Bakhtyar Nama - The Bahktyar Nama

ON the next morning, the Eighth Vizier, having paid his compliments to the King, addressed him on the subject of Bakhtyār, and said: “Government resembles a tree, the root of which is legal punishment. Now, if the root of a tree become dry, the leaves will wither: why then should the punishment of Bakhtyār be any longer deferred?”

In consequence of this discourse, the King ordered the executioner to prepare himself, and Bakhtyār was brought from prison. When the unfortunate young man came before the King, he addressed him, and said: “If your Majesty will consider the consequences of haste and precipitancy, it will appear that they are invariably sorrow and repentance; as we find confirmed in the Story of the Jewel-Merchant.”

The King expressed his desire of hearing the story to which he alluded; and Bakhtyār began it accordingly, in the following manner:

THERE was a certain jewel-merchant, a very wealthy man, and eminently skilled in the knowledge of precious stones. His wife, a very prudent and amiable woman, was in a state of pregnancy when it happened that the King sent a messenger to her husband, desiring his attendance at court, that he might consult him in the choice of jewels. The merchant received the King's messenger with all due respect, and immediately prepared to set out on his journey to the capital. When taking leave of his wife, he desired her to remember him in her prayers; and, in case she should bring forth a boy, to call his name Bihrūz.

After this injunction he departed from his house, and at length arrived in the capital, where he waited on the King, and having paid his respects, was employed in selecting from a box of pearls those that were most valuable. The King was so much pleased with his skill and ingenuity, that he kept him constantly naer his own person, and entrusted to him the making of various royal ornaments, crowns, and girdles studded with jewels.

At length the wife of this jewel-merchant was delivered of two boys; one of whom, in compliance with her husband's desire, she called Bihrūz, the other Rūzbih; and she sent intelligence of this event to the father, who solicited permission from the King that he might return home for a while and visit his family; but the King would not grant him this indulgence. The next year he made the same request, and with the same success. Thus during eight years he as often solicited leave to visit his wife and sons, but could not obtain it.

In the course of this time the boys had learned to read the Qur'ān, and were instructed in the art of penmanship and other accomplishments; and they wrote a letter to their father, expressing their sorrow and anxiety on account of his absence. The jewel-merchant, no longer able to resist his desire of seeing his family, represented his situation to the King in such strong colours that he desired him to send for his wife and children, and allowed him an ample sum of money to defray the expenses of their journey.

A trusty messenger was immediately despatched to the jewel-merchant's wife, who, on receipt of her husband's letter, set out with her two sons on their way to the capital. One evening, after a journey of a month, they arrived at the sea-side. Here they resolved to wait until morning; and, being refreshed with a slight repast, the boys amused themselves in wandering along the shore.

It happened that the jewel-merchant, in expectation of meeting his wife and children, had come thus far on the way; and having left his clothes and money concealed in different places, he bathed himself in the sea, and on returning to the shore put on his clothes, but forgot his gold. Having taken some refreshment, he was proceeding on his journey, when he thought of his money, and went back to seek it, but could not find it. At this moment he perceived the two boys, who had wandered thus far, amusing themselves playing along the shore. He immediately suspected that these boys had discovered and taken the gold, and accused them accordingly. They declared their ignorance of the matter, which so enraged the jewel-merchant, that he seized them both, and cast them headlong into the sea.

After this he proceeded on his way; whilst the wife was so unhappy at the long absence of her sons, that the world became dark in her eyes, and she raised her voice and called upon the boys. When the jewel-merchant heard the voice of his wife, he hastened to meet her, and inquired after his two sons, expressing his eager desire of seeing them. The wife told him that they had left her some time before, and had wandered along the sea-side. At this intelligence the jewel-merchant began to lament, and tore his clothes, and exclaimed: “Alas, alas, I have drowned my sons!” He then related what had happened, and proceeded with his wife along the shore in search of the boys, but they sought in vain. Then they smote their breasts and wept. And when the next morning came, they said: “From this time forth, whatsoever happens must be to us a matter of indifference;” and they set out on their journey towards the city, with afflicted bosoms and bleeding hearts, being persuaded that their sons had perished in the water.

But they were ignorant of the wonderful kindness of Providence, which rescued the two boys from destruction; for it happened that the King of that country, being on a hunting excursion, passed along the shore on that side where Bihrūz had fallen. When he perceived the boy, he ordered his attendants to take him up, and finding him of a pleasing countenance, although pale from the terror of the water and the danger he had escaped, he inquired into the circumstances which had befallen him. The boy informed him, that with his brother he had been walking on the shore, when a stranger seized upon them, and flung them into the water. The King, not having any child, inquired the name of the boy; and when he answered, that his name was Bihrūz, he exclaimed: “I accept it as a favourable omen,^* and adopt you as my own son.” After this, Bihrūz, mounted on a horse, accompanied the King to his capital, and all the subjects were enjoined to obey him as heir to the crown. After some time the King died, and Bihrūz reigned in his place, with such wisdom, liberality, and uprightness, that his fame resounded through all quarters of the world.

It happened in the meantime, that the other boy, whose name was Rūzbih, had been rescued from the water by some robbers, who agreed to sell him as a slave, and divide the price amongst them. The jewel-merchant and his wife had reached the city and purchased a house, where they resolved to pass the remainder of their lives in prayer and exercises of devotion. But finding it necessary to procure an attendant, the jewel-merchant purchased a young boy at the slave-market, whom he did not know, but whom natural affection prompted him to choose. On bringing home the young slave, his wife fainted away, and exclaimed: “This is your son Rūzbih!” The parents as well as the child wept with joy, and returned thanks to Heaven for such an unexpected blessing.

After this the jewel-merchant instructed Rūzbih in his own profession, so that in a little time he became perfectly skilled in the value of precious stones; and having collected a very considerable number, he expressed a wish of turning them to profit, by selling them to a certain King in a distant country, one who was celebrated for his generosity and kindness to strangers.

The father consented that he should visit the court of this monarch, on condition that he would not afflict his parents by too long an absence. Rūzbih accordingly set out, and arrived at the capital of that King, who happened to be his own brother Bihrūz. Him, however, after the lapse of many years, he did not recognise. The King, having graciously received the present which Rūzbih offered, purchased of him all the jewels, and conceived such an affection for him that he kept him constantly in the palace, day and night.

At this time a foreign enemy invaded the country; but the King thought the matter of so little importance, that he contented himself with sending some troops to the field, and remained at home carousing and drinking with Rūzbih. At length, one night, at a very late hour, all the servants being absent, the King became intoxicated, and fell asleep. Rūzbih, not perceiving any of the guards or attendants, resolved that he would watch the King until morning; and accordingly, taking a sword, he stationed himself near the King's pillow.

After some time had elapsed, several of the soldiers who had gone to oppose the enemy returned, and, entering the palace, discovered Rūzbih and the King in this situation. They immediately seized Rūzbih; and when the King awoke, they told him that, by their coming, they had saved his Majesty from assassination, which the jeweller, with a drawn sword, had been ready to perpetrate. The King, at first, ordered his immediate execution; and as day was beginning to dawn, and the approach of the enemy required his presence at the head of his troops, he sent for the executioner, who, having bound the eyes of Rūzbih and drawn his sword, exclaimed: “Say, King of the world, shall I strike or not?”

The King, considering that it would be better to inquire more particularly into the affair, and, knowing that, although it is easy to kill, it is impossible to restore a man to life, resolved to defer the punishment until his return, and sent Rūzbih to prison.

After this he proceeded to join the army, and having subdued his enemies, returned to the capital; but, during the space of two years, forgot the unfortunate Rūzbih, who lingered away his life in confinement. In the meantime his father and mother, grieving on account of his absence, and, ignorant of what had befallen him, sent a letter of inquiry by a confidential messenger to the money-changers (or bankers) of that city. Having read this, they wrote back, in answer, that Rūzbih had been in prison for two years.

On receiving this information, the jewel-merchant and his wife resolved to set out and throw themselves at the feet of this King, and endeavour to obtain from him the pardon and liberty of their son. With heavy hearts they accordingly proceeded on their journey, and having arrived at the capital, presented themselves before the King, and said: “Be it known unto your exalted Majesty, that we are two wretched strangers, oppressed by the infirmities of age, and overwhelmed by misfortune. We were blessed with two sons, one named Bihrūz, the other Rūzbih; but it was the will of Heaven that they should fall into the sea, where one of them perished, but the other was restored to us. The fame of your Majesty's generosity and greatness induced our son to visit this imperial court; and we are informed that, by your orders, he is now in prison. The object of our petition is, that your Majesty might take compassion on our helpless situation, and restore to us our long-lost son.”

The King on hearing this was astonished, and for a while imagined that it was all a dream. At length, when convinced that the old man and woman were his own parents, and that Rūzbih was his own brother, he sent for him to the prison, embraced them and wept, and placed them beside him on the throne; and for the sake of Rūzbih, set at liberty all those who had been confined with him. After this he divided the empire with his brother, and their time passed away in pleasure and tranquillity.

This story being concluded, Bakhtyār observed, that the jewel-merchant, by his precipitancy, had nearly occasioned the death of his two sons; and that Bihrūz, by deferring the execution of his brother, had prevented an infinity of distress to himself and his parents. This observation induced the King to grant Bakhtyār another day's reprieve, and he was taken back to prison.

WHEN the next morning came, the Ninth Vizier appeared before the King and said, that his extraordinary forbearance and lenity in respect to Bakhtyār had given occasion to much scandal; as every criminal, however heinous his offence, began to think that he might escape punishment by amusing the King with idle stories.

The King, on hearing this, sent to the prison for Bakhtyār, and desired the executioner to attend. When the unfortunate young man came before the King, he requested a respite only of two days, in the course of which he hoped his innocence might be proved; “although,” said he, “I know that the malice of one's enemies is a flame from which it is almost impossible to escape: as appears from the story of Abū Temām, who, on the strength of a false accusation, was put to death by the King, and his innocence acknowledged when too late.”

“Who was that Abū Temām?” demanded the King, “and what were those malicious accusations which prevailed against him?”

ABŪ TEMĀM (said Bakhtyār) was a very wealthy man, who resided in a city, the King of which was so tyrannical and unjust, that whatever money any one possessed above five direms he seized on for his own use. Abū Temām was so disgusted and terrified by the oppressions and cruelties of this King, that he never enjoyed one meal in peace or comfort, until he had collected all his property together and contrived to escape from that place. After some time he settled in the capital of another King, a city adorned with gardens, and well supplied with running streams. This King was a man of upright and virtuous principles, renowned for hospitality and kindness to strangers. In this capital Abū Temām purchased a magnificent mansion, in which he sumptuously entertained the people of the city, presenting each of them, at his departure, with a handsome dress suited to his rank. The inhabitants were delighted with his generosity, and his hospitality was daily celebrated by the strangers who resorted to his house. He also expended considerable sums in the erection of bridges, caravanseries, and mosques. At last the fame of his liberality and munificence reached the King, who sent to him two servants with a very flattering message and an invitation to court. This Abū Temām thankfully accepted; and having prepared the necessary presents for the King, he hastened to the palace, where he kissed the ground of obedience and was graciously received.

In a short time he became so great a favourite that the King would not permit him to be one day absent, and heaped on him so many favours that he was next in power to his royal master; and his advice was followed in all matters of importance.

But this King had ten viziers, who conceived a mortal hatred against Abū Temām, and said, one to another: “He has robbed us of all dignity and power, and we must devise some means whereby we may banish him from this country.” The chief vizier proposed that, as the King was a very passionate admirer of beauty, and the Princess of Turkestān one of the loveliest creatures of the age, they should so praise her charms before him as to induce him to send Abū Temām to ask her in marriage; and as it was the custom of the King of Turkestān to send all ambassadors who came on that errand to his daughter, who always caused their heads to be cut off, so the destruction of Abū Temām would be certain.

This advice all the other viziers approved of; and, having proceeded to the palace, they took an opportunity of talking on various subjects, until the King of Turkestān was mentioned, when the chief vizier began to celebrate the charms of the lovely Princess.

When the King heard the extravagant praises of her beauty, he became enamoured, and declared his intention of despatching an ambassador to the court of Turkestān, and demanding the Princess in marriage. The viziers immediately said, that no person was so properly qualified for such an embassy as Abū Temām. The King accordingly sent for him, and, addressing him as his father and friend, informed him that he had now occasion for his assistance in the accomplishment of a matter on which his heart was bent. Abū Temām desired to know what his Majesty's commands might be, and declared himself ready to obey them. The King having communicated his design, all the necessary preparations were made, and Abū Temām set out on his journey to the court of Turkestān. In the meantime the viziers congratulated one another on the success of their stratagem.

When the King of Turkestān heard of Abū Temām's arrival, he sent proper officers to receive and compliment him, and on the following day gave him a public audience; and when the palace was cleared of the crowd, and Abū Temām had an opportunity of speaking with the King in private, he disclosed the object of his mission, and demanded the Princess for his master. The King acknowledged himself highly honoured by the proposal of such an alliance, and said: “I fear that my daughter is not qualified for so exalted a station as you offer; but if you will visit her in the harem, and converse with her, you may form an opinion of her beauty and accomplishments; and if you approve of her, preparations for the marriage shall be made without delay.”

Abū Temām thanked his Majesty for this readiness in complying with his demands; but said that he could not think of profaning the beauty of her who was destined for his sovereign by gazing on her, or of allowing his ears to hear the forbidden sounds of her voice;—besides, his King never entertained a doubt on the subject of her charms and qualifications: the daughter of such a monarch must be worthy of any King, but he was not sent to make any inquiry as to her merits, but to demand her in marriage.

The King of Turkestān, on hearing this reply, embraced Abū Temām, and said: “Within this hour I meditated thy destruction; for of all the ambassadors who have hitherto come to solicit my daughter, I have tried the wisdom and talents, and have judged by them of the Kings who employed them, and finding them deficient, I have caused their heads to be cut off.” On saying this, he took from under his robe a key, with which he opened a lock, and going into another part of the palace, he exhibited to Abū Temām the heads of four hundred ambassadors.

After this the King directed the necessary preparations for the departure of his daughter, and invested Abū Temām with a splendid robe of honour, who, when ten days had elapsed, embarked in a ship with the Princess, her damsels, and other attendants. The news of his arrival with the fair Princess of Turkestān being announced, the King, his master, was delighted, and the viziers, his mortal enemies, were confounded at the failure of their stratagems. The King, accompanied by all the people, great and small, went two stages to meet Abū Temām and the Princess, and, having led her into the city, after three days celebrated their marriage by the most sumptuous feasts and rejoicings, and bestowed a thousand thanks on Abū Temām, who every day became a greater favourite.

The ten viziers, finding, in consequence of this, their own importance and dignity gradually reduced, consulted one with another, saying: “All that we have hitherto done only tends to the exaltation of Abū Temām; we must devise some other means of disgracing him in the King's esteem, and procuring his banishment from this country.”

After this they concerted together, and at length resolved to bribe two boys, whose office was to rub the King's feet every night after he lay down on his bed; and they accordingly instructed these boys to take an opportunity, when the King should close his eyes, of saying that Abū Temām had been ungrateful for the favours bestowed on him; that he had violated the harem, and aspired to the Queen's affections, and had boasted that she would not have come from Turkestān had she not been enamoured of himself. This lesson the viziers taught the boys, giving them a thousand dīnars, and promising five hundred more.

When it was night the boys were employed as usual in their office of rubbing the King's feet; and when they perceived his eyes to be closed, they began to repeat all that the viziers had taught them to say concerning Abū Temām.

The King, hearing this, started up, and dismissing the boys, sent immediately for Abū Temām, and said to him: “A certain matter has occurred, on the subject of which I must consult you; and I expect that you will relieve my mind by answering the question that I shall ask.”—Abū Temām declared himself ready to obey.—“What, then,” demanded the King, “does that servant merit, who, in return for various favours, ungratefully attempts to violate the harem of his sovereign?”—“Such a servant,” answered Abū Temām, “should be punished with death: his blood should expiate his offence.” When Abū Temām had said this, the King drew his scimitar, and cut off his head, and ordered his body to be cast into a pit.

For some days he gave not audience to any person, and the viziers began to exult in the success of their stratagem; but the King was melancholy, and loved to sit alone, and was constantly thinking of the unfortunate Abū Temām.

It happened, however, that one day the two boys who had been bribed by the viziers were engaged in a dispute one with the other on the division of the money, each claiming for himself the larger share. In the course of their dispute they mentioned the innocence of Abū Temām, and the bribe which they had received for defaming him in the King's hearing.

All this conversation the King overheard; and trembling with vexation, rage, and sorrow, he compelled the boys to relate all the circumstances of the affair; in consequence of which the ten viziers were immediately seized and put to death, and their houses levelled with the ground; after which the King passed his time in fruitless lamentation for the loss of Abū Temām.

“Thus,” said Bakhtyār, “does unrelenting malice persecute unto destruction; but if the King had not been so hasty in killing Abū Temām, he would have spared himself all his subsequent sorrow.”

The King, affected by this observation, resolved to indulge Bakhtyār with another day, and accordingly sent him back to prison.

EARLY on the next morning the Tenth Vizier sent a woman to the Queen with a message, urging her to exert her influence over the King, and induce him to give orders for the execution of Bakhtyār. The Queen, in consequence of this, addressed the King on the subject before he left the palace, and he replied, that Bakhtyār's fate was now decided, and that his execution should not be any longer deferred. The King then went forth, and the Viziers attended in their proper places. The Tenth Vizier was rising to speak, when the King informed him of his resolution to terminate the affair of Bakht-yār by putting him to death on that day.

He was brought accordingly from the prison; and the King on seeing him said: “You have spoken a great deal of your innocence, yet have not been able to make it appear; therefore no longer entertain any hopes of mercy, for I have given orders for your execution.”—On hearing this, Bakhtyār began to weep, and said: “I have hitherto endeavoured to gain time, conscious of my innocence, and hoping that it might be proved, and a guiltless person saved from an ignominious death; but I now find it vain to struggle against the decrees of Heaven. Thus the King of Persia foolishly attempted to counteract his destiny, and triumph over the will of Providence, but in vain.”

The King expressed a desire of hearing the story to which Bakhtyār alluded, and the young man began to relate it as follows:

THERE was a certain King of Persia, a very powerful and wealthy monarch, who, not having any child, employed all the influence of prayers and of alms to procure the blessing of a son from Heaven. At length one of his handmaids became pregnant, and the King was transported with joy; but one night, in a dream, he was addressed by an old man, who said: “The Lord has complied with your request, and tomorrow you shall have a son; but in his seventh year a lion shall seize and carry off this son to the top of a mountain, from which he shall fall, rolling in blood and clay.” When the King awoke, he assembled the viziers, and related to them the horrors of his dream. They replied: “Long be the King's life! If Heaven has decreed such a calamity who can oppose or control it?”—The King presumptuously declared that he would struggle against and counteract it; but one of his viziers, eminently skilled in astrology, discovered one day, by the power of his science, that the King would, after twenty years, perish by the hand of his own son. In consequence of this, he immediately waited on the King, and informed him that he had to communicate a certain matter, for the truth and certainty of which he would answer with his life. The King desired him to reveal it; and he, falling on the knees of obedience, related all that he had discovered in the stars. “If it happens not according to what you predict,” said the King, “I shall certainly put you to death.”

In the meantime, however, he caused a subterraneous dwelling to be constructed, to which he sent the boy, with a nurse. There they remained during the space of seven years, when, in compliance with the heavenly decree, a lion suddenly rushed into the cave, and devoured the nurse, and having wounded the child, carried him up to the summit of a neighbouring mountain, from which he let him fall to the bottom, covered with blood and earth. It happened that one of the King's secretaries came by, in pursuit of game, and perceived the boy in this situation, and the lion standing on the summit of the mountain. He immediately resolved to save the child; and having taken him to his own house, he healed his wounds, and instructed him in various accomplishments.

On the day after the nurse had been devoured and the child carried away by the lion, the King resolved to visit the cave, and finding it deserted, he concluded that the nurse had escaped to some other place. He instantly despatched messengers to seek her in every quarter, but in vain.

In process of time the boy grew up, and acted as keeper [of pen and ink] to the secretary. In this situation, having been employed at the palace, it happened that the King saw and was much pleased with him, and felt within his bosom the force of paternal affection. In consequence of this he demanded him of the secretary, and clothed him in splendid garments; and after some time, when an enemy invaded the country, and required the King's presence with his army, he appointed the young man to be his armour-bearer; and, accompanied by him, proceeded to battle.

After a bloody conflict, the troops of the enemy were victorious, and those of the King began to fly; but he, in the impulse of rage and fury, threw himself into the midst of his adversaries, fighting with the most desperate valour. In this state of confusion it was impossible to know one person from another; the young armour-bearer, who fought also with the utmost bravery, no longer distinguishing the King, rushed into a crowd of combatants, and striking furiously on all sides, cut off the hand of one man whom he supposed to be of the enemy's side; but this person was the King, who, on recognising the armour-bearer, upbraided him with this attempt upon his life, and being unable to remain any longer in the field, he retired, with his troops, to the capital, and the next day concluded a peace with the enemy, on condition of paying a considerable sum of money. He then gave orders that the armour-bearer should be arrested, and although he persevered in declarations of innocence, they availed him not; he was thrown into prison, and loaded with chains.

In the meantime the King was reposing on the pillow of death; and when he found that all hopes of recovery were vain, he resolved to punish the vizier who had told him that his son should be torn by a lion, and that he should fall by the hand of that son. “Now,” said the King, “my son has been carried away to some other country by his nurse, and I have been wounded by the hand of a different person.” Having said this, he sent for the vizier, and desired him to prepare for death. “This armourbearer,” added he, “and not my own son, has wounded me, contrary to your prediction; and, as you consented to be punished in case your prediction should not be accomplished, I have resolved to put you to death.”— “Be it so,” replied the vizier; “but let us first inquire into the birth of this young armour-bearer.”

The King immediately sent for the young man, and asked him concerning his parents and his country. He answered that of the country which gave him birth he was ignorant; but that he had been with his mother in a subterraneous place, and that she had informed him of his father's being a king, but he had never seen his father; that one day a lion carried him away to the summit of a mountain, from which he fell, and was taken up by the secretary, by whom he was instructed in various accomplishments, and from whose service he passed into that of the King.

When the King heard this, he was amazed, and his hair stood on end; and he sent for the viziers and secretary, who confirmed what the young man had said.

Having thus ascertained that the armour-bearer was his own son, he resigned to him the crown and throne; and having invested the vizier with the robe of prime-minister, he expired in the course of three days.

Here Bakhtyār concluded his narrative, and observed, that he had struggled against his evil destiny, like that king, but in vain. Having said this, the King wished to send him back to prison; but the Ten Viziers unanimously declared that they would leave the country if Bakhtyār's punishment was any longer deferred.

The King then acknowledged that he could not bear to behold the execution of the young man; in consequence of which the Viziers led him away, and assembled all the people by proclamation, that they might see him put to death.

IT happened at this time that Farrukhsuwār, who had found Bakhtyār at the side of the well, came, with some of his companions, to the city, and was wrapped in that embroidered cloak which the King and Queen had left with the infant. In passing by the place of execution he beheld the guards leading out Bakhtyār to punishment, on which he rushed amongst them with his companions, and rescued the young man from their hands, and then solicited an audience of the King.

On coming into the royal presence Farrukhsuwār exclaimed: “This young man is my son; I cannot bear to see him executed: if he must perish, let me also be put to death.”—Your wish in this respect,” said the King, “may be easily gratified.”—“Alas!” cried Farrukhsuwār, “if the father of this youth, who was a king, or his mother, who was a queen, were informed of his situation, they would save him from this ignominious death!” The King laughed at the seeming inconsistency of Farrukhsuwār, and said: “You told me at one time that Bakhtyār was your son, yet now you describe him as the child of royal parents.”

Farrukhsuwār, in reply, told all the circumstances of his finding Bakhtyār near the well, and showed the cloak in which he had been wrapped. The King immediately knew it to be the same which he had left with the infant, and asked whether Farrukhsuwār had found anything besides. He produced the bracelet of pearls, and the King, now convinced that Bakhtyār was not the son of Farrukhsuwār, but his own, took the cloak and the bracelets to the Queen, and asked her if she had ever before seen them. She instantly exclaimed: “They were my child's!—what tidings do you bring of him?”—“I shall bring himself,” replied the King; and he immediately sent an order to the Viziers that they should conduct Bakht-yār to the palace.

When he arrived, the King, with his own hands, took off his chains, placed a royal turban on his head, and covered him with the embroidered cloak, and then led him to the Queen, saying: “This is our son, whom we left on the brink of the well.” When the Queen heard this, and beheld Bakhtyār, the tears gushed forth from her eyes, and she embraced him with the greatest emotion. Bakhtyār then asked the the Queen why she had endeavoured to destroy him by a false accusation, and she confessed that the Viziers had induced her; on which the King ordered their immediate execution, and then resigned the throne to Bakhtyār, who was acknowledged sovereign by all the people. Farrukhsuwār was invested with the dignity of chief Vizier, and his companions rewarded with honourable appointments; and Bakhtyār continued for many years to govern with justice, wisdom, and generosity.

* * * In the Preface to his translation and text of the Bakhtyār Nāma, Sir William Ouseley states, that “as this work is chiefly designed for the use of those who begin to study the Persian language,” he selected for translation, from among three manuscripts in his own possession and five or six others in the collections of several friends, “that which seemed written in the most pure and simple style; for several copies, in passing through the hands of ignorant or conceited transcribers, have suffered a considerable depravation of the original text, and one, in particular, is so disguised by the alterations and augmented by the additions of some Indian Munshī, that it appears almost a different work. These additions, however, are only turgid amplifications and florid exuberancies, according to the modern corrupt style of Hindūstān, which distinguishes the compositions of that country from the chaste and classical productions of Īrān.” Regarding his own translation, he says that, while it will be found sufficiently literal, he has “not retained those idioms which would not only be uncouth, but perhaps unintelligible, in English: some repetitions I have taken the liberty of omitting; and as most of the stories begin and end nearly in the same manner, I have on such occasions compressed into a few lines the subject of a page.” But since the translation was mainly designed to aid learners of Persian, it seems strange that he should have deemed it advisable to take any “liberties” such as he mentions; and an examination of the text appended to his translation shows that he has occasionally done something more than omit mere “repetitions”: in several instances he has omitted whole passages, of which many are requisite to the proper connection of the incidents related in the stories; and this, too, in dealing with a text which is itself evidently abridged from “the original”—if indeed an original Persian text now exists.

The more important deficiencies of Sir William Ouseley's translation—arising, as has been already explained, from his imperfect text as well as from his own omissions—which will be found included in the following Notes, have been supplied by my obliging friend Mr. William Platt, the veteran scholar, who has taken the trouble of comparing the translation with the carefully edited lithographed text of the Bakhtyār Nāma, published, at Paris, in 1839; and has, besides these notes of omissions, &c., kindly furnished me with other valuable materials, of which I have gladly availed myself, with the view of rendering this curious and in many respects unique work more complete and interesting to general English readers.

W. A. C.

It is customary for Muslim authors to place at the beginning of all their compositions the Arabic invocation—

which Sale renders: “In the name of the most merciful God!” but which is more correctly translated: “In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate!” The ‘Ulama, or professors of religion and law, interpret “the merciful” to signify “merciful in small things,” and “the compassionate,” as “merciful in great things.” This invocation, which is placed at the head of each chapter of the Kur'ān, except the ninth, is not only also prefixed to every Muhammadan book or writing, but is pronounced by Muslims on their undertaking every lawful act. It is said that Muhammad borrowed it from a similar practice of the Magians and Rabbins. Following the invocation are usually praise and blessings on the Prophet, his Family, and his Companions. In Sir William Ouseley's printed text only the customary invocation appears, which he does not give in his English version. The following is a translation of the introduction as given in the lithographed text:

Thanksgiving and praise without end, and salutation and eulogium without stint, to the Supreme Benefactor, who is above all commendation—the Holy-One, beyond our imagination! May He be ever exalted on high, the well-furnished table of whose generosity is spread over the surface of the earth, and on the table of whose bounty every ant finds its food in safety! And salutation and praise to all the prophets, and, above all, to our Prophet, who is the Apostle, and the Director of the Path [of God], and the Prince of Creation, and the purest of created beings—Muhammad, the Elect! May God be propitious and vouchsafe salvation to him, his Family, and Companions, one and all!—After this introduction [be it known], this work and composition is divided into ten chapters [gates], and each chapter affords to the intelligent moral examples, and to the wise recognised forewarnings.”

Page 3. “The country of Sīstān,” or Sijistān (the ancient Drangiana), lies to the east of Farsistān, or Persia proper. The Governor is entitled Shah-i-nīmrūz (Sa‘dī’s Gulistān, iii, 27). The famous Rustam, the Hercules of Persia, held this country as a fief under the Kings of Persia (see Ranking's Wars and Sports of the Mongols, p. 93).

Page 3. Āzād-bakht: “Free-Fortune”—“Fortunate.”

Page 3. Sipah-sālār, here employed as a proper name, signifies a general, a commander of an army, especially a chief of cavalry: from asp, a horse, and sālār, a leader. Sālār-i-jung, a leader in war, is one of the titles given by Eastern princes to their nobles.

Page 3. “The rose of the garden and the moon of the heavenly spheres were confounded at the superior lustre of her cheeks.”— The comparison of a beautiful woman's face to the moon, however absurd it may appear to some readers, is a very favourite one with Orientals, from Solomon downwards; it is, moreover, employed by several of our own admired English poets, as Spenser, Shakspeare, and Pope. In the Notes to my Arabian Poetry for English Readers many parallel passages on this similitude are cited from Eastern and Western poets.

Page 4. “A litter was provided.”—Several kinds of litters are used in Persia and India. Garcin de Tassy, in a note to his French translation of the Persian romance of Kāmarupa (chap. xxiii), quotes the following interesting account of the palanquins and carriages of India, from the Arāish-i-Mahfil:

“It is known that the gāri is an invention of the people of India. They who use them are sheltered from heat, cold, wind, or rain. The Bayadīres [or dancing-girls], who employ these carriages drawn by oxen, put silver ornaments on their horns, hang small bells on the axle-tree, and place negroes on the pole. In this sumptuous carriage they frequent fairs, the shrines visited by pilgrims, and public gardens. The astonished lookers-on are inclined to regard them as strolling fairies, travelling on thrones to the sound of cymbals; … but the carriages of discreet females, named rath, are covered with awnings, so closely fastened that the opening of the breadth of a hair cannot be seen. Unfortunately the wheeled carriages jolt, yet in other respects are comfortable. Three or four men seated can travel without fatigue, chatting the meanwhile, and perform the journey, enjoying the advantage of repose. Some of the gāri have curtains, some are without. The small and light are called manjhalī, the very light and diminutive, gainī, and the oxen drawing them are of a peculiarly small breed, and are distinguished by the name of gaina. These small carriages are preferable to the rath, which has four wheels. In fact, they jolt but little, and are of sufficient importance to carry the Amīr. There are some so well constructed, and adorned with such beautiful paintings, that they throw into a frenzy those who behold them; and the blinds are to such a degree pleasing and elegant that, if the Sun shone as they were passing along, he would descend from his car and mount thereon; and if the god Indra [King of Heaven] should see them, he would quit his throne and place himself therein. So that persons of high rank, who do not disdain to use them, vary the furniture according to the seasons: during hot weather the blinds are made of veti-ver;^* in the rainy season, of oiled silk; and in winter, of wool. Those, however, who use them most frequently are traders, bankers, government servants, and Muslim and Hindū women.—Besides the carriages just described there is a kind of throne, called nālkī, for sovereigns; and for the Amīr, palanquins with trimmings of fringe, termed pālkī. The palanquins of ladies are the mahādol, chāndol, sukhpūl, and miāna; and for the female poor, dolī. So that a lady, comme il faut, need never walk, and no individual who is not mahram [who is not privileged to visit the harem] can ever see her figure.”

Among the other kinds of litters or carriages used in the East are: the imari, carried by elephants and camels, so named from Imar, the inventor, also called hodaj, or hawdaj (howdah), made of wood, or cloth stretched over a frame, and either open or covered at the top; and the takht-i-ravan, usually carried by mules within shafts before and behind: it is the Armamaxa, in which the children of Darius and their attendants were carried. (Quintus Curtius, b. iii, c. 3.)

Page 4. “The King … was at that moment returning from the chase.”—Hunting the antelope, wild-ass, &c., has been the favourite pastime of the kings and nobles of Persia from the most ancient times. The modern kings of Persia have palaces in many parts of their dominions, whither they resort for the climate or for the chase. To these palaces are attached villages, in which provisions are collected for the use of the court as soon as the motions of the King are decided.^* —For a graphic description of the Persian mode of hunting the antelope, with hawks as well as dogs, see Sir John Malcolm's Sketches of Persia.

Page 4. “Kissed the ground of respectful obedience.”—The Persians in their salutations and acts of submission so prostrate themselves as almost to place their faces on the ground. This prostration, called rūy zamīn (“the face on the ground”), is made by bowing the body at right angles, the hands placed on the knees, and the legs a little apart.—In allusion to this mode of salutation, the Persian poet Hāfiz declares that, in the presence of his fair enslaver, he would make besoms of his eyelashes; as Richardson paraphrases it:

O for one heavenly glance of that dear maid,
How would my raptured heart with joy rebound!
Down to her feet I'd lowly bend my head,
And with my eyebrows sweep the hallowed ground.^*

Lane, in the Notes to his translation of the Thousand and One Nights, thus describes the Arabian (or modern Egyptian) mode of paying respect to superiors: touching the ground, and then the lips and forehead, or turban, with the right hand.—The Khalif Hakim Biamri 'llah (11th century) issued an order that no one in future should kiss the ground in his presence, or salute him in the highway, or kiss his hand or stirrup; because to prostrate oneself before a human being was an act of worship introduced by the Greeks; and the only formula of salutation should be: “May protection be vouchsafed to the Prince of the Faithful! May the mercy and blessings of God rest upon him!”

Page 5. “Fixed by the fascinating beauty of the damsel,” &c.—The lithographed text says: “From the effect of her glance the heart became lost, and the bird of his soul began to take flight in the atmosphere of love… He pushed forward his courser, and recited this gazal [or ode]:

My heart has fallen into the hand
of a sprightly lover, of marvellous beauty;
This intelligent countenance, bright as the moon,
has stolen my heart from the hand of the Creator;
So that when I beheld the cypress form
my unhappy heart began to bleed.
Her rose-like countenance has placed
in a sorrowful soul a rankling thorn!”

Page 5. “Ruler of the world.” The text gives the address of the litter-attendants to the King as follows:

“Whatever may be the advice of the Pādishāh who adorns the world, it is the eye [i.e. the essence] of correct judgment.

O mighty King of the chief city,
Thy counsel is always good;
How can any one oppose thy command—
Who would dare to express himself otherwise?

Thy command [will be] the support of the life and the happiness of the father and the daughter. If they had seen in a dream this happiness, they would not be able to contain themselves in this world, especially in a state of wakefulness. But for every transaction there is custom and propriety, [so that] if they [i.e. the litter attendants] escort at this moment the daughter to the city, people will raise doubts, and foster a suspicion touching the King, [on the score] of undue haste and impatience, and will assert that the King had carried off this lady by force and abuse of power, and [thus] would arise [tittle-tattle respecting] the question and answer of the lovers, and the exulting triumph^* of the enemies. This is the right course to pursue: if the King grant permission, we will convoy the daughter to Sipahsālār, that he may do for this discharge of duty whatever is the custom; and, having provided suitable paraphernalia, send back the daughter to the Pādishāh; and thus both the vizier's dignity would be maintained, and also the [love] affair of the Pādishāh be accomplished in a becoming manner.”

The giving of a dowry is indispensable, and without it no marriage is legal. According to the rank in life of the bride, it consists of a wardrobe, jewels, furniture, slaves, eunuchs, and a sum of money varying in amount. No portion of the dowry can be taken away by the husband against the wife's wish. She remains absolute mistress of the whole of her own property, inherited, or otherwise acquired. (Voyages de M. Chardin en Perse, &c. Lane's Modern Egyptians.)

Page 6. “He caused the necessary ceremonies to be performed.”—Here again the text is fuller than our translation:

“And the marriage-knot was tied in strict conformity with the law. And when the ceremony was concluded, all the secretaries of the government wrote letters of congratulation, and apprised Sipahsālār of the submission to this insult. When Sipahsālār read the letters a flood of tears poured down from his eyes, and the fire of enmity kindled a flame in his heart. And although the King had settled the matter religiously and according to the law, yet when all that had transpired reached his ears, his heart bled to overflowing, by reason of the excess of affection for his daughter. Sipahsālār, considering it good policy, wrote a letter of thanks to his Excellency the Pādishāh, replete with all kinds of expressions, evincing joy and felicity: ‘This is indeed happiness, that such powerful support should be extended towards me! I am utterly unable to quit myself of the obligation I am under for this high honour, now that his Majesty has placed this crown of glory on the head of his slave. As soon as I arrive in the royal presence, I will kiss the ground of felicity.’

“Dissembling, he penned these phrases, and concealed the [evil] intention of his wrath, and day and night was devising deceit and stratagem.”

The Vizier of Āzādbakht could ill brook his rights as a father being set at naught. The parent, or nearest adult relation, is always the deputy of the future bride to effect the marriage contract. Moreover, Sipahsālār considered this tyrannical proceeding as an ungrateful return for his services with the army. Notwithstanding the King's rather brusque manner of wooing, however, the lady is represented as being devotedly attached to him, and she braved the perils of the desert for his sake.

Page 8. “To seek an asylum from the King of Kirmān.”— The text has also the following quatrain:

The King of Kirmān is a great dispenser of justice
On our behalf he will bestow a look of indulgence;

He will furnish troops, gold, and silver:
Unless this course be pursued, there is no other remedy.

Kirmān (Carmania) is a province of Persia (the ancient Ge-drasia), having to the north Khurasan, to the east Afghanistān and Bilūchistān, to the south the Persian Gulf, to the west Fars and Luristān. Carmanicus Sinus: the Gulf of Ormuz. Kirmān is the plural of kirm, a worm, and the province where silkworms were originally bred. It is celebrated for the cultivation of the white rose, from which ‘itr-i-gul (attar of roses) is distilled; and also for a peculiar breed of sheep, called dumbadār, small, short-legged, with a long bushy tail.

Page 9. “Directed their course towards the desert,” i.e. of Kirmān.—The text has this quatrain:

Behold to what misery misfortune has thrown me!
Owing to breach of good faith, she has cast me into a sea of troubles;
For adverse Fortune has devised an evil design against me,
Inasmuch as she has separated friends from each other.

Page 9. “A hundred thousand lives such as mine are not in value equal to a single hair of the King's head.”—In less extravagant terms does a distressed damsel in another romance express herself: “Of a truth, noble man, you have displayed your compassionate nature; but I cannot consent to save my body at the cost of yours: for who ought to save a common stone by the sacrifice of a gem?”—Vetāla Panchavinsati, or Twenty-five Tales of a Demon.

Page 10. “The Queen brought forth a son; in beauty he was lovely as the moon,” &c.—The Orientals compare beautiful youths, as well as damsels, to the moon: Hāfiz styles Joseph the Hebrew patriarch—who is throughout the Muhammadan world regarded as the type of youthful beauty—“the Moon of Canaan.” Morier remarks, in his Second Journey to Persia, &c.: “The Eastern women suffer little from parturition, for the better sort of them are frequently on foot the day after delivery, and out of all confinement on the third day [this on the authority of Harmer, vol. iv, p. 434]. They are sometimes ‘delivered ere the midwives come in unto them’: Exodus, i, 19; and the lower orders often deliver themselves. I knew an instance where a peasant's wife, in Turkey, who was at work in a vineyard, stepped behind the hedge, delivered herself, and carried the child home slung behind her back.”

Page 10. “They wrapped up the child in a cloak embroidered with gold, and fastened a bracelet of large pearls,” &c.—In the legend of Pope Gregory, the child is exposed with gold at his head and silver at his feet (see the English Gesta Romanorum, chapter 51; edited by Herrtage); and in one of the Tales of the Vetāla, a child is similarly exposed, with a sum of gold, at the gate of a royal palace, and the King adopts him as his son and successor (Kathā Sarit Sāgara, Ocean of the Rivers of Narrative).

Page 10. “He sent his servants to welcome them, and received them with the greatest respect and hospitality;” that is, by a deputation (istikbāl), one of the principal modes among the Persians of doing honour to their guests. Those sent in advance to meet the guests are called pīsh vāz, “openers of the way.” In the ninth chapter we find the approaching guests met at the distance of two days' journey^* from the city. “On the day of our entry,” says Morier, in his Second Journey, “we were met by the youngest son of the Amīnu-'d-Dawla, a boy of about thirteen years of age, who received the ambassador [Sir Gore Ouseley] with all the ease of an old courtier.” So, too, the King of Kirmān “sent his own son and two attendants to wait on Āzādbakht.”

Page 11. “The musicians singing and playing, and the guests drinking.”—Music contributes as much as wine to the pleasures of an Eastern carousal. “Wine,” they say, “is as the body, music is the soul, and joy is their offspring.” The gamut, or scale of musical notes, is called in the East, durr-i-mafassal , “separate pearls.” The musical instruments commonly employed are: the Kānūn, the dulcimer or harp; the sitār, a three-stringed instrument (from si, three, and tār, string), whence cithara and guitar; and the arghān or orghanūn, the organ. Old Persian writers describe the arghān as invented by Iflatūn (Plato), and as superior to all psalteries (mazamīr), and used in Yūnan (Ionia or Greece) and in Rūm (Iconium). Also the chang (Arabic, junk), the harp; the rabāb, rebeck; the tambūr, tambourine; and the barbat, or barbitan.—Morier, in his Second Journey (p. 92), was treated with a concert of four musicians; “one of whom played on the Kamāncha [viol]; a second sang, fanning his mouth with a piece of paper to aid the undulations of his voice; the third was a tambourine-player; and the last beat two little drums placed on the ground before him.” Gentius, in a note to the Gulistān of Sa'dī, says that “music is in such consideration [in Persia], that it is a maxim of their sages, that when a king is about to die, if he leaves for his successor a very young son, his aptitude for reigning should be proved by some agreeable songs; and if the child is pleasurably affected, then it is a sign of his capacity and genius, but if the contrary, he should be declared unfit.”—It would appear that the old Persian musicians, like Timotheus, knew the secret art of swaying the passions. The celebrated philosopher Alfarabi (who died about the middle of the tenth century), among his other accomplishments, excelled in music, in proof of which a curious anecdote is told. Returning from the pilgrimage to Mecca, he introduced himself, though a stranger, at the court of Sayfu-'d-Dawla, Sultan of Syria, when a party of musicians chanced to be performing, and he joined them. The prince admired his skill, and desiring to hear something of his own, Alfarabi unfolded a composition, and distributed the parts among the band. The first movement threw the prince and his courtiers into violent and inextinguishable laughter, the next melted all into tears, and the last lulled even the performers to sleep.—At the retaking of Bagdād by the Turks, in 1638, when the springing of a mine, whereby eight hundred janissaries perished, was the signal for a general massacre, and thirty thousand Persians were put to the sword, “a Persian musician, named Shāh Kūlī, who was brought before Murād, played and sang so sweetly, first a song of triumph, and then a dirge, that the Sultan, moved to pity by his music, gave orders to stop the massacre.”^*

Page 11. “His eyes were filled with tears.”—Although Muslims are remarkably calm and resigned under the heaviest afflictions, yet they do not consider the shedding of tears as either evidence of effeminacy or inconsistent with a heroic mind. —Lane. In the old Badawī Romance of 'Antar (of which an epitome is given in my Arabian Poetry for English Readers) the hero is frequently represented as weeping.

Page 11. “The King of Kirmān then inquired into the particulars of Āzādbakht's misfortunes.”—It thus appears that, in accordance with the time-honoured rules of Eastern hospitality, the King received Āzādbakht as his guest without subjecting him to any preliminary questioning; and only diffidently “inquired into the particulars” ater the unhappy monarch had informed him that he was a fugitive from his kingdom. The old Arabs, like the old Scottish Highlanders, were scrupulous in abstaining from inquiring the name and tribe of a chance guest, lest he should prove an enemy; and if, after the guest had eaten of their bread and salt, he was found to belong to a hostile tribe or clan, he would be entertained during three days, should he so desire, and then be dismissed unharmed.

Page 12. Farrukhsuwār: from farrukh, fortunate, happy, and suwār, a cavalier, a horseman; especially a Persian chief, as being skilled in horsemanship and archery. Suwār-i-Sīstān: Rustam, the famous Persian hero.

Page 13. “He resolved to adopt the infant as his own.”— The Muhammadan law (says Lane) allows the adoption of sons, provided that the person to be adopted consents to the act, if of age to judge for himself; also that he has been deprived of his parents by death or other means; and that there be such a difference of age between the two parties as might subsist between a natural father and son. The adopted son enjoys the same right of inheritance as the natural son.—Farrukhsuwār, we see, though a chief of banditti, yet took care that his adopted son should be “instructed in all the necessary accomplishments.” The adoption of sons is universal throughout the East—in Persia, India, Japan; in the latter country, “the principle of adoption,” says Mr. Mitford, in his Tales of Old Japan, “prevails among all classes, from the Emperor down to his meanest subject; nor is the family line considered to have been broken because an adopted son has succeeded to the estate.”

Page 13. Khudā-dād, i.e., “granted by God”: Deodatus; Theodore.

Page 13. “Able to fight, alone, five hundred men.” This is one of the few instances of Oriental hyperbole which occur in the work; and since we do not find our hero represented subsequently as distinguishing himself by his prowess, except on the occasion which led to his capture, it must be considered as introduced by the author conventionally, or by way of embellishment. The heroes of Eastern romance, for the most part, are not only beautiful as the moon, and accomplished in all the arts and sciences, but also strong and courageous as a lion. In the romance of Dūshwanta and Sakūntalā, an episode of the great Indian epic poem, Mahābharata, the son of the beautiful heroine is thus described: “Sakūntalā was delivered of a son, of inconceivable strength, bright as the God of Fire, the image of Dūshwanta, endowed with personal beauty and generosity of soul… This mighty child seemed as if he could destroy lions with the points of his white teeth. He bore on his hand the mark of a wheel, which is the sign of sovereignty. His person was beautiful, his head capacious, he possessed great bodily strength, and his appearance was that of a celestial. During the short time that he remained under the care of Kanwa, he grew exceedingly; and when he was only six years old, his strength was so great that he was wont to bind such beasts as lions, tigers, elephants, wild boars, and buffaloes to the trees about the hermitage. He would even mount them, ride them about, and play with them to tame them; whence the inhabitants of Kanwa's hermitage gave him a name: ‘Let him,’ said they, ‘be called Sarva-damana, because he tameth all;’ and thus the child obtained the name of Sarva-damana.”—And the Arabian hero 'Antar, while yet a mere stripling, slew a wolf, and carried home its paws to his slave-mother as a trophy. (Compare with this the youthful exploit of David with a lion and a bear, 1 Sam. xvii, 34, 35.) So, too, in the Early English Romance of Sir Bevis of Hampton;—when only seven years old, Bevis knocked down two stout men with his cudgel; and while still in his “teens” he slew single-handed sixty Saracen knights.

Page 14. “The chief of the caravan.”—The Mihtar Kārwān, or Kārwān Bash, held a position of responsibility and importance. By the payment of armed attendants he took precautions against the attack of brigands, as the merchants who formed a caravan were, it is said, on most occasions, so devoid of courage that they cried “quarter” at the mere sight of a drawn sword.

Page 15. “He also put on him his own robe” (Kabā-i Khāss).—The Kabā is a tunic, or long cloth coat, of any colour, quite open in front, and worn over the shirt, and is the special garment of the rich, and so distinguished by Sa'dī (Gulistān, ch. ii, story 17) from the aba, or abaya, a kind of woollen cloak, either black or striped brown and white, the garment of the poor.

Page 15. “The name of Bakhtyār,” that is, “he whom Fortune assists,” or, “Fortune-befriended.”

Page 16. “The keys of the treasury” were of gold.

Page 16. “A splendid robe of honour.”—A Khil'at, or dress of honour, is bestowed by Eastern monarchs on men of learning and genius, as well as on tributary princes on their accession to their principalities, and on viceroys and governors of provinces. The custom is very ancient; see Esther vi, 8, 9. 'A common Khil'at,” says Morier, “consists of a Kāba, or coat; a Kemerbend, or zone; a gūch pīch, or shawl for the head: when it is intended to be more distinguishing, a sword or a dagger is superadded. To persons of distinction rich furs are given, such as a Katabī, or a Koordī; but when the Khal'at is complete it consists exactly of the same articles as the present which Cyrus made to Syennesis, namely: a horse with a golden bridle; a golden chain; a golden sword^*; besides the dress, which is complete in all its parts.”^† —In India an elephant and a palanquin splendidly decorated are added to the dress, sword, &c. Dr. Forbes, in a note to his translation of the Bāgh o Bahār (Garden and Spring), the Hindustani version of the entertaining Persian romance, Kissa Chehar Dervish, or Tale of the Four Dervishes, remarks that “in the zenith of the Mogul empire Khil'ats were expensive honours, as the receivers were obliged to make presents for the Khil'ats they received. The perfection of these Oriental dresses,” he adds, “is to be so stiff with embroidery as to stand on the floor unsupported.”—After Rustam's Seven Adventures in releasing Kai Kaus from the power of the White Giant, we read in Firdausī's Shāh Nāma (or Book of Kings) that he received from Kaus a splendid Khil'at besides other magnificent presents. And in the Romance of 'Antar, King Zuhayr causes a great feast to be prepared to celebrate the defeat of the tribe of Taï, which was chiefly due to the hero; at which he presents 'Antar with a robe worked with gold, girds on him a trusty sword, and placing in his hand a pike of Khāta, and mounting him on a fine Arab horse, proclaims him champion of the tribes of 'Abs and 'Adnān.

Page 16. “There were Ten Viziers.”—“Wezeer,” says Lane, “is an Arabic word, and is pronounced by the Arabs as I have written it, but the Turks and Persians pronounce the first letter V. There are three opinions respecting the etymology of this word. Some derive it from wizr (a burden), because the Wezeer bears the burden of the King; others, from wezer (a refuge), because the King has recourse to the counsels of his Wezeer, and his knowledge and prudence; others, again, from azr (back, or strength), because the King is strengthened by his Wezeer, as the human frame is strengthened by the back. The proper and chief duties of a Wezeer are explained by the above, and by a saying of the Prophet: ‘Whosoever is in authority over Muslims, if God would prosper him, He giveth him a virtuous Wezeer, who when he forgetteth his duty remindeth him, and when he remembereth assisteth him; but if He would do otherwise, He giveth him an evil Wezeer, who when he forgetteth doth not remind him, and when he remembereth doth not assist him.’”—The Kur'ān and the Sūnna (or Traditions) both distinctly authorise a sovereign to select a Vizier to assist him in the government. The Prophet makes Moses say (Kur. xx, 30): “Give me a counsellor [Ar. Wezeer] of my family, namely Aaron my brother;” and again, in ch. xxv, 37: “We appointed him [Moses] Aaron his brother for a counsellor.” Wahidi, in his commentary on the Kur'ān, says: “Wezeer signifies refuge and assistance.” In the fourth year of his mission Muhammad assumed the prophetic office, when “he prepared a banquet, a lamb, as it is said, and a bowl of milk, for the entertainment of forty guests of the race of Hashem. ‘Friends and kinsmen,’ said Muhammad to the assembly, ‘I offer you, and I alone can offer, the most precious of gifts, the treasures of this world and of the world to come. God has commanded me to call you to His service. Who among you will support my burthen? Who among you will be my companion and my vizier?’” —Gibbon, chap. 1.

King Āzādbakht, we see, had no fewer than ten of such “burden-bearers”; in chapter ix there is another King with ten viziers; and in an ancient Indian romance referred to by El-Mas'ūdī in his Meadows of Gold and Mines of Gems, the same number of viziers is given to a king: “Shelkand and Shimas, or the Story of an Indian King and his Ten Viziers”; in what is probably a modernised version of the same romance, included in the Thousand and One Nights, under the title of “King Jilāa, the Vizier Shimas, and their Sons,” there are however but Seven Viziers—the number in most of the romances of the Sind-ibād cycle. According to the learned Imam El-Jara'ī, cited by Lane, ten is the proper number of counsellors for any man: “It is desirable,” says he, “for a man, before he enters upon any important undertaking, to consult ten intelligent persons among his particular friends; or if he have not more than five such friends, let him consult each of them twice; or if he have not more than one friend, he should consult him ten times, at ten different visits^*; —if he have not one to consult, let him return to his wife and consult her, and whatever she advises him to do, let him do the contrary, so shall he proceed rightly in his affair and attain his object.”—This reminds me of a story told of Khōja Nasru-'d-Dīn Efendī, the Turkish joker, who, wishing to make Timūr a present of some fruit, consulted his wife as to whether he should take him figs or quinces, and on her answering, “Oh, quinces, of course,” the Khōja, reflecting that a woman's advice is never good, took Timūr a basket of figs; and when the emperor ordered his attendants to pelt the Khōja on his bald pate with the ripe, juicy figs, he thanked Heaven that he had not taken his wife's advice: “for had I, as she advised, brought quinces instead of figs, my head had surely been broken!”^* This most unjust estimate of women, so generally held by Muslims and giving rise to such proverbial sayings as “women have long hair and short wits,” is in accordance with the atrocious saying ascribed (falsely, let us hope) to the Prophet: “I stood at the gate of Paradise, and lo! most of its inmates were poor; and I stood at the gate of Hell, and lo! most of its inmates were women!” Contrast this with the following passage from the Mahābharata: “The wife is half the man; a wife is man's dearest friend; a wife is the source of his religion, his worldly profit, and his love. He who hath a wife maketh offerings in his house. Those who have wives are blest with good fortune. Wives are friends, who by their gentle speech soothe ye in your retirement. In the performance of religious duties they are as fathers; in your distresses they are as mothers^†; and they are a refreshment to those who are travellers in the rugged paths of life.”

Page 16. “Indulged in the pleasures of wine.”—The Kur'ān prohibits the use of wine and all other intoxicating liquors: “They will ask thee concerning wine and lots; answer, in both there is great sin” (ch. ii, 216). Some of the early followers of the Prophet held this text as doubtful, and continued to indulge in wine; but another text enjoins them not to come to prayer while they are drunk, until they know what they would say (ch. iv, 46). From this it would appear that Muhammad “meant merely to restrain his followers from unbecoming behaviour, and other evil effects of intoxication;” serious quarrels, however, resulting from drinking wine, a text in condemnation of the practice was issued: “Ye who have become believers! verily wine, and lots, and images, and divining arrows are an abomination of the work of the Devil; therefore avoid them that ye may prosper” (ch. v, 92).—Mills was certainly in error in stating that “for ages before the preaching of the Prophet of Mecca, wine was but little drunk either in Egypt or Arabia.”^* In the Mu'allaqāt, or Seven Poems suspended in the Temple at Mecca, which present true pictures of Arabian manners and customs during the century immediately preceding the time of Muhammad, wine-drinking is frequently mentioned. Thus the poet 'Amru calls for his morning draught of rich hoarded wine, saying that it is the liquor which diverts the lover from his passion, and even causes the miser to forget his pelf; Lebeid says that he often goes to the shop of the wine-merchant, when he spreads his flag in the air, and sells his wine at a high price; and the poet-hero 'Antar quaffs old wine when the noontide heat is abated. However this may be, the law of the Kur'ān is clear— believers are not allowed to drink intoxicating liquors. Yet it would appear, from the tales of the Thousand and One Nights, that wine was extensively drunk by the higher classes of Muslims in all countries until a comparatively recent date; and assuredly the wine there mentioned was not the harmless beverage which the Prophet indulged in and permitted to his followers— “prepared by putting grapes or dry dates in water to extract their sweetness, and suffering the liquor to ferment slightly until it acquired a little sharpness or pungency”—since we read in the story, for instance, of “The Three Ladies of Bagdād and the Porter,” that wine was drunk to intoxication. The modern Persians justify their occasional excessive wine-drinking by the remark: “there is as much sin in a flagon as in a glass;”^† and the Turks despise the small glasses commonly used by Europeans in their potations.^‡ Cantemir, in his History of the Othman Empire, relates a curious story of how Murād IV, the seventeenth Turkish Sultan (1622-1639), became a drunkard:

Not content to drink wine in private, Murād compelled even the Muftis and other ministers to drink with him, and also, by a public edict, allowed wine to be sold and drunk by men of all ranks. It is said Murād was led into this degrading vice by a man named Bakrī Mustafa. As the Sultan was one day going about the market-place in disguise, he chanced to see this man wallowing in the mud, almost dead drunk. Wondering at the novelty of the thing, he inquired of his attendants what was the matter with the man, who seemed to him a lunatic. Being told that the fellow was drunk with wine, he wanted to know what sort of liquor that was, of whose effects he was yet ignorant. Meanwhile Mustafa gets up, and with opprobious words bids the Sultan stand off. Astonished at the man's boldness, “Rascal!” he exclaimed, “dost thou bid me, who am the Sultan Murād, be gone?”—“And I,” answered the fellow, “am Bakrī [i.e. the Drunkard] Mustafa, and if thou wilt sell me this city, I will buy it, and then I shall be Sultan Murād, and thou Bakrī Mustafa.” —Murād demanding where he would get the money to purchase such a city, Mustafa replied: “Don't trouble thyself about that; for, what is more, I will buy, too, the son of a bond-woman.”^* Murād agreed to this, and ordered Mustafa to be taken to the palace. After some hours, the fumes of the wine being dispersed, Mustafa came to his senses, and finding himself in a gilded and sumptuous room, he inquired of those who attended him: “What does this mean?—am I dreaming?—or do I taste of the pleasures of Paradise?” They told him of what had passed, and of his bargain with the Sultan. Upon this he fell into a great fright, well knowing Murād's fierce disposition. But necessity abetting his invention, he declared himself on the point of death, unless he could have some wine to restore his spirits. The keepers, that he might not die before being brought into the Sultan's presence, gave him a pot full of wine, which he concealed in his bosom. On being ushered into the audience-chamber, the Sultan commanded him to pay so many millions as the price of the city. Taking the pot of wine from his bosom, Mustafa said: “This, O Sultan, is what would yesterday have purchased Istambol. And were you likewise possessed of this wealth, you would think it preferable to the sovereignty of the universe.” Murād asked how that could be. “By drinking of this divine liquor,” answered Mustafa, offering the cup to the Sultan, who, from curiosity, took a large draught, which, as he was unused to wine, immediately made him so drunk that he fancied the whole world could not contain him. Afterwards growing giddy, he was seized with sleep, and in a few hours waking with a headache, sent for Mustafa, in a great passion. Mustafa instantly appeared, and perceiving the case, “Here,” said he, “is your remedy,” and gave him a cup of wine, by which his headache was presently removed, and his former gladness restored. When this had been repeated two or three times, Murād was by degrees so addicted to wine that he was drunk almost every day. Bakrī Mustafa, his tutor in drunkenness, was admitted among the privy-counsellors, and was always near the Sultan. At his death Murād ordered the whole court to go into mourning, but caused his body to be buried with great pomp in a tavern among the wine-casks. After his decease the Sultan declared he never enjoyed one merry day; and when Mustafa chanced to be mentioned he was often seen to burst into tears, and to sigh from the bottom of his heart. “Seldom, if ever,” moralises Cantemir, “has so much favour been obtained by the precepts of virtue as Mustafa acquired by the dictates of vice.”

To return to the quotation at the beginning of this long note; that the wine in which our young hero Bakhtyār indulged to such an extent as to deprive him of his senses was not a mild beverage, admits of no question: again, in chapter viii, page 93, we find a King and his favourite companion carousing together, until the former falls into a drunken sleep.

Page 18. “How could a person bred up in a desert, and by profession a robber, be fit for the society of a king?”—Sa'dī, the celebrated Persian poet, in his Gulistān, or Rose-Garden, says: “No one whose origin is bad ever catches the reflection of the good” (ch. i, tale 4); and again: “How can we make a good sword out of bad iron? A worthless person cannot by education become a person of worth;” and yet again: “Evil habits, which have taken root in one's nature, will only be got rid of at the hour of death.” Firdausī, the Homer of Persia, in his scathing satire on the Sultan Mahmūd of Ghazni, has the following remarks on the same subject:

To exalt the head of the unworthy,
To look for anything of good from them,
Is to lose the thread which guideth your purpose,
And to nourish a serpent in your bosom.
The tree which is by nature bitter,
Though thou shouldst plant it in the Garden of Paradise,
And spread honey about its roots—yea the purest honey-comb,
And water it in its season from the Fountain of Eternity,
Would in the end betray its nature,
And would still produce bitter fruit.
If thou shouldst pass through the shop of the seller of amber
Thy garments will retain its odour;
If thou shouldst enter the forge of the blacksmith,
Thou wilt there see nothing but blackness.
That evil should come of an evil disposition is no wonder,
For thou canst not sponge out the darkness from the night.
Of the son of the impure man entertain no hope,
For the Ethiopian by washing will never become white.^*

Page 20. “By a false testimony.”—Among the Muslims falsehood in certain cases is not only allowed but commended. Even oaths of different kinds are more or less binding. Expiation is permitted by law for an inconsiderate oath, and, according to some, even for the violation of a deliberate oath. The expiation consists in once feeding or clothing ten poor men, liberating a slave or captive, or fasting three days. An unintentional oath requires no expiation; but the swearing to a falsehood can only be expiated by deep repentance.—Lane.

In Cazotte's French rendering—or rather, adaptation—of the Arabian version of this work, under the title of “The Story of King Bohetzad and his Ten Viziers,” the name of the young hero is not Bakhtyār, but Aladdin—properly, ‘Ala'u-’d-Dīn, “Exaltation of the Faith”; for Sipahsālār there is a prime minister whose name is Asphand, and his daughter, Baherjoa, was being conveyed, not to the Vizier, as in our version, but to the Prince of Babylon, to whom she was to be married. The order of the tales varies from that in the Persian work and two additional tales are interpolated. There is one point, however, in which this rendering, or version, is, I think, superior to the Persian, namely, that while in the Bakhtyār-story we are told that after the King recovered his throne and kingdom, he and the Queen “passed their days in tranquillity, interrupted only by the remembrance of their child, whom they had left in the desert, and whom, they were persuaded, wild beasts must have devoured the same hour in which they abandoned him,” but they do not appear to have taken any steps to ascertain his fate; —in Cazotte's version trusty messengers are despatched far and wide to learn, if possible, tidings of the child, though without success. This is but natural, and what we should expect, particularly on the part of an Eastern monarch, from the well-known affection of Asiatics for their male offspring, which are considered as the light or splendour of the house; and if it be an interpolation by Cazotte—one of the “disfigurements” of which he is accused by Deslongchamps^* —it is very decidedly an improvement on his original.—Bohetzād's kingdom is called Dineroux, “which comprehends all Syria, and the Isles of India lying at the mouth of the Persian Gulf;” his capital is Issessara. One or two other points of difference may also find a place here. In our translation, when the royal fugitives abandoned their infant in the desert, “their hearts were afflicted with anguish;” but in Lescallier's French rendering, the King is represented as exclaiming, on this occasion: “O my dear infant! thy father sheds rivers of tears from his eyes, because of thy absence, like the father of Joseph the Egyptian, when his son was departed from the land of Canaan!”—while according to Cazotte: “Great God!” cried the afflicted mother, bedewing her babe with her tears, “who didst watch over the safety of young Ishmael, preserve this innocent babe!” The reference to Ishmael is possibly an alteration by the Arabian translator.—It is not, as in the Persian work, the King of Kirmān of whom the fugitive pair seek protection and assistance, but Kassera, King of Persia—no doubt, meaning Khusrū (called by the Greeks Chosroes), the general title of the Persian Kings of the Sassanian dynasty, thus, Khusrū Parvīz, Khusrū Nushirvān. He furnishes Bohetzād with an immense army for the recovery of his kingdom, and the Queen (Baherjoa) remains under his protection until Bohetzād should have punished his rebellious Vizier. But meanwhile the King of Persia becomes deeply enamoured of the beauteous Baherjoa; and when envoys arrive from Bohetzād to bring back the Queen, Khusrū's first impulse is to refuse to deliver her up, but at length better feelings prevail over his passion, and he restores her to the envoys in a magnificent litter, and with numerous female attendants.

Page 22. “Rooted out of the soil of his empire;” the text adds, “as an example to evil-doers.”

Page 22. “On the eve of my departure from this world,” &c. The text reads: “But the law of God hath commanded that an innocent person should exculpate and exert himself in his own defence. God, the Most Holy and the Most High (hakk subhānāhu wa ta'āla), knows that I am innocent of these suspicions” [or allegations].

Page 23. Bakhtyār saluted the Pādishāh, and spoke out with fluency and eloquence.

Page 23. Basra.—Situated on the Shattu-'l-'Arab (the river of the Arabs—the united stream of the Tigris and the Euphrates), Basra is the principal port in the Persian Gulf, and is so named from the white stones (basra) near and around it. Renowned for its school of grammar, the Arabic dual al-basratān (the Two Basras) denotes the rival seats of learning, Basra and Kūfa.— See D'Herbelot, art. Coufeh.—Built by the command of the pious Khalif 'Omar, A.H. 15 (A.D. 636), it was called “the land of purity,” never having been polluted by any idolatrous worship. Irrigated by the river Ayla, which falls into the Tigris close to it, its gardens are so fruitful that it is reckoned one of the four earthly paradises of Asia—the other three being the valleys of of Shīrāz, Damascus, and Samarkand.

Page 23. “And the Merchant thought”—the text has “that a voyage by sea and land might jeopardise life and property, but by laying out what remained,” &c.—The antipathy of the Persians to a sea-voyage is well known, and very distinctly professed by the poet Hāfiz. “He had heard of the munificent encouragement which Sultan Mahmūd Shāh Bahamī, an accomplished prince then reigning in the Dek'han, afforded to poets and learned men, and became desirous of visiting his court. Hearing of this wish, and desirous himself of forming an acquaintance with Hāfiz, Sultān Mahmūd sent him, through the hands of his vizier, Mīr Fazlu'llāh Anjū, an invitation and a handsome sum of money to defray the expenses of his journey. Thereupon he set out and advanced on his expedition as far as Lār. There he encountered a friend who had been plundered by robbers, on whom he bestowed a part of his money, and not having left himself sufficient to prosecute his journey, was compelled to accept the assistance of two merchants whom he fortunately met with there, and who kindly took him with them to Hurmuz. There he found a ship ready to sail to the Dek'han, and took his passage in her. But a storm having arisen, he was so terrified by it, that he abandoned his intention, and sending a letter of excuse to the vizier, with an ode to the King, returned himself to Shīrāz. He says:

“The splendour of a Sultan's diadem, within which, like a casket enclosed,
are fears for one's life,
May be heart-attracting as a cap, but is not worth the loss of the head it
covers.

The sufferings of the sea may appear easy to bear in the prospect of its
pearls;
But I have erred, for its waves are not worth one hundred munns of gold.”^*

Page 24. “Most of the houses were washed away.”—Probably owing to the non-adhesive qualities of the mortar generally employed in the construction of Persian houses: a mixture, half of mud, one fourth of lime, and the rest ashes of burnt straw and rubbish.

Page 25. “Trees and running streams.”—The dryness of the Persian climate and the deficiency of rivers have exercised in ancient (Polybius, lib. 10, 25) as in modern times the ingenuity of the natives in the discovery of springs.—In the Story of Abū Temām (page 98) a city is also described as “adorned with gardens and running streams.” It was a saying of Muhammad that “three things fortify the sight: looking at verdure, at running water, and at a handsome face.”

Page 25. Dihkān is a compound word, from dih, a village, and khān, lord, or chief.

Page 25. “Erected a summer-house”—the text adds, “and on it a lofty watch-tower.”

Page 25. “The stranger was entertained with politeness and hospitality.”—The Kur'ān (iv, 40) enjoins the believer to “serve God … and show kindness unto … your neighbour who is a stranger … and the traveller” (ibnu-'s sabīl: son of the road). The practice of hospitality among the pre-Islamite Arabs is too well known to require more than passing mention, and reference to Professor Lee's note on Job xxi, 16.

Page 25. “A suit of his clothes”; his own jubba and dastār. The jubba is a vest with cotton quilted between the outside and the lining; the dastār is the sash, or fine muslin cloth, wrapped round the turban.

Page 25. “Account of his property” &c.—signet, chattels, and ledger—“and said, ‘you must manifest your zeal in the seasons of sowing and of harvest, and become the mushrif of my property.’” A mushrif is an officer of the treasury, who authenticates accounts and writings. The dihkān gave him his signet, in order that he might transact his business with full authority. “Seals, or signets,” says Dr. H. H. Wilson, “were from the earliest periods commonly used in the East. Ahasuerus takes his signet off his hand and gives it, first to Haman, and again to Mordecai; and Herodotus notices that each of the Babylonians wore a seal-ring. The Greeks and Romans had their rings curiously engraved with devices, and that cast by Polycrates into the sea was the work of an engraver whose name the historian has thought not unworthy of commemoration. The use of the seal amongst the Orientals at the present day is not, as with us, to secure an envelope, but to verify letters and documents in place of a written signature. Amongst the natives of Hindūstān, both Muhammadan and Hindū, the seal is engraved with the name of the wearer, and the surface being smeared superficially only with ink, the application of the seal to the paper leaves the letters which are cut in the stone white on a black ground. Such also was the manner in which the seals of the Greeks and Romans were applied.” Lane, in his Modern Egyptians, says: “On the little finger of the right hand is worn a seal-ring (Khātim), which is generally of silver, with a cornelian, or other stone, upon which is engraved the wearer's name; the name is accompanied by the words ‘his servant’—signifying the servant, or worshipper, of God—and often by other words expressive of the person's trust in God, &c. (see St. John's Gospel iii, 33, and Exodus xxxix, 30). The Prophet disapproved of gold; therefore few Muslims wear gold rings; but the women have various ornaments (rings, bracelets &c.) of that precious metal. The impression of the seal-ring is considered as more valid than the sign-manual. Therefore giving the ring to another person is the utmost mark of confidence.—See Genesis xli, 42.”

Page 27. “Bit the finger of amazement.”—Biting the hand or finger is a common mode in the East of manifesting surprise, grief, or anger. Thus in the Kur'ān, xxv, 29: “On that day the unjust person shall bite his hands for anguish;” and iii, 119: “When they assemble together privately they bite their fingers'-ends out of wrath against you.” In the Gulistān of Sa'dī, i, 4: “The King seized the hand of amazement with his teeth;” again, v, 19: “Thine enemy bites the back of his hand through vexation;” and again, vii, 19: “The fingers of astonishment were between their teeth.” In one of the beautiful poems of Bahāu-'d-Dīn Zuhayr, of Egypt (A.D. 1186-1258), elegantly translated by Professor E. H. Palmer:

When she passed me without speaking, I declare,
I could almost bite my hand off with despair.

And in the Turkish poem of Khusrev and Shīrīn, by Shaykī, ob. A.D. 1426 (Mr. Gibb's Ottoman Poems, p. 6):

No power was left him, neither sport nor pleasure,
He bit his finger, wildered beyond measure.

Page 27. “Driven forth from the village”; the text adds: “and they deprived him of whatever they had given.”

Page 27. “For the sake of God:” a common phrase among Muslims. A rather humorous example of its use occurs in the Gulistān (chap. iv, tale 14): A harsh-voiced man was reading the Kur'ān in a loud tone. A pious man passed by him, and said: “What is thy monthly stipend?”—“Nothing,” he replied. —“Why then,” he inquired, “dost thou give thyself all this trouble?”—“I read for the sake of God,” he replied.—“For God sake, then, don't read,” said he.

Page 27. “A pearl of such exquisite beauty,” &c.—In the East it is popularly believed that the pearl is formed in the oyster from a rain-drop: Sa'dī, in the fourth book of his Bustān, has some beautiful verses on this notion, in which he inculcates the practice of humility. Pearls are called marvārīd, “production of light,” and, usually when they are unpierced, lū'lū', “luminous,” “brilliant.” They are divided into twelve classes, each having a distinctive name, according to their “water” or lustre; the first class being called shahvār, “the regal,” the clearest, purest, and most lustrous. Pearls are also divided into twelve classes, according to shape. They are further divided, in respect of size, into fifteen classes, according to the number of holes in the different sieves through which they are passed, from the smallest, of which twelve hundred weigh a miskal, up to the largest, of which forty weigh a miskal. The best pearl-fisheries are at Ceylon, and in the Persian Gulf, at Bahrayn, Kīsh, and Sharak; but the Arabian pearls are less prized than the Indian. Their colour and quality are said to depend on the bottom of the sea where they are produced: in black slime they are dark; in shallow waters, yellowish.—Tavernier mentions a remarkable pearl found at Katifa, in Arabia, the fishery probably alluded to by Pliny (Nat. Hist. b. ix, c. 54), which he purchased for £10,000 of our money! It is said to be now in the possession of the Shah of Persia.

Page 28. “He put three of the pearls into his mouth and the other three among his clothes.”—It is customary for travellers and others in the East to conceal their money and valuables about their clothes and in the folds of their turbans. Many Oriental stories illustrate this practice. For example, in the tale of the Poor Ropemaker (Arabian Nights—vol. vi, of Jonathan Scott's edition), he receives a sum of money from a benevolent stranger, and having laid out a moiety of it in material for his trade, he places the remainder within the folds of his turban-cloth, but unluckily a bird snatches it off his head and flies away with it. And in the Talmud there is a story of a poor Hebrew, named Joseph, who paid great respect to the Sabbath. This man had a wealthy neighbour, who was a firm believer in judicial astrology, and having been told by a sagacious professor of the science that all his riches should one day become the property of the Sabbath-observing Joseph, he straightway sold his estate and invested the proceeds in a large diamond, which he secretly sewed within his turban, and departed in a vessel for some distant country —thus preventing, as he fondly imagined, the verification of the astrologer's prediction. But his precautions were of no avail, for while standing on the deck of the vessel, a sudden gust of wind carried his turban, with all his wealth, into the sea. What became of the ruined man after this misfortune we are not informed. But we are told that, some time after this accident, the pious Joseph went to the market and bought a fish to furnish his table on the Sabbath eve. On opening the fish, the diamond which his old neighbour had lost with his turban was found in its stomach—and thus was the good man's strict observance of the Sabbath rewarded, and the astrologer's prediction fulfilled to the letter.

Page 28. The unlucky Merchant's adventure with the covetous and dishonest jeweller finds a curious parallel in an incident in the “Story of the Jackal, the Barber, and the Brāhman,” one of the charming fairy tales in Miss Frere's Old Deccan Days. The poor Brāhman, however, though robbed of the precious stones he offers to the jeweller for sale, escapes home all safe, unlike the Merchant of our story. Possibly the incident in both tales had a common origin;—yet the “roguery of villanous man” (to employ honest Jack Falstaff's phrase) is pretty much alike in all ages and countries!

Page 29. “They distributed some money among those who were confined.”—Alms are recommended in many passages of the Kur'ān: “Pay your legal alms,” ii, 43; “alms are to be distributed to the poor and the needy … for the redemption of captives, insolvent debtors, and, for religion's sake, unto the traveller,” ix, 53, 60. Alms are of two kinds: (1) obligatory (or zakāt), ii, 172; and (2) voluntary (or sadakāt), as in the present instance. In scripture we find a trace of the same doctrine: see Daniel iv, 27. The Khalif 'Omar Ibn ‘Abdu-’l-'Azīz used to say: “Prayer carries us half-way to God; Fasting brings us to the door of the palace; and Alms procure us admission.” And assuredly no Eastern moralist has more frequently or more impressively and beautifully inculcated the duty of alms-giving and of liberality than Sa'dī. He tells us in the Gulistān, ii, 49, that on the monument of Bahrām Gūr, a famous Persian King, was written: “The liberal hand is better than the strong arm;” and adds: “Distribute in alms the tithe of thy wealth; for the more the husbandman loppeth off the exuberance of the vine, the more it will yield of grapes.” And in his Bustān, or Fruit-Garden, b. ii, he says: “Bestow thy gold and thy wealth while they are thine; for when thou art gone they will be no longer in thy power… Distribute thy treasure readily to-day, for to-morrow the key may no longer be in thy hand… Exert thyself to cast a covering over the poor, that God's own veil may be a covering for thee.”^*

Page 30. “When he had related the story of the Merchant and of the pearls which they had given him”—the text adds, “and the other five divers had confirmed what he said.”

Page 30. “He was then led away to execution; and the King caused to be proclaimed throughout the city,” &c. So, too, in the Thousand and One Nights, the Barber relates how his Fourth Brother was punished with a hundred lashes, “after which they mounted him upon a camel, and proclaimed before him: ‘This is the recompense of him who breaketh into men's houses.’” Morier, in his Second Fourney, gives a graphic description of the punishment of Muhammad Zamān Khān, governor of Astrābād, who, in 1814, “entered into a league with the Turkmāns, disavowed the King's authority, and even made pretensions to the royal power and prerogative.” The King offered a reward for his capture; and the people of Astrābād surrounded the traitor's palace, forced their way into the room where he was seated, seized and bound him, and carried him before the King. “When he had reached the camp, the King ordered the chief of his camel-artillery to put a mock-crown upon the rebel's head, armlets on his arms, a sword by his side; to mount him upon an ass, with his face towards the tail and the tail in his hand; then to parade him throughout the camp, and to proclaim: ‘This is he who wished to be King!’ After this was over, and the people had mocked and insulted him, he was brought before the king, who called for the looties and ordered them to turn him into ridicule by making him dance and perform antics against his will. He then ordered that whoever chose might spit in his face. After this he received the bastinado on the soles of his feet, which was administered by the chiefs of his own tribe; and some time after he had his eyes put out.—The strong coincidence,” adds Morier, “between these details and the most awfully affecting part of our own scripture history is a striking illustration of the permanence of Eastern manners.”

Page 30. “Appointed him keeper of the treasury.”—The sudden elevation of persons from a humble and even distressed condition to places of great dignity and wealth has ever been a characteristic of the absolute monarchs of Eastern countries, as well as the degradation and ruin, frequently from mere caprice, and seldom with any justification, of men of the highest rank. The most remarkable instance of the many which Oriental history presents is the execrable conduct of the Khalif Hārūnu-'r-Rāshīd, so undeservedly celebrated in the Thousand and One Nights, in murdering his principal Vizier Ja'far and utterly ruining the other members of the noble house of Barmak (the Barmecides of our common translation of the Arabian Nights), all of whom were as famed for their unbounded liberality as for their brilliant abilities. An interesting account of the Barmakis and their ruin is given in Dr Jonathan Scott's Tales, Anecdotes, &c., from the Arabic and Persian.

Page 32. “Put out the Merchant's eyes.”—A too common and barbarous punishment in the East. In Turkey a needle was used for this purpose in the case of state prisoners. The Arabian poet-hero 'Antar is said to have blinded his implacable and treacherous enemy Wezār by passing a red-hot sword-blade close before his eyes. Years afterwards the blinded chief executed poetical justice by slaying 'Antar with a poisoned arrow, which he shot at him on the bank of the Euphrates.

In Cazotte's version this story is entitled “The Obstinate Man,” perhaps more appropriately than our “Ill-fated Merchant,” since his own wrong-headedness was the main cause of his misfortunes. His place of abode is Bagdād, not Basra. The divers give him ten pearls. The jeweller, having been lately robbed of some pearls, believes Kaskas (such is the man's name) to be the thief, and accordingly he accuses him; and when the latter is proved to be innocent, the jeweller is punished with two hundred blows of the bastinado. The catastrophe is very differently related: One day he observed in the apartment which had been assigned to him, a door walled-up and concealed by a slight covering of mastic, which was now so much wasted by the effects of time that it crumbled into dust on the slightest touch. Without any exertion of strength, he opened this door and entered unthinkingly into a rich apartment entirely unknown to him, but which he found to be in the interior of the palace. Hardly had he advanced two or three steps when he was perceived by the chief of the eunuchs, who instantly reported what he had seen to the King. The monarch came immediately to the spot. The fragments of the mastic remained upon the ground to show that the door had been forced open, and the stupid amazement of Kaskas completed the appearance of his guilt. “Wretch!” said the King, “dost thou thus repay my favours? My justice saved thee, when I believed thee innocent; now thou art guilty, and I condemn thee to lose thy sight.” The imprudent Kaskas durst not even attempt to justify himself, but was immediately delivered into the hands of the executioner, of whom the only favour he asked was, that he would give him his eyes when he had torn them from their sockets.^* He went groping through the streets of the capital with them in his hands, crying: “Behold, all ye good people who hear me, what the unfortunate Kaskas has gained by striving against the decrees of Destiny, and despising the advice of his friends!”

Page 33. “Expressed many apprehensions.”—The text gives the address of the Third Vizier as follows: “I am apprehensive lest the affair of Bakhtyār should be known in the out-lying provinces of the world [kingdom], and reaching the ears of sovereigns, occasion scandal, and evil repute arise therefrom. Before this story of Bakhtyār become the common talk, it is expedient to put him to death.”

Page 33. “He petitioned for mercy:” he cried, al-amān! —quarter!—pardon! Byron's couplet in the Giaour has rendered this word familiar to English readers:

Resigned carbine or ataghān,
Nor ever raised the craven cry, Amaun!

Page 33. “If a king punish without due investigation.”— A Hindū dramatist says:

Though the commands of royalty pervade
The world, yet sovereigns should remember,
The light of justice must direct their path.

And Sa'dī, in his Bustān, b. 1, regarding the duties of a king, says: “If thou sheddest blood, it must not be done without a decree.” But there is too much reason to believe that Eastern monarchs have seldom been guided by the law in administering punishment. Many of the Muslim princes of Northern Africa, in particular, have slain even favourite attendants, from sheer wantonness and love of bloodshed.

Page 34. Aleppo.—The Berica of the Greeks; Aleppo is the Italian form of Hālab, the native name. On the fall of Palmyra, Hālabu-'s-Shabha (Hālab the ash-coloured) became the grand emporium for the productions of Persia and India, conveyed by caravans from Bagdād and Basra to be shipped at Iskenderūn, or Latakia, for the different ports of Europe. Under the Greek sovereigns of Syria, Aleppo acquired great wealth and consequence, and flourished still more under the Roman Emperors. An aqueduct, constructed before the time of Constantine, conveys a plentiful supply of water from the springs; and the mosques Jāmī, Zacharī, and Halawé, originally Christian churches, are fine specimens of the ancient Roman style, the latter built by the Empress Helena. To the peculiar quality of the water of the Kuwayk (ancient Chalus), which irrigates its far-famed gardens, is ascribed the ring-worm (hābala-'s-sina) , which attacks the natives once in their lives, and leaves an indelible scar, which distinguishes an Aleppine throughout the East. In 1797 Aleppo was the victim of the plague, and of earthquakes in 1822 and 1830.

Page 34. “Protected strangers.”—The text reads: “A friend of the stranger; who never at any time injured any person, deemed all injustice improper, and never deprived any one of aught.”

Page 34. “A son named Bih-zād,” meaning “well-born,” “legitimate.”

Page 35. “A magnificent litter”—the text adds, “and the curtains of the litter were thrown back;”—thus the youth was able to obtain a view of the lady's beauty.

Page 35. “When the young man had advanced thus far in his narrative;” the lithographed text says, “when the boon companion had described the lady.”—Readers familiar with Oriental fictions will probably recollect many instances of princes and others becoming enamoured, not only at sight of the portrait of a beautiful woman, but at the mere description of her charms: in such celebrated collections of tales as the Arabian Nights, the Persian Tales ascribed to the Dervish Mokles of Isfahān, and the Bahār-i-Danish (Spring of Knowledge) of ‘Ināyatu-’llah of Dihli. In the Bedawī Romance of 'Antar, anoble 'Absian named Amara, “a conceited coxcomb, very particular in his dress, fond of perfumes, and always keeping company with women and young girls,” having heard of the beauty of Abla, sends a female slave to the tents of her family to discover whether the damsel was as beautiful as was reported of her; and the girl returning with a glowing account of Abla's charms, the Bedawī exquisite immediately conceives a violent passion for her—“his ears fell in love before his eyes.”—There is at least one instance on record of a European becoming enamoured from imagination; in the case of Geoffrey Rudel, the gallant troubadour, who fell desperately in love with the Countess of Tripoli, from a description of her beauty and accomplishments: but see the story in Warton's History of English Poetry.

Page 35. “The city of Rūm, the capital and residence of the Kaisar, or Greek Emperor”: Constantinople.—The signification of “Rūm” is very vague, as it may denote Rome, the Turkish Empire, Greece, or Rumelia (Rūm Eyli). The Persians called the chief of the Seljukī dynasty at Konia (i.e. Iconium), Kaisar-i-Rūm. D'Herbelot defines the term Rūm as applicable to the countries which the Romans, and afterwards the Greeks and Turks, subdued under their domination. “Roumy [Rūmī],” observes Burckhardt, “is a word applied by the Arabs to the Greeks of the Lower Empire, and afterwards to all Christians.” (Travels in Nubia, App. n. iii.) The Persian proverb, Ez Rūm ta Shām, “from Rūm to Syria,” is quoted to indicate an extent of territory. Kaisar (Cæsar, whence Czar) was the general title of the sovereigns of the Lower Empire, as Khusrū was that of the Persian Kings of the Sassanian dynasty.

Page 36. “Prince Bihzād immediately arose, and hastened to the house of the Vizier, and said,” &c.—The following is a close translation of this passage as given in the lithographed text:

“You must go this moment and tell my father, Bihzād says thus: ‘Thou dost not turn thine eye upon me and hast not any care for me. There is no mortal in the world to whom a wife should not be given; if thou carest for me, you would bestow on me a help-mate.’” The Vizier replied: “Your order I obey;” then rose up and went to the King's palace, asked for an audience, and reported to the King all that Bihzād had said. The King said: “Bihzād has fallen in love; say to him, ‘This wish is in my thoughts; but I have paused until I could discover some companion for thy sake; but if there be a longing for any one, speak out that I may give it my attention— that I may effect a settlement, and bring this thy desire within thy embrace.’”—The Vizier returned, and repeated to Bihzād what the King had said, to which Bihzād replied: “Go and tell my father that the Kaisar of Rūm has a daughter, Nigārīn^* by name; he must send ambassadors and demand the daughter on my behalf.” The Vizier returned and told the King, who became unhappy.

Page 37. “The Vizier returned to Bihzād, and delivered him this message from his father.”—The lithographed text says:

When Bihzād perceived that the King showed no eagerness in asking for the lady, he said to the Vizier: “If the King will not demand the daughter for me, I will leave the country.” The Vizier said: “I will go and speak to the King to that effect.” He went, and repeated according to Bihzād's words. The King loved his son to excess, and seeing no resource, sent ambassadors to the Kaisar of Rūm. When the ambassadors arrived at the capital of Rūm, and the news reached the King, he commanded an istikbāl, and that they should enter the city with all due honours and respect. The next day the Kaisar invited the ambassadors to a durbar. When they came before the King and had bowed their faces to the ground, they delivered the message of the Shāh of Aleppo. The King said: “Maybe the wealth [dominion, power?] of the Kaisar does not enter into your [mind's] eye;—you must be brief and laconic, and utter this reply: ‘One hundred lacs of dīnars is the covenant of my daughter's hand; whoever will give one hundred lacs of dīnars, to him will I give my daughter.’ Thus he spake; then rising up, dismissed the ambassadors.

Page 37. “One hundred lacs of dīnars.”—The value of the dīnar (originally din-ār, “brought into circulation by the law”) varied considerably at different periods, but the average value is about ten shillings. As a lac is one hundred thousand, and the Kaisar demanded a hundred lacs; taking the value of the dīnar at ten shillings, this would amount to five million pounds of our money: but Oriental romancers are fond of dealing with immense sums of money—on paper! “The Persians,” says Chardin, “express silver money by the term dirhem, or dragme, and that of gold by that of dīnar, or denier. They reckon by dīnar-bisty and tomāns, although they have not any pieces of money so called. There is the common dīnar, and the legal dīnar (or chemy) and the dīnar-chemy signify the weight and the value of a dīnar of gold, or of a gold crown. A bisty makes ten dīnars, or deniers, and a tomān ten thousand dīnars.” (Voyage en Perse, &c., ii, 91-2.)

Page 38. “They produced twenty lacs.”—Bihzād said: “Make a forced contribution throughout the land, and [demand] one-eighth of the garden [produce].” The Pādishāh replied: “This I will never do, for the city is small and the people have not the means; every one would take flight and be ruined.” Bihzād said: “A portion of the sum [required] exact by a forced contribution; after that, about the remainder let us not concern ourselves” [lit. eat anxiety]. The Pādishāh was incapable [of further opposition]; he commanded that the land [owners] should make a present of twenty lacs of dīnars.

Page 40. “Set out upon his journey.”—For what purpose? Surely not to go and demand the Kaisar's daughter in marriage, without payment of the balance of the stipulated hundred lacs? Sir William Ouseley has omitted to add that loot was the object of Bihzād's expedition. The text says that, with two confidential attendants Bihzād set out upon his journey, “until he should fall in with a caravan, and make up the total sum required.” The “good old rule” of our own famous Scottish freebooter Rob Roy—

was very commonly put into practice in former times by Arabian lovers in order to procure the dowry. Thus, in the Romance of 'Antar, which Von Hammer says presents true pictures of Arabian life about the age of Nushirvān the Just, King of Persia (sixth century), Malik, the father of the beauteous Abla, requires 'Antar to procure for her dowry a thousand Asafīr camels by plundering the owner, Mundzir, King of Hīra; and when Khalid demands his cousin Jaida in marriage of her father, the heroic damsel consents, on condition that he provide for slaughter at her wedding-feast a thousand camels belonging to the “Brandisher of Spears,” which he does by plundering the tribe of 'Āmir; and when Malik the perfidious father of Abla betrothes her to the Bedawī exquisite Amara (mentioned in a previous note), he collects a party of his followers and sets out on a looting expedition to procure her dowry.—Prince Bihzād, however, appears to have “caught a Tartar” in attacking the caravan which he and his comrades overtook—“in the morning,” according to our translation—“at the hour of midday prayer,” says the lithographed text. The old Arabs always made their attacks on the tents of a hostile tribe, and on caravans, in the early morning—on the first gray streaks of dawn appearing, and this is frequently alluded to in their poetry. Thus in the Mu'allaqa of Hareth: “They assembled their forces at night, and as soon as the dawn appeared, there was nothing heard among them but a tumultuous noise, of those who called and those who answered; the neighing of horses, and, among the rest, the lowing of camels.” In the Romance of 'Antar, the heroic Prince Malik is represented as being slain in one of those morning raids, when his bridal party were attacked by Hadifa and his tribesmen: “by morning their joys were converted into sorrows, and shots were precipitated at them from arrows for which there is no surgeon.” To wish peace in the morning was therefore among the Arabs a most appropriate salutation. So 'Antar, in his famous Mu'allaqa (verse 2), exclaims: “O bower of Abla, in the valley of Jiwā, give me tidings of my love! O bower of Abla, may the morning rise on thee with prosperity and health!” And Zuhayr, also author of a Mu‘allaqa, on viewing the traces of his mistress’ former abode: “Hail, sweet bower! may thy morning be fair and auspicious!”

This story is the fourth in Cazotte's version, in which it presents so few points of resemblance to the tale as given in the Persian work that we must conclude it has been thus altered by the Arabian translator. Bihzād is the son of King Cyrus, founder of the Syrian empire; and the beautiful lady with whom he falls in love from the description of her charms is the daughter of one of his father's vassals. He avows his passion to the King his father, who immediately sends messengers to his vassal, demanding his daughter in marriage to his son. The dowry of three hundred thousand pieces of gold is agreed upon, but the lady's father stipulates that the marriage should be delayed for the space of nine months. This seemed an eternity to the impatient Prince, so he mounts his best horse, and sets out to claim his bride at once. On the way he falls into the hands of a gang of robbers and is compelled to join them. They attack a caravan and are defeated, the Prince, among others, being taken prisoner. The merchants present Bihzād to their King, who recognises him from the description of his person in a circular letter which he had received from King Cyrus. This King despatches some troops along with Bihzād to the young lady's father. On his arrival preparations are made for the celebration of the marriage: only three days have now to pass; but Bihzād, impatient to behold his bride, looks through a small grated window in her pavilion; and a eunuch, placed there on guard, not knowing the Prince, struck him with the point of his scimitar, which ran through both his eyes.

Page 45. According to the lithographed text: “The Fourth Vizier presented himself before the King and said: ‘Of all the admirable qualities [becoming] a King forbearance is the most praiseworthy, and occasions general tranquillity; but inasmuch as the forbearance [towards] Bakhtyār exceeds all bounds, it brings evil repute to the King and kingdom, just as the [moderate] tasting of meat is legitimate, but to eat to excess produces violent fever.’”

Page 45. “Let him not be precipitate in putting me to death.”—The text goes on to say: “For precipitation in the end leads only to repentance. Through impatience a man falls from sovereignty, but whoever practises patience obtains it, and is free from calamity. If the King would permit, just as his servant has described [the career of] the Impatient Bihzād, he would also, at the service of the King, make known Abū Saber's patience, and thus shed light on the illumined mind of the King, [showing] how by patience extensive dominion accrues to a human being.” The King said: “Abū Saber, who was he? And practising what degree of patience, and in what manner, did he acquire dominion and sovereignty? Relate.”

Page 46. Abū Saber (Sabr), literally, “Father of Patience.” —This story offers a striking example of the practice of patience, a virtue enjoined by the Kur'ān (ii, 148): “O true believers, beg assistance with patience (bi-'s-sabri) and prayer, for God is with the patient (inna-'llāha ma‘a-’s-sabirīn).”—Travellers in the East are daily reminded of this text: you engage camels; at the time appointed, they are not ready; you seek, and find the owner smoking in a coffee-shop; to your remonstrances he replies: “Have patience, Efendī—inna-'llāha ma‘a-’s-sabirīn.” An Egyptian friend visits you while you are still agitated, and his only words are: Sabr kun—inna-'llāha ma‘a-’s-sabirīn: Have patience—God is with the patient. In a flutter of indignation you bring your complaint before my Lord Judge (Māvlāna Kazī), who summons and expostulates with the offender, and then, with a smile, assures you, inna-'llāha ma‘a-’s-sabirīn! —Persian authors are profuse in their praise of patience. Sa'dī (Gulistān, i, 27) illustrates the double meaning of Sabr, which signifies the “aloe” as well as “patience:”

Rest not sour because of the turns of Fortune, for Patience [or the Aloe],
Although it is bitter, bringeth forth sweet fruit.

And in the same excellent work (iii, 1) he says: “The treasure chosen by Lukmān was patience; without patience there is no such thing as wisdom.”

Page 46. “A tax-gatherer”—'Amil—is inferior to an Amīn, who regulates the revenues of a district, and to a Zamin-dār, a landed proprietor.

Page 46. “Extorted (Kharāj) tribute from the poor peasants.”—Kharāj-guzār, “a tribute-paying subject,” differs from dhimī (zimmiy), who pays an annual tribute, and is entitled to the protection of the Muslims and to most of the civil rights which they enjoy; but he has also—in Egypt, at least—to pay the income-tax in common with Muslims. (See Lane's Modern Egyptians.)

Page 46. “With cruelty and injustice,” &c.—“Most of the governors of provinces and districts,” says Lane (Modern Egypt.), “carry their oppression far beyond the limits to which they are authorised to proceed by the Pasha; and even the Shaikh of a village, in executing the commands of his superiors, abuses his lawful power: bribes and the ties of relationship and marriage influence him and them; and by lessening the oppression of some, who are more able to bear it, greatly increase that of others.” The peasants of Egypt only pay taxes after a severe bastinading: “the more easily the peasant pays, the more he is made to pay;” they are “proud of the stripes they receive for withholding their contributions; and are often heard to boast of the number of blows which were inflicted upon them before they would give up their money… It may be hardly necessary to add, that few of them engage with assiduity in the labours of agriculture, unless compelled to do so by their superiors.”

Page 47. “He replied, that patience was his only remedy.” —The lithographed text thus proceeds:

The peasants retired void of hope, and remained [quiet] in the village until the day when the King of the territory came in that direction for the chase. The peasants hastened out of the village, and raised a cry [of lamentation], saying: “We are peasants, the tributaries and well-wishers of his Majesty. At the time when the collector, entering this village, executed his duties cruelly towards us, and had no mercy upon us poor people, a party of evil-doers slew the tax-gatherer and fled. This news reaching the ears of the King, he commanded the village to be laid waste, and we, the guiltless, were set aside. After his we were in misery and affliction, and could do but little seed-sowing and harvest. Three years afterwards a lion formed his lair in the neighbouring district of the village, and he killed many children and camels; and from dread of the lion we were unable to go out of doors, and were reduced to [a state of] starvation and nakedness.” Thus did they speak, and, with lamentations and groans, shed tears. Pity for them came over [the mind of] the King, who asked: “Why, at the time of the murder of the collector, did you not come before me, and represent your own state of affairs, and beg me to forbear from the command to lay your village waste?” The peasants replied: “In the village there is a man who is our chief; whatever affair we undertake, we confer with him, [that] he may devise the proper course [to pursue]. We told him of this state of affairs, and he was not one with us, and he did not think it advisable we should come into the presence of the King.” At these words the King became angry, and commanded they should expel this man from the village.

Page 48.—“Abū Saber recommended patience.”—According to the lithographed text: Have patience (sabr kun); since by patience that which was obscure becomes manifest, [even as] a lamp lights up [darkness].

Page 48. “She contrived to write upon the ground with blood.”—Of what service blood could be in tracing letters in the sand is not very obvious: the lithographed text simply says, that “when she perceived there was no remedy, she wrote on the ground: ‘A robber has carried me off!’”

Page 49. “Every stranger … was by his command seized and compelled to work,” &c.—No doubt many of the magnificent palaces and other edifices in Eastern countries, like the famous Pyramids near Cairo, were thus raised by forced labour. Mūlī Isma'īl, emperor of Morocco, who died, after a long reign, in 1714, was a great lover of architecture and employed many people on his buildings; if he did not approve of the plan or the performance, it was usual for him to show the delicacy of his taste by demolishing the whole structure and putting to death all who had a hand in it.

Page 50. “Providence would relieve him from the oppression under which he suffered.”—Abū Saber said: “Be patient, since the Almighty (may He be honoured and glorified!) is a friend of the patient, and quickly will release thee from this oppression.” —Here, it will be observed, Abū Saber refers to the text from the Kur'ān quoted in the third note to this chapter, as above, “God is with the patient.”

Page 51. “Supporting his head on the knees of patience, implored the protection of the Almighty.”—Abū Saber may be supposed to have assumed an attitude of prayer (reka), by an inclination of the body, so that the hands rested on the knees, saying (tawakkal bar Khudā), “put thy trust in God,” Kur'ān xxxvii, 3; and recalling to mind: “whoso … persevereth with patience shall at length find relief.”—Kur'ān xii, 90.

Page 51. “It was resolved that they should go to the prison, and propose three questions to the criminals confined there; and that whoever gave the best answers should be chosen King.”— This will probably strike most readers as a rather curious, not to say hap-hazard, mode of electing a King; yet it goes, I think, to prove the antiquity of the original story; and, moreover, if the “questions” were of such a subtle nature as to require superior sagacity for their solution, it may have been perhaps as good a way of choosing a sovereign as many that have been adopted either in ancient or modern times. The circumstance that the test-questions were proposed to prisoners may seem still more absurd; but the late King is represented as very tyrannical and impious, “one who did not fear God, an infidel;” and the chiefs of the city were doubtless aware that the prisoners were not really criminals, but the innocent victims of a wicked tyrant. It is very tantalising that neither in the lithographed text nor in those texts which Lescallier made use of for his French translation, nor in Sir William Ouseley's, are the questions and Abū Saber's answers given. One is naturally curious to know whether they were of the nature of ingenious riddles or subtle questions involving profound moral truths. The practice (apparently a very ancient one) of proposing to certain kinds of candidates and accused persons, riddles or “hard questions” to expound or answer is common to the popular fictions of Europe as well as of Asia. In more than one of the Arabian Tales a lady chooses for her husband him who answers her “questions.” In the Scottish ballad of “Roslin's Daughter” the lady proposes a number of riddles or questions to her lover, which he must answer before she will “gang to his bed.” In Mr Ralston's extremely entertaining and valuable Russian Folk-Tales, on the other hand, a Princess makes it her rule, that “any one whose riddles she cannot guess, him must she marry; but any one whose riddles she can guess, him she may put to death.” In Chapter 70 of Swan's translation of the Gesta Romanorum, a collection of Latin stories, largely derived from Eastern sources, very popular in the Middle Ages, a King's daughter vows that she will never marry except the man who answers three questions. In the old English version of the Gesta, edited by Sir Frederick Madden, Chapter 19, a certain good and righteous knight is falsely accused of some crime, and the Emperor gives him the option of answering six questions or forfeiting his life. The same story, with variations of local colouring, &c., is found in the 4th novel of Sacchetti, one of the early Italian novelists; in Tyl Eulenspiegel, the celebrated German folk-book; and in our old English ballad of “King John and the Abbot of Canterbury.” In an Indian work of fiction, said to have been written in the 7th century, Dasa Kumara Charita (Adventures of Ten Princes),^* Mitragupta meets with a terrible Rakshasa—a species of demon in human form—who threatens to devour him if he cannot answer four questions. These, with Mitragupta's answers, are as follows: (1) What is cruel? Ans. A wicked woman's heart. (2) What is most to the advantage of a householder? Ans. Good qualities in a wife. (3) What is love? Ans. Imagination. (4) What best accomplishes difficult things? Ans. Cunning. Mitragupta then relates four stories in illustration of his answers. In the Persian romance of Hatim Ta'ī—the author of which has been greatly indebted to Hindū fiction for his materials—a young lady, named Husn Bānū, makes it the condition of her bestowing her hand on any of her numerous suitors, that he shall answer seven questions—or rather, perform seven difficult and dangerous tasks in order to solve her questions.—In the 14th of Mr Ralston's Tibetan Tales,^* the Dumb Cripple, who does not wish to succeed to the throne, is permitted to renounce the world on condition of his answering three questions.—And Voltaire, in his Zadig — imitating this feature of Oriental romance, as he did others—represents a contention for the throne of Babylon, first by a tournament, and finally by the champions attempting to solve a number of enigmas.

Whether it was ever a custom in any Eastern land to choose a King from among prisoners to whom certain difficult questions were proposed, is itself a “difficult question.” But it is remarkable that in legendary Indian stories, both those preserved in writing and by oral tradition, mention is frequently made of the election of a King by the elephant of the deceased monarch. For instance: in Sivandhi Sthala Purana, a legendary account of the famous temple at Trinchinopoli, of which a palm-leaf manuscript is described by Dr. H. H. Wilson, in his Catalogue of the Mackenzie Collection, it is related that a certain King having mortally offended a holy Muni, his capital and all the inhabitants were, in consequence of an imprecation pronounced on him by the enraged saint, buried beneath a shower of dust. “Only the Queen escaped, and in her flight she was delivered of a male child. After some interval, the chiefs of the Chola kingdom, proceeding to elect a King, determined, by advice of the Muni [the same whose curse had worked the mischief aforesaid], to crown whomsoever the late monarch's elephant should pitch upon. Being turned loose for that purpose, the elephant discovered and brought to Trisira-mālī the child of his former master, who accordingly became the Chola King.”^* —And in the Manipuri Story of the Two Brothers, Turi and Basanta (translated by G. H. Damant, in the Indian Antiquary, 1875), Turi, in the course of his wanderings, is chosen King in a similar manner by an elephant, who meets the youth in the forest, takes him up, and brings him to the palace, where he is immediately set upon the throne.—A very singular custom in the election of a Khān seems to have been once observed by the Kalmuks, if we may credit the Relations of Ssidi Kür,^† a Tartar version of the Sanskrit Vetála Panchavinsati, or 25 Tales of a Demon: A sacred figure, of dough or paste, usually in the shape of a pyramid, called a baling, was thrown high into the air, and the person upon whose head it fell was proclaimed Khān.—Still more curious, and savouring somewhat of the supernatural;—in Mr Ralston's Tibetan Tales, a king called Ananda, being attacked by illness, considered which of his five sons he should invest with the sovereign power. His four elder sons were rash, rude, and hot-tempered; his youngest, Prince Adarsamukha, was the most suitable; but Ananda's kinsmen would probably reproach him should he pass over the elder sons, and give his crown to the youngest. Then said he to his ministers: “Give ear, O chieftains! After my death ye are to test each of the princes in turn. Him among them whom the jewel-shoes fit when they are tried on; under whom the throne remains steadfast when he is upon it; on whom the diadem rests unshaken when it is placed upon his head; whom the women recognise; and who guesses the six objects to be divined by his insight, namely: the inner treasure, the outer treasure, the inner and outer treasure, the treasure of the tree-top, the treasure of the hill-top, and the treasure of the river-shore: him by whom all these conditions are fulfilled shall ye invest with the sovereign power.” As is almost invariably the case in the folktales of all countries, the youngest son is the successful competitor.—In the good old times, when kings and chiefs were chosen for their physical strength and prowess in battle, one can see some propriety in rival candidates for the supreme power settling their claims by a hand-to-hand contest; but surely only in such countries as China and Japan could we conceive it possible for a dispute of this kind to be settled by proxy. Mr Mitford, in his Tales of Old Japan (vol. i, 203, 204), tells us: “In the year 858 the throne of Japan was wrestled for. The Emperor Buntoker had two sons, called Koréshito and Korétaka, both of whom aspired to the throne. Their claims were decided in a wrestling match, in which one Yoshirô was the champion of Koréshito, and Natora the champion of Korétaka. Natora having been defeated, Koréshito ascended his father's throne, under the style of Siewa.”

Page 52. “The robber he immediately recognised, but was silent.”—In keeping with the Persian saying: sina pur jūsh o lab khamūsh, “troubled breast and silent lip.”

Page 52. “We are freeborn, we are the sons of a Mussul-mān—Slaves, among the Muslims, are either captives in war (saqāyā) or by purchase (mavālāt). One of the fundamental points of the Muhammadan religion consists in the ransom of slaves: “Alms should buy the freedom of slaves” — Kurān ix, 60.

Page 53. “The merchant's money to be deposited in the public treasury.”—This, if correctly rendered, would have been an act of gross injustice, not at all in accordance with the character of Abū Saber; since the merchant had been guilty of nothing unlawful in purchasing the boys, whom he did not know were freeborn and the sons of a Muslim. The lithographed text says: “He sent the robber to prison, and re-imbursed the merchant from the public treasury;”—and Lescallier (p. 96): “Il ordonna au voleur de restituer au marchand l'argent qu'il en avait recu, et le fit arrêter et jeter en prison.”

Page 53. “Because she wore a veil (sitr).”—Muslim women are prescribed by their religion to conceal from all men whatever may be attractive in their appearance, and the men are not permitted to see any unveiled women save their wives, or slaves, and those women with whom they are prohibited by law from marrying—see Kur'ān xxiv, 31. “The curse of God,” said the Prophet, “is on the seer and the seen.” Lane, in his Modern Egyptians, gives a very minute description, with numerous engravings, of the veils worn by Muslim women, and remarks that “the veil is of very remote antiquity”—see Genesis xxiv, 65, and Isaiah iii, 23.

Page 53. “Would not consent to perform the duties of a wife.”—When a wife disobeys her husband's lawful commands, he may take her (or two Muslim witnesses) before the Kāzī. Should the complaint preferred be just and proved, a certificate is written, declaring her nashiza, rebellious, and the husband is then quite free from the obligation of lodging, clothing, and maintaining her.

Page 53. “This man was not her husband.”—The 4th sura of the Kur'ān (v. 20 et seq.) treats of lawful and unlawful marriages. “Ye are all forbidden to take to wife free women who are married” (v. 22); that is, says Sale, whether they be Muslim women or not, unless they be legally divorced from their husbands.—This incident, if the story be fictitious (but it probably had some foundation in fact), is very ingeniously conceived: Abū Saber's happiness is rendered complete by the recovery of his wife, with such a credential of her purity!

The Arabian version of this story, according to Cazotte's French rendering (and Habicht's German translation agrees with it in this respect), gives a very different account of the circumstances of Abū Saber's elevation to the supreme power. Abū Saber, it seems, had been cast by the wicked King into a deep, dry well in the palace-yard. Now it happened that this impious and cruel King “had a brother whom he had always concealed from every eye, in a secret part of the palace; but suspicion and uneasiness made him afraid lest he should one day be carried off and placed upon the throne. Some time before he had privately let him down into this well. This unhappy victim of politics soon sank under so many distresses: he died; but this event was not known, although the other parts of the secret had transpired. The grandees of the realm, and the whole nation, shocked at a capricious cruelty which exposed them all to the same danger, rose, with one accord, against the tyrant, and assassinated him. The adventure of Abū Saber had been long since forgotten. One of the officers of the palace reported that the King went every day to carry bread to a man who was in the well, and to converse with him.^* This idea led their thoughts to the brother who had been so cruelly used by the tyrant. They ran to the well, went down into it, and found there Abū Saber, whom they took for the presumptive heir to the crown. Without giving him time to speak, or to make himself known, they conducted him to a bath; and he was soon clothed in the royal purple, and placed upon the throne.”

Page 56. “The King of Yemen.”—As the Kings of Egypt were named Pharaoh, those of the Sassanian dynasty of Persia, Khusrū, those of Abyssinia, Negashi, so were the Kings of Yemen distinguished by the title of Tobba, from being the paramount sovereign of a number of tribes or followers (tābi'īn). Some of the ancient Kings, having considerably enlarged their dominions by conquest, became proverbial for great power.

Yemen (or Arabia Felix) in the time of Strabo was divided into five kingdoms (l. 16, p. 112), and has been successively subdued by the Abyssinians, the Persians, the Sultans of Egpyt, and the Turks.—On the west Yemen has the Red Sea; on the south the Straits of Babu-'l-Mandab and the Indian Ocean; on the east Hadramaut, and the north Nejed and the Hijāz. The inhabitants plume themselves on their country being “the birth-place of the sciences and religion” (Biladu-'l-‘Ulm o Biladu-’d-Dīn).—Niebuhr, par. ii, p. 247.

Page 56. “A certain slave named Abraha.”—Influenced, probably, by a malevolent feeling towards the Mushriks (those who attribute partners to God—Christians), the Muslim author —or, more likely, translator and adapter—gives the name of Abraha to an Ethiopian slave, disparaging, as it were, the historical fame of Abraha Ebnu-'s-Sabā, the 46th King of Yemen, surnamed Sahibu-'l-Fīl (Lord of the Elephant), an Ethiopian by birth, and of the Christian religion, who in paynim times built a magnificent church in the citadel of Grandam, at Sanaā, with the design of inducing pilgrims to resort thither, instead of to the Ka'ba at Mecca. (See Kur'ān cv, and Sale's note.)

Page 56. “The arrow cut off one of his ears.”—According to Lescallier, only a piece of his ear.

Page 56. “The King's first impulse,” &c.—In Lescallier's French rendering this passage is to the following effect: “The King of Yemen at once ordered that Abraha should be seized and beheaded. Abraha said to the King: ‘Your Majesty knows that I am not blamable in this unfortunate affair; I shot the arrow intending to wound the deer. If you pardon me this time, you, in your turn, will be pardoned when you sin.’ The King of Yemen, having heard these words, received him favourably, pardoned him, and cancelled the order which he had given. Abraha was overjoyed at this, and they re-entered the town together.

Page 57. “They then returned to the city”—i.e. Sanaā in Yemen, so called to distinguish it from another Sanaā, a village of Damascus, anciently called Azāl, from its founder. The city is supposed to have acquired its name from the Ethiopians, who conquered the country, and on beholding its beauty, exclaimed: “This is Sana!” which in Ethiopic means, “commodious,” “comfortable.”—At an elevation of 4000 feet above the sea-level, near the source of the river Shāb, it is celebrated for its trees and waters, and compared by ‘Abu-’l-Feda to Damascus. The city is walled, as also the suburb, Birū-'l-Azāb. At present it is a large mercantile town, the residence of an Imām. A handsome bridge is thrown over the principal street, down which flows a stream of water, and all the private dwellings of the higher classes have glass windows, beautifully stained, and are furnished with fountains. At the eastern and western extremities is a castle, having each a palace, built of hewn stone, covered with gray-coloured plaster. Situated in the heart of the coffee country, the principal trade is in that useful berry, which is rarely used for home consumption, the common beverage being keshr, an infusion of the husk. About twenty mosques, elaborately decorated, and with gilt domes, adorn the city; and the public baths, numerous and good, are the favourite resort of the merchants, who meet to discuss the state of trade, and to listen to the news of the day, over a cup of keshr and the indispensable hūkka.

Page 57. “Was driven on the coast of Zangībār (or Zanzibar).”—Probably the ancient island of Menuthias, southward of the Sea of Babu-'l-Mandab. This is the island of the “Zonūj” mentioned in the Arabian Nights, and they are also called “zinj” “zenj”—an Ethiopian nation of the country known to us as Zangībār. (See Lane's 1001 Nights: “Abū Muhammad the Lazy,” chap. xiv, text, p. 413, note 5.)—Zengī signifies “black,” and bār, country or territory: Zangībār, “the country of blacks.”

Page 57. The reader can hardly fail to observe very considerable indistinctness (to say the least) in the narrative of the incidents which immediately follow the return of the King of Yemen and his slave Abraha to the capital. We are told, “they then returned to the city; and after some time had elapsed, having gone on board a vessel,” &c. from which it may be naturally supposed that Abraha and the King were still in company, although no mention is made of Abraha when the vessel went to pieces. He turns up, however, very oddly, at page 59: “It happened that Abraha, who had been the King of Yemen's slave, was standing near this wall, but his former master did not recognise him, as they had been separated for some time, Abraha having found means to return to Zangībār, his native country.” These last words, in italics, seem to represent a passage, which the translator has strangely omitted in its proper place, explaining the cause of the King of Yemen's undertaking a voyage by sea. The following is a translation of the events which occurred after “they returned to the city” (p. 57), according to the lithographed text:

A few days having elapsed, the King continued to be satisfied with Abraha.—To return to the story.^* Ever since Abraha had been absent from his father, messengers had been despatched in every direction, and they had pursued [to] such [an extent] research and inquiry, that it became known to them that Abraha was in Yemen, and in the service of the King. The Shāh of Zangībār was overjoyed, and took counsel of the Vizier, saying, “What is the prudent plan [or proper policy—tadbīr] in this affair?” The Vizier replied: “If the report should reach the King of Yemen that he [Abraha] is the son of the Shāh of Zangibār, the affair would be difficult.” In a word, this conversation resulted in this resolve, that they should send an intelligent person to bring back Abraha. This individual having turned his face towards Yemen, arrived in the capital. He employed considerable exertions in search of Abraha. When he happened to meet with him, and the Khōja^* explained the cause of his coming to Yemen, they both agreed to sally forth at once from the city; and as soon as they were outside they set their faces in the direction of Zangībār. Abraha had arrived only a short time near his father, when the King of Yemen was informed of the departure of Abraha, and he became morosely pensive, and could take no rest. One day he commanded they should equip vessels, [as] he wished to pass over the sea for the purpose of being free from anxiety [or, of enjoying social intercourse]. When he was aboard the ship, and at some distance from land, a hurricane sprang up suddenly, and shivered the vessel to pieces. A portion of a plank was thrown against the King of Yemen. Six days and nights he floated over the surface of the sea, until he was cast ashore on the territory of Zangistān;^† [certain] pearl-divers saw him; they approached near him; they spoke a few words to him; he gave no response —he was senseless. They sprinkled over his throat [and neck] a quantity of oil of balsam; he opened his eyes, and his speech came back to him. He asked them: “What territory is this?” The divers replied: “This territory is Zangistān.” He then asked: “How far is it to the capital?” They answered: “Four parasangs.”^* The King of Yemen proceeded onwards, until the hour of evening prayer, when he entered the city.

Manuscripts of the Bakhtyār Nāma vary so much in detail that probably no two are exactly the same. Those used by M. Lescallier would appear to have been more diffuse than the lithographed text of 1839. According to his rendering, after the King of Zangībār's messenger had been some time in Yemen, “he chose a fitting occasion and place to see Abraha, and converse with him. He spoke to him of his country, of his father, and of the love which he had for his dear son, like that which Jacob bore to his beloved son, Joseph.^† Abraha, hearing news of his country and his father, felt his sensibility re-awaken; his eyes shed gentle tears, like the showers of spring, and he spoke these words, interrupted by sobs: ‘Whence come you, my dear sir? How and for what purpose are you arrived in this country?’ The messenger then confided to him the secret reason of his journey,^‡ undertaken for the sole purpose of bringing him back to his father. Abraha asked him urgently to take him away from that town. The messenger, who was a very intelligent and clever man, took his measures and time so well that he carried off Abraha, and made him start with him for that capital, and they arrived without accident at Zangībār. As soon as they were near the outskirts of the capital of Zangībār, the King, being informed of the arrival of his son, sent some people to meet him, and caused him to be escorted with pomp, and he received him with demonstrations of the greatest joy.”

According to M. Cazotte's rendering (King Bohetzad, &c.) of this story, under the rather misleading title of “Baharkan, or the Intemperate Man,” Abraha was not a slave but an officer, and his name was Tirkan. “He was,” we read, “a young prince who had fled from his father's court in order to escape the punishment of a fault which he had committed. After having wandered unknown from country to country, he at length settled at the Court of King Baharkan, where he obtained employment. He still remained there some time after the accident which had befallen him [to wit, the accident to the King's ear]. But his father, having discovered the place of his retreat, sent him his pardon, and conjured him to return to him. He did this in such affectionate and paternal terms that Tirkan, trusting in his father's goodness, immediately departed. His hopes were not deceived, and he was re-established in all his rights.” The sequel agrees for the most part with that of the Persian text; only we are told that the King's object in going over sea was pearl-fishing for amusement.

Page 57. “Sheltered himself under the shade (sāyabān) of a merchant's house.”—Sāyabān, a canopy; an umbrella; a shade formed by foliage, or any other projection. Against the front of shops in Eastern countries is a raised bench, or rather a stone or brick platform (mastaba), two feet from the ground, upon which the tradesman sits, and a little above it is a covering (sakīfat) of matting; and sometimes planks supported by beams, affording shelter and shade. (See Lane's Modern Egyptians, vol. ii, pp. 9, 10.)

Page 58. “He was sent to prison”—Lescallier's rendering adds, “where he passed his time praising God, and submitting to His will.”

Page 59. “He gave public audience to persons of all ranks” khāss o 'amin—noble and plebeian.

Page 59. “If I succeed in hitting that crow (properly, raven),” &c.—The superstitious belief in divination from the flight, motions, and positions of birds (ez-zijr, el-īyafa), which prevailed so much among the Arabs at the time when the Prophet began his great mission, although it is denounced by the Kur'ān, prevails even now in the East, where the raven is called the “Father of Omens” (Abū-Zājir), and the “Bird of Separation” (ghurabi-'l-bain); its appearance betokening a change of circumstances, which for the King of Yemen denoted liberty from a state of slavery. According to an author cited by Bochart (Hier. i, p. 20), Noah sent forth from the ark a raven, to observe whether the water had abated, and it did not return, hence it is called “the bird of separation.” In the Gulistān, iv, 12, an execrable voice is compared to the croak of the Raven of Separation, or, as some render the passage, “the raven of ill omen” (see Lane's Arabic Lexicon, vol. i). Ravens in many countries have been considered as birds of ill omen. Thus, in Dryden's Virgil:

The hoarse raven on the blasted bough,
By croaking to the left, presaged the coming blow;

and in Gay's Fables (xxxvii, 27, 28):

That raven on yon left-hand oak,
Curse on his ill-betiding croak.

Page 59. “The law of retaliation, which would not award a head for an ear.”—In accordance with the text of the Kur'ān, v, 49: “We have therein commanded them that they should give life for life, and eye for eye, and ear for ear, and tooth for tooth; and that wounds should also be punished by retaliation,” &c. (compare Exod. xxi, 24; Levit. xxiv, 20; Deut. xix, 21). For unintentional mutilation the Muhammadan law permits the payment of half the price of blood, as for homicide; for a member of which there are two, from the rich man 500 dīnars (£250), from the less opulent 6000 direms (£150). The delinquent in the present instance, being penniless, the King of Zangībār had no choice but to exact “ear for ear.” (Sale's Kur'ān, Prel. Disc., sec. vi; Mills' History of Muhammedan-ism , ed. 1817, pp. 319, 320.)