n '^nvDjo'^ ^^^ojnvDjo'*^ ^j^hdkvsoi'^ "^/saaAwnatfv^ J ^ ^mmts/j^ ^losANCEi^o. ^5MEUNIVER% %umm^ "^aAINMVft^ ^•UBRARYO^ ^ ^OF'CAUFOff^ ^OFCAllFOft^ ... ^ >&Aavaan-^^ ^lUBRARYQ^, ^mtmOA ^^WEIINIVER% ^10SANCEI% ^^ioJiiwio'^ ;10SANCEI% ijuivi Ijuivi ii^l tort ^^OilTVDJO'^ ^i^ONVSOl^ "^MAINftiftV^ ^OFCAUFORjj^ «^5ji«llNIVER% ^IDSANCHft^ ^^AHVaan# ^iJUDNVSOl'^ "^/JiBAINIl-^WV^ as ^10SANCEI% ^OFCAUFOff^ ^OFCAUFOI?^ %a3AiN(i3Wv ^(?Aavaan-i^ ^Aavaan#' ^5MEIINIVER% ^i^UONVSOV^ %a3AI -^lUBRARYQc ^tfoJnvDjo'^ . ^r ;OFCAUF0«5«j aweuniver% '^J^33NVS01'^ "^/saHMNn-iVkV clOSANCElCr^ ^•UBRARYO^ ^lUBRARYQr, ''/sajAiNaiiw ^lOSANCflfjr OFCAllFOff^ ^^/imJNIlii^'^'' -^C^AUVJlllll i^"^"^ ^•UBRARYOc^ mx^ OFCAlirORi^, 1 ^lUBRARYQ^ ^lUBR ^OFCAUF(%, ^OFCA ^ I'KI.l.i >W OK I'KMUKOKK «;oi,i.k,(;k in iiik iinivkkski'V ok camhkiock; kki.i.ow ml iiik iikitisii acadkmv. EX BinLIOTHECA FRANC. BABINGER I , O N D (^ N LUZAC & CO.. C.Rl'.A'r RUSSl-.I.l. SlRl-l' T ";"4 PRINTED BY E. J. BRILL. LEYDEN. TL '17 CL . EDITOR'S PREFACE. In offering to the public this third vohime of the late Mr. E. J. W. Gibb's History of Ottoman Poetry, I desire to speak briefly in this Preface of three separate matters connected with my friend's work and memory; to wit, this book, the outcome of his patient and scholarly labours, and in particular the present instalment of it, and the part yet to follow; his collection of manuscripts ; and the work taken in hand, and now in process of production, by the Trustees of the Gibb Fund, so generously founded by Mrs. Gibb of 13, Mont- gomcric Crescent, Kclvinsidc, Glasgow, to perpetuate the memory of her son, and to carry on researches in those studies to which his life was devoted. Of these three matters I will speak in the order in which they arc here mentioned. The present volume covers a period of nearly two centuries, extending from the beginning of the Suleynianic Age (A. 11. 926 A. I). 1520) down t(. the dcatli of Nai)( (A. 11. 1124 A. 1). 1/12), with whom, as the author points out (p. 33/ iiijrd), the; ('lassie Period may i)e considered to cU>se, and the 'Iransition Period to l)c<;in. it includes, therefore, soni<; ol lh( iiHist ((Ichratcd 'linlNish poi-ts, such .is L.iiui'i, /„ili, lii/iili, I'a/h', .ind I5.ii|l, bcsjchs Nabl, wiio has lu-cii .ihi.idy nil III iiiiK (I , lint in '.pitr ol this l.ict il is. in my jndgnitnl, inh iioi m iiiIch.I alike to the cii jicsl pciioil discussed in v«il. I, .iml lo I hr post-classical pi 1 lod-. iik hiding VI the modern, which will form the subject of the subsequent volumes. This volume, though it had not, like vol. II, undergone a final revision for press at the author's hands, is nevertheless entirely his work, only here and there retouched by me (and that always as slightly as possible) during the careful revision to which I submitted it before placing it in the printer's hands. All that I have added, besides this Preface, is the Appendices; and even here I found the author's rough notes ready to my hand for Appendix A, while, as for Appendix B, the texts of every single poem translated in this volume were fully and fairly copied out in my friend's clear and careful hand for the volume of original texts which will con- clude the History. Thus, while the writing out of Appendix A. from the often blurred and indistinctly written pencil notes, which alone served as my guide in this part of the work, was laborious and difficult, the construction of Appendix B. was singularly easy in comparison with the preparation of the corresponding Appendix in vol. II, where the poems translated appeared not to have been copied out, and in many cases had to be recovered with infinite trouble from the manuscripts in my late friend's collection. I must now speak of the remaining portion of the work, and offer some forecast as the number and scope of the future volumes. The manuscript material which remains to be examined, revised, arranged and edited, is contained in sixteen packets (excluding the texts), of which six are labelled "Transition Period," seven ''Romanticist Period," and three "Modern Period." The two former periods run more or less contemporaneously, and would perhaps be better described as "Schools," and in the arrangement of the thirteen chapters devoted to them I anticipate some considerable difficulty, since I have not yet been able to satisfy myself precisely VTI as to the plan which the author intended to adopt in this part of his subject, and in particular whether he meant to separate these two Schools, or to maintain the strictly chro- nological order hitherto observed, which would render im- possible any attempt to keep the two Schools altogether apart. At present I incline to the chronological arrangement, as being both simpler and more in accordance with the preceding portion of the work; indeed I am disposed to believe that the names of periods and schools marked on these packets of manuscript do not in all cases represent the author's final scheme of arrangement, outlined, so far as the Fourth Period (which will form the subject of vol. IV) is concerned, at pp. 130 — 132 of vol. I. For the illustration of this Fourth or Transition Period, at all events, the author has left ample materials in a form which needs but the same sort of revision that this volume has received to ht it for Press. As regards the Modern Period, in many ways the most interesting period of all, and rendered yet more so by the author's profound conviction of its intrinsic value and sym- pathy with its aims, ' the case is, unfortunate!)-, otherwise. Here the materials committed to writing by my friend are comparatively scanty, consisting only of three chapters; one, evidently introductory, entitled "the Dawn of a New lua;" oik; devoted to Sliinas( Efeiidi; and one to Ziya I'asli.i. About Keiii.'il Hey, tin; third j.;rcal pii)ncer of tiu- New School, and ill many ways the most iniportaiil, nothing has been written by Mr. Cjibb, save here and tlun-, amongst his vohiminous rough notes, mostly jotted down in piMuil on hunchids of loo.c hall sheets of writing-paper, .1 li,i;;inent ol ti.mslation, biography or criticism. I am nioic than doubtful wlullin it will i)e wilhin my powt 1 \>< iiiaKr [;oo(| this delicieiUN", e\in with the Ik Ip of 'Abdii I ll.ii|i| llamid He\- of flu- (Mioinan ' Si-c piiilii ulnily vol. I, |p|i i\\ I jd. VIII Embassy in London, himself one of the greatest and most brilliant representatives of the New School, and one of Mr. Gibb's oldest and most valued friends, and of my colleague and friend Halil Halid Efendi, Turkish Lecturer at Cambridge, to whom also I was first introduced by the author of this work, who valued him equally highly as a friend and as a collaborator. Of Kemal Bey, and of other prominent writers of the New School, I may, no doubt, should time allow, be able to compile some account, however inadequate, from the rich materials contained in Mr, Gibb's library of printed and lithographed books, which, not being otherwise assigned by his will, was, with rare generosity, presented by his widow to the University Library of Cambridge. For this, and for the many other ways in which she has assisted the progress of this work, and striven to further and facilitate the studies to w^hich her husband's life was devoted, I desire to seize this occasion to express my most profound gratitude and appreciation. From what has been said above as to the extent of the still unedited manuscript, it will be clear that, without any further additions, there is enough material to form at least another volume and a half; or, with such an Index as I contemplate, and which my colleague and successor as Persian Lecturer at Cambridge, Mr. R. A. Nicholson, to whose colla- boration I owe much in the preparation of this volume, of which he has corrected all the proofs, is at present engaged in preparing, two stout volumes. Finally there will be a volume containing the original texts of all the poems trans- lated in the (probably five) English volumes of the History, which will thus, so far as I can anticipate, be completed in six volumes. When these will be completed and published I can scarcely venture to guess, but under the most favour- able conditions I can scarcely hope that the work can be IX accomplished much before the year A. D, 19 lo, while any- adverse circumstance may cause its appearance to be still further delayed. How, indeed, can it be otherwise, when a great work, designed to occupy a life-time, is suddenly de- prived of its creator, and left dependant on one who, besides being weighted with his own work, has but a general and superficial knowledge of the subject which had constituted the life-study of the author? I turn now to the second topic on which I wish to say a few words, namely the fine collection of Turkish manu- scripts made during a period of some twenty years, at great cost and labour, by Mr. Gibb with a special view to the preparation of this work, and left by him in a will made some years ago (I think about the time of his marriage) to the British Museum. In my Preface to vol. 11, the first which it was my sad duty to edit, I explained, at pp. XV — xvi, that the unwillingness or inability of that institution to depart on any terms in the slightest degree from what I must still, I fear, characterize as its deplorable non-lending policy (the more deplorable because of the evil influence it continues to exercise on other libraries in England, notably the Bodleian at Oxford and the Jcjhn Rylands at Manchester) made it iiii]>c>ssible for me to undertake the continuance of the work iiiili.-ss tin; transference of tin; manuscripts to the Museum were deferred until its completion. Till last month (I'^ebruary, i()(>4) tlicy remained in the custody of Mrs. IC. j. \V. (libb, Ijiit at thai time, for reasons into wliicli I need not lu-re eiitn, she desired to transf<'r them to my kec'ping. and .u- eordingly sent them to ( aiiil)i idge, where they now mv, and where it is iiitetidid lli.it ihi-y shall n-main until the last vohinie ol till, wiiik has been published, when they will (ill, illy be ll.lllsreiicd |.> 111. I'.llll'.h Mll'.eiiUl. jtrloir lhl-y (.Ml IImii I ||>i|ii Id III' .lllle I Ill|ille ,||ld |iuli|r.h ,1 lllllel X account of this unique collection than was possible in the Preface to vol. II (pp. xv — xxxi). It now remains only for me to add a few words on another matter whereof I spoke briefly on pp. XXXI — XXXIl of the Preface above mentioned, I mean the Gibb Memorial Fund, created and endowed by the noble generosity of Mr. Gibb's mother. When I spoke of it in the Preface to the last volume, it was as a thing in contemplation, but for the last year and a half or so it has been an accomplished fact. The income which it yields exceeds £ 200 a year, and is administered, subject to I\Irs. Gibb's approval, by a body of Trustees, which includes, besides myself, Messrs. Amedroz, A. G. Ellis (of the Oriental Manuscript Department in the British Mu- seum), Guy Le Strange, R. A. Nicholson, and Dr. E. Denison Ross, Principal of the Calcutta Madrasa, advised by Mr. Julius Bertram, Clerk of the Trust. Though the Trustees are, under the Trust-deed, given wide powers as to the purposes for which the money can be employed, it has been decided for the present to devote the income chiefly to the publication of texts, translations, epitomes, and the like, of Turkish. Persian and Arabic works of importance. The first work undertaken was the publication in fac-simile of a manuscript of the Chaghatay original of the Emperor Baber's Memoirs. This manuscript, which belongs to an Indian scholar, was sent to England on loan, and appears to contain a text not only differing from, but fuller than, that published by Ilminsky. The importance of this antobiography of the Turkish founder of the so-called "Moghul" Dynasty of India rendered the preservation and diffusion of this new text (manuscripts of the Turki original of which are exceedingly rare) very desir- able, and as Mrs. Beveridge of Shottermill, who has long made the life of Baber and his successors an object of special study, was willing to undertake the editing and annotation XI of the text, the Trustees gratefully accepted her offer of collaboration, and confided the production of the fac-simile to Messrs. Nops of Ludgate Hill. The plates are now all prepared, but, as is in my experience usually the case, the correction of numerous defects caused by ambiguous dots and the like, which, in spite of every precaution, will invari- ably creep in, has retarded the production of the volume, which, comprising as it does some six or seven hundred pages, necessarily involves a large expenditure of time and trouble. This, though the first and most advanced, is not the only work undertaken by the Trustees. There exists in the British Museum a copy of a very rare and important Persian work on Prosody, Metre, Rhyme, and the kindred arts of Poetry, entitled al-Mii^ajjam ft ma^dyiri ash'^drfl-'^Ajarn ("the Persian- ised [Treatise] on the standards of Persian Poetry"), written by a certain Shams-i-Qays for one of the Atabeks of Fars early in the thirteenth century. The publication of this, because of its antiquity, its extreme rarity, the light it throws on the principles accepted by Persian poets in the early classical period ere yet Sa'^di had attained celebrity, and the numerous illustrative poems cited in the course of the treatise, amongst which are included a good many luihlawiyydt, or verses in i'ersian dialects, seemed to us, and es[)ecially to myself, very desirable; and, having asccrtainetl tli.it the Iin- primcric Catholique of lieyrout could set u[) the text in l\ pe from tlie excellent photogra[)hs taken by Donald Macbeth, al.o ol I .iidi'atc liill, we decidcrd to iniiil this iinp'ii t.inl work, which 1 have iiiidci tidvcii In i dit .iiid .miutl.iti', in liiis way, and the photographs are now being taken. A third work conlcMiphitccI by the Tnislcfs is tin- puhlic- .ilioii ol .III iiii|iiil)lis|ird poitimi ol lh( t'.K'.it history of Ka'.hidii -* 5. (!onlcntlon of Spring; and Winter 3()3 (,. Tlic Si;ven ICffij^ics „ „ 3<>5 7. Kin^; and l{e^;^;a^, hy V'uhyii Mcy 3<>S S. Khiiyri'djilman poetry onl}' now begins to rise above the medi(jcre, and that the Turkish race only now begins to ])ro(luce pc^ets worthy to stand side by side with the I'cMsian masters. Von I laminer again would have us b<:li(vc lliat th(! reign of tlu: Magnificent SuK'\'m.in is the ( iihniii.il iiij;-poinl of .\\\ ()ttiini.iii poctiN', thi' August. in age o( Tuikey, unpai ailclcd in the biiUiancN' of its iiti-rary triiimpli'. as it is unriv.illcd in tin- splcndoiii of its mibt.iix' idoiic',. I jrrc likewise, without ];oiiu; (juiti .0 l.n. we iua\ allow lli.il till-, icji'M !■. the t iiliiiin.it III;; pi 'lilt ol tlie I lassii' portly (i| t||( ()ttoiiiair., .iiid the iiiost biilli.ilit peiiod ol reiMall (ultllM III llllkty. I lie liuiidied .iikI tillltN \eais I which lie between the accession of Ahmed I and the deposi- tion of Ahmed III, and which form what we might call the second bright period of the Classic Age, do indeed present a higher average and a more even excellence ; but the illustrious names which distinguish this later epoch being further apart, the effect produced is less splendid and less vivid than that obtained from the concentrated lustre of the comparatively short period embraced by the reign of Suley- man. The genius of Fuzuli, one of the truest poets that the East has ever borne, would alone suffice to make this reign illustrious for ever. And Fuzuli does not stand alone; in elegance of expression and graceful harmony of language not one of the Persianising poets of Turkey can vie with Baqi, whom his contemporaries called the King of Poets ; while in the versatility of his talent LamiS' of Brusa surpasses every poet of the first three Periods, and in the fertility of his genius every poet who has yet appeared in Turkey. The poetry of this brilliant era is marked by no essential change from that which goes before; it proceeds along the old familiar Persian lines, keeping in view the same old goal, and circumscribed by the same old limitations; its progress is that of development rather than of transformation. It arises from the nature of the case that this development runs almost entirely upon technical lines, the principal object of this School of Poetry being, as we well know, not so much the expression of true feeling as grace of diction and faultless manipulation of language. It therefore follows that such development as it is capable of will naturally proceed in that direction. And so we find in the Suleymanic age a great improvement in the style of poetry viewed simply as an art, without any corresponding advance in its substance. This renders it impossible to give by means of a series of translations any adequate idea of the improvement which now occurs; in order fully to appreciate this a certain famili- arity with the rules of Persian prosody and rhetoric is requisite, as well as a critical knowledge of the Turkish language. The Suleymanic era owes its pre-eminence over earlier times to this development of poetry as an art, which had been in progress since the beginning, now finding its high- water mark; while it owes its pre-eminence over the remain- ing years of the Classic Period to the circumstance that at no other time were there living at once so many poets the average merit of whose work was so high. In after years poets did indeed appear from time to time who could vie with the greatest of the Suleymanic writers; but never again did so brilliant a constellation cross the sky of Turkish poetry. The reign of Sultan Suleyman is the golden age of the Romantic Mesnevf. There has indeed been a steady flow of works of this class ever since the days of Shcykhi's Khusrcv and Shi'rin, but with the exception of that poem and of Hamdi's Yusuf and Zelikha, none of the works yet produced have had any high poetic merit. Now we find not only a great increase in the number of romantic mesnevis written, but a great advance in their average excellence. The works of I'a/.li and of Vahya liey are justly famous; l.ami'^i is saiil to 1)1- the only l'2astern author who wroti- a series of se\en romantic poems; ' while the graceful I.e)'l;i and I\Ic"jniin of I'^u/ulf is one of tlu: most beautiful works in all lurUish lilirature. I \\' only new catc^^(iry of poclrN' which the Sulc\in;uiii' afM- li.r, to show is the Kiiniu;; ( hi i tniclf. M.iids had not IxTii wanliii}; in tli<' ciilni limes In Miig llic gicil ilccds ' J. Mill, llw ^jn-iil I'dtiiiii p'n'l, Ifli, 11'. 11. well Known, ii i-olU-i limi <>| ncvcn MicmirvtH; liiil only foiii of iIichp hit loniiinci'K, llir ullu-r lliioo lirinij illilncllc ot t'cli^^loim |Miriir.. of the 'Osmanli Kings and warriors ; but their works, besides dealing merely with single battles or campaigns, were without any poetic value, and were in great part written in Persian. Sultan Suleyman instituted the office of Sheh-Namaji, a term which practically means Imperial Riming-Chronicler, but is literally "Sheh-Nama (or King-Book) writer." The duty of the poet who held this honourable and well-paid position was to versify current events in the manner of Firdawsi's famous history of the ancient Kings of Persia. As a rule the Sheh- Namajis were not content with merely recording the events of the day, but prefixed to their proper work a long versified history of the Empire -from the days of Er-Toghrul and '^Osman. The office appears to have been frequently left vacant for some time after the death of the occupier, and after a few reigns it fell altogether into desuetude. Besides the official Sheh-Namajis, there were a number of private writers who versified sometimes the entire history of the Empire, sometimes the exploits of a particular Sultan or commander. When the whole of Ottoman history was his subject the author usually called his book likewise a Sheh- Nama ; but when his theme was more special, his book received a special title, in which the name of the hero generally figures. Works of this class are, almost without exception, devoid alike of literary merit and historical value; in style they are inflated and tedious, while their matter is for the most part a mere paraphrase of the prose annals. No poet of eminence ever undertook the drudgery of writing a Sheh-Nama; when such a one desired to sing the praises of a great man, he did so in a qasida. If the historical versifiers of this age failed to produce any poetry worthy of the name, the cause of their unsuccess must be sought elsewhere than in the source of their inspi- ration. In the reign of Sultan Suleyman Turkey attained the 5 pinnacle of her greatness as a conquering power; never before or since did the fame of the Turkish arms on land and sea stand so high. The work of reconstructing the Turkish nation which in previous reigns had absorbed so much of the strength and attention both of the government and the people was now finally accomplished, and all the energies and resources of the West-Turkish race were set free to pursue the path of foreign conquest. And so we find the Turkish fleets in Indian and Moorish waters, and the Turkish armies at Baghdad and Vienna. And although the Turks have made many a conquest and won many a splendid victory since Suleyman the Magnificent passed to his rest, they have never again gone forth conquering and to conquer on the grand scale of those old days. Indeed, broadly speaking, the history of the Empire since that time has been little more than the story of the gradual loss of those foreign lands which were won by Suleyman and his ancestors. At no time, even in Turkey, was greater encouragement given to poetry than during the reign of this Sultan. Suleyman himself wrote very fair verses and well knew how to maintain the lionourahle traditions of his house with regard to litera- ture, ,ui, and science. Five of jiis sons are placed by the ljiogra])li(.rs among the lyrists; and one of these, Seli'm, who siiccccdcfl him on the throne, is perliaps tin; bt'st writer ot liukish verse among the royal poets. I'",ai"li ol these I'linces was, after the ohi I iirkish fashion, thi' ic-ntii- of a group ol ])0(;ls and literary men. Snleyman's ellorls to fostei htn o| ,i (ireel^ saijoi ol J'arga, h.id hi ,t ,illi.i- his skill as a l)l,i)'e! on lh< \\ii\. Iiriiii; possessed of MiaiU llljdl (|U.dities. h< .iiiin ".mud iIk w.imh .illeiiicin i>| hi', ni.e'let. who, on his accession, made him Grand Vezir and married him to his sister. For thirteen years 929 — 42 (1523 — 36) Suleyman and Ibrahim lived together on terms of intimacy unheard of in the relations of Sultan and Vezir either before or since. When apart, they would write to one another every day, and when together, they would often share the same meal. At last Ibrahim went one evening to the Seraglio, as he often did, and in the morning he was found strangled in one of the imperial apartments. It may have been that the ever-increasing arrogance of the Grand Vezir had something to do with his tragic end, but the true reason was probably of a very different nature, and one which the private honour of the Sultan forbade to be made public. Another distinguished patron of letters during the earlier part of Suleyman's reign was Iskender Chelebi the Defterdar, a man of enormous wealth, who thought with the help of his great riches to enter the lists as rival to Ibrahim Pasha, a vain dream for which he paid with his life, as he was ignominiously hanged at Baghdad on the representations of the Vezir, almost immediately after the capture of the city by the Turks. Although they took a warm interest in literature and did much to encourage it, neither Ibrahim nor Iskender wrote poetry themselves. Ibrahim's successor in the Grand Vezirate was Ayaz Pasha, who was chiefly remarkable for his great admiration for the fair sex. He was followed by Lutfi Pasha, whose tastes were otherwise, and who, though a learned man, cared nothing for poetry. In 951 (1544) the Grand Vezirate fell to Rustem Pasha, in consequence of the machinations of the Sultan's favourite, the Russian Khurrem, ' who seems to have possessed a goodly share of her nation's genius for intrigue. Almost alone among Ottoman Grand Vezirs Rustem Pasha was the 1 Thi^ i- the lady whom so many European writers call Roxelana. avowed enemy of poetry and poets. He held office till his death in 968 (1561), save for two years during which he had to retire in consequence of the popular feeling provoked by the execution of Prince Mustafa. Rustem is the last Grand Vezir who concerns us at present ; Soqollu Muhammed, who succeeded only two years before the death of Suleyman, had no influence on the literary history of this reign. The four earliest biographers of the poets flourished during the reign of Suleyman the Great. The first of these is Sehi Bey who died in 955 (1548); his book, which he called the Eight Paradises, ' gives the lives of the Turkish poets from the foundation of the Empire to his own time. Sehi Bey had been a friend of the poet Nejati, along with whom he had been in the service of Prince Mahmud, the son of Bayezid II, as Secretary of the Divan. The second is Latifi '^ of Qastamuni, to whose Tezkira (or "Memoirs of the Poets") allusion has so often been made in these pages. This important work was finished in 953 (1546), although the author did not die till some forty years later. Like Sehi's Eight Paradises, it comprises the poets who had flourished from the earliest times down to the date of comp(jsition. 'Ashif| (Ihelebi, ' whose i)ersoiial name was i'li' M uliainiued, and whom Latifi and nin;ili-7,ada describe as a nati\i' o[ I'liisa (l)iil kiy.i/i, a l.iti'i i)io;.'raphcr, as o|" Kiiiui-lia) rovers iiiiicii the same ground as Latifi, but carries tiu' list ot poets a lilllc further on. Ills woil< is of consi(leral)lr \aluf, isperi- ally whet) dealiii}.; with contemporary poi-ts, niaii) ol u iiom I ll<',lil llilii.lit. Mi:vl.ui;i hill',, who dicil in i)\o (15^.^), Wiolr ill ^C\^illIl llir- III. I iiHiciiil >{i!i)(Mnl liiMidiy III' llie I'liiipirc foi HAyc/iil iiiulcr tho unme lillr. (SfliiH wi)rk in cxlinincly riii«, Itiit llu-ic in u ^jmxl lo) y iiiimimHt the Aiillior'ti MSS. Sfc vol. 11, p. iK. i',i'|. '■* Sec vol. I, p. I V)> '•• J. :• ll>ini|uetor, having asked Ihe philosopher whether he could i|o anylhing lo iddigr him, received the aiixwei, "\'r., vou ( an •land oul of the .unli^dil.' lO Whosoe'er hath scarred his breast and burned thereon the brands afresh Wanteth not to sight the garden, nor to view the bower is fain, ' He who to Love's folk pertaineth bideth in the dear one's ward; For he wanteth not to wander wild and wode o'er hill and plain. 2 O Muhibbi, whoso drinketh from the loved one's hand a cup, Wanteth not Life's sparkling Water e'en from Khizr's hand to drain. Ghazel. [165] Naught among the folk is holden like to fortune fair to see ; But no worldly fortune equal to one breath of health can be. That which men call empire is but world-wide strife and ceaseless war; There is nought of bliss in all the world to equal privacy. Lay aside this mirth and frolic, for the end thereof is death; If thou seekest love abiding, there is naught like piety. Though thy life-days were in number even as the desert sand. In the sphere's hour-glass they'd show not as a single hour, ah me! O Muhibbi, if thou cravest rest, withdraw from cares of earth; There is ne'er a peaceful corner like the hermit's nook, perdie. As we have already said, five of Suleyman's sons wrote poetry; these five are the Princes Muhammed, Mustafa, Bayezid, Jihangir, and Seh'm. The last-named, the youngest of all and the successor of his father on the throne, was undoubtedly the most distinguished as a poet ; but we shall defer considering his work till we come to speak of the poets of his reign. None of the others wrote much, a ghazel or two by each being all that has come down to us. All ' As wounds are poetically compared to flowers, he whose breast is torn through the anguish of love has but to look thereon so to find a garden. 2 Alluding to the stories of Ferhad and Mejniin who, the poets tell us, thinking thereby to magnify their passion, went mad for love and wandered among the mountains and deserts ; but Muhibbi here says that the true lover is fain to abide near his beloved, and does not seek to fly from her vicinity. 1 1 four predeceased their father. Muhammed and Jihangi'r died natural deaths. Mustafa fell a victim to the intrigues of the Russian Khurrem, who stopped short of nothing to secure the succession for her son Seli'm. This Mustafa was a promising and gallant young prince, and much beloved by all classes of the people. He was a kind friend to literature, and in his suite was the famous savant Suriiri, who dedicated to him his interesting and valuable work on prosody and the poetic art in general, which is known as The Ocean of the Sciences. ' His execution in 960 (1552) created so strong a feeling of animosity against Rustem Pasha, who was regarded as the tool of Khurrem, that that statesman had to retire for two years from the Grand Vezirate. Prince Mustafa took the makhlas of Mukhlisi in his poems. Prince Bayezid deter- mined not to resign his right to the throne in favour of his younger brother, and got together an army wherewith to make good his claim. But being defeated near Qonya, he fled to Persia, where after a time the authorities gave him ujj to the Ottoman emissaries, by whom he was put to death (c)6c)= 1561). He wrote under the name of Shahl. The following sad little ghazel is the work of this luckless Prince. (jhazcl. 1 166 1 With lonjj-protmcted hope why make my weary soul lo mourn? — NiiuKhl of the world's desire aljides now in my heart forlorn. Have done vvitli liiouniit and care tiiercof, '^ O l)ir iicarl, (•'<;» now down un mini- ear is l)oiiie. > llaiir-ul-Mu.oil. '•• Thnt 1m, of tlic iiomu' <. or 12 Be heedful, ope thine eyes and gaze with truth-beholding sight, Nor look on any brake or brere or ant or fly with scorn. ' What woe may tide to Shahi, sick of heart and stained of sin, If thou, O Grace of God, reach hand to aid him sad and lorn ? A good deal has been already said (vol. II, chapter XIII, pp. 347 — 363) about Shems-ud-Din Ahmed Ibn Kemal, better known as Kemal-Pasha-zade, ^ who belongs, indeed, more to the previous time than to that which we are now considering, since his literary activity falls chiefly in the reigns of Bayezid II and Selim. His most beautiful poem, however, was not composed until after the death of the last-named Sultan ; and to its mention, which falls naturally in this place, some further remarks will be added on his most important, or at any rate his longest poetical work, the Yusuf and Zelikha. This mesnevi on the story of Joseph and Potiphar's wife is said to consist of 'J'J'J'J couplets. That it is one of the author's early compositions is shown by its dedication to Sultan Bayezid, and it may perhaps have been written in emulation of Hamdi's poem on the same subject, concerning which Ibn Kemal is said to have expressed himself in dispa- raging terms. - All the same he was not above taking a hint bells, to warn the travellers that the time of marching is come. [Cf. vol. I, p. 313, n. I, and the well-known couplet of Hafiz of Shiraz: — r^ / \ IIh I'> i i.ui ineties, is .1 h.iid task, deiiiandin^; ioi il . succc's.sinl ae<(iiiiplisliiiicnt a lii^^hci aitistie l.ih nl than llili Im ni.ll |jos,essed. ()willi; to the ,il»senee o| Imi;; \ ■■)~ V ■ c^ --•• >•■ 'Bewilderment seizeth my understanding, if I look on her eye, on her eyebrow : A hundred thousand plaudits to the Artist of that form !' In the first line we have three imalas. alir, guzina, qashina, for alir, guzina, qashina. 'Who then is this — friend or foe ? O Lord, is this Khizr or a brigand ?' Here we get a zihaf as we have to read dost in place of dost : and yet this couplet is by Nabi. There is something like a zihaf in Moore's well-known line : ''Tis the last rose of summer left blooming alone;' where the word 'rose' is slurred over in an unnatural way. ^ Imalas (but never, or very rarely, zihafs) are to be found in the works of even the greatest poets, FuzUli, Nef^i, Nedim, Ghalib ; but when such writers use them it is not the result of feebleness or carelessness ; it is deliberately done for the sake of emphasis or for some other special purpose. 15 repute have carried it so far as Ibn Kemal, in whose mesnevi it is by no means unusual to come across Hues containing as many as three syllables thus treated. Although the pro- nunciation of Turkish was no doubt different in those days from what it is just now, and it is quite probable that the imala may have been less offensive to medieval than to modern ears, still as it is opposed to the genius of the language, it can at no time have been other than a flaw in a poet's work. This author's attempt to revert to a more purely Turkish, and therefore more natural, diction was courageous, and deserves credit as an effort in the direction of truth ; but the result proves that it was a right instinct which impelled the Ottoman poets, so long as they servilely adhered to every detail of Iranian literary culture, to compose their works in that hybrid Perso-Turkish dialect which, although always artificial and generally incomprehensible to the mul- titude, was after all the only means whereby their language could be forced into the Persian mould and yet retain some- thing of grace and lightness. The following passage from Ibn Kemal's Joseph and Zelikha tells how the (irandee of Egypt (Qitfi'r = Potiphar) went out in state to welcome the Princess on her approach to the lCgy])lian rapital, wiicn coming from her hoiiu' in the Sunsrt- I.and. ' I'roiii N'usiil II Zcli'kli;!. | i ^>7| I'l'Min sliij'c Id slii^jc iiiiil |)nsl III |)i(sl llicy laii'd • I'nlil wlial liiiir lliir lillcr '•• I'l^ypt iicaicd. I 111 Inlaid. Ill 111' l''.(;y|ili;ui (■.iiimlfc spiMl ; ' In lalmii'H KiciU Clminiilc (Sn. I, |i. 371)) I'tiliplmrV immf i-" nlvrn uh illii uinl IiIm wIfc'H iitt Ud'il, I'nr iiii r|iltoiiic of llio niitutiicr, iter vul. II, pp, ISI -172" ' riic ( nmcl liltri ill wlili h /clilJiU Imvrllcd. i6 '^The Sugar-Bale ' to Egypt's 2 come,' they said. And mickle gladness from this news he found, As the sick heart from julep fresh and sound. He handselled them who brought the news of grace ; And throbbed his soul and beat his heart apace. And straight he mounted and rode forth to greet, With banners waving and with tabors beat. He filled with criers the Egyptian coast; Behind his horse march'd the Egyptian host. All they of Egypt-city, small and great, Came forth to follow in this march of state. Whatever be of reverence high and fair, They do it all, no smallest whit they spare. On elephant beat India's King the drum, The Russian band with trump and cymbals come. The thunder of the tymbals rent the air, Gleamed the flag-foliage with levin-glare. With shimmer of pomegranate-cheeks that tide The heaven's raiment rosy-red was dyed. ^ And as the flags to heaven reared the head They sewed gold spangles on that raiment red. * Sweeper and waterer were wind and sky, 5 N Which swept and watered rock and mountain high. The sea of men surged upon every hand, On rolled the mighty army, band on band. Each wore upon his head a dome of light, " Camphor's own self thou wouldest deem forthright. '^ The morn upon the throng of men did gaze, ' The Sugar-Bale is of course the sweet Zelikha. ^ Egypt here means rather the Egyptian capital, the word Misr being always used in the romance for country and capital indiscriminately, just as in modern parlance it is used equally for Egypt and for Cairo. 3 The lustre of the cheeks red as pomegranate-blossom of the fair youths and girls in the procession being reflected on the sky, imparted to it a ruddy tinge. * Referring to the gilt balls or other ornaments surmounting the flagstaff's. 5 A Ferrash is a servant one of whose duties it is to sweep the path for his master; while it is the duty of the saqqa, or water-carrier, to lay the dust. Here the breeze and the rain are said to perform these tasks. f" A burnished helmet. '' Camphor being the type of anything white or bright. 17 It stvuck its hands togethei- for amaze, Onward upon one leg the flags advanced, The tugh ' cast loose its flowing locks and danced. From tramp of horse arose to heaven the stoure. Unto Suha "- was joined the earthy floor. The Aqueous Sign to Terrene changed apace, ^ The Sun a veil of dust hung o'er her face. The wayside hills and rocks at this affray Awoke, and raised their heads, nor slept that day. They marched from Egypt with this bravery, And started forward with their soldiery. Glad was the Grandee's soul, his heart was bright, The dear one's image filled his heart with light; Now to his heart the sweetheart's scent-wafts streamed. And all his soul with union's Oxus gleamed. A-yearning for his love, his vitals burn; Like his who falls mid fire, his case is lorn. Saying, 'What time shall I the loved one see?' Love-fraught, and lost of heart, on fared he. Like wind or rushing stream he sped in haste. And passed by many a hill and many a waste. What I have alluded to as being Ibn Kemal's most beautiful poem is his Elegy on Sultan Selim. In this famous work of his maturer age he has abandoned the exaggerated Tuikicism of his early years and adopted the Persianised dialect which experience has shown to be the fittest medium for Ottoman I)f)etry of the Iranian school. What is lost in originality is ' 1 he lugli was u pennant of liorsuhair, iitliiclied to ii llagstalf, and used us an ensign in former times. A I'asha of the lowest grade had one tu^;h, those of Hii|)erior rank had two, wliilc llie Vc/iis had three, whence the old pluasc 'a I'asha of three taiU', llie lujjhs lieinj; taken for horse-tails. When llic Sultan tnuk till- lirld Ik: used Ici lie ucciiMipiinicd liy seven of these pennunts. The liil'li !:. a vriy ancient Turlusli enHi^;n; while still in Ccnlnvl Asia llic Turkic tiibeH used as llicir hlanu tliair Hi-tlleinent In Asiti Mliioi. ' Siilii'i is llir inline of a fiiiiit slur In the litil of the (Ireul lliiii : it i-< known In iniidrrii iiHtrDnoiiiciM iin Ko I'ihiio Mujorht. ■' I'or A(|uc()iiH uiul 'I'cnciie Sinus, sec vol. I, \>. \jS, ii, \. made up for by increased euphuism ; indeed the poem is so characterised by the verbal adornments of Persian rhetoric that Sir James Redhouse is justified in describing it as a model of those parallels of sense and assonance, so higly esteemed by the early Eastern writers, where every phrase is nicely balanced and every word has its counterpart. Possibly the author may have adopted the Persian style in compliment to the monarch he was lamenting, whose predilection for Iranian culture is well-known. Ibn Kemal's talent displays itself in the vigour and directness which distinguish this poem ; these are qualities hard to combine with a highly artificial style, and very rare indeed in the Persianised poetry of Turkey. If the Yiisuf u Zelikha failed to elicit any great enthusiasm, the same cannot be said of this noble Elegy. One verse especially has called forth the admiration of well nigh every writer on Turkish poetry since the days of Lati'fi, that, namely in which, referring to the great achievements accomplished by Selim in his brief reign, the poet compares him to the setting sun, which makes the shadows, symbolic in the East of protecting power, stretch long and far, but passes away so swiftly from our sight. The following is the concluding strophe of the Elegy, which alone is usually quoted and which alone has attained celebrity. Elegy on Sultan Seh'm I. [i68] An elder in cautel, a stripling in spright; Of glaive aye triumphant, of rede ever right. An Asaph ' in wisdom, th'adorn of the host, Him listed nor vezir nor mushir in fight. ■^ His hand was a falchion ; his tongue was a dirk ; His finger an arrow 5 his arm a spear bright. ' Asaph, to whom many of the Psalms are dedicated, is said to have been Solomon's Grand Vezir, and is quoted as the type of ministerial wisdom. 2" Vezjr = minister; mushir = marshal: Selim needed neither councillor nor general. 19 In shortest of time many gests hath he wrought, — Encompassed was earth of the shade of his might. The Sun of his Day, but the sun at day's close. Far-casting his shadows, soon sinking from sight. ' Of throne and of diadem soverans vaunt, But vaunted of him throne and diadem bright. His heart found delight in that festal carouse Whereunto the sabre and trumpet invite. ^ The sphere ^ never gazed on his equal or peer In the mirth of the feast or the mirk of the fight. Flashed he to the banquet — a Sun shedding light ! Dashed he to the battle — a Lion of might! What time that the 'Seize! Hold!'* resounds shall the sword Remember this Lion and weep blood forthright. ^ Alas ! Sultan Selim ! alas ! woe is me ! Let reed and let falchion alike mourn for thee ! ^ Like some other legists who wrote poetry, Ibn Kemal did not adopt any makhlas; the reason being, according to Latifi, that he set but Httle store by his verse. According to '^Ahdi he left a Di wan of ghazels ; he was also the author of numerous fragments of verse, but none of these are of much imp(jrtance. The following is well-known : Oit'a. [i69|. 'l"o what tiling may I compare tlicc, Radiance incorporate? — ^ Tlic young sapliiij^ of the meadow yields no fitting type of thee, Seeing it doth gain in glory, clad in leafy robe of green, While that thou, divest of every garment, loveliest dosl be.* ' 'I'his is the famous verse. '^ 'I'lial is, tlic batliclield. •' 'I'he perKonified Sphere. ■• ilic I'erHiiin phrase dilr 11 gir ( =- MioUl and .sei/e!') is uscil to imliciitc I hi' iiiiiiult of battle. "■' liie Hword wccpit blood, i.e. iccullinn iiis loss it is billeily grieved; iilso, iuHpired by hJH memory, it Ktrikcs down the focmiui and drips witli his blood. " 'I'iic rccd, i. c. the rced-pcn, bceuuhc the Sultan wan iv fjrctit pod ; nnd the fah hion bccaUHe he wiiH a jjrcal wiirrior. ' The 'Kadiancc incorporule,' or embodied lij;hl, is iIh- pofl's biloved. •* 1 hi', fra^jincnl in ))iob«bly iiii echo of ihr Amliic lines; CHAPTER II. Poets of the Earlier Suleymanic Age. 926 — 964 (1520 — 1556). Lami'^i. Fighani. Ghazali. Ishaq Chelebi. Usuli. Mention has already been made of LamiS' as one of the most proHfic of Turkish writers. The biographers give but few particulars concerning his life, which appears to have been entirely devoted to studious and literary pursuits, and to have been passed in his native city of Brusa in uneventful tranquillity. His personal name was Mahmud, and he was the son of one 'Osman, who had been a defterdar under Sultan Bayezid. But official life had no charms for the youth- ful poet, who inherited rather the artistic temperament of his grandfather '^Ali, a man whose talents had gained for him the surname of Naqqash, the Painter or Broiderer, two design- ations alike applicable in his case. * Lami*^! at first turned his attention to secular studies, but soon passed from these to join the disciples of the great mystic teacher Sheykh Bukhari the Naqshbendi. He must have been about sixty years of age when he died; for in the preface of his Sheref-ul-Insan he tells us that in 933 (1526 — 7) his years numbered fifty-five, and we know that he died in either 937 (1530 — i) or 938 (1531 — 2).^ ' This ^Ali is said to have brought the first embroidered saddle into Turkey from Samarcand : he was also celebrated as a painter, probably of miniatures in manuscripts. '^ The Taj-ul-Tewarikh gives the first of these dates, Hajji Khalifa the second. 21 Many of Lami'^i's numerous works are in prose; indeed, if we may judge by the comparative frequency with which the manuscripts occur, the most popular of all his writings was the ethical prose romance entitled Sheref-ul-Insan, or The Noblesse of Humanity. This work, which Latifi regards as his masterpiece, is a free translation of the well-known Arabic apologue, the Contest of Man with the Animals, which forms the twenty-first of the Tracts of the Brethren of Sincerity (Resa'il Ikhwan-us-Safa). ' The Tbret-numa, or Exemplar, is a collection of wild and fantastic allegories. He translated Fettahi's Husn u Dil, but his version is said to be inferior to that of his predecessor Ahi. - These, along with a translation of Jami's famous biographical work on the mystic saints, known as Nafahat-ul-Uns, or the Wind-wafts of Intimacy, form the most important of Lami'^i's prose writings. In mingled prose and verse we have the Munazara-i Behar u Shita, or Contention of Spring and Winter, ^ a beautiful allegory in which the succession of the seasons is figured as the warring of rival kings. As I have already observed when describing the (liffcrent varieties of poetry in olden times, the Munazara is as a rule a poi-m of vcvy moderate length ; Init Lami'^f has here expanded the Contention between Spring and Winter into a finished romance. The |)oetical work (A i,anii i consists lor tlie most part ol loiii.tntir niesiievis, no fewer than seven such poems being (hie to his |)en. lie is pel haps the only I'.asti-rii pml who ha. wiilliii so man)' iintiical lomanees , |oi allliou};ii Jaini's ' I'IIk; Kiiniiiiil Ariiliic Irxl hiin been rdilcil liy hiclciici (l,ci|)/in, 1H81), will) itl'ii) iiulilihlicil It (inriiiiti) tnutHliiliuii (lU'ilin, 1K5H). lUi.j ' A full :iliiiliarl nl llic Htoiy, uh ^ivcii in AIii'h vci'iioii, will Ik- IkiimiI in vmI. II, i,|,. 2i)i .^11. I l'''ili.ip, Mtiiiii/.iiru-i llrliiU II Kliii/iln, ( 'unlrnlinn ul Spiiii).; iiiiil Auliiinii, limy lie llic 1 unci I lillr; .uliir iitll liui illck ^Ivc llic lilU', ••iinic llir nihil, 22 Haft Awrang does indeed comprise seven poems, only three of these, the Joseph and ZeHkha, the Leyla and Mejnun, and the Selaman and Absal, are really romances, LamiS' had the good sense to pass by the hackneyed tales of Joseph and Mejnun and seek the subjects of his poems among the less familiar legends of ancient Persia, so that most of his stories are new to Turkish literature. From Jami he borrowed the history of Selaman and Absal, which Fitzgerald's trans- lation has made familiar to English readers; from Fakhr-i Jurjani he got the tale of Visa and Ramin ; while it is probably to the old poet ^Unsuri that he is indebted for the story of Vamiq and ''Azra. * The rich mine of old Persian lore supplied him with the subjects of two other poems, the Ferhad-Nama, or Ferhad Book, and the Heft Peyker, or Seven Effigies. The last-named is a translation of Hatifi's Heft Manzar, or Seven Belvederes, which is itself but a modification of Nizami's well-known poem, also entitled, like that of LamiS', Heft Peyker. '^ Besides these five legendary poems, this author left two allegorical romances, the Guy u Chevgan, or Ball and Bat, and the Shem^ u Pervane, or Taper and Moth. These two works belong to a class of allegorical poems at one time very popular in the East, in which certain inanimate or irrational objects which poetic usage represents as lover and 1 [Fakhr of Jurjan or Gurgan (the ancient Hyrcania, situated near the south- east corner of the Caspian sea) wrote his Vis u Ramin (variously ascribed by Dawlatshdh, pp. 60 and 130 of Browne's edition, to Nizami of Ganja or Nizami of Samavcand) about 440 (1048). This poem was published at Calcutta in 1865 in the Bibliotheca Indica. As regards the story of Vamiq and "^Azra, Dawlatshah (p. 30) mentions a Pahlevi version composed for Nushirvan (sixth century of our era), of which a copy extant in the ninth century was destroyed by order of "^Abdu'llah b. Tahir, the Governor of Khurasan; and Dr. Ethe mentions (Grundriss d. Iran. Philolog., vol. u, p. 240) six Persian versions besides that of '^Unsuri who died in 441 (1050). ED.] 2 Hatifi, a well-known Persian poet and nephew of the illustrious Jami, died in 927 (1520—1). -0 beloved are personified and made to pass through a series of adventures, the incidents of which are derived from their associations, and which are intended to figure forth the experiences of the mystic lover. Thus the Ball is held by the poets to typify the all-enduring lover who so often as the beloved Bat drives him away, still ever returns, though but to be beaten off again. ' Of the fabled love of the Moth for the Taper we have heard before. Lami"^! probably derived the idea of his Ball and Bat from either ^Arife or Talib-i Jajarmi, two Persian poets of the preceding century, each of whom left a Guy u Chevgan, in which the Ball and the Bat are personified as types of mystic love, whilst all the images are borrowed from the favourite game of polo. The source of the Taper and Moth is most likely the poem of the same name composed by Ahli of Shiraz in 894 (1488 — 9). LamiS' has further a sacred mcsnevi the Maqtel-i Hazret-i Iluseyn, or Martyrdom of Saint Huseyn, in which he tells the sad story so dear to the Muslim and above all to the Shi"^i heart, of the woeful entl of the Prophet's grandson. Concerning this work we arc told that Monla Mrab, a preacher evidently of some importance in the Hrusa of those (lays, having heard of L.imi'^i's production, declared from the pulpit that it was blasphemy to rrcite poems on so sacred a subject at public gatherings and meetings, wiiercupoii tlu' I'i'it inviti-d all llic iiolablcs of the cit)', iiicliidmg tin- said pi i;i( her, to assciiililc in the ;.;ica( inos(|ut-, .iiid let liiui read to I Ik in soMU; passages lioiu his work, wlunat all wiie iiiovifl lo tears and doubtless convinced thai tin Mc.nia had l)( I 11 a liltic itio piccipitale in Ilis jiidgnieiit <)vedan times. Scl.im.iii .iiid /\l)'..d w'.v. the IwA ut llicsc legends w Im h tile ( )t tiiiii.iii poet toiilx III li.ind, .e. r. -.how n b\' its dcditattoii lo .Sultan SeliMi, wiiiic Mm \\\<> uljier, .m uiscribed to .Sulcy- in.iii llie \1.ii;iiilii I III I lie sloiy nl ' '< l.iiii.iii .tinl \li-..il, as 26 given by Jami and as adopted from him by Lami*^!, is re- markable from the introduction of a number of short didactic anecdotes illustrative of some point raised in the poem, but having no connection with the progress of the history itself. As here treated, this history, while outwardly a romance, is confessedly a pure allegory designed to show how the soul can be freed from the lusts of the flesh. From a com- parison of the extracts from Lami'^i's poem translated by Von Hammer with the corresponding passages in Jami's work, the Turkish poet would appear to have made con- siderable additions, in the way of detail and elaboration, when translating the Persian original. As he was a somewhat diffuse writer, it is not improbable that such was his general rule when engaged on works of this class. Vamiq and "^Azra is, according to Von Hammer, the oldest of all the Persian romances. A Pehlevi version of it had been made in Sasanian times, but wellnigh all recollection of this had passed away in the troublous years of the Arab conquest ; and when ^Unsuri determined to revive the ancient story in the fifth century of the Hijra, nothing remained beyond the names of the hero and heroine and the vague tradition of their love. ' The romance as we have it now is therefore in all its details the work of the Mussulman poet "^Unsuri. In one particular the story of Vamiq and '^Azra differs widely from the general run of Eastern poetical romances, for it stops short at the culminating point of the history, when hero and heroine are at length after many vicissitudes united in happy wedlock; it does not, after the usual fashion of such poems, follow the principal actors to the grave. In this the work approaches more nearly to the European idea of an epic. Lami'i's poem consists of about three thousand couplets. ' See n. i on p. 22 supra. 2^ The Turkish version of Visa ' and Ramin is one of its author's late works, written immediately after the Sheref- ul-Insan, for in the preface to that book he tells us that his preceding works are, like the hours of the day and night, four and twenty in number, while in the prologue to this poem he says that the number of his previous writings amounts to twenty-five. Lami^i had long meditated a Turkish translation of this story, but had been unable to accomplish it earlier, as no copy of the Persian original had been forth- coming. Manuscripts of Jurjani's poem have at all times been rare, and possibly Von Hammer's surmise may be correct that the one used by Lami'^i formed part of the spoil resulting from Suleyman's first campaign against 'Iran. The Ferhad-Nama or Ferhad Book belongs to the same cycle as Khusrev and Shi'rin ; but although the characters in the two romances are the same, the incidents are so different that the two histories must be looked upon as distinct. Lami'^i's poem shows us the legend from a point of view different from that of Sheykhi's; in the former the hero is not the King Khusrev, l)ut the gallant ami arconi- ])lished Ferhad, here transformed into a kind of Knight- errant whose adventures form the tlieme of the poem, while his unhai)py love for Shi'rfn is the motive of llie whole. The idea of taking as subject the career <.A the artist I'^erhad did nol, as we may well imaj^iiic, originate with l..imi'i; he dciivcd it froMi soni<- cailii r poet, possibly Mir ''All Slur. The subj<:cl of the romance known as the I left Tcykcr or Scvni I'',fHgies is the history of the Sasiun.iii Kiiij;. nclnain V, iMiKially spoken of as Melii.ini-i (iiii or nthi.ini o| tlu' Wild A'.'., .ind till' Seven I'rinccsscs who t\tntu.dl\- lieconu" his wivi!.. Thr story ^;ets its ii.inic lioni the scxt n imtiiies, one o| (•;!( h I'liiiccss, which Hrhi.im sees in the pal.u'e of ' tin I iiaiiK I. I Mill illy wiillcii Vina III \'lii.i. Nun llniiiinci liiin It. 28 Khavernaq and which make him resolve to win the originals for his brides. Like so many Eastern tales, the Heft Peyker contains several subsidiary stories, each of the Princesses entertaining the King with a romance on the occasion of his first visiting her. Von Hammer gives in his History an analysis of the fol- lowing poems of Lami*^i: Selaman and Absal, Vamiq and "^Azra, Visa and Ramin, Taper and Moth, ' Contention of Spring and Winter, Martyrdom of Saint Huseyn, the Diwan, and the Shehr-engiz. ^ An epitome of the first four, taken from the German work, will be found in Appendix A. Of the Spring and Winter and of the Saint Huseyn it is un- necessary to speak further; in the first there is scarcely any incident, while the second is merely a versified rendering of the generally accepted stories that have gathered round the event it describes. The Shehr-engiz is a work of con- siderable length, and is divided into two sections, the first of which describes the various places of note in and near Brusa, while the second is devoted to the praises of the pretty boys of the city. The first of these sections is inte- resting and possesses considerable value for the topography of medieval Brusa. The Seven Effigies, the Ferhad-Book, and the Ball and Bat are left undescribed by Von Hammer ; an epitome of the first which I have been able to supply from Nizami is inserted in the Appendix, but I am unable to give any farther account of the other two. 1 translate here two passages from the Contention of Spring and Winter; the first describes the merry-makings when the armies of King Spring capture Mount Olympus. ' The date of this work is fixed as 929 (1523) by the author's mentioning the recent capture of Rhodes, which fell on Christmas Day 1522. 2 A poem of Lami'^i's entitled Jabir-name is also mentioned by Hajji Khalifa (N«. 3854)- 29 From the Munazara-i Behar u Shita. [170] Come, heart, and plain the nightingales beside; Bloom with the roses, for 'tis pleasure's tide. Swell the concent, bidding thy songs arise. And melt those hearts of iron with thy sighs. Bide not, like to the tulip, seared of soul ; But while thou mayest, take in hand the bowl. Take wreak of earth or e'er these days be dead, Ere from the heart's citole the music fled. Look to the Hie! and Ho! for loud the cry; The bird is flown e'en while thou sayest Hie! Rose-like turn ear, ' for the night-watching bird 2 By dawn hath 'scaped his ever-plaintful word. The noiseful birds form many a dainty crowd, The bulbul flutes, the streamlet sings aloud. The jasmines turn their blooms to tambourines; The brooklets foam, bemaddened by those scenes. Through ranks of junipers and cypress treen Lightly the breeze trips dancing down the green. The streams play hide-and-seek among the bowers, Among the verdant leafage, with the flowers. * The zephyr plucks the jasmine's cap away And sheds the stolen hairs in pearly spray. ♦ The trees nudge one the otlier with their bouglis, ' The flowers and nightingales each other louse. 'I"he wind is master of the revels gay; Tin; infant blooms, ciiasing each other, play. " Before the breeze, like to a pigeon fair, Tlic rose turns summcrKaults in the mid air. ^ What time the flurcts and the swaid join hands ' The pi^liil o( lli<; rose i'. from iK sliiipc sunielimes compiued lo (he car. ^ I lie higlit-waliliing liird (iiiui|;li-i slieti-Uhi/) Ih (lie iiiglttin^iilc. '' A pretty ulluHion to the glimpses caiiglit of u winding; xlrcani in a luiuUcape. * I hr hairn iiie the pctuU. " Wlieii tlic l)rcczc pluyn niiiuni; thrm. " Another pretty liijurc; the flowcrn in the ^;r««» appear to clia»c our ai»uthi-i . I hi- wind pnNHRN over ihein. ^ I lie nme wavluK in the lireoxc in cunipaicd t>i u tuntblci pij^onit. 30 The wind sweeps o'er them through the garden-lands. ' The pearling cloud stealeth the meteor's blaze, The dawn-arising zephyr scatters sprays. And whirling round, with hoops the streamlets play, With daggers fashioned of the green leaves gay. ■^ Breath-bounden there abide the Judas-trees, ^ The rushing river raceth with the breeze. At tig the herbs play with the wind-wafts bland. The junipers dance * and the planes reach hand. ^ Gaily the breeze hath decked the branchlet sheen, The master of the frolics on the green. The narcisse casts on th'almond-tree its eyne, The cloves reproach the bower with th'eglantine. The brooks are mirror-faced like to the Sphere, The florets are the stars that there appear. The mead's a sky, its stars the dew-drops gleam, Its moon the jasmine halved by the stream. In brief, all round's the Resurrection-plain ; ^ Who see this name not Eden-bovvers again. Were 't strange an they in wonder onward hie Who look hereon with meditation's eye? Up, breeze-wise, Lami*^i, fling fasts aside, The rose's season is no lenten tide. The next extract is descriptive of autumn. From the Same. [171] O come, sad heart, 'tis meditation's day; The airs breathe cool, afield 'twere sweet to stray. The sun hath, Joseph-like, passed to the Scales, ' The wind, passing over the flowers, bends them till they touch, or join hands with, the sward. 2 The streamlets are here likened to jugglers playing with hoops and knives, the hoops being the eddies, the knives or daggers the pointed leaves hanging into the water. 3 The erghavan or Judas-tree (cercis siliquastrum) figures largely in Eastern poetry, but generally in connection with its red blossoms. * The graceful waving of the juniper is a commonplace with the poets. 5 The palmated or hand-shaped leaves of the plane-tree are often alluded to. * All things springing to life after the winter-death. The year's Zelikha oped her golden bales. ' The quince's face, by winds bronzed, sun-like glows, The vine her Pleiadean clusters shows. With saffron are the meadow-lands bedyed, Ablaze with gold the treen on every side. Earthward the gilded leaves in showers stream, And all the rivulets with gold fish teem. ^ Aflame each tree, a gleaming lowe it soars, And so the fiery rain from heaven pours. Amid the yellow leaves black crows galore, — A tulip saffron-hued with seared core. E'en as a tawny bird is every tree, It shakes itself and sheds its plumery. Each vine-leaf paints its face with golden ink, ^ The brook doth argent silver anklets link. * With henna-tinted hands the plane doth bide The meadow-region's heart-alluring bride. ^ The greeny tree doth, like the starry sky, 6 Hurl at the earth-fiend meteors from on high. ^ » « * * «■ ■» -X- Ss * * ST- «• * * « * The following passage from Visa and Rami'n recounts the meeting of the King of Jurjan and Shehr Banii after the New Year feast, when the latter describes the charms of lu.r daughter Visa to the King. ' In the romance Zelikha [jurchascs Joscpli for lii.s weight in gold and jewels (sec Appendix A). Here the radiant sun entering Libra is compared to the l)cautiful Joseph going to the balance to be weiglicd, wliilc the luitmnn Bcallering its yellow leaves is likened to Zclikhd lavishing her gi»lf Mil' "green field of Heaven" (likU jaaw Pit'*)- ^ rii<- iiirlnirs arc of coiirsn ihc yollow Irnvrs. Tlip nlliiHlon U lo tlir Irgrnil iliiii llii- Hlioiiliii|; hIiuh iirr lirclinuidH IiiuIimI by ihr itngrU n( ihour dnnou* wliii vniliiir liMi III', II III llnivrii. 32 From Visa u Rami'n. [172] When that the shining day was past and o'er, And darkness flooded all the wide world's core, The night grew black, the sphere knit close his brows, The Monarch of the Sunset-land arose, ' With ambergris the camphor face was veiled, ^ The plain of heaven with flambeau-lights was filled, The sphere was censer for the rue of eve, ' Night's zephyr musk and ambergris did breathe. Alone some ladies tarried with the King, A-merry-making mid the darkening. Now one would kiss the Monarch's hand full sweet. One lay her roseate face before his feet. Each one of them some wonder-tale did weave \ The King's companions were they dear and lieve. By reason of their stories passing fair, Their ebrious lips, their heart-alluring air. The Emperor found him in right goodly case. His heart was tilled with joyance and with grace. And now his wits would foray after spoil. And now like to the sea would surge and moil. He spies a Sugar-lip among the rest, Rose-bodied, apple-chinned, with jasmine breast; In place of words her tongue would sugar strew, The sun would blush before her roses' hue. Ashamed beside her breath the vernal air. Distraught Comorin aloes by her hair;* The moon turned moth for her cheek's taper bright, ' Of the Sunset-land we have heard before (vol. I, p. 278, n. 3); the present line means nothing more than that the darkness began to prevail. * The night succeeded the day, ambergris being the type of darkness (espe- cially of anything at once sweet-scented and dark) and camphor that of bright whiteness. 3 The seeds of the wild rue used to be burned as a fumigation against the evil eye. ♦ The best variety of aloes-wood (which they burned as an incense) was called Qumari, from Qumar. some place in or near India, possibly the Comorin country. 33 The sun was crazed when he her hair did sight; What time she smileth sweet with many a blush, She putteth to the blush dawn's rosy flush. Like to the Feast her face, the Power her liair; ' Amid those stars she shines the full moon there. Her beauty filled the Monarch's heart with cheer, Straightway he called on her to draw anear; He placed a golden beaker in her hand, And quoth, 'O thou, the bower of beauty bland, 'A fairy thou ? — how sweet a spell thou'st thrown, 'Rieving my wits and making me Mejnun ! '■Sugar and honey from thy lips thou pour'st, '■Pearls on our banquet from thy words thou shower'st. '■Make me thy slave, I humbly crave of thee, 'Thou hast abashed me by thy courtesy. 'An 't be my life thou seek'st, thy hand reach forth : 'For by thy love thou'st cut me off from earth. 'If thy desire be empcry or gold, 'Lo(jk round thee and the sum thereof behold. 'The dust by thee betrod is to mine eye T'oliyrium that earth's hoards arc naught thereby. 'O Light of hearts, if lliou'lt be love of me, 'My nigiit the Power, my day the l''cast shall be. - 'I'll make of thee my crown in all llic land, 'And day ;ui(l night sip wine from out thy li;uid. 'I'll make thee night and day my liareni-(iueen, 'And givt: lliee gold and many a fair demesne.' When that (lie King had made of speech an end. And slujwn the lire (liat hidden in him brenncd, With many a blush that Snul her lips unclosed And unci- again her Hiigared words disposed. I lir lollitwiiij.; ).;liii/.cl liMiii L.imii's l)i\v,»n is (Hiolrd liy (^)iii.ili /.ida. ' The I'ciiul in the ini^'Jil and juyi)UH l''i".liviil iil the Nrw Viai , the I'owei > the Night of I'owrr, hcr vol. I, p. jin, n. .\. ' See preiediiin nidc. 34 Ghazel. [173] From my bitter moans the angels crave for respite in the skies. In the flames I burn; O mercy from those all-consuming sighs! May no speck of dust from my poor frame the dear one's threshold mar ! Grace, for Allah's sake, from this wild tearful torrent, O mine eyes ! How mine eyen eye the pathway ; full of gloom my heart, O breeze. Aid from yon coUyrium-dust aneath my champion's feet that lies ! Heart physician, ere the bane of woe hath poisoned all my soul, Aidance from the theriac-honey which my loved one's lip supplies ! Dolour's waves have cast the heart's frail barque amidst the whirlpool wild; Look ye, Lami^i, from union's shore the winds of help arise. The ill-fated Fighani deserves a brief notice here, not so much on account of the work which he actually achieved, as for the promise of distinction held out in those poems which he was enabled to accomplish. This writer, whose personal name was Ramazan, was born in the city of Trebizond. Latifi tells us that after passing through the usual curriculum, he took up the study of medicine ; but the real bent of his nature lay towards poetry, which he cultivated with great assi- duity. In this pursuit he was greatly assisted by his marvellous memory, whatever Arabic or Persian poem he read remain- ing, to use the expression of the biographer, graven in his memory like an inscription carved upon a rock. Similarly he carried all his own compositions in his mind, never think- ing to write them down. The career of Fighani was however brought to an untimely close by a Persian epigram directed against the Grand Vezir Ibrahim Pasha, and rightly or wrongly attributed to him. The Vezir was, as we have seen, a Greek by birth, and it is possible that he may have had some hereditary feeling for the plastic arts. Be this as it may, he brought with him from the spoils of Ofen three colossal 35 statues which he erected in the Hippodrome opposite his own palace. ' These the Mussulmans looked upon with horror, taking them for idols; and it was openly said that the Grand Vezir was still in heart a Christian and an adorer of graven images. It was at this juncture, according to Qinali-zada's account, that Fighani's enemies, seeing that he had won the favour of Iskender Chelebi the Defterdar, and fearful lest he might likewise gain the good graces of that yet greater patron of poetry, Ibrahim Pasha, laid before the latter this old Persian couplet which they represented as being his work : In earth's temple have Ibrdhi'ms twain appeared; Idols were by one o'erthrown, by one upreared. - Latifi on the other hand, writing only twenty years after the event, regards the verse as a genuine production of Fighani, who, he says waxing over presumptuous through consciousness of his own intellectual powers, had begun to launch satires at the great men of the state. The Vezir beHcvcd the charge; and Fighani was condemned, paraded through the streets on an ass's back, aiul then hanged, 933 (1526-7). Whetlier Figh.inf was guilty or innocent, his j)iinislinicnt reflects little credit on a minister whose boast it w.is to Ix'liicnd litciat iiri- .md art. I''igii;inf's poetry consists entirely of ghazcis and qas(das; l)is style lias a certain amount of originality, and Latiti and nin;ili-z;i(la concur in derlaiing that had he livc^d Ioiuti he I (,>itii'ili-/.i'ulii hiiyM (hill liiialiiiii liiiii^ tlic iiliiltu-s for lulisiiiitiis. ^.jLisJ vy*-^ ^^ «A_^ ^yk^ c:^_j ^^ I Ik- iiiii lliiiilifin or Abtiihiiiii in the |iittiiiii(h wlio, ncciiiiliii^; to tlio Koiitn, ilcHtroycd ijif idnli. In ihc Innplc u( hih liillici A/ci or Tciuh, wlm in iii\l> nf mtitHr llic (ilillld Vc/ll. 36 would have attained a position of real eminence. The last- named critic describes his poetry as being fervid as the sighs of the woeful lover. In early life this poet used Huseyni as his makhlas. ' '^Ahdi gives this ghazel as a specimen of Fighani's style : Ghazel. [174] What scathe although that the vision of thee in mine eyen's castle stay? — 'Tis queen of the earth, 'twere meet an it choose a crystal palace gay. O Moon, on the parting night to war with sleep have those eyes of mine Yet once again drawn the lashes up, a fell and dark array. My wail hath clomb the dome of the sphere, and now, like a trembling child, It feareth to earth to descend again and crieth, Welaway ! The (lute at the banquet points me out with its finger to the guests It saith, 'Not a moment leaveth he to be subject to my lay.' Thou handest around the bowl to the guest at thy banquet: wherefore then Skinker, wilt thou deny a share to thy slave Fighani, say? Although his name is w^ellnigh forgotten now, Ghazali of Brusa enjoyed no little reputation of a certain kind during the earlier part of Suleyman's reign. This reputation was however not so much that of a poet as of a wit and boon companion. His merry jovial disposition and his excessive devotion to pleasure of every sort earned for him the nick- name of Deli Birader or Brother Madcap, by which he was generally known among his familiars. He possessed all the ' Von Hammer confounds this Fighani with an earlier poet of the same name, who was however a native of Qaraman. His mistake is the more singular as both Latifi and Qinali-zada mention the two writers under separate entries. Fighani of Qaraman was a secretary in the service of Prince "Abd-uUah the son of Bayezid H. Among his works is said to have been an Iskender-Nama in the same metre as Firdawsi's Shah-Nama. Curiously enough, as Qinali-zada remarks, this Fighani also was hanged through the intrigues of his enemies. ■^ The finger of the flute is merely a reference to the shape of the instrument. 37 accomplishments and qualities which make for the success of the Eastern court-jester, a ready wit, an inexhaustible fund of facetious anecdotes, a facility in versification, and an unblushing effrontery. On finishing his studies, Ghazali, whose personal name was Muhammed, became a muderris at Brusa, but soon gave this up to seek his fortune at the court of Prince Qorqud, the ill-starred son of Bayezid II, then governor of Magnesia. On his arrival at that town, Ghazali gained the interest of Piyala Bey, an ofiicer and intimate associate of the Prince. By his means he got intro- duced to Qorqud, whose favour he soon acquired and whose inseparable companion he became, accompanying him on his futile visit to the Egyptian court, and, if Qinali-zada's account be correct, remaining with him till the last tragic scene when the hapless Prince had to bow his neck before the emissaries of his brother. Latifi, however, gives a very different story as to the parting between Ghazali and his patron. While in the Prince's service Ghazali wrote certain books; one of these, the Miftah-ul-Hidaya or Key of Guidance, is a versified treatise on the legal prescrijitions relating to ablutions and ])rayers, which, if it has but scant poetic value, at least contains nothing to which the most strict-minded could take exception. Hut of (|iiil(: anolluT characti-i is liie l)ah'-ul- lliiniiiiii v<- Kiid -111 ( iliiiniiini, or Krpcllir ol Sonows and hispeiler of (ares. ' In this book, wiucli l.atili says is a trail'. hit ion or adaptation of the I'lisiaii ,\l(i\ya u Shailiyya, ■* ' Till! Ixiiik in iilsii iiitllcil, M('hii(|ili-i (iliii/.iill I In- Aiu'iilnlcs of (iliii/ali, mill I likiiyi'it-i Deli Miiiider «• llmllicr Mii(ltu|i'.s Tiilc-s. ' I'I'lii; |ir(il(ily|ii- nl ( iliii/iilC'. wmk wii . |iiiilmlily llii' I'i'i-.iiin .\lliy\:< ii SliiiKiyyii, i iiiii|iii',c(l hy A/.iai|i in the liinl liail uj ilic iwcH'tli (cntuiy nl mii nil lui hi. |ialihii|MU\ iiiitlri tiuiiui- HliiiicoH icliili-d liy DavvlitlHliiUi t\<. 7i of my nlitiiin), unit, in i;iratri ilctull, liy jdiiif III cli. VII nr tilo ItuliAiixlili) (|i|). 7H - 7<; or llir ('ttiiiitniitinii|ilr cilltinii liriirt, liiUc wiiiiiiii|{ liy liih dcHtiny. Ilcliuld wliiil ill llic i'ikI IiiiIIi Iiccii tlu- sum ( H ;ill till . t'.loiy iiimI |>|iiH|iOI'ily ! 'i'llC illllK- III Wllllll III' tllHlCll, III llU IIIDIIlll AImiiIc nil alVlllll lill'll III riU|MillliV. 40 His fortune's star sank downward retrograde, From close conjunction to longinquity. Dust lighted on the face of his fair fame, Borne by the blast of traitrous calumny. Forth for his elevation went the word Full sudden from the court of equity. Straightway they reared him up toward the skies. They raised him from the dust of obloquy. And dervish-dancing went he, circling round, From exile to the Land of Amity. A slave neck-bounden stood he at the court ; They loosed him from the bonds of villeiny. For joyfulness he set no foot on earth What time his head was freed from misery. Right gladly soared he on his ascent. Delivered from the world of infamy. So never was the life or death of him Found to be empty of sublimity. And this our hope, that in the world to come Likewise he win to lofty dignity. The host of Heaven spake his chronogram : — 'Upward he journeyed through his courtesy.' ' Of more note than either Fighani or GhazaH is the lyrist Ishaq - Chelebi of Uskub. His father Ibrahim, who was a sword-smith by trade, perceiving the talent of the youthful Ishaq, gave him the best education in his power, with the result that the lad soon entered the ranks of the "^ulema as mulazim ^ under Qara Bali Efendi, and was shortly afterwards promoted to be muderris •'' or principal at Ibrahim Pasha's College at Adrianople. He became successively lecturer at 1 This last line is the chronogram, the numerical values of the Arabic letters composing it giving, on being added together, the total 941, which is the year of the Hijra in which Iskender was hanged. 2 In this name, which is the Aral)ic form of Isaac, the s and the h are pronounced separately, thus: Is-haq. ■' For the exact signification of these terms, see vol. 11, pp. 394 — 400. 41 the college of his native Uskub, at the Qaplija College at Brusa, at Sultan Orkhan's College at Izniq, and in 933 (1526 — 7) at the College of Traditions (Dar-ul-Hadis) at Adrianople. On obtaining this post, Ishaq, who was famous as a composer of chronograms, wrote the following verse, each of the four clauses of which gives the sum 933: The learned, the expounder, Most brilliant jurist born : O God, how worthy Ishaq This college to adorn ! ' His next step was to become muderris at the Sahn-i Seman or Court of the Eight, that is of the eight colleges attached to the great mosque of Sultan Muhammed II at Constanti- nople. ^ In 942 he was named cadi or magistrate of Damascus; and there he died in 949 (1542 — 3).-"' The superstitious spirit of the age saw a prognostication of the approaching close of his career in this chronogram which Ishaq wrote on receiving his last appointment: In Zi-t-IIijja's month'' I purj)oscd for Damascus town to leave; I Ijcgaii to write its tan'kli, wliun tlicrc fell the sliades of eve. * The foreboding was, as we may imagine, deepcnetl by this otlier chronogram written when he hat! reached Salihiyya just outside 'Damascus the Noble:' I V«iL_sl \.A..iiJi .^.iij. ,j^^i'S J^_^l ^ *J--c '^ Salin-i Scniitn in also the name of one of llic j;ra(lcs lliiou|.;li wliii li tho rniidcrriHCH or Iccliircrn paKs. Sec vol. 11, pp. 23 nn«l 399. 'I 'I'liih is lliir (lute |{iven by (,)ini'ili-/.itdii and udopled liy Siimi lley iit liis I'in^^rapliical Dictionary ami liy Tfvfici In his ("univan of ihc I'octs; luit ihc I'.l'K.d Mil Anemone hIvch 943 (153^) 7), ^md ll,i||i Kli.dil.i oil iiS.U ^)» wliK.li hi .1 li:r. Iiccn adopted by Von Ihnnmri. * /i I lli||.i I iIk' ii.imn of llir Iwrlfth niuiilh nl iIk- MuliiMinii-diut liin.ii yciu. 42 The odours sweet of Paradise won first to usward blown What time this caravan of ours drew near Damascus town. ' The life of Ishaq Chelebi was dissolute and vicious; even in this age of misogyny he was notorious for the extreme contempt and repugnance with which he regarded the female sex, and for his excessive addiction to those unnatural amours to which the "^ulema as a class appear to have been especially prone. It is true that he is said to have repented of his evil ways on reaching the age of forty (that period of life which the old Turkish writers call the buliigh-i haqiqi, 'the true age of discretion),' when he obtained the degree of the Court of the Eight, and to have made a vow (which vow he faithfully kept to the end) to forego thenceforth and for ever all illicit pleasures. There is a story told of how Sultan Selim, when on his campaign against the Memliiks of Egypt, expressed a desire to have some learned men sent after him who might entertain him with their conversation. The authorities therefore des- patched Ishaq Chelebi along with the cadis Nihali Chelebi and Bezmi. On being presented to kiss the Sultan's hand, they made their appearance in their travelling dress, and wearing their swords and other arms. This breach of etiquette so incensed the grim monarch that he ordered the delinquents to be put to death forthwith, an order which was however speedily cancelled. Ignorant of the peril they had incurred, Ishaq, indignant that Nihali had been allowed to take prece- dence of him in kissing the imperial hand, abused his colleague in a ribald couplet, to which the latter at once returned a suitable reply; and when Selim summoned them before him the next day and asked which among them was the most ' iL_/«L.iv9 |^J>bl_-^_j gji^iS ^..*«^fl5 c>-^> 43 accomplished, they could think of no better answer than to repeat the contemptible verses wherewith they had just been vilifying one another. The Sultan, turning away in disgust, remarked that he had desired companions and not buffoons, and sent them back to their posts with a small gratuity apiece. Although he conducted himself like a fool in the presence of Sultan Seli'm, Ishaq was a man of no little learning and a poet of considerable merit. Latifi, who describes his verses as being 'debonair, simple, tender and gay,' attributes these characteristics to his having composed them when in com- pany with his minions to declare the sadness of his state and to express his heart's desire. Qinali-zada likewise applies the terms tender and gay to his poetry, and adds that his language and style are unstrained and free from formalism. He left a Diwan of qasidas and ghazels; also, according to Ilajji Khalifa, a rhyming history of Seli'm I previous to his accession, which he entitled the Ishaq-Nama or Ishaq-Book. He did not adopt any makhlas. These three ghazels will serve to illustrate his style: Ghazel. I176] I'.iil fur yciUiiiiij^ fof my lnvc^d diic, paliciil cvciy \V(»i.' I'd l)t;u ; Wli;it coiilil work lli<: ul wail in concert with my si^jhs, Did the rose not aye companion with tlie thorn in mid parterre? Ne'er hud I liei'ti liiokendieailed, neilhei had my soul liren vexed, I lad my lotliine nut tympallii/.in^ lomiude o| u liidlnd dwnllin^ their, 44 Dear one, but for these my verses who would pity Ishaq's plight, Tell the story of his anguish, and to thee his case declare? Ghazel. [177] O my ruthless Moon, of dolour I am dying, where art thou? Up to heaven on high my plaints and wails are flying, where art thou? Nowhere save in thy rose-garden may the bulbul-heart find rest; Roseate face, with form the cypress-tree defying, where art thou? Come, strew sugar from thy liplets at the feast of heart and soul; O my Parrot sweet of accent, hear me crying, where art thou? ' O my gracious gliding Angel, show thy visage ere I die ; Be my soul and frame thy ransom joyance-buying, where art thou r Dead of sheer delight were Ishaq should'st thou once in kindness say : 'O my weakling, love-distracted, sadly sighing, wiiere art thou?' Ghazel. [178J All who see my verse upon yon pearl-bestrewing rubies glow * Fain would fling their souls as largesse and would shout Well done ! Bravo ! See the rose lead forth its armies 'gainst the tulips in the mead ; 'Tis the King of Riim ^ who doth to battle with the Red-Heads go. ♦ 111 doth it become the lover wine and lovelings to renounce; Graceless would the garb of virtue on the rake and losel show. Dear one, saying, '-It resembleth those thy rubies,' at the feast Doth the beaker bear the wine-cup on its head, and proudly go. ' Sugar = sweet words; the Parrot = the beloved sweet of speech. 2 The pearl-bestrewing rubies = the red lips that utter beautiful words. The line appears to mean, All who hear the beloved reciting my verses. 3 The King of Riim = the Sultan of Turkey; this ghazel may have been written when Sultan Selim was starting on his Persian campaign. * In old times the Turks used to nickname the Persians ^Qizil Bash' or Red-Heads, on account of the red caps worn by their soldiers. The poets of the Classic Period often connect the Iranians with the tulip for this reason. 45 Weep thou for the woeful Ishdq, he is fallen in strangerhood ; None hath he when dead to lay him on the stone, full well I know. Usuli of Vardar Yenijesi was a Siifi poet of some repute. Attracted by the fame of Sheykh Ibrahim Gulsheni, he went to Cairo and there joined the circle of that great mystic teacher's disciples. He remained in Egypt till the death of his master in 940, when he returned to Turkey. The rest of his life was for the most part spent in his native town, where he dwelt in religious seclusion, and although his poverty was extreme, he never condescended to beg assistance of the great. There he died in 945 (1538 — 9). He left a Diwan and a Shehr-engiz of Vardar Yenijesi. The poems which compose his Diwan are entirely mystical, and are compared by Latifi to those of his predecessor the martyr Nesimi. ' The following ghazel is quoted by both Qinali-zada and 'Ahdi. (jhazcl. [179] ICach wave that riseth on the sea of Absolute Existency Declares the secret M am (lod' or openly or secretly. All things arc mines, and of their cjuintessential nature they l)cgct, Soim: ^;ol.| 46 Lo, thou hast entered and shalt quit this fane nine-domed, hexagonal ; ' Yet neither entrance-door nor gate of exit is beheld of thee. How sore must labour the Adept ere he attain perfection's point; What blood the mine must drain to form a single gem of radiancy ! 2 In all beholders wait the virgin fantasies expectant till That like Usuli there ai'ise a lord of perspicacity. ^ ' The world, the nine domes being the Nine Spheres, and the six sides being the Six Directions, i.e. above and below, before and behind, right and left. 2 The old belief was that gems and metals grew and ripened through long ages in the mines. [Compare the well-known Persian verse : — '^4J .tA.it 02-;^iic Lj QLi.i>LX.j .0 O^S ,3^ ED.] 3 i. e. the unformulated feelings in men's minds wait till a great poet like Usiili arises to give them utterance. CHAPTER III. ZaTI: KHAYALI. In the year 876 (1471 — 2) there was born to a poor shoemaker of the little town of Balikessi in Qarasi a boy who was destined to take high rank among the lyric poets of his day. This was Zati. ' At first the lad followed his father's trade ; but his innate love of versifying and his desire to achieve distinction as a poet drove him to seek a wider field for the exercise of his talent than was offered by his native town, and sent him to try his fortune in the literary world of Constantinople. What that fortune was is related by Qin.ili-zada in the poet's own words as reported b\- the filhcr of the biographer, who had ([uestioncd the aged Zati as to what had brought him so far down in the world. Sultan liayezi'd was on the throne when Z;iti arrived in the capital, and tlu; latter lost no time in bringing liinisilf under the iioIkc of the uionarrji |)y prrsiMiliiig him wit li ccrlain ([asKlas wrillcn for his glorificalion, wliicli nut with a fivourable rec(:|)tion. Z.itCs fame as a pt>et soon became considi'rable. and f;ain((l loi him Ihr friendship of many of the great mei\ ol Ihi iim(, All r.i'.li.i till- (ii.iml Ve/.ir, Mn'cyyed-zada the g.-idi-'Askcr, Jalcr ('h.lrj.i tl,, p.K'l-Nish;lnji, IMr( I'.e.li.i tlic I )riitl tiiuiir wits ItiiUlixlil, hiil i«ll llic ullioi iiiiiliiiiilicH iiiiikc it Iwii/.. Until lliuno iiiUiiOH iitr iidw dIiI laxlilohol, il i)i>t iiliiidloto, 48 his patrons. It was on the gifts of these and such as these that Zati lived, a precarious means of subsistence in a country like medieval Turkey, where a great man's position was even less secure than was his head. Recognising the very unstable nature of this support, Zati had resolved to learn some profession by means of which he would be able to keep body and soul together if left entirely to his own resources. His choice had fallen on the old-world science of geomancy, that species of divination which is effected by means of figures formed of points traced on sand. And so in the troublous times that preceded Bayezid's deposition and ushered in the reign of Selim, when "^Ali Pasha was dead, Ja'^fer beheaded, and Mu'eyyed-zada deposed, Zati, finding himself without a patron, opened a booth or little shop in the court of the mosque of Sultan Bayezid, where he sat telling fortunes and writing out charms. ' But Zati's shop was not frequented by those alone who sought for a glimpse into the future, the seer's name as a poet caused his little estabHshment to become the rendezvous of those literary amateurs and aspirants after poetic fame who abounded in Constantinople. These submitted their productions to the master, who gave them the benefit of his advice, and who, it is said, did not scruple to appropriate such of their verses as met with his approval, introducing them into his Diwan either quite unaltered or very slightly modified. If any ventured to remonstrate with him as to this procedure, he used to meet their objections, so the story runs, by saying, 'You are not really poets as you have produced no diwans, but I have written a diwan that shall never be forgotten till the end of time, and by introducing your verses thereinto I am bestowing on them abiding immortality.' Although so ready to make use of the ' The vicinity of the mosque of Sultan Bayezid is to this day the chief resort of those faljis or diviners who are still to be found in the Ottoman capital. 49 thoughts of others, Zati was very indignant when he fancied anyone had made free with his as the Httle anecdote of his dispute with Mesihi will have shown. ' Fortune-telling was not a very money-making business, and the greater part of Zati's life was passed in extreme poverty; he was unfortunately afflicted with deafness, which debarred him from following the professional career adopted by so many of his brother- poets. On Selim's succession Zati came forward with a qasida which was duly accepted and rewarded ; but as the infirmities of age were beginning to tell on the poet, he found himself unequal to attending the Sultan, who was almost always in the field, and consequently forgotten and thrown upon his own resources. When Suleyman came to the throne, Zati once more appeared with a qasida which was well received by the Sultan, one couplet in particular meeting with the imperial favour; this was the following in which Suleyman is placed above Niishirvan the Sasanian King of Persia, who stands throughout the I'^ast for the type of royal justice: Justice standcth at thy ^jalc, O Lord, a slave unfettered, free — Ife wh(jrii Nushi'rvi'in could hold not, though he faslened sure liis chain. - I liings might now have gone better with Z.iti h.id hi' not got himself into diriiculties, first with tiic ( iiaiid \'ivii- IWiahiin I'a.hii througli being mixed up with .i (hnioiist ration made l>y some poets in favour of a l)rolh(i ot the craft whom tlie Miinister had imprisoned, and afterwards with llic (hstinguishrd |)0( 1 Khay.ih lk:y, who enjoyed the lavoui ol the couit, and witli '.onic of whose versi-s Zaii appears lo ha\i' taken hberties. (Jathf I'-fenih, when raised to he Anatohan ( >a(li-' Asker, chd « Scr V..1. II, p. iii)^ n. 7 on |.|i. .'..\\ t,. Sec n. 4 on \<. <> \ ol vol, ii, 50 something for his old friend, who died soon afterwards in 953 (1546 — 7), and was buried outside the Adrianople Gate of Constantinople, where rest the ashes of so many Turkish poets. Besides being a poet, Zati was a wit, and the following story related by Naji in his Professor's Magazine will illustrate his quickness of repartee. A certain ''All Pasha, notable for his ugliness, having one day summoned Zati into his presence, looked at him for some time and then remarked to some by-standers. 'Well, this Zati is no beauty.' Whereupon the poet at once rejoined with the well-known proverb, 'man is the mirror of man.' Although hardly a great poet, Zati was a very prolific one; he probably wrote a larger number of ghazels and qasidas than any other author in all Turkish literature. Latifi says, on the poet's own authority, that he left over 3000 ghazels, 500 qasidas, and about 1000 ruba'^i's and qit'^as; but Qinali-zada's more moderate statement, also given on the authority of Zati himself, crediting him with 1600 ghazels and more than 400 qasidas, is probably nearer the truth. Over and above his poems in lyric form, he composed at least two romantic mesnevis, a Shem*^ u Perwana, Taper and Moth, in 5000 couplets, and another called Ahmed u Mahmud, Ahmed and Mahmud, in 2000 ; he is further responsible for a Shehr-engiz of Adrianople. Latifi gives him in addition to these a Ferrukh-Nama or Ferrukh-Book 'in the manner of Khusrev and Shirin,' a Siyer-i Nebi or Acts of the Prophet, and a Mevliid or Birth-song. ' The artistic achievement of Zati did not, however, equal his industry. Had he been more fortunately circumstanced, the result would probably have been different; his deafness 1 Von Hammer further attributes to him two mesnevis, Shirin, and "^Ashiq u Ma'^shdq ; but this is from a misreading of the passage in Latifi. 51 told against him, and still more the extreme penury in which the greater part of his life was passed. This compelled him to place his immediate wants before all else ; he could not afford to work for art's sake alone, and many of his verses were written either for money or in the hopes of gaining it. That under such conditions he should have attained the high position that he did proves him to have been possessed of more than ordinary ability, and the remark of the critics quoted by Latifi is well-founded that it must have been by sheer force of native talent that a man without education, who had never sat at the feet of muderris or professor, was able to produce works of imaginative art that filled the cultured with admiration and amazement. The biographer just mentioned waxes enthusiastic when discussing Zati's gifts; not only is he the most prolific of the lyrists, but had it not been for his deafness and his poverty it is certain that not one of all tliose who went before or followed after him could have approached him, for he would have been uiiif|uc in the cycle and pre-eminent on the earth; 'many an age must the circling heavens roll ere mother earth bring forth to the world fiom the womb of nature one of loft\' genius like to i)ini.' 'i'lic wrilci' adds thai tin- critics are agreed that he was a master in subtile fancies and imaginative language, and compared him to the IV-rsian pott She\kh Kem.il;' for which among the arts of |ioetr\- did lie not |)ractise, and to what virgin lanc\' did iiol his |)ieriiiu; wit attain:' L.ttih's, liow(;ver, is no imie Uhnd .k hnii .it ion ; he is .il>l<' to ,(■(• the weakness as well a. t he st i en;;t h ol his .mt hor, ' Slicyliii Kriii.il III KiMiiiitiil iliril ill Soj (1400- I); Jrtmi Hiiyn lie imilalt'il llii.iiii III |)illii, lull '>iit|iiiKH s,'^'. Ziya Pasha's Kharabat, or 'Tavern' is a great 53 three 'founders' of the Turkish speech, the other two being, as we have seen, Ahmed Pasha and Nejati Bey. All three are censured somewhat unreasonably on account of their antiquated diction and of the obsolete, and to the modern reader uncouth, words that abound in their works ; also, with more justice, for the great license which they take with the imala and zihaf, and for the padding that disfigures many of their verses. Ziya has however the grace to add that while the language has been much refined since their day, their writings were likely enough pretty for their time. The verdict of Professor Naji (probably the most just that can be arrived at) is that, while many passages may be met with in Zati's poems which must be adjudged coarse both in thought and language, he has a great number of verses which prove him to have been a man of high talent and well skilled in the niceties of poetic art; while the mere fact that from being a shoemaker he became a recognised auth(jrity on the subtilest points of poetry is a suflicient indicatifjn of his extraordinary ability. Z.'iti's chief title to fame rests, as I have alreadx' said, on his lyrics; but one of his mesnevis, the Shein^ u I'erwana, claims a little finlhcr iiotiec. ( )f the- Ahnud and Alahimid, the I' errukh-N.inia, and the two religious poems nothing beyond tilt: name: is recorded; but Latifi devotes a few lines to liic I a|)( r and Moth, one ot those slock allegorical love stories at wliicli we have sc:iii that l.aiui'i tiird his iiand. I Ik' old hioj'iapher speaks o| this porni ol oiu author as hifdily aitislic, every coiipjcl Mioin matla to niai|la ' being lraii(.;l)t with iinaf;ilialion and wilhi-nt pi-ii, all tin- same, III' (onliniH,, tli( oon i-. Ill-re rneiinl her disi . ' The l'!iii|iyreiui, i. e. the 'Arsli, wliii li is idiovr llir I'.i^'Jilli raiiidi'.r. Sec V"l' I, PI'- .^5 ^' "'"' 4.1 4- '' Sliiiili- liric niraii'. pMilrctidii, iiM in llic Ininiuiit so (oininonly lined in Hpi-akin^', of II Kin^; .vljl |*'Ol 'Miiy ( iud i-itlciid liix Nliudnw !' <* III IIk' I' 11. 1 llii' lu'inl iiui'il III III' I'liliiilv .liiiviil I'Mi'pl liii llii- |ii ii liriii 56 His flinty heart appeareth still within his tender frame: Deem not that sweet hath bound a stone about his waist howe'er. ' Love's vapours rise into my head, e'en as the bath it seems ; * What though mine eyen, like the basin-tap, shed many a tear ! ^ It ever would have kissed his feet without restraint or let; — Oh that our face had been the mat his bath to carpet fair ! A beggar for his grace are we, bare-headed, bare of foot ; * O Zati, he hath stript us, he, and shaved us debonair. In translating this third poem I have preserved the redif, here represented by 'doth pass away.' Ghazel. [182] When we sight thy beauty, free will's bridle-rein doth pass away ; Champion-rider, grace we cry, the glaive of sdeign doth pass away. By thy head, cast not thy lover down, bedecking thee so fair! O my sweet, bethink thee, beauty's henna-stain doth pass away. Be not vain a-thinking, 'AH these birds of hearts I've made my prey.' Prince of horsemen, grace's falcon lastwise fain doth pass away. Kindness show to this ant Zati even as thou findest chance ;5 Solomon-renowned, the seal of beauty, vain doth pass away. *> a long lock of hair which was allowed to grow on the crown. A man having his head shaved would naturally bend it; here, by the figure husn-i ta'lil (aetiology: see vol. i, p. 113), he is said to bow it before the charms of the young barber. ' There is here an allusion to the qana'^at tashi, or stone of contentment; a stone which dervishes and Arabs, when going on a journey, or on other occasions when a scarcity of food is to be apprehended, sometimes tie tightly against the pit of the stomach in order to repel the pangs of hunger. 2 Because steam rises from the hot bath. 3 The qurna is a fixed basin in a hot bath, with a hot and cold tap. ♦ Beggars go bare-head and bare-foot, and so do people in a hot bath. * Solomon, the greatest of monarchs, is often mentioned in connection with the ant, the meanest of all creatures. The story runs that on one occasion, when travelling with his army, Solomon entered the Valley of Ants, whereupon the Queen of the Ants, perceiving the approach of the mighty host, cried out to her subjects to enter their dwellings lest Solomon and his army should tread them under foot and perceive it not; a speech which was duly heard and pondered by the wise King who understood the language of all living things. See Koran, chap, xxvii. <• Solomon's great power, by virtue of which he ruled over men, spirits, The following is the ghazel quoted by ^Ahdi in his Rosebed of Poets : Ghazel. [183] What doth ail thee that thou moanest, Sphere? dost love a gadling free? Say, hast thou a shining Moon that roameth all the world to see? Is it autumn's blast, O garden, that hath sallowed o'er thy cheek ? Or hast thou a wayward wanton graceful-waving Cypress-tree? Every morning-tide, O nightingale, thou makest moan and plaint; Flast a smiling rose that 'listeth with the thorn in fere to be? 'Meet it were, O Soul, that I should yield my soul for thee,' said I; Wrathful in my face he gazed, 'Hast thou then a soul?' quoth he. Yet again art thou confused, Zati, like the charmer's locks; Boundless spite is this, or hast a fair of fairy radiancy ? I have already said tluit Ziya Pasha gives some extracts from the Shem*^ u Perwana; but none of these, except the following, consist of more than ten lines. While they are thus quite insufficient to afford any adequate idea of the poem, they give the impression of considerable pictures- qiieiiess, but without originality in sid)ject or in handling. I he passage here rendered is descri[)live of the nu[)tials ol King Perw.'ina and i'rincess Shem' ; the subject is alua^'s treated in dtrtail in the (»ld ICastern love romances, and always in the liiglily figurative manner of which tiiis slightly abridged translation will serve as an isamplr. I'roin llic Slicm 11 rcrw.m.i. Ii"*^-!! Wliiii timu Shciii' ittiil rcrwiintt iiicl ii(;iiiti I In- iiihiT'< pHHHrd iirul left iiIdiic Ihcsu Iwiiin; Anil s\liiii llio Kiii^ and Sliciii' wuru Irft ulniic :iti)<>t (itriit Nnino/ III I .111 i A /Hill. 58 'Twas like the Sun coDJoined with the Moon. Their folk had piled the bed-gear nine-fold, ' (The tale of what they did not is untold.) A golden ladder thereagainst was laid, Whereby the twain straightway upclomb the bed. Soon as that Balm of Dole was mounted there (As o'er the nine-fold sphere the faithful's prayer). He stript her like unto a gentle dove Naked, and held her to his breast with love. He saw how fair that Lamb beseemed his breast. He clasped her close and to his bosom prest. And next he struck his teeth into the peach, ' Delight he tasted, life his life did reach. A harvest of the rose that bosom shone, That night the bulbul the rose-harvest won. From the King's hand the bird restraint takes flight, His free will sinketh down and passeth quite. That lover winneth to a silvery lawn, And sees the foot-print of the heavenly fawn. When reached the Monarch to that print his hand, Thereunderneath a casket locked he fand. The which he opened with a coral key. And strewed with rubies all the drapery. More highly endowed with poetic genius, though less ver- satile and far less prolific than Zati, was Khayali Bey, whom Latifi calls 'the lord and leader of the poets of this age, the chief and chancellor of this company,' and whom Qinali- zada describes as 'the King of the poets of the land of Rtim and the champion of the eloquent of this realm.' Khayali, ' Eastern beds are made of several mattresses, usually three, laid upon the ground, one on the top of the other. 2 The bed formed of nine mattresses one above the other to the uppermost of which the lady, the Balm of Dole, mounted, is compared to the nine Ptolemaic spheres which revolve one outside the other, and through all nine of which the prayer of the faithful must pass to reach the Court of God which is held beyond the outermost. ^ That is, he kissed or bit amorously. A kiss is often called a peach (sheftalii). 59 whose personal name was Muhammed, was, like the mystic poet Usuli, a native of Vardar Yenijesi, a little Rumelian town which in those days was a centre of culture and not altogether undeserving of the encomium of Qinali-zada, who speaks of it as 'the meeting-place of poets and the well- spring of the accomplished.' When quite young he became a disciple of the mystic teacher Baba ^Ali'-i Mest, Father "^Ali the Drunken, ' in whose service he obtained an insight into esoteric lore to which the poems written in his after life bear ample witness, whilst his mind became indelibly impressed with the dervish ideal of a retired simple life, free alike from desire of worldly wealth and glory and from fear of fortune's frown. Khayali used to wander about the country in company with his master, and on one occasion they came to Constantinople, where, according to "^Ashiq Chelebi, they were brought under the notice of the judge of the city, who disapproved of the youthful tlisciple roaming the land with the wandering qalender, and confided him to the care of a muhtesib " called Uzun *^Ali at whose hands he received a liberal education. Already, while he was still a mere youth, Kiiayali's poetic talent began to show itself; his gha/.cls attracted considerable attention aiul met with general a[)i)roval, whereupon Iskender Chelebi the Defterdar, always ready tomc myHlle poenin, and died In ■)$.)( ■S4'')' 62 he done so than he recollected that he had prayed for Khayali who was still alive as though he were dead, a cir- cumstance which he took for an intimation that his friend was indeed no more. He was accordingly not astonished to hear immediately afterwards, when he entered the town, of Khayali's death at Adrianople. Khayali Bey was one of the best poets of his time. He would appear to have been living when Latifi entered him in his Memoirs, for that biographer gives- no particulars as to his career, and merely mentions him as the greatest poet of the time. Qinali-zada speaks of him in almost equally high terms ; he says that Khayali's poems were greatly esteemed by men of taste, and extols the purity of his language and the correctness and sweetness of his style, which for clearness and fluency he compares to a rippling stream. His writings, he adds, are free from confusion and indecision, and are distinguished by beauty of phraseology and grace of diction. Scarcely less favourable is the opinion of Professor Naji, than whom no more competent judge has perhaps ever lived ; himself a distinguished poet and scholar, well versed in the modern culture and fully appreciating its superiority, he has none the less a thorough knowledge of and true sympathy with those earlier writers whom so many of his contemporaries ignore or despise. This gentleman considers Khayali one of the finest poets of his day, and says that in no other writer of that time is so much power to be found. The poems of Khayali are exclusively lyrical; ' "^Ashiq Chelebi vainly endeavoured to persuade him to try his powers in a mesnevi ; he protested that it would be impossible for him to complete a story once begun. Careless of his poems ' This poet must not be confused with the obscure writer of the same name who composed a Ley la and Mejniin in the time of Selim I. See p. 1 72, n. 3, of vol. II. 63 as of all his property, Khayali never made a collection of them as other poets did, but distributed them among various friends and acquaintances. They were, however, brought together and formed into a Diwan, a copy of which, we are told, was often in the hands of Sultan Suleyman. The Ottoman Sultan was not the only royal admirer of Khayali; Shah Tahmasp of Persia, so runs the story, was seated in full divan, when a verse of the Turkish poet was quoted in his presence, whereupon admiration so filled the King that he straightway called for a beaker of wine which he drained to the health of the gifted singer. ' Khayali's poems, which are for the most part deeply tinged with the mystic philosophy, display far more originality both of thought and of treatment than is usual with the writers of this age. They may indeed be equalled, or even surpassed, by the works of some of his contemporaries, so far as pictures- qucncss of imagery and mere verbal adornment arc concerned ; but it seems to me, notwithstanding the fact that Khayali is passed over by Ziya Pasha without so much as the mention of his name, that he is in reality the truest poet among all the many who made ( ionstantiiioplr their head-(iuarters be- tween the days of Nejati and those- of \\m\\. Tliought, not expression, not even fct'lini;, is his (nstinclivi,- cliaracteristic as a poet. Besides the usual f|asf(las and gha/eis Ihc-ri' are in Khajah's ' I'(mIi:i|>:> il is lo lliis (liiil Kliiiyiili alliiili-s in tlu' rullnwiii^ rouplct froni one of his i^Iiii/.cIh; I, Kliiiyi'ilf, mil u icvcllri wlin diiiiiiH llir tlrnj^n in Uilin, VVIiiir tliu l'',iii|»'il I III key, i>i inc'iiiil, 64 Di'wan a few stanzaic pieces, murebba^ mukhammes, and so on, the most remarkable of which is a fine elegy on the talented but unfortunate Prince Mustafa, composed, as is so often the case with such poems, in the verse-form known as Terji"^-Bend. The following ghazel is probably an early production, as it is quoted by Lati'fi in his Tezkira ; it is purely mystical : Ghazel. I185] How to make my soul be fellow of the Sempiternal Rayne? How to strip away all yearning for the world's desire and gain? ' How to fly and bide within the curling tresses of the Dear, Having worn, through love, my body to a hair by wail and plain? 2 How to cast my falcon will to take the birds of golden wing That do fly and play them ever o'er the vast quicksilver main ? ' How with one deep draught to empty all those nine smaragdine bowls Set in heav'n, and thereby banish hence ebriety's dull pain ! * Lo the sphere hath turned Khayali's visage to an autumn leaf; How to give it Thee as Keepsake, Thee the spring of beauty fain'.^ ' It is well known that the first rule of the mystic philosophy is that no progress can be made in the Higher Life till all selfish desire be killed. 2 The Dear is the Celestial Beauty, not to be perceived or apprehended without travail of the soul. Occultism, says the theosophist, wears no crown but one of thorns. 3 The strange picture of the golden-winged birds flying over the quicksilver sea may perhaps have been suggested by the stany heavens; by these birds the poet possibly means nothing more definite than those mysteries of nature which surround us on all sides, and which may be comprehended, say the mystics, through wise, strong, loving purpose. * The nine emerald (that is green, or as we should say, blue) bowls of heaven are of course the nine Ptolemaic spheres, and here represent the universe, the riddle of which the mystic seeks to solve and so escape from all doubt and perplexity into the region of perfect calm. 5 From two or three passages in his poems, Khayali would appear to have been of a sallow complexion : Yahya Bey also in one of the verses he directed against the poet, speaks of his yellow face. ^5 The next must also be interpreted in a mystic sense; in the original it is very graceful. Ghazel. [i86j A Mejnun I, filled with the grace of Ley la; ' Within my head the passion-craze of Leyla. That butt am I of Fate and evil Fortune Who drowneth in the ocean-maze of Leyla. To me Love's gory-shrouded martyr seemeth Each tulip in the desert-ways of Leyla. The Mejnun heart doth feel but shame at honour Since branded with the dear disgrace of Leyla. 2 A silent Mejnun I, fulfilled of rapture, But in my heart the deaf'ning praise of T,eyla. There fallcth on mine ear the anklet's tinkle; Will e'er appear or glimpse or trace of Leyld? 'i'ill with llu; inner eye liiou sce'st, Kiiaydli, Ne'er will ai)pear the lovely face of Leyla. Tlxj ihrcc following are fairly representative of Khawili's average style; all are more or less mystical. Ghazel. 1 1 •''^7 1 My V(;rscs form llic liindcii .uiij; by all llic fere-, nf pain ai\d piiu-; A story from llic world <>( Love is every siii^;le wind i>{ mine. 'I'm laml llic hIuI'. in llic ( miveiit nf iln- world inv si^'Jis and Icitrs ! )o liiiiii.li, these llir oi[>_:in iiiilc, anil llio.c llic nili\ -linti'il wine* ■ i liioii|'lioiii ihiit |r|ia/.(:l Lcylii HtiimL loi llic liivliu' lli'uuty, the objctt of llic iiiyvilic'h love. '■• Tliat Ih, llio Idvliin licarl wliii li liu'. trcn llic hwccI bruuly ol the my.lic Inilli, r('|{iu'ilr(l by the wmlil oi orlhodoxy luid t'liiivcntloii »■< lil>i'i|tlK'iiiy i\i)il (li'i^;iitcr, coiilil Ici^l iiiit nliiiiiir ill what ihnt wntlil liohU for liiiiUMir, " KhuyiiK iiicHit'i hcic thai while he il^h"! niiil weepi loi the hivi" ul nnihly 5 66 Although the Erzheng is no longer, every verse of mine doth glow The picture-gallery of Mani, through the tale of thee divine. ' Betake thee to the tomb of Mejnun and behold how Leyla makes Of every bow of him a surma-holder for her painted eyne. 2 Behold, Khaydli, thou'rt the champion-wrestler in the field of verse . To-day while reigneth a Darius heaven-throned and Jem-benign. ' Ghazel. [i88] Each tree within the mead I held a houri lighted here below, I saw the flowers and reckoned there the radiance that their faces* show. I looked and saw the garden-ways were fair bestrewn with almond bloom. And likened them to Eden-bowers wherethi^ough the streams of camphor flow. •'' The mead is the Most Blessed Vale, ablaze with all its blooms and treen;* I fancied it was Sinai's Mount with Heaven's refulgency aglow. The stream beheld the Joseph-flower within the Egypt of the mead; I thought, the lover holding forth the mirror, filled the while with woe. beauties, he does in reality pay tribute to the Divine Loveliness which mani- fests itself through these. The figure in the verse is taken from the Christian worship; the beautiful pictures and images in the churches were but idols to the Muslim, though to the mystic it was easy to see how God could be wor- shipped through these. The organ and the sacramental wine play important parts in the Christian rites. 1 Mani is Manes, the founder of the Manichaean system. The poets represent him as a great painter; and his studio, where he kept his collected paintings, is called Erzheng (sometimes Erzeng and Erteng.) 2 This couplet is purely mystical and does not refer to any incident in the romance, which makes Leyli die before Mejnun. The meaning may be some- thing like this: The Eternal Beauty, in its countless manifestations, is ever making use of the elements, physical and psychical, of its lovers, in order to give expression to and body forth its own loveliness. Surma is the black powder with which Eastern ladies paint the edges of their eyelids. 3 In this verse Khayali gives both the Sultan and himself a pat on the back. * That is, the houris' faces. * Of the streamlets of Paradise it is said that their earth is of camphor, their beds of musk, their sides of saffron, while their pebbles are rubies and emeralds. 6 The 'Most Blessed Vale' (Vadi-i Eymen) is the valley in which Moses saw the burning bush. I 67 Khaydli, I beheld his breast which grief for rivals had bedecked; I took it for a desert-land wherein no pleasant grasses grow. ' Ghazel. [189J Naught he knows of medicine's virtue who hath ne'er had ache or pain ; Never doth the caitiff quaff the beaker at the feast of bane. - He shall not be broiled at fires infernal myriad months and years, He, O zealot,'' who in cant's hot market-place* doth cold remain. What though I should dance around, O jurist, 5 for the Dear One's love? — 'Twere but meet if dust to circle with the whirlwind still be fain. ^ One of pinion with the "^anqa lofty-souled is he to-day ^ Who apart, alone, abidetli mid creation's nest and grain. Tidings of the bloom and perfume of this garth " Khayali gives, Like to yiii»I(ts froiu uliifli lif <|iiotcs. 'Asliiq ( liclebi's infonnalion goes a tiitU- lurllu-r; Ik I.Movvi all tiial LatiH knows and a little iiiok. 1 U- knows ' Mlm/./iyii Tcvfiii ill llir milieu in llu* Niiiiiihui-i I'.dcliiyyiil. '<> Mii|',liil;iil, wliicli liml liccii ill tlin |i(mNCKHl(>ti of the I'dxiiinH iiiul liiul int- |i|iiti(l iIk lirlji III StilcyiiiAii, wnH iii.iii di.dect, especially in its e.iilier st.i|'i ;, will li.ivi no tiiiiililr III i(,idiii(; ansllmi;; wiitteit l)\' 76 F^uziili, while he will hardly be able to understand much of Neva^i without some previous special study. ' None the less it would appear strange and probably somewhat uncouth to western readers; and so we find Lati'fi and Qinali-zade, apparently more struck by the dialect than by aught else, likening the works of Fuzuli to those of Neva^'. That the poet himself regarded his speech as distinct alike from the ^Osmanli and the Jaghatay is evident from the appeal in the Preface to his Diwan for indulgence if his words and phrases be found unfamiliar, since they are addressed equally to the 'eloquent of Riim', namely the Ottomans, and to the 'Tartar rhetoricians', that is the Central Asian Turks. So far as it goes, the judgment of the early critics on Fuzuli is wholly favourable. Latifi speaks of his 'strange heart- bewitching' style, and pronounces him an originator with a manner of his own, a fact which "^Ahdi also is able to per- ceive. Qinali-zade finds his unique style curious but ingenious, and his poetry highly ornate, but possessing dignity and power as well as delicacy, while the clarity of his speech, like unto that of sweet water, is the envy of the heavenly Selsebil ^ ' Among the more obvious peculiarities of Fuzuli's Turkish are the occasional use of such Eastern forms as ,iisij«' = ik.^x-»', .c>Xkj^ = x^iij', ,£jfXj,^i = «.^a1.xS, ^ ,».Ji = *.5^.v^; and as bAaJ^I = tsiA-iAJ^', slX.jKU = 8A20;b, BiA^xsLi = sA-SsX/olj. The form .^A-J^Jji = .L\/ii.ij' was still common in the West, but not *Jv5' = f*-^.!}', or .~M*.i»J^^ = .-Aw./ii.ijl. Similarly, while the forms qJjAj^ = i_jjlX.j^, ...LtiLj = v--i«,5ij were used there, such a form as ^LiiL^! = ,-i^^U?-5 was unknown. So was slXacL*- ^^b for suXJvcLw ^^.iji-Xjlj. The forms .,0 and .0^.50 for jO and iiASkJ were obsolescent; so was .Jj' = jJ-j'. Such Eastern accusatives as (^g^J^-^a-S for ^^--J,^j-0a5 were never in use, nor had , <;-w'* ever been generally used for jj;***, nor ^y* for ^^, nor (iXJ for (jiO (there was however an old word ^c^. ^till in occasional use). The meaning of a few words is slightly modified: thus Fuzuli often uses \.jkx^^ where an '^Osmanli would prefer v^^j"!, \Jsla.»jd in place of v^4.ajS, and so on. 2 The Selsebil is a river in Paradise. and of the Fountain of the shining sun, and the verdure of the bovvers of his ghttering poesy is an object of envy to the rose-garden of the earth and the azure field of the revolving sky. But high-sounding words like these go for little with such authors, who scatter the pearls of their rhetoric with lavish and impartial hand upon genius and mediocrity alike; indeed, many a writer who is now all but forgotten is far more richly handselled with the gems of Qinali-zade's elo- quence than is he whom all now recognise as the chief glory of Turkish medieval literature. While it is thus evident that the old critics perceived that in Fuzuli's poetry they were confronted with something new and strange, it is perfectly clear that they utterly failed to appreciate the greatness of his genius, or to see that in his verses they had the sweetest words yet sung by poet in the Turkish tongue. How, indeed, should they appreciate him ? His ways were not as their ways and his world was a very different world from theirs. What had they and their com- peers, with their laboured metaphors and far-fetched conceits, to do with that love which in its i)assionate ardour becomes ohhvious of self and all beyond its one dear object? What to Ihcni was the simple language of the lender soul, the words that How from Ihe Hps because the heart is full? They eared for none of these things; they had deliberately shut the door ill the lace ol true and iialuial leeliiig when they till 111 (I ill (diileiiipl hum llu; songs and ballads ol then own 'liilki'.h |Mo|)le, wherein, il they had bill dei;/_iied to looU, they would have learned .1 levsoil ol ■.inipllilt w teiiderni'SS .Hid manhood wlm h all llu' poets ol li.iii were powerless lo li.iih. I'.spicssioii was the ;;l\\ith- sl.iiidini; the evident coiisciou'.ness aiul Uf less evident plea- snr<' wilh wlm li he inl io(lii( i •. hi', ■.ubiile lancies ami lai fetched in>a;;< ly, li<' never laih. to convince us ol his peilect sinceiily and ol his real lai ne-,| ms'. o( Iieail. Ami heie h«" 8o differs widely from the mass of his contemporaries; for this was a period of Hterature in which it was natural to all authors, authors in prose as well as authors in verse, to seek out ingenuities of fancy and curiosities of expression. Such a period paralyses mediocrity, and genius alone can encounter it and emerge triumphant. But Fuzuli has very many passages and not a few entire poems in which he seems to have forgotten all the learning of the schools, in which the pedant is silent and the voice of the poet alone is heard. And it is these passages and poems, where he gives himself up unrestrainedly to his own passionate feelings and pours out his ardent heart, all oblivious of the canons of schoolman and rhetorician, that form his true title to our affection and esteem, and have won for him the high position which is his in the literature of the East. The genius of Fuzuli is intensely subjective; he is unable to perceive a thing as it is in itself or as it would be if he were not there ; he reads himself into everything he sees, and even in those poems descriptive of external objects it is not so much the objects themselves as the impression they produce upon his mind that is uppermost in his thoughts. This subjectivity is a feature of the time, and is shared more or less by all the poets of the Archaic and Classic Periods, but in Fuzuli it finds its most eloquent, if not its ultimate, expression. A result perhaps in part of this mental attitude is that tone of sadness which pervades almost all of this author's writings. Still when we read those sweet sad lines so full of a gentle yet passionate yearning, we cannot escape the feeling that we are here in the presence of one who has looked closely on the face of sorrow. Fuzuli is not a philosophising poet like Khayali, with a Diwan full of mystic odes, but every now and then we come across a line or a phrase deftly introduced in a ghazel which 8i sets us thinking, and we see that we have here no mere writer of love ditties, but a man who has pondered long and deeply on the great Whence and Whither. His philosophy is of course that mysticism which in one form or another was the bread of life to all the Eastern sages of old time. Turning for a moment to the technical side of Fuzuli's work, we find Ekrem Bey in his Course of Literature ' praising him for the harmony of his language, bracketing him in this connection with Nef^i, the second great poet of the old School, and with the modern writers Shinasi Efendi and Kemal Bey, all of whom, he says, owe something of the great reputation they enjoy in the literary world to the presence of this particular beauty in their works. If we bear in mind when and where they were written, it is but natural that Fuzuli's poems should abound in Persianisms, and so we arc not astonished at frequently coming across Iranian idioms and constructions where it may seem to us that little would have been lost in speaking plain homely Turkish, even though the turn of the phrases might not have been quite Constantinopolitan. ^ The modern writers are, as I have said, better able to sympathise with and therefore to appreciate l'\izuli than were the critics of his own time. Ziya I'asha gives many (|uolations both from his JJfwan and from his Leyla antl Mejnun, and in the preface to his anthology he speaks of the gha/.els of III!' old |)()ct as bi;in^; slill lull dI vital aidtiui and ot his I Xu.iii as being aglow with the lire ol love, lie says that I'li/.iili does not tliiiil: of art whc^n wilting; his glui/i'ls; that tin- .III is there, Iml unconsciously, spoMlani'ously, a slatc- ' oLajjI (*Abu> vol. I, |i, IJ4. ^ I'ui rxitiii|ili:, If iw 11 ({iciil iillrmlRr it){itiiiiit llu- ititr nf I'viiki^li i'iiiii|iii(iitiiiii iIimI ilirro hIiimiIiI ikiI lie iniirc tlinii tliroe Irdfclit (IVminn ^ntltlvo cuimliuclloii) III iiiii ( ouniiiii ill |iiiihii, mill iiiiii ill |iiir(iy (itllil lllill lull titirly). (I 82 ment which is called in question by Kemal Bey. In another place, discussing the Leyla and Mejnun, the Pasha says that the understanding is lost in admiration of this heart-attracting poem, and that though there are many Leyla and Mejnuns, none is equal to this. Kemal Bey would begin the true poetry of Turkey with the works of Fuzuli. Memduh Bey in his pamphlet on Ottoman literature simply ignores all that has gone before and starts with this poet. He is the first poet mentioned by Ekrem Bey in his little treatise on the old writers; and Professor Naji looks upon him as the greatest of the love-poets of Turkey. The two works on which the fame of Fuzuli rests are his Diwan and his Leyla and Mejnun. He has, as we shall see, other writings, both in verse and prose ; but these, admirable though they are, are subordinate to the two just mentioned. The Diwan is preceded by a Preface in prose, with verses interspersed, in which, as we have seen, he gives some account of his studies and of his devotion to poetry. He further tells how he came to collect his Diwan; one day a musky-haired beauty comes to see him, who after winning his heart by sweet and gracious words, reminds him that he alone is able to write poetry with equal grace in Arabic, Persian and Turkish, and represents to him that while his Persian ghazels " and his Arabic Rejez are a joy and delight to many, it is unjust that the Turkish lovehngs should be left without a share, an omission which might moreover eventually prove a defect in the foundation of the edifice of his fame. The musky-haired beauty's words seemed good to Fuzuli who, although at that time engaged on work of greater import (one cannot help wondering what it was), ' Fuziili wrote a complete Diwan in Persian, of which there is in the British Museum a manuscript marked Add. 7785, and which has been lithogi-aphed in Tabriz. 83 resolves to carry out the suggestion and collect into a Diwan the various Turkish ghazels which he had written from the days of his childhood, He therefore set to work, and, having requested his friends to return the poems which he had from time to time given them, compiled the book which has made him immortal. The first part of the foregoing pretty little story is quite conventional, and probably entirely fictitious; those old Turkish poets seem to have had no lack of en- couragement from fair friends, so perhaps it is not astonishing that they were so industrious. The Diwan itself opens with a number of qasidas which are for the most part panegyrics on Sultan Suleyman and certain Ottoman officials, probably connected with the govern- ment of Baghdad. Poetry of this kind was altogether alien to the genius of Fuzuli, so that nothing very remarkable can be looked for here, and, as a matter of fact, his qasidas arc surpassed by those of several of his contemporaries. Very different are the ghazels, some three hundred in number, in which Fuziili pours out his heart, and sighs and smiles by turns. The few stanzaic pieces which follow are very qiiaiiit. .ind pretty, being lighter and brighter in torn- than 1li<: ghazels; if the sighs an: lu-ard more often in thr hitter, vvc have the smiles in fuller measure here. A section iA' quatrains (rub.'i'^(s) brings the iJfwan proper to a clt)se, but some copies liave further a few pieces celirbrating the triumphs of till- ()tloiii.in aims in llic IC.ist. These, as wi-ll as the q.i.ldas, |)aitaKc of the Matiiri: of court pocti\', ami both sections .lie usually omitted in niainiscripts .wmI piintetl edition', ol the jXw.iii, which lo\es jillle of value and };ains mill h III iiiiil)' ol loiii' .iml leeliii;; li\ llien .ibsi'uce. The hue hlw.iii o| I'll/nil, lli.il r. the I )i\v.in. as we have il Willi Ihe idiiil |)iii liy ejiniiii.iled, is inspired liy love, and lt\' love alone, lh( ■.|>iiil ol |iiv<', oi ralhei ol lovi'', .adness, 84 exhales from all its pages. ' This love of Fuzuli's, to the glory of which his whole Diwan is one long rapturous hymn, is of a nature so subtle and etherealised that one doubts whether its object had any existence on the material plane at all. The beloved is rarely presented to us as a human creature formed of flesh and blood ; we are conscious only of a vague presence of more than mortal beauty, and clothed about with radiance, but intangible, impalpable as the vision of a saint. Had this beloved any objective existence, or was the whole but a poet's dream, and this fair being no more than the personification of the writer's ideal of all loveliness? No one can tell; we can only guess; it may be that there was, or once had been, some one whom the poet loved and through his love invested with all that he could conceive of grace and beauty, and whose image abode in his heart clad in this garment of perfection which had no counterpart in the outer world. Be that as it may, Fuzuli's love is of the purest; unsullied by any stain of the sordid or the earthly, it is such as the angels in heaven might bear to one another. Here again Fuzuli is the mirror of his age. The loves of the poets of this time are always more or less mystical and transcendental, and have, for the most part, an air of unreality about them. Similarly, the erotic aspect of love is hardly recognised in Turkish poetry till the more objective spirit of the Transition Period begins to assert itself. ^ • The Diwan of Fuzuli was printed at Bulaq in 1254 (1838 — 9), and his Leyla and Mejniin (under the title of Manziima-i-Fuzuli) in Constantinople in 1264 (1847 — 8). His Kulliyyat, or complete Turkish works, were printed at Constantinople in 1291 (1874). 2 Except in the nuptial scenes in certain of the romances, where the whole business is set forth in a series of metaphors, sometimes obscure, sometimes daring enough; but the matter is never unduly insisted upon; it is neither accentuated nor shirked, but takes its natural place in the story, and may fill some thirty or forty lines in a mesnevi of three or four thousand couplets. 8s In one respect, however, Fuzuli's good taste raises him above the spirit of his age. He has none of that unnatural and unbecoming misogyny, real or affected, which was at this time fashionable among the learned men of Persia and Turkey. Indeed, one of the very few more tangible and plain-spoken poems in his Di'wan is frankly addressed to a girl, his 'Kafir qizi' or 'paynim maid,' ' a proceeding from which Ahmed Pasha or Ishaq Chelebi would have shrunk in horror. Fuzuli has but two or three strings to his lyre, tuned though these be to perfect harmony, and it is more than probable that the European reader of to-day would find his Di'wan, as he would that of most Eastern poets, somewhat monotonous reading. But to the student of Oriental poetry it is a veritable treasure-house of delights; there is scarcely a ghazcl but contains at least one couplet enshrining some gem of thought or fancy. Graceful and unlooked for little pictures, quaint and loveablc as those charming designs wherewith the artists of Japan delighted to beautify their inros and their tsubas, await us on well-nigh every page, :in(] by their infinite variety dispel all feeling of melancholy and (heary sameness, so that what might otherwise iiave been a dull cloud of tearful monotony becomes a shimmering pearly haze blending all things into harmonious unit)'. I'\i/ul('s seccjiid great work, his version of the romance of i.cyl.'i and Mcjuiiii, bcloiiMs |o I he last period ol his life. In llic cpiloMiic he speaks (jf himself as one iVoni whose hands the (apital of life has passed and who has piohteil nolhini; (roui all th.il he has done. A litllr hiitlui on he indKatc. in a i hi onoi'i .mi ihf yen in ulmh tlir woiK was hiiishcd i)(i] (1556), which as we have seen is piol>.il>ly the ' Not nccCNNiirlly it Jowonn m ij^^'^ «Lx*jJ 33ir-j' u*»J^ The feast-brightener of the banquet-hall of the Intimate, The Jem of the age, Shah Isma'^il. At rest through him are rich and poor, God perpetuate his Kingdom to eternity! 89 beng (which we may translate by nepenthe) ' had become very prevalent in the East, especially among the doctors and men of learning, many allusions to whose fondness for it are to be found in the poem. It was proving a formidable rival to wine for the suffrages of the devotees of pleasure, and Fuziili figuratively describes the competition between them as a struggle between two Kings. King Wine is seated surrounded by his courtiers "^Araq, Nebid, and Boza, ^ when Saqi (Cup-bearer) arrives and tells how he has been at the court of King Beng who boasts himself lord of all, and master even of King Wine. The latter takes counsel of those present and determines to send Boza on an embassy to Beng, demanding his submission. Beng naturally scorns such a course, and having talked the matter over with his friends Afyon (opium) and Ma'^jiin (electuary), sends the latter to Wine with a counter demand. The result is that they go to war, l^eng being eventually defeated. The little work is interesting as throwing light upon certain byways of life in those days, but its poetical value is of the slightest. There is in it no trace of l^'uzi'ili's proper style, nor, so far as I can see, any promise of his future distinction; its interest is merely that of a curiosity. IJfjth l^atfO and Qinali-zadc say that I'\izuH is the author of a Kliamsa, or set of five long mesne vis which the fonuer (iiiIIk r declares to be a 'response' to llic famous K.li.iiusa of Ni/.inii. Ncitlicr, however, knows any detail except tli.it I lie story of Leyl.i and Mejmin forms the subject of one iA llie five. 'Alidf, while specially mentioning the Leyla ami Mejmin as bciii^; I'li/.iilf's work 'in tin mesturvi form', says iiolliiiii; whatever .iIkmiI lln. .ille;Mi| Kh.imsa. No |>.n t leul.us I llcii|.', (ir 1)1111^ (WUr IiiisIiIhIi, cIiiuh, klf, Olc) In ii |iii'|> titer. O l'u/,tlli, though thai life iiliould pant, Irom loyr'n way pii»-i not I, l!y the path wheie lover'i wandei niido- my ^lave, I piay ol yr. 92 Ghazel. [193] Whensoe'er I call to mind the feast of union 'twixt us twain, Like the flute, I wail so long as my waste frame doth breath retain. ' 'Tis the parting day ; rejoice thee, O thou bird, my soul, for now I at length shall surely free thee from this cage of dule and pain. ■^ Lest that any, fondly hoping, cast his love on yonder Moon, 'Gainst her tyranny and rigour unto all I meet I plain. Ah, my tears of blood suffice not for my weeping eyes' outlay, So each moment from my vitals aid to borrow am I fain. ' Grieve not I whate'er injustice rivals may to me display, 'Gainst my dear's despite, I teach my heart injustice to sustain. Well I know I ne'er shall win to union with thee, still do I Cheer at times my cheerless spirit with a hope as fond as vain. I have washed the name of Mejniin off the face of earth with tears; O Fuzuli, surely I likewise a name on earth shall gain. Ghazel. [ 1 94] Feres are heedless, spheres are ruthless, Fortune is inconstant quite; Woes are many, friends not any, strong the foe, and weak my plight. Past away hope's gracious shadow, passion's sun beats fierce and hot; Lofty the degree of ruin, lowly is the rank of right. Little power hath understanding, louder aye grows slander's voice. Scant the ruth of fickle Fortune, daily worsens Love's despite. I'm a stranger in this country, ♦ guile-beset is union's path ; I'm a wight of simple spirit, earth with faerie shows is dight. ' The flute wails so long as the player's breath is in it; the poet wails till his breath ceases, i. e. till he dies, or till he swoons for sorrow. 2 That is, from the body. ' The liver (the seat of passion) was supposed to be formed of blood in a solid state. * The world. 93 Every slender figure's motions form a stream of sorrow's flood, Every crescent-brow's a head-line of the scroll that madness hight. Learning's dignity's unstable as the leaf before the wind; Fortune's workings are inverted, like the trees in water bright. Sore desired the frontier, fraught with anguish lies the road of trial; Yearned for is the station, all the path of proof beset with fright. Like the harp's sweet voice, the longed for beauty bides behind the veil;' Like the bubbles on the wine, reversed the beaker of delight. Separation is my portion, dread the way to union's land ; Ah, I weet not where to turn me, none is here to guide aright. Tears of cramoisie have seized on Fuzuli's sallow cheek ; Lo, what shades the Sphere cerulean maketh thereupon to light. Ghazel. [195] Ay, belike these wine-dregs arc the dust of one whose heart was fair. So the bubliles o'er them fashion domes with reverential care. 2 When my tears and sighs thou sightest, rain and levin deem not those; Ken not I my plight, I)ut weep and burn fur me the clouds o' the air. What the use of that vain (luestion, ihiiu who askcst of my case? Ask, an so llir)u please, Init never auj^hl of answer shalt lliou hear. O'er my tonil), amidst the waste of woe, should e'er llic wliiilwind-trce Xear its head, to stint thy watrr round that tree, mirage, forl)ear. Never liavinjj won lo union with the I.cyla fair, () sun, DoHl tliuu, like to me, turned McjniUi, wander o'er ll>c desert hare. -^ ' 'I'lie word perda incanH bolli 'veil' atid 'note' (in nnisii), and is hi-ic uird in liulh Ki:nNCH. '' Lillle doMicH arc raiHcd over the touiltH of Haints in llic Kant. Here thr drr^;M of llic wine arc HuppoHed lo have oner formed |>art of tlir body of MiiiK! holy man, and, by the li^;iiii' liiihn-i ti\ III, tlu- IiuIiIiIoh arc Nidd In )ir llic (loiiicH rained over tltCHc, ' The Nun croNNON the doMortN over wlileh Mcjiulii iiucd In wundii wlun lir ui-iii iiirlanclioly miid for llir luvr of l.r'yl,\. 94 Yonder Goddess reared her eyebrow, shrine- ward turn not I my face; ' Let me be, O zealot, vex not me, so thou do God revere. All thy life-coin thou hast squandered one fair Idol's love to win ; O Fuziili, woe is to thee, if this compt be called for e'er. Ghazel. [196] Cast the veil from thy moon-cheek, the morn doth ray ; Forth! for forth is come the sun to take survey. Surely my heart-strings suffice thee, knot thou these; Only curl no more those jasmine-locks, I pray. ^ Roaming flushed, cast not thy glance on every side; Ah! consign not all the world to waste dismay. Toward thy lovers leave not thou to turn thine eyes; Hold thee from the heart-consuming wail away. Every night I count the stars till morning break; Thou, the night apart from whom's my Reckoning-Day. Hell he ne'er shall sight who burns for thy disdain, None to torment doomed may win to Heaven a way. * Earth's duresse hath cast me from my feet adown; Give me wine, cup-bearer, that doth dule allay. Oh! have ruth upon those fallen for thy love; Hast no meed a guerdon-gaining deed to' assay ? Should the loved one ask, 'How fareth it with thee, 'Sick Fuziili ?' what wouldst thou in answer say ? 1 Here the mihrab or prayer-niche (see vol. i, p. 224, n. i) is coupled with the eyebrow, on account of its arched top. ■■2 That is, jasmine-scented locks. 3 The Reckoning-Day is properly the Day of Judgment ; here Fuziili boldly calls the night spent apart from his beloved his Reckoning-Day; literally, because he counts the stars all night (i. e. lies awake); and metaphorically, on account of the tonnents he suffers. * And Hell itself would be Heaven compared to the torment caused by thy disdain. 95 Ghazel. [197] Lo thy mole hath thrown my fortune all a-tangle like thy hair; Ne'er a day, O free from dolour, wilt thou ask me, 'How dost fare?' Heart, yon cypress-figure's shade is past away from o'er thy head; Weep, for now thy blithesome fortune changeth into drear despair. Never would I let the spirit's tablet deck the body's wall, Were it not, O dearest one, that Love had drawn thine image there. ' Though thou dost not draw the glaive of wrath to work my death forthright, Yet forsooth some day 'twill slay me, this despite thou mak'st me bear. Yearning for that mole so musky and that ruddy cheek o' thine Whelms the pupils of mine eyen mid the liver's gore for e'er. O thou bird, my heart, I rede thee, keep thee from Love's snare away. Ere the stone of slight have broken these thy plumes and pinions fair. Like thy shadow, hath Fuziili lain for long before thy feet. In the hope that thou may'st one day tread him prone before thee there. Ghazel. [19BJ ( loddess, when I sight thy figure wonder makes me dumb to be ; llij who sees my plight and fashion for a figure holdcth me. 2 Naufjil of 1()V(-- to lilt: tliiiii sliovvest, iiauj-Jit of nitli, till in)\v at li-ngtli l':is:,i(in for thy locks ilotli head me like I he sliadow on ihc lea. Weak my star, my forliinc adverse, yet witlial thy gracious iiiioii I'.ver fills my soul with yeaiiiiiig] loml (ni iiniiiii with thee. Thou a |)riii(:ess; I, a l'»"KKar, may mil woo llicc : whiil inn I? Yeaniiiig 1imiiI, (!anl not loose ihy khoiteil trcHHCH, fi»r Ihoy work my toinu-nhy. I I would iievei i iiiiHeiil lo live oil lull lor ihr |ii(liii(' of llirr whii li I .ovi hu I h .1 I It. I M III.'!.'.. I 96 Destiny long since hath vowed me to the love of darlings fair", Every moon-bright one doth make me thrall of down and mole to be. O Fuziili, never shall I quit the path of Love, because Through his virtue gain I entrance mid the noble company. ' Ghazel. [199] Ah, the happy days when thy dear face was aye before my sight. When the lamp of union with thee filled the eye of hope with light. Then the joy of being near her made the ailing body whole. Then the cheer of union with her brought the weary heart respite. Radiant was my welfare's taper, mighty was my fortune's star, Current was my glory's edict, prosperous my pleasure's site. Naught of censure's dust had lighted on the skirt my gladness wore ; Far the envier's eye, far distant from my party of delight. Then was I a man, right welcome was I at her gracious court; Mine abode was Heav'n; my drink, Kevser; my fere, a houri bright. Fate was bidden to accomplish whatsoever thing I sought, Time was bounden strait to order everything I wished aright. Whatsoever prayer I uttered found an answer meet straightway, Whatsoever boon I cried for granted freely was forthright. Naught of grief, foreboding parting, suffered I to reach my heart, Though I saw how Fortune ever dealeth dolour and despite. What then if the Sphere do cast Fuziili midst of parting's pains? — In the days of union bode he still a vain and heedless wight. The following mukhammes is taken as an example of Fuzuli's stanzaic poems; it is that already referred to as being addressed to the Paynim maiden, and is written in a slightly humorous style. * Da quel giorno in qua' ch'amor m'accese Per lei son fatto e gentile e cortese. Luigi Pulci. 97 Miikhammes. [200] Thou whose body silk y-clad is attar within crystal clear, ' Gleaming water is thy breast, thy buttons shine the bubbles here; 2 Thou'rt so bright earth hath no power to gaze upon thy beauty sheer; Naked did'st thou rise and cast the veil and coif from thee, my dear, Ne'er a doubt whene'er it saw thee, earth were ravished far and near. Lo, the heart hath limned thy golden bower and told thy rubies' ray ; ' And the rubies in thine ear have harkened heedful to its say. * While the comb thy hair companions, love-sick I am far away ; Every time it opes a tangle, bites the comb in am'rous play : Many a tangle knots my heart-strings, envying its goodly cheer. Roseate face, and shift of rosy hue, and trousers cramoisie: Thou hast donned thy flaming garments, and hast made us fire to dree. Paynim maiden, ne'er was born of seed of Adam one like thee; Sun and moon in beauty's circle 'fore thy face undone would be. Sure the shining moon's thy father, and the sun thy mother fair. Ruffled I of yonder musky hair Ihy fillet red doth crown ; 'Neath tiic golden anklets that thy silvery legs adorn I'm prone. Think not I am like thy fillet void of thy sun-love, O Moon; Nay, my semblance is the golden chain about thy cheek that 's thrown. » I'angs a thousand fnnii tliy glances' shafts my woeful breast ilolii hear. ' 'I'hc swcci body is Ihf attar of roses; ihc (iiaphanous silk dicss, the crystal vessel. 'i Uy extension, llic Mmllons' may fiirtlicr alhiiic In the lady's breasts. ' This is !i very fliflicull line: "'III'' Ip'miI liafli (liawii (di-|)i( liil ) lliy j;i)l(ltMi |iaviliiiri, and ^;ivfn news of lliy niliii".." Kcnii'inbcrihg that I'li/.iiK ofliMi uses "nuMfn" foi "red," mid vin- veisrt, tliir meaning mitmih Id jir Honicwiiiil hh f<>'K mid Himiliirly ({ivcn ii hint of (llic citjom of) iliy niliicn (ird lip-.)." * Tin iiiliicH III lliinr Piu — Mliy luliy rtiiiliijjH,' m priliup* Mliy i>'i.y in\i,' "* '111 'ill'' I oiiliiiim 11 riii'-fiMcliril r(|uiviM|iir lliiil niiitiui \.un' und Mom-,' ilir lillrl, 98 Tulip-red thy hands with henna, ' and with surma - black thiue eyne ; Like to thee is ne'er a beauty thus bedecked so fair and fine. Shafts thy glances, ^ bows of poplar green those painted brows o' thine ; Still unto thy glance and eyebrow doth Fuziili e'er incline : — ■ Passing strange the bird should fly not bow and arrow, filled with fear! The following will serve as a specimen of the ruba'^is. Ruba^i. [201] If thou desire thy love, self-love forego ; If thy desire be self, thy love forego. With love of self may ne'er a love be gained: So love thereof, or love hereof, forego. Before taking leave of the Diwan, I shall quote a few stray couplets from different ghazels, which are both pretty and characteristic of the author's style. being in thy hair, does not embrace thy mihr, i. e. sun (-like face), but the chain, hanging round thy cheeks, does; so I am not like the former, but like the latter, as I too embrace thy mihr 'love,' i.e. love of thee is within my heart. 1 Henna (properly hinna, but usually pronounced qina in Turkish) is the plant lawsonia inermis, from the leaves of which is made the red dye used by Eastern ladies for staining the nails and sometimes parts of the hands and feet; men occasionally use it for dyeing the beard. 2 Surma, the preparation of antimony used for darkening the edges of the eyelids. 3 The comparison of the eyebrow to a bow, and of the glance to the shaft or arrow is a favourite. * Fuziili here speaks of the eyebrows as 'vesmelu,' i. e. painted with indigo, and likens them to bows of green poplar. The 'green poplar' (yeshil toz) may be some particular variety of the tree, or it may mean merely a young poplar; in either case the word 'green' has a secondary reference to the indigo- stained eyebrows, and is an instance of the identification of the colours blue and green. [In a pencil-note of the Author's which I found lying between the pages the following parallel passage is cited from Zihni's Yiisuf and Zelikha: — 'Adorning her eyebrows with indigo, she bound the green bow-string to the black (musky) bow.' ED.] 99 Couplets. [202 Yonder Moon knew naught of how I burned upon the parting-day; Kens the sun about the taper burning all night long till morn ? Day by day the heart-consuming flame of absence fiercer grew; Brighter shines the moon's refulgence as it further leaves the sun. Strange a secret that of love, for ere to any wight I spake, Voices through the town were crying how I loved thee fond and dear. All the world through thee rejoiceth, I alone am thrall to dole; Dole is forth the world departed, and hath homed within my soul. * ■?: V * Si « * » * * * * * * Si * « S- * * « * « Whate'er the bondage be, 'tis sheer distress ; a cage would only grieve The nightingale, although they formed it all of branches of the rose. S; iK !?• Si St Si Si Si Si Si Si Si Si Si Si * Si Si Si Si Si Si ■» Ah Fuziili, lo, the Sphere hath bowed our frame, as though 'twould say, '15cnd thee down, for now 'tis time that through the door of life thou pass.' Si Si Si Si » * Si Si Si # * » Si Si » Si » Si Si Si Si Si « The zephyr will not let the tender rose-leaf kiss the dust that lies Aiicath thy feet until the dew hath laved its face an hundred times. Ne'er could they the tyrant glaive of those thy Sh(r(n-lips aby, 'I'liough the Splicrc should, like to Fcrh.'ld, fashion lovers' frames of stone. ' Neither roHcbud glads nor rose expands the .stricken heart tif nie, Sore it yearneth Un that smiling lip and red red clicck u' tliinc. 'I'o Ijcar the praiHCM of Ihy pearly tcclh the hcu is fuin, And HO ItH car inny ever l)u much upon the Hhorc. ' ' Am Mllii'.iuii Id I'l'ihiid'H s< iilptiiiiii({ Ihi^ li^ui(?it of Shiilii mid KIiii^h-v on MuiiMi Hi Sihiii. '^ I lie dcni/, <|iilin{hi or wpii-rtir in whnt wr «'iill llir nn-ihrll. Ihi* muplfl MU|i|ilii'H III) cxaiiipir of ihc curlouH but uii^iiial iinii^ciy which liutlll ut (itiii'ii iilli'ciN, 100 Let us now look at a couple of passages from the Leyla and Mejnun; the first tells how Mejnun redeemed the gazelle from the hunter in the desert, touched with pity because he saw in it a fellow-sufferer, and because its eyes reminded him of Leyla's. From Leyla u Mejnun. [203] He saw where a hunter had set his snare To ensnare the gazelles at unaware. ^ A gentle fawn in his snare was caught, Its black eyne with tears of blood were fraught. Its neck entangled, its feet bound fast, Its bright eyes wet, and its heart aghast. Mejnun had ruth on its drearihead : He gazed and rosy tears he shed. ' That hapless one came his heart anear, And gently he spake to the hunter there : 'Have ruth on this fawn, I pray of thee; 'Who would not pity this misery ? 'O hunter, slay not this hapless one : 'Have ruth on thy soul, and let it be gone. 'O hunter, beware, this crime evade ; 'Knowest not that blood is by blood repaid ? 'O hunter, give thou its blood to me, 'And make not its heart the fire to dree.' 'It is thus that I live,' the hunter said, 'I shall loose not its feet though I lose my head. 'If the life of this quarry I should spare, 'How would my wife and my children fare?' Mejnun gave him all his gear with glee, Of every leaf he stripped his tree 5 He loosed the bonds of that sweet gazelle. And rejoiced its woeful heart right well. He stroked its face with a weary groan, He gazed in its eyes and thus made moan : 'O thou, as the desert whirlwind fleet, ' The rosy tears, i. e. red tears, tears of blood, i. e. shed in anguish. lOI 'With slender body fostered sweet, '•The adorn of all earth's roses thou, 'Rose-fair in all of thy poses thou, 'O greenth by the stream in the desert drear, 'O jasmine sweet of the desert vere, 'Ah leave not unhappy me alone, 'Be thou my guide through the desert lone! 'Come, wander with me for a day or twain, 'And loathe me not for that I am man; 'Nor run, like the tears, from my weeping eyne, 'Nor speed thee hence from this path of mine. 'In the fount of mine eyen make thy stay, 'Despise not our resting-place, I pray. 'In the pupil of mine eye abide, ' 'My lashes and tears will food provide. 2 'O thou who recallest my beauty's e'en, 'Oh ! help me to thole that beauty's teen. 'When thou mak'st me to dream of Leyld's e'e, 'Do thou pour thy comfort on weary me.' Since he had abandoned human cheer, The fawn became his companion dear. Thereafter many a fair gazelle Did wander witli him o'er the desert fell. The second passaj^c is IIkj dealli of I.cyla. I Tom ihc Sainr. [204I Slic told licr (iod of her secret pain, Of the tiling whereof her heiut was fain: 'O Judjje of the KcKurrcclioii-Diiy, 'O KiiiK i)f ihir throne of eipiily, 'I iiiii wiisted hiM'cr by (lrHpiiir*H while llaiix- ; '< ) (ii)(l, hciw I wc.iry «if ihi-i fiMiiic' 'Since brfori; my luvc I'm im muhi' drMifd, ■' I Ah we ini^lit Hity, in my hnnt of heitilK, '' The lithhen repreneiitiD^ the lihidi;'* ul ^iiixii; the triii'i, ihr wiitrr. * Mcinilii, hiivlii)', li».l hilt rciiHiui, knew iiol whiil lie h.iIiI to tivhk itl their lii.l inli'ivii'w. I02 'O God, of this life am I full tired. 'I am the taper of parting's night ; 'For burning and black is my dreary plight. 'Distraught by the world's despite am I, 'I ne'er shall rest till the day I die. I should pray: "Let my body bide for aye I" 'Were it like that union should tide some day. 'I'm the sun in the sign of radiancy, '1 know that my frame the veil must be. 'Unite me with death, O Lord of ruth, 'For the way of Death is the way of Truth !' Her prayer was pure, and the answer came; And feebler and feebler grew her frame. The unwholesome air it wrought her ill, And weakness grew on her body still. Her dolour increased upon her e'er. And the shivering fever left her ne'er. Faint in the fever that fairy one, Like a taper that is by the flame undone. Dimmed by disease was her beauty's ray, Like a rose whose freshness is past away. At length so feeble and weak her plight, That she lay on her bed both day and night. Who had sought to look on her there, I ween. Would scarce her wasted frame have seen. Away were borne health's emblems fair, And the ensigns of death were gathered there. Then joyous, her bashfulness cast off. She told to her mother her secret love : 'O mother, balm of my heart's desire, 'O mother, light of my longing's fire, 'I am come to death for my hidden ill; 'So long as I might, I have borne it still; 'But now that the time is come to go, "Tis meet that I tell thee my secret woe. 'O weary one, imagine ne'er 'That I am slain by the sword o' the air; 'No fever firas in my body play, I03 'Except the anguish of love-dismay. 'A helpless and weeping lover I, 'Distraught for a moon-faced one I lie ; 'A-yearning for him am I undone, 'A-longing for him my life is gone. 'Sore have I cried for his beauty sheen, 'But union with him I ne'er have seen. 'And now I go with his words in my heart; 'Whate'er betide, these have been my part. 'Not only I am of love forlorn, 'And wail for that dearest one and mourn; 'He too is love-smitten of woeful me. Distraught mid the wastes of misery. 'Alack, for me is his reason gone, 'And he who was Qays is as Mejniin known. ' 'For me he passeth his days in dole, 'Nor once hath he won to the longed-for goal. 'Of ill repute in the age through me, 'A by-word in every land is he. 'Not vainly his tears and sighs are spent, 'For am not I by his failings brent? 'O mother, faithful my wh'jie life through, 'O mother, consoler in every woe, 'When I have bidden farewell to earth, 'And hence on my journey am sol forth, 'As bereft of me lliou dost sigh and moan 'A-passing thorough the desert lone, 'If e'er liiy footsteps should cliaiui- thai way 'Do lh(ju my woes to llial fair one say. 'Take heed when lo him thou ron>'sl iini^h; 'lie is gracious, pass him not heedless by. 'I'iili It) his feel and his caie implore, 'And for HJiiful nie his prayer implore. ''I lien nay; (> lover U:n\ and lru<-, 'Sail l.cyla liatli ({iveii licr life for yi»ii ; 'llcr boa'its of love are acionipliKJieil now, I llir lovcr'u iiaini- wai. nally <,>uyH; bill when lie liciumc »itwy for her love lir wiiH culleil Mrjnilii, I. o. ruimcittcil, Sec vol. II, pp. I75 — 17O. I04 'Nor hath she failed to fulfil her vow. ' 'Then say this to him from woeful me: 'O boaster of love and of constancy, 'To me life's harem is now shut fast, 'I am free of joy and delight at last. 'O come thou hither, make no delay; 'I am waiting for thee, do not heedless stay. 'So thou likewise art of faithful plight, 'Bide not, but abandon the world forthright. 'Come, let us love as our hearts are fain, 'In a land where is none to work us pain. 'I have found the way to the realms of peace, 'Where taunts of friends and of rivals cease. 'If me once more thou art fain to see, 'In the name of God come hither to me.' When of her charge she had made an end. That wayfarer forth on her way did wend. She called on her lover fond and kind, And yearning for him, her soul resigned. The following little story from the Wine and Nepenthe occurs in the message which King Wine sends to his rival when demanding his submission ; it is intended to illustrate the evil results of the opiate and the good effects of wine. From the Beng u Bada. [20 5 J There was once a toper in Isfahan, Like to beng, a merry-headed man. In a fair pavilion he made his stay. Where he plied the wine-cup night and day. It befell one day that this booser's lot Of wine, like th' elixir of life, was not. From his last carouse his head was sore, So he took some beng the pain to cure. The opiate attacked him in every part. And darkness rusted his mirror-heart. ' That she would die if not united with Mejniin. I05 It was night, but the night-illuming moon Made the world to be envied of the noon; Like sheeny water the clear moonlight, The pavilion arose like a bubble bright. Now the toper looked from the belvidere And he took the moonlight for water clear. 'Alack,' quoth he, 'what a fearsome case ! 'Earth's aflood while I was asleep in peace ! 'Ere the house is filled and all is o'er, 'I will plunge in the flood and gain the shore. 'I shall swim, and thus shall save my life, 'And I'll reach some shore where I'll rest from strife.' So he clutched a plank both firm and fast. And himself to the ground, like a rocket, cast ; And he smote his head against a stone. And the beng from his mouth by the blow was thrown. Came the leeches, for wounded was his head : 'Ah ! wine is the cure for him,' they said. What I have told is renown to thee;' Ask the men of wit what is done by me. Come, search this stock and this root of mine, And see how my glory transcendclh thine. Thi.s stanza occurs in the l'"Jc<^fy on the Imam Iliise\'n in l'"u/.iih"s [jr(jse work, the (larth oi the lUessetl : J'roiH a I crkib-15encl. |2o6j 'I lic I'luiiily i)f ".In; Cloak '^ lliou wcMil'st ;il)ciul to slay, O SpluTc. Ki^dil (mil llic |il:iii and vilr llic siiifl llimi didsi display, O Sphere. I loMi 'iiKtii^; iIh- Itviiis of llif i:li»u(ls of hups lliuii (liew'sl ihy duils, And huilcd.l llicin iiiidiiiosl Iho Martyrs' l>lcsl array, (> Spliorc VVhiil while all icvciciicc was (hie in viiluc's liarcin-li-nl, I'ldhtralf iiiii;alli (lie fui'iiuiii's ini.t llinu did.! il lay, t> SpiiPii-. ' III llii'.r liiil lour liiii'H Kiiin Willi' aildii'Hnrn Kiii^ Hciii;. ■• All Alia, till- I'aiiilly of liif Cjnak, U the I Inly hamlly ol UI.Mii, n>n- ,i .liin; III MiiliaiiiiiiiMl, IiIh (IiiiihIiIim I'lUiina, lin liii'ibiiii. ' Thai Ih, the gurtii;rrd 'itoic ol IiIh patience or pracf nl mind is ii>ii<.umr-d by the (lie of love, '' Kliiila, i. e. <'atliay, ut ('hiiM-'>r Tiuiaiy, iiiid, liy oxtriminn, ('hiiia pinpoi, WiiH fiiiiioiiM itiiiong the old piirlH lor llic bciiiily of tin k'i'" '*"'' youtlit. ScvRiiil I'ltlliayiwi (llicH iiic inrnlioiinl In thin i iiniirclliin, OHpiuliUly (lii^il, inciiiiiiiH il Jh ibi ii'Hl, Vll^llllll^ I'niklilti and Titia/. 112 The Violet Thine anger must have seen, And thus its form is bowed for dale and teen. ' Lighted by Thee the Garden taper glows, Branded by Thee the Tulip seared shows. The Narcisse was a beggar hungry-eyed, - To whom Thy grace a golden crown supplied. A beauteous mouth Thou gav'st the Rosebud fair, A sweet tongue to the Lily for its shai-e. •'' So with that mouth and tongue the Garden bright Chanteth Thy praises ever day and night. Each fresh green thing that in the Meadow springs Raiseth its voice and to Thy glory sings. But none on earth can yield Thee fitting praise : Thy glory's strain do Thou Thyself upraise ! What wondrous power! that into being came The Universe when Thou didst 'Be !' proclaim. * Thou through Thy mercy hast created earth. And thus the Hidden Treasure hast shown forth. ^ From Thee the powers of earth and water be. The germinant its virtue hath from Thee. In justice Thou the elements hast phased. And the four-columned dome of nature raised. •"' Four opposites Thou'st bounden strait and fast, A dragon talisman created hast. Thou through Thy grace the Stream of Life dost grant; And Thou providest for the snake and ant. Thy bounty opes its hoard to all that live, Being to all contingents Thou dost give. 1 The bowed head of the violet is often referred to by the poets. Each of the flowers mentioned in this prologue is personified and plays its part in the romance. 2 We often read of the eye of the narcissus, the reference being to the centre of the flower; the golden crown is, of course, the yellow corolla. ' The rosebud mouth is a commonplace. The tongue of the lily refers to the shape of its leaf. * 'Kun!' i. e. 'Be!' God's fiat to creation. See Koran II, iii, and many other places. ^ An allusion to the well-known tradition: "I was a Hidden Treasure and I desired to be known : therefore I created Creation that I might be known." * Four-columned, built on the four elements of the old philosophers. "3 Thy master hand makes the Pen's point to trace ' Upon non-being's page these forms of grace. From the Same. [208] Most Merciful! Thou madest man and jinn; 2 All- hidden, manifest, without, within. Man Thou ordainedst noblest of the whole, Most perfect both in beauty and in soul. The human face Thou mad'st the mirror bright, The lamp-niche whence is shed Thy Beauty's light. Thou bad'st the fairness of the fair shine clear. And thus hast made Thy Beauty's sun appear. Thou in the beauty of the fair art shown ; Whate'er I see is Thou, and Thou alone. Oh, how should any lovely one be fair Saving in her Thy Beauty mirrored were? What doth a handful dust possess of might That it should shine a sun the earth to light? 'i'hou mak'st the loved one's face with radiance glow, I'irc in the lover's harvest Thou dost throw. ' Thy Beauty in the charmer Thou'st displayed, Thy Glory in the lover Thou'st portrayed. Thou hast the ruflled locks of Mejni'in twined, And made each hair a noose tlic iiearl to liiiul. 'I'liou through the fair Thy Beauty hast disclo.sed, 'I'hrough sucii Thy Loveliness hast Thou exposed. 'I'liuu looU'st thrmigh lovers' eyes, O I. (nil of Might, Anrl iiaiii^lil save Tliine own Beauly meets Thy sight. * 'I'his I'eii |jliiyH a Hotnewhal prouiinenl part in Muslim legend, (iod, wc arc (old, ill all I'.tcrnily, conlcinplnted llie perfection uf n Niiint, entcrtuinrd ;i divine love for the conception, rcHolvcd upon rciilising it, and issued His li;ii : ^itc!' Ilercupiin, the putcnliiil CHwcncc of the Prophet Muliiunnu'd, the 'lliliived of (iod' (lliilifli-iilldh) Ijcforc till wimIiK, the Mcrnptiic I'cn, luul tite lli'ldcii Tablet, Htiiitinj; into an cternitl cxistcncr, the Pen inHeiil)rtl tlir tiitt on llic Tiiltint, and thiiM licciunc the nicitiiH of all crcntcd rxUtonccs, of all Hpiiltuid and niiiteriiil lirings, thni were ciillril finni nMirntity loi the ^loilli- (ution of that Muintly eoncc|ition, \\y thtit Pi n docn (i«i(l hwriii In llie Koiuii, ' riir iinii or ^rnlrH, tlir itpliilii or dcinonn nl nnlli iind itli. ' Ki |<. Ill II. I iiu|ii'n, K 114 Thou'rt thus the Lover of Thy Beauty grown; None's worthy of Thee save Thyself alone! For those in whom Thy Beauty Thou'st portrayed All manner love and passion are displayed. Likewise in those through whom Thine eye is thrown Are all the lover's pangs and yearnings shown. Thou art alone the Truth mid all that seems, All else beside is fantasy and dreams. The worlds existence is an empty dream, A vain illusion in the mirror's gleam Things are the forms wherein the Names appear, ' In all the Names God's Essence shineth clear. Thy Beauty's sun through space its radiance threw; These atoms, things existent, flashed in view. Before Thy power is understanding mazed, Sense, reason, and imagination, dazed. Thine Essence there is none may comprehend; .■\h, that would understanding's heart-strings rend! Thine Essence none hath understood or shown ; 'We have not known Thee as Thou should'st be known!' ^ Reason must in such things a school-child be; Saving Thyself no one may know of Thee. My God, I am a sinner stained with guile, Aneath the hand of passion fallen, vile. A captive, by the fair ones' love o'erthrown ; Yearning for beauties am I hoary grown. Longing hath filled this brainless head of mine; What though I seem a bubble on the wine? Seeking the cup of union with the fair, I wander o'er the beaker here and there. With longings like to these the wine I drain, Flinging afar asceticism's grain. When for ablution I take up the ewer, Methinks it holdeth dulcet wine and pure. Obedience ' and ablution hence Fve cast, And from all acts of formal worship past. ' The 'Names,' or 'Most Comely Names' correspond to the Platonic Ideas. 2 This line is a Hadi's or Tradition of the Prophet. 3 That is, to the formal or ritual Law. 115 My face 1 lave not, neither pray by rule; None can be far as I from such a school. Deem not I to the mosque for good repair; To see the Loved one's face I wend me there. ' If toward the Mecca-pointing niche - I gaze, And, erring, fold my hands like one who prays. In fancy I am by the Dear one's gate, And ready stand, with folded hands, to wait. Lord, though I serve Thee not with formal part, I yield to Thee the worship of the heart. Since 'tis Thy Unity which I believe, Thy ritual do I l)ehind me leave. Teacli Thou to me Unification's way, And guide me in the dervish-path, I pray. Bid with Thy Face's light mine eyes to gleam, And cause my heart fair as the bower to beam. Leave not the wandering soul in gloom to stray, Light with the lustre of Thy grace the way. Far from my heart put all that leads from 'I'hee, And fill my soul through love with radiancy. Let it be Thou who ever mcet'st my gaze, And let my tongue recite Thy name always. So let my heart be filled with love for Tiiee, And with 'i'hy Unity's bright mystery, 'llial IJeidg's secret to iny soul lie bare, 'I'iial wheresoe'cr I look, I sec Tlicc tiicrc ; Tlial wheresoe'cr my heart its glance may turn, It may in :ill iIji: 1' ace iif ( ioil discerii ! Deep driiughlh (jf Love unlo my spirit give, My Mcif aniiiliilatc ihut I may live! 'ilial lli' ^Niiu^lil ill cxIhIciicc Hiiviiit; Mini 1 Hcr!' And tlial my hearl 'No (lod lail (ioill' iiiuy cry; Nor ever iiu^jhl hiiv<- i3LAr> 'iXxA .0 9 ^-A.L.J v_Aa.Lj _^ 121 Similarly he says in the epilogue to his Kitab-i Usui : I have not translated the words of another, I have not mixed with it [my poem] the words of strangers. My tongue hath not been the dragoman of the Persians, I would not eat the food of dead Persians. ' And again at the close of the Shah u Geda: (This book) is bare of the garment of borrowing. It is clean from the canvas of translation. I have not not taken anything at all from any one, God knoweth, though there may be coincidences. Whatever there be, whether good or ill. It is my plaint, mine, this book. '■^ And once more in the Genjina-i Raz : Its (this book's) words are bare of translation, (Thy are) things come from before the Creator (i. e. original). ' The claims of originality put forward in these passages are not unwarranted ; in an age when borrowing from the 'dead Persians' was the almost universal rule, this Albanian dared to stand forth, speak out his own thoughts, and hold up to ridicule the method of his compeers. Courage of no kind was wanting to Yahy;i Hey; he ])r()ved himself a bravo soldier on the field of battle, he made bokl to bewail the victim of imperial tyranny, and did nol nincli from defying llie wlioh; Hlerary ojHnion of his day. 'i'lie (ive mesnevfs which, grouped lot;etliei, maki' up Ins > (.cX4.jLs L_:i I ^-Jj.jl iJ^Uj (•- ^■^' J"-*-^;-^ Lf"')/"*" '^^-' '■' ...iA_A_>w^A_j \^:^,-j .vA-i L_j ^.)vAaa«lwO c>>^>L_x. ^tA-j^L_c 122 Khamsa, form the most important section of Yahya Bey's work. These five mesnevis are the Shah u Geda or King and Beggar, the Yiisuf u Zeh'kha or Joseph and Zeh'kha, the Kitab-i Usui or Book of Precepts, the Genji'na-i Raz or Mystic Treasury, and the Gulshen-i Envar or Rosebed ot Radiance. The first of these. The King and Beggar, has always been the most popular, and is the most remarkable, of this author's works. The claim of originality which, as we have just seen, he makes for it in the epilogue, is amply justified. The work is probably the most original mesnevi we have yet had to consider. It has nothing in common with the Persian Hilali's Shah u Dervish or King and Dervish, except a similarity of title ; in general scheme and conception, as well as in matters of detail, the two poems are absolutely different. Yahya's object appears to have been to depict the outcome of what he conceived to be the noblest type of love when evoked by purely physical beauty. To this end he describes the beloved as a youth, and not as a girl. Apart from conformity to the fashion of his age, he has a definite reason for this choice. The love of a man for a woman is, according to him, not a pure love; that is to say, it is a love which seeks for itself the possession of its object, and in so far as it does so is a form of selfishness. The pure love must be all for love and nothing for reward ; it must also be unsullied by any taint of the fleshly or the material. The vanity, the futility of such a love when lavished upon an object that is merely earthly, upon a beauty that is of form and feature only, is the motive of the poem. The beloved is therefore represented by a youth of peerless beauty, but without kindness of heart, who is poetically styled the Shah or King, not only because of this peerless beauty, but also because of the unlimited power which he has over the heart of his 123 lover, who is likewise poetically styled the Beggar, as being always a suppliant for the favour of his dear one. The poem opens in the manner which custom had rendered obligatory; the praises of God, the Prophet, and Sultan Su- leyman are duly sung, and the circumstances which led to the composition of the work are recounted. As usual, a party of friends are met together, and the talk runs on literature. Some one praises Ferhad and Mejniin, but Yahya objects that these were not true lovers, since the goal of their love was the possession of a woman. He is thereupon requested to write a poem which shall describe true love, which he consents to do. All this is conventional enough, but with the story Yahya's individuality begins to assert itself Instead of being borne off to some half-mythical city in distant India or Cathay, we find ourselves in Constantinople itself, listening to a description of St. Sophia and the Hippodrome. This great square, which the Turks call the At Maydani or Horse Square, is specially mentioned as being the favourite resort of beautiful youths. Four of these arc then described in the Shchr-cngiz manner, the last and fairest of whom is a lad called Ahmed, surnamcd on account of his unrivalKil beauty -.ind llie p(;wer which this ccMifers, liu' Sliali or King; and it is he who plays the part of tiie beloved in the story. ' TIk; lover is next introduced ; he is described as a learnetl and pious man; his real name is not given, only iiis surname, tlic |{(:};};ai, tin- siiiipliaiil ol love lie sees llir Iviiii; in a vision, and conceives for him I lie most ardent though purely I'lalonic affection, in consc.-(|u«:nie of which lu- ieavi-s his riiidcncc in Knniilia and proci-cds to ( 'onstanlinopU* in quesl ol llii ()ii;;iii,d ot lir. (lie. mi. I he sli^;lil slot)' ol Ills lieaiin^js ' Ar(iil(lilin Ik lilt: liii)Hlti|illi'l AhIiI(|, wIui WUh |>rrmii\i»ily lU i|ililililril with iiiiiiiy (if (lie pucU wlioiio live* ho wnito, the (^y \j '^ A chronogram at the end of this work gives 947 (1540 — i) as the date of composition. 127 Besides his Khamsa, Yahya left a Di'wan of ghazels, which, however, does not appear to be in any way remarkable. This author's strength lay in his matter rather than in his manner, and excellence of manner is the quality most needful for success in the ghazel. Lati'fi, Qinali-zade, and "^Ahdi all speak in favourable terms of Yahya Bey's poetry, and their opinion is endorsed by the modern writers Ziya Pasha and Kemal Bey. Lati'fi, who wrote during the poet's lifetime, has not much to say; he speaks of him as being soldierly of bearing and divine of speech, and describes his poetry as for the most part pathetic, but sometimes searching and sometimes bacchanalian. '^Ahdf, likewise a contemporary, particularly mentions Yahya's bold- ness of speech, and praises his inventive and original genius where mesnevi is concerned ; here, says this biographer, he reigns supreme, for though there are in this age many poets among the learned and accomplished of Riim, not one of these is like to him in mesnevi, his books being filled with heart-delighting thoughts and strange stories. Qinali-zade is scarcely less favourable in his judgment, but expresses himself in more general terms. S(i far as true poetry is ccMicerned, a single ghazel from I'uzulfs Leyla and Mejni'in is worth the whole of Yahy.i l><:y's Kli;iiiisa; but the /\ll)anian was in loiicli witli his time, tile Baghdadf was not. I'his ])assage from the Kinj; and liej;gar on ins nnnu'di.ilrl)' 1)( loir the commeiiccnuMil of the story. The Parrot invoked at llic outset takes tlic place ol the Muse whose inspiration till- Wr'.lciii poets were at oiir time so fond ol iniploimg wIh'ii about to l)i';'in thiu wotk. It is iisuall)' .i l>iiil that plays this pai t in riiil.i.h |)o('ti\', it not the ratiot, then the Ni[d)lill|',alr oi Ih. laMcd ,\ii<|a, liiit ■.oiiicl llins t he invo(atioii r. .iddirs.id in tin Sai|l oi ( iiplxaicr. 128 From the Shah u Geda. [210] O fair-voiced Parrot, tell the tale divine; Within the fire of Love thy heart refine. Each point ' of Love is a whole book in truth, Each mote of Love is a bright sun for sooth. Whelmed were Creation in one drop thereof. Lost Either World 2 within one mote thereof. Man through pure Love becometh truly man. Perfect and righteous, — nowise else he can. Love's beams will make one chief of lords of right, As the sun turns black stones to rubies bright. 3 Since 'tis through Love we the Divine attain. Deem not pure Love an idle thing and vain. Love is the radiance of the lovers' eyne, Love 'fore the wayfarer * doth ever shine. The thought of Love deep in the heart is sown ] It is through man Love's mystery is shown. His thoughts, who thrall is to the hand of Love, May never to aught other object rove. Love maddeneth a man, that fain is he To cut him from all other bondage free. Who doubteth may not travel on this way; A fearful guide boots little here, I say. The slave to Love becometh King of earth, For Love's duresse fulfilled of joy and mirth; For that desire of earthly things alway Obscureth heavenly beauty's perfect ray. So long as carnal reason ^ doth abide 'Twill raise up doubts and fears on every side ; But he who loves doth still on God rely, And toiling upward, wins his place on high ; ' The point referred to is a diacritical point or dot over or under a letter of the alphabet. "^ Either World, the Spiritual and Material. 3 The old belief was that rubies were common stones on which the sun had shone for ages. ♦ The wayfarer on the Mystic Path. 5 '^Aql-i nefsani, carnal reason, is said to be the instinct of self-preservation. 129 One day shall secret things be brought to sight, And the soul's eye awakened by Love's might; All things before him shall be bared and known, From God's own self the curtain shall be thrown ; If on a single point he bend his eye, He shall the whole vast world therein descry • A point his world-displaying bowl shall be, ' A mote his sun filling the heart with glee. Dazed Primal Wisdom '^ by this mystery. That in one point the universe should lie. Until thou learn'st what in a point is shown, How may Thought's mysteries to thee be known? () thou who openest the inward eye. Who in the world along Love's road dost hie. Each mote's a window to all radiancy, Each drop's a window to the boundless sea 5 The world of soul is from the body seen. The light of God is viewed from hence, I ween. 'He mine a share in Love,' if thou dost say, 'Yea, let me find unto the Truth a way,' Then to the tales of lovers give thou heed, The story of the King and Dcggar read. The story of Sultan Mur;'ul ami the rcsc is one of the ilhistrativc anecdotes added to the first section of the Hook of I'rccepts, that which treats of the beneficent rcsidts of royal justice. The Miir.id intended is the first Sultan of that name, who rcii^Micd from 761 (i35<^) to yi.ji (1389), whni he was assassinated on the held of W.iMic hy a wounded Si-rvian. I' nun I he KJLil) i I 'sill. |2 i i | Once when llu* r.piiii^', liiul nil cailli illiiiiicil, Wliicli liUi- to llic hciirt of tlic l-'iiillifiii l>l<>oin<iliiil. ' I'll)- lirnl (II uiiivcitiiil InU'llluciuc. See vol, 1, p. ^j. 130 The spring unveiled the florets sweet; And each branchlet forth from the trees' pennair Drew the design of a reed-pen fair; And kindling their lamps at the ruddy light, The garden beauties their green robes dight; He of blessed life and of sainted death, The lord of the Champions of the Faith, The ghazi's' King, Ghazi Murad, Was fain to walk in the garden glad. He saw how the spring had decked all bright. And was musing on Allah's wondrous might, When one of his menie who stood anear Plucked a rose and offered it to him there. 'Wither thy hand!' to that man quoth he, 'For the death of this rose hath been caused by thee. 'The while it was praising God full fair, 'By thee is its service stopped for e'er; 'The while it was decking the garden bright, 'Thou hast slain it, e'en as the blast of blight; 'Like the wind of death, thou hast passed its way, •And extinguished the lamp of its life for aye.' For wreak of the rose he rebuked him sore. He taught him who had erred to err no more. He who maketh the stream of justice flow Will his ears on the very plants bestow. Fair fear of the Lord! Fair justice, ruth! In his day was nor wrong nor despite in sooth. A merciful King who is just, benign. Is as spring which setteth the earth ashine. Through him smile all things gay and fair, And joy and welfare beam everywhere. The following verses are from Yahya's elegy on Prince Mustafa which went so near to costing the poet his life. The Imperial army, which had set out on the march for Persia, had reached Eregli, when the Prince was summoned to one of the Sultan's tents, where instead of being received by his father as he had expected, he was set upon and bowstrung 131 by the Imperial executioners. The poem is in form a Terki'b- Bend of the second and less usual variety, that in which the rime occurs at the end of each hemistich. From the Elegy on Prince Mustafa. [212] Alas! alas! and a column of the earth is broke atwain; For the tyrant Death's marauders Prince Mustafa have slain. Eclipsed is his sun-bright visage, away were his helpmeets ta'en 5 Through treason and guile have they wroughten the House of "^Osman bane. Brief time agone did they make yonder hero cross the plain; The Sphere did the King of the Age thitherward to wend constrain. The hidden hate of the liar, his dastard falsehood vain, Have litten the fire of parting and caused our tears to rain. No sin like his murderers' crime did his noble spirit stain. In dolour's flood is he drowned, and scattered is all his train. Would God that our eyes had never looked out on this woeful sight! Alack, alack, we may never hold a dealing like this for right. as * * « * •? 'f, H: -X, -S; •» « •« « •$ S: vS *- » vS * •*■ That Plcnilune of perfection, that Swimmer of learning's sea, I lath journeyed hence to the Void, slain of evil destiny. A-throb arc the burning stars, such the grief for him they dree. 'i'his parting doth Syria bren, makcth Rilm in tears to be. And sorrow assails <^)araman and arrays her in black, perdie. That Moon Iiavc they done lu dcatli tiiroiigh an idle fantasy. Round liis neck clung the noisome snake ' as a halo, woe is nic! Suljniiss to the will of (lod, whate'er it were, was he. I'riprovcd any crime of him, and unknown any infamy. O Saint! O Martyr! foul is llie wrong llicy have wrought on thee. I'ndonc on the face of earth, he reliirtu'd to liis own true land, And joyous lie went forlhriglil in the presence of (lod to stnnd. All!', lli.'il the face of doom in llic mirror Sphere was shown! II'- jell ilic ^roNHiK'HH of nirtli, went wIk-k- nau^;lit ol cliunf;!* is known He hlailcd in htnin^;c*r-wiHi- on tlmt jouiticy nil iilone; And, c'l'n iiH the linma binl, of the world above wiih pniiK*. In iniili wiiN IiIh lli^lil nloji broii){l)t iiliuul by liU enirl fonr. I i'lir bowHlrlii^. 132 Is it strange if the carrion earth was ne'er as his portion thrown ? O Yahya, his spirit away to eternal life is flown ; May God be his friend, may the soul of Muhammed defend his own, May his feres be the angel-throng, and his mate each blessed one ; And plenteous e'en as our tears may mercy on him be shown ! O Allah, may Eden-bower a dwelling for him provide; And still may the King, the stay of the earth, in weal abide! CHAPTER VI. / ; I I I I Baqi, and the Minor Poets Jelili, Mu^idi, Emri, Gharami, Rahimi, Fevri, Shukri, NiGARI AND NiDA I. FAREWELL TO LaTIFL The course of our survey has now brought us to a writer who for a period of near three hundred years enjoyed un- challenged the reputation of being the greatest poet of his people, and whose position of paramount pre-eminence has been disputed only in these latest days since the rise of the modern school of criticism. Mahmiid '^Abd-ul-Baqi, generally known by his makhlas of l^aqi, was born in Constantinople in the year 933 (1526 — 7), his fatlier holding the humble pfjsition of mu'ez/.in or caller to worshi[) at the most[ue i>f Muhammed the Conqueror. Baqf was at first apprenticed to a saddler, but his strong native birit towards study soon iiidiici il him I0 abandon this hue of \\\\- and follow the more congenial career of tlu: law. While still a student following the lectures of Oaramani-zadi: Muhamnud I'.lendi and (Jazi- /.;i(le, he laid tlu- foundation of his famr as a port by the piodiK t i(.n of llic jlyarinth (jasida, a poem wluih has always 1)1(11 ainiiMi; llic bcsl Ivnowii ol his works. In iIhsc early days Ha(|l sulfiicd much owiii;; to his Nliail( nt(| means; his foitiine dates from <;''-', v\liin he prt:s- enled Id ^mllan Siilc) man, |ii'.l lelmned honi i>ne ol his I'll Man I ani|iai^;ns, a (|.islila \\lii(li so ^;i('all) pleased thai 134 generous and discerning monarch that he at once took the poet into his special favour and admitted him to the circle of his private friends. The close and intimate connection thus formed between Suleyman and Baqi was continued without interruption until the death of the former in 974 (1566), when the poet mourned his patron in an elegy which still holds its place among the noblest achievements of the Turkish Muse. Selim II, himself a poet of considerable ability, continued to treat Baqi with the same kindly familiarity, and when after a reign of eight years he was succeeded by his son Murad III, the poet found himself still enjoying the sunshine of imperial favour. It was of course impossible to occupy such a position without encountering the hostility of many persons jealous of the advantages it conferred and eager to secure these for themselves. The wonderful thing is that Baqi was able to maintain himself in his place at court so long as he did. At length, however, his enviers contrived, by means of what appears to be a somewhat clumsy trick, to deprive him for a time of the Sultan's favour, and even to get him sent into temporary banishment. They got a ghazel by an obscure writer called Nami, made some slight alterations in it, and laid it before Murad who had just succeeded to the throne, telling him that Baqi had composed it in ridicule of the late Sultan, whose predilection for wine was a matter of public notoriety. The new sovereign believed what he was told, and, indignant that his father's kindness should be so repaid, dismissed Baqi from the im- portant legal position which he held and, as has been said, sent him into banishment. The ghazel in question was, how- ever, soon discovered in a collection of Nami's poems where- upon Baqi was recalled and reinstated in the good graces of the court. This was the only cloud which darkened the poet's career as an imperial favourite; he survived Murad, 135 living to win the esteem and to sing the praises of Muhammed III, the fourth Sultan whom he saw upon the throne of '^Osman. Baqi eventually attained a high position in the ranks of the ^ulema ; he was successively Cadi of Mekka, Cadi of Constantinople, Anatolian Qadi^asker, and (in 1006) Rumelian Qadi'^asker. In the following year he resigned, being upwards of seventy years of age. Baqi died on the 231^1 of Ramazan, 1008 (April 7, 1600); and on the following day the funeral service was performed in the presence of an immense assembly in the Mosque of Muhammed the Conqueror, where the poet's father had been mu'ezzin long before. Sun'^-ullah Efendi, the Sheykh-ul-Islam, who conducted the service, quoted in his address this couplet from one of the dead poet's most beautiful ghazels : Friends shall know thy worth, O Baqi, when thou liest on the bier. And with folded hands they range them o'er against thee, rank on rank. ' Outside the Adrianoplc Gate, on the road to L^yyub, was Haqi buried ; and there his tomb still remains, a sacred spot to all who care for Turkish poetry. - Qinali-z.idc relates a charming little story of Haqfs debut as a writer, which professes to come from the poet hiniself. Old Zati, as we have seen, was rccogniseil as master b)- tin- young would-be poets of those days; so naturally enough 1ln- yoiitlilul l);i(|i took to liini one of his glia/els, eager to see what advice: or encouragement the ;.;ieal man woiiM voiirhsafe. i'lie woiiderfill inaliiiily <>! tin- |>oiim inesenled to hini aiiia/ed the critic, and when he looked on the lad Ui^ OiAfl ^•,I;L^ xiyay* jii^i*^ Jl V5;^ * lly II Killing;!' pircr u( ( iirflci.Hiicnii lln- dale nf Hacii'M dntlli i. ni.iiiliid crroncoiiNly mi liluyM\i (Cursiir) v llic Aiiinii.il Jii (- X-ki'tAO^I >— *.— "T nAI^ y^ ^A4wCaJ |»«Um.iA~i' OvAjJib . ^aaaJ yi xi^j 142 Nef^i was the artist of speech in qasidas, But in the ghazel he could not equal Baqi or Yahya. • Sabit, another distinguished poet of those times, writes: If we call Baqi the assayer, this is (but) justice; For his groats are the silver of our thoughts. What though the pen collect the remnants of his fancies, In the acquisition of accomplishments it is Baqi's slave. ^ Passages such as those might be cited from many other of the earHer writers, all to the one effect, — that Baqi is supreme over all the lyrists of Rum, if indeed he be not greatest among the poets of the earth. But let us now leave the older critics and see what is the judgment of more recent times. We find that Ziya Pasha, the great poet of Sultan *^Abd-ul- '^Aziz's reign, in the preface to his 'Tavern,' ^ places Baqi at the head of the second of the three periods into which he divides the history of his country's poetry. The first of these three periods is the Ancient, beginning in the earliest times; the second is the Middle, beginning with Baqi; and the third is the Modern, beginning with Nabi. What induced the Pasha to begin his Middle Period with Baqi is the fact that this poet is the earliest writer of dis- tinction who seriously and successfully addressed himself to the work of determining the metrical treatment of words of Turkish origin. Up to this time the poets had treated such •iAaj^ lXJ' i_xis./i.jA_Jl 5.iii ^j_j iOT tlNAj^l.i^4.Ai3» ^^J-»«L_jLJLj «_A«.A.ii»<3 &J^5 ' See Vol. I, p. 240, n. i. 143 words, to use Ekrem Bey's simile, as though they were made of elastic, drawing them out to any length the metre might require, by that system of prolonging vowels naturally short which is known as imala, and the constant employment of which renders so much of their writing disagreeably forced, at least to modern ears. Although, as I have already said, a somewhat different pronunciation may have caused this fault to be less obvious and less painful in the early days of the Empire, it is clear from the care with which Baqf seeks to avoid, or at any rate to curtail, indulgence in this licence, that the unpleasant effect which it produces had begun to make itself felt at the time he wrote. Judged from a modern standpoint, Baqi's works are indeed by no means free from imalas; but it may well be that certain sounds are now short which in his day were long. This much how- ever is certain, that so marked a change in this particular comes over the writings of the poets after Baqi's influence is once thoroughly established, that Ziya Pasha is amply justified in regarding his appearance as an epoch in Turkish literature. B.'uii's example further helped to sweep away from tlic language a iiuinb(r of old words and forms which, having been replaced by others, had become obsolete, and were r< laiiicd only by the conservatism of the poets. These worils, altlioiigii [jiojjably (|iiil(; as good as those by which thoy were deposed, had no longer an)' leal life, .md sm\i\c'd merely as pari ol tin- 1 1 .idit ion.d p.ii .i|)li<'Mi.dia o| an aitihci.d literary style. \\,\i\i IIk rcjoic icndeicd tin- laniMiage a siTvicc vvIk II, by iisiii;; living words in their stead, he helpi-d to banish llieiii liotii poetic diclioti. Such are tiu* services to which Ziy.i i'.isha .illiides when he calls Ha(|l the 'earliest nli>iiiiii,' .111(1 ..ly. Ili.it poelij' w.is lir.t iiniiijdid inlopiopiT sh.ipi ,il his Ii.iikIs. 144 Ekrem Bey, in his little pamphlet on the old poets, praises Baqi for his care in avoiding the imala and endorses Ziya's statement that he must be reckoned among the reformers of the language, adding that he presented to his contemporaries poems which even nowadays we must consider as very smooth and harmonious. But he takes the poet to task for the great number of puns and equivoques which disfigure his work. Qinali-zade had long before, but in no disparaging tone, called attention to Baqi's pronounced affection for the tevriya or iham (amphibology), ' quoting a number of examples of the same from his ghazels. While we must agree with Ekrem Bey that such frolics of the fancy are indeed unworthy of Baqi's genius, we must not forget that the spirit of that age looked upon such things as necessary embellishments to all serious literary work. Similarly Professor Naji, who reckons Baqi among the most noteworthy of the Turkish poets, avers that he acted to his countrymen as instructor in their language, which he strove to reform so far as was possible under the old system. From these various criticisms which I have translated or paraphrased it will be observed that while the earlier writers look upon Baqi as being before all things a poet of the highest rank, the later critics consider that it is rather as a literary reformer that he is entitled to our respect. The reason for this difference of opinion is to be sought in the different meanings which the two schools attach to the word Poetry. As we have seen over and over again, poetry meant to the older school simply expression, expression reduced to a fine art ; while the poet was merely an artist in words. Now Baqi was a consummate artist in words, and he was little more. Even the reforms he brought about were nothing but reforms in words. Not one of the poets who had gone ' See vol. I, p. 113. H5 before him, perhaps not one of those who came after, equalled him in the dexterity with which he manipulated his words. Here then is the secret of the boundless enthusiasm of the old writers ; Baqi attained more nearly than any other to that goal towards which all were straining, absolute perfec- tion of expression. It mattered nothing to these that the greater part of their favourite's work is utterly valueless save for its beauty of language, since beauty of language was the only thing they sought. But to the modern critics, to whom poetry means something more than musical ver- bosity, Baqi's work presents itself in a different light, and is valuable not so much in itself as in its effects. It is therefore, questions of literary reform apart, merely as a stylist that Baqi must be judged, and here we may at once concede to him that position which the unanimous voice of the early critics claims as his. The beauty of his style is apparent even to a foreign reader; though by no means free from the rhetorical colouring fashionable in his day, it is on the whole clear and straightforward, and from time to time rises to a nobility very rare indeed among contemporary 'i'urkish poets; while the purity and correctness of Ills language entitle him to the highest place among tiie classic writers of his country. Iraqi's l)i\\an is the high-water mark of ihal tide of imitative, I'ersianising culture w hicii for so long a time lay ovi-r all literary life in 'I'urkey. On the other hand, tliiired iih n fair youth or i^irl, Mercury hh a penman, Vciiun aM a beaiiliful female ininHlrcl, the Sun uh n iiovcrei|{n, Marn aM a warrior, Jupiter an a ve/lr, an< an a^rd man, often an Indian, he bcin|{ inaUHpiilouH, and therefore daik. ' The Cipherer, NiHhiinji, it< the liliditi Inner of the lii^^diia, oi loyal riphri, on tlie duerecH of (iod. 148 Venus had tuned her harp for that celestial banquet fair, Brightly and merrily she smiled f(ir mirth and joyance gay. Still spinning as she went, the tambourinist Sun had hid Below the hoop-shaped arch of heaven her radiant face away. ' With scimitar of gold inlay into the plain had sprung The champion Swordsman of the sky's far-reaching field of fray. 2 To ponder o'er the weighty matters of the universe Had Jupiter the wise made cogitation's taper ray. High on the seventh sphere did Saturn, stricken sore in years, Sit, even as he were an Indian watchman, old and grey. 'What meaneth this celestial pageantry ?' amazed I cried. When lo, e'en while the inward eye did all the scene survey. Flashing in radiance all around on every hand, the Sun O'er the horizon blazed, the Seal of Solomon, 3 in fay.' Then gazed the inward eye upon this sight so wonder-fair Until the soul's ear heard the mystery therein that lay : How naught had given this array to the celestial courts Except the fortune of the King who doth the wide world sway ! * Seated aloft upon the throne above all crowned Kings ! Reared on high amid the dread imperial mellay! Jemshid in feast and festival! Darius in the fight! Kisra 5 in rank and justice! Alexander of the day! Sultan of East and West? King of the Kings of land and sea! Darius of the age! King Suleyman, victorious aye! That Champion-rider of the realms of justice, 'fore whose steed 'Tis soothly meet that Khusrevs f"' march in glittering array; ' Here the Sun is figured not as a sovereign, but as a tambourinist, the reference being of course to that luminary's apparent resemblance in size and form to a tambourine. The sun spins or revolves, and the tambourinist makes her instrument spin on her finger. ■•^ The planet Mars. •■' With a secondary reference to the Sultan, whose name was Solomon (Suleyman); for the magic virtues of Solomon's Seal, see vol. 11, p. 39, n. i. * This couplet is the gun'z-gah, or place of flight, in which the poet passes from the exordium to the panegyric. 5 This Kisra is Niishirvan of the old .Sasanian dynasty of Persia ; he is the type of a just King. •■' i. e. Kings, especially the Sasanian Kings of Persia, called by the Arabs Kisra (plural .\kasira) and by the Greeks Chosroes. 149 'Twould seem the leopard-sphere had made revolt against his rule, And bound in chains the Straw-bearers had haled him here, their prey ; ' Lord of the realm of graciousness and bounty, on whose board Of favour spread is all the wealth that sea and mine display; 2 Longs the perfumer, springtide, for the odour of his grace ; Needs the householder, autumn, yonder bounteous hand alway, ^ None groaneth through the tyrant's cruel vexing in thy reign ; And if the harp and flute do wail,* the law they disobey. Beside thy justice, tyranny's the law of Key-Qubad;* Beside thine anger, Qahraman's fierce fury is as play. " Did but the meteor see the sphere a-tremble, it would deem It fevered for thy fear, and bind it round the neck straightway. Thy saljre is the glittering pathway to the realms of Death : Put to the sword the foemen of the Faith, no more delay ! The standards floating fair above thine ocean-mighty hosts Are sails the ship of victory and triumph doth display. He'd take the Sphere grain-fashion in his beak, an so he willed, — < )nc bite were earth unto the '^an'qa of the Qdf, thy sway. '^ In the eternal past thy mighty hand did smite that l^all, 'I'hc Sphere; and then is now, for still it spins upon its way. Within the garden of tliy praise, the bower of thine acclaim, 'I'lu: bird-heait sings like rippling stream this lifc-bcstowing lay: If yonder mouth be not tlie soul, O hcart-ensnarer gay,* Wliy is it hidden, like- tlic soul, from our poor eyes away?" ' 'I'lu; starry sky is lier<- cniiiparcd to a spotted li-opard, cliaincd bv the band ol llic Milky Way. ''■ Tlic sea as yielding pearls, and llif mine as yieliling gems, arc types of generous weallli. ■' Aiiliinin personified as a rich and generous liDUsclidiili'r wlin dispenses '|u:Mililies of gold (yellow IcilveK}. ^ Referring to tlic plaintive notes of llicsc insiiuincnis, * Key-<,)iib;i(dii(>, comcivrd clllici a» an (Miihly licauly or an a divine ideal. " A liny mouth Im anion^ Ihv chuiiii)- o| tin- innvciiliotial licauly ol llic I50 What time thy rubies' image lay within the spirit's scryne The mine had ceased to be the home of gems of lustrous ray. ' Tangle on tangle o'er thy cheek the curling tresses fall; 'For Hijaz have the Syrians girt their skirts,' one well might say. * Let but the gardener see thy slender, waving cypress-form. And ne'er again to rear the willow on the lawn essay. ' The dark of vision may conceive those eyebrows black of thine ; While they, the keen and bright of wit, thy teeth imagine may. The rose and jessamine bowed down afore thy cheek so fair. The cypress of the garth rose up afore thy figure gay. * The heart-throne is the seat of that high Sovran, love for thee ; The soul-pavilion 'tis wherein thine imaged rubies stay. Thy beauty's rays have, like the sun, laid hold on all the earth, Filled with the cry of love for thee 's Creation's vault for aye : The tumult of the plain of earth hath mounted to the spheres. The shouting of the Heavenly Host hath fall'n on earth to-day. ^ No nightingale so sweet of voice as Bdqi may appear, Nor may there any garden shine bright as thy face alway. 6 Thy beauty's rose doth make the garth of earth as Irem-bower, '' poets; here it is said to be so small as to be invisible, like the soul, which it further resembles as being the source of the lover's life. ' When the casket of my heart enshrined the picture of thy ruby-lips, that, and not the mine, was the true home of precious stones. 2 Shami = Syrian, also means 'evening-like,' hence, dark, and so, applicable to the hair. Hijaz, besides being being the name of a region in Arabia, is the name of a musical mode. So the line means : 'The night-black locks, dangling about thy cheeks, are as Syrians who have girt their loins for a dance to Hijaz' (or to the air called Hijaz). The couplet is a good example of Baqi's fondness for the iham. ^ The willow is yet another type of a graceful figure. * The rose and jessamine, typical of the red and white tints of a beautiful cheek, performed the sujiid, that is the prostration practised in the Muslim worship, before thy face; while the cypress, typical of the elegant form, per- formed the qiyam, that is the standing up which occurs in the same service, before thy figure ; i. e. the symbols oi beauty worshipped thee. * The ghazel ends here. The last couplet is in amplification of the last line of that preceding. ^ This verse is the taj or crown, in which the poet mentions his own name. The Sultan is addressed once more. 1 For Irem, the terrestial paradise, see vol. i, p. 326, n. 5. All round a thousand nightingales and many an hundred lay. ' Come, let us turn us to the Court of Allah: Still may wax The glory of the Empire of the King triumphant aye, 2 So long as Time doth for the radiant sun-taper at dawn A silver candle-stick upon th' horizon edge display, ^ Safe from the blast of doom may still the sheltering skirt of Him Who holds the world protect the taper of thy life, we pray. Glory the comrade, Fortune, the cup-bearer at thy feast; The beaker-sphere, the goblet steel-enwrought, of gold inlay ! * I give next a translation of the famous Elegy on Sultan Suleyman. It is, as usual, in the terkib-bend form. There is one other stanza, the last of all, which I have not given. It is a panegyric on Suleyman's son and successor Selim II, such as it was incumbent on Baqi, in his capacity of court poet, to introduce into a poem intended for the sovereign ; but it strikes a false note, and is out of harmony with, and altogether unworthy of, the rest of the poem. The first stanza is addressed to the reader. Elegy on Sultan Sulcym;in. [214] thou, fool-tangled in the incsli of fame and glory's snare! How long this lusl of things of 'I'linc lliat ceaseless lluwolli o'er? Hold tliou in mitiil thai day vvliicli shall be hist of life's fair spring, When Mii: tlic imninisi' nunibti of pools who aiose in Suli-y- man's lime. '^ In lliis (ouplcl lic^Mh . llic piayiT for llic patron, with wliitli i-veiy (jasidii ought to ( (incltlrlc. :i 'llic ,1111 ii (:oin|mii K ilif HJIvery ii|'lii o( ihe Hui)li-i-Hi\(li(|, or true duwn, ai)|>curH to be ninmi * The diiili hky, Hliiddcd wIlli ulars, Is here rrniudnl iih it >trol bowl ml.o.l with gold, Kivcn to llie Sulliin to riihiincf tin- ^'"'7 "l^ '''* f«^<**b * Tlicy lined to throw iinlilr the tlirgi nflrr drlnUinn « tup of wlnr. * A pebble thrown iiilu ii bcukcr whm ihc >.ii;iiul loi a prtily l vie. ' Ity tlic sinoki- nf burning liearls llieir sighs are meant. '^ King Solr)nion (Sulcyindnj of Israel was su|)pi)s((l tn rule over the fairies :iiid demons as well as ovi-r inankiml. •' rill- liiiiiia, wliirli li;i . iici'ii ahi-;idy iin-nliniicil niun- than oik c, i-. a f.iliulnus liiiil HO aiiHpiciuus llia( he on wlmin it, sliailnw lulls licconu's a King. * Tliiil Ih, the Univcrhc. '^ The nliadow of (iod in the world is ii title of the Sulliui. | .\s uppcats from ill- I'tliCH liixtory, il WHS innploycd an einly us tlu! liegiiuiiiin of llic eleventh century of oui i-ia by Siillun Miiliinild i>f (ilni/nii, Kii.| " The hyiicihlliit <■! tin- inniiiiiiiin npicsc-nt its hiiii. ' Thf loiirH lire ilw lill.. " Sec |i. ]<) r///*/,/, n. I, " See p. IM )M will be rewarded for his labours in the next wmld. Prince Cautenicr, who liv. 156 Unto those thy locks the fragrant jacinth bows, their Indian slave; ' While the plot wherein thy rosy cheek may bloom's the garden gay. Is it strange if in thine absence heart and soul for peaches 2 long? — For the fruit that's out of season sick folk ever yearn and pray. Low the musk lies, gory-shrouded, slain by yonder darling's mole: • — Deem not ye that the perfumers wrap it round with crimson say. ^ Truth is this, BaqI, unrivalled still thy wondrous verse would be. Though the warlocks all addressed them unto numbers from this day. Ghazel. [216] From all eternity the slave of Sultan Love are we, O Life. ♦ Of passion's mighty realm are we the King of haught degree, O Life. Forbid not thirsting hearts the water of the cloud of thy dear grace ; The core-bient tulip of this dreary wilderness we be, O Life. Fortune is ware that pearls in us are hid, and so she rends our heart. And thus our vitals bleed; we are the mine of wit, perdie, O Life. Let not the dust of sorrow ever cloud the fountain of the soul; We are, thou know'st, the glory of the ^Osmdn Empery, O Life. Like Baqi's poetry, that bowl, my verse, doth circle all the earth; So now the Jami of the age at this fair feast are we, O Life. * The following little poem is very graceful in the original: ' The jacinth or hyacinth is the type of luxuriant locks; when dark-coloured it may be described as Indian. 2 Sheftalii means both a peach and a kiss (vol. Ii, p. 371, n. l). Its use here is an instance of iham or amphibology, both meanings being intended. 3 The perfumers sold musk wrapped up in bits of red silk; here, by Husn-i Ta'^lil, Baqi says that this wrap is not really red silk, but the blood-stained shroud of the musk, which has been slain by the beloved's mole in disputing the palm of sweetness with the same. * The 'Life' addressed in the redif of this ghazel may be the beloved, human or Divine ; or possibly, the poet's own soul. 5 Jami, the great Persian poet, derived his name from his native town. Jam in Khurasan ; but Jami may also be taken to mean 'He of the Bowl.' There s a Tejnis between this word and the jam (bowl) in the preceding line. 157 Ghazel. [217] Whoe'er in thy ward may approach thee anear, An angel's his fere, and his alcove the sphere. The curve of thy musky eyebrow I beheld, And I took thy black eyen for Cathayan deer, t To the niche 2 of thine eyebrow the moon bowed down ; They held it, ■* who wist not, thy brow bright and clear. To lay low the face in the dust at thy feet The roses and jasmine bestrew the herbere. My Liege, an thou ask after Baqi, behold The humblest of slaves at thy gate doth appear. Ghazel. [218] Like the brcath-fillcd flute 's the soul with yearning fraught for love of thee. ♦ Ah that ujjon earth no helpmeet for the heart's dismay should be! Let the salire of thy glances shred me even as the comb,* Only at the ending let me win among thy tresses free. All existent things, if measured by the ocean of thy love,'' Were but as a handful litter tossed upon tlic boundless sea. Wise is lie who lioastelh not iiimself for pride of worldly gear; I'ortune's durance is a moment; as for man, a l)realh is he. ' .Musk is prociiicd fium lln- iinisU-dccr of t'alliay or ('iiinese Tarlury. '■' The arched praycr-niclic (vol. I, p, 361, i\. 3). ■• The moon. Hy the 'moon' the poet here means ihc wliile foicliead of his i)el()ved, though l)y a, figure of H|)cecli lie suys llie reverse. ♦ When the (lute is filled with the jilayei's breutli il walls iis if with yearning (hcc p. 92 .r///i///, II. I). The \* I liawa, wliii li is ii.cil here, mcuuH 'pnsHiim' us well iiH 'itit' or MirciUh'; il is uiiotlici in'tiaiiit- 4ir ili.iin, Imlh meanings lielii^ ll it uiiiiniii ihiit llii- Aiillmr iiilciidcd iil (Jiis pniiil In iidil Niiino rriniiilc. mi lliii|('H iiilliiriur (lii.iiij;liitul llii' wlioii' nl ilir ( InHHicitl itiid ihc hiHt piiil <>( tlic I uui .itKni IVrlod. Kli,| r6o of ghazels which he seems to have collected under the title of Gul-i Sad-Berg, The Hundred-Leafed Rose. His reported translation of the Shah-Nama is probably a myth, seeing that, as Qinali-zade says, no one has ever seen or heard so much as a single couplet from it. Mu'^idi of Qalqandelen near Uskub is a romantic poet of some note. He is said to have written a series of seven mesnevis as a Response to the Khamsa of Nizami, three of which are mentioned by name in my MS. of Latifi : Khusrev u Shirin; Gul u Nev-Ruz or Rose and New-Year; ' and Shem*^ u Perwana or Taper and Moth. Von Hammer gives an abstract of the second of these, and the British Museum possesses an incomplete MS. of the third. - They are love-stories of the usual type, the one dealing with the adventures of Prince New-Year and Princess Rose, the other with the history of the Dervish Moth and the Syrian Princess Taper. Among lyric poets we have Emri, Gharami, Rahimi, and Fevri, the last of whom is interesting, since he was a Hungarian or German taken prisoner in child- hood by Turkish marauders. Among chroniclers there are Shukri the Kurd, who wrote a riming history of Selim I ; Nigari, a naval officer, who describes the victories gained by the Turkish Admiral Sinan Pasha over the Spanish fleet; and Nida^i, who sings the triumphs of the Admiral Piyala over the Christians at Jerba. < The New- Year's Day (Nev-RUz) here meant is the vernal equinox, when the Sun enters the first point of Aries, about the 21st of March. It is the first day of spring, and was in ancient times (and, indeed, still is) a great festival among the Persians. The Turks also occasionally observe it. 2 The British Museum Catalogue, the general accuracy of which cannot be praised too highly, following Von Hammer, attributes this poem to another Mu'idi who flourished somewhat later; but as Latffi, who knows nothing of this later writer, attributes a Shem*^ u Perwana to MuS'di of Qalqan-Delen, the only poet of the name he mentions, and as Qinali-zade, to whom the later author is known, does not credit him with any mesnevi at all, I cannot help thinking that there is here some slight confusion. i6i We must now bid farewell to our old friend and guide Latifi, who has accompanied us from the very beginning of our researches, and to whom we are indebted for much of the information we have gained. Like Sehi Bey, whose Tezkira appeared a few years before his own, Latifi dedicated his work to Suleyman. A native of Qastamuni, he was perhaps a little over-zealous for the literary fame of his birthplace; at least, Qinali-zade taxes him with making several poets natives of that city who were in reality born elsewhere, and adds that his work was known among wits as the Qastamuni- Nama, or Qastamuni-Book. Up to a certain point this charge appears to be true ; Latifi does seem to have credited his native city with a number of early and obscure writers con- cerning whose birthplace there is some uncertainty; but this is after all but a little matter and does not materially detract from the value of his work. Notwithstanding several inaccu- racies of a more serious nature, Latifi's Biography is a work which the student of Turkish literature could ill afford to lose. It is pleasantly written, and its compilation was evidently a la- bf)ur of love to the author, who treats his subject with enthu- siasm, and is always anxious to say tiie best he can for the poets whom he passes in review, without, however, ceasing to be a sound critic according to his lights. In his preface Latifi tells us that he undertook his work at the niiuest of an accoin])lislie(l Irieiid wlio prayc(| him In do Ini the poets o{ Ri'iin what J;iiiii in iiis Siiiingland (lieharistaii) and Ni-v.i'i in his Tarties of the l'Jc^;ant (Mej;ilis-un-Nef;i'is) had doni- for those of I'ersia. ' LatlH lived for many years after writing his 're/kire. which w.is (inishcd in 953 ( I 546 — 7); Il.ijji Khahfa m\A \'<'U J hi II I nil I |.|,i( (• his (Icil li in i)<;() (l 582 ]), I ml (,>iii.ih ,',ulr. w lio Wiolc III <)i),\ (15H5— 6), says that he w:r.lhin h\in|; in (on 8tanlinopI. ;e lii< judicial funt tloiiit ;" of thn i'oily 'Iradilioim of ibnu'l-Muhlrhib of HrlKiado; and of the (limnon I'rony (rtdi Shiiip'i'i(|u 'n-Nii' mnnlyyi" ) of 'i'a»liKyUpiulU-/rtde, lo «hiih he aKo uddcil an Appendix or /eyi. lcii.| i64 attention will be almost exclusively confined ; it is but very rarely and as it were by accident that our enquiries will lead us beyond its limits into those surrounding lands which the fortunes of war may have thrown into the possession of the Ottomans. It would therefore be needless for our present purpose to follow those endless shiftings of frontier on every hand which henceforward make up the historical geography of the Turkish Empire. CHAPTER VII. The Mid Classic Age. SkLIM II — MUHAMMED III. 974 — I0I2 (1566 — 1603) Selim II. Murad III. Mu hammed III f A d 1 1). H Li b b 1. N c V ^1. ''Aziz 1. R I'l h 1. K h a q a n 1. ''A h d 1, Q i n a 1 i- zadc and other biographers of poets. Anthologies. From the accession of Seh'm II to the death of Murad IV we have a period of seventy-four years during which no fewer than seven sultans succeeded one another on the Imperial tlircjne. These were Selim II, Muiad III, Muhamnied 111, Alinied I, Mustafa I, 'Osman II, and Murail IV. As each oik; of these seven wrote verses, we havt- now, beginning witii Miiiad II, ati unbroken succession of twelve poet-kings, a plii h.ivf allo[;(thci disappiai iil. the liiiiii'cl ii|iHiilc down; llic ^^;initiiiti^ rudiaiui'' In lirHlly llic mIiIic |iii^(> nit wliii li llii- Icllri i', iu|i|iuv<''l mnv iiij i. luiuwii 11. inuli'iiiiiiit' ("luilclt-witik"^. 172 book *^Ata'i has inserted a long and appreciative account of his father, which forms an excellent and trustworthy source of information. Nev'^i, or to give him his full name, Yahya the son of Pir '^Ali the son of Nasuh, was born at the little town of Malghara in Rumelia in the year 940 (1533 — 4). At first his father, the Sheykh Pi'r "^Ali, superintended his studies, but when he reached his tenth year he joined the class of Qara- mani-zade Muhammed Efendi, where he had for fellow-pupils Baqi, afterwards the famous lyrist, and SaM-ud-Din afterwards the great historian. On the completion of his course Nev^' entered, as was inevitable, the body of the '^ulema. He received his first charge, that of muderris or principal of a Gallipoli college, in 973 (1565 — 6), and was gradually promoted, until in 991 (1583 — 4) he was appointed to the college of the Sultana Mihr-u-Mah in Constantinople, which position he still held when Qinali-zade wrote. His next step was to the Plane- tree College (Chenarli Medresa), one of the Eight Colleges reckoned in the Court of the Eight dependent on the Mosque of Muhammed the Conqueror. ' This was followed in 998 (1539 — 90) by the Cadiship of Baghdad; but before Nev^i had set out for his new post. Sultan Murad nominated him tutor to his son Prince Mustafa. The poet acquitcd himself so well in this charge that, as they grew up, the young Princes Bayezid, ^Osman and "Abd-ullah, were made over to his care. But when Murad died in 1003 (1595) the first thought of the new sovereign was to have the whole of his nineteen brothers bowstrung without delay. This, by the way, was the last, as it was the largest, sacrifice ever offered to what Creasy calls the Cain-spirit of Muhammed the Con- queror's maxim. Henceforward when a Sultan a.scended the throne he did not murder his brothers; he shut them up in ' See vol. IJ, p. 23, and pp. 394 — 400. 173 a pavilion in the Seraglio, known as the Qafes or Cage. Nev'^i, who mourned his patron and his pupils in an elegy that passes for one of the finest of his poems, did not sur- vive them very long. The new Sultan treated him kindly and gave him a pension on which he lived in retirement till his death in the Zi-1-QaMa of 1007 (June 1599). He was buried in the courtyard of Sheykh Wefa's Mosque in Con- stantinople. Nev*^! was a very learned man, and during the whole course of his life, a passionate lover of study; 'as he was ever en- grossed,' says Qinali-zade, 'in perfecting his knowledge and his accomplishments, he was lauded and esteemed among men.' He wrote many works in prose, the most important of which are an encyclopaedia of twelve sciences which he called Neta^ij-ul-Funun or The Results of the Sciences, ' and a translation of the Fusiis-ul-Hikem which he executed at the desire of the Sultan. In poetry, he modelled his style on that of Baqi, without, however, being able to acquire the grace and lucidit)- of his friend; lie had a heavy touch, and there is a certain ponderous clumsiness about all his work. His poems are too ol>viously the work of a learned man, bristling as thc\' do with unusual words and rcniott- allusions, oiteii to luatlers connected with the sciennrs of thr tiim-; the result, as every line bears witness, of laborious stuily, they aie of necessity altogether lacking in (hat at any rate apparent spontaneity which distinguishes the best work of tln' jMcal lyrist. NcvM liicd his li.iiKJ ,ill idund, 'in the i|asi(la,' says the eouiti'ous 'Alldl, 'he IS peijcet with IIk pel jeet lie.', ol the eloiinent ol old, ill Mil- IIHSIK^I he excels among the llieilds lhlou;;h his |;i.i((|iil sloiies, .iiid ill the gliu/.i'l Ills ideas .in- woilhy ' 1 hr lull lillc Itlll'i: Nrlii ij-ill-l'lllllln vc Mrlhl-.ln ul Mnhln. " llir K«-Mlll« III ilir SriciiccM anil llic vittiii'H nl ilm ruKU." 174 of his elegant expression.' Concerning his mesnevis I have been able to discover nothing beyond the fact mentioned by his son "Ata^'i that he composed two which bear the names of Munazara-i Tiiti u Zagh, or The Contention of the Parrot and the Crow, ' and Hasb-i-Hal or The Plaint. His lyrics form a complete Diwan. Filial reverence and affection may possibly have somewhat influenced "^Ata^' when he wrote of his father: 'the flaming sword of his verse is tempered with the sweet water of the fount of ecstasy, and his every line is a gleaming glaive drawn from the furnace of divine love.' 'He mingled the real and typal loves ^ even as fire and water, thus is each of his qit^as like a ruby-fragment of gem-like circulation, and each of his peerless couplets like a regal pearl, the ornament of the crown of gladness. Even as the poems of Baqi Efendi are full of art and adornment, forming a string of regal pearls with their shining words, so doth the speech of this writer by reason of its fire shower sparks on the touchwood of lovers' hearts, and because of the greatness of its passion and ardour bring comfort to the hapless lover and to the heart-wounded. In truth, even as the qasidas of Baqi Efendi are the envy of the Suspended Poems, ^ and as his wondrous couplets dumbfounder miracles, while the sun-bright sword of his eloquence is hung on the gilded nails of the stars, so are the ghazels of this writer the couplet-royal ■* of rhetoric ' Compare pp. 136 — 137 supra. 2 In the technical language of the mystics ^ashq-i haqi'qi, or real love, stands for love of God, while "^ashq-i mejazi, or typal love, means love for a mistress or other earthly object. This typal love is the bridge by which the real love is reached, as it is said: 'iJSuSi^ 3J3AS ;L:$\i! . 3 The Suspended Poems (mu^allaqat) are seven very famous ancient Arabic poems. [Concerning the meaning of the name, See Sir Charles Lyall's Ancient Arabian Poetry, p. XLIV ED.] * Sheh-Beyt, or Couplet-Royal, is the technical name for the best verse in a ghazel. 175 and excellence, and his heart-delighting phrases the charms of love and afifection, while the leg of the compass of his elegance and grace hath planted foot within the circle of licit magic' ' Although the style of Nev*^! is pedestrian, and his manner, formed on that of Baqi, rhetorical and artificial, his work is not without considerable merit. His dirge on Murad III and the Princes, laboured and obscure as it is, is not lacking either in dignity or pathos ; and the care with which he elaborated his qasidas helped to pave the way for Nef^i in the next generation. In his historical romance of Jezmi, Kemal Bey speaks in high terms of Nev'^i's poetry, and Professor Naji allows that he wrote a good deal which can be read with pleasure even at the present day. NevS' appears to have been a man of very upright character and very amiable disposition. All the authorities unite in praising his many personal good qualities. "^Ahdi tells us that (luring his residence in Adrianople and in Constantinople he received many kindnesses at the hands of Nev'^i, whose social and conversational gifts he highly extols. The following are the opening stanzas of the I'-legy on .Sultan Mur.id III and the Princes. I'rom the l'-l'"}4y on Sultan Miir.'ul III and his Sons. [225] Since iliis WDiidioiis iiiii^jic-fimiil splicrc '•' hc^jan to lum, ah mc! Sinic ilii- I'aiiilci of all fasliioii:, linuicil tin- ilnui^lil, cxistciicy ; ' Silii-i lialal, licit ina^ic, is iiatutiil or while iiia^ic, iiiul was u Ic^al and horiDurahIc Hliidy; it hail no connection with that olhcr liianch of oeciilt science which was lichl to ilepeixl on ilenioniacal a^^eiuy, and was unlawful. The term 'licit niajjic' in often used to denote the cluum of clo;i( (anal (I'ltniln-i Khayiil). I'he name fam\» (lioni the tiieek ^i-ivsi) in |{lvan hy iho Tuikii to the kIun* or i^anto niuulc of u lump. SomcllmcB ihU 176 Since the sons of man, obedient, first beg.an their ceaseless stream From the elemental Mothers Four, as bade the Sires' decree;' Since upon this earthly carpet's '- turning bowl there hath been played Fortune's game of draughts and that grim chess of ruthless Destiny, Never yet hath ta'en the player. Dust, a man like this, I ween. Never hath that queen, the crafty Sphere, made such checkmate to be. Never hath imagination's mirror shown a scene like this. Never hath the piercing vision gazed on aught so dread to see; Never yet hath painter pictured effigies so strange and sad, Never yet hath poet written of its like in poesy. Yea, indeed, its dice hath wrought the World of Growing and Decay ^ Like some wondrous toy wherein lie hid both good and villainy. If the King Sun had vicegerent, Saturn 'twas withouten fail;* While the blood-like dawn-crepuscule seemeth Martian, verily. " When they see the love this heartless beldam ^ toward her children bears. Those among them who are manful break the bonds that 'twixt them be. Though a few short days thou turn above them, '' yet at length, O Sphere, Like the mill, to dust thou grindest every grain made o'er to thee. Woe for thy fell hand, O traitor Time, unlovely and unright! Weak are even Kings and Princes 'fore the Sultan dread, thy might. There is ne'er a Jem, 8 O Sphere, who hath not quaffed thy bowl of bane; There is none who from thy circling cup of anguish doth not drain. Thou hast every heart afflicted, making each some sorrow's prey ; Ne'er a single one is free from dole on all this woeful plain. is painted with figures and so aiTanged that it revolves with the heat of the lamp, when it is called faniis-i Khayal = magic shade (or fanal), or fanus-i ' gerdan = revolving shade (or fanal). It is to such a shade or fanal that the revolving sphere, the turning Wheel of Fortune, is here compared. ' See vol. I, p. 48. * A piece of leather, like a rug or small carpet, such as is still sometimes used in the East as a chess-board. ' The pair of dice used in games of chance. * Saturn being the most inauspicious of all the planets, the 'greater infortune.' See vol. II, p. 125, n. i. 5 Mars, the 'lesser infortune,' is figured as a warrior; to him therefore the blood-red hues of sunset and sunrise are appropriate. ' The Sphere, or the earth. ^ i. e. without hurting or crushing them. ' Jem or Jemshid, the ancient legendary King of Persia, here stands for any King. 17/ Thou hast laid that shadow ' of the All-Pr^ rver 'neath the dust: Ne'er a pleasant tree abideth in whose shade to rest we're fain, All those Moons of elif-figure, ^ fair as standards of the state, In the coils of Death are tangled, ne'er a tugh-haired ' doth remain. Bode not yonder Lights o' th' e'en* while one might ope and close the eye 5 Ah ! no more the world abideth in the age's coolth o' th' eyne. 5 Each hath cut the thread of earthly ties from round about his neck; Edenward they're gone, nor bode they long within the body's chain. Each of them hath dealt a bleeding wound upon the grieving breast; ^ Gone the friends, the wounds are stricken, naught of balm is left to' assain. Let the falling stars drop downward through the heavens in lieu of tears ; Tears no more remain — let every eye pour forth a gory rain. Ah, the pity that the peace of this our world abideth not; Scarce an hour of ease did Adam even midst of Eden gain. Glad and joyous was that harem through the moles on loved ones' cheeks ; '' Now of comrades 'tis deserted, ne'er a fere doth it contain. Justice from thy hand, O .Sphere ungentle, justice 'tis, I pray; Thou hast ta'en Murad, and with him taken earth's desire away. 8 The little qasida which follows i.s what is called a Dariyye ^ or Mansion-Poem, the exordium being devoted to the des- cription of a palace. ' The Sultan, see p. 153, n. 5 supra. 2 The 'Moons of clif-figure,' i. e. the Ijright ones with figures erect as the letter clif 1, are the young princes who were killed. •' 'Ilic perchem, or long lock of hair that used to be worn on the crown of the head, is here likened to a tugh or horse-tail standard (sec ]>. 17, n. i stipni). The princes arc of course the tugh-pcrchenicd ones. * Light of the eyes, a common term of endearmenl. * ',>urrel-ul-'^ayn, coolness of the eye, that is freedom from inllnmation or redness of the eyes brought alxmt by weeping, stands figuratively fur tran- quillity of mind, happiness; so the line means, the hapi)y time uf tlic world U gone: the Princes were the Coolness, or Delight, of the world's Eyes, and now the world hatli passed focI'h heart; the 'moles,' or brnuty »pol», arc the young princes. ■ There is a jxin lure in tlic original, the nunc MurAd W\\\^ thr luikish C0UDtcr|>art of the ItciicIi Desir«>cni. la 178 Mansion Oasi'da. [226] Is it ' tower of Eden, mead of Iiem, or rose-garden gay? Is it Salem's shrine, or Mekka's temple, or the heavens' array? 2 'Tis a heaven, but a heaven free from every shift and change; 'Tis a rose-bower, but a rose-bower where there rules not Autumn's sway. See, the shadow of its royal roofs the huma's loved parade ; ' Lo, its lofty arches' eaves an awning for the sphere display. Out beyond the Six Directions doth its vast pavilion stretch, * Far the limit of its court-yard reacheth into space away. All its columns ranged around are Pillars of the State, ^ but still Stand they on one foot, with skirt in girdle, service prompt to pay. Every maker, * who beholds the art its measured lines '' declare, Fain would bring his maiden fancies there as offering to lay. Lit its lantern's lustre from the stanza bright of Anvari, While the lines adown its windows Jami's fair diwan pourtray. 8 Reared have they a dome so lofty, spread a banquet so select. That not e'en the Fourth Estrade 9 may there as candelabrum ray. Ne'er a way can find the Sun to win that feast select unto. Thus he turns his beams to ropes that through the window pass he may. ' It, i. e. the palace. 2 That is, the array of the starry sky. 3 For the huma, the bird of happy omen, which never alights, see vol. I, P- 331, n- 5- * For the Six Directions, see vol. I, p. 43, n. 3. 5 4'illars of the State' is a common term for the Ministers of the Empire. 8 'Maker,' i. e. poet. ' The 'measured lines' of the building; and as secondary intention, the 'measured lines' of a poem. 8 This hopeless couplet is full of ihams or amphibologies ; there is a play in the first line on the word 'beyt' which means both -house' and 'couplet' (this I have feebly attempted lo follow by the rendering 'stanza'); also on 'misrd"^,' meaning 'folding-panel' and 'hemistich,' and on 'di'wan' meaning 'couch' and 'collection of poems,' both in the second line. The meanings of the names of the two Persian poets are likewise considered : Anvari = He of the Most Shining; Jami = He of the Glass. The literal translation would run thus: The ray of its lamp-niche is kindled at the^*'°""f ' of '"'™°f'^'^^^°''^'''"'"=^' I couplet f \ Anvari ; | The !{rj''y'fir"''! of its glass (window) depicts the ^°"<;'^ ' ^f| Him of the Glass.! I neniisULii | o v / r |diwan| JJami. | 9 The Fourth Estrade is the fourth Ptolemaic sphere, that of the Sun. See vol. I, p. 43. 179 Since that constant in its censer fragrant wood of aloes burns, Gather disembodied spirits at its banquet every day. i Should the warder from its turret cast adown his worn-out cap, Let the Indian Saturn don it as his crown of glorious ray. 2 Though the Moon doth prowl by night-tide, seeking to its hall to gain, Reacheth not unto its turrets that lasso the Milky Way. Joseph-featured! Asaph-natured! ' Weal and Order of the Realm! Cream of all the Worthy! Lamp and Eye of Heaven's sublime display! Noble Pasha, radiant-minded, girt with splendour as the Sphere ! Lord of counsel, sage and chief of youthful fortune, blessed aye ! Of thy threshold makes the huma of fair luck a lighting-place. Though 'tis known of all the huma ne'er in any nest doth stay. ■* Grant thine aidance unto Nev*"!, so he'll l)e the time's Zahi'r; Sultan Suleyman hath made Baqi the Selmdn of the day. ^ '^A'/A'/A of Constantinople is not a poet of any fame, nor would he have been mentioned in this place, had he not, in an age when a rampant and aggressive misogyny was reckoned honourable among those who affected literature or science, had the singular courage to write a Shchr-cngiz in ]jraise, not of the Ganymedes, but of the Phrynes of con- ' I'Dr incense is Inirned in llio invocation of discmlxxlicd spirits. ^ Tlic idea here, apart from llic glorification of llu- palace, is tiiat tlie turrets are so lofty that thy reach higher than the most distant planet, on which woulil aliglil anything thrown earthwards from them ; Ahmed Pasha has ex- pressed the same notion in his l'alace-(.)asi(la (vol. 11, p. 60, notes 2 and 3). 'I'lie gloomy and iiiauspiciutis Saturn is here, as often, made into a dusky Indian, sec \i. 147, n. 4 ru/'/ii. •• Am JoHcjih is the type nf yniithfiil licauty, so Astiph, Sulomnn's (liand Vrzir, Ih that of ministnial wisdom. These vcrscn me, of couise, addressed In the great Mian, prcHiimably the builder of the pulnee, in whose honour Nev'i wrote IIiIh r|(is(dii. ■• I'I'he |ioct is picibalily lhinKin^', heie nf the Inlh.winn verni' oC ll.ili/. Sec KoitoM/.woli{-Sehwiinniiiri« rd,, vol. 1, p, ij. ij ^lA-Jji iAjAjLj >sA.«Ac >— '^t'.'-^ j** ^^^ 3 ^^i:*^ '^^^-r^ Js* »->"^l.J liLij c>-^■:s? ».4.J.=>- ^bLj. ***** ^A|^J ^.*v^.«,Li jL.^i (J^'j?-^ T)J^ *-»-JtJ' Certain Eastern rievers veil the lower part of the face when out on a foray, just as highwaymen in this country used to wear a mask. The allusion in the verse is of course to the yashmaq or veil which Turkish ladies always wear when out of doors. i8i The interest attaching to this poet rests solely on his Shehr-engiz. In the fifth volume of the Mines de I'Orient Von Hammer published twelve stanzas from this poem, two of which are quoted by Qinali-zade, who truly remarks that 'this Shehr-engiz concerning the women of Constantinople is contrary to the usage of the poets of the day.' The bio- grapher adds, however, that the poem is very well-known and much esteemed among the people, which is likely enough to have been the case ; for however foreign fashions may have influenced certain prominent classes of society, the true Turk was never a misogynist at heart. All the same, copies of ^Azizi's poem are very rarely met with now; and the twelve verses given by Von Hammer are all of the work that I have ever seen. ' Supposing, as we fairly may, that the rest of the work is on the same level as these twelve verses, the poem is neatly, almost smartly, written, in that half-complimentary half-quizzical spirit peculiar to the Shehr-engiz, a legacy from its inventor Mcsihi. There are, moreover, many graceful little touches scattered here and tlicic; ami although the ladies mentioned arc all nicmhcrs of tlial sisUMJiootl so euphcniisli- cally dcscril^ed by the l"'rench as tlic D.uighters of Jo\-, not a word is to be found whicli even niodt rn taste woulil rcgarii as offensive or unbecoming. Like the )-outlis in tlu' siniil.ii poems by Mesilii, Liimi'i, Zati, and otluis, these girls appear to have belonged, as was nalnial, to tin- ininibler classes ol society, the father's calling; wiien given (as it sometimes is cither by way of (Ustinrtion or as a peg on wiiiili to iiani; :iii I -.li.i |iiiii Ol Iwo) bi iiig ahvaN's thai ol some pet I y 1 1 ades- III. in III (y i> luiUiHll ll ii'llil, l82 personal peculiarity, such as her abundant hair, or her pretty hands or ankles, in which case advantage is taken of the sobriquet, as well as of the girl's real name and her father's trade, to supply material for that running fire of equivoques and playful allusions of every description which is so cha- racteristic of the Shehr-engiz. It is also worthy of note that as with the youths, so with the girls, the names are in every case Muhammedan ; Greek, Armenian, or Jewish names do not occur in poetry in such connections till a considerably later period. Mesi'hi and Zati gave their boys only four lines apiece, but each of "^Azizi's girls has a stanza of six lines to herself. These are the twelve verses given by Von Hammer : — From the Shehr-engiz. [227] Mihman, the Barber's Daughter. ' Mihman, the barber's daughter, too is there; Be heart and soul a sacrifice for her! In whatsoever hut that Moon one night Is guest, she makes it as a star for light. Although that win to her I never may, "The '•guest' doth eat not what he hoped," they say. 2 Long-Haired Zeman. ^ Among these loves Long-Haired Zeman stands forth, — A 'many-headed' Torment of the earth. * 1 Muzeyyin-Qizi Mihman = Guest, the Barber's Daughter. 2 Von Hammer prints this line .\XiXA _j ^^^CjiAxi' oi.J^.S, which has neither meaning nor metre. Reading u.jJi (for j-4~J) in place of —i, we get: "The guest eats not what he hoped," which is a proverb, 'eats' being used in its common sense of 'gets.' This proverb, which means, 'the traveller must eat what he finds, not what he wants,' or, in other words, 'Beggars cannot be choosers,' is not uncommon, and is given by Ebu 'z-Ziya Tevfiq Bey in the alternative form: j ^JJe.jJ^ljj 1^ ^c\ijA/«^l .sL.«*/9 . 3 Sachli Zeman = (Long-) Haired Time or Fortune. * A beauty is often called a 'Torment' or a 'Torment of the Earth.' A 'many-headed Torment' means a very great torment, the original idea being i83 Like 'Fortune' fell and tyrannous is she; Her lovers as her 'hairs' in number be. Her "-locks' take tribute from the heart's domain ; The 'tresses' on her neck have turned my brain. Penba '^Ayni. • Penba ''Ayni, a jasmine-breast, is there; Her body is as 'cotton' soft and fair. In the soul's garth her form 's a sapling meet, Her mouth a 'fount' of water pure and sweet. I deemed her friendly, but the dear did say, 'After what kind may fire and 'cotton' play ?' ^ Maid 'Ayisha. 3 One is Maid '^Ayisha, a beauty rare. With loveliness and checks like "^Azra fair. * Ne'er hath the starry mother sphere brouglit forth A 'daughter' like to her upon the earth. I shall not blush although her slave I be; Nor son nor 'daughter' shall the bashful see. * Jennet. " 'Heaven' is the frame, 'Kevser' ^ tlic lip of one — May Tlod' in grace accord her to me soon ! What lliougli I pair Iicrs witli tlic 'houris" eyes, Her bt-auty mocks al highest 'I'aradise.' I hat of a Dragon with many heads. Incidentally reference is made to the hair iif the girl's liead, wliicli was, apparently, lier great charm. [ .\ pencil-note of Ihc Author's seems to siiew that fiiillK i inloi maiion iiuliiu-d liiiii to lake llu- woirl lii:re triinHJutcd 'miiny-lieailed' as 'muLlilieaikil,' in Ihc sense ol'inlciligeiil,' 'fiMiuiic (U; lelc' Kl).] ' I'eiiba Ayni ■> Kountain of Cotlon. ' Wc have seen this provi-ib before, Sec vol. ii, p. jjd anil ii. i. ' <,)!/. Ayisha -• Mairl (or Daughter) 'Ayislia. * A/.r.-i, llu: heroine of the lonniiK e of Viinil(| and 'A/ni; there is « lejniH hi;rc between the name 'A/.rd (which means Virgin,' Snaiil.') and lln- woul 'i/;'il' • ' ehi'cU. " yW (J*!-* ij-^i^ 1iV.-Jl_Jt.J5l 'Ihc bashful will have iieithei hon imi flaiightcr,' is u pioverb, iniK h lil Rebf a is a Chinese Idol fair, 2 Who doth the nickname of White Pigeon bear. She puts to shame the full moon by her face ; 'Dove'-like it flies a-yearning for her grace. If of self-nourishment my soul be fain, Then let it mate, nor single still remain. Jemila of the Fair Hands. 3 Another is Jemi'la Fair of Hand, In 'beauty' like unto a houri bland. To reach her grade how should the bright moon try? No pearl may merit in her 'palm' to lie. Me she forgets, others in mind to bear; Grace from the 'hand' of yonder unkind 'fair' ! White 'Alem. * White '^A.lem is the name of one of those; The 'universe's' moon her sergeant goes. * Strange is it if her beauty be noised forth ? — That houri is a 'white' rose on the 'earth.' Whoso is love and fere of yonder Moon, A 'universe' " beyond 'earth's' feast hath known. 'Ayisiia of the Ankles. '^Ayislia of the Ankles Um wc sec; The 'merriest' ^ niai(h:ii of tlic dny is slic. ' KcljCa Miinil « Lady Spring. ' An Idol is, as wc have several limes seen, a favourite term lor a beauly. Wc have also seen that (Jhina and (.'hinese Tsutivry arc rcnivrdcd as pre-eminent for the IdVclincHs of llieir itihaliitants. In the term Cliincse Idol (whifh is not iincoinnioM, anli, wliii h niciiiiM, one lond uf merrimenl and tiood living, 1 86 In quaffing beauty's wine, however fain, None 'neath the heavens can her beaker ' drain. Though beauty's sea doth many swimmers bear. Not one of those can reach her 'ankles' fair. Although Riihi of Baghdad is one of the best poets of this time, he is not mentioned by QinaH-zade ; so that in all probability his fame had not yet reached the West when that careful biographer compiled his memoirs. "^Ahdi, how- ever, although he wrote more than twenty years earlier than Qinali-zade, knows something about Ruhi, probably because the poet was, like himself, a native of Baghdad. This bio- grapher tells us that Ruhi, whose personal name was "^Osman, was the son of a Rtimi or Western Turk who came to Bagh- dad in the suite of Ayas Pasha whom in 948 (1541) Sultan Suleyman sent out as governor of the province of which that city was the capital. This man settled in Baghdad, joined the local volunteer corps, and married a native wife, by whom he had at least one son, Riihi the poet. When "^Ahdi wrote, Riihi was still living in Baghdad, a tall hand- some young man with a remarkable turn for poetry and a great fondness for frequenting the society of learned men. He was in the habit of visiting all the dervishes and poets who came to the city, to cap verses with them and to dis- cuss literary questions. So far ^Ahdi; from Von Hammer, quoting Riyazi and Riza, we learn that Ruhi eventually turned dervish himself, entering, as became a poet, the order founded by the inspired Jelal-ud-Din just before the dawn of Ottoman poetry. After this he spent most of his time in wandering from town to town in company with a band of brother Mevlevis, amongst whom were one or two who acquired a momentary reputation as poets. After remaining for a time in Constantinople a sheykh of the Mevlevi Con- ' There is a I'ham in this line, the word ayaq meaning both 'beaker' and 'foot.' i87 vent at Galata, Ruhi made a pilgrimage to the tomb of the founder of his order at Qonya. Thence he went on to Da- mascus, where in 1014 (1605 — 6) he died and was buried. Riihi left behind him a complete Di'wan of mystic verses of the usual style ; but his reputation to-day rests almost exclusively on a well-known Terkib-Bend which still enjoys a not unmerited favour in Turkish literary circles. In this poem, which consists of seventeen stanzas, he runs along the whole gamut of moods known to contemporary poetry, beginning in a spirit of lofty and profound mysticism, and passing on through a phase of bitter defiance of all accepted conventionalities, to end in a tone of contented resignation. From the last stanza we learn that the poem was written in Damascus. Whether Riihi ever visited that city in the course of his earlier wanderings, we do not know; if not, this Tcrkib must have been written very shortly before his death. Me has another interesting poem written this time in the Qit'a form, in which he charges the breeze, if it siiouUl pass by JkigluLid on its journey, to look down aiul sec how his friends tiiere are getting on. lie then mentions these by name, some thirty or S(i in all (many of the names occur ii) '/Ahdi's Te/kire), giving a descriptive couplet to each. None of these are of mucii account now except perhaps 'Ah(h' the biojMaphcr, of whom lie says: 'IJcjIIi 'Ali«li iiiililc fair ^;lia/,cl.s like llic rose? 'Iliiw fiiriilli llial Ni|Milii(j{iilc of llic idsclxiwcr of lullmc?'' Ahhoii;,;h llic lame of these versifiers lias loiit; siiui- passed away, Kiihi's h.t i'. lull o| iiilcic,!, Im it gives us a p.limpse of literary society in H.ii;liil.iil llini liinnlird years ago. i88 Unlike most of the poets whose works we have been considering, Ruhi appears to have laid more stress on his matter than on his style. His language is plain and straight- forward, with little or none of the usual straining after artificial embellishments. Similarly, his vocabulary is some- what meagre, and he constantly repeats the same word ; it would seem that when he had found a word or phrase which sufficiently expressed his meaning he used it again and again, without caring to hunt for another for the sake of mere variety. Ziya Pasha brackets Ruhi not very happily with Hami, a considerably later poet, who has little in common with the author of the Terkib beyond the fact that he too was born in one of the eastern provinces of the Empire. 'Since both,' says the Pasha, 'came from "^Iraq, they were men of heart and lords of speech;' a not very happy remark, by which the writer probably meant nothing more than that the poetic and mystic temperament was common among men from the confines of Persia, but which Kemal Bey turns into ridicule, saying, 'it would seem then that if the State should wish to found an academy of literature, it will have to enrol as members all the Kurds and Baghdad men in Constantinople.' Ziya, however hastens to add that while both those poets have some beautiful works, these are like rare flowers in a meadow, as more than the half of their Diwans is filled up with tasteless padding. It is the grace of his Terkib, ' he continues, that has conferred fame on Ruhi; for although by careful study the gems may be sepa- rated from the worthless stones, his works of value are but few, while all the rest is merely 'old wives' blessings!' As Ruhi's Terkib-Bend is too long to be given in its entirety, I have been reluctantly compelled to omit several ' Both Sami and Ziya Pasha composed celebrated naziras to this teikib-bend. 1 89 of the stanzas; but the complete poem, as well as the Qif^a on the poet's Baghdad friends, will be found in Ziya Pasha's Tavern. From the Terkib-Bend. [228] Deem not that we be flushed with new-fermented juice of vine; We're tavern-haunters drunken with the Primal Draught divine. ' They of polluted skirt do reckon us impure to be, While we to buss of lip of cup and palm of hand incline. What should we do an-eyeing the chief-seat 2 at earth's carouse ? We who affect the cruse's foot, aye, we who worship wine ! We seek the hurt of none, but yet would we dismay the soul Of yonder zealot who would fain the bowl to wrack resign. ' 'Twere better that the folk of guile should keep from us aloof. For that we archers be whose shafts do earthward ne'er decline. Within this fleeting world nor beggars, nay, nor lords are we; liut with the lowly we are low, and with the fine we're fine. We're cup-companions of the men of heart, we know not strife; We're drunk with love the while within the tavern we recline. We're ebriate with wine of yonder inn, the world of soul; We're centre of the ring of tliosc who constant c|uaff the bowl. ("up-bearer, hitlicr biiiig the wine tliat doth away all pain; And burnish yonder mirror wliciclo cleaves ihe ru^t of banc.'' I Icarl-slraitened arc wc, e'en one moment kecj) mil thou from us ' Sec voL I, |ip. 22 — 23. '■* The fiiriiilurc of an old-fashioiicd I'uikish room was of the simplest; 11 Hlijjhlly raised platform, called the sedir, jiaddcd to form a continuous sofn, run alon^; three sides of the room, the fourth i>cing devoted to tlie cntraiui". At intervals along the sedir, which was sullicicMitly wide to admit of people Hitting on it cross-legged, were placed cii»hii»ns to lean against, callcil minder. 'rh:il |>:iil c,( I In- sedir which extended across the upper end of the room, oppo.ilc to ihc iloor, was esteemed the most honouraldf, the cliirf scat o( nil being in the right hand angle. The space iictwcrn the three purls ^>f the sedii was (iiveied with rl( h carjiets over which the servunts glided noiselessly with coffee and pipes lor the Mmster and his guests. ■' I III- /ealol, lyjiR of hypocritical orlhocloxy, soc p. (>7, n. ^ \n/>i. (^) of llie KiHini'llali, and all lliat is in llic M. of the llisini llali is ill iii> j'oini (or dot) wliicli in iiiil> I the I!." Kii.| All In iiIhii rcpuiied til huvc said: iilzr Uiml U^i ^^,^i ,^i,jJiAJ' o* ^» ,€h^ "A'ili of me nc ye Im.<- me l.n v.ilJv li, i. I{„.iiil \n hi'. I.ieil-.l) is .ill t)• when lie (oniplcted his Ililya, is proved l)\- liu- followin^^ story lohl hy i'l off.sor Najl. When he h.id Ime. lied his poem. ' III liiiki'.li (iii/rljii Kii.lcm I'liiihu. 194 Khaqani presented it to the Grand Vezir who, being highly pleased with it, showed it to several oi the great men of the state, all of whom welcomed it with no less favour than himself. Wishing to do something to reward the gifted writer, they invited Khaqani into their presence and asked him what might be his desire. The poet, who held an appoint- ment at the Porte, but, like most of the Khojas or govern- ment master-clerks of those days, resided near the Adrianople Gate, at the other end of Constantinople, replied, 'I am now old, and no longer able to come every day from the Adrianople Gate to the Porte on foot; might I be permitted to ride? I seek no other reward in this world.' It was con- trary to the etiquette then prevailing that an official of Khaqani's grade should ride when on duty, so the ministers could not comply with the poet's request in that form, but they accomplished his wish by presenting him with a suitable house close to the government offices. Khaqani died in 1015 (1606 — 7) and was buried in the cemetery of the Adrianople Gate Mosque, where his last resting-place may still be seen, surrounded by an old iron railing and overshadowed by an ancient tree which throws a melancholy shade over the desolate and neglected little graveyard. Of the dozen or so tombstones there, Khaqani's alone remains erect; the ground beneath the others has subsided more or less, so that they all incline at different angles, and when the wretched little lamp suspended over the poet's grave is lit on Thursday and Sunday nights, ' the faint and fitful gleam dimly lighting this dreary place pro- duces an effect strangely weird and sad. On the stone, rounded and green with age, which marks the spot where ' The nights between the Thursday and Friday and the Sunday and Monday of every week are specially honoured in Islam, the one in memory of the conception, the other of the birth, of the Prophet. It is a custom with certain pious people to light lamps on these nights over the graves of holy men. 195 Khaqani lies, may still be traced the legend praying the visitor to repeat the Fatiha for the soul of him whose ashes rest beneath. The mason who carved this legend has blundered in the most amazing manner over the dead man's name. He calls him Hila Khaqani, imagining apparently that the name of the poem (which he could not spell) was that of the poet. Khaqani's famous mesnevi, which is not very long, is a paraphrase of an Arabic text known as El-Hilyat-un-Nebe- viyya, The Prophetic Physiognomy, which describes the features and personal appearance of the Prophet. This Arabic text gives the traditional account of the Prophet's appearance in the simplest fashion : 'the Prophet of God (God bless and save him !) was bright of bice, black of eyne, right goodly, bloodshot of eye, drooping of eyelash, wide 'tween the eye- brows, arched of eyebrow, aquiline of nose, wide 'twixt the teeth,' and so on, mentioning each detail after the manner of a catalogue. Khaqani's plan is to take each of these phrases, 'bright of blee,' 'black of eyne,' etc. and write on it a versified commentary of from twelve to twenty couplets. As befits the theme, a large number of untranslated Arabic qiiotation.s, bits fr(jm the Koran and the Hadis, are intro- diHx-d throughout the poem. Altlioii;;li it lias no great merit as poetry, thi' work has always been pojxilar on account of its subject. It was printed ill (JHistanlinople in 126/} (i(S47— 8), and Ziy;i P.isha (luoti-s ahiiosl the whole of it in the tliiid vojiiiuc ol his Tavern. S|)i-iikiii!i of Kli,i(|,iiii III the incfici- to tii.il .mtli(>I«>j;y, the I'aslia says, playing on his nanif, that In- was thi- Kh.iq.m of the world of verse, without prti 01 nv.il in all Kiuu (in 111. own splicic, is surely undcrstiMxl), tli.il lliounh his jlily.i i'i l)ii<(, cvciy wok! hi il liniii Ix ;;iiimiii; to end r> .1 pcail, lli'il il !•. wiiltcii III ,1 slylc sc.mily |io'.MMr to iiiul.ilv, ami 196 that it is beyond doubt a miracle achieved through the grace of the Prophet. This panegyric seems somewhat overdone and not a little far-fetched. Several passages from Khaqani's poem have passed into proverbs, notably the following couplet inculcating submission to the Divine decree : Strive not, for it hath been cut by this sword — 'He shall not be questioned of what He doth.' ' Besides his Hilya, Khaqani left a Diwan which is without interest. The following extract from the prologue to the Hilya gives a traditional account of the beginnings of creation. From the Hilya-i Sherifa. [229] In brief, that King of Eternity, That Lord of unfading empery. To Whom are the secrets of earth revealed. And every atom that lies concealed, To wit, the King of the unseen veil, The Judge, the Just, without let or fail. Like the treasure hid, 2 from eternity Had bode alone with His Unity, To wit, His Glory no need had known Of homage by man or by angel shown, When constrained the unfettered Self of His The cause of the creation of all that is. At that same moment Love had birth; In a word, a Light » shone glorious forth. The phrase J.»ftj Uc J^^j ^, He shall not be questioned of what He doth, is from the Koran, ch. xxi, v. 23. a An allusion to the well-known Tradition beginning: 'I was a Hidden i reasure .... 3 This Light is closely connected, if not identical, with what is called the Light of Ahmed (or Muhammed) which is usually said to have been the first thing created. 197 God loved that Light which He hailed 'My Love!' ' And fain was He of the sight thereof. Thereunto was the realm of the seen made o'er, It came into being with niickle glore. With the Glory of Ahmed ^ the world was filled, And the Love Divine ecstatic thrilled. When the Lord thereon His gaze did set, For shame and confusion that Light did sweat; On the spirit-world did those sweat-drops fall. And a Prophet was born from each and all. Then the Lord of Glory once again Looked thereon with passing love full fain, 'Twas whelmed in a sea of sweat for shame. That Glory a dew-sprent rose became. 3 The Master Etern from a drop thereof First fashioned a Kingly pearl tlirough love ; Then He gazed thereon in His majesty, And that pearl dissolved and became the sea. The cloud of His grace did sea-like rain, The waves and the vapours rose amain. Then God from the Foam and the Mists that rise From that .Sea created (jur earth and skies. And struck with the mall in the Hand of Might, The ball of earth now span in sight. The verses tliat follow arc from tlir ("irst of the sections describiiij.; tlie rropliel, llial foiinin;.; lln' roiuineiitary on tli<- (Iclail 'l)ri;4lit of blee,' and they may stand as an c-\ami)le of tile ;.'/:neral style of the work. I'voiu tlic Same. \2T,o] All ..r 111.- Iwll. Iincun :l^'.l.•(■, TIkiI 111. I'll, I,- ..I liic W.ni.M wii'. l.li^■.lll ..I l.icc. ' lliililli llcJDVcd, ill tin- '.iTdMl lillr .'( Miili,iiiiiii.-.l. ' Or 'dl Miihimmifil,' or 'i>l llir Mimt riaiHrwuilliy.' » 'llic! liluHliiii^', (lirrU nluililcd wilh |)ri>.|iiri»lii>n Ik htimcllini". miniMird I. R llrw-H|ircill line. * ritr I'liilr III llii- VVmlil i» ii lillr nl Miiliiiinincil, 198 Full sheen was the radiance of his face, His cheeks were lustrous with lustre's grace. One of heart with the rose was his face's hue ; Like the rose, unto ruddiness it drew. Yclad his face in the light of delight, 'Twas the Chapter of Light ' or the dawn of light. The scripture of beauty was that fair face ; The down on his cheek was the verse of grace. Shamed by his visage bright as day. Life's Fountain hid in the dark away. '^ Well may the comrades of joyance call: 'The sheen of his visage conquers all !' Yon radiant face shone in the sky, The light of the harem-feast on high. The Portrait-painter of Nature gave Theieto all beauty that man may have. When the sweat upon that Sultaa stood He was forsooth like the rose bedewed. ^ At the end of the last chapter we had to say farewell to Latifi, and now the time has come when we must take leave of the biographers "^Ahdi and Qinali-zade. Of the former of these I have already spoken sufficiently;^ it is enough to add here that although his Rosebed of Poets was originally compiled in 971 (1563 — 4), the manuscript belonging to the British Museum, made use of in writing the foregoing pages, represents a later and much enlarged rescension of the work. Dates later than 971 occur in several of the notices, the latest of all being looi (1592 — 3). We know, on the authority of Riyazi, that "^Ahdi did not die till towards the end of the reign of Murad III, and as this ' Siira XXIV of the Koran is called the Chapter of Light. * Another allusion to the myth of the Fountain of Life in the Dark Land, which has been interwoven with the Alexander legend. ' As in note 3 on the last page. * Ch. I, p. 8 supra. 199 Sultan died in 1003 (1595), it is quite likely that these additions may have been made by the author himself. Qinali-zade Hasan Chelebi ' was born at Brusa in 953 (1546 — 7), his father, Qinali-zade '^AIi Chelebi, being principal of the college of Hamza Bey in that city. Hasan embraced his father's profession, entered the ranks of the '^ulema, and, after an active and honourable career as muderris and judge in many towns, died as cadi or judge of Rosetta in Egypt on the I2th of Shevwal 1012 (15th March 1604). Qinali-zade's Tezkire, which was completed in 994 (1586), and dedicated to Khoja Sa^d-ud-Din, the titular Preceptor of Murad III and the author of the famous Crown of Chronicles, contains notices of over six hundred poets, divided into three Fasls or Sections, the first of which treats of the Sultan-poets; the second, of those members of the Imperial family who wrote poetry, but never ascended the throne; and the third, of the poets of all other classes, from the earliest times down to his own day. This work which I have so often quoted in these pages, is generally considered the best of all the Turkish Tezkires, and it is of great value, not only from tlu: mass of biographical details which it contains, but also on account of the great number and variety of its qiiotalions from the several points. Vhv author's st\'lc is uiifoi tiinalcly lui^Md in llic extreme; meaningless verbosity and endless rodomontade seriously interfere with the pleasure al Kasl of the modern reader; but no doubt Oinali-/.ade Hasan (liclebi was a very line- uritrr in his own eyi-s and ' 'llmt in, MiiHlcr IIiimiii < Mnali mhi. Actrttlii llio llaiiiiili for lliitiilil iiiiiiij, III r, will iioloi jcMiu (ill llir liivihli way In witiili lir niiuU- uhi- i>f lln' ily ii«lli>l liciiii;i, |.iMl,ii|ily Idi ■.liiliiliitj lii>. Iiriiid. I Iciiir lir jjnl llir iili Liicim.- ,.1 < 'iiLili, »i ilir I It i.iiii tiiiiii, iiiiil Ml lilk (IcMicniinitlk linuiitc t,>ltiAll/Ail< 200 in those of his contemporaries, and moreover would it not behove the most learned and cultured of the biographers of the poets to accomplish his task in what did duty as the grand style? Qinali-zade is severe upon Latifi for his partiality to his native town ; but he has himself been taken to task for the undue prominence which he gives to his own family, every member of which he enters in his work as a poet. The longest notice in the whole book is that devoted to the author's father ^Ali Chelebi, who, although a learned and scholarly gentleman, was not a poet of the very slightest repute. But when all is told, the faults of this work are few while its merits are many; and it is with no little regret that I part company with its careful and instructive, if some- what loquacious, author. The work of Qinali-zade closes the series of what we may call the anecdotal Tezkires. In his book, as in Latifi's and '^Ashiq Chelebi's, we find a large number of stories or tra- ditions regarding many of the poets, while the later biogra- phers, Riyazi, Riza, Safari, Salim, and Fati'n, content them- selves as a rule with a mere statement of the leading events in their authors' lives. Possibly the fact that many of the poets concerning whom these later biographers wrote were contemporaries of their own and alive when their Tezkires were issued, may have had something to do with this reticence which naturally tends to diminish the interest of their work. Another point of difference between them and their prede- cessors is the extreme simplicity, sometimes even baldness, of their style. "^Ashiq and Qinali-zade, at any rate, are models of affected verbosity who go out of their way to fill a dozen lines with what were better expressed in two; whereas Riza and Fatin never use a word beyond what is required to convey their meaning. Riyazi stands midway between the two groups; he occa- 20I sionally, but not often, tells a story, and sometimes indulges in a little fine language. He is, moreover, the last Tezkire- writer to attempt a complete survey of the field of Ottoman poetry, to start at the' beginning and carry the thread down to the time of writing. The subsequent biographers take up the story at about the point where it is left off by the preceding writer to whose work they mean their own to be a continuation, always bringing the history down to the year in which they write. Riyazi was a poet of some distinction, and as we shall have occasion to speak of his career more fully later on, it is enough to say here that he was born in 980 (1572 — 3) and died in 1054 (1644). His Tezkirc, which is of very con- siderable value, is dedicated to Sultan Ahmed I and was begun in the year 10 16 (1607 — 8) and completed in the Rejcb of 10 1 8 (1609). In the preface the author takes credit to himself, justly enough, for having avoided prolixity in language, lest it should prove a 'cause of weariness to the reader and the writer.' He also claims to be more critical than his predecessors who, he says, have inserted in their 'iczkires poets and poetasters alike, while he has admitted the poets (Jiily, turning the others out. In like manner he has perused the entire wcjrks of nearly all the poets he inchules, and chosen as examples such verses only as are really worthy of commendation, while the otlu-r biographers iiave not given themselves this trouble, {•"iiially, lie professes to he \n:yU:rA\y inipaifial in his criticisms, cxtollin).; no man !>)■ nason ol Im(Im1'.1ii|) 01 coniniinnt )' o| aitn, and \\ it hholdint; due IHiiiM- liMHi none !)(•(, Ill, (• III |)(i soiial aversion. Kij'a/l's hooU consists of two Kavzas or (iardi-ns, tin- liist devoted, as usual, to the pocl-.Sullaiis, the second to (Ik poets ol K'.ser (le(;iie. Kiz.i's work rovers a jiortion nl tin ..mu' j;roiin(l, containinj; U'iIkc, t»| ovei I w I ' IniiMlMd ,inil •.\\\y \ntr[', ulm ih >ui i-luij 202 between looo (1591 — 2) and 1050 (1640 — i) but it is, accord- ing to Von Hammer, much more meagre and much less satisfactory. Adrianople was the birthplace of this author, whose personal name was Muhammed, but who was generally- known as Zehir-Mar-zade or Poison-Snake-son. He died in 1082 (1671 — 2), leaving besides his Tezkire a by no means remarkable Diwan. Safa^' takes up the tale where Rizaleaves off, giving the hves of the poets who lived between 1050 (1640— i) and 1 133 (1720 — i), and thus carrying the thread eighteen years into the Transition Period, which we have agreed to begin with the accession of Ahmed III in 11 15 (1703). Mustafa Efendi, for such was Safa^"s name and style, was born in Constantinople where he continued to reside, holding various civil posts under the government, till his death which, accord- ing to Fatin Efendi, the author of the latest of all the Tezkires, took place in 1196 (1781 — 2). Salim's work begins some fifty years later than Safa^"s, about 1 1 00 (1688 — 9), and goes down to 1132 (17 19 — 20), so that save for the first fifteen years, it belongs wholly to the Transition Period. This biographer, Mirza-zade Muhammed Efendi, was the son of a Sheykh-ul-Islam; he himself attained a very high position in the legal world, and died in 11 56 (1743 — 4). Both Safari and Salim wrote poetry; the latter, a complete Diwan. The Tezkires of these last three writers have never been printed, and manuscripts of them are exceedingly rare; there are none in the public collections in London, and I grieve to say that notwithstanding every effort, I have been unable to procure a copy of any one of them. ' Fatin Efendi's work, ' [This must have been written before May, 1900, in which montli the Author obtained a MS. of Salim's Tezkire, transcribed during the biographer's life-time, in A. H. 1 1 34. ed.] 203 before alluded to, was completed in 1271 (1854), and having been lithographed, has proved obtainable ; but although it covers wellnigh the whole of the Transition Period, it leaves all prior to that untouched. I have therefore been obliged, when dealing with the second half of the Classic Age, to rely on Von Hammer, who had access to all four of the original authorities, supplementing, and occasionally modify- ing, his statements from the writings of such modern authors as Ziya Pasha, Professor Naji, and Kemal and Ekrem Beys. About this time the practice of compiling anthologies begins to become popular, and there is in existence an immense number of manuscript poetical miscellanies written in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. These, of course, differ infinitely in value as in manner; sometimes, as in the case of the great compilations of Nazmi and Qaf-zade, they arc carefully and systematically arranged selections of what the writers took to be the best or at least most representative works of the poets quoted; at other times they are mere scrap-books in which tlie owner seems to have jotted down, without the slightest attempt at any kind of system or arrangement, whatever poem or i)iece of verse happened to take his fancy as he came across it in his reading or hcanl it from a friciid. In htlU- volumes of this kiiui, the lVi,'(|uency of which argues a wide-spread love of poetry, it is not unusual to (ind a number of the pages towards the eiul (|iiit(: blaiil;, showin;.', that the owner, through the intervention of (Icith, or |)(ilia|)'. thnmj'h loss of interest in his uoik, h.dl l.iili il to ;'i I toiM-lhci a miIIk lent niinibii- ol' suit.ilile poi nr. lo hll ii|) hi', .illniiii. Alllioupji occasionally the name III till (ii||((|i.i III III MMiu' Mil)Mt|iient possessor may l»i" loiiiiil wiilti II nil till inside of the cover or on the lis Kal, book', (i| Ihis class are vei)' i.ml)' d.iUd, it i. however 204 generally possible to form an approximate idea of their date from the quotations which they contain. Of the true anthologies belonging to the Classic Period, the best are those of Nazmi and Qaf-zade. Nazmf of Adria- nople, who flourished under Sultan Suleyman and died in 996 (1588), formed a vast collection of over four thousand ghazels by some two hundred and forty poets, arranged not only alphabetically as in a Di'wan, but sub-arranged according to metre. The collection of Qaf-zade Fa'izi, who died about 1032 (1622 — 3), does not, like that of his predecessor, consist of entire ghazels, but only of such couplets selected from these as met with his approval ; it is probably for this reason that he has styled his book the Zubdet-ul-Esh'^ar or Cream of Poems. This author was more than a mere compiler, he was an original poet as well, for he began (though he appears to have left it unfinished) a mesnevi on the story of Leyla and Mejnun, at the end of the prologue to which he intro- duced, according to the fashion of his day, ' a Saqi-Name, or Cup-bearer-Book, consisting of a little over one hundred and sixty couplets. 1 The poem is dedicated to Sultan "^Osman II who reigned from 1027 (1618) to 1031 (1622). CHAPTER VIII. The Mid-Classic Age continued. Ahmed I — Mustafa I. 1012 — 1032 {1603 — 1623). Ahmed I. Mustafa I. 'Osman II. Murad IV. Veysi. Huda'i. Haleti. 'Ata'i. With the reign of Sultan Ahmed I, who succeeded his father Muhammed III in 10 12 (1603), the cloud which had fallen upon Turkish poetry with the death of Suleyman begins to rise, and the first rays of the second bright period of the old Ottoman poetry become visible through the sur- rounding gloom. This second bright period, while less vivid and intense than the first, that coinciding with the reign of the Lawgiver, is steadier and more pcrmaiK'nt, as it not only covers all that remains of the Classic Age, but e.xtcnds a quarter of a century into the Transition. Kemal Hey looks upon the century and a (juarter lying between the accession ol yMiiiicd I and the dirposition of Ahmed III as tlu' most brilliant period in the history of old liiikish poi-tr)'; .iiul if we except JMi/uIi, \\At\i, and Sheykh (Jh.ilil*. this era un- deniably docs embrace all tlu: greatest nanus itf the Asiatic School. Apart from the great luminaries, the Nef'is, the N.ibis, the Nedims, there is thioiijdioni llu \vh«»le of this pr he died in 1049 ('^40). 'i'"^ splendid constitution worn out hy liabilii.il and violent inlcinpciaiice. I'octry coiitiiHicd as hc-rctofore to find faxoui in liigli places; Aliimd I, '()smi.im II, and Muiad IV' all wiole \'erses, ami iv)• Sultan Miir.id ' hcvlcl-i llchiyyiii 'lii'tn — 111!" lull Kiiij;i|nni n( I'cihIu, ii lln- ollirinl lilli' "I III' l'i till Zu-l-',)iirneyn whoHc; joiirncyH in niyslcriouH lejjionH ure nuMilioncd in the Koiiin; l)iil IhiH Kornnic /ul-i,>nrnryn in popiihiriy Idenlilinl with AIomuhIim iIh- (liriil, prolmlily on iicioiinl of (lie liiltcr'n Irnmihuy qucnt of llie loimloln -.1 Life. Srr Vol. I, |>. 2K1 --.pi. 14 2IO The biographer adds that certain wits used to appraise the gifts of Veysi in this manner: his poetry is better than his science, his prose is more excellent than his poetry, his con- versation is to be preferred to his prose, but the superior comeliness of his presence and gracefulness of his figure are self-evident. Veysi left a complete Diwan ; but copies of it are not often met with now-a-days. The few ghazels by him that I have seen in different collections are certainly charac- terised by lucidity, but otherwise there is little that is re- markable about them. There is, however, printed in the first volume of the Mines de rOrient the Turkish text and German translation, ' both exceedingly defective, of a very remarkable qasida by a poet who calls himself Uveysi. This Uveysi is assumed by Von Hammer in his History to be identical with our Veysi. But while a good deal may be said in favour of this identification, his grounds for which Von Hammer does not give, some further information is necessary before we can regard it as definitely proved. On the one hand, it is certain that the poem was written during the reign of Murad IV, since the wretched state of the country is graphically described and reference is made to the loss of Baghdad. Again, we know that Uveys was the personal name of Veysi, and although I am not aware of any certified instance of his having made use of Uveysi as his makhlas, it is not improbable that he may occasionally have done so. I may add that in a manuscript Poetical Miscellany in my possession, where the qasida in question is given, it is attributed to Veysi Efendi in exactly the same way as are several ghazels concerning the authenticity of which there is no doubt. On the other hand "^Ata'i, when mentioning the works of ' This text and translation were reprinted in pamphlet form in Berlin in 1811. 211 Veysi in his life of that poet, makes no aHusion whatever to this poem. In the case of an ordinary qasida such a course would be natural enough, but this poem is so remarkable and so unlike anything which had gone before that one would have expected it to attract the notice of a careful writer like the continuator of the Crimson Peony. Further, the author of the poem tells us himself that he comes from the 'land of Qonya,' while Veysi was born at Ala-Shehr which is not in the 'land of Qonya;' he moreover speaks of himself as an ojaq oghli, ' by which he probably means the son of a soldier, while Veysi was the son of a judge. Then he writes throughout the latter part of the poem, which I have not translated, as though he were a Mevlevi dervish standing outside the political life of the age, and not a member of the official class so unsparingly denounced. To reconcile these contradictions we should have to assume that Veysi put on the guise of a humble dervish, became a sort of Turkish Piers the Plowman, in order the better and the more freely to expose the abuses and lasli the vices of his age. Such a proceeding, alien as it is to the genius (jf Ottoman literature, might not imi)robably commend itself to tl)(; bold and original mind of the author of the Vision. I have spoken of this (|asiila as being very remarkable, and so it is bolli in lu.iniu'i" and in UKiltei. To taki- the latter first; unlike the typical poem of this class, at once extravagant and conventional in luenilatious panegjrie, this qasfda is a scathing yet temperate- indietiiicnt ot the e(»nuption and prollii^acy llun i.inip.inl I hi « mp'IicmiI I'urkey. The I'.n'.it c»lh< 1 r. ol the slate an- iiiai sjiallid, one allei the otiu'i, .i\\i\ an shown up loi what the)' really are in a lashion as pitiless ' In ii miu^jiniil imlc in |icni il llu" Aiitlim \\[^^ luliird : "In itw M^ (*mOi •tA/|ir.^l T^ij^' ^l>ii:li wiiiilitilunl 1)Ii<-lI,| 212 as it is fearless. The Sultan himself is made to hearken to some wholesome truths conveyed in plain downright words which must have sounded strangely unfamiliar in the ears of a son of "^Osman. The author of this poem, whoever he was, was a bold man ; we seem to be listening to some ancient Hebrew prophet rebuking a degenerate King of Israel rather than to an Ottoman poet inditing a qasida to the Padishah. In this work for the first time in Turkish poetry we get an absolutely truthful picture of society as it actually was; the gloss of conventionality and lying flattery is away, and the poet tells us what he really saw, not what he desired the great men of his day to believe he was content to see. The style of this qasida is as remarkable as its spirit. The language is as much Turkish and as little Persian as is possible in an Old Ottoman poem. The author having certain home truths to deliver, makes use of a homely medium. There must be no misunderstanding of what he has got to say, so he takes care that no misunderstanding shall be possible. He will have none of these far-fetched allusions, none of these equivoques and amphibologies, which are the delight of the courtiers and of those who play with poetry. Not content with ignoring these graces of the poetic art, the writer of this qasida deliberately defies two canons which from the beginning down to this present day have been reckoned as vital and essential to all poetry written after the Persian style. The first of these concerns the variation of the rime-word; our poet ends almost every couplet in his work with the name of Allah, and that as the rime, not as a redif; only occasionally, and as the sense of what he has to say leads up to it, does he replace the sacred name by some riming word. The second is that he ignores through- out the short vocal increment, called the Kesre-i Khafifa, 213 which it is a fundamental principle of Persian prosody to introduce after the second of three consecutive consonants. ' In the Turkish folk-songs there is no such vocal increment, and there is a very wide license with regard to rime. But then these, being of purely native growth, have nothing to do with any part of the Persian system, while this poem is written in perfectly correct Eightfold Hezej metre, and the rules that determine whether a vowel shall be short or long are carefully observed. In taking these liberties, probably unparalleled in the literature of the Old School, the writer seems to have aimed not only at increasing the popularity of his work by bringing it thus close to the native models, but at securing for it a greater freshness and spontaneity, an appearance of a more real earnestness and sincerity, than would have been possible with a rigid adherence to the shackling rules of the craft. If such was indeed his object, he has certainly been successful ; so deep a conviction of absolute sincerity and terrible earn- estness is produced by no other work, so far as I know, in the contemporary literature of Turkey. In the Mines de I'Orient version this qusi'da bears the special title of Nasihat-i Isl.imhol or A Monition to Con- staiit iii()|)I(: ; hut althouidi tlic ()])(iiiiiL; lines aie addressed to the citizens of the capital, the greater part of the poem is addressed to the Sultan. Both the texts I have before mc are imperfect, but I have as a rule been able to correct the ' 1 1 II I'crsinii it slidi'l «/, c.-illcd tlic nfiii-falliii, i\ intinducol it) smnsioii after two quicNccnl conHonnntH not folliiwcd liy ii vuwcl in tin- succeeding word, oi iifirr any conKonnnl cxccjil // fwliiili, hcin^; u nnsid, docs not count) pic- ccd(rd liy ii lou)^ vowel. 'I'Imih l)iind (liend) in HCiinned — o, un llioii^li it wric Ijanilit (iii-ndc), and i»Ail in the nainn way, iih lliouuli it were liilila (luUle), Hut In I'ciitia IIiIh hIioiI vowel i-^ oidy rni|doycd in kcansion, not in aiiual reading; or incitiition. In I'raiue I have lieaid it (ailed "ri/afel nielii(|ue/' a l>ad name, Mince it Ih not, aH the TuikiHh inline would ini|dy, a khoit «, hut ii uliorl «. Kl',| 214 one by the other. The eighteen concluding couplets, those in which the author speaks of himself, are in both cases too corrupt to admit of the construction of a satisfactory text; so rather than attempt any complete rendering of these, I shall give the substance of what they contain at the close of my translation of the main portion of the poem, which is as follows: Qasida. [231] Give ear, ye folk of Islambol ! ' and know forsooth, and learn for good, The day's at hand when swift on you shall fall the sudden ire of God. The day of wrath is broke, and yet ye will not heed but things of earth; 'Tis time the Mehdf 2 should appear, and should descend the Breath of God. ^ Ye build the earthly house, and ye lay waste the mansion of the Faith: Nor Pharaoh* built nor Sheddad * reared aloft such house as this, by God! How many a poor and hapless heart do ye through tyranny still break! Is not the faithful's heart then, O ye tyrants base! the house of God?* • Islambol, one of the many names for Constantinople, is a not very common adaptation (intended to mean 'Islam abounds') of Istanbol (pronounced Istam- bol), the every-day name of the capital. Other names are Qostantaniyya, the City of Constantine; Der-i Sa'^adet, the Portal of Felicity; Asitana, the Thres- hold, or Asitana-i Sa'^adet, the Threshold of Felicity; the town being regarded as the gate into, or the threshold before, the palace of the Sultan. We have further Belde-i Tayyiba, the Goodly City, the sum of the numerical values of the letters in which gives the date 857, the year of the Hijra in which Constantinople fell to Muhammed II. Der-i Devlet, the Portal of Empire, or of Prosperity, is used in old books instead of Der-i Sa'^adet. 2 The Mehdi is the last of the Twelve Imams ; he is supposed to be still alive, but in concealment, whence he will issue forth in due time to deliver the Faithful. ' The Spirit or Breath of God is the special title of Jesus, who is to des- cend from Heaven to assist Islam before the final consummation. * Pharaoh, the type of vainglory. 5 Sheddad, another type of pride, a wicked and presumptuous King of ancient times, alluded to in the Koran, who built Irem the Many-Columned, the terrestial paradise, in rivalry of the celestial. See Vol. I, p. 326, n. 5. 6 'The heart of the believer is the house of God,' (xXJI ci'-AJ i^r^*-'' ^-r^^) is a tradition. 215 Although a thousand times his cries and prayers for aidance mount the skies, Ye pity not, nor ever say, 'no sigh is left on earth, by God!" ' Ye feel not for the orphan's plight, but fain would spoil him of his goods; Doth Allah not behold his heart? or thereunto consenteth God? I know not what your Faith may be, or what your creed (God save us!) is: It holds not with the Imams' ^ words, nor chimes vrith the Four Books of God. 3 Ye follow not the Law of God, nor yet obey the canon law; With those new-fangled tricks you've given o'er the world to wrack, by God ! Alike with seimons of the preachers and with lectures of the imams, * Were there no fees paid down to them, ne'er would be read the word of God. 'The Cadis,' dost thou say? how were it possible to tell of these: 'If Master Cadi be thine adversary, why then help thee God!' 5 They've spread a snare of fraud, and that they've named the Court of Justice, sooth, Ah, Where's the prayer-mat of the Lord, and where the code, the Law of God? To-day ye set at naught the Faith, ye make the Law a lying trick; To-morrow will he intercede for you who is the Loved of God?" What then, do ye deny the Reck'ning? ^ or shall not the dead arise? Or shall he say 'My folk!' to you thus stained with sin, th' Envoy of God?* The age is slave to womankind or subject unto minion boys; 9 The great men do the purse adore, and well nigh all are foes to God. lie hearkened to the words of Eve, nor kept the bidding of the Lord; And lo, from Eden banished went e'en Adam, the Pure-Friend of God. i" For how should Satan be our friend? he sccketh but to lead us wrong; His ])ur])ose with the l''aitlifu] is to make ihcin iiitidcls to God. Tlie c:iuc last) are the twelve successors (if Muliammcd through his dauglitcr I'lUiinn and liis cousin 'AH. ' 'I'hc I'our Scriptures, i.e. the IVntateucli, the l'salnis,ll>c Gospel and the Koran. * The iini'inis referred to in this line arc the precentors or Icailers in pulilie worship, not the twelve saints aliuiled to nlxivc. » This is a jjroverl), and is given by El)u'z-/.iyii levfui lley at pp. JJJ and iv "' I'i ■ iHiriibuM-i'.msi'il. VAyd rnhlin, whose life and woik will l.c (li:,< ui,:.((l ill (III- hiHl viiluiiie of iluM work, hIhh ulluiles to it in his tn klli bend. n Tlie riciphel, the ll.l.pvrd of God, will il Is siii.l, inteiiede f..i the I'liilh- fill cm llii' |iii||'iii('iil I i)iy . ' Tlie liiiiij It.iy 111 KeiKoninc,. « I innii-tl ^My i-dk,' the I'luphcf. addicss I., the penple ..I I l.un. " A hit lit the iniinunil Irndeniy of tlir diiy. ••' Sidiyy iiil.ih, ih. I'uie < >nr .,( G.mI, i. III.- ,pr. i,d liile ..I Ad.mi. 2l6 And this my fear, that soon will fall on us a sudden woe and rude. Accursed ones like Jews without ado take the vezirial seats; While if a true believer peep but through the door, with scorn he's viewed. How comes it traitors like to these fill all the offices of trust? Why, is there none among the folk of Islam who is leal to God? The steel of anarchy hath struck the flint, and all the world's ablaze ; How then shall not the flames seize hold on Islambol, my master good? The sword-fiefs ' in the basket lie, as shoe-money the great fiefs go ; 2 They're wellnigh all the Vezirs' prey, or the Sultanas,' by my God. Now every man doth try by some device to bide away from fight; For where is one will mount his horse and ride afield for love of God? And what may the Sipahis ^ do with aspers five or ten for pay ? Of Janissaries wouldst thou speak? What can one tell of them, by God? The Pashas and the Aghas 'tis who turn the whole world upside down; 'Tis they beyond a doubt who everywhere bring anarchy and feud. The Master Scribe* and Defterdar have ta'en them Iblfs * as their dean; And doth not he companion them on all the paths of devilhood ? If they neglect one whit of all they learn, 'tis by mistake alone; "^Azazil-like ^ do they exalt the reprobate who know not good. ' In the Ottoman feudal system a Qilij-Timari or Sword-Fief was a yeoman's fief of a yearly value of 3,000 aspers; a Timar was a fief of a yearly value greater than this but below 20,000 aspers; a Zi'^amet, one the annual value of which was this sum or upwards. The fief-holders were required to take the field when called upon, and, in the cases of the Timar and Zi'amet fiefs, to provide armed horsemen in a fixed proportion to the amount of their income. The possession of the fiefs was hereditary and involved residence upon them, thus the holders constituted a true feudal aristocracy. When a fief was lapsed or unassigned it was said to be 4n the basket,' in which case the revenues were probably often appropriated by some public official. 2 The name of Bashmaqliq or Shoe-money was given to a fief assigned to the mother or daughter of a Sultan, the revenues being for her private ex- penses. The poet here complains that many of the Zi'^amets are now given up for this purpose. 3 The Sipahis were the horse soldiers. * Re'is-ul-Kuttab or Master of the Scribes was in old times the official title of the Ottoman Minister of Foreign Affairs, who was also Chief Secretary of the Chancery, Chief Under-Secretary of State, and Assistant to the Grand Vezir. He was popularly called the Re'is Efendi. The Defterdar was, as we know, the Minister of Finance. 5 Ibli's is the personal name of Satan. 6 'Azazil is the original angelic name of Satan, borne by him before his fall. 217 Dost ask who are the thieves and highway-robbers in the world to-day? Be sure they are the Magistrate and Captain of the Watch, ' by God! But yet more tyrannous than these, my lord, the Qadi-'^Askers are; For now through bribery they've given o'er the world to wrack, by God! Poor are the men of learning, all their life is passed in want and woe; But so thou be a knavish fool, thou'lt win both fame and altitude. 'The fish stinks from the head' they say ; 2 the head of all this woe is known ; 3 Ah me, could any wight declare hereof: This is the Book of God? 'Tis passing strange all those in rank and power Arnauts and Bosniacs be, While languish in thy reign, O King, the sons of the Envoy of God. And when you stand before the Lord you shall be questioned first thereof. For unto you have been made o'er in trust the servants leal of God. How many a Solomon hath come, and passed from forth this fleeting world! Where are thy glorious fathers now? with whom hath bode this realm of God? To-day if thou be just and deal with gracious kindness by the folk, To-morrow shall thy face be white, thy stead before the throne of God. From error shall the Lord defend the King wlro acts with justice fair; May aught in this world or the next dismay him in the liand of God? Then see thou choose thee not as feres a crew of mutes, buffoons, and dwarfs;* Nor company with devil's folk, such ways suit ill the Shade of God. Repose no confidence in yon Vezirs, O glorious Sultan mine; For those are foes to P'aith and State, are foes to their destruction vowed. A drove of brutes have come and set themselves in the vezirial seals; Alack, llicre is not one to serve the l''aitli and Slate in auglil of good! 'I'hc learned all have hid away, and nowhere may be found the wise; To silence arc ihey gone, nor e'er arc seen to-day the folk of God. Willioul tlic aidancc of llie blesl Imams'* liow shall !'.a};lul.ul lu- won? Theicfrom Ihcir faces have they lurned, my holy oni;, ihe saints of God. Should any man arise and work a miracle afore the folk, 'i'hcy'rl say he was a devil, never would they say a sainl of dod. The nheykhs and i)rcaclicrs walk no nunc alnnj; llic stiaifjht and naiiow pith; ' Su-I!aslii, I'olicc Ma^;isUale; AscK-Hashi, (.'iiptain of the VVulih. '■* jlSyi ...L^^b v«iLlL '•The fisii l)e^;iris to stink ill the head,' is u pmvorli irieaniii^ that corruption bc|.;inH in the lii^hrNl (|itiirtcrx, ■' l'',lMi-/-/,iyii Tcv(((| ((uoleM Ihi't line in hi'i lollcilion of provrib., but wilhoiil iiii'iiliMiiiii)'_ the nanic of thr wiili-i. * Cciliiiti III Ihr Siiltiui'i wiTc lohd ol i.iii mimdinn IJu-nisrlvi--. with ^Ul h pri HMiH. "rh.- Shidc ul (io.l" (\»a^\ Jl sXi^ JJ:?) ini-ini- Ihci SiillAn, " III I. ih< i wilvr liii.iiii'. uliciidy irlriiid to (p. n't, w. i 'iifi'i) lUr niriinl. 2l8 Accounting these as guides, what should the folk but stray and miss the road? Alack, the Siifis fill the mosques with horrid howls and yells alone; Ah, where the litanies and chants, and where the whispered call on God? The hypocrites now hold the earth, they deem the whole world is their spoil; But yet in many a nook concealed there bideth still a saint of God. The poet proceeds to ask where there is now any murshid or spiritual guide like his own master Muhiti who used to teach and advise without demanding any fee, and whose abode is now in Paradise. He himself is but as a drop com- pared to that boundless Ocean (his teacher) to whom all the mysteries of God were revealed; he had been blind, but his teacher had opened his eyes and taught him to distinguish black from white. He goes on to say that he is by origin an ojaq oghli (probably, the son of a janissary), ' and that the land of Qonya is his birthplace; the dust of the Mevlana's country is therefore in his nature, and his soul has from all eternity been a medium for the manifestation of Allah. Is it strange, then, if through the science of onomancy the secret things of God should be known to him? The friends of God who are resigned and contented are independent of all men ; Kings can neither abase nor exalt them. How then should he fear Pasha or Agha, whose only wish in either world is the good will of God? The poem winds up with a hopelessly corrupt passage about the Sultan and the Crimea, and in the last couplet the writer mentions his own name as Uveysi. The Sheykh Helvaji-zade Mahmud of Scutari, known in the literary history of Turkey under his makhlas of Huda' is reckoned as one of the most brilliant of the avowedly mystic poets of the Classic Period. Born at Sivri-Hisar about the middle of the sixteenth century, he began his career, ' Compare p. 21 1 supra. 219 like so many of his contemporaries, by entering the legal profession. But he did not remain for very long in the ranks of the '^ulema; deeply impressed by a dream in which the terrors of hell were brought vividly before his mental vision, he resolved to sever all ties that bound him to the world, and devote himself heart and soul to the religious life. He therefore resigned the position of Muderris or Principal which he held at one of the medreses, and placed himself under the direction of Sheykh Uftade, a celebrated mystic teacher of those days. In 1002 (1593) he settled at Scutari, on the Asiatic shore opposite Constantinople, where he passed the remainder of his life, preaching in various mosques both there and in the capital, and writing mystic works in prose and verse, till his death, which took place in 1038 (1628). He was buried in a tomb which he had himself built in the cell that formed his home during the last thirty-six years of his life. So great was the veneration in which this holy man was held that on more than one occasion did high officials, such as a Grand Admiral and a Defterdar, seek and find sanctuary in his cell from the wrath of Sultan "Osman. Hud.i'i's work, alike in verse and prose, is exclusively mystical. Besides a Diwan containing some two luuulrcd and fifty gha/.els, he wrote a series of llahiyyat, or Hymns, which were, and perhaps still are, sung during the Sema" or mystic dance of tli<.' Mevlcvi dervishes. I have never seen those llyiMiis, Imt Von Hammer describes tlu-ni as being sometimes rimi:d and soiiicliuu'i uminifd, cries as it wiMe of \n\c ami devotion towards (iod, utiricd without thought ol litnc 01 iii\\n Apostolic 220 Traditions and sayings of prominent Sufi saints. These para- phrases, the poetical merit of which is never very high, are occasionally elaborated into commentaries of no great pro- fundity; at other times they are no more than a bald re- statement in Turkish verse of the idea expressed in the Arabic text. The two mystic ghazels that follow are from the Diwan. Ghazel. [232] We've seen the inmost bosom torn and shredded by the comb to be ; We've seen the heart's blood quaffed in brimming beaker all through dole for thee. We've looked upon the world's delights bepictured on the bowl of Jem;' We've seen on master-wise, forsooth, the science of hilarity. We've learned the craft of gramerie from gazing on the fair one's cheek; We've seen the fashion of the Ruby Line ^ from beauty's lip, ah me! At length have we made o'er unto our love the profit of our life; We've seen that till the day we die from this mad heart we win not free. For ever let the vintner's shop diffuse its blessings o'er the earth; We've seen whate'er we've seen, Huda^i, in that palace, sooth have we. Ghazel. [233] Alack for my Sapling knows not what passion's strain may be, Nor knows what the pang of love or the longing vain may be. 1 For the bowl, or divining-cup, of Jem, see Vol. II, p. 71, n. i. * The Khatt-i Yaqiiti or Yaqut hand, is an ancient style of handwriting, so named after its inventor Yaqiit, an early Arabian calligraphist. It is now hardly known except by name; but in a MS. in my collection which gives examples of the various hands there is what professes to be a specimen of the Yaquti, which does not differ much from the ordinary Ta^liq. The words Khatt-i Yaquti mean also "ruby line," hence their application to the lip of the beloved. Huda^i has, of course, both meanings in view in this verse. [Three Yaqiits, called respectively Riimi, Mawsili and Musta^simi, are mentioned as great calligraphists at pp. 50 — 51 of Mirza Habib's Khatt u Khattatdn (Const., A. H. 1305), but the last, who lived in the thirteenth century, is no doubt intended, ed.] 221 That Rosebud gives no ear to the Nightingale's lament, Nor knows in her bower of grace what the ci-y of pain may be. A hapless crew are whelmed amid parting's ocean-waves; My Leech is elate, nor Icnows what the cure of bane may be. He knoweth to strike a wound to the bosom's core, but ah ! That ruthless one knows not what a comrade fain may be. Huda^i for refuge flies to that glorious court of thine, Nor knoweth beyond thy gate where a place of gain may be. The name of Haleti has been mentioned more than once when we have been speaking of that brilHant group of lite- rary men whose genius sheds a lustre over this period of Ottoman poetry. "^Azmi-zade Mustafa, or Mustafa the son of "^Azmi, (for such was Haleti's personal name), was born at Constantinople in the year 977 (1570), on the holy Night of Cession, that night of the year on which the two angels charged severally with writing down the good and evil deeds of a man hand in to God their records, and receive fresh tablets for like service during the year to come. ' '^Azmi, the poet's father, was himself a literary man of considerable note who, after being tutor to Murad III, died in 990 (1582), leaving among other works in prose and verse an incomplete translation of the rcisian "^Assiir's roniaiitic niesne\'i entitled Mill! u Mushteri, or Sini and Jui)itcr. Il;ili:ti, who early (hsplayed a very strong bent towards study, l»ecame a \n\\)'\\ of SaM-ud-Dfn tlie historian, to whose influence he owed ihi: (irst sti-p in his piolessional career, a niiiderrisale al llie nie(hese of ll.ijja l\h.ihm.- Hut his ' I III- Nic.lil of Cd.uuii, l,i-yl<-t III IU-i(V'ii(, i-. llic lillc-i-iilli iiii;lil >>( ilw Imiid iiiDiitli Sliii hiiii. » lli'ijjii Kliulim, CM Kiiiiir lliiijii, l'. Ilic i.lylc n( Milii Sluili, u .Imnjlilrr of I'lluMidcr I'lixhii, one |>li'. 222 own remarkable abilities soon won him promotion, and in ion (1602 — 3) he found himself judge of Damascus, Two years later he was advanced to Cairo; but on the assassin- ation, in a military revolt, of Hajji Ibrahim Pasha, the Gover- nor General of Egypt, Haleti, who had been temporarily placed in charge, was accused of negligence and deposed. In 10 1 5 (1606 — 7) he was named Molla or Chief Justice of Brusa, where he served during the troublous time when the rebel Qalender-oghli was ravaging the surrounding country and burning the outlying portions of the town. The Mollaship of Adrianople was conferred on the poet in 1020 (161 1 — 2); but the hostility which he provoked when there through punishing a certain cadi who had been guilty of some mis- demeanour, resulted in his being transferred to Damascus. In 1023 (1614 — 5) he was promoted to the Judgeship of Constantinople, which high position he held for four years, when he was sent back to Cairo. At length, in 1032 (1622 — 3), he was appointed to the Qazi-^Askerate or Vice-Chancellor- ship of Anatolia, and in 1037 (1627 — 8) to that of Rumelia, the highest office save one in all the hierarchy of the \ilema. Haleti died in the Sha'^ban of 1040 (1631), and was buried in the court of a school which his liberality had restored, at no great distance from his own residence. Haleti, whose poetical work ^ consists of a Di'wan, a Saqi- Name, and a collection of Ruba'^is or Quatrains, was certainly one of the best poet's, as he was one of the most highly cultured and most widely read men of his time. We are told that he left a library of between three and four thousand volumes all carefully annotated by his own hand. According to Professor Naji, he was, with the one exception of ^Ali Chelebi, the father of the biographer Qinali-zade, whose pre- eminence in scholarship is universally admitted, the most ' His prose works are all of a professional and technical character. 223 learned, if not the most accomplished, among his contem- poraries. "^Ata^', who was a pupil of his, grows eloquent in the praise of this 'most learned among the eminent,' this 'master of the poets of Rum, the works of whose pen recall the hues of the chameleon,' — a comparison by which the biographer probably intends to convey his appreciation of the poet's versatility. Qaf-zade, again, quotes in his Antho- logy a larger number of lines from Haleti than he does from Baqi himself; but the fact of the former being a contem- porary and a prominent member of the ^Ulema may possibly have had something to do with this. Haleti's Diwan, which "^Ata^' describes as 'distinguished by eloquence and filled with all manner of poems ' of the most excellent quality, an exemplar of: And We have made to grow therein of all things weighed,'^ is one of those old works which the modern critics themselves regard with respect. Thus Professor Naji speaks of it as a book which even now may be looked upon with pride; indeed, he goes so far as to place it among those rare achievements which tlie lovers of Ottoman literature will always reckon as a source of lionour to I'urkish poetry. He too bears testimony to the author's success in many varieties of verse, among which he is incHned to (.',iv<: 111'- prcfcrcMicc to llu: qil'^as, which, he saj's, may hi: considered unique. It is, however, I venture to think, rathe-r on the score of hi, ruh.i'^fs that il.ileti is most entitled lo our admiration. 'I'lic ,(• liltlr ixMiii'. li.ive always held a very \\\\\h pl.uT in th< (••,1 iiii.il Hill o| Ihi ()|lMiii,in critics; most olli'ii tluy h.i\c ' 'i'lliil i'« pDiMii't ill nil llir ViiriollH vri'iC-fiillll't, ^ i'lii't (|iii)liitii(ii i)» Irmii the Kiiiiiii, XV, l) ilw iMitli, iiml iiiciiiiiH, 'Wc (dod) Imvr mmir In i^iow llicicmi ii Wflnlinl (i.e. moniuiiMl 01- (li'lniiiiiicij) iMitiilii'i (if iill l< of pimUH;' litil lirir AlA'l woiilil hnvc UH liikc ^wi-i^;lii!ir ill iln Ircliiiiciil •tciiito nf ^incihlrikl/ niiil ii|>|'ly 1'*^ '*'" lliiit^*' til llic iiiiiiiy viii'icllnH ul |Hii'liy ill svliiili ll.ilrll cmcllril, 224 been regarded as the best of their class in the language. They are, as "^Ata'! avows, frankly based on Persian models; and many among them have much of the charm of those of "^Omar Khayyam. They are some four hundred and sixty in number, and form a Diwan by themselves, apart from and independent of the regular Diwan containing the ghazels, qit'^as, and so on. This Diwan of Ruba^is, which calls forth the warm praises of the Khulasat-ul-Eser, is extolled by "Ata'i in his old-fashioned flowery way as being 'the envy of the soul of Khayyam, ' while the four-square edifice ^ of its beautifying verse is, by its maiden fancies, the despair the Musky Palace of Behram, •'' and the recaller of the import | of: 'Houris hid in tents.' ^ Similarly, in that qasida in which he mentions the writers who have excelled in the various branches of the poetic art, Nedi'm declares : 'In the apogee of the Ruba'^i flieth Haleti like the '^anqa.' 5 Turning now to Haleti's work in mesnevi, we have the Saqi-Name or Cup-bearer-Book which, according to "^Ata^i, would exhilarate Hafiz and Jami, ** and every inspired couplet and line in which is a divine miracle. This work is a typical representative of its class, a class which, as we have seen, enjoyed just at this period a considerable amount of popu- larity among the Turkish poets, and the following brief • Omar Khayyam, the famous Persian poet whose ruba'^is have, thanks to the late Mr. Fitzgerald, now become a part of English literature. 2 Alluding to the four lines of the ruba'^i. 3 Referring to the Musky (i. e. Black) Pavilion where King Behram-i Giir housed the Princess Furek, the daughter of the King of India, as is told in the romance of the Heft Peyker or Seven Effigies. * Koran, lv, 72. Here the 'houris' represent the 'maiden fancies' of the poet; the 'tents,' the 'four square edifice' of the rubaS's; there is a further reference to Khayyam, whose name means the Tent-maker. 6 Hafiz wrote a Saqi-Name ; but not Jami, so the introduction of the latter's name here is purely rhetorical. 225 account of its composition and character may, if slightly modified in non-essential particulars, be taken as applying to the whole series. Haleti's Saqi-Name then consists of 5 1 5 mesnevi couplets, and is divided into a prologue, fifteen sections called maqalas, and an epilogue. The prologue and the epilogue are both devoted to the praise of God. The sections, which open with the author's plaint concerning his sad plight, are made up of complimentary addresses to the cup-bearer, to the minstrels, to the boon companions, and to the beauties who grace the carouse with their presence ; together with highly coloured descriptions of the wine, the bowl, the tavern, and so on ; then wc have poetical accounts of spring and winter and the dawn, with instructions to the revellers as to how to make the most of these seasons, intermingled with which arc reproaches hurled at the strict and rigid conventionalist and exhortations to him to join the company of drinkers; while as crown of all wc have the old wail over the fickleness of fortune and tiie instability of all things, culminating in the despairing cry: Ivit, chMnk, and be merry, for to-morrow we die! All this may have been, antl in many cases probably was, intended to be taken in a m)'stical sense; but there is on tli(.- face of it nothing to warrant such an inter[)rit.ition. 'I'lic pods lliemselves seem to have lilt this; for wlu-tiuT it be MK-icly to save appearances or re.dl)' to L;ive the clue to their effusions, a section is frcT|uently added towards the end ol a S.i(|i-i\Ianie settin].; loilli lixw the work shouhl bi' re^;arded as an alle};ory, and i.;ivini; mon- or ii-ss oi a key to the lii'iii ;it i v(; ianjMia^;e in which this is einlxxlitd. I III |)i<|iiil.irily of tlu: Sa<|(Nanie with the luikish wiilers ol tin. time was, as I have already hinled, a conseiniencc ol the l.ivoui ulihli it w.is jii.t then eiiioyin;.; in I'eisia. A [',oo(||y niiiiiliii (i| I I iiiti iii|ii II ai \' I'ri.i.in poets .lU' lut lit loiied 226 in the literary history of that country as having written works of this description; and while I am not aware that any one of these was regarded with especial favour in Turkey, or more particularly singled out to serve as model, the adoption of this fashion by the Ottomans offers yet another instance of that docility with which, during the entire Classic Period, they were content to follow step by step the track of their chosen masters. ' The only other thing which Haleti did in mesnevf was to add a hundred couplets to his father's unfinished trans- lation of the Mihr u Mushteri; this, however, did not complete the work, which still remains a fragment. ^ Professor Naji's verdict appears on the whole to be a just one; Haleti cannot indeed be placed in the first rank of the Ottoman poets; he is not the peer of Fuzuli or Nedi'm, but he must assuredly be accorded an honourable position in the second line. As I have already said, it is in virtue of his ruba^'s that I should rank him so high; for while it is true that his work has neither the originality nor the pro- fundity of "^Omar Khayyam's, though it is possible that it may rival or even excel that of the Persian in subtlety and grace, it none the less exhibits a simple dignity and real J 1 The British Museum possesses a manuscript (Add. 7925) which contains a collection of six Saqi-Names, all by poets who lived in the first half of the eleventh century of the Hijra. These are: the Saqi-Name of the Sheykh- ul-Islam Yahya Efendi, died 1053 (1643 — 4), 77 couplets; that of 'Azmi-zade Haleti, d. 1040 (1631), 515 couplets; that of Sheykhi Efendi, d. 1043 (1633— 4), III couplets; that of Nev'i-zade "^Ata^', d. 1044 (1634 — 5), 1561 couplets and 12 rubals; that of Riyazi Efendi, d. 1054 (1644 — 5), 1025 couplets; and that of Jem^i, d. 1075 (1664 — 5), loi couplets. The index to the MS. mentions further two Saqi-Names that do not occur in the volume; one of these is from the Leyla and Mejnun of Qdf-zade Faizi, d. 103 1 (1621 — 2), the other is by Fuziili. The last-named poet wrote, as we have seen, a work bearing this title, but it is in Persian. Other Sdqi-names by Qabuli, Nef'i and Sabuhi exist. 2 Haleti has also left a Pend-name, or Book of Counsels, and a number of epistolary models. See Rieu's Turkish Catalogue, pp. 96 and 244. 22/ sublimity, alike in thought and in language, to be found nowhere else in contemporary poetry. Good ruba^'s are rare in Turkish literature; and the student cannot but regard with gratitude and esteem the one Ottoman poet who has done good and lasting work in this interesting form. Through much of Haleti's poetry there runs a tone of sadness; although his life was, taken all round, both pros- perous and honourable, he seems to have suffered keenly from the attacks of his rivals and to have felt deeply those shifts of fortune which have at all times been the lot of public men, especially in the East. ^Ata^' informs us that, when lecturing to his students, he would stop to sigh and complain how that in those days learning and virtue brought their possessors nothing but injustice, and how the night of hope had then no other dawn than sleeplessness, 'and so it Cometh about,' adds the biographer, 'that the most part of his poetry is, as it were, a complaint and a manner of foreboding of every sort of ill.' The following sixteen ruba'^is will serve to illustrate MdletCs work in this form. Ruba'i. 1 234] Tliou of wliosc kindness :ill tluil is luilli hui^jht, Whose garth of grace with wafts of love is frauj^ht, O'crwhelni me somewise in Not-Heing's sen, Nor cast nir mill lifi's whirlpool, sore distrnught. I\iil);i 1'. I 235] fit old, while l''alpr(lt? I hi- hrailliiic III Ihc .1 lull III l.iivr i-i wnr I ' Scr |t. 175, 11, i Mif'ni. Ilnlrli iiiriiiiN: |)ii not »linim* n»r by Imlilliii: tno I iic<<)Uiiluli|i' fill all Ihc llniii|'JilH lliitl |iiihm (Inmi^li iiiy nilnil, 230 Ruba'i. [248) Knows the pure-hearted from the Primal Day His heart for church, his hopes for idols gay. ' The soul desires such lighting-flash of grace That 'fore it all Heaven's radiance fade away. Ruba'i. [249] Make the heart-realm the home of grief for Thee; Lord, let mine eyne "^Aden and Yemen be. •^ If my one hand hope's idol-carver prove, Make Thou the other smite idolatry. Here is a ghazel from Haleti's Diwan: Ghazel. [249] Ask not anent yon hidden flame burning the folk of care; Ask rather of the flutterings of robes of beauties fair. How should I not weep tears of blood with my liver turned to gore By the eyelash-needle of one who doth the breath Messianic share ? 3 If thou be fain to know on what wise a diamond mine may be. Look on her lustrous beauty bright through the opening of her spare. * 'Tis meet that the nightingale of the lawn of the garth of woe be such That with the tears of his weeping eyne he water the roses there. ' See Vol. I, p. 22. 2 '^Aden and Yemen here stand for pearls (tears) and cornelians (blood- stained tears). 3 The legend runs that when Jesus was translated from the world, he was found to have nothing earthly about him, save a needle stuck in his garment. But in consequence of this earthly needle, he got only half-way to Paradise, and now dwells in the Fourth Heaven, that of the Sun, where he will abide till he comes again in glory. Allusion has already been made to the miraculous healing power of his breath. ♦ I use the old-fashioned word 'spare' to translate the Oriental giriban, which means the opening in the front of a garment, from the neck down to a certain length, which enables the garment to be put on and taken off. 231 Interpret them ' by the locks of the loved one, Haleti, and then All they who are crazed shall win delight from their tangled dreams for e'er. The following translation represents almost the whole of the thirteenth Maqala or Section of Haleti's Saqi-Name. The rubric to the section runs: Concerning the Incitement of the Revellers to Nocturnal Carousal. ^ From the Saqi-Nama. [250] Carousal and revel are seemly by night, That far be extended the hour of delight. For then do the lovelorn ascend up on high, ' And then throws the trav'Uer his crown to the sky. And then they of heart traverse swiftly the way: By night swells ecstatic the sigh of dismay. The night-tide is Shebdiz, the wine is Gulgun; * Who rideth two horses ill-luck meeteth soon. () cup-bearer, come, and enkindle our train Ere yet fickle Fortune to slumber is fain. Of lustre bereft * shows the night-time of woe, As the evening of death, sans the fair morning glow. And what thougli to black turn earth's portico-veil? For never of smoke may such lantern fail. " The fawn-sun Ills musk-l)ag halli left and is fled, And llicrcfrDin tin; S[)hcrc all aiouiul musk iialli spread. ^ ' That is: Ihcir tangled dreams. ' 'I'his and liic tlircc following lines arc couched in ihc phraseology of the •Icrvishcs, wlio s|)caK of Ihcmselves as the 'lovelorn', the 'travellers,' 'ihcy of heart,' and k(j on. In the fn'Ht line il is said that by ni(;ht these fnul their nii'rdj or aHccnHion, that in, they perceive visionH in which ihcy sec thcmsclvcH tranH|>orle«l to Heaven. 'I'hc 'crown' mentioned in the next line is ihr dervish tap. ♦ ShelxW/. ( ■ Nighl-likc) wuh the name of ihe celcbialed bhuk ihin^;er of KhiiHraw I'arwf/., whihr Sh(r(n's ronn was ninncd (iulgi)n (" Kose-luied). .'^ee llic uliHlnul of the Uoinuine of KhuMcv and Sliiiin in the Appendix. *> 'I'hal Ih: without bright \\\w, 1 The hinlcrn in llu- huh; iln uniulu iIm .IoKim . ulu. Ii luni-. the poillio- vril ol riiilli, i. c. Ihe '.ky, lo bliii K. I Muiik i'l blatU, HO the .pliin- 'iin c .mIoi|; nm I. iM... uiii^ 1.1 llir j;i>lhriln|{ MhudcH of iili;lit, 232 Ah, where should such fierce fuming dragon ' be spied, "Whose sparks, 2 like to embers, for long may abide? As soon as the fire of the sun leaves to flare This black lion 3 issueth forth from his lair. ^ ^ -Sf -t: -S^ vr: -JiS ^ -^ * ^ ^ ^ -^ ^ -'iJ r- ^ O cup-bearer, where is that life-giving bowl That hearteneth against all the onslaughts of dole? May that Master Physician, the Magian grey, * Of his charm ' make the heart's amulet night and day. What medicine of wonder is that which forthright Doth redden the cheek of the sick of despite? If forth from the body the blood-stream should go. The wine tulip-hued in its stead would there flow. "^Ata^i, whose name I have had frequent occasion to mention of late, was prominent both as a prose-writer and a poet among the Hterary men of his time. ^Ata-ullah, for such was the personal name of the writer known in the history of Turkish literature as Nev^i-zade "^Ata'i, was born at Constan- tinople in 991 (1583); and, as his patronymic indicates, was the son of the distinguished poet and savant Nev"^!, whose life and work we have already considered. That the son was proud of the father's fame is proved by the allusion to Nev^i in the following couplet: That poet I, that poet's son, before whose verse to-day The cultured of the world have bowed the head right lowlily. * ' The Sun. 2 ^he light of sunset. 3 The night. * In Persia wine was formerly (and still is, where Zoroastrian communities exist) chiefly sold by Magians (or by Christians confused with these); hence the term Magian is much used in Persian and Ottoman poetry to represent a vintner or tavern-keeper; but mystically (the esoteric doctrines being com- pared to the forbidden wine) to signify a learned and holy teacher of the transcendental lore. The 'Magian grey' i. e. the pir or elder of the Magians, means any specially venerated teacher of this class. We sometimes meet with allusions to the 'youthful Magian,' by whom is meant the young and beautiful cup-bearer, in either a literal or mystical sense. " The Magian's charm is of course wine, the medicine of the following couplet. 233 After the death of his father, '^Ata^' studied under Qaf-zade Feyz-ullah Efendi, the author of the Anthology, and then under Akhi-zade '^Abd-ul-Hah'm Efendi. He, of course, entered the corps of the \ilema; but, unhke most of the poets who were enrolled in this body, he does not appear to have attempted to enter the higher orders of the hierarchy, for, on taking his degree of Mulazim, he contented himself with joining the class of Cadis or Judges. He served as Cadi in a number of European towns, among which were Lofcha, Silistria, Ruschuk, Tirnova, Manastir, Terhala, and Uskub, and died shortly after his recall from the last-named place at Constantinople in 1044 (1^34 — 5)- ^Ata^i's most important contribution to literature is un- doubtedly his continuation of Tashkoprii-zade's Crimson Peony, or rather of Mejdi's Turkish translation of the same. This Shaqa'iq-un-Nu^maniyya or Crimson Peony is, as I have more than once had occasion to remark, a valuable biogra- phical work dealing with the eminent members of the \ilema and the more noteworthy dervish sheykhs connected with tile Ottoman Empire. Tashkoprii-zadc, who wrote in Arabic, began at the earliest times and brought his work down to the reign of Seli'm II. "Ata^' carries on the history to the reign of Mur.id IV, prefixing a number of biographii-s which, lli(Hi'',li belonging to the times of Suleyinan 1 and Scli'm II, were omitted by his predecessor. ' This work of 'At.i'i, which is written in prose of a very prc^tentious and Pcrsianiscd character, does not concern us liere fuithcr th.iii as a source of bioj'i.ipliir.il iiiloi iii.ilioii. In this diieilion it h;is proved ' ill.- lull lillc of AtiVrn /nyl or ( ■niiliimiiliuii i'. iJu.lu i.| ul I liii|i» i.] M 'IVkiiiileli hli-Sliu<|ri'ii|, m Tiie (imtliH nf i'liilliH in (oinpicliiMi of ihc IVony, I'Ik; work wiih IiiKcm ii|i wIicic Alil'l lr(l till liy l'itlihlii»(|l /i\«l»' who nuricd il liuwii III 111.' Mi(.;ii III Almirii II; llu-n liy SliryUlil wlm l>i the liii ( Almi.-.l III; uikI llu-n I- Mi.vLl.i'. win. i...il> it .l..«n I., llic cloiti: III llial SiiIiuii'h icl^n. 234 of considerable service, although of course but a very small proportion of the learned men whose careers it details attained a sufficiently high position as poets to warrant their mention in a work like the present. ^Ata'i's poetical writings are all included in what is known as his Khamsa or Quintet. But this so-called Khamsa is no true Khamsa, as that term was understood by the earlier Persian and Turkish writers ; and this because one of the five books that go to make it up is not a mesnevi at all, but simply the author's Diwan. The four mesnevis which it actually contains are named respectively, Suhbet-ul-Ebkar or The Converse of Virgins; Heft Khwan or The Seven Courses; Nefhat-ul-Ezhar or The Breath of the Flowers; and Saqi- Name or the Cup-bearer-Book. The first of these, the Suhbet-ul-Ebkar or Converse of Virgins, was written as a pendant to Jami's Subhat-ul-Abrar or Rosary of the Just, like which it is divided into forty sections or chapters, here called Conversations. Each of these is devoted to the consideration of some ethical or mystic question, the argument being enforced by some more or less appropriate anecdote, usually derived from early history or legend. The Heft Khwan or Seven Courses is more purely mystical in tone. Here seven initiates in the spiritual life hold forth on the transports and ecstacies of mystic love. I have never seen this poem, ' but Von Hammer describes it as a most unhappy work, consisting simply of a series of trivial stories and trite morahties. The. third, the Nefhat-ul-Ezhar or Breath of the Flowers, is in scope and character much like the first. It was written as a counterpart to one of Nizami's poems, the Makhzan- ' [At some period subsequent to writing this, however, the Author obtained a MS. of this work, at present bearing the provisional number 285. ed.] 235 ul-Asrar ; and it also consists of a number of chapters, called Breaths this time, in which certain ethical or moral points are discussed, and the conclusions fortified by what the author no doubt regarded as impressive and pertinent tales. The Saqi-Name or Cupbearer-Book, which has the special title of ^Alem-numa or World-Displayer, is much the same as the other poems of its class, so popular at this time. It is perhaps somewhat more elaborate than is usual with such productions; it certainly is longer, containing 1561 couplets, with twelve ruba^is interspersed, against 515 couplets in Haleti's poem of the same name. "^Ata^i has attempted to bring his Saqi-Name into the category of the long and im- portant mesnevi poems which are understood as forming the several members of a Khamsa, by prefixing to the subject itself lengthy doxologies and prayers, together with an ac- count of the Prophet's Ascension, the praises of the Sultan, and a 'Reason of the Writing of the Book,' all as in the earlier romantic mesnevis. Such preliminary sections do not, so far as I have seen, occur in any other of these Cupbearer- liooks. Of ^Ata^j's four mesnevis, the Breath of the Flowers is the earliest, since it was finished in 1020 (161 1 — 2). It was fol- lowed in 1026 (161 7) by the Saqf-namc, which date, together with the special title of the work, ' AKin-iuiin;i, is iiulicateil ill liic following coui)let: If ii i:lii()iit)KiiUii liulil tlic ciulinjj hereof: M'illed willi its wine he llic eiiii, the Woild-l )is|)hiycr.' ' i he (Jonversc of Virgins came next in 1035 (i^>25 —6); and the Seven Courses closed the series in 103^) (if).?6 7). It will l)c ohscivcfl lli.il Mot line ol tlif.c toiii incsnevls The iii'i.iinil liiii- (niniu ihr i liiiini>|;iaiii 236 is romantic ; the old stories of Joseph and Zeh'kha, of the hapless Leyla and Mejnun, and of the gallant Khusraw and the beautiful Shin'n have now lost their charm, or perhaps have been done to death. At all events, the only two of c Atari's mesnevis in which narrative plays any prominent part, the Converse of Virgins and the Breath of the Flowers, belong to that didactic anecdotal class, the best Ottoman examples of which are Yahya Bey's Book of Precepts, Mystic Treasury, and Rosebed of Radiance, and the prototype of which is, of course, to be found in such works as Jami's Tuhfat-ul-Ahrar and Subhat-ul-Abrar, and the earlier Nizami's Makhzan-ul-Asrar. The Di'wan, which is pressed into the service to play the part of fifth mesnevi in the Khamsa, is dedicated to the Sheykh-ul-Islam Yahya Efendi, and is neither very lengthy nor very remarkable. It contains, as usual, several qasidas in honour of the great men of the day, some hundred and fifty ghazels, and a number of chronograms, stanzaic poems, and so on. '^Ata^i was a most industrious writer; but, as will be ga- thered from what I have just said, the poetical value of his verse is not high. Nedim, indeed, says in the qasi'da which I have already quoted several times: 'In the direction of the mesnevi ''Ata'i outstripped them all;' ' but this flattering verdict remains unconfirmed by any subsequent writer. Sheykh Ghalib, the last of the four great poets of the Old School, is surely nearer the truth when he writes : In the style of Newa^' did Fuzuli Find the way to attain eloquence. In our Constantinople, Nev'^i-zade Travelled along it at a foot's pace. 237 The elegance of his genius may not, indeed, be denied, Vet are there very many like unto him. ' Coming down to more recent times, we find Ziya Pasha thus pronouncing judgment in the preface to his Tavern, and very properly placing "Ata^' in a lower standard than Yahya Bey: After him, 2 worthy of eulogy Is the author of the Khamsa, the accomplished Yahya. * * * * » •» » « * * » * -S -:S * ■» * Later on, '^Ata'i saw this, And set up a pretension to writing a Khamsa 5 But the first is a rose, the second is clay; 3 The five fingers * are not all of one mould. * I think Professor Naji is right in preferring '^Ata^"s prose to his verse; for inflated, ponderous, and most un-Turkish as is the style of the Continuation to the Crimson Peony, it has, notwithstanding its pedantic aftcctation, a certain force of its own, sometimes even a touch of picturesqueness; while the longwinded pedestrian mesnevis, with their seldom interesting and occasionally unpleasant stories, drag their weary length ^Ij jia^AJ ,_^->^ i_5-*i «^.;' ^LXjl j_^**ij ^Jai ^^ ^U^^ M(r All Slur Ncwii'i, llie famous Jaghutay I'urkisli poet, wrote several mes- nevis. We have already seen that the Ottoman critics arc foiul of compariiiij Fu/.i'iK to him, merely, as it would seem, i)ecausc l)otli wrote in an eastern (ii,i.l<-.:i. of Turkish. ^ Till- I'iisiia lias been speaking of /-at(. •■' (liil M roKc; (jil " clay: the (lilTerencc helvvreii the Iwn Kh.unsiis is us tli:il liclwccn |Mil and ^•\\, * Alliidiii|; lo (In- livi- piiciii', ill ;i KliainHti. " LaJNU --^J->' \»^^- ^.=»-LaJ Ij IjI (^Ij_.*m Hj_A_o ^.,wV_j' ^^Uol ^♦.Ajl ^^j[f .v.-w*i* ^cJ^'^ ^-jJ-tj^Aj ^<-J' ^*)Y ^aA/j ^m«.;Xj jL_4^L^ ^Ji..^ ^(Ali* ^>\Ak4l ^ jjij^ ^jXJ 238 along, rarely lit up by any flash of poetic thought or imagery. But although this 'Khamsa' of ^Ata^' may possess but little charm or merit in itself, it is interesting as being the last 'Response' ever made by an Ottoman poet to the illustrious Persians. Never again does a Turkish writer come forward and challenge Nizami, Khusraw of Delhi, or Jami on their own ground. In the Transition Period, now close at hand, when the national spirit begins to wrestle in earnest with foreign influence, such a work would hardly be undertaken ; and when we contemplate the result of the last eflbrt in this direction, we have little reason to regret that the spirit of the age rendered a repetition impossible. ^Ata^i's 'Khamsa' closes a chapter in the literary history of Turkey. There are, in conclusion, two points in connection with *^Ata'i"s work that call for remark. The first of these is the extraordinary fondness of this writer for quoting proverbs. The occasional introduction of a popular adage or proverb had for long been a favourite usage with the poets; but ""Ata^i carried the practice to an extreme. Many parts of his Khamsa, especially the stories in it, bristle with these pithy little apothegms of which the Turks possess so rich a store. This affection for introducing the popular proverbs into his work forms a link between 'Ata'i and the writers of the next Period. The Transition poets have as a whole the same love of these homely saws, and some embody them little if at all less frequently in their verses. But such a course is only what we should expect in the case of writers who were struggling to bring the literary poetry into harmony with the national genius. Such men would naturally avail them- selves of every native element which could add interest or picturesqueness to their work: with 'Ata=i, it was an uncons- cious stirring of the spirit of the future. The second point IS one which connects the poet, not with his successors, but 239 with the past, it is the virulent and aggressive misogyny which runs through all his works. ""Ata^i is one of the grossest offenders in this direction; it seems to have been impossible for him to make the slightest allusion to a woman without hurling some scurrilous insult at the whole sex. The verses that follow are from the preface to the Khamsa. From the Preface to the Khamsa, [251] If that the heart be slumber's eye, awake it lay, While that amaze and yearning sore held o'er me sway, Then, when the body, dust and ashes, heedless slept. Upwards the veil by the veil-keeping heart was swept. ' Making us file fantasy's caravan, and fare Into the great city of visions strange and rare. Onwards I went, passing by mosque and convent too ; Yea, I beheld places that ne'er on earth I knew. Then there appeared unto the soul's eye a sage. Rudely yclad, but high of mien and great of age. E'en as the grace of God the Lord alighted he; Courteous and kind, graciously he saluted me. Mickle his condescension towards mc, his slave. Into my hand an inkhorn courteously he gave. Thereupon straight blazed up aloft my yearning's (lame, Nor might my heart find room enow within my frame. The next is a chapter from the S;iq(-Nanic, 'Describing the Iransitoriness of the VVorhl.' I Tom ihc S.i(|f-N;'im<'. [252] O cui)licarcr, where !•> yoii lilc-nivin^; wine? 'I"hc prnnks of tin: Ilciivcii hnvc left uh Id piiitr. ' More litcrnlly: ihal iintiiin-Uccpci, the hnirl, iuIm-iI the iiiiimii. I lir pi'idc-di'tr, chiiinlxM'liiiii, or ciiiliiiii-kcrprr wum it hciviuiI <>i ulliiri' in ^rrtit liMiitoH, wlni'ic duly il wiu, un |ic<)plr piitsed In niid fr<>, lo luiiK* mul lower lh<- curtiiiii whicli liuiiK In llir dixii wityn i-oiiiiiiunicnlliiK liolwrcii (Ito iiuioi it|miliiii'iiti(, 240 Its spring and its autumn alike pass away, And fickle is Time, shifting night-tide and day. The grain of the stars is for aye being ground. The cup of the moon is filled higher each stound. ' While chuckling as 'twere any flagon of wine, Undone hath been many a braggart full fine. And while yet the spring-time of hope's green and bright. Its hair is turned, e'en as the picotee, white. * The violet boweth the head for its pain, And every green thing is sore knotted of bane. The world is aweary, and fleeting joy's tide; For yawning the mouth of the jar gapeth wide. What way should the bubble to long life attain, Although times a thousand its breath it retain ? ' The Heaven hath fashioned a jug of Jem's clay. And there grown the gourd where of old he held sway. What things hath this dread charnel swallowed, ah me ! Had earth but a tongue, and should tell all to thee ! Although that this mill may turn e'en as thou'ldst have. Yet are grains being ground ever morning and eve. The world's but a worn-out backgammon-board, lo! No moon yon, a die in its midmost, I trow. A volume 'tis, thumb-marked of anguish and pain; No longer the legend it beareth shews plain. A haunt of ill-luck is this sad ruin drear; 'Tis no eagle, the owl 'tis alone dwelleth here. He will play not for long, he will meet with his meed. The eagle hereof is a tyrant indeed. ' The stars are here considered as grains, and the turning Sphere as the mill which grinds them; the moon is the measure which is ever being refilled (as it waxes) with the flour or dust thus produced. 2 The companion here is between young vegetation nipped with hoarfrost and the hair of a young man turned grey prematurely. 3 "How were it possible for the bubble to attain long life, though it practise the holding of the breath a thousand times?" Amongst certain dervishes it was believed that long life could be obtained by accustoming one's self to hold the breath, and this practise was called habs-i-nefes. [Cf. von Kremer's Ge- schichtliche Streifziige auf dem Gebiete des Islams, pp. 47 — 52]. The bubble may be said to hold its breath, for its very existence depends on the breath or air within it, yet it is a very short-lived thing, even as man is. 241 A marvelous ocean this sea of dismay, The barque of desire 'twill o'erwhelm yet some day ; Each new moon becometh a butt for its wrath : A rocky shoal stretcheth the Straw-bearers' path. ' Desire's cord is knotted and tangled alway, The crown of the poor 2 doth its fashion pourtray. So drain every moment the gol)let of cheer, Nor lose thou the chance while it comes thee anear. Why waste the fair moments of mirth's fleeting tide? And knowing the sphere, wherefore heedless aljide ? The heart's bowl is brimming with love's heady wine. And, thank (lod, the heart's wish is here, mine and tliiue. The last example of '^Ata^'s poetry which I shall give is from the Di'wan; it is a tesdi's ' built ii|)on the opening couplet of one of Fuztili's ghazels translated in the present work and numbered Tesdis on a Couplet of Fuzuli. [253] Ah, that once again witli blood is (illcil my heart like beaker bright! Ay, in mid carouse of parting from my love 1 swooned outright. Sorrow's madness swept triumphant over this i)cwildered spright. Mid the waste of dread I wander, nowlierc any guide in sight. 'I''ercs arc heedless, spheres are ruthless, {''orlune is inconstant ijuitc; "■Woes arc many, friends not any, strong the foe, and weak my pHght.' I)arl\-v nie stole. H'ereH are iieedless, spheres are iiilhless, i'lirlune is imonslunl ijiiiie; ^Woes are many, frirnds nol any, sliong the loe, and weid\ mv plight.' Sliange weie 'l an lln' bnlliul heal I .hould plain as doih ihr nightingale' l''ulr to purl il Ironi a roHeinid-visuged ehurnn'i dolh pieviiil. ' The Stniw-beiirei'.' pulli in llic reutli of the MilKy \Vi\y In-ie legmdril ' il loiky Hhoitl over whii li the wiivcin Inniik. '' That JH, the deiviih riip, usuidly nion' oi leis itiMMdlmir, '• See vol, I, p. i),\. 242 I am on the thorn of teen, my love doth with my foes regale. How recite my woes, O comrades? Space were none to tell the tale I 'Fei'cs are heedless, spheres are ruthless. Fortune is inconstant quite* 'Woes are many, friends not any, strong the foe, and weak my plight.' E'en one moment may 1 leave to wail at this carouse of pain ? Naught can I but spill the wine of weeping and my garment stain. How should I avail to draw one breath, nor like the flute complain ? What can I but, like the ended banquet, desolate remain? ' 'Feres are heedless, sphei-es are ruthless, Fortune is inconstant ("luitc: 'Woes are many, friends not any, strong the foe, and weak my plight.' Even while I served him, yonder Sovereign 2 drove me away 5 Cast me forth his city; sent me, sinless, from his court's array. Parted from his locks, the wide world black before mine eyen lay ; Helpless as '^Atdi bode I mid the darkness, wel-a-way ! 'Feres are heedless, spheres are ruthless. Fortune is inconstant quite: 'Woes are many, friends not any, strong the foe, and weak my plight.' ' Desolation following prosperity, or death succeeding life, is sometimes compared to a banqueting-room when the feast is over, the guests departed, and the lights put out. ■^ Referring to the (probably mystic) object of the poet's love. BOOK IV THE THIRD PERIOD A. D. 1600 — 1700 • 7 CHAPTER IX. The Late Classic Age. MuRAD IV — Ibrahim. 1032 — 1058 (1623 — 1648). The two Schools, the Natural and Artificial, of this Period. Murad IV and Hafiz Pasha. NefS'. Yahya Efendi. Riyazi. Sabri. Fehi'm. Beha^ 1. J e vr 1. The rci^n of Murad IV marks the beginninj]^ of a real cpocli in the history of Ottoman poetry. Durint; tlic sixty odd years that still remain till the a| deelaimi; lur indep<'ndiiir»' and ol eastinj; a^.ide her < enl ui ies jonj; alle^;la^^ e. I he lir.l ol the 246 two great poets named above, taking Baqi as his prototype, strove with all the might of his genius to beautify and refine the poetry of his country; but to beautify and refine it by bringing it still closer and closer to the Persian models and removing it yet further and further from whatever was national and Turkish. The poets who followed in Nef'i's footsteps carried on this Persianising of the literature, alike in voca- bulary and construction, tone and sentiment, till the culmin- ating point was reached by Nabi, who wrote verses which, as Ekrem Bey says, a Persian might know were not Persian, but which no Turk could tell were intended for Turkish. But alongside of this ultra-Persian School of Nef^i and his followers we find another group of poets who, while likewise taking Baqi as their model so far as style is con- cerned, seek to modify the extreme subjectivity which has hitherto reigned paramount in Ottoman poetry. This group, of which the Mufti Yahya Efendi, a contemporary of Nef^i, may be taken as the head, endeavour, in such of their writings as are really characteristic and important, to depict things which they have actually seen and not merely heard or read. Similarly, they are often in such works more frankly material than were their precursors; they try to deal with the actual as well as with the imaginary. They are, in brief, more national, more Turkish, than either their predecessors or contemporaries; for the bent of the Turkish mind is not subjective, but intensely objective, as is clearly shown by the true national poetry, the Turkis; and as a consequence the national tendencies are materialistic rather than idealist. We have then in this closing period of the Classic Age two distinct schools or groups of poets. Both descend from Baqi; but while the one seeks to follow the master- in the letter rather than in the spirit, and is content to proceed along the old lines consecrated by the tradition and practice of centuries, 247 the other strives for a wider scope and aims at a further development, endeavouring to describe things new in poetry as Baqi would have described them, had it been the fashion to treat of them in his day. And the first of these, that which may be termed the Artificial School and is headed by Nef^i, attains within a comparativelv few years its highest possible point, and then dies, and by its death brings the Classic Period to a close; whereas the second, which we may call the Natural School, that under the leadership of Yahya Efendi, quietly but surely makes its way until finally it triumphs over its rival, and by its triumph inaugurates the Transition Age. It is during this closing stage of the Classic Period that the Ottoman qasi'da attains its zenith. The form had always been a favourite; Ncf^i made it doubly so. Himself the author of an unrivalled series of magnificent qasidas he showed to his followers the capabilities of the form and inspired them with enthusiasm in its cultivation. Here the influence of Nef^i was wider and more cnduiing than in his Persianising efforts. It was n(;t only the Artificial poets who wrote qasidas, for the disciples of Yahy;'i Efendi strove not unsuccessfully to compete with them in this licld ; neither did the fasliiou ])ass away with the Classic Age, for it lasted all thioiij'!) the 'I laiisitioii down i-vcii to our own tinu-. This c:r(]or(.sccncc of the qasida was no doul)! in i^icat p. II I due to the infliirnrc of 'IJrfi of Slit'raz, the most illus- liiou', I'l r.i,iu poet ol the d.iy. 1 his )'outlirul giMiiils hr di( d Ml i^^w (1590 — I) ;it till- (ouutiy. lie was sooM I fc<)|.;nisc(l as a in.ister !>)• the <(iiil( uii)oi ,11 V T'lsiaii poets, and, as a nialtci ol couisr. Ins VVOll;s wcic loitliwilll studied .ind lUiil.iled lU liuKey. I lis inliu. nee, toi;elliueeM ; hut it wouM l>c alihurd to maki! an ()rienlal talk of a <|U('cn, not only as taking part in ii lialtle Cfor the chess-hoard represents a liattie-licid), liut as hcing the stiongcsl comlialanl. Our term <,)uecn has liceii deiivcd hy sonic from iIiIh I'°ci/ lluough the following coritiptions and tranMlatioiiH : Chens, which is originally an l-laHtrrn game, was, il is contended, inlMidiieed liy the AialiN into .Spain ami I'lanic; the I'reneh, Oh leainiiig the game, adopted homr of the ( hiental trim'. lUitl liahhhited oIIicih; of the fotmei was the I'cr/., wiitten In old lirmli liookk leiM ur Kleicr, iIiIm, liy that tendency of hingungc to tinnKlorm an iinlitinlliar lorrij'ii wold iiilo a fiimilnir native one, hn nmr N'leige, thence I tame, (Jucpn. < liiiiii 11 niihiioii. till IriH Keveial liineH in I he Hoke i>l the lUitliPtKr, 250 Know we not what this delay in hurling back oppression means; Is there never Reckoning Day nor question of the victim's plight? • With us mid the blazing fire of hostile battle fierce to plunge Is there ne'er a salamander tried by fickle Fortune's spite ? Hence to carry this our letter to the court of King Murad Is there ne'er a pigeon swift-winged as the storm-wind in its flight? It will be observed that Murad's reply to the foregoing is what is known as a Nazira, or 'parallel', to it; the style of imagery, the metre, the rime, and (in the original) the redif of the Vezir's verses being all retained in the Sultan's. Sultan Murad's Reply. [255] Hark ye, Hafiz, to relieve Baghdad is there no valiant wight? Is there not with thee an army, that thou pray'st us aid thy plight? 'I am the Vezir to mate the foeman,' thou wast wont to say. Is there now no room against the adversaire to play the Knight? While we know full well there is no peer to thee in vauntful boast, Yet is there ne'er an avenger to take vengeance on thy spright? Thou who wouldest boast of manhood, whence this dastardy in thee? Thou'rt afeared, but is there no man by thy side who knows not fright? Heedless hast thou been, and lo, the heretics have ta'en Baghdad; 2 Is there ne'er a Reckoning-Day? shall not the Lord thy sin requite? Through thy folly have they laid in ruins Bii Hanifa's town; 3 Hast thou then no zeal for Islam's faith or for the Prophet's right? God who, while we wist not, did vouchsafe to us the Sultanate, Shall again vouchsafe Baghdad; is naught foredoomed of Allah's might? • The Vezir means that he does not know why the Sultan delays to drive back the cruel enemy, and asks whether he does not believe that on the Judgment Day he will have to answer for this neglect which causes so much suffering. 2 The Persians belonging to the Shi'a sect which Sunni Islam (what prevails in Turkey) holds heretical. 3 Bii Hanifa, for Abii Hanifa, founder of that one of the four great sects of orthodox Islam to which the Turks belong, lies buried in Baghdad. 251 Thou hast wasted Islam's army through thy bribery forsooth; Thou mayst deem we know not, yet is there no news to wing its flight? Natheless, with God's high aid to wreak our vengeance on the foe, Have we not an ancient servant with the zeal of Islam dight? Now have I declared commander a Vezir of high emprize: Will not Khizr ' and the Prophet lead ? is none to guide aright ? Is it that tliou boldest all the world for void and empty now ? Is there none to rule the Seven Climes, 2 Muradi, in his might? With the accession of Sultan Ibrahim on the death of his brother Murad IV, there comes a break in the line of poet Sultans. This sovereign, whose interests were circumscribed by the walls of his harem, appears to have been absolutely indifferent to poetry and to poets. He was equally heedless with regard to public affairs; and the worst of the abuses which Murad had striven so relentlessly to suppress began to reappear on every side. At length, after a reign of eight years, he was in 1058 (1648) deposed and put to death, having exasperated all classes by his boundless extravagance and by the endless taxes which he levied. The people were taxed and re-taxed to gratify every costly whim of the ladies in whose society the Sultan found all his plcasiue and passed all his time. We read of a saljle tax .ind an ami)ergris tax, raised to sii|)|)Iy the Seraglio with furs .md priluinrs; and we are told of a chariot a(h)inc(l with precious stones con- structed to |)iease the sumptu<»us taste of one fair favourite, an ill.- iiiil ..I |>i.>U'* M»i»li»»« in iUhIichh. Srr Viil, I, |i, lyjt, n. I. '' riw; S<;vrii ('lliiicH, I, c, the wlii.li" wml.l. Sec |>. <;, u. I !«/>/.«. 252 Every office was sold to the highest bidder, every form of oppression was practised, in order to procure money for the wild extravagances of the palace ; till at length some of the more honest and thoughtful among the people, seeing that this could have no other issue than national ruin, determined to stop it in the most eftectual of all manners, and so brought about a revolution with the result already mentioned, and seated Ibrahim's son, Muhammed, then a child of seven, on the throne of '^Osman. Nef^i of Erzerum, as the author who now claims our attention is generally called, is, by the unanimous verdict of the modern Ottoman critics, one of the crowning glories of the earlier Turkish literature, and the second, in point of time, of those four great poets who by virtue of race and commanding genius stand forth as leaders and captains from the serried ranks of the Old School writers. As in the case of his great predecessor Fuzuli, we have but few parti- culars concerning Nef^i's career, and these few relate chiefly to his tragic fate. ^Omer (such was the poet's personal name) was born at Hasan Qal^a, a little town in the neighbourhood of Erzerum. Some time during the reign of Ahmed I he made his way to Constantinople, where he adopted the profession of an accountant. Nefi dedicated some brilliant qasidas to Sultan Ahmed, as also to his son the luckless "^Osman II; but he does not appear to have made much way with the Imperial patrons before the accession of Murad IV, whose special favour he succeeded in acquiring, and whom he eulogised in a series of magnificent poems which have proved the despair of all subsequent Ottoman qasida-writers. Unhappily for himself, Nef^i's genius for panegyric was equalled by his gift of satire; he is the greatest satirist, as he is the greatest panegyrist, in Turkish literature. This dangerous gift naturally enough got the poet into trouble. 253 With the single exception of the Sultan himself, not one of the great dignitaries of the state, not one of the eminent literary men of the day, was secure against the stroke of those Shafts of Doom, ' as he called his pungent and bitter lampoons. One day when Sultan Murad was in the Seraglio gardens reading in this book of the Shafts of Doom, a thunderbolt fell at his feet. This the Padishah interpreted as a sign of the wrath of heaven against the audacious poet, who was in consequence then and there banished from the court. Before long, however, the sentence was rescinded ; and Nef^i was recalled and reinstated in the imperial favour, but with the condition that he would henceforward refrain from satire. But this, whatever NefS' might promise, was more than he could perform; the passion to satirise had become as it were a disease with him, — he was unable to resist lampooning his own father - — and when the Vczir Beyram Pasha, the Sultan's brother-in-law and an officer of some distinction, whom the poet had previously lauded to the skies in a grandiloquent panegyric, returned from temporary exile in Rhodes, Nef"^i attacked him in a satire so savage and so grossly insulting that the Ve/.ir besougiit Murad to deliver the offender into his hands. The .Sultan granted Bcyram's request; and by the orders of the latter, acting uiidei the oKicial sanction of llic ^ilcma. man)' of whom had been hard hit by the barbed and i)oisoneil Shafts of Doom, Ne-f^^f was bowstrung in the \vood)ard «»1 the .Si-raj^ho, and his l)o(ly cast into tlie sea. The story is told that when Ncf^f was being led to lln' |il.ice where lie was to die, the executioner, vii/ii. 254 Most authorities place the execution of NeH in 1044 (1634 — 5); but Hajji Khah'fa and, following him, Von Hammer make it a year later, in 1045 (1635 — 6). More than any other Turkish poet is Nefi dependent upon style, upon execution, for the position which he holds in his country's literature. The pre-eminence of that position is indisputable and undisputed, but it rests exclusively on the marvellous brilliancy, the imperial magnificence, of the poet's language. It is only as a writer of qasidas that Neri has acquired so great a name; his ghazels are of comparatively little account, and his satires are so gross that they cannot be read without disgust. It therefore follows, almost of neces- sity, that whatever be his merits, they must lie in the manner, not in the matter, of his work. The object of the qasida is eulogy of the highly placed, and eulogy of the highly placed is never, even under the most favourable conditions, very hopeful for poetry. But the conditions under which the Turkish poets wrote such eulogies were very far from being the most favourable; for leaving out of sight the personal deserts of the great men in whose honour they sang, tra- dition and convention had rendered impossible any sympa- thetic or even sincere treatment of their subject. That Nef^i was not sincere in his extravagant laudations of the vezirs and pashas whom he extolled, might easily have been gathered from the fact that many of his panegyrics are corrected by his satires; thus Mehemed Pasha the Georgian (Gurji Mehemed Pasha), of whom he says in a qasida that, 'Neath the "anqa of his glorious splendour is the sphere an egg, 'In the balance of his stately portance is the earth a grain,' ' is described in the Shafts of Doom in such a manner as to olai/o ^_j (J-;./*; 8 AJ.lSj Q(i_-fcX S.Jur '' '^ j 255 render translation impossible in this book. ^ But he sets the matter at rest, and tells us all that we must not take his eulogies too seriously, by frankly declaring, 'I have repented me thereof and ta'en in satire my revenge.' '•^ We must then look for the real merit of this poet, not in the panegyric, the ostensible maqsad or purpose of the qasidas, where from the nature of the case no true poetic beauty is possible, but in his exordiums, those passages which precede and lead up to the eulogies, and which generally contain whatever poetry works of this class possess. It is when we turn our attention to these that we begin to under- stand something of the reasons why the critics unite in placing this poet on so lofty a pedestal; we find grandeur of imagination, brilliancy of fancy, and wealth of imagery, clothed in well-nigh flawless language, always of the subtlest harmony, but ever varying its tone in sympathy with the subject of the verse. This infinite variety is one of Nefi's characteristics; for while his style has a marked individuality (lie copied no one, though many have essayed to coi)y him), and is always in unison witii itself, he varies llic tone so as to niakt.- this ex[)ressive of vvliatcvcr suhjc-cl lu- takes up. Thus, if lie describes a battle, we can almost lu-ar in his verse- the rush of the soldiers to the assault and the clash of arms as they meet the foe; or again, if he is depicting a (;ai(leii, we become as it wrvc. conscious of the piifume arising from the (htweis and of the jtlashinj; of the ioiintain in it , marble basin. An<»tliei feature of NefCs style is th.il (ju.dit)' which the Tmkish Clitics call fasahal, a teiiii that ma\ be approximately ■i ^j^ji j.uxji u^i y>\p ^a;,i ^li ^ sij> 256 rendered by the phrase 'correctness of diction.' Each word is chosen with the most perfect fehcity, it is always the right one among all others in the language for the place where it occurs. There is, moreover, no suggestion of forcing; every word and every phrase falls naturally, inevitably as it would appear, into its own proper place. There are, it may be added, practically no zihafs here, and hardly any of those awkward-sounding imalas so prevalent in earlier writers. Neil's qasidas, exordiums and panegyrics alike, are of course gorgeous with all the opulence of his marvellous ima- gination; glittering images and similes are flashed one upon the other till the mental vision is like to be dazzled by the excess of rhetorical brilliance. This luxuriant extravagance is often mere beautifully expressed bombast which when translated sounds trivial or meaningless enough; but at times, when the poet places something of a curb on the exuberance of his fancy, the exaggeration not only ceases to be dis- pleasing, but adds a distinct artistic value to his work. Although the general character of Nef^i's qasidas is such as I have described, there are a few among them which, while exquisite in diction and delicate in imagery, are inspired by a simple natural feeling, the freshness of which is very delightful, coming as it does with all the charm of the un- expected. The so-called satirical poems of NefS' would be more correctly described as vituperative or invective. For the most part they miss the point of satire, which is to show up what is really vicious or foolish, and are little else than a mass of scurrilous and obscene abuse flung at whatever person chanced to incur the writer's displeasure. These satires are the counterpart of the qasidas; just as in the latter Nef'i overleaps the bounds of taste and propriety in the fulsome adulation and the extravagant and bombastic flattery which he heaps 257 upon his patrons, so in the former he leaves far behind him the Hmits of decency, and riots in every excess of filthy and foul-mouthed abuse. Here again we see the same extra- ordinary facility of language and the same marvellously fertile imagination; only it is no longer the perfumes of the rose- garden that surround us, but the poisonous exhalations of the cloaca. Most certainly it was in Turkey as in England, and much that nowadays would be condemned was per- missible enough when Nef^i wrote. But even then there was a point beyond which one might not go, and beyond which Nef^i went, as the story of his career abundantly testifies. The old Turkish poets, almost without exception and for the most part with but scant justification, were, as we have several times had occasion to observe, ever wont to indulge in self-laudations of the most extravagant and most barefaced character. Whether this practice, so much at variance with the humble, even abject, tone usually adopted by the Eastern writers, arose, as Kcmal Bey suggests, from the mystic fer- vour of certain p:)ets who in praising their own genius meant to praise that Universal Genius of which theirs was an ema- natifjii; or whetlier, as Ekrem Bey maintains, such passages were written by the poets in defiant response to the hostile criticisms of their rivals, and by way of \indicalin14 their claim to the laurel in the eyes of posterity, the custom was formerly so universal that, with the single exception of Xeilim, there is scarcely a p(»et of emiiu-nce belonging to the Old School who h.e. not wiitleii at l<-.ist one loie.; piei'i- ol verse exclusively devoted to tin ;.;|oi jliciit ion of his .i\\ n transcendent talents. Nefl's l*'al-:^-J ^^ A ' >~ioAjl viV.Aj 'i O^-:^ S[i^. ^y^. 1^^^-*" '-^ ^ 5 —'-^•^ .vo^c j»j> ^Izr c)^*^ •^^'* i'*-^ T*^y ""^ (•;:' Ci^***^''' 262 To us Western readers he fails to appeal with the same force as the three remaining members of the illustrious quaternity; on the whole we are unable to take him quite seriously; we admire his command of language, we recognise his wealth of fancy, but we cannot get rid of the idea that all the while he is laughing alike at his patrons and his readers. Unquestionably Nedi'm gave proof of the keenness of his critical acumen when he wrote, 'Nef^i was the artist of speech in qasidas;' ' and no doubt Ekrem Bey is justified when he says that Nef^' is worthy to be reckoned the first of those men of genius who by the eloquence and correctness of their language are the pride of the 'Osmanli poets,' 'a writer such that though so many poets have striven hard during two centuries and a half to copy him, not one has succeeded in coming near him;' and no doubt Kemal Bey is right in regarding the openings of Nef^i's two greatest qasidas as being among the most brilliant examples of Ottoman poetry; and Ziya Pasha in describing him as the Sultan on the throne of the realm of speech, in whose company none may travel, any more than the wren may pair with the falcon. Yet all these high qualities are of a nature such that to thoroughly appreciate them one must be an accomplished Ottoman critic. And so it comes about that we who are not such, and cannot be such, find ourselves unmoved by the works of this great poet, because we fail to discover in them that touch of nature which makes the whole world kin. It should be said that Nef'i was one of the best Ottoman writers of Persian verse; Ekrem Bey, indeed, maintains that he was the very best with the exception of Sultan Selim I, and adds that his poems in that language would have called 263 forth the surprise and admiration of ^Urfi and Fayzi themselves. In the translations which I have made from Nef'i's qasidas I have as a rule stopped short at the end of the exordium; the panegyrics are all very much the same, and are alike without interest and without value; to have inserted them would merely have detracted from the beauty and the unity of the several poems. The first of which I give a translation is one of the most famous qasidas in Ottoman literature; it is known as the Eyler Qasidasi or 'Doth'-Qasida, a name given to it from the circumstance that each of its riming lines ends with the word eyler or 'doth,' as a redif. This qasida is an early one, being dedicated to Sultan Ahmed I ; the exordium, the whole of which is given in my translation, is, as will be noticed, purely philosophical in subject. Shinasi Efendi, the founder of the Modern School, wrote a Nazira or rival poem to this famous qasida. The Doth Oasida. [256] I)ccm iKjl tlic Sphere, rcvolviiifj, makclli iiiorniiif^f evo to lie: It warnctli of I lie Intter end of everythinj^ we see. In very trutli, tliis woilil is like :i llcelin^^ dreani of ni|;lu; I'or even :is we close and oju- our eyes tlic iiionienis tlec. Oh how slioiild I hey of siieli a land, where e'en this brief respite i'or n-sl i:, ios,, e'er win lo skill, or art, or nmstery ? Oi Id II'. hold ihal tiinc enow (nr rest were ^^rnnled nnin, How should llic Mi({C (liHCCrn Ihe jiallis of ii^;lil and viUeiny? (^an <;'i:r llurie lie disccrimuiil ol the paths of ri^;lil and wronjj In yonder hcail wlicirin ijn- husis of woe hirivr liillerly' There is no one will liml Ihc palli n\ liiilli, iinless the niiin 'I'o whom ihe (iuide jviprnal sends His ( iriue lo conipany. I'nless lhal I ) nice divine the innirade lie, is iill in viiin; Whip liu.leih iinlu reason heir inusi nirri cnhtinily. The iMIl (il reason lien in undeiHlMndin(;'ii linld iilonr; liiil hiiw iIkmiIiI underxliindin^ (ill ii lieml l« I'lic Midir of the Sanctuary, in the iitlc ol iho civil j;uv(;rrior of Medina. * Tilt; bowl Ih luli|i-liiic(l, red, licinn Idlfii willi wine. " Tin; liriuu:lilt:l'H i iipH urn the liuils. " Sec |). 232, n. 4 siipni. ' The Idol Ih llic ailoialilc i up-lteiiirr. " Kcy-KliUHfiiw (or Kcy-KhuKirvJ, one of tin- nm Icnl Irj-cndmy kli»i;» >i( r<'iHiii, iiuihI ikiI Ik; (:oiifoiiii(|i'i'iiiiu' I iiii'>r'> till- iiii'liiiiu;>de lo wnll (mi love of il. 268 been disregarded, the exaggeration is bad. I translate only the passage held by the Bey Efendi to be good. It may stand as a specimen of NefS"s manner when describing a battle. From a Qasida. [259] * » s May hearts aby to look upon his lance in wild mellay What while the foeman's crimson blood adown its length doth stream? Yea, even as the heads of fone fall earthward like to balls, Behold, his charger's hoofs as bandies smiting these do gleam. The darksome dust that circles him ' about is e'en the smoke, Whene'er in fierce advance yon bounding flame doth onward beam. Soon as he draweth up the ranks and springs upon the foe. For dread are earth and sky fulfilled of shright and yell and scream. What time the ground is shaken 'neath the earthquake of his charge. That the dread Day of Doom was come, would all men surely deem. The flashing of his shining sword amid the darkling dust Is as the leaping flame that thwart the murky cloud doth learn. < The following, which is the exordium of a qasida dedicated to Sultan Murad, is likewise quoted by Ekrem Bey. I give it here as an instance of the simplicity with which Nef^i occasionally wrote. Qasida. [260] Welcome to thy bounty, zephyr fresh and fair, Naught but Universal Grace such sweets could share. Now thy breath makes earth to blossom like the rose, And thou bidst the season smiling looks to wear. Through the realms of China hath thy pathway lain?^ Else what is this breathing fraught with musk so rare? Yea, thy breath all musky doth a thousand worlds ' The 'him' in this line refers to the 'bounding flame' of the next, that is to the Vezir's charger. All the other couplets refer to the Yezir himself. 2 China or Cathay, the land of musk and sweet odours, see p. 157, n. i supra. 269 Of odour every moment shed along the air. Never hadst thou scattered fragi-ance like to this If thou hadst not lingered mid the loved one's hair. Never might the lover find a friend like thee, Though of friends the Seven Climes fulfilled were. Thou'rt his friend who's bounden fast in beauty's chain, His whose heart is stricken sore of love-despair. What the plight of yonder love-distraughten heart, That it dree not anguish through the comb for e'er? ' But be its dule or little or mickle through the comb, It ne'er may sigh aweary for fear or yet for care. Of somewhat of its dolour let it on piteous wise Make yonder winsome beauty's attiring-maiden ware. And should she still nor pity nor rue its plight upon, Is there not yet thy justice, my Sovran debonair? 2 Here is the opening stanza of NcH's Saqi-Nama. Although the goblet is apostrophised in the first line, it is the wine within it that is really addressed. This poem is very Persian in construction. I'Vom the Saqf-Nama. [261 1 ll:iil to llicc, O crystal (loljlct, liriiinncd willi Wine of ruby ray'. I,t:l l] »>. Kiri(( of 'I'lti'itn and father uf the fitntouit AfrdiilyiUi. * it Im liilercHlliijf to iiule how Nrf'l hero dindaiiiH in >iii «li..i .«li".-., >,k,<, iillici poet would have ciiiployrd, the liiukiieyeil niilDphni for wine, «lukhlcr-l 2/0 Thou'rt that life-restoring Spirit of the slain of dule and woe; Even Khizr's fount beside thee would be naught but mirage-spray. Thou'rt that Coin that circles current in the mart of them of Love; Through thy virtue name and fame are gems whose worth is passed away. Thou'rt that Ornament of wisdom whose all-perfect grace hath swept From the mirror-soul of men of heart the rust of drear dismay. Ne'er had frozen-hearted lovers given for thy dregs their lives, Did'st thou not shed strength and ardour on each soul that strengthless lay. Thou'rt no wine ; thou art the life of those the slain of grief and stress : Thou'rt the soul, nay, not of our world ; thou'rt the soul of all that is ! * -X- s *»-**** ;;:- *•«*«*»** * * « * The next poem is translated in its entirety. It is one of Nef^i's Fakhriyyas or self-laudatory pieces. So far as the form goes, it is what is called a qit'^a. This poem, which is a fine one, can hardly be read otherwise than mystically; the identification by the author of his individual genius with the universal is surely the key to its interpretation. Fakhriyya. [262] Yea, I am that Nef'i, radiant-hearted, pure and calm of soul; Purity's bright bowl is lucent through my mind that knows no fright. Heaven ever hopes for aidance from my reason's shining star; Learns the Intelligence Supreme ' from mine all-comprehending spright. All the treasures men do long for by my soul are held as naught; Yet through niggardize I'd change not against earth my woeful plight. Grace Divine doth flash in lightning forth the mirror of my thought; From mine intellect's horizon shines the spirit's eye with light. Though it stirs not forth the centre, yet it roams the regions six, — ^ This my subtile heart, which recks the quest a trivial feat and slight. It hath brought me to the Ka'^ba of the Truth by such a road That the Blest to make coUyrium of my pathway's dust delight.. rez = daughter of the vine, and invents in place of this his dukhter-i pi'r-i mughan = daughter of the elder of the Magians (see p. 232, n. 4 supra) and hemshire-i saqi-i sheng = sister of the gay cup-bearer. ' For the Supreme Intelligence, see Vol. I, p. 42. 2 The regions six, i. e. the six directions, see p. 46, n. i supra. 2/1 I'm the Universe of Inward Truth, I'm free of Fate's control; From my spheres' revolving cometh pain or woe to ne'er a wight. I'm the Sea of Knowledge, all my dephts and shores with pearls are strown, Naught of refuse or defilement doth my sands or beaches blight. Why then, while my lot is this wise, stoop I down to poesy? What should I? — -I may not win me from my passioned heart respite. If this passion thus should linger hidden in my heart and soul, And no word from out my riven breast on any ear alight, And I died, then mazed and wildered were the folk of all the earth At the wondrous words the grassy tongues would from my grave recite. ' The three following ghazels, taken from Nef^i's diwan, are all quoted with high approval by Ekrem Bey in the preface to the third part of that charming series of poems which he entitles Zemzeme. Ghazel. [263] I thought 'twas pride made thee no look upon the rival throw; How great the grace, I deemed so small, thou didst on him bestow! Thy glance hath [tut llic heart to shame licforc the world at last; Uy fJod, I held for leal and true to secret pledge yon Woe. '^ Had I iii;t seen thy licautcous visage in the mirror shown, I'd bold that like the moon thou dost uniijue in beauty glow. I l>( Kii»»» U'"**'"»J "**"'' III . jjnive, ■" 1 he Wiie, or Toiiiu-iil, U ill.' Inlnved, Hir |i, iHji, it. 4 aixl y 1S4, n. I .»*/»'.», 2/2 Never may the hapless lover's pain by any sigh be shown; Nay, not e'en although his heart were torn to fragments by his sighs. All this murder thou behold'st is wrought by yonder deathly glance, So their two-edged sword is never laid down by her tyrant eyes. With thy locks may not the lover bind that erring heart which he. Like to Mejmin, can no longer rule? Or what may he deviser Sorely Nef'i ever yearns to show his bitter pain to thee ; Have thou ruth and some day seek that wound within my heart that lies. ' Ghazel. [265] Now 'tis this wise, now 'tis that wise; no one may the Sphere gainsay; 'Tis inverted, and so likewise is this sad world's every way. Zealot, forthright turn thou toper, dwell no more mid shows, be wise ; For 'tis thus within the mystic world we win to kingly sway. All the world 'twould overwhelm in one sole point of blackest light, — ^ Such the wondrous power the sage's tawny reed-pen doth display. •' There is none who can distinguish 'twixl my soul's sky's morn and eve, Such the sun and moon that glorious forth my mind's horizon ray. 'Tis not only Nef^i who thus prideful boasts at wisdom's feast; Seek, and thou shalt find that thus all guests divine their words array. ' The repetition of a part of the first line of the first couplet in the second line of the last in this ghazel, is an instance of what the rhetoricians call Redd-i Matla*^ or Return of the Matla", see Vol. I, p. 80. 2 The 'blackest light' here means the black ink by means of which writers and thinkers illuminate the world. Sunbul-zada Vehbi in his Shevq-engiz uses the expression in the following verse to describe the eyes of a beautiful brunette : "By looking on those eyes of dark deeds thou may'st see what the 'Black Light' can do." The term originally belongs to the terminology of the Mystics, where it is used to denote the Light of Absolute Being, which blinds by its excessive radiance. See Whinfield's Gulshen-i-Rdz, p. 13. The same thought is expressed by Henry Vaughan as follows : "There is in God, some say, A deep, but dazzling, darkness." ' The allusion is to the dark brown colour of the reed-pen or qalem. 273 The following is among the few unobjectionable passages in the Shafts of Doom. This particular Shaft is levelled by Nef^i against his father, who appears to have supplanted him in the favour of some great man, here called simply the Khan. As this is a Persian title, it is probable that the circumstance referred to occurred early in the poet's career, and somewhere near his old home in the district of Erzerum, which marches with the Persian frontier. From the Siham-i Oaza. [266] Ne'er since my lucky sire to be the Khan's buffoon began Have once mine eyen won the lentils or the curds to scan. Now poverty's become my curse, so were it strange should I Sue of the Khan an alms, in short, adopt my fatlier's plan. I marvel, is this meanness in the Khan or in my sire ? Now, who on courteous wise will put that question to the Khan ? He is no father this, but a black plague aliout my head: And so the Khan regards my words as naught to yonder man. Through poverty my hands are weighted down as 'twere by stones, The while he sells his flummery as jewels to the Kh;in. Yahy.i ICfcndi, ' the Shcykh of Islam, was one of the most cuiinciit iiu.n of the time of Miir.id tin- l'"ouilh. lJ|)iiL;ht in an a^(; wIk.-h (:orrui)tion was the riiK:, ^illrd with a lar-sccing sagacity, learned as a jurist, accomplished as a scholar aiu! a |)oet, and c:ndowed with an irresistible eli.irni of manner, he was well e(iiii|)|)e(l to ( on 1 111,1 IK 1 the alli'et ion.ili' esteem ol .ill who knew iiow to vaiui- loyalty and true merit. N'aliNM was the Mill ol the Miirti, or Sheykli of Islam, /,ekiMi\ya l\leii(li, - who died ill I ' >< ) I (iqi)' },)■ l•"ollowi^^; in the lootsteps of his I.iIImi, lioiu whom he reccivctl his earliest ' 1 1 IiikI ill ilii: iiiiii^iii pciiiil iclticniCM, ill ihc uullior'-' Imtnl, !<• ^\\\^A lliil.ll.''. KliMii II Kh«HiHi\ii, p. i.\7 (an rxcollrnt niui{rn|ihy of crlolmilctl ('(iMI- ^:lllphi'.l'.;, iiikI Iu Arliclr N". 4H In llip Mr)iml'«-I-Mn'nlllm Niljl. fl'.) '' /tkeriyyii in Ihr MuhIIiii furin ol /urlniiliix, Vuhyil iil J«>lm. 2/4 lessons, he entered the legal profession, and, after having passed through the usual course, holding several muderrisates and serving in various provincial mollaships, among others in that of Cairo, where he succeeded the biographer Qinali- zada, he was in 1012 (1603 — 4) appointed to the Judgeship of Constantinople. This was soon followed by the Vice- Chancellorships, first of Anatolia and them of Rumelia, till in 1 03 1 (162 1 — 2) Yahya was named Sheykh of Islam in place of Es'^ad Efendi the son of Sa^d-ud-Din the historian. But in the following year, that of the accession of Murad IV, the poet was deposed from this high position. His dis- missal was the result of his own somewhat aggressive integrity, and was brought about in this way. On the occasion of one of the customary official visits paid by the Grand Vezi'r to the Sheykh of Islam, Yahya gave '^Ali Pasha the Archer (Keman-Kesh '^Ali Pasha), the then Prince Minister, politely but clearly to understand that he altogether disapproved of the system of bribery which flourished under that Pasha's administration, and which found in him an active supporter. The Vezi'r in revenge persuaded the boy-Sultan that the Mufti had opposed his accession, which, he said, had been effected by the army alone. Murad thereupon deposed Yahya ■ and reinstated Es'^ad Efendi; but on the death of the latter in 1034 (1625) Yahya was reinstated as Mufti, which office he continued to hold, wath one short interruption necessitated by pohtical exigencies, till the year of his death. | Yahya Efendi stood high in Sultan Murad's favour, and many of the best and most efficacious measures introduced by that monarch were due to his influence. When the Sultan set out on his expedition to recapture Baghdad, he took Yahya with him; and it was owing to the advice of the latter that twenty siege-guns, which proved of much assistance in the leaguer of the city, were taken along with the army, 275 instead of being sent by river with the rest of the artillery which did not arrive until twenty days after the siege had begun. On the march to Baghdad the imperial army halted for a brief rest at the town of Aq-Shehr, and on the following day the Sultan and some of his courtiers, among whom was Yahya, went to divert themselves in a beautiful park called Bash Tekye which lies on the south side of the town. Towards evening Murad, who, as we know, was fond of poetry, wrote the following verses over a window in a kiosque there, and at the same time requested the Sheykh of Islam to compose a Nazira, or parallel, to them: III truth this pleasaunce fair is e'en a verdant field of Paradise, Whereinto were a dead man brought, alive for joyance he would rise. What time Murdd from overthrowing Persia wended to Baghdad, He rested here and drank this Kcvser, as 'twere wine, in gladsome wise. ' Ik'fore sunset Yahya had written under the Sultan's lines these verses : Fair fall the life-inspiring stead wherein licsse and gladness lies! Did any bird but eat its grass, he'd turn a speaking parrot wise. I'd say a field of I'aradisc, l>ul Paradise's envy is This peerless pleasaunce since the King to deign to grace it did devise. That righteous King doth laud its water in liis verse for Kevscr-stream; How bright and clear the verse, how pure the stri'ani wheri-of it tlutli ai)pii/c. I'lill heartily may men on earth, in heiiven may angels, say Amen, The wiiile that Vahysi's earnest prayers for yonder King of ciuth iirisc.' 2/6 Sultan Murad never ceased to hold Yahya Efendi in high honour and esteem, and when Ibrahim succeeded his brother on the throne there was for a time no break in the good fortune of the venerable poet. But at length, about the time when the nefarious Jinji Khoja ' was exciting men's minds, certain great people who had for long been jealous of Yahya's prosperity, and possibly hostile towards him because of the integrity of his character, managed so to work upon Ibrahim that he withdrew his confidence and favour from the Mufti. Yahya, who had for so long been accustomed to receive the affection and veneration of both high and low, could not endure this, and died at about eighty years of age on the 1 8th- of Zu-1-Hijja 1053 (23d. February 1644). Yahya's pop- ularity was great, and on the day of his funeral an immense concourse of people thronged the Conqueror's Square and accompanied his body to its last resting-place, in the tomb of his father Zekeriyya, Many stories such as the following are told about Yahya Efendi. There were two brothers, "^Ali and Mes'^ud by name, both distinguished members of the legal profession. The latter was promoted a step above his brother, who thereupon grew madly jealous, and rushing into their mother's presence, i^XsLbJ !_)! ,ji^..i5..>..:>.j^ ^^jii nij.S'l-j l_i;^_c> (j\./«l iiV.)./o TsJ^Syf ^vCi.j !ijj.j nXi} ^J^^li>i xjj) 1 Huseyn Efendi, nicknamed Jinji Khoja or Master Demonist, was an impostor who by pretending to exercise jinns or demons attained high favour under Ibrahim; he was made a Qadi-^Asker or Vice-Chancellor, and sold for money high offices in the state. He eventually fell into disgrace and was executed. 2/7 cried out against Mes'^ud, swearing to take his life. The lady, terribly alarmed, went straight before the Sheykh of Islam and besought him, saying, 'O my lord, give this "^Ali too the same rank as hath been conferred on his brother; he is about to kill my Mes^ud.' Yahya replied several times, 'Fear not; he will not kill him;' but the frightened mother persisted, saying, 'He will kill him; he hath sworn it; he is overcome of wrath; have pity!' At length Yahya said, 'O lady, how should he kill him? If he kill him, then they will kill him too; and if they be dead, thou wilt die of grief. But the heavens are not so kind that they should kill the three of you, and so deliver us from your hands.' Distinguished alike in the learning proper to his profession, in literature, and in politics, Yahya Efendi is the most illu- strious of the Ottoman Muftis since the days of Ebu-s-Su'^ud. As a poet he holds a far higher place than Ebu-s-Su'^ud, higher even than that occupied by the other great legist Ibn Kemal. The work of the Mufti Beha^' Efendi, which we sliall have to consider a little later on, is not ecpial to that of Yahya, while he need scarcely fear comparison with the Sheykh of Islam 'Arif Ilikmct. Indeed Yahya I'Lfendi may fairly claim to be reckoned first among the poct-Muftis of Turkey. Yaliy.i must have begun early in life to tl(im,iM lilei .it 111 r, not so luiuh because ol tli( (|ii,ility o| his uiitiii[;s, tlioiip.ii that i-« lii^;h, as on accoiiiil ol his IxiiH;, as I poiiite<| out at llu- l)i-^;innin^; of this rii.iiili 1, the chief ol lli.it i;ioiip ..| poets who pavrti the way loi tli< liair.ilioM Teiiod. I he. i;ioiip. w hu h I i .ilKd 278 the Natural School in distinction to the contemporary Artificial School headed by Nefi, aimed, if not at bringing poetry into closer connection with actual life, at any rate at enlarging the somewhat restricted field hitherto open to the poet by the introduction of fresh subjects taken from every-day ex- perience. As the founder, or at least the leader, of this school, Yahya was naturally little influenced by NefS' and the ultra- Persianism which he introduced. On the one side he joins hands with Baqi and on the other with Nedim. His style is modelled upon that of Baqi; but he is inclined to treat his subjects in a more objective fashion; he frequently speaks of matters which must have come within his own experience, and draws his similes and metaphors from things which he has himself seen and observed, not merely read about in the pages of his predecessors. It is this feature which most clearly shows the connection between his own and his followers' work and the poetry of the Transition, one of the distinctive characteristics of which is the displa- cement in subject and metaphor of the traditional by the actual. A freshness,* amounting almost to originality, results from this happy innovation, and characterises the truly in- dividual work of Yahya and his associates and successors. The poetry of Yahya may thus stand for the link which binds together the Classic and Transition Periods. Baqi — Yahya — Nedi'm: such is the true line of development in Ottoman poetry; Fuziili came and went leaving no successor, while Nef^i, for all the brilliance of his genius, was blind to the true signs of his time, and, starting on a false track, inaugurated a movement foredoomed to be short-lived. Yahya's actual work in poetry ' consists of a Diwan and the inevitable Saqi-Nama. It is in the former alone that he ' His prose work consists of a translation of Ghaffarfs Nigaristan, and some professional writings. 279 shows himself an innovator. The Saqi-Nama is a short mesnevi of seventy-seven couplets; it is continuous, not broken up into sections like most of the longer works of its class. Some consider it the best of the Turkish Saqi-Namas, and probably they are right; it is entirely mystic in spirit, and entirely classic in style and sentiment. Rut all that is really important in Yahya's work is to be found in his ghazels. Looking at these solely as poems, without regard to any tendencies they may indicate or any influence they may have had, we find them to be possessed of much merit and to reach a higher average of excellence than is usual with contemporary writers. The technical workmanship is good, as becomes that of a disciple of Baqi; although, since the refinement of the language is not the poet's primary object, he is less careful to avoid imales and old-fashioned words and phrases than are NefS' and those who follow him. It is true that we have in his verses neither the fire nor the opulence of the great poet just named, but the freshness to which I have before alluded lends an interest of a novel and pleasing kind, and many fjuaint and i)retty fancies con- ceived in the s]>irit of his master sparkle in his pages. It is perhaps only natural that Nedim should think well of his ff)rerunner; at any late in tiiat (|asi(la to which 1 h.ive so often referred, he brackets hiin with H.uii as together typifyini; llic l)i;.die'.t point In wIik li the v,lia/el had all, lined in Inline)'. Ziya I'aslia too recognises soniellnnj; ol tiie uinU done by Yahy.i when he speaks of the Litters i allmi; into existence a new fashion of j;lia/el-wriling, llu- tlelicac)' and graceful simplicity of wliii li he praises, adding that in the li.iiid'. J O"^**') ^" ^^^ Kitabu 't-Tanbi'h wa'1-Ishraf of Mas'^ddi (ed. de Goeje, p. 139, 1. i), who wrote in the middle of the tenth century of our era (A. H. 345), five centuries before the capture of Constan- tinople by the Turks. ED.] 28 I Never may the I.ord, O Yahya, part us from her cypress-form; Ne'er from o'er us may the shadow of God's mercy pass away. ' Ghazel. [269] Nay, we want no bowl, like Jemshi'd, hence to drive away our bane: We are lovers, and the lover knows no plaything like to pain. If in truth thou be an ocean, show thyself a drop forthright; Glide, O heart, to yonder Rosebud's heart as glides the dewdrop fain. Fate will suffer not the noble soul to live, where'er it be; Is there any man like Adam now on all the wide world's plain r '^ Ah, the heart forlorn hath found no shore to Love's vast ocean sweep; Midst a whirlpool wild as yonder ruffled tresses is it ta'en. ^ Not as other's poems are they ; in thy words is soul for sooth : Yahya, lo, their hidden meaning is a salve my heart to assain. Ghazel. [270] Every honour on the sovran thought of thee mine eyes bestow; Whensoe'er it comes, a crimson carpet 'fore its steps they throw. ♦ Who would seek to fly entreaty of his dear, but what avail? — Even as the lover ])rays iicr doth the fair one wayward grow. Watch thou liciiccforlli o'er llic Ireasurc of entreaty, sparrow-lu-nrt; Since lii^ i'alron Mies tiic iii^liesl heaven of waywardness, 1 Uuw. * How then HJiould the crazed buliiul keep the secret of his love? — WlicrcHoc'cr he meets a gn])e-n)()iiiii''l f-l !■■• ''IK him all his w.>t Gud"' mercy' beiii^j Ihc SyprcHH-form' of the beloved. * Adiim b<;iiig snid to have lived to ^;rrnt 11^0. '■• Tlir rullled, i. c. (hilly or wiivy, trrsnCH rcpiCheiitin^ the rddyiiij; \vhiil|«i\viiy over him, ' HinrM into the pnri'it iiiiti.>rl'» liniil li n» i> licl|>lc«» Hpiurow. 2«2 All she doth, Yahyd, is gracious kindness, be it less or more; Say not of yon Moon-face: much her rigour, scant her troth and slow. Ghazel. [271] The pupil of mine eye doth scan the darling's cheek always; Mine eye from out that window yonder tulip-land surveys. • The time is come when once again it grasps its golden bowl, — The squint-eyed jonquil waiting spring midmost the garden-maze. 2 The heart's frail bark doth look to see thy favour's breeze arise; How many on grief's shore full eager for the wind do gaze! O love, the jasmine heard that thou wast coming to the garth. And, filled with eagerness, it clomb the wall to scan the ways. ' Yahya, what court to prideful airs pays he who is a man? He heeds not fortune, nay, nor any store by rank he lays. This last ghazel which I translate is an example of the fresher and more realistic style I have mentioned which Yahya did so much to introduce; this poem might almost be the work of a Transition writer: Ghazel. [272] Yon moon-faced beauty hath undone her black and fragrant hair; 'Tis as Cathayan merchants loosed their bales of perfumes rare. * A wayward child a-plucking a white rose, frail leaf from leaf. Is yonder sweet what time that she unwinds her turban fair. ' In this second line, which repeats the first, the eye stands for the pupil or the power of sight, the window for the eye, and the tulip-land for the red cheek of the beloved. 2 The 'golden bowl' refers to the yellow flower of the jonquil. 3 Husn-i Ta'^lil (see vol. i, p. 113); the jasmine grows up walls; here the poet says that having heard that his beloved is coming, in its eagerness to see her, who is whiter and fairer than itself, it has climbed up the wall to scan the approacher to the garden. * We have seen how the hair of the beloved is always regarded as sweetly scented; 'Cathayan merchants' because Cathay is the land of perfumes. 283 Deem not the stars are scattered and the sun is risen high; You silver-frame hath doffed the gold-wrought trouser-band she ware. ' Soon as the breeze, O tender Rose, brought news of thine approach Did every rosebud rend its purse of sequins then and there. ^ Yahya hath yearned to circle her even as doth the sash, — Yon graceless Paynim who hath loosed the zone which she doth bear. ^ The following, which are the opening lines of the Saqi- Nama, show how purely mystical that poem is: From the Saqi-Nama. [273] Come, thou still elate from the Banquet Etern, * Who drunk and deject in dismay's street dost yearn, The door of the tavern is wide, up and haste ! 'Tis, praise God! the season of opening at last. And ah, what a door! heaven's crescent its ring; 'Twere meet were its besom a bright angel's wing. The besom of 'No' sweeps its carpetings clean, * Nor leaves any dust of 'aught else' therewithin. " Nor e'er shall be clos(Jd this tavern's door; Its fast and its feast, they are one evermore. It stands ever wide through the aid of our Lord; 'I'esides' 'tis the key to its lock doth afford. '' And here where the loved one may iiip-bearcr be, 'I'he wine which is served is of all headache free, 'i'heii, cui)bearer, fill full the glass, let it troll; I'uHil I>lit;lil luid pl( il(.;es, and liiind Kiuiid the bowl A-briin with that wine which is llicriac fine, Not tlieriac, nay, which is Kevser divine. ' rii<- .tars rcprcheni llu; i^iM ciiibroidi-i i<-s mi ilic beiiuly's licit, llu-ii boin^; .ciiltcred Im her cnHliiig thai bell aside; llic sun's btiii^; risen is llie appraiiii^; of her fair body us hIic undresHcn. 'i Money is jdvrn Ici I he- l.cariT of jj I nown; hii lierr the iohcImuU mo Hdid lo rend (i. r. opin) ihiir imhhcs mid ^Ivr llirir j-nldrn sripilnH (i. c. yellow HliimcnH) iim ii prenrnl Id llie bici/r f>'i Idling of ihr lirlovcd'snpi'ioiuh. ■'• i'lir llic piiynlni'H /.one (/iinniir) nrc Vol. II, p. 44, n. 4. ♦ llir Itanqurt I'llein, I. c. llu- I'liiniil l-'cnul (U»i».-l-l'Mt)»l), »cr vol, 1, \<. a. n 'Nil' for 'No (hkI but i',ni\.' " 'Aiiijlil cUf' lluin Cod, 1 MIcNldt!!*,' for 'no ({iiii but (or bctililr*) doil.' 284 What wine, which to drink not were sin and were shame ! The secrets of God in that potion do lie; How should not the wise be made drunken thereby? Therewith are the woe-working glances elate, The which they who know not deem pride 'tis doth sate. Before yonder wine would Jemshid prostrate fall, Iskender would bow him as this tavern's thrall. Its beams, which on all sides resplendent do ray. The fashion of Solomon's signet display. The wine of that cup is the sun of delight, Each bubble thereon is the sphere of true plight; And hid in each bubble thereof the Nine Spheres, ' How splendid the lofty pavilion appears ! Riyazi, who has already been mentioned as the author of an important Tezkire, was Hkewise a poet of some repute. He was born in 980 (1572 — 3), entered the legal profession, served as molla at Jerusalem, Aleppo, Damascus, and Cairo, and died on the 29th of Safer, 1054 {y^^ May, 1644). The author of the Compend of Memoirs does not speak very favourably of Riyazi's personal character; if we are to believe his assertions, avarice and meanness marked this poet, who was, he contemptuously adds, completely under the control of his wife, a final touch which may possibly owe its presence to misogynistic prejudices on the part of the Arabic wTiter. None the less, Riyazi's literary powers were considerable; Ziya Pasha, who describes him as the white rose of the garden of speech and the champion of the field of art, singles out his qasidas for particular com- mendation. Riyazi followed the lead of Nef^i only in the special attention which he bestowed upon the qasi'da; his style is not modelled after that poet, neither does he belong to the school of Yahya Efendi. Alike in the manner and the matter of his work he is content to walk in the footsteps ' For the Nine Spheres, see Vol. I, p. 43 sc/i/. 285 of his predecessors. He does, however, pecuHarly affect short metres in his ghazels, into which he frequently omits to introduce his name. Riyazi too has his Saqi-Nama, a mesnevi of the usual type, consisting of 1025 couplets. The following is from the opening of one of the three qasidas printed by Ziya Pasha in his anthology. Spring Oasi'da. [274] 'Tis now the time of mirth and glee, 'tis now the hour of fair delight, The Sphere doth now repent of all it wrought of old of fell despite. Again it is a market-day of merriment, liesse and joy, Again each nook is of some blithesome company's carouse the site. Again the rose and nightingale have each with other plighted troth; The plane-tree and the garden-cypress dance with hand in hand empight. And how should not the rosebud make the nightingales to mourn and rave, When every smile of hers a thousand veils of coyness hide from sight? Again do turtle-dove and bulbul at the Sultan Rose's feast, The one discourse with mirth and wit, the other sweet ghazels indite. Again the roselcaves of liesse are spread around on every side; The lovcsome rose hath oped, 'tis time to hand around the goblet bright. The cupbearer again sheds roses from the collar of the flask; ' Again the circling Time hath wroughtcn all llic wine-adorers riglit. Such growth and nourishment hath come to all the trees and all the flowers. To-day the Tiilia and the garden-cypress hand and skirt unite. '■' 'Twcre passing strange did not tiic rosebuds come lo speech, like parrots fair, Such virtue doth this living lircath inspire in forms witlioulen spriglit. Tiu; roscl)ud hath conceived llie floral life \>y yonder vernal brce/c, l-'or Ihal is (ialiricl, and .lie liiiewise is Jesu's mother hight. And if the virtue of llic spring do seek no further grace, what then? — The rocky slonc and tender hIiooI arc lioth iih one before itn might. C.ll.l/.cl. I275I VVIirn lliy Iiouhc ',Iic hniioiii's kiss Ihr dusi iiliciilli hi-r ({rncloUi foo(; KIhh her pciirl-bcHlrevviMg luliie'i, though no pionune ihc»c rppcnl. • ' lly the 'roHPN* the red wine In nieunt; the Solhn of the lU»«U' !• lite nc»k. " The I'ltiiuii'iiil Irrr, %cc Vol. I, p. \<>. * I he ^poiirl-l)eHtrcwiii|[ ruble*' nrr her leil llpt thnl ullei •wrcl wouU, 286 Should thou pass, O breeze of morning, yonder where Mansur was slain. Doing honour to Love's martyr fair, his cross with kisses greet. ' Even should that Palm of beauty bare her dagger o'er thy head, 2 Fall before her feet and kiss her dagger-wielding hand as meet. Bow the face, O musk of Khoten, mid the dust the loved one treads. Then bekiss her musky garment and her brigand tresses sweet. Look with heed upon Riyazi the enchanter's beauteous verse. Kiss the characts of his poems, these be magic charms, I weet. Another eminent qasida-writer of this time is Sabri, whose personal name and style were "^Ilmi'-zada Muhammed Chelebi, that is, Master Muhammed the son of ^Ilmi. Of his career no particulars are forthcoming beyond the facts that after having served as an assistant to Yahya Efendi, he became a cadi, and that he died in the year 1055 (1645 — 6). Ziya Pasha describes Sabri as a sweet-voiced poet, and says that his \vorks, though few, are graceful. He is lavish in his eulogies of one qasida in particular, which he designates as a rosary of pearls and a string of jewels, and declares to be worth a whole diwan in itself. Kemal Bey takes the Pasha to task for his excessive commendation of this poem, which, according to Kemal, is a long way below its nazira byNef^i; while Ziya asserts that Nef^' might have looked on it with envy. Kemal then goes on to pick out another of Sabri's qasidas which he pronounces to be the best, and which, he adds, has remained 'virgin' up till now, no poet having ventured to imitate it. In his qasidas Sabri is a follower of Nef^i; but in his ghazels he is a disciple of Yahya Efendi, in the spirit of ' Mansiir [properly Husayn b. Mansur, called Hallaj, the Wool-carder,] the patron saint of the Muslim mystics, who was executed at Baghdad in 309 (922), by order of the Muslim '^ulema, for preaching pantheistic doctrines and declaring himself to be one with God. See Vol. I, p. 21, n. 2. ■^ The palm, like the cypress, typifies a graceful figure. 28; whose school he often draws little pictures from sights he has actually witnessed. Thus in the following couplet from one of the ghazels we see the Sultan, attended by his nobles, riding out in the morning to the course to watch the horsemen practise with the jerid, a stick used as a dart, the casting of which was a favourite exercise in old times: ' To watch the jen'd-play at dawn the Sultan Rose hath sallied forth, In feve with all the florets, zephyr-mounted, to the tourney-square. 2 The following is from the opening of the qasida so highly praised by Ziya Pasha; Kemal Bey, while denying that this poem has any other merit, admits its excellence from a technical point of view. Oasida. [276] That Joseph fair, the age's happy fortune, now is lord of might; The eye of yonder Jacob, long desire, is now illumed with light. ^ The Sphere sheds Pleiad-clusters 'neath the feet of them that pluck the grape;* And I''ate fdls empty-handed longing's lap with treasure rich and lirighl. '1 lie wistful strangers' eve is now the iuima's shadow of good luck; Again from forth the natal star the rays of fortune greet the sight. Now I.uck doth favour mirth and wine, as did the luck of Jem of yore; The I urn is now the beaker's turn, llie ago the epoch of delight. 'Ilic Sphere hatli kept its troth rntirc, an|uet diglil. ' [ll is still praclised to some exicnl, and I have witnessed it iil N'icositi in f'ypriis, at the I'cstival of the llayram. i:ii|. v.^ .. . y y I he lIowcrM loKsing in Iho l»rcc/c arc ligiiird iis lidiug on il. •' Aiidrdiiig 1(1 lh(t legend, jiicob grew Idinil fiom hin incriHiuil wci-pinjj (<>{ hit loHt Hon JoHcph; Inil hr rrgiiincd IiIn nlghl whrn juditli Ihicw over him the nhirl of Jonnph which ihr hitti-i had i«nil iin it lokrii to hi* fiilhri when hi- nntdr himHcIf known lo hi<« biclliirii In I''kVI''' I'*'* *'*'il ^^i*" >* divine h< iihiiim, iind hud licin worn bv (oxi'ph whim ho Irfl hl« fiUhci'* lii)U«c, * A biliii h III ^iiiipco ill iilli'h bl.c-in-il In lh<- IM<-iitdr«. 288 Again th' adorn of hand and head of every one who knew not joy Is Jem's rose-shedding bowl and Dara's diadem that gleameth bright, i Again for them who tell the stars 2 in wanhope's night hath broke the day ; Again the dawn whose sun is grace doth bounteous give to each his right. How bountiful a dawn, the vestment of an hundred Joseph-suns; For lo, it brings to this poor sightless Jacob-world the gift of sight. ^ O blessed radiant world-illuming day of every joyance, when The shaft of sorrow's eve's become the heart's core of Not-Being's spright. The next passage is from the poem approved by Kemal Bey ; it is dedicated to Sultan Murad, whose sword is eulogised for having purged the Empire from the corruption which was destroying it. In the course of the poem Sabri hints that the first line of the first couplet is by the Sultan himself. Qasida. [277] All the Age's troubles the sword hath swept away ; Bright and sheen the sabre in Allah's hand doth ray. As pictures drawn on water those troubles straight became, * Which showed on earth as down doth on cheeks of wantons gay. That winsome youth, the Empire, hath bared his lovely face ; He shareth in the beauty of equity to-day. It is as though the down which his cheeks began to bear By yonder glaive were shaven whose work is praised aye. The Age's happy planet again is loosed and free. E'en like the spare o' th' Idol who sips the goblet-spray; And clear again the mirror-uplifting Heaven's brow From all the weary wrinkles of sorrowful dismay. The dust of care and dolour had ne'er been brushed aside, For all the breeze of springtide's endeavour and essay; The meadow of the Empire had never joyous smiled, E'en though the Stream of Khizr therethrough had made its way; 1 Dara i. e. Darius. 2 [i. e. who lie awake from love or anxiety, ed.] 3 See the first note to this extract. * A picture drawn on water is the symbol of anything without permanence. 289 Had not the cloud of triumph, of glorious victory, With freshening rain and plenteous done all its drought away. In cause of Faith and Empire that aye-victorious brand Hath spent the glorious lustre that did its face array. May any stour or dust now extend the hand unto The vestment that adorneth the soul of glorious sway? Our prayer is this: 'God aid thee with mighty aidance still,' ' O damaskeened Sabre, whose power doth doom portray. The hest of Fate to thee was that thou with streams of blood Should turn the face of earth to a land that floods affray. That so the buried treasure of confidence and peace Should by the traitor blood-streams be bared to light of day. "Twere best his head were humbled who would the land divide,' ^ Beware thou give not quarter to yonder vile array; ''Twere best the rebel army were scattered far and wide,' Confound the evil-plotters and drive them every way. Thou art that wonder-worker of victory sublime Such that whoever bare thee on woeful field of fray Doth straightway to the foeman's bedazzled sight become Himself as Ilayder, while thou as Zu'1-Faqdr dost ray. ^ »**»*»)»**#•*•»■»■»«•»»»#* Thi.s ghazel from SabrCs di'wan is ;i little out of the com- mon in sentiment. (iha/cl. I27SI Ik'thiiiking ihcc how liricf is lime, diiiik not nor fi-asl llius uuMrily ; Thou must in sooth be silent soon, so l)lustcr not as ilotli tlic sea. ' K<)r:in, XI. II, T,. '' I hi , line :iMi| lIlC first of tllC ^^ll.)will^; VlTSC nic ill rfrsi;iii, :iu>iri| fiDiii uiic ol tlic classic writers. ■^ llayrler, the I, ion, is n Hurnninc of tlic Cnliph *Al(; /u'l-FuqAr in l>i« hiiiMiuH sword. This sword is jjriuinilly rcpicsrntcd us two-liliulnd 01 t\vo-tip|>ctl, and (l^;meH in tlu; 1 i(.;lit-lian(l paw of llic I'lTsiiiii linn. Thr nmnc, wliiih lilci- ally iiicmis 'vcrteliriite,' refcis to the wiivy undiiliilioiiH repioirnlr'il on \\\e rd^c luiil lmcl< o( the swonl. llhr mime litnnlly iiirimn "the ! old ..f ilir Wilrl.me," which ciMluiiily iiiiiiiy iiinui "verleltnitc," jii«l nn /.u'll lnyiU i»iciut» "llvim;," bill I iiilher liiinl. ili.n ,ih ii|i|died «>■ ih<' nw.ii.l. it .li'iillic* "the hivi.lri of Vorlcbriie," I'.n.l 290 One day they'll twist thine ear and dolour's plectrum will make thee to plain, So give not ear at this carouse unto the lute's soft melody. ' Win free from forth the waste of woe, give up the gear that binds to earth; But flaunt not in unseemly weeds although that thou Love's dervish be. The tavern-folk will cast thee down one day, O preacher, from thy chair; So sneer not at the vintner sage, thou'lt fall from thine own high degree. 2 Beware, Sabri, nor boast within the vale of Mejnun and Ferhad; However loyal a lover thou, drive not thy reason hence from thee. Unji-zada Mustafa Chelebi, Master Mustafa the Flour Mer- chant's son, known in the history of Turkish Hterature as Fehim, was born in Constantinople, and wrote during the reigns of Murad and Ibrahim. Fehim was one of the few eminent poets of this time unconnected with the legal pro- fession; indeed, he does not appear to have exercised any regular calling, but to have lived by his wits, getting what he could out of his patrons. He attached himself to Eyyiib Pasha, one of the great men of the day, who, being appointed governor of Egypt, took the poet along with him to Cairo. But Fehim did not like Egypt and wrote against the country in his verses; he moreover fell into disfavour with his patron, who appears to have given him his dismissal. At any rate he betook himself to Me'^ali Bey, a native nobleman who was famous for his generosity, and who in recognition of a qasida which he brought him, promised to provide the poet with the means of returning to Constantinople. The Egyptian noble was as good as his word, and sent Fehim with the caravan conveying the annual tribute from Egypt to the ' In this quaint verse the person addressed is compared to a lute, the pins (in Turkish the ears) of which are twisted or screwed so as to stretch the strings that these may give forth their plaintive notes when struck with the plectrum. 2 Here the -preacher' typifies the rigidly orthodox; and the 'tavern folk,' the mystics. 291 metropolis; but the poet was destined never again to see his home, for death overtook him on the journey at Ilghin in Asia Minor. The date of Fehim's death is variously given, Safa^' placing it in 1058 (1648 — 9), and Riza and Sheykhi in 1054 (1644—5). Fehim, whose work is entirely lyrical, consisting wholly of ghazels, qasidas and so on, must have begun to write poetry early in life, as we are told that he had formed a complete diwan by the time that he was eighteen years of age. So strongly was he imbued with the spirit of the new school that many of his ghazels read like the work of a poet of the Transition. Not content with merely deriving his imagery from familiar surroundings, he writes complete ghazels having for definite subject the description of some picturesque sight or incident belonging to the every-day life of his time, and in so doing he advances a step beyond any of his predecessors. Strangely enough, Ziyri Pasha omits to mention l'\hnn in the survey of Ottoman poetry wiiich he has prefixed to his anthology, an omission for wiiich he is somewhat sharply called to account by Kemal Bey who rallies him for ignoring the earlier poet while eulogising Na/.iin and Sheykh (ihalib, who both (:ii(U.'avourc(I, without iiitich success, to wiili- na/uas to one o( his qasi'das. ' I he two ghazels wiiich 1 have selcH'ti.tl for translation arc l)olh exainj)les of I'eliinrs love of dealing with lamiliar scenes; ' Tliin f|!iH((lii, wliiih is a iiii'^l oi liyiiiii Id iIu- I'luplul, U rcjjunlcil l>y Kiin;il Uvy us llic lii'.l n\ I cIiiiii'h |)(>cniN. VUc fiillmviiii' is llii- ooinilcl (|uolcil liy the llcy: 'I hull hir.l limicd llir miti fiDiii lii't jmlli, lli'Hi Iwiol ilvrii llio liustun nC iho imi.m ; ^'1 hy liiiriirlrn iiii- |>mi< hiiiiiiil Innii KiikI I<> land ly liiH mime in really the wntU uf JrIiU-uiI-I >ln, liy wlntnt lite um ii|itl>)U wan I iiiiide lr.| 294 The Sheykh of Islam Beha^'i Efendi, * who now claims our attention, was of illustrious descent, his father '^Abd-ul-^'Aziz Efendi, the Vice-Chancellor of Rumelia, being the fourth son of the famous mufti and historian SaM-ud-Din, while his mother was a grand-daughter of the mufti and poet Ebu-s- SuMd. Behalf, whose personal name was Muhammed, was born in Constantinople in loio (1601 — 2). The traditions of his family placed any other career than that of the Law out of the question, a career for which, moreover, the intelligence and ability displayed by the lad while still in early life marked him as eminently suited. When sixteen years of age he ac- companied his father on the pilgrimage to Mekka. After holding a number of muderrisates he was, in his thirtieth year, appointed to the mollaship of Salonica; four years later he was promoted to Aleppo, but in the following year he was denounced to Sultan Murad as a smoker of tobacco, by Ahmed Pasha the governor of the city. Murad IV, who was an anti-tobacco fanatic, had forbidden throughout his empire the use of narcotics under all manner of terrible penalties, and when he heard that the Molla of Aleppo had disobeyed his orders, he not only deposed him from his office, but banished him to Cyprus. After a year or so Behalf was par- doned, and bye and bye he received successively the molla- ships of Damascus and Adrianople. In 1055 (1645- — 6) he passed out of the order of Mollas, being named Judge of Constantinople, a step followed in due course by the Vice- Chancellorships first of Anatolia and then of Rumelia, until in 1059 (1649 — 50) he attained the supreme rank of Sheykh of Islam. A dispute with the English ambassador in which Beha^', who had developed great arrogance of temper, over- ' [In a pencil-note in the margin the author refers to a story concerning this poet in the Sima'^-Khana-i-Edeb, p. 8: and to an article in the MejmiiVi- Mu'^allim Naji. ED.] 295 stepped the bounds of decorum, led to his deposition and banishment, nominally to Mitylene, although in fact he was allowed to remain at Gallipoli. Permission to return to the capital was not long deferred, whereupon the ex-mufti came back and lived quietly in his residence on Qanlija Bay ^ near the Castle of Anatolia on the Bosphorus, until he was sum- moned, after no very long interval, to resume his high office, when for the second time "his shoulders were adorned with the white pelisse of the Mufti'ship." ^ He retained his position during the two and a half years that remained to him of life; and on his death, on the I2tli- of 1064 (211^1. January, 1654), he was buried in the neighbourhood of his own house, and on his tombstone was engraved the line : 'May Paradise be thy resting-place! The Fatiha!"^ Beha'i was a man of considerable natural ability, but owing, it is said, to over-indulgence in narcotics, his learning was not very profound. In the earlier part of his life his temper was mild and gentle; but success seemed to bring out the worse side of his natiuc, and arrogance aiul proneness to anger characterised his (k-clining years. ' This hay is sometimes called ikhd'f Kurfezi «ir Mch:\ i's Hay, on :\LCount i)f the |)()ct-muftf having lived 011 its sliorcs. '■* 'i'he ofTicial dress of the Mufti consisted of a white li.iih r.die tiinuned with saiile, the lar^;e, round, while lurlian kiuiwn as uif, and dark Idue hoots called .'Isum.'ini; the dress of the suhordinate nienihcrs of the 'uKniA was hiniilar, only the rol)C and tiirhan were ^jreen instead of white. The (!rand Vc*(r wore a roi)e c)f white sntin trimmed with sahic, and a lull conical head-dretH, nomo- whal like a Iniricaled HU>;ur-loaf, which was called ihc (|alavi, luul wan covered wilh white inii'.IJ!!, a iirnad hand of ^;ldd lace fallinj; acrosn It in front. I'ho (oaiiri Adrnir;d and I In- ('hi«;f Immuk h hIho wore the fjaliivi, Iml their robc» wcrr of (Mccn .alin, as wcie Ihonr of the other vo/ds and pashas, This line is a chrono^;rani K'^inn the d.ilr lofn: the » lo.inj- woid-. Mhr rAltIm' lie a rcepieHl lo llw vihilm lo lepiMl ilir (n .1 « liaplet o( the Koinn (oi tlio irpoHr of the ilead man's soul, 296 As a poet he was by no means equal to his predecessors Ebu-s-SuMd or Yahya Efendi. His work is said by Ziya Pasha to resemble that of the latter, but Kemal Bey's statement that the two Muftis went each a separate way, is nearer the truth. They have, however, these points in common : neither is an imitator of Nefi, and both look to Baqi as their master. The little di'wan formed by Beha^i Efendi's lyric poems contains much that is beautiful, especially in the section of ghazels, though perhaps Ziya Pasha somewhat overshoots the mark when he says of this poet that he discourses like the nightingale, singing in so very charming and lover-like a fashion that he who ventures to criticise is simply talking nonsense. Besides his lyric work, Beha^i wrote a long mesnevi which he presented to the Sultan. As this poem is a Hasb-i Hal, or Plaint, it is probable that it was composed during one of the periods when he was under a cloud. The following ghazel is quoted with approval by the critics. Ghazel. [282] The loved one's gracious dreams by thee are scattered, Cry, what wouldest thow? O'erthrown through tormentry by thee the world doth lie, what wouldest thou? Have ruth upon my wounded heart, and let it haunt they tresses' snare; By setting free the bird whose wing is broke atwy, what wouldest thou? My Leech, thou know'st a thousand remedies to cure each ill, but since 'Tis mother-born,' this frenzy wild whence lovers sigh, what wouldest thou? Thou'st gone and tangle upon tangle blown the loved one's locks and curls; O breeze, 'tis but one woe the more thou'st wrought thereby, what wouldest thou ? The noble of the world are martyred by the glaive of love for her; By laying hand upon thy sword, O headsman eye, what wouldest thou? Full fair thou picturest the charmer's mole and down but, O Bihzad, 2 What time it comes to winsome ways and gramarye, what wouldest thou? ' i. e. innate. 2 Bihzad is evidently the name of an artist. 297 Thou art not like Beha^', nay, the grace of peace may win to thee; Away with care, O joyless heart, thou beest not I, what wouldest thou? Ibrahim Chelebi of Constantinople, known to fame under his makhlas of Jevri, was by profession a caUigraphist. As besides writing with much elegance, he was very careful to copy accurately, specimens of his penmanship were in much request among the connoisseurs of the capital; and so, being a quick worker, writing sometimes as many as a thousand couplets a day, he was easily able to earn all that was necessary to supply his modest wants. Many examples of his delicate and graceful craftsmanship are still extant, one of which, a beautiful little copy of the diwan of the Suleymanic poet Khayali, is preserved in the library of the Royal Asiatic Society of London. Amiable and gentle of disposition, Jevri was also blessed with a contented and unambitious mind; and he passed his life quietly in his native city, dividing his attention between the transcription of the works of others and the composition of original verses of his own; for he was born to prove the exception to that Eastern proverb — surely the vengeful reprisal of some cruelly wronged poet — that 'every copyist is a dunce.' ' if not actually a nu-mber of the Mevlevi brotherhood, Jcvri was at any rate closely connected with it, so it is not astonishing to read that among his calligraphic liiuinplis were twenty-two splendiii copir^^ ol Jcl.il-ud-l Xn's Mesnevi. IJki: ni,in\' ollni persons cntioucd with an artistic tcini)(iain(Mt , this poct-cailigraphist was sa«lly alfliflcil with nervousness; witii him this showed itself in an iHK (in<|inial)le dread alike ol mounting, a hoise and «>1 entering any kind of boat, and so when he used to \e.il In-, hiends at the Mevlevi lie.id < | U,i I I el '. .ll (ialale. lalliei ill, in .loss the I tVl>L>- JblLi- JkJ . jl'cinll ii-frrrmr* In llir luiUi.ii'n liiuul me inntir lo llir iilicinly imiili I KUi\\\ u K lim\iili\ii, |>, JI.«• Slin.k' KliAna I I'.lcli, y. 41. if.h.| 298 Golden Horn in a caique, (for there was no bridge in those days), he would walk all the way round by the Valley of the Sweet Waters. Jevri's uneventful life came to a close in 1065 (1654—5). Besides his Diwan, this poet left several mesnevis, the best-known of which is that called the Mulhima ' or Revealer. This work is, as the author avows in the prologue, a modern recension of the old Shemsiyya of the archaic poet Salah- ud-Din, itself a translation or adaptation from the Persian. ^ Jevri protests that the task was beneath him, but says that he was prevailed upon by a friend to re-write the old book, substituting for its uncouth and obsolete language, an idiom more elegant and more in harmony with the literary taste of his day. The work, as he left it, does not differ materially from its prototype, judging from the analysis of the latter given by Von Hammer, and presents a curious medley of natural science and popular superstition. Poetical value it has none, but it is interesting as an epitome of old Turkish folk- lore connected with the weather, as it treats of the prognostics, relating alike to the crops, to the public health, and to poli- tical events, to be deduced from various meteorological phe- nomena, such as eclipses, halos, shooting stars, thunderstorms, earthquakes, and so on, according to their occurrence in the months of the solar year from October to September. The ascription of some of the formulae to the Prophet Daniel (who in the East figures as a master in all occult lore), and the frequent mention of the King of Babil or Babylon, a title never borne by any sovereign in Muhammedan times, point perhaps to an ancient Jewish or Chaldean source. Jevri com- pleted this work in 1045 (1635 — 6). 2 See vol. I, p. 389. 299 Jevri has further a mesnevf describing the personal appea- rance of the Prophet, written as a nazi'ra to the Hilya of Khaqani. He likewise composed naziras to the famous Terkib- Bend of Ruhi and to several of the qasidas of NefS'. His Mevlevian proclivities showed themselves in two works, the first a translation with commentary of forty couplets taken from the Mesnevi, the second, which is in Persian, a selection of 360 distichs from the same poem, the commentary in this case consisting of five couplets to each one of the text, the whole arranged in the form of a terkib-bend; this second work bears the title of Jezire-i Mesnevi or The Isle of the Mesnevi. A noteworthy point in Jevri's diwan is the large number of chronograms, somewhere about fifty, which it contains. This is a sign of the times; for though the chronogram had for long been a feature in Turkish poetry, it only now begins to assume a prominent place and to give promise of the great popularity it is destined to attain during the Transition Period, when it often occupies more than the half of an entire diwan. Jevri's really original work is confineil almost wholly to his diwan; Professor Naji commends his poetry for its elegance ■,ini\ grace and says that his language is more orderly and better arranged than that of almost any otlui port ol histinu-. The conhiitcd mind of jc\ii in;i)' be traced in the two (oIli)\vinj.; ^;lia/,cls lioni his diwan. Cha/cl. I2S3I 1,(1. III.- li.Mii li.illi |p;i'.M-.l rniiii yruinini;''. pulh, li.>m fnilli\ ^lc^ilc, in (iiir; Now no loll^;^T unto |i:i',Hioii or lo ^;iccil niiiy it im liin-. Sick jiiii I, ir.l to life llin iIriuI. 300 Ah! the folk of heart may never glean the fruitage of desire, Even from the bowers of Irem, or the Tuba-tree divine. Unto them of heart the bounties of the world are e'er denied; Bitterness is still their portion, even when they quaff the wine. Nay, the sigh's keen shaft hath reached not, Jevri, to the mark of hope. Though it smote the Empyrean, passing through the Heavens Nine. Ghazel. [284J I'm contented e'en if Fate should never let me smile again; Only may it spare to blind me with the dust of Fortune's bane. Let the Sphere ne'er light the taper of my hope, Fve passed therefrom; Only may it spare to leave me mid the mirk of dole to plain. Let the wind of Fate ne'er ope on earth the rosebud of the heart; Only may it spare to ravage like the leaves my spirit fain. Fm content whatever suff'ring Jevri maketh me to bear; Only may he spare to bid me favours of the fool to gain. The next passage is from the opening of a qasida addressed to a certain Hayder Pasha, apparently the governor of the Arabian province of Yemen, which, with its capital San'^a, forms the subject of the exordium. Oasida. [285] The breeze of dawn that over all the world doth wander wide Would make each waft a living soul if Yemen-ward it hied. How glorious Yemen! should the zephyr blow with its sweet air. To all it would the scent of God's life-giving breath provide. ' How glorious Yemen ! whose all-lovely peerless regions bright Have even with the Paradisal bowers and gardens vied. If houris found the virtues of its dust in Eden's '^ soil, • [Alluding to a tradition that "the Breaths of the All-Merciful come from Yemen," or from the South, for Yemen has both meanings, ed.] * [Eden and Aden on the Red Sea, the chief poet of Yemen, bear the same name in Arabic, "^adan, ed.] 30I They'd take thereof, like fragrant musk, within their breasts to hide. Should Adam see its meadows fair bedecked with all their flowers, Straightway his yearning after Rizwan's garth he'd cast aside. ' Summer and winter blows the breeze with even mildness there, So that it makes the roses smile aglow with joyous pride. Should once a scantling of its bounty spread across the earth, 'Twould turn to garden and to lawn the desert parched and dried. Should but a drop from out its waters reach unto the wastes, The rose and hyacinth would bloom where brere and bramble bide. Should but its cloud of winter-rain pass forth from it away, 'Twould gain the many virtues fair of bounteous April-tide. Through yearning for the tulip-garth its vales and fields unfold The liver of the Khoten deer 2 alway with gore is dyed. Should once the path of Khizr lead him through its valleys green. The Fount of Life he'd change for yon bright streams that through them glide. If Fortune were to register the countries of the world, To head the list of lands with San'^a-town 'twould sure decide. What if the earth should vaunt her to the skies with yonder town, When from the sight thereof amaze would Jcsu's heart betide. If any region show the handiwork of heavenly power. Its every field's a mine, a quarry every mountain-side. If God Most High would shield a land from all of scathe and harm, He would to Veys (^areni's soul its guardianship confide.' ' Ki/.waii, tlic angelic gatekeeper of Paradise. * [i. e. the musk-deer of Tartary. I'his is anotlicr instance of I lusn-i-ta'Ul, or Aetiology. KI>.] •'' Veys-i (^arcnf, or Uvcys of iIh- tribe of (.)arcn, a fiiiuous saint of the <;.iily (lays of Isliim, was a native of NCiiicti. Though tontoinporiiry witli tlie l'io|,h(l, he never saw him; but having heanl lliat lie had k)>t one of IiIn teeth, and not knowing which, lie liroke oul all liin own lo make sure that the Haine one wan gone. He was killed in l)atllo, in ^7 C658), lighting nlon(;Hidc of 'y\l(, the i'r.iphel's son-in-law, iigiiiiisl the usuipci Mu'ilwiya. CHAPTER X. The Late Classic Age continued. MuHAMMED IV — Mustafa II. 1058 — 1115 (1648 — 1703). The K o p r i 1 i s. V e j d 1. N aM 1 1. N i y a z i or M i s r 1. N a z 1 m. T a li b. N a b 1. In 1058 (1648) Sultan Ibrahim was succeeded by his son Muhammed IV, whom the Turks call Avji Sultan Muhammed, or Sultan Muhammed the Huntsman, on account of his ex- traordinary fondness for the chase and marked preference for a country life. After reigning for thirty-seven years, this sove- reign was followed by his brother Suleyman II in 1099(1687). Four years later Ahmed II, another son of Ibrahim, ascended the throne, to be succeeded in 1106 (1695) by Mustafa II, a son of the Huntsman. This Mustafa, who reigned till 1 11 5 (1703), is the last Sultan of the Classic Period. Not one of these Sultans seems to have given any special encouragement to poetry or to have made any attempt to cultivate it, except the last-named, who wrote some mediocre verses under the Makhlas of Iqbali. Individually they were not great men, and during the most part of the half century over which their reigns extend, the destinies of the Empire were in the hands of the illustrious family of Koprili. Five members of this house held the office of Grand Vezir; and well it was for Turkey that at this crisis 303 of her history she had those among her sons to whom she could turn for guidance. The house of KopriH did much for the state, but it did httle for Hterature; all their energies were too sorely taxed in defending the country from traitors within and from foes without to admit of the Vezirs bestowing much attention on mere amenities like verse, although doubt- less, after the custom of the time, they rewarded those poets, such as Na^ili, who composed qasfdas in their honour. As the services rendered by this family were exclusively political, it would be out of place to dwell upon them here; but these services were so brilliant, and the part played by the Koprilis was so prominent and so unique, that to omit all mention of the family in any book which has occasion to touch however slightly, on the history of Turkey, would be both inexcusable and unjust. ' Vcjdi is the makhlas of ^Abd-ul-Raqi of Constantinople, another of the many poets who flourished at this time. This writer, who was .Secretary of the Divan, enjoyed the special ' K(j|jrili Muhaiiitncd I'asha, the liisl mcinhcr of Ihc family wlm licld tlie Civ.uid Vcziiatc, was raised to that office in 1066 (1656) when he was seventy years of aj^e. He went on the lines of Murdd IV, suiijircssin^j evils of every kind with the most ruthless severity. On his death in 1072 (1661), he was succeeded jjy his son K(i|)rili-/:ida Ahmed I'asha, surnamed^ on account of his many nohle (|ualities, I'l'i/il Alimed, or the A(lmirai)le Ahmetl, who held tlio Viv.ii;iir III! his death in 1087 (1676). In i loi (l<»Hij) Kiiprili-zildu Mustafii I'.islia, anolher son of old Muhammed, was made (nand Vczir; he rili-/iida Nu'miU) I'asha, it iton of MuHlafil, who w;i . ;ippuinir(| In n.!,! C1711)), Init retained hin position for only (ourlrcu iMMiiih.. Ihc hunnimc ur of the Sheykh of islam SunS-zada is addressed to tlic rccd-peii then universally used in the ICast. Ousi'da. [2S7I rcc(l-|)cii l)l:u:k of j^ail), * f(jr nil llial iloulilc-lun^ucil llimi In-,' C.'illroiJ-hcstrcwM the pocliistci's piilliway is liy llicc. ♦ ' I rlic aiilln.i siiOMis til have had sniiic tluiilil as In tlio i>iii..i| wUcu llic 'coml Nd'ili (l«iiiiihlu'(l, us ho has iilaicil a (|iiciy in pcmil ii|i|iiisili' lhi» latcmciil, lie also has iiotcil in pcntil a rcfoicnco In ihr Sci vet i-lumln, vol. XVi, p. 71. IM).| '' l<(:fcrrin^; to the ihiik 1 hIdht n| ihr rc-cd, ^ H)()ul)l«toni{UC(l,' whlih here rcfom Ik Ihr Iwn si. leu of ihf slit «>( llic |Hti, iit iiicd (ijjiirutivcly for hyiiocrlticnl or drcfllfdl, < riiat i'l, to use the \ir\\ rorrci tly, lo ionipo»o inrroctly, l» nn mUiiotu 1.1 X I'l Hir nil .kilflll Wlili-I. 3o8 What then although thy tongue be twy, and though thy wede be black? Thou art the spy within the veil of fact and fantasy. What then although 'tis thy command that rules the marshalled lines, ' O standard-bearer of the truth, ensign of poesy! In showing forth the praises of the fair one's eyebrow curved Thou makest Ramazan's bright crescent's finger shame to dree. ^ Thou'st found the way unto the pearl of mysticism's hoard; 'Tis thou who givest substance for the jewellers' trafficry. 3 Speechless, but yet within the inkhorn's vault a Plato thou ; * Silent, but yet thou mak'st the world to echo ceaselessly. If to the sages' feast thou com'st, thou Aristotle art; Yet all unknowing beest thou in the unmeet company. Each shaving cut from thee a dagger is full keen of point; Of all necessity of hone or grindlestone thou'rt free. Thou art the gem, yet from thy mouth are peaiis of wisdom shed ; Mine of the gems, gem of the mine, thou'rt like the shell, perdie. ^ Ghazel. [288] Wails the nightingale, the rose's torn and shredded spare behold; Shattered lies the rose, the nightingale's distraught despair behold. E'en for chastity's sweet sun-love blushing, is she dew-besprent ; All the purity of yonder bashful Rose-leaf fair behold. Purer shines her skirt than e'en the essence of the Holy Ghost; Yonder radiant Lamp of beauty's nuptial-chamber there behold. ^ 1 The lines of writing drawn up in order like lines of soldiers. 2 The 'crescent's finger,' i. e. the crescent moon itself, by its form suggests an eyebrow. The fast which is observed during the month Ramazan is ended by the appearance of the new moon ; this being anxiously looked for, may be supposed to wear a brighter aspect than usual in the eyes of the devout Muslim, exhausted with long fasting. 3 The 'jewellers,' i. e. the dealers in beautiful fancies and ideas. * The 'inkhorn's vault' is the pot for ink at one end of the Eastern qalem- dan (pen-and-ink case) which is inserted into the girdle. * The oyster-shell which besides enclosing the pearl, itself yields mother- of-pearl. " The Lamp or Taper is the beloved. See Vol. II, p. 205, n. 7. The first line means that she is purer than even the Holy Ghost, by whom conceived the Virgin Mary, who is the type of purity. 309 Mid the circle of familiars of yon rosy radiant Lamp Still of nightingale and moth lovelorn the hand and spare behold. ' Every moment would the eye of Jacob drown in floods of tears This alcove of blue enamel, 2 dolour's home of care behold. ' Midst of torment's locks the troubled plight, like that of gentle hearts, Of yon wild and wanton beauty with the troubled hair behold. Lo, what jewels issue forth from Na^ili's irradiate soul; Yonder hoard of talent, yonder mine of knowledge rare behold. Ghazel. [289] O Lord, deliverance from hope and fear on me bestow, Vouchsafe a mind that will full fain life and the world forego. Unto Love's watcher through the night within this drear abode ♦ Grant Thou a Taper ' mid the gloom of wilderment to glow. Cupbearer-Sphere, I seek not yonder beaker bright, the sun; Do thou a pitcher liroken like my heart unto me show. Make Thou the heart familiar with the joy of Job's distress, Hut give unto the patient spirit strength to thole its woe. The Sultan on tlie throne of I,ovc is N;i^ili liccomc; O sigh, a canopy of smoke spark-ljroidercd o'er iiini throw. " Ghazel. [2 90] Ay, llic satin of cslalc, ' vvliich on the wise do ;ill revere, On the fool's vainglMrioiis sliouhlers showelh but :is costly gcnr. ' That is, liehold lliere the lr;KCs of those who liiive perislied for love of her, 2 'I'he sky. ^ lacob weepiri); fnr hi . lost josi-|>h, the usual type uf Korrow ; jncob'H tent, after llie depiirllire of Josej)!), is eiiMed by the jKiels lleyt-1 .\1>a\i>, the ll.xihC for Home) of SorroWH (or ("urc^. * 'I hi; world. ■* A behived (ine. " The SiiIIiui'h lluoiic whh HomotimrH KiirniouiiltMl by it euuopy ilpemnleil whh HliirH in (;old einbroidrry; IhU in lu lie rr|iie>irntrtl by llie ulijlix >>! llie |"»cl, whi( h lire the imioKe of llie eoiiNtiiiiiiii{ hriul (*vc Vol. II, p. Jl.|, i>. '»). """I iiUo, Miiinetiiiieu, the HpiirUn iirlitliiK rroiii ItH liurnin^, 1 Kcfcrriinj to the uliitc rolicn of the lilyli nllli litU, See \>. J95, n. I /«»/#•». 310 Never is the wise diverted by the diverse gauds of state; But the fool, for lust of office, trembleth 'twixen hope and fear. Yonder deep blue tent of heaven, which is niourning's home, doth shine In the fool's unheeding eye a tile-encrusted belvedere. ' As the old and threadbare awning of this ancient hospice ^ seems In the sage's vision yonder pall thou nam'st the Starless Sphere. 3 Na^ili, upon the finger-nail of yonder festal moon Doth a fragment of the sage's bosom-rending heart appear. •* Ghazel. [29 ij Whene'er the heart's tumultuous fiery sea a moment's quiet knows, Each scar of dule the body bears a wild and gory whirlpool shows. From end to end this world's a steep and rugged hill, the hill of pain. Where every mattock-wielding hope doth but a Bi-Sitiin expose. 5 Let hearts creep off and seek the dark, but only let thy darkling locks As musky willows bowed droop upon thy cheek's fair garden-close. Whene'er the wanton liplet of thine eyen's glance doth murmur soft. Each movement of thy lashes weaves a magic charm that all o'erthrows. Upon this juggler's stage, * O Na'ili, in knowledge wisdom lies ; 'Tis not from 'neath the dervish cloak that one the seven goblets shows. '' ' Referring to the blue-green tiles wherewith buildings in Turkey and Persia are often decorated. 2 The 'ancient hospice' is the world. 3 The 'starless sphere' is the Primum Mobile or Empyrean, the ninth or outermost of the Ptolemaic spheres, which encloses all the others. See Vol. I, p. 43. * The festal moon, i. e. the new moon whose appearance shows that the Ramazan fast is over and the Bayram festival begun. Being crescent, it is shaped something like a bent finger; to the nail of this is said to be fastened a piece of the sage's (studious recluse's) heart, he being an enemy to all merry-making. * The mattock-wielder is Ferhad. Bi-Situn, or the Pierless, is the modern name of [Behistun (near Kinnanshah, noted for its Achaemenian inscriptions), the] mountain through which Ferhad cut a road in the vain hope of winning Shirin. Here the poet compares the hopes of men to the disappointed lover whose arduous and painful labours availed him nothing. ^ The world. '' The seven planetary spheres are the 'seven goblets;' here the allusion is 311 Ghazel. [265] Thou it is dost grant this sad and woeful life in loan to me • Ay, forsooth, straightway 'twould slay me, cruel one, to part from thee. Yea, the desert-whirlwind shows me how 'tis Mejnun's soul that still Roams, the weary wildered spirit of the wastes of tormentry. ' While that I, possessed, knew not myself did reason rend me sore, And did make e'en Plato my disciple scant of wit to be. Trust not Jupiter midmost the heavens to order things aright - Should he say unto thine eye, 'Thou'st learned me ,this gramarie.' Na^ili, by such a yearning am I branded that my sighs Show to me this sphere for ever wrapt in ashen drapery. Mysticism, which played so prominent a part in the earHer stages of the development of Turkish poetry, has ever since the beginning of the Classic Period been receding further and further into the background, so that now, when that Period is hard upon its close, it is somewhat surprising to encounter a ])oet possessed of no little merit and ability finding therein the fountain-luad of his inspiration. l''or although there has been a constant succession of in)stii- verse writers during tin- whole course of the ("lassie Age, thes(; have been almost exclusively dervishes belonging to one or other of the many religious ordiMS, not even one anionj; whom can hi said to have attainiMl .my tiuinence as a poet; while tin- n-.dly distin^;uishetl men ol lelteis. though tonrhinp, fioni lime to lime on t ranseeudent.d lhin:;s, to :,(iiiir ( iinjiiiiii|.; Iii(k n( |>i culm irii; ii mmiliri nf nrliilc* ftoiii up llir slrevr or iiimIim (he 1:1ml. I lit: inclining In tliiit tliohc who iiiiiUi' llir );tcatr»l kIuiw itf K'li^Mon IMC nut lliii>tr wlni iriilly uiiilci'>liiiiil lite niust. ' Ml iiimi, Ihc hivci III I cylii, wlm in hi', (irii/y it^ril In \*,ii>llrr In unirinlly tr|irc»r»lcil At ni» ««l inini'.lriiliu. 312 have done so only incidentally, never making such, as their predecessors did, the primary motive of their work. Niyazi, though not a great poet, was a man of considerable talent and stands a long way ahead of the throng of Mevlevi and Khalveti sheykhs who have of late been the interpreters of mystic philosophy in Turkish verse. Mysticism, moreover, is the key-note of this poet's work; whatever else is to be found in his diwan is of quite secondary importance, and almost as it were accidental. Muhammed, known in Ottoman history as Misri Efendi and in literature as Niyazi, was born at the little town of Aspuzi, ' near Malatia, in what is nowadays the province of Ma'^murat-ul-^Aziz. After receiving his first lessons in mystic lore from his father, who was a Naqshbendi dervish, he studied in Mardin and Cairo and at the village of Elmali in Anatolia. When his studies were completed, he was sent by his last teacher, a great Khalveti Sheykh, to ^^Ushshaqi near Smyrna, there to act as his vicar. But ere long this teacher died, whereon Niyazi is settled in Brusa, living there in a cell which one of the citizens built for him. The fame of his sanctity having reached Koprili-zada Ahmed Pasha "the Admirable," he was invited to Adrianople where the court was at that time established, for Sultan Muhammed the Huntsman disliked Constantinople and visited it as seldom as possible. Niyazi was honourably entertained in the second capital of the Empire for twenty days, after which he was sent back to Brusa. By and bye he was again summoned to 1 Aspuzi, which is beautifully situated, lies some four kilometers to the south-west of Malatia, the inhabitants of which city used to repair thither to pass the summer season. But in consequence of the military occupation of Malatia in 1255 (1839) during the war with Muhammed "AH Pasha of Egypt, the citizens, who were in their summer-quarters, were unable to return, and thus they acquired the habit of living all through the year at Aspuzi, the result being that that town has now become the chief place of the province, while Malatia is falling into decay. 313 Adrianople ; but the popular excitement caused by the mystical and prophetic character of his preaching led to his banishment to the Island of Lemnos. During the whole time of his resi- dence there, this island enjoyed complete immunity from the descents of the Venetians, between whom and the Ottomans there existed in those days a practically chronic state of warfare; which circumstance was looked upon as a miracle resulting from the presence of the holy sheykh. The fame of his sanctity was yet further increased by an incident related by Safari to the effect that following the example of the patriarch Joseph, he prophesied to a geomancer, who was likewise in exile on Lemnos, that he would shortly be permitted to leave the island, but that on the first occasion of his trying to exercise his craft, he would infallibly be hanged; — all of which, of course, duly came to pass. After a long banishment of twenty years, Niyazi was allowed by KopriH-zada Mustafa to return to Brusa, whence in the f'^llowing year he was for the third time called to Adrianople. ikit as he would not desist from preaching in the okl strain and so throwing the whole city into commotion, he was once more banished to Lemnos, where he died in tlu' Kejeb «)f I 105 (March 1694). ' Sheykh Misri or Misri l-'fcndi, as he was caiieil, was a prominent (igiire in his da)', so much so, indeed, thai he evcrn altiartcd (he ;itt cut ion of sonic of the I'.uropcaii writers who about this time visited Turkey notal)ly of I'lincc (iantemir, who resided for se\(ral )(mis in Constantinople, and wrote a highly enliitainin;;, thou[;h not always very rcIiabU;, history of the lanpin-. I he i'rince conceiveil the extraoi(hn;iiy idea (in which he h.c bet n lolji.ued l)y some subs. .|iM nl writer.) Ili.it Misri I'.lemli. as he ,il\\.iys calls > Mil, i. the iliilr nlv(Mi liy «lir liMorlttii UiUlil.l; V..n Hummer i{lvc« « l.il.i cl.iic III! fi'>')i»), I'lit wlllimil mciitioiilii)' •" ■ .>>.ili,.iiiv 314 him, was, if not a Christian at heart, at any rate very strongly indined towards the doctrines of the Christian Church. This notion probably arose partly from the circumstance that Niyazi's religious teaching had involved him in trouble, and partly from an imperfect understanding of some of his poems wherein the name of Jesus is mentioned. In support of his assumption. Prince Cantemir quotes two of Niyazi's ghazels, of which he offers a translation so inaccurate as to prove how limited was his knowledge of literary Turkish, and how little he was qualified to form opinions based thereon. On the other hand. Von Hammer, while correct in maintaining the groundlessness of the Prince's conception, is quite wrong when he says that the name of Jesus occurs only once in Niyazi's diwan, and that the two ghazels quoted by Cantemir are apocryphal, and not to be found among that poet's works. As a matter of fact, Jesus is mentioned several times in Niyazi's verses, though not more frequently or in any other connections than he is by scores of other Muhammedan poets; while as for the two ghazels, a very moderate amount of patience is necessary to discover them in their natural places in the Diwan. Though Niyazi wrote a good deal of prose, his poetical work is confined to his Diwan, which again is restricted to ghazels, nothing so worldly as a qasida gaining admittance to those sacred pages. These ghazels are almost without exception mystical in the last degree, and consequently very often well-nigh impossible to understand, so that when trying to puzzle out their sense one finds oneself in constant agree- ment with the Mufti, of whom Prince Cantemir tells, who, on being appealed to on the question of their orthodoxy, replied that only God and Niyazi knew what they meant. Some of the ghazels are in Arabic, while in others the lines are alternately in that language and in Turkish. Some- 315 times Niyazi ignores the prosodial increment known as the Kesre-i khafifa, just as Veysi does in the poem translated in this book, and sometimes he observes it, apparently with- out rule. In some of his poems he uses Niyazi as his makhlas, in some Misri; it is possible that at one period of his literary life he may have used one of these, at another the other; and that the name employed thus roughly indicates the period when the poem was written. Here are the two ghazels, the existence of which is denied by Von Hammer, and on the strength of which Prince Cantemir would make a Christian of Niyazi. They are fair specimens of his style and of the usual mystic poetry of Turkey and Persia. Ghazel. [293] In me forsooth unbounded skill in Names Divine doth lie, ' And ever do I journey through the Mystic I^etters' sky. * The stars that stud the heaven of my heart may ne'er be told; In every sign a thousand suns, a thousand moons, have I. Doctors would hold it for their shame to teach the A I? C; This A l> C, that seems so mean, in my regard is high : ^ In truth, that is the heaven, the cmjiyrcan nf all lore; I'/en (jn the ground thereof for mc unnumbered jewels lie. \\v.rc\>y iiidci-il hath Misrf become one with Jcsu's breath; Naught ( urniili \n my liearl, and iiaughl ilotii pass tluMclnim for aye. • ' 'I'lie ninety-nine Names i.f find, cat h nl wliii h li.is •.(Pine mcull virtue in niyHlic lore. '■' When Hj)eaking of the Areliaii- |)oi-l NcHiml, wc i lUiie lurons the »cit of tin; llunifiH (Literals), in whose doclrine ciuli Irllcr «.f llie iiliihiibrt Iidh itomc ' .'(leric Hi|{tiiriciuice. •'' Thin vcrnr, with tin- two following, refer »i;uln Ici the myHlio vlilucn of the letterH. * TIiIh Ih the eou|)lel in ihi-* jionn on wlili li Ciihlcmlr, lin|icifci«ly uiuler- itlariding il, founds IiIn Ntrim^e o|>iiiioii. Ili» iiuiiiiIniIoii (In ihc KiikIIkIi venlun of hi', work) in ; M'or in il It jiiinrd tlio tigrrcmrhl nf jcmii lunl Mv«il, 'Tlierefoie my svnik ncllliei liii llilni;.' 3i6 Ghazel. [294] I am he who knoweth all the mysteries of human lore, I'm the life of earth, and I the treasuries of Truth explore. Mid within me lie the secrets of the Mysteries' Mystery ; Here within I hold the Trust, ' and I'm the treasure-house therefor. Clear in everything the beauty of the Godhead I behold. So whene'er I look on yonder mirrors, joyance comes me o'er. 2 Every word of mine's a key to ope the lock 'A treasure I;'^ Eke of Jesu's breath am I the close familiar evermore. * All existent things I've given for the One Existency ; Now am I one with Thine Essence, Names, and Attributes and glore. Whatsoever be on earth, in heaven, is bounden unto me 5 I'm the talisman all-potent ruling hid and overt lore. I'm that Misri, I am monarch o'er the Egypt of my frame ;5 Though in form contingent, I'm in truth the Mystery of Yore. The following is from a somewhat lengthy poem describing the "Spiritual City." Poem. [295] My pathway to a city led the which a plain doth compass fair; Who enters in sees naught of death, he drinketh of life's water there. ' [i.e. the Trust (emanet) which God offered to the Heavens and the Earth; and, on their refusal to undertake so heavy a responsibility as that of repre- senting God in the Phenomenal World, to man. ED.] 2 The 'mirrors' are all phenomena, in which the mystic sees reflected the beauty of God. 3 Alluding to the well-known tradition of God's saying 4 am a hidden treasure.' See Vol. I, p. 17, n. i. * This is Cantemir's verse; he mistranslates: 'I am the most excellent seal of things visible and invisible; 'I am always with Jesus, and with him do always agree.' 5 There is here a play upon the name Misri, which means Egyptian, and which Niyazi probably adopted by way of souvenir of his Cairo life. 1^7 Goodly its building is to see, its gates are thirty-two, perdie, 'Tis greater than all towns that be, all round is orchard and parterre. Its air is fraught with sweet delight, who enters never seeketh flight; Its mountains tulips red and white, its gardens smiling roses bear. Its bulbuls warble plaintive lays, it fiUeth hearts with glad amaze, There wander through its garden-ways and all its alleys beauties rare. Aneath the treen to lutes they sing, the fruits upon the branches swing, And ere thou proffer anything thine every hest is answered fair. Whoso doth drink of Selsebil, the vintage doth his senses steal. And Tesnim maketh him to reel ; who quaff thereof are drunken e'er. ' 'Tis not of Paradise I show; that were no boon to these, I trow; Nay, at the joy and bliss of these all they of Eden wildered were. Its name, the City of the Truth; God set His secret there in sooth; And God He taketh all for guest who are of yonder secret ware. Among them is nor strife nor fight nor envying nor hate nor spite; Friends all, there is no stranger wight, but each to each is brother dear. Their selves than life more precious are, their words than honey sweeter far. No talk of me and thee doth jar, for all are one in union there. No prophet to that town hath come, there hath been none to call them home, For from the path they ne'er did roam, their acts are as the Koran e'er. The Faith of Truth it is their faith, the Sea Essential is their path, l''ulfillc(l all the desires they have by Fate alway and everywhere. 'Tis of the Soul's Land I have told, have writ with anguish manifold; And every soul descending thence is Iiouscd within these bodies here. CuiMc, leave iiol in iIm; clay thy soul, l>ul innuiitint; upward (ind ihy ^;^l.ll, W(nc il Ijcseciiiiiig man that earth should 1"' Ins prisoii-iioiisc for e'er f I hill; ilinii unto NiyjizCs cry and ()i)cii wiilc tin- inward eye; ()n o| iivn« In rutndUo. 3i8 Ghazel. [296] Bless it God! of nightingales' the garden bright is Aspuzi, Eden's bower to mind recalling, fair in height is Aspuzi. Equable of climate, all of joy and gladness gathers there, Country of the sages' banquet of delight is Aspuzi. Deyr-Mesih beside its virtues holds as naught the Stream of Life; When it floweth, like a graceful gliding spright is Aspuzi. 2 When it dons its greeny garment in the lovely days of vere, Sooth the stage where doth the season's Khizr light is Aspuzi. ' All around are fruits as dulcet as the lips of beauties fair; Yea, a winsome youth with satin green bedight is Aspuzi. O'er its apples are there rubrics written there withouten ink; Truly, wondrous an ensample of God's might is Aspuzi. * Therefore are its folk with wisdom and with wit abundant dowered; Ay, the magazine of men of lore and light is Aspuzi. Good it is, if said of Eden-garth 'aneath it rivers flow;' 5 Vea, and of yon boweis of Heaven a foresight is Aspuzi. Had but death's cold blast, Niyazi, never swept o'er yonder land. Who is there that would not witness, 'Eden's site is Aspuzi r' ' 'Nightingales' may here have 'poets' as a secondary meaning. 2 This couplet is a little confused; Aspuzi seeming to be here taken as the name of a stream; possibly the small river which flows into the Tashma Su, itself a tributary of the Euphrates, and upon which the town is situated, bears the same name. Deyr-Mesih, the \ Monastery of the Messiah, must be some place in the neighbourhood. 3 For Khizr, the green-clad prophet, see Vol. I, p. 172, n. i. The 'season's Khizr' simply means all the greenness of spring. * This couplet refers to the well-known yazili elma or 'written apples' of Aspuzi. When the season approaches 'at which the apples begin to colour^ they are wrapped round with pieces of paper on which words or verses have been cut out; in this way the surface of the fruit is protected from the sun and so kept pale except where the incisions have been made in the paper, the result being that when the apples come to be unrolled the words are found marked upon them in reddish tints. 5 'Aneath it flow rivers,' often said of Paradise in the Koran. 319 We have but few details wherefrom to construct the bio- graphy of the poet Nazi'm. Little concerning his life appears to be known beyond the facts that his name was Mustafa, that he was employed as clerk in one of the government offices, and that he died at Belgrade in 1107 (1695) during a campaign against the Austrians, being at the time attached in an official capacity to the Janissary corps. Nazim left a large diwan, the greater part of which con- sists of na^ts or hymns in honour of the Prophet. These are for the most part in qasida form, but they likewise include several of the ghazels and other poems. Indeed, Nazim is probably the greatest na'^t-writer in Ottoman literature whether we regard the extent or the merit of his work. Speaking of him in this connection, Ziya Pasha says that no other poet has .been so gifted or has attained so much success. But Nazim has a better title to our respect, for in all his work he strove after simplicity, so far as such a quality was possible in the age in which he wrote. Mis vocabular\' no doubt is very Persian, but his style is easy and natural, his construction straightforward and free from obscurity, ami his meaning almost always clear and self-evident. In view of this, the most marked characteristic of Nazi'm, it is, as Kciual l'(.y lias pointed out, somewhat astonishing that Zi)a Pasha should have coupled liiiii with Sami, one of tlu- most artilieial poets o( the i:arly Iransition. i'loiu an historical point ol \iew the most inteii'stiii;,' featiHC of Nazfm's di'wan is that it inchidis foi the (Irst lime, so far as I have been able to diseovei', a section ol shaii|lS. As I have more than on( e had o( casioii to lemarU, the shai(|i i". tin litii.uy (levelo|iment ol the tiiiki 01 folk-soni;. AUi\ lis inliodticlion into the dtwaiis ol iIk |ioets is one of the most salient dr. t IIK I Ions belwein tin- I i.iiimI i'>n .iiid eai liei pei toils. I'ly his woil. Ill this direction \'a/lm piov«s his JviiiHJMp with 320 the writers of the succeeding age, but otherwise his poetry belongs to the Classic school; for although his style and construction are simple, they are, equally with his vocabulary, quite Persian. If Nazini is indeed the earliest poet to transform the turki into the sharqi and promote it to a place in his diwan, his work becomes one of the landmarks of Ottoman literary history, and acquires an interest and importance far beyond that to be derived either from the number of his na^ts or the simplified Persianism of his style. These sharqis, which are placed at the end of the printed edition of the diwan, are seven in number, and belong, with one exception, to what I have described in the Introduction as the second or irregular variety of this form. The following couplets, translated from a qasida, give a fair example of Nazim's brilliant though rather monotonous na'^ts. Na't. [297] Guest of yonder Feast where shines the Beatific Vision's light, Mirror-bearer, yea, and Mirror is he ' for God's visage bright. Time and space are but the centre rounded by his Glory's O ; 2 Ringed the compass of the eighteen thousand worlds is by his might. 3 Ever crescent, aye abiding is his perfectness and power ; Sans vezir and sans adviser is the Kingdom of his right. Sweeps the pinion of the Cherubim the dust afore his court; Waits the Holy Spirit, servant at his portal day and night. Men and genies bide within his Garth, * the refuge of the world ; ' 'He' of course refers to the Prophet. 2 In the original: 'Being and space (i. e. all existences) are the dot in the — of the iJjL> (glory) of his greatness.' That is, they are but a little thing created for his honour. Similar plays on the forms of the letters are common in Eastern poetry. 3 See Vol. I, p. 54. * This 'Garth' is the famous Ravza, that part of the mosque at Medina, where the Prophet is entombed, which is decorated so as to resemble a garden. There is a good account of it in Sir Richard Burton's 'Pilgrimage,' Vol. II, p. 68. 321 Spirits of the great and mighty ever haunt his Ka'^ba's site. Magnified and head-exalted all the lovers of his glore; Abject and abased and tearful all the foemen of his rite. Every pebble 'fore his threshold gleams a gem for Kingly crowns 5 E'en as life's elixir shows the dust wherewith his temple's dight. King and mendicant alike are guests of yonder host, his grace 5 Aged sire and tender suckling in his bounty's praise unite. Thou art yonder Light of guidance, Radiance of the feast of truth, ' Prophets and apostles circle moth-like round thy taper bright. While my life abides I wander through the moorland of thy praise, Still within that plain I find not for my heart or soul respite. Though for faults and flaws unnumbered but a worthless mote I be, Yet I win to glory, rose-like, when thy virtues I recite. Many and diverse the garments woven on the loom of grace By my virgin mind that scorns with borrowed raiment to be dight. Heads do ache not from the joyance born of my fair fancy's wine 5 Heartening is my fluent verse's vintage gladdening the spright. This qasida to thine honour glows the garth of purity ; Midst its blooms nor dread of thorn is there nor trace of autumn blight. Every line I write a rank is in the mosque of thy renown, ^ Ever doth my reed the summons from the minaret recite. «**«»«» » » •» «i ■» •» » ■» *■»*»»*♦ The next translation is that of a ghazcl. Ghazel. [298] At liTiglli lli't sjjriiiglidc of llic bower of my desire is here, And culled the jxisy of niiric ancient iungini^'s fair hcrbiTC. Wcre't strange an, lilir narcissi: and rose, lo eye urnl rai 1 Imn,' Since now tin- word of iiiiinn from lliy lnvcsi>nic nimitli 1 hi-iii ? lie, like lu Khi/.r, ne'er hIiiiII die, who once hath IxikhciI llicc, Sweet; l' >. 322 Alack, alack, that through my yearning for thy charms, the wede My patience wore is rent, on rosebud wise, O Fairy dear. ' What wonder if thy glance's shaft abide within the heart? — The tablet of entreaty's pierced by wanton beauty's spear. Conceive not that the crescent's form is bowed thus for naught, Before thy curved eyebrow's shrine it louteth from the sphere. What though it tremble in the slaughter-house of grief for thee? The heart's the fluttering bird that for the chase of Love they rear. The goblet of delight would be the brand that burns my breast, The purest wine but tears of blood, withouten thee, my Fere. 'Twere meet thy verse were called a carcanet of pearls, Nazim^ For thridden on the string of speech the gems of thought appear. I shall give in conclusion a translation of the first of the seven sharqis, — the first poem in the native Turkish form in this work. Sharqi. [299] Naught of peace it findeth otherwhere, my love; Yes, my foolish heart is with thee; yes, with thee. I'm thy lover, show thyself full fair, my love; Yes, my foolish heart is with thee; yes, with thee. Be thou heedful of my soul-destroying cry; Lo, my breast afire for many a flaming sigh ; Union with thee 'tis I crave of God Most High. Yes, my foolish heart is with thee; yes, with thee. 'Tis not little I have grieved, thou away ; Were it much if I should win to thee one day? As thou listest, welcome me or say me nay, Yes, my foolish heart is with thee ; yes, with thee. Though my dwelling-place, O Joseph rosy-clad, Be, like Jacob's, in the house of mourning sad, ' When the rosebud opens, it is said to rend its garment, i. e. the calyx. 323 O'er the Egypt of the heart thou reignest glad. Yes, my foolish heart is with thee; yes, with thee. Since thy lightning-cheek afore the heart did learn Joyously I go, my breast for thee agleam. I'm thy lover now, a lover like Nazim; Yes, my foolish heart is with thee; yes, with thee. It would be unjust to imitate Ziya Pasha and omit all mention of Talib, who, though by no means a poet of dis- tinction, left a little diwan which merits a passing notice. Muhammed Efendi (such was his name) was the son of an imam at Brusa, entered the "^ulema, and, having served as judge at Kutahiya and Erzerum, died in 1118 (1706 — 7). According to Kemal Bey, Talib and his contemporary Rasikh endeavoured to strike out for themselves new paths in poetry, though for the most part with but scant success. Talib's ghazels are, indeed, unlike those of the poets whose works wc have been considering, being often marked by a pensivcness verging on melancholy, and yet more frequently by a philfjsophising tone caught probabl)- from \al)i, who was about this time introducing a deliberative ami didactic spirit into Turkish poetry. 'I'he two following ghazels will give an idea of Talib's st)'lc. Gha/cl. I300I 'l"licrc is 110 hiilimcr to liic rinhtfoiis, Inic us conscience' eye;' 'I'licre ih no cullurc like to knll\vin^^ where our fiiiiinns lie. ' llr)W Khould the milk of sin o'ei whelm the nidiinuy ol ^MlU•e> I hr- li,(li', i)( iii|'hl veil iicil Ihr liiifjil nmun'H viMi^;e mid the nky, • The 'eye ii( (ciiiHcicnte' ii ii rnnii i expromilDi), tinil lnl^\vel» l«t «iur 'voice of conftcienee,' » 'I'hitt eoiiplcl liim |ianhed inl>i ii pioveili, iiiid i«. cpinled i»« "Mi h In l''l>n »• /iyii'H ciillicllon. tl 324 From forth the fetters of earth's cares may no oae win him free To yonder toper e'en the wine-sea waves no file supply, i The zealot will his zealotry rue sore in Pardon's hour; Not thus will he repent who sinned sans hypocrisy. The skirt bedewed with drunken tears is needful thereunto ; Through arid zealotry wins none to pardon's wealth anigh. Talib, 'tis time the rosebud of our fond desire should ope, For in these days no smile across the lips of hope doth fly. Ghazel. [301] The autumn gusts have scattered all the rose's leaves in blight at last; The wind hath strewn around the bulbul's nest in harsh despite at last. Bethink thee, heart of mine, how Alexander's mirror is the tomb : 2 The gravestone is that hostel's sign whereat we all must light at last. The heart becomes matured and pure by pressure of the world's duresse, As grapes to must, and must to wine, are turned by treaders' might at last. The eye of my fond hope is blanched, 3 and old I'm grown for yearning's pain; Yon Joseph-cheek hath made me e'en as Jacob, drear of plight, at last. I saw her signal to the rival secretly, and am fordone ; The eyebrow-falchion's tongue* hath smitten sore the wailing spright at last. My zeal will ne'er consent to love's fair honour being rent, elsewise I should renounce the wine of yonder charmer's love-delight at last. cupbearer, roll up straightway the carpet of liesse, for sooth The drunken hand lets fall the robe hilarity hath dight at last. 1 The rippling waves are here likened to the teeth of a file, and a file is used for cutting through chains. The idea is that no one can win freedom from the cares of life, from which even wine — mystic or otherwise — cannot free the toper. 2 Alexander the Great's magic mirror, in which he could behold all that was taking place. •'' With weeping. * The curved eyebrow of the beauty is likened to a falchion or scimitar; the 'tongue' is the blade. 325 O Tdlib, many of yonder steeds, my futile fancies, have perspired Before these graceful verses coursed the spirit's meadow-site at last. The Classic Period of Turkish poetry (that, namely, during which the influence of the great Iranian masters was absolute and unquestioned, and which was definitively established when Ahmed Pasha, the Conqueror's vezir, modelled his qasidas and ghazels on the work of the Persianised Neva^i) comes to a close when Nabi, writing verses which by courtesy alone can be described as Turkish, carries the art of adap- tation to its furthest possible limit; a circumstance which curiously enough synchronises with the career of Sa^ib, the last Persian poet of true eminence and originality. ' This Nabi who thus, as it were, stands sentinel with Ahmed Pasha, the one at the nearer, the other at the further end of the vast palace of Turkish classic poetry, is, apart from the accident of his appearance at a critical time, a writer of more than average interest and merit, and of far more than average renown. liorn somewhere about the year 1630 in the ancient city of Urfa, •^ whose name commemorates that Hi' of the ( "h.ddees whence Abraham journeyed in his jouth, Nabi, whose i)cr- sonal name was Yusuf, came to Constantinople to seek his fortune, when Muiiammed IV occupied the Imperial throne. I'he poet succeeded in gaining the confidence of that .Sultan's fivoiiiitc, Mustafi I'asha, who ni.idi' liini liis Unmnm or mti-n- dant, and in whose service he rem.iini-d some ihiil)' \c.irs, ' I I miisl ii^;uin fxi)rchs iiiy ilissciil liom ilic- vifw llini llir ili'vrlc.|iinri>l i>f I'rrhiaii jioclry cniiu; lo lui end with Sii'il) «ir iiny ollirr wiilci. I \ifU\ l«> no one in lulniiriilion for Sil'il>'H jjpiiiiiH, hut (,)A'rtn( (to (juolc one in»l«ncr only), who lloiirihlird niily li;il( u (cntury ii^o, ii, in n>y opinion, ijuilr u* I5f«*'» llioiij{li Ic'Sk edifying;, a port. I'.li.) '■' l.'ifii Ih till- iuikitth nimic o( tlml illy wliiili ihr l',\rcl» mnl KiM«nn» I new UH I'.dcHHii or Cttllirlioi'; it i>. |>nliii|iii front tlio Utter of llte»o llinl it* Ariiliic niwnc of Kuwini i* ulilnn\tcly ( VryhCn Life of llic rri>|>lirl. « 'I'lirdtli i '.(ainlmhii, iiii ni:i:<>unl ul llio liikinn of lumii»i> > i l'."l..li,o l»y 111. (ii,,ii,l Vivii Ki.|.iili-7.iUlii Miiiiril I'iihIih ill 1083. ■1 riilili-l-iil-llimim-yn, iiii iii:«:iiiiiil of llif iiiillior'* jiiiiinry !■ ■■.. -. ..iaii lo McKlui iiinl Mrddin; iIiIn work wiu willlni in in>},\. ♦ Mimulinill, llw IniriH i.f NiU.iinil. j „||,-. hi'. .I.nlli I.) Iii* d i<'ii.iiil>. speaking (•! lli« KIi.i\i,iIm(I, win. Ii Ii.hI licfn r\li.»vai;.jmly jiraiscd in ins |)i< .rnic, (liiioiim . •. lli. nil i .1 INi si.nnMM ol NabCs slyif, .iiul .iiiticipatiru: 1 1" niodn n .iiillioi o| ihc Course 330 of Literature, censures him for his long successions of Persian genitives, a fault which he shares in common with Fuzuli, but with less excuse. Even Ziya Pasha, who looked upon Nabi as one of the great lights of Turkish poetry, finds himself constrained to offer an apology for the Khayrabad on the score of its having been written in the author's old age. As in questions of diction and vocabulary this poet proves himself to be the ultimate issue of Perso-Turkish classicism, so in the matters which he considers and in his manner of confronting them he shows himself the immediate forerunner of the Transition. His ghazels are not given over to the rose and the nightingale, the spring and the cupbearer; when he does not philosophise he writes about things which he has seen, or dilates on places with which he is familiar, such as Maghnisa, Aleppo or Constantinople. He is the first great Turkish poet whose work is systematically objective. And it is here, I believe, that we shall find the true secret of his popularity. For the first time a poet of real eminence speaks as a fellow-Turk to his Turkish countrymen; his language may indeed at times be foreign, that is still the custom of the schools, but what he has to say is something with which all can sympathise and which all can understand. At last the genius of Turkey is beginning to find an utterance. Nabi's ghazels alone form a fair-sized volume, to each section of which is prefixed a quatrain. It is in the ghazels that the influence of Sa^ib is most apparent; we have in both poets the same clear, incisive language and the same sententious style. It is here too that the proverbs and maxims are mostly in evidence, and it is here that the poet is so fond of moralising in his terse, epigrammatic way. The ghazels have generally been reckoned among the most successful of Nabi's works. The remarks of Ziya Pasha, who may be taken as the spokesman of the school of criticism immediately 331 preceding that of the present day, well reflect the light in which Nabi was regarded by lovers of poetry before the Western culture of the modern scholars had led them to demand from literature something other than what had satis- fied their fathers. In the ghazel, says the Pasha, Nabi was the world-conquering Khusrev, in none of whose work is to be seen either obscurity or feebleness, whose verses stir up the soul as one reads them, and are free from the slightest vestige of harshness. Metaphors are to him as his private property; and in the application of proverbs he has no rival, for although much has been written in this way, there are no sugar-sweet phrases such as his ; while those pleasant figures of his are even as wax in his hand, to which he gives whatsoever fair form he pleases. This last remark is true enough in its way; for as we have already seen, Nabi was gifted with a wonderful power of versification, and could, within his own limits, do pretty well what he liked. But to say that there is nothing m his ghazels cither obscure or feeble is a ridiculous exaggeration, seeing that although he has many beautiful verses and not a few wlioli)' adniiiahlc ghazels which are both truly poetic and truly philosophical, the great bulk of his work is very different; so different that searching through his di'vvan for the verses of real nu'rit is, according to I'^krcin \U:y, like gathering llowers in a lieUI of li( nilor:k. ICkrern Hey is a modern critic, t)ne ol (hose vvlio.c training; has made tliein look for something m«>ie Irom poetry than mere verbal lini.li .iiid (|nibblin<^ ingciiuil)', .iiul whose antagonism is invaiiabls' an-used i>y the presence of lll< |.itt( I pielcndii. As lllis se( ond pielendei is iMlh.ippily niiK h to till- liout in llu-se pji.i/els o| N.dn. it f' not siir- |iir.in;; lli.il IJ.i.ui Hey shouhl (llld so MttJe iheie to please hnii, .ind ■.liotilij d.clare of Nabi, as I''m'.i.I I'ash.t did of a niui h l.uidt d si iiMtlei n| In-, day, that his woik lescmblcs 332 a paste puff, which though it looks substantial enough, is in reality but an empty shell. The qasidas do not rank quite so high as the ghazels; even Ziya Pasha reckons them for the most part as of 'the category of superfluities.' This form, he admits, did not altogether suit the genius of Nabi. Still he has a few good poems of the kind, particularly a hymn to God, another to the Prophet, and two poems, one (the Sulhiyya) dedicated to the Grand Vezir Huseyn Pasha on the conclusion of the Peace of Carlowitz, the other (the '^Azliyya) addressed to Mustafa Pasha on the occasion of his deposition from some office. But on the whole, Nabi's qasidas are evidently laboured, and he has forced his nature in composing them, which is unworthy of so great a master of language, who ought to have done better work than this. Ziya adds that the poet Muni'f who copied Nabi surpassed him in this direction. The famous Khayriyya is generally reckoned to be Nabi's masterpiece. This is a long didactic poem in mesnevi verse addressed to the writer's son Ebu ^1-Khayr, from whose name the title is derived. The exact date of the poem is not mentioned ; but near the beginning Nabi tells us that he wrote it in Aleppo where he was living quietly after having served in different capacities for thirty years, some- times in the capital, sometimes in Adrianople. He further says that Ebu ^1-Khayr was eight years old when the book was written, and had been born when he himself was in his fifty-fourth year. This would give something like 1692 as the date of composition. As befits its purpose, the Khayriyya is written in a clear and simple style, without affectation and, unlike the other mesnevi, the Khayrabad, comparatively free from Persianisms. The advice which it contains is most ex- cellent, and if the young Ebu '1-Khayr followed his father's counsels he must have grown up a virtuous man and a 333 worthy citizen. The work is divided into a number of chapters or sections, each devoted to the inculcation of some virtue or the reprehension of some vice or folly. Thus we have exhortations to the due observance of the various religious ordinances, prayer, fasting, the pilgrimage, alms-giving; to the acquisition of knowledge, especially of religious know- ledge; to generosity, morality, patience, and so on. Then there are warnings against avarice, unkind jesting, deceit, hypocrisy, drunkenness, ostentation in dress, oppression of the poor, lying and similar iniquities. Ebu ^1-Khayr is further recommended to pay some attention to medicine and liter- ature, Baqi and Nef^i being the Turkish poets whom he is specially advised to study. He is likewise counselled not to seek for official employment, the position of a pasha being surrounded with troubles ; and to avoid the legal profession, which entails all manner of hardships and most of the members of which are men of infamous life; but if he must have a post under government, he is to try to obtain a Khojaliq, that is a Master-Clerkship of the Divan, which Ndbf declares to be the least un[)lcasant of all such offices. The occult sciences, geomancy, astrology, and alchemy, as well as the use of opium and an immoderate attachment to chess and draughts, are also placed under the ban. As an evidence of tlie chaiii^e tli.it was in tlie air it is interesting to note how Nal)i bids Iiis son alistain tVoni as- sociating with minions and conline himself to members of the opposite se\. Tlie advice concerning; marriage is curious; it is that I'^bii l-Kliayr should refrain tioni t.ikini; a regular wife, who would pi ()l),il>l)' prove exaclin|.;, .ind cuiileiit luiusi-lf with conriibinr, ' nr.te.id, select in;; ( iei (i };i,in'; bs' jnelcrencc. Il I. in Mil li pdiiil . .1', llii .1 tli.il tin v.ilue 111 till- Kli.i\ iJN'V.l ' < mil llliilir,, ttllill iVh Nillil lien- .iilvUi'u Inn mtil Id (itUr, IlitVi: nl ttiUI«C .1 III u|^iii'tfi| ic'^iil HliiltiH ill Mtiliiiiiiinailuii ciiiinlilan. 334 lies ; its poetical merit is of slight account, but it gives a faithful picture of the Turkish society of two hundred years ago. And a woeful picture it is; things have not improved since Veysi penned his Monishment to Constantinople. The venality and corruption of the legal tribunals, where the holy law of Islam was openly sold to the highest bidder; the merciless oppression of the pashas who, even when they would have acted justly, had of necessity to play the tyrant and extort from provinces swept bare by the rapacity of their predecessors the money they were required to send up to the capital ; the voiceless anguish of the common people, helpless victims of judge and governor alike; — such are among the things depicted in the Khayriyya in words the very directness and simplicity of which have an eloquence far more convincing, and therefore far more real, than all the Persian rhetoric of Nef^i. A book on the lines of the Khayriyya, that is a series of counsels addressed by a father to his son, was new to Turkish poetry, though the idea is very old in Eastern lit- erature. The Qabus-Nama, written in Persian prose about the end of the tenth century of our era by Prince Qabus of Jurjan for his son Gi'lan-Shah, is probably the prototype so far as the non-Arab literatures of Islam are concerned. This book has been three times translated into Turkish, ' and it may possibly have been from it that Nabi first got the idea of his work. The well-known poet Sunbul-zada Vehbi, who died at the beginning of the nineteenth century, wrote a nazi'ra to the Khayriyya, which he called the Lutfiyya after ' Firstly, by Aq-Qazi'-oghli in the time of Bayezid the Thunderbolt's son Prince Suleyman, who was killed in 813 (1410); secondly, by Merjumek Ahmed bin Ilyas for Murad II in 835 (1432); thirdly by Nazmi-zada Murteza in 11 17 (1705 — 6). The first of these versions is very rare, but I happen to have a M.S. copy in my collection, from which I ' have been able to ascertain the name and period of the translator. 335 his own son who was named Lutf-ullah ; but it is not equal to Nabi's poem. Ziya Pasha had a high opinion of this work, the admirable style and phraseology of which, he says, enchant the ear of the listener, the poem not having been written by way of experiment, but as a model to the skilful. He goes on to praise the artistic manner in which 'the elder' pictures the state of the Empire in his time, the tyranny of the vezirs and the condition of the poor, and winds up by declaring that Nabi teaches wisdom and morality to the age and instructs the world in righteousness. The Khayriyya is one of the very few Turkish poetical works which have found a Western editor; the late M. Pavet de Courteille having published an edition of the text, accompanied with a French prose translation, in 1857. The Khayrabad, Nabi's romantic mesnevi, is less successful. It is the work of the author's old age, having been written, as a chronogram at the end informs us, in 11 17 (1705 — 6), some six years before his death. It was distinctly a retro- grade ste]>; ill tlie Khayriyya there had been a stretch for- ward to the times that were to come, in the Khayrabad there is a harking back to llu; days of llanuli oi- i.aini'^f. In the Khayriyya Nahi had wiitleii in jjlaiii straigiittorward Turkish; in Ihc Khayi.ih.id hi- oiit-1'ersianiscs the Pcrsiaii- ising school. Like the earher inesnevi, this poem is nanied from the author's son, thi- htc lal meaning of the titk- Kha\'r- ;lh.id Ixiii^; the I'.dilicc of Khayr, that is, of (iood. \\\c. story ils(?ir is p.iilly a 1 1 aiislal ion, |i.iilly oii;;mal. N.ilu took a bri(.-f tale fioni Ihr i.iinou , old l'( isi.iii poet Shcs'kh hrild- iid Dfii All. II,' liair. laird 01 adapted it, and llun wiotf a continiialioii ol his own invi-iition. The \vis(h>m ol smh a • SliryUh i'ni.iu.l i)(ll Alliil Wil.. Killr.l ill (ii7 (I M"i ". III.- uiiU ..I \'l-l»,>|Mll liy tlic Moti^iilii. 336 proceeding is doubtful ; "^Attar's little story is complete in itself, the very vagueness of the end heightening the artistic effect. This is quite done away with by Nabi's addition, which is clumsily tacked on, and altogether out of harmony with what has gone before, creating a new centre of interest and completely changing the characters of the actors in the little drama. This last point, however, is perhaps the thing of most interest in Nabi's contribution; King Khurrem, for instance, who in "^Attar's hands is a thoroughly Persian type, becomes quite a Turk when he passes into those of Nabi. Sheykh Ghalib, whose fine poem Beauty and Love is, according to his own account, the result of a challenge to produce a work worthy to be placed alongside the Khayrabad, is somewhat severe in his remarks on the latter, although his strictures are in the main sufficiently true. Thus he criticises the extreme Persianism of Nabi's language, and blames him for tampering with Sheykh "Attar's story, as if, he says, that poet were likely to have left a story incomplete. Then, having found fault with the description of the heavenly steed Buraq in the section dealing with the Ascension of the Prophet, which he justly places below Nef^i's poems on horses, he goes on to take Nabi to task for his circumstantial account of the marriage of two of his principal characters. Thinking to meet the possible excuse that similar passages occur in Nizami (why Nizami rather than another?), Ghalib declares that the Persian libertines pay no respect to the proprieties, and that it is unnecessary to imitate such writers in every detail, statements which are no doubt perfectly true, yet none the less the Sheykh is here somewhat hypercritical and comes perilously near to playing the part of a Turkish Mrs. Grundy. He winds up with some rather trivial carping at Nabi for having made a hero of a thief. Ziya Pasha is naturally vexed with Ghalib for having made 337 this attack upon his favourite; and, while admitting the higher merit of the Sheykh's poem, says that it is unworthy of so great a champion in poetry to vaunt of having over- thrown an aged man, and asks why there is no mention of the Khayriyya in the Beauty and Love, since if GhaHb's desire was to prove his own superiority, he ought to have grappled with Nabi in his strength, not in his weakness. For his own part, adds the Pasha, if asked whether the Khayrabad were twin-sister to the Khayriyya, he would have to answer that bitter waters cannot be as the streams of Paradise. Besides the poems mentioned, Nabi has numerous ruba^'s, qit'^as, and chronograms, as well as some shorter narrative mesnevis, and a diwan of Persian ghazels; but these do not call for further notice. Had Nabi's poetical powers been equal to his purely literary gifts, he would have taken a place alongside the very greatest of the Turkish poets; as it is, he occupies an honourable position in the second rank. His work, however, is of ex- ceptional interest, because in it better than in that of any other writer we can see the forces of Classicism and the Transition joining issue; here the old Persian tradition makes its final struggle for despotic supremacy, ami here the awaken- ing Turkicism of tlu; future wins its first decisive victory. With Nabf, the disciple of the Persian Sa'ib and autlior of the Kliayr;iba(l, the Classic Period comes fitly to a close, while with Nab(, the objective jjoet of the l\.liayri)')a, the Transition has practically bi-giin. iliir arc four j-Jia/cls, a luh.ii, and a mukliamiurs titun Nalii's l)(wan. (iluizcl. |,^"2| I'l ni.iii iixl lliiiill liciii-iilli llm liiiml nl .\llitli'« |ilriuiiir ii)flit And Ici-lilc Ih mil cattli williiii llir |{tiiN|> nl liritvriily iiil(;lit i> 338 Look thou within the veil, and cast all dread and fear away, For is not that which cometh after every woe delight? Did one unto the lover say to sacrifice his life Upon the path of love, were 't not a joyance to his spright? Although we have no place of refuge 'gainst thy tyrant stroke, Is not this weary toil unto thy tender hand and slight? Wilt thou thine every wish attain from Fortune all thy days, — Doth luck not come by turns to each, thou mean and sordid wight? Since all the world alike requires the high Creator's care, Is't not indign to crave a creature's aidance for thy plight? Nabi is't not the tiring-maid of yonder bride, the Truth, Who makes my voice's tongue a reed those metaphors to write? Ghazel. [303] First roast upon the spit of loyalty that heart of thine. Then from this tavern old do thou demand the draught of wine. Since all the pictures in this show of being pass away. Engrave 'awake' upon thy heart, then thee to sleep resign. The seemliness of reverence learn thou from yonder trees. And let thy very shadow press the water's rug ' supine. Thine understanding's mirror burnish bright from all beside ; For shame! doth ever guest to lodge in house unclean design? Behold thy deeds, erase the hope of all reward therefor. And then sincerity's fair face from underneath will shine. Uplift thy hands with prayerful intent; but still for all Thy worship's failings, round thy shamed cheek the veil entwine. Nabi, 'twill make the seed of hope to yield a thousand-fold; So to that house of trust, the breast of earth, the whole consign. ' Prayer-rug ; the surface of the water being considered as a prayer-rug on which the reflections of the trees are prostrated. 339 Ghazel. [304] Yonder wanton youngling again abroad doth stray 5 Well might Eden's peacock turn all eyes straightway. ' Never can earth prosper sans the waves of stress; Water, if it resteth, stagnates in decay. Every losel feeleth not reproach's wound; Cloth uncut becometh not the needle's prey. 2 Strange is't if the new-made convert boast of zeal? Great the show of service new-bought slaves display. Longing] for thy figure makes stony hearts coquet; Graven lines the signet's brow with grace array. Perish, that thy being's essence may appear; Draught undrunken never makes the spirit gay. Sweet the home, O Nabi, contentment's nook doth yield ; Pity ne'er a mortal listeth there to stay. Ghazel. [305] Enthralled lieiieatli the loved one's soul-eiiclianting smile we lie, liUl yet no share of yonder hjnged-for blessing comes us nigii. What should thai queen of beauty treat strangers courteously? A stranger in li'i- favour's town we roam with tear and sigh. ' riie |icacock is famous in Mulnininu^dan legend as having in conjunction with ihe serpent axsisled Satan to enter the ( iardcn "f Eden to tempt .\duin. Ah a punislinicnl for Iuh piirliclpntlon in the plot, lie wns dcprivcil of his iMrautiful voice, wlicrewilh lie UHed dully to chant the pnilscH of (loil in the main streets of I leaven. 'I'Ih' idea here is that this biid, whose beauty won lor liiiii 11 prominrnl |>lace in Paradise, is sn much suipaHKcd liy the lovely ■ il.jr I I c,f iju; |)(|(!|'h ulfei tjon that he niiuhl well untkc every 'eye' in hi-, tml an ey(t through wliicli tn ((u/e on tin '. chaiinini^ ereutuie, '■• All (hilh while still in the plri:i before it has been cut into ^lla|le nnd I' ihIi'ii'iI III |(ii making into u ^uiinenl, Ik nut wounded by the neeillc (I.e. I. nol slilihrd), so the iinle and tincultuied uinon^ men aie not irpinncheil tiM Ihcii bourinhnvMs, m If tiny »ie, do not loel it, 340 Now wherefore from the reed-pen's pulse should e'er our fingers stray, Since we for eloquence's health the leech's calling ply? 'Tis meet that we should make of praise the text of our discourse; For we're the preacher from imagination's pulpit high. The rosebuds chant the Verse of Triumph mid that mystic bower Within the which as nightingale we ever sing and fly. We grieve not even though the rival's heart be 'gainst us sore ; Because, that we're his rival too, we can no wise deny. ' Our daily bread more eagerly seeks us than we it seek; Yet vainly still, O Nabi, we for it impatient cry ! Ruba^'. [306] How often have we seen the cruel fall on woeful wise, They who are fain to rend and tear the heart that bleeding lies. E'en when such ones live out their days, they dwell mid hate and shame. But brief most often is the life of them that tyrannise. •^ Mukhammes. [307] Nor smiling floret nor dew drop is mine in this gay parterre ; Nor traffic, nor merchandise, nor coin in this busy fair; Nor might, uor power to possess, nor more nor less, for e'er ; Nor strength nor life apart, nor wound nor balm to my share; O that I knew what I am, what is mine, in this workshop here ! ^ The life is the gift of God, and existence a grant divine. The breath is of Mercy the boon, and speech is of Grace the sign. The body is built of the Lord, the soul is the Breath benign. The powers are the trust of Might, the senses Wisdom's design. O that I knew what I am, what is mine, in this workshop here ! ' The common-sense way in which Nabi regards that constantly recurring personage Hhe rival' is characteristic. 2 The idea amplified in this quatrain is expressed is the proverb ^.:^Jjxj yyy y \^^ ci\.wji, 'short is the life of the bird of prey.' ' The parterre, the fair, and the workshop are all, of course, the world. I have no concern with earthly affairs, yet I would fain know what it all means. 341 And naught to do in this workshop for myself alone have I ; No separate life is mine, all is His, afar and anigh. No choice was mine as to come to the world or from hence to hie ; No reason to cry, 4 am!' 4 am!' in my hands doth lie. O that I knew what I am, what is mine, in this workshop here ! The earth is the carpet of Power, and the sky the pavilion of Might, The wandering stars and the fixed are Nature's flambeaux alight. The world is the wonderful issue of Mercy's treasures bright 5 With the pictured pages of life is the book of omniscience dight. O that I knew what I am, what is mine, in this workshop here! Existence we hold in trust, and our life is a borrowed loan. In His slaves were the boast of rule as a claim to share with the One. The service due by the slave is in lovely obedience shown. That He deign to call me 'My slave,' is a fair and a gracious boon. O that I knew what I am, what is mine, in this workshop here! I am poor and empty of hand, yea, but bounty free is of God; Nol-being's my only virtue, the while to Be is of God; For birth of Not-being or Being the almighty decree is of God; The roll of the waves on the Seen and Unseen's boundless sea is of God. O that I knew what I am, what is mine, in this workshop here ! His gracious bounty's table suppliclh my daily bread; My breath by the breath of the mercy of God the Lord is shed; My portion comes from tlie favours that flow from the Heavenly stead: My jMOvanl is from tlie Kitchen nf I'roviilcnce bespread. O tliat I knew what I am, what is mine, in tliis workshop licrc! Naugiil may I take to myself, unalloUcd, of wet or of dry ; I-rom the land nor yet from the ocean, from tl>c carlh nor yet from tlie sky; 'I'he ^old or the silver will come which liy I'Orliiiu- iiath bot'ii \.\'h\ by; None otlier thing may 1 grasp than my destiny doth supply. () that I knew what I iim, wliiit in mine, in this workshop lierc! 'I'hc line. 1)1 the waves of events iire tiic work of the Muster's pen, lllunird in the MiiHtcr'H studio is the stroll of tlic WorUU the I'wiiin, The wuip and weft of llis lobc wnip i-itilh iind nky »i;idn, The pninted Hliitp<-H in lli. Itook of Kiii^s lur tlir rorniit of mm.' () I hill I Knew whiil I iini, what it mini-, in till* \viiik»llti|t hciot • The 4took i>r Kin^:>t,' or Shi'ih-Nilniii, oT I'iiilnwhl, MiiUMiHt rlpl iti|ili'» of which urc UKUiiUy dccuiulctl with niltiluturc puliitln^n icpickciitin|;liuitlciittln the Itiklni)'. 342 I can turn not the morn to eve, nor the mirk midnight to day ; I can turn not the air to fire, nor the dust to a: watery spray ; I can make not the sphere stand still nor the steadfast hills to sway; I can change not by mine own will the autumn to lovely May ; O that I knew what I am, what is mine, in this workshop here! His power hath brought me forth from Not-being and made me be. When still in the womb I slept for my needs provided He; With noble gifts, concealed and revealed. He nurtured me. Through me hath He veiled His Beauty, that none upon earth may see. O that I knew what 1 am, what is mine, in this workshop here ! If the eye of insight be opened, as the vision of God 'twill know The endless shiftings and changes that all things undergo; The display of the Hidden Treasure is this ocean's restless flow. This toil and travail of Nature, this glorious pomp and show. O that I knew what I am, what is mine, in this workshop here ! The stores of Contingent Being are alternately full and spent, The mirror-chamber' of Fortune new figures doth still present; On wonder-fruit bestrewing, O Nabi, is aye intent This ancient orchard wind-tossed with face unto autumn bent. 2 O that I knew what I am, what is mine, in this workshop here ! The next quotation is from the exordium of the Qasida-i *^Azhyya, as it is called ; that is, the qasi'da which Nabi presented to his patron Mustafa Pasha, on the latter's dis- missal from office. From the Deposal Qasida. [308] Where's he who of the wine of office tasteth sweet and fair Who doth not at the last the drowse of deposition share? The short-lived rose of fortune blown in this swift-fading garth 1 Shishe-Khane, or mirror-chamber, is the name given to an apartment of which the ceiling and walls are decorated by being coated with small pieces of looking-glass stuck on to the plaster at various angles. The effect is prismatic, and the reflections constantly change as one moves about in the room. "■^ 'This ancient orchard' is the world, which is ever producing the fruitage of strange events. 343 To smite the spirit's brain with rheum doth never, never spare. ' The plight of him inebriate at fortune's feast is this; At times he drains the cup, at times he drees the ache of care. Though fairly dight a while they stand, they'll yet be swept away; The beaker's turn, the season of liesse, are constant ne'er. Though sun were saddle and though moon were stirrup, lost they'd be, If 'neath the thigh be yon careering steed, the sphere contraire. For all the battlements of fortune's palace scrape the sky, Yet of its arches none the script of permanency bear. The starry hosts disperse ; one day empty of cup he'll be, Though 'neath his signet, like the moon, the evening province were. "^ It never hath been heard or seen since time its course began. That e'er fulfilment's beauty o'er desire's own path did fare. The fortune of the world is but a heap of shifting sand. The tents are ever pitched on some fresh anguish or despair. There is no hope for any to escape the Rustem-sphere Which e'en the night-adorning moon doth in its halo snare. 3 But seldom on the troubled sea of fortune doth there rise To help upon its course the bark of hope a favouring air. * » » * «• •*• Si --i *$■***•* » * «■ * « «■ ■» $ That chapter of the Khayriyya entitled "Concerning the Troubles of Pashaship" i.s perhaps the mo.st interesting, but it is too long to give here in its entirety; I have, therefore, luui to rest satisfied with a selection of certain passages. lM-f)iii the Kliayriyya. [309] liri)i(lfiiM of clLMiial fortune fiiii, player on sweet wisiloin's dulciincr, * )ii'«itiiiiiiiit> '.It #««*»•••• Vciiiii iiul for oClicr or fur \\\\'U cslulf, ' rii(! poclH Homoliinc'H iilliidr lo ii ccrliiin "ipccicH of ii-il iom' llif Miu'llini: i)( wliicli |)r'««' ^ — ««_*« li^JjLb ...lAiJ';^', "the sound of the drum comes pleasant from afar," i. e. admire the splendour of the great but do not seek to approach them. [The proverb is originally Persian, and is familiar to readers of FitzGerald in the line: "Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum." — ed.] 345 Halting a year or two ere on they passed. His meinie to reward and to maintain He oft some other wise must treasure gain. With gold did he at first his office get, Plunging o'erhead into the sea of debt. Whate'er the interest on his debts may be, Pay all of it in very sooth must he. All duly present are his steeds and gear, Naught of a pasha's pomp is lacking here. Untold are the expenses of his place. To these no limits may he ever trace. Kitchens and stables, rations for his rout, His servants and his slaves, within, without. About him ever moves a knavish crew. Deceit and guile the only work they do; To trick him are those bastards even fain Alike in what is spent and what is ta'en. And then, if he is called to take the field, He seeks the first way that will easance yield. To take the field one needcth troops galore, To levy troops one needs a golden store. Without oppression tlierc will conic no gold. The folk will not give up the wealth Ihcy liold. He passeth all his life in bitter stress; Is glory tiic fit name for sucii duresse? lichold them, can lie nourisii night and day All tliosc retainers, all those i)casls of prcyf A deiiioii every guard an III. |..M I I'.iklii, It .Ml 111'. Mc.u iIh- lup.miunj; itl' the |MP( III, III 111.' poilioii ii.iii'.l.ilcil !>)■ N.il'i ln»iu Shcykh 'Altai. 346 From the Khayrabad. [310] One eve when the stellar flambeaux bright Illumed with their beams the core of night, The King, who to mirth did aye incline. Bade that they spread a feast of wine. The sweat of the wine in streams did pour, And pearls and corals ' bedecked the floor. No such feast did the narcisse' eye E'er in the world's rosegarden spy. Arow shone the camphor tapers forth. The crystal piers of the hall of mirth. Like a shift clad the garth the pavilion, 2 Each ruddy rose as a window shone. ^ To fetch it down to swim in the pond The fount at the moon flung its lasso-bond. * The flute did the 'Cormorant' prelude play, * On the marge of the pond lit the wine-geese gay. * The pond was the eye of the garden bright. Its sheeny fount was the thread of sight. '' Like the mandoline that beauteous thread Ever a pleasant music played. 8 Viol and mandoline 'gan plain. And each bent ear to the other's strain. • That is, the bright drops of spilt wine. 2 That is, the creepers covered the pavilion like a garment. 3 The red roses shone against the wall like windows flashing back the sun's rays. * The 'fount' is the jet d'eau; the lasso being the jet springing high into the air. 5 The 'Cormorant' (Qara Bataq) is the name of a well-known melody. •• A special kind of wine-flagon with a long neck and shaped something like a goose or duck is called batt-i mey or 'wine-goose.' Here such flagons set by the margin of *he pond where the revellers sit are likened to wild-geese that have alighted there on the minstrel beginning to play the 'cormorant' air. ■> The jet is here regarded as the 'thread of sight' (i. e. either the line of sight or the optic nerve) to the pond considered as the eye of the garden. 8 The plashing of the returning waters of the jet is here likened to the twanging of the mandoline. The 'thread' in the previous couplet now stands for the string of the mandoline. 347 Measured there was the Magians' wine ; The tambourines bewailed for pine. The songsters raised the voice to sing, And all the orchestra joined the ring. The castanets in the dancer's hand Beat measure, a merry chattering band. Like to a jelly trembled fair The hips of the dancers dancing there. The flame of desire 'mong the guests was strewn By the air Saba and the Nev-ruz tune. ' The minstrels attuned the things they played, The harp bowed head to whate'er they said. Though flute and flageolet found repute. Over the flageolet triumphed the flute. As it were, the music and song to hear The sky took the cotton from out its ear. 2 Said the minstrel : 'Twist its ear if e'er 'The mandoline stifle the dulcimer.' * Each instrument the which laid bare The secret, to break no wire took care. * The flute bewildered them great and low, 'Twas a conquering king to vanquish woe. Wine put the hosts of dole lo flight; •I,<)i)t' was llic flute's paitilioii liriglil. * III llic shenker's iiaml did tin- brimming bowl Make the Inirgconed n)scl)usli envy tliole. 'I'lic winsome fingers tlmt clasped iheni sweet I'layed with tiic gnlilets deft and inccl. The jars to llie beakers liowcd the head;" Willi wilty speeches the jcslersj phiyed. I 'I'hc narnes of two iniisiiid iiiis. '■' That is, lliore were no clouds in the sky. •■f Thai is, 'screw llic pe(^ lu Htrclcli <>i rchiv the stiini^, m> th.ii ih.- .-n.' InHtniinenl may not ovcr|)owcr the nthor.' « Irj .|iiiM:H| I., bnid< Ihe wile ur >.lriiH;, in liniiiulivcly u-cil f('» Khnyr- dliiiii, liiil liiivc !<•(( (WiiUili'n llctiiily ami I ..vc f.n the iirnl vuliitnc, In which lliiU pud will III' fully i'tin*Uloro(l, an>t t>i which It oviilcnily l>cl»n|{*. 354 Taper and Moth was also treated by Zati; see pp. 57 — 58), and one by Yahya Bey. This promised Appendix was not written in its final form, but amongst the author's papers I have found a packet labelled '^Appendix A. Romances'' containing roughly-pencilled abstracts of the six poems enumerated above; of Nabi's Khayr- abad (pp. 335 — 337); and of of Sheykh Ghalib's Beauty and Love {Husn u '^Ishq), together with a few detached notes on Barbed the minstrel of Khusrev Perviz, Shebdi'z, his horse, and other persons and things connected with this celebrated monarch of the House of Sasan, probably based either on the Ferhdd-ndnie of Lami*^!, or on the Khusrev 11 Shirin of Sheykhi (vol. I, pp. 314 — 335) or one of the other poets who have treated of this popular theme. Had the author lived to prepare this volume for the press, he would no doubt have modified this Appendix considerably, since at some period subsequent to that when he wrote the passages to which reference is made above he obtained a manuscript (N°. 51) of the Kidliyydt, or Collected Works, of Lami^iV as well as two other copies (Nos. 262, 271) of the Contention of Spring and Winter. Following the principle which has guided me throughout in editing this work, I here reproduce, without amplification, and with the slightest alter- ation possible, the rough notes designed to form this Ap- pendix, as my friend left them. I. Seldnidn and Absdl. There was once in Greece (Yunan) a great King, who had for his councillor a sage of incomparable wisdom. The King, desiring a son to succeed him, consulted the sage on this subject. The sage, being a determined misogynist, strongly 1 Since writing this, however, I find that this manuscript contains only the qasidas, ghazels, etc. and not the mesnevis of Lami'i, 355 dissuaded his master from marriage, and fiercely denounced the whole race of women ; but undertook to create for the King, by vital essence extracted from him, a son and heir. This, by some marvellous process, he succeeded in doing; and the boy, who was named Selaman (a name here derived from sdliin = "free from defect," "sound," and ^i-;/Z(i;/ = "heaven") grew up a marvel of beauty and intellectual perfection. Absal, a beautiful young girl, who was appointed to act as his nurse and governess, fell desperately in love with him, and strove by all sorts of feminine arts to arouse in him a similar passion. In this she ultimately succeeded, and they passed a year together in amorous dalliance ere the King and the Sage, becoming acquainted with the state of the case, summoned Selaman into their presence and bitterly upbraided him for his conduct, tie replied that he could not alter his nature, nor drive the image of Absal from his heart; and, vexed and alarmed by their reproaches, resolved on flight with her to a distant country. Mounted on a riding-camel, they came, after a week's tra- velling, to a lofty mountain, which they climbed with difficulty. Beyond this they discovered a boundless sea, filled with mar- vellous fishes; and on the shore of this sea a boat, shaped like the crescent moon, in which they embarked. After a voyage of tw(j days, they came to an island like the Islands of the IMesscd, bright witli all inaiiiu i of lowly tlowiis and binls of gorgeous plumage. Mere they laiuled, ant), undisturbed by foe, censor or rival, look their (ill of pleasure, siuroumled by every charm of nature which could iiihanee or iumi>tei to their dclii'lil. Mcaiiuliilc the KiiH;. billeily distressed at tin- lht;IU o| his son, and iiiiaMi' lo Iciiii lioiii those aiounil hitn uhithei he had ;;oiic, (oir.iilltd .1 MiajMi iniiioi, m w hit h he saw Selanian and Absal dwijlini; loj;elhei on the ('.land. At lir.t lie was loth lo (jestio)' tJKii ha|i|>iii( .'., Iiut liii.tlly, Nccin^ thai Ins *4 356 son shewed no sign of repentance, his anger was stirred, and, by some mesmeric exercise of his will, he prevented Selaman from approaching his mistress. This caused Selaman bitter distress, in the midst of which it dawned upon him that his father's influence was being exerted thus in order to save him from himself. He thereupon returned to his father and humbled himself before him; but, unable to bear the reproaches heaped upon him, he again fled with Absal into the wilderness, where the two lovers, weary of life, constructed and kindled a funeral- pyre, into which, hand in hand, they recklessly hurled them- selves. Once again, however, the King, whose magic mirror had shewn him all that was going on, exerted his will-power in such a way that, while Absal was burned to ashes, not a hair of Selaman's head was injured. The prince lamented bitterly that the fire had not destroyed him and spared Absal, or at least had not consumed them both. The King, filled with grief at his son's anguish, again consulted the sage, who under- took to console Selaman. This he succeeded in doing by in- spiring him with love for a celestial beauty named Zuhra (Venus), whose perfections he constantly described to him, until love for this divine being at length so took possession of Selaman's heart that, as he prayed for a vision of these celestial charms, the image of Absal was altogether blotted out from his remembrance. The story concludes with the descriptive of a great feast given by the King to all the nobles and great ones of his realm, who take the oath of allegiance to Selaman, now purged from earthly passion and grown worthy of the crown. An epilogue gives the key to the allegory. The King repre- sents the Creative Intelligence {^aql-i-fa^dl); the sage, the First Intelligence; Selaman, born of no earthly mother, the human soul; Absal, the lustful and rebellious body; and the sea, sensual desire. Selaman's sudden inability to approach 357 Absal in the island typifies the satiety resulting from indul- gence; his return to his father the King is the soul's return to its better self; the fire is the ascetic discipline which destroys animal passion but only purifies the soul; while Zuhra represents the Divine Beauty and Perfection, love of which, by filling the soul, expels from it all meaner passions, and renders it worthy at last of celestial lordship. 2. Vdniiq and '^Azrd. Taymus (y^^^I^), Emperor of China, mourns over his child- less state, and is advised by his councillors to seek out for himself a wife. Beshir, an artist who has wandered through many lands, painting portraits of all the most celebrated beauties, shews him a portrait of the daughter of the Khaqan of Turan, with whom he at once falls in love. He demands and obtains her in marriage from her father, and of this marriage is born a son, Vami(i, the hero of the story, who, as he grows up, becomes famous for his beauty and talents. Azra, a very beautiful girl, falls in love with him by hearsay. Ifer nurse, perceiving her passion, advises her to be patient, since she is a King's daughter. She causes her portrait to lit: i).iiiiU:(l, and V;inii(| sees it and falls in love with lu-r. Ills fatiicr finds him wandiring in the wooils, distraught with love; and, having vainly exhorted him to control his passion, finally grants him ix-rmission to go olV with his fosti-r-brothcr, Hehmen, to seek lor the oi)ject of his desire. I'he two accord- ingly set out, and travel on till tin y h.k li a \\\y\\ inoiint.iin beside a great plain, 'riicy are greatly alllieled with lliirst. but finally reach lh< lonnlain ol the King o| the lames. Liihijiin, in M(.iiiil hllnii/, who leceives tlieni i^indU. .ind confides to till III th.it hi' is in love with .1 l.ili\- e.dled leil. the i|,iu;;hlei <>l I he Kuii; of the genies, or //////, ol Mount 358 Qaf. The latter invades the territories of the Fairy-King, who, however, conquers him and marries his daughter Feri. These two than set out with Vamiq to help him in his search after "^Azra. Vamiq and his foster-brother Behmen in- advertently trespass on the hunting-grounds of King Ardeshir, who attacks them. In the fight which ensues, Behmen captures Ardeshir, but Vamiq is wounded. Ardeshi'r's daughter, the Princess Dilpezir, comes with much treasure to ransom her father, and all repair together to the Castle Dil-Kusha, where Vamiq's wounds are treated by the physician Pir with theria- cum. Meanwhile Tiiri Qahraman, King of Balkh, comes with an army to demand from the Princess the surrender of Vamiq and Behmen. He is met with a refusal, and thereupon lays siege to the fortress of Nakhjuvan, where they are. In the battle which ensues, Behmen is taken prisoner, and the Princess Dil-pezir flies with Vamiq and Pi'r to Castle Dil- Kusha to implore the aid of Lahijan and his wife Feri, who have reached this place in their search for '^Azra, to whose adventures the story now turns. Her father, perceiving her passion, enquires concerning its duration and object of her nurse, who, moved to pity by her sorrows, flies with her in the autumn season to Herat, where they take lodgings in the house of an old woman. Thither come also the Princess Dil-pezir and Pir the physician, who find 'Azra and her nurse and tell them all that has happened, whereupon they resolve to go to ^Uman disguised as merchants. The Fairy-King Lahi- jan, while flying over the sea, hears from a ship beneath him the wailing of '^Azra for Vamiq and of Dil-pezir for Behmen. He brings the ship to the nearest island, where the voyagers disembark; then all four mount on divs and fly off", Lahijan going in front to carry the good news to Vamiq, who is soon united to '^Azra, whereupon they continue their journey to Balkh to deliver Behmen from his Turanian captor. A battle 359 takes place, the Turanian King is defeated and flies to the land of Antiin the Frank, and Vamiq releases Behmen from prison; but, while they are still rejoicing over their success, Antun's army comes and digs pitfalls, into one of which Vamiq falls. His friends pray Heaven to release him, and at this juncture arrives King Merzuban of Tus, who has also fallen in love with ^Azra from a portrait of her which he has seen, and who now delivers her, together with Dil-pezir, Behmen, Pi'r and the nurse, from Antun's hands, after which, like Mejnun he goes mad with love of ^Azra. Antun and the King of Tur are defeated, and flee to the Persian Gulf, taking with them Vamiq, who remains a captive in their hands. After being driven about for six days by storms, they fall into the hands of Indian fire-worshippers, who set them in the midst of a great fire, intending to sacrifice them to their god. Antun and the King of Tur are burned to ashes, but so great is the flame of Vamiq's love that the fire cannot prevail against him, seeing which the Indians fall at his feet and adore him. Meanwhile ''Azra, Dil-pezir, Behmen, Pir and the nurse set out to search for Vamiq. They reach, in the course of their wanderings, the land of the Zengfs, or Abys- sinians, wiio take them [)risoners. ilelliilan, King of the Zeng(s, wiio liolds ca])tive I Iiini.i, the dauiditcM- of the King »>l ("ash- mere, attempts to assault 'A/ra and Dil-pezir at a carouse, but is overcome by them. Iluma and ''Azra commiserate one another, and relate to one anotlni their histories. Meanwhile V;imi<|, having escaped IVom tlic Indians, wanders, Mke a second Mejnim, ov<-r hill .md d.de. Iiohiiiii; converse oiiI\- with the wihl beasts and liiids. Al l-n-.th lu- joins a caravan which brinj;s him to the ( ,i.||e <>| Il(lhil.m, whom he defeats, .ilid U'lio Hies to Met /lib, (II o| Ins, t.iKiii]; uitii him A/ra .mil llniii.i. M.i/nl.,in, liouevei, insle.id oi hel|.m|; liiin, easts hitii into |.ii on, ,111(1 sends a messenger to his castle to biinj; 36o Vamiq, Dil-pezir, Behmen, Pir and the nurse. Thus Vamiq and '^Azra are again united. The former asks Merzuban's permission to visit his parents, but, as it is winter, Merzuban advises him not to go himself, and sends Pir to King Ardeshir and the nurse to the King of Ghazna to invite them to the wedding. At this juncture comes the news that Feri has been captured by the demon Ghur. Vamiq thereupon hastens to Mount Qaf, where he finds Lahijan sadly perplexed by the loss of his wife Feri. By the aid of a talisman, however, he finally, after overcoming many dangers from demons and dragons, reaches the grave of King Tahmuras the Demon- binder {Div-bend), and effects the release of Feri, whom he restores to Lahijan. All three than repair to Tus, where, after a great feast, Vamiq is married to ^Azra, Behmen to Dil-pezir, Helhilan (who has been released from captivity at *^Azra's request) to Huma, and Pir the physician to ^Azra's nurse; and so the story ends. 3. Visa and Rdmin. The story opens with the celebration of the Nev-riiz, or Persian New Year, by the King of Jurjan, who converses with the ladies of his court. One of these, Shehrev or Shehr- banu, wife of Munqad the King of Merv excited by the carouse, describes to him the charms of her daughter, Vis or Visa, so graphically that there and then he falls in love with her. Next day Shehr-bami regrets what she has done, fearing lest it may lead to the invasion of her husband's territory. She sets out for Merv, and, on her arrival there, tries to peruade her husband Munqad to give Vis in mar- riage at once to her cousin Veyrev. Meanwhile the King of Jurjan sends his old nurse to Merv to gather further in- formation about Vis; and, on hearing her favourable report, 36i despatches an ambassador to her father Munqad to demand her hand in marriage. Munqad, having taken counsel with his wife, returns answer that his daughter is already betrothed, whereupon the King of Jurjan sends his general Behram to make war upon him. He and his wife and daughter, and her betrothed, unable to withstand this attack, shut themselves up in the Castle of Mehabad, whence they presently escape to Herat. The King of that city, Firuz Shah, also falls in love with the beautiful Vis, and, at a feast to which he bids the fugitives, succeeds in poisoning the cousin to whom she is bethrothed. Soon afterwards, however, he is in turn defeated and killed by Behram, the King of Jurjan's victorious general, who marries Firuz Shah's daughter, Shems-banu, and seats himself on the throne of Herat. Visa and her parents, however, make their escape into Turan, where the King's son, Ramin Shah, sees and falls in love with her. He invites her to a banquet, which she attends, fortified with good advice from her mother as to how she shall conduct herself, and after- wards plays chess with him, listens to music and the amorous songs of singing girls, dances, and propounds and answers riddles. Meanwhile the Khan of Tiiran, troubled at his son's infatuation, takes counsel with his ministers, and (iiiall)- deter- mines to [ilace R;imiii in custody and to banish \'is;i. Tlie lovers endeavour to console themselves and each other with letters, but Ramfn's passion finally drives him into temporary madness, which none of the physicians can cnie. I lis father Ihciciipoii takes him to a hoi)' slu-ykh. undiT whosi- rare he recovers his reason, and is then permitted to luaii)- \ isa. Slu^rtly afterwards the Khan ol "I'liian dies, and Kamm succeeds to the throne, but is taken (•a|>tive by bii^aiuls (iisj^uisird as dervishes, who cast hini into prison. I heme he is released by Hih/ad, with whom he crosses the ( )\ns, tails in with and joins liinisell to a (om|.any of holy nien. ami 362 eventually reaches Herat, where he finds and recovers his beloved Visa. After defeating and slaying a minister who has rebelled against him, he seeks out a great sheykh, and, under his guidance and direction, dedicates himself to the mystic and contemplative life. 4. Taper and Moth. Taper [Shenf) and Moth {Pervdne) appear in this romance as proper names. The former, described as a beautiful dark- haired and rosy-cheeked maiden, dwells in the Sunset-land, constantly waited on by two slaves, a Greek named Camphor {Kdfur) and a negro called Ambergris (^Anbar). At a banquet which she gives to her friends, two of the guests, named Bottle and Glass, fall to quarreling, until at length Wine makes peace between them. At this point there enters the banquet-hall a poor, lovelorn stranger from the East, namely Moth {Pervdne), the hero of the tale. He catches sight of Taper in her pavilion, and falls in love with her. Ambergris the slave chides him for intruding uninvited into the feast. He thereupon turns appealingly to Taper, who withdraws her veil and thereby completes her conquest. Moth, over- come by her beauty, wanders out into the garden, where he remains all night. In the morning Zephyr, the gardener, comes to tend the flowers, which he finds all in confusion and disarray from the previous night's carouse. Hearing a moaning in a corner of the garden, he proceeds thither and discovers Moth, with whom he converses. He than goes to King Spring {Behdr) to complain of the confusion of the garden; and Spring sends his emir Lightning to punish the flowers for their disorderliness. Lightning rears his red banner and rushes on the garden to execute the King's commands, but Moth intercedes with God, who causes the storm to pass 363 by. Taper now plans another banquet, and sends her slave Ambergris to invite Moth to be present. There ensues a dispute of the usual ninndzara type between Ambergris and Camphor as to their respective merits, which is brought to an end by the appearance of a radiant sheykh or saint named Nuru^llah, "the Light of God," who gives a mystical explanation of the subject of their dispute. Lastly at a third and final banquet, Taper orders Moth to be brought into her immediate presence, whereupon, overcome with ecstasy of love, he dies at her feet, and she, overcome with regret, weeps great tears all through the night and expires in the morning. 5. TJie Contention of Spring and Winter. In this poem, which describes in allegorical form the contest of the seasons, Spring and Winter are represented as two great rival Kings, while Summer is but the friend ami ally of the former, and Autumn the harbinger and herakl t>l the latter. The poem opens at the point when Winter, encampcil on Mount Olympus, has driven spring from Hrusa and the surrounding country, and compelled him to ntrcat witii his f(jrces to tlic plains l)c;si(lc tiie sea-shore. Spring now prepares to attack his t.iiciny, l)ut Ixforc doing st) sends him in due form a summons to uitlnliaw, wliich he entrusts to his heiaUI, the Zephyr. Winter, on receiving this challenge, rages more furiously tiian ever, tears up the message and casts it in /••phyr's face, and calls on his hosts to at t.ick Spi in;.; wit iiout (|i:lay. Spring; th(i(:ui)on prepares to resist him. .ind lust sends forward the snow-diops as scouts into the cnciu\ 's territory. 'Ihese aic soon re inloM id l»\' the jiiinuoses and other spiini; llowei., ,ind tin i.iitli niiens its tre.isures lo ih.- advan( ini; cunqiM 1 1 u , pMiinn;; Iniih lli' .iK' 1 "I the ImouK-., 364 the jewels of the flowers, and all its other hidden riches. The marshalling of Spring's army is next described; the red- capped anemones are compared to Turkmans, the tulips to the '^azebs or light horse, the jonquils and daffodils to the janissaries, the camomile and jasmine to the dghd (sergeant) and kydya (intendant) of that corps, while the violets, lilies, and other spring flowers are made to represent other branches of the service. When all is ready, the bitterns begin to drum, and the cuckoos, dervish-like, to cry " Yd Hu!" Meanwhile Winter has entrenched himself in the depths of Mount Olym- pus, and, no longer venturing to attack by day, confines himself to night-attacks, in which his battalions, led by Frost and icy Wind, swoop down on the advancing hosts of Spring, which however, as soon as the sun appears, drive them back into the mountains. Spring encourages his army, telling them that Winter's efforts will but complete his downfall the sooner. The four winds are here introduced, and hold discussion together. Then Spring's army begins again to advance, and captures the two shrines of Daghli Baba and Geyikli Baba at the foot of Mount Olympus. Thence they extend gradually higher and higher until they drive the forces of Winter out of their last entrenchments. After a period of rest and en- joyment passed in all delight, the hospitable lord Summer invites Spring to a magnificent banquet, which is the culmin- ating point of the romance; for after it Spring falls sick, spoiled, together with his army, by surfeit of luxury. Winter, informed of this by the spies whom he keeps in Spring's camp, is filled with joy, and bids his vassal Autumn Blast go with his raiders and ravage the realms of Spring, choosing for the moment of attack the autumnal Equinox. This assault, which spreads consternation through the camp of Spring, is followed up at a short interval by a summons to surrender addressed by Winter to Spring in terms as haughty and 365 insolent as those employed by Spring at the beginning of his successes. Winter then advances in force with his soldiers of the Frost and the Rime, and gradually reconquers from Spring all the territory which he had lost. 6. TJie Seven Effigies {Heft Peyker). The hero of this famous romance, which forms the subject of one of the Persian Nizami's five great mesnevi poems, known collectively as the KJiamse ("Quintet") or Penj Genj ("Five Treasures"), is the Sasanian King Behram V, better known as Behram Giir, or "Behram the Wild Ass," on account of his fondness for hunting this animal. ' This prince was as a boy sent by his father Yezdigird to be brought up in the open, wholesome life of the Desert by his Vassal, Nu'^man, the Arabian King of Hi'ra, who caused him to be educated in all knightly accomplishments with his own son Munzir. Then Nu^man sought out the cunning architect Sinimmar, and bade him build for the young Prince's habit- ation the incomparable Palace of Khavernaq. Wlien it was finished, the architect rashly boasted that he could buikl an edifice yet more splendid, whereupon Nu luaii, leariiig lest his Palace should be outdone, caused Ihi- unfortunate Siiiini- m.ir to be cast d(jwn from the highest battlement. And now Behram began to develop that pa.ssion lot the chase for which he afterwards became so famous; nu)unted on his horse Ashqar h<; would spend d.i\s in piiisuiiij; the I 'I'Ik- wil.l ;iHH is, oil iiccoiiiil of itK Hllcn^;lh, spffd uml ciKliiiancc, so liinhly L'Hicilncil ill llir I'.ii'.l llial llir Allllm Imvc U |iloVclli "All Killld' is [iniUulc«l| ill llir Wil.l Asn" (I.AJI 0>i- v^ J^*aJl Jj ): Mii-l of uMvlliint; \s\\\<\\ l» tlir i>CMl ol itH kind. Ah IIh- 1'i-ii.iim llcliniiii V wuh (ulU-.l (,'«>, *\\w Wild Aim," KO wiiH tin* liiHl riniiyyiid ('iili|)li Mriwan 11 iikUnmiwd .>/.//»w./> , "llic A«i," ;iiid ill KmiIi I II iirH llii- inline »rnntt lo liuvr lirrn inlfmlod in it iHni|diinciilnry »ci»»o . 366 swift wild asses in the Desert, and in fighting with lions and dragons. One day, when, resting from his favourite pastime, he was wandering through his Palace of Khavernaq, he came upon a closed door which he had not previously noticed. Prompted by curiosity, he made his way into the room to which it gave access, and there discovered seven pictures (the "Seven Effigies" after which the Romance is named) representing as many beautiful princesses, to wit, Furek, daughter of the King of India; Nu'^man-i-Naz, daughter of the Khaqan of Turkistan; Humay, daughter of the Caesar; Nesri'n-nush, daughter of the King of the Slavs; Azeriyun, daughter of the King of the Sunset-land; Durusti, daughter of the Persian Kisra (Chosroes), and Naz-Peri, daughter of the King of Khwarezm or Khiva, with all of whom he straightway fell in love. He had, however, no time to think of such things just than, for news suddenly reached them that his father Yezdijird had died, and that a usurper had seized the throne. Thereupon he at once set out for Persia, and, after a brief struggle, defeated the usurper, and seated himself on his father's throne. One day, soon after his accession, he was out hunting, ac- companied by a favourite slave-girl named Fitne ("Mischief"), who had the boldness to challenge his skill in archery by defying him to shoot a wild ass through the hoof. Just as the King bent his bow to shoot, the animal put up its foot to scratch its ear, and the arrow, unerringly aimed, transfixed hoof and ear together. Fitne, so far from exhibiting any great enthusiasm or admiration, merely remarked, "Practice makes perfect!" Behram was so angered at this that he ordered her to be put to death, but she, by her entreaties, prevailed on the executioner to let her escape. She then took up her abode in a remote village, and, obtaining a young calf, made a practice of carrying it daily on her shoulders up a flight 3^7 of stairs. Her strength waxed in proportion to its growth, and in time a rumour reached Behram of a wonderful girl in a certain village who could carry a full-grown bull up a flight of stairs. Moved by curiosity he visited the place, saw the performance, recognized his former favourite, and complimented her on her achievement, to which again she replied, "Practice makes perfect!" Behram thereupon not only forgave her, but made her his wife. Behram, having successfully repelled an invasion of his territory by the Khaqan of Turkistan, at length has leisure to think once more of the seven beautiful princesses whose portraits he saw in the Palace of Khavernaq, and sends ambassadors to their respective fathers to demand their hands in marriage. All the ambassadors return with favourable replies, whereupon Behram entertains his nobles at a splendid banquet, at which Shcyda, a pupil of Sinimmar, who had assisted his master in the building of Khavernaq, offers to construct for the King a gorgeous palace in which to receive and entertain the seven princesses. Having received the King's commands to do this, he makes in the palace seven Pavilions or Jielvideres (the Heft Manrsar) for the seven princesse.s, each decorated in a different colour appropriate t(Mts mistress and to llie iilanel wliicli [)resides over her (U-stiii\'. When all is compk.ted, and Sli(;)(la, inort: forlunatr tliaii his master Sinimmar, has been fitly rewarded lor his skill antl labour, the Princesses are installed each in her own pavilion, and Ikrhr.im proceeds to visit tluni in turn. Heginning on Saturday, he lii'.t visits the l*iin( (•■,•. u| India, who inli.iluls thr lU.u k I'avilion, pn.-sided over by .S.ilnrn; on Sunday he ^;oi-s to tile Kh;i(|an's dauidilii in lh<' N'cllow I'.ivilion dedirated to the SiMi; on Monda\', In ill. I'riui c'.s ol Khw.uc/tu in the (iiccn I'.ivilinn n| Ihi- M i. mi hn'.day to tin Slavonir l'rinees4 ni llic Krd I'.ivili.in d. di« .ji« d lo .Mai.. <'n \\ eilncn* 368 day to the Princess of the Sunset-land in the Blue Pavilion dedicated to Mercury; on Thursday to the Persian Kisra's daughter in the Sandal-wood-coloured Pavilion dedicated to Jupiter, and on Friday to Csesar's daughter Humay in the white Pavilion dedicated to Venus. On each occasion Behram, out of compliment to the Princess whom he is visiting, arrays himself in garments of her colour; and each Princess in turn entertains him with a long story, these stories forming a considerable portion of the book. In addition to the above matter, the Romance gives some account of the institutions of Behram, and of various acts of justice performed by him, and concludes with the well- known story of his death, which is said to have been caused by his falling into, and being engulphed by, a morass or quaking bog, while engaged in his favourite sport of hunting the wild ass. He was never seen again, and, as the Persians punningly say, "the^/z-r (or wild-ass) became his^/cr (or tomb)." 7. The King and Beggar [Shah n Geda). The portion of this romance not analysed in the text (pp. 122 — 125 supra) is in brief as follows. Geda comes to Con- stantinople and there, in the At Meydan, sees Shah, whom he immediately recognizes as the original of his vision, walk- ing with three companions. Having learned his name, and been warned of his harshness towards such as would seek his friendship, he indites a ghazel to the object of his admir- ation. His friends in vain counsel him to desist, and finally take him to an aged saint, who prays that his passion may pass away, but he requests the saint rather to pray that it may increase, whereupon his friends, deeming his madness incurable, leave him. Hitherto Geda has revealed to no one the object of his passion, but one day, while out walking, he meets Shah, and is so overcome that he is obliged to 3^9 lean against a wall for support. Shah addresses him kindly, and offers to intercede with his beloved for him. Geda, having exacted a promise of secrecy, tells Shah to look in a mirror which he hands him if he would behold the object of his affections. Shah thereupon departs in anger. Geda next falls in with some men playing chess, and enters into conversation with them. His repeated allusions to the King (Shah) finally disclose to them his secret. A perfidious rival next gains his confidence, and then slanders him to Geda, who writes him a letter, upbraiding him with the disclosure of his secret, and bidding him leave the town. This Geda accordingly does, and for some years dwells in solitude, lamenting his banishment. Finally his sighs and tears so affect Shah that he falls ill. Geda prays for his recovery and writes him a letter, which again arouses Shah's displeasure. Again his friends endeavour to persuade him of the futility and folly of his attachment, but in vain. He prays the Sun and Moon to intercede with his beloved on his behalf, but in vain, and then i)rays to God to the same effect. Geda then returns to the city and makes friends with a broker, or slave-dcalcr, whom he induces to offer him for sale as a slave in the market. Sh.'ih sees and recogni/.c-s him, ami bids the l)H)l<e|oie he 370 dies. Shah comes, and by his gracious and kindly behaviour restores Geda to health. To ascertain how much Shah cares about Geda, some of his comrades inform him that the latter is dead, whereat Shah manifests the deepest sorrow, until the trick is explained to him. Shah again meets Geda, who is disguised, recognizes him, and invites him to his house, but a rival again intervenes and obtains his dismissal. They again meet, and Shah promises to visit Geda one day in his house, but adds that if he finds him from home when he comes, he will never see him again. Geda remains in his house for a whole month, but Shah does not come to him. He is again reproached by his friends for his hopeless passion, but he tells them that he has not been unrequited for his faithfulness, since Shah once came to visit him in a dream. The poem ends, as described on p. 124 supra, with the "Call from the Unseen" which bids Geda recognize all earthly love as based on illusion, and declares to him that the love of God's Eternal Beauty can alone satisfy. 8. TJie Khayrdbdd. This Romance of Nabi's is, in its earlier portion, partly based on the IldJii-ndme ("Divine Book") of the Great Persian mystic Feridu'd-Din '^Attar (killed in the sack of Nishapur by the Mongols about A. H. 627 = A. D. 1230), and the story is also alluded to by Nizami. The scene is laid at the court of Khurrem Shah, King of Jurjan, and the story opens with a great banquet given by him to his nobles and courtiers, at which are present his young favourite Javid and a gifted poet, Fakhr-i-Jurjan. ' The latter falls in love with Javid, whom the King thereupon presents to him, to the astonish- ' This is the name of a real poet, the author of the Persian romance of Visa and Ramin described at pp. 360 — 362 supra^ who flourished in the middle of the eleventh century of our era. 371 ment of all who are present. The poet Fakhr, distracted between love of Javi'd and fear lest the King may change his mind when the wine is out of him, determines to await what the morrow may bring forth, and meanwhile shuts up Javid in a vault under the throne, the key of which he entrusts, in the presence of the courtiers, to the warden of this chamber. When the King awakes next morning, he bitterly regrets what he has done, but, disdaining to make manifest his sorrow for the loss of his favourite, he seats himself on his throne and proceeds to transact his business as usual. The key of the vault under the throne is brought to him, and the cour- tiers explain to him that his favourite is shut up there. Overjoyed, he descends into the vault, where he finds only a heap of ashes, whence he concludes with sorrow that Javid has been burned in a conflagration caused by one of the candles. Both the King and the poet are distracted with grief; the latter betakes himself to the Desert, while the former makes over the affairs of the state to his ministers, and announces his intention of remaining in the vault, there to end his days in meditation and prayer. Here the story, as told by 1^'erfdu'd-Din ""Attar, ends: what follows is added by Nab(. Javid had not really perished in the fire which had con- sumed his bed. A cunning burglar nanuMl Chalak had made a tunnel leading to the vault uiuUr the tlirom-, with a view to future robbery; and, hap[)ening to visit the vault on the night when Javfd was confined there, he found him in im- minent danger of destruction from the fire which hail acci- dcnlidly i)rokcn out duiin;; his sleep, and. Ii.iving rcscucd him. bore hnn in a l.iiiitiiii; coiKhlioii tn Ins own house. J;iv(d, on iccctvei ing Ills senses, th.mks ( h.ii.dv loi s.immj; his life, and i)iomines to obtain lor him a nwaid Iumm the Kin^;. but insists on (onti.dini; hr. s.il'ety loi .i tune m onlei to punish the Kmi; l<'i ni.iKnii; liini «i\ti l.> I .ilJii '5 372 Meanwhile the King, keeping vigil in the vault, becomes sensible of a current of air, which he traces to the tunnel. He proceeds to explore the tunnel, which leads him to Chalak's house, where he finds Javi'd asleep. Javid wakes up and flees from the King, who follows him, pursued in turn by Chalak, on whose heels follow the watchman whom the noise has alarmed. Javi'd finally turns down a passage which leads him into a ruined mosque, in the centre of the courtyard of which is a deep well overshadowed by an old tree, in which Javi'd takes refuge, hoping to conceal himself amongst the leaves. However the branch to which he clings breaks, and he falls into the well. The King descends after him by means of a rope, followed by Chalak. Javi'd plunges into another subterranean passage, while the watch- men remain at the top of the well, casting stones at the fugitives. These follow the passage entered by Javid until it finally brings them to the bottom of another well, through which they ascend by means of a rope into a beautiful garden, in the midst of which they find a gorgeous pavilion, in which is a beautiful maiden. By her sits a hideous demon named Tamtam, who has long tormented the neighbourhood, and who has now come to seize and dishonour the maiden, whose mother and servants have fled, abandoning her to her fate. While the King and Javid, hidden amongst the trees, are considering what to do, they are seized by five of Tam- tam's confederates and led into the pavilion, where the demon recognizes, insults, and threatens to kill them. Meanwhile Chalak arrives, and, seeing their peril, determines to save them. He first throws a pastille amongst the five confederates of Tamtam, who are engaged in drinking wine; this stupifies them, and he thereupon cuts off" their heads. He next ap- proaches the demon Tamtam, who is endeavouring to force the girl to submit to his odious embraces, and strikes off 373 his head also. The girl faints with terror, while the King thanks Chalak profusely for his well-timed interference and promises him a rich reward. Soon the girl recovers from her swoon, and she and her relatives and attendants, who have meanwhile returned, join their expressions of gratitude to those of Khurrem Shah and Javid. Javid and the girl fall in love with each other at sight, and the King sees and approves. The party shortly breaks up, the King and Javid returning with Chalak to his house and thence to the vault beneath the throne. At this point a fresh actor is introduced, the King of Kirman, an old enemy of Khurrem Shah, who, constantly defeated in open battle, sends an assassin to attempt the life of the King of Jurjan. This assassin, watching for his opportunity, thinks to fall upon the King in the vault, and to this end first drugs the guard. On descending into the vault he finds no one, but, hearing voices, burns a stupefying drug, against the fumes of which he has first protected himself by an antidote. Khurrem Shah ami Javid are rendered insensible by the fumes, and the former is then bound and carried on to the roof of the vault b\' the assassin, who thence lets him down Id llu: griunul, hut is himself seized by ('h/ilak, who has being watching his proceeiiiiigs, and comijelled to c-> ij:' J^^ ^uXJ^I _j^! ^^.i;^^ j5^ ^5^ y^fr ^b- X)^ lJ^l*3» N,y.*Jt\j' ^/^' ^^3t Ua^ ^c^^i ^ ^^yA Kj ^«j>\^ 3J»Ui^ wyr> 10] hi] hv] Ha] 'v. 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