Flowers from a Persian Garden and Other Papers Part 6

The Samradian sect of fire-wors.h.i.+ppers, who believe only in the "ideal,"

antic.i.p.ated Bishop Berkeley's theory, thus referred to by Lord Byron (_Don Juan_, xi, 1):

When Bishop Berkeley said, "there was no matter,"

And proved it--'twas no matter what he said; They say, his system 'tis in vain to batter, Too subtle for the airiest human head.

Some amusing anecdotes regarding this singular sect are given in the Dabistan, a work written in Persian, which furnishes a very impartial account of the princ.i.p.al religions of the world: A Samradian said to his servant: "The world and its inhabitants have no actual existence--they have merely an ideal being." The servant, on hearing this, took the first opportunity to steal his master's horse, and when he was about to ride, brought him an a.s.s with the horse's saddle. When the Samradian asked: "Where is the horse?" he replied: "Thou hast been thinking of an idea; there was no horse in being." The master said: "It is true," and then mounted the a.s.s. Having proceeded some distance, followed by his servant on foot, he suddenly dismounted, and taking the saddle off the back of the a.s.s placed it on the servant's back, drawing the girths tightly, and, having forced the bridle into his mouth, he mounted him, and flogged him along vigorously. The servant having exclaimed in piteous accents: "What is the meaning of this, O master?" the Samradian replied: "There is no such thing as a whip; it is merely ideal. Thou art thinking only of a delusion." It is needless to add that the servant immediately repented and restored the horse.--Another of this sect having obtained in marriage the daughter of a wealthy lawyer, she, on finding out her husband's peculiar creed, purposed to have some amus.e.m.e.nt at his expense. One day the Samradian brought home a bottle of excellent wine, which during his absence she emptied of its contents and filled again with water. When the time came for taking wine, she poured out the water into a gold cup, which Was her own property. The Samradian remarked: "Thou hast given me water instead of wine." "It is only ideal," she answered; "there was no wine in existence." The husband then said: "Thou hast spoken well; give me the cup that I may go to a neighbour's house and bring it back full of wine." He thereupon took the gold cup and went out and sold it, concealing the money, and, instead of the gold vase, he brought back an earthen vessel filled with wine. The wife, on seeing this, said: "What hast thou done with the golden cup?"

He quietly replied: "Thou art surely thinking of an ideal gold cup," on which the lady sorely repented her witticism.[35]

[35] _The Dabistan, or School of Manners_. Translated from the original Persian, by David Shea and Anthony Troyer.

3 vols. Published by the Oriental Translation Fund, 1843. Vol. i, 198-200. The author of this work is said to be Moshan Fani, who flourished at Hyderabad about the end of the 18th century.

I do not know whether there are any English parallels to these stories, but I have read of a Greek sage who instructed his slave that all that occurred in this world was the decree of Fate. The slave shortly after deliberately committed some offence, upon which his master commenced to soften his ribs with a stout cudgel, and when the slave pleaded that it was no fault of his, it was the decree of Fate, his master grimly replied that it was also decreed that he should have a sound beating.

In _Don Quixote_, it will be remembered by all readers of that delightful work, Sancho begins to tell the knight a long story about a man who had to ferry across a river a large flock of sheep, but he could only take one at a time, as the boat could hold no more. This story Cervantes, in all likelihood, borrowed from the _Disciplina Clericalis_ of Petrus Alfonsus, a converted Spanish Jew, who flourished in the 12th century, and who avowedly derived the materials of his work from the Arabian fabulists--probably part of them also from the Talmud.[36] His eleventh tale is of a king who desired his minstrel to tell him a long story that should lull him to sleep. The story-teller accordingly begins to relate how a man had to cross a ferry with 600 sheep, two at a time, and falls asleep in the midst of his narration. The king awakes him, but the story-teller begs that the man be allowed to ferry over the sheep before he resumes the story.[37]--Possibly the original form of the story is that found in the _Katha Manjari_, an ancient Indian story-book: There was a king who used to inquire of all the learned men who came to his court whether they knew any stories, and when they had related all they knew, in order to avoid rewarding them, he abused them for knowing so few, and sent them away. A shrewd and clever man, hearing of this, presented himself before the king, who asked his name. He replied that his name was Ocean of Stories. The king then inquired how many stories he knew, to which he answered that the name of Ocean had been conferred on him because he knew an endless number. On being desired to relate one, he thus began: "O King, there was a tank 36,000 miles in breadth, and 54,000 in length. This was densely filled with lotus plants, and millions upon millions of birds with golden wings [called Hamsa] perched on those flowers. One day a hurricane arose, accompanied with rain, which the birds were not able to endure, and they entered a cave under a rock, which was in the vicinity of the tank." The king asked what happened next, and he replied that one of the birds flew away. The king again inquired what else occurred, and he answered: "Another flew away"; and to every question of the king he continued to give the same answer. At this the king felt ashamed, and, seeing it was impossible to outwit the man, he dismissed him with a handsome present.

[36] Pedro Alfonso (the Spanish form of his adopted name) was originally a Jewish Rabbi, and was born in 1062, at Huesca, in the kingdom of Arragon. He was reputed a man of very great learning, and on his being baptised (at the age of 44) was appointed by Alfonso XV, king of Castile and Leon, physician to the royal household. His work, above referred to, is written in Latin, and has been translated into French, but not as yet into English. An outline of the tales, by Douce, will be found prefixed to Ellis' _Early English Metrical Romances_.

[37] This is also the subject of one of the _Fabliaux_.--In a form similar to the story in Alfonsus it is current among the Milanese, and a Sicilian version is as follows: Once upon a time there was a prince who studied and racked his brains so much that he learned magic and the art of finding hidden treasures. One day he discovered a treasure in Daisisa. "O," he says, "now I am going to get it out." But to get it out it was necessary that ten million million of ants should cross the river one by one in a bark made of the half-sh.e.l.l of a nut. The prince puts the bark in the river, and makes the ants pa.s.s over--one, two, three; and they are still doing it. Here the story-teller pauses and says: "We will finish the story when the ants have finished crossing the river."--Crane's _Italian Popular Tales_, p. 156.

A story bearing some resemblance to this is related of a khalif who was wont to cheat poets of their expected reward when they recited their compositions to him, until he was at length outwitted by the famous Arabian poet Al-Asma'i: It is said that a khalif, who was very penurious, contrived by a trick to send from his presence without any reward those poets who came and recited their compositions to him. He had himself the faculty of retaining in his memory a poem after hearing it only once; he had a mamluk (white slave) who could repeat one that he had heard twice; and a slave-girl who could repeat one that she had heard thrice. Whenever a poet came to compliment him with a panegyrical poem, the king used to promise him that if he found his verses to be of his own composition he would give him a sum of money equal in weight to what they were written on. The poet, consenting, would recite his ode, and the king would say: "It is not new, for I have known it some years"; and he would repeat it as he had heard it; after which he would add: "And this mamluk also retains it in his memory," and order the mamluk to repeat it, which, having heard it twice, from the poet and the king, he would do. Then the king would say to the poet: "I have also a slave-girl who can repeat it," and, ordering her to do so, stationed behind the curtains, she would repeat what she had thus thrice heard; so the poet would go away empty-handed. The celebrated poet Al-Asma'i, having heard of this device, determined upon outwitting the king, and accordingly composed an ode made up of very difficult words. But this was not the poet's only preparative measure--another will be presently explained; and a third was to a.s.sume the dress of a Bedouin, that he might not be known, covering his face, the eyes only excepted, with a _litham_ (piece of drapery), as is usual with the Arabs of the desert. Thus disguised, he went to the palace, and having obtained permission, entered and saluted the king, who said to him: "Who art thou, O brother of the Arabs? and what dost thou desire?" The poet answered: "May Allah increase the power of the king! I am a poet of such a tribe, and have composed an ode in praise of our lord the khalif." "O brother of the Arabs," said the king, "hast thou heard of our condition?" "No,"

answered the poet; "and what is it, O khalif of the age?" "It is,"

replied the king, "that if the ode be not thine, we give thee no reward; and if it be thine, we give thee the weight in money equal to what it is written upon." "How," said the poet, "should I a.s.sume to myself that which belongeth to another, and knowing, too, that lying before kings is one of the basest of actions? But I agree to the condition, O our lord the khalif." So he repeated his ode. The king, perplexed, and unable to remember any of it, made a sign to the mamluk, but he had retained nothing; then called to the female slave, but she was unable to repeat a word. "O brother of the Arabs," said the king, "thou hast spoken truth; and the ode is thine without doubt. I have never heard it before.

Produce, therefore, what it is written upon, and I will give thee its weight in money, as I have promised." "Wilt thou," said the poet, "send one of the attendants to carry it?" "To carry what?" demanded the king.

"Is it not upon a paper in thy possession?" "No, O our lord the khalif.

At the time I composed it I could not procure a piece of paper on which to write it, and could find nothing but a fragment of a marble column left me by my father; so I engraved it upon that, and it lies in the courtyard of the palace." He had brought it, wrapped up, on the back of a camel. The king, to fulfil his promise, was obliged to exhaust his treasury; and, to prevent a repet.i.tion of this trick, in future rewarded poets according to the custom of kings.

_Apropos_ of royal gifts to poets, it is related that, when the Afghans had possession of Persia, a rude chief of that nation was governor of s.h.i.+raz. A poet composed a panegyric on his wisdom, his valour, and his virtues. As he was taking it to the palace he was met by a friend at the outer gate, who inquired where he was going, and he informed him of his purpose. His friend asked him if he was insane, to offer an ode to a barbarian who hardly understood a word of the Persian language. "All that you say may be very true," said the poor poet, "but I am starving, and have no means of livelihood but by making verses. I must, therefore, proceed." He went and stood before the governor with his ode in his hand. "Who is that fellow?" said the Afghan lord. "And what is that paper which he holds?" "I am a poet," answered the man, "and this paper contains some poetry." "What is the use of poetry?" demanded the governor. "To render great men like you immortal," he replied, making at the same time a profound bow. "Let us hear some of it." The poet, on this mandate, began reading his composition aloud, but he had not finished the second stanza when he was interrupted. "Enough!" exclaimed the governor; "I understand it all. Give the poor man some money--_that_ is what he wants." As the poet retired he met his friend, who again commented on the folly of carrying odes to a man who did not understand one of them. "Not understand!" he replied. "You are quite mistaken. He has beyond all men the quickest apprehension of a _poet's meaning_!"

The khalifs were frequently lavish of their gifts to poets, but they were fond of having their little jokes with them when in merry mood. One day the Arabian poet Thalebi read before the khalif Al-Mansur a poem which he had just composed, and it found acceptance. The khalif said: "O Thalebi, which wouldst thou rather have--that I give thee 300 gold dinars [about 150], or three wise sayings, each worth 100 dinars?" The poet replied: "Learning, O Commander of the Faithful, is better than transitory treasure." "Well, then," said the khalif, "the first saying is: When thy garment grows old, sew not a new patch on it, for it hath an ill look." "O woe!" cried the poet, "one hundred dinars are lost!"

Mansur smiled, and proceeded: "The second saying is: When thou anointest thy beard, anoint not the lower part, for that would soil the collar of thy vest." "Alas!" exclaimed Thalebi, "a thousand times, alas! two hundred dinars are lost!" Again the khalif smiled, and continued: "The third saying"--but before he had spoken it, the poet said: "O khalif of our prosperity, keep the third maxim in thy treasury, and give me the remaining hundred dinars, for they will be worth a thousand times more to me than the hearing of maxims." At this the khalif laughed heartily, and commanded his treasurer to give Thalebi five hundred dinars of gold.

A droll story is told of the Persian poet Anwari: Pa.s.sing the market-place of Balkh one day, he saw a crowd of people standing in a ring, and going up, he put his head within the circle and found a fellow reciting the poems of Anwari himself as his own. Anwari went up to the man, and said: "Sir, whose poems are these you are reciting?" He replied: "They are Anwari's." "Do you know him, then?" said Anwari. The man, with cool effrontery, answered: "What do you say? I am Anwari." On hearing this Anwari laughed, and remarked: "I have heard of one who stole poetry, but never of one who stole the poet himself!"--Talking of "stealing poetry," Jami tells us that a man once brought a composition to a critic, every line of which he had plagiarised from different collections of poems, and each rhetorical figure from various authors.

Quoth the critic: "For a wonder, thou hast brought a line of camels; but if the string were untied, every one of the herd would run away in different directions."

There is no little humour in the story of the Persian poet who wrote a eulogium on a rich man, but got nothing for his trouble; he then abused the rich man, but he said nothing; he next seated himself at the rich man's gate, who said to him: "You praised me, and I said nothing; you abused me, and I said nothing; and now, why are you sitting here?" The poet answered: "I only wish that when you die I may perform the funeral service."

V

UNLUCKY OMENS--THE OLD MAN'S PRAYER--THE OLD WOMAN IN THE MOSQUE--THE WEEPING TURKMANS--THE TEN FOOLISH PEASANTS--THE WAKEFUL SERVANT--THE THREE DERVISHES--THE OIL-MAN'S PARROT--THE MOGHUL AND HIS PARROT--THE PERSIAN SHOPKEEPER AND THE PRIME MINISTER--HEBREW FACETIae.

Muslims and other Asiatic peoples, like Europeans not so many centuries since, are always on the watch for lucky or unlucky omens. On first going out of a morning, the looks and countenances of those who cross their path are scrutinised, and a smile or a frown is deemed favourable or the reverse. To encounter a person blind of the left eye, or even with one eye, forebodes sorrow and calamity. While Sir John Malcolm was in Persia, as British Amba.s.sador, he was told the following story: When Abbas the Great was hunting, he met one morning as day dawned an uncommonly ugly man, at the sight of whom his horse started. Being nearly dismounted, and deeming it a bad omen, the king called out in a rage to have his head cut off. The poor peasant, whom the attendants had seized and were on the point of executing, prayed that he might be informed of his crime. "Your crime," said the king, "is your unlucky countenance, which is the first object I saw this morning, and which has nearly caused me to fall from my horse." "Alas!" said the man, "by this reckoning what term must I apply to your Majesty's countenance, which was the first object my eyes met this morning, and which is to cause my death?" The king smiled at the wit of the reply, ordered the man to be released, and gave him a present instead of cutting off his head.--Another Persian story is to the same purpose: A man said to his servant: "If you see two crows together early in the morning, apprise me of it, that I may also behold them, as it will be a good omen, whereby I shall pa.s.s the day pleasantly." The servant did happen to see two crows sitting in one place, and informed his master, who, however, when he came saw but one, the other having in the meantime flown away. He was very angry, and began to beat the servant, when a friend sent him a present of game. Upon this the servant exclaimed: "O my lord! you saw only one crow, and have received a fine present; had you seen _two_, you would have met with _my_ fare."[38]

[38] This last jest reappears in the apocryphal Life of Esop, by Planudes, the only difference being that Esop's master is invited to a feast, instead of receiving a present of game, upon which Esop exclaims: "Alas! I see two crows, and I am beaten; you see one, and are asked to a feast. What a delusion is augury!"

It would seem, from the following story, that an old man's prayers are sometimes reversed in response, as dreams are said to "go by contraries": An old Arab left his house one morning, intending to go to a village at some distance, and coming to the foot of a hill which he had to cross he exclaimed: "O Allah! send some one to help me over this hill." Scarcely had he uttered these words when up came a fierce soldier, leading a mare with a very young colt by her side, who compelled the old man, with oaths and threats, to carry the colt. As they trudged along, they met a poor woman with a sick child in her arms.

The old man, as he laboured under the weight of the colt, kept groaning, "O Allah! O Allah!" and, supposing him to be a dervish, the woman asked him to pray for the recovery of her child. In compliance, the old man said: "O Allah! I beseech thee to shorten the days of this poor child."

"Alas!" cried the mother, "why hast thou made such a cruel prayer?"

"Fear nothing," said the old man; "thy child will a.s.suredly enjoy long life. It is my fate to have the reverse of whatever I pray for. I implored Allah for a.s.sistance to carry me over this hill, and, by way of help, I suppose, I have had this colt imposed on my shoulders."

Jami tells this humorous story in the Sixth "Garden" of his _Baharistan_, or Abode of Spring: A man said the prescribed prayers in a mosque and then began his personal supplications. An old woman, who happened to be near him, exclaimed: "O Allah! cause me to share in whatsoever he supplicates for." The man, overhearing her, then prayed: "O Allah! hang me on a gibbet, and cause me to die of scourging." The old trot continued: "O Allah! pardon me, and preserve me from what he has asked for." Upon this the man turned to her and said: "What a very unreasonable partner this is! She desires to share in all that gives rest and pleasure, but she refuses to be my partner in distress and misery."

We have already seen that even the grave and otiose Turk is not devoid of a sense of the ludicrous, and here is another example, from Mr.

E. J. W. Gibb's translation of the _History of the Forty Vezirs_: A party of Turkmans left their encampment one day and went into a neighbouring city. Returning home, as they drew near their tents, they felt hungry, and sat down and ate some bread and onions at a spring-head. The juice of the onions went into their eyes and caused them to water. Now the children of those Turkmans had gone out to meet them, and, seeing the tears flow from their eyes, they concluded that one of their number had died in the city, so, without making any inquiry, they ran back, and said to their mothers: "One of ours is dead in the city, and our fathers are coming weeping." Upon this all the women and children of the encampment went forth to meet them, weeping together. The Turkmans who were coming from the city thought that one of theirs had died in the encampment; and thus they were without knowledge one of the other, and they raised a weeping and wailing together such that it cannot be described. At length the elders of the camp stood up in their midst and said: "May ye all remain whole; there is none other help than patience"; and they questioned them. The Turkmans coming from the city asked: "Who is dead in the camp?" The others replied: "No one is dead in the camp; who has died in the city?" Those who were coming from the city, said: "No one has died in the city." The others said: "For whom then are ye wailing and lamenting?" At length they perceived that all this tumult arose from their trusting the words of children.

This last belongs rather to the cla.s.s of simpleton-stories; and in the following, from the Rev. J. Hinton Knowles' _Folk Tales of Kashmir_ (Trubner: 1888), we have a variant of the well-known tale of the twelve men of Gotham who went one day to fish, and, before returning home, miscounted their number, of which several a.n.a.logues are given in my _Book of Noodles_, pp. 28 ff. (Elliot Stock: 1888): Ten peasants were standing on the side of the road weeping. They thought that one of their number had been lost on the way, as each man had counted the company, and found them nine only. "Ho! you--what's the matter?" shouted a townsman pa.s.sing by. "O sir," said the peasants, "we were ten men when we left the village, but now we are only nine." The townsman saw at a glance what fools they were: each of them had omitted to count himself in the number. He therefore told them to take off their _topis_ (skull-caps) and place them on the ground. This they did, and counted ten of them, whereupon they concluded they were all there, and were comforted. But they could not tell how it was.

That wakefulness is not necessarily watchfulness may seem paradoxical, yet here is a Persian story which goes far to show that they are not always synonymous terms: Once upon a time (to commence in the good old way) there came into a city a merchant on horseback, attended by his servant on foot. Hearing that the city was infested by many bold and expert thieves, in consequence of which property was very insecure, he said to his servant at night: "I will keep watch, and do you sleep; for I cannot trust you to keep awake, and I much fear that my horse may be stolen." But to this arrangement his faithful servant would not consent, and he insisted upon watching all night. So the master went to sleep, and three hours after awoke, when he called to his servant: "What are you doing?" He answered: "I am meditating how Allah has spread the earth upon the water." The master said: "I am afraid lest thieves come, and you know nothing of it." "O my lord, be satisfied; I am on the watch."

The merchant again went to sleep, and awaking about midnight cried: "Ho!

what are you doing?" The servant replied: "I am considering how Allah has supported the sky without pillars." Quoth the master: "But I am afraid that while you are busy meditating thieves will carry off my horse." "Be not afraid, master, I am fully awake; how, then, can thieves come?" The master replied: "If you wish to sleep, I will keep watch."

But the servant would not hear of this; he was not at all sleepy; so his master addressed himself once more to slumber; and when one hour of the night yet remained he awoke, and as usual asked him what he was doing, to which he coolly answered: "I am considering, since the thieves have stolen the horse, whether I shall carry the saddle on my head, or you, sir."

Somewhat akin to the familiar "story" of the man whose eyesight was so extraordinary that he could, standing in the street, perceive a fly on the dome of St. Paul's is the tale of the Three Dervishes who, travelling in company, came to the sea-sh.o.r.e of Syria, and desired the captain of a vessel about to sail for Cyprus to give them a pa.s.sage. The captain was willing to take them "for a consideration"; but they told him they were dervishes, and therefore without money, but they possessed certain wonderful gifts, which might be of use to him on the voyage. The first dervish said that he could descry any object at the distance of a year's journey; the second could hear at as great a distance as his brother could see. "Well!" exclaimed the captain, "these are truly miraculous gifts; and pray, sir," said he, turning to the third dervish, "what may _your_ particular gift be?" "I, sir," replied he, "am an unbeliever." When the captain heard this, he said he could not take such a person on board of his s.h.i.+p; but on the others declaring they must all three go together or remain behind, he at length consented to allow the third dervish a pa.s.sage with the two highly-gifted ones. In the course of the voyage, it happened one fine day that the captain and the three dervishes were on deck conversing, when suddenly the first dervish exclaimed: "Look, look!--see, there--the daughter of the sultan of India sitting at the window of her palace, working embroidery." "A mischief on your eyes!" cried the second dervish, "for her needle has this moment dropped from her hand, and I hear it sound upon the pavement below her window." "Sir," said the third dervish, addressing the captain, "shall I, or shall I not, be an unbeliever?" Quoth the captain: "Come, friend, come with me into my cabin, and let us cultivate unbelief together!"

A very droll parrot story occurs--where, indeed, we should least expect to meet with such a thing--in the _Masnavi_ of Jelalu-'d-Din er-Rumi (13th century), a grand mystical poem, or rather series of poems, in six books, written in Persian rhymed couplets, as the t.i.tle indicates. In the second poem of the First Book we read that an oilman possessed a fine parrot, who amused him with her prattle and watched his shop during his absence. It chanced one day, when the oilman had gone out, that a cat ran into the shop in chase of a mouse, which so frightened the parrot that she flew about from shelf to shelf, upsetting several jars and spilling their contents. When her master returned and saw the havoc made among his goods he fetched the parrot a blow that knocked out all her head feathers, and from that day she sulked on her perch. The oilman, missing the prattle of his favourite, began to shower his alms on every pa.s.sing beggar, in hopes that some one would induce the parrot to speak again. At length a bald-headed mendicant came to the shop one day, upon seeing whom, the parrot, breaking her long silence, cried out: "Poor fellow! poor fellow! hast thou, too, upset some oil-jar?"[39]

[39] This tale is found in the early Italian novelists, slightly varied, and it was doubtless introduced by Venetian merchants from the Levant: A parrot belonging to Count Fiesco was discovered one day stealing some roast meat from the kitchen. The enraged cook, overtaking him, threw a kettle of boiling water at him, which completely scalded all the feathers from his head, and left the poor bird with a bare poll. Some time afterwards, as Count Fiesco was engaged in conversation with an abbot, the parrot, observing the shaven crown of his reverence, hopped up to him and said: "What! do _you_ like roast meat too?"

In another form the story is orally current in the North of England. Dr. Fryer tells it to this effect, in his charming _English Fairy Tales from the North Country_: A grocer kept a parrot that used to cry out to the customers that the sugar was sanded and the b.u.t.ter mixed with lard. For this the bird had her neck wrung and was thrown upon an ash-heap; but reviving and seeing a dead cat beside her she cried: "Poor Puss! have you, too, suffered for telling the truth?"

There is yet another variant of this droll tale, which has been popular for generations throughout England, and was quite recently reproduced in an American journal as a genuine "n.i.g.g.e.r" story: In olden times there was a roguish baker who made many of his loaves less than the regulation weight, and one day, on observing the government inspector coming along the street, he concealed the light loaves in a closet. The inspector having found the bread on the counter of the proper weight, was about to leave, when a parrot, which the baker kept in his shop, cried out: "Light bread in the closet!" This caused a search to be made, and the baker was heavily fined. Full of fury, the baker seized the parrot, wrung its neck, and threw it in his back yard, near the carcase of a pig that had died of the measles.

The parrot, coming to itself again, observed the dead porker and inquired in a tone of sympathy: "O poor piggy, didst thou, too, tell about light bread in the closet?"

Somewhat more credible is the tale of the man who taught a parrot to say, "What doubt is there of this?" (_dur in cheh shuk_) and took it to market for sale, fixing the price at a hundred rupis. A Moghul asked the bird: "Are you really worth a hundred rupis?" to which the bird answered very readily: "What doubt is there of this?" Delighted with the apt reply, he bought the parrot and took it home; but he soon found that, whatever he might say, the bird always made the same answer, so he repented his purchase and exclaimed: "I was certainly a great fool to buy this bird!" The parrot said: "What doubt is there of this?" The Moghul smiled, and gave the bird her liberty.

Sir John Malcolm cites a good example of the ready wit of the citizens of Isfahan, in his entertaining _Sketches of Persia_, as follows: When the celebrated Haji Ibrahim was prime minister of Persia [some sixty years since], his brother was governor of Isfahan, while other members of his family held several of the first offices of the kingdom. A shop-keeper one day went to the governor to represent that he was unable to pay certain taxes. "You must pay them," replied the governor, "or leave the city." "Where can I go to?" asked the Isfahani. "To s.h.i.+raz or Kashan." "Your nephew rules in one city and your brother in the other."

"Go to the Shah, and complain if you like." "Your brother the Haji is prime minister." "Then go to Satan," said the enraged governor. "Haji Merhum, your father, the pious pilgrim, is dead," rejoined the undaunted Isfahani. "My friend," said the governor, bursting into laughter, "I will pay your taxes, even myself, since you declare that my family keep you from all redress, both in this world and the next."