The fourth and last chapter, which deals with Anwarí's style and language, and with the various European contributions to our knowledge of his work, does not appear to me to need any special remark.
It is now time for us to leave Anwarí, and turn to the consideration of Kháqání, a poet notorious for the difficulty and Kháqání. obscurity of his verse, which, like that of Anwarí, chiefly consists of qaṣídas, though he has one long mathnawí poem, the Tuḥfatu'l-'Iráqayn, or “Gift of the two 'Iráqs,” which describes his pilgrimage to Mecca, and supplies us with a good deal of material for his biography. Here again we have an excellent monograph to guide us, the Mèmoire sur Khâcâni, poëte persan du XIIe siècle, published both in the Journal Asiatique and as a separate reprint (the form in which alone I here cite it) in 1864-65 by Monsieur N. de Khanikof, who truly observes that this poet, “one of the most brilliant figures of the Persian Parnassus,” has transmitted to us an exact portrait of several intimate scenes of the life of his epoch.
From a verse in his celebrated ode to Iṣfahán, it appears that Afḍalu'd-Dín Ibráhím b. 'Alí of Shirwán, originally known as Ḥaqá'iqí but later as Kháqání, was born in A.H. 500 (= A.D. 1106-7), at Ganja, the modern Elizavetpol. * His father 'Alí was a carpenter, and his mother a Nestorian Christian converted to Islám (Tuḥfa, p. 199, l. 6), who appears to have been a cook by profession. His grandfather, as he informs us (Tuḥfa, p. 189, l. 9) with his usual frank prolixity, was a weaver, while his paternal uncle, Mírzá Káfí b. 'Uthmán, to whom he chiefly owed his education, was a medical practitioner. At an early age he was left, whether by the desertion or the death of his father, entirely to the care of his uncle, who for seven years acted “both as nurse and tutor,” and taught him, beyond the rudiments of learning, Arabic, Medicine, Astronomy, and Metaphysics, but not, as we learn, without tears, for his relative, though actuated by the most kindly motives, was, after the fashion of his time and country, little disposed to spoil the child by sparing the rod. When Kháqání was twenty-five years of age his uncle died, being then only in his fortieth year, and thereupon the poet's general education came to an end.
His skill in the art of verse-making, however, he owed to another tutor, to wit, the old poet Abu'l-'Alá of Ganja, one of Abu'l-'Alá of Ganja. the Court-poets of Minúchihr Shirwánsháh, to whom in due course he presented his brilliant pupil, who received permission to change his pen-name from Ḥaqá'iqí to the more royal style and title of Kháqání. He also gave Kháqání his daughter in marriage, a mark of favour which caused some annoyance to another of his pupils, the young poet Falakí of Shirwán, who was, however, finally pacified by a gift of 20,000 dirhams, “the price,” as Abu'l-'Alá remarked, “of fifty Turkish handmaidens infinitely more beautiful than” Kháqání's bride. Shortly after this, however, Abu'l-'Alá, being annoyed, apparently, at certain signs of growing arrogance on Kháqání's part, addressed to him the following insulting verse:—
“My dear Kháqání, skilful though you be
In verse, one little hint I give you free:
Mock not with satire any older poet;
Perhaps he is your sire, though you don't know it!”*
Kháqání, furious, demanded explanations and apologies,
whereupon Abu'l-'Alá renewed his attack in the following
lines:—
*
“O Afḍalu'd-Dín, if the truth I should tell thee,
By thy soul, with thy conduct I'm terribly pained;
They called thee in Shirwán ‘the son of the joiner,’
The name of Kháqání through me hast thou gained.
Much good have I wrought thee, I trained thee and taught
thee,
Enriched thee, and gave thee my daughter to wife:
Why wilt thou neglect me, and fail to respect me,
Who called thee my Master, my son, and my Life?
How often this slander wilt lay to my credit—
Black slander, of which I no memory keep?
What matter if I or another one said it?
What matter if thou wert awake or asleep?”
To this Kháqání replied with a satire of inconceivable coarseness, for which Khanikof, who publishes it with a translation (pp. 16-22), offers an apology, reminding his readers that “it is a cry of anger uttered by a Persian of the twelfth century, an epoch at which, even in Europe, language was not always remarkably chaste.” Not content with accusing his former friend and master of the vilest crimes, Kháqání does not hesitate to bring against him a charge incomparably more dangerous than any suspicion of moral delinquency, declaring roundly that he is a follower of Ḥasan-i-Ṣabbáḥ and a confederate of the Assassins of Alamút. Khanikof is of opinion that this satire was composed, for reasons into which he fully enters, between A.H. 532 and 540 (A.D. 1138-46), and that it was about this time that
“Du solltest mit Pietät, mich däucht,
Behandeln solche Leute;
Der Alte ist dein Vater, vielleicht,
Von mütterlicher Seite.”
Kháqání left his native town and betook himself to the Court
of the then reigning Shirwánsháh, Akhtisán b. Minúchihr,
who had transferred his capital from Garshásp, in Ádhar-
Washaqí dih ki dar bar-am gírad,
Yá wisháqí ki dar bar-ash gíram.“Give me a mantle to embrace me,
Or a fair young slave whom I may embrace.”
The Kháqán thereupon ordered the poet to be put to death; but he, divining the cause of his master's anger, took a fly, cut off its wings, and sent it to the offended prince, saying, “This is the real criminal; I wrote bá (‘with’), not yá (‘or’), but this fly alighted on the single dot of the b while the ink was still wet and converted it into the two-dotted y.” “Such,” adds Dawlatsháh admiringly, “was the magnanimity of the nobles of that time, and such the wit of its poets and men of letters; but now if a poet should ask for two hundredweight of turnips from his patron men would see nothing despicable therein, but would rather be thankful that he should give so little trouble!”
At length Kháqání succeeded in obtaining permission to
undertake the pilgrimage to Mecca, which he had already
performed as a youth (presumably with his uncle) thirty years
before, and we have poems describing his departure from
Shirwán, his passage of the Safíd Rúd, and his view of the
snow-clad mountain of Sabálán. At this time, as Khanikof
shows, he seems to have entertained the idea of visiting
Khurásán, attracted, no doubt, by what he had heard of
Sanjar's liberality towards poets, but there is no evidence that
he ever succeeded in carrying out this plan. On this subject
he has several qaṣídas, one of which (Kulliyyát, vol. i, pp. 440-
Chi sabab súy-i-Khurásán shudan-am na-g'zárand?
'Andalíb-am, bi-gulistán shudan-am na-g'zárand?
“For what reason will they not suffer me to go to Khurásán?
I am a nightingale, yet they will not suffer me to visit the
rose-garden.”
*
Another (loc. cit., pp. 443-445) begins:—
Bi-Khurásán shawam, in sha'a'lláh;
Az rah ásán shawam, in sha'a'lláh.“I will go to Khurásán, if God will;
I will go easily by the road, if God will.”
A third (loc. cit., pp. 526-535) begins:—
Rah rawam, maqṣad-i-imkán bi-Khurásán yábam,
Tishna-am, mashrab-i-iḥsán bi-Khurásán yábam.
“I will go my way, I will find the goal of this world in
Khurásán;
I am thirsty, I will find the source of benefits in Khurásán.”