It is related in historical narratives that once upon a time there lived in Tabaristân two brothers, distinguished by intelligence and wealth. The elder brother had a daughter called Jauhar, who was very beautiful and virtuous, and the younger had twin sons, a good one called Behrûz, and a bad one called Behrâm. Although the two youngsters loved each other, Behrâm was never happy except in the society of vagabonds, with whom he spent nearly all his time; whilst Behrûz was engaged in studying by day, and repeating his lessons in the evening. Both the father and the uncle were delighted with the disposition of this boy, and were grieved at that of Behrâm. According to the requirements of fraternal affection, Behrûz admonished his brother lovingly to walk in the straight path, and said: ‘Our stay in this world is too short for associating with bad persons, who may seduce us to fall into evil ways deserving of eternal punishment:
Distich: If you leave an evil name
You gain not Paradise, nor fame.
‘Be like a rose, my dear brother, which gladdens the hearts of men by its perfume while it lasts, and is remembered with pleasure after it has withered, and the return of whose blossoming is joyfully expected. Be not like a thorn, which pricks whenever it is touched, and lacerates any garment laid on it. People at last throw it into the fire because it injures them; but even if it never lifts its head from the ground men will not love it. Associate not with wicked persons, because their baseness will become engrafted on yourself, and friendship with them implies enmity towards virtuous men, and even towards God. I greatly fear that your fondness of bad company will bring on the same thing which the friendship of the monkey brought upon the gardener.’ Behrâm asked, ‘How was that?’ and Behrûz replied:
‘It is narrated that in Rûm there was a gardener, active and tidy, as well as skilled in horticulture. He kept his garden in excellent condition. The freshness of its trees and flowers was beyond description, its blossoms looked like rubies and pearls, whilst it surpassed the gardens of paradise in beauty. This gardener was on terms of the greatest intimacy with a monkey. Before this, however, he had wounded a serpent, which was constantly seeking an opportunity for revenge. Once the gardener happened to be asleep, and the reptile conceived that the moment for retaliation was at hand; but as luck would have it, the gardener awoke the very moment the serpent was about to sting him and put it to flight. After this event the gardener was always afraid to take rest, and confided his difficulty to the monkey, whose advice he asked. The ape replied as follows: “You need not entertain the least apprehension in this matter, for I promise to keep watch at your pillow whenever you fall asleep, and should the snake venture to approach you, I shall, by throwing a large stone at him, cut his body in twain like a thread of cotton.” The gardener was rejoiced at this proposal, and went to bed in the afternoon, but he will not rise till the last trump of the resurrection awakens him, as will appear from what follows. When the gardener had fallen asleep, flies began to settle on his countenance, but were repeatedly driven away by the monkey. As they, however, returned again and again, the ape flew into a state of rage, and said: “Be easy! I shall do something to you which will prevent your doing any more mischief!” He then snatched up a stone, which he threw with all his might at the head of the gardener. In this manner he drove away the flies, but killed the man, who was not injured by his enemy the serpent, which he dreaded, but by his friend whom he loved:
Distich: A foe who is wise is better than a friend;
Knowledge is good in foe and friend.
‘I have narrated this fable to inform you that the company of fools leads to perdition.’ This parable, however, made no more impression upon Behrâm than the sting of a scorpion upon a rock, and he replied: ‘Dear brother, what boots it as long as I commit no wicked act? But supposing that we perpetrate even acts of burglary and theft, there is no harm as long as the king’s men know nothing, and cannot call us to account.’ Behrûz continued: ‘Simpleton! your wicked companions have so perverted your mind that you are incapable of receiving my advice. You are mistaken in believing the king’s people to be ignorant of your trick. They only respite you awhile, but will suddenly pounce upon you, as the fox did upon the cranes.’ Behrâm asked, ‘How was that?’
Behrûz replied: ‘I heard of a lake, the banks of which were adorned with many odorous plants and flowers, like the heavenly paradise. The surface of its water was dotted by many birds, like the firmament with stars. Near this lake a flock of cranes alighted for the night, because its water was more pure than the minds of intelligent men, and its surface, which was more bright than a polished mirror, would reflect the form of any enemy who might try to approach them. The cranes kept also a watchman whose eyes were strangers to sleep.
Distich: Always awake like lovers’ eyes,
Interchanging secrets with the skies.
‘A very cunning fox happened to obtain information of the presence of the cranes, after whose flesh he hankered. Accordingly he meditated awhile, approached the bank stealthily, and threw a bundle of grass into the water, which gradually floated towards the watchman of the cranes, who, perceiving it, raised an alarm. All the cranes were on their wings in a trice, but finding out their mistake, they said to their guardian: “What is the matter with your eyes, that you are unable to distinguish a bundle of grass from an animal, and are disturbing our sweet slumbers?” The watchman, being ashamed at this reproof, placed the seal of muteness on his mouth. A short time afterwards, however, he again perceived a similar bundle drifting towards him, and awakened his companions, who then reproached him for being a fool, and threatened to deprive him of his situation. Therefore the watchman determined not to disturb the sleepers any more, let happen what might. The fox threw a fresh bundle into the water, and waited for the alarm; but as he heard nothing, he swam to the spot, first of all killed the watchman, who had become careless and drowsy, and then all the other cranes. I have related this parable to let you know that the people of the king are aware of your doings, that they are merely putting you off your guard, and that they will deal with you as the fox has dealt with the cranes.’ The more, however, Behrûz admonished his brother, the more the obstinacy of Behrâm increased.
Some time after this conversation, a friend of Behrâm dug a hole into the dwelling of the magistrate of the town during the night, stealing a great deal of money and goods, which he displayed to his companions, all of whom had congregated in one place, except Behrâm, who happened to be absent on that occasion. When the burglars were captured, judgment was pronounced against them, and all suffered punishment by being hanged on several trees. This event took such effect on Behrâm that he henceforth abstained from associating with dissolute men, and began to tremble whenever he heard even the name of one. After that Behrûz said one day to him: ‘Brother, I thought you would never abandon your criminal friends, because you were so closely allied with them. How did you come to repent of your evil ways?’ Behrâm said: ‘Your question resembles that which the lion put to the fox.’ Behrûz asked how that was [and his brother narrated the following:]
‘A very powerful lion who lived in a desert associated with himself a wolf and a fox. One day the lion amused himself with hunting, and ordered his two companions to do so likewise. They started in various directions, but were again to meet on a certain spot they had agreed upon. When they had terminated their sport, the lion caught an onager, the wolf a fawn, and the fox a hare, and at their meeting again the lion said to the wolf: “Come, divide the prey.” The wolf replied: “The division is already correct: the onager belongs to the king [i.e., lion], the fawn to me, and the hare to the fox.” At these words the lion became so incensed with wrath that he attacked the wolf and tore off his head from his body. Then he said to the fox: “Divide the prey.” The latter replied: “Let his majesty consume the onager for breakfast, the fawn for dinner, and the hare between the two meals by way of luncheon.” The lion asked: “Who has taught thee to make so correct a distribution?” The fox replied: “The severed head of the wolf.”—And I have learned this lesson from the trees on which my friends have been hanged.’
While these events were taking place the uncle of Behrâm and Behrûz one day paid a visit to their father, who was his brother, and spoke privately to him as follows: ‘Life is uncertain, and its duration cannot be relied on. I have a daughter who will inherit my entire property. I do not want to marry her to a stranger, and thereby to deprive your family of sharing my wealth. I love your sons, and intend to give my daughter in marriage to Behrûz, with all my riches, and then to retire from active life.’ The brother replied: ‘My sons are not worthy to rank as your children, but only as your servants, and that station would suit them. If, however, you distinguish Behrûz by making him your son-in-law, Behrâm will become envious, his foolish disposition will prevail, and such enmity will arise between the two brothers that it will culminate in the utter extinction of our family, and our property will at last fall into the hands of enemies. On the other hand, if you accept Behrâm [to be your son-in-law] no evil results will ensue, because he is now engaged in acquiring the treasures and happiness of knowledge which can never be lost.’ At these words the father of Jauhar became angry, and said: ‘God forbid that I should give my daughter to Behrâm, just as if I were approving of his coarse manners. Do you not know that I selected Behrûz for his knowledge and virtue, and that I prefer him to Behrâm for these reasons?’ His brother replied: ‘Behrâm and Behrûz are both your servants, and if you have no objection I shall consult them on the subject of this marriage. After that I shall be ready to obey you in whatsoever you may order.’ The father of the girl assented to this suggestion, and the parent of the two youths returned home, informed Behrûz of his interview, and said: ‘It was my intention that this piece of good luck should fall to the share of Behrâm, because he has neither sense, nor understanding, nor penetration, and we do not know what evils his wickedness may bring on. But your uncle is not at all inclined to give him his daughter, and if you refuse to take her, strangers will put their fingers into the pie, and will feather their nests by marrying your uncle’s daughter into their family.’ Behrûz replied: ‘The good will of my uncle and the pleasure of my father overbalance all other interests with me.’ Accordingly, Behrûz was married to the girl; but when Behrâm was informed of the event he trembled from anger and envy, exclaiming: ‘I shall darken the life of Behrûz with the blade of my sword. I shall cause the sighs of grief, both of my father and uncle, to ascend to heaven, and I shall get hold of Jauhar, even if she conceals herself in the casket of non-existence, or if she attempts to rise into the sky like the sun. I shall prostrate her upon the ground with the lasso of my wrath.’ With these thoughts he approached Behrûz, who was poring over a book, but seeing the flames of wrath blazing in his eyes, approached him with compliments.
Behrâm [ironically]: I congratulate you on your marriage.
Behrûz: Were it not for your anger I might be congratulated.
Behrâm: You must excuse me if I retaliate in this business, and try to avenge the wrong I have suffered.
Behrûz: Perhaps you will resume your former habits, and associate with your old companions? Consider the threat you have just uttered towards me, and that I have committed no wrong by marrying the daughter of my uncle, whom he has given to me for the good of our family to prevent his wealth from falling into the hands of strangers. Had I disobeyed the behests of my uncle and of my father, I would have acted wrongly in the sight of God and man. You had forfeited your claim to the hand of the girl by your previous immorality, and our uncle would have rejected your suit.
Behrâm: You are delivering a speech, practising dialectics, and wrangling! You wish to palm yourself off upon me as a faithful adviser, but there is no love lost between us. Be at ease! I shall so arrange matters that nothing will be left to you except an old bag and a few rags, and you will be obliged to content yourself with a morsel of bread in the school like other students; you will be confined to their company, and no one else will associate with you.
Behrûz: What you wish to bring upon me as an evil is just what I covet, and your enmity to me resembles that of the eagles towards the salamanders, and the conspiracy of the birds to punish the salamanders with fire.
Behrâm: How was that?
[Behrûz then narrated the following:]
‘A valiant eagle, whose eyry was on a lofty rock, daily sallied forth in quest of prey. Once he soared about for so long a time that he arrived in the country of the Hindus, in a region where a flock of salamanders dwelt. Two of these birds had just left their nests, and the eagle, being in a very famished state, immediately pounced upon them, killing one, and wounding the other grievously, who was, however, still able to fly to his companions, to induce them to attack the eagle, and to rescue the body of his murdered friend from the grasp of the robber. The eagle, who had been nearly disabled in this unequal contest, then reasoned with himself as follows: “It would be rank madness to fight single-handed against such a number of enemies, and therefore flight will be the better part of valour.” Accordingly he returned to his usual haunts, assembled his tribe, and said: “After the prowess of my beak, and the strength of my talons have thus been put to shame, there is no other remedy, if you refuse to aid me in avenging my wrongs, than to go among the owls, and to solicit their alliance.” The assembly of eagles responded to this appeal as follows: “We shall not fail to take signal vengeance for the blood which dripped from your beak, and for the injury done to your person, by accomplishing the total destruction of your enemies.” The army of eagles immediately assembled and started, attacked the salamanders, killing many of them, and taking the others prisoners. When the eagles had again returned to their homes they considered the best mode of punishing their captives, and unanimously agreed to destroy them by fire. They then threw them into a mine of sulphur, which they called the self-kindled fire, but to their utter surprise the intended victims exclaimed joyfully from the midst of the flames: “Unlucky wights! Do you not know that this species of death leads us to eternal life? You compared us to yourselves, and knew not that fire annihilates the wicked and the unjust, but cannot injure the righteous!” This event greatly astonished the assembly of eagles, and depressed their spirits, but there was no remedy for their grief.
‘You look at my associating with learned men from your own standpoint, and are in your folly quite unaware that such company is the greatest blessing to me. Whereas, on the other hand, it is considered a disgrace to a man when he is told that to become related to him would be a shame, and that therefore he is not to obtain in marriage the girl whose hand he covets.’
Behrâm: If my uncle does not accept me for his son-in-law I shall cut the thread of his life in two. I dread no mortal man so long as I am able to wield my sword.
Behrûz: Your scheme of wedding that girl has been thwarted by fate, which is irresistible. Surely you are not more powerful than the lion who was unable to rescue the fox from the claws of the eagle. If your uncle and father throw you into distress, how will you extricate yourself therefrom?
Behrâm: How was that?
[Then Behrûz narrated the following:]
‘An eagle strong enough to pull up a whale from the innermost depths of the ocean, and to soar with an elephant in his beak to the zenith of the sky, perceived a fox, whom he intended to snatch up from the ground like a sparrow. Reynard, however, took refuge in a cave, and apprehending that his foe was lying in wait for him, was afraid to leave it; but when the pangs of hunger made themselves felt he crawled out with the greatest circumspection, and said to himself: “Ere I begin to look for food I must find someone to keep off from me this powerful enemy.” In the vicinity a brave lion happened to be taking his rest, and him the fox approached, saying humbly: “The shadow of kings is a sun of felicity, beneath which the oppressed find shelter from the calamities of fortune. Kings are the shadow of the Creator, and to them the helpless fly for refuge from the persecution of tyrants.” The lion replied: “If a rosebud lives in the shadow of my protection, the morning zephyr refrains from injuring it for fear of my displeasure.” The fox continued: “Your majesty has no subject more weak than myself. In the shadow of your majesty’s protection I found nourishment, lived, and was thankful. Some days have elapsed since an eagle is in search of my life, and hinders me from coming out of my lair to seek my daily maintenance.” The lion replied: “Do not go out of my sight, and if he attempts to injure you I shall annihilate him.” The fox continued: “Several days have elapsed since I have not broken my fast, and hunger has nearly taken me off my legs.” The lion said: “Sit down on my back till I catch a prey, and restore your strength by some food.” The fox accordingly sat upon the lion’s back, but the eagle, who was above them, rushed down upon the fox with the speed of lightning, and to his appeals for aid the lion could only reply: “As long as you were on earth I protected you, but I have no power in the air.”
‘This parable I have narrated to show that the decrees of fate cannot be eluded by human power or bravery.’
Behrâm: I shall injure neither our father nor uncle, but concentrate my whole resentment on yourself, because you have begun the contest and have hurled me into the vortex of despair. Can there be any act more despicable in this world than to deprive me of the mistress who is dearer to me than my own heart, or a sight more excruciating than to behold her in close familiarity with another man? It will now be proper for you to quench the fire of the calamity impending over you with the water of withdrawal from this marriage, or else I shall extinguish the hopes of your connubial felicity by wounding you mortally, and departing to a country where neither the king can imprison nor his minions reach me by punishment.
Behrûz: God forbid that you should fulfil your intentions! For, if you soar in the air with birds, or dive into the ocean with fishes, your destiny will bring you down from the sky by the arrow of its decrees, and will fish you out of the sea with the net of its laws. I know for certain that the misfortunes you are invoking over me will befall yourself, and that the evils you destine for me will recoil on your own head.
Behrâm: I shall extricate you from this labyrinth of contention, and shall lead you into the path of reconciliation, and to the mansions of peace, if you are so inclined. Separate yourself from my mistress.
Behrûz: He wanders indeed in a labyrinth whom you guide, and he is unlucky whose adviser you are. Should I walk on the road you point out, I would fare like the pigeon who asked the crow to point out the straight way to regain her native country.
Behrâm: How was that?
[Then Behrûz narrated the following:]
Behrûz: I have heard that the Khalifah of Baghdâd had a carrier pigeon which was so fleet that it sought its food in Ferghânah, and drank its water in the river Nile. Sometimes it travelled to Rûm, and sometimes to Hindustân. The Khalifah loved this bird more than all his slaves, and if he had been able to scatter the moving and the fixed stars at his feet in lieu of grain, he would not have been sparing of them. Once this pigeon was bearing tidings from the King of Ma-vara-an-nahr [Transoxiana] to the Khalifah of Baghdâd. This happened at the season when the armies of winter had assailed the earth, and it had on account of the intense cold and dryness assumed the nature of a corpse, and had covered itself with the fur of ermine. The cold was so severe that the snow impeded the issue of the visual rays from the eyes, and the pigeon was fluttering hither and thither to discover landmarks which might guide her to her native country; all efforts, however, proved futile, because all the strokes of the sword of vision glanced off from the cuirass of the clouds. The poor pigeon then said to herself: ‘At a time when the world is white like the book [of misdeeds] of the guiltless, and the sky as black and cloudy as the hearts of sinners, I know not how to escape from this difficulty, and to regain the direction of my country.’ While the pigeon thus stood perplexed, she beheld a crow on the snow, like a black mole on the cheek of a beauteous maiden, and dressed in the sombre garments of a monk. This bird the pigeon respectfully approached, standing before it like a penitent in front of a hermit, whereon the following conversation ensued between them:
Crow: Whence comest and what wantest thou?
Pigeon: Begging pardon of your reverence, my trouble is a very great one. I am travelling from Khorâsân, but my native place is Baghdâd. When I came to this region I found the aspect of the country changed, and lost my way. May I trouble your worship to point out the road to Baghdâd, and to pardon me if I have committed any uncivility; for I am an utter stranger in these parts.
Now this crow happened to be on such intimate terms of friendship with a royal falcon, who had his nest on an adjacent ruined tower, that he took up the position in which he now was purposely to inform his friend of the approach of game by croaking very loudly, in return for which service the falcon always first presented the eyes of the victim to the crow as a titbit, and himself feasted on the other portions of the body. Accordingly the crow spoke thus to the pigeon:
Crow: I have been appointed by the Almighty to take my station in this place, to show the way to anyone who may have lost it, and thereby to procure eternal reward for myself. Seest thou the ancient tower opposite to thee?
Pigeon: Yes.
Crow: Arise, then, and alight on the tower, whence thou wilt perceive the country of E’râq, beauteous like the gardens of paradise, adorned with a multitude of fragrant plants, resembling the moles and mustachios of handsome youths.
The poor pigeon obeyed the suggestion of the crow, and flew to the tower, on which it had scarcely alighted, when it was strangled by the falcon.
Distich: When the crow points out the road
The cemetery will be your abode.
Behrûz: You would be a guide to me, as the crow was to the pigeon, and I shall by no means retract this marriage; the more so as I do not mean to disobey our uncle and father. Nor will they ever agree to your proposal; but if you consent to theirs, you may count on my fraternal affection.
Behrâm: See! I am going, and shall in revenge engage in illegal acts; and should I be brought to the foot of the gallows, and you, being wazir, were willing to save my life, I would not accept it at your hands.
After uttering these words, Behrâm rushed out and joined a number of vagabonds, whom he induced to aid him in his attempts to blast the hopes of his brother. When Behrûz obtained information of this conspiracy, he spoke to his uncle and father as follows: ‘This matrimonial scheme has thrown me into great danger.’ They rejoined: ‘How can that be? Such happiness would be coveted even by very high personages.’ Behrûz continued: ‘If anyone knows something about this matter, I ought to be able to appreciate the honour intended for me. Behrâm, however, has entered into an agreement with some vagabonds to embitter my life, and I do not know how I shall be able to escape from their persecutions. It will be best if I leave the country for a year or two, so as to keep my uncle’s daughter concealed, and for you to spread the report that I have fled with her to some unknown place. This will disappoint Behrâm and cool his love-fits, as well as his anger. If, on the other hand, I remain at home, enter into family connections, and neglect my studies, I shall lead a very useless life.’
The father and uncle agreed to this proposal, and Behrûz travelled during ten years in various countries, staying in different localities to accumulate knowledge. After his return from his travels, he first visited the capital, where he cultivated acquaintance with several learned men, who conceived so high an opinion of his attainments that they introduced him to the king, who, unwilling again to part with him, assigned to him a mansion for his use, with numerous attendants. The king was always melancholy because he had no offspring. On a certain occasion, however, a white falcon, happening to alight upon the battlements of the castle, Behrûz considered the circumstance to be a propitious omen, portending the birth of a child in the royal family. As one of the ladies of the harem was pregnant, the king became very hopeful, and ordered the falcon to be caught; but as all efforts proved fruitless during several days, and the bird usually perched daily on the battlement, the king requested Behrûz to devise a stratagem by which the falcon might be captured. Behrûz then proposed that the battlement should be demolished, and a figure representing a man erected in its stead. This was done; but when the bird arrived according to its usual custom, it seemed to be afraid; finding, however, that the figure was immovable, it settled thereon. Afterwards clothes were put upon the statue, which again caused some estrangement, until at last it also disappeared, and the falcon, laying aside all shyness, perched on it. Finally a living man was substituted for the statue, who succeeded in catching the falcon, to the great joy of the king, who praised Behrûz, and the latter replied: ‘Your majesty caught the falcon like the serpent the birds.’ The king asked: ‘How was that?’
Behrûz said: ‘It is related in books that in Arabia there was a sandy desert, so hot that no bird ventured to live there. In the said desert there dwelt a large venomous serpent, of which all the beasts were in such terror that they could not sleep. The snake could catch no prey in that desert on account of the great heat, because even feeble birds and little grasshoppers eluded its grasp, so that it was much distressed, and soliloquized thus: “As long as any beast is alive it must eat, and although sustenance may be decreed by fate, and not in proportion to the appetite, it will not fall into the grasp of the recipient unless he works for it. As long as I remain in my lair, I shall receive the food destined for me only in imagination. I must jeopardize my life in the frying-pan of the sand, expose myself to the fire of the sun, and thus procure the food necessary for my support.” Accordingly the serpent went out, inserted its tail in the sand, and stood up motionless like a piece of wood growing out from the soil. The locusts and birds, who felt the hot sand very uncomfortable, imagined the serpent to be a stick, and, suspecting nought, alighted on its head. When the victim happened to be a grasshopper it was devoured immediately, but if a bird it was carried home in the evening and consumed at leisure. We have learnt this trick from the snake, and made use of it to catch the falcon.’
While the king was praising Behrûz, the news suddenly arrived that a beautiful infant had been born to his majesty. The king was so pleased with the fulfilment of the prediction of Behrûz that he distributed rich presents to everybody, and nominated him wazir; but he replied as follows: ‘May it please your majesty! The proximity of kings resembles the sea: the nearer a man is to it, the more insecure he will be from its waves; but it may also be likened to fire, which becomes the more dangerous in proportion to a man’s nearness to it. The courtiers who surround a monarch are apt to persecute honest men, and to scorch them with the fire of anger. The heart of a king is like a mirror, which reflects on its surface every object, without respect to its beauty or ugliness. The wrath of a monarch is like the fire-breath of a dragon, which spares no one. On the other hand, an individual who enjoys the favour of the king soon becomes haughty and overbearing towards others, so that he is a wise man who does not covet royal favour, and thus escapes all dangers entailed by it.’ To these objections the king replied as follows: ‘My servants are not addicted to envy or pride, but are governed by the dictates of sound reason. A king who admits envious and intriguing persons to his court hurts his own interests. I make these remarks to allay your suspicions. I hereby inform you that great prosperity is in store for you, and that I do not accept your excuses.’
There being no way of escape, Behrûz was compelled to assume the duties of wazir, which he discharged very assiduously and satisfactorily. One day the son of the king happened to play on the flat roof of the palace with a ball of silver, which ran to the brink of the parapet and fell through an aperture into the cave. The young prince then climbed over the parapet, and descended into the cave, where he found the ball; he was, however, unable to regain his former position. His mother, who had become aware of the dangerous plight of her son, stood below with outstretched arms, ready to catch him in case he should fall. Meanwhile a servant quickly made his appearance on the roof, pulled the boy up, and thus rescued him. The hands of the lady, however, remained outstretched, and became so stiffened that all the efforts of the physicians to reduce them to their natural state remained fruitless. In this emergency Behrûz was consulted, and his advice was this: ‘If your majesty will permit, I can easily cure this distemper now; but if it be allowed to take root, it will become incurable.’ The king assented, and both entered the harem. Behrûz first ordered the countenance and the hair of the lady to be uncovered, but as this proceeding caused no visible effect, he commanded the robe to be taken from her body; and this operation likewise made no impression upon the patient. Then Behrûz exclaimed: ‘Open the knot of her scarf!’ and when the unfamiliar hand of a stranger touched that spot, the lady suddenly dropped both her hands to secure her girdle, and the cure was perfect. The king, pleased with this happy result, presented magnificent gifts to Behrûz, and desired to know the reason of his method. Behrûz replied: ‘This disease originated from sudden grief, in consequence whereof a heavy substance descended into the joints at the moment the hands were uplifted, and kept them immovable; when, however, the hand of a stranger touched an improper spot of the body, the feeling of shame prevailed, and the natural heat having overcome and melted the said substance, the joints recovered their pristine elasticity.’ The king exclaimed: ‘Allah be praised, who has vouchsafed to bring me in contact with so excellent a man as you are, and I really do not know how to reward you.’ After this event the familiarity between the king and Behrûz increased, and the former, being desirous of seeing the birthplace of his wazir, they travelled to it together. When they arrived in the vicinity, Behrûz was so overcome by the recollections of his early years, and the thoughts about his father, uncle and brother, that he vented his emotions in a flood of tears. When the king perceived that the equanimity of Behrûz had been disturbed, and was informed of the cause, he said: ‘This is an occasion for joy, and not for grief, because you will soon meet your relatives.’ With this opinion Behrûz agreed, and proceeded in great state to the city; but when he entered it, he happened to pass near the place of execution, where he beheld the governor sitting in judgment, and in the act of punishing a number of thieves and burglars. Among these malefactors he caught sight of his own brother, and, overcome by his feelings, sued for mercy, and induced the judge to spare their lives. After his liberation, Behrâm joined the procession of the wazir, not knowing that it was the retinue of his own brother. When Behrâm reached the house of his father, he prostrated himself at the feet of Behrûz, and manifested sincere repentance for all he had said and done. The uncle and father, being ashamed of the misdeeds of Behrâm, had withdrawn into privacy; but when they were informed of the arrival of Behrûz, they hastened to meet him, together with Jauhar, and shared in his prosperity. On that occasion Behrûz said to Behrâm: ‘Do you now recollect telling me not to take any trouble to liberate you from the foot of the gallows, in case I should become wazir? At present you know for certain that the reward for study is exalted dignity, and for negligence a high gibbet.’
Let it not remain concealed from the reader that the advantages of learning are innumerable, and that, by the favour of the Almighty, learned men have under the government of the sovereign of Islâm—may Allah perpetuate his reign—attained the highest stations; and it may be said that their incomes were never before as large as at present; nor were literary establishments and students one-tenth part as well provided for as now. All these advantages are attributable to the liberality of the high potentate who is the cause of the composition of the present work, and the unparalleled excellencies of whose character will— if it pleases Allah, and time serves—be described by incontrovertible arguments. The time has, however, now arrived to give the history of the Ashkânians, and after them of the Sasanians, which are two dynasties of the Kings of Persia.