Damnah said, ‘They have related that a man without any stock of understanding and without the adornment of experience, was laying claim to be a physician. He had neither sufficient science nor perfect judgment. So ignorant was he in discriminating drugs that he could not tell a cocoa-nut from Turkish wormwood,232 and he was so unskilful in the prognosis of diseases, that he could not discern between ophthalmia and gout, and he gave no heed to the qualities and quantities of medicine in judging as to compounds, and in writing his prescriptions, he attended not to the kind or amount of food and drink.
And in the city in which this person had opened the shop of ignorance, and proclaimed his notification for the destruction of men, there was another doctor celebrated for his perfect skill, and whose visits232a were renowned for remedies and success. His breath was like the breath of Is’ạ,232b revivifying; and his step, like that of Khiẓr, restoring life.
Inasmuch, however, as it is the custom of perfidious fortune that men of merit ever obtain from the tray of its harshness only the morsel of toil, and the undeserving bear away from the tables of its benefits the viands of abundant honor and distinction,
the affairs of this most learned man of the age and phenomenon of the time were on the decline, and the star of the light of his vision was overtaken with the eclipse of debility. By degrees the light of the world-surveying eye of that dear person—by which the vision of the wise was enlightened, and the survey of the garden of whose beauty was more agreeable to the pupil of the eye of those gifted with sight than to gaze on gardens of flowers—grew dim, until the time when no vestige of illumination was left in it. The hapless man took his retired seat in the corner of his humble dwelling, and that public impostor233 began to set up his deceitful pretensions out of all reason.
In a short space of time he was regarded as a physician certain to heal, and the fame of his cures was spread by lying rumour from tongue to tongue. The king of that city had a daughter, such, that from the horizon of beauty no luminary like her had risen, nor had the perfumer of the morning displayed any musk to equal that which was scattered from her curling tresses.
Her he had bestowed on his brother’s son, and the ceremonies which accompany the marriage-knot and the bridal night, had been performed in a manner befitting royalty and with a lustre becoming kings.
And from the conjunction of those two fortunate luminaries a royal gem was formed in the shell of her womb. It happened, however, that at the time of parturition an accident occurred, and the princess was seized with severe pain. They summoned the wise physician to the presence and informed him of the nature of the illness. The skilful leech, having learned the true state of the case, made the prognosis of the disease and said, ‘The cure of this disease is obtainable by a medicine which they call Mihrán. Let them take a fourth part of a dram of that medicine, and pound and sift it, and mix it up with a little pure musk and cinnamon, and sweeten it with sugar-candy, and give it to the patient, and her sufferings will be instantly removed.’ They replied, ‘O physician! where may that medicine be? and whom are we to ask for it? He answered, ‘I have seen in the medicine-repository of the palace a little of this medicine, deposited in a casket of virgin silver, on which was set a padlock of pure gold, but now, owing to my want of sight, I am unable to find it.’ In the midst of this colloquy, the pretended physician came up and said, ‘I take upon me to discover that medicine, and I well now how to compound that mixture.’ The king called him before him, and commanded him to go to the repository of medicine, and having brought out the required drug, to prepare the drink which the physician had ordered. Hereupon the ignorant doctor entered the repository, and looked for a casket of the description which the true physician had mentioned, but as there were numerous caskets of the same character, he failed to discover the said medicine, and without discriminating between them, he took up one and brought it out. It happened not to be the drug they called Mihrán, but a small quantity of deadly poison, which having been deposited there for state purposes, was kept in that casket. This he opened and mixed the poison with the other ingredients, and having made it into a drink, gave it to the princess. No sooner did she taste it than she expired. When the king beheld that event, consumed with regret for the loss of his daughter, he raised to the etherial sky the torch of his sighs, and he commanded them to give the remaining portion to that ignorant physician, so that he too fell lifeless on the spot, and the recompense of that unseemly deed reached him immediately.
And I have introduced this story that it may be known that every action that men do through ignorance has a disastrous result, and every affair that they transact in doubt and on mere conjecture, is fraught with most intense danger.’ One of those present said, ‘O Damnah! thou art of the number of those, the foulness of whose mind is evident to the higher ranks, and the impurity of whose morals is manifest to those below, and the perverseness of thy disposition accords with thy shape and form and appearance.’
The ḳáẓí asked, ‘Whence does thou utter this speech? and what proof hast thou of this remark? Thou must recount the proofs of it and declare the arguments in support of thy observation.’ He replied, ‘Sages skilled in physiognomy have pronounced that every one with wide eyebrows, whose right eye is smaller than his left, and who is subject to a perpetual throbbing of the eye, and whose nose inclines to the left, and whose glance is ever cast down to the ground, his ill-omened nature will be filled with mischief and deceit, and be replete with profligacy and perfidiousness, and these signs are to be found in him.’ Damnah answered, ‘In the commands of God partiality and deception are impossible, and in the actions of that holy Being, error and neglect, and mistakes and faults, are not to be supposed.
If these tokens which thou hast mentioned were really a true proof and genuine demonstration, and truth could thus be distinguished from falsehood, and error from correctness, and right from wrong; mankind would then be quit of evidence and oaths; and judges might rest from pleadings and citations, and henceforward it would not be well to praise any one for his good deeds or to reproach him for his ill-actions, since no created being could divest himself of those marks which, at the time of the creation of his nature, would be made to accompany him. Wherefore, in accordance with the directions which thou hast given, the reward of the good and the punishment of the bad, would be obliterated from the pages of the ordinances of the law and of justice, and had I done this thing—which they say I have—(Let us take refuge with God from it!) it was owing to these marks having impelled me to it, and since it was impossible to put them away, it is not fitting that I should be overtaken with punishment for them.
Wherefore by thy sentence I am set free from this calamitous imprisonment, and thou hast given a convincing proof of thy ignorance and spurious pretensions to be a judge, and hast shewn by an unfounded speech and a baseless semblance, and an unluminous charge and a declaration not listened to, that thou hast made an incongruous entrance into the assembly of the wise.
When Damnah had delivered this reply, all those who were present, placed the seal of silence on the casket of speech, and none was able to utter a word more. The ḳáẓí commanded him to be conveyed back to prison, and they made a detailed representation to the Lion of what had occurred. When Damnah, however, had re-entered the prison, a friend of Kalílah, whom they called Rúzbih, passed by. Damnah called him, and said, ‘Since yesterday I have no tidings of Kalílah, and at this crisis I am most anxious for his visits.
What news hast thou of him? and what excuse hast thou brought for his not coming?’ As soon as Rúzbih heard Kalílah named, he drew a hot sigh from his burning heart, and showering tears of blood from the clouds of his eyes, said,
Damnah was impatient at the distress of Rúzbih, and said, ‘Declare the facts with all speed.’ Rúzbih replied, ‘O Damnah! how shall I tell them?
O Damnah! that dear friend has migrated from this transitory abode to the enduring city, and has impressed on the hearts of his friends and companions the wound of separation.
When Damnah heard the intelligence of Kalílah’s death, he swooned, and when, after a long interval, he recovered his senses, he uttered loud laments, and in deepest grief, with streaming eyes, exclaimed,
When Damnah had carried his lamentations beyond bounds, and had rent the garment of patience with the hand of complaint, while each moment he rubbed his face in the dust, and wept in a manner to which none could endure to listen, Rúzbih began to exhort him, and said, ‘O Damnah! thou thyself knowest that the kingly and eternal writer236 has written the name of continuous existence on the paper of the life of no created thing, and the pourtrayer of the forms of creation has not engraved the figure of life on the pages of possibility, save with the pen of ‘Everything shall perish except Himself,’237 nor has the tailor237a of the establishment of eternity sewed the garment of the existence of any living being without the fringe of annihilation, nor has the carpet-spreader of the pavilion of omnipotence lighted the taper of entertainment237b without the violent wind of calamity.
This is a draught which all must taste, and a burthen which all must bear. There is no salve for this wound but patience—no remedy for this disease but compulsory endurance.
By these words Damnah was in some degree consoled, and said, ‘O Rúzbih! right is on my side in this lament, for Kalílah was to me an attached friend and a right-counselling brother, with whom I found refuge in time of trouble, and from whose judgment and consideration and tenderness and advice, I could in emergencies derive succour. His head was a treasury, and all the coin of secrets therein deposited remained concealed from the world, and the spy of Time remained in despair of becoming acquainted with them. Alas! that that kind friend has removed his auspicious company from my head, and has left me in the corner of the world’s tenement without comrade, or associate, or friend, or confidant.
Hereafter what pleasure can I find in life? or what advantage will the stock of existence supply? And were it not that at this crisis various suspicions [of my motives] might arise in the minds of men, I could kill myself with lamentation,237c and free myself from the pain of solitude and the sufferings of my friendless condition, since in this abyss into which I have fallen, no appearance of escape is visible, without the aid of a friend and the help of sympathisers.
Rúzbih said, ‘If Kalílah has fallen from the garden of life into the thorny brake of extinction and annihilation, the plant of the affection of other friends is refreshed and rendered verdant by the drops of true love.
Damnah said, ‘Thou speakest the truth, thy existence is a remedy for my trouble, and thy life the alleviation of every disaster, and to-day thou art to me the very same friend and brother that Kalílah was before. Give me thy hand and accept me as a brother.’ Ruzbíh advanced with the greatest alacrity and said, ‘By this favor thou hast bound me to thee, and hast set up the banner of my exaltation on the pinnacle of the highest places. How can my faithful heart discharge its gratitude for this kindness? and how can my tongue, though lavish in praise, express its thankfulness for this blessing?’ They then took each other’s hands and tied the knot of brotherhood, and concluded the ties of companionship and agreement as is the custom of such covenants. Damnah then said, ‘In such a place there is a hoard, belonging to me and Kalílah. If thou wilt take the trouble to bring it here, thy labour will not be unrewarded.’ Rúzbih, by the direction which Damnah furnished, brought the deposit. Damnah separated his own share, and gave to Rúzbih what belonged to Kalílah, and besought Rúzbih ever to be in attendance at court, and to learn whatever passed with reference to him.
The next day, early in the morning, the lioness came and inquired what had passed at the late assembly. The Lion repeated the particulars of the proceedings in the manner that the judges had reported to him. The lioness, having learned the nature of the report, was vexed, and said, ‘If I speak bluntly, it may displease the king, and if I connivc at this I shall be acting supinely with relation to my duty as an adviser and a friend.’ The Lion replied, ‘Forbearance and too great tenderness are not right in stating the heads of salutary counsel, and thy words are certainly clear from all mixture of doubt. It will meet with speedy approbation—offer what thou hast to say.’ The lioness said, ‘The king does not discriminate between truth and falsehood, and discerns not his own advantage from what would be injurious to him; and Damnah, having obtained the opportunity, will raise some mischief, such that the clearest intellects will fail to remedy it and the sharpest scymitars prove ineffectual against it.” The Lion responded, ‘Do, thou not go away to-day; the affair of Damnah may perhaps be concluded.’ The high command was then issued that the judges should assemble again, and should re-open the case of Damnah in a general meeting. In accordance with this mandate, high and low came together, and the ḳáẓí’s deputy repeated the same discourse which has been before cited, and demanded evidence with respect to Damnah from those present. No one uttered a word regarding him, and not a particle of information was adduced with reference to him, either good or ill. The principal judge turned to Damnah and said, ‘Though the audience befriends thee by its silence, yet the hearts of all are unanimously convinced of thy treason, and inwardly agree as to thy death; such being the case, what advantage will it be to thee to live among this people? it would be more suitable to thy condition and be better for the issue of thy affairs, that thou shouldest confess thy crime, and, by repentance and contrition, deliver thyself from the punishments of a future state; and by dying thou wilt secure one of two delights, either that thou wilt emancipate others or thyself.
O Damnah! if thou wilt confess thy guilt, thou wilt secure two excellent things, the remembrance of which will be perpetuated on the surface of time. One is, the acknowledgment of thy crime so as to secure salvation in the world to come, and the choosing the realms of eternity and happiness rather than the abode of fleeting existence and affliction. The other is, that the renown of thy eloquence and oratory, and the power of thy rhetoric and speaking, in these fascinating answers that thou hast given, and these specious excuses which thou hast offered, will be spread by the tongues of high and low, and thy ability and boldness are known to all thy contemporaries, and all will testify to thy eminent gifts and understanding. Do thou take counsel with thy sagacity, and be wise according to the truth of this saying, that ‘death with honor is better than life with disgrace.’
Damnah replied, ‘The ḳáẓí ought not to pronounce sentence according to his own suspicion and the conjectures of others, without plain proof and clear evidence, nor should he transgress the tenor of that saying, ‘Verily a half-opinion is a sin,’240 and even if you have this doubt, and though your minds should be convinced as to my guilt, I know my own affairs better, and to hide one’s own certainty because of another’s doubt, is not right in judgment nor approved by the laws of religion. And notwithstanding that you, on bare suspicion that I may perhaps have exerted myself to procure the death of Shanzabah, have spoken and speak all this, and have thus marred my credit, yet should I causelessly aid in my own destruction, and unjustly accede to my own execution; on what explanation of the matter should I be excuseable, and how should I exonerate myself from the old monition, ‘And throw not yourselves with your own hands into perdition?’240a I am fully convinced, too, that no one has the same claims on me that I have on myself, and therefore that which I would not allow with respect to my inferior, and out of generous spirit not permit with regard to him, how can I consent to it in my own case?240b
O ḳáẓí! cease to speak thus; if it is intended for advice, better is wanted; and if it be reproach, it is better that a ḳáẓí should not utter it, for the words of judges are orders, and it is requisite for them to avoid mistake and error, and jesting and light talk; and very strange is it that thou wast always truthful and just, and yet, owing to my ill-fortune and calamity, thou hast in this matter laid caution aside, and on thy own suspicions and those of interested persons, hast afflicted the eye of truth with the opthalmia of neglect,
The judges of the tribunal of wisdom, by the signet of whose mandates the bond of the nurture of merit is sealed, have pronounced the following decision:—That the coin of my testimony, which is not adorned with the seal of certainty, is not admitted or recognised as of full weight in the mint of acceptance, and whosoever gives evidence in a matter with which he is not acquainted, will meet with what that Falconer met with.’ The ḳáẓí inquired, ‘How was that?’
Damnah said, ‘They have related that there was a lord of the marches, renowned for his eminent qualities, and famed and celebrated for his excellent nature and admirable gifts.
And this lord of the marches had a wife, who, by her beauty, was a calamity to the soul; and by her grace, a source of mischief to the world. Her lip was more invigorating than the waters of life, and her mouth more sweet than a bundle241 of sugar.
She combined with perfect beauty and fascination, the grace of chastity and continence, and she adorned her mischief-exciting cheek with the mole of devotion and abstinence.
And this lord of the marches had a slave from Balkh,241a excessively bold and audacious, who forbade not the pupil of his eye to gaze on that which it was unlawful to see, nor cleansed the desires of his breast from the dust of debauchery and mischief. Now this slave was allotted the office of Falconer in the service of the lord-marcher, and was appointed to capture fowls. One day he caught sight of that chaste lady, and the fowl of his heart was taken captive by the snare of her love.
However much the slave who had lost his heart shook the chain of union, she was not drawn into a meeting, and, in spite of all his wishes, she became not his captive.
The Falconer having girt the waist of hope in the desire of capturing that peacock of the garden of beauty, let fly the hawk of contrivance in the air of the desire of meeting, but however much he did so, it found not the way to the wished-for nest.
When he despaired of success, as is the wont of evil men, he determined to assail her reputation and employ a stratagem to secure her disgrace; he then purchased two parrots from a fowler, and taught one of them in the language of Balkh to say, ‘I saw the porter in the house sleeping with my mistress:’ and the other to repeat, ‘I for my part say nothing.’ In the space of a week, they had learned these two words. One day the lord of the marches had prepared a wine-party, and was sitting at his ease on the cushion of pleasure, when the Falconer entered, and, by way of an offering, presented the birds. The sweet-spoken parrots began their mellifluous discourse, and, in accordance with their custom, repeated tho same two sentences. The lord of the marches was ignorant of the language of Balkh, but was pleased at their merry prattle and the similarity of their words [to those of men], and taking a liking to those bewitching sounds, which excited joy, he delivered the birds to his wife, in order that she should attend to them and exert herself to cherish them. The hapless lady, too, was ignorant of the language the birds spoke. She took care of them and caressed her enemies under the guise of friends.
In short the lord of the marches became so accustomed to the parrots that he would never sit at the wine-feast without their sweet notes and their unrivaled modulations; and to listen to their exhilarating trills he closed his ears to the touching sounds of the lute, and the exciting murmurs of the harp. One day a party of people from Balkh, came as guests to the lord of the marches, who caused the parrots to be brought into the assembly which he prepared for his visitors. The birds began, in their accustomed manner, to sing the same two sentences. When the guests heard that, they looked at one another, and at last holding down their heads, ashamed, remained astonished at the circumstance. The lord of the marches observed that the flame of his companions’ mirth was quenched and that the pleasurable excitement of his guests was exchanged for amazement and reflection. He asked for an explanation of this state of things, and pressed them for it beyond measure, and however much his guests excused themselves, he would not admit of a refusal. One of them, who had more boldness than the rest, said, ‘Perhaps, O lord of the marches! thou art ignorant of what these birds say?’ He replied, ‘I do not understand their words, but I feel a gratification and pleasure in my heart at their delightful tones. Do ye acquaint me with the meaning of what they say.
They then told the lord of the marches the meaning of the words of the parrots, and made him understand the purport of their discourse. Hereupon he desisted from drinking, and said, ‘My friends! excuse me. I was ignorant of this matter, and now that I have learned the true state of the case, no other excuse is needed. In our city it is not the custom to entertain in a house where there is a profligate and unchaste wife.’ In the midst of this colloquy, the slave who acted as Falconer, cried out, ‘I have seen it repeatedly, and I bear witness to it.’ The lord-marcher started up, and gave orders to put his wife to death. The lady sent a person to him with this message, ‘O fortunate lord!
Nevertheless reflect in this affair, and act not precipitately.
The wise think deliberation requisite in all affairs, especially in shedding blood, since if it be necessary to take life, the opportunity of doing so is left; and if—which God forbid!—they should, through precipitation, put an innocent person to death, and it should afterwards be known that he did not deserve to be slain, the remedy would be beyond the circle of possibility, and the punishment thereof would hang to all eternity on the neck of the guilty party.
The lord of the marches commanded that they should bring the lady to the party and place her behind a curtain, and he told her the state of the case, and said, ‘Parrots are not of the same nature as men, that what they say should be tainted with interested motives. They speak what they have seen, and the Falconer too adds his testimony to corroborate their charge, and this is not a matter that any eloquence can render excusable.
The lady replied, ‘It is a religious duty to take the proper steps in my case, and whenever the circumstances of it are rightly known, if I be worthy of death, thou mayest in one instant set thy mind at rest on that head.’ The lord of the marches answered, ‘How can this affair be investigated?’ His wife replied, ‘Inquire of the men of Balkh whether the birds know aught else in the language of Balkh, save these two sentences. And when it is discovered that, except these two phrases, they utter nothing, it will occur to thee that that base and shameless person, whose wish I did not grant, and whose vain desire and profligate intentions did not terminate in success, has taught them these two speeches. But if they can speak anything else in that language, it becomes lawful for thee to shed my blood, and life is to me a thing prohibited.’ The lord of the marches proceeded with due circumspection, and for three days the guests examined into the matter. They heard nothing, however, from the tongue of the parrots except those two sentences, and as soon as the innocence of the lady was established, her husband abandoned his intention of putting her to death, and commanded them to bring in the Falconer. He entered with the utmost eagerness, saying to himself that he should, perhaps, obtain promotion. The lady asked him, ‘O cruel and treacherous man! didst thou behold me do anything in violation of God’s law.’ He replied, ‘Yes; I saw thee.’ The instant that he pronounced these words, a hawk, which he had in his hands, attacked his face and struck its beak into his eye, and tore it out. The lady exclaimed, ‘Verily, the punishment of the eye which pretends to have seen what it has not seen, is no other than this, ‘And the retaliation of evil ought to be an evil proportionate thereto.’244
And I have introduced this story to the end that ye may know that to be bold in calumniating, and to bear witness to what has not been seen, is the cause of shame in this world and of disgrace in the next.’
When Damnah’s speech was finished, they wrote it all down on the spot, and transmitted it to the Lion, and he showed what had passed to his mother. The lioness, having informed herself of it said, ‘O king! all my efforts in this matter have been no further beneficial than to cast suspicion on this execrable wretch, and hereafter his deceitful artifices will be occupied with compassing244a the king’s destruction, and he will throw the affairs of both king and people into confusion, and he will accomplish more with respect to all the Pillars of the state than he ventured on with regard to Shanzabah, who was a sincere, attached, and loyal minister; for from a bad heart will spring nothing but bad actions, and from an infirm nature arises nought but mischief and audacity.
This speech made a great impression244c on the heart of the lion, and he was oppressed with long and anxious reflections. At last he said, ‘O mother! tell me from whom thou hast heard the tale of Damnah, that I may have a pretext for killing him?’ She replied, ‘O king! to divulge the secret of one who has placed confidence in me, is forbidden by the laws of honor, and a secret which they have committed to me as a deposit, I am necessitated by high feeling to preserve. I can go so far, I will ask that person’s permission, and if he concede it, I will then tell it plainly.’ To this the Lion assented, and the lioness coming out from his presence, honored her own court by proceeding thither, and sending for the leopard, gratified him by a variety of honorable attentions, and said,
thou knowest the honors which the king of beasts vouchsafes to thee, and the marks of the royal favor and support towards thee are written in the volume of manifestation, and for this reason it is incumbent on thee to shew thy gratitude, in order that, according to the promise, ‘If ye be thankful, I will surely increase my favours towards you,’246—the bounty of the king may be duly enlarged.’ The leopard replied, ‘O queen! the imperial favour and kingly bounty which the ruler of this age has lavished and still lavishes on his humble servant cannot be sufficiently acknowledged by me, whatever I might call in to aid me in the task; nor have I the power to evince my thanks for a thousandth part of his kindness, nor for a particle of their amplitude.
And I have oft traversed the plain of loyalty with the step of praise, and now too, in whatever the empress of the time may be pleased to indicate, she will observe nought but submission and devotion.’ The lioness said,
The Lion at the first communicated to thee the state of his thoughts, and thou didst undertake the duty of endeavoring, to the utmost extent of thy power, to exact from his perfidious foe vengeance for Shanzabah.
The advisable course is that thou shouldest proceed to the Lion, and truthfully recount what thou hast seen and heard; otherwise the artifices of Damnah have reached that height that the Lion will forego the intention of putting him to death, and in that case no one will be safe from his malice at the Lion’s court, and in a short space he will, by his wily machinations bring destruction on the nobles and officers, and will contrive, by his calumnies and misrepresentations, the ruin of everyone concerned in his case and who strove to secure his death.’ The leopard replied, ‘O queen! I take upon me the carrying through of this matter.246a And I hitherto kept back my evidence and withheld this true testimony, in order that the king might get a specimen of Damnah’s nature, and become acquainted with his subtle artifices and fraud, and had I, previous to this, plunged into the matter and meddled in the management of it, (as the king was unacquainted with the tricks of Damnah and the baseness of his nature, and the wickedness of his disposition,) it is probable that he would have imputed my words to selfish motives, and entertained evil suspicions of me. But now that the affair has reached this point, I will not neglect the public weal, and if I had a thousand lives, and could devote them to secure the king a moment’s ease of mind, I should still be unable to discharge one of all the duties of thankfulness, which I owe him for his favours, and should still regard myself as falling short of what loyalty imposes on me.
The lioness then went to the Lion, and recounted what had passed between Kalílah and Damnah, as she had heard it, and delivered this testimony in the assembly of the beasts. These tidings being bruited abroad, the thief also,247 who had overheard their colloquy, sent some one to say that he, too, had evidence to give. The Lion issued his orders that he should attend; and he duly bore witness to what had passed between them in the prison. They asked him why he had not made a representation of it on the first day. He replied, ‘No sentence is pronounced on the evidence of only one person, and I thought it not right to bring punishment, uselessly, on an animal.’247a The Lion approved of what he said; and on the evidence of these two, it became incumbent to sentence Damnah to be punished, and the signatures of the judges having been affixed, all the beasts agreed in pronouncing for his execution in retaliation for that of the Ox.
The Lion commanded that they should find and keep him carefully in ward, and that they should withhold his food and torture him with various severities and threats, so that he at last expired of hunger and thirst in the prison, and the retributive disgrace of his fraud and perfidy reaching him, he passed from the hell of imprisonment to the incarceration of hell [according to the saying] ‘And the utmost part of the people, which had acted wickedly, was cut off; praise be unto God, the Lord of all creatures,248 in order that it might be known that such is the end of deceivers and the termination of traitors.
The King said to the Bráhman, ‘I have heard the story of friends whose relations, owing to the endeavors of mischievous calumniators, terminated in enmity, and thus the innocent party was put to death, and how God Most High brought on that perfidious disturber the retribution due. Now, if the time calls for it, be pleased to explain the state of friends, one in heart and of one accord, and the way in which they enjoy fruit from the plant of friendship and amity, and their placing back to back and standing face to face in repulsing their foes, and their giving each other’s inclination precedence over their own.’ The Bráhman replied,
Know that in the opinion of the perfectly wise and of people of merit and approved qualities, there is no coin more valuable than the existence of sincere friends, and no rank more lofty than the attainment of attached companions.
And assuredly those persons, the coin of whose friendship has been adorned with the stamp of sincerity in the mint of attachment; and the shrub of whose amity has been watered in the garden of speciality by the drops of unanimity and obligingness, are a delight to the soul and the means of abundance and success; and the advantage of friends is great, and their benefits incalculable. And in the number of them is to be included, that in prosperous times they increase the amount of pleasure and happy converse, and in disasters they tread the path of assistance and are accompanied by companionship and support.
And among the number of the stories which they have written on the pages of narration concerning attached companions and united friends, the story of the Crow and the Mouse, and the Pigeon, and the Tortoise, and the Stag, is a lucid narrative and sweet tale.’ The King inquired, ‘How was that?’
The Bráhman said, ‘They have related that in the country of Kashmír there was a delightful spot and an incomparable mead, the surface of whose ground—from the profusion of its flowers—was adorned like the expanse of heaven, and by the reflection of its perfume-shedding plants, the wings of a crow showed like a peacock’s tail.
And inasmuch as there was much game in that green plain, huntsmen visited it the more frequently and everywhere set their snares for the capture of animals and the imprisonment of birds; and in the vicinity of that plain, a Crow had made its nest on a large tree, and read from the pages of its leaves the maxim, ‘Love of country is a part of religion.’ One day, seated on the top of the tree, it was looking down and up and to the right and left, when, on a sudden, it beheld a fowler, who, with a net on his neck, a pouch at his back, and a stick in his hand, was coming towards the tree. The Crow was alarmed, and said to itself,
And it is probable that he may have girded himself to attack me and have placed the arrow of deliberation in the bow of stratagem to make me his prey; hence caution requires that I keep my place and watch,
The Crow, hidden by the leaves of the tree, employed the eye of expectancy; and the fowler coming to the foot of the tree spread his net and having scattered some grain over it, seated himself in ambush. After some time had elapsed, a flock of pigeons arrived, whose chief was called Ring-dove, of clear intellect and the utmost sagacity, and perfect intelligence and strong judgment; and these pigeons agreed in submitting to him, and gloried in obeying and ministering to him, and spent not their time save in his service, which was to them the service of safety and the adornment of their successful and happy state. As soon as the eyes of the pigeons fell upon the grain, the fire of hunger began to blaze and the reins of choice dropped from the hands of power. Ring-dove, according to the tenderness which is due from superiors to inferiors, endeavoured to induce them to reflect and pause, saying,
They replied, ‘Prince! matters with us have reached the pitch of urgency, and our affairs have issued in extreme distress. When our crops are empty of grain, and our hearts are full of anxiety, we have not the power to listen to advice, nor time to watch the consequences; and the wise have said,
Ring-dove perceived that he could not restrain with the noose of counsel those greedy grain-seekers, nor draw them out with the rope of reproach from the pit of incaution and ignorance.
He wished to withdraw from them and to escape on one side, but the power251 of the divine decree bound his neck with the chain of fate, and dragged him towards the snare.
In short the whole flock of pigeons, at once laying aside caution, alighted. The instant that they began to pick up the grain they were caught in the fowler’s net. Ring-dove exclaimed, ‘Did I not tell you that the consequences of precipitation are not commendable, and that to enter upon affairs without reflection, is not to be approved?
The pigeons were quite overcome with shame and alarm, and the fowler, issuing from his place of concealment, was running with the utmost delight towards them, in order that, having seized and secured them, he might return home. As soon as the pigeons beheld the fowler they were distracted with fear, and each flapped its wings and struggled to free itself. Ring-dove exclaimed, ‘O comrades! you are exerting yourselves each for his own release, while you are all careless of your companions’ safety,
Among friends, it has been declared that they ought to think of their companions’ safety before their own, as once on a time two comrades were sitting in a vessel, when, suddenly, near the shore, the vessel foundered, and both fell into the water. A boatman on the shore plunged into the water, and tried to save one of them, but whichever he wanted to rescue, called out,
And if you have not sufficient firmness to prefer your comrade’s life to your own, and to esteem his safety more precious than yours, at least, let all of you, with mutual consent and co-operation, put out your strength, so that, perhaps, by the fortunate influence of this unanimity and agreement, the net may be raised from its place and we may all obtain deliverance.’ The pigeons did as they were directed and all made a common effort, and by this manœuvre, tore up the net and made off. The fowler, notwithstanding this circumstance, followed on their traces, and hoping that they would at last get weary and fall, went on with his eyes fixed in the air. The crow thought to himself. ‘It will take a vast interval of time before a similar strange occurrence comes from the womb of nonentity into the expanse of existence, and I, myself, am not safe from an accident of this nature. It will be better to follow them with speed that I may learn how their affair terminates, and storing up that experience for my future life, make use of it in the time of need.
The Crow flew after them, and Ring-dove with his flock flew on, bearing the net, and the greedy and audacious fowler, fixing his eyes upon them traveled onward. When Ring-dove observed that the fowler still followed them and that his appetite being stimulated urged him not to rest until he had laid hands upon them, he turned to his companions and said, ‘This hostile person has prepared with the utmost diligence to pursue us and is bent upon killing us, and until we disappear from his sight he will not give us up. Our best course is to make for inhabited places and to fly towards orchards and trees, that his view of us may be intercepted and that he may turn back in despair and ashamed.’ The pigeons, in accordance with his direction, sped on and hastened from the wild waste and desert towards buildings. When the fowler lost sight of them, he turned back with extreme regret, and the Crow flew on as before, in order to learn the circumstances of the pigeons’ release, and treasure them up as a means of averting a similar danger, and as a remedy for an occurrence of the same nature, in accordance with the maxim, ‘Happy is he who is taught by the lesson of others.’
The pigeons, freed from the terror of the fowler, referred to Ring-dove as to the means of liberating themselves from the net, and that wise and prudent bird, after long reflection and consideration, replied, ‘I am constrained to think that there is no escape from this perilous position without the help of a faithful friend:
In this neighbourhood there is a mouse, Zírak by name, distinguished among my friends by his superior faithfulness, and pre-eminent among all my comrades and those who have a regard for me in the code of friendship.
It is probable that by his aid some means of escape from these fetters will be found and a plan offer itself for our release.’ They then alighted at a ruin where the mouse dwelt, and, approaching his hole, rapped with the knocker of the door of eagerness. When the voice of Ring-dove reached the ear of Zírak, he came out, and when he beheld his friend bound in the fetters of calamity, he caused tears of blood from the fountain of his eyes to flood the expanse of his cheek, and raised to heaven sighs of grief from his consuming heart, and said,
O beloved friend! and O companion suited to my mind! by what stratagem didst thou fall into this net, and from what cause wast thou overtaken in this distress?’ Ring-dove replied, ‘A variety of good and ill, and divers gains and losses, have been bound up with the decrees of fate. Whatever the writer of the supreme will inscribes with the pen of predestination in the tribunal of eternity on the pages of the affairs of created things will assuredly come forward into the field of existence, and to endeavour to avoid or shun it is altogether unavailing.
And the divine will and God’s decree have plunged me into this vortex of destruction, and displayed to me and my companions the grain, and although I dissuaded them from acting with levity and precipitation, and rebuked them for their haste and neglect of caution, the hand of destiny drew down before the eye of my vision also the curtain of carelessness; and clear-sighted reason, and far-seeing prudence kept me behind the dark screen of ignorance and folly, and thus the whole of us were all at once overtaken with the hand of trouble and the claw of calamity.’ The Mouse replied, ‘Oh strange! that one like thee, with all this shrewdness and sagacity, could not resist the disastrous influence of fate, nor avert with the shield of stratagem and counsel the shaft of destiny.’ Ring-dove answered, ‘O Zírak! cease these words, for those who, in strength and power, and reason and foresight, are superior to me; and in dignity and wealth, and excellence and perfection are before me; cannot contend with the eternal decrees nor withdraw their heads from the mandate of Him who has no decline, ‘There is none who can avert His decree, and there is none to reverse his judgment.’254 When the ruler whose commands all obey, moves the chain of His purpose, he transports the fish from the bottom of the ocean into the expanse of air, and the bird from its aerial height, he brings down into the centre of the earth; and there is no resource for any creature in the decrees of destiny and providence but to acquiesce and be resigned.
And thou must know that in the matter of the issue of the mandate of fate, the wise and the fool are alike, and in the whirlpool of destiny the poor peasant and the world-conquering king are on the same footing.
Zírak replied, ‘O Ring-dove! be of good cheer, for every garment that the habit-maker of the Divine Will prepares for the person of any individual attendant of the court of God’s worship, whether its collar be adorned with the button of wealth, or its skirt worked with the border of distress, is indubitably a pure favor and absolute beneficence. And the climax of this bounty is that the creature remains ignorant of its nature, nor sees the recondite mercy involved in it,255 and with reference to this they have said,
And if thou dost well consider it, what has befallen thee was for thy good; and the wise have said, ‘The pure honey is not found without the cruel sting, nor does the rose of joy grow up without the thorn of trouble.’
And when Zírak had finished this discourse and began to busy himself in severing the meshes which confined Ring-dove, the latter exclaimed, ‘Kind friend! first undo the fetters of my companions, and after thou hast satisfied thyself of their release, come to me.’ The mouse, paying no attention to these words, went on with his work. Ring-dove said again, and with greater emphasis, ‘O Zírak! if thou desirest to please me and act true to thy obligations as a friend, it is requisite for thee first to release my friends, and by this favour, thou wilt place the chain of obligation on my neck.’ The Mouse answered, ‘Thou hast reiterated this remark, and hast laid excessive stress upon it. But carest thou not for thine own life? and dost thou not admit the duty of self-preservation or neglectest thou the maxim, ‘Begin with thine own self.’255b Ring-dove replied, ‘Thou shouldest not reproach me, for they have written out for my name the diploma of the chieftainship of these pigeons, and I have made myself responsible for superintending their affairs. Inasmuch as they are my subjects, they have just claims upon me, and I too have claims upon them, because I am their prince, and now that they have faithfully discharged their duty to me, and that by their aid and assistance I have escaped from the hands of the fowler, I too ought to acquit myself of the duties which belong to me, and perform the functions of a leader; and every king who seeks his own ease, and leaves his people entangled in the bonds of trouble, it will not be long before the draught of his happiness is discolored, and the eye of his fortune darkened.
The Mouse answered, ‘The king is to his people what life is to the frame, or the heart to the body; wherefore, the first thing will be to take care of his condition, since, if the heart is whole, there cannot result so much detriment from the ill-state of the members, but if—which God forbid!—the heart be injured, the safety of the limbs is of no use whatever.
Ring-dove rejoined, ‘I fear lest, if thou shouldst begin to remove my bonds, thou mightest become weary, and some of my companions might be left imprisoned; while, as long as I am bound, though thou be utterly tired, thou wilt not forsake me, nor will thy feelings suffer thee to neglect to set me free, and, moreover, we have been partners in calamity, and honor demands that our release and freedom too should be simultaneous.
The Mouse answered, ‘This is the custom of the magnanimous and the fundamental principle of the generous; and by this laudable disposition and amiable temperament, the confidence of people in thy friendship becomes more unclouded, and the reliance of thy subjects on thy beneficence and high-mindedness is increased.
Then Zírak, with the utmost energy and ineffable zeal, severed the meshes of Ring-dove’s companions, and, last of all, released the neck of Ring-dove himself from the chain of calamity. The pigeons bade him farewell, and, safe and secure, returned to their own nests, and the Mouse retreated into his hole. When the Crow beheld the Mouse’s assistance, and how he undid the meshes, he longed to secure his friendship and alliance, and viewing his fidelity and fraternity as a rare blessing, said to himself, ‘I can never be secure from the adventure which befel the pigeons, and, consequently, I can never be indifferent to the friendship of such a person as this, who renders help in adversity.
The crow then flew lightly down to the door of the mouse’s hole, and called out. The Mouse asked, ‘Who art thou?’ The Crow replied, ‘It is I, the Crow, and I have urgent business with thee. Zírak was a mouse of prudence, who had experienced many vicissitudes and seen both good and ill fortune, and he had in that place prepared many holes for places of refuge, and had cut passages from one to the other, and he was in the habit of making ready for emergencies before they occurred, and of providing for all things wisely and prudently. When he heard the Crow’s voice, he recoiled, and said, ‘What hast thou to do with me or what connection have I with thee?’ The Crow recounted the case from beginning to end, and informed him of his acquaintance with his fidelity and excessive truthfulness in the matter of the pigeons, and said, ‘I have discovered thy perfect honor and loyalty, and goodly generosity and discharge of duty, and know how those pigeons reaped the fruits of thy friendship, and the consequences of thy amity; and how they obtained deliverance from that whirlpool of destruction by the blessing of thy constancy and attachment. I have bent all my energies to secure thy friendship, and am here to go through the preliminaries for commencing our intimacy.
The Mouse replied, ‘The path of companionship between me and thee is closed, and the road of intercourse shut.
Go! cease attempting to weld iron that has not been heated, nor take steps in pursuit of a thing, the attainment of which is every way surrounded with difficulties; for the pursuit of that which comes not within the range of possibility, is like trying to impel a ship on dry ground or to gallop a horse on the surface f the sea; and whoever labors in search of impossibilities makes himself an object of ridicule, and does but display his own ignorance to the wise.
The Crow replied, ‘Forbear to speak thus, for the generous leave not the needy unsatisfied, nor do the rich strike the back of their hands on the supplicating foreheads of those—whoever they may be—who seek their portals; and I have taken refuge, at this threshold, from the vicissitudes of fortune, and have made these doors my asylum and retreat from the chances of revolving time.
Now that I have made the dust of this thoroughfare the place of my attendance, and consider my honor pledged to the service of this sanctuary, no ill-treatment will make me turn back, nor any contumely drive me elsewhere.
The Mouse rejoined, ‘O Crow! desist from those artifices, nor scatter the grain of deceit before the net of dissimulation, for I well know the disposition of those of thy race, and since our natures are different, I shrink from thy society
Nothing can now make me secure with thee, and whoever chooses the companionship of one with whom he can never be secure, will meet with what the Partridge met with.’ The Crow asked, ‘How was that?’
The Mouse replied, ‘They have related that on the skirt of a mountain a Partridge258 was proudly walking, and the echoing sound of its merry cry pealed through the vault of heaven. It happened that a bird of prey, a hawk, was flying there. When its sight fell on the graceful movements of the Partridge, and the sound of its glee caught its ear, it longed in heart to associate with it, and began to inscribe on the tablet of its imagination the traces of its friendship. It reflected that in this world every creature stands in need of a suitable companion, and cannot do without an agreeable friend and kind associate, and that it has passed into a proverb that ‘where friends are failing there is ever ailing:’259
and that this Partridge would be a friend of comely countenance and smiling aspect, light-hearted and graceful, and that in the society of such a companion, the mind would be refreshed and gratified, and the bosom cheered and soothed by the friendship of such an ally.
He then softly inclined towards the Partridge, who, when it saw him, cautiously ensconced itself in the fissure of a rock. The hawk, descending from the air, alighted in front of that cleft, and stated what had occurred, saying, ‘O Partridge! hitherto I have been blind to thy perfections, and thy excellence and transcendant merit have been hid from me. To-day thy mirthful cry has occasioned such joyous emotions in my heart, and thy bewitching movements have so captivated me, as to make me trust that thou wilt not henceforth stand in dread or awe of me, and that thou wilt be disposed to become my friend and associate, since where friendship precedes, happy results follow, and the tree of amity bears for its fruit the object of one’s wishes.
The Partridge replied, ‘O conquering hero! suffer this helpless afflicted one to escape, and be pleased to devour some other partridge, and deem
Whenever water and fire consent to blend together, then one may conceive that friendship might arise between thee and me, and when sun and shade can be associated, it will be supposable that we can become companions.
The hawk replied, ‘O friend! reflect that it can be nothing but friendship which could lead me to speak kindly to one like thee. My claws are not grown weak, that I should fail in making prey of such as thou art, nor has my beak become powerless or debilitated that I should fail to secure any food. There is no more in it than this, that the desire of fellowship and fraternity with thee, and the wish for propinquity and attachment to thee, induces me to agitate the chain of friendship; and thou mayest anticipate many advantages from associating with me. And among these the first will be that when birds of the same species with myself observe that I foster thee under the shadow of the wings of my protection, they will withdraw the hand of violence from thy skirt and will survey thee with respect; and thou, with mind at ease, mayest wander over mountain and plain. Another advantage will be that I will convey thee to my own nest, so that thou wilt be elevated to a superior station and a lofty abode, and wilt be advanced in dignity above thy fellows. Moreover, I will bring thee a partner of thy own kind, gentle and beautiful, whom thou mayest in real truth desire to espouse, so that embracing her with the hands of enjoyment thou mayest pass thy time to the wish of thy heart.
The Partridge answered, ‘Thou art the ruler of the birds and the reins of dominion over them are in the grasp of thy option, and I am one of thy subjects and of those who pay thee tribute, and the like of me are not devoid of weaknesses and infirmities, and at the time when I am aided by thy favor and hope for thy support, it is possible that I may do something which may displease thy august mind, and the talons of my lord’s anger may destroy me. It cannot but be best that I should content myself with retirement and not lift up the banner of service in thy command, which is fraught with danger to me.
The hawk replied, ‘O brother! hast thou not heard and learned that the eye of friendship is blind in discovering faults, and that everything that proceeds from a friend, though it be the greatest of blemishes, seems the chiefest of beauties.
And since I survey thy actions with the eye of friendship, and inscribe the writing of thy words and adventures on the volume of attachment, how could I trace the character of error in thy discourse? or how interpret amiss aught that thou couldst say or do?
Although the Partridge repeated many excuses worthy of being approved, the hawk rejoined to them with satisfactory answers, and at last, by promises and a solemn covenant, he drew the Partridge out of the hole, and they then embraced one another, and ratified their agreement by oaths; and the hawk, taking him up, conveyed him to his own nest, and mutually pleased with each other, they passed their time in amusement and mirth. When two or three days had passed in this manner, and the Partridge felt safe with the hawk, he began to adopt an insolent tone, to speak with too great freedom, and without any reason, burst into laughter in the midst of conversation; while the hawk magnanimously appeared not to hear it, and forbore to punish it. Nevertheless, resentment found room in his breast, until one day he suddenly became slightly indisposed, so that he was unable to stir in search of food. He passed the whole day in his nest, and when night came and his crop was emptied of the food it contained, the fire of hunger blazed up and set his savage nature in motion, and the feelings of irritation against the Partridge, which he had stored up in the course of time, made him furious. In vain the monitor reason presented to his eyes his promise and compact, he did not glance at it with the eye of consent, and was seeking for a pretence to break his agreement and devour the Partridge. The latter observed the signs of wrath in his countenance, and with the sight of his eyes perceived that his destruction was at hand. Drawing a cold sigh from his afflicted heart, he said,
Alas! that at the beginning of this adventure, I did not cast my eyes to the conclusion, but associated with one of a different race, and forgot the precept of the wise.
Consequently, this day the vessel of my life has fallen into a whirlpool, such that the mariner of deliberation is unable to set me free; and the cord of my existence is broken in such wise, that the finger-tip of thought is baffled in attempting to unite it.
Thus was he soliliquizing, and meantime the hawk was unfolding his cruel talons and whetting his blood-shedding beak with the venom of tyranny, and as his first measure, sought a pretext262 against the Partridge. The latter, cautiously observant, took care to be thoroughly respectful, so that the hawk found no excuse for attacking him. At length, losing patience, he called out angrily to the Partridge, ‘Is it fitting that I should be in the sun and thou pass thy time in the shade?’ The Partridge replied, ‘O world-subduing prince! now it is night, and the shades of darkness have enveloped the whole world. By the heat of what sun are you distressed? and what thing is it that affords me the convenience of shade?’ The hawk replied, ‘O thou insolent one! dost thou make me out a liar, and deny my assertion? I will give thee thy punishment.’ He had no sooner uttered these words, than he tore the Partridge in pieces.
And I have adduced this story that thou mayest know, that whoever associates with those of a different race, and passes his time with one from whose injuries be cannot be safe, his life, like that of the mountain-partridge, is sacrificed to his companionship,262a and lost. In the same manner I am thy food, and I can never live secure from thy appetite. Wherefore, how can the road of amity between me and thee be opened? or in what manner can the requisites for an alliance be procurable?’ The Crow answered, ‘O Zírak! refer the matter to the decision of thy own judgment, and perpend it well, and reflect; What advantage could I gain by injuring thee, and were I to devour thee, how far would it satisfy262b me? while, in thy personal existence and the acquisition of thy friendship, there are a thousand advantages, and a hundred thousand benefits discernable. Besides it is not seemly that I should have traversed a long and distant journey to seek thee, and thou avert thy face from me, and smite the breast of my hope with the hand of discouragement; nor is it fitting that thou, possessed of the kindly disposition and serene mind that thou hast, should slight my claims as a stranger, or that the poor should retire from thy threshold discomfited.
And from the excellent qualities that I have observed in thee, I do not suppose that thou wilt altogether refuse to suffer me to partake of thy bene-ficence, and to perfume with the exhilarating odor of thy courtesy, the nostrils of my expectation.
The Mouse answered, ‘There is no kind of enmity so grave in its effects as that implanted by nature. For if an accidental hostility should arise between two persons, slight measures may suffice to remove it, and a trifling cause may dispel it. But if enmity has sprung up in the original nature, and its consequences have implanted themselves in the minds of both parties, and if to that hereditary hostility be added new reasons for hate, and former dislike be combined with subsequent quarrels, the removal thereof can in no wise enter the circle of possibility, and the getting rid of it is altogether beyond the limits of human power, and its extinction involves the annihilation of both parties.
And the wise have said, ‘Natural enmity is of two kinds. The first is when the injury resulting from it is not confined to one of the two parties. Now the one is vexed by the other. and now the injury is reversed, as in the case of the elephant and the lion, who cannot meet without a contest. Yet it does not follow that the victory is always on one side, and that the other will as constantly be put to flight. But on some occasions the raging lion is triumphant, and on others the furious elephant is the conqueror. Now this kind of enmity is not so intense that its wounds cannot be salved, because the party with which the victory remains, his heart will undoubtedly be pacified. The other kind is where the injury is always on one side, and the advantage on the other, like that of the mouse and the cat, and of the wolf and the sheep; and where the pain is restricted to one party, and the pleasure to the other; and this enmity is so powerful that not the revolution of the sky can change it, nor the vicissitudes of time undo its knot: and where it is known that one party aims at the life of the other, without there having been a previous attempt in time past from that other party, or the possibility of injury from him in the future, how can a reconcilliation take place there? or, how can intercourse there be carried on?
The Crow replied, ‘Praise be to God! no hostility from me to thee was mixed up in my original composition, and if in those of my race a fortuitous enmity has sprung up to thee, the mirror of my heart, at least, is free from the dust of malignity, and the glass of my mind is prepared to receive the refraction of the rays of love and affection; and assuredly as the maxim, From heart to heart there is a window,’ is true, I am in hopes that the sincere heart of that dear friend will testify to the truth of my friendship.
The Mouse answered, ‘Thou art beyond measure importunate, and troublest me by thus pressing on me thy friendship; and should I accept it and thou, too, stand to thy purpose, it is probable that on some trifling cause thou wilt break the chain of amity and return to thy former original habits and natural hostility—like water, which though it be kept long in one place so as to alter its smell and taste, yet retains its primitive properties, and if they pour it on fire, does not fail to quench it. And to consort with an enemy is like mixing with snakes and vipers, which is not safe; and friendship with foes resembles associating with tigers of sharp claws, which deserves not to be tried: and the wise have said, ‘We must not be beguiled by the assurances of our enemies, although they pretend to be friendly, nor must we confide in their words though they prepare the way to an agreement most assiduously.
And whoever, relying on an enemy, is elated by his civilities and listens to his cajolements with the ear of approval, will meet with what befell that Camel-rider.’ The Crow inquired, ‘How was that?’
The Mouse said, ‘They have related that a Camel-rider, as he was journeying, arrived at a place where the people of a caravan had made a fire, and after their departure the fan of the wind stirred it and set it in a blaze, and the sparks leaping forth from it, fell among the wood in all parts, and in every corner of the desert a dreadful conflagration264b arose, and in the midst of those flames a large snake—a huge venomous serpent was left, and being intercepted could not find a way to escape in any direction, nor any path to get free. He was on the point of being fried like a fish in a frying-pan, and like a roasted partridge on the fire, his blood was about to drop from his poison-scattering eyes—when he beheld that rider, and calling for help, exclaimed,
The Camel-rider was a merciful and kind man. When he heard the snake’s supplication and beheld its distress and trouble, he thought to himself, ‘It is true that snakes are the enemies of men, but he is now helpless and dismayed. My best course is to take pity on him and sow in the soil of action the seed of kindness, which can bear no other fruit than happiness in this world and exaltation in that to come.’ He then fixed the huntsman’s-bag265 that he had with him to the point of a spear and reached it thither. The snake, too happy to avail himself of it, crept into the bag, and the rider thinking it a good act drew him out from the midst of the fire. He then opened the mouth of the bag and said to the snake, ‘Go whithersoever thou wilt, and in gratitude for thy escape from this calamity, withdraw into solitude nor hereafter put thyself into a position to injure man; for he that injures God’s creatures, is disgraced in this world and miserable265a in that to come.
The snake replied, ‘Cease from these words, young man! for I will not depart till I have bitten thee and thy camel.’ The rider answered, ‘Have I not done thee a kindness and brought thee out of the fire? is this my recompense, and such the reward I am to receive?
The snake rejoined, ‘True! thou hast done a kind action, but it was shown to an undeserving object; and thou hast been clement, but thy clemency was mis-placed. Thou knowest that I am a vehicle of mischief and that no benefit to men can be anticipated from me. Wherefore when thou didst exert thyself to release me and showedst kindness to one with whom thou oughtedst to have dealt roughly; of course it is necessary, in requital, to cause thee distress, for showing kindness to the bad is equivalent to injuring the good.
And moreover in accordance with that verse of the Ḳur’án, ‘The one of you shall be an enemy unto the other,’265b an ancient enmity exists between us and you, and prudence requires that we should bruise the head of an enemy, and agreeably to the command, ‘Kill ye the two black things,’266 you ought to get rid of us, and while it is decreed that man should not permit us to go unscathed, thou hast in this matter abandoned the lawful and prudent course and chosen to be merciful, and I will assuredly inflict a wound on thee for a warning to others.’ The rider said, ‘O snake! let justice be appealed to, for in what creed is it deemed right to requite good with evil? and in what sect is it admissible to give the foulness of wrong in exchange for the purity of advantage?’ The snake replied, ‘Such is the custom of you men, and I, too, do but practice what you pronounce; and I sell to you what I have bought from you in the mart of recompense.
In vain the man protested, the snake exclaimed, ‘Decide with all speed whether I shall wound thee first, or commence with the camel.’ The young man replied, ‘Desist from this idea, for it is not fortunate to requite good with evil.’ The snake answered, ‘This is the custom of men, and I do but act in the same manner as they.’ The rider denied this accusation, and said, ‘If thou canst prove this by clear testimony, and wilt bring evidence to establish thy charge that men are wont to requite actions in this manner, I will purchase thy wound with my life, and will acquiesce in my own destruction.’ The snake looked about him and saw at a distance a buffalo, which was feeding in the plain. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘let us ask the truth of my assertion from this buffalo.’ The man and the snake then approached the buffalo, and the snake addressed it saying, ‘O buffalo! what is the reward of good?’ The buffalo replied, ‘If thou inquirest what it is among men, [I answer] the reward of good is evil. Lo! I was for a long time with one of them, and every year I brought forth a young one, and filled his house with milk and butter, and supplied the means on which his marriage and his subsistence were based. When I grew old, and became unable to bear young, he gave up attending to me, and turning me out of his house set me loose in the plain. After that I grazed for a long time here, and passed my time without work, according to my own wish. I began to grow somewhat fat, and yesterday my master came by here, and thought I looked fat. Hereupon he brought a butcher, and sold me to him; and to-day they are going to take me to the slaughter-house, and mean to kill me. Behold! such is the reward of all the good that I have recounted.
The snake replied ‘Lo! thou hast heard. Prepare thyself quickly for the wound.’ The Camel-rider replied, ‘In legal trials they do not pronounce sentence upon the evidence of one witness. Bring another, and do what thou wilt.’ The snake looked about him, and seeing a tree said, ‘Come, and I will ask this tree.’ They then came together to the foot of the tree, and the snake inquired of it, ‘What is the reward of good?’ It replied, ‘Among men the reward of good is evil, and the return for benefit, injury; and the proof is this: I am a tree that have sprung up in this wilderness, and I stand on one leg in the service of every comer and goer. When a child of Adam comes here oppressed with heat, and weary from the desert, he rests for an hour under my shade, and for a time indulges in repose. When he opens his eyes he says, ‘Such a bough will do for the handle of an axe, and such a bit is fit and proper for a spade. One might cut some good planks out of its trunk, and of them make some fine doors;’ and if they had saws or hatchets they would cut out of my branches and trunk whatever they fancied, and in spite of the enjoyment derived from me, would think fit to inflict all this suffering on me.
The snake said, ‘Lo! two witnesses have been brought; yield up thy body, that I may wound it.’ The man replied, ‘Life is very dear, and it is difficult to tear away the heart from the things of life, as long as it is possible to retain it. If one other person testifies in this matter, I will, without scruple, yield my body to this calamity, and acquiesce in God’s decree.’ Now, through a strange coincidence, a fox was standing by, observing their proceedings, and listening to their words with the ear of attention. The snake exclaimed, ‘See there! Ask this fox what answer he would give.’ Before the rider could put the question to him, the fox bawled out to the man, ‘Dost thou not know that the return for good is evil? What good hast thou done to this snake, that has made thee worthy of being punished in requital?’ The young man recounted the particulars; whereupon the fox said, ‘Thou appearest to be a sensible man, how is it that thou speakest what is contrary to the truth?
The snake said, ‘He speaks the truth, and behold! here, hanging to the saddle-strap, is the bag in which he brought me out of the fire!’ The fox expressed his surprise, saying, ‘How can one believe this story, that a snake of this size could be contained in a bag so small?’ The snake answered, ‘If thou dost not credit it, I will go again into the bag, that thou mayst see it with thine own eyes.’ The fox rejoined, ‘If I behold the thing, and have ocular demonstration of it, and find that these words are true, I will pronounce sentence between you in such wise as not to infringe justice, and to be wholly void of fraud and self-interest.’ The man opened the mouth of the bag, and the snake, confiding in what the fox had said, entered the bag. The fox then cried out, ‘O young man! when thou hast got thy enemy fast, shew him no mercy.
The man tied the mouth of the bag and dashed it against the ground till the snake was killed and the malice of his evil nature was extinguished, so that creation was emancipated from his power of injury.
And the moral of this story is, that it behoves a wise man not to abandon the path of caution nor to rely on the humble words of an enemy, and never to be led to trust in him, so as not to be overwhelmed by his attack.
The Crow replied, ‘These words which thou with perfect wisdom hast uttered, I have heard, and I have irradiated my mental vision with these bright gems which thou hast brought forth from the mines of sense, and it would be more in accordance with thy beneficence and generosity, and magnanimity and courtesy, to forego these excessive scruples, and, believing my words, throw open the path of friendship. And the wise have said, ‘Fly to the beneficent and shun the niggardly, for the beneficent is willing, upon the acquaintance of an hour, to impart a variety of kindnesses and good offices, and putting off the coldness of a stranger, to assume, with the utmost cordiality, the part of a friend and a companion. While the niggard, forgetting the obligations of ancient communion, will efface from his memory, in the twinkling of an eye, the friendship of a hundred years. And hence it is that the pious who have shaken themselves free from the world, are prone to friendship and slow to enmity—like a vessel of gold, which it takes long to break and but a short time to mend; while the base are slow to become friends and their friendship is soon overturned—like a vessel of earth, which is easily broken and can never be mended; and how finely have they said,
And I am of the number of those whose friendship may be depended upon and moreover, I am in want of thy companionship, and now that I have planted myself in waiting at this court, I will go back to no other door, and I will assuredly not taste food nor take rest until thou admit me as a friend into thy intimacy.
The Mouse responded, ‘I am willing to purchase with my life thy affection and regard, and all this denial is simply that I may be excusable in the sight of reason, shouldest thou intend perfidy; and that thou mayest not say, that thou hast obtained a dull and facile269 friendship; else from the beginning of our discourse I have found my heart pre-disposed to intimacy with thee, and my mind intensely inclined to communion with thee.
He then came forth and stood before his hole. The Crow said, ‘What prevents thee from advancing still further, and in my presence seeking to become intimate with me? but thou still feelest a trembling in thy soul.’ The Mouse replied, ‘Whenever one grudges not his own life for his friend, and devotes his own dear self for his comrade, he may be called a true friend and a brother to one’s mind. And if one displays the same cordiality in worldly matters and does not neglect to aid his friend with the wealth he possesses, he is a mediocre friend inclining to the mean [between warmth and indifference]. And they have said, ‘He who is pledged269a to his friend on account of his temporary requirements as to money and station, is like a fowler who scatters grain to benefit himself not to feed the birds;’ and since this friendship is mixed up with interested motives, it is probable it will terminate in enmity.
But he who in the path of amity withholds not his life and is ready to sacrifice his own existence, is an incomparable friend; and the rank of a friend who bestows his life is far higher than that of him who expends only his wealth.
And let it not be coneealed that in accepting thy overtures of friendship and in opening the way to our meeting, I risk my life, and notwithstanding that in the path of amity this point has been reached, that,
And had I entertained suspicion, I should never have shown this eagerness nor have come forth from the corner of my humble dwelling, but I confide in thy friendship and the sincerity of thy desire to be my companion has passed the limits of doubt and distrust; and on my side, also, regard and attachment has been produced to a two-fold and multifold extent. Thou hast, however, friends who differ from thee in being hostile to me, and do not accord with thee in thy kindly feeling towards me. I fear lest one of these should see me and attack me.’ The Crow answered, ‘I have a compact with my friends that they shall be the friends of my friend and the foes of my foe.’ The Mouse rejoined, ‘Undoubtedly, whoever contracts alliance with the friend of one’s enemy, or unites himself with the enemy of one’s friend, is most fitly enumerated among one’s foes.
And hence it is that the wise have said, ‘Friends are of three kinds: genuine friends, friends of our friend, and foes of our foe. And enemies too are of three sorts: avowed enemies, enemies of our friend, and friends of our enemy.’
The Crow replied, ‘I understand the drift of thy discourse, and, praise be to God! the ground of friendship and rules of amity have this day been so disposed between me and thee, and have been so ratified, that I shall regard as my friend whoever is friendly to thee, and esteem as my ally all who endeavour to conciliate thee, and whoever unites himself with thee, it is right that I too should unite with him, though he should be altogether hostile to me; and whoever separates from thee it behoves me to part from him, though he were altogether akin to me.
And my eager desire for sincere amity and my resolve to prove a faithful friend is such, that should I find any opposition to thee even in my eyes and tongue, which are the sentinels of the body and the interpreters of the heart, I would, with an instantaneous motion, hurl both from the shore of existence into the whirlpool of destruction.
The Mouse, emboldened by these words, advanced, and cordially accosted the Crow, and after embracing one another, they spread out the carpet of rejoicing.
After some days had passed in this manner, and the Mouse, to the extent of his power, had performed the rites of entertainment and the duties of hospitality, he said, ‘O brother! if thou wouldst prepare to reside here and transport thy wife and children to this place it would be an extreme favour, and the obligation which I feel in my soul for the blessing of meeting with thee would be doubled, for this region in which my dwelling is, is a cheerful spot and an exhilarating abode.’ The Crow replied, ‘There is no question as to the excellence of this place, the extent of its plain, and the refreshing air. It is, however, near the highway, and close to the public road. There is ever reason to expect some calamity from the coming and going of passengers, and to anticipate something odious from the attacks of travelers. Now, in such a place there is a meadow, from its exceeding brightness, full of light as the garden of Paradise; and from the clearness of its atmosphere, a place of delight and goodness, like the orchard of Iram.
There a Tortoise, who is one of my friends, has his home, and in that neighborhood food is procurable for me in abundance, and little mischief is to be apprehended. If thou art inclined, I will go there with thee, and pass the rest of my life in ease and enjoyment.
I know no wish equal to the honor of having thee for a neighbor, nor any hope brighter than the happiness of being with thee. Wherever thou advancest, like the sun I follow thee shadow-like, and through whatever land thou passest, shedding thy favors,272 I hang at thy feet like a skirt, and so long as the collar of life does not fall into the grasp [of death] the destroyer of delights, I will not draw back my hand from the hem of thy society.
And this region where I am now abiding is not my original fatherland, but I was led hither without my willing it; and my story, although long, comprises many extraordinary things, and whenever our resting-place is fixed, if thy illustrious mind desires it,
The conversation here ended, and the Crow took hold of the tail of the Mouse and turned in the desired direction. By chance a Tortoise was wandering round the margin of the fountain which was to be their permanent residence. When he beheld from a distance the blackness of the Crow, fear overcame him, and he plunged down in the water. The Crow softly deposited the Mouse from the air upon the ground, and called out to the Tortoise, who, when he heard the familiar voice, came up from the water, and beholding the face of his valued friend, raised to heaven the exclamations of his joy.
They then warmly accosted one another, and the Tortoise inquired, Where hast thou been this long time? and how camest thou to pass this way now?’272a The Crow then detailed at length his own history from the time when the pigeons fell into the net to the period of their release, and his desire to obtain the friendship of the Mouse, and his ratifying the bonds of amity with him, down to his arrival at his familiar abode.’ The Tortoise having learned the particulars of the case, showed the utmost pleasure at seeing the Mouse, and said,
My happy fate drew thee to these precincts, and the strength of my fortune raised the star of thy beauty above the horizon of this neighborhood.’ The Mouse said, ‘How can I sufficiently acknowledge these kindnesses which thou shewest to me? and with what tongue can I repeat thanks for the gracious manner in which thou condescendest to encourage me. It is from the burning heat of the sun of accidents, that I have sought refuge in the shade of thy clemency, estimating the acquisition of the happiness of communion with thee as the goal of my wishes and desires.
After they had rested from the toils of the way and had reposed themselves in that abode, which was a place of perfect safety:—secure from the assaults of the army of mischief, and unsullied by the dust of perturbation of rivals; the Crow, turning his face towards Zírak, requested that, if he thought good, he would narrate to the Tortoise the tales and adventures which he had promised the Crow to recount, in order to strengthen the friendship between them, and that they might derive all imaginable gratification from the recital.
The Mouse, commencing his story, said to the Tortoise,273 ‘O brother! my birth-place and native country was in a city of the country of Hind, which they call Nádút; and in that city I had taken up my abode in the cell of a solitary recluse, and in the corner of his hermitage had made a cell for myself, and I had several mice as attendants, and every day the numbers of my dependants increased. Now, a devoted disciple brought every morning for the holy man a tray of viands, a small portion of which the recluse used to take for his breakfast, and store up the rest for the evening; while I used to be on the watch for his going out of the house, in order that I might immediately leap on the table, and after eating such dainty bits as I liked, scatter the rest among the other mice. The holy man employed many stratagems to get rid of me, but in vain; and devised various schemes to kill me, but they were all to no purpose; until one day a friend came as guest to the abode of the recluse. After they had finished the usual salutations and the requisite repast, and had spread out the beneficial table of discourse, the recluse inquired of his guest the news at home, and his destination, and the cause of his journey, and motive for his change of place. Now, the stranger was a man of experience, who had tasted the sweets and bitters of fortune,
He replied to the recluse in a pleasing manner, and recounted with captivating eloquence what strange cities and marvelous countries he had beheld, and, during his discourse, the recluse kept every moment clapping his hands, in order that the mice might be scared by the sound. The guest was annoyed at this circumstance, which bore the appearance of an indignity, and enraged at an action which was so removed from due respect, and said, ‘O recluse! to clap the hands when one is speaking appears like turning the speaker into ridicule, and I do not think that the character of a jester or the part of a mocker accords with thy position, nor that it is consistent with thy profession to deviate from the highway of good manners towards sarcasm and jokes.
The holy man replied, ‘Heaven forbid that the thorn of jesting should ever be fastened in the skirt of my condition, and that the dust of raillery should be mingled with the atmosphere of the purity of my heart! This action which thou noticest, is to drive away a host of mice, who have overrun the realm of my board and table, and extending the hand of plunder and spoliation to all that I store up, leave not even a crust on my table safe from their assaults, nor permit me to preserve from their injuries any food in my house.
The guest asked, ‘Are they all bold and blindly audacious, or do some show more temerity than others?’ The recluse answered, ‘One of them is so hardy that in my presence he will carry off a thing from the board, and before my very eyes will display his audacity in plundering my viands.’ The guest replied, ‘There must be some reason for his boldness, and his story has a similar complexion to that of the man who insisted to the wife of the host, that there must surely be some cause why she should barter husked sesamum on equal terms for unhusked.’ The recluse said, ‘If thou seest fit, tell me, how was that?’
The guest said, ‘In this road that I came, I arrived at night at a certain village and alighted at the house of an acquaintance, and after supper was over and we had done talking, they spread a garment for me to sleep on, and I put on it a pillow, but I did not go to sleep. My host went to his wife, and there being no other screen between me and them than a mat, I overheard their conversation, and what they said on both sides from first to last reached my ears. The man said, ‘O wife! I wish to invite a party of the heads of the village to-morrow, and seat them in the presence of this my respected guest, who is a present to us from the invisible world, and prepare an entertainment for them suitable to my position.’ The wife rejoined, ‘I am astonished, that when thou hast not sufficient in the house for the wants of thy family, and hast not the means of procuring a diram275 to purchase greens and salt, thou shouldst still, with such powerful resources and ample means, entertain the notion of receiving guests! Well, at least, to-day that thou hast the power to lay up, make a store for the morrow, and leave something behind thee for thy wife and children, that after thy decease, they may not be dependant on any one.’ The husband replied,
If the power of doing a kindness and the ability to benefit others be attainable, we must not shrink from it, since, in fact, that will be a store for the next world; and whoever lays up a store for himself in this world will, in the next, be punished with the loss of his soul, for to amass and hoard up wealth is unblest, and its consequences disastrous, as was the case with that Wolf.’ The wife asked, ‘How was that?’
The man said, ‘They have related that a skilful hunter (such that through fear of his net the deer was not stepping forth into the plain, and the mountain-goat, through dread of his artifices and stratagems, would not leave its lair,
had set a snare, and a deer had been caught in the net. On his issuing from his place of concealment and coming towards the net, the stag, in fear for its life, made an effort, tore up the net, and started off in the plain. The hunter was ashamed, and fixing an arrow to his bow, shot at the deer, which fell, and the hunter, coming up, took it on its back and set off home. On the way a wild boar met and charged the hunter, who discharged an arrow at him. It so happened that the deadly arrow transfixed the hog as he came on, and, infuriated by the pain of the wound, he ripped up the breast of the hunter with his lacerating tusk, and both fell down dead on the spot. In the midst of this a hungry wolf came there, and saw the man and the hog and the deer slain. Pleased at the sight, he felt himself supplied with an abundance of delicacies and ample means of support, and said to himself,
This is the time for reflection and consideration, and the season for amassing and laying up a store, for to be remiss here would be opposed to all prudence and forethought, while if I am profuse, I should be censurable for folly and carelessness. I consider my advisable course and that most beneficial to be this, that I should consume for to-day’s meal, the bow-string, and not string the bow of wasteful expenditure and impropriety, and placing this fresh meat in a retired spot, each day impel the arrow of desire to the target of my wish, and conveying these treasures to a corner, make a magazine for hardness of times and times of hardship. For the wise have said,
The Wolf from excessive greediness turned towards the bow-string and began to gnaw it, and at a single motion of his teeth it broke asunder. The moment the string snapped, the horns of the bow struck him on the heart, and he instantaneously gave up the ghost.
And the moral of this story is, that greediness in amassing wealth and the being swayed by distant hopes to lay up stores, has disastrous results and fatal consequences.
Ah! what a hapless band are they who, from their earliest years painfully accumulate worldly gear and resign it at the close of life with infinite anguish.
When the wife of the host heard these words, which bore the stamp of wisdom, and a happy inspiration had whispered in her listening ear the glad tidings that, ‘Sustenance is with God,’ she adopted a gentle tone, and said, ‘O dear one! I have stored up in the house a little rice sesamum for the children; and now that it has been disclosed to me that storing up is unlucky, I will, to-morrow morning, prepare a meal sufficient for ten persons. Do thou invite whom thou wilt, and make whomsoever thou desirest, thy guests.’
The wife husked the sesamum and placed it in the sun, and enjoined her husband to keep a good watch till the grain was dry, lest the birds should carry away some of it; and she herself turned to some other business. Sleep overcame the husband; and a dog came up and touched the grain with his mouth. The wife observing this, was too disgusted to think of preparing a dish from it, and therefore taking it up, set off for the bázár. I, too, having some necessary business in the bázár, was going along behind her. I saw her go to the shop of one that sold grain, and she wanted to barter her sesamum for unhusked grain of the same description, measure for measure.277 The man made a great outcry, saying, ‘O woman! surely there is some trick here, that thou shouldest wish to barter on equal terms sesamum which has been cleaned from the husk for that which is still in the husk.’
And I have told this story because that I, too, am of opinion that the said bold mouse has so much strength and hardihood, and courage, from the place of its abode; and the probability is that it has a treasure of coin in its house, sustained by which it exhibits all this prowess; and if the plant of its condition should meet with the autumn of poverty, this freshness and vigor would not be evinced in the coppice of its actions. For they have said, ‘He who is moneyless is like a bird that is wingless and featherless.’
And I feel convinced that the strength of this mouse springs from gold. Bring a mattock that I may demolish his hole, and see how the matter ends.’ The recluse immediately brought a mattock, and I at that moment was in another hole and heard what they were doing. Now in my abode there were a thousand gold dínárs, on which I used to roll, and my mind rose from one ecstacy to another at the sight of them. In short, the cheerfulness of my heart and my peace of mind were dependant on that gold. Whenever I called it to remembrance, I experienced a gush of pleasure in my bosom, and exultation and delight made themselves felt in my heart. The stranger dug up the ground until he reached the gold, and what saw he then?
‘This,’ said he to the recluse, ‘is the source of the courage of that Mouse and that which adorns his vigor; for wealth polishes the intellect and supports the strength, and hereafter he will not venture on thy table nor attack thy loaf and viands.’ I overheard these words and perceived the tokens of debility and feebleness, and the marks of amazement and pusillanimity in myself, and felt compelled to desert that hole. The instant, too, that this unforeseen calamity overtook me, and this frightful accident descended on my dwelling, I beheld that my dignity waned in the minds of the mice, and that a prodigious change took place in their wonted respect and reverence. The flame of my friends’ sympathies was quenched, and the pure fountain of their allegiance and submission was discolored with the dust of denial and disobedience.
The mice who subsisted on my leavings, and devoured the scraps from the table of my bounty, and gleaned the harvest of my gifts, still expected my favors, and longed for my entertainments as before. When they failed to realize from me their wishes, they desisted from obeying and following me, and disavowing all feelings of loyalty and submission, loosed their tongues to censure and upbraid me; and deserting my society went over to my enemies and those who rebelled against my authority.
And it is a well-known proverb, ‘When the finances decrease, dignity is lowered,’—when our wealth ends, we lose our friends. And the man who is empty-handed and poor will be sure to fail, seek what he will, and the wish which springs up from his heart’s core will not be attained; like rain-water which collects in summer and cannot reach the sea nor unite with the streams, but, destitute of support, is frittered away in the valleys, and arrives nowhere. And the wise have said, ‘He who has no brother is poor wherever he happen to be; and he who has no child, his memory is obliterated from the page of time: and whoever is indolent and without supplies will receive no sympathies from his friends—or rather the empty-handed have no friends at all: for whenever a man has himself come to want, the parties who, like the Pleiades, formed the group of his society, will, like the daughters of the Bier279 become scattered, inasmuch as the friendship of the base and sordid is controlled by sensual motives and worldly advantages.
It is related that they asked a great personage, how many friends he had? He replied, ‘I know not, for I have a fortunate destiny, and an abundance of wealth and property, and every one professes to be my friend, and makes a boast of his regard and attachment. If, which God forbid! the dust of adversity should blind the eye of fortune, I should presently know who is my friend, and who my enemy.’ An ally may be known in the time of disaster, and a friend may be distinguished from a foe in a period of trouble.
And it is also recorded in the elegant pages of the wise, that they asked an eminent personage, what was the meaning of the avidity which people showed for the friendship of one possessed of wealth. He replied, ‘Riches are men’s idol; whoever has them, men respect him, and as soon as he loses them, they cease to congregate about him.’
At this crisis one of the mice who used to glory in my service, and to esteem one moment of my company as a fund of eternal happiness, and who was perpetually setting forth his fidelity and sincerity in the path of friendship, in the following strain,
passed me by as if I were a stranger, and took not the slightest notice of me. I called him to me and said,
What, I pray, has come to thee, and whither is all that affection and tender feeling, of which thou didst make such a display, gone?’ The mouse frowned, and said with the utmost possible rudeness, ‘What a simpleton thou art! men don’t serve one for nothing, nor do they wait on any one without a motive. At the time when thou hadst money and wast generous, we were all thy servants. Now thou hast become indigent, and the wise say that just as an indigent man has no share in the pleasures of this world, so it is not improbable that he may be excluded from the rewards of the next [according as it is said], ‘Poverty falls very little short of becoming281 infidelity.’ The reason is, that a man rendered desperate on account of food for himself and the maintenance of his family, may seek to support himself by unlawful means, and the consequence may be his disgrace and punishment in the next world; and as in this life he succumbs to the distress of penury, so hereafter he may be shut up and incarcerated in the prison of eternal woe.
‘The loss of this world and of the next, that is a loss indeed.’281a Wherefore if we forbear to associate with, and shun the converse of, one who has lost his worldly wealth, and whose reward in the next world is doubtful, we may be held excusable.’ I said, ‘Cease talking thus, for the faḳír is a king, since they have placed on the head of his excellence, the crown, ‘Poverty is my glory,’281b and have spread over the shoulders of his nobility, the scarf, ‘The faḳír has no wants.’
Wherefore, why dost thou decry poverty? and with what reason dost thou shew aversion to the darvesh?’ The mouse replied, ‘Alack! what relation has this penury and distress of thine with the poverty extolled by the prophets and lauded by the saints. That poverty implies that the traveler on the road of truth refuses to accept any particle of the wealth of this world or of a future state.281d He abnegates all to secure all, ‘None arrives at the total save he who has severed himself from the total.’ That poverty is displayed in the darvesh; this of thine in the beggar. A beggar is one thing and a darvesh another. The darvesh is he who voluntarily forsakes the world, and the beggar he whom the world forsakes.
The saying, ‘Poverty is a treasure of the treasures of God,’ is one of the mysteries of the true Unitarian faith, and the very essence of spirituality and of the glorification of God, and the water of the fountain of the abnegation of self, which washes off the dust of worldly entanglements from the face of the pure soul; and it is a robe of honor from the treasury of solitary devotion with which the hand of omnipotence arrays the purified spirit. The true poverty is the divine alchymy,282a and its mystery is not to be comprehended in the circle of description either by the lips or the pen.
But darveshes, who are so in mere outward appearance and want, are the roots of all evil, and the means of incurring the enmity of mankind, and of removing all modesty and shame. They subvert the foundation of courtesy and are the sum of evil and calamity, and cut off all strength and honor, and originate meanness and disgrace. And whoever is a prisoner in the circle of want must necessarily tear off the veil of modesty; and when the inscription, ‘Modesty is a part of faith,’ is erased from the page of his condition, life becomes disgusting to him, and he is overtaken by trouble and distress, and the guest of comfort removes his effects from the area of his breast, and the army of grief overruns the territory of his nature. The taper of his intellect continues without light, and his understanding and ingenuity and memory and sagacity begin to decline. The advantages of right counsel yield in his case injurious results. In spite of his uprightness he becomes exposed to the calumnious imputation of treason. The good opinion which his friends have of him is reversed, and if another commits a crime the guilt is transferred to him. Whatever he does or says is harmful to him, and every quality for which they laud and panegyrize a rich man is a cause of reproach and rebuke to a poor man. Thus, for example, if a poor man shew boldness, they ascribe it to rashness; and if he choose to be liberal, they call it extravagance; and if he try to be mild, they account it weakness and want of spirit; and if he adopt a grave demeanour, they call him sluggish and torpid; while, if he display eloquence and oratorical powers, they designate him as loquacious; or if he betake himself to the security of silence, they speak of him as a painting in a bagnio; and if he make choice of the corner of retirement, they find that it is owing to madness; but should he meet them with hilarity and sociability, they think it akin to low humor and buffoonery. If he be careful in his food and dress, they call him self-indulgent; and if he content himself with a rag and a scrap, they regard him as a miserable, poverty-stricken wretch. If he reside in one place, he is raw and ignorant of the world; and if he desire to travel, he is then a vagabond and ill-starred. If he pass his life in celibacy, he is one who neglects the injunctions of the law; and if he marry, they term him sensual and a slave to his appetites. In short, an indigent man is repudiated and utterly vile in the opinion of people of the world; and if, together with this condition of penury, they observe him trying for anything, then, merciful Heaven! hatred of him takes fast hold of their minds, and without aiding any of his necessities, they are all annoyed with him. And every distress which befalls men has its origin in desire [according to the saying], ‘Whoever desires becomes vile.’
When my friend had recited this discourse, I said, ‘Thou speakest the truth, and I had heard that if any one be overtaken by sickness to such a degree that all hope of convalescence is cut off; or be involved in calamitous separation of such a nature that it is a vain idea to anticipate re-union, or fall into exile which admits not of return nor affords the means of residence, even these are more easy to bear than penury and indigence; and I now see with my own eyes that this saying proceeded from the fountain of wisdom, and that the speaker of it delivered his sentiments from experience.
And of the evils of want, this is sufficient,—the being compelled to ask men for anything, and to beg for subsistence from such a one as oneself; and death is in every way preferable to poverty and mendicity, since to put one’s hand into the mouth of a venomous serpent, and to take deadly poison for one’s food, and to snatch away his mouthful from a hungry lion, and to lodge with a furious tiger, is less grievous than to carry one’s distresses to the stingy, and to endure the disgrace of begging; for they have said, ‘The pleasure of a gift does not compensate for the pain of asking, and the sweets of office do not pay for the distress of removal;’ and an eminent personage has said,
I then turned away from that mouse and hastened again to the mouth of my hole. There I beheld the recluse and his guest dividing the gold, and the former having put his share into a purse, placed it under his pillow. An unlucky covetousness began to tempt me, while I reflected that, ‘Could I regain a portion of that gold, my stout-heartedness and cheerfulness would return a second time, and my friends and brethren would seek my service with eagerness, and my court would be restored and my assembly adorned.’ Busied with these thoughts I waited only till they lay down for the night. I then stealthily approached the pillow of the recluse. Now his guest was a man of experience, and keeping awake employed his eyes in watching at that crisis, and was in expectation of what I was going to do. He gave me such a blow on my foot with his stick, that I turned back stricken down with the pain of it, and, trailing my leg, crept into my hole. I waited just long enough to let the pain subside a little and I came out a second time with the same covetous intent. This time the guest smote me such a blow on the crown of my head that I was stupified and was compelled to employ all my invention to throw myself into my hole, where I lay senseless, and the pain of that wound gave me a disgust to worldly wealth, and I forgot my poverty and hunger.
And I now learned of a certainty that covetousness is the vanguard of all calamities and the vidette of all distresses. Until the bird of greediness carries off the grain, its neck is not encompassed by the collar of the net, and until man binds up the waist of covetousness, the robe of his honor is not exchanged for the sack-cloth of disgrace. Whoever undertakes a journey by sea or submits to any unnecessary risk, is guided by covetousness, and from the darkness of greed, the dust of abasement settles on the page of the countenance of the pious, and the levity of covetous desires reduces the weight of the eminent in the scale of respect.
Strangely do they act who seek for happiness in abundance of wealth and know not that a little of it affords comfort; and who look for enjoyment in amassing riches, and do not perceive that by giving it all up they might arrive at a higher pre-eminence.
Wherefore, from this event, my state came to this, that I tore up by the roots the plant of desire from the soil of my heart, and culled the fruits of contentment from the orchard of acquiescence, and cheerfully submitted to the Divine Will, and bowed down my head to the writing of destiny, and said to myself, ‘The world, by the contents of these calamities and distresses, supplies a sample of its qualities and defects. There is no mansion in which the mark of its deceit and perfidy is not found, nor is there a palace on the inscription of which the sign of its assault is not impressed. Whom did it ever elevate that it did not afterwards cast down? and where did it plant a sapling which it did not afterwards tear up? to whom did it shew favor and not in the end drink his blood? or to whom did it open the door of fortune and not subsequently bring up a thousand troubles?
Such faithlessness deserves not that we toil for it, or grieve for its presence or absence, or for its loss or gain.
After these reflections I migrated from the house of the recluse to the waste, and there was a pigeon which had a friendship for me, and through its love and attachment arose my companionship with the Crow, and the latter related to me the account of thy courtesy and kindness, and so the zephyr of thy good qualities reached me from the flower-garden of his conversation; and the mention of thy virtues and high endowments led me to seek thee with earnestness and sincerity; and I formed the wish of obtaining, by the happiness of a meeting, the advantage of thy friendship. And I shrink from the horror of loneliness, for solitude is a hard thing, and the terror of friendlessness a difficult matter, and there is no pleasure in the world like the companionship of friends, nor can any grief compare with separation from one’s allies and removal from those who sympathise with us. And, thanks be to God Most High! the rose of happiness has begun to bloom from the heart-rending thorn of adversity, and the dark-visaged night of distress has been exchanged for the serene world-adorning morning of repose.
This is my history which I have fully recounted, and now I have come to be thy neighbour, and hope for thy friendship and alliance.
When the Tortoise had heard this narrative, he spread the carpet of courtesy, and laying the foundation-stone of affability, said,
What happiness can be weighed against the honor of having thee for a neighbor? and what gladness can compare with the joy of thy286 society? and even as thou art hoping for my aid and amity, so I too look to and plume myself upon thy love and companionship; and as long as the lamp of life burns on I will, moth-like, sport round the taper of thy beauty.
And in this true history which thou hast recounted, a variety of experiences and abundant lessons are contained, and by means of those experiments it is made clear that the man of sense should be satisfied with a very little of the rubbish of this world, and ought to be content with just enough to obviate the necessity of begging; for whoever longs for aught beyond requisite lodging and food, steps beyond the limits of justice, and this injustice plunges him bewildered into the labyrinth of calamity and the wilderness of peril; and he meets with what befell that greedy Cat.’ The Mouse inquired, ‘How was that?’
The Tortoise said, ’They have related that a person had a Cat, and assigned to it as its daily portion just so much flesh as might quench the flame of hunger; but from the animal propensities which prevailed over the temper of that inconsiderate creature, it failed to be content with its lot.
One day the Cat passed near a dove-cot, and its appetite being excited by the fascinating voices of the pigeons and their harmonious treble and bass notes, it sprang into that citadel. The keeper of that castle, however, and the warder of the place immediately seized it, and conveyed it from the rose-garden of existence to the furnace of annihilation. Before it could perfume the head of appetite with the brains of the pigeons, he stripped off its skin, and having filled it with straw, hung it up over the door of the dove-cot. It happened that the owner of the Cat passed that way, and on seeing the plight of his Cat, said, ‘O greedy wanton! hadst thou been contented with the portion of flesh which fell to thy lot, they would not have stripped off thy skin.’
And the moral of this story is that thou shouldest hereafter be contented with as much food as will suffice to keep in the breath of life, and with a hole just enough to afford protection from the heat and cold, and not affiict thyself for wealth that is lost.
And know that every man’s nobility is from his virtue, not from his wealth; and every one whose mind is adorned with accomplishments, though his stock of wealth be small, is always beloved and honored. So the lion, though he may be bound with chains, yet his awfulness is not diminished. But a wealthy ignorant man is always despised and destitute of weight, like a dog, which, though adorned with a collar and rings, still remains vile and contemptible as before.
Dismiss, moreover, from thy heart, grief for thy exile, and attach no importance to separation from thy native land and home; for let the wise man go where he will he will be befriended by his own good sense, while the fool will be friendless and a stranger in his own country and the place that gives him birth.
And be not sad as to what thou sayest, that, ‘I possessed a treasure and it has been dissipated,’ for worldly wealth and possessions are liable to decay, and their increase or decline are beyond the circle of reliance; and the wise have said, ‘Permanence and continuance cannot be expected from six things. The first is the shadow of a cloud, which, even as thou lookest on, passes away. The second is interested friendship, which is extinct in a short time, like the lightning’s flash. The third is the love of women, which is quenched by a slight matter. The fourth is the comeliness of the beautiful, which changes in the end. The fifth is the praise of the false, which is devoid of continuous lustre. The sixth is worldly wealth, which in the end arrives at the place of exposure to annihilation, and does not carry out to the end the line of fidelity to its owner.
And it beseems not a man of sense to rejoice at the greatness of his wealth, nor to grieve for his want of riches, since, in the opinion of the magnanimous, the whole world, with its goods and gear, is not worth a straw.288 Wherefore it is not right to waste the harvest of dear life in acquiring this; nor ought one to suffer a grain of disquietude at its loss or non-attendance, and those who, having become acquainted with that wise saying, ‘Lest ye immoderately grieve for the good which escapeth you, or rejoice for that which happeneth unto you,’289 give reins to the steed of high-mindedness in the plain of content, and who, staking the coin of life in order to acquire the things of solitary devotion and abandonment of earthly connections; are neither led by worldly riches to open to their heart’s countenance the portals of rejoicing, nor evince regret and despondency at the loss of them.
And, in truth, men ought to consider their wealth to be that which they send on before, and to regard that as their property which they store up for themselves in the final state; and righteous acts and words of probity are a possession which cannot be snatched away from any one, nor dissipated by the accidents of fortune, nor the revolutions of night and day. And the advantage of worldly goods is to make ready a provision for the world to come, and to prepare the means of threading the path of that world to which all must return; since, in accordance with the saying, ‘We took vengeance on them suddenly,’289a death comes unawares and there is no fixed time nor any appointed period [known to man] for restoring the deposit of life.
And although thou art not in need of my counsel, and canst well distinguish between what is for thy advantage and what is detrimental; nevertheless, I wished to discharge the duty of a friend, and to aid thee to praiseworthy feelings and laudable dispositions; and to-day thou art my friend and brother, and all the assistance that it is possible to render thee, and all courtesy that can be imagined, will in every respect be realised; and even under the impossible supposition that thou shouldst evince unkindness, on my part nothing but the blessed influence of true attachment and the usages of cordial friendship will be displayed.
When the Tortoise had finished these words and the Crow had heard his kindness with regard to the Mouse, his heart was refreshed, and his delight became unbounded, and he said, ‘O brother! thou hast made me glad, and doubled the amount of my joy and pleasure, and hast manifested somewhat of thy virtues. Now, the best of friends is he, in the shade of whose kindnesses and favor, and in the shelter of whose care and protection, a number of those attached to him at all times pass their life, while he keeps open for them the doors of his bounty, and considers it obligatory upon his soul to accept their requests and expedite their requirements; and whoever fails in any part of friendship to his ally, is not fit for a friend. Moreover, it has been related that an eminent personage had a friend. One night this friend came to the door of his house and knocked, and that personage discovered that it was his friend. Thereupon he fell into a lengthened meditation, saying, ‘Ah me! what can be the cause of his coming at this unseasonable time?’ After long reflection, he took up a purse full of dirams, belted on his scymitar, and bade a female slave light a lamp, and go before him. When he had opened the door and had greeted his friend by clasping his hand and embracing him, he said, ‘O brother! I have imagined three causes for thy coming at this unusual hour. First, that some accident has happened and that thou art in want of money. Secondly, that an enemy has risen up to assail thee, and that thou requirest an ally and helper to repel him. Thirdly, that thou art sad at being alone and requirest some one to minister to thee, and I have made ready for all three contingencies, and have come out to thee. If thou hast need of money, lo! here is a purse of dirams; and if thou seekest help, behold here am I with a trenchant scymitar; and if thou lookest for a servant, here is a suitable handmaid.
His friend excused himself [for coming so late], and by that fair procedure the bond of reliance on his attachment and love was strengthened.
And when a benevolent person falls into the whirlpool of disaster, none can befriend him but those of a like disposition; just as if an elephant should fall into a quagmire, other elephants alone can extricate him; and if in befriending the Mouse thou shouldest meet with hardships, thou must not grieve; and keeping thine eyes on thy reputation and the maintenance of thine honor, must disregard the inconvenience, for the wise man ever labors for distinction and to leave behind him a fair repute; and if, for example, he be compelled, in his pursuit of an honorable name, to risk his life, he will not shrink from it, because he will thus have purchased the imperishable with the perishable, and have sold a little for much.
And whoever excludes the necessitous from his good things is not to be reckoned among the really rich; and he whose life is passed in dishonor and disaster such as his foes would wish, his name is not inserted in the roll of the living.
The Crow was discoursing thus, when a Deer appeared in the distance running fast. They suspected that somebody was pursuing him, whereupon the Tortoise leapt into the water, the Crow took his seat in a tree, and the Mouse ran down a hole. When the Deer reached the edge of the water, it stood like one stupified, and the Crow cast its eyes around to see if any one was on its traces. Though it looked to the left and right it saw no one. It called therefore to the Tortoise, who emerged from the water; and the Mouse joined them. The Tortoise, observing that the Deer was scared and kept looking in the water without drinking, said, ‘If thou art thirsty, drink! and be not alarmed, for there is no cause for fear.’ The Deer came forward, and the Tortoise uttered an exclamation of joyful welcome, saying,
The Deer said, ‘I have been used to dwell in this plain alone, and mingle not with those of my race; and the archers, ever stringing the bow of murderous intention, have driven me from this corner to that. To-day I observed an old man lying in wait for me, who watched me wherever I went. I conceived the idea that it was a hunter and that the snare of his craftiness would presently catch my feet; and, running away, I reached this spot.’ The Tortoise said, ‘Fear not! for hunters never come to the environs of this place, and if thou wishest to associate with us, we will introduce thee into the circle of our friendship; and the pedestal of the association of us three will be supported with a fourth pillar, viz., thyself: for the wise have said, ‘The more numerous friends are, the less will they be exposed to the assaults of calamity.’
And it is certain that if there be a thousand friends, they must be regarded as one; and if there be but one enemy he must be looked upon as many.
The Mouse also took up the discourse, and the Crow uttered some benevolent words. The Deer perceived that they were amiable friends and pure-minded companions. He mingled with them and sought their society with his heart and soul.
The Deer took up his abode in that meadow; and his friends admonished him not to set his foot beyond the grazing-ground in their vicinity, nor to elongate himself from the neighborhood of the fountain which was their castle of security and peace. The Deer agreed to act in conformity with their advice. They were passing their time together, and there was a bambú thicket292 where they used always to assemble, and sporting, recount their adventures. One day the Crow, the Mouse, and the Tortoise, assembled at the trysting-place, and waited some time for the Deer. It did not come, and this circumstance making them sad, as is the wont of attached friends, a depression of spirits overcame them. They requested the Crow that he would take the trouble to fly up into the air and inform them of their lost friend’s condition.
The Crow in a short time brought them intelligence that he had seen the Deer prisoned in the net of calamity. The Tortoise then said to the Mouse, ‘In this unhappy conjuncture our only hope is in thee, and by thy help alone can the banner of the Deer’s safety be set up.
The Crow then showed the way, and the Mouse, running off,292a came to the Deer and said, ‘O kind brother! how hast thou fallen into this difficulty? and with all thy good sense and sagacity how hast thou yielded thy neck to the fetters of deceit?’ The Deer replied, ‘Opposed to the divine decree, of what avail is shrewdness? and of what use is acuteness and sagacity, if it controvert the mandate of the Supreme Ruler? From the desert of deliberation to the resting-place of destiny, the way is endless; and from the plain of stratagem to the confines of fate, the distance is infinite.
The Mouse replied, ‘Thou speakest truly,
He then occupied himself with severing the bonds of the Deer, and in the meantime the Tortoise having come up, made known his grief and dejection at the imprisonment of his friend. The Deer said, ‘O kind friend! thy coming to this spot is yet more perilous than what has befallen me; for if the hunter should come and the Mouse have severed my bonds, I with a single step can save my life, and the Crow will fly away, and the Mouse will conceal itself in the recess of a hole. But thou hast neither the hand to fight nor the means of opposition, nor the front to resist nor the foot to fly. Why hast thou ventured thus gratuitously? and wherefore hast thou been so rash?’ The Tortoise replied, ‘Dear comrade? how was it possible for me not to come? and with what color could I delay or allow of hesitation? what pleasure has life which is passed in absence from friends? and how can existence be valued which is spent in separation from those we love.
And I am excusable for coming here, since the desire of beholding thy beauty drew me hither whether I would or not, and the wish of beholding thee deprived me of all patience; and with reference to this trifling distance and necessary journey which has presented itself, the companion of patience has set his foot in the road of annihilation.293
And be thou not pensive, for this instant thou wilt obtain thy release, and these knots being loosed, thou wilt with unconcern hasten home; and on all accounts it is requisite for thee to offer due thanksgiving, and incumbent on thee to render thy grateful acknowledgments that thy body is unwounded and thy life uninjured; else the remedy would have been beyond the reach of imagination, and the cure would have passed the bounds of possibility.’ They were engaged in this conversation when the hunter appeared at a distance, and the Mouse finished dividing the meshes. The Deer leapt forth, the Crow flew away, the Mouse went down into a hole, but the Tortoise remained where it was. When the hunter came up and found the net which held the deer severed, he bit the finger of amazement with the tooth of reflection, and began to look to the left and right, saying, ‘Ah! by whom has this deed been done and whose hand has effected this?’ His eyes lighted on the Tortoise, and he said to himself, ‘Although this contemptible piece of goods cannot soothe my sorrow for the escape of the Deer, and the rupture of the net, yet to return empty-handed is discreditable to the character of a hunter.’ He then forthwith seized him and tossed him into his bag, and having tied him on his back, set off towards the city. As soon as the hunter had departed, the friends assembled, and discovered that the Tortoise had been taken by the hunter. Their hearts poured forth lamentations, and they raised their cries and complaints to the summit of the blue sky, and said,
What pain can equal separation from friends? and what calamity can parallel the absence of our comrades. Whoever is excluded from beholding his companion, and is parted from communion with his rosy-cheeked [favorite], knows that the wanderers in the plain of separation have the foot of bewilderment in the mire, and that the recluses of the cell of affection keep the hands of regret upon their heart.
Each of the brotherhood uttered a separate moan, and composed a clamorous and piteous lament suited to his condition, and the tenor of their words had reference to one and the same subject.
At length the Deer said to the Crow, ‘O brother! although our words are extremely eloquent, and the effusions which we utter excessively sweet, yet they do not benefit the Tortoise in the least; and our lamentations and weepings, and bemoanings and disquietude, will not satisfy294 him. It is more in accordance with good faith that we devise some stratagem, and employ some device which may embrace his release and ensure his escape; and the wise have said, ‘The test of four kinds of persons is at four seasons. The courage of the valiant may be known in the day of battle, and the honesty of the upright in the time of lending and borrowing, and the love and fidelity of wife and child may be discerned in the hour of famine, and the truth of friends may be learned in the season of adversity and distress.
The Mouse said, ‘O Deer! I have thought of a trick. The advisable course is that thou shouldest shew thyself to the hunter, and appear like one fatigued and wounded, and let the Crow alight on thy back and make it seem as if he were attacking thee, and assuredly, when the eyes of the hunter fall upon thee, he will plume himself with the idea of catching thee, and will put down the Tortoise with his gear on the ground and make towards thee. As soon as he comes near thee, run limping away from him, but not to such a distance as to cast off his hope of catching thee. Then keep him a good while employed in chasing thee, and do not fail to encourage him and to regulate thy movements. It may happen that I may release the Tortoise and let him run away.’ The friends expressed their admiration of his plan, and the Deer and the Crow shewed themselves to the hunter as had been agreed. When the too credulous hunter beheld the Deer limping along, and the Crow hovering round him and pecking at his eyes, he fancied he should be successful in capturing the deer, and putting down his bag from his back set to work to pursue him. The Mouse forthwith severed the ties of the bag and released the Tortoise, and after an interval, when the hunter was well wearied in pursuing the Deer, and, despairing of success, came back to the bag, he could not see the Tortoise, and found the ties of the bag severed. He was overcome with astonishment, and thought to himself, ‘No one would credit these extraordinary circumstances which I have witnessed. First, there was the severing of the Deer’s fastenings, and his pretending to be wounded, and the Crow’s sitting upon him, and the making a hole in the bag, and the escape of the Tortoise! How are we to explain these acts?’ In the midst of these reflections, being overcome with terror, he said, ‘Most likely this is the haunt of fairies and the abode of dívs; I must get back with speed, and break off all desire for the beasts of this plain. The hunter took up the fragments of his bag and his broken net, and taking to flight, vowed that if he could escape from those wilds, for the rest of his life he would not suffer himself to think of that plain; and he would, out of kindness, warn other hunters not to enter that wilderness.
And when the hunter had gone away, the friends re-assembled and returned to their dwelling-place free from care and safe, and content and peaceful; and thenceforward neither did the hand of calamity reach the skirt of their affairs, nor the nail of trouble lacerate the cheek of their condition or proceedings; and by the happy influence of their agreement and the beauty of their unanimity, the knot of their friendly intercourse was secured, and the bond of their society strengthened.
This is the story of the agreement of friends and the narrative of the reciprocal aid and support of companions, and of sincerity of attachment in prosperity and adversity, and of the maintenance of regard in the time of tranquillity and of trouble, and of the discharging social obligations in the season of enjoyment and of hardship, and how these friends displayed steadiness in perfect devotion during the mishaps of time and the vicissitudes of fortune; and, consequently, by the blessing of unanimity and mutual aid, they obtained release from such mortal perils; and, casting disasters and calamities behind them, were securely seated, happy and unruffled, on the throne of friendly converse and the cushion of mirth. Now, it behoves a man of sense to feel it incumbent on him to give proper consideration to these tales with the light of his reason and the clearness of his judgment; for since the friendship of feeble animals yields such admirable fruits and choice results, if a body of wise men, who are the cream of mankind and the élite of the human race, pursue a similar sincere unanimity, and lay the base of friendship on these rules, and conduct to the end this faithfulness of intention and inward purity; how will not the advantages thereof extend to high and low? and the beneficial effects being manifested on the pages of the circumstances of each individual, to what extent will not the blessing of such a proceeding accrue to the fortunes of great and small?
Or hyssop.
↩Lit.: ‘step.’
↩Or Jesus. The cures of our Saviour are as renowned among the Muḥammadans as among Christians.
↩A peculiar phrase, jáhil-í’ám.
↩The Tughránavís is the person who appends the imperial titles, signature, etc., to a paper.
↩Ḳur’án, Fl. xxviii. 88, Mar. xxvii. 87: Sale p. 297, 1. 9: ‘And be not thou an idolater; neither invoke any other god together with the true God; there is no God but He. Everything shall perish except Himself; unto Him belongeth judgment; and before him shall ye be assembled at the last day.’
↩With such execrable taste do the Persians ride their metaphors into the lowest bathos.
↩One MS. omits zaráfatí, which in fact is inserted only to rhyme with áfatí. The same MS. omits the text from the Ḳur’án after ḳalam, and reads mamát ‘death,’ instead.
↩Or ‘in a piteous manner.’ This passage, particularly the ánastí, is obscure.
↩The Dictionary says nasrín is the ‘name of a flower,’ but adds no more.
↩This Arabic proverb is faultily given in both editions. The printed edition has áṯim, ‘a sinner.’ The lithographed edition has uṯimuṉ, which is no word at all. The proper reading is iṯmun ‘a sin.’
↩Ḳur’án, Fl. ii. 191; Mar. ii. 196; Sale p. 21, l. 17: ‘Contribute out of your substance towards the defence of the religion of God, and throw not yourselves with your own hands into perdition; and do good, for God loveth those who do good.’ On which passage Sale has the following note; ‘Be not accessory to your own destruction, by neglecting your contribution towards the wars against infidels, and thereby suffering them to gather strength.’
↩I read dáram for the dárad of the printed edition, on the authority of the lithographed edition and MSS.
↩Lit., ‘ass load.’
↩Balkhí may also mean ‘proud, arrogant.’
↩I am ignorant of the allusion here. Sulaimán understood the language of birds, but I do not know what night is here referred to.
↩Kur’án, Fl. xlii. 38, Mar. xlii. 39; Sale, p. 360, l. 27: ‘Whatever things are given you, they are the provision of this present life; but the reward which is with God is better and more durable for those who believe, and put their trust in their Lord; and who avoid heinous and filthy crimes; and, when they are angry, forgive; and who hearken unto their Lord, and are constant at prayer; and whose affairs are directed by consultation among themselves, and who give alms out of what we have bestowed on them; and who, when an injury is done them, avenge themselves: (and the retaliation of an evil ought to be an evil proportionate thereto:) but he who forgiveth and is reconciled unto his enemy, shall receive his reward from God; for he loveth not the unjust doers.’
↩Maḳṣúr shudan is here idiomatically used in the sense of ‘being restricted solely to one purpose.’ I have translated it somewhat freely.
↩Lit., ‘if he extend on every side the hand of mischief.’
↩The phrase is somewhat unusual.
↩Ḳur’án, Fl. xiv., 7; Mar. xiv., 8; Sale, p. 190, l. 11: ‘And when your Lord declared, by the mouth of Moses, saying, If ye be thankful, I will surely increase my favours towards you; but if ye be ungrateful, verily my punishment shall be severe.’
↩The text appears to me corrupt here, in both the printed and lith. editions. One MS. inserts va after bavad, and I translate accordingly, though I would rather suppress the kih after gháyat, did the MSS. allow it, or make the first sentence end at tá gháyat, and substitute va for kih, which would be better still.
↩See p. 195, 1. 2, of the printed edition of the Persian text, whence it is evident that the reading of the editions here and of some MSS. is a gross mistake, and that for dú dígar we should read duzd dígar, as the best MSS. have it, or, were the word admissible, duzdígar, ‘thief,’ which would seem justified by karígar and similar forms.
↩The sense seems obscure here. If no sentence would be pronounced, how could the punishment be inflicted?
↩Ḳur’án, Fl. vi. 45; Mar. vi., 44; Sale, p. 95, 1. 25: ‘And when they had forgotten that concerning which they had been admonished, we opened unto them the gates of all things; until while they were rejoicing for that which had been given them, we suddenly laid hold on them; and behold, they were seized with despair; and the utmost part of the people, which had acted wickedly, was cut off, praise be unto God, the Lord of all creatures!’
↩Bád signifies both ‘the wind,’ and ‘a steed,’ hence the equivoque in the original, which I have been unable to preserve.
↩The original has ‘standing on one leg’ as an epithet of the anemone or wind-flower in this verse, but as the idea is simply ludicrous to our taste, I have omitted it.
↩In the original ḳáid, ‘leader.’
↩Ḳur’án, Fl. xiii., 41; Mar. 43; Sale, p. 189, 1. 13: ‘Do they not see that we come into their land, and straiten the borders thereof, by the conquest of the true believers? When God judgeth, there is none to reverse His judgment; and He will be swi t in taking an account.’ I have been unable, however, to find the first half of the saying in the Ḳu’rán; it is probably therefore proverbial.
↩Charkh has several very different meanings. It may signify ‘the sky,’ or ‘the collar of a coat.’ This latter sense, I think, it bears in the present passage; though I have translated it ‘mantle,’ as being somewhat more poetical.
↩The hiding from man his future (which, be it what it may, is for the best) is the greatest of mercies.
↩The MSS. and the editions vary much in this line. The lithographed edition reads dam dar kash ‘keep silence,’ for the khẉush dar kash ‘drink pleasantly’ of the printed edition.
↩A proverb similar to our ‘Charity begins at home.’
↩The kabk-i darí is said, in the dictionary, to be ‘a beautiful sort of partridge.’ Hence, and, because its note is described as so pleasing, I take it to be ‘the black partridge,’ which is not only a very beautiful bird, but has the most joyous enticing cry imaginable.
↩I have made a feeble attempt to retain the play on words in the original, where bí yár ‘friendless’ chimes with bímár ‘sick.’
↩Lit.: ‘Made the seeking pretences his van-measure.’
↩I feel considerable doubt as to this passage. I take the kardah in the sense of fidá ḳardah.
↩Ḥence I conclude that músh in this story signifies ‘a mouse,’ and not a rat, which could hardly be considered a small repast for a crow. It is strange that there is not a distinct word for each animal in Persian.
↩The editions here have a misprint, tú for nau ‘new.’
↩This line loses all its point in English. In the original there is an equivoque on gul ‘a rose,’ and gulkhan, ‘a furnace for heating baths.’
↩Lit., ‘a tulip-bed,’ the brilliant colour of which flower resembles that of a conflagration.
↩Túbrah may be either ‘a huntsman’s bag,’ or ‘a nosebag for a horse.’
↩The epithet dushman-i kám ‘miserable,’ is worth remarking. It properly signifies ‘foe’s wish,’ i.e., miserable as even one’s enemies could desire.
↩Ḳur’án, Ch. xx. 121; Sale p. 242, l. 17: ‘And thus Adam became disobedient unto his Lord and was seduced. Afterwards his Lord accepted him on his repentance, and was turned unto him and directed him. And God said, ‘Get ye down hence all of you; the one of you shall be an enemy unto the other.’
↩What the two black things referred to in the maxim may be, I know not; probably the scorpion and the snake.
↩Lit.: ‘Slow-reined and soft in the withers,’ i.e., soft-paced.
↩I have ventured so to translate dar miyán, but the passage is altogether very difficult and obscure.
↩I have been obliged to coin the word ‘life-generous,’ i.e. ‘one who grudges not his life for his friend.’
↩That is, ‘Kill your foe, and cut off the limb that sides with him.’
↩Lit., ‘shaking thy sleeve.’
↩Ḥál bar chih minwál guẕashtah might, perhaps, also mean ‘in what manner has thy time passed?’
↩This is the fifth story of the 1st. Book of the Hitopadesha, where the town is called Champaka, and the recluse Chúrá-karna. The relator is there said to be Múshika-rájá, ‘king of mice or rats,’ for the word múshika too may mean either a mouse or a rat.
↩A silver coin, in value about two pence.
↩This is the 7th. story of the 1st. Book of the Hitopadesha.
↩Lit. ‘ṣá’a for ṣá’a.’ The ṣá’a is a dry measure of the largest description, containing 4 mudds, and each mudd = 1 1/3 ritl.
↩The literal translation of these very difficult lines is as follows:—
If any one dislikes my free translation he is welcome to the above.
↩The stars in the constellation of the Bear are so called. What we have chosen to compare to a bear, the Orientals compare with a coffin. From the scattered appearance of these stars they are contrasted with the Pleiades, which appear to form a compact cluster.
↩That is, ‘after it is cut or snuffed.’ Such is, I suppose, the point of resemblance in this very forced and meaningless comparison.
↩The cypress is always called the free, as being free from curvature, or too straight to require a prop.
↩Literally, ‘that it should become.’ The same proverb is quoted in the ‘Gulistán,’ p. 250 of the translation, ch. vii., st. xix., where I have rendered it somewhat more freely.
↩Literally, ‘a palpable loss.’
↩This saying of the Prophet is likewise quoted in the passage of the ‘Gulistán’ cited above: p. 249 of my Translation.
↩Jauhar is the logical term for ‘essence,’ ’arẓ, for ‘accident.’ Man’s original state is that of the naked savage. civilization furnishes him with raiment, etc., but these are mere ‘accidents,’ of which he is despoiled by death.
↩I should be glad to strike out the words sarmáyah-i ákhirat, did the MSS. allow it. They completely mar the sense. Pious men do not decline the means of happiness in the next world; on the contrary, they refuse to be rich, because riches impede their prospect of happiness in the next world. This is so obvious, that it is a wonder how these words could have been foisted in. Yet some will perhaps think that an exaggerated spirituality is here intended, in which even the rewards of heaven are slighted, and the pilgrim so entirely abnegates self, that he does not even think of his condition in the world to come!
↩The darvesh-i nán is he who is a darvesh for the sake of the nán, ‘the loaf,’—as we say. ‘for the loaves and fishes.’ The meaning of the last two lines is: ‘There is a poverty which feeds on scraps and aims at nothing else. The true poverty disregards everything but pious contemplation. Yet the worldly man can as little understand these spiritual things as a corpse can inhale incense.’
↩Lit., ‘The philosopher’s stone of ‘Be’ and it was.’ This latter phrase is applied to the Deity, as descriptive of His Omnipotent power.
↩The printed edition here repeats mujáwarat from the preceding sentence, by a mistake for muwáṣalaṭ.
↩Káh bargí is not given in the Dictionary, but I presume it to mean the flag or leaf which projects from the stalk of corn and of some grasses.
↩Ḳur’án, ch. lvii. 23; Sale, p. 398, 1. 43: ‘No accident happeneth in the earth, nor in your persons, but the same was entered in the book of our decrees, before we created it: verily, this is easy with God: and this is written lest ye immoderately grieve for the good which escapeth you, or rejoice for that which happeneth unto you; for God loveth no proud or vain-glorious person, or those who are covetous, and command men covetousness.’
↩Ḳur’án, Fl. vii. 93; Mar, vii. 96; Sale, p. 118, 1. 8: Then we gave them in exchange good in lieu of evil, until they abounded and said, ‘Adversity and prosperity formerly happened unto our fathers as unto us.’ Therefore we took vengeance on them suddenly, and they perceived it not beforehand.’
↩A beauty is compared to a slumbering, and sometimes to an intoxicated, narcissus.
↩Nai bastí does not occur in the Dictionary, but is doubtless equivalent to nai zár. One MS. however reads walí bastí, which might mean, ‘but there was a thicket,’ or, ‘but there was an agreement.’
↩Dar tag ístádah, to use a vulgarism, ‘setting-to to run,’ Istádan has frequently this sense; thus p. 251, 1. 10 of the Persian text, bi-ṭalab-i vai istád, ‘set-to to pursue him.’
↩Plainly, ‘I could not bear not to take so trifling a journey.’
↩Dar ḥauṣilah-í ú nah nishínad, a remarkable phrase.
↩Zál signifies ‘an old woman,’ and is also the name of a famous hero, the father of Rustam. The equivoque cannot be retained in English.
↩