Firdausí describes how Dakíkí appeared to him in a dream, and begged that the thousand couplets which he (Dakíkí) had composed might be incorporated in the Sháhnáma. Firdausí accordingly gives Dakíkí's couplets. They deal with the advent of Zarduhsht (Zoroaster), the conversion of Gushtásp, the religious war with Túrán, which ensued, the defeat of Arjásp, king of Túrán, by Asfandiyár, Gushtásp's heroic son, the differences that arise between Asfandiyár and his father, the temporary disgrace and imprisonment of the former, and Arjásp's preparations for a fresh campaign. At the conclusion of Dakíkí's couplets, Firdausí proceeds to criticise them, and then takes up the thread of the story himself. Arjásp again invades Írán, storms Balkh, slays Luhrásp and Zarduhsht, and carries off Asfandiyár's sisters. Gushtásp is forced to appeal for assistance to Asfandiyár, who at first refuses, but finally assents, in order to avenge his brother Farshídward, who has been slain in battle by the Túránians, and on the understanding that his father will resign the throne in his favour. Arjásp is defeated, but Gushtásp refuses to carry out his part of the bargain till Asfandiyár has rescued his sisters from captivity.

§§ 1-26. This passage, with the exception of the preface in § 1 and the postscript in § 26, which were written by Firdausí and will be referred to later, is by another poet—Dakíkí—of whose life, as Professor Nöldeke says,*

we know very little, and nothing with certainty. The name Dakíkí, like Firdausí, is a mere nom de plume. He appears, however, to have flourished during the reign of the Sámánid ruler, Mansur I. (A.D. 961-976), to whom and to his successor, Nuh II. (A.D. 976-997), he wrote eulogies still extant.*

Doubtlessly he was a Persian by birth, and, if we can trust his own statement, a Zoroastrian as well.*

He had a considerable reputation, not undeserved, as a poet in his own day,*

and died, murdered by one of his own slaves, early, it would appear,*

in the reign of Nuh II. The similarity of the work of Dakíkí and Firdausí is remarkable. They use the same metre and pretty much the same vocabulary, have a similar style, and affect the same figures of speech. In fact, it might be maintained that in most of the above respects Firdausí carefully copied his predecessor; but the better opinion seems to be that the features above mentioned were the common property of the poets of the time, and would be used by them as a matter of course when dealing with similar subject-matter. Still it is possible to detect differences and discrepancies in the work of the two poets. With regard to the former, for instance, Professor Nöldeke points out that the presentation is more formal in Dakíkí's hands. When a new hero enters, and when he falls, the account is given in the same manner, almost in the same words, and is not varied as Firdausí knew how to vary such things; and further, that the treatment of the subject-matter is less adroit, Gushtásp, for instance, being repre­sented as twice on the point of joining in the fray and each time easily dissuaded from so doing.*

Again, Dakíkí uses certain words*

that apparently, though this is stated with all reserve, Firdausí does not. With regard to the discrepancies, an attentive reader even of the present translation might note some. For instance, when, in the reign of Kai Khusrau, we heard last of the political relations between Írán and Túrán, the latter, left kingless by the destruction of Afrásiyáb and all his house, was represented as being in a state of complete subjection to the former. Then comes the reign of Luhrásp, in which we hear nothing on the sub­ject, after which, at the beginning of that of Gushtásp, an entirely new political situation is sprung upon us.*

Írán is represented as tributary to Túrán, and the latter is under the rule of a power­ful king. This was all right from Dakíkí's point of view, because he started on that assumption, but it is hard to believe that Firdausí, looking before and after as he must have done, would have ren­dered no explanation of, or made no reference to, the new state of affairs if he had been the author of this part of the poem. Again, in Dakíkí, who doubtlessly follows his authorities, Asfandiyár marries his sister Humái. Firdausí ignores this, and deliberately prefers to make a fine scene of his own less convincing in consequence. Gushtásp, having imprisoned Asfandiyár owing to the charge made against him by the envious Gurazm, is defeated and hardly pressed by Arjásp. He sends Jámásp to persuade Asfandiyár to forget his ill-treatment and furnish much needed help. Jámásp urges various pleas, and among them the captivity among the Turkmans of Asfandiyár's sisters—Humái and Bih Áfríd—but the resentful captive remains obdurate till Jámásp falls back upon the case of Farshídward, who is represented as being the only member of Asfandiyár's family that felt concern for him in his disgrace. The plea of the captivity of Humái—his wife as well as sister—was ready at hand to be put into Jámásp's mouth had Firdausí so desired, but he refrained, and in this portion of the Sháhnáma represented the brother and sister as being wholly indifferent to each other. Again, the formal introduction of Rustam,*

after all that has gone before, might strike the reader as somewhat curious.

If the fact of Dakíkí's authorship had been unknown, it is not impossible that some critic might have based a theory of difference of authorship on some such considerations as those mentioned above; but it would have been sufficient to reply that Firdausí's own style is not uniform throughout the Sháhnáma,*

and that the passage in question reads like a first draft, which, owing to some accident or oversight, had been left unrevised. This is precisely what it is, and for the best of reasons in Dakíkí's case, inasmuch as

“death approaching unexpectedly
Imposed its gloomy helmet on his head,”

as Firdausí put it on another occasion.*

Lack of opportunity for revision, too, is the best answer to Firdausí's somewhat severe criticisms of his predecessor's work.*

Why, then, did he insert it? Several reasons may be given. First, by so doing he paid off his debt:—

“He was my pioneer, and he alone.”*

Secondly, it got Firdausí himself out of a difficulty. The epoch of the advent of Zarduhsht was a dangerous one to treat in those days of fanaticism. The dead poet was beyond the reach of offended Muhammadan orthodoxy, so his work, the insertion of which was justified on the plea of a dream—a portent not lightly to be disregarded in those days—was substituted for what the living poet would have had to write or leave a serious omission in the poem. Thirdly, Firdausí's real opinion of Dakíkí's literary ability was in all probability higher than he thought it politic to accentuate in close proximity to such a dangerous topic. When he wrote the Prelude to the Sháhnáma he expressed himself much more favourably. Fourthly, Dakíkí's alleged inferiority might serve as a foil. If his feeble strain won him honour and emolument from the great, whose praises he sang, how much more should the fluent and refined work of his successor gain substantial recognition.*

Lastly, the ostensible reason after all may have been the real one. To have a vivid dream is not uncommon; to act upon it is rarer no doubt; but instances have been known, and Firdausí's case may be one in point; at all events, he says so. Like other great poets he was, we may assume, highly strung; and Dakíkí's death, its tragic suddenness, and the vista that it opened, cannot fail to have impressed him. Be this as it may, he adopted Dakíkí's literary orphan, but, having provided permanently for it, did not allow it to interfere further with his own poetical progeny. Without dis­paraging Dakíkí, we may congratulate ourselves, on the whole, upon the course that events took. Whatever he may have been, he was not a Firdausí. Apart altogether from the literary side of the question, there must have been a regularity of life, a steadfastness of purpose, and a moral elevation in the latter's case which seem to have been only too lacking in the former's. Had Dakíkí's life been prolonged for a season, he might, unintentionally of course, have played the part of the dog in the manger, obstructing Firdausí without having the needful qualities or opportunities for the accomplishment of a task of such magnitude himself. The two poets, however, par nobile fratrum as they were in genius and in enthusiasm, had one other excellent point in common. They followed their authorities in all essential particulars, and did not invent on their own account. So far as Dakíkí is concerned, this will be shown in what follows.

The Sháhnáma may be described as a great river—the outcome of many tributaries. The greatest of these undoubtedly is the prose compilation of ancient legend known as the Bástán-náma, or Khudai-náma, of which some account has been given already.*

This in its turn had its affluents, some of which we may conceive of as passing into it in their primitive form while others entered it in an already mingled stream. Some affluents again wholly merged and thus lost their independent existence entirely, while others only partially did so and thus preserved their own identity. Of these latter again one at least passed out of sight for a time only to reappear in a somewhat altered but still recognisable form later on. In the interval, however, between its disappearance and reappearance, it is evident that its contents became tinged with that of other sources. The result, as we now possess it, is a little Pahlaví Text known as the Yátkár-i-Zarírán. This gives us a very good notion of what the original affluent must have con­tained, and as it deals with the same matters as are dealt with by Dakíkí in §§ 2-19, we are in a position to check his work. It should be understood clearly that the Yátkár-i-Zarírán was not the actual authority followed by him, but stands collaterally related to the version of the original affluent which, mingled with the Bástán-náma, passed, after further vicissitudes and centuries later, into his hands. The following is a summary of the main points of resemblance and difference between the Yátkár-i-Zarírán and Dakíkí, the former being referred to as Z and the latter as D. First, for the resemblance. Most of the names appear in both, the only difference being that in Z we have some of them in the Pahlaví, and in D all of them in the modern Persian, form. Thus in Z we have Vishtásp and in D Gushtásp, in Z Spand-dát and in D Asfandiyár, in Z Garámík-kart and in D Girámí. In both, Arjásp hears that Gushtásp has adopted the Faith of Zarduhsht, and sends envoys to bid him recant or take the consequences. The envoys' names are Vídrafsh and Nám-khást, son of Hazár, in Z; Bídirafsh and Námkhást, son of Hazárán, in D. In both, Zarír, the captain of the Íránian host, obtains Gushtásp's per­mission to answer Arjásp's letter, and does so, accepting the arbitrament of war; the envoys return to Arjásp, and the monarchs prepare for battle. In both, Gushtásp calls upon Jámásp, his chief minister, to foretell the issue of the coming fight; under protest Jámásp does so, and the king is so perturbed that he announces his intention of not allowing his nearest and dearest to go upon the battlefield; but when Jámásp points out the ills which in that event will befall Írán, he resigns himself to the inevitable. In both, Arjásp and Gushtásp take up their posts of survey, and the fight begins; Zarír displays great valour; Arjásp in alarm offers his daughter's hand and high office to any one who will fight Zarír; Bídirafsh volunteers, and kills Zarír from behind. In both, Gushtásp on the hill-top forebodes the death of Zarír, and offers his daughter Humái in marriage to any one that will avenge him; Zarír's son (Bastvar in Z, Nastúr in D)*

obtains a steed from the master of the horse, goes forth to the battlefield, finds his father lying dead, laments over him, fights and returns to Gushtásp, who equips and sends him forth again. In both, he fights so bravely that Arjásp compares him to Zarír, dispatches Bídirafsh to encounter him, and Bídirafsh is slain. In both, Asfandiyár and Nastúr totally defeat the enemy, and Arjásp gets back to his own realm.

In addition to these general points of resemblance, there are others in matters of detail, as where, both in Z and D, Girámí is represented as fighting while holding the royal standard between his teeth, but these need not detain us. It remains to point out the difference. In Z Arjásp is the ruler of the Khyóns;*

in D of the Turkmans and of Chin. In D the war begins with Gush-tásp's refusal, prompted by Zarduhsht, to continue the payment of tribute to Arjásp. This is not in Z. Except for the mention of the death of Zarír, and the defeat of Arjásp by Asfandiyár, Jámásp's prophecy differs in Z and D. In Z Zarír begins the battle; in D there is fighting for two weeks, during which several of Gushtásp's sons distinguish themselves, and are slain, before Zarír takes the field. In D Asfandiyár hears of Zarir's death. He also hears his father swearing to surrender the crown to him if the Turkmans are defeated—an important addition, and the keynote of the whole reign. In D it is Asfandiyár, and not Nastúr, that kills Bídirafsh. In Z all the Khyóns are slain with the exception of Arjásp himself, whom Spand-dát takes prisoner, mutilates, and sends back on a docked ass to Túrán. In D Asfandiyár makes a great slaughter, puts Arjásp to flight, and gives quarter to the rest of the Turkman host. In general, we may say, Z is on a much smaller scale than D, by whom letters, speeches, and descriptions of battles are given at much greater length. The differences in matters of detail also are important and suggestive. For instance, in Z Jámásp, after prophesying that Zarír will be killed by Vídrafsh, adds that Nám-khást will slay Pát-khusrau, another brother, and Frashókart, a son, of Gushtásp's, and further, that twenty-two of his other sons and brothers will perish. In the account of the actual fighting, however, only the death of Zarír is recorded. In D, though all reference to Pát-khusrau and Frashókart is omitted, Jámásp's prophecy is considerably expanded. He tells of the prowess and death of three of Gushtásp's sons—Ardshír, Shídasp, and Nívzár—and of his own son Girámí, who does not die in Z, as well as of the success of Zarír's son Nastúr, before dealing with Zarír himself. All these heroes are mentioned again in the description of the fight, and mostly at greater length than in the prophecy; while the exploits of another of Gushtásp's sons—Shírú —are commemorated between those of Ardshír and Shídasp. It seems, therefore, that fragments of another legend, and those not the same fragments, must have found their way by different routes both into Z and D. That legend must have been one comme­morating collectively and in detail the prowess of the Íránian heroes, especially those of the royal house, in the War of the Religion. This is the more likely because in the circumstances they would be regarded as martyrs and confessors of the Faith. In addition to a collective commemoration, some of the more important of these heroes must have had their own separate náma or legend. Even if Z were not extant, we should be justified in assuming the existence of such a náma in Zarír's case, and this must have had at least two branches—a Love-story and a Death-story. The account given of him in the Sháhnáma, and elsewhere under the name of Zariadres,*

is suf­ficient to show this. In later times he became overshadowed partly by Gushtásp and partly by Asfandiyár. The Love-story from which he was ousted by Gushtásp will be found in the reign of Luhrásp.*

As regards the Death-story, even in Z we find Spand-dát already dominant, and in D he is still more so. He and Jámásp are associated with Zarír in the reply to Arjásp's letter, the promise of bestowing the kingship upon him is made by Gushtásp, and it is he, and not Nastúr, who avenges Zarír. To account for this predominance, therefore, we must assume still another source—an Asfandiyár-náma, or, as it would be called in Pahlaví, a Spand-dát-náma—with at least three branches, all represented in their latest forms in the Sháhnáma. To sum up and illustrate what has been said above, a diagram is appended, which, however, in view of the ravages wrought by time, must be regarded as somewhat theoretical.*

>graphic<

§ 3. For Zarduhsht (Zoroaster) see p. 13 seq. Whether the plant­ing of a cypress at Kishmar by him was an actual fact, or whether it is an instance of a people being misled by one of their own metaphors, it is impossible to say. To plant a tree to comme­morate some important event is not unusual. Metaphorically to plant a tree, in the sense of instituting some new custom or making a new departure in policy, etc., is common enough in the Sháhnáma. We have an instance at the beginning of this section. At all events, the Cypress of Kishmar rivals Gushtásp's Black Horse*

in fame, and, after living for some fourteen centuries and a half, is said to have been cut down by the orders of the Khalífa Mutawakkal (A.D. 846-860). The following is the account of it given in the Dabistán:—“The professors of the excellent faith and the Moslem historians agree, that in … Kashmar … a dependency of Naishapur, there was formerly a cypress planted by Zardusht for king Gushtasp, the like of which was never seen before or since, for beauty, height, or straightness: mention of this tree having been made at the court of Mutawakkal when he was engaged in building the Sarman raï, or Samarah palace in the Jáafriyah, the Khalif felt a great desire to behold it: and as it was not in his power to go to Khorasan, he wrote to Abdallah Táhir Zavalimin, ‘possessor of happiness,’ to have the tree cut down, fastened on rollers, and sent to Baghdád. When intelli­gence of this came to the people of the district and the inhabi­tants of Khorasan, they assembled at the foot of the tree, im­ploring for mercy with tears and lamentations, and exhibiting a scene of general desolation. The professors of the excellent faith offered the governor fifty thousand dinars to spare the tree, but the offer was refused. When the cypress was felled, it caused great detriment to the buildings and water-courses of the country; the birds of different kinds which had built their nests on it issued forth in such countless myriads as to darken the air, screaming out in agony with various tones of distress: the very oxen, sheep, and other animals which reposed under its sheltering shade, commenced such piteous moans of woe that it was impossible to listen to them. The expense of conveying the trunk to Baghdad was five hundred thousand dinars; the very branches loaded one thousand and three hundred camels. When the tree had reached one station from the Jáafriah quarter, on that same night, Mutawakkal the Abasside was cut in pieces by his own guards, so that he never beheld the tree.”*

According to other accounts, Zarduhsht brought down two cypress-shoots from Paradise, one of which he planted at Kishmar and the other in the neighbourhood of Tús.*

The statement in the text that Gushtásp raised over the Cypress of Kishmar a lofty palace has been interpreted to mean that he built himself a summer-house among its boughs, or rather that Zarduhsht built it for him: “in hujus Arboris summitate erexit Aestivarium.”*

In villages in Persia at the present day a semi-sacred character is attached to some of the large trees, which have platforms built round them where the villagers sit and smoke in the evenings.*

§ 8. The Kuhram mentioned here and in § 11 is no doubt the same person, though variously described as the brother and son of Arjásp. Firdausí makes him the latter. A Kuhram and an Andarímán appear among the Túránian heroes as far back as the reign of Kai Káús,*

and are among those slain in “The Battle of the Twelve Rukhs.”*

Probably the same legendary characters are intended throughout. Death is no bar to the reappearance of a hero in the Sháhnáma.*

§§ 11-19, 27-32. The War of the Religion between Gushtásp and Arjásp is divided into two campaigns, separated by a con­siderable interval, during part of which Asfandiyár was a prisoner in the stronghold of Gumbadán. In the first campaign the fight­ing consisted of a series of engagements extending over two weeks, and in the end the Íránians were completely victorious, but we have no very definite information as to where it took place. In the Yátkár-i-Zarírán the Íránian reply to Arjásp's ultimatum proposes the neighbourhood of Marv as the meeting-ground, “where there is no high mountain, nor any deep ravine, but where on the plateau of the steppe horses and the valiant men-at-arms can move freely.”*

The Sháhnáma, in partial accord to this, makes Gushtásp advance to the Jíhún (Oxus),*

but we do not hear of the river being crossed by either host. In the second campaign Arjásp, taking advantage of Gushtásp's absence in Sístán, suddenly invaded Írán. Several distinct battles were fought. In the first, outside the walls of Balkh, Luhrásp, the ex-Sháh, was defeated and slain, and the city stormed. In the second, Gushtásp was defeated and beleaguered on a mountain, and in the third he was rescued from his dangerous position by Asfandiyár. It would seem from the Sháhnáma*

that the second and third battles were, like the first, fought in the neighbourhood of Balkh, but other tradition points to a different locality. According to this view, we must imagine the opposing hosts encountering in the region about Nishápúr, Arjásp advancing westward from Balkh and Gushtásp northward from Sístán. The scene of the conflict there­fore would lie about and between the Binalúd and Jagatai ranges, some part of which was known in old times as “the Ridge of Gushtásp”; and there is a tradition that when the Íránians were hard pressed they were helped by a land-slip from one of the adjacent mountains which received in consequence the name of “Madófryát” or “Come-to-help.”*

§ 21. The Gloom, or Land of Darkness, here referred to, will be met with again in the next volume under the reign of Sikandar (Alexander the Great), who entered it in quest of the Water of Life.

§ 24. The stronghold of Gumbadán, in which Asfandiyár was imprisoned, appears to have been situated on a mountain which became known in consequence as Mount Spentó-dáta in the Zan-davasta *

and as Mount Spendyád in the Pahlaví Texts.*

It seems, moreover, to be identical with Mount Sipand—the scene of one of Rustam's youthful exploits*

—and with Mount Sapad which comes into prominence in the story of Farúd.*

Mount Spentó-dáta has been located in the neighbourhood of the Bár Mountains to the north-west of Nishápúr.*

This is, of course, inconsistent with Malcolm's identification of the stronghold on Mount Sipand with the “White Castle,” of which he gives a description already quoted.*

According to Mirkhond Asfandiyár was confined in the fortress of Girdkuh in the district of Rúdbár.*

This was situated in the neighbourhood of Kaswín, and in later times was one of the strongholds of 'Umar Khayyám's contemporary and fellow-student, Hasan Sabbáh, better known as “The Old Man of the Mountain,” to whom we are indebted for the vogue of the word “assassin.”