nor should I
 gain what I now gain.

 So allow my excuse; nay, pardon me, if I have done wrong or crime.

Then he took leave of me and passed away, and set coals of the _ghada_
in my breast.


THE SIXTH ASSEMBLY

(CALLED "OF MERAGHAH," OR "THE DIVERSIFIED")[20]


Al Harith, son of Hammam, related: I was present in the Court of
Supervision at Meraghah when the talk ran of eloquence. Then agreed
all who were there of the knights of the pen, and the lords of genius,
that there remained no one who could select his diction, or use himself
freely in it as he willed: and that since the men of old were gone,
there was none now left who could originate a brilliant method, or
open a virgin style. And that even one marvelous among the writers
of this age, and holding in his grasp the cords of eloquence, is but
a dependent on the ancients, even though he possess the fluency of
Sahban Wa'il. Now there was in the assembly an elderly man, sitting on
the outskirts, in the places of the attendants: and as often as the
company overran in their career, and scattered fruit, good and bad,
from their store, the side-glance of his eye and the up-turning of
his nose showed that he was one silent to spring, one crouching who
would extend his stride: that he was a twanger of the bow who shapes
his arrows, one who sits in wait desiring the conflict. But when the
quivers were empty, and quiet returned; when the storms had fallen, and
the disputer was stayed, he turned to the company and said, Ye have
uttered a grievous thing; ye have wandered much from the way: for ye
have magnified moldering bones; ye have been excessive in your leaning
to those who are gone; ye have contemned your generation, among whom
ye were born, and with whom your friendships are established. Have ye
forgotten, ye skilful in testing, ye sages of loosing and binding,
how much new springs have given forth; how the colt has surpassed the
full-grown steed; in refined expressions, and delightful metaphors,
and ornate addresses, and admired cadences? And, if any one here will
look diligently, is there in the ancients aught but ideas whose paths
are worn, whose ranges are restricted; which have been handed down from
them through the priority of their birth, not from any superiority in
him who draws first at the well over him who comes after? Now truly
know I one who, when he composes, colors richly; and when he expresses,
embellishes; and when he is lengthy, finds golden thoughts; and when he
is brief, baffles his imitator; and when he improvises, astonishes; and
when he creates, cuts the envious.

Then said to him the President of the Court, the Eye of those Eyes:
"Who is it that strikes on this rock, that is the hero of these
qualities?" He said, "It is the adversary of this thy skirmish, the
partner of thy disputation: Now, if thou wilt, rein a good steed, call
forth one who will answer, so shalt thou see a wonder." He said to
him, "Stranger, the chough in our land is not taken for an eagle, and
with us it is easy to discern between silver and shingle. Rare is he
who exposes himself to the conflict, and then escapes the mortal hurt;
or who stirs up the dust of trial, and then catches not the mote of
contempt. So offer not thy honor to shame, turn not from the counsel
of the counselor." He answered, "Each man knows best the mark of his
arrow, and be sure the night shall disclose its morn."

Then whispered the company as to how his well should be fathomed, and
his proving undertaken. Said one of them, "Leave him to my share, that
I may pelt him with the stone of my story; for it is the tightest of
knots, the touchstone of testing." Then they invested him with the
command in this business as the Rebels invested Abu Na'ameh. Whereupon
he turned to the elder and said, Know that I am attached to this
Governor and maintain my condition by ornamental eloquence. Now, in
my country, I could rely for the straightening of my crookedness on
the sufficiency of my means, coupled with the smallness of my family.
But when my back was weighted, and my thin rain failed, I repaired to
him from my home with hope, and besought him to restore my comeliness
and my competence. And he looked pleasantly on my coming, and was
gracious, and served me morn and even. But when I sought permission
from him to depart to my abode, on the shoulder of cheerfulness, he
said, "I have determined that I will not provide thee with supplies,
I will bring together for thee no scattered means, unless, before thy
departure, thou compose an address, setting in it an exposition of thy
state; such, that the letters of one of every two words shall all have
dots, while the letters of the other shall not be pointed at all." And
now have I waited for my eloquence a twelvemonth, but it has returned
me not a word; and I have roused my wit for a year, but only my
sluggishness has increased. And I have sought aid among the gathering
of the scribes, but each of them has frowned and drawn back. Now, if
thou hast disclosed thy character with accuracy, _Come with a sign if
thou be of the truthful._

Then answered the elder, "Thou hast put a good steed to the pace; thou
hast sought water at a full stream; thou hast given the bow to him
who fashioned it; thou hast lodged in the house him who built it."
And he thought a while till he had let his flow of wit collect, his
milch-camel fill her udder: and then he said: Wool thy ink-flask, and
take thy implements and write:

"Generosity (may God establish the host of thy successes) adorns; but
meanness (may fortune cast down the eyelid of thy enviers) dishonors;
the noble rewards, but the base disappoints; the princely entertains,
but the niggard frights away; the liberal nourishes, but the churl
pains; giving relieves, but deferring torments; blessing protects,
and praise purifies; the honorable repays, for repudiation abases; the
rejection of him who should be respected is error; a denial to the
sons of hope is outrage; and none is miserly but the fool, and none is
foolish but the miser; and none hoards but the wretched; for the pious
clenches not his palms.

"But thy promise ceases not to fulfil; thy sentiments cease not to
relieve; nor thy clemency to indulge; nor thy new moon to illumine; nor
thy bounty to enrich; nor thy enemies to praise thee; nor thy blade
to destroy; nor thy princeship to build up; nor thy suitor to gain;
nor thy praiser to win; nor thy kindness to succor; nor thy heaven to
rain; nor thy milk-flow to abound; nor thy refusal to be rare. Now he
who hopes in thee is an old man like a shadow, one to whom nothing
remains. He seeks thee with a persuasion whose eagerness leaps onward;
he praises thee in choice phrases, which merit their dowries. His
demand is a light one, his claims are clear; his praise is striven
for, his blame is shunned. And behind him is a household whom misery
has touched, whom wrong has stripped, whom squalor involves. And he is
ever in tears that come at call, and trouble that melts him, and care
that is as a guest, and growing sadness: on account of hope that has
disappointed him, and loss that has made him hoary, and the enemy that
has fixed tooth in him, and the quiet that is gone. And yet his love
has not swerved, that there should be anger at him; nor is his wood
rotten, that he should be lopped away; nor has his breast spit foulness
that he should be shaken off; nor has his intercourse been froward
that he should be hated. Now thy honor admits not the rejection of his
claim, so whiten his hope by the lightening of his distress: then will
he publish thy praise throughout the world. So mayest thou live to
avert misfortune, and to bestow wealth; to heal grief and to care for
the aged: attended by affluence and fresh joyousness; as long as the
hall of the rich is visited, or the delusion of the selfish is feared.
And so Peace."

Now when he had ceased from the dictation of his address, and showed
forth his prowess in the strife of eloquence, the company gratified him
both by word and deed, and made large to him their courtesy and their
bounty. Then was he asked from what tribe was his origin, and in what
valley was his lair; and he answered:

 Ghassan is my noble kindred, and Seruj my ancient land:

 There my home was like the sun in splendor and mighty rank;

 And my dwelling was as paradise in sweetness and pleasantness and
 worth.

 Oh, excellent were the life I led there and the plenteous delights,

 In the day that I drew my broidered robe in its meadow, sharp of
 purpose,

 I walked proudly in the mantle of youth and looked upon goodly
 pleasures;

 Fearing not the visitations of time and its evil haps.

 Now if grief could kill, surely I should perish from my abiding griefs;

 Or if past life could be redeemed my good heart's blood should redeem
 it.

 For death is better for a man than to live the life of a beast.

 When the ring of subjection leads him to mighty trouble and outrage,

 And he sees lions whom the paws of assailing hyenas seize.

 But the fault is in the time: but for its ill luck character would not
 miss its place:

 If the time were upright, then would the conditions of men be upright
 in it.

After this his story reached the Governor, who filled his mouth with
pearls, and bade him join himself to his followers, and preside
over his court of public writing. But the gifts sufficed him, and
unwillingness restrained him from office. Said the narrator: Now I
had recognized the wood of his tree before the ripening of his fruit:
And I had nigh roused the people to the loftiness of his worth before
that his full moon shone forth. But he hinted to me by a twinkle of
his eyelid that I should not bare his sword from its sheath. And when
he was going forth, full of purse, and parting from us, having gotten
victory, I escorted him, performing the duty of respect, and chiding
him for his refusal of office. But he turned away with a smile and
recited with a chant:

 Sure to traverse the lands in poverty is dearer to me than rank:

 For in rulers there is caprice and fault-finding, oh what
 fault-finding!

 There is none of them who completes his good work, or who builds up
 where has laid foundation.

 So let not the glare of the mirage beguile thee; undertake not that
 which is doubtful:

 For how many a dreamer has his dream made joyful; but fear has come
 upon him when he waked.


THE SEVENTH ASSEMBLY

(CALLED "OF BARAK'ID")[21]


Al Harith, son of Hammam, related: I had determined on journeying
from Barak'id; but now I noted the signs of the coming feast, and I
disliked to set forth from the city until I had witnessed there the day
of adornment. So when it came on with its rites, bounden or of free
will, and brought up its horsemen and footmen, I followed the tradition
in new apparel, and went forth with the people to keep festival. Now
when the congregation of the prayer-court was gathered and ranged,
and the crowding took men's breath, there appeared an old man in a
pair of cloaks, and his eyes were closed: and he bore on his arm what
was like a horse-bag, and had for a guide an old woman like a goblin.
Then he stopped, as stops one tottering to sink, and greeted with the
greeting of him whose voice is feeble. And when he had made an end of
his salutation he circled his five fingers in his wallet, and brought
forth scraps of paper that had been written on with colors of dyes in
the season of leisure, and gave them to his old beldame, bidding her to
detect each simple one. So whenever she perceived of any that his hand
was moist in bounty, she cast one of the papers before him. Said Al
Harith: Now cursed fate allotted to me a scrap whereon was written:

    Sure I have become crushed with pains and fears;
    Tried by the proud one, the crafty, the assailer,
    By the traitor among my brethren, who hates me for my need,
    By jading from those who work to undo my toils.
    How oft do I burn through spites and penury and wandering;
    How oft do I tramp in shabby garb, thought of by none.
    Oh, would that fortune when it wronged me had slain my babes!
    For were not my cubs torments to me and ills,
    I would not have addressed my hopes to kin or lord:
    Nor would I draw my skirts along the track of abasement.
    For my garret would be more seemly for me, and my rags more honorable.
    Now is there a generous man who will see that the lightening of my
      loads must be by a denar;
    Or will quench the heat of my anxiety by a shirt and trousers?

Said Al Harith, son of Hammam: Now when I had looked on the garb of
the verses, I longed for a knowledge of him who wove it, the broiderer
of its pattern. And my thought whispered to me that the way to him was
through the old woman, and advised me that a fee to an informer is
lawful. So I watched her, and she was wending through the rows, row by
row, begging a dole of the hands, hand by hand. But not at all did the
trouble prosper her; no purse shed aught upon her palm. Wherefore when
her soliciting was baffled, and her circuit wearied her, she commended
herself to God with the "Return," and addressed herself to collect
the scraps of paper. But the devil made her forget the scrap that I
held, and she turned not aside to my spot: but went back to the old man
weeping at the denial, complaining of the oppression of the time. And
he said, "In God's hands I am, to God I commit my case; there is no
strength or power but by God," then he recited:

 There remains not any pure, not any sincere; not a spring, not a
 helper:

 But of baseness there is one level; not any is trusty, not any of
 worth.

Then said he to her, "Cheer thy soul and promise it good; collect the
papers and count them." She said, "Truly I counted them when I asked
them back, and I found that one of them the hand of loss had seized."
He said, "Perdition on thee, wretch; shall we be hindered, alas, both
of the prey and the net, both of the brand and the wick? Surely this
is a new handful to the load." Then did the old woman hasten back,
retracing her path to seek her scroll; and when she drew near to me
I put with the paper a dirhem and a mite, and said to her, "If thou
hast a fondness for the polished, the engraved (and I pointed to the
dirhem), show me the secret, the obscure; but if thou willest not to
explain, take then the mite and begone." Then she inclined to the
getting of that whole full moon, the bright-faced, the large. So she
said, "Quit contention and ask what thou wilt." Whereupon I asked
her of the old man and his country, of the poem, and of him who wove
its mantle. She said, "Truly, the old man is of the people of Seruj,
and he it was who broidered that woven poem." Then she snatched the
dirhem with the snatch of a hawk, and shot away as shoots the darting
arrow. But it troubled my heart that perchance it was Abu Zayd who
was indicated, and my grief kindled at his mishap with his eyes. And
I should have preferred to have gone suddenly on him and talked to
him, that I might test the quality of my discernment upon him. But
I was unable to come to him save by treading on the necks of the
congregation, a thing forbidden in the law; and, moreover, I was
unwilling that people should be annoyed by me, or that blame should
arrive to me. So I cleaved to my place, but made his form the fetter of
my sight, until the sermon was ended, and to leap to him was lawful.
Then I went briskly to him and examined him in spite of the closing
of his eyelids. And, lo! my shrewdness was as the shrewdness of Ibn
'Abbas, and my discernment as the discernment of Iyas. So at once I
made myself known, and presented him with one of my tunics, and bade
him to my bread. And he was joyful at my bounty and recognition, and
acceded to the call to my loaves; and he set forth, and my hand was
his leading cord, my shadow his conductor; and the old woman was the
third prop of the pot; yes, by the Watcher from whom no secret is
hidden! Now, when he had taken seat in my nest, and I had set before
him what hasty meal was in my power, he said, "Harith, is there with us
a third?" I said, "There is none but the old woman." He said, "From her
no secret is withheld." Then he opened his eyes and stared round with
the twin balls, and, lo! the two lights of his face kindled like the
Farkadan. And I was joyful at the safety of his sight, but marveled at
the strangeness of his ways. Nor did quiet possess me, nor did patience
fit with me, until I asked him, "What led thee to feign blindness;
thou, with thy journeying in desolate places, and thy traversing of
wildernesses, and thy pushing into far lands?" But he made show as if
his mouth were full, and kept as though busied with his meal, until,
when he had fulfilled his need, he sharpened his look upon me and
recited:

 Since Time (and he is the father of mankind) makes himself blind to
 the right in his purposes and aims,

 I too have assumed blindness, so as to be called a brother of it. What
 wonder that one should match himself with his father!

Then said he to me, "Rise, and go to the closet, and fetch me alkali
that may clear the eye, and clean the hand, and soften the skin, and
perfume the breath, and brace the gums, and strengthen the stomach: and
let it be clean of box, fragrant of odor, new of pounding, delicate
of powdering; so that one touching it shall count it to be eye-paint,
and one smelling it shall fancy it to be camphor. And join with it
a toothpick choice in material, delightful in use, goodly in shape,
that invites to the repast: and let it have the slimness of a lover,
and the polish of a sword, and the sharpness of the lance of war, and
the pliancy of a green bough." Said Al Harith: Then I rose to do what
he bade that I might rid him of the trace of his food; and thought
not that he purposed to deceive by sending me into the closet; nor
suspected that he was mocking of his messenger when he called for the
alkali and toothpick. But when I returned with what was asked for, in
less than the drawing of a breath, I found that the hall was empty, and
that the old man and woman had sped away. Then was I extreme in anger
at his deceit, and I pressed on his track in search of him; but he was
as one who is sunk in the sea, or has been borne aloft to the clouds of
heaven.


THE EIGHTH ASSEMBLY

(CALLED "OF MA'AKRAH")[22]

Al Harith, son of Hammam, related: Among the wonders of time, I saw
that two suitors came before the Kadi of Ma'arrat an No'man. From the
one of them the two excellencies of life had departed, while the other
was as a bough of the ben tree. And the old man said: God strengthen
the judge, as by him he strengthens whoever seeks judgment. Behold I
had a slave girl, elegant of shape, smooth of cheek, patient to labor;
at one time she ambled like a good steed, at another she slept quietly
in her bed: even in July thou wouldst feel her touch to be cool. She
had understanding and discretion, sharpness and wit, a hand with
fingers, but a mouth without teeth: yet did she pique as with tongue of
snake, and saunter in training robe; and she was displayed in blackness
and whiteness; and she drank, but not from cisterns. She was now
truth-telling, now beguiling; now hiding, now peeping forth; yet fitted
for employment, obedient in poverty and in wealth: if thou didst spurn
she showed affection, but if thou didst put her from thee, she remained
quietly apart. Generally would she serve thee, and be courteous to
thee, though sometimes she might be froward to thee and pain thee, and
trouble thee. Now this youth asked her service of me for a purpose of
his own, and I made her his servant, without reward, on the condition
that he should enjoy the use of her, but not burden her with more than
she could bear. But he forced on her too hard a work, and exacted of
her long labor; then returned her to me broken in health, offering a
compensation which I accept not.

Then said the youth: Sure the old man is more truthful than the Kata:
but as for my hurting her it fell out by mistake. And now have I
pledged to him in payment of his damage, a slave[23] of mine, of equal
birth as regards either kin, tracing his lineage to Al Kayn, free from
stain and disgrace, whose place was the apple of his master's eye. He
showed forth kindness, and called up admiration; he nourished mankind,
and set guard on his tongue. If he was placed in power he was generous,
if he marked aught for his own he was noble with it; if he was supplied
he gave of his supply, and when he was asked for more he added. He
stayed not in the house, and rarely visited his wives, save two by two.
He was generous with his possession, he was lofty in his bounty; he
kept with his spouse although she was not of his own clay; and there
was pleasure in his comeliness, although he was not desired for his
effeminacy.

Then said to them the Kadi, "Now either explain or depart." Then
pressed forward the lad, and said:

 He lent me a needle to darn my rags, which use has worn and blackened;

 And its eye broke in my hand by chance, as I drew the thread through
 it.

 But the old man would not forgive me the paying for it when he saw
 that it was spoiled;

 But said, "Give me a needle like it, or a price, after thou hast
 mended it."

 And he keeps my _kohl_-pencil by him as a pledge: oh, the shame that
 he has gotten by so doing:

 For my eye is dry through giving him this pledge; my hand fails to
 ransom its anointer.

 Now by this statement fathom the depth of my misery and pity one
 unused to bear it.

Then turned the Kadi to the old man, and said, "Come, speak without
glozing," and he said:

 I swear by the holy place of sacrifice, and the devout whom the <DW72>
 of Mina brings together;

 If the time had been my helper, thou wouldst not have seen me taking
 in pledge the pencil which he has pledged to me.

 Nor would I bring myself to seek a substitute for a needle that he had
 spoiled; no, nor the price of it.

 But the bow of calamities shoots at me with deadly arrows from here
 and there:

 And to know my condition is to know his; misery, and distress, and
 exile, and sickness.

 Fortune has put us on a level: I am his like in misery, and he is as I.

 He can not ransom his pencil now that it lies pledged in my hand:

 And, through the narrowness of my own means, it is not within my
 bounds to forgive him for his offending.

 Now this is my tale and his: so look upon us, and judge between us,
 and pity us.

Now when the Kadi had learned their stories, and was aware of their
penury and their distinction, he took out for them a denar from
under his prayer-cushion, and said, "With this end and decide your
contention." But the old man caught it before the youth, and claimed
the whole of it in earnest, not in jest, saying to the youth, "Half is
mine as my share of the bounty, and thy share is mine, in payment for
my needle: nor do I swerve from justice, so come and take thy pencil."
Now there fell on the youth, at the words of the old man, a sadness at
which the heart of the Kadi grew sullen, stirring its sorrow for the
lost denar. Yet did he cheer the concern of the youth and his anguish
by a few dirhems which he doled to him. Then he said to the two, "Avoid
transactions, and put away disputes, and come not before me with
wranglings, for I have no purse of fine-money for you." And they rose
to go out from him, rejoicing at his gift, fluent in his praise. But as
for the Kadi, his ill-humor subsided not after his stone had dripped;
his sad look cleared not away after his rock had oozed. But when he
recovered from his fit he turned to his attendants, and said, "My
perception is imbued with the thought, and my guess announces to me,
that these are practisers of craft, not suitors in a claim: but what
is the way to fathom them, and to draw forth their secret?" Then said
to him the Knowing One of his assemblage, the Light of his following:
"Surely the discovery of what they hide must be through themselves."
So he bade an attendant follow them and bring them back; and when they
stood before him he said to them, "Tell me truly your camel's age: so
shall ye be secure from the consequence of your deceit." Then did the
lad shrink back and ask for pardon; but the old man stepped forward and
said:

 I am the Seruji and this is my son; and the cub at the proving is like
 the lion.

 Now never has his hand nor mine done wrong in matter of needle or
 pencil:

 But only fortune, the harming, the hostile, has brought us to this,
 that we came forth to beg

 Of each one whose palm is moist, whose spring is sweet; of each whose
 palm is close, whose hand is fettered;

 By every art, and with every aim: by earnest, if it prosper, and if
 not, by jest.

 That we may draw forth a drop for our thirsty lot, and consume our
 life in wretched victual.

 And afterward Death is on the watch for us: if he fall not on us
 to-day he will fall to-morrow.

Then said the Kadi to him, "Oh rare! how admirable are the breathings
of thy mouth; well done! should I say of thee, were it not for the
guile that is in thee. Now know that I am of those that warn thee, and
will beware of thee. So act not again deceitfully with judges, but
fear the might of those who bear rule. For not every minister will
excuse, and not at every season will speech be listened to." Then the
old man promised to follow his counsel, and to abstain from disguising
his character. And he departed from the Kadi's presence, while the
guile beamed from his forehead. Said Al Harith, son of Hammam: Now I
never saw aught more wonderful than these things in the changes of my
journeys, nor read aught like them in the records of books.


THE NINTH ASSEMBLY,

(CALLED "OF ALEXANDRIA")[24]

Al Harith, son of Hammam, related: The liveliness of youth and the
desire of gain sped me on until I had traversed all that is between
Farghanah and Ghanah. And I dived into depths to gather fruits, and
plunged into perils to reach my needs. Now I had caught from the lips
of the learned, and understood from the commandments of the wise, that
it behooves the well-bred, the sagacious, when he enters a strange
city, to conciliate its Kadi and possess himself of his favor: that
his back may be strengthened in litigation, that he may be secure in a
strange land from the wrong of the powerful. So I took this doctrine
as my guide and made it the leading-cord to my advantages. And I
entered not a city, I went not into a lair, but I mingled myself with
its judge as water is mingled with wine, and strengthened myself by
his patronage as bodies are strengthened by souls. Now while I was
in presence of the judge of Alexandria one cold evening, and he had
brought out the alms-money to divide it among the needy, behold there
entered an ill-looking old man whom a young matron dragged along.
And she said: God strengthen the Kadi and through him make concord
to be lasting: know that I am a woman of stock the most noble, of
root the most pure, of mother's and father's kin the most honorable:
my character is moderation, my disposition is contentment; my nature
is to be a goodly help-meet; between me and my neighbors is a wide
difference. Now whenever there wooed me any who had built up honor or
were lords of wealth my father silenced and chid them and misliked
their suit and their gift: making plea that he had covenanted with God
Most High that he would not ally himself save with the master of a
handicraft. Then did Providence destine for my calamity and pain that
this deceiver should present himself in my father's hall; and swear
among his people that he fulfilled his condition: asserting that long
time he had strung pearl to pearl and sold them for great price. Then
was my father deceived by the gilding of his falsehood, and married me
to him before proving his condition. And when he had drawn me forth
from my covert, and carried me away from my people, and removed me to
his habitation, and brought me under his bond, I found him slothful, a
sluggard; I discovered him to be a lie-a-bed, a slumberer. Now I had
come to him with apparel and goodly show, with furniture and affluence.
But he ceased not to sell it in a losing market and to squander the
price in greedy feeding, until he had altogether destroyed whatever
was mine, and spent my property on his need. So when he had made to me
to forget the taste of rest and left my house cleaner than my hand's
palm, I said to him, "Sir, know that there is no concealment after
distress, no perfume after the wedding. Rise up then to gain something
by thy trade, to gather the fruit of thy skill." But he declared that
his trade had been struck with slackness through the violence that was
abroad in the earth. Also I have a boy by him, thin as a toothpick:
neither of us gets a fill by him, and through hunger our weeping to him
ceases not. So I have brought him to thee and set him before thee, that
thou mayest test the substance of his assertion, and decide between us
as God shall show thee.

Then turned the Kadi to him and said: "Thou hast heard thy wife's
story; now testify of thyself: else will I discover thy deceit and bid
thy imprisonment." But he looked down as looks the serpent; then girt
up his garment for a long strife, and said:

 Hear my story, for it is a wonder; there is laughter in its tale, and
 there is wailing.

 I am a man on whose qualities there is no blame, neither is there
 suspicion on his glory.

 Seruj is my home where I was born, and my stock is Ghassan when I
 trace my lineage:

 And study is my business; to dive deep in learning is my pursuit; and,
 oh! how excellent a seeking.

 And my capital is the magic of speech, out of which are molded both
 verse and prose.

 I dive into the deep of eloquence, and from it I choose the pearls and
 select them:

 I cull of speech the ripe fruit and the new; while another gathers but
 firing of the wood:

 I take the phrase of silver, and when I have molded it men say that it
 is gold.

 Now formerly I drew forth wealth by the learning I had gotten; I
 milked by it:

 And my foot's sole in its dignity mounted to ranges above which were
 no higher steps.

 Oft were the presents brought in pomp to my dwelling, but I accepted
 not every one who gave.

 But to-day learning is the chattel of slackest sale in the market of
 him on whom hope depends.

 The honor of its sons is not respected; neither are relationship and
 alliance with them regarded.

 It is as though they were corpses in their courtyards, from whose
 stench men withdraw and turn aside.

 Now my heart is confounded through my trial by the times; strange is
 their changing.

 The stretch of my arm is straitened through the straitness of my
 hand's means; cares and grief assail me.

 And my fortune, the blameworthy, has led me to the paths of that which
 honor deems base.

 For I sold until there remained to me not a mat nor household goods to
 which I might turn.

 So I indebted myself until I had burdened my neck by the carrying of a
 debt such that ruin had been lighter.

 Then five days I wrapped my entrails upon hunger; but when the hunger
 scorched me,

 I could see no goods except her outfit, in the selling of which I
 might go about and bestir myself.

 So I went about with it; but my soul was loathing, and my eye tearful,
 and my heart saddened.

 But when I made free with it, I passed not the bound of her consent,
 that her wrath should rise against me.

 And if what angers her be her fancying that it was my fingers that
 should make gain by stringing;

 Or that when I purposed to woo her I tinseled my speech that my need
 might prosper:

 I swear by him to whose Ka'beh the companies journey when the fleet
 camels speed them onward,

 That deceit toward chaste ladies is not of my nature, nor are glozing
 and lying my badge.

 Since I was reared naught has attached to my hand save the swiftly
 moving reeds and the books:

 For it is my wit that strings necklaces, not my hand; what is strung
 is my poetry, and not chaplets.

 And this is the craft I meant as that by which I gathered and gained.

 So give ear to my explaining, as thou hast given ear to her; and show
 respect to neither, but judge as is due.

Now when he had completed the structure of his story and perfected his
recitation, the Kadi turned to the young woman, being heart-struck at
the verses, and said, now that it is settled among all judges and those
who bear authority that the race of the generous is perished, and that
the times incline to the niggardly. Now I imagine that thy husband is
truthful in his speech, free from blame. For lo! he has acknowledged
the debt to thee, and spoken the clear truth; he has given proof that
he can string verses, and it is plain that he is bared to the bone.
Now to vex him who shows excuse is baseness, to imprison the destitute
is a sin: to conceal poverty is self-denial, to await relief with
patience is devotion. So return to thy chamber and pardon the master of
thy virginity: refrain from thy sharpness of tongue and submit to the
will of thy Lord. Then in the almsgiving he assigned them a portion,
and of the dirhems he gave them a pinch; and said to them, "Beguile
yourselves with this drop, moisten yourselves with this driblet: and
endure against the fraud and the trouble of the time, for 'it may be
that God will bring victory or some ordinance from himself.'" Then they
arose to go, and on the old man was the joy of one loosed from the
bond, and the exulting of one who is in affluence after need.

Said the narrator: Now I knew that he was Abu Zayd in the hour that his
son peeped forth and his spouse reviled him: and I went near to declare
his versatility and the fruiting of his divers branches. But then I was
afraid that the Kadi would hit on his falsehood and the lacking of his
tongue, and not see fit, when he knew him, to train him to his bounty.
So I forebore from speech with the forbearing of one who doubts, and I
folded up mention of him as the roll is folded over the writing: save
that when he had departed and had come whither he was to come, I said,
"If there were one who would set out on his track, he might bring us
the kernel of his story, and what tissues he is spreading forth." Then
the Kadi sent one of his trusty ones after him and bade him to spy
out of his tidings. But he delayed not to return bounding in, and to
come back loudly laughing. Said the Kadi to him, "Well, Abu Maryam!"
He said, "I have seen a wonder; I have heard what gives me a thrill."
Said the Kadi to him, "What hast thou seen, and what is it thou hast
learned?" He said, "Since the old man went forth he has not ceased to
clap with his hands and to caper with his feet and to sing with the
full of his cheeks:

    I was near falling into trouble through an impudent jade;
    And should have gone to prison but for the Kadi of Alexandria."

Then the Kadi laughed till his hat fell off, and his composure was
lost: but when he returned to gravity and had followed excess by prayer
for pardon, he said, "O God, by the sanctity of thy most honored
servants, forbid that I should imprison men of letters." Then said he
to that trusty one, "Hither with him!" and he set forth earnest in the
search; but returned after a while, telling that the man was gone.
Then said the Kadi, "Know that if he had been here he should have had
no cause to fear, for I would have imparted to him as he deserves; I
would have shown him that _the latter state is better for him than the
former_." Said Al Harith, son of Hammam, Now, when I saw the leaning of
the Kadi toward him, and that yet the fruit of the Kadi's notice was
lost to him, there came on me the repentance of Al Farazdak when he put
away Nawar, or of Al Kosa'i when the daylight appeared.


THE TENTH ASSEMBLY

(CALLED "OF RAHBAH")[25]

Al Harith, son of Hammam, related: The summoning of desire called me
to Rahbah, the city of Malik, son of Towk, and I obeyed it, mounted on
a fleet camel, and unsheathing an active purpose. Now when I had cast
my anchors there, and fastened my ropes, and had gone forth from the
bath after shaving my head, I saw a boy cast in the mold of comeliness,
and clothed by beauty in the garb of perfection; and an old man was
holding on to his sleeve, asserting that he had slain his son; but the
boy denied knowledge of him and was horror-struck at his suspicion;
and the contention between them scattered its sparks, and the crowding
upon them was made up of good and bad. Now after their quarreling had
been excessive, they agreed to refer to the Governor of the town; so
they hastened to his court with the speed of Sulayk in his career; and
when they were there the old man renewed his charge and claimed help.
So the Governor made the boy speak, for the boy had already fascinated
him by the graces of his bright brow, and cloven his understanding by
the disposition of his forelocks. And the boy said, "It is the lie of
a great liar against one who is no blood-shedder, and the slander of
a knave against one who is not an assassin." Then said the Governor
to the old man, "If two just Moslems testify for thee, well; if not,
demand of him the oath." Said the old man, "Surely he struck him down
remote from men, and shed his blood when alone; and how can I have a
witness, when on the spot there was no beholder? But empower me to
dictate an oath that it may appear to thee whether he speaks true or
lies." He said to him, "Thou hast authority for that; thou with thy
vehement grief for thy slain son." Then said the old man to the boy:
"Say, I swear by him who hath adorned foreheads with forelocks, and
eyes with their black and white, and eyebrows with separation, and
smiling teeth with regularity, and eyelids with languor, and noses
with straightness, and cheeks with flame, and mouths with purity, and
fingers with softness, and waists with slenderness, that I have not
killed thy son by negligence, nor of wilfulness, nor made his head a
sheath to my sword; if it be otherwise, may God strike my eyelid with
soreness, and my cheek with freckles, and my forelocks with dropping,
and my palm-shoot with greenness, and my rose with the ox-eye, and my
musk with a foul steam, and my full moon with waning, and my silver
with tarnishing, and my rays with the dark."

Then said the boy, "The scorching of affliction be my lot rather than
to take such an oath! let me yield to vengeance rather than swear as
no one has ever sworn!" But the old man would naught but make him
swallow the oath which he had framed for him, and the draughts which
he had bittered. And the dispute ceased not to blaze between them, and
the road of concord to be rugged. Now the boy, while thus resisting,
captivated the Governor by his motions, and made him covet that he
should belong to him; until love subdued his heart and fixed in his
breast; and the passion which enslaved him, and the desire which he
had imagined tempted him to liberate the boy and then get possession
of him, to free him from the noose of the old man, and then catch him
himself. So he said to the old man, "Hast thou a mind for that which
is more seemly in the stronger and nearer to god-fearing?" He said,
"Whither art thou pointing that I should follow and not delay?" He
said, "I think it well that thou cease from altercation and be content
with a hundred denars, on condition that I take on myself part of it,
and collect the rest as may be." Said the old man, "I refuse not; but
let there be no failure to thy promise." Then the Governor paid him
down twenty and assigned among his attendants the making up of fifty.
But the robe of evening grew dim, and from this cause the rain of
collection was cut short. Then he said, "Take what is ready and leave
disputing; and on me be it to-morrow to accomplish that the rest be
doled to thee and reach thee." Said the old man, "I will do this on the
condition that I keep close to him to-night, that the pupil of my eye
guard him, until when on the dawning of the morn he has made up what
remains of the sum of reconciliation, shell may get clear of chick, and
he may go guiltless as the wolf went guiltless of the blood of the son
of Jacob." Then said to him the Governor, "I think that thou dost not
impose what is immoderate or ask what is excessive."

Said Al Harith, son of Hammam: Now when I perceived that the pleadings
of the old man were as the pleadings of Ibn Surayj, I knew him to be
the Glory of the Serujis: and I delayed until the stars of the darkness
glittered, and the knots of the crowd dispersed: and then I sought the
Governor's courtyard; and lo! the old man guarding the youth. And I
adjured him by God to say whether he was Abu Zayd: he said, "Yes, by
him who hath permitted the chase." I said, "Who is this boy, after
whom the understanding darts?" He said, "In kin he is my chick, and in
making gain my springe." I said, "Wilt thou not be satisfied with the
graces of his make, and spare the Governor temptation by his forelock?"
He said, "Were it not that his forehead put forth its ringlets, I
should not have snatched the fifty." Then he said, "Pass the night near
me that we may quench the fire of grief, and give enjoyment its turn
after separation. For I have resolved to slip away at dawn, and to burn
the Governor's heart with the flame of regret." Said Al Harith, Then I
spent the night with him in conversation more pleasant than a garden
of flowers, or a woodland of trees: until when the Wolf's Tail lighted
the horizon, and the brightening of the daybreak came on in its time,
he mounted the back of the highway, and left the Governor to taste
burning torment. And he committed to me, in the hour of his departure
a paper firmly closed, and said, "Hand it to the Governor when he has
been bereft of composure, when he has convinced himself of our flight."
But I broke the seal as one who would free himself from a letter of
Mutelemmis, and behold there was written in it:

 Tell the Governor whom I have left, after my departure, repenting,
 grieving, biting his hands,

 That the old man has stolen his money and the young one his heart; and
 he is scorched in the flame of a double regret.

 He was generous with his coin when love blinded his eye, and he has
 ended with losing either.

 Calm thy grief, O afflicted, for it profits not to seek the traces
 after the substance is gone.

 But if what has befallen thee is terrible to thee as the ill-fate of
 Al Hosayn is terrible to the Moslems;

 Yet hast thou gotten in exchange for it understanding and caution; and
 the wise man, the prudent, wishes for these.

 So henceforth resist desires, and know that the chasing of gazelles is
 not easy;

 No, nor does every bird enter the springe, even though it be
 surrounded by silver.

 And how many a one who seeks to make a prey becomes a prey himself,
 and meets with naught but the shoes of Honayn!

 Now consider well, and forecast not every thundercloud: many a
 thundercloud may have in it the bolts of death:

 And cast down thine eye, that thou mayest rest from a passion by which
 thou wouldest clothe thyself with the garment of infamy and disgrace.

 For the trouble of man is the following of the soul's desire; and the
 seed of desire is the longing look of the eye.

Said the narrator, But I tore the paper piecemeal, and cared not
whether he blamed or pardoned me.


THE ELEVENTH ASSEMBLY

(CALLED "OF SAWEH")[26]

Al Harith, son of Hammam, related: I was aware of hardness of heart
while I sojourned at Saweh. So I betook myself to the Tradition handed
down, that its cure is by visiting the tombs. And when I had reached
the mansion of the dead, the storehouse of moldering remains, I saw
an assemblage over a grave that had been dug, and a corpse that was
being buried. So I drew aside to them, meditating on the end of man,
and calling to mind those of my people who were gone. And when they
had sepulchered the dead, and the crying of Alas! was over, an old man
stood forth on high, from a hillock, leaning on a staff. And he had
veiled his face with his cloak, and disguised his form for craftiness.
And he said: _Let those who work, work for an end like this._ Now take
thought, O yet negligent and gird yourselves, ye slothful, and look
well, ye observers. How is it with you that the burying of your fellows
grieves you not, and that the pouring in of the mold frightens you
not; that ye heed not the visitations of misfortune; that ye prepare
not for the going down to your graves; that ye are not moved to tears
at the eye that weeps; that ye take not warning at the death-message
when it is heard; that ye are not affrighted when an intimate is lost;
that ye are not saddened when the mourning assembly is gathered? One of
you follows home the dead man's bier, but his heart is set toward his
house; and he is present at the burying of his kinsman, but his thought
is of securing his portion. He leaves his loved friend with the worms,
then retires alone with his pipes and lutes. Ye have sorrowed over your
riches, if but a grain were notched away, yet have ye been forgetful
of the cutting off of your friends: and ye have been cast down at the
befalling of adversity, but have made little of the perishing of your
kindred. Ye have laughed at a funeral as ye laughed not in the hour
of dancing; ye have walked wantonly behind biers, as ye walked not
in the day that ye grasped gifts. Ye have turned from the recital of
the mourning women to the preparing of banquets; and from the anguish
of the bereaved to daintiness in feastings. Ye care not for him who
molders, and ye move not the thought of death in your mind. So that it
is as if ye were joined to Death by clientship, or had gotten security
from Time, or were confident of your own safety, or had made sure of a
peace with the Destroyer of delights. No! it is an ill thing that ye
imagine. Again, no! surely ye shall learn. Then he recited:

 O thou who claimest understanding; how long, O brother of delusion,
 wilt thou marshal sin and blame, and err exceeding error?

 Is not the shame plain to thee? doth not hoariness warn thee? (and in
 its counsel there is no doubtfulness); nor hath thy hearing become
 deaf.

 Is not Death calling thee? doth he not make thee hear his voice? dost
 thou not fear thy passing away, so as to be wary and anxious?

 How long wilt thou be bewildered in carelessness, and walk proudly in
 vanity, and go eagerly to diversion, as if death were not for all?

 Till when will last thy swerving, and thy delaying to mend habits that
 unite in thee vices whose every sort shall be collected in thee?

 If thou anger thy Master thou art not disquieted at it; but if thy
 scheme be bootless thou burnest with vexation.

 If the graving of the yellow one gleam to thee thou art joyful; but if
 the bier pass by thee thou feignest grief, and there is no grief.

 Thou resistest him who counseleth righteousness; thou art hard in
 understanding; thou swervest aside: but thou followest the guiding of
 him who deceiveth, who lieth, who defameth.

 Thou walkest in the desire of thy soul; thou schemest after money; but
 thou forgettest the darkness of the grave, and rememberest not what is
 there.

 But if true happiness had looked upon thee, thy own look would not
 have led thee amiss; nor wouldest thou be saddened when the preaching
 wipeth away griefs.

 Thou shalt weep blood, not tears, when thou perceivest that no company
 can protect thee in the Court of Assembling; no kinsman of mother or
 father.

 It is as though I could see thee when thou goest down to the vault and
 divest deep; when thy kinsmen have committed thee to a place narrower
 than a needle's eye.

 There is the body stretched out that the worms may devour it, until
 the coffin-wood is bored through and the bones molder.

 And afterward there is no escape from that review of souls: since
 Sirat is prepared; its bridge is stretched over the fire to every one
 who cometh thither.

 And how many a guide shall go astray! and how many a great one shall
 be vile! and how many a learned one shall slip and say, "The business
 surpasseth."

 Therefore hasten, O simple one, to that by which the bitter is made
 sweet; for thy life is now near to decay and thou hast not withdrawn
 thyself from blame.

 And rely not on fortune though it be soft, though it be gay: for so
 wilt thou be found like one deceived by a viper that spitteth venom.

 And lower thyself from thy loftiness; for death is meeting thee and
 reaching at thy collar; and he is one who shrinketh not back when he
 hath purposed.

 And avoid proud turning away of the cheek if fortune have prospered
 thee: bridle thy speech if it would run astray; for how happy is he
 who bridleth it!

 And relieve the brother of sorrow, and believe him when he speaketh
 and mend thy ragged conduct; for he hath prospered who mendeth it.

 And plume him whose plumage hath fallen in calamity great or small;
 and sorrow not at the loss, and be not covetous in amassing.

 And resist thy base nature, and accustom thy hand to liberality, and
 listen not to blame for it, and keep thy hand from hoarding.

 And make provision of good for thy soul, and leave that which will
 bring on ill, and prepare the ship for thy journey, and dread the deep
 of the sea.

 Thus have I given my precepts, friends, and shown as one who showeth
 clearly: and happy the man who walketh by my doctrines and maketh them
 his example.

Then he drew back his sleeve from an arm strong of sinew, on which he
had fastened the splints of deceit not of fracture; presenting himself
to beg in the garb of impudence: and by it he beguiled those people
until his sleeve was brimmed and full; then he came down from the
hillock merry at the gift. Said the narrator: But I pulled him from
behind by the hem of his cloak; and he turned to me submissively, and
faced me, saluting me: and lo! it was our old Abu Zayd, in his very
self, and in all his deceit: and I said to him,

 How many, Abu Zayd, will be the varieties of thy cunning to drive the
 prey to thy net? and wilt thou not care who censures?

And he answered without shame and without hesitation:

 Look well, and leave thy blaming; for, tell me, hast thou ever known
 a time when a man would not win of the world when the game was in his
 hands?

Then I said to him: Away with thee, Old Shaykh of Hell, laden with
infamy! For there is nothing like thee for the fairness of thy seeming
and the foulness of thy purpose; except silvered dung or a whited
sewer. Then we parted; and I went away to the right, and he went away
to the left; and I set myself to the quarter of the south, and he set
himself to the quarter of the north.


THE TWELFTH ASSEMBLY

(CALLED "OF DAMASCUS")[27]

Al Harith, son of Hammam, related: I journeyed from Irak to the Ghutah;
and then was I master of haltered steeds and envied wealth. Freedom
of arm called me to diversion, fulness of store led me to pride. And
when I had reached the place after toil of soul, after making lean my
camel, I found it such as tongues describe it; and in it was whatever
souls long for or eyes delight in. So I thanked the bounty of travel
and ran a heat with pleasure: and began there to break the seals of
desires and gather the clusters of delights, until some travelers were
making ready for the journey to Irak, and I had so recovered from
my drowning, that regret visited me in calling to mind my home and
longing after my fold. Then I struck the tents of exile and saddled
the steeds of return. And when the company had equipped themselves and
agreement was completed, we shrank from setting forth without taking
with us a guard. And we sought one from every tribe and used a thousand
devices to obtain him. But to find him in the clans failed, so that we
thought he was not among the living. And for the want of such a one the
resolves of the travelers were bewildered, and they assembled at the
gate of Jayrun to take counsel. And they ceased not tying and untying,
and plaiting and twining, until suggestion was exhausted and the hoper
despaired. But opposite them was a person whose demeanor was as the
demeanor of the youthful, and his garb as the garb of monks, and in his
hand was the rosary of women, and in his eyes the mark of giddiness
from watchings. And he had fastened his gaze on the assemblage and
sharpened his ear to steal a hearing. And when it was the time of their
turning homeward and their secret was manifest to him, he said to them,
"O people, let your care relieve itself, let your mind be tranquil;
for I will guard you with that which shall put off your fear and show
itself in accord with you." Said the narrator: Then we asked him to
show us concerning his safe conduct, and promised him a higher wage for
it than for an embassy. And he declared it to be some words which he
had been taught in a dream, whereby to guard himself from the malice
of mankind. Then began one to steal a look at another, and to move his
eyes between glances sideward and downward. So that it was plain to him
that we thought meanly of his story, and conceived it to be futile.
Whereupon he said, How is it that ye take my earnest for jest, and
treat my gold as dross? Now, by Allah, oft have I gone through fearful
tracts and entered among deadly dangers: and with this I have needed
not the companying of a guard or to take with me a quiver. Besides, I
will remove what gives you doubt, I will draw away the distrust that
has come on you, in that I will consent with you in the desert and
accompany you on the Semaweh. Then, if my promise has spoken you true,
do ye renew my weal and prosper my fortune: but if my mouth has lied to
you, then rend my skin and pour out my blood.

Said Al Harith, son of Hammam: Then we were inspired to believe
his vision and take as true what he had related; so we ceased from
disputing with him and cast lots for carrying him. And at his word we
cut the loops of hindrance, and put away fear of harm or stay; and
when the pack-saddles were fastened on and the setting forth was near,
we sought to learn from him the magic words that we might make them a
lasting safeguard. He said: "Let each of you repeat the Mother of the
Koran as often as day or night comes on; then let him say with lowly
tongue and humble voice: O God! O thou who givest life to the moldering
dead! O thou who avertest harms! O thou who guardest from terrors! O
thou generous in rewarding! O thou the refuge of suppliants! O thou the
Lord of pardon and protection! Send thy blessing on Mohammed, the Seal
of thy prophets, the Bringer of thy messages, and on the Lights of his
kindred, the Keys of his victory; and give me refuge, O God, from the
mischiefs of devils and the assaults of princes; from the vexing of the
wrongers, and from suffering through the tyrannous; from the enmity
of transgressors, and from the transgression of enemies; from the
conquest of conquerors, from the spoiling of spoilers, from the crafts
of the crafty, from the treacheries of the treacherous; and deliver
me, O God, from the wrongfulness of neighbors and the neighborhood
of the wrongful; and keep from me the hands of the harmful; bring me
forth from the darkness of the oppressors; place me by thy mercy among
thy servants who do aright. O God, keep me in my own land and in my
journeying, in my exile and my coming homeward, in my foraging and
my return from it, in my trafficking and my success from it, in my
adventuring and my withdrawing from it. And guard me in myself and my
property, in my honor and my goods, in my family and my means, in my
household and my dwelling, in my strength and my fortune, in my riches
and my death. Bring not on me reverse; make not the invader lord over
me, but give me from thyself helping power. O God, watch over me with
thy eye and thy aid, distinguish me by thy safeguard and thy bounty,
befriend me with thy election and thy good, and consign me not to
the keeping of any but thee. But grant to me health that weareth not
away, and allot to me comfort that perisheth not; and free me from the
terrors of misfortune, and shelter me with the coverings of thy boons;
make not the talons of enemies to prevail against me, for thou art he
that heareth prayer."

Then he looked down, and he turned not a glance, he answered not a
word: so that we said, "A fear has confounded him or a stupor struck
him dumb." Then he raised his head and drew his breath, and said, "I
swear by the heaven with its constellations, and the earth with its
plains, and the pouring flood, and the blazing sun, and the sounding
sea, and the wind and the dust-storm, that this is the most sure of
charms, one that will best suffice you for the wearers of the helmet.
He who repeats it at the smiling of the dawn has no alarm of danger to
the red of eve; and he who whispers it to the vanguard of the dark is
safe the night long from plunder."

Said the narrator: So we learned it till we knew it thoroughly, and
rehearsed it together that we might not forget it. Then we set forth,
urging the beasts by prayers, not by the song of drivers; and guarding
the loads by words, not by warriors. And our companion frequented us
evening and morning, but required not of us our promises: till when
we spied the house-tops of 'Anah, he said to us, "Now, your help,
your help!" Then we set before him the exposed and the hidden, and
showed him the corded and the sealed, and said to him, "Decide as thou
wilt, for thou wilt find among us none but will consent." But nothing
enlivened him but the light, the adorning; nothing was comely in his
eye but the coin. So of those he loaded on his burden, and rose up
with enough to repair his poverty. Then he dodged us as dodges the
cut-purse, and slipped away from us as slips quicksilver. And his
departure saddened us, his shooting away astonished us: and we ceased
not to seek him in every assembly, and to ask news of him from each
that might mislead or guide. Until it was said, "Since he entered
'Anah he has not quitted the tavern." Then the foulness of this report
set me on to test it, and to walk in a path to which I belonged not.
So I went by night to the wine-hall in disguised habit; and there was
the old man in a gay- dress amid casks and wine-vats; and about
him were cup-bearers surpassing in beauty, and lights that glittered,
and the myrtle and the jasmine, and the pipe and the lute. And at one
time he bade broach the wine-casks, and at another he called the lutes
to give utterance; and now he inhaled the perfumes, and now he courted
the gazelles. But when I had thus stumbled on his hypocrisy, and the
differing of his to-day from his yesterday, I said to him, Woe to thee,
accursed! hast thou forgotten the day at the Jayrun? But he laughed
heartily, and then indited charmingly:

 I cling to journeying, I cross deserts, I loathe pride that I may cull
 joy:

 And I plunge into floods, and tame steeds that I may draw the trains
 of pleasure and delight.

 And I throw away staidness, and sell my land, for the sipping of wine,
 for the quaffing of cups.

 And were it not for longing after the drinking of wine my mouth would
 not utter its elegancies;

 Nor would my craft have lured the travelers to the land of Irak,
 through my carrying of rosaries.

 Now be not angry, nor cry aloud, nor chide, for my excuse is plain:

 And wonder not at an old man who settles himself in a well-filled
 house by a wine-cask that is brimming.

 For truly wine strengthens the bones and heals sickness and drives
 away grief.

 And the purest of joy is when the grave man throws off the veils of
 shame and flings them aside:

 And the sweetest of passion is when the love-crazed ceases from the
 concealing of his love, and shows it openly.

 Then avow thy love and cool thy heart: or else the fire-staff of thy
 grief will rub a spark on it;

 And heal thy wounds, and draw out thy cares by the daughter of the
 vine, her the desired:

 And assign to thy evening draught a cup-bearer who will stir the
 torment of desire when she gazes;

 And a singer who will raise such a voice that the mountains of iron
 shall thrill at it when she chants.

 And rebel against the adviser who will not permit thee to approach a
 beauty when she consents.

 And range in thy cunning even to perverseness; and care not what is
 said of thee, and catch what suits thee:

 And leave thy father if he refuse thee, and spread thy nets and hunt
 who comes by thee.

 But be sincere with thy friend, and avoid the niggardly, and bestow
 kindness, and be constant in gifts;

 And take refuge in repentance before thy departure; for whoso knocks
 at the door of the Merciful causes it to open.

Then I said to him, "O rare thy recitation, but fie on thy misconduct!
Now, by Allah, tell me from what thicket is thy root, for thy puzzle
vexes me." He said I love not to disclose myself; yet I will intimate
it:

 I am the novelty of the time, the wonder of nations;

 I am the wily one, who plays his wiles among Arabs and foreigners;

 But not the less a brother of need, whom fortune vexes and wrongs,

 And the father of children who lie out like meat on the tray:

 Now the brother of want, who has a household, is not blamed if he be
 wily.

Said the narrator: Then I knew that it was Abu Zayd, the man of
ill-fame and disgrace, he that blackens the face of his hoariness. And
the greatness of his contumacy offended me, and the foulness of the
path of his resorting: so I said to him with the tongue of indignation
and the confidence of acquaintance: "Is it not time, old man, that
thou withdraw from debauchery?" But he was angry, and growled, and his
countenance changed, and he thought a while: and then he said, "It
is a night for merriment, not for rebuke, an occasion for drinking
wine, not for contention; so leave speaking thy thought until we meet
to-morrow." Then I left him, through fear of his drunken humor, not
through dependence on his promise; and I passed my night clothed in the
mourning of repentance, at having advanced the steps of my foot to the
daughter of the vine, not of grace. And I made a vow to God Almighty
that I would never again enter the tavern of a liquor-seller, even
that I might be endowed with the dominion of Bagdad; and that I would
not look upon the vats of wine, even that the season of youth might be
restored to me. Then we saddled the white camels in the last darkness
of night, and left together Abu Zayd and Iblis.




ARABIC LITERATURE

THE POETS OF ARABIA


    "_Mortal joys, however pure,
    Soon their turbid source betray;
    Mortal bliss, however sure,
    Soon must totter and decay._"
    THE CALIPH RAHDI.


THE POETS OF ARABIA

(INTRODUCTION)


Arabic poetry, as explained in introducing the "Assemblies" of Al
Hariri, is based largely on harmonies of sound and striking turns of
phrasing. Hence most of the poems are brief; and a poet's fame depended
upon a few brilliant couplets rather than on any sustained melody or
long-continued flight of noble thought. One distinguished philosophical
poem of some length is the well-known "Lament of the Vizier Abu
Ismael." This we give in full at the conclusion of this section; but
mainly we must illustrate the finest flowering of Arabic verse by
selecting specimens of characteristic brevity.

Many of the Arab caliphs inclined to the gaieties of life rather than
to their religious duties, and kept many poets around them. Indeed some
of the caliphs themselves were poets: The Caliph Walid composed music
as well as verse; and was hailed by his immediate companions as a great
artist. His neglect of religion, however, was so reckless as to rouse
the resentment of his people, and he lost his throne and life.

Most noted of all the Arab poets was Mutanabbi (905-965). His fantastic
imagery and extravagant refinements of language were held by his
admirers to be the very perfection of literature. More than forty
commentaries were written to explain the subtleties of his verse. Such,
indeed, was the intensity of Mutanabbi's poetic ecstasy that he fancied
himself a prophet and began to preach a new religion, until a term in
prison persuaded him to cling to the accepted form of Mohammedanism.
In one well-known passage ridiculed by the great French critic, Huart,
Mutanabbi says of an advancing army that it was so vast

    "The warriors marched hidden in their dust;
      They saw only with their ears."

The commentators explain, perhaps unnecessarily, that this means that
the warriors' senses were confused by all the tumult, so that while
they thought they saw, in reality they only heard the clamor of the
marchers around them. In translation, Mutanabbi's verses lose all
value. Deprived of their Arabic melody they seem mere bombast and
absurdity. This, in fact, is the general charge which must be made
against the later Arabic poetry. It too often degenerated into empty
sound.


THE POETS OF ARABIA


THE SONG OF MAISUNA[28]

(WIFE OF THE CALIPH MOWIAH)

    The russet suit of camel's hair,
      With spirits light, and eye serene,
    Is dearer to my bosom far
      Than all the trappings of a queen.

    The humble tent and murmuring breeze
      That whistles thro' its fluttering wall,
    My unaspiring fancy please
      Better than towers and splendid halls.

    Th' attendant colts that bounding fly
      And frolic by the litter's side,
    Are dearer in Maisuna's eye
      Than gorgeous mules in all their pride.

    The watch-dog's voice that bays whene'er
      A stranger seeks his master's cot,
    Sounds sweeter in Maisuna's ear
      Than yonder trumpet's long-drawn note.

    The rustic youth unspoilt by art,
      Son of my kindred, poor but free,
    Will ever to Maisuna's heart
      Be dearer, pamper'd fool, than thee.


TO MY FATHER[29]

(BY THE CALIPH YAZID)

    Must then my failings from the shaft
      Of anger ne'er escape?
    And dost thou storm because I've quaff'd
      The water of the grape?

    That I can thus from wine be driv'n
      Thou surely ne'er canst think—
    Another reason thou hast giv'n
      Why I resolve to drink.

    'Twas sweet the flowing cup to seize,
      'Tis sweet thy rage to see;
    And first I drink myself to please;
      And next—to anger thee.


ON FATALISM[30]

(BY THE HOLY IMAN SHAFAY)

    Not always wealth, not always force
      A splendid destiny commands;
    The lordly vulture gnaws the corse
      That rots upon yon barren sands.

    Nor want, nor weakness still conspires
      To bind us to a sordid state;
    The fly that with a touch expires
      Sips honey from the royal plate.


TO THE CALIPH HAROUN AL RASHID[31]

(BY PRINCE IBRAHIM BEN ADHAM)

    Religion's gems can ne'er adorn
    The flimsy robe by pleasure worn;
    Its feeble texture soon would tear,
    And give those jewels to the air.

    Thrice happy they who seek th' abode
    Of peace and pleasure in their God!
    Who spurn the world, its joys despise,
    And grasp at bliss beyond the skies.


LINES TO HAROUN AND YAHIA[32]

(BY THE MUSICIAN, ISAAC AL MOUSELI)

    Th' affrighted sun ere while he fled,
      And hid his radiant face in night;
    A cheerless gloom the world o'erspread—
      But Haroun came and all was bright.

    Again the sun shoots forth his rays,
      Nature is decked in beauty's robe—
    For mighty Haroun's scepter sways,
      And Yahia's arm sustains the globe.


THE RUIN OF THE BARMECIDES[33]

    No, Barmec Time hath never shown
      So sad a change of wayward fate;
    Nor sorrowing mortals ever known
      A grief so true, a loss so great.

    Spouse of the world! Thy soothing breast
      Did balm to every woe afford;
    And now no more by thee caressed,
      The widowed world bewails her lord.


TO TAHER BEN HOSIEN[34]

    A pair of right hands and a single dim eye
    Must form not a man, but a monster, they cry:
    Change a hand to an eye, good Taher, if you can,
    And a monster perhaps may be chang'd to man.


[Illustration: THE SONG OF ABU AL SALAM.

    "Think not that we will take the cup
    From any hand but thine."
]

TO MY MISTRESS[35]

(BY ABU TAMMAM HABIB)

    Ungenerous and mistaken maid,
      To scorn me thus because I'm poor!
    Canst thou a liberal hand upbraid
      For dealing round some worthless ore?

    To spare 's the wish of little souls,
      The great but gather to bestow;
    Yon current down the mountain rolls,
      And stagnates in the swamp below.


TO A FEMALE CUP-BEARER[36]

(BY ABU AL SALAM)

    Come, Leila, fill the goblet up,
      Beach round the rosy wine,
    Think not that we will take the cup
      From any hand but thine.

    A draught like this 'twere vain to seek,
      No grape can such supply;
    It steals its tint from Leila's cheek,
      Its brightness from her eye.


MASHDUD ON THE MONKS OF KHABBET[37]

    Tenants of yon hallowed fane!
      Let me your devotions share,
    There increasing raptures reign—
    None are ever sober there.

    Crowded gardens, festive bowers
      Ne'er shall claim a thought of mine;
    You can give in Khabbet's towers—
      Purer joys and brighter wine.

    Though your pallid faces prove
      How you nightly vigils keep,
    'Tis but that you ever love
      Flowing goblets more than sleep.

    Though your eye-balls dim and sunk
      Stream in penitential guise,
    'Tis but that the wine you've drunk
      Bubbles over from your eyes.


RAKEEK TO HIS FEMALE COMPANIONS

    Though the peevish tongues upbraid,
      Though the brows of wisdom scowl,
    Fair ones here on roses laid,
      Careless will we quaff the bowl.

    Let the cup, with nectar crowned,
      Through the grove its beams display,
    It can shed a luster round,
      Brighter than the torch of day.

    Let it pass from hand to hand,
      Circling still with ceaseless flight,
    Till the streaks of gray expand
      O'er the fleeting robe of night.

    As night flits, she does but cry,
      "Seize the moments that remain"—
    Thus our joys with yours shall vie,
      Tenants of yon hallowed fane!


DIALOGUE BY RAIS


_Rais_

    Maid of sorrow, tell us why
      Sad and drooping hangs thy head?
    Is it grief that bids thee sigh?
      Is it sleep that flies thy bed?


_Lady_

    Ah! I mourn no fancied wound,
      Pangs too true this heart have wrung,
    Since the snakes which curl around
      Selim's brows my bosom stung.

    Destined now to keener woes,
      I must see the youth depart,
    He must go, and as he goes
      Bend at once my bursting heart.

    Slumber may desert my bed,
      'Tis not slumber's charms I seek—
    'Tis the robe of beauty spread
      O'er my Selim's rosy cheek.


TO A LADY WEEPING[38]

(BY EBN ALRUMI)

    When I beheld thy blue eyes shine
      Through the bright drop that pity drew,
    I saw beneath those tears of thine
      A blue-ey'd violet bathed in dew.

    The violet ever scents the gale,
      Its hues adorn the fairest wreath,
    But sweetest through a dewy veil
      Its colors glow, its odors breathe.

    And thus thy charms in brightness rise—
      When wit and pleasure round thee play,
    When mirth sits smiling in thine eyes,
      Who but admires their sprightly ray?
    But when through pity's flood they gleam,
    Who but must love their softened beam?


ON A VALETUDINARIAN

(BY EBN ALRUMI)

    So careful is Isa, and anxious to last,
      So afraid of himself is he grown,
    He swears through two nostrils the breath goes too fast,
      And he's trying to breathe through but one.


ON A MISER

(BY EBN ALRUMI)

    "Hang her, a thoughtless, wasteful fool,
      She scatters corn where'er she goes"—
    Quoth Hassan, angry at his mule,
      That dropped a dinner to the crows.


TO CASSIM OBIO ALLAH[39]

(BY ALI IBN AHMED)

    Poor Cassim! thou art doomed to mourn
      By destiny's decree;
    Whatever happens it must turn
      To misery for thee.

    Two sons hadst thou, the one thy pride,
      The other was thy pest;
    Ah, why did cruel death decide
      To snatch away the best?

    No wonder thou shouldst droop with woe,
      Of such a child bereft;
    But now thy tears must doubly flow,
      For, ah! the other's left.


A FRIEND'S BIRTHDAY[40]

    When born, in tears we saw thee drowned,
    While thine assembled friends around,
      With smiles their joy confessed;
    So live, that at thy parting hour,
    They may the flood of sorrow pour,
      And thou in smiles be dressed!


TO A CAT

(BY IBN ALALAF ALNAHARWANY)

    Poor puss is gone! 'Tis fate's decree—
      Yet I must still her loss deplore,
    For dearer than a child was she,
      And ne'er shall I behold her more.

    With many a sad presaging tear
      This morn I saw her steal away,
    While she went on without a fear
      Except that she should miss her prey.

    I saw her to the dove-house climb,
      With cautious feet and slow she stept
    Resolved to balance loss of time
      By eating faster than she crept.

    Her subtle foes were on the watch,
      And marked her course, with fury fraught,
    And while she hoped the birds to catch,
      An arrow's point the huntress caught.

    In fancy she had got them all,
      And drunk their blood and sucked their breath;
    Alas! she only got a fall,
      And only drank the draught of death.

    Why, why was pigeons' flesh so nice,
      That thoughtless cats should love it thus?
    Hadst thou but lived on rats and mice,
      Thou hadst been living still, poor puss.

    Curst be the taste, howe'er refined,
      That prompts us for such joys to wish,
    And curst the dainty where we find
      Destruction lurking in the dish.


FIRE

_A Riddle_

    The loftiest cedars I can eat,
      Yet neither paunch nor mouth have I,
    I storm whene'er you give me meat,
      Whene'er you give me drink I die.


TO A LADY BLUSHING[41]

(BY THE CALIPH RADHI BILLAH)

    Leila, whene'er I gaze on thee
      My altered cheek turns pale,
    While upon thine, sweet maid, I see
      A deep'ning blush prevail.

    Leila, shall I the cause impart
      Why such a change takes place?
    The crimson stream deserts my heart,
      To mantle on thy face.


ON THE VICISSITUDES OF LIFE

(BY THE CALIPH RADHI BILLAH)

    Mortal joys, however pure,
      Soon their turbid source betray;
    Mortal bliss, however sure,
      Soon must totter and decay.

    Ye who now, with footsteps keen,
      Range through hope's delusive field,
    Tell us what the smiling scene
      To your ardent grasp can yield?

    Other youths have oft before
      Deemed their joys would never fade,
    Till themselves were seen no more
      Swept into oblivion's shade.

    Who, with health and pleasure gay,
      E'er his fragile state could know,
    Were not age and pain to say
      Man is but the child of woe?


TO A DOVE

(BY SERAGE ALWARAK)

    The dove to ease an aching breast,
      In piteous murmurs vents her cares;
    Like me she sorrows, for opprest,
      Like me, a load of grief she bears.

    Her plaints are heard in every wood,
      While I would fain conceal my woes;
    But vain's my wish, the briny flood,
      The more I strive, the faster flows.

    Sure, gentle bird, my drooping heart
      Divides the pangs of love with thine,
    And plaintive murm'rings are thy part,
      And silent grief and tears are mine.


ON A THUNDER-STORM

(BY IBRAHIM BEN KHIRET ABOU ISAAC)

    Bright smiled the morn, till o'er its head
    The clouds in thicken'd foldings spread
          A robe of sable hue;
    Then, gathering round day's golden king,
    They stretched their wide o'ershadowing wing,
          And hid him from our view.

    The rain his absent beams deplored,
    And, soften'd into weeping, poured
          Its tears in many a flood;
    The lightning laughed with horrid glare;
    The thunder growled, in rage; the air
          In silent sorrow stood.


TO MY FAVORITE MISTRESS

(BY SAIF ADDAULET, SULTAN OF ALEPPO)

    I saw their jealous eyeballs roll,
      I saw them mark each glance of mine,
    I saw thy terrors, and my soul
      Shared ev'ry pang that tortured thine.

    In vain to wean my constant heart,
      Or quench my glowing flame, they strove;
    Each deep-laid scheme, each envious art,
      But waked my fears for her I love.

    'Twas this compelled the stern decree,
      That forced thee to those distant towers,
    And left me naught but love for thee,
      To cheer my solitary hours.

    Yet let not Abla sink deprest,
      Nor separation's pangs deplore;
    We meet not—'tis to meet more blest;
      We parted—'tis to part no more.


CRUCIFIXION OF EBN BAKIAH

(BY ABU HASSAN ALANBARY)

    Whate'er thy fate, in life and death,
      hou'rt doomed above us still to rise,
    Whilst at a distance far beneath
      We view thee with admiring eyes.

    The gazing crowds still round thee throng,
      Still to thy well-known voice repair,
    As when erewhile thy hallow'd tongue
      Poured in the mosque the solemn prayer.

    Still, generous Vizier, we survey
      Thine arms extended o'er our head,
    As lately, in the festive day,
      When they were stretched thy gifts to shed.

    Earth's narrow boundaries strove in vain
      To limit thy aspiring mind,
    And now we see thy dust disdain
      Within her breast to be confin'd.

    The earth's too small for one so great,
      Another mansion thou shalt have—
    The clouds shall be thy winding sheet,
      The spacious vault of heaven thy grave.


CAPRICES OF FORTUNE[42]

(BY SHEMS ALMAALI CABUS)

    Why should I blush that Fortune's frown
      Dooms me life's humble paths to tread?
    To live unheeded, and unknown?
      To sink forgotten to the dead?

    'Tis not the good, the wise, the brave,
      That surest shine, or highest rise;
    The feather sports upon the wave,
      The pearl in ocean's cavern lies.

    Each lesser star that studs the sphere
    Sparkles with undiminish'd light;
    Dark and eclipsed alone appear
      The lord of day, the queen of night.


ON LIFE

    Like sheep, we're doomed to travel o'er
      The fated track to all assigned,
    These follow those that went before,
      And leave the world to those behind.

    As the flock seeks the pasturing shade,
      Man presses to the future day,
    While death, amidst the tufted glade,
      Like the dun robber,[43] waits his prey.


EXTEMPORE VERSES[44]

(BY EBN ALRAMACRAM)

    Lowering as Barkaidy's face
      The wintry night came in,
    Cold as the music of his bass,
      And lengthened as his chin.

    Sleep from my aching eyes had fled,
      And kept as far apart,
    As sense from Ebn Fahdi's head,
      Or virtue from his heart.

    The dubious paths my footsteps balked,
      I slipp'd along the sod,
    As if on Jaber's faith I'd walked,
      Or on his truth had trod.

    At length the rising King of day
      Burst on the gloomy wood,
    Like Carawash's eye, whose ray
      Dispenses every good.


ON THE DEATH OF A SON[45]

(BY ALI BEN MOHAMMED ALTAHMANY)

    Tyrant of man! Imperious Fate!
      I bow before thy dread decree,
    Nor hope in this uncertain state
      To find a seat secure from thee.

    Life is a dark, tumultuous stream,
      With many a care and sorrow foul,
    Yet thoughtless mortals vainly deem
      That it can yield a limpid bowl.

    Think not that stream will backward flow,
      Or cease its destined course to keep;
    As soon the blazing spark shall glow
      Beneath the surface of the deep.

    Believe not Fate at thy command
      Will grant a meed she never gave;
    As soon the airy tower shall stand,
      That's built upon a passing wave.

    Life is a sleep of threescore years,
      Death bids us wake and hail the light,
    And man, with all his hopes and fears,
      Is but a phantom of the night.


ON MODERATION IN OUR PLEASURES[46]

(BY ABU ALCASSIM EBN TABATABA)

    How oft does passion's grasp destroy
      The pleasure that it strives to gain?
    How soon the thoughtless course of joy
      Is doomed to terminate in pain?

    When prudence would thy steps delay,
      She but restrains to make thee blest;
    Whate'er from joy she lops away,
      But heightens and secures the rest.

    Wouldst thou a trembling flame expand,
      That hastens in the lamp to die?
    With careful touch, with sparing hand,
      The feeding stream of life supply.

    But if thy flask profusely sheds
      A rushing torrent o'er the blaze,
    Swift round the sinking flame it spreads,
      And kills the fire it fain would raise.


THE VALE OF BOZAA[47]

(BY AHMED BEN YUSEF ALMENAZY)

    The intertwining boughs for thee
      Have wove, sweet dell, a verdant vest,
    And thou in turn shalt give to me
      A verdant couch upon thy breast.

    To shield me from day's fervid glare
      Thine oaks their fostering arms extend,
    As anxious o'er her infant care
      I've seen a watchful mother bend.

    A brighter cup, a sweeter draught,
      I gather from that rill of thine,
    Than maddening drunkards ever quaff'd,
      Than all the treasures of the vine.

    So smooth the pebbles on its shore,
      That not a maid can thither stray,
    But counts her strings of jewels o'er,
      And thinks the pearls have slipped away.


TO ADVERSITY[48]

(BY ABU MENBAA CARAWASH)

    Hail, chastening friend Adversity! 'Tis thine
    The mental ore to temper and refine,
    To cast in virtue's mold the yielding heart,
    And honor's polish to the mind impart.
    Without thy wakening touch, thy plastic aid,
    I'd lain the shapeless mass that nature made;
    But formed, great artist, by thy magic hand,
    I gleam a sword to conquer and command.


ON THE INCOMPATIBILITY OF PRIDE AND TRUE GLORY[49]

(BY ABU ALOLA)

    Think not, Abdallah, pride and fame
      Can ever travel hand in hand;
    With breast opposed, and adverse aim,
      On the same narrow path they stand.

    Thus youth and age together meet,
      And life's divided moments share;
    This can't advance till that retreat,
      What's here increased is lessened there.

    And thus the falling shades of night
      Still struggle with the lucid ray,
    And e'er they stretch their gloomy flight
      Must win the lengthened space from day.


THE DEATH OF NEDHAM ALMOLK

(BY SHEBAL ADDAULET)

    Thy virtues famed through every land,
      Thy spotless life, in age and youth,
    Prove thee a pearl, by nature's hand,
      Formed out of purity and truth.

    Too long its beams of Orient light
      Upon a thankless world were shed;
    Allah has now revenged the slight,
      And called it to its native bed.


TO A LADY

    No, Abla, no—when Selim tells
    Of many an unknown grace that dwells
          In Abla's face and mien,
    When he describes the sense refined,
    That lights thine eye and fills thy mind,
          By thee alone unseen.

    'Tis not that drunk with love he sees
    Ideal charms, which only please
          Through passion's partial veil,
    'Tis not that flattery's glozing tongue
    Hath basely framed an idle song,
          But truth that breathed the tale.

    Thine eyes unaided ne'er could trace
    Each opening charm, each varied grace,
          That round thy person plays;
    Some must remain concealed from thee,
    For Selim's watchful eye to see,
          For Selim's tongue to praise.

    One polished mirror can declare
    That eye so bright, that face so fair,
          That cheek which shames the rose;
    But how thy mantle waves behind,
    How float thy tresses on the wind,
          Another only shows.


AN EPIGRAM[50]

    Whoever has recourse to thee
      Can hope for health no more,
    He's launched into perdition's sea,
      A sea without a shore.

    Where'er admission thou canst gain,
      Where'er thy phiz can pierce,
    At once the Doctor they retain,
      The mourners and the hearse.


ON A LITTLE MAN WITH A VERY LARGE BEARD

(BY ISAAC BEN KHALIF)

    How can thy chin that burden bear?
      Is it all gravity to shock?
    Is it to make the people stare?
      And be thyself a laughing stock?

    When I behold thy little feet
      After thy beard obsequious run,
    I always fancy that I meet
      Some father followed by his son.

    A man like thee scarce e'er appeared—
      A beard like thine—where shall we find it?
    Surely thou cherishest thy beard
      In hopes to hide thyself behind it.


THE LAMENT OF THE VIZIER ABU ISMAEL[51]

    No kind supporting hand I meet,
    But Fortitude shall stay my feet;
    No borrowed splendors round me shine,
    But Virtue's luster all is mine;
    A Fame unsullied still I boast,
    Obscured, concealed, but never lost—
    The same bright orb that led the day
    Pours from the West his mellowed ray.

    Zaura, farewell! No more I see
    Within thy walls, a home for me;
    Deserted, spurned, aside I'm tossed,
    As an old sword whose scabbard's lost:
    Around thy walls I seek in vain
    Some bosom that will soothe my pain—
    No friend is near to breathe relief,
    Or brother to partake my grief.
    For many a melancholy day
    Through desert vales I've wound my way;
    The faithful beast, whose back I press,
    In groans laments her lord's distress;
    In every quivering of my spear
    A sympathetic sigh I hear;
    The camel bending with his load,
    And struggling through the thorny road,
    'Midst the fatigues that bear him down,
    In Hassan's woes forgets his own;
    Yet cruel friends my wand'rings chide,
    My sufferings slight, my toils deride.

    Once wealth, I own, engrossed each thought,
    There was a moment when I sought
    The glitt'ring stores Ambition claims
    To feed the wants his fancy frames;
    But now 'tis past—the changing day
    Has snatched my high-built hopes away,
    And bade this wish my labors close—
    Give me not riches, but repose.
    'Tis he—that mien my friend declares,
    That stature, like the lance he bears;
    I see that breast which ne'er contained
    A thought by fear or folly stained,
    Whose powers can every change obey,
    In business grave, in trifles gay,
    And, formed each varying taste to please,
    Can mingle dignity with ease.

    What, though with magic influence, sleep,
    O'er every closing eyelid creep:
    Though drunk with its oblivious wine
    Our comrades on their bales recline,
    My Selim's trance I sure can break—
    Selim, 'tis I, 'tis I who speak.
    Dangers on every side impend,
    And sleep'st thou, careless of thy friend?
    Thou sleep'st while every star on high,
    Beholds me with a wakeful eye—
    Thou changest, ere the changeful night
    Hath streak'd her fleeting robe with white.

    'Tis love that hurries me along—
    I'm deaf to fear's repressive song—
    The rocks of Idham I'll ascend,
    Though adverse darts each path defend,
    And hostile sabers glitter there,
    To guard the tresses of the fair.

    Come, Selim, let us pierce the grove,
    While night befriends, to seek my love.
    The clouds of fragrance as they rise
    Shall mark the place where Abla lies.
    Around her tent my jealous foes,
    Like lions, spread their watchful rows;
    Amidst their bands, her bow'r appears
    Embosomed in a wood of spears—
    A wood still nourished by the dews,
    Which smiles, and softest looks diffuse.
    Thrice happy youths! who midst yon shades
    Sweet converse hold with Idham's maids,
    What bliss, to view them gild the hours,
    And brighten wit and fancy's powers,
    While every foible they disclose
    New transport gives, new graces shows.
    'Tis theirs to raise with conscious art
    The flames of love in every heart;
    'Tis yours to raise with festive glee
    The flames of hospitality:
    Smit by their glances lovers lie,
    And helpless sink and hopeless die;
    While slain by you the stately steed
    To crown the feast, is doomed to bleed,
    To crown the feast, where copious flows
    The sparkling juice that soothes your woes,
    That lulls each care and heals each wound,
    As the enliv'ning bowl goes round.
    Amidst those vales my eager feet
    Shall trace my Abla's dear retreat,
    A gale of health may hover there,
    To breathe some solace to my care.
    I fear not love—I bless the dart
    Sent in a glance to pierce the heart:
    With willing breast the sword I hail
    That wounds me through an half-closed veil:
    Though lions howling round the shade,
    My footsteps haunt, my walks invade,
    No fears shall drive me from the grove,
    If Abla listen to my love.

    Ah, Selim! shall the spells of ease
    Thy friendship chain, thine ardor freeze!
    Wilt thou enchanted thus, decline
    Each gen'rous thought, each bold design?
    Then far from men some cell prepare;
    Or build a mansion in the air—
    But yield to us, ambition's tide,
    Who fearless on its waves can ride;
    Enough for thee if thou receive
    The scattered spray the billows leave.

    Contempt and want the wretch await
    Who slumbers in an abject state—
    'Midst rushing crowds, by toil and pain
    The meed of Honor we must gain;
    At Honor's call, the camel hastes
    Through trackless wilds and dreary wastes,
    Till in the glorious race she find
    The fleetest coursers left behind:
    By toils like these alone, he cries,
    Th' adventurous youths to greatness rise;
    If bloated indolence were fame,
    And pompous ease our noblest aim,
    The orb that regulates the day
    Would ne'er from Aries' mansion stray.

    I've bent at Fortune's shrine too long—
    Too oft she heard my suppliant tongue—
    Too oft has mocked my idle prayers,
    While fools and knaves engrossed her cares,
    Awake for them, asleep to me,
    Heedless of worth she scorned each plea.
    Ah! had her eyes more just surveyed
    The diff'rent claims which each displayed,
    Those eyes from partial fondness free
    Had slept to them, and waked for me.
    But, 'midst my sorrows and my toils,
    Hope ever soothed my breast with smiles;
    The hand removed each gathering ill,
    And oped life's closing prospects still.
    Yet spite of all her friendly art
    The specious scene ne'er gained my heart;
    I loved it not although the day
    Met my approach, and cheered my way;
    I loath it now the hours retreat,
    And fly me with reverted feet.

    My soul from every tarnish free
    May boldly vaunt her purity,
    But ah, how keen, however bright,
    The saber glitter to the sight,
    Its splendor's lost, its polish vain,
    Till some bold hand the steel sustain.

    Why have my days been stretched by fate,
    To see the vile and vicious great—
    While I, who led the race so long,
    Am last and meanest of the throng?
    Ah, why has death so long delayed
    To wrap me in his friendly shade,
    Left me to wander thus alone,
    When all my heart held dear is gone!

    But let me check these fretful sighs—
    Well may the base above me rise,
    When yonder planets as they run
    Mount in the sky above the sun.
    Resigned I bow to Fate's decree,
    Nor hope his laws will change for me;
    Each shifting scene, each varying hour,
    But proves the ruthless tyrant's power.

    But though with ills unnumbered curst,
    We owe to faithless man the worst;
    For man can smile with specious art,
    And plant a dagger in the heart.
    He only's fitted for the strife
    Which fills the boist'rous paths of life,
    Who, as he treads the crowded scenes,
    Upon no kindred bosom leans.
    Too long my foolish heart had deemed
    Mankind as virtuous as they seemed;
    The spell is broke, their faults are bare,
    And now I see them as they are;
    Truth from each tainted breast has flown,
    And falsehood marks them all her own.
    Incredulous I listen now
    To every tongue, and every vow,
    For still there yawns a gulf between
    Those honeyed words, and what they mean;
    With honest pride elate, I see
    The sons of falsehood shrink from me,
    As from the right line's even way
    The biassed curves deflecting stray—
    But what avails it to complain?
    With souls like theirs reproof is vain;
    If honor e'er such bosoms share
    The saber's point must fix it there.

    But why exhaust life's rapid bowl,
    And suck the dregs with sorrow foul,
    When long ere this my mouth has drained
    Whatever zest the cup contained?
    Why should we mount upon the wave,
    And ocean's yawning horrows brave,
    When we may swallow from the flask
    Whate'er the wants of mortals ask?
    Contentment's realms no fears invade,
    No cares annoy, no sorrows shade,
    There placed secure, in peace we rest,
    Nor aught demand to make us blest.
    While pleasure's gay fantastic bower,
    The splendid pageant of an hour,
    Like yonder meteor in the skies,
    Flits with a breath no more to rise.

    As through life's various walks we're led,
    May prudence hover o'er our head!
    May she our words, our actions guide,
    Our faults correct, our secrets hide!
    May she, where'er our footsteps stray,
    Direct our paths, and clear the way!

    Till, every scene of tumult past,
    She bring us to repose at last,
    Teach us to love that peaceful shore,
    And roam through folly's wilds no more!




MOORISH LITERATURE


SCIENCE AND HISTORY AMONG THE MOORS

 "_The religion sacred to philosophers is to study that which is, for
 the most sublime worship one can render to God is the recognition and
 knowledge of his works._"
  —AVERROES.


MOORISH LITERATURE


SCIENCE AND HISTORY

(INTRODUCTION)


The name "Moor" is used loosely to describe all those peoples who
sprang from the mingling of the Berber, or Hamitic, stock of North
Africa, with the Arabs or Semitic stock who swept over the region in
the Mohammedan conquest. The chief achievement of this mixed or Moorish
race was the establishment of their brilliant kingdom and independent
caliphate in Spain. Under the most powerful of these Spanish caliphs,
Ahderrahman III. (A.D. 912-961), their capital Cordova had six hundred
mosques, including its still celebrated chief mosque, the most
beautiful building of that age in Europe. The Moorish kingdom of Spain
had then seventeen universities and over seventy large libraries. It
was the most cultured land of Europe, the goal of scholars from less
peaceful and less learned Christendom.

The Moorish kingdom in the course of the twelfth century broke
up into many tiny States. These soon fought among themselves and
plunged each other into a common ruin. African Moors, of far more
ignorant and fanatic type, came to aid their Spanish brethren; and
under the pressure of these barbarians, culture rapidly declined.
The universities were broken up. The great scholar Averroes, who had
been the pride of his nation, was accused of heresy. His teachings
were found not sufficiently subservient to the Koran; and finally, in
1195, he was driven into exile. This event, or Averroes' death soon
afterward, may be reckoned as marking the downfall of the Moorish
leadership in science and philosophy.

In our volume we give some of Averroes' most celebrated commentaries,
as typifying the culmination of Moorish culture. We give also, as
its opening note, the speech with which Tarik, the first conqueror
of Spain, in the year A.D. 711 led his army to cross the Straits of
Gibraltar and began the attack upon the earlier Christian inhabitants.
This speech does not, however, preserve the actual words of Tarik;
it only presents the tradition of them as preserved by the Moorish
historian Al Maggari, who wrote in Africa long after the last of
the Moors had been driven out of Spain. In Al Maggari's day the
older Arabic traditions of exact service had quite faded. The Moors
had become poets and dreamers instead of scientists and critical
historians. The very name of Al Maggari's history may be accepted as
typifying its character. He called it "Breath of Perfumes."




SCIENCE AND HISTORY


PHILOSOPHIC THOUGHTS

(BY AVERROES)

The first to preach the resurrection were the prophets of Israel
after Moses, then the Evangelical Christians, then the Sabians, whose
religion has been called by Ibn-Hazm the oldest in the world. The
reason so many founders of religion established this dogma was because
they supposed this belief would moralize men and induce them to be
virtuous in their own interests. I do not quarrel with Al Ghazali or
Motecallemin for saying that the soul is immortal, but I object to the
idea that the soul is a mere accident, and that a man can take again
the body which has fallen into decay. No, he may take another, similar
to the first, but that which has been dead can not return to life.
These two bodies are only one, viewed as a species, but they are two
in number. Aristotle has said in the last lines of his "Generation and
Corruption": "A body once corrupted can never become the same again;
it can never return as an individual whole, but it can return to the
specific variety of which it is a part. When air separates from water
or water separates from air, each of these substances can not become
again the thing it was, but must return to its own species."

       *       *       *       *       *

How have we come to adopt these tales of the creation? Through habit.
Just as a man inured to poison can take it with impunity, so a man
used to them from childhood can accept the most unbelievable opinions.
Therefore the opinions of the masses are only formed through habit. The
people believe that which they hear incessantly repeated. And that is
why the power of religion is so much stronger than that of philosophy,
for it is not accustomed to hearing the opposite of its belief, a
thing which happens very often to philosophy: So one sees frequently,
nowadays, men who, having entered suddenly into the study of the
speculative sciences, lose the religious beliefs which they have only
held through habit, and become _zendihs_ (infidels).

The religion sacred to philosophers is to study that which _is_, for
the most sublime worship one can render to God is the recognition and
knowledge of his works, which leads us to know him, himself, in all his
_reality_. In the eyes of God that is the noblest action, while the
vilest action is to tax with error and presumption those who practise
this worship, higher than any other, who adore him by this religion,
the best of all religions.

Among the most dangerous of these fictions concerning a future life are
those which counsel virtue as a means of arriving at happiness. In that
case virtue is no longer worth anything, since one only abstains from
voluptuousness in the hope of being doubly repaid in the future. The
brave will only seek death to evade a worse evil. The good will only
respect the belongings of others in order to acquire twice as much.

Wine is forbidden because it excites wickedness and quarrels; but I am
preserved from those excesses by wisdom: I take it only to sharpen my
wits.[52]

That renegade philosopher, Al Ghazali, has gathered up all he learned
from the writings of the philosophers, and has turned against them the
arms he borrowed from them.

As for us, the philosophers, at the risk of exposing ourselves to the
rage of the persecutors of philosophy, which was our mother, we will,
when the time is ripe, uncover the poison hidden in Al Ghazali's book.

       *       *       *       *       *

Our social state does not bring out all the resources and possibilities
there are in women; it would seem that they are only destined to bear
and rear children, and this state of servitude has destroyed in them
the capability for larger things. That is why one never sees, with us,
a woman possessed of the moral virtues—their lives pass like those of
flowers, and they are a burden upon their husbands. From this comes
also the misery which devours our cities, for there are twice as many
women there as men, but the former are not permitted to work for their
own support.

       *       *       *       *       *

My father aided in rescuing from prison Ibn Badja, who was accused of
heresy. My father does not understand that his own son will one day be
regarded as a far worse heretic.

God alone knows if I am one; but it is absolutely certain that it
was only the intrigues of my enemies which led to my condemnation.
I thought only of editing Aristotle and establishing accord between
religion and philosophy.


TARIK'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOLDIERS

(FROM THE HISTORY OF AL MAGGARI)

When Tarik had been informed of the approach of the enemy, he rose in
the midst of his companions and, after having glorified God in the
highest, he spoke to his soldiers thus:

"Oh my warriors, whither would you flee? Behind you is the sea, before
you, the enemy. You have left now only the hope of your courage and
your constancy. Remember that in this country you are more unfortunate
than the orphan seated at the table of the avaricious master. Your
enemy is before you, protected by an innumerable army; he has men in
abundance, but you, as your only aid, have your own swords, and, as
your only chance for life, such chance as you can snatch from the
hands of your enemy. If the absolute want to which you are reduced is
prolonged ever so little, if you delay to seize immediate success,
your good fortune will vanish, and your enemies, whom your very
presence has filled with fear, will take courage. Put far from you the
disgrace from which you flee in dreams, and attack this monarch who
has left his strongly fortified city to meet you. Here is a splendid
opportunity to defeat him, if you will consent to expose yourselves
freely to death. Do not believe that I desire to incite you to face
dangers which I shall refuse to share with you. In the attack I myself
will be in the fore, where the chance of life is always least.

"Remember that if you suffer a few moments in patience, you will
afterward enjoy supreme delight. Do not imagine that your fate can
be separated from mine, and rest assured that if you fall, I shall
perish with you, or avenge you. You have heard that in this country
there are a large number of ravishingly beautiful Greek maidens, their
graceful forms are draped in sumptuous gowns on which gleam pearls,
coral, and purest gold, and they live in the palaces of royal kings.
The Commander of True Believers, Alwalid, son of Abdalmelik, has chosen
you for this attack from among all his Arab warriors; and he promises
that you shall become his comrades and shall hold the rank of kings in
this country. Such is his confidence in your intrepidity. The one fruit
which he desires to obtain from your bravery is that the word of God
shall be exalted in this country, and that the true religion shall be
established here. The spoils will belong to yourselves.

"Remember that I place myself in the front of this glorious charge
which I exhort you to make. At the moment when the two armies meet hand
to hand, you will see me, never doubt it, seeking out this Roderick,
tyrant of his people, challenging him to combat, if God is willing.
If I perish after this, I will have had at least the satisfaction of
delivering you, and you will easily find among you an experienced
hero, to whom you can confidently give the task of directing you. But
should I fall before I reach to Roderick, redouble your ardor, force
yourselves to the attack and achieve the conquest of this country, in
depriving him of life. With him dead, his soldiers will no longer defy
you."




MOORISH LITERATURE


POETRY OF THE SPANISH MOORS

    "_Fortune, that whilom owned my sway,
        And bowed obsequious to my nod,
    Now sees me destined to obey,
        And bend beneath oppression's rod._"
  PRINCE MOHAMMED BEN ABAD.


POETRY OF THE SPANISH MOORS

(INTRODUCTION)


While the scientific leadership of the Moors faded with the breaking
of their military unity in the twelfth century, they still retained in
some of their smaller kingdoms, and especially in that of Granada, a
high degree of culture. The love of beauty and the spirit of romance
were strong among all the Spanish Moors; and so their poetry continued
long after science failed them. Poetry indeed became their main
expression. Granada, the last of all their Spanish kingdoms, did not
fall before the advancing Christians until 1492. Then, as our histories
have so often told, Ferdinand and Isabella, the Christian rulers
of Spain, conducted a holy war for the destruction of Granada. Its
last fortress surrendered, and its people withdrew to Africa. There,
according to a characteristically dreamy legend, they still retain the
keys of their mansions in Granada, treasuring them up for the day of
their triumphant return.

Of the Moorish poetry which survived the fall of Granada, much was
preserved by the Spaniards themselves and in the Spanish language. The
victors knew how to value the spirit of the vanquished; and ballads
of Moorish origin, telling of Moorish loves, long remained popular in
Spain. The authors of most of these have been forgotten. The text of
some of the best known of them is given here.


MOORISH POETRY


VERSES TO MY DAUGHTERS[53]

 (BY PRINCE MOHAMMED BEN ABAD)

    With jocund heart and cheerful brow
      I used to hail the festal morn—
    How must Mohammed greet it now?—
      A prisoner helpless and forlorn.

    While these dear maids in beauty's bloom,
     With want opprest, with rags o'erspread,
    By sordid labors at the loom
     Must earn a poor, precarious bread.

    Those feet that never touched the ground,
      Till musk or camphor strewed the way,
    Now bare and swoll'n with many a wound,
      Must struggle through the miry clay.

    Those radiant cheeks are veiled in woe,
      A shower descends from every eye,
    And not a starting tear can flow,
      That wakes not an attending sigh.

    Fortune, that whilom owned my sway,
      And bowed obsequious to my nod,
    Now sees me destined to obey,
      And bend beneath oppression's rod.

    Ye mortals with success elate,
      Who bask in hope's delusive beam,
    Attentive view Mohammed's fate,
      And own that bliss is but a dream.


SERENADE TO MY SLEEPING MISTRESS[54]

 (BY ALI BEN ABAD)

    Sure Harut's[55] potent spells were breathed
    Upon that magic sword, thine eye;
    For if it wounds us thus while sheathed,
    When drawn, 'tis vain its edge to fly.

    How canst thou doom me, cruel fair,
    Plunged in the hell[56] of scorn to groan?
    No idol e'er this heart could share,
    This heart has worshiped thee alone.


THE INCONSISTENT[57]

    When I sent you my melons, you cried out with scorn,
      They ought to be heavy and wrinkled and yellow;
    When I offered myself, whom those graces adorn,
      You flouted, and called me an ugly old fellow.


THE BULLFIGHT OF GAZUL[58]

    King Almanzor of Granada, he hath bid the trumpet sound,
    He hath summoned all the Moorish lords, from the hills and plains
      around;
    From _vega_ and _sierra_, from Betis and Xenil,
    They have come with helm and cuirass of gold and twisted steel.

    'Tis the holy Baptist's feast they hold in royalty and state,
    And they have closed the spacious lists beside the Alhambra's gate;
    In gowns of black and silver laced, within the tented ring,
    Eight Moors to fight the bull are placed in presence of the King.

    Eight Moorish lords of valor tried, with stalwart arm and true,
    The onset of the beasts abide, as they come rushing through;
    The deeds they've done, the spoils they've won, fill all with hope
      and trust,
    Yet ere high in heaven appears the sun they all have bit the dust.

    Then sounds the trumpet clearly, then clangs the loud tambour,
    Make room, make room for Gazul—throw wide, throw wide the door;
    Blow, blow the trumpet clearer still, more loudly strike the drum,
    The _Alcaydé_ of Algava to fight the bull doth come.

    And first before the King he passed, with reverence stooping low,
    And next he bowed him to the Queen, and the _Infantas_ all a-row;
    Then to his lady's grace he turned, and she to him did throw
    A scarf from out her balcony, 'twas whiter than the snow.

    With the life-blood of the slaughtered lords all slippery is the sand,
    Yet proudly in the center hath Gazul ta'en his stand;
    And ladies look with heaving breast, and lords with anxious eye,
    But firmly he extends his arm—his look is calm and high.

    Three bulls against the knight are loosed, and two come roaring on,
    He rises high in stirrup, forth stretching his _rejón_;
    Each furious beast upon the breast he deals him such a blow
    He blindly totters and gives back, across the sand to go.

    "Turn, Gazul, turn!" the people cry—the third comes up behind,
    Low to the sand his head holds he, his nostrils snuff the wind;
    The mountaineers that lead the steers, without stand whispering low,
    "Now thinks this proud _alcaydé_ to stun Harpado so?"

    From Guadiana comes he not, he comes not from Xenil,
    From Gaudalarif of the plain, or Barves of the hill;
    But where from out the forest burst Xarama's waters clear,
    Beneath the oak-trees was he nursed, this proud and stately steer.

    Dark is his hide on either side, but the blood within doth boil,
    And the dun hide glows, as if on fire, as he paws to the turmoil.
    His eyes are jet, and they are set in crystal rings of snow;
    But now they stare with one red glare of brass upon the foe.

    Upon the forehead of the bull the horns stand close and near,
    From out the broad and wrinkled skull, like daggers they appear;
    His neck is massy, like the trunk of some old knotted tree,
    Whereon the monster's shaggy mane, like billows curled, ye see.

    His legs are short, his hams are thick, his hoofs are black as night,
    Like a strong flail he holds his tail in fierceness of his might;
    Like something molten out of iron, or hewn from forth the rock,
    Harpado of Xarama stands, to bide the _alcaydé's_ shock.

    Now stops the drum—close, close they come—thrice meet, and thrice
      give back;
    The white foam of Harpado lies on the charger's breast of black—
    The white foam of the charger on Harpado's front of dun—
    Once more advance upon his lance—once more, thou fearless one!

    Once more, once more;—in dust and gore to ruin must thou reel—
    In vain, in vain thou tearest the sand with furious heel—
    In vain, in vain, thou noble beast, I see, I see thee stagger,
    Now keen and cold thy neck must hold the stern _alcaydé's_ dagger!

    They have slipped a noose around his feet, six horses are brought in,
    And away they drag Harpado with a loud and joyful din.
    Now stoop thee, lady, from thy stand, and the ring of price bestow
    Upon Gazul of Algava, that hath laid Harpado low.


THE ZEGRI'S BRIDE[59]

    Of all the blood of Zegri, the chief is Lisaro,
    To wield _rejón_ like him is none, or javelin to throw;
    From the place of his dominion, he ere the dawn doth go,
    From Alcala de Henares, he rides in weed of woe.

    He rides not now as he was wont, when ye have seen him speed
    To the field of gay Toledo, to fling his lusty reed;
    No gambeson of silk is on, nor rich embroidery
    Of gold-wrought robe or turban—nor jeweled _tahali_.

    No amethyst nor garnet is shining on his brow,
    No crimson sleeve, which damsels weave at Tunis, decks him now;
    The belt is black, the hilt is dim, but the sheathed blade is bright;
    They have housened his barb in a murky garb, but yet her hoofs are
      light.

    Four horsemen good, of the Zegri blood, with Lisaro go out;
    No flashing spear may tell them near, but yet their shafts are stout;
    In darkness and in swiftness rides every armed knight—
    The foam on the rein ye may see it plain, but nothing else is white.

    Young Lisaro, as on they go, his bonnet doffeth he,
    Between its folds a sprig it holds of a dark and glossy tree;
    That sprig of bay, were it away, right heavy heart had he—
    Fair Zayda to her Zegri gave that token privily.

    And ever as they rode, he looked upon his lady's boon.
    "God knows," quoth he, "what fate may be—I may be slaughtered soon;
    Thou still art mine, though scarce the sign of hope that bloomed
      whilere,
    But in my grave I yet shall have my Zayda's token dear."

    Young Lisaro was musing so, when onward on the path,
    He well could see them riding slow; then pricked he in his wrath.
    The raging sire, the kinsmen of Zayda's hateful house,
    Fought well that day, yet in the fray the Zegri won his spouse.


ZARA'S EARRINGS

    "My earrings! my earrings! they've dropped into the well,
    And what to say to Muça, I can not, can not tell."
    'Twas thus, Granada's fountain by, spoke Albuharez' daughter
    "The well is deep, far down they lie, beneath the cold blue water—
    To me did Muça give them, when he spake his sad farewell,
    And what to say when he comes back, alas! I can not tell.

    "My earrings! my earrings! they were pearls in silver set,
    That when my Moor was far away, I ne'er should him forget,
    That I ne'er to other tongue should list, nor smile on other's tale,
    But remember he my lips had kissed, pure as those earrings pale—
    When he comes back, and hears that I have dropped them in the well,
    Oh, what will Muça think of me, I can not, can not tell.

    "My earrings! my earrings! he'll say they should have been,
    Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and glittering sheen,
    Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shining clear,
    Changing to the changing light, with radiance insincere—
    That changeful mind unchanging gems are not befitting well—
    Thus will he think—and what to say, alas! I can not tell.

    "He'll think when I to market went, I loitered by the way;
    He'll think a willing ear I lent to all the lads might say;
    He'll think some other lover's hand, among my tresses noosed,
    From the ears where he had placed them, my rings of pearl unloosed;
    He'll think, when I was sporting so beside this marble well,
    My pearls fell in—and what to say, alas! I can not tell.

    "He'll say, I am a woman, and we are all the same;
    He'll say I loved when he was here to whisper of his flame—
    But when he went to Tunis my virgin troth had broken,
    And thought no more of Muça, and care not for his token.
    My earrings! my earrings! O luckless, luckless well,
    For what to say to Muça, alas! I can not tell.

    "I'll tell the truth to Muça, and I hope he will believe—
    That I thought of him at morning, and thought of him at eve;
    That, musing on my lover, when down the sun was gone,
    His earrings in my hand I held, by the fountain all alone;
    And that my mind was o'er the sea, when from my hand they fell,
    And that deep his love lies in my heart, as they lie in the well."


THE LAMENTATION FOR CELIN

    At the gate of old Granada, when all its bolts are barred,
    At twilight at the Vega gate there is a trampling heard;
    There is a trampling heard, as of horses treading slow,
    And a weeping voice of women, and a heavy sound of woe.
    "What tower is fallen, what star is set, what chief come these
      bewailing?"
    "A tower is fallen, a star is set. Alas! alas for Celin!"

    Three times they knock, three times they cry, and wide the doors
      they throw;
    Dejectedly they enter, and mournfully they go;
    In gloomy lines they mustering stand beneath the hollow porch,
    Each horseman grasping in his hand a black and flaming torch;
    Wet is each eye as they go by, and all around is wailing,
    For all have heard the misery. "Alas! alas for Celin!"—

    Him yesterday a Moor did slay, of Bencerraje's blood,
    'Twas at the solemn jousting, around the nobles stood;
    The nobles of the land were by, and ladies bright and fair
    Looked from their latticed windows, the haughty sight to share;
    But now the nobles all lament, the ladies are bewailing,
    For he was Granada's darling knight. "Alas! alas for Celin!"

    Before him ride his vassals, in order two by two,
    With ashes on their turbans spread, most pitiful to view;
    Behind him his four sisters, each wrapped in sable veil,
    Between the tambour's dismal strokes take up their doleful tale;
    When stops the muffled drum, ye hear their brotherless bewailing,
    And all the people, far and near, cry—"Alas! alas for Celin!"

    Oh! lovely lies he on the bier, above the purple pall,
    The flower of all Granada's youth, the loveliest of them all;
    His dark, dark eyes are closed, his rosy lip is pale,
    The crust of blood lies black and dim upon his burnished mail,
    And evermore the hoarse tambour breaks in upon their wailing,
    Its sound is like no earthly sound—"Alas! alas for Celin!"

    The Moorish maid at the lattice stands, the Moor stands at his door,
    One maid is wringing of her hands, and one is weeping sore—
    Down to the dust men bow their heads, and ashes black they strew
    Upon their broidered garments of crimson, green, and blue—
    Before each gate the bier stands still, then bursts the loud bewailing,
    From door and lattice, high and low—"Alas! alas for Celin!"

    An old, old woman cometh forth, when she hears the people cry;
    Her hair is white as silver, like horn her glazed eye.
    'Twas she that nursed him at her breast, that nursed him long ago;
    She knows not whom they all lament, but soon she well shall know.
    With one deep shriek she through doth break, when her ears receive
      their wailing—
    "Let me kiss my Celin ere I die—Alas! alas for Celin!"




TURKISH LITERATURE


LEGEND AND POETRY AMONG THE TURKS

  "_Once upon a time._"
  THE OLD, OLD BEGINNING.


  _While still I live, 'tis well that I should mirth and glee enjoy._"
  SULTAN MURAD II.


LEGEND AND POETRY AMONG THE TURKS

(INTRODUCTION)


Turkish literature, as pointed out in our general introduction, is of
a less advanced character than that of most of the Semitic literatures
from which it is sprung. An epigrammatic summary of the Turkish
character has said that every fourth word of Turkish is Arabic, every
third idea Persian, and every second impulse Mohammedan. This, while
not seeming to leave much of the original Turk, is perhaps not an
unfair estimate of the extent of the Turks' indebtedness to the earlier
races and religion upon which their civilization is built.

The Ottoman Turks, that is, the Turks who founded the present Turkish
Empire, were a Tartar or Turanian tribe from Central Asia who adopted
the Mohammedan faith and began their conquest of the Mohammedan world
about the year 1300. They then possessed legends or childish tales of
their own which still survive; and these are still told among the mass
of the people with simple faith. One or two of these are given here, to
show the natural human character of the race.

The Turks next turned, in literature, to poetry. Persian Mohammedan
poetry was then at its best; and the Turks imitated, but scarcely
improved upon, its forms. So great, indeed, became the Turkish
admiration for poetry that almost every Turkish Sultan, from the year
fourteen hundred down to the present, has written poetry. Our book
gives a series, by themselves, of the best of these royal poems.

Turkish poetry has chiefly followed the Arabic fashion of expending
itself upon language rather than upon thought. We are told that when
the first Turkish epic poet Ahmedi presented to Sultan Bajazet's son
his long epic history of Alexander the Great, the prince rebuked the
poet's years of labor, saying that one tiny, perfectly polished poem
would have been worth more than all the epic. Hence it is chiefly to
the polishing of tiny poems that the poetic genius of the Turks has
been applied. They have a favorite form called the "gazel," which might
be likened to our English sonnet, except that the gazel is by far more
intricate. It is, in fact, compared by the Turks to a flower with its
petals constantly overlapping, forming a circle, and ending at the
point where they began. In rhyme, for instance, the gazel opens with
a rhyming couplet, and then through the whole poem the second line of
each couplet repeats this opening rhyme.

We have tried to give the chief Turkish poets in somewhat chronological
order, beginning with their first poet Ashiq, who died in 1332 and
whose very name is forgotten, since _ashiq_ means merely "the lover."
In other words, Turkish poetry begins with the passion of an unknown
lover, not apparently for woman, but for life and God. The collected
poems of Ashiq are called a _divan_, the usual Persian and Turkish
word for such collections; but very little of the _divan_ of Ashiq has
survived.

Among Turkish epic poets, the earliest is Ahmedi (died 1412), who wrote
the Book of Alexander the Great. The first romantic song is that of
Sheykhi (1426) on the loves of the maiden Shirin. The first religious
epic is that of Yaziji-Oglu (1449), called the "Book of Mohammed."
These, then, were the early singers. Of poets accounted of the highest
rank, the earliest was Nejati (1508). Lamii was the scholar poet, a
dervish or monk who delved into the older Persian literature and drew
his themes perhaps from ancient Zoroastrian tales. He is usually named
as the second greatest of Turkish poets. Gazali, Fuzuli, and Nabi were
also noted singers of the sixteenth century, which was the great age of
the Turkish Empire, both in literature and in military glory.

Of the two poetesses on our list, Mihri has been called the Turkish
Sappho. Yet as the life of a Turkish woman of rank is carefully
secluded, no scandal ever attached to her personal life. Her poems are
mere dreams of fancy. Zeyneb was equally honored, a lady of high rank
and a student of the Persian and Arabic poets.

All other singers, however, are accounted by the Turks inferior to the
great lyric poet Baqi (1526-1600). Baqi was at first a saddler, but
he studied law and rose to the highest legal position of the empire.
Poetry was the avocation of the great lawyer's leisure, and it won him
the admiring friendship of the four successive Sultans who reigned
during his life. The very name Baqi means "that which lasts," or "the
enduring," so it has been frequently punned upon. The poet himself used
a seal with a Persian couplet,

    "Fleeting is the world, and without faith
    God alone endures (or, Baqi alone is god); all else is fleeting"


OLD TURKISH TALES

THE QUEEN OF NIGHT

Once upon a time there was an old man who had three daughters. All
of them were beautiful, but the youngest, whose name was Rosa, was
not only more lovely, but also more amiable and more intelligent than
the others. Jealous and envious exceedingly were the two sisters when
they found that the fame of Rosa's beauty was greater than the fame of
theirs. They, however, refused to believe that Rosa was really more
lovely than they were, and they resolved to ask the Sun's opinion on
the subject.

So, one day at dawn, the sisters stood at their open window and cried,
"Sun, shining Sun, who wanderest all over the world, say who is the
most beautiful among our father's daughters?"

The Sun replied, "I am beautiful, and you are both beautiful; but your
youngest sister is the most beautiful of all."

When the two girls heard this, they were beside themselves with anger
and spite, and determined to get rid of the sister who so outshone
them. Saying nothing to her of what the Sun had told them, they on the
following day invited Rosa to accompany them to the wood to gather a
salad of wild herbs for their father's dinner. The unsuspecting Rosa
at once complied, took her basket, and set out with her sisters, who
led her to a spot she had never before visited, a long way from her
father's house, and surrounded on all sides by forest. When they were
arrived, the eldest sister said,

"Do thou, Rosa, gather all the herbs that are here; we will go a little
farther on, and when we have filled our baskets we will return."

The wicked girls, however, went straight home, abandoning Rosa to her
fate. When some hours had passed, and she found that they did not
return, she feared that she might, while seeking for the herbs, have
wandered from the spot where her sisters had left her. Too innocent to
suspect them of the wicked treachery of which they had been guilty,
she only blamed herself for her carelessness, and wept bitterly at the
thought of remaining all night alone in the wild and lonely wood.

After a time the sun set, the twilight came and passed, and darkness
fell. The birds ceased their songs, and the silence of the forest was
broken only by the flutter of a bat or great gray moth, the melancholy
hoot of an owl, and the faint little rustle made by the other flying
and creeping things that come forth with the stars. Seated on a great
tree-trunk, Rosa wept more and more bitterly as the darkness deepened,
and no one came to her aid. Hours passed, the air grew chilly; and
faint with hunger and cold, she was about to lay herself down to die,
when suddenly a brilliant light, like the sparkling of many stars,
shot through the wood and advanced toward the spot where she sat. It
was the Queen of Night, who, attended by all her court, was returning
to her palace after her usual journey, for it was now near dawn. Rosa,
dazzled and frightened, covered her face with her hands, and wept more
bitterly than ever. Attracted by the sound of her sobbing, the Radiant
Lady approached the weeping girl, and in a kind and gentle voice asked
how she came to be there. Rosa looked up, and, reassured by the benign
countenance of the Queen of Night, told her story.

"Come then and live with me, dear girl; I will be your mother, and you
shall be my daughter," said the Queen, who knew perfectly well how it
had all happened.

Gladly the poor girl accompanied the Queen to her palace, and being,
as we know, as amiable and intelligent as she was beautiful, her
protectress soon became very fond of her, and did everything in her
power to make her adopted daughter happy. She gave Rosa the keys of
all her treasures, made her the mistress of her palace, and let her do
whatever she pleased.

But let us now leave this lucky girl with the Queen of Night for a
little while, and return to her sisters. Though they fully believed she
must either have perished of hunger or been devoured by wild beasts,
they after a time, to make quite certain, went again to their window
and cried,

"Sun, shining Sun, who wanderest all over the world, tell us who is the
most beautiful of our father's daughters?"

The Sun replied as before, "I am beautiful, and you are both beautiful;
but your youngest sister is the most beautiful of all."

"But Rosa has long been dead!"

"No," replied the Sun, "Rosa still lives, and she is in the palace of
the Queen of Night."

When the sisters heard this, their rage and spite knew no bounds. Long
they consulted together as to the best means of bringing about her
death; and finally these wicked girls decided to obtain from a witch of
their acquaintance an enchanted kerchief which would make the person
wearing it appear to be dead.

Well, they set out, and presently arrived at the palace at an hour
when they knew that the Queen of Night would be absent and they might
find their sister alone. Rosa was delighted to see them, for though
they had often been unkind to her, she loved her sisters very dearly,
and welcoming them warmly, she offered them everything she had, and
pressed them to remain. They, on their part, pretended to be overjoyed
at finding again the sister they had mourned as lost, and congratulated
her on her good fortune. When they had eaten and drunk of the good
things she set before them, and were about to take their departure, the
eldest sister produced from her basket the enchanted kerchief.

"Here, dear Rosa," said she, "is a little present which we should
like you to wear for our sakes. Let me pin it round your shoulders.
Good-bye, dear!" she added, kissing her affectionately on both cheeks,
"we will come and see you again before long and bring our father with
us."

"Do, dear sisters, and tell my dear father that I will go to see him as
soon as my kind protectress may give me leave."

Rosa watched her sisters from the window till they were out of
sight, and then turned to the embroidery-frame which she had laid aside
on their arrival. She had not, however, made many stitches, before a
feeling of faintness came over her; and letting her work slip from her
hands, she fell back on the sofa and lost consciousness. When the Queen
of Night came home, she went first, as was her wont, to the chamber of
her dear adopted daughter, and finding her thus, she said, as she bent
over the maiden and kissed her beautiful mouth, "She has tired herself,
poor child, over that embroidery-frame; she is so industrious."

[Illustration: THE QUEEN OF THE NIGHT.]

But the beautiful lips were cold and white, and the maiden neither
breathed nor stirred. Distracted with grief, the Queen of Night began
to unfasten Rosa's dress in order to ascertain whether her death had
been caused by the bite of some poisonous reptile, and while doing so,
she observed that the kerchief on her shoulders was not one that her
daughter was in the habit of wearing. When she had unpinned and taken
it off, Rosa heaved a deep sigh, opened her eyes, and seeing the Queen
bending over her, smiled and stretched out her arms to her dear mother,
saying,

"I must have slept a long time! Oh, I remember!" she added, "I was
feeling faint and giddy and lay down, and, I suppose, fell asleep
immediately, for I don't recollect anything else."

"But where did you get this?" asked the Queen, picking up the kerchief
from the floor. "I don't remember having given it to you."

"Oh, I have not told you that I had a great pleasure yesterday. My
sisters, who had thought me forever lost, found out where I was and
came to see me, bringing this kerchief as a present. Is it not pretty?"

These words told the Queen of Night the secret of the whole matter;
but, not wishing to distress her daughter by acquainting her with her
sisters' cruel perfidy, she only replied, "Yes, very pretty. Will you
give it to me, Rosa? I should like to have it for myself."

Rosa was naturally only too pleased to be able to give her kind
protectress something in return for all her favors; and she also
promised her, though not without tears, never again to receive any
visitors, not even her sisters, when she was left by herself in the
palace.

These wicked creatures in a little while again stood at their window
and cried, "Sun, shining Sun, who wanderest the world over, say, is
there now any one more beautiful than we are?"

But the Sun only replied as before, "I am beautiful; you, too, are
beautiful; but Rosa is the most beautiful of all!"

The sisters looked at each other in dismay. "The kerchief has then
failed," said the elder to the younger. "We must try some other method
of getting rid of her."

So the wretches went to the same old witch who had given them the
magic kerchief, and got from her an enchanted sugar-plum. When at
nightfall they again knocked at the door of the palace, the porter
informed them that his mistress was absent, and had given orders that
the palace-gates were not to be opened until her return. They, however,
saw Rosa at her window, and pretending to be greatly distressed at
their exclusion, asked her at least to accept from them the delicious
sugar-plum which they had brought for her.

"Let down a basket," said the eldest; "I will put the sugar-plum
inside, and you can draw it up."

Rosa did so, and drew up the sweetmeat.

"Taste it at once," cried the second sister, "and if you like it, we
will bring you more of the same kind."

The poor girl, suspecting no evil, put the sugar-plum into her mouth;
but scarcely had she tasted it, than she fell back as if dead; and her
sisters, seeing this, hurried away home.

When the Queen returned and again found her favorite lifeless, she was
both grieved and angry. All her servants, however, when questioned,
assured her that no one had entered the palace during her absence,
and that Rosa's sisters had only been allowed to speak to her from a
distance as she stood at her high window. In the hope of bringing her
to life again, as on the previous occasion, the Queen of Night searched
every fold of the maiden's dress, but in vain; she could not discover
the fatal charm.

"Perhaps," said she to herself, as she sat and gazed on the lifeless
features of her adopted daughter, "what I can not discover, chance may,
and I could never bring myself to bury her, dead though she seems to
be."

So the grieving Queen sent for a cunning workman, who made at her
orders a coffer of silver; and after dressing Rosa in her most
beautiful clothes and jewels, she laid her in it, closed the lid,
fastened the coffer on the back of a splendid horse, and let him loose
to wander at will.

The horse, following his fancy, carried his fair burden in a few
hours' time into a neighboring country, the ruler of which was the
handsomest man of his time; and this King, being that day out hunting
with his court, happened to catch sight of the horse. Attracted by its
beauty and fleetness, and by the strange shining burden it bore on
its saddle, he approached, and seeing the animal to be masterless, he
bade his people seize and lead it to the palace. The silver coffer the
King caused to be carried into his bed-chamber, and there he opened
it. Imagine, if you can, his surprise on seeing within the form of a
beautiful maiden. Though apparently lifeless, she was more lovely than
any living woman he had ever beheld, and his heart became filled with
such ardent love for her that he would sit for hours together gazing
upon her beautiful features, neglecting duties and pleasures alike; and
when his ministers came and prayed him to accompany them to the council
chamber, he only said,

"Go, I pray you, and do justice in my name."

Days passed, his gentlemen tried to tempt him out hunting, but again he
only replied,

"Do you go without me."

The royal cooks vied with one another in preparing the most delicious
dishes for his table; but these he hardly tasted, nor did he even
appear to notice what he was eating. When this state of things had
continued for some days the ministers became alarmed, and sent a
messenger to inform the Queen-Mother, who was away at her country
palace. She came with all speed, and was much distressed to find her
son so dispirited and melancholy. To all her anxious inquiries,
however, he only replied that he was quite well, but preferred to
remain alone in his bed-chamber. The Queen had, of course, already
heard from the courtiers the story of the riderless horse and the
silver chest; and she rightly guessed that her son had been bewitched
by what he had found in it, and determined to discover what this might
be.

So the very next day, while the King was at dinner with his vizier, his
mother went to his chamber—for she had a master-key that would open all
the doors in the palace—and there, extended on the divan, she saw the
silver chest. Going hastily up to it, she raised the lid which the King
had closed before leaving. At first she could only gaze in astonishment
at the wonderful beauty of the maiden lying within; but her admiration
presently changed to anger when she thought of her son; and seizing
poor Rosa by her long hair, she dragged her out of the coffer and shook
her violently, saying,

"You wicked dead thing! Why are you not decently buried instead of
wandering about casting spells on Princes?" But as the Queen shook
her the enchanted sugar-plum was jerked out of Rosa's mouth, and she
immediately came to life again, and gazed around her in bewilderment.
And as she opened her large, lovely eyes, the Queen's anger passed
away, and she embraced and kissed Rosa tenderly, weeping with delight
the while. The poor girl was so astonished by the strangeness of
everything around her, that it was some minutes before she could ask:

"Where am I, noble lady, and where is my dear mother?"

"I know not, my child, but I will be your mother. For you shall marry
my son, the King, who is dying for love of you."

As she spoke, footsteps were heard at the door, and the King entered.
Imagine, if you can, his amazement and joy at finding, seated on the
divan by his mother's side, the maiden he loved so dearly, restored
to life, and twenty times lovelier than before. Not to make too long
a story of it, the King took her by the hand, and asked her to be his
wife. And when Rosa heard of his love for her, and saw how handsome
and noble he was, she could not but love him in return. So they were
married with great splendor, and there were feasts for the poor, and
fountains running honey and wine, and rejoicings for everybody.

Well, the King and Rosa lived very happily together for some time; but
her troubles were not over, for her wicked sisters had not yet done
their worst to her. They had for long feared to go near the palace
again, and nearly a year passed before they learned what had been the
result of their last visit. One day, however, in order to make quite
sure that Rosa was dead, they once more stood at their window, and
cried,

"Sun, shining Sun, who wanderest all over the earth, tell us if thou
hast, since our youngest sister died, seen any maiden fairer than we?"

But the Sun only replied as before, "I am beautiful; you, too, are both
beautiful; but your youngest sister is the fairest of all."

"But Rosa is dead!"

"No, Rosa lives, and she is the wife of the King of the neighboring
country."

Well, if these wicked women could not bear that their sister should be
considered fairer than they, still less could they allow her to be a
Queen. So, disguised as two old women, they set off at once for Rosa's
palace. When they arrived in the royal city, great rejoicings were
going on because a baby prince had just been born.

"That is good news," said the elder to the younger when she heard this,
"for now we will be the nurses." So they went to the Queen-Mother
and gave themselves out to be wonderfully clever nurses from the
neighboring country who had nursed the princes there; and the
Queen-Mother, deceived by their story, put them in charge of her
daughter-in-law and the baby. On the pretext of keeping the young Queen
and her child free from evil spells, the make-believe nurses sent away
all the other attendants from her apartments; and when they were left
alone with their sister, they stack into her head an enchanted pin.

She was immediately changed into a bird, and flew away out of the
window; and her eldest sister laid herself down on her bed in her place.

When the King came in to see his wife, he could hardly believe his
eyes. This could not be his wife. The false Queen, guessing his
thoughts, said,

"You find me changed, dear husband? It is because I have been so ill."

The King, however, pretended not to have observed anything, but his
heart froze within him as he looked on the object of this pretended
transformation.

It was his custom to breakfast alone every day in the garden; and one
day while he was sadly musing there, a pretty bird flew down, perched
on a branch overhead, and said, "Tell me, my lord, have the King, and
the Queen-Mother, and the little Prince slept well?"

The King smiled and nodded, and the bird continued, "May they ever
sleep sweetly. But may she whom they call the young Queen sleep the
sleep that knows no waking, and may all things over which I fly wither
away!"

This said, the bird spread its wings, and wherever it passed, the grass
and flowers withered, and the place became a desert. The gardeners, in
despair, asked the King if they might not kill the bird which caused
the mischief; but he forbade them, on pain of death, to do it any
injury.

Afterward the bird came every day while he was at breakfast in the
garden; and the kind voice of the Prince soon made it so tame and
fearless that it would perch on his knee and eat from his hand. This
familiarity enabled the Prince to observe the bird's plumage more
closely, and one day he caught sight of the pin in its head. Surprised
at this, he ventured to withdraw it, when the bird disappeared, and
his own dear wife stood again by his side. When he had recovered a
little from the joy and surprise caused by this strange event, and had
welcomed his wife back, he asked her to tell how it had all happened.
And Rosa, whose eyes were now fully opened to the malice and wickedness
of her sisters, told him all she knew of her own adventures.

When the Prince had learned the evil deeds of his sisters-in-law, he
bade his guards bring these wretches before him, and condemned them
both to a death suitable to their crimes. In vain did Rosa entreat
him to pardon them. The King was inexorable. But when, at sunset, the
criminals were being led away to execution, the Queen of Night appeared
on the scene, followed by all her train; and touched by the distress
of her adopted daughter, she prevailed upon the King to change the
sentence he had pronounced. The two evil-doers were then offered the
choice of dying a violent death, or living to witness their sister's
happiness while deprived of the power of ever again being able to
injure her.

They chose the latter fate; and it was not long before they both died
of spite and jealousy.


LEGEND AND POETRY AMONG THE TURKS


THE DIVAN OF THE LOVER

THE EARLIEST TURKISH POEM

    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.


THE BOOK OF ALEXANDER THE GREAT

 (BY AHMEDI)

    Up and sing! O _'anga_-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.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Once unto his Vizier quoth the crowned 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 Vizier 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!"


           *       *       *       *       *


THE LOVES OF SHIRIN

 (BY SHEYKHI)

    The spot at which did King Khusrev Perviz 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 Shirin 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.

           *       *       *       *       *

    When Ferhad bound to fair Shirin his heart's core,
    From out his breast Love many a bitter wail tore.
    On tablet of his life graved, shown was Shirin;
    Of all else emptied, filled alone with Shirin.
    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.


THE BOOK OF MOHAMMED

 (BY 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.
    Harken 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.
    Bound 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 jeweled 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 Koran 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 Mohammed, 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 Eight!

    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 Vesila 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 center, planted he the Tuba-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 Tuba, 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 Tuba-Tree,
    That from Ebu-Qasim's hand might every one receive his share.

   *       *       *       *       *


POEMS BY TURKISH RULERS


RUBA'I

    Cupbearer, 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 Murad II._ (reigned 1421-1451).


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 Rum-Eyli; 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, 'Avni, shower thine eyes tears fast as rain,
    Like as follow hard the thunder-roll the floods in dread array.

    —_Sultan Mohammed II._ (1451-1481).


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 _mihrab_ of the Kaaba, 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.

    —_Mohammed II._


GAZEL

    To obey, Eight hard for Allah, is my aim and my desire;
    'Tis but zeal for Faith, for Islam, 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 Mohammed! through the chosen Ahmed Mukhtar's glorious aid,
    Hope I that my might may triumph over Islam's foes acquire!

    —_Mohammed II._


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 scorched
    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 answered.
    As I weep sore, of my stained 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_ (1481).


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

    From Istambol's throne a mighty host to Iran 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 'Iraq to Hijaz these tidings sped,
    When I played the harp of Heavenly Aid at feast of victory.
    Through my saber Transoxania drowned was in a sea of blood;
    Emptied I of kuhl of Isfahan the adversary's eye.
    Flowed adown a River Amu 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 Selimi, in thy name was struck the coinage of the world,
    When in crucible of Love Divine, like gold, that melted I.

    —_Sultan Selim I._ (1512-1520).


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 Iblis in spite resembles.
    Around the taper bright, thy cheek, Muhibbi
    Turns, and the moth in his sad plight resembles.

    —_Sultan Soleiman, the Magnificent_ (1520-1566).


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.
    Mukhlisi, thy frame was formed from but one drop, yet, wonder great!
    When thou verses sing'st, thy spirit like the ocean swells, they say.

    —_Prince Mustafa._


GAZEL

    Ta'en my sense and soul have those thy Leyli locks, thy glance's spell,
    Me, their Mejnun, '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 fen.
    The mirage, thy lips, O sweetheart, that doth like to water show;
    For, through longing, making thirsty, vainly they my life dispel.
    Since Selimi hath the pearls, thy teeth, been praising, sense and heart
    Have his head and soul abandoned, plunging 'neath love's ocean-swell.

    —_Sultan Selim II._ (1566-1574).


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 does enshrine then.
    Thy wine-hued lip, O love, grant to Selimi—
    And by thy parting's shaft my tears make wine then.

    —_Sultan Selim II._


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.
    Farisi, what can I do but love that peerless beauty?
    Ah! this aged Sphere hath made me lover of yon sweetheart.

    —_Sultan Osman II._ (1617-1623).


TO SULTAN MURAD 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 Murad, quick to bear,
    Pigeon, rapid as the storm-wind in its swift flight, is there none?

    —_Hafiz Pacha._


IN REPLY TO THE PRECEDING

    To relieve Bagdad, O Hafiz, 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 Rafizis have ta'en Bagdad;
    Shall not God thy foe be? Day of Reckoning, sure, right, is there none?
    They have wrecked Ebu-Hanifa's city through thy lack of care;
    Oh, in thee of Islam'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 Islam'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, vizier, pious, zeal-dight, is there none?
    Now shall I appoint commander a vizier 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, Muradi, King of high might, is there none?

    —_Sultan Murad IV._ (1623-1640).


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 Murad;
    Let him reply who office or place desires to gain.

    —_Sultan Murad IV._


MUNAJAT

    Allah! Lord who liv'st for aye! O Sole! O King of Glory's Bay!
    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 Beloved greetings be!
    These fair words are in sincerity: show thou to us thy bounties fair
    Iqbali sinnèd hath indeed, yet unto him thy grace concede;
    Eternal, Answerer in need! show thou to us thy bounties fair.

    —_Sultan Mustafa II._ (1695-1703).


TURKISH POETESSES


A GAZEL BY ZEYNEB

    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!


A GAZEL BY MIHRI

    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 Moslem) 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 Mihri gain the Stream of Life;
    Yet in Night's deep gloom Iskender gleamed before her wond'ring sight.


A GAZEL BY MIHRI

    Faithful and kind a friend I hoped that thou wouldst 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 Mihri!"


POEMS OF NEJATI


FROM HIS SPRING QASIDA

    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 Jemshid's, glorious reign!

           *       *       *       *       *

    Sultan Mohammed! Murad'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!


FROM HIS QASIDA ON THE ACCESSION OF SULTAN BAYEZID 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! Bayezid!
    King of the Epoch! Sovereign! and Center of all Eight!
    The tablet of his heart doth all th' affairs of earth disclose;
    And eloquent as page of book the words he doth indite.
    O Shah! 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.


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 Nejati for the court of thy fair Paradise,
    Though this a wish which he while here on earth can ne'er attain.


RUBA'IS

    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 ruh 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 blessed 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.


POEMS OF LAMI'I


ON AUTUMN

    O sad heart, come, distraction's hour is now high,
    The air's cool, 'midst the elds 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 henna, 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.


ON SPRING

    From the pleasure, joy, and rapture of this hour,
    In its frame to hold its soul earth scarce hath power.
    Pent 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.


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 flowerlets 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 flowerlets 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,
    It's strange, if they be mazed and wildered thereby?
    Up! breeze-like, Lami'i, thy hermitage leave!
    The roses' days in sooth no time for fasts give!


POEMS OF GAZALI


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 unlooked 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!


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 bark of the heart?
    Nor bound nor shore confining girds Time's dreary ocean of dismay!


POEMS OF FUZULI


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 Suleiman's throne to gain;
    That in the sea secure doth lie his Ring of might, thou news hast
      brought.
    Fuzuli, 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.


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 Fuzuli, from the ocean deep of love;
    But they're pearls these, oh! most surely, that the Love of Allah buys!


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 spellbound the _huri_-faced
      ones all;
    The virtue of Suleiman'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 Koran 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;
    Fuzuli, through those radiant hues, that quarter beams a garden fair.


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, Fuzuli, "There's in Paradise nor grief nor woe"?


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 Hood 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 dewdrops shone, a bright and glistening spray.
      "Pearls, say, are these, aye pearls from 'Aden's main?" I said;
        said she:
      "Tears, these, of poor Fuzuli, sad of heart; aye, truly thine!"


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 are 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 henna 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 Fuzuli for thine eyes and eyebrows aye hath longing cried:
      That the bird from bow and arrow flees not, well may all astound.


FROM LEYLI AND MEJNUN

    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 griefs throe.
    Each curving eyebrow is a blood-stained saber 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 Fuzuli should declare, "In fair ones there is troth,"
    Be not deceived—"A poet's words are falsehoods all men know."


MEJNUN ADDRESSES NEVFIL

    Quoth Mejnun: "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."


MEJNUN'S GAZEL

    From whomsoe'er 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.
    Fuzuli, 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.


ZEYD'S VISION

    His grief and mourning Zeyd renewed 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 Houris;
    These two resplendent forms, bright as the fair moon,
    These are the ever-faithful—Leyli, Mejnun!
    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 Houris 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!"


POEMS OF NABI


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 can not, 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 can not 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 Shah-Nama traced.
      Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

    I can not make the morning eve, or the dark night the day;
    I can not turn the air to fire, or dust to water's spray;
    I can not bid the Sphere stand still, or mountain region stray;
    I can not 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 storehouses 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!


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, Nabi, away;
    Ne'er a turret on the fort of interest remaineth now.


POEMS OF BAQI


A QAISDA ON SULTAN SULEIMAN

    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 Suleiman'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 Keyani fray,
    Jemshid 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 Suleiman! 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-Qubad;
    Beside thy wrath, but mildness Qahraman's most deadly fray.
    Thy scimitar's the gleaming guide empires to overthrow,
    No foe of Islam can abide before thy saber'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 Hijaz have the Shamis 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 bowed in _sujud_,
    The cypress to thy figure in _qiyam_ 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 Baqi'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!


GAZEL

    'Tis love's wild sea, my sighs' fierce wind doth lash those waves my
      tears uprear;
    My head, the bark 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 _tutya_ 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 Baqi, see, by God, how vile a trick yon jade hath played me here!


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, Baqi, for the load of love's misfortune dire;
    For that to bear mayhap thy soul no power doth enshrine.


GAZEL

    With her graceful-moving form, a Cypress jasmine-faced is she?
    Or in Eden's bower a branch upon the Lote or Tuba-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 cupbearer, 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 Baqi, sick of heart,
    Is't thy will to slay him, or is it but sweet disdain in thee?


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.
    Baqi, doth he not drink the wine of obligation's grape,
    Who drunken with A-lestu's cup's overwhelming draught doth go?


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 bloodshot eyes,
    Two beakers of red wine would one esteem.
    Baqi, her mole dark-hued like ambergris,
    A fragrant musk-pod all the world would deem.


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!
    Baqi, thy servant, O my Queen, before thee lieth low.


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 of leaf or fruit retain.
    Baqi, within the garden lies full many a fallen leaf;
    Low lying there, it seems they 'gainst the winds of Fate complain.


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 league, 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 Baqi gone;
    This refulgent verse recited shall be alway, all around.


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 Baqi,
    Mad he, my Liege, and to the mad they grace show.


GAZEL

    The goblet as affliction's Khusrev's bright Keyani crown doth shine;
    And surely doth the wine-jar love's King's Khusrevani hoard enshrine.
    Whene'er the feast recalls Jemshid, 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 Baqi's verse the cause;
    As Life's Stream brightly this doth shine; but that, th' Eternal
      Life Divine.


 [Illustration: THE ANCIENT CHURCH OF ST. SOPHIA.

 _The former Christian Cathedral of Ancient Constantinople, now
 converted into the chief Mohammedan Mosque._ © UNDERWOOD & UNDERWOOD,
 N.Y.]


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 Baqi all his bosom marked with scars,
    Like as though he'd cast of rose-leaves fresh a handful o'er his chest.


ELEGY ON SULTAN SULEIMAN 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 luster 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 Dara'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 center 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 Suleiman 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 Tartar 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 seven-fold 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 saber 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 saber 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 blessed thee,
      And caused thy glorious name, Hero and Martyr both to be.

    Baqi, the beauty of the King, the heart's delight, behold!
    The mirror of the work of God, the Lord of Eight, 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 Behram of the Age;
    Go, at his threshold serve, King Erdeshir aright, behold!
    The blast of Fate to all the winds hath blown Suleiman's throne;
    Sultan Selim Khan 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 luster 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!




  TURKISH LITERATURE




  THE MIRROR OF COUNTRIES

  OR

  THE ADVENTURES OF SIDI ALI REIS

  "_We roam the waters far and wide,
  And bring confusion to our enemies;
  Revenge and hatred is our motto._"
  TURKISH SEA SONG OF SIDI.


THE MIRROR OF COUNTRIES

(INTRODUCTION BY PROFESSOR ARMINIUS VAMBERY)


The book of the Turkish Admiral Sidi Ali Reis, entitled "_Mirat ul
Memalik_" (the Mirror of Countries), is in many ways interesting. In
the first place, on account of the personality of the author, in whom
we see a man of many varied accomplishments; a genuine type of the
Islamitic culture of his time, and a representative of that class of
official and military dignitaries to whose influence it is chiefly due
that the Ottoman Empire, extending over three continents, attained to
that eminent height of culture which it occupied during the reign of
Suleiman the Great. Sidi Ali is the descendant of an illustrious family
connected with the arsenal at Galata, in whom love for the sea seems to
have been hereditary, and hence, as the Turkish publisher points out in
his preface, Sidi Ali, being thoroughly acquainted with the nautical
science of his day, excels as author on maritime subjects.

As a man of general culture, he was in harmony with the prevailing
notions of his time, as mathematician, astronomer, and geographer; and
also as poet, theologian, and in all branches of general literature;
sometimes wielding his pen in writing lyrical or occasional verses,
at other times entering into keen controversial disputes upon certain
Koran theses or burning schismatic questions.

Besides all this he was a warrior, proving himself as undaunted in
fighting the elements as in close combat with the Portuguese, who in
point of accoutrement had far the advantage over him. But what stands
out above all these accomplishments is his glowing patriotism and
his unwavering faith in the power and the greatness of the Ottoman
Empire. He boasts that he never ceases to hope to see Gujarat and Ormuz
joined to the Ottoman realm; his one desire is to see his Padishah
ruler of the world, and wherever he goes and whatever he sees, Rum
(Turkey) always remains in his eyes the most beautiful, the richest,
and the most cultured land of the whole world. The Turkish Admiral has,
moreover, a singularly happy way of expressing himself on this subject
of his preference for his own Padishah and his native land; and this
required no small amount of courage and tact where he had to face proud
Humayun or Thamasp, no less conceited than the former.

With regard to the things which he saw and heard in non-Mussulman
circles and districts in India, his accounts are poor compared with the
descriptions of Ibn Batuta and other Moslem travelers. Sidi Ali has had
hardly any intercourse with Hindus, and his route lay almost entirely
through districts where the ruling caste, with whom he principally
had to deal, were adherents to the Mohammedan faith. It does appear
somewhat strange that he had such unbounded reverence for the Sultan of
Turkey, and upheld him as the legitimate Caliph, although the caliphate
had only fallen into the hands of the Ottoman rulers a few years
previously with the overthrow of Tuman Bey by Selim II; and this seems
the more strange, as Asia is so tenaciously conservative that even to
this day the Turkish claim to the caliphate is a disputed point.

The authoritative and executive power of Turkey, formerly the terror of
the Christian world, could not fail to exercise its influence upon the
Moslem lands of Asia and their unstable governments, torn and harassed
as they were by internal strife and petty wars, while the sultans of
Turkey basked, not only in the glory of spiritual preferment, but also
in that of temporal superiority. The picture which our author draws
of the government of India and the East is certainly a very sad one.
Civil wars and mutinies against the rulers of the land are every-day
occurrences; the roads swarm with highwaymen, and even during the reign
of the much-extolled Humayun, all intercourse with other lands was
fraught with every imaginable kind of danger. Their rulers all suffer
from a peculiar form of conceit, like the ruler of Bokhara, "who asked
me, pointing to a ragged, motley crowd of ruffians, whether the army of
the Sultan of Turkey were not exactly like this." Humayun, Thamasp, and
even Borak Khan of Bokhara, all delighted in drawing parallels between
themselves and Sultan Suleiman.

One thing, however, in the account of the Turkish Admiral is certainly
surprising, namely the few facts by which he illustrates the Sultan's
policy in Moslem Asia. We have always been under the impression
that the Turks, during the era of their supreme power and universal
sway, directed their attention more toward the Christian lands of
the West, than toward the Moslem lands of the East, and that as a
matter of fact their campaigns were nothing short of marauding raids,
and empty conquests, while they might have utilized the many means
at their disposal and the high prestige in which they stood toward
the consolidation of their power in Asia, which would have been
comparatively easy. This reproach is neither unfounded nor unmerited,
for although the finest of the Ottoman rulers, Sultan Selim, did direct
his attention chiefly toward the East, as proved by his campaigns
against Persia and Egypt, most of his predecessors and successors have
occupied themselves solely in making war in the West. Asia, which
offered little to tempt the mercenary janissaries, was meanwhile left
pretty well to its own devices, without any fixed form or plan of
government. But, as in this narrative the threads of the policy pursued
by those sultans, one by one, come to light, we are struck with the
fact that, after all, they were not quite so short-sighted as we gave
them credit for, and that now and again they have given a thought to
the bringing about of a better state of things.


THE MIRROR OF COUNTRIES

OR

THE ADVENTURES OF SIDI ALI REIS

I

When Sultan Suleiman had taken up his winter residence in Aleppo, I,
the author of these pages, was appointed to the Admiralship of the
Egyptian fleet, and received instructions to fetch back to Egypt the
ships (15 galleys), which some time ago had been sent to Basrah on
the Persian Gulf. But, "Man proposes, God disposes." I was unable to
carry out my mission, and as I realized the impossibility of returning
by water, I resolved to go back to Turkey by the overland route,
accompanied by a few tried and faithful Egyptian soldiers. I traveled
through Gujarat, Hind, Sind, Balkh, Zabulistan, Bedakhshan, Khotlan,
Turan, and Iran, _i.e._, through Transoxania, Khorassan, Kharezm,
and Deskti-Kiptchak; and as I could not proceed any farther in that
direction, I went by Meshed and the two Iraks, Kazwin and Hamadan, on
to Bagdad.

Our travels ended, my companions and fellow-adventurers persuaded
me to write down our experiences, and the dangers through which we
had passed, an accurate account of which it is almost impossible to
give; also to tell of the cities and the many wonderful sights we had
seen, and of the holy shrines we had visited. And so this little book
sees the light; in it I have tried to relate, in simple and plain
language, the troubles and difficulties, the suffering and the distress
which beset our path, up to the time that we reached Constantinople.
Considering the matter it contains this book ought to have been
entitled, "A tale of woe," but with a view to the scene of action I
have called it "Mirror of Countries," and as such I commend it to the
reader's kind attention.


II

THE BEGINNING OF THE STORY

When the illustrious Padishah was holding his court at Aleppo, in
Ramazan of the year 960 (1552), I was commanded to join the army.

I celebrated Ramzam-Bairam in attendance on his Majesty, later on,
however, I went to Sidi-Ghazi, made a pilgrimage in Konia to the tomb
of Molla-i-Rumi, and visited the shrines of the Sultan ul-Ulema, and
Shemsi Tebrizi, and of the Sheik Sadr-ed-din-Koniavi; at Kassarie I
made a pilgrimage to the graves of the Sheiks Awhad-ed-din Kirmani,
Burham-ed-din, Baha-ed-din Zade, Ibrahim Akserayi, and Davud Kaissari.
Returned to Haleb (Aleppo), I visited the graves of Daud, Zakeriah, and
Balkiah, as also those of Saad and Said, companions of the Prophet. The
Kurban-Bairam I spent again in attendance on the Sultan.

I must here mention that Piri Bey, the late Admiral of the Egyptian
fleet, had, some time previous to this, been dispatched with about 30
ships (galleys and galleons) from Suez, through the Red Sea, touching
Jedda and Yemen, and through the straits of Bab-i-Mandeb, past Aden
and along the coast of Shahar.[60] Through fogs and foul weather his
fleet became dispersed, some ships were lost, and with the remainder
he proceeded from Oman to Muscat, took the fortress and made all the
inhabitants prisoners; he also made an incursion into the islands of
Ormuz and Barkhat, after which he returned to Muscat. There he learned
from the captive infidel captain that the Christian (Portuguese) fleet
was on its way, that therefore any further delay was inadvisable, as
in case it arrived he would not be able to leave the harbor at all.
As a matter of fact it was already too late to save all the ships; he
therefore took only three, and with these just managed to make his
escape before the arrival of the Portuguese. One of his galleys was
wrecked near Bahrein, so he brought only two vessels back to Egypt. As
for the remainder of the fleet at Basrah, Kubad Pasha had offered the
command of it to the Chief Officer, but he had declined, and returned
to Egypt by land.

When this became known in Constantinople the command of the fleet had
been given to Murad Bey, formerly Sanjakbey of Catif, then residing
in Basrah. He was ordered to leave two ships, five galleys, and one
galleon at Basrah, and with the rest, _i.e._, 15 galleys (one galley
had been burned in Basrah) and two boats, he was to return to Egypt.
Murad Bey did start as arranged, but opposite Ormuz he came upon
the infidel (Portuguese) fleet, a terrible battle followed in which
Suleiman Reis, Rejeb Reis, and several of the men, died a martyr's
death. Many more were wounded and the ships terribly battered by the
cannon-balls. At last, night put a stop to the fight. One boat was
wrecked off the Persian coast, part of the crew escaped, the rest were
taken prisoners by the infidels, and the boat itself captured.

When all this sad news reached the capital, toward the end of Zilhija
of the said year 960 (1552), the author of these pages was appointed
Admiral of the Egyptian fleet.

I, humble Sidi Ali bin Husein, also known as Kiatibi-Rumi (the writer
of the West, _i.e._, of Turkey), most gladly accepted the post. I had
always been very fond of the sea, had taken part in the expedition
against Rhodes under the Sultan (Suleiman), and had since had a share
in almost all engagements, both by land and by sea. I had fought under
Khaireddin Pasha, Sinan Pasha, and other captains, and had cruised
about on the Western (Mediterranean) sea, so that I knew every nook
and corner of it. I had written several books on astronomy, nautical
science, and other matters bearing upon navigation. My father and
grandfather, since the conquest of Constantinople, had had charge
of the arsenal[61] at Galata; they had both been eminent in their
profession, and their skill had come down to me as an heirloom.

The post now entrusted to me was much to my taste, and I started from
Aleppo for Basrah, on the first of Moharram of the year 961 (7 Dec.
1553). I crossed the Euphrates at Biredjik and when in Reka (_i.e._,
Orfah), I undertook a pilgrimage to the tomb of Abraham, having visited
on the way between Nisebin and Mossul the holy graves of the prophets
Yunis and Djerdjis and of the sheiks Mohammed Garabili, Feth Mosuli,
and Kazib-elban-Mosuli. On the way to Bagdad I made a little detour
from Tekrit to Samira, and visited the graves of Iman Ali-el-Hadi and
Iman Haman Askeri, after which I came past the towns of Ashik[62] and
Maashuk, and through Harbi, past the castle of Semke, on to Bagdad.
We crossed the Tigris near Djisr and, after visiting the graves of
the saints there, I continued my journey past the fortress of Teir,
to Bire, and crossing the Euphrates near the little town of Masib, I
reached Kerbela (Azwie), where I made a pilgrimage to the graves of
the martyrs Hasan and Husein. Turning into the steppe near Shefata, I
reached Nedjef (Haira) on the second day, and visited the graves of
Adam, Noah, Shimun, and Ali, and from there proceeded to Kufa, where I
saw the mosque with the pulpit under which the prophets of the house
of Ali are buried, and the tombs of Kamber and Duldul. Arrived at the
fortress of Hasinia, I visited the grave of the prophet Zilkefl, the
son of Aaron, and in Hilla I made pilgrimages to the graves of Iman
Mohammed Mehdi and Iman Akil, brother of Ali, and also visited there
the mosque of Shem. Again crossing the Euphrates (this time by a
bridge), I resumed my journey to Bagdad and went from there by ship to
Basrah. On the way we touched Medain, saw the grave of Selmas Faris,
admired Tak Kesri and the castle of Shah Zenan, and went past Imare
Bugazi, on the road of Vasit to Zekya, past the strongholds of Adjul
and Misra to Sadi-es Sueiba and on to Basrah, where I arrived toward
the end of Safar of the said year (beginning of February, 1554).


III

ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED IN BASRAH

On the day after my arrival I had an interview with Mustafa Pasha, who,
after seeing my credentials, made over to me the 15 galleys which were
needing a great deal of repair. As far as could be, they were put in
order, calked and provided with guns, which, however, were not to be
had in sufficient quantity either from the stores there or from Ormuz.
A water-supply had also to be arranged for, and as it was yet five
months before the time of the monsoon,[63] I had plenty of leisure to
visit the mosque of Ali and the graves of Hasan Basri, Talha, Zobeir,
Uns-bin-Malik, Abdurrahman-bin-Anf, and several martyrs and companions
of the Prophet. One night I dreamed that I lost my sword, and as I
remembered that a similar thing had happened to Sheik Muhieddin and
had resulted in a defeat, I became greatly alarmed, and, just as I was
about to pray to the Almighty for the victory of the Islam arms, I
awoke. I kept this dream a secret, but it troubled me for a long time,
and when later on Mustafa Pasha sent a detachment of soldiers to take
the island of Huweiza (in which expedition I took part with five of my
galleys), and the undertaking resulted in our losing about a hundred
men all through the fickleness of the Egyptian troops, I fully believed
this to be the fulfilment of my dream. But alas! there was more to
follow—for:

    What is decreed must come to pass,
    No matter, whether you are joyful or anxious.

When at last the time of the monsoon came, the Pasha sent a trusty
sailor with a frigate to Ormuz, to explore the neighborhood. After
cruising about for a month he returned with the news that, except for
four boats, there was no sign of any ships of the infidels in those
waters. The troops therefore embarked and we started for Egypt.


IV

WHAT TOOK PLACE IN THE SEA OF ORMUZ

On the first of Shawal we left the harbor of Basrah, accompanied, as
far as Ormuz, by the frigate of Sherifi Pasha. We visited on the way
from Mehzari the grave of Khidr, and proceeding along the coast of
Duspul (Dizful), and Shushter in Charik, I made pilgrimages to the
graves of Imam Mohammed, Hanifi, and other saints.

From the harbor in the province of Shiraz we visited Rishehr (Bushir)
and after reconnoitering the coasts and unable to get any clue as
to the whereabouts of the enemy by means of the _Tshekleva_,[64] I
proceeded to Katif, situated near Lahsa[65] and Hadjar on the Arabian
coast. Unable to learn anything there, I went on to Bahrein, where I
interviewed the commander of the place, Reis Murad. But neither could
he give me any information about the fleet of the infidels. There is a
curious custom at Bahrein. The sailors, provided with a leather sack,
dive down into the sea and bring the fresh water from the bottom for
Reis Murad's use. This water is particularly pleasant and cold in the
spring time, and Reis Murad gave me some. God's power is boundless!
This custom is the origin of the proverb: "_Maradj ul bahreia
jaltakian_," and hence also the name "Bahrein."

Next we came to Kis, _i.e._, old Ormuz, and Barhata, and several other
small islands in the Green Sea, _i.e._, the waters of Ormuz, but
nowhere could we get any news of the fleet. So we dismissed the vessel,
which Mustafa Pasha had sent as an escort, with the message that Ormuz
was safely passed. We proceeded by the coasts of Djilgar and Djadi,
past the towns of Keimzar or Leime, and forty days after our departure,
_i.e._, on the tenth of Ramazan, in the forenoon, we suddenly saw
coming toward us the Christian fleet, consisting of four large
ships, three galleons, six Portuguese guard ships, and twelve galleys
(_Kalita_), 25 vessels in all. I immediately ordered the canopy to be
taken down, the anchor weighed, the guns put in readiness, and then,
trusting to the help of the Almighty, we fastened the _filandra_[66] to
the mainmast, the flags were unfurled, and, full of courage and calling
upon Allah, we commenced to fight. The volley from the guns and cannon
was tremendous, and with God's help we sank and utterly destroyed one
of the enemy's galleons.

Never before within the annals of history has such a battle been
fought, and words fail me to describe it.

The battle continued till sunset, and only then the Admiral of the
infidel fleet began to show some signs of fear. He ordered the
signal-gun to fire a retreat, and the fleet turned in the direction of
Ormuz.

With the help of Allah, and under the lucky star of the Padishah,
the enemies of Islam had been defeated. Night came at last; we were
becalmed for awhile, then the wind rose, the sails were set and as
the shore was near ... until daybreak. The next day we continued our
previous course. On the day after we passed Khorfakan,[67] where we
took in water, and soon after reached Oman, or rather Sohar.[68] Thus
we cruised about for nearly 17 days. When on the sixth of Ramazan,
_i.e._, the day of Kadr-Ghedjesi, a night in the month of Ramazan,
we arrived in the vicinity of Maskat and Kalhat,[69] we saw in the
morning, issuing from the harbor of Maskat, 12 large boats and 22
_gurabs_, 34 vessels in all, commanded by Captain Kuya,[70] the son of
the Governor. They carried a large number of troops.

The boats and galleons obscured the horizon with their mizzen sails
(_Magistra_)[71] and _Peneta_ (small sails) all set; the guard-ships
spread their round sails (_Chember-yelken_), and, gay with hunting,
they advanced toward us. Full of confidence in God's protection we
awaited them. Their boats attacked our galleys; the battle raged,
cannon and guns, arrows and swords made terrible slaughter on both
sides. The _Badjoalushka_ penetrated the boats and the _Shaikas_[72]
and tore large holes in their hulls, while our galleys were riddled
through by the javelins (_Darda_)[73] thrown down upon us from
the enemy's turrets, which gave them the appearance of bristling
porcupines; and they showered down upon us....

The stones which they threw at us created quite a whirlpool as they
fell into the sea.

One of our galleys was set on fire by a bomb, but strange to say the
boat from which it issued shared the like fate. God is merciful!
Five of our galleys and as many of the enemy's boats were sunk and
utterly wrecked, one of theirs went to the bottom with all sails set.
In a word, there was great loss on both sides; our rowers were now
insufficient in number to manage the oars, while running against the
current, and to fire the cannon. We were compelled to drop anchor (at
the stern) and to continue to fight as best we might. The boats had
also to be abandoned.

Alemshah Reis, Kara Mustafa, and Kalfat Memi, captains of some of the
foundered ships, and Derzi Mustafa Bey, the Serdar of the volunteers,
with the remainder of the Egyptian soldiers and 200 carpenters, had
landed on the Arabian shore, and as the rowers were Arabs they had been
hospitably treated by the Arabs of Nedjd.

The ships (_gurabs_) of the infidel fleet had likewise taken on board
the crews of their sunken vessels, and as there were Arabs amongst
them, they also had found shelter on the Arabian coast. God is our
witness. Even in the war between Khaiveddin Pasha and Andreas Doria no
such naval action as this has ever taken place.

When night came, and we were approaching the bay of Ormuz, the wind
began to rise. The boats had already cast two _Lenguvurta_, _i.e._,
large anchors,[74] the _Lushtas_ were tightly secured, and, towing
the conquered _gurabs_ along, we neared the shore while the galleys,
dragging their anchors, followed. However, we were not allowed to touch
the shore, and had to set sail again. During that night we drifted
away from the Arabian coast into the open sea, and finally reached the
coasts of Djash,[75] in the province of Kerman. This is a long coast,
but we could find no harbor, and we roamed about for two days before we
came to Kichi Mekran.[76]

As the evening was far advanced we could not land immediately, but
had to spend another night at sea. In the morning a dry wind carried
off many of the crew, and at last, after unheard-of troubles and
difficulties, we approached the harbor of Sheba.[77]

Here we came upon a _Notak_, _i.e._, a brigantine (pirate-ship), laden
with spoils, and when the watchman sighted us they hailed us. We told
them that we were Mussulmans, whereupon their captain came on board
our vessel; he kindly supplied us with water, for we had not a drop
left, and thus our exhausted soldiers were invigorated. This was on
Bairam day, and for us, as we had now got water, a double feast-day.
Escorted by the said captain we entered the harbor of Guador.[78] The
people there were Beluchistanis and their chief was Malik Djelaleddin,
the son of Malik Dinar. The Governor of Guador came on board our ship
and assured us of his unalterable devotion to our glorious Padishah.
He promised that henceforth, if at any time our fleet should come to
Ormuz, he would undertake to send 50 or 60 boats to supply us with
provisions, and in every possible way to be of service to us. We wrote
a letter to the native Prince Djelaleddin to ask for a pilot, upon
which a first-class pilot was sent us, with the assurance that he was
thoroughly trustworthy and entirely devoted to the interests of our
Padishah.


V

WHAT WE SUFFERED IN THE INDIAN OCEAN

God is merciful! With a favorable wind we left the port of Guador and
again steered for Yemen. We had been at sea for several days, and had
arrived nearly opposite to Zofar[79] and Shar, when suddenly from the
west arose a great storm known as _fil Tofani_.[80] We were driven
back, but were unable to set the sails, not even the _trinquetla_
(stormsail). The tempest raged with increasing fury. As compared to
these awful tempests the foul weather in the western seas is mere
child's play, and their towering billows are as drops of water compared
to those of the Indian sea. Night and day were both alike, and because
of the frailty of our craft all ballast had to be thrown overboard.
In this frightful predicament our only consolation was our unwavering
trust in the power of the Almighty. For ten days the storm raged
continuously and the rain came down in torrents. We never once saw the
blue sky.

I did all I could to encourage and cheer my companions, and advised
them above all things to be brave, and never to doubt but that all
would end well. A welcome diversion occurred in the appearance of a
fish about the size of two galley lengths, or more perhaps, which the
pilot declared to be a good omen.

The tide being very strong here and the ebb slow, we had an opportunity
of seeing many sea-monsters in the neighborhood of the bay of Djugd,
sea-horses, large sea-serpents, turtles in great quantities, and eels.

The color of the water suddenly changed to pure white, and at sight
of it the pilot broke forth into loud lamentations; he declared we
were approaching whirlpools and eddies. These are no myth here; it is
generally believed that they are only found on the coasts of Abyssinia
and in the neighborhood of Sind in the bay of Djugd, and hardly ever a
ship has been known to escape their fury. So, at least, we are told in
nautical books. We took frequent soundings, and when we struck a depth
of five Kuladj (arm-lengths) the mizzensails (_Orta Yelken_) were set,
the bowspreat[81] ... and ... heeling over to the left side, and flying
the commander's flag, we drifted about all night and all day until at
last, in God's mercy, the water rose, the storm somewhat abated, and
the ship veered right round.

The next morning we slackened speed and drew in the sails. A stalwart
cabin boy (or sailor) was tied to the _Djondu_, whereby the post at the
foot of the mizzenmast was weighted down, and the sailrope slightly
raised. Taking a survey of our surroundings we caught sight of an
idol-temple on the coast of Djamber. The sails were drawn in a little
more; we passed Formyan and Menglir,[82] and directing our course
toward Somenat,[83] we passed by that place also. Finally we came to
<DW37>,[84] but for fear of the unbelievers which dwell there we further
drew in our sails and continued on our course with _serderma_.

Meanwhile, the wind had risen again, and as the men had no control over
the rudder, large handles had to be affixed with long double ropes
fastened to them. Each rope was taken hold of by four men, and so with
great exertion they managed to control the rudder.

No one could keep on his feet on deck, so of course it was impossible
to walk across. The noise of the ... and the ... was deafening; we
could not hear our own voices. The only means of communication with the
sailors was by inarticulate words, and neither captain nor boatswain
could for a single instant leave his post. The ammunition was secured
in the storeroom, and after cutting the ... from the ... we continued
our way.

It was truly a terrible day, but at last we reached Gujarat in India,
which part of it, however, we knew not, when the pilot suddenly
exclaimed: "On your guard! a whirlpool in front!" Quickly the anchors
were lowered, but the ship was dragged down with great force and
nearly submerged. The rowers had left their seats, the panic-stricken
crew threw off their clothes, and, clinging some to casks and some to
jacks, had taken leave of one another. I also stripped entirely, gave
my slaves their liberty, and vowed to give 100 florins to the poor of
Mecca.

Presently one of the anchors broke from its crook and another at the
_podjuz_; two more were lost, the ship gave a terrible jerk—and in
another instant we were clear of the breakers. The pilot declared
that had we been wrecked off Fisht-Kidsur, a place between Diu and
Daman;[85] nothing could have saved us. Once more the sails were set,
and we decided to make for the infidel coast; but after duly taking
note of tide and current, and having made a careful study of the
chart, I came to the conclusion that we could not be very far off
the mainland. I consulted the horoscope in the Koran, and this also
counseled patience. So we commenced to examine the hold of the ship and
found that the storeroom was submerged, in some places up to the walls,
in some places higher still. We had shipped much water, and all hands
set to work at once to bale it out. In one or two places the bottom had
to be ripped up to find the outlet so as to reduce the water.

Toward afternoon the weather had cleared a little, and we found
ourselves about two miles off the port of Daman, in Gujarat in India.
The other ships had already arrived, but some of the galleys were
waterlogged not far from the shore, and they had thrown overboard oars,
boats, and casks, all of which wreckage eventually was borne ashore by
the rapidly rising tide. We were obliged to lie to for another five
days and five nights, exposed to a strong spring-tide, accompanied by
floods of rain; for we were now in the Badzad,[86] or rainy season of
India, and there was nothing for it but to submit to our fate. During
all this time we never once saw the sun by day, nor the stars by night;
we could neither use our clock nor our compass, and all on board
anticipated the worst. It seems a miracle that of the three ships lying
there, thrown on their sides, the whole crew eventually got safely to
land.


VI

WHAT HAPPENED IN THE PROVINCE OF GUJARAT

After five days, in God's mercy, the wind somewhat abated. All that
was saved of the wreckage, cannon and other armament we left with the
Governor of Daman, Malik Esed, who, since the time of Sultan Ahmed,
the ruler of Gujarat, had held office there. In the harbor were some
_Djonk's_[87] _i.e._, monsoon ships belonging to Samiri, the ruler of
Calcutta. The captains came on board our ship and assured us of the
devotion of their chief to the Padishah. They brought us a letter which
said that Samiri was waging war day and night against the Portuguese
infidels, and that he was expecting the arrival of an Imperial fleet
from Egypt under the guidance of the pilot Ali, which was to put the
Portuguese to flight. Malik Esed, the Governor, gave me to understand
that the fleet of the infidels was on its way, that it behooved us to
avoid it and, if possible, to reach the fortress of Surat. This news
frightened the crew. Some of them immediately took service under Melik
Esed, and some went ashore in the boats and proceeded by land to Surat.

I remained on board with a few faithful of the men, and after procuring
a _Dindjuy_,[88] or pilot-boat, for each vessel, we set out for
the harbor of Surat. After great difficulties we reached the open.
Presently the Kutwal,[89] Aga Hamsa, hailed us with a letter from
Umad-el-mulk, the Grand Vizier of Sultan Ahmed, who informed us that
there were large numbers of infidels about, and that Daman being a free
port we had better be careful. He would allow us to come to Surat if we
liked, as we were now in most perilous waters. This was exactly what we
wanted to do, so we struggled on for five days longer, sailing at the
flow, riding at anchor at the ebb of the tide, until at last we reached
the harbor of Surat, fully three months after our departure from Basrah.

Great was the joy of the Mohammedans at Surat when they saw us come;
they hailed us as their deliverers (_Khidr_), and said: "You have come
to Gujarat in troublous times; never since the days of Noah has there
been a flood like unto this last, but neither is it within the memory
of man that a ship from Rum (Turkey) has landed on these coasts. We
fervently hoped that God in his mercy would soon send an Ottoman fleet
to Gujarat, to save this land for the Ottoman Empire and to deliver us
from the Indian unbelievers."

The cause of the disturbances was this: After the death of Sultan
Bahadur, the ruler of Gujarat, one of his relatives, a youth of twelve
years old, had succeeded to the throne. The army had acknowledged
him, but one of the nobles, Nasir-ul-Mulk, had refused to take the
oath of allegiance, and had raised the banner of sovereignty on
his own behalf.[90] He had many adherents, took the stronghold of
Burudj,[91] left a sufficient garrison to keep it, proceeded himself
to another town, and then called in the aid of the Governor of the
infidels (Portuguese) at Goa, promising that in return for his services
the harbors on the coast of Gujarat, _viz._, Daman, Surat, Burudj,
Ketbaye, Sumenat, Minglur, and Furmeyan, should be thrown open to the
Portuguese, while he would retire to the land of the interior.

Sultan Ahmed had immediately collected an army to go to Burudj, and
when informed of our arrival he took from our troops 200 gunners and
other men, and advanced toward Burudj.

On the third day we who were left behind were attacked by the infidel
captains of Goa, Diu, Shiyul, Besai, and the _Provador_;[92] five in
all, commanding 7 large galleons and 80 _gurabs_. We went ashore,
pitched our tents, and threw up entrenchments; for two whole months
we were busy preparing for battle. But the tyrant Nasir-ul-Mulk, who
had joined with the infidels, had hired murderers to kill me; they
were, however, discovered by the guard and fled. Again another time
he tried to poison my food, but, being warned by the Kutwal of Surat,
this attempt to take my life also failed. Meanwhile Sultan Ahmed had
taken the stronghold of Burudj and sent two of his officers, Khudavend
and Djihanghir, with elephants and troops to Surat, while he proceeded
to Ahmedabad, where a youth, called Ahmed, a relation of Sultan Ahmed,
had in the meantime raised a revolt. A battle followed, in which the
usurper was wounded, Hasan Khan, one of his adherents, killed, and
his army put to flight. Sultan Ahmed reascended his throne, and, as
Nasir-ul-Mulk died of vexation over his misfortunes, peace was once
more restored in Gujarat.

When the infidels heard of this they sent an envoy to Khudavend Khan
to say that they did not mind so much about Surat, but that their
hostility was chiefly directed toward the Admiral of Egypt, _viz._,
my humble person. They demanded that I should be given up to them,
but were refused; and my soldiers would have killed the envoy, but I
reminded them that we were on foreign soil and must commit no rash
deeds.

It so happened that a runaway infidel gunner from one of my ships had
enlisted on the ship of the envoy, and, knowing a good deal about our
affairs, he had undertaken to prevent our departure after the holiday
of Kurban. No sooner had this come to the knowledge of my men, than
they attacked the envoy's ship and captured the infidel, who was
executed on the spot, greatly to the alarm of the envoy.

There is in Gujarat a tree of the palm tribe, called _tari agadji_
(millet-tree). From its branches cups are suspended, and when the cut
end of a branch is placed into one of these vessels a sweet liquid,
something of the nature of arrack, flows out in a continuous stream;
and this fluid, by exposure to the heat of the sun, presently changes
into a most wonderful wine. Therefore at the foot of all such trees
drinking-booths have been placed, which are a great attraction to the
soldiers.

Some of my men, having indulged in the forbidden drink, determined
to kill their Serdar. One of these profligates, Yagmur by name,
one evening after sunset surprised Hussain Aga, the Serdar of the
Circassians. A few comrades rushed to his assistance, there was some
fighting and two young men were wounded, and one, Hadji Memi, was
killed. Then the soldiers pressed round, and implored me to punish the
evil-doers, but I again reminded them that we were on foreign soil, in
the land of a foreign Padishah, and that our laws had no force here.
"What," they cried, "the laws of our Padishah hold good everywhere.
You are our Admiral, judge according to our law, and we will be the
executioners!" Thereupon I pronounced judgment according to the law of
the Koran, which says: "Eye for eye, life for life, nose for nose, ear
for ear," etc.

The man was executed, and peace restored. When the nobles of the Begs
heard of the occurrence they took the lesson to heart, and the envoy
immediately hired a conveyance and went to Sultan Ahmed.

But my troops were getting dissatisfied. In Surat, Khudavend Khan had
been paying them from 50 to 60 paras per day, and in Burudj, Adil Khan
had done the same. At last their pent-up feelings burst forth and they
argued as follows: "It is now nearly two years since we have received
any pay, our goods are lost, and the ships dismantled; the hulks are
old, and our return to Egypt is practically made impossible." The end
was that the greater part of them took service in Gujarat.

The deserted ships, with all their tools and implements, were given
over to Khudavend Khan, under condition that he should immediately
remit to the Sublime Porte the price agreed upon for the sale.

After receiving a confirmatory note to this effect, both from Khudavend
Khan and Adil Khan, I started on my journey to Ahmedabad[93] in
the beginning of Muharram of the year 962 (end of November 1552),
accompanied by Mustafa Aga, the Ketkhuda (chief officer) of the
Egyptian Janissaries, and Ali Aga, the captain of the gunners (both of
which had remained faithful to their Padishah), and with about 50 men.

A few days took us from Burudj to Belodra,[94] and from there we
proceeded to Champanir.[95]

On our way we saw some very curious trees, whose crowns reached up to
the sky, and the branches swarmed with bats of such extraordinary size
that their wings on the stretch measured 40 inches across. The most
curious part about the trees, however, was that the roots hung down
from the branches and, when touching the ground, planted themselves
and produced new trees. Thus from one tree, from ten to twenty new
ones sprung up. The name of this tree is the Tobi tree,[96] and more
than a thousand people can find shelter under its shade. Besides these
we saw several _Zokum_ trees.[97] Parrots were very plentiful, and as
for the monkeys, thousands of them made their appearance in our camp
every evening. They carried their young in their arms, made the most
ridiculous grimaces, and strongly brought to our minds the stories of
Djihan Shah, according to whom these animals live in a community but
acknowledge no head among them. At nightfall they always retired to
their own place.

After a great many vicissitudes we at last arrived in Mahmudabad,[98]
and after a journey of 50 days in Ahmedabad the capital of Gujarat.
There I visited the Sultan, his Grand Vizier Imad-ul-Mulk, and other
dignitaries. The Sultan, to whom I presented my credentials, was
pleased to receive me most graciously and he assured me of his devotion
to our glorious Padishah. He gave me a horse, a team of camels,[99] and
money for the journey.

At Cherkes, in the vicinity of Ahmedabad, is the grave of Sheik Ahmed
Magrebi, which I visited. One day, being at the house of Imad-ul-Mulk,
I met the infidel envoy, and our host addressed him in this way, "We
have need of the Sultan of Turkey. Our ships touch the ports of his
Empire, and if we were not free to do so, it would be bad for us.
Moreover, he is the Padishah of the Islamitic world, and it is not
seemly that we should be expected to deliver up his Admiral to you."
I became very angry at this speech and cried: "Hold, thou cursed
tongue! Thou foundest me with a shattered fleet, but I swear by God
Almighty thou shalt see ere long not only Ormuz, but Goa itself, yield
before the victorious arms of the great Padishah!"[100] To which the
unbeliever made the following answer: "Henceforth not so much as a bird
will be able to leave the ports of India." I replied: "One need not
necessarily go by water, there is a land route also." He was silent
after that, and the subject was dropped.

A few days after this Sultan Ahmed offered me the command of the
Province of Burudj, with a very large income, but I refused, saying
that I would not stay if he gave me the whole of the land. One night in
my dream I saw the Khalifa Murteza Ali. I had a piece of paper before
me with Ali's seal upon it. With this seal, the seal of God to help me,
away with all fear, for in its strength all foreign waters were mine to
command.

Next morning I told my dream to my companions and all were glad with
me. I asked for permission to depart, and the ruler granted my request
out of respect for our Padishah.

Amongst the learned[101] of this land of Banians[102] there is a tribe
which they call the "Bats," whose business it is to escort merchants or
travelers from one land into another, and for a very small remuneration
they guarantee their perfect safety. Should the Rajputs,[103] _i.e._,
the mounted troops of the land, attack the caravan, the Bats point
their daggers at their own breast, and threaten to kill themselves
if they should presume to do the slightest harm to the travelers
entrusted to their care. And out of respect for the Bats, the Rajputs
generally desist from their evil purpose, and the travelers proceed
on their way unmolested. Occasionally, however, the Bats carry out
their threat, otherwise it would have no force. But if such a thing
does happen, if a caravan is attacked and the suicide of the Bats
becomes necessary, this is considered a terrible calamity, and the
superstition of the people demands that the offenders be put to death,
and not only the offenders themselves but the chief of the Rajputs
deems it necessary to kill their sons and daughters also; in fact, to
exterminate the whole of their race. The Mohammedans of Ahmedabad had
given us two such Bats as an escort, and so, about the middle of Safar
of the said year, we started on our overland journey to Turkey.

In five days we reached Patna,[104] traveling in carriages, and visited
the grave of Sheik Nizam the _Pir_ (spiritual chief) of Patna. Here
Shir Khan and his brother Musa Khan had collected an army, to fight
Behluj Khan, the ruler of Radanpoor.[105] For fear of our siding with
their enemies, the people tried to retain us, and would not allow us to
proceed on our journey until the battle should be over. We showed them,
however, that we had not come to render either party any assistance,
but that we only wanted to continue our journey in peace, and had a
pass from their ruler to that effect. Then at last they let us go, and
after five days we came to Radanpoor, where I was presented to Mahmud
Khan, but he treated me very rudely, and insisted on forcibly detaining
three of my companions before he would consent to our departure.

On the way we met some friendly Rajputs; their Beg was of great service
to us, and gave me a letter of protection (free pass). The camels were
hired, and after dismissing the Bats which the people of Ahmedabad had
sent with us, we continued our journey.


VII

WHAT BEFELL US IN THE PROVINCE OF SIND


Leaving on the first of Rebiul-Evvel we came, after a ten days'
journey, to Parker,[106] a town of the Rajputs. Here we were surprised
by the infidels, but thanks to the letter of protection and a few
presents, we were let free; quite anticipating further dangers,
however, we were on our guard when next day a band of hostile Rajputs
commenced a free fight with us. Immediately I ordered all the camels to
be let down on their knees so as to form a ring round us, and then the
firing began on all sides. The infidels, not prepared for this, sent us
word that "they had not come to fight, but to exact the passage money,"
to which I made reply: "We are not merchants and carry nothing but
medicines and _Mohurs_[107] on which we have already paid duty; but if
there be anything further to pay we are quite prepared to do so." This
had the desired effect; they let us pass, and for about ten days we
wandered through deserts and sandy places, until we reached Wanga,[108]
the frontier town of Sind. Here we hired fresh camels, and in five days
we came to Djoona[109] and Baghi-Feth. The throne of Sind was then
occupied by Shah Husein Mirza. He had reigned for 40 years, but during
the last 5 years he had become invalided and unable to mount his horse,
so now he only went about on board his ship in the river Sihun.[110]

At that time Isa Terkhan, the commander of the capital of Sind, called
Tata,[111] had put to death a number of able officers belonging to
Shah Husein, after which he had captured the treasure, stored in
the fortress of Nasrabad, and divided it amongst his men, and then
proclaimed himself as Humayun Shah. (It says literally that he had this
title inserted in the Friday-prayers and ordered the _Nakara_[112] to
be played.) Thereupon Shah Husein had nominated his adopted brother
Sultan Mahmud as commander of the land troops, and he himself with
400 ships had set out against the rebels. Hearing of my arrival he
received me with great honor. It was then the beginning of the month of
Rabia-al-Sani. He gave me festive apparel[113] and conferred upon us
the title of a God-sent army;[114] he offered me, besides all this, the
governorship of <DW12>-Lahuri or Duyuli-Sindi. Of course I refused this
offer, but when I requested permission to continue my journey I was
given to understand that I should not be allowed to do so until after
the successful termination of the campaign. He also wrote a letter to
our glorious Padishah, explaining matters; in a word he did not rest
until he had quite cleared us from being mixed up in this war with Isa
Khan. The Mohammedans pleaded in vain that our arms could bring no evil
upon them,[115] for, said they, "Are we not all of one nation, and are
not many of our sons and brethren in the rebel army?" And this was
perfectly true. I had an interview with Sheik Abdul Vahab and received
his blessing; I also visited the graves of the Sheiks Djemali and Miri.

The campaign lasted a month, earthworks were thrown up and cannon
raised thereon, but as Tata lies on an island and their shot did not
reach so far, the fortress could not be taken. Nevertheless there was
great loss of life on both sides. At last a compromise was decided
upon. Mir Isa relinquished his adherence to Humayun Padishah, returned
to his allegiance to Husein Mirza, and sent his son Mir Salih with
presents of submission. On the other hand, Husein Mirza gave the
remainder of the treasure, which Mir Isa had divided amongst his
troops, to Mir Salih. Isa was reinstated in his former rank, and Mirza
sent him a formal acceptance of his allegiance by the hand of the
Vizier Molla Yari. He also sent him a Nakara by Tugbeghi, the chief
standard-bearer, and released from prison the ten rebels from the
tribes of Argun and Tarkhan,[116] which had sided with Mir Isa, from
his side, had sent back the wife of Husein Shah, called Hadji Begum,
and in the first days of Djemadi-ul-evvel, Sultan Mahmud returned by
land, and Shah Husein by water, to the city of Bakar. On the tenth day
after his wife had rejoined him, Shah Husein died, and it was supposed
that she had poisoned him.

Directly after his father's death, Sultan Mahmud divided the property
in three parts. One part was for the wife of the deceased, and another
part he sent to Mir Isa by a Khodja. The body was taken to Tata; he
lent me one of his own ships, and providing himself with horses,
camels, and other necessaries, returned by land to Bakar. While the
body of Mirza, with his wife and an escort of 50 ships, was on its way
to Tata, the soldiers attacked the remaining vessels and plundered
them. The sailors took flight, and we, the passengers, were compelled
to take command of the ships. Beset on all sides by the Djagatais
(Central Asians), we relinquished our firearms, and barely escaped with
our lives. At last, after struggling for ten days against the stream,
we made our way to Nasirpur.[117] This town had been plundered by the
Rajah, _i.e._, the Bey of the Rajputs.

We were greeted with the news that Mir Isa, with 10,000 valiant
soldiers, was pursuing Sultan Mahmud, and that his son, Mir Salih, with
80 ships, was close behind us. This was very perplexing but I decided
at once to turn back. We prayed long together, and then started on
our return to Tata. Three days later we passed Mir Salih in the river.
I went on board his ship with a few small presents, and he asked me
where we were going. I said, "We are going to your father," whereupon
he told me to go back with him. I said, "We have no sailors on board,"
so he gave me fifteen of his crew; and thus compelled to turn back, we
had another weary ten days to get through. One day I chanced upon Mir
Isa in a small town of Sind. Here I also found the former partizans
of the late Mirza, who were tired of fighting and desired peace. Isa
received me with great honor, forgave me the past, and allowed me to
remain a few days, saying that he intended shortly to send his son Mir
Salih to Humayun Padishah, and that I might as well travel under his
escort, for, he added, "Sultan Mahmud will never allow thee to pass
Bakar; he is a son of Ferrukh Mirza and wants to become Padishah." This
proposal, however, did not suit me, and I insisted upon continuing my
journey forthwith, suggesting that he should give us back the ships
lately taken from us, and also to send a messenger in advance, for with
God's help he, Sultan Mahmud, would probably have to submit to the
Padishah (Humayun), and thus peace be restored. Isa agreed to this, and
gave me seven ships with their complement of sailors. He wrote to the
Padishah to assure him of his unalterable loyalty, and so we went on
our way. We were struck with the enormous size of the fish (alligators)
sporting in the river, as also with the numbers of tigers on the banks.
It was necessary to keep up a perpetual warfare with the people of
Semtche and Matchi, through whose territory our course lay, and thus
we reached Siyawan,[118] and shortly after we came to Bukkur by the
way of Patri[119] and Dible. Here I fell in with Sultan Mahmud and his
Vizier Molla Yari. I offered a small gift to the former, who thereupon
expressed his willingness to submit himself to Humayun, and also to
make peace with Mir Isa.

I composed a chronogram on the death of Husein Mirza and presented
Sultan Mahmud with two gazels,[120] after which I requested permission
to continue my journey. This was granted, but as the route past
Kandahar was made unsafe by the inroads[121] of Sultan Bahadur, a son
of Sultan Haidar, the Ozbeg, and as the season of the Semum (hot winds)
had now commenced, the Sultan offered to give me an escort by the way
of Lahore, warning me to be on my guard against the Djats, a hostile
tribe which had its abode there. But whichever route I chose I should
have to wait a while yet, and as a matter of fact I waited for a whole
month. One night in my dream I saw my mother, who told me that she had
seen her highness Fatima in a dream, and had learned from her the glad
news, that I should soon be coming home, safe and sound.

When next morning I told this dream to my companions they were full of
good courage. Sultan Mahmud, when he heard of it, at once consented to
my departure. He gave me a beautiful horse, a team of camels, a large
and a small tent,[122] and money for the journey. He also provided
me with a letter of recommendation to Humayun, and an escort of 250
mounted camel-drivers, from Sind. Thus we departed about the middle of
Shaaban, and reached the fortress of May in five days, traveling by
the way of Sultanpoor.[123] As the Djats were very troublesome, we did
not take the route of Djenghelistan (the forest), but preferred to go
through the steppe. On the second day we came to the spring, but found
no water, and many of my companions nearly succumbed with heat and
thirst. I gave them some _Teriak_ (opium), of the very best quality,
and on the second day they were recovered. After this experience we
deemed it advisable to leave the desert and to return to Mav, for the
proverb says truly, "A stranger is an ignorant man." In the steppe we
saw ants as large as sparrows.

Our escort from Sind was afraid of the wood, and I had to inspire my
own people with fresh courage. I placed 10 gunners in front, 10 in the
center, and 10 in the rear of our caravan, and thus, trusting in God's
protection, we commenced the journey. The people from Sind also took
courage after this, and went with us.

Thus, after manifold dangers, we came after ten days to Utchi,[124] or
Autchi, where I visited Sheik Ibrahim and received his blessing. I also
made a pilgrimage to the graves of the Sheiks Djemali and Djelali. In
the beginning of Ramazan we resumed our journey and came to the river
Kara, or Kere,[125] which we crossed by means of a raft. The people of
Sind gave us permission to proceed as far as the Machvara,[126] and
this river was crossed by boats. On the other side we found 500 Djats
awaiting us, but our firearms frightened them and they did not attack.
We advanced unmolested, and reached the town of Multan on the fifteenth
of Ramazan.


VIII

MY EXPERIENCES IN HINDUSTAN

In Multan I only visited the graves of the Sheiks Baha Bahaeddin,
Zekeria, Rukneddin, and Sadreddin. I received a blessing from Sheik
Mohammed Radjva, and, after receiving permission to continue my
journey from Sultan Mirmiram Mirza Hasan, we proceeded toward Lahore.
In Sadkere I visited Sheik Hamid, received his blessing, and in the
first days of the Month Shawwal we came to Lahore. The political state
of the country was as follows: After the death of Selim Shah a son of
Shir Khan, the former Sovereign of Hindustan, Iskender Khan, had come
to the throne. When the Padishah Humayun heard this he immediately
left Kabul and marched his army to India, took Lahore, and fought
Iskender Khan near Sahrand. He won the battle and took 400 elephants,
besides several cannon and 400 chariots. Iskender Khan escaped to the
fortress of Mankut, and Humayun sent Shah Abul-Maali with a detachment
of soldiers after him. Humayun himself proceeded to his residence at
Delhi and dispatched his officers to different places. The Ozbeg,
Iskender Khan, he sent to Agra, and others to Firuzshah Senbel,[127]
Bayana, and Karwitch. War raged on all sides, and when I arrived at
Lahore the Governor, Mirza Shah, would not let me continue my journey
until I had seen the Padishah (Humayun). After sending the latter
word of my arrival, he received orders to send me forthwith to Delhi.
Meanwhile a whole month had been wasted, but finally we were sent off
with an escort. The river Sultanpoor was crossed in boats and after
a journey of 20 days we arrived, toward the end of Dulkaada, by the
route of Firuzshah[128] in the capital of India, called Delhi. As soon
as Humayun heard of our arrival he sent the Khanikhanan[129] and other
superior officers with 400 elephants and some thousand men to meet
us, and, out of respect and regard for our glorious Padishah, we were
accorded a brilliant reception. That same day the Khanikhanan prepared
a great banquet in our honor; and as it is the custom in India to
give audience in the evening, I was that night introduced with much
pomp and ceremony into the Imperial hall. After my presentation I
offered the Emperor a small gift, and a chronogram upon the conquest
of India, also two gazels, all of which pleased the Padishah greatly.
Forthwith I begged for permission to continue my journey, but this
was not granted. Instead of that I was offered a _Kulur_[130] and the
governorship over the district of Kharcha. I refused, and again begged
to be allowed to go, but for only answer I was told that I must at
least remain for one year, to which I replied: "By special command of
my glorious Padishah I went by sea to fight the miserable unbelievers.
Caught in a terrible hurricane, I was wrecked off the coast of India;
but it is now my plain duty to return to render an account to my
Padishah, and it is to be hoped that Gujarat will soon be delivered
out of the hands of the Unbelievers." Upon this Humayun suggested the
sending of an envoy to Constantinople, to save my going, but this
I could not agree to, for it would give the impression that I had
purposely arranged it so. I persisted in my entreaties, and he finally
consented, adding, however: "We are now close upon the three months
of continuous _Birshegal_,[131] (_i.e._, the rainy season). The roads
are flooded[132] and impassable, remain therefore till the weather
improves. Meanwhile calculate solar and lunar eclipses, their degree of
latitude, and their exact date in the calendar. Assist our astrologers
in studying the course of the sun, and instruct us concerning the
points of the equator. When all this is done, and the weather should
improve before the three months are over, then thou shalt go hence."

All this was said solemnly and decisively. I had no alternative, but
must submit to my fate. I took no rest, however, but labored on night
and day. At last I had accomplished the astronomical observations,
and about the same time Agra fell into the hands of the Padishah. I
immediately wrote a chronogram for the occasion, which found much
favor. One day, during an audience, the conversation turned upon
Sultan Mahmud of Bukkur, and I suggested that some official contract
(_Ahdnameh_, _i.e._, "agreement") should be made with him, to which
Humayun agreed. The document was drawn up, and the Emperor dipping
his fist in saffron pressed it upon the paper, this being the
_Tughra_,[133] or Imperial signature. Thereupon the document was sent
to Sultan Mahmud.

The Sultan was much pleased, and both he and his Vizier Molla Yari
expressed their thanks for my intervention in a private letter, which I
showed to his Majesty, who had entrusted me with the transaction.

This incident furnished the material for a gazel, with which the
Sovereign was so delighted that he called me a second Mir Ali
Shir.[134] I modestly declined the epithet, saying that it would be
presumption on my part to accept such praise, that, on the contrary, I
should consider myself fully rewarded to be allowed to gather up the
gleanings after him. Whereupon the Sovereign remarked: "If for one
more year thou perfectest thyself in this kind of poetry thou wilt
altogether supplant Mir Ali Shir in the affections of the people of the
Djagatais." In a word, Humayun loaded me with marks of his favor. One
day I was talking to Khoshhal, the Imperial archer, and the Sovereign's
special confidant; a superb youth. He used to take part in the poetical
discussions, and provided me with material for two gazels, which soon
became popular all over India and were in everybody's mouth. The
same good fortune attended my acquaintance with the Afetabedji,[135]
Abdurrahman Bey, a courtier who also rejoiced in the confidence and
affection of the monarch, and was his constant companion in private
life. He also entered the poetical contest, and I composed two gazels
upon him.

In a word, poetical discussions were the order of the day, and I was
constantly in the presence of the Emperor. One day he asked me whether
Turkey was larger than India, and I said: "If by Turkey your Majesty
means Rum proper, _i.e._, the province of Siwas,[136] then India is
decidedly the larger, but if by Turkey you mean all the lands subject
to the ruler of Rum, India is not by a tenth part as large." "I mean
the entire Empire," replied Humayun. "Then," I said, "it appears to
me, your Majesty, that the seven regions over which Iskender (_i.e._,
Alexander the Great) had dominion, were identical with the present
Empire of the Padishah of Turkey. History records the life and the
reign of Iskender, but it is not reasonable to suppose that he actually
visited and personally ruled these seven regions, for the inhabited
world (the fourth part of the present inhabited world) is 180 degrees
longitude and from the equator about 60 degrees latitude. Its area,
according to astronomical calculations, covers 1,668,670 _fersahhes_.
It is therefore an utter impossibility for any man to visit and
govern all these lands in person. Perhaps he only owned a portion of
each of these regions (_Iklim_), in the same way as the Padishah of
Turkey does." "But has the ruler of Turkey possessions in all these
regions?" asked Humayun. "Yes, certainly," I replied, "the first is
Yemen, the second Mecca, the third Egypt, the fourth Aleppo, the fifth
Constantinople, the sixth Kaffa, and the seventh Ofen and Vienna.[137]
In each of these regions the Padishah of Turkey appoints his Beglerbeg
and Kadi, who rule and govern in his name. Moreover, I was told in
Gujarat, by the merchants Khodja Bashi and Kara Hasan (God alone knows
whether their story is true), that when the Turkish merchants in China
desired to insert the name of their Sovereign in the Bairam prayers on
Bairamday, they brought the request before the Khakan of China, stating
that their Sovereign was Padishah of Mecca, Medina, and the Kibla
(Direction of the prayer), and therefore entitled to have his name
inserted in the Bairam prayers. The Khakan, although an unbeliever, had
insight enough to see the justice of their request, which he granted
forthwith; he even went so far as to clothe the Khatib[138] in a robe
of honor and to make him ride on an elephant through the city. Ever
since that time the name of the Padishah of Turkey has been included
in the Bairam prayers, and to whom, I ask, has such honor ever before
been vouchsafed?" The Sovereign (Humayun), turning to his nobles, said:
"Surely the only man worthy to bear the title of Padishah is the ruler
of Turkey, he alone and no one else in all the world."

Another time we were talking about the Khan of the Crimea, and I
remarked that he also held his office under the Padishah of Turkey.
"But," said Humayun, "if that be so, how, then, has he the right of
the _Khutbe_?" "It is a well-known fact," I replied, "that my Padishah
alone has the power to grant the right of _Khutbe_ and of coinage."
This statement seemed to satisfy everybody and we prayed together for
the welfare of my Sovereign.

One day the Emperor planned a little excursion on horseback to visit
the graves of the holy Sheiks of Lahore, and I accompanied him. We
visited the graves of Shah Kutbeddin, the Pir of Delhi, of Sheik Nizam
Weli, Sheik Ferid Shekr-Ghendj, Mir Khosru Dehlevi, and Mir Husein
Dehlevi. When the conversation turned upon the poetical works of Mir
Khosru I quoted some of his best poems, and under their influence I
conceived a most telling distich. I turned to the Emperor, saying, "It
would be presumption on my part to measure my powers against those of
Mir Khosru,[139] but he has inspired me, and I would fain recite my
couplet before your Majesty." "Let us hear it," said Humayun, and I
recited the following:

    "Truly great is only he who can be content with his daily bread.
    For happier is he than all the kings of the earth."

"By God," cried the monarch, "this is truly sublime!"

It is not so much my object here to make mention of my poetic
effusions, but rather to show up Humayun's appreciation of poetry.

On another occasion I called upon Shahin Bey, the keeper of the
Imperial Seal, and asked him to use his influence to obtain permission
for me to depart. In order not to come empty-handed I brought him
two gazels, and begged him urgently to intercede for me. Shahin Bey
promised to do his best, and one day he actually brought me the glad
news that my petition had been granted, but that I was expected to
offer my request formally in verse. The rainy season was now at an end;
I wrote to the monarch, enclosing two gazels, which had the desired
effect, for I received not only permission to leave, but also presents
and letters of safe conduct.

All was ready for the start. Humayun had given audience on Friday
evening, when, upon leaving his castle of pleasure, the Muezzin
announced the Ezan just as he was descending the staircase. It was his
wont, wherever he heard the summons, to bow the knee in holy reverence.
He did so now, but unfortunately fell down several steps, and received
great injuries to his head and arm. Truly the proverb rightly says,
"There is no guarding against fate."

Everything was confusion in the palace, but for two days they kept the
matter secret. It was announced to the outer world that the Sovereign
was in good health, and alms were distributed amongst the poor. On
the third day, however, that was on the Monday, he died of his
wounds.[140] Well may the Koran say, "We come from God and to him do we
return."

His son Djelaleddin Ekber was at the time away on a journey to
visit Shah Ebul Maali, accompanied by the Khanikhanan.[141] He was
immediately informed of the sad event. Meanwhile the Khans and Sultans
were in the greatest consternation; they did not know how to act. I
tried to encourage them and told them how at the death of Sultan Selim
the situation was saved by the wisdom of Piri Pasha, who managed to
prevent the news of his death from being noised abroad. I suggested
that, by taking similar measures, they might keep the Sovereign's death
a secret until the Prince should return. This advice was followed. The
divan (council of State) met as usual, the nobles were summoned, and
a public announcement was made that the Emperor intended to visit his
country-seat, and would go there on horseback. Soon after, however,
it was announced that on account of the unfavorable weather the trip
had to be abandoned. On the next day a public audience was announced,
but as the astrologers did not prophesy favorably for it, this also
had to be given up. All this, however, somewhat alarmed the army, and
on the Tuesday it was thought advisable to give them a sight of their
monarch. A man called Molla Bi, who bore a striking resemblance to
the late Emperor, only somewhat slighter of stature, was arrayed in
the imperial robes and placed on a throne specially erected for the
purpose in the large entrance hall. His face and eyes were veiled. The
Chamberlain Khoshhal Bey stood behind, and the first Secretary in front
of him, while many officers and dignitaries, as well as the people from
the riverside, on seeing their Sovereign, made joyful obeisance to the
sound of festive music. The physicians were handsomely rewarded, and
the recovery of the monarch was universally credited.

I took leave of all the grandees, and with the news of the Emperor's
recovery I reached Lahore about the middle of the month Rebiul Evvel.
This was on a Thursday. Traveling by the way of Sani-Pata, Pani-Pata,
Kirnat, and Tani Sera, I came to Samani,[142] where I communicated the
news to the Governor that the Padishah (Humayun) was giving audiences,
and that he was in good health.[143] From there I went by the road
of Sahrandi to Matchuvara[144] and Bachuvara,[145] and crossing the
Sultanpoor by boat I returned to Lahore by a forced march. Meanwhile
Prince Djelaleddin Ekber had ascended the throne, and in Lahore and
many other places his name was inserted in the Friday prayers. Mirza
Shah, the Governor of Lahore, however, would not permit me to leave,
for he professed to have received orders from the new Emperor that
no one was to be allowed to go to Kabul and Kandahar. The only way
therefore was to go back to the Emperor (Ekber), and accordingly I went
as far as Kelnor, where I met Djelaleddin Ekber and the Khanikhanan
just opposite the fortress of Mankit.[146]

I was informed through Molla Pir Mehemmed,[147] the Khodja of Bairam
Khan, that during the interregnum I should remain where I was, and
that in a short time he would appoint me to some post either in Hind
or Sind, whichever I preferred. I hastened to produce my _ferman_,
given to me by the late Padishah, presenting him at the same time with
a chronogram on the death of his father. My verses pleased the Mirza
and, after examining the _ferman_ of his father, he gave me leave to
continue my journey, stipulating, however, that I should travel in
company with the four Begs, which he was about to send with troops to
Kabul.

Ebul Maali,[148] who meanwhile had been taken prisoner, was confined in
the castle of Lahore. In return for my chronogram I received a lakh for
traveling expenses, and began to prepare for my journey with the four
Begs.

Amongst the many strange and wonderful things I saw in India I must
make mention of a few. The unbelievers are called in Gujarat "Banian,"
and in India "Hindu." They do not belong to the Ehli-Kitab,[149] and
believe in fate (_kademi-alem_). When a man dies his body is burned
by the riverside. If the deceased leaves a wife past child-bearing
she is not burned; if, however, she is not past that age she is
unconditionally burned. If a wife of her own free will offers herself
to be burned, the relations celebrate the occasion with great
rejoicings. Should the Mohammedans interfere and forcibly prevent the
self-sacrifice, fate decrees that their king must die, and no other be
raised. For this reason, officers of the Padishah are always present on
such occasions, to prevent any act of violence.[150]

Another curious custom is the use of tame gazelles in hunting. A noose
is lightly thrown over their antlers, and then they are driven to mix
with the wild gazelles. Like seeks like, and the latter soon make up
to their tame companions, bringing their heads in close proximity to
those of the others. The noose which is round the antlers of the tame
animal falls over the head of the other and pulls it down. The more it
struggles the more it gets entangled, and can not possibly escape. This
method is in use all over India.

Buffaloes are very plentiful in the steppes. They are hunted with
elephants. Turrets are placed on the elephant's back, in which several
men are hidden. Thus they traverse the plain, and as soon as the
elephant comes up with the buffalo he attacks him with his teeth and
holds him till the hunters get off his back and capture him. Wild oxen
(_Gaukutas_)[151] are hunted in a similar manner, but they are much
stronger than other animals of their kind, and their tongue is supposed
to have such force that they can kill a man with it. The Emperor
Humayun once told me a story to the effect that one of these wild oxen,
having overtaken a man, flayed him with his tongue from head to foot.
The Emperor vouched for the truth of this story with an oath. The best
_kutas_ are found in the land of Bahr-itch, perhaps that accounts for
their being called _Bahri-Kutas_ (which means sea-_kutas_), although
they belong unquestionably to the terrestrial animals. I might go on
enumerating many more interesting and curious things to be seen in
India, but it would keep me too long.

About the middle of Rebiul Evvel we left for Kabul. We crossed the
River Lahore in ships, and came presently to another large stream,
which had to be crossed. Finding no ships at hand, we built a raft of
barrels and chairs and so managed to reach the other side. Next we
came to Bahara, where another river had to be crossed, this time in
ships. When I told the Governor (Khodja) of this place what Ekber had
commanded, he exclaimed, "God be merciful! As the Padishah was dead we
have not collected the taxes, the people still owe them. I will send
round, collect the moneys and hand them over to you."[152] Mir Babu's
and the other Begs who were of the company consulted together and
decided that as Shah Abul Maali had escaped from his prison in Lahore,
and might possibly have taken refuge with his brother Kihmerd Bey in
Kabul, it would not be safe for them to delay, but they suggested that
I should wait till the tribute-money was collected, and follow them as
soon as I could.

But I argued that the roads were unsafe and dangerous and that it
would be much better to keep all together. I acted on the principle
that "The contented mind shall be satisfied and the covetous man
shall be humbled." So I relinquished my claim upon the tribute-money
and continued my journey with the others. After crossing the rivers
Khoshab[153] and Nilab[154] in ships, I set foot upon the shore of
Bakhtar.[155]


XI

OUR EXPERIENCE IN BAKHTAR-ZEMIN (KABULISTAN)

In the beginning of the month Djemaziul-Evvel we left the river Nilab
and turned toward Kabul. For fear of the Afghans under Adam Khan, we
made a quick march through the night, and at daybreak we arrived at
the foot of the mountain. So far the Afghans had not seen us, but by
the time we had reached the top there were thousands of them gathered
together. We seized our guns, and with God's help managed to get out
of their way, and came to the town of Pershuer, _i.e._, Peshawur.
Soon after, we crossed the Khaiber Pass, and reached Djushai. In the
mountains we saw two rhinoceroses (_Kerkedans_),[156] each the size
of a small elephant; they have a horn on their nose about two inches
long. In Abyssinia these animals are much more plentiful.

Presently we reached Laghman,[157] and after a very toilsome journey
through Hezareland,[158] we entered Kabulistan and its capital Kabul.
Here I visited the two sons of Humayun, Mehemmed Hekim Mirza and
Perrukk Fal Mirza; I also saw Mun'im Khan, and, after presenting the
_ferman_ from Humayun, I was treated with much honor. Kabul itself
is a beautiful city, surrounded by mountains covered with snow, and
pleasure-gardens with running brooks. Pleasure and merriment prevailed
everywhere, feasting and banqueting were the order of the day. In every
corner were gaily dressed, slender _Lulis_[159] enticing one with music
and song to join the merry crowd; the populace, in fact, seemed to have
no thought for anything but for pleasure and enjoyment.

"Who would long for houris and the Paradise whose good fortune has
brought him amongst the _Lulis_ of Kabul?"

We, however, had no time for such frivolities, our only aim and object
was to reach home as soon as possible. Mun'im Khan remarked that the
roads were snowed up, that the Hindu Kush could not possibly be passed,
and that it would be far better for us to wait a few days in Kabul;
but I quickly replied that men could overcome mountains, if they had
the mind to do so. Thereupon the Governor commanded Mir Nezri, the
Chief of the Perashi and Peshai, to accompany me, and his men were
to conduct our horses and goods safely across the mountain pass. We
left accordingly in the beginning of Djemazi ul Evvel and came to
Karabag,[160] and from there to Tcharikar and Pervane or Mervan.

This was Nezri's native country. He collected his men, and they took
us across to the other side of the mountain. It was a very difficult
passage, but we accomplished it that day, and spent the night in a
village at the foot of the pass.


XII

THE CONDITION OF BADAKHSHAN AND KHATLAN

Early in the month of Redjeb we came to the city of Anderab, and
journeyed from there through Badakhshan to Talikan, where I had an
interview with Suleiman Shah[161] and his son Ibrahim Mirza. On the
day of our arrival the Mirza had met us, and received me in his
pleasure-garden; I offered him some presents and a gazel. The Mirza,
who understood poetry, entered into a poetical competition with me, and
introduced me next day to his father, to whom I also offered gifts and
a gazel. The Sovereign also showed me much attention and loaded me with
signs of his favor. There was hostility between Pir Mohammed Khan, the
ruler of Balkh, and Borak Khan, the ruler of Transoxania, and the roads
were made unsafe, the more so as Pir Mohammed's younger brother had
raised a revolt in Kunduz, Kavadian, and Termed, which districts were
now in great tumult. They advised me therefore to travel by the way of
Badakhshan and Khatlan,[162] and both Suleiman and his son presented
me with horses and garments of honor, besides giving me a letter
of recommendation to Djihanghir Ali, the ruler of Khatlan, who had
married his younger sister; and so I journeyed to Kishm, the capital of
Badakhshan.[163] I saw the Sovereign's pleasure-garden, and Humayun's
garden Duabe, and proceeded from Kalai Zafar[164] to Rustak, and from
there to <DW12> Semti.[165] I approached Dalli, in Khatlan, from the
Kashgar (eastern) side, and made a pilgrimage to the grave of Seid
Ali Hamadani, and from there I went to Kulaba,[166] where I met with
Djihanghir Ali Khan, and after presenting my letter of recommendation
he gave me an escort of 50 men to conduct me to Charsui, where I
crossed the Pul-i-Senghin[167] (stone bridge), and dismissed the men
who had escorted us.


XIII

EVENTS IN TURAN (TRANSOXANIA)

On the day that I crossed the bridge I first set foot on Transoxanian
soil. After a day's rest I proceeded to Bazar No (New-Market), and
from there to a little place called Tchiharshembe, where I visited the
grave of the Khodja Yaakub Tcharkhi. Then on to Tchaganian, _i.e._,
Hissar-i-Shadman.[168] I visited Timur Sultan, the Kagalga[169] of the
Ozbeg rulers, and passed Mount Senghirdek,[170] where it always rains
and a considerable stream is formed at the foot of the mountain,
and I marveled at the wonderful works of God. The next station was
Sehri-Sebz, _i.e._, Kesh, where I met Hashim Sultan, who gave me
permission to continue my journey to Samarkand. With great difficulty
we got across the mountain[171] situated between the two last-named
places; we touched the little town of Mazar, and in the beginning of
Shaaban we reached Samarkand, which is a perfect paradise. Here I saw
Borak Khan[172] (more correctly called Noruz Ahmed), who, in return
for my humble offerings, gave me a horse and garments of honor. It was
this same Borak Khan to whom his Majesty the Padishah had sent cannon
and guns by the hand of Sheiks Abdullatif and Dadash. At the time of
my arrival Abdullatif Khan, the rider of Samarkand, was dead,[173] and
Borak had taken his place. Pir Mohammed Khan, in Balkh, and Burhan Seid
Khan,[174] in Bokhara, declared their independence, and Borak's first
business was to settle this matter. He began by taking Samarkand and
proceeded to Shehri-Sebz, where a great battle was fought, in which
the Ketkhuda (overseer) of the Osman soldiers fell. He then took the
stronghold and marched to Bokhara, which place he laid siege to. Seid
Burhan, the ruler of Bokhara, made peace with Borak, relinquished
the place to him, and retired to Karakul, where the brother of Pir
Mohammed Khan then reigned. He, however, gave up the place to Seid
Burhan. When Borak Khan entered Samarkand, the Aga of the Osmans[175]
had just started with a few men on their way to Turkey, having taken
the way of Tashkend and Turkestan. Ahmed Tchaush was also on the point
of returning to Turkey by the way of Bokhara and Kharezm, for part
of the Janissaries had enlisted under Seid Burhan, and the remainder
joined his son. About 150 remained faithful to Borak Khan. When he had
communicated all this to me, he added: "I am now as a liar before his
Majesty the Sultan of Turkey, for I can do nothing, but if thou wilt
help me, something may yet be done." He offered me the government of a
Province, but I said that with such a small army nothing could be done,
moreover that, without the consent of my Padishah, I could not stir
in the matter. He thereupon proposed to send an envoy to the Sublime
Porte to explain the situation. As a matter of fact he had already
decided to send Sadr Alem, a descendant of Khodja Ahmed Jesewi,[176]
and gave him a letter, in which he expressed his willingness in the
future to satisfy every wish of the Sultan. He discharged me, however.
During my stay in Samarkand I made a pilgrimage to the grave of the
prophet Daniel, to the place of the Khidr (Elias), to the cloak and
to the wooden shoes of the Prophet, and also to the Koran, written by
Ali himself.[177] Besides these places I visited the graves of the
following sheiks and sages: the author of Hidayet, Ebu Mansur Matridi;
Shah-Zinde, Khodja Abdullah, Khodja Abdi-birun, Khodja Abdi-derum,
the Tchopanata, and the Kazizade of Rum, and the grave of the 444,000
Transoxanian sages.

But to return to Borak Khan. One day, while talking together, he asked
me which of all the cities I had visited pleased me most. I replied
with the following stanza:

    "Far from home no one longs for Paradise.
      For in his eyes his native town is superior even to Bagdad."

"Thou hast spoken well," said the Khan.

Now as regards the embassage to Constantinople, Sadr Alem proposed
to go by Turkestan, but when he was told that the Nogai tribe of the
Mangit committed violence upon travelers, and that the roads swarmed
with robbers and highwaymen, who gave no quarter to Mussulmans,[178]
but plundered and ill-treated any that came in their way, he decided to
travel through Bokhara.

Unfortunately, just then the news came that Seid Burhan had again
declared war with Borak Khan, and that the latter's son Kharezm
Shah had been attacked. Borak Khan advised me thereupon to remain
at Ghidjduvan until the return of the envoy. If no hostilities took
place we might travel by that way, but otherwise we were to wait until
he sent some one to conduct us safely through Bokhara. To this I
agreed. On the fifth of Ramazan we started, touched Kala and Kermineh,
crossed the river of Samarkand[179] at Duabe, and so arrived at
Ghidjduvan,[180] where I visited the grave of Khodja Abdul Khalik.

As the Mirza was not here, and no news concerning him could be
obtained, we went on to Pul Rabat. Meanwhile the troops of Prince
Kharezm Shah had prepared for battle. Suddenly Khan Ali Bey, the
Prince's tutor, accosted us with the question whither we were going.
When I replied: "To Bokhara," he said: "Seid Burhan, the ruler of
Bokhara, threatens to attack Prince Kharezm Shah, and we pray thee
to help us." "How now!" I cried, "we help no man; Borak Khan has
not requested us to do so; on the contrary, he has charged us to
go to Ghidjduvan, and there to await the return of the envoy." So
we continued on our way. As we approached Minar (Spire) about 100
redcoats (_Ala tehapan_)[181] rushed down upon us, crying: "In the
name of the Mirza, turn back," and at the same time they struck one of
my companions. Immediately we prepared to fight, when a Seid sprang
forward and commanded the Ozbegs to stop. Both sides held back, and
the Seid announced that the Mirza sent us greeting and desired us not
to proceed any farther, but to look on from a distance. So we were
compelled to turn back. With ten of my companions I had an interview
with the Mirza, who renewed his request that we should help him; but I
refused again, whereupon ten guns were forcibly taken from us and we
were commanded to remain mere spectators. The Prince's bearing was very
haughty before he had sighted the enemy, for as the proverb says:

    "Our own fist is always of iron,
      Until we receive the first box on the ear."

But no sooner had Seid Burhan appeared in sight, from the opposite
direction, than the Prince retreated across the bridge to the Rabat
(Karvanserai). I went on with six companions, which I left behind
me in the court of the kiosk. Seid Burhan advanced with 1,000
Kizil-Ayaks,[182] _i.e._, young men from Bokhara, and 40 Turkish
archers, therefore well equipped for war. In a moment he defeated
the Prince, who, being wounded by a bullet, took flight, leaving his
colors, musical and other military instruments behind him on the
battle-field. Of my three companions which fled with the Prince, one
was wounded by a lance and died soon after, and while the others
retreated with the Ozbegs into the Rabat where they were attacked by
Seid Burhan, I went on to meet the army to inquire after the Mirza,
leaving my horse in charge of two men. I heard that he was quartered
close to the Rabat, and asked to be conducted into his presence, and
just as I was crossing the bridge, attended by a few men, some villain
wounded me with an arrow. This was the signal for a general attack;
swords were raised on all sides, and I was very near losing my life.

Fortunately the attack had been witnessed by the Osmans serving under
the Khan; they had recognized me and came to my rescue, calling out:
"This man is the guest of our Prince, what then is the meaning of
this?" The Ozbeghi (commander of 10 men) immediately stopped the attack
and apprized the Khan of what had taken place, whereupon the latter, a
glorious youth, hastened to me, embraced me, and begged my forgiveness,
for it was by accident, he said, that I had become mixed up in the
battle and I had been attacked on the principle of the proverb which
says: "Wet and dry burn together." He commissioned two officers to
conduct us over the bridge, during which transport two more of my
people were attacked and received sword wounds. I lost on this occasion
a beautiful led-horse, all my cooking apparatus, one pack-horse, and 10
saddle-horses, which were stolen by the soldiers. With much difficulty
I got across the bridge, and, while I was resting at a little distance,
the Khan, to please me, ordered the Turkish soldiers stationed in the
Rabat to hand the place over to me, as we were innocent and free from
all reproach. As I approached the place I called out: "Stop fighting;
I am here, and the Khan will pardon you for my sake." Thus the Rabat
fell into my hands and with it some of the lost horses, but many of
the firearms were irrevocably lost. My two men, who had been taken
prisoner in the fight, had escaped, and so we proceeded to the town,
which we reached that night. Seid Burhan spoke thus to me: "Be thou
my guide in this and in the next world; this land shall henceforth
belong to thy Padishah, thou shalt rule in Bokhara and I will retire to
Karakol." "Not so," was my reply, "if thou gavedst me the whole land of
Transoxania I could not stay here. Know, O Khan! that I shall report
before the Sublime Porte the injustice which has been done to thee,
and my glorious Padishah will be gracious unto thee, and possibly
the government of these provinces will be entrusted to thy care."
These words pleased the Khan; he gave a banquet in my honor and showed
me much kindness, and during the fortnight which I spent in Bokhara
he visited me every day in the pleasure-garden which served as my
residence. I composed a gazel in his honor, which highly delighted him
and led to many poetical discussions. When at last I desired permission
to continue my journey, he demanded of me that I should give him our
iron guns in exchange for his brass ones. He pressed me so hard that
I was compelled to give in, and received 40 brass muskets in return
for all the iron ones which we had left. I also had to exchange my
led-horse for a gelding, besides giving him two precious books.

Meanwhile the envoy from Borak Khan had arrived, who apologized to me
for his son (Kharezm Shah), and made peace with Seid Burhan through the
mediation of the Ghidjduvani Abdul Sultan. Thus peace and security were
once more restored.

I delayed in Bokhara to make pilgrimages to the graves of Bahaeddin
Nakishbendi, Kazi Khan, Tchar Bekir, Khodja Ebn Hifz Kebir, Sadr esh
Sheriat, Tadj esh Sheriat, Seid Mir Kelal (the spiritual head of
Baha-eddin), Sultan Ismail the Samanide, Eyub and Sarakhsi, and after
that I journeyed to Kharezm.

Our way led first to Karakol, then to Farab, where we crossed the Oxus
in ships, and early in the month Shavval I touched Iranian soil, namely
Khorassan. The first town I stopped at was Tchardjui,[183] where I
visited the grave of Khodja Meshed, a brother of Imam Ali Musa.[184]
Then we took the road through the wilderness[185] to Kharezm. By day
and by night we had to wage war against lions;[186] it was not safe
for one man to go alone to draw water; but at last, after ten days of
unutterable weariness, we reached Hezaresp,[187] and from there in five
days, Khiva, where I visited the grave of Pehlevan Mahmud Pir.


XIV

OUR EXPERIENCES IN KHAREZM AND DESHTI-KIPCHAK

Toward the end of Shavval we left Khiva, and in five days we came to
Kharezm, where I made the acquaintance of Dost Mohammed Khan and his
brother Esh-Sultan.[188] I visited the graves of Sheik Nedjmeddin
Kubera, Sheik Ali Rametin, Sheik Khalweti Yan, Imam Mohammed Bari'i,
Sahib Kuduri, Djar Ullah Ulama, Molla Husein Kharezmi (the expounder of
the Koran), Seid Ata, and Hekim Ata.

When it was brought to my knowledge that the holy Sheik Abdullatif
had died in the city of Vezir, I could not rest until I had made a
pilgrimage to his grave in company with a few friends. As this saint
had been, moreover, my spiritual adviser in Sufism, I recited the whole
Koran over his grave, to insure for him everlasting peace and bliss
in Paradise. We also cooked a _pilaf_ (a rice dish) and I prepared a
chronogram in commemoration of his death.

Having received letters of commendation to the Manghit chiefs, from
Hadji Mohammed Sultan, Timur Sultan, and Mahmud Sultan, the three sons
of Agatai Khan, I returned to Kharezm, where Sheik Sadr Alem, the envoy
of Borak Khan, had meanwhile also arrived. Our party consisted besides
ourselves of the wife of Sheik Husein of Kharezm (daughter of Makhdum
Aazam), the Sheik's son, and a few Moslems; we traveled in carriages.
Most of the company wore clothes of sheepskin and they wanted us to
do the same, for they said, the Manghit[189] are worse even than the
Ozbegs, and when they see strangers they invariably take them for
Russians,[190] which is synonymous to saying, they attack them. Thus we
were compelled to don the outlandish garb (sheepskin), for, as I said
to encourage my people: "A wise man follows the ways of the world and
makes no trouble of it."

Thus equipped we started in the first days of Zilkaada. For more than a
month we wandered about in the Deshti Kipchak[191] (Kirghiz steppe). It
was late in the autumn, and at that time of the year not a bird, not a
wild ass (_Onagre_) can be seen, for there is not a vestige of verdure,
not a drop of water to be found. It was one interminable wilderness;
one desert steppe. At last we came to a place called Sham, and shortly
after to Saraidjik,[192] where we met some Hadjis and three of the
Moslems which had been discharged at Samarkand. These latter were quite
naked, and at sight of us they cried: "Whither go ye? Astrakhan is
taken by the Russians, Ahmed Tchaush has fought in battle with them,
and our Aga has been plundered by the troops of Arslan Mirza. The way
is blocked, be warned and go back." In vain I quoted the lines:

    "We are but poor beggars, what harm can befall us?
    For ten armed men can not rob one who has nothing."

The rest of the company, especially the merchants, were not of my
opinion; they proposed to delay a few days in Kharezm and await events,
for:

"Speed is from the devil and patience is from God."

The envoy and the other Moslems were of the same mind, and so I
reluctantly retraced my steps to Kharezm. The envoy returned to
Samarkand, but all the rest remained in Kharezm, and when Dost Mohammed
Khan, the ruler of Khiva, inquired of me by which route I now proposed
to travel, I replied, "I will go by the way of Meshhed in Khorassan
to Irak Adjemi, and from there to Bagdad." Thereupon the Khan said:
"Remain here with us. In the spring the Manghits seek their pastures,
possibly the Russians may also quit the land by that time, and,
remember, the way to Bagdad is long."

But I could not agree to this, and in support of my argument I quoted
the proverb: "To the lover Bagdad is not far distant"; so at last the
Khan had to give in. He agreed to my departure, gave me a beautiful
horse, and to my companions he gave the carriage in which we had
traveled up to here.

As regards our route my first plan was to travel by the way of the
Caspian Sea and Shirvan, but my companions did not like this, because
the Mussulman army which had lately broken up from Kaffa[193] had
become involved in a bloody war with Abdullah Khan, who would not
permit any Turks to pass that way. Next we made inquiries about the
roads of Circassia, past Demir-Kapu, but we heard that the Circassians
had raised a revolt. There remained therefore only the way of Khorassan
and Irak, and concerning these districts we learned that the Persian
King was in perfect harmony with our glorious Padishah,[194] but that
the Bey of Kizilbash (the Shiite officer) would probably prevent us
from obtaining admittance to the Shah. I thought to myself, "Where God
does not slay, man's attempts are but futile"; moreover, "they who fear
death should not venture on travels"; so after duly consulting the
horoscope,[195] and having made quite sure that there was no other way
open to us, I decided to travel through Persia. The camels were hired
and all was ready; I went to take leave of Dost Mohammed, the ruler of
Khiva, who remarked casually that it was quite impossible for us to
travel with firearms through the enemy's land. Thereupon we gave half
of our arms to the Khan, and the other half to his younger brother Esh
Sultan. We received a letter of commendation to Ali Sultan, a brother
of Tin Sultan, and being well stocked with provisions and large skins
for water, and trusting in God, we started on our journey to Kharezm in
the beginning of the month Zilhidje.


XV

OUR FATE IN KHORASSAN

By divine grace we got safely across the Oxus[196] and encamped on the
opposite shore, awaiting the arrival of the rest of our party. While
there, the wife of Sheik Husein sent me a message to say that she had
a dream in which she had seen her father, the holy Makhdum Aazam, who
had come from Vezir to Kharezm in company with another holy sage.
Arrived in the town he had thus addressed the people, who welcomed him
joyfully: "Mir Sidi Ali has read the Koran over my grave in Vezir, and
he has supplicated for my patronage. I have therefore come to help
him and to lead him safely through Khorassan." This message filled me
with joy. I struck camp next morning and the day following we arrived
in Dorum;[197] we passed through, unmolested by Mahmud Sultan, and
proceeded to Bagwai,[198] which place we also passed, without being
hindered by Pulad Sultan, and came to Nesa.[199] Here I found Ali
Sultan, former Governor of Merw, and brother of Tin Sultan, to whom
I offered my letter of commendation from Esh Sultan, and was allowed
free passage, for everybody in these parts is devoted to his Majesty
our Padishah. Thus we came to Bawerd (Abiwerd)[200] and Tus, where I
visited the graves of Imam Mohammed Hanifi and of the poet Firdusi; and
on the first of Muharram of the year 964 I reached Meshhed-i-Khorassan,
where I immediately made a pilgrimage to the grave of Imam Ali Musa
Riza, the prince of Khorassan.

When at sea, during the great storm some time ago, I had vowed to give
a _Tumen_ to the Imam; now I fulfilled my vow, and paid a _Tumen_ to
Mutawali (the overseer of the Mosque and Mausoleum) and I also paid
a _Tumen_ to the Seid. In Meshhed I found Ibrahim Mirza, the son of
Behram Mirza, who occupied the throne there; also Suleiman Mirza, the
son of Shah, and his Vekil (representative) called Kokche Khalipha, who
entertained me at a banquet.

In the course of our conversation, these gentlemen naturally wished
to draw me into an argument upon the succession and sanctity of the
Caliphs Ali, Ebubekr, Omar, and Osman; but I acted upon the principle
that silence is the best answer to give a fool, and I was silent. They
pressed me, however, and I told them the story of Khodja Nasreddin,
who was once asked to read the Koran in the Mosque, to which he had
replied, "this is not the place." "And now," I said, "I have not come
hither to argue with you, and I refuse to be questioned." It was with
great difficulty that I at last rid myself of them.[201]

One of the guests, unfortunately, was a miscreant, of the name of Ghazi
Bey; he gave vent to his wrath in these words: "It is not seemly to
send such people as these to the Shah. How do we know that they may
not kill the men we give them as an escort, and then take flight? Very
possibly they belong to the Ottomans that were sent to Borak Khan, or
perhaps they are the bearers of a secret correspondence, and it might
be advisable to search them."

The Mirza (Ibrahim) approved of this plan, and the next morning 200 men
in armor (_kurdji_) surrounded the _kervanserai_ and took us prisoners.
As the proverb says: "Those who can not be caught by fair means will be
by foul play."

We were each of us put in charge of one of the guards; I was taken to
the apartment of the Kokehe Khalipha, with my two attendants. My horses
were given in another man's charge, and my other effects were entrusted
to Mutawali's keeping. They made us undress, and as it was winter we
suffered much from the cold. The next day the Mirza took from me all my
official papers and sundry letters which I had received from different
princes, and had them all put into a bag and sealed.

When my companions saw this they trembled for their lives, but I
comforted them with the sayings, "He who falls through no mistake of
his will not shed tears," and "Since fate has not forgotten to bring
thee into this world, it will not forget to take thee out of it," and
further, "Patience is the key to the final goal."

So we calmly resigned ourselves to our fate. A little later on all
were put in chains, except myself; but I was strictly guarded by five
men. This action of the Mirza troubled me not a little, and although I
tried to make light of it, my heart was very heavy. I wrote a gazel to
comfort myself, and with the inspiring thoughts suggested by it fresh
in mind, I fell asleep, and being in a semiconscious state, a divine
inspiration in the form of a _Murabba_[202] was vouchsafed to me, which
I sent to Mutawali. This composition caused great excitement among the
nobility of the place. About the same time one of the attendants of the
Imam declared (whether it was true or feigned I can not say) that in
his dream he had seen the Caliph Ali, who had charged him to go and set
Mir Sidi Ali free. The news of this dream spread rapidly through the
town and stirred up the people, whose sympathies were now all turned in
my favor.

Mutawali and Seid went to the Mirza and said: "This man came on a
pilgrimage to visit the shrine of the Imam. He is under a vow and
desires to go to the Shah. As the Shah is on friendly terms with the
Padishah of Turkey it is not right that we should in any way trouble
this pilgrim now in the Ashura[203] days. If the man be a traitor, it
is sure to come to light, for as the Koran says, 'A traitor is known by
his countenance,' and there need be no further question of suspicion."
These words of the wise man and of Seid did not lose their effect upon
the Mirza. From my side I pointed out to him the unreliableness of the
information upon which he had acted, and in order further to enlist
his sympathies in my favor I sent him three poems, after which, partly
for fear of the Shah, and partly regretting his rash deed, he gave us
our liberty on the tenth of Ashura. He loaded me with presents and
gave another banquet in my honor. He also restored to us our horses
and our clothes; but many of my other possessions I never recovered.
Four valuable books were taken, and the whole of my correspondence was
conveyed by his armour-bearer, Ali Bey, and a Yassaul to the Shah in a
sealed bag, the transport being effected on a barrow about the middle
of Muharram of the said year. Traveling in the same caravan with us
was one of the wives of the Shah and one of the wives of Behram Mirza,
who were both returning from a pilgrimage to the shrine of the Imam. I
made their acquaintance, and they treated us kindly. By my advice my
companions comported themselves with due courtesy and modesty toward
the retinue of these ladies, mindful of the saying: "The peace of two
worlds depends on two things only, courtesy to friends and flattery to
foes."

Arrived in Mshabur I visited the graves of Imamzade Mohammed Mahruk,
and of Sheik Attar (_ferideddin_). Here I also met with Aga Kemal,
the Vekil of Khorassan, who, however, did not interfere with us. In
Sebzevar we met with a little hostility, but acting on the principle
that "Barking dogs bite not," we soon got free from these firebrands
and continued on our way.


XVI

OUR VICISSITUDES IN IRAK-ADJEM

Arrived in the Province of Irak we skirted the Demavend range,
traveling from Mazendran to Bestam, where we visited the graves of
Mohammed Aftah, Sheik Bayazid Bestami, and Sheik Ebulhasan Harkani. The
next day we reached Damgan.

That night one of our company called Ramazan the pious, and known as
_Boluk Bashi_,[204] had a dream. Bayazid Bestami with 40 Dervishes
had appeared unto him and had spoken thus: "Let us pray for the safe
return of Mir Sidi Ali." The Sheik, moreover, had written a passport
and sealed it, "that we might not be molested by the way."—This was
his dream, and when I heard of it I rejoiced greatly and thanked God
for his mercy vouchsafed; for this message (from the dead) virtually
saved my life. After visiting the grave of Imam Djafar in Damgan, we
proceeded to Semnan, where we visited the grave of Sheik Ala-ed-Dowleh
Semnani. In this place they tried to draw us into sectarian
controversies, but I restrained my comrades, and reminded them of the
Hadis, which says: "_Ustur zahbak, zahabek in mazhabak_," _i.e._, "hide
thy gold, thine opinions, and thy faith"; and I argued with them,
saying, "Not one of you has traveled more than I have, and experience
has made me wise. A wise man does not heed the words of the vulgar and
the ignorant."

They saw the wisdom of my words, and acted upon my advice.

Before long we came to Rei,[205] where I made pilgrimages to the
graves of Imam Abdul Azim, and of Bibi Shehrbanu, the consort of Imam
Husein. Here I also met Mohammed Khudabend, a son of the Shah's, and
the _Kurdji-bashi_[206] Sevindek Aga. Their presence was accounted for
in this way: Some time ago the Shah had sent Ismail Mirza from Kazvin
to Herat, and had now recalled him to Kazvin. The reason of this was
that certain things which had happened during his rule had come to
light, and by command of the Shah one of the nobles of Kazvin had been
executed, and in like manner, also by order of the Shah, some followers
of Ismail had been put to death. After this the Shah commanded Prince
Mohammed Khudabend to appear before him, and the _Kurdji-bashi_ was
sent to fetch him. I was very pleased to meet the Prince, who assured
me of the unwavering devotion of the Shah to our glorious Padishah.

Journeying from Rei it took us a month and a half (to the end of Safar)
before we reached Kazvin, the capital of Irak.[207]

Upon the Shah being told of our arrival we were none of us allowed to
enter the city, but had to take up our quarters in Sebzeghiran, one of
the neighboring villages, under the protection of Mohammed Bey, the
_Divan Bey_[208] of the Great Vizier Maasum Bey. Presently the _Ishik
Agasi_[209] arrived, who took down our names, and the number of our
horses, and gave his people private instructions to watch us strictly
at night, until further orders.

We were told that the Shah was very angry that we had been allowed to
leave Meshhed without any further inquiry, and that in consequence of
this Kokche Khalipha and Mir Munshi (first secretary) had been deprived
of office. Following up this information, the Kapchadji, Ali Bey, came
to us by order of Yassaul Pir Ali, and said: "The people here have evil
intentions, if you have any ready money about you, give it to me to
keep, and if Providence deliver you out of this plight, I will return
it; if on the other hand evil should befall you it is better that your
riches should fall in the hands of friends than of foes."

But I replied: "People who have wandered so long in foreign parts carry
no cash about them, and they who fear death do not venture so far from
home. I believe in the words of the Koran: 'He who is appointed to die
can not delay the hour, and without God's permission no man can slay.'"

It so happened that the Shah had by this time examined the letters
which had been conveyed to him in a sealed bag, and the ladies who had
traveled with us bore witness that we were poor and harmless folk.
Moreover, I had sent the Shah a quatrian which had found much favor, so
he set us free. The Shah commanded his Vekil,[210] Maasum Bey, to offer
me a banquet, after which he would himself entertain me. Maasum Bey
was also commissioned to give me the glad news, that I was free to go
where I liked, and, as an envoy was shortly to be sent to the Sublime
Porte, I might, if I liked, travel by the way of Azerbaidjan, _i.e._,
by Tebriz and Van. Thereupon I requested that my desire might be made
known to the Shah. I said, "We are not prepared to meet the hardships
of the Van road in the winter time, and we beg to be allowed to travel
by the way of Bagdad"; which request he graciously granted.

On the second day we were invited by the Shah to a banquet, and I
presented my humble offerings. During the feast we conversed upon
poetical and other subjects, and the Shah remarked to his courtiers:
"These men do not look like intriguers; they are only pilgrims and
religious fanatics"—and on the strength of this verdict Kokche Khalipha
and Mir Munshi were reinstated in their office. I received a horse and
two changes of robes, a bale of silk, and several other things; the
two Serdars received each two robes of honor, and my five traveling
companions, each one. Altogether the Shah behaved handsomely to us and
showed a marked respect for the person of his Majesty the Padishah.

One day I was invited to a banquet in the large music-hall, all the
Beys of the royal family being present. To give some idea of the
magnificence here displayed I will only mention that from five hundred
to one thousand _Tumens_[211] had been spent on the decoration of the
hall. There were some hundreds of velvet and silken brocaded carpets,
painted and embroidered in figurative designs; quantities of luxurious
cushions and exquisitely artistic tents, canopies, and sunshades.

Yuzbashi Hasan Bey, one of the Shah's confidants, turned to me and
said: "Is not this indeed a treasure-house?" "It is," I replied, "yet
the wealth of kings is not measured by their gold and silver but by
their military power." This remark silenced him; he did not return to
the subject.

As the envoy had already started for Tebriz I was detained for another
month, during which time the Shah showed me much attention, and I spent
a good deal of my time in his presence. One day he ventured the remark:
"Why were those 300 Janissaries sent from Turkey to assist Borak Khan?"
I answered that these had not been sent to strengthen Borak Khan's
forces, but merely as an escort to the late Sheik Abdullatif, because
it was a well-known fact that the Circassians[212] had killed Baba
Sheik, a son of the holy Ahmed Jesewi, on the road from Astrakhan,
and that that route was therefore made unsafe. If the Padishah had
intended to send military help, not three hundred, but some thousands
of Janissaries, would have gone to Bokhara.

Another time I was drawn into a religious dispute with Mir Ibrahim
Sefevi, one of the Shah's relatives and a sage. The conversation ran as
follows:

 IBRAHIM: "Why do the learned men of Turkey call us unbelievers?"

 I: "It is said that the followers of the Prophet have been insulted by
 your countrymen, and according to the statutes of our religion he who
 insults his superiors is an unbeliever."

 IBRAHIM: "That is what Imam Aazam (Ebn Hanifa) says, but according to
 Imam Shafi this belongs to the pardonable offenses."

 I: "I understand that it is customary with you to accuse Ayesha, the
 wife of the Prophet (may God have mercy upon her), of immorality,
 and as this throws a stigma on the Prophet's name, it is synonymous
 to blasphemy. The people who can do this are in a state of apostasy,
 and their life is forfeited. Their goods can be confiscated and their
 men put in prison. Any one persisting in this unbelief is subject to
 imprisonment, but if they renounce they may, without their wives, with
 or without marriage...."

 IBRAHIM: "I must contradict this. In our eyes also, any one who
 accuses Ayesha of immorality is an unbeliever and a blasphemer and
 contradicts the Koran; because in the Sacred Book God Almighty
 testifies to the virtue of Ayesha. But all the same we can not love
 her because she set herself against Ali."

 I: "How do you explain it that although the Hadis declares that the
 Ulemas are on a level with the prophets of the people of Israel,
 it nevertheless frequently happens that offensive language is used
 against the former?"

 IBRAHIM: "Does the name Ulema not include our Ulemas also?"

 I: "In a facetious way it includes all Ulemas, but beyond this it is
 a well-known fact that it is said of them: 'The flesh of the Ulema is
 poisonous, their odor is sickening, and to eat them is death'; and if
 in spite of this men will insult them, they must pay the penalty both
 in this world and in the next."

To this he could make no reply, and I turned the conversation into
another channel.

The Shah once said to me, "Tell me, since thou hast traveled so much,
which of the cities thou hast visited pleases thee best." And I
replied: "I have indeed seen most of the cities of this world, but I
have found none to compare with Stamboul and Galata."

The Shah allowed this to pass, and continued: "At how many _Tumens_
dost thou estimate the combined income of the Beys and Beylerbeys of
Turkey?" to which I replied: "The Beys and Beylerbeys of Turkey receive
payment according to their rank, but they enjoy besides this generally
a private income. Other princes remunerate their officers in proportion
to the pay of the regiment which they command, but if the pay of the
Beys and other officers in the service of the Emperor of Turkey were
to be based upon this foundation, it would run not into _Tumens_, nor
yet Lakhs,[213] but into _Kulurs_. To give you an example: The payments
made to the Beylerbeys of Rumelia, Anatolia, Egypt, Hungary (Budin,
_i.e._, Ofen), Diarbekir, Bagdad, Yemen, and Algiers, are, each in
themselves, as much as any other prince would lay out on the whole
of his army. This proportion holds good for all the other Beylerbeys
also, and is in strict accordance with the superior standing of our
government. Quite a different system is adopted for the troops under
Khans and Sultans, for there is always an element of uncertainty there;
but in Turkey the army belongs to the Padishah. All Beylerbeys and
officers are his servants, and an Imperial command is law and can not
be trifled with."[214]

On this same occasion some of the officers asked whether the documents
which had been taken from me by Ibrahim Mirza in Meshhed had ever been
placed before the Shah. This question was answered in the affirmative,
but I did not like to pursue the subject, mindful of the saying:
"When evil slumbers, cursed be he who arouses it"—and I turned the
conversation into another channel.

I preferred to plead my cause with another gazel, which the Shah
graciously accepted, and which finally led to the desired result. We
received permission to leave. He wrote a letter expressive of his
unalterable respect and devotion to his Majesty the Padishah, gave me
more presents, and commanded Nazr Bey, a brother of Yuzbashi Hasan Bey,
to accompany me on the journey.

While in Kazvin I made a pilgrimage to the grave of Imam Shahzade
Husein, and in the beginning of Rebiul Evvel I started on my journey to
Bagdad.

Near to Sultani, we passed Abhar, and I stopped to visit the grave of
Pir Hasan, the son of Akhi Avran, then on to Kirkan, where I visited
the grave of Mohammed Demtiz[215], a son of Khodja Ahmed Jesewi, and
from there to Derghezin and Hamadan, in which latter place the graves
of Ain-ul-Kuzat and Pir Ebulalay, the armor-bearers of the Prophet,
were visited. At Saadabad, our next station, I was met by the governor,
who treated me with marked attention.

Then we took our way by Mount Elvend and Nihavend (in Suristan) to
Bisutun, where I visited the grave of Kiazim, and in the village
Weis-ul-karn, the grave of the saint of that name. We then proceeded
to Kasri-Shirin and through Kurdistan to the fortress Zendjir. While
there we were much interested in watching a _Huma_ bird[216] high up
in the sky. This is supposed to be a good omen, and we were therefore
well pleased. Some enlarged upon the good fortune presaged by his
appearance, others spoke of the curious properties of the bird, of whom
Sa'di sings:

    "The _Huma_ is distinguished from all other birds,
    In that he lives on bones, yet is not a bird of prey."

It is a known fact that this bird feeds exclusively on bones. The
legend says that the _Huma_, before demolishing a bone, carries it up
high in the air, and then drops it, with the result that it breaks into
many pieces. He then swoops down upon these, divides them into equal
portions, and devours them. This is the origin of the saying, when
Persian officials, through extortion, obtain more than they can well
digest: "They should follow the example of the _Huma_ bird and divide
their spoils into smaller, equal portions."

Here, at Zendjir, I dismissed Nazr Bey, whom the Shah had given me as
an escort, and after crossing the great river Tokuz Olum[217] we came
to Ban (or Sheri Ban). Toward the end of the same month of Kebiul Sani
we reached Bagdad, where we were most hospitably received by Khizr
Pasha. We did not delay, however, but hurried on to Turkey.


XVII

THE REST OF OUR ADVENTURES

In the beginning of Djemazi-ul Evvel we crossed the Tigris in ships,
and after revisiting the sacred graves there we journeyed on. Past
Kasri, Semke, and Harbi we came to Tekrit and Mossul, and by the old
road of Mossul and Djizre to Nisibin. From there by Diarbekir and
Mardin we reached Amed, where I saw Iskender Pasha, who received me
most graciously. In the course of conversation I told him some of our
adventures, to which he listened with much interest, and exclaimed:
"You have gone through more than even Tamum Dari has done, and as for
all the marvelous things which you have seen, they are beyond the
dreams of even Balkiah and Djihan Shah."

Questioned upon the different sovereigns and armies of the countries I
had visited, I said: "In all the world there is no country like Turkey,
no sovereign like our Padishah, and no army like the Turkish. From East
to West the fame of the Ottoman troops has spread. For victory follows
their banner wherever they go. May God keep Turkey in wealth and
prosperity until the last day shall dawn. May he preserve our Padishah
in health and happiness and our troops ever victorious. Amen!"

When asked whether our name was known in those remote parts, I
answered. "Certainly, more than you would think."

In the further course of conversation I learned that a report of my
death had reached the Porte, and that therefore the post of Egyptian
Admiral had been given to Kurdzade, the Sandjak-bey of Rhodus. I
thought to myself: "Long live my Padishah, I shall easily obtain
another office"; and I comforted myself with poetic effusions. Of
course I trusted in God Almighty, nevertheless I was always thinking
about the conquest of Ormuz and Gujarat, and I argued thus to myself:
"These fantastic dreams have so filled thy brain, that thou art being
drawn down to the earth by them; the spirit of wandering is so strong
in thee that thou canst not give thy body rest until it shall return to
dust."

I resumed my journey to Turkey, in the hope soon to set eyes again on
Constantinople. Arrived in Arghini I visited the grave of the prophet
Zilkefl; from there by Kharput to Malatia and the grave of Seid Ghazi
Sultan, a native of that place, and shortly after I reached Siwas, the
first station on Turkish territory. Ali Pasha received me there with
marked distinction; I delayed a short time to visit the grave of Abdul
Wahab Ghazi, and to call upon Ali Baba, who gave me his blessing.

After this I continued my journey to Stamboul, across the plain of Ken
to Kara Hissar Behram Shah, and through Bozauk to Hadji Bektash, where
I made pilgrimages to the graves of the saints of that place, and to
Balam Sultan; then on to Kirshehr and the graves of Hadji Avran and
Aashik Pasha, past Ayas Varsak to Angora, crossing the Kizil Irmak
(Halys) by the bridge of Chashneghir.[218] I visited the grave of Hadji
Bairam Sultan and his children, and the Khidr, and had a friendly
interview with Djenabi Pasha. From Beybazari we came to Boli, touched
Modurn, and on to Kunik, where is the grave of Sheik Shemseddin; next
we came to Tarakli Yenidje and Keive, with the bridge over the Sakaria
river, past Agadj-Deniz, on to Sabandja and Iznikmid[219] and the grave
of Nebi Khodja. From there our way led past Ghekivize and Skutari,
where I crossed the Bosphorus, and reached Constantinople in safety.

God be praised, who led me safely through manifold dangers, and brought
me back to this most beautiful country of all the earth. Four years
have passed away; years of much sorrow and misery, of many privations
and perplexities; but now in this year 964 (1556), in the beginning of
Redjeb, I have once more returned to my own people, my relations, and
my friends. Glory and praise be to God the Giver of all good things!

His Majesty the Padishah happened to be at Adrianople, and on the
second day after my return I traveled thither, to pay him homage.
I had the good fortune to be most graciously received by his
Imperial Majesty. The high Viziers, and especially Vizier Rustem
Pasha, loaded me with kindnesses. I was appointed to join the Corps
of the _Muteferrika_ (officers in attendance on the Sultan) with
a daily income of sixty _aktche_. And the _Kethhuda_ (intendant),
who had accompanied me on my travels, had his salary increased with
eight _aktche_, and was appointed Muteferrika for Egypt. One of the
Boluk-Bashi (_Chef d'Escadron_) received eight _aktche_ and my other
traveling companions each six _aktche_ above their ordinary pay. One
of these latter was nominated to the post of Egyptian _Tchaush_, and
the others joined the volunteers. They received their pay for the
four years they had been away, payment being made out of the Egyptian
treasury.

Toward the end of Rajab his Majesty the Sultan returned to
Constantinople, and on the day that he entered the Konak of Tchataldja
I was appointed Defterdar of Diarbekir.[220] Thus in his gracious
kindness his Majesty had pleased and satisfied us all.

He who wishes to profit by this narrative let him remember that not in
vain aspirations after greatness, but in a quiet and contented mind
lieth the secret of the true strength which perisheth not. But if in
God's providence he should be driven from home, and forced to wander
forth in the unknown, and perchance be caught in the turbulent waves of
the sea of adversity, let him still always keep in mind that love for
one's native land is next to one's faith. Let him never cease to long
for the day that he shall see his native shores again, and always cling
loyally to his Padishah.

He who doeth this shall not perish abroad; God will grant him his
desire both in this world and in the next, and he shall rejoice in the
esteem and affection of his fellow-countrymen.

       *       *       *       *       *

I completed this narrative in Galata in the month Shaaban of the year
964 (1556), and the transcript of it was accomplished in the month
Safar of the year 965 (1557).




BIBLIOGRAPHIES


MEDIEVAL ARABIC

Some of the general works recommended for the early Arabic history and
literature are also of value for this volume. The general theme is
covered by:

 R. A. NICHOLSON, "A Literary History of the Arabs" (New York,
 Scribners, 1907).

 F. F. ARBUTHNOT, "Arabic Authors" (London, 1890).

For the legends of Mohammed, read:

 WILLIAM MUIR, "Life of Mahomet" (new edition, Edinburgh, 1912).

 D. S. MARGOLIOUTH, "Mohammed and the Rise of Islam" (London, 1905).

 STANLEY LANE-POOLE, "Speeches and Table-Talk of the Prophet Mohammed"
 (London, 1882).

 A. N. MATTHEWS (translator), "Mishcat ul-Masabih, a Collection of
 Traditions Regarding Muhammed" (Calcutta, 1810).

 WM. MURRAY, "Abulfeda's Life of Mohammed" (Elgin).

For history and biography, consult:

 BARON MACGUCKIN DE SLANE, "Ibn Khallikan's Biographical Dictionary"
 (Paris, 1842-1871), four volumes.

 PHILIP K. HITTI, "Al Baladhuri's History of the Mohammedan Conquest"
 (Columbia University, New York, 1916).

 "Albiruni's Chronology."

For romance the list is almost endless. It includes:

 E. W. LANE, "The Thousand and One Nights" (London), three volumes.

 JOHN PAYNE, "The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night" (London,
 1884), nine volumes.

 SIR RICHARD BURTON, "Plain and Literal Translation of the Thousand
 Nights" (London, 1885), ten volumes.

 SIR RICHARD BURTON, "Supplementary Nights" (London, 1887), six volumes.

 J. VON HAMMER, "New Arabian Nights" (London).

 T. HAMILTON, "Antar, a Bedoueen Romance" (London, 1820), four volumes.

 T. CHENERY and F. STEINGASS, "The Assemblies of Al-Hariri" (London,
 1898), two volumes.

 W. J. PRENDERGAST, "The Maquamat of Al-Hamadhani" (Madras, 1915).

 C. FIELD, "Tales of the Caliphs" (New York, 1909).

For philosophic themes, consult:

 T. J. DE BOER, "History of Philosophy in Islam" (London, 1903).

 D. B. MACDONALD, "Development of Muslim Theology, Jurisprudence, etc."
 (Scribners, New York, 1903).

 J. L. BURCKHARDT, "Arabic Proverbs" (London, 1830).

And most important of all for general information is the new and
authoritative

 "Encyclopædia of Islam," edited by Houtsma, Arnold, and Schaade.


TURKISH LITERATURE

For the general conditions and history of Turkey, read:

 SIR EDWIN PEARS, "Turkey and Its People" (London, 1911).

 L. C. GARNETT, "Turkish Life in Town and Country" (Putnam, New York,
 1911).

 SIR CHAS. ELIOT, "Turkey in Europe" (London, 2d edition, 1908).

 R. P. DAVEY, "The Sultan and His Subjects" (London, revised edition,
 1907).

 S. LANE-POOLE, "The Story of Turkey" (New York, 1897).

 S. LANE-POOLE, "The Mohammedan Dynasties" (London, 1903).

 E. A. FREEMAN, "The Ottoman Power in Europe" (Macmillan).

 H. A. GIBBONS, "Foundation of the Ottoman Empire" (New York, 1916).

For the literature itself, read:

 J. W. REDHOUSE, "History, System, etc., of Turkish Poetry."

 E. J. W. GIBB, "Ottoman Poems" (London, 1882).

 E. J. W. GIBB, "History of Ottoman Poetry" (London, 1902).

 CHAS. WELLS, "Turkish Chrestomathy" (London, 1891).

 ALLAN RAMSAY, "Tales from Turkey" (London, 1914).




FOOTNOTES:

[1] Abu Muslim had been the chief means of transferring the
Caliphate from the Omeyyads to the family of Abbas.

[2] "Father of a villain": a play upon the name Abu Muslim.

[3] _Al Mahdi_, _i.e._, "the rightly directed."

[4] The Caliph's full name was Abu Jafar Al Mansur.

[5] _I.e._, descendant of Ali.

[6] An underground dungeon.

[7] Five.

[8] Praise of God.

[9] Koran, ii., 238.

[10] A famous musician of the period.

[11] _I.e._, "There is nothing new under the sun."

[12] In the Mosque of Omar.

[13] A miracle ascribed to Mohammed.

[14] This was the technical sign for freeing a slave.

[15] In this Assembly Al Harith arrives in the town of San'a in Yemen,
in great poverty; and, while seeking relief, encounters a crowd, which
is gathered about a preacher. The discourse is a stern warning against
self-indulgence, and an exhortation to repentance. Harith, wishing
to learn who the preacher is, follows him to a cave, and there finds
him enjoying himself with good food, and even with wine. He begins
to rebuke him, but the preacher, throwing off disguise, extemporizes
some lines, confessing that his preaching was only a device to obtain
charity. Harith asks the attendant the name of the preacher, and is
told that he is Abu Zayd, of Seruj.

[16] In this Assembly the author displays more than his usual
rhetorical subtlety, and while there is none more admired by those
whose taste has been formed on Eastern models, there is none which
appears more extravagant to the European student. Alliterations,
verbal caprices, far-fetched expressions, and the conceits which were
usual among poets of the age, so abound, that we may almost imagine
the author to be desirous of satirizing what he professes to imitate.
The subject is as follows: Harith in his passion for the society of
literary persons makes his way to Holwan, a town in Irak, on the
mountains east of Bagdad, and a resort of the higher classes from the
heat of the capital. Here he meets with Abu Zayd, who is pursuing his
calling of improvisatore and mendicant under various disguises, and
enjoys for a long time his company and literary guidance. Abu Zayd,
however, disappears, and Harith returns to his native place, Basra,
where after a time he again meets Abu Zayd in the public library,
among a crowd of dilettanti who are discussing the beauties of the
popular poets. The admiration of one is especially excited by a line
in which the teeth of a lady are compared to pearls and hailstones,
and the white petals of a flower; and Abu Zayd instantly produces a
number of comparisons in the same style, which give him a high place
in the esteem of those present, when they are assured that he is
really the author of them. They reward him, and the Assembly concludes
by his reciting to Harith, who had recognized him, some lines on the
fickleness of fortune.

[17] Harith is in a circle of scholars, when a lame man makes his
appearance, and after saluting them describes his former affluence
and present penury in a very poetical and figurative style. Harith,
perceiving his genius, and pitying his distress, offers him a denar
on condition that he will improvise some lines in praise of it. This
the lame man at once does, and on Harith offering him another denar
on condition of his blaming it, he recites another composition in
dispraise of money. Harith then recognizes in the lame man Abu Zayd,
and rebukes him for his imposture. Abu Zayd defends himself in some new
verses. The opening address of Abu Zayd is in imitation of a style said
to be common among the Arabs of the desert.

[18] Harith is journeying in a caravan to Damietta, and during one of
the night-halts he hears two men conversing on duty toward a neighbor.
The younger being asked for his opinion, replies in a spirit of
charity and generosity, upon which the other rebukes him, and sets
forth the fitting conduct of a man to his neighbor in accordance with
the teachings of selfishness and worldly wisdom. These addresses,
especially that of the elder man, are expressed in a highly rhetorical
diction, which captivates the literary Harith, and the next morning
he looks for them, and discovers them to be Abu Zayd and his son. He
invites them to his own quarters, introduces them to his friends, and
procures for them valuable presents. Abu Zayd then asks permission
to go to a neighboring village and take a bath, promising to return
speedily. They consent, and he goes off with his son. After waiting
the greater part of the day they find that he has deceived them, and
prepare to continue their journey; Harith, when making ready his camel,
finds some lines written on the saddle, which allude to a precept in
the Koran in favor of separating after a meal. The plays on words in
this Assembly are exceedingly ingenious and elaborate, and the opening
description has much poetical beauty.

[19] The following Assembly, remarkable for the poetical beauty of its
language, and the delicacy of its versification, describes an adventure
in which Abu Zayd obtains a sum of money from a company of generous
scholars. Harith is engaged with some friends in a night conversation
at Kufa, one of the chief seats of Arabian learning, when a stranger
knocks at the door, and addresses the inmates in verses describing
his want and weariness, his excellent disposition, and his gratitude
for the favors he may receive. Struck with his poetical powers the
company admit him, and give him a supper. The lamp being brought,
Harith discovers that the guest is Abu Zayd, and informs the company
of his merits. They then ask him for a story, and he relates that he
had that evening met with a long-lost son, whom he would be glad to
take charge of, did not his poverty hinder him. As he had taken care
to mention in the narrative that he was of the royal race of Ghassan,
the company are moved by his misfortunes, and at once raise a large sum
of money to enable him to support his boy. Abu Zayd delights them with
his conversation, but as soon as daylight appears he calls away Harith,
to assist him in cashing the checks or orders which he had received.
The simple Harith, who had been delighted with the verses which the
father had put into the mouth of his son, desires to see so eloquent a
youth; upon which Abu Zayd laughs heartily, tells his friend, in some
exquisite verses, that such a desire is the following of a mirage, that
he, Abu Zayd, had neither wife nor son, and that the story was only a
trick to obtain money. He then departs, leaving Harith mortified at the
adventure.

[20] This Assembly is the first of a remarkable series of compositions
which, though they may be set down by Europeans as merely examples
of laborious trifling, are highly esteemed by the Orientals as works
of ingenuity and scholarship, and have found in every succeeding age
numerous imitators. The incident is that Harith, being once on a visit
to Meraghah, in Azerbijan, the northwest province of the present
Persian monarchy, found a number of literary men lamenting the decline
of learning, and depreciating all contemporary authors in comparison
with their predecessors. Sitting in a humble place in the outskirts of
the company was an elderly man, who showed by his glances and scornful
gestures that he did not value highly the opinions of these critics.
When they paused in their fault-finding he took up the conversation,
and declared that one person, at least, of the present age was capable
of rivaling any who had gone before in scholarship and the arts of
composition. He is asked who is this genius, and answers that it is
himself. The company are skeptical, but as the stranger persists in
asserting his great ability, they determine to test him, and one of
them proposes to him a most difficult task. He tells the company that
he is a professional writer attached to the Governor, who, though a man
of generosity, had declared that he would help him no further, till he
had composed an address in which the alternate words should consist
entirely of pointed and unpointed letters; that is, that the first,
third, fifth words, and so forth, should consist of letters without
a point, while the second, fourth, sixth, and so forth, should have
only pointed letters. He adds that he had been striving a whole year
to produce such a composition, or to find some one who could produce
it. The stranger, on hearing this, accepts the task with alacrity, and
instantly dictates an address in praise of the Governor, fulfilling the
conditions that had been imposed.

[21] This Assembly is well known to students. Harith is at Barka'id.
The feast at the end of Ramadan is approaching, and being desirous of
joining in this solemnity he goes to the public prayer in his best
attire. When the congregation has formed itself into rows, after the
manner of Moslem worship, he espies an old man with his eyes closed,
accompanied by an old woman. The man takes out of a bag a number of
papers curiously written or illuminated in variously  inks; and
the old woman, going through the rows, presents them to those whom
she guesses from their appearance to be charitably disposed. One of
them falls to the lot of Harith, who finds on it some strange verses
full of alliterations and plays on words. He keeps it, and when the
old woman, being disappointed in her appeal, returns to reclaim it, he
offers her a dirhem on the condition that she will tell him the name of
the author. She informs him that the old man had composed the verses,
and that he was a native of Seruj. Harith then guesses that he must be
Abu Zayd, and is much concerned to find that he has become blind. When
the prayer is over he goes up to him and discovers that he is indeed
Abu Zayd, whereupon he presents him with a garment and invites him to
his house. No sooner are they in private than Abu Zayd opens his eyes,
which are perfectly sound, and Harith discovers that his pretended
blindness was a trick to excite pity.

[22] This Assembly, like several others that will be met with in the
course of the work, is so essentially Arabic as almost to forbid
intelligible translation. Two suitors, an old man and a youth, appear
before the Kadi of Ma'arrah. The former narrates to the Kadi that he
had possessed a beautiful and attractive, yet obedient and active,
slave girl; that the youth had borrowed her, treated her roughly, and
then returned her in an infirm state. The youth admits the charge,
but declares that he had offered sufficient compensation; and then
complains that the old man detained as a pledge a male slave of his,
who was of good origin and qualities, and highly serviceable to his
master. The Kadi perceives from the style of these addresses that the
language is enigmatical, and bids the litigants speak plainly. The
youth then improvises some verses to explain that by a slave girl
the old man meant a needle which the youth had borrowed, and the
eye of which he had broken by accident as he was drawing the thread
through it; the male slave which the old man detained was a pencil, or
_stylus_, for the application of _kohl_, the dark pigment with which
Orientals anoint the eyelid to heighten by contrast the luster of the
eye. The old man in his turn admits the truth of this, but pleads in
mournful verse his poverty and his inability to bear the loss even
of a needle. The chief feature in the composition is the enigmatical
description of the needle and pencil, which depends on the double
meanings of the words and phrases contained in it. Some of these are so
subtle that even the native commentators are undecided about them; and
we may assume that the _double-entente_ of passages like this was among
the lessons which Hariri is said to have taught to his pupils.

[23] The meaning of this passage, when applied to a _kohl_ pencil, is
as follows: I had a _kohl_ pencil, the same at both ends, tracing its
origin to the cutler, free from rust and defect; often brought near
the apple of the eye; it conferred beauty and produced admiration; it
fed the pupil of the eye with ointment, but went not near the tongue;
when it was blackened with the ointment it was liberal of it, when it
marked the eye it beautified it; when it was supplied with ointment it
supplied the eye with it, and when more was required it added more.
It remained not always in its case, and seldom anointed except two
eyes at a time; it gave plentifully of the _kohl_ that was on it, and
was lifted up to the eye for the purpose; it was constantly attached
to the _kohl_-case, although the two might be of a different material
(that is, the pencil might be of gold and the case of glass or silver);
though it was used for adorning, it was not of a soft substance but of
metal.

[24] This is one of the two Assemblies of Hariri which have been
translated and annotated by De Sacy in his Chrestomathy. Harith in his
wanderings comes to Alexandria, and, in accordance with his custom,
makes the acquaintance of the Kadi, who, as appears in the sequel, is
a good-natured and benevolent man. One evening, in winter, the Kadi is
distributing the public alms, when an ill-looking old man is brought
in by a young and handsome woman who accuses him of having married her
on false pretenses. She declares that he had deceived her father by
giving out that he had an excellent trade as a pearl-merchant; that he
had been incautiously accepted, and that now, when it was too late,
she had discovered that he had no business at all. Moreover, he had
taken all her dress and furniture, piece by piece, and sold it to keep
himself in idleness, leaving her and her child to starve. The Kadi is
indignant, and threatens to send the husband to prison, unless he can
clear himself of the charge. The defendant is in no way disconcerted,
but at once improvises some elegant verses, in which he admits his
poverty, and that he had sold his wife's effects, but denies that he
had deceived her in calling himself a "pearl-stringer," for the pearls
which he meant were the pearls of thought, by stringing which into
elegant poems he had been accustomed to make a large income from the
liberality of the rich and noble. Now, however, times were changed;
war and trouble had come upon the earth, and a race of niggards had
succeeded the generous patrons of the old days. The Kadi accepts the
excuse, bids the woman submit herself to her husband, and gives them
some of the alms-money; on receiving which the old man triumphantly
carries off his wife.

[25] In this Assembly Abu Zayd is found making gain by his usual
questionable arts. At Rahbah, on the Euphrates, Harith beholds a crowd
following an elderly man who is dragging along a handsome youth. The
former accuses the boy of having killed his son, and it is agreed to
go before the Governor. The purpose of the elder, who proves in the
end to be Abu Zayd, is simply to induce the Governor to buy off so
handsome a youth from punishment, with the view of taking him into his
own household. When they are in court the old man makes his charge,
and as he has no witnesses the boy is allowed to clear himself by an
oath. But the old man dictates an oath in which he enumerates all the
beauties of the boy, and invokes destruction on them if truth be not
spoken. The boy refuses to swear by such an oath; and the Governor,
who desires to take him out of the power of the old man, then makes
up a purse to satisfy the prosecutor. A hundred denars are promised;
but as the whole can not be collected at once the old man says that he
will not give up the boy, but will watch him all night. The Governor
consents, and soon the two are left together in the courtyard. Harith
then accosts Abu Zayd, and asks who is the boy. Abu Zayd replies, that
he is his son, and his assistant in his tricks; and that they intend to
make their escape early in the morning, and leave the Governor to his
disappointment.

[26] This and the following Assembly are justly reckoned among the
masterpieces of the author. To pass suddenly from the most solemn
subjects to pleasantry, to place in the mouth of a clever impostor the
most serious warnings that can be addressed to mankind, may be morally
objectionable; but in the Moslem world, where religion is mixed up
with all the concerns of life, and pious discourse and phrases abound,
it excites little repugnance. The design of the author in the present
composition was to produce an elaborate sermon in rhymed prose and in
verse, and his genius takes a higher flight than usual. The incident on
which the Assembly is founded is simple. Harith, in a fit of religious
zeal, betakes himself to the public burial-ground of the city of Saweh,
for the purpose of contemplation. He finds a funeral in progress, and
when it is over, an old man, with his face muffled in a cloak, takes
his stand on a hillock, and pours forth a discourse on the certainty of
death and judgment; rebuking his hearers for their worldly selfishness,
and warning them that wealth and power are of little avail against
the general leveler. He then rises into poetry and declaims a piece
which is one of the noblest productions of Arabic literature. In lofty
morality, in religious fervor, in beauty of language, in power and
grace of meter, this magnificent hymn is unsurpassed.

[27] Harith, being in affluence, crosses from Irak to Damascus to
enjoy the luxury of that city. After he has had his fill of pleasure
he bethinks himself of returning homeward, and joins a caravan that is
about to cross the Semaweh, the desert which lies between Syria and
the Euphrates. The travelers are ready to depart, but are delayed by
their inability to find an escort, which they think indispensable for
their protection against robbers. While they are consulting they are
watched by a dervish, who at last announces to them that he has the
means of keeping them safe from harm; and, on their inquiring further,
tells them that his safeguard is a magic form of words revealed to him
in a dream. They are at first incredulous, but at length consent to
take him with them, and to use his incantation. He then repeats it,
and it proves to be a prayer full of assonances and rhymes, beseeching
the general protection of the Almighty. They all learn it by heart and
then set forth, repeating it twice a day on their journey. As they are
not molested on the road they judge the charm to have been successful;
and when they come in sight of 'Anah, the first town on the other side
of the desert, they reward him richly with what he likes best, gold
and jewels. When he has taken all he can get, he makes his escape, and
the next thing they hear of him is that he is drinking in the taverns
of 'Anah, a city celebrated for its wine. Harith, shocked at this
enormity in a pious dervish, determines to seek him out, and soon finds
him reveling amid wine and music in the guest-chamber of a wine-shop.
He taxes him with his wickedness, and then the old man improvises a
Bacchanalian chant, which is one of the finest pieces in Hariri's work.
In form this poem resembles that which is introduced into the last
Assembly, though the meter is more light and lively, as Hariri, no
doubt, desired to display his genius by the contrast. This Assembly is
one of the most admired productions of the author, who has lavished on
it all the resources of his marvelous rhetoric.

[28] Maisuna was a daughter of the tribe of Calab; a tribe, according
to Abulfeda, remarkable both for the purity of dialect spoken in it,
and for the number of poets it had produced. She was married, whilst
very young, to the Caliph Mowiah. But this exalted situation by no
means suited the disposition of Maisuna, and amidst all the pomp and
splendor of Damascus, she languished for the simple pleasures of her
native desert.

[29] Yazid succeeded Mowiah in the Caliphate A.H. 60; and in most
respects showed himself to be of a very different disposition from
his predecessor. He was naturally cruel, avaricious, and debauched;
but instead of concealing his vices from the eyes of his subjects,
he seemed to make a parade of those actions which he knew no good
Mussulman could look upon without horror; he drank wine in public, he
caressed his dogs, and was waited upon by his eunuchs in sight of the
whole court.

[30] Shafay, the founder of one of the four orthodox sects into which
the Mohammedans are divided, was a disciple of Malek Ben Ans, and
master to Ahmed Ebn Hanbal; each of whom, like himself, founded a sect
which is still denominated from the name of its author. The fourth sect
is that of Abou Hanifah.

[31] The author of this poem was a hermit of Syria, equally celebrated
for his talents and piety. He was son to a prince of Khorassan, and
born about the ninety-seventh year of the Hegira. This poem was
addressed to the Caliph upon his undertaking a pilgrimage to Mecca.

[32] Isaac Al Mouseli is considered by the Orientals as the most
celebrated musician that ever flourished in the world. He was born in
Persia, but having resided almost entirely at Mousel, he is generally
supposed to have been a native of that place.

[33] The family of Barmec was one of the most illustrious in the East.
They were descended from the ancient kings of Persia, and possessed
immense property in various countries; they derived still more
consequence from the favor which they enjoyed at the court of Bagdad,
where, for many years, they filled the highest offices of the State
with universal approbation.

[34] Taher Ben Hosien was ambidexter and one-eyed and, strange to say,
the most celebrated general of his time.

[35] Abu Tammam is noted as the first collector of the works of earlier
poets. He gathered these in a valuable anthology. He was born near
Damascus A.D. 807, and educated in Egypt; but the principal part of his
life was spent at Bagdad, under the patronage of the Abasside Caliphs.

[36] Abu Al Salam was a poet more remarkable for abilities than
morality. We may form an idea of the nature of his compositions from
the nickname he acquired amongst his contemporaries of "Cock of the
Evil Genii."

[37] The three following songs were written by Mashdud, Rakeek, and
Rais, three of the most celebrated improvisators in Bagdad, at an
entertainment given by Abou Isy.

[38] Ebn Alrumi is reckoned by the Arabian writers as one of the most
excellent of all their poets. He was by birth a Syrian, and passed the
greatest part of his time at Emessa.

[39] Ali Ibn Ahmed distinguished himself in prose as well as poetry,
and a historical work of considerable reputation, of which he was the
author, is still extant. But he principally excelled in satire, and
so fond was he of indulging this dangerous talent that no one escaped
his lash; if he could only bring out a sarcasm, it was matter of
indifference to him whether an enemy or a brother smarted under its
severity. He died at Bagdad A.D. 898.

[40] The thought contained in these lines appears so natural and so
obvious, that one wonders it did not occur to all who have attempted to
write upon a birthday or a death.

[41] Radhi Billah, son to Moctader, was the twentieth Caliph of the
house of Abbas, and the last of these princes who possessed any
substantial power.

[42] History can show few princes so amiable and few so unfortunate
as Shems Almaali Cabus. He is described as possessed of almost every
virtue and every accomplishment: his piety, justice, generosity, and
humanity are universally celebrated; nor was he less conspicuous
for intellectual powers; his genius was at once penetrating, solid,
and brilliant, and he distinguished himself equally as an orator, a
philosopher, and a poet.

[43] The wolf.

[44] The occasion of the following composition is thus related by
Abulfeda. Carawash, Sultan of Mousel, being one wintry evening engaged
in a party of pleasure along with Barkaidy, Ebn Fahdi, Abou Jaber, and
the improvisatore poet, Ebn Alramacram, resolved to divert himself
at the expense of his companions. He therefore ordered the poet to
give a specimen of his talents, which at the same time should convey
a satire upon the three courtiers, and a compliment to himself. Ebn
Alramacram took his subject from the stormy appearance of the night,
and immediately produced these verses.

[45] Ali ben Mohammed was a native of that part of Arabia called Hejaz;
and was celebrated not only as a poet, but as a politician.

[46] Tabataba deduced his pedigree from Ali Ben Abu Taleb, and Fatima,
the daughter of Mohammed. He was born at Ispahan, but passed the
principal part of his life in Egypt, where he was appointed chief of
the sheriffs, _i.e._, the descendants of the Prophet, a dignity held
in the highest veneration by every Mussulman. He died in the year of
the Hegira 418, with the reputation of being one of the most excellent
poets of his time.

[47] Ben Yusef for many years acted as vizier to Abu Nasser, Sultan
of Diarbeker. His political talents are much praised, and he is
particularly celebrated for the address he displayed while upon an
embassy to the Greek Emperor at Constantinople. Yusef's poetry must be
looked upon merely as a _jeu d'esprit_ suggested by the beauties of the
vale of Bozaa, as he passed through it.

[48] The life of this prince was checkered with various adventures;
he was perpetually engaged in contests either with the neighboring
sovereigns, or the princes of his own family. After many struggles
he was obliged to submit to his brother, Abu Camel, who immediately
ordered him to be seized, and conveyed to a place of security.

[49] Abu Alola is esteemed as one of the most excellent of the
Arabian poets. He was born blind, but this did not deter him from the
pursuit of literature. Abu Alola died at Maara in the year 1049, aged
eighty-six.

[50] Written to Abu Alchair Selamu, an Egyptian physician. The author
was a physician of Antioch.

[51] Abu Ismael was a native of Ispahan. He devoted himself to the
service of the Seljuk Sultans of Persia, and enjoyed the confidence
of Malec Shah, and his son and grandson, Mohammed and Massoud, by the
last of whom he was raised to the dignity of vizier. Massoud, however,
was not long in a condition to afford Abu Ismael any protection, for,
being attacked by his brother Mahmoud, he was defeated, and driven
from Mousel, and upon the fall of his master the vizier was seized and
thrown into prison, and at length sentenced to be put to death.

[52] It is unfortunate that both the philosopher and his opponents
should have advanced the same argument in defense of themselves—namely,
their own wisdom. The Arab philosophers were, amongst their kind,
something like the _libertins_ of the seventeenth century in France.
"Often," says Al Ghazali, "I have seen one read the Koran, assist at
religious ceremonies and prayers, and praise religion aloud. When I
asked him, 'If you consider prophetism as false, why do you pray!' he
responded, 'It is an exercise of the body, a custom of the country,
a method of having your life saved.' Yet he did not cease from
drinking wine, and delivering himself to all sorts of abominations and
impieties."

[53] Seville was one of those small sovereignties into which Spain had
been divided after the extinction of the house of Ommiah. It did not
long retain its independence, and the only prince who ever presided
over it as a separate kingdom seems to have been Mohammed ben Abad, the
author of these verses. For thirty-three years he reigned over Seville
and the neighboring districts with considerable reputation, but being
attacked by Joseph, son to the Emperor of Morocco, at the head of a
numerous army of Africans, was defeated, taken prisoner, and thrown
into a dungeon, where he died in the year A.D. 1087.

[54] This author was by birth an African; but having passed over to
Spain, he was much patronized by Mohammed, Sultan of Seville. After the
fall of his master, Ben Abad returned to Africa, and died at Tangier,
A.D. 1087.

[55] A wicked angel who is permitted to tempt mankind by teaching them
magic; see the legend respecting him in the Koran.

[56] The poet here alludes to the punishments denounced in the Koran
against those who worship a plurality of Gods: "Their couch shall be in
hell, and over them shall be coverings of fire."

[57] Written to a lady upon her refusal of a present of melons, and her
rejection of the addresses of an admirer.

[58] Gazul is the name of one of the Moorish heroes who figure in
the "_Historia de las Guerras Civiles de Granada_." The ballad is
one of very many in which the dexterity of the Moorish cavaliers in
the bullfight is described. The reader will observe that the shape,
activity, and resolution of the unhappy animal destined to furnish the
amusement of the spectators are enlarged upon, just as the qualities of
a modern race-horse might be among ourselves: nor is the bull without
his name. The day of the Baptist is a festival among the Mussulmans, as
well as among Christians.

[59] The reader can not need to be reminded of the fatal effects which
were produced by the feuds subsisting between the two great families,
or rather races, of the Zegris and the Abencerrages of Granada. This
ballad is also from the "_Guerras Civiles_."

[60] Shahar is the name of the coast-line between Oman and Aden.

[61] The word here used is the old and correct one, _Dar-es-sena_ ("the
house of technics"), from which word the present _Tersane_, _i.e._,
"Arsenal," has originated.

[62] Ashik is now a ruin opposite Samira.

[63] _Mowsim Zemani_, literally, "the time of the season." From the
Arabic word _Mowsim_ the English "monsoon" has originated.

[64] A small vessel, worked by sails and oars, for the carrying of
freights, also called _Sacoléve_.

[65] Lahsa and Katif, islands in the Persian Gulf, which, together
with Ormuz, Bahrein, and Kalhata, were famous in the Middle Ages, as
staple-towns for the commerce between Persia and India.

[66] _Filandra_, a small ensign hoisted on the top of the mainmast.

[67] Khorfakan, a place on the east coast of Oman, between Ras Dibba
and Fedzna.

[68] Sohar, also on the east coast of Oman.

[69] This is the same as "Calatu," mentioned by Marco Polo, see
"Travels of Marco Polo," by Col. H. Yule, Vol. II, p. 381.

[70] Kuya appears to be really the name of the town Goa, the
headquarters of the Portuguese in India.

[71] According to Bianchi, "_voile d'artimon_." The following passage
is owing partly to the defective text, partly to the strange naval
technical expressions, unclear and unintelligible.

[72] _Shaika_, a Kirghiz boat.

[73] Compare the Hungarian _d'arda_, _i.e._, "spear," "lance."

[74] Of this expression only the word _longa_ (_lenga_) can be
identified with the Italian.

[75] A harbor-town in Persia, in the vicinity of Beluchistan.

[76] _Rectius_: Kidj-Mekran (Marco Polo's Kesmacoran), as Yule rightly
observes, situated on the coast of that part of Kerman, then belonging
to India. See "Travels of Marco Polo."

[77] On our modern maps given as Shabar, which is the name of the bay
as well as of the place.

[78] Guador, on the west coast of Beluchistan, belonging to the Indian
Empire.

[79] Zofar, or Dhofar, to the east of Shar. In the Middle Ages there
was a city of that name, as mentioned by Marco Polo and Ibn Batuta.

[80] Literally, "Elephant's flood."

[81] Here follow some nautical expressions which I do not understand.

[82] Perhaps meant for Manglaus, Menglaur, in the District of Sahranpur.

[83] Somenat Somnath, a town in the south of the peninsula of
Kathiawar, also the name of the District.

[84] More correctly Diu, an island belonging to the Portuguese in West
India, separated from Kathiawar by a narrow stroke of land, with about
13,000 inhabitants, and politically under Goa. (See "Imperial Gazetteer
of India," IV., p. 305.)

[85] Daman, a Portuguese possession in the bay of Cambay, with about
50,000 inhabitants; was pillaged first in the year 1531, and retaken in
1553.

[86] Compare the Persian _badzed_, "whirlwind," "tempest"; more
correctly "gust of wind," from _Bad_, "wind," and _Zeden_, "to strike."

[87] In the text _Djonk_, "a large ship," used principally in China.
First mentioned by the Monk Odorico di Pordenone in 1331.

[88] Compare "dingy," "dinghy." Literally, the name of a ship or large
boat, on the coast of Mekran; the word is also known in English, but it
originates from Beluchistan. Correctly speaking, it means a pilot-ship.

[89] _Kotwal, kutwal_, "commander of a fortress," also "policeman". Of
Turkish origin, from the word kut, "to guard," "to watch"; would be
more correctly, _kuteol_, meaning "guardian."

[90] _Cheter Kaldirmak_ means, literally, "to raise the sunshade"
(umbrella), this being the symbol of sovereignty in India.

[91] More correctly Broatsh, a place northwest of Surat, in the
province of Gujarat, on the right bank of the Nerbudda. This place has
from time immemorial belonged to the Moslem rulers of Ahmedabad, and
has twice been pillaged by the Portuguese (in 1536 and 1546).

[92] In the text, _Provador_, meaning "Admiral."

[93] Ahmedabad, the chief town of the Province of that name, 310 miles
north of Bombay.

[94] More correctly Balotra, a town in Jodpur (Radjhputana).

[95] Champanir, a mountain fortress in Gujarat, in the Province of
Pendj-Mahal, 250 miles northeast of Bombay.

[96] Compare Tuba-tree, with the Sidra-trees of the Mohammedan paradise.

[97] _Zokum_, a tree which, according to the Koran, grows only in hell.
Its fruit resembles the plantain and serves as food for the condemned.

[98] At present there is only a place of that name known in Oudh, but
not in Gujarat.

[99] _Bir Katar deve_, "a team of camels." _Katar_, "team," means "ten
camels."

[100] Very characteristic is the piece of poetry here introduced. It is
probably a Turkish sea-song of that time. It says:

    "We roam the waters far and wide,
    And bring confusion upon our enemies;
    Revenge and hatred is our motto,
    For we are Khairreddin's troops."

(Khairreddin Pasha was Suleiman's renowned Admiral, known in Europe as
Barbarossa.)

[101] In the text _Bami_ may possibly be a slip of the pen and intended
for "Brahmin."

[102] _Banians_, "Indian merchants," more especially from the Province
of Gujarat, who from time immemorial have traded with the harbor-towns
of Arabia.

[103] _Rajput_, a warlike race, probably descended from the ural-Altaic
race.

[104] This can not be the town of that name in Bengal, as this lies
more to the south and could not be reached from Ahmedabad in five days.

[105] Radhanpur, the capital of the district of that name in the
Presidency of Bombay.

[106] More correctly Parkar or Nagar-Parkar, the name of a district and
a place in the Presidency of Bombay.

[107] _Muhre_, "a stone," which, so says the legend, is found in the
head of the serpent and the dragon, and possesses miraculous power.
Many Dervishes carry one of these stones in their girdle to trade upon
the superstition of the ignorant people.

[108] As a town, Wanga is unknown to me, unless it be intended for
Wanna, in the district of Cathiawar in the Presidency of Bombay.

[109] More correctly Junaghar, the name of a Province and town in
Cathiawar, Presidency of Bombay.

[110] The Indus.

[111] Tatta (Thats, or Nagar Thats), in the District of Karachi.

[112] _Nakara_, "a band of music," was formerly considered in Central
Asia as a sign of sovereignty.

[113] _Serpay vermek_, "to distribute festive apparel," is a great mark
of distinction in Central Asia, but as the expression is unknown in
Turkey the author has had to circumscribe it.

[114] "He gave us the name of: a mystic army,"

[115] Literally, "there should be no dragonstone, _i.e._, sorcery, in
your guns."

[116] Argun and Tarkhan are two Turkish tribes in Central Asia, direct
descendants of the Transoxanian warriors, which came with Baber to
India.

[117] Now Nasirabad, the name of several places in Sind.

[118] Perhaps meant for Sehivan in Naushar on the Indus.

[119] Patri, now a station on the railway-line to Bombay, Baroda, and
Central India; also the name of a small State belonging to Kathiawar.

[120] Our author, according to the spirit of the age, was not only
a brave warrior and sailor, but also a poet, using the East-Turkish
Dialect (Djagatai). His muse has no special features, and with regard
to his choice of words they betray a strong tendency toward the Osmanli
dialect. It is nevertheless interesting to note in how short a time he
mastered this dialect and that, more than 100 years after Baber, the
Djagatai tongue maintained itself as the court-and-book-language in
India. In our translation we necessarily omit these poetic effusions as
irrelevant.

[121] Literally, "wandering."

[122] In the text _Kheime_ we _shamiane_, the latter being more a kind
of large sunshade.

[123] As there are several places called Sultanpoor and Mav, the
stations here mentioned are difficult to identify on the map.

[124] Utch, a small place on the left bank of the Pendtjend, a
tributary of the Indus.

[125] On modern maps of India it is marked as Gharra, by which name the
Sutlej is also known.

[126] On the way from Utch to Multan there is a river called Trimba.
But I have not anywhere come upon a river called Machvara.

[127] Sambal, a place in the District of Muradabad, in the northeast of
India.

[128] Also called Firuzpoor, in Punjab.

[129] _I.e._, Khan of the Khans, like the Mirimiran of the Persians,
and the Beglerbeghi of the Turks.

[130] Correctly, _Kurur_, that is, 10,000,000 rupees, equivalent to
about $5,000,000.

[131] _Birshegal_, probably a Hindustani word.

[132] In the text _Kish_, _i.e._, "winter," also "bad weather," "rainy
season." Compare _Kish Kiamet_, _i.e._, "very foul weather."

[133] Opinions differ as to the exact nature of the _Tughra_ (signature
of Turkish rulers: more correctly, _tora_, meaning "decree"). Some say
that it is merely a flourish, others hold that it is the impression of
the hand. In Central Asia, Turkish monarchs used to dip their hand in
blood, hence the expression _al-tamga_, "red seal." The descendants of
Baber first introduced into India the use of the yellow dye, saffron.

[134] Mir Ali Shir, the greatest poet of the Turks in Central Asia, was
born, according to Khondemir, in the year 844 (1440) and died in H. 906
(1500). He wrote under the name of _Newai_. His compositions, which are
unquestionably superior to any other East Turkish productions, enjoy to
this day great popularity amongst the Turks of the interior of Asia.

[135] _Afetabe_, "water-basin," and _Afetabedji_, "he who holds the
water-basin"; a high court dignity in Central Asia, and later on also
among the Moguls in India. The former Khans of Khokand had received the
title of Afetabedji from the Sultan of Turkey.

[136] Our author means by Siwas the old seat of the Osmans, but in
India and in Central Asia, _Rum_ is generally understood to stand for
the West, and more particularly for the Ottoman Empire.

[137] As the Turks never conquered Vienna, this is a mere boast on the
part of the Turkish Admiral. Possibly, in the Far East the news of
the conquest of Vienna may have found credence, for the campaigns of
Suleiman against Vienna fall about this time.

[138] Khatib is the name of the Mollah who on Fridays says the
_Khutbe_, or Friday prayer, in which the names of the Caliph and of the
local ruler are inserted.

[139] Mir Khosru Dehlevi (_i.e._, from Delhi), one of the greatest
poets of India, born 1253, died 1324. He wrote in Persian, which
language had been introduced into India with the spread of Islam.

[140] Elphinstone in the "History of India" relates his death as
follows: "He had been walking on the terrace of his library, and was
descending the stairs (which in such situations are narrow steps on
the outside of the building and only guarded by an ornamental parapet
about a foot high). Hearing the call to prayers from the minarets, he
stopped, as is usual on such occasions, repeated the creed, and sat
down on the steps till the crier had done. He then endeavored to rise,
supporting himself on his staff; the staff slipped on the polished
marble of the steps, and the King fell headlong over the parapet. He
was stunned at the time and, although he soon recovered his senses,
the injury he had received was beyond cure. On the fourth day after
his accident he expired in the forty-ninth year of his age and the
twenty-sixth of his reign, including the 16 years of his banishment
from his capital."

[141] This is meant for Bairam Khan, the faithful follower of Humayun,
and, later on, the Atabek (tutor) of Ekber.

[142] On modern English maps of India, these names are given as Sonpat,
Panipat, Karnal, Tanesar, and Samani, in the same order on the way from
Delhi to Lahore.

[143] Very striking is the want of reserve wherewith this lie is spread
to serve a political purpose.

[144] Matchivara, a town in Punjab in Ludiana.

[145] Perhaps Bachrewan, a town in the province of Oudh.

[146] A stronghold built by Selim Shah on the boundary mountains of
Sewalik, against the Sakkars.

[147] Elphinstone, "History of India," calls this man Pir Mohammed, the
teacher or tutor of Ekber, while our author calls him Khodja Bairam
Khan.

[148] Ebul Maali, a Said from Kashgar, who had entered the service of
Humayun in 1551. He had rebelled against Ekber and had taken possession
of Kabul, where he was afterward defeated and imprisoned in Lahore. He
died in 1563.

[149] Literally, "Believers in the Book"; these, therefore, have none
of the four Sacred Books, viz., Koran, Tevrat, Gospels, and Psalms.
Consequently they are heathen.

[150] The burning of widows (Suttee) has in recent times been put a
stop to by the English, and it is very characteristic that the Moguls
had, long before that time, endeavored to check the custom.

[151] Also called _khutaz_ and _kudaz_, a kind of horned cattle. Their
tail is used as an ornament to hang round the horse's neck.

[152] It appears from this passage that the Emperor's guests only
received the gifts allotted to them when on their return journey; had,
in fact, to collect them from the authorities of the districts through
which they passed.

[153] Khoshab, the name of a town in Punjab, situated on the river
Djehlam, and not the name of the river itself, as our author states.

[154] Nilab, "blue water," can not possibly be the river Kabul.

[155] Bakhtar-Zemin, or Bakhtarland, _i.e._, Bactria.

[156] Generally translated by "rhinoceros." Baber (1356) makes mention
of this animal under the name of _gherek_, and he describes it as being
about the size of a buffalo.

[157] Perhaps more correctly Lughman, east of Kabul.

[158] Hezare is the name of the mountainous region, northeast of
Peshawur; also the name of an Iranian Mongol tribe, dwelling between
Herat and Kabul.

[159] _Luli_ is, in Central Asia, the name given to the Gipsies,
to which tribe the dancing and singing damsels and the prostitutes
generally belonged. This used also to be the case in Turkey; compare
_Tchenghi_, "musician," "dancing girl," and _Tchingane_, "Gipsy."

[160] Kara-bag (black garden), marked on the maps merely as Bag
(garden). Tcliarikar lies north of Kabul, and Pervane lies in the
same direction as the pass of that name at the foot of the Hindu
Kush. Our author did not take the route now generally used, across
the Dendanshiken (tooth-breaker), but the other, which lies more to
the east, and which was the one followed by Baber. This is one of the
Pervan passes, which, starting from the place of that same name, leads
to Badjgah, and from there into the valley of Enderab.

[161] Suleiman Shah was the son of Khan Mirza the Wise, a cousin
of Baber's. He had usurped the throne of Bedakhshan in 1508, and
was afterward established by Humayun as ruler over the whole of the
Upper-Oxus territory.

[162] From the political condition already referred to, it is quite
evident why our author chose this very difficult, roundabout route past
Badakhshan, the same route which was taken by Sheibani Khan, Baber's
adversary, during his campaign against Khosru Shah. Part of ancient
Khatlan, also called Khotl, is now included in the Province of Kulab.

[163] Feizabad is now the capital of Badakhshan. It was Suleiman Shah,
who made Kishm his residence.

[164] Kalai Zafar (castle of victory) is situated on the Kotchke, a
tributary of the Oxus.

[165] Now Semti, on the left side of the Pendje.

[166] Now Kulab (1,810 feet above the sea), situated on a tributary of
the Oxus.

[167] Neither Charsui nor Pul-i-Senghin are to be found on any modern
map, but as the author identifies Hissar with Chaganian, _i.e._, places
the former in the dominion of the latter province, we may take it that
the Kafirnihan river was then the boundary-line of Transoxania.

[168] Hissar, situated at the confluence of the Ilek and the
Khanka-Derya, formerly known as Hissar-i-Shadman.

[169] Probably an ancient title, which, in its present form, is not
mentioned in any lexicons or vocabularies.

[170] Senghirdek is mentioned on the modern maps of Central Asia,
between Sehri-Sebz and Sari-Asiya (Yellow Mill), as the name of a
stream and of a place, but not as the name of a mountain. _Sengghirdek_
means "a stone tent."

[171] This must be Mount Karatepe (Black Hill), (5181 feet).

[172] Borak Khan, a son of Mahmud Khan, who was defeated by Sheibani.
He was a native of the steppes in the northeast of Transoxania, and,
favored by the bad government of Burhan Khan, he and his horsemen,
consisting of Kirghises and Kalmuks, invaded the land, and took
possession of the capital, Samarkand. He died in the year 1555. The
incidents connected with his reign, which our author mentions, are the
more valuable to us as we find no mention of them anywhere else.

[173] He died in the year 1551.

[174] Called by abbreviation Burhan Khan, an uncle of Obeidullah. He
reigned only a short time, and died in 1556.

[175] Aga of the Osmans was the title of a commander of the Janissaries
which Sultan Suleiman had sent from Constantinople to Samarkand to
support the authority of the Eastern Turks. Our author, therefore, came
here unexpectedly in contact with his countrymen.

[176] Khodja Ahmed Jesewi, the patron saint of Turkestan, whose grave
in Aulia Ata is to this day eagerly visited by pilgrims.

[177] When in Samarkand I could learn nothing about the cloak and the
_Naalin_ (wooden shoes) of the Prophet, but the copy of the Koran here
referred to was extant in the Mausoleum of Timur. This latter, however,
although a very old manuscript in Kufi letters, has not descended from
Caliph Ali, nor yet from Caliph Osman; it has been brought to Turkestan
by the descendants of Khodja Ahrar, and from Samarkand the Russians
took it to St. Petersburg.

[178] Consequently they belonged at that time still to the Shaman
faith, an interesting fact and easily explained when we consider that,
at the time of Timur, both Kirghizes and Turkomans are described as
heathen.

[179] Its name is Zerefshan, or Kohik.

[180] Ghidjduvan, the most northerly town of the Khanate on the Wafkend
river.

[181] May stand for  coat, and merely indicates the
distinguishing color of the regiment.

[182] Literally, "Red feet," meaning people that go barefoot, hence the
expressions, "vagabond," and "vagrant."

[183] Tchardjui (more correctly Tchihar-djui, meaning "four brooks,"
after four tributaries of the Oxus which are there) was at that time
Persian territory, and came only to be reckoned to Bokhara after the
seizure of Abdullah Khan.

[184] Name of the Shiite saint in Meshed.

[185] Consequently the left side of the river.

[186] Curious it seems that 300 years ago lions were so plentiful in
those parts, while in modern times there has been no sign of them in
the steppes of Turkestan.

[187] In the text called Hezarus, by mistake.

[188] Dost Mohammed Khan, or simply Dost, who was then the ruler of
Kharezm, and his brother Esh-Sultan, were both sons of Budjuga Khan.
Their rival to the throne was Hadjim Khan, who conquered both in turn
and put them to death.

[189] The tribe of the Manghit, now belonging to the settled population
of Khiwa, seems at that time still to have led a nomadic life,
inhabiting the steppe between the Aral and the Caspian Sea, now the
home of the Kirghizes.

[190] The Nomads of Central Asia feared the Russians, for three years
before that time (1554) Czar Ivan Wassilyewich had conquered Astrakhan.

[191] By Deshti-Kipchak, _i.e._, the steppe of the Kipchaks, Oriental
writers understand the steppe situated between Kharezm and the Volga
territory. Ibn Batuta likewise accomplished the distance between
Kharezm (now Urghendj) and Saraidjik in 30 days.

[192] Saraidjik, small palace on the bank of the Ural, about one hour's
distance from the Caspian Sea. Jenkinson in 1558 found the place still
intact, but Pallas in the past century found only extensive ruins to
indicate the place.

[193] Ancient Theodosia in the Crimea.

[194] At that time the King of Persia was Thamasp Shah, and it so
happened that he was on friendly terms with Sultan Suleiman, for about
this time a gorgeous ambassy was sent by the ruler of the Ottoman
Empire to Kazvin, as recorded by Rauzat es Sefa in the Seventh Book.

[195] _Istikhare_, "horoscope," is consulted by opening the Koran at
hazard and the passage at which it opens gives the answer. Another
way is by the throwing of dice, or by seizing the rosary (_Tesbih_)
at hazard, when the even or uneven number of the beads decides the
question.

[196] This passage is of special geographical interest. As our author
came from Kharezm, on the left shore of the Oxus, and crossed the
river on his way to Khorassan, he refers here undoubtedly to the old
course of this river, mentioned by Abulgazi. As the Oxus, in its
course down-stream from Tchardjui, reveals several old river-beds,
the direction here indicated by Sidi Ali must be one of the two
courses which ran either from Hezaresp or from Khanka in southwesterly
direction into the Caspian Sea. Most likely it was the latter branch,
as it was at that time the more important of the two, and, according to
Abulgazi, culture had reached a considerable height along its shores.

[197] This is Derum, frequently mentioned by Abulgazi, as situated on
the old road from Kharezm to Khorassan.

[198] Bagwai, on the same road, but is now no longer marked on the map.

[199] Nesa, frequently mentioned in the Middle Ages, situated in the
north of Persia. Its ruins have been visited by many modern travelers
in the neighborhood of Ashkabad.

[200] Abiwerd is more correct; it is the modern Kahka, a station on the
Trans-Caspian line.

[201] Curiously enough, the same custom still prevails in Persia,
for when I visited this land three hundred years later, disguised as
an Osmanli, I had much to suffer from the indiscretion of the Shiite
fanatics. By night and by day, on the march and at rest, it was always
this same vexed question of the succession, which had to be discussed.

[202] _Murabba_, "quatrain," a poem consisting of four-line verses.

[203] Ashura days, the first ten days of the month Muharram, which,
especially in the Shiite part of Persia, were kept as holy days.

[204] _Boluk-Bashi_, a degree of rank amongst the Janissaries;
literally, "captain of a division."

[205] In the immediate vicinity of Teheran.

[206] _Kurdji-bashi_, "chief armor-bearer."

[207] This surely must mean a month and a half after entering
Persia, for the distance from Rei (Teheran) to Kazvin can easily be
accomplished in two or three days. Kazvin was at that time the capital
of Persia.

[208] _Divan Bey_, "first secretary."

[209] _Ishik Agasi_, "chief porter," a sort of master of ceremonies.

[210] Literally, "representative"; at the court of the Shah it is also
the title of the overseer over the culinary department.

[211] _Tumen_ means "ducat" in Persian, but as the word is here used in
the dative it would appear that something has been omitted.

[212] The Circassians were at that time not yet Mohammedans, for they
were converted later on by Ferrukh Pasha.

It appears from this passage that the Pilgrims' route from Central Asia
to Mecca led in those days past Astrakhan, _i.e._, by Kharezm and the
lower Volga, and from there across the Caucasus via Constantinople to
Arabia, about the same as in modern times, when pilgrims travel by the
Trans-Caspian line, via Batum Baku and Constantinople to Mecca.

[213] Lakh, about $500,000, a sum only used in India.

[214] Our author refers here to the Feudal system still in use in
Central Asia at the time that I was there, and he rightly criticizes
the limited power of the rulers, which is the necessary result of it.
In Persia the relation between the Khans and the Shah was based upon
this principle till quite within modern times. The Sultans of Turkey,
when at the zenith of their power, were absolute sovereigns of their
land. But at the commencement of the decline the same relationship was
established there, as we see from the conduct of the Derebeys.

[215] _Demtiz_ means "some one possessing strong, _i.e._, active or
powerful _dem_ or _nefes_ (breath)."

[216] _Huma_, name of a mythical bird, a kind of Phoenix, which, as
the legend says, lives in the air and never touches the earth, and
is held to be a good omen. Thus, for instance, any one who has been
overshadowed by this bird is destined to be a ruler. Hence the word
_Humayun_, _i.e._, "Imperial," an epithet applied to royal persons.

[217] _Tokuz Olum_, signifying "nine fords" (if _Olum_ be taken for the
Turkoman word of the same meaning), is not known as the name of a great
river, because, besides the Tigris, there are no large rivers in the
neighborhood of Bagdad.

[218] _Chashneghir_, _i.e._, "cup-bearer," probably the name of the
builder.

[219] Iznikmid, now Ismid, has better preserved the ancient Greek name.

[220] _Timar Defterdarlighi_, _i.e._, superintendent of the finances of
the army.

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation spelling, punctuation, hyphenation and accents remain
unchanged.

Italics are represented thus _italic_,.

ON page 338 section IV of THE MIRROR OF COUNTRIES OF THE ADVENTURES OF
SIDI ALI Reis “12 large boats and 22 _gurabs_, 32 vessels in all,” has
been corrected to 34 vessels.







End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sacred Books of the East, Volume 6
(of 14), by Various

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