N

NIZĀMI

(1141-1203)

BY A. V. WILLIAMS JACKSON

IZAMI'S name as a Persian poet is one that is not so well known in the Occident as the name of Firdausī, Hafiz, or Sa'di; but Nizāmī is one of the foremost classic writers of Persian literature, and there is authority for regarding his genius as second only to Firdausī in the romantic epic style. He was a native of western Persia, and was born in the year 1141. He is generally spoken. of as Nizāmī of Ganjah, and that seems to have been his home during most of his life, and he died there in his sixty-third year (A. D. 1203). Nizāmi was brought up in an atmosphere of religious asceticism, but his life was brightened by the illumination which came with the divine poetic gift; his talents won him court favor, but his choice was retirement and quiet meditation, and there was a certain halo of sanctity about his person.

It is interesting to the literary student to think of this epic romanticist as writing in Persia at a time when the strain of the romantic epopee was just beginning to be heard among the minstrels of Provence and Normandy, and the music of its notes was awakening English ears. And yet Nizāmī's first poetic production, the 'Makhzanal-asrār,' or 'Storehouse of Mysteries,' was rather a work of religious didacticism than of romance, and its title shows the Sufi tinge of mystic speculation. Nizami's heart and true poetic bent, however, became evident shortly afterwards in the charming story in verse of the romantic love of Khusrau and Shirin,' which is one of the most imaginative tales in literature, and it established Nizami's claim to renown at the age of forty. The subject is the old Sassanian tradition of King Khusrau's love for the fair Armenian princess Shirin, who is alike beloved by the gifted young sculptor Farhad; the latter accomplishes an almost superhuman feat of chiseling through mountains at the royal bidding, in hopes of winning the fair one's hand, but meets his death in fulfilling the task imposed by his kingly rival. In Nizami's second romantic poem, 'Laila and Majnun,' we grieve at the sorrows of two lovers whose devotion stands in the Orient for the love of Eloisa and Abelard, Petrarch and Laura, Isabella and Lorenzo; while likenesses to Ariosto's Orlando Furioso' have been

suggested. The tragic fate of Laila and Majnun, the children of two rival Bedouin tribes, is a love tale of pre-Islamic times; for Nizāmī's subjects were never chosen from truly orthodox Mohammedan themes. His 'Seven Portraits' (Haft Paikar) is a series of romantic love stories of the seven favorite wives of King Bahram Gōr, and leads back again to Sassanian days. The 'Iskandar Nāmah,' or 'Alexander Book,' is a combination of romantic fiction and of philosophy in epic style, which makes the work one of special interest in connection with the romances which form a cycle, in various literatures, about the name of Alexander the Great. The five works above mentioned are gathered into a collection known as the 'Five Treasures' (Panj Ganj), and in addition to these Nizāmī also produced a 'Dīvān,' or collection of short poems; so that his literary fertility is seen to be considerable.

The selections which are here presented are drawn from Atkinson's 'Lailā and Majnun,' London, 1836, and from S. Robinson's 'Persian Poetry for English Readers' (privately printed, Glasgow, 1883). Those who are interested will find further bibliographical references in Ethé's contribution in Geiger's 'Grundriss der Iranischen Philologie, Vol. ii., page 243.

A.r. Williams

1 Jacken

FROM NIZĀMI'S LAILĀ AND MAJNUN'

[Laila and Majnun are children of rival tribes.]

HAIKHS of each tribe have children there, and each

Studies whate'er the bearded sage can teach.

Thence his attainments Kais [Majnun] assiduous drew,

And scattered pearls from lips of ruby hue:

And there, of different tribe and gentle mien,

A lovely maid of tender years was seen;
Her mental powers an early bloom displayed;
Her peaceful form in simple garb arrayed;
Bright as the morn her cypress shape, and eyes
Dark as the stag's, were viewed with fond surprise:
And when her cheek this Arab moon revealed,
A thousand hearts were won; no pride, no shield,
Could check her beauty's power, resistless grown,
Given to enthrall and charm- but chiefly one.

Her richly flowing locks were black as night,
And Laila she was called-that heart's delight:
One single glance the nerves to frenzy wrought,
One single glance bewildered every thought;
And when o'er Kais [Majnun] affection's blushing rose
Diffused its sweetness, from him fled repose:
Tumultuous passion danced upon his brow;
He sought to woo her, but he knew not how.
He gazed upon her cheek, and as he gazed,
Love's flaming taper more intensely blazed.

Soon mutual pleasure warmed each other's heart;
Love conquered both-they never dreamt to part:
And while the rest were poring o'er their books,
They pensive mused, and read each other's looks;
While other schoolmates for distinction strove,
And thought of fame, they only thought of love;
While others various climes in books explored,
Both idly sat-adorer and adored.
Science for them had now no charms to boast;
Learning for them had all its virtues lost;
Their only taste was love, and love's sweet ties,
And writing ghazels to each other's eyes.

Yes, love triumphant came, engrossing all

The fond luxuriant thoughts of youth and maid;

And whilst subdued in that delicious thrall,

Smiles and bright tears upon their features played.

Then in soft converse did they pass the hours,

Their passion, like the season, fresh and fair;

Their opening path seemed decked with balmiest flowers,
Their melting words as soft as summer air.
Immersed in love so deep,

They hoped suspicion would be lulled asleep,
And none be conscious of their amorous state;
They hoped that none with prying eye,
And gossip tongue invidiously,

Might to the busy world its truth relate.
And thus possessed, they anxious thought
Their passion would be kept unknown;
Wishing to seem what they were not,

Though all observed their hearts were one.

[The lovers are separated.]

Laila had, with her kindred, been removed
Among the Nijid mountains, where

She cherished still the thoughts of him she loved,

And her affection thus more deeply proved

Amid that wild retreat. Kais [Majnun] sought her there;

Sought her in rosy bower and silent glade,

Where the tall palm-trees flung refreshing shade.

He called upon her name again;

Again he called,-alas! in vain;

His voice unheard, though raised on every side;
Echo alone to his lament replied;

And Laila! Laila! rang around,
As if enamored of that magic sound.
Dejected and forlorn, fast falling dew
Glistened upon his cheeks of pallid hue;

Through grove and frowning glen he lonely strayed,
And with his griefs the rocks were vocal made.
Beautiful Lailā! had she gone for ever?

Could he that thought support? oh, never, never!
Whilst deep emotion agonized his breast.

[Still Laila thinks only of her beloved Majnūn.]

The gloomy veil of night withdrawn,
How sweetly looks the silvery dawn;
Rich blossoms laugh on every tree,
Like men of fortunate destiny,
Or the shining face of revelry.
The crimson tulip and golden rose
Their sweets to all the world disclose.
I mark the glittering pearly wave
The fountain's banks of emerald lave;
The birds in every arbor sing,
And the very raven hails the spring;
The partridge and the ring-dove raise
Their joyous notes of songs of praise;
But bulbuls, through the mountain-vale,
Like Majnun, chant a mournful tale.

The season of the rose has led

Laila to her favorite bower;

Her cheeks the softest vermil-red,

Her eyes the modest sumbul flower.

She has left her father's painted hall,

She has left the terrace where she kept

Her secret watch till evening fall,

And where she oft till midnight wept.

A golden fillet sparkling round.

Her brow, her raven tresses bound;
And as she o'er the greensward tripped,
A train of damsels ruby-lipped,
Blooming like flowers of Samarkand,
Obedient bowed to her command.
She glittered like a moon among
The beauties of the starry throng,
With lovely forms as Houris bright,
Or Peris glancing in the light;

And now they reach an emerald spot,
Beside a cool sequestered grot,

And soft recline beneath the shade,

By a delicious rose-bower made:

There, in soft converse, sport, and play,
The hours unnoted glide away;

But Laila to the bulbul tells

What secret grief her bosom swells,

And fancies, through the rustling leaves,
She from the garden-breeze receives
The breathings of her own true love,
Fond as the cooings of the dove.

"O faithful friend, and lover true,
Still distant from thy Laila's view;
Still absent, still beyond her power
To bring thee to her fragrant bower:
O noble youth, still thou art mine,
And Laila, Laila, still is thine!"

[Majnun, frenzied and distracted, vainly seeks his Lailā, whom her father has betrothed against her will to a man she can but hate. The unhappy girl is long imprisoned in a closely guarded tower, until unexpectedly one night the word is brought of the death of her enforced and loathed husband. The situation is depicted in an Oriental manner.]

How beautifully blue

The firmament! how bright
The moon is sailing through

The vast expanse to-night!