*

“Said I:—‘What overlooker's evil eye did light—on those fair gardens bright?—And what dread poisoned desert-blast—of deso­lation drear hath past—to wreck their order, and their beauty to the winds to cast?’

“Then they, ‘O youth!—such evil change, in sooth—awaking in us boundless grief and ruth—too often hath accrued—from Fortune rude—and fickle Fate's undreamed vicissitude.—Heaven is harsh, I ween—yet is not what is heard as what is seen.—Haste thee, and onwards go—that thou may'st see and know;—for to attempt to picture the unseen—is vain, I ween.’”

I turn now to the last of the three Persian prose works of this period which I propose to discuss, I mean the translation The Kalila and Dimna of Naṣru'llah b. al-Ḥamíd. made by Nidhámu'd-Dín Abu'l-Ma'álí Naṣru'lláh b. Muḥammad b. 'Abdu'l-Ḥamíd of 'Abdu'lláh ibnu'l-Muqaffa''s Arabic version of the celebrated Book of Kalíla and Dimna. This translation was made for and dedicated to Bahrám-Sháh of Ghazna, who reigned from A.H. 512 until A.H. 544 or 547 or 548 (= A.D. 1118-50 or 1153-54), * and, as Rieu has shown, * probably after A.H. 539 (A.D. 1144-45). It also, as Rieu points out, is so highly esteemed in Persia that Waṣṣáf, the historian and panegyrist of the Mongols, praises it as a model of eloquence, while the author of the Haft Iqlím says that no Persian prose work was ever so much admired. An excellent lithographed edition appeared at Ṭihrán in A.H. 1305 (end of A.D. 1887 or beginning of 1888), and to this I shall refer when need arises.*

Few books in the world have achieved so great a success as that of Kalíla and Dimna, or have been translated into so many languages. Originally of Indian origin, it was brought to Persia in the sixth century of our era, in the reign of Kisrá Anúshirwán, and translated into Pahlawí; from the Pahlawí version sprung immediately the earlier Syriac and the Arabic versions; and from the Arabic it was rendered into numerous other languages, Eastern and Western. The literary history of Kalílah and Dimnah, or the Fables of Bidpai, is fully given in Keith-Falconer's work, published under this title in 1885 by the University Press, Cambridge; and a table showing the affiliation of the different versions, with their dates, is given on p. lxxxv. All these versions, except the Tibetan, which came immediately from the Sanskrit, are descended from the lost Pahlawí, from which the old Syriac version was made about A.D. 570 and the Arabic version of Ibnu'l-Muqaffa' about A.D. 750. The remaining known versions, including the later Syriac (tenth or eleventh century of our era), * are all derived from the Arabic of Ibnu'l-Muqaffa', and comprise Greek, Persian, Hebrew, * Latin, * Spanish, Italian, Slavonic, Turkish, German, English, Danish, Dutch, and French renderings, of which the last, begun by Galland and completed by Cardonne in A.D. 1778, is the latest in point of time. Of the Persian versions, that which we are about to discuss is the oldest extant, though, as we have already seen, the tale had at a much earlier date been versified by the poet Rúdagí. By far the best known Persian version, however, is that made about the end of the fifteenth century of our era by Ḥusayn Wá'idh-i-Káshifí, and entitled Anwár-i-Suhaylí ; from which in turn were derived the third Persian version, known as the 'Iyár-i-Dánish, or “Touchstone of Wisdom,” made by Abu'l-Faḍl for Akbar, and the Turkish Humáyún-náma, or “Royal Book,” made by 'Alí Chelebi for Sulṭán Sulaymán I, both in the sixteenth century of our era.

Although the author of the Anwár-i-Suhaylí ostensibly aimed at simplifying and popularising Naṣru'lláh's earlier ver­sion, his style is in fact much more bombastic and florid. For purposes of comparison, let us take the short apologue of the Fox and the Drum which occurs near the beginning of the chapter of the Lion and the Ox, beginning with a translation of Ibnu'l-Muqaffa''s Arabic text of this tale (p. 106 of the Beyrout edition of 1884):—

“Said Dimna: ‘They allege that a certain fox came to a wood in which was a drum suspended on a tree; and whenever the wind blew on the branches of this tree, it stirred them so that they beat the drum, and there became audible in it a loud and sonorous sound. So the fox directed his steps towards it, because of what he heard of the loudness of its sound. And when he came to it, he found it bulky, and made sure within himself of an abundance of fat and meat. Wherefore he struggled with it until he had split it asunder; but when he perceived it to be hollow, containing naught within it, he said: “I know not whether perchance the feeblest of things be not the loudest in outcry and the greatest in bulk.”’”

Let us now take Naṣru'lláh's version of the same (p. 79 of the Ṭihrán lithographed edition of A.H. 1305):—

“He [Dimna] said: ‘They relate that a fox entered a thicket. There he saw a drum cast down by the side of a tree, and whenever the wind stirred, the branches of the tree reached the drum, and a terrific noise assailed the fox's ears. When the fox saw the bulki­ness of its carcase and heard the majesty of its voice, he greedily imagined that its flesh and skin would prove worthy of the voice. He strove until he had rent it asunder. In fact he found nothing more than skin. Urging the steed of remorse into its course, he said: “I did not realise that wherever there is the greater bulk and the more terrible noise, there is the less profit.”’”

Turning now to the Anwár-i-Suhaylí, we find the story considerably expanded and padded, as follows (pp. 58-59 of the lithographed edition of A.H. 1270):—

“Dimna said: ‘They relate that a fox was passing through a thicket, and was wandering in every direction in hopes of food. [He came at length] to the foot of a tree by the side of which they had hung a drum; and whenever a wind blew, a branch of that tree was stirred and reached the surface of the drum, from which a frightful noise arose. The fox saw beneath the tree a hen, which was driving its beak into the ground in search of food. Crouching in ambush, it prepared to seize it, when suddenly the sound of the drum reached its ears. Looking up, it beheld a very stout body, while its voice sounded terrible. The greed of the fox was stirred, and it reflected within itself that the flesh and skin of this thing should be worthy of its voice. Quitting the ambush of the hen, it turned its face towards the tree. The hen, warned of the [impend­ing] catastrophe, fled; while the fox, with a hundred toils, came up to the tree. Much it strove until it had rent asunder the drum, but naught did it find save a skin and a piece of wood. The fire of remorse fell into its heart, and the tears of regret began to pour from its eyes, and it said, “Alas, that for the sake of this bulky carcase, which was all wind, that lawful quarry [i.e., the hen] hath escaped from my hands, while from this form without sense no profit hath accrued to me.

“‘“The drum ever cries, but what good doth it do,
Since its carcase is hollow and empty within?
If wisdom be thine, then the Real pursue,
And be not deceived by a flatulent skin.”’”

In this particular instance the Anwár-i-Suhaylí version, though considerably expanded, not to say inflated, is compara­tively faithful to its original; but in general it is full of absurd exaggerations, recondite words, vain epithets, far-fetched com­parisons, and tasteless bombast, and represents to perfection the worst style of those florid writers who flourished under the patronage of the Tímúrids in North-Eastern Persia and Trans-oxiana during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries of our era, and who, unfortunately, passing with Bábar into India, became models and exemplars to the bombast-loving people of that country. This is one and perhaps the chief reason why good and chaste Persian has very rarely been produced or admired in Hindustán, where we find a Baboo Persian precisely similar to the Baboo English which, in the immortal pages of the Biography of Honble. Chief Justice Mookerjee, has afforded us such exquisite material for mirth.

For purposes of comparison I here reproduce the above apologue of the Fox and the Drum from the Latin version of John of Capua, which was made about A.D. 1270 from the earlier Hebrew rendering of the Arabic:—*

“Ait Dimna: ‘Fuit vulpes quidam ambulans versus flumen, circa quod suspensum erat cimbalum in arbore; ventus autem ramos arboris agitabat et propulsabatur cimbalum. Et cum vulpes videret, estimavit esse aliquod pingue animal et plenum carnibus; que cum scinderet ipsum, invenit ipsum concavum et vacuum. Et ait: “Nolo credere res magni corporis et fortis vocis in se habere potentiam,” et abiit in viam suam.’”