FIRDAUSI IN EXILE by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE

I

Now God who flames the buckler of the sun,
And lights that lamp of heaven, the glorious moon,
In the proud breast of Mahmoud had begun
To stir remorse, and, like the loud typhoon,
Shame blew his thoughts in gusts about his soul,
Remembering that old man whose sandy shoon
Pressed the low shores where distant waters roll,
And all his wrongs, and unrequited boon.

II

Since, greatest poet whom the world contains,
Firdausi, on whose tongue the sweet Farsi
Sounded like whispering leafage when it rains,
Who loved the ancient kings, and learned to see
Their buried shapes in vision one by one,
And wove their deeds in lovely minstrelsy,
For all the glory that his name had won
To Persia, was in exile by the sea.

III

In vain through sixty thousand verses clear
He sang of feuds and battles, friend and foe,
Of the frail heart of Kaous, spent with fear,
And Kai Khosrau who vanished in the snow,
And white-haired Zal who won the secret love
Of Rudabeh where water-lilies blow,
And lordliest Rustem, armed by gods above
With every power and virtue mortals know.

IV

In vain these stories of the godlike kings,
Whose bodies were as brass, their hearts as fire,
This verse that centuries with wasting wings
Will never harm, though men with gods conspire --
In vain the good Firdausi, full of years,
Inscribed this treasure to his Shah's desire;
For Mahmoud, heedless of the poet's tears,
Forgot his oath, nor gave the promised hire.

V

For each sonorous verse one piece of gold:
Such was the promise that the Shah had made,
But when the glorious perfect tale was told,
The file of laden elephants delayed;
For Hasan, that black demon, held the ear
Of Mahmoud, and spoke tenderly, and said,
"The end of this old man, my lord, is near;
For gold let silver in the sacks be weighed."

VI

Thereat Firdausi, when it came, was wroth,
And being within the bath, where all might see,
Called the two serving-men, and bid them both
Divide the silver for their service-fee,
And told Ayaz, the false Shah's chamberlain,
"Returning to thy master, say from me,
'Twas not for silver that I toiled amain
And wove my verse for thirty years and three."

VII

Then round him came his friends and bade him fly
From Mahmoud's vengeance, and the murderous sword;
But he, being placable of heart, would try
For peace, since enmity his soul abhorred;
So in the garden where the Shah was used
To breathe the spice that many a rose outpoured,
Firdausi met his master as he mused,
And bowed down at his feet without a word.

VIII

Yet grudging was the pardon, faint the smile,
And when that evening in the mosque he lay,
A veiled dervish, muttering all the while,
Crept near Firdausi, while he seemed to pray,
And whispered, "Fly from Ghaznin, fly to-night,
The bowstring waits for thee at break of day;
Thou shalt not scape because thy beard is white --
Begone!" and like a snake he slipped away.

IX

Then, when of worship there was made an end,
Firdausi rolled his prayer-mat up, and turned
To that bright niche where all believers bend,
And by the light of lamps that round him burned
Wrote on a blue tile with a diamond point
Two couplets that may yet be well discerned,
Though all the mosque be crumbling joint from joint,
By long decay and mouldering age inurned:

X

"The happy court of Mahmoud is a sea,
A sea of endless waves without a coast;
In my unlucky star the fault must be
If I who plunged for pearls in it am lost."
Then to his house he went, weary and sad,
And called around him those who loved him most,
And gave them all the treasure that he had,
Soft silken raiment that a king might boast.

XI

But in a saintly gabardine set out
And crossed the moonlit streets, and left the town,
Nor stopped to hear the lonely owlet shout
His dreamy menace from the turret's crown,
But where the cypresses and myrtles hoar
Hid the white house of Ayaz, stooping down,
He thrust a letter underneath the door,
And faded in the shadow broad and brown.

XII

That letter bade the chamberlain beloved
Before the dawn to seek his master's face,
And plead until his blandishments had moved
The Shah to grant him twenty days of grace;
In twenty days a paper folded fair
Should Ayaz in his master's fingers place,
Which to the gracious Sultan would declare
Firdausi's secret wish, and plead his case.

XIII

The Sultan vowed: but for those twenty days
The Sultan yawned upon his peacock-throne;
The rebeck and the Turkish minstrel's lays
With their sweet treble jarred him to the bone.
All night he tossed in fever, all day long
Far from his blithe hareem he paced alone,
Or scowled to hear the trampling and the song
Where down the cool bazaar the lanterns shone.

XIV

At last, at last the twentieth morning broke,
And Mahmoud, flushed with pleasure, rose and cried
For fair Ayaz, who from his slumber woke,
And brought the sealed letter, white and wide.
In Allah's name the Sultan broke the seal;
His long-pent wishes satisfied, he sighed,
But reading on, he stared, and seemed to reel,
And crushed the leaf, and gazed out stony-eyed.

XV

It was that scathing satire, writ in fire,
And music such as the red tiger makes
Over a man, the food of her desire,
When she lies down among the crested brakes --
That satire which the world still shudders at,
Whose cadence in the hearer's sense still aches,
At bare recital of whose singing hate
The conscience of forgetful kings awakes.

XVI

"O Mahmoud, of the whole world conqueror,
You fear not me? -- fear God!" The Sultan fell
With outstretched arms before the chamber door,
Ashen with rage, and his breast's heave and swell
Was like an earthquake; no word passed his lips,
But curses from the foulest pit of hell,
Till evening brought his soul through that eclipse,
And he rose up, and drank, and feasted well.

XVII

But old Firdausi, bearing eastward still,
Through many a Tartar camp, his woven mat,
At last, one evening, climbed a scarped hill
From whence he saw the white roofs of Herat:
Downward he passed, and in a garden, sweet
With roses and narcissus, down he sat,
And wondered if his mountain-weary feet
Might dare to rest where earth was smooth and flat.

XVIII

Then suddenly his tired eyes laughed at last,
For he remembered, by the gift of fate,
Where once he lodged in merry days long past
At Herat, in the arch above the gate.
There Abou'lmaani sold his ancient books,
A man discreet and old, without a mate,
And there Firdausi oft, in dusty nooks,
Had chanted verses till the night was late.

XIX

To Abou'lmaani in the dusk he went,
And found him still more wrinkled than of yore,
An owlish figure, angular and bent,
But hearty still and honest to the core.
So there among the rolls of parchment sere
Once more he drank the mystic Dikhan lore,
But never sought the daylight streets, for fear
Of treachery, and the hatred Mahmoud bore.

XX

And little rest he had, and brief delight,
For rumours from the court at Ghaznin ran,
And with a short farewell he fled by night
Across the mountains to the Caspian;
A gentle Sultan ruled from Astrabad
The jasmine-gardens of Mazinderan,
And to his little court, humble and sad,
One morning came a white-haired minstrel-man.

XXI

Like parrots, one and all, with shrieking tongues
The poets knew their lord, and screamed his name,
Bitter with hate; but his sweet learned songs
Had touched the Sultan with their sacred flame;
He bade the jealous poets all make way,
And did Firdausi honour to their shame,
And asked by what fair accident that day
From stately Ghaznin such a stranger came.

XXII

But when he knew, and heard of Mahmoud's rage,
He trembled, and his fingers stroked his beard;
For scarcely could his pastoral province wage
Safe war with one whom all the nations feared;
So blushing much, as one who loathes his task,
He bade his guest, whom meat and wine had cheered,
To grant the boon that he could scarcely ask
Of one so deeply loved, so long revered.

XXIII

Firdausi rose and sighed, and went his way,
But ere he reached the gate of Astrabad,
The Sultan sent three men in rich array
Laden with gifts, the lordliest that he had,
And camels, that the bard might ride at ease,
And lutes, and a Circassian serving-lad;
So after many days he passed with these
Far down the lordly Tigris to Baghdad.

XXIV

Here underneath the palm-trees, full of shade,
The poet tasted peace, and lingered long;
The Master of the Faithful he obeyed,
And searched the Koran for a theme for song.
The vizier lodged him in his own fair house,
Where wise men gathered in a learned throng,
And when the Khalif heard his pious vows,
He gave him gifts and shielded him from wrong.

XXV

There in a white-walled garden full of trees,
Through which there ran a deep cold water brook
Fringed with white tulips and anemones,
Among the tender grass he wrote the book
Of Yousouf and Zuleika; not one word
Was there of all the windy war that shook
Iran of old, nor was the ear once stirred
With any name the Faithful might rebuke.

XXVI

Nine thousand Persian verses told the tale,
And when the perfect poem was set down,
He rose, and left the plaintive nightingale
That long had tuned her throat to his sweet moan;
Before the Khalif on a broad divan,
To sound of rebecks, in a silken gown,
He sat in state, and when the dance began
Declaimed aloud that song of high renown.

XXVII

Its music sank on well-attempered ears;
The Khalif lounged upon his throne, and cried,
"Lo! I this day am as a man who hears
The angel Gabriel murmur at his side --
And dies not." At the viewless hareem-door
The screen was swayed by bending forms that sighed,
And scheikhs and soldiers, young and old, for more
Still pressed and wished, and scarce would be denied.

XXVIII

Ah, palmy days were those for singer's craft!
Now every worlding flings his cap in rhyme,
And from an easy bow lets fly a shaft
At verse much honoured in his grandsire's time;
Now many a ghazel, soft with spices, trips
Along the alien mouth with frivolous chime,
And lightly rises from unhonoured lips
The ancient rhythm sonorous and sublime.

XXIX

But great Firdausi met with honour then,
Garments and jewels, and much store of gold;
Till one, the basest and the worst of men,
Rode out by stealth that Hasan might be told,
Who, when he heard in Ghaznin that his foe
Sat, robed and glorious, as he sat of old,
Stirred up with whispers to a fiery glow
The rage of Mahmoud, which was well-night cold.

XXX

So Mahmoud sent to Baghdad embassies
Demanding speedily Firdausi's head,
Or else the town among her ancient trees
Must look for instant war, the missive said;
The stately Khalif rose in wrath and pride,
And swore that till each faithful heart was dead,
His hospitable sword should leave his side,
And rolling Tigris blush in Persian red.

XXXI

But ere the messengers with garments rent
Fled back to Ghaznin at the trumpet's blare,
Firdausi to the warlike Khalif sent
His little servant with the flowing hair,
Who scarcely knowing what he said, by rote
Repeated, "Master, have no thought or care
Of old Firdausi; he can dive and float
A fish in water and a bird in air.

XXXII

"The quail upon the mountain needs no host
To guard her covert in the waving grass;
And though Mahmoud and all his ships be tost
On lake or sea, the little trout will pass.
Stain not thy sword for such a guest as I,
For God, before whose sight man's heart is glass,
Will see the stain that on my soul will lie
If life-blood gush from helmet or cuirass.

XXXIII

"I go my way into the lion's mouth,
And as I journey, God will hold my hand;
Whether I wander north or wander south,
There is no rest for me in any land;
The serpent's fang will find me though I fly
To Frankistan, or Ind, or Samarkand;
I will go home again, for tired am I,
And all too old to wrestle and withstand.

XXXIV

"So send the Persian envoys back in peace,
For, whilst these words are spoken, I am gone;
Though thou shouldst scour the lands and drain the seas,
Thou shalt not find me, since I wend alone;
For all the days that I have loved thee well
My heart is myrrh, that kindles at thy throne,
And I am sadder than my tongue can tell,
That I must leave thee with the end unknown."

XXXV

So with a single camel, clad to sight
Like some poor merchant of the common sort,
Firdausi left the town at morning light,
And passed the gate, and passed the sullen fort,
Unnoted; and his face was to the east,
Towards Hasan and the hateful Persian court,
As if contempt of life were in his breast,
And loathing of his days, so sad and short.

XXXVI

But sure some angel had forewarned him well,
And murmured in his ear the name of "home";
For through this perilous journey there befell
No evil wheresoever he might come;
And Mahmoud guessed not that the foe he sought
Had turned upon his track and ceased to roam,
But sent out scouts, and bade his head be brought
From Bahrein by the vexed Arabian foam.

XXXVII

At last one night, as lone Firdausi rode,
The dawn broke gray across the starry sky,
And far ahead behind the mountains flowed
A sudden gush of molten gold on high;
The glory spread from snowy horn to horn,
Tinged by the rushing dawn with sanguine dye,
And Tous, the little town where he was born,
Flashed at his feet, with white roofs clustered nigh.

XXXVIII

His aged sister fell upon his neck;
His girl, his only child, with happy tears,
Clung to his knees, and sobbing, with no check
Poured out the story of her hopes and fears.
Gravely his servants gave him welcome meet,
And when his coming reached the town-folk's ears
They ran to cluster round him in the street,
And gave him honour for his wealth of years.

XXXIX

And there in peace he waited for the end;
But in all distant lands where Mahmoud sent,
Each Prince and Sultan was Firdausi's friend,
And murmured, like a high-stringed instrument
Swept by harsh fingers, at a quest so rude,
And child the zeal, austere and violent,
That drove so sweet a voice to solitude,
And bade the Shah consider and relent.

XL

And once from Delhi, that o'erhangs the tide
Of reedy Ganges like a gorgeous cloud,
The Hindu king, with Persia close allied,
Sent letters larger than the faith he vowed,
Smelling of sandalwood and ambergris,
And cited from Firdausi lines that showed
Friendship should be eternal, and the bliss
Of love a gift to make a master proud.

XLI

So while these words were fresh in Mahmoud's brain
He went one night into the mosque to pray,
And by the swinging lamp deciphered plain
The verse Firdausi, ere he fled away,
Wrote on the wall; and one by one there rose
Sad thoughts and sweet of many a vanished day,
When his soul hovered on the measured close
And wave-beat of the rich heroic lay.

XLII

Mourning the verse, he mourned the poet too;
And he who oftentimes had lain awake
Long nights in wide-eyed vision to pursue
His victim, yearning in revengeful ache,
Forgot all dreams of a luxurious death
By trampling elephant or strangling snake,
And thought on his old friend with tightened breath,
And flushed, remorseful for his anger's sake.

XLIII

Back to his court he went, molten at heart,
And all his rage on faithless Hasan turned;
For when he thought him of that tongue's black art,
His wrath was in him like a coal that burned;
He bade his several ministers appear
Before his throne, and by inquiry learned
The cunning treason of the false vizier,
And all his soul's deformity discerned.

XLIV

Hasan was slain that night; and of the gold
His monkey-hands had thieved from rich and poor,
The Sultan bade the money should be told
Long due as payment at Firdausi's door;
But when the sacks of red dinars were full,
Mahmoud bethought him long, and pondered sore,
Since vainly any king is bountiful
Not knowing where to seek his creditor.

XLV

But while he fretted at this ignorance,
A dervish came to Ghaznin, who had seen,
In passing through the streets of Tous, by chance
Firdausi in his garden cool and green;
At this Mahmoud rejoiced, and, with glad eyes
Swimming in tears, quivering with liquid sheen,
Wrote words of pardon, and in welcoming wise
Prayed all might be again as all had been.

XLVI

But while Firdausi brooded on his wrong,
One day he heard a child's clear voice repeat
The bitter jibe of his own scathing song;
Whereat he started, and his full heart beat
Its last deep throb of agony and rage;
And blinded in sharp pain, with tottering feet,
Being very feeble in extremest age,
He fell, and died there in the crowded street.

XLVII

The light of three-and-fourscore summers' suns
Had blanched the silken locks round that vast brow;
If Mahmoud might have looked upon him once,
He would have bowed before him meek and low;
The majesty of death was in his face,
And those wide waxen temples seemed to glow
With morning glory from some holy place
Where angels met him in a burning row.

XLVIII

His work was done; the palaces of kings
Fade in long rains, and in loud earthquakes fall;
The poem that a godlike poet sings
Shines o'er his memory like a brazen wall;
No suns may blast it, and no tempest wreck,
Its periods ring above the trumpet's call,
Wars and the tumult of the sword may shake,
And may eclipse it -- it survives them all.

XLIX

Now all this while along the mountain road
The mighty line of camels wound in state;
Shuddering they moved beneath their massy load,
And swinging slowly with the balanced weight
Burden of gold, and garments red as flame,
They bore, not dreaming of the stroke of fate,
And so at last one day to Tous they came
And entered blithely at the eastern gate.

L

But in the thronged and noiseless streets they found
All mute, and marvelled at the tears men shed,
And no one asked them whither they were bound,
And when, for very shame discomfited,
They cried, "Now tell us where Firdausi lies!"
A young man like a cypress rose and said --
The anger burning in his large dark eyes --
"Too late Mahmoud remembers! He is dead!

LI

"Speed! haste away! hie to the western port;
Perchance the convoy has not passed it yet!
But hasten, hasten, for the hour is short,
And your short-memoried master may forget!
Behold, they bear Firdausi to the tomb,
Pour in his open grave your golden debt!
Speed! haste! and with the treasures of the loom
Dry the sad cheeks where filial tears are wet!

LII

"Lead your bright-harnessed camels one by one,
The dead man journeys, and he fain would ride;
Pour out your unctuous perfumes in the sun,
The rose has spilt her petals at his side;
Your citherns and your carven rebecks hold
Here when the nightingale untimely died,
And ye have waited well till he is cold,
Now wrap his body in your tigers' hide."

LIII

And so the young man ceased; but one arose
Of graver aspect, not less sad than he.
"Nay, let," he cried, "the sunshine and the snows
His glittering gold and silk-soft raiment be;
Approach not with unhallowed steps profane
The low white wall, the shadowy lotus-tree;
Nor let a music louder than the rain
Disturb him dreaming through eternity.

LIV

"For him no more the dawn will break in blood,
No more the silver moon bring fear by night;
He starts no longer at a tyrant's mood,
Serene for ever in the Prophet's sight;
The soul of Yaman breathed on him from heaven,
And he is victor in the unequal fight;
To Mahmoud rage and deep remorse are given,
To old Firdausi rest and long delight."

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