In Cazotte’s rendering of this story, under the corrupted title of Abou Talmant, for a King of Turkistān is substituted a King of Cochin-China. The plot for destroying the prudent minister by means of the prattle of two young slaves in the King’s hearing is considerably amplified: the malicious viziers having taught them to repeat some harem gossip while the King was reposing, but not asleep, which, proving to be true, prepared him to believe the false story of the Queen’s love for Abū Temām. The King’s discovery of his favourite’s innocence is differently related;—instead of his overhearing the two pages quarrel over the division of the money, a day or two after Abū Temām had been put to death, as in the Persian version—the King immediately returns to his private chamber, and seeing the pieces of gold scattered on the floor, sends for the pages, and compels them to tell the truth regarding their possession of so much money. He then causes the two Viziers to be beheaded.
Notes on Chapter X.
Page [107]. The King of Persia (Shāh `Ajam).—The term `Ajam includes all who cannot speak Arabic, or who do not speak it with elegance. Among the Arabs it applies to all people not of Arab descent, and carries the same idea as Barbarians with the Greeks, Gentiles with the Hebrews. Hence Persia is called `Ajamistān, the land of the stranger, or barbarian. And so two famous Arabian poems are distinguished respectively by the nationalities of their authors: Lāmiyyatu-’l-`Arab, by the Arabian brigand-poet Shanfará, and Lāmiyyātu-’l-`Ajam, by Et Tugrā`ī, a native of Isfahān: that is, the L-Poem (from its rhyming in lam, or L) of the Arab, and the L-Poem of the Foreigner.
Page [108]. “Not having any child,” &c.—The desire of offspring, and especially of male children, seems to have always been very strong among Asiatics of all classes, and by Jews the want of children was considered sufficient ground for divorce, as the following beautiful rabbinical story will show: A man, it is related, brought his wife before Rabbi Simon, expressing his desire to be divorced, since he had been married over ten years without being blessed with children. The Rabbi at first endeavoured to dissuade the man from his purpose, but finding him resolute, he gravely addressed the pair thus: “My children, when you were married did ye not make a feast and entertain your friends? Well, since you are determined to be divorced, do likewise: go home, make a feast, entertain your friends, and on the following day come to me and I will comply with your wishes.” They returned home, and, in accordance with the good Rabbi’s advice, the husband caused a splendid feast to be prepared, to which were invited their friends and relations. In the course of the entertainment, the husband, being gladdened with wine, said to his wife: “My beloved, we have lived many happy years together; it is only the want of children that makes me wish for a separation. To convince thee, however, that I still love thee, I give thee leave to take with thee out of my house whatever thou likest best.” “Be it so,” answered his wife. The wine-cup was freely plied by the guests, and all became merry, until at length many had fallen asleep, and amongst these was the master of the house, which his wife perceiving, she caused him to be carried to her father’s house and put to bed. Having slept off the effects of his carouse, he awoke, and, finding himself in a strange house, exclaimed: “Where am I?—how came I here?” His wife, who had placed herself behind a curtain to await the issue of her little stratagem, came up to him, and told him that he had no cause for alarm, since he was in her father’s house. “In thy father’s house!” echoed the astonished husband—“how should I come hither?” “I will soon explain, my dear husband. Didst thou not tell me last night that I might take out of thy house whatever I most valued? Now, my beloved, believe me, amongst all thy treasures there is none I value so much as I do thyself.” The sequel may be readily imagined: overcome by such devotion, the husband affectionately embraced his wife, was reconciled to her, and they lived happily together ever afterwards.[[88]]—Throughout the East, indeed, the want of children is considered as a great disgrace. Readers of Oriental romances, such as those contained in Elf Layla wa Layla, or The Thousand and One Nights; Bahār-i Dānish, or the Spring of Knowledge, and Kissa-i Chehār Darvīsh, or Tale of the Four Dervishes, will easily call to mind the many stories of Khalīfs, Sultāns, Shāhs, Viziers, &c. being childless, and of the pious and even magical means they adopted to obtain the blessing of a son and heir.
Page [108]. “In a dream.”—Muslims consider dreams as the predictions of future events. Good dreams are believed to be from God, and false ones from the Devil. “Whoever seeth me,” said the Prophet, “in his sleep, seeth me truly; for Satan cannot assume the similitude of my form.”—Lane’s Thousand and One Nights, iii, p. 512, note.
Page [108]. “Was addressed by an old man,” &c.—According to Lescallier, “by a genie, resplendent with light.”
Page [109]. “The top of a mountain, from which he shall fall, rolling in blood and clay.”—Lescallier’s rendering goes on to say: “He shall yet escape the murderous teeth of that lion; and when he has attained his twentieth year, he shall give you a wound, and put you to death.”
Page [109]. “One of his Viziers eminently skilled in astrology”—Lescallier adds, “assisted by many other astronomers.”—In Eastern courts an astronomer would be held in disrespect if he did not debase the truth of his science to the vain predictions of astrology (‘ilmu-’n-nujūn). Every professional astrologer hangs an astrolabe—which is not larger than the hollow of the hand—in a neat case, at his girdle. Some have an astrolabe two or three inches in diameter, which at a distance looks like a medal conferred on the wearer as a mark of honour, or as an order of merit.[[89]] “A very slight knowledge of astronomy,” says Sir John Malcolm, “is sufficient to allow a Persian student to profess the occult science of judicial astrology. If a person can take an altitude with an astrolabe, knows the names of the planets and their different mansions, and a few technical phrases, and understands the astrological almanacs that are annually published, he deems himself entitled to offer his services to all who wish to consult him; and that includes every person in Persia who has the means to reward his skill. Nothing is done by a man of any consequence or property without reference to the stars. If any measure is to be adopted, if a voyage or journey is to be commenced, if a new dress is to be put on—the lucky or unlucky moment must be discovered, and the almanac and astrologer are consulted. A person wishing to commence a journey will not allow a fortunate day to escape, even though he is not ready to set out. He leaves his own house at the propitious moment, and remains, till he can actually proceed, in some incommodious lodging in its vicinity, satisfied that, by quitting his house, he has secured all the benefit which the influence of good stars can afford him.”[[90]] When Sir John Malcolm entered Tehrān as British Ambassador, the King’s astrologer so timed the progress of the cavalcade that the “Elchī’s” charger should put his foot over the threshold of the gate at the precise lucky moment, which he had previously ascertained.
The Chaldeans were the first astrologers, and the so-called science was sedulously cultivated and in high estimation among the Hindūs, the Greeks, the Egyptians, and their Alexandrian disciples. Even the illustrious Tycho Brahe was devoted to astrology from his early youth until within a few years of his death, when he finally abandoned it as a fallacy. At first, and for a very long period afterwards, astrology was not separated into the two divisions or departments of natural astrology, or observations of the regular motions of the heavenly bodies (which is now termed astronomy), and judicial astrology, or the pretended science of foretelling events from observation of the relative positions of the planets. Isidore of Seville, it is said, was the first to distinguish between astronomy and astrology. The professors of judicial astrology in Europe pretended—as those in Asiatic countries still pretend—to be able to predict the destiny of any one who came to consult them, by a process called casting his horoscope, which was done by first ascertaining the precise hour of the person’s birth, and the sign the sun was in at that time, and then drawing conclusions from observation of the conjunction and relative position of the planets towards each other. But European astrologers very frequently—probably as a general rule—did not trouble themselves to “read the stars;” they were for the most part accomplished physiognomists, and it may be said that they usually contented themselves with telling fortunes by faces rather than by the appearance of the heavenly bodies. There can be little doubt that, with the exception of a few deluded individuals who thoroughly believed in their own skill, those who professed a knowledge of astrology were arrant impostors—cunning knaves, who traded on the prevalent superstition and credulity of mankind in the days before science began to shed its pure light.