How Cæsar made a Talisman and deceived the Envoys of Khusrau Parwíz, and how Kharrád, Son of Barzín, solved the Mystery
When circling Sol grew pale, and in the tower
Of night the stars were stationed, Cæsar bade
His warlocks muse and frame a talisman—
A marvel—somewhere, such as none would know
From real—a woman modest, fair, and seated
In trailing raiment on a goodly throne
With handmaids on both sides of her and slaves
Before her and behind. She was to sit,
That moon-faced one in silence, to appear
A woman weeping, and from time to time
To raise one hand and dash her tears away.
The warlocks, as they were instructed, made
The semblance of a woman with long hair,
And all that from a distance gazed thereon
Took it to be a woman lovelorn, bright,
That sorely wept o'er Christ, her cheeks aflame,
Her lashes like Spring-clouds. When of the adepts
That talisman was set up in its place
One went and said to Cæsar: “We have finished
The matter in accord to what thou badest.”
When he had heard this from the expert, Cæsar
Came from his throne in haste and visited
The talisman. He marvelled at that feat
Of sorcery and sent for Gustaham.
He bounteously rewarded those magicians
With money and with divers other gifts,
Then said to Gustaham: “Famed warrior!
I had a daughter beautiful as Spring:
She grew up to a marriageable age.
I had a kinsman, an aspiring one,
To whom I married her with Christian rites.
I countenanced him unadvisedly,
And sent her to his palace. That youth's soul
Hath gone to Heaven; she is deeply grieved;
Bright day for her is lapis-lazuli;
He said: “I will: it may be I
Shall banish this affection from her breast.”
With cheerful heart and charged with potent words
That chief approached the guileful talisman,
Which bowed to greet him as he neared its throne.
Illustrious Gustaham sat humbly down,
And spake to that sad dame, beginning boldly
With such advice as seemed to him of profit:—
“O daughter born of Cæsar's race!” he said,
“The wise exclaim not at the course of nature:
The flying eagles, lions in the forests,
And fishes in the waters, are not free
From death,” but all his words were wind; no soul,
Or tongue had she but ever and anon
Would dash away the tear-drops from her eyes
As her physician talked. While Gustaham
Was lost in wonder Cæsar summoned him,
And asked: “How didst thou find that child of mine,
Whose pain and mourning cause me this distress?”
He answered: “I advised her much but vainly.”
The following day said Cæsar to Bálwí:—
“Go thou with Andiyán. Shápúr withal,
The nobly born, may help to make my heart
Glad in my daughter. Go to that sorrower,
And speak to her about the famous king.
She that is heaping fire upon my head
May answer thee. Be good enough to aid me
By converse with my mourning child; perchance
In view of your high rank she may accept
Your counsels. Sure I am that she will speak
To-day, and when she maketh fair reply
I shall be freed from this disconsolate,
Who raineth tears of blood upon her breast.”
Then those three noble Persians went to her,
And each one strove, but answer gat they none;
That tongueless dame was mute. The baffled three
Went back to Cæsar, that just judge, and said:—
“We spake and gave advice as best we could,
But there was no improvement.”
“'Tis ill hap
For us,” he said, “to grieve for one in grief.”