'God hath Treasuries aneath the Throne, the Keys whereof are the Tongues of the Poets.' H a d i s - i S h e r i f . HISTORY OF OTTOMAN POETRY BY THE LATE E. J. W. GIBB, M. R. A. S. VOLUME II EDITED BY EDWARD G. BROWNE, M. A., M. B., SIR THOMAS ADAMS' PROFESSOR OF ARABIC AND FEIJ.OW OF PEMBROKE COLLEGE IN THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE. LONDON LUZAC & CO., GREAT RUSSELL STREET 1902 PRINTED HY E. J. BRILL. LEYDEN. EDITOR'S PREFACE. The sad circumstances which led to my becoming respon- sible for the editing of this and the succeeding volumes of the History of Ottoman Poetry are known to all those who are interested in Oriental scholarship, and are fully set forth in the Athenaeum for January i8, 1902, pp. 81 — 82, and the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society for April, 1902, pp. 486 — 489. Nevertheless it seems to me desirable to begin my Preface to this the first posthumous volume of my late friend's great and admirable work with a brief notice of his life, a life wholly devoted and consecrated to learning and fruitful labour of research, but cut short, alas! in its very prime by premature and unexpected death. Elias John Wilkinson Gibb was born at Glasgow on June 3, 1857, and received his education in that city, first at Park School under Dr. Collier, the author of the History of England, and afterwards at the University. It appears that from an early age linguistic studies especially attracted him ; but I have not been able to ascertain exactly how and when his attention first became directed to the Ofient, though I believe that here, as in many other cases, it was the fascination of the Arabian A'ights which first cast over him the spell of the East. Be this as it may, by the time he had reached his twenty-first year his proficiency in Ottoman Turkish was remarkable enough to have attracted VI the attention and aroused the admiration of the late Sir James Redhouse, to whose introduction I was indebted for a friendship which endured and increased with each succeeding year until the end. At first our communications were by letter only, our correspondence being often conducted in Turkish, and always dealing mainly with literary and philological matters; and it was not till the summer of 1883, after he had published (in 1879) a translation of the account of the capture of Constantinople given by SaMu'd-Din in the Tdju 't-Tevdrikh and his Ottoman Poems translated into English Verse in tJie Original Forms (London: Trubner, 1882), that I obtained the opportunity of making his personal acquain- tance. In the Long Vacation of that year, however, having already taken my degree at Cambridge, paid my first visit to Constantinople and temporarily suspended my medical studies to pursue the more congenial paths of Oriental learn- ing, I found myself free ; and, receiving from Gibb an invi- tation to join him in London for a few weeks, eagerly fell in with a proposal to which I owed so much both then and afterwards. We took lodgings together in Brompton Square, and devoted nearly the whole of our time to the reading of Persian and Turkish poetry, the discussion of matters connected with the languages and literatures of the East, and the cultivation of the society of such educated and intelligent Asiatics as we were able to meet with. Notable amongst these was that eccentric but most talented Persian (who died some years ago in the capital of his native land) Mi'rza Muhammad Baqir of Bawanat (a district in Fars near Abarquh), of whose character and attainments some account is given in the Introductory Chapter of my Year amongst ilie Persians. From this period (July — August, 1883) dates my personal acquaintance and friendship with the author of this book. VII that amiable and generous scholar, equal in modesty and learning, whose premature death it has been my sad duty to chronicle, and whose almost completed work it is my privilege to edit. The record of his life is a record of intel- lectual labour and scholarly achievements, not of external adventures and vicissitudes. It is the life of a scholar wholly devoted to a branch of learning but little cultivated or encouraged, in which, he attained complete pre-eminence ; and who summed up the final results of his life's work in a great and monumental book of which, alas ! he did not live to see the complete production. It was a life also happy in all its circumstances ; happy in its freedom from material anxieties and from those limitations which necessarily result 'from straitened means ; still more happy in that loving sym- pathy from those nearest and dearest to him which is beyond all else in value and helpfulness. After his marriage, which took place in 1889, he resided, save for occasional visits to his parents in Scotland, almost entirely in London at his house in Chepstow Villas, where, surrounded by his rare and precious collection of books and manuscripts, he was ever accessible, not only to his friends, but to all those who were interested or learned in the history, literature, languages and thought of Western Asia. Notwithstanding the quiet and secluded life which he led, his house thus became one of the chief rallying-points in London of those engaged in studies kindred to his own ; and the pleasure derived from these visits by his friends, whether European or Asiatic, was enhanced by the cordial welcome which he and his wife ever extended to their visitors. The illness which caused his death declared itself about the middle of November, 1901, a few days after his return to London from Scotland ; but it was only a day or two before his death, which took place early on the morning of VIII Thursday, December 5 of that year, that any apprehensions of serious danger arose. The calamity was equally sudden and unexpected, and the blow, therefore, the harder to bear. Yet almost the first thought of his parents and widow was for the continuance of the book which he had not been allowed to complete; and herein, as I think, their deep sympathy with his work and .aims most strongly revealed itself. To the scholar his work is everything; and to such an one, suddenly called from this life, I can imagine no greater comfort, so far as the things of this world are con- cerned, than the assurance that, so far as possible, arrange- ments would be made by his survivors to secure from loss the result of his labours, and thus, as well as in other ways, to promote the studies to which his life was devoted. Of the steps towards that end taken in the present case I now propose to give a brief account. Almost immediately after the funeral, which took place at Kensal Green Cemetery on Monday, December 9, 1901, I was asked by the widow and parents of my late friend to visit them at his house and consult with them as to the measures which should be taken to carry out what we could easily divine to be his wishes in respect to his literary work and materials. This History of Ottoman Poetry, of which he had lived to see the publication (in 1900) of the first volume only, naturally occupied the first place in our deliberations. Being invited to act as literary executor, I hesitated only for a moment; for though well aware how slender was my knowledge of the Ottoman language and literature compared to his, I could point to no one better qualified than myself who was willing to undertake a task which must needs be accomplished if much precious learning were to be saved froAi oblivion. Besides this I believed, and still believe, that, with the exception of my friend and colleague Khalil Khalid IX Efendi, now Teacher of Turkish in the University of Cam- bridge (whose help and advice was as much at my disposal as it had been at Gibb's), I was, through long acquaintance and sympathy of views, better placed than any other student of Oriental languages for understanding the plan, scheme and aim of the author of this book. In this belief I was con- firmed by a letter, dated September 24, 1900, which I had received from him after the publication of the first volume of this work, and in which, replying to a letter of mine, he wrote as follows : — "Pray accept my sincere thanks for your kind letter, which it has given me great pleasure to receive. You are the one man in the country to whose opinion I attach real weight, and your approval is the best assurance of success that I can have, as well as the strongest encouragement to push on with the work. "When you read the book you will see how greatly indebted I am to your own . . . works. This is especially the case in the introductory chapter and in that on the Hurufi's. In the first of these I had either to follow your account of Sufi philosophy or do worse . . . ; in the second, but for your studies, I should have been restricted .to the meagre and unsatisfactory passages in the tezkires and whatever I might have tentatively deduced from the writings of Nesimi and his co-sectaries. "I am glad that you have discovered what no one else has noticed — or at least remarked — my unexpressed aim to make the book useful to students not only of Turkish literature, but of Persian, and those others that are based on Persian." This letter I cite in no spirit of self-laudation, for indeed I think that the writer over-estimated alike those of my writings to which he referred and his own indebtedness to X them ; but I am sufficiently convinced of his entire sincerity of purpose, word, and deed to feel certain that he meant exactly what he said, and therefore that he would have wished me to continue and complete the work it was not given to him fully to accomplish. This being so, no con- sideration of the slenderness of my own attainments in a language and literature to which (though they were my first love) I have in later years devoted but little attention would have justified me in refusing to undertake so obvious a duty; a duty not merely towards those whom the death of my friend and fellow-worker had overwhelmed in a sorrow yet deeper than my own, but also towards that branch of learning to which my life, like his, was devoted. The great value of this book, as based entirely on original work of a very arduous character, combined with that rare sympathy and insight without which no research can yield the fullest and finest fruit, had been apparent to me on reading the first volume ; but the examination of the manus- cript materials now placed in my hands enabled me to realize much more fully how immense was the labour involved in its preparation. This impression was deepened and inten- sified when I passed to my next duty, the examination of his manuscripts, books and note-books ; for of the first almost every one bearing on Turkish literature contained translations, notes or abstracts written on loose sheets of paper lying between the leaves, while equal evidence of careful, thorough and systematic work was aft"orded by the two last. Natural taste and aptitude combined with rare diligence and accuracy and ample opportunity were not, however, the only factors which enabled my friend to produce so profound a study of a subject so little cultivated in Europe: to these he added the yet greater gift of sympathy, I know several very eminent Oriental scholars who lack this; who XI definitely dislike the Eastern character and despise the Eastern point of view; or who limit their admiration to some par- ticular (usually ancient) period, without concerning themselves in the least about the later developments of the people, literature and language which form the subjects of their study. I confess that to me this attitude (which is still com- moner amongst classical scholars, most of whom profess but little interest in the modern Greeks or Italians) is scarcely intelligible. Language is after all only the vehicle of a people's thought, and its main interest is that it enables us to pene- trate that thought in a way which no translation can do. To despise the later forms of a language because it has lost its inflections, simplified its grammar, or borrowed foreign words is intelligible, but I think unreasonable; for what should we think of an Asiatic student of English who con- fined his attention to a "classical period" ending at the Norman Invasion, and dismissed as unworthy of attention the works not merely of Byron, Shelley and Tennyson, but also those of Chaucer, Shakespeare and Milton? But to devote one's self (save for practical ends) to the study of the language and literature of a people in whose national character one can find nothing admirable or fascinating is surely the strangest misapplication of energy. It may, of course, be answered that nations wholly change their cha- racters, but this I do not believe; the modern Englishman still retains (for all his admixture with other races) very many characteristics of his Anglo-Saxon ancestor; the modern Persian (as Rawlinson has very truly observed in speaking of the truthfulness of Herodotus) still more closely resembles his fore-father of Achaemenian and Sasanian times; and even in the case of the modern Greek (whose language has undergone less alteration in historical times than either English or Persian) it appears very doubtful whether he so utterly XII differs from his "classical" prototype as is commonly imagined. ' If this be so, then, the study of even an ancient or mediaeval language or literature requires, that it may bear its fullest fruits, some actual acquaintance with its modern represent- ative, and a certain familiarity and sympathy with the people to whom it appertains, should the language and people in question still be represented in the world. For this reason I should deem it a far easier task to enter into the spirit of Achaemenian Persia than of Assyria, Babylonia or Chal- daea, because Persia still exists as such, while the latter nations have long disappeared. In a word, I hold that the proper understanding of a literature involves some compre- hension of and sympathy with the people to whom that literature belongs or belonged. Now the presence of this sympathy and understanding appears to me to be the key-note of Gibb's work. He both liked and understood the Turks; and, though thoroughly alive to the defects of their national character and literature, he believed equally thoroughly in their sterling virtues and future potentialities. How complete was his mastery of their language and literature is abundantly attested by the spon- taneous evidence of Turkish men of letters — the only evidence which can be considered conclusive on such a point. To quote but a single instance, let me refer to the Obituary Notice which appeared in N". 98 of the Turkish paper named the Ostnanli (December 15, 1901), wherein the writer, who signed himself "a Turkish resident in London" («o^.iA_3^J ' I have not space to cite, but, cannot refrain from referring to, the ad- mirable remarks of the great Moorish historian Ibn Khaldiin on this subject in that section of^his Prolegomena which deals with the Arabic poetry of his own time (late fourteenth century), which many of his learned contemporaries affecti^d to despise, and "listened to with profound contempt." See the Beyrout edition of 1879, p. 531, 1. 24 — p. 532, 1. 8 (= vol. iii, pp. 405 — 407 of de Slane's French translation). XIII ,J^jLf.i-c _.j j*.AJL<) , expressed himself in the following words: cj'ii _j ^ji;.4.ijj ^>->^j soU L.Po qAJ^ ^^_j!i.>^iL^>:E oLoj'5 ...LM,^] "Neither in the Ottoman Empire nor amongst the Orientalists of Europe does anyone exist who has more profoundly studied the Ottoman language and literature than he." Nowhere in Europe, as I believe, does knowledge (always provided that it is a knowledge which can be put to the proof by those to whom it is exhibited) command such high and universal respect as in Asia, especially when it is joined to a just, blameless, honourable and upright character. Hence Gibb was both loved and respected by his numerous Muslim friends, acquaintances and correspondents, especially by the Turks who constituted their majority. This was strikingly shown at the funeral service, a simple and beautiful cere- mony conducted according to the practice of the Presbyterian Church. Muslims are not, as a rule, easily induced to enter a Christian place of worship ; but no small proportion of the little congregation present on that sad occasion were followers of the Prophet of Islam, and, as I can testify, their grief was very deep and real. In the words employed by one of them, "hardly amongst the Christians could there be found a better friend to Islam than he." So to their personal grief for the loss of a kind friend, a congenial companion, a wise counsellor, or a generous helper (for in one at least of these relations he stood to each one present) was superadded the bitter knowledge that Islam, and the nations and peoples which profess that creed, had lost one of the very few com- petent and sympathetic interpreters of its spirit and aspirations to the Christian West. Let me come now to the matters of which more particu- XIV larly I have to speak in this Preface; and first of all to the manuscript of this work, the condition in which I found it, and the manner in which I have understood my editorial duties. This, the second volume, was practically ready for press, needing only the addition of a few notes, the verifi- cation of references, and, some trifling verbal alterations. It comprises the first seventy years of the "Classical Period" (A. D. 1450 — 1520), and, being now in the reader's hands, needs no further notice in this place. The third volume, comprising 466 pages of manuscript (about 330 of print) covers the remainder of the "Classical Period," from the accession of Sulayman the Magnificent until the accession of Ahmed the Third (A. D. 1520 — 1703). It also appeared on perusal to be complete or almost complete, though the revision which I shall bestow on it as soon as this volume is off my hands may possibly reveal lacunae which passed unnoticed at the first reading. The fourth and last volume carries the history down from A. D. 1703 to the present time, and therefore includes the rise of the New or European School of Ottoman poets and writers. It is in many respect the most original and the most interesting portion of the whole work, for the author thoroughly understood and believed in this New School, which has hitherto received but little attention in Europe, even from those few students who interest themselves in Turkish. It is also the largest of the four volumes, since it comprises 658 pages of manuscript, equivalent to about 456 pages of print. Indeed I am not sure whether it was not intended, with the additions un- doubtedly contemplated, to form two volumes; for here, unfortunately, there are unmistakeable lacunae, the very important chapter dealing with Kemal Bey, one of the three founders of the New School, being in particular entirely wanting. How far these unwritten portions can be supplied XV is doubtful, but certainly any attempt to supply them would be a mere makeshift, for the hand which alone was ready and able to write them lies motionless in death. A final volume (the fifth, as matters now stand) will contain the Turkish text of all the poems translated in the English portion of the work, and it is here that I anticipate the greatest difficulty and labour. I found, it is true, a sheaf of manuscript containing the texts of many Turkish poems copied out fairly for press; but on comparison with the translations contained in the English portion of the work it became apparent that while on the one hand it contained many texts which were not translated, it also omitted many which were. All these will have to be sought out and trans- cribed from the manuscripts contained in the author's library, a task which in some cases is likely to prove arduous enough. This brings me directly to the second matter of which I particularly desire to treat in this Preface, namely my late friend's library. To its beauty and completeness, and the care evidently bestowed alike on the selection, binding and keep of the volumes composing it, I have already alluded By a will made at the time of his marriage my late friend bequeathed to the British Museum the whole of his very valuable collection of manuscripts, and thither they would ere now have been transferred but for the deplorable practice of that institution (a practice which, notwithstanding the high attainments and unvarying courtesy and consideration of its officials, has offered and continues to offer so great a barrier to research of this kind) of refusing under any circumstances to lend their manuscripts outside the walls of the Museum. I hoped that in this case an exception might be made so far as to permit me, as literary executor of the generous donor of so precious a treasure, to remove from time to time XVI to Cambridge (with whatever precautions and under whatever guarantees might be deemed necessary) those volumes which I might need for the proper performance of my editorial duties till such time as the publication of the book should be completed. Being informed, however, that this was out of the question, and that my request could not for a moment be entertained, I had no resource but to beg the relatives of the donor to retain the manuscripts in their possession, so that I could borrow them as the necessity for so doing arose, until the publication of this work should be completed. It therefore seems to me desirable to publish here the sum- mary list of these manuscripts (about 325 in number) which I drew up immediately after I had accepted the position of literary executor. The distinctive number prefixed to each manuscript is only of temporary importance as a means of identification, the sequence of these numbers merely repre- senting the order in which the volumes were examined and are for the present arranged. Many manuscripts of which the proper title was not obvious, and which I have not yet had time to identify, are imperfectly described in the following list, while the classification is of the roughest, and lays no claim to even an approximate perfection. ROUGH LIST OF THE GIBB MSS. I. Persian Poets (29 Mss.) Firdawsi. (221) The well-known abridgement of the SJidhndvia compiled by Tiilak Beg, and entitled Td'rikh-i-Shamshir Khdni, dated A. H. 1063. Hdfijs. (11, 131, 16, 13) Four MSS. of the Diwdn of Hdfiz, the first, dated A. H. 1040, of Indian workmanship and adorned with miniatures; the second dated A. H. 1063; XVII the third undated, with miniatures j the fourth, also un- dated, written in neat nasfaliq. Hildli. (307) The Dhvdn of Hildli. Jdnii. (146) The Sibhatiil-Abrdr; a fine copy. (147) The TuhfatJil-Ahrdr, dated A. H. 973, from Castelbranco's Hbrary. (132) The Yiisiif u Zulaykhd. Jaldlu\i-Din Riimi. (186, 231). Two copies of the Mathnawi, the first a fine copy transcribed by Ahmad Sakkaki of Shiraz in A. H. 1004, from the collections of Castel- branco and de Sacy; the second, comprising 974 pages, wrongly labelled ^^ Shdhndma" Khdqdni. (268) The Kulliyydt or Complete Works. Luqmdn. (243) The Seliiii Khdn-ndina, a history of Sultan Selim in Persian verse, modelled on the Shdluidma, with miniatures. MazJiar. (242) The Dhudn followed by excerpts from the Akhldq-i-Ndsiri and other ethical works. Nizdmi. (8, 226) Two complete copies of the Khanisa dated A. H. 994 and 1027 respectively. (267) The Lay Id %va Majnim, Haft Gunbuz (sic) and Ddsitdn-i-Kanizak-i-CJiini. Sa^di. (129) The Bustdii, dated A. H. 897. (160) The 6^z//zj-/««, with 3 miniatures. Sd^ib. (185, 222, 283) Three copies of the Diu'dn, the first dated A. H. 1087. Sliaivkat. (28, 94) Two copies of the Dhvdn, the first dated A. H. 1240. ^Urfi. (225). The Kulliyydt (fif. 270), dated A. H. 1055. (130) The Diwdn with commentary, dated A. H. 1075. (148) Turkish translation of the qasidas (ff. 313). Anthologies, (238^ and 238) Selections from Hafiz, Amir Khusraw. Katibi and other Persian poets; and an oblong note-book containing scraps of Persian verse. XVIII 11. Turkish Tezkires, or Biographies of Poets (io Mss.) ^Asliiq Clielcbi. (86) A Tezkire comprising ff. 338 which I beheve to be '^Ashiq's. Esrdr, Seyyid ■ — . (80) The Tezkire-i-Meidevi, or biography of poets belonging to the Mevlevi Order of Dervishes. Hasan Chelebi [Qiiidli-zdde). (84) Dated A. H. 1013. Latifi. (64) A fine copy dated A. H. 1006. (56) Another copy of (I think) the same Tezkire, dated A. H. 982. Rizd, Seyyid — . (65) Lives of poets who flourished between A. H. 1000 and 1050 (pp. 85). Riydzi. [6j , 79) Two copies of a Tezkire divided into 5 sections (entitled \Aa^^==.) which I think to be Riyazi's. Sdlim Efendi. (87) Lives of poets who flourished between A. H. 1 100 and 11 32 (ff. 195), dated A. H. 11 34. Sehi. (69) The Hesht Bihisht (ff". 88). in. Turkish Poets (160 Mss.) Alii {with Ldmi^i, q. v.). (166) Hiisn u Dil, or "Beauty and Heart.'" '^Abdul-Bdqi. (205) Dizvdn: a fine copy. Ahmed. (44, 35) Two MSS. of the Diwdn, followed in the first copy by that of Nadiri. Ahmed Diiqakin-zdde. (25) Diwdn (ft". 97). Ahmed Pdshd, Shdkir — . See below, under Shdkir Ahmed. ^Akifi. (288) Verses {nazm). "AH Dede. (134) Bahru'l-Ghard'ib. "Ashqi (or "Ishqi) Efendi. (157, 200) Two MSS. oi \.\\ii Dizvdn, conjoined in the second copy with the Diwdns of N'efH, Vehbi, Veysi, etc., q. v. (127) The Heft Peyker and Qasr-i-Nu"mdn Khavarnaq. ^Atd\ {^Atd^illdh NevH-zdde). (23) SuhbetiCl-Ebkdr, a "re- sponse" to Jami's Sibhatiil-Abrdr, dated A. H. 1035. (285) The Heft Khwdn and Nafhatiil-Ezhdr. XIX ^Atif. (42, 257) Two MSS. of the Dizvdn, the latter followed by poems of HdrAq and Fdzil Bey. Bdqi. (88, 208) Two MSS. of the Dizvdn, the first with illuminations and miniatures, the second followed by odes of other poets. Basri (? Misri). (246) Diwdn, a poor copy with paper covers. Beligh-i-Mevlevi. (109) Dhudn, dated A. H. 121 1. Birgili. (143) Vasiyyat-ndme. DdnisJii. {281) Dhvdn (fif. 136). Diiqakin-zade . See above under Ahmed. Eshref. See Riimi. Esrdr-dede. (204) Kulliyydt, including the Dkudn, Quatrains, and Mesnevis, amongst the latter being the Mubdrek- ndnie, Fiituvvet-ndme, a story in verse, Hulya-i-Sherif-i- Mevldnd, Tirdsh-ndnie-i-Mevldfid, speeches of Yiinus Imre, and aphorisms of Plato. (316) Diwdn. Fasih-i-Mevlevi (22) Diwdn. Fdzil Bey. (108) Khubdn-ndnie, Defter-i-'^lshq, etc. {^^) Zendn- ndme, written in good nasta^liq, adorned with miniatures, and dated A. H. 11 90. (264) KJiubdn-ndme, Zendn-ndnie, etc. See also under ^Atif. Fazli. (53) Gill n Bulbid, dated A. H. 1025 (ff. j'j). Fehini [Unji-zdde Mustafd Chelebi). (91, 296, 308) Three copies of the Diwdn, the first including poems by Shehri, the last dated A. H. 1104. Fey si. (211) Dizvdn, with that of Mazdqi. Fuzuli (of Baghdad). (206, 272) Two copies of the Dizvdn. (in) Ley Id ve Mejniin, dated A. H. 988. Ghdlib. (142) Diwdn. Ghdlib-dede. (100) Husn u '^Ishq. GnlsJieni, Sheykh Hasan Sezd^i — . {6t^) Dizvdn. {21 -i^) Maqdldt. See also below, under IbrdJiiui Haqqi Sezd'i. XX Guvdhi. (54) Pend-ndine. Hdfiz (254) Diwdn. Hdleti {^Azmi-zdde Miistafd). (201) Diwdn, dated A. H. 1043. Haindi. (59, 314) Two copies of the Yiisuf u Zuleykhd. (47) Leyld ve Mejniin. Hdmid. (302) Diwdn. (179) Tuhfatu'l-'^Ushshdq. Hanif. (50) A mesnevi poem on religious subjects, dated A. H. 1260. Hdshim. (78) Diwdn, dated A. H. 1254. Hdsliimi. (32) RisdletuH-Lata if ve Sanduqatiil-M(fdrif fol- lowed by poems of Nedim, Tayydr, etc. Hdtini. (291) Diwdn. Hayreti (70) Diivdn. Hdziq. See previous page under ^Atif. Hevd^i. (199) Diwdn, followed by poems of Siiruri. Hishmet. (105, 301, 310) Three copies of the Diivdn. Hudd^i. (29) Diivdn. (284) Poems by this and other authors. (48) Mesnevi poem, apparently by this writer, beginning: Ibrdliini Haqqi. (iio) Diivdn, with that of Sezd^i. IJiyd. (196) A collectian of poems v/hich appear to be by an author with this pen-name. Ishdq. (38) Diwdn. "^Ismati. (321) Diwdn, with that of Sdnii'^i. ^Izzet ^Ali Pdshd. (309) Dizvdn, incomplete at end. "^Izzet Monld. (99) Kidliyydt. (75) Dizvdn. (217) ^tcow^ Dizvdn. Ja-fer Clielehi. (212) Diwdn, dated A. H. 956. Jem, Prince — (60) Diwdn. Jevri. (74, 258) Two versified Turkish commentaries on selected verses of Jalalu'd-Din Rumi's Mathnazvi: pro- bably by Jevri. Kdni. (62, 276) Ornate compositions in prose and verse XXI {Munshadt), conjoined in the second manuscript with the Diwdn. Kdshif. (72) Dkvdn. Khdqdni. (58, 306) Two copies of the Hulya (or description of the Prophet's personal appearance and characteristics) of Khdqdni, dated A. H. 1 108 and 1 144 respectively. Khasmi. (245) Diwdn. Khaydli. (163) Diivdn. Ldmi^. (259) Diivdn. LdmiH. (51) Ktilliyydt [i^. 249). (133) Husn u Dil, dated A, H. 933. (117) Shereful-Insdn, dated A. H. 957. (184) The same with the ^Ibret-nuuid and Belidr u Shitd of the same author. (262, 271) Two MSS. of the ^Ibret- numd, the first from the hbraries of Castelbranco and de Sacy, the second comprising ff. 117. For another copy, see above under AJii. (165) Commentary on the Preface of SaMi's Gulistdn, dated A. H. 987. Mazdqi. (299) Diwdn. See also above, under Feyzi. Miinif. (81, 218) Two copies of the Diwdn. Ndbi. (112, 239) Two copies of the Kulliyydt, the second dated A. H. 11 17 and containing also the Munshadt. (172, 275) Two copies of the Munsha'dt, the first from Castelbranco's library, the second containing ff. 241. (103, 289) Two copies of the Diivdn, the second entitled Ferd'id-i-jerd^id-i-jevdhir u la^dli, ve "^ Arc? is-i-nefa is-i- zevdhir-i-muteld' li. (162) Tiihfetu l-Haraiiieyn. (303) Kliey- riyye, dated A. H. 1223. Nddiri. See above, under Ahmed. Nd'ili {Yeni-zdde Mustafd Efendi.) {j6, 305) Two copies of the Diwdn. Naziui [Mustafd). (198) Diwdn. Nedim. See above, under Hdshiuii. Nedimi. See almost immediately below, under Nejdti. XXII Nef^i (of Erzeroum). (77) Diwdn. See also above, under ^Asliqi. (197) Satires, entitled Sihdm-i-Qazd. Nejdti. (104, 161) Two copies of the Diwdn, of which the first also contains the Diwdn of Nedimi. Ncsli'et. (106) Diwdn. Nesimi. (61) Diivdn. (145) Muqaddaniatu Tnhfetil-Haqd^ig, a Hurufi work. Nev-res. (73) Diwdn. Nevd'i {Mir ^Ali Shir). (188, 227) Two copies of the Dizvdn, the second dated A. H. 1081 and both well and care- fully written. Niydzi {Muhanimed Misri). (177) Diwdn, dated A. H. 1282. Qccinii {Hasan Efendi). (244) Diwdn, dated A. H. 1191. (97) Qasida. Rdghib. (107) Diivdn. Rahimi. (210) SJidh n Gedd. Rdshid. (21, 173) Diwdn, the first dated A. H. 11 57 and containing also the Diwdn of Tdl'ib; the second com- prising ff. 109. Refet. (27) Diivdn (fif. 91). Reysheni, Dede — . (20) Diivdn, dated A. H. 1012. Rizd {Nejjdr-zdde Slieykh Miistafd). (40) Diwdn. Rithi (of Baghdad). (41, 202). Two copies of the Diivdn. Riinii, Eshref-i — . (270) Kelimdt. Sdbit {Tlidbit). (57) Zafer-ndme, Diwdn, etc, (263) Diwdn. See also immediately below. Sdnii. (95, 253). Two copies of the Diivdn, the second con- taining also the Diwdn of Sdbit. Sdnii^i. See above, under ^Ismati. Sdqib {Thdqib). (300) Diwdn, dated A. H. 1168. Seldiii (? Seldmi). (45) Diwdn. Servei {Tharwat). (195) Diwdn, with other poems. Sesd'i. (287) Diwdn. See also under Guis/ieni and Ibrdhim Haqqi. XXIII Shdkir Ahmed Pasha. (171) Dhucin, entitled ^/s/iqiyya. SJieliri. (274, 297) Two copies of the Dhvdn. See also above, under Fehim. SJiemsi. (26) DeJi Murgli, defective at beginning, dated A. H. 1031. Sherif. (2) Turkish verse-translation of the SJidJi-ndnic (pp. 560), containing 32 miniatures, from Castelbranco's Library. (89) Dizudn. Sheykki. (290) Dhvdn. (214) KJuisrcv u Shir in, dated A. H. 919. Sidqi. (34) Diiudn. Sururi. (98) Dizvdn. (176) Treatise on Prosody (^:>-^ o^ij^)- From de Sacy's Library. Tdlib. (277) Diwdn, dated A. H. 1276. For another copy, see above, under Rdshid. Tarsi. (43) Diwdn, dated A. H. 11 84. Tayydr. See above, under Hdshimi. Tejelli. (82) Diiudn. Thdbit, Thdqib, etc. See Sdbit, Sdqib, etc. Tifli (? Lutfi) Chelebi. (71) Diwdn and Sdqi-ndme. Vehbi. (46, 10 1) Two copies of the Diwdn. (96) Latifa (17) Suz-ndine. See also above, under "^AsJiqi. Veysi. (115) Miinsliadt. (141) Tawhid-nduie. See also under "^Ashqi. Yahyd Efendi (174) Diwdn. (191J KJiamsa, comprising Shdh u Gedd, Yi'isuf n Zuleykhd^ Kitdb-i-Usul, Genjine-i-Raz and Gnlshen-i-Envdr. (292) ShdJi 11 Gedd, dated A. H. 980. {273, 280) Two copies of the Genjine-i-Rdz, the first dated A. H. 1034. Zdti. (39, 251) Diivdn, the second a poor copy. (52) SJienfile Per vane (ff. 131). Zihni. (85) Yiisnf u Znleykhd: completed in A. H. 1007. XXIV IV. Other Turkish Mesnevi Poems. (19). Gidshen-i-Niydz. (203) presumably a "response" to Mahmud Shabistari's Giilshen-i-Rdz. Dated A. H. 1093. Giiy u Chevgdn. (312). Huindyiin-ndme (122, 236), the first containing 758 pp.; the second containing 403 pp. and dated A. H. 984. Iskender-ndme (30), defective both at beginning and end. Mesnevi poems, Two unidentified Turkish — (49, 298), the second dated A. H. 987. Mevliid-i-Nebi (83), Commentary on a "Birth-song" of the Prophet. Prophet's Life and Exploits, Versified History of — (102), with miniatures. Veysi's Vision of Alexander the Great (93). V. Turkish Anthologies (15). These, which I have not yet carefully examined, include Anthologies of a certain size and some pretension to selection and arrangement (31, 36, 37, 116, 240); smaller and less formal collections {MeJTnu^a), comprising often select extracts of ornate prose (279, 293, 295); mere note-books {Beydz), in which have been jotted down verses which happened to please the former owner (33, 250, 323); and last, but most important, several collections of those popular ballads known as Sliarqiyydt (178, 282, 311, 322). VI. Qur^'an and commentary (6). Three complete Qur'dns (123, 181, 234), of which the first is a pretty but modern MS. with illuminations; the second a minute and beautifully-written copy in a velvet case; and XXV tlic third a Maghribi MS. dated A. H. 1240. There is also a Kiifri fragment (14) comprising six leaves; and (151) a portion of the Qur'an, richly illuminated, followed by the Dald'iliil-Khayrdt, the Burda, or "Mantle Poem", oi al-Biisiri, lists of the "Companions," and other such things interesting to pious Muslims. The only Commentary (233) is a Turkish translation of al-Baydawi (-Beyzawi) dated A. H. 1 123 (ff. 300). VII. Prayer-Books (3). Of these there are three (136, 182, 183), the first written in a Maghribi hand and dated A. D. i860 by Sheykh Abu "^Abdi^llah Muhammad an-Nafzawi (?); the second (illuminated) and third containing Turkish as well as Arabic pieces. VIII. Law and Fetvas (5). These comprise: — (4) An undated collection of Turkish fetvas and other legal documents of 278 fif. (19) Berkevi's comments on a fetvd of "^Ali Efendi (ff. 179), dated A. H. 1237. (149) A poem on the Prophet's Ksc&ns\on{Mi^rdjiyya), followed by legal tracts, by ^Abdu'1-Baqi b. Muhammad ■^Arif. (229) A Turkish treatise on Law of 215 fif. (320) A volume containing (a) Code of laws promulgated in A. H. 959, (b) principles of Inshd in the time of Ibrahim Pasha, (c) the Mizdniil-Haqq of Katib Chelebi, and (d) legal docu- ments (A>xxj,.i: lil^jCo) of the time of Mahmud Efendi ; the whole dated A. H. 944. IX. Mysticism (i). Twelve tracts {Rasa it) of the great mystagogue Sheykh MuhyiyyuM-Din b. al-'Arabi (256). XXVI X. Arabic Poetry (3). '^Ali I?. AH Tcilib. {190) A beautiful copy of the so-called Diwdn of ^Ali, with Persian verse-translations. These are written in black, while the Arabic original is in gold. al-Biisiri. (5) A Takhniis ("Five some:" see vol. T, pp. 92 — 93) of the Bur da or "Mantle-Poem", ^ (237) Dated A.H. 1247. {p) ^j,k^^ o^^^i (118) Apparently a translation of the last. (t) ^j^^=>\ (187) Composed in A.H. 1135. (t) »^Lj \*^^ '*-^>jJ3 »i'-^J i3v^' (128) (a) ^J^Cxl^ J^ ;^a kX^'^ ^^ U ^<^l^^ plci (286) Epistolary models. (0 S-^^/' '■^^^ (248) More epistolary models. (t) 4/ioi (192) (t) ^^l=^ -v*lj jH-^^' v^iV!-^^ Jcl^j! J^IiJi -i^J^ (7) Many curious coloured illustrations. Dated A.H. 1209. (t) aiwoLisLi (15) By Ibrahim Agha. (f) J»/o, •^.XS Jlx^i' O^-^ (6, 175, 223) (0 qJ^j' ^^'■^^ ^Jy^^ -Lj ' '.''he small italic letters placed in brackets after the title indicate in what language or ];inguages the book to which they refer is written. Thus fa J means that it is written in Arabic, (pj in Persian, fa. t) Arabic and Turkish, and so on. XXVII The first copy comprises ft". 469 and is from de Sacy's library; the second is dated A.H. 1096; the third is dated A.H. 1015, and comprises 716 pages- (140) (0 o^xU ^LLJLw -o^ljf (121) (t) ,J-j:iL:^ ll^'>r -^i^^^ (j^=r ^■^'^^ ;'^^' ^«-^ The first copy contains ff 120 and is dated A.H. 1097. The second also contains the Mlzdnti H-Haqq and is defective at the beginning, (155) Composed in Briisa, A.H. 932 ; copied A.H- 1000. (0 UJ^^ s/J^j (252) (t) .O^ia^iL^/o (j:2*j j.j"i 8jJ.JU:>jJ' (153) (t) l.iiL_j ^iXm. ^^\ii ^^y:a'S (167) L?;';;^-^ JisL5> n^i-i ;K ^- l3j^^ L^j};^^ JisLs* i^>'^i> oJij (0 l5'-Xa51 ^:j^^=^ Lf^r^ (169) (0 ^U:^il 11. i! qUXc S^ ^^.)^y ' (92) (0 ^A-is' J^*J ^^-. u--.Sl^ ^o ^»^l\ ^L> (257*) (0 oUiKJI /t^ A versified treatise on Prosody, composed A.H. 1050, tran- scribed A.H. 1130. (68) A work on Turki philology, composed A.H. 1214. {t) i^^-Jj-w ,L^:s- (187) (0 IcXwx-^i' xibA> (215) Dated A.H. 1088. (0 ^';jyi KfljA> (255) Dated k.B.. 1192; ff. 109; poor MS. (0 J.^S:^^ f^iLi> *&*;.> (124) it) ^A**w4.>,j ^^jL:^\xil sAj.i> This translation was made by order of Emir "^Osman Shah b. Iskender Pasha in A.H 971. (10) {a) j^^l^lli ^^c (^ouil ^^l\ ^s>\ j»>l^j 3, f^\ ^wo^l.i. XXVIII (260) Dated A.H. 1216, and preceded by the Mir'atu H-^Ishq. (278) Dated A.H. 1238. (t) ^^ij^h a;^ L'l;^^ (319) In XXII chapters, (t) ,J>c ^ ^si!a*^A ».S>^ j^4.>^il^ll --*>^•^=> a.'^*", (12) Genealogical Tables followed by 40 stories; dated A.H. 1123. (269) Dated A.H. 1179; ff. 136. (t) ^^^*.jL<> JLL JkI^ (224) The fifth volume. (0 ,^^' S;;^^ (69) Ff. 233. ii)L=^ ».Xj^M^i j*-^'-^-'' i^^Aas' ^*^^ S^^^ ..U.w~»-i; (194) The ))Crimson Peony" of Tcishkuprulu^ade; &. 182. (a) i^AJL^r.JLJ! oij.U'^^' (249) Pp. 79. (t) (^AasS A-y>-3 lXxa« ^xjlju" La/.v Oj^as (232) (0 ^j^i.*:>jS ^i^L<:j.\ w^jL^ This is no doubt a translation of al-Qazwini"s well-known work. The MS. is adorned with miniatures, but is defective at both beginning and end. (168) From J. Lee's library. (0 L^Lj ^r' J^ i^jLc ^t^ \xiwjlic (230) Defective at both ends. (p) ^jtf^ iAa^j (156) (0 ^^ ^^i i^ ^^■i (318) A Turkish Toxophilos. (t) ,^jjj^ji .^j J^jL-^s (164) The translation of Aq Qazi-oghlii. (0 ^c^k^^^S *.v*Lj ^J^_yJi (135) Ff. 288. (0 o^-^' ^"^^' '^•'' a^ o^"^^ O'-^^^? (265, 266) The second MS. is defective. (0 jj>.*^j'w)v=> .jj. ^jjji (228) (2^) ^^J"^' o^^ Fragment of an old thirteenth or fourteenth century histo- rical MS. with more modern supply, containing the history of some of the Prophets and old Persian Kings. It may be XXIX a portion of the Persian Tabari, The tittle here assigned to it is merely descriptive. (261) j,L^=> ^^j J.C ^j ,^ ^ J.*J q'^^-^-!' o\jL*>• -wJ ..L^ic ..«j -^jAJi (313) (0 J'^j' >->«-f^^ v'^^^ (138) Indian miniatures. (p) ^-I-a^a-I »Ai (209) From de Sacy's library. Dated A.H. 1209. (/j. L) ^A?L;i ^iJ (159) Commentary on a work of Shahidi's by "^Abdu'r. (t) -Rahman b. ^Abdu'llah al-Quddiisi, (18) Neat naskh; undated {p. t.) ^4..*X^ ^J'-^j-^. ^^^ ry^ ^^^ wS-liJ c>Jti (113) Dated A.H. 1161. (p.t.) »Xj\ iL,0 ^^j (294) Ff. 51. {sic! t) ysJ>.^:^3 ili^ (247) (0 i^t^ o!c^:s^ Travels in France and other parts of Europe by a Turk who left Constantinople in A.H. 1132. Dated A.H. 1135. See s. V. .vxXc^Si \>^'^d>j N°. 260 on previous page. (0 »wA-^*J' uKa (170) Travels and adventures of Katib-i-Riimi. {t) liUw^ii a',.* See s. V. .LaJCM Ka.sAJ', supra. (t) \Ji:>- qU;vo (158) Dated A.H. 1018. (0 (^Aas! ^^yj ^^^xk'J ^olxj (24) Dated A.H. 987. (0 ^»->;'« i^j^ ^-*^ J-> J^^ (3) Dated A.H. 1055. (t) ^^*.&4.=-J' ^^'^ai j^U^^^L^ (152) (0 ^c-v '^^^j c^^'y^ ^-^^' o^ ^"^^-' ^y Richly illuminated. Ff. 208. (125) Ff. 119. (t) ^^LA>wb ^yja> XII. Manuscripts not included in preceding classes. (17) An and Costume, (i) "The Court of Persia in 1858:" a .series XXX of beautiful coloured drawings of costumes worn by different classes of Persians at that period. No text. (120) "Persian Pictures." (220) A portfolio containing about 25 Persian paintings. (180) A woodland scene, with birds, beasts, trees, flowers, etc. cut out of paper or made up with real twigs, leaves and the like. This curious and beautiful pro- duction represents an art now, I believe, very rare, and known as '•'•FakJiri Oymasi" {-.^k:_*\ ^.^)- Astrology and PJiysiognoniy. (193) A ragged and untitled tract on Astrology. (207) A tract on Astrology followed by another on Physiognomy (KsLAJiJl As). Ff. 88. Calender's. (126) The Zij of Ulugh Bey, by Qazi-zade-i-Rumi and 'All Qushi. (241) The same with tables [jeddvil). (317) An Almanac {taqvUn). (139) A volume full of wonderful designs cut out of paper and illuminated, bearing the (to me) unin- telligible title: (in margin ^.xlj;;. ;^^j.1j') v.VjJ>;:^^5^' txxs'Js c ^.xi CalligrapJiy. (219) Specimens of Calligraphy and Decoration. (144) A beautiful piece of naskh writing executed by a Crimean Turk in A. H. 11 29, in the time of Devlet-Giray, for Sultan Ahmed. Dictionary. (304) A Turkish-Arabic-Persian rhymed vocabu- lary, beginning : Gaines (315) "Tableau d'une partie d'echecs joue entre Khat- vani-zadc (? Khatuni-zade) Taki (Taqi) Efendi ct Ahmed Mukhtar Efendi." Many leaves at end blank. History. (9) Pechcvi's history of the Ottoman Empire from the accession of Suleyman the Great until the death ot XXXI Murad IV {A. H. 926 — 1049— ^- ^- ^S^o — 1640). From de Sacy's library. Stories. (189) Part of a story-book (perhaps a translation of Kalila and Diiiind) beginning" towards the end of ch. V. The heading of ch. Vl is: Zoroastriaiiisui. (324) A long roll containing Zend prayers and formula; written in the Persian character. Besides these there is a Turkish ferman, framed and glazed, and one Japanese MS. The above list is, as I have said, imperfect and merely provisional, being based on one hasty scrutiny of the manus- cripts, but I think that it is complete, and it will at least serve to give some idea of the nature and value of the collection. It will be seen that the volumes dealing with Turkish poetry and Biography of Ottoman poets (classes II — V inclusive) number 195, and are by far the greater, as well as the more important, portion of the whole. Of the printed books in my late friend's Oriental library I need say but little, since they are destined to be dispersed, and many fine volumes, as well as an immense number of Turkish pamphlets, have already been generously bestowed by Mrs Gibb on her husband's friends and fellow-workers, or sent where it was deemed that they would be of most use. None were offered for sale or found their way into the book-market. Of one class of these books only did I, assisted by Khalil Khalid Rfendi, draw up a rough list; those, namely (excluding the small pamphlets mentioned above), which, being the product of Eastern presses, could not be dealt with except by one ac- quainted with the character and language in which they were written. They amounted to nearly 300 Turkish, 30 Persian and a few Arabic works, many of them of considerable rarity. The particulars which I have already given as to the XXXII measures adopted by Mr Gibb's relatives for the preserv'ation of his work and the disposal of his library and literary remains afford abundant proof of that loving sympathy with his aims and ideals to which allusion has already been made. To a yet further proof, of which I hope to say more in the Preface to the next volume when the details connected with it have been elaborated, I may perhaps without indiscretion briefly refer in this place. It is the desire and purpose of my late friend's mother to promote the studies to which his life was devoted, and thus in the truest and best sense to perpetuate his memory, by establishing a Memorial P"und, under the contral of trustees, yielding a yearly interest of some £ 200 a year, w^hich will be employed, according to , the judgement of the trustees, either in the publication of texts and translations of unpublished Turkish, Persian or Arabic books or scholarly works dealing with the literary history of these languages; or in grants or travelling scho- larships designed to stimulate productive researches into the religious,philosophical and literary phenomena of the West Asian domains of Islam; or in providing in this country lectures on the Turkish language and literature and other cognate subjects. Should this most generous intention be realized, as there is every reason to hope it will, the stimulus which it will give to a branch of scholarship at present sadly neglected in this country ought, if the wisdom with which the Fund is administered even ap- proaches the generosity of the donor, to be great and enduring. It remains only to say a few words as to the principles which have guided me in my task of editing this book. My chief aim has been to carry out in every detail what I bel'.eve to have been the author's wishes and intentions. I have added very little (only here and there a note obviously required and distinguished by being placed in square brackets XXXIII and followed by the abbreviation "ED.") and chani,^cd still less. When I thought that I could make a sentence clearer or otherwise improve on it, I have not hesitated to do so; but I have faithfully adhered to the author's principles of translation and transliteration, and have endeavoured in all respects to fulfil his ideals. In the task of reading and cor- recting the proofs I have received the most valuable help from Mrs E. J. W. Gibb, the author's widow, who called my attention to many mis-spellings and other minor errors which I had overlooked. In spite of all our care I regret to find that there are still a few misprints left in these pages, but they are not, I hope, of a kind to cause the reader any trouble. Although it was evidently the Author's intention (see foot- note on p. VIII of vol. l) to reserve the Indices for the last volume, I experienced so much difficulty in finding the refe- rences which were constantly required that I resolved to add to this volume an Index of that portion of the work which is now before the public. Unfortunately, through cir- cumstances into which I need not here enter, the arrangements which I had made for its preparation at the beginning of October broke down some six weeks later, and, being un- willing to keep back this volume any longer, I find myself compelled to abandon my resolution. Fresh arrangements are being made for the construction of full and adequate Indices, but their publication is, for the present, necessarily deferred. November 19, 1902. Edward G. Browne. AUTHOR'S PREFACE TO VOLUME II. The present Volume covers the earHer part of the Second Period, carrying the story of Ottoman Poetry from A. D. 1450 down to A. D. 1520, the year of the death of Seh'm I, and thus leaving the later and more brilliant half of this Period to be considered in the next. The opening chapter deals with the distinguishing charac- teristics of the School which flourished at this stage in the development of Ottoman Poetry, and has reference to the whole of the Period, the remarks made therein being indeed more particularly applicable to the work produced at the time of the culmination of this School in the reign of Selim's successor Suleyman I. Many of the reviewers of the First Volume of this History have shown an inclination unduly to disparage Ottoman Poetry on the score of its being a servile imitation of the poetry of Persia. Regarded superficially, it appears to be such an imitation, its aims and methods being the same ; but if we look more closely into the matter, we shall see that Ottoman Poetry would be more correctly described as a branch of Persian than as an imitation. In order to under- stand aright the relationship between the literatures of the non-Arab Muhammedan peoples, we should conceive these literatures as forming together a single unit, to which we might give the name of West-Asian literature. The question as to what language a writer in this West-Asian literature XXXV should use, whether this should be Persian, Ottoman, Turki, Urdu, or Pushtu, was generally, though not always, deter- mined by the speech of the locality in which he happened to find himself. I say 'generally', because it was usual for a poet of Persian or Central Asian origin who settled in Turkey to write verse in the Ottoman language, ' and vice versa; and 'not always', because much Persian poetry, including some of great merit, was produced outside the geographical limits of Persia, sometimes by men of other than Persian race. ^ That the nucleus of this West-Asian Muhammedan litera- ture should be Persian was in the circumstances inevitable. Of the various races destined to contribute to its formation the Persians alone were heirs of an ancient civilization ; and thus when they and their eastern neighbours were brought for the first time into close and lasting connection by accep- tance of a common faith, they alone stood for culture ; and the brilliance of their achievements in literature and art so dazzled the simple minds of those barbarians that even the conception of any culture upon other lines became for them impossible. And so in the fulness of time, when the descen- dants of those rude savages had reached the point when they themselves thought to write poetry, no ideas as to Persian or Turkish, as to originality or imitation, ever entered their minds. Poetry was to them a single entity, no more affected by questions of race or language than was theology or science. Therefore they might and did write these verses sometimes in Turkish, sometimes in Persian, accident generally ' Several such instances are recorded in the Tezkires. [2 It is only necessary to mention Sa'^di's great contemporaries Amir Khus- raw of Dihli (d. A. D. 1325) and Mir Hasan of Dihli (d. circ. A. D. 1327), and Fayzi (d. A. D. 1596), all Indians, and Badr-i-Chach (d. circ. A. D. 1350) of Tashkend in Transoxiana. This list could easily be greatly extended froni these two countries, and, to some extent, from Turkey also, ed.] XXXVI deciding which, but in cither case the spirit and the matter were the same, nothing differing except the words. If then we must consider Persian poetry and Ottoman poetry as two separate phenomena, it were more correct to look upon the latter as a branch than as an imitation of the former ; but the more philosophical view is that which regards them both, along with the other poetries that have been mentioned, as together forming a single manifestation of the activity of the human mind. That Ottoman Poetry would have offered a more interest- ing field of study had it adequately reflected the Turkish genius need not be questioned; but this does not alter the fact that those who appreciate the poetry of Persia should find pleasure in that of the Turks also, seeing that the two are in reality one. And, moreover, that portion of what I have called West-Asian poetry which is written in the Ottoman language is, if we except some three or four of the greatest Persian masterpieces, on the whole quite equal in merit to that portion composed in the Persian tongue. There is another matter, and one which has to do with my own share in the work, that has proved a stumbling- block to certain of my critics, namely, the presence of archaic words and phrases in my translations from the medieval Turkish poets. These reviewers seem to suppose that my first object in making those translations was to write pleasing English verses, I imagined that I had made it suf^ciently clear that my object was not such, but was to present a renderino" which should give as accurate an idea as possible of the characteristics and peculiarities of the original. As I stated in many places in the volume, this poetry is marked by affectation, pedantry, and artificiality; I therefore sought to transfer something of these qualities to the translations, and for this purpose had recourse to the obsolete phraseology XXX Vll in question. Moreover I have been unable to devise any better way in which to suggest the greater or less degree of verbal obscurity and artifice that distinguishes one poet from another than the more or less free use of such terms in translation. Until we reach the Modern School late in the nineteenth century, all Ottoman Poetry is masked by this 'preciosity;' it has always appeared strange, unnatural, remote to the non-literary Turk, and to render it into the current language of English poetry would be to give an altogether false idea both of the poetry itself and of the effect it produces and always has produced upon the minds of ordinary men. As one of the ablest of my reviewers ' has pointed out with singular felicity, in order to realize how the Ottoman literary language stands with regard to the speech of every- day life, we have but to imagine what would have been the relationship of the language of English poetry to that which we ourselves speak, had all our poets from the days of Spenser persisted in writing in the artificial idiom of the 'Faerie Queene.' What actually happened among the Turks was the precise parallel to this; so everyone may judge for himself as to the adequacy of a translation into the ordinary language of to-day. E. J. W. GiBB. 15, Chepstow Villas, London, W. ' In the Pall Mall Gazette, 5 Dec. 1900 (ist. edition). CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. Page Editor's Preface to Volume II V Author's Preface to Volume II xxxiv BOOK III: The Second Period — Chapter I: The Character of the Poetry of the Second Period ... 5 Chapter II: The Conqueror and his Court 22 Chapter III: Ahmed Pasha and the Inauguration of the Second Period 40 Chapter IV: Prince Jem 70 Chapter V: Nejati 93 Chapter VI: The Poetesses Mihri and Zeyneb 123 Chapter VII: Hamdi 138 Chapter VIII: Mesihi 226 Chapter IX: Sultan Selim 'the Grim' 257 Chapter X: Ja'^fer Chelebi 263 Chapter XI: Ahi 286 Chapter XII: Rewdni 317 Chapter XIII: Kemal Pasha-zade 347 Chapter XIV: Minor Poets, Lyric and Mystic 364 Chapter XV: Minor Poets, Mesnevi writers 376 APPENDIX A: — The Hierarchy of the "^Ulema 394 APPENDIX B: — First lines of the Turkish texts of the Poems translated in vol. II . . 401 Indices of contents of vols. I and II 407 BOOK III THE SECOND PERIOD. A. D. 1450— A. D. 1600. (A. D. 1450— A. D. 1520.) BOOK III THE SECOND PERIOD. A. D. 1450 — A. D. 1600. [The authorities for the eavlier portion of the Second Period — that dealt with in the present Volume — are the same as those for the First Period. Since the issue of the First Volume I have succeeded in obtaining MSS. of the Tezkires of Sehi Bey and Esrar Dede. As stated in vol i, p. 139, the former of these is the oldest of all the Ottoman Tezkires. It was composed in 945 (1538 — 9), and is therefore eight years earlier than Latifi's. Sehi, who calls his work by the special title of Hesht Bihisht or 'The Eight Paradises', has not arranged the poets alphabetically like his successors, but has divided his book into eight chapters which he calls Tabaqat or 'Stages.' ' The first of these is devoted to the praises of Suleymdn I who occupied the throne at the time; the second deals with the other members of the Imperial house who wrote verses; the third with the poet vizirs and emirs; the fourth with the poets among the '^ulema; the fifth with poets belonging to all other classes, concerning whom the author knew only by report, i. e. who were dead before his time; the sixth with poets whom he had known in his youth, of whom some were dead, some still alive, when he wrote ; the seventh with poets who were his own contemporaries; and the eighth with the poets of the younger generation. Esrar Dede, as stated in vol. i, p. 422, n. 2, is the special biographer of the poets who belonged to the Mevlevi dervish-order. He wrote as late as 121 1 (1796 — 7); but none of the poets mentioned in his Tezkire figure in the present Volume.] ' The reason for this designation will appear from what is said in Vol. i, p. 36. CHAPTER I. The Character of the Poetry of the Second Period. The century and a half extending between the years 1450 and 1600 — what we have called the Second Period in the History of Ottoman Poetry — witnessed the rise and triumph of that wonderful movement known as the Renaissance which revolutionised the culture of Western Europe. But, as we saw in the last chapter, no ripple of this great upheaval, \ which changed the whole current of intellectual and moral life in the West, reached the shores of Islam. East and West, which hitherto had followed the same road, now parted company; the West struck oft" at a right angle, the East continued on the old path. And so while the European of the close of the sixteenth century was intellectually and morally a very different man from his fathers of the four- teenth, the Turk of 1600 was in those respects to all intents and purposes the same as had been his ancestors of the days of Osman, and, for the matter of that, the same as are to be his children for two hundred years to come. The poetry of the Second Period is therefore entirely medieval, neither more so nor less than that of the age preceding or that of the age following. Consequently the parallelism that has hitherto prevailed between Eastern and Western poetry now comes to an end ; for the first few years, before the genius of the Renaissance has entirely superseded the medieval spirit in the West, the resemblance indeed continues, but it quickly fades, and before the end of the fifteenth century disappears altogether. But while the spirit that inspires Ottoman poetry remains unchanged and the ideals of the poets continue essentially the same, the new age is marked by many modifications. Thus the provincialism of the former time has passed away. The Second Period finds the several members of the Turkish family in Western Asia once more united under a single flag. Constantinople has been won, a worthy metropolis for the reborn nation ; and the West-Turkish race is ready to set forth on its career of conquest. And it is to the Ottoman that the Turks owe this ; it is the Ottoman who has gathered together the ; shattered fragments of the Seljuq's empire, and ^^dded them into a nation which shall ride in triumph from Hungary to Arabia and from Persia to Morocco. And by virtue of the great ^deeds he has done, the Ottoman is paramount in the West-Turkish world ; not indeed in the narrow exclusive sense of reserving for himself the high offices of the state — for these, except the highest, are open to all — but in the better sense of extending his name, with all the prestige surrounding it and all the privilege it confers, to every individual in the nation he has created. And so the Turk of Kutahiya or of Qonya no longer calls himself a Germiyanli or a Qaramanli, but is fain to style himself an Ottoman. Similarly, when he writes a poem or a book, he no longer makes use of the dialect of Germiyan or Qaraman, but writes as far as he may in that of the ''Osnxanli, which is now the language of the court and capital of the great nation to which he is privileged to belong. Thus it comes about that the works of the Second and following Periods are, with but few exceptions, all written in one dialect, that of the "^OsmanH. And this is the reason why we have said that the beginning of the Second Period is the true starting-point of Ottoman poetry properly so-called. * But it is not only in matters political and dialectic that there has been a change ; a seeming transformation has occurred in the realms of poetry. When we reach the Second Period we enter into an ideal world. The voices of theologian and schoolman are silent, and in their stead we hear the lover's sigh and the nightingale's lament. The poets seem to move in an enchanted land full of blooming roses and singing birds and beauties fair beyond all telling. And we too, when we enter this fairyland, seem to pass beneath the influence of some magic spell. We wander on as in a dream, knowing not whether the lovely forms that arise on every hand are realities or shadows. A radiant iridescent haze envelops all things, rendering them vague and uncertain, while it transfigures them. For we are in the realm between heaven and earth, where the Mystic Love has met the Human and joined hands, and the two have become one. And so it were vain to ask whether what we see is the sweet face of some mortal fair one or a flash from the Eternal Beauty, a glimpse of God's own Self. Things are so because the work of this Period is the Ottoman counterpart of that produced at the culmination of the so-called classic age of Persia. After having leavened every branch of Persian literature, the purely mystical school, that of such writers as ''Attar, Jelal-ud-Di'n, and Sultan Veled, had passed away and been succeeded by another, where the mystic and the material, the supersensuous and the sensuous, were inextricably interwoven, and where almost every sentence was susceptible of a double interpretation — a literal and an allegoric. This school, which cultivated chiefly 1 Voi. I, pp. 125 et seqq. 8 lyric and and romantic poetry, and which was distinguished by its love of artifice, reached its meridian in the latter half of the fifteenth century at the brilliant court of the scholarly and accomplished Sultan Huseyn Bayqara of Herat. Here its spirit and substance were gathered up and summa- rised in their manifold works by the two greatest men of letters of the day, the poet Jami and the statesman j\Iir "^Ali Shir-i New^a'i. As these two illustrious writers were the guiding stars of the Ottoman poets during the whole of the Second Period, it will be well to look for a moment at their work. Jami, who was born in 817 (1414 — 5) and died in 898 (1492 — 3), may be said to represent in himself this last of the classic schools of Persian literature. Without perhaps adding much that is original, he presents in masterly fashion, in a long series of works, both in prose and poetry, all the erudition and culture of his age. Thus in his Baharistan or 'Spring-land' we have a graceful and charming example of the didactic literature initiated by SaMi in the Gulistan or 'Rose-land' on which this later work is avowedly modelled. Then his three Diwans of lyric verses bear witness to the supremacy of the ghazel, a supremacy first advanced by Khusraw of Dehli and soon afterwards assured by the genius of Hafiz. But the work to which Jami most owes his fame, through the virtue of which pre-eminently he won his commanding influence over Ottoman literature, is the magnificent series of seven mesnevi's — romantic, mystic, didactic — collectively called the Heft Awrang or 'Seven Thrones', the Persian name of the constellation known among us by the more homely designation of the Plough. For a time Jami's mesnevi's consisted of but five poems, written in emulation of the famous Khamsa of Nizami. ' Of ' See vol. I, pp. 144 — 5 and n. 3 on the former. these the first is the Tuhfet-ul-Ahrar or 'Gift for the Ffee' which was written in 886 (1481 — 2) and is a 'Response' ' to Nizami's Makhzen-ul-Esrar or 'Treasury of Secrets', Hke which it consists of a number of chapters each treating from a mystic standpoint some reHgious or ethical question, and each divided into two parts, in the first of which the lesson is inculcated while in the second it is driven home by some apposite story or fable. The next poem of the series, the Subhat-ul-Ebrar or 'Rosary of the Just', is very similar to the preceding both in purpose and in construction, but deals rather more with questions of practical conduct and less with purely abstract or speculative matters. The third poem is universally recognised as Jami's masterpiece. It is the ancient romance of Joseph and Zuleykha which had been already sung by Firdawsi and others among the poets of old time, but was now presented radiant in all the splendours of the noontide of Persian rhetoric, and sublimated by the all-pervading presence of a sweet and lofty mysticism. Here, focussed in this book, as in no other single work, are the distinctive tendencies, aims, and methods of the poet's school; and so this Joseph and Zuleykha of Jami came to be re- garded throughout the Second Period of Ottoman poetry as being beyond all other works the standard alike of literary taste and style and of the altitude of the poet-mind. It was written in 888 (1483 — 4). The fourth poem is likewise a romance, the subject being the loves of Leyli and Mejniin. The story was familiar to all, being the theme of one of the best known and most popular of Nizami's mesnevis ; but Jami took many liberties with it, so that the tale as told by him, besides being more manifestly an allegory, differs considerably from the simpler narrative of the earlier poet. It was composed in 889 (1484 — 5). The fifth poem, which 1 See vol. I, p. 100. lO is the Iskender-Name or 'Book of Alexander' — it is also called the Khired-Name-i Iskender or 'Alexander's Book of Wisdom', — resembles Nizami's work similarly entitled in little beyond the name. Here all the marvellous adventures of the great conqueror are ignored, and in their place we have lengthy philosophical discussions between him and the Grecian sages. These five poems formed the original Khamsa, to which were added subsequently two others, which thus changed the Quintet into the Septet of the Seven Thrones. The first of these additional mesnevis is an allegoric romance on the loves of Selaman and Ebsal ; the second is a didactic work somewhat in the manner of the first two members of the Khamsa, and bears the title of Silsilet-uz-Zeheb or 'The Chain of Gold'. "^Ali Shir, who was the vezir and greatest friend of Sultan Huseyn Bayqara, and who died at Herat in 906 (1500 — i), gained for himself a lasting renown in literature under his pen-name of Newa^i. Although he wrote much and well in the Persian language, his best and most important works are in the East-Turkish dialect known as Jaghatay. It has been claimed for Newa^i, and perhaps justly, that he is the first great poet who wrote in the Turkish language. At all events it is certain that notwithstanding the difference of their dialects, he was for long looked upon as a model by the Ottoman poets. Indeed, were it necessary to distinguish some single incident as definitively marking the establishment of the Second Period of Ottoman poetry, we should point to the publication of Ahmed Pasha's ghazels modelled on the poems sent to Constantinople by this illustrious con- temporary. Newa^i has four Di'wans of lyric poems in Jaghatay Turkish, besides several mesnevis, one of which has for subject the loves of Khusrev and Shi'rin, another the tale of Leyli and Mejniin, while a third deals with the adventures 1 1 of Alexander. Of his numerous prose works in the same language, that which most affected Ottoman literature is his Tezkire or 'Lives of the Poets'; for this is the book which, along with a chapter in Jamfs Baharistan, inspired Sehi and Latifi to write their memoirs of the poets of Rum. These two great poets, of whom the one wrote chiefly in Persian, the other chiefly in Jaghatay Turkish, well repre- sent the brilliant throng of scholars who graced the Perso- Tartar court of Huseyn Bayqara, and by their presence shed upon it such lustre that the memory of it lingers for centuries in Ottoman verse as that of the fairest realisation of the poets' golden age. The characteristics of the school thus centred at Herat, this school which is the fruit and consum- mation of three centuries of Persian culture, have been already indicated more than once. Externally its most salient feature is its art, an art carried to the highest point of elaboration, but too often marred by an excessive use of rhetoric. The passion for rhetorical display is universal, and at times leads astray even the greatest masters, while it is constantly involving the lesser writers in disaster. The soul of the school is the Sufi mysticism. But while mysticism underlies and inspires everything, it is rarely advanced boldly and without disguise as was the case in earlies times. It is almost always presented allegorically ; and here we have the second distinctive characteristic of the school, — the tendency to reduce everything to allegory. This is the cause of our so seldom being able to be sure whether these poets and their Ottoman followers are really speaking of the material tangible things they mention or of quite other things whereof these are types. And such was their deliberate intention ; they meant that each student should interpret their verses for himself, that each reader should find there just what he was fitted to find. 12 While this allegorising spirit permeates more or less subtly almost all the lyric poetry, it shows itself most clearly in the mesnevis. The tales of Joseph and Zelikha, of Leyli and Mejniin, of Khusrev and Shirin, and so on, had originally been told simply as stories, historical or fictitious. But now the story is no longer in itself the end, it is but a parable whereby to teach the great truths in which the poet lives and breathes. The lovelorn Zelikha and the passion-frenzied Mejnun have faded to shadows of their old selves and are become types of the human soul lost to care of earthly name and fame, beside itself with the all-consumxing desire of reunion with the Beloved God. More openly and unreservedly yet does this same spirit manifests itself in another class of mesnevi poems, the special invention of this school. In these the nominal subject is no longer a familiar story of the olden time. The essentially allegoric nature of the 'poem stands at once revealed in the title ; a romance bearing such a name as 'Rose and Nightingale', or 'Ball and Bandy', or — clearer still — 'Beauty and Heart', or 'Behold and Beholder', must infallibly be an allegory. So while the Rose and the Nightingale, the Ball and the Bandy, or whatever be the conventionally associated objects that give the keynote, are here personified as a pair of human lovers and pass through a series of adventures suggested by the nature and usual conditions of the nominal objects, every character and incident is symbolic of some circumstance or experience of the soul of man in its mystic Love-quest. The Ottoman poetry of this Period, being neither more nor less than a branch of this Persian school, will therefore display in a far more marked degree than that of the First the characteristics sketched in the opening chapter of this History. We there learned that prominent among the qualities we. must look for in work produced under such conditions 13 are subjectivity, artificialness, and conventionality, combined with an ever-increasing deftness of craftsmanship and brilliance of artistry. The extreme subjectivity which characterises so much of the Ottoman poetry of the Second Period is partly the cause and partly the result of that blending of the mystic and the literal of which we have already spoken. Men whose thoughts were persistently engrossed by their own feelings and aspi- rations would naturally read their personal emotions into everything around them ; and so when they came to deal with poetry would see in the Rose and Nightingale and other commonplaces of the art so many symbols, of which the precise meaning would for them vary with their own ever-varying moods. Thus these poets of the Second Period seem never able to get away from themselves ; they see their own emotions reflected in every object that meets their gaze, and very often they see nothing else. Artificiahty is the inevitable concomitant of an over-ardent pursuit of rhetoric; and as the pursuit of rhetoric was the chief technical end of this school, we must be prepared not only for the almost complete absence of spontaneity, but for the wellnigh universal cultivation of every variety of affectation. This all-absorbing passion for rhetoric was the most fatal pitfall on the path of these old poets; and many an otherwise sublime passage is degraded by the obtrusion of some infantile conceit, and many a verse beautiful in all else, disfigured by the presence of some extravagant simile or grotesque metaphor. Yet all this, as I have said before, does not necessarily affect the sincerity of the writer; no man could be more deeply in earnest than Fuzuli, yet no poet, even in those days, was more curious in the search after far-fetched fancies. The conventionality of the Ottoman poetry of this Period is of course referable in the first instance to-the conventionality of the Persian work on which it was moulded. It was more- over an almost necessary consequence when every one was working from the same models. This is very clearly shown in the extraordinary similarity which exists between the verses of a vast number of the minor poets. It is quite exceptional to find such writers putting any of their own indi- viduality, any of their own personal feehngs or experiences, into their verses; questions of artistic skill or technical ability apart, the work of any one of those men might almost equally be that of any other. They said only what their models had said, and that only in the way the example of those models had authorised. Without precedent, without warrant, they did nothing. With the greater poets the case was of course otherwise ; yet as a class the Turkish poets of old times were extraordinarily timid in the matter of introducing on their own responsibility anything new into their craft. They were not averse to changes as such, for they readily adopted the innovations which the poets of Persia brought in from time to time ; but with comparatively few exceptions, they either mistrusted their own ability or lacked the necessary creative power, or else their native loyalty to tradition was so strong as to make anything in the way of unauthorised alteration appear sacrilege in their eyes. The conventionality of the school displays itself further in a matter to which allusion was made in the opening chapter. This is the circumstance that the presence in a poem of words or phrases belonging to the terminology of the mystics is no longer sufficient evidence that the writer was what Veled or Nesimi would have called a 'Lover.' It is true that the minds of most educated and thinking men were more or less imbued with the Sufi philosophy ; but this, if confessed at all, was generally presented as ancillary 15 to the Muhammedan faith, into which by some process of mental adjustment it was made to fit. And so from this time onwards many poets begin to make use of Sufiistic terms, not indeed vainly or without sincerity, but with as keen an eye to their artistic value as to their moral or intellectual significance. For reasons already given ' it is impossible to describe in any adequate or satisfactory manner that verbal art the elaboration and perfecting of which was the real goal of this school. Perhaps some idea at once true and satisfying of its marvellous grace and subtle harmony, of its fantastic ingenuities and its stateliness of language, of the elusive beauty assumed by all things in that opalescent atmosphere, might be conveyed through a series of wonderful translations which, without sinking into either paraphrase or parody, would preserve both the spirit and the letter of the original. But to make such, if it be possible at all, is a feat far beyond the powers of the writer of this History; and so the translations from the great poets of this Period that appear in these pages must be looked upon as giving just so much notion of the splendour of their work as a collection of skeleton leaves would give of the glory of the summer woods. This poetry is thus placed under a cruel disadvantage. Its art, the feature through which chiefly it sought to recom- mend itself, is of a nature which does not admit of any adequate reproduction. Not only is the evasive charm of diction and cadence wholly lost, not only are the cunning and suggestive allusions unintelligible save through the cumbersome and distracting medium of explanatory notes, but imagery which to an Eastern poet is both natural and beautiful often appears strained and unpleasing in an English • Vol. I, pp. 31 — 2. i6 translation, while figures which in the original are only quaint or fantastic are at times grotesque or even revolting when presented in another language. And so, while most of what is beautiful in the original disappears from the translation, what is strange and bizarre stands out in undue and over- accentuated relief. Again, it is scarcely practicable to illustrate the development of this poetry through a series of translations, as the subject-matter remains always the same, the change being only in points of style or technique. To suggest this at all, the renderings would have to be made in English the quality of which passed in a gradually ascending scale from the most rugged to the most refined. While the condition of Ottoman poetry throughout the century and a half that lies between the rise of Ahmed Pasha and the death of Baqi was broadly speaking such as has been described, even during this Second Period when the genius of Persia was thus lording it on every hand, the Turkish spirit was not left altogether without witness. When early in the sixteenth century the poet Mesi'hi flung aside his Persian books and wrote his playful verses on the young beauties he saw in Adrianople, the native spirit stirred and there arose a little wave of laughter which rippled on through the centuries. For this poet sang — first of Ottomans — in true Turkish fashion, not of metaphysics, but of actualities; not of things he had read about, but of things he had seen ; neither did he seek to dazzle his readers by the brilliance of his rhetoric or the subtleties of his fancy, his object was to amuse himself and them, to make the smiles play round his lips and theirs. Such poetry as this must have been peculiarly distracting to the author's contemporaries and immediate successors; on the one hand its objectivity and humour must have appealed strongly to them as Turks, on the other they would be unable to find any authority for 17 such writing in the works of their Persian masters. Ikit in many cases tlie temptation to follow a strain so much in harmony with their native impulses, perhaps at times a desire to outdo the originator in his own field, proved strong enough to overcome even the fetish of precedent ; and many a grave and stately poet condescended to compose a 'parallel' to Mesihi's little comedy. In this way the Shehr-Engiz or 'City Thriller' — as from the title of Mesihf's original poem all such works were called — came to be a recognised variety of poem in the Second Period, — the one and only variety of poem for the prototype of which we should search the literature of Persia in vain. Up till now the predominant poetical form has been the mesnevi. Except Nesi'mi no poet of distinction has written wholly or even chiefly in lyric verse. The ranks of the poets, moreover, have been somewhat slender. In both these matters there is now a revolution. A great burst of lyric poetry ushers in the Second Period, a mighty chorus rises on every side ; the passion for writing poetry flashes through all classes of society, sultans and princes, vezirs and muftis, merchants and artisans, dervishes in their convents and ladies in their harems, one and all lift up their voices and sing ghazels or indite qasidas. It is as though some spell has been cast upon it, and the whole nation is seized by an irresistible impulse to burst forth into song. As we advance, the multitude of poems of every description becomes absolutely bewildering; we seem to find ourselves in a vast plain thickly sown as far as the eye can reach with gorgeous exotic flowers. The flood-gates have been opened; and from this time forth the stream of lyric poetry rolls on continuously, and though its course may from time to time be changed, its force and volume are never lessened. Like most similar movements in literature, this lyric out- 2 i8 burst is not in reality so sudden as at first sight appears. For the last fifty years a good deal of ghazel and qasida writing had been going on. This, it is true, had for the most part been confined to the less prominent and less gifted members of the Turkish literary world ; but none the less the work of these men had sufiiced to familiarise the people with the appearance and the character of the lyric forms. The adoption of these forms by some author of sufficient literary talent and reputation was alone required to establish them as the most popular of poetic modes of expression. And so no sooner were the qasida and ghazel taken up and cultivated by Ahmed Pasha than lyric poets began to rise up all around in every city of the Empire. So long as a mesnevi of several thousand couplets was demanded as a proof of poetic talent, busy men whose lives were spent in the service of the state or in providing for their own daily needs would be debarred by want of leisure, if by nothing else, from entering the lists. But when it was discovered that it was not necessary to be a mystic devotee and write a huge versified treatise on" philosophy or theology in order to take rank as a graceful and accomplished poet, that innate bias towards poetry, which seems to be a heritage of all Eastern peoples, began to assert itself. And although we are still some centuries oft" Raghib Pasha who said : 'An thine object be to make thy mark, one noble line 's enow', ' men were beginning to feel that, provided it rang true, a ghazel of eight verses was in its way as good a proof of the writer's poetic talent as a mesnevi containing as many thousand couplets. This feeling, though perhaps unacknow- ledged to themselves, no doubt induced many who would otherwise have remained silent to give expression to the poetic tendencies of their nature. ^9 But while the Second Period is thus pre-eminently a period of lyric poetry, it is also the flowering-time of the romantic mesnevi. In the previous age the mesnevi, as a poetic form, had indeed occupied tlic first place, but this was as the vehicle of mystic or religious poetry. Yet even in the First Period, in what was essentially the age of the religious mesnevi, Ahmedi and Sheykhi had shown the way of the romantic, and now many a poet whose genius was not to be confined within the limits of a ghazel or a qasida eagerly strove to follow in their footsteps. Similar in form to the romantic mesnevis, though as a rule far inferior to them in poetic merit, are the rhyming chronicles which likewise now begin to make their appearance. These are simply versified paraphrases of the national annals, and they are to the full as tedious and long-winded as such productions are wont to be. The poets of the First Period had been for the most part private individuals, unconnected with the court or with any department of the state. A few among them, especially towards the close of the Period, had dedicated their work to the reigning Sultan ; but none of the greater writers, with the one exception of Ahmedi, had written de- liberately for the court, or been brought into immediate and lasting relationship with a royal patron. A great change now occurs in the connection that springs up between the court and poetry. It becomes the rule for the Sultans, the Imperial Princes, and the great officials to take a lively interest in the poetic art, to encourage and reward its practitioners, even to write verses themselves. For a man of literary ability there is now no better introduction to the notice of the great than a skilfully composed qasida or ghazel ; and so we find that from this time forward nearly all the greater poets are at least nominally either court functionaries or ^ 20 government officials of one class or another. When a clever young poet was brought under the notice of a vezir or other grandee, it was almost a point of honour with the great man to find him some berth where he would be provided with a competence and yet have leisure to cultivate his talent. But not unfrequently the poet was ambitious of social promotion, and indisposed to settle down permanently as an obscure petty official. In this case it was necessary for him to cultivate the society of the great, and what he required there was not birth — that goes for little or nothing in democratic Islam, — but charm of manner and ready wit. He had to be a delightful companion, an excellent conver- sationalist, possessed of considerable learning, and quick-witted to avail himself of any incident or chance that gave opening for a sally or repartee. As the Persian, Nizami-i "^Aruzi, himself a court-poet, says, speaking of the qualities needful to success in such a career: 'The poet must be of tender temperament, profound in thought, sound in genius, clear of vision, quick of insight. He must be well versed in many divers sciences, and quick to extract what is best from his environment; for as poetry is of advantage in every science, so is every science of advantage in poetry. And the poet must be of pleasing conversation in social gatherings, and of cheerful countenance on festive occasions'. ' Many of the anecdotes handed down concerning the Ottoman poets of the second and following Periods will show how true to life is Nizami's portrait. During the century and a half which forms the Second Period the Ottoman Empire reached the zenith of its power. This was owing, among other reasons, to the fact that the ' See Mr.E. G. Browne's translation of the Chahar Maqala or 'Four Discourses', p. 49N Ivuzac & Co. 1899. 21 institutions of that Empire were then fully organised, and the laws regulating them rigorously observed. When Me- hemmed II had crowned his predecessors' work by the capture of Constantinople and the incorporation of Qaraman and Qizil-Ahmedli, he addressed himself to another task and thoroughly organised every department, civil, military, and legal, of the state. Every detail concerning every branch of these is laid down in his Qaniin-Name or 'Book of Laws'; and the system of administration therein elaborated is in perfect harmony with the genius of the Turkish people, and admirably adapted to the requirements of the time. In the following century Suleyman I re-edited the Qanun-Name, introducing certain changes and many modifications which the greatly increased extent of the Empire and other reasons had rendered necessary. Till nearly the beginning of the seventeenth century the laws laid down by these two Sultans were strictly carried out, with the result that the ^ulema were almost always men of real learning, and the vezirs and other functionaries, ofiicers of approved worth. In consequence of this, Turkey, during this century and a half, was one of the greatest powers on the earth. CHAPTER II. The Conqueror and his Court. "Verily thou shalt conquer Constantinople: happy the Prince and happy the Army who shall effect this conquest." These words, said to have been uttered by the Prophet himself, shine, blazoned in letters of gold, on the front of the great mosque of St. Sophia, the cathedral-mosque of the Imperial City. The youthful Sultan Mehemmed — he was only twenty-two years of age when in 855 (145 1) he succeeded his father Murad II — was scarce established on the throne ere he marched forth to win for himself and his people the benediction thus promised by the Apostle, and to earn that surname of 'The Conqueror' ^ which he has ever since borne among his countrymen. In 857(1453) Constantinople fell before the Turkish hosts; and even as she fell, she rose phoenix-like the heart and centre of a power mightier than the Byzantine, and entered upon a new stage in her checkered history, as the metropolis of the Ottoman Empire. By the capture of this famous city not only was the Turkish nation provided with a capital befitting the dignity and importance to which it had now attained, but the Empire itself was consolidated by the disappearance of the foreign state which \ > Fatih or Ebu'1-Feth. 23 had hitherto intervened between its Asiatic and European provinces. With the conquest of Qaraman and of Qizil-Ahmedli, which followed the capture of Constantinople, the last outstanding Kingdoms of the Uecarchy passed away; and by their elimination as independent states all the Turkish peoples of Asia Minor were finally re-united under a single government. It was thus reserved for Mehemmed the Conqueror to place the coping-stone on the work of his predecessors. He finished this great work, the work of making the West-Turkish nation, in the early years of his reign; what he did later, and what his successors for many a generation did, was but to add foreign provinces to the Ottoman Empire. But those foreign wars of Mehemmed do not concern us here ; what we have to consider is his attitude towards the development of culture among his people. Several of his ancestors had fostered learning and encouraged progress, but none had done so with the munificence and care displayed by this King whose surname of 'the Sire of good Works' ' is as widely known as his title of 'the Conqueror'. In the spacious court before the great mosque which he built in Constantinople he erected eight medreses or colleges, which were reckoned as a single university and called the 'Court of the Eight Colleges', or more usually, 'the Eight Colleges', or simply 'the Court' or 'the Eight'. ^ Behind those colleges were raised residential buildings where nearly two hundred poor students received free board and lodging. ^ This institution at once became, and for long continued to be, the heart of the intellectual life of Turkey. 1 Ebu-1-Khayrat or Ebu-1-Hasenat. 2 Sahn-i Medaris-i Semaniye. For the value of the univer.sity degree, called from this institution Sahn Muderrisi 'Court Principal', or Semauiye Muderrisi 'Eight Principal', see Appendix A. 3 See Appendix A. 24 Mchcmmed, moreover, first definitely organised the hier- archy of the learned profession, the members of which are collectively known as the ^ulema. This was probably his greatest service to the cause of letters ; for this body, besides filling all the religious and legal offices in the Empire, controlled all matters connected with education and every form of learning. It formed what might be described as the learned world of Turkey; and most men whose tastes lay towards literature were enrolled in its ranks, the only notable exceptions being the members of the dervish-orders. Conse- quently, a large proportion of the poets whom we shall meet in this and the following Periods were in one way or another connected with this corps. ' Mehemmed II organized likewise the civil and military administration. As constituted by him, the Divan, ^ what we should now call the Cabinet, consisted of nine members, namely, four Vezirs, the chief of whom was called the Grand Vezir and was President of the Divan and Prime Minister of the Empire , two Qazi-'^Askers, ^ who controlled all matters connected with the \ilema, the one in Rumelia, the other ' In view of the importance, of the part played by the "^ulema in the history of Ottoman literature, I have given a sketch of the organisation of that body in Appendix A. 2 The word 'Diwan' ought in strictness to be transliterated 'Diwan', as it is spelt and pronounced exactly in the same way as the name given to the collected lyric works of a poet, but for the sake of distinction I shall use the popular form 'Divan' where the Ottoman cabinet is meant, and reserve the more correct 'Diwdn' for the other and more technical sense of the word. 3 This title, which literally means 'Army-Judge', is strictly jX.«*.*jl (C-'tols Qazi-ul-'^Asker, but it is generally written and pronounced jNa»,«.c ic'^^ Qazi-"^Asker; sometimes it is pronounced Qadi-'^Asker (Cadiasker), or, vulgarly, Qaz-'^Asker. At first there was only one, and he was supreme head of all the '^ulemd in the Empire; but towards the close of his reign, Mehemmed II created a second to look after the Asiatic affairs, while the first, who re- mainef^ head of the profession, confined his attention to the European. See Appendix A. 25 in Anatolia; two Defterdars or Treasurers; and one Nishanji ' or Chancellor. ^ This Sultan was very partial to the society of poets and literary men in general, and several of his vezirs were men of considerable distinction in letters. Notable among these were the Pashas Ahmed, Mahmiid, and Sinan. The first of this trio, Ahmed Pasha, is so prominent a figure in the history of Ottoman poetry that it will be necessary to speak of him at some length in another place. Mahmud Pasha, a Croat by birth, who, after having been twice Grand Vezir, was executed in 877 (1472), the victim of official jealousy, wrote ghazels of some merit, under the pen-name of "^Adli. ^ Sinan Pasha was not a poet, but he composed the first artistic work in Ottoman prose. This, the Tazarru'^at-Name or 'Book of Humiliation', as it is called, consists of a series of religious and moral reflections written in a singularly clear and elevated style, though quite in the Persian manner. * The Sultan was, as I have said, munificent in his patronage of letters. When at his invitation the learned '^Ali Qiishji ^ ' The word Nishanji strictly means that person who inscribes the Tughra or Cypher of the Sultan over official documents; in practice the official so called discharged the duties of a chancellor. 2 This continued to be the constitution of the Divan till the time of Suleyman I, who added several new members to the original nine. 3 Von Hammer, following Sehi and Latifi, writes Adeni (for "^Adni), but ■^Ashiq and Hasan have '^Adli. * Printed by Ebu-z-Ziya Tevfiq in A.H. 1305 (A.D. 1887—8). 5 *^Ali Qiishji, i. e. "^Ali the Fowler, was an illustrious philosopher of Samarqand. He assisted the King of that country, the celebrated Uliigh Beg, in the compilation of his well-known astronomical tables. On his patron's death he set out for Mekka ; but when he reached Tebriz, he was induced by the White Sheep King, Uzun Hasan, to go on a mission to the Ottoman court. He was so gratified by his reception there that he promised Sultan Mehemmed to return after he had fulfilled his task. He did so, and it was to cover the expenses of the return journey that Mehemmed sent him the money mentioned in the text. He settled in Constantinople, where he was treated with every honour, and where he died in 879 (1474). He wrote several works on astronomy and other sciences. He owed his surname to the fact that his father was falconer to Ulugh Beg. 26 came from Persia to Constantinople he sent him i,oooaspers ^ for each stage of the journey, that he might travel in all comfort. He sent i,ooo florins ^ every year to the great Persian poet Jami. He pensioned thirty Turkish poets who did not care to accept any official position, giving to each i,000 aspers a month. It afterwards became the custom for the Sultans to pension a cer- tain number of poets; but it was Mehemmed II who did so first. The artistic sympathies of this Sultan were by no means confined to literature. He was a great builder ; and no sooner did he obtain possession of Constantinople than he began to beautify it with palaces and mosques. His most famous buildings are the great mosque with its eight colleges already mentioned, the mosque raised by the tomb of Eyyub, the Companion of the Prophet, outside the city walls, whither to this day the Sultans go to be girt with the sword of ^Osman — the analogous ceremony to our coronation — , and the great palace which he reared on that promontory which has ever since borne the name of Seraglio Point. This palace, which was begun by Mehemmed, was added to by many of his successors, and continued till the middle of the nineteenth century to be the principal residence of the Sultans. The space enclosed within its three miles of walls was for more than four hundred years the heart of the Ottoman Empire and has been the scene of many a strange and stirring incident. ^ 1 At this time the asper was worth about two pence. See vol. i,p. 262,0. 2. - The first Ottoman gold coins were struck by Mehemmed II in 883 (1478 — 9). The standard was the Venetian ducat; the value about 9 shillings sterling. Previously Venetian and other foreign coins had sufficed for Turkish currency. At first these coins seem to have been called simply altun, i. e. 'gold-piece'; but the writers of the 9th and loth centuries of the Hijre generally speak of them as filuri, i. e. 'florin'. The Ottoman florin therefore was a gold coin of the approximate value of 9 shillings. 3 A description of the Seraglio, contributed by the writer of this History, will bt\ found on pp. 267 — 292 of the volume on Turkey in the 'Story of the Nations' series. 2/ Again, it is well known how Mehemmed, rising superior to the prejudices of his environment, prayed the Venetian Signiory to send to his court an artist skilled in portraiture, and how, when Gentile Bellini came to Constantinople in response to this request, he was received by the Sultan with gracious welcome, was admitted within the favoured circle of his familiars, and, when his work was done, was sent home to Venice covered with honours and laden with rich gifts. ' The Turkish writers, more especially Lati'fi, speak of the reign of Sultan Mehemmed as a kind of golden age. At no time and among no people, says this biographer, was learning so highly esteemed and was justice so universally practised. The Sultan himself took a personal interest in every student in his university; old men, survivors of the \ilema of a former generation, told Latifi how Mehemmed used to keep a register in which were entered the attainments and the progress made by each individual, and how, whenever a vacancy occurred in the ranks of the judiciary or the college prin- cipals, he used to consult this register, and appoint that man whose record showed him best qualified for the post. And in those happy days judges and magistrates did not construe the Laws to suit their private interests, neither did they conceal the truth in the hope of favour or promotion ; but even-handed justice was dealt to all, and when vezir or pasha happened to be party to a suit it was not the practice for the judges to say 'My lord hath spoken the truth!' Thus to Latifi did far-off fields look green; yet he himself lived when Turkey was in the noontide of her greatness, and when her throne was filled by one of the noblest and most gifted of her monarchs. ' For a detailed account of the relations between the Sultan and the painter, see 'Gentile Bellini et Sultan Mohammed II', par L. Thuasne, Paris, 1888. 28 Sultan Mehemmed himself wrote verses; sufficient, according to "^Ashiq, to make a Diwan. From the scraps given as speci- mens of these by the biographers it is impossible to say more than that they appear to be neither better nor worse than the average lyric work of the time. It may be noted that this Sultan is the first Imperial poet to make use of a makhlas or pen-name ; in his verses he calls himself "^Avni. Mehemmed II died on the 4* of the First Rebi' 886 (jid May 148 1), and was succeeded by his eldest son Bayezid 11. But Bayezid was not allowed to enjoy the throne without a struggle. His younger brother, Prince Jem, a famous poet, whose romantic story will be sketched in another chapter, fought hard for a share in the inheritance, but in little more than a year was compelled to fly the country. Bayezid himself, Veil Sultan Bayezid or 'Sultan Bayezid the Saint', as he is often called, was a man of many amiable qualities, but without the energy that characterised his ancestors and immediate successors. He erected many buildings for religious and charitable purposes, prominent among which is the noble mosque that bears his name. He too, like his father, encour- aged letters. He continued the yearly gift of 1,000 florins to Jami, and moreover sent an annual pension of 500 to the eminent Shirazi philosopher and jurist Jelal-ud-Din-i Dewani. * He wrote verses, using for pen-name ^Adni according to some, ^Adli according to others ; ^ but even less of his work than of his father's is quoted by the biographers. ' This Jelal-ud-Di'n-i Dewani, who died in 908 (1502 — 3), is the author of the well-known ethical work entitled Akhlaq-i Jelali, an English version of which, by W. F. Thompson, was published in 1839. 2 Sehi and Latifi say ^Vdli; but 'Ashiq, who is generally the most accurate, as he is the most thorough, of the early biographers, says "^Adni. There is some confusion in the authorities as to which of the pen-names '^Adli and •^Adni was used by Mahmiid Pasha, and which by Bayezid II. I am inclined to belieVe that ''Ashiq is correct in his attribution of the former ('Adli) to, the Pasha, and of the second ("Adni) to the Sultan. 29 On the 8th Safer 918 (25th April 1512) Bayezid II resigned in favour of his son Seh'm I; and he died on the lo^h of the First Rebi"^ (26th May) of the same year, while on his way to Demitoka, his native town, whither he was going to end his days. The most prominent patron of literature at this time was, however, not the saintly Sultan, but the famous legist Mu'eyyed-zade "^Abd-ur-Rahman Chelebi. In accordance with a usage of those days by which the Imperial Princes were early trained to the responsibilities of rule, through being sent out while yet mere children as nominal governors of some province, Bayezid had in his boyhood been appointed to the government of Amasiya, a position which he continued to hold till called to succeed his father on the throne. While there he had made the acquaintance of this Mu'eyyed-zade, who was nine years his junior. ' The two young men soon became firm friends, and the influence to which Mu'eyyed- zade attained with the Prince grew so great as to rouse the jealousy of certain ill-disposed persons, who in consequence denounced him to the Sultan. Mehemmed therefore sent a despatch to Amasiya in which he ordered Mu'eyyed-zade to be put to death; but Bayezid, who had got a hint of what to expect before the despatch had time to arrive, sent his friend out of the country amply provided with funds and all necessaries for his journey. This took place in 881 (1476 — 7), when Mu'eyyed-zade was just twenty years of age. The fugitive went first to Aleppo, which was then included in the dominions of the Memluk Sultans of Egypt, where he studied for a short time ; but not finding there any teacher to his mind, he made his way to Shiraz in Persia, and there he remained son>e seven years studying under that Jelal-ud-Din-i Dewani to whom Bayezid afterwards ' Bayezid was bora in 851 (1447 — 8), and Mu^eyyed-zade in 860 (1456). 30 sent his yearly gift of 500 florins. On hearing of the accession of Bayezid, Mu'eyyed-zade returned to Turkey in 888(1483), going first to his native town of Amasiya, whence, after a stay of forty days, he proceeded to Constantinople. Here his learning filled all with admiration, and Sultan Bayezid appointed him Muderris or Principal, ' of the Qalander-Khane medrese or college in that city. In 891 (i486) he married a daughter of the famous legist Muslih-ud-Din-i Qastalanf, ^ and on his wedding day he was named by the Sultan a Principal of the Eight Colleges. ^' He held this position for eight years till in 899 (1494) he was promoted to be Cadi or Judge of Adrianople. In 907 (1501) he was Qazi-'^Asker of Anatolia, and in 910 (1504 — 5) Qazi-^Asker of Rumelia, and therefore head of the '^ulema. He remained in this lofty position till 917 (151 1), when he was deposed through a Janissary revolt , in the course of which his house was sacked. On this he went into retirement ; but soon after the accession of Selim I in 918 (15 12), he was made Cadi of Qara Ferya, and then, in 919 (15 13), restored to the Rumelian Qazi- ■^Askerate. He accompanied Selim on the campaign which culminated in the overthrow of Shah Isma^il of Persia on the battle-field of Chaldiran; but on the homeward journey his reason showed signs of giving way, and so he was then and there, in 920 (1514), deposed from his official position. ' For the functions of a Muderris and for the term as a university degree and grade in the hierarchy of the ^ilema, see Appendix A. 2 Mevlana Muslih-ud-Din-i Qastaldni, or Mevland Kestelli, as l^e was com- monly called, was one of the most distinguished of the "^ulemd of this time. He was one of the eight original Muderrises appointed by Sultan Mehemmed to his 'Eight Colleges' (see Appendix A). It was during his tenure of the office that the Qazi-^Askerate was divided into two, he being the last Qazi- "^Asker of the whole Empire and the first Qazi-^Asker of Rumelia. He died in 901 (1495—6). 3 EoV the promotion implied by this and the other steps in the learned profession, see Appendix A. 31 After this he Hved quietly in Constantinople, in receipt of a daily pension of 200 aspers, till his death, which occured on the Night of Assignments' 922 (1516). Although Mu'eyyed-zade wrote some professional works and, like most Orientals of education, tried his hand at poetry (which he composed under the pen-name of Khatemi), it is not as an author, but as a patron of authors, that he acquired celebrity. He was, moreover, as far as is known, the first among the Ottomans to form a private library. He was a great lover of books, and got together, we are told, as many as 7,000 bound volumes, an enormous collection for those days, when of course printing was unknown in the East. Of the Princes and statesman whose names I have mentioned only Prince Jem and Ahmed Pasha won any real distinction as poets, and they and their works will be considered in the following chapters. The Diwan of Sultan Mehemmed, if it ever existed, seems to have disappeared; at any rate it is for the present inaccessible. With regard to the works of Mahmud Pasha and Sultan Bayezid there is some uncertainty. In 1308 (1891) there was published in Constantinople a little volume which purports to be the Diwan of Sultan Bayezid II. The 124 ghazels contained in this volume are clearly works of an early period, and they are written by a poet who calls himself 'Adli. This, as we have seen, was according to some authorities the pen-name of Bayezid II; and it is doubtless this circumstance, coupled with the antiquated language of the poems, that led the editor, Mehemmed Fu'ad Bey, to attribute them to that Sultan. None the less, I believe this attribution to be mistaken, and am inclined to think that the poems in this volume are in reality the work, not of Sultan Bayezid, but of Mahmud Pasha, who also is ' See vol. I, p. 293, n. 4. 32 said to have used the pen-name of ''Adh'. My reason for this opinion is that while none of the verses quoted by the biographers as being the work of that Sultan occur in the volume, one which is cited as being by Mahmiid Pasha does. It is this couplet : — 'Pause a moment, Sphere, nor overthrow the palace of my heart ; 'For therein yon fairy-beauty's fantasy is guest e'en yet.' ' Whoever this "^Adli may be, his ghazels are pretty, though without much originality or distinction, and very similar to the contemporary work of Ahmed Pasha. Moreover, there is in my collection a manuscript of the diwan of a poet who styles himself "^Adni, and whose manner, language, and orthography show him to have written about the second half of the fifteenth century. I am disposed to believe that in this volume we may have the real Di'wan of Sultan Bayezid. I am led to this belief firstly by the fact that no other poet named "^Adni is mentioned by the biogra- phers, except an obscure dervish writer whose name occurs only in Esrar Dede's special work on the Mevlevis, and who, as he died sometime about the end of the seventeenth century, may safely be left out of sight; ^ and secondly by the internal evidence furnished by the style and language as to the approxi- mate date of the poems in question. I am withheld from definitely attributing this Diwan to Bayezid by the circum- stance that the one couplet quoted by almost all the biogra- jt.iS' .lAiU^x) sA-jl J-La-> j-^-t^-J i_gjJ ijj' Ashiq Chelebi quotes this couplet twice in his Tezkire, once in his notice of Adli (i. e. Mahmtid Pasha), and again in his notice of Prince Jem, and in both places he attributes it to Mahmud. In the second line he has »i^^i3 where the printed volume has sAJ!, but this does not affect the sense of the verse. 2 !^othing like the specimens of this man's work which are given by Esrar occurs in the MS. 33 phers as being that Sultan's work docs not occur in it. This, however, does not prove anything; for not only are manuscripts often incomplete, but this particular volume is imperfect, breaking off before the chapter of ghazels is quite finished. Whatever may have followed is therefore lost. Now if the distich quoted by the biographers happens to be a detached couplet, and does not form the opening verse of a ghazel, it may very well have occu.rred in the series of such couplets, which would naturally follow the chapter of ghazels, and so may have been on one of the missing leaves. And further, while this couplet is absent from the manuscript as it stands, we have among the ghazels a poem with the same rhyme and the same rather unusual redif ' or 'rereword'. ^ It may be that here, as has frequently happened, the poet originally wrote as the opening verse of his ghazel one of these two couplets, and afterwards rejected this in favour of the other which he composed later, or at any rate finally preferred, and that thus both obtained currency; it is in this way that many of the different readings often found for a single line or couplet originated. ^ The poetry of this 1 For the meaning of this technical term see vol. i, p. 75. 2 This is the couplet given by Latifi, "^Ashiq, and Hasan as Sultan Bayezid's : — ^_vJlJ i;JL> V^i O-^' 3^ >—*.**! \*M [^' (j^j *^ili3.>fl »i^-*j' .iAA-*.-w ^lwX.jy« ^av^S> 'O rider of the courser of disdain, set (thy foot) in the stirrup of the soul; 'The lists of beauty are thine, set thy foot manfully', and this is the couplet I refer to as being in my MS : — (j^j ^-j^ij LasL-w ^X^c *l:> c^j' Oi/iXc v.iv».Aw.^ 'Make (us) drunk with love, O cupbearer, set the cup of love \ ^eforl''lhe friends. 'It is the wine-feast, be not unheeding; set thy \ cupSll^fore thrtVpcrs'. 3 It might of course be suggested that the Diwan in this MS. is really that of Mahmud Pasha, and that those writers are correct who give "^Adni as that poet's pen-name ; but such a suggestion seems to be negatived by the 3 34 ^Adni, whether he be Sultan Bayezid, Mahmud Pasha, or some other person altogether, is, as we should expect, marked by that curious combination of simplicity, even to banality, of ideas with an obviously forced and ill-concealed artificiality in style which characterizes all Ottoman lyric poetry till we come to Nejati', and which is almost pathetic in its childlike naivete. But "^Adni's work must be allowed some- what more of originality, or at least of individuality, than "^Adli's, in that now and then it is lit up by flashes of insight which show that here the poet was not wholly swallowed up in the artificer. The following are some of the fragments ascribed by the biographers to Sultan Mehemmed 11. This is given by Sehi and Latifi : — Fragment of a Ghazel. [70] Skinker, hand the wine, for ah! the tulip-land one day will fade. Autumn -season will o'ertake us, spring and garden gay will fade. Vain for grace and lieauty grow not, O thou lovely one, be true ; For with no one bides it long time, — beauty's fair array will fade. The next is quoted by ^Ashiq : — Fragment of a Ghazel. [71] Boundcn in thy tresses' chain, my Liege, thou'st made me thrall to be! O my God! I pray Thee, never from this thraldom set me free! Slight of loved one, taunt of rival, fire of absence, ache of heart : — Ah! for many and many a sorrow, God, hast Thou created me! Hand in hand with bitter purpose me to whelm and burn have joined Fire of bosom, flame of sighing, tear-flood of my weeping e"e. ' fact that while one of the verses quoted by the biographers as being by Mahmud occurs in the printed Diwan of "^Adli, none among them is to be found in this MS. ' Fh;e and water (the latter represented here by the tear-flood), though naturally opposed to one another, make common cause against the lover. 35 ]5oth '^Ashiq and Hasan quote the following; so does Latifi who, however, attributes it to Sultan liayezid : — Fragment of a Ghazel. [72] Hacked to fragments my liver ' is by thy cruelty's poniard keen ; Slashed my patience's wede by the shears of my longing for thee and my teen. He would make it the shrine whcrcunto he bowed, like tlic niche in the [Ka'^ba-fane, '■^ Were the print of thy foot within thy ward liy an angel of Heaven seen. ' How should ye pour forth tears liefore her sun-face, O my eyne, "When all of your blood is gone, dried up by the beams of her visage sheen ? * The following fragment is attributed by Sehi, Latifi, and Hasan to Mahmud Pasha: — Fragment of a Ghazel. [73] O'er the loved one's cheek whene'er I see her amber-scented 5 hair, 'Lo!' methinks, 'a musky serpent lying in a garden fair!'^ « As we have seen before (vol. i, p. 294, n. 3.), the liver was in former times regarded as the seat of passion. 2 Referring to the mihrab or prayer-niche towards which the worshippers in a mosque turn, mentioned in vol. i, p. 224, n. i. The top of the mihrab is arched, and so its shape bears some rough resemblance to that of a footprint. 3 The 'ward', i. e. the dwelling-place, of the beloved is a kind of holy land to the lover. * In this verse there is an allusion to the notion mentioned in vol. I, p. 217, n. I, that tears were distilled blood which issued from the eyes in weeping. Of course, there could be no tears if there were no blood, as that was the material whence they were derived. Now the poet here says that his very blood has been dried up by the brilliancy of his beloved's face, and consequently it is vain to expect that tears should spring up in his eyes, as they otherwise naturally would when he looked upon an object i^adiant as the sun. ' 'Amber-scented' i. e. ambergris-scented, the beloved's hair being always conceived as full of sweet fragance. " The rosy cheek being the garden, the curling lock the serpent. 36 O thou moon-face, 'tis foi- this that o'ei- thy cheek the tresses coil, — Through his lying in the sunlight, strong the serpent waxeth e'er, i Bloom and scent belike the rose hath stolen from thy tulip-cheek, Therefore to the stake they bind and bear her through bazaar and square. 2 This poem is taken from the printed edition of ^Adh"s Diwan ; ^ it is the ghazel in which occurs the couplet quoted in the note on page 32: — Ghazel. [74] Haste thee not, O Doom, for grief 's the life within my breast e'en yet ; * Yea, her glance's wound 's the balm to set my pain at rest e'en yet. 5 Pause a moment. Sphere, '^ nor overthrow the palace of my heart; For thei'ein yon fairy-beauty's fantasy is '' guest e'en yet. There is none may fight thine eyen, all do fly thy glance's glaive; Though the scar of parting from thee 's buckler to my chest e'en yet. 8 ' i. e. it is well known that serpents grow stronger the more they bask in the sunlight; and that is the reason why thy serpent-curls coil about thy sun-bright cheeks, — they are thus more powerful to make lovers' hearts their prey. 2 Here we have an instance of the figure husn-i ta^lil or aetiology (vol. i, p. 113): roses, tied to slips of wood, are carried about the public places for sale; but here the poet feigns that this is done to them by way of punishment for their having stolen what they possess of beauty and sweetness from his beloved's red cheek, the allusion being of course to the old custom, of parading a criminal, bound to a stake in a cart, through the chief streets and market-places of a city. This performance was called Teshhir, and was sometimes carried out immediately before the culprit's execution. 3 It is no. 25, on p. 36. * i. e. O death, thou needest not to hasten if thou thinkest to grieve me, for my life itself is grief. * i. e. the wound dealt by her glance can alone assuage the pain of my Heart which she has hurt. 6 For the Sphere as here conceived, see vol. i, p. 44, n. 3. ' The word 'fantasy' (Khayal) is often used, as here, to denote the image impressed on the mind by an object of sense. This meaning comes from the fact that such image is preserved by or in the faculty called the 'Fantasy', (see v)i>\. I, p. 50). 8 Fretting and pining on account of separation from the beloved has caused 37 Every hair upon my Ijody is an arrow shot by thee 5 Think then what the host of arrows in my Ijody prest e'en yet. As my tears well forth they wash the blood thine arrows make to flow; Look upon them, how with gory hues they are i-evest e'en yet. ' From my sighing's smoke a kebab-scent doth rise because of this, — That the liver in my body o'er grief's fire is drest e'en yet. 2 Since their parting from yon Idol-'' arc the pupils of thine eyes, Weeping, '^Adli, clad in mourning, yea, in black bedrest e'en yet. * The two following ghazels are from the manuscript Diwan of the poet who calls himself ""Adni, and who, as we have seen, may be Sultan Bayezid II. a sore to appear on the poet's chest; this sore, which by reason of its shape and its position on the breast may be compared to a shield, is very highly prized, seeing that it ower its existence to the beloved. Yet even though protected by so rare a buckler, the poet dare not face the sword of her glance; how then should others, who have no such shield? ' Here the poet attributes the gory colour of his tears, not to the usual cause, namely, excess of weeping compelling recourse to the raw material of tears (vol. i, p. 217, n. i.), but to the fact that as they course down from his eyes they wash the wounds which, as he has said in the preceding couplet, the arrows (glances) of the beloved have opened in every part of his body. 2 The cooking of kebabs is a common sight in all Eastern cities. Kebabs are gobbets of meat, spitted on iron skewers and roasted over wood embers, the skewers being frequently turned round to ensure the equal roasting of every side of the meat. During the process of cooking, the meat gives out a pleasant smell. When ready, the kebabs are served upon flat tough cakes, called pide, sometimes with a garnish of chopped onions and parsley. With us the comparison of a lover's heart to a piece of roast meat would be, if not downright burlesque, at the very least, bizarre in the extreme; but with the Eastern poet, who sees the whole world shot through and through with symbolism, the case is very different. To him the familiar sight of those lumps of flesh roasting over the red-hot embers presents an appropriate and pathetic image of the heart or liver (the seat of passion) of the unhappy lover burning with the fire of unrequited affection or of separation from his loved one. And so we find this metaphor among the most frequent of the common-places of Oriental poetry. 3 i. e. the beloved. * An instance of aetiology (husn-i ta'^lil), see vol. I, p. 113. 38 Ghazel. [75] Whiles it is that fickle Fortune love and troth to us-\vavd shows, Whiles it turns, and gives for every former boon a myriad woes. Ne'er before had I that anguish known which I for love have borne; Ah, the moon-faced beauties teach the lover things he little knows. While foi^spent for love of her I toil aweary down the way, Each at other wink the charmers, as 'twere saying, 'There he goes!' Think not that this thwart-wise rushing Sphere ' gives leisure to be glad; For in truth it works oppression, though it seeming joys bestows. She mine own physician 2 at one glance perceived and knew mine ill; Surely she must e'en be Loqman, such the remedies she strows. 3 If so be thou hast forgotten, learn from "^Adni of Love's way; Since 'tis practised guides direct him whoso doth the roadway lose. Ghazel. [76] Wheresoever doth thfe dearling make her roguish glances play. Yonder wayward eyen cast her heart-sick lovers mid dismay. Full of mischief-tricks is she, she makes her lover's heads to whirl; Fair a juggler she who spinneth cups upon her finger aye. * When with ways so arch she danceth, quivereth the lover's soul; Yea, a host of fallen-hearts would fling their lives for her away. 1 The (ninth) sphere, whose rapid motion occasions the sudden changes in the relative positions of the stars, vk'hich according to the astrologers, are so intimately connected with the fortunes of humanity, is often described as 'thwart-wise rushing', because, firstly, it moves in a contrary direction to all the other spheres, and secondly, by its revolutions it thwarts the hopes and designs of men. See vol. i, p. 44 and n. 3. 2 i. e. the beloved. 3 For Loqman the Sage see vol. I, p. 389, n. i. He is generally represented as having been a great physician; see the connection in which he is mentioned in the verse by Ummi in vol. i, p. 414. * [One of the words used for a juggler in Turkish is huqqa-baz, which mean s\ literally 'playing with cups'. The lovers' heads are here compared to the cups or jars spun by the juggler's fingers. ED.] 39 So lliou'it wise, l)e not tliou cheated by the demon-workl's cajole; Driving him from crown and throne, it made e'en .Solomon to stray. ' Be not heedless, '^Adni, for one day the adverse-wind will rise, Oman's Sea 2 will rage and make thy being's barque to reel straightway. 1 Solomon is constantly mentioned by the Oriental poets. He is the type of the ideal monarch. He is held to have been a prophet 5 he was perfect in all sciences; he understood the language of beasts and birds. The winds were subject to his command, and used to bear his carpet, on which stood his throne and all his hosts, whithersoever he would. Jinnis, demons, and fairies . were under his control, and constrained to do his bidding. The source of his mighty power was his Seal, on which was graven the Most Great Name (see vol. I, p. 379, n. 2), and it was by virtue of it that he was lord of creation. According to a well-known legend, a demon called Sakhr once obtained possession of this Seal by appearing in the shape of Solomon to Emine, one of that monarch's concubines, to whom he used to entrust it when he washed. Having recei/i'ed the Seal from her, Sakhr seated himself upon the throne and did what seemed good unto him. But so impious was his conduct that on the fortieth day the grand Vezir Asaph and some doctors of the Law determined (possibly in the hope of admonishing him) to read the scriptures in his presence. No sooner did the Word of God fall upon the demon's ear than he resumed his native form, and fled in haste to the sea-shore, where the Seal dropped from him. By the providence of God, the Seal was swallowed by a fish. When Solomon had been deprived of his throne, the light of prophetship had departed from him, and none had recognised him. So for forty days he had wandered about the country, begging alms. On the fortieth he entered the service of a fishei^man who coven- anted to give him two fishes as his daily wage. The fish that had swallowed the Seal was taken by the fisherman and given to Solomon, who thus recovered his Seal and with it his Kingdom. Sakhr was caught and imprisoned in a copper vessel which was then sealed with the wondrous Seal and cast into the Sea of Tiberias, there to remain till the Resurrection Day. 2 The Sea of Oman, i. e. the Persian Gulf, was the greatest expanse of water familiar to the old Persians; hence it came to be conventionally used in poetry as the type of a mighty ocean. CHAPTER III. Ahmed Pasha and the Inauguration OF the Second Period. A large share of the honour of having inaugurated the Second Period of Ottoman poetry, that period during which the Ottoman poets looked for guidance to the literary stars of Herat, is due to Sultan Mehemmed the Conqueror's tutor and vezir Ahmed Pasha, whose name has been mentioned in the preceding chapter; for it was he who first studied and reproduced the methods of Mir '^Ali Shir-i Newa^'. When the writings of Jami were introduced into Turkey is not recorded ; but as a portion of them was well-known to Sultan Mehemmed II, who carried on a correspondence with the illustrious Persian, they must have reached the West before those of Mir '^Ali Shir, which, we are expressly told, were not brought to Turkey till the reign of Bayezid II. The Ottoman poets were therefore doubtless familiar with many of the works of Jami before they saw those of "^Ali Shir ; and as Ahmed Pasha was the most prominent among the Ottoman poets of his time, he can hardly fail to have been acquainted with some at least among the writings of the former master. All the same, these do not appear to have directly affected his work, probably because Ahmed was essentially a lyric poet, while those of Jami's poems which were best-known in the West seem to have 41 been the mcsncvis. Until he saw some of Ncwa^"s ghazels, towards the end of his life, Ahmed's models, as we shall learn shortly, were rather the earlier Persian lyric poets and notably Hafiz. It thus comes about that the change of model by Ahmed and the Ottoman lyric and romantic writers in general results after all in little more than a perfecting of their former manner, the style of Huseyn Bayqara's poets being, as we have seen in the first chapter of this volume, merely the consummation of that of their predecessors. And so the Second Period does as it were imperceptibly evolve itself out of the First. No definite date can be assigned to the general acceptance or even to the appearance of the works of the Herat poets in Turkey; and so it is for the sake of convenience, rather than because that particular year saw any decisive change, that I have taken 1450 as the starting- point of the Second Period. This Ahmed Pasha whose Di'vvan forms the visible link between the two Periods is described by Lati'fi and Riyazi as a Brusan, but whether they mean to indicate by that term that the poet was a native of Brusa, or merely that he was for many years one of its most distinguished citizens, is not clear. Sehi and Beligh make him an Adrianopolitan ; while Tash-Kopri-zade, "^Ashiq, and Hasan are silent as to his birthplace. His father Veli-ud-Din, who claimed descent from the Prophet through Hasan the son of '^Ali, was one of the most prominent men of his time, having held the post of Qazi-'^Asker, then the highest legal office in the Empire, under Murad II ; and so Ahmed was generally known among his contemporaries as Veli-ud-Din-oghli, that is, the Son of Veli-ud-Din. We first hear of the poet as Muderris or Principal of the medrese or college founded by 42 Murad II at Brusa, whence he was promoted to be Cadi or Judge of Adrianople. He was a man of many talents, a charming conversationalist and the possessor of a ready wit. * Those gifts endeared him to Sultan Mehemmed the Conqueror, whose intimate companion he became. The offices of Qazi-^Asker, of Khoja or titular tutor to the Sultan and, finally, of Vezir were successively conferred on him; and for a brief time he basked in the full sunshine of Imperial favour. But ere long an event occurred which not only banished the poet for ever from his sovereign's presence, but came near to costing him his life. Although the same in substance, the accounts of this event differ in detail in the different authorities. Like so many of the learned in ancient and medieval times Ahmed had a profound admiration for the beauty of youth. Now there was, it would seem, among the Imperial pages a lad whose grace and beauty had deeply affected the impressionable poet. One day, according to Latifi's version of the story, this youth committed some fault which caused the Sultan to put him in irons. When Ahmed heard this, carried away by his feelings, he then and there improvised the following lines: — 'Y-brent be earth ! yon Taper sweet and bland 2 'A-weeping lieth, bound with iron band. 'Would he but sell his Shiraz-comfit ^ lip, ^'T would fetch Cairo, Bokhara, Samarcand'. * 1 According to Sehi, Ahmed's master in poetry was one Melihi, a minor poet of some little note in those days. 2 We have alredy seen (vol. i, p. 215, n. 3.) a beauty described as a 'taper' : it is a constantly recurring common-place. 3 Referring to some kind of sweetmeat called after the city of Shirdz. 4 lAxj ;•(— ' These lines are to be found among the ruba'^is or quatrains in Ahmed Pasha's Diwan, 43 When this was reported to the Sultan he felt convinced that Ahmed had abused the privileges granted him, and ordered him to be incarcerated forthwith in the state prison of the Seven Towers. ' While shut up there Ahmed composed and sent to the Sultan a poem which afterwards became famous under the name of the Kerem Qasidasi or 'Grace Qasi'da', and in which occur the following couplets quoted by the biographers: — Oh ! a droplet from thy grace's ocean is the main of grace ; From thy cloud-hand is the garth of bounty fed with rain of grace. Should the slave do wrong, what evil if the King of Kings forgive? Were my two hands steeped in blood, blood's stain away is ta'en of grace. What the manner grace is that the which forslain of sin may be ! What the manner sin is that which may not be forslain of grace ? Water drowneth not, it fostereth those things which itself hath reared; 2 Wherefore then should ruin overwhelm me from the main of grace? 3 When the Sultan had read this poem he said that such was the eloquence of Ahmed that no king could do him any injury; and so he ordered his release, but banished him from the capital with an insignificant office to Brusa. Tash-Kopri-zade gives no details as to the event which led to Ahmed's disgrace ; he merely refers to it as 'a private 1 The Castle of the Seven Towers (Vedi Qiile) is an ancient Byzantine citadel which terminates the landward walls of Constantinople at the end near the Sea of Marmora. It was formerly used as a state prison; and in old times it was the custom to shut up within it the ambassador of any government which was at war with the Empire. 2 Possibly this line is an echo of SaMi's couplet: — The stream engulfeth not the log: what is the reason thereof? — It would be ashamed to engulf its own nursling. 3 jtS ...I i^siAjj i^^lxA »J ^J^i BLxS' i«,i sIaS' ..\ *;iJ>' v_jj.)li^ A.^ ^Jj^ ^.5' \j 44 matter.' He is, however, at considerable pains to emphasize the highly honourable character of the poet, and he goes out of his way to prove that the charges of immorality which some had brought against him were impossible. * According to "^Ashiq's account, with which Sehi's is in practical agreement only less full, certain persons who were jealous of Ahmed's position, having discovered his admiration of the' page, represented the matter as a scandal to the Sultan. Mehemmed, in order to test the truth of this accu- sation, commanded either that the page's hair should be cut short or that it should be concealed under his bonnet, and that he should be sent with a glass of sherbet to Ahmed when the latter was in the bath, feeling sure that when the poet saw his favourite in this state he would say something which would betray his true feelings. This was done, and as soon as the poet saw the fair boy without his long locks, he improvised this couplet: — 'Yon Idol - hath his tresses shorn, but quits not yet his paynim ways ; ^ 'His zone * he severed hath, but yet no Musulman is he become'. ^ ' The historian Sa^d-ud-Din in his account of Ahmed Pasha follows Tash- Kopri-zade exactly. He does not specify the event which brought about the poet's banishment, and he reproduces the story by which the author of the Crimson Peony seeks to establish Ahmed's innocence. 2 We have had the term 'Idol' before as a name for a beauty (vol. i, p. 218, n. i). 3 A beauty is very often called a 'Paynim' or 'Infidel' (Kafir), the type of cruelty* but, so applied, the term generally means simply that the person thus described is roguish and full of mischief. * The zunnar, i. e. 'zone' or 'girdle', is a rope or thread said to be worn round the waist by Christians and pagans in the East. It is often mentioned by the poets as an emblem of infidelity. Perhaps the rope-girdle worn by certain monks started the idea. The locks of the 'paynim' beloved, being long, are often compared to this. [The 'Kosti' or 'Kushti' actually worn by the Zoroastrians (who to the Persians were the 'heathens' or 'gabrs' par excel- lance) no doubt first led the Muslims to connect the zunnar with paganism. ED.] 45 This persuaded the Sultan of the poet's guilt, and at first he thought to slay him ; he contented himself, however, with shutting him up in the 'Chamberlains' Room'; ' and there the poem was written which effected Ahmed's liberation. ^ Hasan reproduces *^Ashiq's version of the incident, but adds that he found a note in the handwriting of his late father Qinali-zade '^Ali, the talented author of the Akhlaq-i '^Ala^', ^ which evidently relates to the same affair. It is to the effect that certain of the jealous, having discovered that Ahmed Pasha was attached to one of the Imperial pages, reported the matter to the Sultan, who, in order to verify their report, made the lad gather up his hair and hide it under his cap, so that Ahmed, taken by surprise at the sight, might discover his feelings. This the poet duly did by improvising these lines: — "■Hang thy heart-bewitching ringlet, hale it forth the bonnet-gaol; 'For it stretched the hand of ravage, and hath wroughtcn many a wrong'. * In Riyazi's account of the affair we have a good example ot the way in which a story grows. This biographer takes both Latifi's and ^Ashiq's versions, adds something (almost certainly apocryphal) of his own, and presents the whole as a single tale. He tells us that the Sultan's suspicions were first aroused by the following occurrence. One day when the Sultan, attended by Ahmed and the page, was out hunting, a piece of mud flew up from the hoofs of one of the horses and touched the boy's cheek, whereupon the poet half-involuntarily muttered these words from the Koran 1 'The Chamberlains' Room' (Qapujilar Odasi) was the name of an apart- ment in the famous palace built on Seraglio Point by Mehemmed II, and added to by many of his successors. 2 According to Sehi, the Sultan presented the boy to Ahmed on his release. 3 See vol. I, p. 41, n. i. 4 46 'would that I were dust !' ^ The Sultan, who feigned not to have heard, asked what Ahmed had said, when the lad, who was as witty as the poet, at once answered with the complete quotation, 'The unbeliever sayeth — Would that I were dust!'^ Riyazi then gives the incidents of the fettering of the page and of the hiding of his hair, both of which, he says, were arranged by the Sultan in order to verify his suspicions, which suspicions, being fully confirmed by the Pasha's conduct on each occasion, led to his disgrace and banishment. From those different accounts all that can safely be inferred is that Ahmed had an admiration for one of the Imperial pages, that this was discovered by his rivals at the court and by them presented to the Sultan in the worst possible light, that the Sultan was persuaded of the truth of the charge and in consequence immediately banished the poet from his presence. When Ahmed Pasha was released from prison he was at once dispatched to Brusa where he was given the petty office of administrator (mutevelli) of the endowments of certain foundations of Sultan Orkhan with a salary of thirty aspers a day. This was virtual exile ; appointment to some more or less nominal provincial office has always been, and still is, a favourite proceeding with the Ottoman government when the removal of a functionary from the capital becomes desirable. By and by there was added to, or substituted for, ' The passage occurs in the Koran, Lxxvni, 41, where it is said, referring to the Last Day : A day when man seeth what his two hands have sent for- ward; and the unbeliever sayeth 'Would that I were dust!' 2 The same story is told in Mr. E. G. Browne's 'Year amongst the Persians' (pp. 114 — 5), where Sa'^di and the young Prince of Shi'raz take the places of Ahnjed Pasha and the page. I have heard it also in connection with the famous doctor Tcftazani (see vol. i, pp. 202 — 3) and his equally famous pupil Seyyid Shen'f-i Jurjani. It is unlikely that all three cases are historical. 47 Ahmed's administratorship of the Orkhan endowments the duty of administering those of Sultan Emir, the famous saint and doctor of Bayezid the Thunderbolt's time; ' and while holding this office the poet composed a terji'^-bend ^ in honour of the holy man, whose spiritual aid he therein implored. Shortly afterwards he received the governorship of the sanjaq or department '' of Sultan-oni, w^hich promotion is piously attributed by "^Ashiq and Hasan to the ghostly influence of the departed saint. Sultan Mehemmed was succeeded in 886 (1481) by his son Bayezid II who ere long appointed Ahmed Pasha governor of the sanjaq of Brusa; and this office the poet continued to hold until his death in 902 (1496 — 7). Although, as his verses show, the old courtier never ceased to regret his banishment from the Sultan's presence, he seems wisely to have made the best of his position. '^Ashiq tells us that he spent most of his time in the congenial society of wits and poets, and that every season he used to repair to the pasture- lands upon the slopes of the Bithynian Olympus which overlooks the city of Brusa, and there in 'a suitable place', probably a summer-residence, give himself up to 'mirth and merriment'. But the governor of Brusa did other things besides enjoy himself; he built in the city, over against the Muradiya mosque, a medrese or college of which in after years both Qinali-zade ^Ali the philosopher and his son Qinali'-zade Hasan the biographer were in turn Muderris or Principal, The turbe or mausoleum in which the poet is buried adjoins this mosque, and over its door is inscribed an Arabic chro- 1 See vol. I, p. 232, n. 2. 2 See vol. I, p. 90. 3 In old times the Ottoman Empire was divided into provinces called eydlet, which were subdivided into departments called sanjaq, each of which was governed by an officer styled the Sanjaq Eegi i. c. the Bey of the Sanjaq or the Sanjaq Bey. 48 nogram, the work ofEflatun-zade Mehemmed one of the officials of the court of justice. It must have been while he was governor of Brusa that Ahmed became acquainted with the poetry of Mir "^Ali Shi'r-i Newa'i. We are told by both "^Ashiq and Hasan that thirty- three of that poet's ghazels — presumably the first to reach the West — were sent to Sultan Bayezid, who forwarded them to Ahmed Pasha with instructions that he should write a 'parallel'^ to each. This the poet did; and in the accom- plishment of his task he cleverly availed himself of the opportunity to bring his desire for the restoration of court- favour under the Sultan's notice, the last couplet of one of his thirty-three parallels running thus: — 'Daze the lovers with thy vei^ses', if thou would'st to Ahmed say; Thus for him to sing 'twere needful that thy ward his bower should be. 2 1 For the nazira or 'parallel' see vol. i, pp. 99 — 100. 2 >■• •■ ^ .. ^ )J "■Ashiq, who quotes this verse, says it is the maqta'^ (see vol. i, p. 80.) of the parallel to Newa^i's ghazel beginning: L^=.j^ q'^j-jOs- q—a/Oj ...'„xSa- \^=3.Ls> ^,^iLc \.i4.> This, which is no doubt the same poem as that in the British Museum MS. Add. 7910 beginning: — >-^J' q';*.> ^-j^A «Ixi ^^*.A (J^UjI 'i\,^s> iS ^y^ is the only one of the thirty-three ghazels to which any clue is given. The complete Diwan (or series of Diwans) of Newa^i was, according to all the biographers, first brought to Turkey by a Persian poet called Basiri who came from Herat with letters of recommendation from both Jami and Newd^i to Sultan Bayezid. '^Ashiq and Hasan say that Basiri arrived when Mu'eyyed-zade was Qazi-'^Asker. As we have already seen (p. 30) Mu'eyyed- zade did not receive that office till 907 (1501), five years after Ahmed Pasha's deatlik; so it is probable that the latter's acquaintance with the Jaghatay poet's work was limited to the thirty-three ghazels spoken of by the biographers. 49 Ahmed was, as we have seen, credited witli a remarkable talent for improvisation, and the following anecdote is related by Latifi as an example of his skill in this direction. One day when Sultan Mehemmed and some of his grandees were practising a species of bibliomancy very common in the East, which consists in opening the Di'wan of Hafiz at hap-hazard and drawing an augury from whatever passage happens to meet the eye, * they chanced upon this couplet : — 'Yon folk who dust elixir make by casting there the eye, — 2 'Oh would to God that witli a sidelong glance they us should spy!'^ The Sultan expressed his profound admiration for this verse, whereupon Ahmed with his courtier's wit at once transformed it thus: — 'Yon folk who dust elixir make by casting there the eye 'The jewel-dust aneath thy feet for tutty * fain apply!' 5 Another little piece of information connected with the period of Ahmed's court-favour is recorded by ^Ashiq who received it from Nazir Chelebi of Adrianople, the nephew ' See vol. I, p. i66, n. 3. 2 Certain holy persons were believed to have the power of converting dust (the most worthless of things) into elixir, i. e. the philosopher's stone (the most precious of things) by merely looking thereupon. In the verse of the poet those persons might represent the king by whose favourable regard a beggar may be made a prince, or perhaps the beloved who by a kindly look can transmute the poor heart into pure gold. * Tutty (tutiya) is properly zinc or native carbonate of zinc, but the name is applied to any substance used as a collyrium to strengthen the eyesight. Precious stones, reduced to powder, were sometimes added to such collyriums. Thus tutty, in the sense of collyrium, is often mentioned along with jewels by the poets. The present line, besides containing a reminiscence of this practice, sug- gests that the dust upon which the Sultan treads becomes thereby as precious as diamonds or rubies. Ahmed's manipulation of Hdfiz's couplet is an instance of what is called Tazmi'n (see vol. i, p. 113). 5 lXaa^' Lajjj c>.xl\s 3^|>^ ^^^ JkA-lj' I^^jS .laXi 1 .ii)wi> ».-XJljl 4 50 and sole heir of the poet. It is to the efifect that Sultan Mehemmed presented Ahmed with a slave-girl named Tuti Qadin ('Lady Parrot') who belonged to the Imperial house- hold and to whom he gave as dower the village of Etmekji near Adrianople. By this girl Ahmed had a daughter — his only child — who died in her seventh year; and after her loss, it is said, the poet wholly abjured the society of women. That Ahmed Pasha was a man of much learning and many accomplishments is asserted by all the biographers and is proved both by his works and by the story of his life. With regard to his character there is not the same unanimity; but Tash-kopri-zade not only goes out of his way, as we have seen, to defend him from certain charges that were freely made against him, but dwells with pleasure upon his magnanimity and generosity. Ahmed Pasha's literary work is most probably wholly lyric; he left no mesnevi, ' but in his qasidas and ghazels he unquestionably attained a higher level of elegance and refinement than had hitherto been reached in West-Turkish poetry. It is owing to this and to the fact that in his Di'wan he focussed the literary tendencies of his age and expressed those in the pure Ottoman dialect that he holds by universal consent his prominent position in the history of this poetry. Ahmed is not only the most graceful writer who has yet appeared, he is the first Ottoman Turk to compose verses of real literary merit. There can be little doubt that the so-far unexampled skill in diction which he displayed had some share in bringing about the recognition of the Ottoman dialect as the proper vehicle for literature. His poetry thus 1 According to Sehi, he wrote a mesnevi on the story of Leyla and Mejniin, over which he took great pains, but copies of which were not to be found. None of the other biographers make the slightest allusion to such a work ; so it^s probable either that Sehi is altogether in error, or that the poem was never completed and issued to the outside world. 51 marks an epoch; for although it docs not diftcr in the least in purpose from the lyrical work of Ahmedi and other similar writers, not only is it more highly finished and therefore — looking to the ideals of the school — more successful than theirs, but it is the first truly artistic verse in that dialect which was destined to be used, to the practical exclusion of all others, for literature among the Turks of the West. So much is this the case that, as was said on a previous page, ' the history of strictly Ottoman poetry begins with this writer. There certainly had been Ottoman poets before him, such as Suleyman and Yaziji-oghli; but those early workers stand as it were isolated, outside the line of develop- ment of this poetry. They were but dialect-poets, writers in one out of a number of sister-dialects; they had no followers, their verses influenced no successor ; Ahmed would have written just as, he did, had they never lived. With Ahmed it is altogether different; he founded a school, he inaugurated a period ; all the lyric poets who succeeded, down to the time of Baqi who died in 1008 (1600), followed in the way he led. Many among them far surpassed him, but they did not deviate from the path that he marked out. "^Ashiq and Hasan, both of whom wrote while the style which Ahmed established was still exclusively followed, are in agreement here ; the former observing that it is universally admitted that he was the leader of the poets of Riim, and of more importance than all his predecessors; and the latter, that as he was the earliest to give grace and force to Turkish poetry, he is the 'First Master', and that the robe of his verse is embroidered with the saying 'Honour to the pioneer;'- for in truth before his time Turkish poetry was barren of grace ' Vol. I, p. 128. 2 The Arabic of this phrase is ^.^fli^J-i J^^aajl . 52 and eloquence. Riyazi, who wrote at the very beginning of the Third Period, says of -Ahmed that he was the first to give form to Turkish poetry; and Beh'gh, at the beginning of the Fourth, that he was the first to adorn that beauty, Turkish poetry, in heart-bewitching language. Ziya Pasha, in the nineteenth century, in the Introduction to his anthology, credits Ahmed, along with his two successors Nejati and Zati, with having laid, and laid well, the foundations of the Turkish literary language. The Ottoman critics of all periods are thus at one in regarding Ahmed Pasha as the true founder of Ottoman poetry; and in so far as he was the first to produce any appreciable amount of artistic verse in the Ottoman dialect and the first to inaugurate a school among the Western Turks, the judgment they have pronounced is fully justified. But on those two circumstances alone rests Ahmed's claim to distinction ; in other respects he is not superior to his predecessors; in some, indeed, he is inferior to many of them. He has less versatility than Ahmedi, less inspiration than Nesimi. He was, the biographers tell us, a diligent student of the Persian poets ; and every line that he composed is eloquent of the thoroughness of his studies. His favourite model, for the ghazel at any rate, was evidently Hafiz, echoes from whose Diwan may be heard on well-nigh every page he wrote. We are further told that after Ahmed made acquaintance with the thirty-three ghazels of Newa^' his style considerably improved. Thus Hasan writes that he heard from his father that his grandfather Miri Efendi, ^ who belonged to the generation immediately succeeding that of 1 Miri was the pen-name of Emr-uUdh of Isparta in what is now the viUyet of Qonya. He died in 967 (1559—60) as cadi of Pechin in Aydin. Acc6\-ding to his grandson Hasan, Miri left a complete Diwan of poems, mostly in the style of his contemporary Nejdti. 53 Ahmed, ' used to say that the carHcr verses of tliat poet had comparatively little force or sweetness, while those com- posed subsequently to his study of Newa^i were in a greatly improved style and were much esteemed. There is little reason to question the justice of this criticism, which doubtless reflects the literary opinion of the early six- teenth century. Ahmed learned from Hafiz and the other Persians what manner of things to say and in what way these should be said ; but as those masters all wrote in their own language, he could not learn from them how with elegance and force to express in Turkish what they had taught him. For this he would have either to go back to the earlier Turkish poets or to rely upon his own adaptive skill. But there was practically no artistic Ottoman verse behind him, while he was unhappily almost helpless where any form of originality was involved. It was here that the example of Newa^i would be of immense assistance. Like all other Persian and Turkish lyric poets of the time, Newa'i also was of the school of Hafiz ; his purpose therefore was the same as Ahmed's. But he was beyond question the most artistic poet in any Turkish dialect who had yet appeared. It is true that he wrote in Eastern, not Western, Turkish; but the difference, especially in those days, was not very great, certainly not great enough to interfere with his value as a model for a writer in any branch of the language. So from him Ahmed would learn how to handle the Turkish language with dexterity and grace, how to manipulate it so that it should express with elegance and force the lessons taught him by his Persian masters, in short how to fashion of that speech an adequate medium for artistic verse. • In hi?; accovint of the poet Nejati, Hasan speaks as though Miii Efendi had been one of Ahmed Pasha's circle at Brusa. The two men may very well have been friends, but Miri must have belonged to a younger generation, as he did not die till 967 (1559 — 60) while Ahmed died in 902 (1496 — 7). 54 The great defect of Ahmed's poetry is, as we have hinted, the almost entire absence of originaHty. That he should model his work on that of the Persians is not only excusable, it was inevitable ; but he was not content with this, he appropriated the ideas of those poets in the most wholesale manner and inserted them in his own verses without the faintest suggestion that they were a loan. In some cases he carries this system of annexation to such a point that his lines are scarcely to be distinguished from a literal translation. It may be said that there could be no attempt at wilful deception here, as everyone who cared at all for poetry was so familiar with the Diwans of Hafiz and the others that recognition of the borrowed passages must have been at once inevitable, and consequently these would stand in no need of acknowledgment. This may very well be the case ; but none the less this wholesale borrowing unquestionably detracts from Ahmed's merit as a poet, and has always been regarded as a grave defect in his work. Thus Latifi, v/hile he praises the Pasha's learned and masterly style, and quotes, by way of partial extenuation, this Persian couplet : — 'The thought that is fair is always a beauty of flawless shape, 'How diverse soever the garbs be wherein they may her array', ' adding that Ahmed clothed in the raiment of Rumi speech the beauty, thought, that up till then had been clad in the vesture of Persian words, yet frankly admits that the poet's original ideas are extremely rare, and that most of the fancies to be found in his Diwan have been transferred from the works of the Persians. But for this, adds the biographer, it is generally allowed that he would be the greatest of the poets of Rum. N 55 An extreme instance of Alimed's appropriations of this nature is given by Professor Naji in his little book on the old poets entitled '^Osmanli Sha'^irlari, 'Ottoman Poets.' ' In one of the ghazcls of Hafiz occurs this line : — 'That is no five on the flame whereof the taper 2 smiles, 'But that is fire which consumes the stackyard ' of the moth'. * In a ghazel by Ahmed wc meet the following : — 1 Printed in Constantinople in 1307 (1890). Several articles belonging to the series, but not included in the book-issue, appeared in the literary paper called Mejmii'^a-i Mu'^allim, 'The Professor's Scrap-book', which the same writer edited from Muharrem 1305 (Sept. 1887) to Rebi'-ul-Evvel 1306 (Nov. 1888). 2 The 'taper' (the symbol of brightness and cheerfulness) is conceived as laughing with its flame. 3 The khirmen is the yard or court (generally circular in shape) where stacks of grain are piled. Sometimes the lightning strikes this yard and burns up all the harvest of the husbandman. So the poets often speak of one's stackyard being burned, meaning thereby that the person in question has lost his all, it may be his heart, or even his life. * The 'Moth' is the symbol of the perfect lover. It is always presented as the lover of the 'Taper', but instead of wailing and crying as that other lover, the Nightingale, does for the Rose, it perishes silently, without a groan or a word of reproach, in its beloved flame. [Compare a celebrated verse occurring in the Gulistan of Sa'^di which runs as follows : — • "O l)ird of the dawn, learn Love from the moth, which yielded up its life in the flame without uttering a cry : These pretenders in His Quest are without knowledge (of Him), for of him who hath attained such knowledge no tidings return". ED.] The idea in the couplet is that that is not true Love whereof the canting dervishes or 'Sufis' prate or which inspires the fanatics or jugglers among them to play with fire and knives and so on ; but that the True Love is that which, when it falls on a man's soul, not only consumes all his earthly interests, but annihilates his individuality in voiceless union with the Beloved. The original of Hafiz's line is : — \\ij>\ \_i'»j_j .-.4..i» .' 56 'How should that be fire on whose flame the taper laughs and smiles? — 'That indeed is fire which consumes the stackyard of our moth'. ' There were, however, it would seem, certain persons to whom lack of originality was a point of but minor importance, and who were inclined to exalt unduly the position of Ahmed; for Latifi quotes the following lines directed against such critics by the contemporary poet Ja'^fer Chelebi ^ in his Heves- Name or 'Book of Love-Desire :' — 'We know the case of him they 'master' call 5 'His poems are translations first of all. 'To those who like 't this may a trifle be, 'But it is sheer ineptitude to me'. 3 It must be to members of this school that "^Ashiq and Hasan refer when they tell of some people who used to prefer the verses of Ahmed to those of his successor Nejati \ who was unquestionably a writer of much greater originality and of at least equal grace. Those critics, it appears, seized upon a couplet improvised by Nejati, in which that poet modestly infers that Ahmed is superior to himself, and presented this as serious evidence that Nejati himself really regarded his predecessor as the greater poet. The story of how this couplet came to be uttered is told by Latifi in his notice of Nejati, where it is related to prove that the latter's name was "Isa (Jesus), and not Nuh (Noah), as some asserted. The biographer, who received his information from 2 A notice of this poet and his work will be found in chapter x. Thes«;\ lines occur in the printed edition of Latifi, p. 77. * An account of Nejati's life and works is given in chapter v. 57 certain old men, contemporaries of Nejati, says that on one occasion there was a discussion at a party of men of letters as to the respective merit of these two couplets, of which the first is by Ahmed, and the second by Nejati: — ^Sever thou my hand, it yet the garment of thy grace will clutch; 'Sever thou thy skirt, my hand then holds the garment of thy grace'. ' and : — 'E'en so fast the hold that on the dear one's skirt for love I lay, 'They must either hack my hand off or must rend my fair's array'. 2 The dispute had waxed warm ^ when Nejati himself unex- pectedly entered, and having heard what was the question, answered it with equal modesty and wit by improvising the lines: — 'Though dead he be, doth Ahmed rank before Nejati yet alive; 'For Jesus, though aloft he soar, delights to speak of Ahmed still'. * , ii\.x'i3 liXftiaJ BiA^X .^1.5 ti5s..w.i \/fl ii,L^.ii 3 This story well illustrates the paramount importance of form in the eyes of those old Eastern poets and critics; the disputants do not look at the thought expressed in these two verses, it is the same in both, and doubtless was borrowed from some earlier writer; what interests them, even to the point of wrangling, is the manner in which this is presented. The tradition referred to in this verse has been mentioned before (vol. i, p. 233, n. 3.); it is to the effect that Jesus did not die, but ascended alive into the skies, and is now in the Heaven of the Sun awaiting the advent of the Mehdi, when he will again descend to earth. Further, when the Prophet Muhammed or Ahmed, (for these are but two forms of the same name: cf. vol. i, p. 34, n. i.), who died like an ordinary man, made his famous Night-Journey or Ascension (vol. i, p. 366, nn. 2, 3, 4.) he visited his predecessors in their several abodes and spoke with each of them, when 58 And this was the verse which the admirers of Ahmed paraded as Nejati's confession of inferiority. There can be no doubt as to what the biographers themselves thought on the matter. ''Ashiq says, 'In truth it is well known to them of taste, who are able to discriminate, what degree of savour and of elegance and of fluency there is in the poetry of Nejati.' And Hasan, Tt is evident that this (the judgment of those critics) is a hundred stages from the road of justice, and it is clear and manifest that their words have emanated from the extreme of jealousy.' Hasan evidently means that those who thus avowed their preference for Ahmed and put this forced interpretation upon Nejati's couplet were persons jealous of the reputation of the latter poet. It should be added that Ahmed's loans were not made exclusively from the Persians ; he was quite as ready to press into his service the works of his Turkish predecessors, when he found anything among them that seemed to answer his purpose. Here are some couplets from one of the most famous of Ahmed Pasha's qasidas, ' that which he composed in honour of the great Palace built by Mehemmed II in Constantinople in 865 (1460 — i), that Palace which in the West has ever since been known as The Seraglio. Jesus received him with great respect and acknowledged the superiority of his mission. So Nejati, whose personal name was 'Isa, i. e. Jesus, means to say, 'as Jesus (the Prophet), though alive (in the skies), speaks with pride of Ahmed (the Prophet Muhammed) who is dead, so Jesus (the poet "Isa Nejati), though he is still living, admits the superiority of Ahmed (Pasha the poet), notwithstanding that he is now dead'. ' This poem is referred to on p. 229 of vol. i, where it is said that Latifi declares it to have been modelled on a qasida by Niyazi. The Diwan of Ahmed Pasha has never been printed. There is a MS. in my collection. \ 59 From the Palace Oasida. ['j'j] O Palace Heaven-lofty! and O Arch of haught degree!* The Shrine Sublime, 2 elsewise the most High Ka'^ba thou must be. ' No House within the skies may be auspicious as thy roof, ♦ Nor any throne in Paradise high as the floor of thee. * Thy threshold fair for Zat-i 'Imad is the high estrade; " Thy door, the Station Laudable's ' utmost expectancy. Thy marble white a mirror is that showeth things unseen, For lo, it pictures Either World day-like in clarity. 8 • In the term Arch (Taq) we have a reminiscence of the name of the palace of the Chosroes, the Taq-i Kisrd or 'Arch of the Chosroes'. See vol. I, p. 270, n. I. 2 This refers to the Qibla, the place or object towards which one turns when worshipping; for Muslims it is the Ka'^ba at Mekka. 3 By 'the most High Ka'^ba' is here meant the Heavenly Ka'^ba, the 'Frequented House', (see vol. i, p. 37). This line is an example of the rhetorical figure called Tejahul-i ^Arif or 'Feigned Ignorance' (see vol. i, p. 114). The poet of course knows quite well that the Sultan's palace is neither the earthly nor the Heavenly Ka'"ba; but in order to exalt its glory, he declares it must be one or the other. * This line means that the i"oof (or rather ceiling) of the palace is in happier state than even the 'Frequented House', the word here translated by 'auspicious' being the same as that rendered by 'Frequented' in the term 'Frequented House'. This word (ma^iiir), applied to a house or place, suggests the idea that the place in question shows the signs of care and attention; it is perhaps most nearly represented in English by the word 'flourishing' when said of a town or country. 8 The floor, the lowest part of the palace, is higher than even the thrones of Pai'adise ! 8 For the story of Zati-i ^Imad, 'the Many Columned (Irem)', see vol. I, p. 326, n. 5. Here the suggestion is that Sheddad and the people of the Many Columned Irem, for all their haughtiness, would reckon the threshold of this palace, that place where clients and servants wait, as their estrade or seat of honour. ^ The 'Station Laudable' (Maqam-i Mahmud, but here for the sake of the metre, Menzil-i Mahmud) is the name given to the place in Paradise prepared for the Prophet. This name is taken from the following passage of the Koran (xvii, 81), where God, addressing Muhammed, says: 'As for the night, watch thou therein for an extra service ; it may be that thy Lord will raise thee to a station laudable'. 8 It is here hinted that the polished marble of the palace is like the 'Pre- served Tablet' on which are inscribed all things. See vol. i, p. 35. 6o The sevenfold Sphere is biit one single step upon thy stair, The nine vast Domes one cupola upon thy balcony, i CFrom off thy court when building fell two bricks into the sky, And these are one the moon, and one the sun of radiancy. 2 Who looketh from the summit of thy high pavilion sees The nine Duomos as a mustard-seed for parvity. ^ 'Twould cause his cap to fall from off his head upon the Sphere, Did one look downward from thy court the outmost heaven to see. * That hall the which I sing is such, did Paradise but hear The tale thereof, 'twould hide away in meet humility. Yon palace 'fore whose solar disc ^ so shamed is the sun That fain to hide aneath the veil of night each eve is he. The spheral bride doth open through the niche of chrysoprase A golden bull's-eye that she may that glorious palace see. " 1 The seven planetary spheres, for all their vast size, are but a single step on the stair of this mighty palace 5 while all the nine sphei-es, that is, the whole contingent universe, are but a cupola over its balcony. For the spheres, see vol. i, pp. 43 — 4. 2 This and the two following couplets are intended to suggest the loftiness of the structure. Here we are told that two bricks, such as are used in laying tessellated pavements, fell from the court, but even this, the lowest part of the palace, is so high that those bricks, when falling earthwards through the sky, became the one the sun and the other the moon ! So we get a hint not only of the great height of the building, but of the splendour of the materials of which it is constructed. ~* The 'Nine Duomos', i. e. the Nine Spheres. The summit of the palace reaches so far beyond the ninth sphere (the limit of the contingent universe) that any one looking down from it towards that sphere would see the same like a mustard-seed for smallness! ♦ So far does even the court, which, as already said, is the lowest part of the palace, soar above the ninth sphere, that in order to see this therefrom one would have to bend over the edge of the court to such an extent that his cap would fall from off his head and alight upon the outer surface of that sphere ! 5 The 'solar disc' (shemse) is the gilded ornament, often in the shape of a sun, that is placed over a dome. " In Eastern rooms there is often what is called a taq (or taqche), that is, an arched hollow in the wall, which forms a niche wherein a book, or vase of flowers, or other object, may be set. The wall at the back of this recess is sometimes pierced with a small window. Great ladies in the East do not (or at least, did not) go much abroad,' but contented themselves with looking from iheir windows at what was going on outside. Here the poet says that the 'spheral bride', that is, simply the sky, in order to see this palace, has 6i Yon Eden-bowcr fulfilled of houiis and celestial youths ' Meseems the most High Ka'^ba 'tis, athrong with angelry 2 Through longing for thy fair carouse doth Nahid ' yearning sing Whene'er thy minstrels hend in hand the lute and psaltery. To hear thy songster's voice, doth radiant Zuhre * every night Fetch forth her harp and come to learn her craft's last mystery. Yon cypress that the picturer hath pictured on thy wall, — * 'Twere seemly that compared thereto should be the Tiiba-tree. " made a 'golden bull's eye' or small round window (revzen), that is, the sun, in the 'chrysoprase niche', that is, the azure arch of the heavens. ' The 'Eden-bower' is the palace, the 'houris' are the beautiful slave-girls therein, the 'celestial youths' are the Imperial pages. See vol. i, p. 37. 2 The 'most High Ka'^ba', that is, the Heavenly Ka'^ba, the 'Frequented House', which is daily visited by 70,000 angels. See vol. i, p. 37. 3 An ancient legend, touched upon in the second chapter of the Koran and very frequently refen-ed to by the poets, tells how two angels, Hariit and Mariit by name, who scoffed at man's weakness, asked God to endow them with human passions and send them down to earth. Their request was granted; but instead ot showing themselves superior to mankind, they plunged into all manner of sin with more than human zest. At length they endeavoured to seduce a beautiful lutanist, called in Persian Nahid (old Persian Anahita, Greek Anaites) and in Arabic Zuhre, who feigned to listen to their proposals in order to learn from them the word which was the passport to Heaven. No sooner had she obtained it, than she uttered it, and was straightway translated to the planet Venus. The angels sought to follow her, but in imparting the password, they had forgotten it. So they were refused admission ; and as a punishment for their sins they were hung up by the feet in a well near Babel (Babil), where they will remain till the Judgment Day, and where they teach the science of magic to all men who apply to them. When Harut and Manit are mentioned by the poets, it is generally in connection with magic and with Babel where they teach it. The lutanist Nahid or Zuhre is always associated with music, and so fills the part played by St. Cecilia in the West. The names Nahid and Zuhre have been transferred to the planet Venus whither the minstrel passed; and so the planet itself is constantly personified as a lovely female musician. 4 Here, for instance, the minstrel Zuhre is identified with the star Venus, her dwelling-place. 5 In old times rooms were often decorated with a painted frieze; this frequently represented a landscape, in which the cypress-tree formed a prominent feature. The practice has nearly died out. 8 For the Tiiba-tree, which grows in Paradise, but which might take it as a compliment to be compared to the cypresses painted on the wall of this palace, see vol. I, pp. 36 — 7. 62 How liken these thy halls unto the Sphere whose moon is one, When every corner here is filled with them of sun-bright blee? * Ay, here the fawns are fairy-formed, and musky-fragrant they ; 2 And here the pan-ots sugar-sweet of smile and parlance be. 3 The following are a few couplets from Ahmed Pasha's Sun-Qasida. From the Sun-Qasida. [78] Lo the Sun, the Orient's Kisra, * rears in heaven's Arch his throne, Flings his orange mantle round him, and puts on his radiant crown. Now the welkin-couch becomes the dais of the morning King, And the Sun from plates of turkis showers of gold and gems hath strown. 5 Opes the Sun the scryne of chrysoprase and scatters jewels wide, " That this earthly nook through him may be as hoard of jewels known. For to sink the silvern shallops sailing on the Indian Sea" 1 In the heavens there is only one moon, but every corner here is filled with moons (bright young beauties) radiant as the sun. 2 Elsewhere fawns have the shape of beasts, but here the fawns (graceful young beauties) have the form of fairies with musk-fragrant hair. As musk is obtained from the musk-deer (vol. i, p. 294, n. 4.), its association with fawns is congruous. 3 A beauty is often called a 'parrot', and the parrot is associated with sugar, its favourite food, and with speech, its accomplishment. See vol. i, p. 214, n. 3. * The poet having called the sun the Kisra or Chosroes of the Orient, naturally speaks of the heaven or sky as the 'Arch' (Taq); see p. 59, n. i. The 'orange' mantle of course refers to the bright colour of the sun, and the crown to his rays. 5 It was the custom on the accession of an Eastern monarch, and on some other state occasions, for plates or bags containing coins or precious stones to be held or waved for a moment or two over the king's head, and then laid down among the courtiers or royal servants, who took one or more of the pieces or stones, which they kept as souvenirs. This ceremony, which was called nisar or 'strewage' (probably the coins were originally strewn over the king), arose from an idea that the coins or stones thus passed over the sovereign's head took away all ill-luck from him. The present verse alludes to this practice, the sun being the king ; the stars, the coins or gems", and the blue reaches of heaven, the turkis-hued plates. 8 Here the 'scryne of chrysoprase' is the blue-green dome of heaven, and the rays of the sun are the jewels. ■* The 'silvern shallops' are the stars. Night is called the 'Indian Sea', Indi^ being associated with the idea of blackness on account of the dark tint of its inhabitants. 63 Math the Sun cquijiped a golden ship with sails from radiance spun. ' Sec, a peacock golden-winged that every morn picks stellar grains 2 In the moon's stackyard, 3 then spreads liis vans and flieth is the Sun. Sure the Sun must be the morn's NUshirewdn who hangs a chain Wrought of gold adown the azure dome that justice may be done. * Either is the Sun a Joseph-beauty throned upon the sphere, * 1 We have here an example of a rhetorical figure which is very common in Eastern poetry. By this figure, which is a combination of metaphor and personification, the subject is presented at one and the same time, by meta- phor, as the thing with which it is identified, and, by personification, as the user or maker of that thing. Thus in this instance, the sun which, because of its brightness and its passage across the sky, suggests a golden ship, is presented, by metaphor, as such a ship, and, by personification, as the equipper or navigator of the same. 1 have not been able to discover any special name for this favourite figure in the works on rhetoric which I have consulted. 2 Here the sun is presented as a brilliant-plumaged peacock that every morning eats up the stars which are like seeds or grains lying about in the 'stackyard of the moon'. 3 The phrase khirman-i mah or 'stackyard of the moon' is stereotyped. Sometimes it refers more particularly to the halo ; at others its application, as in the present case, is wider; thus the moon being as it were the lord of night, all the night sky may be conceived as its 'stackyard'. For the term 'stackyard' see p. 55, n. 3. * Nushirewan, who reigned from A. D. 531 to A. D. 578, was one of the best and most illustrious kings of pre-Muhammedan Persia. His justice was such that it became a proverb for all succeeding ages. The allusion in the text is to the story that outside his palace, and accessible to all comers at all hours, was suspended a chain which communicated with a bell in the interior, and that whosoever desired justice had but to pull this chain, when he was at once admitted to the king's presence. This chain is often referred to in literature as zinjir-i Nitshirewan 'the chain of Nvishirewam', or zinjir-i '^addict 'the chain of justice'. [The story is given in full in the Nizamu'I- Mulk's Siyasat-nama, ed. Schefer, Paris 1891, pp. 36 — 7. ED.]. Nushirewan was the builder of the Taq or 'Arch' mentioned on p. 59, n. i ; he was the grand- father of Khusrev-i Pervi'z the royal lover of Shirin. [His proper name was Khusraw (Khusrev according to the Turkish pronunciation) which was cor- rupted into Chosroes by the Greeks, and Kisra by the Arabs. Ndshirewdn (Pahlavi Anoshak-ruban) "of immortal soul", was a title conferred upon him in recognition of his vigour in suppressing the communistic heresy of Mazdak. — ED.]. Here the chain that the Nilshirewan-sun is conceived as hanging down the azure dome of heaven is of course his beams. 8 Joseph, as we shall oft^en see, is the type of youthful beauty. 64 Elsewise 'tis as bright Zelikhd with her golden orange shown. » Nay, the truth is this: the Sun to view the King's Divan hath oped There a ruby window whence to look that gilded dome upon. 2 We shall now look at a few examples of Ahmed's ghazels. Ghazel. [79] Since thou hast turned thy blended brows to bended bow, 3 my love, Thou'st made my soul the butt for all the shafts of woe, my love. What time thou mad'st yon cypress sway upon its way,* thou mad'st. Ah, wel-a-way ! a well from forth mine eyes to flow, my love. ^ Since thou hast shown unto the world thy heart-adorning grace, Thou'st bade the face of earth a Paradise to grow, my love. The zephyr fills the world with wafts of odour sweet, belike From those thy locks of ambergris thou musk dost throw, my love. ^ ' There is here an allusion to an incident in the story of Joseph and Zelikha (Potiphar's wife) which is told in ch. vi. Here, by the figure des- cribed on p. 63, n. I, the sun is represented at once as Zelikha who holds the orange, and as the orange that she holds. 2 In this couplet the poet passes to the praise of the Sultan (Mehemmed II). He says, 'no, all these pictures I have been presenting are mere fancies; the real truth about the sun is, not that it is a king or a ship or a peacock, but that it is a celestial being who is looking through a round window of ruby (i. e, itself), which it has opened in the dome of heaven in order to look down on this far more magnificent dome of the Divan-chamber of the Sultan'. It will be noticed here again that the sun is presented at once as the window and as the looker through the window. 3 It was considered a beauty to have meeting eyebrows; and when this peculiarity was not present naturally, it was sometimes brought about by art. Such eyebrows are often likened to a bow, the glances being the arrows, and the lover's heart the target. * The 'swaying cypress' is the lissom figure of the beauty. When thou mad'st this 'sway upon its way', i. e. when thou didst depart and leave me. 5 This couplet is full of equivoques; I have endeavoured to suggest this in the translation. " In this poetry the locks of a beauty are always conceived as dark and sweet-scented. The zephyr likewise is always conceived as bearing the per- fume_ of the flower-garden. Hence it is a favourite fancy to attribute the sweeO scent with which it is laden to its having played among the tresses of the beloved. 65 What marvel were the heart of Ahmed straitened for thy lip? — Since rosebud-like in gore thou'st garred his vitals glow, my love. ' Ghazel. [80] For that those thy locks have smit with melancholia ^ the soul, 0 thou cordial-lip, ^ with thy sweet healing honey * make it whole. Chide not though my heart be broken by that hard, hard heart o' thine ; For the fragile flask availeth ne'er the stone's assault to thole. ^ From thy skirt thy tresses shook the perfumed dust by thee betrod. For that musk while still in China unalloyed remains and sole. " , Sovereign of beauty, seek not peace or patience from the heart ; Monarchs gather not from ruined cities aught of tax or toll. When the clay for thee was kneaded, O thou dainty frame, meseems Earth of Paradise was mingled with Life's Water bright of roll. "^ 1 The beauty's lip is like a rosebud, being red and small; and longing for this has wounded and straitened the poet's heart till it also resembles a rosebud. 2 Melancholia (sevda) was one of the 'four humours' (see vol. i, p. 301, n. 1.); when in excess it was supposed to produce a kind of moody madness, which was called by its own name of 'melancholy'. The cure for this was in pleasant foods and drinks and cheerful surroundings. 3 i. e. O thou whose lip is invigorating as a cordial; such compound epithets are very common. * i. e. with the honey of thy kisses. Honey was popularly reckoned a sort of universal panacea; for there is a passage in the Koran (xvi, 71) where, speaking of the bee, it is said : 'there cometh forth from her body a draught varying in hue, in which is a cure for men'. * We have had this favourite conceit before: vol. i, p. 214, n. 4. •i i. e. the dust through being trodden on by thee (O beloved) becomes sweet-scented; some of this dust has been stirred up and has alighted on thy skirt ; and thy long tresses, hanging down, have wiped it away, because when musk is in China (its native land where it is plentiful) it is unnecessary to make it go farther by adulteration with any inferior perfume. By this it is implied that the beloved's locks are like China, themselves the home of sweet perfume, and so it is needless to sprinkle them with any less precious scent, such as would be the sweet-smelling (yet not so sweet-smelling) dust on which she has set her foot. ' The bodies of all animals, as well as those of all plants and minerals, are composed of particles of the elements earth and water, variously modi- fied by air and fire. 5 66 Pure the love of thee is waxen, biding long within the heart ; Clearer groweth wine the longer while it bides in crystal bowl. * Since the dervish Ahmed turned a beggar in the dear one's ward 2 He is grown earth's King with naught of need of throne or crown or stole. Ghazel. [8i] He who fain would buss the Dearling's ruby lip must life disdain, He must yield his head who seeks yon darkling tresses' scent to gain. * Passion's raging fires were never stanched by gazing on her ward; Eden-bower may ne'er content him who is of the Vision fain. * Yonder sugar-lip hath rid his cheek of down; come, where art thou Who to company with thornless rose desirest to attain ? 5 Hair by hair hath he rehearsed the reckoning of thy gathered locks; By the crack of doom ! a zone he seeketh in death's bitter pain. ^ ' The heart, being pure and fragile like crystal and being a receptacle for love, is compared to a flask; and as wine improves and grows clear by being kept long in bottle, so has the poet's love grown pure by being long treasured in his heart. 2 As we have already seen, the poets often speak rapturously of the 'ward' (kuy) in which the beloved dwells; indeed there is a saying ,mIJ^> ^<3*f O-**' Q^-*-^ 'the loved one's ward is Paradise'. To be a beggar, or even a dog, in this ward, is pictured as a position of supreme felicity. 3 See vol. I, p. 163, n. 2. Ahmed says in another ghazel: — L_g.i:jl .iAjj-j K1 .l> 1A.X.j1 t^^jj_5 o^~^ 'Begone, O thou who thinkest, 'I shall reach Love's pathway's end !' To yield thy life is the first stage; there is no end thereto'. * Here we have the 'ward' again ; but Alimed says that this, the shrine of the sentimental poet, cannot satisfy the passionate lover, just as Paradise (to which this ward is often compared) is valueless in the eyes of the fervid saint whose heart is on fire for the Beatific Vision (see vol. i, p. 37). ■^ The idea is that the beautiful youth has removed the incipient beard, the hairs of which, like so many thorns, were disfiguring his rose-like face. In the second line there is an allusion to the well-known proverb, y^y J^ j-**'-*^^^^, 'there is no rose without a thorn'. " m this couplet the dying lover is conceived as speaking of his beloved's tresses with his latest breath. These tresses of the cruel fair are, as we have ^1 O'er the rose-garth fair' her eyebrows, look ye, have pavilions reared;' 'Let him come who seeketh garden-feast!' is her eyelids' refrain. So thou seek for union with her, plunge within Love's sea straightway, Learn to know the ways of ocean, 3 thou who wouldest pearls obtain. Though to love the fair be Ahmed's failing, 'tis no fault in sooth; Whoso seeketh friend that's faultless, friendless will on earth remain. * Ghazel. [82] That curl o' thine which o'er thy rosy cheek doth play, O love. Is Eden's Pawn ^ who spreads his plumery-array, O love. He who hath made thy down a talisman to guard thy lip Hath writ with musk a charm for sweetness, by my fay, O love. ^ seen, often compared to the paynim 'zone', which itself is frequently taken as an emblem of infidelity (p. 44, n. 4). It is therefore very strange that a Muslim at the time of death, when all his thoughts ought to be concentrated on things of the Faith, should speak about matters closely associated with infidels. The poet has here contrived to bring together a number of congruous words; the 'gathered' locks (i. e. the mass of hair) suggests the 'gathering together' of mankind at the Last Judgment ; the 'reckoning' recalls that 'reckoning' which each must then give; 'By the crack of doom!' literally 'Oh the Resurrection !' (an interjectional phrase implying consternation) is self-evident. ' The 'rose-garth' is of course the beauty's rosy face. 2 Here again the eyebrows are presented at once as tents or pavilions (because of their arched shape) and as the raisers of those pavilions. 3 There is here an untranslatable equivoque ; the phrase 'learn to know the ocean" means also 'swim the ocean'. * This line t^Jh'^'^' j^^- j-***-^^ »Ail^> jyl'i j^J-^i has passed into a proverb. 5 The resplendent Pawn (i. e. Peacock) of Paradise, whose plumage shone like pearl and emerald, and whose voice was so sweet that he was appointed to sing the daily praise of God. He plays a part in the Muslim legend of the Fall; for it was he who induced the serpent to bring Satan hidden in his tooth into Paradise, in punishment whereof he was deprived of his lovely voice. In the present verse the waving curl of the beauty represents this Peacock, her rosy cheek being the Garden of Paradise. 6 Here the hairs of the down on the face (or of the young moustache, if a youth be intended,) are taken to represent the magic characters of a talisman which has been writteia with dark sweet-smelling musk (the usual simile for hair) and placed over the beloved's lip to protect the sweetness 68 Come, hie not to the rival's dwelling-place, for well thou know'st Where'er there be a dog no angel goes that way, O love. ' Thy dusky locks have come not forth from 'neath thy bonnet fair; For fresh and fragrant musk is wrapped in silken say, O love. 2 The eye became not warm, so wept not at the preacher's words ; ^ No pupil may perspire if dull and cold the day, O love. * Say, with what face should Ahmed rub not at thy feet his face ? 5 Upon what head yield not his head for thee, I pray, O love ? Ghazel. [83] That night in which our comrade is yon sugar-liplet bright, — Grant thou the dawn no power to draw one breath, " O Lord of Night. hidden there. Talismans were often written with water in which perfumes and other ingredients were mixed. ' The Prophet is reported to have said that an angel never enters where there is a dog. On the other hand, he is credited with the saying, ^.jL^j"^' ^^ s^.AJi *--*.> 'love of the cat is part of the Faith'. In the present verse Hhe dog' is of course represented by the rival, 'the angel' by the beloved. 2 It was usual for druggists to wrap up parcels of musk in red silk, a practice frequently alluded to by the poets. 3 The 'preacher' is taken by the poets as a type of the rigid and austere orthodox, the opposite and antagonist of the 'lover', just as is the zealot, the legist, and so on (vol. i, p. 360, n. i.) * The 'pupil' (pupilla i. e. 'little girl') of the eye is called in the East the 'mannikin' or 'babe' of the eye, the name in each case being taken from the little reflected image seen in the apple of the eye. Ahmed here fancies the tears as the 'perspiration' of this pupilla or man- nikin. But perspiration comes only when one is heated; now there have been no tears, as the frigid address of the preacher did not rouse the enthusiasm of his hearers; hence the conceit that the pupilla has not perspiied because of the chilly air. ' 'To I'ub one's face in the dust at a great man's feet', i. e. to humble one's self before him. " 1 he 'breath of dawn' is an idiomatic expression answering to our 'peep of day'. 69 Thy beauty's dawn is e'en a brilliancy-diffusing day Enclosed on either side between thy darkling tresses' night. ' O houii fairy-visaged, it is thou, an so there be Embodied radiancy the which in soul for frame is dight. ^ O heart, behold her cheek and curl, nor take thy leave of us, Nor start on journey, for the moon in Scorpio's alight. 3 The reason why I kiss the dust afore thy gate is this, * That gilded plate beside the door is surely meet and right. ^ O tear, go hide so soon as thou the loved one's face dost see; 'Tis seemly that the stars be lost when comes the sun in sight. ^ A kiss of yonder lip of thine sick-hearted Ahmed craves ; Is 't strange if fever make a man unfitting words recite?'' ' Here the bright face of the beauty, enclosed on either side by her black hair, is compared to a lovely day, which is of course set between two nights. 2 If there be such a thing as an embodied Light, the body for which is formed, not of earth and water, but of soul, it is thou, O fairy-visaged houri, i. e. O beautiful girl. 3 Scorpio, according to the astrologers, is a most inauspicious sign, being 'the house of death, of travail, of harm, of strife, of battle, of guilefulness, of falseness and of fraud'. It is, moreover, the 'dejection' of the moon (see vol. I, p. 328, n. 3), and when the moon is in it her influence is most unfavourable. Hence to say that the moon is in Scorpio, is to say that the aspect of things is very threatening. Here, by a common conceit, the beauty's face is the moon and her hair is Scorpio, the twisting curls being something like a scorpion's claws. So the heart is warned not to start on its love-quest at so menacing a time. * i. e. humble myself before thee, as in n. 5 on the previous page. 5 A gilt plate or tablet, bearing an inscription, was often placed over or by a door. Here the poet likens his face, sallow through love-longing, to such a plate. 6 Here the poet compares his tears to the stars and his beloved's face to the sun; and as the stars vanish when the brilliant sun appears, so must his tears cease in the glory of gazing on her face. ■" He having no right to ask so great a favour. CHAPTER IV. Prince Jem. The story of the life and adventures of the poet-prince Jem Sultan, who unsuccessfully contested the throne with his brother Bayezid II, forms one of the most romantic chapters in Ottoman history. ' This ill-starred Prince, whose courage and talents, combined with his misfortunes, render him so interesting a figure, had, however, no real right to the crown for which he fought, as he was the younger son of the Conqueror, having been born on the 27^11 Safer 864 (23rd Dec. 1459), while Bayezid had been born thirteen years earlier. About the beginning of Rejeb 873 (end of Dec. 1468), Jem, who had just entered his tenth year, was, in accordance with a custom already mentioned, ^ sent as nominal governor to Qastamuni, and while there he began his literary studies. In the middle of Sha^ban 879 (Dec. 1474), when he was fifteen years of age, he was appointed governor of the newly conquered province of Qaraman, which office he continued to hold till his father's death. The six and a half ' M. L. Thuasne, whose volume on the visit of Gentile Bellini to the court of Mehemmed II has already been mentioned, has written an interesting, and, so far as European and translated Turkish records go, exhaustive work on thi life of this Prince, under the title of 'Djem-Sultan, Etude sur la Question d'Orient a la Fin du XVe Si^cle'. Paris, Leroux, 1892. 2 See p. 29 supra. 71 years that he spent in that province formed probably the happiest period of his Hfe. With his head-quarters at Qonya, the old SelJLiq capital, and surrounded by congenial and trusty friends, he was able to give himself up unreservedly to his favourite pursuits. He lived a merry life; 'in his hand,' says '^Ashiq, 'the Cup of Jemshid ' replaced the Seal of Solomon, ^ and with him the voice of minstrelsy was heard for the drum of victory.' 'The vapours of the wine of mirth were the diadem on his head, and the flowing locks of the beloved were his tugh ^ and standard.' Here in all probability the greater part of his poems was written ; for, as "^Ashiq continues, 'most times was he inditing poetry, while his (chief) occupation was to study the writings of the poets.' * The biographer adds that while here the Prince arranged his Diwan and dedicated it to his father, though in another place ^ he speaks of the Diwan as being written out by Sa'^di, one of Jem's followers, when they were in exile in Europe. It is not improbable, as we shall see by and by, that there were two editions. Sehi Bey attributes to the 1 The Jam-i Jemshid or Jam-i Jem, i. e. 'the Cup of Jemshid' or 'the Cup of Jem', is famous in Eastern lore. Jemshid or Jem is the name of a semi-mythic Persian King belonging to the first (the Pishdadi) dynasty, who possessed, among other wondrous things, this Cup, round the inside of which were engraved seven lines representing, according to one account, the Seven Climates of the habitable earth (see vol. i, p. 47, n. i), the various cities and so forth being marked each in its proper place. When the King emptied his Cup, the whole world was thus presented to him, whence the name Jam-i Jihan-numa or Jam-i Giti-numa, i. e. '•World-displaying Cup', by which it is often called. The poets frequently speak of the wine-cup as the Cup of Jem (or Jemshid), seeing how it expands the heart of the drinker so that he feels as though all the world were his, and from this usage the term came to be employed figuratively by the mystics to denote the esoteric knowledge that lays all things bare before the gnostic. 2 For Solomon and his seal, see p. 39, n. i. 3 A tugh is a pennant of horse-hair which, attached to a flag-staff, was formerly given to Pashas as an ensign of rank. * According to Sehi, the Prince's khoja or tutor was a poet called Turabi. 5 In his notice of SaMi. 72 Prince a romantic mesnevi entitled Khurshid and Ferrukh- Shad. ' It is probably to the same workt hat SaM-ud-Din, the historian, ^ refers when, speaking of Jem's pursuits at Qonya, he says that, besides writing his Diwan, he whilst there translated, and dedicated to Sultan Mehemmed, Kh^aja Sel- man's romantic mesnevi of Jemshid and Khurshid. ^ The Prince's attention, however, was not wholly devoted to merry- making and poetry-writing, for, as the same historian informs us, while in Qaraman, he perfected himself in warlike exer- cises, and added several pounds of rings to the maces ■* ot the old Seljuq Sultan, '^Ala-ud-Din, ^ which were preserved at Qonya and Larende, ° while Sehi tells us that in his time the Prince's mace, which no other man of his day could swing, was still to be seen at the Harbour Gate (Iskele Qapusi) of Constantinople. The names of several of the poets who were with Jem in Qaraman have been recorded, notably those of his nishanji or chancellor Sa'^di ' (already referred to) and of his defterdar or treasurer Hayder, ^ both of whom accompanied him to 1 Perhaps the sEime story as that told by Sheykh-oghli, see vol. i, pp. 427 — 31. 2 For SaM-ud-Din and his famous History, see vol. i, p. 164, n. I. 3 Sehi and Sa'd-ud-Din are alone in mentioning a mesnevi by Jem; no such work is referred to by any other Tezkire-writer or by Katib Chelebi. For Selman and his Jemshid u Khurshid, see vol. i, p. 286. * It was the custom with Oriental athletes to add to the weight of their arms, etc. by affixing thereto heavy iron rings. 8 We are not told which of the two Seljuq Sultans named "^Ala-ud-Din is here referred to. ^ Larende, the old name of the town of Qaraman. See vol. i, p. 151, n. i. '' This Sa"^di, whose personal name was Sa'^d-ullah, and who was popularly known as Jem SaMisi or 'Jem's SaMi", was a native of Seres. He was one of the Prince's most faithful followers, accompanying him to Mekka and to Europe, and at last giving his life in his service. His verses are said to have been mostly of a bacchanalian character. As we shall see, he is probably the author\of a well-known poem usually attributed to Prince Jem. 8 Hayder likewise was a native of Sivri-hisar, and he too went into exile with his master, with whom he remained to the end. His verses are described 73 Europe. The biographers speak Hkewise of a Shahidi ' who also is said to have been defterdar to the Prince (possibly he preceded Hayder in the ofiice), while Sehi and Latifi mention further a Qandi - and a La'^li;^ and the former biographer speaks of a Sakha^i. '* When Sultan Mehemmed died on the 4th of the First Rebf 886 (3rd May 148 1), this chapter in the Hfe of Jem came to a close. No sooner was the Conqueror's death known in Constantinople than the partisans of the two Princes there sent word to their respective candidates. Bayezid, who was governor of Amasiya, received his message first, and, hastening to Constantinople, he there assumed the crown. But Jem, nothing daunted, assembled an army, marched northward, and possessed himself of Brusa the old capital. Here he reigned for eighteen days, minting money ^ and causing the khutbe *" to be read in his own name, the two official pre- rogatives of an independent sovereign in the East. As soon by Latifi and Hasan as being simple and without art. '^Ashiq does not mention him; Sehi calls him Hayderi. 1 Shahidf, whom also '^Ashiq omits, was a native of Adriauople. His verses are said to have contained little beyond trite and threadbare ideas. Accor- ding to Katib Chelebi, this Shahidi composed a mesnevi on the loves of Leyla and Mejnun, which he completed in 88i (1476 — -7), and which was therefore probably the first Ottoman poem on the subject. '^ Qandi is said by Sehi, who brings him from Seres, to have been a great favourite with Jem, whom he accompanied into the exile in which he died. Latifi says that he was a master confectioner, whence his pen-name Qandi, i. e. 'he of Candy'. He wrote parallels to the poems of Jem and Sa'^di. ' La'^li is mentioned by '^Ashiq and Hasan as well as by Sehi and Latifi, but the two former say nothing about any connection between him and Jem. Sehi says he accompanied Jem to the 'Arab lands'. * Sehi alone mentions Sakha'i ; he too is said to have gone with Jem to the 'Arab lands'. 5 As Jem's 'reign' was so brief, his coins are naturally excessively rare; but Ghalib Edhem Bey had in his collection an asper (aqcha) of the Prince, which he has described and represented in his Taqwim-i Meskukat-i '^Osmaniye. 8 The khutbe is a special homily and prayer, delivered by an official preacher, called a khatib, before the midday service in mosques on Fridays. It is divided into two sections, of which the first, called khutbet-ul-wa'^z, is 74 as his preparations were made, Bayezi'd crossed over to Asia at the head of his army, when Jem, who probably mistrusted his own power to cope with the Imperial forces, sent an embassy to his brother proposing that they should divide the Empire between them, Bayezid keeping the European territories while he himself retained the Asiatic. Bayezid very properly refused to listen to this proposal; and in the battle that followed, Jem was utterly defeated, whereupon he fled with all the speed he might to Qonya, the capital of his old government of Qaraman. Here he rested for three days, after which, taking with him his mother and his wife and family, he continued his flight until he had left the Ottoman frontier behind him and was safe in the territories of the Egyptian Memliiks. He went first to Aleppo, and then to Damascus where, by order of Qayt Bay the Sultan of Egypt, he was received with every honour. From that city he went, by way of Jerusalem, to Cairo, his host's capital, which he entered in state on the ist of Sha'^ban (25th Sept.), being met and welcomed by Qayt Bay himself and all his court. After a stay of four months in the Egyptian capital, Jem set out for Mekka, where he performed all the rites of the pilgrimage, ' returning to Cairo, after an absence of some three months, in the spring of 887 (1482). He there received letters from a number of disaffected Ottoman officers in Anatolia as well as from Qasim Bey, the heir of the dispossessed kings of Qaraman, telling him that a favourable opportunity had arisen for the prosecution of his claims and praying him to come across and once again try the fortunes of war. Jem gave willing ear to these overtures and, disre- the homily, and the second, called khutbet-un-na"t, is the prayer; it is in the latter that the name of the sovereign is mentioned. * Ay,cording to Mouradjea D'Ohsson and Von Hammer, Jem and a daughter of Sultan Mehemmed I are the only members of the Ottoman Imperial family who have made the Mekka pilgrimage. 75 garding a letter from his brother in which he was offered a handsome allowance if he would relinguish his pretensions and live in peace, he left Egypt, furnished by Qayt Bay with men and money, and set out for the Ottoman lands. ' On the journey he met Qasim Bey, with whom he made a pact of alliance in which he promised, in case they were successful, to restore to Qasim the Kingdom of Qaraman. But this was not to be; after vainly besieging Qonya, Jem marched upon Angora, and there his army deserted him. Bayezid again offered him peace and an annual allowance 1 According to Sehi and Lati'fi, Jem sent (presumably about this time) the following couplet to Bayezid: — &J L^i^AAM 8l^AA^V/4 ..^.^vi^ a,Aav^(3 (J<.J ,-v.J 'A-smile on bed of roses dost thou lie in all delight, In dolour's stove-room ••• mid the ashes couch I, — why is this ?' to which the Sultan returned this answer: — X-i ._^AA« ^^ i*t^*";^'*-:?5 ^*^\ Sj:^^^* 'To me was empire on the Fore-eternal Day •■■* decreed, Yet thou to Destiny wilt yield thee not, — why, why is this? "A pilgrim to the Holy Shrines am I" thou dost declare. And yet thou dost for earthly Sultanship sigh, — why is this?' * The kulkhan or 'stove-room' of an Eastern public bath is a large and gloomy chamber, generally below the level of the street. In it are the stoves or furnaces by which the bath is heated, and it is always grimy with fuel and ashes. It opens on to the street, and on cold winter nights miserable and homeless lads sometimes creep into it and lay themselves in the ashes before the stoke-holes of the stoves, where they are allowed to sleep in peace. Such lads are called kulkhani or kulkhan beyi, and have a very bad reputation, somewhat equivalent to that of our 'hooligans'. In poetry the kulkhan or bath stove-room is often taken as typical of the lot of the wretched, in op- positon to the gulshen or 'rose-garden' which represents the lot of the happy. ** The Fore-eternal Day, i. e. the Day of E-lest, the Primal Day, see vol. I, p. 363, n. 9. 76 if he would retire and settle quietly near Jerusalem ; but even now Jem refused, declaring he would be content with nothing less than a share of the Empire. Bayezid therefore ordered his troops to march against him, but the Prince managed to elude them and make his escape to the coast, whence he sent a message to D'Aubusson, the Grand Master of the Knights of St. John, at Rhodes, praying his hospitality and assistance against his brother Bayezid. This the Grand Master gladly consented to give, as he knew that the pos- session of the Ottoman pretender would be a powerful w^eapon in his hands should the Sultan ever think to threaten the territories of the Order. He accordingly sent a vessel, in which Jem embarked on the 26th July, 1482, when he took what was to be his last farewell of the land of his fathers. A short voyage brought the Prince and his followers to Rhodes, where the Grand Master and his knights received them with every mark of honour and respect. * The Prince was magnificently entertained, but the courtesy of his hosts was only surface-deep; before he placed himself in their power, they had pledged to the fugitive their knightly word that he would be free to leave their island in all security when he pleased, but they knew the value of the prize that fortune had put within their hands, and were fully determined that it should not slip from their possession. And so, that they might keep him in the greater security, they shipped Jem ofif to France, and straightway entered into an agreement with the Sultan whereby, in return for an annual payment of 45,000 florins, ^ they undertook to hold the Prince in safe custody. Jem, accompanied by a suite of thirty followers, had left ' In the contemporary European records the name of Jem appears under the cprrupt form of Zizim or Zizimi. The Italians of those days seem to have used ihe letter Z to represent the sound which we give to j (or ch), thus 'Janizari' for the Turkish Yeiii-cheri. 2 For the value of the florin, see p. 26 , n. 2. 77 Rhodes after a stay of thirty-four days, having been persuaded that the King of France would espouse his cause, and full of hope that with this assistance and that of the King of Hungary, on which also he reckoned, he would be able to invade the Ottoman territories. * After an eventful voyage, in the course of which they encountered a furious storm, saw Mount Vesuvius in eruption, and went near to being captured by the galleys of the King of Naples, they reached the town of Nice on the i6th of October. Jem, who so far does not seem to have suspected the bad faith of his hosts, appears to have been pleased with the entertainment he here received and to have enjoyed the to him unaccustomed freedom of life offered by a European city. '•^ ^Ashiq says that he passed his time feasting and making merry with the young Frankish nobles, and he quotes the following couplet which, he says, the Prince composed in praise of the French city : — 'How wondrous nice a town this town of Nice, 'Where none is questioned, whate'er his caprice !' 3 As we have already seen, '^Ashiq says in one place in his Tezkire that it was while Jem was at Nice that his Di'wan was written out. This, he further informs us, was done in • As the price of their assistance his Christian allies were, among other things, to receive back part of the territories wrested from their co-religionists by Mehemmed the Conqueror. * The freedom with which in European cities everyone may enjoy himself as he pleases, is one of the first things to strike the Oriental fresh from a Muhammedan country with its muhtesibs or censors of public morals whose duty it is to prevent drinking and gambling and other unlawful pleasures or amusements, and to arrest those who indulge in them. literally : — 'A wondrous town is this town of Nice, Where whatever one do, it remaineth with him' (i. e. he is not called to account for it). The merit, such as it is, of this couplet lies in the tejnis (see vol. I, p. 1 1 6) formed by nitse 'Nice' and nitse 'Whatever he do'. The 'Nice' and 'nice' of the translation are intended to take the place of this. 78 a place 'now known as Jem's garden (Jem Baghchesi)', SaMi, the Prince's nishanji, acting as scribe and making his copy- on what the biographer describes as kafiri kharti. * '^Ashiq speaks as though he had seen this identical copy of Jem's Diwan, which he says *is now in the possession of Baba Chelebi', and in the colophon of which the scribe gives the date of transcription and mentions his own name, SaMi the son of Mustafa. According to Latifi, this SaMi, who, as we know, was him- self something of a poet, composed and presented to his master during their sojourn at Nice a poem in which he sought to cheer him in his ill-fortune by pointing out how destiny may not be evaded, and how even now he was enjoying every delight which kingship could procure. This poem, which later writers such as '^Ashiq and Hasan attribute, not to SaMi, but to Jem, eventually acquired considerable celebrity as the work of the Prince himself I am, however, inclined to think that Latifi, our earliest authority, ^ is right in his attribution, and that the piece of verse in question is really from the pen of the nishanji. Not only would such an authorship harmonize better with the wording of the poem, which is throughout addressed to Jem, who is thrice mentioned by name, but the work, both in language and in spirit, is quite unlike the ghazels in Jem's Di'wan, the mani- pulation being much less skilful and the ideas much more matter-of-fact. But as this production, apart from any question of authorship, is very interesting as being quite unusually realistic for a Turkish poem, and as presenting an obviously true picture of the Prince's life at Nice, I give a translation of it at the end of this chapter. ^ ' {jf^j~^ K3y^ 1 l^y which "^Ashiq probably means paper of European manufacture; but I am not certain. 2 Sehi does not refer to the matter in question. 3 Latifi wrote a takhmis (see vol. i, p. 93) on the opening couplet of 79 Sa'^di met with a tragic fate. At some unspecified time Jem sent him to Turkey with letters to certain of his adhe- rents in Constantinople and with instructions to find out how things were looking there. He set out in disguise, taking with him, besides the letters, the copy of his master's Diwan which he had himself written out. He reached Rhodes, whence he passed over to the province of Aydin, and thence he made his way north, travelling during the night and hiding by day. But at length he was discovered, arrested as a spy, and flung into the harbour of Constantinople with a stone tied about his neck. Jem remained at Nice some four months till an outbreak of the plague in that city rendered his removal desirable. By this time the Prince had began to realize that his hosts were in truth his gaolers, and that he was in fact, though not in name, a prisoner in the hands of the Knights of St. John. They had attempted on one pretext or another to separate his followers from him ; and although they still professed to treat him as their guest, they henceforth deter- mined his movements precisely as they pleased, without the slightest regard to his own desires. And now began a long journey through Provence; the Knights took Jem and such of his suite as were left with him to one after another of their castles in that country, stopping for a few months at this poem which will be found in the printed edition of his Tezkire. I may remark that the poem does not occur in my MS. of Jem's Diwan, but such an omission would not necessarily prove that he was not the author, as in very many cases MS. Diwans are by no means complete. The text of the poem is printed in the 4th. vol. of the Tarikh-i "^Ata, where it is attributed to Jem, and where it is called a Hasb-i Hal or 'Plaint'. Von Hammer published five couplets from it in an article on the adventures of Jem in Europe which he contributed to the Journal Asiatique for Nov. 1825, under the title of 'Sur le Sejour du Frere de Bayazid H en Provence'. Von Hammer calls those five couplets (which by the way are full of mistakes and misprints) a ghazel, and this he attributes to Prince Jem. 8o each. The route followed, and the names of the towns through which they passed and of the castles at which they rested, are mentioned in histories both Turkish and European. There is no need to reproduce them here ; it is enough to say that in the course of this journey Jem met the only two Europeans who, so far as has been recorded, showed him any disinter- ested kindness. One of these was Duke Charles of Savoy, a gallant and generous young prince, who in February 1483 visited Jem at Rumilly, and, filled with pity at his unhappy position, promised to do his utmost to assist him, a promise which he loyally kept, though all his efforts proved unavailing. The other was the fair Philippine-Helene of Sassenage who gave Prince Jem her love. In the early summer Jem had been transferred either to the castle of Sassenage, the lord of which was the father of this young lady, or to some other castle in the neighbourhood ; and there Prince and damozel met and fell in love. In the words of SaM-ud-Din, 'now the lord of that castle had a wonder-lovely daughter, and she inclined unto the Prince, and there befell between them mutual love and interchange of letters.' ' Jem remained seven years in France, from 1482 to 1489. He was then transferred to Italy, and there the rest of his life was passed. The custody of claimant of the Ottoman throne had now become a matter of contention among the potentates of Christendom. Apart from the money which could always be extorted from Bayezid for the safe-keeping of his brother, the possession of the latter, who any day could be let loose upon Turkey, placed a formidable weapon against the common enemy in the hands of his custodians, ' The memory of the loves of Jem and Philippine-Helene lingered long in the district. In 1673 the local traditions on the subject were collected by Guy-Allard and worked up into a kind of historical romance under the title of 'Zizimi prince Ottoman, amoureux de rhilippine-IIelene de Sassenage'. who thus acquired considerable influence among their fellows. And so by a judicious combination of cajolery and bribery Pope Innocent VIII contrived to get the Prince out of the hands of the Knights of St. John. In spite of his promise to assist Jem, who had implored his protection, Innocent kept him a virtual prisoner in the Vatican. While there the Prince learned, through an ambassador of the Sultan of Egypt, of another knightly action of his former 'host' the Grand Master D'Aubusson. That gallant and pious gentleman had sent forged letters to Jem's mother and wife at Cairo, in which the Prince was made to say that he had remained in Europe of his own free will, but that he would now return if they would send 20,000 florins to cover the expenses of his journey. When Jem and the ambassador charged D'Au- busson with this crime at the Papal court, he was unable to deny his guilt, though an immediate payment of 5,000 florins sufficed to procure his exoneration. In 1492 Innocent died and was succeeded on the Papal throne by the infamous Alexander Borgia who then assumed the style of Alexander VI. Charles XII of France entered Rome at the head of his army on the last day of 1494. He compelled the Pope to place the Ottoman Prince in his hands. Charles then marched upon Naples, taking Jem with him. On the 17th February 1495, at a place called Thiano, about a league from Capua, Jem fell ill. He was placed in a litter and borne to Naples, and there, on the 2g^^^ of the First Jemazi 900 (25th Feby. 1495), he died, poisoned, according to both Turks and Europeans, by order of Pope Alexander VI. The Ottoman historians differ from the European only as to the manner in which the crime was carried out. According to the former, who in this particular are the less likely to be correct, the Prince's death was brought about through 6 82 his being cut with a poisoned razor by the barber whose duty it was to shave him ; according to the latter, the poison was administered to him in his food. Both, however, are agreed in saying that the murder of the hapless Turkish Prince was the revenge taken by the Pope on the French King who thought to steal away his prize. According to SaM-ud-Din, the news of Jem's death was conveyed to Turkey by one of his suite named Khatib-zade Nasuh Chelebi, who at the same time brought with him the late Prince's personal effects. Latifi and Hasan, however, assert that this was done by Hayder Chelebi who had been his defterdar in Qaraman and had accompanied him to Europe. These biographers tell us that Jem had a white parrot of which he was very fond, and in teaching which to speak he had whiled away some of the dreary hours of his exile. On the Prince's death, Hayder dyed this bird's plumage black and taught it to say, Tt is God's to decree ! long live the Padishah !' * and brought it thus wearing the colour of mourning and uttering the words used in condolence, into the presence of Bayezid, who, pleased with the little trick, granted Hayder a valuable fief. ^ The body of Prince Jem was embalmed, taken back to Turkey, and buried in Brusa hard by the mosque of Sultan Murad. While the treachery he met with at the hands of those 1 bL^^Lj .^ oL siAijLj *IJ j». QUi:iXM*.J) |«.>-jJ ^lJ' 'God's mercy on Prince Jem!' (a phrase which implies that the Prince is dead) in place of j«-> QLi3l.^*^-l j-*^^. ^^ 'God aid Prince Jem!' which it had been accustomed to repeat. 83 in whose honour he trusted cannot but arouse our pity for the unhappy and misguided Prince whose career we have just sketched, we must not lose sight of the fact that his misfortunes were in great measure the result of his own actions. Possessed by an overmastering ambition, he was driven not only to his own destruction but to the total disregard of his duty towards his country. It would no doubt be too much to look for what we call patriotism from an Oriental Prince of the fifteenth century, but it were not too much to expect that such a Prince should have some con- sideration for the interests of his race and his religion. Yet Jem twice plunged the land in civil war in pursuance of a purely personal and quite unjustifiable pretension. He would, moreover, have dismembered the Ottoman Empire in order to make himself master of part of it. He entered into alliances with the hereditary enemies of his house, the Sultan of Egypt and the Prince of Qaraman, and by his pact with the latter he would have undone his father's work. On the chance of dispossessing his brother, he would have let loose the Franks and the Christians of Hungary upon the Muslim lands. It was conduct such as this, and Jem's was neither the first nor the last instance of it, that led public opinion to sanction the seemingly barbarous rule which allowed a Sultan in old times if he thought fit, to order the execution of his brothers on his accession to the throne. While it cannot be doubted that as a consequence of this rule, which was in reality a measure of precaution, many an innocent victim perished, it is at least equally certain that it was the means of preventing a far greater eftusion of blood by obviating wars of succession, and that it tended greatly to promote the stability of the state by enabling her to husband her resources for employment against foreign enemies. The poetical works of Prince Jem, so far as they are 84 known to us, are wholly lyric. We have seen that Sehi and SaM-ud-Din speak of a romantic mesnevi. This poem, if it ever existed, seems to have disappeared. All that we have now is a Diwan. Copies even of this are rare, and apparently have long been so, as '^Ali thinks it worth his while to chronicle the fact that he possessed one. There is a manus- cript in the Royal Library at Berlin, another among the Schefer MSS. at Paris, and a third in my own collection. ^ The last of these would seem to represent what we might call the second edition of the Diwan, that which SaMi copied out in the garden at Nice and took with him on his ill- starred journey to Turkey. My reason for thus thinking is that the manuscript in question contains no dedication of any kind, whereas we are distinctly told, by '^Ashiq as well as by SaM-ud-Din, that the Diwan which the Prince wrote and arranged while in Qaraman was dedicated to his father. Such dedication might very well be omitted from the second edition, that drawn up at Nice after Sultan Mehemmed's death. If this supposition be correct, this manuscript will contain the poems written by Jem while he was still in the East, together with any that he may have composed during the first weeks of his residence in Europe. But it will not present a complete collection of his works; those many pathetic ghazels which SaM-ud-Din tells us the Prince com- posed during his long exile in Europe will be absent. And it is worthy of note, as supporting this supposition, that the one fragment of verse which the biographers quote as the production of that period is not to be found in this manus- cript. That many of those later poems have been preserved 1 The Di'wan of Prince Jem is unpublislied; a few extracts from it are printed in vol. iv of the Tarikh-i "^Ata. As said above, there is a MS. in my coUectioVi, which, however, unfortunately wants a page or two ; as it stands it contains nearly 320 ghazels, when it was perfect, it doubtless contained fully that number. 85 is very doubtful. There is no record that they were ever collected ; and such as were conveyed to Turkey by the survivors of Jem's suite, if not brought together or incorpo- rated with the author's earlier works, would soon be dispersed and either lost or forgotten. We may then take it that the manuscript at our disposal contains the poems written by Jem up to about the year 1482. These will therefore be contemporary with the earlier works of Ahmed Pasha and with the ghazels of the writers who style themselves '^Adli and ^Adni. On examining them we find that they are very similar to the verses of these three poets. There is the same triteness in the high-flown sentiments, the same almost child-like naivete in the poses and affectations, and the same ungainliness in the somewhat laboured attempts at verbal jugglery, all of which show the writers to be pre-occupied in wrestling with a language not yet wholly adequate to the expression of a highly artificial style. What distinguishes Jem from his contemporaries is his greater individuality. Even when he is saying the same things as Ahmed and the others, he does not say them quite in the same way. His verse is no smoother than theirs, his ideas and metaphors no more original; but there is in his work a personal note which theirs lacks. Those poets studied the Persian Diwans in order to learn what to say, Jem studied them in order to learn how to say what he himself felt. And in this lies his merit as a poet. His ghazels did nothing to assist the development of Ottoman poetry, his Diwan marks no stage in its history; but mirrored therein is a personality so strong that not even the incubus of precedent and the dead-weight of Persian culture sutiticed wholly to stifle it. For some reason, possibly because the display of any marked sympathy with an enemy of a Sultan, in however 86 distant a past, was against the rules, the Ottoman biographers are singularly reticent with regard to Jem's poetry. They give the outline of his life-story and quote a few couplets from his ghazels, but of the eulogies of which they are usually so lavish there is hardly a trace. Sehi alone speaks of him as a peerless poet whose verses are full of fantasies and his ghazels of metaphors. Latifi says that by common consent of the poets Jem is the most highly gifted of the Princes who wrote poetry, just as Selim I is of the Sultans. ■^Ali will not admit even that; he maintains that the poems in which Jem bewails his misfortunes are surpassed in pathos by those of Prince Bayezid, a son of Suleyman I, who wrote under the pen-name of Shahi, and whose unhappy lot bore considerable resemblance to that of the elder Prince. "Ashiq and Hasan say absolutely nothing as to Jem's position as a poet. I have selected the following ghazels from Prince Jem's Diwan. Ghazel. [84] Though my life-thread by thy wanton ways is ended, loveling mine, Never have I seen a hair's good from thy flowing locks a-twine. O thou Idol, though the Real Love be guide upon the way, If I turn me from thy Typal Love, a paynim I indign. ' Though toward her ward I bow me, zealot, see thou chide me not; Better far than all thy prayers is one bow toward yon shrine. Since the hand of Time thine ear hath twisted like the lute's, O heart, 2 Fire is fall'n on highest heaven from these burning songs of thine. Nought from all thy prayers hast thou won, O heart, go, heed no more ; For the heedless heart no longer prays thee, beauty haught and fine ! ' For the 'Real' and the 'Typal' Loves, see vol. i, pp. 20 — i. 2 The 'ears' of the lute are the pegs by screwing up which it is tuned. 87 They have burned the taper's tongue and hanged her in the market-place, For that of thy hidden secret, Idol, she hath given sign. ' Ha ! how brave a lover, Jem, art thou, for ne'er may scape or flee One of all the city-beauties from thy sweetheart-hunting eyne. Ghazel. [85] I've learned how thy despite of me was truest plight, O love; How yonder thought I had of thee was all unright, O love. Oh! drive me not from 'fore thy gate, I pray, for by Merve-hill! To compass that thy Ka^'ba-ward 2 is my Delight, O love. ' I joyed a-saying, 'In my dream have I beheld thy locks!' But, ah, it was a dragon * met my waking sight, O love. I bound my hope unto thy locks for all that well I knew They too were, even like to life, of faithless plight, O love. He sought to win unto the board of union ^ with thee; Alack a blessing was Jem's only share or right, O love. " ' Another instance of husn-i ta'^lil. The wick of the taper is lighted, and it is then hung up, enclosed in a lantern, in a public-place to give light; but the poet feigns that its tongue (i. e. wick) is branded or burned (i. e. lighted)^ and that it is hanged (i. e. hung up) in the market-place, as a punishment for its having given a hint concerning the secret of his beloved's beauty, the taper being, as we know, a recognised symbol of the beloved. (See vol. I, p. 215, n. 3.) 2 In this couplet the 'ward' of the beloved is considered as the sacred Ka^ba, the compassing of which is an essential ceremony of the pilgrimage. ^ Merve and Safa are the names of two small hills or rises in Mekka, between which the pilgrims make seven courses in commemoration of Hagar's running about to seek water for Ishmael. The word safa means, among other things, 'delight'. It is thus used amphi- bologically in this verse, the second line being : — 'To compass that thy Ka ba-ward is my I jeli^'ht ^ love'. * We have often seen the beloved's locks compared to a snake or dragon. 5 'The board (i. e. feast) of union with thee' means simply, the delight of union with thee. 6 Alluding to the phrase, 'God give (to thee and to us) a blessing!' said when refusing alms to a beggar, the implication being that we too require assistance and so cannot help him. Here of course the inference is diat Jem's prayer for union was rejected. 88 Ghazel. [86] Ah' thy rosebud-face is veiled mid thy hair! Midst the clouds the sun is hidden, I would swear ! ' Whoso sees me kiss the dust before thy gate Sayeth, 'Lo, with golden plate this door is fair !' 2 Fled the heart from spite, it went to thy dear ward; Well it knew in Heaven could be nor pain nor care ! ^ Every moment pour mine eyen stained with blood Where thy feet have trodden, pearls of lustre rare. * Preferring my life, I pray thy lip a hint Of the mystery of thy mouth, it answers ne'er. 8 Mid the ruined heart is throned thy fantasy ; Therefore wreck it not with uttermost despair. " Yea, the soul of Jem is sacrifice for thee; This the saying is 'God knoweth best !' "^ for e'er. Ghazel. [87] Set thou my heart-string at thy face's taper's flame alight; Make thou my lantern glow, so God shall make thine glow forthright. No one had ever called the ocean of my tears a flood. Had not what flowed 8 been that which showed the name to fit the plight. ' The clouds being her hair; the sun, her face. 2 We have had this fancy in one of Ahmed Pasha's ghazels, see p. 69, n. 5. 3 The ward of the beloved being Paradise, see p. 66, n. 2. 4 The pearls are of course the tears that be sheds in his beloved's footprints. ' Her mouth being so small that its very existence is a mystery (see vol. I, p. 217, n. 5.) When Jem speaks of asking her lips to give him a hint of the existence of her mouth, he probably means that they should do so by giving him a kiss. 8 This is the same idea as in '^Adli's ghazel (p. 32, n. I.) Though the conception in these two cases (as in several others) is practically identical, it does not follow that either poet borrowed it from the other; they probably got it Independently from some Persian writei-. '' This is the Arabic phrase quoted in vol. i, p. 298, n. i. 8 The expression 'what flowed' (ma-jerd) means usually 'occurrences', 'events' 89 The afterglow ' its nurture draws from my Canopus-tears, And thence it comes that with Yemen carnelian 2 hues His dight. ' The violet's roll* a letter is beside that script, thy down 5 ^ The rose's book a leaf beside that tome, thy beauty bright. " 'Jem likewise hopetli in thy' kisses' alms to share', quoth I; She rose-like smiled and said, 'Fore God, he hath thereto a right!'' Ghazel. [88] Where now the time when I thy Ka'^ba-ward for home did know? — Yon threshold shone the stead whereto my heart for rest would go. Where now the time when fresh to keep the green and tender herbs Of yonder rosy garth, I made my tears as water flow ? (generally of a disagreeable nature); here the literal signification, as referring to the flowing tears, is also kept in view. 1 The 'after glow' (shefaq), is very brilliant in the East, and in poetry is always associated with the idea of redness. 2 Yemen was famous for its carnelians, as Badakhshan was for its rubies, and ^Aden for its pearls. 3 Many wonderful virtues were attributed to the star Canopus (Suheyl), amongst others that of imparting to carnelians their red colour. Here Jem compares each of his bright round tears to this star, and says that it is by virtue of those tears of blood that the crepuscle acquires its glowing hues, just as it is by the influence of the fostering beams of Canopus that the carnelians of Yemen attain their red colour. * As the petals of the violet are dark-hued and somewhat curled, this flower is occasionally compared to the hair. (See vol. i, p. 293, n. i). Here the poet considers the curled leaf of the violet as a written roll, and says that this is but a single letter compared to the script written by the down on his beloved's face. 5 The comparison of the down on a beautiful face to writing is very common, and is greatly furthered by the circumstance that the same name, khatt, is given both to this down and to any kind of hand-writing. 6 The rose is often conceived as a book, each petal being a leaf. [Compare the couplet of Hdfiz imprinted on the title-page of the edition of his Diwan published by Rosenzweig-Schwannau. ed.] Here the poet says that this lovely rose-book is no more than a single leaf in comparison with the volume of the beloved's beauty. ■^ In this answer there is an allusion to the fact that in Islam certain classes have a legal right to participate in the public alms. These classes are enumerated in Koran, ix, 60. 90 Where now the time when, like the shadow of the huma's wing, ' The shady dust along thy path a canopy would throw ? 2 Where now the time when every nook in gallery and spii^e Of that thy dwelling to this bird, my heart, a nest would show? 3 Where now the time when in thy palace court-yard of delight The caravans of heart went ever guest-wise to and fro? Where now the time when was thy threshold unto Jem a home? Alas! 'tis gone, nor knew we then how sweet that long ago! These three couplets, which are quoted by Latifi and ■^Ah', form the fragment which I spoke of as being attributed to the period of the author's European exile. Fragment of a Ghazel. [89] Lo, how the torrents smite their breasts with stones as on they go ! Lo, how the realm of Space and Being pitieth my woe ! For dolour and for teen the afterglow hath rent its robe; Lo, how where dawn should be, the sky hath made its blood to flow ! The clouds of heaven, weeping, wander o'er the mountain-peaks; Lo, how the burning thunder yonder moaneth deep and low ! Here is a translation of the poem which Latifi attributes to Sa'^di, and which the later writers attribute to the Prince himself. Nazm. [90] Drain, O Jem, thy Jemshid-beaker ; * here in Frankish land are we!^ ' For the huma-bird, the shadow of whose wing brings good fortune, see vol. I, p. 331, n. 5. 2 So delightful was the mere act of going to visit the beloved that the very dust raised by his horse's hoofs when on the way to her dwelling appeared to the lover as a grateful canopy to shade him from the sun, and to shade him, moreover, Avith a shadow auspicious as that cast by the huma's wing. 3 Numbers of pigeons and swallows frequent the courts of palaces and mosques in the East, and have their nests in the nooks of the galleries and pinnacles. * The 'cup of Jemshid^ mentioned on p. 71, n. i. * i. e. this is no Muslim country, where prying censors are ever on the 91 What upon his head is writ shall tide to man, 'tis Fate's decree. • That thou once hast gone and compassed the Ka'^ba-shrine of God Is a thousand Persias, Qaramans or "^Osmdn thrones to thee. ^ Thanks abounding be to God that thou art come to Frankland whole; Whosoever health and strength hath, in himself a king is he. Look thou lose not the occasion ; make thou merry with all cheer ; Fortune bideth aye with no man, fleeting is the World, ah me! Make thou merry in this city with the King's Son of the Franks, For that he 's a wondrous lovesome chieftain of the fair and free. ' Cypress-figured, silver-bodied, fair the Frankish lovelings show ; Dazed for love of their bright beauty sun and moon reel giddily ! * That with all this grace they offer thee the wine-filled beaker. Prince, China's throne is, Yemen's kingdom, yea, or Persia's empery ! Kingship can be naught beyond this, O Prince Jem, I tell thee true. Drain the bowl and glad thy spirit, 'tis the revellers' feast of glee. Glory be to God, O Khusrev, ^ 'fore thee as thy vassals stand Beauties, Bans the sons of Bans " amazed thy graciousness to see. Left and right they flock around thee, 'fore thy feet they cast them prone, — Every one a Ban full noble in the Frankish signiorie. Harp and tambourine and organ dulcimer-like sweet resound. For the sigh of flutes is Frankland all a-wail, in verity. watch lest one should drink or indulge in other forbidden pleasures; but it is the land of the Franks, where every one is free to enjoy himself as he pleases without fear of being called to account (see p. 77, n. 2.) Von Plammer remarks that this line is often quoted by Turks travelling in Europe, as analogous to their situation ! 1 It was formerly believed that each man's fate is written upon his skull, the sutures being the writing, which, however, none can read. 2 Alluding to Jem's having made the Mekka-pilgrimage. 3 I cannot say whether any particular individual is referred to in this couplet. * The Sun and Moon, revolving round the earth in their respective spheres (vol. I, p. 43), are conceived as reeling, dazed by the lustrous beauty of the young Franks, for all that they are themselves known as the 'Two Lights' or the 'Two I^uminaries' (Neyyiran), as being the most brilliant objects in creation. 5 'Khusrev', i. e. 'Chosroes', is often used for 'Sultan' or 'Prince'. 6 Ban is a military title in certain districts of Hungary, Slavonia and Croatia. It is really the Persian word, qU Ban, 'warden' or 'keeper', and is said to have been brought into Europe by the Avars who ruled in Slavonic countries subject to Hungary. In the present poem it is erroneously applied to Frankish (Western European) nobles. 92 Beauties sing in their own language songs and carols passing sweet", Eacli of those who gracious danceth, sooth a heavenly houri she. Twelve the Bans, the sons of Bans, who 'fore thee drain the golden bowl 5 Eighteen skinkers grace this banquet; fair a life is this, perdie! All begirt with golden sashes, all yclad in gold brocade, Golden caps upon their tresses, bare their arms for all to see. Honey yea, and sugar, sweetmeats, likewise dates full moist and fresh, • Many diverse dainty comfits for refection eke there be. Many a wastel-cake with milk and sugar kneaded sweet is here, Over which are freshest almonds ranged like columns orderly. Here are apples, pears, and oranges untold of many a kind. Nuts and grapes, jujubes 2 and apricots, and herbs of fragrancy. Lo, before thee sons of Bans with hands in reverence folded stand. Yea, thy banquet-place is Paradise, thy stead the flowery lea. Purest wine, sev'n years in bottle, sooth a ruby bright of ray. Handed by a skinker silvern midst the toper-company. 0 thou youthful Prince, O Jem, to pass one joyous night with those Midst of fair delice were sweeter than aught else on earth to thee. Khusrev, let thy heart be merry, yield thee ever to liesse, For at last must earth's fair palace fall in ruins, woe is me ! They who rule o'er this world's kingdoms, whether East or whether West, Be they Solomons or Alexanders, naught but guests they be. Pie alone is King, unto whose Being cometh ne'er decline. He the Mighty, the Creator, He, the Everlasting, He! His it was to bid the world arise with but one single word. His 'twill be again with but one word to bid it cease to be. Pi-ay to Mustafa ^ that God have ruth upon those youths who lie Bounden in the Prankish dungeons, that His grace may set them free. * Go thy way, O Bayezid, 5 and take thy joyance of thy lot; Should they tell thee empire bideth, learn thou 'tis a lie from me ! 1 These things were eaten as appetizers when wine was drunk. 2 "^Unnab, i. e. the fruit of the jujube-tree (the zizyphus); it is pulpy and resembles a small plum, but is rather elongated in shape. It is red in colour, and the henna-stained fingers of a beauty are often compared to it by the Eastern poets. 3 Mustafa, i. e. the Prophet. (See vol. i, p. 244, n. i.) * It is impossible to say to whom this refers ; there may have been some Turkish^ prisoners of war in the hands of the Franks of Nice when Jem and his followers were in that town. 5 Here the Sultan is addressed. CHAPTER V. Nejati. Ahmed Pasha was not destined to long enjoyment of his reputation as the greatest lyric poet of Rum. He was still alive when his pre-eminence was menaced, if not actually overthrown, by Nejati the first lyric poet of real distinction to appear among the Ottoman Turks. Concerning the origin of this Nejati we are somewhat in the dark. Sehi says that he was born in Adrianople ; while the other biographers tell us that he began life as a slave in that city, his owner being, according to Latifi, a poet named Sa^ili, ^ and according to 'Ashiq, a woman of the middle class who adopted him as her son and had him carefully educated. It would follow from this that, whatever Nejati's origin may have been, it was not Turkish, as no native Turk could be a slave in the Ottoman dominions. It seems probable that he was the child of some captive who had been taken in one of the constantly recurring wars or forays and had been sold as a slave in Adrianople, and there become the parent of the future poet, the child born of a slave being by law himself a slave. ^ ' There is no poet of this name entered in the Tezkire either of Sehi or of Latifi. 'Ashiq and Hasan have a Sd'ili; but as they say nothing as to any connection between him and Nejati, and as "^Ashiq speaks of having met him, it is unlikely that he is the person here referred to by Latifi. 2 Latifi calls Nejati Hhe son of 'Abdullah' 5 but this goes for little. 'Ab- 94 The democratic nature of Turkish society, as well as the composite character of the Ottoman nation, is well illustrated by the case of Nejati. He was an alien by birth and began his career as a slave ; but he became an Ottoman by adoption and education, and so took his place among the native Turks as one of themselves. No stigma attached to him because of his foreign origin or of the lowly position he had once held ; everyone looked upon him as a Turk, the equal of every other Turk. The biographers make no reference to his birth; he was for them, as for the rest, simply a Turk like any other and it is only from their statement as to his having been a slave in early life that we learn he was not born an Ottoman. For some reason Nejati, while still quite young, either went or was taken to the city of Qastamuni, and it was while residing there that he began to make his name as a poet. This is shown by the statement referred to on a former page * which Hasan Chelebi makes on the authority of his father ^Ali. It is to the effect that Miri Efendi, the father of *^Ali and grandfather of the biographer, used to relate that during the time when he formed one of the circle of Ahmed Pasha at Brusa, a caravan arrived from Qastamuni bringing news of the appearance in that town of a wonderful and most eloquent poet whose name was Nuh and whose pen-name was Nejati, in proof of which assertion two ghazels with the 'rereword' of 'dune-dune' ('a-turn a-turn') were handed by the people of the caravan to the Pasha and his friends. While this story is quite probably true in essentials, it is certainly incorrect in at least One detail. Passing over the dulldh might of course be the name of some definite individual; but on the other hand it is usual to call slaves of whose parentage nothing is known 'the son (or daughter) of "^Abdulldh,' as that name, which means 'Servant of God,' is considered a suitable designation for any man. ' p. 52, n. I. 95 question, on which we have already touched, as to whether it is Hkely that Mi'ri was an intimate of Ahmed Pasha, we may recollect that we have read a story of which the express purpose is to prove that Nejati's name was "Isa and not Niih. ' With regard to the poet's name there seems no room for doubt; the three earliest biographers, Sehi, Latifi, and '^Ashiq, agree in saying that "Isa was Nejati's personal name, and in this they are supported by the later writers ^Ali and Riyazi; but that a report as to the poet's name being Nuh was current as early as Lati'fi's time is indicated by that biographer's deeming it necessary to relate the anecdote already mentioned in order to refute it. ^ The young poet, who according to "^Ashiq was skilled in calligraphy and in the composition of prose as well as of verse, made his way to Constantinople some time towards the end of the reign of Mehemmed II. A marginal note to my manuscript of ^Ashiq's Tezkire tells us the curious way in which Nejati contrived to bring himself under the Sultan's notice. According to this story, which is given on the autho- rity of one Naqshi Chelebi, ^ who had it from Nejati's son Huseyn Chelebi, the poet wrote on a sheet of paper one of his ghazels which begins with the couplet : — 'What shall I ? the sigh of day-break maketh none impress on thee ! * 0 my love, may God the Lord bestow of gentilesse on theel'^ This paper he set in the turban of a familiar of the Sultan, 1 pp. 56—7. 2 Hasan is thus alone in making Nejati's name Nilh; he was probably guided by his grandfather's story. 3 This Naqshi Chelebi is possibly the same as the Naqqdsh Bayram whom "^Ashiq mentions farther on as one of the friends of Nejati's last years and as one of the chief sources of his own information concerning the poet. * The idea was that sighs breathed at day-break were more efficacious in softening the hard heart than those uttered at any other hour. So the sigh of dawn is often mentioned by the poets. 96 named Chekraghi, ' when the latter was about to go into his master's presence. While playing a game of chess with his favourite, Mehemmed noticed the paper in his turban, took it out, and read it ; and so pleased was he with the verses that he at once appointed the poet to a secretaryship with a daily salary of seven aspers. Hasan says that it was during a severe winter that Nejati arrived in the capital, and that he composed and presented to the Sultan a qasi'da describing the rigour of the season which met with much approval, as did another equally beautiful poem that he wrote when spring came round. The accession of Bayezid II, which took place in 886 {1481), was duly celebrated by Nejati; and when in the same year Prince ^Abdullah, the eldest son of Bayezid^ but still a mere lad, was made governor of Qaraman in place of his uncle Prince Jem, the poet was appointed to his service with the position of Secretary of Divan. ^ In the Ramazan of 888 (Oct. 1483) Prince 'Abdullah died at his seat of government, and Nejati returned to Constantinople, where he presented the Sultan with a beautiful elegy he had com- posed on his late master. For the next twenty years we lose all sight of Nejati. We are told that during this period he wrote much poetry and fell into poverty. He seems, however, to have contrived to make some influential friends (amongst whom was the famous Mu^eyyed-zade), and through their influence he was made Nishanji or Chancellor to another of Bayezid's sons, _Prince Mahmud, when he went out as governor of Saru-Khan 1 The transliteration of this name (, <^£jXC>) is only conjectural : Von Hammer has Tschekrighi. The name is not Turkish; it appears to be European possibly Greek or Italian. 2 'Secretary of Divan' (Kitib-i Diwan, or, Diwdn Efendisi) was the title of the official secretary of a vezir or other high functionary. Latifi says that Nejati served the Prince in the capacity of Nishanji. 97 in 910 (1504 — 5). Mahmud, who was then in his thirtieth year, showed the greatest esteem for Ncjati, upon whom he conferred many favours, distinguishing him above all others at his court. * If ^Ashiq is to be believed, this kind treatment had its effect upon the poet's work, as that biographer informs us that Nejati's best poetry was composed while he was in this Prince's service. It is certain that he now collected his Diwan, which is dedicated to Mahmud, although, as he him- self tells us in the preface, the idea had been suggested to him by Mu'eyyed-zade. Mahmud's career was unhappily but brief; he died at Maghnisa, the capital of his government, in 913 (1507 — 8), and so Nejati, after three years of pros- perity such as he had never before enjoyed, found himself again without a patron. Much as the death of his former master had grieved the poet, he was yet more distressed by the loss of Prince Mahmud, whom also he mourned in a fine elegy. He returned to Constantinople; but although his friends there tried to persuade him to accept some other court appointment, he declined all their offers, and retired into private life with a monthly pension of 1,000 aspers. He took a house near the Wefa Square, ^ close to the spot where he lies buried ; and there he spent most of his time in the society of his intimate friends. The names of some of these are recorded ; prominent among them were Sehi Bey the author of the first Ottoman Tezkire, a pupil of the poet called Sun'^i, and a certain ' It was probably on account of his official position under either this Prince or his elder brother that Nejati received the title of Bey wliich is usually added to his name. 2 Wefa Meydani, 'Wefa Square,' owes its name to Sheykh Wcf;i, a famous saint who came from Qonya to Constantinople in tlie time of Mehemmed II. He was distinguished by his piety and by his gifts as a preacher. lie died in 896 (1490 — i), and was buried in his own cell, which adjoins the square that bears his name. His tomb is still a place of pious visitation. 7 98 Naqqash Bayram ^ who resided in Wefa Square and whom ■^Ashiq describes as a gay hver who passed his time in mirth and merriment. It was from him and from Sehi that ^Ashiq learned most of the particulars concerning Nejati recorded in his Tezkire. These were his intimates, but we are told that Nejati used often to go to pay his respects to his kind friend Mu^eyyed-zade. But this quiet life was not for long; the poet died at the time of the evening prayer on Friday the 25th Zi-1-QaMe 914 (17th March, 1509). ^Ashiq tells us that Nejati, when he felt his end approaching, summoned before him his sons, his son-in-law, and his intimate friends, and handed them a ghazel which he repeated, saying, when he had finished, 'This is my farewell to poetry and to you.' ^ And that ghazel begins with this couplet : — 'They have deemed worldly fortune, though so brief, eternity ; They liave thought this fading gaixien's joy the universe to be.' ^ Or according to another account, it was the one which begins thus : — - Zephyr, thou the beauty's curling locks to scatter musk hast made; Thou the broken-hearted, who are dust, amid the dust hast laid. * ' The word naqqash is applied to a miniaturist or illuminator of MSS., or to an embroiderer; here it probably refers to the occupation of this Bayram. 2 ^Ashiq says that Nejati composed his last important poem, a qasida in praise of the Prophet, beginning: — "•That speech the which the model of the perfect ones is to be Must put to shame Selsebil in its clearness and fluency,' in consequence of a dream in which Muhammed appeared to the poet and said, 'Let thy last words be in praise of me.' J ■■ ^ [^ .. .. -J ^ J . 99 Nejati was buried hard by the convent of Sheykh Wefa and quite near to his own house. His friend Sehi Bey, the biographer, raised a marble tomb over the grave, and had carved upon it in Kufic characters this chronogram which he himself composed on the poet's death : — 'As the passing of Nejati is an epoch for the world, 'Sehi hath said its chronogram : Gone is Nejati, ah !' ' and also two passages from the master's own Di'wan, namely, this couplet: — 'I pray you for tlie love of God go build Nejati's tomb 'Of marble, for he died of parting from a stony-heart.' 2 and this quatrain : — 'Nejati, though thou'st blackened the leaves of thy Diwan, 3 'Dost hope the book wherein thy deeds are writ will white appear?* 'Unless, may be, the living do forget not from their prayers 'Those who are gone and who of such remembrance worthy are.' ^ Nejati had two or more sons (one of whom, Huseyn Chelebi, has already been mentioned), but none of them lived for 1 The biographers say that one of the poet's pupils Sun^^i (who was known as Nejati Sun'^isi or Nejati's Sun^^i) thought to improve this chronogram by chang- ing letters thus, l^ S'^^ ^~S.y.J 'Thou art gone, Nejati, alas!' 3 i. e. though thou hast covered the white pages with black writing, i. e. though thou hast composed a whole Diwan of poems. * i. e. that the record of thy deeds will be good, 'white' being taken to symbolise good. There is further an antithesis between the 'white' here and the 'black' in the preceding line. 5 This is a request to posterity to pray for the poet's soul. Though his actions may have been lacking in good, if the pious deem him worthy of their prayers, this will be set to hi^ credit. "^j' cj liViL*^' ^/eij *^ (^•^:^'*;''i' 'Sj^l^^.i *.-:s-j^! |_c^"^^ {j:^'''^--'^ lOO long. He had also a daughter who was married to a distin- guished member of the ^ulema named Umm-ul-Veled-zade "^Abd-ul-^Azfz, and who died without issue. It is doubtful whether Nejati left anything besides his Diwan. Sehi tells us that he w^rote a fine mesnevi entitled Munazare-i Gul u Khusrev or 'The Contention of (the) Rose and (the) Chosroes;' but that copies of it were not forth- coming. He however, quotes from it this passage descriptive of the bow : — As the bow is stretched the arrow forward flies, E'en as doom unto the soul, the arrow hies. To the nail the arrow's drawn, to utmost pitch, Tappeth it the nail that far its flight may reach. ' Sang the string, it sang a sad and plaintive song: 2 Bravo for the one who drew it stark and strong ! If the target had not intervened between, Both the worlds •'' as but a single step had been ! If the bow but once should make the string to sing. Many a host to state of carded wool* 'twould bring! 5 Latifi says that nothing except the Diwan is known among • When the bow is stretched to full, the arrow-head touches the thumb- nail on the hand of the extended arm. 2 When the bow is fully drawn, the string makes a singing noise. 3 For 'both the worlds' see vol. i. p. 56. * In the Koran, ci, 4, it is said that on the Last Day the mountains shall be like flocks of carded wool. To such a state would one shaft from the mighty bow bring many an army! There is a further allusion: the process of teazing cotton is accompanied by a noise something like that emitted by the full-drawn bow-string. 5 05' (^^^5' -h"^ iS^ lS>' *-j'>-^ 05' ^-^^5' j;-J>^ i^J^iAJji ;^Lj ^^^_. — si K Jl-jU^l }is A_^^ iiV._J ^^:'.'^> (^tjwO l^-^j' ^J^^ l^^'j^' lOI the people, but that the poet's two pupils, Sehi and Sun*^!, declare that he wrote two mesnevi's, "one called Gul u Saba or 'Rose and Zephyr' in a variety of the hezej metre, and one named Mihr u Mah or 'Sun and Moon' in a variety of the rejez metre. The biographer goes on to give, still on the authority of Sehi and SunS', two passages, which he says are extracts from these two poems. ' The first of these passages, which is descriptive of the Zephyr, is that said to be from the Gul u Saba, and is as follows: — O radiant pursuivant, O morning breeze, Thy path is ever over lands and seas. Thou heal'st the cypress and the narcisse' sight; 2 Ah, but for thee how sad the narcisse' plight! When thy blest advent cheers the garden-land, This opes its eye that on its foot doth stand ' Speed there and greet my dearest love from me; The Seven Seas * wet not the skirt 5 of thee ! " The second passage given by Latifi which he says comes • Latifi must here be referring to some verbal information supplied by Sehi, as we have seen that that biographer mentions in his Tezkire only one mesnevi, by which he means this Munazare-i Gul u Khusrev. 2 We have seen that the narcissus is often compared to an eye. 3 The narcissus opens its eye, the cypress stands on its foot, — the cypress being, as we know, often conceived as a tall graceful figure. * See vol. i, p. 38. The phrase 'the Seven Seas' often means all the oceans of the world. 5 Here the poet would show how honourable, and therefore how worthy to be Love's messenger, the Zephyr is. A person of honour is said to be pak-damen, that is, 'clean-skirted', while one who is the reverse is described as ter-damen, that is, 'wet-skirted', — the skirt in the latter case being con- ceived as soiled with wine, etc. Now so pure is the skirt of the Zephyr that not even all the Seven Seas would suffice to make it ter, i. e. 'wet,' 'soiled.' I02 from the Alihr u Mah is the same as that given by Sehi as being from the Munazare-i Gul u Khusrev. These same Hnes, it may be said, are included in Nejati's Diwan, where they occur among a number of miscellaneous fragments ; but the passage quoted by Latifi as being from the Gul u Saba does not appear in any manuscript that I have seen. According to ^Ashiq, Nejati wrote in mesnevi a Leyla and Mejnun, of which, however, he says, no trace is left beyond a few lines that are included in the poet's Diwan and the first of which the biographer quotes. This is simply the first couplet of the passage about the bow, from which it is evident that the poem which '^Ashiq calls Leyla u Mejniin is the same as that which Latifi calls Mihr u Mah, and which Sehi calls Munazare-i Gul u Khusrev. '^Ashiq further says that Nejati translated, by command of Prince Mahmud, the Kimiya-yi Sa^adet or 'Elixir of Feli- city' ' of the great philosopher Imam Ghazali, and also the work entitled Jami^-ul-Hikayat or 'The Collector of Stories.' ^ Copies of the second of these translations are, the biographer adds, extremely rare; while he has heard that Nejati's auto- graph of the first (apparently the only copy) is in the possession of Prince IMahmud's daughters. Hasan says nothing as to the existence of any work other than the Diwan; but ^Ali tells us that Nejati began, at the command of Mahmud, to write a mesnevi which like Sehi 1 This famous work, itself a Persian abridgement of the Arabic Ihya-ul- '^UlUm ("Quickening of the Sciences") has been several times translated into J"urkish. 2 This enormous collection of tales originally compiled early in the thirteenth century of our era, by the Persian author Jemal-ud-Din el-'^Awfi, has been rendered into Turkish more than once, the earliest translation being that made by ti^e well-known Ibn-'^Areb-Shah for Murad II. [The correct title of the work is Jawami'-ul-Hikayat wa Lawami'^-ur-Riwayat. One of the best MSS. which I have seen is in the collection of Sir William Jones's MSS. preserved in the India Office and marked w. 79. ed.], I03 he calls Munazare-i Gul u Khusrev and which, he says, was never finished, since the Prince died before it was completed, and Nejati had not the heart to go on with it. ^Ali then presents as an extract from this book the same passage that Sehi quotes as from the work to which he gives the same letter, and Latifi as from the Mihr u Mah, and *^Ashiq as from the Leyla u Mejnun. After this he goes on to question '^Ashiq's statements as to the poem's having been called Leyla u Mejnun and having been completed, and, more seriously, his remarks concerning the alleged translations of the Kimiya-yi Sa^adet and the Jami'^-ul-Hikayat, the existence of which he doubts, the more so as Sehi Bey, who was Nejati's intimate friend, says nothing in his Tezkire about any such translations. From these statements of Sehi, Latifi, ^Ashiq and '^Ali, it would seem probable that Nejati began at any rate one mesnevi poem, the title of which is uncertain, the authorities giving it differently. It may well be that this poem was never completed, and that no copy of it, other than the author's autograph, ever existed. The lines upon the bow which are given by Sehi and Lati'fi, and reproduced with only a few verbal alterations by '^Ashiq and ^Ali, are, as we have said, to be found in the poet's Diwan, and appear to be all of the work that has survived. Latifi is our sole authority for the existence of the other mesnevi, that which he calls the Gul u Saba and from which also he gives what he declares to be an extract. The other biographers say nothing whatever concerning this second poem, the existence of which must be considered as even more uncertain than that of the first. In the same way, with regard to the two prose translations, we have '^Ashiq's authority, and none other, as to their ever having been made. ^ 1 Katib Chelebi seems to have followed '^Ashiq; he attributes to Nejati a 104 The literary work of Nejati is therefore practically confined to his Diwan ; and this volume has been sufficient to win for him a distinguished position in Ottoman literature. It is true that Nejati is not inspired in the sense that Nesi'mi was; he is an extremely self-conscious writer, he never for a moment forgets himself in his subject. None the less he is, judged by the standards of his school, the greatest Turkish poet that has yet appeared. He is more artistic, more subtle, more original than any of his predecessors. Although he is a follower in the footsteps of Ahmed, his work is not, like that of the pioneer, a mere collection of translations or adaptations; and if his verses lack somewhat of the virility of Jem's, they are infinitely more studied and refined. The Prince's poetry owes such originality as it has to the fact that the author put into it something of his own personality ; the originality of Nejati's work, on the other hand, is due to the imaginative ingenuity of the poet. His verses abound in graceful metaphors, which, though always conceived in the Persian spirit and presented after the Persian fashion, are not simply transferred from some Persian diwan, but are the result of the observation and the applicative skill of the author himself. All the critics unite in recognising in Nejati the best poet that has yet arisen in Riim. His friend Sehi, though he does not descend into details, is naturally enthusiastic in his praises both of the poet and of the man. Latifi who wrote before the genius of Baqi had fully disclosed itself and while Fuziili was hardly known even by name in Constantinople, regards Nejati as absolutely the greatest Turkish poet, and says that so long as his verses remain no other need attempt mesne'^i on Leyla and Mejniin, and translations of the Ki'miya-yi Sa'^adet and the Jami'^-ul-Hikaydt, but gives no details with regard to any one of them. He mentions a poem with the title of Mihr u Mah which he attributes to "^Ali the historian. He does not mention any Munazare-i Gul u Khusrev. 105 to compile a di'wan. The same writer grows eloquent over the degree of excellence which the poet maintains throughout, an evenness of workmanship which makes the verses of others appear very unequal in comparison. He also praises the originality of Nejati, who, he says, has a style which is wholly his own and quite unlike that of any other poet; 'in his verses rich in metaphors the language first found its soul, and those who have come after him have but followed him on the path of speech.' They who are able to judge, con- tinues Latifi, call him, because of his skill in metaphor, the Tiisi (i. e. Firdawsi) of Rum and the King of Poets; and in order to show the appreciation of later followers of the craft, the biographer quotes two couplets, one of which, by Ishaq Chelebi, a very well-known poet, is the following: — 'So thou desire thy verse be read and praised among the folk, 'It must, like to Nejati's verse, be fraught with metaphor.' ' Lati'fi goes on to declare that by the beauty of his style Nejati threw the works of all his predecessors into the cate- gory of 'abrogated books' ; ^ and he says that the reason why everyone esteems his poetry so highly is its wonderful sweetness combined with its faithful interpretation of the lover's heart, and the appositeness of the metaphors with which it abounds. ^Ashiq is hardly less enthusiastic; he says that Nejati turned the land of Rum into a garden of nightingales and a sugar-grove of parrots, and that he saved the poets of his country from being wounded by the stones of reproach which 1 a]»iJ oiJl5> i^v-^-^ x-x-s^' ^am'jJ) ii]._*..ii iiJj5' J^iL/i .-J tc,i ^^^ is'-^^^ (jr**-*^ The other couplet quoted by Latifi is by Tdli'^i, a writer of less note. 2 This phrase is borrowed from theology ; it is applied to the Pentateuch, Psalms, and Gospel, which, though of Divine origin, were abrogated as guides for conduct on the revelation of the Koran. io6 the Persian poets were wont to cast at them. Comparing Nejati with his precursor Ahmed Pasha, "^Ashiq declares that although the Pasha is unique in the art, and although when studying the relative positions of the poets the mind comes back to him, yet the difference between him and Nejati is as that between sorcery and miracle or as that between the radiance of the sun and the light of a taper. Contrasting this poet's work with that of his successor Zati, the same critic asserts that while the poetry of the latter is a forced production, the result of sheer labour, that of Nejati is a natural gift which finds expression without effort. '^Ashiq, like Lati'fi, praises Nejati for the equal excellence his verse maintains throughout, for his pithy metaphors, and for the originality of so many of his conceptions. He considers him the 'First Master' of the poets of Rum, and says that many of his lines are used as proverbs ; it was, adds the biographer, a marvel that in that age so brilliant a poet should arise. Hasan sings the praises of Nejati in his usual florid style, eulogising especially his skill in the ghazel and in metaphor, in proof of his excellence in which he quotes this couplet by his (the biographer's) own father Qinali-zade ^Ali : — 'Should every poet write ghazels e'en to earth's latest year, 'None skilled in metaphor like to Nejati would appear.' i ■^Ali endorses the verdict of the earlier critics, except in one point, that of the even level of excellence in Nejati's work. This he denies, adding that had it been there, it would have been proper to describe this poet as the Hafiz of Rum. The historian Idris, who wrote in Persian the chronicles of the first eight Ottoman Sultans under the title of Hesht Bihisht or 'The Eight Paradises,' speaks highly of Nejati, 107 whom he names the Khusrev of Rum. The correctness of this title is disputed by ""Ah', who, while he admits that if it means no more than to imply that Nejati is a Chosroes or King in comparison to the Turkish poets who preceded him it is quite appropriate, declares that it is futile if the intention be to set up any analogy between Nejati and the Persian poet Khusraw of Delhi whose romances are as famous as his lyrics. Latifi says that as many of Nejati's poems were written in Qastamuni where he grew up, there frequently occur in his verses words peculiar to that district as well as allusions to local customs. By way of illustration he quotes three couplets from the Diwan, of which the first, brought forward to show a dialectic peculiarity, is this : — 'Thou see'st that beauty's figure fair, O gardener of grace, 'Go thou and rear a waving cypress like unto that form.' ' The second, which contains the name of a locality in Qasta- muni, runs : — 'The mountains of my needs and hopes will well suffice for me ; 'The Hill of Bi-Sitiin was to Ferhad the Wishing-Rock.' 2 Commenting on this verse, Latifi says that the word -a^i here means 'rear', being the imperative of v^/0.ao', a verb used in the Qastamuni dialect in the sense of 'to rear (plants)'; thus they say there .0.*ai ...?iAs o' x-^-m-^S im^5 'so and so is skilful in the rearing (or grafting) of plants.' Certainly the word in this sense does not occur in the dictionaries, and is unknown in ordinary Turkish. Latifi says that here the 'Wishing-Rock' (Temenna-Qayasi) refers to a high toyver built on a black rock so called that stands in the town of Qastamuni; a place apparently to which people used to go and wish for some desired thing. The meaning of the couplet is that the needs and hopes of the poet, which io8 The third, which shows a word employed in a special sense, is : — 'If thou seek for one to pity, pity poor Nejati, for 'Neither sweetheart's lip nor rival's sweetmeat hath his portion been.' ' "^Ashiq, who possibly thought to enhance the value of his own Tezkire by disparaging that of his predecessor, which he facetiously calls the Qastamuni-Name or 'Qastamuni- Book', - disputes the assertion that words and allusions point- ing to Qastamuni are to be found in Nejati's Diwan. He says that Latifi's statement that Nejati was a Qastamuni man and his deduction of this from the word used for 'rear', from the mention of the 'VVishing-Rock', and from the peculiar use of the true 'portion', are well-known, and he then proceeds to show that the said deduction is unwarranted, seeing that there is a 'Wishing-Rock' at Amasiya also, while are great as mountains, are 'Wishing-Rock' enough for him; just as was Mount Bi-Situn to Ferhad when he hoped that by cutting through it he would attain his heart's desire. See vol. i, pp. 321 — 2. Latifi says that there is here an amphibology in the word used for 'portion' (nasib); this name, he says, is given in Qastamuni to the sweet stuffs distri- buted to the poor after a death in order that they may pray for the soul of the deceased, a custom still observed in some towns of Asia Minor. 'Sweet- heart's lip' (leb-i dilber) and 'rivals sweetmeat' (helwa-yi raqib) were the names of confections ; the poet 'Ahi mentions the latter in his romance of Beauty and Heart. The meaning of the verse is that the poet is pre-eminently deserving of pity, since it has not been his lot either to kiss his sweetheart's lip or to eat the 'portion' at his rival's death, the implication being that the latter is unhappily still alive. - "^Ashiq in his notice on Latifi says that this nick-name of Qastamuni- Name was given to that biographer's Tezkire by the wits of the time, because the author, a Qastamuni man, zealous apparently for the fame of his native town, unwarrantably makes it the birth-place of many poets concerning whose birth-place there is a doubt. Hasan, who follows ""Ashiq in so many details, repeats these remarks concerning Latifi and his 'Qastamuni-Name.' 109 the word 'portion' is used in many towns of Anatolia for the sweet stuffs distributed after a death. These remarks of '^Ashiq's are, as '^Ah' afterwards pointed out, very unfair. In the first place, Lati'fi does not claim Nejati as a Qastamuni man; he distinctly says that he came from Adrianople, though he grew up in the Asian town ; again, he does not deduce a Qastamuni origin from the verses quoted, but brings these forward merely as illustrating the influence on the poet's work of his residence in that district. Like most of the Diwans of early times that of Nejati consists almost entirely of qasidas and ghazels, together with \7 a few poems in the form called Terkib-Bend. ' In his case, between the two great divisions which contain the qasidas and ghazels respectively are inserted several fragments and short miscellaneous poems, among which are the lines about the bow said by the biographers to be an extract from a mesnevi. '^ The following ghazel must be among Nejati's earliest poems; it is one of the two which Hasan's grandfather Mi'ri says were f-''^- brought by the Qastamuni caravan to Ahmed Pasha at Brusa. Ghazel. [91] iVb 7 f" Through this wrong, that cup should buss the lip of thee a-turn a-turn, ^ Roast my liver is at fire of jealousy a-turn a-turn. * How may this be meet, that though I make my body as hoop, 5 Yet the sash should clip thy waist in front of me a-turn a-turn ? " 1 See vol. i, p. 91. ■- The Diwan of Nejati is unprinted. There is a MS. in the British Museum (Add. 7929), and there are two copies in my collection. 3 i. e. that while I may not kiss thy lip the wine-cup may do so as it circles at the feast. ■* See p. 37, n. 2. 5 The poet's body has been bent down through anguish of love so that it has assumed the shape of a hoop ; and a hoop, by its shape, might encircle the beloved's waist. " The sash is twisted two or three times round the waist. no Thou art yonder Heaven-high Sovran 'fore whose threshold day and night Sun and moon do kiss the dust for modesty a-turn a-turn. ' What although mine eyes should be like to the compass and alway Yonder toward thy threshold look where'er they be, a-turn a-turn? 2 By his tears and sighs a water-wheel Nejati is become, So that flowery garth, thy dwelling, waters he a-turn a-turn. 3 Here are a few couplets from the 'Winter Qasida' which Hasan tells us that Nejati presented to Sultan Mehemmed on coming to Constantinople. From a Qasida [92] For that the locust-snowflakes are descended through the air. From the green fields of joy, O heart, hope for no harvest fair, The clouds have, like to angry camels, flecked the earth with foam ; ■* The litters of mirth's caravan are bounden, hence to fare. Ah where is yonder taper bright, the world-illuming sun? — That one might light it, and the snowflake-moths make disappear. 5 The wind hath hurled the stream within a fort of steely ice. Right hard 'twill be an so the solar ball no breach make there. ^ The»folk at midday seek the sun with lighted lamps in hand 5 They find it not, and every heart becomes a fire for care. Sun of the Sign Benevolence ! Shade of the Grace of God ! 1 When the sun and moon in their revolutions round the earth touch the horizon, they are often represented as kissing the dust before some King's portals. Here of course the Sovran is the beloved. 2 Wherever the (Muhammedan) compass be, it always points towards the holy shrine of Mekka; so wherever the poet is, his eyes always turn towards that sacred shrine, his beloved's dwelling-place. 3 When the water-wheel, such as is used for the irrigation of gardens, is being turned it makes a creaking noise, to which the poet here compares his sighs, his tears representing the water which the wheel raises. * Camels sometimes get unruly when being saddled for a journey. The 'foau'^' of course here represents the snowflakes. 5 As moths are destroyed by a lamp or candle, flying into it and being burned, so the snowflakes would be melted by the sun. " Here the sun, because of its shape and heat, is considered as a cannon-ball. Ill Monarch of starry legions! Moon of Mercurial sphere! ' The Khan Mehemmed, to whose palace-gate, as Heaven sublime, Would Cyrus and Darius fain as humble slaves repair ! Although the sun should sound with golden line till the Last Day, Or shore or bottom to his glory's sea 'twould come to ne'er! 2 The following is a translation of the whole of the 'spring Qasida' which Hasan says the poet offered to the same Sultan a little later on. It will be seen that the poem is really in honour of the nuptials of one of Mehemmed's sons, the celebration of the return of the vernal season serving as introduction. Qasida. [9; The tide of early spring doth make the earth to smile again. E'en as the tristful lover's soul who wins his dear to gain. The party of the flowers is quit the winter-magistrate ; ^ Their heads are bare, * their dulcet-savoured cups in hand they've ta'en. ^ ''T is now the beaker's turn, the season of liesse', they say, 'An thou be wise, beware thou cast it not from thee in vain !' Each lovesome burgeon which hath donned its cap on i-akish wise ^ Meseems a winsome wanton beauty flushed with sweet disdain. 1 The word '•sphere' is not used technically here ; the idea is merely that the position of the Sultan, who, surrounded by his hosts, is glorious as the full moon amid the stars, is lofty as the Sphere of Mercury. See vol. I. p. 43. 2 Here the sun is presented as endeavouring to sound the ocean of the Sultan's glory with the golden line of his rays. 3 Winter, the rigour of which prevents the flowers from blooming, is here conceived as the police magistrate whose duty it is to preserve order by repressing drinking-parties and so on. See p. 77, n. 2. * In poetry 'bare-headed' is generally equivalent to 'half-drunk', for when a man becomes intoxicated he is apt to throw off his turban, or the turban itself may fall off his head as he reels about. In the present verse, by the flowers' heads being bare, the poet means to indicate the opening of the buds, and secondly, of course, that spring is the season of revelry. ^ The 'cups' are of course the buds. " The 'cap' is simply the bud. I 12 God hath prepared the greeny herbs like Khizrs all around To rescue those who have been whelmed amid the seas of bane. ' To draw the tender herbs from forth the prison dure of earth The grace of God hath fashioned into cords the falling rain. 2 Belike this verdant sward is e'en the Resurrection-field, And so upon one foot there standeth many and many a plane. 3 Say, are they tulips, those that show upon the meadow fair, Or are they Tartar musk-pods lying there with gory stain ; * Or elsewise rolls of musk the which the tulip-land hath wrapped In crimson say, as offering to the garden-bride full fain ? ^ The tulips put theriaca their ruby pots within What time they saw the river creeping snake-like o'er the plain. " The streamlet goes to kiss the ground before some cypress dear, And wandering round and round, it sings the while a sweet refrain. Illumining mine eyes, the lawn hath shown to them the sun And all the floret-stars the which the meadow-skies contain. '' ' For Khizr, who is generally conceived as clad in green, and his work of rescuing the faithful, see vol. i, p. 172, n. i. 2 The heavy showers seem as if formed of cords of rain, cords by which the gi-een herbs are drawn up, like Joseph out of the pit, from their under- ground winter prison. ^ To stand on one foot, only the toe-tips of the other touching the ground, is with the poets the conventional attitude of awe; thus it is often said to be assumed by courtiers and others when in the presence of kings. Here of course the trunk of the tree suggests the one foot or leg. * The 'musk-pod' is the cyst or gland of the musk-deer which contains the fluid whence musk is obtained. See vol. i, p. 294, n. 4. Tartary or Cathay (Khata) and China are the native regions of the musk-deer. Here the red tulips are conceived as these musk-pods freshly taken from the animals, and consequently stained with blood. * ^ See p. 68, n. 2. 8 Theriaca or Theriack (Tiryaq), a famous medicine against the bites or stings of serpents and other venomous creatures. The most reputed was that of "^Iraq or Baghdad. It was equivalent to the 'Venetian treacle' of Europe. Here the black centre of the tulip represents the theriack, the red petals being the ruby pot containing it. '' If one had very strong sight, one could see the stars while the sun is shining. Here the poet says that the greenness of the lawn has so refreshed and '.strengthened his eyes that he can not only look on the sun (the sun- flower?), but at the same time see all the stars (flowers) in the sky (meadow). Among the reasons for comparing the meadow to the sky is its colour, green and blue being, as already said (vol. i, p. 151, n. 3), reckoned shades of one colour. 113 If that the dewdrop-tccth win not to loose the roseVjud-knot, May pass the winds and may the thorny-nail to loose 't refrain! ' The rose hath stitched her kirtle with the needle of the thorn, That at the royal feast she be the dancer fair and fain. ^ How fair a noble banquet, envy of the Bowers Eteru! How fair a gracious feast, wherefrom might Spring monition gain! The Irem-garden ■' will no more before our vision rise. Henceforward none for Paradise itself will sigh or plain. Is it a cup of purest wine that circles therearound? Or hath the Sphere let everyone his fondest hope attain r * The sphere hath laid on plate of China-ware sun, moon and stars, 8 To serve at this high feast as apple, quince, pomegranate-grain. " The rose is hither come, and hides her face behind her hand, She blushes red with fire of shame to see her beauty vain. ^ The narcissi have wrapped their sequins round with paper white 8 To scatter at the bridal of the happy-fortuned fain. " 1 This seems to mean that if the devvdrops (which are here called 'teeth' on account of their appearance and because the teeth are sometimes used to loosen knots) do not succeed in opening the close-knitted rosebud (which they would do without hurting it), the poet prays that the winds may pass and that the thorn (called here a 'nail' because of its hardness and sharpness and because the nails also are used to loosen knots) may not attempt the work (as it would hurt the bud). 2 With this couplet the poet begins to celebrate the festivities attending the marriage of the Prince. The dancing-girls sometimes stitch flowers and spangles on their skirts before beginning their performance. Here the rose-bush, covered with blossom and waving in the breeze, is conceived as a dancer with her dress adorned with flowers. 3 For Irem see vol. i, p. 326, n. 5- * It is the personified, not the astronomical, sphere that is here meant. See vol. I, p. 44, n. 3. 5 The 'sphere' in this case means simply the vault of heaven; the plate of China-ware is the blue sky, the sun is the apple, the moon is the quince, and the stars are the pomegranate-grains. 6 There was a favourite dish made from pomegranate-pips, as witness the story of Nur-ud-Di'n '^Ali of Cairo and his son Bedr-ud-Din Hasan in the Arabian Nights, and that of the Eighth Vezir in the History of the Forty Vezirs. ■J This is practically the same conceit as that in the couplet quoted in vol. I, p. 113, the 'hand' of the rose representing the leaf. 8 The yellow centre of the narcissus represents the gold sequin, the white petals the paper. 9 It was customary to scatter coins among the people on festival days. 114 The Prince who is the rose unique within the Empire-bower Hath ta'en to his embrace the Pearl of Fortune ' in this reign. Two Saplings 2 grown within the i-oyal garden-land full fair, And tall and fresh, and jasmine-faced and rosy-cheeked the twain, The Age's King hath grafted with the band of Holy Law For that a sweet and pleasant fruit and lieve may thence be ta'en. O Lord, may all fair fortune speed this marriage upon earth; And may it, like the course of sun and moon, steadfast remain ; And may it dure in sweet delight e'en as the heart would crave, On such wise even as the Jemshid-mighty Khusrev's reign ! 3 Sultan Mehemmed, Murad's son, most noble of all Kings! Darius who doth crowns to all the lords of earth ordain ! The King of starry retinue, the lunar-stirruped Sun ! * Prince strong as Fate, and dread as Doom, and bounteous as main ! He ne'er shall swelter in the heats of tyranny's July Who refuge 'neath the shadow of the Monarch's grace may gain. His spear-point and his mace lift high the head and smite the ranks, ^ While bind the foe and pierce the heart his lasso *> and his flane. His sword within his ocean-hand is even as that Fish Who firm doth on his back the ordinance of earth sustain. "> None in thy reign hath need to look for refuge to the sphere; No fortress needeth he who doth in safety's realm remain. 8 Belike the ocean sought to vie in bounty with thy hand. And so to place its hand afore its face for shame 'tis fain. ^ ' Durr-i Bakht, 'Pearl of Fortune,' was probably the name of the young Prince's bride. Such fanciful names are often given to girls in the Imperial harem. 2 i. e. the young Prince and his bride. 3 The Khusrev mighty as Jemshid (i. e. Sultan Mehemmed). For Jemshid, the ancient King of Persia, see p. 71, n. i. * The Sultan is here called a sun whose stirrup is the moon, the crescent moon being shaped something like a stirrup. 5 His uplifted spear raises its head proudly, while his mace smites the ranks of his foes. In this and the next couplet are instances of the figure Leff u Neshr. See vol. i, p. 115. 6 The lasso (kemend), one of the weapons of the Persian heroic age, often occurs as a poetic convention in descriptions of battles and warriors. '' For the Fish that supports the earth on his back see vol. i, p. 39. The ocean, is the type of bounty, so his 'ocean-hand' means his hand bounteous as ocean; it is, moreover, congruous to speak of the ocean when mentioning a fish. 8 In this couplet the poet begins to address the Sultan directly. 9 The ocean, as we have just seen, is the type of bounty. There is an 115 Each flay the sun doth kiss the dust licforc tliy glory great, And thus 'tis honoured that its head doth highest heaven attain. ' O King, the genius jewel-radiant of Nejati's soul Hath ranged pearls untold upon the page wilhouten stain, ^ That he may go upon this festal day and cast them wide So that they cover all the ground before his Sovereign. Here are some passages from the 'Night Qasi'da', one of those in which Nejati feHcitated Bayezid on his accession. The couplets translated are those quoted by Hasan Chelebi. From a Oasida. [94] One even when the sun across her sheeny visage bright Had drawn that veil of ambergris, the musky locks of night. Away the falcon-sun had flown from off the Orient's hand And lighted in the west, where round him winged the crows' thin flight. 3 To hunt the raven-nignt the fowler-sphere had heedful shaped The crescent moon to form of eagle's talon apt to smite. * Or else from the blood of afterglow ^ ophthalmia's ill had smit The eyen of the sphere, which eve with black-hued veil had dight. Sultan of Riim, Khusrev of the horizons, Bayezid, The Khaqan *> of the Age, the King, the Pivot of all right! The tablet of his soul enregisters the world's affairs. As page of book contains the words of him who doth it write. untranslatable amphibology in the second line here, the word used for 'hand' (oi5 ) means also 'foam', so the line is really : — And so to place its •;,°^'j afore its face for shame 'tis fain. t^ J hand 1 See p. no, n. i. The poet here means to say that it is on account of the pride which the sun feels at daily kissing the dust before the Sultan's gate that it rears its head to the highest heaven at noon. 2 The 'pearls' are the words or verses of the poet which he has ranged on the white page. * Here the black crows typify night. * The eagle C^uqab) was sometimes trained for the chase like the falcon. 8 See p. 89, n. 3. ^ Khaqdn is the special title of the Emperors of Tartary. It is often applied to the Ottoman Sultan, as are Khusrev (Chosroes), Qaysar (Caesar), and so on. ii6 O King 'tis I who midst of the assembly of thy praise Do rebeck-like a thousand airs upon one string recite. ' 'Twere meet perfection from thy fostering favour reach my words, For fragrant groweth rosewater through solar heat and light - This is the first of the seven stanzas which compose the Terkib-Bend that Nejati wrote as an elegy on Prince "^Abdullah. From the Elegy on Prince 'Abdullah. [95] O heart, strike off thy name from fellowship's gay muster-roll 5 Go, thou thou qalender. ^ so anchorites shall thee extol. O heart, have ruth upon the soul, nor bind it unto earth ; O brother, prison Joseph not within the pit of dole. * Look not with greedy eye upon the world, for from his eyes Who looketh straight upon the sun's fierce face the tear-drops roll. The body is a worn-out wede, be not deceived thereby, For in the Eternal Mart that gear will bring but loss to thole. Reck not of this poor handful dust, 5 for better far than it, A thousand-fold more during, the bare stone abideth whole. To none sufficient of the draught of life to satisfy His thirst hath e'er been granted by the sky's inverted bowl. ^ It is no sphere this thing the which thou seest ring on ring, ^ This seven-headed fiend is e'en a dragon; 8 heed thy soul! ' As all the notes of the rebeck (rebab) are produced from its one string, so all Nejati's^ poems sing of one theme, the praise of the Sultan. 2 In one of the ways of making rose-oil the leaves are placed in shallow earthen pans, filled with rain-water. They are then exposed to the full action of the sun, which is sufficient to extract the oil. Rose-water resulting from this process is much superior to that obtained by distillation. 3 For the qalenders see vol. i, p. 357, n. i. Here the term is used as equivalent to recluse. * An allusion to the Biblical and Koranic story of Joseph ; here the soul is pictured as Joseph and the love of earth as the pit into which his brother, the heart, cast him. 8 i. e. the body. 6 The sky is often compared to an inverted bowl, the horizon representing the rim. ■! 'Ring on ring', i. e. circle within circle, sphere within sphere, see vol. r, p. 43. 8 This 'fiend' is the personified sphere (vol. i, p. 44, n. 3); it is called seven-headed because of the seven planetary spheres. 117 He ' hath laid waste the reahn, and he the Treasure 2 hath devoured. What realm? the realm of (^araman. ^ What treasure? Korah's hoard.* The next lines are from the Elegy on Prince Mahmtid, which also is a Terkib-Bend of seven stanzas : — From the Elegy on Prince Mahmud. [96] The mansion of the world is travail, anguish, and dismay ; That which they call the court of joy's the house of mourning aye. Well-being's his who yieldeth not himself unto the world; To love and to incline to earth is from the path to stray. At last the winding-sheet will wipe us out as with a towel; 'That was a beggar, this an emperor', it will not say. They call the face of earth firm ground, but we believe it not; Nay, every point thereon's a dragon fell a-gape for prey. Thus would the grave's mouth speak to thee, had it a tongue withal: — 'A monster this whose talons aye are snatching folk away !' For this it is I yield my thanks : Physician Death hath said, 'There's healing for this severance in dying of dismay!' Shed thou too tears of blood for this sad sorrow like to me, 'Twill be thy turn to-morrow, master, as 'tis mine to-day. We shall now look at a few of Nejati's ghazels. Ghazel. [97] In very truth this court of earth ^ affords no halting-place; But then, the caravan of life rests ne'er a moment's space. Though every leaf of every tree is verily a book, Earth hath no leaf for him who lacketh understanding's grace. 1 'He', i. e. the seven-headed fiend. 2 The 'Treasure', i. e. the Prince. 3 Prince 'Abdullah had been governor of Qaraman. * Genj-i Rewan literally, 'the moving Treasure', is the name given to Korah's treasure which was swallowed up by the earth (Koran, xxviii, 76 — 82 ; Numbers xvi), even as was the Prince; it is so called because it is said to be still sinking deeper and ever deeper into the earth's heart. The name might mean also 'the treasure of life (or soul)', and this meaning likewise is here kept in view. 5 The earth is here considered as the court-yard of a caravanseray. ii8 What though the loved one be remote from thee as east from west? 'Baghdad to lovers is not far;' ' then strive, O heart, apace. Is there one moment, O thou ebriate strife-seeking eye. When yonder glances flash not like to swords before our face ? Sorely Nejati yearneth for thy Paradisal court; Though this desire may ne'er be his while he the earth doth pace. Ghazel [98] There is no man on earth but dule doth dree; There whoso di'ees not dule, no man is he. Until the heart rain down a flood of tears, Love's meadow never smileth lovelily. If winsome beauties' hearts were not of stone, Love's temple would not strong of structure be. The rosebud-lipped, the slender-waisted fair. From buss and clip nor hurt nor evil see. Each Abraham in Grace's Ka'^ba-shrine May not God's Intimate 2 or Edhem 3 be. I cypress-wise was planted, straight I grew, Nor from thy gate a single step may flee. * 1 .lXIj J> ^J5|JJ' O'Aij &2.iiLc 'Baghdad is not far to the lover', is a proverb. 2 Khalil-uUah, 'God's Intimate', is a title of the patriarch Abraham. He is said to have built the Ka'^ba. 3 Ibrahim-i Edhem (or Ibrahim ibn-Edhem) i.e. Abraham the son of Edhem, was the son of a king of Balkh. He became a great saint; according to one account his conversion was brought about one day when he was out hunting by a voice from the Unseen crying in his ears, 'Is it for this thou wast created?' and, according to another, by a dream which constrained him to forsake his father's house and become a wandering dervish. Eventually he made his way to Mekka where he dwelt for a time as a devotee in the Ka'^ba (henc5^ the allusion in Nejatfs ghazel). He died in Damascus in 261 (874 — 5). * Nature planted, i. e. created, me like a cypress, i. e. straight, upright, and thus I grew up loyal; and now so faithful and true am I that I no more can forsake thee than a cypress can stir from the place where it is rooted. 119 'I'll come and pass the even', said yon Moon;' My star it knows no even, woe is me!^ Nejati, fain they'd have thee break thy vow, — The flowers will ne'er keep silence on the lea. 3 Ghazel. [99] What have not the tulip-cheeks again wrought in the garden-way ? — They've nor let the cypress wave nor yet the rosebud say her say. * Saying, 'Lo an outland stranger come into the garden-court!' They have baulked the tulip's winning to the rose's presence gay. 5 All ungentleness and rigour is the wont of beauties, still Unto no one have they wroughten what they 've wroughten me, parfay ! Praise to God that our cupbearers with that life-bestowing wine Leave not to be craved the Fount of Life or Heavenly Kevser's spray. O Nejati, go thy ways and walk with patience; what canst thou? — Unto whom have beauties never learned unkindness and dismay? ' The 'Moon' is the beloved: the moon is appropriately associated with the evening. 2 'My star' i. e. my fortune: the meaning is, my whole life is dark night (unhappy), it has no day (good luck), and therefore no evening. 3 The beautiful spring flowers seem to invite the poet to break his vows of sobriety etc. * The 'tulip-cheeks' are beauties, the 'garden-way' is the company of the fair. These radiant' beauties have not allowed the cypress to wave (though to wave is the distinction of the cypress), i. e. they have thrown all other graceful figures into the shade (the cypress being the type of a graceful figure); and they have not allowed the rosebud (the type of a beautiful mouth) to speak (though to speak is the attribute of the rosebud-mouth), i. e. their own sweet speech has made that of all other fair ones appear common-place. Or we may take it that these tulip-cheeked beauties, through their dazzling loveliness, have cast a spell on all other fair ones so that those are rendered motionless and speechless by admiration. 5 This may possibly refer to some incident, the tulip and the rose standing for certain individuals. Tulips often grow wild in the fields, hence the flower may be spoken of as an outlander in respect to the garden. 120 Ghazel. [loo] Yonder glance, that showers the arrow-lashes on the soul's countrie, Like that Tartar seems who maketh rain to rain through gramarye. ' Now 'tis tears and now 'tis blood mine eyen weep when thou art gone; Yea, they furnish pearls and coral to bestrew the path of thee. 2 E'en so much and long have wept mine eyes that all the blood is gone; Whence, I wonder, will the rushing cun'ent now replenished be?' From my sighing's smoke* the folk of earth are of my weeping ware; For they know that rain is present when the black wind bloweth free. 5 From the cup of that sweet lip of hers the skinker Jesus-breathed, Crying, 'This the draught !' bescatters o'er the toper-company. ^ He who sees the hearts a-hanging from thy tress's tip would say, ''Tis a dragon, from his mouths he showereth sparks of fire, ah me !' '' 1 The allusion here is to a well-known magic rite practised among the Tartars. This rite is performed with a magic stone called the yede tashi, through the virtue of which the magicians profess to cure diseases, ensure victory in battle, and control the elements, — notably to cause rain to fall at will. Here the idea is that the beauty's glance can cause the lover's tears to flow at pleasure. By saying that the glance showers arrow-lashes on the soul the poet means to indicate that the beloved's glances pierce the soul just as though they shot her eyelashes like arrows into it. 2 The pearls being the tears; the coral, the blood. For the relation between tears and blood, see vol. i, p. 217, n. i. The poets often speak of scattering precious stones before the great, i. e. kings and beauties. 3 Again see vol. i, p. 217, n. i. * We have already seen that sighs are conceived as being the smoke from a burning heart. 5 The 'black wind' (qara yel) is the north-west wind ; it is often accompanied by rain. Here it represents the sighs, which are always imagined as being black. " The breath of Jesus brought the dead to life, so the kiss of the cupbearer revives the dead hearts. ^ The hearts of her lovers are often conceived as hanging from a beauty's tresses.: these hearts are here taken to be on fire with love, and as by a common figure the beauty's hair is regarded as a dragon (vol. i, p. 330, n. 3: vol. ii, p. 35, n. 6 and p. 36, n. i), the burning hearts are imagined as the sparks issuing from Its mouths. 121 O Nejdti, is there any price for thy gem-strewing reed? — ' Every drop from yonder April cloud becomes a pearl, perdic. 2 Ghazel. [loi] 0 the merry beauty ! O the nature gay ! Thou'rt a fair like beauty's self withouten stay. 1 am thy neck-bounden slave, O Sovran mine; Thine to keep or thine to sell or thine to slay. But to buss thee, sweeting, is life enow for me; Know'st not how Life's Fountain 3 maketh live for aye? Name and fame desire not, chesner, look and see; Save the King is any of checkmate the prey? Toward my love my letter flies, a wistful dove, White of hue, with folded wing it flies away. * Do a work that alway shall be told on earth; O Nejati, teera-teera-leera-lay ! ^ We shall close our quotations from Nejati with the following quaint verses, written in rubaS' form, and addressed to a painted or embroidered handkerchief such as friends some- times send as a present to one another. If the sender be a lover and the recipient his beloved, he may shed a few ' i. e. does anyone appreciate the merit of thy poetry? or, can any price be set on thy priceless verse? 2 The allusion here is to the generation of the pearl, which was believed to be on this wise: During the month of April the oyster rises to the sur- face of the sea, where it opens its shells slightly in order to receive a drop of the rain or dew that is then falling; when this has been received, it closes its shells and sinks back into the depths of the ocean, where it remains; and then after a long time the drop of fresh rain or dew is transformed into a pearl. 3 Here the Fountain of Life (vol. i, pp. 282 et seqq.) means the beauty's mouth. 4 The poet here compares the love-letter he has sent his sweetheart to an amorous white carrier-pigeon, which, however, flies with its wings folded (the letter being folded), though birds as a rule fly with wings extended. 5 In the original: Ey Nejati, fa'ilatun fa^ilat. The last two words are part of the meaningless formula for the metre in which the ghazel is written. 122 tears into it before parting with it, a usage referred to by Nejati in the last verse. Quatrains. [102] O kerchief, lo I send thee to yon beauty, off, away ! About thee as a fringe do I my eyelashes array; I grind the pupil of mine eye * to paint thee fair and bright; Off, thus bedecked, and look thou in the face of yonder may. 0 kerchief, take the dear one's hand, and buss her lips amene, And buss her chin which mocks at apple and at ojange sheen. 2 Should aught of dust alight upon her blessed heart and lieve, 3 Fall down before her feet and buss her sandal-shoon bedene. The kerchief has companioned with my tears of blood, I trow; Through these a thousand kerchiefs in one hour would crimson glow. Thou'lt company with yonder love, while I am woe for dule; 1 may no more on life aby, if fate continue so. 1 As a painter grinds his colours. 2 The chin of a beauty is often compared, because of its shape, to an apple; less often to an orange. 3 i. e. should anything vex her. CHAPTER VI. The Poetesses Miiiri and Zeyneb. Nejati is by universal consent the greatest Ottoman lyric poet till the time of Baqi, that is, till about the middle of the sixteenth century. Thus for a period of over fifty years the poems of this writer formed the high-water mark of Ottoman lyric verse, and many of his countrymen were fain to model their work on his mellifluous and ingenious lines. His influence differs widely from that of Ahmed Pasha ; for while the poets learned from the Vezir in what direction to look for inspiration, not one among them sought to imitate his work, whereas the poems of Nejati were, as we have just said, accepted by all as models of felicity of expression and deftness of craftsmanship, and indeed were more or less directly imitated by not a few among contemporary and succeeding writers. The most important and most interesting of those who, accord- ing to the Tezkires, modelled their work more directly upon that of the master is the poetess Mihri Khatun or Lady Mihri. ' ' Khatun is the old Tuikish term for Lady, and might be translated into English by the word Dame ; the modern form is Qadin. But nowadays the title of Khanim is that given to ladies, whether married or unmarried; like most other titles it follows the name, thus, Leyla Khanim, which may stand equally for Lady Leyla, Mrs. Leyla, or Miss Leyla. 124 This talented woman was born in Amasiya, ^ and, according to Latifi, was the daughter of a cadi whose pen-name was Bela^i. The hfe of an Eastern woman is as a rule uneventful, so it is not surprising that the biographers give us but scant information concerning Mihri's career. Almost the whole of what they tell us bears upon the numerous though quite innocent love-passages that occurred between the poetess and some of the celebrities of her time. Three names are mentioned in this connection, those of Iskender Chelebi the son of Sinan Pasha, ^ of her famous fellow-towns- man Mu^eyyed-zade, ^ and of Guwahi, a minor poet whose Pend-Name or 'Book of Counsels', a collection of versified proverbs, attained a certain reputation. The most serious of Mihri's love-affairs seems to have been that with Iskender, which alone is mentioned by Latifi, who says that this youth inspired much of her poetry and is even mentioned by name in her Diwan, as in the following ghazel which the lady composed after having seen him one early morning: — Ghazel. [103] From my sleep I oped mine eyen, raised my head, when, lo, the sight ! There before me saw I standing fair a inoon-faced beauty bright. 1 Evliya Efendi, tire great Turlvish traveller of the seventeentli century, mentions Mihrf in his account of Amasiya. He says that she was descended from the famous Pir Ilyas (probably Baba Ilyas, the grandfather of the poet 'Ashiq Pasha, see vol. i, pp. 176 — 7), near whose sepulchre in Amasiya is her tomb. He adds that her personal name was Mihr-u-Mah '•Sun-and-Moon', a not uncommon female name; but ''Ashiq says that Mihri was both her per- sonal name and her pen-name. A portion of the work in which Evliya describes his travels was translated into English by Von Hammer, and published by the Oriental Translation Fund in 1834. There is a MS. of the complete work in the library of the Roya\ Asiatic Society. 2 Perhaps this Sinan Paslia is the statesman and man of letters mentioned on p. 25. 3 For an account of Mu^eyyed-zade, sec pp. 29 — 31. 125 SooUi, my star is now a Fortune, ' or I to the Power 2 have won; For within my stead beheld I Jupiter arise this night. Radiance from his lovely visage streaming though I saw full clear, ' Though indeed his mien was Muslim, paynim were the robes he'd dight. * Even as I oped and closed my eyes he vanished from my view; 'This an angel is or fairy,' thus it was I weened forthright. Ne'er shall Mihri die, for she did win the Stream of Life unto Thus when mid the mirk of night-tide she beheld Iskender wight ^ Mihri used to attend the circle of Sultan Bayezid's son Prince Ahmed who during practically the whole of his father's reign was governor of Amasiya, and there, says Latifi, she was one day twitted with her behaviour in regard to this young man. But the poetess was equal to the occasion, for 1 The astrologers call Jupiter 'the Greater Fortune' or 'Greater Benefic' (Sa'^d-i Ekber), Venus the 'Lesser Fortune' or 'Lesser Benefic' (Sa'-d-i Asghar), Saturn 'the Greater Infortune' or 'Greater Malefic' (Nahs-i Ekber), and Mars the 'Lesser Infortune' or 'Lesser Malefic' (Nahs-i Asghar), the other planets being reckoned auspicious or the reverse according to circumstances. Jupiter is thus the most auspicious, Saturn the most malignant of the seven. Mihri here says that as the auspicious Jupiter (i. e. her lover) has this night appeared within her stead, her natal star (whatever it was before) must now have become a 'Fortune.' This of course is a mere poet's fancy, as astrologically no change is possible in the natal star or 'lord of the ascendant', that is, the planet which happens to be in the 'house of the ascendant', as they call that portion of the zodiac (5 degrees above the horizon and 25 degrees below) which is rising above the eastern horizon at the moment of birth. The ascendant itself, which is the degree just rising, and the lord thereof are held to exercise a special influence upon the life of the 'native.' 2 For the blessed but vague Night of Power see vol. i, p. 293, n. 4. Mihri means to say that such is her good fortune that she must have unexpectedly encountered the eagerly watched-for but elusive Night of Power. 3 Radiance being a property of holy things and therefore to be expected in Muslims only. * When the poetess speaks of Iskender as clad in paynim garments, she probably means either that he was dressed in rakish style, or that the beauty of his attire helped to captivate his poor lover. 5 Iskender, as we know, is the Oriental form of Alexander. For the story of Alexander and the Stream of Life in the Darkness see vol. 1, pp. 281 — 3. 126 she then and there silenced her would-be censurer by im- provising this couplet: — 'How many Iskenders hath the dew of my rubies 'Led up to the Fount and sent thirsting away !' i It is from ''Ashiq that we learn of Mihri's relations with Mu^'eyyed-zade and Guwahi. This biographer says that when Mu^eyyed-zade was still a young man at Amasiya, he and Mihri fell in love with one another; and that in after years, when the youth had become a great man and a Qazi-'^Asker, the poetess used occasionally to attend his circle. ^Ashiq quotes this couplet which he says she addressed to her old lover: — 'Falsely, Khatemi, 2 thou madest unto Mihri show of love; 'Yet fore God she loves thee dearer far than any youthful wight.' 3 With Guwahi she used to interchange verses, and ^Ashiq quotes the following lines as having been sent by her to that poet by way of pleasantry : — Guwahi, of some winsome beauty free May God, I pray, make thee the victim be; Thy neck round may she bind her tresses' cord. And cast thee in her chin's pit too may she. * Another allusion to Alexander and the Fountain of Life. The 'dew' (lit. 'sweet water') of her 'rubies', means the freshness of her red lips; the 'Fount' in the next line means her mouth. Her beauty has made many desire to kiss her, but none has ever attained his wish. 2 Khatemi was Mu'eyyed-zade's makhlas. 3 i;j^_j-(^ K^iOy^^ Oi^lc ^-<-'l:> qvAJ*!^. ^^^^^ If '^Ashiq's story is true, it would seem that either Mihri must have visited Constantinople (of which there is no record), or Mu^eyyed-zade must have vis'ied Amasiya after being made Qazi-"^Asker, that is, after 907 (1501) (of which again there is no record). * The dimple in the chin of a beauty is often conceived as a pit into which her lovers fall. 12/ May some decanter-neck ' at the carouse Make thee for her lip's wine-cup dolour dree! And at the last may some high Sovereign Of Beauty's Empire from her locks hang thee ! If thou should ask the meaning of this verse And say, 'Alack, what is the fault of me?' Why dost not thou remember now and then, If only with a verse or two, Mihri?^ "The real enthusiasm of the poetess, however, was for Nejati the master of her craft. Many of her poems are 'parallels' to ghazels of her illustrious contemporary, to whom, we are told, she used to send copies of all her verses. But this admiration, or at least the way in which it found expression, seems to have been carried a little too far for Nejati, who did not like to see his verses thus imitated, and consequently, if Lati'fi speaks truly, wrote these lines with an eye on his fair disciple: — O thou who dost parallels write to my verse. From the highway of courtesy heed lest thou stray. 'In rhyme and in metre my poems are one 'With those of Nejati', beware lest thou say. Though each hath five letters, are Honor and Shame The same in reality, think'st thou, I pray? 3* 1 A 'decanter' neck is a long straight neck, which was reckoned a beauty. 2 g.^il Q^M^Jls ^Xx-o oi> ^5vw ^^»;^ *^J«r> jJ »^-*->">J^ O^'^^ ^^LwOlj iikx-«.)lj! ^M^s> ji ^M> J— >' Q^^ji j'^j-J »-*-^sJ\ yM * Latifi has a story to the effect that one day Mihri asked a wit, apparently 128 Latifi and Hasan speak of Mihri as having been beautiful; and they, as also the other biographers, emphasize the fact that notwithstanding her amorous temperament she lived a blameless life. She was never married. 'Maiden came she to the world and maiden went she,' says '^Ashiq. 'For all her love of youth', continues he, 'none ever had his wish of her any more than of that woman the world, ' neither did any greedy hand ever reach to her hidden treasure, or any arm save the necklace clasp her neck through force of gold.' Latifi, Hasan and "^Ali all say the same, varying only the metaphors. ^ a friend of Nejati's, which of her characteristics the great poet most admired, upon which the wit replied 'Thy amphibology,' using that word itself amphi- bologically. In order apparently to indicate the point of this answer, the biographer says that Mihri, who was somewhat vain of her accomplishments, used to speak of herself as Hhe mine of fancy,' which led to someone's composing these lines about her: — i^i^A ^l^ sA^l_£ i^v-Xij! *^^^3i u5j-r-^ 'Mihri, thyself is e'en the mine of fancy in the world 5 'And now the poets of the age are ever praising thee. 'A scurril lot are many though among the poet-throng; 'Make thou them fancies steal, they'll thump thine amphibology !' which is seemingly supposed to make the matter clear! There is a further amphibology in the word used for 'steal', which also means to 'strike' or to 'play' (an instrument). ' The world, because of its inconstancy and love of show, is often com- pared to a woman. 2 According to "^Ashiq, Mihri was sought in marriage by the then Principal (Muderris) of Eyyub, who was popularly known as Pasha Chelebi, which fact induced the poet Zati (whose life and works will be considered in the next volume) to compose the following somewhat vulgar lines : — -♦j^/*nJLj1 J. ^jJkXS ijj^ 'l-5'I l-*«^-J ■ <^c5r^ (ji^^x*.' liliAx^Sii 129 The Tezkires afford no further particulars as to Mihri's career. It will be noticed that not a single date is mentioned. If there was, as ^Ashiq says, a boy and girl love between Mu\^yyed-zade and her, she must have been born about the same time as he, and we know that 860 (1456) was his birth-year. Prince Ahmed, at whose court at Amasiya the poetess was twitted about Iskender Chelebi, became governor of that town in 886 (1481) and remained there till 918 (15 12). It is therefore probable that the greater part of Mihri's literary work was produced during the last quarter of the fifteenth century, and the opening years of the sixteenth. It was a wonderful thing that a woman should write Ottoman literary poetry, an accomplishment for which, as we have learned, a special technical education and a con- siderable acquaintance with the works' of the Persian masters were necessary. These lay outside the narrow circle of the ordinary Turkish girl's studies. For the East holds (at any rate it then held) firm by the ancient belief that woman is essentially inferior in intellect to man, and therefore cannot profitably interfere with the higher branches of learning. Therefore also do the biographers think it necessary to offer something like an apology for Mihri's sex when they praise her work. Thus '^Ashiq and Hasan quote the Arabic couplet: — 'From femininity no shame to the sun's name is there, Nor aught of honour to the moon from masculinity.' ' — the gist of which is that Mihri having remained unmarried for so many years would not be likely to accept such an ass as her present suitor. This so-called Pasha Chelebi, whose name was Ghiyas-ud-Din and who was a nephew of the famous Sheykh Aq Shems-ud-Din, died in 927 (1520 — i). He had twice held office in Amasiya, once before and once after his Eyyiib principalship ; it was probably on the first occasion that he aspired to the hand of Mihri. Go, o S -a In Arabic grammar the word for 'sun' is feminine, that for 'moon' is masculine. I30 Even the poetess herself is half-apologetic, half-defiant on the subject of her sex; she writes: — Since they cry that woman lacketh wit alway, • Needs must they excuse whatever word she say. Better far one female, if she worthy be, Than a thousand males, if all unworthy they. 2 Speaking of the quality of Mihri's poetry, Latifi says that although the manner of the writer's expression is feminine, in the passion of her words she is both masculine and lover- like, in proof of which he quotes these passages from her Diwan : — Yonder dearest one began to speak and question me of love; Then I gave my heart for answer, and no more spoke he of love. ' I said, 'At the first sight I missed to see the face of thee.' He thereupon upraised his veil and answered, 'Look and see!' The eye it saw, the heart it knew, that I was slain of love; Yet for that sight and for that knowledge none did pity me. * [I do not know who the author of this well-known verse may be, but it is cited, together with the couplet which precedes it, by Jami in his Nafahdt- ul-Uns, at the beginning of the biographies of female saints. ED.] ' Naqisat-ul-^Aql, 'Lack-Wit' (lit. 'deficient in reason') is an Arabic term sometimes applied to woman. 2 L iA2.i-'^ .»LX.*'a r)\»^-^ j-^ ^-^-i jJ '^ y»r^^^ J^^ (j.^sLJ *.^i^:=^ 131 ^Ashiq too has a high opinion of her work. 'Although she was a woman', says he, 'yet did she overthrow many a man in the Hsts, as when she thus rebuketh Nejati. For Nejati saith in one of his ghazels: — Lest heaven or earth should e'er have cause to taunt me with their boons, A rush-mat will Nejati aye for quilt and bed suffice. ' to which Mihri answereth in one of hers: — Though thou, Nejati, may'st desire a rush-mat bed and quilt; For Mihri will the bare earth 'fore the dear one's stead suffice' '- And farther on, 'while male poets were yearning for maiden fancies, she, for all her womanhood, found them with ease.' Then the critic goes on to say that though unbecoming things may be found in her poems, they are very few; that 'her language is maidenly (^^-ciJii jas), while her style is rakish', by which he seems to mean that though her words in themselves are unexceptionable, her meaning is not always so, alluding possibly to the mention of her lover Iskender Chelebi in her Diwan, which would be regarded in the East as a breach of decorum. 1 have never seen Mihri's Diwan, but, judging from such examples of her work as I have been able to find, I should say that her poetry is simpler and more natural than that of Nejati. There is much less straining after effect, far fewer rhetorical embellishments, and generally a greater appearance of sincere as opposed to merely artistic work. She is no doubt much less original ; her metaphors and similes rarely 2 1^.^:50 Lj.vj .J ti^^.AA«^ j^jLjs\i ^__ci --AV 132 go beyond the common-places of this poetry, and her point of view does not perceptibly differ from that of scores of her fellow-poets. But these deficiencies, such as they are, are amply atoned for by the evident spontaneity of her lines. We feel that this poetess sings, not because she is eager to parade her skill and erudition, but because there is within her something that demands expression. And when we reflect on the repressive circumstances in which she found herself from the mere accident of her sex, whereby the acquisition of culture was rendered tenfold more diflicult for her than it would have been for her father or her brother, we cannot but admire the spirit and the energy which broke through so many obstacles, and the brilliant talent which enabled the writer, in conditions so adverse, to produce a volume of poetry which can bear comparison with the works of all but the very greatest of her contemporaries. ' The first of the following ghazels is taken from Hasan Chelebi's Tezkire, all the others are from Prof. Smirnov's Chrestomathy : — Ghazel. [104] Fain I hoped that thou would prove thee leal and loving fere to me ; Who had thought in thee a tyrant so ungentle for to see? Thou that art the tender rosebud of the Paradisal garth, — How may this be meet that every brere and brake thy love should be! I shall breathe no malediction 5 but of God I make this prayer, That thou may he smit with yearning for a ruthless one like thee. ' Mihri's Diwan has not been printed, and MS. copies are very rare. Prof. Smirnov of St. Petersburgh succeeded, however, in finding one in Constantinople, and he has published a number of extracts from it in his Turkish Chresto- mathy which bears the name of MejmdVi Muntakhabat-i A.sar-i '^Osmaniyya. The Professor's extracts consist of 28 ghazels and a murebba^ in praise of Ladiq, a small town near Amasiya. Unfortunately the text of the poems, as printed in the Chrestomathy, is full of errors; but doubtless these occur in the original MS., and the editor judiciously refrained from making any alterations. 133 Now my plight is grown so piteous tliat whoe'er would curse his foe Sayeth, 'Black may be thy fortune e'en as that of sad Mihri!' Ghazel. [105] Lover be'st thou, — hold not then by name or fame upon Love's way ; Strive upon that road, thy life give, else the dear will flee away. Dost thou, slothful and half-hearted, truly seek to win thy love? Be not heedless, nay, be watchful, else another's is thy may. Though thy weeping flood the whole earth, none will wipe away thy tears, Not though thou weep blood henceforward every hour of every day. Sing thy lay while still thou dwellest in yon rosebud's rosy bower 5 For the rose departs to-morrow, and, bulbul, thou lone dost stay. So thou'rt man, 'tis now the hour for deeds, drive hence the rival, ho ! Strive thou that the thorn remain not in the rosebud's kirtle gay. Once was Mihri fain to soar midmost the heavens, now, behold, Therefore she is dust, and trodden under foot, ah, wel-a-way ! Ghazel. [io6] When toward the breeze the dear one turns his face each morning-tide Fragrance from his tresses' perfume fills the whole world far and wide. Sudden I beheld a King of fair ones mid the beauty-throng; 'Here at last is he who wins the Empire of the Heart!' I cried. Ne'er an one the dearling leaves unbounden by his spelful eyne ; Thus 'twould seem yon twain of warlocks ' trance the world on every side. Groan I for thine absence, quaketh all the heaven and all the earth, Weep I for thy presence, 2 whelmed the world is 'neath the rushing tide. 1 i. e. his two eyes that cast spells upon all. 2 i. e. when I weep yearning for thy presence. 134- O my dear one, have thou ruth to-day on Mihri, for thou kno\v"st How the hairs will on the morrow all thy beauty's mirror hide. ' Ghazel. - [107] For me, while thou existest, other fere there needeth none; Let me thy rigour dree, and other dear there needeth none. For me there's in thy rigour troth, and in thy wounding balm; For this my ailing heart, of other cheer there needeth none. O soul, though upon earth were Idols ^ kind and leal and true A-throng in every corner far and near, there needeth none. Let me but be within thy ward, although that bare I go; In Paradise for me resplendent gear there needeth none. ■* Thine eye hath slain me, wherefore seekest thou then 'nay' to say? — While witnesseth thy glance, denial here there needeth none. Go, flushed with wine of love, Mihri, and roam the world around; For topers of the tavern shame or fear there needeth none. Ghazel. [108] Ne'er without its dear will rest my hapless heart, Oh! what can I? Ne'er this shameless one ^ will silence keep, however hard I try. 1 have made the dear one's name the burden " of my heart, but yet Never he my name recalleth, ne'er is he sans rivals nigh. ' The beard will soon grow and spoil the boyish beauty. 2 This ghazel is a parallel to that of Nejati beginning : — 3 i. e. beauties. * Alluding to the splendid apparel which it is said the blessed shall wear in Paradise; and, as we have seen (p. 66, n. 2), 'The loved one's ward is Pary^ise.' But, as the true saint desires only God in Paradise, so the true lover desires only the beloved in her ward. 5 i. e. my heart. •> i. e. the refrain. 135 Union promised lie, nnd dravc me into yearnings fond and fain; Then that faithless paynim turned and all his promise did deny. Aid me! aid! for thou hast smit me, O physician of the soul! (^uoth he, 'Tis my wont to leave the lover all unhelped to die.' Never have I seen a beauty by whose side was watcher none 5 Never rose hath bloomed on earth's parterre but still the thorn was by. We shall die, but never, Mihri, shall we leave to love the fair; Let him speak who will, without a loved one ne'er shall we aby. Mihri, though the most distinguished, was not the only Ottoman poetess of those old times. The biographers speak of another lady, Zeyneb by name, whom also they credit with the production of a Diwan, and who, according to Sehi, was moreover skilled in music. But this Zeyneb is an even more shadowy figure than Mihri. Lati'fi claims her for his own city of Qastamuni, and says that she was the daughter of a learned man of that place, who, perceiving her innate talent, had her carefully educated in the different branches of knowledge, and caused her to study the Persian diwans and the Arabic qasidas, the result being that she herself composed a Diwan of Turkish and Persian poems which she dedicated to Sultan Mehemmed II. ■^Ashiq on the other hand says that she was a native of Amasiya where her father was a cadi, and that she was contemporary with Mihri, like whom she used to wait on Prince Ahmed when he was governor of that city. But while Mihri came and went a maiden, Zeyneb married, unfortu- nately, as it proved, for when she passed under her husband's control, he made her not only abstain from holding any 136 communication with other men, but cease from writing poetry. That is virtually all we are told concerning Zeyneb. Hasan has nothing fresh to add beyond saying that she and Mihri were companions and used to interchange verses and plea- santries. He mentions the different accounts given by Latifi and '^Ashiq without presuming to judge between them; there is therefore nothing left for us but to follow his example and to say with him 'and the knowledge of the truth of it is with the Omniscient King.' The only specimens of Zeyneb's poetry which the bio- graphers give are these lines which are cited by Sehi, and the following Turkish ghazel which is quoted, in whole or in part, with high commendation by Latifi, ' ^Ashiq, and Hasan. Fragment of Ghazel. [109] O liege, that lovely form a gift to thee from God the Most High is; The Chapter Joseph but one verse from thy fair beauty, deem I, is. 2 Thy beauty bright, my lovelorn plight, thy rigour harsh, my patience long From hour to hour increase, thereto no end, be't far or be't nigh, is. Ghazel. [iio] Throw off thy veil, and heaven and earth illume with dazzling ray ! Turn thou this elemental world to Paradise straightway ! Move thou thy lips and make the ripples play on Kevser-pool! ^ Let loose thy locks of ambergris and scent the world, I pray! 1 Latifi has further one couplet in Persian. 2 'Jlie twelfth chapter of the Koran is called the Chapter of Joseph ; Joseph, as we shall see in the next chapter, is taken as the ideal of youthful beauty. ^ Kevser, the Paradisal river (vol. i, p. 36), here stands for the mouth of the beloved, the 'ripples' being the smiles or perhaps the words. 137 Thy down hath writ a warranty, and charged the zephyr: 'Speed! 'Forth tht)u and conquer all the realms of China and Cathay!' ' If so the Stream of Life be not thy destined lot, O heart, Tread, an thou wilt, a thousand years, with Khizr, Iskender's way. 2 Leave, Zeyneb, lust of show unto the world, the woman-like; ' Walk manful, single-hearted be, abandon gewgaws gay. ' The word khatt or khat means both a line of writing and the down on a youthful cheek. These meanings arc very often (as in the present instance) purposely confounded for the sake of getting an iham or amphibology. The idea in the present verse is that the perfumed down on the beloved's cheek (hair being always conceived as sweet-scented) traces (as the face is moved) a royal edict in the air, so sweet that it enables and so powerful that it commands the breeze to go and conquer China and Cathay, the very home of fragrance (see p. 112, n. 4). 2 i. e. if the Water of Life be not thy allotted portion, thou shalt never find it, even if thou follow Alexander's road for a thousand years and even if Khizr be thy guide. 3 See p. 128, n. i. CHAPTER VII. Hamdi. A prominent figure in the days of Mehemmed the Con- queror was the Sheykh Aq-Shems-ud-Din or Shems-ud-Din the Fair. ' This learned and holy man, who traced his descent from the saintly Shihab-ud-Din-i Suhreverdi, ^ was born in Damascus, but came into Rum at a very early age. He soon acquired considerable celebrity through his profound and varied learning, more especially his skill in medicine, and was appointed Principal (Muderris) of the college at '^Osmanjiq, a little town not very far from Amasiya. But mysticism began to cast its glamour over him, and he looked around for one to guide him on the Path. He v.^as urged to join the disciples of the famous Hajji Bey ram at x^ngora, the greatest mystic teacher of the day ; ^ but the professional pride of the '^ulema was still strong in Shems-ud-Din, and he revolted against the idea of placing himself under a dervish who begged for money in the streets albeit with the object of assisting debtors and prisoners. So the haughty Principal decided to accept ' This famous Sheykh Shems-ud-Din is always distinguished by the word Aq (-White') being placed before his name. This sobriquet, which is paralleled by that of Qara ('Black') prefixed to the names of several historical personages, seems to point to the bearer's having been fair-haired or pale-complexioned. For "j^n anecdote about this Sheykh, see vol. i, p. 312. ■^- Shihab-ud-Din-i Suhreverdi, a famous mystic and jurist, was born in Suhre- verd in Persia in 539 (1144 — 5) and died in Baghdad in 632 (1234 — 5). ' See vol. I, p. 299, n. i. 139 as master rather Sheykh Zeyn-ud-Uin-i Ihifi ' who was then teaching the mystic doctrine at Aleppo. Thither accordingly he went; but hardly had he reached that city ere he beheld a vision in which he saw himself with a chain about his neck being led along by Hajji Beyram. This persuaded him that the Hajji, and no other, was his destined teacher. He therefore set out for Angora, on arriving at the outskirts of which he found Hajji Beyram and his disciples busy reaping corn in a field. He went forward, took up a sickle, and began to reap among the disciples. But the saint took no heed of him. Not even when the disciples laid down their reaping- hooks, and the master divided the mid-day meal among them and among the dogs that were present with them, did he turn to look upon his would-be follower. So Shems-ud- Din, feeling this to be in punishment of his former pride, went aside and sat among the dogs and ate with them. This humility touched Hajji Beyram, who then called Shems-ud- Din to him and accepted him as disciple. Under the Hajji's guidance Aq-Shems-ud-Din soon attained a high level in the Sufi lore, and this, added to his skill as a physician, brought him a great reputation, so that when he repaired to Adrianople, he was received with much honour by Sultan Mehemmed. He accompanied that monarch to the capture of Constantinople. It was during the siege of the Imperial city that the site of the tomb of Ebu-Eyyub the Ansari, the Companion of the Prophet who fell during the first ^Muslim assault on the Byzantine capital, was revealed in a vision to Aq-Shems-ud-Din. On that site Mehemmed built a mosque, the holiest on European ground, in which ever afterwards the Sultans of Turkey have on their accession been girt with the sabre of the founder of their house. Mehemmed wished ' Sheykh Zeyn-ud-Din-i Hdfi was born in Khurasan in 757 (1356), and died in 838 (1435). His biography is in the Crimson Peony. I40 to retain Shems-uct-Din by him, and even to become his disciple ; but the Sheykh declined, and insisted on retiring to Guynuk, ^ a town near Boli, where he had made his home, and where in 864 (1459 — ^o) he died and was buried. Sheykh Aq-Shems-ud-Din had twelve sons, of whom the youngest, Hamd-uUah Chelebi, is the writer of a beautiful poem on the ancient theme of Joseph and Zeli'kha, which was for centuries among the most popular romantic mesnevis in the Turkish language. Hamdi — such is the poet's pen- name — was born at Guynuk, twelve years, it is said, before his father's death. He would seem not to have got on well with his elder brothers, as at the beginning of his great poem he speaks of their jealousy and ill-will, and represents his father as anticipating evil for him from their hostility. He studied for the learned profession, but never attained any high position in the ranks of the '^ulema. The career may not have been to his liking, or perhaps he was disappointed in the matter of promotion ; at any rate he gave up the profession after having been, it is said, Principal of a foundation in Brusa, and retired from public life to study mysticism and write poetry. According to "^Ali, his earliest works were two mystic treatises, the one called Mejalis-ut-Tefasir or 'The Reunions of the Commentaries', and the other a discourse on the famous hadis which says that God has prepared for them that love Him 'What eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither is entered into the heart of man.' ^ Hamdi was ' The town of Guynuk is often called Torbali. 2 The family was a distinguished one. In the Crimson Peony we get bio- graphies of Shems-ud-Di'n himself and of four of his sons, namely, Sa'^d-ullah the eldest, Fazl-ullah, Emr-uUah, and Hamd-uUah the poet. 3 ^i s-^J.J> ^J^ Jai> S^ c>».*-**« Qi31 "3^ oS. Q.A.C "3 Ia This Hadi's is a literal translation of i Corinthians, ii, 9, which in its turn is taken from Isaiah Lxiv, 4. 141 contemporary with Jami, and, if '^Ashiq is correct, he carried on a correspondence with that illustrious Persian, to whom, as we shall see, he was greatly beholden. No particulars concerning Hamdfs life are given by the biographers, probably there was nothing remarkable to record. He seems to have lived in retirement spending his time over his literary work. He was, it would appear, in poor circum- stances and but little esteemed during his lifetime; certainly he complains bitterly enough in more than one of his poems of the neglect which he says was in his day the lot of the learned and deserving. Hasan reports on the authority of his grandfather Miri that in order to gain his living Hamdi used to transcribe with his own hand copies of his Joseph and Zelikha, which, being the author's autograph, were eagerly bought at good prices. ' Hamdi died in the same month of the same year as Nejati, that is, in Zi'-l-QaMe, 914 (March, 1509),'^ and was buried at Guynuk by his father's side. He left a son, Zeyn-ud-Din, who acquired some reputation as a calligraphist. It would seem as though the weavers of legends had sought to compensate in some measure for the lack of picturesque details concerning this poet. Thus we have Riyazi gravely declaring that while Hamdi was yet in his mother's womb his father prophesied concerning him, 'He who is to be born is my poet-son.' Then Evliya Efendi, when speaking of the wonders of St. Sophia in his description of the Constantinople ' In the Hadiqat-ul-Jewami'^, or 'Garden of Mosques', a work descriptive of the mosques, etc. in Constantinople, we are told that Hamdi used to write these copies of his poem in what is called 'the Station of Khizr' (Maqam-i Khizr) in the mosque of St. Sophia. The Hadiqat-ul-Jewami- was printed in 1281 (1864—5). 2 So at least say Latifi and the editor of the Crimson Peony. Katib Chelebi places Hamdi's death in 909 (1503—4), and Riydzi in 900 1494 — 5); but the latter at any rate must be wrong, as one of the poet's works, the Leyla and Mejniin, was finished in 905 (1499 — 1500). 142 mosques, says that if anyone afflicted with a bad memory will make the morning-prayer seven times under the Golden Ball ' which is suspended from the centre of the dome, and will repeat seven times the invocation 'My God! O Unveiler of Difficulties! O Knower of the Secret and the Mysteries!' eating seven black grapes on each occasion, whatever he- desires to remember will thence-forward remain graven on his memory 'like an inscription on a rock.' In proof of which Evliya cites the case of Hamdi the son of Aq-Shems-ud-Di'n, whose memory was so bad that he had to bear with him a paper inscribed with the words 'And on you be peace !' as without looking at this he was unable to remember what to reply to the daily greeting 'Peace be on you I' and who yet, when by his father's advice he acted in accordance with the foregoing instructions, was straightway cured of his failing, and at once began to write his famous poem of Joseph and Zelikha. Although Hamdi wrote many other works, his fame rests entirely on this same poem of Yiisuf u Zelikha or 'Joseph and Zelikha,' a poem which was for centuries among the most popular and most widely known of Ottoman romantic mesnevis. Hamdi's work is avowedly based upon the Persian poems on the same subject by Firdawsi ~ and Jami. The author himself tells us that the ill-usage he had received at the hands of his elder brothers had aroused in him a strong feeling of sympathy for Joseph, who had suffered in the same 1 The writer is referring to the huge gill ball which in old times used to hang from the centre of the dome of St. Sophia. Towards the end of the reign of Ahmed III (1115 — 43 = 1703 — 30) this ball was replaced by the greai\ corona which is still there. 2 The famous poet of the Shah-Name. The date of his Joseph and Zulaykha is not recorded, but the poem is the work of the author's old age. He died in 411 (1020 — l), or, according to others, in 416 (1025 — 6). H3 way, so that he had determined to tell the latter's story in verse, when he unexpectedly became acquainted with JamCs poem. Judging from the book itself, it would appear as though this determination had been carried out, in part at any rate, before the author saw the work of his great con- temporary. For Hamdi's poem is, speaking broadly, a para- phrase of Firdawsfs with a translation of Jami's substituted for the elder poet's account of the hero's dealings with the heroine. Firdawsi's work is entitled 'Joseph and Zelikha,' but in reality it is a versified history of Joseph in which his adventures with the lady whom the East names Zelikha, ' but whom the West knows only as 'Potiphar's wife,' forms but one, albeit a very prominent, episode. Jami's poem on the other hand is truly a 'Joseph and Zelikha,' as it confines itself almost entirely to the relations between the hero and heroine, the adventures of Joseph with his brothers being, when not entirely ignored, skimmed over in the most cursory fashion. There is, moreover, an enormous difference in the style of these two Persian poems, Firdawsi's being a simple, straightforward narrative, while Jami's is, as we have seen elsewhere, •^ one of the most brilliant triumphs of the rheto- rical and allegorising school at the head of which the poet stood. Hamdi's work appears to have been modelled originally upon that of Firdawsi. He follows the narrative of that poet pretty closely up to the point where Joseph is exposed for sale in the Egyptian slave-market, resuming it where the hero is made ruler of Egypt and continuing it down to the death of Jacob. If he had got as far as this when Jami's poem came 'unexpectedly' into his hands, he had doubtless written also the intervening portion of the story, that con- cerning Zelikha, upon the same lines; if so, he then struck ' In Persian this name is pronounced Zulaykha; but in Turkish Zelikha. 2 See p. 9. 144 this out, as through the whole of that portion he ceases to look to Firdawsi, and follows Jami alone. Although Hamdi's work is thus, like Firdawsi's, in reality a versified history of Joseph, it may fairly be called a Joseph and Zelikha, as the part dealing with the love-story of these two, the part transferred from Jami, far exceeds that taken from Firdawsi, and, indeed, forms quite two thirds of the entire poem. The difference in method and style between the two parts is pronounced. Where Hamdi follows Firdawsi he does not translate, he paraphrases, he tells the same story, repeats generally the same incidents in the same order, but he does so in his own words and in his own way, and that in a style not very much more pretentious than that of his model. But when Jami becomes his leader all is changed ; his work is no longer a paraphrase, it is an almost literal translation ; here he follows his guide step by step, canto by canto, often line by line, reproducing nearly all the similes, beautiful, ingenious, and grotesque, which coruscate in the pages of his brilliant exemplar. Great therefore is the contrast between these glittering cantos and the sobre verses inspired by the old poet. The writer himself frankly acknowledges his indebt- edness ; he very accurately describes his poem as 'in part a parallel, in part a translation.' Hamdi selected a new metre in which to write his Joseph and Zelikha, namely, the Khafif, ' a measure not hitherto used for Turkish mesnevi. In so doing he struck out a line for himself, as neither of his models had made use of this variety, Firdawsi's work being in the mutaqarib, the same as the author used for the Shah-Name, and Jami's being in the hexametric hezej. Hamdi follows the example set by Sheykhi in sprinkling through his mesnevi a number of ghazels which have no counterpart in either of the poems 1 See vol. I, p. 109. H5 that he took as models. Besides these lyric interludes, which are scattered with equal freedom through both parts of his work, he introduces into the body of the poem certain incidental stories in mesnevi, over each of which he writes 'Apposite Tale' (Hikayet-i Munasib) ; these, however, are confined almost entirely to that part of the poem which is based upon Firdawsi's. Hamdi shows much skill in the way in which he weaves together the two parts of the history. In that taken from Firdawsi we have the detailed history of the childhood and youth of Joseph, and of his dealings with his envious brethren, culminating in his exposure in the Egyptian slave-market, where Zelikha is shown to us as the most eager of the bidders. This opens the way in a manner both natural and artistic for the introduction of the part transferred from Jami, which begins by relating the heroine's career up to that time, and thus her present anxiety is explained. In Jami's poem, on the other hand, the story of Zelikha is introduced very abruptly immediately after the brief account of Joseph's birth and childhood, without any connecting link whatever, and is broken with equal abruptness after her marriage with the Grandee of Egypt in order that the history of Joseph may be resumed. And this is not the only point in which the Turk shows himself the truer artist. Jami, after finishing his story, moralises through a number of cantos, and in this way weakens the effect produced by his narrative, whereas Hamdi appropriately brings his book to an end with the death of Zelikha, which follows hard on that of Joseph. As u^e have seen, Hamdi follows Firdawsi in the detail with which he recounts his hero's early life and in the order in which he narrates the incidents thereof; but wherever Jami has touched upon these incidents, Hamdi follows him in the manner of his presentation. It may thus be said that 146 the whole of the narrative part of Jami's work, that is, the whole poem except the introductory and dedicatory cantos at the beginning and the didactic cantos at the end, is embodied in the Turkish book. Hamdi's poem was finished nine years later than Jami's, 897 (149 1 — 2) being the date of completion of the former, 888 (1483 — 4) that of the latter, and there can be little doubt that its appearance helped to promote the great reputation which the works of Jami, and especially the Yusuf u Zulaykha, enjoyed throughout Turkey during the Second Period. For this poem, of Hamdi's was not long in acquiring popularity. Several circumstances helped towards this. For one thing, the subject, a sacred story, commended it to the religious ; while the scrupulousness with which, as we are told, the author (or rather his models) adhered to the most appro- ved commentators secured for it the powerful support of the '^ulema. Again it was, taken all in all, the most brilliant and finished piece of work that had hitherto been accomplished in Ottoman verse. The history of Joseph and Zelikha has always been one of the most popular of Oriental stories. It owes the favour in which it has been held in great measure to its sacred origin ; for its source, so far as Islam is concerned, is the Koran itself. The twelfth chapter of the holy volume is almost entirely occupied with the story of the patriarch Joseph, whose adventure with his Egyptian master's wife (nameless there as in Genesis) is recorded along with the other incidents of the narrative. It is this incident which was seized upon by the poets, who, with the assistance of the commentators, worked it up into the elaborate romance befv^re us. The story lent itself too well to the purposes of the Sufi allegorist to be neglected ; Joseph, who is always presented by the poets as the ideal of human beauty, is H7 taken as the type of the Celestial Beauty, that is, the Divinity, while Zelikha, who is depicted as the personification of over- mastering and all-compelling love, can well represent the soul of the mystic enthusiast. This poem of Hamdi's is beyond question the most brilliant Ottoman mesnevi that had up till then been produced. Its only possible rival is the Khusrev and Shirin of Sheykhi, and that, as may be remembered, is not only unfinished, but is written in the Germiyan, not the Ottoman, dialect of Turkish. The style of Hamdi, even when most florid, is simpler than that of Sheykhi, and this not because the later writer is less fond of the jewels of rhetoric, but because the language has progressed during these fifty years, and has become more pliant in the hands of the craftsman. The poet seems to move with greater ease and with a surer step, the result being a certain increase of decision and straightfor- wardness in style which renders the reading of the work correspondingly simpler. The high merit of this poem was, as we have said, soon recognised. Sehi, when praising it, says that men of taste are agreed that not one among those poets who have treated the same theme has been able to surpass it. Latifi speaks of it as a poem without an equal, one which has no rival or peer in Turkish mesnevi, a judgment which is true when we remember at what time the critic wrote; though when he goes on to say that no one can lay finger on a single fl^w or blemish, we must allow something for personal enthusiasm. In the eyes of the biographer one of the great merits of this brilliant poem, the beauty of the language and imagery of which is miracle and enchantment, lies in a point we have already mentioned, namely, the closeness with which the author adheres to the best-authenticated commen- taries on the sacred story which forms his subject. This 148 fidelity to the orthodox version of the history secures for Hamdi the praise likewise of Tash-Koprizade in the Crimson Peony. Hasan Chelebi considers the poem the best of the author's works, and speaks of it as being, like the beauty, of Joseph and the love of Zelikha, in need of no description by any writer and in want of no praise by any critic. '^Ashiq alone does not eulogize the work. He says it is the best of Hamdi's poems, but describes it (correctly enough) as being for the most part an imitation of Jami. He neither praises nor blames it ; he contents himself with repeating, without comment, this story concerning Kemal-Pasha-zade, an illustrious poet and man of letters who flourished shortly after Hamdi and wrote a rival mesnevi on the same theme. ' If anyone, says "^Ashiq, praised the Joseph and Zelikha of Hamdi in presence of Kemal-Pasha-zade, the latter used to reply, 'The fluency and grace in that poem are by virtue of the metre in which it is composed, for the book itself is devoid of beauty and barren of charm,' — a judgment the injustice of which, as Hasan, who repeats the story, remarks, is obvious to 'all persons of culture.' The Joseph and Zelikha of Hamdi remained the highest achievement of Turkish romantic mesnevf for over fifty years, when it was surpassed by the Leyla and Mejnun of Fuzuli. It still remains the finest Turkish poem on the theme. Many subsequent v\^riters chose the same subject, but not one among them ever succeeded in supplanting the son of Aq-Shems- ud-Din. Yet some of those later writers were poets of great merit and great renown, notably Kemal-Pasha-zade whose ungenerous and doubtless prejudiced criticism of his prede- cessor's work we have just seen. ^ ' An account of Kemal-Pasha-zade will be found in a later chapter. 2 The most important of these later poems on the story of Joseph and Zelikha are, apart from Kemal-Pasha-zade's, those l)y Yahya Bey, a distin- 149 Ilanidi's Joseph and ZcliklKi bears no dedication, an unusual circumstance which is thus accounted for by Lati'fi. The poet Zati, who has been mentioned already more than once, told the biographer that Hamdi originally dedicated the book to Sultan Baye/-id, whose praises he sang, according to the general custom, in a special canto. He did not, however, receive such recognition as he thought his due, and in consequence withdrew the dedication and cancelled the laudatory canto ; and thus the poem remains uninscribed with the name of any patron. If this story, which is repeated by Hasan, be correct, it bears strong witness to the courageous and inde- pendent spirit of the poet. The book ' opens of course with the obligatory cantos in guished Albanian poet whose works will be considered in the next volume; and Zihni, a poet of Baghdad, whom also we shall meet in due course. Besides these Katib Chelebi mentions poems on the same favourite theme by Bihishti (Sinan bin-Suleyman). Katib Chelebi mentions Bihishti and Sindn bin-Suleyman separately as though they were distinct individuals; as a matter of fact, Bihishti was the pen-name, Sinan the personal name, of the same poet. This is probably the Bihishti who, Latifi tells us, had on account of some misdemeanour to fly to Persia during the reign of Bayezid II, but who was forgiven on returning with letters of intercession from jami and Newa^i, and who wrote a 'response' to the Khamsa (Nizami's ?), the first, according to his own statement, in the Turkish language, one of the poems composing which was a Ydsuf u Zeli'khd, a couplet from which is quoted by Latifi; 979 (1571 — 2) is the date given in Fluegel's edition of Katib Chelebi as that of Bihishti's death, (a marginal note to my MS. of "^Ashiq's Tezkire places it in 977): by Kami (Sheykh Jemdl-zade) who died in 952 (1545 — 6): by Khalifa who completed his work in 970 (1562 — 3); this is possibly the same poet whom Katib Chelebi credits with a Khusrev u Shirin (see vol. I, p. 311, n. 2.): by Shikari who died in 992 (1584 — 5) leaving his poem unfinished: by Ni'^meti (NiSnet-ullah of Khonaz near Aydin) who was a contemporary of "^Ashiq's : and by Cadi Sinan who is mentioned also by Hasan Chelebi. Katib Chelebi speaks further of a trans- lation of Jami's poem which was made for Sultan "^Osman II in 1030 (1621) by a certain Sheykh ^Omer of Maghnisa who was a member of the Khalveti dervish-order; and of a poem, named Mu'nis-ul-^'Ushshaq or 'The Lovers' Fa- miliar,' by a poet called "-"Abd-ul-Mejid-i Qirimi, which, he adds, is one of the most elegant that have been composed on the story. The subject has been dealt with also by Chakeri, a minor poet of Bayezid II's time, and by Sherif. ' Hamdi's Yiisuf u Zelikha does not appear to have been printed; but its ISO praise of God and the Prophet, whose Ascension is duly celebrated, and whose first four successors, Ebu-Bekr, "^Omer, "^Osman, and '^Ali ' are severally eulogized. This is followed by 'The Reason of the Writing.' Here the poet calls on his soul to awake, remembering that time when it shall go forth naked from the body and when it will find what it has wrought. He then speaks of his father Sheykh Aq-Shems- ud-Din, whom he remembers as a frail old man, and who, he says, used to look on him, his little child, with pity, and used to say that, were it not for this son of his, he would gladly go from the sorrows of the world, but that he feared lest the cruelty of his brethren should make this poor orphan weep even as did Joseph. These fears were realized, for when his father was dead, Hamdi continues, his brethren did as had been foretold ; the old man departed, but he himself remained in sorrow, a helpless orphan whose heart was pierced by many wrongs. Joseph indeed found an end to his woes, but he has never found any end to his; Joseph's brethren acted with cruelty and jealousy, his own have behaved yet worse. Still in thinking upon Joseph he found comfort ; and as he has suffered from the same wrongs as Joseph, his suffering has taught him the truth of Joseph's story. He then looked about him and saw that this story had never yet been told in Turkish. - And yet the story of Joseph is, like the beauty of Joseph, the fairest in existence, former popularity is attested by the number of MSS. to be found and the great beauty of many of these. The British Museum possesses three (Or. 2172: Add. 19,364: Or. 1171). In my collection there are two, one of which is embellished with miniatures; and I have been offered several others. 1 These four theocratic rulers are called Hhe Just Khalifas' (Khulefa-yi Rashidin) and are regarded as semi-sacred personages; their reigns constitute what\has been well described as Hhe Apostolic Age' of Islam. 2 It may he remembered that one of the earliest Turkish books in existence deals with the story of Joseph and Zelikha (see vol. i, p. 72); but of course Hamdi would know nothing of this ancient Central Asian poem. 151 and is moreover adorned with many a lesson ; though to tell it as it should be told would require the most sweet- voiced poet. But where is there anyone like Firdawsi or like Jami whose fame will be high in either world ? Although Hamdi himself is weak and a stammerer in verse, yet as his plight has been that of Joseph, he had resolved to attempt his history when of a sudden he received a draught from Jami. ' And so his own poem is in part translation, in part parallel. He then prays that for the love of Joseph God may deal leniently by him and make his poem a worthy memento' so that his name may be remembered like those of his illustrious predecessors. The story opens with a brief account of the patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, through whom the office of the Prophetship descends to Joseph. This leads up to the birth of the last-named, who, as well as his brethren, is born in Syria, whither his father Jacob has fled for fear of his brother Esau. After the birth of his children Jacob returns to Canaan, where he makes his peace with Esau, and where Rachel, Joseph's mother, dies in giving birth to Benjamin. Joseph, as we have already seen, is described as the most lovely of all human beings, and Hamdi here interrupts his story to repeat the legend that on his creation, the eyes of Adam were opened so that he beheld in the Spirit World the whole multitude of his descendents, when, on looking down the long ranks, his gaze fell upon a youth of such exceeding beauty that in love and wonder he asked of God who yon might be ; whereupon the answer came that yon was Joseph, the flower of Israel, upon whom was conferred two thirds of the beauty of humanity; the remaining third (such was the inference) being for distribution among all the rest of mankind. 1 i. e. he saw Jami's poem and received inspiration therefrom. * 152 So lovely, continues the tale, is Joseph even in his early childhood that Inas, his aunt and Jacob's sister, who nurses him after the death of his mother, unable to bear parting with him when his father wishes to take him to himself, devises a trick by means of which she contrives to keep him with her till her death, which occurs not long after- wards. Without the boy's being aware of it, she manages to fasten round his waist a belt which has descended to her as an hierloom from her father Isaac. When Joseph leaves to go to Jacob she pretends to miss this belt, which being found on the lad, he is adjudged a thief, and as such made over as slave to the person whose property he has stolen, that being the law in those days. On the death of his aunt, Joseph goes to live with his father Jacob, whose love for his beautiful child grows stronger day by day, so that he begins entirely to neglect his other sons. This arouses the jealousy of the latter, whose hatred towards their young brother is yet further increased by hearing of a dream in which the lad saw the sun, moon, and eleven stars bowing down before him like slaves. They therefore scheme among themselves to get rid of the obnoxious youth. Some propose to kill him oft-hand, but at the sugges- tion of Reuben they decide on casting him into a pit in the desert and there leaving him to perish of hunger. They consequently suggest to Jacob that as it is now springtide when the fields are gay with flowers he should let Joseph accompany them when they go forth to pasture their flocks that he may divert himself by playing in the meadows. Joseph himself, being anxious to go, begs his father's permission, and so Jacob, though filled with misgivings, is induced to grari^ his consent. At first the demeanour of the brothers towards Joseph is very kind, but as soon as they are well out of their father's sight, they begin to beat and abuse 153 him ill the most cruel fasliion, driving and dragging liim along the thorny way, till they reach the mouth of the black and noisome pit. Into this they lower the beautiful boy, heedless of his prayers for mercy, cutting the rope after they have let him down. It so happens that Joseph lights on a stone which rises above the water in the bottom of the pit; and there he remains in safety, ministered to, say the chroniclers, by an angel sent from Heaven, for he was of the goodly fellowship of the Prophets. His brothers gather round the pit-mouth and begin to revile him, except- ing only Judah, who addresses to him some kind words. In the meantime Jacob is longing for the return of his beloved Joseph, and as the day passes and night comes on without any word of his sons he begins to dread some catastrophe. At length the elder brothers arrive without Joseph, and seek to deceive their father by telling him that while they were playing a wolf devoured the boy who was watching over their clothes, in proof of which story they show him the lad's coat which they had smeared with the blood of an animal. Jacob refuses to believe them, but is so overcome at being severed from his dear son that he swoons. The brothers, angry at his doubting their word, propose to return and slay Joseph, and, by producing his mutilated members, convince their disbelieving father; but from this they are dissuaded by Judah, who even threatens to kill anyone who attempts to injure the boy. On recover- ing, Jacob looks at the coat, sees it is untorn, and tells his sons that their story is a lie, since, if a wolf had devoured Joseph, it must have torn his coat while doing so. They are discomfited, but invent another story to the effect that a robber killed their brother; but this also Jacob denies, saying no robber would kill a boy and leave his coat. The old man then soes out into the wilderness and wanders about seekinc: 154 Joseph for seven days, when the angel Gabriel appears and bids him be patient, whereupon he returns to his home and continues to dwell there in sorrow. His sons, annoyed at his disbelief of their story, go out and catch a wolf which they bring to their father, declaring him to be the same beast which devoured Joseph. At Jacob's prayer, God opens the mouth of the wolf, who declares his innocence, and, in answer to Jacob's questioning, says that he has come from Egypt to Canaan in search of a lost brother. Jacob, touched at the sight of so much affection in a wolf, prays that he may find his lost brother, where- upon the wolf in turn prays that Jacob may find his son. He then returns to the desert, calls the wild beasts around him, and tells them of Jacob's loss and how they have been blamed ; so they go in a body to the Prophet, protest their innocence, and implore him not to curse them, which he, convinced of the truth of their words, promises not to do. Judah, moved with pity, goes with food for Joseph to the pit, wherein he sees the latter seated conversing with an angel, upon which he returns, tells his brothers what he has seen, and persuades them to accompany him and release Joseph. But when they get near the pit they are met by Satan in the form of a man, who, having asked their purpose, turns them from it by pointing out that if Joseph is restored to his father, they will stand self-convicted of falsehood, and will be distrusted and despised ever after. They therefore give up the idea and retire. And now there passes by that way a Midianite caravan in which is a merchant, Malik by name, who has come to Canaan in consequence of a dream in which he was shown that> he would in that land become the possessor of a slave through whom he should attain to high fortune. When the caravan approaches the pit where Joseph is, all the camels 155 appear attracted towards it, whence Malik divines that tlic object of his quest is there. So he and his men go up to the pit-mouth and let down a bucket, into which Joseph climbs at the bidding of the angel. When he is drawn up, Malik is delighted beyond measure at the beauty of his prize, and at once recognises that this is the lad promised to him in his vision. He has not long rejoined the caravan before Joseph's brothers, who have been lurking near, come forward and claim the lad as their run-away slave ; but even- tually they agree to sell him to Malik for twenty pieces of silver, and sign and deliver to the merchant a contract to that effect. Before parting from his brothers Joseph is allowed to say a few words to them, when by the gentleness of his speech he rouses their compassion so that they regret the evil they have done. The caravan then moves on. It passes by the tomb of Rachel, the mother of Joseph, when the latter slips aside, and throwing himself upon the tomb, weeps and implores his dead mother's protection. Ere long his absence is noticed and search is made for him ; he is disco- vered on the tomb by Eflah, the black slave whom Malik had placed in charge of him, and who, enraged at his dis- appearance, begins to beat him. The youthful Prophet then prays to God and a terrific storm bursts over the caravan and throws everyone into consternation. Eflah rushes in with a huge snake clinging to his neck, and, speechless with terror, points to Joseph as the source of the trouble. Thereupon, at Malik's entreaty, the lad again prays, and the storm ceases, and the snake falls away from Eflah's neck. This incident causes all the travellers to treat Joseph with the greatest respect as a favourite of Heaven, and to make him master of the caravan. They pass through Nablus, where the beauty and wisdom of Joseph (who being a Prophet is of course an inspired 156 teacher) convert the people to the Unity; then through Bisyan, the inhabitants, of which make an image in the form of Joseph and worship it ; then through '^Asqalan, where the savage king is turned from an intended attack on the caravan by the sight of the boy's beauty; and then through '^Arish, previous to entering which Joseph thinks in himself how all the people will come and admire his beauty, and is much surprised to find that the citizens, being themselves very beautiful, pay no heed to him ; he perceives that this is the punishment of his pride, and humbles himself before God, whereupon the people approach and pay their respects to him. The caravan enters Egypt and halts on the bank of the Nile. When Joseph bathes in the river to wash away the dust of travel, a dragon comes up from the stream and watches over him, scaring away would-be on-lookers and only retiring when the boy has finished his toilet. As the caravan comes into Egypt a celestial herald pro- claims to the people the advent of the fairest of human beings, in consequence of which all, rich and poor, high and low, go forth to meet the travellers. At the request of the chiefs of the people Malik allow^s Joseph to come out of his litter and show himself to the crowd, who, enraptured by his beauty, accompany the caravan to the capital of the country. Here the people throng round Malik's house eager for a glimpse of the wondrous beauty, and the merchant reaps a rich harvest by admitting visitors to see the lad on paying each a piece of gold. He, however, determines to sell the boy, and so he prepares a splendid stage at one end of a great square, and on this stage he erects a magni- ficent throne on which Joseph is to sit during the transaction. WH";sn the morning of the sale arrives the square is crowded with the pavilions of the highest and richest of the Egyptian nobles, all eager to look upon, even if they cannot acquire 157 the wondrous boy. Prominent amontj these nobles is Potiphar (Qitfir) the Grandee of Egypt, ' the greatest man in the country after the King Reyyan who has practically committed the royal power into his hands. This magnate has had a pavilion erected in the square for the use of his young wife Zelikhci, a lady of peerless beauty, with whose appearance on the scene what we might call the first part of Hamdi's romance closes. ^ The second part begins with the story of Zelikha. Taymus, the mighty King of the Sunset-land, * has one only daughter, by name Zelikha, the paragon of loveliness, who is nurtured in every luxury, and who spends her days in all delight, playing in the palaces and gardens with her young compa- nions, beautiful and high-born girls of her own age. Her heart is free; she knows nothing of love and its many sorrows; and so she is happy as the day is long. But one night she sees in a dream a youth of superhuman beauty, and her peace of mind is gone for ever; for no sooner has she looked upon the glorious vision than she falls passionately, hopelessly, in love. When she awakes she looks round about her, dazed and bewildered, vaguely hoping that she may see some sign of the beloved; then realising the position, she bravely controls herself and goes among her companions smiling and gay as usual, but with her heart on fire. How- ever, they soon discover from her demeanour that there is something astray, and her nurse, who has watched over her from her infancy, asks her what has happened, but she ' '^Aziz-'i Misr, 'Grandee of Egypt' or 'Magnate of Egypt', is a title given exclusively to Potiphar and (after him) to Joseph, the word "^Aziz, 'Grandefe' or 'Magnate' being used in the Koran as the title of these two personages. It is equivalent to Grand Vezir '^ Throughout the first part Hamdf follows in the main Firdawsi^ through the whole of the second he follows Jami almost step for step. 3 See vol. I, p. 278, n. 3. 158 answers that she cannot tell. They then inform her father, and to his questioning she replies that she has fallen in love with a youth whom she has seen in a dream, whereupon he bids her keep the matter secret. Some time after this Zelikha again sees the same beautiful youth in her dreams, when, in response to her entreaties, he tells her that he is a human being, that he knows her love to be sincere, that she shall never give herself to any but to him, and that he himself is in love with her. This second vision sets the girl beside herself, so that for safety's sake they have to fetter her with golden chains. Yet a third time her beloved appears to her in a dream, and on this occasion, when she prays him to reveal his name and dwelling-place, he tells her that he is the Grandee of Egypt. This news so delights^ her that it effects her cure ; she recovers from her frenzy, the golden chains are removed, and she mingles again with her girl-companions, but her thoughts are ever full of the Grandee of Egypt. There now arrive at the court of Taymus ambassadors from seven monarchs, the Kings namely of Yemen, Abyssinia, "^Iraq, Syria, the Frankish Sea, Rum, and Thibet, all of whom are anxious to obtain the hand of the fair Zelikha, the fame of whose beauty has spread through all lands. But that lady, faithful to her troth, refuses to have any dealings with the envoys when she learns that there is among them no repre- sentative of the Grandee of Egypt. Her kind father, seeing how strong is her resolution, sends an envoy to that noble with a letter in which he says that he has an only daughter, peerless in beauty, whom the Kings of the earth desire, but whose heart is set on Egypt, and praying the Grandee to return a favourable answer. The latter, delighted at the pro|)osed honour, at once despatches his grateful acquiescence by carrier pigeon ; then dismisses the King's messenger laden with rich gifts and accompanied by an envoy of his own. 159 This envoy is received with every honour by Taymus, who makes over to him his daughter, and she, accompanied by her nurse and a splendid retinue, joyfully sets out for Egypt. On their arrival in that country they are met by the Grandee Potiphar and all his retainers who have marched out to wel- come them. Zelikhci is all eagerness to look upon the Grandee, so her nurse makes a little slit in the pavilion through which she peeps, but great indeed is her dismay when she sees a withered old man instead of the radiant youth of her dreams. She is well-nigh bereft of her reason by this trick that for- tune has played her, the more especially as she has pledged her troth to the fair boy; but an inward voice bids her be of comfort, and know that though this man is not the object of her desire, he is the means through which she shall attain it. The escort forms round her caravan, and they enter the Egyptian capital in state, when she is taken to the magnificent palace of the Grandee, where, though sur- rounded by every luxury and splendour, she remains very unhappy. Her days are spent in yearning for her beloved and in prayers to the breeze to seek him out in its wander- ings, while her one consolation is that she is able to keep her troth as Potiphar is a eunuch. ^ So she dwells in the palace of the Grandee with her heart full of her love, and wherever she hears of a beautiful youth she seeks him out in the hope that he may prove to be the object of her passion. And this brings the story of Zelikha up to the point where we first meet her. The love-sick lady, having heard of the arrival of Malik the merchant with a slave-boy of extraordinary beauty, at once determines to attend the sale at which the latter is to be offered. She accordingly repairs thither, accompanied by 1 As in the Vulgate, where in Genesis xxxvii, 36, we read, in Wyclifs translation, of 'Potiphar, the geldyng of Pharao.' i6o her faithful nurse who knows her secret, and takes her place in the pavilion Potiphar has had erected for her. No sooner is Joseph exposed for sale than Zelikha recognises in him the beautiful being who has visited her in her dreams and the love of whom has brought her to Egypt from her native land. She swoons at the sight, but is restored to her senses by her nurse, who sprinkles rose-water on her face. She then sends the nurse to Joseph to tell him that the Grandee's wife wishes to purchase him and adopt him as her son. The beautiful young Prophet replies that he knows Zelikha's case, and is himself in love with her, but that they must yet wait many years ere they can attain to their desires. The nurse returns with this message. Then the auction begins. Everyone is eager to bid ; even a poor old woman comes forward with a bundle of yarn, her only possession, which she offers. Someone bids a purse of gold, this is soon increased to a hundred ; then someone offers the boy's weight in pure musk, this is bettered by another's offer of his weight in jewels. At last Zelikha makes her bid, double that of the others, who are thus put to silence. She then sends to the Grandee asking him to buy the boy and adopt him as his son, and on Potiphar's replying that he has not treasure enough to supply the price, she provides for it from her own store of jewels. The Grandee then purchases Joseph from Malik and hands him over to the care of Zelikha. Here the narrator pauses in the course of his history to tell the story of another lady who was present at the sale. This is Bazigha, a young lady of high lineage, great beauty and immense wealth. All this good fortune had made her proud, and when she had heard of Joseph, though she loved hii'.^ from the accounts brought to her, she had thought to humble him before her own loveliness and magnificence. She had therefore arrayed herself in splendid apparel and i6i ridden with a gorgeous retinue to the square where the lad was exposed for sale. When she had reached the place she had perceived that no one did so much as cast an eye upon her, for all her fairness and her bravery, so intent were all in gazing on the surpassing beauty of the boy. No sooner had she herself looked upon him than she had been dazzled by his radiance, and going up to him, had asked who was his Maker. The young Prophet had replied so sweetly and so wisely, telling her how his Maker was the one God, speaking of the Heavenly Beauty whereof he himself was but a mirror, and praising the virtues of humility and self- sacrifice, that she, casting aside all her pride, had gone straightway and given away all her wealth, and built for herself a mud hovel on the banks of the Nile, wherein she spent the rest of her life worshipping the true God. When Zelikha brings Joseph home with her to her palace, she has difficulty in believing that this meeting too is not a dream. She is filled with delight at possessing her beloved, and spends her days in attending on him, clothing him in the richest garments and feeding him with the daintiest foods. On one occasion when they are communing together, Joseph tells Zelikha the sad story of his brothers' treachery and his imprisonment in the pit. This recalls to the remembrance of the lady a strange feeling of depression which had one day possessed her, and for which she had been unable to give any reason to her solicitous nurse, but now, counting back, she discovers that this occurred at the very time when Joseph was imprisoned in the pit; — such is the telepathy between lovers. One day when Joseph is seated beside the Grandee, there arrives before the palace-gate an Arab, whose camel, despite blows and curses, had insisted on bringing him there; and no sooner does this camel see the lad than it goes up to II 1 62 him with its eyes filled with tears. Joseph also weeps, and, on being asked the reason, says that this camel had been present when he parted from his father. He bids the Arab return and speak with him when he is alone. This the Arab does, when Joseph tells him who he is and asks concerning his father. The traveller then informs him of the old man's desolation at his absence, and how he has left his home and raised for himself the House of Sorrows ' where he abides in sadness, yearning for news of his dear son. Joseph then charges him to return and tell his father of his adven- tures and his present position in Egypt, and how he has known no happiness since they parted. The Arab does as he is bidden, goes to Jacob in his House of Sorrows, and tells him that his beloved son is well and honoured, but that he is a servant of the servant of the King of Egypt. The old man is glad to hear the news, and is filled with hope that his son will yet himself become lord of the land. ^ As the Prophets are the 'shepherds of mankind', the shepherd's calling has ever been affected by them. Joseph, knowing this, is anxious to act as a shepherd for a short time, so Zelikha, eager to gratify his every wish, gives orders that a flock of beautiful sheep be collected and placed in his charge. He therefore goes out into the country, and for a few days pastures his sheep among the hills and valleys. Before Zelikha had met with Joseph her greatest desire had been to behold him, but now that she is under the same roof as he, and in daily communion with him, she yearns for a closer union. The fair young Prophet, however, ' Beyt-ul-Ahzdn, 'the House of Sorrows', is the name of the dwelling which Jacob made for himself after Joseph's departure, and in which he dwelt during the vr-^ary years of separation. It is often referred to by the poets, who are fond of comparing to it the home of the lover parted from his beloved. 2 This incident of the Arab and of Joseph's message to his father is taken from Firdawsi. It docs not occur in Jdmi. i63 gives her no encouragement; when she looks lovingly upon him, he bashfully averts his eyes, and when she would approach him, he flies from her. This coldness distresses the lady so that it begins to tell upon her beauty, and when her nurse, who perceives this, asks her the reason of it, she confesses that it is owing to the indifference displayed towards her by Joseph. She then sends the nurse to the lad with a prayer that he will take compassion on her love, to which he replies that though he can never repay Zelikha for all her kindness towards him, he cannot consent to her wishes in this matter, nor betray his master who has treated him as a son and placed him in charge of his house ; and that, moreover, to commit so unholy a deed as she suggests is impossible for a Prophet descended from a race of Prophets. Zelikha then goes to him herself, tells him of her passionate love, and entreats him to have pity on her. He weeps at her words, and answers kindly but firmly, telling her with tears in his eyes how sorrow has ever been the lot of all who have loved him. Realizing now that she cannot obtain her desire by entreaty, Zelikha determines to try craft. She has a beautiful garden, into which she sends Joseph attended by a hundred lovely girls, telling him that all of these are free, being unmarried, and that he may take whichever among them pleases his fancy. She also instructs the girls to do all in their power to please the boy, and bids them, if he shows a fancy for any one of them, at once send word to her; for in that case it is her intention to slip at night into the favoured maiden's place. When evening comes these fair girls gather round Joseph and seek in various ways to entice him to their love ; but he resists all their allurements, and speaks to them with such sweetness and wisdom that they all forsake their false gods and confess the Unity. And so when 164 Zelikha comes to the garden in the morning she finds Joseph, his face illumined with a new beauty, surrounded by a bevy of fair disciples hanging on his inspired words. But he will not look on her, and, when she approaches, he turns, as always, his eyes to the ground, for he fears to look upon her beauty and sorrow lest at the sight his resolution should give way. Zelikha returns to her nurse and complains bitterly of Joseph's disregard, and when the old woman tells her to go before him in her irresistible beauty, she replies that this is vain, since he refuses even to look upon her. The nurse then suggests a device by which he may be compelled to look on the lady; she proposes to Zelikha to build a pavilion, and to have painted on the walls, ceiling and floor thereof pictures of herself and Joseph locked in one another's arms, and then to bring the youth thither, when, even if he turn his eyes away from her, he will see both her and himself wheresoever he look; and in this way she will compel his acquiescence, for 'when the eye sees, the heart desires.' A magnificent palace, consisting of seven pavilions one within the other, is therefore built under the nurse's direction ; the whole is splendidly decorated, especially the seventh or innermost pavilion, the walls, ceiling and floor of which are covered with beautifully executed pictures of Joseph and Zelikha kissing or embracing one another. When the palace is ready, Zelikha arrays herself in all her splendour, and summons Joseph. She leads him into the first pavilion, locks the door, and there again declares her love. He displays his usual modesty; but is led from one pavilion into another by the lady, who locks each door after them. When they are shut up in the seventh pavilion, Zelikha renews her prayers, and when Joseph turns his eyes to the ground he sees <;here the pictured figures of himself and herself clasped i65 in tender embrace. He looks away to the walls, where the same sight meets his view; he turns his eyes upward to pray for help, and the lovers look down on him from the ceiling. Thus seeing the beauty of Zelikha everywhere, he begins to incline towards her, and she, perceiving this, presses her advantage. He summons up his faltering resolution, and tells her that he dares not accede to her desire, adding, when she enquires the reason, that he fears the anger of the Grandee and the wrath of God. She replies that she will poison the Grandee, while as for the wrath of God, Joseph has often said that his God is a forgiving God, and to appease Him she will give for His service a treasury of jewels. Joseph answers that he cannot consent to the murder of his kind master, and that God, who is Lord of all things, is not to be bribed. Driven to desperation, Zelikha then draws a dagger, and is on the point of slaying herself before him, when he seizes her hand and bids her stop, for she will surely attain her goal. When she hears this, she casts away the dagger, and throws her arms about Joseph. He is on the very point of yielding when he notices a golden curtain drawn in front of some object in a corner of the room. He asks what is behind ; she answers that it is her god, before whom she has hung up a curtain that he may not see what she is about to do. This recalls Joseph to himself: shall he, the Prophet of the Omnipresent God, from whose sight nothing is hid, do this deed which a heathen woman shrinks from doing in the presence of her idol ? He springs from the couch and rushes to the door, which flies open before him, as do all the others. Zelikha pursues him, and as he is escaping through the seventh door she catches his flying garment which tears in two, the hinder portion remaining in her hands while Joseph himself escapes. As he is fleeing from the pavilion, the lad meets Potiphar 1 66 and his retinue, and, being asked what is astray, makes some excuse which casts suspicion on no one. The Grandee takes him by the hand and enters the paviHon; and Zeli'kha, seeing them thus, fears that she has been betrayed, and at once charges Joseph with having attempted her honour. Joseph denies the charge and tells the truth, declaring that it was Zelikha who tempted him. But the Grandee believes his wife, and, bitterly reproaching Joseph, orders the gaoler to bear him off to prison. Joseph silently prays to God to manifest his innocence ; and, in response, an infant three months old in the arms of its mother (a kinswoman of Zelfkha's who is present amongst the suite) lifts up its voice and declares that if the garment of Joseph be rent in front Zelikha is the truth-speaker, but that if it be rent behind then it is Joseph. Potiphar examines Joseph's garment, and, finding it rent behind, is convinced by this miracle of the lad's innocence; whereupon he upbraids Zelikha, and prays Joseph to keep silence on the whole matter. Nevertheless the report of Zelikha's unrequited love for her Hebrew slave spreads through the city, and the Egyptian ladies are loud in their denunciations of the Grandee's wife. In order to silence them, Zelikha invites them to a splendid banquet, and at the close of it she asks them whether they would like to see the slave for loving whom they blame her so bitterly. On their replying that they would greatly like to do so, she persuades Joseph to come before them, having previously given to each lady an orange, which was held to be an aid to digestion. They are holding these oranges in their hands, ready to cut them after they have seen the wondrous slave; but on his appearing they are so overcome by his dazzHng beauty that they all cut their hands instead of their oranges. Some, moreover, die of ecstasy stra^htway; others go mad for love, and never again recover 167 their reason; whilst those who retain their wits are love-sick for the rest of their lives, and declare that no blame attaches to Zelikha, since it is impossible not to be smitten by such beauty; and they there and then offer themselves to Joseph, since he cares not for Zelikha. This makes Joseph pray to God to send him to prison, where he will at least be safe from women and their importunity. When the ladies see this obduracy, they advice Zelikha to throw the youth into prison until he consents to comply with her wishes. That night, accordingly, the lady suggests to her husband that the best way to clear her name before the people would be to send Joseph to prison, having first paraded him as a criminal through the city on an ass's back, proclaiming at the same time that such is the reward of him who abuses his master's trust; for no one would believe she loved the lad when she allowed him to be treated in this fashion. The Grandee consents, and so Joseph is disgraced and led to prison ; but no sooner is he there than Zelikha sends word to the gaoler to treat him with all honour and kindness. Separated from her beloved, the lady knows no peace ; she wanders to and fro in her lonely palace, and seeks to solace herself with kissing the different garments that Joseph has worn. In her despair she even seeks to kill herself, and is prevented from doing so only by the intervention of her faithful nurse. Eager to see again her beloved, Zelikha goes with her nurse to the prison, where, hidden in a corner, they gaze on Joseph, whom they find occupied in prayer. And so for many a day the unhappy lady finds her only consolation in surreptitious visits such as this, and in gazing on the prison-roof from the terrace of her palace. Meanwhile Joseph in the gaol makes friends of the other prisoners by his kindly sympathy and by his gift of the interpretation of dreams. Amongst these prisoners are two 1 68 young officers of the King's household. One night each of these has a singular dream which they relate to their Hebrew friend, who tells the one that his vision signifies impending execution, the other that his indicates approaching release and restoration to favour; and at the same time he requests the latter to mention his own hard case before King Reyyan. Things fall out as Joseph has predicted, but the fortunate officer forgets all about his friend until long afterwards, when Reyyan himself has a strange dream of seven fat kine followed by seven lean, and seven full ears of corn followed by seven thin. None is found able to interpret this vision, the dream- readers pronouncing it to be of the class of 'tangled dreams' ' and consequently without significance, till the officer, bethink- ing him of Joseph, mentions him to the King, who bids him go straightway to the prison and inquire of the youth the interpretation. Joseph answers that it foretells seven years of plenty followed by seven years of dearth. Hastening back to the King, the officer relates what he has been told ; and the monarch, delighted at this sagacity, desires Joseph to appear before him. This the latter declines to do until his innocence is established. So at his desire Zelikha and the ladies who were present at her banquet are summoned to the royal presence, where they all admit that Joseph is blameless and Zelikha confesses that she alone is the guilty one. Joseph is then led with great pomp before King Reyyan, who, won by his wise words, makes him Grandee of Egypt and virtual ruler of the country. The old Grandee, Potiphar, dies soon after this, and Zelikha, still wildly in love with Joseph, parts with all her riches to those who bring her news concerning her beloved. With hair turned white through bitter sorrow, and eyes blinded from constant weeping, she dwells, a poor beggar, in a hut of ' See vol, I, p. 57, n. i. 169 reeds by the roadside, finding her only sohice in listening to the noise made by Joseph's cavalcade as from time to time it passes by. One day when the Grandee is about to pass she goes before her idol and prays it to restore her sight and to grant that Joseph may deign to look on her; then she goes and stands in the way along which he is to come. But no one takes any heed of her, and in despair she rushes back to her hut and breaks her idol in pieces, reproaching it with its disregard. She then turns to the true God and humbles herself before Him and craves His pardon and favour, after which she goes forth again and stands in the way. When Joseph is returning she cries out, 'Glory to Him who raiseth the fallen and maketh the slave to be King!' Her cry is heard by Joseph and pierces his heart, and he orders an officer to bring her who uttered it to his palace. Joseph does not recognise her when she is shown into his presence, and has to ask her name and story. When she says that she is Zelikha who has loved him all her life, his heart goes out towards her, and he asks her what is her wish. She answers, to recover her beauty and her sight; so Joseph prays, and her beauty and sight are restored so that she is more lovely than she had ever been before. He asks her what more she wishes; and she replies that if he wijl promise not to take her answer amiss, she will tell, but that other- wise she will remain silent. He promises, and she says that her one wish is to be his love and to be ever with him. He hesitates a moment, but his scruples are set aside by a voice from the Unseen World which tells him that Zelikha has found favour in the eyes of God and bids him accede to her desire. So Joseph gladly consents ; and he and Zelikha are married with all splendour and in all happiness. Love begets love ; so the perfect love of Zelikha affects I/O the heart of Joseph in such measure that he cannot endure to be a moment parted from her, day or night. Then the grace of God enters into Zeh'kha's soul ; she sees the Celestial Beauty everywhere, and thus her heart passes over the Bridge of the Typal love of Joseph to the Real love of the Divine Perfection ; ^ and this before Joseph himself has reached the farther side. And thus it comes about that one night, when Joseph would caress her, she springs from his embrace ; he rushes after her and seizes her flying garment, which tears in his hand : and in this way he and she are made equal in their love. Then, when Joseph perceives that Zelikha's heart is turned to the love of heavenly things, he builds for her a splendid temple where she may pass her days wor- shipping The Truth. This brings us to the third part of Hamdi's story, that dealing with the later relations of Joseph with his father and brothers. ^ The poet proceeds to describe the seven years of plenty and the seven years of dearth that prevail over Egypt, and tells how during the first period Joseph makes the people cultivate all the country while the con- ditions are favourable, and stores up the grain which results from their labours. We then get in detail the story of Joseph's brethren coming to buy corn in Egypt, of his stratagem to retain Benjamin by hiding a cup in his sack, and of his making himself known to his brothers; — all as related in the Book of Genesis. Joseph sends his brothers back to Canaan to fetch their old father Jacob and all their families, and he gives his shift to Judah (who had carried to his father the blood-stained coat) telling him to lay it over the head of Jacob, who will thereby recover his sight. They set • See vol. I, pp. 20 — I. ^ In the third part of his poem Ilamdi goes back to Firdawsi, whom he follows generally till he reaches the final cantos, those describing the deaths of Joseph and Zelikhd, when he returns to Jami. out, and, while they are yet a great way off, Jacob, sitting mourning in his House of Sorrows, perceives the scent of Joseph borne on the breeze from the shift that Judah is bringing, and is comforted. When Judah lays the shift over the head of Jacob, the latter then and there recovers his sight, and is straightway rejoiced by the glad tidings of his beloved son's good fortune. They all set out at once for Egypt, on reaching which they are received with every honour by King Reyyan and Joseph, and are conducted in state to the palace, where they are magnificently entertained, and where Jacob and his wife and sons bow before Joseph as he is seated on his throne, thus fulfilling the dreams of his boyhood. Many happy years follow; and at length Jacob dies. One night Joseph enters the temple to pray, and in a vision he beholds his father and mother, radiant in celestial beauty, and they call on him to come and join them in their true home, which is his as well as theirs. On awaking, Joseph is filled with a great yearning to be reunited with his father and mother where they are, and he lifts up his soul in prayer that God may take him from the world and permit him to accept the invitation he has received. He then tells Zelikha of this, and she is filled with sorrow, knowing that Joseph's prayer is never made in vain. She too therefore prays that God may take her soul likewise, as she cannot live without her beloved. One day soon after this, as Joseph is mounting to ride out, the Angel Gabriel appears to him, and bids him descend from his horse and return home, for his hour is come. Joseph thanks God for the good news, and, re-entering his palace, appoints his suc- cessor, and dies rejoicing. When Zelikha hears that her dearly beloved husband is no more, she swoons for her grief, and lies for days unconscious, and when her senses return 1/2 she seeks out Joseph's grave, and, throwing herself upon it, dies. And here Hamdi's poem appropriately ends. There remain but four lines, which inform us that the work was finished by Hamdi in 897 (1491 — 2), and that the author leaves it as his souvenir to those who sorrow, begging that they will remember him in their prayers. To these there have been added four lines in the Persian language in which the writer says that this book is dearer to him than a thousand sons, and in which the reader's prayers are again besought. The most important of Hamdi's works after the Joseph and Zelikha is his version of the famous romance of Leyla and Mejnun which, as a couplet at the end informs us, was completed in 905 (1499 — 1500). ' This sad little story, which some say is based upon the adventures of two unhappy Arab lovers of the time of the Umeyyads, has, notwithstand- ing the slightness of its plot and the monotony of its incidents, been at all times amongst the most popular of themes with the Eastern poets ; and this no doubt because these poets looked upon their romantic mesnevis less as narratives than as vehicles for long and elaborate discourses upon Love; and for such a purpose the story of Leyla and Mejnun is pre-eminently suited. According to Katib Chelebi, the earliest Ottoman poem on this subject was that written by Shahidi of Adrianople, the follower of Prince Jem, in 881 (1476- — 7).^ But as this work, if it still exists, is not forthcoming, Hamdi's version is actually the oldest in our hands. ^ Here the model is ' This poem is imprinted. The British Museum possesses an imperfect MS. (Or. 1 163), from which both the beginning and end are lost. There is a perfect copy in my collection. 2 See p. 73, n. i. 3 One of the poems in Bihishti's Khamsa (see p. 148, n. 2) is said ot be\a Leyla and Mejnun. We have already seen that Shahidi versified the 173 Nizami: Hamdi either did not know, or, less probably, did not so highly esteem Jami's setting of the tale, which differs considerably from that of the earlier writers. The Turkish poet, though he does not explicitly state that he has followed Nizami, lets his readers understand this by the turn he gives to the opening couplet of his narrative. ' So far as the in- cidents of the story are concerned he treads step by step in the pathway of his guide; but his version is by no means so close a translation as is that part of the Joseph and Zelikha which he took from Jami, for although he adopts many of the similes and images of Nizami, there is much that he omits and much that he adds. Here, as in his other poem, he relieves the monotony of the mesnevi with a number of ghazels, which in this instance also are introduced entirely on his own responsibility. It was a happy idea to break by the introduction of such lyric interludes the seemingly endless succession of rhyming couplets that go to make up those romantic mesnevi's. And it seems, moreover, to have been an invention of the Turks, '-^ apparently of Sheykhi; at any tale, and that some writers attribute a poem on it to Nejati. As before stated, Fuzuli of Baghdad has treated the legend in masterly fashion. Latifi says that Chakeri, the same who wrote a Joseph and Zelikha, has a mesnevi on this tale. Other versions mentioned by Katib Chelebi are: by a poet whom he calls Khalifa, probably the same to whom he attributes a Khusrev and Shiri'n and a Joseph and Zelikha; by Jelili (in Fluegel's edition this name ^xi>, Jelili, is erroneously printed ^xX5», Khalili) of Brusa, who also wrote a Khusrev and Shirin; by Khayali, who was a defterdar or 'treasurer' of Seli'm I; and by Salih bin-Jelal, who died in 973 (1565 — 6). The University of Cambridge possesses a MS. of a version composed in 920 (1514) by a poet called Sevda^i, probably the writer of that name mentioned by Sehi. Qaf-zade Fd^izi, a well- known writer of the Third Period, began a poem on the tale, which was continued by Seyyid Vehbi, a distinguished poet of the Fourth Period. 'Quoth he who hath given order (Nizami) to this tale, Who hath ordered his words on this fashion : — ' 2 At least I can find no Persian precedent. 174 rate it became very popular with them, and there are com- paratively few among the romancists of the Second and following Periods who did not more or less avail themselves of the advantages it offers. In the case of this poem again Hamdi has departed from his model's lead in his choice of metre; both poets, it is true, use the hezej, but Nizami's Leyla and Mejnun is in one variation, Hamdi's in another. ' Hamdi was far from being as fortunate with his Leyla and Mejnun as with his Joseph and Zelikha. In the first place, the former never achieved anything like the popularity of the earlier work; and in the second it was after a time wholly eclipsed by Fuzuli's far more beautiful poem on the same legend. The Turkish critics do not say much about this book. Latifi, who is so full of praise for the Joseph and Zelikha, merely mentions the Leyla and Mejnun when he is drawing attention to a complaint which the author makes in it con- cerning the lack of appreciation which was the fate of good work in his time. Tash-kopri-zade alone is appreciative; he says that while so many illustrious poets, both in Persia and Rum, have treated the story of Leyla and Mejnun in their Khamsas, ^ it was beyond the power of mere humanity that Hamdi, who came after them all, should have presented it in so admirable a fashion and arrayed it in so beautiful a garb : by which statement the author of the Crimson Peony would imply that the poet was divinely inspired. ^Ashiq mentions the work only in order to quote from it a single couplet, the rhymes of which took his fancy; while Hasan 1 Nizdmf's metre is: ^ ( ^ — ^— | ^ Hamdi's : ^ | ^ [ ^ 2 I do not know what Tash-kopri-zade means when he says that Hamdi's Leyla and Mejnun was the latest of many poems on the subject in Riim. All the Turkish versions with which I am acquainted, except Shahidi's and possibly Bihishti's, are subsequent to Hamdi's. 175 docs no more than name it as being one of Hamdi's pro- ductions. Like the Joseph and Zeh'kha, the Leyla and Mejniin bears no dedication. When he has got through the inevitable introductory cantos in praise of God and the Prophet, Hamdi launches straight into his story. He has not even a 'Reason of the Writing of the Book', so we are left without information as to what urged him to his task. He merely addresses the 'lover', whom he bids, if he would be love-distraught, read the tale of Leyla and Mejnun, which, though it is the furnace of love's fire, is yet the rose-garden of the soul. Then he calls on his own heart to teach the whole world love, making this history his excuse; for though there are many love-stories in the world, there is no sorrow like unto the sorrow of Mejnun. He then begins his tale, which is in outline as follows. A noble and wealthy Arab of the tribe of the Beni-^Amir is, after many prayers, granted a son, whom he names Qays, and who is nurtured with every care. The child grows up into a beautiful boy admired by all; but as 'he was come with love' from the other world, his only pleasure is in gazing on beauties; and when he sees them not, he weeps. In due course Qays is sent to school. Now at this school are many girls as well as boys, and amongst the former is one maiden of extraordinary sweetness and beauty whose name is Leyla, and whose father is a prince of another tribe than that to which Qays belongs. With this enchanting creature Qays promptly falls in love. His love is returned ; and the pair no longer give any heed to their lessons, studying only one another's looks and hearts. They try to conceal their feelings, but in vain; for the presence of love, like that of musk, is not to be hidden ; and so the story of their passion becomes common talk. So possessed and absorbed is Qays by his 176 love that the people nickname him Mejnun (that is, possessed by a spirit) ; but he heeds not, neither resents their words, being wholly lost in his great love. The story reaches the ears of Leyla's mother, who is very angry, and severely upbraids her daughter for her indiscretion in permitting her name to be mentioned in such a connection. She takes her away from the school and keeps her safely at home; and this imprisonment and separation from her lover grieve Leyla bitterly. When Qays, now always known as Mejnun, finds that his beloved comes no more to the school, attendance thereat becomes impossible for him. In the hope of again seeing Leyla he disguises himself as a blind beggar, and intentionally falls down before the door of her father's house. Leyla, who is with her mother at the time, sees and recognizes him; and, having obtained permission to go out and help the poor man to rise, she is able to press his hand, and thus to renew their troth. But the trick is discovered, and although Mejnun, disguised this time as a dervish, contrives one other meeting, the watchfulness of Leyla's attendants is too much for him. And so, unable to endure life in the town, he betakes himself to the country; but the villagers through whose hamlets he passes take him for a madman and throw stones at him, so that he is obliged to seek refuge in the solitude of the wilderness. Mej nun's father, hearing of the sad plight of his son, goes forth to seek him, and discovers him with dishevelled hair and torn garments, distracted by his sorrow. So far gone is Mejnun that he does not recognize his father and has to ask him who he is; but he recovers himself to a certain extent on his father's promising to obtain Leyla's hand for him, and is even induced to accompany the old man home. Great is his mother's grief at seeing her son in such wretched plig|it; but she does what she can, arraying him in clean 177 garments and trying to console him. His father tlicn endea- vours to turn him from the love of Leyla, saying that there are many other fair girls amongst the Arabs, one of whom they will get for him ; but he refuses to be comforted. Mejniin then goes away, accompanied by two or three faithful friends, to the uplands of Nejd, where Leyla is dwelling with her tribe. They find her seated after the Arab custom by her tent door. The lovers exchange greetings ; but they are soon discovered, and Mejnun is driven from the district. His father, who is deeply grieved at his sad plight, takes counsel of the chiefs of his tribe, and they decide that he shall go, accompanied by Mejnun, on a mission to Leyla's people, and ask her in marriage for his son. The mission is well received by Leyla's tribe, but when Mej nun's father makes known his object, Leyla's father declines his assent, saying that he cannot give his daughter to a madman. Mejniin's father replies that his son is not really mad, but only distracted by his love ; and he calls on him to come forward and answer for himself. As he approaches, Leyla's dog suddenly sees him and recognizes him as a friend, where- upon he throws himself on the ground beside the dog and begins to caress it, because it comes from his beloved and has often welcomed his visits. ' The lady's father takes this conduct as a convincing proof of Mejniin's madness, so the mission has to return unsuccessful. His father and the others again urge the lad to drive Leyla from his heart; but all is in vain, he tears his garments and flies from them into the wilderness, and there, wandering half-naked amongst the hills and valleys, he makes the rocks re-echo with his beloved's • In consequence of the affection shown by Mejnun for the dog of his dear Leyla, it has become a convention with the poets to represent the lover as eager to be on terms of friendship with, or even to humble himself before, the doe: of his beloved. 178 name. At last he falls fainting by the way, and is there found by some compassionate people who carry him back to his father's house. His kinsmen now advise the old man to take Mejnun with him on the pilgrimage to Mekka, thinking that the sanctity of the place and rites may have some good effect on his monomania. They go thither; but when Mejnun is told by his father in the Ka'^ba itself to pray God to deliver him from the curse of his love, he raises his hands and thanks God for it and implores Him to increase it to him. So the father, seeing that this too is useless, sadly turns home. His friends next advise the father of the love-stricken Mejnun to have recourse to a great saint who dwells in a cave amongst the mountains and whose prayers will cure the lad, if cured he can be. He therefore takes Mejnun to this holy man ; but though he tells his son to implore the hermit's prayer that he may be freed from his love, Mejnun on the contrary begs him to pray for its increase. The old man can therefore do nothing, so he leaves Mejnun in the wilderness and returns to tell his people of his bootless errand. The story of Mej nun's love is noised abroad and his name is always coupled with that of Leyla. The latter's tribesmen look upon this as a disgrace to their clan, the more so as Mejnun is a famous inditer of ghazels, ^ and the poems he is constantly composing about his love become popular, and thus greatly assist in spreading the scandal. When the matter [' A collection of love-poems in Arabic purporting to be the work of this Mejnun is extant, and has been printed at Cairo (A. H. 1294): see p. 65 of Carl Brockelmann's excellent Geschichte der Arabischett Litteratur (Leipzig, 1901). The following couplet is one of the most celebrated: — _0- G - , -0.0 _o_ _5 1 _ "They say that Leyla, lies sick in ^Irdq : would that I were the physician in attendance on her!" eu.] 179 is brought to the notice of the chief of the tribe, he draws his sword declaring that this will be his answer to the audacious lover. An '^Amiri man who happens to hear this threat hastens back to his own tribe to warn them of the danger which threatens Mejniin. They go out and look for him in vain ; but after a time a man comes and tells them that he has seen the lover lying helpless in a ruin, where- upon his father sets out, and, following the man's instructions, discovers Mejnun lying starving and singing to himself in the ruin. When the youth sees who has come to him, he falls at his father's feet and implores forgiveness, but prays him to leave him where he is. His father none the less begs and entreats him to renounce the passion that is driving him mad, but he answers that the matter is beyond his power, that he is bound with fetters which no advice or prayer can loose. Once more the grieving father bears him to his house; but a day or two afterwards Mejnun escapes and flies to Nejd, where he wanders about inditing his love-ghazels. Leyla, who has now grown into a peerless beauty, is no less in love than Mejnun, but she has more self-control. She hides her feelings lest by disclosing them she should bring trouble on her lover and herself; but she goes up to her terrace-roof and addresses the wind that blows from where Mejnun is. When she hears scraps of the ghazels which Mejnun has composed, she writes answers to them on slips of paper which she throws on to the road, where they are picked up by passers-by, who learn and repeat them till they reach her lover's ears; and in this way a kind of correspondence is kept up between them. This state of things lasts for a year. The coming of spring is then described, as well as a beautiful garden where Leyla and her maidens go to enjoy i8o the sweet season. As Leyla is sitting there singing to herself about her love she is answered by a plaintive voice which chants a ghazel concerning the woes of Mejnun. When she hears this she weeps ; and when they have returned to the house one of the girls who has seen her distress tells her mother, who is much grieved at her daughter's sorrow, but can find no other remedy than calling on her to be patient. When Leyla was sitting in the garden she had been seen by Ibn-us-Selam, the noble and wealthy chief of the Esed tribe, who had then and there fallen in love with her. He now sends to ask her in marriage of her parents, who do not decline the offer, but pray the suitor to wait for a little. Mejnun in the meantime is wandering about the wilderness making friends of the wild beasts and inditing ghazels to the gazelles. He has, however, made one human friend ; this is Nevfel, a great Arab chief, who, when out hunting, had come upon Mejnun singing to a group of wild animals and had asked him his story, on hearing which, filled with pity at his sad lot, he had promised to aid him to obtain his beloved. Mejnun is so glad at this that he comes to himself again, dresses and behaves like a sane man, and is ever in company with Nevfel, who delights in the ghazels which he composes. After a while Mejnun hints to his friend that it is about time he should redeem his promises. Stung by this reproach, Nevfel seizes his arms, springs upon his steed, summons his warriors, and dashes off to the district where dwells the tribe of Leyla. When they have reached the border they halt and despatch a messenger demanding the lady on threat of instant attack. The envoy receives an insulting refusal, being told that a dog does not get the moon by baying; this he carries back to Nevfel, who, enraged thereat, at once orders an assault. A furious battle ensues, though this is very grievG^us to Mejnun, who is present, and who hates bloodshed. i8i especially between his friends and the clansmen of his beloved. The battle rages all day, and is about to be resumed next morning, when the sight of an army approaching to reinforce the enemy induces Nevfel to ask a truce. Mejniin, distracted by the fighting and the want of success, reproaches Nevfel for what he has done ; but the latter only laughs at him, and as soon as he has received reinforcements, resumes the battle. The hostile clansmen are now scattered, and their chiefs, including Leyla's father, are brought before the victo- rious Nevfel, who at their prayer grants them their freedom. He then demands Leyla for Mejnun; the lady's father replies that his daughter is at Nevfel's service, but declares that unless that chief swear not to give her to the madman Mejnun, he will kill her with his own hand and throw her head to the dogs. Some of Nevfel's companions support Leyla's father and persuade their leader to return to their own land. Mejnun, in bitter disappointment, upbraids Nevfel with the worthlessness of his friendship, and when the latter speaks about compensation through other beauties, the faith- ful lover, in hatred and disgust, breaks away from him and disappears; and though Nevfel sends out to seek him, he is nowhere to be found. Flying from Nevfel's people, Mejnun gallops off into the wilderness. As he is riding along he sees in the distance some gazelles caught in a snare and the hunter approaching knife in hand to slaughter them. He hastens forward and prays the hunter to have mercy on the innocent creatures, whose plaintive eyes remind him of his love, telling him that it is cruel and unmanly to kill the guiltless and helpless. The hunter replies that Mejniin's words are good, but that he is a poor man with a large family who have to be fed and so cannot aftbrd to lose his game, but that if the traveller wishes to liberate the animals, he is willing to sell them to I«2 him. Mejnun springs from his horse and presents it to the hunter, who straightway jumps on it and rides ofif, leaving Mejnun with the gazelles. These the lover liberates, kissing each between the eyes as he lets it go. When all are free he follows in the direction they have taken, and spends his days and nights wandering about in the desert. In the course of his wanderings he one day comes upon an antelope caught in a snare and just about to be killed by the hunter. He reproaches the latter for his barbarity and bids him release his victim. The hunter replies that he is willing to give him the animal if he will pay for it. So Mejnun hands him his arms, with which he goes away con- tented. Mejnun then releases the antelope, which he kisses fondly, and to which he addresses many tender words. The next day, when seated under a tree by a pool, he pours out his sorrows to a crow which is perched in the branches above, and is sadly grieved when the bird flies ofif; he then lies down where he is, and there passes the night. When morning comes, Mejnun resumes his wanderings, and as he is making his way towards the district where his beloved dwells, he meets an old woman with a man whose hands are chained and whom she is leading by a rope tied round his neck. Mejnun goes up and asks the woman what this means; she replies that she is a poor widow and that her companion is a beggar who has consented to figure as a wild man that she may lead him about the villages and so get alms from the people, which they afterwards divide between them. Mejnun then implores her to take himself instead of the beggar, as she will thus not need to deceive, for he is really mad, and moreover he will let her keep everything they get. The old woman is pleased with this proposal so profitable to herself, and at once takes the chains off i-Jie beggar, puts them on Mejnun and fastens the rope 1 83 round his neck. His motive in actini^ thus is that he hopes that in this disguise he may be able to penetrate to where Leyla is. His hope is so far fulfilled ; the old woman leads him about the country, collecting money from the people, till they come to where the beloved's parents dwell. But here Mejnun falls down before the tent-door, wailing and crying, and his madness increases upon him so that he leaps up and breaks his chains. Leyla's father and mother come out to look on him ; they pity his sad plight, but he is oblivious of their presence, and so they turn back and leave him. The story now returns to Leyla. When this lady hears of the defeat of her clansmen at the hands of Nevfel she rejoices, seeing therein a near prospect of union with her beloved Mejnun. But her joy is short-lived; her father comes before her and tells her that he has settled the madman's business by inducing Nevfel to withdraw from him his protection. This plunges Leyla into grief, though she dare not disclose her sorrow till her father has departed. Now suitors, attracted by the fame of her beauty, begin to flock from many lands; but her jealous father inclines to none of them. Ibn-us-Selam gets word of these doings and determines to prosecute his suit. He sets out with a cavalcade for Leyla's country, and when he has arrived within one or two days' march, he sends forward an ambassador with rich gifts to urge his claim. Leyla's father gives his consent. The lady is then wedded against her will and without her consent to Ibn-us-Selam, who proudly takes her off with him. But the first time that he seeks to caress her, Leyla slaps him violently on the face and swears that if ever again he attempt such a thing, she will kill either him or herself, for if the gardener may not eat the fruit of the garden, neither may every crow. This shows Ibn-us-Selam that his wife is in love with another; 1 84 but as he is very fond of her, he promises to respect her wishes, for it is better to be permitted to look upon her than not to see her at aU. And so they pass a long time, in the course of which Leyla, by constantly asking for news of Mejniin, lets all the world know who is really her love. One day as Mejniin, who had fled from before the door of Leyla's father back into the wilderness, is wandering about, he meets a man mounted on a dromedary who tells him that Leyla is married, and adds by way of jest that the lady went with her own consent and is now very happy, having altogether forgotten her old lover. The shock of hearing this is so terrible to Mejniin that he falls down, and the traveller, who thinks he is dead, repents him of his ill- timed joke. When Mejnun recovers, the man tells him the truth, how that Leyla is in reality still faithful to him and will have nothing to say to Ibn-us-Selam. But the lover has no longer confidence in his words and is plunged in misery, not knowing what to believe. He now scarcely knows what he is doing, and so he writes a letter to Leyla, upbraiding her with her marriage, to which she replies by a letter telling him the truth and praying ^' him not to add to her own sorrow by his unjust reproaches. The spring comes round and all is bright and gay, and Mejnun's friends determine to make another attempt to bring him back to reason. They go off to the uplands of Nejd, and, searching amongst the hills, discover their mad companion worn and naked, surrounded by wild creatures that he has tamed and made into friends. The visitors vainly try to persuade him to return to civilised life; Mejnun, who is annoyed at their importunity, refuses to listen to their pro- posals and tells them that he prefers the society of the wild beasts to theirs. So nothing is left for the well-intentioned i85 friends but to turn regretfully home, convinced of the hope- lessness of poor Mej nun's case. After a while Mejniin bethinks him to go to where Leyla dwells, so he makes his way thither, heedless of the children in the villages who throw stones at him as he passes by. He has a brief interview with his beloved which is soon cut short by one of her attendants rushing in with a naked sword. As the man raises this to smite Mejniin, his hand drops withered by his side ; he then takes the sword in his left hand, which is likewise withered as soon as he raises it. He then falls at Mej nun's feet and prays his forgiveness. Mejniin first tells him that if he himself wish to escape hurt, he must not seek to hurt others, and then prays so that the man's hands are restored ; after which he flees back to Nejd. In the meantime his father, who feels old age coming upon him, is eager to find his son, who, he still hopes, will succeed to his position. So he sets out with a few attendants, and after much searching discovers Mejniin lying naked and unconscious in a desolate ravine. The madman does not at first recognize his father, but when he realizes who it is that is bending over him, he embraces and kisses him. Still to all the old man's prayers that he will come home and gladden his last days with his presence, the demented lover only answers that he is powerless to resist his passion. His aged father then sees that all is hopeless, and, taking a tender farewell of his son, returns to his house and there soon after dies, worn out with years and sorrow. By and by a hunter who discovers Mejniin seated on the highest point of the Nejd mountains, cries out to him with many reproaches that his father is dead, and bids him at least go and visit his tomb. Mejniin is heart-stricken at the news, and at once hastens to his father's grave, upon which he throws himself weeping sorely and reproaching himself i86 bitterly. After a while he flies back to his mountains of Nejd, where he resumes his companionship with the wild animals, numbers of which, lions and panthers as well as gazelles and antelopes, are ever with him, marching in ranks behind him in his wanderings, and keeping guard over him while he sleeps. Amongst these friends is one gazelle of which Mejnun is specially fond and which he is constantly caressing because its beautiful eyes are so like those of Leyla. To show that even fierce animals can be made friendly by kindness, the poet here interrupts his narrative by the story of a prince who kept a pack of savage hounds to which he used to throw such persons as fell under his dis- pleasure. A young courtier, fearing the tyrant's fickle temper, deemed it prudent to make friends of the hounds by feeding them with a sheep every day. And so when the prince in a fit of rage flung him to the beasts, instead of tearing him in pieces, they flocked round him and fawned upon him. This so astonished the prince that he liberated the courtier, who then pointed out to him how he was more ungrateful than his own savage hounds. ^ One day, continues the history, as Mejnun is sitting amongst his animals he sees a man approaching him. This turns out to be the bearer of a letter from Leyla. He tells Mejnun that yesterday as he was riding along he saw a beautiful girl sitting weeping by the wayside. He asked who she was and what was grieving her, and she answered that she was Leyla and was weeping for her love Mejnun. In reply to her questions the man told her all he knew about the state ' In this story occurs the couplet already referred to (p. 174), the sarcasm of which pleased '^Ashiq, who quotes it as being ben trovato: — 'The Prince (Beg) who makes men to be eaten by hounds is a hound; 'I:'> it strange that hound (seg) should be the rhyme for him?' i87 of her lover, and at her request undertook to deliver to the latter a love-letter which she wrote and handed to him. This he gives to Mejnun, who is overjoyed at receiving it, and immediately writes an answer — the stranger being happily provided with paper and inkhorn — which this accomodating intermediary takes away with him and delivers to Leyla. Mejnun is now visited in the wilderness by a kind uncle of his called Selim. At first Mejnun as usual fails to recognize who is speaking to him, but when he discovers that it is his uncle he is glad, and succeeds in dispelling that relative's fear of the wild beasts that are seated round him. Selim is horrified at seeing his nephew unclothed and emaciated, and with some difiiculty persuades him to put on a garment he has with him in his saddle-bag, though he cannot prevail on him to eat any of the food which he has brought, Mejnun insisting on giving this to his beasts. Selim returns and tells Mejniin's mother of the sad plight of her son, and at her request he takes her to where the latter is dwelling in the wilderness. She is greatly distressed at what she sees and prays Mejnun to return to her. He thanks her, but replies that he has no choice, that it is under the compulsion of love, not of his own free will, that he acts thus; and then he breaks away from her and disappears in the desert. She goes home and dies broken hearted, which, on being told to Mejnun, plunges him in a fresh sorrow. Leyla manages to escape the vigilance of her harem-guards and sets out to try to find her lover. She meets an old man by the way whose confidence she gains and whom she induces by a gift of jewels to contrive an interview between Mejnun and herself. So the old man goes off in search of Mejnun, and having found him, persuades him to accompany him to where Leyla is staying. When they approach the place, Mejnun and his troop of beasts halt a little way off, while the guide i88 goes on to announce his arrival. At the critical moment Leyla's sense of duty prevails and she refrains from the interview, but requests that Mejnun sing some love songs to her, which he does and then flies back into the wastes. The story of Mejnun and the beautiful verses he composes are known everywhere and attract the wonder and admiration of many. Among these is Selam of Baghdad, a young man who, being himself a lover and a poet, is strongly attracted to the now famous Mejnun. He therefore seeks out the latter, and, filled with admiration of his constancy and talents, offers to become his companion, Mejnun tries to dissuade him, but as he is importunate, he allows him to remain. The privations of the hermit's desert-life, however, soon prove too much for the young man, who finds himself compelled to abandon his chosen master and return to the comforts of his city-home. Still he takes back with him many beautiful poems which form the delight of all who hear them. There is another unfortunate lover, Zeyd by name, who is smitten with an unhappy passion for his cousin Zeyneb, and who, being poor, is rejected by his uncle, the girl's father. Leyla hears of this young poet (he too is a poet) and taking pity on him, tries to comfort him, and from time to time she employs him as a messenger between Mejnun and herself. Her husband Ibn-us-Selam dies, being deeply distressed by her behaviour towards him. Zeyd hurries off to carry the news to Mejnun. On his return, Leyla sends him back with fine robes and turban for her lover, and a prayer that he will come to her. Mejnun dons the garments she has sent and sets out for her dwelling-place, attended by his troop of wild animals. Zeyd brings word of his approach, and Leyla goes out to welcome him; but as soon as they catch sight of one another, they fall down in a swoon, overcome by the intensity of their emotion. They lie there 189 till Zeyd, by sprinklini,^ water on their faces, restores them to their senses, when Leyla leads Mejnun by the hand to her pavilion, where they rest, attended by Zeyd and guarded by the wild beasts who form a circle round them. There the lovers remain for a while, locked in one another's arms with hearts too full for words. At length Leyla improvises a ghazel to which Mejnun replies; and then his madness comes upon him, and he breaks away from his beloved Leyla and rushes back into the wilderness. Mejnun's madness being now shown to be beyond cure, Leyla's heart is broken ; and in the autumn she dies, watched over by her now sorrowing mother. Zeyd proceeds to the desert, where he tells the sad news to Mejniin, and no sooner does the poor crazed lover realize the truth than he trembles all over and falls down as though smitten by a thunderbolt. Then he rises and cries upon death to take him and calls upon his soul to leave his body. Following Zeyd, he hastens to Leyla's tomb, and, when he sees this yet afar off, he falls upon his face and dragging himself along to it, clasps the stone as though it were his beloved herself. Here he wails and laments, addressing Leyla in the most piteous and tender terms : and then he turns back again to his mountains. But he can no longer remain quietly in the desert; he is ever coming and going between his retreat and Leyla's tomb. His little remaining strength gradually ebbs; and one day of storm he seeks his beloved's grave, and throwing himself upon it, with eyes closed and uplifted hands, he cries upon God to deliver him from his anguish and to re-unite him with his love. And that same moment he dies, all alone, with no one near save one or two of his faithful companions the wild beasts. For a whole year he lies there, guarded by his beasts who will let none approach. But at length the beasts go back into their deserts, and the people gather up the bones 190 of Mejniin and bury them in the grave by those of Leyla. Some time after this, Zeyd, who had always been a faith- ful friend to the lovers, sees himself in a vision transported to Paradise, and there among the blessed he observes a youth and maiden seated together in loving converse and compassed about with dazzling radiance and splendour in- conceivable. On his asking who these are and why they are thus pre-eminent in glory, he is told that on earth they were known as Mejnun and Leyla, and that the exceeding glory which surrounds them is their love. According to Latifi, Hamdi wrote five mesnevis, 'a "Re- sponse" in Turkish to the Khamsa (of Nizami) ;' ' but he mentions the names of only four of these, the Joseph and Zelikha, the Leyla and Mejnun, a Mevlid-i Nebi or 'Birthsong' on the Prophet's Nativity, and a poem entitled Tuhfet-ul- ""Ushshaq or 'A Gift to Lovers.' A note to the printed edition of the Crimson Peony, where the statement that Hamdi left five mesnevis is repeated, gives the name of the fifth poem as the Muhammediyye or 'Muhammedan (Poem).' Hamdi's Birthsong which, as we saw in a previous chapter, is the only poem of its class that Latifi considered in any way worthy of a place by the side of Suleyman Chelebi's far more famous work, ^ is mentioned by ^Ashiq and Hasan as well as by Latifi and the annotator of the Crimson Peony. ''Ashiq calls it Mevlid-i Jismani u Mevlid-i Ruhani, or 'The Corporeal Birthsong and the Spiritual Birthsong;' Hasan and Katib Chelebi entitle it Mevlid-i Jismani u Mevrid-i Ruhani or 'The Corporeal Birthsong and the Spiritual Arriving-Place.' Copies of this work are rare. The British Museum possesses one MS., ^ but this is unfortunately imperfect, both the 1 See vol. I, p. 100. 2 See vol. I, p. 238. 3\Or. 1 163. 191 beginning and end being lost. It is therefore impossible to determine from it which, if any, of the three titles recorded by the biographers is that given by the author to his work. There can, however, be no doubt that the British Museum MS. is really Hamdi's poem ; this is proved by the fact that the writer mentions his name in some of the incidental ghazels. The MS. begins abruptly with the glad tidings of her son's approaching birth brought to Amine, the Prophet's mother, by the celestial messengers. The story then proceeds on the same lines as in the poem of Suleyman, to which this later work bears, externally at any rate, a great resem- blance. The principal difference here is the introduction of a number of ghazels, of a fashion unknown in the days of the old Brusan. This work of Hamdi's is so similar to Suley- man's in scope and purpose that it is unnecessary to enlarge upon it here. It is, moreover, without importance, and never attained any popularity or repute. ' The Tuhfet-ul-^Ushshaq or 'Gift to Lovers' ^ appears to have been no better appreciated. It is mentioned by name by Lati'fi, Tash-kopri-zade, ''Ashiq, and Katib Chelebi, ^ but no details are given ; Latifi alone quotes from it, and only a single couplet : — 1 It is in the same metre as Suleyman's, namely, the hexametric lemel. 2 There is a MS. in my collection. 3 Katib Chelebi mentions three other Turkish poems which bear the title Tuhfet-ul-'^Ushshaq. One is by a minor poet, '^Ata of Uskub, who died in 930 (1523 — 4); it is in the manner of the Tejnisat, a work on the rhetorical figure called Paronomasia, by the well-known Persian poet Kalibi. The second is by another minor poet, Muhi-ud-Din Mehemmed bin-el-Khatib Qasim, who died in 940 (1533 — 4); the character of this work is not stated, but it is unlikely that it resembled Hamdi's. The third is by the historian "All whom we have so often quoted and who died in 1008 (1599 — 1600); this poem of his was written as a 'parallel' to the Matla'-ul-Enwar or 'Rising-Point of Radiance' of the Persian poet Khusraw of Delhi. 192 'Beauties of elif-figure ' bare the trays, China was borne by fair Cathayan mays.' 2 The poem, which is much shorter than those already described, is composed in a very simple style. Indeed so naive is the manner of its presentment and so artless are the attempts at artfulness that one is inclined to imagine it an early effort of the author's. But here we have to rely entirely on the evidence of the style; for no clue is given as to the date of composition, not even a dedication whence we might learn who was then upon the throne. The simplicity of the diction and the large number of pure Turkish words employed would, however, seem to bring it into line with the mesnevi's written by such men as Khalili, "^Ishqi, and Gulsheni ^ in the time of Mehemmed II. The metre is the same as that of the author's Leyla and Mejnun; and as in the case of his other mesnevi's, ghazels are freely sprinkled through the poem. The Gift to Lovers is the only one of Hamdi's poems that can put forward any pretension as to originality of subject. The story here is certainly neither a translation nor a re-setting of a familiar theme. The plot, it is true, is of the slightest, but such as it is, it seems to be Hamdi's invention. The fact that at the close it is explained as a parable tends to strengthen this suggestion ; for a tale for- tuitously come by would be little likely to fit so perfectly the allegorist's purpose. The neglect which has been the lot of this poem may be attributed in part to the simplicity ' An 'elif-figure' is a figure slight and erect like the letter elif ' • The point in this couplet is of course the play on the word 'china', which in Turkish as in English is used equally for chinaware and for the name of the Celestial Empire. Cathay is famous in poetry for its pretty girls; and Cathay and China are associated in men's minds. This couplet occurs in the description of the first entertainment given by the vezir to the young merchant. 3\Somc account of these minor poets and their works will be found in ch. XV. J93 of its style, which was distasteful to the age, and partly to the circumstance that its story was not among the accepted themes of romantic poetry. Having devoted a few pages, as in duty bound, to the praises of God and the Prophet, Hamdi proceeds to tell how he came to write his Gift to Lovers. One spring morning when all the world was bright and gay the poet's heart cried to him to be up and doing; it bade him not waste his precious time in idleness, for life is fleeting; but to compose a little book of love which should be a joy to all. When he heard the words that his heart spoke, the poet felt him- self fired with zeal; and straightway he set to and began the story, of which the following is an outline : — There is in the city of Caesarea, in the days of the great saint 'Sheykh Evhad-ud-Din, ^ a wealthy merchant who has a beautiful young son. This son, when he reaches his tenth year, announces to his father that his heart is set on travelling and trading. This causes his father, who loves him dearly, great distress; he points out how young and inexperienced he is, and how commerce is a hard matter, and travel fraught with difficulties of every kind. But all his expostulations and all the entreaties of the lad's mother are in vain ; so the parents go to the sheykh, and, laying their trouble before him, ask his aid. The holy man plunges into the state of abstraction, wherein he receives direction from the other world. When he emerges thence, he tells the parents that God's command is that they shall allow the boy to go to Constan- ' Sheykh Evhad-ud-Din is the only character (though one of secondary importance) in the tale to whom a personal name is given. I am unable to account for this. There may actually have been in Caesarea in old times (the story refers to a period prior to the capture of Constantinople by the Turks) a devotee who bore this name and who was popularly regarded as a saint. Or it may be that the name which signifies 'The Most Unique One of the Faith', was emphasized because of its suggestion of the Unity, a doctrine the importance of which in this history will appear at the close. 13 194 tinople, sending with him several slaves as well as seven loads of merchandize for his stock-in-trade, after which they must possess themselves in patience and await what God will show. Although they throw themselves at the saint's feet and pray him to mitigate his decree, it is in vain; he replies that when the arrow of destiny is shot, the spheres them- selves avail not for a shield. So he bids them have patience, and gives his word that, though their son will pass through many adventures, he will at last be restored to them in safety. They therefore resign themselves and make all prepa- rations for their son's departure. Before he starts, the sheykh addresses him and gives him much good advice as to his behaviour when away from home. At length all is ready; the lad says good-bye to his sorrowing father, and sets out upon his way. On his arrival in Constantinople he takes up his quarters in a Khan. * Now the Tekur or Emperor ^ has a powerful vezir who has frequent dealings with the brokers of the city, it being his custom to buy the choicest goods of every merchant who comes to Constantinople. The brokers, going about the town, see a beautiful youth dressed in the habit of a merchant seated in a Khan. After admiring his grace they advance and address him, telling him that on the morrow they will show him the bazaars and assist him to do business, at all of which he is much pleased. Next morning the brokers arrive as promised and conduct him through the markets of the city, which interest him greatly, and where his own beauty creates an unusual stir. After the lad has retired to his Khan, the brokers go to their patron the vezir and tell him ' i. e. an inn. 2 The title Tekfur (more commonly Tekur), from the Greek rov xvpi'ov, was given by the Ottomans to any Byzantine lord, whether he was emperor, prince, or merely governor of a town or fortress. It is the common term in old Turkish books for the Greek Emperor of Constantinople. 195 that a young Musulman merchant of wonderful beauty has arrived in the city. The vezir is deHghted at the tidings, and, having richly rewarded them for their good news, bids them bring the lad before him next morning. Now the reason of the vezir's delight is that he has a very lovely young daughter for whom he is anxious to find a husband as beautiful as herself; but this has not hitherto proved possible; and now the news brought by the brokers raises his hopes and fills him with joy. Next morning the brokers go to the Khan and point out to the young merchant that as Constantinople is an infidel city, the people might fall upon him, a Musulman, and slay him and steal his goods, so that it is very desirable that he should have some patron among the great. The youth is persuaded by what they say, and asks who will become his patron. They reply that the Tekur's vezir, who is practically ruler of the country, is very kind to strangers, and they advise him to take some little offering with him and accom- pany them to the great man's abode. The lad complies with their suggestions, and is conducted by them to the vezir's palace. The vezir is charmed with him, receives him most gra- ciously, and entertains him sumptuously. He is invited to return the following day, when, in the course of the feast, after he has drunk rather freely and whilst his senses are beguiled by the sweet sounds of musical instruments, a cur- tain is suddenly withdrawn, and the radiant daughter of the vezir is seen behind it. She comes forward and sits beside the young merchant, who is dazzled and overcome by her beauty and falls wildly in love with her on the spot. As she is about to retire he seizes hold of her skirt and prays her not to leave him ; but on a motion from her father, who sees that his scheme has succeeded, she withdraws. 196 Then the youth goes back to his Khan, not to sleep, but to think upon the lovely girl to whom he has lost his heart. The following morning he is again invited to the vezir's house, where he meets with the same entertainment as before, and again has a short interview with his beloved, after which he returns to the Khan. His servants, seeing his distress, enquire whether they can help him in any way, whereupon he asks them to bring the brokers before him. On the arrival of these he tells them of his case, and says that as they have been the means of bringing this sorrow upon him they ought to find the remedy. He bids them go to the vezir and tell him the whole story, adding that, should it be required, he is willing to become a slave in the palace, if only he can see his beloved. They comply with his request, and the vezir, when he hears what their mission is, smiles but says nothing. He goes, however, to his daughter's apartments and finds that love of the handsome young merchant has filled her heart, so that his own laudations of the youth are almost superfluous. The brokers then receive permission to convey another invitation to the young man, which he joy- fully accepts. On repairing to the vezir's house he is enter- tained as before; but when the girl, who declares to him her love, prepares to retire, he clutches her skirt, and, in spite of her father's remonstrances, refuses to leave go. The vezir then lets him embrace and kiss her, and so great is the rapture produced by touching her lips that the youth swoons away. While in this condition he is taken back to his own dwelling, where, on awakening, he can scarce believe his experience to have been other than a dream. He is now beside himself so that his servants have to fetter him lest he should do himself an injury. In vain do they and the brokers try to reason with him; he answers that no counsel is of any avail, that union with the beloved 197 alone can cure liim. Filled with compassion for his sad case, they go to the vezir and tell him how matters stand; he answers that, though he has refused his daughter to many kings, he will give her to this beautiful youth on condition that he will abandon his religion and worship their idols. • When this condition is reported to the young man he exclaims 'A thousand religions be sacrificed for the beloved ! A lover hath no religion other than his loved one. To that lover who distinguisheth between Faith and infidelity cometh no epiphany of the beloved's face !' ^ The vezir is delighted when he receives this answer, and makes all preparations for the wedding. But the lover's servants are vexed at their master's renunciation of his faith, and bitterly reproach him therewith, asking what has become of his early upbringing and of the counsels of the holy sheykh. But he heeds them not, and, when the wedding-morning arrives, filled with love of the vezir's daughter he arrays himself in his most splendid apparel. ^ And so the young merchant and the vezir's daughter are married and live together in all happiness, and in the course of two years two sons are born to them. Now there is in Constantinople a great church, which is called St. Sophia, and in this church there is held every seven years a special service w^hich all the people of the city attend. Thither accordingly, when the time comes round, go the merchant and his wife. Now when the merchant had abandoned Islam he had placed his Koran in this church, and it so happens that when they go thither to attend this service the lady catches sight of the volume and asks her husband what it is. He tells her that it is the revelation to Muhammed and 1 The reference is to the sacred pictures etc. of the Eastern Christians. 2 Declarations similar to these abound in the writings of the Siifi poets. ' There is here a gap in my MS., the page or pages describing the apo- stacy of the young merchant and the consummation of the marriage being lost. 198 waxes so eloquent in its praise that she becomes eager to see it and to take an augury from its pages, ' and eventually persuades him to procure it. He accordingly fetches it, and when they open the sacred book to take an augury, this verse meets their eyes: 'Is not the time come for those who believe that their hearts should be softened by the remem- brance of God and of what He hath sent down of the truth, and that they should not be as those who were given the scriptures aforetime, and over whom time was prolonged and whose hearts are grown hard ?' ^ When the young man sees this, his eyes are opened and he cries aloud. His wife in amaze asks what the augury is; and when she hears, she is so impressed alike by the words and by their effect upon her husband that she too cries aloud. Her father, who is present, has the church cleared, and when he has heard what the reason of the commotion is, the light of guidance streams down into his soul as into his daughter's, and both embrace the faith of Islam. They tell no one of what has happened ; but quietly make their preparations, and, when all is ready, set out with abundant treasure for Caesarea, where they arrive in safety and happiness. Having finished his tale, Hamdi proceeds to explain that it is in reality an allegory. The young merchant represents the human soul whose birthplace and home is in a Sacred Country like Caesarea, but when God's command is issued it must go forth to this sad Constantinople of a world, here to seek to gain a profit on the merchandize of its capabilities. While here it is beguiled by bodily delights which, like the ' Bibliomancy has already been referred to; vol. i, p. 166, n. 3, and p. 49 of this volume. In both these cases the volume referred to is the Diwan of Hafiz, but naturally the Koran also is often used for the same purpose. 2 Koran, LVii, 15. The reference in the latter part of the verse is to the Je\vs\and Christians, hence its appropriateness in the circumstances. 199 vczir's daughter, make it forgetful of its celestial origin ; while the 'beshrouded reason,' ' like the vezir himself, presents these to it in the fairest and most desirable of guises. And so this body causes the veil to descend before the soul, just as the vezir's daughter was the cause of the apostacy of the young merchant. But when grace descends from God, and the Koran of the divine guidance is opened, infidelity passes away and faith returns, and soul and body both are beautified thereby, until at length this transient world is left behind, and the Sacred Country is regained. The poem closes with a few lines in which the poet thanks God for having enabled him to bring his work to a conclusion. With regard to the other mesnevi alleged by some to be by Hamdi, the so-called Muhammediyye, I an unable to say anything except that it is mentioned only by the anno- tator of the Crimson Peony and by Katib Chelebi. It is probably identical with the Ahmediyye which Von Hammer attributes to this poet. ^ Besides these longer poems, Hamdi has a short treatise in mesnevi-verse on the old science of physiognomy. This little work, which contains only some hundred and fifty couplets and bears the descriptive title of Qiyafet-Name or 'The Book of Physiognomy', appears to have enjoyed a much greater share of public favour than some of the author's more ambitious efforts. ^ It is mentioned by all the biographers except Latifi, and both '^Ashiq and Hasan quote some verses * "^Aql-i Mahjiib, the 'Beshrouded (or Veiled) Reason', is a term applied in philosophy to the Reason when it is, so to speak, befogged by matter, that is, by the phantasmagoria presented through the five outer senses, to such an extent that it is unable to discriminate between the false and the true. 2 Von Hammer mentions further a poem which he calls Eni's-uRUshshiiq or 'The Lovers' Familiar' and which he attributes to Hamdi. I can find no trace of such a work in any Turkish authority. ^ The Qiyafet-Name occui's in the British Museum MS. Sloane, 4089. The poem is in the metre Khafif, the same as the Joseph and Zeh'kha. 200 from it. This esteem is no doubt chiefly owing to the subject of the work; for physiognomy, the art of discriminating character by the outward appearance, was a very popular study during the middle Ages both in East and West. The mental or moral characteristics associated with various phy- sical appearances are said to have been first tabulated by Aristotle, and subsequent writers do not seem to have made any essential alterations in what he set down. Hamdi did no more than throw the currently accepted notions into simple Turkish rhymes; but his work appears to be the earliest of its kind in the language, and this may possibly have helped its popularity by giving it the start of any rival. After a few introductory couplets Hamdi begins at once upon his subject, taking each feature in turn and telling us what moral characteristic we may expect to find according to the appearance of the same. The features discussed are the complexion, stature, girth, gait, hair, head, forehead, ears, eyebrows, eyes, face, nose, mouth, manner of speaking, laugh, lips, teeth, chin, neck, shoulders, waist, fingers, back, belly, and legs. Then follow a few brief instructions as to the recon- ciliation of apparently contradictory signs appearing in the same individual and as to drawing general conclusions. The book closes with a complaint concerning the brutality of the men of the age, the last lines being a prayer that God will save the writer from despair and at last receive him into bliss. No date or other clue to the time of composition is vouchsafed. Both '^Ashiq and Hasan mention Hamdi's ghazels, and both speak of them in a depreciatory tone. There is no record of his having left a Diwan. If he did so, the work may possibly have disappeared owing to the scant favour which, as we are told, was extended to his lyrics. But it may be that the ghazels to which the critics refer are those which the poet has introduced into his mesnevis. 20I In taking, leave of Ilamdi we may say that though he was not a great poet, he was an industrious and skilful adapter. That one of his works had considerable and abiding merit is proved by the high position which it maintained for centuries. It may perhaps be held that his acceptance of the principle of the interposed lyric established this happy innovation as a canon \Vith the Ottoman romancists. His Joseph and Zelikha, moreover, marks a stage in the develop- ment of Ottoman mesnevi; when we come to it, we have left behind both the baldness of Ahmedi and the cumber- someness of Sheykhi, and have reached a time when the poets, having found themselves, advance with surer step to a more clearly distinguished goal. Of the three following extracts from the Joseph and Zelikha, the first, which deals with the incident of the speaking wolf, is taken from that part of the poem in which Hamdi follows Firdawsi ; the two other extracts are from the part in which he follows Jami. Even in translation the difference in style is apparent. From the Yiisuf u Zelikha. [ 1 1 1 ] The Hunting of the Stranger Wolf by the Brethren of Joseph, and their slandering of the same. When all to this pact gave their consent, ' Forth to the hunt straightway they went. To lull their sire to the sleep of the hare 2 They off to the chase of the wolf did fare. They thought by this hunt a trick to play; That the truth would be proved wist not they. Nor wist they how lust that captures men 1 That is, when all Joseph's brothers had agreed to try to deceive their father by bringing to him what they would declare to be the very wolf that had eaten his beloved son. 2 'Hare's sleep' is a term used to express heedlessness, generally feigned, but sometimes, as in tliis case, real. 202 Had fast in its snare their own selves ta'en. O'er Canaan's hills and plains they past, And journeying on they reached the waste. And there in truth a wolf they spied That loudly, with eyes turned skyward, cried. To hunt him then their plans they cast; They caught him, and bound him sure and fast. With bonds they bound that weakling wight, And all of his teeth they brake forthright. They dragged him along with mickle pain. And back to the town they turned again. They brought him straight to Jacob's house, And showing him, spake to Jacob thus, 'This ate the gazelle of thy house so dear, 'This ate the tree of thy life's herbere.' Quoth Jacob, 'Leave ye him for a space : 'Do off his bonds that his soul find peace.' Then up he rose and began to pray. To the One who needs not, his need to say : — 'O Thou who life dost give to the stone, 'And who to the dry earth giv'st a tongue, * 'The power of speech to this wolf give Thou 'That he tell the tale of Joseph true.' Thus saying, he looked on the wolf with ruth, And bade him speak in the name of The Truth. He stroked his back with pity mild, By his prophethood tamed his nature wild. 2 (If one the wolf of his lust subdue. Is it strange if the beasts obey him too ? If one with The Truth communion see. What though the untamed his familiars be? What if one who by naming the Living doth make A soul alive, cause a beast to speak?) 3 ' Man being formed of clay. 2 The idea being that the Prophets, by virtue of the sanctity of their nature, render all wild creatures docile and friendly to them. 3 It being held that a saint by repeating the word el-Hayy 'the Living', one of the Names of God (vol. i, pp. 6o and 66), can awaken a soul to the spirituc.1 life. These three couplets are parenthetical. 203 He said, 'O brute, obey me now, 'Speak, in thy Maker's name, speak thou !' The wolf arose when he heard this say, He came, and sat on his tail straightway. He tuned his voice and disposed his tone. And fair he spake in the Hebrew tongue. He looked in the Prophet's face, aloud He said, 'There is no god but God!' And then he said, 'O Prophet true, 'What is thy question? ask it now.' Quoth Jacob, 'Where is my Joseph, say ! 'His brethren charge against thee lay. 'How hast thou dared him to eat, To make that soul for thy body meat?' When the wolf had these reproaches heard He answered thus with gentle word. To Jacob he said, 'O Prophet high, 'Of aught of this story know not I. 'Since the Prophets' flesh is forbidden us, 'We eat it not, we respect the dues. 'I swear that him I did not eat; 'Be not as thy sons, nor calumniate. 'A stranger come to this land v/as I, 'To dwell in the vale of perplexity. 'While I perplexed wailed bitterly, 'Thy sons did slander and seize on me. 'While I hoped from them some aidance fair, 'They dealt a wound on the wound I bare. 'While I hoped from them some boon to see, 'They brake my teeth without cause from me. 'And here before thee they did me hale. 'Now I to thy Saintship have told my tale.' When Jacob heard the words he said. For the plight of the wolf he grieved sad. So to light their guile and their lying came, And all of his sons were put to shame. The next passage describes the feelings of Zeh'kha on 204 awaking from the first of the three visions in which Joseph appears to her. From the Yusuf u Zelikha. [112] The Bitter Waihng of Zeh'kha in her First Passion. When the dawn-tide fair showed its sun-love ' forth, Desire therefor drave repose from earth. 2 On one hand the breeze stirred the air of desire, ^ On one strains resounded lieen as fire. * E'en as the bulbuls sang their lay Did the roses rend their garments gay. 5 In her slumber sweet was that Fairy-face " Plunged in delight of the dreamed-of grace. ' She was ta'en from herself by love, not sleep 5 It was blood, not tears, that her eyne did weep. Her nurses gently rubbed her feet, 8 And lauded her beauty's garden sweet. When she oped her quilt like the rosebud fair " 1 There is here a very favourite and constantly recurring amphilsology. The word mihr means both 'sun' and 'love', and is very often used by the poets in both senses at the same time. It is impossible to preserve this word-play in an English translation; all that can be done is, in case of need, to hyphen the two meanings thus: — 'sun-love.' 2 i. e. the world, which had been in repose during the night, became busy and eager when the beautiful sun rose. 3 The sweet morning breeze is here said to be hewa-engi'z, a term which means at once 'air-stirring' and 'desire-stirring', the word hewa having the two senses of 'air' and 'love-desire.' * i. e. the songs of the bii'ds rejoicing in the fresh morning. 5 When the opening rosebud bursts the calyx it is said 'to rend its garment.' The poets often picture it doing this out of ecstasy at the song of its lover the nightingale. " i. e. Zelikha. '' i. e. the vision of Joseph. 8 Great people in the East, when troubled by insomnia, often get their attendants to lull them to sleep by gently rubbing their feet with the palm of the hand; sometimes the attendants seek to accelerate the process by droning some tale or poem in monotonous voice. People are occasionally gently wakened by the same means. 9 As the bursting bud opens its calyx, so did Zelikha, the rosebud beauty, raise the quill as she awoke. 205 She gave their vaunt to her roses rare. ' When her narcisse-eye from sleep was raised, Into every nook in haste she gazed ; She was plunged so deep within yearning's sea That she deemed her vision verity. As that rosy-cheek 2 was nowhere found, She bode, like the bud, for a space heart-l^ound. ^ Sleep went, and her eyes with tears were full, And hence as a dream fled her peace of soul. And the Moon of the Sunset-land was fain To rend her robe, like the east,* for pain. But the hand of her valiance stayed her course, And brave she controlled her passion's force. Though hot in her breast did the sun-love (lame, There remained therein yet a mote of shame. Though dole had seized her collar fast, On the skirt of patience her foot she prest. ^ The soul shut close her mouth like the bud. As it made her heart-blood boil right wode. Her cypress waved in the garden-way, ^ Her heart for woe in the sea-depths lay. Her body played with her comrades bright. But her soul was woe for the feigned delight. She beamed at the feast, like the taper there*, Her heart was on fire though she smiled so fair. ' Like the tulip, the cup in her hand she bore;^ • i. e. she showed her rose-red lips, thus enabling them to boast silently how their loveliness put the roses themselves to shame. 2 i. e. Joseph. 3 While the bud is still unopened it is often spoken of as 'heart-bound' or 'heart-straitened', and is then taken as a type of sadness or distress. * When the dawn breaks, the east is said to rend its robe. 5 Dole is conceived as having seized the collar of her robe and as trying to drag her back or down, while she has planted her foot on her skirt (i. e. patience) the better to resist its attempt. •> i. e. her cypress-like figure moved about in the garden. ^ The 'taper' is the emblem of a bright beauty. When lit, the taper is said 'to smile', and of course there is then a fire at its heart. 8 The flower of the tulip is often likened to a cup of red wine. 206 This air ih her head, ' in her breast the sore. 2 Whome'er she saw, on her love she thought; To her mind each picture his beauty brought. In Either World for her love she yearned, And her sweet heart for a sweetheart burned. The thought of his eyebrow arched her heart, Her soul for love of his eyne did smart. To her lips came a thousand times her spright 3 Ere the day of yearning turned to night. * The lovers' helpful fere is night. The lover's familiar dear is night. He who made night the cloak of secrecy * Bade her many a sorrow's halm to be. As night over secrets draws the pall, She is the chosen of lovers all. 'Night is the stranger's', thus they say, ^ 'Tis the hapless nightingale's in fay, '' That he to the rose may tell his love While never a thorn knows aught thereof. ^ The Sun of the Sunset hid away, And turned to the wall in sad dismay. ' Hewd, the word used here, means both 'air' and 4ove-desire' (see p. 204, n. 3). The head, that is the open flower, of the tulip is filled with air (hewa); the head of Zelikha is filled with love-desire (hewa). 2 The Eastern poets very frequently speak of what they call the dagh or 'sore.' This is a black clot of blood supposed to form in the heart through brooding over some inward grief, generally that resulting from unrequited love. Physiologically the 'sore' was imagined to be caused by a derangement of the humour sevda or 'melancholy' (see vol. i, p. 301, n. i). 3 i. e. she was constantly at the point of death by reason of her agitation. * She yearned for the night in the hope that her beloved would again visit her in her dreams. * Suggested by the Koranic text (lxxviii, 10), 'And have we not made the night as a cloak?' 6 There is, or was, a proverb to this effect. This proverb, which does not appear to be generally known among modern Turks, perhaps refers to the fact that in old times a traveller had at night a right to claim shelter and hospitality. ' Night is the time for the nightingale to unburden his soul in song. 8 The thorns are sometimes looked upon as the guardians of the rose, set ovcA her to keep away undesirable lovers such as the nightingale. 207 Is it strange if she who in love doth fall Turn her back to the folk, her face to the wall? When the Hidden note ' made her bud-heart Idoom, The key of her soul 2 did with fire consume. The cloud and the ocean wept her pain, The treble and bass with her did plain. ' Her eyes were a torrent, the tears rushed down; For the woe of her heart she thus made moan: — Ghazel. 'E'er since they answered 'Yea!'* when Love the seed of woe did sow, 5 'Hath Love with dolour's water caused hapless me to grow. '"' 'When Grief by threshing long had beaten out my grain for me " 'Straightway the blast of Love to all the winds my crop did blow. 'And since that Dule hath made my heart the fere of yon sweet one, 'Love maketh aliens unto me all them I erst did know. 8 'And Health hath ceased to give me hail e'er since that Love to me 'His greeting sweet by sad Reproach's hand 9 hath deigned to throw. 'Nor aught of sleep abides within mine eyen filled with tears ; 'I wot not what these shifts and haps of Love at last will show.' Thus saying she sighed in her drearihood, ' Nihuft 'Hidden' is the name of one of the notes in Eastern music. 2 Perde-i Jan, literally, 'the veil of the soul.' The word perde means both 'veil' and 'key (in music)'; so we have here another amphibology. 3 The weeping of the clouds, i. e. the rain, is the treble, and the roar of the waves the bass. * i. e. at the Primal Conclave : see vol. i, p. 22. 5 Love being the motive power that brought about creation and all that this involves. 6 Zelikha here pictures herself as a plant the seed of which was sown in sorrow by Love on the Fore-eternal Day, and which this same Love has fostered ever since, watering it with dolour, the nourishment best suited to its nature, till now at length it has blossomed forth. ^ By her 'grain' Zelikha means the profit of her living, which has been acquired only by long and constant suffering, even as the seed is separated from the straw by threshing. 8 i. e. she is so much absorbed by the thought of her beloved that she is heedless of all her former friends. • The lover being generally, in the poets, an object of reproach among his fellows. 208 And made of her eyen founts of blood. As the beauty's form in her mind did rise Her rubies scattered pearls this wise : — * 'O thou who hast plunged me in grief and woe, 'And stricken me brent by love's fierce lowe, 'Ere my bulbul-heart hath thy rose-face seen 'I weep and wail for the thorn of teen. 'Since thy fantasy I beheld in sleep 'But a fantasy is become my sleep. 2 'Like thy hair without end separation's night, ^ 'If aid not thy union's morning-light. * 'O gem, if I knew where thy mine might be, * 'Thither I straightway would strive to flee. 'I know not thy name to tell it o'er, 'To gladden my heart that grieveth sore. 'I have found neither thee nor trace of thee; 'This anguish will leave no trace of me. 'Thou art King, what region owns thy sway? 'Thou art Moon, in which sky is thy mansion, say ? *> 'Is any so poor as I in part, 'For I have nor heart nor yet sweetheart? 'A rose, ere I oped I smiled for glee; '' 'In the garden I waved, a cypress free. ^ ' i. e. her red lips uttered these beautiful words. 2 i. e. since I beheld the fantasy, (khayal), i. e. image (see p. 36, n. 7) of thee in my sleep, my sleep has become a fantasy (khayal), i. e. an unreal, imaginary thing. 3 Separation from the beloved is like night, a night long and dark as the beloved's hair. * Reunion with the beloved is the bright morn that follows the night of separation. 5 The mine being the native home of the gem. 6 This must be taken as merely rhetorical, without regard to astronomical accuracy; for of course the twenty-eight mansions of the moon being all in the Zodiac, are in the eighth heaven or sphere, while the moon itself is located in the first (vol. i, p. 43). ' Referring to the condition of Zelikha before her vision. The bud is said to 'smile' when it opens; but she smiled, i. e. was happy, ere she opened, i. e. ere her heart was opened by love. 8 The cypress is often qualified as free (azad), for being evergreen it is exeiapt from the annual loss of foliage which is the lot of most trees. 209 ••No thorn my foot had ever smit, 'No dust on my frame had e'er alit, 'With a puppet it was they captured me ' 'When thy fantasy they made me see. 'My breast by thy love is rent and torn, 'My pillow a stone and my couch a thorn. 'How should I rest on the cruel briar? 'Whence were there peace to a heart on fire? 'My headstrong self on the wind thou'st cast, 2 'Then drown my fire in thy water fast. 3 'Thy beauty's gear is great of price, 'With me no wealth but of anguish lies. 'Should aidance from thee never come me nigh, 'I wot that no help in myself doth lie!' Thus all that night till the morning brake With the fantasy of her love she spake. Now she fanned the flame, now she beat it low; Now she drenched her heart, now she made it glow. No peace the plight of the lover knows, For power of choice from the lover goes. In the morn in this wonder-garden gay, * A smile on her face, in her heart dismay. Like a rose, with the blooming flowers she laughed, * With the silvern-arms the ruby quaffed. " And such for a space was her weary plight, A smile by day and in tears by night. The last extract that we shall take from this poem tells of Joseph's invitation from his father and mother to join them in Paradise and his joyful acceptance thereof. 1 The term 'puppet' or 'doll' (lu^bet) is sometimes applied like 'idol' (sanem) and 'picture' (nigar) to a young beauty. Here the word suggests further that what captured Zelikha's heart was but a simulacrum, not a living person. 2 Thou hast cast me into hewa ('air' or 'wind', and 'love-desire.') 3 In this couplet we have three of the four elements. * i. e. (i) the world, (2) the garden of her palace. 5 'As we have just seen, when the rose opens it is said to 'laugh' or 'smile.' Here the 'blooming flowers' stand in the second place for Zelikha's girl- companions. •> The 'silvern-arms' are her white-skinned companions, the 'ruby' is the red wine. 14 210 From the Yusuf u Zelikha. [113] Joseph (on whom be Peace I) seeth his Father and Mother in a Vision and prayeth God to reunite him with them. To the prayer-niche i he passed alone one night To pay to the Lord his service-rite. In sleep unoblivious 2 closed his een, He journeyed mid the World Unseen. He saw his father and mother there, Their faces bright as the moonlight fair. To Joseph they said, 'O son, till when 'Will the frame the huma-soul impen?^ 'Immure it not in water and clay ; * 'To the World of Soul let it wing its way. 'Return to thy home ; for thee we yearn ! 'Thou art Heaven's bird; to thy nest return!' > When Joseph up from his sleep awoke In his bosom longing's fire outbroke. ' For the mihrab or prayer-niche in a mosque see vol. I, p. 224, n. i. It is deep enough to permit of a man's performing the prayer in it. 2 'Sleep oblivious' (Kh^ab-i ghaflet) is the ordinary sleep of the ordinary man, as opposed to 'sleep unoblivious' (Kh^ab-i bi-ghaflet), which is that sleep of the prophets and saints in which, though the body be unconscious, the soul is in the Spirit World, where it perceives the Reality, and in this way becomes the recipient of the Divine Revelation (see vol, I, pp. 57 — 8). The t\Vo following hadi'ses bear upon this: «w.^Xj -Laj "^^ ^^-^^^ ii-»jij ic^^ 055 >3 3 __ 0333&E }„ - «^ oSo< _ J (*^y^ pLo ^3 ;*■{■*.«; t:I j,Uj ^Lv*J"^^ iiVJA5\) 'As to the Prophet, his two eyes are asleep, but his heart sleepeth not; and thus is it with the Prophets, their eyes sleep, but their hearts sleep not.' J'^j'^' ry" iiAAM.^\Jl iL-jjJl s^xijl ^yA ij.> j^AXJ^fj d.^.^ ^y« Sj> gJLxsJi 'The true dream of the righteous man is one part of the six-and-forty parts of prophetship.' For the meaning of 'true dream' see vol. i, p. 57, n. i. ' For the huma or fabled bird of Paradise see vol. i, p. 331, n. 5. ♦ Water and clay (earth) being those two of the Four Elements which enter most largely into the composition of the body. \ 211 That cypress did from the prayer-niche sway And straight to Zelikha made his way. He told her whate'cr he had beheld And how that longing his bosom swelled. Zelikha's heart was grief-dismayed As soon as she heard the words he said. But Joseph's yearning waxed the more, And forth of the world his heart would soar. lie turned his eyes from the house of pain, ' He was of the Presence-Palace - fain. For fleeting pleasures grieved not he ; He made his prayer for eternity : — 'O Thou who grantest the hope of each, 'Who makest the traveller home to reach, 'Thou hast set me o'er Egypt's legions King; 'Thou hast taught me of dreams the interpreting. 'My Patron in Either World art Thou; 'Oh leave me not in the house of woe. 'With Thy mercy whelm the soul of me, 'Join me with the righteous company !' 3 We shall now take two passages from the Leyla and Mejnun. The first recounts Mejnun's conversation with the crow after his flight from Nevfel and his rescuing of the gazelles. From the Leyla u Mejnun. [114] Mej"nun fepeaketh to the Crow. At dawn, what time the sphei'e of azure blue Had made the yellow rose shed gold anew, * ' i. e. the woiid. 2 i. e. Heaven, the Palace of the Immediate Presence of God. 3 All of this passage is copied very closely from Joseph's prayer as given in the Koran (xil, 102), several of the actual words of the sacred text being repeated by Hamdi. The Koran has it : — 'My Lord ! Thou hast given me dominion, and hast taught me the interpretation of sayings; O Creator of the heavens and the earth, Thou art my Patron in the world and the Hereafter; take me to Thyself resigned, and join me with the righteous.' * The 'yellow rose' is the sun which sheds its golden light as a rose sheds its yellow pollen, or as a yellow rose sheds its yellow petals. 212 And smiled the earth's face like the ruddy rose, A beam as 'twere the beauty Leyla shows, Did Mejniin, like the rose by autumn shent, With faded face and sear, and eyes blood-sprent, * In sadness walk, o'erwhelmed in his tears 5 Thou'dst say he like a shipwrecked wight appears. ? By noontide's sun the soul of him was scorched; No screen was his, his every limb was scorched. For he was shadow-like, no gear had he;* He therefore sat him 'neath a shady tree. A green and lofty tree with shade profound Aneath which lay a lovely mead and pond. And round e'en like the spheral pond was this, * Its water clear and pure as Kevser's is. About its banks did the fair meadow lie ; A further lustre gained the pond thereby. With burning heart up went he to the bank And, like the mead, his fill of water drank, Himself like shadow on the mead he laid. As 'twere a figure upon green brocade. On that brocaded couch himself he placed. And then to that fair tree his eyen raised. When there, perched on a branch, he saw a crow Whose eyes like night-lamps 5 in the night did glow, ' From his Sveeping blood.' 2 i. e. he is so wretched, and moreover he is drenched by his tears as a shipwrecked man would be by water. 3 Mejniin is often described as '•shadow-like', he being so wasted by grief. Here he is 'shadow-like' in the further sense that he has no more property than a shadow has. [Some of the Arab poets go even further in describing the wasted form of the lover. Thus Ibnu^l-Farid, in the first poem in his Diwan (which is also one of the most celebrated) says — ^^ ^^^/iol bLj L^/O x5 Ix "So greatly hath longing wasted him that he hath no longer even a shadow", and Mutanabbi says, speaking of a lover's emaciated frame, that, if the wind did not blow his garments about, he would be invisible, ed.] * The 'spheral pond' means simply the vault of heaven which appears round like a pond, or at least like this pond. 5 For the fabled jewel called 'night-lamp' see vol. i, p. 291, n. i. 213 Whose plumage l)lack as ""Ablids ensign seemed, ' Whose ruddy bill a piece of brazil gleamed, ^ (That ruby beak upon his bosom lay, — Lo, brazil worked on ebon, thou would'st say.) With head frock-covered, 3 lonely, silently. He sat, black-vested like a Khalveti. * Whene'er love's eremite ^ that crow did sight He held him fellow of his blackened spright. « 'Thy lot is peace, thy stead the garth', he said, 'O white of scroll, ' then wherefore black thy wede? 'Why night-hued, O illuminer of night, 'Whose day and night are day-tide of delight? 'Thou fliest in the bower with heart at ease, 'Then wherefore black thy plumes and black thy case? 'Perchance thou wearest mourning for my woe; But wherefore should my burning stir thee so ! 8 'Nay, who hath burned thee, say, for whom dost yearn? — 'That thou art black-faced e'en as they who burn ! » ' The standards of the 'Abbasi Khalifas were black. 2 Baqam, or 'brazil-wood' (in old times generally 'brazil' with the accent on the first syllable), the well-known reddish wood from which a red dye is obtained. The name was originally applied to a dye-wood which was imported from India, and which is now called sappan. The country in South America was called after a similar wood, which was found there in great quantities by the early explorers. In Eastern poetry brazil is always associated with the idea of redness. ' i. e. with his head seeming to rest upon his bosom, his neck being drawn in. * i. e. a member of the Khalveti dervish-order. 5 i. e. Mejniin. 6 The lover's soul being held to be scorched, and so blackened, by the fires of passion and sorrow. ' 'White of scroll' i. e. of blameless life. The allusion is to the Defter-i A'^mal or 'Register of Deeds' kept by the recording angels, in which is entered all that a man does of good and evil ; the Register of him whose good actions greatly predominate is said to be white, while his whose evil deeds largely preponderate is black. ^ 8 Mejniin has hiterto been asking why the crow whose life is so happy and innocent should wear black, the colour of mourning and sin; he now conceives that this may be because of the bird's sympathy with his own sorrows; but this seems an insufficient reason, so in the next couplet he fancies the crow himself must be a victim of unhappy love. « The allusion is lo those doomed to hell. In Koran, ill, I02— 3, we read, 214 'Thou wearest black, like them that bum art thou; 'Then why from one who burneth fliest now? i 'Thou'rt like a negro slave who seeks to flee; 'A Hindu or a Hindu-boy thou'dst be. 2 'Ah, may be thou the Ci-ow of Parting art ; ' 'For thou art like the sore within my heart. * 'Thou'rt perched above me there on the green tree, 'And like my black fate overhangest me. 'But then if thou wert my black star indeed, 'Thou hadst not hither come my plight to heed. * 'When like my sighing's smoke thou fleest away, ^ 'Go seek yon dear one, and my secrets say, 'Thus : Askest thou of yonder stranger's woes ? ^ 'Yon nightingale's, far sundered from his rose? 'If thou reach him no hand, his case is spent; 'For anguish is his face to ruin bent. '"If woe come near thee", saidst thou, "come will I." 'Ah, woe. is come, but thou art come not nigh ! 'When goes the eye for ill of cecity, f 'What good thereto from tutty shall there be ? 8 'On the Day (i. e. the Last Day) when faces shall be whitened and faces shall be blackened: as for those whose faces shall be blackened, — "Did ye blaspheme after your faith? then taste the torment for that ye were blasphemers." But as for thos^ whose faces shall be whitened, they are in the mercy of God, abiding therein for aye.' ' Here the crow must be supposed to hop to a higher branch. 2 The Hindu or Indian is, like the Zenji or Negro, always a type of black- ness in this poetry. 3 Ghurab-ul-Beyn 'the Crow of Parting' is a nickname given to the crow, which, being considered a bird of ill omen, was sometimes supposed by its presence to presage the parting of friends or lovers. * The 'sore' (dagh) in the heart (see p. 206, n. 2 supra) was supposed to be black. Mejnitn now begins to fear that the appearance of the ill-omened bird may portend some calamity. * The lover here rejects the idea that the crow is a harbinger of evil, as in that case he would not have sat perched up there looking down with sympathy on him. * We have often seen sighs compared to smoke, here the quality of black- ness is common to the sigh, the smoke, and the crow. ■' This is the beginning of the message which Mejniin charges the crow to bear to Leyla. 8 For tutty see p. 49, n. 4 supra. 215 ^Or when the wolf hath snatched the lamb away, 'What boots the shouting of the shepherd, say? 'Or when the flood hath the foundation mined, 'What profit though with steel the walls they bind? 'Or when the torrents spread the fields of grain 'With stones, what good though pearls descend for rain?' ' While he the shaft of speech thus lusty threw, The crow took fright, from branch to branch he flew ; When MejnUn whetted speech's arrow bright. His auditor flew thence and passed from sight. He had the crow for fellow-sufferer ta'en; The crow flew off, this oped his wound again. When night her corvine plumes had round her wound. And earth as in a net of black was bound, And heaven had the stars as lanterns lit. Or made them crow-eyes in the darksome net, Mejnun, his heart-lamp quenched, laid him down, The crow of patience from his hand was flown 5 As 'twere a quenched taper there he lay; His peace, a party scattered, 2 past away. The second extract from this romance describes the lonely death of Mejnun. From the Leyla u Mejnun. [115] The Death of Mejnun. The divert for this story-pearl thus saitli: — This history on this wise finisheth: — ' i. e. when the torrents have brought down stones frorn the mountains and covered the corn fields with them so that the grain cannot grow, and man is left without food, what good were it to him though the heavens should rain down pearls on him? If one can get no food, of what use are riches? The same idea is the motive of the 17th story of the third Book of Sa^di's Gulistan. '^ When undisturbed, one's peace of mind is said to be 'collected;' con- versely, wiaen it is destroyed or ruflled, it is said to be 'scattered', 'dispersed' or 'distracted', and is not unfrequently compared to a party that has liroken up, all the guests being 'scattered,' having 'dispersed' to their several homes. 3 No doubt Nizami is meant. 2l6 That one ' whom Parting mid the flames had hurled, Aweary of his life, cast off the world. His body, broken by the stones of grief, Was wasted like unto an autumn leaf; The strength went from his body day by day. He, feeble, wretched, without power or stay, Nor joy nor patience lingered in his breast. Nor easance lingered in his soul nor rest. His soul came up into his mouth for woe. And sought for an excuse from thence to go. The Silent Voices 2 whispered to him fair Of tidings glad of union with his dear. Then straight he to his loved one's grave did haste. And shadow-like himself thereon he cast. He clasped the earth, and bitterly he moaned, And verses sang, and in his anguish groaned. Alone and sick, without or friend or fere, With only savage creatures seated near; Nor friend nor brother nigh to render aid, A stone his pillow, the bare earth his bed; No man to whom his parting words to tell, But Death the sword, the headsman '^Azra'il. 3 The rain-cloud was the cotton on that day, It filled his mouth with water as he lay. * His comrades, they were thunder, lightning, rain, They moaned, and burned, and wept for him amain. ^ ' i. e. Mejniin. 2 Lisan-i Hal (or Zeban-i Hal), literally, 'the Tongue (or Language) of the Case,' but generally best rendered by 'mute eloquence', is a very frequent term applied to the manner, looks, or condition of a person or thing, as appealing directly to the heart or mind without making use of words. It is opposed to Lisan-i Qal or 'uttered language.' ' "^Azra^il is the Angel of Death. * It is usual to put cotton-wool in the mouth, nostrils, etc. of a corpse. The fleecy clouds are here conceived as cotton-wool, and the rain-drops that they shower as the pieces thereof put into the corpse's mouth. The intention is to point out that the only friends round the dying Mejniin are the wild beasts and (as further shown in the next couplet) the forces of nature. 5 This couplet contains an example of the rhetorical figure called leff u ncshr (vol. i, p. 115), the thunder moaning, the lightning burning, and the rain weeping for the dying man. 217 Then Mejnun turned to God, beseeching there, He raised his eyes and oped his hands in prayer;' He said, 'Creator of all things that be, 'By every soul elect I cry on Thee 'That Thou release me from this anguish drear, 'And glad me with reunion with my dear!' Then e'en as from his mouth this prayer sped, Along therewith his huma-spirit fled; He clasped at the last breath his dear one's dust. And crying 'O my Love !' gave up the ghost. The following passage from the Mevlid recounts the first interview between Gabriel the Angel of Revelation and Muhammed the future Prophet. From the Mevlid-i Nebi. [ii6] Gabriel announceth his Mission to Muhammed. When the Mercy to the Worlds 2 had gone one day To Hira, 3 and. there intent did. watch and pray, Sudden flashed the truth before his eyen there. And the Holy spirit * did to him appear. Said he, greeting that Belov'd 5 in fair accord, 'I am Gabriel, O Prophet of the Lord ! 'Unto thee hath God fulfilled His favour great, " 1 When praying God for any blessing or favour, the Muhammedan looks towards the palms of his hands which he holds before him like an open book, and then draws over his face from the forehead downwards. 2 We have already seen this title of Muhammed, vol. i, p. 245, n. i. 3 It was on Mount Hira, a wild and lonely mountain near Mekka, whither Muhammed used often to repair to fast and watch, that the announcement of his prophetic mission was made to him by the Archangel Gabriel. * As we have seen (vol. i, p. 239, n. 2), 'the Holy Spirit' is in Islam a title of Gabriel. ' The 'Beloved of God', another of Muhammed's titles, see vol. i, p. 243, n. 2. 6 There is here a reference to Koran, v, 5, which is said to be the last verse revealed to the Prophet : 'To-day I have perfected for you your religion and I have fulfilled upon you my favour.' 2l8 'Thee as imam ' over men and jinn hath set. * 'Ten especial gifts too hath He given thee, 'Never such to any Prophet granted He.' When that Mustafa 3 of these had question made, Thus the messenger of God in answer said: 'One is this, wherever God is mentioned, lo, 'Shall Muhammed Mustafa be mentioned too. * 'God hath made thy folk the best of folk that be, 'Them the folk who bid and forbid made hath He. * 'He hath let the cleanly earth be clean for these 5 ^ 'Fair the cleanness, fair the honour, fair the peace. '' 'Other peoples, if they could no water get, 'Counted were unclean ; 'twas thus the Law was set. 'These shall learn moreover the Koran by heart; 'Other folk have never in this gift had part. 8 1 Imam, in its more restricted sense, is the title given to the precentor or leader of a congregation of worshippers; in its wider sense it is applied (as here) to a chief, or leader, or teacher in general. 2 Muhammed's mission being to the jinn (see vol. i, p. 245, n. 5) as well as to mankind. 3 Mustafa, i. e. Muhammed Mustafa the Prophet. * In allusion to the Kelime or Muslim Confession of Faith : 'There is no god but God; Muhammed is the Apostle of God.' 5 Referring to Koran, iii, 106: 'Ye are the best of nations brought forth unto mankind; ye bid what is good and ye forbid what is ill, and ye believe in God.' " This refers to Koran, iv, 46, where, speaking of the canonical ablution, it is said, 'if ye cannot find water, then use good sand and wipe your faces and your hands therewith.' This permission to use sand for ablutionary pur- poses in place of water, when the latter is unprocurable, is looked upon as one of the concessions granted by Heaven to the adherents of Islam, the followers of the earlier dispensations being reckoned canonically unclean unless the prescribed washings were made with water, as is stated in the succeeding couplet. '^ i. e. their canonical cleanness is perfect, so is their honour as strict observers of the Law, and so is their peace of mind as to the proper accom- plishment of their duty. 8 It is reckoned one of the special miracles in connection with the Koran that so many of its followers know it by heart. There have at all times been among every Muslim people thousands of Hafizes, that is, persons who know the whole Koran by heart ; so that if at any time every written copy of the sacred volume should disappear from the face of earth, it would be perfectly 219 'None hath known the Pentateuch by heart but three 'Of that nation, Moses, Jesus, Ezra, ' they. 'God hath pardoned thee thine every sin for aye, 'Done thy former and thy later sins away. 2 'By thy faith all other faiths annulled hath lie, 'Though averse thereto the polytheists be. ^ 'Then the angels and the Lord of all who live 'Hail to thee and greeting fair and noble give. * Saith God — extolled and exalted be He! — 'God and His Angels salute the Prophet. O ye who believe ! Salute ye him!' Whoso seeketh for his soul the Stream of Life, Greeting unto yon Beloved let him give ! * easy to restore it down to the minutest detail. Such has never been the case with the scriptures of any other community. ' The tradition is that Ezra, after having been dead for many years, was raised to life, and dictated from memory the whole of the Jewish scriptures, which had been lost during the captivity ; a feat which led the Jews, according to the Koran (ix, 30), to call this prophet the Son of God. 2 As in Koran, XLVlii, 2 : 'That God may forgive thee thy former and later sin.' 3 As in Koran, LXi, 9: 'He it is who hath sent His Apostle with the guidance and the Religion of Truth to set it above all religions, averse though the polytheists may be.' * This couplet is versified from the Koranic passage (xxxiii, 56) which is quoted immediately after in the text. s This couplet is a refrain, and occurs from time to time throughout the poem. Up to this point the conversation recorded between Gabriel and the Prophet is purely imaginary; it rests upon no Koranic basis, and is supported by no generally accredited authority; it consists simply of a number of unconnected passages from the Koran strung together. The universally accepted account of what happened at the first interview between the Archangel and the Apostle is that which the poet now proceeds to narrate. It is to the effect that the Angel appeared to Muhammed and bade him, 'Read!' In fear and trembling the future Prophet answered that he was an unlettered man and could not read. Thereupon Gabriel seized him and pressed or shook him violently, and again bade him, 'Read!' This was repeated three times, after which the Angel read to him these five verses which occur at the beginning of ch. xcvi of the Koran : — 'Read! in the name of thy Lord who hath created, 'Hath created man from congealed blood, 220 When he by these words had done away his dread, 'PvCad!' he said. 'I know not how to read,' he said. Seized and clasped him then the Messenger of God That the heart of Mustafa be wide and broad. 'Read !' he said. 'O brother mine,' then Ahmed i said, 'I am all unlettered, I can nothing read.' 'Read!' he said, and thrice he clasped him without ruth, — (Some there be who tell he put him thus to proof). Since he might read nothing of his own accord, 'Read thou,' said he, 'in the name then of thy Lord!' Gabriel then read to him the chapter through Till he reached the passage 'what he did not know.' The extract which follows from the Tuhfet-ul-'^Ushshaq or 'Gift to Lovers' describes the young merchant's first sight of the vezir's daughter at the close of the feast at her father's house. From the Tuhfet-ul-'^Ushshaq. The Merchant's Son seeth the Daughter of the Vezir. [117] With heart at peace while in this case he ^ lay. With eyes and spirit that around did stray, A curtain opposite was sudden drawn, And forth therefrom a Moon 3 in beauty shone. How fair a Moon! the sun each day doth kiss The dust that on her beauty's pathway is. * \y Her lip's sherbet 's physician of the soul; \y Her hair to madness drives the wise and whole. I How brave a sorcerer that curling tress ! — 'Read! by thy Lord the Most Gracious! 'Who hath taught the pen, 'Hath taught man what he did not know.' These five verses are therefore the first that were revealed. ' Ahmed, i. e. Muhammad. 2 i. e. the young merchant. ' i. e. the vezir's daughter. * The sui^, shining on her pathway is said, by the figure aetiology (vol. I, p. 11^), to kiss the dust she treads on. 221 Each hair a myriad souls holds in duresse. Were 't strange if they should sell the world for naught Who once a sight of yonder hair-waist caught r ' The star the which I praise is yonder may Whose cheek bestows on sun and moon their ray. Her ornaments gave lustre to her moon ; 2 Her shadow formed a cloud anear the sun. ^ A lasso she on either shoulder bare ♦ That she therewith the merchant might ensnare. Her brigand-eyes were ready therewithal Upon the booty of his wits to fall. And lo, Life's Water of her lips she bore To give fresh life to him who life gave o'er. From head to foot was she in red arrayed Thatlshe the Kingdom of his heart might raid. ^ She held in hand Jemshid's translucent bowl, " Each drop whereof would horse full many a soul. '' That Cypress fair 8 advanced with arch demean, ('I was like the sun with radiant moon beseen) ; ^ Her head before the merchant bowed she, And then she sate her by him knee to knee. That Peacock to yon Huma gave the bowl, '<> And straightway to the air she flung his soul. " 1 There is here a hint at the connection between 'naught' and the girl's hair- waist which is so slight as to be (almost) nothing; cf. vol. i, p. 218, n. 6. cK 2 The 'moon' here stands for either the girl's face or her person, the idea being that she has heightened her beauty by her elaborate dressing, etc. I,' ' She herself is the 'sun', so her shadow is conceived as a cloud by the side of this. _ *, i. e. her curling tresses hung down over each shoulder. . 5 'Red,' 'arrayed', and 'raid' are in imitation of the original, and are brought together merely for the sake of the tejnis or paronomasia. _ 8 'Jemshid's translucent bowl' is simply the wine-filled bowl. For the allusion see p. 71, n. i. ■> i. e. would carry myriads of souls to exaltation. 8 i. e. the slender, elegant girl. 9 The girl is the sun; the wine-filled goblet, the bright moon. Generally when the moon is seen near the sun, the former appears faint; but in this case, strange to say, it preserves its radiance. '" The Peacock is the girl; the Huma, the youth. " The huma is always associated with air, in which it lives, never alighting 222 The wine his diffidence threw to the wind, The flames of love around the merchant twined. What time that love o'er him did cast its shade His beauty's full moon did to crescent fade ; His rose-face changed to pallid eglantine, * And red, as it were rubies, turned his eyne. ^ When yonder Fawn 3 into this dolour fell He voiced his case in this musk-sweet ghazel: — Ghazel. 'The taper of the heart is from the lowe of love alight, 'And moth-like in that burning lowe y-brent are soul and spright. 'The world hath reached the tide of spring, and smileth like the rose; 'My heart and brain are dyed in blood, e'en like the tulip bright. * 'What while my vagrant heart was wand'ring free, the huntsman Love 'Gave chase thereto, and round its neck his lasso flung forthright. 'O preacher, preach not unto us, for wode and wild are we ; 'If wise thou be, no sermon read to bound and fettered wight. ^ 'How should not Hamdi make his moan as morn and eve come round? — 'For peace is fall'n asleep, and woke are pain and woe and blight.' When that her end was gained the maiden saw. She made as though that she would thence withdraw. The merchant thereon seized her skirt and cried, 'O thou, who'st fired my soul's stackyard, 6 abide ! 'O love, whose tresses have my wits bewrayed, 'Whose Leyla-locks have me their Mejnun made!' on earth (vol. I, p. 331, n. 5). The word here used for 'air' is that which means also 'love-desire', see p. 204, n. 3, and p. 206, n. i. 1 In this poetry the eglantine is generally associated with the idea of whiteness. ■■2 Because of his tears of blood. 3 i, e. the young merchant. The fawn (or deer) and musk are associated. * The 'tide of spring' represents the beautiful girl; all rejoice through her, and her lover alone is filled with anguish. 5 Madmen were usually fettered (vol. i, p. 330, n. 5, and p. 360, n. 8) ; there is no use in exhorting madmen, they cannot understand: the youth is mad with love, he is fettered in the huntsman's lasso, i. e. the girl's long hair. " For the explanation of this metaphor see p. 55. n. 3. ' 'Leyld-locks' implies 'night-black locks', just as 'their Mejnun' implies 'thejr bewitched one.' \ 223 '•The while that bird, my heart, was Hying free, 'By guile thou'st snared it in the love of thee. 'Thy quarry 'tis, forsake it not, O Soul! ' 'Nor go and leave it in the springe of dole. 'A stranger I fall'n in thy sorrow's stead, 2 'A bulbul who hath reached thy beauty's mead. 'To make the souls of stranger-wights thy prey 'Thy chin a pit for guests is, welaway ! ' 'Since pow'rless I this yeai-ning to endure, 'Oh cast me not in parting's prison dure !' The following passages are from the Qiyafet-Name or 'Book of Physiognomy,' and from them it will be seen that the ruling principle of the science is that due proportion in the bodily features is the index of an evenly balanced nature, every physical departure from such proportion being indicative of an excess or deficiency in some moral quality. From the Qiyafet-Name. Of the Complexion. [ 1 1 8] A ruddy hue slioweth hasty blood, A dusky tint is the sign of good. Whose tint both red and clear is, * Politeness and modesty are his. The man whose complexion doth sallow be Is false of heart, and a traitor he. That yellow that doth to black incline In all of his nature is false and vain. This is token and sign of proportion right, — That the red be red and the white be white. 5 M. e. O beloved. 2 i. e. I am a stranger who has chanced upon the land of sorrowing for the love of thee, i. e. who has fallen in love with thee, and suffers in consequence. , I 3 The chin's 'pit' is the dimple. By 'guests' 'strangers' are here meant, but strangers who have some claim to hospitable treatment. * That is, whose skin is clear and whose cheeks and lips are red, i. e. who has a good complexion. * i. e. that those parts are red which should be red, such as the cheeks and lips, and those' white which should be white. 224 He who is white without trace of red, And whose eyes in blueness do exceed, A ti-aitor shameless and lewd is he. Supreme in the world for levity. Of Laughing. [119] Wheresoever excess of laughing be Hope not there for sincerity. To smile full oft shows a gracious heart, To guffaw is of shamelessness the part. Of the Ear. [120] Who hath ass's ears, ' a fool is he, Though in memory he perfect be. Whose ears are small, as it were a cat's. In thieving will put to shame the rats. 2 Of Movement. [121] Who fidgeteth much for selfish know; Lewdness and craft are his ways, I trow. We have now examined ^ five of Hamdi's mesnevis, and have found that, with one exception, they are all composed in a comparatively simple and unpretentious style, which does not greatly differ from that of the majority of his contemporaries and immediate predecessors. We have further found that the one exception, viz. his Joseph and Zelikha, falls into two parts, of which one is in the same simple style as his other poems, while the other (avowedly modelled upon the work of Jami) is highly artificial and elaborate. We have ' i. e. large ears. 2 The ears should therefore be neither too large nor too small, but of due proportion and medium size. [3 This concluding passage, down to the end of the chapter, was written in pencil on a loose sheet of paper which lay between two leaves of the manuscript, to which I have added it in what is obviously its place, though 1 am not certain whether or no it was the author's intention to print it. ED.] 225 seen moreover, that it is on this exceptional work alone that the poet's reputation rests; that his other mesnevi's never attained popularity, and have long age passed into oblivion. These facts lead us to two conclusions: first, that Hamdi's natural style, when he is left entirely to his own resources, is the simple and somewhat bald though straightforward diction observable in the great bulk of his work : secondly, that had he not been lucky enough to encounter Jami's Joseph and Zelikha before issuing his own, and skilful enough to adopt and assimilate successfully the hints as to style and treatment conveyed by this masterpiece, he would have fared no better at the hands of posterity than have "^Ishqi, Bihishti, or any other of the long-forgotten romanticists who were his con- temporaries. After the Joseph and Zelikha, Hamdi's Leyla and Mejnun is his most artistic poem. This is not surprising, as he wrote it at a later period of his life, after he had had the advantage of studying Jami's great work. 15 CHAPTER VIII. / I Mesihi. The only other poet of eminence whose career falls wholly within the reign of Bayezi'd II is the talented and original writer generally known by his pen-name of Mesihi. Sehi and Riyazi alone among the biographers mention the personal name of this poet, which, according to them, was Mesih. But neither they nor any of the others have aught to tell us concerning the poet's parentage, all that we can learn from them being that he was born at Prishtina, an important town of northern Albania. As the population of this town has at all times consisted chiefly of Albanians, it is by no means improbable that there may have been something of an Arnaut strain in Mesi'hi, which might perhaps account in a measure for his unwonted audacity as a poet. '^Ashiq is the only one of the biographers to give us any particulars concerning Mesihi's history. From what he says it is evident that the future poet must in early life have found his way to Constantinople. He appears to have begun his career as a softa, that is, a student of the Law; but he soon turned his attention to calligraphy, in which he took great pleasure, and which he practised with much success. His skill in this art won for him the good graces of the illustrious vezir ^Alf Pasha, ' one of the greatest contemporary 1 Khadim "^AH Pasha, or "^Ali Pasha the Eunuch, was one of the most 22/ patrons of men of talent, who honoured him with his friendship and appointed him to be his divan secretary. But Mesihi was, unfortunately for himself, of a careless and pleasure- loving disposition, and failed to take due advantage of his opportunities. A certain ''Ali Chelebi, ' another of the vezir's proteges, who had been Mesi'hi's boon-companion, told the biographer ''Ashiq that that 'city lad', - as the Pasha used to call the poet, was never at hand when wanted to draw up a letter or other document, and used invariably to be found by the porters sent to seek him, either in the disre- putable quarter of Under-Castle, ^ or in the taverns, or in the pleasure-gardens with his favourites. The Pasha was not unnaturally annoyed at this conduct, and so put oft" promoting his secretary or raising his salary till he should mend his ways. But before this happened "All Pasha was killed, in the First Rebi" 917 (June 151 1), in battle against the Shi'i rebels of Tekke, "* and Mesihi found himself without a patron distinguished public men of Bayezi'd II's time. He was equally famous as a soldier and a statesman 5 and twice held the office of Grand Vezir. He was an appreciative and generous patron of every description of talent. ' This ^Ali Chelebi, as well as his son Merdumi the poet, was amongst the numerous acquaintances of the biographer '^Ashiq. He had originally been a soldier; but he acquired his reputation through his penmanship and his skill in other arts connected with the decoration of manuscripts, to which no doubt he owed the vezir's patronage. On "^Ali Pasha's death he received some subor- dinate government appointment. 2 Shehr oghlani, 'city lad', is the term ''Ashiq puts into the Pasha's mouth. [It is nearly obsolete nowadays, but corresponds in meaning, as I am informed by Khalil Khalid Efendi, to the modern shehirli, which is used in the sense of a timorous or cowardly person, ed.] 3 Taht-al-Qal'^a 'Under-Castle', i. e. the walk or esplanade under the castle (but vulgarly Takhta-Qala 'Wooden Castle') is the name of a somewhat shady district in Constantinople lying along the Golden Horn to the west of the great mosque called Yeiii Jami"^ or 'New Mosque.' It still contains many low coffee-houses and taverns. * When Timur was devastating Asia Minor the Siifi sheykh, Sadr-ud-Din, managed to obtain from him immunity for the people of the province of Tekke, most of whom were followers of his doctrine. From that time the 228 and without the means of Hvelihood. His first necessity was of course to discover another protector, but this was far from easy. He appHed first to Yunus Pasha the General of the Janissaries, ' to whom he presented a beautiful qasida which was at once an elegy on his late master and a prayer for the Agha's protection. Disappointed in that quarter, he turned next to the Nishanji Pasha or Lord Chancellor, Ja^fer Chelebi, ^ himself a distinguished poet, to whom he offered what is probably the finest qasida he ever wrote. Little more success attended this effort, though possibly the revenues of a small fief in Bosnia, which we are told were made over to the poet, may have been the result of this appeal to his fellow-craftsman. In any case the dole was insufficient ; and poems presented to Prince (afterwards Sultan) Selim, then busy fighting with his brother Ahmed, were no more fruitful, being overlooked in the preoccupations and excitements of the campaign. And so Mesi'hi died in neglect and poverty when the sun was setting on Friday the 16* of the First Jemazi 918 (30th July 15 12), little more than a year after the master by whose kindness he had so foolishly failed to profit. Mesihi, though a reckless debauchee, seems to have been Persian sheykhs had enormous influence in Tekke, and when the Persian Shah Isma^il, the descendant of the holy Sheykh Safi-ud-Din began, at the dawn of the sixteenth century, to conceive the project of a great heterodox state, he was energetically supported by the Tekke sectaries. These heretics at once threw in their lot with the Persian Shi^i adventurer, and revolted against their orthodox master in Constantinople. Under their leader, who called himself Shah-Quli or 'the Shah's (i. e. Isma'^il's) Slave', but whom the orthodox dubbed Sheytan-Quli or 'the Devil's Slave', they succeeded in defeating the Imperial troops, so that it became necessary for the vezir himself to lead an army against them. In the furious battle that ensued both "^Ali Pasha and the Devil's Slave were killed. '^Ali Pasha is the first Grand Vezir of Turkey who was killed iri battle. ' This Yiinus Pasha, then General of the Janissaries, the coi-ps iVelite founded by Sultan Orkhan (see vol. i, p. 179, n. i), was in 923 (15 17) made Grand Vezir by Sultan Selim, who a few months afterwards cut off his head. ■^ An account of Ja^'fer Chelebi's life and work will be given in the next chapter. 229 a man of bold and independent character. His literary work bears witness to this in more ways than f)ne, while "^Ashiq tells us that although in order to execute his writing he 'would wrap his skirt about him ' like the letter, and bend down his head like the reed, yet he would bow the head pen-like to no man.' ^ We shall see by and by the proud answer which, according to Latifi, he returned to the poet Zati when the latter charged him with plagiarism. That Mesihi was one of the most gifted, as well as the most original, of the earlier Ottoman poets is beyond question. All the critics agree in praising his exceptional talents. Thus Latifi lauds the subtlety of his fancy and the originality of his conceptions, though he adds that his thoughts are indeed often too subtle to give pleasure to the mass of the people or even to every poet, his special style being appreciable only by the elect. ^Ashiq, playing on the name Mesihi, ^ says that this poet was the Messiah who gave fresh life to the dead frame of verse by breathing into it the spirit of poetry. Ahmed Pasha, he continues, founded in Rum the edifice of poetry, of which Nejati was the first column and Mesihi the second. Comparing him with his contemporary Zati, the biographer declares that although the poetry of the latter, who was skilled in every kind of verse and in all the arts of rhetoric, is pretty, that of Mesihi is coquettish and elusive, and that although with Zati the garb of diction suits the figure of the conception, with Mesihi it fits close. His qasidas and qit^'as are pronounced unrivalled, his elegy on ^Ali Pasha is of the category of 'unapproachable simplicity', * 1 i. e. prepare to begin work. 2 When a letter is folded it may be conceived as wrapping its skirt about it. The head or point of the pen has of course to be held downwards to write. 3 Mesihi means 'Messianic;' Mesih, i. e. 'Messiah', is a name occasionaly met with amongst the Turks. * See vol. 1, p. 240, n. 2. 230 while the spring qasida, that which he presented to Ja^fer Chelebi, is described as exceedingly artistic and ingeniously- wrought and as being highly esteemed by great and small. Hasan proceeds on the same lines, but is as usual more bombastic in his strain ; thus he says, 'It is fitting he should be famed under the pen-name of Mesihi, for Messiah-like he revivified the dead of speech and through the channel of his musky-figuring reed made the Water of Life to flow.' 'In subtlety of fancy and in grace and delicacy of diction he is without peer, and it is meet he should be called the Third of the Trinity ' of the poets of Rum.' 'His eloquent poems are world-renounced as the sun in the ethereal heaven.' 'It were no figure of speech to say that the hosts of fancies mustered in his eloquent Diwan have never before been assembled at any divan, and that the stars of imagination that shine in the heaven of his pages have never before been gathered together in a single place.' These extracts suffice to show that the critics nearest to his own time held a very high opinion of Mesihi's merits as a poet ; and there can be no doubt that his verse is among the very best work of its kind that had yet been produced in Turkish. It is probable that Mesihi was still a young man at the time of his death (Sehi, who places him among his own contemporaries, speaks of him as 'a youth of talent') ; at any rate his literary work is not great in extent. It consists of a not very bulky Diwan and, according to Latifi, a collection of epistolary models which bears the title of Gul-i Sad-Berg or 'The Hundred-Leaf Rose.' The Diwan contains as usual a series of qasidas and ghazels, 1 Alluding to the Christian doctrine of tlie Trinity, for he is still playing with the meaning of the name Mesihi. Ahmed Pasha and Nejati are no doubt the other two Persons of his Trinity of poets. 2 Mesihi's Diwan is unprinted. The British Museum possesses two MSS., Or. 1 152, and Arundel Or. 18. 231 together with a few pieces in other forms, and it contains as well (at least there is usually incorporated with it) a mesnevi poem of about i8o couplets called Shehr-Engiz or 'The City-Thriller', which is Mesihi's most original and most memorable contribution to literature. The lyric poems are well above the average of their class. They are distinguished by a certain novelty in the imagery; the conventional para- phernalia are indeed retained, but the well-worn figures are often presented in new combinations or under fresh aspects ; and, more important, a number of altogether novel pictures and images are introduced which are skilfully worked in with the stereotyped landscape. These latter innovations, it is interesting to note, are almost all drawn from objects or scenes that must have come under Mesihi's personal obser- vation ; and his audacity in introducing such into literary verse is another proof of his daring and independence as a poet. His verses are moreover characterised by a peculiar and indefinable clear-cut quality, which seems to arise in some decree from the absence of the usual verbosity, and which is perhaps what "^Ashiq means when he speaks of the garment of the poet's diction 'fitting close' on the figure of his thought. In any case this crystalline quality gives a sharpness and translucency to the author's work, and sets it apart from that of any of his contemporaries. One of Mesihi's lyrics has had a strange and unique fortune among Turkish poems. This is a murebba*^ ' or four-lined stanzaic poem on that most favourite theme of medieval writers, the return of spring. This particular spring-poem is a very favourable example of its class; for although the conventional background is preserved, many of the pictures are fresh, while pictures and language alike suggest something ' See vol. I, p. 91. The murebba'^ in question is of the variety called mutekerrir. 2.32 of the sparkle of the dew on flower and leaf on a sweet spring morning. Some gleam of this freshness and brilliance was perceived by Sir William Jones, who printed the text of the entire work in his Latin treatise on Eastern poetry ' published in 1774, — a distinction which he accorded to no other Turkish poem. This text, which is very faulty, is accompanied by a yet more imperfect Latin translation ; but the intrinsic beauty of the work, even when so presented, combined with the circumstance that it was for many years the only complete Turkish poem available, secured for this murebba^ a reputation in Europe such as has never been attained by any other Ottoman poem. There has probably been no book or article dealing in any way with Turkish poetry, published from that day to this, in any Western language, in which 'Mesihi's Ode on Spring' does not figure in one form or another. But Mesihi's truest claim to distinction as an original poet rests on his little mesnevi called Shehr-Engiz. This title, suggested by the subject, which is trivial enough, being merely a semi-burlesque catalogue of the pretty boys of Adrianople, is rather awkward to translate; I have rendered it by 'City-Thriller', the idea being that through the de- scription of the beauties which it gives, the poem will create a furore in the city. This poem is original in two ways; firstly, it is the invention of Mesihi, both subject and treat- ment are his own conception, he had no Persian model, for there is no similar poem in Persian literature ; secondly, it is the first attempt at humorous poetry in Turkish. The work makes no pretension to be poetry of a high order, the lines on which it is planned would preclude anything of the kind ; it is simply a jeu (T esprit, a play of wit, in which the author seeks to amuse himself and his readers. ' Poeseos Asiaticae commentariorum libri sex cum appendice (Leipzig). 233 It offers a much needed relief from tlie great stream of intensely serious poetry, whether the elusive rhapsodies of the mystics or the often affected sentimentality of the lyric and romantic writers. Indeed it is difficult to avoid a suspicion that Mesi'hi is here poking fun at the latter, for while he says hardly anything that they might not have said, the manner in which he makes his statements shows clearly enough that his intention was to provoke a laugh. That the poet should have chosen for his subject the minions of the bazaars is the result of the social conditions of his time. Nowadays a corresponding production would deal with the principal courtezans of a city. But in the East in the fifteenth century, and indeed for many years afterwards, things were different; and further, we must bear in mind that, strange as it may appear to modern notions, such a poem as I have suggested would have been reckoned an immeasurably greater outrage on public decorum than the work Mesihi actually wrote. In style this poem is in sharp contrast to the lyrics; it is very much simpler, and there is little, if any, display of subtle ingenuity or rhetorical brilliance. Unlike the author's other works, it is written in a way that must have made it at once intelligible to the ordinary man. It is full of allusions no doubt, but they are allusions that were common property, known to all. Again, both in vocabulary and in idiom it is considerably less Persian and more Turkish than the lyrics and indeed than most contemporary Ottoman poems. This last peculiarity marks so to speak the starting- point for what becomes a general rule in subsequent Ottoman poetry, namely, that in proportion as verse is humorous in intention it approaches the vernacular in language. Some such tendency prevails in the poetry of probably every people; but with the Ottomans, whose serious poetry is so 234 highly artificial, the difference is marked with peculiar emphasis. There is no mention of any date in the Shehr-Engiz. It was probably written in Adrianople, as in the only hint concerning the composition which the poet gives he says that the King (presumably Bayezid II) had gone to that city where he remained a year or two, and that he himself had repaired thither 'as a share of the royal favour had reached him.' The poem, which is in the same variety of the hezej metre as Sheykhi's Khusrev and Shin'n and Hamdi's Leyla and Mejniin, consists of three parts: a Prologue, the Cata- logue, and an Epilogue. The Prologue (Dibaje) is divided into five sections. In the first two of these the poet confesses his sins and implores God's pardon, but even here he gives play to his humour in the whimsical illustrations by which he magnifies his own wickedness. At the end of the second, Mesihi prays God to make 'this City-Thriller' (Shehr-Engiz) famous in the city, which shows that the author himself gave this title to his little work. The next two sections are devoted, the one to a picture of night, the other to a sketch of morning; these have no direct connection with the proper subject of the poem, of which they are the most conventional parts, though it is at the close of the second that the author speaks of his going to Adrianople. The fifth section opens with the praise of that city, and then goes on to tell of the boys bathing in the River Tunja on which the town is built. Then comes the Catalogue of the boys. There are in all forty-six of these, each of whom is mentioned by name and gets two couplets of comment, with the exception of two, one of whom has three, and the other four couplets. These couplets, placed under the several names, are not really 235 descriptive; it is very rarely indeed tliat they contain anything in any way personal or individual. They are almost wholly devoted to humorous, often punning, allusions to the lad's name, or to his own or his father's trade. Indeed they are for the most part so vague and indeterminate that they might be applied to any lad of the same name and trade. This total absence of characterisation puts of course anything like realism out of the question ; it is perhaps a reflection of that conventionality and sameness in the type of beauty which we have seen to be a feature of the love-poetry of this school; ' and if so, it would naturally suggest a doubt as to whether the names here mentioned do really represent actual individuals or mere creations of the poet's brain. Though humorous, these verses are always complimentary in tone ; the boys are always spoken of in flattering terms. The humour again is never coarse ; it consists chiefly in the whimsical association of ideas, the starting-point for which, as said before, is usually the name or calling of the lad ; not unfrequently it is assisted by the apt quotation of some proverb or popular saying. This Catalogue, whether the names it contains be real or fictitious, is not without a socio- logical interest ; from it we can learn something as to the classes which furnished recruits of this description. One note- worthy point here is that the names are all Muhammedan ; in this Mesihi's list differs from many of the later ones that were modelled upon it, where we find Greek, Armenian, and Jewish names mixed up with the Muslim. Then most of the boys are described as belonging to what we should call the lower middle class; they are almost all either them- selves employed in shops, or they are the sons of shopkeepers or artisans ; only one or two are connected with the lower ranks of the learned profession. « Vol. I, p. 65. 236 In the Epilogue, which is very brief, the poet says that every one of the boys whose praises he has sung is more beautiful than any angel in Paradise. He then regrets his futile endeavours to confine his vagrant affections to any single one of them ; and winds up his poem with two ghazels in which he prays God to bless them all. So ends this strange poem, the most original piece of work which Turkish literature so far has shown us. When he wrote it Mesihi introduced a new variety into Ottoman poetry, a feat which few indeed have rivalled. For this poem at once became popular, whence resulted many 'parallels', the work of the author's contemporaries and successors. Its playfulness and spontaneity were doubtless felt to be a wel- come change from the unbending seriousness hitherto regarded as essential in poetry; while its humour and freedom from transcendentalism would commend it to a certain bias inherent in the Turkish character which had hitherto been rigorously repressed in literature. * And so during the next two hundred years and more we find many a grave and learned poet laying aside his dignity for the nonce and amusing himself and his friends by trying to rival Mesihi with a 'City-Thriller' in praise of the young beauties of his own day and town. One of these, ^Azizi by name, more greatly daring than his fellows, had the hardihood to write such a poem in honour, not of the boys, but of the girls of Constantinople. ^ Nearly all those 'parallels' follow Mesihi's work in every particular. They are almost all in the same metre ; they almost all consist of the three parts. Prologue, Catalogue, and Epilogue ; there is almost a des- cription of night in the Prologue; and two couplets of comment are almost always allotted to each name on the * See vol. I, p. 29, last paragraph. 2 /n account of '^Azizi and his poem will be given in due course. 237 list. The tone too is always the same ; in every case it is humorous, and at the same time complimentary to the young persons mentioned ; the humour moreover is always on the same lines, being invariably sought through playful allusions to the name or calling of the lads or girls, and never dege- nerating into coarseness. All those poems bear the generic name of Shehr-Engiz or 'City-Thriller' - — the individual name of the prototype — , though they are sometimes distinguished as so and so's 'City-Thriller of Constantinople' or 'of Brusa', and so on, according to the town dealt with. One or two have in addition a special title: thus Wahid's 'City-Thriller of Yeni-Shehr (Larissa)' is called also Lale-zar or 'The Tulip Garden', and '^Azizi's list of the Constantinopolitan daughters of joy bears as its distinctive name Nigar-Name or 'The Book of Beauties.' In one place Von Hammer seems to overlook Mesi'hi's claim to be the originator of this variety of poem ; he there says that Faqiri, a minor poet of this time, was the first to produce a Shehr-Engiz. * This statement is incorrect ; in the first place, Faqiri's poem is not a Shehr-Engiz ; it is a versified list of the various trades, professions, and offices of his day, 'in the style of the Shehr-Engizes', to quote the words of ""Ashiq. ^ In the second place, there is no indication • Geschichte der Osmanischen Dichtkunst, vol. i, p. 136; but farther on (p. 278) he says move correctly that Faqiri wrote a kind of Shehr-Engiz. 2 That is to say it resembles the 'City-Thrillers' in being a versified list, in devoting a few (it would seem generally three) couplets to each entry, and in being written in the same metre. "^Ashiq quotes four of the entries in Faqiri's poem, those dealing with the Poets, the Pursuivants (Chawush), the Couriers (Ulagh), and the Rope-dancers. These are his remarks upon the Poets: — 'Dost know the Poets' case, how it may be? 'They laud each beauty's locks and mole they see; 'They make of one the snare, of one the bait. "Tis now to mouth, 'tis now to waist they flit. 'And many words they speak on vainest wise, 'For naught from thence but fantasies arise.' 238 that his poem, such as it is, was written earlier than Mesihi's ; indeed '^Ashiq's words seem to point the other way, and we know from Latifi that Faqiri was alive later than Mesihi, as he did not die till the time of Sultan Selim. It is somewhat strange that, while Mesihi's 'City-Thriller' thus inaugurated a new fashion in Ottoman poetry, "^Ashiq alone of the biographers should specially mention it ; and even his words, that it is 'indeed charming', seem scarcely adequate. It is possible that having regard to the somewhat frivolous nature of both its subject and its style, those reverend masters were a little shy of appearing over-enthu- siastic. However that may be, we on our part need have no hesitation in pronouncing Mesihi, mainly, though by no means exclusively, by virtue of this work, to be, not indeed among the greatest, but, what is perhaps more remarkable, among the most original poets in Ottoman literature. The following is a translation of the famous 'Ode on Spring.' Murebba^ [122] Hark the nightingale a-warbliug : ^Now are come the days o' spring !' Thronged are all the garden-ways, ' for such the merry ways o' spring. There the almond-tree bescatters silvern showers, sprays o' spring. 2 Drink, be gay ; for soon will vanish, biding not, the days o' spring ! Once again with diverse florets gay bedeckt are garth and plain 5 Tents for pleasance have the blossoms pitched in every rosy lane. * 1 They are thronged with the bright flowers that look like gaily dressed pleasure-seekers who have gone abroad to enjoy the returning spring. 2 The 'silvern showers' are the pale petals which the almond-tree sheds in spring; these are fancied as silver coins thrown among the flower-crowds by the tree. ■* The flowering shrubs and bushes are here conceived as pavilions. 2 39 Who can say wlio dead may he, who whole, when spring comes round again? — Drink, be gay; for soon will vanish, biding not, the days o' spring! Every corner of the garden shines fulfdled of Ahmed's Light; ' There the verdant herbs, his Comrades ; there his Kin, the tulips bright. ^ O ye People of Muhammed ! this the time of fair delight ! Drink, be gay; for soon will vanish, biding not, the days o' spring! Sparkling dew-drops once again the iris-sabre damaskeen ;3 Lo, the hail hath stormed with those its sky-grenades the flowery green. * Hearken then my rede, an thou be fain to see so brave a scene : Drink, be gay; for soon will vanish, biding not, the days o' spring! Rose and tulip bloom as beauties bright o' blee and sweet o' show, In whose ears the dew hath hung full many a gem to gleam and glow. Deem not thou, thyself deceiving, things will aye continue so. Drink, be gay; for soon will vanish, biding not, the days o' spring! ' For the original meaning of the 'Light of Ahmed (or Muhammed)' see vol. I, pp. 34 — 5. Here it figuratively represents the glory of the returning spring, which makes the pious soul think on the Divine radiance. In a secondary sense, the term Niir-i Ahmed, 'Light of Ahmed', may possibly be the name of some spring-flowei", though I have not been able to discover that this is the case. * The herbs, clad in green, the sacred colour, are fancied as the Companions of the Prophet ; the bright red (al) tulips as his Family (al). The latter may be either his actual or his spiritual family, for he said j^' ^"^~' (_^**^ CT* 'Whoso followeth me, he is of my Family', whence the Muslims, or the righteous among them, are sometimes spoken of as Khayr-ul-al, i. e. 'the Best of Families.' 3 The leaf of the lily is often likened to a sword because of its shape. Here the dew-drops are conceived as the 'watering' on such a sword. * Hawayi-Top, 'sky-cannon', was the name given by the Turks of those times to some particular kind of cannon then in use. It is frequently mentioned by contemporary authors; thus in his Kitab-i UsiU, or 'Book of Principles', Yahya Bey puts these words into the mouth of a coward who is describing one of Sultan Suleyman's battles with the Hungarians: — 'The sky-guns were fired by yon caitiff fone, 'In sooth they'd have slain me if 1 had not flown.' ^_^ ^O^^J^ijJ ^--.♦^La -S'f ^^^ i^c L5->^J'' ^'}^ ^^ Here Mesihi conceives the hail stones, descended from the sky, as the balls from sky-guns, and pictures the garden as having been captured by this cannonade. 240 See the tulip, rose, and peony within the garden there, — How the levin with the lancet-rain hath let its blood be ware. ' So thou'rt wise, in joyance pass this season with thy comrades fair. Drink, be gay; for soon will vanish, biding not, the days o' spring! Past the time when herb and grass on bed of dole were laid distrest, - When the garden's care, the rosebud, hung its head upon its breast. ^ Come the hour when glow with tulips crag and rock and mountain-crest. Drink, be gay ; for soon will vanish, biding not, the days o' spring ! While each dawn the clouds ai'e shedding pearls * upon the rosy land, And the breath of morning's zephyr, fraught with Tartar musk, * is bland, While the world's youth-tide is with us, do not thou unheeding stand : Drink, be gay; for soon will vanish, biding not, the days o' spring! With the fragrance of the garden so imbued the musky air, Every dew-drop, ere it reacheth earth, is turned to attar rare ; O'er the garth the heavens spread the incense-cloud's pavilion fair. Drink, be gay; for soon will vanish, biding not, the days o' spring! All the garden's boast was smitten of the black autumnal blast; But to each one justice bringing, back is come earth's King ^ at last; In his reign joyed the cupbearer, round the call for wine is past. Drink, be gay; for soon will vanish, biding not, the days o' spring! 1 It was usual for people to be bled in the spring. The rose, tulip, and peony are red, and being wet with rain, they suggest drops of blood on the garden. So the poet here fancies the lightning as a physician who with his lancet the rain — rain falling in torrents looking something like a shower of lancets piercing the ground — has bled the garden in the spring-time, which accounts for the drops of blood (wet red flowers) that are scattered around. 2 In winter many herbs and grasses lie upon the ground. 3 The rosebud is here represented (i) as the 'care' i. e. the delicate nursling of the garden; (2) (because of its shape) as the "-head' of the garden. When the bud droops upon its stalk it becomes like a man's head hanging on his_ breast through care or sorrow. So the drooping rosebud is the head of the garden hanging on its breast because of the garden's anxiety for the rosebud. * i. e. the drops of rain or dew. '^ Tartary being the country whence musk is brought, see p. 112. n. 4. " i. e. Spring ; perhaps, in a secondary sense, the Sultan after some journey or campaign. 241 Fain I hope, Mesihi, fame may dwell with this my foursome lay;' May these four-eyebiowed beauties 2 bide, my keepsake with the gay. Wander 'mong the roseate faces, nightingale so sweet o' say. 3 Drink, be gay; for soon will vanish, biding not, the days o' spring! This is the spring-qasida which Mesihi presented to JaTer Chelebi the Nishaiiji Pasha when praying his patronage. It is reckoned by the biographers as the most artistic of his works, and is probably among the last things he wrote. I have omitted some couplets from the panegyric. Qasida. [123] Up to wake the florets' eyen from oblivious slumber's sway * Every morning o'er their faces vernal cloudlets water spray. All the dwellers in the meadow are so filled with fresh'ning life That were not the cypress foot-bound, ^ from its stead it straight would stray. Like the body is the garden, and the stream the soul therein, Like the life the water fleeting onward ever night and day. See the river-page hath ta'en for ruling-strings the ripples there " Thinking fair to write the story of the rose's visage gay. Ever as the dew distilleth, e'en as it were drops of milk, All the Inxrgeons ope their mouths as though that little babes were they. ' i. e. this murebba'^ of mine. 2 A 'four eyebrowed' beauty is a fair youth whose moustachios are just beginning to grow and so look like two eyebrows. Here the 'four-eyebrowed beauties' are the four-lined stanzas of this poem, each of the lines representing an eyebrow. ^ The sweet-voiced nightingale who is thus bidden consort with the rose- faced beauties is the poet himself. * This is the deep heavy sleep of material nature as opposed to that sleep in which, though the body is unconscious, the soul is awake. See p. 210, n. 2. 5 i. e. were its foot not planted in the earth. 6 Alluding to the mistar, which is the name of an instrument used for ruling paper. It is made of stout card to which are attached at regular intervals threads to mark the lines. When the paper is laid over this and pressed, the threads make a slight mark which indicates the lines. Here the poet fancies the ripples on the stream as the threads of a mistar, the surface of the water being a page whereon the river is about to write a poem in praise of the lovely rose growing on its bank. 16 242 When the drops of rain are falling on the water, each is fain In the fish's ear to hang a ring of silver thou wouldst say. • With the rose's scent the morning zephyr makes the bulbul sing, As 'twere ''Attar teaching every fowl the Speech of Birds as lay. '^ Since that on its hand the cypress-tree the culver reared hath, ^ What if he do love it fondly and do chant its praises aye ? See, the breeze would chain the runnels, * saying, 'Lo, the truant knaves !' Look ye how it draweth pictures on the water ^ every day. Through the bud the breeze hath opened a balcony from whence May the beauty-rose her visage to the nightingale display. ** When I saw the flowers blossom through the fervour of the sun Deemed I every tree a solar turban ^ had put on in fay. There before the bride-rose gently glideth on the flowing brook, Bearing on its head the bubble e'en as maid doth bowl convey. 8 Since the bud hath set its pot upon the branchlet of the rose Flock the thorns from every quarter and thereon their arrows play. * 1 In certain Eastern countries they used sometimes to fasten rings of silver through the noses or mouths of fishes kept in ornamental waters. 2 Alluding to the famous book called Mantiq-ut-Tayr or 'The Language of Birds' by the great Persian poet Ferid-ud-Din-i "^Attar. The word "^Attar, which enters into this poet's name, means 'perfumer', so his mention in this couplet is peculiarly appropriate. The scent of the rose, it should be said, was held to work the nightingale into a state of ecstacy. 3 As the culver or pigeon often sits upon the cypress, they are frequently associated by the poets. * The light breezes playing on the surface of water are very often likened to chains because of the lines they form. s Naqsh ber ab, 'a picture upon water', is a common term to express any vain and useless work or labour. Here the breeze does draw a picture (of chains) upon the water; and its labour is useless, for the picture at once disap- pears, and moreover it cannot chain the brooks. 6 The opening of the sepals of the calyx of the bud enables the rose to show itself to its admirer the nightingale, and is compared to the opening or unveiling of a balcony or oriel such as those from which kings and princes sometimes show themselves to an admiring crowd. '' Shemsi dulbend or 'solar turban' was the name of some parti-cular head- dress worn in those days; it is frequently referred to by contemporary poets. 8 In wedding (and other) processions slave-girls used sometimes to carry bowls on their heads. 9 In this couplet the rosebud is conceived as the pot or jug which was used as a target by marksmen, the thorns round about it being the arrows shot at it. By a figure of speech common in Eastern poetry the thorns are \ 243 In the garden lo the floral squadrons muster: Rose, the targe; Cypress, standard-bearer; Tulip, ensign, in that brave array. Though that the Last Trump were blown to-day, no man would hear its voice, P'or the melodies arising from the bulbuls' roundelay. Yea, in sooth, the garth of spring doth boast a world that's all its own. There the violet is night-tide, there the jasmine is the day. ' Look ye how the hail hath polished all the leafage of the rose ^ That thereon yon grave and stately Signior write his "brilliant lay;' He the Mine of culture, he the Fountain-head of bounteous grace. He the Paragon of man, the Flower of the noblesse for aye, He the Lord of Speech's Climate,* the Nishanji Pasha high. To the target of whose culture fancy's shafts can find no way. •'' He whose dirk is Ibn-i Husam, he whose sword Ibn-i Vemin, He whose star is SaM and Eshref, he whose breath is "^Attar, yea. ^ When the charger of his splendour and his glory gallops forth Meet it were that dust should reach the spirit of the Sphere, I say. ■> here presented at once as the archers who shoot and the arrows which are shot by them. • The violet being dark and therefore like night, the jasmine being white and therefore like the bright day. - The hailstones are here compared to the glass balls or agate burnishers with which they used to burnish or polish the paper on which manuscripts were to be written. The rose is often compared to a book with many leaves or pages. 3 Ja'^fer Chelebi the Nishanji Pasha was, as we have said, himself a dis- tinguished poet. 4 Alluding to Ja'^fer's literary gifts. 5 i. e. thought cannot picture the depth and extent of his learning and culture, fi Ibn-i Husam 'Son of the Sword', Ibn-i Yemin 'Son of the Right Hand', Sa'^d 'Auspicious', and Eshref 'Most Exalted' are all names of Persian poets. "^Attar 'the Perfumer' we have already seen (p. 242 n. 2). [Biographies of three of these poets are given by Dawlatshah, on the following pages of my edition of his Memoirs: Ibn-i-IIusam of Herat (d. A. H. 737 = A. D. 1336 — 7), pp. 225—6; Ibn-i-Yamin (d. A. H. 735 = A, D. 1334—5)5 PP- 275—7; Sa'd of Herat (flourished about A. H. 724) seems to have been the son of the Sa'^id mentioned on pp. 157 — 161; Faridu 'd-Din "^Attar (killed A. PI. 627 = A. D. 1230), pp. 187 — 192. ED.] ■• (l) The charger gallops so swiftly that the dust he raises reaches to the Ninth Sphere, the highest object in the universe (vol. i, p. 43, n. 3). (2) The expression 'dust on the heart' means chagrin or vexation; so the Ninth Sphere, the swiftest of all things (vol. i, p. 44), has in this sense also 'dust on its heart', for it is chagrined at being outdone in swiftness by the Pasha's charger. 244 True, the seas might have resembled somewhat his pearl-scattering hand, If the largesse that they give the clouds they took not back alway. • When the poets take the chaplet of his verses in their hands, This the litany on every tongue: 'I do for pardon pray!' 2 What then if Mesihi see thy praises writ upon the skies Since these ranged lines a ladder form whereby ascend they may ? ^ Blushing shamed before tliy culture in the garden of thy praise, Ruddy glow the virgin fancies' cheeks lilce to the roses gay. * This my prayer is, that yonder losel ne'er may honoured be 'Fore whose eyes these roseate fancies do themselves as thorns display. 5 Never fancies chewed by others would I take within my mouth; I'm no weanling child with food by others chewed my wants to stay;" Knowing how the life within my body is a loan to me, Of my very living am I shamed a thousand times a day ! '' 1 As we have seen before, the sea is the type of bounty, giving pearls and so on ; but it cannot vie with the lavish hand of the Pasha which never takes back any of its gifts, seeing that it (the sea) takes back in the form of rain etc. the moisture which through the process of evaporation it gives to form the clouds. 2 Here the Pasha's poetry is compared to a chaplet or rosary, every couplet being a bead. When the Muslims tell their beads, which are 99 in number, they say Subhana-^llah '(I recite) the praise of God' for each of the first 33, El-hamdu-li-^llah 'Praise be to God' for each of the second 33, and Allahu- Ekber 'God is most great' for each of the third 33. But Mesihi says that when the poets take this particular chaplet into their hands what they repeat at each bead or verse is the formula Estaghfiru-'llah 'I ask pardon of God', which formula is that usually employed when one would speak humbly or in a self-depreciatory sense. 3 The lines of the poem arranged one above the other look like the steps of a ladder. * The poet's fancies, though they be virgin, i. e. original, must blush rose-red like young virgins with shame at their feeble though audacious efforts to praise the far higher talents of the Pasha. 5 That is, such unworthy persons as through envy of the Pasha are vexed at seeing Irim thus praised, or as are jealous of Mesihi's skill in constructing so beautiful a qasida. " Sometimes mothers in the East chew food before giving it to very young children. " These last two couplets form the answer whicli, according to Latifi, Mesihi gave Zati when the latter poet accused him of appropriating certain of his ideas (see p. 229^ Zati had made his charge in these lines which he sent to Mesihi: — 245 Here arc four of Mcsihfs ghazcls. Ghazel. [124] Ever do the tears of blood the goblet of my eye o'ertlow, Some presentment of tliy winc-hucd rul>ies to the folk to show. ' Could Ferhdd but see my plight for thee, O Sliin'ii-dulcct lip, 2 Taking in each hand a stone, he'd smite hiin, like the mill, for woe. •'' Wheresoe'er I'd flee, the six directions closed on me have these, — ■* ' Yonder two locks, yonder two eyes, yonder two eyebrows, e'en so. ^ 'O Mesihi, whoso stealeth reputation is a knave. 'King art thou in verse's city ; xiovf somehow hath this thing been, 'Out of Zdti's realm of poesy some fancies have been stol'n, 'Which have passed into thy Diwan, where in altered guise they're seen.' When reporting this story Latifi does not say that the reply sent by Mesihi occurs in one of his qasidas; and in fact the first line as given by him differs, though very slightly from the form in which it appears in the Diwan; he has it thus: — 'Think not I would streicli my hand forth for the fancies of a clown.' 1 i. e. some idea alike of the redness of the beloved's lips, and of the great influence they possess over the lover, which is such as to make him ever shed tears of blood. 2 For the story of Ferhad and Shirin the Sweet see the epitome of Sheykhi's poem in vol. I, ch. VI. 3 Referring to the Eastern quern or hand-mill in which the grain is ground between two stones. Ferhdd would beat his breast either for pity of this lover or for vexation at being outdone by him in the intensity of his passion. * For the 'six directions' i. e. every side, see vol. i, p. 43, n. 3. * There are two tresses (the hair hanging down each side of the face), two eyes, and two eyebrows, six in all, one to guard each of the six directions. 246 Winsomeness behoves a beauty that the folk in hand her bear, ' Elsewise eke the signet-ring both eye and eyebrow hath, I trow. 2 Did I fling not art among my verse I should not bide alive; So that one may gain his living, needful 'tis an art to know. 3 Should Mesihi from this roll be struck,* his like will ne'er return; What is writ o'er an erasure ne'er is writ so fair, ah no. 5 Ghazel. [125] For that equal with the cypress riseth every caitiff wight All the branches of the willow with their dirks themselves do smite. " Yea, the waving of thy locks hath oped a door to Paradise ; '^ Yea, the magic of thy speech hath locked the rosebud's mouth forthright ^ 1 'To bear in hand' i. e. to make much of; this is a literal translation of the Persian idiom mentioned in vol. i, p. 214, n. 6. Mesihi frequently uses it. The literal meaning of the phrase also is here kept in view to form a connection with the- signet-ring (mentioned in the next line), which is both borne on the hand and highly esteemed, its impression being equivalent to the owner's signature. 2 The collet of a ring is called in Turkish the 'eyebrow' and the stone the 'eye.' 3 The point in this couplet lies in the double sense of the word translated 'art', which means both 'art' and 'handicraft.' It is needful to practise some art or handicraft in order to earn one's living, so if Mesihi did not introduce art into his verse he would starve, as he could find no patron. * i. e. if he should die. 5 If in a manuscript a word has been scraped out and another written in its place, the result is always a disfigurement. So if Mesihi's existence is erased from the roll of the living, the change will be for the worse as far as the roll is concerned, even if another poet take his place. ^ The leaves of the willow are sometimes because of their shape compared to daggers. In this verse the 'cypress', being lofty and upright, represents the noble man; the 'weeping' willow, from its melancholy appearance, represents the thoughtful. The idea is that thoughtful and serious persons wound (i. e. grieve) themselves in this sad age when every base adventurer can even himself with the truly great and noble. ' i. e. thy tresses, blowing aside, have disclosed thy roseate face, which is the flowery Paradise. 8 There is here an example of the figure husn-i la'^lil or 'aetiology' (vol. 1, p. 113). The rosebud's mouth is a common conceit; of course this mouth is locked, i. c. it cannot speak; this fact is here allrilnilcd to its being 247 Like the moonlight, O thou moon-cheek, rest the whiles upon my yrave; Foi- with parting's glaive thou'st martyred me though guiltless of unright. ' Lo the beggar-Sphere, he weareth still his ancient robe of blue. Flocks of cotton thence protruding are those scattered cloudlets white. 2 Since Mesihi ne'er hath drunken of the Stream of Life, O Fate, Wherefore seekest thou to make him, like to Khizr, pass from sight? 3 Ghazel. [126] What though I rub my lashes in thy dog's foot-prints sans thee? — No rose within the garth of earth sans thorn may ever be. * Let him behold thy frame what time thy shift from thee is stript, — Him whosoe'er would fain the soul without the body see. So close the friendship 'twixen me and dulc and teen is grown That neither one a moment e'en can rest apart from me. The heart hath journeyed over all the realm of mole and down. But ne'er a cranny hath it found from wiles and torments free. ^ spellbound through having heard the all-lovely tones of the beloved's voice. It used to be believed that a person could be rendered speechless by magic. ' Alluding to the Hadis quoted in vol. i, p. 216, n. 2, 'Whoso dieth of Love, verily he dieth a martyr.' 2 Here the Sphere (vol. i, p. 44, n. 3) is personified as a vagrant beggar clad in an ancient robe of blue (the colour of the sky) which is so worn and tattered that the cotton wadding (the fleecy clouds) with which it is lined is showing in places here and there. •'' For Khizr who drunk of the Stream of Life and who has the power of making himself invisible, see vol. i, p. 172, n. i. Mesihi here asks Fate why it seeks to make him like Khizr invisible (i. e. to make him die) seeing that he has not like Khizr drunk of the Stream of Life. * The dog of the beloved is often spoken of, the lover being frequently shown as eager to humble himself before it, because, though but a beast, it is dear to the beloved. The idea was suggested by the attitude of Mejnun towards Leyla's dog (see p. 177 n. l). Here the foot-prints of the beloved's dog are, from their shape, conceived as roses, and the lover is presented as desiring to rub his eyelashes (i. e. to buiy his face) in them, the eyelashes resembling thorns in shape, and thorns being always connected with roses. 3 i. e. I know all of thy beautiful person, and there is not a single turn of it that is not full of seductive charm. 248 By lieauties bright, Mesihi the ill-starred hath martyred been;' And shroudless at the end they've left that vagrant wight perdie. 2 Ghazel. [127] 0 my Sovran, 1 thy slave am bounden in thy tresses' chain ; By this title I am leader, foremost of thy servant-train. ^ 1 have reared Love's pavilion, I have struck Reproach's drum; 'Tis my turn for noble's music, I'm a lord in mine own rayne. * Since that heart and soul are turned to den for thee, O brigand-eyes, I from heart and soul will seek tliee, if thou hide from me again. Thinking on thy lucent rubies, ^ I am fallen prey to wine, ''■ So that where I see a wine-jar, jarring fall, I then and then. "^ Is not this a wondrous blessing unto me, Mesihi this, — That for all my straits these many maids of fancies I maintain. 8 The following qit'^a has for subject a severe winter; the allusion to the Janissaries, who had no counterpart in Persia, is an instance of Mesihi's looking about for illustrations on his own account. • See p. 247, n. i. 2 i. e. they have plundered him of all he possessed, so that there is not left him so much as will buy a shroud in which to bury him. 3 So great is the honour resulting from being bound in the chain of the beloved's tresses. ■* This line refers to the nevbet, that is, the performance by a military band which used to take place at stated times in the courtyard of an Eastern sovereign or governor. The drum was im important instrument in this band. Those great men had also special tents or pavilions for their use when travelling or on a campaign. 5 i. e. thy bright red lips. " Because the red wine resembles them. ' There is nothing in this line except an equivoque, which the ^jar' and 'jarring' of the translation is intended to replace. 8 It is only the wealthy who can maintain many maidens (slave-girls) ; therefore it is wonderful that so poor a man as the poet can fit out so many maidens (original ideas). 249 Oit'a. [i28| Marvel not the snow is lying long and will not hence away; For from lofty dome ' 'tis fallen, and alack, its limbs are broke. Janissary-wise it layeth violent hands on every court, There before each house it planteth spear of ice '^ with savage stroke. ' All the people leave the mosques and bow them to the hearth's mihrab ; * Woe is me, to Fire-adorers now are turned the Muslim folk. 0 Mesihi, so I may not dree the rigour of the cold, 'Tis my mind to lope that drunken 1 may lie till spring be woke. The remaining translations are all from the 'City-Thriller;' and are sufficiently extensive to give an adequate idea of that poem. The first extract is the second section of the Prologue, which it is translated in its entirety. From the Shehr-Engiz. [129] Whene'er a waving cypress ^ meets my eyes I cast me at his feet on shadow-wise. What time upon a moon-cheeked fair I gaze The teardrop-stars are planets on my face. ^ I've shed so many tears upon this score That now mine eyes are emptied of their store. '' The teardrop-pearls adorn the face of me, 'Tis as the Confluence of Either Sea. 8 Were I the story of those tears to trace, The Seven Seas ^ were vain to white my face. '*' 1 i. e. from the vault of heaven. 2 Perhaps, icicles. 3 This line must allude to some custom of the Janissaries. * The mihrab or mosque prayer-niche has been often mentioned; the fire- places in old Turkish houses somewhat resembled it in outline. 5 i. e. a slight and graceful boy. " i. e. thy course down my cheeks. ^ See vol. I, p. 217, n. i. 8 Mejma^-ul-Bahreyn, the 'Confluence of the Two Seas', is a well-known Koranic expression. Here the poet's face, studded with tear-pearls, is the confluence of the two seas that issue one from either eye. 9 For the Seven Seas that surround the earth see vol. i, p. 38. '0 My sins in this connection have made my face so black that not all 250 So obstinate in sinning have I been That whoso pities me himself doth sin. Were God to weigh me with those crimes, I say, The Scales were broken on the Judgment-Day. ' Were all my crimes to be inquired into, The turn of no one else would come, I trow. Should God deal by me e'en as I have dealt, The paynim in his place in hell would melt. * I err, for all I've sinned so grievously, I look to-morrow God's own friend to be. Though soot and rust may be the paynim's heart, * He yet in lordship may secure a part. However much of vice be in this thrall. One grain of mercy can efface it all. Although my sins be as the stars on high, When shines the sun of mercy all will fly. O God, make Thou Thy love the guide of me. Thy mercy this blind I'ebel's staff to be. If I indeed have erred in writing this, * Write not it Thou who writ'st not what's amiss. Since severance ^ hath been my lot to-day, To-morrow cast me not in hell, I pray. Since me in the dear's ward no home thou'st showed, the water of the Seven Seas would avail to wash it white. For what is implied by 'blackness of face' see p. 213, n. 9: 1 For the Scales or Balance in which the deeds of men will be weighed on the Judgment-Day, see vol. i, p. 174, n. 4. 2 Even the cruel infidel in the midst of hell-fire would burn with pity for me if I should be punished according to my deserts. ■* The idea was that when a man committed a sin a small black spot was formed on his heart. In course of time, after years of sin, these grew so numerous that the whole heart was covered with them and became quite black. Hence, a wicked man, especially if an infidel, is often described as 'black- hearted' (siyah-dil). Here Mesihi speaks of such an one as having his heart turned to black soot. Similarly the heart, which is often compared to a (metal) mirror wherein the Heavenly Beauty may be reflected, is, when obscured by sin, frequently said to be soiled and dimmed by rust. * i. e. if I have committed a sin in writing this poem. * i. e. severance from the beloved; since I have been unfortunate in my love in this world. 251 Make Heaven on the morrow mine abode. To-day yon cypress gives no hand to me, To-morrow do Thou grant the Tuba-tree. ■ Since here the loved one's lips were proffered not, Do Thou make there the Kevser-stream my lot. O God, give Thou unto my words renown, Make Thou this City-Thriller thrill the town. I say not, 'spread it over all the earth.' It sings the angels, this may speed it forth. 2 The above is followed in the original by the sections describing night and morning; then comes the fifth, that on Adrianople, the whole of which is here translated. [130] A wonder-town whose garths and meadows bnght Put all our yearnings after Heaven to flight. The rivers ^ gently flow midmost its stead. The cloudlets linger loving o'er its head. If thou look e'en upon a steeple there, It turneth to a cypress-figured faiv.* The beauties strip to plunge in Tunja's stream; The slender waists and white breasts brightly gleam. With towels of black s the white loves gird them round ; Thou'dst say 'twas day and night together bound. '• Thus God a secret to the towel confides, Because whate'er of shame it sees it hides. ' 1 Concerning the Tuba-tree which grows in Paradise, see vol. i, p. 36. 2 As the angels bear messages to all corners of the earth ; but the angels sung here are the boys of Adrianople. 3 These are the rivers Tunja and Merij (Maritze). * Thy mind becomes so filled with the young beauties thou seest there that if thou catchest sight of a minaret it will shape itself to thee as a grace- ful figured youth. 5 The towel called futa which a bather puts round his waist and which reaches to the knees or a little lower; it is generally black or very dark blue. It has been mentioned already, see vol. i, p. 263. 6 The white skin representing day and the dark towel representing night. T Not to draw attention to a fault or mistake, but to veil it, is one of traits of the magnanimous. 252 Should'st thou behold these in the river shine, Thou'lt see the Moon within the Watery Sign. Who hopes their union, like a ninny he, For they're like treasure fallen mid the sea. Although thy tears should like the Merij flow. Not one his arm about thy neck would throw. Whoso beholds the town where these aby Would deem the Heavens turned to nine thereby. ^ How fair a Heaven that loathes not peccant wight. Where saint and sinner both the Vision sight '.^ And therewithin is many an angel fair Whose like the ancient Sphere hath looked on ne'er. This finishes the Prologue. We next get the Catalogue of the boys, forty-six in all ; of these fourteen have been selected as typical of the series. Ahmed. The champion in beauty's field to-day Is fair Ahmed the farrier's son, thou'lt say. His face the shrine is of the lovelorn crew. His shop their prayer-niche e'en through the horse-shoe, * ''All the Maiden. 5 And one Maid ''Ali is, that jasmine-breast. With sinews tenderer than custard drest. Who buys for thousand souls his joy of him Yet buys him cheap with that sweet girlish trim. ' For the explanation of this conceit see the last paragraph in the note on p. 329 of vol. I. 2 The Heavens, or rather Paradises, being of course eight in number. See vol. I, p. 36. ^ i. e. the Beatific Vision which is the special privilege of the holy (see vol. I, p. 37); but here of course the vision of those beauties. * Because it contains hoi'se-shoes, and the top of the mihrab or prayer-niche is arched like a horse-shoe. ' Qiz ''All i. e. "Ali the Maiden, so nicknamed because of his girlish appearance or manners. \ 253 The Green Angel. ' One the Green Angel, grace is his unique. As pen-name hath he chosen Nesli eke. 2 That such descendant should be his, had known ■^Azazil, 3 he to Adam had bowed down. * Khalfl. 5 And one Khali'l, that torment of the spright, He taketh hearts to be his guests each night. ^ Upon his face what spell hath cast his hair, That thereunto the fire is garden fairr^ « » -s- s; * « « s; « » -s « « * -s; s; «■ * =Alem-Shah. 8 And one is "^Alem-Shah, that King of earth. By side of whom the hosts of sighs march forth. Behold, O friend, how fair a King is he, For whom the glances the sword-bearers be. ' Veshil Melek 'Green Angel', this seems to be another nickname; perhaps the boy often dressed in green. Melek, i. e. Angel, is sometimes used as a name among the Turks. 2 The makhlas or 'pen-name' Nesli means 'he of the lineage' or 'of the race.' 5 ^Azazi'l was the original angelic name of Iblis or Satan before his fall. * This refers to the story of Satan's refusal to worship Adam (see vol. i, p. 119, n. 5); in the word 'descendant' there is further an allusion to the lad's pen-name of Nesli. 5 The name Khalil, from entering into the compound Khalil-ullah i. e. 'the Familiar of God', the special title of the patriarch Abraham, always recalls that prophet. 8 The patriarch Abraham is famous for his hospitality in entertaining guests, both angelic and human. ^ There is here an allusion to the following legend. When Abraham had destroyed the idols, he was, by command of Nimrod the King, cast on to a huge burning pyre, the engine by which he was shot on to this being, it is said, an invention of the Devil. But at God's bidding Gabriel came down and changed the flaming pile into a garden of roses for the prophet, though to the infidels it continued to blaze as it were a hell. Here Mesihi fancies the boy's bright face as a red fire which his flowing tresses have by magic changed into a rosy garden for themselves, wherein they may play at pleasure. 8 The name '^Alem-Shah means 'King of the World.' 254 Yiisuf. ' And one is Yusuf, King of all the fair ; 2 In beauty's Egypt he the crown doth wear. Whoever sees me lurking in his street Saith, 'In the end this wolf will Joseph eat.' ^ Mahmiid. And one the hafiz * is that's hight Mahmiid; On him the Lord hath David's voice bestowed. ^ His face is like the Koran pure and clear, Is't strange that by his head the folk should swear ? • Hasan. And one is Hasan, of the druggists he; His breath thou'dst fancy Khotan musk to be. '^ I've wrung from out my wede the tears of blood, And all his shop have filled with brazil-wood. ^ Fettan. Fettan, Shadi the silkman's son there is; A thousand souls for e'en one kiss of his ! Of crimson silk his collar deem no more, 1 Yusuf, i. e. Joseph. 2 The prophet Joseph being, as we learned from Hamdi's poem, the fairest of all creatures. 3 Alluding to the false story told to Jacob by his sons. [This conceit recalls a graceful couplet of the Persian poet Sa*^di : — 'I am well-known in thy quarter, yet debarred from seeing thy face : A wolf with blood-stained mouth who hath not devoured Joseph.' ed.] * A hafiz is one who knows the Koran by heart. 5 David the Psalmist is the type of a beautiful singer or chanter. The Prophet said of one who recited the Koran sweetly in his presence that he had 'the voice of David', and the expression is consequently still used in connection with anyone who reads or recites the sacred book very beautifully. 8 'By thy head!' is a common form of swearing. People also take oath on the Koran. ■" Khotan is the name of a region in Cathay or Chinese Tartary, whence, as we have seen, the best musk is obtained. 8 For brazil-wood see p. 213, n. 2. The poet here associates the tears of blood with which he has saturated his robe for love of the young druggist with the red brazil-wood. Musk and brazil-wood are sold in druggists' shops. 255 That wanton one hath waded deep in gore. • Sidi. And one yon tailor is, Sfdi by name, Who beauty's robe hath sewn, and donned the same. If thou shouldst look upon yon ruddy cheek, For scarlet Prankish satin 2 thou'dst it take. Hasan. Of yonder fair, Hasan the capper 's one, A dainty-frame, and rare his union. His love my outside and my in makes sweet; There falls his cap whereso doth fall my pate. Bakhshi. 3 And one the bathman's son, Bakhshi by name. Whose liplets as Badakhshan rubies * flame. He 's raised a fire, and made my breast a bath, * And my two eyes tlie window-lights it hath, ^ Nazik. And one is Nazik, the mute's son so gay 5 Right cunning he in stealing hearts away. How should not I that rosy-face love dear? — For rosebud like, mouth but no tongue is there. '' Huseyn. And one the carder who is Huseyn hight, Like carded cotton is his body white. May sigh of mine ne'er light on him, I pray, ' Do not think that his collar is of the red silk his father sells; he has slain so many lovers by his beauty that his robe is stained with their blood up even to the collar. 2 The allusion is to some European material, perhaps of the nature of Venetian brocade, highly esteemed by the Turks of those days. 3 This is an old-fashioned name, hardly, if at all, used nowadays. * The rubies of Badakhslian have been mentioned in vol. i, p. 333, n, 2. 5 He has raised a fire of love in my breast which has made it glow like a hot bath for passion. 8 The Eastern bath is lighted by small round windows in the dome. ■> We have very often seen the rosebud described as a mouth; of course, it is a mouth without a tongue. The mute, if he has a tongue, cannot speak with it. Mesihi seems here to say that the lad too is dumb; but probably his intention is only to make a point out of the father's peculiarity. 256 For of what sort is fire and cotton's play ? 1 When the Catalogue has been gone through we get the short Epilogue, which is here translated, as is the first of the two ghazels with which it closes; the second is omitted as being superfluous. [132] If looking through the bowers of Paradise Rizwan '- should seek an angel like to these, The peer of one of them he would not sight Although nine times he ranged the Heavens Eight. To love but one alone was mine intent 5 But ah! with one I could not be content. I strove to bind my heart to one alone, But then my heart was not content with one. This wayward heart was all to pieces rent, And every piece off to a beauty went. O God, let not that in the tomb I fall Or ever breast to breast I've seen them all. That God do keep them from all loss, I cry ; What better than a prayer make can I ? Ghazel. O God make each of these of surest stay, And make the taper of their cheeks to ray. Since Thou hast made their lips the Fount of Life, Keep these alive until the Judgment-Day. Me needeth not the sultanship of earth; Make Thou me but to be their slave for aye. What time they flock unto the feast of wine My sad heart make the viol that they play. Mesihi this wise finisheth their praise ; So if thou like it not, well, go they way. ' Here is quoted a well-known proverb — ^'^ ^^-3 *"^ i:y«.i»-*.A.j See p. 227, n. 4. 2 The name Qizil Bash, 'Red Head', is said to have originated from the circumstance that the followers of Sheykh Hayder, Shah Isma^ii's father, wore red caps as a distinguishing badge. In any case, it was used in the sixteenth century, and probably later, by the orthodox Ottomans as a contemptuous designation for the adherents of the Shi*^! sect, and particularly for the soldiers of the Safevi Kings of Persia. Nowadays the name is given to a Shi^i com- munity which is scattered over the north-east of Anatolia, especially in the provinces of Erzerum, Sivas, and Ma'^mdret-ul-'^Aziz. This body has a bad reputation, being popularly (though perhaps unjustly) ci-edited with various reprehensible customs, such as community of wives. 26o Obliged for the time to abandon his crusade against the Red Heads, Seh'm, still in pursuance of his pan-Islamic idea, resolved to bring the dominions of the Memluk Sultans of Cairo under his sceptre. This he accomplished in a single campaign ; and the result was not only the incorporation of Egypt, Syria, and the holy places of Arabia into the Ottoman Empire, but the transference of the Caliphate of Islam from the house of "Abbas to the dynasty of "Osman 923 (15 17). Among the best results of Selim's campaign against Shah Isma^il was the acquisition of the Turkish districts of Diyar- Bekr and Mardin, once the dominions of the Black Sheep Turkmans, from whose successors, the White Sheep, ^ they had passed into the hands of the Persian King. At the same time he won the country about '^Orfa and Mosul, which had a mixed population, in part Turkish, and annexed the little Turkman state of Zu-1-Qadr. ' On the other hand, while their annexation was necessary as an essential step towards the realisation of Selim's dream, Syria, Egypt, and the Arabian litoral must be looked upon as purely foreign con- quests ; they can have added nothing to the Turkish population, and therefore to the inherent strength of the Empire. On the contrary, one i^esult of their acquisition must have been to leave the dominant race in a considerable numerical inferiority, a somewhat anomalous state of affairs which, in greater or less degree, has continued from that day to this. Sultan Seh'm was born in 872 (1467) and died in 926 (1520). Though not wantonly cruel, he was ruthless towards all whom he conceived to stand in the way of his designs, and notably towards those of his vezirs who rightly or wrongly fell under his suspicion. It was this feature of his character which earned for him that surname of the Grim by which he is known to this day. ' F^r these dynasties see vol. i, p. 204, and notes i and 2. 26 I As Sclini the First was in matters political the greatest minded of his house, so by universal consent was he the most gifted poetically. But unfortunately his writings are almost entirely in the Persian language, in which he composed a complete Di'wan of ghazels that contains many passages of great beauty. ' But this work, not being in Turkish, does not fall within the scope of our enquiry. Why Sclim elected to write in Persian rather than in Turkish is not clear ; probably he considered that the former, being the more cultured speech of the two, was the better medium for the expression of poetic thought. In any case his choice is a matter for regret; for besides adding another star to the galaxy of Turkish poets, he must through his great literary talent have rendered valuable assistance in the work of refining and fixing the Ottoman language. The following couplet is the only piece of Turkish verse which the biographers attribute to Sultan Selim ; it is not included in his Diwan: — Couplet. . How were 't meet that thou should'st stand before me while that I recline? — Better far they make no prayer o'er me dead. 2 my Cypress-form. ^ ' Sultan Selim's Di'wan was printed at Constantinople in 1306 (1888 — 9). The British Museum possesses a MS. (Add. 7786). By a slip, such as is rare indeed in the marvellously accurate work of Dr. Rieu, this Diwan is attributed in the Catalogue to Sultan Selim II. 2 The people present at a funeral stand while a prayer is repeated over the dead man. The ceremony is very short, lasting only some seven or eight minutes. The idea in the verse is that the beloved is too tender to stand for even that short time without suffering fatigue; so rather than that his dear one should be put to even this slight inconvenience, the poet desires that he should be buried without any religious rite. 262 Like so many both of his ancestors and his descendants, Seh'm I was not only a poet, he was a friend and patron of poets. While yet but governor of Trebizond, his court in that province was a centre of attraction to men of letters, and after his accession he continued to find his favourite recreation in the society of the learned and the gifted. In war as in peace, he loved to be surrounded by poets and thinkers; and throughout both his Persian and Egyptian campaigns his closest companions were two or three chosen spirits with whom he could enjoy the pleasure of intellectual converse. CHAPTER X. Ja^fer ClIELEm. While Mehemmed the Conqueror was still upon the throne and his son Bayezid was governor at Amasiya, one of that Prince's chief advisers ^ had been a certain Taji Bey, ^ a scion of a famous Ottoman family. ^ This Taji Bey had had two sons, the elder of whom was named Ja'^fer, and the younger SaMi. These two boys had grown up at the Prince- Governor's court, and as both had shown signs of exceptional ability, both had been destined for the learned profession. Ja'^fer, who in after life was commonly known by the patro- nymic Taji-zade, being more especially a lad of extraordinary promise, was sent to study under the most distinguished 1 His defterdar or treasurer, according to Sehi and Latifi. "^Ashiq on the other hand says that Taji had been lala (titular tutor) or governor to the Prince, a statement wliich "^Ali contradicts, saying that the lalas of the Im- perial Princes always bore the title of Pasha. 2 Taji's name appears, like his son's, on the roll of Ottoman poets. Latifi quotes this couplet by him on the Arabic proverb jO^iij i^XJi^ r^^rf vAa*Ji which is exactly equivalent to our own saying, 'man proposes but God disposes:' — No man's business through his scheming comes to aught, O heart of me 5 That alone shall be successful which accords with God's decree. 3 Hasan says that Taji Bey had originally been a soldier. 264 professors of the day, among his instructors being the Qazi- "^Asker Hajji-Hasan-zade. ' Ja'^fer's first appointment was the Muderrisate or Principal- ship of the College of Mahmiid Pasha in Constantinople. But Sultan Bayezid, who highly appreciated the young man's talent, and who doubtless felt a special interest in him on account of the old Amasiya days, soon found for him another and far more exalted post. The official who held the position of Nishanji or Chancellor of the Divan ^ having been promoted to the vezirate, it became necessary to appoint someone else to the vacant office. It so happened that there was no one among the government clerks, from whose ranks the selection would regularly have been made, who was deemed competent adequately to discharge the functions of this important and responsible post. The Sultan therefore ordered the vezirs to select from among the ^ulema some man whose proved ability and literary skill were sufficient guarantee of his efficiency. The vezirs, who probably knew something of the wishes of their Imperial master, made choice of Ja'^fer Chelebi ; and Bayezid, who was greatly pleased, at once began to shower favours on his old friend. Till this time the Defterdars or Treasurers of the Divan ^ had always taken precedence of the Nishanji; they used to sit above him on the bench in the council-chamber, and to stand above him when, drawn up in line, the members of the Divan saluted the Sultan as he passed. Bayezid changed this arrangement; he gave the 1 Hajji Hasan-zade was one of the most prominent of the ^ulemd of his time. Sultan Mehemmed shortly before his death in 886 (1481) made him Qazf-'^Asker of Anatolia; in 893 (1488) he was Qazi-'^Asker of Rumelia, and he remained so till his death in 911 (1505 — 6). Judging from the attempt which, as we shall see, he made to check the career of Kemal-Pasha-zdde, he would appear to have been of a somewhat jealous temperament. He \\rote verses under the pen-name of Wahidi. 2 See p. 25 supra. 3 See p. 25 supra, and n. i ad calc. 265 Nishanji precedence over the Defterdars, a step somewhat keenly resented by the latter officials. He further conferred, for the first time, the rank and title of Pasha on the Nishanji ; and so Ja'^fer became generally known among the people as the Nishanji Pasha, or, as we might say, the Lord Chancellor. Till almost the very end of Bayezid's reign Ja'^fer continued to enjoy the utmost prosperity, living in all happiness and well-being, now indulging his literary tastes and now pursuing pleasures of a more equivocal description. For the Lord Chancellor was a great admirer of the fair sex, and on occasion did not hesitate to overstep the lines drawn by religion and by law. One such occasion is memorable, since it forms the subject of his most important poem, the Heves- Name or 'Book of Love-Desire.' It so chanced that one day Ja'^fer caught a glimpse of a beautiful lady with whom he then and there fell passionately and desperately in love. The lady in question happened to be the wife of a respectable member of the ^ulema ; but this mattered nothing to the ardent lover. He at once set about trying to win her affections to himself, making use of those old women who in the East act as lovers' go-betweens, and of such other means as he could devise. His efforts were crowned with success, and the lady became his paramour. The whole of this adventure is narrated by the poet-lover in the book just referred to, which he is said to have written as a distraction to himself during his love-fever. If this be the case, the date of the affair is fixed as 899 (1493 — 4) by a chronogram for the Book of Love-Desire. ' When the husband of the lady found out what had happened, he lifted up his voice and cursed 1 'Its reckoning is : The Book of Love of Ja^fer,' where the words o*.^ .»*>■ «w«lj 'The Book of Love of Ja fer" form the chronogram. 266 Ja'^fer; and, according to '^Ali, who displays a very becoming indignation when relating the scandalous tale, it was this curse which brought about -the subsequent disgrace and eventual execution of the peccant Chancellor. Yet for all his sins Ja'^fer had many years of prosperity. He was ever loyal to his kind master Bayezid, and was one of those who stood by him when his son Selim was in practical revolt. This fidelity cost the poet dear; he was known to favour the claims of Prince Ahmed, Bayezid's best loved son; and so after Selim had been compelled to retire north, the janissaries, exasperated at the check given to their favourite, broke loose in Constantinople in 917 (August 15 11) and looted the house of the Lord Chancellor as well as those of Mu^eyyed-zade, then the Rumelian Qazi-*^Asker, and of another high official, who also were prominent supporters of Prince Ahmed. Sultan Bayezid, whose strength and nerve were by this time completely shattered, felt himself compelled to humour the mutineers by the dismissal of his two favourites, Ja^fer and Mu'eyyed-zade. The former was offered a small retiring pension which he declined to accept. It must have been almost immediately before his fall that Mesihi presented to him as Nishanji Pasha the spring-qasida translated on a preceding page, ' and prayed him for a share of his patronage. Selim, who succeeded his father in the following year, was by no means inclined to forego the services of men of talent, even though they might once have opposed his schemes. He therefore made haste to offer Ja'^fer a post in the judiciary which it was not beneath his dignity to accept. Soon after- wards the poet was re-instated in his old office of Nishanji; whence he was transferred, after a brief interval, to the Anatolian Qazi-'^Askerate, which, as we have more than once seen, was then, except for the titular seniority of the Rume- 1 ^ee pp. 228 and 238 — 241 supra. 267 lian, the highest position in the learned profession. Ja'^fer thus attained, after a brilliant interlude as a civil official, to what was practically the summit of the profession in which he originally started. He now stood on the highest pinnacle of his fortune. He was one of Selim's most intimate friends; on the marches during the Persian campaign he, with Monla Idn's the historian, ' and Halimi Chelebi, Selim's lala or tutor, ^ used generally to ride by the side of their master and beguile the tedium of the way with discussions on literature and philosophy. At Amasiya, on the homeward march, the Ottoman army was overtaken by ambassadors from Shah Isma'^il who were charged amongst other things to pray for the restitution of that King's favourite wife, who, with the rest of the royal harem, had been captured at Chaldiran. The Sultan refused to listen to their request ; and, in consideration perhaps of Ja*^fer's predilection for fair women, gave the lady in marriage to him. But royal favour such as this poet enjoyed was fraught with danger in the mediaeval East. Ja'^fer had, as was inevitable, jealous enemies who were ever on the watch for an oppor- tunity to poison his master's mind against him. Such an opportunity occurred during this campaign. We have seen ' Monla Idris was a noble and learned Kurd of Bitli's who fled from the Persian Shah Isma'^il and entered the Ottoman service. He wrote in the Persian language an esteemed history of the first eight Ottoman Sultans, to which he gave the title of Hesht Bihisht or 'The Eight Paradises.' He was able to render Selim much assistance in establishing the Ottoman authority in the Kurdish districts of Diyar-Bekr and Mosul, and this, combined with his learning, won for him a high place in that Sultan's regard. lie died in Constantinople in 961 (1554). 2 This Halimi Chelebi, who was a very learned man, though hardly an author, was a native of Qastamuni. He died in 923 (15 16). Von Hammer has by an error confounded him with an earlier Halimi who was a cadi under Mehemmed the Conqueror and composed a well-known Persian-Turkish dic- tionary which bears the name of Bahr-ul-Ghara^ib or -The Sea of Wonders,' but which was popularly known as Lughat-i Halimi or 'Ilalimi's Dictionary.' 268 that the janissaries refused to advance beyond Tebn'z, ' and thereby roused the anger of Seh'm. At Amasiya, where the Persian queen was handed over to Ja^fer, they broke out into open revolt ; and their insubordination yet further incensed the Sultan, who resolved to enquire into the causes of their misconduct and make an example of those who had incited them. The Qazi'-'^Asker's enemies saw their chance; and so when, immediately on the return of the army to Constan- tinople, certain prominent members of the corps were sum- moned into the Sultan's presence and there asked at whose instigation they had refused to march beyond Tebriz and had broken out at Amasiya, the soldiers, eager to shield themselves, and prompted thereto, it is said, by the enemies of these officials, denounced their own general the Segban- Bashi '^ Bal-yemez "^Osman, another officer, and the Qazi- "^Asker Ja'^fer Chelebi. Whether or not he had corroborative evidence, Seh'm believed what he v/as told, and straightway caused the two officers to be beheaded. But the Qazi-^Asker was a great legal functionary, and in his case a formal condemnation was required. So Selim 1 See p. 259 supra. - At this time the chief officer of the janissaries bore the title of Segban- Bashi or 'Chief Hound-Keeper.' Originally this had been the title of the commander of only those janissary regiments which were known as Segbanlar (commonly pronounced Seymenler) or 'Hound-Keepers.' Many of the regiments of this famous corps bore names connecting them with the chase 5 thus one was called the Samsunjilar or 'Mastiff-Keepers', another the Zagharjilar or 'Bloodhound-Keepers,' and yet another the Turnajilar or 'Crane-Keepers.' Such names were echoes from an early time when those different classes of the hunting establishment attached to the Sultan's household were incorporated as regiments in the 'New Corps.' Until the time of the execution of Bal- yemez '^Osman (mentioned in the text) promotion to the chief command of the corps had been regularly reached by seniority. Selim now disregarded this principle ; he chose the commander-in-chief where he pleased, and gave him the title of Yeriicheri Aghasi or Agha (i. e. General) of the Janissaries, a title which his successors continued to bear till the suppression of the corps by M^hmiid 11 in 1241 (1826). 269 called him before him and asked him what punishment was legally due to one who impeded an orthodox monarch in the extirpation of heresy, and who stirred up the soldiers of his army to revolt, whereupon Ja'^fer, suspecting nothing, replied that the Law required that such an one should be put to death. Selim then said to him that he had just pronounced his own death-sentence. When he understood how things were, Ja^fer vainly protested his innocence, and told the Sultan that if he rashly put him to death without just cause, he would repent the deed as bitterly as Harun-ur- Reshi'd repented his execution of Ja'^fer the Bermeki. But all his arguments and expostulations were of no avail ; and he was beheaded forthwith on the 8* Rejeb 920 (29th August 1 514).' After the execution, Ja^fer's brother SaMi removed the body and buried it in the mosque which the poet him- self had built in the Balat quarter of Constantinople, and which bore the name of Nishanji Mesjidi or the Nishanji's Mosque. Ja^fer's predictions were apparently not long in being ful- filled, for the biographers tell us that Sultan Seli'm soon deeply regretted his rash and cruel act, and bitterly reproached his courtiers for not having endeavoured to restrain him. "^Ashiq relates a story, which is reproduced by both Hasan and ''All, to the effect that when Selim went personally to supervise the efforts made to extinguish a great conflagration 1 Such is the story given Ijy all the historians and biographers; but '^Ali, who also repeats it, says that he was told by the Nishanji Jelal-zade that the real motive of Ja^fer's execution was Selim's resentment at a satire on his retreat before his father Bayezid which the enemies of the Lord Chancellor concocted, and persuaded the Sultan had been written by him. This story, though ^Ali seems to attach considerable importance to it, is extremely impro- bable; not only is the evidence very weak, but it is most unlikely that a hasty and passionate autocrat like Selim would take the trouble to invent a lumbering excuse for revenging a personal insult, or that he would have after- ward openly expressed his regret, if he believed his victim to have lampooned him. 2/0 which broke out in Constantinople in the Rejeb of 921 (August 15 15), he turned to Sinan Pasha the Grand Vezir, ' who was at his side, and said, 'This fire is kindled by the burning sighs risen from the guiltless heart of Ja^r; it will be strange if his blood do not whelm our throne and our estate like the empire of Qayzafa, ^ or if the smoke of his sighs do not blast our crown and our welfare like the people of "^Ad.' ^ '^Ashiq adds (and Hasan and Riyazi follow him) that Seh'm was wont to say, 'When we came to the throne we found two men ; one was Mu^eyyed-zade, but he was sore stricken in years, and one was Taji-zade, the stackyard ^ of whose life we cast to the winds with the hand of precipitancy.' ■^Ashiq, and after him the other biographers, remark it as curiously foreshadowing Ja'^fer's fate that the opening couplet of the congratulatory Persian qasi'da which he composed and presented to Sultan Selim on his accession should run thus: — The Lord of Life who placed the coin of life within our hand, Did so that we might strew it ^ o'er the King of all the land. ^ This they held to foretoken the poet's case, because the Persian expression 'to place one's life on (in) one's hand,' '' ' Sinan Pasha the Eunuch, who had distinguished himself in the Persian campaign, was made Grand Vezir in 920 (15 14). He was killed in the war against the Memluks in 923 (15 17). y 2 Qayzafa, the Queen of the Sunset-land, whose country was submerged by a trick of Alexander's. See vol. i, pp. 278 — 9. 3 '^Ad is the name of an ancient Arab tribe, mentioned in the Koran, which is said to have been destroyed by a hot and suffocating wind sent from Heaven because they refused to obey their prophet Hiid. * For this common metaphor see p. 55 supra and n. 3 ad calc. 5 Referring to the custom described on p. 62 n. 5 supra. The idea of course is that the poet is ready to take upon himself any ill-luck that might threaten the King. ' 0^^ cXiiJ Lx. ^f J- o^-f' 0^ o^-&-- > »L .Xi j.vA«/l ^Li_i ^.^ o^^- 271 which is much Hkc our almost identical phrase 'to take one's life in one's hand,' is used when there is question of facing a danger without regard to one's life. ^'Vshiq tells us that when this qasida was read (presumably by Ja'^fer) to the poet Ishaq Chelebi * and '^Ashiq Qasim, the latter, perceiving the ill omen in the first hne, hinted, though to no effect, at a slight verbal change by which it would have been done away. ^ The same biographer has two other stories about Ja^fer's death. One of these he says he heard from the poet Nejmi Chelebi, ^ who told him that three or four days before the execution he went to see Ja^fer, who was of course as yet unaware of his impending fate, when that poet mentioned that he had just composed a ghazel in which was one couplet that particularly pleased him, and the said couplet was: — When that martyred by Love's sabre * in the dear one's path I lie, Look ye, buiy me unwashen, that its dust ^ leave not my frame. '• This too was prophetic, for the poet's body was buried unwashed. The other story "^Ashiq says that he saw in the note-book of Ja^fer's brother SaMi, in the latter's own hand-writing. It is to the effect that every night, for three or four nights ' We shall meet him in the next volume. 2 He proposed to read Lo iAj ji for Ia ^i J, which, while not affecting the sense, would have got rid of the unlucky phrase. 3 Two minor poets called Nejmi are mentioned in the Tezkires as living about this time. * Alluding to the Hadis 'Whoso dieth of love, verily he dieth a martyr.' See vol. I, p. 216, n. 2. 5 i. e. the dust of martyrdom, the dust clinging to the body which is fallen on the ground after the fatal stroke. oy^ ^^Lc ^u^^- j^yi^L} ^io ^yA^^. 2/2 before his execution, Ja^fer used to repeat in his sleep this Persian couplet : — There is I, there 's this two days' life ' that it booteth us not to live; So that after that I am dead, little booteth it one to grieve. 2 Both these stories are reproduced by Hasan and Riyazi ; *^Ali repeats the first only. '^Ashiq has yet another little tale relating to Ja*^fer, which he says was told him by his own teacher, the Mufti Khoja Chelebi Efendi, who made him write it down lest he should forget it. Ja'^fer and Mu'eyyed-zade had been children together in Amasiya when Prince Bayezid was governor there, and had been the closest of friends. So in later years, when Ja'^fer had been made Nishanji, Mu'eyyed-zade, who was still only Cadi of Adrianople, had written to congratulate his friend on his promotion, and had begun his letter with the words: 'Greeting upon greeting! Verily the generous when. . .' ^ These words, which were in Arabic, were evidently part of a quotation, and were no less evidently meant as a hint. Ja'^fer tried hard to recall the rest of the verse that he might divine w'hat his friend wanted, but his efforts were fruitless; and it was not until he had enquired from many learned men that he found one who was able to supply the missing words and tell him that the complete distich ran: — • This is a common Persian idiom when two things that have no connection or sympathy with one another are brought together. The idea is: Here am I, and here is this brief life; what have we to do with each other? neither cares about the other. "^ '^j;-^ O^-^i^ '^ L5r*^ ^)^J ^'^^ !*"*"'* 273 Verily the generous when in easance remember Ilim who was their familiar in the house of stress. ' We are not told what the Nishanji did for this friend after he had succeeded in completing his quotation. ^ The same biographer and his faithful henchman Hasan relate that once when Ja'fer was suffering from some affection of the eyes, his teacher Hajji Masan-Zade sent him these lines: — O mine eyen's light,' how fares it with the pupils of thine eyes? Hope I for a healing answer,* for in anxious care I pine. ■'Tis the tears of blood I shed without thee that reflected show Yonder countless blood-stains every moment in thy mirror-eyne. ^ Yea, meseemeth that the pupils of thine eyes must blood have shed. And it is through fear they hide them, ^ but 'God knoweth best,' '• in fine. 8 J 3- c - - -. O 2 This story is most likely apocryphal, since in the biographies of Mu'eyyed- zade in the Crimson Peony and the Crown of Chronicles no mention is made of his ever having been Cadi of Adrianople. 3 'Light of my eyes,' a favourite term of endearment; here appropriately used, since the writer's subject is his pupil's eyes. 4 Jewab-i shafi, literally 'healing answer', is an answer that sets the enquirer's mind at rest. Here both the literal and figurative senses ai'e kept in view. 5 The eye is often compared to a mirror because objects are reflected in the pupil. Here the poet says, by the figure aetiology (vol. i, p. 113), that the streaks in his pupil's blood-shot eyes are really the reflection of the tears of blood which he himself has shed since he was parted from him. 6 The patient's weak and blood-shot eyes are hidden, i. e. protected, l^y a shade; so the poet fancies that the blood about them is that of someone (pei'haps a lover) whom they have slain (by their glances), and that they are therefore hiding lest they should be arrested. ' This Arabic phrase 1— jj^xa^u f*^ *^ 5» which is used when one is not quite sure of the truth of what he has just said, has occurred more than once before. 8 ikJ ^IL> dV.iJ^/«0^ ^j»^ ^y^ j.jy' ,^' 18 274 To which JaTer repHed as follows: — 0 physician of the soul, from thy health-giving mansion's door Every day there issue cures unnumber.;d to the folk of pine. Asked I Reason of the virtue of the dust aneath thy feet : ^'Tis the stibium ' of the Eyes of Fortune,' '^ came the answer digne. Day and night I hang a musky veil wove of the fantasy Of the loved one's locks before them, should'st thou ask anent my eyne. 3 How is 't wondrous that ophthalmia* deprive me of thy sight? — Never is the sun beheld when as the afterglow doth shine. 5 1 had gone to kiss the dust before thy noble presence, but Better 'tis the evil eye ^ be far, and 'God knows best' in fine. '^ ' Surme (sometimes called kuhl or ismid) is stibium or sulphuret of anti- mony. In the form of a very fine powder, black in colour and somewhat oily, it is much used by beauties for darkening the eyelashes. It is kept in a small cylindrical pot or box called surme-dan, and is applied with a needle called mil; this is put into the box, where the surme adheres to it, and is then drawn across between the lids of the closed eye. Surme not only darkens the lashes, it cools the eye, and is often used at night by others besides beauties, as it absoi'bs the moisture that comes from the eyes during sleep. Many religious people affect its use, for the Prophet said, 'On you be the use of antimony, for that it strengtheneth the sight and maketh the hair (eyelashes) to grow.' 2 A'^yan-i Devlet, literally the 'Eyes of Fortune,' but conventionally the Grandees of the Empire; both senses are here kept in view. 3 Here the poet pictures the dark shade which he wears to protect his weak eyes as a veil woven from his dreams of his beloved's dark hair. * The word here translated 'ophthalmia' is really wider in sense, being applied to any affection of the eyes. 5 Here the poet compares his teacher's face to the sun and his own blood- shot eyes to the red afterglow. As the latter cannot be seen while the sun is visible, it is not strange that he and his teacher should not meet. ^ The 'evil eye', referring to the superstition, and at the same time, by a play on the words, to the poet's evil, i. e. diseased, eyes. >-^' O"^" Jjl^^ ^'j> tL5^-^J oL-- ^..^ c^' i_jLaw,;> L5^ . ;h^ S .X^ \Ajl?i oy •-XA>oLi> t_5.?^> (iXjl-j < i'v.> *3.vO \„L2c v!>-- ^J^j' 5 y-^.^ ,A^:o ..L^r:' * «.-AM 275 Although the note of inspiration may be kicking from his verse, Taji-zade Ja^fer Chelebi was undoubtedly one of the most cultured and accomplished men of letters of his time ; and Lati'fi probably says no more than the truth when he declares that no such skilful writer ever held the office of Nishanji under the Ottoman Sultans. For the state letters due to his pen arc masterpieces of the art of official cpisto- lography, a branch of literary composition of great importance and highly esteemed in those days. Ja'^fer's contributions to literature proper consist of a Di'wan, the mesnevi entitled Heves-Name or 'The Book of Love- Desire,' and, according to "^Ashiq who alone mentions it, a facetious poem named Kus-Name. ' The lyric poems which form the Diwan - are elegant and scholarly, and bear the impress of the author's learning and culture. Novel ideas and ingenious fancies are not infrequent ; but the verses too often lack not only spontaneity but earn- estness, and so come to present a somewhat academical appearance. This feature has been noticed by the Ottoman critics. Thus Lati'fi says that the general opinion among poets is that while nothing can be said against his diction and imagery, there is no pathos in his work commensurate with the art and fancy it displays. '^Ashiq, after declaring (_jL.x.si j'^J;^^ \X-S^ \Jis.X:^ '-^t^r! '^■^^V^-j' ' Liber Cunni. 2 The Diwdn is imprinted', there is a MS. in my collection. 276 that Ja'^fer's prose is better than his verse, his qasidas better than his ghazels, and his Persian composition better than his Turkish (though he adds that such was not the opinion of Mu^eyyed-zade, who used to assert that the poet's Persian was the Persian of Angora), goes on to say that his poetry is without the charm imparted by love. In corroboration of this criticism he tells a story as to how Sultan Seli'm and Ja^fer were once conversing together when the latter said, 'I am a denier of love ; what they call love is naught but a fancy, pretension to which were foolishness in men of sense,' whereupon the Sultan replied, 'Swear not ; for your denial of love and your ignorance of what love is, are manifest from your poems ; for the savour of love is not in them.' The reason adduced by "^Ashiq for this sad deficiency is characteristic ; 'This peculiarity,' says the biographer sen- tentiously, 'is the result of the poet's love of women; because of that evil is his poetry void of sweetness, and his speech of pathos.' Hasan makes the same remark ; 'Though his poetry', writes this author, 'is clear and lucid, yet it is lacking in the pathos of love.' After which he repeats the story just given from ^Ashiq. But although the critics thus agree in denying (and not unjustly) to Ja^fer's work the important quality of passion, they are, with the one exception of "^Ali, far from disparaging it as a whole. Latifi describes him as the Hassan ' of his age in poetry and the Sahban ' of his time in prose. Tash- kopri-zade in the Crimson Peony speaks of his endless verses in the Turkish tongue each one of which is approved by the poets and esteemed by the men of taste. ^Ashiq writes ' Hassan, who was one of the Companions of the Prophet, was a famous Arab poet. He replied to the satires launched against Muhammed by his heathen adversaries. Sahban was an Arab orator of the time of Hanin-ur-Reshid. Hassan and Sahban are conventional types of eloquence in poetry and prose respcVively. 277 of his prose as 'pearls scattered," and his poetry as 'pearls set in order;' while Riyazi talks of his poetic genius embracing a thousand viri^in fancies. But "^Ali, who writes with a curious bias against Ja'^fer, will allow nothing of this, and girds at those critics who have spoken well of the Nishanji's work, charging them with looking at the poet's high position rather than at the real quality of his writings. He describes Ja'^fer as a man of fortune whose reputation is above his deserts, though he allows that he was skilled and learned up to the highest point reached in his time. This critic further avers that he has not found one original point in all Ja'^fer's writings, and that the best thing he ever did is that opening couplet of the Persian qasi'da he presented to Seli'm on his accession, but that even that is not original. He then upbraids him for not having done at least one piece of good work when he enjoyed so many advantages for so long a time. In speaking in this way, "^Ali is unjust; Ja^fer was not an inspired poet, but he was at least as graceful and successful a writer as many of those for whom that critic has nothing but praise. It may be noted that, like Ahmed Pasha, Ja^fer Chelebi used his own name unmodified in place of a makhlas or pen-name. The following poems are from Ja'^fer's Diwan. The first is an extract of a few couplets from his Spring Qasida. From the Spring Qasida. [133] Lo the radiant beauty-tulip dons her shift of rosy hue, And with silver studs adorn it ' bright and sheen the drops of dew. ^ 1 i. e. the bright red shift (corolla) of the tulip which is compared to a gaily dressed beauty. 2 Merc by the combination of metaphor and personification described on p. 63 n. I, the dewdrops are presented at once as silver studs and as the tire-women who fasten these in the Ijeautv's red shift. 2/8 Now ihe thorn hath bared his lancet ' for to bleed the rose's branch ; '•'- Now the gold-cap narcisse 3 maketh ready stool and basin too. ■* Look, 'twould seem the breeze hath ruffled there the flowing streamlet's heart; * For that all its face is knitted, and that naught but frowns we view. ^ Seeing how a jewelled besom is becoming for thy court '' Plangs the persj^iration 8 'Aden pearls ^ the beauties' tresses'" to." Here are a few lines from another qasida. From the Hunt Oasida. [134] Whensoe'er in winter's season doth the King of happy sway , Make with blood of beasts a tulip-garth of mount and desert-way, '^ ' Here, by the same figure, the thorn, which because of its shape and sharpness, is conceived as a lancet, is presented not only as this, but also as the physician who uses the same. 2 As we have already seen (p. 240 n. i), it was customary for people to be bled in the spring. 3 The narcissus is often called 'golden-cap' (zerrin-kulah) because of its bright yellow flower. * The flower of the narcissus is conceived as the basin of the phlebotomist, the stalk as the stool on which this is set. ■'• i. e. hath annoyed it. 6 Referring of course to the ripples caused by the breeze. ^ This couplet is from the panegyric on the Sultan to whom the qasida is addressed, the three preceding being from the exordium. 8 The Eastern poets regard the perspiration studding a beautiful face as enhancing its charm. 9 The pearls of ^Aden are very famous in poetry, the finest being supposed to come from the seas of that region. 1" 'To besom (or sweep) the dust with one's hair' before a person, is an expression meaning to do reverence before him; it is used in connection with long-haired beauties, their tresses being conceived as falling forward and touching the ground as they make obeisance. The phrase is much the same in sense as the commoner 'to kiss (or rub one's face in) the dust' before so and so. " The poet's fancy is, that the perspiration, seeing how only a jewelled besom is fit to sweep the ground before the Sultan, hangs ""Aden pearls (i. e. drops of perspiration) on the tresses of his attendant beauties. The fact is simply that the beauties, heated after dancing or something of that kind, bow low before him. There is here another example of combined metaphor and personification, the drops of perspiration being presented both as the pearls themselves and as the tire-women who fasten them in the beauties' hair. '- i. cNniake the giuund red like a bed of tulips with the bluod of the game killed. 279 Ranged in ranks upon tlic deer the heait-euipieicing arrows stand; 'Lo, the loved one's eye adorned with tlie lashes' shafts', thou'dst say. Since by kissing of thy hand his foot hath honoured been, O King, 2 Leaveth not the hawk to kiss his talons ever night or day. ^ The ghazels that follow will suffice to show the poet's style in this form of verse. Ghazel. [135] Fondly do I love a witching charmer dear, I'll say not who; Though I yield my life a-yearning after her, I'll say not who. Though the soul win not its goal, without her knows the heart no rest, * Her my spirit's rest, and her my heart's repair, I'll say not who. Though that many a sore for dolour burns my heart on tulip wise, ^ Who she is, yon mole-besprinkled^ Sovran fair, I'll say not who. Though that they should cleave my body ' slit on slit e'en like the comb, ^ I shall name her not whose tresses are my snare, I'll say not who. 1 The arrows shot by the Sultan are supposed to stand close together in the side of the deer. We have often seen that a beauty's eyelashes are com- monly compared to arrows, and her eyes to those of a deer. Here the deer itself is taken as the eye, and the arrows sticking in it as the lashes sur- rounding this. 2 This couplet is from the panegyric. 3 The poet here attributes, by the figure husn-i taiil or aetiology (vol. I, p. 113), the falcon's habit of picking at his feet in order to try to loosen the jesses, to his wish to do reverence to his feet by kissing than since they have been honoured by resting on the Sultan's wrist when His Majesty was hawking. * i. e. though I may not attain to actual union with her, yet in her presence, and there alone, does my heart find rest. 5 The dark spot near the claw of a tulip-petal, that is, in the heart of the flower, is a constant simile for the dagh or 'sore' in the heart of the lover. See p. 206 n. 2. *" Moles on the face and neck were, as we have often seen, reckoned among the charms of the conventional beauty. There is congruity here in associating the beauty's moles and the lover's 'sores', both being dark spots. '' This refers to a barbarous mode of execution, called shaqq or 'cleavage', that used sometimes to be practised in Persia, in which the criminal was cleft in two from the fork to the neck. 8 The comb, being slit up lo form the teeth, recalls lo the poet the mode 28o Ja'fer, though they cut me piecemeal, all to fragments like my ear, ' Who she is, yon ear-ringed lovesome charmer dear, 2 I'll say not who. Ghazel. [136] Whensoe'er I think to tell my dear mine anguish and dismay Tears o'erwhelm me and the power of speech with me no more doth stay. High and low I looked and often, yet I saw not yonder moon: Past my fortune, nor in heaven nor on earth my star doth ray. How should I not yield my veiy soul for thee, the Taper bright ? — ^ Is there no moth-like devotion* in the scheme of things for me? Round my heart-strings wound the love of thee, and homed within my breast; With a fly-net hath my daring made of the "^anqa ^ its prey. ^ of punishment described in the last note. There is of course a congruity in mentioning the comb and the tresses in the same verse. ' 'To cut into pieces small as the ear,' is a phrase having the force of our expression 'to make mince-meat of.' ^ The point in this couplet is of course the bringing together of 'ear' and 'ear-ring.' 3 We have often seen the bright and beautiful beloved compared to the Taper that lights up the feast. See vol. I, p. 215 n. 3: and p. 42, n. 2 supra. * The imagined love of the Moth for the Taper, to which we have already had more than one allusion: see p. 55 n. 4. The Moth, as we have seen, is the type of the truest lover; for he dies without a word of complaint in the flame he loves. He is also typical of that love which comes not wholly of itself, but is constrained by some superior power to seek its object, though this lead to death. 5 The "Anqa is a fabulous bird of enormous size which was supposed to inhabit the Mountains of Qaf (see vol. i, p. 38). It was believed to be unique of its kind, there being only the one in existence. The poets and romancists often refer to it. It is frequently identified with the Persian Si'murgh, which also is described as a gigantic bird, and which was supposed to dwell on Mount Elburz. Si murgh also means in Persian 'thirty birds,' whence arises a host of equivoques. •• The poet means to say that love for his beloved has wound itself round his heart-strings and taken up its dwelling in his breast; this he would ascribe to his heart-strings having as it were entangled this love and made it prisoner; then he exclaims at his own achievement, how with so fragile an implement as a butterfly-net (i. e. his own tender heart-strings) he has captured the Anqa, the hugest creature in existence (i. e. that mightiest power called Love.) [The poet very probably had in mind here two couplets of the Persian poet Hafiz, which, with their English equivalents in Mr. John Payne's recently- published translation of the Uiwan of that poet, are as follows: — 28 1 Never till I die sliall I let loose thy skiit from out my hand ' Meet it is I bear thy rigour till my strength is past away. It hatli borne me, dust from off the ground, unto thy portal fair, — Thanks on thanks from earth to heaven 2 to the morning breeze! I say. Ja'^fer, at the Resurrection I shall tell Mejniin my plight; He will know my speech, he only understand my lovelorn way. ' Ghazel. [137] \ Since that the bud to ape thy lip did dare, Its mouth in anger do the breezes tear. * Through passion for that cypress-form of thine The pine-tree maddened seeks the mountain bare. '^ >r ....... 'None maketh prize of the Anca; nay, gather the net; For here is but wind to he gotten of any wight.' ^JO .^^ Lc c^«.4.>J 5 ,j:;J ^^ Oj.> e>^jC 'Fly, the Simurgh's court no play-ground is for thee : thine own fair fame Thou but losest, and us others in annoy thereby dost hold.' ed.] ' They used sometimes to lay hold of a great man's skirt when they wished 0 ask his protection or some other favour. Here, it is of course the beloved who is addressed. 2 i. e. endless, boundless thanks; referring also to the ground (earth) on which he was lying and the Paradise (heaven) of the beloved's dwelling to which he was taken. 3 Mejnun, he who went mad for love, alone will understand my plight. * The mouth of the beloved is often compared to the rosebud. Here the l)ud is conceived as having tried to model itself on this mouth, in punishment for which presumption the breezes are said to have torn its mouth, i. c. to have made it open. The opening of the flowers in the morning is attributed to the virtue of the morning breeze. 5 The pine-tree, which itself, like the cypress, is sometimes taken as the type of a graceful figure, is supposed to be maddened with love by the fair form of the beloved, and in consequence to have sought the mountains as the love-frenzied Mejnun did. Pine-trees generally grow upon mountains, so there is here, as in the preceding couplet, an example of aetiology. 282 They say who see the down upon thy cheek, 'A violet growing on a rose-leaf fair!' • Those basil lines about thy lip the judge Before the lines of Yaqut doth prefer. - Above his grave will rose and tulip grow, If Ja'^fer die, thy cheek desiring e'er. * Ghazel. [138] Fill the golden goblet, skinker, fill, the wine unmingled pour ! Let the hypocrite bedrench his yellow face with tears of gore. * I>et the fairy-beauties glow impassioned, let them rend their shifts! At the banquet be there opened into Heaven many a door! ^ ' The dark-coloured down represents the violet, and the red cheek the rose. ■- As we have already seen (p. 137 n. i), the word khatt means both a line of writing, and the dawn on a youthful cheek. Khatt-i reyhani 'the basil hand (or line)' is the name of a particular variety of ornamental handwriting ; we have seen before (vol. i, p. 294, n. 6) that the hair (and by 'extension the dawn) is sometimes compared to basil. Yaqiit (which means 'ruby') was the name of a very famous calligraphist who flourished in the thirteenth century: the 'ruby' is congruous when speaking of the beloved's lip. The idea is, the connoisseur prefers the basil down (which is like basil hand- writing) that is about thy lip to ' 'I'' ^°^^'" '^^} '^ f °V' °'^^'^ beauties' ruby lips. ^■' \ '"^ handwriting 01 Yaqut. * As he died for love of thy red cheek, it is seemly that the rose and tulip, which are red flowers, should spring from his dust. [Compare the beautiful lines in Tennyson's 'Maud' : — 'She is coming, my Love, my Sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread. My heart would hear her, and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed. My heart would hear her and beat. Had it lain for a century dead. Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.' ed.] * Let the sanctimonious pietist weep that his narrow views cannot prevail; it nicV^tters not to us. His yellow face and tears of blood parallel the golden goblet and the red wine. 5 The bosoms of the fairy beauties, exposed lu view through their rent shifts, being like Heaven. 283 O'er thine eyebrows make those rufilcd lucks of thine to dangle fair: For the cross's ' place is aye the paynim mihrab from of yore. * Cypress fair, without thee unto me as eddy-whirls of blood Show the fresh and tender tulips growing by the river-shore. ^ Those are many souls demented, worn to hairs for passion's stress; Hair they are not, Ja fer, yonder ambered * locks, I tell thee sure.'* In the next and last ghazel, which is quoted by ^Ah', the poet traces his ascent through mineral, plant, and brute up to man (see vol. I, pp. 48 and 52—3). The poem is in the true spirit of pessimism ; the writer starts by expressing his regret that he ever came into individual existence at all, and continues the strain by lamenting that he did not remain in each anterior lower stage as he passed through it, even if he were to have been one of its meanest manifestations, seeing that it was not given him to be of the nobler; simi- larly when he rises into humanity he mourns that he was not one of the coarser-souled, for then would he have escaped the anguish which love brings down upon the sensitive ; and finally he looks forward longingly to his own death. 1 The curling twisting locks of the beloved are sometimes compared to the ornamental crucifixes worn by certain Christians; and as the beauty is generally represented as a 'paynim', the comparison is apt. 2 We have often had the mihrab, or mosque prayer-niche, compared to the eyebrow because of its arched shape. Of course there is no mihrab in a Christian church, its place being taken by the altar; but possibly the poet did not know this, and in any case 'altar' would not give the idea of an arch which is required for the simile. 3 i. e. without thee, O graceful beauty, even the fair red tulips growing by the stream, the sight of which ought to give pleasure, suggest to me only eddies formed of tears of blood, and so cause me nothing but sadness. * i. e. perfumed with amber i. e. ambergris. 5 The idea is that the locks of the beloved are not really formed of hairs, but that each seeming hair is in truth the soul of a passion-wasted lover. 284 Ghazel. [139] Would that I had beea nor servitor, nay, neither served e'er! ' Would that I had bode unbeing, to the world had journeyed ne'er! Since my dust found being, and I might nor gold nor silver be, Would that I had bode a clod or stone or handful pebbles there ! ^ But since grow I must, and reckoned 'mongst the blossoms might not be, W'ould that I had bode a leek or onion for which none doth care ! When I rose to life, O would I had remained amongst the brutes; Since I might not be a bulbul, then an owl or crow, I swear! Since at last I must be man, and subtlety of soul ^ not mine, Would that I had been a dullard callous-natured, void of care!* For that then, O Lord, at least I had not suffered these desires; Would that I had had not any lot in Love nor any share! Since that death to me were better than to live with all this woe. Would, O Ja'^fer, that a dead man, struck from off the roll, 5 I were! The following verses from the introduction to the Heves- Nama are interesting in that they contain a very early and not unjust criticism on the poetry of Sheykhi and Ahmed Pasha, whom they indicate as being held for the greatest among the Turkish poets in those old times. ' Neither servitor nor served, i. e. no one, nothing: these words are used in science, thus some of the 'virtues' are said to 'serve' others which are then said to be 'served.' See vol. i, p. 49. 2 i. e. but since it was necessary that I should come into existence, then would I had remained at the first stage, i. e. the mineral, even a worthless clod or stone or handful of pebbles, since I was not allowed to become gold or silver. The same idea is expressed in the two following couplets for the next two stages, i. e. the plant, and the brute. ^ By 'subtlety of soul' the poet means the angelic, ethereal nature of the 'Perfect Man,' the crown of humanity (vol. i. p. 52); had this been his lot, he would have been aljle to triumph over any sorrows the world or fortune could"%l)ring about. * For then 1 should have been saved from the mainfold sufferings to which the sensitive soul is exposed. 5 i. e. the roll of the living. 285 From the Heves-Nama. [140J In Turkish 'tis these two who famous shine: — Sheykhi and Ahmed, O dear friend of mine. Though Sheykhi, in good sooth, 'fore God on high, Ilath skill of speech, as no one may deny, Of purity of language naught he knows, And many an uncoutli word his poem shows. And though in Ahmed Pasha there is grace. And purity finds in his speech a place, Yet is he nothing skilled in eloquence, Nor can he bind his words with elegance 5 His words have beauty, but no charm they bear. Like paintings in a church, no life is there. CHAPTER XI; Ahi. Ahi, whose personal name must have been Hasan, as all the biographers say he was popularly known as Benlu Hasan, that is, Hasan with the Mole (or Moles), ^ was born in the village of Tirstinik near the famous town of Nicopolis. ^Ashiq, who was for a time cadi or judge at Nicopolis, and who never lost an opportunity of making investigations concerning the poets whose biographer he meant to be, took advantage of his residence in that town to collect authentic details regarding Ahi's early life, details which his successors have for the most part transferred to their own works. Ahi's father, according to what "^Ashiq learned, was a well-to-do merchant called Sidi Khoja. On his death, the future poet, then a young man, continued to carry on his business; but one day he received word that his mother, whose name was Melek Qadin or Lady Angel, was about to make a second marriage, and this so disgusted him that without going back to the house or even taking anything from his shop, he at once left the town, and without pro- visions or means of any kind for the journey set forth for Constantinople. After enduring many hardships he reached the'vpapital, and there, being clever and industrious, he began to study for the learned profession. Making good use of ' It will 1)L' icmeml)ered that the East reckons a mole a Mieauty-spot." 28; his talents and opportunities, he in ckie course became a Mulazim or Bachelor. As he discovered in the progress of his studies that he possessed the power of writing verse, he used often to amuse himself by composing ghazels. When he had obtained his mulazimship he determined to try his strength in mesnevi. He selected as his subject the old story of Khusrev and Shi'rin, which Sheykhi had treated some half-century before, and which a contemporary poet, Jelili by name, was then working at. Before completing this poem, however, he unluckily showed the manuscript to a Naqshbendf sheykh called Mahmiid Chelebi Efendi, who earnestly prayed him to desist from a work which glorified the heathen King Khusrev-i Pervi'z who had had the audacity to tear in pieces the letter sent to him by the Prophet to demand his acceptance of Islam. Ahi was weak enough to listen to the appeal of the fanatical sheykh, who promised in case of the poet's compliance to stand surety for his reward in Heaven. It is to be regretted that Ahi allowed himself to be persuaded by this narrow-minded devotee to cast his unfinished work aside, for, according to all the critics, it promised to be a poem of no little merit. Just about this time the prolific and industrious poet Lami^i had made a translation, or rather adaptation, the first in Turkish, of Fettahi of Ni'shapur's famous allegory Husn u Dil or 'Beauty and Heart. ' Turned aside from his ' Fettahi of Ni'shapiir, an illustious Persian writer, died in 852 (1448 — 9) or 853 (1449—50). Besides the Husn u Dil he lift a widely known work called Shebistan-i Khayal or '■The Nightchamber of the Phantasy.' The former has been translated into English twice; firstly, by Arthur Browne: Hussen o Dil, Beauty and the Heart, an allegory translated from the Persian language, Dublin, 1801; secondly, by William Price: Husn o Dil or Beauty and Heart, a pleasing allegory in eleven chapters, composed by Elfettah of Nishapoor, London, 1828. Neither translation is good 5 the second is accompanied by the Persian text. A scholarly edition of the text, along with a German trans- lation and analysis, has been published by Dr. Rudolf Dvor.-ik, Vienna, 1889. 288 romantic mesnevi, Ahi, at the suggestion of a friend ' resolved to present this story in another setting the brilliance of which should outshine even the rhetoric of Lami"^!. But this work too was destined to remain unfinished, for the author died before he was able to complete it. The Khusrev and Shirin was like to have made Ahi's fortune, for some passage from it being shown to Sultan Seli'm met with that monarch's approval. Selim asked his Qazi-^Askers, Zirek-zade and the illustrious Kemal-Pasha- zade, who had brought the verses under his notice, concerning the author's age and condition, and on being told that he was about forty years old and still only a Mulazim, he ordered them to find him some suitable appointment. xA-Ccord- ingly Kemal-Pasha-zade (himself a very famous poet and man of letters) offered Ahi in the Sultan's name the Muderrisate or Principalship of the medrese of Bayezid Pasha in Brusa. But Zi'rek-zade privately persuaded the poet to decline this, saying that as the Sultan had taken a fancy to him he would be sure to get something better, and that it would appear mean-spirited to accept so humble a position. And so Ahi, listening, as was his wont, to bad advice, put off returning an answer of acceptance. When Selim heard of this hesitation he was annoyed at the poet's apparent ingratitude or greed, and exclaimed, 'Then he is not yet tired of the mean estate of a mulazim ! So be it, but look to it that none mention him to me again !' Another unfortunate incident which occurred about this time tended to increase the Sultan's resentment against the unlucky poet. Ahi chanced to write a ghazel by way of nazira or 'parallel' to two well-know poems by Ahmed Pasha andS Nejati. '^ Selim saw, or fancied he saw, a covert allusion * Ashiq gives liis name, Fenari-zdde (^dzi-'Asker Shah Chclebi. •^ The ghazels which have for ledif the word i«,J ' . 289 to himself in one of the couplets of this ghaz.el which runs as follows : 'That stately form, those rufilcd locks, tlie realms of l^eauty fraught with strife; — 'A land distrauglit, a tyrant king, a flag uprcared, a host deraycd.' ' It is probable that no allusion to the Sultan was intended in these lines, though it was not unusual for Eastern poets indirectly to complain against a king or to attempt to show him his duty by means of verses of equivocal signification. The effect of the imperial displeasure was to keep Ahi for long in the humble position of Mulazim. At last he was given a poor Muderrisate at Qara-Ferya. When there he married the daughter of Achiq Qazi of the neighbouring town of Monastir, a marriage which made him brother-in-law to the poet Khaveri; and there he died, according to Katib Chelebi, in the year 923 (15 17 — 8). "^Ashiq Chelebi relates of Ahi that he was of a singularly taciturn nature. Even when in his student days he used to frequent the taverns he spoke so rarely that the tavcrners thought him dumb, and were wont to say when anything occurred to keep him away, 'The dumb student has not come to-day.' When he was absolutely compelled to speak, continues ""Ashiq, he generally answered in an impromptu hemistich. The biographer gives three instances of this. Ahi was at one time in the habit of going daily to the mausoleum of Sultan Mehemmed in order to look upon a beautiful youth called Dellak-zade who was employed there as a Koranreader, and for whom he had a great admiration ; on being asked by someone where it was he went each day, he replied : — 1 >_j^^! jj CT'"^^ ^^'-"^ *-^-/' ^b ' ^'^ "^^ ^' 19 290 'Come thou to the mausoleum and behold my soul of souls!' ' On another occasion he happened to be present in a tavern with the poet Jelih' of Brusa, who, as we have seen, was also working at the story of Khusrev and Shiri'n. Jehli, after reciting passage upon passage from his own poem, tried to get Ahi to repeat something from his; faihng in this, he continued, 'I have just composed a century of ghazels and have called the collection the Hundred-leaf Rose,' ^ and then he began to declaim them. Ahi's patience being exhausted he interrupted the reciter with the words : — 'I'd stop thy mouth with that thy Hundred-leaf Rose, leaf by leaf.' 3 The makhlas of Ahi chosen by this writer means 'He of Sighs', and in this name ^Ali sees a prognostication of the poet's unfortunate career. Unlucky he undoubtedly was ; not only did he both live and die in poverty and neglect, but he never seems to have had any influential patron, — an unusual position for a Turkish poet of his merit. The absence of a patron was probably one of the results of the Sultan's displeasure, as no one would venture to protect a man who had encountered the ill-will of a monarch such as Seli'm the Grim. That he ever fell under this displeasure was of course owing to his listening to the evil counsels of Zi'rek- zade, but the readiness with which he accepted foolish advice seems to point to a certain deficiency in judgment, just as the unseemly manner in which he left his home on hearing of his mother's second marriage suggests a headstrong and hasty temper. Ahi's literary work consists of a Diwan, of the unfinished 2 Gul-i Sad-Berg. In tlie third instance recorded by "^Ashiq the point of Ahi's metrical answer lies in an untranslatable play upon words. 291 mcsnevi of Khusrcv and Shirin, ' and of the unfinished prose allegory Husn u Dil. The critics speak very favourably of his work as a whole. Latifi considers him one of the finest ghazel-writers of recent times, and finds in his verses the grace and pathos of Khusraw, the art of Selman, and the ingenuity of Kemal. ^ He declares that his work both in prose and verse is highly esteemed by those most competent to judge, alike for its matter and its manner. Hasan, who like- wise speaks of the esteem in which his work is held, pro- nounces him to be amongst the finest of the poets of Rum. Coming to his individual works: Latifi eulogizes the frag- mentary Khusrev and Shirin, speaking of the original and artistic style in which it is written, though he admits that the author is not altogether successful as a story-teller because of his failure to knit together the different episodes of the tale in a completely satisfactory way, and also because his images and similes are at times forced or laboured. '^Ashiq is even more laudatory; he has no adverse criticism of any kind ; in his eyes the Khusrevs of the realms of 1 Sehi, who places Alii amongst his own contemporaries, calls this mcsnevi Gul u Khusrev, or 'Rose and Chosroes,' and says that it is after the manner of the Khusrev and Shirin of Sheykhi, whose follower this poet is. He praises the style of the work, but adds that owing to the original MS. having been treated with neglect, copies are practically unobtainable. It is probable that Sehi, who seems to have known the work only by repute as he gives no quotation, is in error as to the title, all the other biographers agreeing in calling it Khusrev and Shirin. 2 Three gi-eat Persian poets: Khusraw of Delhi — died 725 (1325); Selman of Sava — d. about 779 (1377 — 8); Kemal of Khujend — d. about 803 (1400 — i). These three poets are probably mentioned by Latifi merely as conventional types, no actual resemblance being intended. See vol. i, p. 286, n. i. [I fancy that the Kemal here intended is not the poet of Khujend but the earlier - Kemalu'd-Din Isma'^il of Isfahan, who, on account of his ingenuity and originality, was entitled Khallaqu'l-Ma'^ani, 'the creator of Ideas.' He was killed in the general massacre perpetrated by the savage Mongols in Isfahan in A. H. 635 (end of A. D. 1237). See my edition of Dawlatshah's Memoirs of the Poets, pp. 152 — 3. ED.] 292 poetry are as wild men who like so many Ferhads hang about the environs of this palace-like poem, and the verses in praise of the lip of Shirin are as it were mingled milk and sugar, and give strength and nourishment to the soul. Hasan finds the poem strongly and firmly put together, and says that had they seen it, Nizami would have praised it and Khusraw acclaimed it, for so many are the lustrous jewels and the pearls of price which are set therein that no pen may describe it. '^Ali likewise is favourably impressed ; but he expresses himself more moderately, being content with saying that the author has written the work beautifully. Such then are the views of the old Ottoman critics con- cerning this uncompleted poem, and with these views we must remain content, as the few verses quoted by the biographers are quite insufiicient for the formation of an independent opinion. With regard to Ahi's other work, the Husn u Dil or 'Beauty and Heart,' the case is different. Manuscripts are not uncommon, ' which shows that this must have been the more popular of the two; possibly the reason of the abandon- ment of the Khusrev and Shirin may have induced a super- stitious dislike to multiplying copies. The original of this work, 'Beauty and Heart', is, as we have seen, the Persian allegory bearing the same title by Fettahi of Nishapur. This Persian work, which is in prose, was, as already said, turned into Turkish by Lami% who nearly doubled its length by extensively embroidering the rather simple style of the original and freely sprinkling the story with verses of his own. It was this Turkish version that Ahi thought yet further to improve upon by recasting the tale in a still more elaborate and artificial style. He too made his version in prose lavishly intermingled with verses of his own composition. Somewhere ' There is one in my collection. 293 towards the close of the century the allegory was made the subject of a romantic mesnevi by the young poet Wall, and his version is in some respects the best of the three. ' Ahi's version, with which we arc here immediately concerned, remains but a torso; not only did the author die before he had completed the story, but his manuscript was found in such confusion and presented so many gaps — pages either having been lost or never written — that it proved impossible to arrange it in a wholly satisfactory manner. Thus the opening words of the book are identical with those that introduce the story proper, a reduplication which the author would certainly not have allowed to stand had he been able to revise the work. Again the section 'Touching the Reason of the Writing of the Book' breaks off abruptly after the poet has mentioned his abandonment of the Khusrev and Shirin. The book, as we have it, is in fact little more than a series of fragments; so much so that in passing any opinion on it we must confine our attention exclusively to the style. Here the Turkish critics are even more emphatic than with the Khusrev and Shi'n'n. To Sehi the work appears altogether beautiful and peerless. Latifi, after announcing that in the style of this book, which is commended by all the cultured, Ahi has gone a way of his own, not following in the footsteps of the old writers nor making use of hack- neyed phrases and similes, declares the language to be 1 There is in my collection of MSS. the Diwan of a poet who calls himself Sidqi, to which is prefixed a version of the story of Husn u Dil in Turkish mesnevi. This version, which is comparatively short, is much simpler than any of the other Turkish adaptations and follows the original much more closely. No indication of date occurs in this MS., and I am unable to determine to which — if any — of the several Sidqis mentioned by the biographers the poems it contains are to be attributed. The opening couplet of this Sidqi's Husn u Dil is : — 294 brilliant and fluent, sweet and pleasant, and winds up with the pronouncement that greater fluency in prose and greater grace and elegance in mesnevi verse are not to be attained or even imagined. ""Ashiq, who finds magic in the poetry and enchantment in the story, says that the attempt to describe the beauty of style in this work were like the attempt to describe Beauty (Husn) herself, outside the circle of possi- bility; while like the Heart (Dil) it makes its home in the hearts of men and genies. For Hasan the heart-delighting verses in this book are joy-giving like the beauty of the fair, while its gracious prose is conspicuous as the lover's plight; and he discovers miracles of eloquence in its subtle phrases and marvels in its rhetoric. ""Ali maintains that the Husn u Dil is not only the best of its author's productions, but the finest work of the kind yet written in the land ot Rum, which, if any doubt, let him compare tliis book with the version of Lami^i. That those biographers, who, as we have often seen, were passionately enamoured of the 'grand style,' should thus surpass themselves in eulogizing this book of Ahi's is natural enough. No such ambitious attempt in ornamental prose had yet been made in Turkish ; every line here is like a piece of jeweller's work cunningly adorned with gems, and every line is a puzzle ; it is exactly the style of writing with which "^Ashiq and Hasan would be in perfect sympathy. But although the learning of the writer and the infinite care he bestowed upon his work are manifest at every turn, and although he certainly succeeded in stringing rare and beautiful words into strange and sweet-sounding phrases, and in giving in some respects a stronger touch of originality to his rendering of the tale than his predecessor had done, it is none the less impossible for us to grow enthusiastic over that far- fetched imagery and enigmatic diction and those verbose 295 and amorphous sentences. Of course it is true that the taste of the readers for whom Ahi wrote was not as ours. Men like "^Ashiq and Hasan respected most those writers who made them pause and think before they would yield up all the secrets of their subtle ingenuity; for such readers this rendering of the 'Beauty and Heart' was a mine of intellectual pleasure. Yet even in those days there were some men of culture who preferred in literature a style which did not give them pause twice or thrice in every line. So we find Wall, the poet who versified this tale and who had written his work before Hasan finished his Tezkire, when mentioning in his preface the two earlier Turkish versions of the story, complaining of Ahi's that it is not only incomplete but obscure, and that in it the countenance of language is veiled so that it is not easy to derive profit from it. For our part we agree with Wall; reading Ahi's rendering is arduous work, not so much on account of the unusual words and allusions with which it bristles as because of the vague and formless nature of so many of the sentences. The Persian ornamental prose style in the hands of a master, such as Sinan Pasha or Fuzuli, who possesses the true artist's instinct for balance and proportion, can be made to combine a symmetry and harmony with a pellucid clarity which unite to produce a result, achieved it is true by means obviously artificial, but none the less of singular stateliness and beauty. But when this style is attempted by writers deficient in the artistic faculty the result too often resembles the bewildering intricacies of a Cretan Labyrinth or at best the flowery mazes of a Rosamond's Bower. The verses scattered through the 'Ik^auty and Heart' are better than the prose, being as a rule comparatively clear and straightforward. They are for the most part in mesnevi, and rarely consist of more than a very few couplets; they 296 are generally reflective in tone, thrown as it were interjec- tionally into the course of the narrative. Many of these verses belonged originally to the Khusrev and Shi'rin whence the author transferred them to his later work. A sketch of the history of Khusrev and Shi'rin has been given in another chapter; ' the tale of Beauty and Heart is in outline as follows : — In days of yore there was in the Ionian lands a great king called Reason fAql) whose dominion extended over all the western world. This king is described as very wise and very prosperous, but as being afflicted by the circum- stance that he has no son to inherit his throne. So he gives much alms to the poor, and after a time his wife - bears him a son whom they name Heart (Dil). This young prince is carefully educated, and when he is come to a proper age his father places him in charge of a strong burg called Body (Beden). All goes well for a time, but at length Heart learns of the existence of the Water of Life, and then nothing will satisfy him but to procure a draught from it. He speaks to his councillors and prays them to aid him, and when they tell him that what he desires is impracticable, he falls ' See vol. I, pp. 314 et seqq. 2 Lami'^i, Ahi, and Wali.give Reason's wife the name of Self (Nefs). 'Self (nefs) is often mentioned in contrast with 'reason' C^aql), and is then taken to represent the animal as opposed to the intellectual element in man's spiritual nature. It stands for the aggregate of those instincts which impel the individual to seek his own well-being and gratification, instincts which, though in themselves innocent, and indeed necessary, — as for example that of self-preservation, — yet lead, if uncontrolled by any consideration for the welfare of others, to the manifold vices, such as lust, greed, hate, pride, and so on, that spring from exclusive self-regard. So the term 'self, when thus technically used, becomes practically equivalent to 'the passions.' It is in this sense , of 'self ' that the word nefs must be taken in the three phrases mentioned in vol) I, p. 198, n. i, where it is rendered by the more restricted term 'the flesh.' [Psyche, which is generally translated by this word in Arabic philoso- phical writings, would seem to me the best equivalent in this allegory. ED.] 297 into a state of despondency. Now Heart has in his service a clever spy who is also the watchman of the burt,^ of Body and whose name is Sight (Nazar). This youth, perceiving the Prince's sadness, obtains a private audience at which he enquires the cause of his master's grief. When Heart informs him, he at once volunteers to go in quest of the much-desired Water of Life. Sight accordingly sets out on his mission, and after travelling a great way he reaches the beautiful city of Health (''Afiyet) which is under the sway of a King called Honour (Namiis), to whom he is presented, and who, on being told his errand, informs Sight that the Water of Life is a metaphor for fair fame. This explanation does not satisfy the traveller, who straightway leaves the city and continues his journey over hill and plain till one day he comes to a gloomy mountain which he is told is called the Cliff of Sanctimony (Zuhd), ' in a cell on which, as he is informed, dwells an aged hermit whose name is Hypocrisy (Zerq). Sight goes to pay his respects to this anchorite, who in response to his questions tells him that the Water of Life is only in Heaven and that its sign on earth is the tears of the saiots, adding that one must ever shed bitter tears so as to make the people believe in one's holiness. This explanation pleases Sight no better, so he continues his journey till he reaches the city of Guidance (Hidayet). ^ King Emprize (Himmet), the sovereign of this city, receives him very kindly, and tells him, on hearing his story, that the Water of Life is not a metaphor but an actuality, for 1 In Lami'^i, Ahi', and Wall, Sight before reaching the Cliff of Sanctimony passes through another splendid city, that of Reputation (Shuhret), whose king. Vainglory (Fakhr), explains the Water of Life as a metaphor for fortune, an explanation which leaves the enquirer still unconvinced. 2 The three Turkish writers make Sight encounter the mighty ocean of Bewilderment (Hayret), which lie crosses only with the greatest difficulty, before he reaches the city of Guidance. 298 in the eastern world reigns a mighty monarch whose name is Love ('Ashq), and who has a peerless daughter called Beauty (Husn) who is the fairest of all creatures. The king has built for her on the slopes of Mount Qaf ' a glorious city called Visage (Didar), wherein are lovely gardens named the Cheeks (Rukhsar), in the centre of which is a hidden fountain called Mouth (Fem), * and in this fountain is the Water of Life. In this fair place abides Beauty surrounded by her companions and her court. But no man may win thither for the dangers and terrors of the road. The would- be pilgrim has to pass through the city of the Dog-heads (Seg-saran), a race of fiends whose king is a terrible demon called Warden (Raqib) ^ whom Love has placed as guardian outside the city. Should the pilgrim manage to escape the Dog-heads and push on towards the city of Visage, he comes to the station of Stature (Qamet), who, as Emprize explains to Sight, is a brother of his own, "* and who is standard- bearer to Beauty. Passing on, the traveller reaches the regions of the Snake-feet (Mar-payan), ^ whence he can see the city of Visage. When Sight hears this he is overjoyed, and having received a letter of recommendation from Emprize to his brother Stature, he turns his face towards the East. In due time he reaches the confines of the land of the Dog-heads, who soon ' See vol. I, p. 38. 2 The poets often compare a beauty's rosy cheeks to a garden; her mouth is called a fountain because thence issue her life-giving words, and is described as 'hidden' to indicate its smallness. Cf. vol. i, p. 217, n. 5. 3 The word Raqib means 'rival' as well as 'warden' (see vol. i, p. 364, n. 3); the latter meaning is that primarily intended here, but the former is never lost sight of. The rival being constantly compared to a dog or a fiend by the poets, the hosts of Raqib are here said to be fiends and are called Dog-heads. * I'he connection between 'emprize' and the beloved's 'stature' is that both are conventionally regarded by the poets as being high or lofty. 8 The allusion is to the curling tresses. 299 see him, and straightway making him prisoner, hale him before their king Warden. In answer to this fiend's questions as to his name and business. Sight says that he is a great philosopher and expert alchemist. ' Warden, who is very avaricious and has always desired to have an alchemist by him, is much pleased, and invites Sight to prove his skill by turning dust into gold. The latter answers that in order to prepare the elixir necessary for that operation he will have to go to the city of Visage and the garden of the Cheeks, since some of the essential ingredients are only to be obtained there. Warden says that as he is guardian of that city it will be easy to enter it. So they set out together, and after a time reach the lovely grove of Stature who receives them courteously. At first he is astonished at seeing Sight in the company of the fiend, but his surprise is dispelled by Emprize's letter which Sight manages to give him un- observed. ^ Stature then makes Sight over to his faithful servant, Leg (Saq), with instructions to keep him hidden from Warden, which he does so well that the latter, failing to find his companion, returns to his own country. As soon as Sight finds himself free from Warden he continues his journey towards the city of Visage. He has first to pass through the garden of Stature, wherein he beholds many beautiful and wonderful things, among which is an arch of silver whereunder is suspended by a hair a great hill. ^ When ' The reason why Sight is made to pass himself ofT as an alchemist will be understood from n. 2 on p. 49 supra. 2 In Lami^i, Ahi, and Wall, Stature is made to ask Warden what he, the guardian of the city, means by bringing a stranger so far, to which the fiend replies that he has been ill and that this man is his physician who has told him that to complete his cure he must visit some beautiful and cheerful spot, and that he knows none better than this garden. Stature perceives the answer to be false, but feigns to believe it, and orders a banquet. At this feast Warden is made quite drunk and is carried away by the attendants, and on his recovery, failiog to find Sight, he returns to his own country. L^3 i:iie silver arch represents the beauty's white waist, which is further 300 Sight sees this he is dumbfoundered, for his way lies over this hill, and he knows not how he is to climb it. Now Beauty has an officer called Tress (Zulf), very cunning in casting the lasso and in taking prisoners, who is constantly roaming around the city of Visage intent upon the chase. ' That day Tress happens to be in this neighbourhood on one of his hunting expeditions, and being fatigued by the heat of the sun, he has lain down to rest on the slope of this hill. Sight comes upon him there, and in answer to his questions tells his case, whereupon Tress takes pity on him and draws him up with his lasso to the top of the arch. Sight then finds himself in the lovely garden of Bosom (Sine), the beautiful flowers and fruits growing in which fill him with delight. Before he parts from Tress, that good friend gives him one of his hairs, telling him in case of his ever being hard pressed to throw it on the fire, when he will at once come to his aid. - They part, and soon afterwards Sight reaches the region of the Snake-feet, the hosts of Tress, who take him prisoner. He contrives to escape from them, and at last reaches the wonderful city of Visage, wherein he sees many marvels rare and beautiful. Wandering about, he comes upon a Para- disal garden which he knows must be the garden of the Cheeks. Entering here, he finds some young Ethiops ^ di- figured (because of its slightness) by the hair from which is suspended the hill of her heavy hips. [Heavy hips are always accounted a beauty by Eastern poets, as in the following verse of the celebrated Arabic poet al-Mutanabbi (d. A. H. 354 = A. D. 965), which, apart from its exaggeration, is to our taste singularly unpoetical : — LPA-xJi.j [.LJii! (Aac ^Xj }JLi L^J 'S^yXj^ |^b ed.] ' The poets always represent the Tresses of the beauty as capturing the lover's hearts in their snares. 2 [I'his seems like a remeniscence of the legend of Zal and the Simurgh in the Persian Epic, ed.] 3 i. e. little moles on the cheek. 30I sporting themselves and plucking roses. In answer to his enquiries these tell him that they are of the followers of Mole (Khal), an Abyssian noble in the service of Beauty. Now, continues the teller of the tale, Sight had a younger brother. Glance (Ghamza) by name, who had been stolen from his home in early childhood, and, having passed into the service of Beauty, had on account of his fierce disposition been made captain of her guard and chief of the archers. ' It so happens that Glance is that day lying in a drunken sleep among the narcissi in the garden, ^ when becoming conscious of someone's approach, he starts up and sees Sight. Filled with wrath at the intrusion of the stranger, whom of course he does not recognize, he rushes upon him and strips him naked, purposing to slay him. Now the mother of these two brothers had possessed two amulets of carnelian of Yemen, •'' and she had fastened one of these round the arm of each infant son as a charm against the evil eye. And so when Glance has stript Sight he sees this amulet, and, recog- nizing it, questions the stranger concerning it. The answers of the latter satisfy Glance that his prisoner is indeed his brother, so he looses him from his bonds and takes him in all gladness to his own house, where he entertains him in the best of fashions. Next day Princess Beauty, who is informed of the arrival of a long-lost brother of Glance's, summons the latter into her presence and asks him concerning his newly-found rela- tive. Glance tells her that his brother's name is Sight and that he is an expert in jewels. Beauty thereupon says that she has in her treasury a wonderful gem on which is engraved ' The glance of the beauty is constantly represented by the poets as cruel, smiting as with a shaft the heart of the lover. 2 The poets frequently speak of the languishing eye of the beloved as •■drunken' or 'sleeping', while the narcissus is its commonest type. 3 Yemen being famous for its carnelians. 302 a lovely portrait, about which she has hitherto been unable to learn anything. Glance therefore brings Sight before her, and he, after he has saluted the lady as is due, is shown the jewel, the portrait on which he sees to be that of his master. Heart. He therefore tells Beauty that this effigy is that of Prince Heart, the son of King Reason of the West, whose perfections he extols in so touching and eloquent a way that Beauty then and there falls in love with the young Prince. Unable for long to control her passion, she again summons Sight before her, tells him of her love for Heart, and prays him to devise some means of bringing him to her court. Sight replies that this will not be easy, as the Prince's father keeps him ever secured in the burg of Body; still as Heart has conceived a great desire for the Water of Life, it may be possible if Beauty will allow Sight to take with him one of her courtiers and return to where the Prince is. Beauty then commissions her mirror-holder Fantasy (Khayal), who is a clever artist, ' to accompany Sight, to whom she entrusts her signet as a token to Heart. - The two set out on their mission, and in due course reach the burg of Body. Sight has a private interview with Heart, to whom he tells all his adventures and to whom he presents Fantasy. The latter in reply to the Prince's questions informs 1 The mirror-holder is a servant whose duty it is to hold a mirror before his or her master or mistress when required. The faculty called Fantasy is so described here because, being the store-house of the reflections cast through the medium of the outer senses on the Common Sense (see vol. i, p. 50), it resembles the mirror which is conceived as storing within itself the many reflections thrown upon it. The Fantasy is further described as an artist because it presents to the mind pictures of the things previously perceived by the Common Sense. 2 Ldmi'^i and Wall make Beauty appoint as a second ambassador her musician Melody (Naghma). The passage describing the mission is wanting in Ahi's fragmentary version, but a later chapter shows that he too had introduced (or meant to introduce) Melody. Sidqi alone here as elsewhere strictly follows Fettahi and speaks of one envoy only, namely Fantasy. 303 him that he is Princess Beauty's mirror-holder and a cunning artist. In order to test his skill Heart bids him paint a picture then and there. He at once draws the likeness of Beauty, so true to life that the Prince falls in love with her on the spot. He soon afterwards tells Fantasy of his plight and prays him to take him to his mistress. Heart, Sight and Fantasy therefore arrange together to journey secretly to the city of Visage. ' But king Reason has a vezir called Estimation (Vehm) ^ who gets word of Heart's projected flight and at once communicates it to his master, who thereupon orders Heart, Sight, and Fantasy to be cast into prison. Now the ring which Beauty had sent to Heart is a magic ring, one property of which is that if anyone put it in his mouth he becomes invisible. The Prince, ignorant of this virtue, had entrusted it to Sight for safe-keeping. He when in the prison happens to put the ring into his mouth, where- upon he suddenly finds himself not only free but standing in the garden of the Cheeks by the brink of the Fountain of -Life. Eager for a draught of the wondrous water, he stoops down and opens his mouth, when straightway the ring falls out, the fountain disappears, and he discovers himself in the land of the Dog-heads. Before he has recovered from his surprise he is accosted by Warden, who reviles him 1 Here Liimi'i, Ahi, and Wali introduce a long digression concerning the way in which, before their flight is finally decided on, Melody entertains Heart and fans his passion. The King, who hears that the Prince is amusing himself in this fashion, has Heart's minstrels arrested and brought before his divan. Here Melody, along with the three minstrels, Harp, Tabor, and Flute, are questioned concerning themselves, and a long colloquy ensues. Eventually they charm the whole divan, and King and courtiers give themselves up to merry-making. At length the King is brought to himself by the remonstrances of a sheykh called Inspiration (Ilhdm), whereupon he imprisons all the min- strels. All this, like most of the other additions which occur in the Turkish versions, and which in no way affect the course of the story, is doubtless the invention of Lami'^i. 2 i. e. Judgment, as a mental faculty; cf. the Virtue Estimative, vol. i, p. 50. 304 for his past bad conduct and drags him off to his castle, where he flings him into prison. In this sad pHght, Sight bethinks him of the hair given him by Tress for such an eventuahty. He therefore strikes a Hght with his flint and burns the hair. At the same moment Tress appears before him, looses his bonds, and bears him off to the city of Visage. Here he is at once taken before Beauty to whom he tells all that has happened. The Princess, angry at the treatment meted out to her beloved and her envoy, orders Glance and his brother Sight to proceed with an army straightway to the burg of Body and release the captives. They accordingly set out at once for King Reason's dominions. As soon as that King learns that Sight has escaped from prison, fearing some fresh trouble from his hostility, he sends word to all the officers throughout his country to be on the watch for the fugitive and to arrest him wherever he may be. Among those who receive this order is P"alse-Penitence (Tevbe), a son of the hermit Hypocrisy; and he, looking out from his castle on the Cliff of Sanctimony, sees the approach of Sight and Glance with their host. He endeavours to surprise them in a night-attack, but his army is utterly defeated, and the conquerors, crossing the mountain, destroy the hermitage of Hypocrisy on their way. ' They next pass through the city of Health which opens its gates to them, King Honour receiving them as friends. They then advance towards the burg of Body, on approaching which Glance recites the Prayer of the Sword and by enchantment changes his army into a herd of deer. ^ ' The three Turkish writers make the victorious army next reach tlie city of Reputation, which they lay waste, reducing its king, Vaingloiy, to slavery. ■■^ Deer, having beautiful eyes, are often associated by the poets with the eyes 'of the beloved. The Prayer of the Sword appears to have been a certain prayer sometimes recited as a kind of cliarm befoffe going into battle. The glances of the beloved are of course often compared to swords. 305 On his defeat by Glance, False-Penitence flies to King Reason, to whom he gives tidings of the victorious march of the enemy. When the King hears this, he orders Heart to be released from prison and brought before him. He tells him that if he insists on going to the city of Visage, he must take with him an army to fight the hosts of King Love ; for then, if he be victorious, he will get possession of his dear one, while if he be defeated, honour at any rate will have been saved. Reason has a general called Patience (Sabr) whom he puts in command of the troops ; and he himself along with his nobles starts with the army meaning to accompany Heart for a stage or two. But after a little some scouts bring word of a fine herd of deer grazing not far off, whereupon Heart, wishing to divert himself by hunting them, sets out after them attended by only one or two followers. The deer, who are really Glance's soldiers, manage to lure him on in the direction of the city of Visage, and thus separate him from Reason and his army. And so when that King sees that his son does not return, he pushes on after him with his host till, after he has gone a long way, he overtakes him. Meanwhile Glance and Sight hasten back to the city of Visage, where they inform Beauty of the approach not only of Heart but of Reason and his army. The Princess there- upon writes a letter to her father King Love in which she tells him that she had a slave, a clever portrait-painter called Fantasy, who fled from her court to that of King Reason ; that she has frequently requested the latter to restore her slave, but that he has always refused; and that now, enraged at her prayers, he is advancing against her with a mighty array. When Love reads his daughter's letter his wrath is stirred up, and he bids his general Affection (Mihr) lead forth his troops to meet the foe. On the first day the hosts of Love 3o6 are headed by Glance and on the second by Stature ; yet though they perform prodigies of valour and slay many redoubtable champions, and though Tress leads a night-attack, they make little or no head-way against the squadrons of Reason. Beauty is in despair at this want of success, and consults with Mole as to what should be done. He tells her not to grieve, but to remember that she has a brother named Charm (An), who dwells on Mount Qaf, and who is the doughtiest champion in the world and wdll assuredly avail to overthrow all the legions of Reason. In reply to her question as to what is the use of Charm, w^ho is on Mount Qaf while they are face to face with the foe. Mole says that he has a grain of ambergris which, if thrown on the fire, can bring Charm before them in the twinkling of an eye. He thereupon produces this grain, casts it on the fire, and lo, Charm is standing in their presence. ' Beauty quickly tells him her sad plight; and he, having borrowed a bow from her chamberlain Crescent-eyebrow (Hilal), who is a famous archer, and an arrow from Glance, goes straightway forth into the battle. He soon singles out Heart, takes aim, and shoots him through the breast. The wounded Prince falls from his horse, and Charm, rushing forward, takes him prisoner and bears him off to the presence of Beauty. When Reason sees what has happened he and his men take to flight; but they fall into an ambush laid by Tress, and the King and many of his nobles are made prisoners. After this great victory Beauty and her army return to their own city. Beauty now consults with her nurse and confidant, whose name is Coquetry (Naz), as to what to do with the wounded Prince, and on her advice she has him imprisoned for a '\ ' The grain of ambergris thrown on the fire represents the mole or patch placed upon the red cheek. 307 short time in a well called Dimple (Zaqan) ' which is situated in her garden. While Heart is prisoned here, Beauty sends her cupbearer Smile (Tebessum) bidding him tend the Prince's wounds, which he does so successfully that Heart is soon restored to health. When news of the victory is brought to King Love, he orders Reason to be kept in prison, and himself sets out for and takes possession of the burg of Body where he establishes his rule. '^ After a time Beauty begins to long for the presence of Heart, so she takes counsel with her companion Constancy (Wefa), who is the daughter of Affection, telling her of her secret sorrow. Constancy thereupon informs the Princess that she has a lovely garden called Heart's Delight (Dil-Kusha'i) wherein is a lake named Intirnacy (Ashina'i), in the centre of which lake is built a beautiful pavilion called the Pavilion of Union (Visal) wherein relief for all such sorrows is to be found. She advises Beauty to have Heart conveyed to this pavilion, and there visit him at her pleasure. This suggestion pleases Beauty, who orders Tress to take Heart from his prison to that garden that very night. Tress does so; but Heart, overcome by his exhaustion and by the fragrance of the flowers, falls asleep. Beauty, who has come after him, attended by Constancy and Coquetry, finds him in this condition; she kneels down beside him and lays his head in her lap and lets her tears fall on his face. ^ This awakens Heart, who, finding himself lying with his head on Beauty's lap, utters a cry and swoons. Beauty then leaves him in • Literally '■Chin.' 2 In Lami% A.hi, and Wali we get a long description of the siege of the burg of Body. The defense is conducted by Self the wife of Reason who summons her brother Suspicion (Veswds) to her aid. They are eventually defeated, Suspicion being put to death and Self being cast into prison. 3 Ahi's version breaks off here, at the point where Beauty catches sight of Heart in the garden. 3o8 the garden in charge of Sight and Fantasy (who had been released from prison on the defeat of Reason), and pro- ceeds with her companions to the paviHon of Union. By- command of the Princess, Sight and Fantasy bear Heart on his recovery to the border of the lake of Intimacy, and there when night comes on Fantasy sets up a taper before him. ' Several days pass and Beauty longs for closer communion with Heart. She consults with Constancy and Coquetry, and on their advice, tells Smile to drug the Prince's wine each night and then let Tress bring him to the pavilion. This goes on for a time to the satisfaction of all. But there is amongst Beauty's attendants a daughter of Warden's whose name is Jealousy (Ghayr). The ill-will of this woman is aroused by the fact that the Princess does not take her with her on the nocturnal visits to the pavilion of Union. Jealousy therefore determines to see for herself what goes on there; so one night she contrives to conceal herself on the roof, and looking down thence she beholds Beauty enjoying herself with Heart. This rouses her envy, for although in truth she is ugly as a demon, she considers herself as lovely as the Princess and as much entitled to enjoy the society of Heart. So she takes advantage of an occasion when Beauty is asleep 1 Here Lami'^i, who is followed by Waif, takes advantage of the mention of the taper to introduce an interlude of his own based on the fabled love of the moth therefor. Heart is gazing at the taper, which shapes itself to his imagination as a beauty with a fire burning at her heart. He asks her the reason of her sorrow, and while she is telling him of the grief that is consuming her, a frail dervish clad in felt (the grey-hued moth) makes his appearance. He is at once smitten by the beauty of the taper and begins to dance dervish- fashion round her in ecstasy. Then, on hearing the beauty say that none really lives till he has given his life for his beloved, he casts himself into the flame and dies; and thus he attains to eternal union, duality being past and unity achieved. This little drama is enacted before the eyes of Heart who, seeing it, refli^cts how sorrow in one form or another is the common lot of all, and is so cast down and depressed that Smile has to restore him with a draught of wine. 309 in her city, while Heart and Sight and Fantasy are lying sleeping by the side of the lake, to enter the pavilion, whither she orders her maidens to bring Heart and Sight, leaving Fantasy to sleep undisturbed where he is. She meanwhile by magic assumes the appearance of Beauty on whose couch she seats herself, and takes the unconscious Heart in her embrace. At this juncture Fantasy happens to awake, and, finding no trace of Heart and Sight, hastens to the pavilion, climbs the roof, and looking down, sees Heart lying uncons- cious in the arms of Jealousy, and Sight sleeping beside them. He then speeds to the city of Visage and tells Beauty what has happened. She at once goes with him to the pavilion, and, looking down from the roof, sees the scene he has described. She swoons after uttering a loud cry which shows Jealousy that she has been discovered, whereupon she at once flies off to the city of the Dog-heads. When Beauty recovers she is filled with anger ; Jealousy has escaped her, but she can punish the treachery (as she imagines it) of Heart. She therefore orders him to be banished from her gardens and confined with Sight in the valley that is known as the prison of Reproach (^Itab). When Jealousy reaches the capital of her father ' she tells him all that has happened, whereupon he at once goes forth, bears off Heart and Sight from their prison, and, covering them with abuse, brings them to his own country, where he shuts them up in the gloomy dungeon of Separation (Hijret) situated in the waste of Severance (Firaq). Jealousy now writes a letter to Beauty informing her of what has happened. The Princess on her part regrets her harshness and sends by Fantasy a kind letter to Heart, to which he returns a suitable reply. ^ ' Lamri and Wall make her journey take place in winter and seize the opportunity for a rhetorical description of that season. ■- Lami^i and Wall relate this incident somewhat ditTerently. Heart in his 3IO On the defeat of Reason's army his general Patience had fled to the city of Guidance, and there told King Emprize the tidings of disaster. This King, being in many ways be- holden to Reason, takes blame to himself, since it was through his instructions that Sight discovered the city of Visage. * Emprize and Patience therefore set out with an army for King Love's country, and in due time arrive at the garden of the former's brother Stature. This officer tells Emprize how Heart is still a prisoner in the hands of Warden, where- upon Emprize determines to interview King Love on his behalf. He therefore leaves his army and proceeds to the burg of Body where Love still is. Here he persuades the conqueror not only to accept Prince Heart for son-in-law but to appoint King Reason his own vezir. Affection is there- upon sent to release the latter, while Emprize is despatched with an army to liberate Heart. All this is done ; Warden is bound in the place of Heart, and his daughter Jealousy is burned in the fire of Envy. Beauty and Heart are then united with one another. Their wedding is celebrated with all pomp, each of the great nobles giving a separate feast. One day, when all this is over, Heart is wandering in the garden by the Fountain of Life when Khizr appears before him and instructs him in such wise that he apprehends the Truth, and in consequence thereof lives so uprightly that his name and fame are revered by all. prison complains to his comrade Sight of his sad lot, whereupon the latter suggests that he should write to Beauty and tell her the truth of the case, which he accordingly does and obtains a favourable response. 1 Lami'^i makes Heart send Fantasy to look for Patience and pray his aid. Now after his defeat, Patience had fled to tlie cell of his brother Sheykh Contentment (Qana'^at), which is in a remote corner of King Reason's dominions; and tb^re Fantasy discovers him and tells him of the sad plight of Heart. Contentment then proceeds to the court of King Emprize, whom he informs of the position, and who, holding himself responsible, agrees to attempt with Patience the release of Reason and Heart. 311 From the foregoing sketch it will be observed that in this allegory not only arc the various abstract qualities and moral conditions usually mentioned by the poets personified, but that those physical features of the beloved to which they most frequently refer are likewise brought upon the stage ; and this, moreover, almost invariably under circumstances which suggest one or more of the peculiarities with which these are conventionally associated. To such an extent is this carried that 'Beauty and Heart', in any of its versions, might be profitably studied as a manual of the stereotyped imagery of the love-poets. Besides his two more important though unfinished works, Ahi, as we have learned, is said to have left a Diwan. This I have never seen; but if the few extracts quoted by the biographers or preserved in the anthologies are to be taken as representative, the poet's work in this direction can have been neither better nor worse than the average lyric verse of his day. The two following extracts from the Khusrev and Shirin are quoted, the first by Lati'fi, the second by ^Ashiq. These are some lines from the description of the birth of Khusrev. From the Khusrev u Shirin. [141] Concerning the Birth of Khusrev. It was as though one dawn the beldam Sphere Had smirched the heav'nly skirt with bloody smear; 'T was e'en as Venus had delivered been, And midst of blood had born the sun, I ween. ' ' The picture is that of a delivery. Venus (because of the female attril)utes ascribed to that planet) is taken as the mother, the rising sun as the new- born infant (in Turkish idiom the rising is the 'birth' of the sun), the Sphere (or sky) as the midwife, and the red crepuscle of the dawn as the blood accompanying the birth, blood with which the midwife-sky is conceived as having slained her skirt (the horizon). Khusrev is represented as being born at sunrise ; hence the imagery. 312 At dawn the Lady of the cycle ' bare A boy with golden head, with yellow hair. That Moon 2 was born at happy fortune's rise; 'God aid him!' 3 cried the angels from the skies.* In two weeks Khusrev grew to full moon fair; A year, then as the Night of Power his hair. 5 His cypress on its foot began to stand, ^ / And cooed the pheasant of his meadow-land. '' Upon his rosebud-mouth there fell the dew, 8 And heart-sore for his cheek the tulip grew. 'J ''Ashiq's quotation deals with Shawur's painting the por- trait of Khusrev (see vol. I, p. 316). From the Khusrev u Shirin. [142] Concerning the Painting of the Portrait of Khusrev. He showed him as he was, to nature true, When Khusrev's picture like the sun he drew. The black blood of the ink he grinded there, '» And painted now his mole and now his hair. " When yonder form and figure 'gan arise '"^ The Trumpet-pen caused resurrections rise. '^ ' i. e. the queen, Khusrev's mother. 2 i. e. Khusrev. 3 Literally 'God give him increase!' (Zadehu-^Uah), a congratulation some- times uttered on hearing of a birth. * This is one of the couplets transferred to 'Beauty and Heart', where it is introduced in the account of Heart's birth. 5 For the Night of Power see vol. i, p. 293, n. 4. " i. e. he began to stand erect, his 'cypress' being his stature. '' i. e. his tongue began to prattle. 8 i. e. his teeth began to appear. '•* i. e. his cheeks became red. "• As painters grind their pigments. " These being black. '2 i. e. when they began to appear on the picture. '3 The artist's pen or brush is here compared to the Last Trumpet, the blast of which is to evoke the Resurrection. The term 'Resurrection' is frequently used to denote any great turmoil. Such a turmoil was occasioned by the beauty of Khusrev's portrait, hence the metaphor for the pen that produced it. 31.3 With musky ' lines he drew his tresses rare; lie limned his waist with pencil of fine hair. '^^ His lip was e'en that drop of blood ' thou'dst say Wherein the Spirit Vital 's hid away. * When that sweet figure on the page was traced, The Chinese picture blushed for shame, disgraced. ' The Chinese idols' 5 souls their bodies fled When that bright cup, his mouth, was mentioned. " ' i. e. black, the hair being black. ^ A slender waist is accounted a beauty, and is often compared to a hair. 3 It was so red and precious and life-bestowing. * The medieval physicians differentiated Spirit into degrees, namely, the Spirit Vital (Riih-i Haywani), the Spirit Animal (Ruh-i Nefsani), and the Spirit Natural (Ruh-i Tabi'i). This three-fold Spirit, which answers to what we might call 'vital force', was conceived as a very subtle vaporous substance. Each of the three degrees has its special seat and its special functions. The Spirit Vital has its seat in the heart whence it is dispersed through the body by way of the arteries ; it is by means of it that the heart and lungs do their work, and that the eye sees and the ear hears and the other senses fulfil their offices. The Spirit Animal, which corresponds to what we should now term 'nerve force' or 'nervous action', has its seat in the brain whence it is spread to all parts of the body by the sinews (i. e. the nerves); it is the principle of sensation and voluntary motion. The Spirit Natural has its seat in the liver whence it is conveyed to the other members by the veins (not the arteries); its functions are those of nutrition, assimilation, etc. The Spirit Animal and the Spirit Natural of the physicians arc thus practically identical with the Soul Sensible (or Animal) and the Soul Vegetable of the philosophers, for which see vol. i, pp. 48 — 50. The blood is spoken of as being the 'vehicle' (merkeb) of the Spirit Vital, that is, the medium by which that Spirit is conveyed from the heart through the body; hence the allusion in the text. 5 Mani (Manes), who is conventionally regarded by the poets as the greatest painter that ever lived, and whose collection of paintings, variously styled Erteng and Erzheng, is held to have contained types of the most perfect human beauty, is by some said to have been born in, or to have visited, China. For this reason China came to be taken conventionally as the native land of ai-t; and hence to associate anything with China, or to speak of it as 'Chinese', simply means to say that it is artistic and beautiful. Thus China occupies in this poetry something of the position generally accorded in the "West to ancient Greece; only the term a 'Chinese idol' (or beauty) does not suggest any special type, but merely implies that the person so described is lovely and refined to such a degree that she might be one of the ideal creations of Mani himself. f> i. e. they swooned or died for vexation at being outdone in beauty. There 3H A myriad Chinese idols lifeless bode; Amazed, their backs against the wall, they stood. ' Pen-like, his head from 'fore it raised he, — The artist washed his hands of artistry. - The following are among the ghazels quoted as specimens of Ahi's lyric work. Ghazel. [143] Let the clouds let loose their tresses, let the thunders moan and plain, O'er my sepulchre till Doomsday let the tulips burn for pain. 3 'Tis the Sultan Rose's reign, so let the breezes dance and play ; At the beauty-cypress-tree's foot let the waters dew-drops rain. * So unhearted I for sickness in this dreary home of woe That upon my mouth the moistened cotton 's laid by boil and blain. 5 For to write their teen and dule of soul who swallow blood and die Doth the tulip's heart a page a-flame with glowing sparks contain. ^ is a further hint, namely, that the Chinese idols (i. e. statues or pictures) are lifeless things. 1 This is the same idea differently expressed. Here the Chinese idols are said to lean their backs against the wall for support when they see this lovely picture, being like to faiirt for their jealousy, or admiration, of its beauty; while the further suggestion is made that these 'Chinese idols' are really frescoes painted on the wall. 2 It is the Chinese artist, perhaps the painter of the idols, who is here supposed to give up his art in despair when he has raised his head from examining this wonderful picture of Khusrev. 3 In this couplet the poet imagines himself dead, and pictures the objects of nature acting as his mourners. When bewailing the dead, women used to let down their long hair. Here the clouds are taken for such mourners, the heavy rain falling in long lines representing the loosened hair. The 'burning' of the tulips refers to their red, fire-like colour. * As though they were lovers weeping at the feet of their graceful mistresses. ^ In certain illnesses pieces of cotton saturated with medicine used to be laid on the patient's mouth. Here the poet would say that he is sick unto death, but is so neglected by his physician (i. e. his Ijeloved) that it is only the pustules on his lips that lay such pieces of cotton on his mouth. Here, by the favourite figure which combines metaphor and personification (p. 63 n. i), the pustules are presented at once as the pieces of cotton applied by the physician and as the physician who applies these. •■' Another allusion to the red colour of the tulip. 315 Such the fu-cs my sighs, O Ahi, have enkindled o'er their heads, That through me tliis day have moan and groan their way to sky-ward ta'en. ' Ghazel. [ 1 44J Though I possess never a rush-mat in my hut of woe. Yet on my bare skin do the mat-marks ever plainly show. - How doth the eye's pupil, ah me, deal by its children dear! — 3 I would them nurse here in my lap even as orphans, know. ■* Turning aside, there with the dogs haunting thy ward, I eat;* Ne'er have I seen friend o'mine yet bread and salt rights avow. " Unto me, Ahi, will it serve for my Deeds Register, — So that there be in my Di'wan lines on my dear, I trow. "^ • i. e. my burning sighs have turned moan and groan themselves into fire, so that they seek to mount to the Sphere of Fire — the highest of the four elemental Spheres (vol. i, p. 46), — it being a law of nature that every particle of any element which has been removed outside its proper sphere ever seeks to return thither. Therefore does flame always tend upwards; simi- larly, a skin filled with air will, if thrown into water, rise to the surface, the sphere of air being above that of water; while a stone, if cast into water, will sink to the botton, the sphere of earth being under that of water. This law is of course a result of the relative weight of the four elements. 2 When one lies down naked on a rush-mat the marks of the ridges and lines in it are imprinted on his skin. But the poet is so poor that he has not even a rush-mat in his hovel, and yet, strange to say, such lines are visible on his body, — so what is seen there must be his bones, which proves how worn and wasted for love he is. 3 The children of the pupil of the eye are the tears, which are very harshly treated by their parent, who expels them from their home, the eye. * The poet hei-e says he would cherish those child-tears in his lap (tears fall into the lap) like poor orphans (they being driven from home by their parent-eye). He would do this because they are precious things, fruitage of the love-laden heart. 5 The dogs frequenting the beloved's ward are often mentioned. The poet finds these dogs more faithful than his so-called friends. Cf. p. 177, n. i supra. '"• 'Bread and salt rights', i. e. the mutual rights and obligations contracted by those who have eaten together, bread and salt being taken to typify food in general. ■< Another reference to the '•Register of Deeds' occurred on p. 99 supra The poet here means to say that he wants no better Register of Deeds than his Diwan (which of course is his own work), because it contains lines (khat) in praise of the down (khat) on his beloved's cheek, for in acknowledging and extolling her beauty he has fulfilled the most sacred of duties. 3i6 Ghazel. [145] This my fiery sigh of dawn-tide • will not bide on earth for aye 5 Nay, this sigh of mine, O Sphere, will smite against thy wheel one day. - None is by thee of thy servants fallen 'fore thee shadow-wise; Like the sun, alone thou niovest, O my lovely moon-faced may. ^ Where art thou, O Moon, * for every day in quest of thy sun-face Round the heavenly sphere my sigh of dawn-tide nine times wings its way. * Moses' Sinai could not bear the Radiancy of Beauty's Light; Ah! what manner stone is then this heart of mine, my God, 1 pray?" Be thou burned with fires, O Ahi, since thou'st burned the world with fires; ■> Be they burned with fires, — these sighs and wails of mine, ah, welaway ! 8 1 abstain from giving any examples of the versified passages in 'Beauty and Heart', as these are mere fragments, and, if detached from their setting, would appear trivial, if not meaningless. ' The poets often speak of the "-sigh of dawn-tide' or the 'morning sigh,' i. e. the sigh uttered at day break, which is supposed to be peculiarly pathetic. The implication is that the lover has been awake all night yearning or grieving for his loved one; the expression further recalls to mind the devotee who rises at dawn to worship. 2 Another allusion to fire seeking its own upper sphere. As sighs are con- ceived as generated from fire (in the heart), they are always pictured as ascending. 3 Great people generally go abroad attended by a retinue of slaves and servants; but thou, although thou hast many lovers who are thy slaves, dis- dainest the company of them all, and movest alone in thy self-sufficing beauty, even as the sun traverses the heavens unattended by any star. * i. e. O beloved. 5 Allusion to the Nine Spheres (see vol. i, pp. 43 — 4) the sigh circling through each in its quest. Where art thou, O beloved? I have sought thee throughout the universe, yet cannot find thee. Here as in so many other passages, the beloved may be taken as a personification of the Ideal. •• Sinai is here taken for 'mountain,' and the allusion is two-fold: (1) to the mountain which fell into dust when God revealed himself in splendour before it at the time of Moses' request to be allowed to look on Him (see vol. I, p. 372, n. 3): (2) to the mountains that refused to undertake the Ti-ust (see vol. I, p. 350, n. i). But the poet's heart, which here typifies humanity, undertook that awful Trust, — what manner of adamant then may be that seemingly tender thing which can endure what the mighty mountains shrank from! '' i. e. Since thou hast burned the hearts of men with thy fiery (i. e. pa- thetic) verse. 8 q'his couplet is merely rhetorical. CHAPTER XII. Rewani. Rewani of Adrianople, whose personal name is variously given as Ilyas and Shuja^ is said by '^Ali to have chosen his pen-name, which might mean 'He of the Flowing (Stream),' ' from his affection for the River Tunja which ran at the foot of his pleasant garden in the Rumelian city. The attractions of the capital, however, proved stronger than those of the rippling Tunja, as we next hear of the poet in Constantinople in the service of Sultan Bayezid. According to Sehi Bey, who places Rewani among those writers whom he knew personally in his youth, that Sultan entrusted the poet with the surre, as the sum of money is called which is sent annually by the sovereign to Mekka and Medina for distribution there. ^ But Rewani did not prove himself worthy of the trust, for he kept back a certain proportion of this money for his own use. To such an extent indeed did he carry his misappropriations that the people of the two Holy Cities sent representatives to Constantinople to lay the matter before Bayezid. The saintly Sultan was naturally much displeased at Rewani's dishonesty, and in consequence stopped his salary and ordered him to retire 1 It might equally mean 'He of Soul.' 2 The term -sune' is properly applied to each of the purses or bags of money, but is generally extended to mean the whole treasure. 3i8 to a fief somewhere in the provinces. But the poet, who had no idea of allowing himself to be thus set aside, fled to the court of Prince Seli'm who was then governor of Trebizond. * Here, "^Ashiq tells us, Rewani was very well received ; but after a time, because of some indiscretion which brought down the Prince's displeasure, his goods were confiscated and sold and he himself was compelled to fly the court. He set out for Egypt, but ere he had got far upon his way Selim repented of his hastiness, and sent a messenger after him, who speedily overtook and brought him back. The poet now showed himself more zealous than ever in the Prince's service, and before long he had gained a yet higher place than before in his patron's favour. Rewani accompanied Selim when in 918 (15 12) that Prince entered Constantinople with the purpose of seizing his father's throne. ^ "^Ashiq reports that he heard from the lips of Mu- ^eyyed-zade '^Abdi Chelebi, ^ wdio was present on the occasion, how when Selim had entered the New Garden and was seated there before his tent with all his officers and janissaries standing round, they held a final council and determined to strike for the throne then and there, and how when this decision was made, and a mu^ezzin had uttered the call to prayer and the band had struck up the Imperial music, Rewani, who was sitting on horseback by the narrator's 1 Such is the story as told by Sehi. All the later biographers mention Rewani's misappropriation of the money intended for the Holy Cities, but '^Ashiq suggests and Hasan and 'All assert that the incident occurred when the throne was occupied by Selim. In this instance I prefer to follow Sehi, not only because he was Rewani's contemporary, but because his version fits in better with what else we know concerning the poet's career. Latifi refers to the incident, but does not say at what time it took place. 2 See p. 257 supra. 3 This "Abdf was the brother of the famous Mu^eyyed-zade "Abdur-Rahman who was Qazi-'^Asker under both Bayezid and Selim. He wrote a little poetry, which has won for him a place in '^Ashiq's Memoirs. He died in 961 (i554)- 319 C^Abdi Chelebi's) side, took off his turban and flung it into the air in his dehght, and turning to his companion, said, 'This day is the fortune of all men of culture and of learning risen like the sun, and the showers of God's grace are fallen on the garden of their hopes !' ' The poet's expectations were not disappointed ; for on his accession Selim nominated him to the office of Matbakh Emini or Comptroller of the Imperial Kitchens, and subse- quently conferred on him the administratorship (tevliyet) of the endowments first of St. Sophia and then of Qapluja in Brusa. While he was in charge of the St. Sophia endowments Rewani built in the district of Constantinople called Qirq Cheshme or 'Forty Fountains' ^ a mosque which for long continued to bear his name, ^ and also chambers for the students attending it. ^Ashiq relates (and Hasan and ^Ali follow him) that one day while this mosque was being built Sultan Selim happened to pass by, and, noticing a mosque in process of construction, enquired who was erecting it. On being told that it was Rewani he exclaimed by way of pleasantry, 'Bravo St. Sophia, so thou bringest forth a mosque a year !' ■* Rewani died administrator of the Qapluja endowments in 930 (1523 — -4), and was buried within the enclosure of his own mosque. We are told by Latifi, "Ashiq and Hasan that on his return from Mekka Rewani was afflicted with ophthalmia 1 ii e. all the cultured and learned may look for appreciation with so gifted and discriminating a prince as Selim on the throne. 2 The district called Qirq Cheshme, i. e. 'Forty Fountains', is close to the Wefa Square where Nejati had a house and where he is buried. 3 This mosque no longer exists. * According to '^Ali, Selim said, 'Bravo St. Sophia! so thou bearest a mosque in a month!' thus giving those about him to understand that he was aware of Rewani's peculations, since these unlawful gains alone could enable the administrator to build such a mosque so soon after receiving oflice. 320 or some such affection of the eyes, a misfortune which his ill-wishers gleefully represented as a divine judgment on his sacrilegious thefts, and which called forth from one of them the following lines: — Doth Musulman-hood lie this way, Rewani? — Since Ka"ba-\vard thou went'st, thou'st God forgotten. What harm though hurt betide to thy hereafter Since increase of thy worldly weal thou'st gotten? It • turns to blood in thee, and in thine eye stays ; 2 No cure will by the Ka'ba's Lord 3 be wroughten * To this Rewani is said to have given the following reply, in which he not only laughingly admits the charge, but congra- tulates himself on the good stroke of business he has done : — Ah Rewani, only look thou, what is this they say ? 'He who honey holdeth licks his fingers,' ^ 'tis they say. Whosoever visiteth the Ka'^ba on this wise ^ Helpeth both his Heavenly and earthly bliss, '• they say. 8 1 i. e. either the worldly weal thou hast unrighteously gained, or the sin thou hast committed. 2 In this line, which of course refers to the blood-shot eyes of the sacrilegious poet are two idiomatic expressions, both of which are taken alike in their literal and in their figurative senses : ichine qan olmaq, 'for a thing to turn to blood within one,' i. e. for a sin one has done to sting one with undying remorse; and gozine durmaq, 'for a thing to abide in one's eye,' i. c. for a sin committed to stay with and hurt one. 3 The Ka'^ba's Lord, i. e. God. ^'t'S ii)j,'A_Jl x-i'lAJJ) *._!.;? ii.>w,4j^ ,.,l*^iij :\^aj^J *£ \j ^^a> *^>.*r j^/^' ^3>^ ^- ^^53^5' (^^^50 w^i^^ ^li ^S'_^oi s Bal tutan parmaghini yalar, 'he who handles honey licks his fingers,' is a proverb. 8 i. e. in the way I have done. '' Din ve dunyasini yapmaq, 'to build (advance) both one's earthly and heavenly state,' is a popular locution. 8 .*.joj> .Ji.j /ji^'j-J o^y^ ^''— ^ ^.LjO^ jA-1 j*r^=* u^'^; ^-^ 321 Rcwcini was freely accused during his lifetime not r)nly of peculation but of plagiarism. Sehi reports this epigram which he himself composed on the poet and in which allusion is made to both charges : — I.et not Rewani take the thoughts of others; The Ka'^ba's Lord will bless not this at last. ' Latifi says that Rewani and Zati - mutually accused each other of stealing ideas from their respective diwans; apparently both had a reputation for this kind of pilfering, as the bio- grapher quotes the two following skits as having been com- posed about them by certain contemporaries: — Saying, 'Still my thoughts he filcheth 'fore the eyes of all the world,' •'' See how Zati and Rewani aye at daggers drawn remain. * Said I unto Zati, 'Wherefore dost thou so?' He answered me, 'Lawful to the thief the theft is, so it be from robber ta"cn.' ^ This answer is given only by Latifi and Hasan. '"Asliiq quotes the first couplet, but in another connection; he says it was composed by a certain wit as a skit on a ghazel, written by Rewani when he was Comptroller of the Kitchens, in which occurs the line : — ■ Unto me thy lips because of, what is this they say ? 'He who honey holdeth licks his fingers,' 'tis they say. ^Ali again says that when Rewani was charged with peculation befiire Sultan Seli'm, the latter said to him: — 'Ah Rewani, only look thou, what is this they say?' to which the poet at once replied : — 'He who honey holdeth licks his fingers', 'tis they say. and thus by his frankness and ready wit turned aside the monarch's wrath. 1 g,fl3» Ka.xS^ ^S>\ ;*j' ,x> Li'' l3'^^ Qfc_-wl*i\ ^jiM^^XA (A.Ji~j' Both '^Ashiq and Hasan quote this couplet; the former correctly attributes it to Sehi; the latter says it is by 'one of the wits.' 2 We have already seen this poet quarrelling with Mcsi'hi on the same score. See p. 229 and n. 7 on p. 244 supra. 3 Each poet says this of the other. •t Qan bichaq olmaq, 'to be blood and knife,' i. e. lo be bitterly hostile, to be 'at daggers drawn.' J •• •• >>> ■" > • Jj ^> e> >> •• 322 and : — Whate'er there be of poets at this day, Their verses, each from other, pilfer they. 'What scandal this!' quoth I unto a wit; 'To thieve from thieves an art is,' did he say. ' The biographers do not give Revvani a good character. Besides these accusations of theft, both pecuniary and Hterary (accusations which Sehi who knew him evidently beHeved to be well-founded), "^Ashiq, Hasan, and '^Ali charge him with libertinism and habitual intemperance. They say that he spent most of his time in the taverns, where, according to ■^Ashiq, his boon-companion was the well-known Ishaq Chelebi, a good poet but a notorious inanvais sujet. ^ We are told, however, that before his death he repented of his evil ways, and 'made drunk his soul with the cup of penitence at the hand of the sheykh.' '^Ashiq adds that in person he was portly and burly, though active and nimble in his movements; and both he and Sehi speak of his wit and other social qualities. Rewani's poetical work consists of a Diwan and a mesnevi poem entitled "^Ishret-Name, or 'The Book of Wassail.' His pleasure-loving character is clearly reflected in his verse. As Latifi says, 'most of his metaphors are taken from the elements of the carouse, and, like Hafiz of Shiraz, he speaketh much of the accessories of the wine-feast; his subjects are loveling and toper and wine, and his themes are skinkcr and harp and rebeck. For this reason do the taverns ring with his ■^ An account of Ishaq Chclelii and his work will be given in a later chapter. 323 mirth-cxcitiiig verses, whilst the heavens are smitten with the echo of his couplets as with the lover's si^jhs.' ' The same critic, speaking of his literary style, pronounces him to be here an originator who has had no compeer. Sehi finds his verse graceful and spontaneous. To "^Ashiq also it appears clear and simple, though not lacking in elegance and subtlety of fancy, as he shows by quoting this couplet of Nejati's: — We tarry mid thy ticsscs, () thou criicl-dcaling fair, Which cluster rint^ on ring 2 as though they were the key ■'' of care. * and then this 'parallel' by Rewani, which he prefers, declaring it to be 'a fresh fruit ripened by the sun of divine inspiration:' — How sliould lire violet ^ ope my lieart, O cruel-dealing fair? — Such key can ope it ne'er, 'i ah no, that 's not the key '• of care. ^ Hasan accounts for the clearness and simplicity of his verse by the fact of its dealing with festive themes, and speaks of the popularity it enjoyed in his time. 'Ali also refers to ' i. e. they are much recited everywhere, but especially in taverns and at wine-feasts. - The curling tresses of the beauty are here conceived as the wards of the bit of a key. 3 Kilid-i endishe, 'the key of care,' i. e. the key to the (questions (1iat cause anxiety, is a current phrase with the poets. 5 The violet is one of the conventional syml^ols for a beauty's hair. The bit of an Eastern key is sometimes shaped somewhat like a violet. " The violet, though a beautiful thing, is insuflicient to open, i. c. gladden, the aching heart ; and no more can the beloved's hair, for all its sweetness, avail to allay the pain of him who desircth union with her. ■> This second line is, literally : — With no such key as its may e'er be oped the lock of care. Rewani in this case uses the word kilid'to mean 'lock' (as it often docs in Turkish), regardless of the fact that in the pluase kilul-i cndi'she it slmuld be understood in its proper sense of 'key.' 8 _, ^ 324 the favour in which it is held, and praises it for gracefuhiess. The critics think no less well of Rewani's mesnevi, the ^Ishret-Name or 'Book of Wassail,' which, as w^e shall see, deals in detail with the things associated with the Eastern carouse. Latifi quite truly describes this work as wholly- original and composed in a special style invented by the author himself. '^Ashiq also eulogizes the originality and novelty as well as the uniqueness of the poem, both in subject and style; he describes it as 'a royal beauty whose hand or skirt none hath won to touch,' and as 'a free cypress, ' enamoured of the air of heaven, that hath bowed the head at the command of none.' - To Hasan the work, which is writ after a fashion of its own, is 'a casket filled with pearls' and 'a tray laden with all manner of delicacies.' ^Ali recognizes in it correctly enough a mirror of the poet himself. ^ This poem, concerning which the authorities are so eulog- istic, is a comparatively short mesnevi consisting of a few iiundred couplets and divided into a number of cantos, most of which wind up with an epigrammatic quatrain. "* The ' [The Persion adjective azad, commonly applied to the cypress, has two meanings, "-free' and 'noble' : in the Pahlavi inscription of Shapiir I the Sasanian (third century of our era) it denotes a particular class of the aristo- cracy of Persia. Cf. Darmesteter's Etudes Iraniennes, vol. i, p. 37. As applied to the tall and graceful cypress it probably was originally used in this second sense, though the first is, of course, constantly kept in view. ed]. 2 By this last phrase the critic implies that the poet has written the book to please himself and not at the behest of any patron. 3 Sehi says that Rewani wrote a series of five mesnevi poems which he called the Khamsa-i Riimi; but as this statement is not borne out by any of the other biographers (except Riyazi, whose authority is worthless here) or by Katib Chclebi, and as the only one of the alleged five poems which Sehi mentions by name is the ^Ishret-Name, T am inclined to believe the old biogrp.pher to be mistaken. * Tiie '^Ishret-Name has not been printed. .So far as I know, the only copy in western Europe is that belonging to the Royal Library of Berlin. This MS., which was used by \'on Hammer when compiling his History, was 325 subject of the work is, as we have seen, what the poets call 'the gear of mirth,' that is, tlie things needful for an Eastern carouse and associated therewith in the Oriental mind ; in this instance, the wine, the wine-cup or glass, the flagon, the taper, the musical instruments, and the cupbearer. With these there are here thrown in a list of the various dainties usual at banquets, instructions as to the proper condition of wine and the best seasons for drinking it, together with recommendations as to the behaviour of guests at a wine-feast. We get also two legends concerning wine, one as to the way in which the first grape-vine was reared, the other as to the events that led to the discovery of wine and its virtues. After the poet has exhausted his proper theme, he explains in one of a few supplementary cantos how his book may be read as a Sufi allegory; this chapter was probably inserted as a precautionary measure lest his unstinted praise of the unlawful pleasures of wine and wine- bibbing might draw down upon his head the thunderbolts of the orthodox. The book is inscribed to Sultan Seli'm, but the date of composition is not mentioned. The author, however, must have been well up in years when he wrote it, as in one place he speaks of himself as being white- bearded and in the autumn of life. The Book of Wassail was not immediately followed by anything on the same lines, but about a hundred years later it became a fashion with the Ottoman poets to compose little works which they called Saqi-Name or 'Book of the Cupbearer,' and which deal wi.th subjects similar to Rewani's, treating these now in a literal, now in a figurative sense. It is unlikely that any of these works were deliberately modelled on the Book of Wassail, although the extent of with the greatest courtesy placed at my disposal by the authorities of the Berlin Library. 326 what they have in common therewith is very remarkable. The Ottoman critics are fully justified in what they say regarding the originality of the "^Ishret-Name. It is not, like most of the contemporary mesncvis, a translation from the Persian ; so far as I know, there is no similar work in that / language. ' The whole conception seems to be Rewani's own. Even in his similes, though of course he makes free use of those established by convention, he often displays no little originality and independence of thought. His style, moreover, though highly figurative, is generally quite clear. While in his own way to the full as ingenious as most of his con- temporaries, he avoids those puzzles and obscurities which so many of them affect. We have seen that Hasan would account for this by the fact that Rewani deals with 'festive themes,' i. e. with frankly material subjects. But the expla- nation is insufiicient ; it is perfectly possible (as has often been proved) to treat such themes in an involved or ambiguous style, and the true reason must be looked for in the marked individuality and the temperament of the poet. Hasan's observation, however, may serve to direct our atten- tion to the remarkable objectivity of this poem. The poets of those days were, as we well know, as a class, extraordinarily subjective. Mesihi, Ja^fer Chelebi, and now Rewani are, so far as we have gone, the only poets of note who have sought material for their verse in their own experiences in the out- side world. This is clearly the case in the Book of Wassail, where it is perfectly obvious to anyone who reads through the little work that Rewani is singing the carouse such as it actually was, such as he had himself often shared in. Every statement here is perfectly frank and perfectly natural, and there is no suggestion of any mystic or allegoric sense lurking ' Rewani's poem is the only entry under Ishret-Namc in Katih Chelebi's bibliographical dictionary. 327 in the backgrouiul. The canto near the end, in which a possible mystic interpretation is offered, is clumsily introduced, and looks, as we have already said, very like an after-thought, thrown in for prudential reasons or to save appearances ; for the alleged symbols, when considered in their context, often accord ill enough witli the suggested interpretations. And it is precisely this candoui that constitutes one of the chief merits of the Book of Wassail, — the poem reflects the character and temperament of the author to a degree rare indeed in the works of this school. Rewani, though a man of culture, was a thorough-going hedonist, and no mystic; and in this poem, which we can see was written con anior'e, he has, most likely unwitttingly, drawn his own portrait with a fidelity as remarkable as it is unique. Although Rewcini's descriptions are for the most part little more than a succession of metaphors and similes piled one upon the other, he says enough to make it easy for us to call up before our minds the semblance of such a carouse as those old Eastern poets loved to celebrate. We can sec the courteous and cultured revellers seated in a circle round the crystal cups and flagons, which sparkle with added lustre from the rays of the white tapers, debating some point in literature or philosophy, or quoting some ghazel — perhaps of their own composition, — wiiile at intervals the little orchestra of harp and lute, dulcimer and tabret, flute and viol, discourses the plaintive melodies of the East, and the fair young cupbearer goes her rounds, filling to each in turn, standing before him while he drains his beaker, and suffering him to snatch a kiss ere she passes to the next. ' ' The saqi, 'cupbearer' or 'skinker,' might be either boy or girl ; the reader, like the master of the feast, may take his choice. 'Ayni, a later Ottoman poet, speaking on this subject, says that the most desirable for the oflice is a girl attired as a boy. 328 Again the list of dishes given by Rcwani (though these must not be taken as appearing at the wine-feast, which, as he tells us, ought not to be begun till two or three hours after eating) is interesting, as showing what manner of meats were considered dainties by the Turks of four hundred years ago. And so, though it has no great share of poetical merit (for the author, while often ingenious, is never inspired, and while generally correct in technical matters, is too free with his elisions), this little book, increasing as it does our know- ledge of the social manners of the time, and revealing a living personality, is better deserving of attention then many a more laboured and pretentious production. We shall therefore look a little closer at the more interesting or more important cantos. After the usual opening doxologies, Rewani informs us as to the causes wJiich induced him to write the book. One bright morning when the rising sun had taken his cup in hand and seemed to be inviting the world to merry-making, all the poet's friends and comrades, leading their sweethearts with them, set out to enjoy themselves. He alone remained behind; he had no mind for feast or junket, for he had no sweetheart, his only companion being a book, which he ever carried in his bosom, and of which the white pages were to him as a beauty's silvery breast, while the black lines were as her musky tresses. But his friends did not approve of his self- effacement; they came to him and represented that, if he would not join them, he ought at least to write a poem, seeing that he was admitted by all to be a master of verse. So they urged him to compose a mesnevi dealing with all matters connected with carousal, a poem which topers should declaim wdien in their cups and beauties should recite at banquets, and which would thus keep his name and fame 329 alive. 'I'hcir words appeared good unto the poet; and tlie Book of Wassail is the result. This canto in followed by that containing the eulogy of the reigning sovereign Sultan Selim, after which Rcwani approaches his proper subject. But first we get, in two pre- fatory cantos, the legend concerning the first planting of the grape-vine, and that of the discovery of wine and its virtues. The grape-vine, it seems, was in the beginning planted by Adam that it might gladden the world ; but Satan came and slew a peacock beside it and watered it with the blood. When the leaves began to sprout, Satan returned and slew an ape, with whose blood he again watered it. When the fruit appeared, Satan came again and slew a lion and watered it with the blood. And when the fruit was over, he came yet a fourth time and slew a pig, watering it with the blood as before. All this trouble was taken by the devil, and all this blood shed, in order that wine might be a promoter of discord and strife among the sons of men. The actual result, however, according to the poet, is this. When a man has drunk a cup or two he becomes gay, talks freely, and disports himself after the fashion of a peacock: when he has drunk somewhat more deeply, he becomes tricky and mischievous like an ape : when he has drunk deeper yet, he grows obstreperous and irascible, as it were a lion: and when he has made himself dead-drunk, he is filthy and bestial as a pig. * Here the poet has a few lines in condeni- ' This idea of the division of drunkenness into four degrees typified by four different animals was familiar also to medieval Europe. The animals chosen were, with one exception, the same ; the peacock does not figure in the Western series, but is replaced by the sheep, which is absent from the Eastern. In old French literature the expressions 'avoir vin de lyon,' 'vin de singe,' 'vin de mouton,' and "-vin dc porceau,' are often met; these were usually represented in English by the phrases Ho be lion-drunk,' 'ape-drunk,' 'sheep- drunk,' and 'sow-drunk.' In the West these terms were sometimes taken to indicate not so much the degrees of drunkenness as the effect produced by nation of excess, saying that it is unseemly to be uproarious at a feast, and that piggishness is unbecoming in a man. He then proceeds to tell how wine was discovered. There are, he says, many traditions on the subject, ' but he chooses the following. There was in ancient times a great Arab chief who was one day sitting with his companions within the enclosure of his palace. Here a pigeon had made her nest, which was now filled with her little ones. The chief, looking up, observed a serpent making for the pigeon, which was vainly trying to beat him back. Pitying the poor bird, the chief cut a shoot from a tree, fastened a string to it (and in so doing fashioned the first bow, archery having been unknown till then), and with this shot and killed the serpent, to the intense delight of the pigeon, which turned somersaults in the air for joy. ^ But soon afterwards she disappeared, to return in a few days bearing in her bill some seeds which she laid before the chief. He, realizing these to be the bird's thank- offering for his assistance, ordered them to be planted and carefully tended. By and bye the vine-shoots appeared, and in due time the grapes also. These were collected and pressed, and the juice kept that its qualities might become known. After a while the chief, anxious to discover something about these, induced some sick men, who cared not whether they lived or died, to drink of the juice that they might see what would happen. All the sick men recovered, and, in answer over-much wine on men of the four different temperaments, that is, in whose temperament one or other of the four humours (see vol. i, p. 301, n. i) pre- dominated. Thus the "choleric,' i. e. he in whose temperament 'choler' was predominant, became 'lion-drunk' when he had taken too much; the 'phleg- matic' became 'sheep-drunk' 5 the 'sanguine,' 'ape-drunk'; and the 'melancholic,' 'sow-drunk.' In this case the lion was taken to represent courage; the ape, cunni>\ig; the sheep, good-temper; and the sow, bestiality. ' Such as that connecting its discovery with Jem or Jemsliid, the semi- mythical king of ancient Persia. 2 Alluding to the movements of the tumbler-pigeon when Hying. to the cliicf's (jucsticMis, declared that after the first cu[) their sad hearts became filled with joy and their eyes with lit^ht, while after the second their ebullience was as that of the Seven Seas, so that from being beggars they became princes. ' And thus it happened that the wonderful virtues of wine became known amongst men. The poet now enters upon what is the real theme of his work, namely, the eulogistic description of the paraphernalia of an Eastern carouse. The opening canto is appropriately devoted to the praises of wine itself, that beauty which, though it ever wears a rose-hued veil, - tears the veil from before the faces of the folk. •' Wine dwells like a spirit in a bottle,* and binds the revellers with a thousand spells: it is the sun of the day of mirth, and the moon of the night of union : it is a water which has the colour of fire, and, though its origin is of the earth, it is headstrong as the wind : it is the fountain-head of the River of Life, and the overflow of the streams of Paradise: it gives fresh joyance to the feasters, and leaves not ancient sorrow in the heart: it is a tonic which gladdens the soul, every drop of which is a skink: ^ 1 [Ilafiz of Shiraz refers with approval to tlic 'megalomania' produced by wine in the following verse : — Which Payne translates thus: — 4n season of straitness thyself to pleasure and toping ajiply ; Th' elixir a Korah that makes of a beggar's the juice of the vine.' liu.] ■- Alluding to the colour of wine. 3 i. e. 'in vino Veritas.' * It was a popular notion that fairies, genies, and the like were sometimes confined in bottles or llagons, as in the well-known story of the Fisherman and the Genie at the beginning of the Arabian Nights. The 'botllc-imp' is a familiar subject in European folk-lore. 5 The skink (saqanqiir) is a kind of lizard which was regarded by the old physicians as efficacious in the cure of various cutaneous diseases. 332 with one hand it holds both rich and poor, for it is a king in a crystal palace : ' its authority prevails with the people of the world, for it is a monarch on a silver throne : whatsoever one may give for it, think not it is dear, ^ for cowards, if they drink it, become men of valour : it leaves no trace of rust upon the soul, ^ for it is the burnisher of the mirror-heart: the wit of man is powerless to describe it, so clear-souled is it and so pure-natured: 'wherefore, O Rewani", concludes the poet, 'never leave it for a moment from thy hand.' The praises of the Wine-cup are next sung in a similar strain. It is to the toper as the mirror of Alexander, which disclosed to him the whole world, or as the Seal of Solomon, which controlled both men and genies: it taketh every poor man by the hand, and comforteth all them that grieve: the banquet is perfumed by its musky breath, and all the men of heart are honoured by its advent: it is a fresh rose with the violet's perfume : did it not resemble the rose-cheeked beauty, the lovers had not taken it to their embrace : it is as a silver-bodied sweetheart a-blush for being kissed: it is to the revellers the light of the eye, and to the lovers the blood of the heart: it is the theme of the minstrels' flutes, and therefore it danceth at the feast : ghazels are chanted in its honour, and beauties bear it in their hands: it is a mighty champion, a brigand that waylayeth Muslims : if a greybeard desire to read the book of mirth, tw^o beakers will serve him for spectacles, howsoever old he be : so put aside all thought of old age, O Rewani, and become a youth once more. ' i. e. in the flagon oi- decanter. 2 [Compare Fitz Gerald's fine rendering of one of 'Umar Khayyam's qua- trains : — 'And much as Wine hath played the Infidel, V And robbed me of my Robe of Honour — Well, I wonder often what the vintners buy One half so precious as the stuff they sell.' ed.] ■■* An allusion to the usual comparison of the heart to a (metal) mirror. 333 Now follows the eulogy of the Flagon. ' Is this indeed, the poet asks, a flagon of wine, or is it a dragon from whose mouth issues fire? It setteth a royal crown upon its head, and taketh tribute of the Seven Climes: it ever regulates the banquet, and therefore do they call it the Master of the Feast : - when its gurgle is heard at the carouse, who seeks the coo of the culver or the song of the nightingale ? Its voice is exhilarant and heart-dilating, and its flight is with the Cock of the Throne : ■'' it is as a fortress stored with gold around which the cups stand as guards; it is honoured among topers, for it is the chief pillar of the house of mirth : where is a haughty cypress like unto it as it reareth itself so proudly in the garden of the feast? What wonder that they liken it to the parrot, for it speaketh * when it seeth the mirror of the beaker ? ^ What a sheykh it is, for it raiseth to ecstasy them that frequent its circle: its case is even as Rewani's, for it rejoiceth in wine and lovelings. Next it is the Taper's turn. This is the bride of the feast ' Suralii. 2 Mi'r-i Mcjlis. [In Persian, Shalma-i-Mcjlis. ED.] 3 'The Cock of the Throne' (Dik-i ^Vrsh or Khunis-i "^Arsh) is the name given in Islamic mythology to a great angel whose form is like that of a peacock and whose station is on a high column of emerald near the Lote- tree in Paradise (see vol. i, p. 35). * Alluding to the gurgle of the wine when poured from the flagon into the cup. 5 Allusions to the parrot and the mirror are frequent in Eastern poetry, the connection being through the way in which the bird is taught to speak. The teacher places before the parrot a mirror behind which he stations him- self; he then says whatever word or phrase he wishes the bird to learn, when it, seeing its own reflection in the mirror, imagines this to be another parrot that is speaking to it, and therefore begins attempting to reply. [So Ildfiz : — which Payne translates: — "■Parrot-wise, before the mirror do the Fates me hold; What the Master of Creation bade me say, I say.' ed]. 334 with finger-tips henna-stained:' it sheds joyance over the banquet, and its head, Hke a beauty's, is adorned with love- locks: ^ sun and moon are put to shame by its beauty when it dons its gold-embroidered night-cap : Mt is as it were a Koran-chanter in whose heart is the Chapter of Light : * it has set up a flag-stafif amongst the topers and displayed thereon a golden banner : ' little wonder that it is honoured amongst the people, for they ever see in it the characteristics of uprightness:*^ the long nights are the season of pleasure, and it is the rose-bush in the garden of the feast. The poet next dilates upon the various Delicacies which figure at banquets : ' he speaks of the sausages lying over the haggis, ^ as they were serpents keeping guard over a treasure : ^ of the gobbets of roast fowl dancing with delight when they see the wine : of the rice, each grain of which is a pearl: of the sugar which is so white, and the saffron- mess '" which is a yellov.'-haired beauty: of the pasties" which might flout the sun, and the scones '■^ shaped like the moon: of the Me'mun marchpane,'"' which enforces its ' Alluding to the red flame. - Another allusion to the flame. •'' Yet another allusion to the flame; it is of course at night that the taper is lit. * The 24th chapter of the Koran is called the Chapter of Light. 5 Still the flame. '• The equivoque is the same in English as in Turkish. ^ As already said, these dainties mu^ not be considered as appearing at the wine-feast: they would rather appear at a banquet held some hours before this begins. [In Persia, however, the supper comes last, after the wine-drinking. See my year amongst the Persians, pp. 108 — no. ed]. 8 The shirden (from Pers. Shirddn) is a dish made in the second stomach of a ruminant, something like the Scotch haggis. '■> Another of the many allusions to the old fable of the serpent-guarded treasure (see vol. i, p. 330, n. 3). 1" The zerde, which consists of boiled rice, coloured with saffron and sweetened. " Porek. '■- ChiJrek. '^ The me^miniyye is a kind of shortbread or marchpane. 335 commands with its fist: of the stew, which, like a saint, makes its prayer-rug float upon the water:' of the stewed-fruit, - which is so lauded that it makes the mouths of young and old water: of the jelly ^ on which the almond fixeth its eyes;-* of the meringue^ which is so dainty that it will not agree with all : and of the pastry " which is like a silver- bodied lovcling: — but, says the poet, as there is no end to the variety of delicacies, ' it were best we should pause here. The Musical Instruments next claim the writer's attention. In his orchestra we find the harp, the mandoline, the lute, the dulcimer, the tabret, the viol, the reed-flute, and the ghittern. Since easance of soul cometh from the voice of these, it is unbefitting ever to be without them. And it is not man alone that enjoys music, the very brutes are sensible to its charms. As a proof of this the poet tells how certain buftaloes once strayed from their enclosure and betook them- selves to a river, where they stayed, and whence no effort of their owner availed to drive or entice them, until at length an aged man advised him to procure some musicians ' The salma is a sort of rich stew. The pieces of meat floating in the gravy are here likened to the prayer-rugs, seated on which the saints of old were wont to traverse rivers (see vol. r, p. 412, n. i). 2 Khoshab (commonly Khoshaf) is a name given to stewed fruit with plenty of juice, which is eaten cold. There are many varieties. 3 The paliide is a kind of jelly or blanc-mange prepared from wheat or starch. * This probably refers to almonds being sometimes stuck over the puliide. 5 The gulaj is a sweet dish somewhat of the nature of a meringue ; it is made with thin starch wafers filled with clotted cream flavoured with rose-water or musk. " The name qaddyif is given to various kinds of sweet pastry. ■! [One of the most useful glossaries of Eastern dishes with which I am acquainted is that added by the learned Mirzd Habib of Isfahan to his edition (Constantinople, A. II. 1303) of the 'Book of Foods' (Diwdn-i. At4ma) or gastronomic poems of Abii Ishdq of Shirdz, who died about A. D. 1427. See Horn's Gesch. d. Pers. Litt. (Leipzig, 1901), pp. 128 — 130. Mirzd Habib, who lived for many years in Constantinople, an exile from his native land, died comparatively recently. En]. 336 and make them play witlrin earshot of the animals. This he did, and the buffaloes were so delighted with the sweet sounds that they came up out of the stream to listen. The musicians then gradually retreated, playing the while, and ever followed by the beasts, who were in this way lured back to their proper place. The canto following this deals with the Manners that ought to be observed by those present at a wine-feast. The carousers should be men of culture, the banquet being no place for churls ; they should each excel in some art or other, so that the conversation may be intellectual and refined, free from tediousness and insipidity; they should be polite and courteous towards each other, and endeavour to be the source of mutual pleasure : they ought not to speak much when drinking, nor sit holding the undrained glass before them, but should on the contrary drink it off, even to the dregs, as soon as it is presented : neither should they be bashful before the beauties present, nor rest satisfied with merely smiling at them, since it is the custom to give them a kiss at every cup. ' Moreover it is proper, when the carouse has been begun after nightfall, to carry it on till daybreak, for the feast waxes merrier for being prolonged : but the revellers must be heedful not to fall asleep : license within these limits is allowable, nor should the reveller be restrained through fear of being called to account on the morrow, remembering the Arabic proverb that 'the day annulleth the speeches of the night.' Next comes the canto on the Cupbearer. She is compared to an alchemist who holds in hand a crucible of gold : before beginning to perform her service she should enhance her beauty by all kinds of adornments: she should ever show a smiling face to the revellers: when she goes her rounds ' [Compare my 'Year amongst the Persians', pp. 293 — 4. EP,] 337 she should not give to one guest more and to another less, but to all equally, that there be no words as to less or more : she should give kisses by way of 'appetizers,' and thus she will always offer sweets and comfits: she ought not to hurry any guest when drinking, but to stand silently before him, so that each may blush for her fair service : she should not be coy or difficult when being kissed, neither should she chide or flout those who entreat her; but she should deal graciously by them, and not stand upon ceremony at the feast. Passing on to the proper condition of wine and the best seasons for drinking, the poet begins by saying that it is good when drinking wine to attend to the maxims propounded by the physicians. First of all, the wine should be clear, without trace of froth : then it ought to be of moderate body : its perfume should be sweeter than that of musk, and its limpidity greater than the ruby's: it should be such that a portion taken away from the bulk does not speedily go bad: its clarity should increase by standing: new wine ought not to be drunk: most highly to be esteemed is that wine of which the effects, if felt, soon pass away: one ought not to drink immediately after eating, but two or three hours should be allowed to elapse : one should not mix up food and wine, nor add water to the cup: the cups used at the feast should be small, these being preferable to beakers of large size : when the cups circle at the banquet they should not be allowed to press upon one another. ' In spring one may drink all day long ; in summer only from noon till nightfall, when one should retire to bed ; in autumn from noon till evening; and in winter from mid-afternoon till midnight. This canto brings the Book of Wassail to a close so far as its proper subject is concerned; the remaining cantos are 1 That is, they should be kept circulating, which is done if each guest drinks off his draught as soon as it is presented to him. 22 338 more or less indirectly connected with the real theme, and may be regarded as forming a sort of appendix. The first and second contain a highly figurative description of the four seasons to which the poet has just referred. The next is that which shows how the book may be explained away as a Sufi allegory, the wine being taken to represent love of God, the flagon the heart of the saint, and so on. This is followed by a penitentiary canto, in which the poet confesses his many sins, and reprobates the evil practice of wine-bibbing in which he has passed his life; now that he is old and his head is white he calls upon his heart to forego its unholy pleasures, to forsake the taverns and gardens and to make its home in the hermitage of the sheykh. In the closing canto Rewani thanks God that he has been able to complete his poem, which he proceeds to praise; in the last few lines he implores his readers' prayers. The following translations of four of the cantos of the Book of Wassail — those dealing with the Wine-cup, the Musical Instruments, the Manners of the Feasters, and the duties of the Cupbearer, — will give a sufficient idea of Rewani's style. From the ''Ishret-Name. [146] Concerning the Wine-Cup Joyance-fraught. The Cup of Love in hand, Cupbearer, • take ! The name of Love intoxicatins; make ! \ A feast array and beautiful adorn. That thence the folk of earth a lesson learn; A feast where the new moon the bowl shall be, ^ And where the sphere is the incensory. ^ ^ The Cupbearer here addressed is the author's poetic genius ; his muse, as we .might say. 2 The form of certain drinking-vessels resembled that of the crescent moon. 3 The censer wherewith the guests at a wine-feast were perfumed was rounded in shape, and so recalls the hemispheric dome of the heavens. 339 Whoe'er doth witli the Wine-Cup joyous fare Like Solomon a Seal in hand doth bear. ' A king is he who holdeth it as his; A wondrous woi'ld-displaying mirror 'tis. * If Solomon his Seal exist, 'tis it, For men and genies to its rule submit. ' A wonder-moon which, when it reacheth full, Towards one centre doth five crescents 3 pull. It puts to shame the radiant moonlight's sheen ; Its every bubble fortune's star is e'en. It taketh every beggars's hand it sees, It succours every wight who sorrow drees. They therefore in its service kiss the ground, And none hath lauds enow to praise it found. Good luck it brings where'er it foots it free, Jem's bowl a juggler at that feast would be. * With smiles the feast its advent doth acclaim, As smiled for Abraham the garth of flame. ^ Its musky breath perfumes the banquet's soul. Its advent doth the men of heart console. What beauty ! when unveiled it doth appear f"' Both sun and moon it bringeth to the sphere. ■> The comrade 'tis of merchants of Cathay, And so it openeth musk-pods alway. ^ ' For the legend of Solomon's Seal and its wondrous virtues, see p. 39, n. i. 2 For the legend of Alexander's Mirror, wherein was shown everything that happened in the world, see vol. i, p. 284 and p. 278. 3 i. e. the four fingers and the thumb, which are curved (like crescents) round the full glass when raising it to the lips. ■* Jem's Cup, for all its virtues (for which see p. 71, n. i), would be nothing more than a juggler (who plays tricks with cups and bowls) at the feast where this Cup is present. s An allusion to the legend of Abraham and Nimrod's fire, for which see p. 253, n. 7. 6 i. e. when the wine is poured forth from the flagon. ' These beautiful and glorious objects being fain to gaze on its beauty ; but here the 'sphere' (secondarily) represents the glass; the 'sun', the wine- and the (crescent) 'moon', the curved fingers, as explained in n. 3 supra. 8 For the relation between Cathay and musk see p. 112, n. 4. The idea here is merely that the cup full of wine is fragrant. 340 What then though it be Master Coral styled? ' Its serine is with Bedakhshan rubies filled. 2 Who saith, 'A cup this is,' or 'This is wine' ? A violet-scented rose 'tis, fresh and fine. If it resembled not the rose-cheeked fair. The lovers to their breasts had pressed it ne'er. It showeth like a silver-bodied 3 may, A beauty who for being kissed is gay. * A slender-lipped and rosebud-mouthed sweet. With dainty frame and rosy shift, as meet. (In soothe, like beauties are the cups bedight In gold-bespangled garments brave and bright.) ^ The lamp of the carousers' sight it is. The pith too of the lover's spright it is, The motive of the minstrels' flute 'tis aye. And so it danceth at the banquet gay.^ Ghazels recited in its honour are, And beauties ever in their hands it bear. '' These days had ne'er seemed bright unto the eyne But for the beaker in this house of wine. ^ The cups like to a gilt-wrought sun appear, 1 Khoja Merjan, 'Master Coral.' I have not met this expression elsewhere; but it is probable that it was a sort of pet name given to wine because of its red colour; just as the Persians to this day nickname hashish, which is green, Tuti-i Asrar, 'The Parrot of Mysteries,' and Aqa-yi Seyyid, 'Master Seyyid', the allusion in the first case being to the green plumage of the parrot, and in the second to the dark green raiment worn by the descendants of the Prophet. See Mr. Browne's delightful 'Year amongst the Persians,' p. 521, n i. 2 For Bedakhshan rubies, the finest of their kind, see vol. i, p. 333, n. 2. The idea here is that of redness. 3 Silvery-bodied,' i. e. white and clear skinned; the allusion here is to the crystal of which the cup is made. * It was, as we have seen, the custom to kiss the cupbearer; here the cup is conceived as being kissed when raised to the lips. * Perhaps the cups were sometimes adorned with gilt ornamentation. ^ The wine-cup is here pictured as dancing when it goes round the revellers who are seated in a circle. ' The beauties are the cupbearers; the figurative meaning of 'to bear in one's hand' is 'to make much of,' as is explained in vol. i, p. 215, n. 6. 8 i. e. this life would have had no brightness, were not the wine-cup the beaker (i. e. the source of hilarity) in this world. 341 The skinker's hand is e'en the compass here. ' It is the ring 2 upon the door of bliss ; Ring-centre ' of the open-eyed * it is. A wondrous champion 'tis who heroes slays, A brigand 'tis who Muslimhood waylays. ^ A foeman 'tis unto the Muslims true, Accomplice likewise of the bandit crew. How fair a sphere which doth its stars combine ^ To hurl then 'gainst the fiends of pain and pine. '' It seeks in prison sorrow's fiend to place, And so the beaker doth its circle trace. 8 The water-wheel 'tis of the garth of glee, '•• The vortex "* of the sea of loyalty. " If he should wish the book of mirth to read. Or study in the chapter of good-speed. For any greybeard, howsoever old, Two cups the places of spectacles will hold. ' The shemse-i zer-kar or 'gilt sun,' to which the cup is here likened, must be some kind of gilt circular ornament; the hand of the cupbearer, held out to give and take the cup as she goes her rounds, is compared to the leg of the compass with which the craftsman describes this 'gilt sun.' 2 i. e. the knocker, by means of which admittance to the house is obtained. The cup is round like this ring. 3 The term 'ring-centre' (ser-halqa) is properly applied to a dervish sheykh who sits in the centre of a circle formed by his seated disciples; we might render it 'president of the circle.' * The 'open-eyed' i. e. the generous; the topers are considered as such. The cupbearer, carrying the cup, goes her rounds inside the circle of revellers. s Wine being of course forbidden by the law of Islam. 8 Each drop is here regarded as a separate star. ■> An allusion to the well-known Muhammedan fancy that the shooting-stars are fiery darts hurled by the angels at infernal spies who would seek to approach the precincts of Heaven. 8 Here the beaker, circling round the ring of wassailers, is conceived as a C^ magician or sorcerer who draws a circle wherein to confine the fiend he is about to invoke. [See my 'Year amongst the Persians', p. 148. ed]. / 9 For the water-wheel see p. no, n. 3. By going round (i. e. by being ^ turned round) this wheel raises water for the garden; so the cup, by going its rounds, brings glee to the party. 10 Another allusion to the circling of the cup. 1' ^In vino Veritas,' 342 Rewani, make thou merry with good cheer; Leave thoughts of eld, arise a youthful fere. From the 'Ishret Name. [147] In Praise of the Divers Instruments of Music. Come hither, Minstrel of the Feast of Time, ' "Whose minstrelsy ennobleth every clime! As thou the songster at Joy's Banquet art. Wilt thou not look on us in kindly part? Let all the feast be filled with melody, Let beauties carol in thy company. Be all the instruments of music blent, And let the veil of mystery be rent. For each 2 is potent in some gramarye. Magicians some, and some enchanters be. The Harp in magic craft is great of worth. It brings the new moon down from heaven to earth. ^ The Mandoline pursues its humours e'er; If thou would have it sing, then twist its ear. * The Mandoline can't grapple with the Lute;^ Then why torment itself when naught can boot? A spell it sings when chants the Dulcimer; It is the ruler for Love's register. " No Tabret deem that in the minstrel's hand, A target 'tis woe's arrows to withstand. ^ What wonder if it all the world o'erthrow? — 1 Here again it is the 'muse' that the poet is addressing. 2 i. e. each instrument. 3 In allusion to the curved form of the Eastern harp. * The mandoline, which is constantly going out of tune, and of which the pegs have to be turned to put it right, is here considered as a headstrong child whose ear has to be twisted or pulled to make him behave himself. 5 Penche tutmaq, 'to lock fingers,' here translated 'to grapple,' is said of a kind of play or trial of strength in which two persons lock each a hand in that of the other, and then try to bend back the other's hand. " T^e dulcimer, which is said to sing a spell whenever it chants, is here, because of the number of strings that run across it, compared to a mistar, the instrument used for ruling paper which is described on p. 241, n. 6. ■^ The lalnct ur tauiljourine is in shape round like a target. 343 The bandit Viol's armed with shaft and l)o\v. ' Amid the feast to call mc into mind The Flute a thread doth round its finger bind. 2 Where bides one like the Ghittern sweet of say, The chosen, the elect of the array? Since joy of soul doth from their 3 voices tide, Withouten music let no party bide. From the %hret-Name. [148] Concerning the Conduct of the Company. The wassailer should man of culture be, No churl is fitting in tliis company. Each one should in some lore or art avail. That speech of subtleties and truths prevail ; That when they speak of eloquence, they may Leave nought for rhetoricians to gainsay ; That verse and prose they may recite and write. While lurk enigmas* in each word they cite; That whensoe'er is breathed a secret there May each and every of its point be ware. No idle words are seemly in this place, No senseless babble should the feast disgrace. When friends together meet in company Politeness alway should respected be. They each to other deference should show. Cause mutual joyance till what time they go. When theirs the cup, they should not speech prolong, Nor hold the glass in hand before them long; But soon as offered, they the draught should drain, Should drink it off, that not the dregs remain. * ' The 'shaft' (i. e. arrow) of tlic viol is its iron foot, its "-bow' is of course the bow with which it is played. 2 The allusion is to an old custom of tying a thread round one's finger by way of a reminder to do something or other. The threads tied round the finger-like flute are the knots in the reed of which it is made. 3 i. e. the voices of these instruments. * i. e. subtle or clever points. 5 i. e. when the cupbearer has presented the glass, one should not hold it in hand and talk, but should drink it off at once. 344 Without full bumpers, look, carouse thou ne'er; Nor be thou bashful with the beauties fair. ' What boots with but the finger-tips to greet ? 2 To kiss at every cup 's the usage meet. Whene'er thou takest wine in hand by night See thou do honour to the morning-light. ^ The banquet brighter grows for sitting on ; To sleep in company behoveth none. All things allowable are licit there ; * Why should the morrow's chance be mentioned e'er? ^ The folk this Arab proverb often cite : — 'The day annuls the speeches of the night.' ^ Let all the men of heart the feast ensue, And be these precepts honoured as is due. Whene'er the wise in company appear Rewani's words as maxims they'll revere. From the ""Ishret-Name. [149] Concerning the Service of the Cupbearer. The Cupbearer as alchemist behold, Who holds in hand a crucible of gold. '' To her vouchsafed must Korah's treasure be, 8 For every beggar's case to gold turns she. * ' i. e. the cupbearer and, perhaps, the dancers and singers who were often present. 2 i. e. it were foolish to rest content with merely kissing one's hand to the beauties. ' i. e. drink on till morning. * i. e. all things permissible in any other place are quite allowable at the feast, people being free and easy there, though they must respect the rules of courtesy. 5 i. e. one should not hesitate to speak freely through fear of being called to account on the morrow, since what a man says when in his cups is not taken seriously. 6 ^y^JJI [•bL^ J"^f. )^^' • This proverb is quoted to ratify what has just been said. ' i. e. the wine-filled (and therefore precious) cup. 8 Korah, whose vast treasure was swallowed up by the earth, is the type of wealth, like Croesus in the West. ' i. e. the wine she gives him makes the beggar deem himself a prince. [See n. i on p. 331 supra, ed.] 345 When she doth purpose to perform her part She should her beauty prank and deck with art. On cypress-wise • she should in service stand, And rose-like show a smiling face and bland. Then, with the roses of her cheek's parterre, And with the jacinths of her violet hair, 2 She should the feast turn to a flowery lea. That dazzled all who gaze on her may by. Her crescent-eyebrow should no furrow show, But gleam a new-moon o'er the afterglow. ' When at the banquet she the wine doth pour, She should not give some less and others more, That in the cup be neither more nor less. And so there be no speech of more and less. * And when she doth herself the beaker drain, She should so drink that naught of dregs remain. For appetizers 5 kisses she should give, * That so she offer 'lady's kisses' lieve. '' She should not, saying, 'Drink quick!' any press. Nor use before the comrades hastiness 5 But silent should she do her office there. That shamed each man be by her service fair. ^ 1 i. e. erect and with grace. 2 We have before seen the sweet-scented curling locks of a beauty compared to the violet and the jacinth or hyacinth. 3 Her rosy cheeks represent the red after-glow, concerning which see p. 88 n. I. * She should give equal measure to each, so that there be no occasion for jealousy or quarrelling. In this couplet the rhyme-word is repeated in the original. 5 The 'appetizers' (nuql) eaten when wine is drunk generally consist of fruit. [In Persia, of salted almonds, pistachio-nuts, and the like, called collec- tively 'ajil.' ed]. fi When the cupbearer was taking back the empty glass from the drinker he was at Uberty to give her a kiss. [See pp. 336 — 7 supra.] 1 jfc.A«j,>.xA« senbuse (from the Persian zen-buse), 'lady's kiss,' was the name of a kind of sweet or comfit, now forgotten, but often mentioned by the poets of the Second Period. 8 i. e. that they should feel ashamed at being waited on by so sweet and gentle a girl. 346 When being kissed she should not pride display, ' Nor flout, nor trainple on the eyes that pray. 2 At such a moment she should kindness show, And unconstrained about the feast should go. Rewani, 'tis the time to quaff the bowl, It is the world of mirth and joy of soul. This ghazel from Rewani's Diwan is quoted by "^Ashiq : — Ghazel. [150J What although the constant comrade of the leveling be the lute ? Whatsoever chord she touch, with her doth still agree the lute. Feel its pulse 3 and see its case, O thou physician of the heart ; * Sick it is for grief, and therefore moaneth plaintively the lute. Ay, the tabret well may beat its breast, e'en like thy lover true, Whensoever waileth 'neath that cruel hand of thee the lute. ^ Lest she should run wild what time it casts her midst of love-desire. Yonder fairy-face distracted maketh verily the lute. ^ Ne'er would it beseech and kiss her, now on hand and now on face, If her yearning lover, O Rewani, did not be the lute. '' ' i. e. she should neither affect coyness nor create difficulties, but should submit quietly. 2 i. e. she should not insult or refuse those whose eyes beseech a kiss. 3 i. e. press the string on the fret. * Addressed to the beloved lutanist. 5 The tabret may well beat its breast (it is of course beaten when played) out of jealousy when thy hand, fair tyrant, makes the lute to wail, i. e. when thou play est the lute instead of it. *> This obscure couplet seems to mean that the lute makes the beauty in- fatuated by its music, lest when its notes cause her to fall into love-longing she might become infatuated by something less worthy, — the one infatuation being conceived as leaving no room for another. ^ The music of the lute is its beseeching; it kisses her hand when she plays it, and her face when she bends over it. \ CHAPTER XIII. Kemal Pasha-zade. The annals of Ottoman scholarship bear few more illustrious names than that of Kemal-Pasha-zade. This distinguished man of letters did not, it is true, attain the full measure of his fame and prosperity till after the accession of Suleyman I, but as the greater part of his life was spent in the service of Sultans Bayezid and Seli'm, it will perhaps be best to consider his career and work in this place. The personal name of this writer was Ahmed, but from his own time onwards he has been almost universally known by the patronymic Kemal-Pasha-zade ' or Kemal-Pasha-son, the word 'son' being taken here, as in so many similar cases, in the wider sense of 'descendant.' Latifi says that he was born at Toqat in Asiatic Turkey, and grew up at Adrianople ; but Sehi and Tash-kopri-zade describe him as 'of Adrianople', as though he had been a native of that city. ^ He came of a military stock ; his grandfather Kemal Pasha, from whom the family took its name, having been one of the Conqueror's generals, while his father, Suleyman, 1 Sometimes the patronymic appears in the Turkish form Kemal-Pasha-oghli, sometimes in the Arabic Ibn-Kemal; but the Persian Kemal-Pasha-zade is by far the most usual. '^ There was evidently some confusion on the point. Riyazi says he was born at Demitoka, a town which is near Adrianople, and which, through the somewhat similar sound of the name, might possibly be confounded with Toqat. V. 348 held an important military command either under that Sul- tan or his successor Bayezid. The youthful Ahmed was therefore naturally brought up to the profession of arms, and the first glimpse we get of him is as a young soldier in the camp of Bayezid's vezir Ibrahim Pasha. ' The story is told by the author of the Crimson Peony, who professes to have heard it from the lips of Kemal-Pasha-zade himself. The vezir was in the field, on some expedition or another. One day he held a divan or levee at which the young man was present, probably as a member of his suite. Among the ofiicers who attended was Evrenos-oghli Ahmed Bey, ^ the representative of a famous aristocratic family and one of the great military chiefs of the Empire. When this brilliant officer arrived he went forward and seated himself above all the other warriors and emirs present. While the youth was still admiring the gallant bearing of the noble, there entered the court a poor-looking man meanly dressed in a shabby suit of the clothes peculiar to the learned profession, who without a moment's hesitation advanced and seated himself above the resplendent son of Evrenos, while the latter, far from resenting the intrusion, at once made way for the new-comer, treating him, as did all the other emirs, with the utmost deference and respect. Kemal-Pasha-zade, amazed at the sight, turned to someone who was standing near and asked what it might mean. He was answered that the poor-looking man ' Ibrahim Pasha the son of Khalil Pasha was made Grand Vezir in 903 (1497 — 8), and retained the office till his death in 905 (1499 — 1500); so the incident referred to in the text must have occurred some time between those years. 2 Evrenos Bey, the founder of the family represented in Bayezid's time by this Ahmed, was a Greek by birth. He entered the service of Sultan Orkhan, and by the assistance he rendered to that sovereign and his three successors he did much towards the establishment of the Ottoman Empire. He died, over a hundred years of age, in 860 (1456). There still exist at Salonica certain charitable institutions which he founded, and which to this day are admini- stered by his descendants. 349 was Monla Lutfi of Toqat, ' at present principal of the Philippopolis college with a daily salary of thirty aspers, - and that the deference shown him was because of the honour in which learning and its representatives were held by all men howsoever great. Then and there the young man deter- mined to abandon the career of arms in favour of that of learning: 'for,' said he to himself, 'it is impossible I should ever attain the rank of the Son of Evrenos, but I may well achieve a higher than Monla Lutfi's.' When the expedition was over and the army had returned to the capital, Kemal-Pasha-zade, without losing a day, went off and became the pupil of Monla Lutfi, who had meanwhile been promoted to the principalship of the Dar-ul-Hadis College at Adrianople. Under his direction the young man began his serious studies, reading with him the commentary and glosses of the famous old work on logic and philosophy called 'The Orients of Radiance.' ^ Subsequently he studied under Mevlana Kesteli, Mevlana Khatib-zade, and other distinguished teachers of the day. It so chanced that about the time when Kemal-Pasha-zade had completed his course the principalship of the Tashliq College ■* 1 Monla Lutfi of Toqat, who from his unconventional ways was commonly known as Deli Lutfi or 'Mad Lutfi,' had been the pupil and friend of Sinan Pasha (see p. 25) whom he accompanied in his exile to Sivri-Hisdr. He was prominent among the learned men of his time, but incurred the hostility of his colleagnes by the lampoons he was in the habit of launching against them. They therefore contrived to get him condemned and executed on a charge of heresy in 900 (1495). He wrote some verses, but, though his name is entered in the Tezkires, he had no reputation as a poet. 2 About five shillings sterling. 3 Matali'^-ul-Enwdr : this work was composed by Qazi Sirdj-ud-Din Mahpiid who died in 682 (1283 — 4), it was commented on by Qutb-ud-Uin who died in 766 (1364 — 5); glosses on it have been written by several scholars, notably by the famous schoolman ""Ali-i Jurjani, who is usually spoken of under his special title of Seyyid-i Sherif, and who died in S16 (141 3 — 4)- * The Tashliq College is sometimes called the College of "Ali Bey, probably from its founder. 350 at Adrianople fell vacant. This was during the time when Hajji-Hasan-zade * was Qazi-'^Asker of Rumelia and Mu^eyyed- zade was Qazi-^Asker of Anatolia. ^ Among the duties or privileges of the Qazi-'Askers ^ was the appointment of all officials connected with the learned profession in their respec- tive provinces, subject only to the approval of the Sultan. Now this Hajji-Hasan-zade was, we are told, extremely jealous of any young man who gave signs of unusual talent, because he feared that if any such once got a foothold in the pro- fession, he might eventually prove a rival to himself; and so, according to ^Ali, he maintained himself for twenty-five consecutive years in the qazi-^askerate by dissuading or otherwise preventing those whom he had reason to dread from entering on this career. Adrianople being in Rumelia, all the principalships there were in this functionary's gift. Kemal-Pasha-zade, who was anxious to obtain that of the Tashliq College, had therefore to apply to him ; but he, knowing the candidate to be a man of quite exceptional ability, determined to try to put him off. So he refused his request, telling him to give up the idea of a principalship, when he would be offered a cadiship which it would be prudent for him to accept. * The young man in great distress ' We have already met Hajji-Hasan-zade as the teacher of Ja'fer Chelebi, whom he seems to have treated much better than he did Kemal-Pasha-zade. Possibly he did not regard the Chelebi as likely to prove a foi-midable rival. 2 Mu^eyyed-zade was Qazi-^Asker of Anatolia from 907 (1501) till 911 (1505), so the incident described in the text must have occurred between these years. 3 See p. 24, n. 3. ■* When a member of the ''ulema once entered the body of cadis or judges the door was closed upon his promotion to any of the high offices in the hierarchy, the cadis forming a class by themselves with no promotion save to towns of greater importance. This did not apply to the cadiships of Adria- nople, Cairo, and a few other great cities, which were conferred upon prominent muderrises or principals, and often formed a step towards the higher grades. See Appendix A, 351 went and told his story to Mu'eyycd-zadc the Anatolian Qazi'^Asker, who was the very antithesis of the Rumclian, being, as we have more than once seen, the ever-ready friend and patron of talent and ability. This good and learned man bade the would-be principal go and formally accept the cadiship proposed by his colleague, and leave the rest to him. Kemal-Pasha-zade did as he was told. And so on the morrow Hajji-Hasan-zade presented to Sultan Bayezid the young man's request and suggested that it should be granted. But Mu^eyyed-zade, who was present, interposed, saying that the applicant was one of the most gifted and promising young men of the day, and that it would be a grievous misfortune if he were lost in a cadiship, the more especially as the Tashliq principalship, which would give him an excellent opening, was just then vacant; and he prayed the Sultan to confer this on him. Hajji-Hasan-zade had not the effrontery to oppose his colleague's request, which was accordingly granted. Mu'eyyed-zade's kindly offices by no means ended here; he frequently brought his protege under the notice of the Sultan, and succeeded in obtaining for him grants of money as well as other favours. It was he too who proposed to Bayezid that Kemal-Pasha-zade should be commissioned to write the history of the Ottoman power in Turkish, as it was desirable to have the story in the national language, Monla Idris's work on the subject being in Persian. ' He further suggested that in order to enable the historian to accomplish his important task under every advantage, it would be desirable that he should be transferred to the principalship of the Ishaq Pasha College at Uskub, where he would have the benefit of a change of air. It was this kind interest on the part of the generous and ' See p. 267, n. i. 352 enlightened Anatolian Qazi-*^Asker that laid the foundation of Kemal-Pasha-zade's brilliant and successful career. Placed at the very outset in a position which, while it afforded such an opening" as his ambition desired, left ample leisure for the pursuit of his studies, and gave numerous opportunities for the display of his talent, it remained with himself alone whether and how far success was to be his. A man of so much ability and so much energy is born to succeed ; and so we find that the story of his life is, with but one break — if break it can be called — of a few years, an uninterrupted record of success. From the Uskub principalship Kemal-Pasha-zade was pro- moted to that of the Halebi College in Adrianople. This was followed by several similar appointments, each more important than the preceding, the last being followed by the high office of Cadi or Judge of Adrianople. ' At length in 922 (1516 — 7) he was made Qazi-^Asker of Anatolia; and in this capacity he accompained Sultan Selim on the Egyptian campaign. On the return to Constantinople, in 924 (15 18), he fell into disgrace, owing, it is said, to the machinations of his rivals, and was deposed from his high office, and sent to Adrianople as principal of the Dar-ul-Hadis College there, the same where in his student days he had studied under Monla Lutfi. But in 932 (1525 — 6), when Sultan Suleyman was on the throne, he was recalled to the capital, and there appointed to the supreme office in the learned profession, the office of Mufti or Sheykh of Islam, which Suleyman but a little time before had advanced to the highest rank of all, above the Qazi-^askerates alike of Rumelia and Anatolia. ^ Kemal-Pasha-zade retained this lofty post for the remaining eight years of his life, dying as chief legal magistrate of the ' See p. 350, n. 4. 2 See Appendix A. 353 Empire on the 2iic^ Shcvwal 940 (i6tli April 1534). ' He was buried outside the Adrianople Gate, in the yard of the cloister of Sheykh Mahmud, where a pupil of his, named Mehcmmed Bey, who died judge of Cairo, built a stone wall around his tomb. It is to his work as a scholar rather than to his achieve- ments as a poet that Kemal-Pasha-zade owes his great reputation; for although his poetical writings would have "sufficed to make the fame of a lesser man, they were over- shadowed by his extraordinary erudition and his amazing industry. The Ottoman critics, for all their skill in eulogy, can find no words to express their admiration and reverence for this miracle of learning. Other sages and savants, they tell us, have excelled in one science and written valuable works thereon, but he excelled in all the sciences and com- posed precious books and treatises on every one of them. They give us lists of his works on exegesis and jurisprudence, and all the various branches of Muhammedan theology and law; but these, being all in Arabic and dealing with scholastic technicalities, arc outside the field of our studies. He often turned, however, from those learned labours, which he doubt- less regarded as the serious business of his life, to seek relaxation in pure literature, and it was in such moments that he wrote the Turkish poems which are our concern. By way of showing his untiring industry, "^Ashiq says that he left over three hundred separate works, including those that remained unfinished at the time of his death, and "^Ali records that he worked day and night, resting only six hours out of the twenty-four. They tell us further that when he became Mufti or Sheykh of Islam he issued at the rate of a thousand fetwas ^ a day. ' By a slip, which is pointed out by "^Ali, 'Ashiq places Kenial-Pasha-zdde's death in 941. 2 A fetwa is an opinion or decision as to a requirement of canon law, form- ally given by an official styled a Mufti, a name which means 'issuer of fetwas.' 23 354 This last obviously exaggerated statement brings us to a curious point which shows how easily and quickly legends arise in a society, however learned and cultured, where scientific knowledge is founded on the sand. Among the honorific titles carved upon Kemal-Pasha-zade's tomb is one which is peculiar to himself, never having been given to any other legist; it is, Mufti-us-Saqalayn or 'Mufti of the Two Ponderables.' This term 'the two ponderables' occurs in a passage in the Koran * where it is evidently used to indicate the two races, man and genies, these being so described because both, being created of matter, possess weight. The title on the tombstone therefore implies that he to whom it was given was regarded as the mufti not only of men but also of the genies, and in this sense it has been generally understood. There is nothing to show how such an idea got abroad. The biographers nearest the legist's own time, Sehi and Latifi, are silent on the subject; Tash-kopri-zade, who wrote some forty years after his death, is the first to refer to it, and he says simply, 'because that both mankind and the genies applied to him on hard questions, he is spoken of by the noble as the Mufti of the Two Ponderables.' But "All, writing forty years later than the author of the Crimson Peony, knows a great deal more. He declares that it is well known how Kemal-Pasha-zade, besides holding the mufti'-ship of mankind, held the same office among the genies; and further, that it is common knowledge how he was already the occupant of this high position among the latter while he was principal of the Dar-ul-Hadis College, and how when he accepted the muftiship of mankind he wished to resign his functions with the genies, but that the learned among these sought the world through, and, failing to find his equal for learning, implored him to continue in office, assigning 1 Koran, iv, 31. 355 him a salary of a thousand aspcrs, and that he eventually gave his consent to their request. 'Ali adds that it is a well- cstabHshed fact that the great man himself imparted these details to certain of his intimate friends. The story which '^AK thus reports was doubtless current at the time he wrote; and it is, as we have said, a good example of the readiness wherewith a credulous age will propound and accept a mythical interpretation of a formula or a phrase that it does not understand. The biographers tell us that a great number of anecdotes collected round the name of this author, and they have noted several of these, exemplifying for the most part the ready wit which has long been attributed to the great scholar. Thus ^Ashiq records (and after him Hasan and Riyazi) that once when the legist and his friends were conversing together, someone remarked that Monla Refiqi, ' though not a learned man, was very fond of gathering books, and expressed his regret that so many volumes should be thus imprisoned ; whereupon Kemal-Pasha-zade rejoined that inasmuch as Refiqi only imprisoned books, he was less cruel than most of their colleagues, who tortured them. - The same authorities relate that when passing through ' A minor poet of the time : lie figures in the Tezkires. '- That is to say, most of tlie so-called learned men of the day had so little reverence for their books that they were wont to misuse them, bending back the covers, turning down the pages, and so on. A similar idea is contained in this Persian couplet which I once heard, and which is supposed to be said by the owner of a book to a friend who -has sought to borrow it : — 'My book I'll lend thee, but on three conditions: — 'That thou nor drum nor horn nor box wilt make it.' Here the borrower is forbidden to make the book a drum, i. e. to beat the 'devil's tattoo' on its covers; or a horn, i.e. to roll it round (the covers being flexible) and blow through it; or a box, i. e. to shut it with a pencil or other article between the leaves. 356 the district of Qaraman on the return from the Egyptian campaign, Sultan Seh'm was struck by the frequency of whirl- winds in that country, and asked Kemal-Pasha-zade, who was constantly beside him, whether this could be accounted for. The legist, equal to the occasion, replied, 'This is the land of Mevlana Jelal-ud-Di'n, ' and so the very dust and stones engage in the dervish-dance.' '^ "^Ashiq and '^Ali have another tale of the return from Egypt. One day when Seli'm and his Qazi-^Asker were riding together conversing on literary matters, the Sultan remarked that it was strange that Sidi-'^Ali-zade, a contemporary litte- rateur, should have written a commentary on the Gulistan in the Arabic language when the text itself is in Persian, whereupon his companion made the following reply which showed clearly enough what he thought of the work in question, 'As he knoweth not Persian, how could he write a commentary therein r If therefore he wrote it not In Arabic, what was he to do ?' Lati'fi speaks of the amiable qualities and social gifts of this distinguished scholar, but that he was not above a somewhat petty literary jealousy seems to be shown by the ungenerous and unjust remarks which, as we saw in a former chapter, ^ he was in the habit of making concerning his ' We have several times seen that Qonya, the capital of Qaraman, was the head-quarters of Mevlana Jelal-ud-Din, the great mystic poet and teacher and the founder of the Mevlevi dervish-order, that in which is practised the mystic dance. (See vol. i, pp. 145 — 6 et passim.) 2 Riyazi quotes in this connection the following couplet by Bihishti of Vize, a minor poet who died in 979 (1571 — 2): — liyA^ ii)L.i> ^.jw^.5' liLLAixJ ^iA.Jfc_S i^£l4.A« He ■\alth who sees the whirlwind o'er the dreary wilderness advance, — 'The love of Ley la makes the dust of Mejniin still ecstatic dance.' 3 See p. 148 supra. 357 precursor Ilamdi's Joseph and Zeliklia, a work in which lie doubtless recognized a formidable rival to his own poem on the same theme. Majji-Hasan-zade had really sought to injure him, and in all probability fully deserved to be pilloried ; still the following verses, which the biographers quote from the chapter of his History in which he mentions the death of this old enemy, can hardly be said to point towards magnanimity: — 'The Son of Hasan, ' he the foul of face, 'Of vice and ignorance the dwelling-place; 'What though that fain he had obstructed me, 'That fain to stay Perfection's 2 sun was he ? — 'The worthless ever seeks the worthy's ill, 'Each Ahmed hath his Ehu-Jehl » still.' ^ Besides his Arabic writings, which how^ever, as we know, form his chief title to fame, Kemal-Pasha-zade left a good many works in Turkish and one at any rate in Persian. This last was named the Nigaristan or 'Picture-Gallery,' and was intended to be a parallel to the famous Gulistan of SaMi. ''' ^Ashiq thinks that at least in the matter of arrange- ment it is an improvement upon that well-known and justly esteemed book, an appreciation admitted, though in a qualified manner, by Hasan. ' i. c. Hasan-zade. ■^ The word for Perfection is Kemal, so the poet here refers to his own name, the 'sun of Perfection' standing for the 'genius of Kemal.' 3 Ebu-Jehl, i. e. 'the Father of Ignorance,' is the nickname given to 'Amr ibn-Hisham, who was one of the Prophet Muhammed's bitterest opponents. Ahmed, as we know, is another form of Muhammcd; it was also the personal name of Kemal-Pasha-zdde. 5 Sehi says the Reharistan of Jam! ; l)Ut he is prol^ably wrong, as all the other authorities say the Gulistan. 358 His Turkish works consist of a treatise on Persian lexi- cography entitled Daqa^iq-ul-Haqa^iq or 'The Subtleties of Verities;' ' the History of the Ottomans, which is carried down to the occupation of Buda by Sultan Suleyman in 932 (1526);^ two translations from the Arabic made for Sultan Selim ; a mesnevi poem on the story of Joseph and Zelikha ; and a Uiwan of ghazels. The two translations, of which the one is of an historical work relating to Egypt entitled En-Nujum-uz-Zahire or 'The Shining Stars,' ^ and the other of a treatise on a special branch of medical science ■* entitled Rujii'^-ush-Sheykhi ila Sibah or 'The Return of the Elder to his Youth,' were made during the Egyptian campaign. In order to assist him in this work by acting as his amanuensis, the Qazi-^Asker sought and obtained Selim's permission to take with him his friend Ashji-zade Hasan Chelebi, ' who happened to be then without employment. It is said that every night when the camp was pitched, Kemal-Pasha-zade dictated a certain number of pages to his colleague, who wrote them out nicely, and thus they had them ready for presentation to the Sultan each morning as he mounted his horse. Copies of these translations seem always to have been extremely rare; at least '^Ashiq tells us that even in his time they were so scarce as to be practically unobtainable. The following are a few ghazels from Kemal-Pasha-zade's ' There are two MSS. of this work in the British Museum, Add. 7887 and Or. 36. 2 '■Ashiq speaks favourably of the style of this work, but Hasan criticises it on the score of obscurity arising from an excessive use of homonyms. A chapter from it, that dealing with the Battle of Mohacz, was published with a French translation by Pavet de Courteille in 1859. 3 [The author of this well-known history was JemaluVl-Din Abu'l-Mahasin Yi'isuf b. Taghri-bardi, who flourished about the middle of the ninth century of ourVra.] * [Called sL) *.lc , and dealing with aphrodisiacs and the like.] 5 "Ashiq and Hasan both have articles on him in their Tezkires. 359 Diwan. The reader will observe that in no case does the poet insert his own name. Ghazel. [151] From the other's ' hand may no one draw the loved one's skirl, ah me! Would the thorn but leave the rose's hem! it will not! what shall wc?2 Broke into the eyen's mansion have the liver fragments, •'' lo ! Saying, 'These are the blood-guilty!' grips them this blood-raining e'e. * 'Tis not down that showeth, nay, 'tis musk besprinkled o'er her face By the breeze of morn when shaking her black tresses' drapery 5 Deemest thou it is the rose's tunic, <» O thou breeze of morn ? — What thy hand that thou wouldst raise the skirt of her my belamy? ■> When that one would ford a river, ever lifteth he his robe; What then though the darkling curls upraise their frocks continually ? ^ 1 By 'other' is here meant the lover's rival, the beloved's guardian, or any person who might intervene between the pair. 2 The idea in this couplet is that none can enjoy the company of the beloved without some drawback, i. c. none can enjoy unalloyed happiness in this world. 3 The liver, which was regarded as the seat of passion, was believed to consist of blood in a solid form. Thus if one wept tears of blood (see vol. I, p. 217, n. i) till all one's supply of fluid blood was exhausted, it was feigned by the poets that little fragments of the liver (i. e. of blood still in a solid state) would come into the eyes. This would of course imply that the mourners had wept very long and very bitterly. * i. e. the blood-weeping eye seizes these fragments (they would not run out as tears), as though they were house-breakers, saying that they arc the criminals who have caused all this blood to flow (to be shed in tears). 'The house of the eye' i. e. the eye itself or perhaps the socket, is a recognised term. 5 Her locks are conceived, as usual, as being full of sweet dark-hued musk, so when the wind blows these over her face some of the musk-dust rests upon it, and it is this, not, as one might think, the fine down, that has caused the tiny dark marks seen there. " i. e. the rose's corolla. ■> i. e. how darest thou, O breeze, with the hand of audacity make free with the skirl of the beloved (i. e. blow it about)? Dost thou take it, because of its and of her delicacy and daintiness, for the tunic of the rose with which thou art wont to play? 8 Here the clear bright face of the beloved is conceived as a sheet of pellucid 36o Since the heart's rol)e by the grief for faithless fair ones hath been rent, Leaves it ' ne'er the skirt - of yon True Friend whose worth it now can see. ^ Ghazel. [152] Thinlv not 'tis my robe bereddened liy my tears of blood, ah no! 'Tis the flash of Passion's fire which from my flintstone-heart doth glow. * Like the lotus, ^ bideth e'er my sallow face midmost the stream • ^ All the waves of Love's wild ocean come and o'er my head do flow. There 's a pair of one-eyed bridges o'er the Oxus and the Nile; From mine eyebrows twain they're fashioned, on one pier they stand, I trow. '' • Every day a thousand times the tears of blood surge o'er my head 5 What of anguish for this love hath o'er me passed, behold and know; With intent to reach its mansion ^ the new moon a skiff'-* hath set On the heaven's shore, for through my tears of blood there 's none may go. '•' water; and her locks which dangle over it, because they curl up at the ends, are imagined as raising their frocks to keep them from getting wet. ' i. e. the heart. 2 The 'skirt' is used here figuratively for protection. •' i. e. my heart, having tried the joys of this faithless world, hath discovered the value of the True Friend, i. e. God. * The poet's heart is here compared to a flint, not because of hardness, but because, as fire is latent in the flint, so is love in his heart. 5 The lotus or yellow water-lily. The poets often compare the lover's face, sallow through grieving and weeping, to this flower. ^ My sallow face is compassed by the stream of my tears, as the yellow lotus is by the water of the river or lake. ■• The two bridges are the poet's two eyebrows (which are arch-shaped); they are each 'one-eyed,' that is, each bridge is built with one arched opening, viz. the poet's eye; they are both reared on one pier, i. e. his nose; beneath each bridge rushes a mighty river, the Nile in one case, the Jeyhiin (or Oxus) in the other; i. e. the floods of his tears. 8 Referring to the twenty-eight mansions (menazil) of the Moon, one of which it passes through every day and night in its monthly journey round the Zodiac. " Here by a compound metaphor the new moon is represented at once as the skiff and as the voyager who is to sail therein. '" The poet sees the crescent moon low on the horizon near to the red afterglow. This last he fancies as a vast impassable ocean formed of his own tears of blood; and he conceives the crescent as a skiff with curved prow 36 1 Each on each mine eyelash ranks have dashed, ' and hluod hath fluwed amain: * From the shock thereof hath terror seized upon the hordes of woe. ' Ghazel. [153] Whence is this, the garden-cypress looks to thee for guidance, say ? * What then though it do, O dainty-bodied stony-hearted may. In thy beauty's realm •"' a Grecian " slave-girl is the flowing stream; ' In thy tresses' land ^ an Indian serf the musk of far Cathay. ** Were it not thy rosy face's story tliat the liulbul sang. Ne'er had lily raised the tongue, '•* nor oped the mouth had rosebud gay. '" Trembles sore my heart, if rose and cypress wave upon the sward; For my soul then whispers, 'Yonder rose-faced cypress comes this way.' " Every tulip in the mountain-lands of dule and pain that blows In my heart's blood dyed, and branded by my passion's fire, is aye. '^ and stern in which the moon will cross this red flood to reach its own 'man- sion' or home. ' The upper and lower rows of eyelashes are conceived as contending ranks of spearmen. 2 i. e. I have shed tears of blood. 3 i. e. I have had a 'good cry', and feel better in consequence. * i. e. how comes it that even the cypress, the type of grace, looks to thee as its model? i. e. thou art still more graceful than it. 5 The original here has 'Egypt' or 'Cairo' for 'realms', and 'Syria' or 'Damascus' for 'land.' " Grecian, i. e. Rumf. ^ The stream is typical of clearness and brightness, so may be associated with the people of Riim, they being taken as representative of the fair-skinned races, as the Indians and Ethiopians are of the dark-skinned. The word for slave-girl (jariye) literally means any running or flowing feminine thing; so there is here a double allusion. 8 Musk being always associated with a lieauty's hair, and being fragrant and dark, and coming from Cathay. 9 The 'tongues' of the lily are its petals, which are somewhat tongue-shaped. '" Were it not that the nightingale's song is all in praise of thy rose-like beauty, the lily would not have raised its voice nor the rosebud opened its mouth in vociferous applause thereof. Another instance of aetiology. " He fancies that the rose and cypress waving in the wind have caught sight of the approach of the beloved who outdoes them in beauty, and so are trembling with excitement. '■^ The tulip's 'brand' is its dark centre that looks like a cauterization. 362 Ghazel. [154] Though that Fate should for a cycle from thy fair face sunder me, Could it for a single moment part me from the thought of thee r Turned am I to crescent-moon ' within the aftei-glow's embrace ^ Since the Sphere hath ceased to let me those thy musky crescents see. ^ All my theme and thought is fantasy* of thy sweet waist and mouth; Longing lets me ne'er devoid of dreams or speech of thee to be. Ah, the rival grows to darkling cloud to veil thy beauty's sun 5 ^ Like to my black fortune, he from thy fair face hath parted me. O my dear one, sore confused of soul am I, and heart-distraught, Since that from thy locks and mole I severed am by Fate's decree. ^ Ghazel. [155] There 's none may strive with those thy brigand tresses, O my fair; There 's none may speak with those thy sugar-strewing rubies I'are. '' What time it sees the bulbul-heart, it opens all a-smile, — The signs of fellowship therewith thy roseate face doth wear. 8 O heart, go strive for friendship with the dog that haunts her ward; 'J Let others say their say, mate thou with those thy mates for e'er. ' i. e. I am worn thin and bent. ■^ Here the afterglow stands for the tears of blood that he has shed. The connection between the crescent and the afterglow is explained on p. 360, n. 10. ' i. e. thy dark and curved eyebrows. * 'Fantasy' here, as in many other places, stands for the image which an object has impressed upon the mind. * i. e. to conceal or keep thee from me. ^ My lot is now confused as thy tangled tresses and dark as thy black mole. ■> None may seek to rival thy locks that bind all hearts, or to vie in sweet- ness with thy ruby lips that utter dulcet words. 8 i. e. by smiling when I approach, thy I'osy face betrays its friendly feelings towards my nightingale-like (i. e. lover-like) heart. 9 Another allusion to the beloved's dog, the literary descendant of that of Leyld. 3^^ 3 O caviller, thou callest yonder Idol's tress a zone. Thou paynim ! would they'd hanged thee high with thine own zone whilere! ' Ghazel. I156] Ne'er a moment withouten dole are we; How strange are the ways of the world, all mc ! On earth there is none understands his case; The ways of the world are strange, perdie ! The Sphere ever turns without rest or pause, * And thus shall it do while the world shall be. Their souls in the fire day and night they fling. And on water and dust do they spend their fee. •'' What of thine may this House of Illusions hold, * Or in what may this cupola * profit thee ? ' O caviller, thou callest the Idol's (beauty's) tress a 'zone' (the emblem of infidelity, see p. 44, n. 4), thus implying that she is a paynim because she wears it, and I because I love it. So cruel a suggestion proves thyself to be a paynim; as sucli thou must have a zone of thine own, with which I would they had hanged thee. 2 Alluding to the continual changes brought about in human affairs by the revolution of the spheres. See vol. i, p. 44, n. 3. * i. e. men are ever wasting their lives and substance in the pursuit of earthly (material) vanities. * Can this world of unrealities be a lasting home for thine eternal soul? 5 The dome of the sphere and all which is beneath its vanth. CHAPTER XIV. Minor Poets, Lyric and Mystic. During the course of the seventy years covered by the reigns of Mehemmed II, Bayezid II, and Seh'm I all the outlying Turkish lands west of Persia, except the tiny pro- vince of the Beni-Ramazan and the partially Turkish district of Baghdad, have been gathered into the Ottoman fold. The number of Turkish towns that must henceforward be called Ottoman has consequently considerably increased, and the field for the cultivation of Ottoman poetry has been propor- tionally extended. As culture has made great strides during these seventy years, the study of Persian literature, which in those days was synonymous with culture, has acquired an ever-increasing importance. In reading the Tezkires we constantly find it recorded to the credit of a poet of this early time that he was well versed in the Fenn-i Furs, an expression which bears much the same relation to Persian studies as our term Latinity does to Latin. There has been much coming and going of poets between Turkey and Persia. ' Amongst those who came from the Eastern Kingdom was that Basiri whose name has been ' Thus we have seen how Mu^eyyed-zade studied for some years in Persia (p. 29), and how "^Ali Qushji (p. 25, n. 5) and Monla Idris (p. 267, n. i) left Ihe Persian fur the (Ottoman serviee. 365 mentioned in connection with Ahmed Pasha. Me brouyhl with him to the court of Bayezid letters of recommendation, besides ghazcls and other works, from Jami and Newa'i, and also from Sultan Huseyn Bayqara himself. We have seen how^ he is credited with having been the first to bring the ghazels of Newa^i to the West; if he really did so, he was indirectly an important agent in the development of Ottoman poetry. Basin' was not himself much of a poet ; but he was a brilliant wit, and his society was highly appreciated by the great and the learned of Constantinople as well as of Herat. His position in the latter capital is vouched for not only by his having received letters of recommendation from Sultan Huseyn and his poets, but by the fact that he is mentioned by Newa'f in his Tezkire. Basi'ri settled in Turkey, where he enjoyed great favour, and where he died at about the age of seventy in 941 (1534— 5)- Basi'ri was only one of many Persian or Turkman poets who came from the East and took up their abode in Con- stantinople or some other Ottoman town, generally one in which a Prince-governor held his court. Several of those strangers are mentioned by Lati'fi, as well as a good number of Turks who went to Persia, generally to study, and when there seized the opportunity of making acquaintance with the greatest literary men of the day. In such high favour did the Persians, as men of letters, stand at the court of the Conqueror that a certain Turk of Toqat, Lali by name, who had travelled much in Persia and spoke the language perfectly, coming to Constantinople, passed himself off as a native Persian, knowing that as such he would have a better chance of pushing his fortune. He was in fact received by the Sultan with great consideration, and enjoyed all manner of good things till the fraud was discovered, when he was dismissed with ignominy. 366 This great regard for things Persian was of course but a result of that esteem and reverence in which those old Sultans and vezirs held all things soever that touched on literature. We have seen how all the sovereigns, from the days of Murad II, did what in them lay to encourage lite- rature, and indeed every branch of learning. It was the regular custom of the Grand Vezir Mahmud Pasha, of Ahmed Pasha, Mu^'eyyed-zade, and many others to hold symposia at which poets recited their new compositions, and host and guests talked over questions of literary interest. The capital was not the only literary centre. In those early days, before the adoption of the pernicious policy which confined the Imperial Princes in the Seraglio till they should ascend the throne or die, the Sultan's sons were, as we have seen, early trained to rule by being sent, while still comparatively young, to govern some important province. Here the court of the Chelebi Sultan, as the Prince-governor was called, was a model in miniature of that of his father in Constantinople. He too had his Defterdar (Treasurer), his Nishanji (Chancellor), and so on; and he too was eager to surround himself with poets and artists. Of course the measure of his eagerness for such society depended on his individual tastes, but the Turkish Princes of those days were all more or less poets. Jem in particular loved the society of his fellow-craftsmen, many of the officers of his court, having been, as we have learned, artificers in verse. Aftabi, a poet of some repute, attended the court of Bayezid while the latter was still Chelebi Sultan at Amasiya. We have seen how the court of Prince ''Abdu'llah and afterwards that of Prince Mahmud were graced by the presence of Nejati; ^ ' Nejati was Prince Mahmild's nishanji or chancellor, Sun'^i (Ncjati's pupil) was the Prince's secretary of divan, and Tali^i (another poet) was his defterdar or treasurer. 1^7 Latifi tells us that among Mahmud's poets was one who could so perfectly imitate the notes of the nightingale that he used to go into the gardens and whistle in concert with the birds, an accomplishment which gained for him his pen- name of Andclibi or 'He of the Nightingale.' And so it was with all the others; we have met the poetess Mihri at Prince Ahmed's court at Amasiya, and Rewani at Prince Selim's at Trebizond ; wherever a Chelebi Sultan held his court, there we may be sure was a circle of poets. All this court patronage was the outcome of a sincere regard for literature, and it undoubtedly afforded many who would otherwise have had no respite from the toils of life leisure in which to cultivate whatever talents they possessed. But the love of poetry was very far from being confined to those in high places, they but gave public expression to what was a national sentiment. In the opening chapter of this volume it was said that with the advent of the Second Period came a great outburst of poetry. The greater poets, those with whose names and works we have now made .some acquaintance, were but the most prominent of a great array. The pages of the earlier biographers, Sehi and Latifi, are crowded with the names of now forgotten writers who lived during these seventy years. But the great number of such writers, even though they appear to have been for the most part little more than dilettanti or composers of occasional verse, testifies to the existence of a widely spread feeling for interest in the poetic art. In turning over the leaves of the Tezkires two points arrest our attention; one of these is the great diversity in the social position of the poets who now arise, all classes from the highest to the humblest being represented ; while the other is the fact that even by this early period almost every Turkish town of importance in the Empire has produced 368 at least one poet. Let us take a few names almost at random from Sehi and Latifi which will exemplify both these points. Hariri, a silk-mercer of Brusa, and Resmi, a linen-draper in the same city, were contemporaries of Ahmed Pasha. Khufifi, who was a shoe-maker by trade, was one of those who, though wholly without education, are able to indite verse through sheer force of their native genius. In the case of a poetry so artificial as the Ottoman, such a feat is more than usually wonderful ; and we are told that this man was reckoned so great a prodigy that he was summoned to court to repeat some of his verses in the Sultan's presence. Contemporary with these, or perhaps a little earlier, was Turabi of Qastamuni, a wandering devotee, who used by day to roam the country writing his verses on the doors and walls of hostelries and dervish-cells, and by night to lie among the tombs. It is said that when walking abroad he was wont carefully to scan the ground before him lest inadvertently he should tread on any insect. He held that God manifested Himself in all men, whether Muslims or Christians, Jews or Magians, and that therefore none had a right to despise or vex any, as he says in this verse : — Is there any head within which naught of God's great mystery is ? Then, O heart, despise thou no man in Islam or heathenesse. ' Still in the Conqueror's time we have Sena'i of Qastamuni, a mu'^arrif or mosque-chorister, who was famed for the sweet- ness of his voice ; Da'^i of the same city, who was a mu^ezzin or summoncr to public worship ; Katibi of Brusa, a pupil of ^Ishqi whom we shall meet a little farther on, renowned as a calligraphist, and Kemal of Berghama, surnamed Sarija Kemal or Kemal the Fair (i. e. fair-haired), a loyal friend 3^^9 of the Grand Vczir Mahmud Pasha, on whose execution he retired into seclusion. Coming to Bayezfd's time, we find Mevlana "Izari, who was in some way related to Sheykhi the author of the Khusrev and Shirin. He was a distinguished member of the "ulema, dying as a muderris of the Court of the Eight. ' This rather well-known quatrain is by him: — Ruba'i. [157] On one hand burns my passion for the fair, On one the jealous eyes of rivals glare: With which of these to grapple know not I. 'The torment of the Fire, O Lord, us spare!' ^ Zami'ri of Kanghri was a professional geomancer and thought-reader, ^ and is described as having been a past master in the occult sciences and as having had the power of making himself invisible. He disappeared from among mankind about the beginning of Selim's reign, slain, it was said, by a genie or demon, which he had invoked when in pursuit of hidden treasure. Latifi quotes the following lines by him, which are not without power: — Think not to fright us, preacher, with Sinit;* we'll find the way; The bridge that other folk can cross we too can cross, I say. While hypocrites in hell shall gnaw the fruitage of Zaqqiim, 5 In Heaven with the leal and true we'll drink of Kevser-spray. * 1 See p. 23 and n. 2 supra. 2 This last line, which in the original is in Arabic, is a quotation from the Koran, where it occurs twice: 11, 197, and iii, 14. 3 Zamir-dan. * For the awful Bridge Sirat, over which it is said all must pass after the Last Judgment, see vol. i, p. 174, n. 3. 5 Zaqqiim is the name of a tree in hell, the bitter fruit of which will form the food of the dwellers in the infernal regions. 370 Among the host of minor poets who were contemporary with Seh'm we may mention Liqa^', a bookseller of Con- stantinople; Khaveri, the cadi of Monastir and brother-in- law of Ahi the unlucky author of 'Beauty and Heart;' Bali, a timariot or feudal Knight of Rumelia; and Shehdi, a confectioner of Antioch. Even the acrobats composed verses in those days; Sehi mentions among the poets two members of the profession, Zinjiri and Suwari. The former of these took his pen-name, which means 'He of the Chain,' from the circumstance that he was the first to use a chain in place of a tight-rope. ^ The latter, who was a native of Adrianople, had a leaning towards Sufi'ism, and eventually became sheykh of a dervish-convent ; in the following couplets he makes allusion to his own profession : — Heart and soul are throwing somersaults within thy tresses' hoops; Facing one the other play they, as two acrobats they were. 2 and On thine eyelashes the heart hath flung itself heels over head; Look ye, how an acrobat 'tis who himself on daggers throws. ' 'All the Silk-mercer of Adrianople, whose pen-name was Sagheri, was a noted satirist and writer of facetious verse. Even to old age (he lived to be about a hundred) he was a great lover of wine and beauties ; he was moreover a 1 Rope-dancers in the East sometimes perform their feets upon a chain instead of on a tight-rope. 3/1 skilful player of chess and backgammon, and an accomplished musician. It is said that before his death he made ready his grave, planting at the head a cypress, in the middle an almond-tree, and at the foot a peach-tree; and that he com- posed this epitaph which he caused to be carved upon the marble stone : — Because of this 'tis that o'er my grave These trees I have in this order cast, That he who seeth may know my case, Without question asked, while my life did last: Ere I had my fill of the peaches * sweet Of a cypress almond-eyed, 2 I past. ' All those writers were lyrists, composers of ghazels or little poems of a similar kind, and it is doubtful whether any of them ever attemped a work of serious length, certainly not one among them attained any reputation. It was other- wise with Nizami of Qonya, a young poet who, but for his early death, would almost certainly have won a distinguished position in Ottoman literary history. Even as it is, the ghazels he was able to compose ere his short life closed at the early age of eighteen are such that Latifi can say that they are superior not only to those of any of his predecessors, but to the works of his famous contemporary Ahmed Pasha; and the other biographers are scarcely less appreciative. Mahmiid Pasha, the Conqueror's poet Grand Vezir, praised the young writer to his master so enthusiastically that Mehemmed sent an invitation to Qonya requesting Nizami • 'Peach' (sheftalu) is a common term for a lover's kiss. 2 The almond is one of the types of a beautiful eye. *|AxaJ -AUJ Vy>^} O^^^ -^"^ *-Ls> \J.xJ ^^,u\.^^^A3 0>^ ^' 372 to repair to his court at Constantinople. The poet therefore bade farewell to his father Veli-ud-Di'n, who was a famous preacher in his own country, and set forth on his journey. But he never reached the Imperial city; death overtook him while yet upon the road. "^Ashiq relates the common report concerning his death. It is to the effect that this was brought about by the curse of a sheykh whose son the poet had satirized after having been his intimate friend. These two ghazels are examples of Nizami's work. Ghazel. [158) 'Tis the tide of the rose, let us call for the wine that is rosy-hued to-day; Let us joy in the tuneful voice of the harp, let us join to be blithe and gay. Let us drink of the clear and limpid liowl, let us give to the soul delight; Let us rust the mirror of sense and wit with many a frolic play. ' Ho minstrel fair! take the flute in hand, let us joy in the dulcimer; Let us make his face a tabret, his form a harp, who would say us nay. Should the bale of sugar liken itself to that dulcet mouth o' thine. Let us straiten the ample face of earth to the sugar's bale, I say. Should Nizdmi prate of wisdom's power at the banquet of thy love, With a single bumper come let us his reason counterweigh. Ghazel. [159] Yea, thy down is yonder turkis 3 o'er the ruby bright that shows; And thy lips are yonder rubies round the lustrous pearls that close. * 1 We have often observed the poets speaking of the mirror-heart being soiled with the rust of ignorance or sorrow, allusion of course being to the metal mirrors formerly in use. 2 i. e. let us make him who is jealous of us buffet his face like a tam- bourine and bow his form like a harp through his vexation at our gaiety. The last allusion is to the shape of the old Eastern harp, which is without fore-pjllar, the framework consisting of a single side curvilinear in form. 3 Referring to the bluish tint sometimes produced by the down on the face of dark-haired people. The 'ruby bright' is the lip. * Tlie '■lustrous pearls' are the teeth. 373 O my heart, turn dust, ' if so thou'dsl seek to share her beauty's beams; Ever downward on the dust of earth the sun its radiance throws. O my love, thy figure's fantasy within my weeping eyes Is a sapling green and tender by the flowing stream that grows. Lo, my form is turned to yonder 'f that forms the end of grief, - While mine eye is e'en as yonder 4' set o'er infliction's woes. 'Tis no marvel that thine eye should fix its stead above thy cheek, For the home of Mars is over where the Sun in splendour glows. ' They who see thy locks and eyebrows cry a thousand times 'Bravo!' For yon ambergris pavilion and yon musky cords in rows. * O Nizamf, be not blithe of union, nor of absence sad, Seeing how the lot of all things naught but change and shiflings knows. Although the mystics ^ have no longer, as in the Archaic Period, occupied the most prominent position, thy have none the less made a good show in the second rank. Sheykh Ilahi of Simav near Kutahiya, while still quite young, left ' i. e. become humble; or, if the verse be taken mystically: die (to the world) that thou may'st have part with God. 2 My form is bent like the letter 0 at the end of the word l>jO 'grief.' In order to preserve a trace of the characteristic conceit I have replaced the ^ by the letter f, which has something of the outline of a figure with bowed head. There is a similar fancy in the following Iine,_ where the eye is said to resemble the £ at the begining of the word (_jtcXc 'torment,' while the name of the letter c is 'ayn, which word also means 'eye.' 3 The Sphere of Mars is immediately outside or above that of the Sun : see vol. I, p. 43. The beloved's eye, which slays her lovers, is here compared to Mars, which is generally personified as a fierce warrior, and her bright cheek to the Sun. The stead of her eye is above her cheek as the home of Mars is over that of the Sun. * The beauty's arched eyebrows are here conceived as an ambergris (i. e. dark-hued sweet-scented) pavilion, and her locks, which dangle around these, as the musky (i. e. dark-hued sweet-scented) cords or ropes hanging about this. 5 [The remainder of this chapter is taken from three loose leaves found amongst the author's papers. I am not sure whether he intended to publish it, but as it seems naturally to fall into its place here, I have thought best to include it. ed.] 374 his occupation in Constantinople and made his way into Persia. He wandered through that country till he reached Khurasan, where he became a disciple of Our Lord Tusi. After a time he went to Bukhara, where he visited the tomb of the famous saint Khoja Beha-ud-Din the Naqshbend, founder of the Naqshbend! order of dervishes. Ilahl, having spoken much with many illustrious sheykhs of that order, finally entered it, and returned to Turkey, bringing with him Sheykh Bukhari, whom he soon appointed his successor as abbot of the Naqshbendis in Constantinople. He then retired into Rumelia, and in 896 (1490) died at Vardar Yenijesi, where his tomb became a famous place of pilgrimage. Sheykh Bukhari, ' who had accompanied Ilahi from Bukhara his native town, and had been placed at the head of the Naqshbendis in Rum, did much to further the reputation of his order, which soon became the favourite with such members of the '^ulema and literary men generally who elected to retire from active life and give themselves up to holy contemplation. He died at Constantinople in 922 (15 16-7). Another famous mystic of this time was Sheykh Ibrahim Gulsheni, ^ of the Khalvetl order. It is not as poets that these saintly personages call for our attention here; for although Gulsheni composed among other works a Response of 40,000 couplets (which he called the Ma'^navi or The Esoteric) to the MesnevI of Our Lord Jelal-ud-Dln, it was all in Persian ; whilst neither Ilahl or Bukhari wrote much ' Sometimes called Emir Bukhari. 2 A native of Azerbayjan, Gulsheni taught first of all in the city of Tabriz, but when Shah Isma^il the SafevI proclaimed the Shfa creed the established religion of Persia, he left his native country and settled in Cairo. On the occupation of that city by the Turks, Sultan SelTm treated the holy man with the greatest consideration. He became very famous as a teacher and attracted many aisciples from various parts of the Muhammedan world. In 935 (1528-9) he visited Constantinople on the invitation of Sultan Suleyman, who received him with every mark of veneration and esteem. He died in Cairo in 940 (1533-4). 375 poetry of any kind ; it is as the teachers and spiritual guides of the Turkish Sufi writers of this time tliat they hiy claim to our consideration. They are to the early part of the Classic Period what Sheykh Hajjl Beyram was to the latter years of the Archaic. Suzl of Prisrend and ^Attar (whose native place is not mentioned) were affiliated to the Naqshbendi order, as was Khizri of Brusa, who had previously belonged to the corps of the *^ulema and had held the position of principal (mudcrris) at the college of the Hot Baths in the ancient capital. Keshf I, who wrote a Mevlud or Birth-Song, and Za^fl, who was in the service of Sheykh GulshenI, were both Khalvetls. Huzuri of Gallipoli and GulshanI (not to be confounded with the Sheykh Ibrahim of the same makhlas) were Sufis, though we are not told whether they were connected with any dervish order. We are far from having exhausted the list of minor poets who flourished during the first ninety years of the Classic age, but enough has been said to justify so far the state- ments made at the beginning of this Chapter concerning the remarkable and widely spread literary activity which characterises the Period under review. CHAPTER XV. Minor Poets: Mesnevi writers. Although the golden age of the romantic mesnevi does not begin till the time of Sultan Suleyman, with whose reign it pretty fairly coincides, a certain number of poems of this class were produced during the seventy years we have been considering. None of these, however, met with any marked success except Hamdi's Joseph and Zelikha and, in a less degree, Kemal-Pasha-zade's poem on the same subject. In the second rank we have noticed Ahi's unfinished Khusrev and Shiri'n, and Hamdi's Leyla and Mejnun and 'Gift to Lovers;' while the works of the less important poets, Bihishti, ' Sha- ' See p. 148, n. 2 and p. 172, n. 3. The names of the poems forming Bihishti's Khamsa are (i) Wamiq and "^Azra, (2) Joseph and Zelikha, (3) Husn u Nigar or 'Beauty and Belle', (4) Suheyl u Nev-Bahar or 'Canopus and Vere (i. e. Spring),' and (5) Leyla and Mejnun. The Wamiq and '^Azra is probably a translation of the Persian '^Unsuri's, or possibly Fasihi's, poem on the same story. A Turkish work with the title Suheyl u Nev-Bahar had been written long before by a very early poet (see vol. i, pp. 226 — 7). As we have seen, Bihishti, who is said to have died between 970 and 980 (1562 — 72), claims for his 'Quintet' that it is the first written in the Turkish language. According to I-atifi he says at the end of his work : — A Response to the Quintet, lo, I've made; None yet hath the like in this language said. (The 'Quintet' or Khamsa to which the poet here refers is doubtless that of Nizami of Genje, see vol. i, p. 144, n. 3. For the term 'Response' in this connection, see vol. i, p. 100.) 377 hidi, ' Khayali, ^ Sevda^', '' and Chakcri^ have been nieiiti'Mied. Latifi tells us, and his statement is repeated by Hasan, that the first Turkish version of Nizami's Heft Peyker, or 'Seven Effigies,' was made by a poet whom he calls "^Ulvi of Brusa and who flourished during the reigns of Murad II and Mehemmed II. I am inclined to think that the biographer is here mistaken in the name of the poet, and that for ^Ulvi we should read "^Ishqi. My reason for so thinking is that there is in my collection a manuscript of a versified rendering of the romance in question — the first according to the trans- lator ever made into Turkish — by a poet who repeatedly calls himself '^Ishqi, and who completed his work in 86 1 (1456 — 7), that is, while the throne was occupied by Me- hemmed II. At the beginning of his poem this '^Ishqi tells how the Sultan, at whose command he undertook the work, bade him 'do away the pucelage of the Seven Effigies,' that is to say, translate it for the first time. The biographers mention a poet of the name of "^Ishqi as having been in high favour with the Conqueror, though they say nothing as to his having translated the Heft Peyker. They speak disparagingly of his literary work, as they naturally would if this poem is to be taken as a specimen ; for the style here is altogether artless and unpretentious, recalling in this respect that of Ahmedi's Iskender-Name. But simplicity makes Bihishti wrote in prose a history of the Ottoman Sultans, a MS. of whicli is in the British Museum, Add. 7869. 1 p. 73, n. I. 2 p. 172, n. 3. 3 p. 172, n. 3. * p. 148, n. 2 and p. 172, n. 3. There is an amusing story told of this Chakeri. While he was still a young man his beard had turned quite white after some illness, a circumstance which he endeavoured to disguise by dyeing it black. One day Sultan Bayezid, who had discovered the truth, said to him, 'Why turnest thou light to darkness and blackenest thus the face of thy beard as it had wrought some crime?' 'My Padishah,' replied Chakeri, 'I blacken the face of my beard for that it is a liar, in that it would declare me to be an elder who am still a youth.' The repartee, we are assured, was duly rewarded by the appreciative monarch. 378 for clearness; and from our point of view what is here lost in 'precioLisness' is fully indemnified by the gain in perspicuity. A sketch of this romance which deals with the adventures of the ancient Persian King Behram-i Gur and his seven lady-loves, will be more in place when we come to speak of the works of Lami'^i, who treated the same theme in one of his poems. Of the mesnevis other than romances produced during this time the two most important, the Heves-Name of Ja^fer and the "^Ishret-Name of Rewani, have been described. Among the more remarkable of those in the second rank we have here the Maqalat or 'Discourses' of Gulsheni, the Furqat- Name or 'Book of Severance' of Khalili, and the Deh Murgh or 'Ten Birds' of Shemsi. Gulsheni was a contemporary of Mehemmed the Conqueror, to whom his book is dedicated. He was a man of pious life, probably a recluse, possibly a dervish. His work, * which was finished in 864 (1459 — ^o), consists, as its name suggests, of a series of Discourses (Maqale) on various ethical points, each of which is enforced by one or more apposite anecdotes or illustrations after the favourite Eastern fashion, the best known example of which is perhaps the Bustan or 'Orchard' of the Persian poet Sa'^di. The following passage is one of Gulsheni's illustrations to his Discourse on the virtues of Humility. It describes the generation of the pearl according to the medieval idea, ^ and is practically an elaboration of the First Story of the Bustan where Sa'^di uses the same parable to inculcate the same lesson. • There is a MS. in my collection. 2 See p. 121, n. 2. 379 From the Maqalat, [i6o] Once in April days a chop from forth a cloud Downward falling saw the sea without a shroud. ' On the length and breadth thereof it gazed astound, Saw there was thereto nor shore nor bourne nor bound. Looked then on itself, how poor and homeless, e'en In its origin a drop of water mean. When its soul thus made with humbleness accord. Issued His command the universe's Lord 5 From the ocean's depths an oyster straight arose, Oped its mouth for yonder homeless drop's repose; Fell the drop therein, the oyster closed its mouth, Sank again to ocean's depths, O happy youth. 2 There the drop a precious union pearl became. From its lowliness it won to name and fame; Thus the droplet into regal pearl is grown. Ornament to deck the age's monarch's crown; Symbol of the teeth of her the loved one dear ; ' Lustre-giver e'en to the beloved's ear. * Through humility yon pearl attained hath All this state and honour, O thou pure of faith. ^ Yea humility's a crown God-given, fair. Which the hand of self-conceit may reach to ne'er. Meaner than that drop, O vain one, must thou be. If indeed these words have none effect on thee. How the world's the sea, thyself the droplet, know; Humble be thou, so the drop to pearl may grow. Till that he with pride and arrogance had done None hath ever to this rank and glory won. Khalili likewise was contemporary with the Conqueror. He came from the town of Bith's near Diyar-Bekr with the ' i. e. open, unveiled by mist or fog. 2 i. e. O reader. 3 The beloved's teeth being often compared to pearls. * When she wears it as an earring. 5 Here again the reader is addressed. 38o intention of prosecuting his studies in the Ottoman town of of Iznik (Nicsea). But there be fell in love with a fair youth ; and his passion so preyed upon him that he abandoned all his studies, and sought such consolation as could be found in composing his Furqat-Name or 'Book of Severance,' ' in which he tells his unhappy story. This book therefore resem- bles the Heves-Name in so far as it is a personal narrative describing an actual experience of the author's. Khalili's simple and pathetic verses bear sufficient witness to the depth and sincerity of his passion. That a man should con- ceive a love so intense, yet so unselfish and disinterested, for one of the same sex as himself may well appear strange to the modern reader; but the idea, and indeed the experience, were familiar enough in ancient and medieval times. And moreover the men who entertained such a love were often not only the most learned and highly cultured, but also the best and most noble-minded of their age. This is no longer the case, in Turkey at any rate ; but it was so in former times, and it is a fact which the student of Oriental literature and history will do well to impress upon his mind. ^ Khalili's book was finished in 866 (1461 — 2), the title Furqat-Name forming its chronogram. "' The poet, who breaks ' The Royal Library of Berlin possesses a MS. of this work, which the authorities with much kindness placed at my disposal. '^ See vol. I, p. 64, where it is indicated how this conception is a legacy from ancient Greece. Its long survival in the East must in great measure be attributed to the pernicious practice of the seclusion of women which prevails more or less in all Oriental communities, and which, when rigorously carried out, renders it impossible for a man ever to converse with, or even look upon, any woman outside the members of his own family circle. 3 Both here at the close of the poem and in the introduction the author speaks of his book as the Furqat-Name, which settles the question as to its proper title. Sehi, Lati'fi, and Von Hammer call it Firaq-Name (which also would *nean 'Book of Severance'), and ^Ashiq speaks of it as the Diwan of Khalili, which looks like another instance of the slovenly use of the term Diwan to indicate any book of poetry (see vol. i, p. 183). Hasan alone gives it its true name. Katib Chelebi does not mention it. 3«' the monotony of the mcsnevi verse by the introduction of a number of lyrics in various forms, begins his story by describing how he was absorbed in his studies and devotions, spending all his days and nights in the colleges and mosques, and how at the suggestion of a fellow-student they both left their country and set out for Rum meaning to prosecute their studies there. They reach Izniq, the charms of which so please them that they determine to make it their residence. At first all goes well; but one day, when strolling about the bazaar, the poet sees a beautiful youth seated in a shop, and all is over with him. In his distraction he chides his eye and his heart for having caused him to fall into such sad plight, and this leads to a long discussion between those two members, each of which seeks to excuse itself and throw the fault upon the other; in the end the eye gets the best of the argument, and the heart has to bear the blame. After a while a young friend who sees the poet's case and divines him to be suffering from love, offers to act as go-between. The offer is gladly accepted by the poet, who instructs the messenger as to what he is to say. The beloved receives the messenger well; but when he speaks his errand he is driven off by the youth, who tells him to bid the lover cease from his vain and foolish passion. At his friend's suggestion the poet next sends a letter to the object of his love, but this meets with no better success. In despair he then deter- mines to leave Izniq; so he takes ship and goes to Constan- tinople where he remains a whole year. At length he receives a letter from the beloved saying that he is now satisfied as to the sincerity of his love, and inviting him to return. This he joyfully does; and on arriving at Izniq he goes straight to the bazaar. There he sees the youth, who receives him kindly, but who soon afterwards disappears and does not return. This throws the poet back into his sorrow; and he 382 seeks to solace himself by addressing now his tears and now the wind, bidding them go act his advocate. At last he bethinks him to write a letter which he himself carries to the dwelling of the beloved. The latter, touched by his fidelity, says he will accept his service ; and with this, the fulfilment of the poet's hopes, the book finishes. The two following extracts will show that like most of those early mesnevis the Book of Severance is quite simple and unaffected in style. In the first passage Khalili describes his state of mind when he fell in love, and in the second his journey to Constantinople. From the Furqat-Name. [i6o] "When did my eye yon swaying cypress ' see My heart straightway passed from control of me; Before me like the sea it surged amain, And nightingale-like I began to plain. My business was to weep by night and day, To burn in separation's fire alway. My heart's wail was : O love, what may I do ? That culver-cry : O love, what may I do ? And all the world passed wholly from mine eye, And desperate of mine own self grew I. My learning and my culture fell from me; I sickened, parting's fires I did dree. The Sphere my fair estate to sadness turned. And showed as vain all I had gained and learned. Where was that learning, where that zealous stress ? Where all those litanies, that righteousness? Where were those joys and ecstasies of old? And where those bosom-comrades pious-souled? Where all those seaixhings of the Siifi way ? Where those uncovered heads, those forms a-sway ? ^ \ ' i. e. the beloved. 2 Alluding to a practice of certain dervishes who when in ecstatic trance sometimes throw off their caps or turbans and swing their bodies to and fro. 383 Alas! alas! and yet again, alas! Thy each and all fell from me and did pass. From the Furqat-Name. [i6ij With heart a-fire upon my way went I, The pearls a-raining from each weeping eye. A twain of days the roadway's stress I bore: By grace of God the journey was no more. What time I reached the margin of the seas There came a ship like to the morning breeze. Resigning then myself to Fate's decree, I called on God, and entered on the sea. Whene'er the mariners the sail had drest. The ship sped onward without pause or rest. For two days did we sail upon the sea, Constantinople on the third made we. I gazed upon that city, and I cried, 'To Rum the Chinese capital hath hied!' ' Of pleasances and gardens it is full, Its shores bestow delight upon the soul; And then those structures they have builded there, Their beauty heart and soul away doth bear. The roofs that crown the walls, they all are gilt; And all the city is of marble built. Where'er I turned me Chinese art I saw, But such as no Chinese adept could draw. Although 'twas flowery garth, to my despair 'T was stove-room, 2 for the loved one was not there. Shemsi was one of those Hterary adventurers who came to seek their fortune in the Ottoman capital. According to Lati'fi, he hailed from Sivri-Hisar in Anatolia, but both ""Ashiq and Hasan bring him from Persia. Though a man of uncon- ventional ways and dervish-like propensities, his learning, 1 'Chinese' in this couplet and in that a little farther on means sinijily 'artistically beautiful.' See p. 313, n. 5. 2 For this allusion see p. 75, n. i*. 384 combined with his ready wit and his fund of pleasant stories, soon gained him friends among those who cared for cultivated society; and he was enabled to bring his book called Dch Murgh or 'The Ten Birds' under the notice of Sultan Selim. This monarch, to whom the work is dedicated, was, we are told, greatly pleased with it, and conferred many favours upon the author. The date of Shemsi's death is not recorded, but Latifi says that it occurred towards the close of Selim's reign. There is practically no narrative in Shemsi' poem, which is purely ethical. ' We are introduced to a beautiful garden, the home of the Ten Birds. These, who are fast friends, form a little community by themselves. They are an Owl, a Crow, a Parrot, a Vulture, a Nightingale, a Hoopoe, a Swallow, a Peacock, a Partridge, and a Stork; and each of them is represented as pursuing among his fellows that human occu- pation or profession which is in some way suggested by his habits or appearance. Thus the Owl is the eremite or an- chorite because he loves to dwell among ruins, the Parrot is the molla because he is clad in green the sacred colour, and so on. The book consists of a debate among those ten birds, each one in turn delivering a speech, and each speaking in his own character, the Owl as an anchorite, the Parrot as a molla, and so with the others. The speeches, which are wholly ethical or didactic, consist as a rule of two parts, in the first of which the speaker criticizes what the last orator has said, while in the second he praises himself and his own speciality. When the Stork, who represents a holy man, and who speaks last, has said his say, all the others applaud his pious words, and at their request he offers a prayer for the prosperity of Sultan Seh'm, which closes the book. The style of The Ten Birds is extremely simple and fre- ' There are two MSS. of the Deh Murgh In my collection. 385 qucntly prosaic, the vocabulary is very homely, and the rhymes are often imperfect, characteristics which draw from "^Ashiq some sarcastic remarks concerning crows that by learning to speak trespass on the province of the parrot, and about a manner of writing which approaches the language of birds. ' The following passage describes the garden and the ten friends. From the Deh Miirgh. [162] Long ago these was a pleasance passing bright, Heart-expanding, gladsome, very fair of site. Lofty was the cypress, red the tulip there; 'T was an ancient garden, yet full fresh and fair. 'T was a wonder-mead, and fraught with lovesome shows, Home of jacinth, lily, peony, and rose. Reached the giant fig 2 the hand to this parterre, All the fruits whereof were fragi^ant, sweet, and fair. Ne'er might apple, pear, or quince, or pomegranate With the peaches growing therewithin compete. Now, a town of birds was e'en this wondrous mead, Type 'twas of the world, or 'twas the world indeed. Many were the birds therein, but ten thereof Dwelt in company, from all the rest aloof. Therewithin 'twas that those birds had made their wone, But what manner birds? A friend unique each one! Some of them in student, some in dervish guise, Showed, yet all were but one bird to their surmise. Of this fellowship of birds was one an Owl, He was e'en the eremite amongst the fowl. ' One was eke a Crow, a fellow blithe and gay, 1 The term qush dili, 'bird's language,' is applied sometimes to the imitative language of little children, sometimes to the jargon used by thieves and roughs. 2 In the original lop iujiri, which is the name of a variety of delicate large green fig. 3 The owl is an eremite or anchorite because he loves to dwell amid ruins and desolate places. 25 386 Story-teller, poet, bright a mate alway. ' One a Parrot was, like to a moUa he. 2 One a Vulture, qalender of fashions free. ^ One a Nightingale who said 'The minstrel I.' * One a Hoopoe was who said 'The sage am I.' * One a Swallow learned in astrology. ^ One a Peacock, like a Ritmi merchant he. '' One a Partridge was, the Ferhad of them there. ^ One a Stork, who led the other birds in prayer. ** Those the Ten Birds were, e'en as we now have said. Who within this garden their abode had made. Amongst the manuscripts in my collection is a volume containing a mesnevi poem of this time by a writer who appears to have been entirely overlooked, or it may be intentionally ignored, by all the authorities. In a Persian prose preface prefixed to his work, which is called Bahr-ul- Ghara^ib or 'The Sea of Wonders,' ^'^ this writer tells us that 1 The crow being a sociable and noisy bird. 2 The moUas are often ignorant and illiterate, and repeat by rote bits of the Koran without knowing the meaning of the Arabic words. 3 The vulture, which devours unclean carrion, is like the antinomian qalender (see vol. I, p. 357, n. i) who is heedless as to whether the food he eats be canonically lawful. * In the preface to the Gulistan the nightingale is called a 'minstrel' (giiyende). 5 Because of a passage in the 27th chapter of the Koran the hoopoe is generally associated with Solomon. It was the duty of this bird to discover water under ground when that monarch and his army were crossing the deserts. Hence the Hoopoe came to be regarded as a sort of dowser or rhabdomancer, and therefore a sage or philosopher in the golden days of occult science. " The swallow flies about in the evening as though he were studying the stars. '' The peacock spreads out his glittering plumage like a merchant exhibiting his brilliant silks and brocades. 8 The partridge digs in the ground, as Ferhad used to dig through the mountains. 9 When the stork walks he makes a bending movement something like that of a man when bowing at prayer. This bird is popularly called Hajji Leylek, 'Pilgrim Stork', from an old notion that when he migrated he went to Mecca. His advent used to be welcomed as bringing good luck and a heralding the Si:ving. 10 This title is identical with that of Hali'mi's Persian-Turkish dictionary, but the two works are altogether distinct. 387 his name is ""Ali, his by-name Dede Bey, and his patronymic Bin-Ilyas, and that he belongs to the district of Tash-kopri in the province of Qastamuni. He then continues — and the story is repeated in some Turkish verses that immediately follow the preface — to relate how he came to write this book. One night early in the Muharrem of the year 890 (Jany, 1485) ' he was lying worn out in his cell when there appeared before him in his vision a being 'from the Night of God,' who addressed him saying: 'O dervish, be not heedless; for life is fleeting, neither is there aught of perma- nence in the world. Arise and make thou a treatise con- cerning the knowledge of truth such that the sagacious among the faithful may profit therefrom.' When '^Ali heard these words he prayed to be told who was addressing him. But the stranger remained silent; and ^Ali wept bitterly when he saw that no answer was vouchsafed to his enquiry. After a long while he again put the same question ; and this time the stranger replied saying: 'I am of the wisdom of thine own heart, and my name is Wisdom (Hikmet) ; by command of God Most High am I made manifest to thee, and I am come that I may be thy familiar.' Then the two spoke much together; till at length '^Ali awoke, and his visitor disappeared from sight. None the less, after this vision. Wisdom was ever with the poet ; and the result is this book which he has left us. Alike in its matter and in the way in which this is presented '^Ali's 'Sea of Wonders' is a typically medieval work. It con- sists practically of a long dialogue between the author and Wisdom, the former asking a series of questions concerning the mysteries of creation, the Divine nature, the nature of man, and other recondite matters, to which his celestial ' Muharrem is the name of the first month of the lunar year. In the Turkish verse this date is given as the 6th of Muharrem, 899 (7th Oct., 1493). 388 instructor returns suitable and often very lengthy answers. In a few lines at the end of the poem ^Ali says that he finished his work on the evening of the 22"^ Ramazan, 905 (21st March, 1500); and returns thanks to God for having allowed him to live to complete his task. When reading this Sea of Wonders we might fancy our- selves back in the days of '^Ashiq Pasha. The book is an anachronism at the close of the fifteenth century. From his subject, his style, and his language ^A\i might have been the personal disciple of the author of the Gharfb-Name. Not only are his spirit and method those of a hundred and fifty years ago, but in his uncouth diction, his faulty rhymes, his uncertain and hesitating prosody he faithfully reproduces the characteristics of the earliest Turkish poets. So far as he is concerned, there might have been no Sheykhi, no Ahmed Pasha; and indeed the probability is that he never read those poets, but centred all his attention on the old mystics with whom he had doubtless far more in common. In one place he acknowledges his illiteracy and apologizes for the same, which shows that he was to some extent at any rate conscious of the technical shortcomings of his work. But although artistry does not enter into ^Ali's scheme of things, he is evidently very much in earnest over what he has to say, and his subjects are interesting, provided that one cares for scholastic metaphysics, and he discusses them simply and unaf- fectedly, albeit with little gracefulness and much verbosity. The book moreover is of interest, in that it shows that the old school of mystic poets had still its obscure representatives — for it is unlikely that '^Ali was the only fifteenth century poet of his class — ; and further, how men living in remote country places away from the centres of literary and intellec- tual life sometimes continued to employ in writing the old- fashioned words and phrases they doubtless used in daily speech. 389 This passage from the Sea of Wonders contains the author's question regarding the distinction between 'reason' and 'self,' ' and the opening hnes of Wisdom's long reply. From the Bahr-ul-Ghara'ib. [162] The Dervish asketh Wisdom concerning Reason and Self. Asked I Wisdom, saying: Wisdom, unto me Give tliou news of Reason as I ask of thee. What is Reason ? what is 't of the body ? say ! How's the case of Reason beside Self, I pray. What its origin, and where its dwelling-place? Is it that this Reason in the body stays? And do Self and Reason form together one? And likewise doth Self a place of dwelling own? Is the body subject unto Reason's rule? Elsewise is it Self that doth the frame control? What is Reason, what is Self, in simple sooth? Fain am I to know this thing in very truth. Thought, and feeling, and device designed and planned, How do all such qualities to Reason stand? Make thou clear the nature of these things to me. Solve these mysteries, 'tis this I ask of thee. Wisdom answereth the Dervish. One by one thy questions to me. Wisdom said; Give thou ear and stray not thou from me aside. Reason, Self, and body, everything that is, From the being of The Truth come all of these. None there is who stands exempted from His rule; He Himself it is who knows His works in full. All things are the being and the might of Him, — Reason, feeling, thought, and intellect, O eme. 2 By The Truth the frame compounded is and shown, 1 'Reason' ('aql) and 'self (nefs), represent respectively the intellectual and animal elements in human nature. See p. 296, n. 2. 2 O eme, i. e. O uncle (yd "amii); the dervish reader is really addressed here, after the fashion of the old mystic poets. 390 Foi" this purpose, that He might Himself make known. ' So He hath the city of the body reared, Called on body and on man that they appeared, Turned the body, 2 then with life He filled it full. Setting Reason over it as King to rule. So that Reason's virtue is The Truth for sure, Guardeth it 3 the frame, its safety to ensure. Guardian, yea, and sentinel, it watcheth there, Lest that scathe should smite the body unaware. Reason guards the body by The Truth's decree, Thus it sees whate'er of good or ill there be. That which holds the frame together call they Self; Evil impulse in the body springs from Self. Evil impulse born of Self for lustful see ; He who Self doth follow, devilish is he. Since that Reason's virtue 's from Divinity, He who follows Reason will celestial be. Evil promptings in the frame are Self, in whole : Reason is the King, and them as slaves should rule. We shall bring the present volume to a close with the name of a writer who, although he finds no mention in the pages of the Ottoman biographers nor yet in those of Von Hammer, appears none the less, to merit a place on the roll of the West-Turkish poets. This is Sherif, who alone, .so far as I know, * has translated the whole of the Shah-Name of Firdawsi into Turkish verse. As to who this Sherif was we know nothing; beyond the fact that he twice refers to himself in the prologue to his work as being as Seyyid or descendant of the Prophet, we are absolutely without infor- 1 Alluding to the hadis quoted in vol. i, pp. 16 — 7 et passim, in which God is represented as saying that He created the universe (of course including man) in order that He might become known. 2 i. ■^. fashioned it, as the Potter fashions the clay. 3 i. e. Reason. * The reported translation by Jelili of Brusa, if it ever existed, was appar- ently never given to the world. 39' mation as to his personality. It is probable that he was not an '^Osmanli; for his book is dedicated to no Ottoman patron, but to the unfortunate Sultan Qansuh el-Ghuri, the last Memluk sovereign of Egypt, whom Selim the Grim defeated and slew near Aleppo in 922 (15 16). As is well known, the Memluks of Egypt were originally Turkish and Circassian slaves, and their ranks were constantly being recruited by fresh importations; so it is probable that the Turkish language, in one or other of its dialects, would be more familiar at their court than either Arabic or Persian. At any rate, in the preface to his book, Sherif represents the Memluk Sultan as summoning him into his presence, pointing to a copy of the Shah-Name lying before him, and bidding the poet translate it into Turkish 'in order that we may understand it and hear what things have passed in the world.' To this Sherif replies in courtier fashion that the King can have no need of such a translation, seeing that he knows Persian better than a Persian. Sultan Qansuh then says that he wishes the translation to remain as a souvenir of himself to future ages; and the poet's objections as to his incapacity having been overruled, he consents to undertake the task. Sherif's work is the only Turkish book I have heard of that was written for a Memluk Sultan; and in the circum- stance of its having been composed for a monarch of that dynasty lies perhaps its greatest interest. It is probably to this same circumstance, combined with the fact that the work was written beyond the bounds of the Turkish Empire, that we must refer the silence of the Ottoman biographers in regard both to it and its author. The work itself, which was finished in 913 (1507— 8), and which consists of about 55,000 couplets (some 1,000 of which, forming the prologue and epilogue, are the author's own) is on the whole a not inadequate rendering of Firdawsi's immortal poem. The 392 verse, like that of the original, runs smoothly and easily ; and Sherif has reproduced the pure Persian style of Firdawsi in the best possible manner by making his vocabulary as Turkish, and his idiom as Turanian, as the requirements of the case would allow. He has, however, discarded the original metre as not being sufficiently pliant, and written his trans- lation in another which he found more amenable. ' The following short extract will serve as a specimen of the translator's manner; it is taken from the account of the reign of the ancient King Jemshid, and tells of the famous drinking and divining cup or bowl which he made, a cup which, as we have seen, the poets frequently mention, ^ taking it to typify the wine-cup which drives away care and sorrow, or the mystic lore which enables the initiated to perceive 'the secret;' while Jamshid himself is sometimes represented as the discoverer of wine, and the patron saint of revellers. From the Translation of the Shah-Name. [163] Mankind and genies both his voice obeyed, And bent the ear to every word he said. All, rich and poor, cast work and toil away. And gave themselves to pleasure night and day. Like lovers, were they of all joyance fain; And Fortune played the slave in that fair reign. The sound of harp and tabret reached the sphere, And Venus fell a-dancing for her cheer. A mickle while they bode on this estate. And on his throne the monarch drank and ate. ' There is in my collection a MS. of the first volume of this translation. This M^. is illustrated with many beautifully executed miniatures. The British Museum possesses a MS. of the complete work (Or. 1126): this copy once contained a number of miniatures, but these have all been cut out, 2 For instance, p. 71, n. i. 393 And passing skill in every lore was his, Right cunning he in every craft that is. A bowl they fashioned him with craft bedene, Wherein the issues of all things were seen ; The forms of all the spheres and stars that be With subtle cunning figured there had they; Whate'er is in the skies therein was shown, Making the Future's circumstances known. And often as he would that beaker drain, He ever found it filled with wine again. And this was of the virtues of that bowl, — Whoever drank therefrom knew nought of dole. 'Tis this they called Jem's Cup in after days; And with it passed Jem's hours in pleasant ways. APPENDIX A. The Hierarchy of the ^Ulema. Many amongst the Ottoman poets were members of the body collectively called the "^Ulema, a word which literally means 'the Learned.' The corps so designated embraces all the ofificers of the canon law of Islam, and was formerly of very great influence, its chiefs being among the most powerful and most venerated personages of the state. Without some knowledge of its constitution it is impossible to appreciate the biographies of a large number of the poets, and so I give here a slight sketch of what we may call the Hierarchy of the ^Ulema, at the same time warning the reader that the whole subject is very complicated, and that the following is merely an outline drawn to meet the requirements of the present work. The development of this Hierarchy was of course gradual. In the early years of the Ottoman power, when "^Osman and Orkhan were at the head of the state, the Cadi or Judge of the capital, if not exactly of higher rank than his brethren who held oiftce in the provincial towns, at any rate took a certain precedence over them. This precedence was definitely established by Murad I, who in 763 (1362) gave the Cadi of Brusa, then the capital, a limited jurisdiction over the other members of the '^Ulema, and conferred on him the title of Qazi-^Asker or 'Army-Judge,' it being one of his duties to 395 accompany tlie Sultan on his campaigns. Un the capture of Constantinople in 857 (1453), Mehemmed II separated the offices of Qazi-'^Asker and Cadi of the capital, adding that of Mufti ' of Constantinople to the holder of the latter, and con- ferring on him the title of Sheykh-ul-Islam or 'Sheykh of Islam.' ^ In 875 (1470) the same Sultan separated the offices of Cadi of Constantinople and Mufti of Constantinople, the holder of the latter retaining the title of Sheykh of Islam. The power of the Qazi-*^Asker, who remained head of the profession, soon grew so great as to excite the jealousy of the Grand Vezir; Mehemmed therefore in 885 (1480) created a second Qazi-'^Asker in order to lessen the too great influence of the office. The jurisdiction of the first Qazi-'^Asker was then limited to the members of the "^ulema in the European provinces, the second being placed in charge of those in Asia, whence they were called the Qazi'-'^Asker of Rumclia and the Qazi-'^Asker of Anatolia respectively. These two great officers, of whom the Rumelian took precedence over the Anatolian, remained the chiefs of the "^ulema all through the reigns of Bayezid II and Selim I, till the son and suc- cessor of the latter, Suleyman I, promoted the Mufti of Constantinople or Sheykh of Islam to be supreme head of the whole Hierarchy, a position which has remained with the holder of that office ever since. The early Sultans had nominated Muderrises or 'Principals' to the medreses or colleges they had founded; but the teaching department was, like the other functions of the ^ulcma, not regularly organised till Mehemmed II took up the systematic arrangement of the entire corps. As has been said elsewhere, ^ 1 A Mufti is an official counsel who gives a canonical opinion to any ap- plicant; there is a Mufti attached to every Cadi's court. 2 This official and the Khoja or Preceptor of the Sultan and Imperial Princes then ranked immediately after the Qazi-^Asker. 3 See p. 23 and n. 2 supra. 396 this Sultan built in the court (sahn) of the great mosque he erected in Constantinople, eight colleges, four on either side, which were collectively regarded as a single institution, and called (from the situation) the Sahn-i Seman, 'the Court of the Eight,' or more shortly, the Sahn, 'the Court.' ' This 'Court' was the educational and intellectual centre of the Empire, and here it was necessary that every student who aspired to enter the higher grades of the '^ulema must at least complete his studies. The young student or Talib, as he was called, generally began his labours in a medrese or college of the class known as Kharij or 'External,' whence he passed on to another somewhat more advanced medrese of the class known as Dakhil or 'Internal.' These Kharij and Dakhil medreses, which existed in almost every town of importance, were practically preparatory schools for the Sahn, and so were sometimes called Miisile-i Sahn or 'Avenues to the Sahn.' The studies of the Talibs in these preparatory schools were 'the ten sciences,' namely, (Arabic) Grammar (^Ilm-i Sarf), (Arabic) Syntax ("Ilm-i Nahv), Logic (^Ilm-i Mantiq), Scholastic Philosophy (''Ilm-i Kelam), Humanity ^ (""Ilm-i Edeb), Significations (^Ilm-i Ma'^ani), Exposition (^Ilm-i Beyan), Eu- phuism (^Ilm-i Bedi'^), ^ Geometry C^Ilm-i Hendese), and Astro- nomy C^Ilm-i Hey^et). So far there was no question of law or jurisprudence, the sciences just enumerated being considered ' Behind each of those eight colleges was (and indeed still is) a building called a Tetimme or 'Complement,' where necessitous students might reside free of charge. Each Tetimme contained eight cells, and each cell accomo- dated three students, so that free residence was provided for 192 students. Each of those students had, moreover, besides his board, a monthly allowance of twelve aspers. 2 i. V. Arabic classical literature. 3 Ma^dni, Beyan and Bedf^ are the three branches of Rhetoric (^llm-i Belaghat) : see vol. I, p. III. In the above curriculum their application is of course to the Ai'abic language. 397 as the basis on which a legal education must be reared. The Talib who passed his examination in these subjects was called a Danishmend, and he was now eligible, if his ambition soared no higher, to become a teacher in a lower grade school, an imam or mosque-precentor, or some such com- paratively humble functionary. If, however, he looked for better things, he had to repair to the Sahn, study law and take his degree. When here, the senior Danishmends often acted as Mu'^ids, or repetiteurs, to the Muderris or Principal, and helped their juniors with their studies. After a certain time spent in study in the Sahn, the Danishmend had to pass an examination and take the first university degree, that of Mulazim (what we should call 'Bachelor', though the word means rather 'Attendant' or 'Assistant') when his name was duly inscribed in the ofiicial register called Ruznamche-i Humayiin. In this w^ay all details were known concerning every person who received the degree of Mulazim. The studies of the Mulazim at the Sahn embraced the higher branches of Rhetoric and Scholastic Philosophy, but were chiefly directed towards the four great divisions of the Science of the Law, namely. Dogmatics (''Ilm-i '^Aqa^id), Jurisprudence (^Ilm-i Fiqh), Tradition (^Ilm-i Ahadfs) and Exegesis C^Ilm-i Te^vil). The Mulazim spent several years studying these subjects, after which he underwent another examination. If he succeeded in passing this, he had the option of entering the ranks of the Cadis and Na^ibs, that is, judges and judge-substitutes (or deputy-judges) of the less important towns, ' or of con- tinuing his studies with the view of taking the second degree, that of Muderris. If he chose the first alternative, he gave up his chance of further promotion ; for the Cadi of this ' The salary of those officials was 25 aspers a day. 398 class remained a Cadi of this class to the end of his days, access to the high grades of the profession being only through the Muderrisate. ' The word Muderris, which is practically equivalent to the term 'Principal' as applied to the head of a college or uni- versity, literally means a Lecturer at a medrese (i. e. a place where lectures are given, practically, a college), and had been used with this signification all along. It was now taken up and adopted as the name of the second university degree' and in this sense it corresponds to our title 'Doctor of Laws., Although a new value was thus given to the name, the Muderris did not cease to be a teacher, the most important part of his duties still being to lecture to the students at his medrese. Each graduate received along with the title a diploma, called ruMs, appointing him Muderris of such-and- such a medrese. The salary of a Muderris varied considerably according to circumstances. The degree of Muderris was subdivided into several classes. According to Mehemmed's arrangement there were four of these, namely, (i) Kharij (External); (2) Dakhil (Internal) ; (3) Sahn (Court) ; (4) Altmishlu (Sixtier). According to Jevdet Pasha, the first two received their names from the fact that the Muderrises of these classes presided respectively over medreses of the Kharij and Dakhil orders. The 'Court' Muderrises were so called because they taught in Mehemmed's own college, the 'Court of the Eight.' The 'Sixtiers' owed their name to the amount of their salary. The next step took the Muderris who had reached the last-mentioned class into the highest order of the ^ulema, which included, in as many grades, the Cadis or Judges of the great provincial cities, the Cadis or Judges (active and emeritus) of Constantinople, the Qazi-^'Askers (active and ' See p. 350, n. 4 supra. 399 emeritus) of Anatolia, and the Qazi-^Askers (active and emeritus) of Rumelia, ' the actual Qazi-'^Asker of Rumclia being the head of the profession. - Things remained thus till the time of Sultan Suleyman I, who in 964 (1556) completed the great Suleymaniye mosque, in front of which he built a new mcdrese, called the Dar- ul-Hadis or 'College of Traditions', together with four other me,dreses to serve as preparatory schools for this, known collectively as Musile-i Suleymaniye or the 'Avenue to the Suleymaniye.' On this the degree of Muderris was yet further subdivided into twelve classes as follows, beginning with the lowest: (i) Ibtida-i Kharij, (2) Hareket-i Kharij, (3) Ibtida-i Dakhil, (4) Hareket-i Dakhil, (5) Musile-i Sahn, (6) Sahn-i Seman, (7) Ibtida-i Altmishlu, (8) Hareket-i Altmishlu, (9) Musile-i Suleymaniye, (10) Khawamis-i Suleymaniye, (ii) Suleymaniye, (12) Dar-ul-Hadis. Through all these twelve classes the graduate had to work his way. There was one Muderris of the twelfth class, that of Dar-ul-Hadis ; he presided over the medrese of that name, and ranked senior to all the other Muderrises. There were four Muderrises of the eleventh class (Suleymaniye) ; they were connected with the four medreses preparatory to the Dar-ul-Hadis. The tenth class (Khawamis-i Suleymaniye), which was reckoned intermediate between the eleventh (Suley- maniye) and the ninth (Miisile-i Suleymaniye), consisted of five members. The members of the ninth and senior classes 1 The Qazi-'Asker of Rumelia had the nomination of Muderrises to the medreses in Rumelia, and the Qdzi-'^Asker of Anatolia to those in Anatolia, subject, however, to the approval of the Sultan. 2 Associated with this order, but outside the regular line of promotion, were the following great functionaries; the Naqib-ul-Eshra for Dean of the Sherifs or Dacendats of the Prophet, and these members of the Imperial household, the Khoja or Preceptor of the Sultan and Imperial Princes, the Hekfm Bashi or Chief Physician, the Munejjim Bashi or Chief Astrologer, and the two Chaplains of the Sultan. 400 bore collectively the title of Kibar-i Muderrisin or 'Grand Principals.' The sixth class (Sahn-i Seman) had eight members. The number of those in the junior classes was indefinite and much more considerable, as there were many preparatory medreses, each under a junior Muderris, scattered all over the Empire. But the most important change introduced by Suleyman was his advancement of the Mufti of Constantinople (or Sheykh of Islam, as he was generally styled) over the Qazi- '^Askers to the position of supreme head of the entire body of the ^ulema. Such was in outline the organization of the \ilema during the time when that body stood at the zenith of its power and reputation, i. e. during the century and a half between 1450 and 1600, — the Second Period of our History. With the dawn of the Third Period comes a change ; abuses begin to creep into every department of Ottoman administration, and there result from these many modifications in the organi- zation of the corps, which will be described in a later volume. APPENDIX B. First lines of the Turkish Text of the Poems translated in Volume II. ;;**"^^ yo, ^ ^^^ sy ^^t^^o ^^3' ^Li" [v;] (jiJi' ;s''-^ 5.>*^i» sAXIs j^Lb '-r';5^ ,i>.-i^j' [va] ' vjLfij i!i!^i; *>Js^3^r! *^^^ lF^'^V t'^^] 26 402 (__5^>.j' qLX/i i3^\^ £ii^A*S' *J ^s *L> i3»,l [aa] ^i>.jU^^^5 o *.> (^* ii.L^ ^JiJi *> *ls» [i.] ^_JUj! iaJU:> (^lXaAJlJS hS q^ _j [if] JA*j! ^.Jli sJ^A^Jif ^Oj ^.Jj^i**!^ [11] ..Aclj Q^-'' -r^J *><»-i.j' im'-^ i*-:^ T^'i'*^ ['**] eulo 8AAi>J (^1 ^.5 (3i-*.> 1^5' [U<] Oi^ «jU r^.^ i.'7-)^'i?'^ o>"*>'^'^^ l^' ['♦''J .(c^ ^j*^/olJ &^iii>o siAxj^j oL-w-c ti>..w.jJixi!c [l.o] l/^.lj j^-ij' j»0 ^J fUi^J «jL^saJ *.xLJ [I. a] .a;oJ(A^ QiAfl> Lxw Lj: o.yo o L^^ [t.l] 403 y.jJdjt ^]^i «J.^c y ^^ [III] ^^0^S ^IXi! ^_^x oJ.a^ Q^;^ [!IP] O^li- *>^*^ ji nJy^'.A (^Oja/ [lit**] ,^L< (jo'y: ».j>jL«jl .(J [1!^] ^_jU^ •! Q^i> J.A-0 ^.4.=>i Qji [I 'a] 8iAAi> \a« fcjjl jl^**J blXaJj [Hi] ^y^i j.^L> ^^^^y ^^i'^i. ^ j> [ir.] (jiU fc.UlJs -oUo .lii 3^*.*-Ci.:^ ..lAJjiLw [Iff] jLjCxI^ sUoL «OwX^ |.L<;p iJo^ [irf] 404 ^LLi v^-^ ,l\J^I3 ».i.L-w .: LjoLav ['i*^-^] ^'5 ^;^-^ ^'^^^ L^^y r^ j^>-^ [*i^«] j^^AxXaPU v5^j' wA^i' ^_^^U5' [tfy] J^Jlj ,..^/a^]Ia5 lXc. .Jll3j.ij ,.^^*v:^s> i^j-Jbi-L/^ [iff*'] -.tjj^i s.iiAJo aI^ i,«*.s>LAa/i xaw-jjI Uj'o [to.] ,..L>\j t;y^*/.i •,' Lnaw i3'3i 5?'**' <^A,/ii,\5 ['"^^1 \i^.^.[j £«.L :Loi(>flxS?- i!;^Li ii^Av.*^ [too] •Lsj \Ji^si ,j^^^S^ ».!) .i [tov] *Jot k2^j.JLii^ £8^lj ^JliD .AJii' J.>w25 [Ioa] 405 »_jL^u« i_>,JIao t»Jas (mL«*xJ c>^5 [1*1 ♦] ^:;5' 0^5 U^^ ^^^5! ^^^ [i^n WTm.T»«rw-T»ri w^w^«/ -^W ^-~< A T «T?.«^rk i^T T * T T¥>r> A Tft «/ UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 1 _ OCT 14 1996 ^ 4 WK AUG 0 5 1992 OCT 062008 REC*OMUS-UB yAHi7»fr H^iA COL LIB 2008 i Foi-iTi L' 315 S-ANCEI : A iiiiiiiii 3 r 58 00253 721 i