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Title: The Bakhtyār Nāma: A Persian Romance

Translator: William Ouseley

Editor: W. A. Clouston

Release date: September 17, 2019 [eBook #60316]
Most recently updated: October 17, 2024

Language: English

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THE
BAKHTYĀR NĀMA:
A PERSIAN ROMANCE.
TRANSLATED FROM A MANUSCRIPT
TEXT,

BY

SIR WILLIAM OUSELEY.

Edited, with Introduction and Notes,
BY

W. A. CLOUSTON,
Editor of “Arabian Poetry for English Readers.”

Each order given by a reigning King
Should after long reflection be expressed;
For it may be that endless woe will spring
From a command he paused not to digest.

Anvār-i Suhailī.

PRIVATELY PRINTED.

MDCCCLXXXIII.

Edition:

330 Copies, of which 30 are printed on hand-made paper, and numbered.

WILLIAM BURNS, PRINTER, LARKHALL, LANARKSHIRE.

TO

GENERAL JAMES ABBOTT, C.B.,

MEMBER OF THE ROYAL ASIATIC SOCIETY OF GREAT BRITAIN
AND IRELAND,

A TRIBUTE OF RESPECT

FROM

THE EDITOR.

PREFACE.

he Romance which forms the staple of this little volume is
generally considered as belonging to the Sindibād cycle of
tales. It has for ages been popular in the East, though to the
average English reader the very name of Prince Bakhtyār is
unknown. Many years ago the learned Orientalist Sir W.
Ouseley presented his countrymen with an English translation
of this romance, but copies of his work have now become
extremely scarce. Dr Johnson’s dictum, that the scarcity of a
book is evidence of its worthlessness, otherwise copies of it
would have been multiplied, is (like not a few of his other tea-
table sayings) more specious than true. Many causes, besides that of
uselessness, may render a book scarce. A book may be a very good book yet
lack interest, excepting for only a few readers; and such was doubtless the
case of Sir W. Ouseley’s translation; for, strange to say, considering our vast
Asiatic possessions, the cultivation of Oriental literature in this country has
hitherto met with little or no encouragement from the English people
generally.
But among the more intelligent class of readers there has lately sprung up
considerable interest in the curious migrations and transformations of
popular tales, the tracing of which from country to country, and from
modern to remote times, is not only a fascinating, but a highly instructive
pursuit; and the idea occurred to me that a reprint of Sir W. Ouseley’s
translation of the Romance of Prince Bakhtyār, together with explanatory
and illustrative notes, and—by way of introduction—such particulars as
could be ascertained regarding its origin and that of similar Oriental
fictions, might now find “readers fit, though few.” My little project has been
supported by members of the Royal Asiatic Society and the Folk-Lore

Society. I have, moreover, been materially assisted by several eminent
scholars: amongst others, by Mr William Platt, to whom I am indebted for
the substance of many of the Notes; and by Dr R. Rost, who not only very
kindly supplied me with scarce and valuable books and manuscripts from
the India Office Library, but also furnished me with much useful
information on Eastern Fiction—a subject upon which he is one of the
highest authorities in this country.
Of the present collection of Tales it is remarked by a learned and acute
writer that they are, for the most part, well wrought-out, probable, and
without anything magical or supernatural. And those readers who do not
delight in the extravagant creations of Oriental fancy—enchanted groves
and fairy palaces beneath lakes, where carbuncles of immense size supply
the place of the sun—will find little in this romance to shock their
“common sense.” Nor are there—except one or two expressions in the
opening passages—any of those hyperbolical descriptions of female beauty
and the puissance of monarchs which are so characteristic of most of the
fictions of the East. These Tales are, indeed, singularly free from such
extravagancies, and may be considered as well adapted to check the often
fatal impetuosity of Eastern monarchs, which was doubtless the purpose of
the original author.
The Notes and Illustrations may seem disproportionate in bulk to that of
the text. They are, however, designed, not only to explain and illustrate
allusions to Oriental manners and customs, but also to supply deficiencies
of Sir W. Ouseley’s translation, from a comparison of other Persian texts,
and furnish variants of the several tales as they are found in other versions
of the Romance. And while it is not impossible that critics whose absurd
shibboleth is “originality” may be disposed to consider my little book as “a
thing of mere industry, without wit or invention—a very toy,” yet I venture
to think that these Notes will prove to most readers not the least interesting
part of the work. In the Introduction will be found some curious matter
regarding this romance and its congeners which has not before been
presented to English readers, the result of much research; for, however
defective my share of the work may be, I have spared no pains to render it
as complete and accurate as I could: in short, I would fain hope that, as a
whole, the volume will be accepted as a humble contribution to the still
unwritten History of Fiction; for even Dunlop’s meritorious work can now
only be regarded as a large contribution to this “research of olde antiquitie.”

W. A. CLOUSTON.

Glasgow, December, 1882.

CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION. Page

I—Oriental Fictions—The Arabian Nights—The Book of Sindibād xiii

II—The Bakhtyār Nāma and its Versions xxxi

THE BAKHTYĀR NĀMA.

CHAPTER I.

History of King Āzādbakht and the Vizier’s Daughter 3

CHAPTER II.

Story of the Ill-Fated Merchant and his Adventures 22

CHAPTER III.

Story of the Impatient Prince of Aleppo 33

CHAPTER IV.

Story of Abū Saber; or, The Patient Man 45

CHAPTER V.

Story of the King of Yemen and his Slave Abraha 55

CHAPTER VI.

Story of King Dādīn and his Two Viziers 62

CHAPTER VII.

Story of the King of Abyssinia; showing the Artifice of Women 73

CHAPTER VIII.

Story of the Jewel-Merchant 86

CHAPTER IX.

Story of Abū Temām 97

CHAPTER X.

Story of the King of Persia 107

Conclusion 115

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

Prefatory 121

Chapter I—King Āzādbakht 123

Chapter II—Ill-Fated Merchant 146

Chapter III—Prince of Aleppo 156

Chapter IV—Abū Saber 163

Chapter V—King of Yemen 173

Chapter VI—King Dādīn 181

Chapter VII—King of Abyssinia 195

Chapter VIII—Jewel Merchant 201

Chapter IX—Abū Temām 209

Chapter X—King of Persia 216

Conclusion 227

Additional Notes 228

INTRODUCTION.

IF THOU PERCEIVEST ERRORS, SUPPLY THE DEFECTS—GLORIOUS
IS HE IN WHOM IS NEITHER FAULT NOR BLEMISH.

INTRODUCTION.

I—ORIENTAL FICTIONS—THE ARABIAN NIGHTS—THE
BOOK OF SINDIBĀD.

he Persians, like all Eastern nations, remarks Sir John
Malcolm, “delight in Tales, Fables, and Apothegms; the
reason of which appears obvious: for where liberty is
unknown, and where power in all its shapes is despotic,
knowledge must be veiled to be useful.” The ancient Persians
also had their Tales and Romances, the substance of many of
which is probably embodied in the celebrated Shāh Nāma, or
Book of Kings, of Firdausī. And the fondness of the old pagan
Arabs for the same class of compositions seems to have
threatened the success of Muhammad’s great mission, to win
them back from their vain idolatry to the worship of the ONE God. For an
Arabian merchant having brought from Persia the marvellous stories of
Rustam, Isfendiar, Feridūn, Zohāk, and other famous heroes, which he
recited to the tribe of Kuraysh, they were so delighted with them, that they
plainly told Muhammad that they much preferred hearing such stories to his
legends and moral exhortations; upon which the Prophet promulgated some
new passages of the Kur`ān (chapter xxx), in which the merchant who had
brought the idle tales and all who listened to them were consigned to
perdition. This had the desired effect: the converts to Islām rejected Tales
and Poetry; and it was not until the brilliant series of Muslim conquests in
all parts of the then known world were almost completed that the Arabs
began to turn their attention to literature and science, and thus preserved to
the world the remains of the learning and philosophy of antiquity, during
the long period of intellectual darkness in Europe. And it is remarkable that
to a people distinguished for nearly two centuries by their religious bigotry
and intolerance, and contempt for every species of literature outside the
Kur`ān, Commentaries, and Traditions—that to the descendants of the
fanatical destroyers of the library at Alexandria and of the literary treasures
of ancient Persia are we indebted for many of the pleasing fictions which

have long been popular in Europe. For, while India seems to have been the
cradle-land of those folk-tales, yet they came to us chiefly through an
Arabian medium: brought to Europe, among other ways by the Saracens
who settled in Spain in the eighth century, by crusaders and pilgrims
returning from the Holy Land, and also, perhaps, by Venetian merchants
trading in the Levant and the Muslim provinces of Northern Africa.
However this may be, there can be no doubt that, as Isaac D’Israeli
remarks, “tales have wings, whether they come from the East or the North,
and they soon become denizens wherever they alight. Thus it has happened,
that the tale which charmed the wandering Arab in his tent, or cheered the
northern peasant by his winter’s fireside, alike held on its journey towards
England and Scotland.”
Many of the Fabliaux of the Trouvères of northern France are evidently
of Oriental origin; and their prose imitators, the early Italian Novelists, also
drew much of their material—of course indirectly—from similar sources.
German folk-tales comprise variants of the ever-charming Arabian story of
`Alī Bābā and the Forty Robbers, as in the tale of “The Dumberg,”[1] and of
Aladdin (`Alā-`u-`d-Dīn) and the Wonderful Lamp, as in the tale of “The
Blue Light.”[2] Norse Tales, too, abound in parallels to stories common to
Arabia, Persia, and India. And some of the incidents in one of them, “Big
Peter and Little Peter,”[3] apparently find their origin in the Hebrew Talmud.
A very considerable proportion of old European humorous stories ascribed
to Arlotto, Tyl Eulenspiegel, Rabelais, Scogin (Andrew Borde), Skelton,
Mother Bunch, George Peele, Dick Tarlton, etc., have somehow, and at
some time or another, winged their way from the Far East; since they are
found, with little modification save local colouring, in very old Indian
works. Galland, well-nigh two hundred years ago, pointed out that the story
of the fellow in a tavern (according to our version, a blundering Irishman in
a coffee-house), who impudently looked over a gentleman’s shoulder while
he was writing a letter, came from the East; and a version of it is given in
Gladwin’s Persian Moonshee. The prototype of the popular Scottish song,
“The Barrin’ o’ the Door,” is an Arabian anecdote. The jest of the Irishman
who dreamt that he was invited to drink punch, but awoke before it was
prepared, is identical with a Chinese anecdote translated by M. Stanislas
Julien in vol. iv of the Journal Asiatique, and bears a close resemblance to
one of the Turkish jests ascribed to Khōja Nasru-`d-Dīn Efendī.[4] Of stories
of simpletons, such as the one last cited, perhaps the largest and oldest

collection extant is contained in a section of that vast storehouse of tales
and apologues, aptly entitled, Kathá Sarit Ságara, Ocean of the Rivers of
Story, where may be found parallels to the famous—the truly admirable!—
exploits of the Wise Men of Gotham, and to a similar class of stories of
fools and their follies referred to in Mr Ralston’s Russian Folk-Tales. The
story of “The Elves and the Envious Neighbour,” in Mr Mitford’s Tales of
Old Japan, is practically identical with a fairy tale of a hunchbacked
minstrel in Mr Thoms’ Lays and Legends of France. In the Arabian Nights
(Story of Abou Neeut and Abou Neeuteen, vol. vi of Jonathan Scott’s
edition) and in the Persian romance of the Seven Faces (Heft Paykar), by
Nizāmī, the reader will find parallels to the “Three Crows” in Grimm’s
German popular tales. Our favourite nursery story of Whittington and his
Cat (also common to the folk-tales of Scandinavia and Russia, Italy and
Spain) is related by the Persian historian Wasāf in his “Events of Ages and
Fates of Cities,” written A.H. 699 (A.D. 1299). The original of the Goose that
laid Eggs of Gold is a legend in the great Indian epic, Mahábharata, and
variants exist in other Hindū works; but this may be a “primitive myth,”
common to the whole Aryan race. Largely, indeed, are popular European
tales indebted to Eastern sources.
For several centuries previous to the publication of the first professed
translation of a work of Eastern fiction into a European language, there
existed two celebrated collections of Tales, written in Latin, mainly derived
from Oriental sources, to which may be traced many of the popular fictions
of Europe; these are, the Clericali Disciplina of Peter Alfonsus, a Spanish
Jew, who was baptized in the twelfth century; and the Gesta Romanorum,
the authorship of which is doubtful, but it is believed to have been
composed in the 14th century. The latter work greatly influenced the
compositions of the early Italian Novelists, and its effect on English Poetry
is at least equally marked. It furnished to Gower and Chaucer their history
of Constance; to Shakspeare his King Lear, and his Merchant of Venice,
which is an Eastern story; to Parnell the subject of his Hermit—primarily a
Talmudic legend, afterwards adopted in the Kur’ān. The Clericali
Disciplina, professedly a compilation from Eastern sources, contains a
number of stories of undoubted Indian origin, which Alfonsus must have
obtained through an Arabian medium in Spain, however they may have
come thither. These fictions of Oriental birth were, of course, filtered
through the clerical mind of mediæval Europe, and in the process they lost

all their native flavour. But on the publication of Galland’s Les Mille et Une
Nuits, the Thousand and One Nights, in the beginning of last century,
garbled and Frenchified as was his translation, the richness of the Eastern
fancy, as exhibited in these pleasing fictions, was at once recognised, and,
as the learned Baron de Sacy has remarked, in the course of a few years this
work filled Europe with its fame. And its success has continued to increase,
so that there is perhaps no work of fiction, whether native or exotic, which
is at the present day so universally popular throughout Europe: it is at once
the delight of the school-boy and the recreation of the sage. Shortly after its
appearance in a French dress, Addison introduced it to English readers in
the Spectator, where he presented a translation—or adaptation—of the now
famous story of Alnaschar (according to Galland’s French transliteration of
the name) and his basket of brittle wares: a story which is not only
calculated to please the “rising generation,” but may also instruct “children
of larger growth.”
When this work was first published in England it seems to have made its
way very rapidly into public favour; and Weber, in his Introduction to the
Tales of the East, relates, as follows, a singular instance of the effects they
produced soon after their first appearance: “Sir James Stewart, Lord
Advocate for Scotland, having one Saturday evening found his daughters
employed in reading the volumes, he seized them, with a rebuke for
spending the evening before the Sabbath in such worldly amusements; but
the grave advocate himself became a prey to the fascination of these tales,
being found on the morning of the Sabbath itself employed upon their
perusal, from which he had not risen during the whole night!” The
popularity of the Arabian Nights is due, no doubt, to the peculiar charm of
its descriptions of scenes and incidents which the reader is well aware could
only exist and occur in the imagination; but we like to be taken away from
our hard, matter-of-fact surroundings—away into a world where, if we
cannot ourselves become endowed with supernatural powers, at least we
may summon mighty spirits to do our will, to transport us whither we
please, to bring us in an instant the choicest fruits from the most distant
regions, to construct for us palaces of gold and silver, and precious gems, to
supply us with dainties in dishes made of single diamonds and rubies. In
this very outraging of probability, and even possibility, lies the strange
fascination which some of these Tales exercise over the reader’s mind. He
surrenders his judgment to the author, and such is the force of the spell, that

even when it has been partly removed by closing the book, he will gravely
ask himself: “And why may not such things be?” It has been justly observed
by Lord Bacon, that, “as the active world is inferior to the rational soul, so
Fiction gives to mankind what History denies, and in some measure
satisfies the mind with shadows when it cannot enjoy the substance.”
This famous work is, of course, a compilation, and not by a single hand
and at one time, or from a particular source, but from a variety of sources.
Many of the Tales are found in the oldest Indian collections; probably the
witty and humorous are purely Arabian, while the tender and sentimental
love-tales are derived from the Persian. The origin of the Arabian Tales has
long been (and perhaps needlessly) a vexed question among the learned.
Baron De Sacy has stoutly contended with M. Langles and M. Von
Hammer, on the questions of whether the work was a mere translation or
adaptation of an old Persian collection, entitled the “Thousand Days,” and
when and where it was composed. But the general opinion of scholars at the
present day is that the work was probably compiled by different hands, in
Egypt, about the 15th or 16th centuries, though it is very probable that
many additions were made at a later date, by the insertion of romances,
which formed no part of the original collection, as we shall presently see.[5]
A peculiarity of most collections of Eastern fictions is their being
enclosed within a frame, so to say, or leading story; as in the Arabian
Nights: a plan which appears to have been introduced into Europe by a
Latin translation of a romance of Indian origin, known in this country by
the title of The Seven Sages, and which was first adopted by Boccaccio in
his celebrated Decameron, where it is represented that a party of ladies and
gentlemen, during the prevalence of the great plague in Florence, retire for
safety to a mansion at some distance from the city, and there amuse
themselves by relating stories. And our English poet Chaucer, after the same
fashion, in his Canterbury Tales, represents a number of pilgrims, of
different classes, as bound for the shrine of Thomas à Becket, and, to
alleviate the tediousness of the journey, reciting stories of varied character.
But although this plan of making a number of stories all subordinate to a
leading story was introduced into Europe in the 13th century, when the
Latin version of the “Seven Sages” was published, yet in the East it had
been in vogue many centuries previously.

The oldest extant collection of Fables and Tales (excepting the Buddhist
Birth-Stories, recently made known to English readers by Mr T. W. Rhys
Davids’ translation of a portion) is that called in Europe The Fables of
Pilpay, or Bidpai, of which the Sanskrit prototype is entitled Panchatantra,
or Five Sections, with its abridgment, Hitopadésa, or Friendly Instruction.
This work, or one very similar, existed in India and in the Sanskrit language
as early at least as the 6th century of our era, when it was translated into
Pahlavi, the ancient language of Persia, during the reign of Nushīrvān,
surnamed the Just (A.D. 531–579). This Pahlavi version—though no longer
extant—escaped the general wreck of Persian literature on the conquest of
the country by the Arabs, and was translated, during the reign of the Khalīf
Mansur (A.D. 753–774), into Arabic, from which several versions were
made in modern Persian, and also translations into Hebrew, Greek, Latin,
and most of the European languages. Perhaps no book of mere human
composition ever had such a remarkable literary history and enduring
popularity. These Fables, although arranged in sections, are sphered one
within another in a rather bewildering manner, yet all are subordinated to a
leading story or general frame.[6] It is worthy of note that, while there is no
proof that this work, in its present form, existed before the sixth century, yet
many, if not all, of the Fables themselves have been discovered in
Buddhistic works which were certainly written about or before the
commencement of our era. Their translation from the Pali, which the
learned Benfey seems to have conclusively proved, and their arrangement
in the form in which they exist in Sanskrit, may have been done any time
between the first and the sixth centuries.
But there was another Indian work, now apparently lost, formed on the
same plan, which, if we may credit El-Mas’ūdī, the Arabian historian, who
lived in the tenth century, certainly dates before our era; namely, the Book
of Sindibād, of which there have been so many translations and imitations
in Asiatic and European languages, and to which the Persian romance
reproduced in the present volume is considered to bear some relation. El-
Mas’ūdi, in his famous historical work, “Meadows of Gold and Mines of
Gems,” states very plainly that “in the reign of Khūrūsh (Cyrus) lived Es-
Sondbād, who was the author of the Book of the Seven Viziers, the Teacher,
the Boy, and the Wife of the King.” According to another Arabian writer,
Sindibād was an Indian philosopher who lived about a hundred years B.C.
El-Mas’ūdī does not mention the version through which the work was

known in his time, but it was probably either in Arabic or Persian. The
oldest version known to exist is in Hebrew, and is entitled Mishlī Sindabar,
Parables of Sindabar; the change of the name from Sindibād to Sindibar,
Deslongchamps conjectures to be a mistake of the copyist, the Hebrew
letters D and R being very similar in form. This Hebrew version has been
proved to date as far back as the end of the twelfth century. Under the title
of Historia Septem Sapientum Romæ, a Latin translation was made—from
the Hebrew, it is supposed—by Dam Jehans, a monk of the abbey of Haute
Selve, in the diocese of Nancy, early in the 13th century. A Greek version,
entitled Syntipas, the date of which is not known, was made by a Christian
named Andreopulus, who states in his prologue that he translated it from the
Syriac. Notwithstanding this very distinct statement, several learned
scholars—Senglemann, among others—have contended that the Syntipas
was made from the Hebrew version; of late years, however, a unique but
unfortunately mutilated manuscript of the Syriac version, transcribed about
the year 1560, was discovered by Rödiger, and reproduced in his Syriac
Chrestomathie, in 1868; and a year later Baethgens published, at Leipsic,
this text, together with a German translation, under the title of Sindban,
oder die Sieben wiesen Meister, from which it appears certain that the
Greek version of Andreopulus was made from the Syriac, the order of the
stories being the same in both. Besides the Hebrew and Syriac versions of
the Book of Sindibād, there exist translations or adaptations in at least two
other Oriental languages, the Arabic and the Persian. The Arabian version
(to which perhaps El-Mas’ūdī alluded in his mention of the work, as above)
now forms one of the romances comprised in the Book of the Thousand
Nights and One Night (the “Arabian Nights’ Entertainments”), under the
title of “The Story of the King, his Son, his Concubine, and his Seven
Viziers;” and an English translation of it was published, in 1800, by Dr
Jonathan Scott, in his Tales, Anecdotes, and Letters, from the Arabic and
Persian.[7] Two poetical versions have been composed in Persian; one of
which, entitled Sindibād Nama,[8] by Azraki, who died, at Herat, A.H. 527
(A.D. 1132–3), is mentioned by Daulet-Shāh, in his life of Azraki, in these
terms: “And they say the Book of Sindibād, on precepts of practical
philosophy, is one of his compositions.”[9] The other Persian version is
known in Europe, I believe, only through Professor Forbes Falconer’s
excellent analysis[10] of a unique manuscript, entitled Sindibād Nāma,
composed A.H. 776 (A.D. 1374).

It was through the Latin version, Historia Septem Sapientum Romæ, that
this very remarkable work was communicated to nearly all the languages of
Western Europe; Herbers, or Hebers, an ecclesiastic of the 13th century,
made a translation, or rather imitation, of it in French verse, under the title
of Dolopatos. Many imitations in French prose subsequently appeared, and
from one of these the work was rendered into English, under the title of The
Sevyn Sages, and The Seven Wise Masters, one of which is among the
reprints for the Percy Society, and of the other Ellis gives an analysis, with
specimens in his Early English Metrical Romances. In 1516 an Italian
version, entitled “The History of Prince Erastus,” was published, which was
afterwards translated into French.
In all these works, a young prince is falsely accused by his step-mother
of having attempted to violate her, and the King, his father, condemns him
to death, but is induced to defer the execution of the sentence from day to
day, during seven days, by one of his seven counsellors, viziers, or wise
men, relating to the King one or more stories, designed to caution him
against the wicked wiles of women; while the Queen, every night, urges the
King to put his son to death, and, in her turn, tells him a story, intended to
show that men are faithless and treacherous, and that fathers must not
expect gratitude or consideration from their sons. In the sequel, the
innocence of the Prince is established, and the wicked step-mother is duly
punished for her gross iniquity. This is the leading story of most of the
romances which have been derived, or imitated, from the Book of Sindibād;
but the subordinate Tales vary materially in the several translations or
versions.
Dunlop, in his History of Fiction, remarks that “the leading incident of a
disappointed woman accusing the object of her passion is as old as the story
of Joseph, and may thence be traced through the fables of mythology to the
Italian novelists.” But surely there was nothing so very peculiar in the
conduct of Zulaykha (as Muslims name the wife of Potiphar)—nothing very
different from human (or woman) nature in general, that should lead us to
conclude, with Dunlop, that all the numerous stories based upon a similar
incident had their common origin in the celebrated tale of Joseph and
Potiphar’s wife. We have no reason to suppose a Hebrew origin for the
well-known classical legend of Phædra, who was enamoured of Hippolytus,
and, unable to suppress her passion, made overtures to him, which were
disdainfully rejected; upon which Phædra accused Hippolytus to her

husband Theseus of attempting to dishonour her. And although the work
ascribed to the Indian sage Sindibād now appears to be lost, yet this
“leading incident” of works of the Sindibād-cycle forms the subject of
several Indian romances, one of which is a story in verse of a Prince named
Sárangdhara, whose step-mother Chitrángí falls in love with him. He rejects
her advances, on which she accuses him to the King of attempting to violate
her, and the King orders him to have his feet cut off and to be exposed to
wild beasts in the forest. The innocence of the Prince is afterwards proved,
and the wicked Queen is put to death.
There is yet another work usually considered as belonging to the
Sindibād class of romances, namely, the Turkish Tales of the Forty Viziers,
which is said to have been composed, during the reign of Sultān Murād II,
in 1421, after an Arabian romance entitled “Tales of the Forty Mornings and
Forty Evenings,” composed by Shaikh Zāda. But the author of this work, as
M. Deslongchamps has justly remarked, has borrowed little from the Book
of Sindibād besides the frame. The tales—which are eighty in number, forty
of which are told by the Viziers, and forty by the Queen—are quite different
from, yet no whit inferior to, those of any version of the King and his Seven
Counsellors. M. Petit de Lacroix, last century, made a French translation of
this work as far as the story of the Tenth Vizier, which was soon afterwards
rendered into English, but divested of much of the Oriental costume and
colour. In 1851 Behrnauer issued a German rendering of the Turkish text.
And it may interest some readers to know that Mr E. J. W. Gibb—whose
recently published translations of Ottoman Poems, with Introduction,
Biographical Notices, and Notes, have received the approbation of
competent judges—is at present engaged on a complete English translation
of this highly entertaining romance.

II—THE BAKHTYĀR NĀMA AND ITS VERSIONS.

aving in the preceding section glanced at the various works of
fiction in different languages which have been derived or
imitated from the Book of Sindibād, let us now proceed to
examine the degree of relationship which the Bakhtyār Nāma
bears to the same work. The learned writer of an able and
interesting analysis, in the Asiatic Journal, vol. xxx, 1839, of
two different manuscripts of the Thousand and One Nights,
preserved in the British Museum, has fallen into a singular
mistake when he says: “It is curious enough that in each of the
two MSS. a tale is interpolated on the plan of the Bakhtyār Nāma. A King
wishes to destroy his son, and his Viziers relate stories to prove the malice
of women, alternately with the King’s concubine, who has falsely accused
the young man, and who tells stories of the subtlety of men.” This is the
frame of the Sindibād Nāma, not that of the Bakhtyār Nāma, since in the
former the Viziers are the defenders of the innocent, and relate stories on his
behalf; while the case is precisely reversed in the Bakhytār Nāma, where
the Viziers are the accusers, eager for the death of the innocent young man,
and it is the accused youth himself who relates the stories. The only
resemblance which the Romance of Prince Bakhtyār bears to the leading
story of the Book of Sindibād (and its offspring) is the incident of a youth
being falsely accused of attempting to violate the Queen, as will be seen
from the following outline of the Bakhtyār Story.
A King, flying from his own kingdom, with his Queen, is obliged to
abandon in the desert a new-born male infant, close to a well. This infant is
discovered by a band of robbers, the chief of whom, struck with his beauty
and the richness of his clothes, carries him to his house, adopts him as his
own son and gives him an excellent education. At the age of fifteen years
the youth accompanies all the banditti on a plundering expedition, in which
they attack a caravan, but are defeated, and many of their number, including
the adopted son of their chief, are taken prisoners and brought before the

King—the father of the youth, who had in the meanwhile recovered his
kingdom. The young man’s grace and beauty so win the King’s heart, that
he not only pardons the whole company, but takes the youth into his
service, changing his name from Khudādād (God-given) to Bakhtyār
(Befriended by Fortune). Bakhtyār acquits himself of his new duties so well
that the King promotes him to a more important position—that of keeper of
the royal treasury, and his own intimate friend and counsellor. These
distinguished favours excite the envy of the King’s Ten Viziers, who
become eager for some opportunity of bringing the favourite to disgrace
and ruin. And it so chances, one evening, that Bakhtyār, being muddled
with wine, straggles into one of the chambers of the harem, and throws
himself upon the royal couch, where he falls asleep. Shortly afterwards, the
King enters, and, discovering his favourite in the forbidden part of the
palace, his jealousy is aroused, and he orders the attendants to seize the
unhappy young man, then sends for the Queen, and accuses her of having
introduced Bakhtyār into the harem. The Queen protests that she is entirely
innocent of the charge, and at her suggestion the King causes them both to
be confined for that night in separate apartments, resolving to investigate
the affair in the morning. Next day, the first of the Viziers, waiting on the
King, is informed of the supposed violation of the harem by Bakhtyār, upon
which the Vizier obtains leave to visit the Queen, and ascertain from her the
particulars of the affair. The Queen, on being questioned by the Vizier,
denies all knowledge of Bakhtyār’s presence in the King’s chamber (it does
not appear, indeed, that she had ever seen him before); but the Vizier
assures her that the King would not credit her assertion, and counsels her, if
she would save her own life, to accuse Bakhtyār to the King of having
presumed to make dishonourable proposals to her, which she had, of course,
rejected with indignation. After much persuasion, she at length consents,
and accordingly accuses the young man of this capital offence. The King
immediately commands Bakhtyār to be brought before him, and after
bitterly reproaching him with ingratitude for the many and unprecedented
favours which he had bestowed upon him, in the meantime sends him back
to prison. On the following day, the second Vizier urges the King to put him
to death; and the King causes him to be brought into his presence, and tells
him that he must forfeit his life. Bakhtyār, however, in eloquent terms,
protests that he is perfectly innocent of the crime of which he is accused,
but expresses his submission to the will of Providence, like a certain

unlucky merchant, with whom no affair prospered. This arouses the King’s
curiosity, and Bakhtyār is permitted to relate the story, after which the King
sends him back to prison for that day. Every morning of the eight following
days one of the Viziers, in turn, presents himself before the King, and urges
that Bakhtyār’s execution should be no longer delayed; but when the youth
is brought into the King’s presence, as on the first day, he pleads his own
cause so well, and excites the King’s curiosity by reference to some
remarkable story, which he is allowed to relate, that his execution is
deferred from day to day, until at length the King is reluctantly compelled
by the Viziers’ complaints to give orders for the public execution of the
young man. It happens, however, that the robber-chief who had found the
royal infant at the well, and brought him up, is, with a party of his men,
among the crowd assembled round the scaffold, and recognising in
Bakhtyār his adopted son, rescues him from the guard, and hastens to the
palace, where, obtaining audience of the King, the secret of Bakhtyār’s birth
is discovered; and the King resigns the throne in favour of his son, and
causes the Ten envious Viziers to be put to death.
Such is the frame within which nine different stories are inserted; and
although it was doubtless imitated from, it has but a faint likeness to, that of
the Book of Sindibād. The work which appears most closely to resemble the
Romance of Prince Bakhtyār, in the frame, is a collection of Tales in the
Tamul language, entitled, Alakeswara Kathá, in which four ministers of the
King of Alakapur are falsely accused of violating the King’s private
apartments, and vindicate their innocence, and disarm the King’s wrath, by
relating a number of stories.[11]
According to M. Deslongchamps, in his learned and elaborate Essai sur
les Fables Indiennes, there exist in Oriental languages three versions of the
Bakhtyār Nāma—Persian, Arabic, and Turkī (i.e., Eastern Turkish—Uygur).
Of the Persian version it is said there are numerous manuscripts in the great
libraries of England and France; and besides the printed text appended to
Sir William Ouseley’s English translation, published in 1800, a lithographed
text was issued, at Paris, in 1839, probably from a manuscript in the Royal
Library. The Arabian version, under the title of “The History of the Ten
Viziers,” forms part of the text of the Thousand and One Nights, in 12
volumes, of which Dr Maximilian Habicht edited vols. 1 to 8, published at
uncertain intervals, at Breslau, from 1825 to 1838 inclusive, when the work
was stopped by Habicht’s death. In 1842–3 Professor H. L. Fleischer issued

the remaining vols., 9 to 12. The same year when Habicht began the
publication of his Arabian text he issued a complete German translation,
also at Breslau, in 15 small square volumes, under the title of Tausend und
Eine Nacht: Arabische Erzählungen. Zum erstenmal aus einer Tunesischen
Handschrift, ergänzt und vollständig übersetzt, von Max. Habicht, F. H.
Von der Hagen, und Karl Schall.[12] But both the number and the order of
the tales of our romance are quite different in the translation and the text:
the sixth volume of the latter, which contains the romance, was not
published till 1834, or nine years after the first issue of the translation; and
it would seem that Habicht, in editing his Tunisian manuscript, compared it
with other texts, and made very considerable changes. The romance is
found in a dislocated form in a work, published at Paris in 1788, entitled,
Nouveaux Contes Arabice, ou Supplement aux Mille et Une Nuits, &c., par
M. l’Abbè * * * In this book (which is of little or no value) the several tales
are not placed within the frame, or leading story, which, however, appears
in connection with one of them. It is also included in the French
Continuation of the Thousand and One Nights, translated by Dom Chavis
and edited by M. Cazotte,[13] “but singularly disfigured,” says
Deslongchamps, “like the other Oriental Tales published by Cazotte;” in
Caussin de Perceval’s excellent edition of the Nights, published, at Paris, in
1806, vol. viii, and in Gauttier’s edition, vol. vi. The learned Swede Gustav
Knös published, at Gœtingen, in 1806, a dissertation on the Romance of
Prince Bakhtyār, and the year following the Arabic text, with a Latin
translation, under the title of Historia Decem Vizirorum et filii Regis Azād-
bacht. He also issued a translation in the Swedish language, at Upsal, in two
parts, the second of which appeared in 1814. Of the Turkī version M.
Amédée Jaubert has furnished, in the Journal Asiatique, Mars 1827, t. x, an
interesting account, together with a translation of one of the stories,[14] from
the unique manuscript preserved in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, which
he describes as very beautifully written, the titles of the several tales and the
names of the principal characters being in red ink. Unfortunately the
manuscript is imperfect; at present it comprises 294 folia. M. Jaubert
remarks that this Turkī version is characterised by “great sobriety of
ornament and extreme simplicity of style, and the evident intention on the
part of the translator to suppress all that may not have appeared to him
sufficiently probable, and all that might justly be taxed with exaggeration.”

There is another Oriental rendering, of which M. Deslongchamps was
ignorant, in the language of the Malays, with whom the romance is said to
be a great favourite, indeed they have at least two very different versions of
its frame, if not of the subordinate stories. In Newbold’s work on Malacca,
[15]
vol. ii, an outline is given of the leading story, or frame, of one Malay
version, which exactly corresponds with that of the Persian original,
excepting that for Āzād-bakht we find Zād-bokhtin, and that the minister’s
daughter, who is carried to the city by the King and in our version is
nameless, is called Mahrwat. I am indebted to the courtesy of the learned Dr
R. Rost, Librarian to the India Office, for the following particulars
regarding two other Malay versions, from Van den Berg’s account of Malay,
Arabic, Javanese and other MSS., published at Batavia, 1877. One of these
(p. 21, No. 132) is entitled “The History of Ghulām, son of Zād-bokhtān,
King of Adān, in Persia,” and the frame agrees with that of our version, as
already sketched in the present section, excepting that the robber-chief who
had brought up Ghulām (our Bakhtyār),[16] “learning that he had become a
person of consequence,” says Van den Berg, “came to his residence to visit
him, but finding him imprisoned, he was much concerned, and asked the
King’s pardon on his behalf, telling him at the same time how he had
formerly found Ghulām in the jungle; from which the King knew that
Ghulām was his son,” and so on. The other version (p. 32, No. 179), though
similar in title to the Persian original, “History of Prince Bakhtyār,” differs
very considerably in the frame, which is thus analysed by Van den Berg:
“This Prince, when his father was put to flight by a younger brother, who
wished to dethrone him, was born in a jungle and abandoned by his parents.
A merchant, Idrīs (Enoch), took charge of him and brought him up. Later on
he became one of the officers of state with his own father, who had in the
meanwhile found another kingdom, and decided with fairness the cases laid
before him. He was, however, put in prison, on account of a supposed
attempt upon the King’s life, and he would have been put to death had he
not stayed the execution by telling various beautiful stories. Even the King
came repeatedly to listen to him. At one of these visits Bakhtyār’s foster-
father Idrīs was likewise present, who related to his adopted son how he had
found him in the jungle. The King, on hearing this, now perceived that it
was his son who had been brought up by Idrīs, recognised Bakhtyār as such,
and made over to him his kingdom.”

So far as I am aware, there are but two translations of the Persian version
in European languages; one in English, by Sir William Ouseley,[17] which is
reproduced in the present volume; the other in French, by M. Lescallier.[18]
In his Preface, Sir William Ouseley states that he selected for translation a
text composed in the least ornate style, and he seems to have contented
himself with a rather free rendering (see prefatory remarks, Notes and
Illustrations, page 121 of the present work). M. Lescallier takes care to
inform his reader that he adopted another plan: picking out passages from
two different manuscripts, and amalgamating his selections into a work
which, it is safe to say, does not find its original in any single Persian text
extant: his object, indeed, seems to have been to present an entertaining
romance to French readers, rather than to produce a translation of any
particular Persian original; and it must be admitted that many of the lengthy
conversations which occur in his volume are quite as well omitted by
Ouseley.
The name of the author of this romance and the precise time when it was
composed are not known. Ouseley states that none of the manuscripts of the
work which he had seen appeared to be much older than the end of the 17th
century. But we are now able to place the date of its composition at least
three centuries earlier, since the manuscript of the Turkī version, already
referred to, bears to have been transcribed A.H. 838, or A.D. 1434; and it is
not unlikely that the translation was made several years before that date.
And as well-known or popular works are usually selected for translation,
we may reasonably conclude that the Persian Romance of Prince Bakhtyār
was composed not later than the end of the 14th century. That it is posterior
to the end of the 13th century might be supposed from the circumstance that
the author in two instances[19] employs maxims which are found in the
writings of the great Persian poet Sa`dī, if we were sure that these maxims
are really Sa`dī’s own.[20] It has struck me as rather singular that I can
recognise only two of the nine stories which Bakhtyār relates as existing in
another Eastern work, namely, the Tūtī Nāma, or Tales of a Parrot, of
Nakshabī. This work, according to Pertsch, was written in A.D. 1330, and
was preceded by another Persian book on the same subject, by an unknown
writer, which was based on an older Sanskrit book (now lost), of which the
Suka Saptati, or Seventy Tales of a Parrot, is only an abstract. Nakshabī’s
work (adds Pertsch), copies of which are rare, has been greatly superseded
by Kāderī’s abridgment, which was written in India, probably about the

middle of the 17th century.[21] The “Story of the King of Abyssinia” (pp. 74–
85 of the present work) is identical with the story told by the Parrot on the
50th Night in the Tūtī Nāma of Nakshabī (India Office MS. 2573), where it
bears the title of “Story of the Daughter of the Kaisar of Rūm, and her
trouble by reason of her Son;” and the “Story of the King of Abyssinia” (pp.
62–72) corresponds with the 51st Night, “Story of the Daughter of the
Vizier Khāssa, and how she found safety through the blessing of her own
purity” (for King Dādīn, and his Viziers Kāmkār and Kārdār of our story,
Nakshabī has King Bahrām, and the Viziers Khāssa and Khalāssa). Here the
question naturally suggests itself: did Nakshabī take these two stories from
the Bakhtyār Nāma, or did the author of the latter borrow them from
Nakshabī? It is at least a rather curious coincidence that in the Persian
romance of the “Four Dervishes” (Chehār Darvīsh), ascribed to Amīr
Khusrū (about A.D. 1300), a work which is best known by its Hindustanī
version, Bāgh o Bāhar, or Garden and Spring, occur the names of three of
the persons who figure in the Bakhtyār romance: the King, as in our work,
is called Āzādbakht, his son Bakhtyār, and Bihzād is the name of a third.
Lescallier, in the Preface to his translation, makes a very extraordinary
statement: he says that although nothing is known regarding the authorship
and date of the romance, yet the work appears to be very ancient; and
remarks that there is nothing found in the book to announce the institution
of Muhammadanism—the invocation of the Deity and salutation of the
Prophet, at the opening of the work, he thought likely to be an interpolation
of the copyists. Now the fact is, that even in his own translation allusions to
the rites of Islām, if they are not of frequent occurrence, are yet sufficiently
numerous to prove beyond question that the Bakhtyār Nāma, as it exists at
present in Persian, has been written, or modified, by a Muslim. To cite a
few instances: At page 17 of Lescallier’s volume, we find the King, when
he had abandoned his child in the desert, represented as comparing his
condition to that of Jacob the Hebrew patriarch when he believed that his
son Joseph was dead. M. Lescallier could never suppose that the romance
was written either by a Jew or a Christian; therefore this passage clearly
came from a Muslim pen. At page 27 mention is made of the “hour of mid-
day prayer,” one of the five times of obligatory prayer prescribed to
Muslims. At page 94 (p. 52 of the present volume) the two sons of Abū
Saber are represented as having said to the merchant who purchased them
of the robbers: “We are free-born and Mussulmans.” At page 140 (p. 70 of

this work) the cameleer and the lady reach the city “at the hour of evening
prayer.” Nevertheless M. Lescallier could not find anything in the work
“qui annonce l’établissement du Mahométisme!”
Since the Arabian version of the Romance of the Ten Viziers given in the
French Continuation of the Thousand and One Nights, translated, as already
stated, by Dom Chavis and edited by M. Cazotte, is not mentioned by M.
Lescallier, we must conclude, either that he did not know of it, or that he
deemed it beneath his notice. Dom Chavis and M. Cazotte have, in truth,
received rather hard treatment at the hands of their critics. Dr Jonathan
Scott, amongst others, must gird at Cazotte, though without the shadow of
reason. In his edition of the Arabian Nights, published in 1811,[22] Appendix
to vol. vi, referring to the English translation of the “Continuation” (see
foot-note, page xxxvii), he says that “the twelve first stories in the third
volume had undoubtedly an Oriental foundation: they exist, among many
others, in a Persian manuscript, lately in my possession, entitled Jamī’u-’l-
Hikāyāt, or a Collection of Narratives. Sir William Ouseley has published a
liberal[23] translation of them, with the Persian text, by reading which the
liberties M. Cazotte has taken in the tale of ‘Bohetzād and his Ten Viziers’
may be fairly seen, and a reasonable conjecture formed of his amplification
of all others. Sir William Ouseley’s hero is named Bakht-yār, i.e.,
Befriended by Destiny, as in my manuscript, in that of M. Cazotte it is
probably Bakht-zād, i.e., Born under a Fortunate Planet.” In this last
sentence Scott has strangely blundered: the hero of the Persian Tale is
certainly called Bakhtyār, but in Cazotte’s version it is the King who is
called Bohetzād (or Bakht-zād), and the hero, Aladdin. From these strictures
of his it is very obvious that he was not aware of the existence of an
Arabian version of this romance. According to Lowndes’ Bibliographer’s
Manual, “a valuable edition of the Arabian Nights was published, in 1798,
by Richard Gough, considerably enlarged, from the Paris edition, with notes
of illustration, and a preface, in which the supplementary tales published by
Dom Chavis are proved to be a palpable forgery.” Gough’s name has not
come down to us in connection with the Arabian Nights—except through
Lowndes, where it is but a name. And Habicht’s Arabian text has very
conclusively disproved all Gough’s absurd “proofs;” and, what is more, a
comparison of the Romance as given by M. Cazotte with Habicht’s text will
not only show that in both are the Tales of the same number and placed in
the same order, but the incidents are almost invariably identical. The

following is a comparative table of the order of the Tales in the “History of
the Ten Viziers,” as they are found in Habicht’s Arabian text, Cazotte,
Caussin de Perceval, the German translation, and the Persian version—of
the last the order and number of the tales are alike in Ouseley, Lescallier,
and the lithographed text:
Habicht’s Arabian Text. Cazotte’s C. de German Persian
Translation. Perceval. Translation. Texts.
1 Introductory Story (King
Āzādbakht) 1 1 1 1
2 History of the Merchant
pursued by Ill-Fortune 2 4 2 2
3 History of the Jewel
Merchant 3 8 8 8
4 History of Abū Saber 4 7 4 4
5 History of Prince Bihzād 5 3 3 3
6 History of King Dādbīn and
his Two Viziers 6 10 6 6
7 History of Bakhtzamān 7 6
8 History of King Bīhkard 8 5 5 5
9 History of Īlan Shāh and Abū
Temām 9 [24] 9 9
10 History of King Ibrahīm and
his Son 10 9 10
11 History of Sulaymān Shāh,
his Sons, his Niece, and
their Children 11 2 7 7
It will be observed from this table that in Habicht’s Arabian text, in
Cazotte, and C. de Perceval there are eleven stories, including the
Introductory Tale, which forms part of the frame; and this arrangement is
more in accordance with what was evidently the original plan of the
romance than is our Persian version, in which there is no story to counteract
the arguments employed by the First Vizier against Bakhtyār. In all other
romances of the Sindibād cycle, where the sages, or counsellors, relate
stories in behalf of the accused, the narrators appear in regular succession,
from the first to the seventh (or, in the case of the Forty Viziers, from the
first to the fortieth); and there can be little doubt, I think, that in the original
Persian romance—probably no longer extant—the First Vizier, as in the
Arabian version, was represented as appearing before the King on the first
day after Bakhtyār was committed to prison, urging his immediate
execution, and the youth, on being brought into the King’s presence, as
relating one of the tales included in Habicht’s text, but omitted in our

present version. On the Eleventh Day in Cazotte (reckoning the day of our
hero’s unhappy adventure as one) the young man relates two stories, that of
“Sulaymān Shāh and his Family,” which exactly agrees with Habicht’s text;
and a rather pointless story, entitled “The King of Haram and his Slave,”
which is probably identical with the eleventh tale in C. de Perceval, entitled
“The Freed Slave,” which takes the place of the story of Abū Temām,
omitted. The titles of the several stories as given in the above table are those
in Habicht’s text. No. 3 in Cazotte is entitled “Ilage Mahomet and his
Sons.” No. 8 is “Baharkan, or the Intemperate (i.e., hasty-tempered)
Man”—our “King of Yemen” and in the German translation “The Prince of
Zanzībār.” No. 10 is in Cazotte also “Ibrahīm and his Son,” and the
incidents are the same in both. No. 7, “The History of Bakht-zamān,” also
in Cazotte and C. de Perceval, but omitted in the Persian version, treats of
the vain attempts of a man to succeed in war or peace without God’s help—
utterly vain, unless prayers are offered up for His assistance. No. 11 (our
“King of Abyssinia”) has the same title in Cazotte, and in both the story is
very differently told from the Persian narrative; it is, however, an excellent
tale, and I regret that I have not space here for an analysis of it. In the
German translation our tenth story (“King of Persia”) is omitted, although it
is found in the Arabian text.
To conclude: I am disposed to believe that the Turkī translation was made
from the Arabic, because the story of “King Dādīn and his Two Viziers,”
given in pages 189–194, corresponds with Habicht’s text and with Cazotte’s
translation, but varies materially from the Persian text, in which the
cameleer, who discovers the pious daughter of the murdered Vizier, is
represented as being in the service of King Dādīn, who, when informed of
the lady’s wonderful sanctity, visits her at the cameleer’s house and
becomes reconciled to her; while in the Turkī version, in Habicht’s text, and
in Cazotte (who probably knew nothing of the Turkī translation) the
cameleer is in the service of the King of Persia, who visits the maiden,
marries her, and punishes King Dādīn and the wicked Vizier. If, then, the
Turkī version, which dates as far back as A.D. 1434, was made from the
Arabic, and if the latter was translated, or adapted, from the Persian, it is
not unlikely that the History of the Ten Viziers in its Arabian dress existed
some time before the Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night was
composed in its present form; and therefore the Persian version may be, as
Lescallier conjectured, “very ancient.” And since we have discovered that

two of the stories exist in a work which is of Sanskrit origin (see pp. xliii
and xliv—and in line 6 of the latter for “King of Abyssinia” read “King
Dādīn,”), we may go a step farther, and suppose the other stories in the
Romance of Bakhtyār to have been also derived from Indian sources.

THE BAKHTYĀR NĀMA.

THE BAKHTYĀR NĀMA.

CHAPTER I.

HISTORY OF KING ĀZĀDBAKHT AND THE VIZIER’S
DAUGHTER.

hus it is recorded by the authors of remarkable histories, and
the narrators of delightful tales, that there was once in the
country of Sīstān, a certain King, possessing a crown and a
throne, whose name was Āzādbakht; and he had a Vizier
entitled Sipahsālār, a person of such bravery and skill that the
moon concealed herself among the clouds from fear of his
scimitar. This Vizier had a daughter endowed with such
exquisite beauty that the rose of the garden and the moon of
the heavenly spheres were confounded at the superior lustre of
her cheeks. Sipahsālār loved this daughter with excessive
fondness, so that he could scarcely exist an hour without her. Having gone
on an expedition to inspect the state of the country, it happened that he
found himself under a necessity of passing some time from home. He
immediately despatched confidential persons with orders to bring his
daughter to him from the capital. These persons, having arrived at the
Vizier’s palace, paid their obeisance to the damsel, who ordered her
attendants to prepare for the journey to her father. The horses were instantly
caparisoned, and a litter provided with magnificence suitable to a princely
traveller. The damsel, seated in this, commenced her journey, and went
forth from the city.
It happened that the King, who had gone on a hunting-party, was at that
moment returning from the chase. He beheld the litter with its ornaments
and splendid decorations; and, whilst he gazed, it was borne quite out of the
town. He sent to inquire about it; and the attendants said that it belonged to
the daughter of Sipahsālār, who was going to her father. When the King’s
servants returned and reported to him this intelligence, he rode up to the
litter that he might send his compliments to Sipahsālār. On his approach the

attendants alighted from their horses, and kissed the ground of respectful
obedience. The King, having desired that they would bear his salutations to
the Vizier, and they having promised punctually to do so, was preparing to
turn back, when suddenly, the wind lifting up a corner of the hangings
which covered the litter, his eyes were fixed by the fascinating beauty of the
damsel; and he who in the chase had sought for game became now the
captive prey of this lovely maid, and fell into the snares of love. At length
he ordered the attendants to despatch a messenger to the north, where
Sipahsālār was, and to inform him that the King would accept his daughter
as a wife, hoping that he might not be esteemed an unworthy son-in-law.
When the attendants heard this, they kissed the ground of obedience,
saying: “Long be the King’s life!—the sovereign of the earth and of the age,
and the ruler of the world! If Sipahsālār could even dream of this honour, he
would be supreme in happiness. But, if the King permit, we will proceed
with the damsel to her father, and inform him of what has happened, that he
may prepare everything necessary for the occasion, and then send her back
to the city.” When the servant of the damsel had thus spoken, the King, who
was displeased with his discourse, exclaimed: “How darest thou presume to
counsel or advise me?” He would have punished the servant on the spot, but
he feared lest the tender heart of his fair mistress should be distressed
thereby. He accordingly remitted the punishment; and taking the reins into
his own hands, he conducted the litter back towards the city, which he
entered at the time when the shades of evening began to fall.
The next day he assembled the magistrates and chief men; and, having
asked the damsel’s consent to the marriage, he caused the necessary
ceremonies to be performed. The secretaries were employed in writing
letters of congratulation; and Sipahsālār was informed of the insult offered
to him during his absence, which caused the tears to flow from his eyes
whilst he perused the letters of congratulation. He dissembled, however;
and, concealing his vexation, wrote letters to the King, and addressed him
in language of the strongest gratitude, declaring himself at a loss for words
whereby to express his sense of the honour conferred upon him.
Such was the purport of his letters; but in his mind he cherished hopes of
revenge, and day and night were employed in devising stratagems by means
of which he might obtain it.

After two or three months spent in this manner, Sipahsālār assembled all
the chief officers of the army, and informed them that, confiding in their
secrecy and fidelity, he would communicate to them an affair of
considerable importance. They all assured him of their attachment and
regard; and declared that the flourishing state of the empire was the result of
his wisdom, prudent management, and bravery. To this Sipahsālār replied:
“You all know what actions I have performed, and what troubles I have
undergone, to raise the empire to its present state of glory and prosperity:
but what has been my recompense? You have seen how the ungrateful
monarch carried off my daughter.” Having thus spoken, a shower of tears
fell from his eyes; and the chiefs who were assembled about him said: “We
have been acquainted with this matter for some time, and it has given us
great concern. But now the moment is arrived when we may depose this
king.”
Then Sipahsālār threw open the doors of his treasury, and distributed
considerable sums of money amongst the soldiers; so that in a little time he
assembled a multitude of troops, almost innumerable. He then resolved to
attack the King, and, with that intention, seized, during the night, upon all
the avenues of the city, both on the right hand and on the left.
The King, astonished and alarmed at the tumult, consulted with the
Queen, saying: “What can we do in this misfortune? For it is a night to
which no morning shall succeed, and a war in which there is not any hope
of peace.”—The Queen replied: “Our only remedy for this evil is to fly and
seek protection in the dominions of some other prince, and solicit his
assistance.”—Āzādbakht approved of this counsel, and resolved to seek an
asylum from the King of Kirmān, who was renowned for his generosity
throughout the world.
In the palace there was a certain door which opened into a subterraneous
passage leading towards the desert. The King gave orders that two horses
should be instantly saddled; and having put on his armour, and taken from
the royal treasury many precious jewels and fastened them in his girdle, he
placed the Queen on one of the horses, and mounting the other himself, they
went forth privately through the door above-mentioned, and directed their
course towards the desert.
Now it happened that the Queen had been for nine months in a state of
pregnancy; and, after travelling during a whole day and night in the desert,

they arrived at the side of a well, whose waters were more bitter than
poison, and unpleasant as the revolutions of inconstant Fortune. Here the
Queen was affected by the pains of labour; whilst heat and thirst reduced
both the King and her to despair: their mouths were parched up for want of
water, and they had no hopes of saving their lives; for the sword of the
enemy was behind them, and before them the sand of the desert. In this
forlorn situation the Queen said: “As it is impossible for me to proceed any
farther, I entreat you to save your own life, and find out some place where
water may be obtained. Though I must perish here, you may be saved; and a
hundred thousand lives such as mine are not in value equal to a single hair
of the King’s head.”—Āzādbakht replied: “Soul of the world! I can
relinquish riches and resign a throne; but it is impossible to abandon my
beloved: her who is dearer to me than existence itself.”
Thus were they engaged in conversation, when suddenly the Queen
brought forth a son; in beauty he was lovely as the moon, and from the
lustre of his eyes the dreary desert was illumined. The Queen, pressing the
infant to her bosom, began to perform the duties of a mother, when the King
told her that she must not fix her affections on the child, as it would be
impossible to take him with them: “We must, therefore,” added the King,
“leave the infant on the brink of this well, and commit him to the
providence of the Almighty, whose infinite kindness will save him from
destruction.”—They accordingly wrapped up the child in a cloak
embroidered with gold and fastened a bracelet of ten large pearls round his
shoulders; then, leaving him on the brink of the well, they both proceeded
on their journey to Kirmān, whilst their hearts were afflicted with anguish
on account of their helpless infant. When they approached the capital of
Kirmān, the King of that place was informed of their arrival. He sent his
servants to welcome them, and received them with the greatest respect and
hospitality; he provided a princely banquet, and assembled all the minstrels,
and sent his own son and two attendants to wait on Āzādbakht.
During the feast, whilst the musicians were employed in singing and
playing, and the guests in drinking, whenever the wine came round to
Āzādbakht, his eyes were filled with tears. The King of Kirmān, perceiving
this, desired him to banish sorrow, and to entertain a hope that Heaven
might yet be propitious to him. Āzādbakht replied: “O King of the world!
how can I be cheerful, whilst thus an exile from my home, and whilst my
kingdom and my treasures are in the possession of my enemies?”

The King of Kirmān then inquired into the particulars of Āzādbakht’s
misfortunes, which he related from beginning to end. The heart of the King
of Kirmān was moved with compassion; and during that whole day he
endeavoured, by every sort of amusement, to divert the mind of his guest
from dwelling on the past misfortunes. The next day he ordered a powerful
army to be led forth, and placed it under the command of Āzādbakht, who
marched immediately towards the capital of his own dominions. On the
King’s approach, Sipahsālār, who had usurped his authority, fled in
confusion, and all the troops, the peasants, and other inhabitants paid
homage to Āzādbakht, and entreated his forgiveness. He pardoned them;
and again ascending the royal throne, governed his people with justice and
generosity; and having liberally rewarded the King of Kirmān’s soldiers, he
sent them back with many rare and valuable presents for that monarch.
After these transactions, Āzādbakht and his Queen passed their time in a
state of tranquillity, interrupted only by the remembrance of the 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
little knew the kindness which Providence had shown him.
It happened that the desert in which they had left the infant was
frequented by a gang of robbers, the chief of whom was named
Farrukhsuwār; and very soon after the King and Queen had departed, these
robbers came to the well; there they discovered a beautiful infant crying
bitterly. Farrukhsuwār alighted from his horse and took up the child; and his
extraordinary beauty induced them to believe him the son of some prince or
illustrious personage. In this opinion they were confirmed by the ten
valuable pearls which were fastened on his shoulders. As Farrukhsuwār had
not any child, he resolved to adopt this infant as his own, and accordingly
bestowed on him the name of Khudādād; and having taken him to his home,
committed him to the care of a nurse. When he was of a proper age,
Farrukhsuwār instructed him in all necessary accomplishments, and in
horsemanship and the use of arms, which rendered him, with his natural
bravery, when fifteen years of age, able to fight, alone, five hundred men.
Farrukhsuwār loved this youth with such affection that he could not exist
one moment without him, and took him along with him wheresoever he
went. Whenever it happened that the robbers were proceeding to attack a
caravan, Khudādād, who felt compassion for the merchants and travellers,
and at all times disliked the profession of a robber, requested that

Farrukhsuwār might dispense with his attendance, and leave him to guard
the castle. Farrukhsuwār consented that he should not join in attacking the
caravan; but entreated him to accompany the robbers to the scene of action.
It happened, however, one day, that they attacked a caravan consisting of
superior numbers, and of such brave men that they fought against the
robbers with success, and took several of them prisoners. In this action
Farrukhsuwār received a wound, and was near falling into the hands of his
enemies, when Khudādād, mounting his charger, galloped into the midst of
the battle, and put many of them to death.
But it was so ordained that he should fall from his horse; in consequence
of which, he was taken prisoner, and with many of the robbers, led in chains
to the capital.
The chief of the caravan having brought them all before the tribunal of
Āzādbakht, the King’s eyes were no sooner fixed upon the countenance of
Khudādād, than paternal affection began to stir his heart: he wept, and said:
“Alas! if the infant whom I abandoned in the desert were now alive, he
would probably appear such a youth as this!” He continued to gaze
involuntarily upon him, and, desiring him to approach, inquired his name,
and said: “Art thou not ashamed to have abused the favours of Heaven,
which has endowed thee with so much beauty and strength, by plundering
travellers, and seizing on the property to which thou hadst not any right?”—
Khudādād, with tears, replied: “The Lord knows my innocence, and that I
have never partaken of the plunder.”—Āzādbakht then granted him a free
pardon, and took him into his service, desiring that his chains might be
taken off; he also put on him his own robe, and said: “I now give you the
name of Bakhtyār; from this time forth Fortune shall be your friend.”[25] The
King then dismissed the other robbers; to whom, on condition that they
would never again commit any depredations, he granted not only their lives,
but a pension, by which he engaged them in his service.
After this Bakhtyār continued day and night in attendance on the King,
whose affection for him hourly increased. To his care were entrusted the
royal stables, which he superintended with such skill and good management
that in a few months the horses became fat and sleek; and the King, one day
remarking their improved condition, understood that it was the result of
Bakhtyār’s care and attention, and conceiving that a person who evinced
such abilities was capable of managing more important matters, he sent for

Bakhtyār, at his return to the palace, and ordered that the keys of the
treasury should be presented to him, and thus constituted him keeper of the
treasures. Bakhtyār, having kissed the ground, was invested with a splendid
robe of honour. He discharged the duties of his high station with such
fidelity and attention that he every day increased in favour with the King,
and at length was consulted on every measure, and entrusted with every
secret of his royal master. If on any day it happened that Bakhtyār absented
himself from the palace, on that day the King would not give audience to
any person: and the advice of Bakhtyār was followed on every occasion of
importance. In short, he was next in power to the King, and his conduct was
discreet and skilful.
But there were Ten Viziers, who became envious of his exaltation, and
conspired against him, resolving to devise some stratagem whereby they
might deprive him of the King’s esteem, and effect his degradation.
It happened one day that Bakhtyār, having indulged in the pleasures of
wine beyond the bounds of moderation, lost the power of his reason, and
continued in a state of sleepy intoxication until night came on and the world
became dark; the porters fastened the gates, and the sentinels repaired to
their respective stations. Bakhtyār, after some time, came forth from the
treasury, but knew not whither he went, so completely had the wine
deprived him of recollection: he wandered on, however, until he found
himself in one of the King’s private apartments, where he saw tapers
burning, a couch with pillows and cushions, a splendid throne, or seat, and
various embroidered robes and silken coverings. This was the apartment in
which the King used to sleep. Here, from excessive intoxication, Bakhtyār
flung himself upon the throne: after a little while the King entered, and
discovering the unfortunate young man, inquired, with violent anger, his
business in that place. Bakhtyār, roused by the noise, threw himself from
the throne, and crept beneath it, where again he fell asleep.
The King, having called some attendants, ordered them to seize him, and,
drawing his sword, hastened to the Queen, of whom he asked how Bakhtyār
found admittance to the private apartments of the palace; and added, that he
could not have come there without her knowledge. The Queen, shocked at
such an imputation, declared herself ignorant of the whole transaction but
desired the King, if he still entertained any suspicions, to confine her that
night, and inquire into the matter on the next morning, when her innocence

would appear, and the guilty might be punished. The King accordingly
ordered her to be confined, and suspended the execution of vengeance
during that night.
When morning came, being seated on the royal throne, he gave audience
to his ten Viziers. The first of these, having paid his respects to the King,
inquired into the transactions of the preceding night, and was informed of
all that had occurred. The enmity which this Vizier had long cherished in
his heart against Bakhtyār induced him to conceive that a fair opportunity
now offered of destroying that unfortunate young man; and he said within
himself: “Though he may have a thousand lives, he shall not be able to save
one of them.” He then addressed the King, and said: “How could a person
bred up in the desert, and by profession a robber and assassin, be fit for the
service of a King? I well knew that his wickedness would appear, but durst
not say so; now, however, that it is manifest, let the King ordain for him
such a punishment as may be a lesson to all the world.”—The King gave
orders that Bakhtyār should be brought before him. “Ungrateful wretch!”
said he, “I forgave your offences; I spared your life; I raised you to dignities
almost equal to my own; and you requite these favours by treason and
perfidy: you have entered into the recesses of my harem, and have
presumed to occupy my place.”—Bakhtyār on hearing this began to weep;
declared himself ignorant of all those transactions, and that if he had been
found in the royal apartments, he must have wandered there unconsciously.
The first Vizier solicited the King’s permission that he might go to the
harem, and inquire from the Queen all that she knew concerning this affair.
Having obtained permission, he went to the Queen, and told her, that there
were various reports on the subject of that young robber Bakhtyār, in which
she was implicated; that, as the King was exceedingly enraged against her,
the only means whereby she could appease his anger would be to accuse
Bakhtyār, and to say,—“O King! thou hast brought hither the son of a
robber; thou hast bestowed on him the name of ‘Fortune’s Favourite,’ and
hast exalted him to honours; but his baseness has at length appeared: he has
presumed to make amorous proposals to me, and has threatened, should I
not comply with his licentious desires, to use violence with me, to kill the
King, and to seize upon the throne.”
“This declaration,” said the Vizier to the Queen, “will induce the King to
order the immediate execution of Bakhtyār, and you will at the same time

reestablish yourself in his good opinion.”—The Queen was astonished, and
replied: “How can I, even to save myself, thus destroy the life of an
innocent person by a false testimony?”
“The life of Bakhtyār,” said the Vizier, “has long been forfeited to the
laws, since he exercised the profession of a robber and a murderer;
therefore, any scruples on that subject are vain; and I’ll answer at the day of
judgment for your share in this transaction.”
The Queen at last consented to follow the Vizier’s advice; and he
returned to the presence of the King, who desired to know the result of his
conference with the Queen. The artful Vizier replied: “That which I have
heard, I have not the power of relating; but the Queen herself will tell it.”
The King, having retired, sent for the Queen, and she repeated to him all
that the Vizier had instructed her to say. The King, acknowledging that he
was himself to blame, as having bestowed favours on the base-born son of a
robber, gave orders that heavy irons should be put on the feet of Bakhtyār,
and sent him to prison; declaring that in due time he should suffer such a
punishment as would strike terror into all men.
In the meantime, Bakhtyār languished in the prison, appealing to God for
relief; and the Viziers returned to their homes, devising means whereby they
might induce the King to hasten the execution of the young man.

CHAPTER II.

n the following day the second Vizier came before the King,
and, having paid his respects, recommended that Bakhtyār
should be no longer kept in prison, but led out to execution.
The King approved of this advice, and gave orders that
Bakhtyār and the executioner should be brought before him.
When they were come, he addressed the young man, and told
him that he had directed the tree of his existence to be rooted
out from the soil of his empire. Bakhtyār replied: “Long be
the King’s life! Such is my prayer, as I stand here on the eve
of departure from this world; yet, as it is every man’s duty to
endeavour by honest means to save himself, I appeal to the Almighty, who
knows my innocence. But alas! my situation is like that of the Merchant,
whom good fortune constantly avoided, and evil fortune incessantly
pursued, so that all his exertions ended in disappointment, and all his
projects failed of success.”—The King desired to hear the story of this ill-
fated Merchant, and Bakhtyār, after the usual compliments, began to relate
it as follows:

STORY OF THE ILL-FATED MERCHANT, AND HIS
ADVENTURES.

In the city of Basra there was a certain man, a merchant, who possessed
immense riches; but it was decreed that the light of prosperity should be
changed into the darkness of misfortune, so that in a short space of time
very little of all his wealth remained, and whatsoever commercial projects
he tried invariably terminated in loss.
It happened one year, that the price of corn was increased, and the
Merchant thought that, by laying out what remained of his money in
purchasing some loads of corn and keeping it till the next year, he might

profit considerably. He therefore hired a granary, purchased some corn, and
laid it by, in expectation that the price would rise.
But corn became more abundant, and consequently more cheap, the
following season. When the Merchant perceived this, he resolved to keep
that which he had in store until the next year, thinking it probable that a
barren season might succeed a plentiful one. But it happened that the next
year, so much rain fell, that most of the houses were washed away, and the
water found its way into the Merchant’s granary, where it spoiled all his
corn, and caused it to send forth a smell so intolerable, that the people of the
city compelled him to throw it away.
He was confounded by this misfortune; but after some time, finding that
he could not derive any profit from idleness or inactivity, he sold his house,
and joined a company of merchants, who were setting out on a voyage by
sea. With them, he embarked on board a vessel, and after three days and
three nights, the world became dark, the tempest arose, the billows rolled: at
length the ship was wrecked, and many of the crew perished. The Merchant,
with a few others, was saved on a plank, and cast on dry land.
Hungry and naked, he wandered into a desert, when, after advancing
some leagues, he discovered a man at a little distance. Delighted to find that
the country was inhabited, and hoping to be relieved from hunger and thirst,
which had now become almost insupportable, he directed his course
towards that man, and soon perceived an extensive and populous village,
with trees and running streams. At the entrance to this village he stopped.
The chief man, or dihkān, of the place was a person of considerable wealth,
and of great generosity; he had erected in the outlets of this village, a
summer-house, in which he happened to be when the Merchant arrived. As
soon as he discovered the stranger, he ordered his servants to bring him into
the summer-house. The stranger paid his respects, and was entertained by
the dihkān with politeness and hospitality. Having satisfied his hunger and
thirst, he related, at the desire of his host, all the circumstances of his past
life, and all the misfortunes he had undergone. The story excited
compassion in the breast of the generous dihkān, who gave the Merchant a
suit of his own clothes, and bade him not despair, for he would keep him
with himself until his affairs should be again in a prosperous condition.
After this, the dihkān gave into the Merchant’s charge the account of his
property and possessions, and said that he would allow him, for his own

share, the eleventh part of all the corn. The Merchant, much delighted, was
very diligent in superintending the concerns of his employer; and as the
harvest proved very abundant, when the corn was gathered in, he found his
portion so considerable, that he said within himself: “The dihkān most
probably will not consent to allow me such a share; I shall therefore take it
and conceal it, until the settlement of accounts, when, if he think proper to
bestow so much on me, I shall give back this.” He accordingly took this
quantity of the corn, and concealed it in a cavern; but it happened that a
thief discovered what he had done, and stole the corn away by night.
When the dihkān inspected the accounts of the harvest, and had made his
calculation of the produce, he assigned to the Merchant the eleventh part of
the corn. The Merchant returned him thanks, and acknowledged the doubts
which he had entertained, and told him how he had set apart a certain
portion of the corn, “which,” said he, “I shall now go and cause to be
deposited in the granary.” The dihkān sent two of his people with him to the
place where he had concealed the corn, but none could be found. They were
astonished, and bit the finger of amazement. When the dihkān was informed
of this circumstance, he became angry, and ordered that the Merchant
should be driven forth out of the village.
In melancholy plight, the unlucky Merchant turned his face towards the
road which led to the sea-shore. There he chanced to meet six of those
persons who gain a livelihood by diving for pearls. They knew him, and
inquired into his situation. He related to them all that had happened, and his
story so much excited their compassion that they agreed to bestow on him,
for the sake of God, whatsoever their next descent to the bottom of the sea
should produce. They accordingly, with this charitable intention, plunged all
six into the sea, and each brought up from the bottom a pearl of such
exquisite beauty that its equal could not be found amongst the treasures of
any monarch. The Merchant received from the divers those six precious
pearls, and set forward with a joyful heart.
It happened that after some time he fell into company with certain
robbers, whom he much feared, and he resolved to save part, at least, of his
property, by concealing three of the pearls in his mouth, and the other three
among his clothes; hoping that, if they should search him, they might be
contented with these, and that he might save those concealed within his
mouth. He accordingly put three of the pearls among his clothes, and the

other three into his mouth, and went on for some time without exciting any
suspicion, or attracting the notice of the robbers. But unluckily opening his
mouth to address them, the pearls fell on the ground; and when the robbers
saw them, they seized the Merchant, and so terrified him with their threats
and violence that he became senseless. The robbers, perceiving this, took up
the three pearls and went away. After some time the Merchant recovered his
senses, and was overjoyed to find that he had still three of the pearls left.
Proceeding on his journey, he arrived by night at a certain city, where he
slept; and next morning went to the shop of a jeweller, to whom he offered
the pearls for sale. The jeweller, on beholding them, was astonished; for
they far exceeded anything he had ever seen: then casting his eyes on the
mean and squalid garments of the Merchant, he immediately seized him by
the collar, and exclaimed with a loud voice, accusing the unfortunate
stranger of having stolen the pearls from his shop: a violent struggle and
dispute ensued, and at length they both proceeded to the tribunal of the
King.
The jeweller was a man of some repute in the city, and that which he said
was believed by the inhabitants. He accused the Merchant of having
contrived a hole through which he stole away a casket of gold and jewels
from his shop, and those three pearls were part of the contents of the casket.
The Merchant declared himself innocent; but the King ordered him to
deliver the pearls to the jeweller, and he was loaded with chains and thrown
into prison.
There he pined in misery and affliction, until after some time those divers
who had given him the pearls arrived in that city; and going to visit the
prison, that they might benefit by seeing the punishment of vice and
wickedness, they distributed some money among those who were confined,
and at last discovered the Merchant in a corner, loaded with chains. They
were astonished, and inquired into the occasion of his disgrace. He related
the whole affair, and they, feeling great indignation on account of the
injurious treatment which their friend had suffered, desired him not to
despair, as they would soon procure him his liberty. They immediately
hastened from the prison to the palace. The chief of them was a man whom
the King much respected; and when he had related the story of the
Merchant, and of the pearls which they had given him, the King became
convinced of the jeweller’s guilt, and instantly ordered him to be seized and

brought before him, and at the same time that the Merchant should be
released from prison. When the jeweller appeared before the King, his
confusion and trembling betrayed his guilt. The King asked him why he had
thus injured a stranger; but he remained silent; and was then led away to
execution. The King caused to be proclaimed throughout the city: “Such is
to be the punishment of those who shall injure or do wrong to strangers.”
He directed also, that the property of the jeweller should be transferred to
the Merchant. Supposing that a man who had seen so much of the world,
both of prosperity and adversity, must be well qualified for the service of a
King, he ordered a splendid robe to be given to the Merchant; and desired
that he should be purified from the filth of a prison in a warm bath, and
appointed him keeper of the treasury.
The Merchant employed himself diligently in the duties of his station; but
there was a vizier who became envious of his good fortune, and resolved to
devise some stratagem whereby to effect his ruin.
The King’s daughter had a summer-house adjoining the treasury, and it
was her custom to visit this summer-house during six months of the year,
once every month. It happened that a mouse had made a hole quite through
the wall of the treasury; and one day the Merchant having reason to drive a
nail into the wall, it entered into the hole which the mouse had made, and
went through and caused a brick to fall out on the road which led to the
Princess’s summer-house. The Merchant went immediately and stopped up
the hole with clay.
The malicious vizier, having discovered this circumstance, hastened to
the King, and informed him that he had seen the Merchant making a hole
through the wall of the summer-house, and that, when he had found himself
detected, he had, in shame and confusion, stopped it up with clay. The King
was astonished at this information: he arose and proceeded to the treasury,
where finding the Merchant’s hands yet dirty from the clay, he believed
what the vizier had told him; and on returning to his palace, ordered his
attendants to put out the Merchant’s eyes, and to turn him out at the palace-
gate. After this the King went to the summer-house, that he might pay a
visit to his daughter; but he found that she had not been there for some time,
having gone to amuse herself in the gardens. On proceeding to the treasury,
the King discovered the hole, which had evidently been the work of a
mouse. From these circumstances he began to suspect the truth of the

vizier’s information, and at last being convinced that the Merchant was
innocent, he ordered the vizier to be punished. He lamented exceedingly the
hard fate of the Merchant, and was much grieved at his own precipitancy;
but his condolence and his sorrow were of no avail.

Having related this story, Bakhtyār observed, that the King would have
prevented all this distress had he taken some time to inquire into the affair,
and entreated a further respite, that he might be enabled to prove his
innocence.—The King, being pleased with the recital of this story, complied
with Bakhtyār’s request, and ordered him to be taken back to prison for that
day.

CHAPTER III.

n the following morning the third Vizier presented himself
before the King, and, having paid his respects, expressed
many apprehensions that the indulgence shown to Bakhtyār
might prove of dangerous consequences, by encouraging
other criminals, and strongly advised his speedy execution.
The King, having sent for Bakhtyār, the executioner prepared
to blindfold him; but he petitioned for mercy, and said: “The
imprisonment of suspected persons is certainly a just measure,
as the guilt or innocence of the prisoner will probably be
ascertained in the course of time; but if a King will not have
patience, but punish without due investigation of the offence, what can
result from such precipitancy but affliction and repentance? Thus it
happened to a son of the King of Aleppo, whose impatience occasioned the
loss of that kingdom, and infinite misery.”
The King’s curiosity being excited, he desired Bakhtyār to relate the
story of the Impatient Prince of Aleppo; and Bakhtyār, having kissed the
ground of obedience, thus began:

STORY OF THE IMPATIENT PRINCE OF ALEPPO.

The King of Aleppo was an upright and generous monarch, who
protected strangers and permitted not any person to oppress or insult
another; and he had a son named Bihzād, a young man of excellent genius,
polite accomplishments, and many good qualities; but so very impatient,
that he would not admit a moment’s delay in the gratification of any desire,
whatsoever might be the consequences of his rash haste.
It happened once, that, being seated with several of his companions, he
desired one of them to relate his adventures. The young man accordingly
began his story in the following words:

“About two years ago, being in possession of considerable wealth, I
purchased several beasts of burthen, and, having loaded them with various
commodities, I undertook a journey, but on the way was attacked by
robbers, who plundered me of all my property, and I proceeded with a
disconsolate heart until night came on, and I found myself in a place
without any vestige of inhabitants. I took shelter beneath a great tree, and
had remained there for some time, when I perceived a light, and several
persons who passed by with much festivity and mirth. After them came
some who held vessels full of burning incense, so very fragrant, that the
desert was perfumed by its delightful odour. When they had passed on, a
magnificent litter appeared, before which walked several damsels holding
torches, scented with ambergris. In this litter was seated a fair one, of such
exquisite beauty, that the radiance of her charms far exceeded the light of
the torches, and quite dazzled my fascinated eyes.”
When the young man had advanced thus far in his narrative, Bihzād
began to show symptoms of impatience, having fallen in love with the lady,
though unseen. The young man continued his story, and said:
“The next morning I proceeded on my journey, and arrived at the city of
Rūm, the capital and residence of the Kaisar, or Greek Emperor; and having
made inquiries, I was informed that the beautiful damsel whom I had seen
was the Princess Nigārīn, daughter of the Kaisar, who had a villa at a little
distance from the city, to which she sometimes went for recreation.”
Here the young man concluded his narrative, and Prince Bihzād
immediately arose and hastened to the house of the vizier, and said: “You
must go this moment to my father, and tell him that if he is solicitous about
my happiness, he will provide me a wife without delay.” The vizier
accordingly went to the palace and informed the King of Bihzād’s wishes.
The King desired the vizier to assure the Prince that he only waited to find a
suitable match for him; but that, if he had fixed his affections on any fair
object, he would do everything in his power to obtain her for him.
This being reported to Bihzād, he sent back the vizier with another
message to the King, informing him that the object of his choice was the
Princess Nigārīn, the lovely daughter of the Kaisar of Rūm, and requesting
that ambassadors might be sent to ask her in marriage for him. The King
replied to this message, and said: “Tell Bihzād that it were in vain for me to
send ambassadors on such an errand to the Kaisar: he is the powerful

Emperor of Rūm, and I am only a petty sovereign of Aleppo; we are of
different religions and of different manners; and there is not any probability
that he would comply with our demand.”
The vizier returned to Bihzād, and delivered him this message from his
father. The impatient Prince immediately declared that, if the King would
not send ambassadors to solicit the Kaisar’s daughter in marriage for him,
he would set out on that errand himself.
The King, being informed of his son’s resolution, sent for the Prince,
whom he loved with a tender affection, and at last consented that
ambassadors should be despatched to Rūm. The Kaisar received with due
respect the ambassadors from the King of Aleppo; but when they disclosed
the object of their mission, he replied, with great indignation, and informed
them, that no one should obtain his daughter without paying the sum of one
hundred lacs of dīnars (or pieces of gold); and that whoever should consent
to pay that sum might become her husband.
The ambassadors returned to Aleppo, and related to the King all that the
Kaisar had said. “Did I not tell you,” said the King to Bihzād, “that the
Greek Emperor would refuse his consent to so unequal a match?”—“He has
not refused his consent,” replied Bihzād; “but he requires money, which
must be immediately sent.”—The King declared that he could not make up
so considerable a sum; but, at Bihzād’s request, having collected all his
wealth, he found he possessed thirty lacs. Bihzād then urged him to sell his
male and female slaves, and all his household goods. Having done so, he
found that they produced twenty lacs.
Then Bihzād advised the King to make up the requisite sum, by
compelling his subjects to contribute their money; but the King was not
willing to distress his people. However, by the persuasion of Bihzād, he
extorted from them an additional sum of twenty lacs. Having thus collected
seventy lacs of dīnars, Bihzād proposed that they should be immediately
transmitted to the Kaisar of Rūm. Letters were accordingly written, and
messengers despatched with the money, who were instructed to say, that the
remaining sum of thirty lacs should speedily be sent after. When these
messengers arrived at Rūm, they presented the letters and gifts to the
Kaisar, with the money. He treated the messengers with great respect,
accepted the money, and agreed to the proposed conditions; after which
they returned to Aleppo, and reported their success. Bihzād then urged his

father to collect by any means the thirty lacs of dīnars still deficient, either
by a forced loan from the merchants, or by taxing the peasants of the
country; but the King advised him to be patient, and wait until they should
recover from the effects of the late exactions; and said: “You have already
rendered me poor, and now you wish to complete my ruin, and occasion the
loss of my kingdom.”
Bihzād desired his father to keep his kingdom, and declared his intention
of setting out immediately. The King, much afflicted at the thought of his
son’s departure, entreated him to wait one year, that the people might forget
the sums they had already paid; but Bihzād would not consent. The King
then begged that he would be patient for six months; this also he refused.
—“Wait even three months,” said his father.—“I cannot wait three days,”
said the impatient youth. On which the King, disgusted with such obstinacy,
desired his son to go wherever he pleased. Bihzād immediately retired; and,
having clothed himself in armour, with two confidential servants set out
upon his journey.
It happened that one morning they overtook a caravan, consisting of a
hundred camels loaded with valuable commodities, proceeding on the way
to Rūm. The chief of this caravan was a man of considerable wealth, with a
numerous train of attendants, and he was held in great esteem by the Kaisar.
When Bihzād and his two companions espied the caravan, they rushed
forward with loud shouts, but were instantly seized, and their hands and feet
bound: they were then brought before the chief, who ordered that they
should be flung upon a camel. When they arrived at Rūm, the chief took
Bihzād to his own house, and kept him confined for three days.
On the third day, having looked attentively at his prisoner, he discovered
in his air and manner something that bespoke his princely origin and
education. He inquired into the circumstances of his adventure, but Bihzād
answered only with tears. The chief then said: “If you tell me the truth of
this affair, I will set you free; and if you do not, I shall inform the Kaisar of
your offence, and he will cause you to be hanged.”
Bihzād, not knowing what else to do, related his whole history to the
chief of the caravan, who, moved with compassion, desired him not to
despair, for he would lend him the thirty lacs of dīnars, and procure him the
Kaisar’s daughter, on condition of his being repaid whenever Bihzād should
become king.

To this Bihzād gladly consented; and the chief, having unloosed his
fetters, clothed him in royal garments, and dressed his servants also in
splendid attire; and having given him thirty lacs of dīnars, he led him to the
palace: then he left Bihzād at the door, whilst he himself went in and
informed the Kaisar that the Prince of Aleppo was waiting for the honour of
presenting to his Majesty the thirty lacs of dīnars, which he had brought
sealed up.
The Kaisar consented to receive Bihzād, who, on being introduced, paid
due homage, and was treated with great kindness, and placed by the
Kaisar’s side. After much conversation, the Kaisar desired him to declare
the object of his wishes, and promised that, whatever it might be, he would
endeavour to procure it for him. Bihzād replied, that his only desire in this
world was to obtain the Princess for his wife. The Kaisar begged that he
would wait ten days; but to this delay he would not consent. The Kaisar
then entreated that he would be patient for five days; and this also he
refused to do.—“At least,” said the Kaisar, “wait three days, that the women
may have time to make the necessary preparations.” But Bihzād would not
consent.—“This one day, however,” then said the Kaisar, “you must be
patient, and to-morrow you shall espouse my daughter.”—“Since it must be
so,” replied Bihzād, “I’ll wait this day, but no longer.”
The Kaisar gave orders that the Princess should be brought to the garden
of the palace, and all the nobles assembled, and banquets provided for the
entertainment of Bihzād. When night came, Bihzād, having indulged in
wine, became impatient to behold the Princess, and, going to the summer-
house, in which she was, he discovered an aperture in the wall, to which he
applied his eye. The Princess at that moment happened to perceive the
aperture, and found that some person was looking at her through it. She
immediately ordered her attendants to burn out his eyes with red-hot irons.
This order was put in execution without delay. The unhappy Bihzād,
crying aloud, fell on the ground, deprived of sight. His voice being at length
recognised, the servants ran out and beheld him rolling in agony on the
ground. They exclaimed, and tore their hair, but all in vain. The news was
brought to the Kaisar, who said: “What can be done? This silly youth has
brought the evil on himself by his own impatience, and has occasioned the
loss of his own eyes.” He then directed that Bihzād should be sent back to
Aleppo, as he could not give his daughter to a person deprived of sight.

When the unhappy youth returned to Aleppo, his father and mother, and
the inhabitants of the city, all wept at his misfortunes; but their compassion
was of no avail. After some time the King died; but the people introduced a
stranger, and placed him on the throne, saying that a blind man was not
capable of governing. And the remainder of Bihzād’s life passed away in
misery, and in repentance for his rashness and impatience.
“Now,” added Bakhtyār, “had that unfortunate young man waited until
night, the Princess Nigārīn would have been his, and he would have saved
his eyes and his kingdom, and not have had occasion to repent of
impatience. If the King will send me back to prison, he will not be sorry for
the delay, as my innocence will hereafter appear; and if he hasten my
execution, any future repentance will not avail.”
The King ordered Bakhtyār to go back to prison for that day.

CHAPTER IV.

n the following day, the fourth Vizier presented himself before
the King, and, having paid his respects, advised him not to
defer any longer the execution of Bakhtyār. The King
immediately gave orders that the young man should be
brought from the prison; the executioner with a drawn sword
stood ready to perform his part, when Bakhtyār exclaimed:
“Long be the King’s life! Let him not be precipitate in putting
me to death; but as I have, in the story of Bihzād, described
the fatal consequences of rashness, let me be permitted to
celebrate the blessings attendant on forbearance, and recount
the adventures of Abū Saber, the Patient Man.”
The King’s curiosity being excited, he desired Bakhtyār to relate the
story, which he accordingly began in the following words:

STORY OF ABŪ SABER; OR, THE PATIENT MAN.

There lived in a certain village, a worthy man, whose principal riches
consisted in a good understanding and an inexhaustible stock of patience.
On account of those qualifications he was so much respected by all his
neighbours, that his advice was followed on every occasion of importance.
It happened once that a tax-gatherer came to this village, and extorted
from the poor peasants their miserable pittance, with such circumstances of
cruelty and injustice that they could not any longer submit to the
oppression: a number of the young men, having assembled in a body, slew
the tax-gatherer and fled.
The other inhabitants, who had not been concerned in this transaction,
came to Abū Saber, and begged that he would accompany them to the King,
and relate to his Majesty the circumstances as they had happened; but Abū
Saber told them, that he had drank of the sherbet of patience, and would not

intermeddle in such affairs. When the King was informed of the tax-
gatherer’s death, he ordered his servants to punish the people of that village,
and to strip them of all their property.
After two years it happened that a lion took up his abode in the
neighbourhood, and destroyed so many children that no person would
venture to cultivate the ground, or attend the harvest, from fear of being
devoured. In this distress the villagers went to Abū Saber, and entreated him
to associate with them in some measure for their relief; but he replied, that
patience was his only remedy.
It happened soon after, that the King, being on a hunting-party, arrived in
the vicinity of this place; and the inhabitants, presenting themselves before
him, related the story of the tax-gatherer, the consequences of the King’s
anger, and their dread of the lion. The King pitying them, asked why they
had not sent some person to inform him of their distresses. They replied,
that Abū Saber, the chief man of the village, whose assistance they solicited,
had declined interfering in the matter. The King, hearing this, was enraged,
and gave orders that Abū Saber should be driven forth from the village.
These orders were instantly put in execution, and the King sent people to
destroy the lion.
With a heavy heart, Abū Saber commenced his journey, accompanied by
his wife and two sons. It happened that they were soon overtaken by some
robbers, who, not perceiving any thing more valuable of which they might
strip him, resolved to carry off the two boys and sell them; they accordingly
seized the poor children and bore them away. The wife began to cry and
weep most bitterly; but Abū Saber recommended patience. They then
proceeded on their journey, and travelled all night and all day, till, faint
from hunger and thirst, weary and fatigued, they at length approached a
village, in the outlets of which Abū Saber left his wife, whilst he went to
procure some food. He was employed on this business in the village, when
a robber happened to discover the woman, and seeing that she was a
stranger, handsome, and unprotected, he seized her with violence, and
declared that he would take her as his wife. After many tears and
supplications, finding the robber determined to carry her away, she
contrived to write upon the ground with blood, which she had procured by
biting her own finger. When Abū Saber returned from the village, and

sought his wife in the spot where he had left her, the words which she had
written sufficiently explained the occasion of her absence.
He wept at this new misfortune, and implored the Almighty to bestow
patience on his wife, and enable her to bear whatever should befall her.
With a disconsolate heart, Abū Saber proceeded on his solitary journey,
until he came to the gate of a certain city where a King resided, who was
very tyrannical and impious. And it happened at this time that he had
ordered a summer-house to be erected, and every stranger who approached
the city was by his command seized and compelled to work, guarded day
and night, and fed with a scanty portion of coarse black bread.
Abū Saber was immediately seized and dragged to the building; when a
heavy load was placed upon his shoulders, and he was obliged to ascend a
ladder of seventy steps. In this distress he consoled himself by reflections
on the advantages of patience, the only remedy within his power, for the
evils which had occurred.
It happened on this day, that the King was sitting in a corner of the
building, superintending the work, when he overheard Abū Saber inquire of
another man, what time they might expect to be relieved from this excessive
fatigue. The man informed Abū Saber that it was three months since he had
been thus laboriously employed, and languishing for a sight of his beloved
wife and children. “During this space of time,” added he, “I have not had
any intelligence of them; and I long for permission to visit them, were it but
for one night.” Abū Saber desired him to be patient; for Providence would
relieve him at last from the oppression under which he suffered.
All this conversation the King overheard. After some time Abū Saber,
being faint from excessive fatigue, fell senseless from the steps of the
ladder, by which accident his legs and arms were dislocated. The King,
however, provoked to anger by what he had heard, ordered that Abū Saber
should be brought before him, and, having upbraided him with
inconsistency in recommending patience to another person, when he
himself could not practise it, he ordered him to be punished with fifty
stripes and thrown into prison. This sentence was immediately put into
execution, and Abū Saber, supporting his head on the knees of patience,
implored the protection of the Almighty, with perfect submission to His
divine dispensations.

After some time had elapsed, it happened that the King was affected one
night by a violent cholic, of which he died in excessive agony; and as he did
not leave any heir to the crown, the people of the city assembled in order to
elect a King.
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
answer should be chosen King. In consequence of this resolution, they
proceeded to the prison, and asked the three questions, to which none of the
prisoners replied, except Abū Saber, whose answers were so ingenious, that
he was borne triumphantly away, washed in a warm bath, clothed in royal
garments, and placed upon the throne; after which all the inhabitants came
and paid him homage. And he governed with such mildness and wisdom,
that the people night and day offered up their prayers for him; and the fame
of his justice and liberality was spread all over the world.
One day it happened that two men attended at his tribunal and demanded
an audience. Abū Saber caused them to be brought before him. One of those
men was a merchant, and the other the robber who had carried off the sons
of Abū Saber. The robber he immediately recognised, but was silent. The
merchant then addressed him, and said: “Long be the King’s life! This man
sold to me two boys; and after some time these boys began to say, ‘We are
freemen—we are the sons of a Mussulman; and that man carried us away
by force, and sold us, at which time, from fear of him, we were afraid to say
that we were freemen.’ Now,” added the merchant, “let the King order this
man to return me the money, and take back the boys.”
Abū Saber then asked the robber what he had to say. The man answered,
that it was the merchant’s fault, who had not taken good care of the boys;
but that for his own part he had always treated them well, which induced
them to make this complaint, in order that he might take them back. Abū
Saber then sent for the two boys, who proved to be his own sons. He knew
them, but they had not any recollection of him. He desired them to explain
this matter; and they declared that the robber had carried them away from
their father and mother to his own dwelling, and had desired them not to
say, on any account, that they were freemen; but that when sold as slaves
they could not any longer suppress their complaints. Abū Saber, much
affected by their story, ordered them to tell their names, and then sent them

to his own apartments; after which he caused the robber to be imprisoned,
and the merchant’s money to be deposited in the public treasury.
On another day it happened that two persons in like manner solicited an
audience of the King. When they were admitted, one proved to be the wife
of Abū Saber, and the other the man who had taken her away by force. But
Abū Saber did not know his wife, because she wore her veil. The robber,
having paid his respects, informed the King that this woman, who had lived
with him for some time, would not consent to perform the duties of a wife.
Abū Saber addressed the woman, and asked her why she refused to obey
her husband. She immediately answered, that this man was not her husband;
that she was the wife of a person named Abū Saber; and that this man had
taken her to his house against her inclination.
Abū Saber ordered his servants to take the woman to his harem; and,
having made a proclamation and assembled all the inhabitants of the city,
caused the robber who had taken away his sons and the man who had
carried off his wife to be brought before them; and, having explained the
nature of their offences and related the circumstances of his own story, he
gave orders for their execution.
After this he passed the remainder of his life in peaceful enjoyment of the
supreme power, which at his death devolved upon his son, and continued
for many generations in the family, as the reward of his patience.

Here Bakhtyār concluded his story, and by order of the King was sent
back to prison.

CHAPTER V.

hen the next morning arrived, the fifth Vizier waited upon the
King, and represented the danger that might attend any further
delay in the execution of Bakhtyār, as the indulgence which
had been shown to him would be an encouragement to others,
and induce them to commit offences, by giving them hopes of
impunity. In consequence of this, the King ordered everything
to be prepared for the execution of the young man, who, being
brought before him, entreated his Majesty for a longer respite, and assured
him that he would, on a future day, be as rejoiced at having spared his life,
as a certain King of Yemen was at having pardoned the offence of his slave.
The King desired Bakhtyār to relate the particular circumstances of this
story; and he accordingly began it in the following manner:

STORY OF THE KING OF YEMEN AND HIS SLAVE ABRAHA.

In former times the kingdom of Yemen was governed by a very powerful
but tyrannical Prince, who, for the slightest offences, inflicted the most
severe punishments. He had, however, a certain slave, named Abraha, of
whom he was very fond. This young man was the son of the King of
Zangībār, who by chance had fallen into slavery, and never disclosed the
secret of his birth.
Abraha used frequently to attend the King of Yemen on his hunting
parties. During one of these excursions, it happened that a deer bounded
before the King’s horse: he discharged some arrows at it without effect;
when Abraha, who was close behind him, spurred on his horse, and aimed a
broad-bladed arrow at the deer; but it so happened that the arrow passed by
the side of the King’s head, and cut off one of his ears. The King, in the first
impulse of anger, ordered his attendants to seize Abraha; but afterwards
declared that he pardoned his offence.

They then returned to the city; and, after some time had elapsed, having
gone on board a vessel and sailed into the ocean, a tempest arose, and the
ship was wrecked, and the King saved himself by clinging to a plank, and
was driven on the coast of Zangībār.
Having returned thanks to Providence for his preservation, he proceeded
till he reached the chief city of that country. As it was night, the doors of the
houses and all the shops were shut; and, not knowing where he might find a
better place of repose, he sheltered himself under the shade of a merchant’s
house. It happened that some thieves, in the course of the night, broke open
the house, and having murdered the merchant and his servants, plundered it
of everything that was valuable. The King of Yemen, overcome by fatigue,
had slept the whole time, unconscious of this transaction; but some of the
blood had by accident fallen on his clothes.
When morning came, everybody was employed in endeavouring to
discover the murderers of the merchant; and the stranger, being found so
near the house, with blood upon his clothes, was immediately seized and
dragged before the tribunal of the King.
The King of Zangībār asked him why he had chosen his capital as the
scene of such an infamous murder; and desired him to acknowledge who
were his accomplices, and how he had disposed of the merchant’s property.
The King of Yemen declared that he was innocent, and perfectly ignorant of
the whole transaction; that he was of a princely family; and, having been
shipwrecked, was driven on the coast, and had by accident reposed himself
under the shade of that house when the murder was committed. The King of
Zangībār then inquired of him by what means his clothes had become
stained with blood, and finding that the stranger could not account for that
circumstance, he ordered the officers of justice to lead him away to
execution. The unfortunate King of Yemen entreated for mercy, and
asserted that his innocence would on some future day become apparent. The
King consented to defer his execution for a while, and he was sent to
prison.
On one side of the prison there was an extensive plain, with a running
stream, to which every day the prisoners were brought, that they might
wash themselves; and it was the custom that once every week the King
resorted to that plain, where he gave public audience to persons of all ranks.
On one of those days the King of Zangībār was on the plain, surrounded by

his troops, and the prisoners were sitting by the side of the stream, along
which ran a wall of the prison. 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.
At this moment a crow chanced to light upon the wall, which the King of
Yemen perceived, and taking up a large flat bone, he threw it with his
utmost strength, and exclaimed, “If I succeed in hitting that crow, I shall
obtain my liberty,” but he missed his aim; the bone passed by the crow, and
striking the cheek of Abraha, cut off one of his ears. Abraha immediately
caused an inquiry to be made, and the person who had thrown the bone to
be brought before the King, who called him a base-born dog, and ordered
the executioner to cut off his head. The King of Yemen sued for mercy, and
requested that at most he might be punished according to the law of
retaliation, which would not award a head for an ear. The King gave orders
that one of his ears should be cut off; and the executioner was preparing to
fulfil this sentence when he perceived that the prisoner had already lost an
ear.
This circumstance occasioned much surprise, and excited the King’s
curiosity. He told the prisoner that he would pardon him, on condition of his
relating the true story of his adventures.
The King of Yemen immediately disclosed his real name and rank,
described the accident by which he lost his ear, the shipwreck which he
suffered, and the circumstances which occasioned his imprisonment.
At the conclusion of his narrative, Abraha, having recognised his former
master, fell at his feet, embraced him, and wept. They mutually forgave
each other; and the King of Yemen, being taken to a warm bath, was clothed
in royal garments, mounted on a noble charger, and conducted to the palace;
after which he was furnished with a variety of splendid robes and suits of
armour, horses, slaves, and damsels. During two months he was feasted and
entertained with the utmost hospitality and magnificence, attended
constantly by Abraha. In the course of this time, the robbers who had
murdered the merchant were discovered and punished; and after that the
King of Yemen returned to his own country.

Bakhtyār having thus demonstrated that appearances might be very
strong against an innocent person, the King resolved to defer his execution
for another day, and he was accordingly led back to prison.

CHAPTER VI.

n the following day the sixth Vizier, having paid his respects
to the King, represented the danger of letting an enemy live
when in one’s power, and, by many artful speeches, induced
his Majesty to order the execution of Bakhtyār, who was
immediately brought from the prison. When he came before
the King, he persisted in declaring his innocence, and advised
him not to be precipitate, like King Dādīn, in putting to death
a person on the malicious accusation of an enemy. The King,
desirous of hearing the story to which Bakhtyār alluded,
ordered him to relate it; and he began as follows:

STORY OF KING DĀDĪN AND HIS TWO VIZIERS.

There was a certain King named Dādīn, who had two viziers, Kārdār and
Kāmgār; and the daughter of Kāmgār was the most lovely creature of the
age. It happened that the King, proceeding on a hunting excursion, took
along with him the father of this beautiful damsel, and left the charge of
government in the hands of Kārdār.
One day, during the warm season, Kārdār, passing near the palace of
Kāmgār, beheld this fair damsel walking in the garden, and became
enamoured of her beauty; but having reason to believe that her father would
not consent to bestow her on him, he resolved to devise some stratagem
whereby he might obtain the object of his desires. “At the King’s return
from the chase,” said he, “I’ll represent the charms of this damsel in such
glowing colours, that he will not fail to demand her in marriage; and I’ll
then contrive to excite his anger against her, in consequence of which he
shall deliver her to me for punishment; and thus my designs shall be
accomplished.”

One day after the King’s return from the hunting party, he desired Kārdār
to inform him of the principal events which had occurred during his
absence. Kārdār replied that his Majesty’s subjects had all been solicitous
for his prosperity; but that he had himself seen one of the most astonishing
objects of the universe. The King’s curiosity being thus excited, he ordered
Kārdār to describe what he had seen; and Kārdār dwelt with such praises on
the fascinating charms of Kāmgār’s daughter, that the King became
enamoured of her, and said: “But how is this damsel to be obtained?”—
Kārdār replied: “There is not any difficulty in this business; it is not
necessary to employ either money or messengers: your Majesty needs only
to acquaint her father with your wishes.”
The King approved of this counsel, and having sent for Kāmgār,
mentioned the affair to him accordingly. Kāmgār, with due submission,
declared that if he possessed a hundred daughters they should all be at his
Majesty’s command; but begged permission to retire and inform the damsel
of the honour designed for her. Having obtained leave, he hastened to his
daughter, and related to her all that had passed between the King and him.
The damsel expressed her dislike to the proposed connection; and her
father, dreading the King’s anger in case of a refusal, knew not how to act.
“Contrive some delay,” said she; “solicit leave of absence for a few days,
and let us fly from this country!” Kāmgār approved of this advice; and
having waited on the King, obtained leave to absent himself from court for
ten days, under pretence of making the preparations necessary for a female
on the eve of matrimony; and when night came on, he fled from the city
with his daughter.
Next day the King was informed of their flight; in consequence of which
he sent off two hundred servants to seek them in various directions, and the
officious Kārdār set out also in pursuit of them. After ten days they were
surprised by the side of a well, taken and bound, and brought before the
King, who, in his anger, dashed out the brains of Kāmgār; then looking on
the daughter of the unfortunate man, her beauty so much affected him, that
he sent her to his palace, and appointed servants to attend her, besides a
cook, who, at his own request, was added to her establishment. After some
time Kārdār became impatient, and enraged at the failure of his project; but
he resolved to try the success of another scheme.

It happened that the encroachments of a powerful enemy rendered the
King’s presence necessary among the troops; and on setting out to join the
army, he committed the management of affairs and the government of the
city to Kārdār, whose mind was wholly filled with stratagems for getting
the daughter of Kāmgār into his power.
One day he was passing near the palace, and discovered her sitting alone
on the balcony; to attract her attention, he threw up a piece of brick or tile,
and on her looking down to see from whence it came she beheld Kārdār. He
addressed her with the usual salutation, which she returned. He then began
to declare his admiration of her beauty, and the violence of his love, which
deprived him of repose both day and night; and concluded by urging her to
elope with him, saying that he would take as much money as they could
possibly want; or, if she would consent, he was ready to destroy the King by
poison, and seize upon the throne himself.
The daughter of Kāmgār replied to this proposal by upbraiding Kārdār
with his baseness and perfidy. When he asked her how she could ever fix
her affections on the man who had killed her father, she answered, that such
had been the will of God, and she was resolved to submit accordingly.
Having spoken thus, she retired. Kārdār, fearing lest she should relate to the
King what had passed between them, hastened to meet him as he returned
in triumph after conquering his enemies; and whilst walking along by the
side of the King’s horse, began to inform his Majesty of all that had
happened in his absence. Having mentioned several occurrences, he added,
that one circumstance was of such a nature that he could not prevail on
himself to relate it, for it was such as the King would be very much
displeased at hearing.
The King’s curiosity being thus excited, he ordered Kārdār to relate this
occurrence; and he, declaring that it was a most ungrateful task, informed
him that it was a maxim of the wise men: “When you have killed the
serpent, you should also kill its young.” He then proceeded to relate that,
one day during the warm season, being seated near the door of the harem,
he overheard some voices, and his suspicions being excited, he concealed
himself behind the hangings, and listened attentively, when he heard the
daughter of Kāmgār express her affection for the cook, who, in return,
declared his attachment; and they spoke of poisoning the King in revenge
for his having killed her father. “I had not patience,” added Kārdār, “to

listen any longer.”—At this intelligence the King changed colour with rage
and indignation, and on arriving at the palace, ordered the unfortunate cook
to be instantly cut in two. He then sent for the daughter of Kāmgār, and
upbraided her with the intention of destroying him by poison. She
immediately perceived that this accusation proceeded from the malevolence
of Kārdār, and was going to speak in vindication of herself, when the King
ordered her to be put to death; but being dissuaded by an attendant from
killing a woman, he revoked the sentence of death; and she was tied hands
and feet, and placed upon a camel, which was turned into a dreary
wilderness, where there was neither water nor shade, nor any trace of
cultivation.
Here she suffered from the intense heat and thirst, to such a degree that,
expecting every moment to be her last, she resigned herself to the will of
Providence, conscious of her own innocence. Just then the camel lay down,
and on that spot where they were a fountain of delicious water sprang forth;
the cords which bound her hands and feet dropped off: she refreshed herself
by a hearty draught of the water, and fervently returned thanks to Heaven
for this blessing and her wonderful preservation. On this the most verdant
and fragrant herbage appeared around the borders of the fountain; it became
a blooming and delightful spot, and the camel placed himself so as to afford
his lovely companion a shade and shelter from the sunbeams.
It happened that one of the King’s camel-keepers was at this time in
pursuit of some camels which had wandered into the desert, and without
which he dared not return to the city. He had sought them for several days
amidst hills and forests without any success. At length on coming to this
spot he beheld the daughter of Kāmgār and the camel, which at first he
thought was one of those he sought, and the clear fountain with the verdant
banks, where neither grass nor water had ever been seen before. Astonished
at this discovery, he resolved not to interrupt the lady, who was engaged in
prayer; but when she had finished, he addressed her, and was so charmed by
her gentleness and piety, that he offered to adopt her as his child, and
expressed his belief that, through the efficacy of her prayers, he should
recover the strayed camels.
This good man’s offer she thankfully accepted; and having partaken of a
fowl and some bread which he had with him, at his request she prayed for
the recovery of his camels. As soon as she had concluded her prayer, the

camels appeared on the skirts of the wilderness, and of their own accord
approached the camel-keeper.
He then represented to the daughter of Kāmgār the danger of remaining
all night in the wilderness, which was the haunt of many wild beasts; and
proposed that she should return with him to the city, and dwell with him in
his house, where he would provide for her a retired apartment, in which she
might perform her devotions without interruption. To this proposal she
consented, and being mounted on her camel, she returned to the city, and
arrived at the house of her companion at the time of evening prayer. Here
she resided for some time, employing herself in exercises of piety and
devotion.
One day the camel-keeper, being desired by the King to relate his past
adventures, mentioned, among other circumstances, the losing of his
camels, the finding them through the efficacy of a young woman’s prayers,
the discovery of a spring where none had been before, and his adopting the
damsel as his daughter: he concluded by telling the King that she was now
at his house, and employed day and night in acts of devotion.
The King, on hearing this, expressed an earnest wish that he might be
allowed to see this young woman, and prevail on her to intercede with
Providence in his behalf. The camel-keeper, having consented, returned at
once to his house accompanied by the King, who waited at the door of the
apartment where the daughter of Kāmgār was engaged in prayer. When she
had concluded he approached, and with astonishment recognised her.
Having tenderly embraced her, he wept, and entreated her forgiveness. This
she readily granted, but begged that he would conceal himself in the
apartment whilst she should converse with Kārdār, whom she sent for.
When he arrived, and beheld her with a thousand expressions of
fondness, he inquired the means whereby she had escaped; and he told her
that on the day when the King had banished her into the wilderness, he had
sent people to seek her, and to bring her to him. “How much better would it
have been,” added he, “had you followed my advice, and agreed to my
proposal of poisoning the King, who, I said, would endeavour to destroy
you, as he had killed your father! But you rejected my advice, and declared
yourself ready to submit to whatsoever Providence should decree.
Hereafter,” continued he, “you will pay more attention to my words. But
now let us not think of what is past: I am your slave, and you are dearer to

me than my own eyes!” So saying, he attempted to clasp the daughter of
Kāmgār in his arms, when the King, who was concealed behind the
hangings, rushed furiously on him, and put him to death. After this he
conducted the damsel to his palace, and constantly lamented his
precipitancy in having killed her father.

Here Bakhtyār concluded the story; and having requested a further
respite, that he might have an opportunity of proving his innocence, he was
sent back to prison by order of the King.

CHAPTER VII.

he Seventh Vizier, on the following day, approached the King,
and having told him that his lenity towards Bakhtyār was
made the subject of public conversation, added many
arguments to procure an order for the execution of that
unfortunate young man. The King, changing colour with
anger, sent immediately for the Queen, and asked her advice
concerning Bakhtyār. She declared that he deserved death; in
consequence of which the King ordered his attendants to bring
him from the prison. When he came into the royal presence,
he begged for mercy, saying: “My innocence will appear
hereafter; and though your Majesty can easily put to death a living man,
you cannot restore a dead man to life.”—“How,” said the King, “can you
deny your guilt, since the women of the harem all bear witness against
you?”—Bakhtyār replied: “Women, for their own purposes, often devise
falsehoods, and are very expert in artifice and fraud, as appears from the
story of the daughter of the King of `Irāk and her adventures with the King
of Abyssinia, which, if your Majesty permit, I shall briefly relate.”—Having
obtained permission, he began the story as follows:

STORY OF THE KING OF ABYSSINIA, SHOWING THE ARTIFICE
OF WOMEN.

It is related that Abyssinia was once governed by a certain monarch,
whose armies were very numerous, and his treasury well filled; but not
having any enemy to engage him in war, he neglected his troops, and
withheld their pay, so that they were reduced to great distress, and began to
murmur, and at last made their complaints to the Vizier. He, pitying their
situation, promised that he would take measures for their relief, and desired
them to be patient for a little while. He then considered within himself what

steps he should take; and at length, knowing the King’s inclination to
women, and understanding that the Princess of `Irāk was uncommonly
beautiful, he resolved to praise her charms in such extravagant language
before the King, as to induce him to demand her from her father, who, from
his excessive fondness, would not probably consent to bestow her on him,
and thus a war would ensue, in which case the troops should be employed,
and their arrears paid off.
Pleased with the ingenuity of this stratagem, the vizier hastened to the
King, and after conversing for some time on various subjects, he contrived
to mention the King of `Irāk, and immediately described the beauty of his
daughter in such glowing colours, that the King became enamoured, and
consulted the vizier on the means whereby he might hope to obtain
possession of that lovely Princess. The vizier replied, that the first step was
to send ambassadors to the King of `Irāk, soliciting his daughter in
marriage. In consequence of this advice, some able and discreet persons
were despatched as ambassadors to `Irāk. On their arrival in that country,
the King received them courteously; but when they disclosed the object of
their mission he became angry, and declared that he would not comply with
their demand.
The ambassadors returned to Abyssinia, and having reported to the King
the unsuccessful result of their negotiation, he vowed that he would send an
army into `Irāk, and lay that country waste, unless his demands were
complied with.
In consequence of this resolution, he ordered the doors of his treasury to
be thrown open, and caused so much money to be distributed among the
soldiers that they were satisfied. From all quarters the troops assembled,
and zealously prepared for war. On the other hand, the King of `Irāk levied
his forces, and sent them to oppose the Abyssinians, who invaded his
dominions; but he did not lead them to the field himself, and they were
defeated and put to flight. When the account of this disaster reached the
King of `Irāk, he consulted his vizier, and asked what was next to be done.
The vizier candidly declared that he did not think it necessary to prolong the
war on account of a woman, and advised his Majesty to send ambassadors
with overtures of peace, and an offer of giving the Princess to the King of
Abyssinia. This advice the King of `Irāk followed, although reluctantly.

Ambassadors were despatched to the enemy with offers of peace, and a
declaration of the King’s consent to the marriage of his daughter.
These terms being accepted, the Princess was sent with confidential
attendants to the King of Abyssinia, who retired with her to his own
dominions, where he espoused her; and some time passed away in festivity
and pleasure. But it happened that the King of `Irāk had some years before
given his daughter in marriage to another man, by whom she had a son; and
this boy was now grown up, and accomplished in all sciences, and such a
favourite with the King of `Irāk, that he would never permit him to be one
hour absent from him. The Princess, when obliged to leave him, felt all the
anxiety of a mother, and resolved to devise some stratagem whereby she
might enjoy his society in Abyssinia.
One day the King of Abyssinia, on some occasion, behaved harshly to the
Queen, and spoke disrespectfully of her father. She in return said: “Your
kingdom, it is true, is most fertile and abundant; but my father possesses
such a treasure as no other monarch can boast of—a youth sent to him by
the kindness of Heaven, skilled in every profound science, and
accomplished in every manly exercise; so that he rather seems to be one of
the inhabitants of Paradise than of this earth.” These praises so excited the
curiosity of the King, that he vowed he would bring this boy to his court,
were he even obliged to go himself for him. The Queen replied: “My father
would be like a distracted person were he deprived, even for an hour, of this
boy’s society; but some intelligent person must be sent to `Irāk in the
character of a merchant, and endeavour by every means to steal him away.”
The King approved of this advice, and chose a person well skilled in
business, who had experienced many reverses of fortune, and seen much of
the world. To this man he promised a reward of a hundred male slaves and a
hundred beautiful damsels, if he should succeed in bringing away this boy
from the King of `Irāk’s court. The man inquired the name of the boy,
which was Farrukhzād, and, disguised as a merchant, set out immediately
for `Irāk.
Having arrived there, he presented various offerings to the King; and one
day found an opportunity of conversing with the boy. At last he said: “With
such accomplishments as you possess, were you in Abyssinia for one day,
you would be rendered master of slaves and damsels, and riches of every
kind.” He then described the delights of that country, which made such an

impression on Farrukhzād, that he became disgusted with `Irāk, and
attached himself to the merchant, and said: “I have often heard of
Abyssinia, and have long wished to enjoy the pleasures which it yields. The
King’s daughter is now in that country, and if I could contrive to go there,
my happiness would be complete. But I know not how to escape from this
place, as the King will not permit me to be one hour absent from him.”
The merchant gladly undertook to devise some means for the escape of
Farrukhzād; and at last having put him into a chest, and placed him upon a
camel, he contrived one evening to carry him off unnoticed. The next day
the King of `Irāk sent messengers in all directions to seek him. They
inquired of all the caravans and travellers, but could not obtain any
intelligence concerning him. At last the merchant brought him to Abyssinia,
and the King, finding that his accomplishments and talents had not been
over-rated, was much delighted with his society; and as he had not any
child, he bestowed on him a royal robe and crown, a horse, a sword, and a
shield, and adopted him as his son, and brought him into the harem.
When the Queen beheld Farrukhzād, she wept for joy, embraced him, and
kissed him with all the fondness of a mother. It happened that one of the
servants was a witness, unperceived, of this interview. He immediately
hastened to the King, and represented the transaction in such a manner as to
excite all his jealousy and rage. However, he resolved to inquire into the
matter; but Farrukhzād did not acknowledge that the Queen was his mother;
and when he sent for her she answered his questions only by her tears. From
these circumstances he concluded that they were guilty; and accordingly he
ordered one of his attendants to take away the young man to a burying-
ground without the city, and there to cut off his head.
The attendant led Farrukhzād away, and was preparing to put the King’s
sentence into execution, but when he looked in the youth’s face, his heart
was moved with compassion, and he said, “It must have been the woman’s
fault, and not his crime;” and he resolved to save him. When he told
Farrukhzād that he would conceal him in his own house, the boy was
delighted, and promised that if ever it was in his power he would reward
him for his kindness. Having taken him to his house, the man waited on the
King, and told him that he had, in obedience to his orders, put Farrukhzād
to death.

After this the King treated his wife with the utmost coldness; and she sat
melancholy, lamenting the absence of her son. It happened that an old
woman beheld the Queen as she sat alone, weeping, in her chamber. Pitying
her situation, she approached, and humbly inquired the occasion of her
grief. The Queen made no reply; but when the old woman promised, not
only to observe the utmost secrecy, if entrusted with the story of her
misfortunes, but to find a remedy for them, she related at length all that had
happened, and disclosed the mystery of Farrukhzād’s birth.
The old woman desired the Queen to comfort herself, and said: “This
night, before the King retires to rest, you must lay yourself down, and close
your eyes, as if asleep; he will then place something, which I shall give him,
on your bosom, and will command you, by the power of the writing
contained in that, to reveal the truth. You must then begin to speak, and,
without any apprehension, repeat all that you have now told me.”
The old woman, having then found that the King was alone in his
summer-house, presented herself before him, and said: “O King, this
solitary life occasions melancholy and sadness!” The King replied that it
was not solitude which rendered him melancholy, but vexation on account
of the Queen’s infidelity, and the ingratitude of Farrukhzād, on whom he
had heaped so many favours, and whom he had adopted as his own son.
“Yet,” added he, “I am not convinced of his guilt; and since the day that I
caused him to be killed, I have not enjoyed repose, nor am I certain whether
the fault was his or the Queen’s.”
“Let not the King be longer in suspense on this subject,” said the old
woman, “I have a certain talisman, one of the talismans of Solomon, written
in Grecian characters, and in the Syrian language; if your Majesty will
watch an opportunity when the Queen shall be asleep, and lay it on her
breast, and say: ‘O thou that sleepest! by virtue of the talisman, and of the
name of God, which it contains, I conjure thee to speak to me, and to reveal
all the secrets of thy heart,’ she will immediately begin to speak, and will
declare everything that she knows, both true and false.”
The King, delighted at the hopes of discovering the truth by means of this
talisman, desired the old woman to fetch it. She accordingly went home,
and taking a piece of paper, scrawled on it some unmeaning characters,
folded it up, and tied it with a cord, and sealed it with wax; then hastened to

the King, and desired him to preserve it carefully till night should afford an
opportunity of trying its efficacy.
When it was night, the King watched until he found that the Queen was
in bed; then gently approaching, and believing her to be asleep, he laid the
talisman on her breast, and repeated the words which the old woman had
taught him. The Queen, who had also received her lesson, still affecting the
appearance of one asleep, immediately began to speak, and related all the
circumstances of her story.
On hearing this the King was much affected, and tenderly embraced the
Queen, who started from her bed as if perfectly unconscious of having
revealed the secrets of her breast. He then blamed her for not having
candidly acknowledged the circumstance of Farrukhzād’s birth, who, he
said, should have been considered as his own son.
All that night they passed in mutual condolence, and on the next morning
the King sent for the person to whom he had delivered Farrukhzād, and
desired him to point out the spot where his body lay, that he might perform
the last duty to that unfortunate youth, and ask forgiveness from his
departed spirit. The man replied: “It appears that your Majesty is ignorant
of Farrukhzād’s situation: he is at present in a place of safety; for although
you ordered me to kill him, I ventured to disobey, and have concealed him
in my house, from whence, if you permit, I shall immediately bring him.”
At this information the King was so delighted that he rewarded the man
with a splendid robe, and sent with him several attendants to bring
Farrukhzād to the palace.
On arriving in his presence, Farrukhzād threw himself at the King’s feet,
but he raised him in his arms and asked his forgiveness, and thus the affair
ended in rejoicing and festivity.

“Now,” said Bakhtyār, having concluded his story, “it appears that
women are expert in stratagems; and if Farrukhzād had been put to death,
according to the King’s command, what grief and sorrow would have been
the consequence! To avoid such,” added he, “let not your Majesty be
precipitate in ordering my execution.”
The King resolved to wait another day, and Bakhtyār was sent back to
prison.

CHAPTER VIII.

n 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:

STORY OF THE JEWEL-MERCHANT.

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 near 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,[26]
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.

CHAPTER IX.

hen 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?”

STORY OF ABŪ TEMĀM.

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.

CHAPTER X.

arly 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 Bakhtyār 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:

STORY OF THE KING OF PERSIA.

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 to-morrow 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 armour-bearer,” 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.

CONCLUSION.

t 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 Bakhtyār 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 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.

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

⁂ 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.

Notes on Chapter I.
It is customary for Muslim authors to place at the beginning of all their
compositions the Arabic invocation—
bi ’smi ’llāhi ’r-rahmānī ’r-rahīmī

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:

“In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate!
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;[27] 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.[28]—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.[29]

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.
Quatrain.

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[30] 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 Gedrasia), 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: Hafiz 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[31] 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-imafassal, “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, know 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.”[32]
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” after 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[33]; besides the dress, which is complete in all
its parts.”[34]—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 Sindibād 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[35];—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!”[36] 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[37];
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.”[38] 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;”[39] and the Turks despise the small glasses
commonly used by Europeans in their potations.[40] 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 opprobrious 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.”[41] 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 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.[42]

Page 19. “You have entered the recesses of my harem.”—Only husbands,
fathers, brothers, uncles, fathers-in-law, and very young boys are mahram,
or privileged to enter the apartments of women in Muslim countries. The
fact of the chief Vizier visiting the Queen in the harem (page 19) should
lead us to conclude, either that the story is of Indian origin, or that the
worthy minister was “a neutral personage”—not to put too fine a point on
it.
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[43]—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.

Notes on Chapter II.

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 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.”[44]

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 Shayki, 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.”[45]
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 Journey, 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.[46] 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!”

Notes on Chapter III.

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, an 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`di, in his Bustān, b. I, 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, a noble `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[47] 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—
the simple plan,
That they should take, who have the power,
And they should keep, who can—

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
mid-day 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.

Notes on Chapter IV.

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 this 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),[48]
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,[49]
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.”[50]—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,[51] 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 folk-tales 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 Mussulmān—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 reçu, 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.[52] 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.”

Notes on Chapter V.

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 Egypt, 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.[53] 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[54] 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;[55] [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.”[56]
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.[57] 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,[58]
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 Muhammedanism, ed. 1817, pp. 319, 320.)

Notes on Chapter VI.

Page 62. “Represented the danger of letting an enemy live when in one’s
power.”—This unmerciful suggestion[59] ill accords with the humane
precept of Hūshung, an early King of Persia, surnamed Pīshdād (the First
Distributor of Justice), and dictated by him to Tahmuras, the heir apparent:
“The sovereign extends the skirt of pardon and the robe of clemency over
those who have erred; ... acting according to this injunction: When thou hast
prevailed over thy foe, pardon him, in gratitude for the power obtained over
him. ‘Bind him,’ says the poet, ‘with the chains of forgiveness, that he may
become your slave.’”
Page 62. “Advised him not to be precipitate.”—With more eloquence
does a falsely accused lady plead to her husband in the Anvār-i Suhailī (p.
243 of Eastwick’s translation): “The wise think deliberation requisite in all
affairs, especially in shedding blood, since if it be necessary to take life, the
opportunity of doing so is left; and if—which God forbid!—they should,
through precipitation, put an innocent person to death, and it should
afterwards be known that he did not deserve to be slain, the remedy would
be beyond the circle of possibility, and the punishment thereof would hang
to all eternity on the neck of the guilty party.” And elsewhere in the same
charming work we are told that “the heart of a King ought to be like the
billowy sea, so as not to be discoloured by the dirt and rubbish of calumny;
and the centre of his clemency should be like the stately mountain, firm in a
position of stability, so that the furious wind of anger cannot move it.”
Page 62. King Dādīn, or Dādiyān—a title formerly given to the Persian
Kings of the first, or Pīshdādian, dynasty, and in a later age assumed also by
the Princes of Mingrelia. (Chardin, vol. i, p. 82.)
Page 62. Kārdār signifies busy, a money lender, a prime minister, and is a
compound of kār, work, occupation, and dār, possessing, lord, master.—
Kāmgār is composed of kām, desire, wish, and gār, a particle which,
subjoined to a word, denotes agency.
Page 63. “Having reason to believe her father would not consent to
bestow her on him.”—The text runs thus: “He said to himself, ‘Kāmgār is

an ascetic (zāhid) and a religious man (pārsā), and would not give me his
daughter.’”
Page 64. “Begged permission to inform his daughter”—the text adds,
“and, in conformity with the law of Muhammad (sharī`at), obtain her
consent.”—This is a proof that the lady had attained marriageable age, as
the consent of a girl not arrived at the age of puberty is not required.
Page 64. “Related to her all that had passed.”—The text: “The daughter
said, ‘I am not worthy of the King; besides, once in the King’s service, I
cannot [devote myself to the] worship [of] God the Most High; and for the
least fault the King would punish me.’”
Page 65. “Sent her to his palace (sarāy-harem), and appointed servants—
besides a cook.” Here there is a very remarkable difference between
Ouseley’s and the lithographed texts, and between these again and
Lescallier and Habicht. This is what the lithographed text says: “And in the
service i.e. [of the late vizier Kāmgār] there was a good man (khayyir) who
had acted as a spiritual guide (buzurg), whom the King did not admit in the
harem. This holy person, who had been constantly at the side of the
daughter, wrote a letter [to this effect]: ‘Do thou confirm the reward of
service, and speak to the King about my wish [in order] that he may admit
me into thy service, [seeing] that I should perish from disappointment.’ ...
(the King gave his consent) ... and the daughter continued her devotions in
peace and tranquillity.” Thus, in place of a cook, as in our version, the
lithographed text has, more appropriately, a holy man: but in Lescallier and
in Habicht, this person is, strange to say, a jester, or merry-andrew—bouffon
—lustigmacher!—while in Cazotte’s rendering of the Arabic version, and in
the Turkī version of this story (a translation of which is appended to the
present notes), he is simply described as a slave.
Page 66. Discovered her sitting alone on the balcony (bālkhāna), viz. a
latticed window on the upper storey of the harem—hence our word
“balcony.”
Page 66. “Kārdār, fearing lest she should relate to the King what had
passed,” &c.—Although many Oriental stories—Indian, Persian, Arabian—
are designed to show the malice and craft of women, there are yet some,
and the present tale is an example, in which men, when foiled in their
attempts upon the chastity of women, are exhibited as equally adroit and
unscrupulous. Another instance occurs in the Anvar-iSuhailī, ii, 10, where a

beautiful and virtuous wife is described in verses which are also applicable
to the Vizier’s daughter of our story:

To worldly matters she had closed her eye,
Sate curtained by the veil of chastity;
E’en to the glass her form would not display,
And from her shadow sank, alarmed, away.

This lady’s husband had a slave, who cast the eye of desire upon her, and
“when he despaired of success, as is the wont of evil men, he determined to
assail her reputation, and employ a stratagem to secure her disgrace.” So he
buys two parrots, and teaches them to say that the lady had been unfaithful
to her husband; but he fails in his diabolical scheme.
Page 67. “He addressed her with the usual salutation, which she
returned.”—That is: Es-salāmu `alaykum, “Peace be on you!” to which she
replied: `Alaykum es-salām. But the lady devotee would probably “salute
with a better salutation,” in accordance with the Kur’ān, iv, 88: “When ye
are saluted with a salutation, salute the person with a better salutation, or at
least, return the same.” “A better salutation”—that is, by adding rahmatu-
`llāhi wa barakātuh, “and the mercy of God and His blessings!” In saluting
a co-religionist, this addition is obligatory.
Page 67. “It was a maxim of the wise men: When you have killed the
serpent, you should also kill its young.”—Can this “maxim” have been
borrowed from Sa`di, who says (Gulistān, i, 4): “To extinguish a fire and
leave the embers, or to kill a viper and preserve its young, is not the act of
wise men?” If so, this work, in its present form, must have been composed
after the 13th century.
Page 68. “Ordered the unfortunate cook to be instantly cut in two.”—A
horrible mode of putting a culprit to death, and peculiar, it is said, to the
criminal law of Persia.
Page 69. “Being dissuaded by an attendant from killing a woman.”—The
Persians seldom put women to death, as the shedding of their blood is
supposed to bring misfortune on the country. But when found guilty and
condemned, the injunction prescribed by the law, of another man’s wife
never being seen unveiled, is strictly respected, by conducting the culprit,
enveloped in the veil habitually worn by her, to the summit of a lofty tower,
and throwing her thence headlong.
Page 68. “Was turned into the dreary wilderness.”—In Indian Fairy Tales
daughters who offend their fathers are frequently sent into the desert. For
instance, in the Romance of the Four Dervishes (the Hindū version, Bāgh o

Bahār), a king has seven daughters, and one day he impiously tells them
that all their good fortune depends upon his life. Six of them profess to
agree with him in this sentiment; but the seventh, and youngest, who has
more sense and judgment than the others, dissents, saying that the destinies
of every one are with oneself. The king, on hearing this, became angry. The
reply displeased him highly, and he said in wrath: “What great words issue
from a little mouth! Now let this be your punishment, that you strip off
whatever jewels she has on her hands and feet, and let her be placed in a
litter and set down in a wilderness, where no human traces are found; then
shall we see what is written in her destinies.” She is accordingly carried into
the desert, where she offers up fervent prayers to Heaven, and falls asleep.
In this way, praying and sleeping, she passed three days without food or
water, until on the fourth day a hermit appears, who relieves her wants, and,
to be brief, she discovers a hidden treasure, causes a magnificent palace to
be erected, and sends for her parents and sisters, who are naturally
confounded at her good fortune. In like manner, Husn Bānū, in the
Romance of Hatim Ta`ī, having justly accused a Dervish, who was a
favourite of the King, of robbing her house, is expelled from the city, and in
the desert she discovers, through a dream, the hidden treasure of the Seven
Regions, underneath a tree.
Page 68. “Resigned herself to the will of Providence, conscious of her
own innocence.”—The text states that she said this prayer: “O God!
Creator! thou knowest I am innocent; if Thou hast foreordained[60] that I
should die, vouchsafe at least a little water [inflow] in my mouth, that my
tongue may testify to thine incomparable unity.” The text also says that
when the fountain of water sprang up, she “performed the ablution”
(prescribed by the Kur’ān), and “stood up in prayer.” This seems to imply
that she turned her face towards the Kibla (that is, Mecca), and went
through the different postures of prayer.—See Lane’s Modern Egyptians,
chapter iii.
Page 69. “The camel placed himself so as to afford her a shade from the
sunbeams.”—Although our author was, no doubt, a pious believer in this
miracle, including the part that was played in it by the camel, yet it can only
appear ludicrous to Europeans, and those who have had the good fortune to
read, either in the original Telūgū, or in Babington’s translation, the
Adventures of the Gūrū Paramartan, will probably be reminded by this of
the story of the Gūrū, who, having hired an ox to ride upon, reposed under

the shade of the animal during the heat of the day, and the owner demanded
additional pay, alleging that he did not lend his ox as an umbrella against
the sun’s rays. The case was referred to the head-man of a village, who,
after relating a somewhat similar case within his own experience, decided
as follows: “For journeying hither on the ox, the proper hire is money; and
for remaining in the ox’s shadow, the shadow of the hire-money is
sufficient.”[61]
Page 69. “It happened that one of the King’s camel-keepers,” &c.—
According to the text, “had lost a katar of camels,” that is, several linked
together, and following one another.
Page 69. “At his request she prayed for the recovery of the camels.”—
The text says: “The daughter, having raised her face towards heaven, said,
‘O God! Creator! thou knowest that these camels are not his own, and that
he is a hired labourer (muzdar), but now is without resource and afflicted,
through thy loving kindness and bounty, [be pleased to] restore to him the
camels.’” Muhammadans often implore the intercession of saints (and the
cameleer, of course, believed the lady to be nothing short of a saint), both
living and dead, on their behalf. To be worthy of the dignity of a true saint
requires self-denial, mortification, a perfect reliance on Providence, and the
keeping aloof from the habitations of men; above all, that, while professing
the unity of God (lā ilāha illa-’llāh), no living creature should see their lips
move. Lane, in a note to his translation of the Thousand and One Nights
(ch. xi, n. 37) states that “the Sayyida Nafīsa, the great-grandaughter of the
Imām El-Hasan, was a very celebrated saint; and many miracles are related
to have been performed by her. Her tomb, which is greatly venerated, is in a
mosque in the southern suburb of Cairo.”
Page 70. “He would provide for her a retired apartment,” &c.—The text
reads: “I will prepare an oratory (sawma`ā), and make ready for thy sake
the means (asbāb: furniture) for devotion (asbāb-i-`ībāda);” such as a
prayer-carpet (sajjāda), having a mark upon it pointing towards Mecca, the
Kibla of Muslims, or point to which they direct their faces in saying their
prayers, as Jerusalem is that of the Jews and Christians: within the mosque
it is shown by a niche, and is called El-Mihrāb. The hypocritical saint is
thus described by Sa`dī (Gulistān ii, 17):
Devotees who fix their eyes on the world,
Say their prayers with their backs to the Kibla.

There should also be a fountain of running water (for ceremonial
ablution) and a copy of the Kur’ān.
Page 70. “Arrived at the city at the time of evening prayer.”—It is
incumbent on every good Muslim (says Dr Forbes, in a note to his
translation of Bāgh o Bahār) to pray five times in the 24 hours. The stated
periods are rather capriciously settled: (1) The morning prayer is to be
repeated between daybreak and sunrise; (2) The prayer of noon, when the
sun shows a sensible declination from the meridian; (3) afternoon prayer,
when the sun is so near the horizon that the shadow of a perpendicular
object is twice its length; (4) evening prayer, between sunset and close on
twilight; (5) the prayer of night, any time during darkness.
Page 71. “She begged that he would conceal himself in the apartment
whilst she should converse with Kārdār.”—This, it seems to me, is quite
after the manner of a modern European play or novel—when the “villain” is
made to unmask himself, by a pious ruse of “injured innocence.” I cannot
call to mind a similar scene in any other Eastern romance which I have
read.
Page 72. “Concealed behind the hangings” (see also p. 67, line 8 from
foot).—The use of hangings, pictured tapestry, and various coloured carpets
has been from the earliest ages prevalent in the East. We read in the Book of
Esther, chapter i, &c., of the magnificence of a Persian monarch, who made
a feast unto his nobles of Persia and Media, and in his palace had hangings,
white, green, and red, fastened with purple cords to silver rings, with beds
of gold and silver; and Plutarch, in Themistocles, speaks of the rich Persian
carpets, with highly-coloured figures; and in his life of Cato the Censor, he
mentions some Babylonian tapestry sent to Rome as a present. The
manufacture passed in very early times from Asia into Greece, part of
which, indeed, was itself Asiatic. Iris found Helen employed on figured
tapestry, and the web of Penelope is sufficiently known (Iliad iii).—Sir
William Ouseley’s Persian Miscellanies.

This story of King Dādīn and his Two Viziers is, perhaps, the best of the
whole series; and it will doubtless interest the general reader to see a Turkī
version of it, according to a unique manuscript, preserved in the Bodleian
Library at Oxford, written, in 1434, in the Uygur language and characters,
[62]
of which mention is made in the Second Section of the Introduction. M.

Jaubert, who wrote an account of this manuscript in the Journal Asiatique,
tom. x, 1827, remarks, that, “apart from the interest which the writing and
phraseology of the work might possess for those who study the history of
languages, it is rather curious for the history of manners to see how a Tātār
translator sets to work to bring within the range of his readers stories
embellished in the original with descriptions and images familiar, doubtless,
to a learned and refined nation like the Persians, but foreign to shepherds.”
The following rendering of M. Jaubert’s translation of the Turkī version of
“King Dādīn and his Two Viziers” is, I believe, the first that has yet
appeared in English.

HISTORY OF THE FIFTH DAY.

One of the Vezīrs advanced and said: “O King! command that they put
this slave to death, for all the people murmur, indignant at his crime, and we
ourselves are grieved at such a rumour.” Then the King commanded, and
they made Bakhtyār approach, and he said to him: “Slave, wherefore
madest thou that attempt? Of a truth I will not spare thee this day.”
Bakhtyār replied: “O King, I am innocent, and I look from the Divine pity
that thou deliver me from these bonds, in like manner as the guiltless bride
of the King Dādīn was delivered from hers.” The King said: “What befell
that woman?”
There was in Tātāristan (answered Bakhtyār), a King who had a beautiful
wife and two Vezīrs.[63] One of these Vezīrs was called Kerdār, the other
Kārdān.[64] Kerdār was father of a maiden of beauty so perfect that one
could not find in the whole world anything to vie with it; and she was so
pious that not only did she recite the Kur’ān all day, but she passed the
nights in prayer. Impressed by the greatness of her devotion, King Dādīn
became enamoured of this maiden without having seen her, and he
demanded her of her father in marriage, and he promised to advise her. He
did so, but she replied: “Passing my life in prayer, I cannot agree to become
a great lady, and my ambition is limited to the service of God.” The Vezīr
reported these words to the King, who, in the greatness of his anger, put
him to death. Then he caused the maiden to be brought to the palace, and he
said to her: “I desire to raise thee to the dignity of a princess; during the day
thou shalt pray to God here, during the night thou shalt serve me.” Just then

there arrived a courier, bearing important letters. The King ordered the
maiden to pray for him; he confided the care of his city to his Vezīr Kārdān;
and having mounted his horse, with a party of his nobles, went forth.
One day, when the Vezīr was repeating his prayers, his eyes fell upon the
maiden. Dazzled by the splendour of her beauty, he became suddenly
enamoured of her, and approached her and said: “O maiden, I am
enamoured of thee; if thou fearest God have pity on my sufferings and
reward my love!” The lady replied: “The King, in his trust, has left thee in
his house, and thou seekest to make me betray him! Take heed that thou
commit not this evil deed;—suffer not thyself to be taken in the snares of
Satan for a woman, and think not that all of my sex are in nature alike. I
pardon thee thy sin—beware of rushing on thy ruin.” When the Vezīr heard
these words he perceived that he could not succeed in his design. Then he
repented of his conduct, and said within himself: “If the King learns of this
event, he will kill me; so let me invent some stratagem which will bring
about the maiden’s ruin instead of mine.”
Now the Vezīr, father of the lady, had brought from his native country a
slave who had been brought up with her, and in whose company she was
accustomed to live.[65] When the King had finished his campaign, and
returned [to his capital], he called the Vezīr before him, and asked of all that
had happened during his absence, and particularly about the lady. The Vezīr
said: “O King! I have something to say, and yet I dare not.” “Speak,”
replied the King: “I know that thou art a good and faithful minister, and that
thou canst not betray the truth.” Then the Vezīr replied: “Some one told me
that a slave, brought from his native country by the father of that maiden,
had had guilty connection with her. At first I regarded this imputation as a
slander. ‘What is that?’ said I to myself. ‘The King loves that lady, so that
with her the sorrows of this world seem light to him. Besides, if the fault
had been committed, there would be witnesses—the thing cannot be.’ One
day, however, an [other] individual sought me out, to bring me to see what
was being done by the favourite of the King. I went, I listened, I recognised
the maiden’s voice, and that of the slave. She was saying to him: ‘In thus
dishonouring me as thou hast done, thou hast put me in danger of perishing
like my father, whose death I [involuntarily] caused. I must be thy portion.’
The slave replied: ‘But what is thy intention concerning the King?’ The
maiden answered: ‘He must be killed by means of some stratagem; if we
work well together we shall succeed in our design. Take thou measures

concerning the King;—kill him, for he has slain my father unjustly, and I
am bound to take vengeance.’ When I heard these words,” continued the
Vezīr, “I felt my body tremble. The reality of the fact was made clear to me,
as it was to the person who had informed me. Now it is yours, O King, to
know what ought to be done.”
When the King heard this story he was very angry. He caused the slave’s
head to be cut off. He called the maiden before him, and asked what words
she had used, and cruelly reproached her, for that, after being overwhelmed
with honours, she had dared to conceive so guilty a design. She replied: “O
King, deign to give full trust to my words, and if thou fearest God, slay me
not on the report of my most cruel enemies.” But far from believing her
sincerity, the King ordered his favourite to be put to death. Happily, this
Prince had a faithful slave, who showed to him how the murder of a woman
were a shameful deed; that it was enough to have killed her accomplice;
that it were better to banish that unhappy woman to some wilderness far
from the dwellings of man, where she must inevitably perish; and that at
least by refraining from staining his hands with her blood, he should be
doing an action pleasing to God. So the King ordered an old woman to
mount the maiden upon a camel, to take her to a lonely desert and leave her
there, and this was forthwith done. And so that hapless one was left in the
wilderness, with no other aid than the Divine compassion.
This desert lay on the boundaries of the realms of the King of Persia, one
of whose cameleers[66] had lost a camel. He was seeking it vainly on every
side, when suddenly he perceived a beautiful lady praying to God. Fearing
to disturb her, the cameleer waited till she had finished her prayers, when he
went up to her, saluted her, and asked her who she was. “I am,” said she, “a
poor, weak handmaid of God.” “Who has brought thee here?” continued the
cameleer. She replied: “God.” Then the cameleer said within himself: “This
lady is indeed favoured with the grace of the Most High.” He said to her: “I
am in the service of the King of Persia; if thou desirest, I shall marry thee,
and have for thee the greatest regard.” “I cannot consent thereto,” replied
she; “but for the love of God, lead me to some inhabited spot, where I may
find water, and I will remember thee in my prayers.” The cameleer
complied with her request; he mounted the maiden upon his camel, led her
to a village, confided her to the care of the head-man of the village till he
should return; and set out in quest of the camel he had lost, which he

immediately found—a good fortune which he attributed to the maiden’s
prayers.
He gave thanks therefor to God, and returned to the King of Persia, to
whom he spoke of the maiden’s beauty, piety, and of all the perfections with
which she was adorned. “Such a lady,” said the King, “would suit well to be
my wife.” Thereupon he mounted his horse, and with a great number of his
servants proceeded to the village. When he saw the lady he was filled with
admiration, and he said to her: “Maiden, I am the King of Persia; be my
bride, and I will care for thee with the greatest of care.” “O King!” replied
she, “may the Divine favour increase thy prosperity! Thou possessest a
great number of women; and as for me, I have no need of a husband; for the
love of God appears to me more desirable than the whole world.” And she
continued her prayers. Then the King gave orders that his tents should be
erected in that spot, and that they should cut there channels of running
water; and he remained there some days. At the end of that time, moved by
the sweet words and piety of the maiden, but hurried by the affairs of state,
he mounted her in a litter, led her to his capital, gave her apartments in his
own kiosk, and having ordered preparations for a brilliant nuptial feast, he
married her. After that he gave her great riches, beautiful clothes, many
servants, and a splendid palace. One night this lady related her adventures
to the King of Persia; and on the morrow that prince assembled a vast army,
set out, and took prisoner the King Dādīn, the Vezīr Kārdān, and also the
faithful servant to whom the lady owed her life. She called King Dādīn
before her, and said to him: “Though I was innocent and true, thou sentest
me into a desert to die; but God has had compassion upon me, and has
brought thee hither to me, loaded with chains.” Then addressing the Vezīr
Kārdān, she said: “How is it that thou hast allowed thyself to be taken in the
snare which thou didst prepare for me?” The Vezīr replied: “O maiden! thou
wast not guilty, and all that I said was a lie; therefore hath God punished
me!” “Praise be to Him!” replied the lady, “for He has granted that I should
live, and that people should know my innocence! For the rest, I desire that
they who slew my father should receive their due reward.” So the King of
Persia ordered the Vezīr to be taken to the same desert whither the maiden
had been sent. There he died of hunger and thirst. King Dādīn was
beheaded as a punishment for the murder he had committed; and his
dominions were given to the faithful servant [whose good advice aided the
safety, the innocence, and the triumph of virtue].

Notes on Chapter VII.
Page 72. “Your Majesty can easily put to death a living man, but you
cannot restore a dead man to life.”—Here again (see note on page 184) we
have what seems to be an instance of borrowing from Sa`dī, who, in his
Gulistān, viii, maxim 54, thus finely expresses this sentiment (Professor
Eastwick’s translation):
’Tis very easy one alive to slay;
Not so to give back life thou tak’st away:
Reason demands that archers patience show,
For shafts once shot return not to the bow.[67]

Were it possible, we might suppose that our English poet Cowley had
simply paraphrased these couplets of Sa`dī in the following verses:
Easy it was the living to have slain,
But bring them, if thou canst, to life again:
The arrow’s shot—mark how it cuts the air,
Try now to bring it back, or stay it there:
That way impatience sent it; but thou’lt find
No track of it, alas! is left behind.

Page 74. “Women, for their own purposes, often devise falsehoods, and
are very expert in artifice and fraud.”—It was a saying of Muhammad that
“women are deficient in judgment and religion,” which induces their co-
religionists of the other sex to believe that they are more inclined than men
to practise whatever is unlawful. When woman was created, the Devil, we
are told, was delighted, and said: “Thou art half of my host, and thou art the
depositary of my secret, and thou art my arrow, with which I shoot, and
miss not.”[68] The Turkish Tales of the Forty Viziers (another romance of the
Sindibād cycle—see Introduction) chiefly refer to the craft and malice of
women. In the present story, however, female artifice is not employed for
wicked ends.
Page 74. “The King of `Irāk.”—There are two `Irāks; one is a division of
Arabia to the south of the Tigris and the Euphrates. Towards the north-east
it is watered by the branches of the Euphrates, and is consequently fertile
and well inhabited, having many cities and towns, of which Basra is the

principal; to the south-west it is a barren desert. By Orientals it is called
`Irāk `Arabi, to distinguish it from the other `Irāk, (`Irāk `Ajami) a province
of Persia, bounded on the north by Ghilān and Mazinderān, on the east by
Khurāsān, on the south by Farsistān, and on the west by `Irāk `Arabi. This
province contains part of ancient Media and Parthia. It is nearly a hundred
and fifty leagues in length, and one hundred and twenty in breadth; partly
mountainous and sterile, having vast sandy plains; but the greater part
fruitful and populous. Isfahān is the capital.[69] It is of Persian `Irāk that the
poet Nizāmī thus speaks:
`Irāk, the delightful, be thy darling,
For great is the fame of its redundancy;
And every rose which enraptureth the soul
Distilleth its balmy drops upon `Irāk!

Page 74. Abyssinia, or Habashat (that is, “a mixture,” or “confusion”),
forms an extensive country of Eastern Africa, the boundaries of which are
not well defined. The natives call their country Manghesta Ityopia, or
Kingdom of Ethiopia.
Page 75. “When they disclosed the object of their mission, he became
angry”—at the presumption of an unbeliever (who attributed partners to
God) asking in marriage the daughter of one of the faithful. The conversion
of Abyssinia to Christianity was prior to the fourth and continued even as
late as the twelfth century. The Coptic patriarch of Cairo is still the nominal
head of the Church, but the episcopal office is confined to the Abūnā, the
resident head, and author, of the Abyssinian priesthood.—Gibbon.
Page 76. “Caused so much money to be distributed among the soldiers
that they were satisfied.”—So says Sa`dī, Gulistān i, 14 (Eastwick’s
translation):
Soldiers, from whom the State withholds its gold,
Will from the scimitar their hands withhold:
What valour in war’s ranks will he display,
Whose hand is empty on the reckoning day?

Page 77. “The King of `Irāk had some years previously given his
daughter in marriage to another man, by whom she had a son.”—This
concealment of a former marriage is incomprehensible. Lescallier’s French
rendering, made from other Persian texts, gives a different account of this
affair: “She had had previously a lover, with whom, unknown to her father,

she had intimate relations, and had given birth to a beautiful boy, whose
education she secretly confided to some trusty servants.” Afterwards the
Princess of `Irāk contrived to introduce him to her father, who was so
charmed with his beauty, grace of manner, and varied accomplishments,
that he at once took him into his service. Habicht’s Breslau edition of the
Arabian version agrees with Lescallier on this point. In the version of this
story in the Tūtī Nāma (Tales of a Parrot) of Nakshabī,[70] the lady is the
daughter of the Emperor of Rūm (see Note, p. 158), and, as in our text, had
a son by a former marriage, about whose existence her father charges her
not to say a word to her second husband.
Page 78. “The name of the boy was Farrukh-zād”—that is, “fortunately-
born”; from farrukh, happy, fortunate, and zād, born.
Page 81. “An old woman beheld the Queen, as she sat alone,
weeping.”—In Eastern fiction old women—and especially hypocritical
devotees—are useful go-betweens for lovers, and excellent, prudent
procuresses. In the present case, however, the old woman plays an unusual
rôle: employing her sage experience and skill in reconciling husband and
wife.
Page 82. “I have a certain talisman,” &c.—The word talism is not in the
lithographed text; the sentence is to this effect: “I have that which is
precious, and possesses the same magical power as the precious things of
Solomon, written in Greek characters and in the Syrian language”—which
means, Syrian words disguised under the letters of the Greek alphabet.
Among the Arabs and Persians it is a common belief that Solomon, the son
of David, by virtue of a seal-ring (Muhr-i-Sulaymāni) sent down from
heaven, had unlimited control over the good and evil spirits (jinn), and over
birds, the winds, and beasts.[71]
The origin of Solomon’s magical signet-ring, which is so often
mentioned in Oriental poetry and romance, according to Muslim legends—
borrowed or adapted from the Talmudic writers—is as follows: Eight angels
appeared to Solomon in a vision, saying that Allah had sent them to
surrender to him the power over them and the eight winds at their
command. The most exalted of the angels presented him with a jewel with
this inscription: To Allah belong greatness and might. Whenever he raised
the stone towards heaven, they would appear and do his bidding. Next four
others appeared, differing from each other in form and name. One

resembled an immense whale, another an eagle, the third a lion, and the
fourth a serpent. These were lords of all creatures living in the earth and in
the water. The angel representing the kingdom of birds gave him a jewel on
which was inscribed: All created things praise the Lord. An angel then
appeared, whose upper part looked like the earth, and the lower like water,
having power over both earth and sea, and gave him a jewel with the
inscription: Heaven and Earth are servants of Allah. A third angel
surrendered to him power over the kingdom of spirits, with a jewel on
which was inscribed: There is no God but one, and Muhammad is His
Messenger.[72] Solomon caused the four jewels to be set in a signet-ring, and
the first purpose to which he applied its wondrous powers was the
subjugation of the demons and jinn—all but the mighty Sakhr, who was
concealed in an unknown island of the ocean, and Iblīs (Satan), the monster
of all evil spirits, to whom God had promised the most perfect
independence till the Day of Judgment.[73] In Oriental fictions the most
solemn and binding oath with Fairies is to swear by the Seal of Solomon.
Readers familiar with the Arabian Nights will recollect the Story of the
Fisherman and the Genie (jinnī). A confidence in the virtue of Talismans,
whether for the protection of persons, treasures, or cities, may be traced up
to the earliest ages, when so many Eastern nations were of the Sabean faith,
and adored the “host of heaven,” or the celestial bodies; and
notwithstanding the change of religion and the prohibition of magic, even
Muhammadans can reconcile to their consciences the preparation of certain
amulets, after rules transmitted through the Chaldeans and Nabatheans.[74]
The magic of Babylon is frequently alluded to by Muslim writers; the poets
speak of the “Babylonian witchery” of a beautiful woman’s eyes; and it is
believed that the two wicked angels Harūt and Marūt, mentioned in the
Kur’ān (see chap. ii, and Sale’s note), are still hanging, head downwards, in
a well at Babel, and will instruct any one in magic who is bold enough to go
and solicit them. Setting idle legends aside, it is highly probable, as Sir
William Ouseley remarks, in his Persian Miscellanies, that at Babylon the
Persians learnt the arts of magical incantation from the conquered
Chaldeans. “Time,” says Dr Jonathan Scott, “has not eradicated in Asia
belief in the magical powers of cabalistical characters engraven on gems, or
embroidered on standards, or written upon small rolls of paper, which,
enclosed in small boxes of gold and silver, and strung on silken cord, are
worn round the arm or wrist, and sometimes as a pendant from the neck.”[75]

The charms to which the greatest efficacy is ascribed are those consisting of
passages of the Kur’ān; and Morier tells that such was Muhammad Riza
Bey’s faith in this species of talisman that he always wore the whole of the
Kur’ān about his person; half of it tied on one arm, and half on the other,
rolled up in small silver cases.[76] Next in estimation as potent charms are
passages transcribed from the celebrated Burda (or Mantle-Poem) of El-
Busīrī, in praise of the Prophet, written in the 13th century; which are
framed and suspended on the walls of rooms, or, in cases, on the person.
The whole poem is also recited in times of sickness and during the funeral
procession.[77]
Page 83. “Scrawled on it some unmeaning characters.”—The word in the
text here rendered by “unmeaning” literally signifies “not known,” and
should be translated “mysterious.”
Page 84. “Desired him to point out the spot where his body lay,” &c.—
ziyārat, a visit, a pilgrimage. During the period of the great festivals, and
also on other occasions, it is customary to visit the tomb of a relation, and
place on it the leaves or broken branches of the palm-tree, also sweet-basil
and other flowers. On arriving at the tomb the opening chapter of the
Kur’ān, and sometimes a longer chapter, the xxxvi, is recited.—See Lane’s
Modern Egyptians, ii, pp. 209, 241, 253.

Notes on Chapter VIII.

Page 86. “Government resembles a tree, the root of which is legal
punishment”—siyāzat, that is, discretional punishment, such as the law has
not provided, but may be inflicted.—The lithographed text thus proceeds:
“And its extremity [i.e. of the root] is justice, and its bough, mercy, and its
flower, wisdom, and its leaf, liberality, and its fruit, a degree of kindness,
and the leaf of every tree, of which the root becomes dry, assumes a yellow
[tint], and does not produce fruit. And as the root of government is legal
punishment, delay on this point is not permissible; and as in this legal
punishment there is postponement, I am apprehensive lest the root of the
tree has become dry; after which reparation is impossible.”
Page 87. “In case she should give birth to a boy, to call his name
Bihrūz”—an appropriate name for a jeweller’s son, since it denotes “a
species of blue crystal,” as well as “good day.” The lithographed text adds:
“If it should be a daughter, give her a name suitable and proper;” alluding to
the privilege accorded to a mother of naming her own daughter; the name of
a son is given by the father.
Page 88. “The boys had learned to read the Kur’ān” (properly, as I have
spelt it in the translation, Qur’ān).—Muslim children are not only taught to
read the whole, but commit to memory portions, of the Kur’ān. After
learning by heart the first chapter[78]—which is to the Muslim what the
Lord’s Prayer is to the Christian—the remaining chapters are learnt in their
inverse order, and those who have learnt to repeat the whole of the Kur’ān
may then claim the title of Hāfiz, or Hāfizu kalāmi ’llāh, “rememberer of
the Word of God,” or “one who knows God’s Word by heart.”—“Much
merit,” says Torrens, “is attributed by the Muslims to recitations of the
Kur’ān. On occasions of festivity persons are hired to repeat either the
whole or the principal parts of it. These are fickees, a term usually applied
to schoolmasters by modern Arabs, but signifying, ‘a person learned in the
law.’ They know by heart the whole, or particular parts, of the Kur’ān,
which each in turn recites. These recitations are introduced among the
Egyptians as an entertainment at parties.”[79]

Page 88. “Were instructed in the art of penmanship.”—“Beautiful
writing,” says Sir John Malcolm, “is considered as a high accomplishment.
It is carefully taught in schools, and those who excel in it are almost classed
with literary men. They are employed to transcribe copies of books, and
some have attained such an eminence in this art that a few lines written by
one of these celebrated penmen are often sold for a considerable sum. I
have known seven pounds to have been given for four lines written by
Dervish Musjīd, a famous Persian scribe.”[80] And a story is told of a
celebrated Indian penman, in the course of his walks one day, being
solicited for alms by a beggar, “Money,” he replied, “I have not;” but taking
his pen and ink from his girdle, he wrote a few words on a small slip of
paper, and handed it to the poor man, who received it with expressions of
gratitude, and sold it to the first wealthy person he met for a gold mohur—
about ten shillings.
Page 88. “And other accomplishments”: adab, that is, “good manners;” a
decent and becoming behaviour at meals, a proper degree of respect to be
shown to the father, greeting him affectionately in the morning by kissing
his hand, and—as a well-bred son seldom sits in his father’s presence—
standing before him in a submissive attitude (Lane). Reverence for parents,
which is still a marked characteristic of Eastern races, has ever been
strongly inculcated by the Hebrew Rabbins; and the noble conduct of one
Dama, the son of Nethuna, towards both his father and mother is adduced in
the Talmud as an example for all times and every condition of life. “His
mother was unfortunately insane, and would frequently not only abuse him,
but strike him, in the presence of his companions; yet would this dutiful son
not suffer an ill word to escape his lips, and all he used to say on such
occasions was, ‘Enough, dear mother, enough.’ One of the precious stones
attached to the High Priest’s sacerdotal garments was once, by some means
or other, lost. Learning that the son of Nethuna had one like it, the priests
went to him, and offered him a very large price for it. He consented to take
the sum offered, and went into the adjoining room to fetch the jewel. On
entering the room he found his father asleep, his foot resting on the chest
wherein the gem was deposited. Without disturbing his father, he went back
to the priests, and told them that he must for the present forego the large
profit he might make, as his father was asleep. The case being urgent, and
the priests, thinking that he only said so to obtain a larger price, offered him
more money. ‘No,’ said he, ‘I would not, even for a moment, disturb my

father’s rest for all the treasures in the world.’ The priests waited till the
father awoke, when Dama brought them the jewel. They then presented to
him the sum they had last offered, but the good man refused to take it. ‘I
will not,’ said he, ‘barter for gold the satisfaction of having done my duty.
Give me what you offered at first, and I shall be satisfied.’ This they did,
and left him with a blessing.”
Page 89. “His clothes and money concealed in different places”—the
words here printed in italics are not in the lithographed text.
Page 90. “With afflicted bosoms and bleeding hearts”—ba dil-i kabāb,
wa sīna-i kharāb, a jingle of words, of which Orientals are very fond, as
previously noticed, foot-note, p. 128.
Page 91. “I accept it as a favourable omen.”—Muslims are always on the
watch for lucky or unlucky omens. On first going out of a morning, the
looks and countenances of those who cross their path are scrutinised, and a
frown or a smile is deemed favourable or the reverse. To encounter a person
blind of the left eye, or with one eye, forebodes sorrow and calamity. While
Sir John Malcolm was in Persia, as British Ambassador, he was told the
following amusing story: When `Abbās the Great was hunting, he met, one
morning as the day dawned an uncommonly ugly man, at the sight of whom
his horse started. Being nearly dismounted, and deeming it a bad omen, he
called out in a rage to have his head struck off. The poor peasant, whom
they had seized and were on the point of executing, prayed that he might be
informed of his crime. “Your crime,” said the King, “is your unlucky
countenance, which is the first object I saw this morning, and which has
nearly caused me to fall from my horse.” “Alas!” said the man, “by this
reckoning, what term must I apply to your Majesty’s countenance, which
was the first object my eyes met this morning, and which is to cause my
death?” The King smiled at the wit of the reply, ordered the man to be
released, and gave him a present instead of taking off his head.[81] Another
Persian story to the same purpose: A man said to his servant, “If you see
two crows together early in the morning, apprise me of it, that I may also
behold them, as it will be a good omen, whereby I shall pass the whole day
pleasantly.”[82] The servant did happen to see two crows sitting in one place,
and informed his master; but when he came he saw only one, the other
having in the meantime flown away. He was very angry, and began to beat
the servant, when a friend sent him a present of choice viands. Upon this

the servant exclaimed: “O my lord, you saw only one crow, and have
received a fine present: had you seen two, you would have met with my
fare.”[83] The old pagan Arabs never set out upon any important expedition
before consulting their fortune, either by divining arrows or by the flight of
birds; if a bird flew to the right, it was a good omen, but if to the left, they
would postpone their intended enterprise. In allusion to this superstition the
celebrated poet Bahā ’u-’d Dīn Zuhayr, of Egypt, says:
My love is like a young gazelle,
Appearing on the huntsman’s right;
And oh! the bargain prospered well,
When she and I our troth did plight.

Page 91. “Heir to the crown.”—Bihrūz, no doubt, on being raised to the
throne, assumed another name, or the imperial title.
Page 92. “Purchased a young boy at the slave-market.”—Repellent as
even the name of slavery is to a European, and especially to a Briton, it
must not be supposed that the condition of slaves in Muhammadan
countries bears any resemblance to that of the slaves in the Southern States
of North America, before their emancipation, with which such works as
Uncle Tom’s Cabin used to harrow up our souls. On the contrary, Muslims
are enjoined by their religion to be, and, as a general rule, really are (all
things considered), kind and even indulgent to their slaves. Sir John
Malcolm (an excellent authority) remarks: “Slaves are not numerous [in
Persia], and cannot be distinguished by any peculiar habits or usages from
the other classes, further than that they are generally more trusted and more
favoured by their superiors. The name of slave in this country may be said
to imply confidence on one part and attachment on the other. They are
mostly Georgians or Africans; and being obtained or purchased when
young, they are usually brought up in the Muhammadan religion. Their
master, who takes the merit of their conversion, appropriates the females to
his own harem, or to the service of his wives; and when the males are at a
proper age, he marries them to female slaves in the family, or to free
women. Their children are brought up in the house, and have a rank only
below relations. In almost every family of consequence the person in whom
the greatest trust is reposed is a house-born slave; and instances of their
betraying their charge, or abusing the confidence that is placed in them, are
very rare.”[84] A curious story is related in the Talmud, of a man making his

will in favour of his slave, although he had a son whom he loved fondly.
This man, residing at some distance from Jerusalem, had sent his son to the
Holy City to “complete his education” (to employ an absurd colloquial
phrase for the nonce); and dying during his son’s absence, he bequeathed
his entire estate to one of his slaves, on the condition that he should allow
his son to select any one article which pleased him for an inheritance.
Surprised and naturally angry at such gross injustice on the part of his
father, in preferring a slave for his heir instead of himself, the young man
sought counsel of his preceptor, who, after carefully considering the terms
of the will, thus explained its meaning and effect: “By this action thy father
has simply secured thy inheritance to thee. To prevent his slaves from
plundering the estate before thou couldst formally claim it, he left it to one
of them, who, believing himself to be the owner, would take good care of
the property. Now, what a slave possesses belongs to his master; choose,
therefore, the slave for thy portion, and then possess all that was thy
father’s.” The young man followed this advice, took possession of the slave,
and thus of his father’s wealth, and then gave the slave his freedom,
together with a considerable sum of money.[85]—“The manners of Asia,”
says Richardson, “seem in all ages to have pointed to domestic slavery; and
Muhammad, in Arabia, made that an article of religion which had anciently
been only a custom. The captives of war were, in consequence, with few
exceptions, constantly reduced to a state of servitude; and little distinction
seems in general to have been made between a princess and her slave;
excepting what she derived from a superiority of personal
accomplishments. These ideas the Arabians entertained amidst their
extensive conquests. Many instances might be given, but two will suffice,
as they were daughters of the two greatest princes in the world. In an action
after the siege of Damascus, in A.D. 635, amongst other prisoners was the
daughter of Heraclius, emperor of Greece, and widow of the governor of
that city. Rasi, the Arabian commander, to whose lot she fell, presented her
without ceremony as a slave to Jonas, a Grecian, who had embraced the
Muhammadan religion; but Jonas, from a principle of honour, returned her,
with all her jewels, unransomed to her father. When the Arabians conquered
Persia, Shīrīn Bānū, the daughter of the King Yazdejird, was one of the
captives, and was publicly exposed to sale in the city of Madīna; but the
liberal-minded `Alī thought differently from his countrymen on this
occasion; he declared that the offspring of princes ought not to be sold, and

married her immediately to his son.”[86]—The lot of women in Arabia before
the time of Muhammad was at the best a hard one, and it certainly
underwent no improvement when they happened to be taken captive in any
of the frequent tribal wars. (The brutal treatment of the beauteous Abla, in
the Romance of `Antar, when she fell into the hands of the chief of a tribe
hostile to that of `Abs, is doubtless a faithful picture of Arabian life in those
times.) And there can be no question that the cruel and unnatural practice
which prevailed among the pre-Islamite Arabs of burying alive their new-
born female children had its origin in a desire to save them from the
hardships they were so likely to encounter when grown up. This practice
seems to have been at one time common to most of the nations of antiquity.
Page 93. “Several of the soldiers returned.”—They probably came to
report to the King that the enemy were in superior force, and that more
troops must be despatched to oppose them.
Page 94. “Day was beginning to dawn.” The text adds: “He performed
the morning-prayer (namāz-i sabā), at the time when [teaches the Kur’ān]
‘you can plainly distinguish a white thread from a black thread.’” The
Persians, who are shī`a (unorthodox), prefer to “distinguish a white horse
from a gray horse.”
Page 94. “Say, King, shall I strike or not?”—It was customary, if I am
not mistaken, at the courts of some of the Khalifs or other Eastern
monarchs, for the executioner, after being ordered to decapitate a culprit, to
ask the King three times: “Shall I strike?”
Page 95. “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
unhappy couple could not bring themselves to confess that the father had
with his own hand tossed them into the water. There is something in this
that bears a resemblance to the answer of Joseph’s brethren when they went
down to Egypt to buy corn, and were arrested on suspicion of being spies:
“Thy servants are twelve brethren, the sons of one man in the land of
Canaan; and behold, the youngest is this day with our father, and one is
not.” (Gen. xlii, 13.)
Page 96. “Set at liberty all those who had been confined with him.”—To
the point is the following extract from the Times newspaper, of September
23, 1882, p. 8, col. 2: “The coronation of Czars is always signalised by acts
of imperial clemency, and in this respect the ukase of Alexander II, on the

7th of September, 1856, remains honourable. It granted a complete amnesty
to all the political offenders of 1825–6, and of the Polish rebellion of 1831,
who were still in exile, or in prison; also pardons to Press offenders,
military defaulters, and to about five thousand other individuals in gaols.”

Notes on Chapter IX.

Page 97. “The history of Abū Temām, and the envy of the envious.”—
The Muslim, in his daily prayers, says: “I fly for refuge unto the Lord of the
Daybreak; that He may deliver me from the mischief of the envious, when
he envieth.”—Kur`an cxiii. 5.
Page 97. Abū Temām.—Abū—literally, “Father”—has often the sense of
“endowed with,” or “possessed of,” and forms the figure called
“metonymy.” Thus, Abū Bakr, “father of the maid”—Muhammad’s father-
in-law and successor; Abū Hurayrat, “father of the kitten,” one of
Muhammad’s companions, so nicknamed by the Prophet, on account of his
having a pet cat.—Abū Temām signifies, “possessed of integrity.”
Page 98. “Any one possessed of above five direms”—equivalent to “any
one who had a sixpence.”—It is related of Mūlī Isma`īl, Emperor of
Morocco (who died in 1714), that when any of his subjects grew rich, in
order to keep him from being dangerous to the state, he used to send for his
goods and chattels. His governors of towns and provinces formed
themselves on the example of their dread monarch, practised rapine,
violence, extortion, and all the art of despotic government, that they might
the better send him their yearly presents: for the greatest of his viceroys was
in danger of being recalled or hanged if he did not remit the bulk of his
plunder to his sovereign. That he might make a right use of these treasures,
he took care to bury them under ground, by the hands of his most trusty
slaves, and then cut their throats, as the most effectual method of securing
secrecy. The following story will illustrate his notions of property: Being
upon the road, amidst his life-guards, a little before the Ram feast, he met
one of his kāzīs at the head of his servants, who were driving a great flock
of sheep to market. The Emperor asked whose they were. The kāzī, with a
profound submission, answered: “They are mine, O Isma`īl, son of El-
Sherīf.” “Thine! thou wretch!” exclaimed Mūlī Isma`īl; “I thought I had
been the only proprietor in this country.” Upon which he ran him through
the body with his lance, and piously distributed the sheep among his guards
for the celebration of the feast. His determination of justice between man
and man will evince the blessings of his administration: A kāzī complaining
to him of a wife (whom he had received from his Majesty’s hands, and

therefore could not divorce her), that she used to pull him by the beard, the
Emperor ordered his beard to be plucked out by the roots, that he might not
be liable to any more such affronts. A farmer, having accused some of his
guards of having robbed him of a drove of oxen, the Emperor shot the
offenders; but afterwards demanding reparation of the accuser for the loss
of so many brave fellows, and finding him insolent, he compounded the
matter with him by taking away his life.—One good thing he was
celebrated for in the course of his long reign, the clearing of the roads of
robbers, with which they used to be infested; but his method was to flay
man, woman, and child that lived within a certain distance of the district
where a robbery was committed.
Page 99. “The erection of bridges, caravanserais, and mosques.”—It is
doubtful whether “caravanserais” be the correct rendering of the word ribāt.
It may denote one of the dome-shaped buildings (kubba), having an oratory
annexed, and an institution endowed for the maintenance of students
(tālibān-i-`ilm), who are to pass their lives in reading and devotion.—Sa`dī,
in his Bustān, b. i, says: “No one hath come into the world for continuance,
save him who leaveth behind him a good name; nor hath any one died who
hath left as an inheritance a bridge, a mosque, a hostel, or an hospital.
Whoever hath left no such memorial behind him, his existence has been but
that of a tree which never bore fruit; and whoever hath departed and left no
mark, his name after his death will never be lauded.” The “erection of
mosques” may remind the reader of a passage in Hamlet, iii, 2: “There’s
hope a great man’s memory may outlive his life half a year; but, by’r Lady,
he must build churches then.”
Page 99. “His advice was followed in all matters of importance.”—The
text says: “he appointed him Grand Vizier” (wazīr-i a`zam).
Page 99. “This King had Ten Viziers, who conceived a mortal hatred
against Abū Temām,” &c.—See Note, pp. 137–9.—So too in Norse and
other European Folk-Tales, envious courtiers endeavour to ruin or destroy a
King’s favourite by inciting the monarch to set him to perform some
difficult and dangerous exploit, in which, however, he always succeeds.
Page 100. “Princess of Turkistān.”—Turān, Turkomania (or
Transoxiana), is the country which lies beyond the Jihūn, or Oxus. Under
the names of Irān and Turān the Eastern historians comprehend all the
higher Asia, excepting India and China; and sometimes they imply “the

whole world.” The Tātār nations in general have fine countenances, with
large black eyes. Of all the towns in Turkistān, Chighil is the most famous
for handsome men, expert archers, and beautiful maidens:
“The ringlets of the idols of Chighil
Are altogether the abode of the soul, and the dwelling of the heart.”[87]

Page 100. “When the King heard the extravagant praises of her beauty he
became enamoured.”—See Note pp. 157–8.
Page 101. “When the King of Turkistān heard of Abū Temām’s arrival,
he sent proper officers to receive and compliment him.”—See third note, p.
131.—In Lescallier’s version the interview between the King and Abū
Temām is related in more detail, to the following effect:
Abū Temām, after presenting his credentials and paying his respects to
the King, informed him of the subject of his embassy. “The request which
the King your master makes for my daughter,” said the King of Turkistān,
“is for me a source of joy and happiness. But as it is to be feared that my
daughter is unworthy of the King your master, I desire you to enter my
harem to see her and to hear her speak, and to assure yourself if she is
capable of pleasing the sovereign who sends you. I will prepare my
daughter to receive you.” Abū Temām, who was full of cleverness and
discretion, replied to the King with the greatest politeness: “God forbid,
your Majesty, that my eyes should behold the Princess, or my ears should
dare to hear her voice! If she were not in all respects worthy of the King my
master, the Divine will would not have inspired him with the desire of
possessing her, nor enslaved his heart to her perfections. My King did not
send me with such instructions.” Abū Temām had no sooner spoken these
words than the King of Turkistān clasped him in his arms with affection,
and cried: “I regard thee as a father, for thou freest my existence from a
great burthen.” “O great King!” replied Abū Temām, “since my happy star
made me enter the service of my sovereign, I have never experienced
anything save benefits, kindness, and peculiar favours. What is the
difficulty that I can solve for your Majesty? Let him command me.” “I was
even now,” said the King, “busy with the project of thy death, and thou hast
happily escaped the severity of my sharp sword. I shall tell thee the motive
which urged me to put thee to death, and how thou hast been delivered from
that danger. All the ambassadors who have come from different princes to
ask my daughter have received the same proposal which I made to thee, to

enter my harem, to judge of the beauty and perfections of the Princess; and
they all went in. I regarded the prudence and wisdom of these sovereigns
according to those of their ambassadors, and to punish their audacity I put
them all to death. This year four hundred ambassadors have been beheaded.
I preserve their heads in the room which thou wilt see.” Then the King drew
from his girdle a key, with which he opened the door of that room, and
showed to Abū Temām the four hundred heads of ambassadors. He
afterwards added: “The prudence which thou hast shown has saved thy life.
It has given me a good opinion of thy sovereign, and I will grant him my
daughter.”
Lescallier’s texts were probably in error in stating that the four hundred
ambassadors had all been put to death within a year. The lithographed text,
like that of Sir William Ouseley, gives us to understand that the envoys had
been beheaded in the course of years. In Habicht’s Arabian text the King is
represented as saying: “‘Come and look into this well;’ and Abū Temām
beheld a well filled with the heads of the sons of Adam.”
Page 103. “The Ten Viziers finding ... their own importance and dignity
reduced,” &c.—How true to human nature, and how applicable to the case
of Abū Temām as well as to that of our young hero Bakhtyār, is the “saying
of the sage,” as cited in the Anvār-i Suhailī (ii, 3): “Whoever is unceasingly
zealous in the service of the King quickly reaches the rank of admission to
his favour, and whoever has become the intimate of the Sultan, all the
friends and foes of the monarch become his enemies: the friends, through
envy of his post and dignity; and the foes, by reason of his advising the
King sincerely in matters of state and religion.”
Page 103. “Whose office was to rub the King’s feet.”—The Arabs (says
Lane) are very fond of having their feet, and especially the soles, slowly
rubbed with the hand; and this operation, which is one of the services
commonly required of a wife or a female slave, is a usual mode of waking a
person; as it is also of lulling a person to sleep. Thus, in the story of
Maaroof (Lane’s Arabian Nights, iii, 721), “the damsel then proceeded to
rub and press gently the soles of his feet until sleep overcame him.”
Page 105. “The King drew his scimitar, and cut off his head.”—Surely,
an instance of “haste and precipitancy”—with a vengeance! This despot did
not even acquaint his victim of the crime of which the lads had accused
him. It had been probably otherwise with Abū Temām had his royal master

shaped his conduct in “affairs of moment” after that of another king, of
whom we read, in the Anvār-i Suhailī (xiii, 3), that in order to moderate his
anger, and judge cases like a king, a recluse gave him three letters, which he
was to place in the hands of a faithful and confidential officer, who was to
be permitted to read one of them to the King when he beheld symptoms of
anger in his countenance, and should that not suffice to soothe his mind, the
officer was to read the second letter, and the third, if the second did not
tame his rebellious spirit. The contents of the three letters were to this
effect: (1) While thou still retainest the power, do not place the reins of
choice in the grasp of thy passions, for they will plunge thee into the
whirlpool of everlasting destruction. (2) In the time of wrath be merciful to
those in thy power, in order that in the hour of retribution thy superiors may
be merciful to thee. (3) In issuing thy commands do not overstep the bounds
of the law, and under no circumstances abandon what is just.
Page 106. “Their houses levelled with the ground.”—When a city was
solemnly destroyed by the Romans, the plough was drawn along where the
walls had stood. Thus Horace (Ode i, 16): “Rage has been the final cause ...
that an insolent army has driven the hostile ploughshare over their walls.”
Thus also we read in the sacred writings (Micah iii, 12): “Therefore shall
Zion for your sake be ploughed as a field;” and likewise of salt being sown
on the ground where cities stood (see Judges ix, 45), indicating the last
insult of a triumphant enemy. In allusion to the usual practice of absolute
Eastern monarchs wreaking their vengeance not only on an offending
minister, but also on his wife and family, Sa`dī, in his Bustān, b. i, directs a
king, in dealing with a criminal, to slay him, if the law pronounce its
decree; “but if thou hast those who belong to his family, them forgive, and
extend to them thy mercy: the iniquitous man it was who committed the
crime;—what was the offence of his helpless wife and children?”

In Cazotte’s rendering of this story, under the corrupted title of Abou
Talmant, for a King of Turkistān is substituted a King of Cochin-China. The
plot for destroying the prudent minister by means of the prattle of two
young slaves in the King’s hearing is considerably amplified: the malicious
viziers having taught them to repeat some harem gossip while the King was
reposing, but not asleep, which, proving to be true, prepared him to believe
the false story of the Queen’s love for Abū Temām. The King’s discovery of

his favourite’s innocence is differently related;—instead of his overhearing
the two pages quarrel over the division of the money, a day or two after Abū
Temām had been put to death, as in the Persian version—the King
immediately returns to his private chamber, and seeing the pieces of gold
scattered on the floor, sends for the pages, and compels them to tell the truth
regarding their possession of so much money. He then causes the two
Viziers to be beheaded.

Notes on Chapter X.

Page 107. The King of Persia (Shāh `Ajam).—The term `Ajam includes
all who cannot speak Arabic, or who do not speak it with elegance. Among
the Arabs it applies to all people not of Arab descent, and carries the same
idea as Barbarians with the Greeks, Gentiles with the Hebrews. Hence
Persia is called `Ajamistān, the land of the stranger, or barbarian. And so
two famous Arabian poems are distinguished respectively by the
nationalities of their authors: Lāmiyyatu-’l-`Arab, by the Arabian brigand-
poet Shanfará, and Lāmiyyātu-’l-`Ajam, by Et Tugrā`ī, a native of Isfahān:
that is, the L-Poem (from its rhyming in lam, or L) of the Arab, and the L-
Poem of the Foreigner.
Page 108. “Not having any child,” &c.—The desire of offspring, and
especially of male children, seems to have always been very strong among
Asiatics of all classes, and by Jews the want of children was considered
sufficient ground for divorce, as the following beautiful rabbinical story
will show: A man, it is related, brought his wife before Rabbi Simon,
expressing his desire to be divorced, since he had been married over ten
years without being blessed with children. The Rabbi at first endeavoured to
dissuade the man from his purpose, but finding him resolute, he gravely
addressed the pair thus: “My children, when you were married did ye not
make a feast and entertain your friends? Well, since you are determined to
be divorced, do likewise: go home, make a feast, entertain your friends, and
on the following day come to me and I will comply with your wishes.”
They returned home, and, in accordance with the good Rabbi’s advice, the
husband caused a splendid feast to be prepared, to which were invited their
friends and relations. In the course of the entertainment, the husband, being
gladdened with wine, said to his wife: “My beloved, we have lived many
happy years together; it is only the want of children that makes me wish for
a separation. To convince thee, however, that I still love thee, I give thee
leave to take with thee out of my house whatever thou likest best.” “Be it
so,” answered his wife. The wine-cup was freely plied by the guests, and all
became merry, until at length many had fallen asleep, and amongst these
was the master of the house, which his wife perceiving, she caused him to
be carried to her father’s house and put to bed. Having slept off the effects

of his carouse, he awoke, and, finding himself in a strange house,
exclaimed: “Where am I?—how came I here?” His wife, who had placed
herself behind a curtain to await the issue of her little stratagem, came up to
him, and told him that he had no cause for alarm, since he was in her
father’s house. “In thy father’s house!” echoed the astonished husband
—“how should I come hither?” “I will soon explain, my dear husband.
Didst thou not tell me last night that I might take out of thy house whatever
I most valued? Now, my beloved, believe me, amongst all thy treasures
there is none I value so much as I do thyself.” The sequel may be readily
imagined: overcome by such devotion, the husband affectionately embraced
his wife, was reconciled to her, and they lived happily together ever
afterwards.[88]—Throughout the East, indeed, the want of children is
considered as a great disgrace. Readers of Oriental romances, such as those
contained in Elf Layla wa Layla, or The Thousand and One Nights; Bahār-i
Dānish, or the Spring of Knowledge, and Kissa-i Chehār Darvīsh, or Tale
of the Four Dervishes, will easily call to mind the many stories of Khalīfs,
Sultāns, Shāhs, Viziers, &c. being childless, and of the pious and even
magical means they adopted to obtain the blessing of a son and heir.
Page 108. “In a dream.”—Muslims consider dreams as the predictions of
future events. Good dreams are believed to be from God, and false ones
from the Devil. “Whoever seeth me,” said the Prophet, “in his sleep, seeth
me truly; for Satan cannot assume the similitude of my form.”—Lane’s
Thousand and One Nights, iii, p. 512, note.
Page 108. “Was addressed by an old man,” &c.—According to
Lescallier, “by a genie, resplendent with light.”
Page 109. “The top of a mountain, from which he shall fall, rolling in
blood and clay.”—Lescallier’s rendering goes on to say: “He shall yet
escape the murderous teeth of that lion; and when he has attained his
twentieth year, he shall give you a wound, and put you to death.”
Page 109. “One of his Viziers eminently skilled in astrology”—Lescallier
adds, “assisted by many other astronomers.”—In Eastern courts an
astronomer would be held in disrespect if he did not debase the truth of his
science to the vain predictions of astrology (‘ilmu-’n-nujūn). Every
professional astrologer hangs an astrolabe—which is not larger than the
hollow of the hand—in a neat case, at his girdle. Some have an astrolabe
two or three inches in diameter, which at a distance looks like a medal

conferred on the wearer as a mark of honour, or as an order of merit.[89] “A
very slight knowledge of astronomy,” says Sir John Malcolm, “is sufficient
to allow a Persian student to profess the occult science of judicial astrology.
If a person can take an altitude with an astrolabe, knows the names of the
planets and their different mansions, and a few technical phrases, and
understands the astrological almanacs that are annually published, he deems
himself entitled to offer his services to all who wish to consult him; and that
includes every person in Persia who has the means to reward his skill.
Nothing is done by a man of any consequence or property without reference
to the stars. If any measure is to be adopted, if a voyage or journey is to be
commenced, if a new dress is to be put on—the lucky or unlucky moment
must be discovered, and the almanac and astrologer are consulted. A person
wishing to commence a journey will not allow a fortunate day to escape,
even though he is not ready to set out. He leaves his own house at the
propitious moment, and remains, till he can actually proceed, in some
incommodious lodging in its vicinity, satisfied that, by quitting his house,
he has secured all the benefit which the influence of good stars can afford
him.”[90] When Sir John Malcolm entered Tehrān as British Ambassador, the
King’s astrologer so timed the progress of the cavalcade that the “Elchī’s”
charger should put his foot over the threshold of the gate at the precise
lucky moment, which he had previously ascertained.
The Chaldeans were the first astrologers, and the so-called science was
sedulously cultivated and in high estimation among the Hindūs, the Greeks,
the Egyptians, and their Alexandrian disciples. Even the illustrious Tycho
Brahe was devoted to astrology from his early youth until within a few
years of his death, when he finally abandoned it as a fallacy. At first, and for
a very long period afterwards, astrology was not separated into the two
divisions or departments of natural astrology, or observations of the regular
motions of the heavenly bodies (which is now termed astronomy), and
judicial astrology, or the pretended science of foretelling events from
observation of the relative positions of the planets. Isidore of Seville, it is
said, was the first to distinguish between astronomy and astrology. The
professors of judicial astrology in Europe pretended—as those in Asiatic
countries still pretend—to be able to predict the destiny of any one who
came to consult them, by a process called casting his horoscope, which was
done by first ascertaining the precise hour of the person’s birth, and the sign
the sun was in at that time, and then drawing conclusions from observation

of the conjunction and relative position of the planets towards each other.
But European astrologers very frequently—probably as a general rule—did
not trouble themselves to “read the stars;” they were for the most part
accomplished physiognomists, and it may be said that they usually
contented themselves with telling fortunes by faces rather than by the
appearance of the heavenly bodies. There can be little doubt that, with the
exception of a few deluded individuals who thoroughly believed in their
own skill, those who professed a knowledge of astrology were arrant
impostors—cunning knaves, who traded on the prevalent superstition and
credulity of mankind in the days before science began to shed its pure light.
El-Hajjāj, a general under the Khalīf El-Walīd I, consulted, in his last
illness, an astrologer, who predicted to him his approaching death. “I rely so
completely on your knowledge,” said El-Hajjāj to him, “that I wish to have
you with me in the next world, and I shall therefore send you thither before
me, in order that I may be able to employ your services from the time of my
arrival.” He then ordered the soothsayer to be put to death, although the
time fixed for this event by the planets had not yet arrived.—Abū-’l-
Ma`shar, the oracle of astrology, left in writing, that he found the Christian
religion, according to the indications of the stars, should last but fourteen
hundred years—he has been belied by nearly five hundred years already.—
Tiberius, when he was at Rhodes, wished to satisfy his curiosity with
respect to judicial astrology. He sent, in succession, for all those who
pretended to foretell future events. One of his enfranchised slaves, of great
stature and extraordinary strength, conducted them to him through the
intricacies of the precipices. If Tiberius discovered that the astrologer was a
cheat, the slave, upon a given signal, immediately cast him into the sea. At
that time there was at Rhodes a man named Trasullus, who was deeply
skilled in astrology, and of a cunning disposition. He was taken, in the same
manner as the others, to this retired spot, assured Tiberius that he should be
Emperor, and revealed to him many other events that should take place.
Tiberius asked him if he knew his own destiny, and if he had consulted his
own horoscope. Trasullus—who had had some suspicions when he did not
see any of his companions return, and felt his fears increase on viewing the
countenance of Tiberius, the man who had been his conductor (who did not
quit him for a moment), the elevated place where he stood, and the
precipice which lay beneath him—turned his eyes up to heaven, as if to
consult the stars; he immediately appeared fear-stricken, turned pale, and

exclaimed, in an apparent agony of terror, that he was menaced with death.
Tiberius was full of joy and admiration on hearing this reply, ascribing to
astrology what was only presence of mind and cunning, cheered the spirits
of Trasullus, embraced him, and from that time regarded him as an oracle.
—An astrologer foretold the death of a lady whom Louis XI passionately
loved. She did, in fact, die, and the King imagined that the prediction of the
astrologer was the cause of it. He sent for the man, intending to have him
thrown out of the window as a punishment. “Tell me,” said the King, “thou
who pretendest to be so clever and learned a man, what thy own fate will
be?” The soothsayer, who suspected the intentions of the King, and knew
his foible, replied: “Sire, I foresee that I shall die three days before your
Majesty.” Louis believed him, and was careful of the astrologer’s life.—An
astrologer, fixing his eyes upon the Duke of Milan, said to him: “My Lord,
arrange your affairs, for you have not long to live.” The Duke asked: “How
dost thou know this?” “By my acquaintance with the stars,” answered the
astrologer. “And pray, how long art thou to live?” “My planet promises me
a long life.” “Well, thou shalt shortly discover that we ought not to trust the
stars.” And the Duke ordered him to be hanged instantly.—Our own King
Henry VIII asked an astrologer if he knew where he should pass the
festivities at Christmas. The astrologer answered that he knew nothing on
the subject. “Then,” said the King, “I am wiser than thou art; for I know
that thou shalt pass them in the Tower of London;” and the unlucky
astrologer was at once conducted thither.—William, Duke of Mantua, had
in his stables a brood mare which gave birth to a mule. He immediately sent
to the most famous astrologers in Italy the hour of the birth of this animal,
requesting them to inform him what should be the fortune of a bastard that
had been born in his palace; he took care, however, not to intimate that he
was speaking of a mule. The soothsayers used their best endeavours to
flatter the Prince, not doubting that the bastard belonged to himself. Some
declared that it should be a general; others made it a bishop; some raised it
to the rank of cardinal; and there were even some who elevated it to the
papal chair!
It is truly marvellous that the same age which produced a Newton should
also have seen flourish that arch-astrologer William Lilly (inimitably
satirised by Butler under the name of Sidrophel),[91] whose preposterous
predictions were credited even by persons of education. Swift may be said
to have dealt the death-blow to astrology by his celebrated squib, entitled

“Prediction for the year 1718, by Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq.,” in which he
ridiculed the prophetic almanac-makers of the day. Astrology having
permeated all science and literature, it is not surprising that many of its
peculiar terms should have become embodied in our language, as, for
example, in the words consider and contemplate, disaster and disastrous;
and we still speak of jovial, mercurial, and saturnine men.—Kepler, in the
preface to his Rudolphine tables, observes that Astrology, though a fool,
was the daughter of a wise mother, to whose support and life the foolish
daughter was indispensable.[92]
Page 109. “In the meantime he caused a subterraneous dwelling to be
constructed, to which he sent the boy, with a nurse.”—Sir William Ouseley
has omitted to mention that the boy was born—on the following day,
according to Lescallier.—Many instances of a father trying to belie the
predictions of soothsayers occur in Eastern fiction, and also in classical and
European legends. The story of Danae, the daughter of Acrisius, King of
Argos, by Eurydice, who was confined in a brazen tower by her father, who
had been told by an oracle that his daughter’s son should put him to death,
is well known. The underground dwelling of our present tale may be
compared with that described in chapter 79 of the English Gesta
Romanorum; also that in the Arabian Nights (Story of the Second
Kalender); and in the Bāgh o Bahār (Tale of the Second Dervish), a young
prince, in consequence of the prediction of astrologers that he is menaced
with great danger until his fourteenth year, is confined in a vault, lined with
felt, so that he should not behold the sun or moon. In Mr Ralston’s Tibetan
Tales, under the title of “The Fulfilled Prophecy,” the diviners declare that
“a son should be born who should take the King’s life and usurp the royal
power, setting the diadem on his own head.” In the Norse story of “Rich
Peter the Pedlar,”[93] a prediction that his daughter should one day wed a
poor man’s son is fulfilled in spite of many efforts to defeat it—a story
which seems to have been adapted from the Gesta Romanorum, Tale xx of
Swan’s translation. And in the Netherlandish Legend of “St Julian the
Ferryman,” it is predicted that Julian shall one day put his own father and
mother to death; and although the unhappy youth flies into a far distant
country, he cannot flee from his terrible destiny, for many years afterwards
the prediction proves only too true.[94]
Page 110. “Keeper [of pen and ink] to the secretary” (dav dari).—The
Orientals are great admirers of caligraphy. Jamshīd, the Pīshdādian king, in

respect to scribes and writers, thus expressed himself: “As the monarch’s
sword establishes the foundation of his kingdom, so the tongue of the
scribe’s pen transacts the concerns of the faith:
“The sharp-edged sword and pen are twins; the reigning monarch,
By reliance on these two supporters, elevates his neck on high.”

And the Persian Vizier Nizām declared that his cap and inkhorn, the
badges of his office, were connected by the divine decree with the throne
and diadem of the Sultan (Gibbon, ch. lvii). It is worthy of remark that
Mīrzā placed before a person’s name means “a man of the pen;” but if it
follow, it means Shāh-Zāda, a prince. For different styles of writing see
A.F.S. Herbin’s Essai de Calligraphie Orientale, Paris, 1803, 4to; Chardin’s
Voyages en Perse, et autres lieux de l’Orient, t. ii, ch. iv, pp. 107–110; and
Lane’s Modern Egyptians, vol. i, ch. ix. (See also second Note, page 202.)
Page 113. “His hair stand on end.”—Thus Job, iv, 15: “The hair of my
flesh stood up;” and Homer, speaking of Priam, when terrified at the
appearance of Mercury: “His hair stood upright on his bending limbs;” and
the Ghost, addressing Hamlet, i, 4:
Thy knotted and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand on end,
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine.

Page 114. “Assembled all the people by proclamation”—that they might
take warning from the young man’s fate. But the Persians require no
invitation to scenes of this nature. “The curiosity,” says Dr Chodzko,[95]
“which gathers crowds of people to witness the execution of culprits in
Europe is very feeble in comparison with what can be seen in Asia on
similar occasions. There many of those present are not only fond of looking
at, but even take an active part in tormenting the condemned, though they
never saw him before, or have any motive of revenge. To stab the poor
dying wretch with a knife, or at least to spit in his face, is an innocent
pleasure, which even the women do not refuse themselves. Those who are
moved by revenge are still more savage. Riza Kūlī Khān, the governor of
Yezd, having expelled from that town one of the sons of the Shāh (in 1830),
was afterwards taken prisoner and sent to Tehrān. The Shāh gave the culprit
up to the offended prince, who, after promising to pardon and forget all,
invited him to supper in the harem, and there stabbed him with his own

hands. His wives, and the maid-servants of the harem, cut to pieces the
body, weltering in blood, with scissors, and pricked and tortured him till he
gave up his last breath!—I can see no reason for this but their brutalising
education. A child begins by wringing off the heads of living sparrows.
When he grows up they buy him a little sword, and exercise the boy in
cutting in two halves, first living fowls, then lambs, sheep, and so on.
Grown-up people consider it as a very fashionable pastime to snatch a ram
from the flock, order two of their servants to hold it by the head and feet,
and placing a bundle of straw underneath, in order to prevent the sword
from striking against the ground, to cut the bleating animal to pieces while
it is alive. The most famous of such swordsmen in Persia was Sulaymān
Mīrza, son of Fatah `Alī Shāh. He has often, in the presence of the Shāh and
numerous witnesses, with one blow of his huge scimitar cut in two an ass,
and severed the head of a camel from its neck.”

In Lescallier’s version, for the King of Persia we have the King of
Arabia.—In Cazotte’s rendering, under the title of “The Sultan Hebraim
[Ibrahīm] and his Son, or The Predestined,” is found a considerably
amplified but very interesting version of this story. After the young prince
has been discovered and carried away from the underground palace by a
huntsman (not the King’s secretary, but “a man of rank and fortune”), the
incidents are totally different from those of our version. Abaquir—the
young prince—is carefully brought up by his master, and in course of time
becomes accomplished in all the exercises befitting a noble youth. One day
he accompanies his master to the chase, when they are suddenly attacked by
robbers, who slay the elder of the hunters, and having severely wounded
Abaquir, leave him for dead. Recovering after a long period of insensibility,
he rises and walks onwards through the forest, till he meets with a dervish,
who takes him to his cave and treats him with kindness and hospitality. This
dervish proves to be a wicked magician, who prevails upon Abaquir to
descend into the bowels of a mountain to bring up precious stones, which
the false dervish having drawn safely up, the poor youth is then cruelly
abandoned to his fate. From this cavern Abaquir escapes, and after a long
journey he reaches a city, where a kind-hearted man receives him into his
house, and he remains with him some time. Weary at length of inaction, he
resolves to go out to hunt, and meets with a party of robbers, whose real
avocation he does not know, and joins them—the robbers binding him to

fidelity by a solemn oath. Too late he discovers the true character of his
companions, but is compelled to accompany them on their plundering
expeditions. The daring outrages perpetrated by this gang of robbers
become so notorious that the Sultan Hebraim marches against them at the
head of some chosen troops. The robbers are utterly defeated, but the Sultan
himself is grievously wounded. On returning to his capital he sends for his
astrologers, and angrily asks them whether in their predictions they had
foreseen that he should die by the hand of a robber. They affirm that what
the stars had predicted could not prove false, and suggest that the Sultan
should ascertain who it was, among the robbers, that wounded him, and
then inquire into his birth and history. Abaquir, his own son, is the robber
who inflicted the fatal wound; and after he has given the best account he
could of his early years, and shown the scars of the lion’s claws on his
breast, the Sultan submits to the decree of Fate, and dies shortly after
declaring Abaquir his successor.—In Habicht’s Arabian text (which agrees
with Cazotte in nearly all the details) it is stated that the King went once
every month to the opening of the underground dwelling, let down a rope,
and drew up his son, embraced and kissed and played with him awhile, then
let him down again.

Notes on Conclusion.

Page 116. “Sent an order to the Viziers,” &c. The lithographed text says:
“Instantly he commanded Bakhtyār to be fetched. The King with his own
hands drew off the fetters, brought him before the Queen, and put on him a
kabā [see Note p. 135] and a kulāh”—that is, a robe and a turban.—Certain
officers of the King of Persia’s household who wear gold tiaras are called
Zarrin-Kullāhān, Golden Caps.
Page 117. “Resigned the throne to Bakhtyār.”—In Hindū stories a very
usual conclusion is the King’s abdication of his throne in favour of his son;
and it is highly probable that such was actually the custom formerly. In the
European mediæval romance of “The Knight with the Swan,” King Oriant
abdicates in favour of his son Helias.—See Mr W. J. Thoms’ Early English
Prose Romances.
Page 117. “Dignity of Chief Vizier.”—The text reads: “He conferred on
Farrukhsuwār, with complete honour and reverence, the Vizier’s Khil`at
[see Note p. 136], and appointed him Commander-in-chief (Sipahsālār).”
The lithographed text thus concludes: “This book is finished by the aid of
the King the Giver [i.e. God]”: tamma-’l-kitāb bi `awni-’l-Māliki-’l-
Wahhāb.

Additional Notes.

As a few notes remain to be added to the foregoing, I take the
opportunity of correcting in this place some errors which have occurred
while these sheets were passing through the press.
Page 157, line 1, for Berica read Berœa.
Page 160, line 19 for chemy read cheraiy, or sheraiy.
Page 167, lines 7 and 8.—It may be as well to explain that the words
tavakkul bar Khudā are a Persian translation (in the text) of the Arabic
tawakkal `ala-’llāhi of the Kur’ān, ch. xxxiii (not xxxvii), 3—“put thy trust
in God.”
Page 169, line 19, for Trinchinopoli read Trichinopoli.

The following note, by mischance, has been omitted in its proper place
(Notes on Chapter VIII):
Page 93. “The King graciously received the present which Rūzbih
offered.”—It is well known that, in all parts of the East, whoever visits a
great person must carry him a present. “It is counted uncivil,” says
Maundrell, p. 26, “to visit in this country without an offering in hand. All
great men expect it as a tribute due to their character and authority; and
look upon themselves as affronted, and indeed defrauded, when the
compliment is omitted.” In the sacred writings we find mention made of
this custom. For instance, 1 Samuel ix, 7: “But behold, if we go, what shall
we bring the man? for the bread is spent in our vessels, and there is not a
present (teshurah) to bring to the man of God—what have we?” Menachem
explains teshurah to signify “an offering or gift, which is presented in order
to be admitted into the presence of a King or some great man.” See also
Isaiah lvii, 9, lit.: “And thou hast visited the King with a present of oil.”

“The King of Yemen and his Slave”—see page 56, and last note, page
174.—This story in Habicht’s Arabian text is entitled “The History of King
Bihkard,” and the following passages may be compared with those of our
text and with Lescallier, above referred to: On a certain day he went on a

hunting excursion, and one of his servants shot an arrow, and it struck the
King’s ear, and cut it off. The King asked: “Who shot this arrow?” The
attendants instantly conducted the bowman to the front, and his name was
Yatrū. Fainting from fear, he threw himself on the ground, and the King
said: “Put him to death.” But Yatrū said: “O King, this fault is not of my
own choice or knowledge—pardon me, then, out of thy kindness, since
grace is the most gracious of actions, and oftentimes on some future day
becomes a treasure and a benefit, and in the sight of God a recompense at
the last day. Pardon me, then: as you avert evil from me, so will God ward
off from thee a similar evil.” When the King heard these words, he admired
and forgave Yatrū, yet never had he before pardoned any one.
Now this servant was of royal extraction, and had fled from his country,
by reason of some transgression, and had entered the service of King
Bihkard. And this is what happened to him. By chance a person who knew
him passed that way, and gave information to his father, who sent him a
letter, which gratified his heart and disposition; and he returned to his
father, who inclined indulgently towards him. Yatrū rejoiced, and his affairs
were rectified.—Compare also Lescallier and Cazotte, cited in pp. 178, 179.

Arabian Version of Abū Temām’s Mission.

(Comp. pp. 101–103, and 212, 213.)
According to Habicht’s text, the account of Abū Temām’s delicate—not
to say dangerous—mission to the King of Turkistān is very different from
that of the Persian version. The King desires him to enter the harem, and see
and converse with the Princess; and he proceeds thither, reflecting on the
way that “Wise men have averred that whoever deprives his sight [that is,
closes his eyes] no evil can attach to him; and whoever bridles his tongue
hears nothing disagreeable; and whoever restrains his hand, it can neither be
shortened nor lengthened.” He accordingly enters the chamber of the
Princess, and sits down on the floor, gathering together the extremities of
his robe. When the King’s daughter requests him to raise his head, look
upon and converse with her, Abū Temām remains mute, and with downcast
eyes. She then requests him to take the pearls, and the gold and silver which
lie near him, but he does not extend his hand towards anything. At this the
Princess is vexed, and tells her father that they have sent a blind, and deaf,
and foolish ambassador; whereupon the King of Turkistān demands of Abū
Temām why he had not looked upon and conversed with his daughter: he
replies that he had seen everything [he should see]; and in answer to the
inquiry, why he had not taken the proffered pearls, he says that it was not
proper for him to extend his hand to aught that belongs to another. The
King, overjoyed at his prudence, embraces him, shows him the heads of
former ambassadors (see page 214, line 4), consents to give his daughter in
marriage to Abū Temām’s royal master, and presents him with a robe of
honour, after which Abū Temām departs, and in due course the Princess is
sent to the palace of Īlan Shāh.

Arabian Version of the Conclusion of the Romance.

In Habicht’s Arabian text the conclusion is as follows (comp. pp. 115–
117):
When the youth had finished his narrative, the King said: “Still thou
wouldest bewilder us with thy discourses, but the time is now come for
your execution.”—At the moment when they were conducting the youth to
the gallows, the robber-chief who had educated him arrived in the town.
When he observed the people assembling together, he inquired the cause,
and they said to him: “The King has commanded a young culprit to be
executed.” The robber-chief, who wished to see the youth, immediately
recognised him, and kissed him on the mouth, and said: “This youth, when
a child, I found near a fountain. I adopted him, and brought him up. One
day we attacked a caravan, and were driven into flight, and he was taken
prisoner. Since then I have sought everywhere for him, and never could
gain any news respecting him.” When the King heard this he cried aloud,
threw himself on the youth, embraced and kissed him, and said: “I should
have put my own son to death, and in consequence should have died of
grief.” The King then unfettered the Prince, took the crown from his own
head, and placed it on that of his son. The news was made public by the
beating of drums and the braying of trumpets, the town was illuminated,
and there arose such a shouting of joy that the birds could scarcely support
themselves in the air. All prisoners were released by order of the King, and
a seven days’ festival proclaimed throughout the kingdom.
On the eighth day the King placed his son at his side, and summoned all
his friends, the city notables, and the viziers. To these last the Prince said:
“You see now the work of God’s providence—you now perceive His aid
was near.” The Viziers were struck dumb, and the King added: “I observe
that on this day all the people rejoice, even the birds of the air—ye only are
downcast; that is truly a proof of rancour against me. Had I listened to your
advice, I should have died from the effects of despair and repentance.” The
King then summoned to his presence the robber-chief, made him many
presents, and said: “Whoever loves the King, let him lavish gifts on this
man.” Whereupon he was so overwhelmed with presents that he could not

take any more; and the King then conferred upon him the governorship of
the province in which he had dwelt.
Soon afterwards the King ordered nine sets of gallows to be erected near
the one already set up, and said to his son: “Thou wast guiltless—these
wicked Viziers slandered thee in my eyes.” The Prince rejoined: “My crime
consisted of my loyalty to thee—seeing that I removed their hands from thy
treasures, they envied me, and wished my death.” “On that account,” said
the King, “let their punishment now be near, for their crime is great: to
destroy thee, they did not scruple to disgrace my house in the opinion of all
sovereigns.” He then turned to the Viziers, and said to them: “Woe be to
you! Wherewith can you excuse yourselves?” They replied: “O King, there
is no excuse for us—we were unkind to the youth, and wished his
misfortune, which has recoiled on us;—for him we dug a grave and have
fallen into it ourselves.” Hereupon the King issued an order for their
execution—“for,” said he, “God is just, and all His judgments are true.” The
King afterwards lived in happiness and peacefully with his spouse and his
son, until the disturber of all earthly friends reached them likewise.

WILLIAM BURNS, PRINTER, LARKHALL, LANARKSHIRE.

1. See Thoms’ Lays and Legends of Germany; Thorpe’s Yule-Tide Stories; Roscoe’s German
Novelists.

2. Grimm’s German Popular Tales.

3. Dasent’s Popular Tales from the Norse.

4. Perhaps one of the most curious instances of the migrations of popular tales is the following.
In Taylor’s Wit and Mirth, an excellent jest-book, compiled by the celebrated Water-Poet (temp.
James I of England), we are told of a countryman who had come up to London on a visit, and some
wags having set a big dog at him in sport, the poor fellow stooped to pick up a stone to throw at the
brute, but finding them all rammed hard and fast into the ground, he exclaimed in astonishment:
“What strange folk are these, who fasten the stones and let loose their dogs!” More than three
centuries before Taylor heard this jest, the Persian poet Sa`dī related it in his Gulistān, or Rose-
Garden (ch. iv, story 10 of Eastwick’s translation): “A poet went to the chief of a band of robbers, and
recited a panegyric upon him. He commanded them to strip off his clothes, and turn him out of the
village. The dogs, too, attacked him in the rear. He wanted to take up a stone, but the ground was
frozen. Unable to do anything, he said: ‘What a villanous set are these, who have untied their dogs,
and tied up the stones!’”—Here we have a jest, at the recital of which, in the 14th century, “grave and
otiose” Easterns wagged their beards and shook their portly sides, finding its way, three centuries

later, to London taverns, where Taylor probably heard it told amidst the clinking of cans and fragrant
clouds blown from pipes of Trinidado! But how came it thither?—that is the question.

5. Of the numerous English translations of the Arabian Nights which have been published, that
of the learned Arabist, Mr William Edward Lane, made direct from the original text, is by far the
best, and will probably never be surpassed; while his elaborate and highly interesting Notes to the
translation furnish the most complete account which we possess of the manners, customs,
superstitions, &c., of the modern Arabians in Egypt, with which his residence in that country, and
familiarity with the language as it is spoken, enabled him to become intimately acquainted.

6. For example: before one story (1) is ended another (2) is begun, and before it is finished
another (3), springing out of the second, is commenced; then out of story 3 springs yet another story
(4), which ended, number 3 is resumed and brought to an end, then number 2, after which number 1
is resumed and concluded; and then the thread of the leading story—which runs throughout the
whole work, like a brook through a meadow, but often out of sight—is taken up once more;—to lead
presently to a fresh complication of stories, which “beget one another to the end of the chapter!” The
arrangement of the Tales in the Arabian Nights is on this plan; though not to be compared for
elaboration with that of the Indian Fables, above-mentioned, still less so with the frame of Kathá
Sarit Ságara.

7. A complete and unabridged translation of the Thousand and One Nights (the first that has
appeared in English), by Mr John Payne, author of “The Masque of Shadows,” “Poems of Francis
Villon,” &c., is in course of publication. The first volume, now issued to subscribers, is well printed
on hand-made paper, and elegantly bound in gilt parchment. This edition is limited to 500 copies,
numbered, most of which, I understand, have already been taken up.

8. The word Nāma (often written Namah and Nameh) signifies Book, or History.

9. It is probably this version that is quoted by Sa`dī, in his Bustān, book iii:

How nice comes this point in Sindibād,
That “Love is a fire—O whirlwind-like sea!”

10. Asiatic Journal, N.S., vols. xxxv, xxxvi, 1841.—These titles also appear on this manuscript.
Mesneviyi Sindibād, “The couplet-rhymed Sindibād;” Nazmi hakim Sindibād, “Rhymed Story of the
Philosopher Sindibād;” and Kitābi hakīm Sindibād, “Book of the Philosopher Sindibād.”

11. Wilson’s Descriptive Catalogue of the Mackenzie MSS. vol. i, p. 220.

12. The Thousand and One Nights: Arabian Tales. For the first time completely and fully
translated from a Tunisian Manuscript, &c.

13. In 1792 an English translation of this work was published at Edinburgh, in 4 vols., under the
title: Arabian Tales. Translated from the original Arabic into French; and from the French into
English, by Robert Heron.

14. An English rendering of the Turkī version of the story translated into French by M. Jaubert
will be found at the end of Notes on Chapter VI, pp. 189–194.

15. Political and Statistical Account of the British Settlements in the Straits of Malacca. By T. J.
Newbold. 2 vols. London, 1839.

16. Mr J. W. Redhouse has kindly furnished me, as follows, with the various meanings attached
to the word Ghulām; which in the Malay romance seems to be employed as a proper name: “Gulām
(not Ghulām), an Arabic word, signifies ‘a boy,’ ‘a lad.’ The Persians have made it, in their language,
signify ‘a slave,’ and thence ‘a life-guardsman,’ and ‘a king’s messenger;’ whence ‘any post-
messenger who travels on horse-back’—or by rail, now, in some places: all these really mean ‘a lad.’
The Turks use the word in the first and last senses—‘a lad,’ ‘a Persian post-courier.’”

17. The Bakhtyar Nameh, or Story of Prince Bakhtyar and the Ten Viziers. A series of Persian
Tales. From a Manuscript in the Collection of Sir William Ouseley. London, 1800.—This edition
includes the original text; in 1801, according to Lowndes’ Bibliographer’s Manual, an edition was
published without the Persian text.

18. Bakhtiar Nameh, ou le Favori de la Fortune. Conte traduit du Persan. Par M. Lescallier.
Paris, 1805.

19. See third note, page 184, and first note, p. 195.

20. Mr Platt would date the work a century earlier; he writes to me, as follows, on this question:
“First, be it observed, the only titles of Kings mentioned in the Persian text are, Shāh, Pādishāh,
Malik, and Kaisar; nowhere do we find the sovereign title of Sultān, but it occurs in Habicht’s Arabic
text. This title was first borne by Mahmood ibn Sabuktakeer, A.D. 1002 (A.H. 393), and did not exist in
Egypt until A.D. 1171 (A.H. 567). At page 184 of your Notes and Illustrations reference is made to the
Gulistān of Sa`dī: now that work was published A.D. 1257 (A.H. 655), and it is as well to bear in mind
that the poet was born A.H. 1175 (A.H. 571), and by some said to have attained the advanced age of
102, by others 116 years. The work, therefore, is more likely to have been written towards the close
of, rather than after, the 13th century. Next may be considered the arms of defence and offence,
which required the appointment of an armour-bearer (see page 111, line 6), viz., bow, quiver—
containing broad-bladed arrows—sword, or scimitar, mace, or bludgeon, shield, and a spear, or lance;
all of which were employed by the Crusaders. Now the first of the eight crusades dates A.D. 1096
(A.H. 490), and the last A.D. 1270 (A.H. 669). These considerations are connected with the Seljukian
kingdom of Rūm, of which the capital was Koniah (Iconium), founded A.D. 1074 (A.H. 467), and
lasted until A.D. 1307 (A.H. 707); in all, 233 years. Much confusion arises from the Ruler of the
Eastern Empire being called Kaisar-ī Rūm, a title also assumed by the Seljukian dynasty. The Kaisar-
i Rūm of Chapter III may allude to any occupant of the Constantinopolitan throne between the years
A.D. 1257 and 1434.”

21. In this entertaining book a Parrot is represented as relating stories night after night, in order
to prevent a merchant’s wife from carrying on a criminal intrigue during her husband’s absence.
Nakshabī’s work has not yet been wholly translated into English—see foot note, page 197. Of
Kāderī’s abridgment (which is very clumsily done) a translation, together with his Persian text, was
published at Calcutta, and reprinted at London in 1801. Kāderī has certainly done Nakshabī’s literary
reputation no small injury, by the manner in which he has cut down the stories, and by substituting
his own inexpressive and bald style for the graceful composition of the original. It is to be hoped that
ere long some competent scholar will present English readers with a fair translation of Nakshabī’s
excellent work, which would prove of considerable service to those interested in tracing the
migrations and transformations of popular tales.—Besides the Suka Saptati, above mentioned, there
is another Indian book, in Tamul, on the same plan, entitled Hamsa Vinsati, Twenty Tales of a Hamsa,
or Goose, told with the same object as that of the Parrot—to keep an amorous lady at home until her
husband returns.

22. Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. To which is added a Selection of New Tales, now first
translated from the Arabic originals; also an Introduction and Notes, by Jonathan Scott, LL.D.
London, 1811. 6 vols.—This edition, says Lowndes, “was carefully revised and corrected from the
Arabic,” but it is not easy to discover any of the Editor’s emendations: the sixth volume consists of
Scott’s additional Tales, one or two of which had been better left in the “original Arabic.”

23. Evidently a misprint for “literal,” since Scott accuses Cazotte of taking “liberties” with his
originals, and contrasts his work with Ouseley’s more accurate translation. It is curious to find, for
once, at least, a misprint proving to be no error; for Ouseley’s translation is in fact very “liberal,” and
Scott assuredly could never have compared it with the text.

24. As the Eleventh Day, is the Story of the Freed Slave.

25. In allusion to the name, compounded of Bakht, Fortune, and yār, a friend, or companion.

26. Bihrūz and Rūzbih are compounded of the words bih, good, excellent, and rūz, day;
meaning “whose day is excellent.”—Ed.

27. Veti-ver, Mr Platt writes to me, “is a French word, and yet I am unable to find it in any
French Dictionary. It is a kind of grass, deriving its name from the Latin words veto and vermis, as it
is used when dry in keeping clothes, etc. free from moths. In the Mauritius, I believe, mats and table-
covers are manufactured from it.”

28. Morier’s Second Journey.

29. This is Mr Bicknell’s almost literal rendering:

If the young Magian dally with grace so coy and fine,
My eyes shall bend their fringes to sweep the house of wine.

30. Kīl va kāl, par va bāl, “question and answer,” “feather and wing:” a jingle of words which
has a great charm to a Persian ear: “feather and wing,” pride of place; for the height of prosperity
they say pār va bāl-i ikbāl.

31. Manzil, a day’s journey—about twenty miles.

32. Ottoman Poems. Translated, with Introduction, Biographical Notices, and Notes, by E. J. W.
Gibb (Trübner & Co.) Page 211.

33. That is, a sword, the scabbard of which is ornamented with gold.

34. Second Journey to Persia, &c.

35. He would be a “friend indeed” to submit to so much consultation!

36. This droll story is also domiciled in Italy: see D’Israeli’s Curiosities of Literature—“On the
Philosophy of Proverbs”; but the probable original is found in the Talmud, where it occurs as an
addendum to the well-known tale of the emperor Hadrian and the old man who planted a fig-tree.

37. Compare Scott:

“When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou!”

38. History of Muhammedanism, Second Edition, p. 322.

39. Sir John Malcolm’s History of Persia, vol. ii p. 585.

40. Russell’s Natural History of Aleppo, vol. i, chap. 3.

41. Meaning the Sultan himself; for the Turkish Sultans are all born of slave-women.

42. From Ferdusi, his Life and Writings, by S. R. (Mr Samuel Robinson), one of a series of
admirable translations &c. of Persian Poetry, published some years ago, and now being reprinted for
private circulation by the learned and venerable author, as a companion volume to my Arabian
Poetry for English Readers.

43. Essai sur les Fables Indiennes.

44. A Century of Ghazels, or a Hundred Odes, selected and translated from the Divān of Hāfiz,
by S.R. (Preliminary Notice, pp. viii, ix.)

45. Flowers from the “Gulistān” and “Bostān” of Sadi. By S. R.

46. It has long been a barbarous practice in Persia to pluck out the eyes of political offenders.
Morier, in his romance of Zohrab the Hostage, represents the brutal tyrant Aga Muhammad Shāh,
during the horrible massacre which followed the capture of Astrābād, as coolly counting, with the
handle of his riding-switch, the number of pairs of eyes placed before him on a tray; and a reference
to the account of this monster’s conduct after the capture of Kirmān, in Sir John Malcolm’s History
of Persia, will show that the novelist has not exaggerated in this matter.

47. Nigārīn: idol-like, beautiful, embellished, a beloved object.

48. Under the title of Hindoo Tales (London: Strahan & Co.), Dr P. W. Jacob has issued a very
readable translation of this entertaining romance.

49. Tibetan Tales, derived from Indian Sources. Translated from the Tibetan of the Kah-Gyur, by
F. Anton Von Schiefner. Done into English, from the German, by W. R. S. Ralston, M.A. London:
Trübner & Co.

50. Descriptive Catalogue of the Mackenzie Collection of Oriental MSS. By H. H. Wilson.
Calcutta, 1828. Vol. i, p. 17.

51. Translated from the German of Bergmann, by Mr William J. Thoms, and published, in 1834,
in his very interesting Lays and Legends of Various Nations, a work which is now become extremely
scarce, and well merits being reprinted.

52. The King was wont to visit the well where Abū Saber lay, and to jeer and mock his practice
of patience.

53. That is, the story of Abraha, obscurely referred to in the opening paragraph, page 56.
Abraha, we are there informed, “was the son of the King of Zangībār, who, by chance, had fallen into

slavery, and never disclosed the secret to any one.” Lescallier says, that he was reduced to slavery
“by some extraordinary adventure,” but the text does not explain the nature of the “adventure.”

54. Khōja: in its more restricted meaning, a lord, a master; Muhammad is styled Khōja-i bas o
nashr, literally, “lord of the raising and dispersing,” that is, the Resurrection. In its general
signification, a man of distinction, doctor, professor, &c. But the title of Khōja, like our “Mr” is now
very commonly applied to any respectable person.

55. “Zangistān.”—The Oriental adjunct stān or istān, the participle of istādan, “to reside,” or
“dwell,” denotes “place,” or “country,” whence Moghol-istān, a port of Tartary; Fars-istān, Persia;
Khūz-istān, Susiana. The root of stān may be seen in our English word “station.”

56. “Four parasangs.”—A Persian league, about 18,000 feet in length, is Fars-sang, that is, the
Stone of Persia, which Herodotus and other Greek authors term Parasanga. It seems that in ancient
times the distance of a league was marked in the East, as well as in the West, by large elevated
stones.

57. The love of Jacob for his son Joseph, and his grief at his supposed death, are proverbial
amongst Muslims, and very frequently alluded to by Persian poets. In the 12th sura of the Kur’ān it is
stated that Jacob became blind through constant weeping for his lost son, and that his sight was
restored by means of Joseph’s inner garment, which the Governor of Egypt sent to his father by his
brethren. In the Makamat of El-Hariri, the celebrated Arabian poet, are such allusions as “passed a
night of sorrow like Jacob’s,” “wept more than Jacob when he lost his son.”

58. Probably the messenger went to Yemen in the assumed capacity of a merchant, which would
render him least liable to suspicion, and also enable him to smuggle Abraha out of the city without
attracting particular notice.

59. The same savage maxim occurs in the Anvār-i Suhailī: “When thou hast got thy enemy fast,
show him no mercy.”

60. Islām is not, as is commonly believed in Europe, synonymous with Fatalism. “What
Muhammad taught,” remarks Mr Redhouse, “what the Kur’ān so eloquently and so persistently sets
forth, and what real faithful Muslims believe, conformably with what is contained in the Gospels and
accepted by devout Christians, is—that God’s Providence pre-ordains, as His Omniscience
foreknows, all events, and over-rules the designs of men, to the sure fulfilment of His all-wise
purposes.”—El-Esmā’u-’l-Husna, “The Most Comely Names” [i.e. of God], by J. W. Redhouse,
M.R.A.S. Trübner & Co., London.

61. There are many varieties of this amusing story in Europe as well as in Asia—whether Father
Beschi found it in India or took it with him.

62. “The ‘Uygur’ language,” Mr J. W. Redhouse writes to me, “is simply Turkish; what we
should term ‘a little provincial.’ It is very much more consistent with the Ottoman Turkish of to-day
than the English of four hundred years ago was like the modern English.”

63. Here, surely, the Tātār translator—or adapter—anticipates the course of the narrative; since
the King (unfortunately for the Vezīr Kārdār) did not possess, at one and the same time, two Vezīrs
and a beautiful wife—if by the latter be meant the pious daughter of Kerdār.

64. Kārdān signifies “knowing affairs”—“experienced.” The meaning of Kerdār (as Kārdār is
pronounced by Turks) is already given in the foregoing notes.

65. Lit: without whom she could not live.—Jaubert.

66. In M. Cazotte’s rendering of the Arabian version (French translation of the Continuation of
the Thousand and One Nights), it is also the cameleer of the King of Persia, and not of King Dādīn,
as in the Persian Bakhtyār, who discovers the pious maiden in the desert, and from this point to the
end of the narrative M. Cazotte’s and the Turkī versions correspond.

67. Husain Vā`iz, in his Anvār-i-Suhailī, had probably Sa`dī’s verses in mind when he wrote:
“The arrow which has leapt from the string cannot be brought back, nor can the slain person be
resuscitated either by strength or gold.”

68. Lane’s Thousand and One Nights, Introd. p. 27.—See a more just estimate of women, cited
from the Mahābharata, p. 139 of the present volume.

69. Dr Jonathan Scott: Notes to vol. vi. of his edition of the Arabian Nights.

70. The 50th Night of the India Office MS. No. 2573; and the 35th tale of Muhammad Kaderi’s
abridgment. Gerrans’ English translation, 1792, comprises barely one-fifth of the Tales, only the first
volume of it having been published: he probably did not meet with sufficient encouragement to
complete his work.

71. See Lane’s Thousand and One Nights, Introduction, note 21, ch. iii, note 14; Kur’ān ii, 96.

72. It is perhaps hardly necessary to say that Muhammad did not profess to introduce a new
religion, but simply to restore the original and only true faith, which was held and taught by
Abraham, David, Solomon, and the other great prophets.

73. See Dr Weil’s interesting little work, entitled, The Bible, the Koran, and the Talmud, where
also will be found the curious legend of how the demon Sakhr, above mentioned, by obtaining
possession of Solomon’s magical signet, personated the great Hebrew King, and of the wonderful
recovery of the seal-ring, and Solomon’s restoration to his kingdom.

74. Sir Gore Ouseley’s Biographical Notices of Persian Poets.

75. Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, edited by Jonathan Scott. 6 vols, 8vo. London, 1811. Vol.
vi, Notes.

76. Morier’s Second Journey to Persia, &c.

77. See Lane’s Modern Egyptians.—In my Arabian Poetry for English Readers is a translation
(the first that has appeared in English) of the famous Burda-Poem of El-Busīrī, contributed by Mr J.
W. Redhouse, with Preface and Notes.

78. Called El-Fātiha; according to Sale’s translation, it is as follows:

IN THE NAME OF THE MOST MERCIFUL GOD.

Praise be to God, the Lord of all creatures; the most merciful, the King of the Day of Judgment.
Thee do we worship, and of thee do we beg assistance. Direct us in the right way, in the way of those
to whom thou hast been gracious; not of those against whom thou art incensed, nor of those who go
astray.

79. The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night. Translated by Henry Torrens. Calcutta:
1838. Vol. I. Notes.—This excellent translation comprises only the first 50 Nights, and it is much to
be regretted that Torrens did not live to complete a task so well begun.

80. Malcolm’s History of Persia, vol. ii.

81. Sketches of Persia, 1861 ed., page 134.

82. Folk-Lore students will perhaps “make a note of this.”

83. No. xliv of “Pleasant Stories,” in Gladwin’s Persian Moonshee, 1801.

84. Malcolm’s History of Persia, vol. ii, pp. 594, 5.

85. This Rabbinical tale has been adopted in France, where it is told of a gentleman who left his
wealth to a convent, provided they gave his son “whatever they chose”—they chose the bulk of the
money, which, of course, they had to restore.

86. Dissertation on the Literature, Languages, and Manners of Eastern Nations.

87. Anvar-i Suhaili, or Lights of Canopus. By Hussain Vā’iz.

88. The Story of Semiletka, in Mr Ralston’s Russian Folk-Tales, bears so close a resemblance to
this rabbinical story, in the stratagem adopted by the wife, that we must conclude it cannot be a mere
coincidence.

89. Chardin’s Voyages en Perse, &c., vol. ii, pp. 149, 220.

90. History of Persia, vol. ii, pp. 576–7.

91. .sp 1
A cunning man, hight Sidrophel,
That deals in Destiny’s dark counsels,
And sage opinions of the moon sells.—Hudibras.

92. Should the reader feel any curiosity to ascertain the sentiments entertained by
Muhammadans regarding the influence of the planets upon men’s dispositions and fortunes, he will
find the fullest information on the subject in Qanoon-e-Islam, or the Customs of the Moosulmans of
India. By Jaffer Shureef. Translated by G. A. Herklots, M.D. London, 1832.

93. Dr Dasent’s Popular Tales from the Norse.

94. Thorpe’s Northern Mythology, vol. iii.

95. Popular Poetry of Persia.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
2. Retained anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as
printed.

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