THE STORY OF RUSTEM
AND OTHER PERSIAN HERO TALES
“But thy doom is fixed, thou Cruel One, and even now the avenger’s hand is at the door. Behold, and tremble!”
THE STORY OF RUSTEM
AND
OTHER PERSIAN HERO TALES
FROM FIRDUSI
BY
ELIZABETH D. RENNINGER
ILLUSTRATED BY J. L. S. WILLIAMS
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
1909
Copyright, 1909, by
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
Published September, 1909
DEDICATION
Once upon a time, not so many years ago, a librarian in one of our large cities conceived the idea of forming a hero club for the boys of her neighborhood. So it came to pass that for two years, every Wednesday evening, between thirty and fifty young heroes assembled in the club-room of the library to listen to the story of some great hero, told either by the librarian or by some visiting story-teller.
Now, as the object of the club was not only amusement, helpful entertainment, and inspiration, but also to influence the boys’ reading, they were introduced first to the Greek heroes: Theseus, Perseus, Hercules, Jason, and the heroes of Troy. And after these came the heroes of chivalry: Charlemagne, Roland, Oliver, Ogier the Dane, and the four Aymon brothers. Then followed Siegfried, King Arthur, and the Red Cross Knight. Yea, and even that gay little fellow in green—brave Robin Hood. And sprinkled in with these more or less mythological heroes were those of a more practical type: Father Damien, Livingstone, Lincoln, Peter Cooper, and a number of every-day heroes who so well exemplify the growth in heroic ideals in our century as contrasted with those of primitive times. Boy Heroes were also presented, and finally, in her search for good story-hour material, the librarian decided to introduce the boys to some of the great Persian heroes—they being not so well known.
And, since the boys’ delight in this series of stories really inspired the thought of making it possible for other story-tellers and older boys and girls to enjoy them too, therefore this book is appropriately and affectionately dedicated to the Hero Boys of the Bushwick Branch of the Brooklyn Public Library—a more appreciative and promising set of youths than whom never resolved to do, and dare, and be—good, practical, every-day heroes.
FOREWORD
The aim of this series of stories which, through the medium of Firdusi, mirrors so fascinatingly the legendary history of Persia, has been, not only to provide for the story-teller a treasure-house wherein may be found pure gold, refined for ready use, every coin of which may be stamped with the narrator’s own individuality for the inspiration and entertainment of any group of children, but also, indirectly, to present to older boys and girls, in attractive form, the story of the Shah-Nameh in miniature.
When the material for the stories was originally collected, the author’s idea was simply to work out for her own use in story-telling to children a picture presentation of a delightful series of tales little known to the young. Accordingly, like the fabled busy bee, she scrupled not to enter the most exclusive Persian gardens, dipping into the cup of each bright posy containing the least mite of the sweets for which she was delving—her desire being to give to this particular jar of honey not the Atkinson, or the Mohl, or the Arnold flavor alone, but a composite which should be all of these, and yet distinctly individual and unique, the point of view being not the usual one of the translator, the paraphraser, or the raconteur working upon the lines of the epitomist, but rather that of the moving picture artist and the story-teller combined.
The debt of the author, consequently, is large, and acknowledgment difficult. For while original translators of the great epic, as Mohl, in French, and Atkinson and Helen Zimmern, in English—and Arnold in his noble poem “Sohrab and Rustem”—have contributed most liberally to this series of word-pictures, yet many additional treasures also have been discovered and secured, even from general works such as, for example, Benjamin’s “History of Persia,” and altogether from sources too varied and fugitive, and too thoroughly woven into the fibre of her own text, to be individually acknowledged. The debt, however, is none the less great.
It only remains to be said that if, when started upon their mission, these stories give to children at large as much pleasure as they gave to the particular group of “heroes” for whom they were worked out, they will not only justify their right of being, but also their method of preparation, which, though without scholarly pretensions, may yet serve to make better known and loved one of the masterpieces of literature, alas, too little familiar to-day even to grown-ups well versed in European classics.
E. D. R.
Northumberland, Pa., September, 1909.
CONTENTS
[Rustem’s Seven Labors, or Adventures]
[Sohrab and the Warrior Maiden]
[The Combat of Sohrab Against Rustem]
[Siawush the Persian Sir Galahad]
[How Gew Helped a Hero-prince Unto a Throne]
[Isfendiyar’s Seven Labors, or Heft-Khan]
[The Combat of Isfendiyar Against Rustem]
ILLUSTRATIONS
[Then pressing the golden casket unto his breast, he spake unto God in his grief]
[Then in graceful circles she swept slowly down unto the wondering father]
[The two rode side by side into Zabulistan]
[Mad with pain, he sprang at Rustem like a wild elephant]
[And finally, in his perplexity, he consulted his astrologers]
[The days passed for both like a happy dream]
[They drew their long Indian swords and fell to work again]
[At evening they came unto a vast wood, reaching many leagues]
[Seated beside it a youth like unto a royal cypress]
[He discovered the magician deeply engaged in incantation and witchcraft]
[Isfendiyar seized his bow, and whiz! whiz! went a shower of arrows]
INTRODUCTION
The world has few great epics. In fact, it has been said that there are perhaps but six in all. Yet the materials for an epic are to be found among all nations in those traditions, half-fact, half-fiction, which cluster about the great national heroes whose deeds of prowess make the era in which they lived stand forth before our eyes, clear-cut and brilliant, the canvas filled from end to end with deeds of daring, scenes of love, violence, and romance which, through all ages, thrill and make their own appeal to the heart of man.
Epics are written, as a rule, in the infancy of a race, and they all have this in common, that they are not the invention of a single individual, but being founded upon national traditions, are handed down orally from one generation to another, until, in the fulness of time, one of the world’s great poets stretches forth his hand, gathers together all the beautiful flowers that have blossomed in the fancy of his people—as has been so happily said of Firdusi—and having breathed upon the precious blossoms, plants them in new beauty in the Gardens of Paradise, there to bloom on among the immortals, a joy and delight forever.
Among the truly great national epics, two fall to India—the Mahabharata and the Ramayana; two to Greece—the Iliad and the Odyssey; one to the North—the Nibelungenlied; and one to Persia—the Shah-Nameh.
The Shah-Nameh—without question the greatest of the Eastern epics—is seven times the length of the Iliad, being in fact much longer than the Iliad and the Odyssey together, comprising in all 60,000 couplets, and having occupied Firdusi thirty years in writing. The poem presents us, in most musical rhythm, with a complete view of a certain definite era of civilization—the Persia of the Heroic Age; an age of chivalry rivaling in mighty deeds of prowess and romantic interest the mediæval chivalry of Charlemagne and the glorious Peers of France. And, moreover, we have here a portrait gallery of distinct and unique individuals, the bright, particular star being Rustem, the great hero whose superhuman strength, courage, and loyalty prevented Persia, for hundreds of years, from falling into the hands of her foes.
In writing the Shah-Nameh it is said that, in addition to his poetic and historic incentives, Firdusi had a distinctly patriotic motive. For, being an ardent lover of things Persian, he hoped thus to keep alive in the hearts of his countrymen the glories of their ancestors, in order that they might not degenerate into mere puppets under Arab domination. Now that Firdusi had this end in view is shown not alone by the theme and spirit of the epic, but also by the diction employed, for the poet adheres rigorously throughout to the native Persian, using few Arabic words, the consequence being that no work in the literature of Persia is so free from foreign admixture as the Shah-Nameh.
Unfortunately, no complete copy of the great “Iliad of the East” is known to exist, though there are innumerable MS. copies, some of them wondrously beautiful, the scribes having used Egyptian reeds, and the blackest of ink which never fades; the writing being done on the nest of silk paper, powdered with gold and silver dust; the margins richly illuminated; the whole perfumed with sandal-wood, or some costly essence; and the title-page of elaborate design.
The best known translations of the Shah-Nameh are: an abridgment in prose and verse, by Edward Atkinson; Jules Mohl’s French translation, which is perhaps the most scholarly work; Helen Zimmern’s excellent paraphrase; the versions given in Reed’s Persian literature, Benjamin’s “History of Persia,” and various other partial adaptations.
As for Firdusi (Abul Kasim Mansur) the “Poet of Paradise,” who gave to the world the Shah-Nameh, many are the poetic legends that cluster about his name, making it extremely difficult to give any authentic account of his life. Authorities differ as to the exact date, but he is said to have been born at Shahdab, a suburb of Tus in Khorassan, somewhere about A. D. 930. His father’s name is quite unknown, but he seems to have been one of the Dihkan, or landed gentry of Persia. It is also said that he was a gardener, and that Firdusi received his name from the spot which he cultivated (Firdus, i. e., Paradise). However that may be, the legend goes on to relate that, it having been communicated to the father in a dream that his son would have a great future, he had given to Firdusi the best education the time and place could afford. The boy was carefully educated, therefore, in the Arabic language and literature, the Old Persian, and the history and traditions of his country.
Firdusi seems to have been a dreamy youth, for it is recorded of him that he spent many hours beside the canal which ran through his father’s grounds, perusing eagerly the old legends of the early wars of his country as exemplified in the splendid deeds of her heroes; or in dreaming of the great things which he, himself, meant to accomplish one day for the glory of Persia. Yea, and the lad was practical, too, for aside from his own personal dream of greatness, his great hope was that, having himself achieved, he might be able to build for Tus, his native city, a great dike of stone which should prevent the fearful inundations which, from time to time, wrought such devastation and ruin to the poor people of Tus.
Little seems to be known of Firdusi’s younger manhood, but it appears that his poetic gifts were early perceived and fostered, and that he spent not his time in idle dreaming. For suddenly it came to light that, while at the Court of Mahmud, the Sultan’s poets were laboring under the direction of that great patron of literature to produce from the records already accumulated a history of Persia in rhyme, all unaided, in an obscure village, one unknown to fame was attempting the same great undertaking. Now thus it came to pass that Mahmud who had the records, and Firdusi, who possessed the gifts, were brought together.
And this having come to pass, Firdusi basked from this time forth in the royal favor. A beautiful house was given him by the Sultan, the walls of which were decorated with martial scenes painted by the great artists of Persia, in order to fire the imagination of the poet; the Bustan-Nameh, a collection of the chronicles and traditions of Persia, together with other valuable records were placed at his disposal; and thus, happily equipped and surrounded, the poet worked unhampered upon his great masterpiece. Yea, for thirty long years Firdusi wrought, and when at last the 60,000 couplets of the great Shah-Nameh were completed, he rejoiced, for was he not to receive a reward of a thousand pieces of gold for each thousand couplets? And with this princely sum could he not now carry out his long-cherished dream of a dike for his fellow-townsmen?
But, alas! Firdusi, while at the Court, had incurred the enmity of the Sultan’s prime-minister, who resented the fact that he, the great prime-minister, was not also mentioned in the eulogy to Mahmud which prefaced the great epic poem. Poisoning the mind of the Sultan against Firdusi, therefore, the spoiled favorite of the Court managed that the money promised the poet should be paid in silver instead of gold. Now Firdusi was at the bath when the money was brought to him, and in his anger at the insult thus offered him, he immediately divided the money into three parts, giving them respectively to the keeper of the baths, the seller of refreshments, and the slave who brought the money. “The Sultan shall learn,” he said proudly, “that Firdusi did not spend the labor of thirty years to be rewarded with silver.”
Of course this independence of spirit upon the part of Firdusi angered the haughty Sultan, who, when he learned that his gift had been despised, condemned the poet to be trampled to death by an elephant upon the following morning. But this vile deed came not to pass, for the outraged poet fled, first giving into the hands of the prime-minister a sealed paper containing a bitter satire upon Mahmud, which he desired to be inserted in the epic in place of his former eulogy.
The chronicles relate that, as a result of this most unfortunate incident, Firdusi, like Dante, became for long years an exile and wanderer, being driven by the persecutions of the Sultan from court to court, from country to country. Finally, however, after many weary years of banishment and harassing care, friends of Firdusi, with great difficulty, extorted from the Sultan a pardon, and the ill-starred poet, old and broken, returned unobtrusively to his native town. Here the days of the immortal bard soon drew to a close. It is related that, hearing a little child singing in the streets of Tus some of his own verses, his bitter wrongs and sufferings were so vividly recalled to him that he was seized with faintness, and, being carried to his home, soon after expired. His death occurred A. D. 1020, in the eighty-ninth year of his age. Being refused burial in sacred ground, the Sheik also declining to read the customary prayers over his grave, the old poet was buried in the beautiful garden where so hopefully he had dreamed the long, long thoughts of poetic youth. Now, alas! thus ended the earthly career of grand old Firdusi, the “Oriental Homer,” as he has been called; also greatest poet of Persia, and one of the greatest of all literature.
But, though Firdusi was now peacefully laid to rest, his story runs on. For, according to one of the legends, it is related that the Sultan, having at last learned of his minister’s treachery, banished him from his court forever. And not only this, for being stricken with remorse at having driven unjustly from his side the poet who had made his court “resplendent as Paradise,” as he himself had said, Mahmud determined to make reparation. Learning, therefore, that Firdusi was living obscurely at Tus, he sent him the long-delayed payment, together with camels loaded with princely gifts—but too late! The royal retinue met the funeral of the great poet at the city gates. Firdusi being no more, the Sultan’s gifts were offered to the poet’s daughter, by whom they were disdainfully refused. Other relatives, however, accepted the peace offering, building with it a bridge, the dreamed-of dike, and a house of refuge for travellers—all of which memorials are now gone.
But Firdusi’s fame lives on, growing brighter with the years. When the storm-tossed, unappreciated old poet, therefore, in self-justification said that he had written what no tide should ever wash away, what men unborn should read o’er oceans wide, he made no idle boast. For to-day not only Persian boys and girls, but the young people of the world—as well as all lovers of good literature—are reading with delight the fascinating legends of Persia, as mirrored forth in the Shah-Nameh, or Book of Kings, of the grand old poet, Firdusi the Persian.
KAVAH THE BLACKSMITH
Once upon a time, so the old chronicles relate, during the reign of Jemshid the Shah, there dwelt in the deserts of Arabia a King named Mirtas. Now Mirtas was rich in flocks and herds of goats, sheep and camels which yielded up a bounteous store of balmy milk; and this milk the generous King always distributed in charity among the poor. So God was pleased with Mirtas, and increased his favor upon him accordingly.
Now this King, smiled upon by the Almighty, had one priceless possession, his only son, Zohak, who, in his youth, seemed destined to rival his father in nobility of character. But, alas! upon this noble young cypress, so luxuriant in buds of promise, there suddenly fell a blight, disastrous alike to the house of Mirtas and to the land of Persia. And this is how it came about.
One day Iblis, the Evil One, roaming the earth in search of mischief, chanced to stray into the palace of Mirtas, and, in so doing, he happened upon the charming young Zohak. Now Iblis was disguised as a noble, and so eloquent and full of guile was his discourse, that the young prince, fascinated, eagerly besought his new friend to let the music of his voice continue to delight him.
Then Iblis, who saw here a fertile field for his guile, was pleased to see the charm work so well. So, his tongue dropping honey, he thus spake unto the youthful Zohak:
“O Pearl of the East, alas! for though I am master of still sweeter converse, I may not address it unto one so young unless thou wilt first enter into a solemn compact with me never under any pretence to divulge what I shall tell unto thee.”
Alas! Zohak was guileless and simple of heart, and so, suspecting no evil, he sware unto Iblis that he would obey him in all things, for he believed him to be noble and good. Judge, then, of his surprise and horror when, the oath taken, Iblis said unto him:
“O Light of the Universe, thou who art fair and wise and valiant, give ear unto the voice of thy friend, and soon thy stately young head shall be raised above the stars. Listen! Thy father hath become old, and longeth to enter into his reward. While he liveth, necessarily thou wilt remain unknown. Let him, therefore, no longer stand in thy way. The robes of sovereignty are ready, and better adapted to thee. But raise thy hand, therefore, and the name of Mirtas shall be naught but a beautiful memory in the world. The leaves in the Book of Fate turn slowly, but who can change what is written on its pages?”
Thus spake wily Iblis and as the meaning of this fiendish suggestion dawned fully upon him it would be hard indeed to picture to you Zohak’s horror and dismay. Enough to say that at first he refused utterly to be a party to his father’s death, but, though the struggle was long and obstinate, Iblis finally terrified and subdued the youth by telling him that if he refused, his own life would be the forfeit. Then, in order to make it easier for him to agree to the proposal, Iblis assured Zohak that he need not perform the deed with his own hands, but merely consent to it.
So Iblis dug a pit on the pathway that led to Mirtas’s house of prayer, and covered it over with grass. And presently, when night was preparing to throw her dark mantle over the earth, as the King, according to his custom, was going unto the house of prayer, it came to pass that he fell into the pit, and his legs and arms being broken by the fall, he shortly after expired.
Thus, according to the legend, perished Mirtas, that father whose tenderness would not suffer even the winds to blow upon his son too roughly. And thus also Zohak, in his tender youth, sold himself unto the Evil One.
Now Iblis, having succeeded in getting Zohak into his power, continued to bestow upon him the most devoted attention and flattery, with the view of moulding him entirely unto his will. Among other things, therefore, he taught him the art of magic; and, having done so, he assured him that through it he should become the greatest monarch of his time. But though the ear of Zohak was ever open unto Iblis, he ruled his people in both good and evil, for he was not yet wholly given over unto guile.
Seeing this, therefore, Iblis imagined a new device in his black heart, for he was not yet satisfied with the degree of authority which he had obtained over the young King, desiring above all things to see him completely given over unto evil. Consequently, with this end in view, by the aid of magic, he took upon himself the form of an engaging youth, and, appearing thus before Zohak, he craved permission to serve him as director of the royal kitchen. Pleased with the guileless manners of the youth, and with the delicious and savory food which he caused to be spread before him, the King finally commanded that the keys of the great store-rooms be given him, and that he be allowed to reign supreme over the royal board.
You must know that up to this time, men had been nourished with bread, and fruit, and herbs alone; Iblis, however, prepared flesh for Zohak, and invented the art of cooking. And cunning indeed was this device, for the King was delighted with the new dishes made from every variety of bird, and four-footed animal, and lived but for each new repast. Every day, therefore, something dainty and rare was prepared for the royal table, and every day Iblis increased in favor, for the flesh gave unto the King courage and strength like unto a lion, and the fame of his table was great in the land.
But of all the new dishes prepared for the King, an egg was unto him the most delicious of all. “What can be superior to this?” he cried in ecstasy, rolling his eyes toward heaven, and heaving a sigh of profound content.
“Speak not so,” replied Iblis, smiling, “for to-morrow thou shalt partake of something still more savory.”
The next day, therefore, the magician of the King’s kitchen brought unto his majesty’s table delicious fare, served exquisitely to please the eye as well as taste, partridge and pheasant, a banquet for a prince. Then Zohak, delighted beyond measure, exclaimed impulsively:
“O Prince among Cooks, verily for this new wonder wrought in our behalf, whatsoever thou desirest, and I can give, is thine. Thou hast but to speak the word.”
Then Iblis, glad and little anxious, replied unto His Majesty that he had but one request—one unimportant wish. It was to kiss the mighty monarch’s naked shoulder—a mere whim!
So Zohak, unsuspicious, stripped his shoulders, glad to gratify a wish so flattering and so simple. Then cunning Iblis quickly stooped, and twice he kissed the King with fiendish glee, and, having done so, vanished from the sight of men.
But alas, alas for Zohak! for forth from his shoulders, at each salute, sprang hissing serpents, venomous and black, whose fiery tongues darted unceasingly about, as though in search of prey. And at this, imagine, if you can, Zohak’s horror and dismay! his angry cries of fear and rage! the frenzied haste with which he gave command to have the ugly creatures severed at the roots! But vain their utmost haste; vain all their zeal, for no sooner were the writhing things cut off, than quickly forth once more they sprang, like veritable jacks-in-a-box. And though the King’s servants wearied not, but struck again and again, and yet again, it was all to no purpose, for every time that the vile creatures were severed, they sprang forth bigger, blacker, and uglier than before, each new pair writhing and hissing yet more angrily, as though, like Iblis, they longed for naught so much as to lodge their poisonous venom deep in the hearts of men.
And now, indeed, was there tumult in the King’s court! And well was it for Iblis that, though the most diligent search was instituted, he was nowhere to be found throughout the whole dominion. Useless, therefore, was their search; and all to no purpose did the King’s ministers offer mountains of gold as a reward for him who should rid His Majesty of the awful evil laid upon him. In response to the proclamation the most celebrated magicians and wise men of the East flocked unto the court of Zohak, but, among them all, not one was found able to charm away the dreadful vipers.
Every sunrise a new magician, every sunset failure reported; this was the record of the wretched days of Zohak the King from this time forth, until hope was almost dead in his heart. Then one day, as the unhappy monarch sat upon his gorgeous throne, sunk in the most abject misery, Iblis, in the guise of a skilled physician, once more presented himself before the King, and, after examination and mature deliberation, thus spake the cunning one unto his prey:
“O Shelter of the Universe, I have searched the heavens diligently concerning the horrible evil which hath fallen upon thee, and in thy horoscope I read a bitter tale. For behold, in the Book of Fate it is written that from this time forth thou shalt be known among men as the ‘Serpent King,’ since the stars have decreed that the hissing, writhing vipers shall remain connected with thee throughout thy life, involving thee in perpetual misery. Hope not, therefore, by the arts of magic to avert thy fate, for charms are of no avail when pitted against the stars.”
Alas! As Zohak heard this dire interpretation of his horoscope, he uttered an exceedingly bitter cry, and gave himself up utterly to despair; seeing which, Iblis smiled, for he knew that the hour of his triumph was near. Concealing his satisfaction, however, he thus spake unto Zohak:
“O Heaven Accursed, despair not yet so utterly, for one faint ray of hope saw I glimmering for thee from afar, which, if thou wilt, thou mayest cause even yet to burst forth into a sunbeam of promise. For lo, it is written, that if yonder writhing creatures be fed daily upon human brains, which would be the same unto them as poison, in the course of time they may die; at any rate, in this way only can thy life be prolonged and made easy. It is for thee to decide.”
So, having thus cunningly lodged this evil suggestion in the mind of the King, Iblis once more vanished, evidently through the ceiling, for there floated down thence unto the ears of the unhappy monarch the mocking refrain:
“If life hath any charm for thee,
The brain of man their food must be!”
Now the truth was, Iblis hated the human race, and he was, therefore, greatly delighted to think that as a result of his cunning, in time a great portion of mankind would be destroyed by the dreadful serpents. For well he knew that Zohak had now become so desperate that he would do anything to obtain release from his misery. What he did not know was that all his craft and cunning were powerless to affect God’s plans for the children of Adam.
But alas for Zohak! And alas also for his subjects! For the chronicles relate that from this time forth was he given over wholly unto evil, and that each sunrise saw two young men of the flower of the land slain to gratify the furious hunger of the serpents. And lo! the fear of the King was great in the land.
Nor did the fame and fear of the Serpent King confine itself to his own borders. Alas, no! for Persia was also to suffer at his hands. And now you must hear something of the Shahs of Old, but particularly of the great Shah, Jemshid, whose fate was so closely bound up with that of Zohak.
In the old chronicles of Persia we read that Kaimurs was the first Shah of Iran, and that he was chosen by the people to rule over them. Prior to his time, each man lived for himself, in the most primitive way, owning allegiance to no one but Ormuzd, the great God of the Persians.
Now the legends tell us that Kaimurs was so wise and good that even the animals assembled to do him homage, and to help fight his battles. Yea, it is even said that, when he was crowned, great lions and tigers came forth from their lairs in the distant forest, and that with them there crouched low before the monarch wolves and leopards, together with the fierce wild boar, and the fleet-footed ass of the desert. A strange coronation pageant, surely!
But Kaimurs was loved by men, as well as beasts, and so he prospered and grew strong. Unfortunately, however, he had one very powerful enemy, the great King of the Deevs, who ruled over Mazinderan, a province to the north of Kaimurs’s kingdom. And since not only Kaimurs, but, later on, many other of the Shahs and heroes of Iran were called upon, again and again, to battle with this wily race, you will be interested to hear what they were like.
Well, these wicked Deevs, according to the descriptions given of them, appear to have been a strange mixture of man, and animal, and evil spirit. They walked upright, like men, but were possessed of horns, long ears, and tails; and many of them are described as cat-headed. Great numbers of them too are said to have been small and black, but there were also many giants among them, and as one and all of them were past masters in the arts of sorcery and enchantment, it required very great courage indeed to fight against them, since in battle they could, at will, call up whirlwinds and great fires, while they, themselves, could vanish whenever it pleased them to do so. You can easily understand, therefore, that it took the courage of a real hero to go forth to battle against the Deevs.
This, however, Kaimurs’s subjects were called upon to do, since a day came when the King of the Deevs sent out against Iran a great army of cat-headed men, giants, and other monsters of horrible aspect, with the command utterly to subdue the land. Now in this emergency, the son of Kaimurs, who was very brave, was sent at the head of a large army to repulse the invading host. But alas! the young prince was slain at the very beginning of the battle, and his army scattered unto the four winds. Then was Kaimurs forced to flee, and Persia was given over unto the Deevs.
Now long and bitterly did the Shah of Iran grieve for the loss of his son, and the overthrow of his kingdom. But presently, in the far-off cavern where he lay hid from his enemies, he heard the voice of the Angel Serosch, which said unto him:
“O Beloved of Ormuzd, come forth into the sunshine of the world, for lo! victory lieth in the hands of thy grandson. Send him forth, therefore, to grasp it.”
So Kaimurs took heart, and calling before him his dearly loved grandson, the youthful Husheng, he commanded him to go forth to meet the mighty Deevs in the name of Ormuzd the Blessed, who promised a sure victory unto his children.
Before going, however, Husheng, who was wise, as well as valiant of heart, in addition to his loyal subjects, summoned to his assistance all the wild beasts of the forests, and even the birds of the air, whose duty it was to confuse the foe by flying in their faces, and by making fearful swoops at their eyes.
A strange sight, therefore, must have been Husheng’s army, when drawn up in battle array; but a yet more terrible thing to see was the mighty host of advancing Deevs, enveloped as it was in lurid flames and clouds of smoke. But the sight caused brave Husheng not a tremor, so filled with courage and the certainty of victory was he.
And, in the fiercely contested battle which ensued, so great was the heroism of the Persians, inspired as they were on all sides by their brave young leader, that not even the Deevs could stand before them. Husheng himself, also, performed marvels in valor, slaying in single combat, not only the King of the Deevs, but also the most important members of his family. Whereupon, in dismay, the remnant of the Deevs betook themselves to ignominious flight. Howbeit, few escaped; for, by the orders of Husheng, they were pursued by the tigers, wolves, and panthers, which tore them to pieces as they fled.
It was indeed a glorious victory, and as a result of it, the kingdom of Persia was at last secure; and from this time forth, under Husheng’s mighty sway, civilization grew apace, reaching at last a climax in the long reign of Jemshid, who was grandson of the valiant Husheng.
Now it is related of Jemshid that for seven hundred years he sat upon the throne of light, during which time Persia enjoyed her Golden Age of prosperity. And not only was Jemshid girt about with power and glory, but the whole world was happier for his sake; since, smiled upon by Ormuzd, during all this period, no one died or was ill, and the King, along with his subjects, remained ever in the prime of youth and strength, old age, death, pain, and sorrow being unknown.
During this period, also, the Deevs were subservient unto the great Shah, building for him magnificent palaces, inside of which were lofty halls with springing fountains, silken carpets covering soft divans on which to lie, and walls hung with pictures, embroidered silks, and jewelled hangings, all of which were fashioned by the Genii. They also erected for Jemshid a most glorious throne, upon which they transported him from one city to another in the twinkling of an eye. Now so gorgeously beautiful was this throne that it became the wonder of the world.
Jemshid, however, was not a valiant warrior like Husheng, but a builder of civilization. He first separated men into classes, divided the year into periods, encouraged building, and likewise is credited with the discovery of perfumes, the art of healing, the invention of ships, and many other useful means of benefiting mankind. It was he also who instituted the Neurouz, or New Year, at the time of the spring solstice, a festival still celebrated in Persia with many ceremonies during ten days.
You will not be surprised to hear, therefore, that Jemshid’s power increased continually; for, learning of his wisdom and goodness, men flocked unto his standard from all corners of the earth. And small wonder, since he was indeed a most beneficent and glorious King. But alas! the time came, so the legends tell us, when Jemshid’s head was turned by the height of power that he had reached. Then it came about that pride took possession of the heart of the King, and he forgot unto whom he owed his power and the source of his blessings. It is even said that the time came when, so great was his arrogance, he beheld only himself in the world, and he named himself God, and sent forth his image to be worshiped.
Alas for Jemshid! When the Mubids, who are astrologers and wise men, heard this decree of the King, they bowed their gray heads in sorrow, for they feared that the downfall of the Shah was near, since, forgetting his Creator, he assumed himself to be the sole architect of his greatness. But their words of wisdom only resulted in driving the King, who seemed possessed of an evil Deev, into still greater folly.
So there finally came a day when Jemshid commanded by proclamation that all his subjects should assemble in the great square in front of the royal palace, and there, at the appointed hour, a wonderful scene took place.
Howbeit, in order to appreciate what happened, you must know that the Deevs had made of the royal abode a palace like unto a fairy dream. Indeed yes; for all the outside walls, we are told, were covered with beautifully painted tiles, while the many windows and balconies were made of fretted stone work, encrusted with cut and polished glass, so that the whole glorious building, whose towers seemed almost to pierce the heavens, glittered and sparkled as though besprinkled with diamonds.
But in front of the beautiful palace, there glittered something still more gorgeous: it was the throne of the mighty Jemshid, studded, not with glass, but with every precious stone you have ever heard tell of, and a great many that you have not. In fact, so resplendent was it when lit up by the brilliant Eastern sunshine, that it became almost too dazzling for mortal eyes.
On the morning in question, however, the gorgeous throne was empty, though about it were stationed, as guards, a great company of cat-headed Deevs, gigantic Afreets, and fearsome-looking Jinns; while the magnificent, jewel-studded awning was held in place by graceful Peris, a kind of fairy. All of which indicated that the Shelter of the Universe would soon appear.
But though yet quite early, already every inch of standing room in the great square, as far as the eye could see, was crowded with dark faces and eager, upturned eyes. So impatient were the people to behold the Glory of the World and to learn his purpose in so calling them together!
And presently, the trumpets having been sounded, and the tom-toms beaten, the glorious Jemshid deigned to gladden the eyes of his loyal subjects. Slowly he mounted the gorgeous throne, and, as he did so, all the people fell on their faces before him, performing obeisance. As they rose to their feet, however, so majestic and magnificent was Jemshid’s presence that, with one accord, the people burst forth into a loud and prolonged “Bah! Bah!” of admiration, which form of expressing astonishment and pleasure is said to be customary among the Persians still to-day.
But you must hear how Jemshid looked to cause such a “Bah! Bah!” of approval. Well, to begin with, the great Shah wore many silken coats, one over the other, and a beautiful fur mantle outside all the rest. As for his gorgeously embroidered, baggy trousers, behold, they were tight at the ankles, while his slippers were of pure gold. Yes, and upon his head he wore an immense, many-colored turban, in the front of which blazed a huge diamond, set about with rubies and pearls. As for the rest, he was tall, and dark, and majestic, looking every inch a king.
As he raised his sceptre, therefore, commanding silence, the tumult at once ceased, while all awaited breathlessly his words. But the great Jemshid merely asked his people a simple question. He said:
“Long, long, O my people, have you basked in the sunshine of a Golden Age. Now tell me, unto whom do you owe this marvellous prosperity?”
In response to this query, at once the air rang with shouts of, “Hail unto Ormuzd the Blessed! Hail unto the great God of the Persians!”
Alas! This was not the reply that the arrogant Jemshid had desired or expected, so with a frown as black as the cloud of smoke which one could see curling lazily up into the blue from the great volcano Demavend, not far distant, the great Shah thundered forth at his people:
“O Foolish Ones, blind as moles or worms, know you not, then, that there is but one God of the Persians, even Jemshid the Glorious? Bow the knee unto him, therefore, and not unto Ormuzd.”
Now the wonder of such arrogance held the great crowd breathless for one intense moment; then, suddenly, a shiver ran through the vast multitude, and the cry went up: “Demavend! Look at Demavend! The volcano! Oh, the volcano!” Then all eyes turned unto the mountain. And lo! the snow-covered crest was all aglow with dusky red, while a huge black cloud issued from the crater, and moved with lightning speed down toward the plain, finally hovering like a great black bird of ill omen over the awe-struck people, who turned in their terror for aid unto Jemshid.
But in vain, for even as his subjects gazed upon him, the grandeur and glory of the proud king vanished as if by magic. There was no thunder and no lightning, but suddenly, without a sign of warning, the gorgeous palace fell silently into a heap of unsightly ruins; the gem-studded throne, the wonder and glory of the world, crumbled into a heap of worthless dust; and Jemshid’s royal robes became fluttering rags, such as the very beggars of the streets would disdain.
However, this was not the most terrible thing that happened upon that eventful day, for along the ground glided venomous snakes and loathsome lizards, which quickly sprang up out of the ruins, while down from the black clouds there rained a veritable army of huge scorpions, tarantulas, and swiftly running centipedes.
Now it is unnecessary to say that very soon these loathsome creatures had the great square to themselves, for verily in their mad terror and anxiety to escape, the people fairly flew from the spot. And thus ended their allegiance to Jemshid, for recognizing in the day’s happenings a sure sign of the displeasure of Ormuzd the Blessed, they cried out in their anger that they would no longer obey Jemshid as their Shah, since through his pride and presumption he had forfeited the favor of the Almighty.
So it happened that the people of Iran and Turan, having heard that in the land of Arabia there reigned a monarch mighty and terrible unto his foes, now turned unto Zohak, and Jemshid, fleeing upon his milk-white charger before the Arab host, became a wanderer upon the face of the earth, without a friend, and with many foes. And Zohak, the Serpent King, ruled in his stead.
But though the royal wanderer carried a high price upon his head, the chronicles relate that for the space of twice fifty years no man knew whither he was gone, for he hid from the wrath of the Serpent King. Howbeit, such was the zeal of his enemy, that in the course of time Jemshid could no longer escape the spies of Zohak, who finally captured him, as he wandered upon the shores of far Cathay, and brought him in triumph before the Serpent King.
Yea, like the narcissus bent with heavy dew, oppressed with shame, his hands behind his back, and ponderous chains passing from neck to feet, thus stood before the cruel King the once so glorious Jemshid. But alas! the sorry sight awakened in the breast of Zohak not the lightest thrill of pity as, gazing with a scornful smile upon the fallen monarch, tauntingly he said:
“O Lord of the World, and Heaven, behold thy worshippers at thy feet! But—where is thy diadem? thy throne? Where is thy kingdom now? Where thy sovereign power? Alas, I see them not!”
At this cruel speech, the drooping figure straightened, and kingly Jemshid, gazing unflinchingly into the serpent eyes of his tormentor, thus calmly spoke:
“O Serpent-haunted One, unjustly am I brought in chains before thee, betrayed, insulted—thou the cause of all. Feign not, therefore, to feel my wrongs, but work thy cruel will, and thou shalt see that still I am a King.”
Imagine Zohak’s rage at this defiance mixed with royal scorn! His inward fury! Though smiling, still he said:
“Most Kingly King, bereft of throne and power, one thing at least remaineth yet unto thee: to choose the manner of thy passing. Shall I behead thee, stab thee, impale thee, or with an arrow’s point transfix thy heart? What is thy kingly choice?”
Now seeing the evil intent of the King, and scorning to cringe before a thing so base, Jemshid, raising high his royal head and smiling proudly, said:
“O Slave of Iblis, since I am in thy power, do with me what thou wilt. Why should I dread thy utmost vengeance? Why express a wish to save my body from a moment’s pain? True, I have lived too long, but Jemshid’s memory in the world will live, undimmed by thee.”
Then Zohak, realizing from these words that it was not in his power to break the spirit of proud Jemshid, resolved upon a most horrible deed of vengeance. Ordering, forthwith, that two planks be brought, the royal prisoner was fastened between them, and his body divided the whole length with a saw, making two figures of Jemshid out of one.
So perished the great Jemshid, because he was presumptuous, and in his pride would have lifted himself above his Maker. But the good deeds which he wrought in the first half of his reign have caused his name to live, and even to-day the Persians look back with pride unto the splendor of their country in the days when the great Shah Jemshid sat upon the throne of light, comparing it with the glory of King Solomon.
But Persia groaned under the tyranny of Zohak, who day by day continued to pile evil upon evil until the measure thereof was full unto overflowing, and darkness had settled over all the land because of his wickedness. Shedding blood had now become the evil King’s pastime, and he hesitated not at committing every species of crime, until despair filled all hearts.
“The serpents still on human brains were fed,
And every day two youthful victims bled;
The sword, still ready, thirsting still to strike,
Warrior and slave were sacrificed alike.”
Howbeit, things could not go on thus forever, and so, in the course of time, thanks unto Ormuzd, there sprang forth from among the Persians a hero who should avenge the wrongs of his countrymen, and add new lustre unto the glory of Persia. And of this you shall hear.
For behold, it happened that, all unheeded by Zohak, there lived in his dominion at this time a man named Kavah, a blacksmith, remarkably strong and brave, and possessing a large family of fair sons, who were the joy of his life. One by one, however, they were taken from him to be killed to feed the King’s serpents, until but one remained unto him, and finally the lot fell also unto this last of his sons to meet a like death. Then Kavah arose in his wrath and sought the court of the Shah.
But you will not be surprised to learn that about this same time, Zohak was having evil dreams; and so, oppressed by terrors of conscience, he called together an assembly of his nobles, and insisted that they sign a document asserting that he, Zohak, had ever been unto Persia a just, wise, and beneficent King. And behold, it was even as this remarkable paper was being signed that the cry of one who demanded justice was heard at the gates.
Wishing to show unto his nobles, therefore, that he stood ever eager to do justice, Zohak commanded that the petitioner be brought immediately into the audience-room. And lo! Kavah, the avenger, stood before the King, and the assembly of the nobles. Now so terrible was the aspect of this deeply wronged man that, for a moment, all gazed at him in wonder. Then Zohak, the Serpent King, opened his mouth and thus addressed the sturdy Kavah:
“O Brawny One, I charge thee give a name unto him who hath done thee wrong!”
Then Kavah, knowing by the two writhing serpents that it was the Shah who questioned him, smote his head with his hands and uttered a savage cry. But, by a mighty effort, regaining his self-control, he once more faced the King calmly, as he said:
“O Serpent King, thou beholdest before thee Kavah the blacksmith, a blameless man, who hath come into thy presence to sue for justice. And lo! it is against thee, O King, that I raise my cry, and with reason. Seventeen brave sons have I called mine, yet to-day but one remaineth alive, and even now the mouths of thy brain-devouring serpents yawn to feed upon him also, to still their demon hunger. Thou art the King, ’tis true, but why on innocent heads cast fire and ashes? If Iblis, for thy evil deeds, hath given unto thee the form of hissing dragon, why to me be cruel? Why give the brains of my fair sons as serpent food, and then dare prate of doing justice? But thy doom is fixed, thou Cruel One, and even now the avenger’s hand is at the door. Behold, and tremble!”
Now so fierce and sudden was this assault that Zohak, appalled by the rage and sorrow of a father whose language sounded indeed like a cry of doom, at once ordered that the son of Kavah be brought forth and restored unto him. Then, regaining somewhat his arrogance, he bade the brawny smith inscribe his name upon the lying register, already signed by some of the mightiest nobles of the land.
But Kavah, when he learned the purport of the register, hesitated not, but turned wrathfully upon the assembled nobles, crying indignantly:
“O Feeble-hearted Ones, are you then men, or what, leagued with this human monster? Only a common man am I, and yet never will I lend my hand unto such a lie, and no more shall you, nobles though you be!”
Seizing the hated register, therefore, to the astonishment of all, Kavah tore it fiercely into bits, and trampled it under his feet with rage and scorn. Then, pausing not, he strode forth from the palace, taking his rescued son with him. And so majestic and fearless was his bearing as he passed, that none, not even the King, dared raise a finger to detain him.
So, feeling that at last the time had come for action, from the palace, Kavah went straight unto the marketplace. Here he rehearsed unto the people what wrongs the nation suffered, urging them to shake off the yoke of the cruel Serpent King, who was not even of their land. And so confident of success was Kavah, so eloquent and so brave, that multitudes, whose children had been sacrificed unto the brain-devouring vipers, flocked eagerly about the blacksmith, shouting madly: “Justice! Give us justice!”
Then Kavah, feeling the need of a standard about which the people might rally, took off the leathern apron wherewith blacksmiths cover their knees when they strike with the hammer, and, raising it aloft upon the point of a lance, cried out joyously:
“Behold, O my countrymen, the banner which shall lead us on to victory, delivering us from out the hands of the cruel Serpent King.”
Then a glorious shout, the music of which reached even unto the palace, went up from the people, who thronged eagerly about their brave and brawny leader, mad for revenge. So Kavah led them forth from the city bearing aloft his standard—that standard which, later on, adorned with gold and jewels, and called the “Flag of Kavah,” became a sacred symbol, honored by every Persian king in succeeding generations as the true sign of royalty.
But Kavah knew that not unto him was it given to be the real liberator of Persia from the tyranny of Zohak. He had kindled the flame of revolt, but a greater than he must make of the spark a devouring fire. Howbeit, the hero was ready, as you shall hear, thanks unto Serosch, the blessed Angel of Pity.
For you must know that this angel, who each night flieth seven times around the earth in order to watch over the children of Ormuzd, saw and was moved with compassion for the sufferings of the people; and so, presently, a grandson was born unto Jemshid, whose horoscope decreed that he should not only be the deliverer of his country, but should reign long and gloriously upon the throne of light. And this Kavah knew, for the Blessed Angel had made it known unto him in a dream, after he had proved himself brave and fearless of heart.
And since the Orientals say that a secret known unto two is one no longer, you, too, shall know that the name of the coming hero was Feridoun. But of how, by his splendid deeds, he earned for himself the title of “The Glorious,” you must hear in another story.
FERIDOUN THE GLORIOUS
Upon a starry night, during the festival of roses, long, long ago in the land of Persia, the Angel Serosch, flying through the night, brought unto the home of Abtin, son of Jemshid, a charming babe, destined for mighty deeds. Now the name of the child was Feridoun, and it is related that upon the night of his birth Zohak, the Serpent King, had a terrible dream, which you shall hear.
Behold, it came to pass that as the King lay upon the royal couch, suddenly, in his sleep, he felt himself attacked by three warriors, two of them of powerful stature, but the third a mere youth, slender like unto a young cypress. In his hands the stripling bore a huge, cow-headed mace, and with it he felled Zohak pitilessly to the ground. And useless was all resistance, for though the frenzied monarch struggled madly, the doughty youth bound his hands, and casting a rope about his neck, dragged him rudely along in the presence of crowds of hooting, gibing people. Now at this crisis, so great was the King’s anguish that, screaming horribly, he awoke. And lo! it was all a dream.
But in those times dreams were considered portentous; so now Zohak, springing up terror-stricken from his bed, hastily called together his Mubids, although it was still the dead of night, and, having related unto them the particulars of his frightful experience, he demanded a faithful interpretation of his dream.
Now the Mubids saw in this vision the approaching overthrow of the tyrant, but they were afraid to tell the truth unto Zohak, fearing for their lives. So three days were allowed to pass under the pretence of studying more scrupulously the signs, and still no one had the courage to speak out. Then the King grew angry, and in this dilemma, Zirek, one of the wise men, finally stood boldly forth and said:
“O Lord of the World, much we deplore it, but the stars foretell for thee a bitter fate, since thy dream announces the coming of a great and glorious prince, who shall hurl thee from thy throne, and bind thee in chains upon the mountains. Feridoun is his name, and he shall add lustre unto the house of Jemshid, and unto the land of Persia, though naught but woe shall he bring unto the Serpent King, whose day is already darkening into endless night.”
Alas for the King! Hearing this interpretation of his dream, he fell senseless upon the ground, and the Mubids fled from before his wrath. Now long he lay as one dead, and when consciousness did finally return unto him, he could neither eat nor sleep, but continued overwhelmed with fear and misery. And from this time forth, the legends say, Zohak knew neither rest nor joy, the light of his day being already darkened.
But instead of checking the King in his evil course, this experience seems only to have stimulated him to further cruelty. For, warned by the prophecy of the Mubids, Zohak now issued a decree that every person belonging unto the race of Jemshid, wherever found, should be seized and fettered and brought to him; for he hoped thus to secure the fateful prince of his dream. Sending out his spies everywhere, therefore, he caused the world to be scoured for Feridoun, but in vain.
Nevertheless, the young prince was passing his first baby days peacefully in the King’s dominions, watched over tenderly by his father and mother, and daily growing in strength that should fit him to carry out the noble task assigned unto him by Providence.
For Abtin, the father of Feridoun, knowing of the King’s decree in regard to the race of Jemshid, had avoided discovery by continuing to reside in the most retired and solitary places; but one day his usual caution forsook him, and he ventured beyond the limits of safety. Now this was most unfortunate at this time, for Zohak had learned of the glorious son born unto Abtin, and his spies were everywhere searching for him. Abtin’s imprudence, therefore, was dreadfully punished, for, being recognized, he was carried before the King, in whose presence he was foully slain.
But not so was Zohak to secure the desire of his heart, for when Faranuk, the mother of Feridoun, heard of the dreadful catastrophe which had befallen her husband, at once she took up her infant and fled, pausing for naught. Then, footsore and weary, her heart torn with fear and sorrow, day after day this brave young mother kept up her flight, traversing burning sands and dark, demon-haunted forests, seeking a place of safety for baby Feridoun, who, realizing not his peril, cooed and laughed and slept, always clasped close in his mother’s arms.
Finally, one evening just as the sun was kissing the world good night, away in the depths of the forest Faranuk came upon a beautiful spot of pasture ground. And presently, the soft tinkle, tinkle of a bell falling upon her ear, she hastened forward, and behold! an old, old man, gentle of face and mien, milked a wondrous cow, whose hairs were like unto the plumes of a peacock for beauty. Now the name of this cow of remarkable lineage was Purmajeh, and the keeper of the pasture gave away in charity the abundance of milk which she supplied.
Gently accosting the old man, therefore, Faranuk was assured a welcome; and so here she rested for the night, thinking to continue her flight in the morning. But, as a consequence of the grief and distress of mind which she had suffered, the poor mother was unable to supply her child with food, and so, urged by the gentle old man, she decided to remain in this quiet retreat for a time, at least.
But, continually afraid of being discovered and recognized, Faranuk knew not a moment’s peace. Finally, it was borne in upon her, she knew not how, that it would be safer for little Feridoun if she were not with him, and so, resigning him to the protection of God, she left the pasture, and continued her flight alone unto Mount Alborz.
Now the keeper of the pasture, into whose care the mother had confided her little one, cherished the child with the fondness and affection of a most devoted parent; and so, for three happy years, Feridoun rolled and tumbled in the pasture, and Purmajeh was his nurse. A wondrous playfellow, also, was Purmajeh, and well indeed was it for Persia that the baby shouts of glee reached not unto the ears of the Serpent King.
But better still was it that Feridoun was in the guardianship of Ormuzd, and that Serosch, his messenger, neither slumbered nor slept. For it happened that one night, the Angel of Pity, resting for a moment upon the battlements of Zohak’s palace, after having flown seven times around the world, heard issue thence a fiendish laugh of triumph, which sent the Gentle-hearted One speeding upon swift wings toward Mount Alborz. And there, Faranuk, thinking that she dreamed, listened unto the voice of the Angel, which warned her that Feridoun was no longer safe in the pasture.
As the morning dawned, therefore, Faranuk, with swift feet, hastened back unto the forest hiding-place, confiding unto the gentle old man of the pasture her intention of conveying Feridoun unto a safer place of refuge upon Mount Alborz. But the keeper, who loved Feridoun above all else in the world, remonstrated with the young mother, saying sorrowfully unto her:
“Why, O Faranuk, dost thou take the child unto the mountain? Alas! he will surely perish there, while here he is so happy!”
But Faranuk dared not disregard the warning of the Angel Serosch, and so, comforting the old man, with her boy in her arms she once more took up her flight. And wise was she in doing so, for intelligence had reached Zohak that the young prince was being nourished and protected by the keeper of the pasture, and, like a hungry tiger, he was preparing to spring upon his prey.
That same day, therefore, at the head of a force of picked men, he proceeded secretly unto the pasture, hoping to surprise the keeper, and thus secure the Prince. But once more his prey had escaped him, and when he discovered this, verily, he was like unto a mad elephant in his fury. For, not only did he cruelly slay the keeper of the pasture, and the wondrous cow Purmajeh, but so great was his frenzy that he stopped not until he had slain every living thing around about, and made of the beautiful spot a desert. And this done, diligently he continued his search, but neither sight nor tidings could he get of Feridoun, and his heart was filled with rage and despair.
Now upon Mount Alborz at this time there dwelt a pious hermit, and unto him Faranuk committed her boy, informing the old man that her son was destined for mighty deeds. So, being gladly welcomed, from this time forth the mother and child abode with the pious old recluse, who generously divided with them all the food and comforts which God gave him, at the same time, as Feridoun grew older, developing and storing his mind with various kinds of knowledge. Yea, and he also consulted the Books of Fate concerning him, after which he said unto Faranuk:
“O woman, I perceive that the Prince foretold by wise men and astrologers as the destroyer of Zohak and his tyranny, is thy son. Rejoice, therefore, and be glad of heart, for
“This child to whom thou gavest birth,
Will be the monarch of the earth.”
But Faranuk’s heart was filled, not only with joy, but also with foreboding, upon hearing her own convictions thus confirmed, for well she knew and dreaded the fearful power of Zohak. Nevertheless, her days were happy, for had she not her boy still with her? And was he not under the sheltering care of the Almighty?
But the years tarried not, and so when twice eight summers had passed over the head of Feridoun, he was no longer a child, but a bright, handsome youth of sixteen, strong and valiant of heart. Then one day he sought out his mother, and questioned her as to his lineage. So Faranuk, seeing that the time was ripe, told unto her son stories of Iran and the Shahs of Old; of the valiant Husheng; of the glorious reign of Jemshid, his illustrious grandsire; of the cruel Serpent King; and, last of all, of his father’s tragic fate.
Now Feridoun listened intently unto his mother’s tales; then, standing up straight and tall, with blazing eyes and flushed cheeks, he said unto Faranuk:
“O my mother, verily I will uproot this monster from the earth! Yea, I, Feridoun, will cause his name to be blotted from the Book of Kings, so that soon he shall be no more than an evil memory in the world. For long enough hath Iran groaned under his tyranny, and too long hath my father’s blood cried for vengeance.”
But Faranuk, troubled because of the blaze she had kindled, replied warningly unto Feridoun, saying gently:
“O Pearl of my Heart, let not thy youthful anger betray thee; for how canst thou, friendless and alone, stand against the master of the world? Be not, therefore, precipitate. If it be thy destiny to overcome this tyrant, in due time the Almighty will bless thee with means sufficient for the purpose. Wait, therefore, for the sign.”
But his mother’s words of caution found no echo in the heart of this youth who, hearing for the first time of the cruel monster who had robbed him of a father, and made of his mother’s life that of the hunted, would hear of naught but the immediate overthrow of the tyrant. Therefore he replied unto Faranuk:
“’Tis Heaven inspires me, mother, therefore be not so fearful. As for the Serpent King, not even he, with all his demon host, can stand against a valiant heart and a sturdy arm, guided by the great God of the Persians. Wherefore, then, delay?”
Howbeit, though glorying in the spirit of her son, Faranuk still tried to dissuade him from immediate action, but in vain; for, even while she spake, a mighty throng was seen approaching Alborz, led by one who bore aloft, as a standard, an apron uplifted upon a lance. Then both mother and son knew that the time for action was at hand, and glad was Kavah’s welcome. And presently, Feridoun, the helmet of Kings upon his head, sought once more his mother’s presence, saying proudly unto her:
“Behold, O my mother, thy warrior-son, who goeth forth unto the battle against the mighty Zohak! Unto him it is given to fight, but it remaineth unto thee to pray God for our safety, and for victory.”
So Faranuk, understanding, as she gazed, that it was useless to try longer to hold this bold young eaglet in the mountain eyrie, since he sensed power in his wings, blessed her son, bidding him go forth in the name of God to free his country, and to avenge his father’s death.
But, before going, Feridoun caused to be made for him a mighty club, the pattern of which he traced for Kavah upon the ground; and the top thereof was the head of a cow, in memory of Purmajeh, his nurse. He also did honor unto the standard of Kavah, causing it to be encased in rich brocades of Roum and hung about with jewels. Then, when all was ready, the little company set forth toward the west to seek Zohak, the two elder brothers of Feridoun accompanying them.
Now Faranuk, when she beheld her warrior-sons in full battle array, looking so brave and splendid, wept with pride and joy; but fear was in her heart too, and her every breath was a prayer unto Ormuzd, imploring his blessing upon the great undertaking.
But fear was far from the heart of gallant young Feridoun as, at the head of his brave followers, he rode forth upon his patriotic mission. The way was rough, the men poorly equipped, but their hearts were full of courage and hope, and new recruits were added daily.
Nor was the sign of God’s blessing withheld. For, one evening, in the course of their progress, as the valiant host neared the place where it was to camp for the night, suddenly, upon the heights above them, they beheld a shrine, or place of pilgrims, erected for the worshippers of Ormuzd. Placed upon a grassy slope, high above the turmoil of the road, the spot seemed to breathe peace and serenity; so much so, indeed, that, coming upon it unexpectedly, a hush fell upon the horsemen as they gazed; for, bathed in the glory of the sunset, a touch of solemnity thrown about it by the stately old cypresses whose heads soared majestically up into the blue, it seemed indeed a place in which God might delight to meet his people.
Profoundly impressed by the beauty and sacredness of the spot, Feridoun decided at once to visit the shrine, since he felt the need of inspiration and guidance. And in response to his prayers, it is recorded that there appeared unto him a radiant Angel who foretold unto him the varied fortunes he was to encounter, and bestowed upon him a magic power that should enable him to overcome the wiles of his foes. And so radiant was the vision that, when the hero returned from the shrine, all noticed his changed appearance.
“Bright beamed his eye, with firmer step he strode,
His smiling cheek with warmer crimson glowed.”
But alas! When the two brothers of Feridoun saw his altered mien, the pomp and splendor of his appearance, the demon of envy took possession of their hearts, and they privately meditated his destruction, saying one unto the other:
“Are not we, also, princes of the house of Jemshid? and older by birth! Why, then, should Feridoun lord it over us?”
So it came to pass that one day when the two envious ones spied Feridoun asleep at the foot of a mountain, immediately they hastened unto the summit and rolled down upon him a heavy fragment of rock, with the intention of crushing him to death. But the clattering noise of the stone awoke Feridoun, and instantly employing the knowledge of magic which had been communicated unto him, the stone was suddenly arrested by him in its course of destruction.
Now the two brothers, who were eagerly watching to see the result of their effort, beheld with astonishment and fear this event out of the course of nature. Hastening down from the mountain, therefore, they said stutteringly unto their brother:
“We were on the mountain, but we know not how the stone became loosened from its place. God forbid that it should have done injury unto Feridoun!”
Well aware, however, that this was the evil work of his brothers, the young Prince was yet wise enough to take no notice of the conspiracy; and, instead of having them punished, he raised them unto higher dignity and consequence, for he thought of his mother, and wished to fill her cup with naught but joy.
So all went well with Feridoun, and presently the little army, directed by Kavah, arrived at Bagdad, which is upon the banks of the Tigris. Here they halted, and Feridoun called for boats to convey them across; but the ferrymen refused their aid, saying that it was the King’s decree that none should pass save only those who bore the royal seal.
Alas! This angered Feridoun, and so, regarding not the foaming stream, nor the dangers hidden within its treacherous breast, boldly the young leader plunged with his steed into the rushing river; and lo! all the army followed after him. And now, indeed, was the struggle sore, for again and again it seemed as though the waves would bear them down; but the gallant war-steeds struggled on, and finally all stepped out in safety upon the farther shore, where they rested for the night, giving thanks unto Ormuzd for bringing them safely through so great a peril.
On the following day, however, they turned their faces toward the city which is now called Jerusalem, the proud capital of Zohak, whose glorious palace raised its towers unto highest heaven in beauty. Here, Feridoun giving the signal by striking the brazen gates with his cow-headed mace, the army stormed the walls, burst in the gates, and put the garrison to flight. Then, entering the palace, the youthful leader cast down the evil talisman of miraculous virtues that was graven upon the walls, and slew the wicked Deevs who guarded it. He also destroyed or vanquished with his cow-headed mace all the enchanted monsters and hideous shapes that appeared before him, and released, with his own hands, all the black-eyed damsels that Zohak had imprisoned there—among them, the two beautiful sisters of Jemshid.
And behold! having accomplished this marvellous feat, Feridoun was hailed by all the people of the city as their deliverer, for they were sick unto death of the cruelty and tyranny of the Serpent King. So, with shouts of rejoicing, Feridoun mounted the empty throne, and the crown of Iran having been placed upon his head, all the people bowed before him, and named him Shah.
But, you may ask, where was Zohak that he perished not at the hands of the fateful Prince? Well, from Jemshid’s sisters Feridoun now learned that the tyrant, with an immense army, had gone upon a secret mission toward Ind; and, upon questioning further, he ascertained that in this direction lay the country of the magicians with whom the Serpent King was in secret conference, hoping, from a renowned enchanter there, to obtain such means as should enable him to charm his enemy into his power. For, said the damsels:
“Night and day the terror of thy name, O Feridoun, oppresseth him. His heart is all on fire, and life is one long torture to him.”
But if Zohak was troubled before, imagine his surprise and terror when he learned from Kandru, the keeper of the talisman, the strange tidings of the fall of his capital! Disguising his fright, however, the tyrant immediately turned unto his army, hoping by its aid to regain his throne. But in vain; for both soldiers and people at once declared loyalty to the new Shah, resisting, to a man, the offers of gold and jewels and treasure made them.
So, disappointed in the army, Zohak determined to seek revenge alone. Stealing away secretly, therefore, he proceeded rapidly toward his capital, arriving by night at the palace of Feridoun. There, ascending a height, himself unobserved, he beheld the new Shah, in all the glory of his kingly robes, seated beside the lovely Shahrnaz, sister of Jemshid, enjoying her beauty and the charm of her conversation. Alas! at this sight, the fire of jealousy and revenge made blind with rage the fallen monarch, who, like a mad elephant, dashed upon Feridoun, thinking to slay him unawares.
But Feridoun, roused by the noise, started up quickly, and, meeting the charging Serpent King—who was indeed a most terrible sight—with his cow-headed mace he struck him a powerful blow upon the temple, crushing the bone. Then observing the hissing vipers, Feridoun knew his enemy, and was about to strike again, but his hand was stayed, as the Angel Serosch, swooping down, cried warningly:
“O Glorious Hero! Slay this human monster not, for his hour is not yet come. To a beetling mountain crag must he be chained, far from the haunts of men, there to die slowly and in torture, for so it is decreed.”
So the cruel Serpent King was led forth unto Mount Demavend, accompanied by a hooting, mocking multitude; and there, on the edge of the precipice, over the abyss, he was bound with mighty chains and nails driven into his hands, and left to perish.
And oh, the woe of Zohak! for behold the hot sun shone down upon the barren cliffs, and there was neither tree nor shrub to shelter him; also the chains entered into his flesh, and his tongue was consumed with thirst. But he was not alone, for continually before him there passed the great procession of his victims: Jemshid, sawn asunder, mockingly performing obeisance; then for hours a mighty throng of youths and maidens, sighing as they passed along, “We are the serpents’ victims”; and Iblis, too, appeared before the Serpent King, assuring him, as he rubbed his hands and laughed in fiendish glee, that he should continue to live so—on and on in torture—for a thousand years. So was the wicked Zohak punished for his evil deeds.
But as for Feridoun, for five hundred years he ruled the world gloriously, and all his days he did that which was beneficent and good, his heart being ever open unto his people. Yea so brave and just and generous was he that, writing of him many hundreds of years later, the great poet Firdusi, to whom we owe these hero tales, is able to say of his countryman
“The work of heaven performing, Feridoun
First purified the world of sin and crime.
Yet Feridoun was not an angel, nor
Composed of musk or amber. By justice
And generosity he gained his fame.
Do thou but exercise these princely virtues
And thou wilt be renowned as Feridoun.”
IRIJ, A GENTLE HERO
Now it is recorded that Ormuzd the Blessed caused three sons to be born unto Feridoun the Shah, and these youths were tall and strong, and fair of mien, their mother being the lovely Shahrnaz of the house of Jemshid. But the names of the young princes were not yet known unto men, for it remained unto Feridoun to test their hearts. But before their hearts were tested, the princes were wed, and of this you shall hear.
Lo, it is chronicled in the Book of Kings that the great Shah, beholding that his sons were come unto years of strength, sent forth a messenger to search through all the world for three princesses, born of the same father and mother, and adorned with every grace and accomplishment, that should make them worthy of alliance with the line of Jemshid, in order that the princes might be wed.
So the messenger went forth, travelling far and wide over many lands, at last finding the object of his search in the three beautiful princesses of the house of Yemen. But unfortunately, Serv, the King of Yemen, did not wish to part with his three fair daughters, and so put hindrances in the way, requiring the sons of Feridoun to present themselves at his court before he would give his consent unto the alliance.
Therefore, counselled by their father as to how they should conduct themselves, the three princes set forth to win their brides. Now they were received by the King of Yemen with becoming honor, and as they came through the tests to which they were subjected successfully, the King could no longer withhold his consent unto the betrothals.
That same night, however, Serv, being a master magician, called forth biting cold and frost, thinking to freeze to death the three princes as they lay upon their perfumed couches in the rose-garden of the King. But, though the cold and frost were sharp enough to kill all the flowers in the garden, the Angel Serosch awakened the princes in time. Whereupon seeing that it was useless to fight against the inevitable, the King finally prepared a great marriage feast, after which the three brides set out with their husbands upon the long journey back to Persia.
Meanwhile the chronicles relate that when informed by couriers of the near approach of his sons with their brides, Feridoun at once determined to go forth to meet them, in order to prove their hearts. And as, above all things, he was anxious to test their courage, he took upon himself the form of a terrible dragon that foamed at the mouth with fury, and from whose jaws vomited mighty flames.
Stationing himself in a gloomy mountain pass, therefore, when the train from Yemen drew near, he fell upon it suddenly, like a whirlwind, raising a cloud of dust above the place with his writhings, and roaring so horribly as to cause even the stoutest heart to quake.
Now, as it happened, the eldest brother was in the lead, and, consequently, he was the first to see the frightful beast about to fall upon them. Being given a moment in which to think, however, he said within himself: “A wise and prudent man fighteth not with dragons.” So, turning his back upon the monster, he retreated, leaving the dragon to fall upon his brothers.
So the furious beast, robbed of the first brother, quickly fell upon the second, who said unto himself: “If I must fight, what mattereth it whether it be a furious lion, or a warrior full of valor?” Placing himself upon guard, therefore, he took up his bow and stretched it, ready for the attack.
But the youngest of the princes, when he saw the danger which threatened his brother, tarried not afar, but, full of fire and fury, rushed upon the dragon, crying aloud in his rage: “Thou reptile, flee from out our presence, for it is not seemly for thee to strut in the path of lions. Thou beholdest before thee the sons of the glorious Feridoun, armed and ready for the fight. Beware, therefore, lest we plant upon thy head the crown of enmity.” Speaking thus, the Prince sprang boldly forward; but, before he could strike, Feridoun, having now divined the character of the princes, vanished from their sight.
So, the enemy having disappeared, the train from Yemen proceeded upon its way; and when they were come unto the royal palace, the Shah warmly welcomed his sons and the three fair daughters of Yemen, music and rejoicing being heard everywhere in the land. But at the end of seven days, behold, Feridoun called his sons into his presence, and, having seated them upon thrones of splendor, he opened his mouth, and said unto them:
“O Princes of the house of Feridoun, give heed unto the words which I shall speak unto you. Know, then, that the raging dragon whose breath threatened destruction, was but your father who sought thus to test your hearts. And now, having proved you, I will give unto each a name fitting unto his character.
“Lo, the first-born shall be called Selim, for in the hour of danger, prudence became his guiding star.
“And the second, who showed no whit of fear when suddenly confronted by peril, but whose spirit burned ardent as a flame, him will I call Tur, the courageous, whom not even a mad elephant can daunt.
“But as to the youngest, him I find to be a man both prudent and brave, knowing both how to haste, and how to tarry. Irij, therefore, shall he be called, for first did he show gentleness, but his wisdom and bravery tarried not in the hour of danger.”
And now the ceremony of naming his sons being completed, Feridoun called for the Book of the Stars wherein is written the fate of men, for he wished to divine the destiny of his sons. But alas! after searching the planets, he learned that though the signs pointed to success and renown for the two eldest, the horoscope of Irij, the youngest and best loved of his father, indicated misfortune and a tragic end, which disclosure grieved Feridoun deeply.
Howbeit, the King’s programme was not yet finished, for next he proceeded to divide his vast empire, giving the three parts unto his sons in suzerainty. Now unto Selim, he gave the lands lying toward the setting sun; and unto Tur, the eastern provinces reaching even unto China. But unto Irij, he gave Iran with the throne of might, and the crown of supremacy, regarding him as the ablest to rule over the heart of the empire.
So the brothers now separated, each taking charge of the reins of government in the respective kingdoms, and for many long years they sat upon their golden thrones in happiness and peace. But alas! evil was written in the Book of Fate, and, day by day, as the leaves turned, it brought tragedy ever nearer unto the house of Feridoun.
Verily the great Shah, after a romantic and glorious youth devoted to valiant deeds, had been blessed by Ormuzd with long life, honor, and peace; but now was he grown hoary-headed and full of years, and his strength inclined toward the grave. And—sorry to relate—as their father grew weak and feeble, the two eldest brothers became jealous of their younger brother, Irij, who was destined to take precedence of them upon the death of Feridoun.
And it was the heart of Selim, particularly, that was turned toward evil, and whose soul gradually became steeped in greed and envy. Day after day, therefore, he pondered bitterly in his spirit the parting of the lands, and anger filled his soul. For Persia was a beautiful land, the garden of spring, full of freshness and perfume, while the other provinces were wild and uncultivated.
Finally, Iblis gaining full possession of the heart of Selim, he called unto him a messenger, mounted him upon a swift dromedary, and sent him unto his brother Tur with a letter, sealed with his private seal. And the letter read:
“O King of the house of Feridoun, may thy days be many and glorious! So sayeth thy brother Selim who greeteth thee from out the west, and asketh of thee, shall we, the elder brothers, remain ever satisfied to see the youngest born set high above our heads upon the throne of light? What sayeth Tur the Courageous?”
Now when Tur had read this letter, behold, his imagination became filled with wind, so that his head was raised above the stars. Calling the messenger into his presence, therefore, he said unto him:
“Thus sayeth the mighty Tur unto his brother: O Star of the house of Feridoun, verily I say unto thee that since our father took advantage of our innocence when we were young and simple of heart, with his own hands hath he planted a tree destined to bear bitter fruit for him and his loved Irij. In order, therefore, that thou and I may counsel together how this great wrong may be righted, I follow the swift feet of thy messenger.”
So Selim and Tur met, and, as a result of their conclave, the following haughty message was sent unto Feridoun, their aged father:
“O thou who draweth with swift feet unto the tomb, behold, thy sons Selim and Tur ask of thee, art thou not afraid to go home unto thy God? For verily thine eldest born hast thou treated unfairly, and injustice doth cast its black shadow both before and after thee, since thou hast allotted thy realm with iniquity. We say unto thee, therefore, command the stripling Irij to step down from the throne of light, and hide him in some corner of the earth where he will be forgotten as we, and where he shall no longer offend our sight. For, are not we the elder brothers? Now art thou warned, and if thou heedest not, then shall come down upon thee from the mountains, fierce warriors filled with vengeance, who will utterly destroy thee.”
Now the herald, who bare this message unto the court of Feridoun, was greatly awed by the magnificence which everywhere greeted him, and marvelled much at the audacity of the writing destined for the King. And this impression was deepened when, having been admitted into the great audience-room of kings, he beheld the mighty monarch, proud and venerable, with snow-white beard reaching unto his waist, seated majestically upon his gorgeous golden throne. But behold! the look of serenity and peace vanished from the face of Feridoun as he listened unto the cruel words of his sons—his soul becoming kindled with fury. Rising majestically, therefore, he straightway said unto the messenger:
“Return, O herald, unto your masters—these men senseless and perverse of heart—and say unto them: Truly Feridoun rejoiceth that at last his sons have laid bare their hearts before him, for now he knoweth what manner of men they really are. As for the parting of the realm, it was done in equity, according to the wisdom of many counsellors. But I ask of you, what shall be said of him who betrayeth his brother for greed? Verily, he is not worthy to be sprung from a noble race! And now, listen unto the word of warning sent unto you by an aged father. For I say unto you, if you persist in your vile threat, lo! your names shall be blotted out from the house of Feridoun, and destruction utter and sure shall be your inheritance. Pray God, therefore, that he turn your hearts from evil.”
After the departure of the messenger, behold, Feridoun at once informed Irij of the intent of his brothers, advising him to prepare a great army to oppose them, should they really attempt to carry out their threat. For he said:
“Alas that it should be true, O my son, but in this world we can look for no defenders unless we are prepared to defend ourselves, and unto the evil of heart, a mighty army speaketh more loudly than the cry of justice.”
But Irij, as he listened unto the words of his father, was very sorrowful, for he was gentle of heart, and loved not strife and bloodshed. Therefore he said unto Feridoun:
“O Royal Cypress, casting thy gracious shadow over the whole sun-kissed world! Good and not evil hath been thy influence throughout thy long reign for, blessed by thy protecting shade, the beauteous flower of peace hath blossomed radiantly throughout thy kingdom for more than a hundred years. Now I, too, O my father, would reign beneficently, for I care not to be a dragon of war, vomiting upon the world destruction and woe. Suffer me, therefore, to go forth alone unto my brothers that I may still the anger which they feel against me, since rather than dip my hands in fratricidal blood, gladly will I sacrifice both diadem and throne. For verily
“I feel no resentment, I seek not for strife,
I wish not for thrones and the glories of life;
What is glory to man?—an illusion, a cheat;
What did it for Jemshid, the world at his feet?
When I go to my brothers, their anger may cease
Though vengeance were fitter than offers of peace.”
Now tears filled the eyes of the aged Feridoun as he listened unto the noble words of his son and with heart soothed and quickened as by a gentle shower, he said unto his youngest born:
“If such be thy desire, O my gentle son, go forth, and may flowers spring up in thy pathway, brightening and making glad unto thee every step of thy feet. But forget not that my life is rooted in thee, and return unto thy father with the speed of the swift-footed dromedary.”
But, before Irij started upon his mission of peace, Feridoun wrote and gave unto him a letter that he should bear unto his brothers. Now the writing was signed with the royal seal, and it read: