Part 20

When the Queen returned and again found her favorite lifeless, she was both grieved and angry. All her servants, however, when questioned, assured her that no one had entered the palace during her absence, and that Rosa's sisters had only been allowed to speak to her from a distance as she stood at her high window. In the hope of bringing her to life again, as on the previous occasion, the Queen of Night searched every fold of the maiden's dress, but in vain; she could not discover the fatal charm.

"Perhaps," said she to herself, as she sat and gazed on the lifeless features of her adopted daughter, "what I can not discover, chance may, and I could never bring myself to bury her, dead though she seems to be."

So the grieving Queen sent for a cunning workman, who made at her orders a coffer of silver; and after dressing Rosa in her most beautiful clothes and jewels, she laid her in it, closed the lid, fastened the coffer on the back of a splendid horse, and let him loose to wander at will.

The horse, following his fancy, carried his fair burden in a few hours' time into a neighboring country, the ruler of which was the handsomest man of his time; and this King, being that day out hunting with his court, happened to catch sight of the horse. Attracted by its beauty and fleetness, and by the strange shining burden it bore on its saddle, he approached, and seeing the animal to be masterless, he bade his people seize and lead it to the palace. The silver coffer the King caused to be carried into his bed-chamber, and there he opened it. Imagine, if you can, his surprise on seeing within the form of a beautiful maiden. Though apparently lifeless, she was more lovely than any living woman he had ever beheld, and his heart became filled with such ardent love for her that he would sit for hours together gazing upon her beautiful features, neglecting duties and pleasures alike; and when his ministers came and prayed him to accompany them to the council chamber, he only said,

"Go, I pray you, and do justice in my name."

Days passed, his gentlemen tried to tempt him out hunting, but again he only replied,

"Do you go without me."

The royal cooks vied with one another in preparing the most delicious dishes for his table; but these he hardly tasted, nor did he even appear to notice what he was eating. When this state of things had continued for some days the ministers became alarmed, and sent a messenger to inform the Queen-Mother, who was away at her country palace. She came with all speed, and was much distressed to find her son so dispirited and melancholy. To all her anxious inquiries, however, he only replied that he was quite well, but preferred to remain alone in his bed-chamber. The Queen had, of course, already heard from the courtiers the story of the riderless horse and the silver chest; and she rightly guessed that her son had been bewitched by what he had found in it, and determined to discover what this might be.

So the very next day, while the King was at dinner with his vizier, his mother went to his chamber—for she had a master-key that would open all the doors in the palace—and there, extended on the divan, she saw the silver chest. Going hastily up to it, she raised the lid which the King had closed before leaving. At first she could only gaze in astonishment at the wonderful beauty of the maiden lying within; but her admiration presently changed to anger when she thought of her son; and seizing poor Rosa by her long hair, she dragged her out of the coffer and shook her violently, saying,

"You wicked dead thing! Why are you not decently buried instead of wandering about casting spells on Princes?" But as the Queen shook her the enchanted sugar-plum was jerked out of Rosa's mouth, and she immediately came to life again, and gazed around her in bewilderment. And as she opened her large, lovely eyes, the Queen's anger passed away, and she embraced and kissed Rosa tenderly, weeping with delight the while. The poor girl was so astonished by the strangeness of everything around her, that it was some minutes before she could ask:

"Where am I, noble lady, and where is my dear mother?"

"I know not, my child, but I will be your mother. For you shall marry my son, the King, who is dying for love of you."

As she spoke, footsteps were heard at the door, and the King entered. Imagine, if you can, his amazement and joy at finding, seated on the divan by his mother's side, the maiden he loved so dearly, restored to life, and twenty times lovelier than before. Not to make too long a story of it, the King took her by the hand, and asked her to be his wife. And when Rosa heard of his love for her, and saw how handsome and noble he was, she could not but love him in return. So they were married with great splendor, and there were feasts for the poor, and fountains running honey and wine, and rejoicings for everybody.

Well, the King and Rosa lived very happily together for some time; but her troubles were not over, for her wicked sisters had not yet done their worst to her. They had for long feared to go near the palace again, and nearly a year passed before they learned what had been the result of their last visit. One day, however, in order to make quite sure that Rosa was dead, they once more stood at their window, and cried,

"Sun, shining Sun, who wanderest all over the earth, tell us if thou hast, since our youngest sister died, seen any maiden fairer than we?"

But the Sun only replied as before, "I am beautiful; you, too, are both beautiful; but your youngest sister is the fairest of all."

"But Rosa is dead!"

"No, Rosa lives, and she is the wife of the King of the neighboring country."

Well, if these wicked women could not bear that their sister should be considered fairer than they, still less could they allow her to be a Queen. So, disguised as two old women, they set off at once for Rosa's palace. When they arrived in the royal city, great rejoicings were going on because a baby prince had just been born.

"That is good news," said the elder to the younger when she heard this, "for now we will be the nurses." So they went to the Queen-Mother and gave themselves out to be wonderfully clever nurses from the neighboring country who had nursed the princes there; and the Queen-Mother, deceived by their story, put them in charge of her daughter-in-law and the baby. On the pretext of keeping the young Queen and her child free from evil spells, the make-believe nurses sent away all the other attendants from her apartments; and when they were left alone with their sister, they stack into her head an enchanted pin.

She was immediately changed into a bird, and flew away out of the window; and her eldest sister laid herself down on her bed in her place.

When the King came in to see his wife, he could hardly believe his eyes. This could not be his wife. The false Queen, guessing his thoughts, said,

"You find me changed, dear husband? It is because I have been so ill."

The King, however, pretended not to have observed anything, but his heart froze within him as he looked on the object of this pretended transformation.

It was his custom to breakfast alone every day in the garden; and one day while he was sadly musing there, a pretty bird flew down, perched on a branch overhead, and said, "Tell me, my lord, have the King, and the Queen-Mother, and the little Prince slept well?"

The King smiled and nodded, and the bird continued, "May they ever sleep sweetly. But may she whom they call the young Queen sleep the sleep that knows no waking, and may all things over which I fly wither away!"

This said, the bird spread its wings, and wherever it passed, the grass and flowers withered, and the place became a desert. The gardeners, in despair, asked the King if they might not kill the bird which caused the mischief; but he forbade them, on pain of death, to do it any injury.

Afterward the bird came every day while he was at breakfast in the garden; and the kind voice of the Prince soon made it so tame and fearless that it would perch on his knee and eat from his hand. This familiarity enabled the Prince to observe the bird's plumage more closely, and one day he caught sight of the pin in its head. Surprised at this, he ventured to withdraw it, when the bird disappeared, and his own dear wife stood again by his side. When he had recovered a little from the joy and surprise caused by this strange event, and had welcomed his wife back, he asked her to tell how it had all happened. And Rosa, whose eyes were now fully opened to the malice and wickedness of her sisters, told him all she knew of her own adventures.

When the Prince had learned the evil deeds of his sisters-in-law, he bade his guards bring these wretches before him, and condemned them both to a death suitable to their crimes. In vain did Rosa entreat him to pardon them. The King was inexorable. But when, at sunset, the criminals were being led away to execution, the Queen of Night appeared on the scene, followed by all her train; and touched by the distress of her adopted daughter, she prevailed upon the King to change the sentence he had pronounced. The two evil-doers were then offered the choice of dying a violent death, or living to witness their sister's happiness while deprived of the power of ever again being able to injure her.

They chose the latter fate; and it was not long before they both died of spite and jealousy.

LEGEND AND POETRY AMONG THE TURKS

THE DIVAN OF THE LOVER

THE EARLIEST TURKISH POEM

All the universe, one mighty sign, is shown; God hath myriads of creative acts unknown: None hath seen them, of the races jinn and men, None hath news brought from that realm far off from ken. Never shall thy mind or reason reach that strand, Nor can tongue the King's name utter of that land. Since 'tis his each nothingness with life to vest, Trouble is there ne'er at all to his behest. Eighteen thousand worlds, from end to end, Do not with him one atom's worth transcend.

THE BOOK OF ALEXANDER THE GREAT

(BY AHMEDI)

Up and sing! O _'anga_-natured nightingale! High in every business doth thy worth prevail: Sing! for good the words are that from thee proceed; Whatsoever thou dost say is prized indeed. Then, since words to utter thee so well doth suit, Pity were it surely if thy tongue were mute. Blow a blast in utt'rance that the Trusted One, When he hears, ten thousand times may cry: "Well done!" Up and sing! O bird most holy! up and sing! Unto us a story fair and beauteous bring. Let not opportunity slip by, silent there; Unto us the beauty of each word declare. Seldom opportunities like this with thee lie; Sing then, for th' occasion now is thine, so hie! Lose not opportunities that thy hand doth find, For some day full suddenly Death thy tongue shall bind. Of how many singers, eloquent of words, Bound have Death and Doom the tongues fast in their cords! Lose not, then, th' occasion, but to joy look now, For one day thy station 'neath earth seek must thou. While the tongue yet floweth, now thy words collect; Them as Meaning's taper 'midst the feast erect, That thy words, remaining long time after thee, To the listeners' hearing shall thy record be. Thy mementoes lustrous biding here behind, Through them they'll recall thee, O my soul, to mind. Those who've left mementoes ne'er have died in truth; Those who've left no traces ne'er have lived in sooth. Surely with this object didst thou come to earth, That to mind should ever be recalled thy worth. "May I die not!" say'st thou, one of noble race? Strive, then, that thou leavest here a name of grace.

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Once unto his Vizier quoth the crowned King: "Thou, who in my world-realm knowest everything! With my sword I've conquered many and many a shore; Still I sigh right sorely: 'Ah! to conquer more!' Great desire is with me realms to overthrow; Through this cause I comfort ne'er a moment know. Is there yet a country whither we may wend, Where as yet our mighty sway doth not extend, That we may it conquer, conquer it outright? Ours shall be the whole earth—ours it shall be quite." Then, when heard the Vizier what the King did say, Quoth he: "Realm-o'erthrowing Monarch, live for aye! May the Mighty Ruler set thy crown on high, That thy throne may ever all assaults defy! May thy life's rose-garden never fade away! May thy glory's orchard never see decay! Thou'st the Peopled Quarter ta'en from end to end; All of its inhabitants slaves before thee bend. There's on earth no city, neither any land, That is not, O Monarch, under thy command. In the Peopled Quarter Seven Climes are known, And o'er all of these thy sway extends alone!"

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THE LOVES OF SHIRIN

(BY SHEYKHI)

The spot at which did King Khusrev Perviz light Was e'en the ruined dwelling of that moon bright. Whilst wand'ring on, he comes upon that parterre, As on he strolls, it opes before his eyes fair. Among the trees a night-hued courser stands bound (On Heaven's charger's breast were envy's scars found). As softly moved he, sudden on his sight gleamed A moon that in the water shining bright beamed. O what a moon! a sun o'er earth that light rains— Triumphant, happy, blest he who her shade gains. She'd made the pool a casket for her frame fair, And all about that casket spread her dark hair. Her hand did yonder curling serpents back throw— The dawn 'tis, and thereof we never tired grow. He saw the water round about her ear play; In rings upon her shoulders her dark locks lay. When yon heart-winning moon before the King beamed, The King became the sun—in him Love's fire gleamed. The tears e'en like to water from his eyes rolled; Was't strange, when did a Watery Sign the Moon hold? No power was left him, neither sport nor pleasure; He bit his finger, wildered beyond measure. Unconscious of his gaze, the jasmine-breasted— The hyacinths o'er the narcissi rested. When shone her day-face, from that musky cloud bare, Her eyes oped Shirin and beheld the King there. Within that fountain, through dismay and shamed fright, She trembled as on water doth the moonlight. Than this no other refuge could yon moon find That she should round about her her own locks bind. The moon yet beameth through the hair, the dark night, With tresses how could be concealed the sun bright! To hide her from him, round her she her hair flung, And thus as veil her night before her day hung.

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When Ferhad bound to fair Shirin his heart's core, From out his breast Love many a bitter wail tore. On tablet of his life graved, shown was Shirin; Of all else emptied, filled alone with Shirin. As loathed he the companionship of mankind, In wild beasts 'midst the hills did he his friends find. His guide was Pain; his boon companion, Grief's throe; His comrade, Sorrow; and his closest friend, Woe. Thus wand'ring on, he knew not day from dark night; For many days he onward strayed in sad plight. Although before his face a wall of stone rise, Until he strikes against it, blind his two eyes. Through yearning for his love he from the world fled; From out his soul into his body Death sped. Because he knew that when the earthly frame goes, Eternal, Everlasting Being love shows, He fervent longed to be from fleshly bonds free, That then his life in very truth might Life see. In sooth, till dies the body, Life is ne'er found, Nor with the love of life the Loved One e'er found.

THE BOOK OF MOHAMMED

(BY YAZIJI-OGLU)

THE CREATION OF PARADISE

Hither come, O seeker after Truth! if joy thou wouldest share, Enter on the Mystic Pathway, follow it, then joy thou'lt share. Harken now what God (exalted high his name!) from naught hath formed. Eden's bower he hath created; Light, its lamp, he did prepare; Loftiest its sites, and best and fairest are its blest abodes; Midst of each a hall of pearls—not ivory nor teak-wood rare. Each pavilion he from seventy ruddy rubies raised aloft— Dwellings these in which the dwellers sit secure from fear or care. Bound within each courtyard seventy splendid houses he hath ranged, Formed of emeralds green—houses these no fault of form that bear. There, within each house, are seventy pearl and gem-incrusted thrones; He upon each throne hath stretched out seventy couches broidered fair; Sits on every couch a maiden of the bourne of loveliness: Moons their foreheads, days their faces, each a jeweled crown doth wear; Wine their rubies, soft their eyes, their eyebrows troublous, causing woe: All-enchanting, Paradise pays tribute to their witching air. Sudden did they see the faces of those damsels dark of eye, Blinded sun and moon were, and Life's Stream grew bitter then and there. Thou wouldst deem that each was formed of rubies, corals, and of pearls; Question there is none, for God thus in the Koran doth declare. Tables seventy, fraught with bounties, he in every house hath placed, And on every tray hath spread out seventy sorts of varied fare. All these glories, all these honors, all these blessings of delight, All these wondrous mercies surely for his sake he did prepare: Through his love unto Mohammed, he the universe hath framed; Happy, for his sake, the naked and the hungry enter there. O Thou Perfectness of Potence! O Thou God of Awful Might! O Thou Majesty of Glory! O Thou King of Perfect Eight!

Since he Eden's heaven created, all is there complete and whole, So that naught is lacking; nothing he created needs repair. Yonder, for his righteous servants, things so fair hath he devised, That no eye hath e'er beheld them; ope thy soul's eye, on them stare. Never have his servants heard them, neither can their hearts conceive; Reach unto their comprehension shall this understanding ne'er. There that God a station lofty, of the loftiest, hath reared, That unclouded station he the name Vesila caused to bear, That to his Belovèd yonder station a dear home may be, Thence ordained is Heaven's order free from every grief and care. In its courtyard's riven center, planted he the Tuba-Tree; That a tree which hangeth downward, high aloft its roots are there: Thus its radiance all the Heavens lighteth up from end to end, Flooding every tent and palace, every lane and every square. Such a tree the Tuba, that the Gracious One hath in its sap Hidden whatsoe'er there be of gifts and presents good and fair; Forth therefrom crowns, thrones, and jewels, yea, and steeds and coursers come, Golden leaves and clearest crystals, wines most pure beyond compare. For his sake there into being hath he called the Tuba-Tree, That from Ebu-Qasim's hand might every one receive his share.

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POEMS BY TURKISH RULERS

RUBA'I

Cupbearer, bring, bring here again my yester even's wine; My harp and rebec bring, them bid address this heart of mine: While still I live, 'tis meet that I should mirth and glee enjoy; The day shall come when none may e'en my resting-place divine.—_Sultan Murad II._ (reigned 1421-1451).

GAZEL

Souls are fluttered when the morning breezes through thy tresses stray; Waving cypresses are wildered when thy motions they survey. Since with witchcraft thou hast whetted keen the lancet of thy glance, All my veins are bleeding inward through my longing and dismay. "Why across thy cheek disordered float thy tresses?" asked I her. "It is Rum-Eyli; there high-starred heroes gallop," did she say. Thought I, though I spake not: "In thy quarter, through thy tint and scent, Wretched and head-giddy, wand'ring, those who hope hope not for stray." "Whence the anger in thy glances, O sweet love?" I said; then she: "Silence! surely if I shed blood, I the ensigns should display." Even as thou sighest, 'Avni, shower thine eyes tears fast as rain, Like as follow hard the thunder-roll the floods in dread array.

—_Sultan Mohammed II._ (1451-1481).

FRAGMENT OF GAZEL

Torn and pierced my heart has been by thy scorn and tyranny's blade; Rent by the scissors of grief for thee is the robe that my patience arrayed. Like the _mihrab_ of the Kaaba, as shrine where in worship to turn, Thy ward would an angel take, if thy footprint there he surveyed. They are pearls, O mine eye! thou sheddest her day-bright face before; Not a tear is left—these all are dried by the beams by her cheek displayed.

—_Mohammed II._

GAZEL

To obey, Eight hard for Allah, is my aim and my desire; 'Tis but zeal for Faith, for Islam, that my ardor doth inspire. Through the grace of Allah, and th' assistance of the Band Unseen, Is my earnest hope the Infidels to crush with ruin dire. On the Saints and on the Prophets surely doth my trust repose; Through the love of God, to triumph and to conquest I aspire. What if I with soul and gold strive here to wage the Holy War? Praise is God's! ten thousand sighs for battle in my breast suspire. O Mohammed! through the chosen Ahmed Mukhtar's glorious aid, Hope I that my might may triumph over Islam's foes acquire!

—_Mohammed II._

GAZEL

Ah, thine eyes lay waste the heart, they 'gainst the soul bare daggers dread; See how sanguinary gleam they—blood aye upon blood they shed. Come, the picture of thy down bear unto this my scorched breast— It is customary fresh greens over the broiled flesh to spread. Said I: "O Life! since thy lip is life, to me vouchsafe a kiss." Smiling rose-like, "Surely, surely, by my life," she answered. As I weep sore, of my stained eyebrow and my tears of blood, "'Tis the rainbow o'er the shower stretched," were by all beholders said. While within my heart thine eye's shaft, send not to my breast despair; Idol mine! guest after guest must not to one same house be led. Through its grieving for thy hyacinth down, thus feeble grown Is the basil, that the gardeners nightly o'er it water shed. Quoth I: "O Life! do not shun Jem, he a pilgrim here hath come"; "Though a pilgrim, yet his life doth on a child's face hang," she said.

—_Prince Jem_ (1481).

FRAGMENT

Lo! there the torrent, dashing 'gainst the rocks, doth wildly roll; The whole wide realm of Space and Being ruth hath on my soul. Through bitterness of grief and woe the morn hath rent its robe; See! O in dawning's place, the sky weeps blood, without control! Tears shedding, o'er the mountain-tops the clouds of heaven pass; Hear, deep the bursting thunder sobs and moans through stress of dole.

—_Prince Jem._

GAZEL