Chapter XV: Conclusion (3)

Yemen (or _Arabia Felix_) in the time of Strabo was divided into five kingdoms (l. 16, p. 112), and has been successively subdued by the Abyssinians, the Persians, the Sultans of Egypt, and the Turks.—On the west Yemen has the Red Sea; on the south the Straits of Babu-’l-Mandab and the Indian Ocean; on the east Hadramaut, and the north Nejed and the Hijāz. The inhabitants plume themselves on their country being “the birth-place of the sciences and religion” (_Biladu-’l-`Ulm o Biladu-’d-Dīn_).—_Niebuhr_, par. ii, p. 247.

_Page 56._ “A certain slave named Abraha.”—Influenced, probably, by a malevolent feeling towards the _Mushriks_ (those who attribute partners to God—Christians), the Muslim author—or, more likely, translator and adapter—gives the name of Abraha to an Ethiopian slave, disparaging, as it were, the historical fame of Abraha Ebnu-’s-Sabā, the 46th King of Yemen, surnamed Sahibu-’l-Fīl (Lord of the Elephant), an Ethiopian by birth, and of the Christian religion, who in paynim times built a magnificent church in the citadel of Grandam, at Sanaā, with the design of inducing pilgrims to resort thither, instead of to the Ka`ba at Mecca. (See Kur’ān cv, and Sale’s _note_.)

_Page 56._ “The arrow cut off one of his ears.”—According to Lescallier, only a piece of his ear.

_Page 56._ “The King’s first impulse,” &c.—In Lescallier’s French rendering this passage is to the following effect: “The King of Yemen at once ordered that Abraha should be seized and beheaded. Abraha said to the King: ‘Your Majesty knows that I am not blamable in this unfortunate affair; I shot the arrow intending to wound the deer. If you pardon me this time, you, in your turn, will be pardoned when you sin.’ The King of Yemen, having heard these words, received him favourably, pardoned him, and cancelled the order which he had given. Abraha was overjoyed at this, and they re-entered the town together.”

_Page 57._ “They then returned to the city”—_i.e._ Sanaā in Yemen, so called to distinguish it from another Sanaā, a village of Damascus, anciently called Azāl, from its founder. The city is supposed to have acquired its name from the Ethiopians, who conquered the country, and on beholding its beauty, exclaimed: “This is Sana!” which in Ethiopic means, “commodious,” “comfortable.”—At an elevation of 4000 feet above the sea-level, near the source of the river Shāb, it is celebrated for its trees and waters, and compared by `Abu-’l-Feda to Damascus. The city is walled, as also the suburb, Birū-’l-Azāb. At present it is a large mercantile town, the residence of an Imām. A handsome bridge is thrown over the principal street, down which flows a stream of water, and all the private dwellings of the higher classes have glass windows, beautifully stained, and are furnished with fountains. At the eastern and western extremities is a castle, having each a palace, built of hewn stone, covered with gray-coloured plaster. Situated in the heart of the coffee country, the principal trade is in that useful berry, which is rarely used for home consumption, the common beverage being _keshr_, an infusion of the husk. About twenty mosques, elaborately decorated, and with gilt domes, adorn the city; and the public baths, numerous and good, are the favourite resort of the merchants, who meet to discuss the state of trade, and to listen to the news of the day, over a cup of _keshr_ and the indispensable _hūkka_.

_Page 57._ “Was driven on the coast of Zangībār (or Zanzibar).”—Probably the ancient island of Menuthias, southward of the Sea of Babu-’l-Mandab. This is the island of the “Zonūj” mentioned in the _Arabian Nights_, and they are also called “zinj” “zenj”—an Ethiopian nation of the country known to us as Zangībār. (See Lane’s _1001 Nights_: “Abū Muhammad the Lazy,” chap. xiv, text, p. 413, note 5.)—Zengī signifies “black,” and _bār_, country or territory: Zangībār, “the country of blacks.”

_Page 57._ The reader can hardly fail to observe very considerable indistinctness (to say the least) in the narrative of the incidents which immediately follow the return of the King of Yemen and his slave Abraha to the capital. We are told, “_they_ then returned to the city; and after some time had elapsed, _having gone on board a vessel_,” &c.; from which it may be naturally supposed that Abraha and the King were still in company, although no mention is made of Abraha when the vessel went to pieces. He turns up, however, very oddly, at page 59: “It happened that Abraha, who had been the King of Yemen’s slave, was standing near this wall, but his former master did not recognise him, as they had been separated for some time, _Abraha having found means to return to Zangībār, his native country_.” These last words, in italics, seem to represent a passage, which the translator has strangely omitted in its proper place, explaining the cause of the King of Yemen’s undertaking a voyage by sea. The following is a translation of the events which occurred after “they returned to the city” (p. 57), according to the lithographed text:

A few days having elapsed, the King continued to be satisfied with Abraha.—To return to the story.[53] Ever since Abraha had been absent from his father, messengers had been despatched in every direction, and they had pursued [to] such [an extent] research and inquiry, that it became known to them that Abraha was in Yemen, and in the service of the King. The Shāh of Zangībār was overjoyed, and took counsel of the Vizier, saying, “What is the prudent plan [or proper policy—_tadbīr_] in this affair?” The Vizier replied: “If the report should reach the King of Yemen that he [Abraha] is the son of the Shāh of Zangibār, the affair would be difficult.” In a word, this conversation resulted in this resolve, that they should send an intelligent person to bring back Abraha. This individual having turned his face towards Yemen, arrived in the capital. He employed considerable exertions in search of Abraha. When he happened to meet with him, and the Khōja[54] explained the cause of his coming to Yemen, they both agreed to sally forth at once from the city; and as soon as they were outside they set their faces in the direction of Zangībār. Abraha had arrived only a short time near his father, when the King of Yemen was informed of the departure of Abraha, and he became morosely pensive, and could take no rest. One day he commanded they should equip vessels, [as] he wished to pass over the sea for the purpose of being free from anxiety [or, of enjoying social intercourse]. When he was aboard the ship, and at some distance from land, a hurricane sprang up suddenly, and shivered the vessel to pieces. A portion of a plank was thrown against the King of Yemen. Six days and nights he floated over the surface of the sea, until he was cast ashore on the territory of Zangistān;[55] [certain] pearl-divers saw him; they approached near him; they spoke a few words to him; he gave no response—he was senseless. They sprinkled over his throat [and neck] a quantity of oil of balsam; he opened his eyes, and his speech came back to him. He asked them: “What territory is this?” The divers replied: “This territory is Zangistān.” He then asked: “How far is it to the capital?” They answered: “Four parasangs.”[56] The King of Yemen proceeded onwards, until the hour of evening prayer, when he entered the city.

Manuscripts of the _Bakhtyār Nāma_ vary so much in detail that probably no two are exactly the same. Those used by M. Lescallier would appear to have been more diffuse than the lithographed text of 1839. According to his rendering, after the King of Zangībār’s messenger had been some time in Yemen, “he chose a fitting occasion and place to see Abraha, and converse with him. He spoke to him of his country, of his father, and of the love which he had for his dear son, like that which Jacob bore to his beloved son, Joseph.[57] Abraha, hearing news of his country and his father, felt his sensibility re-awaken; his eyes shed gentle tears, like the showers of spring, and he spoke these words, interrupted by sobs: ‘Whence come you, my dear sir? How and for what purpose are you arrived in this country?’ The messenger then confided to him the secret reason of his journey,[58] undertaken for the sole purpose of bringing him back to his father. Abraha asked him urgently to take him away from that town. The messenger, who was a very intelligent and clever man, took his measures and time so well that he carried off Abraha, and made him start with him for that capital, and they arrived without accident at Zangībār. As soon as they were near the outskirts of the capital of Zangībār, the King, being informed of the arrival of his son, sent some people to meet him, and caused him to be escorted with pomp, and he received him with demonstrations of the greatest joy.”

According to M. Cazotte’s rendering (_King Bohetzad_, &c.) of this story, under the rather misleading title of “Baharkan, or the Intemperate Man,” Abraha was not a slave but an officer, and his name was Tirkan. “He was,” we read, “a young prince who had fled from his father’s court in order to escape the punishment of a fault which he had committed. After having wandered unknown from country to country, he at length settled at the Court of King Baharkan, where he obtained employment. He still remained there some time after the accident which had befallen him [to wit, the accident to the King’s ear]. But his father, having discovered the place of his retreat, sent him his pardon, and conjured him to return to him. He did this in such affectionate and paternal terms that Tirkan, trusting in his father’s goodness, immediately departed. His hopes were not deceived, and he was re-established in all his rights.” The sequel agrees for the most part with that of the Persian text; only we are told that the King’s object in going over sea was pearl-fishing for amusement.

_Page 57._ “Sheltered himself under the shade (_sāyabān_) of a merchant’s house.”—_Sāyabān_, a canopy; an umbrella; a shade formed by foliage, or any other projection. Against the front of shops in Eastern countries is a raised bench, or rather a stone or brick platform (_mastaba_), two feet from the ground, upon which the tradesman sits, and a little above it is a covering (_sakīfat_) of matting; and sometimes planks supported by beams, affording shelter and shade. (See Lane’s _Modern Egyptians_, vol. ii, pp. 9, 10.)

_Page 58._ “He was sent to prison”—Lescallier’s rendering adds, “where he passed his time praising God, and submitting to His will.”

_Page 59._ “He gave public audience to persons of all ranks” _khāss o `amin_—noble and plebeian.

_Page 59._ “If I succeed in hitting that crow (properly, _raven_),” &c.—The superstitious belief in divination from the flight, motions, and positions of birds (_ez-zijr_, _el-īyafa_), which prevailed so much among the Arabs at the time when the Prophet began his great mission, although it is denounced by the Kur’ān, prevails even now in the East, where the raven is called the “Father of Omens” (_Abū-Zājir_), and the “Bird of Separation” (_ghurabi-’l-bain_); its appearance betokening a change of circumstances, which for the King of Yemen denoted liberty from a state of slavery. According to an author cited by Bochart (_Hier._ i, p. 20), Noah sent forth from the ark a raven, to observe whether the water had abated, and it did not return, hence it is called “the bird of separation.” In the _Gulistān_, iv, 12, an execrable voice is compared to the croak of the Raven of Separation, or, as some render the passage, “the raven of ill omen” (see Lane’s Arabic Lexicon, vol. i). Ravens in many countries have been considered as birds of ill omen. Thus, in Dryden’s _Virgil_:

The hoarse raven on the blasted bough,
By croaking to the left, presaged the coming blow;

and in Gay’s _Fables_ (xxxvii, 27, 28):

That raven on yon left-hand oak,
Curse on his ill-betiding croak.

_Page 59._ “The law of retaliation, which would not award a head for an ear.”—In accordance with the text of the Kur’ān, v, 49: “We have therein commanded them that they should give life for life, and eye for eye, and _ear for ear_, and tooth for tooth; and that wounds should also be punished by retaliation,” &c. (compare Exod. xxi, 24; Levit. xxiv, 20; Deut. xix, 21). For unintentional mutilation the Muhammadan law permits the payment of half the price of blood, as for homicide; for a member of which there are two, from the rich man 500 dīnars (£250), from the less opulent 6000 direms (£150). The delinquent in the present instance, being penniless, the King of Zangībār had no choice but to exact “ear for ear.” (Sale’s _Kur’ān_, Prel. Disc., sec. vi; Mills’ _History of Muhammedanism_, ed. 1817, pp. 319, 320.)

NOTES ON CHAPTER VI.

_Page 62._ “Represented the danger of letting an enemy live when in one’s power.”—This unmerciful suggestion[59] ill accords with the humane precept of Hūshung, an early King of Persia, surnamed Pīshdād (the First Distributor of Justice), and dictated by him to Tahmuras, the heir apparent: “The sovereign extends the skirt of pardon and the robe of clemency over those who have erred; ... acting according to this injunction: When thou hast prevailed over thy foe, pardon him, in gratitude for the power obtained over him. ‘Bind him,’ says the poet, ‘with the chains of forgiveness, that he may become your slave.’”

_Page 62._ “Advised him not to be precipitate.”—With more eloquence does a falsely accused lady plead to her husband in the _Anvār-i Suhailī_ (p. 243 of Eastwick’s translation): “The wise think deliberation requisite in all affairs, especially in shedding blood, since if it be necessary to take life, the opportunity of doing so is left; and if—which God forbid!—they should, through precipitation, put an innocent person to death, and it should afterwards be known that he did not deserve to be slain, the remedy would be beyond the circle of possibility, and the punishment thereof would hang to all eternity on the neck of the guilty party.” And elsewhere in the same charming work we are told that “the heart of a King ought to be like the billowy sea, so as not to be discoloured by the dirt and rubbish of calumny; and the centre of his clemency should be like the stately mountain, firm in a position of stability, so that the furious wind of anger cannot move it.”

_Page 62._ King Dādīn, or Dādiyān—a title formerly given to the Persian Kings of the first, or Pīshdādian, dynasty, and in a later age assumed also by the Princes of Mingrelia. (_Chardin_, vol. i, p. 82.)

_Page 62._ Kārdār signifies busy, a money lender, a prime minister, and is a compound of _kār_, work, occupation, and _dār_, possessing, lord, master.—Kāmgār is composed of _kām_, desire, wish, and _gār_, a particle which, subjoined to a word, denotes agency.

_Page 63._ “Having reason to believe her father would not consent to bestow her on him.”—The text runs thus: “He said to himself, ‘Kāmgār is an ascetic (_zāhid_) and a religious man (_pārsā_), and would not give me his daughter.’”

_Page 64._ “Begged permission to inform his daughter”—the text adds, “and, in conformity with the law of Muhammad (_sharī`at_), obtain her consent.”—This is a proof that the lady had attained marriageable age, as the consent of a girl not arrived at the age of puberty is not required.

_Page 64._ “Related to her all that had passed.”—The text: “The daughter said, ‘I am not worthy of the King; besides, once in the King’s service, I cannot [devote myself to the] worship [of] God the Most High; and for the least fault the King would punish me.’”

_Page 65._ “Sent her to his palace (_sarāy-harem_), and appointed servants—_besides a cook_.” Here there is a very remarkable difference between Ouseley’s and the lithographed texts, and between these again and Lescallier and Habicht. This is what the lithographed text says: “And in the service _i.e._ [of the late vizier Kāmgār] there was a good man (_khayyir_) who had acted as a spiritual guide (_buzurg_), whom the King did not admit in the harem. This holy person, who had been constantly at the side of the daughter, wrote a letter [to this effect]: ‘Do thou confirm the reward of service, and speak to the King about my wish [in order] that he may admit me into thy service, [seeing] that I should perish from disappointment.’ ... (the King gave his consent) ... and the daughter continued her devotions in peace and tranquillity.” Thus, in place of a _cook_, as in our version, the lithographed text has, more appropriately, _a holy man_: but in Lescallier and in Habicht, this person is, strange to say, a jester, or merry-andrew—_bouffon_—_lustigmacher!_—while in Cazotte’s rendering of the Arabic version, and in the Turkī version of this story (a translation of which is appended to the present notes), he is simply described as a _slave_.

_Page 66._ Discovered her sitting alone on the balcony (_bālkhāna_), viz. a latticed window on the _upper storey_ of the harem—hence our word “balcony.”

_Page 66._ “Kārdār, fearing lest she should relate to the King what had passed,” &c.—Although many Oriental stories—Indian, Persian, Arabian—are designed to show the malice and craft of women, there are yet some, and the present tale is an example, in which men, when foiled in their attempts upon the chastity of women, are exhibited as equally adroit and unscrupulous. Another instance occurs in the _Anvar-iSuhailī_, ii, 10, where a beautiful and virtuous wife is described in verses which are also applicable to the Vizier’s daughter of our story:

To worldly matters she had closed her eye,
Sate curtained by the veil of chastity;
E’en to the glass her form would not display,
And from her shadow sank, alarmed, away.

This lady’s husband had a slave, who cast the eye of desire upon her, and “when he despaired of success, as is the wont of evil men, he determined to assail her reputation, and employ a stratagem to secure her disgrace.” So he buys two parrots, and teaches them to say that the lady had been unfaithful to her husband; but he fails in his diabolical scheme.

_Page 67._ “He addressed her with the usual salutation, which she returned.”—That is: _Es-salāmu `alaykum_, “Peace be on you!” to which she replied: _`Alaykum es-salām_. But the lady devotee would probably “salute with a better salutation,” in accordance with the Kur’ān, iv, 88: “When ye are saluted with a salutation, salute the person with a better salutation, or at least, return the same.” “A better salutation”—that is, by adding _rahmatu-`llāhi wa barakātuh_, “and the mercy of God and His blessings!” In saluting a co-religionist, this addition is obligatory.

_Page 67._ “It was a maxim of the wise men: When you have killed the serpent, you should also kill its young.”—Can this “maxim” have been borrowed from Sa`di, who says (_Gulistān_, i, 4): “To extinguish a fire and leave the embers, or to kill a viper and preserve its young, is not the act of wise men?” If so, this work, in its present form, must have been composed after the 13th century.

_Page 68._ “Ordered the unfortunate cook to be instantly cut in two.”—A horrible mode of putting a culprit to death, and peculiar, it is said, to the criminal law of Persia.

_Page 69._ “Being dissuaded by an attendant from killing a woman.”—The Persians seldom put women to death, as the shedding of their blood is supposed to bring misfortune on the country. But when found guilty and condemned, the injunction prescribed by the law, of another man’s wife never being seen unveiled, is strictly respected, by conducting the culprit, enveloped in the veil habitually worn by her, to the summit of a lofty tower, and throwing her thence headlong.

_Page 68._ “Was turned into the dreary wilderness.”—In Indian Fairy Tales daughters who offend their fathers are frequently sent into the desert. For instance, in the Romance of the Four Dervishes (the Hindū version, _Bāgh o Bahār_), a king has seven daughters, and one day he impiously tells them that all their good fortune depends upon his life. Six of them profess to agree with him in this sentiment; but the seventh, and youngest, who has more sense and judgment than the others, dissents, saying that the destinies of every one are with oneself. The king, on hearing this, became angry. The reply displeased him highly, and he said in wrath: “What great words issue from a little mouth! Now let this be your punishment, that you strip off whatever jewels she has on her hands and feet, and let her be placed in a litter and set down in a wilderness, where no human traces are found; then shall we see what is written in her destinies.” She is accordingly carried into the desert, where she offers up fervent prayers to Heaven, and falls asleep. In this way, praying and sleeping, she passed three days without food or water, until on the fourth day a hermit appears, who relieves her wants, and, to be brief, she discovers a hidden treasure, causes a magnificent palace to be erected, and sends for her parents and sisters, who are naturally confounded at her good fortune. In like manner, Husn Bānū, in the _Romance of Hatim Ta`ī_, having justly accused a Dervish, who was a favourite of the King, of robbing her house, is expelled from the city, and in the desert she discovers, through a dream, the hidden treasure of the Seven Regions, underneath a tree.

_Page 68._ “Resigned herself to the will of Providence, conscious of her own innocence.”—The text states that she said this prayer: “O God! Creator! thou knowest I am innocent; if Thou hast foreordained[60] that I should die, vouchsafe at least a little water [inflow] in my mouth, that my tongue may testify to thine incomparable unity.” The text also says that when the fountain of water sprang up, she “performed the ablution” (prescribed by the Kur’ān), and “stood up in prayer.” This seems to imply that she turned her face towards the _Kibla_ (that is, Mecca), and went through the different postures of prayer.—See Lane’s _Modern Egyptians_, chapter iii.

_Page 69._ “The camel placed himself so as to afford her a shade from the sunbeams.”—Although our author was, no doubt, a pious believer in this miracle, including the part that was played in it by the camel, yet it can only appear ludicrous to Europeans, and those who have had the good fortune to read, either in the original Telūgū, or in Babington’s translation, the _Adventures of the Gūrū Paramartan_, will probably be reminded by this of the story of the Gūrū, who, having hired an ox to ride upon, reposed under the shade of the animal during the heat of the day, and the owner demanded additional pay, alleging that he did not lend his ox as an umbrella against the sun’s rays. The case was referred to the head-man of a village, who, after relating a somewhat similar case within his own experience, decided as follows: “For journeying hither on the ox, the proper hire is money; and for remaining in the ox’s shadow, the _shadow of the hire-money_ is sufficient.”[61]

_Page 69._ “It happened that one of the King’s camel-keepers,” &c.—According to the text, “had lost a _katar_ of camels,” that is, several linked together, and following one another.

_Page 69._ “At his request she prayed for the recovery of the camels.”—The text says: “The daughter, having raised her face towards heaven, said, ‘O God! Creator! thou knowest that these camels are not his own, and that he is a hired labourer (_muzdar_), but now is without resource and afflicted, through thy loving kindness and bounty, [be pleased to] restore to him the camels.’” Muhammadans often implore the intercession of saints (and the cameleer, of course, believed the lady to be nothing short of a saint), both living and dead, on their behalf. To be worthy of the dignity of a true saint requires self-denial, mortification, a perfect reliance on Providence, and the keeping aloof from the habitations of men; above all, that, while professing the unity of God (_lā ilāha illa-’llāh_), no living creature should see their lips move. Lane, in a note to his translation of the _Thousand and One Nights_ (ch. xi, n. 37) states that “the Sayyida Nafīsa, the great-grandaughter of the Imām El-Hasan, was a very celebrated saint; and many miracles are related to have been performed by her. Her tomb, which is greatly venerated, is in a mosque in the southern suburb of Cairo.”

_Page 70._ “He would provide for her a retired apartment,” &c.—The text reads: “I will prepare an oratory (_sawma`ā_), and make ready for thy sake the means (_asbāb_: furniture) for devotion (_asbāb-i-`ībāda_);” such as a prayer-carpet (_sajjāda_), having a mark upon it pointing towards Mecca, the _Kibla_ of Muslims, or point to which they direct their faces in saying their prayers, as Jerusalem is that of the Jews and Christians: within the mosque it is shown by a niche, and is called _El-Mihrāb_. The hypocritical saint is thus described by Sa`dī (_Gulistān_ ii, 17):

Devotees who fix their eyes on the world,
Say their prayers with their backs to the Kibla.

There should also be a fountain of running water (for ceremonial ablution) and a copy of the Kur’ān.

_Page 70._ “Arrived at the city at the time of evening prayer.”—It is incumbent on every good Muslim (says Dr Forbes, in a note to his translation of _Bāgh o Bahār_) to pray five times in the 24 hours. The stated periods are rather capriciously settled: (1) The morning prayer is to be repeated between daybreak and sunrise; (2) The prayer of noon, when the sun shows a sensible declination from the meridian; (3) afternoon prayer, when the sun is so near the horizon that the shadow of a perpendicular object is twice its length; (4) evening prayer, between sunset and close on twilight; (5) the prayer of night, any time during darkness.

_Page 71._ “She begged that he would conceal himself in the apartment whilst she should converse with Kārdār.”—This, it seems to me, is quite after the manner of a modern European play or novel—when the “villain” is made to unmask himself, by a pious _ruse_ of “injured innocence.” I cannot call to mind a similar scene in any other Eastern romance which I have read.

_Page 72._ “Concealed behind the hangings” (see also p. 67, line 8 from foot).—The use of hangings, pictured tapestry, and various coloured carpets has been from the earliest ages prevalent in the East. We read in the Book of Esther, chapter i, &c., of the magnificence of a Persian monarch, who made a feast unto his nobles of Persia and Media, and in his palace had hangings, white, green, and red, fastened with purple cords to silver rings, with beds of gold and silver; and Plutarch, in Themistocles, speaks of the rich Persian carpets, with highly-coloured figures; and in his life of Cato the Censor, he mentions some Babylonian tapestry sent to Rome as a present. The manufacture passed in very early times from Asia into Greece, part of which, indeed, was itself Asiatic. Iris found Helen employed on figured tapestry, and the web of Penelope is sufficiently known (_Iliad iii_).—Sir William Ouseley’s _Persian Miscellanies_.

* * * * *

This story of King Dādīn and his Two Viziers is, perhaps, the best of the whole series; and it will doubtless interest the general reader to see a Turkī version of it, according to a unique manuscript, preserved in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, written, in 1434, in the Uygur language and characters,[62] of which mention is made in the Second Section of the INTRODUCTION. M. Jaubert, who wrote an account of this manuscript in the _Journal Asiatique_, tom. x, 1827, remarks, that, “apart from the interest which the writing and phraseology of the work might possess for those who study the history of languages, it is rather curious for the history of manners to see how a Tātār translator sets to work to bring within the range of his readers stories embellished in the original with descriptions and images familiar, doubtless, to a learned and refined nation like the Persians, but foreign to shepherds.” The following rendering of M. Jaubert’s translation of the Turkī version of “King Dādīn and his Two Viziers” is, I believe, the first that has yet appeared in English.

HISTORY OF THE FIFTH DAY.

One of the Vezīrs advanced and said: “O King! command that they put this slave to death, for all the people murmur, indignant at his crime, and we ourselves are grieved at such a rumour.” Then the King commanded, and they made Bakhtyār approach, and he said to him: “Slave, wherefore madest thou that attempt? Of a truth I will not spare thee this day.” Bakhtyār replied: “O King, I am innocent, and I look from the Divine pity that thou deliver me from these bonds, in like manner as the guiltless bride of the King Dādīn was delivered from hers.” The King said: “What befell that woman?”

There was in Tātāristan (answered Bakhtyār), a King who had a beautiful wife and two Vezīrs.[63] One of these Vezīrs was called Kerdār, the other Kārdān.[64] Kerdār was father of a maiden of beauty so perfect that one could not find in the whole world anything to vie with it; and she was so pious that not only did she recite the Kur’ān all day, but she passed the nights in prayer. Impressed by the greatness of her devotion, King Dādīn became enamoured of this maiden without having seen her, and he demanded her of her father in marriage, and he promised to advise her. He did so, but she replied: “Passing my life in prayer, I cannot agree to become a great lady, and my ambition is limited to the service of God.” The Vezīr reported these words to the King, who, in the greatness of his anger, put him to death. Then he caused the maiden to be brought to the palace, and he said to her: “I desire to raise thee to the dignity of a princess; during the day thou shalt pray to God here, during the night thou shalt serve me.” Just then there arrived a courier, bearing important letters. The King ordered the maiden to pray for him; he confided the care of his city to his Vezīr Kārdān; and having mounted his horse, with a party of his nobles, went forth.

One day, when the Vezīr was repeating his prayers, his eyes fell upon the maiden. Dazzled by the splendour of her beauty, he became suddenly enamoured of her, and approached her and said: “O maiden, I am enamoured of thee; if thou fearest God have pity on my sufferings and reward my love!” The lady replied: “The King, in his trust, has left thee in his house, and thou seekest to make me betray him! Take heed that thou commit not this evil deed;—suffer not thyself to be taken in the snares of Satan for a woman, and think not that all of my sex are in nature alike. I pardon thee thy sin—beware of rushing on thy ruin.” When the Vezīr heard these words he perceived that he could not succeed in his design. Then he repented of his conduct, and said within himself: “If the King learns of this event, he will kill me; so let me invent some stratagem which will bring about the maiden’s ruin instead of mine.”

Now the Vezīr, father of the lady, had brought from his native country a slave who had been brought up with her, and in whose company she was accustomed to live.[65] When the King had finished his campaign, and returned [to his capital], he called the Vezīr before him, and asked of all that had happened during his absence, and particularly about the lady. The Vezīr said: “O King! I have something to say, and yet I dare not.” “Speak,” replied the King: “I know that thou art a good and faithful minister, and that thou canst not betray the truth.” Then the Vezīr replied: “Some one told me that a slave, brought from his native country by the father of that maiden, had had guilty connection with her. At first I regarded this imputation as a slander. ‘What is that?’ said I to myself. ‘The King loves that lady, so that with her the sorrows of this world seem light to him. Besides, if the fault had been committed, there would be witnesses—the thing cannot be.’ One day, however, an [other] individual sought me out, to bring me to see what was being done by the favourite of the King. I went, I listened, I recognised the maiden’s voice, and that of the slave. She was saying to him: ‘In thus dishonouring me as thou hast done, thou hast put me in danger of perishing like my father, whose death I [involuntarily] caused. I must be thy portion.’ The slave replied: ‘But what is thy intention concerning the King?’ The maiden answered: ‘He must be killed by means of some stratagem; if we work well together we shall succeed in our design. Take thou measures concerning the King;—kill him, for he has slain my father unjustly, and I am bound to take vengeance.’ When I heard these words,” continued the Vezīr, “I felt my body tremble. The reality of the fact was made clear to me, as it was to the person who had informed me. Now it is yours, O King, to know what ought to be done.”

When the King heard this story he was very angry. He caused the slave’s head to be cut off. He called the maiden before him, and asked what words she had used, and cruelly reproached her, for that, after being overwhelmed with honours, she had dared to conceive so guilty a design. She replied: “O King, deign to give full trust to my words, and if thou fearest God, slay me not on the report of my most cruel enemies.” But far from believing her sincerity, the King ordered his favourite to be put to death. Happily, this Prince had a faithful slave, who showed to him how the murder of a woman were a shameful deed; that it was enough to have killed her accomplice; that it were better to banish that unhappy woman to some wilderness far from the dwellings of man, where she must inevitably perish; and that at least by refraining from staining his hands with her blood, he should be doing an action pleasing to God. So the King ordered an old woman to mount the maiden upon a camel, to take her to a lonely desert and leave her there, and this was forthwith done. And so that hapless one was left in the wilderness, with no other aid than the Divine compassion.

This desert lay on the boundaries of the realms of the King of Persia, one of whose cameleers[66] had lost a camel. He was seeking it vainly on every side, when suddenly he perceived a beautiful lady praying to God. Fearing to disturb her, the cameleer waited till she had finished her prayers, when he went up to her, saluted her, and asked her who she was. “I am,” said she, “a poor, weak handmaid of God.” “Who has brought thee here?” continued the cameleer. She replied: “God.” Then the cameleer said within himself: “This lady is indeed favoured with the grace of the Most High.” He said to her: “I am in the service of the King of Persia; if thou desirest, I shall marry thee, and have for thee the greatest regard.” “I cannot consent thereto,” replied she; “but for the love of God, lead me to some inhabited spot, where I may find water, and I will remember thee in my prayers.” The cameleer complied with her request; he mounted the maiden upon his camel, led her to a village, confided her to the care of the head-man of the village till he should return; and set out in quest of the camel he had lost, which he immediately found—a good fortune which he attributed to the maiden’s prayers.

He gave thanks therefor to God, and returned to the King of Persia, to whom he spoke of the maiden’s beauty, piety, and of all the perfections with which she was adorned. “Such a lady,” said the King, “would suit well to be my wife.” Thereupon he mounted his horse, and with a great number of his servants proceeded to the village. When he saw the lady he was filled with admiration, and he said to her: “Maiden, I am the King of Persia; be my bride, and I will care for thee with the greatest of care.” “O King!” replied she, “may the Divine favour increase thy prosperity! Thou possessest a great number of women; and as for me, I have no need of a husband; for the love of God appears to me more desirable than the whole world.” And she continued her prayers. Then the King gave orders that his tents should be erected in that spot, and that they should cut there channels of running water; and he remained there some days. At the end of that time, moved by the sweet words and piety of the maiden, but hurried by the affairs of state, he mounted her in a litter, led her to his capital, gave her apartments in his own kiosk, and having ordered preparations for a brilliant nuptial feast, he married her. After that he gave her great riches, beautiful clothes, many servants, and a splendid palace. One night this lady related her adventures to the King of Persia; and on the morrow that prince assembled a vast army, set out, and took prisoner the King Dādīn, the Vezīr Kārdān, and also the faithful servant to whom the lady owed her life. She called King Dādīn before her, and said to him: “Though I was innocent and true, thou sentest me into a desert to die; but God has had compassion upon me, and has brought thee hither to me, loaded with chains.” Then addressing the Vezīr Kārdān, she said: “How is it that thou hast allowed thyself to be taken in the snare which thou didst prepare for me?” The Vezīr replied: “O maiden! thou wast not guilty, and all that I said was a lie; therefore hath God punished me!” “Praise be to Him!” replied the lady, “for He has granted that I should live, and that people should know my innocence! For the rest, I desire that they who slew my father should receive their due reward.” So the King of Persia ordered the Vezīr to be taken to the same desert whither the maiden had been sent. There he died of hunger and thirst. King Dādīn was beheaded as a punishment for the murder he had committed; and his dominions were given to the faithful servant [whose good advice aided the safety, the innocence, and the triumph of virtue].

NOTES ON CHAPTER VII.

_Page 72._ “Your Majesty can easily put to death a living man, but you cannot restore a dead man to life.”—Here again (see note on page 184) we have what seems to be an instance of borrowing from Sa`dī, who, in his _Gulistān_, viii, maxim 54, thus finely expresses this sentiment (Professor Eastwick’s translation):

’Tis very easy one alive to slay;
Not so to give back life thou tak’st away:
Reason demands that archers patience show,
For shafts once shot return not to the bow.[67]

Were it possible, we might suppose that our English poet Cowley had simply paraphrased these couplets of Sa`dī in the following verses:

Easy it was the living to have slain,
But bring them, if thou canst, to life again:
The arrow’s shot—mark how it cuts the air,
Try now to bring it back, or stay it there:
That way impatience sent it; but thou’lt find
No track of it, alas! is left behind.

_Page 74._ “Women, for their own purposes, often devise falsehoods, and are very expert in artifice and fraud.”—It was a saying of Muhammad that “women are deficient in judgment and religion,” which induces their co-religionists of the other sex to believe that they are more inclined than men to practise whatever is unlawful. When woman was created, the Devil, we are told, was delighted, and said: “Thou art half of my host, and thou art the depositary of my secret, and thou art my arrow, with which I shoot, and miss not.”[68] The Turkish Tales of the Forty Viziers (another romance of the _Sindibād_ cycle—see INTRODUCTION) chiefly refer to the craft and malice of women. In the present story, however, female artifice is not employed for wicked ends.

_Page 74._ “The King of `Irāk.”—There are two `Irāks; one is a division of Arabia to the south of the Tigris and the Euphrates. Towards the north-east it is watered by the branches of the Euphrates, and is consequently fertile and well inhabited, having many cities and towns, of which Basra is the principal; to the south-west it is a barren desert. By Orientals it is called `Irāk `Arabi, to distinguish it from the other `Irāk, (`Irāk `Ajami) a province of Persia, bounded on the north by Ghilān and Mazinderān, on the east by Khurāsān, on the south by Farsistān, and on the west by `Irāk `Arabi. This province contains part of ancient Media and Parthia. It is nearly a hundred and fifty leagues in length, and one hundred and twenty in breadth; partly mountainous and sterile, having vast sandy plains; but the greater part fruitful and populous. Isfahān is the capital.[69] It is of Persian `Irāk that the poet Nizāmī thus speaks:

`Irāk, the delightful, be thy darling,
For great is the fame of its redundancy;
And every rose which enraptureth the soul
Distilleth its balmy drops upon `Irāk!

_Page 74._ Abyssinia, or Habashat (that is, “a mixture,” or “confusion”), forms an extensive country of Eastern Africa, the boundaries of which are not well defined. The natives call their country Manghesta Ityopia, or Kingdom of Ethiopia.

_Page 75._ “When they disclosed the object of their mission, he became angry”—at the presumption of an unbeliever (who attributed partners to God) asking in marriage the daughter of one of the faithful. The conversion of Abyssinia to Christianity was prior to the fourth and continued even as late as the twelfth century. The Coptic patriarch of Cairo is still the nominal head of the Church, but the episcopal office is confined to the Abūnā, the resident head, and author, of the Abyssinian priesthood.—_Gibbon._

_Page 76._ “Caused so much money to be distributed among the soldiers that they were satisfied.”—So says Sa`dī, _Gulistān_ i, 14 (Eastwick’s translation):

Soldiers, from whom the State withholds its gold,
Will from the scimitar their hands withhold:
What valour in war’s ranks will he display,
Whose hand is empty on the reckoning day?

_Page 77._ “The King of `Irāk had some years previously given his daughter in marriage to another man, by whom she had a son.”—This concealment of a former marriage is incomprehensible. Lescallier’s French rendering, made from other Persian texts, gives a different account of this affair: “She had had previously a lover, with whom, _unknown to her father_, she had intimate relations, and had given birth to a beautiful boy, whose education she secretly confided to some trusty servants.” Afterwards the Princess of `Irāk contrived to introduce him to her father, who was so charmed with his beauty, grace of manner, and varied accomplishments, that he at once took him into his service. Habicht’s Breslau edition of the Arabian version agrees with Lescallier on this point. In the version of this story in the _Tūtī Nāma_ (Tales of a Parrot) of Nakshabī,[70] the lady is the daughter of the Emperor of Rūm (see Note, p. 158), and, as in our text, had a son by a former marriage, about whose existence her father charges her not to say a word to her second husband.

_Page 78._ “The name of the boy was Farrukh-zād”—that is, “fortunately-born”; from _farrukh_, happy, fortunate, and _zād_, born.

_Page 81._ “An old woman beheld the Queen, as she sat alone, weeping.”—In Eastern fiction old women—and especially hypocritical devotees—are useful go-betweens for lovers, and excellent, prudent procuresses. In the present case, however, the old woman plays an unusual _rôle_: employing her sage experience and skill in reconciling husband and wife.

_Page 82._ “I have a certain talisman,” &c.—The word _talism_ is not in the lithographed text; the sentence is to this effect: “I have that which is precious, and possesses the same magical power as the precious things of Solomon, written in Greek characters and in the Syrian language”—which means, Syrian words disguised under the letters of the Greek alphabet. Among the Arabs and Persians it is a common belief that Solomon, the son of David, by virtue of a seal-ring (_Muhr-i-Sulaymāni_) sent down from heaven, had unlimited control over the good and evil spirits (_jinn_), and over birds, the winds, and beasts.[71]

The origin of Solomon’s magical signet-ring, which is so often mentioned in Oriental poetry and romance, according to Muslim legends—borrowed or adapted from the Talmudic writers—is as follows: Eight angels appeared to Solomon in a vision, saying that Allah had sent them to surrender to him the power over them and the eight winds at their command. The most exalted of the angels presented him with a jewel with this inscription: _To Allah belong greatness and might_. Whenever he raised the stone towards heaven, they would appear and do his bidding. Next four others appeared, differing from each other in form and name. One resembled an immense whale, another an eagle, the third a lion, and the fourth a serpent. These were lords of all creatures living in the earth and in the water. The angel representing the kingdom of birds gave him a jewel on which was inscribed: _All created things praise the Lord_. An angel then appeared, whose upper part looked like the earth, and the lower like water, having power over both earth and sea, and gave him a jewel with the inscription: _Heaven and Earth are servants of Allah_. A third angel surrendered to him power over the kingdom of spirits, with a jewel on which was inscribed: _There is no God but one, and Muhammad is His Messenger_.[72] Solomon caused the four jewels to be set in a signet-ring, and the first purpose to which he applied its wondrous powers was the subjugation of the demons and jinn—all but the mighty Sakhr, who was concealed in an unknown island of the ocean, and Iblīs (Satan), the monster of all evil spirits, to whom God had promised the most perfect independence till the Day of Judgment.[73] In Oriental fictions the most solemn and binding oath with Fairies is to swear by the Seal of Solomon. Readers familiar with the _Arabian Nights_ will recollect the Story of the Fisherman and the Genie (_jinnī_). A confidence in the virtue of Talismans, whether for the protection of persons, treasures, or cities, may be traced up to the earliest ages, when so many Eastern nations were of the Sabean faith, and adored the “host of heaven,” or the celestial bodies; and notwithstanding the change of religion and the prohibition of magic, even Muhammadans can reconcile to their consciences the preparation of certain amulets, after rules transmitted through the Chaldeans and Nabatheans.[74] The magic of Babylon is frequently alluded to by Muslim writers; the poets speak of the “Babylonian witchery” of a beautiful woman’s eyes; and it is believed that the two wicked angels Harūt and Marūt, mentioned in the Kur’ān (see chap. ii, and Sale’s _note_), are still hanging, head downwards, in a well at Babel, and will instruct any one in magic who is bold enough to go and solicit them. Setting idle legends aside, it is highly probable, as Sir William Ouseley remarks, in his _Persian Miscellanies_, that at Babylon the Persians learnt the arts of magical incantation from the conquered Chaldeans. “Time,” says Dr Jonathan Scott, “has not eradicated in Asia belief in the magical powers of cabalistical characters engraven on gems, or embroidered on standards, or written upon small rolls of paper, which, enclosed in small boxes of gold and silver, and strung on silken cord, are worn round the arm or wrist, and sometimes as a pendant from the neck.”[75] The charms to which the greatest efficacy is ascribed are those consisting of passages of the Kur’ān; and Morier tells that such was Muhammad Riza Bey’s faith in this species of talisman that he always wore the whole of the Kur’ān about his person; half of it tied on one arm, and half on the other, rolled up in small silver cases.[76] Next in estimation as potent charms are passages transcribed from the celebrated _Burda_ (or Mantle-Poem) of El-Busīrī, in praise of the Prophet, written in the 13th century; which are framed and suspended on the walls of rooms, or, in cases, on the person. The whole poem is also recited in times of sickness and during the funeral procession.[77]

_Page 83._ “Scrawled on it some unmeaning characters.”—The word in the text here rendered by “unmeaning” literally signifies “not known,” and should be translated “mysterious.”

_Page 84._ “Desired him to point out the spot where his body lay,” &c.—_ziyārat_, a visit, a pilgrimage. During the period of the great festivals, and also on other occasions, it is customary to visit the tomb of a relation, and place on it the leaves or broken branches of the palm-tree, also sweet-basil and other flowers. On arriving at the tomb the opening chapter of the Kur’ān, and sometimes a longer chapter, the xxxvi, is recited.—See Lane’s _Modern Egyptians_, ii, pp. 209, 241, 253.

NOTES ON CHAPTER VIII.

_Page 86._ “Government resembles a tree, the root of which is legal punishment”—_siyāzat_, that is, discretional punishment, such as the law has not provided, but may be inflicted.—The lithographed text thus proceeds: “And its extremity [_i.e._ of the root] is justice, and its bough, mercy, and its flower, wisdom, and its leaf, liberality, and its fruit, a degree of kindness, and the leaf of every tree, of which the root becomes dry, assumes a yellow [tint], and does not produce fruit. And as the root of government is legal punishment, delay on this point is not permissible; and as in this legal punishment there is postponement, I am apprehensive lest the root of the tree has become dry; after which reparation is impossible.”

_Page 87._ “In case she should give birth to a boy, to call his name Bihrūz”—an appropriate name for a jeweller’s son, since it denotes “a species of blue crystal,” as well as “good day.” The lithographed text adds: “If it should be a daughter, give her a name suitable and proper;” alluding to the privilege accorded to a mother of naming her own daughter; the name of a son is given by the father.

_Page 88._ “The boys had learned to read the Kur’ān” (properly, as I have spelt it in the translation, Qur’ān).—Muslim children are not only taught to read the whole, but commit to memory portions, of the Kur’ān. After learning by heart the first chapter[78]—which is to the Muslim what the Lord’s Prayer is to the Christian—the remaining chapters are learnt in their inverse order, and those who have learnt to repeat the whole of the Kur’ān may then claim the title of _Hāfiz_, or _Hāfizu kalāmi ’llāh_, “rememberer of the Word of God,” or “one who knows God’s Word by heart.”—“Much merit,” says Torrens, “is attributed by the Muslims to recitations of the Kur’ān. On occasions of festivity persons are hired to repeat either the whole or the principal parts of it. These are _fickees_, a term usually applied to schoolmasters by modern Arabs, but signifying, ‘a person learned in the law.’ They know by heart the whole, or particular parts, of the Kur’ān, which each in turn recites. These recitations are introduced among the Egyptians as an entertainment at parties.”[79]

_Page 88._ “Were instructed in the art of penmanship.”—“Beautiful writing,” says Sir John Malcolm, “is considered as a high accomplishment. It is carefully taught in schools, and those who excel in it are almost classed with literary men. They are employed to transcribe copies of books, and some have attained such an eminence in this art that a few lines written by one of these celebrated penmen are often sold for a considerable sum. I have known seven pounds to have been given for four lines written by Dervish Musjīd, a famous Persian scribe.”[80] And a story is told of a celebrated Indian penman, in the course of his walks one day, being solicited for alms by a beggar, “Money,” he replied, “I have not;” but taking his pen and ink from his girdle, he wrote a few words on a small slip of paper, and handed it to the poor man, who received it with expressions of gratitude, and sold it to the first wealthy person he met for a gold mohur—about ten shillings.