Part 23

GAZEL

All sick the heart with love for her, sad at the feast of woe; Bent form, the harp; low wail, the flute; heart's blood for wine doth flow. Prone lies the frame her path's dust 'neath, in union's stream the eye, In air the mind, the soul 'midst separation's fiery glow. Oh, ever shall it be my lot, zone-like, thy waist to clasp! 'Twixt us, O love, the dagger blade of severance doth show! Thou art the Queen of earth, thy cheeks are Towers of might, this day, Before thy Horse, like Pawns, the Kings of grace and beauty go. Him hinder not, beside thee let him creep, O Shade-like stay! Baqi, thy servant, O my Queen, before thee lieth low.

ON AUTUMN

Lo, ne'er a trace or sign of springtide's beauty doth remain; Fall'n 'midst the garden lie the leaves, now all their glory vain. Bleak stand the orchard trees, all clad in tattered dervish rags; Dark Autumn's blast hath torn away the hands from off the plane. From each hill-side they come and cast their gold low at the feet, Of garden trees, as hoped the streams from these some boon to gain. Stay not within the parterre, let it tremble with its shame: Bare every shrub, this day doth naught of leaf or fruit retain. Baqi, within the garden lies full many a fallen leaf; Low lying there, it seems they 'gainst the winds of Fate complain.

GAZEL

Tulip-cheeked ones over rosy field and plain stray all around; Mead and garden cross they, looking wistful each way, all around. These the lovers true of radiant faces, aye, but who the fair? Lissom Cypress, thou it is whom eager seek they all around. Band on band Woe's legions camped before the City of the Heart, There, together league, sat Sorrow, Pain, Strife, Dismay, all around. From my weeping flows the river of my tears on every side, Like an ocean 'tis again, a sea that casts spray all around. Forth through all the Seven Climates have the words of Baqi gone; This refulgent verse recited shall be alway, all around.

GAZEL

From thine own beauty's radiant sun doth light flow; How lustrously doth now the crystal glass show! Thy friend's the beaker, and the cup's thy comrade; Like to the dregs why dost thou me aside throw? Hearts longing for thy beauty can resist not; Hold, none can bear the dazzling vision's bright glow! United now the lover, and now parted; This world is sometimes pleasure and sometimes woe. Bound in the spell of thy locks' chain is Baqi, Mad he, my Liege, and to the mad they grace show.

GAZEL

The goblet as affliction's Khusrev's bright Keyani crown doth shine; And surely doth the wine-jar love's King's Khusrevani hoard enshrine. Whene'er the feast recalls Jemshid, down from its eyes the red blood rolls; The rosy-tinted wine its tears, the beakers its blood-weeping eyne. At parting's banquet should the cup, the heart, with blood brim o'er were't strange? A bowl that, to the fair we'll drain, a goblet filled full high with wine. O Moon, if by thy door one day the foe should sudden me o'ertake— A woe by Heaven decreed, a fate to which I must myself resign! The fume of beauty's and of grace's censer is thy cheek's sweet mole, The smoke thereof thy musky locks that spreading fragrant curl and twine; Thy cheek rose-hued doth light its taper at the moon that shines most bright, Its candlestick at grace's feast is yonder collar fair of thine. Of love and passion is the lustrous sheen of Baqi's verse the cause; As Life's Stream brightly this doth shine; but that, th' Eternal Life Divine.

GAZEL

When the sheets have yonder Torment to their bosom ta'en to rest, Think I, "Hides the night-adorning Moon within the cloudlet's breast." In the dawning, O thou turtle, mourn not with those senseless plaints; In the bosom of some stately cypress thou'rt a nightly guest. Why thou weepest from the heavens, never can I think, O dew; Every night some lovely rose's bosom fair thou enterest. Hath the pearl seen in the story of thy teeth its tale of shame, Since the sea hath hid the album of the shell within its breast? Longing for thy cheeks, hath Baqi all his bosom marked with scars, Like as though he'd cast of rose-leaves fresh a handful o'er his chest.

ELEGY ON SULTAN SULEIMAN I.

O thou! foot-bounden in the mesh of fame and glory's snare! Till when shall last the lust of faithless earth's pursuits and care? At that first moment, which of life's fair springtide is the last, 'Tis need the tulip cheek the tint of autumn leaf should wear; 'Tis need that thy last home should be, e'en like the dregs', the dust; 'Tis need the stone from hand of Fate should be joy's beaker's share. He is a man indeed whose heart is as a mirror clear; Man art thou? why then doth thy breast the tiger's fierceness bear? In understanding's eye how long shall heedless slumber bide? Will not war's Lion-Monarch's fate suffice to make thee ware? He, Prince of Fortune's Cavaliers! he to whose charger bold, Whene'er he caracoled or pranced, cramped was earth's tourney square! He, to the luster of whose sword the Magyar bowed his head! He, the dread gleaming of whose brand the Frank can well declare! Like tender rose-leaf, gently laid he in the dust his face, And Earth, the Treasurer, him placed like jewel in his case.

In truth, he was the radiance of rank high and glory great, A Shah, Iskender-diademed, of Dara's armied state; Before the dust beneath his feet the Sphere bent low its head; Earth's shrine of adoration was his royal pavilion's gate. The smallest of his gifts the meanest beggar made a prince; Exceeding bounteous, exceeding kind a Potentate! The court of glory of his kingly majesty most high Was aye the center where would hopes of sage and poet wait. Although he yielded to Eternal Destiny's command, A King was he in might as Doom and puissant as Fate! Weary and worn by this sad, changeful Sphere, deem not thou him: Near God to be, did he his rank and glory abdicate. What wonder if our eyes no more life and the world behold! His beauty fair, as sun and moon, did earth irradiate! If folk upon the bright sun look, with tears are filled their eyes; For seeing it, doth yon moon-face before their minds arise!

Now let the cloud blood drop on drop weep, and its form bend low! And let the Judas-tree anew in blossoms gore-hued blow! With this sad anguish let the stars' eyes rain down bitter tears! And let the smoke from hearts on fire the heavens all darkened show! Their azure garments let the skies change into deepest black! Let the whole world attire itself in robes of princely woe! In breasts of fairies and of men still let the flame burn on— Of parting from the blest King Suleiman the fiery glow! His home above the highest heaven's ramparts he hath made; This world was all unworthy of his majesty, I trow. The bird, his soul, hath, _huma_-like, aloft flown to the skies, And naught remaineth save a few bones on the earth below. The speeding Horseman of the plain of Time and Space was he; Fortune and Fame aye as his friends and bridle-guides did go. The wayward courser, cruel Fate, was wild and fierce of pace, And fell to earth the Shade of God the Lord's benignant Grace.

Through grief for thee, bereft of rest and tearful e'en as I, Sore weeping let the cloud of spring go wand'ring through the sky! And let the wailing of the birds of dawn the whole world fill! Be roses torn! and let the nightingale distressful cry! Their hyacinths as weeds of woe displaying, let them weep Down o'er their skirts their flowing tears let pour—the mountains high! The odor of thy kindliness recalling, tulip-like, Within the Tartar musk-deer's heart let fire of anguish lie! Through yearning for thee let the rose its ear lay on the path, And, narcisse-like, till the last day the watchman's calling ply! Although the pearl-diffusing eye to oceans turned the world, Ne'er into being should there come a pearl with thee to vie! O heart! this hour 'tis thou that sympathizer art with me; Come, let us like the flute bewail, and moan, and plaintive sigh! The notes of mourning and of dole aloud let us rehearse; And let all those who grieve be moved by this our seven-fold verse.

Will earth's King ne'er awake from sleep?—broke hath the dawn of day: Will ne'er he move forth from his tent, adorned as heaven's display? Long have our eyes dwelt on the road, and yet no news hath come From yonder land, the threshold of his majesty's array: The color of his cheek hath paled, dry-lipped he lieth there, E'en like that rose which from the vase of flowers hath fall'n away. Goes now the Khusrev of the skies behind the cloudy veil, For shame, remembering thy love and kindness, one would say. My prayer is ever, "May the babes, his tears, go 'neath the sod, Or old or young be he who weeps not thee in sad dismay." With flame of parting from thee let the sun burn and consume; And o'er the wastes through grief let darkness of the clouds hold sway. Thy talents and thy feats let it recall and weep in blood, Yea, let thy saber from its sheath plunge in the darksome clay. Its collar, through its grief and anguish, let the reed-pen tear! And let the earth its vestment rend through sorrow and despair!

Thy saber made the foe the anguish dire of wounds to drain; Their tongues are silenced, none who dares to gainsay doth remain. The youthful cypress, head-exalted, looked upon thy lance, And ne'er its lissom twigs their haughty airs displayed again. Where'er thy stately charger placed his hoof, from far and near Flocked nobles, all upon thy path their lives to offer fain. In desert of mortality the bird, desire, rests ne'er; Thy sword in cause of God did lives as sacrifice ordain. As sweeps a scimitar, across earth's face on every side, Of iron-girded heroes of the world thou threw'st a chain. Thou took'st a thousand idol temples, turnèdst all to mosques; Where jangled bells thou mad'st be sung the Call to Prayers' strain. At length is struck the signal drum, and thou hast journeyed hence; Lo! thy first resting-place is Eden's flowery, verdant plain. Praise is to God! for he in the Two Worlds hath blessed thee, And caused thy glorious name, Hero and Martyr both to be.

Baqi, the beauty of the King, the heart's delight, behold! The mirror of the work of God, the Lord of Eight, behold! The dear old man hath passed away from th' Egypt sad, the world; The youthful Prince, alert and fair as Joseph bright, behold! The Sun hath risen, and the Dawning gray hath touched its bourne; The lovely face of yon Khusrev, whose soul is light, behold! This chase now to the grave hath sent the Behram of the Age; Go, at his threshold serve, King Erdeshir aright, behold! The blast of Fate to all the winds hath blown Suleiman's throne; Sultan Selim Khan on Iskender's couch of might, behold! The Tiger of the mount of war to rest in sleep hath gone; The Lion who doth now keep watch on glory's height, behold! The Peacock fair of Eden's mead hath soared to Heaven's parterre; The luster of the _huma_ of high, happy flight, behold! Eternal may the glory of the heaven-high Khusrev dwell! Blessings be on the Monarch's soul and spirit—and farewell!

TURKISH LITERATURE

THE MIRROR OF COUNTRIES

OR

THE ADVENTURES OF SIDI ALI REIS

"_We roam the waters far and wide, And bring confusion to our enemies; Revenge and hatred is our motto._" TURKISH SEA SONG OF SIDI.

THE MIRROR OF COUNTRIES

(INTRODUCTION BY PROFESSOR ARMINIUS VAMBERY)

The book of the Turkish Admiral Sidi Ali Reis, entitled "_Mirat ul Memalik_" (the Mirror of Countries), is in many ways interesting. In the first place, on account of the personality of the author, in whom we see a man of many varied accomplishments; a genuine type of the Islamitic culture of his time, and a representative of that class of official and military dignitaries to whose influence it is chiefly due that the Ottoman Empire, extending over three continents, attained to that eminent height of culture which it occupied during the reign of Suleiman the Great. Sidi Ali is the descendant of an illustrious family connected with the arsenal at Galata, in whom love for the sea seems to have been hereditary, and hence, as the Turkish publisher points out in his preface, Sidi Ali, being thoroughly acquainted with the nautical science of his day, excels as author on maritime subjects.

As a man of general culture, he was in harmony with the prevailing notions of his time, as mathematician, astronomer, and geographer; and also as poet, theologian, and in all branches of general literature; sometimes wielding his pen in writing lyrical or occasional verses, at other times entering into keen controversial disputes upon certain Koran theses or burning schismatic questions.

Besides all this he was a warrior, proving himself as undaunted in fighting the elements as in close combat with the Portuguese, who in point of accoutrement had far the advantage over him. But what stands out above all these accomplishments is his glowing patriotism and his unwavering faith in the power and the greatness of the Ottoman Empire. He boasts that he never ceases to hope to see Gujarat and Ormuz joined to the Ottoman realm; his one desire is to see his Padishah ruler of the world, and wherever he goes and whatever he sees, Rum (Turkey) always remains in his eyes the most beautiful, the richest, and the most cultured land of the whole world. The Turkish Admiral has, moreover, a singularly happy way of expressing himself on this subject of his preference for his own Padishah and his native land; and this required no small amount of courage and tact where he had to face proud Humayun or Thamasp, no less conceited than the former.

With regard to the things which he saw and heard in non-Mussulman circles and districts in India, his accounts are poor compared with the descriptions of Ibn Batuta and other Moslem travelers. Sidi Ali has had hardly any intercourse with Hindus, and his route lay almost entirely through districts where the ruling caste, with whom he principally had to deal, were adherents to the Mohammedan faith. It does appear somewhat strange that he had such unbounded reverence for the Sultan of Turkey, and upheld him as the legitimate Caliph, although the caliphate had only fallen into the hands of the Ottoman rulers a few years previously with the overthrow of Tuman Bey by Selim II; and this seems the more strange, as Asia is so tenaciously conservative that even to this day the Turkish claim to the caliphate is a disputed point.

The authoritative and executive power of Turkey, formerly the terror of the Christian world, could not fail to exercise its influence upon the Moslem lands of Asia and their unstable governments, torn and harassed as they were by internal strife and petty wars, while the sultans of Turkey basked, not only in the glory of spiritual preferment, but also in that of temporal superiority. The picture which our author draws of the government of India and the East is certainly a very sad one. Civil wars and mutinies against the rulers of the land are every-day occurrences; the roads swarm with highwaymen, and even during the reign of the much-extolled Humayun, all intercourse with other lands was fraught with every imaginable kind of danger. Their rulers all suffer from a peculiar form of conceit, like the ruler of Bokhara, "who asked me, pointing to a ragged, motley crowd of ruffians, whether the army of the Sultan of Turkey were not exactly like this." Humayun, Thamasp, and even Borak Khan of Bokhara, all delighted in drawing parallels between themselves and Sultan Suleiman.

One thing, however, in the account of the Turkish Admiral is certainly surprising, namely the few facts by which he illustrates the Sultan's policy in Moslem Asia. We have always been under the impression that the Turks, during the era of their supreme power and universal sway, directed their attention more toward the Christian lands of the West, than toward the Moslem lands of the East, and that as a matter of fact their campaigns were nothing short of marauding raids, and empty conquests, while they might have utilized the many means at their disposal and the high prestige in which they stood toward the consolidation of their power in Asia, which would have been comparatively easy. This reproach is neither unfounded nor unmerited, for although the finest of the Ottoman rulers, Sultan Selim, did direct his attention chiefly toward the East, as proved by his campaigns against Persia and Egypt, most of his predecessors and successors have occupied themselves solely in making war in the West. Asia, which offered little to tempt the mercenary janissaries, was meanwhile left pretty well to its own devices, without any fixed form or plan of government. But, as in this narrative the threads of the policy pursued by those sultans, one by one, come to light, we are struck with the fact that, after all, they were not quite so short-sighted as we gave them credit for, and that now and again they have given a thought to the bringing about of a better state of things.

THE MIRROR OF COUNTRIES

OR

THE ADVENTURES OF SIDI ALI REIS

I

When Sultan Suleiman had taken up his winter residence in Aleppo, I, the author of these pages, was appointed to the Admiralship of the Egyptian fleet, and received instructions to fetch back to Egypt the ships (15 galleys), which some time ago had been sent to Basrah on the Persian Gulf. But, "Man proposes, God disposes." I was unable to carry out my mission, and as I realized the impossibility of returning by water, I resolved to go back to Turkey by the overland route, accompanied by a few tried and faithful Egyptian soldiers. I traveled through Gujarat, Hind, Sind, Balkh, Zabulistan, Bedakhshan, Khotlan, Turan, and Iran, _i.e._, through Transoxania, Khorassan, Kharezm, and Deskti-Kiptchak; and as I could not proceed any farther in that direction, I went by Meshed and the two Iraks, Kazwin and Hamadan, on to Bagdad.

Our travels ended, my companions and fellow-adventurers persuaded me to write down our experiences, and the dangers through which we had passed, an accurate account of which it is almost impossible to give; also to tell of the cities and the many wonderful sights we had seen, and of the holy shrines we had visited. And so this little book sees the light; in it I have tried to relate, in simple and plain language, the troubles and difficulties, the suffering and the distress which beset our path, up to the time that we reached Constantinople. Considering the matter it contains this book ought to have been entitled, "A tale of woe," but with a view to the scene of action I have called it "Mirror of Countries," and as such I commend it to the reader's kind attention.

II

THE BEGINNING OF THE STORY

When the illustrious Padishah was holding his court at Aleppo, in Ramazan of the year 960 (1552), I was commanded to join the army.

I celebrated Ramzam-Bairam in attendance on his Majesty, later on, however, I went to Sidi-Ghazi, made a pilgrimage in Konia to the tomb of Molla-i-Rumi, and visited the shrines of the Sultan ul-Ulema, and Shemsi Tebrizi, and of the Sheik Sadr-ed-din-Koniavi; at Kassarie I made a pilgrimage to the graves of the Sheiks Awhad-ed-din Kirmani, Burham-ed-din, Baha-ed-din Zade, Ibrahim Akserayi, and Davud Kaissari. Returned to Haleb (Aleppo), I visited the graves of Daud, Zakeriah, and Balkiah, as also those of Saad and Said, companions of the Prophet. The Kurban-Bairam I spent again in attendance on the Sultan.

I must here mention that Piri Bey, the late Admiral of the Egyptian fleet, had, some time previous to this, been dispatched with about 30 ships (galleys and galleons) from Suez, through the Red Sea, touching Jedda and Yemen, and through the straits of Bab-i-Mandeb, past Aden and along the coast of Shahar.[60] Through fogs and foul weather his fleet became dispersed, some ships were lost, and with the remainder he proceeded from Oman to Muscat, took the fortress and made all the inhabitants prisoners; he also made an incursion into the islands of Ormuz and Barkhat, after which he returned to Muscat. There he learned from the captive infidel captain that the Christian (Portuguese) fleet was on its way, that therefore any further delay was inadvisable, as in case it arrived he would not be able to leave the harbor at all. As a matter of fact it was already too late to save all the ships; he therefore took only three, and with these just managed to make his escape before the arrival of the Portuguese. One of his galleys was wrecked near Bahrein, so he brought only two vessels back to Egypt. As for the remainder of the fleet at Basrah, Kubad Pasha had offered the command of it to the Chief Officer, but he had declined, and returned to Egypt by land.

When this became known in Constantinople the command of the fleet had been given to Murad Bey, formerly Sanjakbey of Catif, then residing in Basrah. He was ordered to leave two ships, five galleys, and one galleon at Basrah, and with the rest, _i.e._, 15 galleys (one galley had been burned in Basrah) and two boats, he was to return to Egypt. Murad Bey did start as arranged, but opposite Ormuz he came upon the infidel (Portuguese) fleet, a terrible battle followed in which Suleiman Reis, Rejeb Reis, and several of the men, died a martyr's death. Many more were wounded and the ships terribly battered by the cannon-balls. At last, night put a stop to the fight. One boat was wrecked off the Persian coast, part of the crew escaped, the rest were taken prisoners by the infidels, and the boat itself captured.

When all this sad news reached the capital, toward the end of Zilhija of the said year 960 (1552), the author of these pages was appointed Admiral of the Egyptian fleet.

I, humble Sidi Ali bin Husein, also known as Kiatibi-Rumi (the writer of the West, _i.e._, of Turkey), most gladly accepted the post. I had always been very fond of the sea, had taken part in the expedition against Rhodes under the Sultan (Suleiman), and had since had a share in almost all engagements, both by land and by sea. I had fought under Khaireddin Pasha, Sinan Pasha, and other captains, and had cruised about on the Western (Mediterranean) sea, so that I knew every nook and corner of it. I had written several books on astronomy, nautical science, and other matters bearing upon navigation. My father and grandfather, since the conquest of Constantinople, had had charge of the arsenal[61] at Galata; they had both been eminent in their profession, and their skill had come down to me as an heirloom.