Persian Narrative Poetry in the Classical Era, 800–1500: A History of Persian Literature, Vol III 9781845119041, 9781788318211, 9781786736642

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A History of Persian Literature Volume III

Volumes of A History of Persian Literature I General Introduction to Persian Literature II Persian Lyric Poetry in the Classical Era, 800–1500 Ghazals, Panegyrics and Quatrains III Persian Narrative Poetry in the Classical Era, 800–1500 Romantic and Didactic Genres IV Heroic Epic The Shâh-nâme and its Legacy V Persian Prose VI Religious and Mystical Literature VII Persian Poetry, 1500–1900 From the Safavids to the Dawn of the Constitutional Movement VIII Persian Poetry in the Indian Subcontinent Divans, Biographical Anthologies and Literary Criticism IX Persian Literature from Outside Iran The Indian Subcontinent, Anatolia, Central Asia, and in Judeo-Persian X Persian Historiography XI Literature of the Early Twentieth Century From the Constitutional Period to Reza Shah XII Modern Persian Poetry, 1940 to the Present Iran, Afghanistan and Tajikistan XIII Modern Fiction and Drama XIV Biographies of the Poets and Writers of the Classical Period XV Biographies of the Poets and Writers of the Modern Period; Literary Terms XVI General Index Companion Volumes to A History of Persian Literature: XVII Companion Volume I: The Literature of Pre-Islamic Iran XVIII Companion Volume II: Oral Literature of Iranian Languages Kurdish, Pashto, Balochi, Ossetic, Persian and Tajik Anthologies: XIX Anthology I: A Selection of Persian Poems in English Translation XX Anthology II: A Selection of Persian Prose in English Translation

A HISTORY OF PERSIAN LITERATURE Founding Editor–Ehsan Yarshater

Volume III

Persian Narrative Poetry in the Classical Era, 800-1500 Romantic and Didactic Genres

Edited by Mohsen Ashtiany Sponsored by The Persian Heritage Foundation & The Ehsan Yarshater Center for Iranian Studies, Columbia University

I.B. TAURIS Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA 29 Earlsfort Terrace, Dublin 2, Ireland BLOOMSBURY, I.B. TAURIS and the I.B. Tauris logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2023 Copyright © 2023 The Trustees of Columbia University in the City of New York The right of The Trustees of Columbia University in the City of New York to be identified as the originators of this work has been asserted by The Trustees of Columbia University in the City of New York in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. HB: 9781845119041 ePDF: 9781786736642 eBook: 9781786726582 Series: A History of Persian Literature, Volume III Layout and typesetting: Ehsan Yarshater Center for Iranian Studies

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A History of Persian Literature Editorial Board Mohsen Ashtiany (associate editor) Elton L. Daniel (series editor) Dick Davis Franklin Lewis Paul Losensky

CONTENTS CONTRIBUTORS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xiii INTRODUCTION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xv CHAPTER 1: SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS (J.T.P. de Bruijn) . . 1 1. Didacticism in Persian Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .1 2. Didacticism in Early Mathnavis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 Rudaki. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .6 Abu-Shakur Balkhi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 Meysari . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .9 Ferdowsi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Asadi Tusi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 3. The Emergence of the Didactic Mathnavi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Nâser-e Khosrow . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Sanâ’i . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 The Journey of the Servants . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 The Garden of Reality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 4. The Aftermath of Sanâ’i’s Didactic Mathnavis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 Khâqâni, Tohfat al-Erâqeyn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 Farid-al-Din Attâr . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 Jalâl-al-Din Rumi, Mathnavi-ye ma’navi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53 Nezâmi, Makhzan al-asrâr. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57 Sa’di, Bustân (Sa’ di-nâme) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64 Owhadi, Jâm-e Jam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73 5. In the Footsteps of Nezâmi Ganjavi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78 Amir Khosrow . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78 Khʷâju Kermâni . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79 Emâd-al-Din Kermâni . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80 Mowlânâ Jâmi of Herat . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81 Jâmi as a Didactic Poet . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82 Salamân va Absâl . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83 Selselat al-dhahab . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85 6. Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY CHAPTER 2: ROMANTIC MATHNAVIS (PRE-SAFAVID PERIOD) (J.T.P. de Bruijn) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90 1. Love Stories in Romantic Mathnavis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90 2. Early Romantic Poems . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95 Vâmeq va Adhrâ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97 Varqe va Golshâh . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100 Vis va Râmin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104 Khosrow-nâme . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .111 CHAPTER 3: NEZȂMI’S ROMANTIC POEMS AND THEIR CULTURAL AFTERLIFE: RECEPTION AND RESPONSES (Paola Orsatti) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119 1. Overview and Critical Assessment of the Poems . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119 The Narrative Material and Principal Themes . . . . . . . . . . . . 119 2. Types of Intertextuality in the Tradition of Response to Nezâmi’s Poems . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125 3. Narrative Poetry: Some Critical Issues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133 Tradition and Originality. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133 Narrative Poetry and Historical Truth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135 Narrative Poetry of Non-Islamic Content: Subject Matter, Form, and Interpretation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140 4. Problems of Research on the Tradition of Response to Nezâmi’s Poems . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144 CHAPTER 4: KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND THE POEMS OF LOVE AND ADVENTURE (Paola Orsatti) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149 1. Nezȃmi’s Khosrow va Shirin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149 The Historical and Geographic Context of the Poem . . . . . . . . 149 The Date of the Composition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155 Love, Passion, and Marriage: A Reading of Nezâmi’s Poem . . . . 157 Falling in Love on the Basis of a Description: Nezȃmi’s Language of Images . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 168 Between History and Legend: The Characters in Nezâmi’s Poem . 172 Shirin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 172 Maryam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 182 Shakar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185 Farhâd . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185 2. Responses to Nezȃmi’s Poem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188

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Contents Shirin va Khosrow by Amir Khosrow . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188 Jamȃli’s Mehr va Negâr . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 197 Hȃtefi’s Shirin va Khosrow . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 202 Critical Responses: The Farhȃd-nȃme by Âref Ardabili . . . . . . .210 3. The Poems of Love and Adventure and their Relationship to Nezâmi’s Poem. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215 The Main Characters in the Poems of Love and Adventure . . . . .218 Main Narrative Features of the Poems of Love and Adventure . . 220 Khʷâju Kermâni’s Gol va Nowruz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 222 Salmân Sâvaji’s Jamshid va Khʷorshid . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223 Amin-al-Din Mohammad Sâfi’s Bahrâm va Golandâm . . . . . . . 224 4. Allegory in Narratives of Love . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 227 Gol va Nowruz by Jalȃl Tabib . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 227 Jâmi’s Poems . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 230 Salâmân va Absâl . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231 Yusof va Zoleykhâ. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 236 CHAPTER 5: LEYLI AND MAJNUN (Paola Orsatti) . . . . . . . . . . . 247 1. The Legend of Majnun . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247 2. Majnun’s Concept of Love. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 250 3. Nezâmi’s Poem Leyli va Majnun . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 252 The Problem of the Text of the Poem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 254 The Legend of Majnun in Nezâmi’s Re-Reading . . . . . . . . . . . 261 Leyli and Other Main Characters of the Poem. . . . . . . . . . . . 268 Descriptions, Apologues, and Lyrical Passages: The Poem’s Formal Characteristics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 272 4. The Poem Majnun va Leyli by Amir Khosrow . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277 5. Mahzun va Mahbub by Jamȃli . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 286 6. The Legend of Leyli and Majnun in the Fifteenth Century . . . . . . 290 7. Leyli va Majnun by Jȃmi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 293 8. Other Poems . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 302 Leyli Majnun by Hȃtefi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 303 Leyli va Majnun by Maktabi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 309 CHAPTER 6: NEZÂMI’S HAFT PEYKAR AND ITS TRADITION IN PERSIAN LITERATURE (Paola Orsatti) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .312 1. Nezȃmi’s Haft Peykar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 312 The Dedicatee of Haft Peykar: His Relationship to the Poem . . . 315

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Bahrȃm in Nezâmi’s Poem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 317 The Problem of the Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 326 Nezȃmi’s Seven Tales: Analysis and Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . 328 2. The Development of the Bahrâm Gur Romance Before Nezȃmi . . . 337 Bahrȃm Gur in the Shâh-nâme . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 341 Nezȃmi’s Bahrȃm Gur and the Influence of the Bahrȃm Chubin Romance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 343 Astrology and the Occult Sciences: The Healing Properties of the Seven Cupolas and other Palaces of Iranian Myth . . . . 348 The Hunt with the Handmaid: The Problem of Love in Bahrȃm Gur’s Story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 352 3. Hasht Behesht by Amir Khosrow . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 358 Sources and Structure of the Poem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 358 The Frame-Narrative: First Paradise . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 361 The Seven Tales and the Death of Bahrȃm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 364 4. Hȃtefi’s Poem Haft Manzar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 367 5. Other Poems . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 369 6. The Fortunes of the Saga of Bahrȃm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 372 CHAPTER 7: THE ALEXANDER LEGEND IN PERSIAN LITERATURE (Mario Casari) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 378 1. Alexander the Great in Iran . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 378 Alexander the Accursed: Historical Antefacts and the Zoroastrian Tradition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 385 Alexander the Persian King: The “Pseudo-Callisthenes” Inheritance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 390 Alexander the Two-Horned: The Account in the Qur’an . . . . . . 403 2. Alexander amidst Conquest and Mission . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 409 The Builder of the Barrier: Eskandar in Religious Literature . . . . 410 The Conquest of Asia: Eskandar in Historiography . . . . . . . . . 422 Until the End of the World: Eskandar, the King of Anecdotes . . . 432 3. Alexander Romances . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 443 The Talking Tree: Eskandar in the Shâh-nâme . . . . . . . . . . . . 443 A Court of Sages: Eskandar in Nezâmi’s Khamse . . . . . . . . . . . 461 Mirrors of Alexander: Eskandar Mathnavis after Nezâmi . . . . . 491 Eskandar Ayyâr: The Prose Romances . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 520 4. Alexander’s Boundaries: A Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 537

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Contents ABBREVIATIONS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 543 Abbreviations of Books and Journals . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 543 BIBLIOGRAPHY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 545 Chapters 1-2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 545 Chapters 3-6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .552 Chapter 7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 573 Primary Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 573 Secondary Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 579 INDEX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 604

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CONTRIBUTORS Mohsen Ashtiany has taught Persian literature and history at Oxford University, the University of Manchester, and the University of California at Los Angeles and has held Visiting Fellowships at Harvard and Princeton. He is currently Associate Research Scholar at the Ehsan Yarshater Center for Iranian Studies at Columbia University. He is also a Fellow of the Stockholm Collegium of World Literary History, Stockholm University. In collaboration with Professor C. E. Bosworth he helped prepare and annotate The “History” of Beyhaqi (3 vols.; 2011). He has also contributed to Literature: A World History, ed. David Damrosch et al. (4 vols.; 2022); the Catalog of Mughal Paintings at the Cleveland Museum of Art (2016); the Handbook of Narrative Factuality, ed. Monika Fludernik and Marie-Laure Ryan (2019); and the chapter “The Persian Tale of ‘The Old Harper’,” in Reading the Juggler of Notre Dame: Medieval Miracles and Modern Remakings, ed. Jan M. Ziolkowski, 2022). Johannes Thomas Pieter de Bruijn is Professor Emeritus of Persian at the University of Leiden. He has been a frequent contributor to the Encyclopædia of Islam and the Encyclopædia Iranica, the Consulting Editor of the latter for Persian Classical Literature, and a member of the Editorial Board of A History of Persian Literature. His publications include Of Piety and Poetry (1983, on Sanâ’i of Ghazna); Persian Sufi Poetry (1997); a Dutch translation of Sa‘di’s Golestân (1997); an anthology of classical Persian poetry (2002); and a collection of his articles is now available in Pearls of Meanings: Studies on Persian Art, Poetry, Ṣūfīsm and History of Iranian Studies in Europe, edited by Asghar Seyed Gohrab (2020). Mario Casari is Associate Professor in Persian Language and Literature at the Italian Institute of Oriental Studies, Sapienza University of Rome. His expertise in classical languages and in Arabic and Persian underpins research in the circulation of texts and cultural contacts in the Mediterranean xiii

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY and Middle East from late antiquity to the early modern age. He has published extensively on the Arabic and Persian tradition of the Alexander legend, including the book, Alessandro e Utopia nei romanzi persiani medievali (1999, Al-Farabi-UNESCO award 2011), and on the role of Italian culture within the Mediterranean and Eurasian framework, including the co-edited volume Ariosto and the Arabs: Contexts for the ‘Orlando Furioso’ (2022). He is a contributor to the Encyclopædia Iranica, and in 2018 he delivered the Conférences d’Études Iraniennes Ehsan et Latifeh Yarshater lecture, on “Šeš ṭaraf-e donyā / ‘Les six côtés du monde’: Anthropologie de la narration dans la littérature persane classique,” at the Collège de France, Paris. Paola Orsatti is professor of Persian Language and Literature at Sapienza University of Rome, where she teaches Persian language, Persian literature, and history of the Persian language for both the graduate and undergraduate levels. Her research focuses chiefly on the history of the Persian language as well as on Persian classical literature. She has also carried out research on the history of Persian studies in Italy and Europe, the history of Oriental manuscript collections, and palaeography and codicology of Islamic manuscripts. In addition to a number of articles in scholarly journals, she has published Il fondo Borgia della Biblioteca Vaticana e gli studi orientali a Roma tra Sette e Ottocento (1996); Appunti per una storia della lingua neopersiana. Parte I: parte generale - fonologia - la più antica documentazione (2007); and Materials for a History of the Persian Narrative Tradition: Two Characters: Farhād and Turandot (2019). Together with Mauro Maggi, she has edited the volume The Persian Language in History (2011). A Festschrift for her has been published recently: A Turquoise Coronet: Studies in Persian Language in Honour of Paola Orsatti, ed. Mohsen Ashtiany and Mauro Maggi (2020).

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INTRODUCTION The present volume shares part of its title “Persian Poetry in the Classical Era (800-1500)” with Volume II, its literary sibling and immediate predecessor in the series “Persian Lyric Poetry in the Classical Era, 8001500. Ghazals, Panegyrics, and Quatrains.” The second half of the title, “Romantic and Didactic Genres” extends farther the range of the literary output of the period, without encompassing the entire domain of poetry composed in these seven centuries. As the list of the projected volumes with the overall title of A History of Persian Literature indicates, only when future volumes on the Shahnameh and its legacy and on religious poetry in all its variety become available will the remarkable interconnectedness of Persian literature in general and the extent of the traffic between the volumes focused on poetry in this long pre-modern era appear in full view. The practical necessities of publishing in installments, slicing literary history into a series of volumes, may cast a shadow on the overall cohesion, at least in the short term, before the project is completed, but it also brings flexibility by inducing different classifications. The contributors are able to adopt different strategies to tailor to their immediate concerns. The previous volume, studying lyrical poetry, dwelt on a repertoire of relatively short poems. The majority of the eleven chapters were distinguished by their acknowledged forms such as the ghazal, the qaside, and the robâ’i, and studied with reference to the well-established prosodic requirements and familiar ascriptions. Different kinds of poetry were chosen, translated, and commented upon. The poems could speak for themselves; there was no need for additional paraphrases. By contrast, long poems with a rich and varied narrative content dominate the present volume, long enough in most instances to appear as independent books on their own, with internal spatial arrangements including preliminary sections heralding the main narrative, and in some cases, as in the case of Sa’di’s Bustân, with a list of chapter headings in the introductory verses (p. 66). Moreover, and for good reason, they were all composed in the xv

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY malleable form of the mathnavi. Each hemistich rhymes with its counterpart, and the rhyme itself can vary from verse to verse, freeing the poet from the bonds of a mono-rhyme scheme. This freedom encourages variety, not only making it feasible to opt for different themes, including the two genres discussed here, the didactic and romantic, but also, and more frequently, combing several themes and modes within the same long poem. The first two chapters, written by Professor de Bruijn, a noted literary historian with a comprehensive knowledge of Persian literature throughout history, serve as curtain-raisers to the entire volume. While not averse to using familiar though admittedly problematic labels such as romantic, didactic, or mystical to point to dominant features in different texts, he is also alert to the composite nature of the poems themselves, and the frequent cohabitation of different genres within a single poem. On many occasions, he also points to poets and poems outside the framework of the current volume to illustrate the entrenched notion of intertextuality in Persian literature, and to dispel any false impression of rigid literary genres hermetically sealed from each other, unaffected by radical transformations through time. The perimeters of didactic poetry, the subject of the first chapter, are particularly hard to circumscribe in pre-modern literature. The prescribed dosage of counsels varies widely from poem to poem. In a few instances, as in the case of the Dânesh-nâme of Hakim Meysari, composed sometime between 978 and 980 (pp. 9-10), the didactic instructions are plainly put. The poem is a versified manual on Galenic medicine framed within a brief preface and a coda. In most cases, however, the pedagogic and homiletic intentions embedded in the text appear along with other concerns. As Professor de Bruijn points out: It is not easy to find an all-encompassing definition that would best describe the genre under discussion as we find it in the poems written in the course of the 12th century. Apart from the gnomic contents to be found already in earlier works, some new traits may be noticed. The writers show a concern to put their moralizing into the framework of a worldview based on scientific and metaphysical ideas as well as on religious concepts” (p. 47).

Elsewhere, in a relatively brief section on the didactic element in the Shâhnâme, he reiterates the point that in “conventional classification of xvi

Introduction Persian mathnavis into three genres…sharp distinctions cannot be sustained” (p. 11). Other fundamental markers affecting the contents of the poems also prove problematic and come with reservations. The notion of secularity in the very title of the first chapter deserves to be qualified by scare quotes and comes under scrutiny in the chapter itself: “As is the case with other poetic forms, notably the ghazal, the literary aspects of poems dealing with profane themes and those dealing with sacred themes are to a great extent identical, though in the longer poems that are examined here the intentions of the poet are usually more clearly laid out than in the shorter lyrical poems. Yet, even as far as their subject matter is concerned, a mixture of secular and religious elements is often found so that a watertight distinction cannot easily be made” (p. 3).

A debate on the validity of the very notion of a binary division between “secular” and “religious,” or “sacred” and “profane,” in Persian literature from a diachronic perspective belongs to the future volume on religious poetry. The division itself, whether watertight or porous, suggests an implicit etic approach influenced by supposed parallels with other medieval cultures and by an outlook more at home with debates in the past on medieval and pre-modern European literature. It does not take fully into account the inter-cultural emic distinctions in the pre-modern world elsewhere, as reflected in the poems in this volume. Fortunately, in the discussion of some of the individual poets, and particularly in the case of Sanâ’i, a master of homiletic poetry, on whom Professor de Bruijn has written extensively in the past, the interweaving of different strands in his overall output, as well as different ranks and professions of his addresses, provides a more nuanced interpretation, blurring hard and fast dichotomies, and demonstrating the amorphousness of the adopted taxonomy. The following chapter focuses on the romantic genre from a broad perspective. Professor de Bruijn’s large canvas enables the readers to view the development of the genre from early examples to the beginning of the Safavid era. From a large repertoire, he picks a handful of romances of celebrated paired lovers such as Vis and Râmin and Varqe and Golshâh for detailed analysis. Most of the other narratives dealing with composite themes, straddling several genres and increasingly allegoric in content, had already been discussed at the end of the previous chapter on didactic poetry, in a xvii

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY section entitled “In the Footsteps of Nezâmi Ganjavi” (pp. 78-88). There, the reader is introduced to the towering figure of the poet Nezâmi in his role as a didactic poet, before he appears in other guises as the dominant figure in later chapters. The first book of his Khamse (Quintet), Makhzan al-asrâr (The Treasury of Secrets) is described in detail (pp. 57-64) and the influence of past poets, particularly Sanâ’i, noted. The third chapter begins with an overview by Professor Paola Orsatti of Nezâmi and his reception. It is preceded by an account of the varied sources that this erudite poet had drawn upon, observing the way he opts for some threads and discards others. The existence of divergent views of the past is not, as she amply demonstrates, a monopoly of the present. Different interpretations and conflicting narratives have always been available and employed to chisel away at otherwise monolithic master narratives. Her account of the often conflicting assessments of figures and events shows the clear choices open to Nezâmi and later poets. Shirin, a major heroine in Persian romances, was in some sources vilified as the very model of a conniving concubine, and in others, by contrast, idolized for her selfless devotion. Both heroines, Nezâmi’s Shirin and Fakhr-al-Din Gorgâni’s Vis, transcend these dilemmas, and through a range of narrative devices such as self-reflective soliloquys, dialogues, and gestures, present dramatically fluctuating personalities driven by intense emotions, and wary of what fate might have in store for them. Some of these features, as well as the way narratives are constructed according to different spatial and architectural designs, can be conveyed in translations. Regrettably, most of the long poems discussed in this volume have not yet been translated into other languages or are only available in quaint and truncated forms. The literary historian writing for a worldwide audience is therefore obliged to provide a series of resumés of the narratives before commenting on them or charting their close family affinities with other texts through the many ways of literary emulation. This almost obligatory re-telling in the shape of a condensed paraphrase bears a direct relationship to extra-textual factors affecting the production and reception of the poem. The amount of historical information available, particularly for the earlier poets, varies widely. In the case of a prolific and many sided-poet like Sanâ’i, for example, Professor de Bruijn had shown how later additions and accretions affect the entire corpus. The substantial xviii

Introduction variations in the extant manuscripts and reflected in different printed editions have to be taken into account in any history of the reception of his far-reaching impact on later homiletic and mystical literature in Persian. In other instances, we are left with just the name of the poet and a list of works attributed to him. In the case of another great poet, Farid-al-Din Attâr, many fundamental questions remain unresolved due to the paucity of contextual information. Scholars have sifted through the large number of mystical and didactic narratives attributed to him and have convincingly rejected several as spurious but have yet to agree on the attribution of a single work, the Khosrow-nâme, a long narrative of love and adventure which shares many features with Hellenistic novels and popular prose narratives but with only a distant family resemblance to his celebrated mystical poems. Its protracted plot takes up many pages in this volume and, compared with the synopsis of Attâr’s other authentic works, lends support to the doubters of its authenticity as a work of a poet noted for his mystical and allegorical verses. On the other hand, a combination of internal allusions and codicological observations suggests the possibly that this shadowy figure might have experimented in different genres. The debate goes on. In other cases, the synopsis of a long poem has been used uncritically for summing up the literary merits of the poem itself. Having offered a succinct summary of Vis and Râmin, Professor de Bruijn adds a cautionary note on the pitfalls of such a potentially misleadingly reductive approach: This summary contains no more than the skeleton of the story. A substantial part of it is taken up by the conversations and speeches of the dramatis personae…Several modern critics, especially in the West, have pointed out that the poet’s “prolixity” is a major flaw in the composition of the poem as time and again these endless ruminations slow the pace of the action, in particular in passages where the impatient reader anticipates a speedy dramatic development. Such criticism misjudges the true character of the poem. As an author of polite poetry, Gorgâni puts his artistic aim far beyond the mere telling of an exciting tale of adventures or even a moving love story. In fact, the basic narrative is elaborated into a text which treats one fundamental theme: that is, love in all its aspects as they are exemplified by the thoughts and actions of the protagonists (p. 108).

The overarching theme of love is explored in far greater detail in Professor Orsatti’s chapters on Nezâmi’s Khosrow va Shirin and Leyli va Majnun and from two very different perspectives. In the case of the princely pair, xix

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Khosrow and Shirin, “love consists of a series of continuous skirmishes and conflicts” (p. 123) between the two lovers, a series of passionate demands and evasive rebuttals. In the case of the tribal pair, Leyli and Majnun, “the two lovers are on a par, simultaneously sharing love and suffering, and at odds with the society around them and its values” (p. 123). These two divergent narratives of love are vividly condensed in celebrated focal images in both poems, and after Nezâmi, by poets and painters who contributed to the rich legacy of his five poems. In the tribal society of Leyli and Majnun, where, true to form, the two tribes clash in a battlefield to seal the fate of the lovers in one way or another, Majnun stands afar from the melee and intones a prayer for peace, questioning the very notion of love as a conquest and the beloved as the coveted prize. Love appears to reign supreme, with his solitary subject confirming his allegiance in one episode after another. By contrast, as Professor Orsatti’s distinction between the two perspectives implies, the lovers in Khosrow and Shirin are at the very center of the skirmish and the narrative meanders its way from one famous focal point, Shirin in the fountain, to the final focal scene, Shirin dying by the side of her murdered spouse: love as a catalyst assisting the process of human perfectibility. The interconnectedness of Persian narrative poetry, the many ways of imitation and emulation, and the reshaping of narratives to serve new ends and different outlooks, have been among the dominant themes of the chapters in this volume. In the final chapter, “The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature,” an even wider approach is adopted with the footprints of Alexander traced in literature in its most comprehensive sense, in prose and verse, in popular literature, and in princely settings. This holistic approach is directly related to the image of the hero himself. As Professor Casari points out: Amongst the characters of the romantic and epic mathnavis developed starting from Ferdowsi’s Shâh-nâme and Nezâmi’s Khamse, Alexander is the one who has the least developed personal psychological profile, whilst the attention focuses on his function as a symbolic representation of ethical, political, cosmographical, and religious issues” (p. 519).

Deeds rather than moods come under scrutiny and the intrepid traveler is compared in several accounts to a fast moving cloud, with a downpour before a hasty departure (p. 461, n. 152). xx

Introduction The cloud-like contours of his portrayal and the episodic structure of the narrative have been put to frequent use as an emblematic device in many literatures, and for different ends. Having recalled the Ghaznavid poet Farrokhi’s often quoted dismissal of the tales of Eskandar as old and frayed fables (p. 441, n. 113), Professor Casari proceeds to discuss and disentangle their far from fraying threads. As a cultural historian attentive to the ongoing debates on identity and ethnicity, he draws on the current state of research worldwide, and in the process offers significant comments of his own.

Acknowledgments Professor Ehsan Yarshater, the founding editor of these series, A History of Persian Literature, passed away in September 2018 while the present volume on Narrative Poetry was still in its early stages of its production. He had spent considerable time and effort in the final years of his long and remarkable life of scholarship discussing the outlines of the volume and the selection of contributors with close colleagues, and in particular with Professor Hans de Bruijn, then the Vice-Chairman of the series and himself a major contributor to both volumes II and III. The Board of Editors is grateful to the sponsors of the Series, The Persian Heritage Foundation and The Ehsan Yarshater Center for Iranian Studies, Columbia University for providing them with the resources to continue with this monumental project. The Center has always relied on the shared expertise and teamwork of its staff in all its projects. In the case of the present volume, the extent of the active participation of colleagues goes well beyond what can be adequately expressed in a brief note of acknowledgment. The technical aspects of preparing the volume for publication fell entirely on the shoulders of the Series Editor, Professor Elton Daniel. In the process, he has also contributed substantially to the final editing of the book, the reorganization of the bibliographies, and made innumerable corrections in transliteration and textual emendations. Our colleague Dr. Mahnaz Moazami, who has been actively involved in the project from the outset, has also made invaluable comments on the different drafts of the chapters. xxi

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY We are also grateful to friends outside the Center for their support, and in particular we would like to thank Mr. Rory Gormley, Senior Commissioning editor at I.B.Tauris who has been most helpful in seeing through the publication of many of our volumes, and Mrs. Helen Peters for preparing the index for this and several other volumes in the past.

Editorial Note From its inception, the series A History of Persian Literature has aimed to provide comprehensive accounts by leading scholars on the various genres and period of Persian literature in a way that will be both accessible to general readers and of benefit to advanced students and researchers in this field. The editorial conventions of the series have been designed with that in mind, particularly in terms of the representation of personal names, book titles, and other terminology transliterated from other languages. For the text and the footnotes, this volume uses a simplified system for both Persian and Arabic, without diacritical marks except for the long vowel â; the letters hamze and eyn are both represented by a closing apostrophe and then only when in medial or final position; and distinctions are not made between consonants written with different characters but pronounced the same in Persian, with the exception of dh and th (pronounced as z and s respectively). In the bibliographies and index, however, a full transliteration is provided that does distinguish between different characters such as z, ẓ, and ż; eyn (ʿ) and medial or final hamze (ʾ) are represented by different signs. Spelling generally follows the original orthography (e.g., sometimes ʿajâʾeb, sometimes ʿajayeb). The conjunction “and” is transliterated as va, although it is often pronounced o (exceptions are sometimes necessary when transliterating verses of poetry). Throughout, the Arabic definite article found in many personal names is not represented unless in construct grammatically, and the elements of compound names are connected by hyphens (e.g. Abu-Moslem, Mohammad-Rezâ, Modarres-Razavi).

xxii

CHAPTER 1 SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS J. T. P. de Bruijn

1. Didacticism in Persian Literature The aim to be instructive constitutes a basic incentive for the production of texts.1 This statement may have a universal validity, and certainly holds true for the literary tradition of the Iranians during their entire history. No feature of Persian literature has deeper roots in the pre-Islamic past than the genre of didacticism. From the Avestan books to the Zoroastrian literature in Pahlavi, which partly reaches into the Islamic period, there exists an abundance of didactic material, teaching believers the basic tenets and rites of religion, or imparting to kings and commoners guidance about the best ways to run their lives. Although handed down only in a written form−in the books of the Zoroastrian priests−the gnomic heritage left by the ancient civilization of the Iranian peoples represents a very rich oral tradition. Some of the most frequently used Persian terms for moral precepts, such as andarz and pand, already occur in the titles of Middle Persian collections of moralistic reflections. The word kherad (wisdom) was known already to Zoroastrians as khrad. Both the forms and the contents of didactic literature in Pahlavi survived the advent of Islam “in a new sophistication and elegance” in the works belonging to the broad category of adab literature in Arabic and Persian.2 A number of Indian works were also handed down to the Islamic tradition by way of Middle-Persian literature, including the fables of Kalile and Demne, the Sendbâd-nâme, and the Buddhist story of 1 2

Cf. Sholom Kahn, “Didactic Poetry,” in Alex Preminger et al., eds., The New Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics (Princeton, 1993), pp. 292-95. Mary Boyce, “Middle Persian Literature” in B. Spuler, ed., Handbuch der Orientalistik Abt. I: Der nahe und der mittlere Osten. IV. Iranistik. 2. Literatur (Leiden and Cologne, 1968), p. 53.

1

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Belowhar and Yudâsaf, which thrived and served as fertile material for the kind of political didactic writing known as mirrors-for-princes, and were several times reworked in prose and poetry. The indigenous past is however not the only background to medieval didactic poetry in Persian, the subject focused on in this chapter. There are at least two other traditions to be considered. The first is Hellenistic: the kind of moral reflection that had penetrated the worldview of the Iranians beginning from the time of Alexander the Great. In the early Islamic period the wave of translation from Greek into Arabic brought a considerable increase in the knowledge of Hellenistic philosophy and science, nearly all of which had an immediate relevance to the development of ethical ideas. An important part of the Hellenistic contribution was a more systematic approach to didactic writing. Symptomatic of this tendency were the ethical textbooks written in Persian by Islamic scholars such as Mohammad Ghazâli and Nasir-al-Din Tusi. The impact of Hellenistic concepts has also been very pervasive on poetical texts.3 Secondly, it should not be forgotten that Islam itself produced specifically Muslim ethical notions forming a rich and diversified tradition in its own right. Perhaps this part of the didactic contents of Persian poems should have been mentioned first, because it was undoubtedly closest to the hearts of the poets who composed these texts. Even regarding material from Zoroastrian or Hellenistic sources, it must be noted that a great deal was thoroughly Islamicized already and only bore superficial traces of their origins, for instance, the names of wise men from the pre-Islamic past, such as the Persian minister Bozorgmehr, the sage Loqmân and several Greek philosophers and scientists. However, at the core, there was a body of genuinely Islamic ideas and representations which were derived from the fundamental sources of Islamic piety: the Qur’an, the Prophetic Tradition (hadith nabavi), the lives of the prophets who had preceded Mohammad’s mission, and the hagiographies and sayings of Sufi saints. It is significant that, next to the Persian terms mentioned earlier, Arabic terms were also currently used, such as nasihat and mow’eze for “moral precepts,” and hekmat for “wisdom” (alternating with kherad). 3

For a detailed study of ethical thought in Persian literature see Ch.-H. de Fouchécour, Moralia: Les notions morales dans la littérature persane du 3e/9e au 7e/13e siècle (Paris, 1986).

2

SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS The term didacticism covers two different kinds of writings, with poetry playing a role in both, though not in equal measure. The poetical form, bound as it is by meter and rhyme, was very suitable for instruction because of its mnemotechnical advantages. Throughout the centuries, it has been used frequently for educational texts, providing a useful tool for learning the basics of prosody, grammar, religion and science in schools, but almost none of these texts can be regarded as “literature” in any sense.4 There is however a notable exception. The earliest example of an instructive poem is the Dânesh-nâme by Hakim Meysari, a medical compendium written in the 10th century in the form of a mathnavi with all that belongs to it according to poetic convention.5 In our discussion, only those didactic poems will be examined which were composed with a persuasive intention, i.e., those that preach certain moral and social values, which were presented in an attractive literary form enhancing their persuasive powers. Rhetorical embellishment, imagery, and narrative were their most effective tools. Narrowing down our subject further, the reader should be reminded that many of the most important works of Persian didactic poetry are of a mystical nature and belong to the great tradition of Sufi literature. As is the case with other poetic forms, notably the ghazal, the literary aspects of poems dealing with profane themes and those dealing with sacred themes are to a great extent identical, though in the longer poems that are examined here the intentions of the poet are usually more clearly laid out than in the much shorter lyrical poems. Yet, even as far as their subject matter is concerned, a mixture of secular and religious elements is often found so that a watertight distinction cannot easily be made. In the present survey the mystical contents of the poems will not be our primary concern. Didactical poetry has been written in virtually any form available to the classical Persian poet. Also the qaside, the form par excellence for panegyrics, has been used equally for the preaching of an ascetic way of life and a renunciation of the world designated as zohd, which term provided the generic appellation zohdiyyât. This use of the qaside was already known to the Arab poets of the early Islamic period. The Iraqi poet Abu’l-Atâhiya (d. 4 5

A very popular example is Abu-Nasr Farâhi’s Nesâb al-sebyân (The Basics for boys), a textbook from the 14th century, composed to be memorized by schoolchildren. For this reason, Meysari’s poem will be examined more closely in the next section of this chapter.

3

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY between 825-28) became particularly renowned for it. The Persian poets were familiar with the genre from the very beginning; in the 11th and early 12th centuries it was firmly established by the great religious poets Nâser-e Khosrow and Sanâ’i of Ghazne. More rarely, poems in one of the stanzaic forms were used in the same manner. Very suitable for the formulation of short apothegms were the short quatrains (robâ’iyyât) and the “fragments” (qet’es, moqatta’ ât) in which some poets specialized. Even ghazals, intended in the first place as poems of love, could serve to convey matters of ethical concern. 6 In this chapter, our focus will be the form known as the mathnavi, in English often rendered either by “poem in couplets” or by “epic.” The former translation applies to the most obvious characteristic of these poems, which makes this form into an exception in the system of monorhyme predominating in classical Persian poetry. According to the definition by the 13th century prosodist Shams-e Qeys, a mathnavi is … a poem based on independent, internally rhyming lines. The Persians call it mathnavi because each line requires two rhyming words … This kind is used in extensive narratives and long stories which cannot easily be treated of in poems with one specific rhyme.7

The term epic suggests a similarity with the Western concept of the epic as a narrative genre, in particular heroic fiction, but this is misleading. Essentially mathnavi is a prosodic technical term, as aptly formulated by Shams-e Qeys. The change of rhyme in each couplet enables the poet to compose poems of great length, thus making it a suitable vehicle for narrative poetry, of which the celebrated Shâh-nâme of Ferdowsi with its approximately 50,000 couplets is the prime example. To this genuinely “heroic epic,” Western historians of Persian literature added as a counterpart the “romantic epic,” exemplified most perfectly by three of the five poems in the mathnavi form composed by Nezâmi Ganjavi which constitute his famous Khamse. The historical evidence made it necessary to distinguish a third kind, for which the rather awkward term “didactic epic” was coined. 6 7

See further J.T.P. de Bruijn, Persian Sufi Poetry: An Introduction to the Mystical Use of Classical Poems (Richmond, U.K., 1997). Shams-e Qeys, Ketâb al-mo’jam fi ma’âyir ashʿâr al-Ajam, ed. M.-T. Modarres-Razavi (Tehran, 1959), pp. 418-19. For “rhyming words” and “rhyme” Shams-e Qeys uses the term qâfiye, which properly denotes the consonant or consonants involved in rhyming.

4

SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS Jalâl-al-Din Rumi’s Mathnavi-ye ma’navi, a long mystical poem in six books, is a monumental example of this subgenre. The implicit paradox in combining didactic and epic can be explained by the fact that teaching and storytelling often went hand in hand in Persian didactic poems. As we will have ample occasion to show in the following sections of this chapter, narratives of all kinds and sizes play a very prominent role in such poems. On the other hand, it is impossible to name any work conventionally classified as a “heroic” or a “romantic” epic that does not contain any “didactic” material. For theoretical and practical reasons therefore, it is preferable to avoid the term “epic” altogether and only classify the Persian mathnavis according to the primary intention of the poet: whether he wanted to tell a story in the first place, or whether the design of his poem was based on homiletic concerns. In most instances this will help us out in distinguishing the group of mathnavis with which we have to deal. However, it will also be necessary to pay some attention to didactic elements in poems that belong to the narrative subgenre.8 The restriction in our definition of a mathnavi to the bare outlines of its prosodic structure will soon prove to be not entirely satisfactory. There are other features of this form, especially in its application to didacticism, which show the contours of generic patterns. As formal characteristics, they are either not generally applicable to all didactic poems, and they exhibit many variations from one poem to another, or are characteristics of all mathnavis to whatever subgenre they belong. To avoid too much repetition it is therefore better to leave their discussion to the treatment of the individual poems in the following sections. It should be remarked in conclusion that, to the present writer’s mind, the depreciation of didactic poetry, often found in modern criticism, is unjustified and constitutes a serious obstacle to the proper understanding of one of the most essential and fascinating aspects of classical Persian literature. 8

A comprehensive theory of Persian genres is proposed by Bo Utas, “‘Genres’ in Persian Literature 900-1900,” in Gunilla Lindberg-Wada, ed., Literary History: Towards a Global Perspective, Vol. 2: Literary Genres: An Intercultural Approach (Berlin and New York, 2006), pp. 199-241; reprinted in Utas’ volume of collected essays, Manuscript, Text and Literature (Wiesbaden, 2008), pp. 219-61.

5

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY

2. Didacticism in Early Mathnavis The mathnavi as it is known from classical poetry appears already to have been a full-grown poetical form in the hands of the poets of the 10th century. It is difficult to find a predecessor among the few specimens of Middle Persian verse (mostly of a narrative kind) that are available; yet the conviction that this is a genuinely Iranian form is widespread among scholars.9 The main obstacle to this is the fact that rhyme is such an important constitutive feature of the mathnavi, and precisely this can be much better explained by referring to Arabic prosody. It is not unlikely that the great predilection of the Persians for didactic literature would have suggested to them quite early the idea to cast gnomic texts in a poetical form, which would make them so much easier to recite and to memorize. We have enough fragments from the works of the Samanid poets of the 10th century to conclude that didactic poems in the form of a mathnavi were indeed frequently composed at that time. Among them are also shreds of narrative poetry that may or may not have belonged to poems of the didactic kind, but the material to be attributed to two poets provides a more solid ground.

Rudaki The earliest poet whose name is still familiar to modern readers of Persian poetry is Abu-Abd-Allâh Ja’far Rudaki of Bukhara, who flourished in the first half of the 10th century and was the leading poet of the court of the Samanid emir Nasr II (r. 914-43). Although most of his poetical legacy is lost, more of it has been preserved than that of any of his contemporaries. His verses have been culled and reassembled from various sources containing lines of his poetry by different scholars, most notably by Sa’id Nafisi, who wrote an exhaustive monograph on this poet.10 Among the retrieved lines are fragments that can be attributed to several mathnavis by him. 9 10

According to L.P. Elwell-Sutton, The Persian Metres (Cambridge, 1976), p. 243, the mathnavi “is purely Persian in origin and use, and owes nothing to Arabic versification.” Sa’id Nafisi, Ahvâl va âthâr-e Rudaki, published first in three volumes (Tehran, 193040), and then in a revised and abbreviated form in a one-volume edition, Mohit-e

6

SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS In the preface to the lost ancient prose version of the Shâh-nâme, as well as in the Shâh-nâme itself, we are told that Rudaki was entrusted by his Samanid patron with the versification in Persian of the famous Indian fable-book Kalile va Demne.11 Several single distichs from this poem, composed in the meter ramal,12 appear in the 11th-century dictionary Loghat-e Fors by Asadi of Tus, although among them are probably also lines belonging to another Indian story adapted by Rudaki, the Sendbâd-nâme. A few more extensive fragments were recorded by Sa’id Na­ fisi from an early didactic work, the Tohfat al-moluk (Present for kings); among them are these two examples: Tâ jahân bud az sar-e Âdam farâz Kas nabud az râz-e dânesh bi niyâz Mardomân-e bekhrad andar har zamân Râz-e dânesh-râ be har gune zabân Gerd kardand-o gerâmi dâshtand Tâ be sang andar hami bengâshtand Dânesh andar del cherâgh-e rowshan-ast V-az hame bad bar tan-e to jowshan-ast Since the world began, from the days of Adam, No one could do without the secrets of knowledge. At all times men of wisdom have assembled The secrets of knowledge in every language. They have kept them like precious things And they wrote them down on stone. Knowledge is a lamp inside the heart, It is like an armor shielding the body against all evil. Ânke-râ dânam ke u-yam doshman-ast v-az ravân-e pâk badkhʷâh-e man-ast ham be har gah dusti juyam-ash man ham sokhan b-âhestegi guyam-ash man

11 12

zendagi va ahvâl va ash’ âr-e Rudaki (Tehran, 1958). In the latter, the number of the collected lines is 1047, but the attribution of many of them to Rudaki is questionable; cf. François de Blois, PL, V, pp. 221-26. Cf. de Blois, PL, V, p. 222, with further references. The six-feet catalectic ramal-e mosaddas-e mahdhuf, 2.4.11 on the list of Persian meters in Elwell-Sutton, The Persian Metres, pp. 89-118.

7

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY The one whom I know to be my enemy And who does not wish my pure soul well, It is him I wish to be my friend; To him I always speak very gently. 13

Neither Kalile va Demne nor the Sendbâd-nâme need concern us here as these subjects did not turn out to be very suitable for poetry, although Kalile va Demne was once more cast into Persian verse by Ahmad b. Mahmud Qâne’i of Tus, who wrote his poem in Konya about 1260, dedicating it to Sultan Ezz-al-Din Key-Kâ’us (or Kâvus) of the Saljuq sultanate of Rum.14 Otherwise, such subjects only lived on in Persian prose versions, and will be studied in another volume in this series.

Abu-Shakur Balkhi According to Mohammad Owfi in his anthology Lobâb al-albâb, AbuShakur of Balkh, apparently a court-poet of the Samanids during the reign of the amir Nuh I (943-54), completed in 947 a work entitled Âfarin-nâme (The Book of Praise).15 Various sources have transmitted couplets of a didactical kind in his name, written in the meter motaqâreb, which has led to the conclusion that they must have belonged to a single mathnavi that could be identified with the poem ascribed to him under this title. The poem must have been read for several generations, at least as a source for quotations, usually out of a lexicographical interest. However, Key-Kâ’us appears to have appreciated Abu Shakur also as a poet of wisdom and cited him a few times in his prose work Qâbus-nâme, completed in 1082.16 It is difficult to tell what the poem was really like. According to Gilbert Lazard, who assembled the remnants, Abu-Shakur must have already used anecdotes to illustrate his moral teaching as small sections of such tales can be Nafisi, Mohit, p. 533. The Tohfat al-moluk (Present to kings), described as a “moral treatise,” must have been written in the 13th or 14th century; cf. G. Lazard, Les premiers poètes persans (2 vols., Tehran and Paris, 1964), I, p. 29, n. 1. 14 Cf. J. Rypka, in Cambridge History of Iran V (Cambridge, 1968), p. 617; Dh. Safâ, Târikh-e adabiyyât dar Irân (5 vols., Tehran, 1988-91), III/1, pp. 487-506. 15 Mohammad Owfi, Lobâb al-albâb, eds. E. G. Browne and M. Qazvini (2 vols. Leiden and London, 1903-6), II, p. 21. 16 Key-Kâ’us b. Eskandar , Qâbus-nâme, ed. Gh.-H. Yusofi (Tehran, 1966), pp. 39, 71. 13

8

SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS recognized, although none of them adds up to a complete story.17 The didactical contents are characteristic for the mundane wisdom that can also be found in poems written in lyrical forms of this period. The manner of handling imagery in didactical poetry is already similar to what we find with didactical poets of later centuries. One of the few pieces of more than one line is this instance of an extended metaphor: Be doshman bar-at ostovâri mabâd Ke doshman derakhti-st talkh az nehâd Derakhti ke talkh-ash bovad gowharâ Agar charb-o shirin dahi mar-u-râ Hamân mive-ye talkh-at ârad padid Az u charb-o shirin nakhʷâhi mazid Ze-doshman gar idun ke yâbi shekar Gomân bar ke zahr-ast hargez makhʷar Do not have any faith in your enemy, For an enemy is by nature a bitter tree. A tree which is bitter at its roots —Whatever care you take to make it sweet— Will bear you nothing else than bitter fruits. All your care and sweetening is of no avail. Even if your enemy offers you sugar, Think of it as poison. Never taste it!18

Meysari The Dânesh-nâme (The Book of knowledge) by Hakim Meysari is the only mathnavi that has survived in its complete form from the Samanid period. The origin of this poem of nearly 4,500 couplets can be dated on internal evidence to between 978 and 980; it was composed in a variant of the meter 17 Lazard, Premiers poètes, I, pp. 27-30, 94-126; II, pp. 78-128. Additional findings of verses by S. Nafisi and M. Dabirsiâqi are also included; Lazard regards their attribution to this poem as not unlikely, but still no more than hypothetical. 18 Lazard, Premiers poètes, II, p. 91, lines 87-90 (Persian text); I, p. 102 (French translation).

9

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY hazaj.19 The poet’s patron, who is addressed as the “Sepahsâlâr-e Irân” Nâser-e Dowlat, was probably a governor of the Samanids in Khorasan from the famous Simjur clan.20 In a subtitle, the contents of the poem are described as pand va nasihat, but it can only be regarded as a didactic poem in the limited sense mentioned earlier. Its real subject matter is an exposition in verse of Galenic medical lore. However, in the conclusion the poet broaches a few moralistic themes. He reminds the reader that death is in the end inescapable and that all medical skill is of no avail against God’s will. Sinfulness is therefore more harmful than ill health; prayers are more effective than drugs. Naturally the basis of this argument is religious belief, as it is expressed in the following passage: though he was the seal of the prophets and the one for whom God had created the universe, even Mohammad had to die; so how could anyone hope to escape death, which is the fate of all mankind? For that reason, the science of medicine is not to be blamed when its cures are to no avail: Nadârad sud nazd-e marg dânesh Va-na besyâr aql-o âzmâyesh Na molk-o na sepâh-o kheyl-e besyâr Na mâl-o ganjkhâne por ze dinâr Na dehqâni na mardi na savâri Na tondi na badi na bordbâri Bedân k-az marg mâ-râ nist châre Va na az marg kas yâbad kenâre Del-at bar marg bar neh yâ kheradmand Be dard-e dardmandi bâsh khorsand Gar az dâru kasi behtar nagardad Va dard az dâruv-at kamtar nagardad Maneh z-in bar tabibân to bahâne Magir az suy-e dâru to karâne Against death no knowledge can prevail, Not great wisdom, nor experience. No kingdom, no army, no cavalry, no matter how numerous; No riches or a treasure house full of dinars; 19 The six-feet catalectic form, hazaj-e mosaddas-e mahzuf (cf. Elwell-Sutton, 2.1.11). 20 Cf. Lazard, Premiers poètes, I, pp. 36-40. Selections were published and translated by G. Lazard; the complete Persian text of the Dânesh-nâme was edited by Barât Zanjâni (Tehran, 1987).

10

SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS No nobleman, no hero, no knight; No aggression, no badness, no endurance. Be aware that there is no escape for us from death And no one is able to stay aloof from his demise. Be a wise man! Let your heart acquiesce in death! Do not protest the pain of affliction. If the medicine does not cure a person’s pain And it does not even relieve his suffering, Do not put the blame on the doctors, Do not turn away from their medicine! 21

The patient is urged to hold physicians in esteem, and not to bear a grudge against them. If he is not cured by their treatment, God has decreed otherwise.

Ferdowsi According to the already mentioned conventional classification of Persian mathnavis into three genres, the categories of the heroic and the romantic epic are to be kept separate from the didactical genre dealt with in this chapter. However, as it will appear from the following discussions, in practice such sharp distinctions cannot be sustained. As Theodor Nöldeke already remarked about Ferdowsi’s frequent insertion of belehrende Stücke: “We (sc. the European readers) would also not look in an epic for the frequent speeches on general matters and all the extensive wisdom, as well as the repetitive melancholic meditations.” The admixture of non-epic materials with the heroic tales in the Shâh-nâme shows that this poem has a character of its own, which does not entirely fit the schematic models derived from the epics of different literatures.22 This is confirmed by Ferdowsi himself. Though his first concern is to tell the history of Iran’s heroic past, he realizes that a poet’s words should contain more than just a story: When speech goes together with wisdom (kherad), It brings peace to the soul of whoever recites it. 21 Meysari, Dânesh-nâme, p. 268, ll. 4436-42. 22 Theodor Nöldeke, Das iranische Nationalepos (2nd ed., Berlin and Leipzig, 1920), p. 63.

11

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Bad thoughts, on the other hands, spoil the poet’s mind and make wise men detest his words.23 The Shâh-nâme provides numerous opportunities for didactical asides. The poem is primarily organized as a chronicle, narrating the succession of the ancient kings of Iran. Usually a new monarch at his accession, which marks a new section in the narrative, delivers a speech from the throne, allowing the poet to elaborate on a number of points of political wisdom and morality. In addition to this, the poem has a division into a number of large independent stories, e.g., the story of the demonic king Zahhâk and the exploits of the hero Rostam, which constitute separate units within the former order and sometimes even intersect the dynastic sections. The poet acts as a teacher as well as a narrator whenever the occasion presents itself, and Ferdowsi applies various devices to do this.24 A famous example is the prologue to the story of the tragic fight between Rostam and his son Sohrâb, a meditation on the justice or injustice of an untimely death, in which Sohrâb is compared to a fruit falling from its tree before it has had time to ripen: Agar tondbâdi bar âyad ze gonj Be khâk afganad nâraside toronj Setamgâre khʷânim-ash ar dâdgar Honarmand guyim-ash ar bi honar Agar marg dâd-ast bidâd chist Ze dâd in hame bâng-o faryâd chist Az-in râz jân-e to âgâh nist Bedin parde andar to-râ râh nist Hame tâ dar-e âz rafte farâz Be kas bar nashod in dar-e râz bâz Be raftan magar behtar âyad-at jây Cho ârâm giri be digar sarây 23 See the prologue to the story of Siâvakhsh in Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed., Dj. Khaleghi-Motlagh et al. as The Shahnameh (8 vols, New York, 1987-2008), II, p. 201. 24 Selections (ekhtiyârât) gleaned from the Shâh-nâme, mostly for their didactic content, were made already quite early, e.g., by Ali b. Ahmad, Ekhtiyârât-e Shâh-nâme (possibly 11th century CE), ed. M. Jeyhuni and M. Feshâraki (Tehran, 2000); and Abu’l-Fazl Yusof b. Ali Mostowfi, Kherad-nâme (possibly 12th CE), ed. Adib Beru­ mand (Tehran, 1968). In contemporary times, too, there still is a lively interest in Ferdowsi as a teacher of wisdom with many newly published monographs and articles expounding on the wisdom in the Shâh-nâme.

12

SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS If a whirlwind appears all of a sudden Smashing an unripe orange to the ground, Do we call him a tyrant, or a bestower of justice? Do we praise his art, or fault the lack of it? If death is just, what do you call injustice? And why such loud protestations against such “justice”? Your soul has no awareness of this secret; You have no entrance behind this curtain. Until the gate of desire had been closed For none this door to the secret was opened. Perhaps by departing you reach a better place, Another realm, where you can find peace.25

Occasionally Ferdowsi introduces personal concerns into his argument: for example, at the beginning of the story of Siyâvush, where the poet urges himself to continue his work in view of his advanced age.26 Towards the end of his account of the Sasanid kings, Ferdowsi inserted a lament on the death of his son. As it is often the case in Persian elegies he evokes an imagined argument: that the boy had left him without his permission. He rebukes him for dying earlier than his father: Ze badhâ to budi ma-râ dastgir Cherâ châre josti ze hamrâh-e pir Magar hamrahân-e javân yâfti Ke az pish-e man tiz beshtâfti You were my helping hand in dire times, Why seek ways to evade accompanying the old? Perchance because you’ve found young consorts That you have ran away from me so hastily? 27

The duty of parental care is highlighted in the story about the birth of Zâl—the child born with white hair—when Ferdowsi contrasts the

25 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, II, pp. 117-18. For an English translation of a longer version of this prologue see Jerome W. Clinton, The Tragedy of Sohráb and Rostám (Seattle and London, 1988), pp. 4-5. 26 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, II, pp. 201-2. 27 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, Vol. IX, ed. A.E. Bertels (Moscow, 1971), p. 138, ll. 2172-73.

13

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY insensitiveness of his father Sâm, who ordered that the infant should be left to die in a deserted place, to the loving care of animals for their young ones: Yaki dâstân zad barin shir-e pir Kojâ karde bod bachche-râ sir-e shir Ke gar man to-râ khun-e del dâdami Sepâs ich bar sar-at nanhâdami Ke to khod ma-râ vizhe khun-e deli Del-am bogsalad gar ze-man bogsali Hear what the old lioness said to her cub After she had satiated him with her milk: “Even if I had given you blood from my heart, I would not demand gratitude from you Since you are the very blood of my heart. My very heart would break if you break away from me.” 28

Describing how the child lies unprotected in the blazing midday sun he adds: Palang-ash bodi kâjki mâm-o bâb Magar sâye-yi yâfti z-âftâb If leopards would have been his parents He might have found a shelter from the sun.29

Genres of religious poetry are also used in the prologues, e.g., a hymn on Divine Unity (towhid) preceding the story of Kâmus, a Kushân hero, defeated by Rostam,30 and the story of Rostam’s fight with Akvân the Div.31 The story of the “twelve knights” (dovâzdah-rokh)—the last attack of Afrâsiyâb’s army on Iran—opens with a warning against “greed or concupiscence” (âz), the desire to acquire more than the most essential needs such as something to eat, some clothes and a carpet to spread on the floor.32 The narrative part of the poem as a whole is preceded by number of sections forming a prologue (dibâche). A similar prologue can be found already 28 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, I , pp. 166-67, ll. 72-74. 29 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, I, p. 167, l. 79. 30 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, III, pp. 105-6. 31 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, III, pp. 287-89. 32 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, Vol. VIII, ed. A. Aliev (Moscow, 1970), pp. 315-16.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS in Meysari’s Dânesh-nâme, and afterwards the addition of such preliminary sections became an almost obligatory convention in a Persian mathnavi.33 In addition to honor due to God, the Prophet Mohammad and his House, sections dealing with the poem’s pre-history (including the story about Ferdowsi’s predecessor Daqiqi), and a few panegyric dedications, the poet celebrates Wisdom (kherad), and discusses cosmological items such as the creation of the Cosmos, of man, and of the Sun and the Moon representing the heavenly bodies governing life on this earth. Although they are a prelude to the immediately following narration of the appearance of the first man and king of the world, they have didactical implications in their own right. The exposition of the poet’s worldview, however sketchy, serves to remind the reader of his proper place in the system of the world and the moral implied in this, which in itself is a theme of wisdom. As we will see, this connection of cosmology and ethics reappears in later didactical poems. Reflections on the tyranny of “fortune’s wheel,” the vanity of worldly power and status, and other afflictions by a cruel, inconsiderate fate, are very often woven into Ferdowsi’s narrative. Towards the end of the story of Sohrâb, from the prologue of which a passage was cited above, his entourage—the great Iranian warriors (pahlavâns)—tries to comfort Rostam, who is on the verge of taking his own life after he has discovered that he unknowingly killed his own son Sohrâb, with these words: This is the way of fortune’s wheel. It holds A lasso in one hand, a crown in the other. As he sits happily upon his throne, A loop of rope will snatch him from his place. Why is it we should hold the world so dear? We and our fellows must depart this road. The longer we have thought about our wealth, The sooner we must face that earthy door. If heaven’s wheel knows anything of this, Or if its mind is empty of our fate, The turning of the wheel it cannot know, Nor can it understand the reason why. One must lament that he should leave this world. Yet what this means at last. I do not know.34 33 34

See further J.T.P. de Bruijn, “Mathnawī. 2. In Persian,” in EI2 , VI, pp. 832-35. . Translated by Clinton, Tragedy of Sohráb and Rostám, pp. 171-73.

15

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY The epic offers the poet ample opportunities to celebrate the martial virtues of his heroes, in particular the members of the house of Rostam. Time and again Ferdowsi compares their fighting to that of “fierce lions” or “drunken elephants.” In addition to their exceptional strength and courage, he attributes to them great wisdom and insight as councilors to their kings. Although they often disagree with the conduct of their royal masters,35 in the end they remain loyal vassals of the legitimate king. When the hero Sâm is summoned to the court to help in a critical situation, the notables of the empire, who have lost confidence in the incompetent king Nowzar, offer him the crown of Iran. He refuses this with indignation. It is unthinkable that he would even consider taking the place of Nowzar, the rightful heir to the ancient kings.36 The most evident proof of Ferdowsi’s affinity to the didactical tradition of Persian literature is the insertion of a collection of sayings attributed to Buzorjmehr (i.e., Bozorgmehr, the legendary councilor of the Sasanid king Khosrow Anushirvân). A similar series of sayings in prose occurs in the Qâbus-nâme. The author, Key-Kâ’us, claims that they were King Anushirvân’s own sayings in Pahlavi, which were inscribed on the walls of his tomb.37 As it is told in the Shâh-nâme, Anushirvân once dreamt that a majestic tree had grown in front of his throne. While he was sitting under the tree enjoying music and wine, a boar with sharp teeth set himself next to him and demanded to drink wine from the king’s cup. Since his courtiers were unable to provide the meaning of this frightening dream, he sent out messengers to look for someone who could give the correct interpretation. One of them found in the city of Marv a young boy by the name of Buzorjmehr who claimed to know the solution. When he arrived at court Buzorjmehr told the king that a young man had entered the women’s quarters disguised in female clothes. When this proved to be true, he became the king’s closest advisor. In seven weekly sessions he imparts his wisdom to the king and his attendants. Ferdowsi presented these wise sayings of Buzorjmehr in a series of apothegms on various subjects. Together they cover almost completely the ethics of Persian kingship as expounded in the prose books of the mirror-for-princes genre. Some are concerned with general truths, such as: This aspect of the Shâh-nâme was focused on by Dick Davis, Epic and Sedition: The Case of Ferdowsi’s “Shāhnāmeh” (Fayetteville, Ark. 1992). 36 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, I, pp. 287. 37 Key-Kâ’us, Qâbus-nâme, ed. Yusofi, pp. 51-55. 35

16

SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS Kheradmand-o dânâ-o rowshanravân Tan-ash z-in jahân-ast-o jân z-ân jahân To wise, erudite, and enlightened minds The body belongs to this world, the soul to the other world (1087)38 Ze-dânesh cho jân-e to-râ mâye nist Beh az khâmoshi hich pirâye nist If you do not have wisdom, Silence is the most beautiful ornament (1091)

Buzorjmehr mainly discusses the qualities of the righteous ruler: Kojâ chun shabân-ast mâ gusfand Va-gar mâ zamin u sepehr-e boland The king is the shepherd and we are the sheep. He is the heaven above and we are the earth (1120) Ze-yazdân betarsad gah-e dâvari Nagardad be-meyl-o be kondâvari Kherad-râ konad pâdeshâ bar havâ Bedângah ke khashm âvarad pâdeshâ Nabâyad ke andishe-ye shahriyâr Bovad joz pasandide-ye kerdegâr Ze yazdân shenâsad hame khub-o zesht Be-pâdâsh-e niki bejuyad behesht Zabân râstguy-o del âzarmjuy Hamishe jahân-râ bedu âbruy He fears God when he sits in justice, He acts without arbitrariness and rashness. The king abandons his wisdom, If he lets himself be ruled by anger. The ruler should have no other thoughts Than those which please his Creator. He ascribes all good and bad things to God. He seeks paradise by rewarding the good.

38 The numbers refer to the lines of Buzorjmehr’s sayings in Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, VIII, ed. Aliev, pp. 110-46.

17

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY If his speech is sincere and his heart peaceable He will always impart splendor to the world. (1323-27)

In several other places in his poem Ferdowsi theorizes on the qualities of the legitimate sovereign. An interesting statement is to be found in the prologue to the reign of Key Khosrow. Khosrow is depicted as an almost ideal king, whose sole shortcoming stems from his lineage: through his mother he is a descendant from the kings of Turan, the arch-enemies of the house of Iran. According to Ferdowsi, “lineage” (nezhâd) is only one of the three essential qualities for an incumbent to the throne, the other two being “skill (in different arts)” (honar), which can be acquired, and “talent” (gohar), an innate quality which however is not a noble birthright but a Divine gift symbolized by the royal “Nimbus” ( farr) which assisted the Iranian kings as long as they were just rulers faithful to the will of God. Beyond these three virtues he should have “wisdom” (kherad), which should guide the king so that he could make the right choices.39 On the king’s servants and officials Buzorjmehr says: Dar-e pâdeshâ hamcho daryâ shomar Parastande mallâh-o kashti honar Sokhan langar-o bâdbân-ash kherad Be-daryâ kheradmand chun bogdharad Hamân bâdbân-râ konad sâyedâr Ke ham sâyedâr-ast-o ham mâyedâr Kasi k-u nadârad ravân-ash kherad Sazad gar dar-e pâdeshâ nasparad Regard the court of a ruler as a sea. The courtiers are the sailors, the ship is their skill (honar). Speech is the anchor and wisdom the sail. When a wise man travels over this sea This sail also provides him with a shadow For it gives shadow as well as force. Whoever has no wisdom in his soul, Should better stay away from a ruler’s court. (1539-42)

39 See also Davis, Epic and Sedition, pp. 43, 51 and pp. 212-13, n. 18; C.-H. de Fouchécour, “Vertu, nature et lignage des rois dans la deuxième partie du Livre des Rois de Ferdowsi,” Luqmān 8/1, 1991-92, pp. 35-40.

18

SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS Dabiri-st az pishehâ arjomand K-az-u mard-e afgande gardad boland Cho bâ âlat-o ra’y bâshad dabir Neshinad bar-e pâdeshâ nâgozir Tan-e khʷish âzhir dârad ze-ranj Beyâbad bi andâze az shâh ganj Balâghat cho bâ khatt gerd âyad-ash Bar andishe ma’ni beyafzâyad-ash Ze-lafz ân gozinad ke kotâhtar Be-khatt ân nemâyad ke delkhʷâhtar Kheradmand bâyad ke bâshad dabir Hamân bordbâr-o sokhanyâdgir Hoshivâr-o sâzide-ye pâdeshâ Zabân khâmosh az bad be-tan pârsâ Shakibâ-o bâ dânesh-o râstguy Vafâdâr-o pâkize-o tâzeruy Cho bâ in honarhâ shavad nazd-e shâh Nashâyad neshastan magar pishgâh Being a secretary is one of the worthiest professions Through which a low person may rise high. A secretary who is skilled and discerning Will undoubtedly reach a place close to the ruler. When he masters rhetoric and calligraphy His thoughts will carry more weight and meaning. He chooses the most concise expressions And has a most pleasing hand in writing. A secretary should be a wise man As well as forbearing, and he must know how to speak. He should be alert and ready to serve the ruler, Never speak evil, and keep his body chaste. He should be patient, learned and truthful, Be a faithful, pure and cheerful person. When, with all these skills, he approaches the king He fully deserves a place of honor. (1479-87)

The counterpart to this concern with legitimate and just kingship is a strong awareness that life in this world lasts but a few days. In the end the whims of Fate are more powerful than all human endeavors: 19

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Chonin dâd pâsokh ke juyande mard Davân-o shab-o ruze bâ kârkard Bovad râh-e ruzi bar-u târ-o tang Be-juy andarun âb-e u bâ derang Yaki bi honar khofte bar takht-e bakht Hami gol feshânad bar-u bar derakht Chonin-ast rasm-e qazâ-o qadar Ze-bakhshesh nayâbi be-kushesh godhar Thus he replied: To him who searches, Runs about and works night and day The prospect of finding a livelihood remains dark and narrow. The water in his river flows very slowly. Another one, bereft of all skills, just lies on the bed of his luck While the tree scatters its blossoms over him. Such are the workings of Fate: It will never give you anything for all your efforts (1140-43)

Asadi Tusi In the numerous texts which were written in continuation of the Shâhnâme, whether or not by anonymous poets, the emphasis was laid more and more on the narration of a good story. The Persian heroic epic eventually became a genre of popular literature, cultivated by oral performers, whose intention was primarily to entertain, not to teach. This is not yet so in the case of Abu-Nasr Ali b. Ahmad Asadi Tusi (ca. 1010-ca.1075), a versatile poet as well as a lexicographer, who was also recognized as a poet of wisdom (hakim) by the literary tradition.40 He was the first to extrapolate the storyline of the great hero of the Shâh-nâme by focusing on a supposed forefather of Rostam, the ancient Iranian hero Garshâsp (or Karshâsp), who is mentioned already in the Avestan Yashts.41 The story in his Garshâsp-nâme, written in the same meter as the Shâh-nâme, has little in common with 40 41

The theory of the two Asadis, a father and a son, introduced in the 19th century by Hermann Ethé and accepted by E. G. Browne, has no supporters anymore. The second spelling of the name is defended, on etymological grounds, by de Blois, PL, V, p. 83, n.2.

20

SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS the legend of this mythical figure as it is told in Middle-Persian texts.42 For the description of his hero’s adventures in faraway countries and his meetings with strange people Asadi appears to have used various contemporary sources such as travel books with fanciful stories of sailors and voyagers about the wonders of India and the adjacent islands. He also derived a great deal of material from the legendary accounts of the campaigns of Eskandar (Alexander the Great) to the four corners of the world. From the latter source he derived his protagonist’s conversations with Eastern Greek sages, called the Brahmans and representing the gymnosophists of the Alexander Romance, on the island of Sarandib (modern Sri Lanka) and in Rum (Byzantium), a feature which introduces a clearly didactical element into this epic poem. The conversations of Garshâsp with the Brahmans were analyzed by Henri Massé in the introduction to his French translation of the poem, where he examines their roots in Greek philosophy.43 The author’s intention is to educate the reader and to show him how to develop his potentials as a human being. This is also expressed in the prologue to the poem, where special sections are devoted to cosmic themes, and the uniqueness of the human being among the other created beings is emphasized. In the course of a discussion on the relationship between soul and body he clarifies his point by adducing two extended metaphors, the first of a house falling into decay, the second of a passage overseas: Tan u-râ be kerdâr-e jâme-st râst Ke gar befkanad var bepushad ravâ-st Be jân bin gerâmi tan-e khʷishtan Cho jâme ke bâshad gerâmi be tan Tan-at khâne-i dân be bâghi darun Cherâghi ravân zendegâni sotun Foru heshte z-in khâne zanjir châr Cherâgh andar-u baste qandilvâr Har ângah ke zanjir shod sostband Ze har goshe nâgah bekhizad gazand Shavad khâne virân-o pazhmorde bâgh Beyoftad sotun-o bemirad cherâgh 42 43

Cf. H.S. Nyberg, “La légende de Keresāspa,” in Jal Dastur Cursetje Pavry, ed., Oriental Studies in Honour of Cursetji Erachji Pavry (London, 1933), pp. 336-52. In Asadi, Le livre de Gerchâsp, tr. Henri Massé (Paris, 1951), pp. xii-xxii.

21

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Az ân pas cho peykar be gowhar sepord Hamân pish-ash âyad k-az idar bebord The body is to her [sc. the soul] like a garment: She may either drop it or put it on. Look how much your body gains from the soul, Just as a garment is adorned by a body. Your body is like a house in a garden, The soul a lamp, life is the pillar. In this house four chains are suspended; The lamp hangs down from them like a chandelier. Whenever the chains become weak, A sudden decay sets in from all sides. The house becomes a ruin, the garden withers, The pillar collapses, the lamp is extinguished. After that the form returns to its essence, Bringing back what it has taken from there. Cho daryâst giti tan u-râ kenâr Bar in zharf daryâ-st jân-râ godhâr Be raftan rah-ash nist zi jây-e khʷish Magar kashti-o tushe sâzad ze-pish To kashti-yash din-o dehesh tushe dân Rah-e râst bâd-o kherad bâdbân The world is an ocean, the body is one of its shores; The soul must cross these deep waters. She cannot travel back to her right place Until a ship and victuals have been prepared. This ship is religion, the victuals are good deeds, The straight path is the wind, wisdom the sail.44

44 Asadi, Garshâsb-nâme, ed. H. Yaghmâ’i (Tehran, 1975), p. 12.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS

3. The Emergence of the Didactic Mathnavi In the preceding section we have examined a few poems containing passages which could be called “didactic,” although the works themselves belong to different kinds of mathnavi poetry. The only poem that in all likelihood was devoted entirely to the exposition of moral themes was Abu-Shakur’s Âfarin-nâme, but the present state of this poem does not provide us with sufficient information about its contents. Thus it is only from the 11th century that a complete specimen of didactic mathnavi is known and it might even be argued that this kind of poem became only firmly established as a genre in the following century.

Nâser-e Khosrow The works of Abu-Mo’in Nâser-e Khosrow of Qobâdiyân near Marv, who was probably born in 1003, and died not before 1069, consist in the first place of prose texts, including his famous travel book Safar-nâme and a number of philosophical works which bear the marks of his adherence to the Fatimid branch of the Ismailiyya. As a poet he has left a divân containing mainly qasides, which are notable examples of the zohdiyyât genre mentioned above, and a short mathnavi: the Rowshanâ’i-nâme (The Book of light). The attribution of another mathnavi, the Sa’ âdat-nâme (The Book of bliss), to Nâser-e Khosrow is certainly false. It has been ascertained that the latter poem was composed in the 14th century by a namesake, Nâser-al-Din b. Khosrow Esfahâni, who added his penname Sharif to the end of the poem.45 Doubts have also been cast on the authenticity of the Rowshanâ’i-nâme as a genuine work of Nâser-e Khosrow but, as François de Blois prudently concluded in his discussion of the evidence, “it remains to be proved that it is not.”46 The dating of the poem has also proved controversial: in one of the final sections, it is given as the first of Shavvâl 440 AH, corresponding to the ninth of March 1049 CE. 47 If this is correct, the poem was written 45 46 47

See Rypka, HIL, p. 216, n. 20 with further references. De Blois, PL, V, p. 208. The manuscripts do agree on the day of the month and the added astrological indication, but differ greatly as far as the year is concerned. Browne and Bausani accepted

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY during the poet’s stay in Egypt. An indication favoring the authorship of Nâser-e Khosrow is the mention inside the text of his real name and his penname “Hojjat” (Argument, or Proof). Linguistic features of the poem confirm an early date of writing, so that it may safely be accepted that this is a poem composed either by Nâser-e Khosrow himself or by another poet very close to his period and belonging to the same religious denomination. There is ample reason therefore to regard this poem as the oldest example of a genuine didactic mathnavi that has survived in its full form. The Rowshanâ’i-nâme is a concise poem of about 550 couplets, written in the same pattern of the meter hazaj that was selected by Meysari for his Dânesh-nâme.48 Within this small compass, the poet deals in brief sections with a very wide subject: the privileged place of human beings in the cosmos, the moral and religious consequences of this position for their life in the material world, and the preparation for their happiness in the world hereafter. In the first sections of the poem, the structure of the creation is sketched, going down from the universal hypostases Universal Reason (Aql-e koll) and Universal Soul (Nafs-e koll) along the heavenly spheres, the stars, and the four natural elements, to the individual beings that they produce (movalladât). Subsequently the focus is placed on the nature of the human being, in particular its most perfect form (kamâl). Changing over into a lyrical mode of expression, the poet compares the world to a tree of which humans are the fruits and the other beings the leaves. Only ripe fruits are picked by the Gardener, the Creator of the world, who throws away the bad fruits that fall down before fully ripening.49 It is stated as a basic principle that the “ripeness” of humans consists in their reaching self-knowledge. This includes, in the first place, knowledge about their origin, their present position in this world and the right way to live, and of their return to the place where the human soul has its origin. Such knowledge can best be gained by going into seclusion (khalvat). At the end of the poem the poet describes a vision in which he observes, amidst the darkness of the night, the shining state of the “sacred spirits” (arvâh-e qods), who the conjecture by H. Ethé on which this dating is based. Cf. E. G. Browne, LHP, II, p. 244; A. Bausani, Storia della letteratura persiana (Milan, 1960), p. 627. 48 The six-feet mahzuf variant (cf. Elwell-Sutton, Persian Metres, 2.1.11). 49 Nâser-e Khosrow, Rowshanâ’ i-nâme, in Divân-e ash’ âr-e Hakim Hamid-al-Din Nâser b. Khosrow, ed. Nasr-Allâh Taqavi (3rd printing, Tehran 1969), pp. 525-26.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS after their release from the “chains” of the material world dwell in a “prosperous, happy world.”50 Within the context of this worldview the poet inserts his admonitions and warnings concerning different ethical issues, to be summarized as the pursuit of commendable morals and the avoidance of sin. He warns against hypocritical and unreliable friends, and condemns uncritical belief in authority (taqlid). It is better to avoid the search for honors and wealth and to live in contentment and submission to God’s will. The world is personified and taken to task for its fickleness and its ruthless tyranny: Jahânâ jâdu’ i bâ buy-o rangi Gahi Rumi-yat binam gâh Zangi Be rangin lo’bati delkhʷâh mâni Ke to hamvâre bar yaksân namâni Bar â’ i har zamân az rang-e digar Bar âri har nafas âhang-e digar Cho ma’shuq-e zarif-e delrobâ’ i Ke moshkinjâma-o zarrinqabâ’ i Beguyam chisti ensâf va’ l-haqq Be towsan karre-i mâni to ablaq Ke zir-e pây kardi omr-e mâ-râ Che shâyad kard bâ to joz modârâ Yaki tâvus-e rangârang dâri Nadâri joz ke omr-e mâ shekâri Shekâr-at Key-Qobâd-o Key Pashin-ast Basâ kas k-az to bâ tâj-o negin-ast To dâdi molk-e Key-Khosrow be Khosrow Kohan kardi bozorgân-râ-o khod now Nayâsâ’ i na kas âsude az to Nafarsâ’ i-o mâ farsude az to Nashâyad bud hargez az tu eymen Nagardi az jafâ kardan to sâken Oh world, you sorcerer with all your scents and colors: One time you are white like a Greek, then black like an African. Since you do not remain the same for a moment. 50

Nâser-e Khosrow, Rowshanâ’ i-nâme, ed. Taqavi, pp. 539-40.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY You are like a colorful, wanton plaything (lo’bat).51 Changing your colors anew every time, Again and again you take on a different hue. You are a beautiful, seductive mistress With your musky garment and your golden coat. Let me tell you what you really are: An unbroken foal with black spots on white. You trample our lives under your feet. What else can we do but endure? You, peacock showing all your colors, It is only our lives that you are after! You hunted down Key-Qobâd and his son Pashin.52 On how many others did you bestow a crown and a ring? You gave Key-Khosrow’s kingdom to a new ruler (khosrow).53 You made great men obsolete, you only renewed yourself. You do not let down. No one is secure against you. You never get tired, but you go on wearing us out. No one can ever be beyond your reach. You continue to act like a tyrant.54

A special point is made of the practice of poetry, by which the profession of the court poet is intended in particular. It is wrong to waste one’s talents on the insincere praise of mighty people in the hope of gaining their patronage and a handsome reward. Similar critical remarks on the panegyric use of poetry can be found also in the qasides of Nâser. From this time onwards this kind of criticism became a topos of didactic poetry.55 The formal characteristics of this short poem are not extensively developed and it would be an overstatement to say that it set a model for the great didactic poems composed by subsequent generations of Persian poets. Apart from a section on Divine Unity (towhid), there is no proper prologue. The poet’s discourse follows a straight line that traces the contours of the circle of human existence without too many asides. No narrative elements 51 52 53 54 55

In lyrical poetry, lo’bat is a term of endearment for a beautiful beloved. According to the Shâh-nâme, Pashin was a son of the legendary king Key-Qobâd. Key-Khosrow is another legendary king; the second khosrow may refer to the two Sassanid kings who carried this name, or just be used as a title for any ruler. Nâser-e Khosrow, Rowshanâ’ i-nâme, ed. Taqavi, pp. 537-38. Nâser-e Khosrow, Rowshanâ’ i-nâme, ed. Taqavi, pp. 538-39.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS appear in this poem, but the imagery is occasionally striking and forceful. The language, which has a few archaic features, is straightforward. Hermann Ethé detected in the “wonderfully melodious lines” of the vision of the sacred spirits, in which the poem culminates, a glorification of the Isma’ili doctors in Fatimid Cairo, who had introduced Nâser to their doctrines.56 It could be imagined that the Rowshanâ’i-nâme was indeed intended for a series of instructive recitations to a community of believers, but we lack any evidence to support this surmise. The theories expounded in the poem would be acceptable to a wide range of pious Muslims, including Sunnis, Isma’ilis and Sufis. The scientific and philosophical lore drawn upon in the discourse can be traced ultimately to the Hellenistic traditions of medieval Islam. However, in a didactic poem of the persuasive kind such lore is not presented for its own sake, but in a popularized fashion serving to preach a message of spiritual interest to the audience. The poem has had a mixed reception among later critics. Edward Granville Browne, who judged the work primarily on its poetic merit, regarded it as inferior to Nâser’s Divân.57 However, the first orientalist to publish the text, Hermann Ethé, admired it greatly, calling it a “Meisterwerk der Didak­ tik” that could stand the comparison with the works of Attâr and Sa’di.58 Alessandro Bausani also praised its artistic qualities, the conciseness of its style and the use of a simple and at times almost colloquial language.59

Sanâ’i Following a shared opinion of Persian and Western literary scholarship, Jan Rypka hailed hakim Abu’l-Majd Majdud b. Âdam Sanâ’i of Ghazne (d. 1131) as “(t)he first great poet of taṣavvuf.”60 The evidence concerning the reception of his works from the earliest times onwards seems to confirm Cf. H. Ethé, “Neupersische Literature,” in W. Geiger and E. Kuhn, eds., Grundriss der iranischen Philologie (3 vols., Strassburg, 1896-1904), II, p. 279. 57 E.G. Browne, HPL II, pp. 244-46. 58 Ethé, “Neupersische Literature,” II, p. 279; text in idem, “Nâsir Chusrau’s Rûśanâinâma oder Buch der Erleuchtung, ”ZDMG 33, 1879, pp. 645-64; 34, 1880, pp. 428-64, 617-42 (Persian text with German tr.); cf. corrections by F. Teufel, “Zu Nâṣir Chusrau’s Ruśanâinâma,” ZDMG 36 (1882), pp.96-106. 59 Bausani, Letteratura persian, pp. 627-29, with an excellent summary of the contents. 60 HIL, p. 236. 56

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY this judgment. Sanâ’i undeniably made a very important contribution to the development of Persian Sufi poetry. It could even be argued that he should not be discussed in a volume devoted to poetry as a secular tradition. A closer look at Sanâ’i’s life and work reveals, however, that defining his proper place in literary history is more complicated than it mights first appear. His biography shows that he moved in various social circles, both secular and religious, but that his contacts with the Sufis of his days were merely incidental. As his two didactic mathnavi poems bear the marks of his involvement with “the world,” there is good reason to devote attention to him in the present survey of secular didactic poetry in the mathnavi form. Recent research into Sanâ’i’s poems has proved beyond any reasonable doubt that only three mathnavis−all written in the khafif meter−can be safely accepted as his genuine works, i.e., Kâr-nâme-ye Balkhi (Memoirs from Balkh), Seyr al-ebâd elâ’ l-ma’ âd (The Journey of [God’s] servants to the place of return), and the Hadiqat al-haqiqe va shari’at al-tariqe (The Garden of reality [or: truth] and the law of the path) or Fakhri-nâme.61 The Kâr-nâme is an important source for Sanâ’i’s biography because of its topical contents; but as it contains exclusively panegyrics and satire, it need not concern us here. Although the other two poems are also closely connected to important stages in the history of the poet’s life, their main interest lies in their didactic contents. In the development of Sanâ’i’s literary career, his migration from his native Ghazne and the court of the Ghaznavid sultans to Khorasan marks a decisive turn, away from conventional court poetry in which he had been trained originally. In the environment of religious scholars and members of the Islamic judiciary, he found new possibilities to develop his talents as a homiletic poet. The most important among his Khorasanian patrons was a chief-justice of the Hanafi school of Islamic law and a renowned preacher in the city of Sarakhs, the Imam Seyf-al-Haqq Abu’l-Mafâkher Mohammad b. Mansur, whom Sanâ’i celebrated in a number of poems, written in a great variety of forms. They show that this clerical patron must have been very important to the poet.62 61 On the problem of the short mathnavis attributed to Sanâ’i see further Bo Utas, Ṭarīq ut-taḥqīq (Lund, 1973), p. 118; J.T.P. de Bruijn, Of Piety and Poetry (Leiden, 1983), p. 113-18. 62 See further De Bruijn, Of Piety and Poetry, pp. 64-68.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS The Journey of the Servants The short poem with the long Arabic title Seyr al-ebâd elâ’ l-ma’ âd, Sanâ’i’s second mathnavi, has no more than about 800 couplets, only 500 of which are of a didactic nature. The remaining lines constitute a lengthy eulogy of the Imam Mohammad b. Mansur, which mainly concerns the present discussion because of its function in the overall structure of the poem. The poem has been designed on the lines of a Persian panegyric as it was normally applied, on a much smaller scale, to the qaside. In this mathnavi the first part of the poem is comparable to the nasib, or prologue, of this panegyric pattern, which conventionally ends in a makhlas (transition), or gorizgâh, the passage in which the poet “flees” from the subject of his prologue and embarks on celebrating the person for whom the poem is intended. In exactly the same manner Sanâ’i begins this poem with an introduction describing the emblem bâd (wind or air), a favorite item in the repertoire of Persian lyrical poetry. This description is couched in enigmatic terms, suggesting several concepts that are associated with bâd, such as the cosmological element Air; the wind as a natural phenomenon and its forceful effects on nature; respiration as the fundament of life; the bearer of human speech; the soul; and finally the connotation “nothingness,” which brings him to the didactical theme of the poem: Yak zamân az zafân-e binesh-e man Gush kon ramz-e âferinesh-e man Tâ bedâni ki harche râm nayand Hame joz chun to bâd nâm nayand Listen for a while to the tongue of my vision, And hear the riddle of my creation (ramz-e âferinesh-e man), So that you may know that he who is not subdued Should like you be called nothing but “wind.”63

These lines contain the transition to the account, in allegorical images, of the poet’s own development as a human being, from the moment of conception onwards until spiritual maturity makes him ready to meet with the 63

The Persian lines from the Seyr al-ebâd are quoted from the earliest dated MS, Bağdatlı Vehbi (Süleymaniye Library, Istanbul) no. 1672, fol. 180a, which contains some archaic spellings, e.g., zafân for zabân.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Perfect Man in the person of the chief-justice of Sarakhs. The name of this patron is revealed in a second transition leading on to the eulogy. The poem is written as a travelogue, the story of an imagined journey through a symbolic universe. The narrator relates how he first descended to the “womb” of the Divine Word of Creation, the Arabic imperative Kon, “Be!”, in obedience to the Qur’anic injunction “Go down from here!” (Q. 2:38), the words spoken when Adam and Eve were driven away from Paradise. After the completion of a nine-month period, in which the physical body is formed, he enters the world, and his psychic faculties start to unfold. He first meets with a wet nurse (dâye), representing the Vegetative Soul of medieval psychology. She controls the basic functions of life and procreation; then he observes a mighty king, the Animal Soul “of demons, cattle, beasts of prey, and game,” who also controls the senses that gather information about the world outside. These encounters prepare the narrator for a third stage, where he is enabled to develop his truly human nature: the meeting with the Rational Soul. This concept is personified in the shape of “an old man, frail and shining / like a Muslim in the midst of unbelief.” In these words he identifies himself: Goft man bartar-am ze-gowhar-o jây Pedaram hast kârdâr-e Khodây U-st k-avval natije-ye qedam-ast K-âftâb-e sepide-ye adam-ast Ellat-e in sarâ v-in farsh u-ast Shobhat-e “estewâ alâ’ l-arsh” u-st Arsh-e u pâymâl-e har dun nist Farsh-e u dastbâf-e gardun nist U hami bâfad az barây-e shomâ Dar fenây-e fanâ qabâ-ye baqâ Man be farmân-e u bemânde zaman Dar chonin torbat-o havâ-ye afan Az pey-e maslahat na az sar-e jahl Mânde dar band-e yak jahân-e nâ-ahl Varna key budi âkher arzâni Pâdeshâzâde-i be sagbâni Zesht nabvad barây-e nâz-e kasi Hamnafas Jebra’ il bâ magasi Az to porsam tovân na andar tag Bâ chonin asb hamtavile-ye sag

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS He said: “I am superior by nature and in rank; My father is the Caretaker of God. He was the first to come forth from eternity; For he is the sun who rose from non-existence. The cause of this abode, of this creation; Reflection of “He set Himself upon the Throne” (Q. 57: 4) He goes on weaving for your sake a garment That will endure in spite of all decay. On his command I stayed behind so long Among this dust, in this polluted air. For a good aim, not out of ignorance, I stay as prisoner in an alien world. Or else, would it be fitting: A king’s son as the guardian of dogs? Would it not hurt one’s pride: A Gabriel among a swarm of flies? I ask you! It cannot be that on this course A fine horse shares the stable with the dogs.”64

Like Virgil in Dante’s Divine Comedy,65 the old man takes on the role of the narrator’s guide on a tour through a landscape structured like the Ptolemaic cosmos. It represents a classification of human beings according to the spiritual stages that they have reached in their further development. At the lowest level, corresponding to the sublunar world, the astral powers and the natural elements give free rein to the vices, such as greed, envy and jealousy. Only by gaining control over these passions, human existence, as it should be, can be realized. The imagery of the second level evokes a replica of the celestial spheres, inhabited by groups of believers who are oriented each towards a different qeble, a “point of worship,” which limits their views and obstructs their ascension to a higher level. Only after all these qeble’s are burned down may the narrator enter the latter realm. It corresponds to the metaphysical area of purely spiritual being where the Universal Soul and the Universal Intelligence are projected. At first, the travelers traverse an area where scholars and Christian monks and priests 64 65

MS Bağdatlı Vehbi no. 1672, fol. 182b-182a. The comparison with Dante was made by Reynold A. Nicholson, A Persian Forerunner of Dante (Towyn-on-Sea, 1944). Any historical relationship between these two poems is of course improbable.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY dwell, but the narrator is urged on by his Guide until he reaches the level of the spiritual elite of Islam, whom he observes as groups of people sitting in rows like the believers in a mosque. Each row represents the stage of mystical advancement that the occupants have reached. Then the narrator becomes one with his Guide, who is said to be a personification of the Active Intellect of Aristotelian philosophy, the entity which connects the human soul to the Universal Intellect. The narrator concludes: “I, who was still a child, became a man.” This is also the moment when he, as the poet Sanâ’i, encounters the person of his patron Mohammad-e Mansur. The poet’s discourse in this short poem is exclusively allegorical. There are only a few explanations, put into the mouth of the Guide, of the landscapes the travelers pass through and of the enigmatic figures they meet along the road. As early as the beginning of the 13th century, a commentary was written on this poem, which is handed down in various versions. In this commentary the poem is separated from its panegyrical sequence, thus acquiring the status of a didactical treatise in its own right. Probably Sanâ’i himself intended the first part of his poem to be an independent homiletic treatise and not merely the introduction to a eulogy. The term ma’ âd (return,) in the uncommonly long title of this mathnavi is derived from a word occurring only once in the Qur’an (Q. 28: 85), but became attached to quite different concepts by philosophers, theologians and mystics. In the language of the philosophers, such the 10th-century Ekhwân al-Safâ, the “Brethren of Purity,” and Avicenna, ma’ âd referred to the return of the human soul to its place of origin after its release from the body at the time of death; to the theologians it became almost synonymous with the resurrection of the body and its reunification with the soul before the Day of Judgment at the end of the world. In Sufi terminology, ma’ âd was adopted as a designation for the ultimate goal of the mystical quest, regardless of its theological or philosophical implications.66 An example is the title of one of the most famous Persian textbooks of Sufism, written about 1223 by Najm-al-Din Dâye: Mersâd al-ebâd men almabda’ elâ’ l-ma’ âd (The Path of the servants from the place of origin to the place of return). The pattern on which Dâye based his long exposition of the mystical path is essentially the same as the concise allegory of Sanâ’i’s poem: the understanding of human life in the world as an existential cycle, 66

Cf. R. Arnaldez, “Maʿād,” in EI2 , V, pp. 892-94.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS the stages of which connect the beginning of temporary existence as a descent from its heavenly origin (mabda’), to the return (ma’ âd) to eternal existence. In between is the stage of earthly life, called ma’ âsh, where the return should be prepared through the education of the human soul. It is perhaps not accidental that Dâye inserted many quotations from Sanâ’i’s poetry in his book.67 The amount of attention paid here to this short poem is justified by the curious mixture of influences it betrays. The form of an allegorical story seems to imitate tracts written by philosophers, usually in prose, notably by Meskawayh (936-1030) and Avicenna (980-1037).68 The fact that Sanâ’i placed his ethical teaching against the background of philosophical and scientific concepts was not a novelty: as we have seen, this can already be found in Nâser-e Khosrow’s Rowshanâ’i-nâme. The links with Sufi ideas are obvious, but it should also be considered that Sanâ’i’s allegory was intended primarily to serve as a prologue in a panegyric addressed to an Islamic scholar. The Garden of Reality Towards the end of his life, Sanâ’i was back in Ghazne where he must have returned about 1125. His position had changed significantly since he left his native town for Khorasan many years earlier. Now he was no longer a minor poet of the court who wanted to try his luck elsewhere, but a writer of religious poems that were already much in demand in several parts of Persia. As far as the scant information allows us to judge, he merely desired to live a secluded life as befits an older man who had reached spiritual maturity. However, his reputation had not escaped the attention of Sultan Bahrâmshâh (reigned 1118-52), who is known to have been a very keen patron of Persian literature. Apparently this did not only include the rewarding of traditional courtly lyricism and prose, but also of poetry of a less secular nature. In the didactic mathnavi that Sanâ’i wrote during this period, he relates—in rather opaque phrases—that the Sultan invited him to join his royal suit. The poet turned down the invitation, excusing himself on 67 68

Cf. M.A. Riyâhi’s introduction to his edition of Najm-al-Din Dâye, Mersâd al-ebâd (Tehran, 1973), p. 61. For further details see de Bruijn, Of Piety and Poetry, pp. 208-12.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY grounds of advanced age and his wish to withdraw from the world. Instead he dedicated the extensive poem he was composing to Bahrâmshâh and his intended successor prince Dowlatshâh.69 Nevertheless, some kind of relationship must indeed have developed between the ruler and the poet. In the Divân of Sanâ’i a group of short poems has been preserved which express love themes, as in a normal Persian ghazal, ending by paying respect to Bahrâmshâh without however entering upon an extended eulogy as in a courtly qaside. “Panegyrical ghazals” of this kind were written by other court poets of this period and can be found in the works of later poets as well, including the ghazals of Hâfez. However, to meet with such poems among the writings of a homiletic poet, as Sanâ’i was in his later years, is certainly remarkable, but this is in line with what we find in his great didactic poem. In Sanâ’i’s third mathnavi, the attention paid to the ruler is much more prominent than it is in these ghazals. This huge poem is generally known under the impressive Arabic title Hadiqat al-haqiqa wa shari’at al-tariqa, but in some of the earliest manuscripts different titles are mentioned: either Fakhri-nâme (perhaps after Fakhr[-al-Salâtin], one of the honorifics of Sultan Bahrâmshâh),70 or Elâhi-nâme (The Divine Book), as Sanâ’i’s poem was called in Jalâl al-Din Rumi’s Mathnavi-ye ma’navi. 71 The poem met with great success, as proven by the large number of copies made in subsequent centuries, not only in Persia but also in the Indian subcontinent, in Central Asia and in the Ottoman Empire. It has always served as a rich source for citations, which can be found in secular and mystical works belonging to various genres. By general assent, this is the poet’s magnum opus and its importance to the further development of Persian didactic poetry is indisputable. However, it is also one of the most problematic works in classical Persian literature. The difficulties are first of all caused by the intricate textual history of the poem. Moreover, Sanâ’i’s terse style and the lack of a clear composition posed many problems for its readers. In all likelihood, the poet died before he could complete a final redaction of this poem. Probably he was still dictating parts of it in his 69 De Bruijn, Of Piety and Poetry, pp. 81-86. 70 De Bruijn, Of Piety and Poetry, p. 127. 71 Rumi, Mathnavi, ed. Reynold A. Nicholson as The Mathnawí (8 vols., London, 1925-40), III, ll. 2771-72; IV, ll. 2566-67 and VI, l. 3345 (Heading). Cf. Nicholson’s commentary to Volume III, p. 73.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS last days. There is moreover collateral evidence showing that he had to face sharp criticism on account of alleged Shi’ite sympathies, for which he invoked the help of a Sunni scholar from Ghazne who lived in Baghdad. It is also certain that soon after his demise Bahrâmshâh ordered someone by the name of Mohammad b. Ali al-Raffâ’ to prepare a revised text of the poem, incorporating stray materials left by the poet, but this did not stop the poem from being circulated in very different versions.72 As late as the 17th century a major attempt to harmonize the various strains of the tradition was made in Mughal India by Abd-al-Latif Abbâsi (d. 1638), who also wrote an extensive commentary on the poem. Many points in the history of the poem still need to be clarified. Recent research has made it clear that at least two major versions should be distinguished: a larger version of about 10,000 couplets, and a shorter one of about 5,000 couplets. The longer version is accessible in a modern edition prepared by Mohammad-Taqi Modarres-Razavi (Tehran, 1950) representing more or less the text as it was established by Abbâsi. The shorter version has been edited recently by Maryam Hoseyni (Tehran, 2003) on the basis of a limited number of manuscripts, in particular the oldest dated manuscript of Sanâ’i’s works, a copy made in the Anatolian town of Konya in 1157, and an undated but evidently ancient copy which used to be kept at the Kabul Museum.73 The very early Konya manuscript must go back to one of the earliest drafts of the poem. Notable features are the lack of a division into chapters and the place of the panegyrics to the Sultan and his son at the end of the poem. The didactical sections therefore serve as a kind of extended prologue, a structure which is comparable to that of the Seyr al-ebâd. In the homiletic part of the poem, first a number of general themes are treated. Special attention is given to the Qur’an and the ways in which the Holy Book functions within the Moslem community; then to the praise of the great men of Islam who have set models of right conduct for the believers including, besides the Prophet, the four Râshedun−the “Rightly See further on the textual tradition of the poem: De Bruijn, Of Piety and Poetry, pp. 119-39; idem, “Ḥadīqat al-ḥaqīqa va šariʿat al-ṭarīqa,” in EIr, XI, pp. 441-42; and Maryam Hoseyn, introd. to her ed. of Sanâ’i, Hadiqat al-haqiqe (Tehran, 2003). 73 This manuscript is kept in the Süleymaniye Library, Istanbul, under the shelf mark Bağdatlı Vehbi no. 1672. The Kabul manuscript was published in facsimile on the occasion of the nine-hundredth birthday of Sanâ’i (ed. A.-A. Bashir, Kabul, 1977). 72

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Guided” Caliphs Abu Bakr, Omar, Othmân and Ali−; the founders of the two largest schools of Islamic law, Abu Hanifa and al-Shâfe’i; and Mohammad’s grandsons Hasan and Hoseyn. By this Sanâ’i puts his moral teaching firmly within the framework of a Sunni view on the history of Islam. However, he adds to this a rough sketch of medieval cosmology, metaphysics and psychology for which he draws upon Hellenistic, and in particular Neoplatonic, sources. Sanâ’i then proceeds to set forth his actual subject, which is the spiritual development of the human being who follows his true calling. At first a few more preliminaries are brought home to the audience. These concern the intellectual preparation of the adepts. He speaks about the concept of ascetism (zohd), summoning his audience to turn away from the world and warning against the tyranny of the vices (havâ) lurking in the human soul. He specifies three groups of people who rightly or wrongly pretend to cultivate their inner life: after praising the “pious people” (pârsâyân), whom he calls the “middle stone of the necklace of the followers of the practice” (vâseta-ye eqd-e sonniyân), he criticizes dervishes who only care about their appearance, and scholars who strive for a favorable reception by the ignorant masses (qobul-e avâmm). Instead, Sanâ’i recommends the acquisition of true knowledge. Following a topos known from Arabic adab literature he prefers seriousness to humor, which is “unable to provide the key to the house of the heart” (hazl nabvad kelid-e khâne-ye del).74 In a series of sections the outlines of Hellenistic metaphysics and psychology are traced. He describes the interaction of the Universal Soul with Universal Reason in producing the macrocosmos of the universe as well as the microcosmos of the human soul. Like Nâser-e Khosrow, Sanâ’i regards an acquaintance with secular scientific ideas as a necessary addition to a thorough knowledge of the religious truths. By this exposition of the structure of the human psyche and the creation of the world, the survey of Sanâ’i’s worldview, including Islamic as well as anthropological and metaphysical ideas, is completed. He then changes over from the discursive mode into allegory. A poetic description of the night and the rise of the day allows him to symbolize a meeting with an old man who becomes his Guide, a figure similar to the person whom the narrator encountered in the journey described in the Seyr 74

See also Ch. Pellat, “al-Djidd wa’l-hazl,” in EI2 , II, pp. 536-37.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS al-ebâd. This Guide starts upon a lengthy sermon on particulars of the Path to be followed through life. The subjects he touches upon include matters of ordinary life next to more general moral advice such as the struggle with the promptings of the lower soul and the preparation for the ending of earthly existence. The meandering line of his discourse gives the impression of incoherence and this has confused many readers of this poem and undoubtedly led to several attempts to bring the text into a more coherent order. But if one tries to follow the thread of the poet’s own argument it is often interesting to see how he switches associatively between the general and the particular. Following a criticism of the vice of lust (shahvat) there are sections dealing with sexual ethics, e.g., the prescription to keep the eyes under control and the question whether its is permissible to contemplate a beautiful boy as a “witness” (shâhed) of Divine Beauty. This in turn leads on to discussions of pederasty and adultery and even of the practice of poetry, through which Sanâ’i intends to criticize the poets of the courts who cater for the carnal desires of their audience rather than their moral and spiritual needs. At this point he puts religion against poetry by means of the wordplay shar’ va she’r (Religious law and poetry), which reverberated in the works of later poets such as Farid-al-Din Attâr and Jâmi.75 Some of the manifold subjects that Sanâ’i broaches deal with matters of personal life. For instance he talks on a critical note about the burden the family can impose on one’s spiritual life: In goroh-râ ke nâm kardi khʷish Har yaki kazhdom-and bâ sad nish Tangerân hamcho pây dar khʷâb-and Pardedar hamcho tiz dar âb-and Az jafâ zeshtguy-e yakdegar-and V-az hasad eybjuy-e yakdegar-and Khʷish-e nazdik hamcho rish bovad Bish kâvi-yash dard bish bovad The group of people you call your family, Each one is like a scorpion with a hundred stings; Heavybodied, like feet that have fallen asleep; Cutting through your veils, like a knife in water; Maliciously gossiping to each other, 75

Cf. J.T.P. de Bruijn, “Chains of Gold: Jāmī’s Defence of Poetry” in Journal of Turkish Studies (Barbara Flemming Armağanı), 26/1 (2002), pp. 81-92.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Jealously searching each other’s faults. A close relative is an open wound: The deeper you probe, the more it hurts.76

A typical example of Sanâ’i’s sharp criticism of human behavior is the following passage, which is entitled “Unlawful Food”: Sabab-e khashm-o shahvat az loqme-st Âfat-e dhehn-o fetnat az loqme-st Mard-e shahvatparast-râ dar khim Battar az botparast khʷând hakim K-in ze khowf ar badi nasâzad sâz V-ân ze shahvat be bad gerâyad bâz Khashm-o shahvat jamâl-e heyvâni-st Elm-o hekmat kamâl-e ensâni-st To be qovvat khalife-i az Khodây Bar khari-o sagi forud ma ây Tâ to az khashm-o ârzu masti Be Khodây ar to âdami hasti Karde-i bâ del-o jegar dar ham Khashm-e Eblis-o shahvat-e Âdam Z-in do qovvat be gâh-e kâm-o nabard Be sebâ-o bahime mânad mard Hamcho arre do sar do nâkhosh khu In-at z-ân su kashande ân z-in su Effat-o satvat âlat-e kherad-and Shahvat-o khashm-at âfat-e kherad-and In moqim az do div-e divâne Shahvat-e hiz-o khashm-e mardâne In konad lotf lik bâ talbis Ân konad kebr lik chun Eblis Pesar-e khʷâje-i to chun heyvân Zesht bâshad gholâm-e jâme-o nân The cause of rage and lust lies in food, This is what spoils your mind and your intelligence. The disposition of a lascivious man Is worse than that of an idolizer, as wise men say. 76

Sanâʾi, Hadiqat al-haqiqe, ed. Hoseyni, p. 180.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS The latter may be deterred from doing wrong, But lust drives the former back to his sins. Rage and lust are fine qualities in animals, Just as knowledge and wisdom are the perfection of mankind. You who could become God’s vicar, Don’t stoop to the level of an ass and a dog! As long as you are drunk with rage and desire, By God, are you really a human being? In your heart and liver you have brought together The rage of Iblis and the lust of Adam. When a man pursues his lust or starts a fight, These faculties make him like cattle and wild beasts. They are nasty forces like the ends of a two-handed saw: They are pulling into opposite directions. Chastity and authority are the tools of reason, But lust and rage are its pestilences. They are kept going by two raving demons: The lust of a catamite and the rage of a fighter. The first is charming, but with devilish deceit, The other is proud, but with Satan’s pride. You are the son of a lord, it is unseemly of you, To be a slave to food and covering like a beast.77

To be noted further is his exposure of the greed and servility of his fellow poets in his repudiation of the literary profession as it was practiced at the courts. Human life is pictured as a continuous struggle with the forces of the lower soul and a preparation for death and eternal happiness in the afterlife. The dedication of the poem to Bahrâmshâh and his son is a panegyric, but many of Sanâ’i’s statements concern the ethics of kingship. It is remarkable that this eulogy takes its starting point from a nearly contemporaneous historical event: the manner in which Bahrâmshâh had come to power. Between 1116 and 1118 the half brothers Bahrâmshâh and Malek Arslân were involved in a fierce fight over the succession to the Ghaznavid throne. At first, Malek Arslân held the upper hand and his brother was forced into exile, but in the end the latter was able to oust Malek Arslân, with the help

77

Hadiqat al-haqiqe, ed. Hoseyni. pp. 158-59.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY of the Saljuq sultan Sanjar and his army. After his defeat, Malek Arslân was executed by the victor.78 At the time when this first version of the Hadiqe was written, the question of the sultan’s legitimacy must still have been an important issue in Ghaznavid politics because Sanâ’i goes to a great length to plead in favor of the sultan’s legitimate rights. He argues that Bahrâmshâh’s initial humiliating flight was really in accordance with God’s intention to prepare him for his later rule, just as Joseph had at first to suffer being thrown into a pit and the Prophet Mohammad had to emigrate from Mecca to Medina. In a just war one can legitimately kill one’s relatives. A government established by the force of arms is more durable than one that is merely inherited. It is impossible to have two kings in one country, for which truism Sanâ’i adduces homely arguments such as these: one would have to wade up to one’s knees in dust when a house is run by two housewives; and it is hard to ride on a donkey with two backsides. Even Fate has decided between right and wrong through the outcome of the matter. The case is further based on a lengthy discussion of Bahrâmshâh’s personal qualities for his kingship. The poem ends with the poet’s lengthy apologia for declining the sultan’s invitation to become attached to his court and an account of his secluded life and other details of his last days. In the longer version, to which we will refer here as the Hadiqe, the text looks like a quite different poem, although almost all the lines of the Fakhri-nâme can be found in the Hadiqe as well. The most striking feature is the different arrangement of the text. The text is divided into ten chapters (abvâb), which present the various subjects systematically. The manuscripts of the Hadiqe also usually contain a table of contents. There are significant differences between the tables in each manuscript, and they do not always match the actual order in the copies of the poem to which they are attached. This is a sign of the continuing changes in the arrangements that were made by editors in the course of the poem’s textual transmission.79 In one of the oldest manuscripts that have been preserved the list of the chapters runs as follows (in a slightly simplified version): 78 These events are fully described in C.E. Bosworth, The Later Ghaznavids (Edinburgh, 1977), pp. 90-98. 79 For further details see de Bruijn, Of Piety and Poetry, pp. 132-39

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I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII.

On the unity of God On God’s Word (i.e. the Qur’an) On the praise of the Prophet On the praise of the Sultan. On the description of Reason (aql). On the virtues of Knowledge and the description of the scholar. On love and the description of the Spirit (ruh) and the degrees of the Heart. VIII. On the Universal Soul and its conditions. IX. On the description of the Heavenly Spheres and the Zodiac. X. On the criticism of the presumptuous (modda’ in), the poets, the medical profession and the astrologers; on the writing of this book and its completion. 80

Throughout, the text has been inflated by the insertion of new material, which sometimes completely changes the purport of the earlier version.81 By such procedures the poem adopted the form of an “encyclopedia of Sufism,” as Sanâ’i’s poem later was dubbed by Western scholars. In the early version anecdotes do not play a prominent role. They are generally very brief and closely linked to the discursive context in which they occur. Often they consist only of an exchange of words between two protagonists, as no more was needed to underscore a point of the poet’s discourse. Ân shenidi ke tâ Khalil che goft Vaqt-e âtesh be Jebrayil nehoft Kard birun sar az dariche-ye jân K-ey barâdar to dur show ze-miyân Dur kon yak zamân ze-khʷistan-am Tâ ke bi to yaki nafas bezanam Esmat-e u dalil-e man na bas ast Elm-e u Jebrayil-e man na bas-ast Chun be eshq az khiyârat-e âtesh jast Âtesh az âteshi bedârad dast Chun Khalil ân-e khʷishtan bogdhâst 80 MS Manchester, John Rylands Library, Persian No. 843, copied in 681/1283; cf. de Bruijn, Of Piety and Poetry, pp. 134-36. 81 A striking example is the passage on the interpretation of dreams, which was expanded from 26 distichs in the shorter version to 135 in the larger version. The interpolated lines must have been copied from a ta’bir-nâme, a textbook for the interpretation of dreams, see further de Bruijn, Of Piety and Poetry, pp. 221-22.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Âtesh az fe’ l-khʷish dast bedâsht Garche Nemrud âteshi afrukht Âtesh-ash chun alaf neyâft nasukht Have you heard what Abraham said? What he whispered to Gabriel whilst he was in the fire? He put his head out of the window of his soul: “Brother, please, go out of my way!” Release me for a while from myself. Let me take a breath away from you. Is not His protection sufficient for me? His knowledge enough for me as a guardian angel?” As soon as through love he is freed from the powers of fire, The fire will loose its natural fieriness. As soon as Abraham left behind his own selfhood However much Nemrud fanned the fire, His fire did not burn, as it found no fuel.82

In the longer version, the narrative material is both much richer and more elaborate. Many stories have an independent literary value, for instance the famous story about the blind men of Ghur, who try to make out what an elephant really looks like by examining each part of his body separately.83 Unfortunately, it is hardly possible to discern among all these additions what may be attributed to Sanâ’i’s own hand and what must be the work of subsequent editors who immediately after the poet’s death began to interfere with his poem. It is quite possible that many of the additions go back to materials that Sanâ’i had already composed, but had not yet integrated into his final redaction. However, there must also be much that was written “in the spirit” of the author by those who took care of his legacy. 82 Sanâ’i, Hadiqat al-haqiqe, ed. Hoseyni, p. 17. Nemrud is the equivalent of the biblical Nimrod. According to the legends about Abraham’s youth, he threw Abraham into a fire, but the fire was kept cool by a guardian angel so that it could not harm him. An allusion to the story is made in Qur’an, Sura 23:24; cf. B. Heller, “Namrūd,” in EI2 , VII, pp. 952-53. . 83 See further J.T.P. de Bruijn, “The Stories of Sanâ’i’s Faxri-nâme,” in C. Balaÿ, et al., eds., Pand-o Sokhan: Mélanges offerts à Charles-Henri de Fouchécour (Tehran, 1995), pp. 79-93. The story was translated by E.G. Browne, LHP II, pp. 319-20.

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4. The Aftermath of Sanâ’i’s Didactic Mathnavis. The impact of these didactic poems can already be noticed before the middle of the 12th century. In 1145, less than two decades after the poet’s death, Abu’l-Ma’âli Nasr-Allâh Monshi, a secretary of the Ghaznavid sultans, inserted lines from the Hadiqat al-haqiqe in his Persian adaptation of Kalile va Demne. This tarjome, a free translation of the Arabic version of this famous Indian fable book, was dedicated to Sanâ’i’s own patron, Bahrâmshâh. Among these very early quotations is one complete anecdote, about a peasant girl by the name of Mahsati who sees the Angel of Death in her mother’s cow running wild.84 The tarjome is a typical work of courtly moralizing without any reference to specifically religious or Sufi ethics. This shows that Sanâ’i’s didactical poetry could very well serve secular purposes among his contemporaries. Even earlier are the quotations in mystical works written while the poet was still alive. They can be found in the Savâneh, a treatise on earthly and mystical love by Ahmad Ghazâli (d. 1126), in the letters of the mystic Eynal-Qozât Hamadâni (d. 1132) and the Sufi commentary of the Qur’an by Rashid-al-Din Ahmad Meybodi (d. 1135), who began his voluminous work in 1126. In all these cases, however, most probably these cited lines were later interpolations, and cannot therefore be dated with any precision. We are on more secure grounds with regard to the lavish use which other great mystical writers of the late 12th and early 13th centuries made of Sanâ’i’s poetry: foremost among them are Shehâb-al-Din Sohravardi (d. 1191) in several of his Persian compositions; Ruzbehân Baqli Shirâzi (d. 1209), who in the introduction to his treatise on mystical love, Abhar al-âsheqin (The Jasmine of the Lovers), relates in an allegory a visionary encounter with a supernatural Beloved built on lines culled from Sanâ’i’s Hadiqe; and Najm-al-Din Dâye (d. 1256), who quoted liberally from Sanâ’i’s poetry in his Sufi manual Mersâd al-ebâd , written in 1223.85 Nasr-Allah Monshi, Tarjome-ye Kalile va Demne, ed. M. Minovi (Tehran, 1964), pp. 288-90; cf. F. Meier, Die schöne Mahsatī (Wiesbaden, 1963), pp. 49-53. It is not certain that this simple girl, whose name is also vocalized as Mehseti, is to be identified with the female poet and courtesan Mahsati. 85 On the reception of Sanâ’i in Persian literature, see further de Bruijn, Of Piety and Poetry, pp. 11-15. 84

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY As already mentioned, the growing popularity of Sanâ’i also had an impact on the textual tradition of his works. The tendency to attribute non-authentic poems to his hand reached a peak in the 16th and 17th centuries. Around the same time the idea became established that Sanâ’i had written a set of at least six mathnavis, sometimes referred to as his Sette in analogy to Nezâmi of Ganje’s set of five poems, the Khamse. A common feature of all these poems was the meter khafif, which Sanâ’i had chosen for his genuine mathnavis. This had given to this pattern the specific connotation of a pattern suitable for didactical poems.86 Most of these texts turned out to be works by later writers, which either by suppressing certain parts from the original texts or by adding Sanâ’i’s name inside one of their lines had been made suitable to pass as one of the latter’s genuine poems. Meanwhile the original texts in their unaltered form have come to light and it has been proven that they have nothing to do with Sanâ’i.87 To be distinguished from this set of pseudo-Sanâ’i mathnavis are two very short poems that appear much earlier in the tradition of authentic works by Sanâ’i. They are both to be found for the first time in the manuscript Velieddin No. 2627, the oldest dated copy of the poet’s collected works made at Herat in 684 A.H./1285.88 No author is mentioned and no other attributions are recorded. Moreover, both poems exhibit distinct traces of a close relationship to Sanâ’i’s style and even the contents of his genuine poems. One, entitled Aql-nâme (The Book of Reason), a poem in 190 couplets, summarizes the allegorical plot of the mathnavi Seyr alebâd ilâ ’ l-ma’ âd; the second, under the title of Tahrimat al-qalam (The Consecration of the Reed Pen), in about 100 couplets, is mainly built on an enigmatic description of the pen which is praised in particular on account of its capacity to express what takes place in the intellect (aql), the spirit (ruh), and the phantasy (vahm). After that, the personalized pen preaches to the readers, warning them against hypocrisy. It is most unlikely that According to metrical theory the khafif-e mosaddas-e makhbun-e mahdhuf. Cf. J.T.P. de Bruijn, “The Individuality of the Persian Metre Khafîf,” in Lars Johanson and Bo Utas, eds., Arabic Prosody and its Applications in Muslim Poetry (Istanbul and Stockholm, 1994), pp. 35-43. 87 See the discussion of this question in Utas, Tarīq ut-tahqīq, pp. 117-19. The complete set of the poems attributed to Sanâ’i was published by M.-T. Modarres-Razavi in Mathnavihâ-ye Hakim Sanâ’ i (Tehran, 1969). 88 Currently preserved in the Bayezit Library, Istanbul; cf. de Bruijn, Of Piety and Poetry, pp. 102-3 and passim. 86

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS these two poems were really Sanâ’i’s own work because there is no trace of them in earlier manuscripts. Probably they are the fruits of a copyist’s pen. Nevertheless, even if they are not authentic, they have a value of their own because they document the integration of Sanâ’i in the canon of Persian Sufi poetry. A special case among the later set of unauthentic poems is the Tariq al-tahqiq (The Path of verification), a poem in 948 couplets in the critical edition of Bo Utas. On the basis of a detailed investigation of the manuscripts, Utas concluded “that the poem has been ascribed to at least three different authors, but most consistently to Sanā’ī of Ghazna.”89 The most credible attribution is that to an almost unknown Sufi poet by the name of Ahmad b. al-Hasan b. Mohammad Nakhchavâni, who probably lived in the 15th century or perhaps a century earlier.90 This mathnavi belongs to a period when the predominance of Sufi ideas in didactic poetry was fully established, but it contains many signs of influence by Sanâ’i, particularly in the form of quotations from his Hadiqat al-haqiqe. Closer to Sanâ’i’s time are two mathnavis composed about the middle of the 12th century by Mo’ayyed-al-Din Nasafi. He was a state official at the Qarakhanid court of Samarqand, who was also in contact with the court of the Saljuq sultan Sanjar. Mo’ayyed’s mathnavis are extant only in one manuscript, containing further mathnavis by Sanâ’i and Nezâmi Ganjavi.91 Unfortunately, the codex is badly damaged, and this has also affected the two poems by Mo’ayyed-al-Din. Yet, enough has been left to provide an impression of their contents. Although Sanâ’i is never mentioned, there are several similar traits for a meaningful comparison between the two poets. Mo’ayyed-al-Din not only selected the meter khafif, his poems also display the same mixture of profane intentions and spiritual themes, which is the hallmark of Sanâ’i’s didactic poems. The first poem, in 805 couplets, carrying the Arabic title Nasim alsabâ elâ’ l-sabâ92 is in the first part structured as a continuing discourse, 89 Utas, Tarīq ut-taḥqīq, p. 5. 90 See further Utas, Tarīq ut-taḥqīq, “Conclusions,” pp. 130-34. 91 MS India Office (now British Library)nNo. 1444, copied in 637/1239-40; the manuscript is described in H. Ethé, Catalogue of Persian Manuscripts in the Library of the India Office (2 vols. Oxford, 1903-7), no. 916. 92 The word sabâ is in both instances written with the Arabic letter ṣād. The literal translation would then be “The Eastern Zephyr Blowing Toward the Gentle Breeze.”

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY including a mystical interpretation of the Islamic creed, the praise of God, and a eulogy of the concept of Love, defined as the driving force behind spiritual development; as well as a sequence of maxims interrupted by very brief anecdotes. The poet then starts to relate an allegorical tour of the heavens under the guidance of a personified entity called the “Spirit of the Soul” (ruh-e nafsâni). When the travelers reach the “Straight Sphere” (al-falak al-mostaqim), i.e. the Sphere of Spheres, the highest stage of the Ptolemaic cosmos and the place where only purified persons dwell, they meet with Majd-al-Din Abu’l-Hasan Emrâni, a counselor (modabber) of the Saljuq Sultan Sanjar, who is known to have been an important patron of the court poet Anvari. The rest of the poem consists of a eulogy of this statesman, with whom the poet seeks refuge from certain (unspecified) problems he has encountered at the court of Samarqand. In the course of this praise a number of people among the elite classes are the target of the poet’s satire on account of their stinginess—without naming anyone in particular—but other religiously minded and educated people (Sufis, preachers, teachers, men of letters, poets and astrologers) are mentioned with utmost respect. The title of the second poem in 1,365 couplets, Pahlavân-nâme (The Book of the champion), was derived from a honorific of another patron of Mo’ayyed’s, who can be identified as the nobleman Pahlavân-e jahân Jalâl-al-Din Abu’l-Ma’âli Ali, a commander (sepahsâlâr) in the Qarakhanid army, probably a member of the ruling house. The text is arranged in fourteen chapters (maqâles) with headings in Arabic, a prologue and an epilogue. The Spirit of the Soul is again introduced as the poet’s teacher. Interwoven with the homiletic contents is the praise of the Qarakhanid prince repeated at the end of each chapter. The main feature of the poem is again a symbolic story, telling of the meetings between the poet and his beloved in a garden which is in full bloom in spring. In every chapter a discussion with the beloved on a moral theme is recounted ending always in the disappearance of the evasive beloved after she has referred him to his princely patron, who gives the perfect example of the virtue they have been talking about. In spite of the poor state of their manuscript, Mo’ayyed-al-Din’s poems are of great interest to the history of literature because they document If the second word is a misspelling for sabâ (with a sīn), it would refer to Sheba, the homeland of king Solomon’s friend, Queen Bilqis.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS very well the transition from Sanâ’i to his most important successor as a didactical poet, Nezâmi of Ganje. No other didactic mathnavi composed in the course of the 12th century shows as well the same combination of a homiletic intention with quite mundane concerns. In spite of his sympathies for the teachings of the Sufis, Mo’ayyed-al-Din was a courtier, a man of the world serving powerful patrons among the officials of the two main states of his days. These texts resemble the didactical works of Sanâ’i by the use of allegory and brief anecdotes as illustrations of the author’s homilies. The division of the text of the Pahlavân-nâme into maqâles prefigures the didactical poetry of Nezâmi. It is not easy to find an all-encompassing definition that would best describe the genre under discussion as we find it in poems written in the course of the 12th century. Apart from the gnomic contents to be found already in earlier works, some new traits may be noticed. The writers show a concern to put their moralizing into the framework of a worldview based on scientific and metaphysical ideas as well as on religious concepts. The former are applied as metaphors for the human condition, but at the same time they sketch the real background against which life evolves in an existential cycle bringing the living person finally to where he or she was destined from the very beginning. The religious elements in the poet’s discourse provide this abstract model with a concrete substance. The realization of human entelechy during life amounts effectively to becoming a perfect member of the Islamic omma, the community of believers who follow God’s Law as it was revealed to the Prophet Mohammad. In the historical setting in which the writers lived, it is only natural that the ethics they teach should be already heavily tinged with the ascetic and mystical ideals which were at the core of Sufism, the rising religious current of the age. However, the surroundings also made an impact in a quite different manner. However much they urged their audience to look beyond the boundaries of earthly existence and to break off their attachment to the lower world, poets such as Sanâ’i of Ghazne and Mo’ayyed-e Nasafi still had to take care of their mundane connections to mighty patrons including a Ghaznavid sultan, a Qarakhanid prince and a minister of the Saljuqs. If we put these various influences into their proper perspective, the seemingly contradictory combination of otherworldly teachings and political ethics in these poems becomes more understandable. 47

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Khâqâni, Tohfat al-Erâqeyn An example of these contradictions is provided by the only mathnavi written by Khâqâni of Shirvân (ca. 1127-1199), a poet who is famous in particular for his monumental qasides in which homiletic and panegyric features are both very prominent. The Tohfat al-Erâqeyn (The Present [brought home] from the Two Iraqs),93 as Khâqâni’s mathnavi is entitled, could be classified as a travelogue in verse because the poem is in the first place the account of a pilgrimage to Mecca undertaken by Khâqâni in 1156, and of his visits to the major cities along his route. A major concern of the poet is the praise of the notables whom he meets in these places, the ultimate addressee of the poem being Jamâl-ad-Din, a vizier of the Zangid rulers in Mosul. However, personification also plays an important part in the poem: acting as a the poet’s interlocutor and guide throughout the poem, the Sun is at the same time a symbolic figure, representing first the Prophet Mohammad, but finally merging with the person to whom the poem is dedicated. The intricate structure of the poem is further complicated by the use of allegory. Before the account of his actual journey, Khâqâni describes an allegorical visit to an imaginary country, called Qohestân, “Mountainous Area,” where he meets with an anonymous guide, the khʷâje-ye bozorg, “the Great Master,” then with the prophet Khezr, and finally eulogizes the Prophet Mohammad, describing his nocturnal journey to heaven (me’râj).94 Khezr’s appearance in this poem could be compared to that of the Old Man in Sanâ’i’s didactic mathnavis. He is the Guide who approaches the poet when, on his journey towards spiritual development, he has come to a dire spot. To the poet’s question why he has taken the trouble to descend into this “dwelling of vile people” (bongâh-e khasân), Khezr replies that the mystical saints in the Lebanon had told him that Khâqâni was in great need 93

Referring to Erâq-e Arab, “Arabian Iraq,” or Mesopotamia, and Erâq-e Ajam, “Persian Iraq,” the medieval appellation of ancient Media in western Persia. 94 A.L.F.A. Beelaert, A Cure for the Grieving: Studies on the Poetry of the 12th-Century Persian Court Poet Khāqānī Šīrwānī (Leiden, 2000), examined several aspects of this remarkable poem. The Tohfat was first published in an unsatisfactory edition by Yah­yâ Qarib (Tehran, 1954), but since then two critical editions have appeared: with Khatm al-garâ’eb, ed. Yusof-Ali Abbâsâbâd (Tehran 2007) and Tohfat al-Erâqeyn, ed. Ali Safari Âq Qal’e (Tehran, 2009) as their chosen first title; a facsimile ed. by Iraj Afshar was published under the title Khatm al-garâ’eb (Tehran and Vienna, 2006).

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS of his guidance.95 He then starts on a brief homily on the treacherous condition of Time (ayyâm), which offers both honey and poison. One should stay away from this monster and not be beguiled by its colors and scents, neither the rosy dawn nor the black musk of the night. Khâqâni poses a number of queries about this world, such as how long it will keep human beings imprisoned; whether it is possible to escape from the boundaries of the dimensions and the senses; what could be found on the other side of the equator. These and similar questions of a philosophical and scientific nature are all rejected by Khezr as “Ionian talk,” not worth more than a yuni.96 Not philosophy, but only the Qur’an and the Law are the true sources of wisdom. “The leader of the Qoreysh is better than the man from Bukhara.” One should beware of the “guides of Time” (pirân-e zamâne), by which undoubtedly the teachers of profane wisdom are intended. The homily of Khezr ends with the call to abandon the world, a frozen place where one can only hibernate in expectation of the coming of spring. The poet should leave this “realm of illusions” and take hold of the stirrups of the Prophet Mohammad.97 The didactics of Khâqâni’s Tohfat al-Erâqeyn do not go into any detail but are restricted to the function of a pious prologue to the poem’s actual subject, which is the account of a pilgrimage.

Farid-al-Din Attâr The intertwining of the secular and the mystical threads which we found in the didactic poems just mentioned, is also evident in many poems written during the subsequent centuries, as we will have occasion to show later in this chapter. The true heirs to Sanâ’i’s mystical legacy are two poets who are also the most outstanding figures in Sufi literature: Farid-al-Din Attâr (d. probably about 1221) and Jalâl-al-Din Mohammad Rumi (120773). Both the reclusive pharmacist of Nishapur and the renowned mystical 95 A reference to the elect saints upon whom the existence of the world depends and who were believed to gather around the Qotb at Mount Lebanon in Syria; cf. Hojviri, Kashf al-mahjub, tr. Reynold A. Nicholson, as The Kashf al-Maḥjúb: The Oldest Persian Treatise on Sufism (London, 1936), p. 214; I. Goldziher, “Abdāl,” EI2 , I, pp. 94-95. 96 I.e. an obol, a small Greek coin. 97 Khâqâni, Tohfat al-Erâqeyn, ed. Qarib, pp. 58-72.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY teacher in Konya lived and worked at a distance from the courts. They not only rejected the support which royal patronage could provide, but they also largely ignored such worldly topics as the ethics of kingship to which Sanâ’i had given considerable attention—as did several other later great writers of didactic mathnavis, in particular Nezâmi of Ganje, Sa’di, and even the Sufi shaikh Jâmi. As it has been explained at the beginning, our concern in the present account is with the secular side of didacticism in Persian mathnavis. In spite of this principle, we cannot pass by these two great mystical poets because they have made major contributions to the development of the literary characteristics of this genre. Until the middle of the last century, Attâr’s poetical output, including a remarkable number of mathnavis, had not been properly studied. Only when Sa’id Nafisi and Hellmut Ritter initiated the critical investigation of this corpus, did it become clear that only some of the mathnavis that had appeared under his name could be safely accepted as genuine works. The rest constitutes a miscellany of poems by anonymous authors, some probably inadvertently placed under Attâr’s name, and others put into circulation as deliberate forgeries. These works, composed between the 13th and 15th centuries, are important documents for the study of the impact made by Attâr’s poetry, but only the genuine works can tell us anything about Attâr himself as an inventive writer of didactical poetry.98 Among the four poems which concern us here, the most celebrated is Manteq al-teyr (The Speech of the birds, often paraphrased in English translation as “The Conference of the Birds”).99 The poem describes the quest of the birds for their King under the guidance of the hoopoe (hodhod). It is based on Qur’anic stories about King Solomon, who was a Prophet in Islam and moreover knew the language of the birds. However, the poem also introduces an element of ancient Iranian lore: the mythical Simorgh, who turns out to be the king that the birds are looking for. In accordance to the popular etymology of this name, a group of thirty (si) birds (morgh) survive the perils of the quest and finally merge with the Simorgh. The poem consists mainly of a series of speeches delivered by each of the 98 99

A critical revision of the corpus of Attâr’s mathnavis was made by Sa’id Nafisi, Jostoju dar ahvâl va âthâr-e Farid-al-Din Attâr-e Nishâburi (Tehran, 1941); cf. Hellmut Ritter, “Philologika XIV: Farīuddin ʿAṭṭār II,” in Oriens 11 (1958), pp. 1-8. Critical editions of Manteq al-teyr have been published by Sayyed Sâdeq Gowharin (Tehran, 1969) and Mohammad-Rezâ Shafi’i-Kadkani (Tehran, 2004).

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS assembled birds, in which they try to excuse themselves from taking part in the perilous search for the mysterious King. The speeches all contain a number of anecdotes illustrating certain points of the argumentation of the birds or merely an idea which Attâr himself wants to emphasize. Stories are such a prominent element in all Attâr’s mathnavis that Hellmut Ritter could base on these stories his monumental study of the poet’s views on “men, the world and God.”100 The largest of these secondary tales is the story of Shaikh San’ân, which is a part of the great speech held by the hoopoe in refutation of all the objections put forward by the other birds. A similar pattern, a frame story encompassing shorter tales, was applied by Attâr to two other mathnavis. In the Elâhi-nâme (The Divine book) the frame narrative is about a dispute between a Caliph and his seven sons. First the father asks the princes to tell him their dearest wishes. Each prince appears to have set his mind on one of the things that provide pleasure, power or wealth in the present world, such as the princess of the Peris, the cup of the ancient king Jam, the ring of Solomon, or the elixir of the alchemists. Together the wishes constitute the list of the seven cardinal vices of medieval moral doctrine. Then the Caliph counters all these desires by preaching the pursuit of an otherworldly goal.101 The Mosibat-nâme (The Book of affliction) relates the quest of an allegorical protagonist, named the Traveling Meditation ( fekr-e sâlek) for his true self. The Traveler follows an itinerary through the metaphysical universe, first going downwards from the realm of the angels to the material world, and then upwards again until he meets with the Prophet Mohammad, who tells him to seek his aim inside his own soul. At every stage, the Traveler interrogates one of the instances of this universe including angels, transcendental entities, the stars and the planets, the material elements, the main physical forms of the world and the kingdoms of nature, the prophets of Islam and the divisions of the human psyche.102 Attâr explains that 100 Hellmut Ritter, Das Meer der Seele: Mensch, welt und Gott in den geschichten des Farīduddīn ‘Attār (Leiden, 1955, reprint 1980); English tr. by John O’Kane and Bernd Radtke as The Ocean of the Soul (Leiden, 2003). 101 Ed. by Hellmut Ritter (Istanbul, 1940); and by Fo’âd Ruhâni (Tehran, 1972); tr. John Andrew Boyle as as The Ilāhi-nāma, or, Book of God of Farīd al-Dīn ʿAṭṭar, (Manchester, 1976). A new critical edition has been published by Mohammad-Rezâ Shafi’i-Kadkani (Tehran, 2008). 102 Ed. by Nurâni Vesâl (Tehran, 1959); partial French tr. by Isabelle de Gastines (Paris, 1981).

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY he has used in this poem the allegorical device of zabân-e hâl, “speech of condition,” letting each item encountered by the Traveler tell about the meanings concealed in his being. This is also called zabân-e fekrat, ‘speech of meditation,’ and Attâr claims that this kind of speech is more truthful than zabân-e qâl, “actual speech.”103 The Asrâr-nâme (The Book of secrets), apparently a work of the poet’s old age, is of a different nature. It does also contain a great number of anecdotes, but no frame narrative as in the other three mathnavis. The text is divided into twenty-two chapters (maqâles) without headings, but this division does not occur in the earliest manuscripts, and does not follow closely the line of the poem’s discourse; it may not therefore be authentic. The Asrâr-nâme constitutes a continuous homily dealing with a seemingly unsystematic concatenation of Sufi themes, and belongs therefore to the same structural type as Sanâ’i’s Hadiqat al-haqiqe and Rumi’s Mathnavi-ye ma’navi.104 Comparable homiletic patterns can be detected in Attâr’s ghazals and qasides.105 According to legend, the young Rumi would have received a copy of this poem as a present when in 1215 his family visited Attâr on their journey westwards from Balkh. Some of the anecdotes of the Asrâr-nâme do indeed also occur in Rumi’s Mathnavi, but the historicity of this encounter remains uncertain. According to Christiane Tortel, who translated two-thirds of the poem into French, the main theme is death, discussed from the point of view of the personality’s dissolution ( fanâ) in the Divine and its subsequent state of permanence (baqâ), Attâr belongs unequivocally to the Sufi tradition of Persian poetry. Although he has much to say about the just and the unjust exercise of power, no references at all to the actual rulers of his own times can be found in his works. This is a major difference from his predecessor Sanâ’i. Attâr’s 103 The expression zabân-e hâl is used here in a rhetorical sense, i.e. the wordless speech of an emblematic item through the characteristic features of its condition. See further the comprehensive monograph by Nasr-Allâh Purjavâdi, Zabân-e hâl (Tehran, 2007). 104 Christiane Tortel, Le Livre des secrets (Asrār-nāma) (Paris, 1985), pp. 15-17. Critical editions of Asrâr-nâma were published by Sayyed Sâdeq Gowharin (Tehran, 1959) and by Mohammad-Rezâ Shafi’i-Kadkani (Tehran, 2007) . 105 Cf. J.T.P. de Bruijn, “The Preaching Poet: Three Homiletic Poems by Farīd al-Dīn ʿAṭṭār,” Edebiyât 9 (1998), pp. 85-100. On the contents and structure of mystical mathnavis see also Julian Baldick, “Medieval Ṣūfī Literature in Persian Prose,” in G. Morrison, ed., History of Persian Literature from the Beginning of the Islamic Period to the Present Day (Leiden and Cologne, 1981), pp.85-109.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS concern is mystical education towards the ultimate goal of the dissolution ( fanâ) of the human personality into the Divine, where it can take part in a permanent form of existence (baqâ) after leaving this world at the time of death. The most important themes of these mathnavis are therefore beyond the limits of the present discussion. They are only relevant to us here in so as far as they preach an ascetic way of life in preparation to the attainment of this mystical goal. Hellmut Ritter has summarized his widely ranging analysis of Attâr’s mystical ideas in four types of Islamic piety (“islamische frömmigkeit”). One of these consists of “the loosening of worldly aims in favor of higher, religious ideals.” 106 The poem focusing in particular on this propaedeutic tract of the mystical path is the Elâhinâme. In this mathnavi, the poet hides himself behind the persona of the Caliph who teaches his sons to attach new meanings to their aspirations for sensual pleasures, power, wealth and similar valuable things that this world could offer them. For sensual enjoyments, he substitutes faithful conjugal love; for the Satanic control of magic, the value of selfless charity; for the possession of Jamshid’s Cup (a symbol of pride), the virtue of humility; for the Water of Life−intended as insatiable greed (hers)−the true meaning of this emblem which is wisdom; for Salomon’s ring giving might and power, the awareness that kingship in this world is transient; for the elixir of the alchemists by which they make gold, the view that all desire remains unfulfilled until the grave.107

Jalâl-al-Din Rumi, Mathnavi-ye ma’navi Aflâki, the historian of the founders of the Mowlavi tradition, relates an anecdote about how Rumi started on his magnum opus. One of Rumi’s pupils told him in private that his companions delighted in the “strange higher meanings” of the works of Sanâ’i and Attâr, but that they “appeared wondrous to them.” He begged Mowlânâ to compose a work himself “in the manner of the Elâhi-nâme of the Hakim [i.e. Sanâ’i’s Hadiqat al-haqiqe] but in the meter of the Manteq al-teyr.” On the spot Rumi produced from 106 Ritter, Das Meer der Seele, p. 636: “die loslösung von weltlichen zielsetzungen zugunsten höherer, religiöser ideale.” 107 Cf. the summary by Ritter, Das Meer der Seele, pp. 4-8, and Attâr, Elâhi-nâma, tr. Boyle.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY his turban a sheet on which the first eighteen couplets, with the famous lament of the reed, were written and handed this to his famulus Chelebi Hosâm-al-Din, who became the person to whom the entire poem was dictated.108 The Mathnavi-ye ma’navi (Spiritual couplets) is not only the absolute masterpiece of Sufi poetry, it is also almost unique in Persian literature as a whole. The only work that could stand a comparison to it, both as far as its size and its literary prominence are concerned, is Ferdowsi’s epic Shâhnâme. The name under which this huge poem became known, is not really a title but rather a descriptive characterization. It indicates first the literary form and then the nature of the poem as a work in which the inner meanings constitute the essential contents. It came into being in the course of little more than a decade, from about 1260 till Rumi’s death in 1273. It is said that the poet had already stopped dictating it some years earlier. The end of the last book is indeed rather abrupt, which suggests that the Mathnavi-ye ma’navi was left unfinished. According to traditional accounts, the text was dictated in fragments, often on the spur of the moment either during a mystical session or in such unlikely surroundings as a public bath. This may be a convincing image of the poem’s origin, but this initial oral phase must have been directly followed by editorial work bringing it into the literary shape in which the poem is presently known. The oldest copies preserved were made already during Rumi’s lifetime. At the shrine of Rumi in Konya a copy of the Mathnavi is kept that is dated 677 A.H. (1278 CE), i.e. only five years after the author’s death in 1273. This manuscript has been published as a facsimile both in Iran and in Turkey.109 The printed editions by Reynold A. Nicholson (1925-40, in eight volumes including also a translation and commentary) and Mohammad Este’lâmi (2nd ed. 1990, in seven volumes), who could both avail themselves of this invaluable source, have therefore almost authorial status, a very rare thing in the history of medieval Persian poetry. The Mathnavi-ye ma’navi is divided into six volumes of about equal length, to the total amount of 25,633 couplets in the edition of Nicholson. Rumi chose the same meter as Attâr in his Manteq al-teyr, but in other stylistic features the Mathnavi is closer to Sanâ’i’s didactical poem. Each 108 Shams-al-Din Ahmad Aflâki, Manâqeb al-ârefin, tr. John O’Kane as The Feats of the Knowers of God (Leiden, 2002), pp. 516-17. 109 Respectively in Tehran (1992) and Ankara (1993).

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS volume is introduced by a piece of highly ornate Arabic prose. Apart from the first volume, which opens with the celebrated “Song of the Reed,” all other volumes open with an address to Hosâm-al-Din Chelebi, who was to Rumi much more than a mere secretary. As his most trusted disciple, he had taken the place formerly held by Shams-al-Din of Tabriz, who nevertheless, even after his demise, continued to be the real inspiration to all Rumi’s literary activities. This becomes clear from several overt or oblique references to Shams-al-Din in the text of the Mathnavi. After the death of Mowlânâ, Hosâm-al-Din became his first successor (khalife) as the spiritual head of the Mevlevi community in Konya. Millions of readers inside and outside the world of Islam have admired the Mathnavi-ye ma’navi as a great mystical poem, and since the 19th century many translations into western languages have been attempted, e.g., by Georg Rosen into German; Edward Whinfield, Charles Wilson, Jawid Mojaddedi, and Alan Williams into English. This monumental poem was first of all the fundamental text of the Mevlevi Order, where the need to make its spiritual and moral teachings more accessible to the adepts was most deeply felt. This gave rise to a sizeable additional literature in the form of commentaries, in Turkish and Arabic as well as in Persian, abridgements and even to the composition of a spurious seventh book added to the six original books of the Mathnavi in some later manuscripts. In Iran, during the Qajar period, a children’s version, concentrating on the most famous stories in the poem and illustrated, was published in a lithographed edition.110 In one of his scattered statements on the Mathnavi, Nicholson called this poem “a grand story-book.”111 Yet, it would be wrong to characterize the poem as nothing more than a huge collection of mystical tales. The narrative contents, in spite of their prominence, do not constitute the essential subject matter of the poem, which is a didactical text in the first place. The stories help the preaching poet to hold the attention of his audience but, more than that, to find clues for the digressions leading him to the discussion of the manifold mystical and moral points he wishes to make. The subordinate role of the stories explains why Rumi so frequently strays from the line of his story whenever the opportunity of an association 110 Mathnavi al-atfâl (Tehran, 1891); cf. Ulrich Marzolph, Narrative Illustration in Persian Lithographed Books, (Leiden, 2001), p. 253. 111 Cf. A.J. Arberry, Classical Persian Literature (London, 1958), p. 236.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY offers itself. A good example is the beginning of the first tale about the illness of a slave-girl. The exposition of the plot has hardly started—a king finds a girl on a hunting trip, takes her home and makes her his favorite slave, but she falls ill; the doctors he consults cannot heal her in spite of their professional claims—when, availing himself of the supposition that they might have been disrespectful towards God by omitting the formula in shâ’ Allâh, “if God wills,” he inserts an admonition on the necessity of politeness, also in the behavior of a mystic. To the uninitiated reader this seems to be a trivial matter, but Rumi’s remark may very well have been of considerable importance in the concrete situation in which this particular part of the text was dictated. In the same manner, the development of a major narrative is time and again interrupted by telling another tale as soon as this serves the poet’s intention at a certain point in his discourse. This curious manner of handling the narrative material of his poem is one of the most original features of Rumi’s style, a compositional technique which he also applied in his collection of mystical discourses in prose, the Fihi mâ fih (literally “What’s In It Is In It”). The latter work has been described as “a miscellany or potpourri of disparate sources, topics, speech occasions and so forth.”112 This characterization could equally be applied to the Mathnavi-ye ma’navi. However, one should not conclude from this that the poem is merely a collection of “rambling anecdotes of the most various character … interspersed with mystical and theosophical digressions,” as Edward Browne has described it.113 A proper view of its structure can only be attained when the circumstances of its origins are taken into account. The Mathnavi came into being, not in the first place as a literary composition, but as the result of more than a decade of Rumi’s teaching and preaching. This means that the original draft of the poem must have shown all the characteristics of an oral composition which Rumi dictated to his pupils in a very long sequence of didactical sessions.114

112 Franklin D. Lewis, Rumi Past and Present, East and West: The Life, Teachings, and Poetry of Jalal al-Din Rumi (Oxford, 2000), p. 292. 113 Browne, LHP II, p. 520. 114 Cf. Bausani, Letterature persiana, p. 712: “il Poema fu appunto dettato ai suoi discepoli come un enorme, lunghissimo séguito di lezioni.”

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS Nezâmi, Makhzan al-asrâr It is tempting to assume that Nezâmi of Ganje deliberately designed the first poem of his Khamse as a didactic work; that, from the onset, he intended this poem, Makhzan al-asrâr (The Treasury of secrets), to provide the theoretical background to the other parts of this famous set, which are all narrative poems. There is however no evidence for claiming that Nezâmi ever made such a masterplan for his life’s work. The all-encompassing title of his five mathnavis was probably given to them post factum, when they had all been completed and presented as a group. On the other hand, the first place that is always given to the Makhzan al-asrâr in the manuscripts of the Khamse does conform to the priority of its origin. The writing of this comparatively short poem (2,262 couplets in the critical edition by Ali Alizâde, Baku, 1960) was Nezâmi’s first attempt at the composition of a mathnavi. In one of the sections praising the Prophet Mohammad he dates the moment of writing by mentioning the number of years passed by since the Prophet’s death in the year 11 A.H. (632 CE). The readings of the year date in this line differ considerably in the manuscripts, but the oldest of the variants reads the date as “550,” so there is reason to believe that the poem was indeed composed in or about 561 A.H. or 1165-66 CE. The Makhzan is dedicated to Fakhr-al-Din Bahrâmshâh b. Dâvud of the house of Mengüchek, who reigned from about 1160 to 1220 over the small principality of Erzincan in eastern Anatolia. During the long period of his reign he turned Erzincan into a flourishing cultural center, patronizing not only Nezâmi but also the poet Khâqâni.115 We do not know whether Nezâmi actually attended this court in person. Explaining in the prologue the reasons why he began this work, Nezâmi refers to his predecessor Sanâ’i of Ghazne, availing himself of the coincidence that both his patron and the patron of Sanâ’i’s Hadiqat al-haqiqe bear the name of Bahrâmshâh. He compares their two poems to minted coins and gold, claiming with the usual pride of a professional poet that his coins and his gold are superior. In spite of the thin thread Nezâmi uses to link the two works, there can be no doubt that he conceived the Makhzan al-asrâr as a nazire, an “emulation,” of Sanâ’i’s Hadiqat al-haqiqe. At the same time, he took care to distance himself from the latter poem by a 115 Cf. Cl. Cahen, “Mengūček,” in EI2 , VI, pp. 1016-17.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY number of features so as to stress the originality of his own work. This appears, first of all, in the choice of a metrical pattern. Instead of the meter khafif, that had become the hallmark of Sanâ’i’s mathnavis, he selected one of the patterns of the meter sari’.116 Up to the time of Nezâmi, this pattern had not been chosen for a mathnavi, but with Makhzan al-asrâr establishing itself as a favorite model for imitation among later generations of poets, the meter became a popular option for didactic poems.117 More fundamental, however, are the structural differences between the two poems. In contrast to the apparent lack of a recognizable structure in Sanâ’i’s example, Nezâmi went to a great length to design a number of formal elements which bound the varied contents of his poem within a tight literary framework. The poem belongs to the mathnavis introduced by a dibâche, i.e. by an extensive prologue containing the treatment of a sequence of obligatory subjects such as the praise of God, the Prophet and the patron or patrons of the poet, as well as some “free” topics which are different in each poem. As we have seen, this type of mathnavi is already exemplified by Ferdowsi’s Shâh-nâme.118 The Makhzan ends with a brief epilogue. The main subject matter is dealt with in twenty thematic chapters (maqâles), each of which contains only one exemplary story illustrating an important point made in the discourse of the chapter, after which it is concluded by a further discussion of more or less related topics. Nearly every chapter ends with a line containing Nezâmi’s pen name. The ad lib sections of the prologue are among the most interesting features of the poem, and at least one of them has become a model followed in subsequent mathnavis, whether didactic or narrative, including the later poems of Nezâmi’s own Khamse. In the five sections of his eulogy of Mohammad, Nezâmi inserted a poeticized account of the me’râj, the Prophet’s ascent to heaven. Although this was not the first specimen of this genre in Persian poetry−Asadi, Sanâ’i and Khâqâni had treated this topic before him−Nezâmi gave it a place in his scheme for a prologue which gained the status of an obligatory rule for this kind of composition. 116 The meter sari’-e mosaddas-e matvi-ye mowquf (Elwell-Sutton, Persian Metres, 3.4.11). 117 Cf. Henry Blochmann, The Prosody of the Persians (Calcutta, 1872), pp. 55-56; Elwell-Sutton, Persian Metres, p. 100. 118 See de Bruijn, Of Piety and Poetry, pp.185-91; idem, “Mathnawī. 2. In Persian.”

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS Another element of the prologue elaborated by Nezâmi was the conventional praise of sokhan (the word), understood in all its meanings, from God’s Word of Creation and the metaphysical Logos to the words of the poet. On Nezâmi’s scale of spiritual vocations, a high place is assigned to the poets, immediately after the rank of the prophets. This implies a highminded opinion of poetical art, which is said to be not only superior to prose writing, but is also distinguished from the practice of the court poet, whose servility to his patrons, as well as his insincerity and greed, Nezâmi abhors. This lofty view of his vocation is exhibited in an allegory narrating a nocturnal journey in search of guidance for his own poetry. This brings him to the doorstep of his own heart, which becomes the director of his further development. When after two sessions of nightly seclusion (khalvat) dawn finally breaks, the guide brings him to a splendid garden described by Nezâmi through the imagery of Persian love poetry. This is the first instance of his great talent for nature poetry using to the full the opportunities for the attribution of symbolic meanings, which characterizes Nezâmi’s unique style. The fascinating artistry of this evocation of nature, symbolizing his quest for inspiration, remained without a parallel, even within his own Khamse. The clear composition of the Makhzan al-asrâr is not matched by an equally straightforward arrangement of its contents. In this respect, Nezâmi’s discourse closely follows the homiletic style of his predecessor Sanâ’i. He deals with his themes in brief didactic considerations, bound together solely by association, not by a logical line of thought. The persuasive force of the discourse, which is the characteristic quality of a poetic homily, is achieved by the application of rhetorical refinement and an overwhelming richness of imagery. To illustrate his teachings, he draws upon the entire range of scientific and philosophical lore of his time, just as he takes his examples from very different aspects of life. The idiosyncratic style of Nezâmi, which marks all his mathnavis, has often been qualified as “manneristic.” In this early work, it appears to have been fully developed already. As the support of a story line, which facilitates the reading of his narrative poems, is usually absent in his theoretical discussions, the Makhzan al-asrâr is also his most difficult composition.119 119 The fundamental analysis of Nezâmi’s style is still Hellmut Ritter, Über die Bildersprache Nīẓāmīs (Berlin-Leipzig, 1927); but see now Renate Würsch, Nīẓāmīs Schatzkammer der Geheimnisse: Eine Untersuchung zu ‘Maḫzan ul-asrār’ (Wiesbaden,

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY From a survey of the titles of the chapters a general impression of the poem’s contents can be gained. In the first chapter, the discussion of the human condition is illustrated by the history of Adam, the first man and the first prophet, his fall and expulsion from Paradise, and his subsequent repentance, after which he becomes the first ruler of the world. This is followed by a sequence of chapters (II-IV) that form a minor mirror-forprinces, demanding of the ruler the maintenance of justice in this world and the good care of his subjects. Then the attention is turned to special aspects of the human condition: weakness and ageing, man’s superiority over animals, and the constitution of the created world (V-VIII). The homiletic intention comes to the foreground when the author starts to harangue his readers, warning them against the temptations of the world and urging them to prepare themselves for the end of their earthly existence and the attainment of eternal bliss (IX-XIII). In the last part of the poem (XIV-XX) Nezâmi alternatively condemns envious and insincere people, as well as the depraved “men of this world” in general, and recommends a religious attitude and pious behavior in expectation of the life to come. Renate Würsch, who has published an almost exhaustive study of this poem, recognized three central themes determining the variegated didactical contents of the twenty chapters of the Makhzan al-Asrâr. The first theme concerns the duties of the righteous Islamic prince, who is urged to maintain the rule of justice; the second is an exhortation, directed towards all people, to severe the ties that still attach them to this transient world; the third consists of a warning for the impending Day of Judgment.120 In the third Maqâle, Nezâmi discusses the havâdeth (events), i.e. the vicissitudes of life. He is addressing a Khʷâje, “a man of distinction.” By this respectful title, he refers ironically to someone who is deluded by his own wealth and power and needs to be reminded of their inherent futility. The Khʷâje is admonished: He should not put his trust in this transient existence. Nezâmi makes use of images which are familiar, even to western readers, from the quatrains attributed to Omar Khayyâm: Hokm cho bar âqebatandishi-st Mohtashami bande-ye darvishi-st 2005), pp. 72-126. The latter work also contains translations with a detailed commentary of all the stories in the Makhzan al-asrâr. 120 Renate Würsch, Schatzkammer, in particular pp. 245-69.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS Molk-e Soleymân matalab k-ân kojâst Molk hamân-ast Soleymân kojâ-st Hejle hamân-ast ke Adhrâ-sh bast Bazm hamân-ast ke Vâmeq neshast Sâl-e jahân gar che basi bar godhasht Az sar-e muy-ash sar-e muyi nagasht Khâk hamân khasm-e qavigardan-ast Charkh hamân zâlem-e gardanzan-ast Sohbat-e giti ke tamannâ konad Bâ ke vafâ kard ke bâ mâ konad Khâk shod ânkas ke bar-in khâk zist Khâk che dânad ke dar-in khâk chist Har varaqi chehre-ye âzâde-i-st Har qadami farq-e malekzâde-i-st To rule means to be aware of the ending: True honor is being a servant to a beggar. Do not seek the kingdom of Solomon! Where has it gone? The kingdom is still there, but where is Solomon? The room where Adhrâ dwelt in seclusion is still here; The banquet is still here at which Vâmeq sat down. So many years went by over the world, But nothing, not the tip of a hair, has changed. The earth remained the same robust opponent, Heaven the same headman who will chop off your head. Who would wish to stick to this earthly realm? Would it be faithful to us, if it never was to anyone? Whoever lived here went down into earth, But the earth does not know what it contains. Every leaf is the withered face of a noble person; Wherever you go, you tread on the crown of a prince’s head.121

Although Nezâmi might have regarded the didacticism of his poem its most essential element, to modern readers its twenty brief, but often charming anecdotes have a special attraction of their own. These stories constitute the best known parts of the Makhzan al-asrâr. Usually they are inserted in the poet’s discourse at the occasion of some detail which need 121 Nezâmi, Makhzan al-asrâr, ed. A.A. Alizâde (Baku, 1960), pp. 100-101; ed. Behruz Tharvatiyân (Tehran, 1984), pp. 133-34.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY not always be very essential to the general theme under discussion. They tell about prophets and kings, but also about commoners and animals. A common device is a conversation between two protagonists who comment on something they witness or hear, for instance the story about the Sasanid king Khosrow Anushirvân and his vizier, who overhear a conversation between two birds in a ruined village. The story of an old woman approaching Sultan Sanjar during a hunting party with her complaints of injustice, merges with the following theoretical continuation so imperceptibly that it is hard to say where the story actually ends. Another famous anecdote relates how Jesus responded to the coarse remarks of his companions on the carcass of a dog, pointing out to them the beauty of the dead animal’s teeth. Pây-e Masihâ ke jahân mi navasht Bar sar-e bâzârche-i mi godhasht Gorg-e sagi bar godhar oftâde did Yusof-ash az chah dar oftâde did Bar sar-e ân jife goruhi qatâr Bar sefat-e karkas-e mordârkhʷâr Goft yaki vahshat-e in dar demâgh Tiregi ârad cho nafas dar cherâgh V-ân degari goft na bas hâsel-ast Kori-e chashm-ast-o balây-e del-ast Surat-e har morgh navâyi namud Bar sar-e ân jife jafâyi namud Chun be sokhan nowbat-e Isâ rasid Eyb rahâ kard-o be ma’ni rasid Guft ze naqshi ke dar eyvân-e u-st Dor be sepidi na cho dandân-e u-st When the Messiah traveled around the world, He happened to pass by a small marketplace. There was a scabby dog lying beside the road, Whose Joseph had escaped from the well. Surrounding it stood a group of drivers Like vultures lurking at a carrion. One said: “The disgust of this darkens Your brain as if a candle is blown.” Another remarked: “No, this is even worse: It blinds your eyes, it makes you sick!”

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS Each one of them sang a different song, All insulting and cursing this carrion. When it was Jesus’ turn to speak, He did not scold, but he hit the mark. He said: ‘Look, what a beautiful portal! No pearl matches the whiteness of his teeth!’122

The narratives in Makhzan al-asrâr have become favorite subjects of Persian miniature painting. One of the most splendid scenes in a Khamse-manuscript is often the picture of the Prophet Mohammad’s ascent to heaven illustrating the prologue of the Makhzan al-asrâr.123 Many modern writers on Persian literature have not shown much appreciation for Nezâmi’s didactic poem. The influential critic Edward Browne found it to be “inferior in quality” and especially disliked the meter in which is was written.124 To Alessandro Bausani, this poem was “artistically and structurally the least important of the poet’s works.”125 However, E. E. Berthels (Bertel’s), the Russian scholar and expert on Nezâmi, though admitting that there was a certain “dryness” in this work, appreciated the outstanding beauty of certain passages and fully recognized its important role in the history of Persian didactical poetry.126 The Makhzan al-asrâr became indeed a “hit,” there is no better word to characterize its amazing success. To several generations of Persian poets, in particular those with a mystical inclination, this poem with its clear structure constituted the ideal form to present moral themes in an orderly fashion, in spite of all their variety. Even considering the fact that it belonged to the Khamse, a set of poems attracting many would-be imitators, the 122 Nezâmi, Makhzan al-asrâr, ed. Alizâde, pp. 160-61; ed. Tharvatiân, p. 187. This parable can be found in Indian, Arabic, and Sufi literature; it is also told in Attâr’s Mosibat-nâme; see Ritter, Das Meer der Seele, p. 241; Würsch, Schatzkammer, pp. 53, 319-23. 123 Among the most splendid specimens are the Makhzan al-asrâr miniatures in the Khamse painted at the workshop of Shâh Thamâsp in Tabriz between 1539-43 (British Library, Or. 2265), which have been frequently reproduced (accessible online at http://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/FullDisplay.aspx?ref=Or_2265; cf. Norah Titley, Persian Miniature Painting (London, 1983), pp. 84-88. 124 Browne, LHP II, p. 403. 125 Bausani, Letteratura persiana, p. 642: “senza dubio artisticamente e costruttivamente il meno significativo.” 126 E. Berthels, “Nīẓāmī,” in EI2 , VIII, pp. 76-81.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Makhzan al-asrâr was taken as a model far more frequently than the other poems of the set. Moreover, Nezâmi’s poem was followed meticulously in all its features including, not only the meter sari’ , but also other elements of the framework that Nezâmi had devised. The titles given to nazires of the Makhzan al-asrâr usually echo the title of the original, both linguistically and semantically, such as Amir Khosrow’s Matla’ al-anvâr (The Dawn of the lights); Khʷâju Kermâni’s Rowzat al-anvâr (The Garden of lights); and Jâmi’s two poems modeled on the Makhzan al-asrâr: his Tohfat al-ahrâr (The Present for the noble) and Sobhat al-abrâr (The Rosary for the pious). In due course, we will look into these poems more closely. Also in the post-classical period the fascination with Nezâmi’s didactical poem did not end, neither in Persia nor on the Indian Subcontinent and the Ottoman Empire. There were also imitations written in Turkish.127

Sa’di, Bustân (Sa’di-nâme) Although the biography of Sa’di (ca. 1212-92) is riddled with conjectures, it is commonly accepted as a fact that in the late 1250’s he returned to his hometown Shiraz after a long period of travels. Dar aqsâ-ye giti begashtam basi Be-sar bordam ayyâm bâ har kasi Tamatto be har gushe-i yâftam Ze-har kharmani khushe-i yâftam I have traveled to the farthest ends of the earth And have spent my time with all kinds of people. In each corner I could find something to enjoy, Everywhere I could harvest a few grains.128

With these words Sa’di starts to explain why he wrote his first didactic work, which he intended to bring with him as a traveler’s gift to the “good 127 See Würsch, Schatzkammer, pp. 20-25, with further bibliographical references. The many didactic passages in other poems of Nezâmi’s Khamse will be discussed in the chapter on the Romantic mathnavi in the present volume. 128 Sa’di, Bustân, ed. Gh.-H. Yusofi (2nd printing, Tehran, 1984), p. 37; cf. tr. G.M. Wickens as Morals Pointed and Tales Adorned (Leiden, 1974), p. 8.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS people of Shiraz.” He compares his words to candy, but not the kind one could eat: this was the candy which “men of meaning (arbâb-e ma’ni) put on paper.” The poem, which was finished in the winter of 655 AH/1257 CE, is best known as the Bustân (The Orchard); in some early manuscripts the poem is also styled Sa’ di-nâme (The Book of Sa’di), but the latter title went out of use. Sa’di dedicated this work to the local ruler of Shiraz the Salghurid Atâbak Mohammad b. Sa’d b. Abu-Bakr, whose father Sa’d had employed Sa’di’s father and provided the poet with his pen name. With its 4,010 couplets, the Bustân is considerably larger than Nezâmi’s poem that we have just examined. Otherwise the two poems are similar in many ways. Both are written as homilies illustrated by narrative inserts. There is no frame narrative, but instead the didactical discourse has been divided into chapters, twenty in the case of Nezâmi, only ten chapters in the Bustân. A further common feature is the presence of a prologue, which is rather conventional in Sa’di’s poem. The contents of the two poems show many common concerns. They both open with a discussion of themes pertaining to just and benevolent rulership, and then turn their attention to general moral themes, including many observations of a religious or mystical nature. There are however notable differences. Nezâmi appears to be mainly concerned with the preparation of the human soul for its eternal destination, whereas Sa’di preaches a moderately ascetic attitude towards life in this world, the pious acceptance of God’s will, and mystical love. His third chapter on “love, drunkenness and passion” (dar eshq va masti va shur) has no parallel in Nezâmi’s poem. Sa’di also has chosen a different meter than his predecessor. This feature places him outside the line of the imitators of the Makhzan al-asrâr. His choice is also remarkable in itself: The pattern in which the poem is written is the variant of the meter motaqâreb that had become almost exclusively associated with the heroic epic ever since it was chosen by Daqiqi and Ferdowsi for their version of the traditional history of Persia. Perhaps Sa’di wished to tie in with another association attached to this pattern, a rare example of which is to be found in Abu-Shakur’s didactic mathnavi Âfarin-nâme of the 10th century mentioned earlier. It may also be that Sa’di took into consideration that his first chapter, dealing with mirror-for-princes themes, contains a great number of anecdotes about kings, both ancient and modern. This brought his poem close to the didactic element in the genre of the heroic epic. 65

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Another interesting comparison can be made with Sa’di’s own Golestân (The Rose garden), which he composed in a prosimetric form only a few months after the Bustân was completed.129 There are several parallels between the two works as far as their subject matter is concerned. However, in the Golestân, the emphasis is on the stories rather than on the didactic passages. Moreover, Sa’di states in the introduction to his prose work that his main intention was to provide the material for practical purposes such as witty conversation and the writing of elegant letters. The Bustân makes a more serious impression and seems to have been intended especially for the moral improvement and religious education of its readers. Here, much more attention is given to themes pertaining to Islamic piety, ascetism, and mysticism than in the more lighthearted Golestân. In the prologue of the Bustân, the contents of the ten chapters (called abvâb, literally “gates”) are succinctly described in these words: Yaki bâb-e adl-ast-o tadbir-o ra’y Negahbâni-ye khalq-o tars-e Khodây Dovom bâb-e ehsân nehâdam asâs Ke mon’em konad fazl-e Haqq-râ sepâs Sevom bâb-e eshq-ast-o masti-o shur Na eshqi ke bandand bar khod be-zur Chahârom tavâzo rezâ panjomin Sheshom dhekr-e mard-e qanâ’atgozin Be haftom dar az âlam-e tarbiyat Be hashtom dar az shokr bar âfiyat Nohom bâb-e towbe-st-o râh-e savâb Dahom dar monâjât-o khatm-e ketâb First is the Gate of Justice, Government, and Sagacity; Of Guarding the populace and Fearing God. The second Gate is founded on Liberality, As the liberal man is thankful to the Divine Grace; The third is the Gate of Love, of Ecstasy and Frenzy, Not the kind of love people force themselves to. The fourth is Modesty; the fifth, Acquiescence. The sixth is about the man who lives in Contentment. At the seventh the world of Education is focused; 129 Sa’di, Golestân, ed. Gh.-H. Yusofi (Tehran, 1989).

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS At the eighth, the Gratitude due for one’s Well-being. Ninth is the gate of Remorse and Choosing the Straight Path; At the tenth the Book will be concluded with a prayer. 130

Each chapter opens with a theoretical discussion introducing the subject in hand before the poet starts to tell a story which is meant to illustrate his words and add force to his arguments. Continuing his discourse, he switches time and again between the discursive and the narrative mode. The Bustân contains a great number of stories ranging from a brief remark by either a famous person or an anonymous one, representing a social type, to a fully developed short story. In the translation by G.M. Wickens, 160 tales are listed.131 Yet, it would be incorrect to characterize the poem as a collection of stories comparable, e.g., to the Arabian Nights. For all its narrative riches, Sa’di’s poem should be read as a didactic work designed to teach in the first place, not as a poem written to amuse its readers. Just as he would do later in the Golestân, Sa’di often adds an autobiographical touch to his anecdotes. Sometimes these touches are very intimate, for instance when he relates how as a child he was cheated of a ring of which he did not yet know the true value; or, how he lost his father in the crowd when he attended a popular festival. Quite effectively Sa’di recalls childhood memories to illustrate the moral duty to take care of the orphaned child: Man ângah sar-e tâjvar dâshtam Ke sar bar kenâr-e pedar dâshtam Agar bar vojud-am neshasti magas Parishân shodi khâter-e chand kas Konun doshmanân gar barand-am asir Nabâshad kas az dustân-am nasir Ma-râ bâshad az dard-e teflân khabar Ke dar tefli az sar beraft-am pedar Yaki khâr-e pây-e yatimi bekand Be khʷâb andar-ash did sadr-e Khojand Hami goft-o dar rowzehâ mi chamid k-az-ân khâr bar man che golhâ damid

130 Sa’di, Bustân, ed. Yusofi, p. 37; cf. tr. Wickens, Morals Pointed, p. 9. 131 Wickens, Morals Pointed, pp. ix-xiv.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY I was wearing a crown as long as I Could keep my head close to my father. If a fly would dare to sit down on my body There were folks who would worry about me. Nowadays, if I fell into my enemy’s hands, No friend would come to rescue me. I know how much children have to suffer, For I lost my father in childhood. Someone took a thorn from the foot of an orphan. The Master from Khojand dreamed of him. Strolling in heavenly gardens he kept saying: “How many roses blossomed from that single thorn!”132

The child’s duty to use the talents given to it in a proper way is illustrated by a father’s reproach supposedly overheard by the poet: Shenidam ke piri pesar-râ be khashm Malâmat hami kard k-ey shukhchashm To-râ tishe dâdam ke hizom shekan Nagoftam ke divâr-e masjed bekan I heard an old man rebuke his son In anger saying: “You are shameless! I gave you an axe to cut timber with, I did not say: Pull down the walls of the mosque!”133

He refers to professional rivalry experienced when lecturing at the Nezâmiyya madrase at Baghdad. He particularly likes to tell his readers about his travels, e.g., about a visit to an aged warrior in Isfahan whom he had known in the past, his being beaten up by a camel driver, and being robbed by Ethiopian thieves. Particularly famous became the story of his adventure in the Indian temple of Somnath, where he claims to have unmasked the fraud of a Hindu priest.134 It is obvious that such anecdotes 132 Sa’di, Bustân, Bâb II, lines 1149-54; cf. tr. Wickens, Morals Pointed, p. 70. The “learned man” (sadr) probably refers to a member of the Khojandis, a family of jurists who governed Isfahan in the 12th century. The care for orphans is an important religious duty according to Islamic law (cf. Yusofi’s commentary in Bustân, p. 273). 133 Sa’di, Bustân, Bâb VIII, lines 3370-71; cf. tr. Wickens, Morals Pointed, p. 207. 134 See Sa’di, Bustân, Bâb VIII, pp. 178-81; cf. tr. Wickens, Morals Pointed, pp. 214-19.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS should not be taken at their face value and used as materials for the poet’s biography. The autobiographical traits are just one of the effects the clever storyteller Sa’di added to his repertoire of narrative devices. The third chapter of the Bustân is by far the most fascinating part of the poem. Sa’di investigates the theme of love from all points of view, going from the “figurative love” (eshq-e majâzi) of people of flesh and blood for each other, up to the highest manifestations of “real love” (eshq-e haqiqi), i.e., the adoration of the Eternal Beloved. Although he is reputed to have been a moderate, pragmatic and often even cynical critic of human behavior, in this discussion he puts all moderation aside and talks about love as an overwhelming emotional force. Love is equated to intoxication and frenzy as exemplified in the dance of a camel running wild or in a moth’s circling the flame of a candle. The strength of love in its dealings with reason is compared to that of a lion who is too strong for the iron fists of a wrestler. Love conquers the lover against his own will and leaves him no room for escape. He can do nothing but submit to love’s demand of a total devotion, even if this would mean his own annihilation. In the choice of his examples of erotic relationships, Sa’di uses both tales about heterosexual and homosexual lovers. When he discusses the religious implications of his theme, he widens the spectrum so as to include also the attitude of the sincere dervish, in particular their absolute trust in God’s care. Beautiful narratives illustrating this attitude are the story of the old beggar who seeks his refuge in a mosque and dies there trusting that God will see to all his needs; and the story about the shaikh who throws his praying rug on the water being convinced that through God’s help he will reach his destination though he is not allowed to board the ship. The chapter ends with this dialogue between the frantic moth and the candle comparing their experiences as lovers: Shabi yâd dâram ke chashm-am nakhoft Shenidam ke parvâne bâ sham’ goft Ke man âsheq-am gar besuzam ravâ-st To-râ gerye-o suz bâri cherâ-st Begoft ey havâdâr-e meskin-e man Beraft angabin yâr-e shirin-e man Cho shirini az man be-dar miravad Cho Farhâd-am âtesh be sar miravad Hami goft-o har lahze seylâb-e dard Foru midavid-ash be rokhsâr-e zard

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Ke ey modda’ i eshq kâr-e to nist Ke na sabr dâr-i na yârâ-ye ist To bogrizi az pish-e yak sho’ le khâm Man istâde-am tâ besuzam tamâm To-râ âtesh-e eshq agar par besukht Marâ bin ke az pây tâ sar besukht Hame shab dar in goft-o gu bud sham’ Be didâr-e u vaqt-e ashâb jam’ Narafte ze-shab hamchenân bahre-i Ke nâgah be-kost-ash parichehre-i Hami goft-o mi raft dud-ash be sar hamin bud pâyân-e eshq ey pesar rah in-ast agar khʷâhi âmukhtan be koshtan faraj yâbi az sukhtan makon gerye bar gur-e maqtul-e dust qol alhamdolellâh ke maqbul-e u-st agar âsheqi sar meshuy az maraz cho Sa’ di foru shuy dast az gharaz I remember one night when I could not sleep, And I overheard the talk of moth and candle. The moth said: “I am the lover, let me burn! Why should you be weeping and burning?” “Oh my poor admirer,” replied the candle, “the honey, my sweet companion, has gone. Now that my sweetness has left me, Like Farhâd, I am consumed by fire.”135 Thus he spoke on and on, and all the time A flood of tears ran down his pallid face: “Oh you pretender, this is not love! You are impatient, unable to endure. Unbaked you flee from no more than a flame. I hold on until I am burnt all over. The fire of love has merely scorched your wings. Just look at me, how I am on fire from head to toe.”

135 The abstract noun “sweetness” (shirini) brings to mind the tale of the Armenian princess Shirin and her tragic lover, the mason Farhâd, as it was told in Nezâmi’s romantic mathnavi Khosrow va Shirin.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS Not much of the night had passed when a beautiful companion (parichehre) suddenly puts out the candle. While the smoke spirals upwards, the candle utters these last words: “This is the final stage of love, O boy! This is the way if you wish to learn: By being extinguished, you are saved from burning Do not weep at the grave of a murdered friend. Say: “Praise to God,” for He accepted him. As a lover you must not seek to be cured. Do like Sa’di, seek escape from desire.”136

The Bustân and the Golestân are among the greatest classics of Persian literature. For centuries both Sa’di’s mathnavi and his prose work have been admired in east and west as a splendid specimens of Persian wisdom and humanity. His brief tales are often so cleverly narrated that they express a moral teaching that needs hardily any didactical comment. When he wants to make the point that God’s friends are marked by their compassion with the suffering of others, he just tells this: Yaki barbati dar baghal dâsht mast Be shab dar sar-e pârsâyi shekast Cho ruz âmad ân nikmard-e salim Bar-e sangdel bord yak mosht sim Ke dushine ma’ dhur budi-o mast To-râ-o ma-râ barbat-o sar shekast Ma-râ beh shod ân zakhm-o bar khâst bim To-râ beh nakhʷâhad shod ellâ be sim A drunken player took his lute from under his arm, One night, and smashed it on the head of a pious man. Next morning this gentle, well meaning person Came to that brute with a handful of silver coins. He said: “Last night your had an excuse: you were drunk. So your lute and my head were damaged. My wound is better now, there is nothing to fear. But yours’ can only by healed with money.”137

136 Sa’di, Bustân, Bâb III, lines 1964-77; cf. tr. Wickens, Morals Pointed, pp. 120-21. 137 Sa’di, Bustân, Bâb IV, lines 2424-27; cf. tr. Wickens, Morals Pointed, p. 134.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Like his predecessors, Sa’di has much to say about the ethics of kingship, especially in the first two chapters of the Bustân. Warning against the disastrous results of bad government he says: Alâ tâ napichi sar az adl-o ra’y Ke mardom ze-dast-at napichand pây Gurizad ra’ iyyat ze-bidâdgar Konad nâm-e zesht-ash be giti samar Basi bar nayâyad ke bonyâd-e khod Bekand ân ke benhâd bonyâd-e bad Kharâbi konad mard-e shamshirzan Ne chandân ke dud-e del-e tefl-o zan Cherâghi ke bive zani bar forukht Basi dide bâshi ke shahri besukht Do not turn away from justice and prudence; Let not the people turn their back on you. The subjects run away from an unjust king And spread his bad name all over the world. Before long he who founded his rule on evil Will see that he has destroyed his own foundation. A man with a sword cannot do so much harm As the sighs from the hearts of women and children. A lamp that was lit by one widow Can burn down a city. This is often seen. 138

During the 16th century, the didactical works of Sa’di were highly appreciated as textbooks for the education of the youth of the Ottoman-Turkish elites. Turkish commentaries were written by Soruri, Shem’i, and Sudi. The Bustân became generally known in Europe later than the Golestân, but an early prose translation into Dutch was published as early as 1688.139 That translator, who worked directly from the Persian text, was Daniel Havart, an employee of the Dutch East-Indian Company. He had learned his Persian from the Indian secretaries with whom he worked during a long sojourn in the Company’s factories along the Indian coast of Coromandel. Although it appeared also in German (1696) and French (1762) translations, 138 Sa’di, Bustân, Bâb I, lines 241-45; cf. tr. Wickens, p. 17. 139 D. Havart, Den Persiaanschen Bogaard (Amsterdam, 1688).

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS Havart’s pioneering work remained unnoticed in Europe until the poem was rediscovered in the 19th and 20th centuries and then translated into various European languages.140 The original text was published in Europe by Karl Heinrich Graf (Vienna, 1858), accompanied by Soruri’s commentary. In Iran, critical editions were prepared by Mohammad-Ali Forughi (Tehran, 1937) and Gholâm-Hoseyn Yusofi (Tehran,1980; 2nd printing, 1984).

Owhadi, Jâm-e Jam In the final years of the Il-Khanid rule in Persia, an attempt was made to present the subject-matter of didactical poetry in a more systematic manner. The ambition of Owhadi of Isfahan is already expressed in the title he chose for his a work: Jâm-e Jam (The Cup of Jam). This title refers to the famous legend about the mythical Persian king who, during the celebration of the New Year, looked into a beaker in which circling lines had been drawn, from which he could predict the events of the coming year. The history of the motif of this magic beaker goes far back into Egyptian and Babylonian antiquity.141 In the Persian tradition, it was originally related to the legendary king Key-Khosrow, but it was subsequently transferred to Jamshid, or Jam for short, the greatest king of the mythical Pishdâdiân dynasty, who was supposed to have ruled over Persia and the rest of the world at the beginning of history. Alliteration may have played a role in this new attribution. In this form, it became a major motif in the poems of Hâfez, who incidentally was a younger contemporary of the writer of this mathnavi. The choice of his title indicated the poet’s intention to review the entire course of a human life. 140 In German: by K. H. Graf, as Lustgarten (Jena, 1850); O.M. von Schlechta-Wssehrd, as Der Fruchtgarten (Vienna 1852); F. Rückert, as Saadi’s Bostan (Leipzig, 1882; translated between 1848-51). In French: by A.C. Barbier de Meynard, as Le Boustan ou Verger (Paris, 1880). In English: by H. Wilberforce Clarke, as The Bustan, (London, 1879); Wickens, Morals Pointed. In Russian: by K.I. Chaykin, as Bustan (Moscow, 1935). 141 The history of this motif was described by Arthur Christensen, Les types du premier homme et du premier roi dans l’histoire légendaire des iraniens (Vol. II, Leiden, 1934), pp. 128-37; for its use in Persian literature, see in particular Manuchehr Mortazavi, Maktab-e Hâfez yâ moqaddeme-ye Hâfez-shenâsi (Tehran, 1966), pp. 146-235.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Very little is known about Owhadi, whose real name was Owhad-al-Din of Isfahan. He was born in Isfahan around 1275 and died in 1337 at Maraghe, where his tomb is still extant. His pen name is often explained as a reference to his spiritual teacher Shaikh Owhad-al-Din of Kerman; however, as the latter died already in 1238, an actual meeting of the two is out of the question. In fact, there is no record of a Sufi affiliation for Owhadi.142 He traveled to several Arab countries, and towards the end of his life settled down in Azerbaijan. His literary work consists of a divân, the most conspicuous part of which is a collection of nearly 900 ghazals, and two mathnavis. A short poem entitled Manteq al-oshshâq (The Speech of Lovers) in 515 couplets, contains ten love letters interspersed with ghazals and a few anecdotes, and belongs to the genre of the Dah-nâmes.143 The work discussed here has about the same length as Sa’di’s Bustân, 4560 couplets in the edition prepared by Sa ’id Nafisi. The choice of the meter khafif points to the poet’s intention to write a parallel to Sanâ’i’s Hadiqat al-haqiqe. Owhadi does indeed treat several themes which were also broached by Sanâ’i, but his discourse is much better organized than that of his mentor. According to the epilogue, the poem was completed in 1332. In the prologue there are panegyrics addressed to the last Il-Khanid ruler, Sultan Abu-Sa’id Bahâdor (reigned 1317-35) and his vizier Khʷâje Ghiyâth-al-Din Mohammad−the son of the great vizier and historian Rashid-al-Din Fazl-Allâh−who was killed in 1336 during a rebellion. The poem is divided into a fairly extensive prologue, three main sections called dowrs, “orbits”—an appellation taken from the metaphor of the magic beaker—and a brief epilogue. The prologue adds a few new items to the pattern which since Nezâmi had become a convention for the introduction of a mathnavi. The praise of the Prophet Mohammad is followed, not by a description of his me’râj, but by a long sequence of oaths invoking items of religious lore and beseeching the Prophet to assist the writer in his fight against the demons and the confusion (shekanj) caused by his own body. This is a specimen of the topic of a sowgand-nâme, “book of oath,” as 142 In the introduction to his edition of Owhadi, Kolliyyât (Tehran, 1961), Sa’id Nafisi ascribes Owhadi’s Sufism, like that of many other Persian poets, not to his affiliation with a specific Order, but to a general tradition of mystical inspiration that he characterizes as “Oveysi” (pp. lxiii). 143 On this genre, see T. Ganjeï, “The Genesis and Definition of a Literary Composition: The Dah-nāma (Ten Love Letters),” Der Islam 47 (1971), pp. 59-66.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS this is usually dealt with in the form of the qaside. Very remarkable is the addition to the panegyric of Soltân Abu-Sa’id of descriptions of buildings in his residence Tabriz, such as the Il-Khanid palace, the Friday Mosque, a madrase and a Sufi hospice (khâneqâh). There are further sections on Wisdom and the Heavenly Spheres, on the poetry of wine and love, and a discussion of “the reality of created beings” (so’ âl az haqiqat-e kâ’enât), which leads the reader to the proper subject of the poem. The three dowrs are designed on the lines of a theory about human existence which is marked by three terms: mabda,’ (origin), ma’ âsh, (living), and ma’ âd, (return). In Owhadi’s own words, they set out the stages on the track that a human being has to follow on his journey to either damnation or eternal bliss. The first dowr treats of the creation of the world and the development of the various species, from the mineral up to the appearance of mankind. The growth of individual humans as embryos and as children, their superiority due to the possession of the rational soul are described, as well as the cosmic forces to which they are exposed during their lives. After this metaphysical prelude, the second dowr examines the conditions of actual existence on earth. The first part of this dowr is devoted to practical matters, such as the righteousness of kings and the service at royal courts; personal life, marriage, procreation and sexuality (Owhadi expounds in particular on the evil of a bad housewife), the education of children and the treatment of servants; the criticism of mercenary poets; chivalrous behavior ( fotovvat); and several warnings about the dangers of living in a world which can never be trusted. Owhadi gives a detailed moral advice to the aspiring courtier: Ey pesar chun molâzem-e shâhi Natavân bud ghâfel-o sâhi Bakhsh kon ruz-e khʷish-o shab-râ niz Magdharân bar fosus omr-e aziz Shab se sâ’at be amr-e Haqq kon sarf Se hesâb-o ketâb-o roq’e-o harf Se be tadbir-e molk-o ra’y-e savâb Se be âsâyesh-o tana’’om-o khʷâb Ruz-râ ham bedin qiyâs nasib Bokoni gar modabberi-o mosib Pish-e soltân-e khashmnâk marow

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Dar dam-e panje-ye halâk marow Mowj-e daryâ-st qorbat-e shâhân Khashm-e ishân balây-e nâgâhân Avval-e ruz pish-e shâh modâm Jahd kon tâ sabaq bari be salâm Dar makash khat be nâm-e nazdikân Pey maneh bar makân-e nazdikân Shâh-râ bi nefâq tâ’at kon Be qabuli az-u qanâ’at kon Gar to-râ kam dehad marow dar khashm v-az be ân bishtar magardân chashm chashm bar kan be dustân-e qarin gush bar doshmanân-e gusheneshin hizam-e khoshk-o barq-e âteshbâr mard-e khofte-ast-o doshman-e bidâr My son, when you are attached to a king, You must not be careless or forgetful. Arrange well your days and also your nights. Do not waste any time of your precious life. Devote three hours of the night to the service of God; Three to calculation, reading and writing; Three to matters of state and counseling; Three to taking a rest, relaxing and sleeping. If you divide your days in a similar way You will have made the right arrangement. Do not expose yourself to an angry sultan, Do not risk to fall into the hands of destruction. The vicinity of kings is a stormy sea, Their rage a disaster for him who is unaware. Try always to be the first in the morning To pay your respects to the king, But do not ignore the names of his intimates, Do not intrude into the inner circle. Serve the king without any duplicity, Be satisfied if you are accepted by him. When he gives you little be not annoyed, Do not set your eyes on more than that. Keep your eyes on your closest friends, But your ears open for secretive enemies.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS A man asleep is an inflammable timber, An enemy awake the threatening lightning.144

In the second part of this dowr, the attention is turned towards the “conditions of the Other World” (ahvâl-e âkherat). The path of the person who has become aware of his eternal destination is described in much detail, including a almost complete survey of the behavior, the rituals and the attitudes of the Sufis. With special regard to these two parts, A.J. Arberry qualified Owhadi’s poem as “in some sort an amalgam of the Qābūs-nāma and the Ḥadīqat al-ḥaqīqa.”145 The final dowr describes the return of the human spirits to the place from which they originally came into this world. At the time of the Resurrection, they should bring with them the three kinds of knowledge acquired in life: knowledge of the soul, of the mind, and of the Divine. On the basis of these, it will be decided whether they shall go to Hell or be assigned a place in Paradise. The merits of the Jâm-e Jam as a literary work has not been rated very highly by some modern critics. It cannot be denied that stylistically its poetry does not have the brilliance of the didactical mathnavis of Nezâmi and Sa’di. Initially “this poem was so popular that within a month of its production four hundred copies of it were sold at a good price,” but at time when Dowlatshâh wrote this (1487) “it was seldom met with and little read.”146 In the 20th century, the Jâm-e Jam was twice published, the first time in 1928 by Vahid Dastgerdi as an appendix to the journal Armaghân, and the second time as a part of Owhadi’s collected poetry.147 Considering the rich contents of the poem and its wide range of subjects, Owhadi’s mathnavi certainly deserves to be studied more closely.

144 Owhadi, Kolliyyât, ed. Nafisi, p. 535, ll. 11450-62. 145 Arberry, Classical Persian Poetry, p. 307. Arberry included two passages from the Jâm-e Jam in English translation. 146 Quoted by Browne, LHP, III, p. 141. 147 Owhadi, Jâm-i jam, ed. Vahid Dastgerdi, as Jâm-e jam-e Owhadi, Armaghân 20, Tehran, 1929; ed. S. Nafisi, in Owhadi, Kolliyyât (Divân−Manteq al-oshshâq−Jâm-e Jam) (Tehran, 1961).

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5. In the Footsteps of Nezâmi Ganjavi One of the most intriguing characteristics of classical Persian poetry is the continuous tension between imitation and innovation. The poetical tradition was tightly held together, not only by the rules of prosody, but also by numerous other literary and rhetorical conventions. The natural tendency to conservatism guided the poets along the trodden paths of their predecessors, the ostâds, whose works they had to learn by heart before they could try their own hands on writing poetry. On the other hand, new poets had to conquer new audiences demanding to be charmed by fresh approaches to the familiar themes. They were expected to show their skills by the clever introduction of original variations in the reproduction of the revered masterpieces. The concept of a nazire (emulation), or a javâb (answer), fulfilled a vital role in the production of new poems. This should not be equated with plagiarism, as there was nothing furtive or dishonest about it. The term “emulation” gives a better idea of this phenomenon, which remained active in classical Persian literature until the beginning of the 20th century. By challenging an already sanctified work of art, the emulating poet could show his talents and at the same time his respect for the tradition. In the genre under discussion, there is no more evident example of the workings of the emulation principle than Nezâmi’s Makhzan al-asrâr. Often a work written in emulation of this didactical poem represents the first step in a more ambitious attempt to compose an entire set of poems along the lines of Nezâmi’s Khamse. However, many were unsuccessful in such a venture and abandoned it after they had completed a didactical poem. This explains why the Makhzan al-asrâr is by far the most frequently imitated among the mathnavis of Nezâmi.

Amir Khosrow The first who managed to write a complete Khamse was the great Indo-Persian poet and Sufi shaikh Yamin-al-Dowle Amir Khosrow of Delhi (1253 -1325). Already in his youth he was introduced to Nezâmi’s works, which “were part of the education of a generation of talented poets and 78

SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS littérateurs in India in the 13th century.”148 The work on his Khamse was finished in a very short time, between 1298 and 1301. Writing the introductory didactical poem in 1299 took Amir Khosrow even less, no more than two weeks. Not merely the title of his poem, Matla’ al-anvâr (The Dawn of the lights), its meter and its size, but all the structural features are faithfully copied from Nezâmi’s example. The praise of the Prophet in the Prologue is followed by a description of his journey to the heavens. There are three sections called khalvat in which Khosrow relates a nocturnal retreat to consult his own heart and find the inspiration for his work; the inspiration itself is symbolized by the entrance into a splendid garden in the early light of a vernal day. The main part of the poem consists of twenty maqâles, in each of which an exemplary story is told. The anecdotes are different from those in Nezâmi’s poem, however, and also the themes dealt with by Amir Khosrow are not quite similar. There is a much greater emphasis on Sufi ideas and the advice to worldly rulers, the “crowned ones,” occupies only a minor place. Therefore, this poem properly belongs to the mystical tradition of didactical poetry, which will be examined in another volume in this series.

Khʷâju Kermâni The same holds true of the Rowzat al-anvâr (The Meadow of the lights) by Khʷâju Kermâni (1290-1349 or later), an older contemporary of Hâfez and his fellow-citizen in Shiraz. Also, this poem is part of a completed Khamse; however, the other four poems deal with subjects which are very different from those of Nezâmi’s narrative poems. The Rowzat al-anvâr, a mathnavi in 2,037 couplets, was composed in 1342, and dedicated to the judge Shams-al-Din Mahmud Sâyen. The subject matter is characterized by Khʷâju as “homilies, words of wisdom, and the path of the mystic” (mavâ’ez va hekam va seyr al-soluk). The addition of eulogies on the early Sufi Shaikh Abu-Eshâq Ebrâhim Kâzaruni (d. 1034) and Khʷâju’s own mentor Shaikh Amin-al-Mella-va’l-Din also clearly indicate that the primary concern of Khʷâju was the education of Sufi adepts. 148 Ghazanfar Y. Aliev in the English introduction to his edition of Matla’ al-anvâr (Moscow, 1975), p. 65. Aliev refers to the contemporaneous Indian historian Barani.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY In Khʷâju’s Khamse, there is another poem which resembles the Makhzan al-asrâr, though it has a different meter (khafif ), probably after Sanâ’i’s didactic poems: the Kamâl-nâme (The Book of perfection). This mathnavi in 1,884 couplets was written in 1343 and dedicated to the last Inju ruler of Shiraz, Abu-Eshâq (d. 1357). Its twelve discourses (maqâlât) are all organized in the manner introduced by Nezâmi: an aphoristic treatment of the theme of the discourse, one anecdote, and a short conclusion. The themes are all concerned with Sufism and also many of the anecdotes are about famous mystics such as Hasan of Basra, Ebrâhim-e Adham and the two Ghazâli brothers, or about anonymous shaikhs. Of special interest is a section of the prologue that relates an allegorical journey. It calls to mind Sanâ’i’s Seyr al-ebâd, but is evidently also in line with Nezâmi’s quest for the secrets of his own heart in the prologue of the Makhzan al-asrâr. Coming out of a bawdy house the narrator meets with Reason who admonishes him to seek an ascetic way of life. He retreats to a place near the “Ka’ba of his heart,” but soon realizes that this is not the House of God. Then he sets out on a quest that leads him along the metaphysical entities of the cosmos until he reaches a realm “without place or inhabitants” where he finds the spiritual guide who teaches him the contents of the poem. Gol va Nowruz, another poem in Khʷâju’s Khamse (discussed in a later chapter in this volume), is about the Sasanid prince Nowruz and the Byzantine princess Gol. In it, the male protagonist visits a convent where a wise man with the symbolic name of Dâneshafruz, literally “the one who kindles knowledge,” discusses with him a number of existential questions such as the supernatural origin (mansha’) of human beings and their eventual return (ma’ âd), Time and the perpetual movement of the Heavens, life and death, wisdom and ethical topics.

Emâd-al-Din Kermâni Another mystical poet who should be mentioned here is Emâd-al-Din of Kerman (d. 1371).149 His nickname Emâd-e Faqih refers to his status as a scholar of Islamic law, but he was also a shaikh and the head of a community in a Sufi hospice in Kerman. In his set of five mathnavis, collectively 149 On this poet, see J.T.P. de Bruijn, “ʿEmād-al-Din Faqih,” in EIr, VIII, pp. 378-79.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS known as the Panj ganj (The Five treasures), the influence of the preceding didactical poets is in evidence. One of the poems, the Sohbat-nâme (The Book of companionship), written in the meter motaqâreb, is clearly inspired by Sa’di’s Bustân. In ten discourses (maqâlât) the poet deals with the forms of behavior (âdâb) in various circumstances of Sufi life. In the last discourse he instructs the singers (moghanniyân) of the hospice who perform Emâd-e Faqih’s own ghazals. The Safâ-nâme (The Book of purity) is modeled on Nezâmi, as it is evident from the alternative title Mo’nes al-abrâr (The Intimate friend of the pious) and the use of the meter sari’. Otherwise, this poem is quite different. It deals exclusively with Sufi matters including a discourse with biographical information on the author’s mentor and the founding of his hospice. Interesting features of the prologue are further the description of the tombs of prominent Sufis in Shiraz, among whom Ruzbehân-e Baqli’s, and an account of the conquest of the city by the Mozaffarids in 1353.

Mowlânâ Jâmi of Herat Although it has been often debated whether or not Mowlânâ Abd-al-Rahmân Jâmi (1414-92) was really a great poet, his importance to literary history is beyond any doubt. He was the towering figure of Timurid culture, a period of great artistic and literary refinement, but not very renowned for its originality. The amazingly wide range of Jâmi’s works, among which virtually every genre of classical Persian prose and poetry is represented, soon turned out to be the final summing-up of an era just before drastic changes in the political and religious situation heralded the beginning of a quite different period of Persian civilization with the advent of the Shi’ite Safavids. Jâmi did not of course know what was going to happen almost immediately after his disappearance but, especially in his poetry, he appears to have been well aware of being the heir to a wonderful tradition, which in his days was beginning to show signs of exhaustion.150 According to E. Bertels, Jâmi was convinced “that a work lives not by its form … but by the profundity of its content.” It was always possible therefore to bring 150 Cf. Ehsan Yarshater, “The Indian or Safavid Style: Progress or Decline,” in E. Yarshater, ed., Persian Literature (Albany, 1988), pp. 249-88.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY the classical forms to life again by “lending them a deep and significant meaning.”151 Jâmi as a Didactic Poet In his contribution to didactical poetry, Jâmi put this principle into practice, and he did so abundantly. He was already at an advanced age when he took up the challenge to write a “response” to the Khamse of Nezâmi, a project that he realized between 1481 and 1485. He also wrote two other mathnavis, so that he succeeded even to surpass the master of Ganje by creating a set of seven poems, Jâmi’s Sab’e, better known as the Haft owrang (The Seven thrones, also a name for the constellation of the Great Bear). However, in the authorized manuscript of his collected works, which was put together in 1485, he presented the poems of his Khamse as still a separate group.152 The poem most faithfully following the conventions of the Makhzan al-asrâr in Jâmi’s Khamse is entitled Tohfat al-ahrâr (The Gift for the free; but also a reference to the name of his Sufi-master Khʷâje Ahrâr) and has 1710 couplets.153 Like the mathnavis discussed above, this is undoubtedly a Sufi poem as it is clear from the dedications to two prominent mystics of the Naqshbandi tradition: the founder of the Order, Bahâ-al-Din Naqshband, and Jâmi’s own Sufi mentor, Nâser-al-Din Obeyd-Allâh, also known as Khʷâje Ahrâr (d. 1490). However, in addition to the treatment of specifically Sufi themes, there are also discourses on the proper behavior of scholars, princes, ministers, scribes, and poets. A remarkable deviation from Nezâmi’s scheme is the addition of a second didactic mathnavi, which because of its title Sohbat al-abrâr (The Rosary for the pious) has the appearance of being just a parallel to the Tohfat al-ahrâr; there are several more features confirming this, first of all the organization of the individual discourses. However, this poem is not only much longer (2,872 couplets) than the Tohfat, but is also written in a 151 As quoted by Rypka, HIL, p. 287. 152 See the description of this manuscript by Victor Rosen, Les manuscrits persans de l’Institut des langues orientales (St. Petersburg, 1886), pp. 215-59. 153 In Jâmi, Haft owrang, Vol. I., ed. J. Dâd-Alishâh et al. (Tehran, 1999), pp. 465-551; it is headed by Jâmi’s own prose introduction to his Khamse, in which he mentions as his predecessors Nezâmi and Amir Khosrow of Delhi.

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS different meter, a variation of the six-foot ramal, which is only rarely used in mathnavis.154 The contents are exclusively concerned with Sufi ethics, but it is remarkable that the poem, in contrast to its counterpart, is dedicated to two secular patrons of Jâmi’s, Soltân-Hoseyn Bâyqarâ and Ya’qub Beg of the Âq Qoyunlu dynasty at Tabriz. This is a curious example of the intertwining of religious and worldly interests in the life of this poet, who was a prominent shaikh of the Naqshbandi Order but also a counselor of monarchs. Salâmân va Absâl In 1481, shortly before he started upon his Khamse, Jâmi wrote one of his most interesting works, the allegorical mathnavi Salâmân va Absâl. The subject of this short poem (1131 couplets) is a philosophical story of Hellenistic origin, which in Islamic literature had been treated in a lost Arabic prose work by Avicenna and, in a manner resembling Jâmi’s poem, by Nasir-al-Din Tusi. The Greek prince Salâmân, who was born from his father’s semen but not from a human mother, falls in love with his nurse Absâl, who is twenty-years older than him. When the amorous prince neglects his duties, his father demands that Salâmân dismisses his beloved. The prince refuses, and the couple flee to an uninhabited island. In their despair they throw themselves into a fire. Absâl perishes, but Salâmân survives without injuries and is purged from all attachments to the world, symbolized by his nurse and lover. In an epilogue, Jâmi decodes his story as an allegory of the non-material origin of the human soul, which has to be delivered from its ties to the passions resulting from its involvement with the material world. As a literary composition, this poem is influenced by the didactic mathnavis of Farid-al-Din Attâr, in which a frame narrative is filled up with a great number of brief anecdotes. In Salâmân va Absâl, Jâmi applied the same device; the choice of the meter, a variation of the ramal also selected by Attâr, is another indication of this pedigree.155 154 The Sobhat al-abrâr is in Haft owrang I, ed. Dâd-Alishâh et al., pp. 553-700. The full definition of this pattern is ramal-e mosaddas-e makhbun-e maqsur. Another instance of its use is Amir Khosrow’s Noh sepehr, a mathnavi on a historical subject. On this meter, see also Blochmann, The Prosody of the Persians, pp. 43-44, 89. 155 In 1856, Salâmân va Absâl was tr. by Edward FitzGerald; cf. the reprinting by A.J. Arberry, FitzGerald’s ‘Salaman and Absal’ (Cambridge, 1956). Auguste Bricteux

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Here is an example of the kind of tales told by Jâmi in this poem, which leaves no doubt about the poet’s message: Sofle-i mehmâni-yi âghâz kard Soflegân-e shahr-râ âvâz kard Khʷând yak sâhebkaram-râ niz ham Tâ be khʷân-ash ranje farmâyad qadam Goft bâshad nafs nâdân-o la’ im z-in do vasf-e u deli dâram do nim chun suy-e in sân la’ imi pey barad loqme-i chand az ta’ âm-e vey khorad ledhdhat-e ân ta’me dur az khʷân-e u dir mânad dar bon-e dandân-e u chun bekhʷânad sofle-ye digar ma-râ suy-ash ân ledhdhat shavad rahbar ma-râ mahv gardad nâm-am az selk-e kerâm dar shomâr-e solflegân mânam modâm A man of dubious morals organized a party And invited all the mean-spirited of the town. He also asked a man known for his munificence To do him the honor of joining his dinner. This man was in doubt: “The lower soul Is stupid and base; that worries me. If it gets the scent out of all this baseness, And tastes from the food that is offered there, It will remember and relish the taste afterwards. This will hang on in its mouth for a long time. When another despicable person invites me, That pleasant taste would guide me to his table. My good name would vanish among the munificent, I would always be counted among the unworthy.”156

published a French translation with a substantial introduction (Paris, 1911). There is now a critical edition of the text by Mohammad Rowshan (Tehran, 1994). See further the discussion of this poem by Paola Orsatti in this volume. 156 Jâmi, Salâmân va Absâl, ed. Rowshan, p. 152, ll. 363-69

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS Selselat al-dhahab With its 6,300 couplets, the mathnavi Selselat al-dhahab (Chain of gold) is the longest among Jâmi’s didactic poems. It is also the poem that took him the longest time (fourteen years) to complete, and it is by far the most complicated of his poetical works. In its final form, the Selselat al-dhahab is divided into three major parts, called Daftars, each differing very much from the others. These parts, dedicated to various persons, are really individual poems. The only thing holding them together is the use of the metrical pattern khafif, the choice of which Jâmi intended as a reference to the didactical poetry in the style of Sanâ’i of Ghazne. The first Daftar was presented in April 1472 to Jâmi’s closest royal protector, Soltân-Hoseyn Bâyqarâ of Herat. The text begins with a discourse on justice, a quality worthy of a ruling prince. The task of the sultan as a shepherd of the flock of his subjects is emphasized and illustrated by a story about Moses and the lost lamb. This is followed by other sections of a mirror-for-princes nature. Very soon, however, the subject changes to matters concerning Sufism: for instance, the proper way to hold a dhekr ceremony; the mystical meaning of the shahâde; the permissibility of the mystical samâ sessions with music, poetry and dance; the difference between a shaikh who only wants to put his piety on display on the one hand, and a meditative shaikh who shuns admiration by worldly people on the other hand; and the necessity to submit oneself to the guidance of a mystical teacher (pir) in the effort to harness the lower soul. Later in the same Daftar, Jâmi turns to matters of a more personal concern when he starts to talk about the approach of old age, paradoxically characterized as the moment in life “when the dawn of graying hair appears from the night of youth” (sobh-e sheyb az shab-e shabâb damid). This leads him on to a discussion of professional poetry and the criticism of the degenerate poets in his own time, who “run around like dogs with burning feet to find out where some folks have gathered to indulge in their lusts with liquor, kebab and music.”157 The Daftar is concluded by a succinct exposition of the doctrines of Sunni Islam, entitled E’teqâd-nâme (The Book of firm belief), which was added to the poem at the request of the Naqshbandi shaikh Khʷâje Ahrâr, a eulogy to whom is also inserted. 157 Jâmi’s views on the tension between religious morality and the practices of court poetry are discussed in de Bruijn, “Chains of Gold,” pp. 81-92.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY It seems that Jâmi waited a long time before he composed the second Daftar in which the attention is focused exclusively on love. The subject is hardly dealt with theoretically but almost completely in the form of anecdotes on lovers. They include hagiographic tales about famous mystics as well as instances of profane love which are mostly anonymous. According to a chronogram inside the text, this part of the Selselat al-dhahab was only finished in 1485. The dating of the third Daftar is uncertain. As this part of the poem was dedicated to the Turkish Sultan Bâyazid II (reigned 1481-1512), it must have been completed between the year of Bâyazid’s succession to the Ottoman throne and 1485, when the autograph of Jâmi’s collected works was finished. At the beginning this Daftar is referred to as a ma’ dalat-nâme (“book of justice”), i.e., a text dealing with the ethics of Islamic kingship. To a large extent this part of the Selselat al-dhahab is based on the 12th century discourse in prose on various topics Chahâr maqâle (The Four essays) by Nezâmi Aruzi. This appears very clearly from the organization of the subject matter in the mathnavi, but also from the fact that Jâmi retells many of the anecdotes occurring in Nezâmi Aruzi’s book. It might be appropriate to conclude this survey of medieval didactical poetry in the mathnavi form with a few words in which the homiletic poet turns to self-criticism. In his later years, Jâmi was much concerned with the paradox that he, a Sufi and a preacher of religious moralizing, was still writing poetry. He felt that, at his age, he should bid farewell to this frivolous pastime, which he had loved so much since the days of his youth. However, he realized that only through poetry he would be able to express the warnings he felt himself obliged to give to his fellow-Muslims. Jâmi in va’z-o talkhguyi chand Khordegiri-o eybjuyi chand Shive-ye vâ’ez ân bovad ke nokhost Fe’ l-e khod-râ konad be qowl dorost Chun shavad kâr-e u movâfeq-e goft Gar dehad pand-e gheyr nist shegoft Pây tâ farq jomle eybi-o âr Che koni eyb-e Amr-o Zeyd shomâr Zesht bâshad ke eyb-e khod pushi V-andar efshâ-ye digarân kushi Kal be muy-e dorugh pushad sar

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS Ke bovad muy-e man cho sombol-e tar Zanad ângah ze-bas tabahguyi Ta’ne bar shâhedân be kammuyi Shab-e omr-at be vaqt-e sobh rasid Sobh-e sheyb az shab-e shabâb damid Sheyb-e kâfursây chun gordi Bar sar-at bikht gard-e damsardi Jâmi, how long this preaching and these bitter words? This bickering, this fault finding? A preacher should match first of all His own deeds with his own words. Only when these two are in balance, The preacher is entitled to chide other people. As long as you are so blameful yourself, Why do you call Zeyd and Amr to account? It is ugly to hide your own shortcomings, And expose the failures found in others. A bald person covers his head with false hair, Saying: “Look, my hair is like fresh hyacinth.” At the same time he speaks maliciously About beautiful people with thin hair. The night of your life is dawning now, A dawn of grey hair rises from the black of youth. Muy dar sar sefidi afkand-at Sar-e muyi namishavad pand-at Mikoni az bayâz-e sha’r e’râz Ruz-o shab she’r mibari ba bayâz Gâh mikhʷâhi az madâd emdâd Mikoni sha’r-râ cho she’r savâd Chun zamâne savâd-e sha’r robud Khod begu az savâd-e she’r che sud She’r lahv-ast bogsel az vey khu “Leyta she’ri elâ matâ talhu.” The hair on your head has become white as milk Time uses this to give you a warning. Did Mother Time see that you are still a child And did she extract the milk from your head?

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY All your hair is covered now with whiteness, But not one tip of your hair heeded the advice. You avoid to look at the white sheet of your hair (sha’r) Turning instead day and night to the sheet with your poems (she’r). Sometimes you invoke the help of a pencil And make your hair black as a sheet of poetry. Poetry is only a pastime, break the habit! “Oh, if only I knew when it would pass?” 158

6. Conclusion As long as the modes and conventions of traditional literature prevailed in the culture of Persia, the genre of the didactical mathnavi continued to produce works which follow in the footsteps of the great masters of the past, but also show new approaches. As we have seen, an essential element in poems of this kind is the aim to provide a more or less comprehensive world view in order to teach their audiences how they should follow the right path during their lives in the present world and prepare themselves for the return to the hereafter. This is why nearly always much attention is given to matters that at first sight seem to be out of place here, as they would be more at home in a popular textbook of cosmology. However, the didactical poets needed them to trace the itinerary for the ideal path through this world that they were teaching. A crucial concept was the cyclical view of life as a “return” (ma’ âd) to a place of origin (mabda’) from which the human being had departed at the time of conception. This term was put into the foreground particularly by Sanâ’i of Ghazne in the 12th and Owhadi of Kerman in the 13th-14th centuries, but it was undoubtedly an underlying idea to most of the other poets whom we encountered in this survey. The manifold prescriptions given by these poets mainly refer to the middle stage of this circle of existence, i.e., natural life (ma’ âsh) on this earth. The struggle with the forces of the 158 Jâmi, Selselat al-dhahab, ed. J. Dâd-Alishah and A. Jânfedâ, in Haft owrang I, ed. J. Dâd-Alishâh et al. (Tehran, 1999), pp. 123-24, ll. 1249-57; 1268-72. The last halfverse is an Arabic expression, used here with a pun on the word she’r, meaning besides “poetry” also “knowledge.”

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SECULAR DIDACTIC MATHNAVIS lower soul constitutes the general framework, but the detailed moralizing concerns a wide range of particularities, including questions of personal and family life. The world of daily life was also an important source for the numerous stories and anecdotes which make some of these mathnavis still attractive even to modern readers. An additional characteristic is the special attention given to one person in particular: the ideal Islamic ruler as the righteous guardian of his subjects, but also as the concrete person fulfilling this essential function in Persian society to whom the poem was dedicated: the poet’s patron. The treatment of a wide range of themes was nearly always aphoristic rather than systematic. The poet dealt with a given feature of his theme for a few lines, often illustrating his point by imagery, and occasionally by a narrative, before going over to another. The next subject might be only loosely connected to the preceding, the individual passages being bound together by association rather than by logical sequence. Throughout the centuries, this compositional principle remained predominant in Persian didactical writings. Only when this fundamental trait has been accepted will the modern reader be able to appreciate to the full the beauties of the masterpieces composed in this genre.

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CHAPTER 2 ROMANTIC MATHNAVIS (PRE-SAFAVID PERIOD) J. T. P. de Bruijn

1. Love Stories in Romantic Mathnavis The theme of “love,” in its widest possible sense, is probably the greatest theme in Persian literature. It has been treated in prose works as well as in poems and, as far as the latter are concerned, in practically all forms and genres, either as a main topic or as a concept hovering in the background. Although it could be argued on good grounds that this subject is important enough to be studied in a separate monograph, in the present History we follow the common practice. The various kinds of literature in which love is the main theme are dealt with separately under the heading of the particular poetical form to which the theme has been applied. This means, for instance, that the two forms in which love poetry has been written most prominently—the ghazal and the mathnavi—are treated here in separate volumes.1 The distinction made between these two kinds of poetry is not only a matter of form. It has also to do with more intrinsic characteristics of either genre. The short ghazal is a lyrical poem, telling about the emotions, attitudes and behavior of a lover and a beloved, or at the most describing isolated incidents in their relationship. The romantic mathnavi, on the other hand, is first of all a narrative poem that recounts the vicissitudes of an entire love affair. In this case, the poet has to tell about many other things than merely the psychology of love. The antagonists are involved in plots and act in concrete situations, either historical or fictional. Many different elements pertaining to this context play a role in these stories. 1 The ghazal as a poem of love is treated in HPL II.

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ROMANTIC MATHNAVIS (PRE-SAFAVID PERIOD) Another striking difference between lyrical and narrative love poetry in Persian is the contrasting attitude with regard to the gender of the beloved. Whereas in most classical ghazals a relationship between lovers of the same (usually the male) sex is understood or even made explicit, the pair of lovers figuring in a romantic mathnavi are, as a rule, a man and a woman. When a romantic tale is embedded in a heroic story, the male protagonist is often pictured as a wandering knight, who in the course of his courtship becomes involved in adventures of all kinds. Sometimes, however, a poem classified as “romantic” extends over an entire life: Nezâmi’s poem Haft peykar deals with the full life of the Sasanid king Bahrâm Gur−a keen hunter as well as an insatiable lover−from his birth up to his mysterious death. Another example is the same poet’s Eskandar-nâme. In such “one person narratives,” the amorous adventures of the central protagonist (always male) constitute only one of the themes of his life story and may not even be the main focus of the poem. Perhaps this could be taken as one of the criteria for a further division within the general category of the romantic genre, as part of the discussion about a more adequate classification of Persian narrative poetry, which would have to go far beyond our present subject. As well as the existence of obvious links to the genre of the heroic epic, there are also clear connections to the other genre to which the form of the mathnavi was frequently applied: didactic poetry. Not only are sections containing homiletic maxims added to most of these poems, the narrative itself exemplifies moral values, either implicitly or explicitly. Eventually, this developed into a symbolization of the story as such, a tendency which became much stronger during the later centuries of our period and is also related to the growing influence of mysticism on Persian poetry. The protagonists themselves often became allegorical figures with names referring to abstract ideas or items of poetic imagery. In the poem Yusof va Zoleykhâ of Jâmi, written in 1483, the outer form of a famous love story, familiar to all readers from the Qur’an, could not conceal the real allegorical meaning. Earlier in the same century, Fattâhi (d. ca. 1448) even named his characters Hosn va Del (Beauty and Heart) directly after the abstract entities they represented in his tale. It appears, therefore, that “romantic mathnavi” designates a kind of poem that may contain various other elements besides being a love story. The term originated in the West in the 19th century and was derived from the versified romances, as they were known from medieval European 91

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY literature. The term has no proper equivalent in traditional Persian literary theory. Modern Persian scholars use descriptive terms such as mathnavi-ye âsheqâne, ‘a mathnavi about lovers,’ in pointing conveniently to the main subject matter.2 According to the German scholar Hermann Ethé (1844-1917), the romantic mathnavi was an offshoot of the heroic epic. He detected its origin in “the romances of Zâl and Rudâbe and Bizhan and Manizhe [in Ferdowsi’s Shâh-nâme], which are wrapped in all the magic of poetry.” 3 This growth of a new genre from a previous one was marked by a change of meter, namely from the heroic motaqâreb to the romantic hazaj. This is a far too simplistic view of what must have been a complicated development in which various literary genres, sometimes existing simultaneously, interacted with each other. As was pointed out by the Russian historian of Persian literature E. È. Bertel’s (1890-1957), ancient Persian love stories were current long before the Islamic period, perhaps already among the Iranian tribes of the Sacae/Saka and the Massagetes. The Greeks would have borrowed the concept of romantic novel from Persia.4 It has been established that some of the love stories which were later treated in Persian mathnavis were already known in pre-Islamic times, perhaps even as early as the Parthian period. Moreover, the range of the stories that found a place in the tradition of the romantic mathnavi was much wider than the “matter of Iran” as it was laid down in the Shâh-nâme. As we will see in due course, stories were also derived from Hellenistic Greek novels, anecdotes about Bedouin poets in the Arabian Desert, and the narrative contents of the Qur’an. 2

3

4

See, e.g., Dh. Safâ, Târikh-e adabiyyât dar Irân (5 vols., Tehran, 1953-79), II, p. 359; M.J. Mahjub, ed., Vis va Râmin (Tehran, 1959), introd. p. 8. Other appellations, sometimes to be found also in classical texts, are eshq-nâme or havas-nâme; the latter was used by Nezâmi a rather derogatory manner in his Leyli va Majnun. [Ed.] H. Ethé, “Neupersische Literatur,” in W. Geiger and E. Kuhn, eds., Grundriss der Iranischen Philologie (3 vols., Strassburg, 1896-1904), II, p. 239: “den mit dem ganzen Zauber der Poesie umwobenen Romanzen von Zāl und Rūdābe und Bēzhan und Manīsche”; cf. E.G. Browne, LHP II, p. 275. On the romance as a genre of Persian court poetry, see also Julie Scott Meisami, Medieval Persian Court Poetry (Princeton, 1987), pp.76-236. Bo Utas qualified Berthels’ theory as “interesting but strangely vague”; cf. T. Hägg and B. Utas, The Virgin and her Lover: Fragments of an Ancient Greek Novel and a Persian Epic Poem (Leiden, 2003), pp. 11-12, with further references.

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ROMANTIC MATHNAVIS (PRE-SAFAVID PERIOD) A more recent theory explains the growth of the romantic mathnavi by referring to changes in social conditions. The heroic epic would be a typical product of a feudal society where the literature of the courts and its values were in a dominating position. In the course of the 11th-12th century, an urban culture developed in which an audience belonging to a different social class approached literature with other tastes and a new set of moral values. In this new environment, new genres could emerge, in particular the lyrical ghazal and the romantic mathnavi “with its unheroic contents.”5 These ideas are based on an unwarranted simplification of the social history of Persia. It is beyond doubt that for centuries the patronage by princes and their courtiers remained the mainstay of the poetical profession, especially at the many local courts in the Persian cultural area. This does not mean that poetry has always been immune to changes that took place in Persian cultural history, in particular regarding religious developments. From the 11th century onwards, the Sufis began to take a keen interest in love poetry as a powerful medium for the expression of mystical teachings and experiences. The ghazal was foremost in their attention, but the love stories in mathnavis also offered rich opportunities for the introduction of allegorical and symbolic images and themes. The interplay of secular and mystical meanings, which is a challenge to the hermeneutics of Persian ghazal poetry, also affected the genre dealt with in the present chapter. The titles of romantic mathnavis usually mention the names of a pair of lovers. They provided lyrical poets with many favorite examples. As Hâfez put it: Yak qesse bish nist gham-e eshq v-in ajab k-az har kasi ke mishenavam nâmokarrar-ast The sorrows of love tell but one story; the wonder is that, Hearing it from different lips, it never sounds the same.6

Hâfez frequently names pairs of famous lovers in his ghazals, such as Leyli and Majnun, Shirin and Farhâd, Vâmeq and Adhrâ, and Mahmud 5

This theory of the development of poetical forms in Persian literature is proposed by Jan Rypka, who based himself mainly on Eastern European scholarship of the Soviet period; see HIL, in particular the remarks on pp. 185 and 284. 6 Hâfez, Divân, ed. P.N. Khânlari (2nd ed., Tehran, 1983), ghazal no. 40, l. 7.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY and Ayâz.7 The same couples also appear in anecdotes contained in didactic mathnavis. There is a remarkable parallel with the pairs known from medieval European romances, such as Tristan and Isolde, and Floire and Blancheflor. The question whether historical links between these famous European tales and comparable stories in Oriental literatures can be established has been debated ever since the 19th century, and the discussion is still going on.8 However, it is beyond doubt that there are striking similarities between the two traditions. Titles naming two lovers were already commonly used in the Greek novels that were written in the first few centuries CE. As we will see, more positive results have been achieved by recent research into the links between Persian romances and Hellenistic fiction. There are no formal features distinguishing romantic mathnavis from other kinds of poems in the same poetical form. As a rule, similar conventions appear to have been followed as far as the prologue and epilogue are concerned. In these marginal parts of the poems, some themes are obligatory compositional features, such as sections devoted to praising God and the Prophet, and a panegyric addressed to the patron to whom the poem was dedicated. Other themes were more or less freely chosen by the poet and may contain valuable information about the origin of the work, the poet’s intentions, his moral or religious convictions, his ideas on poetry, and his biography. Reference is often made to sources from which the story was derived or to previous poets who handled the same material. This is less frequently found in mathnavis of the didactic genre where narratives are not the main element of the composition. The use of metrical patterns in romantic mathnavis is to a great extent determined by the powerful convention of literary emulation. The meter once chosen by an admired predecessor was as a rule also adopted in the poems of his imitators. The obvious example is the Khamse of Nezâmi of Ganje, each of which five mathnavis stands at the beginning of a long line of imitations composed in the same meter. Sometimes, the choice of 7

8

The love story of the mighty Ghaznavid sultan and his favorite Turkish slave was only treated in mathnavis after the period that concerns us here; see A. Monzavi, Fehrest-e noskhahâ-ye khatti-ye fârsi (6 vols. in 7, Tehran, 1969-74), IV, pp. 3175-80. This is a rare instance of a homosexual pair in narrative love poetry. Cf., for instance, the introduction by Dick Davis to his translation of Vis and Ramin (Washington, D.C., 2008), pp. xxxii-xl, and the discussion on this poem below.

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ROMANTIC MATHNAVIS (PRE-SAFAVID PERIOD) a similar pattern was not related to the treatment of the same story, but to certain common traits in the plots and the composition of tales about different protagonists placed into very different historical settings: e.g., the mathnavis Vis va Râmin by Gorgâni, Khosrow va Shirin by Nezâmi of Ganje, and Yusof va Zoleykhâ by Jâmi, all displaying identical features in their plots and written in the same variation of the meter hazaj. On the other hand, identical patterns could be applied to poems belonging to entirely different genres, e.g., the khafif, occurring in the didactic poems of Sanâ’i of Ghazna as well as in Nezâmi’s romance Haft Peykar.9 In the course of time, when the number of exemplary works increased, it became customary to indicate metrical patterns simply by referring to the title of a famous mathnavi instead of using the cumbersome definitions of metrical theory. Although on principle there is no exclusive relationship between meter and genre, there are some patterns, which were only applied to romantic poems.10 In some romantic mathnavis, fragments of lyrical poetry have been inserted which have a function in the story. Such insertions are usually adjusted to the rhyme pattern of the mathnavi in which they appear, but occasionally they are distinguished by the pattern of rhyming proper to lyrical poetry. Examples of this will be cited in due course.

2. Early Romantic Poems In studying the beginnings of Persian literary forms and genres, one is always confronted by the problem of poor documentation. The few surviving literary texts from the pre-Islamic period are mostly preserved through Zoroastrian Pahlavi literature. They are nearly always handed down in an adapted form, which only through a process of reconstruction that is never entirely free from speculation can provide an idea of their original 9 10

Cf. J. T. P. de Bruijn, “The Individuality of the Persian Metre Khafîf,” in Lars Johanson and Bo Utas, Arabic Prosody and its Applicatiosn in Muslim Poetry (Istanbul and Stockholm, 1994), pp. 35-43. See further on the occurrence of meters in mathnavis: Henry Blochmann, The Prosody of the Persians (Calcutta, 1872), pp. 87-90; L. P. Elwell-Sutton, The Persian Metres (Cambridge, 1976), pp. 243-45.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY appearance. There is, however, enough circumstantial evidence available to establish beyond any doubt that behind the earliest specimens from the Islamic period still accessible to us looms a long and rich narrative tradition. If we accept this premise, the question arises how the scarcity of pre-Islamic material can be explained. The history of Persia has recorded several great upheavals involving not only the social and political system but also deeply affecting the culture of the Persians. The invasion of the Macedonian Alexander, leading to the downfall of the Achaemenids, and the conquest of the Zoroastrian Sasanid Empire by the Muslim Arabs are the most obvious examples. In both instances, all aspects of the national tradition — its religion, language, arts and literature—were dramatically affected and some radically altered. It stands to reason to expect that either as a result of cultural change or simply through physical destruction much material, in particular written documents, were irretrievably lost. Although this factor must be given its due weight, the alternative should also be taken into consideration: if so little is preserved of pre-Islamic literature, the question could be raised whether a great part of it was ever written down in the first place. Even during the great periods of ancient Persian history, oral tradition seems to have been dominant, especially in poetry. Minstrels and singers were the performers as well as the normal transmitters of poetical texts, not copyists. A remarkable feature of this oral tradition is that it was by no means restricted to the “low culture” of uneducated people, but equally prevailed among the higher classes, even at the royal courts of the Achaemenids, the Parthians and the Sasanids. This situation was very persistent. For centuries it withstood the strong influence of Greek culture where the tradition of recording literature in writing existed already long before the beginning of the Hellenistic period. In Persia, this did not become predominant before the time when the philological culture associated with Arabic literature became firmly established in the early Islamic centuries. It is certain that narrative literature was one of the kinds of literature cultivated in the oral tradition from the Achaemenid period onwards. There must always have been storytellers around who found an eager public for their performances. The presence of love stories on the repertoire of Old-Persian narrators can be concluded from the evidence of the story of Panthea, told in the Cyropaedia of Xenophon, and of Odatis and Zariadres, which according to Chares of Mytilene was much loved by the Persians. Both Xenophon and Chares were Greek writers of the 4th century BCE, 96

ROMANTIC MATHNAVIS (PRE-SAFAVID PERIOD) and therefore contemporaries of the Persian Empire of the Achaemenids. Both stories they refer to involve Persian royal protagonists, respectively the King of Kings Cyrus and the prince Zariadres, the brother of King Hystaspes, who in later Persian legend is known as Zarêr, the brother of King Vishtâsp. From the first centuries CE, a genre of Greek prose novels about love and adventure is known. Although these novels must have been rather popular and were read over a long period, only a few are preserved in their complete form. Many more are merely extant in fragments, or even known by no more than their titles. The area where these stories are situated comprises the eastern coastlands of the Mediterranean, between Anatolia and Egypt, and adventures at sea are a recurrent motive. However, there are also numerous references to Persian courts, usually projected into the past, as far back in time as the period of the Achaemenids. This seems to be a reminiscence of the long period of Persian rule over the Greeks of Asia. The historical dimension of these novels, composed only in Roman times, makes it plausible to surmise that they are based on a much older narrative tradition, presumably mostly aural-oral, that must have flourished in and around the ancient Persian Empire and survived over the centuries. Certain single traits occurring in their plots invite comparisons with the kind of stories from Islamic times that we will examine in the present chapter. As Dick Davis has convincingly demonstrated, several important motifs, even entire plots, in Persian romantic poetry might be related to these Hellenistic stories, although the historical and cultural gaps to be bridged are considerable and the ways along which the transmission could have taken place are still very obscure.11

Vâmeq va Adhrâ Thanks to a fortuitous finding in the mid-20th century, we now have concrete evidence that such a link between Hellenistic Greek and Persian Islamic literatures is not just a matter of conjecture. In 1954, the Pakistani 11

Cf. D. Davis, Panthea’s Children: Hellenistic Novels and Medieval Persian Romances (New York, 2002). For an introduction to the Greek novels see T. Hägg, The Novel in Antiquity (London, 1983) and the volume of essays by the same, Parthenope: Studies in Ancient Greek Fiction (Copenhagen, 2004).

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY scholar Mohammad Shafi informed an international audience of Orientalists, gathered at the University of Cambridge, about his discovery of pages from an early Persian manuscript used to enforce the bindings of a theological work copied and bound in 526 AH (1132 CE). The recovered text turned out to be a fragment of 380 couplets from a mathnavi entitled Vâmeq va Adhrâ, attributed to Abu’l-Qâsem Onsori (d. after 1031), the famous poet laureate of Sultan Mahmud of Ghazna. It had been known already from several sources that Onsori, who was celebrated in particular as a master of the panegyrical qaside, also wrote a number of mathnavis. The anthologist Owfi, writing in the early 13th century, mentioned three titles of narrative poems, written “in the name of the Treasury of Yamin-al-Dowle”, i.e. Sultan Mahmud.12 Besides the recovered poem they include Shâdbahr va Eyn-al-Hayât (Lucky One and Source of Life), and Kheng bot va Sorkh bot (White idol and Red idol), titles both referring undoubtedly to pairs of lovers. Perhaps they were also romantic stories with plots based ultimately on Greek novels, but too little has survived to be very certain about this. According to an incidental reference in an anonymous Eskandar-nâme in prose, the latter story turned around the two statues of the Buddha which until recently were standing in a rock side near Bamiyân in Afghanistan. In this legendary account of Alexander’s adventures, the world conqueror had seen these statues in the Central-Asian land of Farghana. They are interpreted as the tombs of the hero and heroine figuring in Onsori’s poem.13 A contemporary of the poet, the historian Biruni (d. 1050), who stayed at the court of Ghazna for some time, noticed that he had treated the same subjects, probably in Arabic prose, but the relationship between Biruni’s lost versions and Onsori’s Persian poems remains unclear. Until Shafi’s finding, only a small number of isolated lines in the meter motaqâreb had been recovered from lexical sources, mainly from Asadi’s Loghat-e Fors. From the occurrence of distorted Greek names, it soon became evident that the mathnavi had a Hellenistic background, but it was only in the 1980s that it was established by two Swedish scholars, the Classicist Tomas Hägg and the Iranologist Bo Utas, that the fragments of 12 13

Owfi, Lobâb al-albâb, ed. E.G. Browne and M. Qazvini (Leiden and London, 19036), II, p. 32: be-esm-e khezâne-ye Yamin-al-Dowle. This is presumably a reference to the Sultan’s library. See further Hägg and Utas, The Virgin and Her Lover, pp. 193-99.

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ROMANTIC MATHNAVIS (PRE-SAFAVID PERIOD) Vâmeq va Adhrâ closely matched the remnants of the Greek novel Metiokhos and Parthenope and supplemented lacunae of the latter in several places. The names of the female protagonist in Greek and Persian both refer to “virginity,” an important motif in this story, as it is in many other Hellenistic novels. Onsori adapted the Greek story taking over many of the personal and geographic names in distorted forms. It is still to be determined along which way the story reached him. The names of the two lovers suggest the possibility of an Arabic intermediary. A text in prose bearing this title is mentioned in the Fehrest as a work by Sahl b. Hârun al-Dastmeysâni (d. 830), the head of the Khezânat al-Hekma in Baghdad, the famous center for translation founded by the Caliph al-Ma’mun.14 As each version only contains sections of the story belonging to the first part of it, the plot is still only partially known. In the Dârâb-nâme by Abu-Tâher Tarsusi (a writer of epic stories in prose of uncertain identity)15 one of the later episodes in the story is paraphrased, presumably from an oral source. The full material in Greek and Persian that has been recovered so far was edited and translated recently by T. Hägg and B. Utas, who added a reconstruction of the plot and a detailed account of the recovery of the poem. Vâmeq and Adhrâ remained a famous pair of lovers, whose story was told many times over, not only in Persian, but also by Turkish poets. The early 20th-century Iranian scholar Mohammad-Ali Tarbiyat described no less than fifteen different versions, all in mathnavi, but having little in common with the original novel.16 The only notable one is the Turkish poem by Lâme’i (d. 1532), introduced in the 19th century to the West in a German paraphrase and partial translation by Joseph von Hammer-Purgstall.17 According to Bo Utas, who compared the Turkish poem with what is preserved of the ancient Greek-Persian novel, it “differs completely from what we know of ʿUnsurī’s poem—at least on the surface.”18 14 15 16 17

18

Hägg and Utas, The Virgin and Her Lover, p. 18. See Marina Gaillard, “Abū Ṭāhir Ṭarsūsī,” in EI3, available online at http://dx.doi.org/ 10.1163/1573-3912_ei3_SIM_0034. M.A. Tarbiyat, “Vâmeq o Adhrâ,” Armaghân 12 (1931), pp. 519-31. In his Geschichte der osmanischen Dichtkunst (Vienna, 1836-38), II, pp. 73-93; Hammer’s Wamik und Asra, das ist das Glühende und das Blühende: Das älteste persische Gedicht, in Fünftelsaft abgezogen (Vienna, 1833), is a German pastiche only superficially related to the Turkish poem. Cf. Hägg and Utas, The Virgin and Her Lover, pp. 204-7; more fully discussed in Bo Utas, “The Ardent Lover and the Virgin: A Greek Romance in Muslim Lands,” Acta

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Varqe va Golshâh Another poet at the court of Ghazna also chose a romantic story as the subject of a narrative poem. His name was Ayyuqi—a pen name referring to the red star Ayyuq, “Capella”—but unlike Onsori he left no traces in literary history besides the authorship of the present mathnavi and perhaps of two lines of verse cited in a single copy of Asadi’s dictionary Loghat-e Fors. It has even been a point of discussion whether the “Abu’lQâsem Mahmud,” addressed as soltân-e ghâzi (sultan fighting for Islam) and shâhanshâh-e âlam (emperor of the world), to whom Ayyuqi dedicated his work, was indeed the mighty ruler of Ghazna of the early 11th century, or another Mahmud among the Saljuq rulers reigning much later. The scholars who closely examined the poem all accepted the former identification: Ahmed Ateş, who discovered the text and was the first to write about it (1954; 1961); Dhabih-Allâh Safâ, who edited the poem (1964); and Assadullah Souren Melikian-Chirvani who translated it into French and published a detailed study of the manuscript and its illustrations (1970).19 The most recent Western translation of the poem is in German.20 Ayyuqi’s Varqe va Golshâh is a mathnavi written in the meter motaqâreb, which was also chosen by his contemporaries Ferdowsi and Onsori for their mathnavis. As it has been preserved in a unique copy, the poem has more than 2200 couplets, but there are several lacunae, including sixteen lines at the beginning that were later supplied from the prologue of Homây va Homâyun, written in 1331, in the same meter, by Khʷâju Kermâni. The manuscript is kept at the Topkapı Library in Istanbul (Hazine 841). It is undated, but was probably copied in the 13th century, presumably for a royal library. The precise place of its origin is unknown, however. Apart from its great importance to the history of Persian literature, it is also an invaluable document for art historians because of the rich illustrations Orientalia Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 48 (1995), pp. 229-39 = idem, Manuscript, Text and Literature (Wiesbaden, 2008), pp. 183-93. 19 See further the discussion with full bibliographical data by F. de Blois, PL, V, pp. 77-80. 20 Ayyuqi, Varqa va Golshâh, tr. Alexandra Lavizzari as Warqa und Gulschah: Aus dem Persischem mit einem Nachwort von Alexandra Lavizzari (Zürich, 1992; paperback ed. as Die Geschichte der Liebe von Warqa und Gulschah, Zurich, 2001).

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ROMANTIC MATHNAVIS (PRE-SAFAVID PERIOD) accompanying the text, which are among the earliest specimens of Persian book painting.21 The Arabic source of the story is not difficult to find, in spite of the change of the names of the lovers in the Persian version. In adab works such as Ebn-Qoteybe’s Ketâb al-she’r wa’ l-sho’arâ’ and Abu’l-Faraj Esfahâni’s Ketâb al-aghâni, a romantic story is related about the love of Orwa b. Hezâm, a poet of the Banu-Odhra, who died about 650 CE, and his cousin Afrâ, closely resembling the plot of Ayyuqi’s Persian poem. The story is situated in a Bedouin environment. The cousins Orwa and Afrâ are intended for each other from an early age, but during the absence of Orwa his betrothed is married instead to a rich man who takes her away to Syria. Orwa falls ill and is also brought to Syria to recover. He is received kindly by Afrâ’s husband. However, he refuses to take advantage of the situation and goes away. On his journey home, he is struck again by love sickness and dies. Afrâ, who has remained a virgin, visits his grave and dies as well. According to one version of the Arabic story, the father of Afrâ deceives Orwa by showing him the grave of his daughter where he has in fact buried a sheep. The Arabic story provided a narrative framework for a collection of Orwa’s poems.22 Ayyuqi elaborated this simple tale into a varied adventure story adding new events and protagonists. Initially the setting is idyllic. Varqe and Golshâh are the children of the brothers Homâm and Helâl, two chiefs of the Arab tribe Bani Sheyba. The parents agree to their marriage, but the wedding party is disturbed by the raid of a neighboring tribe, the Bani Zabb, whose chief Rabi’ b. Adnân is enamored by the beautiful Golshâh. She is abducted but is eventually set free after she has misled Rabi’ b. Adnân into thinking that she prefers him to Golshâh. Golshâh dons a man’s armor and joins in the fight to rescue her wounded lover. Then another obstacle for their happy union is introduced: Varqe has lost all his belongings during the plundering of the raiding tribe and is unable to pay the bridal gift. The marriage has to be postponed until he finds the necessary means. He travels to Yemen seeking the help of his 21 22

See A. S. Melikian-Chirvani, Le roman de Varqe et Golšāh (Paris, 1970), for an extensive study of these illustrations; see also Abbas Daneshvari, Animal Symbolism in ‘Warqa wa Gulshāh’ (Oxford, 1986). Cf. the summary of the Arabic versions by Th. Bauer, “ʿUrwa b. Ḥizām,” in EI2 , X, pp. 908-9 .

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY uncle, the king Mondher. At his arrival in Yemen, he finds that the king has been captured by the allied kings of Bahrayn (Ahsâ) and Aden, his capital being under siege. At the head of a force of one thousand horsemen, Varqe attacks, defeats the enemies, and liberates Mondher, who rewards him lavishly. During his absence, Golshâh’s father breaks his promise not to marry her off to anyone else. The parents succumb to the rich presents offered them by the king of Syria. Golshâh is forced to marry the king and leaves with him for Damascus, but she stipulates that the marriage should not be consummated. After their departure, her father, pretending that Golshâh is dead, digs a fake grave for her, which is shown to Varqe on his return from Yemen. However, when a friend tells him what has really happened, Varqe bitterly laments the loss of his sweetheart and condemns Helâl’s deceit. Varqe travels to Syria in search of Golshâh. Before he reaches Damascus, he falls into the hands of bandits, who leave him behind, heavily wounded, near a well in the desert. By chance, the Syrian king finds him there when he returns from a hunt. Varqe is taken to the palace and is nursed by one of Golshâh’s servants. By means of the ring, which he hides in a bowl of milk, he reveals his identity to her. The king allows the two to meet in a room of the palace but keeps them under surveillance. He is satisfied when he notices that they do not act improperly. Out of respect for the chivalrous king, Varqe decides to leave Damascus. On his journey through the desert, he succumbs to his love sickness and dies. When Golshâh, together with her husband, visits his tomb she dies as well and is buried next to him. The story is supposed to have taken place during the rise of Islam. Ayyuqi has given the story an Islamic flavor by the addition of an epilogue. When he comes to Syria, the Prophet Mohammad passes by the graves of the two lovers. He feels compassion for their sad fate and brings them to life again, granting the lovers another span of twenty years to live together. As no immediate sources of the elaborate form of the story are known, it is quite possible that Ayyuqi was the inventor of the new features found in the Persian poem. If that is the case, as an innovative writer he does not deserve the way he has been left in almost complete obscurity in Persian literary history. The most important element that was added consists of the warlike events, in particular the raid of Rabi’ b. Adnân and the adventures of Varqe in Yemen. They have been singled out by some critics as the 102

ROMANTIC MATHNAVIS (PRE-SAFAVID PERIOD) best and most lively parts of the poem, and are very close to the heroic style of Ferdowsi. Also, the participation of the heroine Golshâh in the fighting is a trait well-known from the Shâh-nâme—see, for instance, the episode of the girl Gordâfrid taking part in a single combat with Sohrâb.23 Another remarkable addition is the insertion of short lyrical poems in monorhyme, but metrically adjusted to the mathnavi. They are put into the mouths of the protagonists who give an emotional comment at certain points of the story. Most of these poems are laments uttered by Varqe on the separation from his beloved, her supposed death, the death of his father or his own fate (ed. Safâ, pp. 15, 17, 27, 81-82, 108 and 110); Golshâh gets the last word in an elegy at the death of Varqe (p. 112). Even the kidnapper Rabi’ is speaking in two poems, one a declaration of his love for Golshâh, and another his boast of his prowess and noble behavior (pp.13, 20). The faked grave motif has led to the speculation that there must be a link to the medieval Western romance of Floire et Blanchefleur, about an Oriental prince and the daughter of a Christian knight captured by the Saracens; it also contains the motif of the false grave, but it has proved impossible to make a historical connection with the Arabic tale.24 More promising are the similarities between certain motifs in Ayyuqi’s poem and the tradition of the Hellenistic novel. Dick Davis found in the former “a virtual catalogue of motifs to be found in Greek romances.”25 But in this instance, too, the precise ways followed by this influence have still to be elucidated. Quite understandable comparisons have been made as well between Varqe and Golshâh and that other, far more famous, Odhrite pair of lovers, Majnun and Leyli.26

23 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed Djalal Khaleghi Motlagh as The Shahnameh (8 vols., New York, 1987-2008), II, pp. 132-37; tr. Dick Davis as Shahnameh: The Persian Book of Kings (New York, 2006), pp. 191-94. 24 Cf. R. Basset, “Les sources arabes de Floire et Blancheflor,” in idem, Mélanges africaines et orientaux (Paris, 1915), pp. 191-97; Melikian-Chirvani, Le roman de Varqe et Golšāh, p.11. 25 Davis, Panthea’s Children, pp. 6 n. 2; cf. the more cautious remarks by Bo Utas, in Hägg and Utas, The Virgin and Her Lover, pp. 10-12. 26 Dh. Safâ, “‘Leylî et Madjnoun’ de Nizāmī et ‘Varqah et Golchâh’ de ʿAyouqi,” in Colloquio sul poeta persiano Nizāmī (Rome, 1977), pp. 137-47.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Vis va Râmin The story about the lovers Vis and Râmin, an extensive mathnavi of almost 9000 couplets,27 composed in the meter hazaj-e mosaddas-e maqsur, has long been regarded as the beginning of the Persian romantic epic. In this case, there can be no doubt about the time and place of its origin. On the basis of the information provided by the poet Fakhr-al-Din Gorgâni in the introduction to the poem, he was present at the conquest of Isfahan by the Saljuq sultan Toghrel Beg in 1050. After the sultan had left the city, Gorgâni composed Vis va Râmin at the request of the Saljuq governor of Isfahan, Amid Abu’l-Fath Mozaffar b. Hoseyn of Nishapur. It is his only known literary composition of any substance. Although an exact dating is not given, it must have been completed between 1050 and 1055, the period when Gorgâni’s patron ruled in Isfahan.28 Other panegyrical sections in the poem are addressed to Sultan Toghrel (reigned 1038-63) and his minister Khʷâja Abu-Nasr b. Mansur. The introduction further contains an interesting account of the poem’s origin, although the particulars provided by Gorgâni are not always sufficiently clear and have given rise to various interpretations. It is related that the basis of his work was a renowned ancient version of the story in “Pahlavi,” which was no longer understandable to many people anymore. Besides, it lacked the elements which by the 11th century were regarded as essential for a poetical composition, such as rhyme and a correct classical meter, but also rhetorical embellishment. Modern scholar have expressed different views about the proper meaning of pahlavi in Gorgâni’s words: according to Minorsky, it refers to the Middle Persian language of the Sassanian period and its script, but others have pointed out that he language of his source could also have been a local dialect of early New Persian as poems in of the western dialects used to be designated as fahlaviyyât. This discussion is connected with the wider ranging question of the origin of the poems’ story.29 The substance of the story is undoubtedly Iranian and is situated in a familiar geographical context, including the western city of Hamadan as 27 The richly annotated edition by M.-J. Mahjub (Tehran, 1959) has 8904 couplets. 28 Davis, “Introduction,” p. ix; according to Rypka, HIL, p. 117: after 1054. 29 See the summary of the discussion in de Blois, PL, V, pp. 162-63 with further references.

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ROMANTIC MATHNAVIS (PRE-SAFAVID PERIOD) well as Marv in the east, and many well-known places in between. Many of its features are characteristic of a medieval feudal society. However, the personae and their vicissitudes have no recognizable basis in historical fact. After a detailed investigation of the poem Vladimir Minorsky concluded that the political circumstances as well as the geography all point to an origin in Parthian times when the social and cultural conditions of the plot prevailed.30 Although Minorsky’s thesis has been accepted by many, there have also been dissenting voices, such as that of Marijan Molé, who believed that the story under a legendary appearance reflected in fact the political situation of the Saljuq period,31 and Abd-al-Hoseyn Zarrinkub, who traced it to an oral tradition of Fahla, an area in north-western Persia. Jan Rypka assigned its genesis to the 5th century CE, the middle Sassanian period.32 Notwithstanding the literary embellishment that Gorgâni gave to his version of the story, there is still much evidence of an origin in the tradition of popular Persian narration. The principal theme —the love of a princely couple thwarted by a fateful promise by their relatives that is afterwards broken—is complicated, first by the presence of two other suitors and then by a very long sequence of events—armed conflicts, abductions, treason, deceit and magical practices—in which many other protagonists are involved. This makes Gorgâni’s mathnavi comparable to the works of Onsori and Ayyuqi discussed above, in spite of the very different sources of their respective subject matter. Perhaps on account of these popular features it met with a favorite response initially, although it later appears to have been forgotten. The presence of elements that are anathema in Islam, in particular the marriage between siblings and the adultery committed by the main characters, must have provoked censorship and this was perhaps an major factor in the neglect of the poem in subsequent centuries. Very few manuscripts have survived, and about 1500 the poet and critic Mir AliShir Navâ’i of Herat could already state that Gorgâni’s work had become

30 31 32

In a number of articles published in the BSOAS between 1946 and 1962, reprinted and revised in V. Minorsky, Iranica: Twenty Articles (Tehran, 1964), pp. 151-99; Persian tr. in Vis va Ramin, ed. Mahjub, pp. 391-440. Marijan Molé, “Vīs u Rāmīn et l’histoire seldjoukide,” Annali, Istituto Universitario Orientale di Napoli, 9 (1959), pp. 1-30. See further Rypka, HIL, pp. 177-79.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY a rarity. There is early evidence showing that this poem, as well as other romantic tales, had a bad reputation.33 Gorgâni’s story contains a great number of adventures of the protagonists and vicissitudes in their fate. As far as this is concerned, it has much similarity to the preceding romantic mathnavis as well the later Khosrow-nâme. Vis (or Vise) is the daughter of Shahru and Qâren, the king of Media. Before she was born her mother had promised her in marriage to king Mowbad Manikân of Marv. Vis, together with Râmin, Mowbad’s brother, are raised by a nurse. Shahru breaks her promise and decides to marry her beautiful daughter to her son Viru. While the wedding takes place, Zard arrives to claim Vis on behalf of his half-brother Mowbad. Vis refuses to follow Zard, arguing that she prefers her brother as a husband to an old man. Mowbad is furious and invades Media. In a battle on the plain of Nehâvand, Vis’s father Qâren is killed; this adds a new motive to her refusal as she abhors marrying her father’s killer. She is betrothed to her brother-husband; however, the marriage is never consummated. In spite of Râmin’s attempts to change his mind, Mowbad persists and tries to win Shahru over by sending her rich presents. Shahru gives in and, during the night, she unlocks the castle where Vis lives, who is then taken away to Marv. This turning point in the plot is marked by a beautiful rhetorical description of the nightly sky with all its stars. At Mowbad’s court, Vis does not surrender to the king’s desire, however much her nurse tries to weaken her resolve. To ease the tension, the nurse prepares a talisman that is designed to make the king impotent temporarily if he attempts to copulate with Vis. The talisman is by chance washed away in a sudden storm, and its effects become irreversible. Râmin, who has fallen in love with Vis, begs the nurse to explore his chances, but Vis remains faithful to Viru. Nevertheless, Vis is also charmed 33 The anonymous mid-12th century mirror-for-princes Bahr al-favâ’ed, ed. M.-T. Dâneshpazhuh (Tehran, 1966), p. 115 (tr. Julie Scott Meisami as The Sea of Precious Virtues [Salt Lake City, 1991], p. 80) warns parents to keep both Vis va Râmin and Vâmeq va Adhrâ out of the reach of their children as they go against religion and might have a corrupting influence. Obayd-e Zâkâni, writing in the 14th century, includes it in one of his comical one-liner glosses: A cuckold (al-quch wa’ l-shâkhdâr) is he whose wife reads the story of Vis and Râmin (“Resâla-ye dah fasl,” in Kolliyyât, ed. Abbâs Eqbâl Ashtiyâni [Tehran, 1953], chap. ix., p. 329 [Ed.]).

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ROMANTIC MATHNAVIS (PRE-SAFAVID PERIOD) by Râmin when she sees him at a banquet. Taking advantage of the absence of the king, the nurse brings the two lovers together in the palace garden. Here they take a solemn oath to love each other forever. When Râmin is sent out by Mowbad on a campaign, Vis bids him farewell from the roof of the palace. Overhearing the conversation between Vis and the nurse, the king learns about their secret love. Vis is locked up, and Râmin is defamed as a frivolous playboy. Later, Mowbad sends Vis away from his court, back to Media. Against his brother’s will, Râmin joins her there and stays with Vis for seven months. Mowbad brings Vis back to Marv. He wants to test her fidelity by an oath taken over a fire. However, she escapes and flees with Râmin to a hiding place near Ray. After a wide search, Mowbad returns to Marv, where Shahru tries to convince him that he should allow Vis and Râmin to return to the court. Several episodes relate how Mowbad again and again tries to split the lovers, but each time is outwitted. If Vis is locked up in a remote castle, Râmin manages to join her there. When the king locks up all the gates of the palace before he leaves, Vis jumps from a window to meet with Râmin who is sleeping in the garden. Afterwards, Vis deceives Mowbad by telling him that she has only been together with Râmin in her dream. On a spring day, they all sit in the garden and listen to a minstrel performing an enigmatic song that points to the illicit relationship between the two lovers. The king guesses the meaning and charges at Râmin with his dagger, but he is disarmed. Râmin has to leave the court. He is appointed governor of Media. Although he swears that Vis will always be in his mind, he finds a new love in Gol, the daughter of a high official, and marries her. After the wedding, Râmin inadvertently compares Gol to Vis; Gol curses both Vis and the nurse. Râmin tries to excuse his unfaithfulness in a long exchange of letters with Vis. After some time, Râmin becomes tired of Gol, and departs. In the desert, he meets with a messenger sent by Vis, who brings him to back Marv. While Râmin is standing in front of the palace, in foul weather, an exchange of reproaches between the lovers takes place. In the end, they are reconciled and retreat to a castle. At the approach of spring, Râmin returns to Marv to report to the king. Mowbad takes the reluctant Râmin with him on hunting trip and a campaign. In his absence, the nurse tells Vis to accept the custody of Shahru and Viru, waiting for a chance to get rid of the king. Vis recalls Râmin to Marv. 107

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY He sneaks out of Mowbad’s camp, sending a messenger in women’s clothes to Vis. They meet in a fire-temple. Entering the citadel of Marv, Râmin kills his half-brother Zard, who is replacing the king. With Vis and the royal treasure, Râmin travels to Qazvin, where he is hailed by the people of Deylam and Gilan as their king. Mowbad marches on Amol to fight Râmin but on his way he is attacked by a wild boar and killed. Râmin now became the ruler of a great and prosperous empire. When Vis dies, he builds a tomb for her at the Zoroastrian fire-temple of Borzin, where Râmin is also buried three years later. The poet’s moral conclusion is that Râmin was only granted kingship by God when he was no longer the slave of his desire (âz).34 This summary contains no more than the skeleton of the story. A substantial part of it is taken up by the conversations and speeches of the dramatis personae, which are usually of a considerable length. Several modern critics, especially in the West, have pointed out that the poet’s “prolixity” is a major flaw in the composition of the poem as time and again these endless ruminations slow down the pace of the action, in particular in passages where the impatient reader anticipates a speedy dramatic development. Such criticism misjudges the true character of the poem. As an author of polite poetry, Gorgâni puts his artistic aim far beyond the mere telling of an exciting tale of adventures or even a moving love story. In fact, the basic narrative is elaborated into a text which treats one fundamental theme: that is, love in all its aspects as they are exemplified by the actions and thoughts of the protagonists. In all likelihood, this higher literary purpose is also implied in Gorgâni’s statement about his adaptation of a simple Pahlavi text according to the conventions of classical Persian poetry which must have meant much more than the introduction of meter and rhyme. We need not doubt that this transformation was made in accordance with the tastes of the courtly audience for whom the poem was composed. It may be assumed that there existed a great interest in the sophisticated treatment of the theme of love. Whatever the further constituents of the narrative were, they served first of all to exemplify the manifold aspects of this central subject. Dick Davis, the most recent translator of the poem, has very ingeniously compared Gorgâni’s artistic concept with that of an Italian bel canto opera 34

Based on the more detailed summary of the plot by Minorsky, Iranica, pp. 156-64.

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ROMANTIC MATHNAVIS (PRE-SAFAVID PERIOD) in which the lyrical arias similarly interrupt the plot but nevertheless are close to the essence of this art form.35 The similarity with operatic style is most evident in the numerous songs that, following a convention that we already noticed in Ayyuqi’s romantic poem, are inserted in the narrative. Most of the time, these are put into the mouth of Râmin, the male hero of this love story. He not only regularly performs as a musician and a singer in public, but Gorgâni also makes him utter his private thoughts in the form of a song (often named a sorud) when nobody is there to listen. In such intermezzi, he expresses his emotions and complaints about the separation from his beloved Vis. The description of all the facets of love is so many-sided and intense that the poem could almost be compared to the treatises, usually in a mixture of prose and poetry, on the theory of love. This does not mean that the story and its protagonists were of less importance to the author. It is clear that he was fully aware of his duty as a narrator who has to entertain his audience with a tale stirring excitement and drawing forth strong emotions. His personae are full of life and far from being mere allegories. Yet, love is conceived in this story as an autonomous, almost fatal force that incites the actors to deeds that go against their better judgment and the demands of morality. Considerations of loyalty, whether feudal or conjugal, are given full expression in the lengthy monologues of the principal characters, but mostly the erotic urge gains the upper hand in the end and they follow the dictates of love. The principal personae whose acts and words carry the plot forward are, besides the amorous pair Vis and Râmin, the mighty but unfortunate and abused king-of-kings Mobad and the anonymous Nurse who brings the lovers together and helps them in precarious situations with her wit and occasionally with magic. Less prominent are Vis’ mother Shahru who initiates the intrigue with her misguided promise in marriage of an unborn daughter, her brother-husband Viru and Râmin’s temporary spouse Gol. Through their roles in the story, but also in the words of their counterparts many sides of their characters are revealed. These are often contradictory and provide psychological insights which are among the most attractive features of the poem for modern readers. However, it should be kept in mind that the personae are not “rounded” 35 Davis, “Introduction,” p. xxiii.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY figures in a contemporary novel. The manner in which their characters are described, whether by the author or by one of the personae, is predicated first of all on the role they play at a given moment in the development of the story. This mathnavi is undoubtedly one of the most splendid examples of the romantic genre. It is understandable that it achieved a certain degree of success as long as there was an audience that was sensitive to the specific artistic values of the poem. In the first few centuries after its composition, such conditions certainly still existed. The appearance as early as the 13th century, of a faithful Georgian translation, shows that it could even fascinate readers at a Christian court outside the cultural realm of Islam. Several reasons could be mentioned why eventually it fell into oblivion. It has often been argued that the sexual morality exemplified in the story, especially the tolerant attitude towards adultery and extra-marital sex is quite reprehensible from the point of view of Islam. This is even more the case with the marriage between brother and sister, evidently a vestige of a pre-Islamic phase in the history of the story. Offensive though this incest must have been to Gorgâni’s readers, its effect is somewhat diminished by the fact that the marriage is never consummated, and, moreover, does not play a prominent role in Gorgâni’s version. Another factor is the completely secular conception of love, lacking the mystical overtones that soon after the mid11th century began to play such an important part in Persian literature. Gorgâni’s style is elegant but rather simple compared to the much more mannered diction of his most celebrated successor Nezâmi of Ganje. Perhaps the great renown which the latter’s romantic stories very soon gained is one of the causes of the oblivion into which Vis va Râmin fell in the later Middle-Ages. The modern interest in Gorgâni began in the 1850s when the German scholar Aloys Sprenger discovered a manuscript of the poem in an Indian library. Soon afterwards, the first printed edition was published by W. Nassau Lees and Ahmad Ali, both attached to Fort William College in Calcutta. The attention of European Iranologists was drawn in particular by the similarity of the main topic of the story to the tale of Tristan and Isolde, that had become famous in 19th-century Germany through the medieval epic by Gottfried of Strasbourg and Richard Wagner’s opera, first performed in 1865. Hermann Ethé regarded the Persian poem as “competitive [to the German epic] as far as formal perfection, elegance of 110

ROMANTIC MATHNAVIS (PRE-SAFAVID PERIOD) presentation and skillfulness in drawing characters and picturing inner feelings are concerned.”36 Other Western critics have had their reservations. Francesco Gabrieli and other modern commentators deplored what they conceived as the verbosity and prolixity of Gorgâni’s style.37 Question marks were also placed regarding the moral values presented in this story. According to Jan Rypka, “the frivolity of the theme,” including sexual promiscuity, deceitfulness, and the ridicule of the old king Mowbad, may have contributed to its popular appeal. The marriage between brother and sister (even if not consummated) and many other features are incompatible with Islamic morality and must be regarded as survivals of the pre Islamic versions, confirming Minorsky’s thesis of the antiquity of its roots.38 In contrast to this is the verdict of the poem’s most recent translator, Dick Davis, who speaks of “one of the most extraordinary and fascinating love narratives produced anywhere in the medieval world, Islamic or Christian.”39 Earlier translations were published by Henri Massé (Paris, 1959) into French and by George Morrison (New York and London, 1972) into English. A medieval Georgian translation entitled Visramiani, is supposed to have been made in the 12th century by Sargis T’mogveli; it was translated into English by Oliver Wardrop (London, 1914).

Khosrow-nâme In the preface to the Mokhtâr-nâme, the collection of Farid-al-Din Attâr’s quatrains, purported to have been assembled by the poet himself, a mathnavi of more than 8.000 couplets by the title of Khosrow-nâme (The book of Khosrow) is mentioned in a list of his works. The poem has indeed been preserved under his name in a number of medieval manuscripts. Sometimes alternative titles occur, naming the main characters of this romantic story: Gol va Khosrow, or Gol va Hormoz. There can be no doubt about H. Ethé, Die höfische und romantische Poesie der Perser (Hamburg, 1887), pp. 38-39: “Formvollendung, Schmelz der Darstellung und meisterschaft der Charakterzeichnung und Seelenmalerei.” 37 “L’opera … pecca anzitutto di una prolissità verbosa notevole,” cited approvingly by A. Bausani, Letteratura persiana, p. 624. 38 Rypka, HIL, pp. 177-79. 39 Davis, “Introduction,” p. ix. 36

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY the genre to which it should be reckoned. The basic plot is a love story that unrolls itself in a long sequence of adventures bringing the protagonists in many different lands and all kinds of dangerous situations before the final happy ending. There can be no doubt that it is a work of entertainment and that it belongs to the same narrative tradition as the romantic tales described so far. The poem is a completely secular narrative. Any suggestion of a possible allegorical reading is futile. Here is a summary of the very complicated plot of this poem: The Qeysar of Rum, who desires to have a son, makes one of his slave girls pregnant; his jealous wife orders one of her servants to induce a miscarriage, but the servant, fearing the Qeysar’s wrath, allows the child, a boy who is named Khosrow, to be born and runs away with him. After a journey overseas where they suffer shipwreck, and traveling through a desert where they are robbed by brigands, the servant arrives exhausted at the palace garden of the king of Khuzestan. Before she dies, she entrusts the boy, henceforth called Hormoz, together with a ring as a sign of his royal descent, to the king’s gardener who raises him as his own son. Together with the king’s son Bahrâm, Hormoz is trained in all the arts befitting a future prince. The king’s daughter Gol sees Hormoz lying in a meadow and falls in love with him. Her nurse tries to cure her lovesickness but in the end finds no other way than to act as a go-between. Hormoz, reluctant at first, agrees to a secret meeting, where he and Gol declare their love for each other. The king of Isfahan wants to marry Gol. When the princess refuses him, his army marches on Khuzestan. The attack is stopped by Hormoz, who leads the army of Khuzestan. When Qeysar demands a tribute from Khuzestan, Hormoz is sent to Rum as a mediator. His mother recognizes him and reveals to Qeysar his secret birth, which is confirmed by his ring. Qeysar accepts Hormoz as his son and names him again Khosrow. Returning to Khuzestan, Khosrow finds the country ravaged by the Isfahanis, who have abducted Gol. In a letter left for Khosrow, she confirms her love. With thirty knights, Khosrow departs for Isfahan, but they lose their way in the mountains. While hunting, Khosrow, separated from his companions, falls into the hands of a cannibal, who locks him up in a cave. The cannibal’s daughter falls in love with Khosrow. She helps him to escape together with two other prisoners, Farrokh and Pêrôz. These men 112

ROMANTIC MATHNAVIS (PRE-SAFAVID PERIOD) were sent out by Shâpur, the king of Nishapur, in search of a portrait of Gol. Farrokh gives this portrait to Khosrow to thank him for his liberation. The fugitives go to Isfahan and settle down in a house. Presenting himself as a physician, Khosrow is called in to treat Gol, who is suffering from grief. The nurse who is with her recognizes Khosrow. She helps him to enter the palace in women’s clothing to spend a night with Gol. In the morning, the king of Isfahan finds her in a better shape, but she still rejects him because he has ruined the kingdom of her father. Khosrow advises the king to leave her alone for a month until she has fully recovered. When Khosrow visits the ailing Jehânafruz, the king’s sister, as a physician, she falls in love with him. Khosrow gives in to her, and she gives him her female slave Hasnâ. When Gol behaves in a more friendly manner towards the king, she is allowed to go into the palace garden. From there, Khosrow abducts Gol and her nurse and hides them in his house. In a crystal bowl, he shows the king that a fairy has carried Gol away to the mountains of China. He needs to go into seclusion for forty days to conjure up this fairy. In the meantime, he flees from the city with Gol and his other companions. After ten days, they arrive at a castle where robbers are hiding. The men attack the robbers, killing three of them, but the women are captured. The robbers slaughter the daughter of the cannibal and the nurse but confine Gol and Hasnâ to their castle. Farrokh climbs the walls and liberates the two women. The group travels on to Rum. In the garden of Qeysar’s palace, they enjoy themselves with wine and music. However, Gol still refuses to give herself to Khosrow. The king of Isfahan is upset when he discovers Khosrow’s deceit. When Khosrow and Gol are united in Rum, the slave girl Hasnâ feels neglected and reveals the events in a letter to Jehânafruz. The king of Isfahan sends two men to Rum. They capture Gol and put her in a casket. However, their ship to Isfahan suffers shipwreck. The abductors are drowned, but the casket remains floating on the sea. Qeysar marches on the king of Isfahan and kills him. In Isfahan, Khosrow does not find Gol, only the withered Jehânafruz, who begs him to take her with him. Khosrow sets out on a search for Gol. He sends Farrokh to the east and goes himself west, taking Jehânafruz with him. Pêrôz defects from 113

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Khosrow and returns to the ruler of Nishapur. Khosrow’s quest brings him to several enchanted places. Finally, he meets with an old man living in a marble castle on top of a mountain, and engages in philosophical talks with him. Being unable to find Gol, Khosrow returns to Rum brokenhearted. The casket with Gol is washed ashore in Turkistan, a part of the empire of the Faghfur, the king of China. A fisherman who rescues her tries to rape her. She kills him, and, disguised as a boy, she arrives at a garden belonging to the king of China. Exhausted, she falls asleep on a bench. She is found by the king’s daughter who falls in love with her. When Gol rejects the princess, she is imprisoned on the accusation of an attempted rape. When the deceit comes to light, the king wants to execute his daughter, but after the mediation of his councilors he orders a minister to blind her. The minister does not carry out his command but hides the princess. Gol is put on a scaffold to be hanged and then be burned. She saves herself by revealing her breasts to the people watching the execution. She is set free, but now the king becomes infatuated with her. When she refuses him, she again ends up in a dungeon. Her jailor, a eunuch by the name of Kâfur, feels sorry for her and helps her to send a letter to Rum. Farrokh is then sent out to rescue her. On their way back, they stay in Nishapur, where Pêrôz finds them out and delivers Gol into the hands of Shâpur. Farrokh escapes to Rum and informs Khosrow about Pêrôz’ betrayal. Khosrow marches on Nishapur. He conquers the city, but Shâpur escapes to Tirmidh taking Gol with him. During the siege of Tirmidh, Farrokh manages to enter the city. Shâpur is captured and Gol united with Khosrow. Both Shâpur and Hasnâ are pardoned, and the surviving companions are married to each other. The wedding between Khosrow and Gol finally takes place. A son is born, who is named Jahângir and becomes the ancestor of all the emperors of Rum. Khosrow and Gol live happily together for thirty years. Then Khosrow dies of a snake bite. Shortly afterwards, Gol dies as well on her husband’s tomb. One year later, after the death of the old Qeysar, Jahângir succeeds to the throne of Rum.40 At the level of the plot, many elements can be noticed that recall episodes of other stories. A quite obvious one is the rescue of a child condemned 40

Based on the more extensive German summary by H. Ritter, “Philologika X. Farīdaddin ʿAṭṭār,” Der Islam 25 (1938), pp. 146-51.

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ROMANTIC MATHNAVIS (PRE-SAFAVID PERIOD) to death by his father as the initial motif of the story. Its pedigree can be retraced as far back as the famous legend of the birth of Cyrus as told by Herodotus, but it is also well known from the legend about the birth of the hero Zâl as told by Ferdowsi in the Shâh-name as well as from many other Persian tales. In the Khosrow-nâme, it returns more or less when the princess of China is spared by a minister to whom her father had ordered her execution. Particularly frequent are the echoes of Nezâmi’s tale of the love of the Sassanian king Khosrow Parviz and Shirin, especially in those scenes where Gol expresses her high moral opinion on love. These similarities were highlighted by Hellmut Ritter, who in particular praised the poet’s portrait of Gol as the true hero of the story, “the figure of a woman of great attraction. A woman who because of her beauty gets entangled in all kinds of suffering, but yet succeeds in preserving her pure womanhood.”41 As well as offering a love story, this mathnavi is also a novel of adventure with an almost endless storyline again and again taking new and unexpected turns. Several motifs resemble the romances described earlier and can ultimately be derived from the narrative tradition of the Hellenistic Greek novels, for instance the perilous journeys of the protagonists over sea and land, the battle scenes, and the crucial role of the nurse as a go-between. The geography of the story covers almost the entire Asian continent (with the notable exception of India), and is not much different from that of Gorgâni’s Vis va Râmin, although in the Khosrow-nâme an additional adventure in China is added. Apart from these traits, pointing to an ancient heritage of popular storytelling, there are other features that show a strong impact of classical Persian narration characteristic of the mannered style of romantic tales in mathnavis that was brought to perfection by Nezâmi of Ganja. The poem contains a formal introduction (dibâche) in which information concerning Attâr previous mathnavis, mentioned earlier, is contained. As it has been mentioned, this passage plays an important part in the discussion about the authorship of the Khosrow-nâme. The proper story opens with an address to the “narrating nightingale” (bolbol-e dâstân-zanande). Throughout the poem, other birds also serve as the poet’s Muse and are invoked at major 41

H. Ritter, “Philologika XIV: Farīduddin ʿAṭṭār II,” Oriens 11 (1958), pp. 46-47: “De eigentliche Held des Epos aber ist eine Frauengestalt von großem Zauber. Die Frau, die durch ihre Schönheit im Leiden aller Art verstrickt wird, aber dennoch siegreich ihr reines Frauentum behauptet.”

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY turning points of the plot, e.g., the ring dove (qomri), cock pheasant (tadharv), the parrot (tuti), and the hoopoe (hodhod). In the poet’s apostrophe to the “swiftly flying” falcon (p. 54, l. 1111: bâz-e tizpardâz), the bird is asked to become his messenger to whom one of the key episodes of the romance is entrusted: Gol’s falling in love with Hormoz when from the rooftop of her father’s palace she sees him lying asleep in the garden. For several hundred lines, the inner struggle provoked by the awakening of love in the young girl’s soul is described in many different forms. The main body of this description consists of Gol’s lengthy monologues addressed to her own heart. In between, the word is lent to two personified entities, sc. “cautious” Reason and “eloquent” Love, giving her contradictory advice about how to deal with this unknown emotion (p. 60, ll. 1245-55). Eventually, her speech is interrupted by an authorial intervention (p. 64, l. 1342) which brings the discourse down to the line of the actual story: Konun vaqt âmad ey morgh-e delârâm Ke Golrokh-râ forud âri az-in bâm Now is the time, O my heart-comforter of a bird, To bring Golrokh down from the rooftop.

Then the Nurse is introduced; the character of the Nurse is brought to the scene and described as “a cunning bird with a quick mind”( fosungar morgh-e châbokandish). She finds Gol lying in a swoon on the roof. When she has wakened her up, the girl reveals her love for Hormoz to the Nurse. In the course of all this, a rich repertoire of imagery and similes embellishes the account of Gol’s tribulations. For instance, Gol’s condition is compared to a baby; a bird seeking his food; a fish out of the water; an ant who has just got wings; a butterfly close to a fire (ll. 1201-05). One of her concerns is the social difference between the two lovers: “…/I am a princess, he a gardener’s son” (ll. 1215-24). Quite early in the story, however this obstacle to her love is removed when the true identity of Hormoz is revealed. Very elaborate also is the account of the meeting between the two lovers in a garden after Hormoz has been restored to his rightful position as prince Khosrow. A group of minstrels is called to play and recite love poetry. This gives the poet the occasion for a poetic description of their instruments: 116

ROMANTIC MATHNAVIS (PRE-SAFAVID PERIOD) the harp, the cymbal, the flute, and the lute. Another major description inserted toward the end of the story is a extended description of hair (muy) in which each half-verse contains the word muy. This is part of the letter of Gol dispatched after her release from the Chinese prison, one of her letters dispersed cited in several places of the story. The authorial interventions occurring at various places sometimes mention the name of Attâr as the supposed author in an apostrophe, e.g. (p. 286, ll. 6069-71): Zahi Attâr dar bahr-e hekâyat To dâri dorr-e ma’ni bi-nehâyat Sokhan sarsabz-e ma’ni gasht az to Beheshti dâr-e donyy gasht az to Chonân kardi ba-ma’ni dâstân-râ Ke bârân-e bahâri bustân-râ Well done, Attâr! In the ocean of stories You hold themes without ending. Speech has become rejuvenated by you. This world you turned into Paradise. Your tale is so replete with meaning As is the garden by the rain of spring.

Should this be read as a self-praise of Attâr as the real author, or does it belong to the game of mystification that is played in this remarkable mathnavi? A satisfactory answer to this question is hard to find. As far as the philological evidence is concerned, affirmative statements can be found, both in the list of his works provided in the collection of Attâr’s quatrains, the Mokhtâr-nâme, and in the mention of the poet’s name in the text of the Khosrow-nâme. In the preface, reference is made to an earlier prose work by a person called Badr-e Ahvâzi which Attâr would have used as his source.42 Moreover, notable scholars such as Badi’-al-Zamân Foruzânfar, Sa’id Na­ fisi, and above all Hellmut Ritter, have spoken in favor of the ascription to Farid-al-Din Attâr in spite of that fact that both the subject matter and the style of this poem are remarkably different from those of all the authentic works of the great mystic poet known to us. These factual and stylistic discrepancies led Mohammad-Rezâ Shafi’i-Kadkani to deny the authorship of 42

For a discussion of the evidence cf. de Blois, PL, V, pp. 270-78.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Attâr in spite of obvious occurrence of his name in various places.43 This problem undoubtedly needs further investigation, which in view of the historical place of the Khosrow-nâme as well as of its intrinsic merits remains an important desideratum in Persian literary history.

43

M.-R. Shafi’i-Kadkani dealt with the problem in the introduction to his edition of Attâr’s Mokhtâr-nâme (Tehran, 1979), pp. xxxvi-lxii. For more recent research on the attribution for the Khosrow-nâme, see Austin O’Malley, “Ḵosrow-nāma,” EIr Online, at http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/2330-4804_EIRO_COM_362661.

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CHAPTER 3 NEZȂMI’S ROMANTIC POEMS AND THEIR CULTURAL AFTERLIFE: RECEPTION AND RESPONSES Paola Orsatti

1. Overview and Critical Assessment of the Poems The Narrative Material and Principal Themes Nezâmi of Ganje (ca. 1141-1209) is the author of five poems in the mathnavi form, which were later grouped together under the overall title of Panj ganj (The Five treasures) or Khamse (Quintet): Makhzan al-asrâr (The Storehouse of secrets), Khosrow va Shirin (Khosrow and Shirin), Leyli va Majnun (Leyli and Majnun), Haft peykar (The Seven portraits/beauties/ planets), and Eskandar-nâme (The Book of Alexander, divided into two parts: Sharaf-nâme and Eqbâl-nâme; see Chapter 7 by Mario Casari in this volume).1 Three of them, Khosrow va Shirin (begun, and probably for the most part composed in 571/1175, with later additions), Leyli va Majnun (584/1188), and Haft peykar (593/1197), are often referred to as “romantic poems” since all three recount a story focusing on the theme of love: love 1

For a critical discussion of Nezâmi’s dates, the chronology of his poems, and a bibliography of the manuscripts, principal editions, and translations of the poems, see François de Blois, PL, V/2, pp. 438-95, and idem, PL, V/3, Appendix II, “Some Afterthoughts on the Chronology of Niẓāmī’s Works and that of the Sharwān-Shāhs,” pp. 585-91. Nezâmi’s dates are uncertain: The year 605/1209 is apparently given for Nezâmi’s death on a tombstone found in Ganje, but the text of the inscription has not been accessible to scholars (see de Blois, PL, V/2, pp. 446-47); likewise, 535/1141 as the year of Nezâmi’s birth has been set conventionally; 1941 was planned for the celebrations of the 800th anniversary of the poet’s birth, and 1991 was proclaimed by UNESCO as the year of Nezâmi’s 850th birth anniversary.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY as the great sentiment of the human soul, investigated with keen psychological analysis in the love story between king Khosrow and the beautiful Shirin; love as deprivation, madness and alienation from society, in the poem Leyli va Majnun; love as eroticism, and in the episode of the hunt of king Bahrâm with his handmaiden, as a problematic aspect of the king’s conduct, in Haft peykar.2 The adjective “romantic” also refers to the genre of romance in European literatures, with which the Persian romance shares “the biographically organized plot, the emphasis on inner experience as revealed through monologue and dialogue, the stress on personal aspiration and its frequent conflict with public values.”3 Indeed, these poems can be defined as “romances” because they recount the life and adventures of a hero of ancient times. Whereas Leyli va Majnun, based on Arabic sources, has a poet known as Majnun (“The Madman” or “The Possessed”) as its protagonist, the two other romantic poems, Khosrow va Shirin and Haft peykar, narrate the story of two kings of the Sasanid dynasty: Khosrow II Parviz (r. 590-628) and Bahrâm V Gur (r. 421-38 or 439) respectively. The two “Persian poems” thereby belong to the same narrative strand of pre-Islamic origin that has its roots in the Iranian historical-legendary corpus, of which they are an offshoot. The narrative of Khosrow va Shirin takes place at a crucial turning point in Iranian history: the end of the Sasanid empire, on the eve of the epochal change represented by the Arab conquest of Iran. The conclusion of the love story between king Khosrow and the beautiful Shirin is set 2

3

Unless otherwise stated, quotations from Nezâmi’s poems are given according to the edition by Behruz Tharvatiyân, Makhzan al-asrâr (Tehran, 1984), Khosrow va Shirin (Tehran, 1987), Leyli va Majnun (Tehran, 1985), Haft peykar (2nd ed., Tehran, 2010), Sharaf-nâme (Tehran, 1989), Eqbâl-nâme (2nd ed., Tehran 2010). In references to the text of the poems the first cipher refers to the chapter in the Tharvatiyân edition, and the following to the number of the line(s) within each chapter. Julie Scott Meisami, Medieval Persian Court Poetry (Princeton, 1987), p. 131. On romances, and especially love romances in Persian literature, cf. J.-Ch. Bürgel, “The Romance,” in Ehsan Yarshater, ed. Persian Literature (New York, 1988), pp. 16178 and J. Rubanovich, “In the Mood of Love: Love Romances in Medieval Persian Poetry and their Sources,” in C. Cupane and B. Krönung, eds., Fictional Storytelling in the Medieval Eastern Mediterranean and Beyond (Leiden and Boston, 2016), pp. 67-94.

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NIZÂMI’S ROMANTIC POEMS in an apocalyptic context, culminating in the appearance of the prophet of Islam at the end of the poem. The apocalyptic light which surrounds the end of the first poem is even more perceivable in the other “Persian poem” by Nezâmi, Haft peykar, with the figure of king Bahrâm partially transformed—already in Nezâmi’s sources, and even more so in the poet’s re-elaboration—into a messianic figure, in particular in the episode of the king’s disappearance into a cave (see below). Such transformation probably originated out of confusion between two historical personages bearing the same name: the evanescent figure of the Sasanid king Bahrâm Gur was influenced by and finally merged into the figure of another Bahrâm, a far more famous historical personage pertaining to the epoch of Khosrow Parviz, i.e. Bahrâm Chubin, in his turn identified, particularly at a popular level, with Wahrâm î Warzâwand (Bahrâm the Powerful) of Iranian apocalyptic texts. The overlapping caused a partial shift of the narrative of Nezâmi’s Haft peykar to the same period of Iranian history as the other Persian poem, that is, the end of the Sasanid empire. This is the epoch in which, according to our reading, the poems of love and adventure (see below) are also, more or less clearly, placed. It is also the epoch in which the narrative materials of pre-Islamic origin gathered in the Sasanid Xwadây-nâmag (Book of kings) received their definitive written form before being assimilated into Islamic culture. It is not surprising, therefore, to find historical figures and events pertaining to the end of the Sasanid period reflected in the narration of more ancient stories. An example of such “retrospective influence,” apart from the partial superposition of Bahrâm Chubin’s figure over Bahrâm Gur’s, is the story of Goshtâsp and Katâyun in the Shâh-nâme, clearly retold on the basis of Khosrow Parviz’s story and the legend of his marriage to the daughter of the emperor of Rum—a story variously repeated not only in Nezâmi’s Khosrow va Shirin, but also in many other love poems.4 As far as the recount of historical facts is concerned, Nezâmi’s “Persian poems” are firmly based on historical works, especially the Ta’rikh al-rosol wa’ l-moluk (History of prophets and kings) by Tabari (839-922), and Bal’ami’s adaptation in Persian of the latter, composed in 963. However, Nezâmi’s most immediate source, and the starting point for the composition of his “Persian poems” and the Book of Alexander, is Ferdowsi’s Shâhnâme. Without repeating what Ferdowsi had already narrated in poetic 4

Here, some of the results of the research presented in other chapters of this volume have been summarized.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY form, in his Khosrow va Shirin Nezâmi focuses on the couple’s love story, treated in a cursory manner by Ferdowsi. Basing himself on traditions possibly originating from the Christian regions of Armenia and eastern Transcaucasia, Nezâmi sought to do justice to the character of Shirin, presenting her in a different and more attractive light than previously depicted in earlier accounts and in the Shâh-nâme. Likewise, in Haft peykar, while exploiting the works of historians and the Shâh-nâme, Nezâmi also resorted to traditions widespread in two specific regions of Iran, Tabaristan and the region of Bukhara, the “Copper City” of some sources: a place from which a Messiah was expected to come, to save Iran from chaos and restore the rule of law and religion.5 These two regions had already been associated with the birth and development of the legend of Bahrâm Chubin (see Chapter 6 below). Nezâmi’s Persian poems, as well as the poems of love and adventure having some relationship to his Khosrow va Shirin, may offer a clue to a deeper understanding of the history of Persia seen from an indigenously unofficial point of view. Moreover, some seemingly meaningless variations in the characters and location of the poems find their full significance against the background of Iranian history. The substitution of Rum with China in some later poems pertaining to the Khosrow va Shirin tradition, for example, together with the replacement of the daughter of the Byzantine emperor with the daughter of the king of China, suggest a reference to the territories to the east of the Iranian plateau where the last Sasanids had taken refuge after their final defeat at hands of the Arabs. The poems may even maintain a memory of historical or, more probably, semi-historical personages unknown to Islamic sources: an example is Saint Golinduch (Golândokht), a Persian saint, whence the character of Gol/Maryam could have originated. Starting from this and other characters, as well as through a myriad of other paths, narrative materials of different origins, which were widespread in Egypt and the Middle East in Late Antiquity, were incorporated into the Persian romances. For Nezâmi and later poets, the love story provides the starting point for an analysis of love seen in the particular context of the characters’ vicissitudes. Indeed, the poems provide practical illustration of theories and 5

Cf. A. Destrée, “Quelques reflexions sur le heros des recits apocapyptiques persans et sur le mythe de la Ville de Cuivre,” in La Persia nel Medioevo (Rome, 1971), pp. 639-54.

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NIZÂMI’S ROMANTIC POEMS questions debated in mediaeval Islamic treatises on love:6 the relationship between love (eshq) and concupiscence or lust (havâ), and their respective virtues or dangers; the value of chastity in a love relationship; the description of the “states” (ahvâl) of the lovers, i.e., the psychological phenomena affecting lovers;7 the problem of love and madness, with focus on the physical and mental health of the lover; the problem of love inside and outside marriage.8 But the poems also present issues related to love that philosophers and theoreticians do not consider. The pre-Islamic location of many of the poems may have been a factor that enabled these themes to be handled with surprising freedom. Whereas Haft peykar cannot be considered, strictly speaking, a love poem, the two other romantic poems illustrate two different and even opposite concepts of love. The first one is the “despotic love” designated, with a pun, by the expression nâz o niyâz (coquetry and need) in the Persian tradition. In this context, love consists of a series of continuous skirmishes and conflicts between the two sides, with the lover pleading and begging the beloved to be made the object of some attention.9 This concept, probably originating from courtly milieus, is represented in the relationship between Khosrow and Shirin (see below, Chapter 4). The second is the concept in which the two lovers are on a par, simultaneously sharing love and suffering, and at odds with the society around them and its values. The latter concept, originating from the so-called “Udhri love” of Pre-Islamic Arabic literature, and therefore historically earlier than the former, is embodied in the relationship between Leyli and Majnun—though in some 6

7 8 9

On love theories, cf. Lois Anita Giffen, Theory of Profane Love Among the Arabs: the Development of the Genre (New York and London, 1971); J.-Ch. Bürgel, “Liebestheorien,” in Klaus von See, ed., Neues Handbuch der Literaturwissenschaft, Vol. V: Orientalisches Mittelalter, ed. Wolfhart Heinrichs et al. (Wiesbaden, 1990), pp. 482-98; C. L. Cross, “The Haft Paykar: Love, Color, and the Universe” (M.A. thesis, University of Chicago, 2010), pp. 5-35; L. Capezzone, “ʽIshq: Love in Islamic Context,” in Houari Touati, ed., Encyclopedia of Mediterranean Humanism, Spring 2015, http:// www.encyclopedie-humanisme.com/?Ishq, with recent bibliography, accessed 4 September 2022. This topic represents one of the constitutive parts of treatises of love; cf. Giffen, Theory of Profane Love, in particular pp. 67-70. On this particular question see Giffen, Theory of Profane Love, p. 129, and Capezzone, “‘Ishq: Love in Islamic Context,” s.v. “The Philosophical and Ethical Approach.” See Charles-Henri de Fouchécour, “Nâz o niyâz yâ eshq dar mashreq-zamin,” Dabireh 3 (1988), pp. 47-56; and J.T.P. de Bruijn, “Beloved,” EIr, IV, pp. 128-29.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY later poems, as those by Jamâli and Jâmi, Leyli does not share Majnun’s concept and is herself a victim of Majnun’s love (see Chapter 5 below). Having two kings as their protagonists, the two “Persian poems” Khosrow va Shirin and Haft peykar also deal, through direct narration and speeches and dialogues, with love in relation to kingship. Often the love story reflects the king’s path to ripeness and maturity as a judicious sovereign. Indeed, many authors of romantic poems share the idea that a king’s private life and his conduct as a lover reflect on his personal and political maturity. The poems, therefore, also deal with issues related to the personal morals of the king: the necessity for the sovereign to rein in his passions in many spheres, wine and women included; curbing his anger to avoid rash decisions; the necessity for balancing pleasurable pastimes such as the hunt with the daily cares and chores of the realm; the need for a good minister; the overall problem of the king’s own well-being, physical and mental, and its effect on his rule and domain: all topics related to the tradition of the mirrors-for-princes literature.10 Such “mirrors-for-princes” themes also occur in the Book of Alexander as well as the didactic poem Makhzan al-asrâr, whereas they are absent from the “Arabic poem” Leyli va Majnun. Apart from love, a wide range of other themes and moral issues related to spiritual and moral life are touched upon in the Quintet and, hence, in the poems composed in response to Nezâmi’s poems. An important theme is the relationship between father and son, as exemplified in the strained relationship between Khosrow and his father Hormoz, or Khosrow and his son Shiruye, or yet again in the amiable figure of Majnun’s father. In some later responses, for example Hâtefi’s Leyli va Majnun, the focus shifts to the relationship between Leyli and her mother. Other moral themes touched upon in the poems are the relationship between man and animals, reflected in the contrasting characters of Bahrâm, the hunter-king, and Majnun, estranged from his society but a king over the natural world; the attitude of man faced with his destiny, dealt with through the figure of Majnun, or 10

Cf. N. Yavari, Advice for the Sultan: Prophetic Voices and Secular Politics in Medieval Islam (Oxford and New York, 2014), esp. pp. 21-26 with note 37 on p. 22 (connection between correct governance and curtailment of passions), and pp. 64-67 (medicine and politics). On the connection between love and kingship, see Meisami, Medieval Persian Court Poetry, pp. 180-236; see also Julie Scott Meisami, “Kings and Lovers: Ethical Dimensions of Medieval Persian Romance,” Edabiyat: The Journal of Middle Eastern Literatures 1 (1987), pp. 1-27.

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NIZÂMI’S ROMANTIC POEMS the unhappy lover Farhâd; the problem of death, often commented on in authorial afterthoughts at the end of the narration of a character’s death. Many other philosophic, medical and scientific questions, even encompassing personal hygiene, are also addressed in the poems.11

2. Types of Intertextuality in the Tradition of Response to Nezâmi’s Poems Nezâmi’s Quintet was the starting point for a multitude of poems composed, in Persian and other languages of the Islamic world, in response, emulation, or polemic challenge to Nezâmi’s poems.12 In reference to the relationship between texts in the Persian medieval literary world, the term “imitation” (taqlid) has been used, both by Iranian and foreign scholars. “Intertextuality” is also used as a more comprehensive term to denote any kind of relationship between one text and other texts, either due to the weight of the literary tradition which influences, sometimes even unconsciously, the poetic creation, or dictated by deliberate authorial choices. The latter, however, is the most relevant phenomenon in the study of the relationship between poems with narrative content: every response to a textual model is constructed according to a studied design in order to produce a work that stands in some significant relation to the canonical masterpieces: a concept which properly falls within the definition of “imitation.”13 11

See the advice imparted by the dying Mehin Bânu to her niece Shirin about the dangers of overeating in Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 45/22-33. On the philosophical concepts addressed by Nezâmi in both the narrative and didactic parts of his poems see Mansur Tharvat, Ganjine-ye hekmat dar âthâr-e Nezâmi (Tehran, 1991) and Alessandro Bausani, “Aspetti filosofico-etici dell’opera di Niẓāmī,” in Colloquio sul poeta persiano Niẓāmī e la leggenda iranica di Alessandro Magno (Rome, 1977), pp. 149-74. See also J.-Ch. Bürgel, “Nizāmī’s World Order,” in J.-C. Bürgel and C. van Ruymbeke, eds., A Key to the Treasure of the Hakīm: Artistic and Humanistic Aspects of Nizāmī Ganjavī’s “Khamsa” (Leiden, 2011), pp. 17-51. 12 For Nezâmi’s relationship to Gorgâni’s poem Vis va Râmin, to which Nezâmi’s Khosrow va Shirin is in its turn a response, see below, Chapter 4, “Love, Passion and Marriage: a Reading of Nezȃmi’s Poem.” 13 Cf. R. R. Edwards, “Imitation,” in The Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics (4th edition, Princeton and Oxford, 2012), pp. 675-80; and P. Cheney,

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY In addition to “imitation,” other more technical terms are attested in Persian literature to refer to the relationship between texts: tatabbo’ (study), javâb (response), esteqbâl (reception), and, mainly in the Turkish literary tradition, nazire (emulation).14 Ghazanfar Jusif-ogly Aliev has attempted to define these terms as far as the tradition of response to Nezâmi’s poems is concerned: the term tatabbo’ would be applicable to poems composed in respect of the very broad formal parameters of the model (e.g. the meter, or the number of the sections in which the prototype is divided, as for example the twenty chapters of Makhzan al-asrâr), although they may vary in content; nazire would apply to a poem composed in the wake of the model, also retaining the same subject; whereas javâb, which normally would apply to a poem dealing with a different subject matter from the model, also implies an attitude of confrontation and even challenge to its author, with which the later poet competes in order to offer a different point of view, or brandish his superiority. According to Aliev, the relationship to a model can also be multilateral: a poem can be a nazire in relation to one poem, and a javâb in relation to another; a remark which accounts for the complex and multifaceted relationship between texts in a literary world so strongly dominated by tradition. In this regard, it should be remembered that Amir Khosrow’s quintet of poems very soon became a model in its own right, and was in turn imitated. It can happen therefore that later poems respond, in different ways, to the work of more than one author.15 Riccardo Zipoli, who has published a study of javâb in lyrical poetry, considers instead all these terms as largely synonyms (he uses only the term javâb), though admitting that they “stand for ‘etymologically’ different attitudes.”16 He notes that, while the term serqat/sareqe (plagiarism) “is “Intertextuality,” in Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics, pp. 716-18. Other terms are also attested to refer to intertextual responses in lyrical poetry, as mo’ âraze (competition), and naqize/naqâʼez (contradicting poems, verbal contests). On these terms, see A. Schippers, “Muʿāraḍa,” EI2 , VII, p. 261; and G.J.H. van Gelder, “Naḳā’iḍ,” EI2 , VII, p. 92. See also P. E. Losensky, “‘The Allusive Field of Drunkenness’: Three Safavid-Moghul Responses to a Lyric by Bābā Fighānī,” in S. Pinckney Stetkevych, ed., Reorientations/Arabic and Persian Poetry (Bloomington, 1994), esp. pp. 227-32. 15 G. Yu. Aliev, Temy i syuzhety Nizami v literaturakh narodov Vostoka (Moscow, 1985), pp. 9-12. Aliev, however, does not quote the sources for his literary reconstruction. 16 R. Zipoli, The Technique of the Ğawāb: Replies by Nawā’ī to Ḥāfiẓ and Ğāmī (Venice, 1993), p. 8, note 13. Zipoli adds: “The ğawāb, for example, clearly alludes to a kind of 14

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NIZÂMI’S ROMANTIC POEMS generally included and described in the Persian treatises on rhetoric, ğawâb is not, and descriptions of it are only to be found scattered in various works of a non-specific nature and, in any case, not in works of rhetoric.” Indeed, javâb “has been seen more as a habit or a mode of behavior” and consequently has not received much attention on behalf of theoreticians of rhetoric and literature.17 A history of Persian literary criticism has still to be outlined. As far as lyrical poetry is concerned, it is difficult to discover, from the formalism and implicit judgments typical of the Persian treatises on rhetoric, the exact meaning of many literary terms. Much has been done, especially for Arabic literature, thanks to the classical studies on poetics and theory of literature by Gustave E. von Grunebaum (1955), Amjad Trabulsi (1955), Wolfhart Heinrichs (1969), Vincente Cantarino (1975), Jamel Eddine Bencheikh (1975), Kamal Abu Deeb (1979), G.J.H. van Gelder (1982) and, more recently, Julie Scott Meisami (2003) and Lara Harb (2013).18 But narrative poetry—little developed in Arabic literature and endowed with less prestige than lyrical poetry—has not received the same attention from either medieval theoreticians of literature or modern scholars;19 with the consequence that, in the study of narrative poetry, the critical parameters for its evaluation and the meaning of literary terms employed for it remain altogether opaque. In the light of this, it is better to avoid the use of the traditional Arabo-Persian terminology and provide instead an empirical description of the relationship between texts pertaining to the tradition of Nezâmi’s romantic poems, starting from the analysis of the texts themselves (for further details and examples, see the following chapters).

17 18 19

dialogue and comparison, while the tatabbuʽ implies a straightforward imitation and influence.” Zipoli, The Technique of the Ğawāb, p. 8. Full references below, in “Bibliography.” An aspect, which has received little attention, is the peculiar syntax of narrative poetry. For example, given the so-called “atomism” of Arabic poetry, the enjambement, that is the syntactic continuation between a line and the following, is considered a defect (cf. Jamel Eddine Bencheikh, Poetique arabe [Paris, 1989], pp. 145-63 and especially G.J.H. van Gelder, Beyond the Line: Classical Arabic Critics on the Coherence and Unity of the Poem [Leiden, 1982], passim). Actually, enjambement is very frequent in narrative poetry. A first partial study of syntax in narrative poetry is given by Paola Orsatti, “Spoken Features in Classical Persian Texts: Subordinate Conditional Causes without a Conjunction,” in Iván Szántó, ed., From Aṣl to Zā’ id: Essays in Honour of Éva M. Jeremiás (Piliscsaba, 2015), pp. 155-65.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY As with lyrical poetry, in narrative poetry too the most important mark of a relationship between texts is the choice, by the later poet, of the same meter as the model; while the compulsory recourse to the same rhyme is of course impossible in the mathnavi form, with the rhyme changing from line to line. The meter is, far more than the poems’ subject matter, the surest criterion for attributing a poem to the tradition of one or the other poem. Indeed, very early on each meter was designated to convey a particular content: erotic, didactic, epic, etc.; and the poet’s choice of meter clearly signals his intention to follow in the wake of a certain model.20 Imitation of the form often concerns not only the meter and the number of the sections in the prototype, but occasionally even such purely external aspects as the total number of the lines, as in Jamâli’s response to Nezâmi’s Leyli va Maj­ nun (see below, Chapter 5). In this literary tradition too, as in lyric poetry, intertextuality first of all concerns the linguistic tissue of the poems, with single words or images recalling, like reflections in a mirror, words and images in the model(s). Such linguistic and conceptual echoes from replica to model can be found everywhere in the text, scattered throughout different contexts; or else they are bound to a particular section or place within the two poems. An example of the former case is a line in Amir Khosrow’s Shirin va Khosrow when, speaking of Farhâd, wretched with love and wishing death on himself, the poet says: “It is not fitting to wish on oneself doom and gloom, for what one annunciates affects the outcome” (nashâyad fâl-e bad zad khwishtan-râ/ ke ta’thir-ast qowl-e mard o zan-râ);21 a line which recalls, both in form and content, a line from Nezâmi’s poem, when Khosrow seeks to win over Shirin’s resistance and all her fears saying: “You will have a bad omen if you 20 On a possible connection between a meter and the poem’s content see J.T.P. de Bruijn, “The Individuality of the Persian Metre Khafîf,” in L. Johanson and Bo Utas, eds., Arabic Prosody and Its Applications in Muslim Poetry (Istanbul and Stockholm, 1994), pp. 35-43. An early example of this approach is the Haft âsmân (The Seven Skies) by the Indian scholar Maulawi Âghâ Ahmad Ali (d. 1290/1873), published in Calcutta (1873), reprinted in Tehran (1965) and Piscataway, N.J. (2010). It had been conceived as divided into seven chapters (âsmâns, ‘skies’), each devoted to one of the meters used for the mathnavi, and to the mathnavis composed in each meter. However, only the first chapter, on poems composed in the sari’ meter, such as Nezâmi’s Makhzan al-asrâr, was completed and published. 21 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Shirin va Khosrow, ed. G. Yu. Aliev (Moscow, 1979), l. 1814.

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NIZÂMI’S ROMANTIC POEMS envisage ill. Speak well, and good will come your way” (bad âyad fâl chun bâshi bad-andish/ cho gofti nik nik âyad farâ pish).22 As to echoes and linguistic references bound to a particular section of the poems, titles provide interesting examples. All poems written in the wake of Nezâmi’s Makhzan al-asrâr have a title metrically and linguistically recalling the title given by Nezâmi: Matla’ al-anvâr, Rowzat al-abrâr, Tohfat al-ahrâr, and so on. In the poems in response to Khosrow va Shirin and Leyli va Majnun, it is the order of the names of the two lovers that acquires importance, as a meaningful response in itself: When Amir Khosrow of Delhi gives his poem the title Shirin va Khosrow, the inversion of the names suggests a particular emphasis on the character of Shirin. As to Haft peykar, the substitution of peykar ‘image, beautiful woman; planet’ with other “objects” is relevant: Haft manzar (The Seven pavilions), Haft owrang (Seven thrones, or The Seven stars of the Great Bear), etc. Sometimes the later author also modifies the number in the title, as does Amir Khosrow in the title of his poem: Hasht behesht (The Eight paradises). The first line of the poems, too, often gives an example of such type of linguistic cross-reference bound to a particular place of the poems: for example, in the poems in answer to Nezâmi’s Makhzan al-asrâr, the authors generally begin their poems inserting the basmala (the formula “In the name of God the Merciful, the Compassionate”) into the first line, as Nezâmi had done in his poem. However, what is really characteristic in narrative poems is, of course, any similarity or dissimilarity concerning the narrative. The later poet can narrate the same story as Nezâmi (or any other author taken as a model), with the same characters; and the story can be developed according to the same episodes as in the prototype. More often, however, the replica adds or removes episodes, or modifies the episodes narrated in the model, or yet again simply inverts their order. Concerning the characters, too, the author of the replica often introduces some changes, amplifies or reduces the role of a traditional character, introduces a new character or lets the characters play a different role in comparison to the model. The meaning of the replica arises from any more or less slight deviation from the prototype: any change, however small, often induces a different meaning, which can be grasped only against the background of the model, as is shown with exemplary clarity in Hâtefi’s responses to Nezâmi’s poems. 22 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 40/46.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Occasionally, the later poet may choose to recount a completely different story, located in a different geographical setting, with characters bearing different names from the characters in his model. However, despite the differences, the new story must have some functional relationship with, or analogy to the model, so that the reader can easily recognize, behind the different characters, episodes and location, the characters, episodes and location of the prototype. Indeed, in this case too, and in spite of being an autonomous work, the new work should be read in relation to its model(s). This kind of relationship is exemplified by Jamâli’s poems, which all recount different stories from Nezâmi’s, but with different characters and locations. They are constructed, however, in invariable correspondence to the characters and episodes of Nezâmi’s poems. It is worth noting that Jamâli himself, in defining his stance, speaks of his javâb to Nezâmi’s poems, and boasts of having responded to him point by point.23 In his re-elaboration of a subject matter, a later poet sometimes draws his materials from different historical sources than the model, or chooses to emphasize traditions and historical accounts not considered by his model, as does Amir Khosrow in recounting Khosrow’s death and other episodes in his poem Shirin va Khosrow. Very often, however, later authors present a personal re-elaboration of the story, intended to improve or correct the most morally reprehensible or implausible features of the model’s plot. Nezâmi himself adopts this attitude in his Khosrow va Shirin, towards his model, the poem Vis vaRâmin by Gorgâni. Often the authors even claim to have found a book giving the ‘true story’ of the hero or heroine (see below, “Narrative Poetry and Historical Truth”). This may refer to a genuine source or, more often, represent a mere fictive cliché. In any case, in later poems the link with the historical materials becomes gradually loosened, though later poems may actually be harking back to more ancient historical or semi-historical features of the narrated story, not provided by their models. Finally, it is important to consider the subjective attitude of the author of the response towards his model(s), ranging from respectful homage or mere imitation to open challenge and criticism; the latter radical attitude is exemplified in Âref Ardabili’s response to Nezâmi’s Khosrow va Shirin. 23

London, India Office Library, Persian MS Ethé 1284, f. 186r, l. 21. On Jamâli’s attitude towards his sources, and in particular Nezâmi, cf. Paola Orsatti, “The Ḫamsah ‘Quintet’ by Ğamālī: Reply to Niẓāmī Between the Timurids and the Qarā-Qoyunlu,” Oriente Moderno, N.S. 15/2 (1996), pp. 406-9. See also below, note 59.

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NIZÂMI’S ROMANTIC POEMS Imitation not only involve the narrative part, but extends to the overall structure of the tome, i.e. the introductory and final non-narrative sections of the model, of which the later poem tries to reproduce both the formal structure, and the content itself. Even biographical information, or any information related to the circumstances of the poem’s composition, can be the object of imitation and emulation. For example, as in Nezâmi’s Leyli va Majnun there is an introductory section in which the poet gives advice to his fourteen-years old son, Amir Khosrow offers a corresponding section in which he gives advice to his fourteen-months old daughter; and Hâtefi offers advice to a relative of his, perhaps his uncle Jâmi. What we may call the “form of content,” to borrow a term from Louis Hjelmslev’s linguistic theory in his Prolegomena to a Theory of Language (English edition, 1953), and roughly corresponding to the thematic genres (aghrâz) of Persian literary tradition, is also the object of imitation. This is the reason why every response to Nezâmi’s Khosrow va Shirin includes a monâzare (tenzone), generally between Khosrow and Farhâd;24 and includes an episode with Shirin praying to God, leading to consolation and resolution of her plight, a thematic genre called al-faraj ba’ d al-shedda (deliverance after adversity);25 or else it includes an exchange of letters, ghazals, or answers, on the model of the ten answers (five each) that Shirin and Khosrow deliver in the famous episode of the terrace.26

In the tradition of the romantic poems, the term monâzare is generally used to indicate a dialogue in verse (stychomythia) between the two rivals for Shirin’s love, Khosrow and Farhâd, who assert their different and even opposite concepts of love. On this genre see E. Wagner, “Munāẓara,” EI2, VII, pp. 565-68; and F. Abdullaeva, “The Origins of the Munāẓara Genre in New Persian Literature,” in A.A. Seyed-Gohrab, ed., Metaphor and Imagery in Persian Poetry (Leiden and Boston, 2011), pp. 249-73. 25 On this genre, represented in Persian literature by early translations from Tanukhi’s (d. 384/994) homonymous Arabic work, and especially by Hoseyn b. As’ad Dehestâni’s translation of it (mid-13th century CE), cf. A. Wiener, “Die Farağ baʿda aš-Šidda Literatur,” Der Islam 4 (1913), pp. 270-98, 387-420; Antonella Ghersetti, “Il qāḍī alTanūḫī e il Kitāb al-farağ baʿd al-šidda,” Annali Istituto Universitario Orientale 51/1 (1991), pp. 33-51; and M. Dabir-siyâqi, “Dehestānī, Ḥosayn,” EIr, VII, p. 216. 26 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, Chapters 66-75 (on this episode, see below). T. Gandjei, “The Genesis and Definition of a Literary Composition: The Dah-nāma (‘Ten loveletters’),” Der Islam 47 (1971), pp. 59-66, conjectures that this exchange in Nezâmi’s poem, on its turn modeled on the ten letters Vis writes to Râmin in Gorgâni’s poem (Gorgâni, Vis va Râmin, ed. M. J. Mahjub, Tehran, 1959, pp. 259-86), is the origin

24

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY A thematic fixture in all Nezâmi’s poems is particularly noteworthy: the description of the Prophet’s ascent to heaven (me’râj), given at the end of the section devoted to praise of the Prophet in all five poems of his. A pioneering study of the theme of me’râj in Persian literature, with a focus on Nezâmi’s work, was provided by Charles-Henri de Fouchécour.27 A description of the me’râj is also given as an integral part of the Prophet’s praise in some of Attâr’s poems (Mosibat-nâme, Elâhi-nâme and Asrâr-nâme), as well as in other earlier poems, such as Khâqâni’s Tohfat alErâqeyn (comp. 1157),28 and, even earlier, in Sanâ’i’s Hadiqat al-haqiqe (comp. 1131) and, almost in passing, in other even earlier poems such as Asadi’s Garshâsp-nâme (comp. 1064-66). The insertion of a me’râj section at the end of the Prophet’s praise appears therefore as a well- established literary tradition before Nezâmi, but it achieved a mandatory status in all poems written in answer to them. An interesting question concerns the existence of a possible functional relationship between the me’râj section and the narrative part of the poems. Fouchécour notes that the description of the me’râj in Nezâmi’s Makhzan al-asrâr bears a strong doctrinal imprint; in Leyli va Majnun love is the main topic of the meʽrâj section; in Haft peykar the description of the Prophet’s ascent contains allusions to the esoteric sciences which have a strong presence in the poem; while in the Sharaf-nâme, the first part of Nezâmi’s Book of the genre called dah-nâme, which was particularly in vogue in the 14th and 15th centuries in both Persian and Turkish literature. 27 “Les récits d’ascension (meʿrâj) dans l’oeuvre de Nezâmi,” in C.-H. de Fouchécour and Ph. Gignoux, eds., Études irano-aryennes offertes à Gilbert Lazard (Paris, 1989), pp. 99-108. Cf. also M.-A. Amir-Moezzi, “Meʿrâj i. Definition,” EIr Online, http:// dx.doi.org/10.1163/2330-4804_EIRO_COM_12078; and for a thorough analysis of the me’râj theme in Nezâmi’s Makhzan al-asrâr see R. Würsch, Niẓāmī’s Schatzkammer der Geheimnisse: Eine Untersuchung zu “Maḫzan al-asrār” (Wiesbaden, 2005), pp. 172-96. See also the articles in C. Gruber and F. Colby, eds., The Prophet’s Ascension: Cross-Cultural Encounters with the Islamic “Miʿrāj” Tales (Bloomington, 2010). In Persian, a study of Nezâmi’s meʽrâj-nâmes compared with three Arabic sources and a discussion of recent bibliography in Persian and Arabic is given by S. Qâsemi-Porshokuh and A. Vafâyi, “Bar-rasi-ye tatbiqi-ye me’râjiyyehâ-ye Khamse-ye Nezâmi bâ negâh-e mowredi be se me’râj-nâme-ye Ketâb al-meʽrâj, Meʽrâj al-nabi, al-Esrâ va’l-meʽrâj,” Fasl-nâme-ye pazhuheshhâ-ye tatbiqi, 1/2 (2013), pp. 23-51. 28 For the poem’s date, cf. Anna Livia Beelaert, A Cure for the Grieving (Leiden, 2000), p. 10 and note 49.

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NIZÂMI’S ROMANTIC POEMS of Alexander, the Prophet’s me’râj focuses on the theme of the journey: a clear reference to the narrative part of the poem.29 As to the poem Khosrow va Shirin, the question is more complex. In this poem, the me’râj section is placed at the end of the poem, at the conclusion of the renewed praise to the Prophet that Nezâmi inserts, as if to mitigate the seriousness of the action in the preceding episode, the account of Khosrow tearing up the Prophet’s letter. By placing a new praise to the Prophet at this point of the narrative, Nezâmi appears to underline the significance of this moment as the dawn of a new era in Iranian civilization. In the subsequent description of the me’râj, the Prophet appears as the one who intercedes with God in order to obtain His mercy for the umma.30 Thereby, the request for God’s mercy in the me’râj section acquires its full meaning in the light of the dramatic narrative of the poem’s final part, with Khosrow’s refusal to accept Islam. Present day readers, perhaps to a great extent informed by aesthetic assumptions of cultures elsewhere, might find the tradition of response to Nezâmi’s poems simply tedious and repetitive. Even many scholars, both in Iran and abroad, have had a critical attitude towards imitation in narrative poetry, considering it a defect and a sign of weakness on the part of the poet. Only by looking at this literary tradition from within, and adopting, as far as possible, the criteria and values associated with this literary tradition in medieval Persian literature, is it possible to appreciate the extraordinary richness and surprising variety offered by these poems.

3. Narrative Poetry: Some Critical Issues Tradition and Originality We have no idea of the aesthetic parameters according to which a narrative poem was judged. There are hints from the poems themselves, especially in such sections where the authors speak of their works and the fate of their previous poems; though they rarely dwell on the criteria by which the poems were evaluated. Hâtefi, for example, bewails the poor reception of his 29 Cf. Fouchécour, “Les récits d’ascension,” pp. 106-7. Only the Sharaf-nâme, and not the second part of the Book of Alexander, i.e. the Eqbâl-nâme, contains a me’râj section. 30 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 98/38-9; Fouchécour, “Les récits d’ascension,” p. 105.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Shirin va Khosrow, but stops short of any explanation. Fidelity to the masters (Nezâmi and Amir Khosrow) seems to be a mandatory canon, though often violated by poets. In his Leyli va Majnun, Jâmi, fearing (or pretending to fear) the judgment of critics, proclaims his fidelity to Nezâmi’s poem, in whose footsteps he respectfully intends to follow. His poem, however, is radically different from Nezâmi’s, based on a deliberate and openly declared intention to return to the sources of the Majnun legend and not limit his subject matter to what Nezâmi and other poets had already narrated. If fidelity to the masters was a canon not stringently observed on behalf of the poets, critics may have been much more insistent about it. The fact that Jamâli narrates altogether different stories, though remaining faithful to the spirit of Nezâmi’s poems, may partially explain the poor reception of his work. A poet such as Hâtefi, who strove to introduce continuous and systematic changes with respect to the model(s), probably did not win the approval of his critics. In line with the enlargement of the social basis of literature to encompass the bazaar and ordinary folk, characteristic of the Timurid period, Hâtefi gives a bourgeois setting to ancient legends; and, with a demythologizing attitude, brings the subject matter of previous narratives back to the reality of his times. His attitude to the models often verges on what we might call a deflating parody, as when, in his response to Nezâmi’s Haft peykar, he explains that the real instigation for the construction of the palace of the Seven Cupolas was the continuous bickering among the princesses while confined to the same palace. But it remains problematic whether we are authorized to refer to the literary category of parody, given that Hâtefi seems more prompted by a desire to astonish his reader with continuous innovations, than by an openly declared ironic attitude towards his models. Indeed, and seemingly in contradiction with the pretended canon of fidelity to the master(s), another criterion asserted without exceptions is that of originality. Many authors bewail the fact that previous poets had already narrated the ancient and most beautiful stories, leaving them only a few scraps; and all of them, beginning with Nezâmi himself, assert their intention not to repeat what had already been said and their wish to tread new paths: “Do not say what the ancient sage (Ferdowsi) said, because you cannot bore the same pearl twice.”31 31 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, 9/11.

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NIZÂMI’S ROMANTIC POEMS The metaphor of the “scrap,” that is fragments and remains left to the new poets by ancient masters, is widely used. The attitude of poets towards their literary sources is well represented by Nezâmi’s words at the beginning of Haft peykar, when he expresses his reverence for Ferdowsi’s Shâhnâme, his main source for the story of Bahrâm: Like a jeweler, he had gathered the gold and ruby dust left on Ferdowsi’s work to create a new poem. What Ferdowsi had left half-said, he completed; what Ferdowsi had already stated perfectly, he left untouched.32

Narrative Poetry and Historical Truth The need for the recounted story to be historically true or at least credible is another canon often asserted by authors; and historical truth, or simple verisimilitude, are among their main, true or affected, preoccupations.33 The cliché of the book giving the true story of the hero or heroine, or the reference to monuments, ruins, or vestiges connected with the narrative, have to be understood in this framework. The reference to the traces of Farhâd’s engineering works in Bisotun, as well as Shirin’s castle and the sculpted image of Shabdiz, in Nezâmi’s Khosrow va Shirin;34 the hint about the monuments built by Farhâd’s descendants in Sharvân, in Âref ’s Farhâd-nâme;35 the conjured up story of the storm which took Maktabi to the shores of Arabia and his visit to the tomb of Leyli and Majnun at the end of his poem Leyli va Majnun,36 are all literary topoi dictated by the need to comply with the purported historical accuracy or reality of the narrative. Already Ferdowsi seems to voice a similar concern when, in the preface to his poem, he warns the reader: “Do not consider it (the poem) as falsehood (dorugh) and fable ( fasâne)!”37—though these 32 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 4/19-20. 33 On this question, seen from the perspective of historians, cf. Ch. Melville, “Introduction,” in A History of Persian Literature X: Historiography, ed. Ch. Melville (London and New York, 2011), sec. on “The Historian and the Truth,” pp. lii-lv. 34 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 11/42-45. 35 Âref Ardabili, Farhâd-nâme, ed. Abd-al-Rezâ Âdhar (Tehran, 1976), ll. 179-80. 36 Cf. Maktabi Shirȃzi, Leyli va Majnun, ed. Jura Bayk Nadhri (Tehran, 1994), pp. 258-60. 37 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Dj. Khaleghi-Motlagh as The Shahnameh (The Book of Kings) (8 vols., New York, 1988-2008), I, p. 12 (Dibâche, l. 113a). The following line,

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY words may also hark back and respond to an ancient literary controversy: Plato’s attacks on Homer and Hesiod, and on the fables offered by poets (Republic, II).38 Often the authors even speak of their characters as if, far from being mere literary creations, had really acted and spoken as described in the poems; and consider the events in which they are literarily involved as thoroughly real. It is starting from this assumption that Âref Ardabili voices his criticism of Nezâmi’s characters: he judges it as implausible that a king such as Khosrow would have failed to enjoy Shirin’s favors while the two lovers had spent time together in Armenia; and he does not consider as credible the morally irreproachable portrait of Nezâmi’s Shirin, a girl with no father or brother to watch over her conduct. In the Islamic context, the poets’ concern for truthfulness has first of all to be taken back to the Qur’anic dismissal of (non-religious) poetry and poets, accused of being false and mendacious (see especially Q. 21.5 and 26.224-6).39 At a different, non-religious level, however, concern for truth had another origin: According to an aesthetical canon of Arabic poetry, the poet’s task was essentially to describe (vasf ) reality, also designated with the more comprehensive term of mohâkât (imitation), a term, and a concept, derived from the Greek philosophical tradition.40 Therefore, any departure from reality, i.e. any discordance between poetry and truth or reality (sedq, haqiqat), was deemed a lie and hence, from a literary point of view, a defect. Accordingly, any trope (majâz), that deviates from ordinary language by means of its figurative expression, could be considered a lie. In practice, only hyperbole (gholoww, mobâlaghe) was judged somewhat which has different readings and is not of certain interpretation, could possibly hint to a purported allegorical meaning attributed by Ferdowsi to his poem, or some parts of it. 38 Cf. J. Culler, “Criticism,” in The Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics (4th edition, Princeton and Oxford, 2012), p. 317; C. Saccone, Il maestro sufi e la bella Cristiana (Rome, 2005), sec. on “Musica, menzogna, magia, profezia,” p. 157. 39 On the problem of the relationship between poetry and truth in Islamic thought and literary theory, cf. J.-Ch. Bürgel, “Die beste Dichtung ist die lügenreichste,” Oriens 23-24 (1974), pp. 7-102 (on the problem of the Qur’anic attitude towards poetry, see in particular pp. 27-29); and Lara Harb, “Poetic Marvels: Wonder and Aesthetic Experience in Medieval Arabic Literary Theory” (Ph.D. diss., New York University, 2013), pp. 148-51, 161-76 (al-Jorjâni), and passim. 40 Cf. Wolfhart Heinrichs, Arabische Dichtung und griechische Poetik (Beirut, 1969), pp. 56-58.

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NIZÂMI’S ROMANTIC POEMS severely by some literary theorists, since it bordered on exaggeration and falsehood, and also conjured up impossible or unbelievable images and concepts.41 In narrative poetry, at least as far as the “Persian poems” or the Book of Alexander are concerned, the concept of truthfulness acquires then a particular meaning as adherence of the narrative to a supposed historical truth. Such strict adherence, however, can prove an impossible goal in a work of poetry. Nezâmi himself, in his historical poem, the Sharaf-nâme, openly acknowledges this difficulty: “If you want the truth, it is impossible to expect true speeches in the ornament of poetry.”42 What is left from the poetical re-elaboration of history, says the poet, can be told in only a few unadorned lines (gar ârâyesh-e nazm az-u kam konam/ be kam-mâye beytash farâham konam).43 The conceptual difficulties inherent in every historical narrative in verse (nazm-e gozâresh ‘versification of a chronicle’) are lucidly exposed: as poetry, says the poet, is mainly interested in the beauty of expression (naghz-goftâri), it inevitably implies misstatements and errors (ghalat-kâri). Though being aware of this, Nezâmi has at least excluded from his poem what seemed altogether unlikely (nâ-bâvar): fantastic elements (shegefti), though adding beauty to a poem, border on exaggeration (gezâf ) and falsehood (dorugh) ‒ says the poet ‒ and can make poetry farfetched. It is precisely the lack of verisimilitude that appears as a falsehood (dorugh) and therefore should be avoided, because, according to a wellknown saying: “A falsehood that looks like a truth is better than a truth devoid of verisimilitude (dorugh-i ke mânande bâshad be râst / beh az râst-i k-az dorosti jodâ-st).”44 Johann-Christoph Bürgel rightly sees in the above quoted line a reference to a passage from Aristotle’s Poetics: “The poet should prefer likely impossibilities (adýnata eikóta) to unbelievable possibilities (dynatà

On lie and hyperbole, see in particular Heinrichs, Arabische Dichtung, pp. 58-61; Renate Jacobi, “Dichtung und Lüge in der arabischen Literaturtheorie,” Der Islam 49/1 (1972), pp. 92-94. 42 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, 12/25. 43 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, 12/26. Indeed, the “true” historical report of Alexander’s deeds is synthesized in a few plain lines (Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, 12/28-76). 44 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, 12/76-86. 41

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY apíthana),”45 a maxim frequently quoted in Persian literature.46 In the passage by Nezâmi, the maxim is adduced to express the concept that though poetry by necessity deploys a whole range of ornaments, it should not exceed the boundaries of credibility, because even what is true is no different from a lie, if it is implausible. Indeed, beyond truthfulness, verisimilitude and possibility are also relevant criteria for authors, and are sometimes proclaimed as even more important than truth. Probably echoing again Aristotelian ideas, authors distance their narrative from what is unbelievable, impossible, or irrational,47 even if this should entail a neglect of historical truthfulness. On the difference between the work of a poet and that of a historian Aristotle had said: “It is not the function of the poet to relate what has happened, but what may happen, what is possible according to verisimilitude or necessity. The poet and the historian differ not by writing in verse or prose. […] The true difference is that one (the historian) relates what has happened, the other (the poet) what may happen.”48 It is on this basis that authors may modify the plot even of historically-based narratives in order to make it more credible and conform to the requirements of reason and morals. In parallel and almost in agreement with the view asserting the superiority of what is possible and rational over (historical) truth, mystical authors developed another concept of reality: reality is for them a quality pertaining to a “monde supérieur” different from the material 45

Cf. Bürgel, “Die beste Dichtung ist die lügenreichste,” p. 95. The quotation is from Aristotle, Poetics 24.9 (the same concept is exposed again in Poetics 25.14). Aristotle’s Poetics may have been known to Islamic philosophers either directly, through the Arabic translation(s) of the text, or through the Alexandrine exegetes of Aristotle; cf. Bürgel, “Die beste Dichtung ist die lügenreichste,” p. 37. On the reception of Aristotle’s Poetics in the Islamic world, cf. Heinrichs, Arabische Dichtung, pp.105-62. 46 At the beginning of chapter seven of the Qâbus-nâme (Key Kâ’us b. Eskandar, Qâbus-nâme, ed. Gh.-H. Yusofi, Tehran, 1966, p. 40), this maxim (dorugh-e be-râst hamânâ beh az râst-e be dorugh hamânâ) is quoted in the context of the enunciation of what Charles-Henri de Fouchécour calls “morale relative”: To be credible and respected is more important than the affirmation of an absolute truth (Moralia: Les notions morales dans la littérature persane du 3e/9e au 7e/13e siècle, Paris, 1986, esp. pp. 184 and 187). 47 “The plot must not be composed of irrational (alógōn) elements. Everything irrational should, if possible, be excluded” (Aristotle, Poetics 24.9). 48 Cf. Aristotle, Poetics 9.1.

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NIZÂMI’S ROMANTIC POEMS world. In their works, the narrative springs from imitation of a spiritual world, endowed with a higher degree of reality than that of historical events.49 Jâmi, at the beginning of his poem Yusof and Zoleykhâ, criticizes Nezâmi for having adorned a false story, that of Khosrow and Shirin, with his art. He will deal instead with a true story, revolving around a “new Khosrow.”50 With what may appear, according to our modern assumptions, a paradoxical reversal of reality, a narrative having a historical origin is considered false, and an ancient story of Biblical origin is considered new and true.51 Despite the concern for truth expressed in both religious and literary milieus, within the Islamic philosophical tradition a very different idea about art and poetry came to be developed: The poetic transformation of reality through images (takhyil) was considered connatural to poetry, and, therefore, the beauty and power of poetry was largely attributed to the capacity of the poet to transform reality by presenting it in a new fantastic way by means of poetical images.52 Nezâmi may be referring to this tradition when, at the beginning of his Leyli va Majnun, he hints at the well-known maxim ahsano’ l-she’re akdhaboho, according to which poetry is the more beautiful, the more deceitful it is.53 His poetic language cannot be understood without taking into account the development of such ideas.

49 Cf. H. Corbin, En Islam iranien II: Sohrawardî et les Platoniciens de Perse (Paris, 1971), esp. pp. 181, 365. 50 Cf. Abd-al-Rahmân Jâmi, Yusof va Zoleykhâ, ed. A’lâkhân Afsahzâd, in Mathnavi-ye Haft owrang (2 vols., Tehran, 1997-99), II, p. 39, ll. 389-407. 51 This criticism is especially expressed by Heshmat Mo’ayyad, “Dar madâr-e Nezâmi (4): Moqalledân-e Khosrow va Shirin-e Nezâmi,” Iranshenasi 5/1 (1993), p. 76. 52 Cf. Bürgel, “Die beste Dichtung ist die lügenreichste,” pp. 36-54. See also Heinrichs, Arabische Dichtung, pp. 61-65; Jacobi, “Dichtung und Lüge,” pp. 95-96. On the theory of poetic imagery, see in particular K. Abu Deeb, Al-Jurjānī’s Theory of Poetic Imagery (Warminster, 1979); and Harb, “Poetic Marvels: Wonder and Aesthetic Experience,” pp. 155-79. See also P. Orsatti, “L’innamoramento di Ḫusraw e Šīrīn nel poema di Niẓāmī e il potere psicagogico della parola,” in In memoria di Francesco Gabrieli (1904-1996), Supplement no. 2 to RSO 71 (Rome, 1997), pp. 129-45. 53 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 10/14. According to Jacobi (“Dichtung und Lüge,” p. 92) this famous sentence appears for the first time quoted by Qodâma b. Jaʽfar (d. 922).

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Narrative Poetry of Non-Islamic Content: Subject Matter, Form, and Interpretation The relationship between poetry and truth (or reality), history and poetical lie, narrative and verisimilitude, represents then a core issue in narrative poetry, to which the authors, and even the same author in his various works, provide different answers. At the beginning of Khosrow va Shirin, Nezâmi places a stronger emphasis on the truthfulness of his narrative than elsewhere in his other poems, possibly indicating some concern regarding the content of this poem: “The intellect should not be reluctant in accepting this (story), for among the wise it bears the stamp of truth (dorosti).”54 It is to corroborate his assertion that he cites a number of monuments testifying to the truth of the narrative (see above). Nezâmi here asserts the superiority of truth to what is merely possible. Although in (narrative) poetry, he claims, all that is possible (momken, probably echoing Greek dynatá ‘possible things’) is permitted, if a poet is able to rely on truth (râsti), why should he have recourse to the lie (dorugh)?55 Nezâmi’s emphasis, at the beginning of Khosrow va Shirin, on the truthfulness of his narrative can be easily explained: The amatory subject of the poem, as well as its pre-Islamic location, may have aroused severe criticism, against which Nezâmi had probably to defend himself.56 In one of the opening sections of the poem, significantly entitled in the manuscripts “Justification for having narrated this story,” Nezâmi reports that one day a friend of his had blamed him for his decision to compose this poem, defined as varaq-mâl; a difficult compound implying “that which rubs out the good deeds from the book of life.”57 At the end of the poem, after a number of lines in which the poet bewails the criticism targeting his work, he urges the reader and his critics to look beyond the exterior appearance of the narrative and focus on the profound meanings hidden within it like precious pearls in the depths of the sea. “Do overlook the fact that it (the poem) points the way to the fire-temple; look at its expression 54 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 11/41. 55 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 11/28-29. 56 See in particular Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 99/80-109. 57 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 12/9. On this word, cf. Ali-Akbar Dehkhodâ, Loghatnâme (28 vols; Tehran, 1959-74), s. v. “Varaq.”

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NIZÂMI’S ROMANTIC POEMS (ebârat, also ‘interpretation’), how covered with licit teachings (telq-andud) it is.”58 Narrative poetry, especially of erotic content, may have been considered, even more than lyric poetry, to be at the limit of what was permissible from a religious point of view. The general blame surrounding this poetry is well represented by the editorial motto inscribed in the illuminated title-page (sar-lowh) at the beginning of each poem in the unique manuscript, dated Baghdad 869-870/1465, of Jamâli’s Quintet:59 al-lamam va lâ sow’a (peccadilloes, but not mortal sins);60 a motto that sounds like a justification for the non-religious and amatory subject of the poems, whose content is considered, however, as a minor fault. In the above quoted line from Khosrow va Shirin, Nezâmi draws a distinction between two components in his poems: the subject matter substantiating the narrative (the “fire-temple,” i.e. the ancient pre-Islamic story), and the form the poet imposes on it, which is the result of long and arduous work often compared to that of an artisan.61 It is for this reason 58 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 99/114. The first member of the compound, telq (licit), also refers to talq, telq (talc), a mineral which was said, when rubbed upon anything, to render it fire-proof (with reference to the fire of the fire-temple). 59 London, India Office Library, Persian MS Ethé 1284 (it can be consulted and downloaded at http://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/FullDisplay.aspx?ref=IO_ Islamic_138). On this manuscript, the author and his work cf. P. Orsatti, “The Ḫamsah ‘Quintet’ by Ğamālī: Reply to Niẓāmī Between the Timurids and the QarāQoyunlu,” Oriente Moderno, N.S. 15 (1996/2), pp. 385-413 and, by the same author, “Ḵamsa of Jamāli,” in EIr, XV, pp. 448-51. I have been informed by a colleague, Sedık Yazar of the Istanbul Medeniyet University, that in the library of the Madrasa Elči Ibrahim Pasha in Travnik (Bosnia) he has located another copy, complete, of the last poem by Jamâli, in response to Nezâmi’s Eskandar-nâme. 60 This expression partially echoes a passage from the Qur’an (53.32), generally interpreted as implying that “one can enjoy a considerable degree of physical pleasure with a woman without committing a ‘great sin’” (cf. Giffen, Theory of Profane Love, p. 122). The motto is not to be found in the sar-lowh of the first poem, in response to Nezâmi’s Makhzan al-asrâr; the folio, however, is not original (cf. P. Orsatti, “The Ḫamsah ‘Quintet’ by Ğamālī,” p. 387). On editorial inscriptions in Persian manuscripts, cf. P. Orsatti, “Épigraphes poétiques dans des manuscrits persans du XVe et XVIe siècle et exergue du Šāhnāma de Firdawsī,” in F. Déroche, ed., Les manuscrits du Moyen-Orient: Essais de codicologie et de paléographie (Paris and Istanbul, 1989), pp. 69-75. 61 On Nezâmi’s opinions on poetry, cf. especially E. È. Bertel’s, “Nizami o khudozhestvennom tvorchestve,” in E. È. Bertel’s, Nizami i Fuzuli (Moscow, 1962), pp. 394-431.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY that he defines his poem Khosrow va Shirin as a “mongrel beauty” (negâr-e akdash), having a Hindu father (the reference is to the non-Islamic materials on which it is based) and a beautiful Turkish mother, in reference to its form.62 Despite its non-Islamic subject matter, the poem is like a virgin bride held between a towhid, the praise to the unique God at the beginning, and a me’râj, the description of the Prophet’s ascent at the end, and thereby formally conforming to Islamic requirements.63 The actual form of the poems can be enjoyed, in its turn, on two different levels: the purely aesthetic, because of the beauty of expression and the countless embellishments, tales and descriptions with which Nezâmi has adorned them; and the interpretative level, the door through which it is possible to understand the moral teachings the poet has incorporated into his work: “Whoever opens that door, will find gold; better still, whoever understands, will find pearls.”64 According to Nezâmi, everyone can read his poems in different ways (the reference here is to Haft peykar): “For those who remain on the surface level (biruniyân), its exterior is beautiful; for those who penetrate (into the meanings), there is a nourishing marrow within.”65 Nezâmi vindicates the excellence of his work at both levels; but he is above all an educator, and the interpretative level is the ultimate goal of his poetry. At the beginning of the Sharaf-nâme, some lines attest to the symbolic value Nezâmi attributed to his poetry. At the end of a moving address to a young Persian poet (tâze kabk-e dari) who, after Nezâmi’s death, will pass by his tomb, the poet invites the youth to pour some wine into his cup and drink it. As if to apologize for having used the image of the wine, Nezâmi adds: “Do not think, O Khezr, of prosperous gait,66 that when I say ‘wine’ I mean ‘wine’.” And he goes on to say that the ecstasy (bikhwodi) with which 62 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 99/110. According to some commentators, the reference in this line can also be to the male protagonist, Khosrow, and the beautiful Shirin respectively. 63 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 99/115. 64 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 53/43. 65 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 53/25. 66 Here the young Persian poet, and perhaps any other estimator of his poetry is meant. On the figure of Khezr (“The Green Man”), see A.J. Wensinck, “al-Khaḍir (al-Khiḍr),” in EI2 , IV, pp. 902-5; and Anna Krasnowolska, “Ḵeżr,” EIr, XVI/4, pp. 372-77; and P. Franke, Begegnung mit Khidr: Quellenstudien zum Imaginären im traditionellen Islam (Stuttgart, 2000).

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NIZÂMI’S ROMANTIC POEMS he rejoices in the banquet (of his poetry) is from “that” wine, his cupbearer is the divine promise (va’ de-ye izadi), and his morning cup (sabuh) refers to “that” ruin (kharâbi).67 As we shall see in the following chapters, several authors of narrative poems of amatory content refer to possible allegorical meaning in their work, whether as a cliché, or a plain declaration of intent, or from sincere conviction. Such an idea, already widespread in the literatures of antiquity,68 may be based on the value the Qur’an attributes to some stories such as, most prominent of all, that of Yusof/Joseph: “Verily in Joseph and his brethren are signs for seekers after Truth” (Qur’an 12.7). Jâmi, in his poem Salâmân va Absâl, even theorizes on the existence of a hidden meaning behind every story: “In the exterior appearance of every story there is, for those endowed with sharp sight, an amount of meaning” (bâshad andar surat-e har qesse-i / khorde-binân-râ ze maʽni hesse‑i).69 This concept is probably connected with the value the Qur’an and mystical poets attributed to some stories, even of pre-Islamic origin: the narrative was the representation of an exemplary vicissitude offering the key to the comprehension of the hidden and true meaning of human destinies, with their obscure intertwining: “There is, in their stories, instruction for men endued with understanding” (Qur’an 12. 111). This brought about the transformation of historic (erotic or chivalric) epics into mystical epics.70

67 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, 7/68-70. 68 In the Greek novel, a symbolic value is attributed to the love story in the Aethiopica of Heliodorus of Emesa (3rd-4th centuries CE): the audience is invited to recognize a profound meaning under the surface of events. Cf. M. Fusillo, “Mapping the Roots: The Novel in Antiquity,” in C. Cupane and B. Krönung, (eds.), Fictional Storytelling in the Medieval Eastern Mediterranean and Beyond (Leiden and Boston, 2016), p. 31. 69 Jâmi, Salâmân va Absâl, in M. Rowshan, Salâmân va Absâl-e Nur-al-Din Abd-alRahmân-e Jâmi, bâ sharh va sanjesh-e ân bâ revâyathâ-ye Pur-e Sinâ va Honeyn b. Eshâq va maqulât-i dar tamthil-shenâsi (Tehran, 1994), p. 187, l. 1078. 70 Cf. Corbin, En Islam iranien, II, esp. pp. 175-200.

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4. Problems of Research on the Tradition of Response to Nezâmi’s Poems In the study of Nezâmi’s poems and their responses, one of the major problems is the need for scholarly editions of the texts.71 Many poems pertaining to the tradition of Nezâmi’s Quintet are still unpublished, or have not been published in critical editions. Even for Nezâmi’s poems, despite the existence of critical editions, some textual problems remain unresolved (see in particular, for the poem Leyli va Majnun, Chapter 5 below, “The Problem of the Text of the Poem”). Beyond the different readings given by manuscripts, in the study of long narrative poems the presence of interpolations represents a particularly significant hindrance. Suffice it to say that the manuscript Fâtih 4057 of Amir Khosrow’s Shirin va Khosrow, studied by Herbert W. Duda (1900-1975) in his pioneering work devoted to the origins and development of the legend of Farhâd and its literary treatment, comes to about 6,700 lines,72 as against 4,124 in Aliev’s edition; and that the Farhâd episode in Hâtefi’s homonym poem has—in the manuscript Râghib Pasha 1095 used by Duda—about 660 lines,73 as against the 353 in the Asadullaev edition. For Nezâmi’s poems, after what is considered the first critical edition of one of his poems, Haft peykar, by Hellmut Ritter and Jan Rypka (1934), Vahid Dastgerdi’s edition of all of the five poems (or six, if we consider separately the two parts of the Eskandar-nâme, that is the Sharaf-nâme and the Eqbâl-nâme, often printed separately), is frequently used as the standard edition. It is not, however, considered by philologists as a critical work, as the editor fails to mention the manuscripts (about thirty, kept in

71 The studies on Nezâmi and his work amount to an almost countless number of titles. Among bibliographies of Nezâmian studies, reference should be made, beyond de Blois’s work (see above, note 1), to Zeynab Nowruzi, Farhang‑e Nezâmi-pazhuhi (Tehran, 2012); A. Râdfar, Ketâb-shenâsi-ye Nezâmi-ye Ganjavi (Tehran, 1992), pp. 237-384; and K. Talattof, “International Recognition of Nizami’s Work: A Bibliography,” in K. Talattof and J.W. Clinton, eds., The Poetry of Nizami Ganjavi: Knowledge, Love and Rhetoric (New York, 2000), pp. 189-204. 72 Herbert W. Duda, Ferhād und Schīrīn: Die literarische Geschichte eines persischen Sagenstoffes (Prague, 1933), p. 81. 73 Duda, Ferhād und Schīrīn, p. 106.

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NIZÂMI’S ROMANTIC POEMS different libraries in Iran) which he had used and their variant readings.74 One of the first scholars who addressed critically the problem of the need for a critical edition of Nezâmi’s poems was Evgeniĭ Èduardovich Bertel’s (1890-1957). In 1940, on the eve of the celebrations for the 800th anniversary of the poet’s birth, planned for 1941 but actually held in 1947, Bertel’s completed the first part of a monograph on Nezâmi which was only published posthumously twenty-two years later, in the second volume of his Izbrannye trudy (Selected works), still an important reference tool for research on Nezâmi and the tradition of the poems composed in response to his work.75 Bertel’s constantly underlines the importance of the establishment of a critical edition of Nezâmi’s poems as a prerequisite for scholarly research on Nezâmi’s work. To achieve this, he embarked on the plan to publish critical editions of all of Nezâmi’s poems. The project was based at the then Azerbaijan Affiliate Branch of the Academy of Sciences of the USSR (Baku), where a team of scholars was engaged in this task, with Bertel’s himself setting the criteria.76 During his lifetime only the critical editions of Sharaf-nâme (ed. A. A. Alizade, Baku, 1947) and Eqbâl-nâme (ed. F. Babayev, Baku, 1947) were published (a Russian translation of the Sharafnâme had been carried out by Bertel’s himself: Baku, 1940). The other poems were published posthumously: Makhzan al-asrâr (ed. A. A. Alizade, Baku, 1960), Khosrow va Shirin (ed. L. A. Khetagurov, Baku, 1960), Leyli va Majnun (ed. A. A. Aleskerzade and F. Babaev, Moscow, 1965), Haft peykar (ed. T. A. Magerramov, Moscow, 1987). 74 This is, for example, the opinion of Bertel’s, Nizami i Fuzuli, pp. 19-21. Vahid Dastgerdi’s edition of Nezâmi’s poems was published in Tehran, in six volumes: Makhzan al-asrâr (1934), Khosrow va Shirin (1934), Leyli va Majnun (1934), Haft peykar (1936), Sharaf-nâme (1937) and Eqbâl-nâme (1938). A seventh volume of a supposed sab’e-ye Nezâmi (Nezâmi’s Heptad) was published by Vahid Dastgerdi under the title Ganjine-ye Ganjavi (Tehran, 1939); it contains an introduction on Nezâmi’s life and work and an edition of Nezâmi’s divan. For a review of the latter, see Sâdeq Hedâyat, “Jeld-e haftom az Khamse-ye Nezâmi,” in Majmu’e-ye neveshtehâ-ye parâkande-ye Sâdeq-e Hedâyat (Tehran, 1965), II, pp. 382-91. Here, Hedâyat also voices scathing objections to Vahid Dastgerdi’s editorial method. 75 Bertel’s, Nizami i Fuzuli, pp. 11-450. 76 See in particular his article “Rabota nad tekstom Nizami,” in Bertel’s, Nizami i Fuzuli, pp. 458-74, with a critical discussion of the extant most ancient manuscripts of Nezâmi’s Quintet and the criteria for his planned scholarly edition of the poems.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY After the publication of these Baku and Moscow editions, a number of other editions of Nezâmi’s poems have been published, mainly in Iran. Most of them are based either on the Vahid Dastgerdi, or on the Baku and Moscow edition, or on both. For example, Hoseyn Pezhmân-Bakhtiyâri collated the Vahid Dastgerdi edition with the Baku and Moscow editions, choosing the lines and the readings he considered most appropriate, guided solely by his informed intuition, without making recourse to manuscripts: a dhowqi, rather than a tahqiqi edition, as he himself points out.77 Such work is mainly interesting as a symptom of a cultural tendency and a feature of the publishing market in Iran, where famous contemporary poets were commissioned by publishers to edit the work of poets of classical Persian literature in order to attract a wider readership; a vogue which also brought about dhowqi editions of other classical poets, such as Hâfez’s edition by Ahmad Shâmlu (Tehran, 1975). A new edition of the five (or six) poems by Nezâmi, largely based on the Baku and Moscow edition and on the manuscripts already used for the latter, has been published by Behruz Tharvatiyân.78 His edition is based on the earliest manuscript already known to Bertel’s, the Paris manuscript Supplément persan 1817 of the Quintet, dated 763/1362.79 For Haft peykar, Tharvatiyân used instead the Ritter and Rypka edition, as well as, for this poem and the two parts of the Book of Alexander, an early manuscript kept in Tabriz, dated 754/1353, which contains only Haft peykar, Sharaf-nâme, and Eqbâl-nâme.80 Another edition of Nezâmi’s poems was prepared by Makhzan al-asrâr (1965), Khosrow va Shirin (1968), Leyli va Majnun (1964), Haft peykar (1965), Sharaf-nâme (1966); while, for the Eqbâl-nâme, the second Vahid Dastgerdi edition of the poem, published in 1956, was simply reprinted, in order to complete the set. 78 Published by the publisher Tus in Tehran: Makhzan al-asrâr (1984), Khosrow va Shirin (1987), Leyli va Majnun (1985), Haft peykar (1998), Sharaf-nâme (1989), Eqbâlnâme (2000). These are the editions used here for references to Nezâmi’s poems. See above, note 2. 79 On this manuscript, see also de Blois, PL, V/2, p. 460. Bertel’s (Nizami i Fuzuli, pp. 459-60) only knew four manuscripts from the 14th century: namely, beyond the already quoted Paris manuscript, the Oxford MS Ouseley 274-275, completed in 767/1365 (cf. de Blois, PL, V/2, p. 452); the Paris MS Supplément persan 580, dated 767/1365 (cf. de Blois, PL, V/2, p. 460); and the Leningrad (St. Petersburg) manuscript of the University Library N. 354, dated 778/1376 (cf. de Blois, PL, V/2, p. 465). 80 The Tabriz MS is described by Tharvatiyân in his edition of Haft peykar, p. 57. 77

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NIZÂMI’S ROMANTIC POEMS Barât Zanjâni between 1990 and 2002;81 and new editions of Leyli va Majnun (Tehran, 2014) and Haft peykar (Tehran, 2015) have been recently provided by Mohammad Rowshan.82 Recently other old manuscripts have been identified; among them, the Berlin and the Lahore manuscripts of the whole Quintet, dated respectively 764-65/1363-64 and 765/1364.83 An old manuscript kept at the University Library of Tehran, dated 718/1318, was used by Barât Zanjâni for his edition of Nezâmi’s poem Leyli va Majnun (Tehran, 1990).84 For future studies, apart from the early manuscripts recently brought to scholars’ attention thanks to the publication of new catalogues,85 also attestations and quotations of Nezâmi’s verses in early sources,86 or on artifacts other than books, should be considered.87 The study of the tradition of response to his poems is also important; indeed, a response can be useful in solving various textual problems, such as that of interpolations. Finally, 81

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83 84

85 86

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Published by Tehran University (Enteshârât-e Dâneshgâh-e Tehrân): Khosrow va Shirin (1998), Leyli va Majnun (1990), Haft peykar (1994), Sharaf-nâme (2001), Eqbâlnâme (2002). As to Makhzan al-asrâr, Zanjâni had already offered an edition of it in his work Ahvâl va âthâr va sharh-e Makhzan al-asrâr-e Nezâmi-ye Ganjavi (2nd ed., 8th reprint, Tehran, 2008), pp 155-436. Published by the publisher Sedâ-ye Mo’âser. For Leyli va Majnun, Rowshan used a facsimile edition of the Tehran manuscript dated 718/1318 (see below, note 84), as well as another old manuscript, dated 750/1349, kept at the University Library of Tehran. For Haft peykar, he used a number of manuscripts, among which the earliest is the Tabriz manuscript dated 754/1353 (see above and note 80). On these manuscripts, cf. de Blois, PL, V/2, pp. 463 and 476. On this manuscript, cf. de Blois, PL, V/2, p. 474; V/3, p. 586 note 2; and pp. 634-35. It contains only the poems Haft peykar, Leyli va Majnun, Sharaf-nâme and parts of the Eqbâl-nâme. This manuscript had already been used in the 1987 Moscow edition of Haft peykar (T. A. Magerramov, introduction to Nezâmi, Haft paykar, ed. T.A. Magerramov, Moscow, 1987, pp. 5-6 and p. ii of the Persian introduction). Early manuscripts kept in London, St. Petersburg, Istanbul, and Tehran have been reported by de Blois (PL, V/2, pp. 454, 465, 467, 474). Some of these sources are referred to by de Blois, PL, V/2, p. 495. For Nezami’s lines (ca. 249, mainly from Khosrow va Shirin) quoted by Râvandi in his Râhat al-sodur (comp. 601/1204), cf. J. S. Meisami, “The Historian and the Poet: Rāvandī, Nizāmī, and the Rhetoric of History,” in K. Talattof and J. W. Clinton, eds, The Poetry of Nizami Ganjavi: Knowledge, Love and Rhetoric (New York, 2000), pp. 97-128. An example are the lines from Nezâmi’s Leyli va Majnun attested on some tiles in the Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg, datable with certainty between 663/1265 and 666/1268; cf. L. T. Gyuzalyan, “Dva otryvka iz Nizami na izraztsakh XIII i XIV vv.,” Èpigrafika Vostoka 7 (1953), pp. 18-23.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY early translations of Nezâmi’s poems in other languages should be considered, as for example the Turkish translation of Nezâmi’s Khosrow va Shirin (comp. 1341) by the poet Qotb, attested in a unique manuscript in Paris (MS Ancien fonds 312, dated 1383).88 Indeed, the study and edition of Nezâmi’s romantic poems would require the collaboration of several scholars, with different linguistic and disciplinary skills. In the following chapters, only poems in Persian will be presented; though poems in other languages, particularly from the 15th century onwards, deserve to be studied in this context.

88

See Aliev, Temy i syuzhety Nizami, pp. 132-33.

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CHAPTER 4 KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND THE POEMS OF LOVE AND ADVENTURE Paola Orsatti

1. Nezȃmi’s Khosrow va Shirin The Historical and Geographic Context of the Poem Nezâmi’s poem Khosrow va Shirin recounts a love story set in the historical context of the reign of the Sasanid king Khosrow II Parviz (r. 590-628 CE), who is also the protagonist of the story.1 Several historical events are referred to in the first part of the poem: the rebellion against Khosrow’s father, Hormoz IV (r. 579-90), by the commander of the army, Bahrâm Chubin, who proclaimed Khosrow king and issued coins in his name;2 Khosrow’s escape to Azerbaijan to safeguard himself against his father’s wrath, an episode which corresponds to Khosrow’s first stay in Armenia in Nezâmi’s poem;3 the imprisonment and blinding of King Hormoz during a For the historical events of Khosrow Parviz’s reign cf. Arthur Christensen, L’Iran sous les Sassanides (Copenhagen, 1936), pp. 436-90; James Howard-Johnston, “Ḵosrow II,” EIr Online, http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/2330-4804_EIRO_COM_10314; Parvaneh Pourshariati, Decline and Fall of the Sasanian Empire: The Sasanian-Parthian Confederacy and the Arab Conquest of Iran (London and New York, 2008), pp. 130-83. See also Wilhelm Baum, Schirin Christin – Königin – Liebesmythos (Klagenfurt and Vienna 2003), pp. 25-37. A reconstruction of the historical events of Khosrow Parviz’s reign in connection with Nezâmi’s poem is given by Priscilla P. Soucek, “Farhād and Ṭāq-i Būstān: the Growth of a Legend,” in P. J. Chelkowski, ed., Studies in Art and Literature of the Near East in honor of Richard Ettinghausen (Salt Lake City and New York, 1974), pp. 34-39. 2 This fact is briefly mentioned by Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, ed. Behruz Tharvatiyân (Tehran, 1987), 24/7-11. 3 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, Chapter 27.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY revolt led by two maternal uncles of Khosrow, and Khosrow’s ascent to his father’s throne (27 June 590);4 the uprising against the new king by Bahrâm Chubin who, claiming now to be Hormoz’s avenger, had entered the Sasanid capital and declared himself king (590-91); Khosrow’s flight towards Byzantium (Rum) to seek help from the Qeysar, the Byzantine emperor Maurice (r. 582-602), which corresponds to Khosrow’s second flight to Armenia followed by his new departure for Rum after a quarrel with Shirin, in Nezâmi’s poem;5 and, finally, Bahrâm Chubin’s defeat at the hands of Khosrow and his Byzantine troops:6 it was thanks to the Qeysar’s help that Khosrow was able to regain his kingdom and the throne (summer 591). All these events, amply documented in historical sources,7 are narrated in Ferdowsi’s Shâh-nâme,8 and serve as the backdrop to the poem’s love story. At the end of the poem the Prophet of Islam appears, having begun his mission in the last years of Khosrow’s reign. Nezâmi reports that the Prophet had written to Khosrow inviting him to forsake the ancient religion of Iran and embrace Islam.9 Khosrow’s refusal is regarded as contributing to the ensuing catastrophes: his murder at the hands of his son Shiruye (Qobâd II, r. February-September 628) and, soon afterwards, the fall of the Sasanid dynasty. These tragic events are referred to in the final part of Nezâmi’s poem, after the couple’s death.10 4 These events are recalled by Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 30/1-14 and 31/1-8. 5 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, Chapters 33 and 41. 6 These events are briefly narrated in Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, Chapter 42. Bahrâm then took refuge in Turkestan, the “China” of Islamic sources, and was welcomed and given hospitality by the Khâqân but was eventually killed by Khosrow’s emissary. The news of Bahrâm Chubin’s death is given briefly in Nezâmi’s poem (Khosrow va Shirin, 47/19-22). 7 See in particular Tabari, The History of Ṭabarī V: The Sāsānids, the Byzantines, the Lakhmids, and Yemen tr. and annotated by C.E. Bosworth (Albany, 1999), pp. 30399; Bal’ami, Tȃrikh-e Bal’ami, ed. Mohammad-Taqi Bahȃr and Mohammad ParvinGonȃbȃdi (2 vols., 2nd ed., Tehran, 1974), II, pp. 1070-98, 1138-86. 8 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Dj. Khaleghi-Motlagh as The Shahnameh (The Book of Kings) (8 vols., New York, 1988-2008), VII, pp. 580-629 (“Hormezd-e Nushin Ravân,” ll. 1372-1926); VIII, pp. 8-373 (“Khosrow Parviz,” ll. 49-4107, “Shiruye,” ll. 1-610). 9 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 97/1-33. The text of the (supposed) letter of the Prophet to Khosrow Parviz is well known from historical sources; see one version of it in Bal’ami, Tȃrikh, II, p. 1138. It is also often quoted in works of encyclopedic character and epistolography, such as Qalqashandi, Sobh al-a’shâ (14 vols., Cairo, 1913-19), VI, pp. 377-78. 10 For orientation concerning the plot of the poem, the reader is referred to the detailed summary of the poem by Peter J. Chelkowski, Mirror of the Invisible World: Tales

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE The story recounted in Nezâmi’s poem takes place in a crucial period of Iranian national history:11 the last years of the Persian Sasanid dynasty and the beginning of the Arab conquest, on the eve of an epochal change in Iranian civilization. This casts an apocalyptic light on the last part of the poem and is reflected in the didactic intermezzo placed between the narration of the lovers’ nuptials and the dramatic conclusion of their story. In this episode, Khosrow asks his minister Bozorg Ommid a number of questions which, as well as replicating texts containing pieces of advice imparted by the wise minister Bozorgmehr in answer to questions asked by king Khosrow I Anushirvân (r. 531-79), also places the poem in the wake of the Iranian apocalyptic literature. Indeed, this particular episode is probably modeled on king Wištāsp asking the sage Jāmāsp a number of metaphysical and escathological questions in a Pahlavi apocalyptic text, the Ayādgār ī Jāmāspīg.12 In the Ayādgār ī Jāmāspīg the last two questions (Chapters 16 and 17) concern events and personages at the end of time;13 in the same way, in Nezâmi’s poem the last question revolves around the new prophet from Arabia.14 There are other similarities: both the reigns of Khosrow and Wištāsp/Goshtâsp witness the appearance of a new prophet and the spread of a new religion: that of Zarathustra under Goshtâsp, and of Islam under Khosrow (on analogies between the two kings and their respective narrative cycles, see below, “The Poems of Love and Adventure and Their Relationship to Nezâmi’s Poem”). The poem’s geographical setting, in western and northwestern Iran, is also significant. In Nezâmi’s poem Shirin is the niece of queen Mehin Bânu, ruler of the vast Transcaucasian regions of Arrân and Armenia. The from the Khamseh of Nizami (New York, 1975), pp. 21-45). This term is used in reference to Ehsan Yarshater’s definition (“Iranian National History,” in E. Yarshater, ed., The Cambridge History of Iran III/1: The Seleucid, Parthian and Sasanian Periods, Cambridge, 1983, p. 359): “By national history is meant in this chapter the history of Iran as conceived by Iranian themselves and embedded in Iranian historical tradition.” 12 A recent edition, with a French translation and a commentary, is given by Domenico Agostini, Ayādgār ī Jāmāspīg: Un texte eschatologique zoroastrien (Rome, 2013). For collections of advice by Bozorgmehr in answer to questions asked by king Khosrow Anushirvân cf. Charles-Henri de Fouchécour, Moralia: Les notions morales dans la littérature persane du 3e/9e au 7e/13e siècle (Paris, 1986), pp. 28-29 (Kherad-nâme) and 67-69 (Zafar-nâme). On Bozorgmehr, see note 91 below. 13 Cf. Agostini, Ayādgār ī Jāmāspīg, pp. 74-91 (text) and 109-15 (translation). 14 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 89/112-18.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY poem’s location stretches from Madâyen (the Arabic name of Ctesiphon, the capital of the Sasanid empire), on the Tigris, to Christian Armenia and Arrân (where Ganje, Nezâmi’s hometown, was also located), in Transcaucasia. The ancient road connecting Baghdad to Hamadan is strewn with relics related to the legend of Shirin, the horse Shabdiz, and Farhâd, Khosrow Parviz’s rival in love: Qasr-e Shirin (Shirin’s Castle), the ruins of which were still visible near the city of this name in Jebâl or Persian Iraq;15 the archaeological site of Tâq-e Bostân near the town of Kermânshâh where, according to popular belief, the images of Shirin, Khosrow, and the horse Shabdiz were sculpted;16 and Mount Bisotun, carved, again according to popular belief, by Farhâd the excavator of mountains (Kuh-kan), in order to facilitate the passage of the road through that mountainous crossing: a myth of origins clearly tied in with the configuration of the land.17 According to Wilhelm Eilers, the legend of Shirin would be a late survival of the legend of Semiramis, whose historical kernel he individuates in the “Lady of the Palace” Sammuramat (r. circa 809-806 BCE), an Assyrian queen with strong ties to the regions of western Iran and allegedly coming from Armenia.18 Indeed, the geographical setting of Nezâmi’s poem is strongly connected to the area where the legend of Semiramis was widespread. Toponyms referring to Semiramis, attested in many places in Iran, are particularly numerous in this region. The road linking Ecbatana (Hamadan), through Mount Bisotun, to the West, is called in Greek sources “the road of Semiramis;”19 and the name for Mount Bisotun in Arabic sources, Sinn Sumayra (Tooth of Semiramis), denotes a survival of 15 16 17 18

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Cf. M. Streck (J. Lassner), “Ḳasr-i Shīrīn,” EI2 , IV, pp. 730-31; Guy Le Strange, The Lands of the Eastern Caliphate: Mesopotamia, Persia, and Central Asia from the Moslem Conquest to the Time of Timur (repr. London and Liverpool, 1966), p. 63. Cf. Le Strange, The Lands of the Eastern Caliphate, p. 187. For an analysis of the historical sources regarding the site of Tâq-e Bostân and the identity of the figures in the site reliefs cf. Priscilla P. Soucek, “Farhād and Ṭāq-i Būstān,” pp. 27-52. Nezâmi speaks of these ruins in one of the introductory chapters of his poem in order to authenticate his narrative. See above, Chapter 3, “Narrative Poetry: Some Critical Issues.” Wilhelm Eilers, “Semiramis. Entstehung and Nachhall einer altorientalischen Sage,” in Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften: Philosophisch-historische Klasse, Sitzungsberichte 274/Band, 2. Abhandlung (Vienna, 1971), pp. 1-83. On Sammuramat and the few historical data referring to this queen cf., in particular, pp. 33-46. Cf. Eilers, “Semiramis,” pp. 20, 53 and 64.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE her legend.20 Semiramis is described in Greek sources (Ctesias of Cnidus as referred to by Diodorus of Sicily’s Bibliotheca historica 2.4-20) as a mighty queen, as strong and wise as a man, under whose command a number of engineering works were accomplished. These included the construction of roads, bridges, and tunnels, and, in particular, a canal through Mount Alvand (Orontes) to bring water to Ecbatana, all works having a clear parallel in the legend of Shirin.21 A number of Semiramis’ features are also to be found in Shirin’s aunt Mehin Bânu (The Grand Lady), whose proper name, Shamirâ, as given by Nezâmi,22 bears a clear trace of her kinship with the legendary queen. Barda (Barda’a), the capital of Arrân, the city where Mehin Bânu winters, is also, in the poem, the alleged place whence Nezâmi’s main source originates. Indeed, at the beginning of the poem, the poet tells of having received from the elders of Barda a manuscript giving a different and, possibly, more ancient and authentic version of the Shirin story, compared to those of Ferdowsi and other authors (Jâhez, Bal’ami, Ferdowsi, Tha’âlebi, the Mojmal al-tavârikh, the Siyar al-moluk, etc.):23 The tale of Khosrow and Shirin is well known, And certainly there exists none more sweet. Yet, though it’s a delightful tale, Its bride (arus-ash) is a prisoner under a veil. Its official version (bayâz), in the chronicles (gozâresh), is widely known; But there was a rough copy (savâd) kept in Barda. The elders of that city Bid me to take up this task.24

In Nezâmi’s words there is a contrast between bayâz or, more commonly in Arabic, mobayyaza (a fair copy, final version), i.e. the official version of 20 Cf. Eilers, “Semiramis,” p. 64 and note 120a. 21 Cf. Eilers, “Semiramis,” pp. 13-23 (in particular 20-21). 22 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 17/20. 23 On the figure of Shirin in the Islamic sources before Nezâmi, see G. Yu. Aliev, Legenda o Khosrove i Shirin v literaturakh narodov Vostoka (Moscow, 1960), pp. 36-57. 24 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 11/37-40, a passage with many variant readings. On this passage, cf. E. È. Bertel’s, Nizami i Fuzuli (Moscow, 1962), pp. 363-64. For l. 38b Bertel’s gives the reading arus-i instead of arus-ash, and translates: “It is a bride (i.e. the legend of Shirin) held in custody;” while for l. 39a he reads nist maʽruf instead of hast maʽruf, and translates: “Fair copies of it (i.e. of the legend of Shirin) are not

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY the story of Shirin, and savâd/mosawwada (dark, made black; draft copy), i.e. the manuscript preserved in Barda. In the official and well-known version, as given in the sources up to Nezâmi, its bride, i.e. the character of Shirin or the poem itself, its true meaning, was a prisoner, metaphorically concealed under a veil, i.e., a version which obscured its profound meaning.25 The manuscript (savâd) kept in Barda, instead gave, according to Nezâmi, a less well-known but probably more authentic version of it.26 Though the Barda manuscript might only represent a literary cliché, it is nevertheless possible that Transcaucasia and Christian Armenia had a relevant role in the formation and preservation of oral or written traditions and narratives concerning Shirin, which Nezâmi may have taken into account for the composition of his work. Indeed, until recent times the legend of Shirin and her unhappy lover Farhâd has been vividly preserved, at a popular level, in western Iran.27 The ancient name of Barda, Harum, also connects the geographical setting of Mehin Bânu’s reign with another myth, also relevant to the origins of Nezâmi’s Shirin and her aunt: Harum is the place where Ferdowsi had placed the Amazons.28 known (to be) in circulation.” Vahid Dastgerdi offers the same readings as Bertel’s. On the interpretation of this passage see also below, “Shirin.” 25 “Bride” is also a common metaphor used by authors to refer to their poems. On “bride” as the hidden meaning of a poem according to mystical authors, cf. Carlo Saccone, Il maestro sufi e la bella Cristiana: Poetica della perversione nella Persia medievale II: Storia tematica della letteratura persiana (Rome, 2005), pp. 35-41. 26 The term savâd designates, inter alia, an author’s original (asl), a copy highly prized by philologists in establishing the original and authentic version of a text; cf. Johannes Pedersen, The Arabic Book, tr. G. French (Princeton, 1984), p. 27. 27 Cf. M. Mokri, “Pleureures professionnelles et la mort de Chîrîn : Lamentations funéraires en Iran occidental (chez les kurdes),” in Contributions scientifiques aux études iraniennes IV: Persico-Kurdika (Paris and Louvain), 1995, pp. 460-505. 28 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 85-90 (“Eskandar,” ll. 12331327). On Mehin Bânu’s character and its origin cf. Paola Orsatti, “Le donne e le città: Note sull’origine di alcuni personaggi nel romanzo medievale persiano,” in G. Lancioni and O. Durand, eds., Dirāsāt ariūliyya: Studi in onore di Angelo Arioli (Rome, 2007), pp. 140-44. On the figure of Queen Candace (Qeydâfe/Nushâbe) in Persian sources, cf. Julia Rubanovich, “Qaydāfa,” EIr Online, http://dx.doi. org/10.1163/2330-4804_EIRO_COM_11496; and, by the same author, “Re-Writing the Episode of Alexander and Candace in Medieval Persian Literature,” in Marcus Stock, ed., Alexander the Great in the Middle Ages: Transnational Perspectives (Toronto, 2016), pp. 123-52.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE The location of Nezâmi’s poem Khosrow and Shirin, encompassing both Iran and the Byzantine Empire, furnished a fertile field for the retrieval of the ancient Greek Hellenistic novel tradition, in its turn probably influenced by narratives widespread from late antiquity in the vast area between Greece, Asia Minor and Persia (see below, “The Poems of Love and Adventure and Their Relationship to Nezâmi’s Poem”).29

The Date of the Composition Nezâmi’s Khosrow and Shirin, a poem of just over 6,150 lines in the Tharvatiyân edition, written in the hazaj mosaddas mahdhuf or maqsur meter, was composed over a period of about 16 lunar years, between 571/1176 and 587/1191.30 It contains eulogies to the Saljuq Sultan Toghrel III b. Arslân (r. 571-90/1176-94) and to his nominal vassals, though in reality dominant protectors, the Atâbeg of Azerbaijan Mohammad b. Ildegoz JahânPahlavân (r. 571-82/1176-86) and his brother and successor, Qezel Arslân (r. 582-87/1186-91).31 When, in 571/1176, Toghrel, at the age of seven, succeeded his father, Nezâmi was embarking on a new work,32 having received an invitation to compose a poem dealing with a love story from a “sovereign of the world” (shâhanshâh-e âlam),33 identifiable with the Atâbeg Mohammad JahânPahlavân.34 Therefore, in the light of what Nezâmi himself says, the hypothesis by E. È. Bertel’s that Nezâmi began the composition of the poem Cf. Dick Davis, Panthea’s Children: Hellenistic Novels and Medieval Persian Romances (New York, 2002), in particular pp. 11-36. 30 On the date of composition, cf. Behruz Tharvatiyân, intro. to Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, pp. 8-15 and pp. 51-52, note 1; François de Blois, PL, V/2, pp. 440, 446; Abdal-Hoseyn Zarrinkub, Pir-e Ganje dar jostoju-ye nâkojâ-âbâd: Dar bâre-ye zendegi, âthâr va andishe-ye Nezâmi (6th ed., Tehran, 2004), pp. 25-27. 31 Cf. K.A. Luther, “Atābakān-e Āḏarbāyjān,” EIr, II, pp. 890-94. 32 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 7/1-6. 33 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 6/14. From this passage and other places in the poem, it appears that Nezâmi chose the subject of the poem himself. 34 According to Tharvatiyân (notes to Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, p. 782), it was Qezel Arslân who commissioned the poem to be dedicated to Toghrel. However, it is more probable that it was commissioned by Qezel Arslân’s brother Mohammad JahânPahlavân, who bore the title of malek-al-âlam ‘ king of the world’ (cf. Luther, “Atābakān-e Āḏarbāyjān,” p. 892). The patron who had commissioned the work is also 29

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY in 576/1181, after the death of his first wife, the much-loved Âfâq, seems to be open to doubt.35 The poet was then about forty years old, as can be inferred from a line in one of the introductory chapters of the poem36 (if the “age of forty” is to be taken literally, it could indicate that the poet was born around 531/1137). The poet also says that the poem was soon finished.37 The same year 571/1176 is referred to as the poem’s date in one of the last chapters in the Tharvatiyân edition; but other manuscripts bear the year 576/1181, as well as other dates.38 Given the reference to the tomb of Nezâmi’s wife in one of the following lines,39 the date 576/1181 for the completion of the poem seems plausible. At least some final chapters were composed in 576/1181 or the following year; namely, the final passage of Chapter 94 (in the Tharvatiyân edition), where the poet recalls the death of Âfâq, and chapter 95, in which the poet addresses his son Mohammad, then seven years old (Mohammad was fourteen years old in 584/1188, when Nezâmi’s third poem, Leyli va Majnun, was composed; see below, Chapter 5). It is also possible that a number of didactic observations at the end of Farhâd’s story were added even later, when the poet was about fifty years old.40 When Mohammad Jahân-Pahlavân died in 582/1186, the poet had still not received any reward for his work. The last chapter of the poem relates the meeting between the poet and Qezel Arslân who had succeeded his brother in 582/1186 and had invited the poet to court to remedy the situation. Nezâmi was then given the village of Hamduniyân.41 Qezel Arslân’s death in 587/1191 is mentioned at the end of the same chapter, together with a eulogy to his successor Nosrat-al-Din Abu-Bakr (r. 587-607/1191-1210), referred to, at the end of the poem, as šahanšâh-e jahân ‘king of the world’ (Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 100/90). 35 Cf. E. È. Bertel’s, Nizami: Tvorcheskiĭ put’ poeta (Moscow, 1956), p. 104. On Âfâq, see below, “Shirin.” 36 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 12/9. Cf. also Tharvatiyân, “Introduction” to Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, p. 52. 37 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 7/10. 38 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 99/56 (cf. the apparatus in the Tharvatiyân edition, p. 728). 39 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 99/61. 40 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 58/59-60. Cf. also Tharvatiyân, notes to Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, p. 940. 41 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 100/103. Cf. also Tharvatiyân, notes to Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, p. 1094; Zarrinkub, Pir-e Ganje, p. 27.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE son of Mohammad Jahân-Pahlavân. The last chapter may, then, have been composed in 582/1186 and then added to in 587/1191.

Love, Passion, and Marriage: A Reading of Nezâmi’s Poem Nezâmi’s poem recounts the entire life of king Khosrow, from birth to death, but focuses mainly on his love story with Shirin. Only some historical events related to the first period of his reign, embedded in the beginning of the love story and reinterpreted as so many steps in the couple’s amorous vicissitudes, are treated briefly at the outset (see above, “The Historical and Geographic Context of the Poem”). In an important passage in one of the introductory sections of the poem, Nezâmi, referring to his own originality, says that he does not wish to repeat what Ferdowsi, his most important source, had already narrated. He will deal with the love story between Khosrow and Shirin, an aspect to which Ferdowsi, sixty years old at the time of narrating that episode, had not been able to do full justice.42 Immediately after this statement, Nezâmi praises love. He presents eshq (love) as a cosmic force, permeating every aspect of existence, and as an absolutely positive and vital principle.43 Distancing himself from the opinion of most philosophers, who had denied that love could be seen, for example, in the force pulling the iron towards the magnet,44 Nezâmi considers love as a force acting throughout all creation, a principle explaining natural phenomena and governing the motion of every substance. Love makes the flowers blossom, drives upwards the fire hidden within the earth, and makes the water in the atmosphere pour down and refresh the earth as rain.45 42 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 11/46-50. 43 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin,11/51-80. 44 This is the opinion, among others, of Nasir-al-Din Tusi, Akhlâq-e Nâseri, ed. M. Minovi and A. R. Heydari (4th ed., Tehran, 1369/1990), p. 260. 45 A possible source for Nezâmi’s theory of cosmic love could be seen in Ebn-Sinâ’s Resâla fi mâhiyyat al-eshq (tr. E. L. Fackenheim as “A Treatise on Love,” Medieval Studies 7/1, 1945, pp. 208-28), on which cf. Lois Anita Giffen, Theory of Profane Love Among the Arabs: The Development of the Genre (New York and London, 1971), pp. 145-6; J. N. Bell, “Avicenna’s Treatise on Love and the Nonphilosophical Muslim Tradition,” Der Islam 63/1, 1986, pp. 73-89.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Nezâmi’s concept of love also implies an enlargement of the objects of humane love, encompassing even humble creatures such as the cat.46 Finally, love is, according to him, at the basis of all religions, regardless of the place of worship, be it a mosque or a fire temple;47 a fleeting allusion to a theory of the equality of all religions developed by later poets, in particular Amir Khosrow of Delhi (see below, “Shirin va Khosrow by Amir Khosrow of Delhi”), in their responses. Such a broad use of the term eshq does not seem to be very common among philosophers and theoreticians of love, who consider human love as only applying to heterosexual and (with some exceptions) homoerotic affections, with a further development of the use of this word in a mystical sense.48 But it is especially Nezâmi’s altogether positive view of love, even the imperfect love described through the couple’s vicissitudes throughout the first part of the poem, which is surprising and characteristic of this poem. Theoreticians, including those who displayed a positive attitude towards love, could not overlook the dark side of this human sentiment, with the suffering, madness, and death it could entail.49 Nezâmi, instead, openly states that nothing exists better than love and hopes that his life will never be without it.50 The concept of love as the cause of all movement seems to find a vivid representation in the animated events recounted at the beginning of the poem, with the two lovers departing to seek for each other and crossing paths many times, without encountering each other. Shirin had escaped to meet Khosrow in Madâyen; meanwhile, however, Khosrow had been obliged to leave the court and had sought refuge with Mehin Bânu. They meet in the famous episode of the spring where Shirin is bathing, but do not recognize each other. When in Armenia, Khosrow sends Shâpur to escort Shirin back. However, when Shirin returns home, the young prince has himself returned to Madâyen again, having received the news of his 46 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin,11/62-63. On the cat in Islamic culture and the relevant lines by Nezâmi, see R. Würsch, “‘Let Even a Cat Win your Heart!’ Nizāmī on Animal and Man,” in J. C. Bürgel and C. van Ruynbecke, eds., A Key to the Treasure of the Hakīm: Artistic and Humanistic Aspects of Nizāmī Ganjavī’s “Khamsa” (Leiden, 2011), pp. 253-65. 47 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin,11/59-60, 72. 48 Cf. Giffen, Theory of Profane Love, p. 86. 49 Cf. Giffen, Theory of Profane Love, pp. 117-31. 50 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin,11/51.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE father’s blinding: a long series of events which delay the lover’s first encounter and represent a historicization, in an Iranian context, of the peripeteia of Greek novels. The story of Khosrow, as narrated in the poem, is divided into two unequal parts by the episode of the couple’s wedding, towards the end of the poem (Chapter 88 in the Tharvatiyân edition), or, even more important as a border line between the two parts, by Khosrow’s discovery of his first white hairs, described soon after the episode of the wedding (though, in narrative time, this discovery is made after many years of joy and pleasures following their wedding):51 a division which seems to presage the bipartition of the Eskandar-nâme (Book of Alexander) into two distinct parts, in which Alexander is shown as a king and a leader (in the first) and as a philosopher and a prophet (in the second part). This pattern is also found in Nezâmi’s Haft peykar, where the bifurcation is represented by the telling of the seven tales. Throughout the first part of the poem, love is presented as an overwhelming passion, which Khosrow is unable to tame and Shirin more or less inadvertently fuels. Shirin shows some ambiguity in her behavior: “Each ‘No, do not do it!’ hid more than a hundred assents.”52 Such ambiguity in Shirin’s behavior, considered in the poem as a natural ingredient of female charm, is distorted and misconstrued in Khosrow’s passionate eyes, leading to many misunderstandings and endless quarrels between the two lovers.53 Obstacles and difficulties of all kinds are of course integral features of every romance. However, at this point of the narrative, which spans the entire central part of the poem, obstacles no longer depend on destiny or on fateful designs transcending the couple’s will, as happens in the Greek novel (and at the beginning of Nezâmi’s poem). Nezâmi presents a love story full of discord in which the two characters, with their different concepts of love and their human imperfections, are, so to speak, responsible for the long-delayed happy conclusion of their story through matrimony. The emergence of friction between the two in their time together in Armenia is perceptively described by Nezâmi. Mehin Bânu had given her 51 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 88/120-48. 52 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 40/ 37b. 53 Cf. my article “L’incomprensione tra gli amanti nel poema Khosrow e Širin di Neẓāmi,” Kervan: Rivista internazionale di studi afroasiatici 7-11 (2010) pp. 59-64 (available at https://www.ojs.unito.it/index.php/kervan/article/view/986/807).

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY niece permission to meet the prince in such socially acceptable situations as hunting parties and banquets, while at the same time making her promise that relations with the young prince would not exceed the bounds of propriety: Only within matrimony, says she, can a woman experience love in an honorable way. Khosrow desires Shirin and demands that she fulfill his desire. Shirin gives herself to him within the limits of what is permitted (the poet describes her pure-white skin bruised by kisses54), but refuses to go beyond this. Khosrow accuses her of hypocritically concealing her own desire. Shirin confesses her desire, but points to the higher need to place her good reputation and honor above the immediate fulfillment of that desire. She embodies the principle of wisdom and reason, in contrast to the immaturity of Khosrow, who is depicted as a young sovereign addicted to pleasure and a slave of his own passions: women and wine.55 She even urges him to regain his kingdom, lost to Bahrâm Chubin, establishing a close link between the kingdom and herself: man o dowlat be ham khʷâhim budan.56 In this part of the poem the relationship between the lovers is presented in terms of a continuous amorous skirmish, which in Persian is commonly referred to as nâz o niyâz.57 Nâz (cajoling, coquetry) refers to the haughty and disdainful pose displayed by someone who wants to be desired; and is used to describe Shirin’s demeanor. Niyâz (need), conversely, describes the behavior of someone reliant on others for the satisfaction of his needs: it is the attitude of the lover towards his/her beloved, a role to which Khosrow is unable to adhere. It has been noted that the dynamics of nâz and niyâz represent a specific way of portraying love in Persian medieval culture, particularly in lyrical poetry: of two lovers, one comes across as cruel and haughty, and the other as lovesick and self-abasing, like a humble petitioner. A similar pattern also applies to other aspects of life in the medieval Persian 54 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 37/35-37. 55 Cf. Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 29/3-4. Regarding Khosrow’s love of women and pleasures, emphasized in historical sources, cf. Christensen, L’Iran sous les Sassanides, pp. 469-73. 56 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 40/147b. On Shirin’s political stance, cf. Charles-Henri de Fouchécour, “L’engagement politique de la femme dans l’oeuvre de Nézâmi (XIIe/VIe s),” Luqmān 11/1 (1994-95), esp. pp. 15-17. 57 On these concepts, cf. C.-H. de Fouchécour, “Nâz o niyâz yâ eshq dar mashreqzamin,” Dabireh 3 (1988), pp. 47-56.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE cultural world: politics, in the relationship between the king and his subject, or religion, in the relationship between God and His worshippers. The nâz-niyâz relationship established between Khosrow and Shirin, however, spills over into an open conflict and rift. Khosrow never yields to the role of beseecher, becomes angry and behaves towards Shirin as a king rather than as a lover; while Shirin, full of rancor, exceeds in her nâz and never misses an opportunity to display her pride and assumed superiority to the king. The continuous conflict between the two characters is a recurrent feature of the central part of the poem, with an interminable series of reproofs and bitter accusations on Shirin’s part, and of excuses and threats on the part of Khosrow. This skirmish reaches its climax in the famous episode of the terrace, which corresponds to an episode in Gorgâni’s poem, when Vis leaves Râmin outside in the snow,58 both episodes being a reworking of the one briefly narrated by Ferdowsi: As a young man, Ferdowsi recounts, Khosrow had passionately loved Shirin; but after the many vicissitudes of his reign (not least his marriage to Maryam), he had neglected her. One day, when she knows the king is out hunting and would ride by the royal palace where she lives out her abandoned existence, she puts on her most beautiful garments and goes up onto the terrace, where she can be seen weeping when the king goes by. Through her tears, she addresses him in Pahlavi, reminding him of their former love. The king orders her to be sent to his palace and, on return from his hunt, at last marries her.59 The question of the nuptials, which Shirin lays down as the prerequisite for yielding to the king, and which Khosrow constantly, and at times inexplicably, evades, is central to Nezâmi’s poem, and is the main bone of contention between the two lovers. After his marriage to Maryam, Khosrow cannot take another wife, out of fear as well as respect for his Christian wife and, even more so, his father-in-law, the Emperor of Byzantium: The poem mentions a series of conditions laid down regarding Khosrow and Maryam’s marriage.60 Elsewhere it is stated explicitly that Khosrow was 58 Gorgâni, Vis va Râmin, ed. M. J. Mahjub (Tehran, 1959), pp. 308-34. For a comparison between the two episodes from Gorgâni’s and Nezâmi’s poems, cf. Julie Scott Meisami, Medieval Persian Court Poetry (Princeton, 1987), pp. 117-22. 59 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VIII, pp. 263-64 (“Khosrow Parviz: Dâstân-e Khosrow bâ Shirin,” ll. 3430-448). 60 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 41/12.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY forbidden to marry other women, which Shirin ascribes to Maryam’s overzealous religiosity (ta’assob).61 But then, after the death of the two persons who represent the obstacle to the union of the lovers: Farhâd, excavator of mountains for love of Shirin, and Maryam, the Christian wife of Khosrow, the situation remains stalled and at a standstill. Shirin expects to be called to the court and married with all due ceremony, but Khosrow continues to escape the bonds of marriage and tries to keep her as a concubine. Shirin’s obstinacy in refusing every compromise solution,62 as well as Khosrow’s hedonism, are the only explanation Nezâmi offers as to why Khosrow eschews legal marriage to her and instead marries the beautiful Shakar of Isfahan, a character with a tarnished reputation. Nezâmi actually conceals what the ancient sources knew about Shirin: She was just one of the women of Khosrow’s harem, and marriage to her would certainly have been opposed by the court and the nobles. Like other Persian sources, Nezâmi also conceals Shirin’s Christian faith, or alludes to it only obliquely, through her Armenian origins. Indeed, what we know of Shirin’s historical or semi-historical figure may explain Khosrow’s reluctance to marry her, as well as Shirin’s concerns in Nezâmi’s poem: she wished to protect her good name through legal marriage (see below, “Shirin”). Thus, different interpretative layers may contribute to an understanding of the poem’s plot. First, the long-delayed wedding responds to the structural laws of the narrative as a device to defer the conclusion of the story. It provides the poet with an opportunity to analyze of the psychology of the main characters and their different concepts of love. Secondly, the long-delayed wedding can be attributed to earlier narratives, which had depicted the historic or semi-historic Shirin as an unsuitable bride for a king. A third interpretation may also be proposed for the emphasis on legal marriage in Nezâmi’s poem, based on a strictly literary reason. Through Shirin’s character Nezâmi aims to correct and respond to the most morally reprehensible features of the character of Vis in Gorgâni’s poem Vis va Râmin, one of the crucial sources of inspiration for the problem around which Nezâmi’s poem revolves: that of love and marriage, and in particular the behavior of 61 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 46/15-16. 62 Nezâmi even inserts himself into the narration to express what could appear as a subtle criticism of Shirin’s obstinacy, saying: “You will profit from trading only when, as the market starts moving, you do not close your door” (Khosrow va Shirin, 61/16).

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE a woman in love.63 While in Gorgâni’s poem Vis enjoys an amorous relationship outside marriage, in Nezâmi’s poem lawful marriage and avoiding ill repute are among the main concerns voiced by the character of Shirin. Similar to the narrative pattern in Nezâmi’s Haft peykar, in which the tales of the seven princesses are followed by the shorter stories of the seven unjustly treated subjects (see below, Chapter 6), in this poem too, the long series of questions and answers between Khosrow and Shirin in the terrace episode is followed by a series of lyrical passages which Shirin, concealed behind a curtain, suggests to Nakisâ, and Khosrow suggests to his court minstrel Bârbad.64 This lyrical intermezzo may seem a pointless digression in the narration of events, but in fact illuminates the causes behind the friction between the two lovers. To speak through the words of others, concealed from each other by a curtain and adopting the canons of classical love poetry, represents a truce in their continuous squabbles. Both are able to put aside the harsh tones of resentment, accusations, and threats. Khosrow sincerely admits to his faults in relation to Shirin and finally speaks as a lover, rather than as a king, and this time not with the sole intention of satisfying his desire. He is unaware that she is concealed behind the curtain and speaks sincerely, without being blinded by passion. Shirin, for her part, gives up her proud and disdainful attitude and the bitter reproaches and desperate grief that have driven her almost to madness. By adopting the demeanor of niyâz, characteristic of the lover in lyric poetry, she is able to put herself in the place of the beseecher, and even to accept, for love’s sake, any suffering inflicted upon her by her beloved, in the manner in which the Persian poet does when addressing his beloved. When Shirin comes out of hiding, however, Khosrow’s desire is rekindled and he tries to kiss her lips. Shirin is offended by his fiery passion, and discord and recriminations seem likely again. Only the intervention of Shâpur, through a few words whispered into the king’s ear, resolves the situation: in a few verses, he explains to Khosrow the importance Shirin attaches to legal marriage. After the long stretches of constant misapprehension and repeated accusations, Shâpur’s few words, uttered in a direct 63 64

On the influence of Gorgâni’s poem on Nezâmi’s Khosrow va Shirin cf. Mahjub, introduction to Gorgâni, Vis va Râmin, pp. 92-98. On these two famous minstrels at the Khosrow Parviz’s court, cf. Mary Boyce, “The Parthian Gōsān and Iranian Minstrel Tradition,” JRAS (1957), pp. 23-25.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY and prosaic style, enable Khosrow to finally comprehend Shirin’s reasons.65 Shâpur, whose role—like that of Eros, the god of love, in Greek novels—had been decisive in kindling their love, is also the deus ex machina for resolving the tormented love story recounted by Nezâmi. He himself, speaking of his role in the story, says: “With my artistry (rang-âmizi), I am the saffron that brings a touch of color to the lovers’ halva.”66 Passion, Khosrow’s unbridled passion that Shirin, perennially concerned with her reputation, finds offensive, is the underlying reason for the discord between the lovers represented in this part of the poem. And until the end of the first part of the poem Khosrow remains a prey to his youthful ardor. He even displays a grotesque lack of self-control on the very eve of their wedding. The music, the toasts and thoughts of his beloved lead him to drink in spite of Shirin’s insistence that he should abstain on that night, and he leaves the feast so drunk that he has to be carried up to the nuptial chamber. To put him to the test, Shirin has herself replaced in bed by an old woman, whose ugliness is described in detail. With much irony the poet narrates Khosrow’s efforts to get to the bed and gaze on his beautiful prey, then his surprise and disbelief at the sight of the old woman, who collapses as Khosrow comes closer and starts screaming and shouting to Shirin for help. Khosrow falls sound asleep, and for the whole of that night nothing happens. It is Shirin who, on the following morning, decides that the moment for their union has arrived. When Khosrow awakes, he finds Shirin there beside him, radiant in all her beauty and compliant to his wishes. Twenty-five magnificent lines describe their union with both realism and delicate allusiveness. All contrasts and human weaknesses are harmonized in love, when: “In a single place water (Khosrow’s semen) and fire (blood, Shirin’s virginity) reached a pact, decorating the nuptial bed with white lead and cinnabar.”67 Fire and water, two incompatible elements, are able finally to live together at peace; an artful representation of the positive 65 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 86/9-14. 66 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 39/23. 67 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 88/99-100. Shirin herself, during one of her quarrels with Khosrow, had said: “I am water, and my name is Water of Life; you are fire, and the name of this fire is Youth. It is not good that water and fire should unite, since from this would stem only destruction for the world [an allusion to the final cataclysm which it was supposed would destroy the world]” (Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 71/29-30).

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE value Nezâmi had assigned to love in the introductory part of the poem: love overcomes all disagreements and any human imperfection. The second part of the poem describes a very different relationship between the lovers: Love is a harmonious relationship that promotes the good, both of the couple and of the reign. In this stage of his life, Khosrow, like Alexander in the second part of the Eskandar-nâme, appears as a wise king, interested in knowledge and in the good administration of his kingdom. The transformation seems to be mainly due to the attainment of maturity (Khosrow’s first white hairs), which implies a more balanced attitude towards life and a greater interest in wisdom. In medieval perceptions of life the different ages of man: Youth, manhood, old age, were more differentiated than to the modern eye, and chronologically well demarcated.68 Many authors of classical Persian literature, and among them Key Kâ’us, quote the well-known saying that “youth is a kind of madness.”69 This, as well as the laws of the narrative, may partially explain Khosrow’s behavior in the first part of the poem, and his transformation in the second part. Only at this stage is he ready to comprehend Shirin’s moral stance, whereas, as an immature young man, but for Shâpur, he would have been unable to understand even her most simple request, repeated over hundreds of lines: to become his legal wife through matrimony. In the important didactic section which marks the transformation of Khosrow into a wise and righteous ruler Shirin gives him lengthy advice and counsel in the tradition of “mirrors-for-princes” literature, acting herself as a “mirror to the prince” and guiding him towards true royalty. It is at Shirin’s request that forty moral maxims drawn from the famous Book of Kalila and Dimna are expounded by Bozorg Ommid to Khosrow:70 That a woman could induce a wise minister to instruct a king was considered by Âref Ardabili as absurdly far-fetched (see below, “Critical Responses: The 68 I owe this suggestion to Mohsen Ashtiany. See also Anna Livia Beelaert, “Alexander dans le discours sur les âges de la vie dans l’Iskandar-nāma de Niẓāmī,” in L. Harf-Lancner, C. Kappler, and F. Suard, eds., Alexandre le Grand dans les literatures occidentals et proche-orientales (Paris, 1999), in particular p. 248; J.A. Burrow, The Ages of Man: A Study in Medieval Writing and Thought (Oxford, 1986). 69 Key-Kâ’us b. Eskandar, Qâbus-nâme, ed. Gh.-H. Yusofi (Tehran, 1966), chap. 9, p. 56. 70 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, Chapter 90. On this episode, cf. C. van Ruymbecke, “What Is It that Khusraw Learns from the Kalīla-Dimna Stories?” in J.-C. Bürgel and C. van Ruymbeke, eds., A Key to the Treasure of the Hakīm: Artistic and Humanistic Aspects of Nizāmī Ganjavī’s “Khamsa” (Leiden, 2011), pp. 145-66.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Farhȃd-nȃme by Âref Ardabili”). In the final part of the poem, she even cautions the king to accept the new religion of the Prophet of Arabia; but her voice is left unheard.71 The suggestion might have saved the kingdom of the Persians. This is yet another departure from traditional historical accounts, which indirectly accuse Shirin of having been a contributor to the fall of the Sasanid dynasty (see below, “Shirin”). Shirin’s role as the agent of Khosrow’s moral perfection represents a reversal of the traditional view of women in general, and of Shirin in particular, in Persian literature.72 Works pertaining to moral literature (works of adab, collections of advice, etc.), deeply imbued, and not only in Persian literature,73 with a misogynistic spirit, present women in a negative light. But the role assigned to Shirin in the second part of Nezâmi’s poem is surprising, even within the tradition of love poems, a tradition generally much more favorable to women. To appreciate the radical novelty of Shirin’s role in Nezâmi’s poem, it should be noted that not only was it sharply criticized by later authors responding to Nezâmi’s poem, such as Âref Ardabili; but, more significantly, that none of Nezâmi’s imitators extended this role to Shirin’s character in their poems. The mastering of passions is one of the most important moral themes dealt with in the poem. Khosrow’s pleasure-seeking character is stressed, from the beginning of the poem, in one of the early episodes in Khosrow’s life story. Here, during a hunt, while Khosrow’s retinue tramples upon a peasant’s field and his slave ravages the vineyards, Khosrow himself settles in a peasant’s house spending the night in revelry, inducing mayhem in the village.74 By contrast, at the end of Khosrow’s lifetime, Nezâmi offers a poignant illustration of the transformation in Khosrow when the dying king, tormented by thirst, resists disturbing the sleeping queen to ask for a sip of water ‒ an episode not to be found in historical sources. 71 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 96/53-54. 72 On this point, cf. J.-C. Bürgel, “Die Frau als Person in der Epik Nizamis,” Asiatische Studien/Études asiatiques 42/2 (1988), pp. 137-55. 73 Cf. R. Howard Bloch, “Medieval Misogyny,” Representations 20 (1987), pp. 1-24. 74 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, Chapter 14. Gianroberto Scarcia, Scirin: La regina dei Magi, Milan, 2003, pp. 31-41, reads the episode as alluding to Khosrow’s participation in the orgiastic or mysteric rites of Mehrgân. A different interpretation is given by Jutta Wintermann, Dichtung und Historie: Aspekte der Herrschaft Ḫosrous II. in Nezāmīs “Ḫosrou-o Šīrīn”, Würzburg, 2012, p. 33, who surmises that this episode has a bearing on prince Khosrow’s involvement in the conspiracy against his father.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE The prevailing romantic critique, ignoring the historical stratification which may have been relevant to the creation of Nezâmi’s character, has almost unanimously interpreted Nezâmi’s Shirin in very positive terms as a chaste and loyal heroine. Khosrow’s character, on the other hand, has often been sharply criticized from different, often ideological, points of view, owing to his conduct in the first part of the poem. Nezâmi, however, though showing all the weaknesses of Khosrow’s character, presents them mainly as the inevitable product of his young age and does not adopt a critical stance towards him. Nowhere, in pointing to the turbulent events of the beginning of his reign, are even oblique references made to Khosrow’s possible implication in the deposition and blinding of his father, king Hormoz, except, in passing, in words put in the mouth of Khosrow’s enemy Bahrâm.75 By contrast, these allegations are openly voiced by his own son Shiruye both in the sources,76 and in some of the poems composed in response to Nezâmi’s poem, such as that by Amir Khosrow (see below, “Shirin va Khosrow by Amir Khosrow of Delhi”). Recounting in brief the turbulent historical events in which young Khosrow was implicated, Nezâmi defines him as one who “holds the truth in his heart,”77 clearly showing his own position regarding historical Khosrow. Nevertheless, Nezâmi’s poem Khosrow and Shirin poses difficult problems of interpretation. The fascination exerted on the reader by the love story recounted in such a vivid way, with characters and situations having the flavor of real life, invites highly subjective readings: the reader is led to empathize with the characters, projecting onto them his or her own experiences, fears and desires, and openly siding with Khosrow or with Shirin as if it were a matter of deciding who is right and who is wrong. This is a sign of the poem’s continuing vitality right up to the present and is, for all of us who try to face this masterpiece of world literature with a judgmental attitude, a trap into which it is almost impossible not to fall.

75 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 33/6. 76 Cf. for example Bal’ami, Tȃrikh, II, p. 1160, through Shiruye’s words. For an analysis of Arabic and Persian sources on Khosrow’s death and Shiruye’s responsability for it, see Djalal Khaleghi-Motlagh, Notes on the Shahnameh (4 vols., New York, 2001-9), IV, pp. 268-70. 77 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 24/14a.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Falling in Love on the Basis of a Description: Nezȃmi’s Language of Images Over and above the content of the poem, Nezâmi’s poetic language represents the primary reason for the fascination the narrative exerts on the reader.78 The description of Shirin given by Shâpur is both a representative example of Nezâmi’s imaginative poetic language, and an instance illustrating the power exerted by poetry according to Islamic thought.79 Indeed, from the point of view of their reception, poetry, music, and the figurative arts in general have the power of exerting a strong influence on the reader, listener or viewer, eliciting sentiments of joy or grief, love or hate; a power that Shâpur’s description of Shirin displays at its best.80 Shâpur, companion and courtier of young prince Khosrow, is presented as an urbane man of the world as well as a highly talented painter. He is the initiator and enabler of the love between Khosrow and Shirin. Khosrow falls in love on the basis of the description of Shirin by Shâpur during a courtly gathering; and Shirin falls in love with the image of Khosrow that Shâpur had painted in Armenia, where he has been sent in order to persuade her to join the young prince at the court of Madâyen. Thus, both fall 78

Besides the many general studies on Persian poetical language, the study by Hellmut Ritter, Über die Bildersprache Niẓāmīs (Berlin and Leipzig, 1927), is still fundamental. See also S. Hamidiyân, Ârmân-shahr-e zibâyi (Tehran, 1994); Renate Würsch, Niẓāmī’s Schatzkammer der Geheimnisse: Eine Untersuchung zu “Maḫzan al-asrār” (Wiesbaden, 2005), pp. 72-126; B. Zanjâni, Sovar-e khiyâl dar Khamse-ye Nezâmi (Tehran, 2009). 79 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 17/30-61. On the persuasive and suggestive value of arts in Islamic thought cf. J. Ch. Bürgel, “Nizami über Sprache und Dichtung,” in F. Meier and R. Gramlich, eds., Islamwissenschaftliche Abhandlungen: Fritz Meier zum sechzigsten Geburstag (Wiesbaden, 1974), pp. 11-13, and idem, The Feather of Simurgh: The “Licit Magic” of the Arts in Medieval Islam (New York and London, 1988). In particular, on this episode, cf. Paola Orsatti, “L’innamoramento di Ḫusraw e Šīrīn nel poema di Niẓāmī e il potere psicagogico della parola,” in In memoria di Francesco Gabrieli (1904-1996), Supplement no. 2 to RSO 71 (Rome, 1997), pp. 129-45. 80 This power is theorized by philosophers and theoreticians of poetry as Abd-al-Qâder Jorjâni (d. ca. 1078) in his Asrār al-balāgha: The Mysteries of Eloquence, ed. H. Ritter (Istanbul, 1954); cf. K. Abu Deeb, Al-Jurjānī’s Theory of Poetic Imagery (Warminster, 1979). In Persian, the suggestive power of poetry is illustrated by the chapter on poetry in Nezâmi Aruzi of Samarqand, Chahâr maqâle, ed. M. Qazvini (Leiden and London, 1910), in partic. p. 26.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE in love without having seen each other, both episodes lending themselves to reflections on the function and power of poetry and the figurative arts. Such occurrences are contemplated in treatises on the phenomenology of love, such as Ebn-Hazm’s The Ring of the Dove (11th century).81 The poet dwells on the different parts of Shirin’s physical features, reinforcing the beauty of the single images by a series of incremental comparisons amplifying their impact on the listener’s imagination. Shirin is compared to a fairy, to the moon and to moonlight; her eyes are as black as the Land of Shadows from which springs the Water of Life; in stature she resembles a silver palm; her teeth shine like pearls; her lips are like polished agate. In the representation of Shirin’s beauty, each part of her body is compared with other objects which resemble them in form and color, according to a general rule of classical Persian poetry that Hellmut Ritter defines as “das Prinzip des harmonischen oder beziehungsreichen Bildwahl,” consisting in the choice of harmonious and closely-interconnected images from a formal point of view.82 In Nezâmi’s poetry, this static and decorative representation of Shirin’s beauty is accompanied by a dynamic depiction of it: before Khosrow’s eyes, Shirin’s black tresses become two dark-skinned Zangis clinging to the top of a palm-tree (her long, slender body), to pick the dates, i.e., to brush against her lips. Through Shâpur’s description, Nezâmi gives autonomous life to the various parts of Shirin’s body; and nature itself, anthropomorphized, responds to this abundance of beauty with envy or humiliation, by submitting itself to it. Borrowing an expression from the language of commerce, Hellmut Ritter speaks of “rivalry which acknowledges itself as defeated” to define the canonical type of image in such contexts.83 Employing puns and phonic schemes, and through the mouth of Shâpur, the poet presents the grass on the meadow as falling prostrate to earth, humiliated, in front of Shirin’s curls; her cheeks belittle the sun and moon; the flowers of the garden (bustân) sprinkle silver coins on the pallor of her breast (pestân), as a token of admiration; and the gazelle, noted for the beauty of its neck, submits (gardan nehâdan) to the beauty of Shirin’s neck (gardan). On the other Cf. Ebn-Hazm, Towq al-hamama, tr. A. J. Arberry as The Ring of the Dove (London, 1953), chapter “On Falling in Love through a Description,” pp. 48-54. 82 Ritter, Über die Bildersprache Niẓāmīs, pp. 25, 28-34. 83 Ritter, Über die Bildersprache Niẓāmīs, p. 38. 81

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY hand, as Shâpur points out, if Shirin were to consider herself as the standard of comparison, she would find more than a hundred defects (âhu) in a gazelle (âhu). The description of the effects of Shirin’s beauty on the natural world gives rise to a series of poetical aetiologies (hosn-e ta’ lil): dates ripen, filling their mouth with liquid sugar, at the mere mention of the sweet name of that honey-mouth; the spring breeze adorns itself in light or shade, of white ermine or black beaver, according to whether it brushes Shirin’s (white) face or (black) hair; the pearl takes shape within the shell when the shell’s mouth salivates with desire, at just one glimpse of Shirin’s pearl-like teeth. The description of Shirin is an outstanding example of poetry as sehr-e halâl (licit magic): the poet has the ability to present reality so as to influence the listener’s soul. Khosrow cannot but fall in love. In the description (vasf ) of the natural world, the psychological interpretation of nature is driven to its limits: nature is personified and endowed with autonomous life, being represented as capable of experiencing human feelings and participating in the described scene.84 A fine example of personification is offered by two different and altogether opposite descriptions of the night placed in two different moments of the poem, with resonances between the one and the other. The first, which refers to the period the two lovers spend together on the banks of the Shâhrud river, describes a beautiful spring night, brighter than day, with every aspect of nature inviting union.85 The second is placed in the central section of the poem when Shirin, abandoned by Khosrow, is alone in her castle, filled with anguish: a prelude to the conclusion of the couple’s tormented love story. The description of this endless, dark night, directly influenced by a famous description of a dark and anguished night in Vis va Râmin by Gorgâni,86 ends with 84

On “animation” in Persian poetry, with a classification of its different types and an evaluation of Nezâmi’s technique in comparison to that of other poets, see Hamidiyân, Ârmân-shahr-e zibâyi, pp. 54-67. On two particular topoi of Persian poetry, both based on personification of the inanimate and natural world, see Anna Livia Beelaert, “The Ka’ba as a Woman: A Topos in Classical Persian literature,” Persica 13 (1988-89), pp. 107-23; and, by the same author, “Medical Imagery in the Description of the Seasons in Classical Persian Poetry,” Persica 14 (1990-92), pp. 21-35. 85 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 38/1-15. 86 Gorgâni, Vis va Râmin, ed. Mahjub, pp. 60-63.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE Shirin’s payer to God to end her grief and resolve her tormented love story with Khosrow.87 A possible instance of cross-reference between the two descriptions can be seen in the following line, in the first description: “The breeze from Sheba had removed the dust from the soul’s forehead, and the stars were displaying their teeth to the moon” (sabâ gard az jabin-e jân robude / setâre sobh-râ dandân nemude).88 Here, the gentle spring breeze blowing from the east (sabâ, the kingdom of Sheba) is presented in the act of banishing the anxiety that, as dust on the forehead, settles on everyone’s soul. The stars are so bright that they are laughing (baring their teeth) at the brightness of the morning—an image used to signify the superiority of the stars, as far as their brightness is concerned, towards what Hellmut Ritter has called their rivalry, i.e. towards the morning with its brightness.89 However, the expression dandân nemudan (to bare or brandish the teeth), besides meaning “to laugh at; to show one’s superiority,” also means “to bare (one’s) teeth as a sign of anger; to growl, snarl;” and the second halfverse could also just mean that on such a night, so beautiful that anyone would desire it never to end, the stars, as watchdogs, are snarling and baring their teeth at the morning, to keep it away—a quite unusual metaphor that implies not only a personification of the stars and their participation in the mood described in the scene, but also a complete disruption of the classical law prescribing the choice of images closely connected to one another from a formal point of view. According to this law, it is allowable for the stars to be compared to white and brilliant teeth, but not to a dog.90 The latter meaning (the stars growling to the morning to keep it at bay) can be appreciated at best as an intertextual reference to the second, contrasting description of Shirin’s never-ending night of anguish, where every 87 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 64/5-25. For the genre called al-faraj ba’ d al-shedda (deliverance after adversity), see above Chaper 3. 88 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 38/5. In the first half-line, Vahid Dastgerdi gives the reading zodude ‘had polished.’ 89 This is the interpretation given both by Dehkhodâ, Loghatnâme, s.v. dandân nemudan, where Nezâmi’s line is cited as an attestation of of the meaning “to laugh at” and by Zanjâni, Sovar-e khiyâl dar “Khamse”-ye Neẓâmi, p. 288, s.v. dandân nemudan. 90 On Persian lyrical language, see, in particular, Benedikt Reinert, Ḫāqāni als Dichter: poetische Logik und Phantasie (Berlin and New York, 1972), and A. Bausani, “La letteratura neopersiana,” in A. Pagliaro and A. Bausani, Storia della letteratura persiana (Milan, 1960).

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY image evokes a sentiment of stasis and painful immobility, and Shirin addresses the night begging it to come to an end: an endless night, as opposed to the (subjectively) all too brief night of the first description.

Between History and Legend: The Characters in Nezâmi’s Poem Of the characters in the narrative cycle focusing on the story of Khosrow and Shirin, some are immediately identifiable as historical figures: Khosrow Parviz, the hero of the poem; the Qeysar, i.e. the Byzantine emperor Maurice (582-602); and Bahrâm Chubin, the rebel general and usurper of the throne of Persia, who in later apocalyptic literature may have become a messianic figure (see below, Chapter 6). The character of Bozorg Ommid, Khosrow’s minister, can also be considered as originating from a historical or semi-historical figure, that of Bozorgmehr, the minister of a king bearing the same name as Khosrow Parviz: Khosrow I Anushirvân.91 The origins of other characters, on the other hand, need to be investigated.92 Shirin A queen named Shirin is a figure well known to historians: She was the famous Christian wife of Khosrow Parviz.93 Christian sources of Late Antiquity are the richest for the historical (or semi-historical) Shirin. Though these sources should not be considered On the identification of Bozorg Ommid as Bozorgmehr, see Zarrinkub, Pir-e Ganje, p. 95. On Bozorgmehr, see Arthur Christensen, “La légende du sage Buzurjmihr,” Acta Orientalia 8 (1930), pp. 81-113; Djalal Khaleghi-Motlagh, “Bozorgmehr-e Boktagān,” EIr, IV, pp. 427-29; and Neguin Yavari, Advice for the Sultan: Prophetic Voices and Secular Politics in Medieval Islam (Oxford and New York, 2014), p. 25 and note 42. 92 On Mehin Bânu’s character, see above, “The Historical and Geographic Context of the Poem,” and Orsatti, “Le donne e le città.” 93 On her historical and legendary figure, two monographs were published almost simultaneously by Gianroberto Scarcia, Scirin: La regina dei Magi (Milan, 2003), and Wilhelm Baum, Schirin Christin – Königin – Liebesmythos (Klagenfurt and Vienna, 2003). 91

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE exempt from contamination by literary topoi,94 they give a wealth of information on this personage which, if not always historically true, at least represents an earlier stage in the development of the Shirin legend, compared with information drawn from the Islamic sources.95 One such source is the work by the Byzantine historian Theophylact Simocatta, writing at the time of Emperor Heraclius (r. 610-41).96 According to Theophylact, Khosrow returned to his capital after his flight to the Byzantine territories at the end of summer 591. He married Shirin in the following year (592), and in the summer of 593 sent a votive offering to the sanctuary of Saint Sergius in Rosapha (Sergiopolis), in Byzantine territory, together with a letter mentioning Shirin.97 From this letter, and from the almost identical text (also given by other early historians such as Evagrius Scholasticus, Historia ecclesiastica, 6.21) which was engraved on the votive offering and sent to St. Sergius’s shrine, we learn that Shirin (“Seirem” in Theophylact) was Christian; that Khosrow must have kept her as a concubine before deciding to marry her; and that the marriage meant breaking Mazdean law and had been opposed by the nobility and the Zoroastrian clergy. We also learn that Shirin had found difficulty in conceiving,

94 I agree with Neguin Yavari on the necessity of submitting non-Islamic sources for Iranian history to the same critical scrutiny displayed by scholars when considering Islamic sources, instead of seeing them aprioristically as always “true” (cf. Yavari, Advice for the Sultan, pp. 29-30, note 51). See also the methodological notations by Averil Cameron, “Agathias on the Sasanians,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 23/24 (1969/1970), pp. 69-71 and 112-16. 95 The most complete survey of the sources on Shirin is still that given by Aliev, Legenda o Khosrove i Širin, pp. 21-36 (Byzantine, Armenian, and Syriac sources) and pp. 36-57 (Muslim sources). 96 The History of Theophylact Simocatta, tr. Michael and Mary Whitby (2nd edition, Oxford, 1988). While Paul Peeters (“Les ex-voto de Khosrau Aparwez à Sergiopolis,” Analecta Bollandiana 65, 1947, pp. 5-56), had doubted Theophylact’s reliability, M. J. Higgins (“Chosroes II’s Votive Offerings at Sergiopolis,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 48, 1955, pp. 89-102) shows, on the contrary, the historian’s trustworthiness. On the autenticity of his letters, cf. Claudia A. Ciancaglini, “Le ‘lettere persiane’ nelle Storie di Teofilatto Simocatta,” in La Persia e Bisanzio (Rome, 2004), pp. 633-64. 97 A reconstruction of events as narrated by Theophylact is given by Higgins, “Chosroes II’s Votive Offerings at Sergiopolis,” p. 20. The text of the letter concerning Shirin can be read in The History of Theophylact Simocatta, p. 151 (Book V, 14). On St. Sergius and his cult, cf. Scarcia, Scirin, pp. 63-64, 121-25.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY at least initially, and that the king regarded her pregnancy as grace received through St. Sergius.98 Shirin is usually portrayed in an unfavorable light in early Persian and Islamic sources, including in Ferdowsi’s account of the love story between Khosrow and Shirin.99 In a short tale repeated almost identically in Jâhez’s Ketâb al-mahâsen wa’ l-azdâd,100 in the second part of Nasihat al-moluk,101 and also in the Thousand and One Nights,102 Shirin is represented as an interfering woman, and Khosrow as a husband dominated by his wife. In this anecdote Shirin creates problems by meddling even in Khosrow’s trivial decisions, such as how much to reward a fisherman, inflicting a loss on the royal coffers. The story belongs to the rich misogynistic tradition in Persian moral literature, counselling against adopting a woman’s advice; in particular a king should never let a woman or one of his wives interfere in his decisions. The tale would seem to go back to the earlier Sasanid vision of the couple, compared to the Khosrow and Shirin story as re-shaped by 98 See Paola Orsatti, “Ḵosrow o Širin and Its Imitations,” EIr Online, http://dx.doi. org/10.1163/2330-4804_EIRO_COM_222. On the inclinations manifested by Khosrow towards Christianity, either as a political move, or out of a tendency towards any manifestation of religious heterodoxy, cf. Scarcia, Scirin, pp. 23-41, 91; and Th. Nöldeke, Geschichte der Perser und Araber zur Zeit der Sasaniden (Leyden, 1879), p. 486. 99 Cf. Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VIII, pp. 259-70 (“Khosrow Parviz: Dâstân-e Khosrow bâ Shirin,” ll. 3387-515). See Christine van Ruymbeke, “Firdausi’s Dastan-i Khusrau va Shirin: Not Much of a Love Story!,” in Charles Melville, ed., Shahnama Studies I (Cambridge, 2006), pp. 125-47. On the figure of Shirin in the Shâh-nâme, cf. Djalal Khaleghi Motlagh, Die Frauen im Schahname (Freiburg, 1971), pp. 84-88 (= pp. 67-71 of the enlarged English edition). For an analysis of the figures of Shirin and Maryam in the Shâh-nâme and in Nezâmi’s poem, cf. Heshmat Mo’ayyad, “Maryam va Shirin dar sheʽr-e Ferdowsi va Nezâmi,” Iranshenasi 3/4 (1991): Viže-nȃme-ye sȃl-e Nezȃmi-ye Ganjavi, I, pp. 526-39. 100 Jâhez, Ketâb al-mahâsen wa’ l-azdâd, ed. G. van Vloten (Leyden, 1898), pp. 255-57. 101 Mohammad Ghazâli, Nasihat al-moluk, ed. Jalâl-al-Din Homâʾi (revised edition, Tehran, 1972), pp. 283-84. On this anecdote, see Aliev, Legenda o Khosrove i Širin, pp. 39-40; J. C. Bürgel, “Die Frau als Person in der Epik Nizamis,” Asiatische Studien / Études asiatiques 42/2 (1988), pp. 137-38; and especially Dj. Khaleghi Motlagh, in the article quoted below, note 105. 102 Cf. The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night, tr. J.C. Mardrus and E.P. Mathers (4 vols., reprint London and New York, 1986), II, pp. 387-88 (nights 381-82). The same anecdote is also given in the Bahr al-favâyed (ed. Mohammad-Taqi Dâneshpazhuh, Tehran, 1966, p. 111, chap. 6, hekâyat 56); here Shirin is only referred to as Kesrâ’s wife.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE Nezâmi; a vision which might have arisen from Shirin’s important role in Khosrow’s relations with the Byzantine emperor Maurice and in the western policy of the early years of his reign, aggravated by the Christian tendencies manifested by the king himself in that period. In Jâhez’s Ketâb al-mahâsen wa’ l-azdâd,103 in the chapter illustrating the tricks of women, this anecdote is preceded by another, likewise centered around the figure of Shirin, which is also given, with slight differences, by the Nehâyat al-arab fi akhbâr al-Fors wa’ l-Arab.104 In this story, Shirin takes revenge on the Mobad Mobadân, the chief Zoroastrian priest and an influential counselor at Khosrow Parviz’s court, who habitually warned Khosrow on the dangers inherent in submitting to the power of women. One day Shirin offers the Mobad one of her most beautiful handmaidens, Moshkdâne, and the priest accepts. Shirin instructs Moshkdâne on how to make him a slave of her whims and desires. Skillfully the handmaid leads the Mobad to such a level of paroxysmal desire that he agrees to go naked, on all fours, and have a saddle and bridle put on his back in order to be ridden by her. Just at that moment, as previously agreed with Moshkdâne, Shirin conducts Khosrow to spy on the scene from a window. On Khosrow demanding an explanation of this humiliating situation, the Mobad replies: “This is just exactly what I intended when I counseled you not to be one who is under the subjugation of women.” This anecdote, studied by Djalal Khaleghi Motlagh, certainly has an ancient, probably Sasanid, source. Ebn-al-Nadim in the Fehrest quotes among the books of tales of the Persians a book, now lost, whose title Khaleghi reconstructs as Moshkdâne va shâh-e zanân (Moshkdâne and the Queen of Women, i.e. Shirin): probably an extended narrative rather than a brief anecdote.105 103 Jâhez, Ketâb al-mahâsen wa’ l-azdâd, p. 255. 104 The Arabic text of the anecdote can be read in Edward G. Browne, “Some Account of the Arabic Work entitled Niháyatu’ l-irab fí akhbári’ l-Furs wa’ l-‘Arab,” JRAS (1900), pp. 243-45. 105 Cf. Djalal Khaleghi Motlagh, “Moshkdâne,” Iranshenasi 16/2 (Summer 2004), pp. 227-39. The same anecdote, with the Mobad replaced by Aristotle (in some variants of the tale, the woman is Alexander’s wife), is also told in an ancient French-Picard text (first half of the 13th century), the Lai d’Aristote by Henri d’Andeli. This tale, in different variants, is widespread in European literatures (see M. Delbouille, Le lai d’Aristote de Henri d’Andeli, Paris, 1951, introduction, in particular pp. 35-61). I thank Mohsen Ashtiany for having brought this text to my attention.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY In a short episode narrated by both Tabari and Bal’ami, Shirin is made responsible in an indirect manner for the fall of the Sasanid empire. According to this account, the astrologers had warned Khosrow that one of his sons would have a son at whose hands the kingdom would be destroyed. For that reason, he gives orders to keep his sons separate from all women. Shirin had adopted Shahriyâr, the eldest of Khosrow’s eighteen sons (this narrative implies that Shirin had remained infertile).106 As Shahriyâr complains about his unfulfilled lust for women, Shirin at last provides him with one of her maids, so unappealing that she thinks she will be of no use to him. Instead, Shahriyâr immediately leaps on her, and she becomes pregnant with Yazdagerd (Yazdagerd III, the last Sasanid king). The child’s birth is kept secret for five years. At last Khosrow finds out about him and recognizes from the defect in one of the young boy’s hips that he is the agent of ill fortune for his reign as foretold by astrologers. Filled with foreboding and rage, Khosrow lifts the boy up to dash him to the ground. But Shirin intervenes, arguing that “If this is something that is going to befall this state, then there is no possibility of changing it.”107 In chapter forty-two of Siyar al-moluk, a tradition is related to explicate Shirin’s fondness for Farhâd. When speaking of women and of people of inferior rank, Nezâm-al-Molk illustrates the advice that men should not share their secrets with women with the following exemplum: “Since Khusrau so loved Shirin that he put the reins into her hands and did everything that she said, then inevitably she grew bold, and although she was queen to such a great king, she began to prefer Farhad.”108 According to this version, the man enslaved to a woman’s will is Khosrow himself, and not his Mobad. The quoted anecdotes concerning Shirin (with the exception of that in Tabari) are connected with the traditional advice of preventing a woman 106 Shahriyâr is mentioned in the Shâh-nâme as one of the four sons Khosrow had by Shirin. Cf. Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VIII, p. 368 (“Shiruye,” ll. 551-52). 107 Tabari, tr. Bosworth, pp. 379-80. This anecdote is told with slight differences by Bal’ami, Târikh, II, pp. 1147-50. On this story, and analogous stories at the end of the Umayyad period referring to the pretended Persian genealogy of Yazid III (who was caliph for only a few months in 744), see M. Sprengling, “From Persian to Arabic,” The American Journal of Semitic Languages and Literature 56/2 (1939), pp. 214-21; and Scarcia, Scirin, pp. 84-86. 108 Nezâm-al-Molk, Siyar al-moluk, p. 246; H. Darke’s translation, The Book of Government or Rules for Kings (New Haven, 1960), pp. 188-89.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE having any influence over her man; and all show Shirin in an unfavorable light. Taking into account such traditions, it is possible to understand Nezâmi’s words at the beginning of the poem (see above,“The Historical and Geographic Context of the Poem”): The story of Shirin was widely known, but her character, as presented in ancient books, was not the true one. Nezâmi, in the light cast on her by the Barda manuscript, intends to present Shirin in her true light, removing the veil of ill-repute that had enveloped her. A more favorable re-assessment of Shirin must have begun quite early, as can be seen in the romantic depiction of her character in the episode of Shirin’s sacrifice beside Khosrow’s body in the Shâh-nâme.109 Immediately before this tragic epilogue, for the first time her character appears to be concerned about her reputation. Shirin asks for public recognition, at least for the years following her marriage to Khosrow: Since I came to the king And, in his golden palace, was made anew, I have been the chief of women (sar-e bânovân) and the glory of the king; Since that time, what misdeed (gonâh) has been found in me?110 At this point, before the account of the dramatic last scene, her purity is publicly acknowledged: “Oh illustrious lady of ladies (bânu-ye bânovân), Wise, judicious, and of luminous soul! (We swear) to God that no one has ever set eyes on you, Nor heard your voice from behind the curtain!” […] They said in a loud voice: “O upright woman! Showered with praise in Rum, China, and Teraz, Who durst speak ill of you? How could any unworthy behavior be worthy of you?”111

Already, in Ferdowsi’s account, the positive re-interpretation of Shirin’s figure in the final episode of her death cannot ignore the weight of literary traditions concerning this personage. 109 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VIII, pp. 364-83 (“Shiruye: Dâstân-e Shiruye bâ Shirin,” ll. 489-615). 110 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VIII, p. 371 (“Shiruye,” ll. 580-81). 111 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VIII, p. 371 (“Shiruye,” ll. 584-85, 588-89).

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY In spite of the discordance in the sources, the character of Shirin emerges altogether favorably from Nezâmi’s poem. However, Nezâmi is not able to remove all traces of Shirin’s ill repute. After her flight to join Khosrow in Madâyen, she is presented as lodging for some time in the king’s palace—a reference, one suspects, to residing in the king’s harem in the life of the historical (or semi-historical) Shirin that Nezâmi was unable to eliminate completely. Nezâmi retells and gives a moral twist to the story: feeling uncomfortable in this setting, she asks to be accommodated outside the palace and the handmaids, that is the other women of Khosrow’s harem, envious of her beauty, arrange for a castle to be built in a noxious place: the famous Qasr-e Shirin (Shirin’s Castle), a reworking of the legend of The Lady of the Palace (see above, “The Historical and Geographic Context of the Poem”). But traces of Shirin’s ill fame, thoroughly undeserved according to Nezâmi, re-emerge here and there in the poem. When Khosrow attempts to persuade Maryam to accept Shirin into the royal palace, he argues: “You are aware how wretched she has become, dishonored (bad-nâm) throughout the world on my account!,”112 a statement recalling a line in the Shâh-nâme, when Khosrow says to the Mobads: “On my account, at the beginning, Shirin gained ill-fame (bad-nâm); it was not her who searched for the nobles’ friendship.”113 Much later in the story, Khosrow leaves the hunt and brimful of desire, gallops off to Qasr-e Shirin, where Shirin lives, disconsolate and alone. She refuses to let him in, goes up onto the terrace and embarks on an interminable exchange in which reproof and recrimination on her part are countered by pleas and threats on his (see above, “Love, Passion and Marriage: a Reading of Nezâmi’s Poem”). During one such exchange the character of Shirin, in the purely literary world of the text, laments the reputation the sources inflict on her: I am residing in this desolate land, Giving voice to lament after lament, Decrying the tricks played by Khosrow on Shirin, That with his bride here, he sprinkles his favors elsewhere. My path ends here, for I have fallen in a trap, 112 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 49/6. 113 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VIII, p. 269 (“Khosrow Parviz,” l. 3506). This line also alludes to Shirin’s humble, or at least not noble, origins.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE My worth devalued, my good name gone. As my reputation is tarnished in all written accounts, The gates of the defamed stay forever closed.114

Other traces of her ill repute in Nezâmi’s poem are voiced by Maryam, when Khosrow implores her to accept Shirin into the palace: Shirin is a “rehashed affair” for Khosrow, and a man-eating witch.115 After a series of aphorisms against women, Maryam finally asks Khosrow: “Why do you link your heart to that godless woman (ân dur az khodây), from whom you receive no fruit (hâsel) other than misadventure?”116 an allusion to both Shirin’s Christian faith and her initial inability to conceive, suggested by early sources. As for Shirin’s disputed involvement in Maryam’s death,117 while Nezâmi states that she used no poison, he is far from pronouncing her innocent: They do say that Shirin gave her a bitter poison, And that Maryam did take it. If you would have the truth, think not of poison; It was her poisonous will (zahr-âlud hemmat) that inflicted her death.118

Nezâmi elaborates on the notion of hemmat (here meaning “focused psychic energy, magical influence, spell”): It is capable of terrible effects when deployed by Indians, causing fresh saplings to lose their leaves and cutting short young lives. At another point in the poem, Shirin herself says to Shâpur: “I know what (the magicians) in Babel do not know.”119 In one episode of the poem Nezâmi seems even to betray the doubt, endorsed by some sources, including Nezâm-al-Molk’s Siyar al-moluk, and voiced by later poets such as Âref Ardabili, that Shirin had reciprocated Farhâd’s love. It is the most beautiful episode of Shirin’s visit to the Kuhkan, the mountain-carver. Having heard of Farhâd’s love for her, almost on a whim she decides to seek him out, hoping to find distraction from her anguish. The poet dwells on her light figure, barely touching the saddle as 114 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 71/48-51. My emphasis. 115 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 49/10-30. 116 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 49/25. 117 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VIII, pp. 269-70 (“Khosrow Parviz,” ll. 3512-13). 118 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 60/5-6. 119 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 50/69b.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY she rides off to find Farhâd. Shirin arrives, offers him a goblet of milk, and rides off again. But, as she sets off to ride, she suddenly grows heavy, and her horse staggers and falls under her weight. Farhâd rushes to her aid, lifting up and carrying both horse and rider on his shoulders and delivering them safely to Shirin’s residence.120 The episode is open to different possible interpretations. Shirin’s weight certainly signifies her compassion for Farhâd (because of her tears, Shirin is compared to a ganj-e gowhar-bâr, a treasure scattering pearls). But Shirin’s heaviness may possibly also signify that, at least momentarily, she returned Farhâd’s love. In Nezâmi, as in other poets, love is often described, through the metaphor of the mountain, as a weight lying heavily on the heart. Moreover, the gesture of offering a goblet of milk has an erotic significance in the Tuesday story of Nezâmi’s poem Haft peykar (see above, “Love, Passion, and Marriage: A Reading of Nezâmi’s Poem”). Lastly, Farhâd’s image, with Shirin and her horse on his shoulders, recalls Fetne carrying the fullgrown ox on her shoulders in Haft peykar, the only love story narrated in this poem (see below, “Farhâd”). Whatever the interpretation of this episode may be, the image of Farhâd carrying Shirin and her horse on his young and strong shoulders appears as a reversal of the anecdote, just referred to, of the mischievously cunning beauty (Shirin’s handmaid Moshkdâne) riding the Mobad. The reversal also involves different concepts of love in the two anecdotes: Farhâd is an emblem of potent and youthful pure love, whereas the episode of Shirin’s handmaid embodies a discordance brought about by the carnal love of a lascivious old man.121 In view of the different historical and legendary layers present in Nezâmi’s character, the romantic view, shared by many scholars, that “Shirin is none other than Āfāq herself” should be reconsidered.122 Nezâmi’s much-loved first wife, called Âfâq in the poem,123 was a Turkish Kipchak slave given to him by the “King of Darband,”124 identifiable as Seyf-al-Din Mozaffar, ruler 120 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, Chapter 57. 121 This interpretation was suggested by Mohsen Ashtiany. 122 Rypka, in HIL, p. 211. 123 Âfâq is not, of course, the true Turkish name of Nezâmi’s first wife. For a reconstruction of her name, cf. Bertel’s, “Kak zvali pervuyu zhenu Nizami?” in Nizami i Fuzuli, pp. 484-86. 124 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 94/130.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE of Darband and the dedicatee of a poem by Khâqâni.125 She died in about 576/1181. It is certainly possible that Nezâmi’s deep love and respect for Âfâq contributed to the birth of the beautiful figure of Shirin, so different from the less attractive image of Shirin in most other sources. It is clear that when he decided to narrate this love story, he was inspired by his love for Âfâq (probably still alive at that time): At the beginning of the poem he alludes to her, with a pun, saying that: “I filled the horizons (âfâq)/Âfâq with my love’s smoke,” i.e., “I manifested my love all over the horizons/to Âfâq.”126 On the other hand, some references to the death of Âfâq are present at the end of the poem. After narrating Shirin’s death, Nezâmi remembers “my Âfâq, my Kipchak idol” who, like Shirin, was a woman of strong and pure character and, as a Turk, had felt the urge to migrate (to the land of death), taking away with her all the poet’s happiness, thus alluding to Âfâq’s death.127 In one of the final chapters, the poem is defined as the receptacle of the poet’s most essential experience, his love for Âfâq: the bride (ʽarus) concealed under the earth (i.e. Âfâq) is said to be still present and visible (zâher) through the poet, who defines himself as the hidden soul (jân-e mahjub) of which the poem is the body (tan).128 Despite the importance of Nezâmi’s love for Âfâq as giving rise to the conception of the poem, it would not be correct to posit an almost literal identification of Âfâq with Shirin to explain the genesis of the latter’s character. It is also unlikely that Nezâmi’s poem could have been “chiefly inspired by the happiness and tragedy of this young woman [i.e. Âfâq],”129 given that the bulk of the poem might already have been composed around 571/1176, when Âfâq was still alive (see above, “The Poem’s Date”). 125 The “King of Darband” has been otherwise identified by scholars: Both Vahid Dastgerdi (Ganjine-ye Ganjavi, 2nd ed., Tehran, 1956, p. 7) and Barât Zanjâni (Ahvâl va âthâr va sharh-e Makhzan al-asrâr-e Nezâmi-ye Ganjavi, 2nd ed., 8th reprint, Tehran, 2008, p. 3) identify the “King of Darband” with Fakhr-al-Din Bahrâmshâh, king of Arzenjân, dedicatee of Nezâmi’s first poem Makhzan al-Asrâr. Zarrinkub (Pir-e Ganje, p. 22), instead, proposes to identify him with the Sharvânshâh Akhsetân, the dedicatee of the poem Leyli va Majnun. On Seyf-al-Din Mozaffar cf. F. de Blois, Persian Literature V/2, p. 385, and Anna Livia Beelaert, A Cure for the Grieving (Leiden, 2000), pp. 100-101: Khâqâni too, as well as Nezâmi, had received from Seyf-al-Din a Turkish slave girl of great beauty, together with other gifts. 126 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 11/77a. 127 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 94/129-34. 128 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 99/57-65. 129 Rypka, in HIL, p. 211.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Even if the poet’s love for Âfâq had a central role in the genesis of the poem and, in his own words, represents the most profound meaning of the poem, Nezâmi’s portrayal of Shirin seems to be the result of a complex historical-literary stratification, endowed with full literary autonomy. Her character therefore cannot simply or solely be seen as reflecting the biography of the author. Maryam No daughter of Maurice who married Khosrow is acknowledged by the most ancient Byzantine sources. However, according to Gianroberto Scarcia, Maryam too, like Shirin, might be considered a historical or semi-historical character. She may originate from the figure of a saint of Persian origin, Saint Golinduch (this is the current form of her name), who died at Hierapolis, in Byzantine territory, on 13 July 591.130 Among the sources referring to her is a Georgian vita, based on the Syriac life of the saint, written soon after her death, by Stephan, Bishop of Hierapolis. The Syriac text is no longer extant but a Latin translation from the Georgian has been published by Gérard Garitte:131 Golândokht (the Georgian text conserves what is undoubtedly the original form of her name, “Gulanducht” in Garitte’s Latin transcription) was the wife of a Persian nobleman. She was baptized with the name of Maryam. The king, at that time the first Chosroe, i.e. Khosrow Anushirvân (r. 531-579), had her incarcerated in the Fortress of Oblivion, the fearsome Sasanid prison in Khuzestan.132 After eighteen years of incarceration (Hormoz had in the 130 Cf. Scarcia, Scirin, pp. 89-105; and by the same author “La ‘sposa bizantina’ di Khosrow Parviz,” in La Persia e Bisanzio (Rome, 2004), pp. 115-35. On the biography of the saint, known from different sources, cf. Paul Peeters, “Sainte Golindouch, martyre perse,” Analecta Bollandiana 62 (1944), pp. 74-125, and Sebastian Brock, “Golinduch,” EIr, XI, pp. 95-96. 131 G. Garitte, “La passion géorgienne de Sainte Golindouch,” Analecta Bollandiana 74 (1956), pp. 405-40. 132 Cf. Peeters, “Sainte Golindouch,” pp. 84-85 and 99, note 2. There is some doubt as to the location of this notorious Sasanid prison; cf. E. Kettenhofen, “Das Staatsgefängnis der Sāsāniden,” Die Welt des Orients 19 (1988), pp. 96-101. On this fortress, and an etymology for its Middle Persian name reconstructed on the basis of its Armenian form (“Immortal Fortress,” and not “Fortress of Oblivion”), see G. Traina and C. Ciancaglini, “La forteresse de l’oubli,” Le Muséon 115/3-4 (2002), pp. 399-422.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE meantime succeeded his father Khosrow I Anushirvân), Golândokht was finally set free, only to be subjected to worse tortures: her breasts were cut off, but miraculously reattached themselves; her head was thrust into a sack of burning coals, but she resisted and survived; she was thrown into a ditch with an enormous dragon and remained there for three months without food or drink. She was then incarcerated in a house of ill repute, but a shadow was wrapped around her that made her invisible to lascivious glances, all trials testifying to an early romantic development of the saint’s biography. Finally she was condemned to death by decapitation. On the day of the execution an angel ordered her relatives, who had come to assist her in her trial, to take her to Greece. They followed the angel’s instructions and traveled with her towards “The East” (i.e., presumably, towards the eastern part of Byzantine territory), till the Confinia (border regions; see below). In Byzantine territory, Golândokht, now Maryam, decided to undertake a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. On her return journey, she went to Hierapolis to meet the Babylonian king, i.e. Khosrow, who was fleeing from his homeland. Maryam predicted to Khosrow the successful outcome of his story and reassured him as to his future reign. (In some way, a memory of this encounter could have been preserved in the episode of the râheb, the Christian monk who foretold Khosrow’s future during his flight into Byzantine territory.)133 She was invited to go to Constantinople, but refused, feeling death approaching, and indeed died on 13 July 591. Therefore Maryam, afterwards known as “The Living Martyr,” is reported to have met Khosrow at Hierapolis. Neither she nor the historical Khosrow ever went to Byzantium or met Emperor Maurice; but, as Gianroberto Scarcia has rightly observed, these few facts may have been sufficient to create the legend of Maryam daughter of the Qeysar of Rum, rival of Shirin, given in marriage to Khosrow; and to link her with Byzantium, her supposed place of origin.134 133 This episode is narrated by Bal’ami, Târikh, tr. H. Zotenberg as Chronique de […] Tabari, traduite sur la version persane d’Abou-‘Ali Mo’hammed Bel’ami (4 vols., repr. Paris, 1958), II, pp. 288-89, and Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VIII, pp. 81-85 (“Khosrow Parviz,” ll. 1052-110). Nezâmi refers to it in a single line (“Khosrow va Shirin,” 41/5); the poet, however, seems to place it before the crossing of the daryâ (sea, a wide river), i.e. the Euphrates. For this episode, already interpolated in the Nehâyat al-arab, cf. Mario Grignaschi, “La Nihāyatu-l-’Arab fī Aḫbāri-l-Furs wa-l-‘Arab et les Siyaru Mulūki-i-‘Ajam du Ps. Ibn-al-Muqaffa’,” BEO 26 (1973), pp. 102-3. 134 Cf. in particular Scarcia, “La ‘sposa bizantina’ di Khosrow Parviz,” pp. 125-32.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY The Ethiopic chronicle of John, Bishop of Nikiu (late 7th century), recounts that the Persian Kolenduk was captured by the Persians during a sea voyage and thrown into prison.135 It is unlikely, however, that the saint’s wanderings between Persia and Jerusalem would have involved a sea crossing. Two explanations are possible: either the sea-journey was in fact the crossing of the Euphrates, the traditional border-line between Persia and Rum, the daryâ (sea) of Ferdowsi and Nezâmi;136 or, as Paul Peeters suggests, this “sea’ comes from a Syriac life of the saint (either Stephan’s original, or a compendium of it) where the Syriac word taḥûmâ (boundary, limit) had erroneously been read as tahômâ (abyss, high sea, open sea).137 Indeed, the toponym “Boundary,” Greek Methória, Latin Confinia, which also appears in the passage of the Georgian text referred to below, designated in the Byzantine epoch the region of Nisibis, since it lay at the border of the two empires. But the “crossing of the sea” in the biography of Saint Golândokht could also represent the recovery of an ancient topos of Greek novels. A sea crossing, as well as a confinement in prison, became important elements in a number of Persian poems centered more or less directly on the personage of Saint Golândokht (see below, “The Main Characters in the Poems of Love and Adventure”). Indeed, Golândokht would seem to have survived as the heroine of a whole series of poems of love and adventure under the name of Gol (or Golshâh, Golestân, Golandâm, Golrokh, etc.).138 Gol is almost certainly none other than the same Maryam seen from a Persian perspective, in her homeland, and under her “true” Persian name.139

135 The Chronicle of John, Bishop of Nikiu, translated from Zotenberg’s Ethiopic text by R.H. Charles (London and Oxford, 1916), p. 155. 136 Xavier de Planhol, “Daryâ,” EIr, VII, pp. 79-81. 137 Peeters, “Sainte Golindouch,” p. 101. Cf. M. Sokoloff, A Syriac Lexicon (Winona Lake, 2009), pp. 1637 and 1624-25, sub voces. 138 For the identification of this personage in Persian literature, cf. Paola Orsatti, “Ḵosrow o Širin and Its Imitations,” and by the same author, “Le donne e le città,” pp. 156-62. 139 Even if the name Golândokht has no etymological connection with the word gol (rose, flower), the association between her name and gol is normal for a New Persian speaker. On the etymology of the saint’s name, cf. Orsatti, “Le donne e le città,” p. 154.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE Shakar Shakar is a wholly invented figure and, as Abd-al-Hoseyn Zarrinkub has pointed out, subsumes many of the negative traits traditionally attributed to Shirin.140 Nezâmi tries to mitigate the morally unacceptable features of this character: Shakar, he says, was actually chaste and, after banqueting with her guests, would always have a handmaiden replace her in the bedchamber. But her very name, Shakar (Sugar), signals her being little more than a surrogate for Shirin (The Sweet One).141 It has often been noted that the Shakar episode in Nezâmi’s poem serves to impose a new obstacle in the path of the lovers’ union, creating a delaying device in the plot. It is also, however, motivated by the influence of the Gol episode in Gorgâni’s poem Vis and Râmin: At a certain point Râmin, feeling remorseful and possibly wearied by the innumerable obstacles to his love for Vis, asks his brother and Vis’s legitimate husband, king Mobad, to appoint him as governor of Media. He leaves Marv, in Khorasan, to manage affairs in the western provinces of the empire. At Gurâb, close to Hamadan, he encounters the beautiful Gol and marries her. The character of Shakar, in Nezâmi’s poem, corresponds, then, to the figure of Gol in Gorgâni’s. Gol is the rival, “the other woman,” as are first Maryam and then Shakar with regard to Shirin in Nezâmi’s poem. It is the same role, that of the rival, which Farhâd plays with regard to Khosrow. Farhâd The origins of the character and legend of Farhâd, linked to Mount Bisotun and the archaeological site of Tâq-e Bostân, are still not completely clear.142 140 Zarrinkub, Pir-e Ganje, pp. 98, 105-106. 141 At the end of the Shakar episode, Nezâmi considers the superiority of sweetness (shirini) over sugar (shakar); cf. Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 63/120-27. In line 127 a clear distinction between “sugar” and “the quality of sweetness” is asserted, perhaps an allusion to the usual dichotomy between zâher and bâten, appearance and reality. Shakar (sugar) is a mere replaceable “commodity,” devoid of the wider spiritual qualitative connotations of shirin (sweetness, douceur). I owe these remarks to Mohsen Ashtiany. 142 On Farhâd’s character, see Herbert W. Duda, Ferhād und Schīrīn: Die literarische Geschichte eines persischen Sagenstoffes (Prague, 1933), esp. pp. 4-11; W. Eilers, “Semiramis,” pp. 48-52; Heshmat Moayyad, “Farhād,” EIr, IX, pp. 257-58, which gives a documented survey of this figure in Persian literature. For an analysis of the

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Ghazanfar Yu. Aliev has analyzed the various sources for the figure of Farhâd and legends connected to Mount Bisotun, and has concluded that only gradually the legend of the Kuh-kan, the excavator of Mount Bisotun—probably of local and popular origin, connected to the Mount Bisotun area—merged with the legendary cycle of the loves of Khosrow and Shirin. Farhâd is unknown to the ancient sources (Byzantine, Armenian, and Syriac), to the Shâh-nâme, and to the most ancient Arabic sources. The first mention of Farhâd as lover of Shirin is to be found in the Persian reworking of the Tabari chronicle by Bal’ami (begun in 963 CE).143 Aliev rejects the idea of Farhâd as a historical figure, but proposes a hypothesis concerning the origins of his name: it would derive from a misreading of a form Farrahân or Farrohân, the name of the famous general known to Arabic sources as Farrukhân, but better known by the title of Shahr-barâz (“The Wild Boar of the Kingdom”), conqueror of Syria and Jerusalem (614-15).144 Gianroberto Scarcia, on the other hand, has proposed the identification of the Farhâd character with Bestâm/Gostaham, Khosrow’s rebel uncle.145 Indeed, the two, Farhâd and Bestâm, share a number of characteristics; in particular, both play the role of Khosrow’s rival, Farhâd in matters of the heart, Bestâm in affairs of state. It would be feasible to conceive of Khosrow Parviz’s two famous generals (Farrahȃn and Bestâm), both usurpers of the throne and in some way Khosrow’s rivals, as merging together to create the character of Farhâd. Seemingly, only later on this character was transformed into Khosrow’s rival in his love for Shirin. historical sources regarding the site of Tâq-e Bostân cf. Priscilla P. Soucek, “Farhād and Ṭāq-i Būstān,” pp. 39-46. Other studies on the origins and development of his character are quoted below. 143 Speaking of Shirin, Bal’ami, Tȃrikh, II, p. 1091, says: “This handmaiden (kanizak) was the one with whom Farhâd was in love; and Parviz punished him by sending him to dig the mountain.” 144 Aliev, Legenda o Khosrove i Širin, pp. 73-81. Parvaneh Pourshariati rejects the generally accepted idea that Farrukhȃn and Shahr-barȃz are the same person; cf. Pourshariati, Decline and Fall of the Sasanian Empire, pp. 142-53. 145 Simone Cristoforetti and Gianroberto Scarcia, “Talking about Sîmurġ and Tâq-i Bustân with Boris I. Marshak,” in P. Lurje and A. Torgoev, eds., Sogdiĭtsy ikh predshestvenniki, sovremenniki i nasledniki (St. Petersburg, 2013), pp. 339-52. On Khosrow’s uncles, and above all on Bestâm, cf. A. Shapur Shahbazi, “Besṭām o Bendōy,” EIr, IV , pp. 180-82; and Nöldeke, Geschichte der Perser, pp. 478-87.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE In Nezâmi’s poem, Farhâd is a twofold figure: a sculptor and mohandes (geometrician, architect)146 and a “mountain-carver,” a specialized workman with prodigious strength who, for love of Shirin, carves a road through Mount Bisotun. The most significant feature in his make up, according to Nezâmi and subsequent poets, is his status as an outsider, alone, rootless, and far from home: “Plants have roots in the earth; but not I. Dogs have their place in the world; but not I.”147 Indeed, according to Nezâmi, Shâpur and Farhâd had been companions (hamzâd) in China, where both had studied under the same master;148 and the poet seems to suggest that Farhâd was actually of “Chinese” origin, a tradition endorsed by later poems responding to Nezâmi’s Khosrow and Shirin (see below, “Responses to Nizâmi’s Poem”). Farhâd also becomes the king’s counterpart and his opposite. Khosrow and Farhâd’s concepts of love are poles apart, as is evinced in the question-and-answer exchange (monȃzare) between them that, following Nezâmi, became a fixture of the Farhâd episode: Khosrow’s love aims at the possession and realization of desire, while Farhâd’s love is unrealizable, imbued with suffering, and endowed with increasingly mystical connotations. Farhâd becomes more and more the type of the lover suffering from a love without hope. His rival is a mighty king, while, in Nezâmi’s poem, he is only a skilled sculptor, an architect and engineer (on the transformation of Farhâd into the son of the king of China in the poems by Amir Khosrow and Âref, see below). In Jamâli’s poem, the figure of Behzâd, corresponding to Farhâd’s character, manifests a further development: Behzâd is not just a foreigner, he is a man ostracized by his own community because he has become crazed by love. In this way he resembles more and more and finally merges into the character of Majnun (see below, Chapter 5). During the 15th century, and even more so in the following centuries, when poems around the legend of Leyli and Majnun proliferate, the story of Farhâd and Shirin breaks away from the story of Khosrow and Shirin and develops autonomously. A number of poems were written in whose titles Farhâd and Shirin replace the former pair. Among them, Shirin va Farhâd (880/1475) by Salimi Jâruni (born ca. 820/1417), a poet active under the 146 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 51/15-21. 147 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 56/99. 148 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 51/17.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Salghurid dynasty of Hormuz;149 and the homonymous poem by Vahshi Bâfqi (1532-83), left unfinished and completed in 1848 by Vesâl, with a further addition of some 300 lines by Sâber Shirâzi, a pupil of Vesâl’s; and Orfi’s Farhâd va Shirin, written before 1590.150

2. Responses to Nezȃmi’s Poem Poems in response to Khosrow va Shirin by Nezâmi, all in the hazaj meter, are set in the same historic period as the model and, generally, have the same characters, with the significant exception of Jamâli’s poem. The ways these poems respond to their model are diverse, as well as their literary outlook and scope.

Shirin va Khosrow by Amir Khosrow Amir Khosrow’s Shirin va Khosrow, the second poem of his Quintet (Khamse), is dedicated to Sultan Alâ-al-Din Khalji (r. 695-715/1296 to 715/-1315).151 In the last chapter, the author gives the poem’s title (Shirin va Khosrow), its date of composition (beginning of Rajab 698/April 1299), 149 A unique manuscript of the poem, discovered by Iraj Afshar, has been edited by Najaf Jukȃr (Salimi Jaruni, Mathnavi-ye Shirin va Farhȃd, Tehran, 2003), who also gives a historical introduction and such biographical data relating to the author as can be gleaned from the text of the poem. Despite the title, however, the plot is actually very close to Nezȃmi’s narrative in Khosrow va Shirin. 150 Cf. H. Massé, “Farhād wa-Shīrīn,” EI2 , II, pp. 793-94; Moayyad, “Farhād,” pp. 25758. For the development of the legend of Farhâd in Persian and Turkish poems after Nezâmi, see K.R.F. Burrill, “The Farhād and Shīrīn Story and Its Further Development from Persian into Turkish Literature,” in P. J. Chelkowski, ed. Studies in Art and Literature of the Near East in Honor of Richard Ettinghausen (Salt Lake City and New York, 1974), pp. 54-55. 151 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Shirin va Khosrow, ed. G. Yu. Aliev (Moscow, 1979), l. 191. The Aliev edition is based on a manuscript of Amir Khosrow’s Khamse (MS 1011 in the Institute of Orientalism of the Academy of Sciences of Uzkebistan, in Tashkent) dated 756/1355, collated with other manuscripts kept in the former Soviet Union and with the text of the edition of Aligarh (1917). The Tashkent manuscript has been considered, despite authoritative opinions to the contrary, to have been copied

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE and the total number of lines (4,124), adding that he wished to compose three more “treasures.”152 In the introductory part of the poem, Amir Khosrow defines love as a great force conferring order on the world and making the universe turn;153 but Nezâmi’s evocative images referring to love as a force permeating the physical world are absent here. Love for Amir Khosrow is primarily a moral force. He takes up the brief mention of the link between love and religions present in Nezâmi’s poem (see above, “Love, Passion and Marriage: a Reading of Nezȃmi’s Poem”) and develops it, with unparochial openness towards other religions, admiring the strength of love in Hindu women who throw themselves into the fire of their husband’s funeral pyre, or the bravery of infidels who face martyrdom for their faith.154 About love Nezâmi had written: Do not, like a dog, be content to eat and sleep; If only a cat, let your heart be won by it!155 And Amir Khosrow responds: If you are kind to a cat, It is the sign of your faith’s rectitude. And if not even a cat has won your heart, Go and throw it to the dogs, for it is dead. If you do not feel love for a cat, At least learn fidelity from a dog!156 At the end of this section, the poet mentions a concept of love as an allegory of hidden meanings: Sacrifice yourself to love, if only imperfect human love (majâz ‘allegory’), Since it conceals within itself the secret of happiness.

by the famous poet Hâfez of Shiraz (see. Aliev in Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Shirin va Khosrow, pp. 6-9 of the Russian introduction). 152 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Shirin va Khosrow, ll. 4108-111. 153 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Shirin va Khosrow, l. 441. 154 On this subject, see Alyssa Gabbay, Islamic Tolerance: Amīr Khusraw and Pluralism (Abingdon, U.K., and New York, 2010), reviewed by Anna Livia Beelaert, Middle Eastern Literatures 17/1 (2014), pp. 86-90. 155 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 11/62. On this line, see above, “Love, Passion and Marriage: a Reading of Nezȃmi’s Poem” and note 46. 156 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Shirin va Khosrow, ll. 444-46.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Look: truth (haqiqat) is manifested through allegory, Which is the key to opening that casket.157

This concept was to be developed by later writers, with increasing weight given to the allegorical meaning of the love story. In Amir Khosrow’s poem, however, the narration still maintains its autonomy with regard to its potential allegorical meanings. Amir Khosrow gives an even more limited treatment to the historical facts in comparison to Nezâmi, and in some cases makes use of different sources. For example, he gives yet more details about the real reasons for Bahrâm Chubin’s rebellion against king Hormoz—details probably taken from the “Romance of Bahrâm Chubin,” a Middle Persian text, no longer extant, conserved in translation in various Arabic and Persian sources (mainly Dinawari, Bal’ami, and Ferdowsi).158 Likewise Amir Khosrow, in his version of Khosrow Parviz’s death, seems to follow more closely the sources (Tabari, Bal’ami) compared to Nezâmi.159 After his wedding to Shirin, the king is presented as passing his time in amusement, inebriation and enjoyment of her, neglecting his kingdom, thereby alluding to a historical fact: the growing discontent towards the king and “the palpable sense of crisis” of the last years of Khosrow Parviz’s reign.160 Concerned at the state of the kingdom, the nobles ask the king’s son, Shiruye, to take his father’s place. Initially he refuses, stating that he would do so only after his father’s death; but then, when threatened by the nobles, he reluctantly accepts. After all, Khosrow himself, as Shiruye alleges and points out, had caused the death of his own father, king Hormoz. Amir Khosrow also narrates an episode missing from Nezâmi’s poem. This is the story of the famous treasure carried by the wind (ganj-e 157 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Shirin va Khosrow, ll. 456-57. 158 On the “Romance of Bahrâm Chubin,” see below, Chapter 6. 159 The palace rebellion that removed Khosrow Parviz and replaced him with his son Shiruye (Qobâd) is narrated in detail by Tabari, tr. Bosworth, p. 379, and by Bal’ami, Târikh, II, pp. 1145-86. Ferdowsi too (Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VIII, “Khosrow Parviz,” pp. 299-319, ll. 3848-4107) gives a very detailed account of events up until Khosrow’s capture, which, however, in many points differs from the version given by other sources; for a comparison of the different sources on this subject, cf. Djalal Khaleghi-Motlagh, Notes on the Shahnameh, IV, p. 228. 160 Cf. Howard-Johnston, “Kosrow II.” This situation is also alluded to in the Shâhnâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VIII, “Khosrow Parviz,” p. 299, ll. 3841-47.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE bâd-âvard) that in Nezâmi’s poem represents only the name of one of the thirty songs sung by Bârbad at Khosrow’s court.161 Moreover, the poet of Delhi makes use of traditional data expunged by Nezâmi, such as Shirin’s use of poison to kill her rival: not Maryam, however, who in Amir Khosrow’s poem is a marginal figure who dies early on in the poem, but Shakar, a moving and amiable character in Amir Khosrow’s poem. The inversion of the two protagonists’ names in the title seems to anticipate one of the poet’s main purposes: Shirin is to play a more determining role in the plot than in Nezâmi’s poem. She is a strong and unbending queen, with none of the fragility and prevarications that makes Nezâmi’s Shirin so palpably human. Through the character of Shirin, Amir Khosrow seems to almost criticize Nezâmi’s heroine, who at the same time as being so yielding to Khosrow is yet so concerned with her own good name and the opinion of others. Khosrow’s plight as a fugitive is of little import to her, in contrast to Nezâmi’s Shirin, who had established an indissoluble connection between herself and the kingdom. The question of legitimate nuptials, the crucial problem in Nezâmi’s plot, appears irrelevant in Amir Khosrow’s. If anything, the issue here is what kind of marriage should unite the two. Shirin desires a marriage based on mature and lasting love, tested by a long period of self-improvement, and not simply a marriage of any sort. In Khosrow’s poem Shirin voices a concept of love, possibly influenced by mystical currents, as fraught with risk and as pure and absolute feeling devoid of concupiscence. She considers love as an inner path to maturity, and also wishes the king to submit to it; for this reason she is the one who obstinately refuses marriage, quite the opposite of Nezâmi’s poem.162 Amir Khosrow’s Shirin, however, has no part in the ethico-sapiential episode that, in this poem too, is placed after the couple’s wedding. It is as if the 161 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Shirin va Khosrow, ll. 969-1024; Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 48/7. The story of the Ganj-e bâd-âvard is recounted by Bal’ami, Tȃrikh, II, pp. 1091. On the melodies sung at Khosrow Parviz’s court see Boyce, “The Parthian Gōsān,” p. 24. 162 Cf. Paola Orsatti, “Le poème Xosrow va Širin de Neẓāmi et ses répliques par Amir Xosrow et Jamāli,” Studia Iranica 32/2 (2003), pp. 163-76. For a comparison between Nezâmi’s and Amir Khosrow’s poems cf. also C. van Ruymbeke, “A Thrice-Pierced Pearl: Three Re-Writings of the Story of Khosrow and Shirin,” in B. De Nicola, Y. Mendel and H. Qutbuddin, eds., Reflections on Knowledge and Language in Middle Eastern Societies (Newcastle, 2010), pp. 14-31.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY poet of Delhi could not agree to Nezâmi’s assigning to his heroine the role of moral guide to a king. Shirin is in all respects equal to a man, even in her capacity to commit mischief. She decides to bring about Shakar’s death not out of jealousy, but only to avenge Farhâd’s death, and puts her plan into effect with cold deliberation, using a treacherous old woman who deftly introduces herself into Shakar’s house, gaining her confidence. The old woman prepares a deadly potion, which she passes off as a medicine to cure Shakar, who had been abandoned by Khosrow, from a painful headache brought on by excessive drinking. In this episode, there appears the character of the Old Woman (pir-e zan), the personification of Time, or the World, or Destiny (originally a calendar-related legend, with the old woman as a symbol of winter). In the Farhâd episode, as treated by Nezâmi, the Old Woman cited in passing is still only a metaphor.163 In the subsequent poems, she turns into an independent character: the agent of Shakar’s death in Amir Khosrow’s poem, or the agent of Farhâd’s death in the Farhâd-nâme by Âref Ardabili.164 As to Khosrow, at the outset he appears as a more mature and upright sovereign than Nezâmi’s Khosrow: when the two lovers meet for the first time, he immediately explains the difficulty of his situation as a fugitive and his intention to reach Rum to seek the emperor’s help. But whereas in Nezâmi’s poem Khosrow undergoes a moral evolution at the end of which he is transformed into a wise and just king, in Amir Khosrow’s poem no such evolution takes place. On the contrary, a negative aspect of his character emerges: He neglects the kingdom and is accused by his son Shiruye of having murdered his own father Hormoz. Farhâd, in Amir Khosrow’s poem, becomes the son of the Khâqân of China. His character therefore undergoes an important change of social status: He is not a commoner, as in Nezâmi’s poem, but a prince. Moreover, Amir Khosrow introduces a new significant element to the legend of 163 Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, 55/46. 164 Cf. Helene Krenn, “Bemerkungen zu Versen von Niẓāmīs Epos ‘Ḫosrou und Šīrīn’,” Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes 53 (1957), pp. 92-96; and, in its historical-religious and mythical implications, Gianroberto Scarcia, “Glossa a un gioco di parole di Niẓāmī,” Annali Istituto Orientale di Napoli 18 (1968), pp. 207-13. See also Anna Krasnowolska, “Pir-e zan,” EIr Online, http://dx.doi. org/10.1163/2330-4804_EIRO_COM_10753.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE Farhâd: It is the difficult relationship with his father that compels Farhâd to leave his native country. Indeed, because of his passion for sculpture and the arts, he displays no interest in the kingdom, and for this reason he is forced to leave the realm and live by his labor as an artisan. He is a prince living incognito in a foreign land and earning a living by his own hand. The influence of the legend of Goshtâsp, as recounted in the Shâh-nâme, on the development of Farhâd’s character is evident here (see below, “The Poems of Love and Adventure and Their Relationship to Nezâmi’s Poem”). Amir Khosrow’s poem has a simpler plot than Nezâmi’s. The detailed account of the young prince’s intemperance at the beginning of the story, and his father’s severe punishment are omitted, as is the account of all the vicissitudes which, in Nezâmi, precede the first meeting between the lovers in Armenia. The narrative begins with Khosrow’s ascent to his father’s throne and with the description of his reign of justice. Very soon Khosrow renews hostilities against the rebel general, Bahrâm Chubin, but is defeated and forced to leave his capital Madâyen. The faithful Shâpur accompanies him in his flight and, to ease the journey, tells him of the many wonders he had seen on his travels. He shows Khosrow a copy of a painting originally by an Armenian painter, which he had made himself while studying painting in China. Khosrow instantly falls in love with the beautiful woman portrayed: Shirin, niece and heir of Mehin Bânu, Queen of Armenia. Unlike Nezâmi, Amir Khosrow spends only a few words on Shirin’s beauty, which is simply pronounced as indescribable. Instead, he dwells on her proud and regal nature and on various astonishing aspects of her character: She is a queen, and wears no veil; beautiful as a gazelle, but courageous as a lion; a fine rider and dexterous with the bow, she is skilled in all manly arts; she reigns over her kingdom with severity and never yields to passions; despite all her beauty, she will hear no talk of marriage. Amir Khosrow is in fact describing an Amazon. When the king reaches Armenia, he happens to catch sight of Shirin while she is out hunting, an episode that replaces the couple’s first meeting at the spring in Nezâmi’s poem. They are both stricken with love; but Shirin flees, at the same time sending a handmaiden to ask about the stranger’s identity. Khosrow is received by Mehin Bânu with regal decorum, and the two young people spend their time together, as in Nezâmi’s poem. After some 193

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY time, however, Khosrow complains of his inflexible beloved’s lack of favor, in this respect so different from Nezâmi’s Shirin; he expresses surprise that, despite the strength of their passion, Shirin should worry about her good name and possible slander. Khosrow accuses her of actually refusing him on account of his being on the run, an accusation Shirin firmly rejects. She swears she will wait for him and look at no other man. Fortified by her promise, which replaces Shirin’s promise to her aunt Mehin Bânu, Khosrow sets off for Rum. He is received magnificently by the Qeysar, who gives him both a large army and his daughter Maryam in marriage. Khosrow is thus able to defeat Bahrâm Chubin and return to his capital, where the news of Bahrâm’s death soon reaches him. Maryam, distressed by Khosrow’s coolness towards her and by the tension between her father and her husband, soon falls sick and dies. After Maryam’s death, Shirin reaches Khosrow at Madâyen, and a new period begins in which the two lovers live together, passing their time in banquets and drinking wine. Their love is pure and free from concupiscence, so different from the continuous conflict between the two characters depicted by Nezâmi. Indeed, in this episode Amir Khosrow describes a utopian concept of love: Khosrow and Shirin resemble two kings ruling peacefully over the same territory, with the goblet replacing the sword. Unlike Nezâmi, Amir Khosrow makes no mention of Khosrow’s desire to enjoy Shirin outside the bonds of marriage. It is possible that Khosrow’s continuous evading of matrimony represented a traditional element of the story, which the poet of Delhi considered implicit and already well known. However, in Amir Khosrow’s poem it is rather Shirin who rejects Khosrow because, while loving and desiring him, she wants Khosrow to complete the full path to maturity and perfection; she will be his ‘Water of Life,’ attainable only after a long quest. Khosrow is unable to understand Shirin’s obstinacy and in shame and desperation takes his leave, soon afterwards falling into a deep sleep and subsequently suffers a period of despair and despondency. It is Shâpur, concerned for the king’s health and that of the kingdom, who tells him of the beautiful Shakar of Isfahan. Khosrow goes to Isfahan and marries her. Shirin hears of Khosrow’s marriage to Shakar and in despair complains of her destiny. It is at this point that Amir Khosrow inserts Farhâd’s story. Amir Khosrow considers the construction of a first channel and the cutting of Mount Bisotun as antecedent facts. One day, when out riding near 194

KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE Mount Bisotun, Shirin sees a channel carved into the rock and a mountain wall cut vertically, impossible even for an ant to climb: the work of the strong and handsome Farhâd. Shirin engages him to construct a second channel to bring milk to her palace from her flock in Armenia. In recompense, he asks only to be able to see her face. She lifts her veil and he loses his senses: it is love at first sight. News of Farhâd’s love for Shirin reaches Khosrow’s ears, with insinuations to the effect that Shirin has found consolation with him. This is sheer calumny: Nothing in the poem seems to hint at any inclination of the kind on her part. The king is racked with jealousy, to the extent that sugar (Shakar) turns bitter in his mouth. After an exchange of letters (one each) between the two lovers, full of mutual recrimination, Khosrow, once again enthralled by his love for Shirin, mounts his horse and sets off in search of her. Disguised as a shepherd, he meets Farhâd, now reduced to skin and bone by his unhappy love. The youth promptly answers all Khosrow’s questions: It is the monâzere section, after Nezâmi a characteristic element of the Farhâd episode. Given Farhâd’s determination, Bozorg Ommid suggests to Khosrow a way to free himself of his rival by making Farhâd believe that Shirin has died. The deception succeeds and Farhâd dies. Although Khosrow is not directly responsible for Farhâd’s death, he is far from being innocent. At this point Shirin decides to have Shakar poisoned. In Amir Khosrow’s poem, Farhâd and Shakar emerge as two unlucky characters, destined for an unhappy ending. Their deaths mark the end of the utopia of love that the poet had depicted at the beginning of the story. Shirin herself recognizes that complete control over passion is impossible, just as it is impossible to expect different forms of love for kings and common people: love burns everyone alike. Informed of Shakar’s death, Khosrow recognizes he is at fault and leaves Armenia to return to Madâyen. For her part, during a dark and endless night, Shirin repents of her sins and asks God to forgive her. This happens to be the same night in which Khosrow, in his suffering, invokes the name of Shirin; at dawn he mounts his horse and rides to Qasr-e Shirin. Shirin is overwhelmed at the news of his arrival and bars his entry, fearing she will be unable to resist the full force of passion. However, when Khosrow turns away offended at finding the door barred, Shirin calls to him from the palace’s terrace. There begins an exchange of reproofs (four 195

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY from each side), which recalls the long dialogue between the two characters in the terrace episode of Nezâmi’s poem, although not in such harsh tones. In the end Shirin can no longer bear the separation and hurries down from the terrace to prostrate herself at the king’s feet. Night has fallen and the stars glow in the sky. A banquet is prepared, accompanied by the song of the two famous minstrels Bârbad and Nakisâ, who each sing three ghazals suggested by Khosrow and Shirin respectively. On the following day preparations for the marriage finally begin, and, following the ceremony, Khosrow takes Shirin with him to Madâyen. In recounting their nuptials, Amir Khosrow introduces a number of modifications, inverting the role the two protagonists had played in Nezâmi’s poem. On their wedding night it is Shirin, and not Khosrow, who has too many drinks; the poet describes her chattering, sighing and weeping, before finally falling into a deep sleep. Khosrow decides on his revenge: he introduces an old and repulsive manservant into her bed, instead of himself. When Shirin wakes up, she screams out in fear and at this point Khosrow runs to embrace her. On the following day the wedding festivities are again taken up. When night falls, Shirin retires to bedeck herself magnificently. The night of their nuptials has arrived. In this poem, too, the wedding episode is followed by a long series of questions of a scientific nature on the king’s part, answered by Bozorg Ommid, and by a series of pieces of advice regarding the kingdom, a mirror-forprinces. From this section, that corresponds to the ethico-sapiential section occurring at the same juncture in Nezâmi’s poem, Shirin is altogether absent. In Nezâmi’s poem this section serves as a prelude to Khosrow’s transformation into a just and wise sovereign. In Amir Khosrow’s poem no such evolution takes place. On the contrary, after the wedding, a previously unknown negative aspect of his character is revealed. Khosrow overindulges in drinking and spends all his time with Shirin, neglecting the care of his kingdom. The nobles force Shiruye to take his father’s place, and Khosrow’s palace is besieged. Shiruye finds his father hidden in a maze-like inner garden and invites him to accept his fate. A character called Yazdkosh is charged with the task of killing Khosrow. When Shirin arrives and sees him stabbed to death, she bends over him and commits suicide. The story ends here, with no mention of the contemporary appearance of the Prophet of Islam, the whole finale being narrated very succinctly, bereft of Nezâmi’s pathos. 196

KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE Critics have almost unanimously condemned the Shirin of Amir Khosrow’s poem for her part in Shakar’s poisoning, while extolling the purity and chastity of Nezâmi’s heroine, thereby ignoring the allusions to her not so spotless reputation which are unequivocally made in the poem (see above, “Shirin”). Conversely, Nezâmi’s Khosrow is sharply criticized,165 while the character of Khosrow in Amir Khosrow’s poem is considered favorably,166 though in this poem behind the figure of Khosrow stands a sovereign with his father’s blood on his hands, and one who has neglected his realm to such an extent as to make his son, an accomplice in his murder, appear in an almost favorable light. Shirin, on the other hand, though guilty of ordering the innocent Shakar to be poisoned, is a strong and resolute character who, after having suffered greatly, seeks forgiveness from God and succeeds in overcoming, through love, the limits of her obstinate character, embracing a concept of love as a profound experience, though fraught with dangers and risks. Amir Khosrow’s poem is generally judged as literarily inferior to his model: its style is judged simpler, its imagery less refined, with a less detailed analysis of the characters and a less plausibly represented motivation for their actions.167 This is certainly true, though it is difficult to agree with Herbert W. Duda that “The poet [Amir Khosrow] is less interested in the psychology of the action than in the action itself.”168 Amir Khosrow’s main interest seems to be theoretical: to enquire into the nature of love as exemplified and embodied in his complex female protagonist.

Jamȃli’s Mehr va Negâr In his Mehr va Negâr (Love/Sun and Idol), a poem of some 5,800 lines, Jamâli responds to all the themes and subjects dealt with by his model, Nezâmi’s Khosrow va Shirin, but radically modifies the setting and names of the characters. The poem is preserved in a still unpublished unique manuscript of Jamâli’s Khamse in the India Office Library, dated 870/1465. 165 See for example Meisami, Medieval Persian Court Poetry, pp. 147-52, 156-58, 192-98. 166 See Aliev, Legenda o Khosrove i Shirin, pp. 93-96, 102-5, 133-43. 167 Cf. Herbert W. Duda, Ferhād und Schīrīn, pp. 83, 85-86. 168 Duda, Ferhād und Schīrīn, p. 83.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY It was composed in 805/1403,169 and dedicated to a Mo’ezz-al-Din, a title borne by various sovereigns, perhaps identifiable with Tamerlane himself. The protagonists are king Mehr of Isfahan and the beautiful Negâr, daughter of Kesrâ Thâni, who can be none other than Khosrow II Parviz.170 Jamâli thus reverses the dynastic situation represented in Nezâmi’s poem, choosing a descendant of the ancient dynasty of Iran as his female protagonist, and a regional ruler as his male protagonist. The young Mehr is a handsome prince, learned in all the sciences, and a keen hunter. On his twentieth birthday, his counselors advise him not to go hunting, for when he was born the astrologers had predicted that his life would be in danger around that time—a reflection of the topos of a child’s birth, whose life, as forecast by a horoscope or a prediction, would be in peril at a certain moment or in a certain situation. Mehr rejects the advice, insisting that nothing can be done against fate. Thus, following a wild ass, he rides away from his friends and loses his way in the desert. The next morning, he comes to a village where he is recognized and offered hospitality. He is able to return to his palace. He goes to his father, the king, who shows his disapproval of the prince’s imprudence through silence. He forgives him however and, sensing his own imminent death, appoints him as his successor. At his death, Mehr succeeds to the throne of Isfahan and marries Nabâti (Sweet, as sweet as sugarcandy [nabât]), daughter of the Faghfur, the Emperor of China. But theirs is not a happy union: while keeping the secret of his unhappiness to himself, Mehr listens to tales related by courtiers and travelers; and when his faithful counselor Homâyun, a character corresponding to Shâpur in Nezâmi, describes Negâr’s beauty to him and shows him her portrait, Mehr falls in love with her. Negâr lives in an ancient castle in the desert, close to the royal court of Madâyen (the Qasr-e Shirin of tradition, of course). Learned in all the sciences, she is also a painter. She is betrothed to her cousin Behzâd, who 169 London, India Office Library, Persian MS Ethé 1284, ff. 29v-86v. On this manuscript, the author and his work cf. Paola Orsatti, “The Ḫamsah ‘Quintet’ by Ğamālī: Reply to Niẓāmī Between the Timurids and the Qarā-Qoyunlu,” Oriente Moderno, N.S. 15 (1996/2), pp. 385-413. See also Chapter 1, note 59. 170 Here the numeral adjective thâni could be interpreted, literally, as referring to Khosrow II, though generally after a proper noun such adjectives have a metaphorical meaning; cf., for example, Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 63/4, where the dedicatee of the poem, the Sharvânshâh Akhsetân b. Manuchehr, is praised as Key Khosrow-e thâni “a novel (a second) Key Khosrow.”

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE has asked for her hand. Soon afterwards, however, he is kidnapped by brigands, and nothing more is heard of him for the time being. Mehr, with the faithful Homâyun, sets off for Negâr’s castle. One day, out on a hunt in the vicinity of the castle, Negâr sees Mehr sleeping by a spring and falls in love with him, an episode which replaces Shirin’s bathing scene in Nezâmi’s poem. The next day Mehr sees Negâr during a hunting party and saves her life when a panther is about to pounce on her. Negâr recognizes the man she has fallen in love with and invites him to her castle; but Mehr has to return to his kingdom to counter a threat from Kashmir (this, of course, corresponds to the dynastic problems Khosrow has to face and to Bahrâm Chubin’s threat in Nezâmi’s poem). The two lovers begin a long exchange of letters. They finally agree to meet in the plain of Rakhshâbâd near Ahvaz.171 After a long period spent together, similar to Khosrow and Shirin’s sojourn in Armenia, they have to part: Behzâd, Negâr’s cousin, having escaped from the brigands, is on his way to Madâyen to claim her hand; and Mehr’s wife Nabâti, too, having found out about the lovers’ meeting, leaves for Bukhara, to return to her father, the Faghfur. Mehr gallops away and catches up with Nabâti. Mehr and Nabâti are reconciled and he swears to his wife that he will never again seek out Negâr. This marks the lover’s first break-up, and corresponds to the marriage of Khosrow to Maryam in Nezâmi’s poem. There follows a series of episodes focused on the personage of Behzâd, corresponding to Farhâd in Nezâmi’s poem. Negâr makes a number of attempts to persuade her cousin to renounce his betrothal claim: She offers him gold and considerable wealth and even an honorable position at court; but Behzâd’s only wish is for her hand. He feels deprived of his rights, since he belongs to the same royal family descending from king Anushirvân. The situation in the kingdom becomes increasingly complicated, with many openly siding with Behzâd. Negâr, like the historical Khosrow Parviz, has to face a dynastic claim by a rival or a usurper, and she decides therefore to abdicate in favor of her cousin. But Behzâd is incapable of ruling the kingdom, having gone pitifully mad as a result of his unrequited love. He flees into the desert where, like Majnun (see below, Chapter 5), he is surrounded by wild 171 Rakhshâbâd was, in the Saljuqid period, an important hunting-ground in the province of Tustar/Shushtar, in Khuzistan. Cf. Hamd-Allâh Mostowfi Qazvini, The Geographical Part of the Nuzhat-al-Qulūb, ed. G. Le Strange (Leiden, 1915), p. 108. I wish to thank Mohsen Ashtiany for this reference.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY beasts. There he is found and escorted back to court. Finally Negâr decides on a plan to rid herself of him. She sends a group of musicians and skillful dancers to his palace; they are so skilled in their art that they can make stars appear in the sky in daylight. The impact of the music on the lovesick Behzâd is so powerful that he flees into the desert and never recovers his reason again. There follows a coup de theatre: One night, beset by sleeplessness, Negâr goes to the terrace of her palace, from where she hears the song of an unhappy lover, Behzâd, playing the lute. The mournfulness of the song affects her greatly, and she swears that if Behzâd once more comes to the gates of her palace, she will let him in. But Behzâd never returns. Negâr, with her maidservants, takes off in search of her cousin and finds him dying in a cave. Negâr is so struck by grief that she falls ill. In the meantime Mehr, having been forced to go to Kerman to fight against an unjust governor, meets the governor’s daughter, Goharnâz, a beautiful girl who helps him enter her father’s impregnable fortress. Mehr is then able to return to Isfahan, where he hears of Behzâd’s death. He writes to Negâr, encouraging her to contain her grief over her cousin’s death. Negâr is angered by the letter and accuses Mehr of having had a love affair with Goharnâz, who in this poem plays the same role as Shakar in Nezâmi. Homâyun intervenes to remove the misunderstanding: He reveals to Negâr his love for Goharnâz. Meanwhile Nabâti, Mehr’s wife, also dies. The story seems to be drawing to its end. Mehr appoints a regent to his kingdom and leaves for Madâyen. At this point, however, he commits a grave error. As he is approaching Negâr’s castle, he leaves his retinue and gallops ahead. It is springtime, and he happens to reach the spring where Negâr had seen him asleep for the first time. By chance, he sees Negâr bathing there. The episode of Shirin’s bathing, which takes place at the beginning of Nezâmi’s poem, is transposed by Jamâli to the end, taking on a completely different meaning: Mehr fails the test. He dismounts and, hidden from her, approaches her; but suddenly his horse neighs, and Negâr spots him and runs away, covering her body with her long hair, while Mehr is left there in distress. The day comes for Mehr to make his entrance at court with his retinue. Negâr, however, orders the palace gates to be barred. Night falls, and Mehr pleads with the beautiful Negâr, who appears on the terrace unveiled (a response, of course, to the terrace episode in Nezâmi’s poem). The day of reckoning between the two lovers has come. After a prolonged repartee, 200

KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE Mehr returns to his camp in despair. In the end, the two lovers make peace, Negâr abdicates in favor of Mehr, the wedding date is set, and the marriage is consummated. Jamâli, at this point, propounds several didactic considerations, warning his readers not to attach their hearts to worldly things. Even the nightingale, as the wind tears the petals from the rose, is touched by sadness and sings, knowing that its joy is about to end. The two lovers’ death is indeed approaching. During a hunting party, a terrifying dragon appears; the king chases it to the top of a mountain and, in hot pursuit, both horse and rider are hurled to the bottom. Negâr, too, throws herself off the mountain, to perish at Mehr’s side. By putting the episodes of Nezâmi’s poem in a different order, or simply modifying some details, Jamâli offers substantially different answers to the dilemmas raised by his model. With his reworking of the story of the young prince’s disobedience, for example, he furnishes his own personal view of a subject which is dear to him: that of the father-son relationship, which must be based on mutual affection and understanding, and not, as in Nezâmi’s poem, on a harsh and rigid ideal of justice. By making Nabâti/ Maryam the daughter of the Faghfur, the Emperor of China, and not of the Qeysar of Rum, Jamâli shifts the setting from the area between Persia and Byzantium to that between Persia and China, towards that region east of the Iranian territory which constantly menaced the Sasanid kingdom and where, after defeat at the hands of the Arabs, the last Sassanid took refuge.172 Both the characters and setting of Jamâli’s poem would seem to be fruits of fantasy. The characters’ names, in particular, seem to refer to abstract concepts and epithets of lyrical love poetry: Negâr (Beautiful image, Idol, Beauty), Mehr (Sun, Love), Nabâti (Sweet, a synonym of Shirin’s name). However, Jamâli’s statement to the effect that Negâr, the female protagonist, was the daughter of Khosrow II (Kisrâ Thâni), shows that the author intended to place his poem in a precise temporal setting, namely the period immediately following Khosrow Parviz’s reign, the brief reign of Bōrān (630-31), daughter of Khosrow Parviz.173 172 Cf. M. Compareti, “The Last Sasanians in China,” Eurasian Studies 2 (2003), pp. 197-213, and, by the same author, “Chinese-Iranian Relations xv. The Last Sasanians in China,” EIr Online, http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/2330-4804_EIRO_COM_7682. 173 Among the sources, see on this queen Tabari, tr. Bosworth, pp. 403-5, and Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VIII, “Bōrāndokht,” pp. 391-96). On her figure, cf. Ferdinand Justi, Iranisches Namenbuch (reprint of the Marburg 1895 edition,

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY As to the male hero, at least one other poem, having a character named Mehr as its protagonist, had been composed before Jamâli’s poem. This is the Eshq-nâme (Poem of love), afterwards known as Mehr va Moshtari (Sun and Jupiter), by Assâr Tabrizi (14th century).174 Composed in 748/1347 or in 778/1376, it comprises 5,120 lines in the same meter as Nezâmi’s poem Khosrow and Shirin. It tells of the love between Mehr, son of the king of Estakhr, and Moshtari, son of the king’s minister: a pure love, devoid of concupiscence, dating from the period of their childhood. Though Mehr marries Nâhid, the daughter of the king of Choresmia, and has a son by her, Moshtari continues to be his true love until death. Here we find a unique male couple, possibly influenced by mystical views of love, which makes this poem one of the few exceptions in the panorama of Persian romantic poems which normally only deal with heterosexual love. Jamâli’s Mehr, king of Isfahan, could well have been inspired by the character of Mehr (Sun), king of Estakhr, in Assâr’s poem. Another character whose name is at least a partial synonym of Mehr (Sun) is Khʷorshid (Sun) in Salmân Sâvaji’s poem; but here Khʷorshid is a female character (see below, “Salmân Sâvaji’s Jamshid and Khʷorshid”). The name Mehr (Mithra) could also evoke other memories and resonances. Mehr is a figure of apocalyptic Zoroastrian literature, a savior who is expected to fight against Kheshm (Wrath) and the female demon in the critical period when Iran is threatened by non-Iranian peoples.175 Such a possible scenario would set Jamâli’s poem in an epoch closer to the dramatic end of the Sasanid period than that narrated by Nezâmi.

Hȃtefi’s Shirin va Khosrow Hâtefi’s relatively short poem (1,815 lines in the Asadulloev edition) was written between 889/1484, the possible date of composition of his Tehran, 2003), p. 70; Marie Louise Chaumont, “Bōrān,” EIr, IV, p. 366; Pourshariati, Decline and Fall of the Sasanian Empire, pp. 207-9. It is less likely that Negâr is to be identified with another daughter of Khosrow Parviz, Âzarm(i)dokht, less known to the sources, whose reign is also mentioned in the Shâh-nâme (ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VIII, pp. 397-400). 174 Cf. Dh. Safâ, Târikh-e adabiyyât dar Irân (5 vols; Tehran, 1953-79), III/2, pp. 1022-31. 175 Ayādgār ī Jāmāspīg (16.38-43); see Agostini’s edition, pp. 112-13 and 155-60 (notes).

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE preceding poem Leyli Majnun (see below, Chapter 5 below, “Leyli Majnun by Hȃtefi”), and 895/1490, the date of the poem’s oldest manuscript.176 It is characterized by long and elaborate titles to the individual chapters, almost certainly the work of the poet himself. After praising God and the Prophet, and describing the latter’s ascent to heaven (me’râj), Hâtefi speaks of the reasons for composing his poem. The great Jâmi, his maternal uncle, had praised his Leyli Majnun and encouraged him to compose a new poem on the story of Shirin and Khosrow.177 After line 172 in the Asadullaev edition some manuscripts give a few lines in which the poet recounts how Jâmi himself had advised him to dedicate his poem to the famous minister and poet Mir Ali-Shir Navâ’i (1441-1501); but these lines, with no connection with those preceding and following them, could well be a late interpolation, or might have been added later by Hâtefi himself.178 Hâtefi disrobes the story of its aura of legend, taking the traditional features back to the conditions of his own epoch. His Shirin, who lives as a prisoner in her castle, has little in common with Nezâmi’s heroine, who enjoyed considerable freedom in her country. He retrieves, however, some ancient narrative elements: Shirin is given a nurse, a character extraneous to Nezâmi’s cast, and the sea has a relevant role in the story. Indeed, Hâtefi chooses the city of Darband, on the Caspian, as the residence of Mehin Bânu and her niece Shirin, and describes a sea voyage which Shirin undertakes with her nurse, which recalls St. Golândokht’s flight from prison and her sea voyage in the company of her relatives (see above, “Maryam”). Mehin Bânu is described, at the beginning, as a quasi-man—a fearless, childless woman who holds men in scant regard; a lion, not a lioness; wise, with a male countenance; an excellent swords(wo)man, who can outstare a lion:179 seemingly an occurrence of the motif of the manly woman to which other female characters, as Burân-dokht and Arâqit in some 176 Hâtefi, Shirin va Khosrow, ed. Saadullo Asadulloev (Moscow, 1977), p. 23 (Russian introduction), and p. xxxiv (Persian introduction). 177 The title, with the names of the two protagonists in this order, is given in Hâtefi, Shirin va Khosrow, ll. 5 and 168; in another poem by Hâtefi, Haft manzar, however, the title is given as Khosrow va Shirin (see below, Chapter 6, “Hȃtefi’s Poem Haft Manzar”). 178 Cf. Asadulloev, in Hâtefi, Shirin va Khosrow, pp. 21-23 (Russian introduction), pp. xxxi-xxxiii (Persian introduction). 179 Hâtefi, Shirin va Khosrow, ll. 401-6.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY popular prose versions of the Alexander Romance also pertain.180 But later on in the narrative this character, too, is demythologized. When she gives traditional advice to her niece, Mehin Bânu appears just as an ordinary old woman: If you wish the union to last and avoid separation, Then become his licit wife, preserving your good name. And if you wish to tie a more solid knot, Bind his feet with the strings of a child. A wife is a man’s companion till he meets his death; A mistress, however heavenly, is soulmate for a night […] Do not serve, for the sake of one night, as his torch For you will burn gratuitously, the better to lighten his escape.181

As to Shakar, only Hâtefi describes her in her true colors: She is unequivocally a courtesan.182 The episode of Farhâd offers points for reflection on themes such as equality between men and the value of work, all issues probably dealt with in connection with the social advancement and prestige acquired by the artisan class in the Timurid period. When Farhâd digs his way out of the well in which he has been thrown by Khosrow’s order, Hâtefi, through Shâpur’s words, extols technical and manual skill (honar ‘art’), saying: His art brought him out of the well; His art pointed the way to his beloved. Art never leaves one resourceless, And has led many to good fortune. Each finger of a skilled craftsman Is a key to the casket of the means of sustenance. If you wish never to become stranded, Learn a profession whilst you can.

180 On these characters, cf. William L. Hanaway, “Anāhitā and Alexander,” JAOS 102 (1982), pp. 285-95; and Evangelos Venetis, “Warlike Heroines in the Persian Alexander Tradition: The Cases of Arāqīt and Burāndukht,” Iran 45 (2007), pp. 227-32. Cf. also Marina Gaillard, “Héroïnes d’exception: les femmes ʽayyār dans la prose romanesque de l’Iran médiéval,” Studia Iranica 34/2 (2005), pp. 163-98. 181 Hâtefi, Shirin va Khosrow, ll. 793-95, 803. 182 Hâtefi, Shirin va Khosrow, ll. 1378-442.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE The hand which can do nothing Is but a dead weight on the body.183

At the end of the poem, Hâtefi introduces a new episode, pertaining to the legend of another Sasanid king, Bahrâm Gur, in Khosrow’s story. In Hâtefi’s poem, after Khosrow’s marriage to Shirin an unjust minister takes advantage of the king’s distraction from the administration of the reign to oppress the people. In so doing, Hâtefi brings to the surface a partial identification between the two kingly figures at the center of the two most important romantic cycles in Persian literature, namely, Bahrâm Gur and Khosrow Parviz (see above, Chapter 3, “The Narrative Material and Principal Themes”). The plot is as follows. King Hormoz is greatly distressed at being childless. One night he has a dream which is interpreted as predicting the birth of a child: and indeed, in due time, a very fine son is born who from his birth refuses all but sweet substances; the love for Shirin “The Sweet,” the poet comments, was already in his heart—a detail that recalls the coeval development of the legend of Majnun, whose love for Leyli came to be considered as inborn in him (see below, Chapter 5, “Other Poems,” for the poems by Hâtefi and Maktabi). As the boy grows up, he studies arts and sciences and learns the use of arms. After a new version of the episode of the disobedience of the young prince, in which Khosrow himself, here guiltless, punishes the abuse of his slave, the poet narrates that one night, when the young prince is in the company of his courtiers, Shâpur, a man of worldly experience, tells him of a very beautiful young woman.184 She lives in Darband with her aunt, a childless, warrior-like lady, like a man in many respects. Khosrow instantly falls in love with Shirin and sends his trusty Shâpur to Darband, to request a portrait of the young woman. Once there, Shâpur is warned that Shirin lives the life of a recluse, guarded by some three hundred virgins, and that no man is allowed access; she can only look out from her window, but can be seen by no one. Shâpur does not lose heart: when she goes to the window, he uses a series of mirrors to paint her portrait and also places Khosrow’s portrait beside hers. A gust of wind carries the double portrait inside the castle; in this way, Shirin too immediately falls in love with the image of the 183 Hâtefi, Shirin va Khosrow, ll. 1001-1005. 184 The description of Shirin is given by Hâtefi, Shirin va Khosrow, ll. 374-400.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY unknown young man painted beside her. Meanwhile Shâpur, having made another portrait of Shirin from memory, returns to Madâyen. Here Khosrow, enraptured by love, mounts Shabdiz and, while out hunting, separates from his retinue. After an adventurous journey, abounding in elements of fable, he arrives on the seashore of Darband. Shirin in the meantime has managed to convince her nurse to accompany her to the sea, where she can give free rein to the feelings of desperation caused by her love for the unknown young man. The nurse equips a boat and the two women set out, seemingly with no idea of escape in mind. They are surprised by a storm, however, and risk drowning. After a prayer the sea is becalmed, and the two women, safe and sound after hardship (an occurrence of the thematic genre called al-Faraj ba’ da ’ l-shidda), land at the spot where Khosrow, exhausted by his journey, has fallen asleep. Shirin recognizes the sleeping young man as the man of the portrait. He awakes, and is questioned as to his identity by the nurse. Khosrow recounts his story, and Shirin approaches him and reveals her own identity. This episode corresponds to that of the lovers’ first encounter by the spring in Nezâmi’s poem, with the difference that here it is the sleeping Khosrow who is unaware of being observed by Shirin and that the two young people recognize each other. At this very moment of joyous recognition, a messenger arrives bringing Khosrow news of his father’s death and of the dire state of the kingdom. Khosrow departs, eventually defeating the rebel Bahrâm Chubin. After an exchange of letters between the lovers, Khosrow decides to return and join Shirin. Mehin Bânu welcomes the king with great pomp and ceremony, but, afraid that Shirin might yield to him, speaks to her, underlining the importance of chastity and giving her a series of conventional advice (see above). After a period of feasting and hunting, in which no mention is made of the alternate passion and friction between the lovers so skillfully described by Nezâmi, Khosrow invites her to join him to Madâyen; and Shirin promptly accepts, although no motivation is offered. This corresponds to the episode of her escape and flight to join the king in Madâyen in Nezâmi’s poem. Hâtefi makes no reference to Khosrow’s Byzantine vicissitudes and his marriage to the emperor’s daughter, Maryam, who is only mentioned at the end, in reference to the son Khosrow had with her. The poet goes directly to the Farhâd episode. In Hâtefi’s version, Farhâd falls in love with Shirin 206

KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE when he happens to see her walking by, before being entrusted to carve the channel. One day Shirin speaks to Shâpur of her wish to have a channel carved to bring milk from the mountain pastures down to her castle, and Shâpur recommends Farhâd, a skilled stone-cutter (tishe-rân) of Chinese origin and, formerly, his colleague, as the only person fit for the task. The job is duly done and Shirin is full of praise, amply rewarding him. Khosrow is told of Farhâd’s love for Shirin and questions him on the matter, in the traditional series of questions and answers. Finally, he decides to get rid of him by having him taken to the top of a mountain and thrown into a well sealed with a large stone as cover. But Divine Will decides otherwise: Farhâd escapes from the well, having found a spade by chance, and he cuts a tunnel through the foot of the mountain. While digging the tunnel, Farhâd discovers a mine of rubies on which he inscribes Shirin’s name. The news of the rubies with Shirin’s name reaches the court and Shâpur seizes the chance to free Farhâd, given that only he, as he points out, can explain the mystery. Khosrow summons Farhâd to court, and urges him to desist from his pursuit: As a commoner, he ahould know his place. Farhâd’s answer expounds on one of the main themes in Hâtefi’s version of the episode: All men are equal, all are the progeny of Adam and Eve and possess equal dignity, nobles and artisans alike. Khosrow then decides to free himself of Farhâd by having him cut a passage through Mount Bisotun, which obstructs the road. Farhâd accepts, on condition that, when the work is done, Khosrow will renounce all claims on Shirin. One day Shirin decides to go with her handmaidens to see Farhâd at work. As the poet had not described her suffering for love, the fact of her announcing that “perchance (seeing Farhâd) will calm my grieved heart” seems to be unmotivated, only a tribute to tradition.185 When she finds him, she is obliging to the point of playing the coquette and offers him numerous goblets of wine that leave him intoxicated and more lonesome than ever. After their encounter, however, he sets to work with renewed vigor. Khosrow is informed of this and, to slow him down, sends along a repulsive old woman, the personification of Destiny (see above, “Shirin and Khosrow by Amir Khosrow of Delhi”), to give him the false news that Shirin has died after falling from her horse. Whereupon Farhâd dies of grief. 185 Hâtefi, Shirin va Khosrow, l. 1084.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Farhâd’s death is followed by an exchange of letters in which Khosrow and Shirin blame each other. Up to then, there had been no real conflict between them. After Shirin’s last letter, Khosrow sets out for her residence, not the Qasr-e Shirin of tradition, in a torrid and inhospitable region, but a castle in a pleasing and temperate region. Khosrow is received in the palace with all due pomp, but is informed that Shirin is away, having gone to meet him by traveling in the opposite direction. In this way the king, tired of his travel, falls asleep and Shirin successfully delays their encounter. The following morning Shirin presents herself before him, smiling and unveiled. At this point, the skirmishes between them, which play such a part in Nezâmi’s poem, begin. Khosrow makes increasingly pressing advances which Shirin firmly rejects. In very similar terms to those used in Nezâmi’s poem, he accuses her of enticing him and then pulling back, while she insists on her purity and integrity. He begs her to yield for just one night; she turns angrily on her heels and leaves the banquet. Khosrow complains of Shirin and her obstinacy, repeating all the epithets he had voiced against her in the poems of Nezâmi and Amir Khosrow; and at last decides to leave and seek comfort with the beautiful Shakar of Isfahan, of whom he has heard tell; in this poem, however, there is no mention of his marrying her. Marriage to Shirin is never directly talked of either. Hâtefi, then, is referring to different and more ancient material than that narrated by Nezâmi and Amir Khosrow: Shirin and Shakar are simply two concubines of the king. Khosrow’s union with Shakar proves a disappointment and merely enflames his passion for the woman he loves. Shirin, for her part, after Khosrow’s departure, is desperate and falls sick with grief. Here, at last, Hâtefi manages to find moving tones in describing Shirin’s suffering. Finally, Khosrow decides to marry her, and she is taken to Madâyen. Hâtefi describes in detail all the bridal preparations, the dressing of Shirin’s hair, her make-up, her clothes, a description that may have been modeled on Zoleykhâ’s toilette in Jâmi’s poem (see below, “Leyli and Majnun by Jȃmi”). At the moment of the consummation, however, the king is so inebriated as to loose all sense of self-control; for this reason Shirin has herself replaced in the wedding chamber by a female companion who closely resembles her (therefore, the substitute is not an old woman here), just as other female characters—among them Nezâmi’s and Amir Khosrow’s Shakar—do. When the king awakes the next day, the girl tells him what has happened.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE Khosrow embraces Shirin, grateful that she has avoided his coming to her in a state of intoxication. The marriage is finally consummated. As in Amir Khosrow’s poem, however, after the marriage the king is too pre-occupied with feasting and nuptial delights to take any interest in his kingdom, and at this point a devious minister exploits the situation to oppress the people. During this period Khosrow receives a letter from the king of Yathrib, inviting him to convert and submit to the faith of Mohammad: It is not, therefore, a letter directly from the Prophet, a replacement certainly inspired by pious sentiments. Khosrow is furious, and shreds the letter in front of the envoy. The poet at this point introduces Shiruye, Khosrow’s son by Maryam and nephew of the Qeysar of Rum, who despises his father. Shiruye is asked by a group of opponents to take his father’s place and save the kingdom, threatened internally by the unjust minister and externally by the Arabs. Armed with a sword, Shiruye finds the drunken king, with Shirin in his arms, and kills him. On the day of the funeral, and before the burial, Shirin removes the shroud covering the dead king’s face, drinks poison, and dies at his side. The two are buried together. From the poet’s own words in the introduction to his subsequent poem, Haft manzar (see below, Chapter 6 below, “Hȃtefi’s Poem Haft Manzar”), we learn that his Shirin va Khosrow did not receive a favorable review by critics, but no reasons are given. However, with the exception of a number of extremely beautiful passages the poem appears weak, and the characters’ motivation is often unclear. Hâtefi possibly took too many points for granted, thereby making the plot development unconvincing, as when Shirin, while living the life of a recluse in an all-female environment, abruptly and without any convincing motivation, decides to join the king at Madâyen. Shirin in this poem has little of the psychological depth of Nezâmi’s heroine. It may have also been the case that Hâtefi’s presentation of his characters in a prosaic light (Mehin Bânu is only an old schemer, Shakar is openly described as a woman of dubious reputation) was hardly acceptable to the more discriminating critics of the time. Unlike Jamâli, a skilled storyteller who, however, radically changed the setting of the poem and its characters, Hâtefi remains more or less faithful to the story line as told by Nezâmi, but is a less skilled narrator. Both poems, for different reasons, failed to find the kind of favor enjoyed by the poems of their predecessors, Nezâmi and Amir Khosrow.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Critical Responses: The Farhȃd-nȃme by Âref Ardabili While belonging in many respects to an independent group of poems (see below, “The Poems of Love and Adventure and their Relationship to Nezâmi’s Poem”), the Farhâd-nâme by Âref Ardabili (14th century) also represents in some ways a response to Nezâmi’s poem Khosrow va Shirin, of which he is openly critical. Âref narrates what, according to him, is the true story of the kuh-kan, the mountain-carver Farhâd. The poem is attested by a single manuscript conserved in Istanbul (MS Ayasofya 3335); it was studied for the first time by Herbert W. Duda in 1933 and later edited with an introductory essay by Abd-al-Rezâ Âdhar in 1976.186 The Farhâd-nâme is composed of two parts, both finished in 771/1369:187 Farhâd va Golestân, dedicated to Shaikh Oveys of the Jalayerid dynasty of Tabriz (r. 757-76/1356-74);188 and Farhâd va Shirin, dedicated to the Sharvânshâh Hushang b. Kâ’us (r. 774-83/1372-82).189 The introduction to the second part and dedication to the latter sovereign, necessarily written after the poem’s conclusion, must have been added at a later stage. The poet was born in Ardabil in Azerbaijan around 711/1311, but for some time, due to some injustice from particular personages there, he was obliged to leave his native city to seek refuge in the region of Sharvân, where he found work as tutor to one of the king’s children. While in Sharvân, he met “one of the descendents of Farhâd, a young and very skillful sculptor,” who had a book, so Âref has it, narrating the true story of Farhâd and his progeny.190 The poet also mentions a series of monuments in Sharvân, the 186 Âref Ardabili, Farhâd-nâme, ed. Abd-al-Rezâ Âdhar (Tehran, 1976). The manuscript of the poem is apparently recent, datable to between 1115/1703 and 1143/1730 (cf. A. Âdhar, notes on the manuscript, in Âref Ardabili, Farhâd-nâme, pp. 208-9). My summary of the poem is based in part on Duda’s (Ferhād und Schīrīn, pp. 86-97) and Sattâri’s summaries (J. Sattâri, Osture-ye eshq va âsheqi dar chand eshq-nâme-ye fârsi, Tehran, 2009, pp. 53-64), and in part on my own reading of a number of passages from the poem. On Âref, see G. Yu. Aliev, Temy i syuzhety Nizami v literaturakh narodov Vostoka (Moscow, 1985) pp. 60-62; Abu’l-Qâsem Râdfar, Ketâb-shenâsi-ye Nezâmi-ye Ganjavi (Tehran, 1992), p. 381; Abd-al-Rezâ Âdhar, in Âref Ardabili, Farhâd-nâme, introduction, pp. haft-pânzdah. 187 Âref Ardabili, Farhâd-nâme, ll. 2549 and 4339. 188 Âref Ardabili, Farhâd-nâme, ll. 1-2558. 189 Âref Ardabili, Farhâd-nâme, ll. 2559-4364. 190 Âref Ardabili, Farhâd-nâme, ll. 179-80.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE work of Farhâd’s descendents, visited by himself personally or described by others.191 The first part of the poem, the story of Farhâd and Golestân, narrates the events that precede the beginning of the story narrated by Nezâmi, in its turn the subject of the second part of the Farhâd-nâme. Farhâd is the son of the Faghfur of China and a very skillful architect, calligrapher, and painter. Dispossessed of his kingdom at his father’s death by his paternal uncle, who had also married the Faghfur’s widow, he seeks refuge in Abkhâz.192 His companion is Shâpur (Shâvur/Shâur in this poem), a native of Abkhâz who had come to China to study painting. When Farhâd arrives with Shâpur in Abkhâz, he meets Mehin Bânu and her brother, the king of Abkhâz. The latter’s daughter Shirin, only nine years old at that time, but already very vivacious, is immediately attracted to the young stranger. Farhâd however is in love with Golestân, the daughter of a highly skilled sculptor and stone-mason (sang-tarâsh), simply called Ostâd (Master) in the poem: Shâpur had painted her portrait on the wall of a palace that Farhâd, when still a prince in his homeland, had commissioned to be built, decorated with frescoes by the most famous painters of the time. In the poem, this palace is called the “gallery of paintings” (negâr-khâne) or “gallery of idols” (bot-khâne). According to Âref, therefore, Golestân, and not Shirin, was Farhâd’s true love, and it was out of love for her that he had left his country to go to Abkhâz in the company of Shâpur. Farhâd and Golestân meet at a gathering hosted by the Master, Golestân’s father. It takes place in a beautiful garden, crossed by a channel carved in the rock. This garden was called Khomestân on account of the numerous jars (khom) of wine stored there (the setting of the poem in Abkhâz, a Christian land, makes the presence of wine in the poem relevant). Golestân herself, says the poet, was so called because she had been born in the garden. During the banquet, Golestân offers a goblet of wine to Farhâd; Farhâd’s love is inflamed again and Golestân, too, falls in love with the young stranger. Their situation, however, soon becomes difficult. Shâpur 191 Âref Ardabili, Farhâd-nâme, ll. 186-203 and 2498-502. On the topos of the book narrating the true story of the hero or heroine and the reference to monuments proving the historical truth of the narrative see above, Chapter 3, “Critical Issues Concerning Narrative Poetry”). 192 In Islamic times, the term Abkhâz (Abkhazia), western Georgia, was used to refer to the whole country of Georgia. Cf. Dzh. Giunashvili, “Abḵāz,” EIr, I, pp. 222-24.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY finds out that the Master has promised his only daughter to the man who would prove his equal in stone carving, and the stipulation had kept away the many suitors to Golestân’s hand. Shâpur has revealed Farhâd’s royal origins to the Master, showing him the many fine jewels and inestimable riches he has brought along with him from China. Neverthless, Farhâd accepts, out of love for Golestân, the challenge of learning the arduous craft of stone-masonry. He goes with the Master to the mountain, where he carves Golestân’s image on the rock. The Master gathers all those of his pupils who aspire to marry Golestân and challenges them to create a more beautiful work. Informed in the meantime of Farhâd’s real identity and of her father’s condition for marrying her, Golestân goes with her mother to a convent to pray for a happy outcome. Her prayers are answered. The Master makes Farhâd a gift of the garden of Khomestân, and has a palace constructed for him with a door opening onto the garden. Farhâd carves a splendid vault (tâq) within the garden, decorated with figures reproducing the wall paintings in the negâr-khâne, the palace Farhâd had had built in China. Farhâd is converted to Christianity by a monk (rahbân), and the two lovers marry. Almost immediately something untoward happens: the Qeysar of Rum’s grandson, one of the pupils of Golestân’s father and himself a suitor, conceives a plan to kill Farhâd. One night, after a reception, he stabs Farhâd who, though injured, manages to defend himself and kills his rival. Meanwhile Hormoz, the king of Persia (father of Khosrow Parviz), hears reports of Shâpur and asks the king of Abkhâz to send him to his court in exchange for precious gifts. Hormoz and his son Khosrow show the utmost favor to Shâpur, who becomes the young prince’s intimate friend, courtier, and court painter. Soon afterwards the king of Abkhâz, also king of Armenia, dies, and his sister Mehin Bânu ascends to the throne. These last events represent the antecedent facts and, so to say, the background to the story narrated by Nezâmi at the beginning of his poem, seen, however, from the perspective of Abkhâz. Indeed, soon afterwards we see Shâpur return to Abkhâz (which here replaces Nezâmi’s Armenia): He has previously informed Khosrow, depicted as a hedonistic and libertine prince, of Shirin’s great beauty and has been charged with escorting her to his court. On his return from Persia, Shâpur breaks his journey at Barda to visit Mehin Bânu and to offer his condolences for the king’s death, at the same time telling Shirin of Khosrow’s invitation to Madâyen. Without 212

KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE a word to her aunt, Shirin leaves for the Persian capital to escape from an Armenian suitor she detests and stays in Madâyen for some time. In the meantime Golestân dies in childbirth, and her daughter is given the name of Maryam. Farhâd, despondent at the loss of his beloved wife, entrusts the baby to a loyal manservant, Moqbel, who had come with him from China. He then has a monastery built over Golestân’s tomb and lives there as a monk. Âref ends the first part of the poem with information as to the fate of Farhâd and Golestân’s three children: Dâvud, the eldest, becomes king of China; Isâ, the second, successfully continues the work of his father and becomes a sculptor; and Maryam marries a prince of Abkhâz. All the kings of Georgia (Gorj) of that period, notes the poet, are descended from her.193 The second part of the poem is a re-working of the Farhâd and Shirin story as narrated by Nezâmi. Âref is critical of various episodes in Nezâmi’s poem, judging them implausible or illogical, as when Khosrow, renowned for his amorous conquests, is unable to succeed with Shirin in their first encounters; or when the famous minister Bozorg Ommid agrees to instruct Shirin, a woman, on some moral and philosophical questions taken from the book of Kalila and Demna. Âref recounts a personal story which had opened his eyes as to the nature of women and love: His vision is cynical and disenchanted, far removed from the concept of love and the feminine ideal expressed by Nezâmi through the character of Shirin.194 Shirin, like Nezâmi’s other characters, is sharply criticized by Âref. He has strong doubts as to her chastity, with no father or brother to watch over her. Her only guidance was from her aunt Mehin Bânu, a woman of dubious reputation; and her only companions were a handful of depraved handmaidens: how, then, could she possibly have been a chaste woman?195 Nezâmi’s Khosrow, an insatiable voluptuary, travels the length and breadth of his kingdom, from Armenia to Isfahan, in the single-minded pursuit of women of dubious reputation; he presents himself as the restorer of the Zo193 A possible historical basis for this account could be seen in the figures of two important queens of Georgia: Tamara (1184-1212), and especially her daughter Rusudan (1223-47), who married the son of the Saljuq ruler of Erzurum Moghith-al-Din Toghrel. The latter converted to Christianity in order to marry her and had a son by Rusudan called Dâvud and a daughter called Tamara, just like her grandmother. Cf. Marius Canard, “Les reines de Géorgie dans l’histoire et la légende musulmanes,” Revue des études islamiques 37 (1969), pp. 11-12. 194 Âref Ardabili, Farhâd-nâme, ll. 2604-42, 2732-3075. 195 Âref Ardabili, Farhâd-nâme, ll. 3027-35.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY roastrian faith, but has his own father blinded and murdered; and, to cap it all, he even had the Prophet’s letter sent to him destroyed.196 The most striking element introduced by Âref is the fact that Shirin not only refuses Khosrow, not requiting his love, but has a significant love affair with Farhâd. Indeed, after a period of mourning over his first wife’s death, Farhâd returns Shirin’s love, and their affair is long and passionate. After Mehin Bânu’s death, Shirin takes her aunt’s place on the throne but then flees to the Qasr-e Shirin to escape from the Armenian suitor she so detests. After a short time, Farhâd joins her and sculpts a channel and a pool for the supply of milk. Khosrow Parviz, who sincerely loves his wife Maryam, is however jealous of Shirin’s love for Farhâd and summons him to court for questioning. On Shirin’s advice, Farhâd feigns madness. Shâpur, who, along with Shirin, has accompanied him, explains to the king that Farhâd is mad with grief because of his wife Golestân’s death; in this way, the famous dialogue (monâzere) between Farhâd and Khosrow is diverted away from his love for Shirin to his insane love for a dead woman. By this device, Farhâd, far from being portrayed as a desperate lover, is presented as a man successfully deflecting the king’s suspicions. Maryam, irritated by the patent complicity between Khosrow and Shâpur, learns of her husband’s schemes regarding Shirin. She has an argument with her husband and reminds him that it was only thanks to her father’s troops that he had been able to recover his throne. She departs in a fury to return to her father, taking the entire army with her. Khosrow has no choice but to run after her, to seek forgiveness, and make peace. He renounces Shirin but asks Farhâd, in exchange, to cut a road through Mount Bisotun. The poem now moves to its close. The elderly mother of the Byzantine prince killed by Farhâd reaches Qasr-e Shirin, seeking vengeance for her son’s death. Having first gained Farhâd’s confidence, she administers poison to him and he dies. His death is not the result of an unhappy love affair, but the outcome of an act of revenge (on the character of the Old Woman see above, “Shirin and Khosrow by Amir Khosrow of Delhi”) A fugitive like Farhâd, Âref identifies with his character and provides a version of his story in which Farhâd, an alien and an artisan, is neither desperate nor an unrequited suitor, but the son of a king, whose love for Shirin is fully reciprocated. 196 Âref Ardabili, Farhâd-nâme, ll. 3054-75.

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3. The Poems of Love and Adventure and their Relationship to Nezâmi’s Poem Khosrow Parviz’s story, with his Byzantine exile and his love story with the Christian Shirin, seems to have furnished the model for a series of romances of love and adventure that are later on considered as imitations of Nezâmi’s poem. Actually, apart from the poems analyzed above, which appear closely connected to Nezâmi’s Khosrow va Shirin, a whole series of poems of love, travel, and adventure exist that are less influenced by Nezâmi’s poem but share some features with it:197 the same meter (hazaj); the same more or less recognizable historical setting (the reign of Khosrow Parviz and the last Sasanids), with the poems’ characters appearing as transformations of the historical or semi-historical figures who played some role in the events of that troubled period; and, lastly, the same location between Persia and Rum (i.e. Greece, Byzantium), though under the influence of historical figures such as Bahrâm Chubin and Bestâm, who after their defeat at the hands of Khosrow withdrew to “China,” and perhaps also in connection with the history of the last Sasanids:198 In a number of poems, the theatre of events extended as far as China, with the Faghfur, the Chinese emperor, replacing the Qeysar of Rum. Indeed, many of these poems, though pertaining to an independent literary tradition more ancient than Nezâmi’s poem (see below), seem to retell a very similar story to that of Khosrow and Shirin, a story recounted in different settings and from different points of view, Rum, Persia, China, 197 These poems are only recently beginning to be studied, and we have little more than lists of authors and titles. Aliev (Temy i sjužety Nizami) gives an alphabetical list of more than 600 authors from the 13th to the 20th century, who wrote in Persian, different varieties of Turkish, Kurdish, Urdu, Pashto and Armenian, in the wake of Nezâmi’s tradition, with information on the authors’ biography and their works. See aso Abu’l-Qâsem Râdfar, Ketâb-shenâsi-ye Nezâmi-ye Ganjavi (Tehran, 1992), pp. 224-32. For a general study of epic, mystic, and love poems, see M-A. Khazânedârlu, Manzumehâ-ye fârsi: Moʻarrefi-ye hodud-e 900 mathnavi-ye hamâsi, erfâni va eshqi dar adab-e fârsi (Tehran, 1996). A study of sixteen love poems of Persian literature, with useful summaries of them, is given by Jalâl Sattâri, Osture-ye eshq va âsheqi (I am grateful to the memory of Dariush Kargar, who brought this book to my attention). For the love poems of the Shâhrokh period (first half of the 15th century) see Ehsan Yarshater, Sheʽr-e fârsi dar ahd-e Shâhrokh (2nd ed., Tehran, 2004), pp. 176-95. 198 See above, “Jamȃli’s Mehr and Negar,” and note 172.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY but always placed in one and the same period of Iranian history, the end of the Sasanid empire and the birth of the new religion, Islam. It is the same period in which the whole corpus of the Iranian historical and legendary traditions received its last and definitive form.199 It is, therefore, altogether possible that historical events and legendary features related to Khosrow Parviz’s reign and the last Sasanids were refracted in the telling of past stories and legends and on the stories and legends to come, with more recent events and personages superimposed on the narration of the ancient ones. One example is Goshtâsp and Katȃyun’s story as recounted in the Shâhnâme, which should also be included among the poems discussed here. This story, based on the ancient Greek novel, of Median origin, of Zariadres and Odatis,200 was certainly reshaped after Khosrow Parviz’s story, with the flight of Goshtâsp (and not his younger brother Zarēr) to Rum (and not to Scythia), to seek his fortune; and with his marriage to Katâyun, daughter of the Qeysar of Rum, rather than the bride’s abduction. It was in this new form that the story of Goshtâsp and Katȃyun was embedded into the text of the Shâh-nâme. The analogies between the two key periods of Iranian history, with the appearance of two prophets, Zardosht and Mohammad, may have made the superimposition easier. Ferdowsi recounts that as the result of a confrontation with his father, king Lohrâsp, his son Goshtâsp, leaves Iran and takes refuge in Rum. The young prince had claimed a higher status at his father’s court, probably aspiring to his throne, but now wandering incognito in a foreign land he is forced to seek a living first as secretary, then as shepherd and camel driver; but he is always turned away. In the end he finds employment as a smith in a foundry: heavy work, suited to his stature and physical strength (he was probably fitted for very little else). His first hammer-blow, however, splits the anvil and he is immediately dismissed. He finally finds hospitality at the house of a nobleman. Meanwhile the Qeysar had decided that it was time for his eldest daughter, Katâyun, to marry. So, according to the local Greek custom described in the poem, the Qeysar invites all suitors to a palace reception, so that the young woman can make her choice. In a dream Katâyun has fallen in love with an unknown youth; and the moment she 199 Theodor Nöldeke, “Das iranische Nationalepos,” in Wilh. Geiger and Ernst Kuhn, eds., Grundriss der iranischen Philologie (repr. Berlin and New York, 1974), II, pp. 134-46. 200 Cf. Mary Boyce, “Zariadres and Zarēr,” BSOAS 17/3 (1955), p. 470.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE sets eyes on Goshtâsp (who, at his host’s suggestion, has gone to the reception), she immediately recognizes him as the youth in her dream, and promptly chooses him as her husband. The Qeysar is reluctant to entrust his daughter to a foreigner and tries to stop the marriage by withholding the dowry, but the two lovers marry without his consent and set about earning a living as best as they can. Goshtâsp performs a number of courageous feats, including slaying a wolf and a dragon on commission and distinguishing himself among the Qeysar’s forces, thus proving his worth to his illustrious father-in-law. In the end he returns to his homeland, where he inherits his father’s throne.201 The story of Goshtâsp and Katâyun in the Shâh-nâme represents an early instance in Persian literature of the literary strand to which the poems of love, travel and adventure also pertain. Mary Boyce judged this tale, as told in the Shâh-nâme, as “essentially vulgar, … alien to a courtly tradition;” and concluded: “The story of Katāyūn is in fact to be regarded as a wholly alien intrusion into the Kayanian cycle.”202 Dhabih-Allâh Safâ, too, noticed the dissimilarities in the story of Goshtâsp in the Avesta and Pahlavi texts on the one hand, and in the Shâh-nâme on the other; and hypothesized that Goshtâsp’s story in the Shâh-nâme was influenced by Khosrow Parviz’s story.203 Goshtâsp and Katȃyun’s story attests to the existence of an ancient popular narrative tradition common to that narrated in Nezâmi’s poem. Indeed, Khosrow Parviz’s story and his marriage to Maryam, the supposed daughter of the Qeysar, reveals a series of very ancient themes and narrative techniques typical of the Greek novel: Khosrow’s prophetic dream at the outset; his falling in love on the basis of a description, i.e. on account of the fame of the heroine’s beauty; the description of the effects of love; the hindering devices before the two lovers’ first encounter; the presence of a rival, both for the hero (Farhâd) and the heroine (first Maryam and then Shakar); dialogues, monologues of lament, prayers, exchange of letters; Shirin’s efforts to preserve her virginity and, at the end, her suicide beside the corpse of Khosrow, thereby remaining faithful to her true love. All these narrative elements already recur in many of the Persian love poems of the 201 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, V, “Lohrâsp,” pp. 6-71, ll. 34-913). Cf. also Mahnaz Moazami, “Katāyun,” EIr, XVI/2, pp. 121-22. 202 Boyce, “Zariadres and Zarēr,” pp. 470-71. 203 Dhabih-Allâh Safâ, Hamâse-sarâyi dar Irân (Tehran, 1984), pp. 533-34.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY most ancient period (see above, Chapter 2 by J. T. P de Bruijn). From this point of view Nezâmi’s romance, for all its influence on successive romantic production, can be regarded simply as a link in a long literary chain.

The Main Characters in the Poems of Love and Adventure In the poems of love and adventure, the hero is always an itinerant prince traveling, such as Khosrow Parviz and Goshtâsp between Persia and Rum, or, like Farhâd and other more or less historical personages, between Persia and China. Indeed, various events and characteristic features in the story of the fugitive Khosrow in the lands of Rum coincide with Goshtâsp’s story, and also with Farhâd’s story, as recounted in the poems in response to Nezâmi’s Khosrow va Shirin. All of them (Khosrow, Farhâd, and Goshtâsp), are princes, but leave the kingdom heading from Persia to Rum (Khosrow and Goshtâsp), or from China to Persia (Farhâd). All of them have left their country after some misunderstanding with the king their father or uncle (Khosrow’s “difficult relationship” with his maternal uncles Bestâm and Benduy is well-known from the sources), and are living, more or less temporarily, in a foreign land. Goshtâsp and Farhâd travel incognito in foreign lands, with all the difficulties attendant upon an alien’s status: penury for Goshtâsp, solitude and desperation for Farhâd; and both live (Farhâd) or try to live (Goshtâsp) by their own labor, this being one of the main themes dealt with in the poems in connection with the Farhâd episode (see in particular Hâtefi’s poem, discussed above). Many of these features are also relevant to the figure of the hero, in the poems of love and adventure. The principal female character is generally based, more or less explicitly, on the character of Gol (or Golshâh, Golestân, Golandâm, Golrokh, etc., though occasionally she appears under a different name), i.e., Saint Golândokht (see above, Maryam). Gol is the daughter of the Qeysar of Rum; or she is a princess betrothed to the Qeysar’s son; or is even the offspring of an artisan from an urban milieu (like Golestân in Âref’s poem). Many authors explicitly connect her with a Christian milieu, attesting to some historical memory of her origin. In Gorgâni’s Vis va Râmin, Gol is simply “the other woman,” of the classic love-triangle, the same role played first by Maryam and then by Shakar with regard to Shirin in Nezâmi’s poem. In the Khosrow-nâme (see 218

KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE Chapter 2 in this volume), the character of Gol represents the grafting of the tradition of the Greek novel onto the Khosrow and Shirin legend, as if the name of Gol and, possibly, the distant memory of her (i.e. Saint Golândokht’s) vicissitudes, had acted as catalyst for a series of elements typical of this tradition: the lovers’ separation, the endless series of obstacles which delay their meeting again, the journey over land and sea, the storm and shipwreck, incarceration, capture, disguise, and the assault on the heroine’s (and sometimes hero’s) chastity, down to the happy ending and their marriage. The life of the saint, therefore, very soon colored by the themes and topoi of the Greek novel, seems to have supplied material for a series of novels of love, travel, and adventure along the same line of development already documented for another Persian poem, Onsori’s Vâmeq va Adhrâ: The Greek novel of Metiochos and Parthenope (1st century CE or earlier, fragmentary) appears to have been re-adapted to supply the plot of the martyrdom of Saint Parthenope, probably first composed in Greek, but surviving in its entirety only in Arabic, and fragmentarily in Coptic;204 and, mainly through an Arabic translation,205 to have become the source of Onsori’s poem.206 Likewise, many Persian romances of love and adventure seem to have been centered, albeit in a transformed form, on the life and sufferings of this forgotten Persian saint, Saint Golândokht, as well as other Christian saints and martyrs such as Saint Thecla and Saint Parthenope.207 Their biographies soon began to be shaped after the vicissitudes of heroines of the Greek novel. One of the most important features in the Greek novels, as in the saints’ biographies and martyrdoms, is the account of the various trials undergone by the heroine while preserving her chastity and remaining 204 Cf. Tomas Hägg, “The Parthenope Romance Decapitated?,” Symbolae Osloenses 59 (1984), pp. 61-92; and, by the same author, “The Oriental Reception Of Greek Novels: A Survey With Some Preliminary Considerations,” Symbolae Osloenses 61 (1986), pp. 112-14. Cf. also T. Hägg and Bo Utas, The Virgin and Her Lover: Fragments of an Ancient Greek Novel and a Persian Epic Poem (Leiden and Boston, 2003), pp. 23-45 and 65-75. 205 On the intermediate stages of transmission of the novel to Persian literature, cf. T. Hägg and Bo Utas, The Virgin and Her Lover, pp. 193-203. 206 Cf. Hägg, “The Parthenope Romance Decapitated?” Cf. also, by the same author, “The Oriental Reception Of Greek Novels,” pp. 101-12; and T. Hägg and Bo Utas, The Virgin and Her Lover, pp. 76-132. 207 Cf. Davis, Panthea’s Children, pp. 19-21.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY faithful to her true love (or Love). The lovers’ chastity and their mutual fidelity were (with only few exceptions for the male protagonists) major themes of the novels’ plot; this is the same conception of love represented in a number of Persian romances.

Main Narrative Features of the Poems of Love and Adventure A representative plot of these poems begins with a young prince falling in love with an unknown woman heard about in a tale, seen in a portrait, or more often glimpsed in a dream (in the stories of Goshtâsp and Katâyun, and of Zoleykhâ, it is the female protagonist who falls in love with an unknown man in a dream).208 The lovesick prince sets off in search of the loved one, with or without the consent of the king his father, and with or without a companion. On his journey, the “knight errant” kills dragons and wild beasts, succors the needy and weak, and helps other lovers to achieve their dream of love. On arrival, he faces the resistance of the princess’s father but ultimately overcomes all the trials set for him, often also defeating a rival (the King of Syria in many poems), in order to win the hand of the king’s daughter. But further trials await him before the happy ending. The girl’s father fails to keep his promise, setting new conditions, and the girl, often already promised some elderly king, is kidnapped and imprisoned in an impregnable fortress, or is forced to flee her country after wars rage through the land; and she herself embarks on a series of adventures and trials. The heroine must also guard her virginity, which she does by disguising herself as a man. At times she meets with a powerful king who refrains from exercising his rights over her; or she marries an impotent husband. The happy ending only comes about after a series of vicissitudes: The two are reunited and joined in marriage, and the prince ascends to his father’s throne. The poems pertaining to this group—for the period considered here, from Nezâmi’s times up to Jâmi—include the Khosrow-nâme or Khosrow va Gol by Attâr or Pseudo-Attâr (see above, Chapter 2); Jalâl Tabib Shirâzi’s Gol va Nowruz (734/1333); Khʷâju Kermâni’s poem Gol va Nowruz 208 The latter occurrence is considered as a pathological symptom in Medieval treatises on secular love; see, for example, Ebn-Hazm, The Ring of the Dove, “On Falling in Love while Asleep,” pp. 46-47.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE (or Nowruz va Gol, 742/1341); Salmân Sâvaji’s Jamshid va Khʷorshid (763/1362); Âref Ardabili’s Farhâd-nâme (771/1369); Sâfi’s poem Bahrâm va Golandâm (end of the 14th/first half of the 15th centuries). Ayyuqi’s poem Varqe va Golshâh (11th century; see above, Chaper 2), too, offers further elements linking it with this group of poems apart from the similarity between the name of the heroine, Golshâh, and that of Gol. Varqe, too poor to marry Golshâh, goes off to seek his fortune in the Yemen (which in other stories is Rum); and the story occurs just at the time of the Prophet Mohammad, who even plays a role in the poem’s plot. Also to be included in the group, despite the title and names of characters, is Hâtefi’s Shirin va Khosrow; indeed, the character of Shirin who lives as a prisoner in her own castle, the presence among the characters of her nurse, as well as the sea travel and shipwreck, connect Hâtefi’s poem to this literary tradition rather well. The poems of love and adventure are plot-centered and mainly concerned with the various twists and turns involving the protagonists. They rarely handle Nezâmi’s moral themes, which in their turn represent an intertextual response to Gorgâni’s Vis va Râmin: the problem of love, mainly linked to that of sovereignty; the king’s emotional education and his efforts, through his love affair, to overcome his passions (wine, women, and hunting); and, mainly for the female characters, the problem of how and when to yield to passion, and to what extent ill or good repute is to be considered important in love. Where these poems deal with episodes related to Nezâmi’s poem, they often present a different version of facts, based on sources distinct from his or resulting from an authorial re-elaboration of the plot aimed at improving the story, making it more rational and credible, or closer to a supposed historical reality. Occasionally, too, as in the case of Âref’s poem, they cast a retrospective critical glance at Nezâmi’s work, giving rise to interesting passages of moral and literary criticism. Through the theme of the journey and the long series of adventures befalling the hero, these poems are closely connected to another lineage of poems in Persian literature, whose hero travels mostly to India: those defined by Jan Rypka as “secondary epics” or “romances of chivalry and adventure,” such as Asadi’s Garshâsp-nâme.209 209 Cf. Djalal Khaleghi-Motlagh, “Asadi Ṭūsī,” EIr, II, pp. 699-700; Rypka, in HIL, pp. 162-66.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Khʷâju Kermâni’s Gol va Nowruz Gol va Nowruz (Rose and New Year’s Day) or Nowruz va Gol, by Khʷâju Kermâni, composed in 742/1341, is a poem of 5,306 lines dedicated to Tâj-al-Din Ahmad b. Mohammad Erâqi, minister of the Muzaffarid Amir Mobârez-al-Din Mohammad (r. 713-59/1314-58).210 Unlike other poems in this literary tradition, except, of course, Nezâmi’s poems, the language of the poem is elaborate and ornate. The narration is punctuated by anecdotes narrated by the characters themselves to illustrate specific concepts within the story, and by long introductions to the various episodes in which the poet reflects on didactic, moral, and mystical themes exemplified in the main narrative. The poet recounts that during a sleepless night a beautiful woman appeared, giving him an ancient manuscript written in the “Indian language” (be lafz-e hendavi) and inciting him to narrate the story of Gol and Nowruz, a story harking back to the topos of the book giving the true history of the hero (see above, Chapter 3, “Narrative Poetry and Historical Truth”). The latter, Nowruz, is the son of Piruz, the king of Khorasan, a descendent of the ancient king Sâsân. Nowruz’s father, is therefore a Sasanid king. At the end of the poem, a handsome son, Qobâd, is born to the couple, none other than Shiruye (Qobâd II), son of Khosrow and Maryam in the sources. The plot is as follows: Nowruz falls in love with Gol, the Qeysar’s daughter, having heard a description of her from a traveling merchant. Ignoring his father’s opposition, he sets out for Rum. On the way there he meets with various adventures, including an encounter with a handsome young man suffering the pains of love: this is Farrokhruz, king of Syria, who with his army has unsuccessfully sought to overcome the Qeysar’s resistance and obtain the hand of Gol, the Qeysar’s daughter. Nowruz is upset at his rival’s account, fearing an ill destiny for himself too. However, a Christian monk predicts success for Nowruz and the happy conclusion to both his love affair and his kingdom as a reward for his javânmardi 210 Khʷâju Kermâni, Gol va Nowruz, ed. K. Eyni (Tehran, 1971). The date of composition and the number of lines of the poem (in the form of a chronogram) are given at the end (Khʷâju Kermâni, Gol va Nowruz, p. 280). For a summary, see Sattâri, Osture-ye eshq va âsheqi, pp. 87-98. On Khʷâju, cf. Safâ, Târikh-e adabiyyât dar Irân, III/2, pp. 886-915.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE (manliness, generosity).211 On approaching Rum, Nowruz slays a dragon that had been ravaging the region: the condition laid down by the Qeysar for granting his daughter’s hand. Summoned to the court, he is asked to choose his reward: Naturally, he opts for the hand of the Qeysar’s daughter. The Qeysar conceals his anger and gives his consent, provided that Nowruz fights against his zangi (black) slave. The description of the zangi and their combat, which Nowruz wins, is one of the poem’s great set pieces. The Qeysar breaks his word and continues to impose further conditions. Gol, in the meantime, having watched the combat between Nowruz and the zangi, falls in love with Nowruz, and dispatches her nurse to speak to him. Again a series of impediments comes between the two lovers, Gol at one point being abducted by a magician named Tufân (i.e. Theophanes?) and imprisoned in a fortress named Qasr-e Shâpur. Finally they are able to marry and leave for Iran, where Nowruz ascends his father’s throne.

Salmân Sâvaji’s Jamshid va Khʷorshid With name-changes, a similar story is recounted by Salmân Sâvaji (d. 778/ 1376 ca.) in his poem Jamshid va Khʷorshid (Jamshid and Sun), composed in 763/1372 and dedicated to Soltân Oveys of the Jalayerid dynasty (the same dedicatee of the Farhâd-nâme).212 It bears a particular resemblance to the story of Goshtâsp and Katâyun as narrated by Ferdowsi (see above). Jamshid, son of Shâpur, king of China, falls in love with a beautiful girl glimpsed one night in a dream. After much fruitless search, he realizes from the description of a merchant called Mehrâb that this beauty is Khʷorshid (Sun), daughter of the Qeysar of Rum. Ignoring paternal opposition, Jamshid sets out with a companion, Mehrâsb. After a series of adventures, including a sea crossing, he reaches Rum and meets Khʷorshid, who immediately returns his love. The princess’s mother, however, like Mehin Bânu in Hâtefi’s poem, is alarmed, and locks her up in a 211 This Christian monk recalls the râheb in the Shâh-nâme (see above, “Maryam,” and note 133). 212 Salmân Sâvaji, Masnavi-ye Jamshid va Khʷorshid, ed. J. P. Asmussen and F. Vahman (Tehran, 1969). The summary given here is based mainly on Sattâri’s (Osture-ye eshq va âsheqi, pp. 65-76). On Salmân, cf. Safâ, Târikh-e adabiyyât dar Irân, III/2, pp. 1004-22.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY fortress. Jamshid manages gradually to win the confidence of the mother (one night she goes to his tent and lies with him, just as Vis’s nurse does with Râmin), rescues the Qeysar from a lion, and finally discloses that he is no merchant but the son of the king of China. After defeating Shâdi, son of the king of Syria, who is also a suitor to Khʷorshid, the two young people are able to marry, soon returning to China, where Jamshid ascends his father’s throne.

Amin-al-Din Mohammad Sâfi’s Bahrâm va Golandâm Bahrâm va Golandâm is a poem of 3,049 lines (in the edition by Hasan Dhu’l-Faqâri and Parviz Arastu), composed in the same meter as Nezâmi’s Khosrow va Shirin.213 The edition is based on a late acephalous manuscript kept in the Majles Library in Tehran, dated 1276/1859, collated with other manuscripts from Iranian libraries.214 This poem (or another poem of the same title) has been traditionally attributed to Kâtebi Torshizi, a poet of the end of the 14th-first half of the 15th centuries.215 However, at the end of the poem the author of the text in the edition by Dhu’l-Faqâri and Arastu gives his name as Amin-al-Din Mohammad Sâfi, a native of Arlâbâd(-e) Molhaq (this is the certainly erroneous reading given by the Majles manuscript).216 The editors have identified the author with a certain Amir-alDin from Nazlâbâd near Sabzevâr, a poet mentioned by Dowlatshâh as a contemporary of Kâtebi, and regard the attribution of this poem to Kâtebi a mistake.217 The dedicatee of the poem would be a Shams-al-Din Mohammad, ruler of Fars and Kerman: The lines with the name of the dedicatee 213 Amin-al-Din Sâfi, Bahrâm va Golandâm, ed. Hasan Dhu’l-Faqâri and Parviz Arastu (Tehran, 2007). 214 Another and older manuscript of this work might be a beautiful illustrated manuscript (MS Or. 1433, ff. 203-53), dated 1147/1734, kept in the British Library (cf. Charles Rieu, Catalogue of the Persian Manuscripts in the British Museum, London, 1881, II, p. 877). It is not certain, however, that the poem Bahrâm va Golandâm copied in this manuscript, referred to under the entry “Amin” by Aliev (Temy i sjužety Nizami, p. 44), is to be identified with the poem in question. 215 Cf. Aliev, Temy i syuzhety Nizami, pp. 126-8. 216 Sâfi, Bahrâm va Golandâm, ll. 3034-3036. 217 Dhu’l-Faqâri and Arastu, in Sâfi, Bahrâm va Golandâm, introduction, pp. 18-19.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE are not to be found in the text of the edition, which begins with the section on the “Reasons for the Composition of the Poem.”218 According to the editors, the story of this couple is originally linked to the narrative cycle centered on the figure of Bahrâm Gur, the protagonist of Nezâmi’s Haft peykar (see below, Chapter 6). Indeed, in one of the prose versions of this legend, diffused at a popular level, the name of Bahrâm’s handmaiden, Fetne in Nezâmi’s poem, would be Golandâm.219 The poem we have at hand, however, has only tenuous links with the Bahrâm’s saga; its plot connects it rather with the tradition of the poems of love and adventure, which are the object of the present section. A Kurdish poem also entitled Bahrâm va Golandâm, published by Qâder Fattâhi Qâzi and described by Jalâl Sattâri, is based on a slightly different version of the story.220 The king of Rum suffers because he has no son. After forty years a son is born to him and is called Bahrâm. He grows up and becomes peerless in the arts and sciences. One day, during a hunting party, he loses his way chasing a gazelle. After some days he arrives at a palace on the top of a mountain. Inside, he sees the portrait of a beautiful girl and immediately falls in love with her. In the palace lives an old man who is in love with the girl in the portrait, but who cherishes no hope in his love. The old man tells Bahrâm that the girl in the portrait is Golandâm, daughter of the king of China, and warns the young man not to yield to her love. Golandâm lives as a recluse in her own castle and only once a year, on New Year’s Day, does she show herself to the many who are in love with her (another occurrence of “the Lady of the Palace” theme). Paying no heed to the old man’s advice, Bahrâm departs for China. At this point a long series of adventures begins, in which Bahrâm encounters divs and fairies. Traveling incognito, disguised as a merchant who has lost his wealth, he embarks on a ship; with a skillful shot from his bow and arrow, he kills a water-dragon (nehang) that is about to attack the ship. At last he arrives in China but finds the gates of the city 218 Dhu’l-Faqâri and Arastu, in Sâfi, Bahrâm va Golandâm, introduction, p. 17. On this poem, see also M. J. Mahjub, “Bahrâm va Golandâm,” in M. J. Mahjub, Adabiyât-e âmmiyâne-ye Irân, ed. H. Dhu’l-Faqari, 2 vols. (Tehran, 2004), I, pp. 573-92. 219 Dhu’l-Faqâri and Arastu, in Sâfi, Bahrâm va Golandâm, introduction, pp. 19-20. The editors, however, do not give any reference to this popular prose text. For prose versions parallel to the story narrated in Nezâmi’s poem Haft peykar, see below, Chapter 6, “The Fortune of the Saga of Bahrȃm.” 220 Qâder Fattâhi Qazi, ed. and tr., Manzume-ye kordi Bahrâm va Golandâm: matn-e kordi va tarjome-ye Fârsi (Tabriz, 1968); Sattâri, Osture-ye eshq va âsheqi, pp. 153-56.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY barred because a rejected suitor, Behzâd, the son of the king of the Bolghâr, has besieged the city. Bahrâm, with the help of the jinns, defeats Behzâd’s army and sends his rival’s head to Golandâm’s father, king Qeysur (an odd name and perhaps a hybrid of the titles ‘Qeysar’ and ‘Faghfur’) together with a paper with his name as the author of the deed. However, he does not reveal his identity and goes to Golandâm’s palace, waiting to see her. When Golandâm appears on the terrace of her palace she notices the young man, who has offered a precious ring as a gift to her, seated at the foot of the wall. But he is dressed in the clothes of a poor man and nobody knows he is the son of the king of Rum. Golandâm’s nurse acts as intermediary between the two, delivering Golandâm ten letters from Bahrâm, followed by ghazals and other literary pieces, which occupy much of the poem.221 At last, the king of Rum, with the help of a knight-errant, manages to find his son. Bahrâm is recognized and marries Golandâm.222 As it appears from the plot, the poem mainly pertains to the narrative strand of the poems of love and adventure considered in this section, though a few details could be read in relation to the saga of Bahrâm Gur. An example is the discovery of Golandâm’s portrait inside the castle, which harks back to Bahrâm’s discovery of the portraits of the seven princesses in the Khavarnaq Palace in Nezâmi’s Haft peykar. Another possible feature connecting this poem to the legend of Bahrâm is the initial hunt representing the beginning of an amorous adventure: In the Shâh-nâme, Bahrâm always encounters new adventures while chasing a gazelle or an onager (see below, Chapter 6, “Bahrȃm Gur in the Shâh-nâme”). Bahrâm is also portrayed here as a skilled archer, killing both a lion and a water-dragon; another feature linking the character of Bahrâm in this poem with Bahrâm Gur. The style of the poem is very plain. Its main merit is that of bringing to light a convergence between the heroes of the two main narrative cycles of Iranian origin: that revolving around the figure of Khosrow, and that of Bahrâm. 221 The poem, therefore, includes a Dah-nâme, a literary genre on which cf. T. Gandjei, “The Genesis and Definition of a Literary Composition: The Dah-nāma (‘Ten love-letters’),” Der Islam 47 (1971), pp. 59-66 (see above, Chapter 3, “Types of Intertextuality in the Tradition of Response to Nezâmi’s Poems”). 222 The summary of the poem is taken from the summaries given by Dhu’l-Faqâri and Arastu, in Sâfi, Bahrâm va Golandâm, introduction, pp. 21-25, and Sattâri, Osture-ye eshq va âsheqi, pp. 157-63.

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4. Allegory in Narratives of Love In many of the narratives analyzed in the previous section, love is considered as a spiritual path of a search—a theory frequently referred to by the poets, either directly, in their introductory chapters, or through the words of their characters. According to this theory, love involves both search and risk, and the love narrative is mainly a facade behind which authors conceal more profound meanings (many of these poets belonged to mystic confraternities223). In some of the poems, this theory remains more a declaration of principle than an element organically embodied in the plot, as is the case of the Khosrow-nâme (see above, Chapter 2 by de Bruijn, “Khosrow-nâme”) and of Amir Khosrow’s poem Shirin va Khosrow. Jalâl Tabib’s poem Gol and Nowruz shows how imperceptibly, in a work pertaining to the tradition of the poems of love and adventure referred to above, the allegorical meanings can become predominant.

Gol va Nowruz by Jalȃl Tabib The poem Gol va Nowruz (Rose and New Year’s Day), composed in 734/1333 by Mowlânâ Jalâl-al-Din Ahmad b. Yusof Tabib Khʷâfi known as Jalâl Tabib, is particularly interesting for any study concerning the development of allegory in love narratives.224 Jalâl lived in Shiraz and dedicated his poem to Ghiyâth-al-Din Key Khosrow of the Inju family (736/1335739/1338), and then re-dedicated it to his successor, Abu-Eshâq (r. 74354/1342-53, d. 758/1357).225 While lacking the finesse of Nezâmi’s style and his rich poetic language, this poem probably enjoyed some success: Khʷâju’s 223 Sattâri (Osture-ye eshq va âsheqi, pp. 96-98), for example, opts for a decidedly mystic interpretation of Khʷâju’s poem (Khʷâju belonged to the Kâzeruni order). 224 Jalâl Tabib Shirâzi, Gol va Nowruz, ed. Ali Muhaddis (Uppsala, 2001; the edition is based on four of the five known manuscripts of the poem; cf. A. Muhaddis, in Jalâl Tabib, Gol va Nowruz, English introd., p. 30). On this work, cf. Charles-Henri de Fouchécour, “Le Roman de la Rose et de Nowrûz au xive/viiie siècle à Chiraz: Jalâl Tabib et Khʷâjû-ye Kermâni,” Nouvelle Revue des Études Iraniennes (Nour) 1 (2008), pp. 9-33. I am grateful to Mohsen Ashtiany, who brought the poem to my attention. 225 Information on the author and his work is given by A. Muhaddis, in Jalâl Tabib, Gol va Nowruz, English introduction, pp. 7-10. Cf. also Safâ, Târikh-e adabiyyât dar Irân, III/2, pp. 1032-37.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY poem, composed some ten years later, though making no intertextual reference to Jalâl’s work, appears to have borrowed both its title and the names of the two protagonists from it.226 Jalâl’s plot offers the customary assembly of traditional elements.227 In Nowshâd lives a king by the name of Farrokh. On the New-Year’s Day of a fortunate year, a son is born to him who is therefore named Nowruz. The boy is handsome and virtuous, and well versed in all the arts and sciences. One night Nowruz dreams of a beautiful girl who hands him a goblet in which he sees the reflection of her face: it is Gol, daughter of the king of Farkhâr, in Tibet. Nowruz happens to meet a merchant, Bolbol (Nightingale), a fine singer and musician from Farkhâr who furnishes further details about her. When Bolbol returns to his country, he goes to the king’s garden and sings a song describing Nowruz; the princess Gol, hearing his song from the palace terrace, immediately falls in love with him. When her nurse, a woman experienced in the world called Susan (Lily), learns of Gol’s love for the young foreigner, she, like Mehin Bânu in Hâtefi’s poem, is transfixed as if by an arrow. Althougt Gol had already been promised to the Khâqân of China, the two lovers begin to correspond with each other. Against his father’s will, Nowruz sets off for Farkhâr to reach his beloved. Since love is fraught with sacrifice and suffering, he says, only those who take up the challenge can reach their goal. On his journey, Nowruz is robbed of all his wealth and belongings by Bahman (here possibly meaning Winter or things associated with it), the treacherous minister his father had assigned him as traveling companion. Here too we find Nowruz as a prince traveling incognito, dispossessed of his possessions just like the fleeing Khosrow, Goshtâsp, or Farhâd. He finally reaches Farkhâr, where the lovers enjoy a blissful period together. Aided by Bolbol and Susan, they meet during banquets gladdened by music, and sing of their mutual love, Nowruz through Bolbol and Gol 226 Khʷâju’s poem has numerous passages citing authors and their works (cf. Khʷâju Kermâni, Gol va Nowruz, pp. 15-16, 60, 122, 138), but never seems to mention Jalâl and his poem. Khʷâju, on the other hand, twice mentions a pair of lovers, Owrang and Golchehr (pp. 60 and 122), apparently the protagonists of a love story to which also a line by Hâfez (Divân, ed. P. N. Khânlari, Tehran, 1980, ghazal 336, l. 3, p. 688) refers. No other poems of the same title Gol va Nowruz (or vice versa) seem to have been composed prior to Jalâl’s poem; cf. Aliev, Temy i syuzhety Nizami, index, p. 318. 227 A detailed plot summary and analysis are to be found in Fouchécour, “Le Roman de la Rose et de Nowrûz,” pp. 15-20.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE through her handmaiden Zohre (Venus), a recurrent topos in love poems. This idyllic period is soon interrupted, however, by the arrival of a messenger from the Khâqân, who claims Gol as his bride. The two young lovers decide to flee and they encounter various misadventures. At one point they are captured by the head of the Zangis (Blacks) and led before the Khâqân, in whose presence they present themselves as two brothers. The Khâqân fails to recognize Gol and treats them kindly. Some time later, on receiving the false news that his betrothed has died during the journey, the Khâqân himself dies of grief. After his death, the two lovers are able to leave and embark on a ship bound for the Maghreb; but they become separated after a shipwreck, Gol landing at Aden, and Nowruz on the coast of Yemen. Both are welcomed as sons by the kings of the two countries. When war breaks out between Aden and Yemen, Gol, a deft archer, finds herself fighting a duel against Nowruz, during which they recognize each other and fall in a swoon at each other’s feet. The story has a happy ending: The two kings are reconciled, and Gol and Nowruz set out on a pilgrimage to the Ka’ba. Here they meet up with their elderly fathers, also there as pilgrims. The young couple are married, and the poem ends with some brief authorial considerations on the various misadventures of the two lovers before union was possible. It concludes: If you understand the meaning (ma’ni) behind the appearance (surat), then Will you know some of the appearances (surat) of the Meanings (ma’ âni).228

This poem shows many similarities with Nezâmi’s Khosrow va Shirin: the character of Bolbol (Shâpur in Nezâmi); the betrothal period at Farkhâr; the freedom of the female character, in charge of her own destiny. Other plot features recall Gorgâni’s Vis and Râmin: Gol promised in marriage before she was born; the nurse who advises her to accept marriage to the elderly Khâqân (Mobad in Gorgâni), at the same time suggesting Gol to have her lover follow her to China. In Jalâl’s poem, however, the mystical-allegorical significance of the tale prevails over the narration itself as well as over the reflection on moral themes, which is a central point in the poems by Nezâmi and Amir Khosrow. Throughout the poem, the author underlines man’s impotence before fate ( falak, keyhân, qazâ-ye âsmâni), thereby presenting the plot as a predestined vicissitude, endowed with an 228 Jalâl, Gol va Nowruz, p. 66.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY exemplary value. The choice, with the exception of that of “Gol,” of invented or stereotypical names for the characters and place-names (Bolbol, Susan, Farkhâr, etc.229), combined with the indefinite location in time, although certainly in the Islamic era, indicates that the link with historical material is now extremely weak. The characters and toponyms in the poem do not refer to concrete instances in the real world, but neither do they stand for abstract concepts; the poem’s characters, the space and time in which they act, pertain to a different level of reality, that of the spiritual world.230 This leads to the development of openly allegorical love poems such as Hosn va del (Beauty and Heart) by Fattâhi Nishâburi (composed in 840/1437), the analysis of whose work falls outside the scope of this study.

Jâmi’s Poems Among the poets who responded to Nezâmi’s Khamse, Abd-al-Rahmân Jâmi (817-98/1414-92) occupies a distinct place. Jâmi lived in Timurid Herat and had a close relationship with Soltân-Hoseyn Bâyqarâ and the famous minister and poet Mir Ali-Shir Navâ’i (844-906/1441-1501), although among those praised in his work there are also sovereigns of other dynasties of the period, such as the Âq Qoyunlu.231 He was a follower of the Naqshbandi Order and also composed a commentary on Fakhr-al-Din Ebrâhim Erâqi’s Lama’ ât (Flashes of light), a very important work about mystical love entitled Ashe’’at al-Lama’ ât (Beams of the Flashes of light). He composed a collection of seven poems (Sab’e) with the collective title of Haft owrang (Seven thrones, or The Seven stars of the Great Bear). Jâmi’s seven poems are: Selselat al-dhahab (The Chain of gold), probably composed between 873/1468 and 877/1472; daftars two and three 229 Farkhâr, a town in Tibet, and Nowshâd, a little city or a palace near Balkh, respectively the homeland of Nowruz and Gol, are considered in lexica as famous for the beauty of their inhabitants. Cf. also A. Muhaddis, in Jalâl, Gol va Nowruz, English introduction, p. 13. 230 Cf. Henry Corbin, En Islam iranien II: Sohrawadrî et les Platoniciens de Perse (Paris, 1971), esp. p. 365. 231 On Jâmi’s relationship with the Âq Qoyunlu court in Tabriz and in particolar with Ya’qub, the dedicatee of the poem Salâmân va Absâl, cf. Chad Lingwood, Politics, Poetry, and Sufism in Medieval Iran: New Perspectives on Jāmī’s ‘Salāmān va Absāl’ (Leiden and Boston, 2014), esp. pp. 116-19.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE were composed later), in the same meter as Sanâ’i’s Hadiqat al-haqiqe and Nezâmi’s Haft peykar; Salâmân va Absâl (Salâmân and Absâl, ca. 885/1480; for a later date, 893/1488 or after, see below), in the meter of Rumi’s Mathnavi; Tohfat al-ahrâr (The Gift of the free; 886/1481), in the meter of Nezâmi’s Makhzan al-asrâr; Sobhat al-abrâr (The Rosary of the pious, 887/1482), written in a rare variant of ramal; Yusof va Zoleykhâ (Joseph and Zoleykhâ, 888/1483), in the meter of Khosrow va Shirin; Leyli va Majnun (Leyli and Majnun, 889/1484) in the meter of Nezâmi’s homonymous poem; and Kherad-nâme-ye Eskandari (The Sapiential book of Alexander, end of 889/1484), in the meter of Ferdowsi’s Shâh-nâme and Nezâmi’s Eskandar-nâme. Of these, the poems Tohfat al-ahrâr, Sobhat alabrâr, Yusof va Zoleykhâ, Leyli va Majnun and Kherad-nâme-ye Eskandari were conceived by the poet as forming a Quintet (Khamse). 232 Of the seven poems, only Yusof va Zoleykhâ, discussed in the present chapter, and Leyli va Majnun, in the next, can be considered as belonging to the romantic genre. Salâmân va Absâl, while not a romantic poem, is of great assistance in clarifying the meaning and development of the allegorical interpretation of love stories, of which Jâmi was a great theoretician and the most famous exponent in Persian literature. Jâmi seems not to have composed any poem in answer to the third of Nezâmi’s romantic poems, Haft peykar, which finds an echo merely in the title of his septet, Haft owrang. The poem Selselat al-dhahab, while written in the same meter as Haft peykar, is much closer in content to Makhzan al-asâr and other didactic poems of Persian literature than to Haft peykar. Salâmân va Absâl This poem is composed in the ramal mosaddas mahzuf or maqsur meter, the same as Attâr’s Manteq al-teyr, Rumi’s Mathnavi, and other great mystic poems of Persian literature.233 Apart from the meter, the narrative 232 Safâ, Târikh-e adabiyyât dar Irân, IV, pp. 359-60; A. Afsahzod, Ruzgor va osori Abdurrahmoni Jomi (Dushanbe, 1980), pp. 143-53; P. Losensky, “Jāmi,” EIr, XIV, pp. 496-75. 233 The edition used here is that given by M. Rowshan, Salâmân va Absâl-e Nur-alDin Abd-al-Rahmân-e Jâmi, bâ sharh va sanjesh-e ân bâ revâyathâ-ye Pur-e Sinâ va Honeyn b. Eshâq va maqulât-i dar tamthil-shenâsi (Tehran, 1994): Jâmi, Salâmân va Absâl, pp. 133-216.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY technique too connects this short poem (1,131 lines in the Rowshan edition) with Rumi’s Mathnavi: The main plot is interspersed with anecdotes that, as in Rumi’s great poem, are introduced to exemplify the subject, or are more or less loosely connected, often by a simple association of ideas, to the main narrative. The poem is undated; but, given that its dedicatee is the sovereign Ya’qub Beyk of the Âq Qoyunlu dynasty (r. 884-96/147991, mentioned at lines 81 and 1127), and that it is generally considered as composed before Tohfat al-ahrâr (886/1481), Salâmân va Absâl has been dated between 884/1479 and 886/1481. A’lokhon Afsahzod leans towards 885/1480.234 Chad Lingwood, instead, proposes a later date, as he maintains that the poem was probably composed and dedicated to Ya’qub Beyk in 893/1488 (or after), the year of Ya’qub’s public repentance from wine drinking.235 The story of Salâmân and Absâl, as presented in Jâmi’s poem, is considered of Greek origin and, according to Henry Corbin, springs from Hemetic circles. While the Greek original seems not to be extant, there exists an Arabic version of it, possibly from a Syriac intermediate translation, attributed to Hunayn b. Eshâq (d. 260/873 ca.).236 A lost story of Salâmân and Absâl has been attributed to Avicenna (d. 428/1037), who refers to it in his Resâle fi’ l-qadar (Treatise on destiny) and in his Ketâb al-eshârât vaʼl-tanbihât (Book of directives and admonitions). One of the commentators to the latter work, Nasir-al-Din Tusi (d. 672/1274), deals amply with this story, known in different versions.237 234 A. Afsahzod, Ruzgor va osori Abdurrahmoni Jomi, p. 147. 235 Cf. Lingwood, Politics, Poetry, and Sufism in Medieval Iran, pp. 155-58 and, for a discussion of the oldest manuscripts of Jâmi’s Haft owrang, one of which supposedly authograph by Jâmi himself, pp. 25-26. The new date of the poem is accepted by H. Algar in his review of Lingwood’s book (Journal of Islamic Studies 27/1, 2016, pp. 62-63). 236 A different view has been presented by N. P. Joosse, “An Example of Medieval Arabic Pseudo-Hermeticism: The Tale of Salaman and Absal,” Journal of Semitic Studies 38/2 (1993), pp. 279-94, who casts doubt on the Greek origin of the Arabic tale and sees in it a strong influence of Pseudo-Hermetic theories, as well as of Iranian (i.e. Manichaean and possibly Zurvanite) traditions together with features taken from Harranian and Sabian paganism. The Arabic text of the tale has been edited several times. It can be read in Ziyâ-al-Din Sajjâdi, Hayy ebn-e Yaqzân va Salâmân va Absâl (Tehran, 1995), pp. 120-31. 237 On the various versions of the story of Salâmân and Absâl, cf. Henry Corbin, Avicenne et le récit visionnaire (2nd ed.,Tehran, 1954), I, pp. 236-79; Hasan Malekshâhi, tr. and commentary to Avicenna’s Eshârât wa tanbihât (5th ed., Tehran, 2006), I, pp.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE The name of the second character, who is Salâmân’s younger brother in Avicenna’s lost tale, as related by Nasir-al-Din Tusi, possibly originates from the name of Absalom, half-brother of Solomon, in the Bible.238 However, it may have been read Ebsâl in the later Arabic tradition: the word ebsâl (making unlawful; committing to destruction; anathema) occurred in a proverb common among the Arabs, quoted by Tusi in reference to one of the stories concerning the character of Salâmân: Khalâs Salâmân va ebsâl sâhebehe (The salvation of Salâmân and the ruin, ebsâl, of his companion). Indeed, the stories handed down to us under the title “Salâmân and Absâl” have a common feature: the commitment of a misdeed, an illicit or even incestuous act (see below). Instead, the reading absâl (a rare Persian word meaning “spring, beginning of the year”) may betray a different, typically Iranian view of the character’s origin: The character of Absâl could have merged with the hero born or enthroned at the beginning of the new year, who is destined to save the world from evil forces. This makes of Absâl another variant of the character called Nowruz in later poems (see above, “Gol and Nowruz by Jalȃl Tabib”). Jâmi’s version is closely calqued on Hunayn’s, although it cuts down on a number of details. Unlike Jâmi, Hunayn preserves the Greek names, albeit distorted, of the king and the philosopher, with a series of particulars that reveal in the story the “traces of alchemic symbolism employed to record the phases of spiritual transmutation.”239 Moreover, Jâmi departs from Hunayn’s version, in which the two lovers throw themselves into the sea and Absâl drowns, replacing the sea-death of Greek origin with a more Iranian ordeal by fire.240 In Jâmi’s simplified version, the plot is as follows: In Greece (Yunânzamin; in Hunayn the setting would seem to be Hellenistic Egypt) there reigned a king in whose court lived a great philosopher (hekmat-shenâs), without whose advice the king made no move. His reign was rich and 439-40 (text) and 531-38 (Malekshâhi’s commentary); I. Dehghan, “Jāmī’s Salāmān and Absāl,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 30/2 (1971), pp. 118-21; Rowshan, Salâmân va Absâl, pp. 107-117; Sajjâdi, Hayy ebn-e Yaqzân va Salâmân va Absâl, pp. 120-79. 238 The hypothesis of the origin of the names of Salâmân and Absâl from that of the two half-brothers Solomon and Absalom of the Bible is advanced, for example, by Dehghan, “Jāmī’s Salāmān and Absāl,” p. 121. 239 Corbin, Avicenne et le récit visionnaire, I, p. 241. 240 Cf. Mary Boyce, “Ātaš,” EIr, III, p. 1.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY prosperous, but he longed to have a child. The philosopher ordered things in such a manner that this would be brought about without the participation of any woman—here Jâmi indulges in the customary aphorisms against women—and without concupiscence (shahvat), both women and concupiscence being unworthy of a sage. After nine months a fine son is born, named Salâmân. A very beautiful nurse, Absâl, not yet twenty years of age, is selected. Jâmi dwells on the description of every detail of her body in a manner seemingly surprising in a theorist of allegorical love. When he reaches her thighs, however, his tone changes: A thief had profaned the mystery formerly unknown to all and taken his pleasure. Absâl takes loving care of the boy but, as Salâmân grows into a young man skilled in all the arts and sciences, her attitude towards him changes. Jâmi describes all her ruses to attract Salâmân’s attention, from her hair to her make-up and clothes. Finally, she presents herself in his chamber; the two unite and enjoy a long and happy season of love. When the king and the philosopher get to hear about this, they recall Salâmân to court. Applying different tones and arguments, first the king and then the philosopher attempt to dissuade him from this love, but to no avail. Salâmân decides that his best option is to flee with Absâl. The poet describes the journey of the two lovers, closed within a litter like two almonds in a shell. Salâmân and Absâl reach the coast, set sail, and land in an earthly paradise: On one side, row upon row, birds in song; Forming flutes of their beaks to air their songs. Young trees there, their branches interlaced, Harboring birds, dauntless in full-throat, Fruits fall off and scatter at the foot of the trees: The moist and the dry mingle together. Fountains of water under every tree, Patchworks of sun and shade, skirting around. Like hands shaken by tremor, branches quiver in the wind, Their clenched fists filled with dinars to count, But bereft of a firm grip, The dinars drop through the gaps in their fingers. It is as if when the Garden of Iram disappeared from view, Its blossoms, about to bloom, had opened up there, Or that the Eternal Garden of Paradise, casting notions of days aside, Had unveiled its face there.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE When Salâmân viewed this woodland charm, He brushed aside all thoughts of a journey, With a heart free from hope or fear, He lived with Absâl in the grove together, Both joyous, like body and soul together, Both blissful, like a rose and a lily together. In each other’s company, away from spying strangers or foes, From all harm, at ease, and far away.241

The king however uses his world-showing mirror (âyene-ye giti-nomây), and discovers their hideout. With his meta-psychic power (qovvat-e hemmat) he induces a state of impotence in Salâmân, so that he views Absâl and desires her but cannot enjoy her. Realizing this has been brought about by his father, he repents and returns. The king delivers a series of maxims regarding regality, centering on the idea that the kingship (shâhi) and love of a woman (shâhed-parasti) are irreconcilable. But Salâmân is unable to live without Absâl. One day, the two lovers go out into the desert, build a huge pyre, and throw themselves into the fire. Absâl burns in the flames but Salâmân survives, again due to his father’s powers. Salâmân is distraught at Absâl’s death. The philosopher steps in at this point with a strange remedy: When the memory of Absâl is unbearable, he creates a simulacrum of her and places it before Salâmân’s eyes for some hours, until he finds peace. At the same time, very gradually, he begins to give a description in praise (vasf ) of Zohre, the planet Venus, allowing Salâmân slowly to forget Absâl and transfer his love to Zohre, passing from a transitory ( fâni) love to a permanent (bâqi) one. When Salâmân is cured completely, the king abdicates, relinquishing the throne to his son. He leaves him a testament (vasiyat-nâme) giving a concise account of the principles of good governance, a succinct and polished mirror-for-princes, whose text is inserted at the end of the poem.242 This mirror is the equivalent of the seven golden tablets in the story of Salâmân and Absâl which, in Hunayn’s version, were locked in the temples (ahrâm: pyramids, in Corbin’s opinion) with the bodies of the king and the philosopher, and which, again according to Hunayn, were discovered by Aristotle when traveling in the retinue of Alexander. At the end the poet 241 Jâmi, Salâmân va Absâl, ll. 806-816. Tr. Mohsen Ashtiany. 242 Jâmi, Salâmân va Absâl, ll. 1034-75.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY gives a detailed explanation of the allegorical meaning of the story and of the characters, which I shall omit. Jâmi’s narrative and characters are reduced to essentials, but at points there are beautiful set pieces such as the description of Absâl and of the sea, and a series of anecdotes about famous lovers in Persian literature, such as Leyli and Majnun, Yusof and Zoleykhâ, Belqis and Solomon, Vâmeq and Adhrâ; famous personages, such as Khosrow and his son Shiruye; as well as ordinary folk, including a Kurd, an Arab, and a butcher from Rey. The poet is above all interested in the symbolic value of the story, which narrates a path of initiation: Salâmân’s love for Absâl gradually turns into the love for an ideal figure, Venus. By true Love’s sublimation, Absâl becomes Salâmân’s beloved for all eternity, and Salâmân, in his turn, becomes the figure of the perfect sage, the homo totus of the philosophers. As their main argument for the allegorical interpretation of the story of Salâmân (the lover) and Absâl (the beloved), the commentators adduce the fact that it describes the vicissitudes of a love which unfolds, gradually, through a long and complex path of search and which only at the very end leads the lover to union with the beloved. The account of the way in which the lover reaches true Love represents the allegory (ramz) which the reader or listener has to discover from the narrative.243 Obstacles and hurdles are part of every love plot, not least those influenced by the Hellenistic novel, which are organized around the infinite trials and sufferings faced by the protagonists before their love can be realized. Therefore, the possibility of an allegorical interpretation is inherent in any love story, or indeed in any story tout court, with its incomprehensible interweaving of human destinies. Yusof va Zoleykhâ The poem Yusof va Zoleykhâ (Joseph and Zoleykhâ), written, like Nezâmi’s Khosrow va Shirin, in the hazaj meter, was composed in 888/1483 (the date is given in the form of a riddle at ll. 4011-12), and is dedicated to SoltânHoseyn Bâyqarâ. In one of the poem’s introductory chapters, the author’s 243 This is the opinion of Nasir-al-Din Tusi regarding the story of Salâmân and Absâl as recounted in the lost version of the story by Avicenna; cf. Malekshâhi, Translation and commentary to Avicenna’s Eshârât wa tanbihât, I, p. 531.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE spiritual master, Obeyd-Allâh Ahrâr, is also praised;244 and at the end (ll. 4016-28) the famous minister and man of letters Mir Ali-Shir Navâ’i is mentioned. In the edition by A. Afsahzâd, the poem comprises 4,032 lines.245 In the introductory part, the poet theorizes on the allegorical significance of love and of the story he is about to relate. Beauty and love are a manifestation of God. Human love, defined as metaphorical (majâzi), is none other than a reflection of true Love (eshq-e haqiqi), and is a means of reaching God. Although now elderly, Jâmi has decided to compose a love poem in the hope of eternal fame. He does not want to follow well-beaten tracks: The times of Khosrow and Shirin and of Leyli and Majnun are faroff, he states: He will tell the tale of a “new Khosrow.” The finest of the stories is that of Joseph;246 therefore Joseph (Yusof) and Zoleykhâ will be the protagonists of his poem. In choosing two characters from the Qur’an, Jâmi intends to tell a “true” story, bolting the door on the falseness of other stories (see above, Chapter 3, “Narrative Poetry and Historical Truth”). These words echo long-standing polemics: The biblical story of Joseph and Potiphar’s wife,247 called Zoleykhâ in some Hebrew and in later Islamic sources, told in the Qur’an (Sura XII) and developed in works of Qur’anic exegesis, had already formed the plot of some previous poems composed in the same motaqâreb meter as the Shâh-nâme; only one of them, traditionally attributed to Ferdowsi, has come down to us.248 According to some lines in the preface, not found in all manuscripts, however, the anonymous author repents for having once composed a poem relating the story of ancient kings and heroes of Persia (hence the traditional attribution of the poem to Ferdowsi). Tired of these false stories, he wants to devote the last part of his life to the composition of a poem based on a Qur’anic story.249 244 Khʷâje Nâser-al-Din Obeyd-Allâh Ahrâr (d. 895/1490); cf. Safâ, Târikh-e adabiyyât dar Irân, IV, p. 351. 245 Abd-al-Rahmân Jâmi, Yusof va Zoleykhâ, ed. A’lâkhân Afsahzâd, in Mathnavi-ye Haft owrang (2 vols., Tehran, 1997-9), II, pp. 6-209. 246 Referring to Qur’an 12.3. 247 Genesis 37.39-50. 248 Pseudo-Ferdowsi, Yusof va Zoleykhâ, ed. H. Mohammad-zâde Sadiq (Tehran, 1990). 249 On this poem and the problem of its attribution, see A. Khayyâm-pur, Yusof va Zoleykhâ (Tabriz, 1960), pp. 23-28, and de Blois, PL, V/2, pp. 576-84 (esp. p. 578). See also J.T.P. de Bruijn, “Yūsuf and Zulaykhā,” EI2 , XII, pp. 360-61. On no longer extant Persian poems on this subject, see Khayyâm-pur, Yusof va Zoleykhâ, pp. 60-83.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY The allegorical meaning of Joseph’s story, “(one) of the stories of the hidden world,”250 is stated already in the Qur’an: “Verily in Joseph and his brethren are signs for the seekers after Truth.”251 From the beginning of his poem Jâmi openly announces the meaning and interpretative key to his characters: No beloved was ever loved to the same extent as Joseph, and no lover ever loved more, and more intensely, than Zoleykhâ; love informed her life from beginning to end, a love whose object was always Joseph alone.252 The allegorical value of this love is clear from the first lines of the poem. The plot is based on a motif widespread in several literary traditions, that of the powerful woman (most typically the king’s wife) who attempts to seduce a chaste youth and then, when rejected, falsely accuses him of having raped (or attempted to rape) her. The theme is well known to Greek and Persian literatures, with irrefutable analogies among the various tales.253 In Greek literature, it is represented in the story of Anteia and Bellerophon in Book VI (152-211) of the Iliad. It was the theme of one of Euripides’ lost tragedies, Stheneboea, and is masterfully developed in his Hippolytus (Hippolytos Stephanophoros, 428 BCE). This motif resurfaces in a number of novels of the late period in Greek literature, such as Xenophon of Ephesus’s Ephesiaca (turn of the 1st century CE) and Heliodorus’s Aethiopica (3rd-4th centuries). In Persian literature, the theme is mainly embodied in the story of Sudâbe, wife of Kâ’us, and her attempts to seduce her stepson Siyâvash. In the theme in question, the female protagonist is generally related to the young man: she is either his step-mother, such as Phaedra to Hippolytus, and Sudâbe to Siyâvash; or the wife of his elder brother, as in one of the versions of the Salâmân and Absâl story mentioned by Nasir-al-Din Tusi.254 The youth’s chastity is variously motivated in the different texts, but first and foremost there is an inviolable taboo, given the woman’s maternal role of either stepmother of the young man, or nurse, or similar position. In Euripides, Hippolytus, son of Theseus and the Amazon Hippolyta, is a chaste youth who despises love and venerates only Artemides, the god250 Qur’an 12.102. 251 Qur’an 12.7. 252 Jâmi, Yusof va Zoleykhâ, ll. 408-13. 253 Davis, Panthea’s Children, pp. 83-104. 254 Cf. Malekshâhi, in Avicenna’s Eshârât wa tanbihât, I, pp. 535-36; Corbin, Avicenne et le récit visionnaire, I, pp. 259-79.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE dess of war and hunting, thereby arousing the wrath of Aphrodite (Venus), the goddess of love. Hunting is his only passion (here, the analogy with the character of Bahrâm Gur is evident; see below, Chapter 6, “The Hunt with the Handmaid: The Problem of Love in Bahrȃm Gur’s Story”). As an act of vengeance for Hippolytus’ snub, Aphrodite causes Phaedra, Theseus’ second wife, to fall in love with him. When rejected, she accuses him of having raped her, and then kills herself. Hippolytus, having given his word not to tell of Phaedra’s desire, refuses to declare his innocence and is thus unable to clear himself of guilt—an element which returns in the frame narrative of another Persian text, the Sendbâd-nâme by Zahiri of Samarqand (12th century). In Jâmi’s poem, Joseph’s chastity is a choice dictated by his status as prophet, although also motivated by purely moral considerations: the gratitude he owes to the Aziz of Egypt (Zoleykhâ’s husband, corresponding to the Biblical Potiphar), who welcomed him to his house as a son. (The term Aziz is used in the Islamic versions of the story as a title equivalent to that of minister.) Jâmi’s poem presents a number of significant differences with respect to the Pseudo-Ferdowsi’s Yusof va Zoleikhâ, which is much closer to the Biblical and Qur’anic story. The recounting of Joseph’s childhood is reduced in Jâmi to a brief opening chapter;255 and the story of Joseph’s family, which in the Pseudo-Ferdowsi’s poem is recounted in some detail, is here totally ignored. Likewise, at the end of the poem Jâmi omits the story of the brothers’ visit to the Egyptian court after the famine, and Joseph’s meeting with his brothers, which again is included in the other poem. Jâmi is mainly interested in narrating a love story. In his poem, Zoleykhâ is the real heroine, and the account of her falling in love and subsequent sufferings takes up the entire first part of the poem. Zoleykhâ, daughter of Teymus, king of Maghreb, falls in love with Joseph in a dream. From that moment on, her suffering for the handsome stranger glimpsed in the dream becomes an inseparable element of her existence. Joseph appears to her in dreams a second and third time, and at her request finally reveals his identity: He is the Aziz of Egypt. After years of torment and desperation, Zoleykhâ is suddenly happy once more. At the news of her recovery, the kings of various countries send their ambassadors to ask for her hand. As in the stories of Zariadres and 255 Jâmi, Yusof va Zoleykhâ, ll. 452-512.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Odatis and of Goshtâsp and Katâyun, Zoleykhâ is requested by her father to choose her husband, but declines all of the suitors, insisting that she will marry only the Aziz of Egypt. Her father accordingly writes to the Aziz offering his daughter in marriage. Zoleykhâ leaves her home and family, accompanied only by her nurse. When the procession reaches its destination, she looks impatiently through a slit her nurse has made in the Aziz’s tent to catch a glimpse of her future husband. But the man she sees is not the man in her dreams. In despair, Zoleykhâ prays to God to help her keep the promise made to the young man in the dreams, namely, to preserve her virginity for him alone. Heaven answers reassuringly that there is nothing to fear: The Aziz is impotent, another topos of love poems (see the figure of Mobad in Gorgâni’s Vis va Râmin). Zoleykhâ thus begins her new life in a foreign land, struggling to conceal her anguish under a calm and contented exterior. Years go by. It is only at this point that the poem introduces the story of Joseph: his dream; his brothers’ jealousy and their throwing him into the well; the story of the upright Mâlek who buys him; the arrival of the caravan in Egypt. The fame of the handsome Hebrew slave soon spreads to every corner. The description of his bathing in the waters of the Nile; of his black curled hair falling over his shoulders and his pure-white chest; his stature, that of a silver cypress; his slender waist only girded with a blue loin-cloth covering his flanks; all evoke the scene of Shirin bathing at the spring in Nezâmi’s poem.256 One day, walking by the king’s palace, Zoleykhâ witnesses crowds of people hurrying to admire Joseph’s beauty and, following out of curiosity, beholds the young man of her dream. Returning home, she is again forced to hide her feelings, her anguish and impatience. She asks her husband to outbid the other offers and buy the Hebrew slave, adding her own casket of rich gems. In her happiness at having Joseph in her house, she gives him the full attention of a mother; but Jâmi, as subtle an observer of human nature as Nezâmi, discloses the desire concealed in her every apparently innocent gesture. When she helps him dress, she desires to be the tunic encircling his body; when she combs his perfumed locks, she is captured by the trap of his black curls. But the poem pardons Zoleykhâ from the outset. With a most profound compassion towards his character, Jâmi prepares the reader not to judge her too harshly in subsequent episodes of the poem. 256 Alessandro Bausani, “La letteratura neopersiana,” p. 766.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE Zoleykhâ’s suffering increases, feeling herself ignored by the loved one. In a short space of time, her countenance becomes yellow, her body curved beneath her burden of pain, and she neglects her appearance. Her nurse decides to speak to the youth and persuade him to yield, but Joseph does not want to betray the Aziz’s trust and to sully his chastity, Gabriel having revealed to him his destiny as a prophet. Zoleykhâ herself confesses with tears her love for him, and Joseph weeps at the thought of the number of times, in his young life, the love of others had brought him pain and grief. The series of seduction attempts then begins. Zoleykhâ puts Joseph to work in her garden, in the company of one hundred beautiful handmaidens who are enjoined to seduce him. As soon as Joseph has been persuaded to retire with one of them, Zoleykhâ intends to slip in secretly and take her place. But when she enters the garden, full of hope and desire, she sees him intent on imparting religious doctrine to the maidens. The nurse then proposes erecting a palace with seven successive rooms, in which Joseph and Zoleykhâ are represented in amorous embrace, the equivalent of the palace of mirrors (possibly inspired by some pleasure-dome of the period). In the poem, Jâmi gives a masterly description of Zoleykhâ’s clothing and make up,257 probably inspired by the description of Zoleykhâ adorning herself to meet Joseph in the Pseudo-Ferdowsi poem,258 and almost certainly the source for the description of Shakar and Shirin’s toilette in Hâtefi’s poem.259 Resplendent in her beauty she encounters Joseph under the pretence of wishing to thank him for his services as a gardener. The seduction scene, too, has a number of similarities with the corresponding episode in the Pseudo-Ferdowsi poem, with the delaying devices played out by Joseph in his effort not to yield to Zoleykhâ.260 She leads him into the first room and, speaking of her long suffering and desire, closes the door; he looks away and begs to be allowed to leave, possibly already fearing his lack of will power. They move from room to room, and each time a door closes behind them. They then enter the last and most secret room, and the last bolt slides into place. Zoleykhâ throws herself onto the bed and, between tears, begs him to satisfy her desire. Joseph continues to look 257 Jâmi, Yusof va Zoleykhâ, ll. 2280-311. 258 Pseudo-Ferdowsi, Yusof va Zoleykhâ, ll. 3049-67. 259 Hâtefi, Shirin va Khosrow, respectively ll. 1415-24 and 1546-56. 260 Pseudo-Ferdowsi, Yusof va Zoleykhâ, ll. 3128-90.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY away, but wherever he looks, he sees himself portrayed in amorous embrace with Zoleykhâ. Like Shirin before Khosrow’s pressing requests, he begs her to wait, to simply postpone the realization of that desire, not to crack the goblet of his chastity, confessing at the same time that he fears the wrath of both God and the Aziz. As Joseph continues with his delaying tactics and excuses, Zoleykhâ reaches for a sword and threatens suicide. Joseph then finally throws himself on her and embraces her affectionately, but tarries further. As if searching for a final excuse, Joseph looks around him, and asks what is behind the curtain he sees. Zoleykhâ replies that it is her idol, from which she prefers to hide their lying together. Joseph then jumps up, asking how she could be in subjection to a stone idol while expecting him not to fear the one true God, all seeing and omniscient. Joseph flees, and the doors open before him and let him pass. Zoleykhâ pursues him from room to room; in the last one, she attempts to detain him and rips the back of his shirt: a traditional feature of the story which cannot be left out. While fleeing from the palace, Joseph encounters the Aziz, but chivalrously makes no mention of the incident. Zoleykhâ however, on seeing them enter together, presumes that Joseph has confessed. In shame and desperation, she invents the story of the attempted rape; there then follows, in Jâmi as in the other poem, the story of the infant who speaks and clears Joseph, inviting the Aziz to verify whether the front or back of Joseph’s shirt is torn. Jâmi does all he can to plead attenuating circumstances for Zoleykhâ’s slander. He voices considerations on the relationship between love and blame, in response to one of the main themes in Nezâmi’s poem. Love, Jâmi says, will always meet with disapproval from society, and love without blame is impossible. By echoing a central term in the mystical tradition of the Malâmati mystical tradition, he speaks of blame (malâmat), rather that ill repute (badnâmi), the issue that had haunted Gorgâni’s and Nezâmi’s heroines. Zoleykhâ invites the ladies of Cairo to a reception to demonstrate the overpowering effect of his beauty. The account of the reception given by Zoleykhâ is a masterpiece: Tempted by all the delicacies displayed on the table, the ladies, hesitating at first, yield to food. At the sight of Joseph, they all at once find themselves cutting their fingers while peeling their oranges. Following their advice, Zoleykhâ decides to weaken Joseph’s resistance by sending him to prison; the Aziz, who represents the figure of a weak and uxorious husband (as was Khosrow Parviz according to some sources; 242

KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE see above, “Shirin”), complies with his wife’s request. Jâmi meditates on the fact that an imperfect love, such as Zoleykhâ’s for Joseph, frequently causes the beloved harm rather than good. Above all, however, it is again Zoleykhâ’s anguish which concerns the poet; she secures the best possible prison conditions for Joseph, while she herself is punished day and night with worry for him: Who will make his bed, or plump up his pillow? Time passes. Joseph lightens the other prisoners’ load in any way possible, talking and listening to them, and interpreting their dreams. As in the Bible and the Qur’an, he happens to interpret the dreams of two courtiers of the king. One of these, once back in the king’s service, remembers this gift of Joseph’s and has him recalled from prison to explain one of the king’s dreams (the pharaoh’s dream mentioned in the Bible). Joseph interprets it in the well-known way and earns the king’s respect, to the point of being nominated Aziz. Meanwhile the other Aziz, Zoleykhâ’s husband, falls into disgrace and soon dies. Joseph’s rise is paralleled by Zoleykhâ’s fall. Alone and poverty-stricken, she persevers in her desperate love for him. Years pass, and Jâmi describes the changes in her physical state: her hair is white, her back bent, her face lined with deep wrinkles, and she loses her sight. She now lives in great poverty in a small hut and sleeps on the bare earth, but her love for Joseph is unchanged. One night she destroys her idol and prays to the One God. Unexpectedly Joseph happens to pass by her hut and hearing her pray but unaware of her identity, he summons her to court, the traditional motif of “joy after distress” is deployed at this point in the poem. When Joseph realizes who she is, he weeps at the sight of her abject condition and asks her what has happened and what he can do for her. Zoleykhâ asks for her beauty, her youth, and her sight to be restored. Joseph prays, and his prayer is answered. He then asks her what more she desires, and she answers: to be finally allowed to live in happy union with him. At this Joseph is reluctant, and Gabriel has to descend from the heavens to resolve things, like Shâpur in Nezâmi’s romance: The divine will is that Joseph unite in matrimony with Zoleykhâ. The moment for the marriage between the protagonists, thus, finally comes about. On their wedding night Joseph marvels to find Zoleykhâ’s pearl still intact. Zoleykhâ tells him of her unconsummated marriage to the Aziz and of the promise she had made, while still a young girl, to his image in a dream, that she would remain a virgin for him. Joseph’s love for her can only grow on hearing this story. Suddenly the situation is reversed, and on one night she even has to run 243

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY from his over-ardent embrace. As she flees, Joseph reaches out for her and rips her blouse, at which Zoleykhâ humorously quips: “In shirt-ripping, we are now equal!”261 Joseph and Zoleykhâ live happily together for many years, and have children and grandchildren. One night Joseph has a dream of his parents, which he interprets himself: His life is soon to end. Zoleykhâ sheds tears of blood and is locked up in her grief. When his last day arrives, Joseph wishes to call her to his side but, just as with the dying Khosrow who resists awakening Shirin, realizing that the pain would be too intense for her, he resists. At this point, the Angel Gabriel brings an apple from the garden of paradise and, breathing in its perfume, Joseph offers up his soul. When Zoleykhâ is told of his death she faints, remaining senseless for some days. When she finally awakens, she goes to his tomb and again weeps tears of blood. To signify that with Joseph she has lost what she held most dear, she raises her hands to her eyes and “pulls out the two narcissi from their vase”; with this gesture, her soul joins that of Joseph. Like Nezâmi after his account of Shirin’s death, Jâmi comments admiringly on Zoleykhâ, who has demonstrated more strength and courage than any man. Zoleykhâ is the real protagonist of the poem. The story of her suffering takes on exemplary significance as a metaphor of the believer’s path towards Truth. Her falling in love in a dream, besides betraying the influence of the ancient novel tradition, confers a transcendent meaning to her love for Joseph: It was a destiny reserved for her ab aeterno. The difficult path she treads while remaining faithful to her one true love places Zoleykhâ among the heroines of the Greek novel and the saints of Christian hagiography and constitutes the foundation of the allegorical interpretation of the love story. Joseph is similarly an exemplary figure; the beloved par excellence, he who has received from God the gift of beauty in the highest degree. At the same time, he is exquisitely human, as when he suffers for the burden of his beauty. Nor is he some fanatical ascetic: He is tempted from the start by the woman who desires him so greatly, and in the end, released from the burden of his chastity, loves her passionately in return. Jâmi makes the choice of reducing the biblical narrative to a minimum and concentrates on the romantic aspect. He is also careful to prune off the 261 Jâmi, Yusof va Zoleykhâ, l. 3373.

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KHOSROW AND SHIRIN AND POEMS OF LOVE many aspects probably deriving from the folk-tale tradition, which abound in works belonging to the Stories of the Prophets genre and later in Pseudo-Ferdowsi’s poem: the whale rising from the waters of the Nile to protect Joseph’s modesty as he bathes; the talking wolf who swears he has not killed Joseph; the hands and face of Jacob, Joseph’s father, which appear to keep him from yielding to Zoleykhâ. Human love, made up of desire and physicality, though imperfect, is very important for Jâmi, and the allegorical meaning of the story never prevents the poet from describing in vivid terms the psychology of the characters and the reality of their actions and feelings. The mystico-allegorical meaning runs beneath or in parallel with the vicissitudes of human love, narrated in direct and passionate language. It should be remembered that the poet had at his disposal all the resources of a poetic language, that of classical Persian lyrical poetry, that could treat any subject with realism but without grossness. What Jâmi’s poem evinces is a realism of content, and certainly not a linguistic or formal-expressive realism. While Joseph is always unchangingly beautiful, it is in describing the changes to Zoleykhâ’s physical features that Jâmi deploys his skills best.262 A description of female hideousness had already been given by Nezâmi among others in the portrait of the old woman who was to replace Shirin in Khosrow’s bed on their wedding-night. The passage relied more, however, on the grotesque, to contrast the old woman with Shirin’s beauty, and emphasize the drunkenness of Khosrow, who was hardly aware of the difference between the two. By contrast, in his description of the decaying woman, Jâmi seems to feel both compassion and affection for his character. Jâmi moves with intimate ease in the world of women. The gossip of ladies of Egypt, their account of Zoleykhâ’s attempt at seduction, accompanied by spicy details and cutting remarks, then the description of the gastronomic display at the reception, with the women’s chattering until the moment Joseph appears, all these are unexpected in a poem which openly declares its mystico-allegorical intent. The influence of the Graeco-Hellenistic love novel is very strong in this poem of Jâmi’s, not least in many of his characters (the nurse, the impotent husband, etc.) and aspects of plot (falling in love in a dream, the virginity vow, the vicissitudes and suffering the characters experience). In 262 Jâmi, Yusof va Zoleykhâ, ll. 3270-85.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Jâmi’s poem, Zoleykhâ is the daughter of king Teymus of Maghreb, whose name recalls that of Thyamis, one of the characters of the Aethiopica of Heliodorus of Emesa in Syria (3rd-4th centuries). The Egyptian setting, the Egypt of the pharaoh, also recalls the setting of Heliodorus’ novel, which narrates a story pertaining to the same narrative pattern as Jâmi’s poem (see above): Arsake (a name of clearly Persian derivation), the Great King’s sister and wife of the satrap of Egypt, attempts to seduce Theagenes, the male protagonist. It is probable that the Egyptian location offered fertile conditions for the implant, in Jâmi’s poem, of the Graeco-Hellenistic novel in the body of the Qur’anic story. As to Jâmi’s alleged anti-feminism, in theoretical passages the poet was certainly obliged to pay tribute to the misogynistic tradition of Persian moral literature, and this certainly goes for the introduction to Salâmân va Absâl,263 a poem in which, it should be added, an anti-feminist attitude was almost compulsory. However, the deep and indulgent understanding with which he describes his female characters in all their complexity makes of him one of the authors most attentive to the female world in the whole of Persian literature.

263 Jâmi, Salâmân va Absâl, ll. 370-87.

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CHAPTER 5 LEYLI AND MAJNUN Paola Orsatti

1. The Legend of Majnun In contrast to the poems that Dhabih-Allâh Safâ defined as “romances of national origin,”1 those of Arabic origin and centered on the unhappy love story of Leyli and Majnun have a simple plot that can be summed up in a few lines: Two young people from the same or two neighboring tribes fall in love. Their love soon becomes public knowledge and meets with opposition: Society’s rules require that love remains secret. The two are separated and the young man—in most poems named Qeys, of the tribe of the Banu Âmer—begins to show signs of that madness as a result of which he is given the sobriquet Majnun, “possessed by the demons; mad (for love).” Majnun makes several attempts to reach his beloved, Leyli, but the pain of separation increasingly drives him to the margins of his tribe, into the desert, where he wanders, surrounded by wild animals, singing songs of love. His father requests Leyli’s hand in marriage for him but is turned down. Their separation is then definitive, and Majnun’s mental state deteriorates. Various people come to his assistance: His father takes him on a pilgrimage to the Ka’ba, hoping he may be healed; and the local magnate, Nowfal, offers himself as intermediary to attempt to persuade Leyli’s father to yield, even, if necessary, by force of arms; but all to no avail. Leyli is given in marriage to another man, but the marriage remains unconsummated at her firm refusal; in solitude, she remains grief-stricken for love of Majnun. 1

Cf. Zabihollah Safa, “Comparaison des origines et des sources des deux contes persans: ‘Leylî et Madjnoun’ de Niẓāmī, et ‘Varqah et Golchȃh’ de ‘Ayouqi,” in Colloquio sul poeta persiano Niẓāmī e la leggenda iranica di Alessandro Magno (Rome, 1977), p. 137.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY The characters of this sad story, set against the arid backdrop of the desert, die one by one; finally the two lovers, too, die, with their love unfulfilled. The structure of the poems also offers common traits. Almost all of them, to a greater or lesser degree, bear traces of what must have been the form around which the legend of Majnun had been developing: a sequel of episodes, sometimes disconnected from each other, which provide the vehicle and context for the transmission of the verses attributed to Majnun. Indeed, the poems narrating the love story of Leyli and Majnun generally contain a series of lyrical passages in which Majnun celebrates his love for Leyli, laments his condition, and entrusts to various messengers (the wind and clouds, the birds) his messages of love for the beloved, while the narrative part plays a secondary role. The origins and development of the legend have been the subject of a number of studies.2 There is no consensus in the sources concerning Maj­ nun’s real name, although the most frequently quoted is Qeys b. Molavvah, of the Banû Âmer tribe, and Qeys is Majnun’s true name in the majority of the poems. Doubts were already being expressed in early sources about his historical authenticity. Some sources suggest that there was more than one poet called Majnun, a pertinent point regarding the historical reality behind the character. If it is difficult to identify Majnun with a specific historical figure, the birth of the “mad for love” character must be dated back to the end of the 7th century: One of the few historical figures mentioned in the legend, who also appears under his true name in the poems, is Nowfal b. Mosâheq (d. 706), governor of Medina under the Umayyad Caliph Abd-al-Malek (r. 685-705) who, according to the sources, was known to be interested in Majnun and his poetry.3 2

3

I. J. Kračkovskij’s 1946 study, translated by Helmut Ritter as, “Die Frühgeschichte der Erzählung von Macnūn und Lailā in der arabischen Literatur,” Oriens 8/1 (1955), pp. 1-50, is still fundamental. A.E. Khairallah’s Love, Madness and Poetry: An Interpretation of the Mağnūn Legend (Beirut, 1980) is also useful. A more recent Russian work (A. B. Kudelin, “Romanticheskiĭ èpos o Madzhnune i yego arabskiye korni” [The romantic epos of Majnun and its Arabic origins], in Arabskaya literatura: poetika, stilistika, tipologiya, vzaimosviazi, Moscow, 2003, pp. 293-320, non vidi) is cited by N. Yu. Chalisova and M. A. Rusanov, “Gore ot bezumiya: pechalnaya povest’ o Laĭli i Madzhnune” in Nizami, Leyli va Majnun, tr. with introduction and commentary by N. Yu. Chalisova and M. A. Rusanov as Laĭli i Madzhnun (Moscow, 2008), p. 6. Kračkovskij, “Die Frühgeschichte der Erzählung,” pp. 17-18.

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Leyli and Majnun The collection of poems attributed to Majnun, and the development of short narrative frames to contextualize them, began in the Umayyad period, in the first half of the 8th century. Majnun’s fame, however, and the interest in his legend, grew considerably during the first Abbasid period, around the beginning of the 9th century, when the poets of the more ancient period and their lovers (Qeys and Leylâ, Jamil and Bothayna, Kothayyer and Azzâ, Qeys and Lobnâ) were transformed into the protagonists of romances and their stories projected into a Bedouin past representing a construction of the Abbasid epoch, of courtly milieu. Interest in the legend reached its apex in the early 10th century, particularly under the caliph al-Moqtader (r. 908-32), when the fame of Leyli and Majnun outshone that of all the other famous couples. Two works from the end of the 10th century, Ebn-al-Nadim’s Fehrest and Abu’l-Faraj Esfahânî’s Ketâb al-aghâni, refer to works dedicated to Majnun and his love for Leyli. The works cited are no longer extant, but they testify to the legend’s popularity at the time. The legend of Majnun emerges therefore not so much as an authentic product of the Bedouin society but as a later re-elaboration in which the cultural influence of the courts of Damascus and, above all, of Baghdad was certainly strong. In the 9th-century Ketâb al-she’r va’ l-sho’arâ by Ebn Qotaybe, the fragmentary material of ancient origin seems at several points to be organized as an unbroken narrative,4 although the process would seem not to have been linear, since in the later Ketâb al-aghâni the legend of Majnun still appears in the form of a fragmentary compilation of different traditions.5 Unfortunately the disappearance of a number of Arabic prose works of the 10th century cited in the sources and dedicated to Majnun allows only an incomplete evaluation of the development of the legend before Nezâmi. Although Nezâmi fails to mention his sources, it is probable—certain, in I. J. Kračkovskij’s opinion—that he also drew on an important work dedicated to Majnun which has come down to us and can be dated between the 11th and 12th centuries: the Divân al-Majnun of an author of whom only the name is known, Abu-Bakr Wâlebi.6 4 5 6

English translation of the relevant section in Khairallah, Love, Madness and Poetry, appendix, pp. 135-43. French translation of the passage devoted to Majnun in A. Miquel and P. Kemp, Majnûn et Laylȃ: l’amour fou (Paris, 1984), pp. 213-56. Kračkovskij, “Die Frühgeschichte der Erzählung,” pp. 7-8; on this work cf. Khairallah, Love, Madness and Poetry, pp. 57-96.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY The story of the two unhappy lovers is set in the Najd desert, in the central and northern regions of the Arabian Peninsula, and there is general consensus that Majnun belonged to the tribe of the Banu Âmer, whose territory comprised the majority of the Hejâz and the Najd.7 From the sources there occasionally emerges a polemical attitude, a rivalry setting Majnun against the famous Udhri poets, as if the birth of the legend of Majnun might represent the response of the northern Arabs—whose importance was prevalent during the Umayyad and then the Abbasid period—to the fame of the ancient Udhri poets of southern Arabia.8

2. Majnun’s Concept of Love The concept of love represented in the Leyli and Majnun poems is generally considered to belong to the so-called “Udhri love” (al-hobb al-odhri) category, although some scholars make a distinction between the latter and Majnun’s love.9 Udhri love, so called because its ideal originally developed among the Banu Udhrâ tribes of southern Arabia,10 is a chaste love in the sense that it eschews all illicit relations; though the rejection of physical relations tout court is not apparent in the extant verses of the Umayyad epoch and was only later attributed to Udhri lovers. Love, according to this concept, is preordained by fate and directed towards one woman alone. The Udhri lover perseveres in his love despite all obstacles, even when its fulfillment is impossible, and remains faithful to his beloved till death. Determining factors for the emergence of this concept were probably on the one hand the affirmation of Islamic monotheism, with a possible link between faith in one God and love for one woman; and, on the other, the changed socio-economic conditions of Arab society after the advent of Islam, with the subsequent impoverishment of the southern tribes, excluded from the 7 8 9 10

Kračkovskij, “Die Frühgeschichte der Erzählung,” pp. 18-19. Cf. Kračkovskij, “Die Frühgeschichte der Erzählung,” pp. 12-13, 41-48, and H. Ritter’s comment at the end of his translation of Kračkovskij’s study (Ritter, “Nachwort des Übersetzers,” p. 49). Cf. H. Ritter, “Nachwort des Übersetzers,” pp. 49-50. M. Lecker, “ʿUdhra, Banū,” EI2, X, pp. 773-74. On Udhri love see R. Jacobi, “ʿUdhrī,” EI2 , X, pp. 774-76.

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Leyli and Majnun surge of wealth in the holy cities of Mecca and Medina. These changes created considerable social tensions and the birth of new values: Impoverishment and economic deprivation resulted in frustration and suffering on the plane of personal relations.11 In this ideal, the lovers are conceived as being equal in love and suffering: a very different concept from the later idea of “despotic love” (Jacobi), of courtly origin, well-known from Persian lyric poetry, where a tyrant-beloved subjects the lover to his or her whims and caprices. The latter conception is embodied in Nezâmi’s Khosrow va Shirin, in the continuous game of nâz (coquetry) and niyâz (need, supplication) between the two lovers; love, here, is depicted in terms of passion and contrast, infidelity and incomprehension, but at last is requited (see above, Chapter 4); a concept radically different from that of Udhri love. Majnun’s love, in Ritter’s opinion, represents a different and further step from the Udhri concept. Totally absorbed by the thought of his beloved, Majnun is isolated from any contact with the world, to which he is connected only through the thin thread of Leyli’s name. Only the mention of his beloved’s name is able to draw him out of his state of alienation. Leyli’s actual flesh-and-blood reality loses importance and is replaced by the mental image of her that Majnun has created and that takes up his entire being. The potential mystic developments, or indeed origins of such a concept, hardly need to be underlined. While some critics, including Asʻad Khairallah, believe that the legend of Majnun was permeated by mysticism from the outset, most critics (in particular Kračkovskij and Helmut Ritter) point to the 10th century as the beginning of the mystic transformation of the figure of Majnun. They also believe that it was the encounter and the interaction between the legend and the prevalent mystic currents that led to the subsequent great popularity of the story in the entire Islamic world. The grafting of mysticism onto the figure of Majnun is already visible in a prayer by the great mystic Shebli (861-945): “Whenever Mağnūn of the Banū ‘Āmir was asked about Laylā, he would say, ‘I am Laylā’. Thus, by means of Laylā, he would absent himself from Laylā, until he remains present to his vision of Laylā, and absent

11

For theories and the relevant studies on the historical and social bases of the Udhri concept of love, cf. Jacobi “ʿUdhrī.”

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY to every sense except Laylā, and (thereby) sees everything present through Laylā.”12 Renate Jacobi similarly distinguishes Udhri love as an authentic manifestation of Bedouin society in the Umayyad period from its transformations in Abbasid literature, developed in the urban centers of mediaeval Islamic lands.13 The main characteristics of the latter concept of love are “introspectiveness and total absorption in the object of love. The lover turns away from reality towards an idealized form emerging from his imagination, which occupies his mind to such an extent that even the presence of his real beloved cannot gain his attention. He prefers death to fulfillment.”14 These are the same characteristics of Majnun’s love, in which the Udhri conception had by then merged, as theorized by Ritter.

3. Nezâmi’s Poem Leyli va Majnun Nezâmi’s poem Leyli va Majnun, written in a variant of the hazaj meter (hazaj-e mosaddas-e akhrab-e maqbuz-e mahdhuf or maqsur), was composed in 584/1188 (the date is given in the introductory part of the poem both as a chronogram and explicitly)15 and is dedicated to the ruler of Sharvân, Akhsetân b. Manuchehr (d. between 584/1188 and 590/119416). The poem’s title is given as Leyli Majnun, without the conjunction.17 In the chapter on the “Reasons for Composing the Work,” Nezâmi describes a happy period of his life in which he was intent on finishing or, according to another interpretation, had just finished collecting the divân of his lyrics.18 The moment had come for him to end this period of repose and solitude and set to work once again. The world, the poet states, rates Quoted by Khairallah, Love, Madness and Poetry, p. 102. See also Ritter, “Nachwort des Übersetzers,” p. 49. 13 Jacobi “ʽUdhrī.” 14 Jacobi “ʽUdhrī,” p. 776. 15 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, ed. Behruz Tharvatiyân (Tehran, 1985), 5/94-95. 16 Cf. François de Blois, PL, V/3, p. 590. 17 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 5/44; in the same passage, the title of Nezâmi’s previous poem is likewise given as Khosrow Shirin, without the conjunction. 18 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 5/1-2. On the interpretation on this passage cf. E. È. Bertel’s, Nizami i Fuzuli (Moscow, 1962), p. 232, note 7. 12

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Leyli and Majnun opulence highly and shuns those who, though in need, remain idle: No one will throw so much as a crust of bread to a hungry dog with sunken sides. One can reap the profit by tuning one’s melody in accord with the world, Since the world belongs to those who play along with it. He only holds his head high in the air Who, like the air, can adapt to all things. Like a mirror, which, no matter where placed, Will conjure up a mirage-like image, Those who are forever contrarian Will speak in distorted fashion, like a melody out of tune.19

These words, appearing early in the poem, seem to offer if not an implicit criticism, certainly a key to the interpretation of Majnun’s character. If we consider that classical Persian morals are closely bound to society, and that considerable importance is given to the judgment of others and worldly success, there is no need to detect any irony in these words.20 Nezâmi himself, at various points in the poem, recommends showing an open and adaptable attitude towards life,21 and posits the fact of pleasing others as an important aesthetic canon: Do not accept (into your work) that which pleases not, For no harmony can come from an untuned melody. Seek to please, in order to be chosen, And then persons of rank will also love you.22

Just as the poet was absorbed in these thoughts, hoping to receive a commission for a new poem, a messenger arrived from the king of Sharvân with the request for a poem on the story of Leyli and Majnun. The poet hesitates, 19 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 5/12-15. In very similar terms at the beginning of the Sharaf-nâme (ed. B. Tharvatiyân, Tehran, 1989, 7/15-18), he had exhorted himself to cease his solitude and mix with others. Given the double meaning of navâ as “profit, opulence” and as “song,” the first halfline could also imply a bitter meaning: “One can sing a song only by tuning his melody to that of the world.” 20 This is Bertel’s’ interpretation for these lines (Nizami i Fuzuli, p. 233). On Persian traditional morals, cf. Ch.-H. de Fouchécour, Moralia: Les notions morales dans la littérature persane du 3e/9e au 7e/13e siècle (Paris, 1986). 21 Cf. Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 11/45, and, at the end of the Farhâd episode, Nezâmi, Khosrow va Shirin, ed. B. Tharvatiyân (Tehran, 1987), 58/54-56. 22 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, 9/7-8.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY or feigns hesitation: The setting of the story in the arid Arabian desert and the atmosphere of sadness surrounding the story seem unsuited to a poem and were the reasons no-one had hitherto attempted to put this story in verse. His fourteen-year-old son Mohammad encourages him, however, and Nezâmi sets to work choosing a light and swift meter, composed in majority of ten-syllable half-verses instead of the traditional eleven-syllable meters generally used for long poems (mathnavis). In less than four months, he composed “these 4,000 lines and over;”23 had he been free of other commitments, he adds, he would have finished it in fourteen days.

The Problem of the Text of the Poem In an unequivocal line which offers no variants, then, Nezâmi states that the poem is composed of 4,000 lines or (little) more. However, the most recent editions of the poem—those of Moscow (1965), Behruz Tharvatiyân (1984), and Barât Zanjâni (1990—have a total of just under 4,600 lines.24 To solve the contradiction of the numbers, Vahid Dastgerdi had already in 1934 published an edition of the poem that gives a considerably reduced text, from which he expunged or curtailed various episodes, particularly in the final part. The problem is that the very episodes and lines that Vahid Dastgerdi considered spurious appear in the earliest authoritative manuscripts of Nezâmi’s Khamse known up to then, belonging to the second half of the 14th century: The two Paris manuscripts of the Quintet dated from 763/1362 and 767/1366 respectively, the Berlin and Lahore manuscripts from 765/1363, and the Oxford manuscript from 767/1365.25 In châr hezâr beyt akthar/ shod gofte be châr mâh kamtar (Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 5/91) can also mean that “the majority (akthar) of these 4,000 lines” were composed in under four months. 24 The exact figures for the number of lines of the poem in the various editions are given in A. A. Seyed-Gohrab, Laylī and Majnūn: Love, Madness and Mystic Longing in Niẓāmī’s Epic Romance (Leiden and Boston, 2003), p. 50, note 70. 25 Cf. François de Blois, PL, V/2, pp. 449-50. For an overview of the manuscripts of the poem, cf. A. Râdfar, Ketâb-shenâsi-ye Nezâmi-ye Ganjavi (Tehran, 1992), pp. 72-85; de Blois, PL, V/2, pp. 451-79 (the list comprises, in a single sequence, manuscripts bearing the text of one, several or all of the poems of Nezâmi’s Khamse); M. Derâyati, Fehrestvâre-ye dast-neveshthâ-ye irâni (12 vols., Mashhad, 2010), VIII, pp. 1141-43 (nos. 238545-604: only manuscripts of Nezâmi’s Leyli va Majnun kept in Iran). An 23

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Leyli and Majnun Dhabih-Allâh Safâ, basing himself on two lines attested only by a few manuscripts, none of which were early and authoritative, maintained that it was Nezâmi himself who, four years after completing the poem, in 588/1192 produced a new edition to which he added the parts in question but omitted to change the date and number of lines as given in the poem’s introduction.26 Vahid Dastgerdi suggests that between 750 and 800 A.H., i.e. in the second half of the 14th century, several parts were added by an unknown author: the story of Zeyd and Zeynab; the episode in which Leyli, on return to her father’s house after the death of her husband Ebn-e Salâm, spends a night and a day with Majnun; and the poem’s final episode in which, after the two protagonists’ death, Zeyd has a dream in which Leyli and Majnun appear finally united in paradise. Vahid Dastgerdi expunged from the text some 1,030 lines, 600 of which were definitely spurious and 400 by Nezâmi, although indistinguishable from the spurious lines. His edition thus comprises some 3,650 lines: a considerable reduction from the original. No reasons were given to explain the criteria for the cuts. An attempt at understanding Vahid Dastgerdi’s criteria can be made by analyzing the parts expunged by him, as given in the Tharvatiyân edition. The story of Zeyd and Zeynab, narrated in Chapter 53 of the Tharvatiyȃn edition is, in many respects, a repetition of that of Leyli and Majnun: Zeyd was in love with Zeynab, daughter of a paternal uncle of his, who had refused to agree to the marriage because of Zeyd’s poverty—economic reasons, as already seen, would have been at the origin of the unhappy and unfulfilled love affairs sung by the Udhri poets. He therefore gives his daughter in marriage to a wealthy husband. Zeyd, unhappy as a lover like Majnun, thus serves as the go-between for Leyli and Majnun and the recipient of Majnun’s poems; in the latter function, a duplicate of the figure of Salâm of Baghdad. It is Zeyd who brings Majnun the news of the death of Ebn-e Salâm, Leyli’s husband (Chapter 55 in the Tharvatiyân edition); it is he who then arranges the meeting between Leyli and Majnun (Chapter 57); and at the end of the poem, it is he who dreams of the two lovers united in paradise (Chapter 62): all episodes omitted as spurious from the

26

assessment of the value of the manuscripts used for the Moscow 1965 edition of the poem is given by Bertel’s, “Rabota nad tekstom Nizami” (Work on the text of Nizami), in Bertel’s, Nizami i Fuzuli, pp. 458-61. Dh. Safâ, Târikh-e adabiyyât dar Irân (5 vols.; Tehran, 1953-79), II, p. 803.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Vahid Dastgerdi edition that, after Ebn-e Salâm’s death, moves directly to the death of Leyli.27 Vahid Dastgerdi’s textual operation, however, appears as considerably more complex than the mechanical removal of ‘repetitions’ and of all passages in which Zeyd appears. Among the passages he considers spurious are a number which would already seem to belong to the tradition of response to Nezâmi’s poem. One such is Chapter 52 of the Tharvatiyân edition, which precedes Zeyd’s appearance in the poem. The chapter represents a sort of defense of Majnun and begins with the following words: Never imagine Majnun As was one of those besotted individuals (shiftegân) seen today, Failing to fast or pray, out in the dark, A stranger to justice, and far from culture and wit.28

The chapter goes on to deliver a somewhat pedantic defense of Majnun, who was cultivated in all the sciences and an accomplished poet. What is interesting here is that the defense of Majnun takes on a mystic tinge: Majnun, says the author, refused all food in order to be as light as possible at the moment of departure; and his reason for feeling no desire for his beloved was because he aimed at eternal love. His beloved was a mere pretext on his road to God (bahâne dar râh). In Chapter 53, the story of Zeyd and Zeynab is followed by a short episode that appears as a repetition of the episode in which Majnun responds to an infelicitous comment on the part of Salâm of Baghdad, who had exhorted him to react to his suffering:29 One day, when Majnun was immersed in self-pity, Zeyd reproves him for allowing his grief to border on madness. Majnun, offended, sprang to his own defense in a long, sententious speech 27 Various other scholars have raised doubts, mainly on stylistic grounds, as to the authenticity of the Zeyd and Zeynab story. A. Zarrinkub (Pir-e Ganje dar jostoju-ye nâkojâ-âbâd: Dar bâre-ye zendegi, âthâr va andishe-ye Nezâmi, 6th ed., Tehran, 2004, pp. 117, 125-26), however, thinks that the stylistic reasons are insufficient for considering the episode spurious, given that a poem written in such a short space of time might very easily contain some stylistic unevenness. Also J. Sattȃri (Hâlât-e eshq-e Majnun, 2nd ed., Tehran, 2006, pp. 37, 238-42), who argues for a mystical-allegorical reading of many passages in the poem, seems to disagree that the story is spurious. 28 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 52/1-2. 29 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 51/84-99.

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Leyli and Majnun (ll. 63-117), explaining why he had never considered another woman, once rejected as Leyli’s suitor: He who runs from one source of suffering merely consigns himself to another—he insists—then moving on to a series of further considerations on the theme. In Chapter 55, after Zeyd informs Majnun of Ebn-e Salâm’s death, Majnun’s contrasting reactions are described in a way which closely resembles Shirin’s reactions to the news of Maryam’s death in Nezâmi’s previous poem: as if the poet were imitating himself. Also, the chapter which follows (Chapter 56), likewise expunged by Vahid Dastgerdi, appears as an imitation of a passage in Khosrow va Shirin. It describes the interminable night spent by Leyli after the death of her husband, in which she prays to God to end her suffering. In Khosrow va Shirin this episode is followed by the arrival of Khosrow, now tired of Shakar; in Leyli va Majnun, Leyli’s prayer is followed by a surprising episode (Chapter 57) that, though exaggeratedly, is referred to by Bertel’s as “the two lovers’ wedding night.”30 This episode opens with the poet describing the morning of a happy and fortunate day. Her period of mourning over, free from the surveillance of her husband and worn by so much suffering, Leyli returns to her father’s house. She calls Zeyd into her chamber: Today is not a day for waiting, It is the day for seeking union with the beloved! Arise! The world is beaming, arise! Bring out the sugar, and mix it with the rose! Make the verdant meadow lie with the cypress; Place the jasmine amid the spray of tulips!31

So saying, she dispatches Zeyd to bring Majnun to her. Majnun happily puts on the robe which Leyli has sent him and makes his way towards the house of his beloved, surrounded by wild beasts. Zeyd goes on before him and informs Zobeyde (only here is Leyli’s alleged real name mentioned32) of his arrival. Leyli runs out to meet him, heedless of the animals. At the sight of each other the lovers faint. Once they recover, Leyli takes him into her 30 Bertel’s, Nizami i Fuzuli, p. 271. 31 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 57/19-21. 32 Tharvatiyân, notes to Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, p. 579.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY tent with a thousand blandishments, while the animals keep guard outside. Their love is true (haqiqati) and free of lust; a love so perfect that the wild animals are awed by it and control their own bestial and carnal passions— an explanation of Majnun’s empathy with the wild beasts which invites an openly allegorical and mystical reading. For a night and a day the lovers remain entwined in their embrace. Majnun, the poet, now falls silent, unable to speak when faced with Leyli’s loveliness. Leyli asks the reason for his silence, and he replies that behind all words lies an objective which, once reached, makes words pointless. Majnun has dissolved himself in his beloved and has no individual existence any more, his selfhood is now merely the shadow and reflection of Leyli. Alas! the beloved has fallen into his power when he is no longer able to enjoy her. At the sight of Leyli’s beauty and blandishments, he utters a cry and flees into the desert. After this turning-point in the poem, Majnun’s situation changes forever. At the end of the episode, the poet adds a comment which expresses succinctly what Ritter considered one of the characteristics of Majnun’s love (see above): (Maintaining,) in a contradictory fashion, that “I am the friend,” (Majnun) had taken her to the market in his own place.33 With her Majnun had turned over a new leaf, And Leyli was the turned leaf.34

Intoning hymns to Union (qaside-ye vesâli), Majnun abandons Leyli. This beautiful episode has some analogies with an earlier episode in the poem: that in which Leyli asks “the same old man who had helped her” (although he does not appear to have been previously mentioned in the text) to arrange an encounter between herself and Majnun (Chapter 49 in the Tharvatiyân edition). It has a very different significance, however, from that of the “wedding night” episode: It appears in a different context, when Leyli’s husband was still alive, and the two lovers meet keeping a discreet distance from each other; indeed, it is Leyli who insists that there should be nothing untoward in their meeting. In the episode of the “lovers’ wedding 33 “To take to the market” means “to scorn or wish to be rid of something or someone.” 34 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 57/188-89. The second line also admits other readings: In particular, in 57/189b some manuscripts read ramaq (the last breath) instead of varaq (leaf): Leyli was the last breath left to Majnun, which seems to be a better reading.

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Leyli and Majnun night,” instead, Leyli is by then free from the bonds of marriage and sends for Majnun in the hope of union with him. While the language is that of erotic poetry, the significance of the episode underlines the mystic import of the event and of Majnun’s character according to the concept of love illustrated above. Evgeniĭ Èduardovich Bertel’s was one of the relatively few scholars to focus on the problem of interpolations in Nezâmi’s poem.35 He agrees with Vahid Dastgerdi, given that Nezâmi incontrovertibly states that his poem consists of 4,000 lines or slightly more. Bertel’s equally recognizes that the chapters expunged by Vahid Dastgerdi “destroy the poem’s unitary conception.” He is critical, however, of the lack of explicit criteria behind the cuts made. Since all the known manuscripts contain these episodes, with no greater textual variants than in other parts of the poem, there is no way of establishing which parts are interpolated. He concludes by maintaining that the problem of the interpolations remains insurmountable. Bertel’s then examines two of the episodes expunged by Vahid Dastgerdi: the “wedding-night” episode summarized above, described as “embarrassing,” and the final episode of Zeyd’s dream. The episode of the meeting of the two lovers is criticized as being “an unpleasant dissonance” with the rest of the poem, presumably dictated by the need to alleviate the tragic tone with erotic relief, so as to meet with the favor of courtly milieus. As to the afterlife vision of the lovers enthroned, embracing and drinking wine, Bertel’s deems it flat and colorless. Its moral would be that of orthodox Islam, much favored by the upper classes: He who meets with disappointment in this world will receive satisfaction in the next.36 In his criticism of the two episodes, however, Bertel’s does not go beyond a moralistic point of view, and does not perceive a possible hint to issues debated by love theoreticians such as the tradition of the martyr for love, possibly adumbrated in the episode of the final apotheosis of the lovers.37 The issue was also addressed by P. Chelkowski, “Niẓāmī Gandjawī,” EI2 , VIII, p. 80. The story of the devout man who sees Majnun in a dream also appears in later traditions, in prose; cf. Kračkovskij, “Die Frühgeschichte der Erzählung,” p. 40. 37 For this theory, see Lois Anita Giffen, Theory of Profane Love Among the Arabs: The Development of the Genre (New York and London, 1971), pp. 99-115. Giffen writes: “Since love-death combined in it both an ascetic denial of the flesh and a premature and painful end it must have seemed eminently logical that its victims should join the martyrs near the throne of God” (Theory of Profane Love, p. 105).

35 36

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Other, mainly European, scholars have expressed a rather more severe judgment on Vahid Dastgerdi’s methods, as “largely arbitrary.”38 His edition of the poem, however, though having a radically reduced text compared with the number of lines Nezâmi himself gives for his own poem, met with great success, probably also on account of its clear explicative notes. It remained the basis for the majority of translations into European languages until recently (see the Russian translation by Natalia Chalisova and M.A. Rusanov)39 and for many of the critical studies which have appeared since. The Vahid Dastgerdi edition can be considered not only part of the history of the transmission of the text of the poem but also part of the history of its interpretation. The state of the studies on this poem has not been modified by the discovery of manuscripts of an earlier date than those (never explicitly mentioned) used by Vahid Dastgerdi. One dated 718/1318, kept in the Central Library of Tehran University (MS 5179), has been used by Barât Zanjâni for his edition of the poem.40 However, this manuscript seems to give a text which is almost identical to the one we know, as far as the presence of the supposedly spurious passages is concerned. Still more significant is the fact that the poem Majnun va Leyli by Amir Khosrow of Delhi, composed in 698/1299, contains an episode which certainly constitutes a response to the Leyli and Majnun’s “wedding night” episode. If this episode is spurious, it must have been interpolated into Nezâmi’s poem at an early date, given that the manuscript of Nezâmi’s poem Amir Khosrow used, certainly copied at a date prior to 1299, already contained it. The fact remains that Amir Khosrow, deeply versed in Nezâmi’s work, must have sensed no discordance between this episode and the rest of the poem. A similar episode, describing the lovers’ encounter 38 39 40

De Blois, PL, V/2, p. 451. For a severe criticism of Dastgerdi’s scholarship and editorial method, see also Sâdeq Hedâyat, “Jeld-e haftom az Khamse-ye Nezâmi,” in Majmu’e-ye neveshtehâ-ye parâkande-ye Sâdeq-e Hedâyat (Tehran, 1965), II, pp. 382-91. Chalisova and Rusanov, “Gore ot bezumija,” (p. 12) define the Vahid Dastgerdi edition as “the most rigorous edition of the text of the poem, in the sense that it includes only such parts as are indisputably authentic.” Cf. B. Zanjâni, introduction to Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, ed. B. Zanjâni (Tehran, 1990), p. bist-o-noh. On this manuscript cf. de Blois, PL, V/2, p. 474 and PL, V/3, pp. 634-35. De Blois, PL, V/2, p. 474, also cites a further, slightly older manuscript kept in the Majles-e Shurâ-ye Eslâmi Library, dated 712/1312, which would appear to contain the poem.

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Leyli and Majnun and (chaste) union, is narrated in all successive poems on Leyli and Majnun’s story, which also contain references to the other supposedly spurious episodes in Nezâmi. The problem of the spurious lines of Nezâmi’s poem, then, remains, and is of considerable importance for an interpretation of both the poem and Majnun’s character. The character who emerges after Vahid Dastgerdi’s cuts has fewer mystical overtones than the Majnun of the “philological” editions, based on respect for the text of the manuscripts. It is difficult to decide who Nezâmi’s Majnun really was.

The Legend of Majnun in Nezâmi’s Re-Reading In Nezâmi’s poem, and especially in the Vahid Dastgerdi edition, the space reserved for the Leyli and Majnun story is very limited. The introductory section, on the other hand, is quite long: almost 800 lines out of about the 3,650 of the Vahid Dastgerdi edition. After the usual introductory chapters (praise of God and the Prophet and an account of his ascension to the heavens (me’râj), reasons for the poem’s composition, and the praise of Sharvânshâh Akhsetân b. Manuchehr and his son), there follow a number of chapters which are important for a reconstruction of the poet’s biography and one chapter of advice to his son. A final chapter, at the end of the poem, gives a series of counsels addressed to King Akhsetân, as if to underline the didactic value of the poem. The poem also contains a number of lyrical verses sung by Majnun, some apologues, and long descriptive passages which further restrict the space reserved for the narrative. In his previous poem Khosrow va Shirin, the plot was central to an understanding of the work, while here the loose story-line seems little more than a pretext for a work which is closer to lyrical than to narrative poetry. The poet’s most important contribution to the legend is that of having given a “soul,” as Nezâmi’s son Mohammad says, to the hitherto “crude” story of Leyli and Majnun,41 creating convincing and consistent psychological motivation for the characters and giving life and truth to their actions and words. Despite the poet’s initial hesitations, the poem is one of the

41 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 5/76-78.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY best-loved and most imitated in the East.42 Nezâmi was the first to compose a love poem based on the story; it was thanks to him that the story of Leyli and Majnun spread not only in Persian literature, through innumerable rewritings and imitations, but in all the literatures of the Islamic world.43 Nezâmi probably accentuated the “romantic” character of the story, adding a number of elements typical of the Persian narrative tradition.44 It begins with a father who ardently desires the birth of a son. The account of the birth is accompanied by a series of considerations revolving around the fact that sometimes it is better if a wish does not come true; a remark which replaces the prediction of the astrologers at the birth of a child in the “national poems.” There follows an account of the young Qeys’ upbringing and education. Nezâmi transforms Nowfal into a kind of knight errant, recalling analogous figures who work to assure a happy ending to others’ love stories in other poems. He also attenuates the Bedouin setting of the poem, having Leyli and Majnun meet at school rather than out grazing the cattle, and he describes Leyli walking in a decidedly Persian garden. As reworked by Nezâmi, the poem’s plot has many analogies with the standard plot of the poems of love and adventure analyzed above in Chapter 4. Here, too, falling in love is followed by the separation of the lovers and by a series of attempts to reunite them. Leyli is then betrothed against her will and refuses to consummate the marriage in order to preserve her virginity for her true love. The whole plot is punctuated by exchanges of letters and monologues of prayer or lamentation, all elements typical of the romance tradition. Given the loss of a number of sources important for an understanding of the history and development of the Majnun’s legend (see above), it is difficult to tell which features of the treatment in romantic terms of the story are due to Nezâmi and which predate his version. It is certain, however, that the romantic development of the legend had already begun before Nezâmi. 42 Seyed-Gohrab, Laylī and Majnūn: Love, Madness and Mystic Longing, pp. 68-69. 43 Cf. G. Yu. Aliev, Temy i syuzhety Nizami v literaturakh narodov Vostoka (Moscow, 1985), ad Indicem, s.v. Leĭli i Medzhnun, pp. 321-22 (130 works by different authors); Derâyati, Fehrestvâre-ye dast-neveshthâ-ye irâni, VIII, pp. 1141-52, nos. 238545-912 (manuscripts of poems entitled Leyli va Majnun by different authors). 44 A list of the “Persian” innovations introduced by Nezâmi into the Arab legend is given by Safa, “Comparaison des origines et des sources des deux contes persans,” pp. 141-43, and by A. A. Seyed-Gohrab, “Leyli o Majnun,” EIr Online, http://dx.doi. org/10.1163/2330-4804_EIRO_COM_861.

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Leyli and Majnun One of the most significant romantic elaborations, the story of Leyli’s illness and subsequent death, absent from the most ancient sources, is already to be found in Wâlebi’s Divan of Majnun. Similarly, the exchange of letters between the two lovers, a common element in love poems, already exists in a number of sources as a transformation of the verses the lovers write to each other.45 With the exception of occasional changes dictated by the new urban and chivalric tastes, the majority of the episodes Nezâmi recounts are already present in the sources or are transparent transformations of episodes narrated there. Nezâmi has an almost philological attitude towards the material of the legend, rarely, for example, inventing names for his characters. Apart from Qeys/Majnun and Leyli, he leaves as anonymous those characters who were unnamed in the sources or whose names were controversial, or gives them conventional names. Majnun’s father is simply called Seyyed-e Âmeri “a lord of the Âmer clan,” and both Leyli’s father and Majnun’s mother remain nameless. From the Arabic root salima (to be sound and undamaged) he has derived the names of Leyli’s husband, Ebn-e Salâm; of Majnun’s maternal uncle, Salim Âmeri; and of Salâm of Baghdad, the poet who collects his poems, as if wishing to distance himself from the many variants in the legend and the uncertainty surrounding several points in the sources. Taking Vahid Dastgerdi’s expurgated version as a starting point, it could be assumed that Nezâmi had decided to return Majnun to his own epoch and historical setting, the late 7th century, presenting him as a representative of Udhri love and a protagonist of the birth of the new concept of love. Such concept is clearly stated in the lines in which Majnun, somewhat polemically, expounds his ideals of love to Salâm of Baghdad: He said: Do you take me for a drunk? Or a besotted slave to the senses?46 I am the emperor of love, in all its grandeur, 45 On aspects apparently belonging to a successive phase in the Majnun legend, cf. Kračkovskij, “Die Frühgeschichte der Erzählung,” pp. 32-33. 46 Here Nezâmi defends Majnun from the suspicion that his madness might derive from unbridled sexual lust, a question also dealt with by a contemporary of Nezâmi’s, Ebn-al-Jowzi (d. 1200), in his Dhamm al-hawā; cf. Michael W. Dols, Majnūn: The Madman in Medieval Islamic Society, ed. Diana E. Immish (Oxford, 1992), pp. 318-19.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY With no reason for my soul to feel remorse […] My entire existence is summed up in love, Love turned into fire and I am like aloe wood. Love arrived and took over the house, I packed my goods and left it all. No-one may judge my not-being. I exist not: what exists is my beloved.47

Judging by these words, it would certainly seem that, at least up to this part of the poem, the beloved had maintained all her concrete reality for Majnun, and had not been relegated to the role of a pretext on the road to God or to a purely mental image. If, however, the episode of the “wedding night” of Leyli and Majnun is authentic, Nezâmi’s Majnun also contains the successive developments characteristic of the so-called “Majnun’s love”: the belittling and rejection of the beloved that, as already seen, had no part in the Udhri ideal of love. A number of scholars have stressed the discrepancy between the historical origin of the figure of Majnun and Nezâmi’s reference in the poem to Baghdad, where, he maintains, Majnun’s fame had spread and whence Salâm had departed in search of him.48 It is almost as if Nezâmi had projected two different stages of development in the Majnun legend onto the same chronological level: the historical origins of the character, going back to the end of the 7th century, and the period in which Majnun’s legend acquired fame, mainly a phenomenon of the Abbasid period, as seen above. Khairallah points to three main characteristics of Majnun: love, madness, and poetry. Two of these, madness and the composing of love poetry, only surface in Nezâmi’s Majnun after his separation from Leyli. Both madness and poetry, therefore, are only a direct consequence of the pain of love and separation from her. Nezâmi’s Majnun is far from the conventionally described madman, a man possessed by demons. He is rarely described, and then only by way of a mere nod to tradition, in the characteristic paroxysmal attacks of madmen such as falling senseless, biting their tongue and tearing their clothes. The sources, for their part, are at odds as to Majnun’s actual mental state, some 47 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 51/84-85, 88-90. 48 Cf. Sattȃri, Hâlât-e eshq-e Majnun, p. 37.

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Leyli and Majnun maintaining that he was simply “mentally debilitated” by his unhappy love affair.49 In the initial stages at least, Nezâmi’s Majnun is fully able to regain a sound mind if the possibility of attaining Leyli becomes feasible. For example, after Nowfal’s promise of help, he is ready to dress up and break his fast and leave the company of the animals of desert for that of human beings. Nezâmi’s Majnun therefore belongs to that category of poets who, at the end of the 7th century, would sing of their unhappy love for a young woman to whom they had remained faithful despite the impossibility of realizing their love. A number of poets nicknamed Majnun, who could have supplied the prototype for the Majnun of legend, were then flourishing.50 Nezâmi’s Majnun could well have been one of them. And indeed, Majnun’s madness in Nezâmi is above all a question of the social perception of his manner of living and loving; his values are in conflict with the dominant values of his time. One example illustrating this is the wonderful passage in which, during the battle where Nowfal confronts Leyli’s tribe to induce her father to give his daughter’s hand to Majnun, Majnun wanders over the battle field praying for the victory of the enemies: Each did urge the steed to battle, While he (Majnun) intoned prayers of peace. One killed another wielding a sword, While he was killing himself with grief. As the faithful around the Ka’ba, he wandered over the field of battle, Exhorting the soldiers to peace. […] He wandered amid this tumultuous army, Praying for the victory of the other.51

Someone from Nowfal’s troops, fighting for Majnun, berates him: Someone asked: “O valorous man! Waging war from afar, like the remote firmament! We are forsaking our lives for you, Why do you side with the enemy?” 49 Kračkovskij, “Die Frühgeschichte der Erzählung,” p. 11. 50 Kračkovskij, “Die Frühgeschichte der Erzählung,” p. 15. 51 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 26/36-38, 44.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY “If my enemy is my beloved,” Majnun replied, What can I do with a sword?”52

The values Majnun represents are at total variance with the traditional values of Bedouin society and, above all, with the pre-Islamic Arab society of the jâheliyye. In Nezâmi’s poem, the initial problem which had caused the lovers’ separation was that their behavior had betrayed the secret of their love—inevitably, since, as the poet comments, love can no more be hidden than can the perfume from a bag of musk, however tightly closed.53 Majnun, could not be considered guilty for this. He was faulted, in the opinion of Wâlebi and other sources, for having divulged the secret of his love for Leyli through his poetry, so that her name was on everyone’s tongue: “By breaking the covenant of secrecy, through poetry, Mağnūn lost his blessed union with Laylā”:54 a blame shared by every poet-lover who sings of his love for his beloved. Michael W. Dols, in his study of the figure of the crazed and madness in Islam, notices concerning Nezâmi’s Majnun that although Qeys’ erotic monomania could, from a medical point of view, be interpreted as a sign of an incipient mental disturbance, it acquires its full significance in relation to its poetic expression: His madness gains greater significance in relation to his love and its poetic expression. […] Qays’ public display of love, his tashbīb—the rhapsodizing about a beloved woman and one’s relationship to her—violated recognized Arab custom.55

Through Majnun’s madness, Nezâmi describes the process which had led to the birth of the new love lyric. Indeed, at the end of the 7th century, the new concept of love brought about new poetic contents and the development of a form suitable for conveying them: the ghazal, the elegiac-amatory genre. In a study of the origins of the Umayyad ghazal as an independent thematic unity apart from the nasib, the amatory prelude of the qaside, Renate 52 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 26/51-53. 53 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 13/15. 54 Khairallah, Love, Madness and Poetry, p. 76; cf. also p. 65. 55 Dols, Majnūn: The Madman in Medieval Islamic Society, p. 332.

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Leyli and Majnun Jacobi underlines the extent to which the contents of this genre, imbued with the values of Udhri love, violated traditional Arabic values.56 For a poet of the jâheliyye “love means pleasure, possession, success, and social prestige. It seems foolish, therefore, to continue loving a woman, if none of these concepts can be achieved.”57 In the concept of love of the Udhri ghazal, instead, “love is valued as an experience independent of success and prestige, and set against separation, old age, and even death.”58 Majnun’s madness consists precisely in deviating from the traditional values regarding love in his society. His feelings during the battle against Leyli’s tribe presuppose the same change of perspective in world-vision which produced the Umayyad ghazal—love as a personal, subjective experience which subverts traditional values: “[The poet of the ghazal] will love his enemies, if they should be friends of the woman and her clan […] Tribal loyalties and preferences are set aside in favor of individual relations.”59 “The anti-social tendency of this concept,” Jacobi continues, “is evident. […] The Bedouin hero of the jāhiliyya conforms to tribal ethics […] The poet of the ghazal advocates the rights of the individual, but his protest against social demands remains passive and is finally self-destructive. His defiance of society is equivalent to a negation of life.”60 It is precisely this “negation of life” that is one of the main features of Majnun’s character in Nezâmi’s poem. After his father had asked for Leyli’s hand and received an outright refusal, Majnun is advised to desist and turn his attention to a woman of his own tribe: the normal reaction of a spurned lover according to traditional values. But Majnun’s response is in contrast to the traditional conception: When Majnun heard his parents’ suggestion He was distressed by their bitter advice. He tore apart his clothes, saying: “What use is a shroud to this corpse? He who lives beyond the two worlds, Why should he wear any raiment?”61 R. Jacobi, “Time and Reality in Nasīb and Ghazal,” Journal of Arabic Literature 16 (1985), p. 1. 57 Jacobi, “Time and Reality”, p. 5. 58 Jacobi, “Time and Reality”, p. 5. 59 Jacobi, “Time and Reality,” p. 10. 60 Jacobi, “Time and Reality,” p. 6. 61 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 17/1-3. 56

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY With these words Majnun takes himself off to the desert, retreating from the world. From that moment on he lives beyond all social conventions; no longer living, but not yet of the dead. Those who, like Majnun, set themselves against shared values are condemned to an exile which places them outside human society, in a limbo approaching death.

Leyli and Other Main Characters of the Poem. Leyli is probably the most original character born of Nezâmi’s re-reading of the story. She suffers twice over: on account of the separation from her beloved and on account of the need to hide her love. When a chivalrous traveler brings Majnun a message from her and recounts of their meeting to him—an episode recalling the meeting between Leylâ and the man of the Murra tribe recounted by Ebn Qoteybe62—Leyli’s situation is described in her own words: I was Leyli, but now I am More Majnun (madder) than a thousand Majnuns! A thousand times more frenzied Than that deranged man of dark destiny. He, though the very embodiment of suffering, Is after all a man, and not, like me, a woman! On the path of love he acts with agility, For he need fear no-one. Unlike me, he is not prone to persecution, And can go wherever his wishes take him. But my poor self, alone and friendless, Cannot confide my sorrows in anyone openly! […] On the one hand, I suffer on account of strangers (from whom I must hide); On the other, I fear my guardians.63

Leyli is a determined woman: After the wedding, when Ebn-e Salâm takes her to his home and some days later tries to get close to her, she deals him such a blow that he falls senseless to the ground. Then she swears a This episode is quoted in the English translation by Khairallah, Love, Madness and Poetry, p. 138. 63 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 43/49-54, 57. 62

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Leyli and Majnun solemn oath “that with me you shall never attain your desire, should you run me through with your sword!”64 After the account of the marriage feast and Leyli’s desperate tears and sighs, Nezâmi makes a significant comment on his heroine: Leyli’s life, he states, had reached an important turning-point, but she was unwilling to embrace it and even fought against it: The goblet about to touch her lips smashed, And the freshly-cooked sweet went cold. Placing one’s foot on a thorn, one is pricked; Engaging with fire, one is burnt. If one of your members no longer obeys you, It ceases to function. […] When a finger is bitten by a snake, It is necessary to amputate it to the wrist. The harmony (of all the elements) is the body’s medicine; All disharmony is the cause of death. And Leyli, who was the balm and joy of all the world, With her contrariety became the dosage of death.65

With this series of images illustrating what interrupts the regular life of organisms, Nezâmi shows that Leyli’s behavior too, like Majnun’s, was unnatural and a harbinger of death. She too struck a false note in her society. Another touching character in Nezâmi’s repertoire is Majnun’s father, one of the most affectionate paternal portrayals in Persian literature. He envelopes his son with love and attempts all possible advice to bring him back to reason. After the firm refusal of the offer of marriage of his son with Leyli, he takes his son on a pilgrimage to the Ka’ba, so that he might implore God to heal the wound of his unhappy love; but, once there, Majnun implores only to be allowed to continue to be defeated by love. The father makes several journeys into the desert to persuade his son to return home. He encourages, chides, and advises him, seeking to give him hope. He insists on the importance of searching for a favorable fortune (dowlat), and of a positive attitude to life: a question already raised in the Farhâd episode of the poem Khosrow va Shirin. Majnun however is inflexible, and the abyss remains between the two men’s conception of the world. When his father 64 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 33/84. 65 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 33/65-67, 69-71.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY returns for the last time, feeling he is close to death, and bids Majnun come home so that he may at least mourn at his grave, Majnun is too far gone in his withdrawal to return among men: Those alive will shed tears at your grave. I belong to the dead: what can the dead do?66

Majnun’s wildness (tavahhosh) signifies not only social alienation but a choice of death. Nothing could be more at variance with the figure of Majnun as created by Nezâmi and the other Persian mediaeval poets than a romantic reading of his character. His long and unkempt hair is an unequivocal sign of madness, and most certainly not of an anti-conformist choice. As Michael W. Dols notes: “Except for a brief period when long hair was a Mongol fashion in the later Middle Ages, it is an unusual characteristic for Muslim men. Depilation was also an expected part of personal hygiene for men as well as women. As in medieval European art and literature, the hirsute wild man was a clear sign of man’s reversion to animality, a creature that lacked the divine attribute of reason. […] This European perception of the wild man […] persisted until the development of the romantic view of the ‘natural man’ in the early modern period. Similarly, Qays the savage would appear as the negation of Muslim social values.”67

In Muslim society, madness itself has no positive connotation: However Majnūn’s madness is interpreted, it cannot completely conceal the discernible stigma that has commonly been attached to insanity in Arab society.68 Majnun is a character of a tragic greatness, but could never be a positive symbol for Nezâmi or an example to emulate. Conversely, through the moving story of the Mad for love, Nezâmi shows the reader the path of wisdom and equilibrium, of social living and harmony; moving beyond 66 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 37/36. 67 Dols, Majnūn: The Madman in Medieval Islamic Society, p. 335. 68 Dols, Majnūn: The Madman in Medieval Islamic Society, p. 332; on this issue, cf. also pp. 26-27. A partial exception is the mystic re-elaboration of the holy fool, on which cf. Dols, Majnūn: the Madman in Medieval Islamic Society, pp. 366-422. See also A. Bausani, “Note sul ‘Pazzo sacro’ nell’Islam,” Studi e Materiali di Storia delle Religioni 29 (1958), pp. 93-107.

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Leyli and Majnun society and its rules can only mean condemning oneself and his dear ones to destruction. In the introductory part of the work, when speaking of his divân, Nezâmi seemed to advance a veiled criticism of lyric poetry when it is paired with isolation and idleness (see above); and, in his advice to his son (Chapter 10), he recommends a useful profession to him, such as that of physician or jurisconsult, advising him against that of poet. Majnun’s poetry is presented in the poem as the product, however beautiful it may be, of an alienated mind. At the beginning of the episode of Majnun and the crow, Majnun is presented as he wanders through the burning desert until he finds a tree to shade him. Only then, “Did he cease for a while from wandering, and from speaking without ever listening.”69 Majnun’s words are presented as a soliloquy. Julie Scott Meisami makes the perceptive comment that “The poetry inspired by this passion [Majnun’s] is a perverted art precisely because it is limited to self-expression and knows no higher purpose; like the desert in which it is produced, it is sterile.”70 Despite this, Majnun is a great and moving figure because of the immensity of his all-encompassing love and his bond and empathy with nature. Surrounded by the wild animals that protect him and follow him everywhere, he is one of the finest and most moving figures in the whole of literature. In the gazelles caught by the hunter, he sees a reflection of Leyli’s beauty and has them released; and he feels pity for the deer caught in the trap, with which he identifies: Oh you who are far from your mate! You too, like me, separated from your friend!71

Compared with the hunter and his daily needs—he has a family to feed—Majnun, who eats no meat and lives on roots alone, has no ties nor responsibilities, and speaks with animals apostrophizing them in his poems, appears in all his alterity. His familiarity with wild animals is the representation of a utopian world, from which violence and injustice are banned. Majnun is presented as a king: The animals watch over him and rush to serve him, while he, 69 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 31/11. 70 Meisami, Medieval Persian Court Poetry, p. 165. 71 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 30/29.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Solomon like, rules over them in peace; his justice is reflected in every aspect of nature. Through the same often-repeated images used in poetry of praise to glorify the justice established by the sovereign, Nezâmi states that under Majnun’s reign: The wolf forbore from attacking the sheep, And the lion had removed its claws from the onager. The dog had made its peace with the hare, And the young of the gazelle was suckled by the lioness.72

Critics have interpreted the figure of Majnun in various ways. As rightly perceived by Bertel’s, the possibility of an allegoric or mystical reading depends on the edition chosen. That of Vahid Dastgerdi leaves little margin for a mystical interpretation, although a number of aspects, such as the character’s gradual degradation, could foreshadow the development of mystical meanings. Apart from a possible mystical interpretation, critics are divided between a positive interpretation of the character, of romantic origins, which sees Majnun as the genius who rebels against social conventions, and a profoundly negative reading, which considers only the destructive and anti or asocial aspects of its character.73 If the first interpretation is, as we have suggested, somewhat misleading, the second, in its more radical formulations, ignores the poem’s huge success in the entire Islamic world, and, more significantly, ignores the complexity of Majnun’s figure.

Descriptions, Apologues, and Lyrical Passages: The Poem’s Formal Characteristics The descriptions of the natural world in the poem offer perhaps the best examples of Nezâmi’s lyrical and descriptive language. A well-known example is the description of the night sky, with Majnun’s address to the planets Venus and Jupiter, ending with his prayer to God that the night of his suffering might finally be over.74 72 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 40/24-25. 73 On such interpretation of Majnun, cf. Meisami, Medieval Persian Court Poetry, pp. 163-65. 74 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, Chapter 42.

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Leyli and Majnun From a functional point of view, the descriptions contextualize the events narrated and stand in analogical relation to them, or act as a presage or anticipation of events to come. Nature is never described as static or objective: It partakes of the world of men. Nature shares human psychology and moves in harmony with it, conforming to the mood of the scene. Its phenomena are presented as the concrete result of imaginary actions which have affected it, in a series of poetical aetiologies. The description of autumn, introducing the episode of Leyli’s death, is charged with a sense of imminent death; autumnal colors of red and black dominate the poem’s palette, and every aspect of the garden at fall bears the tragic burden of a dramatic event: Inescapably, once autumn sets in, Tears of blood fall from the leaves. […] The narcissus saddles the camel and prepares to depart, And the box-tree is toppled from its throne. The jasmine bears a defeated countenance, And the rose receives its death sentence. […] As the cold wind arrives from afar, The leaves can be forgiven when they fall: For those escaping drowning at sea, Cast away their clothes, dreading the storm. […] The cruel Hindu gardener has cut off The head of the bunches of grapes, the vine’s black offspring. […] The pomegranate, from its sundered core, Sheds drops of blood on its wounded heart.75

A number of stories and short apologues appear in the text: the apologue of the Kurd who has lost his donkey, narrated in the context of a lament on Nezâmi’s part for the injustice and violence of his times;76 the story of the ant and the partridge, which Majnun recounts for his father as an illustration for his reasons for abstaining from laughter;77 the story of the young sage and the dogs, the longest among the apologues, which 75 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 58/1, 5-6, 8-9, 12-13, 16. 76 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 11/67-75. 77 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 21/26-36.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY takes up a whole chapter in the Tharvatiyân edition and concludes the description of Majnun among the animals of the desert;78 and finally the story of the dervish and the king, recounted to Majnun by his maternal uncle Salim, filled with admiration at his nephew’s calm distance from worldly concerns. The poem also contains many lyrical passages sung by Majnun, or by others reciting his poems. These lyrical passages maintain the rhyme-structure of long poems, with internal rhyme in the two half-verses and a different rhyme in each line. There is, for example, Majnun’s address to the wind of Sabâ;79 various pieces of lament (nowhe);80 a ghazal by Majnun recited by someone singing his poems;81 a description in praise of gazelles, inserted into Majnun’s appeal to the hunter to release them;82 an apostrophe to the deer fallen into the hunter’s trap, to which he entrusts a message for Leyli;83 an apostrophe to the crow, another messenger to Leyli;84 a lament pronounced by Majnun, who had arrived at Leyli’s tent chained like a beggar;85 a lament on his beloved’s unfaithfulness, in the tones of the ghazal of the classical period, pronounced on hearing of Leyli’s marriage;86 a lament at the tomb of his father;87 a ghazal sung in Leyli’s presence;88 Majnun’s weeping at Leyli’s graveside.89 One of the poem’s major formal characteristics is the presence of passages marked by strong formal parallelism between the lines or the halfverses, and conceptual antithesis: a form widely imitated by the poets responding to Nezâmi’s poem. The choice of a strongly repetitive structure scanned by a pounding rhythm was perhaps dictated by a wish to reproduce the Arabic poetry of the Umayyad period, at least according to the 12th-century Persian poet’s notion of it: 78 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, Chapter 41. 79 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 14/19-39. 80 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 15/8-23; 17/22-76; 23/49-55. 81 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 23/58-65. 82 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 29/13-25. 83 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 30/29-44. 84 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 31/18-31. 85 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 32/36-40. 86 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 35/8-59. 87 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 39/26-57. 88 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 50/1-95. 89 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 59/46-56, 58-65.

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Leyli and Majnun Leyli like a star in her litter, Majnun, like the firmament, guarding her curtain. Leyli loosens her tresses, Majnun embroiders on his lament. Leyli, because of her laments, holds a harp in her hand; Majnun is like a rebec, his hands on his head. This is not Leyli (Night), but a morning lightening the world. It is not Majnun, but a self-enflaming candle. Discard Leyli! gardens after gardens! No Majnun but scars upon scars!90

Another characteristic element of the poem is that many episodes begin with formulas referring to a source or a narrator: The skillful storyteller of Baghdad / thus commenced to reveal the secrets of the story.91 The eloquent landowner (dehqân) of Persian pedigree/ thus recounts the story of the Arab tribe.92 The skillful storyteller / thus continues to narrate his tale.93 The money-changer of poetry, with words resembling gold, / thus threaded the pearls of his words.94

A’lokhon Afsahzod links the presence of such conventional formulas, notably frequent in Nezâmi’s Leyli va Majnun and hence in the subsequent poems in response to it (though not unknown to the other poems), with the style of the professional storytellers (naqqâls).95 It is also possible that such traditional formulas, already present in the Shâh-nâme, had a similar function and took the place of the chain of transmitters, confirming the veracity of the narrated facts, though soon they became a mere topos, a structural device to indicate the beginning of a new section in a poem, as the above examples show. 90 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 15/8-12. 91 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 34/1. 92 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 36/1. 93 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 40/1. 94 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 46/1. 95 A. Afsahzod, Dostoni “Layli va Majnun”-i Abdurrahmoni Jomi (Dušanbe, 1970), p. 89. On this question cf. also Dols, Majnūn: The Madman in Medieval Islamic Society, p. 322.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Particularly at the most dramatic points, the beginning of the narration is preceded by a series of attributes referring to the protagonists of the action, which form some sort of opening litany: That crazed man who broke his chains, Moonstruck without catching sight of the moon, Majnun with his heart in flames, Lord of a ruined village, Did wander …96

The technique is imitated to a greater or lesser degree by the various poets responding to Nezâmi’s poem, but is carried to extreme consequences by Jâmi in his Leyli va Majnun (see below): He who sold off the goods of his intellect, The dancer to the song of restlessness, The squatter in the ruins on the mountain of sorrow, The madman striding the mount’s summit, Custodian of the treasure of the bankrupt, Sufferer from his mind’s morbid doubts, He who rests in the shade of the brambles, The wanderer in the desert of the debilitated, The companion of the cantors of weeping, The confidant of solitary souls […] Namely Majnun, Leyli’s captive, Mad for love of Leyli’s captivating beauty, When he …97

Despite the modifications of Majnun’s legend dictated by later and more urban tastes, one of the characteristics of Nezâmi’s and the other poems is the attempt to reproduce the aspects of material culture, the customs and ways of speaking of the Arabs according to the idealized vision which mediaeval Iranian authors had of Bedouin life in the early Islamic period.98 The Persian poets always emphasize the Arabs’ generosity, hospitality, and 96 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 34/2-3. 97 Jâmi, Leyli va Majnun, ed. A’lâkhân Afsahzâd, in Mathnavi-ye Haft owrang (2 vols., Tehran, 1997-99), II, ll. 777-81, 786. 98 An attitude which Dols, Majnūn: The Madman in Medieval Islamic Society, p. 331, wittily compares to the American vision of the wild West.

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Leyli and Majnun eloquence. In Nezâmi’s poem, the rhetorical construction of the discourse of Majnun’s father when asking Leyli’s hand on behalf of his son, for example, is carefully studied so as to reproduce the famous Arab eloquence: the speech begins at a distance, without broaching the subject directly, and is studded with proverbs and wise maxims. In the corresponding passage in Jâmi’s poem, after the banquet scene, the elders of Majnun’s tribe talk idly, initially concealing their true purpose and alluding to the point obliquely (be parde-ye kenâyat): In this world—they said— No noise is produced by a single hand.99 Without taking one hand to the other, No sound can be made. […] Until the two arms meet, How can there be a balance? In the tent many beauties are concealed: The beauty of the one reflects that of the other. If you walk through a meadow, Even if one flower alone is lovely, When the blades of grass entwine with that flower, It will be lovelier to your sight.100

Only after pronouncing a series of proverbs and images illustrating the concept that two is better than one, and after a series of praises to the host and his beautiful daughter, chaste as a yet unbored pearl, hidden away in her apartments, the elders come to their request: It is now time for Leyli to emerge, like a moon from the clouds, and shine in all her splendor by marrying Majnun.

4. The Poem Majnun va Leyli by Amir Khosrow Amir Khosrow of Delhi’s Majnun va Leyli (the title is given as Majnun Leyli, without the conjunction, at the end of the poem) was composed, in 99 A reference to a well-known Persian proverb. 100 Jâmi, Leyli va Majnun, ll. 1450-51, 1453-56.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY the same meter as Nezâmi’s Leyli va Majnun, in 698/1299. In the T. A. Magerramov edition, it comprises 2,660 lines.101 After praise to God, praise to the Prophet followed by the description of his Me’râj, the Prophet’s ascent to heaven, and praise to Nezâm-al-Din Owliyâ (1236-1325), the poet’s spiritual guide, a number of lines follow in praise of Sultan Alâ-al-Din of the Khalji dynasty of Delhi. In the chapter on the reasons for composing the poem, the poet recounts that he had already written two poems (the reference is almost certainly to Matla’ al-anvâr and Shirin va Khosrow) when a voice from on high urged him to end his period of idleness and set to work once more—a clear reference to Nezâmi’s words in the corresponding chapter of his poem. The voice exhorts him to write a poem terse but charged with meaning, preferable to a long but tedious poem. To illustrate the concept, the poet inserts a brief anecdote regarding two demons who take on a long and useless task: to pour the waters of the sea into the desert and the desert sands into the sea, both dying of exhaustion in the process. The poet then returns to his ideal of concision: it is right to dwell only on those words from which the soul can take nourishment; only in this case is length desirable, as is a long life. And indeed a relatively long chapter (157 lines) follows, in which Amir Khosrow gives advice to his daughter, then fourteen months old, inviting her to treasure the advice for when she should reach the age of reason: a response to the chapter in which Nezâmi gives advice to his fourteen-yearold son. Nezâmi had urged his son not to be idle, guiding him in the choice of a sound profession. Although he had advised him against becoming a poet, he had touched on a number of themes concerning poetry—the more false it is, the more beautiful (see above, Chapter 3, “Narrative Poetry and Historical Truth”)—and had recommended concision: to write little, in a succinct but refined style.102 Amir Khosrow’s theorization of brevity, then, must be read in reference to Nezâmi’s words. That the relation of study of and response to the model extended to the “structural” sections as well is also shown by the fact that Amir Khosrow ends his poem with a chapter in which he recalls his mother and brother, 101 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Majnun va Leyli, ed. T. A. Magerramov (Moscow, 1964). As in this edition the lines have not a continuous numbering, references to the text of the poem are given according to the page in the edition. Information as to the date and number of lines appears at the end of the poem, p. 284. 102 Nezâmi, Leyli va Majnun, 10/13-16, 28-36.

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Leyli and Majnun who had both died in the year of the poem’s composition: a reference to the autobiographical chapter in which Nezâmi had recalled his dead kin, in the introductory section of his poem.103 In the last chapter of the poem, Amir Khosrow speaks of his relationship to his model, Nezâmi’s poem. He has faithfully followed in his master’s wake, keeping within a hair’s breadth of him; yet he knows that some malevolent critic will find room for criticism—an interesting comment on the criteria for evaluating a poem in those times: respect for tradition and fidelity to the literary canon established by the masters were evidently mandatory. Amir Khosrow also has sharp words for a rival who considered himself his superior, here too moving in parallel with Nezâmi who, in an introductory chapter, complains of an envious rival: further evidence that fidelity to the literary canon extended to the autobiographical sections of the poems. Again in parallel with Nezâmi’s poem, in Amir Khosrow’s poem the structural frame, i.e., the introductory and concluding sections, are likewise considerably developed (ca. 740 lines), compared with the narrative part. The poet’s praise of concision, besides elaborating on a passage in his model, is also functional to his choices: Amir Khosrow’s poem is shorter than Nezâmi’s, and he further reduces the narrative part and, departing from the sources, modifies the plot in a way that seems mainly dictated by his personal revision of events.104 Like the inversion of the two protagonists’ names in the title of his previous poem, Shirin va Khosrow, the inversion of names in the title of this poem, too, indicates that Amir Khosrow’s interest is to focus on the figure of Majnun. It is also possible that Amir Khosrow’s title intended to reproduce the original form of the nickname by which the poet had become famous: Majnûn(-e) Laylâ (Leyla’s Mad Man). Of the three features of the character of Majnun as read by Khair­allah— love, madness, and poetry—madness is Amir Khosrow’s poem and his central point of interest. Majnun’s is not simply a “weakness of spirit” caused by his hopeless love: Amir Khosrow’s Majnun is actually possessed by a demon. After the discovery of their love and their forced separation, Majnun describes his state to his father, and speaks of the “image” which occupies 103 On the different types of intertextuality in narrative poetry, see above, Chapter 3. 104 Afsahzod, Dostoni “Layli va Majnun,” p. 30, thinks that Amir Khosrow wrote his poem according to the tastes of the dedicatee of it; Bertel’s, Nizami i Fuzuli, pp. 28081, believes instead that Amir Khosrow used different sources from Nezȃmi.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY his mind, the inner image of his beloved, which in Majnun’s concept of love supersedes reality: Yet what can I do if my unruly soul Will not be tamed by any ruse or craft? A heavy thought weighs on my subtle and delicate heart. At every instant I strive To block the road to the image (khiyâl), But the turquoise firmament, with a blow, Throws me back into the pillory of this suffering.105

The most characteristic aspect in Amir Khosrow’s reworking of the plot is the substitution of the unconsummated marriage between Leyli and Ebn-e Salâm, with the equally non-consummated union between Majnun and Khadije, the daughter of Nowfal. Indeed, in this poem Nowfal, the head of the tribe to which both lovers belong, has a daughter who, having heard tell of Majnun and his desperate love, falls in love with him herself. After Leyli’s father’s rejection of the marriage, Majnun’s father turns to Nowfal who, by the use of force, tries to induce her father to change his mind. For a week the two sides fight it out, leaving many dead on the field. Plans are afoot to kill Leyli, as the only way of ending the internecine war, whereas in Nezâmi’s poem it was Leyli’s tribe which had sought to kill Majnun. When news of this comes to Majnun, he rushes to Nowfal imploring him to cease hostilities at once. Majnun’s “pacifism,” then, is here motivated by the wish to save Leyli’s life. He succeeds in this; but, having lost all hope of obtaining her, Majnun gives up all interest in life: he fakes death on the battlefield, and it is only the intervention of a friend of his that stops a crow from pecking out his eyes. In Amir Khosrow’s poem, Nowfal takes Majnun’s plight so much to heart as to promise to give his own daughter in marriage if Majnun returns to reason. Majnun’s father, too, knows that another bride would be the only hope of salvation for his son (this replaces the pilgrimage to Mecca in Nezâmi’s poem), and sets about persuading him to marry Khadije; passion and desire for a woman, even if not Leyli, can offer a valid cure for madness:

105 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Majnun va Leyli, pp. 100-101.

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Leyli and Majnun You have turned into a fresh and mature branch; Yet for us you provide neither shade nor fruit, If you had a mate, perhaps the interest for (her) pearl Could make disappear this confusion of yours. When passion appears in the soul it is all for the good: The moon in a dark night is like a sun.106

His father’s skillful words manage to weaken the devil in Majnun’s mind; moreover, the poet adds, Majnun was an obedient and devoted son. He agrees to return home. The celebration of the wedding and the bride’s great beauty are described at length. Majnun’s condition, however, contrasting sharply with the general joy, is expressed through antithesis, a figure of style typical, as already mentioned, of lyrical passages in Nezâmi’s poem and the responses to it. His mind is taken up with the inner image of his beloved, the characteristic trait of both his love and his madness: All looked at her, with desire in their eyes; Majnun looked up too, and sighed. All praised the beauty (of the bride); Majnun spoke of the image (khiyâl). […] All, most joyous, tended to their own pleasure; Majnun was immersed in desire for his beloved.107

When the two young people are alone and the moment of their amorous games arrives, Majnun throws himself to the ground and, beneath his bride’s astounded gaze, weeps desperately throughout the night; at dawn he tears his clothing, removes his shoes and turban, and flees into the desert of Najd. His unconsummated marriage with the lovely Khadije is presented as an unequivocal symptom of madness: “When desire is gone from the mind … Oh, Lord, make this never happen to anyone.”108 Amir Khosrow, the poet scientist, enquires into the possibility of treating madness through words. When Majnun’s father, determined to ask for 106 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Majnun va Leyli, p. 135. In the words of Majnun’s father is contained a hint to a famous issue debated by theoreticians on love about the benefits or harm of passion and sexual lust. On this matter, see Giffen, Theory of Profane Love, in particular pp. 117-20. 107 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Majnun va Leyli, p. 139. 108 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Majnun va Leyli, p. 142.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Leyli’s hand, brings his son back from the desert, the poet describes all the attentions and warnings given to Majnun by his mother, a figure absent from Nezâmi’s poem. The chapter, like the others, is introduced by a long and elaborate title, almost certainly by the author himself,109 which represents a prose summary of its contents. It emphasizes the curative aspect of words: Majnun’s mother purifies the mind of her son with the bitter medicine of advice and, with the pearls of her words and the sugar of her eloquence, prepares a medicine which may dispense joy, to cure him of his melancholy.110 She then bathes, perfumes, and dresses her son, and then goes to the kitchen to prepare food. When it is ready, she feeds him, though each mouthful tastes like fire to him, and asks him to remain within the limits of his physical and mental health. Patience, she insists, is the way out of this difficulty. Majnun’s reply marks the failure of the possibility of treating madness through words: Your health inducing advice Is salutary in the way bitter medicines are. But since my demon has robbed me of my intellect How can I, a madman, pay heed to advice? Either take me as I am, Or wash your hands of me.111

Leyli’s mother is another character who has been deeply reworked compared to its model in Nezâmi’s poem. Just as a number of modern critics,112 Amir Khosrow may also have thought it unlikely that Leyli’s mother, no matter how colorless and almost invisible in the poem, would not have realized how wretched for love her daughter was. Amir Khosrow gives, instead, a realistic representation of a bourgeois mother. Having heard all the gossip, she has a long talk with her daughter, laced with proverbs and folk wisdom: 109 On the problem of the originality of the titles of Nezâmi’s Makhzan al-asrȃr and Amir Khosrow’s Matla’ al-anvȃr, cf. G. Grobbel, “Probleme des ethisch-didaktischen persischen Matnawī anhand des Maṭlaʻul-Anwār des Amīr Ḫusrau-i Dihlawī,” in R. Forster and R. Günthart, eds., Didaktisches Erzählen: Formen literarischer Belehrung in Orient und Okzident (Frankfurt-am-Main, 2010), pp. 95-98. 110 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Majnun va Leyli, p. 104. 111 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Majnun va Leyli, p. 108. 112 Sattȃri, Hâlât-e eshq-e Majnun, p. 68.

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Leyli and Majnun When an innocent young girl is ‘talked about’, how is it possible to ascertain if she is pure or not? When you drive off a fly from your plate, who can tell if it has touched the food or not?113

A significant innovation in the poem is the episode of Majnun and the dog, which replaces the episodes where Majnun liberates the gazelles and the deer in Nezâmi’s poem. It again presents a much more radical character than in the model. In the hottest hours of a summer’s day, while wandering aimlessly, close to the tribe’s encampment, Majnun sees a mangy old dog, alone and abandoned, covered in dust from head to paw like a tunnel digger, its skin a mass of sores, scored, like a lamb in a butcher’s shop, from scratching at the itches on its sunken flanks, lacking the energy to bark or show its teeth, and able only to lick its wounds. Majnun embraces it and, weeping from pity, washes away with his tears the dust covering it, cleans its bed of earth and thorns, gently strokes it, sheltering it from the sun with his hands, and shares with it the little food he has. He then addresses a long eulogy to the dog, entrusting a message of greeting to his beloved should it be going her way. After this key episode, one of the longest in the poem, Majnun’s madness becomes common knowledge. The poet describes realistically the various reactions of people: Some laugh and deride him; others weep in compassion at seeing him reduced to being the dog’s dog. The poet intervenes: only those who have never suffered are incapable of understanding the suffering of others. A dog, he adds, is infinitely superior to those unable to feel pity for their fellow men: a leitmotiv in the poem, voiced by a number of characters including Nowfal and Majnun’s anonymous friend. The dog episode indicates, on the one hand, the extremes of Majnun’s self-denigration and madness; on the other, the animal’s legendary loyalty also makes it a symbol, much loved by the mystics, of the humble and unconditional love of the faithful for God, and thus opens the poem out to a possible mystic interpretation.114 113 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Majnun va Leyli, p. 86. 114 Cf. Dols, Majnūn: the Madman in Medieval Islamic Society, p. 334. The lover proclaiming him/herself the dog of the beloved is a topos in lyrical poetry, not least in the Timurid period; cf. Ehsân Yârshâter, She’r-e fârsi dar ahd-e Shâhrokh (2nd ed., Tehran, 2004), p. 147. See also D. DeWeese, “Dog Saints and Dog Shrines in Kubravî Tradition: Notes on a Hagiographical Motif from Khwârazm,” in D. Aigle,

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY There then follows an episode almost certainly written in response to that, judged probably spurious by Vahid Dastgerdi, of the “wedding night” of Majnun and Leyli in Nezâmi’s poem.115 Leyli, love-sick for her far-off lover, one night dreams that Majnun is reciting love poems for her. She wakes up to find herself alone in her bed. Fired by the dream, despite being sick and dejected, she saddles a camel and departs in search of Majnun, finally finding him lying in a quarry, watched over by wild beasts. Her camel, afraid of the wild animals, refuses to move, but Leyli fearlessly approaches Majnun; and the beasts, recognizing her sincere love for him, allow her to pass. Leyli embraces Majnun and her tears awake him. At the sight of her beauty, he falls back into a faint, as does Leyli out of sheer emotion. With the arrival of evening, the lovers awake. The poet describes their union, perfect as milk and honey and complete, although chaste; the night is passed in one long, tight embrace, two hearts in one breast, two pearls in one casket. Majnun tells her of his dream on the evening before her arrival: both of them sitting happily on a throne—this too probably an allusion to the last chapter in Nezâmi’s poem, the episode of Zeyd’s dream, also expunged by Vahid Dastgerdi. Leyli and Majnun are now one being, and weep to recall the pain of separation. Full of zeal, Majnun decides to depart from Leyli, and she too agrees. Now that the beloved is within the heart, what need to have him or her before their eyes? The joy of their perfect love extends over the whole of the surrounding natural world: Observing the two lovers, inebriated without wine, but in such joyous state, The animals had begun to dance. […] The quail divulged its secrets to the eagle, And Joseph slept peacefully beside the wolf.116 […] The hunter’s numberless arrows: Aimed seemingly at his prey, targeted himself. […] Pearls threaded without the vexation of the string; The diamond was split and the ruby unpierced. The sugar had remained intact in the sugar-bowl, With the parrot content to view it from afar. ed., Miracle et karâma: Hagiographies médiévales comparées (Turnhout, 2000), pp. 459-97. 115 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Majnun va Leyli, pp. 194-205 (120 lines). 116 The reference is to the biblical and Qur’anic story of Joseph.

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Leyli and Majnun The cupbearer and his guest, with the goblet in their hand, Both blissfully drunk, without taking a sip of wine.117

The utopian significance of Majnun’s relations with nature is extended to every aspect of the human, animal and mineral world, re-establishing an order of things from which violence and injustice have been eradicated. Leyli and Majnun’s love, untainted by lust, is part of this perfect order: an amorous utopia the poet had described, albeit for a brief moment, in the love between the two protagonists in the poem Shirin va Khosrow (see above, Chapter 4). At dawn, Leyli takes her leave of him. She speaks while he is silent; but she is able to interpret his silence, as clear as the longest speech. Leyli kisses his feet, pierced by thorns, and with her tears washes the dust from his head. As she leaves, she sings a ghazal describing, in tones similar to those of the Persian classical ghazal, her love and pain at their separation.118 In Amir Khosrow’s re-elaboration of the episode, Leyli undergoes the same path of purification as her beloved and, far from being a victim of Majnun’s love and a woman abandoned, she shares his concept of love. Not only is it Leyli who, as in Nezâmi’s poem, takes the initiative of going to her lover: It is she, too, who departs from him, singing love poems. Modern criticism has not been kind to Amir Khosrow. In almost identical terms to those used by Duda about Amir Khosrow’s poem Shirin va Khosrow (see above, Chapter 4), critics consider Amir Khosrow inferior to Nezâmi in terms of narrative skill. It is claimed that he is more concerned with the external representation of the characters and uninterested in their psychology,119 a judgment that, in the light of his deep analysis of Majnun’s character and madness, seems unjustified. While in the Timurid period Amir Khosrow was appreciated to the extent that men of letters were divided between those preferring Nezâmi’s Khamse and those preferring Amir Khosrow’s,120 Jan Rypka delivered a severe judgment on the vogue for Amir Khosrow’s Khamse in the Timurid

117 118 119 120

Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Majnun va Leyli, p. 204. Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Majnun va Leyli, pp. 209-15, (62 ll.). Cf. Afsahzod, Dostoni “Layli va Majnun,” p. 30. Cf. Afsahzod, Dostoni “Layli va Majnun,” pp. 142-44; Yârshâter, Sheʽr-e fârsi dar ahd-e Shâhrokh, pp. 81-82, 86.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY period: “Here again is an example of the degeneration of thought and of the decadent taste of the period.”121 Amir Khosrow’s poem has less of lyrical poetry than Nezâmi’s, and his Majnun is less moving; the tone is more narrative; and the figures of the lovers’ mothers anchor it firmly in a bourgeois setting. He focuses on and analyses the moral issues connected to Majnun’s madness: manifestations and possible cures, and the social attitude towards it. It is difficult, however, to find any trace of decadence in the poet’s humanism and his genuine love not only for human beings but also for animals, a trait shared with many Persian poets.

5. Mahzun va Mahbub by Jamȃli Mahzun va Mahbub (Grieved and Beloved) by Jamâli of Tabriz is a poem composed in 814/1411 in response to Nezâmi’s Leyli va Majnun, in the same meter. It is dedicated to Tamerlane’s grandson Ghiyâth-al-Din Bâysonghor, son of Shâhrokh. The poem is preserved in a manuscript in the India Office Library, London, dated 870/1465 (Persian MS Ethé 1284, ff. 86v-132r).122 It comprises some 4,600 lines; Jamâli, however, in parallel with the number of lines given in Nezâmi’s poem and disregarding the incongruence between the number given and the lines actually written, maintains that his poem, composed in four months, comprises “4,000 lines and more”: a curious statement, which seems to imitate the incongruence between the number of lines declared and the lines of Nezâmi’s poem as given in the manuscripts Jamâli probably had at his disposal. Jamâli, again imitating Nezâmi, adds that, if free of other commitments, during the next four months he will be able to compose the 5,000 lines of his next poem, in response to Nezâmi’s Haft peykar (f. 90r). The story is located in Arabia, though the atmosphere of the poem has more of the court setting of Persian love poems than of a location among 121 Jan Rypka, in HIL, p. 283. 122 See Paola Orsatti, “The Ḫamsah ‘Quintet’ by Ğamālī: Reply to Niẓāmī Between the Timurids and the Qarā-Qoyunlu,” Oriente Moderno, N.S. 15/2 (1996), pp. 385-413 and, by the same author, “Ḵamsa of Jamāli,” in EIr, XV, pp. 448-51. See also above, Chapter 3, note 59.

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Leyli and Majnun the Bedouin tribes of the desert. The plot is more complex than Nezâmi’s, and, as usual in Jamâli, the characters are different from the characters of the model. The main protagonists are Zeyd, son of the governor of Medina, nicknamed Mahzun (Grieved), and Mahbub (Beloved), daughter of the governor of Mecca. By taking Zeyd, and not Qeys, as the male protagonist, Jamâli seems to be asserting a different identity for the real-life Majnun: a poet who, like Qeys al-Âmeri, had the same nasab of Ebn-al-Molawwah, i.e., Zeyd b. al-Molawwah al-Khâreji.123 The character of Zeyd, on the other hand, had already appeared in a series of episodes deemed spurious by Vahid Dastgerdi, in Nezâmi’s poem, where Zeyd is a doublet of Qeys/Majnun. Rather than his madness, however, it is Zeyd’s suffering in love which is emphasized by the poem, as his sobriquet indicates. The female protagonist, on the other hand, is simply designated by the appellative Mahbub, the Beloved, so as to allude to the transformation of Leyli’s character into a symbol. In choosing to depart from the traditional protagonists, Jamâli would seem to be arrogating a freer approach to the traditional material; and indeed his work seems to belong to what Ghazanfar Yu. Aliev considered the tradition of response ( javâb) stricto sensu, which would imply the adoption of the formal parameters of the model (meter and narrative structure), while the subject of the story and the characters may be very different (see above, Chapter 3). Jamâli’s attitude to the sources of the Majnun legend is equally free: his poem reveals a strong influence of the Persian romance of love and adventure, to the point that it represents the grafting of the Leyli and Majnun narrative directly onto this ancient tradition.124 In Jamâli’s poem, Mahzun and Mahbub fall in love as adults and not, as in Nezâmi’s and Amir Khosrow’s poems, as children at school. On a pilgrimage to Mecca, Zeyd happens to notice a beautiful young girl pass by, and for both of them it is love at first sight. The situation would appear to be without hope, however, since neither has any idea who the other might be—a classic situation in the love and adventure poem, where the falling in love happens often in a dream. Both immediately become sick at heart and find no relief. A young man nicknamed Maftun (Desperate for Love) is 123 Some sources speak of this poet as the true Majnun; see Kračkovskij, “Die Frühgeschichte der Erzählung,” p. 15. 124 For a detailed summary and analysis of the poem, cf. Orsatti, “The Ḫamsah ‘Quintet’ by Ğamālī,” pp. 397-400.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY moved by the extent of Mahzun’s suffering and comes to his aid. Maftun is a javânmard, a sort of knight errant whose mission it is to help those in distress. He is also a very able lute player. His role in the plot places him closer to Shâpur or similar characters in the romance tradition (e.g. Bolbol in Jalâl Tabib’s poem; see above Chapter 4 “Gol va Nowruz by Jalȃl Tabib”) than to Nowfal. Maftun manages to discover the identity of Mahzun’s beloved: She is Mahbub, the daughter of the governor of Mecca. When, however, Mahzun’s father is about to set off to Mecca to ask for the hand of the governor’s daughter, the news arrives that the governor of Mecca is about to arrive on a pilgrimage to Medina with his sick daughter. He and his entourage are sumptuously welcomed and lavishly entertained. On the day the two rulers meet, in the presence of the entire population, an event occurs which is significant for an understanding of the character of Mahzun, a far more radical figure than Majnun in Nezâmi: Before his father asks for Mahbub’s hand, Mahzun openly declares he is happy to be suffering for love and desires no change. This episode corresponds to Majnun’s pilgrimage in Nezâmi’s poem: There too, rather than imploring God to heal him, Majnun declares his wish to remain enslaved by his love for Leyli. In Nezâmi’s poem, however, the episode takes place after Leyli’s father refuses the marriage, whereas in Jamâli’s poem it happens before Mahzun’s father even asks for Mahbub’s hand for his son, when a positive response would have been likely. Mahbub, confused and humiliated, attempts to relinquish her love for Mahzun, but then she vows to remain faithful to her love and accept any suffering it brings: It is the theme of the oath well-known from other love poems. Mahzun’s father decides all the same to ask for her hand for his son and prepares costly gifts, but a slanderer steps in and spreads the rumor that Mahzun is mad. Mahbub’s father decides to return home. The girl writes a letter of farewell to her beloved in which, while inviting him to persevere in hope, also reproves him harshly: Throughout her long stay in Medina as a guest of his father, Mahzun had never once sought to meet her, simply to avoid gossip. Mahzun’s fault, then, is not that he had openly declared his love, but the exact opposite: that he is guilty of playing the bashful lover and docile son and obeying his father’s orders not to give rise to rumors. This is a different slant on two topics dealt with at various points in these poems: the father-son relationship, particularly dear to Jamâli, and the problem of keeping love a secret. 288

Leyli and Majnun To keep his daughter away from Mahzun, Mahbub’s father locks her up in a castle and sends him the false news of her death. He immediately leaves and seeks out her tomb; once there, his instincts tell him it is not she who is buried there (an episode probably inspired by a similar event in Khʷâju Kermâni’s poem Homây va Homâyun). Mahzun, frail and ill, wanders through the foreign land in search of his beloved. The loyal Maftun has meanwhile found her way out of her castle-prison and embarks on a long series of adventures. Finally Mahbub, learning that her beloved is close at hand, escapes from the castle and manages to reach him. Their meeting is characterized by a long list of questions on her part, to which Mahzun replies on a completely different, spiritual level: a monâzere recalling the question-and-answer dialogue between Khosrow and Farhâd in Nezâmi’s Khosrow va Shirin. A series of episodes follow which furnish different answers to the issues raised in Nezâmi’s poem. Jamâli’s Mahbub is strong-willed and rather than marry Salim, of the Banu Tâ’i tribe, drinks poison, which fails to be fatal. The marriage is celebrated a year later, but Salim, unrequited in love, sickens and dies. Mahbub, unlike Amir Khosrow’s Leyli, does not share Mahzun’s concept of love; despite this, she remains faithful to him until death. At death’s door, Mahbub re-evokes their love story and comments: Our business began on the wrong foot, Which is why our story went awry: With the aim of serving God He who is gifted with intellect does not embark on a love story.125

It is possible that Jamâli himself was unsympathetic to merging human and divine love. The difficulty of keeping them separate is a well-known fact, however, and intrinsic to the “basic similarity between the erotic and mystical experiences”;126 indeed the term eshq, designating passionate love, is also used by mystics to describe love of the divine.127

125 London, India Office, Persian MS Ethé 1284, f. 128v. 126 Khairallah, Love, Madness and Poetry, p. 98. 127 Cf. A. Arkoun, “ʽIshk̩,” EI2 , IV, pp. 118-19; and W.C. Chittick, Divine Love: Islamic Literature and the Path to God (New Haven, 2013).

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6. The Legend of Leyli and Majnun in the Fifteenth Century Jamâli’s response to Nezâmi’s poem, so strongly influenced by the tradition of the romance of love and adventure, stands out as atypical, both in the choice of characters and in the treatment of the material narrated. In his character of Mahzun, the Grieved, Jamâli emphasizes an interesting evolution of the Majnun figure: He is no longer the representative of the socalled “Udhri love,” possibly later re-interpreted in mystico-religious terms; he also becomes the stereotype of the love-sick lover, reduced to desperation —and not to madness—over unfulfilled love. Jamâli thus shows a convergence between the characters of Farhâd and Majnun, who initially represented two very different types: Farhâd, the unhappy and unrequited (although here the sources waver) lover of the beautiful Shirin, is a foreigner living in solitude and subsisting through his own labor (see above, Chapter 4, “Between History and Legend”); Majnun, on the other hand, a foreigner in his own land, is requited in his love but, as his character evolves, he gradually loses interest in his actual beloved in favor of the inner representation of her. The two characters, however, share the pains and sufferings of love, and in the history of Persian literature came to be partially identified with one another. Majnun’s fortune increases during the 15th century. After Jamâli, dozens of authors, both Persian and bilingual, i.e., writing in Persian and Turkish,128 composed poems centered on the story of Leyli and Majnun.129 One such was Ashraf of Marâghe (d. after 1466), who in 1440 composed a poem entitled Eshq-nâme (Poem of love) in response to Nezâmi’s Leyli va Majnun.130 A number of other responses, written also in the first half of the 15th century but no longer extant, are attributed to Mowlânâ Ali Âsi, 128 On bilingual poets in the early 15th century cf. Yârshâter, She’r-e fârsi dar ahd-e Shâhrokh, pp. 93-94. 129 Afsahzod, Dostoni “Layli va Majnun,” pp. 142-53. 130 On Ashraf, cf. Aliev, Temy i syuzhety Nizami, pp. 73-74; M. D. Kazymov, “Khaft Peykar” Nizami i traditsiya nazire v persoyazychnoj literature XIV-XVI vv. (Baku, 1987), pp. 11, 106112. According to Kazymov (“Haft Peykar” Nizami, p. 11), his Khamse, still unpublished, is conserved in four manuscripts, one of which at the Bodleian Library (cf. E. Sachau and H. Ethé, Catalogue of the Persian, Turkish, Hindûstȃnî, and Pushtû Manuscripts in the Bodleian Library I, Oxford, 1889, p. 602, no. 874).

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Leyli and Majnun author of the poem Khiyâl va vesâl (Image and Union);131 to Khʷâje Hasan Khezrshâh Astarâbâdi, author of Zeyd va Zeynab (Leyli and Majnun’s “twin” couple whose story, according to Vahid Dastgerdi, was later added to Nezâmi’s poem: see above);132 and to Salimi Jâruni (born ca. 820/1417), a poet active under the Salgharid dynasty of Hormuz (1273-1574).133 In Herat alone, three poems entitled Leyli va Majnun were composed in 1484: by Amir Nezâm-al-Din Ahmad Soheyli (d. 1502), the dedicatee of Vâʽez Kâshefi’s Anvâr-e Soheyli;134 Jâmi’s poem (see below); and the poem by Navâ’i, in Chagatay Turkish, composed at the end of 1484 or in 1485.135 These were soon followed by Hâtefi’s poem (datable, according to A. Afsahzod, to 1485 or 1486: see below); by Maktabi’s (1490: see below); and by numerous others in Turkish (Fozuli) or Persian in the following century.136 The reason for the increasing success of the Leyli and Majnun story in the 15th century and into the following century is almost certainly its possible reading in mystical terms.137 Modern critics, instead, divide between those who appreciate it, not least on account of its mystical and religious value, and those who, conversely, consider it no more than the reflection of a suffocating Bedouin society. For example, the Iranian scholar Ali-Akbar Sa’idi-Sirjâni considers the Leyli and Majnun story, as narrated by Nezâmi, to represent a rigidly gender-divided society in which the woman, Leyli, lives as a recluse and has no control over her own fate, a very different 131 Cf. Afsahzod, Dostoni “Layli va Majnun,” pp. 147-48. 132 Cf. Afsahzod, Dostoni “Layli va Majnun,” p. 148; Aliev, Temy i syuzhety Nizami, p. 255. 133 Only his poem Shirin va Farhâd, written in 880/1475, has come down to us. See above, Chapter 4, “Farhâd.” 134 Three manuscripts are extant, including one in the Bodleian (cf. E. Sachau and H. Ethé, Catalogue of the Persian, Turkish, Hindûstȃnî, and Pushtû Manuscripts, I, p. 639, no. 982). On Soheyli’s poem, cf. Afsahzod, Dostoni “Layli va Majnun,” pp. 15053 and Aliev, Temy i syuzhety Nizami, p. 203. 135 On Navȃ’i’s poem, cf. Afsahzod, Dostoni “Layli va Majnun,” pp. 153-61, which gives a detailed summary of it. For the dating of the poem, cf. in particular pp. 154-55. 136 Cf. Fozuli, Leylâ ve Mejnun, tr. from Turkish by Sofi Huri as Leylā and Mejnun, with a history of the poem, notes, and bibliography by Alessio Bombaci, tr. from Italian by Elizabeth Davies (London, 1970). On the poems composed on this subject see above and note 43. 137 On the religious situation in the early 15th century and the importance of mystic currents and Sufism, cf. Yârshâter, She’r-e fârsi dar ahd-e Shâhrokh, pp. 14-24.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY character from Shirin.138 In any case, those centered on the Leyli and Majnun story would be poems from which love as a concrete and living force, of the senses and not just of the mind, is totally absent. Other reasons for the increasing fortune of Leyli and Majnun’s story have been adduced, however, one of which deserves attention since it appears to be in surprising contradiction to the interpretation generally given for Nezâmi’s poem and those which came after it. The Tajik scholar A’lokhon Afsahzod explains the vogue for the Leyli and Majnun story, particularly from the 15th century onwards, as associated with the desire, voiced by the poets, to shake off the fetters of contemporary feudal society by representing freer and more open amorous relationships—a reading which, as stated above, is in sharp contrast with the interpretation favored by the majority of scholars. A number of points help to explain Afsahzod’s reading. The episode of the “wedding night of Leyli and Majnun,” excluded from the Vahid Dastgerdi edition but retained in all the responses to Nezâmi, beginning with Amir Khosrow’s (see above), can radically modify our judgment on the roles played by the characters. Leyli is seen here as considerably less passive than how she appears in the Vahid Dastgerdi edition. The episode is also not without foundation in the sources, which, in narrating the last meeting between Leyli and Majnun, recount that she visited him one night at the request of Majnun’s mother.139 Indeed, the suggested rigid gender separation of Bedouin society does not seem to have a historical basis, at least in the case of the Leyli and Majnun legend. The sources show a relatively free interaction between the sexes, in contrast to the situation in the Arab and Islamic lands in the following centuries.140 Abd-al-Rahmân Jâmi, basing his poem on a careful retrieval of data directly from the sources of the Majnun legend, describes relations between the sexes and a character of Leyli which are surprisingly free.

138 Ali-Akbar Saʽidi-Sirjȃni, Simȃ-ye do zan: Shirin va Leyli dar Khamse-ye Nezȃmi-ye Ganjavi (5th ed., Tehran, 1998). 139 Kračkovskij, “Die Frühgeschichte der Erzählung,” p. 28. 140 On this, cf. also Kračkovskij, “Die Frühgeschichte der Erzählung,” p. 26.

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7. Leyli va Majnun by Jȃmi Jâmi’s poem was composed—as the poet says, emulating Nezâmi—in four months, in 889/1484. It comprises 3,860 lines.141 The poem begins, as is customary, with the praises to God and to the Prophet; there follows praise to Jâmi’s spiritual guide, Khʷâje Obeyd-Allâh Ahrâr,142 and a description of the Prophet’s ascension to heaven. As the poem had not been commissioned, there is no address to a dedicatee. From the very beginning, the poet introduces a chapter on love that takes up and develops Nezâmi’s concept expounded at the beginning of his Khosrow va Shirin: It was love that gave birth to the universe; it permeates every aspect of the world. If love is even embedded in the stones, in the force that attracts iron to the magnet, for humans it represents a far more significant force. No-one can live without it; and, to illustrate this point, Jâmi introduces a short anecdote about a Kurd who had lost his donkey. Its function is to replace the cat of Nezâmi’s poem Khosrow va Shirin), or the dog of Amir Khosrow’s Leyli va Majnun, with the donkey, as object of love. A preacher, Jâmi narrates, was speaking of love by means of subtle conceits when a man arrived who had lost his donkey. Taking his cue from the poor man’s distress, the preacher cries fervently: “Who is here today who has never felt the pangs of love and has not been branded by its fire?” A naïve person stands up: “I am that man! O great one of the Age! I have had no traffic with love.” The preacher then turns to the man who had lost his donkey: “Look you! Here is your donkey! Bring your bridle. Ears apart, here is a complete donkey.”143 Love is everyone’s favorite subject, says the poet. For this reason, he is now writing about Leyli and Majnun, having already written the poem Yusof va Zoleykhâ, which had been received with great enthusiasm by lovers (Salâmân va Absâl is not mentioned and indeed is not, strictly speaking, a love poem). Jâmi mentions Nezâmi and Amir Khosrow as the poets who 141 Jâmi, Leyli va Majnun, ed. A’lâkhân Afsahzâd, in Mathnavi-ye Haft owrang (2 vols., Tehran, 1376-8/1997-9), II, pp. 211-413. The information about date and time of composition of the poem is given at the end of the poem, ll. 3853, 3855. 142 See Khairallah, Love, Madness and Poetry, p. 112. 143 Jâmi, Leyli va Majnun, ll. 205-12. The story also appears in other sources, e.g. Attâr’s Mosibat-nâme; cf. Afsahzod, Dostoni “Layli va Majnun,” p. 52.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY had already dealt with the story of Leyli and Majnun.144 The introductory part ends with a chapter in which, in imitation of the introductory section of Nezâmi’s poem, Jâmi remembers his companions of the Naqshbandi order who had already died and the great sovereigns of the past. At the end of this section, Jâmi praises his friend, the famous minister and poet Ali Shir Navâ’i (1441-1501). The section containing advice to his son, in answer to Nezâmi’s, is moved to the end of the poem. Jâmi does not limit himself to responding to his models by modifying the episodes through more or less imperceptible variations or by rewriting them so as to change their meaning. He writes a completely new poem, the main characteristic of which is the taking up of narrative elements present in the sources of the Majnun legend but excluded by Nezâmi and Amir Khosrow.145 What he says regarding his relationship with his models is interesting:146 Astride his camel, he will follow in the wake of the two great poets, considering as an elixir the dust raised by their camels’ hooves; but at the same time he arrogates autonomy as regards his sources: “When one can extract the gem from the mine, it would be a sign of weakness to go to a shop.”147 His desire, he adds, is to remove the stone blocking the spring, so that the water may flow in all directions. Jâmi’s adherence to the sources consists both in introducing numerous less known episodes, but also in accentuating the original narrative structure of the Majnun legend. Jâmi’s Leyli va Majnun is in fact built up of a series of interminable and sometimes monotonous episodes offering a pretext for the insertion of the lyrical passages sung by Majnun and Leyli. If we consider that in Jâmi’s poem the “structural” parts (i.e., the introductory and conclusive sections) are considerably shorter than in the poems analyzed above (according to A. Afsahzod’s calculation, only 310 out of 3,860 lines148), it becomes immediately clear how significant the narrative part is to the entire poem. 144 Jâmi here does not mention all the successive poets who had dealt with the story; many of them, however, had made no direct reference to Leyli and Majnun in the title of their poems. 145 A list of new episodes introduced by Jâmi but absent from the preceding poems is given by Afsahzod, Dostoni “Layli va Majnun,” p. 69. 146 Jâmi, Leyli va Majnun, ll. 233-49. 147 Jâmi, Leyli va Majnun, l. 241. 148 Afsahzod, Dostoni “Layli va Majnun,” p. 68.

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Leyli and Majnun Jâmi’s version of the facts is divergent at several points from his models. He does not, for example, follow Nezâmi’s innovation—the description, at the beginning of the poem, of a childless father who ardently desires the birth of a son, a narrative pattern typical of Persian romance. In Jâmi’s version, Qeys is the youngest and most favored of the ten children of a nobleman of the Banu Âmer.149 He is described as searching for love from his boyhood. The search is initially confused and haphazard. Before falling in love with Leyli, he feels desire for every beautiful woman he sees. On his camel’s back, he wanders among the various tribes seeking out the prettiest girls. One day, he meets an extremely lovely girl, Karime, and at first sight the two become inebriated by love; soon, however, another young man appears who attracts the attention of all, including Karime. Majnun is smitten by jealousy and goes off singing of women’s infidelity. All that he can do is to console himself with the women of his tribe. In describing the protagonists’ falling in love, Jâmi follows the other version given in the sources: They do not fall in love as children, while grazing their sheep, but as adults. According to Jâmi, Majnun one day hears of a most beautiful girl, called Leyli, of a neighboring tribe, and immediately saddles his camel and sets out to find her. Leyli is described in all her beauty; the two young people immediately fall in love.150 Every morning, Majnun joins Leyli and spends the day with her; in the evening, he is forced to return home and bewails the social restrictions whereby they are unable to meet freely. Majnun’s to and fro movement then begins, each journey representing a new episode. One day Leyli decides to test his love and, at a feast, speaks with the several young men present there, while ignoring Majnun. Peace is soon made: Leyli declares her love for him and explains that they should conceal their love in public to avoid gossip. Despite this clarification, Majnun has the first of a long series of fainting fits which punctuate the poem; all other people, believing him dead, depart frightened; only Leyli remains to watch over him. Towards evening, when 149 A tradition mentioned in the Ketâb al-she’r; cf. Khairallah, Love, Madness and Poetry, p. 140. 150 On the story of Karime, and the second version in the sources narrating Leyli’s and Majnun’s falling in love as adults, and not as children out grazing their sheep, cf. Kračkovskij, “Die Frühgeschichte der Erzählung,” pp. 25-26. Majnun’s jealous character is referred to in the Ketâb al-she’r; cf. Khairallah, Love, Madness and Poetry, p. 136.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY he recovers his senses, Majnun explains that the crisis was brought about by the strong emotions and abrupt change in her attitude towards him, adding: “I am a human being, not a piece of granite!”151 Leyli swears to be faithful and to love him alone. The depth of her love further fuels Majnun’s own; and these anxiety-ridden trepidations (vasvase), the poet states, in the end turn into madness. Matters precipitate: Majnun’s tribe begins to suspect his long daytime absences and his neglect of friends and family. A friend of Majnun offers to discover his secret; Majnun, unaware of the trap, opens his heart, and the story of his love for Leyli becomes public, eventually reaching his father’s ears. Majnun’s father reproaches him severely: Love is a wonderful thing, but not all women are worthy of it. Leyli is less than suitable for two reasons: her low social status as well as the hostility between their two tribes. Majnun’s reply is a manifesto of his ideas about love and a lucid exposition of the new concept: All beautiful women bear in them a trace of Eternal Beauty and mirror Divine Light. Their birth, lineage, or tribe is of no importance. Having found the right person, one must be true to her forever, never looking for pleasure elsewhere: Love must be directed towards one woman alone. The elders of the tribe list the traditional remedies for a misguided love-affair: a journey, or another woman. The second option is decided on, which thus has the same function as the pilgrimage in Nezâmi’s poem: an attempt to cure Majnun of his love. Majnun must marry his cousin, the daughter of his paternal uncle. Majnun refuses, repeating his ideal of love for one woman only, who can never be replaceable. On his own initiative, and not urged by his father, Majnun undertakes the pilgrimage, presented here as a conversion: He repents of his past sins and swears devotion to Leyli alone. He returns from pilgrimage and resumes his daily visits to Leyli. This time it is her parents who intervene, making it clear to her that dishonor and scandal (parde-dari) must be avoided. Majnun therefore decides to visit Leyli secretly at night. His nocturnal visits, however, are discovered and provoke the fury of Leyli’s father, a violent, vulgar character who beats her severely and threatens to turn to the caliph if Majnun dare enter her tent again. In order to catch sight of Leyli at least at a distance, Majnun asks 151 Jâmi, Leyli va Majnun, l. 713.

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Leyli and Majnun hospitality of a poor widow, whose tent is close to Leyli’s, and to whom he is glad to be of help, given her piteous condition.152 But Leyli’s father soon learns about this, and threatens the poor woman with death if she continues to give hospitality to Majnun. He then goes to the caliph, who requests the governor of the region to proceed against Majnun. The governor issues a proclamation enjoining Majnun: No longer to recite ghazals proclaiming the name of Leyli, Nor to drive his camel in search of her. […] Not to recite poetry in her wake, Nor to tell stories before the traces of her encampment.153

The situation is becoming desperate, and only now does Majnun beg his father to ask for Leyli’s hand, thereby implying that marriage had not been a significant issue with him until then. He would, of course, have been aware of the obstacle of their different social status and the two tribes’ rivalry, and of his father’s aversion; but actually Majnun’s love for Leyli is completely chaste, and no mention is ever made of his desire to possess her. When his father had proposed marriage with his cousin, Majnun had extolled chastity as an absolute value, this being not—in his words—the decision of a madman, but that of a man in complete possession of himself: In this world I am as Jesus son of Mary, I tread lightly on the road of celibacy. […] For, as long as I dwell under this dome of heaven, I shall remain free of union with any woman. […] Except for myself, no-one shall be my companion. I alone am sufficient as a companion to myself.154

152 This episode is also present in the sources, cited as an alternative to that of the old woman who goes to Leyli’s tent accompanying Majnun, in chains and in the semblance of a beggar, which is narrated by Nezȃmi; cf Kračkovskij, “Die Frühgeschichte der Erzählung,” p. 32. 153 Jâmi, Leyli va Majnun, ll. 1343, 1346. 154 Jâmi, Leyli va Majnun, ll. 928, 931, 934.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Only the thought of never seeing Leyli, not even at a distance, would have induced him to think of marriage. His father acquiesces, and a group of notables visit Leyli’s father. He is depicted as caring little for his daughter’s happiness, and his very way of speaking betrays his base origins. He rejects the offer: If the request had been advanced previously it would have been acceptable, but it is now too late; everyone is talking about this love-affair which has covered his daughter with shame. His hopes dashed, Majnun wanders into the desert, among the animals. It is at this point that he encounters Nowfal, who makes a last unfortunate attempt to persuade Leyli’s father to agree to marriage. Majnun, then, removes his turban and clothing and, murmuring a solitary song (zamzame), returns to the desert. Sometime afterwards he goes to Leyli, alone in her tent while all the men of the tribe are away. A brief, intense encounter between the two lovers takes place. The central part of the poem is characterized by a series of other episodes mostly not included by Nezâmi but present in the sources. The poet Kothayyer, lover of Azzâ, who had met Majnun, speaks of him to the caliph;155 and the latter asks the governor of Najd for further information, enjoining him to go into the desert and request Majnun to come to the court. Majnun refuses: A king among beasts, he lives free and does not take orders from anyone. He is put into chains and taken by force to the caliph, who has him bathe and put on perfumed clothing. Majnun, feeling humiliated, wishes to flee: The position of court poet is not fitting for him. In the meantime, one of his love songs to Leyli arouses the admiration of the caliph and the whole court, and he is showered with costly gifts. Majnun leaves it all and returns to the desert. Leyli sets off on pilgrimage. On the return journey, a gust of wind raises the curtain of the litter; and a handsome and wealthy youth of the Banu Thaqif tribe, catching sight of her, falls in love.156 He asks her hand in marriage and his request is accepted: Leyli has no say in the matter. The marriage is celebrated but, as in Nezâmi’s poem, remains unconsummated at 155 This episode is possibly a re-elaboration of the encounter between Majnun and Qeys b. Dharih, the Udhri poet much admired by Majnun according to the sources; cf. Kračkovskij, “Die Frühgeschichte der Erzählung,” pp. 30-31. 156 Jâmi is here drawing on information present in other sources, whereby Leyli’s husband belonged to the tribe of the Banû Thaqif; cf. Kračkovskij, “Die Frühgeschichte der Erzählung,” pp. 19 and 27.

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Leyli and Majnun her firm refusal. Leyli informs her husband she would rather kill herself than betray the love and loyalty sworn to Majnun. Her husband suffers in silence. In the desert, where Majnun wanders in search of the traces of Leyli’s encampment and the hoof-prints of her camel, a malicious gossip informs him of her marriage. Majnun cuts all ties with the world; feeling himself betrayed by men, he lives with the beasts of the desert and watches over them like a just king, his justice being reflected in the animals’ behavior to each other. He is joined by a group of youths who, hearing his story, had set off to find him and live with him in the hopes of emulating his ideals, a passing reference to the Majnun vogue amongst the youth of his epoch. One day, as he is wandering through the burning desert in search of Leyli, he is offered hospitality by the owner of a beautiful garden, to whom he explains why he never eats meat: To feed upon the flesh of slaughtered animals is worthy of beasts. The animals, in their turn, love him because he abstains from consuming their meat. Majnun then addresses a dove that had lost his companion with a lyrical song. Leyli writes a letter reassuring him of her fidelity and entrusts it to a passing camel-driver. In his reply, Majnun laments the suffering caused by his jealousy and separation from her. Leyli’s husband, the spurned lover, suffers equally, and in the end falls ill and dies; and Leyli, under pretext of grieving for her husband, is finally able to give free rein to her grief. The same informer who had brought Majnun news of her marriage now brings him that of the death of Leyli’s husband, imagining he will be pleased. Majnun however reproves him: No true human being can rejoice over the death or misfortune of another: an issue debated, in Nezâmi’s Khosrow va Shirin and in the poems responding to it, in the authorial reflections after the death of Maryam. The episodic structure of the poem, with the continuous addition of new episodes, is perfectly suitable for expressing the allegoric value of Majnun’s story. A’lokhon Afsahzod interprets the poem as a path of search divided into three phases. At the beginning, Majnun appears as the carefree and pleasure-seeking son of a wealthy lord. His love for Leyli and the discovery of true love profoundly alter his life, and he soon experiences the pain of separation. In the final part of the poem, Majnun is presented, through a series of episodes marking his growing alienation from himself

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY and reality, as detached even from his beloved: Pronouncing “I am Leyli,” he ultimately rejects her.157 Indeed, after the death of Leyli’s husband, a long series of episodes reveal a Majnun almost covering himself in ridicule through self-denigration and self-annihilation: the dog episode—a response to the corresponding episode in Amir Khosrow’s poem; the episode in which, in order to get to Leyli, he puts on a rough and foul-smelling sheep skin and joins a flock; or that in which, informed by the shepherd that Leyli distributes food to the poor, he pretends to be a beggar; when Leyli recognizes him, out of sheer surprise she smashes his bowl with her spoon, thereby filling him with ecstatic joy. Majnun seems immersed in an ever-increasing self-degradation. He sniffs the earth like a dog, searching for traces of his beloved, and has constant fainting-fits which last for a considerable time. One day he sees a caravan which has pitched camp. Majnun fantasizes that Leyli might be among them and indeed spots her walking towards him. He faints and when regains consciousness; they exchange a few words: Leyli has to go, but will shortly return if he will only wait in the same place. For some days Majnun stays there motionless; the birds build their nests in his hair and lay their eggs. When Leyli finally returns, beautiful and full of desire, Majnun initially fails to recognize her. He then explains to her that, in his love for her, he has gone beyond any dualism between lover and beloved. Leyli at once understands that he has fallen into an abyss from which he cannot be saved. Her heart bursting with grief, she reviews their story: their initial happiness ruined by malevolent individuals, who had obstructed their love ultimately parting them; Majnun taking his path through the regions of non-being, while she had had to learn to live with pain. Leyli’s judgment on the whole train of events is negative. Unlike Amir Khosrow’s Leyli, Jâmi’s heroine, as well as Jamâli’s Mahbub, are far from agreeing with Majnun’s choices; however, she blames not him but the people who have put barriers in their way. After this episode, Jâmi tells of an Arab poet who sets off to find Majnun and remains with him for some time, committing his poems to memory. When he again returns, he finds him dead, his arms round a young gazelle and surrounded by his animals, who are weeping for him. Majnun has left a brief note written in the sand: 157 Afsahzod, Dostoni “Layli va Majnun,” p. 71.

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Leyli and Majnun Woe is me! For I died branded by love’s fire; I rendered up my spirit on the bed of separation. The times turned cold on me: No-one offered me compassion. The night of patience broke my back, And life killed me with its sword of separation. No man ever died without being avenged like me, Deprived of due mourning, like me. No friend has wept at my graveside, Nor washed off the dust from my countenance.158

The Arab poet informs Majnun’s parents, who perform the burial and mourn him. At this point, Jâmi adds a chapter explaining the significance of his poem: Majnun’s love had begun as earthly (majâzi) love but had gradually become real (haqiqi) Love: Never imagine that Majnun Was enchanted by earthly beauty. […] His inebriation was born of the Wine (bâde), not of the cup ( jâm); And at the end, indeed, he spurned the cup. […] Her very name (Leyli) filled his mouth with sugar, But what he intended was Another.159

The Arab departs in search of Leyli, to take her the news of Majnun’s death. As in the earliest sources, Leyli dies after Majnun’s death. Jâmi’s poem stands apart from Nezâmi’s and the other poems composed in response to it. The poet has endeavored hard to gather and versify into his poem the most ancient traditions regarding the Majnun legend, without limiting himself to his models, Nezâmi and Amir Khosrow. With the continuous addition of new episodes containing lyrical passages sung by Majnun on every occasion, Jâmi faithfully reproduces the form along which the legend of Majnun had been developing across the centuries: a gathering of poetic fragments inserted into a loose and repetitious narrative frame. The allegorical value of the story is not only theorized, but is also coherently represented through the path followed by Majnun, step by step, 158 Jâmi, Leyli va Majnun, ll. 3449-53. 159 Jâmi, Leyli va Majnun, ll. 3517, 3520, 3524.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY episode by episode, in his search for the Absolute. Majnun is no madman; he is only a youth of great sensibility whose destiny of love is predetermined by fate. The words he uses to expound his concept of love to his father provide a lucid manifesto of the ideal of love derived from Udhri poets, and certainly not the product of a crazed mind. His falling in love as an adult, and not as a young boy, suggests that for him Leyli is the point of arrival after a long though unsystematic search for the one woman who could embody true Love. As well as its mystic underpinning, Jâmi’s poem carries strong social criticism.160 The main impediment to marriage here is not Majnun’s madness, but the contrast in social status between his family and Leyli’s, and the society around the lovers, beginning with the friend of Majnun’s who betrays their secret, is not only unable to understand their love, but actively thwarts it by throwing up obstacles. Leyli in this poem is a simple girl, who grazes her sheep and perhaps, on account of her low social standing, enjoys a certain freedom. When, after the death of her husband, Majnun goes to her, on all fours, covered in a sheepskin, she expresses her exasperation at society’s constraints but, equally, her anguish at Majnun’s degradation: For how long must we speak to each other covertly (ze parde ‘from behind a curtain’)? Let us tell the secrets of our hearts openly (lit. pust kande ‘without skin’).161

8. Other Poems The weight of tradition and the respect for their preceding models are particularly clear in the case of the poems in response to Nezâmi’s Leyli va Majnun, the plot of which comprises a series of episodes around which the poets weave infinite variations, adding or removing episodes, changing their order, or, more frequently, simply making more or less slight modifications, 160 This aspect of Jâmi’s poem is particularly underlined by Afsahzod, Dostoni “Layli va Majnun,” pp. 71, 77, and passim. 161 Jâmi, Leyli va Majnun, l. 3215. Afsahzȃd, however, has accepted into the text the reading pust karda, which seems to be less satisfactory.

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Leyli and Majnun the significance of which is to be deciphered following the many threads joining the texts. As Alessandro Bausani notes of the poems composed in response to Nezâmi’s Khamse: What is new, here as in lyric poetry, is to be discovered in the folds of the style: a variant or a subtlety added or removed. The absolute has been reached and cannot be surpassed, but only studied and made more perfect.162 As seen above, the imitation of Nezâmi’s poem does not only involve the plot and formal parameters—meter, narrative scaffolding, and the presence of specific structural elements (lyrical passages, formulaic introductions to the chapters, parallel construction of the lines and antithesis, etc.) —but even extends to the poem’s introductory and autobiographical sections. A number of analyses, more or less detailed, have been published that compare the different plots, identifying the episodes which are common to and the innovations introduced by every individual poet.163 This painstaking and patient work, can often however overlook the main characteristics of each poem. Indeed, for all the similarities and dissimilarities of the poems, which, not least for the simplicity of the plot, seem highly repetitive, only a critical reading reveals the specific character and significance of each one.

Leyli Majnun by Hȃtefi Hâtefi’s poem is particularly important in order to understand intertextuality in the tradition of response to Nezâmi’s Leyli va Majnun.164 The poem, whose title in the form Leyli Majnun (without the conjunction) appears at the end,165 comprises 2,065 lines in the edition by Sa’dullo Asadulloev.166 The date of composition is not given: We know only that it was composed in Herat167 and was Hâtefi’s first poem. Given that the following 162 Alessandro Bausani, “La letteratura neopersiana,” in Antonino Pagliaro and Alessandro Bausani, Storia della letteratura persiana (Milan, 1960), p. 742. 163 A comparison between the plots in the poems by Nezâmi, Amir Khosrow, and Jâmi is given in Afsahzod, Dostoni “Layli va Majnun,” pp. 56-70. 164 Hâtefi, Leyli va Majnun, ed. Sa’dullo Asadullaev (Dushanbe, 1962). 165 Hâtefi, Leyli va Majnun, l. 2051. 166 There are in fact 2,055 lines: The numeration given in the Asadullaev edition jumps from l. 1,012 to l. 1,022. 167 See Hâtefi, Leyli va Majnun, l. 295.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY poem, Shirin va Khosrow, is also undated (see above, Chapter 4, “Hȃtefi’s Shirin va Khosrow”), the only useful clue is the date of the earliest extant manuscript of Leyli Majnun: 892/1487.168 The poem was therefore necessarily written before 1487; according to Afsahzod, it was written most probably in 1485 or 1486.169 If, however, the poem postdates Jâmi’s own work, given that he was Hâtefi’s protector and maternal uncle, it is surprising that Hâtefi not only fails to mention Jȃmi’s poem (as well as the poems by Soheyli and Navȃ’i), but also seems not to have been influenced by his uncle’s work.170 After praise to God, praise to the Prophet with the description of his ascent to heaven, praise to Ali (Hâtefi was a Shi’ite), and an invocation to Qȃsem-e Anvȃr, the saint protector of Kharjerd (Hȃtefi’s natal town), in whose shrine and through whose inspiration he had first conceived the idea to compose the poem, the poet speaks of his work. The news had spread that he was thinking of writing a poem about Leyli and Majnun; and a group of envious poets—a reference to Nezâmi’s introductory section— had started to criticize his presumption, because such a young poet had dared to compete with poets of Nezâmi and Amir Khosrow’s caliber. His celebrated uncle intervened in his defense. And indeed, when the poem was completed, the poet recounts with great pride, it won the admiration of the whole city of Herat. There follows a praise to Mir Ali Shir Navâ’i and praise to the reed pen. Hâtefi boasts of having written a completely new poem, borrowing from no-one, but also complains that no purchaser had put himself forward to buy it. From these words it is clear that the young poet had composed the poem on his own initiative, hoping to bring himself to the attention of the public and the critics by setting in verse the story most in vogue in Herat at the time. Hâtefi’s first innovation was to introduce—in place of the advice to his son—a section of advice to a seventy-year-old man, inviting him to desist from the pleasures and desires of the flesh and consider old age as a preparation for death. Given the total absence of satire or invective in this section, 168 British Library, MS Or. 3316; cf. Ch. Rieu, Supplement to the Catalogue of the Persian manuscripts in the British Museum (London, 1895), p. 191, no. 296. 169 Afsahzod, Dostoni “Layli va Majnun,” pp. 162-63. 170 Hâtefi (Leyli va Majnun, ll. 1988-2013) presents himself as the third poet who treated this story, after Nezȃmi and Amir Khosrow.

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Leyli and Majnun it is not implausible to suppose that the addressee was his uncle Jâmi, who at the time the poem was written must have been around seventy. Hâtefi’s claim to originality is of course to be read in the context of the narrow space left, in Persian literature, to a response. He follows Nezâmi’s plot step by step, occasionally inserting some of Amir Khosrow’s episodes. At almost every point, however, he introduces modifications, slight or more radical: Indeed, the significance of Hâtefi’s poem lies in the distance between the model or models and his reformulation of the story. This poem too begins with the story of the rich nobleman who grieves for his want of progeny, accompanied, as in Nezâmi, by the consideration that often if a wish fails to come true, it is for the better: a consideration which corresponds, in Amir Khosrow’s poem, to the astrologer’s predictions of suffering pronounced at the child’s birth. Hâtefi, however, introduces several new elements into the theme of the child destined for love and pain: As a baby, Qeys cries continuously and apparently without reason, to the great distress of his nurse and the entire family; only when a beautiful woman takes him in her arms does the baby stop crying. The poet describes Qeys’s upbringing in his opulent surroundings, before going to school and falling in love with Leyli, who returns his love. Hâtefi notes that, once in love, Leyli and Majnun go to school very happily, unlike most children. Leyli’s mother’s talk with her daughter is, as in Amir Khosrow, full of popular adages and also contains the classic mother-to-daughter threat: If you persist with this affair, I’ll tell your father and there’ll be trouble! You’re to be confined to the house, and no make-up or fine clothes; as for the outside world, you can view it only reflected in a mirror. Hâtefi also describes the girl’s attempts to hide her love from her mother: Is this ‘love’ (eshq) a flower in spring, Or the name of a village in some region? Or is love something that we eat? In the name of God, please tell me plainly! I have never heard the word, For it has no currency in the world.171

Leyli is taken out of school and locked up at home. Majnun’s first attempt to see her is formulated differently here. Hâtefi imagines a stratagem: 171 Hâtefi, Leyli va Majnun, ll. 594-96.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Majnun pretends to be a blind beggar who falls down and injures himself in front of Leyli’s house. He is taken inside and left alone with Leyli, who recognizes him; and they renew their pact of love. The trick is soon discovered, however, and the two are separated once more. Maj­nun immediately reveals signs of madness, walking around barefoot, no covering on his head, and muttering nonsense, followed by a gang of children clutching stones in their hands, a graphic representation of the madman in mediaeval Islamic society. Here, too, Majnun’s father makes a first attempt to bring him back home to the care of his mother, who, as in Amir Khosrow’s poem, treats him lovingly: While weeping, she bathes and dresses him and cuts his nails. His father, in his attempt to remove him from the influence of that unhappy love, in this poem assumes the role of the slanderer, a role which is performed by different characters in the other poems. After an invective against women and their fickleness, it is his father who conjures up the news that, out of shame and embarrassment because of his behavior, Leyli has decided to forget him and is now living a quiet life. Majnun replies by underlining points already made in the other poems: It is not within his power to shake off his madness, just as no-one chooses a painful destiny for himself. He himself is ashamed of his own behavior and thanks his father for his kindly advice, though to no avail in his case. Majnun has no wish to abandon his suffering and, like Nezâmi’s Maj­nun at the Ka’ba, hopes that the pains of love will last forever. Never for a moment does he believe the calumny against Leyli, and he theorizes about the relationship between lover and loved one: Between her and me there is no distinction of ‘you’ and ‘I;’ In the religion of lovers there is no dualism (do’ i). She is not Leyli, nor I Majnun: We have now become only one body.172

Instead of the pilgrimage, his father consults a wise man of the world who advises a number of popular remedies to cure Majnun: covering his eyes with earth from the threshold of Leyli’s house, or placing a chain around his neck, to prevent him from tearing his clothes; but nothing works. It is only at this point—considerably later, then, than in Nezâmi’s plot — that Majnun’s father asks for Leyli’s hand for his son. Hâtefi gives no reason 172 Hâtefi, Leyli va Majnun, ll. 824-5.

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Leyli and Majnun for this delay: one of the characteristic incongruities in his rewriting of the traditional material, which ignores the claims of plausibility or plot-coherence. Majnun’s father, with the elders of the Banu Âmer tribe, goes to ask for Leyli’s hand. The answer is negative: Majnun is a madman, mocked by children and living outside the company of men. Here, again, Hâtefi introduces a further innovation: Majnun’s father denies that his son is mad and asks that he be sent for to demonstrate his sanity publicly. At the very moment Majnun presents himself for this public test, one of the dogs from Leyli’s street trots by: Majnun recognizes it and, weeping, embraces it, prostrates himself at its feet, and addresses it, exalting the canine virtues and proclaiming himself dog of the dog. Leyli’s father and all his tribe burst out laughing, and the episode closes with this clear and most public testimony of Majnun’s madness and the inevitable end to the marriage project. By uniting the dog episode with the request for Leyli’s hand in marriage, Hâtefi thus amplifies its significance and effect. Probably to offset the dog episode, there follows a chapter in defense of Majnun modeled on one of the chapters Vahid Dastgerdi considered spurious: Majnun was a miracle of love, and his story a model to follow; Beware, oh brother, of declaring him mad, mad as that band of senseless folk!173

His father makes a last attempt to cure his son, taking him to an ascetic and carefully positioning himself behind the door to eavesdrop. He hears his son ask the ascetic not to be cured of his love, but to pray for it to last forever, as in Nezâmi’s poem. At this point, the ascetic realizes that all hope is lost. Among the images he uses to illustrate the concept that no cure can be beneficial to Majnun, there is one citing glasses, evidently already in common use at the time: Spectacles (eynak), which sharpen the sight, Are but a dead weight on a blind man’s nose.174 173 Hâtefi, Leyli va Majnun, ll. 1023-24. 174 Hâtefi, Leyli va Majnun, l. 1152. Glasses had already made an appearance in Jâmi’s poem Salâmân va Absâl (Jâmi, Salâmân va Absâl, in Mohammad Rowshan, Salâmân va Absâl … va maqulât-i dar tamthil-shenâsi, Tehran, 1994, farangi shishe, l.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Leyli is requested in marriage by Ebn-e Salâm for his son (and not, therefore, for himself). Here, too, on their wedding-night, the bride delivers a blow strong enough to knock her husband to the ground, but, and this is a novel element, the husband reacts by divorcing her. Equally new is the miracle which saves Majnun’s life: After her divorce, Majnun goes to Leyli, who answers the door to him, unveiled. They are commiserating over the pain of separation when one of Leyli’s guardians (raqib) spots Majnun and lunges at him with his sword in what would certainly have been a fatal attack, but his raised arms are suddenly paralyzed and only function again when the man has begged Majnun’s pardon. The Nowfal episode, which comes after Leyli’s marriage and divorce, also presents considerable modifications. Here, Leyli’s tribe is defeated in battle and Leyli taken prisoner. Nowfal, however, falls desperately in love with her and, in this poem, it is he who attempts to kill Majnun, but mistakenly he drinks the poison intended for Majnun and dies. In the final episode in which Leyli loses control of her camel as she is riding along with her caravan and becomes lost in the desert, Majnun encounters her but refrains from approaching her, not, again an innovation, because he feels no desire, but because he fears for her reputation. Leyli finally sickens and dies, leaving a message of love for Majnun with her mother. The general grief and her burial, almost a marriage rite between Leyli and the earth, are finely and movingly described. A mausoleum (qasr) is built over her tomb, although nothing now remains, Hâtefi comments. The poet continues with a series of coups de théâtre, revealing at this point that in this poem it is Leyli the heroine of love until death, an allegory of true Love, while Majnun is simply a pretext (bahâne).175 Leyli’s elderly mother brings Majnun the news of her daughter’s death and her last message to him. Majnun is now alone, guarded by the animals, his agony watched over by the heavens, which weep their rain for him and groan through their thunder (a possible reference to one of the last lines in Jâmi’s poem: see above). Hâtefi’s literary operation has been to ignore a number of facts, taking for granted his reader’s familiarity with the characters and setting of the poem and with many of the plot elements, which he treats as traditional and therefore requiring no explanation. At the same time, he introduces 155, p. 140). In Hȃtefi’s poem Leyli va Majnun, an image centered on glasses is also present in l. 1414. 175 Hâtefi, Leyli va Majnun, l. 1878.

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Leyli and Majnun modifications or innovations at almost every point, the extent of which can only be appreciated in comparison with the other poems on the same subject. If some passages of the plot sometimes appear unmotivated, many of Hâtefi’s descriptions are beautiful and effective. He presents us with a “bourgeois” version of events, and his characters speak and behave with the directness of living beings. His more radical characterization of Majnun, as for example in the episode of the dog, while it may well have a deliberately mystical-allegorical meaning, would seem however to stem from an inclination to astonish his readers with the extent of his innovations.

Leyli va Majnun by Maktabi The poem Leyli va Majnun by Maktabi (d. 900/1495 or 916/1510),176 which comprises, in the edition by Jura Bayk Nadhri,177 2,160 lines,178 was written in 895/1490 and is dedicated to Shah Qâsem b. Amir Mansur (148394), governor of Fârs on behalf of the Âq Qoyunlu Sultan Ya’qub. Maktabi states that his aim was to compose a complete Khamse in answer to Nezâmi, although he seems to have failed in this: Apart from the present poem, there only remain a number of lines of a poem composed in the same meter as Makhzan al-asrâr. Maktabi’s response represents yet another variation on the story narrated by Nezâmi, who is praised at the beginning of the poem. Amir Khosrow is also mentioned,179 whereas Jâmi and Hâtefi are not,180 although a 176 For information on the poet, cf. Safȃ, Târikh-e adabiyyât dar Irân, V, pp. 386-92. 177 The edition used (Maktabi Shirȃzi, Leyli va Majnun, ed. Jura Bayk Nadhri, Tehran, 1994), is based on five manuscripts conserved at the Anstitu-ye mirâth-e khatti (Institute for the Written Heritage) of the Tajikistan Academy of Sciences. Since the lines are not numbered in this edition, reference is made to the page number. The edition also contains a wide-ranging introduction (pp. 2-122) by Nadhri, who also gives a detailed summary of the poem (pp. 30-51). 178 This information is given at the end of the poem (Maktabi Shirȃzi, Leyli va Majnun, p. 262). 179 In his introduction to his edition of Maktabi’s Leyli va Majnun, J. Nadhri gives a comparison of the plot of Maktabi’s poem with the poems by Nezâmi and Amir Khosrow (pp. 52-79). 180 Nadhri (in introduction to Maktabi Shirȃzi, Leyli va Majnun, p. 52), quoting the opinion of Ali-Asghar Hekmat, conjectures that Maktabi may not have had access

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY series of correspondences with Hâtefi’s poem point to it as a possible source. Maktabi too, for example, presents Qeys as a child predestined for love: In Hâtefi, the child only stopped crying when a beautiful woman took him in her arms; in Maktabi, the seven-year-old Qeys only stopped crying when a beautiful woman held his hand. Both poets describe the episode of the visit to the ascetic. In Maktabi, however, it is further elaborated along the lines of hagiographic literature: Having heard the account of Majnun’s great love, the ascetic, as if through premonition, begins shaking and, in tears, invites Majnun to persevere in his passion. Then, weeping tears of blood, he implores God: Dear Lord! Never grant that this youth be freed of his love! Grant him the gift of eternal Ardor, and may it so be that no cure exists for his sickness!181

Maktabi may have taken the episode of the sheepskin from Jâmi’s poem: Majnun manages to reach Leyli covered in a sheepskin, hidden among the flock of Ebn-e Salâm, Leyli’s husband. At one point, she cries out to a small boy of her tribe, also called Majnun, at which, from beneath his sheepskin, Majnun replies labbayka (Here I am for you!) and faints. The butcher then arrives, ready to accomplish his work, and Majnun is only saved when the shepherd, aware of the animal’s real identity, steps in. As can be seen, Maktabi further accentuates the radical aspect of Majnun’s character in a crescendo of episodes pointing towards his transformation into a symbol of mystic love. At the end of the poem, Maktabi cites a story serving to corroborate the truth of his narrative. After a terrible storm that had blown up during one journey from India, he reached the coasts of Arabia, so he recounts. There, he visited the places where Leyli and Majnun had lived and the tomb where they had been buried one in front of the other. In one of the last chapters of the poem, Maktabi had indeed recounted of their burial and of a mausoleum that had been built on the spot, of which nothing, however, remained, possibly a further reference to the passage in Hâtefi that speaks to Jâmi’s poem given the short time gap between their compositions; but this explanation seems unlikely. 181 Maktabi Shirȃzi, Leyli va Majnun, p. 162.

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Leyli and Majnun of a mausoleum built over Leyli’s tomb. His poem simply narrate, so pretends the author, what he had heard locally of the two hapless lovers. After centuries, then, Maktabi ideally retraces the steps leading to Majnun, as the erudite Arabs of antiquity had done when they left in search of testimonies about Majnun. In Maktabi’s poem this, of course, is simply a literary topos, as is the story of the shipwreck on the Arabian coast: Maktabi’s poem has nothing to indicate any direct research on the sources. But his poem and its hero, described with radical-mystic colors, were very well-received, and the poem’s literary fortunes blossomed.182

182 Among the manuscripts of poems on the Majnun and Leyli’s story kept in libraries in Iran (see Derâyati, Fehrestvâre-ye dast-neveshthâ-ye irâni, VIII), those containing the poem by Maktabi are the most numerous: 106 manuscripts (nos. 238696-801), as opposed to the 60 manuscripts of Nezȃmi’s poem (nos. 238545-604), and 66 of Jȃmi’s poem (nos. 238627-692).

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CHAPTER 6 NEZÂMI’S HAFT PEYKAR AND ITS TRADITION IN PERSIAN LITERATURE Paola Orsatti

1. Nezȃmi’s Haft Peykar Nezâmi’s poem Haft peykar, whose polysemous title can be translated as “The Seven Portraits,” “The Seven Idols/Beauties,” or “The Seven Celestial Bodies/Planets,” is a poem of some 5,000 lines in the khafif mosaddas makhbun mahzuf or maqsur meter, also used by Sanâʾi for his Hadiqat alhaqiqe. It was composed in 593/1197.1 Nezâmi explicitly gives Haft peykar as the title of the poem in his Sharaf-nâme, when speaking of the poems he had already composed.2 The poem is also famous as Bahrâm-nâme (The Book of Bahrâm) in the Persian literary tradition. It centers around a historical character, the Sasanid king Bahrâm V (r. 421-38 or 439 CE), nicknamed Gur (wild ass, onager) given his passion for hunting onagers as related in traditional stories.3 The poem narrates the legendary story of Bahrâm, man and king, from birth to death. The most characteristic feature of Nezâmi’s poem is the 1

2 3

The date is given at the end of the poem: Nezâmi Ganjavi, Haft peykar, ed. H. Ritter and H. Rypka (Prague, 1934), 53/63. Quotations refer to the chapters and number of lines in the Ritter and Rypka edition, also coinciding with chapters and number of lines in the Tharvatiyȃn edition: Nezâmi Ganjavi, Haft peykar, ed. Behruz Tharvatiyân (2nd ed., Tehran, 2010). Nezâmi Ganjavi, Sharaf-nâme, ed. Behruz Tharvatiyân (Tehran, 1989), 13/41. The various explanations of the nickname are summarized by M. Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman: Untersuchungen zur Quellen- und Stoffgeschichte, Berlin and New York, 1974, pp. 76-80, and by C.E. Bosworth, in his annotated translation of Tabari, The History of Ṭabarī, V: The Sāsānids, the Byzantines, the Lakhmids, and Yemen, Albany, 1999, pp. 81-82, note 220.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE insertion, in its central section, of seven tales narrated to Bahrâm by each of the seven princesses of the seven climates in the palace named Haft Gonbad (The Seven cupolas, The Seven heavens), a palace composed of seven domed pavilions.4 On each day of the week, dressed in the color related to the dominant planet of the day, Bahrâm takes himself off to the pavilion of the same color, where one of the seven princesses resides: Day of the Week

Planet

Color

Country of the Princesses5

Saturday

Saturn

Black

India

Sunday

Sun

Yellow

Rum

Monday

Moon

Green

[Choresmia]

Tuesday

Mars

Red

Slav Country

Wednesday

Mercury

Turquoise

[Maghreb]

Thursday

Jupiter

Sandalwood

China

Friday

Venus

White

[Iran]

In this way, Bahrâm (whose name also indicates the planet Mars) becomes part of a system that harmoniously embraces the human microcosm and celestial macrocosm through the mediation of a palace reproducing the skies on earth. 4

5

The terms “country” (keshvar) and “clime” (eqlim), although of different origins, are often used interchangeably: The first refers to the Iranian partition of the world into seven countries, with Iran at the center; while the second, of Hellenistic-Ptolemaic origin, refers to a division of the world into climatic zones parallel to the equator. Cf. A. Bausani, introduction and notes (with G. Calasso) to Nezâmi, Haft peykar, tr. A. Bausani as Le sette principesse (2nd ed., Milan, 1982), p. 95, note 1. Cf. also M. Mo’in, Tahlil-e Haft peykar-e Nezâmi (Tehran, 1959), pp. 103-11; A. Miquel, “Iḳlīm,” EI2 , III, pp. 1076-78; and M. Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, pp. 168-9. The countries associated with the Monday, Wednesday, and Friday domes are not directly deducible from the text of the poem but have been finally established by N. Rastegar, “Die Identität von Niẓāmīs sieben Prinzessinen,” in M. Ritter, R. Kauz, and B. Hoffmann, eds., Iran und iranisch geprägte Kulturen: Studien zum 65. Geburstag von Bert G. Fragner (Wiesbaden, 2008), pp. 155-65, and Idem, “Zum Namengut in Niẓāmīs Xamse,”in M. Szuppe, ed., Iran: questions et connaissances II: Périodes médiévale et moderne (Paris, 2002), pp. 35-54.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY In some respects, the poem represents a compendium of knowledge regarding different but related sciences in medieval Persia: astrology, architecture, medicine, and occult sciences. Indeed, as a biological entity, Bahrâm is subject to the influence of nature; and the purpose of the palace of the Seven Cupolas is to place him in a harmonious relationship with nature and the universe, warding off all negative influences. However, like all human beings, not least a king, he is subject to moral laws; one of the poem’s main themes is the delicate balance between the king’s personal life of pleasures and amusements and that of his care of the kingdom. Nezâmi presents Bahrâm in a generally favorable light, without concealing his foibles and weaknesses as recorded in earlier sources. The last part of the poem is a retelling of a long anecdote contained in Nezâm-al-Molk’s Siyar almoluk (late 11th century), centered on the character of Bahrâm Gur: Long distracted by the pursuit of pleasure and entertainments, the king finally punishes the unjust minister responsible for the ruin of his kingdom.6 The incorporation, in the final part of the poem, of an episode drawn from a didactic and moral work leaves no doubt as to the moral intent of the entire poem, which, despite the wealth of interpretations open to the reader, should be considered, if not strictly speaking a “mirror-for-princes,” certainly a work dealing with important moral themes related to the personal conduct of a king.7 It is also possible that the choice of the same meter as Sanȃ’i’s Hadiqat al-haqiqe represents an intertextual indication, on the poet’s part, of the main moral and didactic thrust of the poem. The disappearance, at the end of the poem, of the sixty-year-old king into a cave, which will serve as his grave (gur), represents the mysterious conclusion of a life composed of lights and shadows.

6

7

See below, and note 40. The authenticity of parts of the Siyar al-moluk, and in particular of the anecdotes, has been questioned by A. S. Khismatulin, “To Forge a Book in the Medieval Ages: Neẓām al-Molk’s Siyar al-Moluk (Siyāsat-Nāma),” Journal of Persianate Studies 1 (2008), pp. 30-66. Cf. J. Matini, “Andishe-ye siyâsi dar Haft peykar-e Nezâmi,” Iranshenasi 3/4 (1992): Viže-nȃme-ye sȃl-e Nezȃmi-ye Ganjavi, II, pp. 765-79. On the “mirror-for-princes” themes in Nezâmi’s poems, see above, Chapter 3, “The Narrative Material and Principal Themes.”

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE The Dedicatee of Haft Peykar: His Relationship to the Poem The poem begins with the four traditional chapters: praise to God; praise to the Prophet and description of his me’râj (ascent); eulogy of the dedicatee, the Atâbek Alâ-al-Din Mohammad b. Aq-Sonqor Korp Arslân, ruler of Marâghe;8 and, lastly, advice for the dedicatee.9 In a central position within them Nezâmi inserts the chapter on the “Reasons for the Composition of the Work.” He narrates that one day a messenger from a royal court—surely the court of Atâbek Alâ-al-Din—had presented him with a request for a new poem. Searching for an appropriate tale, the poet himself opts for the story of Bahrâm Gur. Nezâmi also speaks of his innovation with respect to the traditional outline of the story: the insertion of seven tales, narrated by seven brides, to add luster to the poem and procure the protection of the seven celestial brides, i.e. the planets. Like a painter who keeps a firm grasp on the overall composition in his hand, the poet will insert the seven tales into Bahrȃm’s story, while at the same time maintaining a tight control over a single thread and having a single target (neshân) for his work.10 The reference-point of his narration can be none other than Bahrâm, the hero of the story and addressee of the teaching imparted through the seven tales. But it can be argued that the ultimate goal of the poem’s didactic and moral intent is its dedicatee, Korp Arslân, and, through him, all mankind. Korp Arslân, ruler of Marâghe in Azerbaijan, had been tutor (atâbeg) of Barkiyâroq, son of the last Saljuq sovereign Toghrel III b. Arslân (r. 57190/1176-94), already eulogized in the poem Khosrow va Shirin (see above, Chapter 4, “The Poem’s Date”). Nezâmi praises Korp Arslân, highlighting analogies between him and the great kings of the Iranian mytho-historical past, Bahrâm Gur in particular. Just as Bahrâm Gur is traditionally considered the first Persian poet and a patron of poetry and the arts,11 Korp Arslȃn is praised as a perceptive connoisseur, capable of distinguishing On Korp Arslȃn, cf. Abd-al-Hoseyn Zarrinkub, Pir-e Ganje dar jostoju-ye nâkojâ-âbâd: Dar bâre-ye zendegi, âthâr va andishe-ye Nezâmi (6th ed., Tehran, 2004), pp. 29 and 135-37; K.A. Luther, “Atābakān-e Marāḡa,” EIr, II, pp. 898-900. 9 The name of the dedicatee is given in Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 5/11-13. Nezȃmi refers to these four introductory chapters ibidem, 5/3-7. 10 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 4/33-41. 11 See below, “The Development of the Bahrâm Gur Romance,” and note 78. 8

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY good poetry from bad;12 a statement that in Korp Arslân’s case may have been something more than a mere cliché. If Iran is considered the central and most beautiful country among the seven into which the world is divided, Korp Arslân is praised as the king of the best part of Iran, its heart:13 Indeed, in Sasanid times, western Iran came to be considered the heart of Iran (del-e Irânshahr), in correspondence with “the moving of the axis of Iranism from East to West […] as an essential part of the Sassanians’ political programme.”14 The story of Bahrâm had deep roots in western Iran, where, according to mediaeval Arabic historians, the ruins of one of his palaces were still visible.15 The sources also speak of Bahrâm’s special devotion to the fire temple in Azerbaijan, the temple of Âdur Goshnasp in Shiz/Takht-e Soleymân.16 Bahrâm was famous for having built several palaces, including, in Nezâmi’s poem, that of the Seven Cupolas, a palace having long-standing ties with other ancient palaces of Iranian tradition, among them the Ruyin-dez/Ruyin-dezh (see below, “Nezȃmi’s Bahrȃm Gur”). This is a further feature connecting Bahrâm’s figure to Korp Arslȃn: In the last chapter of Haft peykar, when requesting his reward, Nezâmi proclaims himself creditor of the Ruyin-dez (Copper Fortress), referring at the same time to one of the main elements of his narrative, i.e., Bahrâm’s palace of the Seven Cupolas, and to the dedicatee’s palace.17 Nezâmi’s choice of the story of Bahrâm for the poem commissioned by Korp Arslȃn could not be more appropriate.18 12 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 6/48-50. 13 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 6/24-27. 14 G. Gnoli, The Idea of Iran: An Essay on its Origin (Rome, 1989), pp. 156-57. 15 Zarrinkub, Pir-e Ganje, pp. 145-46. 16 Cf. Tabari, tr. Bosworth, p. 95 and note 245. On this temple, cf. Mary Boyce, “Ādur Gušnasp,” EIr, I, pp. 475-76; and Angelo Arioli, Le città mirabili: Labirinto arabo medievale (Milan, 2003), pp. 91-92, 132-33. 17 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 53/48. For “Ruyin-dez” as the name of the stronghold inhabited by the Atâbegs of Marȃghe, see K. A. Luther, “Atābakān-e Marāḡa,” esp. p. 900. 18 On particular aspects of the relationship between literature and rulership in medieval Persia, see some of the articles gathered in B. Gruendler and L. Marlow, eds., Writers and Rulers: Perspectives on Their Relationship from Abbasid to Safavid Times (Wiesbaden, 2004), with Anna Livia Beelaert’s review, MEL 12/2 (2009), pp. 188-92.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE Bahrȃm in Nezâmi’s Poem The apocalyptic light already present at the end of the poem Khosrow va Shirin is even more clearly perceivable in Haft peykar. Bahrâm’s horoscope at the beginning of the story places the birth of the future king in spring,19 a tradition already present in Tabari (d. 922 CE) and Ferdowsi,20 who give the day of Hormozd (the first day) of the month Farvardin, i.e., the first day of the Iranian year, as the day of Bahrâm’s birth. This significant date suggests a possible identification of Bahrâm with a hero of Iranian myth: In some texts of apocalyptic Pahlavi literature, the beginning of the new year is associated with the appearance of Kay Wahrām (King Bahrâm), nicknamed Warzāwand (Powerful, having miraculous powers), who is supposed to appear at the end of time on the sixth day of Farvardin, at the beginning of spring, to destroy Ahriman and the demons and to restore religion and the rule of law to Persia (see below, “Nezȃmi’s Bahrȃm Gur”).21 The concern for young Bahrâm’s health is given in the poem as the reason for raising the child in the country of Yemen (here indicating Mesopotamia),22 and for the construction of the famous Khavarnaq palace. Nezȃmi narrates that for a span of twenty years none of the children born to Bahrâm’s father Yazdgerd (Yazdgerd I, r. 399-421, known in the sources by the sobriquet of Bazehgar ‘The Sinful One’23) had survived. Therefore the 19 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 9/13-19. 20 Tabari, tr. Bosworth, p. 82 and note 221; Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Dj. Khaleghi-Motlagh as The Shahnameh (8 vols., New York, 1988-2008), VI, pp. 363-64 (“Yazdgerd-e Bazehgar,” ll. 30-40). Regarding Bahrâm’s date of birth in the sources, cf. Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, p. 37. 21 Cf. the Pahlavi work entitled Māh ī Frawardīn rōz ī Hordād, on which see A. Tafazzoli, Târikh-e adabiyyât-e Irân pish az Eslâm (Tehran, 1998), pp. 293-94 and Maria Macuch, “Pahlavi Literature,” in Ronald E. Emmerick and Maria Macuch, eds., The Literature of Pre-Islamic Iran: Companion Volume I to A History of Persian Literature (London and New York, 2009), p. 157; and the Zand ī Wahman Yasn, on which cf. Tafazzoli, Târikh-e adabiyyât-e Irân pish az Eslâm, pp. 170-72 and Macuch, “Pahlavi Literature,” pp. 152-54. 22 “Yemen” simply indicates a land inhabited by Arabic tribes, a place-name probably also chosen on account of the positive connotations of its literal meaning. In the poem it refers to Mesopotamia, the kingdom of the Lakhmids, vassals of the Sasanids, whose capital was Hira; cf. Irfan Shahid, “Lakhmids,” in EI2 , V, pp. 632-34. 23 The nickname “The Sinful One” was perhaps given Yazdgerd due to his alleged pro-Christian attitudes. Cf. Arthur Christensen, L’Iran sous les Sassanides

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY astrologers advise the king to raise the child in the country of Yemen, in the hope of better fortune there. Yazdgerd agrees to part from his son; he summons No’mân (No’mân I, king of Hira, r. ca. 400-418), entrusting the child to him. In giving this version of the story, Nezâmi follows the Arabo-Islamic sources, which give the concern for Bahrâm’s survival as the reason the baby was sent to be brought up among the Arabs. Ferdowsi, on the other hand, offers a different version, probably closer to the Sasanid sources: Priests and ministers, secretly wishing Bahrâm to grow up away from his father’s bad influence, advise the king to send the child to a location where he would be educated in sciences.24 When Bahrâm reaches the age of four, No’mân plans to build a tall palace which will protect the child from any harm from excessive heat and impurity of air; the concern for Bahrâm’s health and the need for a palace aimed at repelling all negative influences emerges repeatedly both in the poem and in its sources (on palaces in the Iranian myth, often endowed with magical and protective power, see below, “Astrology and the Occult Sciences”). The architect Semnâr from Rum, also a highly skilled painter and astrologer, is commissioned to carry out the work: It is the same Senemmâr/Sennemâr of the Arabic and Persian sources. The palace, named Khavarnaq, is completed in five years. It is a building round as the firmament and, reflecting the sunlight, takes on three different colors: blue at dawn, yellow at noon, and white when the sky is overcast. From its terrace it is possible to see the Euphrates, a tall tree, a village abounding in milk and honey, and a meadow caressed by a scented breeze: What the poet is describing is certainly an earthly paradise. No’mân appears satisfied with the work; but when Semnâr confesses that had he been adequately rewarded, he would have been able to construct it out of precious materials, rather than mere stone, and in many (Copenhagen, 1936), pp. 264-65; R.N. Frye, “The Political History of Iran under the Sasanians,” in E. Yarshater, ed., The Cambridge History of Iran III/1: The Seleucid, Parthian and Sasanian Periods (Cambridge 1983), p. 143. Cf. also Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, pp. 114-5, who argues that the unfavorable opinion of the historians concerning Yazdgerd was due to his opposition to the overwhelming power of the clergy and the nobles. See also K. Mosig-Walburg, “Yazdgerd I., ‘der Sünder’,” in Ph. Gignoux, C. Jullien, and F. Jullien, eds., Trésors d’Orient: Mélanges offerts à Rika Gyselen (Paris, 2009), pp. 245-68. 24 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 364-65 (“Yazdgerd-e Bazehgar,” ll. 46-56). On the reasons why Bahrâm was raised in Hira according to the sources, cf. Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, pp. 37-38 and 43-44.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE more colors than the Khavarnaq’s three, No’mân has him thrown off the terrace and killed. One line from Semnâr’s discourse is particularly significant: “This one stands with a single dome, the next shall have seven domes, like the firmament.”25 The story of the construction of the Khavarnaq and the cruel punishment reserved for Senemmâr/Sennemâr the architect is told by earlier historians,26 but is absent from Ferdowsi’s Shâh-nâme, which, in this as in numerous other points, gives a different and possibly older version of Bahrȃm’s story, devoid of later legendary developments. One day King No’mân suddenly disappears, prefiguring the ending which lies ahead for Bahrâm himself. His son, Mondher (Mondher I, r. ca. 418-52 CE), searches everywhere for him, duly mourns him, and finally succeeds to the throne and attends to the education of Bahrâm, whom he looks upon as his own son, and has him study with his son No’mân.27 The poem unfolds according to a number of independent episodes, thereby maintaining a trace of its original narrative structure (see below, “The Development of the Bahrȃm Gur Romance Before Nezȃmi”). Three episodes of the future king’s early history represent as many milestones on his path towards kingship. In the episode of the branding of the onagers, Nezâmi introduces into Bahrâm’s story an element certainly dictated by his desire to mitigate the traditional and well-known fact of Bahrâm’s unbridled passion for hunting. Bahrâm never killed any onager under four years of age; after marking young onagers with his brand, he freed them, so says 25 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 10/53. The construction of the Khavarnaq, the ruins of which were still visible in the 8th/14th century about a mile east of Najaf, is traditionally attributed to Noʽmân I (d. 418). Cf. L. Massignon, “al-Khawarnaḳ,” EI2, IV, p. 1133. On the description of the Khavarnaq palace in the sources and a discussion of the etymologies proposed by modern scholars for this name cf. Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, pp. 52-65. Cf. also R. Würsch, “Das Schloss Ḫawarnaq nach arabischen und persischen Quellen,” Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes 88 (1998), pp. 261-79 and, by the same author, “Ḵawarnaq,” EIr, XVI, pp. 143-45. 26 Tabari, tr. Bosworth, pp. 75-82; Bal’ami, Tȃrikh-e Balʽami, ed. Mohammad-Taqi Bahȃr and Mohammad Parvin-Gonȃbȃdi (2 vols., 2nd ed., Tehran, 1974), II, pp. 923-25; tr. H. Zotenberg as Chronique de […] Tabari, traduite sur la version persane d’Abou-‘Ali Mo’hammed Bel’ami (4 vols., repr. Paris, 1958), II, pp. 105-9. 27 According to Pantke (Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, p. 70), this character may represent a replica of No’mân I. The historical No’mân II reigned at the end of the 5h century CE and therefore could not have been a contemporary of Bahrâm Gur; cf. also Shahid, “Lakhmids,” p. 633.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY the poet, thereby presenting Bahrâm as a protector of onagers rather than their assiduous hunter. The second episode is traditional and present in all the sources: that of the hunting party, when Bahrâm, seeing a lion spring at an onager to devour it, kills both with a single arrow. Nezâmi concludes the narration with this line: “After that he was described as ‘of leonine might’ (shir-zur), and dubbed ‘Bahrâm of the onager’ (Bahrâm-e Gur).”28 Nezâmi is here following historical sources before him.29 In the third episode, while chasing a female onager Bahrâm is drawn towards a cave inhabited by a dragon, which had devoured her foal, and discovers considerable treasure within it; reminiscent of Bahrâm’s final disappearance into a cavern, while chasing an onager.30 At the end of the section concerning Bahrâm’s youth, education, and youthful adventures, an episode plays a central role in the romantic development of the story narrated by Nezâmi and represents an important moment in Bahrâm’s personal biography: the discovery of the room in the Khavarnaq palace with seven portraits depicting the princesses of the seven countries. Nezâmi gives the names of the princesses (information not repeated elsewhere in the poem) along with their countries of origin. In the center of the seven portraits is that of Bahrâm, like the kernel, as the poet says, of a fruit of which the princesses were the skin—a clear allusion to Bahrâm’s character as the reference-point and central figure of the entire literary construction created by Nezâmi and a further emphasis, on the part of the poet, of the importance of the poem’s structure for its understanding.31 Above Bahrâm’s head, the portraitist had inscribed what the stars had revealed to him: Once on the throne, King Bahrâm was destined to marry the princesses of the seven countries, a promise of love and sovereignty at the same time. Nezâmi thus shifts the prediction of Bahrâm’s great future 28 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 13/16. 29 Tabari, tr. Bosworth, pp. 85-86; Bal’ami, Tȃrikh, II, pp. 930-31, tr. II, pp. 111-12. Ferdowsi instead, though explaining the nickname in reference to Bahrâm’s passion for hunting these animals (Shâh-nâme, VI, p. 453, “Bahrȃm-e Gur,” l. 465), narrates this particular episode without any reference to the origin of Bahrâm’s nickname (Shâh-nâme, VI, pp. 376-77, “Yazdgerd-e Bazehgar,” ll. 199-202). On scholarly hypotheses concerning the origin of Bahrâm’s nickname, see above note 3. 30 On this episode and its possible source, cf. Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, pp. 83-91. 31 For a thorough discussion of the structure of the poem, see Houra Yavari, Ravânkâvi va adabiyyât (2nd ed., Tehran, 2007), esp. pp. 130-63.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE as king of the seven climates, placed at the moment of the child’s birth by several other authors, including Ferdowsi, to this point of the narrative, before the section recounting his hard-fought ascent to the throne, as if to foretell the happy ending of Bahrâm’s trial narrated in the following section of the poem. There then begins the poem’s more strictly historical section in which, albeit more succinctly than his sources, Nezâmi deals with the salient episodes in Bahrâm’s political career. In the Yemen, Bahrâm leads a carefree life devoted to hunting and drinking, oblivious of his homeland. This may allude to earlier criticism in sources of the young prince as being more Arab than Persian in upbringing. On hearing of his father’s death, and of the person chosen by the Persians to succeed him—the wise Khosrow, member of another branch of the royal family—Bahrâm enlists the help of Mondher and his son No’mân. He sets out at the head of a large Arab army towards Madâyen, the capital of Persia, to reclaim his kingdom. In the long letter from Khosrow to Bahrâm, ordering him to halt his march on the capital, Nezâmi gives voice to a number of slurs on Bahrâm’s reputation that also appear in other sources. Bahrâm, they allege, concerns himself with little other than hunting and banquets. Moreover, as the son of such a cruel and unjust sovereign as Yazdgerd, the Persians reject him as their king. The famous ordeal episode concludes this section: The crown is placed between two hungry lions; whichever of the two opponents manages to retrieve it will be king. The trial ends in victory for Bahrâm, who snatches the crown and kills the two lions. The story of Bahrâm’s fight against the usurper Khosrow, already present in the sources,32 far from reflecting a historical fact, could be the result of a superimposition, over the probably historical fact of Bahrâm’s struggle for the throne, of a later historical event: the fight between Khosrow Parviz and the usurper Bahrâm Chubin, of the ancient Mehrân family of Arsacid origins, who in 590 moved against the Sasanid capital, Ctesiphon, forcing Khosrow to flee. It is as if this part of Haft peykar recounts the story of the rivalry between Khosrow Parviz and Bahrâm Chubin, seen this time from Bahrâm (Chubin)’s point of view (on the historical Bahrâm Chubin, see above, Chapter 4, “Historical and Geographic Context of the Poem” and 32

For an analysis of this episode in the sources, cf. Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, pp. 100-30.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY further below).33 With the personage of the usurper Khosrow, the narrative time of Haft peykar appears to move forward, with references to events belonging to the critical period of Khosrow Parviz’s reign, immediately before the final catastrophe. The young king’s coronation is preceded by another horoscope having a clear function in the plot: While the birth horoscope alludes to the first morning of the spring equinox, this second one locates Bahrâm’s ascent to the throne, his new birth as king, at noon of the summer solstice.34 The section concerned with the early years of his reign is concluded by the celebrated incident of Bahrâm’s hunt with his handmaiden, already narrated by Ferdowsi and several other authors, and also taken up in the figurative arts from the late Sasanid period onwards (on this episode see below, “The Hunt with the Handmaid”).35 There follows the account of Bahrâm’s “foreign policy” in the history of his reign. As Bahrâm indulges in feasting and drinking sessions, neglecting his kingdom, the Khâqân of China marches towards the kingdom’s eastern frontiers.36 Aware that he can put no trust in an army grown rusty in peace and led by generals ready to betray him, Bahrâm flees, leaving the kingdom in the hands of a regent. Learning of his flight, and feeling assured of certain victory, the Khâqân in his turn devotes his time to drinking and banqueting. Bahrâm, then, sets off with three hundred men, still faithful to him, and, surprising the enemy in a nocturnal raid, wins a glorious victory and considerable booty. 33

For such transposition of the accounts of Khosrow Parviz’s reign into that of Yazdgerd I “the Sinner.” cf. P. Pourshariati, “Recent Discovered Seals of Wistaxm, Uncle of Husraw II?,” Studia Iranica 35/2 (2006), pp. 173-75. Concerning the recount of the end of Yazdgerd’s reign in Dînawarî’s Akhbâr al-tevâl, Pourshariati notes: “Dīnawarī has confused, it seems, the story of the struggle between Husraw II and Wahrām-i Čōbīn with the accounts of the struggle between Husraw ‘from a sideline’ and Wahrām V Gōr” (p. 174). 34 Cf. Bausani, introduction to Nezâmi, Le sette principesse, p. 113, note 1. 35 For reflections of the episode in the figurative arts, cf. R. Ettinghausen, “Bahram Gur’s Hunting Feats or the Problem of Identification,” Iran 17 (1979), pp. 25-31, and M. V. Fontana, La leggenda di Bahrām Gūr e Āzāde (Naples, 1986). 36 The enemies threatening the eastern borders of the Persian Empire, variously identified in the sources as Turks or Chinese (the two were often confused), were actually the Hephthalites. Cf. Christensen, L’Iran sous les Sassanides, p. 275; Tabari, tr. Bosworth, p. 94 note 244.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE This military episode, which marks the apex of his “international” career, is concluded by Bahrâm’s request for the seven princesses of the seven counties in marriage and the construction of the new pleasure palace of the Seven Cupolas. The request for the seven brides is placed within the context of the tributes exacted by Bahrâm from the kings of the seven countries after his victories. The women are mere ciphers in the poem, serving as narrators and objects of royal pleasure. Their stories, while endowed with important didactic and moral import, also entertain him and arouse his virility. The episode of the construction of the Seven Cupolas is introduced by a beautiful description of winter. The reign is at the height of its opulence. To ward off the evil eye, Shide, a skillful painter, astrologer, architect, and former pupil of Semnâr, recommends building a magnificent palace, which the reader will immediately recognize as a more perfect version of the Khavarnaq: It is to contain seven domed pavilions, one for each princess, each in the color of one of the seven planets (as indicated in Table 1 above). On each day of the week, influenced by a different planet, the king will take his pleasure in the pavilion of the color of the planet, wearing a robe of the same color. The building takes two years to complete. The narration of the seven tales (see below), which represents the central part and almost half of the poem (2,440 lines out of a total of about 5,000), takes place in winter. The introductory line of the fourth story (Tuesday), for example, states: “It was a day in the month of Dey, short as a summer’s night;”37 while at the beginning of the fifth (Wednesday) tale, the poet says: “The day was short, and the story long.”38 In this way, even if the Seven Cupolas took two years to build, the narration takes no account of this temporal span and is conceived as the continuation of the episode of Bahrâm’s winter banquet, when the new building had first been planned. Winter is the long season during which the earth conserves seed, warmth, and life, all to reawaken in spring; and for the Iranian king, closely linked to the cycle of nature, it is the time for love. The tales are followed by a description of the spring and the earth’s awakening after its winter sleep. As Alessandro Bausani has noticed, from a symbolic and functional point of view the poem’s narrative seems to take place within one single year, with Bahrâm’s birth in spring, his ascent 37 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 35/1. 38 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 36/3b.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY to the throne in summer, his retirement to private life in winter and his rebirth as a true and wise king, at the end of the poem, in spring again.39 From the narrative viewpoint, spring represents the king’s emergence to deal with the enemies, internal and external, that threaten the peace of the kingdom. Like the character of Wahrām ī Warzāwand of Iranian apocalyptic literature, who will return in the spring of the end of time to defeat Iran’s enemies, Bahrâm appears at the end of the poem—after a period of concealment in the Seven Cupolas—to bring justice to his kingdom (for a wider discussion of this turning point in the poem, see below, “Nezâmi’s Bahrâm Gur”). Bahrâm learns of a new threat from the Khâqân of China. He embarks on making preparations, but finds the army dispersed and the coffers empty, a traditional datum in Bahrâm’s story. Here the poet inserts the episode of the unjust minister, called Rȃst Rowshan (Rȃst Raveshn, Middle Persian Rāst-rawishn ‘Of Right Conduct’ in the anecdote recounted in the Siyar al-moluk), who has taken advantage of the king’s predilection for drinking and love-making to indulge himself in the embezzlement of the subjects. The story of the unjust minister is taken almost word for word from the Siyar al-moluk, with the sole difference that in the latter only six stories are narrated by the victimized subjects.40 One day, while out hunting, Bahrâm unwittingly strays from his retinue. It is hot, he is thirsty, and he looks around for possible relief. Seeing smoke in the distance, he makes his way towards it and comes across a shepherd who had strung up his dog Cf. A. Bausani, introduction to Nezâmi, Le sette principesse, p. 11. Georg Krotkoff, on the other hand, estimates that Bahrâm’s sojourn in the Seven Cupolas lasted seven years, corresponding to the long period during which the people were tyrannized by the unjust minister (“Color and Number in the Haft Paykar,” in R .M. Savory and D. A. Agius, eds., Logos Islamikos: Studia Islamica in honorem Georgii Michaelis Wickens, Toronto, 1984, p. 102). 40 Cf. Nezâm-al-Molk, Siyar al-moluk, ed. H. Darke (2nd ed., Tehran, 2010), chapter 4, pp. 31-40. On this episode as Nezâmi’s source, cf. Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, pp. 189-94; M. D. Kazymov, “Khaft Peykar” Nizami i traditsiya nazire v persoyazychnoĭ literature XIV-XVI vv. (Baku, 1987), pp. 16-17; K. Ahmadnezhâd, Tahlil-e âthâr-e Nezâmi-ye Ganjavi (Tehran, 1990), p. 45; Zarrinkub, Pir-e Ganje, pp. 163-64; J. S. Meisami, introduction to Nizami Ganjavi, The “Haft Paykar”: A Medieval Romance (Oxford, 1995), p. xxiv. The episode is also narrated in the second part of the Nasihat al-Moluk (Mohammad Ghazȃli, Nasihat al-moluk, ed. Jalȃl-al-Din Homȃʾi, Tehran, 1972, pp. 154-58) where, however, it is set in the reign of Goshtâsp rather than Bahrâm and is also shorter, without the stories of the victimized persons. 39

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE as punishment. When Bahrâm asks the reason for such a harsh treatment, the shepherd explains that instead of protecting the flock the dog had allowed a she-wolf to devour the sheep in order to gain her favors. The king’s eyes are finally opened; he returns to court and makes enquiries. He then frees everyone imprisoned by the minister, and seven among the prisoners are chosen to tell their story. From a structural point of view, the seven brief case histories recounted by the seven wronged persons (mazlum) counterbalance the princesses’ seven tales. The unjust minister is put to death, and the story ends with apologies from the Khâqân of China, who spontaneously gives up his plan to conquer Iran. The death of the unjust minister and the triumph of justice in the kingdom constitute the final episode in Bahrâm’s political career and personal life. Now a wise and just king, like Khosrow at the end of the poem Khosrow and Shirin, he renounces the pleasures and blandishments of the world, including the seven princesses and the Seven Domes, and venerates a single image, that of Justice. The king is now sixty, and having transformed the Seven Cupolas into fire temples, i.e. having destroyed them, makes preparations to move to his final home, where he will sleep until the Resurrection. As at the start of his career, Bahrâm had chased an onager and found a treasure; now he chases one into a cavern, his last abode. Nezâmi bases himself on the version of Bahrâm’s death given in a number of sources: While chasing an onager, Bahrâm disappeared into a pit and his body was never found.41 Nezâmi, however, brings together the mysterious disappearance of other great sovereigns of Iranian myth, such as Key Khosrow, with this story and seems to adumbrate the idea of Bahrâm’s transformation into a messianic figure who may be merely in concealment and ready to return at the end of time. On the other hand, Ferdowsi, here as elsewhere in Bahrâm’s story, gives a more rational view, possibly closer to the Sasanid sources: Bahrâm dies of natural causes in his sleep.42 The plot thus concluded, Nezâmi’s final chapter is addressed to the dedicatee. The poet emphasizes the value of his work and requests adequate recompense, at the same time advising the king to detach himself from Cf. Tabari, tr. Bosworth, p. 97; Balʽami, Tȃrikh, II, p. 950, tr., Chronique, II, p. 126;. On Bahrâm Gur’s disappearance according to the sources cf. M. J. Mahjub, “Gur-e Bahrâm-e Gur,” Iran-nameh I/2 (1983), pp. 147-63. 42 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, p. 614 (“Bahrȃm-e Gur,” ll. 2578-86).

41

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY pleasures and transitory things and value only that which, like poetry, lasts through all eternity.

The Problem of the Sources The research by Mechthild Pantke (1974), while principally centered on an Arabic prose version of Bahrâm Gur’s story (see below, “The Fortunes of the Saga of Bahrȃm”), has shown the variety of sources used by Nezâmi particularly in the historical section of the poem (excluding the seven tales). However, the poet’s own words on the matter require comment. In the chapter “Motives for the Composition of the Work” Nezâmi speaks explicitly of his sources.43 His discourse is clearly divided into two parts. In the first, he speaks of his main source, the Shâh-nâme of Ferdowsi, the “quick-witted thinker” who had preceded him in telling the kings’ story in verse: All that concerned the history of the kings, (And) had been selected (and transcribed) into one book,44 A quick-witted thinker who had arrived first, All had rendered into perfect lines.45

In the second part, Nezâmi cites other sources that are the result of his personal research: I searched amidst buried books, Scattered throughout the world, In those traditions (sokhanhâ) in Arabic and Persian, In the regions/manuscripts (savâd) of Bukhara/Bokhâri and Tabarestân/ Tabari, And in other scattered manuscripts (noskhehâ), Each pearl buried in a treasure;

43 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 4/18-30. 44 A reference to the prose Shâh-nâme called “of Abu Mansur,” Ferdowsi’s main source, is possibly intended here (Haft peykar 4/19). 45 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 4/20. Vahid Dastgerdi’s reading raside ‘(had) arrived,’ instead of rasid, seems to be preferable.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE Every sheet which came into my hands, All I gathered into my notebook.46

Scholars are divided as to the meaning of the expression dar savâd-e Bokhâri va Tabari.47 Some take savâd in this context to mean “manuscript, a rough draft,” and Bokhâri and Tabari as the names of two authors which were Nezâmi’s main sources: the manuscripts of Bokhâri and Tabari.48 Yet, while this interpretation is unproblematic as regards Tabari, the author of the celebrated chronicle in Arabic, it is rather more difficult to see how the work of the great Muslim traditionist Bokhâri (9th century) could have been one of Nezâmi’s main sources (for Bokhâri’s Sahih as the source of one of Nezâmi’s stories see below, “Nezȃmi’s Seven Tales: Analysis and Sources”);49 and the possibility that, by Bokhâri, Nezâmi may have been referring to other authors with the same nisba seems not to have been taken into account.50 The expression “the manuscripts of Bokhari and Tabari” may also be interpreted in the generic sense of “various sources,” in Arabic and Persian. Other commentators, instead, read savâd as “the rural districts, environs (of a province or town);” Nezâmi, therefore, would be stating that he has searched for Arabic and Persian accounts on Bahrȃm in the districts of Bukhara and in Tabarestan.51 46 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 4/27-30. 47 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 4/28b. 48 See for example Bausani, introduction and notes to Nezāmī, Le sette principesse, pp. 14-15, and p. 55 with note 5; and Vahid Dastgerdi in Nezâmi, Haft peykar, ed. Hamidiyân (Tehran, 1997), p. 17, notes. 49 On Bokhâri the traditionist, see J. Robson, “al-Bukhārī, Muḥammad b. Ismāʻīl,” EI2 , I, pp. 1296-97. 50 One exception is the hypothesis advanced by Michael Barry, who supposes that by “Bokhâri” the Persian historian Bal’ami of Bukhara might be referred to here (see the glossary attached to Nezȃmi, Haft peykar, tr. Michael Barry as Le Pavillon des Sept Princesses, Paris, 2000, p. 721). I thank Anna Livia Beelaert, who drew Barry’s suggestion to my attention. This hypothesis seems quite unlikely, however, as Bal’ami does not seem to have ever been referred to as “Bokhâri” in the sources. 51 This is the interpretation given by E. È. Bertel’s, Nizami i Fuzuli (Moscow, 1962), who interprets Nezâmi’s expression “(I searched) in the regions of Bukhara and Tabarestan” as meaning “(I searched) everywhere, from Bukhara to Rey” (p. 414 and note 74); and by Jan Rypka, “Der vierte Gesang von Niẓāmīs Haft paikar neu übersetzt,” Oriens 15 (1962), p. 237.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY It is also possible, without positing any physical journeys undertaken by the poet in search of sources, that he had a double-meaning in mind, preserving both meanings of the term savâd: He had used the works of numerous authors (including Tabari and a Bokhâri), as well as Bahrâm-related traditions coming from the regions of Bukhara and Tabarestan. If the reference to the two regions is taken literally, rather than as a simple way of indicating different regions of Iran, Nezâmi seems to state that the manuscripts and traditions from the area surrounding Bukhara and from Tabarestan had the same value for his reworking of the Bahrâm story as the Barda’s manuscript for the composition of the poem Khosrow va Shirin (see above Chapter 4), that is, to present the protagonist, Bahrâm Gur, in a significantly different light from hitherto (see below, “Nezȃmi’s Bahrȃm Gur and the Influence of the Bahrȃm Chubin Romance”).

Nezȃmi’s Seven Tales: Analysis and Sources One of the more complex issues concerning the tales inserted in Nezâmi’s poem and in the poems written in imitation of Haft peykar is that of sources, given that precise sources for the tales can rarely be indicated.52 M. D. Kazymov’s distinction between written sources, prevailing for the Bahrâm’s romance in Haft peykar, and oral ones, at the basis of the tales, is useful but over-schematic.53 A constant osmosis is at work between scholarly literature and popular texts, the majority of them anonymous and often, but not always, confined to oral tradition.54 Stories from the Thousand 52 On the sources of the stories in Nezâmi’s poem a fundamental work is the study by A. Wesselski, “Quellen und Nachwirkungen der Haft Paikar,” Der Islam 22/2 (1934), pp. 112-9. See also Bausani, introduction to Nezāmī, Le sette principesse, pp. 15-16; and U. Marzolph, “Neẓāmi Ganğavi,” Enzyklopädie des Märchens IX (Berlin, 1999), esp. col. 1436. I wish to thank Anna Livia Beelaert, who read a first draft of this chapter and drew this and other articles from the Enzyklopädie des Märchens to my attention. 53 Kazymov,“Khaft Peykar” Nizami, p. 12. 54 Cf. J.T.P. de Bruijn, “Die persische Volksliteratur im Mittelalter und ihr Verhältnis zur klassischen Literatur,” in Klaus von See, ed., Neues Handbuch der Literaturwissenschaft, Vol. V: Orientalisches Mittelalter, ed. Wolfart Heinrichs et al. (Wiesbaden, 1990), pp. 465-74. Cf. also U. Marzolph, “The Study of Popular Literature in the Persian Context,” in Ph. G. Kreyenbroek and U. Marzolph, eds., Oral Literature of

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE and One Nights cycle for example, a work generally considered as popular, recur in more or less modified form in works of more erudite literature. Resemblances between tales of the Thousand and One Nights cycle and tales in Haft peykar, probably to be interpreted as deriving from a common narrative background, have been noted by a number of scholars. Themes and motifs of Nezâmi’s tales recur, variously modified, not only in the tales inserted in later poems responding to Haft peykar, but in countless other works in Persian and other literatures. Different but often convergent methodological approaches have been taken to the study of the tales: the structural analysis by Russian scholars, most famously Vladimir Propp in his Morphology of the Folktale (Morfologiya skazki, 1928), applied by Kazymov to the fourth tale (Tuesday);55 the sociological analysis of the rural or urban settings and the social origins of the characters, often merchants or artisans, particularly developed by Soviet scholars;56 the indexing and classification of tale-types begun in 1910 by the Finnish scholar Antti Aarne,57 and the historic-geographic method tracing possible archetypes and influences from and in other literatures.58 If the narratives Nezâmi inserted into Haft peykar belong to the wealth of traditional tales, they also carry the clear sign of the poet’s authorial intent. Indeed, besides their traditional plots and sometimes highly erotic charge, the stories deal with moral questions central to Nezâmi’s thought: the subjugation of the passions; the ability to be content with one’s lot; harmony among human beings and between mankind and nature; the role of destiny in human life; love within and outside marriage; the problem of the telling and not telling, of truths or lies, particularly between husband and wife; the opposition between faith and reason. In this way, the tales have a strong moral significance that resonates throughout the whole story of Bahrâm to the extent that, without the tales, the general sense of the Iranian Languages (London and New York, 2010), sec. “The Relation between Popular and Elite Literature,” pp. xl-xlii. 55 Kazymov,“Khaft Peykar” Nizami, pp. 22-5. 56 See in particular Kazymov,“Khaft Peykar” Nizami, pp. 112-36. 57 A study and classification of Persian folktales based on the typological classification of the plots by Antti Aarne, further developed by Stith Thompson The Types of the Folktale: A Classification and Bibliography (2nd revision, Helsinki, 1961), is given by U. Marzolph, Typologie des persischen Volksmärchens (Beirut, 1984). 58 For an assessment of this method cf. Ch. Goldberg, “The Historic-Geographic Method: Past and Future,” Journal of Folklore Research 21/1 (1984), pp. 1-18.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY poem would not be fully comprehensible. In the winter of his retirement to a life of privacy, Bahrâm undergoes a kind of treatment effected through the tales. The pleasure of the embrace and the sound sleep that follows each narration is proof enough of their beneficial effect. The first tale is introduced by means of a sort of ejâza (authorization, license), i.e. by a chain of transmitters who guarantee the authenticity of the narration—a fictitious ejâza, however, as no proper names are given. It is the Saturday tale, told in the black pavilion under the influence of Saturn by the Indian princess, who had heard it from her parents, who had it from a woman who always wore black, who, in her turn, had heard it from the King of the Blackclads. The story tells of the King’s long journey undertaken to discover the secret of the Blackclads; and of how, having discovered it, he too becomes one of them. It begins as a real journey but quickly accrues a number of fanciful elements such as the hero’s flight into a basket. The king lands in a garden inhabited by beautiful fairies. He instantly falls in love with their queen, who invites him to her table, and among infinite delights also reveals herself as being well-disposed towards him. There is a proviso however: She will be the partner of all his pleasures, but she will not yield to him totally. Whenever passion is about to overcome him, he will be allowed to spend the night with one of her beauteous handmaidens. The king lives thirty days and thirty nights in this way, surrounded by all the pleasures a man could desire; but still the queen continues to defer their union. In the end, after a verbal tussle in which the queen begs him to be patient and begs to be spared, the over-aroused king throws himself on that “tender shoot” and suddenly finds himself all alone, back in the basket. His journey is over: Now he understands the secret of the Blackclads, those who lose their happiness by having failed to control their impulses. From that time on he too is clad in black. Some scholars have read here the Isma’ili theme of the brief sojourn of the fadâʾi in the earthly paradise of the senses, the Garden of Alamut.59 59

This is the thesis held by A. E. Krymskij, Nizami i ego sovremenniki (Baku, 1981: non vidi), cited by Kazymov,“Khaft Peykar” Nizami, p. 20. Kazymov (ibidem, pp. 20-21), on the other hand, points out parallels with the story of the princess enamored of a beautiful man slave in Attâr’s Manteq al-teyr, narrated in the first anecdote of the sixth valley, the Valley of Bewilderment (vâdi-ye heirat); she enjoys the company of the slave after one of her handmaidens has induced in him a state of unconsciousness. A concise synopsis of the story, also showing the affinities shared by the two narratives, is given by Hellmut Ritter, The Ocean of the Soul, tr. John O’Kane with ed. ass.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE The tale certainly centers on themes that were already well-established in Persian didactic literature. The king’s sinful error, depriving him of happiness, was that of having given insufficient thanks to God for the happiness granted to him, asking for too much and failing to control his passions. The tale can also represent an illustration of the much debated issue concerning the pleasures lovers can enjoy without violating the rule of chastity: mainly conversation and gazes, but also kissing and a considerable degree of physical pleasure, provided they do not commit any serious moral transgression, a topic about which philosophers and theoreticians of love have long been concerned.60 The second tale, told on Sunday to Bahrâm by the daughter of the Qeysar of Rum in the yellow pavilion under the influence of the sun, introduces the theme of the misogamist woman, the woman who escapes from marriage, and can perhaps be interpreted as a variant of the “Taming of the Shrew” folktale in the Persian love romance.61 The hero is a prince who is unable to fall in love with any woman but passes unmoved from one to another; the heroine is a handmaiden who is finally loved by the prince but who flees from all physical relations. In the tale, both affective disorders are explained as being dictated by the desire to escape an adverse horoscope. For the man the cure is relatively simple: to find a fine and honest woman who resists him. The woman’s cure takes longer and is more complicated. The prince tries to cure her by way of the truth, asking her to be sincere with him and explain the reasons for her difficulty, a procedure probably originating from the doctor-patient relationship which, he says, has often proved successful. As illustration, a very curious tale concerning Queen Belqis and Solomon is inserted into the main story. During intimacy, they put personal and delicate questions to each other and demand an honest answer. Solomon asks her if she has ever desired other men, apart from him; Belqis asks if he has ever coveted another’s goods. When they respond honestly, their son, born with malformations, regains the use of his arms of B. Radtke (Leiden and Boston, 2003), pp. 149-50. On stories parallel to that of the Saturday tale, see also Wesselski, “Quellen und Nachwirkungen der Haft Paikar,” pp. 113-14. 60 Cf. L. A. Giffen, Theory of Profane Love Among the Arabs: the Development of the Genre (New York and London, 1971), pp. 122-23. 61 On this tale-type (no. 901 in the Aarne and Thompson catalogue), cf. B. Ní Fhloinn, “Zähmung der Wiederspenstigen,” Enzyklopädie des Märchens XIV (Berlin, 2014), cols. 1124-30.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY and legs. In the handmaiden’s case, however, the truth cure fails to work: She flees from men because her horoscope has warned that the love of a man would put her life at great risk; but this confession does not have the desired effect. At this point an old woman intervenes: Just as custom has it in horse-breaking, she counsels the prince to “saddle” already tamed “fillies” in the girl’s presence. Stung by jealousy, the girl suffers deeply, to the extent of risking death, just as her horoscope had foreseen; and finally their love is crowned with union—a conclusion that François de Blois interprets as endowed with an “essentially anti-fatalistic message.”62 In his study of the Belqis and Solomon story as recounted by Nezâmi, Albert Wesselski points out the similarity with a tradition centered on Solomon in Bokhâri’s Sahih.63 This scholar, however, notices that Bokhâri only speaks of the birth of a deformed son to one of Solomon’s handmaidens. The version told by Mirkhʷând (d. 903/1498)64 would present more convincing similarities to Nezâmi’s very short narration: Solomon fathers a son with only one eye, one ear, one hand, and one foot. At this, his minister Âsaf b. Barkhiyâ invites the parents to reveal all that is in their hearts, and when all three—Solomon, Âsaf, and the child’s mother—openly confess a number of embarrassing personal facts, the child’s missing limbs and organs immediately appear. According to Wesselski, what the narrative is drawing on is the theme of the Act of Truth, of Indian origin according to Wesselski, whereby the sincere confession of a sin has the effect of healing a child. Nezâmi’s version, while chronologically preceding Mirkhʷând’s, would represent a further phase in the elaboration of the novel: Solomon’s wife is now identified as Belqis, and the third character (the minister, or the ascetic of a very similar Indian tale) has now disappeared. The third tale, narrated on Monday in the moon-green pavilion, centers on the theme of the journey with an evil companion while also enquiring into the relationship between faith and reason.65 Beshr the Chaste falls in love one day with a young woman when a gust of wind lifts her veil. He 62 63 64 65

F. de Blois “Haft Peykar,” EIr, XI, p. 524. Wesselski, “Quellen und Nachwirkungen der Haft Paikar,” pp. 116-19. Mirkhʷând, Târikh-e Rowzat al-safâ (7 vols., Tehran, 1960), I, pp. 381-82. On the tale’s meaning, cf. J. C. Bürgel, “Nizāmī’s World Order,” in J.C. Bürgel and C. van Ruymbecke, eds., A Key to the Treasure of the Hakīm: Artistic and Humanistic Aspects of Nizāmī Ganjavī’s “Khamsa” (Leiden, 2011), pp. 31-32. On the fable of the evil travelling-companion and its occurrence in mystic circles, cf. Bausani, in Nezāmī, Le sette principesse, p. 197, note 2.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE leaves Rum, where the story is set, and sets off on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. On his way back his traveling-companion is the evil rationalist Malikhâ, who at the end drowns in a well. Having returned home, Beshr communicates the news of Malikhâ’s death to his widow, at the same time handing over the dead man’s possessions. He discovers that she is the woman he had fallen in love with. The two marry, and the story has a happy ending. The fourth tale is narrated on Tuesday, the central day of the week, by the Princess of the Land of the Slavs, in the red pavilion put under the influence of Mars (Bahrâm), homonymous with the king. It is based on the theme of the riddles set to gain consent to a marriage, that is, the intelligence and ability tests the suitor must get through to obtain the hand of the beloved, a very common theme in both eastern and western literatures.66 A beautiful princess is reluctant to marry: yet another arising of the theme of the misogamist woman, already dealt with in the Sunday tale. The princess leaves her father’s castle and locks herself in an impregnable fortress guarded by talismans; again, the castle or palace is endowed with magic powers. She then hangs her portrait at the gates of the city, challenging those who would win her hand to overcome all the tests she has set. Her suitor must be noble and valiant, must break the spell of the castle talismans, and must solve all the intelligence tests to which she submits him. Enchanted by the portrait, many young men make the attempt but are killed by the power of the talismans. Their heads, in their hundreds, are hung at the city gates, a gruesome warning not to attempt the trial lightly. In the end a young prince, following the advice of a sage skilled in neutralizing the power of talismans, manages to enter the castle, thereby qualifying for the final test: responding to some nonverbal riddles by the princess. Taking off two pearl earrings, she hands them to the youth. Understanding the meaning of the gesture, he adds three more pearls and returns them to her. The princess then weighs the five pearls, reduces them to powder, mixes the pearl dust with sugar, and passes him the mixture. In answer, he adds the mixture to a glass of milk and passes it back. The princess drinks the milk, collects the residue, and weighs it: the weight is exactly that of the five pearls. She then gives him a ring. He puts it on his finger and gives the princess a splendid pearl. The princess unstrings an identical pearl from 66

A survey of the theme of riddles to be answered for the consent to marriage is given by E. Rossi, “La leggenda di Turandot,” in Studi orientalistici in onore di Giorgio Levi Della Vida (2 vols. Rome, 1956), II, pp. 458-60.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY her necklace and gives both of them back to him, to which he then adds an azure pearl before passing back all three. She puts the two white pearls in her ears, the blue pearl on her finger, and announces to her father that she intends to marry the young man. She explains to her father the meaning of this silent exchange of messages. The first one alludes to the transience of life, lasting but two days (the two pearls); the young man answers that whether three or five days, life is still fleeting. The following question concerns voluptuousness (the sugar), inextricably linked to life (the pearls): How to distinguish the one from the other? The young man offers a solution by adding the pearl dust to milk. By drinking it, the princess subordinates herself to him, at the same time showing that the weight of the pearls is unchanged. By giving him the ring, she in turn accepts to marry him, to which he responds with a very precious pearl, signifying that she would never find another husband of equal worth. To this she adds a pearl of identical value, thereby declaring herself his companion and equal; he simply adds the azure pearl as protection against the evil eye. The whole, silent scene has an almost unparalleled fascination. The enigma of the gestural code and the use of objects is made more complex through reference to the linguistic code: When the prince adds a further two pearls to the initial three, the reader cannot fail to read, as in a pun, the word sepanj (a halting place, a shelter), a metaphor of the transitory world. Djalal Khaleghi-Motlagh has studied the riddles in the Tuesday story in the context of a study of the literary riddle (chist-ân) down to Nezâmi. The riddles of the Tuesday story are included in a group of symbolic riddles, one of a taxonomy of three—the other types being riddles of didactic intent, and, finally, the ones just for entertainment—into which Khaleghi-Motlagh classifies the riddles in Persian literature.67 While the sources of Nezâmi’s tale are obscure, excellent studies have traced passages and texts through which a particular Persian variant of the novel based on the (probably originally Indian) theme of the “betrothal riddles” arrived in Europe, right up till François Pétis de la Croix’s collection of Les Mille et Un Jour (5 vols., Paris, 1710-12), Carlo Gozzi’s Turandot (performed in Venice on 22 January 1762), and Giuseppe Adami and 67

Dj. Khaleghi-Motlagh, “Afsâne-ye bânu-ye hesâri va pishine-ye qâleb-e adabi-ye ân,” in idem, Sokhanhâ-ye dirine: Si maqâle dar bâre-ye Ferdowsi va Shâh-nâme, ed. Ali Dehbâshi (3rd ed., Tehran, 2009), pp. 167-75.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE Renato Simoni’s libretto for Puccini’s Turandot, which premiered at La Scala on 25 April 1926.68 In comparative literature, it is an established tradition to call all tales in which a princess sets riddles for her suitors to be answered on pain of death, including Nezâmi’s, by the name of this particular story: Turandot, from Persian Turândokht.69 The fifth and sixth tales share similarities with the first and third respectively. The fifth, Wednesday’s story, narrated in the turquoise dome, also deals with a wondrous journey. Mâhân, a young man from the city of Cairo, finds himself on a strange journey in which reality continually changes before his eyes, revealing the true horror behind the beautiful and beguiling face of appearance. Only when he prays sincerely to God is he saved by Khezr, the prophet, and restored to his own life and home. The sixth, Thursday tale, narrated in the sandalwood-colored dome by the Princess of China, tells of Kheyr (Good), who is blinded and left for dead by his evil travel companion, named, indeed, Shar(r) (Evil). The story revolves around the miraculous properties of the sandalwood tree, able to restore sight and cure epilepsy.70 The seventh and last story, narrated on Friday by the Princess of Iran in the white pavilion, under the influence of Venus, has particular importance, like the fourth (narrated on Tuesday, Bahrâm’s day). Its hero, the young owner of a garden encircled by other gardens, with four pavilions 68 F. Meier, “Turandot in Persien,” Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischer Gesellschaft 95, N.F. 20 (1941), pp. 1-27, 415-421. Cf. also Rossi, “La leggenda di Turandot,” pp. 472-75. 69 It is tale-type no. 851 A in the Aarne and Thompson catalogue. Cf. Ch. Goldberg, “Rätzelprinzessin,” Enzyklopädie des Märchens XI (Berlin, 2004), esp. cols. 289-90, and, by the same author, Turandot’s Sisters: A Study of the Folktale AT 851 (New York, 1993). 70 This is a widespread type. Cf. Reidar Th. Christiansen, The Tale of the Two Travellers or The Blinded Man: A Comparative Study (Hamina, 1916); Mia I. Gerhardt, Two Wayfarers: Some Medieval Stories on the Theme of Good and Evil (Utrecht, 1964); and Maria Christa Maennersdoerfer, “Wanderer: Die beiden W.,” Enzyklopädie des Märchens XIV (Berlin, 2014), cols. 476-83. For this tale in Persian folk literature, cf. Marzolph, Typologie des persischen Volksmärchens, s.v. “Gut und Böse” (Aarne-Thompson, no. 613), pp. 125-27. For a study of Nezâmi’s tale, traced back to a possible ancient Egyptian source, cf. Mahmud Omidsalar, “Haft peykar-e Nezȃmi va adab-e Mesr-e bȃstȃn,” Iranshenasi III/4 (1992): Viže-nȃme-ye sȃl-e Nezȃmi-ye Ganjavi, II, pp. 740-49. See also the Monday tale above, which bears many resemblances to the Thursday one.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY at the four angles through which the evil eye never penetrates, bears a clear resemblance to Bahrâm, king of Iran (central keshvar ‘country’ in the Iranian subdivision of the world) and possibly also to Korp Arslȃn, the poem’s dedicatee (see above, “The Dedicatee of Haft peykar”). The subject of the tale is that of man’s ill-controlled desire which regularly condemns him to failure, not least since illicit union, in constantly precarious situations, can never provide the basis for a happy and satisfying amorous relationship. Nezâmi seems to be saying that for men, as well as for women, true and deeply satisfying love can only be found in marriage. The seven tales represent a path towards maturity and purification for the king through the different stages symbolized by color, from the black of the first story to the white of the seventh and last.71 Through these stories, dealing with important moral themes, Bahrâm awakens like nature in spring; he re-emerges profoundly strengthened and matured, and able, finally, to set about punishing those responsible for the disastrous state of his kingdom. The regeneration process affects the king, nature itself, and the kingdom all at the same time. The evil eye which the palace of the Seven Domes had been built to avert would seem to consist of the loss of moral harmony among men and between man and nature, with its consequent suffering, illness, and madness. For all the fascination created in the reader or listener, the tales can only be understood at their profoundest level in the context of Bahrâm’s history. They have an important didactic value encompassing many themes and aspects of moral life. Love is a central one, according to the idea, shared by many authors of romantic poems, that the king’s private life and his behavior as lover are a mirror of his personal and political maturity as sovereign. 71

On the significance of colors in the poem, cf. Krotkoff, “Color and Number in the Haft Paykar;” P. Chelkowski, “Niẓāmī Gandjawī,” in EI2 , VIII, p. 79; Meisami, introduction to Nizami, The “Haft Paykar,” pp. xxx-xxxi; C.L. Cross, “The Haft Paykar: Love, Color, and the Universe” (M.A. thesis, University of Chicago, 2010), pp. 41-42. A number of authors have also emphasized the value of Bahrâm’s progression through the seven colors and the seven domes as a journey of spiritual purification; cf. in particular C. Kappler, “La quête du sens comme processus alchemique: transmutation par la connaissance dans les Haft Peykar de Nezâmi,” Journal of Turkish Studies 18 (1994), pp. 139-41; M. Barry, “Les Sept Princesses stellaires et l’Ascension mystique,” in Nezȃmi, Haft peykar. tr. Michael Barry as Le Pavillon des sept princesses, pp. 612-60; and H. Yavari, Ravân-kâvi va adabiyyât, pp. 141-45.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE The just and strong sovereign is he who conducts himself maturely in relationships of love from which violence, disorder, and excess are absent.72

2. The Development of the Bahrâm Gur Romance Before Nezȃmi In Bahrâm’s figure, which emerges as the one real character in Nezâmi’s romance, it is difficult to distinguish the few possible historical facts from the development the character had had before Nezâmi. Facts regarding Bahrâm V that can be considered historical are, perhaps, those connected with the period spent as a young prince at the Lakhmid court of Hira, where he was exiled by his father, or for some reason removed from the court;73 the assistance received from Mondher I in making his claim to the Persian throne, as it is possible that nobles and priests had intended to exclude Yazdgerd’s sons from the succession;74 and his victory over the White Huns, i.e. the Hephthalites (the “Chinese” of the sources) on the eastern borders of the kingdom. Instead, the sources are far more brief on the less glorious campaigns on the western front, of which Nezâmi says nothing at all.75 Other aspects of the hero that emerge in the sources and in Haft Peykar itself are also possibly grounded in historical facts. One such could be Bahrâm’s lack of interest in the administration of the kingdom, which, at 72 Cf. Julie Scott Meisami, Medieval Persian Court Poetry (Princeton, 1987), pp. 13945, 155-58, 180-98; Claude-Claire Kappler, “Présence du mazdéisme dans le roman de Gorgȃnî, Vîs o Rȃmîn,” Dabireh: Revue d’ études du monde irano-aryen I (1991), p. 47; Paola Orsatti, “Le poème Xosrow va Širin de Neẓāmi et ses répliques par Amir Xosrow et Jamāli,”  Studia Iranica 32/2 (2003), p. 165. A concise account of the importance of the king’s personal morals is given in Ghazȃli’s Kimiyȃ-ye saʻȃdat (cf. Charles-Henri de Fouchécour, Moralia: Les notions morales dans la littérature persane du 3e/9e au 7e/13e siècle, Paris, 1986, pp. 389-91). 73 Cf. Christensen, L’Iran sous les Sassanides, p. 269; Frye, “The Political History of Iran under the Sasanians,” p. 144; O. Klíma, “Bahrām v. Bahrām V Gōr,” in EIr, III, p. 518. For an appraisal of the historical figure of Bahrâm V Gur see also W. Sundermann, postface in Nizâmi, Die sieben Prinzessinnen (Berlin, 1980), pp. 133-34. 74 O. Klíma, “Bahrām v. Bahrām V Gōr,” in EIr, III, p. 518. On the story of Bahrâm’s rival Khosrow, see above, “Bahrâm in Nezâmi’s Poem.” 75 Cf. Frye, “The Political History of Iran under the Sasanians,” pp. 145-46; Klíma, “Bahrām v. Bahrām V Gōr,” in EIr, III, p. 518.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY least from a certain point onwards, he entrusted to various officials such as the powerful Mehr Narseh (Mihr Narsê), already Great Minister (wuzurg framādār) under Yazdgerd I, to whom Bahrâm delegated much of his power.76 This indifference would certainly have been welcomed by the powerful Persian aristocracy, which under Bahrâm enjoyed a free and oppressive reign over the populace. The story of the evil minister Râst Raveshn/Râst Rowshan, seemingly a duplication of the historical Mehr Narsi, might well represent an ancient memory of that.77 Another characteristic of Bahrâm’s figure which, however, is difficult to verify historically is his love of the arts, particularly music and poetry. Tradition considers Bahrâm V the first Persian poet, probably on account of his alleged Arabic education.78 In the sources, Bahrâm is also remembered for having a large number of singers come from India to entertain the populace of Iran.79 It is also possible that accounts of his habit of frequently resorting to the state coffers were not devoid of a historical basis, as both Nezâmi and Ferdowsi mention that at a certain point they were found to be empty.80 Ferdowsi also mentions heavy tributes levied to face the considerable expense of his harem and life-style (see below, “Bahrȃm Gur in the Shâh-nâme”). The sources, however, and hence the Shâh-nâme and Haft peykar, frequently speak of his generosity, and that on several occasions he 76

77

78 79

80

Cf. Klíma, “Bahrām v. Bahrām V Gōr,” in EIr, III, p. 518. On this powerful minister, nicknamed Hazâr-bande ‘(He who possesses) a thousand slaves,’ cf. Christensen, L’Iran sous les Sassanides, pp. 268, 272-73; Bal’ami, Tȃrikh, II, pp. 944-45, tr. Chronique, II, pp. 122-23. Nezâmi mentions him in Haft peykar, Chapter 27 (distinguishing him from one of Bahrâm’s brothers of the same name) and Chapter 40 (distinguishing him from the unjust Rȃst Rowshan). On Bahrâm’s brother Narsi, cf. Christensen, L’Iran sous les Sassanides, pp. 269 and 275. The historical sources have no record of a minister of Bahrâm’s with the title of Râstravesh. M. Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, p. 193, has questioned the story of the unjust minister as belonging to Bahrâm Gur’s reign; Zarrinkub (Pir-e Ganje, pp. 163-64) is of the opposite opinion. Cf. Shams-e Qeys, al-Moʽjam fi ma’ âyir ash’ âr al-ajam, ed. M. Qazvini and M.-T. Modarres-Razavi (3rd edition, Tehran, 1981), p. 198; Owfi, Lobâb al-albâb, ed. E.G. Browne and M. Qazvini, I (Leyden, 1906), pp. 19-20. Ferdowsi (Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 611-13, “Bahrȃm-e Gur,” ll. 2549-91) speaks of 2,000 luli (gypsies), and the Mojmal al-tavârikh va’ l-qesas, ed. Malek-al-shoʽarâ Bahâr (reprint of the 1939, Tehran, 2010), p. 68 refers to 12,000 motreb (musicians). Cf. Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 40/16; Ferdowsi, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, Shâh-nâme, VI, p. 613 (“Bahrȃm-e Gur,” l. 2573).

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE would remit general taxation, which would explain the kingdom’s depleted economy. The historical or rather semi-historical Bahrâm is therefore a contradictory figure, mostly seen in a favorable light as a just and generous sovereign and as “one of the most popular kings of Iranian history,”81 but not without some shadowy reservations. Around the historical Bahrâm and the account of his reign a legend soon developed, to which a series of more or less romantic episodes and adventures of various provenance were added. The earliest historical-legendary accounts regarding Bahrâm included a number of episodes probably already present in the Book of Kings from the end of the Sasanid era, and hence variously attested by Arabic sources, such as the hunt episode of the lion and the onager (see above, “Bahrȃm in Nezâmi’s Poem”), and that of the hunt in the company of the handmaiden ( see below, “The Hunt with the Handmaid”).82 New episodes were gradually added from other sources: the construction of the Khavarnaq palace and the story of the architect Sennemâr, narrated by historians including Tabari and Bal’ami but absent from the Shâhnâme;83 Bahrâm’s incognito journey to India (not narrated by Nezâmi), with its attendant adventures such as the killing of a rhinoceros (karg, in Ferdowsi) and the marriage to the daughter of the King of India;84 and the story of his disappearance down a well, on which, as noted before, the Shâh-nâme is silent. Nezâmi adds further episodes that represent his personal reworking of the romance of Bahrâm:85 the branding of the onagers; the killing of the dragon and the discovery of the treasure; finding the secret room with the

81 Klíma, “Bahrām v. Bahrām V Gōr,” EIr, III, p. 518. 82 On the two episodes and their sources, cf. Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, respectively p. 81 and pp. 133-42. 83 See above, “Bahrâm in Nezâmi’s Poem” and note 25. Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, p. 53, considers the Khavarnaq story as belonging to the Arabic tradition. 84 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 558-95 (“Bahrȃm-e Gur,” ll. 1888-2350). On the Indian campaign and the various sources dealing with it, cf. Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, pp. 155-64. The majority of modern historians consider the story of Bahrâm in India to be lacking in any historical basis. 85 On the episodes added to the Bahrâm Gur romance by Nezâmi, cf. Kazymov, “Khaft Peykar” Nizami, p. 16.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY princesses’ portraits; the famine episode and Bahrâm’s generosity;86 and, most significant of all, the insertion of the seven tales and the construction of the seven-domed palace, a more perfect version of the Khavarnaq. In many of these episodes Nezâmi appears to have accentuated a number of mythical and positive aspects of Bahrâm’s story, only in part already present in the sources. The insertion of the seven tales narrated by the seven princesses constitutes Nezâmi’s most important authorial innovation in the composition of the poem. However, already before Nezâmi the legend of Bahrâm had become a frame-narrative enclosing and binding together a series of shorter narratives of different origins. Indeed, some fifty years before Nezâmi, the Arab writer from Sicily Ebn Zafar (about 1104-70 CE) had used the story of the young prince’s brief return to his father’s court (not narrated by Nezâmi) to embed a series of stories inside the main Bahrâm narrative.87 This narrative development was also already present in Ferdowsi’s Shâhnâme. Indeed, after Bahrâm’s ascent to the throne, Ferdowsi inserts a long series of anecdotes which take up the whole central part of his story in the Shâh-nâme:88 some 1,300 lines out of a total of 3,242 dedicated to Bahrâm himself (including the part concerning the reign of Yazdgerd Bazehgar in which Bahrâm’s birth and youth are narrated) in Khaleghi-Motlagh’s edition. This narrative material is incorporated in a different way, however, in Ferdowsi’s and Nezâmi’s poems. In the Shâh-nâme the anecdotes, all centering on Bahrâm’s story, follow one after the other, their only link being Bahrâm’s departure on a new hunting party; in Nezâmi, instead, each 86 The sources make no mention of a famine during Bahrâm Gur’s reign. Apart from Nezâm-al-Molk’s short anecdote of a famine in the reign of King Qobâd (Siyar almoluk, ed. H. Darke, Chapter 4, p. 30), the most immediate source for Nezâmi’s episode seems to be the account of the famine in the time of Piruz, son of Yazdgerd II, in the chronicle of Tabari. Cf. Tabari, tr. Bosworth, p. 112; Th. Nöldeke, Geschichte der Perser und Araber zur Zeit der Sasaniden, (Leiden, 1879), p. 122. On this episode and its sources, cf. Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, pp. 132-33. 87 Ebn-Zafar, Solvân al-motâʽ, translated by Michele Amari as Solwan el Mota’ ossiano Conforti politici (Florence, 1851), pp. 139-75. The story of Bahrâm’s temporary return to the court of Persia and his difficult relations with his father is narrated by Ferdowsi (Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 379-85, “Yazdgerd-e Bazehgar,” ll. 234-314) and by the historians (Tabari, tr. Bosworth, p. 86; Bal’ami, Tȃrikh, II, p. 931, tr. Chronique, II, pp. 112-13;), but not by Nezâmi. 88 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 424-522 (“Bahrâm-e Gur,” ll. 119-1422).

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE of the seven princesses tells him a tale, following a pre-established plan.89 These structural differences apart, however, in the Shâh-nâme the Bahrâm romance had already embedded narrative material which was extraneous to the more ancient nucleus of the history of Bahrâm Gur.

Bahrȃm Gur in the Shâh-nâme Ferdowsi’s Shâh-nâme, an important source for Nezâmi, constitutes a significant point in the development of the Bahrâm Gur romance. If, in narrating the historical events of Bahrâm’s reign, Ferdowsi is probably closer to ancient sources, also widely drawing on the chronicles of Tabari and Bal’ami, other parts of the Bahrȃm Gur section attest to a significant re-working that the character of Bahrâm had already undergone at the level of popular tradition and folklore. As just mentioned, between the account of Bahrâm’s ascent to the throne and the beginning of the campaign against the Khâqân of China, the Shâh-nâme embeds a series of anecdotes which, from various viewpoints, not least the linguistic one (especially in the dialogues), show popular characteristics which mark them out as probably extraneous to the historical-legendary corpus of Sasanid origin which constituted the basis of Ferdowsi’s narrative.90 Each time Bahrâm goes off hunting, he finds himself, either because darkness falls when he is far from camp, or because he decides to explore his kingdom incognito, spending the night as the guest of subjects of his, ordinary folk, farmers, or more affluent citizens. Anxious to ascertain the state of the realm, punish wrongdoers, reward the honest, and discover what his subjects think of him, Bahrâm becomes a wandering king, like al-Ma’mun in the Thousand and One Nights, or like Anushirvân the Just (âdel) in the Persian tradition. This brings him into contact with Lonbak the water-seller and Barâhâm (Abrâhâm) the Jew; 89 For an ancient example of this narrative structure in the Persian pre-Islamic literary tradition, cf. Dj. Khaleghi-Motlagh, “Dâstân-i az adabiyyât-e az-dast-rafte-ye pahlavi,” Nâme-ye Irân-e Bâstân 5/1-2 (2005-6), pp. 17-39, esp. 21-22. 90 Brief mention of Ferdowsi’s anecdotes is made by Theodor Nöldeke, “Das iranische Nationalepos,” in Wilh. Geiger and Ernst Kuhn, eds., Grundriss der iranischen Philologie (2 vols., reprint Berlin and New York, 1974), II, pp. 176-77, 185.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY the young shoe-mender;91 the guardian of the mill with his daughters who compose poetry; the tight-fisted shopkeeper and his generous assistant; the female gardener; old Borzin and his three daughters; Mâhiyâr the jeweler with his musician and poetess daughter, and the wealthy Farshidvard who lives like a pauper. When he turns thirty-eight, Bahrâm sets off on another hunting trip, having first declared his intention to mend his ways and dedicate himself to God; he will tolerate no more injustice in the kingdom, an implicit admission that the opposite had hitherto been the case. In many of these adventures Bahrâm is presented as a man of the people: hot, thirsty, hungry, and begging for a rind of cheese to soothe his stomach pangs; one who is unable to sleep, feels unwell, eats the plainest food and clears away his own horse’s droppings. Wherever he goes, he finds local beauties to marry and dispatch to his harem, the Golden Palace (mashkuy-e zarrin): the miller’s four daughters; Borzin’s three; and Ârezu, the daughter of Mâhyâr, the rich pearl merchant. What these girls have in common is that all of them play the harp, dance, or compose poetry, endorsing Bahrâm’s traditionally acknowledged passion for music and poetry. Mutatis mutandis, these daughters of the people appear as the prototype of the seven princesses in Haft peykar, whose sole function is to tell stories and entertain the king. In the course of one of these adventures, that of the pearl merchant and his daughter Ârezu, Ferdowsi paints an amusing picture of the young king through the mouth of the wise mobad Ruzbeh, a frequent companion in his wanderings. Bahrâm had heard tell of Mâhiyâr’s beautiful daughter and, inflamed by desire, immediately sets off to find her. Ruzbeh is concerned and asks the elders to keep an eye on him: Ruzbeh said to the elders: “There, off goes the King of Iran to the village, He will knock at the door of the jeweler’s house. Now listen you all to what will be said! He will ask for the girl from her father, And sure enough will place a golden crown on her head; Then from there he will take her to his golden harem 91

Nöldeke, “Das iranische Nationalepos,” p. 185, notes that the narration of this story represents one of the rare points in the poem where Ferdowsi exceeds the bounds of decency.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE Or to that of Borzin. He never tires of endless copulation (khoft o khiz): Only in the dead of the night can the worn-out mate try to escape.”92

A catalogue then follows: “He has over one hundred bed-chambers: The king has (many) of the like at his disposal! At this moment nine hundred and thirty girls, All carrying weighty crowns upon the head, As counted and vouchsafed by the harem attendant; None of them bereft of a splendid set-up. And the king constantly demands tributes of every land and region, Squandering in one year the entire income of the entire kingdom of Rum!”93

The mobad then voices his concern for the king’s health with a series of aphorisms on the ills of excessive love-making: Over-indulgence will ruin the health and in a short space of time reduce a tall, strong, handsome youth into a bent old man, white-haired and weak-eyed. He opines that once a month, sufficient to conceive an heir, is adequate. To insist on more would prove debilitating.94

Nezȃmi’s Bahrȃm Gur and the Influence of the Bahrȃm Chubin Romance The Shâh-nâme and the historical sources, in particular Tabari and Bal’ami, attest that the character of Bahrâm had become radically transformed, accruing traits extraneous to the historical Bahrâm (see above, “Development of the Bahrâm Gur Romance before Nezâmi”). This particularly applies to the figure of Bahrâm as a great warrior-king. Apart from his name, derived 92 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 487-8 (“Bahrâm-e Gur,” ll. 932-36). 93 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 488 (“Bahrâm-e Gur,” ll. 937-40). 94 For similar advice on health problems connected with over-indulgence in intercourse, see Key Kâ’us b. Eskandar, Qâbus-nâme, ed. Gholâm-Hoseyn Yusofi (Tehran, 1966), Ch. 15, pp. 86-87. See also Fouchécour, Moralia, p. 389.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY from that of the Zoroastrian deity of war and victory, Verethraghna of the Avesta, there is scant evidence in the sources that the historical Bahrâm V possessed any such martial inclinations, all of them (including Haft peykar, which, however, shifts the blame onto the army) writing of his flight in the face of the Khâqân of China. Bal’ami recounts that when Bahrâm had persisted in hunting and indulging in pleasures even after receiving news of the approach of the army of the “Turks,” the nobles suspected that fear had addled his brain.95 Yet, despite all this, Bahrâm Gur is considered a great warrior king. Such martial transformation must have occurred very early on: An anecdote recounted in Owfi’s Javâmeʿ al-hekâyât (Compendium of stories, 13th century) citing the Târikh-e moluk-e Ajam (History of the kings of Persia) as its source,96 presents Bahrâm Gur as a skilled archer and narrates how he could hit two birds with two arrows shot simultaneously from the same bow. Moreover, the text adds, he was so brave that he managed to defeat the Khâqân of China single-handed, thereby freeing his country from a serious threat.97 It could be that having the same name as the ancient god of war (Ares, Mars) evolved into a sharing of Verethraghna’s characteristics.98 Identification between Bahrâm Gur and Verethraghna is further strengthened by the fact that, in the later cult, the god was considered “the protector of wayfarers and travelers,”99 a role that tallies well with the character of the wandering Bahrâm of the Shâh-nâme. Bahrâm Gur’s identification with Verethraghna and other figures of Iranian myth such as Wahrām ī Warzāwand of apocalyptic Pahlavi literature may have come about through the mediation of another historical figure bearing the same name: Bahrâm Chubin, hero of the miraculous victories over the Turks at the eastern frontiers of Persia (see also above, Chapter 4, “Historical and Geographic Context of the Poem”). In 588 CE, when Iran was threatened on two fronts, by the Byzantines in the west and 95 Cf. Bal’ami, Tȃrikh, II, pp. 940-41, tr., II, p. 119. 96 Probably the Siyar moluk al-Ajam by the Pseudo-Ebn-al-Moqaffa’ is meant; see below, note 141. 97 Owfi, Javȃme’ al-hekȃyȃt va lavȃme’ al-revȃyȃt: Qesm II, jozv I, ed. Amir-Bȃnu Mosaffȃ Karimi (Tehran, 1980), p. 333 (chapter 12 on courage). 98 Described by Gherardo Gnoli, “Bahrām, i. In Old and Middle Iranian Texts,” EIr, III, pp. 510-13. 99 Gnoli, “Bahrām, i. In Old and Middle Iranian Texts,” p. 513.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE by the Turks in the north-east, he emerged “as the savior of Persia and, in popular imagination, soon joined the ranks of the legendary heroes of the Iranian epical romances.”100 The figures of Bahrâm Gur and Bahrâm Chubin share more than a name: both had to face grave threats, above all on the eastern borders of the kingdom;101 both had to fight a usurper by the name of Khosrow: Bahrâm Gur against the Khosrow with whom the Persians had replaced him as sovereign, and Bahrâm Chubin against the Sasanid king Khosrow Parviz, a usurper from his point of view. Furthermore, like Bahrâm Gur, Bahrâm Chubin was an excellent archer, to the extent that a probably late tradition held him to be a descendant of Ârash, the best Aryan archer;102 and Djalal Khaleghi-Motlagh has shown that the surname ‘Chubin’ by which he is known in Islamic sources derives from a misreading of the title Ârash bears in Avesta: xšviwi.išav-, Middle Persian shēbāg-tīr (Swift of arrow).103 As to the wanderer Bahrâm of the Shâh-nâme, his kinship with Bahrâm Chubin is equally clear. On his journeying from the east to the west of the Iranian territories, Bahrâm Chubin encounters a number of adventures, sometimes even pursuing an onager.104 It is therefore possible that, particularly in popular imagination, some of the traits of the more famous Bahrâm —Bahrâm Chubin—transmigrated into the more evanescent figure of the Sasanid king.

100 Cf. K. Czeglédy, “Bahrām Čōbīn and the Persian Apocalyptic Literature,” Acta Orienatalia Acadeamiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 8 (1958), p. 21; A. Shapur-Shahbazi, “Bahrām, vii. Bahrām VI Čōbīn,” EIr, III, pp. 519-22; Parvaneh Pourshariati, Decline and Fall of the Sasanian Empire: The Sasanian-Parthian Confederacy and the Arab Conquest of Iran (London and New York, 2008), sec. 6.1.2, “Bahrām-i Chūbīn and the Apocalypse,” pp. 404-14. 101 The Hephthalites under Bahrâm Gur; Hephthalites, as well as western (Khazars) and eastern Turks at the time of Bahrâm Chubin (cf. Czeglédy, “Bahrām Čōbīn,” pp. 21-25). 102 Czeglédy, “Bahrām Čōbīn,” pp. 25-27; Shapur-Shahbazi, “Bahrām, vii. Bahrām VI Čōbīn,” p. 522; Nöldeke, Geschichte der Perser und Araber, p. 270, note 3; Tabari, tr. Bosworth, p. 302. 103 Dj. Khaleghi-Motlagh, Dar bâre-ye laqab-e Bahrâm, sardâr-e mashhur-e sâsâni, in idem, Sokhanhâ-ye dirine, pp. 407-9. 104 See the “romantic” episode recounted by Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. KhaleghiMotlagh, VII, pp. 584-87 (“Hormezd-e Nushin Ravân,” ll. 1415-58), discussed by G. Scarcia, Scirin: La regina dei Magi (Milan, 2003), pp. 41-43.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY We know from Ebn-al-Nadim’s Fehrest that at the end of the Sasanid era a (no longer extant) romance had gathered around the figure of Bahrâm Chubin, which was subsequently translated from Middle Persian into Arabic.105 The rebel par excellence in the Sasanid sources appeared in his own times as a messianic figure who was to save Persia from chaos. This was a historical moment of profound crisis, with hostile forces threatening Iran on every border, not least the Arabs, who were soon to put an end to an entire era. A series of ex eventu prophecies in the apocalyptic Pahlavi literature reveal that they were composed under the influence of the historical figure of Bahrâm Chubin.106 Bahrâm Chubin merged into and lent a number of traits to the Wahrām ī Warzāwand of myth. Indeed, “the name Vahrām (Veretragna), in the ancient apocalyptic nomenclature, is the customary and well-known expression of the hope that eschatological victory will be achieved for Ērān by the Genius of Victory himself.”107 Bahrâm Chubin, in some sources presented as the restorer of the power of the Arsacids usurped by the Sasanids, belonged to the Mehrân, a noble family of Arsacid origin.108 A native of Rey, his power base lay in Tabarestan and the neighboring region of Deylam (where his followers took 105 This romance was reconstructed and analyzed on the basis of indirect sources (particularly Bal’ami and Ferdowsi) by Christensen in 1907; cf. Arthur Christensen, Romanen om Bahrâm Tschôbîn: Et rekonstruktions forsøg (Copenhagen, 1907), Persian tr. by Manizhe Ahad-zâdegân-Âhani as Dâstân-e Bahrâm-e Chubin (Tehran, 2004). On the Romance of Bahrâm Chubin, cf. also Nöldeke, Geschichte der Perser und Araber, “Exkurs 6. Ueber den Roman von Bahrȃm Čôbîn,” pp. 474-78; Czeglédy, “Bahrām Čōbīn,” pp. 25-32. 106 Czeglédy, “Bahrām Čōbīn,” pp. 32-40. As to possible historical figures alluded to in the Zoroastrian apocalyptic literature, identification with other historical personages has also been proposed. In particular, the figure of Piruz, son of Yazdgerd III, the “savior” who was supposed to come from the east (A. Destrée, “Quelques reflexions sur le heros des recits apocapyptiques persans et sur le mythe de la Ville de Cuivre,” in La Persia nel Medioevo, Rome, 1971, pp. 639-54), and the caliph alMansur (S. W. Anthony, “Chiliastic Ideology and Nativist Rebellion in the Early Abbasid Period: Sunbādh and Jāmāsp-nāma,” JAOS 132/4, 2012, p. 648) have been proposed. 107 Czeglédy, “Bahrām Čōbīn,” p. 39. 108 Cf. Czeglédy, “Bahrām Čōbīn,” pp. 25-8; Shapur-Shahbazi, “Bahrām, vii. Bahrām VI Čōbīn,” p. 519; Ferdinand Justi, Iranisches Namenbuch (reprint of the Marburg 1895 ed.,Tehran, 2003), s.v. “Mithrāna,” p. 214 and “Werethraghna 23. Bahrām VI Čōpīn,” p. 363.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE refuge after his death).109 After his defeat, he withdrew to the realm of the Turkish Khâqân in the region of Bukhara, the Copper City of some sources.110 Tabarestan and Bukhara are, then, the two areas of Iran most connected with the legend of Bahrâm Chubin. It was precisely from a Copper Fortress (Dezh-e ruyin) that Bahrâm Chubin, alias Wahrām ī Warzāwand, the predecessor of the Shi’ite Messiah and of other saviors of Iranian history (such as Abu-Moslem111), was expected to reappear to save his country. Likewise, in Nezȃmi’s poem Bahrȃm Gur, after residing in the Seven Cupolas, reappears to rout evil and promote good. Indeed, the Palace of the Seven Cupolas can be considered a replica of an ancient residence from Iranian myth: the Dezh-e ruyin/Ruyin-dezh, the Copper Fortress, a castle belonging to the Turanian king Arjâsp and conquered by Esfandiyâr.112 According to the Shâh-nâme, after completing the Haft khân (Seven stations, seven labors), Esfandiyâr arrived at the fortress and set fire to it after killing Arjâsp.113 Likewise, after listening to two cycles of seven stories, Nezâmi’s Bahrâm kills the evil minister, restores justice in his kingdom, and in the end sets fire to the Seven Cupolas. By connecting his character, through the figure of Bahrâm Chubin, to a series of mythical figures (Wahrām ī Warzāwand and Esfandiyâr), Nezâmi succeeds in transforming Bahrâm Gur into a savior, possibly drawing on the traditions preserved in the regions where the memory of the more famous Bahrâm Chubin was strongest, namely Tabarestan and Bukhara. This would explain Nezâmi’s reference to the two regions, which can hardly have been incidental, when he speaks of the sources for his poem (see above, “The Problem of the Sources”).

109 Czeglédy, “Bahrām Čōbīn,” p. 37. 110 Czeglédy, “Bahrām Čōbīn,” p. 31. 111 Cf. Czeglédy, “Bahrām Čōbīn,” pp. 31, 40-41. Cf. also S. W. Anthony, “Chiliastic Ideology and Nativist Rebellion,” p. 644, about Sendbâd’s claim that Abu-Moslem was still alive and resided “far to the east beyond the reach of the ‘Abbāsids in the Dež-e Rūyīn, the ‘Brazen fortress’ of Persian lore.” On Abu-Moslem, seen instead in a negative light from Zoroastrian milieus, cf. T. Daryaee, “Apocalypse Now: Zoroastrian Reflections on the Early Islamic Centuries,” Medieval Encounters: Jewish, Christian and Muslim Culture in Confluence and Dialogue 4/3 (1988), esp. pp. 192-95. 112 Cf. A. Tafazzoli, “Dež-e Rūyīn,” EIr, VII, p. 350. 113 Cf. Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, V, pp. 272-74 (“Goshtâsp,” ll. 646-76).

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Nezâmi recounts how Bahrâm finally disappears inside a cavern, which in its turn recalls some of the subterranean residences of Iranian myth.114 His reworking of Bahrâm’s death has a strong symbolic value, since the disappearance underground of legendary characters in various cultures invites a mythical and soteriological reading: “Etiological legends narrating stories of disappearances into chasms, caves, and subterranean chambers vary from place to place [in northern and central Greece] but in most cases vanishing into a chasm is a divine blessing, granted to a mortal hero to save him from imminent death or disgrace, and endowing him with immortality.”115 The conflation of the figures of Bahrâm Gur and Verethraghna is also confirmed by the development of a magic value attributed in folklore to the cult of the god: “The cult of Verethraghna […] is coupled with a more popular image of the god, one in which he is more closely linked to magical elements and practices of exorcism.”116 The association of Bahrâm with magic is clear in Nezâmi’s romance.

Astrology and the Occult Sciences: The Healing Properties of the Seven Cupolas and other Palaces of Iranian Myth In the Haft peykar, the magical and phylactic value associated with the cult of Verethraghna is attributed not so much to Bahrâm himself as to the palaces he inhabits: the Khavarnaq, built to safeguard his health and survival as a child, and the Palace of the Seven Cupolas, which was built to keep the evil eye off the king and that, as a pleasure palace, was also connected with practices favoring fertility. With its interrelations between colors, planets, and days of the week, this palace is in actual fact a talisman, an edifice built in harmonious rapport with the seven heavens both to protect the king from evil influences and to strengthen the positive.117 114 Cf. Davoud Monchi-Zadeh, Topographisch-historische Studien zum iranischen Nationalepos (Wiesbaden, 1975), p. 237, notes 1 and 4. 115 Yulia Ustinova, “Either a Daimon, or a Hero, or perhaps a God: Mythical Residents of Subterranean Chambers,” Kernos 15 (2002), p. 286. 116 Gnoli, “Bahrām, i. In Old and Middle Iranian Texts,” p. 511. 117 On these aspects, cf. W. Sundermann, postface to Nezâmi, Die sieben Prinzessinnen, p. 140.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE Their magical and apotropaic properties connect the two palaces of Haft peykar with astrology on the one hand and with medicine on the other, a discipline that at the time was classified among the occult sciences.118 The problem of the king’s physical and mental health surfaces at various points in Nezâmi’s poem and, as has been seen, occasionally emerges from the sources: According to Tabari and Balʿami’s versions, accepted by Nezâmi, it was for reasons of health that Bahrâm was raised in the “Yemen”; and, as regards his mental health, his immoderate passion for hunting had on more than one occasion given rise to the open or veiled suspicion of insanity. Already, Ferdowsi’s re-telling of the episode of Bahrâm’s hunt with the handmaid had shown a problematic aspect of Bahrâm’s relationship with love and women (see below, “The Hunt with the Handmaiden”). Various poets responding to Nezâmi’s Haft peykar offer a “therapeutic” interpretation as to the reasons for the construction of the Palace of the Seven Cupolas: It was built to cure Bahrâm of his passion for hunting by developing a more balanced approach to pleasure and women (this is Amir Khosrow’s interpretation; see below, “The Frame-Narrative: First Paradise”) or to heal the pain caused by the separation from his beloved handmaiden (according to Hȃtefi; see below, “Hȃtefi’s Poem Haft manzar”). Such healing and positive value of Bahrâm’s stay in the Palace of the Seven Cupolas is in contrast with the position expressed by François de Blois, who writes: “The point of the story is clearly that Bahrām’s attempt to find happiness by living in accordance with the stars is a failure. The seven domes are built in perfect accord with the properties of the stars, but they are very nearly the cause of his downfall. In the end it is only justice that matters. Only by abandoning the pleasures represented by the seven domes and heeding the complaints of the seven victims of tyranny does Bahrām acquire the status of a true hero.”119 This interpretation is certainly close to Nezâmi’s intention when, in the introductory chapter in praise of God, he says: “Only You are able to transmute one substance into another; there is no other alchemist, except You. […] If the stars could bestow happiness, Key Qobâd would have been born to an astrologer,”120 thereby showing his critical attitude, deriving 118 Cf. E. G. Browne, Arabian Medicine (Cambridge, 1921), esp. p. 115. 119 F. de Blois “Haft Peykar,” in EIr, XI, p. 524. 120 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 1/30, 36.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY from his solid faith, towards alchemy, astrology, and the occult sciences. Likewise, there is no doubt that in the poem astrology and the occult sciences only represent a means to confer a patina of antiquity and a picturesque coloring to the story of Bahrâm.121 However, it can be argued that, from a narrative and structural point of view, Bahrâm’s stay in the Seven Cupolas listening to the princesses’ tales corresponds to the period spent by Khosrow listening to Bozorgmehr’s and Shirin’s advice in the poem Khosrow and Shirin (see above, Chapter 4). Just as Khosrow finally learns to master his passion for wine and women, in the same way, Bahrâm is healed of his immoderate passion for the hunt and establishes a correct relationship with love. Love and pleasure are not censured in the poem. Claire Kappler writes: “Une bonne partie des Haft Peykar illustre le rôle du désir et de l’amour dans le processus d’accès à la conscience et dans l’actualisation progressive d’une connaissance de plus en plus haute.”122 In the description of the two palaces in Haft peykar, memories survive of other mythical palaces, either paradisiacal or possessing magical and healing powers.123 One is the Kangdez, a paradise-like fortress in Iranian folklore, constructed by Siyâvash according to the Shâh-nâme.124 Not dissimilar to the Kangdez is the palace which, in some traditions, Key Kâ’us had built in Mesopotamia (according to other sources, on the Alborz): a high tower comprising seven residences of seven different metals, whence he launched himself in the mad enterprise of ascending into heaven.125 The ninth book of the Denkard (XXII, 4) gives interesting details: Kai Ūs (Key Kâ’us) built a compound of seven dwellings of different substances (one of gold, two of silver, two of steel and two of crystal) endowed with 121 Cf. Živa Vesel, “Réminiscences de la magie astrale dans les Haft peykar de Neẓāmi,” Studia Iranica 24 (1995), p. 16. On Nezâmi’s attitude towards astrology, cf. also W. Sundermann, postface to Nezâmi, Die sieben Prinzessinnen, pp. 141-43. 122 Cf. C. Kappler, “La quête du sens comme processus alchemique,” p. 141. Starting from a different approach to the poem, based on the Jungian psychoanalytic theory, Houra Yavari (Ravân-kâvi va adabiyyât, pp. 126-30) has come to a similar conclusion as to the meaning of Bahrâm’s stay in the Seven Cupolas listening to the princesses’ tales. 123 For an account of these palaces, cf. Monchi-Zadeh, Topographisch-historische Studien, pp. 237-44. 124 Pavel Lurje, “Kangdez,” EIr, XV, pp. 498-99. 125 See the narration by Tha’âlebi, Ghorar akhbâr molûk al-Furs, ed. and tr. H. Zotenberg (Paris, 1900), pp. 165-67.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE magical and healing properties; inside its walls an old man, close to death, would regain his youth once more.126 From the description of a number of these mythical palaces emerge different characteristics connecting them with the myth of paradise, in many cultures represented as a castle.127 While for Nezâmi the palaces (the Khavarnaq and the Seven Cupolas) mirror the heavens, a poet-scientist such as Amir Khosrow understands their true nature, and in his response to Nezâmi speaks simply of “paradises”: Hasht behesht (The Eight Paradises; see below, “Hasht behesht by Amir Khosrow”). In the opinion of Arthur Christensen, the Iranian tradition of buildings of seven colors is to be read as the survival of a very ancient usage, that of the seven colors of the planets in the temples of Babylon; and Herodotus’ description of the walls of ancient Ecbatana (I, 98), painted in seven different colors, could be considered as a testimony of this.128 The Babylonian influence is also evident, according to Christensen, in the name of the unfortunate architect Sennemâr / Senemmâr (Semnâr in Nezâmi);129 although, probably on account of the prestige of Graeco-Byzantine art in mediaeval Iran, the sources concur in considering him a native of Rum.130 Recent studies, on the other hand, point to the possible influence of astrolatry and hermetic texts circulating among the Sabaeans of Harran on the birth of the legend of Bahrâm’s palace of the Seven Cupolas, as given by Nezâmi;131 and the seven princesses are seen as a concrete representation

126 Cf. Pahlavi Texts Part 4, Contents of the Nasks, tr. E. W. West (Oxford, 1892), pp. 220-21. Cf. also A. Christensen, Les Kayanides (Copenhagen, 1932), pp. 74-75; Monchi-Zadeh, Topographisch-historische Studien, p. 237. 127 Cf. A. Graf, Miti, leggende e superstizioni del medio Evo (Milan, 1984), sec. “Il mito del paradiso terrestre,” p. 59. 128 Christensen, Les Kayanides, pp. 80-81. Cf. also Mo’in, Tahlil-e Haft peykar-e Nezâmi, pp. 52-54 and Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, p. 175. 129 Cf. Ahmadnezhâd, Tahlil-e âthâr-e Nezâmi-ye Ganjavi, p. 38; Zarrinkub, Pir-e Ganje, p. 162. The architect’s name also resembles the name of the region in southern Mesopotamia called Sennaar in the Bible (Genesis 11.2), where the Tower of Babel was constructed. 130 The Mojmal al-tavârikh va’ l-qesas, p. 79, states that Kiṭōs, the master of the Tâq-e Bostân reliefs, was the son of the Greek Sen(ne)mâr, Semsȃr in the text. 131 Cf. Sundermann, postface to Nizâmi, Die sieben Prinzessinnen, pp. 143-45; and especially Vesel, “Réminiscences de la magie astrale dans les Haft peykar de Neẓāmi.”

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY of the seven deities who, according to these doctrines, presided over the seven planets and the days of the week.132 The most ancient texts credit Bahrâm V with building a number of palaces. The Shahrestānihā ī Ērān (Cities of Iran) actually attributes the building of a whole city to him, bearing his name: Wahrām ī Gōr, in western Media (Mây), close to the Wahrām-āwand fortress.133 A number of Arabic texts also describe a fortress allegedly built by Bahrâm Gur. Ebnal-Faqih (10th century), in particular, describes a castle close to Hamadan apparently built by Bahrâm, the ruins of which were then still visible; at the four corners of it there where columns, possibly caryatids, representing young slave women. Not far from this lay the tomb in which Bahrâm buried both his handmaiden and the gazelle, after the famous hunting episode.134

The Hunt with the Handmaid: the Problem of Love in Bahrȃm Gur’s Story The hunt with the handmaid episode is of considerable importance in Haft peykar and becomes even more so in the poems composed in imitation of Nezâmi, where it replaces Bahrâm’s entire story as frame-narrative of the seven tales.135 For a correct understanding of it one should recall that, in different cultures of the ancient world, it was required that Love (embodied by the goddess Venus) be worshipped, and an excessive passion for the hunt

132 Cf. Sundermann, postface to Nizâmi, Die sieben Prinzessinnen, p. 140; Vesel, “Réminiscences de la magie astrale dans les Haft peykar de Neẓāmi,” p. 8. 133 Cf. Joseph Markwart, A Catalogue of the Provincial Capitals of Ērānshahr, ed. Giuseppe Messina (Rome, 1931), p. 15, § 27. 134 Ebn-al-Faqih, Mokhtasar ketâb al-boldân, ed. M.J. de Goeje as Compendium libri Kitâb al-Boldân (Leiden, 1885), pp. 255-56. See also Paul Schwarz, Iran im Mittelalter: Nach den arabischen Geographen V (Leipzig, 1925), pp. 547-48. 135 Proof of the important circulation, also at a popular level, of the handmaid’s story is provided by the retelling of Shirin’s story given by Mirkhʷând, which is modeled on the handmaid’s story as narrated by Nezâmi, Amir Khosrow, and Hâtefi (Mirkhʷând, The Rauzat-us-safa, or, Garden of Purity, tr. E. Rehatsek and ed. F. F. Arbuthnot, London, 1893, I/2, p. 399).

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE was considered a fault against love (for the myth of Hippolytus, see above, Chapter 4, “Allegory in Narratives of Love”).136 The episode of the hunt with the handmaid is already present in Ferdowsi’s Shâh-nâme, whereas it is absent in the chronicles of Tabari and Bal’ami. Before Ferdowsi, a number of authors writing in Arabic had narrated the story, including Ebn-Qoteybe (9th century), Ebn-al-Faqih (10th century),137 and the anonymous author of the text entitled Nehâyat al-arab fi akhbâr al-Fors waʼl-Arab (What is most needed in the stories of Persians and Arabs; first half of the 9th century).138 The anecdote is most likely to have derived from the Sasanid Book of Kings,139 passing through the no longer extant Arabic version attributed to Ebn-al-Moqaffa’ and the Arabic sources just cited. Its great antiquity is attested by the fact that the hunt with the handmaiden episode appears on two seals of the late Sasanid period, and three metal plates of the late Sasanid or early Islamic period with Pahlavi inscriptions, conserved in the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg and in the Metropolitan Museum, New York.140 Ebn-Qoteybe’s version of the anecdote would seem to be the basic one, which Ferdowsi considerably reworks. Ebn-Qoteybe states that, in the work entitled Siyar al-Ajam (Conduct of the Persians), he read how one day Bahrâm Gur went hunting in the company of his handmaiden.141 On 136 N. Yavari, Advice for the Sultan: Prophetic Voices and Secular Politics in Medieval Islam (Oxford and New York, 2014), pp. 23-24, discusses, among works of advice literature on rulership, John Gower’s Confessio amantis (1390), a poem of advice for Richard II (r. 1389-99). The poem “is framed as a confession by the young Amans of sins against love, to Genius, Priest of Venus” (p. 23). 137 See above and note 134. 138 On this text, cf. Edward G. Browne, “Some Account of the Arabic Work Entitled Niháyatu’l-irab fí akhbári’l-Furs wa’l-‘Arab, Particularly of that Part which Treats of the Persian Kings,” JRAS (1900), pp. 195-259; and Mario Grignaschi, “La Nihāyatu-l-’Arab fī Aḫbāri-l-Furs wa-l-‘Arab (Première partie),” BEO, 22 (1969), pp. 15-67. 139 Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, p. 81; Kazymov,“Khaft Peykar” Nizami, p. 14. 140 Cf. Fontana, La leggenda di Bahrām Gūr e Āzāde, pp. 13-14, nos. 1-2 (seals), and pp. 19-23, nos. 14-6 (plates). See also Ettinghausen, “Bahram Gur’s Hunting Feats,” and Pll. III a-b, IV a-b, Va. 141 The Siyar al-Ajam is identifiable with the Ketâb siyar molûk al-ajam by the Pseudo-Ebn-al-Moqaffaʽ (2nd/8th century). Cf. Mario Grignaschi, “La Nihāyatu-l-’Arab fī Aḫbāri-l-Furs wa-l-‘Arab et les Siyaru Mulūki-l-‘Ajam du Ps. Ibn-al-Muqaffa’,”

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY sighting a number of gazelles (and not onagers, as in Nezâmi), Bahrâm asks the handmaiden which part of the gazelle should he aim at and shoot with his arrow. She replies: “I wish the male to be made like the female, and the female like the male (my emphasis).” With a fork-tipped arrow Bahrâm then slices the horns off the head of a male animal, and then shoots two arrows into the head of a female, so that they resemble horns. The handmaiden then asks him to unite in one shot the gazelle’s ear and hoof. With a clay pellet Bahrâm hits the male-gazelle at the base of its ear, and when the animal lowers its head near its hoof to scratch itself, Bahrâm shoots a swift arrow which hits both the hoof and the ear at once. Having granted the handmaiden’s request, Bahrâm turns on her in anger and throws her to the ground, reproving her for putting him to the test, hoping to see him fail.142 In the Shâh-nâme the mechanics of Bahrâm’s archery and the species of animal hunted coincide with Ebn-Qoteybe’s version; but Ferdowsi introduces a series of changes which, though slight, profoundly modify the general tenor of the story.143 Ferdowsi recounts how one day, mounted on a dromedary, Bahrâm had gone hunting with his Greek harpist, Âzâde. The beautiful harpist, the poet declares, was his heart’s comfort (del-ârâm) and boon companion (ham-kâm); her name was constantly on his lips. At some point they spot a pair of gazelles, a male and a female. Bahrâm asks her which of the two he should kill, given—and here Ferdowsi adds an important detail—that the female was young and the male old. At the king’s question, centering, then, not on how and where, but on which of the two animals to hit, the handmaiden replies with a pun on the word âhu (gazelle, defect): “Men of valor never make war on (those with) defects / on gazelles! (bed-âhu najuyand mardân nabard!),”144 implying a criticism of Bahrâm’s unbridled passion for hunting, a detail entirely lacking from Ebn-QoteyBEO 26 (1973), pp. 83-184. Cf. also F. Gabrieli, “L’opera di Ibn-al-Muqaffaʻ,” RSO 13 (1932), p. 209; and Nöldeke, Geschichte der Perser und Araber, p. xxi, note 2. 142 Ebn-Qoteyba Dinawari, Oyun al-akhbâr (4 vols., Cairo, 1925-30), I, p. 178. 143 Cf. Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 373-76 (“Yazdgerd-e Bazehgar,” ll. 166-98). A comparison between the two episodes in Ferdowsi and Nezâmi is given by Julie Scott Meisami, “Fitnah or Azadah? Nizami’s Ethical Poetic,” Edabiyȃt N.S. I/2 (1989), esp. pp. 45-48 and also, along with the inclusion of Amir Khosrow’s retelling of the episode, by J. C. Bürgel, “The Romance,” in Ehsan Yarshater, ed., Persian Literature (New York, 1988), pp. 172-75. See also below, and note 166. 144 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, p. 374 (“Yazdgerd-e Bazehgar,” l. 177).

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE be’s version. In this way the girl’s strange request is better justified by Ferdowsi in answer to Bahrâm’s question: To make the female male (and not just “like the male”), and vice versa, means setting the king an impossible challenge in order to correct the “defect” in the animals, an old male and a young female, transmuting one into the other. Âzâde then makes the second traditional request, to “sew together” the head, hoof, and ear of the animal, concluding, in a clearly challenging tone, “if you wish me to call you ‘world-illuminating’ (giti-foruz).”145 Bahrâm Gur (this is the first time Ferdowsi uses the title, thus uncoupling it in this context from any reference to a specific episode related to onager-hunting), misunderstands the sense of Âzâde’s words, who certainly did not want the king to kill the animals. Sensing the implicit challenge and, possibly, the veiled criticism of his favorite pastime, he fulfills her double request in the way Ebn-Qoteybe describes, arousing Âzâde’s wonder, together with her pity for the animal;146 and then throws her from the saddle, accusing her, as in Ebn Qoteybe’s text, of putting him to the test risking his humiliation. She dies in a pool of blood, beneath the hoofs of the dromedary. Ferdowsi ends the episode by stating, laconically, that Bahrâm never again went hunting in female company.147 While in Ebn-Qoteybe the adventure is recounted with no hint of emotional involvement, either between the couple or towards the animals, Ferdowsi emphasizes the love between Bahrâm and the girl and her compassion towards the animals. Bahrâm’s proud reaction thus appears even more cruel, especially as in the Shâh-nâme this episode comes at the end of the account of Bahrâm’s education and immediately before the other famous hunting episode in which with a single arrow he “sews together” the lion which had attacked the onager and the onager itself. He was not yet king at that point, and the episode belongs to the period of his youth. Ferdowsi’s account, therefore, seems to suggest a flaw in the young prince’s character, so proud as to brutally kill the woman he loved, and so obtuse as to miss the sense of her words: Why kill a weak being, be it an elderly male or a young female? In Ferdowsi’s poem, the love between Bahrâm and his handmaiden remains problematic and unresolved. 145 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, p. 375 (“Yazdgerd-e Bazehgar,” l. 182). 146 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, p. 376 (“Yazdgerd-e Bazehgar,” l. 193). 147 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, p. 376 (“Yazdgerd-e Bazehgar,” l. 198).

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY This aspect in some way explains the reworking of the story not only by Nezâmi, but by a series of successive poets too. Nezâmi corrects the most problematic features of Bahrâm’s character as they emerge from Ferdowsi’s narrative. First of all, Nezâmi places the episode in a later phase of Bahrâm’s life, when he is already king. Moreover, he inserts it within the mirror-forprinces literary tradition: Fetne (the name Nezâmi gives the handmaiden) has talked too much, like all women, and Bahrâm has punished her unthinkingly, as kings will do, on the angry impulse of the moment; but without killing her himself, personally. And, lastly, Nezâmi maps out a version of the story in which, far from dying, the girl finally marries the king. It goes as follows. One day Bahrâm had been joined in the hunt by his beautiful “Turkish” slave Fetne, singer, dancer, and lute player. The poet plays on the woman’s name, Fetne (sedition, temptation), each of the two lovers constituting precisely this for the other. The portrait of her is a representative sample of Nezâmi’s skill and delicacy in describing female beauty and the powerful impact on men: Her face was fresh as a paradisiacal spring, she moved like a light wind on a sown field; honey blended with butter, soft as a plate of sweet gelatin dessert (pâlude).148

On that particular day she refuses to be impressed by the king’s hunting skills, offering him no word of praise. At first the king is patient, but on seeing an onager arriving from afar, he asks her where he should strike it. She challenges him with a near-impossible task: to pierce the animal’s head and hoof with the one arrow (as onagers have no horns, the male/female transformation is of course missing). With his cross-bow, Bahrâm aims a stone at the ear of the animal, which immediately draws up its hoof to its head from the irritation; in a second hit, Bahrâm sends his arrow through hoof and head, as required. Fetne is still sparing of her praise, insisting that it is the result of constant practice rather than the outcome of prodigious strength or skill. The king hands her to an officer, with orders to kill her. The man leads her away, but, as he is about to carry out his orders, the weeping girl reveals that she is the king’s favorite: He should take the king the false news 148 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 25/14-5.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE that she is dead and only carry out the execution if the king appears pleased on hearing this. The man agrees and, one week later, goes to the king with news of the girl’s death. The king weeps. Fetne is thus spared; the officer hides her in one of his country residences, which has a belvedere on the top of sixty steps. A calf having just been born, every day for six years Fetne imposes upon herself the task of carrying the fast-growing animal up the stairs on her shoulders. One day news arrives that the king will be hunting in the area. At Fetne’s suggestion the officer invites him to a banquet after the chase—Fetne’s chance, finally, after so much suffering, to explain herself to the king. At the end of the banquet, splendidly dressed, Fetne again achieves her feat of carrying the full-grown ox on her shoulders to the top of the stairs. She turns to the king and asks him to recognize her strength; Bahrâm scornfully replies that it is the result of practice, rather than any prodigious strength. Fetne reveals her identity, reminding him of that same sentence which she had pronounced and for which he had punished her. In a beautiful exchange, the two lovers explain and excuse themselves, Fetne detailing the reason behind her apparent scorn: After his extraordinary feat, while his whole retinue was praising him, she had feared the evil eye would strike him, and had withheld her praise, thereby risking death, in order to protect him. Fetne is the only female character in the poem with any individual identity. She, who had been described as “soft as a plate of sweet gelatin dessert” had for six long years submitted herself to the iron discipline of carrying the fast-growing calf up the palace’s sixty steps. A beautiful line, at the moment the two lovers meet and talk, contains in a few words all the grief she had felt at being condemned to death by her lover, and the meaning behind the strange discipline she had imposed on herself for so long: “No pain caused by you is now left in me; suffering can eradicate a mountain.”149 Carrying the ox is a metaphor for her efforts to eradicate grief, the mountain that weighed on her heart—a fine example of the poet’s ability to subtly probe into the feelings of the human heart.150 149 Nezâmi, Haft peykar, 26/84. 150 On the character of Farhâd, capable of uprooting a mountain for love, see above, Chapter 4, “Farhâd.” The image of love, especially unrequited love, as a mountain or millstone or a weight upon the heart is a common trope in Persian poetry.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY

3. Hasht Behesht by Amir Khosrow In reducing the space dedicated to the historical events in Bahrâm’s reign, Nezâmi had anticipated the line of development of a number of successive poems responding to Haft peykar. The first of these was the poem Hasht behesht (The Eight Paradises) by Amir Khosrow of Delhi (d. 1325).151 Amir Khosrow relegates historical events to simple background information in order to concentrate on a re-elaboration of Bahrâm’s hunting party with the handmaiden, which becomes the frame-narrative, and on the seven tales. Indeed, Hasht behesht is a much shorter poem than its model (only 3,344 lines); it was composed in 701/1301 and dedicated to Sultan Alâ-al-Din Khalji (r. 1296-1315). Various points in the narrative are modified to develop the poet’s own reflections on the themes taken up by Nezâmi.

Sources and Structure of the Poem The poem opens with sections in praise of God and of the Prophet and with a description of the Prophet’s meʽrâj (ascension to heaven), followed by a eulogy of Nezâm-al-Din Owliyâ, the poet’s spiritual master, and of the dedicatee, Sultan Alâ-al-Din Khalji. The poet then introduces the important chapter on the reasons for the composition of the poem.152 He had already composed his first four poems in response to Nezâmi’s Khamse;153 now his friend Ali encourages him to compose an even more beautiful poem. There then follow lines alluding to the poet’s sources and method: I opened the casket of mystery (khazine-khâne-ye râz) And from the tip of my pen began to scatter treasures. Spent one watch of the night, with my mind’s eye, like a torch,

151 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Hasht behesht, ed. Jaʽfar Eftekhȃr (Moscow, 1972). On the poet, cf. A. Schimmel, “Amīr Kosrow Dehlavī,” in EIr, I, pp. 963-65. 152 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Hasht behesht, ll. 323-353. 153 The titles Matla’ al-anvâr, Shirin va Khosrow, Majnun va Leyli, and the poem defined Sharh-e râz-e Eskandari (The exposition of the mystery of Alexander), i.e. Âyine-ye Eskandari, are given in Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Hasht behesht, ll. 311-14.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE Branding Mercury’s heart with fire.154 Poems akin to pearls unpierced, Have already been composed, and so many, impossible all to recount. Regardless, I will now closet myself with my own craftsman’s heart, I, a secluded spot, alone with thoughts! I will so compose these sheets That you will not find their equal in time! First, with wondrous forms, I shall order the principal points of the work. And from the manner of the ancient poet [i.e. Nezâmi], All subtle conceits I saw, My pure heart secretly Has made (them) its own rule. I opened the sugar-bowl and took the sugar And, befitting the flavor (châshni), I put together my exemplar (nomune). The sip that (my) intellect took from it I will pour it all into this vessel of wine [i.e. the poem Hasht behesht]. And that prototype (nomudâr), his Haft peykar, With the descriptions of its seven ornaments, And–in every dome, with banquets and wine– Bahrâm’s pleasure in women and his delight, To each of them shall I adapt my exemplar (nomune), Playing a new game on a new chessboard.155

Here Amir Khosrow speaks of the ideation of his poem, distinguishing between the source of his inspiration (“the casket of mystery,” ll. 323-28) and the concrete model (Nezâmi’s Haft peykar) chosen for his replica (ll. 329-35). The expression khazine-khâne-ye râz (the casket of mystery) at the beginning of the passage is to be intended as the poet’s heart and mind, from which, during the night of the poem’s conception, he took his inspiration.156 Amir Khosrow then returns to his relationship with Nezâmi’s 154 Mercury is the protector of scribes and considered the Scribe among the planets. To brand Mercury’s heart with fire means to arouse envy and amazement in the planet’s heart, making it a subservient slave in comparison to the poet’s skill. 155 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Hasht behesht, ll. 323-35. 156 In the incipit of the poem Majnun va Leyli, ed. T. A. Magerramov (Moscow, 1964, l. 1), Amir Khosrow calls “Casket of Mystery” (khazine-khâne-ye râz) the one placed by God in the heart of the believer.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY poem in the last chapter, where he also gives the number of lines, 3,344,157 and the year of composition, 701 of the hegira:158 This exemplar (nomune), which is (as perfect as) the circle of a compass, Is (composed after) the manner (nomudȃr) of the ancient brocade. (For) all that is concealed in the ancient treasure, (A jewel) of the same carat is to be found in this mine.159

Amir Khosrow makes a number of changes in comparison to his model. He speaks of “paradises” rather than “pavilions” or “domes, and eight rather than seven, considering the hunt with the handmaiden episode, the frame-narrative encompassing all the others, as his first “paradise.”160 Moreover, in describing the seven domes, he replaces the colors with perfumed substances, speaking of musk to indicate the black pavilion’s color, of saffron to represent the color yellow, of basil for green, etc. Another important difference he fails to highlight, however, is the fact that, while the correspondence between days of the week, planets, and colors is substantially the same as Nezâmi’s, the reference to the climes/countries is wholly modified with respect to Nezâmi, as if Amir Khosrow and fellow-poets after him were referring to a different representation of the inhabited world.161 It should be noted that scholars attribute to Nezâmi and subsequent authors a numbering of the seven climates/countries coinciding with the order of the days of the week (climate I Saturday, climate II Sunday, climate III Monday etc.) which is evinced only by the titles introducing the tales in the manuscripts of Nezâmi’s poem; however, titles in the manuscripts of Nezâmi’s poem are unlikely to be original. Actually, the true order of the climates/countries corresponds to the inverse order of the heavens, from the most distant one (Saturn), which is climate I, to the nearest to the earth (the heaven of the Moon), which is the seventh climate.162 157 Amir Khosrow, Hasht behesht, l. 3286. Eftekhȃr’s edition, however, numbers 3,405 lines. 158 Amir Khosrow, Hasht behesht, l. 3287. 159 Amir Khosrow, Hasht behesht, ll. 3290-91. 160 Amir Khosrow, Hasht behesht, ll. 336-46. 161 On the division of the world into seven countries (keshvar) as posited by various authors, see Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, “Exkurs,” pp. 167-84. 162 On this matter, cf. Paola Orsatti, “The Order of Climes in Nezāmi’s Haft peykar,” in Zur lichten Heimat: Studien zu Manichäismus, Iranistik und Zentralasienkunde im

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE Day, planet, and color

Climate

Haft peykar

Hasht behesht

Haft manzar

Biruni163

Borhân-e Qâteʻ164

Saturday

Saturn

Black

I

India

India

India

India

India

Sunday

Sun

Yellow

IV

Rum

Nimruz

Khorasan

Iranshahr

Iraq, Khorasan

Monday

Moon

Green

VII

Choresmia

Slav Country

Bolghâr

China, Khatay, Khotan

North

Tuesday

Mars

Red

III

Slav Country

Tartary

Rum

Egypt, Syria, Maghreb

Turkestan

Wednesday Mercury

Turquoise VI

Maghreb

Rum

Iraq

Turkestan, Rum Khazar

Thursday

Jupiter

Sandal

II

China

Arabia

Yemen

Arabia, Yemen, Ethiopia

Friday

Venus

White

V

Iran

Choresmia Choresmia

China

Slav CounTransoxiana try, Rum

The Frame-Narrative: First Paradise Amir Khosrow condenses the narration of Bahrâm’s story as far as his ascendancy to the throne into a couple of lines. No mention is made of the whole period spent in the “Yemen” (the Khavarnaq palace is mentioned only in passing at l. 671) and the struggle for the succession, merely stating that, at the death of his father, Bahrâm succeeded him and established justice in his kingdom. Having done this, the poet narrates, Bahrâm turned his attention to pleasure, drinking, and squandering the royal treasure. Bahrâm had a number of female slaves who accompanied him when hunting. The most intimate of these was Delârâm (“the heart’s comfort,” an attribute ascribed to Âzâde in the Shâh-nâme), from China. When contemplating her, Bahrâm, says the poet, was like Jamshid before the goblet. He was also passionately fond of hunting, particularly of onagers. Amir Khosrow takes up the story of the branding of the animals from Nezâmi, Gedenken an Werner Sundermann (Wiesbaden, 2017), pp. 483-90. On the order of the heavens, cf. Dehkhodâ, Loghat-nâme, s.v. “Hasht manzar.” 163 Cf. Moʻin, Tahlil-e Haft peykar-e Nezâmi, pp. 105-106. 164 Cf. Dehkhodâ, Loghat-nâme, s.v. “Keshvar,” in a quotation from the Borhân-e qâteʻ.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY presenting it as a quasi-conversion: At a certain point, Bahrâm stopped killing and would simply capture the animals, weigh them, brand them, and set them free. Amir Khosrow states that he was called gurkhân-e zamâne (Prince of the Time), as if suggesting a different interpretation (gurkhân ‘prince’) of the nickname Bahrâm is known by in the sources.165 The episode of the hunt with his handmaiden is a reworking of the story told by Nezâmi. In the matter of the animal hunted and the way it is dealt with, Amir Khosrow takes over the earlier version given by Ferdowsi.166 Out on a hunt, Bahrâm and Delârâm spot two gazelles (Nezâmi has onagers). In Amir Khosrow’s version it is Delârâm who suggests to the king to hunt the animals in the way she delineates, admonishing him, however, that his skill with arrows is only possible if the Decree of The Other is issued.167 Her request is that he should make a male out of the female and vice versa. Although irritated by her effrontery, he satisfies her request as celebrated in the tradition, claiming acknowledgment for his skill. This she denies him and instead invites the king to keep a watchful eye on his skillful achievement, since improvement is always possible. Bahrâm, obtuse in his pride, fails to understand the moral advice imparted by the girl and explodes in rage: As my deeds are in every aspect a model, How can anyone fare better than me? And if you have someone better than me, Go to him! since there are so many like me!168

165 Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Hasht behesht, l. 513. Gurkhân was a title used by the Qarakhitay dynasty of Transoxiana and in general by the Turkish sovereigns of Central Asia. Cf. Dehkhodâ, Loghat-nâme, s.v. “Gurkhân.” 166 For a reading of the three narratives (the hunt episode in Ferdowsi, Nezâmi, and Amir Khosrow), with focus on Amir Khosrow’s version, cf. Alyssa Gabbay, “Balancing the Gender Roles: Male/Female Dynamics in the Hasht bihisht (Eight Paradises), 1301/2,” in A. Gabbay, Islamic Tolerance: Amīr Khusraw and Pluralism (Abingdon, Oxon., and New York, 2010), pp. 41-65. 167 Amir Khosrow, Hasht behesht, l. 527. Here a reference can be seen to the words the character of Bahrȃm pronounces in the Shâh-nâme when, after his twenty-eighth birthday and having become a wise king, he acknowledges that his skill in hitting the animals is a gift from God. Cf. Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 517, 518 (“Bahrȃm-e Gur,” ll. 1362, 1371-72). 168 Amir Khosrow, Hasht behesht, ll. 553-54.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE He then throws her off the saddle and rides away. The poet limits himself to commenting that it is never safe to tell kings the truth. Alone, terrified, and with blistered feet Delârâm wanders directionless. In the end, she comes to a remote dwelling where a man of science, a philosopher, mathematician, and musician, lives. He welcomes Delârâm as a daughter and teaches her how to call animals by the sound of the barbat and induce in them a deep sleep from which she can then immediately awaken them. News soon gets around the kingdom that there exists a beautiful maiden who can summon gazelles, kill, and finally resuscitate them. The news reaches the king who, the poet states, is eager to find her and learn from her on account of his passion (ân havashâ, l. 637) for hunting. He finds her and asks for a demonstration of her art: Playing the “sleep melody,” she induces death in the living, and then restores the soul to the dead, in agreement with the equally unnatural request to make female of male and vice versa. The king is struck by her ability but disdains to praise her. Delârâm reveals her identity and reminds him of the words for which she has been so cruelly punished. Here, too, the story has a happy ending. In memory of the episode, Bahrâm has two portraits painted that are hung in the Khavarnaq gallery of paintings. Amir Khosrow provides a different narrative for the building of the Palace of the Seven Cupolas. In his version, Bahrâm was increasingly absorbed by his passion for hunting and often left the court for long periods. The elders were concerned at his constant wanderings in the wild but could find no solution. This is left to No’mân, the son of Mondher, once Bahrâm’s study companion and now a great scientist. He invites ambassadors to bring rich gifts and asks for the hand of the princesses of the seven climes for Bahrȃm. Then, having found the ideal spot, an idyllic meadow by a river, a healthy place where a wizened old man could recover his health and a dead man find the Water of Life, he orders the architect Shide, the constructor of Nezâmi’s Seven Cupolas, to raise to the heavens seven domes, whose curative value is evident. The poet shows a clear scientific interest in his reworking of the episode. He bases himself on a re-reading of Ferdowsi, who had implied an unhealthy element in the king’s excessive passion for hunting, just as he had also cast a shadow of suspicion on Bahrâm’s attitude towards women (see above, “The Hunt with the Handmaid”). Amir Khosrow delivers, through Noʿmȃn’s words, his diagnosis: Bahrâm’s insane passion for the hunt can be 363

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY cured through a healthier and more balanced attitude towards women and the pleasures of love. The poet-scientist’s paradises, therefore, accentuate the beneficial value of narration and of sensual enjoyment.169 The perfume of the various substances, which replace colors in the palace, is an aromatherapy that serves to help cure the king of his passion for wandering over mountains and meadows in search of wild beasts. Through their storytelling, the seven princesses will gradually lead him to health by inducing sleep or keeping him awake. His beautiful “gazelles” will finally succeed in keeping him from hunting the gazelles of the desert, inviting his heart to find peace in his beauteous abode.

The Seven Tales and the Death of Bahrȃm The seven tales follow according to the same order already described for Nezâmi’s poems. The first is the famous story of the three sons of the King of Serendip (Sarandib, Ceylon), narrated on Saturday in the black musk pavilion of the Indian princess, and constitutes a response to the tale of the king of the Blackclads in Haft peykar. While in Nezâmi the decision to wear black was the result of a negative human experience, in Amir Khosrow the tale has a very different outcome, the three princes succeeding in their various trials and showing great ingenuity in reconstructing a whole event from the slenderest of clues. The poet thus reinterprets the color black, the symbol of his country India, in a favorable light: The king is so delighted with his sons that his white hair turns black again. This is an ancient story, mentioned in several Islamic sources.170 It constitutes the frame-narrative in a collection of stories translated from Persian into Italian by a certain Christoforo Armeno, and published in Venice in 1557 (see below, “The Fortunes of the Saga of Bahrâm”). Translated into various 169 This interpretation is especially pointed out by A.M. Piemontese, postface to Amir Khosrow, Hasht behesht, tr. by A. M. Piemontese as Le otto novelle del paradiso (Soveria Mannelli, 1996), pp. 161-64. 170 In the historical sources (Tabari, Bal’ami, Mas’udi), the four young men who pass the test of wisdom are given as the four sons of Nezâr. Cf. Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, pp. 201-4, and G. Levi Della Vida, “Nizār b. Maʻadd,” EI2 , VIII, pp. 82-83. On this tale-type and its diffusion cf. K. Ranke, “Brüder: Die scharfsinnigen B.,” Enzyklopädie des Märchens II (Berlin, 1979), cols. 874-87.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE European languages and circulated widely in Europe, it resurfaces in the third chapter of Voltaire’s Zadig, ou de la destinée (1748). It is regarded as one of the progenitors of the modern detective fiction, based on the interpretation of evidence; hence the use of the term “Serendipity” for the whole literary genre in Europe.171 The second tale, narrated by the princess of Nimruz (Midday, South) in the third paradise, connected with the Sun and the yellow of saffron, is the story of Hasan the goldsmith, nicknamed “The Laughing One.” Commissioned by the king to forge a golden elephant, he cheats on the weight and steals the remaining gold. The story hinges principally on the solution to a technical-scientific problem: how to weigh the golden elephant so as to ascertain whether the goldsmith has indeed cheated on the quantity of the gold. While telling a different tale, it answers one of the questions raised in the second story in Haft peykar, that about telling the truth in the bedchamber. While Nezâmi had considered absolute truth between husband and wife positively in the curious story of Belqis and Solomon (see above, “Nezȃmi’s Seven Tales: Analysis and Sources”), Amir Khosrow—in the wake of the ancient Persian moral tradition—shows it from the opposite perspective and underlines the inherent danger. In their pillow talk, Hasan’s wife learns the secret of how to weigh the golden elephant from him and tells the wife of Hasan’s rival. The tale has a happy ending, but in stressing that women should never be told secrets, it conforms to the long-established misogynist tradition of Persian moral literature. The third tale, told in the fourth, basil-scented paradise connected to the Moon, is the curious story of the king who practices metempsychosis (naql-e ruh) and ultimately gets locked in the body of a green parrot, unable

171 On the circulation in Europe of the collection of stories translated by Cristoforo Armeno, and its influence on European literature, cf. Enrico Cerulli, “Una raccolta persiana di novelle tradotte a Venezia nel 1557,” in Atti della Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei. Classe di Scienze Morali, Storiche e Filologiche – Memorie 18, ser. 8 (1975), pp. 341-46 and 354-58; A.M. Piemontese, “Gli ‘Otto Paradisi’ di Amir Khusrau da Delhi: Una lezione persiana del ‘Libro di Sindbad’ fonte del ‘Peregrinaggio’ di Cristoforo Armeno,” in Atti della Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei. Classe di Scienze Morali, Storiche e Filologiche – Memorie 6/3, ser. 9 (1995), pp. 329-30 and 334-35; and K. Ranke and R. Schenda, “Christoforo Armeno,” Enzyklopädie des Märchens II (Berlin, 1979), cols. 1400-1404.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY to return to that of king.172 It is only on account of his wife’s fidelity—a tale, therefore, harking back to the literary tradition illustrating the virtues of women—that he manages finally to be reincarnated as king, and the story has its happy ending. The fourth story, told on Tuesday in the pomegranate-colored fifth paradise, connected to Mars, tells of five young men: a prince, a merchant’s son, a tunnel excavator, a carpenter, and a gardener, who all set off on a journey. The prince soon falls in love with a girl represented in a portrait carved in stone, and his companions use their individual talents to help him gain entrance to the room, on top of a high tower, where she is held captive by the king.173 With the help of a flower seller who has access to the girl (and who corresponds to the nurse in other love-stories), the young men not only manage to excavate a secret passage into the room but think up an ingenious prank whereby, for seven consecutive nights, the girl disguises herself in various ways and attends the king’s receptions dressed as a cupbearer. In the end, she escapes and the story ends with the young couple’s marriage. Composed of traditional motifs (the travel companions, the falling in love with a portrait, the go-between, etc.), the story is a response to Nezâmi’s Tuesday tale of the princess in voluntary confinement in the talisman-guarded castle. In this story, too, Amir Khosrow is mainly interested in the solution to a technical-scientific problem: the excavation of a secret passage through which the princess can leave her prison. The fifth story, told on Wednesday in the sixth paradise, in the violet-scented loggia, has strong parallels with the Saturday story of the King of the Blackclad, and with the Wednesday story in Nezâmi’s poem. The hero, a man of unbridled passions, goes from one misadventure to the next, finally putting on violet garments which take on the negative value of Nezâmi’s black ones. In the sixth story, narrated on Thursday in the seventh, sandalwood-perfumed paradise, the good and generous prince Râm learns of 172 For a brief discussion of the motif of metempsychosis in Persian literature, cf. M. J. Mahjub, Hasht behesht va Haft peykar (Tehran, 1976), pp. 43-44. 173 The tale belongs to the well-known type called “Inclusa” in comparative literature (Aarne and Thompson no. 1419 E), on which see U. Kühne, “Inclusa,” Enzyklopädie des Märchens VII (Berlin, 1993), cols. 109-13. This tale also has some resemblances with the tale-type no. 653 in the Aarne and Thompson catalogue, in which the brothers (here travelers) use their skills to free a princess; cf. K. Ranke, “Brüder: Die vier kunstreichen B.,” Enzyklopädie des Märchens II (Berlin, 1979), cols. 903-12.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE the relationship between his stepmother and his father’s minister. The two lovers accuse him of sullying his stepmother’s honor, and he is forced into exile. Three young men however use their magic powers to help him return home and prove his innocence. The story ends with the punishment of the perfidious minister and the prince’s ascent to his father’s throne. Lastly, the Friday novel, narrated in the camphor-white pavilion, takes up again the theme of telling the truth in the bedchamber, between husband and wife, glanced at in Nezâmi’s second tale and in Hasan the goldsmith’s tale in Hasht behesht. Amir Khosrow conjures up a kind of a lie detector machine: a statue which bursts out laughing on hearing a lie.174 In the end, the king discovers the lies his hypocritical wives tell him in intimacy and chooses a young and honest woman as his only spouse. The poem ends with Bahrâm’s disappearance into a well, while pursuing an onager.

4. Hȃtefi’s Poem Haft Manzar Hâtefi’s poem Haft manzar (The Seven Belvederes, The Seven Palaces/Pavilions), comprises 2,224 lines in the Dodalishoev edition,175 and is therefore considerably shorter than both Nezâmi’s poem and Amir Khosrow’s Hasht behesht. It was composed at the end of the 15th century.176 The poem opens with praises to God and the Prophet, with an apostrophe to Jâmi, and a section—missing from the Dodalishoev edition—praising Shâh Gharib, son of Hoseyn Bȃyqarȃ.177 There follows advice to his son and the chapter on the reasons for the poem’s composition, where Hâtefi speaks of his previous poems Leyli va Majnun and Khosrow Shirin (the title is given in this form) deploring the unfavorable criticism the latter poem had received. He also mentions a rival, an inept poetaster who claims to be better 174 For a general discussion of the “test of truth” motif, cf. B. Steinbauer, “Wahrheitsprobe,” Enzyklopädie des Märchens XIV (Berlin, 2014), cols. 418-22. 175 Hȃtefi, Haft manzar, ed. Jȃbolqȃ Dȃdalishȃyef/Dodalishoev (Dushanbe, 1988). It has 2,283 lines in Hȃtefi, Haft manzar, ed. Michele Bernardini (Napoli, 1995). 176 Bernardini (introduction to Hȃtefi, Haft manzar, pp. 17-18) proposes 1491 or 1492 as possible dates, given the fact that Hȃtefi’s poem is mentioned in Navȃ’i’s Majȃles al-nafȃ’es (composed in 1492). 177 Cf. Hȃtefi, Haft manzar, ed. Bernardini, ll. 114-56.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY than Jâmi, Amir Khosrow, and Nezâmi. A friend urges him to set to work on a new poem in response to Haft peykar. Hâtefi, like Amir Khosrow before him, omits any mention of the historical events of Bahrâm’s reign, taking instead the hunt with the handmaiden episode, in Haft manzar named Âshub (Discord, Sedition), as the frame-narrative for the seven stories. He introduces, however, a number of important changes: As in his previous poem Shirin va Khosrow/Khosrow Shirin, he gives the poem a bourgeois setting, offering an anti-heroic and anti-mythical reading to the characters’ motivation. The story is as follows. After the death of his father Yazdgerd, Bahrâm ascends to the throne and proves himself a just and generous king. Hâtefi reiterates the traditional explanation that his passion for hunting onagers was such that he was nicknamed Bahrâm-e Gur, Bahrâm of the onagers. Bahrâm has a handmaiden, Âshub, a musician and painter, whom he loves passionately. One day while hunting onagers, he asks her where he should strike at his prey. Wishing to catch him out, she replies that the arrow should enter one animal’s back and exit through the navel of the other, thereby implicitly asking him to repeat the famous shot with which, in the sources, Bahrâm had used the one arrow to hit both a lion and the onager it was attacking (see above, “Bahrȃm in Nezâmi’s Poem”). He responds by shooting an arrow at a pregnant female so that the arrow exits through the navel of the fetus. Âshub refuses to praise him however, insisting that the shot exhibited cunning rather than skill. Bahrâm is furious and ill-advisedly listens to a courtier who urges him to throw her into the Tigris as food for the fish. Âshub however manages to survive and is taken in by an old fisherman, who treats her as a daughter. Here Hâtefi breaks with tradition in a significant coup de théâtre: Âshub is pregnant by the king and in due course gives birth to a daughter, who grows into a beautiful girl closely resembling her mother. The king, meanwhile, is half-crazed with grief and guilt for having lost his beloved Âshub. The courtiers decide to summon the seven princesses of the seven climates, to lighten his nights and heal his pain. The princesses arrive and are lodged in the royal palace. Incurable rivalry soon sets in among them however, and it is deemed necessary to build each one a pavilion (manzar), as a personal dwelling place. On hearing of the whole matter, Âshub realizes that the cause of all this is the king’s love for her and his suffering at her absence, which she too greatly feels. She asks the fisherman to help her by going to the king and 368

HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE proposing the building of an even more beautiful palace in which a handmaiden, she herself, would paint a living portrait, which is able to dance and delight the king at his banquets. The king agrees and building work begins. Âshub has a domed construction built, within which is a smaller but exact replica of the first dome. She then has a mirror placed opposite the king’s throne and a niche made in the wall opposite the mirror. Here she places her daughter, enjoining her to dance as soon as the king is seated on his throne. As instructed, at the right moment, the girl begins to dance and looks so like Âshub that the king weeps in pain at his loss. He then summons the fisherman and asks for the secret of the dancing portrait. He calls Âshub, who comes before the king wrapped in a burka, and explains the mechanism of the reflected image. The king, however, withholds his praise insisting, in words identical to her own on the fatal occasion, that the dancing image is the fruit of her clever ingenuity rather than her skill with a paint-brush. Âshub then reveals her identity and the two lovers are reunited. Hâtefi goes even further, and, in homage to the king’s deep love of Âshub, banishes the seven princesses, replacing them with seven wise men of the court who take over their role as narrators. Hâtefi’s narrative, then, takes the re-reading and reworking of Bahrâm’s hunting excursion to its extreme conclusion, providing a purely downto-earth interpretation of the building of the seven pavilions: The seven princesses made Bahrâm’s life miserable with their constant quarrelling; certainly not a deliberate parody of the sources, but something we could read as such.

5. Other Poems The tradition of responses to Nezâmi forks in various directions, the common denominators being simply the meter and the seven stories within a frame-narrative. In some poems, Hâtefi’s for example, the relationship with Nezâmi’s poem is mediated through Amir Khosrow’s Hasht behesht. It is more a response to the latter poem than to Haft peykar.178 Other poets 178 On the importance of Amir Khosrow as a model for poets in the first half of the 15th century, see above, Chapter 5, “The Poem Majnun and Leyli by Amir Khosrow of Delhi”).

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY variously insert themselves directly into the tradition of Nezâmi’s poem. At the same time the connection with the historical sources, still very strong in Nezâmi’s poem, becomes more tenuous and in some cases disappears altogether, some poets offering a subjective reading of narrated events, according to their personal response to the great themes of Persian moral literature. In the first half of the 15th century, two poets from Azerbaijan wrote direct responses to Nezâmi’s poem albeit in two radically different ways. In his Haft owrang (Seven thrones, or The Seven stars of the Great Bear, composed between 814/1411 and 820/1417), Jamâli of Tabriz induced a radical novelty by narrating the story not of Bahrâm, but of another king, one Darius (Dârâ) son of Alexander, conqueror of Persia.179 What he produces is a sort of continuation of the Romance of Alexander narrated by Nezâmi and, before him, by Ferdowsi in his Shâh-nâme. Bahrâm’s struggle to win back the throne of his father, Yazdgerd, is here replaced by the struggle between two cousins (two fictive characters): Philip (Filequs), the son of Darius, and Darius, son of Alexander. Philip had regained Persia from Rum, where he had taken refuge, and Darius, Alexander’s legitimate heir, was now obliged to reconquer the kingdom in his turn. In a long poem of more than 4,700 lines, Jamâli responds to Nezâmi’s poem almost episode by episode but with radically different characters and settings and changing the order of episodes so as to modify their meaning. The ordeal of the two claimants to the throne of Persia is here replaced by the killing of a fearsome dragon and the triumph of Darius. There follows the hunt with the handmaiden episode in yet another variant. The request for the seven princesses is significantly modified: while the other kings do offer their daughters’ hands, the king of Bâbel refuses and locks his daughter in an impregnable castle that, in its location, recalls the Tower of Babel and the Khavarnaq. The following episode, in which Darius gains access to the castle through an invisible door and wins over the princess, is a reworking of the Tuesday story in Haft peykar (see above, “Nezȃmi’s Seven Tales: Analysis and Sources”), also including a silent exchange of coded messages between Darius and the imprisoned princess. The construction of Darius’s palace, corresponding to the first palace, the Khavarnaq, 179 The unpublished poem is conserved in the London, India Office, Persian MS Ethé 1284, ff. 132v-179r. On this manuscript and Jamâli’s Quintet see above, Chapter 3, note 59.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE in Nezâmi’s poem, is then described: It had four pavilions, one for each season. One day, out hunting, Darius discovers a castle containing seven heavenly pavilions of seven different colors linked to the seven planets. An ancient king sits sleeping on a throne in the middle of the pavilions; seven treasures are hidden in each pavilion. Darius shares the treasures among his soldiers, then commissions his architect Shâdân to build another palace, similar to the castle, as the seven princesses’ abode. The princesses then tell their seven stories, followed by the story of the unjust regent, the seven tales of the seven afflicted people, and the mysterious disappearance of King Darius.180 Ashraf of Marâghe (d. about 1460), native of the city governed over two and a half centuries previously by Korp Arslân, the dedicatee of Haft peykar, is author of an unpublished Quintet written in response to Nezâmi’s: Menhȃj al-abrâr (The Road of the pious ones, 1428), Riyâz al-âsheqin (The Gardens of the lovers, 1432, a response to Nezâmi’s Khosrow va Shirin), Eshq-nâme (Book of love, 1438, a response to Leyli va Majnun), Haft owrang (The Seven stars of the Great Bear, 1440), and Zafar-nâme (Book of victory, 1444).181 Ashraf too, like Jamâli, uses the title Haft owrang in response to Nezâmi’s Haft peykar. Of Ashraf’s life, it is known that he was a friend of Pir Budâq, the rebel son of the Qarâ Qoyunlu Jahân Shâh (1435-67). Pir Budâq was governor of Baghdad when, in 1465, the unique, splendid manuscript of Jamâli’s Khamse was copied in Baghdad.182 Ashraf, then, probably knew his predecessor’s work and possibly gave his poem the same title, Haft owrang, as a mark of respect towards Jamâli. Ashraf’s poem, however, is very different, and in most aspects, not least the setting, much closer to the model, Nezâmi’s Haft peykar. The moralizing urge is clear in many authors. Even before Hâtefi, Mir Ali Shir Navâ’i (1441-1501), author of a Quintet composed between 1483 and 1485, wrote a poem entitled Sab’a-yi sayyâr (The Seven wayfarers) or Sab’a-yi sayyâra (The Seven planets), in Chaghatay Turkish, replacing the 180 For a study of Jamâli, his work, and a summary of the poem’s contents, cf. Paola Orsatti, “The Ḫamsah ‘Quintet’ by Ğamālī: Reply to Niẓāmī between the Timurids and the Qarā-Qoyunlu,” Oriente Moderno N.S. 15/2 (1996), in particular pp. 400404. See also, by the same author, “Ḵamsa-ye Jamāli,” EIr, XV, pp. 448-51. 181 On the author and his work, cf. Kazymov,“Khaft Peykar” Nizami, pp. 11 and 106-12; G. Yu. Aliev, Temy i syuzhety Nizami v literaturakh narodov Vostoka (Moscow, 1985), pp. 73-74. 182 Cf. Orsatti, “The Ḫamsah ‘Quintet’ by Ğamālī,” pp. 385 and 410.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY princesses in their storytelling role with wayfarers (sayyâr), who tell the sovereign stories to distract him from his anguish at having abandoned his beloved Delârâm to the beasts of the forest.183 The poem by Abdi Beyg Shirâzi (1515-80) Haft akhtar (Seven stars, or Seven planets), composed in 1539,184 similarly belongs to the tradition inaugurated by Amir Khosrow and continued by Navâ’i and Hâtefi, to the extent of constituting a direct response to Hasht behesht, for which Abdi Beyg expresses admiration.185 In this poem, too, the narration opens with Bahrâm’s ascent to his father’s throne. There follows the episode of the hunt with the handmaiden, here called Nâhid, whom Bahrâm had purchased from travelling merchants. Her request to the king recalls similar challenges in the other poems, in particular in Amir Khosrow’s poem: to take and then revive life in a bird. Bahrâm is furious with Nȃhid for her effrontery and banishes her. She is bought back by Bahrâm’s minister, here called No’mân, as in Amir Khosrow’s poem, and given the chance to show her skill by moving an idol by means of a magnet, a demonstration corresponding to the technical-scientific interests dealt with in Amir Khosrow’s poem.

6. The Fortunes of the Saga of Bahrȃm In the history of Persian literature, the poem Haft peykar has had relatively few responses compared to Nezâmi’s other two romantic mathnavis. Jâmi, for example, only responds to this poem in the title of his collection of seven poems: Haft owrang (The Seven thrones, The Seven stars of the Great Bear). One of Jâmi’s poems, Selselat al-dhahab (The Chain of gold), is composed in the same meter as Haft peykar, but is radically different in 183 On this poem, cf. A. Bombaci, La letteratura turca (Florence and Milan, 1969), p. 157; Aliev, Temy i syuzhety Nizami, pp. 159-61. 184 Cf. Kazymov,“Khaft Peykar” Nizami, pp. 99-100, and H. Mo’ayyad, “Dar madâr-e Nezâmi: Hasht behesht - Haft akhtar,” Iranshenasi 2/1 (1990), pp. 137-38, who also offers a comparison between the poems by Nezâmi, Amir Khosrow, and Abdi Beyg. The text has been edited by Abu’l-Fazl Rahimov (Moscow, 1974). On Abdi Shirâzi and his work, cf. Aliev, Temy i syuzhety Nizami, pp. 31-40 (a summary of the poem is given at pp. 33-37). 185 Cf. Kazymov,“Khaft Peykar” Nizami, p. 104.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE content. The relatively small number of responses to this poem is possibly due to its complex structure, with the embedding of the stories within the Bahrâm story.186 Yet Bahrȃm’s saga had a considerable success, above all at a popular level, with responses and prose versions which calqued Nezâmi’s or Amir Khosrow’s poems in varying degrees. As has been seen (see above, “Bahrȃm Gur in the Shâh-nâme”), even before Nezâmi’s poem, the saga of Bahrâm had incorporated various tales and novels of different origins and for some time afterwards continued to act as vehicle for the circulation of narrative materials, even when there was no conscious idea of responding to either poem. Mohammad-Ja’far Mahjub has described an anonymous Persian prose text entitled Haft peykar-e Bahrâm-e Gur, published in a lithographic edition (Tehran, 1903).187 The work is considerably broader than Nezâmi’s poem, but the title leaves no doubt as to the interconnection.188 In the introduction, a certain Mohammad-Hoseyn Marâghe’i (so, once more a native of Marâghe) states that he had translated the text from Turkish; and, astonishingly, he seems to have had no idea of the existence of Nezâmi’s poem.189 The text is basically a popularized prose version of Nezâmi’s poem, with the addition of various details such as the perfume attributed to some of the pavilions (a possible influence from Amir Khosrow’s poem) and slightly more popular modifications to the tales. In 1974, Mechthild Pantke published a study of an Arabic prose text entitled Qessat Bahrām-shāh, printed in Cairo in 1947 by the publisher Abd-Allâh al-Sâwi. The edition was based on a series of notebooks which had belonged to al-Sâwi’s father: More than this the scholar was unable to ascertain as to the origin of the text. The publisher seemed surprised and slightly irritated by the interest shown in a text of the kind, compared with the other works of cultivated Arabic literature he had published.190 From the summary, the Arabic text is clearly both more extensive and partly based on different sources, given that it diverges from Nezâmi at a number 186 This is M. D. Kazymov’s opinion (see Kazymov,“Khaft Peykar” Nizami, p. 98). 187 M.J. Mahjub, “Dâstân-e avâmmâne-ye Haft peykar-e Bahrâm-e Gur,” Iranshenasi 3/4 (1992): Viže-nȃme-ye sȃl-e Nezȃmi-ye Ganjavi, II, pp. pp. 684-707. 188 Another edition of the same work apparently appeared in 1327/1909 in Tehran; cf. Mahjub, “Dâstân-e avâmmâne,” p. 685. 189 Cf. Mahjub, “Dâstân-e avâmmâne,” p. 687. 190 Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, pp. 1-5.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY of points.191 The text of the Qessa, on the other hand, is considered by Pantke very similar to another Persian prose work entitled Kolliyyât-e Haft peykar va Bahrâm-e Gur which she consulted in an undated edition; the analogies are so great as to induce her to posit that both texts, the Arabic and the Persian, derive from a common source.192 All this would point to the saga of Bahrâm as having been extremely well known in the literatures of Islamic lands (Arabic, Turkish, and Persian) in past centuries, not least and possibly above all at a popular level. In 1557, a series of stories entitled Peregrinaggio di tre giovani figliuoli del re di Serendippo (Pilgrimage of the three young sons of the king of Serendip) was published in Venice.193 In the Proem, an Armenian called Christopher, from Tabriz, relates that he had emigrated to Venice three years previously and had translated the work “from my language into Italian” with the help of an unidentified “Italian friend.”194 In the dedication to Marc’Antonio Giustiniani,195 Christopher expressly states that he translated it from Persian into Italian, as also stated on the title page: dalla Persiana nell’Italiana lingua trapportato. Although at the time, in the East as in Europe, the terms “Persian” and “Turkish” were sometimes used interchangeably, Turkish in particular frequently being defined “Persian,”196 Christopher is to be believed when he says that the Peregrinaggio is the translation of a work (apparently in prose) from Persian (or, possibly, Turkish) into Italian. 191 Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, pp. 9-32. It contains, for example, a Greek-Byzantine and one of Bahrâm’s Indian adventures, both missing from Nezâmi’s poem. 192 Pantke, Der arabische Bahrām-Roman, p. 61. The Bahrâm romance in Persian prose analyzed by Pantke must therefore be a different one from that studied by Mahjub. 193 Peregrinaggio di tre giovani figliuoli del re di Serendippo, per opera di M. Christoforo Armeno dalla Persiana nell’Italiana lingua trapportato (Venice: Michele Tramezzino, 1557). It was republished in 1975 by Enrico Cerulli, on the basis of the 1557 edition: “Una raccolta persiana di novelle tradotte a Venezia nel 1557,” pp. 247-63. This new edition is followed by an important textual analysis by Cerulli (pp. 335-58). 194 The 1557 Proemio is reproduced by Cerulli (“Una raccolta persiana di novelle,” Appendice I, pp. 360-61). 195 The dedication is reproduced by Cerulli (“Una raccolta persiana di novelle,” Appendice I, pp. 359-60). 196 Cf. Paola Orsatti, “‘Turco’ e ‘persiano’ nell’Europa del Rinascimento e la questione della lingua franca in Asia,” in Ugo Marazzi, ed., Turcica et Islamica: Studi in Memoria di Aldo Gallotta (2 vols., Naples, 2003), II, pp. 677-705.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE The story is as follows:197 The king of Serendip had three sons, all extremely well-educated. One day he summons them to a test of valor. All three answer his questions superlatively, but, feigning anger, he banishes them so that they might learn from direct experience what they had not found in books. On their wanderings, the three come to the kingdom of King Behramo/Beramo (i.e., Bahrâm, therefore Persia). They demonstrate great analytical finesse in interpreting the tracks left by a lost camel that is then found, similarly deducing a series of circumstances from the food and wine offered them by the king, and finally discovering that the minister is plotting against him. The king is informed and the plot foiled. Beramo, having witnessed their worth, sends them to India with a series of assignments; there, too, they pass all tests. In the meantime King Beramo has bought from a merchant a most beautiful handmaiden, an excellent musician, and has fallen in love with her. The famous hunting episode follows, with the bold request from the girl, called Diliramma (Delârâm, as in Amir Khosrow’s poem), to “sew” together the ear and hoof of a deer. Beramo, in fury, orders that she be abandoned in the forest as prey to wild beasts. He soon repents and has her searched for, but to no avail. At this he becomes melancholic and unable to sleep. When the three princes return from India, the sick king asks them to find a cure. The first prince recommends the construction of seven palaces of different colors, in each of which the king should remain for a full week; the second recommends that the daughters of the ruling lords of the seven climes be summoned to engage Beramo in pleasant conversation; while the third advises him to procure from the seven major cities of the kingdom seven storytellers (novellatori), who would each tell a tale. So begins the series of the seven stories, each narrated on a different day of the week, beginning, here, on Monday. The last storyteller tells a tale bearing on Diliramma and her abandonment, which gives the king to understand that she is still alive. The Peregrinaggio ends with the Beramo and Diliramma’s marriage and the return of the three brothers to their elderly father. The eldest succeeds to the throne, the second marries the Queen of India, and the third marries one of Beramo’s daughters. 197 An extensive English summary of the contents is given by Schuyler V. R. Cammann, “Christopher the Armenian and the Three Princes of Serendip,” Comparative Literature Studies 4/3 (1967), pp. 231-34.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY The quest for the sources of the Peregrinaggio has a long history in Europe. Scholars had initially doubted that it was indeed the translation of a Persian original, and had presumed it had been written in Venice by someone in the circle of the editor, Michele Tramezzino, or by some Venetian man of letters.198 Although Nezâmi’s poem and the story of King Bahrâm were well-known in 19th-century Europe, the plot of the Peregrinaggio and above all its stories seemed too much at variance with Nezâmi’s text to qualify it as a plausible translation of a Persian original. Scholars were also misled by a number of aspects such as the Christian setting of Giulla (i.e. Gol)’s story,199 which seemed to indicate a European origin for the text. It was Albert Wesselski, in 1934, who first perceived the considerable parallels between the Peregrinaggio and, rather than Nezâmi’s poem, Amir Khosrow’s Hasht behesht.200 A number of scholars then collated and analyzed the parallels, concentrating in particular on the Peregrinaggio’s seven stories and Amir Khosrow’s poem, considered as the main source of the Italian text.201 A number of differences also exist between the two poems however: The Peregrinaggio has a double frame, consisting of the story of the three brothers and the hunting episode. By contrast, in Amir Khosrow’s poem only the latter constitutes the frame, while the story of the three princes of Serendip is its first tale. The Peregrinaggio also narrates the adventures of the three young men in India, although this is wholly missing from both Nezâmi and Amir Khosrow. There are equally various diverging details between the Peregrinaggio and Amir Khosrow’s poem: the slave Diliramma bought from a merchant; the construction of seven separate palaces as opposed to one palace with seven domes; the presence of the storytellers, rather than the princesses—all elements to be found in a number of poems in imitation of Amir Khosrow (see above, “Other Poems”), but not in Hasht behesht. 198 Cf. Cammann, “Christopher the Armenian and the Three Princes of Serendip,” pp. 234-36; Cerulli, “Una raccolta persiana di novelle,” pp. 335-38. 199 The name Giulla would seem to suggest a Turkish pronunciation of ‘Gol.’ On the character Gol in Persian literature, see above (see above, Chapter 4, “Maryam”). 200 Wesselski, “Quellen und Nachwirkungen der Haft Paikar,” pp. 107-12. 201 Cammann, “Christopher the Armenian and the Three Princes of Serendip,” pp. 242-47; Angelo Michele Piemontese, “Le fonti orientali del Peregrinaggio di Christoforo Armeno e gli Otto Paradisi di Amîr Khusrau da Delhi,” Filologia e critica 12/2 (1987), pp. 220-21.

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HAFT PEYKAR AND PERSIAN LITERATURE To explain the difference between Hasht behesht and Peregrinaggio it is easier to posit that the source of the Italian work is a prose reworking of the Bahrâm saga based mainly on Amir Khosrow’s poem, but which also interpolates elements from other poems together with narratives of different origins. Enrico Cerulli’s position would seem sound: “The Venetian Peregrinaggio […] translates and divulges in Italian (and from Italian into various European languages) a version [of the Bahrâm saga] which must have been currently popular in Persia (and specifically in north-western Persia: Tabriz) in the 15th century.”202 If further studies should confirm this, it will be possible to list the Peregrinaggio among Persian works pertaining to the saga of Bahrâm (even though the Persian, or Turkish, original remains unidentified, and perhaps no longer extant). By a trick of destiny, this obscure, anonymous, and modestly popular text was the first text of Persian literature to be translated, read, and circulated in Europe.

202 Cerulli, “Una raccolta persiana di novelle,” p. 358.

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CHAPTER 7 THE ALEXANDER LEGEND IN PERSIAN LITERATURE Mario Casari

1. Alexander the Great in Iran Numerous answers may be given to a question on the meaning or intent of narration. It may glorify identity, provide ethical education, transmit values or information, provoke or raise awareness. It can stupefy, distract, or even be used to occult other stories; serve for meditation or as a therapeutic rite, provide pure entertainment, and many other ends. Whichever is chosen, the stories of Alexander the Great, in at least one of the many facets of his historic or legendary feats, embody this intent. The story of the Macedonian king, who over the arc of ten years moved from the outposts of Greece to conquer the great kingdoms of Egypt and Persia, crossed the Indus and dreamed of moving even farther—only to be stopped by an early death—and left the greatest empire ever seen at the time, includes misery and nobility, political and moral reflections, exciting chronicles, philosophical reflections and cosmographic investigations, erotic interludes and fierce battles, psychological enchantments, enigmas, lies, and allusions. In Plutarch’s account, Alexander was said to keep a copy of the Iliad under his pillow, beside his dagger (Life of Alexander, 8, 2); according to Ebn-al-Nadim, Alexander was the first ruler who desired to be surrounded at eve by storytellers, and to collect stories for amusement and instruction.1 Nonetheless, it is evident that the profoundest reason for the immense literary success of Alexander is represented by his embodiment—as a universal sovereign educated by the king of philosophers, Aristotle—of the 1 Ebn-al-Nadim, Ketâb al-Fehrest, ed. Gustav Flügel (Leipzig, 1872), II, p. 304. On his “pillow,” see below, n. 35.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature complex atavic relationship between power and knowledge, essential to the progress of humanity. The figure of Alexander the Great has traversed over twenty centuries of literary history, revealing a double register from the outset. On the one hand, he was a valiant hero, a just and wise king, at times even endowed with messianic traits; and on the other, a ferocious warrior, an insatiable dominator, and a challenger of divine power. A range of different hues were employed to depict this duality by a multitude of authors, spanning all genres, from Greek and Roman historiography to rabbinical traditions and Christian apocalyptic literature, from the Islamic “stories of the prophets” to Persian and Turkish epics, and all the way to European courtly romances. This duality shaped Alexander’s imprint ever since the first accounts appeared describing his brief life and exceptional exploits. Indeed, it has provided the foundations for a constantly revised reflection on sovereignty: the qualities of a prince, the nature of human rule, the challenge of wisdom and the abuse of power. The ancient and universal nature of the issue provided a vast range of models. If, on the one hand, Alexander’s aspiration to become a Cosmocrator, a global dominator, already echoed, amongst the soldiers and chroniclers who accompanied him on his campaigns, the mythical and historical feats of heroes and kings such as the Greek Heracles and Dionysius, the Egyptian Sesostris/Sesonchosis, and the Persian Cyrus; on the other, philological investigation reveals that the creation of Alexander’s legend also integrated other specific traits of emblematic figures, such as the Sumer Gilgamesh, who sought immortality, the Persian Jamshid, founder of civilization, the Jewish Solomon, wise defender of faith, or the Greek Ulysses, the astute navigator. The narrative of the Greek, Macedonian, and (later) Latin chronicles of Alexander’s feats, already deeply imbued with a mythical nature, progressively intertwined with other legendary matrices, spreading over a vast territory in a multitude of languages. At each stage they incorporated related updates, in the process assuming a magnitude unseen in literary circulation amongst Antiquity and the Pre-Modern era. Stepping back and observing this corpus synoptically, the development of Alexander’s legend appears as a single, great narration, which unravels in different ages and languages, and in chapters of varying length and quality, but all woven from the same material: a polyglot elaboration arising from the great seats of Antiquity and the Middle Ages, from Athens to Alexandria, from Rome to Jerusalem, from Byzantium to Susa, and then from Cordova to Paris and Prague, and from 379

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Baghdad to Hamadan, and Delhi. It is impossible therefore to isolate Alexander’s legend in Iran effectively without considering the wider literary context and the many languages into which it was woven, ranging from Greek and Latin to the vernaculars of Europe, from Armenian and Syriac to Hebrew, Arabic, and Ethiopic, and from Persian to Turkish to Mongolian to Malay. Nonetheless, it is evident that this transmission had a primary fulcrum in Persia, for a number of reasons. From the Greek point of view, Alexander’s mission of Eurasian exploration and conquest is strongly influenced by the feats of Cyrus, Darius, and Xerxes, as narrated by Greek historians (Herodotus, Ctesias, and Xenophon in the first place) and by their representation of the idea of universal empire. At the same time this mission starts with the aim of liberating the Greek cities from the Achaemenid yoke and develops as a challenge to the great Asian empire of Antiquity, culminating in the defeat of Darius III Codomannus, the fire at the sacred city of Persepolis, and Alexander’s ascension to the Persian throne. This would also serve as a starting point to extend the known geographic confines of the world. After his marriage with Roxane, the daughter of the Bactrian chief Oxyartes (327 BC), Alexander’s second marriage with Darius’ daughter Stateira II, in the frame of a collective marriage celebrated in Susa in 324 BC between his companions and women of the Median and Persian aristocracy, was an attempt to lure the Macedonian nobles towards his own accommodating policy, and possibly build a bridge between the two worlds. With all these different features, Alexander’s rise to power in Persia soon presented contrasting values. On the one hand, he was deplored by the Graeco-Macedonian nobility, and an influential historiographic current, for his provocative assimilation of local values and traditions and the exasperation of the totalitarian and divine tendencies of his power (often described on the basis of historiographic models dating back to Herodotus’ descriptions of the Persian kings). Colored with the addition of other personal traits such as his fondness of drinking, this current would be the source for the enduring concept of degeneratio Alexandri. On the other hand, he proposed an imperial model, which, via a parallel but more favorable historiographic current, lay the foundations for the imitatio Alexandri of many Roman emperors, who aspired to qualify as Parthicus (later Persicus), victorious challenger of the Persian State.2 2

Albert Brian Bosworth, “Alexander and the Iranians,” The Journal of Hellenic Studies 100 (1980), pp. 1-21; Ernst Badian, “Alexander in Iran,” in CHIr, II, pp. 420-501; A. Shapour Shahbazi, “Irano-Hellenic Notes, 3: Iranians and Alexander,” American

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature In Asia, while Alexander’s political and cultural heritage was enormous, and his name remained for centuries attached to the foundation of many cities, from the Iranian point of view, his arrival and the fall of the Achaemenid empire represented a trauma that took centuries to overcome, if it ever was metabolized. This left a long-lasting sentiment of blame and contempt for Alexander (Eskandar or Sekandar in Persian) that alternated in explicit and subterranean manifestations. At the same time, it also laid the foundations, through a complex process of appropriation that was carried on through the Hellenized Parthian period, the articulate reflection on royalty that characterized the Sasanid era, and then along with the Islamisation of the region, for the creation of a regal (and missionary) model appreciated and continuously re-elaborated by generations of intellectuals, courtiers, and sovereigns. Whilst Alexander’s half-Iranian son by Roxane, born soon after his father’s death, had been involved in a minor role in the Diadoch wars, becoming for a short symbolic time Alexander IV of Macedon, before being assassinated at the age of fourteen together with his mother (some sources also speak of Heracles, his alleged son by Barsine, daughter of the Phrygian satrap Artabazus), centuries later, in the Persianate world, many Turkish rulers were inspired by Alexander’s deeds and wished to conform to or surpass his example, even by adopting the title of Eskandar al-thâni, “Second Alexander.” Iran is therefore at the very heart of the mythical inspiration, the historical events and the legendary development of Alexander’s trajectory. The Persian literary corpus on Alexander constitutes both a direct counterpart and integration of the Greek literature, in a significant exchange of points of view, and the epicenter of a complete map of narrative possibilities, possibly a unicum in global literature on Alexander. This is also due to the fact that the foundations for the legend of Alexander in the Persian context are more complex than elsewhere, including at least three main lines of development: the extremely negative Zoroastrian tradition, the Hellenistic tradition, especially that based on the Alexander Romance by Pseudo-Callisthenes, and the Islamic tradition, founded on the Judeo-Christian matrix. Journal of Ancient History n.s. 21 (2003), pp. 1-38; Guendalina D.M. Taietti, “Alexander the Great as a Herodotean Persian King,” in Nawotka and Wojchiechowska, eds., Alexander the Great and the East, pp. 159-77. See also Jake Nabel, “Alexander between Rome and Persia: Politics, Ideology, and History,” in K. R. Moore, ed., Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Alexander the Great (Leiden and Boston, 2018), pp. 197-232.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY The historical and geographical centrality of Iran in this itinerary also requires a few collateral observations. In Persian literature, Alexander is usually presented as a king of Rum, adjective Rumi, malek-e Rum, or even Qeysar-e Rum, a “Caesar of Rome.” This probably goes back to the time of the main absorption of Alexander’s legend in Iran, when it was already closely associated with the Roman emperors and later with the Byzantine ones. As a result, depending on the context, the term Rum may refer to the ancient history of Greece (sometimes indicated more precisely as Yunân, adjective Yunâni), to Byzantium and the territory that it gradually lost to the Turkish invasions, or to the Western Rome (and its statal entities) in the heart of the Mediterranean, over a wide chronology. From a general point of view, in Iran, and in the context of literature on Alexander, this term refers to an alterity as opposed to the entities of the earlier Persian empires and the later caliphates, sultanates, and emirates, an alterity located in the western area of Eurasia that would subsequently don the cape of Christianity. The shift of the barycenter to Persia also implies a geo-political reorientation of the myth of Alexander, which, in fact, will expand the range of his explorations and conquests in Central Asia, and include all of India and even China. In this way, Alexander became the projection of the expansionist desires of sultans and emirs in various corners of the Persianate world, from Khorasan to the Caucasus, from Fârs to Transoxiana, and from Iraq to Southern India. This, however, required the legitimization of Alexander’s figure, his transformation from a treacherous usurper into a Persian king. Thus, it is not by chance that the first step was the need to adopt the conquering sovereign through a birth legend, a model clearly evident in the Greek Alexander Romance, which included a section of Egyptian origin, presenting Alexander not as the son of Philip II of Macedon and Olympias, but as the son of the Pharaoh-magician Nectanebus, who had treacherously seduced Olympias. This was a cultural expedient that the Egyptians had already used to assimilate the Persian conqueror Cambyses, who had become the son of Cyrus and Nitétis, the daughter of deposed Pharaoh Apries, and thereby the restorer of hereditary right (Herodotus, Histories, III, 2). In Iran, at an uncertain time, but most probably within a range between the late Sasanid era and the advent of Iranian dynasties from Eastern Iran (6th-10th century), a legend developed according to which Eskandar was the son of the Keyanid king Dârâb (corresponding to the 382

The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature Achaemenid Darius I the Great in the traditional genealogy) and Philip’s daughter, usually named Nâhid, married by the Persian king as part of a diplomatic exchange, but then repudiated and sent back, pregnant, to the father, on account of her bad breath. The malodor motif can be read as a vestige of Zoroastrian reluctance towards the acceptance of Alexander, but the story made Eskandar the half-brother of Dârâb’s other son, Dârâ (Darius III), and thus the legitimate heir to the throne of Persia. This legend was variously retold with changing details.3 The central nature of the theme of Alexander’s adventure and the complexity that is associated with it are expressed in Persian via a vast range of literary genres and text formats: in the prose of historiography, Qur’anic commentary, popular romance, and many other genres, as well as in the narrative poetry in the mathnavi form and even, in a concise but meaningful manner, in lyric poetry. In the different contexts, the emphasis was placed on political, ethical-philosophical, religious, or geographical-cosmological elements, but these different spheres of expression must be considered in their entirety, as the narrations and motives that underlie them acquire their deepest meaning only if they are addressed all together in their greater system of reciprocal relations: reflections, adaptations, innovations would remain within a solid narrative and thematic framework, resting on the authoritativeness of the traditions transmitted one generation after the other, making it difficult in many cases to isolate the distinguishing features of one version with respect to another, even after centuries. It is this 3

Julia Rubanovich, “Why So Many Stories: Untangling the Versions on Iskandar’s Birth and Upbringing,” in Idem, ed., Orality and Textuality in the Iranian World: Patterns of Interaction across the Centuries (Leiden and Boston, 2015), pp. 202-40. See also Mahmud Omidsâlâr, “Eskandar: az hojum tâ jadhb,” Jostârhâ-ye adabi 174 (Fall 2011), pp. 39-63. Regarding the bad breath motif, various hypotheses have been advanced as to its possible cultural background, but it should be highlighted that this was a common theme, with multifaceted connotations, in many cultures; see Dick Davis, “Sekandar, Skordion, and Darab’s Queen’s Bad Breath,” Pazhuhesh dar javâmeʽ-e fârsi-zabân / Studies on Persianate Societies 1 (2003), pp. 89-95. The sister of Alexander I of Macedon (a direct ancestor of Alexander the Great, and a collaborator—but then traitor—of the Persian army during the second Greek-Persian war) had married a Persian nobleman in the 5th century: Davis suggests that this piece of information, transmitted through unknown paths, may have contributed to the building of the Iranian birth legend of Eskandar; see Dick Davis, Panthea’s Children: Hellenistic Novels and Medieval Persian Romances (New York, 2002), p. 77.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY framework, this system of relations, that we should imagine was implicitly present to the mind of most readers and listeners. Indeed, it is on account of the cosmographic extension, the innate mythical character and the solid parable-structure, that in its Eurasian development the narration of the life of Alexander served, in its essential traits, as an ideal narrative framework, capable of englobing any type of episode, no matter how legendary or marvelous. A true comprehension of the nature and references of some of these key episodes, often transmitted by the intrinsic force of literary reproduction, is unthinkable without addressing the Persian texts with their parallels, transmitted through other languages: this approach provides us with a privileged vision of a vast section of the common Eurasian heritage of values, knowledge and reflections. In fact, the evaluation of the first stages in the formation of Alexander’s legend in Iran begins with the consideration of three textual routes which show significantly different roots.4 4

Within a growing bibliography the following overviews may be indicated here: E. È. Bertel’s, Roman ob Aleksandre i ego glavnye versii na Vostoke (Moscow, 1948); DhabihAllâh Safâ, “Dâstân-e Eskandar va Eskandarnâme-hâ-ye manthur va manzum,” Âmuzesh va parvaresh 23, 4 (1948), pp. 7-15, and 23, 5 (1948), pp. 1-6; Armand Abel, “La figure d’Alexandre en Iran,” in La Persia e il mondo greco-romano (Rome, 1966), pp.119-36; John A. Boyle, “The Alexander Romance in the East and West,” BJR, 60 (1977), pp. 13-27; Minoo S. Southgate, “Portrait of Alexander in Persian Alexander-Romances of the Islamic Era,” JAOS 97 (1977), pp. 278-84; idem, “Persian Alexander-Romances;” “Alexander in Pahlavi Literature;” “Alexander in the Works of Persian and Arab Historians of the Islamic Era,” appendixes I; II; III in Iskandarnamah: A Persian Alexander-Romance, tr. Minoo S. Southgate (New York, 1978), pp. 167-228; S. Safavi, Eskandar va adabiyyât-e Irân (Tehran 1985); Yuriko Yamanaka, “From Evil Destroyer to Islamic Hero: The Transformation of Alexander the Great’s Image in Iran,” Annals of the Japan Association for Middle East Studies 8 (1993), pp. 55-87; Angelo M. Piemontese, “La figura di Alessandro nelle letterature d’area islamica,” in Alessandro Magno: Storia e Mito (Rome, 1995), pp. 177-83, 385; William L. Hanaway, “Eskandar-nāma,” in EIr, VIII, pp. 609-12; Majd-al-Din Keyvâni, “Eskandar-nâme,” in GIE, VIII (Tehran, 1998), pp. 367-82; Mario Casari, Alessandro e Utopia nei romanzi persiani medievali, (Rome, 1999); Carlo Saccone, “Alla ricerca della Città di Dio: il ‘ciclo di Alessandro’, il Bicorne, profeta-guerriero tra la tradizione zoroastriana e quella irano-islamica,” in idem, Viaggi e visioni di re, sufi, profeti (Milan and Trent, 1999), pp. 175-257; Yuriko Yamanaka, Alekusandā hensō [The Allegoresis of Alexander] (Nagoya, 2009); Ève Feuillebois-Pierunek, “Les figures d’Alexandre dans la littérature persane: Entre assimilation, moralisation et ironie,” in idem, ed., Épopées du monde: pour un panorama (presque) général (Paris, 2011), pp. 181‐202; Hoseyn Esmâ’ili, “Pishgoftâr,” in Bâqi-Mohammad Ebn-Mowlânâ Yusof, Eskandar-nâme: Revâyat-e Âsyâ-ye miyâne,

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature Alexander the Accursed: Historical Antefacts and the Zoroastrian Tradition Alexander’s entrance into Persepolis in the winter of 331-330 BCE, after the Battles of Granicus, Issus, and Gaugamela, marked the fall of the Persian empire and its conquest by Alexander. King Darius III, who fled the capital, was killed shortly thereafter by one of his Satraps. The Greek chronicles describe the fire in the sacred imperial city and, in some cases, indicate that it may have been a retribution for the Persian devastation of Athens and its sanctuaries in 480 BCE (Arrian, Anabasis, III, 18, 10-12);5 others (Diodorus, Bibliotheca historica, XVII, 71-72, Curtius Rufus, Histories of Alexander the Great, V, 7, 1-11) narrate that the fire followed the looting of the city’s treasures as the result of an impetus of Dionysian delirium. Plutarch (Alexander, 38, 1-4) suggested that, although premeditated, after having set fire to the city, Alexander regretted his actions and ordered that it be put out.6

5 6

ed. Hoseyn Esmâ’ili (2 vols., Tehran, 2013), I, pp. 17-154; Julia Rubanovich, “A Hero Without Borders: 3. Alexander the Great in the Medieval Persian Tradition,” in Carolina Cupane, Bettina Kronung, eds., Fictional Storytelling in the Medieval Eastern Mediterranean and Beyond (Leiden and Boston, 2016), pp. 210-33; Haila Manteghi, Alexander the Great in the Persian Tradition: History, Myth and Legend in Medieval Iran (London and New York, 2018); Mario Casari, “Alessandro in area islamica: problemi e prospettive di ricerca,” RSO 91 (2018), pp. 73-99; Julia Rubanovich, “The Alexander Romance,” in Roberta Casagrande-Kim, Samuel Thorpe, and Raquel Ukeles, eds., Romance and Reason: Islamic Transformations of the Classical Past (Princeton and Oxford, 2018), pp. 26-47. Relevant but as yet unpublished Ph.D. theses that offer a general view are: Andrew Mango, “Studies on the Legend of Iskandar in the Classical Literature of Islamic Persia, with Special Reference to the Work of Firdausi, Nizami, and Jami” (Ph.D. diss., University of London, 1955); William L. Hanaway, “Persian Popular Romances before the Safavid Period” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1970); Paul Weinfield, “The Islamic Alexander: A Religious and Political Theme in Arabic and Persian Literature” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 2008); Owen Cornwall, “Alexander and the Persian Cosmopolis, 1000-1500” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 2016); Alejandro Jiménez Cid, “Pervivencia y transmisión de elementos grecolatinos en el mito de Alejandro en la literatura indo-persa” (Ph.D. diss., Universidad Complutense de Madrid, 2019). Some considered this to be itself a Persian retribution for the burning of Sardis by the Ionian Greeks in 498 BCE. Claudia Ciancaglini, “Alessandro e l’incendio di Persepoli nelle tradizioni greca e iranica,” in Alfredo Valvo, ed., La diffusione dell’eredità classica nell’età tardoantica e medievale: Forme e metodi di transmissione (Alessandria, 1997), pp. 59-81.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY The range of accusations that the Persian tradition pins on the “accursed” Alexander pivots on this dramatically symbolical event: the murder of the last Kayanian king, Darius, together with the cream of the Persian aristocracy and the Zoroastrian clergy; the destruction of the cities and fortresses of Iran, as well as the Fire Temples (or having put out their fires); the looting of Iranian book patrimony (after having translated the corpus into Greek) and the destruction of the Zoroastrian holy books, the Avesta and the Zand; and the subsequent fragmentation of the empire.7 The historical accuracy of some of these accusations is a matter of debate, in particular, the dispersion of the Zoroastrian holy books, which are considered by scholarship not to have existed in written form at the time of Alexander. They became, however, a part of the traditional imagery, emerging over the centuries in various Middle Persian texts: from the Letter of Tansar, a work from the late Sasanid era, whose nucleus survives in a Neo-Persian version through Arabic mediation, to the Book of the Deeds of Ardashir the Son of Pâbag (Kârnâmag î Ardakhšîr î Pâbagân, early 7th century); from the Dâdestân î Mênôg î Khrad (around 7th century) to the great religious encyclopedia of Dênkard (compiled in the first half of the 9th century), to the Book of Creation (Greater Bundahišn, 11th century); from The Wonders and Mirabilia of Sistan (Abdîh ud sahîgîh î Sagestân) to the short treatise on The Provincial Capitals of Êrânšahr (Šahrestânîhâ î Êrânšahr), both datable in their final redaction between the 8th and 9th century; and from the Book of Ardâ Wirâz (Ardâ Wirâz Nâmag) to the apocalyptic Zand î Wahman Yasn (9th-10th century). In these works, Alexander is labeled as “accursed” (gizistag), depicted as a “heretic, sinful, evildoer,” manipulated by Ahriman and Falsehood: 8 7

8

Pierre Briant, Darius dans l’ombre d’Alexandre (Paris, 2003), part. pp. 451-521. A concise overview is provided by Josef Wiesehöfer, “The ‘Accursed’ and the ‘Adventurer’: Alexander the Great in Iranian Tradition,” in Z. Zuwiyya, ed., Companion to Alexander Literature (Leiden and Boston, 2011), pp. 113-32. James Darmesteter, “La légende d’Alexandre chez les Parses,” in Essais Orientaux par James Darmesteter (Paris, 1883), pp. 227-50; Safavi, Eskandar va adabiyyât-e Irân, pp. 24-27; Yamanaka, “From Evil Destroyer to Islamic Hero;” Gherardo Gnoli, “La demonizzazione di Alessandro nell’Iran sasanide (III-VII secolo d.C.) e nella tradizione zoroastriana,” in Alessandro Magno: Storia e Mito (Rome, 1995), pp. 175, 384; Philippe Gignoux, “La démonisation d’Alexandre le Grand d’après la littérature pehlevie,” in Maria Macuch, Mauro Maggi, and Werner Sundermann, eds., Iranian Languages and Texts from Iran and Turan (Wiesbaden, 2007), pp. 87-97; Firoze M.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature Then the accursed Evil Spirit (Ahreman), the sinful, in order to make men doubtful of this (Zoroastrian) religion, misled the accursed Alexander the Roman, resident of Egypt, and sent him to the land of Iran with great brutality and violence and fear. He killed the Iranian ruler and destroyed and ruined the court and the sovereignty. That wicked, wretched, heretic, sinful, maleficent Alexander the Roman, resident of Egypt, took away and burnt those scriptures, namely all the Avesta and Zand which had been written with gold water on prepared cowhide, and deposited in Staxr ī Pābagān in the Fortress of Writing. He killed many of the high priests and the judges and Hērbeds and Mōbads and the upholders of the religion and the able ones and the wise men of Iran. And he threw hatred and enmity among the dignitaries and lords of Iran, one against another, and he himself was defeated (and) ran off to Hell.9

These sentiments survived in the environments that were less affected by the process of Hellenization and more solidly bound to the Zoroastrian religious tradition, especially in the southwestern region of Fârs. In fact, this is probably the origin point of the anti-Hellenistic prophecy attributed to the Persian Sibyl, which was englobed in the third book of the Greek Sibylline Oracles by its supposed Hebrew compiler (2nd century BCE).10 Nonetheless, in view of the prevalently oral transmission mechanisms that characterized pre-Islamic Iran, these judgments largely coagulated in written form after the invasion and conquest of Iran by Arab Islamic armies, as witnessed by the works mentioned above. Thus, the issue of when they were effectively consolidated into an official expression of political nature remains unresolved. The hrômâyîk epithet, which literally means “Roman,” albeit with the wider connotation that would later converge into the Arab-Persian term Rumi, seems to indicate a rather later gestation. The pro-Hellenic sympathies of the Parthian sovereigns raise doubts that the demonization of the Macedonian Emperor could have found support during their domination. It is true that the Parthians periodically laid claim to parts of the Roman empire, but their assertions were based on a legitimacy inherited from Cyrus through Alexander (Tacitus, Annales, VI, 31). On the contrary, the Sasanid claims expressed by Ardashir I and later

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Kotwal and Philip G. Kreyenbroek, “Alexander The Great ii. In Zoroastrian Tradition,” EIr Online, http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/2330-4804_EIRO_COM_5138. From the Ardâ Wirâz Nâmag (1.1-7); Fereydun Vahman, Ardā Wirāz Nāmag: The Iranian ‘Divina Commedia’ (London, 1986), p. 191. Yamanaka, “From Evil Destroyer to Islamic Hero,” pp. 61-65.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY by Shâpur II emphasized how the Asian territories beyond the Aegean and the Sea of Marmara, occupied by the Romans, had been illegitimately torn from Persian domination by Alexander.11 Thus, the political reasons behind Alexander’s demonization began to emerge by the dawn of the Sasanid Age; perhaps, even as an answer to the imitatio Alexandri publicly expressed by emperors such as Trajan and Caracalla who threatened the Persian confines.12 The ideal counterpart of Alexander would be embodied by the figure of Ardashir, restorer of the Iranian prestige, and adversary of the Roman emperor Alexander Severus, Parthicus maximus and Persicus, who even bore the name of his Macedonian predecessor. This elaboration found a fertile humus in the grievances of the Persian clergy, who progressively integrated this image on an apocalyptical eschatological level. However, Alexander’s demonization can also be associated with a contrast between the universal drive that had characterized the era and the feats of the Macedonian conqueror, including his Hellenistic and Roman heredity, and the creation of national cultures in conjunction with the drive for cultural, political, and religious separatism that characterized Late Antiquity both in the Western Roman empire and in the rest of the ecumene that was under the Imperial Macedonian rule. Indeed, the very idea of Iran has been described as the result of an invented tradition and an archaizing drive brought about by the convergence of political, social, and religious interests that consolidated the alliance between the Persian aristocracy and the Zoroastrian clergy.13 In this context, in a fragmentary and hard to date Middle Persian text, which however certainly belongs to later literature, the Parthian Arsacid dynasty is directly associated with Alexander as being responsible for a long era of misgovernment of Êrânshahr.14 Moreover, Alexander’s frequent presence in the list of Iran’s mythological enemies, along with Dahhâk and Afrâsiyâb, meant that he was associated with characters that during the Islamic era would embody, from the Persian point of view, the Arab and Turkish invaders. 11 12 13 14

Gnoli, “La demonizzazione di Alessandro nell’Iran sasanide.” Touraj Daryaee, “Imitatio Alexandri and its impact on late Arsacid, early Sasanian and Middle Persian Literature,” Electrum 12 (2007), pp. 89-97. Gherardo Gnoli, The Idea of Iran (Rome, 1989); Daniel L. Selden, “Iskander and the Idea of Iran,” in Tim Whitmarsh and Stuart Thomson, eds., The Romance between Greece and the East (Cambridge, 2013), pp. 142-61. Touraj Daryaee, “Alexander and the Arsacids in the Manuscript MU29,” Dabir 1 (2015), pp. 8-10.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature In the final phases of the empire, the Sasanid propaganda against Alexander probably found fresh impetus from the pro-Alexandrian atmosphere that imbued certain Byzantine environments, especially at the time of the epic confrontation between Heraclius and Khosrow II at the climax of the Byzantine-Sasanid wars (602-28). Some of the Alexandrian motifs related in the Šahrestânîhâ î Êrânšahr—whose textual roots probably should be traced back to that period—may also echo directly Heraclius’ (“the new Alexander”) campaigns in Persia, with the sack of Ganzak, and the destruction of the fire temple of Takht-e Soleymân. At the same time, as a sign of the complexity of Alexander’s role in Iran also at an early stage, a passage in the Byzantine history by Theophylact Simocatta seems to suggest that Khosrow II also started his campaigns in the west as an attempt to emulate Alexander the Great, whose victories would be bestowed on him.15 Given the great gaps that characterize what is left of Middle Persian literature, we must question whether there were other texts in this language that provided a significantly different tradition relative to Alexander. The existence of a complete Middle Persian version of the Alexander Romance by Pseudo-Callisthenes postulated by Theodor Nöldeke is a matter of debate, as well as whether and to what extent such a version could have intertwined with the development of the Khʷadây-nâme (Book of Lords), the Sasanid royal chronicle that has not survived, but was the main source of Ferdowsi’s Shâh-nâme.16 This will be discussed in the next section. In any case, at least Book V, 15, 10; see Michael and Mary Whitby, The History of Theophylact Simocatta: An English Translation with Introduction and Notes (Oxford, 1986), p. 154. See also Gerrit J. Reinink, “Heraclius the New Alexander: Apocalyptic Prophecies during the Reign of Heraclius,” in Gerrit J. Reinink and Bernard H. Stolte, eds., The Reign of Heraclius (610-641): Crisis and Confrontation (Leuven, Paris, and Dudley, Mass., 2002), pp. 82-94; David Frendo, “Cassius Dio and Herodian on the First Sasanian Offensive against the Eastern Provinces of the Roman Empire (229-232),” Bulletin of the Asia Institute N. S. 16 (2002), pp. 25-36; Klaus Geus, “‘Alexander’ and ‘Caesar’ in a Middle Persian Text: Interpreting Some Names in the Šahrestānīha ī Ērānšahr,” in Andreas Külzer and Mihailo St. Popović, eds., Space, Landscapes and Settlements in Byzantium: Studies in Historical Geography of the Eastern Mediterranean Presented to Johannes Koder (Vienna and Novi Sad, 2017), pp. 131-143; Touraj Daryaee, “Khusrow Parwēz and Alexander the Great: An Episode of imitatio Alexandri by a Sasanian King,” in Yousef Moradi, ed., Afarin Nameh: Essays on the Archaeology of Iran in Honour of Mehdi Rahbar (Tehran, 2019), pp. 191-94. 16 A survey of the many issues tied to this text is Jaakko Hämeen-Anttila, Khwadāynāmag: The Middle Persian Book of Kings (Leiden and Boston, 2018). 15

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY a Middle Persian parchment fragment found in Egypt, dating to before the Sasanid occupation (ca. 619-29), and reporting some words from a conversation between Alexander and an unidentified sage, suggests that, also in the context of pre-Islamic Iranian culture, Alexander was able to reveal other facets of his complex persona.17 The tradition based on Zoroastrian and Sasanid elements was also conserved in some currents of Arab historiography, absorbed through the reception of the Persian tradition of the siyar moluk al-Ajam, narrating the times and conduct of ancient Iranian monarchs, and it is echoed in various authors, such as Hamze Esfahâni (d. after 961) and others. At the same time, the narration of the translation of Persian science and knowledge by Alexander reappeared as a relevant topos with the rise to power of the Abbasids, also spreading amongst the ideologists of the translation movement for whom every Greek book was, by definition, part of the Zoroastrian canon. Studying and translating them meant unearthing the ancient Persian lore.18

Alexander the Persian King: The “Pseudo-Callisthenes” Inheritance From the Greek perspective, although a mythical approach towards Alexander’s enterprise was already in place during his campaigns, two main historiographical strands relating to Alexander’s life and deeds can also be detected: one more adherent to historical reality, which poses the factual accounts of Alexander’s companions, Aristobulus and Ptolemy, as the main sources of Arrian, four hundred years later (2nd century CE); and one more generous with fictional embellishments, in which the apparently adulatory history by Callisthenes, Aristotle’s nephew, and the marvelous account by Cleitarchus were to merge into the histories of Diodorus (1st century BCE), and the Latin authors Pompeus Trogus (1st century BCE1st century CE) and Curtius Rufus (uncertain dates between 1st and 4th centuries). However, both strands share the tendency to use the historical 17 18

Dieter Weber, “Ein Pahlavi-Fragment des Alexanderromans aus Ägypten?” in Desmond Durkin-Meisterernst, Christiane Reck, and Dieter Weber, eds., Literarische Stoffe und ihre Gestaltung in mitteliranischer Zeit (Wiesbaden, 2009), pp. 307-318. Dimitri Gutas, Greek Thought, Arabic Culture (London, 1998), pp. 40-45.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature account as a dramatic tool for questioning the reader— and the community—on the contradictory themes implicit in Alexander’s trajectory. Plutarch’s portrait of him, drawn in the 2nd century CE (Life of Alexander), can be taken as an exemplary representation. He depicts Alexander as the ideal pupil of Aristotle, immune to arrogance and a champion of persuasion. He is admired for his courage, his military and political intuition, as well as for his loyalty towards friends and his continence with women. The Persian ambassadors praise him for his open character, and he follows the principle of honoring the vanquished after his first brilliant victories. His handbook of military art is the Iliad. But, with increasing fame, his moral integrity and his wisdom crack, reflecting the changes in a man wielding power who becomes more and more suspicious and autocratic. The conflict with his father and the need for a legitimate investiture as Egyptian pharaoh induce him to force the oracle of Siwa, and claim to be the son of the Egyptian god Ammon. Once seated on Darius’ throne, he is attracted by the supernatural monarchic aura of the Persian tradition. Some of his old loyal companions and valiant soldiers were to pay the price for this, falling in disgrace for their reluctance to venerate the king. Alexander’s meetings with a variety of wise men show a man formidably curious and intelligent, but incapable of implementing the lessons received. Caught up in solitude on the somber tomb of his predecessor Cyrus the Great, Alexander is able to reflect on the frailty of fortune, but not to stop his ravenous venture. Death comes soon, unmerciful, following a sequence of messages that he obstinately ignores. This dual profile— within a frame that was able to swing between history and legend—was the ethical heritage that Alexander left to his most direct successors, the Roman emperors, and more generally to the Hellenistic and Roman cultural environment, perpetually in a precarious balance between the ideas of imitatio and of degeneratio Alexandri. Whilst the glory of Alexander’s victory over the Persians had been the goal of Trajan’s and other emperors’ rule, pride, tyranny, as well as drunkenness, were the main points of the hostile view of Alexander expounded by the Cynic philosophers. The last and most influential offspring of this conflictual literary lineage is the so-called Alexander Romance, compiled in Greek from various materials by a hellenized Egyptian in Alexandria, sometime between the 2nd and the 3rd centuries CE, but often referred to as Pseudo-Callisthenes because in one manuscript (Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, Parisinus Graecus 391

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY 1685) it is attributed to Alexander’s official historian. Beside a few papyrus fragments, the 21 extant Greek manuscripts of this work are usually grouped in at least five recensions (α, the one closest to the original shape, then β and its derivatives, γ, ε, and λ), but all these recensions, which also include eccentric variants within themselves, are the result of articulated interpolations that are hardly retraceable, drawing on more ancient Greek sources from different genres, and on works from different origins.19 Within a historically and geographically perturbed frame—a symptom of its multi-layered compilation—the romance is traditionally divided into three books. It begins with an Egyptian section describing the seduction of Olympias, a major figure in the whole text, by the pharaoh Nectanebus, while he is in exile in Macedonia. This is followed by the birth of Alexander, who is therefore not Philip’s son, and his education, family conflicts and the death of Philip with Alexander’s rise to power. The heart of the first book is the clash with the Persian empire to stop paying levies (in later recensions they consist of “golden eggs”). The Oracle of Ammon in Libya, the foundation of Alexandria, and the conquest of Egypt (PC I, 30-34), serve as a very relevant prelude to the Asian expedition. The first battle with Darius narrated in the book (which corresponds to Issus in the oldest recension) is preceded by an exchange of letters that plays an important role in the dynamics of regal investiture (PC I, 36-38), and leads to the capture of Darius’ family. However, the conquest of Persia is only completed in the second book, culminating in the dramatic scene in which Alexander listens to the last words uttered by Darius (PC II, 20), who has 19

Main surveys and sources for further bibliography are Adolf Ausfeld, Der Griechische Alexanderromans (Leipzig, 1907); R. Merkelbach, Quellen des Griechischen Alexander-romans (Munich, 1954); C. Jouanno, Naissance et métamorphoses (Paris, 2002); R. Stoneman, Alexander the Great: A Life in Legend (New Haven, 2008); Krzysztof Nawotka, The Alexander Romance by Ps.-Callisthenes (Leiden and Boston, 2017). See also Ulrich Moennig, “A Hero Without Borders: 1. Alexander the Great in Ancient, Byzantine and Modern Greek Tradition,” in Carolina Cupane, Bettina Kronung, eds., Fictional Storytelling in the Medieval Eastern Mediterranean and Beyond (Leiden and Boston, 2016), pp. 159-189. The traditional numbering of the chapters included in the three books of this work, as established in the editio princeps by Karl Müller, will be used in this chapter: Pseudo-Callisthenes, ed. Karl Müller, as appendix to Friedrich Dübner, ed., Arriani Anabasis et Indica (Paris, 1846), pp. 1-152. For an updated overview of classical historiography on Alexander, see Krzysztof Nawotka, Robert Rollinger, Josef Wiesehöfer and Agnieszka Wojciechowska, eds., The Historiography of Alexander the Great (Wiesbaden, 2018).

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature been mortally wounded by two of his Satraps, and whom Alexander will avenge fiercely. Greek historians vary in their account of Darius’ last hours. The majority state that Darius was already dead when found by Alexander, others, including Plutarch, suggest that only a Macedonian soldier had the time to give him a last sip of water. Diodorus (17, 73, 4), however, wrote that, according to some historians, Alexander was able to listen to his last words. Darius also entrusts his daughter Roxane to Alexander (the romance mixes his two Persian spouses). The fire of Persepolis is reduced only to a brief reference to Alexander’s order—immediately revoked—to burn down Xerxes’ palace, whilst the second book ends with some dispositions on the government of Persia, and Alexander’s marriage with Roxane. A letter on wondrous adventures is added in recensions posterior to α, with various contents. The third and last book includes the expedition to India, with the defeat of king Porus (Greek Póros < Sanskrit Puru) and the sapiential exchange with the Brahmans, or Gymnosophists (PC III, 5-6). It then narrates the legendary accounts of the complex relation with Queen Candace of Meroe (PC III, 18-24), and the visit to the city of the Amazons (PC III, 25-26). In addition, there are two substantial letters written by Alexander, one to Aristotle about India and other explorations (PC III, 17), and one to his mother Olympias (PC III, 27-28), both describing various wondrous episodes. The romance ends with the death of Alexander, poisoned on the order of his Macedonian rival Antipater, and with Alexander’s testament or, in one manuscript, his consolatory letter to his mother Olympias. No mention is made of Alexander’s son or sons, whilst just a hint is provided at Roxane being pregnant at the moment of his death. Alexander is then buried in Alexandria in Egypt, one of the twelve cities (thirteen in some versions) that he had built according to the romance.20 Although the Alexander Romance does not include some of the main features that provided substance for the traditional Greek accusations against Alexander (such as his drinking habits, and the murder of some of his closest companions), and describes him essentially as frenéres, “sound of mind,” nevertheless it contains aspects of the dual image that characterizes him, and should not be considered as a merely eulogizing text. As well as his depiction in the book as a valiant hero and a magnificent ruler, 20 A bibliography of the editions and main translations available is in Jouanno, Naissance et métamorphoses, pp. 467-69; Stoneman, Life in Legend, pp. 284-87.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY whose foundation of Alexandria was to last as an immortal relic of his glory, several darker hues are also visible. He benefits from the best education, but he is the illegitimate son of the last Egyptian Pharaoh, Nectanebus, and the murderer of his own natural father. He is loyal to his friends and pays great respect to Darius’ family, but he also is represented as a cunning trickster, who enters other royal courts in disguise, to spy and even act as a thief; and when confronted by the gigantic Indian king Porus in a duel, manages to kill him in a devious manner, by first distracting him (in later versions Alexander deceptively trips him up, and runs him through on the ground), whereas, according to traditional historiography, he had paid him great honors. His attitude in war and towards other people alternates between sagacity and magnanimity and the impulsive and cruel conduct of a warrior, who lets women and children to be massacred. The evident shades of greed and pride, which are scattered all along the narrative, increase in later recensions, through the progressive Christian appropriation of the book. This hybrid fruit became one of the most translated books between Antiquity and the Middle Ages. From two Latin versions made respectively in the 4th and the 10th century, it found its way during the Middle Ages into all the vernacular literatures of Western Europe. From an ancient version of the Greek text (α recension) a very early translation was made into Armenian (5th century). We also have fragments of an ancient Coptic translation (6th-7th century). A presumed Middle Persian translation, possibly belonging to the 6th century, has not survived, but we have a near-contemporary Syriac version, which in turn was translated into Arabic (possibly by the 8th century), though the Arabic translation is still missing. Building on the foundations of these ancient translations, a wide range of newer versions or better rewritings, more or less akin to the distant ancestor, were composed in many other languages. These include Hebrew, Ethiopic, Persian, Ottoman Turkish, Mongolian, Georgian, and Malay, sometimes by anonymous, and sometimes by well-known authors. The Alexander Romance was in fact only the center and the catalyzer of a nebula of texts on the legend of Alexander, which was to expand in all directions and all languages, in written as well as in oral form. It belongs to a corpus of narrative cycles that constituted the skeleton of a vast polyglot literary circulation throughout the Eurasian continent from Late Antiquity to the dawn of the Modern Era, which included other cycles such as the Book of Sindbad, the Book of 394

The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature Kalila and Dimna, the Book of Barlaam and Josaphat, and the Thousand and One Nights.21 The connections between the various translations of the Alexander Romance have been studied for a long time, but remain uncertain. This is also due to the relatively late date of the extant manuscripts, the Greek ones as well as the Syriac or Arabic. Regarding its diffusion in Asian and African languages, some established beliefs could be questioned after the emergence of new hypotheses and the widening of the perspective. On the basis of a series of mainly linguistic-philological reasons, at the end of the 19th century, Nöldeke hypothesized that the Syriac version of the Pseudo-Callisthenes derived from a supposed Middle Persian version. Later research by Claudia Ciancaglini has challenged this. Instead, she has proposed, on the basis of various linguistic and historical-cultural indications, that the extant Syriac text was transcribed directly from a Greek version, probably by a Nestorian Christian, within the territory of the Sasanid kingdom. The linguistic traits that point towards a Persian connection could be better explained as a Neo-Persian interference along the troubled process of transmission (the oldest manuscript of the Syriac Pseudo-Callisthenes is dated 1709). This solution is still debated.22 In any case, we must still face the issue 21 Besides classic surveys such as George Cary, The Medieval Alexander (Cambridge, 1956) and David J.A. Ross, Alexander Historiatus: A Guide to Medieval Alexander Literature (Frankfurt am Main, 19882), updated bibliographies can be found in the collective volumes, M. Bridges and J. Bürgel, eds., The Problematics of Power: Eastern and Western Representations of Alexander the Great (Bern, 1996); L. Harf-Lancner et al., eds., Alexandre le Grand dans les littératures occidentales et proche-orientales (Paris, 1999); F. de Polignac, ed., Alexandre le Grand: Figure de l’ incomplétude (Rome, 2000); then also Stoneman, Life in Legend; Zuwiyya, ed., Companion to Alexander Literature; Moore, ed., Reception of Alexander the Great. The European developments are outlined through a wide survey in Catherine Gaullier-Bougassas, ed., La fascination pour Alexandre le Grand dans les littératures européennes (Xe-XVIe siècle), 4 vols. (Turnhout, 2014). 22 Theodor Nöldeke, Beiträge zur Geschichte des Alexanderromans (Vienna, 1890), pp. 11-17; Richard N. Frye, “Two Iranian Notes,” in Harold B. Bailey, Adrian D. Bivar, Jacques Duchesne-Guillemin, and John R. Hinnels, eds., Papers in Honour of Professor Mary Boyce, 2 vols. (Leiden, 1985), I, pp. 185-90; Claudia A. Ciancaglini, “Gli antecedenti del Romanzo siriaco di Alessandro,” in Rosa B. Finazzi and Alfredo Valvo, eds., La diffusione dell’eredità classica nell’età tardoantica e medievale II: Il “Romanzo di Alessandro” e altri scritti (Alessandria, 1998), pp. 55-93; Claudia Ciancaglini, “The Syriac Version of the Alexander Romance,” Le Muséon 114 (2001), pp. 121-40; Kevin van Bladel, “The Syriac Sources of the Early Arabic Narratives of

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY of the origin of the various interpolations that have enriched the Syriac text, such as, for example, Alexander’s expedition to China, which is not present in any of the surviving Greek versions, but which mirrors the Persian tradition, possibly reflecting the interests of the expanding Nestorian Church of Persia.23 The fact that the Syriac version does not depend on a Middle Persian version does not necessarily imply that a Middle Persian text related to the Alexander Romance nebula had never existed. Also, bearing in mind the observations in the previous section regarding the different nuances attributed to the figure of Alexander in Sasanid courtly environments, it has been suggested that the existence of a Middle Persian version can be inferred by a thematic comparison of the stories related to Alexander in early Arabic historiography (mostly penned by authors of Iranian origin) and the account in Ferdowsi’s Shâh-nâme: these sources share a few distinctive features and episodes (such as, in particular, Alexander’s Iranian descent) that are not present in other lines of the Pseudo-Callisthenes genealogy, and may be considered originally Iranian and quite early. According to this reconstruction, oral legends concerning Alexander may have existed in Iran from the Parthian period, and they were possibly amalgamated with the Alexander Romance tradition at some point in late Sasanid era, probably under Khosrow I, who welcomed the Greek refugees after the closure of the Neoplatonic school at Athens (529). Thus a Middle Persian version of the Alexander Romance would have been produced, accordingly, again Alexander,” in Himanshu Prabha Ray and Daniel T. Potts, eds. Memory as History: The Legacy of Alexander in South Asia (New Deh­li, 2007), pp. 54-75; Claudia A. Ciancaglini, “Ancora sulla versione siriaca del romanzo di Alessandro: le oscillazioni grafiche nella resa dei nomi greci,” in Marina Benedetti, ed., Rappresentazioni linguistiche dell’ identità (Naples, 2015), pp. 51-92. For the Syriac version of the Alexander Romance: Ernest A. Wallis Budge, The History of Alexander the Great, Being the Syriac Version of the Pseudo-Callisthenes (Cambridge, 1889). See also Juan Pedro Monferrer-Sala, “Alexander the Great in the Syriac Literary Tradition,” in Zuwiyya, ed., Companion to Alexander Literature, pp. 41-72; Adel Sidarus, “Alexandre le Grand dans la tradition syriaque (recherches récentes et perspectives nouvelles,” Orient chrétien 95 (2011), pp. 1-15; Faustina Doufikar-Aerts, “A Hero Without Borders: 2. Alexander the Great in the Syriac and Arabic Tradition,” in Carolina Cupane, Bettina Kronung, eds., Fictional Storytelling in the Medieval Eastern Mediterranean and Beyond (Leiden and Boston, 2016), pp. 190-209. 23 The addition of the Chinese expedition was attributed to Manichean milieus by Josef Markwart, Südarmenien und die Tigrisquellen nach griechischen und arabischen Geographen (Vienna, 1930), p. 78.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature within Christian milieus close to the Sasanid court, possibly for different purposes and audiences with respect to the extant Syriac one. The inclusion of the Middle Persian Alexander Romance in the body of at least one of the Khʷadây-nâmag redactions, which is debated by scholars, would have guaranteed its transmission to Arabic historiography, through the many siyar al-moluk works produced after the Persian royal chronicle.24 Although the presence of specific Iranian features in these early texts—which also show various contradictions—could be tied to less linear processes of textual formation, the parallel existence of a Middle Persian and a Syriac version of the Alexander Romance (or at least of two different Syriac versions, a thesis now shared by many scholars) may well explain some variants in the historiographic developments on Alexander in Arabic and Persian, as well as several duplications of episodes within the same text, which one encounters in reading Arabic and Persian works on Alexander. However, it must be added that even postulating a double branch (Middle Persian and Syriac) of the Alexander Romance, does not cover the broad range of themes and variants included in the Arabic and Persian Alexandrian texts, which reveal contacts and intersections with practically every Greek recension of the Pseudo-Callisthenes and related texts, besides the introduction of other material that cannot be traced back to this tradition. For this reason we should abandon another common view, according to which the eastern endeavors of the Pseudo-Callisthenes rest substantially on a sixth recension, denominated δ, for which there are no Greek manuscripts: this would be the common source of the 10th century Latin version, translated from a Greek manuscript found in Byzantium by the Neapolitan Archpriest Leo, and the Syriac version, from which the Arabic one would come with its various derived romance versions, including the Persian and Turkish ones (11th-16th centuries). In the domain of Arabic literature, recent studies, especially the research by Faustina Doufikar-Aerts,

24 Manteghi, Alexander the Great in the Persian Tradition, pp. 21-45. On the issue of the presence of the Alexander Romance inside the Khʷadây-nâmag see also Hanaway, “Persian Popular Romances before the Safavid Period,” pp. 91-99; Ehsan Yarshater, “Iranian National History,” in CHIr, III/1, pp. 359-477; Djalal Khaleghi-Motlagh, “Az Shâh-nâme tâ Khodây-nâme. Jostâri dar bâre-ye ma’âkhedh-e mostaqim va gheyr-e mostaqim-e Shâh-nâme,” Nâme-ye Irân-e bâstân 7 (2007), pp. 3-119. See also Hämeen-Anttila, Khwadāynāmag, pp. 45-51.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY are revealing a significant variety.25 One of the main points is that we should assume that at least two different Arabic translations were made after the Syriac version; it has been suggested also that possibly a second lost Syriac version had existed, as has been mentioned above.26 However, amongst the more specifically Arabic romance texts that are coming to light, rather than the presumed Arabic translation of the Pseudo-Callisthenes based on the Syriac text, we might expect to find narrative conglomerates partly based on the Greek-Syriac line (in its various ramifications) and partly crossing with a series of different branches and new original elaborations. The most ancient of these texts is probably the Qessat al-Eskandar by Omâre Ebn-Zeyd, which only survives in one manuscript (late 8th century, but the manuscript is dated 1510). There is also a group of manuscripts, conserved in libraries in Spain and the Maghreb, which, notwithstanding their specificities, appear to represent a relatively homogeneous branch of the tradition, often referred to as the Western-Arabic tradition, whose earliest text probably dates to the latter half of the 9th century. A third important romance is conserved in a 17th century manuscript in Paris copied by Yusof Ebn-Atiye, known as Qozmân. It is entitled Sirat al-malek Eskandar Dhu’ l-Qarneyn and represents, according to Doufikar-Aerts, the Arabic tradition (with various Christian influences) that linked a compilation based on Syriac texts to the so-called Ethiopian version of the Pseudo-Callisthenes (16th century).27 25

Faustina Doufikar-Aerts has produced a remarkable number of essays on different aspects of the Arabic tradition concerning Alexander the Great: a most valuable survey is her Alexander Magnus Arabicus: A Survey of the Alexander Tradition through Seven Centuries: from Pseudo-Callisthenes to Ṣūrī (Paris, Leuven, and Walpole, 2010). See also Samir Kh. Samir, “Les versions arabes chrétiennes du Roman d’Alexandre,” in Rosa B. Finazzi and Alfredo Valvo, eds., La diffusione dell’eredità classica nell’età tardoantica e medievale. II. Il “Romanzo di Alessandro” e altri scritti (Alessandria, 1998), pp. 228-47; Adel Sidarus, “Nouvelles recherches sur Alexandre le Grand dans les littératures arabe chrétienne et connexes,” Parole de l’Orient 37 (2012), pp. 13776; Christiane Voigt, Recherches sur la tradition arabe du Roman d’Alexandre (Wiesbaden, 2016). 26 Sidarus, “Nouvelles recherches.” 27 Doufikar-Aerts, Alexander Magnus Arabicus, pp. 35-73. On Omâre’s Qessat al-Eskandar, see Friedländer, Die Chadhirlegende und der Alexanderroman, pp. 129-62; Nabia Abbott, Studies in Arabic Literary Papyri I: Historical Texts (Chicago, 1957), pp. 50-56; David Zuwiyya, “ʻUmâra’s Qiṣṣa al-Iskandar as a Model of the Arabic Alexander Romance,” in Stoneman et al., eds., Alexander Romance in Persia and the East, (Groningen, 2012) pp. 205-18. On the so-called Western-Arabic tradition, see

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature In this textual nebula growing around the Pseudo-Callisthenes tradition, we also find a very important Arabic epistolary romance reproducing the exchange of missives between Alexander and his tutor Aristotle. Despite the fact that the attribution of some of these letters to historical Aristotle is still debated, on the whole this corpus was probably the result of a revision of an original Greek work of Hermetic origin, integrated with Persian political writings and updated with contemporary policy issues, by commission of Sâlem Abu’l-Alâ’, secretary to the Omayyad Caliph Heshâm b. Abd-al-Malek (724-743). The eighth of the sixteen letters belonging to this work (entitled al-Siyâse al-âmmiye), probably an original elaboration by Sâlem himself, based on Iranian political and ethical material, is at the core of the Arabic Serr al-asrâr, the source for the Latin Secretum secretorum, related also to the figure of Alexander as an alchemist. In this epistolary romance, Aristotle encourages Alexander to promote the creed of Prophet Hermes, a fact that could have contributed, in such an ancient text, to the subsequent transformations of Alexander into a missionary king.28 Francisco Guillén Robles, Leyendas de José hijo de Jacob y de Alejandro Magno (Zaragoza, 1888); Emilio García Gómez, Un texto árabe occidental de la Lejenda de Alejandro (Madrid, 1929); Alois Richard Nykl, “Aljamiado Literature: El Rrekontamiento del Rey Ališandere,” Revue hispanique 77 (1929), pp. 409-611; Zachary David Zuwiyya, Islamic Legends Concerning Alexander the Great taken from the Medieval Arabic Manuscript in Madrid (Binghamton, N.Y., 2001); Zachary David Zuwiyya,“Alexander’s Journey through the Seven Climes of Antiquity and the Structure of the Aljamiado-Morisco rrekontamiento del rrey Alisandre,” in Juan Pedro Monferrer Sala and María Dolores Rodríguez Gómez, eds. Entre Oriente y Occidente: Ciudades y viajeros en la Edad Media (Granada, 2005), pp. 285-306; Georges Bohas, Abderrahim Saguer and Ahyaf Sinno, eds., Le Roman d’Alexandre à Tomboctou, Histoire du Bicornu: Le manuscrit interrompu (Arles, 2012). 28 Józef Bielawski, “Lettres d’Aristote à Alexandre et lettres d’Alexandre à Aristote en version arabe,” Rocznik Orientalistyczny 28/1 (1965), pp. 7-35; Mario Grignaschi, “Les Rasā’ il ’Arisṭūṭālīsa ’ ilā-l-Iskandar’ de Sālim Abū-l-ʽAlā’ et l’activité culturelle à l’époque omayyade,” BEO 19 (1965-66), pp. 7-83; Mario Grignaschi, “Le roman épistolaire classique conservé dans la version arabe de Sâlim Abû-l-‘Alâ’,” Le Muséon 80 (1967), pp. 211-64; Józef Bielawski and Marian Plezia, Lettre d’Aristote à Alexandre sur la politique envers les cités (Warsaw, 1970); Mario Grignaschi, “La Siyāsatu-l-ʻāmmiyya et l’influence iranienne sur la pensée politique islamique,” in Monumentum H.S. Nyberg (Leiden, Tehran and Liège, 1975), pp. 33-287; Mario Grignaschi, “La Figure d’Alexandre chez les arabes et sa genèse,” Arabic Sciences and Theology 3 (1993), pp. 205-34; Mario Grignaschi, “Un roman épistolaire grécoarabe: la correspondance entre Aristote et Alexandre,” in Bridges and Bürgel, eds.,

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY In this complex debate, the very nature of the text referred to as Pseudo-Callisthenes must be studied anew. Some of the founding elements of this text have an evident and distinctly independent character. It has been proposed that the work relies on two principal kinds of sources, a history of Alexander following the tradition of Cleitarchus, and a collection of letters derived from a series of epistolary narratives possibly produced as exercises in schools of rhetoric, integrated by a few propaganda documents from the Hellenistic era.29 The so-called Letters on Wonders (PC, II 24-41; III 17; III 27-28), in the shape of brief apologues on the political and human parabola of king Alexander, which also widen the horizon of Alexander’s journeys, by introducing in the narrative a great number of ethnographic and cosmographic themes that will be variously interpreted and developed in the subsequent traditions, show clearly that the interpolation of nonGreek material into the Alexander Romance took place at a very early stage. However, the central body of the romance itself requires some revision. In a well-known passage of the Greek Pseudo-Callisthenes, Darius sends three peculiar gifts to Alexander, who is about to leave for a trip across Syria: the gifts are a whip (skýtos), a ball (sfáira), and a casket of gold (PC, I 36).30 In terms of the first two gifts, the text provides a precise double (and opposite) interpretation: in his covering letter Darius explains that the whip Problematics of Power, pp. 109-23; Miklós Maróth, ed., The Correspondence between Aristotle and Alexander the Great: An Anonymous Greek Novel in Letters in Arabic Translation (Piliscsaba, 2006); Doufikar-Aerts, Alexander Magnus Arabicus, pp. 102-13; Emily Cottrell, “An Early Mirror for Princes and Manual for Secretaries: The Epistolary Novel of Aristotle and Alexander,” in Alexander the Great and the East, pp. 303-28; Emily Cottrell, “Alexander at the Buyid Court,” in R. Stoneman et al., eds., Alexander Romance: History and Literature (Groningen, 2018), pp. 245-78. Specifically on the Serr al-asrâr: Mahmoud Manzalaoui, “The Pseudo-Aristotelian Kitāb Sirr al-Asrār: Facts and Problems,” Oriens 23-24 (1974), pp. 147-257; Mario Grignaschi, “L’Origine et les métamorphoses du Sirr al-asrâr (Secretum secretorum),” Archives d’Histoire Doctrinale et Littéraire du Moyen Âge, 43 (1977), pp. 7-112; William F. Ryan and Charles B. Schmitt, eds., Pseudo-Aristotle, The Secret of Secrets: Sources and Influences (London, 1982); Catherine Gaullier-Bougassas, Margaret Bridges and Jean-Yves Tilliette, eds., Trajectoires européennes du Secretum secretorum du Pseudo-Aristote (XIIIe-XVIe siècle) (Turnhout, 2015). 29 In general, see Merkelback, Quellen, pp. 11-92, 118, and 230-52. See also Richard Stoneman, ed., Il Romanzo di Alessandro, I (Milan, 2007), pp. 553-58. 30 Stoneman, ed., Il Romanzo di Alessandro, pp. 82-91, 196-205, 330-41, 432-39. See also Wilhelm Kroll, Historia Alexandri Magni (Berlin, 1926), pp. 40-43.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature represents a reproof to Alexander, while the ball signifies letting him play like the child he is; Alexander’s reply reveals that the young king instead welcomes the whip as signifying the slaves he is going to subjugate, while the ball symbolizes the spherical world he is destined to conquer (PC, I 38). However, the 10th century Latin version by Leo, drawn up after a Greek text found in Constantinople and belonging to the hypothesized recension δ, and the derivative J1, J2 and J3 recensions of the Latin Historia de preliis, present a different lectio. In Leo’s text, Darius’ gifts are a spera (a sphere) and a virga curva (a curved rod). The two gifts are referred to in more unusual terms in J1, J2 and J3, with the obscure word zocani used in the place of the whip, together with a pila ludrica, a ball for playing.31 From these Latin texts, this interpretation spread to many European vernacular versions. It is easy to reconstruct that the unusual term zocani is a transcription of the Persian word chowgân, “mallet,” used in the traditional Persian game of guy-o-chowgân, literally “the ball and the mallet,” that is the “polo,” known in medieval Byzantium as tzukánion. Several Arabic and Persian accounts of this episode offer this reading, together with Darius’ invitation to play (sawlajân, “mallet,” is the Arabic corruption of chowgân; and used for instance by Tabari).32 Instead of a teasing provocation, a different and deeper sense of Darius’ challenge could be found in the oldest royal Persian tradition, in which the game of polo was the young knight’s main sport. The game is ascribed this meaning in the Middle Persian text Kârnâmag î Ardakhšîr î Pâbagân, where the future king, founder of the Sasanid kingdom, and then also his nephew Ohrmazd, stand out in playing polo. In Ferdowsi’s Shâh-nâme, this role is given to Shâpur, son of Ardashir. Having distinguished himself in the game under his father’s proud gaze, Shâpur is eventually acknowledged by his father as the legitimate heir to Friedrich Pfister, ed., Der Alexanderroman des Archypresbyters Leo (Heidelberg, 1913), p. 67; Hermann-Josef Bergmeister, Die Historia de preliis Alexandri Magni (Der lateinische Alexander-roman des Mittelalters), Synoptische Edition der Rezension des Leo Archipresbyters und der interpolierten Fassungen J 1, J 2, J 3 (Buch I u. II), (Meisenheim am Glan, 1975), pp. 68-70. 32 Abu-Ja’far Mohammad Ebn-Jarir Tabari, Ta’rikh al-rosol va’ l-moluk, ed. Michael J. De Goeje, Prima series II (Leiden, 1881-82), p. 695. The Persian rendition of Tabari by Bal’ami (10th century) has the Persian term chowgân: Târikh-e Bal’ami, ed. Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr and Mohammad Parvin Gonâbâdi (Tehran, 2007), p. 632. See also Abu-Mansur Tha’âlebi, Ghorâr akhbâr moluk al-Fors va seyarehem, ed. and tr. Hermann Zotenberg as Histoire des rois des Perses (Paris, 1900), pp. 403-4. 31

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY the throne, and rewarded by the king with a precious treasure.33 Although riddle exchanges were attested in Hellenistic Greek literature, it seems that, inserted into this different cultural frame, we are able to provide a more consistent and less painstakingly symbolic interpretation of Darius’ gifts and his challenge: the barbarous invader is admonished, and reminded that he inexorably lacks those royal qualities required to become a true Persian king. Despite the late date of the oldest Greek manuscript of the Alexander Romance (11th century), the fact that the lectio with the whip and the ball is included in the oldest versions of the romance (Latin by Julius Valerius, 4th century, Armenian, 5th century, and Syriac, 6th-7th century) makes it difficult to infer that it derived from a textual misunderstanding. But we cannot exclude that it disguises a misunderstood Persian cultural notion, which may have reached the Greek historiographic-narrative tradition on Alexander at some point in its development. Reinhold Merkelbach has detected other elements in these letters that reflect an Achaemenid chancery style.34 Moreover, this would not be the only case, as it has been shown that the famous “pillow,” under which Alexander kept a copy of the Iliad according to Plutarch (Alexander, 8,2), was actually a storeroom, reflecting a Persian idiom preserved by Chares of Mytilene and underscoring Alexander’s adoption of Persian court ceremonial.35 Whatever is the case with the whip/mallet odd couple, the presence of the polo motif, as it spread in Arabic, Persian, as well as Latin, and various European vernacular versions of the Alexander Romance, enables us to study the Pseudo-Callisthenes and its literary route from a wider perspective.36 Abu’l-Qâsem Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Djalal Khaleghi Motlagh, as The Shahnameh (8 vols., New York, 1987-2008), VI, pp. 198-204. 34 Merkelbach, Quellen, pp. 51, 231-32. 35 Christopher Brunelle, “Alexander’s Persian Pillow and Plutarch’s Cultured Commander,” The Classical Journal 112 (2017), pp. 257-78. 36 See also Angelo M. Piemontese, “Narrativa medioevale persiana e percorsi librari internazionali,” in Antonio Pioletti, Francesca Rizzo Nervo, eds., Medioevo romanzo e orientale: Il viaggio dei testi (Soveria Mannelli, 1999), pp. 1-17: 13-15; Ulrich Mölk, “Über einen schwierigen Passus in Leos Übersetzung des griechischen Alexanderromans (I, 36-38),” in Dorothea Walz, ed., Scripturus Vitam: Lateinische Biographie von der Antike bis in die Gegenwart (Heidelberg, 2002), pp. 151-57; Mario Casari, “The King Explorer: a cosmographic approach to the Persian Alexander,” in Alexander Romance in Persia and the East, pp. 175-203. But see also Ioannis M. Konstantakos, “Alexander and Darius in a Contest of Wit (‘Alexander Romance’ 1.36-38): Sources, Formation, and Storytelling Traditions,” ACME 68 (2015), pp. 129-56. For 33

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature The multifaceted nature of the literary circulation around this work could not but be welcomed in the capacious lap of the emerging Christian culture, where Alexander could serve both as a forerunner of universal power under divine rule and as a warning against the arrogance of a heathen self-divinized emperor. The early reference to the dominion of gods over human fate is progressively substituted, also through the mediation of Stoic philosophical approach, by nods towards the power of divine prónoia, “providence.” This marks a key transition that would emerge in the other monotheistic religions as well, ensuring Alexander’s resilience in the following centuries.

Alexander the Two-Horned: The Account in the Qur’an The clearest shift towards a Christian appropriation of the king who had declared to be the son of Ammon first took place in the environment of the Near and Middle Eastern churches, whose liturgical and literary language was Syriac. Besides the translation or translations of the Pseudo-Callisthenes, two other very significant texts were composed in Syriac, most probably, in their extant shape, within a brief period between 629 and 640. They are a short prose account of Alexander’s exploits (known in scholarship as the Syriac Alexander Legend), and a parallel poetic homily (known as the Syriac Alexander Homily), both dealing mainly with Alexander’s travels in Asia, and in particular with the episode of the Macedonian king building a defensive wall to contain the Unclean Nations, the barbarous Gog and Magog, who were destined to breach that defensive barrier just before the end of the world.37 Recent scholarship has shown that the Legend, in its current

37

a general investigation on Iranian vestiges in Classical historiography on Alexander, see Parivash Jamzadeh, Alexander Histories and Iranian Reflections: Remnants of Propaganda and Resistance (Leiden, 2012). Ancient bilateral narrative contacts between Greece and Persia are examined by Richard Stoneman, “Persian Aspects of the Romance Tradition,” in Stoneman et al., eds, Alexander Romance in Persia, pp. 3-18. A Christian Legend Concerning Alexander, in Budge, The History of Alexander the Great, pp. 255-75 (Syriac text), pp. 144-161 (English translation); K. Czeglédy, “The Syriac Legend Concerning Alexander The Great,” Acta Orientalia Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 7 (1957), pp. 231-49; Gerrit J. Reinink, Das syrische Alexanderlied. Die drei Rezensionen, (2 vols., Leuven, 1983); Stephen Gero, “The Legend of Alexander the Great in the Christian Orient,” BJR 75 (1993), pp. 177-86; Gerrit J.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY form, was produced around the year 630, as a political pamphlet in support of the attempt by Heraclius to reconsolidate his empire after the long and devastating war against the Persians. In this text, Alexander is presented as the most illustrious predecessor of Heraclius in the struggle of the Graeco-Roman world against the Persians. It tells of two prophecies, the first carved by Alexander himself on the walls of the Gog and Magog Gate, forecasting the apocalyptic moment when the wall would be breached and “the earth shall melt through the blood and dung of men.” The second prophecy is attributed to the Persian king, called Tubarlaq: once defeated by Alexander, and after having agreed with him to share the task of âeguarding the barrier, he predicted that the Romans would conquer the entire world and rule it all before handing power over to the returning Messiah. The dates of these events, provided in the text, point exactly to the reign of Heraclius (610-41). Through these “wall” prophecies we can see a reference to actual walls that Heraclius had to breach in his battles against the Persians, in his bid to recover the relics of the Holy Cross that the Persians had taken from Jerusalem fifteen years earlier. Alexander’s victory over the Persian king is presented here as anticipating that of Heraclius, which was to herald a new period of Christian power and peace over the world under Byzantine rule, before the return of the Messiah. As a counterbalance—typical of the Alexander tradition—the second text was apparently written in response to the first one, presenting a more symbolic account, probably coming out of the Monophysite milieus that Heraclius had never managed to quash. The final episode, set in the mysterious Land of Darkness, and absent in the first text, reveals a disappointed king Alexander, to whom the glory of reaching the source of life is denied.38 The messianic component was upheld by references within the Judaic reflection, in which Alexander, as the precursor of Antiochus IV Epiphanes, the ferocious persecutor of Jews, had first been severely criticized in a tone that resembles that of the Zoroastrian clergy (“In the course of many

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Reinink, “Alexander the Great in the Seventh-Century Syriac ‘Apocalyptic’ Texts,” Byzantinorossika 2 (2003), pp. 150-78; Georges Bohas, Alexandre syriaque: Recueil de textes en syriaque sur Alexandre le Grand, (Lyon, 2009). In addition to bibliography in the previous footnote, see Gerrit J. Reinink, “Alexander der Große und der Lebensquell im syrischen Alexanderlied,” in Elizabeth A. Livingstone, ed., Studia Patristica XVIII/4 (Kalamazoo and Leuven, 1990), pp. 282-88; Reinink, “Heraclius the New Alexander.”

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature campaigns he captured fortified towns, slaughtered kings, traversed the earth to its remotest bounds, and plundered innumerable nations. When, at last, the world lay quiet under his rule, his pride knew no limits,” I Maccabees 1:1-3). A significant shift is evident in the works by Jewish historian Titus Flavius Josephus (1st cent. CE), who offered a far more favorable image of the Macedonian king. Josephus compares him to Moses, likening the retreat of the waters of the Sea of Pamphylia which, after having opened the way to Rome, also opens that to Jerusalem, to the crossing of the Red Sea, as signs underlying a divine design ( Judean Antiquities, II, 347-348). In the story of his visit to Jerusalem ( Judean Antiquities, XI, 317-339), Alexander recognizes the power of the God of Israel and guarantees that the Jews would be allowed to keep their own laws. He is shown the Book of Daniel which contains the prophecy that regards him (VIII, 3-10, 20-22): he, the one-horned goat would defeat and subjugate the Mede-Persian ram. At the same time, in his Jewish War, Josephus associates the descent of people from the north of the Caucasus, the Scythians (equated with Magog), with an iron barrier that Alexander had erected south of the Caspian Sea ( Jewish War, VII, 7, 4). This observation was then updated by early Christian authors such as Jerome (d. 420), preoccupied by the descent of the Huns, and by Isidore of Seville (d. 636), who described the Gothic incursions. The apocalyptic crescendo of this atmosphere reached its apex in the Syriac Legend and Homily, as well as in the Apocalypse of Pseudo-Methodius (extant in Syriac, Greek, and Latin), which most probably reflects the point of view of a monk from Northern Iraq, shocked by the rapid and irresistible advance of the Arab armies in Mesopotamia during the second half of the 7th century.39 Probably from this latter text, the motif of Alexander’s 39

Main surveys including further bibliography are Andrew R. Anderson, “Alexander at the Caspian Gates,” Transactions and Proceedings of American Philological Association 59 (1928), pp. 130-163; Andrew R. Anderson, Alexander’s Gate, Gog and Magog, and the Inclosed Nations (Cambridge, Mass., 1932); Emeri J. van Donzel and Andrea B. Schmidt, Gog and Magog in Early Eastern Christian and Islamic Sources: Sallam’s Quest for Alexander’s Wall (Leiden, 2010), pp. 3-31; Christian Thrue Djurslev, “Revisiting Alexander’s Gates against ‘Gog and Magog’: Observations on the Testimonies before the Alexander Romance Tradition,” in Stoneman et al., eds., Alexander Romance, pp. 201-14. On the developments of this motif in the Islamic context, see also Travis Zadeh, Mapping Frontiers across Medieval Islam: Geography, Translation, and the ‘Abbāsid Empire (London, 2011). Contributions on the Gog and Magog myth that span from the ancient to the contemporary era are in Ali-Asghar

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY barrier against Gog and Magog entered the Pseudo-Callisthenes cycle, in recensions λ and ε.40 It is within this apocalyptic and messianic framework that Alexander appears at the heart of the nascent monotheistic religion, Islam. In sura XVIII, vv. 83-102, of the Qur’an, Dhu’l-Qarneyn, “The Two-Horned,” is entrusted with promoting divine justice to the far ends of the earth. Having reached the “place between the two barriers,” he builds the iron and copper barrier to contain the subhuman peoples of Gog and Magog (Yâjuj va-Mâjuj), whose future descent was to signal the beginning of the end of the world. An apocalyptic prophecy follows. The first identification of Dhu’l-Qarneyn with Alexander in Muslim exegesis seems to begin with Wahb Ebn-Monabbeh, a Yemenite collector of traditions of Jewish origin. Notwithstanding this and the evident similarities of the Qur’anic section with prior and later Alexandrian literature, within the Islamic environments this identification has always been open to debate, also in view of the connection between the epithet Dhu’l-Qarneyn and ancient Himyarite traditions (in particular as recorded in Ebn-Heshâm’s Ketâb al-tijân (Book of crowns), 8th-9th century).41 The juxtaposition of the various opinions seems to have produced a conciliatory interpretative current with two distinct Dhu’l-Qarneyn: on the one hand, an ancient utopian Seyed-Gohrab, Faustina Doufikar-Aerts, Sen McGlinn, eds., Gog and Magog: The Clans of Chaos in World Literature (Amsterdam, 2007; republished as Embodiments of Evil: Gog and Magog: Interdisciplinary Studies of the ‘Other’ in Literature and Internet Texts, Leiden, 2011). 40 Jouanno, Naissance et métamorphoses, pp. 309-15, 383-84. 41 This matter has been widely debated. Relevant discussions are in: Nöldeke, Beiträge zur Geschichte des Alexanderromans, pp. 27-33; Armand Abel, “Ḏû’l Qarnayn, Prophète de l’Universalité,” Annuaire de l’Institut de Philologie et d’Histoire Orientales et Slaves 11 (1951), pp. 6-18; Tilman Nagel, Alexander der Grosse in der frühislamischen Volksliteratur (Walldorf-Hessen, 1978); François de Polignac, “L’Homme aux deux cornes: Une image d’Alexandre du symbolisme grec à l’apocalyptique musulmane,” Mélanges de l’École Française de Rome 96 (1984), pp. 29-51; Rudolph Macuch, “Pseudo-Callisthenes Orientalis and the Problem of Dhu’l-qarnain,” Graeco-Arabica 4 (1991), pp. 223-64; Kevin van Bladel, “The Alexander Legend in the Qur’ān 18: 83-102.” in Gabriel S. Reynolds, ed., The Qur’ān in Its Historical Context (London and New York, 2008), pp. 175-203; Doufikar-Aerts, Alexander Magnus Arabicus, pp. 135-92; Tommaso Tesei, “The Chronological Problems of the Qur’ān: The Case of the Story of Ḏū l-Qarnayn (Q 18:83-102),” RSO 84 (2011), pp. 457-66; Tommaso Tesei, “The Prophecy of Ḏū-l-Qarnayn (Q 18:83-102) and the Origins of the Qurʾānic Corpus,” Miscellanea Arabica (2013-14), pp. 273-90.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature liberating prophet of uncertain origin and, on the other, Alexander the Rumi, Dhu’l-Qarneyn the second.42 According to some theories, the mythical Dhu’l-Qarneyn could be identified with Cyrus the Great who, in the Book of Isaiah, is entrusted with a mission by the Biblical God that presents many similarities to the Qur’anic Dhu’l-Qarneyn (Isaiah, 44, 28-45, 7). Cyrus was identified in the two-horned ram of the prophecy in the Book of Daniel, and was held in great esteem by the Jews. Cyrus’ liberation of the Jews from the Babylonian captivity is also mentioned in the Arabic and Persian tafsirs: “A believer, […] who fought against Bokht-e Nasar and freed the People of Israel from him.”43 Alexander-Eskandar-Dhu’l-Qarneyn (the second) could only be an earthly emulator of such a powerful figure. Arabic and Persian sources provide many explanations for this epithet, but the prevailing one indicates that he was the one who reached the two “horns” (qarn) of the earth, east and west. The two horns appear in the Christian Legend as well, with an eschatological meaning, together with the other two essential elements characterizing the Qur’anic account: the building of the wall and the final prophecy. For this reason, the two texts have long been considered closely related, through an ample debate concerning chronology and direction of influence.44 However, regardless of the relationship between these two See for instance Mojmal al-tavârikh va’ l-qesas, ed. Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr (Tehran, 1939), p. 31. 43 Abu’l-Fotuh Râzi, Rowz al-jenân va rowh al-janân, ed. Abu’l-Hasan Sha’râni and Ali-Akbar Ghaffâri (12 vols., Tehran, 1961-68), VII, p. 301. See Abu’l-Kalâm Âzâd, Dhu’ l-Qarneyn hamân Kurosh-e bozorg ast, tr. Mohammad-Ebrâhim Bâstâni-Pârizi (Tehran, 1953). See also Macuch, “Pseudo-Callisthenes Orientalis,” pp. 250-57; S. Musâ Mir-Modarres, Kurosh va Dhu’ l-Qarneyn az didgâh-e târikh va âyin (Tehran, 1994). For a thorough discussion of the many issues see Safavi, Eskandar va adab­ iyyât-e Irân, pp. 265-329. See also Amnon Netzer, “Some Notes on the Characterization of Cyrus the Great in Jewish and Judeo-Persian Writings,” in Commémoration Cyrus: Hommage universel II, Acta Iranica 2 (Tehran and Liège, 1974), pp. 35-52. A late strand of authors interpreted Dhu’l-Qarneyn as an epithet of the Persian king Fereydun; see M.J. Mahjub, “Dâstân-hâ-ye âmmiyâne-ye fârsi. Eskandar-nâme,” Sokhan 10 (1959), pp. 735-42: 739. 44 Nöldeke, Beiträge zur Geschichte des Alexanderromans, pp. 27-33; Gero, “The Legend of Alexander the Great in the Christian Orient;” Brannon M. Wheeler, Moses in the Quran and Islamic Exegesis (Abingdon, Oxon, and New York, 2002), pp. 26-33; van Bladel, “The Alexander Legend in the Qur’ān 18: 83-102;” Tesei, “The Prophecy of Ḏū-l-Qarnayn (Q 18:83-102).”

42

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY texts, the association of Dhu’l-Qarneyn with Alexander cannot overlook the historical fact that the Macedonian king Alexander had declared himself son of the Egyptian God Amon-râ and had appropriated his emblem (Egyptian kings and gods were septâbui, “provided with two horns”), thus being portrayed in iconography with two great ram horns, especially on coins that had circulation, albeit intermittently, in the Near and Middle East.45 On the other hand, the quality of “having horns” also seems to agree with the pairing of Alexander-Dhu’l-Qarneyn with another section from the same sura of the Qurʾan (vv. 60-82), whose protagonist, however, is Moses. This section is divided in two parts. The first (60-65) is about Moses’ arrival at a rejuvenating water source, and his encounter with an anonymous wise man, who has been interpreted almost unanimously as the first mention of the Prophet Khezr. The second section (66-82) recounts a sapiential journey of these two sages. Whilst the second part has parallels in Rabbinical literature, the first part of this passage is related, via a series of complex relations, with the story of the Water of Life, which is fundamental to the legend of Alexander as transmitted by the Syriac Homily, some of the Greek Pseudo-Callisthenes’ recensions, and various Arabic and Persian texts.46 On the juxtaposition between Alexander and Andrew R. Anderson, “Alexander’s Horns,” Transactions and Proceedings of American Philological Association 58 (1927), pp. 100-122; Ernest A. Wallis Budge, The Alexander Book in Ethiopia (London, 1933), pp. 25, 214; Rudolph M. Macuch, “Egyptian Sources and Versions of Pseudo-Callisthenes,” in Lucia Criscuolo, Giovanni Geraci, eds., Egitto e storia antica dall’Ellenismo all’età araba (Bologna, 1989), pp. 503-11; Agnieszka Fulińska, “Son of Ammon: Ram Horns of Alexander Reconsidered,” in V. Grieb et al., eds., Alexander the Great and Egypt (Wiesbaden, 2014), pp. 119-44. On Alexander’s process of legitimization in Egypt see the collective volume Grieb et al., eds. Alexander the Great and Egypt. On the basis of a collection of rabbinical exempla in Hebrew, a shift Maqdon (Macedonian) > Maqron (Horned), favored by an easy change d/r in Hebrew characters, also has been suggested as a possible contribution to the birth of the epithet; see Moses Gaster, “An Old Hebrew Romance of Alexander,” JRAS (1897), pp. 485-549: 488. 46 Israel Friedländer, Die Chadhirlegende und der Alexanderroman. Eine sagengeschichtliche und literarhistorische Untersuchung (Leipzig, 1913); Friedrich Pfister, “Chadhir und Alexander,” in Idem, Kleine Schriften zum Alexanderroman (Meisenheim am Glan, 1976), pp. 143-150; Arent J. Wensinck, “Khaḍir,” EI2 , IV, pp. 902-5; Brannon M. Wheeler, “Moses or Alexander? Early Islamic Exegesis of Qur’ān 18: 60-65,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies, 57 (1998), pp. 191-215; Tommaso Tesei, “Some Cosmological Notions from Late Antiquity in Q 18: 60-65. The Quran in Light of Its Cultural Context,” JAOS 135 (2015), pp. 19-32; see also Anna Krasnowolska, “Ḵeżr,” 45

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature Moses various hypotheses have been formulated. It is worth emphasizing that the biblical reference to a “radiant” (Jewish root ) Moses returning from the Sinai with the tables of law, explicitly became “horned” in the Latin vulgate of S. Jerome (end of 4th century) and Medieval European iconography.47 Notwithstanding the difficulty of unraveling the relations amongst the various narrative sequences, the political and symbolical references, the transmission and exchange channels, the pair formed by Eskandar-Dhu’l-Qarneyn and Khezr, and their journey in search for the Water of Life, became a central element in Alexander’ narratives throughout Arabic and Persian literature.

2. Alexander amidst Conquest and Mission The figure of Alexander, having followed multiple paths and making so many inroads into the literary traditions, came to occupy a core position in the historical and mythical heritage of Arabic, Persian, and later, Turkish literature. This in turn led to the continuous and often extremely complex juxtaposition of different characters (Eskandar the destroyer, the legitimate Persian king, the “Two-Horned” missionary) as well as the frequent duplication of episodes, in more or less differing variants, within the same work: different versions of Alexander’s birth or rise to power, different versions of his conquest of Persia or India, and different accounts of wise meetings or wondrous episodes. In the extant texts, especially where Alexander appears only briefly, it is not often easy to decipher the origins of an author’s options, as they often nestle behind the resilience of widely spread narrations and previous authorities.

EIr, XVI, pp. 424-29. In the Greek Pseudo-Callisthenes, the adventure in the Land of Darkness in search for the Water of Life appears in recension β and some of its derivatives, namely ms. L and rec. γ; see Merkelback, Quellen, pp. 134-35; Jouanno, Naissance et métamorphoses, pp. 214, 267-69, 275-78. 47 De Polignac, “L’Homme aux deux cornes,” pp. 48-49. See also Wheeler, Moses in the Quran and Islamic Exegesis, pp. 31-32. An updated overview of many issues related to the two Qur’anic sections is Tommaso Tesei, “Deux légendes d’Alexandre le Grand dans le Coran,” (Ph.D diss., Paris INALCO and La Sapienza Rome, 2013).

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY The Builder of the Barrier: Eskandar in Religious Literature The diffusion of stories related to Dhu’l-Qarneyn, and his possible identification with Alexander, obviously dates back to the initial spread of Islam: besides showing contact with the Syriac tradition of the texts linked to the account in Sura XVIII (the Legend and the Homily), these stories are often associated with authoritative transmitters such as Ka’b-al-Ahbâr and Ebn-Abbâs, and collectors of Jewish traditions such as Wahb Ebn-Monabbeh. Oral transmission played a fundamental role at this stage. Within this framework, the many stories concerning Dhu’l-Qarneyn circulating in early religious literature are later recorded in an exemplary way by Tabari’s approach, which for a long time represented the major model of Qur’anic exegesis.48 Following his usual methodology, based on the hadith, Tabari (d. 923) presented the issue of the identification of Dhu’l-Qarneyn through the succession of various hypotheses that can be traced back to different traditions. Over all, the identification with Alexander prevails and, indeed, this is the version that Tabari developed the most. Notwithstanding this identification, however, Tabari chose not to include material of a historical nature on Alexander that he also possessed (as witnessed by its use in the Ta’rikh) and essentially followed, through Wahb Ebn-Monabbeh’s account, the symbolical narrative and geographical structure of the Qur’anic story.49 The identification with Alexander is accompanied by one of the many explanations of the epithet (the two sides of his head were made of copper),50 but the heart of the story is represented by a dialogue with God, who, once Alexander has become a pious servant, calls him and entrusts him with the mission of spreading monotheism to the four corners of the world: this is the way his Islamization is made explicit, opening the debate on his possible role as a prophet. Faced with Dhu’l-Qarneyn’s doubts about Abu-Jaʽfar Mohammad b. Jarir Tabari, Tafsir al-Tabari: Jâme’-al-bayân an ta’wil âyy al-Qor’ ân, ed. Abd-Allâh al-Turk (26 vols., Riyadh, 2003), XV, pp. 368-415. 49 Yuriko Yamanaka, “Un héros aux mille et un visages: classification des récits sur Alexandre dans la littérature médiévale arabe et persane,” in Aboubakr Chraïbi, ed., Classer les récits. Théories et pratiques (Paris, 2007), pp. 241-56; Doufikar-Aerts, Alexander Magnus Arabicus, pp. 135-92. 50 Tabari, Tafsir, p. 390. In the other account, traced back to Oqba Ebn-Amir, Tabari doesn’t explicitly assert the identification with Eskandar, but he describes Dhu’lQar­neyn as “a young man from Rum, who came and built the city of Alexandria in Egypt”: Tabari, Tafsir, p. 369. 48

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature his capabilities, expressed through a series of questions, God reassures him that he will be provided with all the tools necessary for such a feat: courage and strength, power and open spirit, linguistic abilities to understand and express himself anywhere, acute vision and capability to classify, an invincible army, and the possibility to head anywhere and strike fear in his adversaries. This is followed by a succinct description of Alexander’s campaigns with schematic geographical indications related to the Qur’anic passage (places of dawn and dusk, the right and left sides of the world) to meet the inhabitants of those lands and subjugate them to the monotheistic faith (the Nâsek and Mansek, west and east; the Hâwil and Tâwil, south and north). Once back, near the regions of the Turks, some pious folk ask for his help against the incursions and alarming demographic expansion of Gog and Magog (Yâjuj va-Mâjuj), who resemble beasts, and are destined to conquer and corrupt the earth. Dhu’l-Qarneyn accepts and, as he waits for the people to gather the necessary stones, iron and copper, explores the lands of Gog and Magog, describing their feral nature and habits. The description of the erection of the barrier is short and symbolic, too. The yellow tones of the copper and the red and black hues of the iron were silhouetted against the two mountains, where the barrier was to stand until Judgment Day (Q. XVIII. vv. 99-102). At this point, however, the story diverges from the Qur’anic verses to introduce another essential episode of the tradition of Alexander. Dhu’l-Qarneyn travels away from the barrier and soon encounters a land inhabited by a gentle and pious folk, who are equal to him and do not require any king. It is the Blessed City, and the sapiential exchange with them, which includes questions on the nature of their long life, avoidance of wars, suffering and illness, but forever mindful of death by having their tombs ready at their doors, concludes the story.51 This narration is based on the episode of the meeting between Alexander and the Gymnosophists or the Brahmans, a story that was elaborated in the Pseudo-Callisthenes (III, 5-6) on the basis of the historic accounts by Plutarch (Alexander, LXV) and Strabo (Geography, XV, 65). A different version of the original episode is in the Babylonian Talmud, in which the protagonists are referred to, in a less geographically defined manner, as “Elders of the South.”52 This episode circulated widely in the Near East and 51 Tabari, Tafsir, pp. 390-98. 52 The section on Alexander in the Babylonian Talmud includes four episodes of his adventures: the dialogue with the Elders of the South; the journey into the land of

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Asia through the Pseudo-Callisthenes, and was associated with a continuous variation of the questions and answers. The account in the Pseudo-Callisthenes was extrapolated and elaborated upon with material from the Greek Utopian tradition, possibly by the Bishop of Helenopolis Palladius (363430 ca.), creating a Greek text with a deeply idealistic character known as the Commonitorium Palladii in which the Indian sages are depositaries of a primal wisdom and surrounded by a verdant nature that allows them self-sufficiency. Although we have no direct proof of the translation of this version into any eastern language (even though it was re-interpolated in the Greek Pseudo-Callisthenes and is present both in Manuscript A, as an addition to rec. α, and in rec. γ), this tradition must have served as the basis for the elaborations that appear in Qur’anic commentaries on Dhu’l-Qarneyn’s visit to the Blessed City, possibly through the contacts between the conquerors and the local Jewish and Christian communities that took place in Alexandria after the Arab conquest. Wahb’s account of this encounter was transmitted in two different versions, one as recorded in Tabari’s Tafsir, and the other in Ebn-Heshâm’s Ketâb al-tijân.53 The Persian edition of the Tarjome-ye Tafsir-e Tabari does not contain this section of commentary (the comment on sura XVIII stops at verses 6288 on Moses and Khezr), but Wahb’s story, as recounted by Tabari, remains Darkness; the encounter with the Amazons; the arrival to the Garden of Eden. In the Palestinian Talmud, instead, Alexander’s ascent to the sky and his exploration of the deep sea are dealt with, plus his visit to King Kazia. See Saskia Dönitz, “Alexander the Great in Medieval Hebrew Tradition,” in Zuwiyya, ed., Companion to Alexander Literature, pp. 21-39; Ory Amitay, “Alexander in Bavli Tamid: in Search for a Meaning,” in Alexander Romance in Persia and the East, pp. 349-65; Aleksandra Klęczar, “Alexander in the Jewish tradition: From Second Temple Writings to Hebrew Alexander Romances,” in Moore, ed., Reception of Alexander the Great, pp. 379-402. 53 For Palladium’s Greek text: Wilhelm Berghoff, ed., Palladius de gentibus Indiae et Bragmanibus (Meisenheim am Glan, 1967). For various aspects of this textual tradition, see Friedrich Pfister, “Das Nachleben der Überlieferung von Alexander und den Brahmanen,” Hermes 76 (1941), pp. 143-169; Nagel, Alexander der Grosse in der frühislamischen Volksliteratur, pp. 50-53; Filippo Bertotti, “Vedute di Città Perfette,” Quaderni dell’Istituto Culturale della Repubblica Islamica d’Iran in Italia, 1 (1989), pp. 85-98; Richard Stoneman, “Who are the Brahmans? Indian Lore and Cynic Doctrine in Palladius’ De Bragmanibus and Its Models,” The Classical Quarterly, N.S. 44 (1994), pp. 500-510; Casari, Alessandro e Utopia nei romanzi persiani medievali, pp. 30-43; Stoneman, Life in Legend, pp. 91-106. The encounter with the Brahmans also made its way into another romance of world exploration, Asadi Tusi’s Garshâsp-nâme, with its different protagonist.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature a model for most of the early Persian Qur’anic commentators. This basic framework can be found in the commentary, Tâj al-tarâjem fi tafsir alQorʾân le’ l-aʿâjem, by Abu’l-Mozaffar Shâhfur Esfarâyeni (d. 1078), in the Kashf al-asrâr va ʿoddat-al-abrâr by the Shafiʿite scholar and mystic Abu’lFazl Rashid-al-Din Aḥmad Meybodi (dated 1126), and also in the first Twelver Shiʿite tafsir to be written in Persian (and one of the most extensive Persian tafsirs), the Rowz al-jenân va rowh al-janân by Abu’l-Fotuh Râzi (mid-12th century).54 The issue of the epithet, that has given rise to a vast series of debates, even in modern studies, is faced in the tafsirs in an increasingly extensive manner with various lists of possibilities related to the various meanings of the Arabic term qarn, as for instance in Esfarâyeni’s comment: Some said that they called him Dhu’l-Qarneyn on account of the fact that he conquered the kingdoms of Rum and Fârs, which were two communities in the highlands (qarn). Others related that they called him Dhu’l-Qarneyn because in a dream he had grasped the two extremities (qarn) of the sun, which is interpreted as the conquest of the east and the west. Some said that there were two pustules (dâne) on his head, each referred to as a horn (qarn). Others said that his life lasted two generations (qarn) of men. And others said it was because he fought with both hand and foot.55

Yet other possible meanings were added by the Shiʻite commentator Abu’l-Fotuh Râzi: Because on his head there were two horn-like features. […] Because there were two curls (gisu) on his head that in Arabic are called qarn. […] Because he was of noble birth both on his mother’s and his father’s side. […] He was given the knowledge of zâher and bâten. […] Because he entered both Light and Darkness.56

At a closer inspection, the two central episodes transmitted by Wahb seem to produce a dialogue. The first, with the divine appointment, the Abu’l-Mozaffar Shâhfur Esfarâyeni, Tâj al-tarâjem fi tafsir al-Qorʾân le’ l-aʿâjem, ed. Najib Mâyel Heravi and Ali-Akbar Elâhi Khorâsâni (3 vols., Tehran, 1996), III, pp. 1330-41; Abu’l-Fazl Rashid-al-Din Meybodi, Kashf al-asrâr va oddat al-abrâr, ed. Ali-Asghar Hekmat (10 vols., Tehran, 1952-60), V, pp. 730-59; Abu’l-Fotuh Râzi, Rowz al-jenân, VII, pp. 368-91. 55 Esfarâyeni, Tâj al-tarâjem, III, p. 1331. 56 Abu’l-Fotuh Râzi, Rowż al-jenân, p. 371. 54

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY diffusion of the faith and the construction of a barrier, inserts Dhu’l-Qarneyn in the eschatological course of revelation. And this gives rise to the question by many commentators on whether he is a prophet or not, with different answers, but all tendentially limiting in their scope. According to Meybodi: Some said that he was a messenger (peyghambar) but not an envoy (morsel), and they were the closest to being exact and just. A report (khabar) tells that the Prophet of God said: “[in Arabic] I do not know whether Dhu’l-Qarneyn has been a prophet (nabi) or not.” If this report is true, then further research on this issue is troubling and straying.57

The second episode seems to counterbalance the first, somehow implicitly suggesting a negative response to this question on the prophecy of Dhu’l-Qarneyn. The meeting with the community of the Blessed City established that there were a pious and just people whose privileged condition did not depend on anyone’s mission or any king’s reign. This issue will be unraveled in its maximum symbolic and poetic expression by Nezâmi. The figure of Dhu’l-Qarneyn is also identified in the high lineage of his political collocation, amongst cosmocrators: Some said he was a messenger (peyghambar); others said he was a just and wise king (malek). Mojâhed said that four people conquered all of Earth: two believers, Soleymân and Dhu’l-Qarneyn, and two unbelievers, Nemrod and Nebuchadnezzar (Bokhto Nassar).58

The list, which is evidently of Hebrew origin, showing again the essential role of the esrâ’iliyyât in the elaboration of the Dhu’l-Qarneyn figure, presents two Mesopotamian kings, both symbols of great pride and challenge to the divinities: one, the mythical Biblical king to whom the proud construction of the Tower of Babel is attributed; the other, the historical destroyer of the Temple of Jerusalem who deported the Jews. The two believers, instead, are two figures of salvation in Jewish history: one is king Solomon, the wise creator of the Temple; the other is the Two-Horned, thus perhaps the Alexander of the messianic tradition embraced by Josephus. The parallel between Alexander and Solomon will remain a common 57 Meybodi, Kashf al-asrâr, p. 735. 58 Esfarâyeni, Tâj al-tarâjem, III, p. 1331, the list is present in the other commentaries as well.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature trait in Arabic and Persian literature. In reference to his wisdom, some commentators add that four sciences were bestowed on four individuals: to Adam, the science of names; to Joseph, the science of interpretation; to Khezr, the science of the invisible, and to Dhu’l-Qarneyn, the science of the talismans (elm-e telesm).59 Indeed, the relation with Khezr is fundamental to the evolution of the character of Dhu’l-Qarneyn in Arabic and Persian literature. The roots of this bond lie in the Qur’anic story of the fish that comes back to life after being released by Moses’ servant in the water “at the confluence of two seas” (majma’ al-bahreyn), and the subsequent meeting with the wise servant of God who acted as his guide (vv. 60-65). The unknown wise-man quoted in v. 65 has been interpreted by Muslim commentators, since Ebn-Abbâs, as the first implicit mention of the immortal saint and prophet Khezr (Arabic al-Khiḍr, “the Green” or “the Verdant”), a complex figure of the Islamic religion.60 In the first tafsirs, usually, the portrayal of the search for the Water of Life is related to the couple Moses/Khezr, but soon the story is extended and spread, integrating narrative elements that were associated, in the circulating texts, with the search for the Water of Life by Alexander that were present in the Syriac Homily, in the Babylonian Talmud, and in some recensions of the Greek Pseudo-Callisthenes. In the Greek and Syriac versions of this story, the role of the finder of the source is attributed to Alexander’s cook, who accidentally bathes in it, becoming immortal. In many Islamic versions, Khezr is the companion and guide of Alexander in the Land of Darkness; his task is to show him the exact location of the Water of Life, which is consciously sought by the king. In the darkness, the two are separated. Only Khezr reaches the spring, bathes in it and drinks it, becoming immortal, to the disappointment of Alexander, who must forsake his illusions of omnipotence. The dry salted fish, as a tool for identifying the spring, is present in some ancient versions, as in the Greek Alexander Romance, and was then often substituted, for the purpose of orientation, by a variety of tools, including, at times, a gem with special powers.61 59 Meybodi, Kashf al-asrâr, p. 736. 60 Patrick Franke, Begegnung mit Khiḍr: Quellenstudien zum Imaginaren im traditionellen Islam (Stuttgart, 2000). 61 A still very valuable survey of the main Arabic versions is in Friedländer, Die Chadhirlegende.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Western scholarship has suggested various antecedents or correspondences with the figure of Khezr, from the Utnapishtim of the Sumerian Epic of Gilgamesh, as the immortal indicator of the plant of youth, to the Glaucus of Greek mythology, the “cerulean” (glàukos) fisherman who becomes an immortal marine demon, obviously filtered by the figure of Alexander’s cook in the Pseudo-Callisthenes. The Muslim exegesis insisted instead on the relation with Elijah, the prophet of the Judeo-Christian tradition who rose to heaven alive, and sometimes even fully identified him as such. When portrayed distinctly, the two prophets often act in tandem in many accounts in the “stories of the prophets” and Qur’anic commentaries. Sometimes, they even journey to the Fountain of Life together and drink from it. We can also establish that there is a close and detailed relation, through Syriac mediation, with the 4th century Christian legend concerning Saint Sylvester, Pope Sylvester I, who allegedly baptized Emperor Constantine by immersing him in the “Fountain of Life.” In the Latin medieval tradition, Sylvester was known as “the Green.”62 Amongst the early Persian tafsirs, that of Abu-Bakr Atiq Surâbâdi (d. 1100) stands out for its already markedly popular tendency to mix the summarized and symbolic Qur’anic plot with elements from parallel historiographic and legendary traditions. For example, it narrates the clash of Dhu’l-Qarneyn (Eskandar b. Qeysar) with Darius, including a version of the exchange of letters and gifts with the whip and sphere, which can 62 The connection between Khezr and Utnapishtim was suggested by Mark Lidzbarski, “Wer ist Chadhir?” Zeitschrift für Assyriologie 7 (1892), pp. 104-16; the literary tie with the Greek myth of Glaucus was proposed in the same journal issue by Karl Dyroff, “Wer ist Chadhir?” Zeitschrift für Assyriologie, 7 (1892), pp. 319-27, and later supported by Friedländer, Die Chadhirlegende, pp. 107-23. See also Bruno Meissner, Alexander und Gilgamos (Leipzig, 1894); Wouter F. M. Henkelman, “Beware of Dim Cooks and Cunning Snakes: Gilgameš, Alexander, and the Loss of Immortality,” in Robert Rollinger, Birgit Gufler, Martin Lang and Irene Madreiter, eds., Interkulturalität in der Alten Welt: Vorderasien, Hellas, Ägypten und die vielfältigen Ebenen des Kontakts (Wiesbaden, 2010), pp. 323-60. For the relation with Elijah, see Louis Massignon, “Elie et son role transhistorique, Khadiriya, en Islam,” in Idem, Opera Minora, ed. Youakim Moubarac (3 vols., Beirut, 1963), I, pp. 142-61; Arent J. Wensinck[-G. Vajda], “Ilyās,” EI2 , III, p. 1156; Wensinck, “Khaḍir.” On the connection with Saint Sylvester, see Mario Casari, “La Fontana della Vita tra Silvestro e Khizr. Alessandro e Costantino a confronto,” in Giovanna Carbonaro, Eliana Creazzo, Natalia L. Tornesello, eds., Medioevo Romanzo e Orientale: Macrotesti fra Oriente e Occidente (Soveria Mannelli, 2003), pp. 225-37.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature be traced back to the Graeco-Syriac tradition, followed by the subsequent conquest of Persia and India. The conquest of the cities of the Far East (Jâbalqâ and Jâbalsâ) is completed through the erection of a variant of the Lighthouse of Alexandria, which was used here as a burning glass to set fire to the wooden houses. The inhabitants surrender and offer three gifts: a horse, a sword and a wise man. However, Alexander, notwithstanding his great conquests, is afflicted by the fear of death and having conferred with his wise advisors, embarks on a voyage to the Land of Darkness in search of the Fountain of Life, guided by Khezr, and with the usual outcome. Returning disappointed, Alexander encounters an angel who presents him with a precious stone and orders him to weigh it; however, no other stone manages to balance its weight. The angel then suggests that Alexander add a handful of earth to the scale. The earth is heavier and tips the scales. The moral is that only the earth of the sepulcher can satisfy greed. The episode, which is of Jewish origin and is related to a Talmudic passage that narrates Alexander’s ascent to the Terrestrial Paradise, appeared frequently in narrations about Alexander.63 Surâbâdi’s Tafsir clearly illustrates how the figure of Dhu’l-Qarneyn passed into the narrative genre of the qesas al-anbiyâ’ (stories of the prophets) which, ever since its beginnings in Arabic, and although related to exegetic literature, is more open to extra-canonical traditions and the influx of popular and oral narrations. One of the most representative Arabic works of this genre is by Abu-Eshâq Tha’labi, the Neshâpuri exegete (d. 1036). It implicitely resolved the debate on whether or not Dhu’l-Qarnayn was a proper prophet, in his Arâ’es al-majâles (The Brides of Sessions), as in nearly every Persian qesas al-anbiyâ’, apart from, there is a chapter devoted to him. These chapters, which flow with the rapid and concise rhythm of epitomes, represent an excellent synthesis of the interwoven sources regarding Alexander within the Islamic domain. At a first glance, the many often-anonymous extant texts of the Persian qesas al-anbiyâ’ genre, reveal a great range of variants that must still be studied and which could provide invaluable information on the chronology of the absorption of the various episodes concerning Alexander into Persian tradition. One of the supposedly most ancient is dated 963, the year in which a group of scholars convened by a Shaikh Mohammad Hoveyzi began, upon orders from Soltân Ghiyâth-al-Din Mozaffar, the translation of 63 Abu-Bakr Surâbâdi, Qesas-e Qor’ ân-e majid, bargerefte az tafsir-e Abu-Bakr Atiq Nishâburi Surâbâdi (Tehran, 1968), pp. 220-24.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY an Arabic work, supplemented by other sources. Both attributions and dates are uncertain, but the text is very representative and there seem to be various recensions with minor differences, also testified by lithographs produced in the latter half of the 19th century.64 A very similar plot is in one of the few qesas al-anbiyâ’ texts whose author’s name is given: Abu-Eshaq Ebrâhim Nisâburi (11th century), and it shows a significant pattern of the work of narrative integration. The first section is based on the model of the commentaries: the reference to the Qur’anic passage about Dhu’l-Qarneyn and the description of his travels in the west and east. However, these are integrated with two different episodes: in the west a visit to a fortified city into which his soldiers disappeared, in the east the arrival in a city, where he was served a banquet with inedible golden objects to admonish him of his vain greed (in the Babylonian Talmud the episode takes place with the Amazons, and it originates in a Jewish legend). This is followed by the journey to India and the exchange with a wise ambassador of an unnamed local king (related to the story of King Keyd, discussed below). From here, Alexander travels northeast and reaches a place where he is asked to erect the barrier to contain Gog and Magog. The description of the barrier and the prophecy regarding the end of the world are very detailed. According to the text, when Gog and Magog will manage to overcome the barrier and break into the world, pillaging it, “their vanguard will be in Shâm and their main body in Isfahan.”65 If up to this point the account seems to follow the framework of the Qur’anic story, after the episode of the barrier, the qesas al-anbiyâ’ strays away from the tafsir model, replacing the episode of the Blessed City with the journey to the Land of Darkness. This episode begins with a question that Dhu’l-Qarneyn poses 64 Ahmad b. Mohammad Tha’labi, Qesas al-anbiyâʼ al-mosammâ arâʼes al-majâles, ed. Mostafâ-al-Bâbi al-Halabi (Cairo, 1954), pp. 359-70; see also the English translation: ʿArāʾis al-Majālis fī Qiṣaṣ al-Anbiyāʾ or “Lives of the Prophets” as Recounted by Abū Iṣhāq Aḥmad ibn Muḥammad ibn Ibrāhīm al-Thaʻ labī, tr. William M. Brinner (Leiden, Boston, and Cologne, 2002), pp. 605-21. On the Persian work allegedly supervised by Hoveyzi, see Storey, PL, I/1, p. 158; and the addition in Charles A. Storey and Yuri E. Bregel, Adabiyyât-e fârsi bar mabnâ-ye ta’ lif-e Estorey, ed. and tr. Yahyâ Âryanpur, Sirus Izadi, Karim Keshâvarz, and Ahmad Monzavi (2 vols.,Tehran, 1983), II, p. 720. 65 In other versions, they say that “the rearguard is in Balkh”; see Qeṣaṣ al-anbiyâ’ (lithographed edition, Tabriz, 1864), pp. 222-28: 226; Edward Edwards, A Catalogue of the Persian Printed Books in the British Museum (London, 1922), p. 394, no. 14783.d8).

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature to his court of wise men: “Have you in any book come across a stratagem to prolong life?” One of them answers: “In the Testament of Adam, we have found that, by God’s grace, there is a source of water behind Mount Qâf in the Darkness (târiki). That spring is whiter than milk and sweeter than honey.66 Whoever drinks a sip of it will not die until he asks God.” Dhu’lQar­neyn heads towards the Land of Darkness, placing Khezr in charge of the military vanguard, providing him with a number of mares (which in the Greek romance help to find the way, but play no role here) and a gem that can illuminate dark roads. Khezr will find himself alone at the spring, bathe in it and drink it. Dhu’l-Qarneyn does not find the spring. He first encounters some talking birds with whom he has an exchange on the state of the world. Then he encounters the Angel Esrâfil, who repeats a message on his greed: “Was the reign of light not enough for you, that you came into Darkness?” The angel gives him a gem to weigh and, according to the prevalent narrative model, it will be Khezr who reveals the secret that it can only be counterbalanced by a handful of earth. Dhu’l-Qarneyn understands the message, pays his army and retreats to meditate. Just before dying, he sends a letter to inform and console his mother of his imminent death.67 Two observations are in order to understand the complexity of the cosmographic issues that underlined these narrations. First of all, concerning the barrier, the Christian tradition tended to identify the peoples of Gog and Magog with the nomadic populations that threatened the outer limits of the Roman, then Byzantine, empire in successive waves, descending from Central Asia and especially the steppes behind the Caspian Sea, through the passes in the Caucasus (Scythians, Huns, Alans, Khazars). The position where the barrier was erected was therefore identified as the Caspian Gates, corresponding to the two main passes in the Caucasus mountain range: the Derbent Pass on the Caspian coast and even more probably the Darial Pass (in Eastern Georgia). This was an area where the Romans and the Persians had collaborated and also skirmished over the erection and maintenance of defensive structures.68 With the rise to power 66

Other texts complete the description as “colder than ice, softer than butter and more aromatic than musk;” same work as previous note, p. 226. 67 Abu-Eshaq Ebrâhim b. Mansur Ebn-Khalaf Nisâburi, Qesas al-anbiyâ’, ed. Habib Yaghmâ’i (Tehran, 1961), pp. 321-33. 68 On Sasanid walls, see Touraj Daryaee, “If these Walls Could Speak,” in Stefano Pellò, ed., Borders: Itineraries on the Edges of Iran, Venice, 2016, pp. 79-88.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY of the Caliphate, the awareness of the importance of this pass remained alive, but new waves of Turks and then Mongols widened the horizon, causing the lands of Gog and Magog and the containment barrier to be pinpointed farther northeast, towards the so-called Iron Gate defile between Balkh and Samarqand, or even farther. In his Tafsir, Tabari states that the two mountains mentioned in the Qur’an are located “in Armenia, in Azerbaijan, or in the most eastern part of the land of the Turks.”69 Esfarâyeni wrote that “Yâjuj and Mâjuj were the children of Yafeth b. Nuh, Zahhâk indicated that they were a community that were part of the Turks, and Ka’b-al-Ahbâr described them as having a strange condition: they were sons of Adam, but not of Eve.”70 A reconstruction of the route undertaken by Sallâm the Interpreter (tarjomân, possibly a Jewish Khazar), who had been sent by the caliph al-Wâtheq (842-847) to look for the barrier erected by Dhu’l-Qarneyn, seems to indicate that he crossed the vast Turkish lands and pushed as far as the great fortifications that the Chinese had built to defend themselves from the nomadic peoples descending from the northern regions. Although the indications vary and are not clear, the area that progressively prevails in the qesas al-anbiyâ’ and related literature seems to be Northeastern Asia, often in connection to China, amongst the fifth and seventh climate. In fact, this position adapts perfectly to the updated Iranian geo-political context and is the one we find most often in Persian texts.71 Secondly, the association of the archetypical story of the search for the Fountain of Life with Alexander and his journey into the Land of Darkness, is related to the account presented in the Syriac Homily, in the Babylonian Talmud and in some recensions of the Pseudo-Callisthenes. However, the reference to the Testament of Adam as a source for the news concerning the Fountain of Life does not appear in any of these texts. The Adamaic sector of Old Testament Apocryphal literature included texts that circulated in various languages of the Near East, narrating the life of Adam and Eve after their expulsion from Paradise: their bitterness, fear, settling into 69 Tabari, Jâme’ al-bayân, p. 16. 70 Esfarâyeni, Tâj al-tarâjem, III, p. 1335. 71 Van Donzel and Schmidt, Gog and Magog, pp. 63-128, 131-268; Zadeh, Mapping Frontiers across Medieval Islam. See also Ali-Asghar Seyed-Gohrab, “Unfathomable Evil: The Presentation of Gog and Magog in Persian Literature,” in Ali-Asghar Seyed-Gohrab, Faustina Doufikar-Aerts, and Sen McGlinn, eds., Gog and Magog: The Clans of Chaos in World Literature (Amsterdam, 2007), pp. 91-109.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature a hostile environment, new temptations, and their children and descendants.72 There is often a section dedicated to the imminent death of Adam and a description of his testament, usually in favor of his son, Seth. The account narrated by Adam to Seth contains a series of notations related to the location and nature of the Terrestrial Paradise. The reference to this literary sector as it is found in the qesas al-anbiyâ texts, together with the other glosses on the nature of the source, are quite ancient, and they point at a relevant role of the Judeo-Christian tradition in the shaping of this episode in the Alexander legend, its transmission to the Islamic milieu, in Arabic and then Persian literature, and in particular in the development of its cosmological and cosmographical configuration, as it will be discussed in the section on Nezâmi. The stratified composition reveals how the agile and flexible structure (not unlike the Greek Letters on wonders) of the chapters from the qesas al-anbiyâ’, with their status midway between sacred authority and popular diffusion, were one of the most important vehicles in the blending of the issues related to the tradition of Dhu’l-Qarneyn with those deriving from the Alexander Romance and various other traditions, particularly from the Jewish and Christian domain, driving the transmission of the narrative heritage on Alexander towards historiography and other literary genres, as well as acting as reference genre for some of the main romances in verse and prose. Sometimes these chapters on Dhu’l-Qarneyn would grow with narrative material and achieve an independent status, as is testified by the presence in some manuscripts of an autonomous story about Dhu’l-Qarneyn which clearly derive from qesas al-anbiyâ’ genre. This is the case of one qesse-ye Dhu’ l-Qarneyn appended to a treatise on natural sciences (Farrokh-nâme by Jamâli Yazdi) in at least two manuscripts from the late 17th century: this qesse follows the main plot of the qesas al-anbiyâ’ strand, with some valuable integrations that may be traceable to old sources.73 72 Stephen E. Robinson, The Testament of Adam: An Examination of the Syriac and Greek Traditions (Chico, CA, 1982), pp. 3-18; Jean-Claude Haelewyck, Clavis Apocryphorum Veteris Testamenti (Turnhout, 1998), pp. 1-29. 73 MS Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Supplément persan 1568, ff. 145b-152b; MS Paris, Bibliothèque du Musée National d’Histoire Naturelle, 472, ff. 173b-195b. The first MS is incomplete; its portion of text was published by Iraj Afshâr, “Qesse-i az Dhu’l-Qarneyn,” FIZ (1969), pp. 221-31; for the second complete MS, see Casari, “The King Explorer,” pp. 198-99. The Farrokh-nâme is extant in other manuscripts

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY The Conquest of Asia: Eskandar in Historiography When, at the beginning of the Abbasid era, Arabic historiography—often produced by authors of Iranian origin—began to encompass the tradition of the siyar moluk al-ajam, the biographies of the Persian kings, especially through the various Arabic translations of the Khʷadây-nâmag, it had access to a more detailed chronology of pre-Islamic history, which was soon also to be integrated with notions of Greek chronology, through works such as Ptolemy’s Canon. The first universal histories, produced in the latter half of the 9th century, integrated the monotheist concept of ancient history, based on the Bible and the esrâ’iliyyât, with the Iranian chronology organized around the figures of the ancient Persian kings. Within this framework, the controversy over the identity of Dhu’l-Qarneyn continued amongst Muslim intellectuals, but the historical collocation and the episodes of Eskandar’s life and feats became a stable part of the description of the pre-Islamic past—usually in the section on the Persian kings—centered on the war against Darius and the history of his Asian kingdom.74 The negative influence of the Zoroastrian tradition can still be perceived in the works of some authors, such as Ebn-Qoteybe (d. 889) or Hamze Esfahâni (d. after 961). The latter, however, presents a theme that will become recurrent in Alexander’s historiography and romances: after having conquered Persia and killed most of the country’s aristocracy, and fearing revenge by their sons, Alexander writes to his tutor Aristotle asking him for his opinion on the project of eliminating them too, to avoid any possible risk of revenge. In response Aristotle warns most emphatically that the elimination of the princes would pose a hazard to the control of the kingdom. They must be spared, but divided by assigning a different province to each one. as well: Abu-Bakr Motahhar Jamâli Yazdi, Farrokh-nâme, ed. Iraj Afshâr (Tehran, 2007). 74 M. Grignaschi, “La Nihāyatu-l-’arab fī aḫbāri-l-Furs wa-l-ʽArab (Première partie),” BEO 22 (1969), p. 15-67; M. Grignaschi, “La Nihāyatu-l-’arab fī aḫbāri-l-Furs wal-ʽArab et le Siyaru mulūki-l-ʻaǧam du Ps. Ibn-al-Muqaffaʻ,” BEO 26 (1973), pp. 83184; Michel M. Mazzaoui, “Alexander the Great and the Arab Historians,” Graeco-Arabica 4 (1991), pp. 33-44; Yuriko Yamanaka, “Les modes de transmission du savoir: Alexandre le Grand et l’évolution de l’historiographie arabe,” in Akira Saito and Yusuke Nakamura, eds., Les outils de la pensée: Étude historique et comparative des ‘textes’ (Paris, 2010), pp. 99-110; Doufikar-Aerts, Alexander Magnus Arabicus, pp. 21-35; Marco Di Branco, Alessandro Magno. Eroe arabo nel Medioevo (Rome, 2011).

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature In this way, the controversies that would arise amongst them would prevent them from allying themselves against Alexander. This exchange of letters is already present in the Arabic Epistolary Romance compiled by order of Sâlem Abu’l-Alâ’ (Letters XI and XII), and was also summarized by Ebn-alMoqaffâ’ in his introduction to the Arabic translation of the Letter of Tansar, which is extant in the Persian version included in the Târikh-e Tabarestân by Ebn-Esfandiyâr (d. 1205). In this text, Aristotle adds some considerations on the intrinsic qualities of the Persian nobility: “The people of Pars are pre-eminent for courage and boldness and skill on the day of battle, qualities which form one of the mightiest tools of empire and instruments of power. If you destroy them, you will have overthrown one of the greatest pillars of excellence in the world.”75 By inducing distinct “mirror-for-princes” features that will characterize historiographical accounts concerning Alexander in Arabic and Persian literature, this exchange also introduces the theme of the creation of the moluk al-tawâ’ef (“the Party Kings,” the Arabic translation of Middle Persian kadag-khʷadâyân), the fragmentary political heredity of Alexander’s kingdom, which was one of the accusations against him by the Zoroastrian tradition. Traditionally, this term is used to indicate the lords of the Iranian provinces who were to manage their autonomy until unification by the Arsacid dynasty (the Parthians), themselves included under the same label that was consolidated at the beginning of the Islamic Age: the division of the Iranian land among these lords also is recorded in the version of Alexander’s testament that is included in the Syriac Pseudo-Callisthenes. However, it seems that this expression preserves a trace of the clashes among the Diadochi, Alexander’s generals who gained control of different parts of the empire at his death. The author of the Fârs-nâme, Ebn-al-Balkhi (before 1116), seems to be aware of this as he indicates, in his initial survey of the Persian royal dynasties, that between the first two (Pishdâdiyân and Keyâniyân) and the second two (Ashghâniyân and Sâsâniyân), there is the reign of Eskandar and the Rumiyân (the “Romans”) who reigned after him.76 The Letter of Tansar, tr. Mary Boyce (Rome, 1968), p. 27. See also Hamze Esfahâni, Ta’rikh seni moluk al-arz va’ l-anbiyâ’, ed. Joseph Gottwald (2 vols., Leipzig, 184448), I, pp. 42-45. A different perspective had been reported by Plutarch in his minor work on Alexander (De Alexandri Magni fortuna aut virtute, I, 6): against Aristotle’s advice, Alexander had avoided rebellions in Persia by not treating the Persians as inferior barbarians. 76 Ebn-al-Balkhi, Fârs-nâme, ed. Guy Le Strange and Reynold A. Nicholson (Cambridge, 1921), pp. 8-9; on the exchange of letters and its consequences, see pp. 57-59. 75

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY In fact, Alexander’s story would soon be presented in historiography in an increasingly complex manner, which reveals the confluence of many different sources and, in particular, the absorption of the tradition of the Pseudo-Callisthenes. Regardless of the question whether this text had been translated into Middle Persian or not, we still would not know if it had been included in one of the Middle Persian or Arabic versions of the Khʷadâynâmag, or if it circulated in an autonomous (Arabic) form. However, the possibility that at least one version of the Pseudo-Callisthenes, characterized by specifically Iranian traits, was passed down to some of the first Arab historians compiling universal histories (Dinavari, the anonymous author of the Nehâyat al-arab fi akhbâr al-Fors va’ l-Arab, Tabari, and Tha’âlebi),77 should be put beside the observation that these authors were absorbing various other sources as well, as shown by clear Islamized characters of Alexander in some of them, or the presence of other details, such as Alexander’s death in Jerusalem (instead of Babylon). The latter variant, presented by both Dinavari (see below) and the Nehâyat, and shared by some other Arabic texts belonging to the western branch of the Alexander tradition, may go back to Jewish accounts, and mirrors a peculiar Syriac narrative feature (in the prose Legend in particular) according to which Alexander went to offer his prayers in Jerusalem before heading back to Alexandria where he died (leaving his silver throne to be sent to the holy city).78 One of the first Arabic historiographic texts that provides a developed framework is al-Akhbâr al-tevâl by Dinavari (d. 902), an historian probably of Iranian origin, who presents a summary of the life and feats of Alexander that follows the structure of the Pseudo-Callisthenes, through a narrative form that implies numerous dialogical sections. The Iranian birth legend is enriched with a detail that narrates that Dârâb tried to cure the halitosis of Philip’s daughter with a herb called sandar, suggested as the origin of Alexander’s name. Later Persian variants substitute this herb with garlic (eskandarus). Dinavari also introduces significant elements that are clearly See also Yuriko Yamanaka, “Ambiguïté de l’image d’Alexandre chez Firdawsī: les traces des traditions sassanides dans le Livre des Rois,” in Harf-Lancner et al., eds., Alexandre le Grand dans les littératures, pp. 341-353: 344-48. 77 As suggested by Manteghi, Alexander the Great in the Persian Tradition, pp. 21-45. 78 Dinavari, al-Akhbâr al-tevâl, ed. Vladimir Guirgass (Leiden, 1888), pp. 31-41: 41; Nehâyat al-arab fi akhbâr al-Fors va’ l-Arab, ed. Mohammad-Taqi Dâneshpazhuh (Tehran, 1995), pp. 99, 110-58: 155-57.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature based on Qur’anic elaborations on the figure of Dhu’l-Qarneyn, which also circulated orally during the first centuries of Islam. (1) A bitter quarrel with his tutor Aristotle, who challenges his cruelty (and is put in prison for this), ended up with Alexander’s conversion from idolatry into faith in the only God; indeed, his Persian campaign is a conversion campaign. (2) Amongst his many missions, Alexander journeys to Yemen where he obtains the submission of king Tobba’-al-Aqran (which seems to present a juxtaposition with the Himyarite legends associated to Dhu’l-Qarneyn by some of the commentators). (3) Alexander even makes a pilgrimage to the House of God in Mecca and puts the holy city in the hands of Nazr EbnKenâne, the mythical founder of the tribe from which the Qureysh were to descend. Apparently this is the oldest extant record of this episode, which will be repeated by many Arab and Persian authors: possibly based on Alexander’s unfulfilled will to conquer Arabia, as related for instance by Arrian, VII, 20, 1-10. It is also a counterpart to the Jewish tradition of the visit to the Temple of Jerusalem. (4) Alexander explores various Turkish lands in the Caucasus and Central Asia and reaches China, after having erected the barrier against Gog and Magog.79 The number of episodes is further extended in Tabari’s (d. 923) history, Ta’rikh al-rosol va’ l-moluk, where, following the hadith method rather than a continuous narration, he presents a series of variants of differing length to the story. They are attributed to different sources and present traces of the Zoroastrian tradition (the destruction of books) as well as of the Pseudo-Callisthenes (for example, the exchange of letters with Darius and the gift of a polo club, ar. sawlajân), extending the horizon of Alexander’s explorations to the North Pole (qotb al-shamâl).80 What is not present in Tabari’s version are the characteristics of the Dhu’l-Qarneyn tradition, an epithet that is not associated with Alexander in his Ta’rikh, although it contains, amongst other items, a genealogy, combining elements from Jewish and Greek mythological sources, that traces his lineage back to Abraham. Moreover, it also includes the hypothesis of his descent from Dârâb, which 79 Dinavari, al-Akhbâr al-tevâl, pp. 31-41. See also Michael R. Jackson Bonner, AlDīnawarī’s Kitāb al-Ahbār al-Ṭiwāl: An Historiographical Study of Sasanian Iran (Bures-sur-Yvette, 2015), pp. 51-62. 80 Tabari, Ta’rikh al-rosol va’ l-moluk, I/2, pp. 692-704. See also El-Sayed M. Gad, “AlTabari’s Tales of Alexander: History and Romance,” in Stoneman, et al., eds. Alexander Romance in Persia and the East, pp. 219-31.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY was instead the object of a severe, almost mocking, critique by the famous Iranian polymath Biruni (d. 1050) in his Arabic work, al-Âthâr al-bâqiye (Vestiges of the Past), which includes a compact summary of Alexander’s story from a variety of sources, and spans from the construction of the barrier against Gog and Magog to the visit to the Temple of Jerusalem and even, a rare reference, a mention of the Greek wars that preceded the Persian expedition.81 Tabari presents a trait that is unknown to the Greek versions of the Pseudo-Callisthenes, that of Alexander’s son being offered his father’s kingdom, and his refusal in favor of an ascetic life: this will play a role in the romance transcriptions. In the important universal history dedicated to the Ghaznavid ruler of Khorasan and attributed to the Neshâpuri man of letters, Abu-Mansur Tha’âlebi (d. 1039), an extended account of Alexander’s reign mixes the Pseudo-Callisthenes narrative with features of the Dhu’l-Qarneyn tradition, and includes episodes that come from very different lines, such as the meeting with the Indian sage king Keyd. In confirming Alexander’s role as a destroyer, Tha’âlebi also highlights his many constructions: “In the west he founded the city of Eskandar­iyye (Alexandria), and the city of Malatiye; in China several cities, among which Borj al-Hejârat. In Khorasan he founded the city of Samarqand and the city of Herat, and he surrounded Marv al-Shâhjân with a wall, a parasang in length and width. He founded Nasâ and the city of Isfahan, in the shape of a serpent, and in India he founded Sarandib.”82 For obvious reasons, the value of the foundation of Alexandria, central to the Greek Pseudo-Callisthenes, is reflected much more in the Arabic tradition than in Persian literature, where the accent is more on the foundation of Iranian or Central Asian cities. From this point of view, Mas’udi (d. 956) in his Moruj al-dhahab deserves special notice. His account rests not only on a personal reading of the Pseudo-Callisthenes tradition (apparently through a channel tied to the peculiar branch of the β recension represented by the manuscript L), but possibly also on contributions from Byzantine as well as Christian-Arabic historiographic sources. Mas’udi presents a distinctive description of the building of Alexandria and the Pharos (attributed to Alexander although 81 Biruni, al-Âthâr al-bâqiye an al-qorun al-khâliye, ed. Eduard C. Sachau (Leipzig, 1878), pp. 36-42. 82 Tha’âlebi, Ghorâr, ed. and tr. Zotenberg, pp. 392-458, in particular, pp. 414-15; the sighting of a serpent was associated to the foundation of Alexandria in the Greek Pseudo-Callisthenes.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature it was historically achieved by Ptolemy II, 308-246 BC), in which ancient Himyarite stories concerning the mythical king Shaddâd b. Âd are juxtaposed with a version of Alexander’s submarine immersion.83 Some Arab authors also associate the foundation of Alexandria with an account regarding Alexander’s ascension: a very different episode from Alexander’s aerial journey related in the Greek and then Latin and European vernacular tradition, but which shares with the latter a sense of limitation of Alexander’s dominion.84 With all its complexity, this is the framework that introduces Alexander to Persian historiography, which omits just about any reserves on the identification between Eskandar and Dhu’l-Qarneyn, probably under the growing influence of the very successful genre of the qesas al-anbiyâ’. In his Persian version of the Târikh-e Tabari, the Samanid Minister Abu-Ali Bal’ami (d. 974 or later) abandoned the prudent stance of his model and, in discussing the events related to the king of the reign of Greece (Yunân) in the land of Rum (zamin-e Rum), Philip (Filfus), tributary of Dârâ al-Akbar, Darius the Great, affirmed that “Philip had a son, whom he called Eskandar, and he is Dhu’l-Qarneyn.” This is followed by two juxtaposed sections. The first follows its Arabic source along the line of the Pseudo-Callisthenes narrative (Eskandar’s refusal to pay tribute to Dârâ, the war with the Zang, the Ethiopians, the exchange of letters between Darius and Alexander, the defeat and death of Darius on Alexander’s lap, a brief description of the conquest of India and the expeditions to Central Asia, China and onto the Land of Darkness, and then Alexander’s death), integrated with a small section based on the Zoroastrian tradition (the destruction of Iranian cities, the book burning, and the fragmentation of the kingdom). The second section on the history of Dhu’l-Qarnayn is derived directly from the tradition 83 Mas’udi, Moruj al-dhahab, ed. and transl. Abel Pavet de Courteille and Charles Barbier de Meynard, as Les prairies d’or (9 vols., Paris, 1861-77), II, pp. 242-78, 42041. See also de Polignac, “Al-Iskandariyya: oeil du monde et frontière de l’inconnu,” Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome: Moyen-Age 96 (1984), pp. 425-39; Faustina Doufikar-Aerts, “A Legacy of the Alexander Romance in Arab Writings: Al-Iskandar, Founder of Alexandria,” in James Tatum, ed., The Search for the Ancient Novel (Baltimore, 1994), pp. 323-343; Faustina Doufikar-Aerts, “Alexander the Great and the Pharos of Alexandria in Arabic Literature,” in Bridges and Bürgel, eds., Problematics of Power, pp. 191-202. 84 François de Polignac, “Cosmocrator: l’Islam et la légende antique du souverain universel,” in Bridges and Bürgel, eds., Problematics of Power, pp. 149-64.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY of Qur’anic commentary, which is not surprising given that most probably Bal’ami was also supervising, at the same time, the Persian translation of Tabari’s Tafsir. The version of Alexander’s Iranian birth is present in some manuscripts. In introducing the war between Alexander and Darius, Bal’ami’s text follows both Tabari and the Pseudo-Callishtenes tradition, presenting an element that is often found in historiographic treatises: the ill reputation of Darius the Young, who is defined as a “tyrannical king towards his subjects and the army,” a reputation that explains the sympathy of many Persian subjects for the new conqueror.85 The continuous juxtaposition of sources in this narrative framework, along with the inclusion of some innovative elements, becomes the standard form for Alexander’s presence in universal histories. In the Zeyn al-akhbâr by Gardizi (ca. 1050), which heralds the production of Persian universal histories under Turkish rule, besides a few notes that involve Alexander in the confluence of the Persian, Greek and Islamic chronological traditions, there are two clearly distinct elements. The first, which can be found in the section on the ancient Persian kings, integrates the conquest and the death of Darius in the form left by the Pseudo-Callisthenes with a section on the assassination of the Iranian nobility and the fire of the library of Estakhr (standing for Persepolis), which as usual are based on the Zoroastrian tradition. Interestingly, in the section on Shâpur, the author adds that the looted books that Alexander had translated were collected by Emperor Constantine (Qostantin) and then sent back to Shâpur as a barter for peace. This refers to a common belief, according to which Shâpur I was considered a proponent of the translation of learned books from foreign languages, including the originally Persian ones that had been stolen by Alexander.86 The second segment, in the Rumiyân section, blends the Pseudo-Callisthenes tradition and the Epistolary Romance (Alexander the builder of cities and bridges, and Aristotle as the good minister) with some of the elements of the story of Dhu’l-Qarneyn (the erection of the barrier). A certain weight is also given to Alexander’s exploration of Central Asia, a natural concern for the Ghaznavid historian. In the important section on the Torkân, there is a short description of Alexander’s journey to Khotan and China. Preoccupied by the possible rebellion of the Persian princes, 85 Bal’ami, Târikh, pp. 629-54. 86 See Kevin van Bladel, The Arabic Hermes: From Pagan Sage to Prophet of Science (Oxford, 2009), pp. 30-39.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature Alexander brings a few from each family with him, leaving them with supplies in an outlying area of Turkestan to await his return. During the prolonged stay, the princes decided to acquire construction materials in China, founded a mock Iranian city, and called it Pârs Khân (Lord of Pârs), that is Barskhan, which was to become an important trade station along the Silk Road and was also drawn at the center of the famous world map in Mahmud Kâshgari’s (1072-74) Divân loghât al-Tork. The introduction of this etymology may be one of the various expressions of the central role of Êrânshahr disseminated by Gardizi in his work.87 Also the Mojmal al-tavârikh va’ l-qesas (begun 1126) bases its depiction of Alexander on a congeries of different sources that it spreads through its various sections on “chronologies” (tavârikh) and “stories” (qesas). Again, we can emphasize some peculiar aspects here that enrich Alexander’s general profile in Persian historiographic literature: the account of Alexander as a destroyer and translator of books is included in the introductory chapter on the value of the work, testifying to the importance of maintaining library collections. In the short chapter on the figure of Dhu’l-Qarneyn (al-thâni) / Eskandar-e Rumi, both of the birth accounts, the Iranian one from Dârâb and the Egyptian one from Bakhtyânus (a corruption of Nectanebus), are described, along with his association with Khezr in the quest for the Fountain of Life. This represents one of the steps in which, through the integration of the tafsir and qesas al-anbiyâ’ traditions, the 87 Gardizi, Târikh-e Gardizi, ed. Abd-al-Hayy Habibi (Tehran, 1984), pp. 49, 56-59, 67, 564-65, 602-4. With regard to Barskhan: “According to his testament or Pandnāma, Sebüktigin came from the tribe (properly, place) of Barskhān on the shores of the Isiq-Köl […]. The autobiographical preface to the Pand-nāma states that the Barskhan tribe was so-named because in ancient times, one of the rulers of Iran had settled in Turkestan and had become a ruler there. He was called Pārsi-khʷān, that is, one who is literate in Persian, and this became contracted to Barskhan, which means ‘powerful’ in Turkish;” see Clifford E. Bosworth, “The Heritage of Rulership in Early Islamic Iran and the Search for Dynastic Connections with the Past,” Iran 11 (1973), pp. 51-62: 61. See also John A. Boyle, “Alexander and the Turcs,” in Walther Heissig, John R. Krueger, Felix J. Oinas, and Edmund Schütz, Tractata Altaica Denis Sinor sexagenario optime de rebus altaicis merito dedicata (Wiesbaden, 1976), pp. 107-17. esp. p. 111. Mahmud Kâshgari gives a different etymology for this toponym, but he provides various folk etymologies that connect ethnonyms of Turkish tribes to Persian sentences pronounced by Eskandar/Dhu’l-Qarneyn! See Robert Dankoff, “The Alexander Romance in the Dīwān Lughāt at-Turk,” Humaniora Islamica 1 (1973), pp. 233-44.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY figure of Khezr is progressively englobed in historiographic accounts, replacing Aristotle and serving as true royal minister (vazir).88 As a founder of cities, often twelve cities are attributed to him (as in the Pseudo-Callisthenes), including Herat and Isfahan. The Mojmal text is one of the few historiographies that presents the second section on the conquest of India, by discussing Alexander’s encounter with the pacifist king Keyd (here referred to as Qefend).89 The composition of these elements may vary from author to author, and each single work deserves a separate investigation, but the overall framework of Alexander’s figure reveals a certain homogeneity in Persian universal histories. In a growing tendency to syncretism of different strands and the inclusion of folkloric motifs, only some details may point to specific historical contexts and choices. After all, as to the pre-Islamic history, later works usually are based heavily on previous authorities, as is the case for Rashid-al-Din’s (d. 1318) Jâme’ al-tavârikh, which, however, provides us, in the section from the splendid Arabic version of the manuscript in the library of the University of Edinburgh, with what appears to be one of the earliest Persian/Islamic manuscript illustrations depicting Alexander: on a horse, attired like a Mongol, Alexander ventures into the mists of the Land of Darkness with some companions.90 The story of Alexander’s Iranian descent seems to constantly lose its foundational reasons in service of Turkish or Mongol rulers and in face of the growing conviction of the identification with Dhu’l-Qarneyn: four versions are juxtaposed by Banâkati (d. 1329).91 In the Rowzat al-safâ by Mirkhʷând (d. 1498), Alexander’s Iranian birth, given among other options, is accompanied by the conscientious elucidation that the apprehensive act of marrying his own niece, Rowshanak (Roxane), should not be ascribed to such a pious king. Later works such as this reveal that authors have by then such a plethora of sources that choice becomes difficult. In Mirkhʷând’s historiography also 88 See Friedländer, Die Chadhirlegende und der Alexanderroman, p. 108. 89 Mojmal al-tavârikh va’ l-qesas, pp. 10-11, 31-32, 55-58, 93, 119-20, 156-58, 490-97. 90 Rashid-al-Din, Jame’ al-tavârikh, MS Edinburgh, University Library, Arab. 20, f. 19a. For the whole account on Alexander, see Rashid-al-Din, Jame’ al-tavârikh: Târikh-e Irân va Eslâm (3 vols., Tehran, 2013), I, pp. 562-98. See also Stefan Kamola, “History and Legend in the Jāmi’ al-Tawārikh: Abraham, Alexander, and Oghuz Khan,” JRAS ser. 3, 25 (2015), pp. 555-77. 91 Fakhr-al-Din Dâvud Banâkati, Târikh-e Banâkati, ed. Ja’far She’âr (Tehran, 1969), pp. 31-45; see Rubanovich, “Why So Many Stories,” pp. 218-24.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature the exchange of letters between Darius and Alexander is repeated twice, not many pages apart. In one case, the object donated by Darius is a polo club, but—singularly—referred to by the Persian term chowgân in Darius’ letter and with the Arabic term sawlajân in Alexander’s reply. In the second narration, instead, the object is a whip as in the Greek tradition of the Pseudo-Callisthenes. These late historiographies represent a synthesis of the material included in previous works, the qesas al-anbiyâ’ tradition and wisdom literature.92 This continuous presentation of more or less varying selections of the fragments of the historical-legendary heritage of Alexander, which characterizes most of the universal histories, has an interesting application in histories that do not directly concern Alexander’s feats and which employ aspects of the Macedonian king for comparison. This occurs in the Târikh-e Beyhaqi, where the secretary of the Ghaznavid chancellery, Abu’l-Fazl Beyhaqi (d. 1077), provides his audience with a few reflections on some aspects of two great kings of Antiquity, a Greek one (yunâni), Eskandar, and a Persian one (pârsi), Ardashir. The tone is clearly of admonishment, rather than admiration, and it is not by chance that the two kings are the dialectical couple of the Sasanid tradition. Not only is Alexander berated for having put his life at risk and having exercised chicanery in his personal clashes with Darius and Porus, but his reign is also described as ephemeral: […] for Alexander was a man whose royal flame took light strongly, flared up for only a very short while and was then turned into ashes. His manner of conquering those mighty kingdoms and traversing the inhabited regions of the world was akin to that of a sightseer passing through different places. As for those monarchs whom he subdued, when he asked them to submit to him and style themselves his inferiors, it was as if his action was instigated by a solemn oath that he had once vowed to perform and was now going through with it so that he would keep to his word. But what is the point of just wandering around the world? A monarch must keep a tight rein, for by seizing some realm and region but failing to maintain his grip, and then impetuously moving on to invade yet another land, and repeating the same process and abandoning it, he would have given full scope for all and sundry to call him weak and impotent.[…] Now Alexander was a figure of great stature, a man of din and clamour, of lightning and thunderbolts, as if he were 92

Mirkhʷând, Rowzat al-safâ (7 vols.; Tehran, 1960), I, pp. 636-70.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY a raincloud in spring and summer which passed over the sovereigns of the earth, shed its burden and disappeared.93

Furthermore, the vast nature of Alexander’s geographic horizon, even extended by literary tradition, makes the Macedonian king an ideal figure for lending nobility to local histories, especially in his characterization as a builder. This occurs in the Târikh-e Sistân (from the early Saljuq period), in which the foundation of the Citadel of Arg is attributed to Eskandar / Dhu’l-Qarneyn, and a Rumi etymology is suggested for this controversial term (interpreted as watch-tower, didbângâh), which might be traced back to Latin arx (citadel, fortress, summit).94 In Ja’far b. Mohammad Ja’fari’s Târikh-e Yazd (15th century) Eskandar is mentioned, on the basis of an older tradition, as the founder of Kathe, considered the first edified area of Yazd. This foundation is again associated with the removal of Persian nobles by Alexander, who, leaving for India, did not want to leave them in the center of power. Indeed, this is the root of its name zendân-e Dhu’ l-Qarneyn (or zendân-e Eskandar), “Prison of Dhu’l-Qarneyn” or “of Eskandar,” that will become a recurrent anecdotal theme.95

Until the End of the World: Eskandar, the King of Anecdotes Alexander’s many faces soon expand into numerous minor literary genres, in which some particular aspects of his story and character are highlighted. The issue of Alexander’s wisdom was already addressed in Greek literature for the king educated by the philosopher, with a double attitude. The stories of his life and his conquests are studded with meetings with wise men, but also with doubts on his effective ability to implement the lessons received. This is the case with Plutarch’s Life of Alexander, but in his other work from the Moralia (De Alexandri Magni fortuna aut virtute) Plutarch 93

94 95

Abu-Fazl Beyhaqi, Târikh-e Beyhaqi, ed. Ali-Akbar Fayyâz (Mashhad, 1991), pp. 9697; tr. C. E. Bosworth and revised by Mohsen Ashtiany as The History of Beyhaqi (3 vols., Boston, 2011), I, pp. 179-80. As noted in the commentary in the English translation, the contribution of Alexander’s wanderlust to the rapid disintegration of his empire after his death is echoed, among others, in Rashid-al-Din’s Târikh-e mobârak-e Ghâzâni, ed. Karl Jahn (Leiden, 1957), p. 349. Târikh-e Sistân, ed. Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr (Tehran, 1935), pp. 10-11. Ja’far b. Mohammad Ja’fari, Târikh-e Yazd, ed. Iraj Afshâr (Tehran, 1964), pp. 23-28.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature himself insists on the fact that Alexander’s wisdom comes out of his own noble decisions and acts, so that he deserves to be allowed the title of philosopher. In the polyglot literary development of his figure, Alexander is often presented more as a receiver of wisdom, than as a producer, and in the Arabic environment this evaluation concerns the mentioned Epistolary Romance, in which the lessons are imparted by his tutor Aristotle. However, a more active aspect is revealed by the introduction of the figure of Alexander in the literary genre of the Lives of the Philosophers. The presence of a chapter dedicated specifically to Alexander, amongst the wise men and philosophers, is consolidated in Arabic literature between the 9th and 12th centuries, based on Greek political and gnomic texts, as well as other sources, particularly Persian, which were imported into Arabic beginning in the Omayyad Age and throughout the Abbasid Age. The models of the Navâder al-falâsefe va’ l-hokamâ by Honeyn Ebn-Eshâq (d. 873, his work is conserved in a 12th century revision attributed to Mohammad b. Ali Ansâri) and the Mokhtâr al-hekam va mahâsen al-kalem by Mobashsher b. Fâtek (d. 1100) were widely circulated in the Islamic world, and produced successful translations into the European vernaculars (the first was the foundation for the 13th-century Castilian El libro de los buenos proverbios, through Jewish mediation, while the second was translated into Castilian in the same period as Bocados de oro, which was the starting point for a series of popular texts in various European languages). Normally, these chapters contained a biographical section on Alexander (usually based on the tradition of the Pseudo-Callisthenes) and an anecdotal one exposing exempla related to knowledge. The chapter in the work by Mobashsher includes around sixty anecdotes (hekam) that may be correlated to episodes from the Pseudo-Callisthenes, to philosophical elaborations based on the Greek tradition, especially in the Stoic environment, and perhaps also to maxims of the Arabic tradition that were attributed to Alexander, as well as to other figures.96 This is the foundation, along with additions and other original works, on which the figure of the “wise” Alexander is developed in Persian andarz literature, although not much space is devoted to this, probably on account 96

Bruno Meissner, “Mubašširs Aḫbâr el-Iskender,” ZDMG 49 (1896), pp. 583-627; Doufikar-Aerts, Alexander Magnus Arabicus, pp. 93-133; Emily Cottrell, “AlMubaššir ibn Fātik and the α Version of the Alexander Romance,” in Stoneman, et al., eds. Alexander Romance in Persia and the East, pp. 233-53.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY of the unfair comparison with the solid Khosrow and Bozorgmehr duo. An overview of these materials can be found in the famous Manuscript 328 in the Nafiz Paşa collection of the Süleymaniye Library, which was studied by Charles-Henri de Fouchécour.97 This work, a collection of seventeen compilations of advice extracted from greater collections, entitled Kheradnâme az maqâlat-e hokamâ, and dated to the 11th century, includes three sections associated with the names of Aristotle and Alexander. The first, Alexander’s Questions to the Wise Aristotle, depicts Alexander seated with his tutor, asking him to define a series of terms, one hundred and six in total. This is substantially a lexicon on philosophy, ethics, and natural sciences. The answers are mostly founded on the Greek philosophical and scientific tradition, but there appears to be no Arabic precursor. The text may be associated with similar titles that are conserved as manuscripts and available in various libraries. The second section concerns a series of questions that Alexander poses to the “wise men of India,” who are accused of having advised the son of their king, after the latter’s defeat, not to surrender to Alexander, who was infamous for his cruelty. Their answers to Alexander’s questions save their lives. This account clearly follows on the line of the meeting between Alexander and the Brahmans as discussed above. In Arabic and Persian literature, the story of the encounter with these Indian sages and its utopian elaboration started by Palladius have travelled in parallel, possibly through different versions of the Pseudo-Callisthenes, as we find them present both in Arabic works on Alexander such as the Mokhtar al-hekam by Mobashsher, and in a more laconic form, in the Mokhtasar ketâb al-boldân by Ebn-al-Faqih Hamadâni. In the latter text, one of these communities is qualified as the Sons of Israel, which seems to associate them to the “People of the Book” community mentioned in some Qur’anic verses (VII, 159; III, 113-115; V, 65-66). Intersections appear with the Jewish legend of the Levites who managed to escape from the captivity imposed upon them by Nebuchadnezzar (as in the travel book by Eldad Ha-Dani, 9th cent., and in texts derived from it); and with the legend of the Ten Lost Tribes of Israel, exiled by the Assyrian king Shalmaneser V after the conquest of Samara. Amongst the many occurrences, the dialogue with the Indian wise men is present in Persian in Nasihat al-moluk, the “mirror-for-princes” attributed 97

Ch.-H. de Fouchécour, Moralia: Les notions morales dans la littérature persane (Paris, 1986), pp. 24-38.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature to Abu-Hâmed Ghazâli (d. 1111). Its Arabic version, entitled al-Tebr al-masbuk fi nasihat al-moluk (end of 12th century), served as a channel for the incorporation of this episode in the corpus of the Thousand and One Nights. The duplication of this episode in the form of a double dialogue with the Brahmans and the people of the Blessed City is also present in Persian texts, such as in the romance on Alexander by Jâmi.98 The third section of the Kherad-nâme is a short “mirror-for-princes” attributed to Aristotle, which corresponds to a revised compendium of the Arabic al-Siyâse al-âmmiyye, the eighth letter of the Epistolary Romance by Sâlem Abu’l-Alâ’. This collection is also the basis for the Persian re-elaboration, used for political instruction, of Letters XI and XII, regarding Alexander’s proposal to eliminate the sons of the Persian nobility, which was strenuously rejected by Aristotle. More in general, a survey of the Persian pand-nâmes for Alexander by Aristotle, which are listed in many catalogues, still needs to be implemented. One of the most interesting of these texts and probably the most ancient (10th cent.) is an excellent synthesis of classic themes of Persian ethics according to de Fouchécour.99 Other significant sapiential motifs concern Alexander’s death: the consolatory letters to his mother (sometimes a corruption of Olympias > Alumfidâ > al-Mufidâ; asking her to mourn him only in company with others who had never lost a dear person, in order to bring home the inevitability of human fate), and the funerary orations of the wise men over his coffin, which certainly echo themes of more ancient traditions, but for which no direct Greek antecedents have been identified yet. Indeed, although the Meissner, “Mubašširs Aḫbâr el-Iskender,” pp. 597-98 and 600; Ebn-al-Faqih, Mokhtaṣar ketâb al-boldân, ed. M.J. De Goeje (Leiden, 1885), pp. 84-86 and 88; Abu-Hâmed Ghazâli, Nasihat al-moluk, ed. Jalâl-al-Din Homâ’i (Tehran, 1982), pp. 74-77. See also Casari, Alessandro e Utopia nei romanzi persiani medievali, pp. 30-43; Yuriko Yamanaka, “Alexander in the Thousand and One Nights and the Ghazali Connection,” in Yuriko Yamanaka and Tetsuo Nishio, eds., The Arabian Nights and Orientalism: Perspectives from the East and West (London, 2006), pp. 93-115. 99 Fouchécour, Moralia, pp. 69-76; Hoseyn Nakhjavâni, ed., “Pand-nâme-ye Arasṭâṭalis be Eskandar,” Yaghmâ (1952), 5, pp. 31-34. On the relationship betweeen Aristotle and Alexander and its values in Arabic and Persian literature, see Yuriko Yamanaka, “The Philosopher and the Wise King: Aristotle and Alexander the Great in Arabic and Persian Literature,” in The Proceedings of the International Conference: Comparative Literature in the Arab World (1995) (Cairo, 1998), pp. 73-88; Neguin Yavari, Advice for the Sultan: Prophetic Voices and Secular Politics in Medieval Islam (London, 2014).

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY relations between Arabic sapiential literature and the Byzantine apophthegmata collections must still be explored, for both these motifs we may hypothesize, if not the origin, at least the development of a substantial form in the Arabic tradition, which would then spread in other directions. The lamentations of the philosophers probably were based on a Syriac original.100 In Persian, these themes become fundamental in the romances, but allusions to them are found everywhere. In general, the use of allusions and short anecdotes concerning Alexander becomes extremely common in literary genres of a didactic nature. In the Qâbus-nâme by the Ziyarid prince of Tabarestan, Key-Kâ’us b. Eskandar (11th century), there are five references to Alexander: on his ability to draw lessons from the criticism of his enemies; on prudence with women; on the importance of being gallant with enemies and available to friends; and on the value of fighting openly and not furtively. The fifth anecdote (related to Dhu’l-Qarneyn) describes his request, as he approaches his end, to be placed in a coffin with two holes through which his open palms could be seen to admonish everyone that even he who conquered the entire Earth, would leave it empty-handed. He also adds instructions for comforting his mother, according to the pattern of the well-known letters of consolation.101 Naturally, there are many anecdotes on Alexander in the Javâme’ al-hekâyât by the lettered traveler Owfi (d. 1232 ca.), which also includes a small excerpt of a historiographic nature in the section on the ancient kings, as well as references, not all positive, correlated to the wit and 100 Anton Spitaler, “Die Arabische Fassung des Trostbriefs Alexander an seine Mutter,” in Studi orientalistici in onore di Giorgio Levi Della Vida, 2 vols. (Rome, 1956), II, pp. 493-508; Sebastian P. Brock, “The Laments of the Philosophers over Alexander in Syriac,” Journal of Semitic Studies 15 (1970), pp. 205-18; Stoneman, Life in Legend, pp. 191-93; Faustina Doufikar-Aerts, Alexander Magnus Arabicus, pp. 120-28. See also Doufikar-Aerts, “‘Les derniers jours d’Alexandre’ dans un roman populaire arabe: un miroir du roman syriaque du Pseudo-Callisthène,” in Alexandre le Grand dans les littératures, pp. 61-75. The letter of consolation to Alexander’s mother is present in the Greek tradition of the Alexander Romance only in Ms. L, a variant of recension β, and in recension λ, but not in the Syriac version; see Jouanno, Naissance et métamorphoses, pp. 278-79; Doufikar-Aerts, “‘Afin que jamais il ne tombe dans l’oubli’: influences arabes sur l’historiographie occidentale d’Alexandre,” in Catherine Gaullier-Bougassas, ed., L’historiographie médiévale d’Alexandre le Grand (Turnhout, 2011), pp. 105-14. 101 Key-Kâ’us b. Eskandar, Qâbus-nâme, ed. Gh.-H. Yusofi (Tehran, 1966), pp. 34, 130, 140, 148, 238.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature judgments of the kings, to power stratagems, dreams, wisdom, clemency and magnanimity, resoluteness, temperament, greed, and even to the peculiarities of animals, in which Alexander’s famous horse is mentioned. An original anecdote metaphorically highlights the established value of Alexander’s name: the king encounters in the wild a man with a savage aspect and rough demeanor; after learning that the man’s name is Eskandar, he orders him either to change his conduct or his name!102 In other cases, anecdotes about Alexander, rather than appearing in the context that justifies and addresses their presence, assume an autonomous form included in a collection, usually anonymous. There are traces of some of these in library catalogues, and the most widespread of them seems to be the one concerning Alexander’s visit to the Tombs of the Kings (Dâstân-e dar-âmadan-e malek Eskandar be dakhme-ye shâhân), an episode that implies the important issue of the ways and symbols of royal investiture (dealt with also in the Greek Romance: PC, II 18). A full overview and analysis of these short, isolated stories will also have to address their dating and contextualization.103 Alexander’s charisma, however, seems to reside more deeply in the geographical scope of his conquests, rather than in his actual wisdom in governing them. Thus, the name of Alexander appears constantly in cosmographic literature in reference to remote places, unknown peoples and mysterious natural entities. It is currently under debate whether the famous De mundo, a text of a cosmographic and geographic nature that Aristotle supposedly wrote for Alexander, is effectively an Aristotelian text 102 Sadid-al-Din Mohammad Owfi, Javâme’ al-hekâyât va lavâme’ al-revâyât: Jeld-e avval az qesm-e sevvom, ed. Amir-Bânu Mosaffâ Karimi (Tehran, 1973), pp. 13-14. A list of the anecdotes is in Muḥammad Nizāmud-Din, Introduction to the Jawámi’u’ lhikáyát wa lawámi’u’rriwáyát of Sadídu’ d-Dín Muḥammad al-ʿAwfí (London, 1929): anecdotes 151, 152, 153, 154, 450, 530, 635, 637, 690, 1025, 1057, 1064, 1171, 1241, 1282, 1524, 1548, 1560, 2025. 103 See for example MS Saint Petersburg, Institute of Oriental Manuscripts, C 148, Mikhlykho Maklai 115, ff. 267b-278b. On the visit to the tombs of ancient Persian kings as a means for royal legitimation, see Fouchécour, Moralia, pp. 49-51; also Charles-Henri de Fouchécour, “Alexandre, le macédonien iranisé: L’exemple du récit par Nézâmi (XIIe siècle) de la visite d’Alexandre à la grotte de Key Khosrow,” in Harf-Lancner et al., eds., Alexandre le Grand dans les littératures, pp. 227-41. In MS Tehran, Malek Library, 554/15, f. 162b, within a group of six short anecdotes, there is one devoted to Eskandar as a judge; in the same miscellaneous volume, 554/16, ff. 190b-191a, there is a story about Alexander’s arrival at the Blessed City and his subsequent sapiential meeting with a prince. Many other examples could be provided.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY or the work of syncretic milieus of the late Hellenistic period (1st century CE): certainly it was transmitted in Arabic in at least three different revised recensions, and it was included, in an abridged version, in the Epistolary Romance translated in Arabic for Sâlem, as its fourteenth letter, also known as “the Golden Letter.”104 The idea that Alexander had been carefully educated in geography was evident in both Arabic and Persian literature. In a 14th century Persian work, whose manuscripts are scattered in various libraries, Ketâb sovâr al-aqâlim (Book on the figures of the climes), the anonymous author, probably from Kerman, states that he had found an outline of the inhabited quarter of the globe in his prince’s library: this had been requested by the sixteen-year-old Alexander, who had asked Plato to provide him with a guide book to help him embark on the conquest of the world. It included maps and demographic information, and it was transmitted to Alexander by Plato’s disciple, Aristotle, in the year 770 before the Hijrah.105 Alexander has been depicted by a long tradition as the “Explorer King” par excellence, whose power and political projects were based above all on a detailed geographical, scientific and technological knowledge, of whose extension and transmission he would become the literary guarantor. The Persian Ajâyeb al-makhluqât (Marvels of creation) by Mohammad Tusi (12th century), dedicated to Toghrel II, the last Saljuq Sultan of Iraq, contains fifty-nine passages on Alexander that are integrated as anecdotal commentaries on descriptions of mountains, rivers, peoples, plants, stones, and so on. Although probably originating from different sources, if ordered all together, these anecdotes constitute a true Alexander Romance.106 Indeed, the beginning of the work is very clear: 104 Samuel M. Stern, “The Arabic Translations of the Pseudo-Aristotelian Treatise De Mundo,” Le Muséon 77 (1964), pp. 187-204; Samuel M. Stern, “A Third Arabic Translation of the Pseudo-Aristotelian Treatise De Mundo,” Le Muséon 78 (1965), pp. 381-93; David Brafman, “The Arabic De Mundo: An Edition with Translation and Commentary,” (PhD diss., Duke University, 1985). 105 Haft keshvar yâ sovar al-aqâlim, ed. Manuchehr Sotude (Tehran, 1974). Some manuscripts are pointed out in Storey, PL, II, pp. 131-32. 106 Mohammad b. Mahmud b. Ahmad Tusi, Ajâyeb al-makhluqât, ed. Manuchehr Sotude (Tehran, 1966), pp. 2-3, 5-9, 50-51, 106-7, 117, 126, 135, 138-39, 142, 145-46, 151-52, 159-62, 174, 179-82, 187-90, 192, 204-6, 209-10, 218-19, 231-35, 243-44, 263-64, 268, 282-85, 291-92, 302-3, 326-27, 331, 352, 355, 357, 360-64, 367, 392, 411-13, 421, 425, 436-37, 448, 480-81, 494-95, 566. See also Francis Richard, “L’iconographie se rapportant à Eskandar dans le manuscrit djalâyeride du ‘Adjâyeb-nâmeh de Tûsi Salmâni de la Bibliothèque nationale de Paris,” in Harf-Lancner, et al., eds.,

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature We wish to create a memorial so that those who read it after us will recall us to divine mercy. We meditated at length and spurred the cavalry of our thoughts to parade across the desert of the idea. After having composed many works on every science in Arabic and in Persian, we have seen no better thing than writing this book, which will allow the reader, without journeying to countries and villages across the world, or crossing lands and seas, to be informed about all the wonders of the world and extravagances of this time, gain knowledge of the climates and nature of extant things, and how many species were created by God, and which peoples he safeguarded and which his ire abandoned to the winds of arrogance. May this work satisfy the desires of travelers, just like Alexander who crossed the world, and Jesus, Son of Mary, who wandered along the horizons, resurrecting the dead, and being called ‘Word and Spirit of God’!107

The introductory section also contains the sapiential dialogue with the philosopher and the physician sent to meet Alexander by king Keyd of India, emphasizing the fundamental value of science. In this book, which is based on a vast array of erudite sources, yet to be identified, the anecdotes are scattered throughout the work based on the order of the chapters on natural history in which it is organized. They include the conquest of Persia and India, with interesting variations, the Nordic Expedition, the foundation of cities and even his death with the consolatory letter to his mother and the lamentations of the philosophers. Various detailed accounts concerning natural phenomena take advantage of the vast horizon of Alexander’s deeds, to enlarge the scope of his cosmographical authority, such as in the chapters on stones: No type of precious stone resists in water as much as crystal (âbgine). When he decided to erect a lighthouse at sea, Alexander lay all the stones and the Alexandre le Grand dans les littératures, pp. 77-93; Angelo M. Piemontese, “Il romanzo di Alessandro nella cosmografia persiana di Hamadāni,” in Michele Bernardini, Natalia L. Tornesello, eds., Scritti in onore di Giovanni M. D’Erme (2 vols., Naples, 2005), II, pp. 847-67; Yuriko Yamanaka, “Authenticating the Incredible: Comparative Study of Narrative Strategies in Arabic and Persian ʻAjā’ ib Literature.” Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 45 (2018), pp. 303-53. For an interpretation of this important literary genre, with reference to Arabic literature, see Syrinx von Hees, “The Astonishing: a Critique and Re-Reading of ‘Aǧā’ib Literature,” MEL 8 (2005), pp. 101-20; Travis Zadeh, “Wiles of Creation: Philosophy, Fiction, and the ʻAjā’ib Tradition,” MEL 13 (2010), pp. 21-48. 107 Tusi, Ajâyeb al-makhluqât, pp. 2-3.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY precious ones in the water. Five years later, he retrieved them and lined them up. They had all lost mass, except for the crystal. And that was why he founded the Lighthouse of Alexandria in crystal.108

It was inevitable that, with the increasing diffusion of symbolic and mystical interpretations of motifs within Persian Literature, developing in the 12th-13th centuries, this vast knowledge patrimony should end up garnering also a metaphysical value. In the Mathnavi-ye ma’navi, by the poet and mystic Jalâl-al-Din Rumi (d. 1273), Dhu’l-Qarneyn presents himself at Mount Qâf, the mountain that surrounds the Earth and whose veins are the mountains of every country. The explanation that Mount Qâf provides on the nature of earthquakes is a metaphor for the will of God, without which everything would be inert.109 In this framework, the most popular theme is that of the search for the Fountain of Life in the Land of Darkness. In his Elâhi-nâme (Book of God) the Neshâpuri mystic Farid-al-Din Attâr describes Alexander’s quest for three objects: a collyrium that would allow him to see the cosmos from the base of the Earth, on the Nun Fish, to the top of the sky, a drum that cures every colic, and the water of life to obtain immortality. Having found the collyrium and broken the drum by error, Alexander travels to India in search of the Water of Life. In the middle of his narrative, Attâr inserts a one line direct interjection: Why should I repeat this story to you? Since you have heard this story a hundred times.

Alexander’s humiliation is represented here by the fact that a ruby light indicates the way out of the Land of Darkness for an army of ants, but not for him.110 To this topic is related also a unique text from the Horufi School, edited by Clément Huart. The author of this brief mathnavi, composed of approximately 550 verses, is probably one of the first disciples of the school’s founder, Fazl-Allâh Astarâbâdi (14th century). The work, entitled 108 Tusi, Ajâyeb al-makhluqât, p. 146. 109 Jalâl-al-Din Rumi, Mathnavi-ye ma’navi, ed. Reynold A. Nicholson (repr. Tehran, 2011, p. 710). 110 Farid-al-Din Attâr, Elâhi-nâme, ed. Fo’âd Ruhâni (Tehran, 1960), pp. 173-76; quotation at p. 174. See also Hellmut Ritter, The Ocean of the Soul: Man, the World and God in the Stories of Farīd al-Dīn ʻAttār, tr. John O’Kane (Leiden and Boston, 2003), p. 114, with comments about the drum, its alleged construction, and subsequent history in the Samanid period and beyond.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature Qesse-ye Eskandar va âb-e hayât, takes its name from the familiar theme in order to describe an exchange between the king (Alexander) and the wise man (Khezr). Here, the Fountain of Life represents the interior light that must be rediscovered behind the darkness of appearances. This rediscovery is conveyed by the exposition of various arcane aspects of the art of calligraphy.111 Indeed, this type of approach identifies an interpretation of Alexander’s feats that will be prevalent in the late mathnavis. The final result of the journey of some of these most widespread motifs concerning Alexander’s story has been their symbolic condensation into short and allusive expressions in the context of lyric poetry, where they follow the same pattern discussed above, moving from political and cosmographical values towards more mystical and metaphysical readings. Referred to either as Eskandar or Dhu’l-Qarneyn, the various shades of these allusions to his feats were employed in a multitude of manners: sometimes with honorary suggestions, other times to emphasize his weaknesses and failings, or simply to introduce other issues. Comparisons with Alexander were used in Arabic poetry in praise of several Abbasid caliphs.112 In the Persian sphere, the court of Sultan Mahmud of Ghazni (d. 1030) seems to have catalyzed a strong devotion to the figure of Alexander. Court poets such as Onsori (d. 1039), Farrokhi (d. 1038), and Manuchehri (d. ca. 1040) established in their eulogistic qasides a frequent pattern of paralleling some of Alexander’s qualities and deeds with those of Mahmud, such as his being a barrier against the infidels, and his widening the horizon of the Muslim dominion. Often, Mahmud’s achievements were praised as being even superior to those of Alexander. Interestingly enough, already at this time, the story of Alexander was known so widely that Farrokhi could exclaim: The tales of Alexander fray into fables in time, Give us novel words: For novelty has a flavor all of its own.113 111 Clément Huart, Textes persans relatifs à la Secte des Houroûfîs, publiés, traduits et annotés (Leiden and London, 1909), pp. 99-125 (of the Persian text). A short text entitled Sekandar va Loqmân va âb-e hayât is included in MS Tehran, Markazi Library, 7067/5, ff. 77v-78v: Loqmân describes to Alexander the way to prepare a long-life elixir, as the latter comes out, disappointed, of the Land of Darkness. 112 See for example Ebn-al-Faqih, Mokhtasar ketâb al-boldân, pp. 109-10. 113 Hakim Farrokhi Sistâni, Divân, ed. Mohammad Dabir-siyâqi (Tehran, 19924), p. 66. See also Majd-al-Din Keyvâni, “Eskandar dar adabiyyât-e Irân,” in Esmâ’il Sa’âdat, ed., Dânesh-nâme-ye zabân va adabiyyât-e fârsi (6 vols., Tehran, 2005-16), I, pp. 402-7.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY In fact, Gilbert Lazard has considered as being very old a short poem on ethical themes that is included in the moral treatise Tohfat al-moluk by Ali b. Abi-Hafs Esfahâni (13th century). On the basis of various linguistic and especially prosodic features, Lazard believes that this poem, if not a direct translation of a Middle Persian original, represents an intermediary stage between Middle Persian poetry and Persian classical poetry. The first six verses, which deal directly with Alexander’s figure, display a distillation of his symbolic values in Persian literature:114 Sekandar travelled around the world, his waist firmly girded day and night. Due to his concupiscence and greed he took no rest, hoping to remain the sovereign of Time. He entered the land of Darkness, to find what is hidden, and savor the freshness of the Fountain of Life. He strove hard, but didn’t reap the fruit; the fruit was eaten by Khezr and Eliyâs, for all to see. So then he tried hard amassing worldly goods, and seized them, boundlessly. And finally he passed away from here, in the same way that many poor people do. […]

These themes would shortly be transferred from the political domain to the individual and then mystical spheres, spreading Alexander’s character in various fields of Persian lyrical poetry. Classic motifs include the erection of the barrier (Sanâ’i’s “The powerful kings on the weak beggars / Have made the center of the court like the barrier of Alexander”) or that of his meandering to explore the world (Mas’ud Sa’d-e Salmân’s “As Eskandar I meandered, to the point that / There is a trace of me in every city”). The zendân-e Sekandar (Prison of Alexander) is also a common motif, often mentioned, as in the verse below from Hâfez, to refer to its presumed geographical location, Yazd, in contrast to molk-e Soleymân (Realm of Solomon), i.e. Fârs: My heart is hemmed in by the prison of Sekandar, I will pack up and venture as far as the realm of Solomon.

114 Gilbert Lazard, “Deux poèmes persans de tradition pehlevie,” in Philippe Gignoux and Ahmad Tafazzoli, eds., Mémorial Jean De Menasce (Leuven, 1974), pp. 433-40.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature A most frequent motif is the Water of Life, associated to Alexander’s profound bitterness, often in contrast with the figure of Khezr. Another example from Hâfez: If your wish is to be the companion of Khezr, Become like the Water of Life, and shelter from Alexander’s eyes.115

3. Alexander Romances The enormous amount of material concerning Alexander circulating in Middle Persian, Arabic, and early Persian literature, in its many genres, constitutes the foundation and the framework for a Persian fictional development of his adventures that traces the essential elements of Alexander’s historical-legendary feats and integrates them with various other narrative ingredients from the Eurasian tradition, as well as with original reflections. Based on the circulation of Arabic and possibly Middle Persian translations of the Pseudo-Callisthenes, on the vast diffusion of the popular qesas al-anbiyâ’, and on the accounts present in historiographic works, wisdom literature, cosmography, etc., the figure of Alexander became the protagonist in Iran for imposing romances of a semi-popular nature, as well as exquisite poetic mathnavis. In fact, the latter may be considered among the most refined contributions to the translinguistic field of Alexander literature.

The Talking Tree: Eskandar in the Shâh-nâme The earliest known Alexander Romance conserved in Persian is the one composed by Ferdowsi (d. 1020), and included in the Shâh-nâme, his great epic narration dedicated to Sultan Mahmud of Ghazni (998-1030). This romance spans across three sections of the Book of Kings, dedicated 115 Hakim Abu’l-Majdud b. Âdam Sanâ’i, Divân, ed. Mohammad-Taqi Modarres-Razavi (Tehran, 1983), p. 148; Mas’ud Sa’d-e Salmân, Divân, ed. Rashid Yâsemi (Tehran, 1960), p. 201; Hâfez, Divân-e Hâfez, ed. Parviz Nâtel Khânlari (2 vols., Tehran, 1983), I, pp. 552, 718.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY respectively to Dârâb, Dârâ, and Eskandar, for a total of over two thousand and five hundred verses.116 Alexander’s story is central to the morphology of the Shâh-nâme. It acts as a hinge between the ancient and mythological section of the poem and the historical section on the Sasanid kings, while effectively preserving characteristics of both sections. In its main lines, Ferdowsi’s account follows very closely the narrative thread of the Syriac Pseudo-Callisthenes, thus showing that this should be considered his main reference work for this part of the poem, although the chain of transmission remains unclear. In a framework that summarily describes the last actions of Dârâb, son of Bahman, and the rise to the throne of his son Dârâ, the first two sections contain episodes on Alexander’s birth, his ascent to the throne with the title of Qeysar-e Rum—Caesar of Rome—and his victorious war against Darius/Dârâ and the conquest of Persia. The third section narrates the conquest of the world by the Rumi sovereign: the exchanges with the Indian king Keyd and the war against the Indian king Fur (Porus in the Greek Romance); his pilgrimage to the Abrahamic Sanctuary of Ka’be (the Kaaba), the journey through Egypt and the events between Alexander and the Queen of Andalus, Qeydâfe, equivalent to the Ethiopian Candace in the Greek Romance. His arrival in the city of the Brahmans, where he has a long sapiential dialogue, is followed by a series of travels and extraordinary meetings. In the western and northern regions he reaches the Land of the Amazons and the Land of Darkness, where he searches for the Fountain of Life, in vain. Subsequently, he travels east and arrives at the place where he erects the barrier to contain the beastly Gog and Magog (Yâjuj va Mâjuj). Alexander then journeys onwards and makes a series of admonishing meetings that culminate in the dialogue with the talking tree. Finally, he holds a discussion with the wise Emperor of China and completes the violent conquest of Sind, thus epitomizing two main aspects of his personality and destiny, before ruefully returning to Babylon, where death awaits him. The issue of the sources employed by Ferdowsi for his Shâh-nâme is complex and still debated. With regard to the tradition of Alexander, however, even a quick survey of the text indicates a wide range of references, 116 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, V, pp. 515-65; VI, pp. 3-129. For an overview of the main Alexander episodes in the Shâh-nâme, in comparison with the development in Nezâmi’s Eskandar-nâme, see Safavi, Eskandar va adabiyyât-e Irân, pp. 76-243.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature and Ferdowsi himself, at the beginning of the section on Eskandar, after praising Sultan Mahmud, comments: “I will now return to the story: I will put it in verse from ancient traditions.”117 The main issue concerns the question whether a version of the Pseudo-Callisthenes was included in his main source, the Persian version of the Khʷadây-nâmag produced for the Governor of Tus, Abu-Mansur Mohammad b. Abd-al-Razzâq, or whether Ferdowsi separately consulted one of the alleged Arabic translations of it. The debate around the possible existence of a Middle Persian version of the Alexander Romance, and its possible inclusion in the Khʷadây-nâmag, with all its consequences, has been presented above. In any case, the narration of Alexander’s feats in the Shâh-nâme certainly presents a close affinity with the plot of the Pseudo-Callisthenes, particularly the Syriac version, but various sequences and the integration of other episodes correspond to other recensions (such as the Greek β) or sources outside the Pseudo-Callisthenes cycle. This is the case for the meeting with the Indian king Keyd, of uncertain origin, and the episodes that are more characteristic of the Dhu’l-Qarneyn tradition, such as the construction of the barrier and the story of Alexander’s journey to the Land of Darkness. These are present in some Greek recensions of the Pseudo-Callisthenes, but not in the Syriac version, and present here characteristics in common with the qesas al-anbiyâ, and the tafsir tradition. The final section on Alexander’s death is framed by the exchange of letters with Aristotle on the destiny of the progeny of the Persian aristocracy and the establishment of the Party Kings, the letter of consolation to his mother, and the lamentations of the philosophers: all motifs that pertain mainly to the Arabic (and Persian) circulation. Indeed, the use of Arabic sources seems to be confirmed by the relative abundance of the Arabic terms and expressions that appear in the section on Alexander, as opposed to the few appearing in the rest of the Shâh-nâme.118 117 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. and tr. Jules Mohl as as Le livre des rois par Abou’ lkasim Firdousi (7 vols.; repr. Tehran, 1984), V, p. 52. This passage is not included in all manuscripts, and in some of them it is located before the section on Shâpur: for this reason it has not been included in Khaleghi-Motlagh’s edition; see Ferdowsi, Shâhnâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, p. 3, and n. 1. 118 For various observations on these issues, see Bertel’s, Roman ob Aleksandre, pp. 2134; Safâ, Hamâse, pp. 171-215, 544-48; PL, V/1, pp.120-59; Yarshater, “Iranian National History;” Khaleghi-Motlagh, “Az Shâh-nâme tâ Khodây-nâme;” Manteghi, Alexander the Great in the Persian Tradition, pp. 46-70, which developes Haila Manteghi, “Alexander the Great in the Shāhnāmeh of Ferdowsī,” in Stoneman et al.,

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY With the exception of the passing reference to the subdivision of land amongst the Party Kings, known also in the Epistolary Romance tradition, Ferdowsi’s development of the figure of Alexander seems to lack the characteristic elements of the hostile tradition of Zoroastrian and Sasanid origin. Nonetheless, Yuriko Yamanaka has demonstrated that evident traces of that tradition are present elsewhere, in other sections of the Shâh-nâme that follow the account of Alexander’s reign.119 It cannot be by chance that the first of these traces is included in the section on the reign of Ardashir, he who had to repair the damage caused by Alexander: following the trend of various Sasanid and Zoroastrian texts, Alexander is juxtaposed with Dahhâk and Afrâsiyâb to form the trio of damned kings of the Iranian Epic. Two further negative mentions are contained in the section on the reign of Khosrow Parviz. One is presented in relation to Alexander’s responsibilities in fomenting hatred between Iran and Rum, while, in the other, he is accused of having destroyed one of the three treasures inherited by the genealogy of the Kings of Iran from Fereydun, the Takht-e Tâqdis (the Dome-shaped Throne). Ardashir would have collected the ruins and Khosrow Parviz would have rebuilt it magnificently, according to Ferdowsi’s detailed description.120 The latter legend may well be a re-elaboration of the destruction of Zoroastrian books theme associated with the presence amongst the ruins of Persepolis of the bas relief of the throne of Artaxerxes I, which was used as propaganda by Ardashir, the son of a guardian of the temple of Anahita at Estakhr, near Persepolis. This casts an aura of ambiguity on the portrait of Alexander in the Book of Kings, which may also be perceived in some of the details included in the section dedicated to him. It is true that Ferdowsi’s account is both a rehabilitation and legitimation of Alexander’s ascent to the throne, which takes place in various stages: starting with the absorption of the Iranian birth eds., Alexander Romance in Persia, pp. 161-74. On the close relationship between the Alexander account in the Shâh-nâme and the account in the Nehâyat al-arab fi akhbâr al-Fors va’ l-Arab, and its relevant consequences, see Seyyed Hoseyn Fâtemi, Mohammad Ja’far Yâhaqqi, Mahdokht Purkhâleqi Chatrudi, and Raqiyye Sheybânifar, “Bar-resi-ye revâyat-e dâstân-e Eskandar va Dârâ dar do gozâresh-e Ebn-Moqaffâ’ va Ferdowsi,” Jostâr-hâ-ye adabi 176 (Spring 2012), pp. 1-35. 119 Yuriko Yamanaka, “Ambiguïté de l’image d’Alexandre chez Ferdowsī: les traces des traditions sassanides dans le Livre des Rois,” in Harf-Lancner et al., eds., Alexandre le Grand dans les littératures, pp. 341-53; see also Safâ, Hamâse, pp. 198-200. 120 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VIII, pp. 272-81.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature legend of Eskandar from Dârâb and a daughter of Philip (Filqus) called Nâhid, and, above all, the long sequence that legitimates the handover between Dârâ and Alexander. Expanding from a clearer Iranian point of view the details and tones of the Pseudo-Callisthenes tradition, in the touching scene in which Darius dies in Alexander’s lap, which has become one of the classic themes of illustrations in Shâh-nâme manuscripts as well as in many other eastern and western works on Alexander, Alexander laments: “we come from the same branch, root, and robe / why do we extirpate our seed for ambition?” The testament of the dying king bestows his daughter Rowshanak to him as a bride in the hope that she will give him a son that will one day “renew the name of Esfandiyâr, / kindle the fire of Zoroaster, embrace the Zandavesta, / look after the auspices ( fâl) and the Feast of Sade, and the effulgence ( farr) of Nowruz and the Fire Temple.” Alexander promises that he will fulfill his desires, and after having executed the traitors who assassinated Darius, he writes a letter “from the king of the Keyanids to the Iranian governors,” promising to protect the reign. There is no reference to the fire of Persepolis/Estakhr, where instead he is crowned with the glorious crown of the Kayanids.121 In fact, Alexander’s revaluation is also associated with the devaluation of Dârâ’s actions, which is sometimes found in Persian historiography as well. The Shâh-nâme only presents a few notes on the irascible character of Dârâ, at the beginning of the section on his reign; however, there is the inversion of roles between Alexander and Dârâ in the exchange before the final defeat, as opposed to the tradition included in the Pseudo-Callisthenes. Certain that the end is near, Darius, who has taken refuge at Kerman, writes to Alexander, who has settled in the capital Estakhr, offering him jewels and treasures for the restitution of his family. In the Pseudo-Callisthenes, Alexander replies irately, treating Darius as a usurper of lands that are no longer his. So, Darius attempts to forge an alliance with the Indian king Porus, before his final defeat. In the Shâh-nâme, with a much more magnanimous attitude, Alexander reassures Darius that his family will not be harmed and, if Darius returns to Iran, he will regain his (nominal) regality. Darius is confused, but also feels that death would be preferable to turning up as a defeated slave in front of Alexander, and writes to king Fur.122 121 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, V, pp. 554-65. 122 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, V, pp. 549-53.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY However, in other passages, the evaluation of Alexander’s nature is more nuanced. In general, the ambiguity of Alexander’s portrait by Ferdowsi merges with that of the Christian tradition that had been espoused by the Pseudo-Callisthenes. Just as in the Greek and Syriac Romance, Ferdowsi includes notes on the ferocious and often deceptive character of the Qeysar-e Rum. Alexander disguises himself as an ambassador to reach Darius and uses a subterfuge to steal cups and jewels, fleeing once he had been discovered. Moreover, he beheads the Indian king Fur, when the king is distracted and facing away from him. These are two impudent challenges won thanks to slyness and fortune that the Ghaznavid historian Beyhaqi did not hesitate to deplore. Even Qeydâfe, the Queen of Andalus, accuses Alexander of imprudence, when he presents himself before her alone, disguised again as an ambassador (and recognized thanks to a portrait of him that she had commissioned previously): she warns him that his victories are not the fruit of farr (effulgence)—an essential element of the framework of royal legitimacy of the Shâh-nâme—but the outcome of the favor of the heavens: all good comes from God and He deserves thanks for it. The Queen’s lesson belittles the king’s pride, who waxes more human before her.123 Alexander receives a similar lesson in style and wisdom from the Emperor of China ( faghfur), when he behaves rudely: once again disguised as an ambassador, Alexander gets drunk and totters towards his room “holding a citron (toranj) in his hand.” Victories “were given to you by the Lord of the Sun and the Moon, don’t believe it’s the fruit of your manliness (mardi) or the abundance of your army. […] My religion prohibits me from harming you […] I serve God, not a king,” he is admonished by the Emperor. And “Alexander’s face turned the color of shame.”124 These two long sections of military and intellectual skirmishing are placed at the extreme west and east, as a symbolic confrontation of Alexander with the whole extension of his dominion. Qeydâfe’s name is the final result of the transformation 123 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 52-74. See Julia Rubanovich, “Re-writing the Episode of Alexander and Candace in Medieval Persian Literature: Patterns, Sources, and Motif Transformation,” in Markus Stock, ed., Alexander the Great in the Middle Ages: Transcultural Perspectives (Toronto, Buffalo and London, 2016), pp. 123-52; Julia Rubanovich, “Qaydāfa,” EIr Online, http://dx.doi. org/10.1163/2330-4804_EIRO_COM_11496. See also Stoneman, Life in Legend, pp. 128-49; Aleksandra Szalc, “Kandake, Meroe and India - India and the Alexander Romance,” in Grieb, et al., eds., Alexander the Great and Egypt, pp. 357-70. 124 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 106-11.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature process of the Greek name Candace (Kandáke; she is called Qandâqe in Dinavari’s work, Qandâfe in the Nehâyat). Candace was the common title of the queens of the Nubian city of Meroe, on the river Nile, during the Hellenistic and Roman era. Although based on a historical interest for Ethiopia on the part of Alexander (Curtius Rufus, IV, 8, 3), the legendary episode was inserted in the Romance by its Alexandrine compiler, who used the royal title as the proper name of Alexander’s antagonist. Ferdowsi’s choice to move Qeydâfe’s reign from Ethiopia to Andalus, against a tradition that was variously confirmed in Arabic historiography, is part of a general geographic reorientation of his Alexander Romance, possibly to avoid contradiction with the story of Alexander’s war against the people of Habash, the Abyssinians (however, he reaches Qeydâfe’s land from Egypt within a month of march). Instead, the title of the Emperor of China, faghfur, was the common name for Chinese emperors in Arabic and Persian sources, and it derives from Sogdian baghpur (Son of God), which was a translation of Chinese T’ien tzŭ (Son of Heaven).125 These two meetings manifest explicitly the essence of the moral reflection assigned by the poet to this part of the Shâh-nâme, balancing in some ways the minor role attributed here to the figure of Aristotle.126 A third very important moral section is located half way between those two places, in India, within the Brahmans: Ferdowsi’s rewriting of this very important episode is in line with the tradition of the Pseudo-Callisthenes, as it was incorporated in Arabic historiography and wisdom literature as well. Alexander is admonished for his greed (âz), and when he must admit that he is not able to give them immortality in exchange for their wise words, he is asked why, then, struggle so much for conquering the world. His reply (“Nobody has ever escaped from God’s will, nor found a reason for the events of life”) echoes the appeal to “heavenly providence” that was in the Greek Romance.127 Despite the conversation on the role of divine guidance, the encounter with the Brahmans reflects the philosophical considerations of the Pseudo-Callisthenes, but is cleared from explicit references to their original religion, only summarized in the description of their ascetic habits. However, in his poem Ferdowsi portrays Alexander as having a flexible, if not contradictory, sensibility in terms of religion, most probably the result of a 125 See “Faghfūr,” EI2 , II, p. 738. 126 Fouchécour, Moralia, pp. 76-79. 127 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 74-78.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY syncretic confluence of traditions. He accepts Darius’ testament, with its Zoroastrian hints, and at the same time, as soon as he conquers the throne of Persia, he orders that Sufis be protected throughout the kingdom, one out of many anachronisms in the Alexander stories, which here is possibly the symptom of an issue that was gaining growing relevance at the time of Ferdowsi. Following the pattern of the Arabic historiographic tradition (Dinavari), Eskandar visits the Abrahamic temple of the Ka’be (called Beyt al-harâm), where he restores the power of Nasr-e Qoteyb, Esmâ’il and Qah­tân’s descendant, against the usurpation on the part of Khozâ’e. In the short section devoted to this story, some notes on the part of Ferdowsi seem to mildly reprimand a purely materialistic approach to the sacred pilgrimage and its role in personal religious life.128 However, in the Shâhnâme Alexander is often presented as a Christian king, a faith that he explicitly professes on various occasions: his army holds a flag declaring to be “The Devotee of the Cross” (mohebb-e sâlib); he marries the daughter of the Indian king Keyd following Christian rites; he often claims his faith in the Messiah (din-e Masih) and the Holy Cross with Queen Qeydafe; he invokes the Messiah to protect a councilor of the Chinese Emperor; and his body is prepared for burial by a bishop (sokubâ).129 These features most probably reflect the Christian matrix of some parts of the account(s) of Alexander that Ferdowsi had as his source, in whatever language he accessed to it. The meeting with king Keyd is a fundamental episode in Ferdowsi’s rewriting of the Alexander Romance, which he developes extensively. It points to some hypotheses concerning the varied historical, as well as religious, matrix of the textual references implicit in Ferdowsi’s text. The episode is narrated in a number of Arabic and Persian versions (for instance, in Omâre’s Qessat al-Eskandar, where the king is given the name Qeydar; in Mas’udi’s Moruj al-dhahab, where he bears the name Kand; in Tha’âlebi’s Ghorâr akhbâr moluk al-Fors, where he is called Keyd; in the Mojmal al-tavârikh va’ l-qesas, with the name Qefend; in Tarsusi’s Dârâb-nâme, 128 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 48-52. See also Weinfield, The Islamic Alexander, p. 141; Marianna Shreve Simpson, “From Tourist to Pilgrim: Iskandar at the Kaʿba in Illustrated Shahnama Manuscripts,” IS 43 (2010), pp. 127-46. 129 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, V, p. 53; VI, pp. 28, 64, 69, 111, 123.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature with Keydâvar; also in Nezâmi’s poem and in other texts as well).130 In the Shâh-nâme, Keyd is described as a wise, well-mannered and moderate king: he is advised in a series of dreams interpreted by the sage Mehrân to avoid a battle with Alexander. Thus, he becomes the young king’s ally by offering him four precious gifts: a beautiful girl (not necessarily his daughter, as commonly reported, since she is described as sepahbod-nezhâd, “from the lineage of an army general,” although she is definitely his daughter in other accounts), a wise philosopher, a peerless physician, and a wondrous cup that, once filled with wine or fresh water, never runs dry. The development of the story also includes a rare allusion to Alexander’s strong sexual appetite, which puts his health at risk.131 The Keyd episode does not appear in the Greek and Syriac tradition of the Pseudo-Callisthenes, and its origin is unknown, although Ferdowsi states that his account is drawn from a Middle Persian source (chonin goft guyande-ye pahlavi). The term keyd is rooted in Iranian languages, in various forms, with the general meaning of soothsayer, or foreteller.132 An Indian character bearing this title appears in the Kârnâmag î Ardakhšîr î Pâbagân, where he offers an exact prophecy about his progeny to an envoy of the Sasanid king. The same story is evoked in the Ardashir section in the Shâh-nâme, where Keyd seems to be used as a proper name.133 Nevertheless, this latter character, who is in fact not a king, does not correspond to Eskandar’s interlocutor. It is possible that the Iran130 Zuwiyya, Islamic Legends Concerning Alexander the Great, pp. 163-66; Mas’udi, Moruj al-dhahab (Les prairies d’or), II, pp. 260-77; Tha’âlebi, Ghorâr, pp. 424-31; Mojmal al-tavârikh, pp. 119-20; Abu Tâher Tarsusi, Dârâb-nâme-ye Tarsusi, ed. Dhabih-Allâh Safâ (2 vols., Tehran, 1965-67), II, pp. 93-141. 131 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 11-36. Discussions of the episode, the dreams and the gifts, are in Safavi, Eskandar va adabiyyât-e Irân, pp. 13042; Manteghi, Alexander the Great in the Persian Tradition, pp. 55-62. In Omâre’s extended treatment, the intercourse with the girl produces an illness that will result being the actual cause of Alexander’s (here Dhu’l-Qarneyn’s) death. On a possible Indian origin of this aspect of the story, see Jivanji Jamshedji Modi, “The Story of Alexander the Great and the Poison-Damsel of India: A Trace of it in Firdousi’s ShāhNāmeh,” Journal of the Bombay Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, N.S. 3 (1928), pp. 212-30. 132 See Harold W. Bailey, “Iranian kēt ‘Foreteller’ and Related Words,” in Iranica Varia: Papers in Honor of Professor Ehsan Yarshater (Leiden, 1990), pp. 6-9; William W. Malandra, “Kaēta,” EIr, XV, pp. 335-36; Nicholas Sims-Williams, “Kēd,” EIr, XVI, pp. 269-70. 133 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 204-7.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY ian term keyd and its associated values have contributed to the final shape of this personage in some of his occurrences, but the wise Indian king appearing in Ferdowsi, and in other Arabic and Persian sources, seems to be the result of an articulated historiographic and narrative stratification, whose various stages of formation are difficult to retrace, but some layers may be glimpsed at in perspective. A comparison with the Greek historiographic tradition would suggest that the role played by Keyd, counterpart of the other Indian king Fur, Porus, with whom Alexander fights, corresponds perfectly to the role of king Ambhi (Ómphis or Táxiles in the Greek and Latin sources), sovereign of the town of Taxila (Sanskr. Takşaśila). According to the historical sources, Táxiles made an alliance with Alexander and helped him against Porus. Furthermore, and similar to the literary accounts of king Keyd, Plutarch describes Táxiles as a very wise man that persuaded the Macedonian king with a clever speech and a rich exchange of gifts. Moreover, it is Táxiles who has the Indian sage Calanus sent as an envoy to Alexander; and just like the anonymous philosopher sent to Alexander by Keyd, the envoy Calanus presents himself to his new sovereign with learned muted gestures (Plutarch, Alexander, LIX e LXV).134 Finally, in Alexander’s will as reported by the Pseudo-Callisthenes (rec. α), Táxiles is given sovereignty over the Indian region along the River Hydaspes. It is interesting to note that in Nezâmi’s account of the story, Alexander reaches Keyd’s town exactly following the same route that he travelled along, according to Arrian (IV, 22, 1-6), before meeting Táxiles: from Bactria (Balkh in Nezâmi) through the Hindu Kush.135 A further step in the formation of the story is the association with another ancient regional king, who lived a few centuries later: Gondophares (Indian Gondapharna/Guduvhara, Old-Persian Vindafarna, “May he find the farr”), the Indo-Parthian king who reigned over Drangiana, Arachosia, and Punjab, residing in the city of Taxila, possibly from about 21 to 47 CE. More generally, it seems that 134 Probably to Calanus we should reconnect the name Keyhân, used by Ya’qubi in his account of the story of the Indian sage king. See Ya’qubi, Tâ’rikh, ed. M. Th. Houtsma as Ibn Wadhih qui dicitur al-Jaʻqubi historiae (2 vols., Leiden, 1883), I, pp. 97, 162. Nöldeke had seen a connection with Calanus in Ya’qubi’s account, but had identified the king as Dandamis, the chief of the Gymnosophists: Nöldeke, Beiträge zur Geschichte des Alexanderromans, pp. 47-48. 135 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, pp. 364-65; the whole Keyd episode is at pp. 364-77.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature “Gondophares” was a “finder of farr,” a title which became a kind of family name for many subsequent members of the dynasty. Gondophares is the king mentioned in the Acts of Thomas (17-29). In this Christian apocryphal text of the early 3rd century, the king is led to wisdom and baptized by St. Thomas, together with his brother Gad. Whilst Thomas is said in the Ecclesiastical History by Bishop Eusebius of Caesarea, as well as several other sources, to have been the evangelizer of Parthia, the Acts of Thomas, dealing with the evangelization of India, circulated in Syriac and Greek, and was known to Eastern Christian as well as Manichean milieus all through Late Antiquity and the early Middle Ages. The link of this king to Alexander is provided by another important Greek source, Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius of Tyana, the famous Pythagorean philosopher and charismatic wonderworker, who is said to have arrived in Taxila travelling along Alexander’s routes in the 1st century CE. There, he met the wise and moderate king Phraotes (“the man who was ruling the kingdom of Porus at that time”), with whom he conversed at length on the interpretation of dreams, the nature of the world, and correct medical conduct, in particular the relative merits of drinking water or wine. After three days the king provides Apollonius with additional directions for his journey and advice for meeting other wise men along the way (Philostratus, Life of Apollonius, II, 20-41). The chronology, together with numismatic evidence, suggest that the character Phraotes mentioned in Philostratus’ biographical work should be identified with a member of the family of king Gondophares, or indeed, most probably with the king himself. Variants of Gondophares’ name, possibly through the Armenian form Gastaphar, also entered Christian literature on the biblical Magi, as Gaspar/Caspar, the king of India.136 If the circulation of Philostratus’ semi-legendary biography prob136 Bratindra Nath Mukherjee, “Coins of Prahat,” The Journal of the Numismatic Society of India 30 (1968), pp. 188-190; Louis Leloir, “Le baptisme du Roi Gundaphor,” Le Muséon 100 (1987), pp. 225-35; Baij Nath Puri, “The Sakas and Indo-Parthians,” in János Harmatta, Baij Nath Puri and G.F. Etemadi (eds.), History of Civilizations of Central Asia (6 vols., Paris, 1994), II, 191-207; Lourens P. van Den Bosch, “India and the Apostolate of St. Thomas,” in Jan N. Bremmer, ed., The Apocriphal Acts of Thomas (Leuven, 2001), pp. 125-48; A. D. H. Bivar,” Gondophares,” EIr, XI, pp. 135-36 ; Albertus F. J. Klijn, ed., The Acts of Thomas: Introduction, Text, Commentary. (2nd rev. ed., Leiden and Boston, 2003); Antonio Panaino, I Magi evangelici: Storia e simbologia tra Oriente e Occidente (Ravenna, 2004), pp. 21-23; Casari, “The King Explorer,” pp. 183-87. Gundâphâr also is the name given to the chief of the Chinese

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY ably did not cross the borders of the Roman empire, we know that the figure of Apollonius, with his gnostic charisma, his legendary travels, and the philosophical, astrological and talismanic works attributed to him, made a significant inroads into the Near Eastern world and gained a relevant place in Arabic and Persian literature, also, in various accounts, as one of the wise men and technical advisors at Eskandar’s court, with the name Bâlinâs/Balinâs/Balinus.137 If we consider the phonetic proximity between the couple Gad/Gondophares, with all its variants (epigraphic, numismatic, literary), and the multiple forms given for the literary name of Keyd (including Kand, Qefend, and Keydâvar), we may hypothesize an important role for the figure of the Indo-Parthian king in the formation of the literary character of the Indian sage king who became Alexander’s ally in the Arabic and Persian narratives. This process must have taken place within Eastern Christian environments, through the overlap—on a historiographical basis related to Alexander’s adventures in India—of the accounts related to Thomas (concerning the Christianization of Eastern Iran and India), and those concerning Apollonius. If this re-elaboration has occurred in Greek, or most probably in Syriac, then it may also have reached a final phase in Middle Persian, as suggested by Ferdowsi’s hint, and certainly in Arabic. In any case, in the geographical update of the Shâh-nâme, Keyd is the king of Qanawj (Kannauj), on the Ganges, an area that was emerging as the new Indian frontier for the Muslim armies guided by Ghaznavid Sultan Mahmud. However, the problem remains in Ferdowsi’s poem regarding the extent of Alexander’s Christian faith. The Water of Life in the Land of Darkness is depicted with features which, while refracting the importance of spiritual purification with water in pre-Islamic rituals,138 can be traced back to army in the Syriac version of the Pseudo-Callisthenes (Budge, The History of Alexander the Great, pp. 109-10). Both Alexander’s and Apollonius’ travels and meetings in India are discussed in Richard Stoneman, The Greek Experience of India (Princeton and Oxford, 2019). 137 Martin Plessner, “Balīnūs,” EI2 , I, pp. 994-95. . 138 See Djalâl Khâleghi Motlagh, “Tathir-e ma’navi bâ âb dar Shâh-nâme,” in idem, Sokhanhâ-ye dirine, ed. Ali Dehbâshi (Tehran, 2002), pp. 93-95; Mary Boyce, “Āb i. The Concept of Water in Ancient Iranian Culture,” EIr, I, p. 27; Eshâq Taghiyâni, Rahmân Qorbâni, “Bar-resi va tahlil-e bâztâb-e asâtir-e âb dar Shâh-nâme-ye Ferdowsi,” Kohan-nâme-ye adab-e pârsi 2 (2011), pp. 69-86.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature distinct Christian features. An elder from an old western city describes the nature of the spring to Alexander:139 Thus said the enlightened man of great wisdom: “He who drinks the water of life, how could he ever die? That Fountain flows from Paradise, Wash your body in it, and it will cleanse your sins.”

Khezr, who guides Alexander in the Land of Darkness, is here presented as the head of a local community. He finds the spring and bathes in it. Alexander instead continues to wander, receiving warnings from speaking birds (as in PC II, 39, in recensions β and derived) and the Angel Esrâfil (an integration current in the Islamic area). Thus, Alexander misses out on the essential act of purification, which would have cleansed him of his (many) sins.140 In this context of continued duplicity and ambiguity which, indeed, is the key to all literature on Alexander and applies perfectly to the ethical intent of the “mirror-for-princes” aspect of the Shâh-nâme, the main trait of the Qeysar-e Rum, focused on and celebrated by Ferdowsi, is his unquenchable curiosity, his journeys through boundaries and dimensions to explore the world—and also himself and his own fate. This is another typical element of all literature regarding Alexander, particularly in the Islamic area, as has been demonstrated in François de Polignac’s studies.141 In 139 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, p. 91; the whole episode is at pp. 91-96. A wider discussion of Alexander’s journey to the Land of Darkness is below, in the section devoted to Nezâmi’s Eskandar-nâme. 140 See also Casari, “La Fontana della Vita tra Silvestro e Khizr.” An overview on the episode of the journey into the Land of Darkness in Arabic literature is in Doufikar-Aerts, Alexander Magnus Arabicus, pp. 171-80. 141 De Polignac, “Cosmocrator: l’Islam et la légende antique du souverain universel;” François de Polignac, “Alexandre maître des seuils et des passages: de la légende antique au mythe arabe,” in Harf-Lancner et al., eds., Alexandre le Grand dans les littératures, pp. 215-25; François de Polignac, “Échec de la perfection, perfection de l’inachevé: Le renversement du sens dans la légende arabe d’Alexandre,” in Polignac, ed., Figure de l’ incomplétude, pp. 75-84. A parallel approach with regard to Persian literature, and the Shâh-nâme in particular, is presented by Claude-Claire Kappler, “Alexandre et les merveilles dans le Livre des Rois de Firdousi,” in Jean Dufournet and Jean-Claude Aubailly, et al., eds., Et c’est la fin pour quoy sommes ensemble: Hommage à Jean Dufournet: Littérature, Histoire, et Langue du Moyen Âge (3 vols., Paris, 1993), II, pp. 759-73; Claude-Claire Kappler, “Alexandre le Grand et les

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY the Shâh-nâme, before ascending to the throne of Darius, defined as the current jahândâr, “cosmocrator,” Alexander is referred to as jahânjuy, “he who searches for the world.” When he presents himself disguised as an ambassador, Alexander recites his own message to Darius: “I have no desire to fight the king or stay for long in the country of Iran. / My desire is to journey across the earth for a while and see the world for once.”142 Although the intent is fraudulent, the declaration of the explorer is sincere and longsighted. He makes a similar declaration when he is approaching Harum, the capital of the Amazons: “I don’t want any place in the world to remain hidden to me.” Alexander’s encounter with the Amazons had already been recounted by the first historiographers, although a widespread skepticism surrounded the story (Plutarch, Alexander, XLVI). The relevant section in the Pseudo-Callisthenes (PC, III 25-27) is narrated mainly through an exchange of letters and is possibly a part of the school epistolary narratives that merged into the compilation of the romance; Ferdowsi’s narration follows very closely the Syriac version. With various degrees of precision, these accounts locate the land of the Amazons among the Scythian lands to the east of the Caspian Sea, and so does Ferdowsi, who puts it immediately before the northern journey into the Land of Darkness. When finally Alexander managed to enter the city, “he looked for information about all their big and small things, and remained until he had solved all mysteries.”143 frontières,” in Aline Rousselle, ed., Frontières terrestres, frontières célestes dans l’antiquité (Perpignan, 1995), pp. 371-85; Claude-Claire Kappler, “Alexandre dans le Shāh Nāma de Firdousi: De la conquête du monde à la découverte de soi,” in Bridges and Bürgel, eds., Problematics of Power, pp. 165-89; Claude-Claire Kappler, “Le roi ‘au cœur éveillé’: Images du désir et de la mort dans la littérature persane classique,” in Polignac, ed., Figure de l’ incomplétude, pp. 85-95. See also, Olga M. Davidson, “The Burden of Mortality: Alexander and the Dead in Persian Epic and Beyond,” in David Konstan and Kurt A. Raaflaub, eds., Epic and History (Chichester, Sussex, and Malden, MA, 2010), pp. 212-22. 142 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, V, p. 536. 143 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 85-90. See Nawotka, The Alexander Romance by Ps.-Callisthenes, pp. 220-25. On the Amazons in the Iranian tradition, see Alireza Sh. Shahbazi, “Amazons,” EIr, I, p. 929; Adrienne Mayor, “Amazons in the Iranian World, EIr Online, http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/23304804_EIRO_COM_362374; Jean-Charles Ducène, “L’île des Amazones dans la mer Baltique chez les géographes arabes: confluence du Roman d’Alexandre et d’une tradition germanique,” Rocznik Orientalistyczny 54 (2002), pp. 117-28; JeanCharles Ducène, “Du nouveau sur les Amazones dans les sources arabes et persanes

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature There are two major aspects in Alexander’s explorations, which oppose and integrate each other. One is that which involves his approach and confrontation with royalty. The Pseudo-Callisthenes provides a significant account of this initiation. In one of the extant Letters on Wonders (PC, III 27-28, Letter to Olympias), Alexander describes his entrance to the Persian Royal Palace, the “abode of Cyrus and Xerxes” that hosts the precious and magnificently adorned, but empty throne, a clear symbol of the shifting power. This anecdote is updated in the Syriac version: the kings become Khosrow and Paqôr, two figures that may refer to Shahpur II and Khosrow II, given the context in which this version was produced.144 In addition to this episode, another anecdote enjoyed great literary fame: it is present in recension β and its derivations. Just before reaching the palace of Cyrus, Alexander describes, in the same Letter to Olympias, his arrival at a mountain, corresponding to the mythical Nysa, where he enters a temple dedicated to Dionysius. In the center of the temple, an imposing man clothed in a cotton shroud lies on a golden bed. In front of this other royal confrontation, a voice warns Alexander to placate his ambitions: indeed, this warning is the second aspect of his exploratory adventures, which always appears entwined with the first. In Ferdowsi, the ascent to the throne, which is facilitated by his Iranian ancestry, is described in simple terms: a single verse to present Alexander with the glorious crown of the Kayanids in the Palace of Estakhr. However, it is accompanied by the poet’s admonition: “Do not scrutinize the mystery of the world as long as you can, as it swiftly turns its face from the explorer!”145 Ferdowsi, however, keeps the story of the arrival at the mountain of Dionysius in two different variants that are not far apart in the text. One takes place in the west and seems to follow the narrative sequence of recension β; while the other takes place in the east, after the erection of the barrier against Gog and Magog, and follows the tradition of the Syriac version. Indeed, this is yet another example of the various routes followed by the Alexander Romance in the delta of Arabic and Persian literature. In médiévales,” Rocznik Orientalistyczny 64 (2011), pp. 38-45. On the construction of the legend of Alexander’s encounter with the Amazons see Elizabeth Baynham, “Alexander and the Amazons,” The Classical Quarterly 51 (2001), pp. 115-26. 144 Budge, History of Alexander the Great, pp. 235-36 of the Syriac text, pp. 132-33 of the English translation. 145 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, V, p. 565.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY the Shâh-nâme, these two short anecdotes (13 and 18 verses respectively) are simplified in comparison to their Greek and Syriac antecedents, but the elements are more dramatic. In one case, the isolated corpse on the top of the high hill is that of an elder, who is crowned and shrouded in an embroidered mantle and seated on a throne surrounded by gold and silver; in the other, he is an unfortunate creature at the center of a topaz hall adorned with a salt water spring and illuminated by the light of a gem. This corpse, too, is shrouded by an embroidered mantle, and lying on a double throne, but it has the body of a man and the head of a boar. If this were not eloquent enough, a mysterious voice admonishes Alexander in both anecdotes. In the first, it emphasizes that “You have toppled many kingly thrones, […] it’s time for you to leave the world.” In the second, the voice exclaims: “Your life is shorter now, and the throne of your sovereignty is without a sovereign.”146 The empty throne reappears in a metaphorical transcription that inverts its meaning: a tragic sign of Alexander’s destiny and, in general, that of all kings. The image of the human body with a boar or hog (gorâz) head does not seem to have any direct parallels in literature concerning Alexander. On the one hand, this iconography can be traced back to the Iranian cultural context. Within the Sasanid royal tradition the boar represented the ancient solar divinity Verethraghna, harbinger of victory (Pahl. Varhrân; Pers. Bahrâm). The image of the boar appears in many rock carvings, and it also was the effigy carved into several imperial seals, such as those of Shahpur II and Khosrow II. On the other hand, a critical view of this glorious image of the boar is transmitted by the legend concerning the Christianization of Armenia. According to the socalled History of Armenia by Agathangelus, the Armenian King Tiridates the Great reacted to the attempts of evangelization of his kingdom on the part of St. Gregory the Illuminator, by heavily persecuting the Christians. For his ferocious authoritarism, he was transformed into a boar; rehabilitated from this condition by Gregory, he converted himself and his own country to the Christian faith. Agathangelus’ History is a problematic text (4th-5th century), which circulated in at least two recensions, and three languages, Armenian, Greek, and then Arabic (by the 8th century). Images of King Tiridates with a boar head are present in Armenian art.147 Taking 146 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 84-85, 100-102. 147 Victor Langlois, Collection des historiens anciens et modernes de l’Arménie (2 vols., Paris, 1867), I, pp. 105-93: 150-2; Gérard Garitte, Documents pour l’ étude du livre

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature into account the formation contexts and the audiences of these stories, one should also consider the pertinence of the belief, circulating in Christian milieus, that the fourth beast of the famous vision of the four kingdoms in the Book of Daniel (VII, 2-27), depicting the reign of Alexander and his successors, was the destructive boar of Psalm LXXIX, 14. Whatever the case, the image of the Qeysar-e Rum who mirrors himself in the deceased boar-monarch seems to be pregnant with symbolic values, leading in various directions.148 Continuing eastward, this pursuit of royalty and understanding of limits reaches its apex when Alexander arrives at the paradisiacal garden where he receives, thanks to an interpreter, a definitive sentence from a double tree that is both male and female: [… even] in the vastness of the world, Your excessive avarice doesn’t leave you enough space, Why do you torment your soul? You lust after wandering round the world, Abusing people, killing kings! […] Little time you have to linger here, Do not make your days dark and dank! […] Make it brief and pack up your chattel […] Soon Death will find you in a foreign land, Your stars, the crown, and the throne will have grown tired of you!149

This episode, which corresponds to Alexander’s arrival in the garden of the Trees of the Sun and the Moon in the Greek Romance (PC, III 17), d’Agathange (Vatican City, 1946); Gabriele Winkler, “Our Present Knowledge on the History of Agat‘angełos and its Oriental Versions,” Revue des études armeniennes 14 (1980), pp. 125-41; Giusto Traina, “Grégoire l’Illuminateur en Arménie,” in JeanPierre Caillet and Hervé Inglebert, eds., Des dieux civiques aux saints patrons (Paris, 2015), pp. 365-74. 148 For a general discussion of this episode see Mario Casari, “Alessandro alle sedi degli antichi sovrani, dal Romanzo greco alle versioni persiane,” in Carmela Baffioni, ed., La diffusione dell’eredità classica nell’età tardoantica e medievale: Filologia, storia, dottrina (Alessandria, 2000), pp. 11-26. 149 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 102-5.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY as a section of one of the Letters on wonders, has become one of the most representative anecdotes on Alexander by Ferdowsi. On a figurative level, it intersects the literary myth of the wâq-wâq tree, which is independent, producing numerous miniatures in which Alexander is questioning a tree from whose branches dangle the heads of animals and human beings.150 This episode seals the moral framework of Ferdowsi’s account. In studying traditional notions of ethics and morality in Persian, besides inner factors that are the result of education and culture ( farhang), three external causes can be identified as impulses towards a moral response on the part of human beings: the world (the lower world as opposed in its illusoriness to the other world to which only the soul is destined); time— in contrast with the coming time of the Final Judgment—as the portion assigned to each one in order to prepare one’s own worldly fame and the (spiritual) belongings for the other world; and nature, according to which human beings are seen mainly as subject to desires and needs, whose satisfaction should be achieved with moderate measure.151 Thus, in the words of the trees, Alexander’s moral profile and destiny is summarized: in this lower world, consumed by his insatiable cravings, he is approaching the end of the time bestowed to him, after which he shall leave with his own harvest. The parable structure is also a fundamental inheritance that the poet of Tus bequeathed to any of his successors who would choose to work on the feats of the Macedonian king. And the message is clearly repeated by the sequence of lamentations on Alexander’s coffin, a motif that was widespread in Arabic and Persian texts: 21 reflections (by Aristotle, eighteen 150 Phyllis Ackerman, “The Talking Tree,” Bulletin of the American Institute for Persian Art and Archaeology 4, 2 (1935), pp. 66-72; Dorothee Rondorf-Schmucker, “Über Alexander und den redenden Baum in der persischen Miniaturmalerei,” in Jakob Ozols and Volker Thewalt, eds., Aus dem Osten des Alexanderreiches. Völker und Kulturen zwischen Orient und Okzident: Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Indien (Cologne, 1984), pp. 245-73; Casari, Alessandro e Utopia nei romanzi persiani medievali, pp. 18-29; Mario Casari, “Alexandre et l’arbre anthropique,” in Jean-Louis Bacqué-Grammont, ed., L’arbre anthropogène du Waqwaq, les femmes-fruits et autres zoophytes (Naples, 2007), pp. 177-201; Mario Casari, “Un lieu de traduction: Alexandre au Paradis dans la tradition persane,” in Catherine Gaullier-Bougassas, and Margaret Bridges, eds., Les voyages d’Alexandre au paradis: Orient et Occident, regards croisés (Turnhout, 2013), pp. 379-403: 386-89. On the myth of wâq-wâq, see Marina Gaillard, “L’arbre anthropogène du WaqWaq: nouvelles explorations d’un mythe multiple. Note de lecture,” SI 39 (2010), pp. 121-34. 151 Fouchécour, Moralia, pp. 449-51.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature sages from Rum, Alexander’s mother and Rowshanak), all of which have the same doleful tone and carry the same veiled reprimand. Darius’ daughter is particularly harsh as she, once again, laments the passing of her father, jahândâr, and describes Alexander as a “furious cloud, pregnant with hail.” Ferdowsi adds his own comment: “he had killed thirty-six kings, look what’s left of the world in his hands!”152

A Court of Sages: Eskandar in Nezâmi’s Khamse Alexander’s narrative as presented by Ferdowsi remains the touchstone for the comparative study of later versions, for its synthesis of the many aspects and many matrices of the whole story, as well as for its exemplary structure, which is based on traditional episodes, with a few integrations, to clearly describe his ascent as well as his abrupt fall, through a series of ethical, philosophical, and political observations. At the end of the 12th century, Alexander was a significant figure in various literary genres, but the composition of a new narration of his feats in verse by Nezâmi of Ganje is explicitly based on the content of the Shâh-nâme. Whereas Ferdowsi considered Alexander an inevitable ring in the chain of the succession of Persian kings on account of his acquired Iranian ascendency, Nezâmi selected Alexander’s story as an essential tessera in the reflection on knowledge that he conducts in the five chapters of his Khamse. Nezâmi’s version establishes Eskandar as a key character of the Persian narrative canon for poetic expression (in the form of the mathnavi). The Eskandar-nâme is the longest work in Nezâmi’s Khamse. It is divided into two volumes with two titles that may have not been penned by the author: the nearly seven thousand verses of the Sharaf-nâme (Book of Honor) and the three thousand and six hundred verses of the Eqbâl-nâme (Book of Fortune), sometimes referred to as the Kherad-nâme (Book of Wisdom). Some scholars believe that the second volume was completed in haste and does not include every part that was in the original plan. In India, the two volumes are known 152 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 123-29. One should note that Beyhaqi too uses Rowshanak’s image of Alexander as a rain/hail bearing cloud unburdening itself and swiftly passing away (Beyhaqi, Târikh, p. 113; The History of Beyhaqi, I, p. 180): the atmosphere around the tie between Alexander and Sultan Mahmud and his successors, was not just a celebratory one!

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY and catalogued on the basis of the dominant landscapes in Alexander’s two itineraries: the Eskandar-nâme-ye barri (Alexander’s book on land) and the Eskandar-nâme-ye bahri (Alexander’s book at sea). However, the use of these titles in the manuscripts is not always coherent. The Eskandar-nâme was, for a long time, considered Nezâmi’s last work in his Khamse (Quintet), but it has been plausibly suggested that both sections were completed before 1194, prior to the Haft Peykar.153 There are many manuscripts and printed editions of the Khamse, and also manuscripts that only contain the two parts of the Eskandar-nâme. These works have provided the basis for critical editions and modern translations that were produced starting in the 1940s.154 Nezâmi’s work is certainly one of the greatest and most detailed portraits of the Macedonian sovereign of all literature on Alexander. It proposes two peregrinations of the king around the world with similar structures but different intentions, one mainly based on the Pseudo-Callisthenes and Ferdowsi’s re-elaboration, the other centered on the themes tied to the Qur’anic Dhu’l-Qarneyn. The Sharaf-nâme follows Alexander from his birth to the ascent to the throne and then to his many quests: the conquest of the land of the Zang (Eastern Africa); the defeat of Darius, once again portrayed as unjust and bellicose, and the marriage to his daughter Rowshanak; the destruction of the Zoroastrian Fire Temples and the pilgrimage to the Ka’be; the meeting with Queen Nushâbe (Candace in the Greek Romance, Qeydâfe in Ferdowsi), and the renewal of the Persian imperial rite with the entrance into the Fortress of Sarir, where the Throne of Key Khosrow and Jamshid’s Cup were safeguarded; then, after the encounter 153 François de Blois, PL, V/2, pp. 438-46; V/3, pp. 585-91. 154 De Blois, PL, V/2, pp. 449-79, 487-92. In this chapter references are to Nezâmi Ganjavi, Sharaf-nâme, ed. Behruz Tharvatiyân (Tehran, 1989) and Nezâmi Ganjavi, Eqbâl-nâme, ed. Behruz Tharvatiyân (Tehran, 2010). Translations of the whole Eskandar-nâme are in German (tr. Johann Christoph Bürgel as Das Alexanderbuch: Iskandarname, Zürich, 1991), and Russian (tr. Konstantin Lipskerovi, as Iskendername, Baku, 1953; tr. E E. Bertel’s and A.K. Arends, as Iskendername, Baku, 1983). The Sharaf-nâme was translated in English by Henry Wilberforce Clarke as The Sikandar Nāma,e bara or Book of Alexander the Great Written A.D. by Abū Muẖammad bin Yusuf Bin Mu,ayyid-i Niz̤ āmu-’ d-Dīn (London, 1881). The Eqbâl-nâme has been translated into Italian by tr. Carlo Saccone, as Il libro della fortuna di Alessandro (Milan, 1997). For editions of the whole Khamse, see Domenico Parrello, “Ḵamsa of Neẓāmi,” EIr, XV, pp. 450-51.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature with the Indian king Keyd (in a simpler version than in the Shâh-nâme), a long mission to China and a war against the Rus (the Russian Vikings, the Varangians). The final episode is the famously unsuccessful journey to the Land of Darkness, guided by Khezr. The rueful return to Rum is the prelude to the second chapter of the story. The Eqbâl-nâme, which is organized differently, presents an initial section that pertains to the literary genre of the “Lives of the Sages,” dominated by wise anecdotes and conversations between Alexander and his court of philosophers. Theoretical expositions are also accompanied by accounts concerning disputes and rivalries among philosophers. After establishing the primacy of Plato, Alexander is also invested as a prophet and moves on, not for conquest this time, but to discover and convert the world. After building the Lighthouse of Alexandria, exploring the Western Ocean, and crossing lands and deserts, the king arrives in China, navigates to the Eastern Ocean and returns to land. Two key episodes of the Dhu’l-Qarneyn tradition, the construction of the barrier to contain the apocalyptic peoples (only Yâjuj in this case) and the arrival in the Blessed City, are his last accomplishments before his death and the wise reflections that accompany it.155 According to Johann Christoph Bürgel, the three-fold structure of this poem, which follows Alexander’s exploits as a conqueror, as a philosopher, and as a prophet, depicts the portrait of the ideal sovereign as presented in the work of the neo-platonic philosopher Fârâbi, On the Perfect City (al-Madine al-fâzele, 10th century). We should assume that Nezâmi had a direct knowledge of this text, which had a profound influence on Islamic political thought. In his process of progressive maturity through these three stages, Alexander conducts a campaign to conquer (only to redress 155 General overviews are in Wilhelm Bacher, Niẓâmî’s Leben und Werke und der zweite Theil des Niẓâmîschen Alexanderbuches (Göttingen, 1871); Bertel’s, Roman ob Aleksandre, pp. 49-77; Dh. Safâ, Hamâse-sarâ’ i dar Irân (Tehran, 1954), pp. 343-52; Peter J. Chelkowski, “Niẓāmī’s Iskandarnāmeh,” in Colloquio sul poeta persiano Niẓāmī e la leggenda iranica di Alessandro Magno (Roma, 25-26 marzo 1975) (Rome, 1977), pp. 11-53; Safavi, Eskandar va adabiyyât-e Irân, pp. 76-243 (as a comparison with Ferdowsi’s account); Kâmel Ahmadnezhâd, Tahlil-e âthâr-e Nezâmi-ye Ganjavi. Negâhi be âthâr-e Nezâmi bâ molâhazât-e tatbiqi dar bâre-ye ma’ âkhedh-e eslâmi va bâstâni-ye Eskandar-nâme (Tehran, 1990); Abd-al-Hoseyn Zarrinkub, Pir-e Ganje, dar jostoju-ye nâkojâ-âbâd: Dar bâre-ye zendegi, âthâr va andiše-ye Nezâmi (Tehran, 1993), pp. 169-200; François de Blois, “Eskandar-Nāma of Neẓāmi,” EIr, VIII, pp. 612-14 ; Manteghi, Alexander the Great in the Persian Tradition, pp. 71-157.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY claims of injustice) and convert the world to the true faith (the monotheistic Abrahamic faith that prefigures Islam), guiding it from war to peace in what could represent a prototype for the figure of the Prophet Mohammad.156 Nezâmi’s profoundly religious attitude, which is buttressed by his vicinity to the Akhi confraternity, provides the foundation for the spiritual aura that surrounds the work, with several allusions to mystical traits. Nonetheless, the entire Eskandar-nâme, for which the poet chose to use the meter of epic poetry, the motaqâreb, is essentially a great “mirror-forprinces” composed at the edge of the Saljuq empire. Its two sections were probably both dedicated to the malek of Ahar, Nosrat-al-Din Bishkin b. Mohammad. In some manuscript families, the dedication changes, introducing in the second volume the name of Ezz-al-Din Abu’l-Fath Mas’ud b. Nur-al-Din (atabeg of Mosul, 1211-18), but this dedication appears to be spurious.157 At the beginning of the Eqbâl-nâme, Nezâmi summarizes his interests and the outlook of his ideal sovereign, narrating how Alexander’s army, with which he fulfills his global mission, was formed by six divisions: heroic warriors, skilled magicians, refined rhetoricians, acute sages, virtuous ascetics, and far-sighted prophets.158 As a book intended for courtly reading, Nezâmi’s Eskandar-nâme provides a significant frame through one of the first sâqi-nâmes inserted in Persian mathnavis: in the Sharaf-nâme the transitions between major episodes are marked by short passages of two to ten verses beginning with the formula biyâ sâqi (“come, cup-bearer!”), followed by reflections on common wisdom themes; in 156 Johann C. Bürgel, “Conquérant, philosophe et prophète. L’image d’Alexandre le Grand dans l’épopée de Nezami,” in Christophe Balaÿ, Claire Kappler, Živa Vesel, eds., Pand-o-Sokhan. Mélanges offerts à Charles-Henri de Fouchécour (Tehran, 1995), pp. 65-78; Johann C. Bürgel, “Krieg und Frieden in Alexanderepos Nizamis,” in Bridges and Bürgel, eds., Problematics of Power, pp. 91-107; Carlo Saccone, “Il viaggio di Alessandro tra sapienza filosofica e sapienza soprannaturale nell’Eqbâlnâmé (Libro della Fortuna) di Nezâmi,” in Idem, Viaggi e visioni di re, sufi, profeti (Milan-Trento, 1999), pp. 258-303; Carlo Saccone, “Paradigmi della sovranità nel romanzo irano-islamico di Alessandro: il re-profeta e la ‘sospensione del potere’ nell’Eqbâl-nâme di Nezâmi (XII sec.),” Quaderni di studi indo-mediterranei 1 (2008) pp. 157-78. See also Richard Walzer, Al-Farabi on the Perfect State (Abū Naṣr al-Fārābī’s Mabādiʾ arāʾ ahl al-madīna al-fāḍila): A Revised Text with Introduction, Translation, and Commentary (Oxford, 1985). 157 PL, V/3, pp. 585-91. 158 Nezâmi, Eqbâl-nâme, p. 51.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature the Eqbâl-nâme, these are replaced by short do-beyt calls to the moghanni (singer), much in the same vein.159 An erudite polyglot reader, Nezâmi declares at the beginning of the Sharaf-nâme that he used new versions of Alexander’s story and Hebrew, Christian, and Pahlavi sources: Not in one roll alone I saw the exploits of this king explorer (shâh-e âfâq-gard): The words that had been buried like a treasure, and scattered in every manuscript. And from every manuscript I gathered the jewels, adding to them the ornament of poetry. Besides many a new chronicle, from Hebrew, Christian, and Pahlavi (târikhhâ-ye navi, yahudi vo nasrâni -o pahlavi): From each book I picked out its own grace, grasping the pith from every skin. Language by language I assembled the treasure (ganj), and from that all I created a whole. Whoever knows each one of these tongues, his tongue will refrain from slander.160

A complete survey of the sources of the Eskandar-nâme is still awaited, and it will probably never be possible to fully identify the vast network of texts that are behind the many narrative details and reflections contained in the work. In fact, notwithstanding the explicit reference to Ferdowsi as a predecessor, it is clear that the many variations and integrations to the episodes sourced from the Shâh-nâme and especially the many new episodes included in the Eskandar-nâme are based on a vast corpus of literature not directly related to Alexander. Nezâmi only explicitly mentions a few of these and even more rarely uses a title that allows us to pinpoint the source. Besides Arabic and Persian historiographies, Qur’anic commentaries, “stories of the prophets,” didactic works, “mirrors-for-princes,” etc. that included sections on Alexander, there is no doubt that the vast library used 159 Paul Losensky, “Sāqi-nāma,” EIr Online, http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/2330-4804_ EIRO_COM_873. See also Christine van Ruymbeke, “Iskandar’s Bibulous Business: Wine, Drunkenness, and the Calls to the Sāqī in Nizāmī Ganjavī’s Sharafnāma,” IS 46 (2013), pp. 251-72. 160 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, p. 107. In the context of these verses, the term navi also could be read as “Qorʾanic,” with the meaning of Islamic.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY to compile the Eskandar-nâme, and partially attributed to Alexander’s court itself in the fiction, included works on geography and cosmography (gitâ-shenâs), as well as texts on philosophy and rational and occult sciences. Possibly the titles of some Middle Persian sources can be identified, as well as a significant group of Hermetic works that circulated in Arabic and are explicitely mentioned by Nezâmi, such as the Ketâb al-estamâkhis and Abu-Ma’shar’s astrological treatise, Ketâb al-oluf, from the mid-9th century. Moreover, several allusions suggest that Nezâmi was acquainted with the renowned Epistles of the Brethren of Purity. The important role of Jewish traditions in Nezâmi’s work suggests that he may have had direct access to Hebrew sources, or reliable translations of them. Some hints scattered in his Eskandar-nâme, also indicate his familiarity with Byzantine culture, and possibly also Greek language.161 Nezâmi selected the available literary material concerning Alexander, which always hovered between historical fact and fiction, with great erudition. He tended to prefer the principle of plausibility, opting for variants that fit the ethical objectives of his work. This is evident, for example, in the three versions listed with regard to the birth of Alexander. Besides the Iranian descent version, which he briefly describes as second, Nezâmi also selected one generically attributed to wise men from Rum (hushyârân-e Rum), according to which Alexander was abandoned by a local woman, who died alone in misery, and was found per chance by King Filqus. Nezâmi refutes both of these versions, considering them absurd (gezâfe), and decides that the best is the one told in the sources of every country (az gofte-ye har diyâr), according to which Alexander was effectively the son of Philip of Macedon, a hypothesis that at the time was also taking hold in historiography. One of the reasons for the return to the hypothesis of an exclusively Rumi genealogy for Alexander may be the fact that in the 12th century his prestige was firmly based on Qur’anic sources and required less dynastic legitimation. Indeed, even the increasing diffusion of lords of Turkish origin as the patrons and beneficiaries of laudatory works addressing the ideal sovereign, contributed to diminishing the interest in a legitimacy to Persian lands 161 See Zarrinkub, Pir-e Ganje; Johann C. Bürgel, “On Some Sources of Nizāmī’s Iskandarnāma,” in Franklin D. Lewis and Sunil Sharma, eds., The Necklace of the Pleiades (Leiden, 2010), pp. 21-30; Manteghi, Alexander the Great in the Persian Tradition, pp. 125-27, 155-57. Other references (direct or indirect, and often hypothetical) can be found in most essays dealing with Nezâmi’s Eskandar-nâme.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature based on blood: the substitution of the Buyid protectorate with a Saljuq one for the eastern lands of the Caliphate was certainly a significant factor in this process. The dismissal of the Iranian origin favored an emphasis on Alexander’s role as a guide for the inter-ethnic Islamic community and it is significant that Nezâmi opted for a genealogy of Filqus from Esau, son of Isaac, and therefore Abraham, forefather of the monotheistic message.162 Also with regard to the etymology of the name “Two-Horned” (here in its Persian version: Sâheb-e do qarn), presented at the beginning of the Eqbâl-nâme, Nezâmi mentions numerous variants according to the tafsir tradition, but addresses one in particular, according to which the epithet was based on Alexander’s extremely long ears, which he hid out of shame with a precious diadem. The secret, only known to his personal barber, was divulged by the echo of canes that grew out of a well in which the barber had hollered the secret cathartically.163 The story was known also to the poet Sanâ’i of Ghazni (d. ca. 1131), who included it in his mystical mathnavi Hadiqat al-haqiqe (“The Garden of Truth”).164 This is a Persian version of the famous Greco-Latin story of King Midas and his donkey ears (recounted, for example, by Ovid, Metamorphoses, XI, 172-93). Its association with Alexander, only partially irreverent, seems better justified given two considerations. First, the association of the Phrygian king Midas with the ears of an ass can be traced back to a symbolic Greek representation of the Persian king and his spies (the king’s eyes and ears); the survival of this concept in Near Eastern folklore may have reached Alexander after he became a new incarnation of the Persian king, favored by his own fame as the Two-Horned.165 Secondly, in accordance with an iconographic tradition of 162 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, pp. 117-120. See also Rubanovich, “Why So Many Stories,” pp. 212-15. 163 Nezâmi, Eqbâl-nâme, pp. 55-59. 164 Sanâ’i Ghaznavi, Hadiqat al-haqiqe va shari’at al-tariqe, ed. Mohammad Rowshan (Tehran, 1998), pp. 351-52. See also Mohammad J. Mahjub, “Dâstân-hâ-ye âmmiyâne-ye fârsi: Eskandar-nâme,” Sokhan 10 (1959), pp. 735-42: 738. 165 See the interesting considerations in Susanne Berndt, “The King Has Ass’s Ears! The Myth of Midas’s Ears,” in Elizabeth Simpson, ed., The Adventure of the Illustrious Scholar: Papers Presented to Oscar White Muscarella (Leiden and Boston, 2018), pp. 49-66. For the allusion to this story in Armenian and Turkic folklore, see Minas Tchéraz, “La Légende d’Alexandre-le-Grand chez les Arméniens,” Revue de l’histoire des Religions 43 (1901), pp. 345-51: 346-47; Faustina Doufikar-Aerts, “King Midas’ Ears on Alexander’s Head: In Search of the Afro-Asiatic Alexander Cycle,” in Stoneman et al., eds., Alexander Romance in Persia, pp. 61-79.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Late Antiquity, a series of contorniates (celebrative or possibly talismanic coins and medals) coined in Rome in the 5th century CE, depicted the head of the Macedonian King together with a donkey, an image that had a magic and augural meaning both for pagans and certain para-Christian gnostic sects. Alexander’s face was paired with the Christian expression filius dei that indicated the process of the transformation of his role in the late Greco-Latin world.166 Although we do not know about the extent of the circulation of these coins, summing up these clues, we can suppose that oral folkloric traditions and iconographic occurrences may have helped the association of the Midas’ ears story with Alexander in the eastern side of the Roman empire, and its entrance into neighboring literatures, to finally reach Persian poets such as Sanâ’i and Nezâmi, and spread even further. Nezâmi’s Eskandar-nâme is certainly the Persian mathnavi about Alexander that has been most often quoted and discussed by scholars. Nonetheless, and on account of its great complexity and its many interconnections with the Eurasian literature of Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, there are still many strands left unexplored. Some of the more significant strands are mentioned here through a thematic overview that considers both parts altogether. The great significance attributed by Nezâmi to the court of philosophers that surround Alexander is certainly based on the historical tradition of the learned king guided by the king of philosophers, Aristotle, whose exchange of letters with Alexander constitutes an important corpus of literature on Alexander in the Islamic world. Apparently, Nezâmi is the only Arabic or Persian author who mentions Nequmâkhos (Nicomachus, Aristotle’s father) as Alexander’s first teacher, who later recommends his son as Alexander’s guide and minister.167 However, Nezâmi’s care on this aspect of Alexander’s profile also reveals a significant penchant on his part for Greek philosophy itself in an age in which it was increasingly under attack by orthodox circles.168 For Nezâmi, the list of seven wise men in symposium 166 Andreas Alföldi, “Asina: Eine dritte Gruppe heidnischen Neujahrsmünzen im spätantiken Rom,” Schweizer Münzblätter 2 (1951), pp. 57-66 and 92-96; Lukas Vischer, “Le prétendu ‘culte de l’âne’ dans l’Église primitive,” Revue de l’histoire des religions 139 (1951), pp. 14-35; Lellia Cracco Ruggini, “Sulla cristianizzazione della cultura pagana: il mito greco e latino di Alessandro dall’età antonina al medioevo,” Athenaeum N.S. 43 (1965), pp. 3-80: 15-17. 167 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, p. 122. 168 Iysa A. Bello, The Medieval Islamic Controversy Between Philosophy and Orthodoxy: Ijmāʻ and Ta’wīl in the Conflict Between Al-Ghazālī and Ibn Rushd (Leiden and New York, 1989).

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature with Alexander at the beginning of the Eqbâl-nâme, represents a synthesis of Greek knowledge and wisdom as filtered through Islamic culture, which had used it as one of its pillars: Aristotle (Arestu); Vettius Valens (Vâlis); Apollonius (Balinâs); Socrates (Soqrât); Porphyry (Farfuryus); Hermes (Hermes); and Plato (Aflâtun). The idea that Alexander had been followed by Aristotle and other sages in his campaigns circulated already in Greek and Roman milieus, and an anachronistic congregation of philosophers and rhetoricians (including Plato and Lysias) is also present in the Greek Pseudo-Callisthenes, when the assembly of the Athenians votes to welcome Alexander instead of resisting and rejecting him (PC II, 4). But the grouping of these seven figures in Nezâmi’s poem is clearly connected to the circulation of the Sendbâd-nâme narrative cycle, which possibly had absorbed the tradition related to the Seven Sages of ancient Greece (as mentioned for instance in Plato, Protagoras, 342-43). The Sendbâd-nâme cycle had important Persian versions (such as Zahiri Samarqandi’s and Daqâyeqi Marvazi’s, both from the 12th century) and also intersected with the Bahrâm-nâme tradition, resulting in original masterpieces such as Nezâmi’s Haft Peykar.169 The long first part of the Eqbâl-nâme, which recounts the philosophical debates at Alexander’s court, and his preparation for prophetic mission, is centered round philosophical, religious, and magical themes, which intersect with each other through the conversations and the events. The role of human and animal voice, as a natural sound, means of communication, producer of fame, and also musical instrument, stands out throughout the various sections. In terms of philosophy, the claims of these wise men on the nature of the first creation of the world at times faintly echoes the original concepts 169 See Mario Casari, “The Wise Men of Alexander’s Court in Persian Medieval Romances: An Iranian View of Ancient Cultural Heritage,” in Carlo G. Cereti, with the assistance of Chiara Barbati, Matteo De Chiara and Gianfilippo Terribili, eds., Iranian Identity in the Course of History (Rome, 2010), pp. 67-80. See also Grignaschi “La Figure d’Alexandre chez les arabes,” especially pp. 205-6, 212. On the Sendbâd-nâme tradition and its interaction in Persian literature see Ben E. Perry, “The Origin of the Book of Sindbad,” Fabula 3 (1959-60), pp. 1-94; Piemontese, “Narrativa medioevale persiana e percorsi librari internazionali;” Mario Casari, “Percorsi tematici nel viaggio euro-asiatico dei testi,” in Franco Cardini and Biancamaria Scarcia Amoretti, eds., Lo Spazio letterario del Medioevo. 3. Le culture circostanti II: La cultura arabo-islamica (Rome, 2003), pp. 459-498. See also Paola Orsatti’s chapter on the Haft Peykar in this volume.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY of the historical Greek philosophers, but they especially represented a range of heterodox opinions of Medieval Islam, corrected by the final discourses of Plato, Alexander, and Nezâmi himself, which were more consonant with orthodox professions. They also accompany Alexander’s evolution towards a more mystical approach to knowledge.170 The description of two disputes that Nezâmi imagines in this context provides a look into the complexity of the sources included in the initial philosophical section of the Eqbâlnâme. A brief episode, often portrayed in illuminated manuscripts, is the one concerning the contrast between Hermes and the assembly of seventy Greek philosophers, all of them jealous of his superiority in presenting the Truth by way of speech. Exasperated by their hostility, Hermes annihilates his adversaries with a shout and explains to Alexander that “resolution” (hemmat; also “psychic energy” in mystical concept) has opened the gate of heaven.” The second challenge is between Aristotle and Plato, when the latter discovers how to use musical harmonies to interact with humans and animals, and even how to drive them into a deathlike trance and then reawaken them. After an intense period of study, Aristotle also discovers the melodies that induce sleep, but he fails in reawakening his victims and is obliged to ask Plato for help, thereby recognizing his superiority. “When Alexander learned that Plato was the master of every science in Rum / he elevated his position in the empire and made him the leader of his circle.” Although these two episodes are full of symbolic content that lead to many reflections on various fields, they also seem to narratively represent some classic themes of the history of philosophy in Islam, such as the rivalry between the schools of Aristotle and Plato, and the essential role of the hermetic tradition that was fundamental in the creation of the Arabic corpus of literature on Alexander.171 170 Nezâmi, Eqbâl-nâme, pp. 114-23. See Alessandro Bausani, “Aspetti filosofico-etici dell’opera di Niẓāmī,” in Colloquio sul poeta persiano, pp. 149-74; Saccone, “Il viaggio di Alessandro,” pp. 260-67; Manteghi, Alexander the Great in the Persian Tradition, pp. 133-37. 171 Nezâmi, Eqbâl-nâme, pp. 85-92. See Johann C. Bürgel, “Der Wettstreit zwischen Plato und Aristoteles im Alexander-Epos des persischen Dichters Nizami,” Die Welt des Orients 17 (1986), pp. 95-109; Johann C. Bürgel, “The Contest of the Two Philosophers in Nizami’s First and Last Epics,” in Biancamaria Scarcia Amoretti and Lucia Rostagno, eds., Yād-nāma in memoria di Alessandro Bausani (Rome, 1991), pp. 109-17; Johann C. Bürgel, “L’attitude d’Alexandre face à la philosophie grecque dans trois poèmes épiques persans: Le Roman d’Alexandre de Nizâmî, l’A’ina-i Iskandarî

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature In both cases, the victory in the dispute is obtained through magic powers, which Nezâmi certainly uses to refer to the magical power of words themselves and poetic arts in general, but which he weaves into his interest in natural sciences, including astrology, alchemy, and talismans, that often emerges, implicitly or explicitly, throughout the Eskandar-nâme, as in the episode of Mary the Copt or in the dialogue on wisdom with the Indian sage, both of which are in the initial section of the Eqbâl-nâme.172 Alexander’s court philosophers are often presented as scientists and technicians, whose practical help is often fundamental to the success of Alexander’s journeys and missions. Balinâs (Apollonius), possibly a mix between the mathematician Apollonius of Perge (ca. 200 BCE) and the gnostic sage Apollonius of Tyana (1st century CE), particularly stands out in this context. Balinâs is the master of talismans and technical guide of Alexander’s mission. In describing Alexander’s library as the fruit of a wave of translations from various languages (including Pahlavi, Greek, and Latin), and thus probably hinting at some of his own sources, Nezâmi mentions the Daftar-e ramz-e ruhâniyân, most probably the Persian transposition of the Arabic work Resâle fi ta’thir al-ruhâniyyât fi’ l-morakkabât, which was attributed to Apollonius. According to tradition, Balinâs also discovered the Dhakhirat al-Eskandar (“The Provision of Alexander”), a work by Hermes which he transmitted to Aristotle, and which then reached Alexander, to whom the text is dedicated.173 de Amîr Khusraw Dihlawî et le Khiradnâma-i Iskandarî de Djâmî,” in Harf-Lancner et al., eds., Alexandre le Grand dans les littératures, pp. 53-59. On the role of Hermes in Arabic and Persian philosophy and literature, see van Bladel, The Arabic Hermes. 172 Nezâmi, Eqbâl-nâme, pp. 70-74, 105-13. See Johann C. Bürgel, “Die Geheimwissenschaften im Iskandarname Nizamis,” in Bert G. Fragner et al., Proceedings of the Second European Conference of Iranian Studies (Rome, 1995), pp. 103-12; Johann C. Bürgel, “Occult Sciences in the Iskandarnameh of Nizami,” in Kamran Talattof and Jerome W. Clinton, eds., The Poetry of Nizami Ganjavi: Knowledge, Love, and Rhetoric (New York, 2000), pp. 129-39. On one aspect of scientific engagement in Nezâmi’s poetry, see Christine van Ruymbeke, Science and Poetry in Medieval Persia. The Botany of Nizami’s ‘Khamsa’ (Cambridge, 2007). 173 Plessner, “Balīnūs.” See also Julius Ruska, Tabula smaragdina: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der hermetischen Literatur (Heidelberg, 1926), pp. 68-107. For Persian translations of the original Arabic work, see PL, II/3, p. 457. See also some notes in Haila Manteghi, “The King and the Wizard: Apollonius of Tyana in the Iskandarnāma of Nizāmi Ganjavi (1141-1209).” In Stoneman et al., eds., Alexander Romance, pp. 63-68.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY At the end of these long sessions of instructions in wisdom, prevalence seems to be given to the mystical path, when Alexander declares to let go of the intellectual investigation of the principles of creation, in order to search for a direct knowledge of the Creator (nazad digar az âfarinesh nafas / jahân-âfarin-râ talab kard o bas). This becomes the occasion for his prophetic investiture, unrolled in the same terms as it was in the Qur’anic commentaries on the Dhu’l-Qarneyn passage. Alexander is summoned by an angel who gives him instructions and reassurances for his mission of conversion around the world.174 When Alexander departs for his mission, he takes with him not only the “supreme book […] that is sign of divine origin” (sefr-e a’zam […] neshâni bod az mâye-ye izadi), but also three kherad-nâme(s) written for him by Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates. The first of the three treatises mostly focuses on individual conduct, while the other two are specifically addressed to a king. De Fouchécour found “the works monotonous. They do not present any corpus of ideas revealing that their author is familiar with the moral and political issues faced by governors. Nezâmi’s moral and political ideas are only clearly expressed in the overall structure of his romance and the notions that drive the development of certain episodes.”175 Plato’s kherad-nâme addresses how rational and spiritual support must harmoniously guide the king: If as requested to me by the king of the world, I have penned my counsel from an informed stance, It was but a token of my homage, for only favorable fortune (eqbâl) guides the king. His mind needs no help, God and the Intellect (khodâ-va kherad) are sufficient helpers. The Intellect assists him in good and bad, and God makes him succeed!

It has been suggested that through this eqbâl, from which the usual title of the work is derived, both the regal farr (effulgence) of Iranian origin and the qadar (divinely ordained destiny) of Islamic origin, merge in Nezâmi’s work.176 As proof of the complex cultural matrix that underlies the ideological foundation of the poem, Nezâmi also attributes to Alexander, when he 174 Nezâmi, Eqbâl-nâme, pp. 124-28. 175 Nezâmi, Eqbâl-nâme, pp. 129-44. See Fouchécour, Moralia, pp. 79-81: 80. 176 Nezâmi, Eqbâl-nâme, p. 139. See Nezâmi, Il libro della fortuna di Alessandro, tr. Carlo Saccone, pp. 54-61. Manteghi notes an intriguing link to Plutarch’s work in

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature is invested as a prophet, the title of Sâheb-Qerân, “Lord of the Auspicious Conjunction,” which is semantically and phonetically similar to the traditional title (in the Persian version) Sâheb-e do qarn but has an evident astrological origin. Apparently, Nezâmi was the first to associate this title with Alexander, creating a successful model for the Turkish lords of the following centuries.177 Indeed, there is no doubt that notwithstanding Nezâmi’s great respect for natural and rational sciences, and his desire to balance the weight of faith and reason, the Eskandar-nâme presents a clear case for the superior nature of the spiritual and prophetic dimension: “Intellect (kherad) may travel only on a road, whose parasangs and stations can be counted / but the road of the invisible (gheyb) is much farther away from where our thought (andishe) can lead someone.” The monotheistic zeal that Nezâmi attributes to Alexander, driving him to make a ritual visit to the Ka’be in the wake of the story narrated by some historians and Ferdowsi himself, entails a positive reinterpretation of one of the worst accusations that the Iranian tradition passed on the Macedonian King: the destruction of the Fire Temples. The episode is here described as a liberation of Iran from ancient idolatry, whereas Ferdowsi had made Darius capitalize on Alexander’s respect. In Alexander’s war against the Zoroastrian power it is even possible to perceive some anti-feudal accents.178 Aristotle’s recommendation to divide the kingdom amongst minor tribal chieftains is also viewed positively, as is the fate of the Persian books that are confiscated and sent to Greece to be translated:179

his Moralia: De Alexandri Magni Fortuna aut Virtute (Alexander the Great in the Persian Tradition, p. 157). 177 Cornwall, “Alexander and the Persian Cosmopolis,” pp. 91-93; see also Naindeep Singh Chann, “Lord of the Auspicious Conjunction: Origins of the Ṣāḥib-qirān,” Iran and the Caucasus 13 (2009), pp. 93-109; Azfar Moin, The Millennial Sovereign: Sacred Kingship and Sainthood in Islam (New York, 2010); Michele Bernardini, Mémoire et propagande à l’ époque timouride (Paris, 2008), pp. 53-58. 178 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, pp. 251-58. 179 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, p. 282. Some earlier authors had distinguished between the fate of the sacred books, which were burnt immediately, and that of the books of astronomy, medicine, and philosophy, which were translated and sent to Greece, before being destroyed. See for instance Meissner, “Mubašširs Aḫbâr el-Iskender,” p. 595.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Whatever there was in the Persian library, The order was sent to fetch promptly, Recondite words on manifold subjects, For each topic of knowledge a separate tome, He sent to Greece so that translators, Could transcribe from one language to another.

As seen above, linguistic challenge and the role of translations are another important issue in Nezâmi’s Eskandar-nâme. Historically, this was one of the aspects that Alexander had to face on his long journey, symbolically depicted by a couple of episodes narrated by Greek and Latin historians. According to Plutarch, when Alexander reached the plundered tomb of Cyrus, after having read the epigraph, he “commanded that it be engraved in Greek letters too: whoever you are, man, and from wherever you come, as I know you will come, know that I am Cyrus, who built an empire for the Persians. Do not grudge me the meager earth that covers my body. These words moved Alexander, who mused over the mutability and fickleness of fortune” (Alexander, LXIX). The stabilization of the universal empire required this linguistic passage, for which the Cosmocrator was the reference and maker through his wise men. The issue is treated in different ways throughout all the literature on Alexander and developed around two main concerns: the practical relation between the universal sovereign and the conquered peoples, with the acquisition of the knowledge conserved and transmitted by them; and the motif of the inaccessibility of the sapiential messages, which Alexander was only able to understand through the help of various interpreters, time after time. Nezâmi presents this issue dramatically in the Sharaf-nâme, through the desperation of the king at the news that his multilingual interpreter Tutiyânush, the man who had learned languages from parakeets, had died in the clash against the Zang, devoured by cannibals.180 In the Eqbâl-nâme, this attention is developed further, on the one hand exposing the effort towards the search and translation of the texts belonging to the civilizations that Alexander encounters (“as a guide for himself, he looked for traces of the compositions in Greek, Pahlavi and Dari / […] and ordered that all philosophers translate everything that is knowledge (dânesh)”).181 On the other hand, by highlighting a specific 180 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, pp. 135-37. 181 Nezâmi, Eqbâl-nâme, p. 49.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature feature of Alexander’s prophetic investment, based on the model of the tafsir, from Tabari onwards: faced with the worries of the invested sovereign, the angel announces to the king that he has been given the rank of “polyglot” (zabândân), so that the language of every people will be clear to him, and all people will understand when he speaks “in the Rumi language.”182 Although he probably never strayed far from his hometown of Ganje, Nezâmi displays a remarkable understanding of the geographical dimension of Alexander’s feat, informed perhaps by the unspecified gitâ-shenâs literature accessible to him, given that he was living in the golden age of Islamic geography and cosmography, produced both in Arabic and Persian. Indeed, he considered his own work as a cosmographic treatise in narrative form that would provide a map of the world—a world-showing cup—to the sovereign to whom the work was dedicated. This concept is clearly expressed at the end of the work: In this convivial feast, where strife has no place, There is no more excellent commodity than this book, For contemplating the world, and surveying its mountains and seas, Now riding up to Terâz, and now raiding Ethiopia’s land. While the world-seeker sits secure on his throne, The world brings forth to him all the realms throughout the horizon. Owing to this triumphant uplifting tome, The gates of the seven climes have opened wide for him. The kingly feast is rejuvenatyed by it, With images of the world in full display, Bless you, O heir of Key Khosrow’s symposia! Your arm the mainstay of the state, and the source of its strength, Look into this world-displaying cup ( jâm-e giti-nomây), And find whatever you desire from the Lord of the Universe.183

In both sections of the work, Alexander travels around the world and the many details provided about these journeys, if studied in parallel with cosmographic literature, can provide useful indications on the geographic, ethnographic, and technological knowledge and concepts of the age. In the short but dense second part of the Eqbâl-nâme, the geographical orientation of his mission follows the scant Qur’anic coordinates (east—west—north, 182 Nezâmi, Eqbâl-nâme, p. 127. 183 Nezâmi, Eqbâl-nâme, p. 234.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY to which Nezâmi adds the southern dimension) creating, at least in its general scheme, a symbolic journey to the four cardinal points. Along these routes, Nezâmi collects some of the “marvels” (ajâ’yeb) motifs that had been circulating in Alexander literature since his historical enterprise and the marvelous developments of the Greek Romance, in particular its Letters on wonders. Particular relevance is given in the Eqbâl-nâme to various marine adventures, starting with the traditional building of the Pharos of Alexandria, adorned by a bright mirror capable of showing the ships moving on the sea up to a month journey distance.184 Alexander and his army sail in the seas placed at both extremities of the Eurasian continent, in the west crossing the Ocean (“whose Greek name is Uqyânus”), and reaching the source where the sun plunges in; and in the east traveling in the Sea of China (daryâ-ye Chin), where he makes Apollonius build a talismanic statue, akin to an eastern pillar of Hercules, on the island that represents the limit for navigation, beyond which ships would get lost in the encircling Ocean (mohit).185 The Eqbâl-nâme also includes episodes originating from the Jewish tradition on Alexander, such as his visit to Jerusalem, and the sighting of the Terrestrial Paradise. In the Sharaf-nâme, Alexander pursues the routes traced by the tradition of the Pseudo-Callisthenes and Ferdowsi, but Iran is explicitly more central. It is where Alexander always returns to after every mission, once he has become its sovereign. Moreover, the Sharaf-nâme pays special attention to the area of the Caucasus, Nezâmi’s homeland. Alexander’s journeys in the region include at least two of the most fascinating episodes in the romance, and present various noteworthy aspects. Once he has completed the conquest of Persia (described in a very similar way to Ferdowsi’s treatment) and the pilgrimage to Ka’be, and visited Yemen and Iraq, Alexander moves north towards Arman and Abkhaz, in the Azerbaijan region, to eradicate the remaining Fire Temples. In the Caucasus region, the foundation of Tbilisi is also attributed to him.186 Then he heads east and reaches the city of Barda’ (i.e. Barda’a), the capital of the Province of Arrân, where Ganje is located. This is the city governed by the wise and beautiful Queen Nushâbe, who represents the re-enactment of the meeting with Candace 184 Nezâmi, Eqbâl-nâme, p. 147. 185 Nezâmi, Eqbâl-nâme, pp. 149-53, 176-80. Some comments on this wonders section are in Manteghi, Alexander the Great in the Persian Tradition, pp. 141-50. 186 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, pp. 287-89.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature in the Greek Romance and Qeydâfe in the Shâh-nâme. The plot of the encounter has many points in common with its preceding versions. In particular, Alexander presents himself disguised as his own ambassador and is unmasked when he is compared with his effigy from the collection of portraits of rulers that Nushâbe had gathered. However, there also are some significant differences that were introduced by Nezâmi. The indication of Harum, the capital of the Amazons in the Shâh-nâme, as the ancient name of the City of Barda’, reveals the confluence in Nezâmi of the two episodes of Candace and the Amazons, which in the Pseudo-Callisthenes and in Ferdowsi were treated separately. Indeed, Queen Nushâbe is surrounded solely by women and one of Alexander’s informants tells him that “I know not by what spell, they are immune to the confusion of the senses!” Nezâmi’s choice may reveal a reference to the still verdant local historical and literary tradition of women warriors amongst the Scythian people from the Black Sea, the Caucasus, and the Caspian regions. And this feature is also transmitted to other important female figures in his Khamse, such as Mehin Bânu and Shirin.187 A second characteristic of the Nushâbe episode is the banquet that is held in honor of Alexander once he has been unmasked. Two great tables are set for the two royal figures: Nushâbe’s table is covered with a vast range of delicacies, while Alexander is only offered dishes covered with gold, pearls and jewels. When Alexander protests and demands something edible, Nushâbe pronounces the typical admonishment: what is the point of accumulating such an immense quantity of precious stones (sang, which stands for riches acquired through conquests) that cannot be transformed into food in this life that ends in stone (sang, a gravestone)? As has been shown by Julia Rubanovich, this episode might have originated in Talmudic and rabbinical literature, notably in the Legend of Alexander and King Kazia, which was progressively associated with the legends related to the Amazons.188 The episode circulated in the very early Arabic and Persian qesas al-anbiyâ’ texts, which might have been the direct source for Nezâmi’s account. After the celebrations, Alexander signs a peace 187 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, pp. 290-320. On the Amazons, see the notes above, in the section on Ferdowsi. On the connection between the Amazons, Nushâbe and Shirin, see Paola Orsatti, “Le donne e le città: note sull’origine di alcuni personaggi del romanzo medievale persiano,” in Giuliano Lancioni and Olivier Durand, eds., Dirāsāt Aryūliyyaz: Studi in onore di Angelo Arioli (Rome, 2007), pp. 139-67. 188 Rubanovich, “Re-Writing the Episode of Alexander and Candace,” pp. 134-42.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY treaty with Nushâbe and leaves, but the Queen of Barda’ returns near the end of the Sharaf-nâme, in a long section of the poem. She is kidnapped by the Rus, freed by Alexander after a long campaign in the steppe north of the Caspian Sea, and finally accepts the company of a man by marrying the king of Abkhaz. The historical reference of this last event is uncertain, but it is highly probable that the story of the Rus, which is an innovation on Nezâmi’s part, refers to the Varangian raids in the region of Barda’a in the 10th century.189 Returning to the central Caucasian section, once he leaves the City of Barda’, Alexander climbs Mount Alborz and reaches the City of Darband (Bâb al-Abwâb in Arabic), where an invincible fortress nearby is finally conquered, after forty days of siege, only thanks to the mystical sigh of a local ascetic’s hemmat, amidst the disbelief of the powerless, but skeptic, generals of the king.190 Alexander re-enforces the defensive system, building a barrier to protect the Khazars from the incursions of the Qipchâq Turks, who had historically spread throughout the steppe over the Caucasus starting in the 11th century. The construction of the barrier, which is only briefly described, represents an interesting duplication of the anecdote of the barrier of Gog and Magog. This is the fruit of Nezâmi’s continuous attempt to reconcile the vast range of sources at his disposal and which often provided contradictory indications, especially in terms of cosmographic interpretation. This short narration is evidently correlated to the conception of the Hebrew and Syriac traditions that had associated the fortifications in the Caucasus with Alexander’s barrier against Gog e Magog. In Islamic sources, and particularly in Nezâmi’s day, in the light of information provided by Sallâm the Interpreter about his expedition on behalf of the caliph al-Wâthiq, the barrier against Gog and Magog was located further northeast in Asia. Nezâmi mentioned this official barrier constructed by the Two-Horned (a very short description, only against the Yâjuj) during the course of Alexander’s journeys as a prophet towards the

189 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, pp. 442-95. D. S. Morgoliouth, “The Russian Seizure of Bardhaʿah in 943 A.D.,” BSOAS 1 (1918), pp. 82-95; Clifford E. Bosworth, “Barḏaʿa,” EIr, III, pp. 779-80. On Alexander and the Rus, see also Haila Manteghi, “Alejandro Magno y los rusos según el Iskandarnāma de Niẓāmī Ganŷavī,” Faventia 34-36 (2012-14), pp. 281-92. 190 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, pp. 333-34.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature end of the Eqbâl-nâme, when Alexander, after a new visit to the Emperor of China (Khâqân-e Chin), moves north.191 Alexander’s last act in the course of this Caucasian reconnaissance is his visit to the fortress of Sarir, an episode whose numerous implications still require further study. In the course of some nocturnal story-telling, after the building of the Khazar barrier, Alexander is informed about the existence, in that same area, of a beautiful fortress: A heavenly stone, of azure color, Paradisiacal in its beauty and glowing luster, Its name is Glorious Sarir, Where the throne (takht) and cup ( jâm) of Key Khosrow are.

Thus, the place was associated by Nezâmi with the city-state of Sarir, an ancient Avar foundation and a long-standing Christian stronghold in northern Dagestan that played a significant role in Caucasian geopolitics between the 5th and 12th centuries. Its Arabic name, Sarir, literally “throne,” was an abbreviation of the title Sâheb al-sarir (Master of the Throne) that the Arabs gave to the local king. According to Mas’udi, this was the Sasanid throne, which had been brought there by an emissary of Yazdegerd III, together with the imperial treasure, before the latter fled from the Arabs and then died in Khorasan. The emissary had established a hereditary reign to protect the throne.192 Nezâmi employed this tradition to enact a symbolic Iranian investiture of Alexander near his hometown. In this way, the throne becomes that of Key Khosrow, the legendary Keyanid King, the Iranian sovereign par excellence, who had abandoned it at the apex of his power and glory to retreat in prayer and vanish in a cave. The custodian of the fortress received Alexander with dignity and, as he had not shed the blood of any Keyanid King, allowed him to visit the fortress. And so, the sovereign of all kings briefly sits on the ancient throne that rests on golden columns, “as Simorgh on the golden tree.” And he drinks the wine, as a new Khosrow, from the “world-discerning cup” ( jâm-e jahân-bin) in 191 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, pp. 335-36; Nezâmi, Eqbâl-nâme, pp. 187-89. See also the discussion above in the sections on Dhu’l-Qarneyn and on the qesas al-anbiyâ’, and bibliography at nn. 39 and 71. 192 Ḥudūd al-ʿĀlam: ‘The Regions of the World’. A Persian Geography 372 A.H.-982 A.D., tr. and ed. Vladimir Minorsky and Clifford E. Bosworth (Cambridge, 1970), pp. 447-48; Mas’udi, Moruj al-dhahab, tr., II, pp. 41-42.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY which the ancient Iranian king had explored the seven earthly climes and the constellations of the sky. Then, as Alexander reflected on the vanity of thrones other than the celestial one, his assistant Balinâs performed two technological operations. He carefully copied the lines and codes on the cup, building an astrolabe (setarlâb) for the king (one of the classic technological themes related to the legend of Alexander), and built a talisman for the throne that would reject whomever tried to sit on it for more than an instant. With an obvious ethic intent, Nezâmi reports that he heard that this talisman is still functional.193 Balinâs also accompanied Alexander on the last leg of this visit to Sarir, entering the cave where Key Khosrow was said to have disappeared. The wise man discovers that an incessantly burning sulphur deposit prevents men from entering the cave: “He who fell asleep in the cave knew this, so he hid the philosopher’s stone (kimiyâ) in the sulphur (gugerd).” This, amongst the many disappointments that Alexander experienced on his journeys, adds to the chagrin the uneven comparison with the ancient Iranian kings, who possessed the alchemical secret of immortality that Alexander would never enjoy.194 The section on the Caucasus plays a central role in the structure of the Sharaf-nâme, in terms of placement, breadth and range of treated issues, but it is also an attempt, through the introduction of many innovations, to mold the many anecdotes coming from the sources that Nezâmi had carefully studied. The episode of the throne of Key Khosrow clearly presents a new encoding of the first of the two episodes in the Shâh-nâme in which Alexander reaches the throne room containing the corpse of a king. The recoding of the second episode, which in Ferdowsi presents a body with the head of a boar, is also found in Nezâmi’s Eqbâl-nâme with Alexander’s arrival at the oasis of the Garden of Eram, near Hadhramaut in the Arabian peninsula, built by Shaddâd b. Âd, and then destroyed by God for his attempt at competing with Heaven, according to a Himyarite tradition 193 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, pp. 339-46. 194 See Charles-Henri de Fouchécour, “Alexandre le macédonien iranisé: L’exemple du récit par Nézâmi (XIIe siècle) de la visite d’Alexandre à la grotte de Key Khosrow,” in Harf-Lancner, et al., eds., Alexandre le Grand dans les littératures, pp. 227-41. De Fouchécour connects the Sarir episode with the site of the sanctuary of Shiz (Takht-e Soleyman), on the basis of Gerd Gropp, “Neupersische Überlieferungen vom heiligtum auf dem Taxt-e Soleimân,” Archeologische Mitteilungen aus Iran, N.F. 10 (1977), pp. 243-91. On the whole Caucasian section, see also Safavi, Eskandar va adabiyyât-e Irân, pp. 174-81.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature (which is recorded at various points in the Qur’an: VII, 65-72; XXVI, 123140; XLVI, 21-28; LXIX, 6-8; LXXXIX, 6-8). In the palace, which teems with gold, Alexander grabs treasures until their weight tear his tunic. He then notices a vault portico over a tombstone. The message of the founder of that paradise, the powerful Shaddâd, is engraved on the tombstone, inviting visitors not to profane his tomb, to take riches, but also to meditate on the vanity of earthly power. Moreover, he admonished every sovereign: “even as a noble, do not feel secure, as you too are a son of man.” Alexander is disheartened and abandons all the treasures there.195 Shaddâd’s message, like that of many others, refers to the last essential theme of Nezâmi’s “mirror-for-princes”: the limits the ruler faces in life. The portrait of the ideal sovereign is inserted in an ethical-religious framework that does not skimp frequent allusions to his defects (pride, greed, deceit, failures); above all, it reveals his earthly limits in the two renowned final episodes of both volumes: the search for the Water of Life and the arrival in the Blessed City. From a cosmographic perspective, Alexander’s famous journey to the Land of Darkness in search of the Water of Life, which is dealt with by Nezâmi with particular amplitude, care, and awareness, should be considered within the frame of an ancient and shared concern regarding the exploration of the northern lands and seas of Eurasia.196 In the literary evolution of the narrative, an initial historical benchmark is set with Alexander’s interest in the question of whether or not the Caspian Sea was a gulf of the Northern Ocean (as related by Arrian, Anabasis, VII, 16, 2). 195 Nezâmi, Eqbâl-nâme, pp. 156-59. On this episode and its parallels, see also Safavi, Eskandar va adabiyyât-e Irân, pp. 174-81; Casari, “Alessandro alle sedi degli antichi sovrani,” pp. 22-24 in particular. 196 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, pp. 508-24. Apart from the classic work Friedländer, Die Chadhirlegende und der Alexanderroman, see the bibliography provided above in the sections on Dhu’l-Qarneyn and on Religious Literature. See also Mario Casari, “Tramonto settentrionale: glossa a Cor. XVIII, 85-86,” in Michele Bernardini and Natalia Tornesello, eds., Scritti in onore di Giovanni M. D’Erme (2 vols., Naples, 2005), I, pp. 233-43; Mario Casari, “Il viaggio a settentrione: mitografia e geografia dall’età classica al medioevo arabo-persiano,” in Giovanna Carbonaro, Mirella Cassarino, Eliana Creazzo, Gaetano Lalomia, eds., Medioevo Romanzo e Orientale. Il viaggio nelle letterature romanze e orientali (Soveria Mannelli, 2006), pp. 213-28; Mario Casari, “Nizami’s Cosmographic Vision and Alexander in Search of the Fountain of Life,” in J. Bürgel and C. van Ruymbeke, eds., A Key to the Treasure of the Hakīm: Artistic and Humanistic Aspects of Nizāmī Ganjavī’s “Khansa” (Leiden, 2011), pp. 95105. See also Safavi, Eskandar va adabiyyât-e Irân, pp. 182-93.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY The corpus of information grew richer with the addition of the first actual known northern expeditions: such as the Greek one guided by Pytheas of Massalia, probably a contemporary of Alexander, or those promoted by the Roman emperors, like the 1st-century expedition of Drusus Germanicus, Augustus’ stepson, reported by Tacitus.197 But the narrative takes its most complete shape in the Islamic tradition, after a number of reports on the northern course of the Volga provide further updated information on the region, such as that of the caliph’s ambassador Ebn Fazlân in the 10th century.198 The scant, yet meaningful, geographical indications concerning Alexander’s expedition, as given in the Greek Pseudo-Callisthenes (a travel “along the Polar constellation,” PC, II 32, in a region “at the end of the world […] where the sun never shines” PC, II 39)199 are matched by the descriptions provided in the Syriac tradition,200 but a much more explicit allusion is provided by the Islamic texts. Tabari reports that Alexander, after the conquest of India, China, and Tibet, “penetrated into the Darkness, located beside the North Pole and the Southern Sun (al-šams al-jonubiyye), together with four hundred men, looking for the Fountain of Eternity, and he spent eighteen days there.”201 The same reference is repeated in a number of other Arabic and Persian texts, including Nezâmi. His treatment of the episode is probably the longest and most accurate in Alexandrian literature. Here, after having freed Queen Nushâbe from the Rus, Alexander is resting in his camp in the lands north of the Caucasus. During 197 Raymond Chevallier, “The Greco-Roman Conception of the North from Pytheas to Tacitus,” Arctic 37 (1984), pp. 341-46; Serena Bianchetti, Pitea di Massalia. L’Oceano (Pisa and Rome, 1988); Christine H. Roseman, Pytheas of Massalia: On the Ocean: Text, Translation and Commentary (Chicago, 1994); Duane W. Roller, Through the Pillars of Herakles: Greco-Roman exploration of the Atlantic (New York and London, 2006). 198 Marius Canard, “La relation du voyage d’Ibn Fadlân chez les Bulgares de la Volga,” Annales de l’Institut d’Etudes Orientales de l’Université d’Alger 16 (1958) 41-146; see also Josef Markwart, “Ein Arabischer Bericht über die arktischen (uralischen) Länder aus dem 10. Jahrhundert,” Ungarische Jahrbücher 4 (1924), pp. 261-334. 199 The episode appears in the β version and its derivatives; the more detailed form is in the γ version, on which see Helmut Engelmann, ed., Der Griechische Alexanderroman. Rezension γ. Buch II (Meisenheim am Glan, 1963), pp. 306-315. 200 A focused contribution is in Gerrit J. Reinink, “Alexander der Große und der Lebensquell im Syrischen Alexanderlied,” in Elizabeth A. Livingstone, ed., Studia Patristica 18, 4 (Leiden, 1990), pp. 282-88.; see also Casari, “Il viaggio a settentrione”. 201 Tabari, Ta’rikh al-rosol va’ l-moluk, II/1, p. 701. See also Tha’âlebi, Ghorâr, p. 433.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature a banquet, Alexander is informed by an old man of the existence of the Fountain of Life:202 There is a veil (hejâb) beneath the North Pole (qotb-e shamâl), Where a pure Fountain (cheshme) is, of limpid Water, A veil whose name is Darkness (zolmât): From its ease the Water of Life (âb-e heyvân) flows. Whoever drinks from that Water of Life, Will protect life from the world’s life-devourer.

And the old man adds that “from us to that land the way is short.” Having selected a group of young soldiers and a local guide, Alexander crosses the land of Bolghâr (which the author etymologizes from bon-ghâr, “cave bottom,” according to a widespread tradition), and travels northwards for a month. Nezâmi’s description of the army approaching the Darkness contains important naturalistic details that can be framed within the greater context of cosmographic information present in the ancient and medieval literary traditions which describe the mixed nature of that darkness (long winter nights, but also the dense mist rising from the melting ice), the populations that lived on the edge of those regions (relevant features are included in Ferdowsi’s treatment of the episode), and other details such as its extraordinary sunsets.203 Nezâmi provides the description of the scheme devised in order to find the way back from the Darkness: a mare whose foal is killed and left at the border of that land. This strategem goes back to the Greek and Syriac versions of the episode, whilst apparently it cannot be found in any other Arabic or Persian versions. The motif of particular mounts for this expedition remained, however, and circulated in variants. In Nezâmi’s poem, as well as in the Greek versions, this stratagem is conceived by an old man who accompanies the group on the sly, against Alexander’s orders, finally revealing his great utility: the motif of the sage old man found different 202 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, pp. 509-10. 203 The episode in Ferdowsi (Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 91-96) presents several relevant features, including a striking parallel to a passage from Tacitus’ Germany: see Casari, “The King Explorer,” pp. 181-82. On the issue of the Arctic sunsets and their link to Alexander’s journey in the Land of Darkness, see Casari, “Tramonto settentrionale.”

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY ways to be expressed within this episode in various other versions.204 On the other hand, the choice of Khezr as the main guide in the Darkness, which is shared with Ferdowsi’s text, is a characteristic feature of the Arabic tradition since the very beginning, due to the original mingling between the Moses and Dhu’l-Qarneyn episodes in Qur’anic commentaries.205 Also, the gem that Khezr employs to illuminate the road, and his solitary arrival at the Fountain, are described by Nezâmi in the first instance following the thread of Ferdowsi’s narrative (ze târikh-e dehqân sarâyam sokhon). The description of the Water of Life itself stands out for its poetic fineness and physical details:206 That silver Fountain appeared, like a silver stream that strains from the navel of the rock. Not a fountain, for it was far from this word; but if it were, it was a Fountain of light. How is the star in the morning-time? So it was, as the morning is dawn. How is the undiminished moon at night? So it was, as it was greater than the moon. Not for a moment was it resting from its motion, like mercury in the hand of a paralytic old man. On account of the purity of its shape, I don’t know what comparison I may make of its essence. Not from every jewel comes that light and luminosity; one can call it water, but it’s almost water.

After a purifying bath, Khezr “drank of it as much as befitted: and became fit for eternal life.” Having lost the Fountain springing from the rock, Alexander ponders upon it:207 204 The origin of this motif is thoroughly studied by Ioannis M. Konstantakos, “The Wisdom of the Hidden Old Man: An Ancient Folktale of the East in the Alexander Romance,” Athenaeum 105 (2017), pp. 444-81. 205 See Friedländer, Die Chadhirlegende und der Alexanderroman, and, with a different perspective, Wheeler, Moses in the Quran and Islamic Exegesis, pp. 9-36. See also Tesei, Deux légendes d’Alexandre le Grand dans le Coran. 206 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, pp. 517-18. The translation of this passage owes some choices to Clarke’s English version, Sikandar Nāma,e bara, p. 801. 207 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, p. 520.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature Since the Fountain became pleasant-tasting through the sun, why went that Fountain beneath the shade? Yes, for the Fountain the shade is better than the sun; for the sun makes it swelter, and by this, it is cooled.

However, spurred by his deep respect for the wide display of different sources and variants, Nezâmi presents two other versions of the encounter with the Water of Life. The first, which the poet attributes to the ancient Rumis (Rumiyân-e kohon), narrates that Khezr and Elijah (Eliyâs) discovered the source thanks to the dry fish that came back to life there.208 This variant circulated in the chapters about these two prophets in the qesas al-anbiyâ’. If, on the one hand, it is evidently related to the Qur’anic passage about Moses and his servant (XVIII, 60-65), on the other, it also alludes— even iconographically (there are various miniatures on this subject)—to the meetings of the two immortal prophets Enoch and Elijah under the Tree of Life in the Garden of Paradise, a theme that circulated widely in ancient and medieval Christian culture.209 And, perhaps, this very relation (which will require further studies) is implicit in the reference to the transmission by the “old Rumiyân.” As a matter of fact, many elements from the legend of Alexander in the Land of Darkness will have to be studied further and compared with the Hebrew and Christian narrations of the figure of Enoch. The eschatological function of the Source implied by this second version, one of the many possible interpretations of the episode, leads to its third:210 Of the fish and that jewel-scattering Water, the Arabic History (târikh-e tâzi) gives another account: That the Water of Life was somewhere else, Magi and Rumi (Majusi o Rumi) have missed the way! If a bright water is in this dark earth, why fear to miss its place! 208 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, pp. 518-19. 209 See Pierre Grelot, “La géographie mythique d’Hénoch et ses sources orientales,” Revue biblique 65 (1958), pp. 33-69; Alesandro Scafi, Mapping Paradise: A History of Heaven on Earth (London, 2006), passim; Annette Yoshiko Reed, “Enoch, Eden, and the Beginnings of Jewish Cosmography,” in Alesssandro Scafi, ed., The Cosmography of Paradise: The Other World from Ancient Mesopotamia to Medieval Europe (London, 2016), pp. 67-94. 210 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, p. 519.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Apparently Nezâmi suggests that the “Arabic” version, which here one can equate with “Islamic,” points out to a more mystical interpretation, according to which the true Water of Life is the divine light hidden behind the Darkness of the earthly condition. Its physical source on the Earth is but a mirror to attract those who err, the Zoroastrians and the Christians (and their bards). We can perceive that, within his awareness of the complexity of the traditions and issues involved, Nezâmi endorses this interpretation of the episode’s value as well, since it fits the general plan of Alexander’s spiritual education. This reading will spread as the main symbolic value in Persian lyric poetry and mystical reflection.211 In the story of the Land of Darkness, further meetings of Alexander are related in the Arabic and Persian versions: with one or more birds (present in the Greek tradition and picked up by Ferdowsi), or an angel, in two variants. In the first, included by Ferdowsi, it is the Angel Esrâfil waiting for the divine command to blow on the trumpet of universal judgment. In the second variant, the angel offers Alexander the stone that cannot be weighed, which Khezr wisely compares to a handful of earth. This variant, which is of Hebrew origin, and connected to Alexander’s visit to Paradise in the Talmud, was chosen by Nezâmi. Sometimes, the birds or the angels ask Alexander questions on the state of the world, generally alluding to the struggle for the establishment of Islam (or monotheism) over paganism. And they always admonish the ambitious sovereign. Nezâmi writes: “You have conquered the entire world. Is your mind not satiated by inane desires?”212 To this clear defeat, and clear signal of the limit that stops Alexander at the

211 On the mystical reading of the episode, and its development in relation to poetical inspiration, see Patrick Franke, “Drinking from the Water of Life—Nizāmī, Khizr and the Symbolism of Poetical Inspiration in Later Persianate Literature,” in Bürgel and van Ruymbeke, eds., Key to the Treasure of the Hakīm, pp. 107-25. At the beginning of the Eskandar-nâme, Nezâmi quotes a personal encounter with Khezr as a source for his inspiration in writing this book; see Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, pp. 93-95. Suggestions towards a connection of the Water of Life motif in Alexander’s legend with Indian literature is in Aleksandra Szalc, “In Search of Water of Life: The Alexander Romance and Indian Mythology,” in Alexander Romance in Persia and the East, pp. 327-38. See also Ahmadnezhâd, Tahlil-e âthâr-e Nezâmi-ye Ganjavi, pp. 129-39; Stoneman, Life in Legend, pp. 150-69. 212 Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, p. 520. On the motifs of the birds and the angel in Arabic literature, see Doufikar-Aerts, Alex Magnus Arabicus, pp. 173-79.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature end of the Book of Honor, corresponds an analogous lesson at the end of the Book of Fortune. Immediately following the construction of the barrier against the people of Yâjuj, in northeastern Asia, Alexander travels for another month, in search of a city “that many people have looked for, without finding it.” When they reach the place, we learn from a long description (72 verses) that its nature is luxurious, full of gardens with no fences, and of garments with no guardians: the land is “adorned with grace and abundance as a paradise.” The houses have no doors, and no one knows fear; they are a community of just people; they are pious, sympathetic with each other, and sincere; they avoid any excess, and foster measure instead; they need no judge or king. The lesson is shattering for Alexander: As Alexander observed such customs and traditions, he became stupefied and troubled, He had never heard a better story than that, nor read one in the Book of Kings (nâme-ye khosrovân), And he said to himself: “Take council, if you are wise, from these mighty secrets. I no longer want to ride the world, leave a trap in every land: Of everything that I have gathered, the lesson of these people was enough. While you challenge the world, a world exists amongst these good men, The Earth finds magnificence in them, they are the pillars of the Earth, this small group. If this is the way, where are we going? If these are men, who are we? We have been sent through seas and deserts, to arrive here. May I be satiated with beastly disposition, by learning the rule from these wise men! If I had met this people before, I would not have wandered around the world, I would have retired to a mountain crook and there closed myself in adoration of God. My conduct would not have deviated from this rule, none other would have been my religion!” After having seen this religion and piety, he completely gave up his prophecy.213 213 Nezâmi, Eqbâl-nâme, pp. 192-93; the whole episode is at pp. 189-93. Instead of the expression khun-e dadân (“beastly blood), which is recorded in the quoted edition,

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY We recognize the episode of Alexander’s arrival at the Blessed City, which characterized Qur’anic commentaries in relation to the Dhu’l-Qarneyn passage (XVIII, 83-102), and circulated in wisdom literature. As previously shown, the episode rises from the meeting of historical Alexander with the community of Brahmans/Gymnosophists, especially as described in the enlarged version supposedly produced in the 4th-5th century by Palladius, the bishop of Eleanopolis, and it includes the insertion of features drawing on utopian themes from other Jewish, Christian, and perhaps Buddhist traditional stories. Both from a structural and from a cosmographic point of view, the Blessed City in Nezâmi’s romance corresponds to the Garden of the Talking Trees that Alexander reaches after erecting the barrier against Gog and Magog in the Shâh-nâme. Indeed, in terms of their geographical collocation and function, these two episodes can be placed in the context of the arrival of Alexander in the Terrestial Paradise as described in the Hebrew and Christian traditions. Already some of the apocryphal texts of the Ancient Testament transfigured Adam’s original seat into the Abode of the Just. In Byzantine literature, the episode of the Perfect City, modeled on the remake by Palladius that circulated in Pseudo-Callisthenes’ textual nebula, is found, for example, in Georgius Cedrenus’ edition of John Skylitzes’ Synopsis Historion (12th century). In the Arabic context, besides Tabari and later commentators, Wahb Ebn-Monabbeh’s story of the Blessed City reached Ebn-Heshâm (d. 829), who treated it similarly in his Ketâb al-tijân, although he called the people tarjomânin (translators): “They were called translators because they had translated Abraham’s sheets (sohuf ).” This term, which is related to the noun Torchamenin used in a later Aljamiado Alexander Romance and the term barjomâniyun used by Ebn-Faqih (who defines them as the “Sons of Israel”), may be a graphic corruption of the term Barhamâniyun, or Brahmin, but also suggests possible ethnic connotations (the Turkmens), or a more complex reference to the translation activities of the community. Nezâmi makes no mention of these issues, perhaps because his Alexander was already a polyglot.214 It is interesting other manuscripts and editions have khu-ye dadân (“beastly disposition”), which makes more sense in the context. 214 On the many aspects of this episode, see Safavi, Eskandar va adabiyyât-e Irân, pp. 233-37; Bertotti, “Vedute di Città Perfette;” Ahmadnezhâd, Tahlil-e âthâr-e Nezâmi-ye Ganjavi, pp. 205-11; Mohammad Ahmad Panâhi, “Moruri dar

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature that a very different outcome is presented in a variant of the episode recorded by the cosmographer Zakariyyâ Qazvini (d. 1283), in his Arabic Ajâ’eb al-makhluqât: the protagonist here is the Prophet Mohammad, who asks the archangel Gabriel to be allowed a visit to the people mentioned by God (VII, 159). Thanks to his prayers, Mohammad is instantly brought by God to that place, and the description of the community is provided in the usual terms (including the revealing feature of the tombs next to the doors of their houses). Mohammad offers his prophetic message, and they ask: “‘How can we accomplish the pilgrimage, given the long distance that divides us from there?’ According to Ebn-Abbâs, the Prophet prayed for them, so that the Earth would fold on itself, and those of them who wanted to fulfill the pilgrimage, would be able to do that together with the other people.” A clear difference between a proper and an incomplete prophet.215 In the Eqbâl-nâme, the meeting in the Blessed City is the last episode of the voyage. Once he has returned to Rome (Rum), Alexander drafts his testament and sends the letter of consolation to his mother. Alexander’s son, Eskandarus, gives up the succession to the throne, choosing the way of ascetism, and the work ends with laments and reflections on death by the philosophers, this time not around Alexander’s coffin, but on the approaching of their own death. Besides the complex literary stratification, the lesson of the Blessed City represents a reflection on the value of wisdom and its ability to subjugate power: an ancient theme of the classical tradition, which was clearly expressed in the original source, the dialogue between Alexander and the head of the Brahmans, Dandamis. Plutarch had also described a meeting between Alexander and the Cynic philosopher Diogenes, who had scorned him and turned down his offers (Plutarch, Life of Alexander, XIV). The short story of that encounter had circulated widely. In fact, a new interpretation of the anecdote is the story of the meeting between Alexander and Socrates at the beginning ârmânshahr-e Nezâmi-ye Ganjavi,” in Mansur Tharvat, ed., Majmu’e-ye maqâlât-e kongre-ye beyn-al-melali-ye nohomin sade-ye tavallod-e hakim Nezâmi-ye Ganjavi (3 vols., Tabriz, 1993), I, pp. 130-45; Casari, Alessandro e Utopia nei romanzi persiani medievali, pp. 30-43, 66-75; Carlo Saccone, “The ‘Wasteland’ and Alexander, the Righteous King, in Nizāmī’s Iqbāl Nāma,” in Bürgel and van Ruymbeke, eds., Key to the Treasure of the Hakīm, pp. 167-80; Casari, “Un lieu de traduction,” pp. 396-403. 215 Zakariyâ Qazvini, Ketâb âthâr al-belâd va akhbâr al-ebâd: Kosmographie, ed. Ferdinand Wüstenfeld (2 vols., Göttingen, 1848), II, pp. 17-18.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY of the Eqbâl-nâme (this is how the philosopher explains their relation to the king: “I have a slave called desire, who is ordered around by my heart; / You are he who is the slave of that slave, and you obey him who obeys me.”).216 Both this narration and that of the Blessed City are given by Nezâmi a profoundly Islamic coloring (which could already be perceived in the Qur’anic commentaries where the utopian story was first developed). It is the Islam of an urban class that is increasingly distant from the courts and closer to the religious and Sufi communities. This interpretative thread will be strengthened more and more by many of Nezâmi’s successors. An overall analysis of Nezâmi’s Eskandar-nâme still requires further studies in a number of different directions, even with regard to various other episodes of Alexander’s missions, each of which holds a separate substrate of sources and interpretations that need to be unraveled. In fact, it will also be necessary to use the many commentaries on the poem produced in Persian, especially in India, that are still overlooked. Nonetheless, it is certainly possible to assert that the work by the bard of Ganje represents a crucial phase in the development of the figure of Alexander in Iran, both on account of the style and quality of his literary expression and for the breadth of his work. More than anyone else, Nezâmi reveals a full awareness and competence concerning the great range of sources available. He truly strives to bring together all the transmitted traditions, respecting and innovating with equilibrium, and above all constantly and contemporaneously maintaining all the levels of interpretation active: historiographical, political, cosmographical, ethical and religious.

216 Nezâmi, Eqbâl-nâme, p. 102; the whole episode is at pp. 97-104. A few notes on the elaboration of this theme in Arabic literature, and the shift from Diogenes to Socrates (or sometimes Plato) on the basis of the Cynic tradition, are discussed in Gotthard Strohmaier, “Diogenesanekdoten auf Papyrus und in arabischen Gnomologien,” Archiv für Papyrusforschung 22 (1973), pp. 285-88; Gotthard Strohmaier, “Die arabische Sokrateslegende und ihre Ursprünge,” in Peter Nagel, ed., Studia Coptica (Berlin, 1974), pp. 121-36; Dimitri Gutas, Greek Wisdom Literature in Arabic Translation: A Study of the Graeco-Arabic Gnomologia (New Haven, 1975), p. 286; Gotthard Strohmaier, “Das Bild des Sokrates in der arabischen Literatur des Mittelalters,” in Herbert Kessler, ed., Sokrates: Bruchstücke zu einem Porträt (Sokrates-Studien III) (Kusterdingen, 1997), pp. 105-24.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature Mirrors of Alexander: Eskandar Mathnavis after Nezâmi While through the linkage Ferdowsi-Nezâmi the Alexander Romance has become an essential element in the panorama of the mathnavi, its continued reproduction over the course of the centuries is certainly the effect of Amir Khosrow of Delhi’s intellectual and literary decision to reply, as a homage and as a challenge, to Nezâmi’s Khamse. Thus, amongst its many merits, the vogue launched by the Indo-Persian poet also extended the range of variations on the story of Alexander and prompted the production of new Eskandar-nâmes with different natures and intents. Notable and celebrated scions of this progeny include Amir Khosrow’s Â’ine-ye Eskandari and the Kherad-nâme by Jâmi, two Eskandar-nâmes produced by authors belonging to rather different chronological, geographical and cultural contexts, although both were members of influential religious confraternities. While these poems are direct heirs to Nezâmi’s elaboration, they both abandon its compact narrative nature, sublimating its symbolic aspects, and choosing two different approaches that, in a certain sense, are at the opposite ends of the range of possibilities that were to be developed by their epigones. On the one hand, Amir Khosrow provides us with a reading of Alexander’s parable marked by a strong positivist aura. He produced a “mirror-forprinces” based on just a few selected political and cosmographic episodes, accompanied by ethical reflections. On the other, Jâmi left us a deeply spiritual interpretation, in which long philosophical meditations are exemplified through short anecdotes, picked out of the ocean of Alexander’s feats. The Â’ine-ye Eskandari (The Alexandrian mirror), the fourth poem in the Khamse of Amir Khosrow (d. 1325), with over 4,400 verses, is the first response to Nezâmi’s Eskandar-nâme.217 Probably even more than in the works of his predecessors, Amir Khosrow’s Alexander is the portrait of an ideal illuminated prince, barely touched by shadows. He is courageous in 217 The edition is Amir Khosrow-e Dehlavi, Â’ ine-ye Eskandari, ed. Jamâl Mirsaydof (Moscow, 1977): it includes 4,416 verses, although the poet himself states that the poem consists of 4,450 verses. The same edition was republished in Amir Khosrow Dehlavi, Khamse, ed. Amir Ahmad Ashrafi (Tehran, 1983), pp. 405-573. An Italian translation is Amir Khusrau, Lo Specchio Alessandrino, transl. Angelo M. Piemontese (Soveria Mannelli, 1999), with an introduction by the translator (pp. 5-28). See also Bertel’s, Roman ob Aleksandre, pp. 77-100; Safavi, Eskandar va adabiyyât-e Irân, pp. 243-54. On Amir Khosrow, see Storey, PL, I, pp. 495-505; Annemarie Schimmel, “Amir Ḵosrow Dehlavi ,”EIr, I, pp. 963-65.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY battle, a tireless explorer, an innovating scientist and civilizer, as well as a humble man, who upholds the value of friendship. Living in one of the most troubled periods of the Sultanate of Delhi, and bearing witness to the succession of at least six sultans from three different dynasties, through his own portrait of Alexander Amir Khosrow appears to yearn for a period of stability, peace, and cultural flourishing. His affiliation to the highly influential Cheshtiyye brotherhood was accompanied by notable ties with the court, in particular under Alâ-al-Din Khalji (r. 1296-1315), who assumed the title of “Second Alexander,” and had it stamped on his coinage: he was the addressee of Amir Khosrow’s Alexander poem.218 Unlike his direct predecessor, Amir Khosrow shows an evident shift towards a lesser need to respect the traditional narrative plot of Alexander’s feats, also thanks to a number of integrations that demonstrate, once again, the vast circulation of correlated themes. Alexander’s life becomes the fil rouge of a “mirror-forprinces” organized into thirty-five educational discourses, which include, besides the narrative sequence, ethical and philosophical reflections with illustrative anecdotes: a dâstân section, closing with invocations to the cupbearer (sâqi) and the minstrel (motreb), followed by a nasihat, and a hekâyat. In a number of passages, the author explicitly refers to his predecessor, covering him with ritual praise, but also underlining some significant gaps: Whatever pearl is still left unpierced by that sage, I shall scatter as an offering, in the way I know. The gifted craftsman from Ganje, composing verses erstwhile, Possessed a limitless treasure of art in store, When fixing his eye on this cup of wine, He drank the pure unclouded wine, leaving us the dregs […]219

After a rapid survey of Alexander’s main deeds, as a brief summary of Ferdowsi’s and Nezâmi’s narrations, Amir Khosrow concentrated on episodes that were either overlooked or barely mentioned by his predecessors 218 See Ziâ’-al-Din Barani, Târikh-e Firuz Shâhi, in Henry M. Elliott and John Dawson, eds., The History of India as Told by its Own Historians (8 vols., London, 1867-77), III, pp. 93-268: 169. On Alexander’s model on Indian Muslim rulers, see Phirose Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India (Oxford, 2013), pp. 33-118. See also Himanshu Prabha Ray and Daniel T. Potts, eds., Memory as History: The Legacy of Alexander in Asia (New Delhi, 2007). 219 Amir Khosrow, Â’ ine-ye Eskandari, p. 26.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature (“I shall now correctly state, one by one, all the things that have remained unsaid from the beginning”).220 He starts with a different and very long version of the clash with the King of China that the author claims to have read “in the History of the ancient kings” (be târikh-e shâhân-e pishine). Instead of the peacefully concluded negotiation narrated by his predecessors, Amir Khosrow writes about a long war full of clashing armies and individual duels. In this framework, he also narrates a previously unknown episode about the capture of a beautiful Chinese she-warrior, and elegantly and sensually describes Alexander’s infatuation, their union and marriage. The bloody war comes to an end with a duel between the two sovereigns. In fact, it is resolved by a symbolic arm wrestling bout between the two, in which Alexander manages to overpower the Chinese Emperor’s arm as if it were a palm made out of wax (nakhli ze mum).221 Alexander then leaves him the kingdom in vassalage. The variation on the theme of the Chinese expedition may have been the poet’s revenge against the Mongols’ rule in China, and their expansionist aims, which had been threatening the Sultanate of Delhi for decades. Indeed, Amir Khosrow himself as a young man was made a prisoner during the Mongol siege of Multan, before managing to escape (1285). After a brief mention of Alexander’s adventures in the north, the story turns to a devastating famine that threatened to decimate Alexander’s army on their way out of the Land of Darkness, and was resolved by the intervention of an angel who proffered them an inexhaustible bunch of grape—a compensation for the illusive Water of Life. Alexander provides each of his men with a restorative grape (a different Selsebil fountain, “both fruit and wine”) in a suggestive scene with liturgical overtones. The wondrous bunch of grapes motif, which is of Judeo-Christian origin, was present in Ebn-Heshâm’s Ketâb al-tijân, based on one of Wahb Ebn-Monab­ beh’s many accounts, as well as in Omâre’s Arabic romance, albeit in a different context, tied to the submarine adventure.222 Strengthened by the miraculous solace, Alexander and his army are able to face the challenge 220 Amir Khosrow, Â’ ine-ye Eskandari, pp. 44-47. 221 Amir Khosrow, Â’ ine-ye Eskandari, p. 97. 222 Amir Khosrow, Â’ ine-ye Eskandari, pp. 112-16. Mark Lidzbarski, “Zu den Arabischen Alexandergeschichten,” Zeitschrift für Assyriologie 8 (1893), pp. 263-312: 303-4; Nagel, Alexander der Grosse in der frühislamischen Volksliteratur, pp. 22-23; Friedländer, Die Chadhirlegende und der Alexanderroman, pp. 158-59.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY posed by the subhuman people of Yâjuj, located somewhere in the steppes of northern Asia. The episode is developed and expanded by Amir Khosrow on the tracks of Ferdowsi’s treatment, whereas Nezâmi had presented it in a very succinct way. Probably, the poet of Delhi saw this episode as another relevant metaphor for the need of a new era of peace, protected from the ferocious assaults of the nomadic hordes (“they jump out of their ravines, like Turks violently kidnapping people”). The description of the apocalyptic tribe is aligned with the long and multilingual tradition on the subject: a monstrous face, with ferocious tusks, a hairy body, and two giant elephantine ears, which they use while sleeping, one as a thin cover on the ground, and the other as a blanket over their bodies. As a feature of the overwhelming menace that they represent, each one of them has one thousand children. After a bloody fight, Amir Khosrow adds an original scene in which Alexander observes the Yâjuj prisoners with an attentive ethnographic look, while they devour each other, spurred by a banquet set for them with cooked food and strong wine. The barrier between two mountains, which will keep them on the margins of the world until the final day, is built with copper, iron, lead, and brass (mes-o âhan-o sorb-o roy), melted by the heat of fire to forge a formidable steel (pulâd) dam, impenetrable and with not one crack on its perfectly smooth surface. The enterprise is at the same time an engineering treatise and a hymn to the domain of the territory, thanks to the materials arriving from all over the world, and handled with superb mastery by the Rumi blacksmiths: Ferdowsi had specified that workers from every country had joined the construction team, to point out that Alexander’s universal dominion also implied communion of knowledge and skills.223 The closing of the gates of apocalypse also represents a new beginning for the human course. Having conquered and protected the entire world, the king establishes and defends civilization through a series of missions and innovations. Then, after a long sapiential meeting with Plato, living as 223 Amir Khosrow, Â’ ine-ye Eskandari, pp. 117-30; Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâmeh, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, pp. 96-102; Nezâmi, Eqbâl-nâme, pp. 187-89. See also van Donzel, Schmidt, Gog and Magog in Early Eastern Christian and Islamic Sources; Gabrielle van den Berg, “Descriptions and Images: Remarks on Gog and Magog in Nizāmī’s Iskandar Nāma, Firdawsī’s Shāh Nāma and Amīr Khusraw’s A’īna-yi Iskandarī,” in Bürgel and van Ruymbeke, eds., Key to the Treasure of the Hakīm, pp. 95-105; Seyed-Gohrab, “Unfathomable Evil.”

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature a hermit in a mountain cave, Alexander decides to embark on an exploration of the seas. Under the supervision of Aristotle, a fleet is prepared to face the Atlantic Ocean (daryâ-ye maghreb, The Western Sea) and a glass submarine is forged in which Alexander will be able to explore the deep. This is the king’s last feat in this romance, before his end. Alexander’s testament and death are followed by a series of original reflections on the funeral and his succession, which after the renunciation of Eskandar’s son, Eskandarus, falls on the first Diadochus (dughus, a title that is very rarely encountered in Arabic and Persian stories about Alexander, which traditionally referred to the establishment of the reign of the moluk al-tavâ’ef ).224 The specificity of Amir Khosrow’s narrative choices reveals the vast range of texts concerning Alexander available at that time. Besides Nezâmi’s romance and of course Ferdowsi’s pioneering work, Amir Khosrow’s Â’ine-ye Eskandari shares elements with Tarsusi’s prose romance, the Dârâb-nâme (11th-12th century) and its related cosmography, Mohammad Tusi’s Ajâyeb al-makhluqât (12th century). Moreover, individual clues indicate relations to various historiographic and scientific texts, sometimes mentioned with imprecise titles that are difficult to identify.225 According to Angelo Michele Piemontese, in this auspicious portrait of the universal pacificator and ruler, Alexander holds the thrones of eight empires: Rome, Africa, Persia, and China (the terra cognita), as well as four other thrones whose descriptions link them to the four elements (water, earth, fire and air). Like a true Cosmocrator, Alexander dominates all horizons and the very essence of nature.226 This portrait also reveals the author’s decision to conceptually detach himself from the tradition of the Qur’anic commentaries and explicitly criticize his predecessor: Alexander was not a prophet, but a ruler blessed with velâyat, whose many successes depended on divine favor, the help of angels and his many wise men and craftsmen. The term velâyat is used on purpose by Amir Khosrow in its double sense of “sanctity,” “spiritual authority,” and of “dominion,” and “worldly authority”: “Some people made claims about his sanctity (velâyat), 224 Amir Khosrow, Â’ ine-ye Eskandari, p. 292. 225 See Angelo M. Piemontese, “Sources and Art of Amir Khosrou’s ‘The Alexandrine Mirror’,” in Franklin D. Lewis and Sunil Sharma, eds., The Necklace of the Pleiades (Leiden, 2010), pp. 31-45. 226 Piemontese, “Sources and Art of Amir Khosrou’s ‘The Alexandrine Mirror’,” pp. 36-37.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY others wrote he was a prophet (peyghambar). / After careful research was carried on, the right solution came out about his just rulership (velâyat-e dorost).”227 This image, which apparently suits the theoretical frame of the Cheshtiyye brotherhood as well as the secular engagement and hopes of the poet, is conveyed through a complex set of religious and philosophical positions. Alexander is undoubtedly monotheistic, and his actions seem to reflect the rivalry the Muslim Amir Khosrow had experienced with both the Hindus as well as the Zoroastrians, who had migrated from Iran to India during the previous centuries. This new interpretation of Alexander’s attitudes towards Zoroastrians and Brahmans (the encounter with the latter being a fundamental stage on Alexander’s sapiential journey in the Pseudo-Callisthenes’ tradition) is dramatic. They are equated through their adoration of fire (the former) and the sun (the latter). Alexander burns down all the Fire Temples in Azerbaijan, together with their books and priests, while he abandons the Brahmans to their own destiny, given that, as one of his soldiers suggests, “the Hindu prepare their own fire, / and happily enter it alive.”228 Similarly, Amir Khosrow’s Alexander can be clearly distinguished from Nezâmi’s in terms of his attitude towards Greek philosophy, as the author emphasizes its aspects related to Immanentism and its preference for reason over revelation in the search for the divine essence. This is certainly a polemical allusion to the school of philosophers such as Avicenna and Fârâbi, who had stood as important reference points in Nezâmi’s work, and were now widely criticized in the Muslim world. Unable to defeat the philosophers with weapons, Alexander created a chasm in the mount that dominated Greece and flooded the country. Only three philosophers survived the flood: Plato, Heraclides Ponticus (a possible interpretation of Gharaqil; in some manuscripts Kharaqil) and Porphyry (Forfilqus / Forfuryus) to represent a suggestive line of Platonic descent. The story of the cataclysm unleashed on Greece—the re-elaboration of an ancient myth of uncertain origin in this form—corresponds to a tale in the Mojmal al-tavârikh va’ l-qesas, probably Amir Khosrow’s source on this event.229 227 Amir Khosrow, Â’ ine-ye Eskandari, pp. 27-29. 228 Amir Khosrow, Â’ ine-ye Eskandari, pp. 171-78. 229 Amir Khosrow, Â’ine-ye Eskandari, pp. 182-96; Mojmal al-tavârikh va’l-qesas, pp. 12728. See also Bürgel, “L’attitude d’Alexandre face à la philosophie grecque,” pp. 53-59.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature The conversion of Plato, who retreats as a hermit to a mountain top, abandoning the pagan doctrine to dedicate himself to worshipping God, and becomes a divine sage (hakim-e elâhi), seems to symbolize efficaciously the neo-Platonic foundations of Islamic fideism, although Alexander’s visit to the cave in search of advice turns into a pand-nâme that resembles a rather disordered collection of andarz related to traditional Persian morals. In the romance, Plato refuses Balinâs’ invitation to visit King Alexander, replicating the gesture by Socrates in Nezâmi’s account. However, he is willing to dispense a series of precepts to the king who has climbed up to meet him, making him “wise and cognizant of the wise” (dânâ […] dânâ-shenâs). Plato’s long sermon addresses a number of issues, albeit in a very disorderly fashion. Parallels can be found in the kherad-nâmes composed for Alexander by Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates in Nezâmi’s Eqbâl-nâme. However, a more fitting comparison is with the collection of advice, attributed to Plato, that Ebn-Meskaweyh (d. 1030) inserted in his Arabic work, the al-Hekmat al-khâlede (a translation of the Persian Jâvedân kherad, “Eternal Wisdom”), which was in turn translated back into Persian and made famous by Nasiral-Din Tusi (d. 1274), who used it as a conclusion for his treatise on practical ethics. This collection of forty pieces of advice, which is presented as Plato’s testament to Aristotle, is addressed to all men, and it is considered by de Fouchécour “as one of the best collections of ancient advice.” Amir Khosrow did not develop a new version of it, as he was interested in integrating it with instructions on the practice of monarchy, but we may hypothesize that he knew about it and kept it in mind, as attested by an ordered series of correspondences between some of the advice present in the collection by Nasir-al-Din Tusi and some of the issues addressed by the poet in this long chapter of his romance.230 Amir Khosrow’s new interpretation of religious and philosophical themes also led to the elimination of the lamentations around Alexander’s coffin (in which his empty hands are plainly exhibited just as in Nezâmi): All with burnt-out hearts from grief, But with lips nailed to silence […] 230 The whole episode is in Amir Khosrow, Â’ ine-ye Eskandari, pp. 200-232. See Khʷâje Nasir-al-Din Tusi, Akhlâq-e nâṣeri, ed. Mojtabâ Minovi and Ali-Rezâ Heydari (Tehran, 1977), pp. 341-44; Fouchécour, Moralia, pp. 81-82, 463-64. See also Casari, Alessandro e Utopia, pp. 80-81.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY First, because in the rites and rules of the great, Lamentations are not worthy of the luminous. Second, because it is illicit to mourn the loss of a life, Whose fame is set to preserve it forever.231

The most significant contribution of these wise philosophers was their technological prowess, thanks to which, besides the barrier to block the Yâjuj people, the Cosmocrator established new norms for civilization. In a continuous challenge to his predecessor, Amir Khosrow takes up the theme of Alexander’s visit to Key Khosrow’s cave as described by Nezâmi and, employing a progressive and positivist cognition of the story, has Alexander declare, as he exits the cave: “the wise man I have in my service, were never had by Key Khosrow, and neither Jamshid; / why should there not remain a sign of my memory?”232 Thus, Aristotle reproduces the astrolabe and Alexander himself supervises the invention of the scale, the steelyard and the cubit, as well as the development of the first textiles that substitute the use of animal skins. Another central feature is the invention of the mirror, which had been imported by Chinese artists competing in craftsmanship with the Rumi painters. In the Â’ine-ye Eskandari, Alexander is the sovereign who spreads the technique of the mirror throughout the world. Moreover, he employs it together with the astrolabe to create a great mechanical mirror that can explore the entire Mediterranean and hunt down the pirates threatening trade, a novel variation on the theme of the Lighthouse of Alexandria. This symbol of the astrolabe was depicted on a flag on the top of the Delhi-Topra pillar, originally built by Aśoka, when the Sultan of Delhi Firuz Shâh Toghlaq (r. 1351-88) had it moved from its original place to his new capital, Firuzabad, next to the Friday mosque. An anonymous Persian chronicle of the time, Sirat-e Firuz-Shâhi, presents this event along with long and unattributed quotations from the relevant section of Amir Khosrow’s poem. The Â’ine-ye Eskandari had set Alexander as a model of Muslim ruler over people from different religious confessions that was to be followed by many Indo-Muslim sultans, who would claim to be Eskandar al-thâni. The astrolabe was at the same time a symbol of

231 Amir Khosrow, Â’ ine-ye Eskandari, pp. 294-95. 232 Amir Khosrow, Â’ ine-ye Eskandari, p. 155.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature universal rule and a mark of the Perso-Arabic technology that the Muslims had brought to India.233 However, the feat that marks the apex of technological innovation by Alexander’s wise men in Amir Khosrow’s romance is the oceanic exploration with the fleet prepared by Aristotle and guided through the geographic knowledge of Plato, who reluctantly accepts to follow the king after their meeting on the mountain. The exploration is crowned by Alexander’s immersion into the deep in his submarine. The account of the maritime expedition in the literary tradition on Alexander was probably inspired by a historical event. Returning towards Persia and Babylon from India, Alexander gathered a fleet that sailed down the Indus River towards the ocean. Upon reaching the ocean, the army split up. One part of it continued its journey over land with Alexander, while the other part, entrusted to Admiral Nearchus, continued its voyage at sea to explore the coastline (Plutarch, Life of Alexander, LXIII-LXVI). The fictitious episode of the submarine immersion was added at a later date, and related to the context of the legendary voyage towards the west. Its oldest appearance is probably in the Palestinian Talmud, whilst it appears only in some of the Greek versions of the Pseudo-Callisthenes (PC, II 38, as part of the Letter to Olympias and Aristotle), within the recension λ and in mss. P (a rather singular text that only partly belongs to rec. λ), L (β) and C (γ). In the Pseudo-Callisthenes, however, the story has a rather basic denouement and Alexander chooses to immerse himself underwater in a great glass barrel protected by an iron cage. He is instigated by greed and wishes to find pearls on the seafloor.234 This is very different from Alexander’s impulse in Amir Khosrow’s 233 A discussion of the Delhi-Tobra pillar issue and the account in the Sirat-e FiruzShâhi is in Cornwall, “Alexander and the Persian Cosmopolis,” pp. 113-29. See also Linda T. Darling, “‘Do Justice, Do Justice, For That is Paradise’: Middle Eastern Advice for Indian Muslim Rulers,” Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 22 (2002), pp. 3-19; Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, pp. 91-118. 234 See Israel Lévi, “La Légende d’Alexandre dans le Talmud et le Midrasch,” Revue des Études Juives, 7 (1883), pp. 78-93; Merkelbach, Quellen, pp. 133-34; Jouanno, Naissance et métamorphoses, pp. 271-72. See also Stoneman, Life in Legend, pp. 111-14. With different features, the episode also appears in an ancient Byzantine poem of α descent, and in the Latin Nativitas et victoria Alexandri Magni regis by the Neapolitan Archpriest Leo (10th century). The motif was known in the 8th century, since it is attested Aethicus Ister’s Cosmography: Die Kosmographie des Aethicus, ed. Otto Prinz (Munich, 1993), pp. 129-30. It had a wide diffusion in European vernacular romances, giving birth to a lively illustration corpus. It also has a valuable development

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Â’ine-ye Eskandari, whose account of this episode, with its 250 verses, is to be considered the textus amplior in the whole of Alexander literature.235 It is connected textually to the short narration contained in the Latin Nativitas et victoria Alexandri Magni regis that the Neapolitan Archpriest Leo had translated from a Greek manuscript found in Byzantium (10th century), and to the longer descriptions contained in the Arabic romance Qessat al-Eskandar by Omâre Ebn-Zeyd (late 8th century), and the anonymous Hadith Dhi’ l-Qarneyn (around 15th century), belonging to the so-called Western-Arabic romance tradition: Omâre’s version proves that this theme circulated in ancient times in the Islamic world.236 However, it was for a long time excluded from all works, with rare exceptions: in Mas’udi, Alexander’s immersion is rationally connected to the erection of the Lighthouse of Alexandria and the king explores the seafloor to make sure there are no strange animals that may block its construction.237 In Amir Khosrow’s poem, the submarine (the new and most important â’ine-ye Eskandari, “Alexandrian mirror,” as it is named in the text) is built by Aristotle, and again the description of its construction takes care of the technological details: After having reinforced [the fleet] with joinery, they thought of a structure in the shape of a flask (qârure). The foundry-men of Rum, able to turn stone into wax using no fire, set to work. in medieval Hebrew Alexander romances. See Cary, The Medieval Alexander, index; David J.A. Ross, Alexander and the Faithless Lady: A Submarine Adventure (London, 1967; republished in idem, Studies in the Alexander Romance, London, 1985, pp. 382-403). 235 Amir Khosrow, Â’ine-ye Eskandari, pp. 261-73. See Casari, Alessandro e Utopia, pp. 4358; Angelo M. Piemontese, “Le submersible Alexandrin dans l’abysse, selon Amir Khusrau,” in Harf-Lancner et al., eds., Alexandre le Grand dans les littératures, pp. 253-71. 236 Pfister, Der Alexanderroman des Archipresbyters Leo, pp. 126-27; Friedländer, Die Chadhirlegende und der Alexanderroman, pp. 158-159; Emilio García Gómez, Un texto árabe occidental de la Lejenda de Alejandro (Madrid, 1929), pp. 39-42 of the Arabic text, pp. 57-61 of the Spanish translation. See also David Zuwiyya, “ʻUmâra’s Qiṣṣa al-Iskandar as a Model of the Arabic Alexander Romance,” in Alexander Romance in Persia and the East, pp. 205-218: 214. 237 Mas’udi, Moruj al-dhahab, tr., II, pp. 420-28; de Polignac, “Al-Iskandariyya: oeil du monde et frontière de l’inconnu,” pp. 436-37; Doufikar-Aerts, “A Legacy of the Alexander Romance in Arab Writings,” pp. 328, 333.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature Following Aristotle’s instructions, they promptly put glass over the fire: When it had melted, they put it in the mold, forging a transparent chest. Its weight was lighter than a fresh flower, its fineness was more revealing than a simple heart. It showed the passenger from the outside, like a face reflected in the clear water. Its depth was one cubit, exact and pure, and three cubits its breadth, four cubits its length: A long rectangle, for lying down and standing up. Then they skinned coconuts, extracting the best part, And they produced ropes for the chest, each one of them long as one month’s road.238

The historical Aristotle was one of the first scientists who described the physical principles for the diving bell, possibly the most ancient device for deep submarine immersions, in his Problems (XVI, 8; XXXII, 5), which had been transmitted into Arabic.239 In Tarsusi’s Dârâb-nâme the secret of submarine swimming is Plato’s prerogative.240 Some technical implications of the term qârure (flask), used by Amir Khosrow, seem not to be taken into account explicitly in the rest of the description, and the beautiful miniatures that are included in some manuscripts of Amir Khosrow’s poem represent the vessel as a simple glass barrel or cylinder, in parallel with the equivalent iconography of the same subject in medieval European Alexander romances. Instead, the term qârure implies a technical reflection on how to supply air inside the vessel, by providing the glass jug with a long open neck surfacing out of the water. Surprisingly enough, the most similar description of such machinery can be found in the near-contemporary German Alexander by Ulrich von Eschenbach (completed between 127087), which presents some other interesting correlations with Khosrow’s version. Whether or not we can ascertain a remote common source, these detailed portraits of Alexander’s submarine machinery confirm an ideological interest in the king’s support of science and technology.241 The Persian 238 Amir Khosrow, Â’ ine-ye Eskandari, pp. 243-44. 239 See L.S. Filius, ed., The Problemata Physica Attributed to Aristotle: The Arabic Version of Ḥunain Ibn Ishāq and the Hebrew Version of Moses Ibn Tibbon (Leiden, Boston and Köln, 1999). 240 Tarsusi, Dârâb-nâme, II, pp. 364-65. 241 Ulrich von Eschenbach, Alexander, ed. Wendelin Toischer (Tübingen, 1888), pp. 64344. A discussion of Ulrich von Eschenbach’s account of the episode is in David J.A. Ross, Illustrated Medieval Alexander-Books in Germany and the Netherlands: A Study

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY version of the episode must have influenced the composition of the Mongol one (dated 1312, extant in four fragments, one of which concerns the under-sea adventure), where the submarine is called after the Persian word qarâbe (demijohn). As to later developments, the submarine descent also appears in the Ethiopian version of the Pseudo-Callisthenes, and in the section of the Malaysian Alexander Romance that was incorporated in the Sejarah Melayu (The Malay Annals, 16th-17th century in its final redaction).242 Having finally reached the midst of the ocean, the lowering of Alexander into the marine abyss presents utopian characteristics, with the description of a phantasmagoria unequalled by any other account of this episode in literature on Alexander. The supervisors of this underwater voyage are Khezr, and his companion Eliyâs, and the depths of the ocean are guarded by an angel, who gauges Alexander’s temperament and, when he understands that the sovereign is sincerely motivated by curiosity for the world, he dissipates the mud curtain, and the king’s eyes behold an amazing vision. The angel creates a succession of waves that allow Alexander to marvel at schools of gigantic antediluvian whales, submarine human people, animals so gigantic that they cannot be perceived by the human eye, and even the foothills of Mount Qâf, in an imaginary arrival at the antipodes. Emerging alive from the flask thanks to the angel’s generosity, Alexander explains what he has seen to his men through “images reflected on the mirror,”243

in Comparative Iconography (Cambridge, 1971), pp. 66-68. All of the manuscripts containing the full text of Ulrich’s poem are not illustrated, but an abbreviated version of it is embedded in an illustrated late 14th-century manuscript of the Weltchronik by Rudolf von Ems, now in Wolfenbüttel; this image shows the device quite clearly in the form of a sort of Chianti flask with a long neck extending above the surface of the sea. On the whole comparison, see Casari, “The King Explorer,” pp. 191-96. 242 See Francis W. Cleaves, “An Early Mongolian Version of the Alexander Romance,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 22 (1959), pp. 1-99: 12-21; E. A. Wallis Budge, The Life and Exploits of Alexander the Great, Being a Series of Translations of the Ethiopic Histories of Alexander by the Pseudo-Callisthenes and Other Writers (2 vols., London, 1896), II, pp. 280-86; Alessandro Bausani, Malesia: Poesie e leggende (Milano, 1963), pp. 253-59. For Alexander in Malay literature, see Georges Voisset, “Jusqu’au bout de l’inconnu: la version malaise de l’histoire d’Alexandre le Bicornu,” in Harf-Lancner et al., eds., Alexandre le Grand dans les littératures, pp. 131-45; Su Fang Ng, Alexander the Great from Britain to Southeast Asia: Peripheral Empires in the Global Renaissance (Oxford, 2019), especially pp. 75-11, 243-75. 243 Amir Khosrow, Â’ ine-ye Eskandari, p. 273.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature almost a prototype of a photographic camera in the submarine’s camera obscura. Then, he must accept the rapid approach of his end. Amir Khosrow meaningfully places the episode of the descent into the sea in correspondence with the episode of the Garden of the Talking Tree narrated by Ferdowsi and that of the Blessed City narrated by Nezâmi, as extreme points of the King’s parabola and as signs of his earthly limits. The condemnation of the King’s insatiability is clearly expressed by the aquatic people, whose gestural language was also translated by an interpreter (tarjomân), the angel: O disloyal, ungrateful man! Who do not appreciate the grace of God! You’ve seen the world up and down, and yet you are not satiated with this futile wondering. […] Man always oversteps his limits, as appetite grows because of greed. […] Any prudence gets lost in his acts; worse than man is only man.244

The section on the aquatic people and their message, as well as other textual considerations related to the Alexander Romance, suggest connections between Amir Khosrow’s treatment of the episode and some features of the Atlantis myth as reported by Plato in his Timaeus (24-25) and Critias (XII, 120-121), the first of which is reported to have been translated into Arabic three times, although probably only in a partial way. In the Qesse-ye Dhu’ l-Qarneyn held in the Library of the Museum of Natural History in Paris, a new version of the submarine adventure shows Alexander accompanied in his exploration of the abyss by the special guidance of Plato, while Khezr remains aboard the ship to await their return: an amusing miniature illustrates the text.245 Thus, the literary profile of Alexander delineated by Amir Khosrow is rather different from Nezâmi’s in terms of narrative material, priority of themes, ideological framework and, of course, the historical context. Nonetheless, it also shares many aspects of the latter, including the profound 244 Amir Khosrow, Â’ ine-ye Eskandari, pp. 268-69. 245 MS Paris, Bibliothèque du Musée National d’Histoire Naturelle, 472, ff. 191r-192r. On the Timaeus in Arabic, see Paul Kraus and Richard Walzer (eds.) Plato Arabus. I. Galeni Compendium Timaei Platonis (London, 1951); Rüdiger Arnzen, “Plato’s Timaeus in the Arabic Tradition. Legends - Testimonies—Fragments,” in Francesco Celia and Angela Ulacco, eds., Il Timeo: Esegesi greche, arabe, latine (Pisa, 2015), pp. 181-267. See Casari, “The King Explorer,” pp. 196-99.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY reflection on the relation between power and knowledge, and the inflexible parabolic structure encoded by Ferdowsi. The two poems were not to be considered as alternatives, but as reciprocal integrations, just like the other poems in the respective khamse, which, in fact, often circulated in the same manuscripts as a mirror of comparative literature (the khamsateyn). This specular quality persisted in the many contexts of the Persianate world in the constant sublimation of narrative texts towards new frontiers of poetic elaboration. Observing the subsequent Eskandar-nâmes in verse, it appears that the three accounts developed by Ferdowsi, Nezâmi, and Amir Khosrow had spanned nearly the entire range of narrative traditions concerning the figure of Alexander. There only are a few innovations visible in terms of plot, but each author chooses how to calibrate his attitude concerning the political, ethical, and spiritual significance of individual themes or of the entire story. In this context, Abd-al-Rahmân Jâmi’s Kherad-nâme-ye Eskandari (The Alexandrian book of wisdom), the last of his Haft owrang, is particularly significant. This poem was completed before 1489—possibly in 1485246—and dedicated to the Timurid ruler of Herat, Soltân Hoseyn Mirzâ Bâyqarâ (r. 1469-1506). In the Arabic and Persian tradition, Herat was considered among the cities founded by Alexander, possibly also on the basis of the information transmitted by classical historiography on the foundation of a city named Alexandreia in Areia, after his conquest of that 246 A’lâkhân Afsahzâd, Naqd va bar-resi-ye âthâr va sharh-e ahvâl-e Jâmi (Tehran, 1999), p. 214. The edition that will be quoted here is Nur-al-Din Abd-al-Rahmân Ebn-Ahmad Jâmi Khorâsâni, Kheradnâme-ye Eskandari, in Mathnavi-ye haft owrang, ed. Mortaza Modarres-Gilâni (Tehran 1987), pp. 911-1013. Another edition is in Mathnavi-ye haft owrang, ed. A’lâkhân Afsahzâd, Jâbalqâ Dâd-Alishâh, Asghar Jânfedâ, Zâher Ahrâri, Hoseyn Ahmad Tarbiyat (2 vols., Tehran 1999), II, pp. 415-529. General overviews of Jâmi’s Alexander Romance, are Bertel’s, Roman ob Aleksandre, pp. 100-115; Iraj Afshâr, “Kherad-nâme-ye Eskandar-e makhluq-e Jâmi,” in Tajlil-e pânsad-o panjâhomin sâl-e tavallod-e Nur-al-Din Abd-al-Rahmân Jâmi: Shâmel-e payâm-hâ va bayâniyye-hâ (Kabul, 1965), pp. 122-27; Safavi, Eskandar va adabiyyât-e Irân, pp. 254-57; William Hanaway, “Alexander and the Question of Iranian Identity,” in Iranica Varia: Papers in Honor of Professor Ehsan Yarshater (Leiden, 1990), pp. 93-103; Charles-Henri de Fouchécour, “Jami conseiller des princes, ou Le Livre de la Sagesse alexandrine,” Kâr-Nâmeh: Littérature persane 5 (1999), pp. 11-32; Johann Ch. Bürgel, “Ǧāmī’s Epic Poem on Alexander the Great. An Introduction,” OM 76, 2 (1996), pp. 415-38.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature region.247 Jâmi explains that, from his own point of view, “exposing the mysteries of wisdom is better than reciting old stories” (ze asrâr-e hekmat sokhon rândan-ast beh az qesse-hâ-ye kohon khʷândan-ast).248 In fact, his poem is rather short (about two thousand and three hundred verses) and its form is evidently inspired by the structure of Nezâmi’s Eqbâl-nâme. The anecdotal and didactic approach takes precedence on the image of the king, whose selected adventures become examples for various reflections on morality. The political, military, cosmographic, and scientific implications of the Alexandrian tradition slip into the background, while the main focus is a general re-elaboration of civil and philosophical issues that make it a more traditional “mirror-for-princes.” The plot of the Alexander Romance is reduced to a bare minimum with the exception of a few characteristic episodes, beginning with the education of Alexander—the son of Philip with no Iranian ascendancy, which has become irrelevant at this time—by Aristotle, and his ascent to the throne thanks to the decision of his peers. The work then turns to a long initial section on the court philosophers, which includes various kherad-nâmes (Books of Wisdom) written by Aristotle, Plato and Socrates, as well as Hippocrates, Pythagoras, and Asclepius (Esqelinus), thereby substituting Vettius Valens, Apollonius, and Porphyry in Nezâmi’s poem; then Hermes, and even Alexander. The news of Alexander’s conquests, from Egypt to Iran, and in the four cardinal directions, is condensed into a brief summary that emphasizes his establishment of a monotheistic faith: He uprooted the temples of the idols from their very foundation, And threw Zoroaster and the Zoroastrians into flames, He purged the earth from all religions, Save that of the pure and pristine God (din-e yazdân-e pâk) He built many a city in different locations, Such as Samarqand, Marv, and Herat. Bent on building a barrier, he headed east, Closing the gate of sedition to the Yâjuj. Having traversed the expanse of the earth, From dry land he reached the ocean green.249 247 Willem J. Vogelsang, “Herat. ii. History, Pre-Islamic Period,” EIr, XII, pp. 205-6. 248 Jâmi, Kherad-nâme-ye Eskandari, p. 928. 249 Jâmi, Kherad-nâme-ye Eskandari, pp. 964-65.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Even Jâmi highlights, albeit more briefly, Alexander’s role in the progress of civilization, by his minting gold and silver coins, the introduction of iron and the invention of the mirror, the beginning of space measurement, as well as musical innovations and the translation of Persian wisdom into Greek. A few episodes of the narrative tradition, which are developed further to present their sapiential content, include the meeting and pacific negotiation with the Emperor of China, the visit to the Brahmans in India and the arrival at the Blessed City (one after the other, a further sign of their common textual source), with a few related encounters. A vision of Mount Qâf, of a mystical nature more than a cosmographic one, precedes the announcement of his death, to which the final section of the work is dedicated. The traditional letter of consolation to Alexander’s mother, composed by Jâmi with a display of delicate sensitivity, is followed by the instructions concerning his coffin, with his empty left hand hanging out; by his death and burial in Alexandria; and finally by the long lamentations and consolatory remarks by the sages and his mother, in clear contrast to Amir Khosrow’s already mentioned reservations and strictures on this matter. A caption sums up Jâmi’s disenchanted assessment of worldly life, and reiterates a classic theme in Alexander literature: “On the perfidy of this two-door monastery and its in and out, where one enters in affliction and goes away in regret.”250 The anecdotes (hekâyat), which continuously interrupt the flow of the narration (dâstân), following the usual pattern of Persian mystical mathnavis, point to and have parallels in religious, didactic, and scientific literature, mostly in Arabic, with which Jâmi must have been acquainted.251 Each anecdote ends with a double invocation to the cup bearer and the minstrel (sâqi and motreb) following the manner in which Amir Khosrow had re-elaborated Nezâmi’s literary invention. Jâmi clearly adheres to Nezâmi’s attitude towards philosophy, even though, at the time, the tone of the debate between reason and revelation was certainly less turbulent than two centuries earlier. In fact, the philosophers who surround Alexander are, even more so than in previous romances, in essence sages, providers of ethical instruction and spiritual precepts, in line with the personality of Jâmi, who was a prominent figure of the Naqshbandiyye, the confraternity with powerful influence at the court 250 Jâmi, Kherad-nâme-ye Eskandari, pp. 993-1009. 251 Some suggestions are provided by Bürgel, “Ǧāmī’s Epic Poem on Alexander the Great.”

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature of Herat. Indeed, even the notions imparted by the doctors whom Jâmi inserts in Alexander’s court (Hippocrates more than Asclepius, who is presented in his traditional role in Arabic literature as a disciple of Hermes) are generic calls to moderation based on e’tedâl (equilibrium) and kheyr alomur (“the best things”, i.e. “the golden mean”). Jâmi’s preferred character appears to be Socrates, who embodies the wise man who explicitly shuns power, and he includes the anecdote deriving from the story of Diogenes in its complete form, as often occurs in Arabic literature, with a mention of the barrel in which the philosopher lived and his only request from the sovereign: not to block the sun!252 In this framework, which highlights the dialectics between young and old, master and disciple, rich and poor and, above all, sovereign and mendicant, the king receives practical advice and indications fit for the common man. Indeed, it is not by chance that the most fecund kherad-nâme is that composed by Plato, in which he invites the king to pursue relentlessly his research, to investigate the world, and travel within himself, too, to understand the illusory and transitory nature of earthly riches and temporal power: the advice to perform an interior journey seems consonant to one of the key issues of the Naqshbandiyye (the safar dar vatan, “travel in the homeland”). A peculiar theme of the romance originates in Jâmi’s attitude towards women: he repeatedly suggests that men should keep a significant distance from them and mentions an anecdote about Alexander that circulated widely in Persian literature. After having married Darius’ daughter, Alexander laments that: The worldly wise would say: Alexander conquered the world from Dârâ, But his daughter took the world away from him; He who humiliated bejeweled sovereigns, Was humiliated by a woman bereft of intellect or faith.253

Despite the looser narrative structure of the work, even in Jâmi’s romance the various admonishments converge in the profoundly significant final episode. Jâmi divides this episode into three stages. The dialogue with the Brahmans, which was present in Ferdowsi’s work, is significantly 252 Jâmi, Kherad-nâme-ye Eskandari, pp. 947-48. See the notes in the section on Nezâmi, above. 253 Jâmi, Kherad-nâme-ye Eskandari, p. 968.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY condensed. The Indian wise men invite Alexander to pursue his curiosity (konjkâvi), as opposed to assault and war, and he is reprimanded for his continued meandering around the world to conquer peoples and countries. The sovereign responds with the classic theme of divine guidance (referred to in the Pseudo-Callisthenes as “providence”) and the metaphor of the wave, which was already present in the Greek and Syriac romance (PC, III 6) and was conserved in the Arabic tradition: I am a wave swept up by the wind Not for a moment can I rest still in a place254

Even the subsequent episode of the Blessed City is very similar to Nezâmi’s version and reproduces the same thematic nucleus: the absence of need for riches, judges or kings. After a discussion with the wise men of the city, as Alexander prepares to leave, he comes across a tailor, bent over his work, and is astounded by the splendor of this man, who has retreated from the world into his solitude. The tailor does not fawn over the king and treats him curtly. Then, he narrates an anecdote: A while ago two men in our town, Took leave of this earthly cage, One could no longer cling to his crown and throne, The other deserted his pit of poverty, One was covered in a shroud of ermine and silk, The other wrapped in a foul shredded ancient cloak. Conveyed they were from this unstable palace of perfidy, And laid out in the corner of a cavern. Later, while they were left lying there, I visited the cavern, filled with sorrow and pain. I saw them piled up in a heap, Their bones mixed up with each other. Even after many a try, it was not clear to me Which was which and so tell them apart. The vanities of this world then lost their charm for me, And my mind broke loose of their attachment.

254 Jâmi, Kherad-nâme-ye Eskandari, p. 982; the whole Brahmans episode is at pp. 980-82. In Arabic, see for instance Omâre, in Doufikar-Aerts, Alexander Magnus Arabicus, p. 39.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature The delighted king offered his honors and power to the wise tailor: He answered: “O king, I am that tailor Who works for his own sake: It is better to forever sew eternal life into a cloak Than acquire fragile satin, I do not desire this honorific vest, Donate it to another naked one.”255

The motif of the mingled and indistinguishable bones, of indefinite origin, had a significant phase of development in the context of Arabic wisdom literature on Alexander, and circulated widely, both in Europe and Asia.256 The third and last leg of this journey in search of knowledge is the conquest of a city whose last prince had retired as a hermit. Invited by Alexander, the hermit arrives holding bones and again explains that “my eyes cannot distinguish the bones of a king from those of a beggar.” He, too, refuses Alexander’s offer to become his vassal king. He considers his own condition superior to that of a king, as his patrimony derives from the “possession of high resolution” (hemmat-bolandi).257 Once again, the polysemous term hemmat, which had already been employed by Nezâmi in relation to Alexander, takes on an omni-comprehensive function in Jâmi’s work. On the one hand, there is the main virtue of kings, the vast vision and power to implement it; on the other, the profound self-knowledge that even those who have no power may possess, if guided by deep-seated morals and faith. However, and especially in the works of authors with strong mystical inclinations such as Jâmi, hemmat also alludes to the immense psychic energy provided by asceticism and contact with God: it was a key concept in Naqshbandi doctrine.258 So, the 255 Jâmi, Kherad-nâme-ye Eskandari, pp. 985-86. 256 Some observations are in Doufikar-Aerts, Alexander Magnus Arabicus, p. 42, and passim. It has been suggested that the emblematic graveyard scene towards the end of Shakespeare’s Hamlet (Act 5, Scene 1) may have a strict relationship with this famous episode of the Alexander legend: Ng, Alexander the Great from Britain to Southeast Asia, pp. 179-99. 257 Jâmi, Kherad-nâme-ye Eskandari, pp. 987-89. 258 On the concept of hemmat, see Fouchécour, Moralia, pp. 406-8. See also Alexandre Papas, “Islamic Brotherhoods in Sixteenth Century Central Asia: the Dervish, the Sultan, and the Sufi Mirror for Princes,” in Nicholas Terpstra, Adriano Prosperi and Stefania Pastore (eds.), Faith’s Boundaries: Laity and Clergy in Early Modern

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Kherad-nâme-ye Eskandari is a “mirror-for-princes” and Jâmi’s Eskandar is the portrait of an ideal prince in search of wisdom as a supreme science— including the repeated admonishments on the limits of power. It is at the same time a profoundly moralistic and ascetic “mirror,” permeated by the Naqshbandi philosophy, which we must imagine was intellectually appreciated by Soltân-Hoseyn Mirzâ Bâyqarâ and his court, but which would have been difficult to implement literally.259 Moreover, the reading of Jâmi’s poem should be accompanied by the reading of the Sadd-e Eskandari (The Alexandrian Barrier) by his friend and Naqshbandi confraternity member, Ali-Shir Navâ’i. This, the only Alexander Romance written in Chagatai, was completed almost contemporaneously with the Kherad-nâme-ye Eskandari. It is much longer (more than seven thousand verses), and explicitly indicates that the Persian royal lineage had gone through Alexander and Chengiz Khan to the Timurids of Herat and its ruler, Soltân-Hoseyn Mirzâ Bâyqarâ, whose court was famously a bilingual environment.260 In the serial reproduction of the khamse, solicited by the couple Nezâmi/ Amir Khosrow, a short circuit inevitably arises concerning the variations on the theme of the Eskandar-nâme. This is due both to the extensive use Confraternities, (Turnhout, 2012), pp. 209-31; Chad G. Lingwood, Politics, Poetry, and Sufism in Medieval Iran: New Perspectives on Jāmī’s ‘Salāmān va Absāl’ (Leiden and Boston, 2014). 259 Hamid Algar, “The Naqshbandi Order: A Preliminary Survey of its History and Significance,” Studia Islamica 44 (1976), pp. 123‒52; Thierry Zarcone, “Le ‘voyage dans la patrie’ (safar dar watan) chez les soufis de l’ordre naqshbandî,” in Mohammad Ali Amir-Moezzi, ed., Le Voyage initiatique en terre d’ islam: Ascensions célestes et itinéraires spirituels, (Leuven and Paris, 1996), pp. 301-15. 260 Maria Eva Subtelny, “The Poetic Circle at the Court of the Timurid Sultan Ḥusain Baiqara and its Political Significance,” PhD diss. (Harvard University, 1979); Aftandil Erkinov, “La querelle sur l’ancien et le nouveau dans les formes littéraires traditionnelles : remarques sur les positions de Jâmi et de Navâ’i,” Annali dell’Istituto Universitario Orientale di Napoli 59 (1999), pp. 18-37. On Navâ’i’s Alexandrian poem, see Bertel’s, Roman ob Alexandre, pp. 121-87. Ermanno Visintainer, “L’Alessandro ‘turco’: alcune riflessioni in marginale al Sedd-i İskenderî (La muraglia di Alessandro) di Alī Šīr Navā’ī,” Quaderni di studi indo-mediterranei 1 (2008), pp. 209-52. On the relationship between Jâmi’s and Navâ’i’s Alexandrian poems and their religious-philosophical affinities, see Marc Toutant, “Evaluating Jāmī’s Influence on Navā’ī: The Case Studies of the Khiradnāma-yi iskandarī and the Sadd-i iskandarī,” in Thibaut d’Hubert and Alexandre Papas, eds., Jāmī in Regional Contexts: The Reception of ʻAbd-al-Raḥmān Jāmī’s Works in the Islamicate World, ca. 9th/15th-14th/20th Century (Leiden and Boston, 2019), pp. 602-48.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature of narrative material by the revered predecessors—Ferdowsi, Nezâmi, Amir Khosrow and then Jâmi—and to the desire to express the celebration of the dedicatee more directly than through the figure of Alexander. In fact, thematic substitutions in reproductions of the khamse were becoming rather commonplace. Jâmi’s grandson, Abd-Allâh Hâtefi (d. 1521), chose in his khamse to substitute the role of the Eskandar-nâme with a Timur-nâme (1498, sometimes called Zafar-nâme), a celebration of the founder of the dynasty who reigned over the region.261 Indeed, this had already occurred in Jamâli’s khamse that is being studied, on the basis of a sole manuscript, by Paola Orsatti. Jamâli ends his khamse with a poem presumably entitled Târikh-e Eskandari, which, however, does not concern Alexander, but Anushang, son of Hushang, King of Iran, and his conflict with the Khâqân, sovereign of Turan. The title may be due, besides the evident reference to Nezâmi’s poem about Alexander (actually, just the Sharaf-nâme), also to a dedication to the Qarâ Qoyunlu ruler Eskandar (r. 1421-1438), to whom Jamâli possibly came closer after having severed his loyalty with the Timurid dynasty. Notwithstanding the different persona, the plot seems to be strongly inspired by numerous details of the story of Alexander, albeit in a series of original re-elaborations (such as the tribute due by Hushang to the Khâqân in the shape of oval gold containers filled with jewels; Anushang’s birth as a young “Lion King” (Ghazanfar Malek), and his education under the guidance of Socrates; the war against the Zangis and the invention of the mirror; the Khâqân’s death and Anushang’s ascension to the throne). This reveals two significant aspects of the semiotic power of Alexander in Persia, notwithstanding the scant success met by Jamâli’s khamse. One is the continued possibility of historicization of his figure, as in the case of Hâtefi and in this one, in which the adversary, Khâqân-e Turân, appears to be a clear representation of Tamerlane, while his fearful grandson, Ulugh Khân, recalls Tamerlane’s grandson, Ulugh Beg. The second aspect concerns the definitive transformation of Alexander into a true watermark of Persian royalty, which no longer requires anecdotes explaining his origins, nor any explicit mention, thanks to an eastward geographic translation 261 Safâ, Hamâse, pp. 360-62; Safâ, TADI, IV, pp. 438-47; Safavi, Eskandar va adabiyyât-e Irân, pp. 257-59; Michele Bernardini, “Il Timurnāme di Hātefi e lo Šāhnāme-ye Esmāʿil di Qāsemi (Il MS. Frazer 87 della Bodleian Library di Oxford),” OM 76, 2 (1996), pp. 97-118; idem, “Hātefi, ʿAbd-Allāh,” EIr, XII, pp. 55-57; idem, Mémoire et propagande à l’ époque timouride, pp. 127-44.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY of the story: the barycenter shifts from Rum to Iran, and the adversary is no longer Iran, but Turan.262 Jamâli’s interest in Alexander’s story is also proved by the presence of another significant episode in the first didactic romance of his khamse, Tohfat al-abrâr. Illustrating a reflection on the value of listening the advice of the elderly, the poet inserts the anecdote of Alexander and Khezr journeying by sea with the army towards the Land of Darkness in search of the Water of Life. As in Nezâmi’s poem (and many other versions), an old man gives advice on how to find the way back from the Darkness. Here, Jamâli also gives a significant role to a cook, who does not appear in previous Persian versions, but can be traced back to the development of the theme in the main Greek and Syriac sources of the episode.263 According to a variety of sources (bibliographical inventories, library catalogues, tadhkeres, overview essays, etc.), long lists could be produced of mathnavis inspired by Nezâmi’s and Amir Khosrow’s Eskandar-nâmes, but with a different subject, which still require close scrutiny of the extant but unpublished manuscripts. However, the imitation of Nezâmi’s khamse was particularly significant in the context of Indo-Persian literature, where Amir Khosrow had first thrown down the challenge; but even in this case, various authors felt the need to modify the subject of the equivalent to the Eskandar-nâme. This is the case with the Maghâzi al-nabi by Ya’qub Kashmiri Sarfi (d. 1594), describing the conquests of the armies guided by the Prophet Mohammad, the Akbar-nâme by Mir Mohammad Ma’sum (d. 1605), dedicated to the Moghul Emperor Akbar (r. 1556-1605), the Javâher-nâme by Mir Jomle Shahrestâni Esfahâni (d. 1637), the Farât-e farrokhi by Vâred Shâhjahân-âbâdi (during the reign of Aurangzeb, 16581707), the Ganj-e ravân by Mir Ja’far Beyg Kashmiri, known as Binesh (d. 1674), also dedicated to Aurangzeb, and several others. Especially when not inserted into a khamse or group of mathnavis united by a literary program, certain poems dedicated to individual sovereigns could be modeled 262 The unique manuscript of Jamâli’s Khamse, is MS London, India Office Library, Ethé 1284. On Jamâli, see Paola Orsatti, “The Ḫamsah ‘Quintet’ by Ğamālī: Reply to Niẓāmī Between the Timurids and the Qarā-Qoyunlu,” OM 76/2 (1996), pp. 385-413 (pp. 404-6 on the Târikh-e Eskandari); Paola Orsatti, “Ḵamsa of Jamāli,” EIr, XV, pp. 449-51. A manuscript including a complete version of the Tarikh-e Eskandari has been found recently. See Paola Orsatti’s contribution in this volume: Chapter 3, note 59. 263 MS London, India Office Library, Ethé 1284, ff. 23b-24b.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature on the Shâh-nâme rather than the Eskandar-nâme, although it is difficult to provide concrete proof, unless explicitly declared by authors or their biographers.264 In this context, therefore, the pedigree of the Eskandar-nâme mirror is fragmented and reflects very different figures. Some authors choose to adhere to the original theme and produce variations on the story of Alexander which, however, pending further studies, do not seem to be very original in terms of themes and style. One of the best known is that produced by Abdi Beyg Novidi Shirâzi (d. 1580), an official of the Safavid Imperial Divân, and one of the most productive writers of early Safavid Iran, author of three khamses. In reality, Abdi Shirâzi relied more in his poems on the works of Amir Khosrow than on Nezâmi, and this is also true of his Alexander Romance, composed in 1543. Even its title, Âyin-e Eskandari (The Alexandrian Ordinances) is clearly related to the Â’ine-ye Eskandari by the poet from Delhi, and the plot largely follows the same work.265 The work, consisting of two thousand and three hundred verses in the current edition, is dedicated to Shah Tahmâsp Safavi. It is divided into two sections (daftar): the longer first section (1757 verses) concerns the clash and subsequent peace between Alexander and the Khâqân of China, as well as a quick summary of Alexander’s conquests and journeys around the world. This section also includes the love story with the Chinese Amazon, as in Amir Khosrow’s romance. The second and shorter daftar, which has a positivist perspective that closely resembles that of its Indo-Persian predecessor, identifies in the protection of the arts, and especially engineering, architecture, and painting, the cultural quality that characterizes regality. Alexander is thus he who erects the barrier against Gog and Magog, he who builds and fortifies the city, and the patron of 264 Nur Mohammad Khân, “Jostâri dar nofudh-e Nezâmi dar shebh-e qârre (moqalledân va shoruh-e âthâr-e Nezâmi),” in Mansur Tharvat, ed., Majmu’e-ye maqâlât-e kongre-ye beyn-al-melali-ye nohomin sade-ye tavallod-e hakim Nezâmi-ye Ganjavi (3 vols., Tabriz, 1993), III, pp. 373-99; de Blois, PL, V/2, pp. 487-92. See also Keyvâni, “Eskandar-nâme,” p. 381; Esmâ’ili, “Pishgoftâr,” pp. 100-111. 265 On the poet, see Ahmad Golchin-e Ma’âni, “Novidi Shirâzi,” Vahid 3 (1976), pp. 340-46; Paul Losensky, “ʿAbdī Shīrāzī,” EI3 , http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/1573-3912_ ei3_COM_26282. The edition is Abdi Beyg Shirâzi, Âyin-e Eskandari, ed. Abu’lFâzl Hâshem Rahimov (Moscow, 1977): in the preface, the editor establishes a direct connection of the text to Nezâmi’s Eskandar-nâme but overlooks its close ties to Amir Khosrow’s poem.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY an admirable contest between Chinese and Rumi portrait painters. Even the structure of the work is based on that by Amir Khosrow and traces its sapiential intent, continuously alternating sections containing reflections (goftâr) on political, ethical, and spiritual themes, with anecdotes (hekâyat) related to the issue, and a narration (dâstân) of events in Alexander’s life. Notwithstanding its structural and linguistic simplicity, the Âyin-e Eskandari by Abdi Beyg Shirâzi represents a valuable variant in the Alexander Romance genealogy, a “mirror-for-princes” imbued more with political and ethical instructions (exploration of the world, the role of the army, faith, love, war and peace, nobility of traditions, and justice in the first daftar; and then, constructions and the protection of the arts) rather than spiritual meditations, despite a section at the end on the deceits of the ephemeral world and the importance of the spiritual world. This final section includes the scene, also present in Amir Khosrow’s work, of Alexander’s destruction of pagan Greece and the survival of Plato, Heraclides (Gharaqil) and the physician Hippocrates.266 The story of the competition between the Chinese and the Rumi painters is a variation on a rather frequent narrative motif in Persian literature and with significant antecedents in the tradition of Alexander romances. The oldest version of this episode probably appeared in the major Arabic work by Ghazâli (d. 1111), the Ehyâ’ olum al-din. Here, a description of a dispute amongst Rumi and Chinese painters concerns their ability to paint (naqsh) and make portraits (sovar). An anonymous king assigns the painters to decorate a lodge, whose two sides are separated by a screen. Each team of painters works separately without being able to spy on the other. On their side, the Rumi artists produce a mural, while the Chinese only polish their side. Once the screen is removed, the Chinese work mirrors the Rumi mural on the other side of the lodge. The king judges the Chinese reflection to be superior to Rumi painting art. Jalâl-al-Din Rumi also narrates the story in a conceptually similar way in his Mathnavi-ye ma’navi, but the roles of the Chinese and Rumi are reversed, perhaps on account of the author’s partisan spirit. Although one hypothesis is that this anecdote derives from a treatise on optics, it usually has a mystical interpretation: he who polishes the mirror is a Sufi Master who purifies hearts. Nezâmi appears to be responsible for the association of this 266 Abdi Beyg Shirâzi, Âyin-e Eskandari, pp. 115-18. Here, Hippocrates replaces Porphyry in Amir Khosrow’s account.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature anecdote with the character of Alexander, something only natural due to the Eurasian dimension of his feats and court. Here, the challenge concerns the production of paintings in a “newer style” (now-âyin-tar). And after the typical denouement with the Chinese artists polishing their walls, Alexander’s sentence is neutral: the painting and the mirror “are both helpful to vision (basar).” Nezâmi’s version maintains his usual balance between the spiritual and the scientific level, in comparing the two representation techniques. But the experimental perspective is emphasized by Amir Khosrow’s interpretation of the event by inserting the dispute in his section on the renewal of civilization sanctioned by Alexander. There is one detail that changes in this version: the two groups of painters work on two different porticos of the palace. The Rumi painters produce a “gallery of portraits that seduced the mind and would shake Mani’s paint palette.” On the Chinese portico, instead, “our painting arises not from the brush; it moves and rests, just like us humans:” stupefied, the king and his men saw themselves mirrored on its walls. Amir Khosrow also corrects Nezâmi, explaining that the mirror was invented in China, and not by Alexander, who, however, spread the invention around the world. Abdi Shirâzi takes this episode directly from Amir Khosrow, but with a stronger emphaise on its scientific spirit. The Chinese painters ascertain that Rumi portraits “do not contain anything, except for the spirit ( jân).” Thus, they aim to paint to reveal “the existence of the soul with the body (dhât).” The gallery polished to a luster mirrors the king and his court, at rest and in movement, and the very dumbstruck Rumi painters admit the superiority of their competitors: natural, physical technique is superior to art, the result of abstraction. Abdi Shirâzi also adds a digression on contemporary calligraphers and painters, which once again reveals the pragmatic intent of his work.267 This celebrated episode summarizes well the many values of 267 Abu-Hâmed Ghazâli, Ehyâ’ olum al-din (4 vols., Beirut, 1982), III, p. 22; Mowlavi Rumi, Mathnavi-ye ma’navi, ed. Nicholson, pp. 154-55; Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, pp. 413-16; Amir Khosrow, Â’ ine-ye Eskandari, pp. 158-62; Abdi Beyg Shirâzi, Âyin-e Eskandari, pp. 107-12. See also Thomas Arnold, Painting in Islam (Oxford, 1928), pp. 67-68; Yves Porter, Peinture et art du livre: Essai sur la littérature technique indo-persane (Paris and Tehran, 1992), pp. 137-39; Priscilla P. Soucek, “Niẓāmī on Painters and Painting,” in Richard Ettinghausen, ed., Islamic Art in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York, 1972), pp. 9-21; Angelo M. Piemontese, “La leggenda persiana del contrasto fra pittori greci e cinesi,” in Michele Bernardini, Federico Cresti, Maria Vittoria Fontana, Francesco Noci, Roberto Orazi, eds., L’arco di fango

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY the mirror that are variously scattered in Alexander literature, particularly in Arabic and Persian. On one side the mirror as a technological device, a means of observation and control over the earth (or better the sea, its surface in the shape of a Pharos, and its abyss as a submarine) and the heaven (as an astrolabe). The technology can also have a military application, as a burning mirror capable of bending the resistance of a fortified city. On the other side, originating in Platonic and especially neo-Platonic philosophy, the mirror becomes the symbol of the polished heart, capable of reflecting the divine: a concept that would be developed by Sufi thinkers, and coagulate in poetic lyric images.268 Ferdowsi, Nezâmi, Amir Khosrow, Jâmi, and Abdi Shirâzi represent the emergence of the literary, political and didactic value of Alexander romances in very different regional and court contexts within the Persianate world, dominated by Turkish lords: Khorasan of the Ghaznavids, the Saljuq Caucasus, the many dynasties of the Sultanate in Northern India, Timurid Herat, and the Safavids in Azerbaijan. Certain narrative choices, different emphases of a political, cosmographic and spiritual nature, and different treatments of the evolution of the character may suggest at times a relation between text and context, but it is also true that the story of Alexander circulated and was re-interpreted on account of its own intrinsic vigor, based on the authoritative nature of its diffusion in different languages over the course of the centuries, and on the archetypal and timeless nature of its main features and the many issues it addressed. This self-propagating thrust began to slow down from the 16th century, for a variety of reasons, still producing a few more feeble rewritings, which nonetheless prove once again the capillary geographic extension and symbolic efficiency of the myth of Alexander throughout the Persianate world. One of the most ambitious reinterpretations of the khamse was probably that undertaken by Central Asian writer Badr-al-Din Kashmiri (d. after 1593), also a member of the Naqshbandiyye confraternity and long-time resident in Bukhara, who planned—at least as far as we can tell from the last available version of his plans—to compose a collection of seven mathnavis che rubò la luce alle stelle: Studi in onore di Eugenio Galdieri per il suo settantesimo compleanno (Lugano, 1995), pp. 293-302. 268 Various notes on this topic in Richard Stoneman, “Alexander’s Mirror,” in K. Nawotka and A. Wojchiechowska, eds., Alexander the Great and the East (Wiesb aden, 2016), pp. 329-43.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature entitled Bahr al-owzân (The Sea of poetic meters). The seventh mathnavi was to be a historical-epic poem of 150,000 verses, in motaqâreb meter, entitled Rosol-nâme (Book of the prophets). It was structured in various parts, two of which have survived: the fourth was a Zafar-nâme (Book of Victory), a story in verse of the reign of Abd-Allâh Khân, the Uzbek ruler (1583-98) of the Khanate of Bukhara, the last of the Shaybanid dynasty; while the other was an Eskandar-nâme or Qesse-ye Dhu’ l-Qarneyn, also dedicated to the same Uzbek sovereign, son of Eskandar Khân. There is only a single surviving manuscript of this Alexander Romance, completed in 1591, which includes seven thousand verses divided into 54 “abodes” (khâne): it was probably the dedication copy.269 The work follows Nezâmi’s Sharafnâme in nearly every detail, with no significant narrative innovations, from Alexander’s rise to power to his victory over the Zang, the conflicts with Darius and the conquest of Persia with the destruction of the Fire Temples, the skirmishes with Queen Nushâbe, relations with the Khâqân of China, the war with the Russians, and the journey to the Land of Darkness. It also includes minor events, such as the pilgrimage to Mecca and a synthetic account of the Caucasian section with the visit to Key Khosrow’s cave. A brief summary of Alexander’s second journey across the world and an account of his death in the last chapters (ff. 245v-258r) only represent a rapid epitome of the Eqbâl-nâme. A few verses mention the standard theme of the invention of the mirror, which is here constructed by forging gold and silver in a steel structure (f. 62r). Besides the equiparation between Alexander-Eskandar and Dhu’l-Qarneyn, the author often attributes the title of Sâheb-qerân to the protagonist, which at the time was used throughout the Timurid, Uzbek and Moghul World. Nearly contemporary is the Sekandar-nâme (or Sadd-e Sekandar or Bâgh-e Eram) by Khʷâje Hoseyn Thanâ’i Mashhadi (d. 1587), the panegyrist of Prince Ebrâhim Mirzâ, nephew of Shâh Tahmâsp. Following the fall into disgrace of his protector, he fled to India where he found refuge at the court of Akbar. There, he became friend and teacher of Fâ’ezi, frequented 269 MS Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Supplément Persan 501, ff. 264. See Safâ, Hamâse, p. 353; Paul E. Losensky, “Badrī Kashmīrī,” EI3 , http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/15733912_ei3_COM_23366; Devin Deweese, “Kašmiri, Badr-al-Din,” EIr, XVI, pp. 105-8; Francis Richard, Catalogue des manuscrits persans. Bibliothèque Nationale de France. Département des manuscrits. Tome II: Le Supplément persan. Première partie. Supplément persan, 1 à 524 (Rome, 2013), pp. 671-72.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY the circle of Akbar’s General, Mirzâ Abd-al-Rahim Khân-e Khânân, and died in Lahore. In India, he composed his Alexander Romance (ca. 1580), dedicated to Akbar. One of the surviving manuscripts (Malek 3841) states that the poem remains incomplete, but a reading of the text does not indicate that other sections were planned. It begins in Egypt, where Alexander wages battle against the Zang, and then only includes the war with Darius, his death, and the conquest of Persia. The final section presents a commendatory description of some war tools and structures (the spear, the fortresses, and the horse) and praise for Akbar. In parallel with Nezâmi’s poem, which was clearly its source of inspiration, in Thanâ’i Mashhadi’s Sekandar-nâme, Alexander is defined as a polyglot prophet (zabân-dân rasul).270 From the scrutiny of bibliographical inventories, manuscript catalogues, literary histories, and hints scattered in scholarly essays, we are able to collect a remarkable bunch of titles of other recent mathnavis that nod towards the tradition of the Alexander Romance. However, whereas in some cases this is misleading, as the titles do not correspond to texts concerning events or themes about Alexander, in other cases, the state of our studies does not allow us to provide much more than the title and sometimes a brief indication of the nature of the text. Examples of this during the Safavid era are the Eskandar-nâme by Kamâl-al-Din Hoseyn Esfahâni, whose takhallos was Zamiri (d. 1565), writing in Esfahan, or the Eskandar-nâme by HasanBeyg Atâbi Takallu (d. 1616), also mainly active in Isfahan, although with a long stay in India at the court of Akbar.271 Examples from later periods include the Sekandar-nâme-ye jabali, dedicated to Alexander’s mountainous adventures in imitation of the Eskandar-nâme-ye barri (Sharaf-nâme) by Nezâmi, a work completed in India in 1729 by an author about whom we only know the name of his takhallos, “Sokhan,” and that he lived during the reign of Mohammad Shah (1719-48);272 or the much later Eskandar-nâme by Nâseri Kermâni, one of the courtiers of Zell-al-Soltân, the Qajar prince

270 Monzavi, Fehrest-e noskhe-hâ-ye khatti-ye fârsi, II, pp. 1852, 2632; Ahmad Golchin-e Ma’âni, Kârvân-e Hend (2 vols., Mashhad, 1990), I, pp. 257-68. Consulted on MS London, British Library, I.O. 4802, Sims-Williams, p. 22, ff. 122a-157a. 271 Golchin-e Ma’âni, Kârvân-e Hend, II, pp. 865-71. 272 MS Lahore, University of Punjab Library, Shirâni Collection 1/1079/4131; MS Calcutta, Library of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, Curzon Collection 290, ff. 27.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature governor of Isfahan, during the reign of Nâser-al-Din Shah (r. 1848-96). The work is dated to 1850.273 A complete survey of Persian romances in verse dedicated to the figure of Alexander will require considerable scholarly research, especially regarding works produced in recent centuries. Works that have neither been published, nor studied, may provide new elements for a throrough understanding of Alexander’s travels throughout Iran. Nonetheless, the overall perception is that these modern authors tended to reproduce sections of earlier Alexandrian anecdotes and themes without having either the intention or the opportunity to truly extend their sources, traditions or horizons, in a rather mannerist literary spirit. While this phenomenon is generally valid for many narrative traditions in Persian literature from the Middle Ages to the Modern Era, the case of Alexander may have a specific reason. Amongst the characters of the romantic and epic mathnavis developed starting from Ferdowsi’s Shâh-nâme and Nezâmi’s Khamse, Alexander is the one who has the least developed personal psychological profile, whilst the attention focuses on his function as a symbolic representation of ethical, political, cosmographical, and religious issues. For many centuries, both in Europe and in Asia, the Alexander Romance was a great reservoir of information and reflection about the world, and hypotheses on how to dominate it. Starting from the end of the 15th century, the expansion of geographical knowledge, the acceleration of communication routes, and new approaches to the organization of the sciences tended to reduce the value and the encyclopedic function embodied by the learned narrative collections of Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages. This took place both through a procedure of neo-historicization (as happened in Europe for Alexander with the rediscovery of Arrian’s and Plutarch’s works) and through their absorption into popular literature, as happened for Alexander in Persia, where he was inserted amidst hundreds of other characters into great lengthy works that were read and reinterpreted by local story-tellers in city squares and inns: popular romances, which nevertheless were able to keep alive many of the learned themes and motifs that had made Alexander an absolute protagonist of Eurasian literature for centuries. 273 Monzavi, Fehrest-e noskhe-hâ-ye khatti-ye fârsi, IV, p. 2633; MS Tehran, Markazi Library, Adabiyyât 282; MS Najaf, Amir-al-Mo’menin 1438, ff. 17.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Eskandar Ayyâr: The Prose Romances The vast circulation and continuous re-encoding of episodes and literary motifs related to the figure of Alexander in Persian literature makes us wonder about the levels of reciprocal interference between written and oral traditions. On the one hand, it is clear that the vast repository of written sources perused by authors of high erudition, such as Ferdowsi, Nezâmi, and Amir Khosrow, must have shared the stage with the oral versions of the same century-old stories, present in the milieus where these poets lived, at least through the “stories of the prophets” told and retold around the mosques of the Muslim world. A common knowledge and competence united the authors with their audience, and allowed them to reinterpret narrative themes on the basis of shared solid foundations. In some cases, it may be possible to distinguish in these texts the various threads of the oral and written sources and follow them through a careful philological investigation. However, in many other cases, we cannot do much more than ascertain the affinities amongst different traditions and attempt to formulate reasonable hypotheses for their origin. On the other hand, even this oral diffusion, which had been transmitted by various categories of qossâs (storytellers) since the dawn of Islam (in relation to canonical and non-canonical Qur’anic stories), besides spreading into various literary genres, particularly into the qesas al-anbiyâ’, has been recorded in ample sections of prose romance texts. Although these are clearly based on a popular matrix (in terms of narrative styles and formulas), they often incorporate textual fragments that reveal their literate origin. The Arabic tradition of these texts still requires further investigation, but a significant contribution has been made by the studies of Faustina Doufikar-Aerts. In search of the Arabic version of the Pseudo-Callisthenes, modeled on the Syriac one, Doufikar-Aerts has provided an initial catalogue of the main prose romances of Alexander written in Arabic. In fact, these texts prove to be of a composite nature. They include sections that effectively correspond to the Syriac version of the Pseudo-Callisthenes along with material from other matrices that may well derive from oral transmission.274 In addition to the Qessat al-Eskandar by Omâre Ebn-Zeyd, the manuscripts of the so-called Western-Arabic tradition, and the Sirat 274 Doufikar-Aerts, Alexander Magnus Arabicus, pp. 35-73.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature al-malek Eskandar Dhu’ l-Qarneyn, mentioned above, a text with a partially different nature should be considered: the Sirat al-Eskandar, preserved in a number of manuscripts, and usually attributed to a certain shaikh Ebrâhim Ebn-Mofarrej Suri, an author or compiler of the 15th century, apparently from Tyre. This huge romance (from some hundreds to over a thousand pages depending on the manuscripts) shows a partial confluence of the Arabic literary tradition about Alexander into the Arabic sire sha’biyye (popular romance) genre: references to story-telling formulas as well as large portions of very imaginative material, quite aberrant from the usual narratives, position this romance with certainty within a semioral frame.275 In terms of Persian literature, the narrative material is also collected in lengthy romances written in prose, also beyond the fence of the qesas al-anbiyâ’ genre. The temporal distance that elapsed since the first blossoming of versions of the Pseudo-Callisthenes, especially keeping in mind the dubious existence of a Pahlavi basis for the Syriac version, means that what is available in Persian today has only a remote relation with its (Greek or Syriac) antecedents and proves to be the result of re-elaborations and integrations, many of a predominantly Iranian nature, that profoundly modified the basic plot and structure, significantly differentiating these romances from other related texts in Arabic literature. At present, researchers have identified and begun to study four main prose romances (belonging to the dâstân genre): two late medieval romances and two later ones, approximately from the 17th century. Besides the intrinsic significance of these works for a greater understanding of the figure of Alexander in Iran, it is important to bear in mind that these popular texts reveal at times a direct and, at other instances, an indirect relationship with their correspondent literary tradition of established poets. The earliest extant Persian Alexander Romance in prose is an anonymous Eskandar-nâme that presents a number of issues. It is contained in 275 Doufikar-Aerts, Alexander Magnus Arabicus, pp. 35-73; 195-367. See also note 27, above. On the Sirat al-Eskandar and its marginal success among Arab audience, see also Faustina Doufikar-Aerts, “The Marginal Voice of a Popular Romance: Sīrat al-Iskandar wa-mā fīhā min al-ʿajāyib wa’ l-gharāyib,” in Robin Ostle, ed., Marginal Voices in Literature and Society: Individual and Society in the Mediterranean Muslim World (Strasbourg, 2000), pp. 13-24; Faustina Doufikar-Aerts, “Sīrat al-Iskandar: An Arabic Popular Romance of Alexander,” OM 83 (2003), pp. 505-20.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY a single incomplete manuscript, previously belonging to the private library of Sa’id Nafisi, and currently in the Minovi Library in Tehran. The initial and final parts of the manuscript are missing. The copyist, also anonymous, states that the copyist of his antigraph, Abd-al-Kâfi ebn-Abi’l-Barakât, had access to various copies of the text, including the original manuscript. The manuscript that has survived contains a series of clear erasures and rewritings, and according to the editor of the text, Iraj Afshâr, it may be dated to the 14th century. Various scholarly attempts at dating the text itself have agreed over a range between the 11th and the 14th century, most probably through a series of subsequent re-compilations. The issue remains open, although the explicit reference made to Ghaznavid Sultan Mahmud (d. 1030), unless regarded as a later interpolation, provides us with a terminus post quem, while a possible identification of the copyist Ebn-Abi’l-Barakât suggests a terminus ante quem, at least for the compilation of the central corpus of the text, to the 12th century.276 The subtitle of the printed edition describes the work as a “Persian version of the Pseudo-Callisthenes,” but this is somewhat misleading. While the basic episodes in the life and exploits of the protagonist belong to that literary strand, albeit far less than in Ferdowsi’s work, there is a vast quantity of extraneous material including integrations, digressions, and further legends, partly but most probably not all of a popular matrix. According to Mohammad-Jaʿfar Mahjub, some 276 MS Tehran, Minovi Library 126, Minovi, p. 638, 264 ff. The edition is Eskandar-nâme: Revâyat-e fârsi-ye Kâllistenes-e dorughin, ed. Iraj Afshâr (Tehran, 1964). A partial English translation is given by Minoo S. Southgate, Iskandarnamah: A Persian Medieval Alexander-Romance (New York, 1978); a complete English translation is The Persian Alexander: The First Complete Translation of the Iskandarnāma, tr. Evangelos Venetis (London and New York, 2018). Scholarly discussions of the manuscript and the text are in Mohammad-Taqi Bahâr, Sabk-shenâsi (3 vols., Tehran, 1943), II, pp. 128-151; Safâ, Hamâse, pp. 89-90; Iraj Afshâr, “Hadith-e Eskandar,” Yaghmâ (1343/1964), 5, pp. 159-65; 6, pp. 285-88 (which was then included in the introduction to the edition); Mohammad J. Mahjub, “Eskandar-nâme,” Sokhan 18 (1967), pp. 447-57; Hanaway, Persian Popular Romances before the Safavid Period; Julia Rubanovich, “The Reconstruction of a Storytelling Event in Medieval Persian Prose Romance: The Case of the Iskandarnāma,” Edebiyât 9 (1998), pp. 215-47; Evangelos Venetis, The Persian Prose Alexander Romance: An Analysis (Saarbrücken, 2013). On a possible identification of the copyst: Behruz Imâni, “ʻAbd-al-Kâfi EbnAbi’l-Barakât pardâzande-ye Eskandar-nâme,” Gozâresh-e mirâth 6 (2012), pp. 1617; the author suggests that Ebn-Abi’l-Barakât should be considered as the first compiler of the text and not just the copyst of the antigraph.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature peculiarities in the manuscript transmission and some observations on the content and style, suggest that part of the book content is of learned origin. Indeed, the work often cites the literature from which some of its material is sourced, at least nominally (Shâh-nâme, Bakhtiyâr-nâme, qesas al-anbiyâ’, etc.), but it also is likely that it is based on substantial sections of Arabic narrative works deriving from the Pseudo-Callisthenes. The text was probably elaborated in different phases and appears strongly interpolated: one of its characteristics is the separation between a main layer of narration and a secondary one. The latter layer includes thirty tales that have a different focus from the principal story of Alexander. All these tales, except for two of them, are recounted by a secondary narrator, belonging to an entourage of more or less recurring characters. Thus, the traces of the storytelling mechanisms seem to be present in the text, in the variety of the stories included in the work as well as in the resulting narrative strategies of the narrator/ compiler.277 Overall, this Eskandar-nâme reveals a hybrid nature which points to it as a space for mediation between oral and written traditions. On various occasions the narrator maintains that he has eliminated passages from his presumed source to avoid making the text too long. Notwithstanding this, the plot of the romance proceeds in a disorderly fashion, only including some of the classic motifs typical of narrations about Alexander, who is nonetheless presented with both of the peculiar characters of his personality in the Persian context. He is the son of Darius and of Philip’s daughter, but he is also Dhu’l-Qarneyn, the “Two-Horned” prophet of the monotheistic faith, whose mission to conquer the world is related to the diffusion of the faith. The romance also echoes the traditional parallel between Alexander and Solomon that originated in the first Qurʾanic commentaries on Sura 18. The conquest of Persia, the wars in Egypt and against the Zang, the expeditions to Yemen, India and China, just as the visit to Mecca and the journey to the Land of Darkness, and the exchanges with Qeydâfe are all narrative segments that are sourced from the tradition of the Pseudo-Callisthenes and its descendants. In this case, however, they are all treated differently, often with a loose adherence to the traditional plot features and the presence of many repetitive patterns between 277 Rubanovich, “The Reconstruction of a Storytelling Event in Medieval Persian Prose Romance.” See also idem, “Orality In Medieval Persian Literature,” in Karl Reichl, ed., Medieval Oral Literature (Berlin and New York, 2012), pp. 653-79, which includes considerations on Tarsusi’s Dârâb-nâme.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY episodes: epistolary exchanges, Alexander appearing in a new country disguised as his own messenger and then nearly always discovered, dialogues with ambassadors, generals and kings, and the conflicts that end either in negotiation or battle. Many other sections are extraneous to the traditional narrative cycle concerning Alexander, such as the events that occur between Alexander and Shâh-malek and Arslân Khân, two brothers who succeed each other as sovereigns of the “Eastern Turks,” fictitious characters who seem to be based on the historical Turkish reigns set in the regions of Transoxania. It has been suggested that the work’s relation with the figure of Sultan Mahmud is also indicated by the special attention that the work pays to Central Asian events and the confrontation between Alexander, as a representative of Islamic Iran, and the “Infidel Turks” (kâfer Torkân), as heirs to the ancient rivalry with Turan. More specifically, certain details concerning the onomastics, geography and politics with which this Turkish dynasty is described in the romance seem to allude to the Qarakhanids, who converted to Islam in the 10th century, and who were one of the Turkish tribal confederations with which Sultan Mahmud battled for a long time (“My husband was one of the children of Qarâkhân, who is the King of Transoxania ( mâ warâ’ al-nahr),” says a woman to Alexander).278 However, the principal fulcrum and the lengthiest section of what remains of the work is the long narration of Alexander’s encounter with Arâqit, the Queen of the Land of Fairies (pariyân), with whom he began a long series of verbal skirmishes and battles that were finally resolved when the two fell in love and were wed. There are many strong heroines like Arâqit in the literary tradition of the Persian Alexander Romance: proud women who can stand up to the king, often shedding light on his weaknesses and shortcomings, such as Qeydâfe/Nushâbe in Ferdowsi and Nezâmi. In particular, Arâqit may be compared with Burândokht, as the daughter of Darius is called in Tarsusi’s prose romance entitled Dârâb-nâme, with whom she shares martial qualities. However, Arâqit and her entourage of fairies also reveal a recurring mechanism in the narrative strategies of the Eskandar-nâme: the transformation of characters of the Alexandrian tradition, who already have legendary but often historically-based traits, into fable-like figures by accentuating or adding magical and folkloristic elements. In fact, if Arâqit’s 278 Eskandar-nâme, ed. Afshâr, p. 363.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature fairies (who have upper human bodies and lower animal bodies, and can fly) are clearly a folkloristic reinterpretation of the theme of the Amazons, even the Zang, the “black,” who in the Shâh-nâme and Nezâmi’s Sharafnâme are an African people residing south of Egypt, are here transformed into a mysterious people living in Central Asia, whose “blackness” is not an ethnic feature, but rather a generic indication of ugliness and idolatry. Similarly, every cosmographic connection with the long story concerning Gog and Magog is overlooked to present a fiery narration of Alexander’s clash against the Elephant-eared ( fil-gushân).279 This attitude, probably motivated in part by Eskandar-nâme’s nature as a functional storytelling text, favors the integration of episodes already possessing a markedly fantastic nature also in the more learned parallel texts. This is the case with the episode of the davâlpâyân (string-legged ones), or narmpâyân (supple-footed ones), monstrous creatures who used to attack and often kill travellers by binding their prehensile legs around the neck of their victims. The origin of this ethnographic tradition, which is also present in Ferdowsi, can be traced back to classical Greek (Himantopodes) and Latin sources (Sciratae), all of which are based on a passage of Herodotus’ Histories which describes the characters of an indigenous Persian people who had acquired a fantastic dimension through the mythopoeic activities of travellers and later writers.280 Notwithstanding the simplistic division into eastern and western adventures, the Eskandar-nâme displays an overall loss of the cosmographic orientation that generally underlies Alexander romances, even if only the symbolic one displayed in the Qur’anic passage on Dhu’l-Qarneyn. It would be interesting to investigate the degree to which this is the result of a certain laxness by the compiler or compilers (beyond their evident interest in Central Asian issues) or rather the juxtaposition of narrative fragments with a range of different intents and origins. Furthermore, it would be interesting to study the route attributed to Alexander’s army after the adventures in 279 Evangelos Venetis, “Islamic Lore and Supernatural Creatures in the Persian Prose Book of Alexander (Iskandarnāma),” Persica 21 (2007), pp. 75-87. 280 Eskandar-nâme, ed. Afshâr, pp. 96-100. See Hanaway, Persian Popular Romances before the Safavid Period, pp. 211-12; Natalia L. Tornesello, “From Reality to Legend: Historical Sources of Hellenistic and Islamic Teratology”, SI 31 (2002), pp. 163-92; Hušang Aʿlam, “Davāl-Pā(y),” EIr, VII, pp. 128-29; Venetis, “Islamic Lore and Supernatural Creatures,” pp. 76-78; Rudolf Wittkower, “Marvels of the East: A Study of the History of Monsters,” in idem, Allegory and the Migration of Symbols (London, 1977), pp. 45-74.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY the Land of Darkness. About to set sail in the Western Ocean (daryâ-ye akhzar, and further down in the text it is called daryâ-ye maghreb) near the coast where the sun sets, Alexander is advised by an old local man that “this sea is huge, and there is no bigger sea than this in the world. […] And the boundaries of this sea are invisible […] If you go by sea, from it you can reach the whole world. If there is a favorable north wind on this sea, it takes eight months to reach China and the China Sea, one year for India, and two years for the Mediterranean (daryâ-ye Rum). This sea is beyond comparison.” The study of the issues related to this circumnavigation of the world following the northwestern route, through an investigation of coeval cosmographic sources, could contribute to the discussion concerning the dating of the text, or at least of certain parts of it.281 Another substantial romance in prose, the Dârâb-nâme by Mohammad b. Hasan b. Ali b. Musâ Abu-Tâher Tarsusi (or Tartusi), is similar in nature to the Eskandar-nâme; however, this text has a more evident connection to learned literature and is a significant milestone in the evolution of Alexandrian literature in Persian. The author was a professional storyteller active between the 11th and 12th centuries, to whom a number of prose narratives are attributed, among which the important Abu-Moslem-nâme. His nisba may indicate a bond with Tarsus, a city in Ancient Cilicia, part of present-day Turkey, or Tartus, on the coast of Northern Syria. The nisba Tusi, which is present in some manuscripts, may suggest a tie with Tus in Khorasan. Nonetheless, we seem to be dealing with a man with Shi’ite tendencies whose romances may have served as entertainment or incitement for Muslim fighters along the frontier with Byzantium.282 The Dârâb-nâme, a 281 Eskandar-nâme, ed. Afshâr, pp. 216-17. Some reflections on the cosmography of paradisiac places and limits of the world in the Eskandar-nâme are in Marina Gaillard, “D’un bout du monde à l’autre: lieux paradisiaques et terres ultimes dans le roman d’Alexandre en prose de l’Iran classique,” in Catherine Gaullier-Bougassas and Margaret Bridges, eds., Les voyages d’Alexandre au paradis: Orient et Occident, regards croisés (Turnhout, 2013), pp. 405-46. 282 Marina Gaillard, “Abū Ṭāhir Ṭarsūsī,” EI3 , http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/1573-3912_ ei3_SIM_0034. Many manuscripts of the Dârâb-nâme are extant; the edition of the text is based mainly on one of them (MS Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, Suppl. Pers. 837), through comparison with other two (MS Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, Suppl. Pers. 838 and MS Tehran, Markazi Library, 5517): Dârâb-nâme-ye Tarsusi, ed. Dhabih-Allâh Safâ (2 vols., Tehran, 1966). On the composition of the work, see also Mahmud Omidsalar, “Dârâb-nâme-ye Tarsusi: Bar-resi-ye tashih-e ostâd Safâ va bâznegari dar târikh-e ta’lif-e ketâb,” in Ali Âl-e Dâvud, ed., Arj-nâme-ye

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature long and rich romance, seems to be conceived as a tale of the exploration and discovery of lands and seas in different epochs through the adventures of various characters.283 One of them is Dârâb, son of Bahman and father of Dârâ and Eskandar. The first third of the work is dedicated to him and provides the title for the work. The figure of Alexander, who dominates the remianing two thirds of the work, is once again presented as a semi-Iranian king, although the legend of the birth from Dârâ and the daughter of Philip is enriched with a few folkloristic traits. His birth is concealed and Alexander is abandoned at the bottom of a mountain; he is nurtured with the milk of a goat and then taken under the wing of Aristotle, a wise hermit who lives on the mountain. He educates him in all the sciences and provides him with all the tools, which in the long run will allow him to claim his birth right and return home to inherit Philip’s throne. The variation on this story, which is also included in Tusi’s Ajâyeb al-makhluqât, a coeval work with which it shares many significant points, is clealry based on a universal folkloristic heritage, but also contains numerous references to the tradition of Persian epics, from Fereydun to Zâl, and from Key Khosrow to Dârâb himself. In any case, it confirms the progressive loss of value, in Iran, of the attribution of a noble blood legitimacy to Alexander. Indeed, in various points throughout the work, Alexander’s adversaries berated him as “a Rumi without a father.”284 Dhabihollâh Safâ: Naqd va bar-resi-ye âthâr va jostâr-hâ-ye matn-shenâsi (Tehran, 2011), pp. 335-58. A partial translation in Russian is by Nataliia B. Kondyreva as Darab-name, ili Kniha o Darabe (Moscow, 2000); a partial French translation is by Marina Gaillard, as Alexandre le Grand en Iran: Le Dârâb Nâmeh d’Abu Tâher Tarsusi (Paris, 2005). 283 Mohammad P. Gonâbâdi, “Dârâb-nâme,” Sokhan 12 (1961), pp. 92-108; Hanaway, Persian Popular Romances before the Safavid Period; William L. Hanaway, “Dārābnāma,” EIr, VII, pp. 8-9; Marina Gaillard, “Alexandre dans la littérature ‘semi-populaire’ de l’Iran médiéval (le Dârâb-nâme d’Abu Tâher Tarsusi),” in Harf-Lancner et al., eds., Alexandre le Grand dans les littératures, pp. 367-70 ; Angelo M. Piemontese, “Alexandre le ‘circumnavigateur’ dans le roman persan de Tarsusi,” in Polignac, ed., Figure de l’incomplétude, pp. 97-112; Angelo M. Piemontese, “Anciens monuments sur l’eau, selon Tarsusi,” in Trails to the East: Essays in Memory of Paolo Cuneo, Special Issue of Environmental Design (Rome, 2000), pp. 137-43; Gaillard, “D’un bout du monde à l’autre.” 284 Tarsusi, Dârâb-nâme, ed. Safâ, I, pp. 498, 505, 543; II, pp. 36, 76. See Rubanovich, “Why so Many Stories,” pp. 215-18.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY In the Dârâb-nâme, Alexander is recognized as possessing the farr-e izadi (the divine effulgence). Above all, he is guided in his mission to convert the peoples of the world to Islam, but, from a personal point of view, Alexander is portrayed rather evidently as a spoiled and inept king. Dârâ’s daughter Burândokht, first his foe and later his spouse, is presented as having a greater aptitude for strategy, just as his courtiers, philosophers and technicians, are far wiser than Alexander. According to an anecdote, after a quarrel with Aristotle, the sage prays to God to make Alexander forget all the sciences he has taught him, and Alexander, who becomes ignorant, even loses his ability to read.285 The romance includes many other classic episodes of the Alexandrian tradition (the conquest of Persia, the campaign in India against Fur and then Keydâvar, corresponding to Keyd in the Shâh-nâme, the invasions of Egypt and Yemen, the journey to the Land of Darkness, etc.), but they are arranged and integrated in different ways to develop an extensive periplus of the globe, which terminates with Alexander’s death in Jerusalem, a notion of Jewish origin, which was shared by some early Arabic historiographical texts. Alexander’s insatiable curiosity, his most genuine quality in this romance, drives him to explore or erect a number of wonders: mechanical devices, automatons, traces of ancient monuments, the Pharos, the bridge on the Nile, and oracular statues, harpies, sirens, cyclopes and miraculous trees. This dense catalogue of mirabilia, which is related to ancient and medieval epic Eurasian traditions, requires further study. Throughout these travels, Alexander is guided by the cosmographic treatise that was given to him by Plato, which was written in Greek and entitled Ajâyeb al-jazâyer.286 According to Aristotle, Plato is the only one with the requisite knowledge to lead the young king to the periplus of the world: “it is not possible to explore the world without Plato, because he is the one who knows what is and what is not in the world.”287 Thus, even in this work, Plato stands out amongst the sages surrounding Alexander, besides Aristotle and Hippocrates, and a less typical member of this circle, Loqmân, whose figure is rooted in the Arabic folkloric tradition. A conspicuous group of the wise men who progressively meet with Dârâb, Eskandar, and the other protagonists of the romance, are formally defined as Plato’s pupils (Shâgerdân-e Aflâtun-e hakim). They are twelve in number 285 Tarsusi, Dârâb-nâme, ed. Safâ, I, pp. 446-49. 286 Tarsusi, Dârâb-nâme, ed. Safâ, I, p. 95; II, pp. 545-46. 287 Tarsusi, Dârâb-nâme, ed. Safâ, II, p. 283.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature and their identification within the frame of different wisdom traditions of Eurasia is not always easy, due to the highly corrupted form of their names, and the fact that their distinctive features are not clearly delineated, while they occur in the plot following repetitive patterns, lost among astrolabes, talismans, and common ethics. However, at least two of the names are clearly of Sanskrit origin, indicating that the textual substrate of the Dârâb-nâme is extremely complex; indeed, besides Arabic and Persian texts, it also seems to include references to direct and indirect sources of Greek, Latin, Hebrew and Indian origin.288 The Dârâb-nâme does not seem to be a romance about values such as manliness, righteousness, or spiritual strength. Alexander exhibits a very ambiguous profile, and the frequent use of the terms ayyâr (vagabond, trickster) and javânmardi (manliness, brotherhood) seems to be quite generic, and not actually substantiated by the values that are usually associated to them. Instead, many scholars have emphasized that one of the main features of the book is the strong contraposition between Alexander and the daughter of Dârâ, Burândokht, who after the death of her father, refuses Alexander’s marriage proposal and begins projecting her revenge. According to Marina Gaillard, the work conserves elements of the Iranian anti-Alexander tradition (which may have been received in this way by Indian Zoroastrian copyists up to the 16th century), and Burândokht, who is often referred to as Queen of Iran (maleke-ye Irân or bânu-ye Irân), represents an incarnation of the Iranian spirit fighting against the invader. William Hanaway believes that certain elements, including the power to control water and her association with the city of Estakhr, may even indicate her identification with a folkloristic manifestation of the ancient Iranian divinity of waters, Ânâhitâ.289 Burândokht certainly represents an 288 Casari, “The Wise Men of Alexander’s Court in Persian Medieval Romances,” pp. 71-73. On the exceptional cosmographic content of the Dârâb-nâme, see Piemontese, “Alexandre le ‘circumnavigateur’ dans le roman persan de Tarsusi;” Piemontese, “Anciens monuments sur l’eau, selon Tarsusi;” Casari, “Alexandre et l’arbre anthropique,” pp. 189-93; Gaillard, “D’un bout du monde à l’autre.” 289 Marina Gaillard, “Le champ d’emploi des termes ayyâr(i) et javânmard(i) dans le Dârâb Nâme d’Abu Tâher Tarsusi,” Arabic and Middle Eastern Literature 4 (2001), pp. 5-18; Marina Gaillard, “Hero or Anti-Hero: The Alexander Figure in the DārābNāma of Ṭarsūsī,” OM 89 (2009), pp. 319-31; W. L. Hanaway, “Anāhitā and Alexander,” JAOS 102 (1982), pp. 285-95. See also Marina Gaillard, “Du ‘ayyâr épique au ‘ayyâr animé par la foi: variante d’un thème et variante d’un genre dans la prose

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY evolution of the character of Roxane/Rowshanak, the daughter of Darius in the Pseudo-Callisthenes, in Ferdowsi’s Shâh-nâme (where she was already reprimanding him in her speech over his coffin), and the other romances, probably influenced by other strong female characters who stand up to Alexander and who appear throughout the narrative material about him. In particular, there are many parallel characteristics with Arâqit, the Queen of the Fairies of the prose Eskandar-nâme: from supernatural powers to their roles as queens and fierce adversaries of Alexander, and above all the mechanism of their relations with the king: this moves from initial skirmishes with alternate fortunes to a downright defeat on the battlefield, the recognition of his authority, love and finally matrimony, along with their new role as companions of his further campaigns for exploration and conquest. A key moment in the denouement of the two stories is that in which the two women are seen naked by the king, thereby binding their fate to him: this is a well-known motif in Persian literature, and one of the fulcra of the Khosrow and Shirin story.290 From a certain point of view, the positive resolution of the conflict with the wedding between Alexander and Burândokht, as well as their joint mission to spread Islam, seems to summarize, through a narrative development of folkloristic origin, the complex, progressive Islamisation of the country, an intent that may harmonize with Tarsusi’s supposed role as a storyteller on the Syrian front during the crusades. The syncretistic philosophy that seems to underlie the entire text emerges in an interesting way in the episode, half way through the book, when Alexander and his army enter a country exclusively inhabited by women. Plato is given the task to celebrate a collective marriage between Alexander’s soldiers and the women of the region, in a scene that recalls the

narrative de l’Iran médiéval,” in Gaetano Lalomia and Antonio Pioletti, eds., Medioevo romanzo e orientale: Temi e motivi epico-cavallereschi fra Oriente e Occidente (Soveria Mannelli, 2010), pp. 143-71. 290 Evangelos Venetis, “Warlike Heroines in the Persian Alexander Tradition,” Iran 45 (2007), pp. 227-32. See also Remke Kruk, “Warrior Women in Arabic Popular Romance: Qannâṣa Bint Muzâḥim and other Valiant Ladies,” JAL 24 (1993), 214-23; idem, The Warrior Women of Islam: Forgotten Heroines of the Great Arabian Tales (London and New York, 2014) ;Marina Gaillard, “Héroïnes d’exception: Les femmes ʻayyār dans la prose romanesque de l’Iran médiéval,” SI 34 (2005), pp. 163-98.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature historical marriage celebrated in Susa in 324 BCE between Alexander’s companions and women of the Median and Persian aristocracy.291 Unlike the prose Eskandar-nâme, which only survives in a single extant manuscript, there are several manuscripts of the Dârâb-nâme, an evident sign of its greater success, although a careful scrutiny of the differences amongst these manuscripts has not yet been carried out. Neverthelss, it is evident that a significant portion of the narrative material represented in both works, together with other material contained in poetic tradition, continued to circulate in historiography, in the qesas al-anbiyâ’, and other forms, at least orally, being constantly transformed and furnishing the basis for the narrative evolution that took place over the course of the following centuries. If the earliest dating for the drafting of these romances is correct, we may consider them as the forefathers of a vast series of narrations at the disposal of story-tellers, which sometimes were reconsolidated into written accounts and in which Alexander had become a fully integrated character in Persian folklore. By virtue of the extremely volatile nature of this category of Alexandrian narrations, it is not easy to orient oneself in the mire of manuscripts that appear to be linked to it. Again, a careful reading, cataloguing, and comparison of these works still awaits further scholarly enquiry.292 Research conducted to date on these issues has isolated at least two main currents pointing towards two lengthy romances completed during the Safavid era, albeit in different contexts. A first narrative cycle is often referred to as the “Safavid Eskandar-nâme.” This work exists in various manuscripts, but the many recensions presenting different variants need to be studied from a comparative perspective. 291 Dârâb-nâme-ye Tarsusi, ed. Safâ, II, p. 373. See the notes in Gaillard, “Hero or Anti-Hero.” 292 Some indications are provided in Charles A. Storey and Yuri E. Bregel, Persiskaya literatura (3 vols., Moscow, 1972), I, p. 530; III, pp. 1410-1413; Esmâ’ili, “Pishgoftâr,” pp. 115-20. Manuscripts that may be included in this multifaceted category are scattered in various libraries, such as: Tehran, Majles; Tehran, Markazi; Tehran, Malek; Mashhad, Âstân-e Qods; Mashhad, Madrase Mirzâ Ja’far; Yazd, Vaziri; Qom, Masjed-e a’zam; Kabul, Ministry of Education; Eslamabad, Ganjbakhsh; Doshambe, Academy of Sciences; Tashkent, Oriental Institute; Qarshi, Regional Museum; Saint Petersburg, Oriental Institute; Berlin, Staatsbibliothek; London, Royal Asiatic Society; Cambridge, University Library. General catalogue overviews need to be disentangled; see for example Mostafâ Derâyati, Fehrestvâre-ye dast-nevesht-hâ-ye Irân (12 vols., Mashhad, 2010), I, pp. 811-16.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY In the mid-19th century, during the reign of Nâser-al-Din Shah, a lithographic edition was produced, with simple illustrations in the Qâjâr style. It was the first in a series that were published for a number of decades, followed, from the mid-20th century, by various typographical editions up to the 1970s. This Eskandar-nâme normally includes seven books or volumes, and it is often referred to as the Eskandar-nâme-ye haft-jeldi (in the edition the title is Kolliyât-e haft-jeldi-ye Eskandar-nâme) or Eskandar-nâme-ye naqqâli (“Eskandar-nâme of the Story-tellers”). Various manuscripts and editions include the name of the compiler, Manuchehr Hakim, who, according to what is sometimes indicated in the text, would have translated the romance from the Greek. In some versions, Manuchehr Hakim is cited among the sources used by the anonymous editor.293 The name Manuchehr Shast-kalle that appears in certain cases seems to be an attempt to credit a Saljuq poet, mentioned in the historian Ravândi’s Râhat al-sodur (The Comfort of Chests)294. Manuchehr has also been tentatively identified as Manuchehr Qare-chaqâi Khân, an erudite Safavid prince of the 17th century, who could be the author or simply the patron who commissioned this Eskandar-nâme.295 The earliest manuscript that we know of is dated 1106 A.H./1694, but the work is clearly based on oral foundations, as revealed by recurrent 293 The first edition was published in lithograph in 1857 in Tehran: It includes 739 pages with 171 illustrations. A catalogue of the illustrated litographed editions is in Ulrich Marzolph, Narrative Illustration in Persian Lithographed Books (Leiden and Boston, 2001), pp. 239-40. Partial editions are: Ali-Rezâ Dhakâvati Qarâgozlu, Eskandar va ayyârân: Talkhis az Kolliyât-e haft jeldi-ye Eskandar-nâme-ye naqqâli-ye Manuchehr Khân Hakim (Tehran, 2004); Manuchehr Khân Hakim (attributed to), Eskandar-nâme (bakhsh-e Khatâ), ed. Ali-Rezâ Dhakâvati Qarâgozlu (Tehran, 2005); Manuchehr Khân Hakim (attributed to), Eskandar-nâme (az Farang tâ Hendustân), ed. Ali-Reżâ Dhakâvati Qarâgozlu (Tehran, 2009). On this Safavid Eskandar-nâme see: Mohammad J. Mahjub, “Dâstân-hâ-ye âmmiyâne-ye fârsi: Eskandar-nâme,” Sokhan 10 (1959), pp. 735-42, 828-34; Hanaway, “Eskandar-Nāma;” Yuriko Yamanaka, “The Eskandarnāme of Manūchehr Khān Ḥakīm: A 19th Century Persian Popular Romance on Alexander,” in Maria Szuppe, ed., Iran: Questions et Connaissances. Actes du IVe Congrès Européen des Études Iraniennes organisé par la Societas Iranologica Europaea II: Périodes médiévale et moderne (Paris, 2002), pp.181-89. 294 Mohammad b. Ali b. Soleymân Râvandi, Râhat al-sodur, ed. Muḥammad Iqbál asThe Ráḥat-uṣ-Ṣudúr wa Áyat-us-Surúr: Being a History of the Saljúqs (London, 1921), p. 57. 295 Ali-Rezâ Dhakâvati Qarâgozlu, “Manuchehr Khân Hakim kist?” Âyine-ye mirâth, N.S. 5 (2007), pp. 131-37.

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature formulas such as râvi-ye dâstân Manuchehr Hakim chonin revâyat karde ke … (“the narrator of the story Manuchehr Hakim has narrated that …”), as well as the rather simple language employed in the work, often interspersed with verses, and with many repetitions and sections in dialogue form, often of a humorous or even slightly vulgar character. In revealing Eskandar’s definitive entrance into Persian folklore, this romance also shows the dilution of many of his distinctive traits in tales that are not part of his traditional pedigree, and which in many ways transcend the usual functions of his character. In line with a central vocation of Alexander’s whole literary life, his exploits serve here, even more than in previous works, as a framework for the intertwining of many narratives from various other sources. The work begins with the common version of Alexander’s Iranian birth, with some comic traits (but interestingly with a bunch of folkloristic features conglomerated around Filqus’ birth),296 and the main events that led him to the conquest of Persia. Alexander is here presented as a sovereign committed to his mission to convert the infidels to Islam, heading an army that is sometimes referred to as lashkar-e eslâmi (Islamic army); however, as in the most ancient prose romances, the description of his character also includes criticisms and ridicule. Moreover, the plot soon veers off into many other directions: from wars in every region (even against a Qeysar-e Rum, “Caesar of Rum,” who Alexander, completely won over by his new adoptive land, has finally forgotten he once was), kidnappings, subterfuges and conspiracies of every kind, and encounters with supernatural creatures. During these adventures, Alexander, here referred to with the epithet Sâheb-qerân (the full name, indicated in the title page of the editions is Sâheb-qerân Dhu’l-Qarneyn Eskandar b. Dârâb b. Bahman b. Esfandiyâr-e ru’yin-tan), often disappears at length, leaving space to other characters, such as comrades, his traditional court of wise men, enemies and even new protagonists such as Mehtar Nasim, Ebn-Sa’dân Landahur, Prince Fereydun, etc. Typical frequent episodes include no-holds-barred quarrels between rival philosophers at Alexander’s court (Plato against Aristotle, Aristotle against Bâlinâs, etc., as in the Dârâb-nâme) and confrontations with dangerous automaton-guardians that are generally destroyed thanks to a stratagem employed by the hero. The language used, with its various geopolitical annotations as well as daily scenes, descriptions of innovative tools like fire 296 Dhakâvati Qarâgozlu, Eskandar va ayyârân, pp. 17-18, 26-27. See Rubanovich, “Why So Many Stories,” pp. 229-31.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY arms, or new customs such as smoking opium, offers a vivid depiction of social life in the Safavid era.297 An important role is played in the romance by numerous ayyârân. In particular, Mehtar Nasim, the leader (sarhang) of Alexander’s ayyârân and his envoy on various secret missions, often seems to steal his king’s show; however, the reference art of the ayyârân in this romance is no longer that of javânmardi, but more a picaresque art of deceit enacted by sly tricksters rather than valorous warriors defending the faith. Another point in common with other prose romances is the significant role of female warriors (in this case, Fetne, the mother of Nasim, and Gisiyâ Bânu, Alexander’s wife). At least until the 1960s, this work was read or narrated by story-tellers in tea and coffeehouses in Tehran. In fact, its great popularity has bestowed proverbial dignity on some of its characters, making them the protagonists of stories for a younger audience. The other great prose romance dedicated to Alexander, which can be substantially dated to the same epoch as the former, has survived in three manuscripts preserved in libraries in Uzbekistan. This is implicit in the subtitle given by its editor, Hosayn Esmâ’ili, who has published it under the title Eskandar-nâme: revâyat-e Âsiyâ-ye miyâne (Book of Alexander: the Central Asian version). One of the three manuscripts conserves the name of the presumed Central Asian author, Bâqi-Mohammad b. Mowlânâ-Yusof, and the date and place of its composition: Balkh, after 1035 A.H./1625 (at the time part of the Khanate of Bukhara, under the Ashtarkhanids). The scant information on the author provided by the text indicates that he was a descendant of Ahmad Yasavi, the master of Hâjji Bektâsh, while the structure of the texts suggests that Bâqi-Mohammad may have been a learned scholar with an interest in the Qur’anic tradition and the ‘stories of the prophets’, rather than a professional story-teller. Notwithstanding some characteristics that are undoubtedly of popular origin, this Eskandar-nâme maintains a certain balance between elements of oral origin and literary traditions, as witnessed by the citation of numerous sources, even though they are not always accurate and trustworthy.298 An amusing 297 Mahjub, “Dâstân-hâ-ye âmmiyâne-ye fârsi: Eskandar-nâme,” pp. 828-34; Hasan Dhu’l-Faqâri, Bahâdor Bâqeri, and Nedâ Heydarpur, “Janbehâ-ye mardomshenâkhti-ye dâstân-e Eskandar-nâme-ye naqqâli,” Adab-pazhuhi 23 (2013), pp. 35-65. 298 Bâqi-Moḥammad b. Mowlânâ-Yusof, Eskandar-nâme: revâyat-e Âsiyâ-ye miyâne, ed. Hossein Esmaili, 2 vols. (Tehran, 2013). See also Maria Szuppe and Ashirbek

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature example of this is the frequent mention, amongst the sources, of a Târikh-e Mozaffar Yunâni (History by Mozaffar Yunâni), which is not the mention of a chronicle of Alexander’s conquests by Nicanor (whose name in Greek means “Victorious,” like the Persian name Mozaffar), but rather an unidentified work on the “History of the Greek Victor,” Alexander himself.299 The work is divided into two volumes, which in some ways mirror each other, based on Nezâmi’s model and the consolidate confluence of the various textual traditions, including, at times, double versions of the same original episode transmitted via different channels. As in many other Persian narratives about Alexander, Bâqi-Mohammad’s romance mixes a dâstân-e Eskandar and a qesse-ye Dhu’ l-Qarneyn. Thus, Persia is conquered twice: once by defeating King Dârâ, and another time (in the second volume) by defeating King Dârnush, which reveals the presence of sources of Arabic origin: actually, this name, together with some other details in the plot, show some affinities with the Arabic Sirat al-Eskandar (where the name Dârinush occurs), which are worth further investigations.300 Moreover, also apparently based on the model of Nezâmi’s Eskandar-nâme, the two tomes have different contents and attitudes. The first is dedicated to a greater extent to military adventures and fantastic events, while the second concentrates on the personality of Eskandar, who is portrayed as a missionary working to spread the faith through journeys towards some of Dhu’l-Qarneyn’s classic destinations, and on his personal quest for knowledge, interspersed with significant encounters that are in most cases tied to the literary tradition. These encounters range from the prince who renounces his throne to the wise man in the cave, from wise Indians to the stern guardians of tombs, and even less known figures such as the forty kings, who having drunk—yes, they managed!—the Water of Life, have become immortal and retreated from the world, living as hermits under a dome: “The name of all of us is Eskandar, and we are among the Keyanid kings; we travelled all around the world, and drank the Water of Life. When we reached this place, we bound ourselves to it.”301 Muminov, Catalogue des manuscrits orientaux du Musée Régional de Qarshi (Ouzbékistan) (Rome, 2004), pp. 103-5, n. 45. 299 Bâqi-Mohammad, Eskandar-nâme: revâyat-e Âsyâ-ye miyâne, I, pp. 127-28 300 See Doufikar-Aerts, Alexander Magnus Arabicus, pp. 283-367. 301 Bâqi-Mohammad, Eskandar-nâme: revâyat-e Âsyâ-ye miyâne, II, p. 487.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY One of the most interesting aspects of this work is its ability to contemporaneously represent two divergent currents of the evolution of the character of Alexander, both specifically related to the Iranian context. In the first volume, the role that in Manuchehr Hakim’s Eskandar-nâme is played by the ayyârân, is here, unusually but significantly, exercised by the legendary Sistani hero Zâl and his sons, a valiant army that represents a further step in the fusion of Alexander’s legend in the ocean of Iranian epic and folklore. On the other hand, the gnostic atmosphere that is perceived in the second volume, and which culminates in an unprecedented kind of initiation ceremony for Alexander (hazrat-e Eskandar), may represent a further stage on the route for the mystical interpretation of the Alexander figure in Persian literature: a route that—moving from significant hints already present in authors like Nezâmi, perhaps a member of the Akhi brotherhood, and Amir Khosrow, affiliated to the Cheshtiyye—crosses the teachings of Sufi confraternities such as the Horufiyye, the Naqshbandiyye, and the Bektâshiyye, and authors such as the anonymous disciple of Fazl-Allâh Astarâbâdi, Jâmi, Badri Kashmiri, and others. Other variants of these popular romances, or even new cycles, may emerge from a careful reading of the various lengthy manuscripts kept in many libraries and generically catalogued as Eskandar-nâme or some similar label. This could lead to new reflections on how the profile of Alexander was transformed in the Persianate world along this multifaceted process of Islamization, Iranization, and response to many other external and internal drives. However, it is sufficiently clear that in its passage across the stormy seas of popular literature, the story of Alexander tends to lose its original nature, tied to a relatively compact web of themes and sources, becoming an opportunity for continuously new and increasingly flexible interpretations. Indeed, at times, it is completely razed and transformed into other clothing, as seems to occur with the feats of the Muslim champion Hamze, in the famed Hamze-nâme, probably the most widely read romance in the Muslim world, or in the various Shi’ite narrations that concern the exploits of Ali and his son Hosayn:302 once again Alexander presents himself in disguise, as in one of his innumerable missions as his own ambassador. 302 Ulrich Marzolph, “The Creative Reception of the Alexander Romance in Iran,” in Dominique Jullien, ed., Foundational Texts of World Literature (Bern, 2011), pp. 6983. Some notes on the intersection of religious and nationalist boosts influencing Alexander’s evolution within the Islamicate world are in Anna A. Akasoy, “Iskandar

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4. Alexander’s Boundaries: A Conclusion The itinerary of Alexander’s figure in Iran is emblematic of the profoundly syncretic character of Persian literature, which was able to englobe its every aspect, reflecting sources from many different linguistic and cultural origins and acting as a central pivot for the Eurasian diffusion of the legend of the Macedonian King. The complexity of the merging traditions, ranging from Zoroastrian condemnation to the glorifying and admonishing character catalyzed by the Pseudo-Callisthenes, and the messianic tone of the Hebrew, Christian, and the later Islamic traditions, have endowed Iran with what is probably a unique literary framework in the medieval Alexandrian panorama, directly or indirectly related to Greek, Latin, Armenian, Syriac, Arabic, Hebrew, Turkish, Coptic, Ethiopian, Mongol, and Malaysian texts, as well as the vernacular languages of Europe. The routes of textual transmission can only be reconstructed in an approximate manner and, even if we were to accept the existence of a Middle Persian translation of the Pseudo-Callisthenes, we still face a great range of variations in the stories and issues present in Persian literature. The circulation of stories concerning Alexander must have had a number of different sources and followed a number of different routes, not only in written but also in oral forms. Indeed, the internal force and compact nature of these stories often called for their automatic reproduction, at times only partially updated or integrated for a new context. This impetus drove Alexander’s legend to invade all literary genres, from Qurʾanic commentaries to historiography, from didactic to lyric literature, and from philosophical to cosmographical treatises, as well as giving birth to some of the finest poetic romances of Eurasian Alexandrian literature. Albeit going through a process of Iranisation, of course Alexander’s figure in Iran continues to reveal its Greek roots, but also evident traces of its route of transmission, which often lay evident in hidden vestiges, through the reading and recoding mechanisms of previous texts: Egyptian anecdotes and tales from Arabic folklore, Byzantine accounts and Indian novellas, Syriac homilies and Hebrew sapiential stories. At the same time, over the twenty centuries during which the story of Alexander the Prophet: religious Themes in Islamic Versions of the Alexander Legend,” in Sonja Brentjes and Jürgen Renn, eds., Globalization of Knowledge in the Post-Antique Mediterranean, 700-1500 (London, 2016), pp. 167-204.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY developed, from his historical feats through to the Timurid and Safavid romances, Iranian culture in its widest context was entriched by a wide range of vital religious traditions, ranging from firm Zoroastrian roots to the marked presence of Hebrew communities, and from the long powerful role of the Nestorian Church to the vast Islamization of the country, which also was distinguished by different layers, between Sunni foundations and Shi’ite reforms. While in the Persian texts, Islamic culture clearly dominates the horizons of possible readings and interpretations of the figure of Alexander, the heterogeneous traces left by the previous long period of gestation continue to remain evident, at times, even strikingly so. Two significant elements were at play in the assumption of Alexander’s myth in Islamic culture. On the one hand, there was the political need on the part of the Caliphate to present itself as a true institutional heir to the Roman empire (which, in turn, was the heir of the universal power transmitted from the Persian kings to Alexander), on the other, the religious claim of Islam to be considered as the theological heir to the previous monotheistic religions. The Graeco-Latin and Judeo-Christian developments of the figure of Alexander contained elements that endowed both of these hereditary transfers, providing Islamic culture with the tools necessary to create a welcoming space and a renovated grid to ceaselessly reorder the many stories about him that continued to deflagrate for centuries throughout the Near and Middle East. At the same time, after having indelibly marked Persian history, Alexander also left a profound trace amongst the nomadic and semi-nomadic populations of Central Asia, who boasted of their lineage from Alexander for centuries. The oral transmission of traditions related to Alexander in Central Asia may be one of the reasons for the progressively emerging kinship between the symbol of the Macedonian king and the Turkish sovereigns who, starting from the 11th century, dominated the Iranian world and seemed to provide a particular impetus to the reception and re-elaboration of Alexander’s myth.303 Turkish rulers probably felt a 303 On this very important question, see Dankoff, “The Alexander Romance in the Dīwān Lughāt at-Turk;” John A. Boyle, “The Alexander Legend in Central Asia,” Folklore 85 (1974), pp. 217-28; Boyle, “Alexander and the Turcs;” John A. Boyle, “Alexander and the Mongols,” JRAS 111 (1979), pp. 123-36; Peter Zieme, “Alexander According to an Old Turkish Legend,” in La Persia e l’Asia Centrale da Alessandro al X secolo (Rome, 1996), pp. 25-37; Kamola, “History and Legend in the Jāmi’ altawārikh.” Alexander gradually made his way also into the Ottoman world, gaining there as well his own prestigious rank: see Caroline Sawyer, “Sword of Conquest,

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The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature double bond with Alexander: that of foreign lords in a continuous quest for a political and religious legitimization solely based on their authority (and, in fact, over time, the legend of Alexander’s Iranian birth dissolved, as it no longer made sense), and that of military leaders continuously on the move, whose fatherland was often far away, as Macedonia had been for Alexander, and whose ambitious conquest campaigns always looked beyond the horizon. Indeed, most Persian works concerning Alexander address Turkish (or Mongol) lords from different dynasties, from Khorasan to the Caucasus and from India to Central Asia, where many sovereigns liked to adopt Alexandrian names and epithets. These works express both the political tension and the geographical curiosity that emanated from the expanding horizons of the Persianate world. Until the 12th century, Persian works dedicated to Alexander maintained this strong political and cosmographical element, integrated with philosophical and religious reflections tied to wisdom and Qur’anic literature (based on a political concept of religion centered around the role of the ideal Muslim sovereign). Despite their different approaches and styles, both Nezâmi’s Eskandar-nâme and Amir Khosrow’s Â’ine-ye Eskandari represent the apex of this ability to integrate all of these aspects into an intellectual and aesthetic equilibrium. In parallel, the absorption of folkloristic themes took place via storytellers and the drafting of prose romances that testify to their activities. The process of spiritualization of Persian literary themes that began in the 12th-13th century also involved the figure of Alexander, whose more markedly political character tended to blend into symbolic, if not mystical, motifs. Although this aspect was not always dominant, it reached levels of significant coherence in the works of authors like Jâmi and in the fragmentation of Alexandrian themes in lyrics. At the same time, every text in the vast family of the Alexander Romance, in all the forms it has adopted in different languages and at different times, presents a composite macro-textual structure. The relatively constant, and expandable, scenario of the great conquest of the Macedonian king frames a variety of narrative segments with an independent value. And just as the entire frame, all the segments, originating sometimes from the linear Dove of the Soul: Political and Spiritual Values in Aḥmadī’s Iskandarnāma,” in Bridges and Bürgel, eds., Problematics of Power, pp. 135-47; Giancarlo Casale, “Did Alexander the Great Discover America? Debating Space and Time in Renaissance Istanbul,” Renaissance Quarterly 72 (2019), pp. 863-909.

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PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY plot of the Pseudo-Callisthenes and at other times from partly independent routes of textual formation and transformation, can emphasize different aspects of Alexander’s history and legend: politics (the theme of universal government, its military and administrative aspects, and the relationship between rulers and councilors), philosophy (especially moral philosophy, but also metaphysical issues of classical origin such as the debate on the first principle), eroticism (stories of chaste attractions alternating with rarer depiction of passionate love and desires), religion (according to Islamic tradition especially the relationship between political guide and prophecy, between earthly and divine power; but also multi-religious elaborations on the concept of sin; and then eschatological and mystical themes), psychology (faithfulness and wrath, greed and regret) and cosmography (the king as explorer and mapper of the oecumene). This vast range of approaches and the varied network of sources used as their foundation makes literature about Alexander, in Iran as elsewhere, a locus of accumulation for an enormous amount of ancient and medieval knowledge and reflections. It is a discourse about human nature and about the known (and the unknown) world, and the human attempts to discover, explore, and govern it. In some cases, it is possible to disentangle the threads that connect various motifs, episodes, and texts through philological analysis and historical contextualization. In many more cases, there is still a lot of work to do and for the moment we will have to be satisfied with an overall, diachronic outlook that, however, allows us to perceive the significance and the role of a given anecdote or motif in the context of Persian culture and literature. In the vast and complex universe of reflections that this myriad narration coagulates around the figure of Alexander (will and destiny, wisdom and greed, obsession for domination and curiosity for other worlds, and so on), the primacy of the theme of thresholds may be inevitable. Indeed, it characterized the very historical feats of the Macedonian King. For a character like Alexander, both historical and legendary, who continuously strives to break down every barrier and overrun every threshold (and it is not by chance that a certain current of the Islamic Arabo-Persian tradition even qualified him as a polyglot), frontiers and limits represent, besides the ideal locus for narrative interpolation, two apparently contradictory aspects: on the one hand, the approbation for a courageous man broadening human horizons; on the other, the condemnation of a man perpetually driven to excess. 540

The Alexander Legend in Persian Literature In this eternal contrast between desires and limits, a sentiment that is constantly expressed by all authors (and not only the Persian ones) is regret. Surpassing a limit, with its glory counterbalanced by often precious losses and admonishments, only brings Alexander closer to another barrier, in a race destined to remain forever incomplete. The bitterness experienced with the message of the talking tree (Ferdowsi), the aborted mission after the exchange with the wise men in the Blessed City (Nezâmi), the discomfort caused by the reproaches of the submarine people (Amir Khosrow), and perhaps more than any other episode, the failure to reach the Spring of Life in the Land of Darkness (included by all three authors, as well as many others), represent clear milestones of a moral parable addressing incompleteness and regret. The direct bond between greed and regret is significantly and explicitly present in a minor, yet very frequent, episode contained in narrations about Alexander. Along the dark road that leads out of the Land of Darkness, a thunderous voice from the mountains admonishes Alexander and his army: “Whoever grabs a stone he spots along the way, Will regret what he finds in his clasp, And if he does not pick it up, he repents soon enough, So both will be in want of a comfort and looking for a cure.” The men heeded the cry, All thought hard, when they heard the loud cry. Should one pick up the stone, or should one pass it by? And avoid risking a potential harm? One said: “The suffering comes from sin, repenting taking the stones” Another said, “Let us take a few, Perhaps we will be saved from any pain and hardship.” One man picked up the stones, the second did not, Out of indolence, the third took but a few. When they emerged from the land of the Water of Life, out into the plain, Putting the dark road behind them, They each examined what they had in their laps and sleeves, Their omissions and flaws became all too evident: One had amassed many a ruby, The other had many an uncut gem, He who had only taken a few, regretted it. Pondering why he had passed by emeralds, dismissing their value.

541

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Those who had picked none, felt the bitterest remorse, Forsaking all those priceless gems.304

This multifocal lens portrays Alexander in Iran, initially, as an accursed usurper, but his appeal as a conqueror also weaved its power on the Sasanid sovereigns who considered themselves restorers after the Achaemenid catastrophe. As a pagan king, he could become the missionary of Abrahamic monotheism and enter the story of Revelation; as a Macedonian King, he could become Iranian by birth. And thus, he became a legitimate jahândâr (equivalent to the Greek kosmokrátor), a hakim (sage) surrounded by other wise men, even reaching, as Dhu’l-Qarneyn, the threshold of prophecy, although almost never trespassing it completely, in an uncertain seesaw of epithets such as peyghambar (prophet), morsel (envoy), or simply vali (saint, friend of God). The textual path makes him a mediating figure between Paganism and the monotheistic religions, whilst embodying also a flexible ethnic identity, a meeting point of Greek, Roman, as well as Arab, Jewish, Persian and Turkish characters and pride, in a wide acknowledgement of the roots and shifting boundaries of the Persianate world. Nonetheless, all these qualifications do not exempt him from severe considerations of a moral character, which descended from the Cynic reflections of the Graeco-Roman world but were also updated as his stories were transmitted through different languages, finding a fertile ground in Persian culture. Thus, Alexander is also a violent prince pâdshâh-kosh (“killer of kings,” in Ferdowsi), tainted by khu-ye dadân (“beastly disposition,” Nezâmi), and sometimes referred to directly as a nâ-dân (“ignorant,” in Tarsusi) or bivafâ (“fickle,” Amir Khosrow). In the Persian reflection, he is the “King” in his greatest complexity. Over the course of Alexander’s transformations, ancient signs and symbols are constantly given new interpretations and new reference systems, but they continue to represent the foundations of a profound and constantly updated reflection on power and its multiple relations with knowledge and wisdom.

304 Ferdowsi, Shâh-nâme, ed. Khaleghi-Motlagh, VI, p. 96. The same motif was dealt with by many Arab and Persian authors, see for instance Nezâmi, Sharaf-nâme, pp. 521, 524. Possibly it came out of Jewish or Islamic traditions and completed its way back to the Greek Pseudo-Callisthenes, ms. L, and γ and ε recensions PC, II 41.

542

ABBREVIATIONS

Abbreviations of Books and Journals BEO BJR BSOAS CHIr

Bulletin d’ études orientales Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies (London) Cambridge History of Iran (various volume editors; Cambridge, 1968-89) EI1 Encyclopaedia of Islam, 1st edition (Leiden, 1913-36) EI2 Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd edition (Leiden, 1954-2005) EI3 Encyclopaedia of Islam Three Online (http://dx.doi.org/ 10.1163/1573-3912-ei3-all) EIr Encyclopaedia Iranica (New York, 1982-in progress) EIr Online Encyclopaedia Iranica Online (http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/23304804-EIRO-all) FIZ Farhang-e Irân zamin GIE Great Islamic Encyclopedia / Dâʾerat al-maʿâref-e bozorg-e Eslâmi (Tehran, 1984-in progress) HIL Jan Rypka, ed., History of Iranian Literature (Dordrecht, 1968) HPL A History of Persian Literature IS Iranian Studies JAL Journal of Arabic Literature JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society JRAS Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society LHP E. G. Browne, A Literary History of Persia (London, 1902-24) MEL Middle Eastern Literatures OM Oriente Moderno PL C. A. Storey, Persian Literature: A Bio-Bibliographical Survey, vols. I-III (reprint, London, 1970) and François de Blois, vol. V/2-3 (London, 1994-97)

543

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY RSO Rivista degli Studi Orientali SI Studia Iranica ZDMG Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft

544

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603

INDEX Aarne, Antti 329 ʿAbbâsi, ʿAbd-al-Laṭif 35 Abbasid caliphate 249, 250, 252, 420, 422 ʿAbd-al-Malek, Caliph 248 ʿAbd-Allâh Khân 517 ʿAbdi Beyg Novidi Shirâzi Âyin-e Eskandari 513–14, 515, 516 Haft akhtar 372 Abdîh ud sahîgîh î Sagestân (The Wonders and Mirabilia of Sistan) 386 ʿAbhar al-ʿâsheqin (Ruzbehân Baqli Shirâzi) 43 Abraham 425 Abu-Bakr, Caliph 36 Abu Deeb, Kamal 127 Abu-Esḥâq Ebrâhim Kâzaruni 79 Abu-Esḥâq (Inju) 80, 227 Abu-Manṣur Moḥammad b. ʿAbdal-Razzâq 445 Abu-Maʿshar, Ketâb al-oluf 466 Abu-Moslem 347 Abu-Moslem-nâme (Ṭarsusi/ Ṭarṭusi) 526 Abu-Saʿid Bahâdor, Sultan 74, 75 Abu-Shakur Balkhi 8–9 Âfarin-nâme 8–9, 23, 65 Abu’l-ʿAtâhiya 3–4

Achaemenid Empire 96, 97, 380, 402, 539 Acts of Thomas 453 adab literature 1 Adam 30, 207, 415, 420, 421, 488 Adami, Giuseppe 334 Âdhar, ʿAbd-al-Reżâ 210 ʿAdhrâ 93 Aethiopica (Heliodorus) 238 Âfâq 156, 180–82 Âfarin-nâme (Abu-Shakur Balkhi) 8–9, 23, 65 Aflâki, Shams-al-Din Aḥmad 53 Afrâsiyâb 388 Afsahzod, A’lokhon (Aʿlākhān Afṣaḥzād) 232, 237, 275, 292, 294, 299 Afshâr, Iraj 522 Agathangelus, History of Armenia 458 Aḥmad b. al-Ḥasan b. Moḥammad Nakhchavâni 45 Aḥmad Meybodi, Rashid-al-Din (see under Meybodi) Aḥrâr, ʿObeyd-Allâh 82, 85, 237, 293 Ahvâzi, Badr-e 117 Âʾine-ye Eskandari (Amir Khosrow) 491–504, 506, 511, 512, 513, 514, 515, 516, 520, 539, 538, 540 604

INDEX ʿAjâʾeb al-makhluqât (Qazvini) 489 ʿAjâyeb al-jazâyer 528 ʿAjâyeb al-makhluqât (Moḥammad b. Maḥmud Ṭusi) 438–40, 495, 527 Akbar, Emperor 512, 517–18 Akbar-nâme (Maʿṣum) 512 al-Akhbâr al-ṭevâl (Dinavari) 424– 25, 449, 450 Akhlâq-e nâṣeri (Naṣir-al-Din Ṭusi) 497 Akhsetân b. Manuchehr, King 252, 261 ʿAlâ-al-Din Khaliji, Sultan 188, 278, 358, 492 Alans 419 Aleskerzade, A.A. 145 Alexander III the Great 2, 21, 96, 98, 235, 370 Alexander the accursed 385–90 Alexander the Persian King 390–403 Alexander romances 443–534 Alexander the two-horned (Dhu’l-Qarneyn) 403–9, 467–68, 523, 539 Alexander’s boundaries 534–40 anecdotes 432–43 Eskandar mathnavis after Neẓâmi 491–519 Eskandar in the Shâh-nâme 443–61 in historiography 422–32 in Iran 378–409 legend in Persian literature 378–540 prose romances 520–34

as Qeyṣar-e Rum 382, 444, 448, 455, 459 in religious literature 410–21 Alexander IV of Macedon 381 Alexander Romance (Pseudo-Callisthenes) 381, 382, 389, 391– 403, 406, 408, 411, 412, 415, 416, 420, 421, 423, 424, 425, 426–27, 428, 430, 431, 434, 437, 438, 443, 444, 445, 447, 448, 449, 451, 452, 456, 457, 459, 462, 469, 476, 477, 482, 488, 496, 499, 502, 508, 520, 521, 522–23, 530, 534, 537 Alexander Severus, Emperor 388 Alexander’s Questions to the Wise Aristotle 434 Alexandria 424, 426 ʿAli, Aḥmad 110 ʿAli, Caliph 36, 536 Aliev, Ghazanfar Yu. 126, 186, 287 ʿAlizâde, ʿAli 57, 145 Amazons 154, 193, 238, 393, 418, 444, 456, 477, 513, 525 Amin-al-Mella-va’l-Din, Shaikh 79 Amir Khosrow, Yamin-al-Dowle Âʾine-ye Eskandari 491–504, 506, 511, 512, 513, 514, 515, 516, 520, 536, 541, 542 Hasht behesht 129, 349, 351, 358–67, 368, 369, 372, 373, 375, 376–77, 491 Khamse 78–79, 126, 188, 285, 510 Majnun va Leyli 260, 277–86, 287, 289, 292, 293, 294, 300, 305, 309

605

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Maṭlaʿ al-anvâr 64, 79, 129, 278 Shirin va Khosrow 128–29, 130, 131, 134, 144, 158, 167, 187, 188–97, 207, 208, 209, 214, 227, 229, 278, 279, 285 Anabasis (Arrian) 385, 390, 452, 481, 519 andarz literature 433–34, 497 Annales (Tacitus) 387, 482 Anṣâri, Moḥammad b. ʿAli 433 Antiochus IV Epiphanes 404 Antipater 393 Anushang 511 Anvari, Owḥad-al-Din Moḥammad 46 Apocalypse of Pseudo-Methodius 405–6 Apollonius of Tyana (Balinâs) 453–54, 469, 471, 480, 497, 505, 533 Resâle fı ta ʾthir al-ruḥâniyyât fi’ l-morakkabât 471 Apollonius of Perge 471 Apries, Pharaoh 382 Âq Qoyunlu dynasty 83, 230, 232, 309, 371, 511 ʿAql-nâme (Sanâʾi?) 44 Arab invasions 96 Arabian Nights see Thousand and One Nights ʿArâʾes al-majâles (Thaʿlabi) 417 Arâqit 524–25, 530 Arasṭu, Parviz 224 Arberry, A. J. 77 Ardâ Wirâz Nâmag (Book of) 386 Ardashir I 387, 388, 401, 446, 451

ʿÂref Ardabili 130, 164–65, 179, 187 Farhâd-nâme 210–14, 218, 221, 223 Aristobulus 390 Aristotle 235, 378, 391, 393, 399, 422–23, 425, 428, 433, 434, 435, 460, 468, 469, 470, 471, 472, 473, 497, 499, 500–501, 505, 527, 528, 533 De mundo 437–38 Poetics 137–38 Problems 501 Arjâsp 347 Armeno, Cristoforo 364 Arrân 152, 153 Arrian, Anabasis 385, 390, 452, 481, 519 Arsacid dynasty 321, 346, 388, 423 Arslân Khan 524 Artabazus 381 Artaxerxes I 446 Asadi Ṭusi, Abu-Naṣr ʿAli b. Aḥmad 20, 58 Garshâsp-nâme 20–22, 132, 221 Loghat-e Fors 98, 100 Asclepius 505, 507 Asheʿʿat al-lamaʿât (Jâmi) 230 Ashraf of Marâghe ʿEshq-nâme 290, 371 Haft owrang 371 Menhâj al-abrâr 371 Riyâż al-ʿâsheqin 371 Ẓafar-nâme 371 Ashtarkhanids 534 Asrâr-nâme (ʿAṭṭâr) 52, 53, 132 ʿAṣṣâr Tabrizi, ʿEshq-nâme/Mehr va Moshtari 202 606

INDEX Astarâbâdi, Khʷâje Ḥasan Kheżrshâh, Zeyd va Zeynab 291 Atâbak Moḥammad b. Saʿd b. Abu-Bakr 65 Ateş, Ahmed 100 al-Âthâr al-bâqiye (Biruni) 426 Athens 385, 396 ʿAṭṭâr, Farid-al-Din 27, 37, 49–53, 83 Asrâr-nâme 52, 53, 132 Elâhi-nâme 51, 132, 440 Khosrow-nâme 106, 111–18, 218–19, 220, 227 Manṭeq al-ṭeyr 50, 53, 231 Mokhtâr-nâme 111, 117 Moṣibat-nâme 51–52, 132 Augustus, Emperor 482 Aurangzeb, Emperor 512 Avesta 386, 387 Avicenna (Ebn-Sinâ) 33, 83, 496 Ketâb al-eshârât va’ l-tanbihât 232–33 Resâle fı’ l-qadar 232 Ayâz 94 Âyin-e Eskandari (ʿAbdi Shirâzi) 513–14, 515, 516 ayyâr (pl. ayyârân) 529, 534, 536 ʿAyyuqi, Varqe va Golshâh 100– 103, 105, 109, 221 Babaev, F. 145 Bahman 444, 527 Baḥr al-owzân (Badr-al-Din Kashmiri) 516–17 Bahrâm V Gur 91, 120, 121, 124, 135, 205, 225, 226, 239, 368 development of romance of before Neẓâmi 337–57



fortunes of the saga of Bahrâm 372–77 in Neẓâmi’s Haft peykar 312– 13, 314, 315, 316, 317–26, 329–30, 342, 343–48, 352– 57, 358 Bahrâm va Golandâm (Sâfı) 221 Bahrâm VI Chubin 121, 122, 150, 160, 172, 190, 193, 199, 206, 215, 321 romance of 343–48 Bahrâm-nâme see Haft peykar Bahrâmshâh, Sultan 33–34, 39–40, 43, 57 Bakhtiyâr-nâme 523 Balʿami 153, 176 Târikh 176, 186, 339, 343, 344, 349, 353, 427–28 Balinâs see Apollonius Balkh 8, 28, 52, 420, 452, 534 Banu ʿÂmer tribe 247, 250, 295 Bâqi-Moḥammad b. Mowlânâ Yusof 534-35 Barda (Bardaʿ, Bardaʿa, Harum) 153, 154, 177, 212, 328, 476-78 Baritte, Gérard 182 Barkiyâroq 315 Barlaam and Josaphat, Book of (see Belowhar and Yudâsaf ) Barsine 381 Bausani, Alessandro 27, 63, 303, 323–24 Bâyazid II, Sultan 86 Bedouin society 252, 262, 266, 276, 291, 292 Bektâsh, Ḥâjji 534

607

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Belowhar and Yudâsaf (Book of Barlaam and Josaphat) 2, 395 Belqis 331–32 Belqis and Solomon 236 Bencheikh, Jamel Eddine 127 Benduy 218 Berthels (Bertel’s), E. E. 63, 81–82, 92, 145, 146, 155, 257, 259, 272 Besṭâm 186, 215, 218 Beyhaqi, Abu’l-Fażl, Târikh-e Bey­ haqi 431–32, 448 Bibliotheca historica (Diodorus) 385, 390 Binesh (Mir Jaʿfar Beyg Kashmiri), Ganj-e ravân 512 Biruni 98 al-Âthâr al-bâqiye 426 Blois, François de 23, 332 Bocados de oro 433 Bokhâri, Ṣaḥiḥ 327, 328, 332 Bokht-e Naṣar (see also Nebuchadnezzar) 407 Book of Creation 386 Book of Daniel 405, 407, 459 Book of Kings (see also under Shâhnâme) 339, 353, 443 Bōrān, Queen 201 Bozorgmehr (Buzorjmehr) 2, 1618, 151, 172, 350, 434 Bozorg Ommid 172, 195, 196, 213 Browne, Edward Granville 27, 56, 63 Bruijn, J.T.P. de 1–89, 90–118, 218, 227 Bukhara, 6, 49, 122, 199, 326-28, 347, 516-17, 534

Burândokht 524, 528, 529–30 Bürgel, Johann Christoph 137–38, 463–64 Bustân (Saʿdi-nâme) (Saʿdi) 64–74, 81 Buyid protectorate 467 Buzorjmehr (see Bozorgmehr) Byzantine-Sasanid wars 389 Byzantium 382, 397 Cambyses II 382 Candace, Queen of Meroe 393, 444, 449, 462, 476–77 see also Nushâbe; Qeydâfe Canon (Ptolemy) 422 Cantarino, Vincente 127 Caracalla, Emperor 388 Casari, Mario 119, 378–540 Cedrenus. Georgius 488 Cerulli, Enrico 377 Chahâr maqâle (Neẓâmi-ye ʿArużi) 86 Chalisova, Natalia 260 Chares of Mytilene 96, 402 Chengiz Khan 510 Christensen, Arthur 351 Christopher (Armenian from Tabriz) 374 Ciancaglini, Claudia 395 Cleitarchus 400 Commonitorium Palladii (Palladius) 412, 434, 488 Constantine, Emperor 416, 428 Corbin, Henry 232, 235 Critias (Plato) 503 Ctesias 380 Ctesiphon 152, 321

608

INDEX Curtius Rufus, Quintus, Histories of Alexander the Great 385, 390, 449 Cyropaedia (Xenophon) 96 Cyrus II the Great 96, 97, 379, 380, 382, 387, 391, 407, 457, 474 Dâdestân î Mênôg î Khrad 386 Dah-nâme 74 Dahhâk 388 Dânesh-nâme (Meysari) 3, 9–11, 15, 24 Dante Alighieri 31 Daqiqi 15, 65 Dârâ 370, 383, 427, 444, 447, 527, 528, 535 Dârâb, King 382–83, 424, 429, 444, 447, 526–31 Dârâb-nâme (Ṭarsusi) 99, 450–51, 495, 501, 524, 526–31, 533, 540 Darius I the Great 380, 383, 427, 530 Darius III (Codomannus, Dârâ) 370, 380, 383, 385, 386, 391, 392–93, 394, 400–401, 402, 422, 425, 427, 428, 431, 444, 447–48, 450, 456, 461, 462, 473 Dârnush 535 dâstân 521, 535 Dastgerdi, Vaḥid 77, 144, 146, 254, 255, 256, 259, 260, 261, 263, 272, 284, 290, 292, 307 al-Dastmeysâni, Sahl b. Hârun 99 Davis, Dick 97, 103, 108–9

Dâye, Najm-al-Din, Merṣâd alʿebâd men al-mabda ʾ elâ’ lmaʿâd 32–33, 43 De mundo (Aristotle) 437–38 Deeds of Ardashir the Son of Pâbag, Book of the 386 degeneratio Alexandri 380, 391 Dênkard 386 Dhakhirat al-Eskandar (Hermes) 47 Dhu’l-Faqâri, Ḥasan 224 Dhu’l-Qarneyn see Alexander III the Great Diadoch wars 381 didacticism in early mathnavis 6–22 emergence of didactic mathnavi 23–42 in Persian literature 1–5 Dinavari, Naṣr b. Yaʿqub, al-Akhbâr al-ṭevâl 424–25, 449, 450 Diodorus 153 Bibliotheca historica 385, 390 Diogenes 489, 507 Dionysius 379 Divân al-Majnun (Wâlebi) 249, 263, 266 Divân loghât al-Tork (Kâshgari) 429 Dodalishoev, J. 367 Dols, Michael W. 266, 270 dorugh 135, 137, 140 Doufıkar-Aerts, Faustina 397–98, 520 Dowlatshâh, Ghaznavid prince 34 Dowlatshâh Samarqandi, literary biographer, 77, 224. Duda, Herbert W. 144, 210, 285 609

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Ebn-ʿAbbâs 410, 415, 489 Ebn-Abi’l-Barakât, ʿAbd-al-Kâfı 522 Ebn-al-Balkhi, Fârs-nâme 423 Ebn-al-Faqih Hamadâni, Mokhtasar ketâb al-boldân 352, 353, 434, 488 Ebn-al-Molawwaḥ 287 Ebn-al-Moqaffaʿ 353, 423 Ebn-al-Nadim, Fehrest 99, 175, 249, 346, 378 Ebn-ʿAṭiye, Yusof (Qozmān, copyist), Sirat al-malek Eskandar Dhu’ l-Qarneyn 398, 520–21 Ebn-Esfandiyâr, Târikh-e Ṭabarestân 423 Ebn-Esḥâq, Ḥoneyn, Navâder alfalâsefe va’ l-ḥokamâ 433 Ebn-Ḥazm, The Ring of the Dove 169 Ebn-Heshâm, Ketâb al-tijân 406, 412, 488, 493 Ebn-Kenâne, Nażr 425 Ebn-Meskaweyh, al-Ḥekmat alkhâlede 497 Ebn-Mofarrej Ṣuri, Ebrâhim, Sirat al-Eskandar 521 Ebn-Qoteybe 422 Ketâb al-sheʿr wa’ l-shoʿarâʾ 101, 249, 268 ʿOyun al-akhbâr 353–55 Ebn-Ẓafar al-Ṣeqelli, Solvân almoṭâʿ 340 Ebrâhim Mirzâ, Prince 517 Ebrâhim-e Adham 80 Ecclesiastical History (Eusebius) 453

Eḥyâʾ ʿolum al-din (Ghazâli) 514–15 Eilers, Wilhelm 152 Ekhwân al-Ṣafâ (Epistles of the Brethren of Purity) 32, 466 Elâhi-nâme (ʿAṭṭâr) 51, 132, 440 Elijah (Eliyâs) 416, 485, 502 ʿEmâd-al-Din Kermâni (ʿEmâd-e Faqih) Panj ganj 80–81 Ṣafâ-nâme 81 Ṣoḥbat-nâme 81 Enoch 485 Ephesiaca (Xenophon of Ephesus) 238 Epic of Gilgamesh 416 Epistles of the Brethren of Purity (Ekhwân al-Ṣafâ) 32, 466 Epistolary Romance 423, 428, 433, 435, 438, 446 Eqbâl-nâme see Eskandar-nâme (Neẓâmi) ʿErâqi, Fakhr-al-Din Ebrâhim, Lamaʿât 230 ʿErâqi, Tâj-al-Din Aḥmad b. Moḥammad 222 Esau 467 Eschenbach, Ulrich von 501 Eṣfahâni, Abu’l-Faraj, Ketâb alaghâni 101, 249 Eṣfahâni, ʿAli b. Abi-Ḥafṣ, Toḥfat al-moluk 442 Eṣfahâni, Kamâl-al-Din Ḥoseyn, Eskandar-nâme 518 Eṣfahâni, Mir Jomle Shahrestâni, Javâher-nâme 512 Esfandiyâr 347

610

INDEX Esfarâyeni, Abu’l-Moẓaffar Shâhfur, Tâj al-tarâjem fı tafsir al-Qorʾân le’ l-aʿâjem 413, 414, 420 ʿEshq-nâme (Ashraf of Marâghe) 290, 371 ʿEshq-nâme (ʿAṣṣâr Tabrizi) 202 Eskandar Bey 511 Eskandar Khân 517 Eskandar-nâme (anon.) 98, 521– 26, 530, 531 Eskandar-nâma (Bâqi-Moḥammad) 534-35 Eskandar-nâme (Ḥasan-Beyg ʿAtâbi Takallu) 518 Eskandar-nâme (Kamâl-al-Din Ḥoseyn Eṣfahâni) 518 Eskandar-nâme (Nâṣeri Kermâni) 518–19 Eskandar-nâme (Neẓâmi) 91, 119, 124, 137, 144, 146, 159, 164, 231, 414, 421, 451, 461–90, 491, 492, 494, 495, 497, 498, 503–4, 506, 509, 511, 512, 514–15, 516, 518, 520, 524, 535-36, 538, 540 Eqbâl-nâme 119, 144, 145, 146, 461, 462, 463, 464–65, 467, 469–72, 474–76, 479, 480– 81, 487, 489–90, 497, 505, 517 Sharaf-nâme 119, 132–33, 137, 142–43, 144, 145, 146, 312, 461, 462, 464, 465, 473–74, 476, 477–87, 511, 517, 518, 525 Eskandar-nâme, Safavid 531–34 Eskandar-nâme-ye haft-jeldi 532

Eskandar-nâme-ye naqqâli 532 Eskandar-nâme/qeṣṣe-ye Dhu’ lQar­neyn (Kashmiri) 517 Esmâʿili, Ḥosayn 534 esrâʾiliyyât 422 Esteʿlâmi, Moḥammad 54 esteqbâl 126 Ethé, Hermann 27, 92, 110–11 Euripides Hippolytus 238–39 Stheneboea 238 Eusebius, Bishop of Caesarea, Ecclesiastical History 453 Eve 30, 207, 420 ʿEyn-al-Qożât Hamadâni 43 ʿEzz-al-Din Abu’l-Fatḥ Masʿud b. Nur-al-Din 464 fahlaviyyât 104 Fakhr-al-Din Bahrâmshâh b. Dâvud 57 Fakhri-nâme, see Ḥadiqat al-ḥaqiqe Fârâbi, Abu-Naṣr 496 al-Madine al-fâżele 463 al-Faraj baʿd al-shedda (deliverance after adversity) 131 Farât-e farrokhi (Shâhjahân-âbâdi) 512 Farhâd 93, 125, 128, 131, 135, 144, 152, 154, 156, 162, 176, 179–80, 185–88, 192–95, 199, 204, 206–8, 210–14, 217, 218, 228, 269, 289, 290 Farhâd va Shirin (ʿOrfı) 188 Farhâd-nâme (ʿÂref Ardabili) 210– 14, 218, 221, 223 Farrahân 186

611

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Farrokh-nâme (Yazdi) 421 Farrokhi Sistâni, Divân 441 Fârs-nâme (Ebn-al-Balkhi) 423 fasâne 135 Fattâḥi Nishâburi, Ḥosn va Del 91, 230 Fattâḥi Qâżi, Qâder 225 Fażl-Allâh Astarâbadi 440, 536 Fehrest (Ebn-al-Nadim) 99, 175, 249, 346, 378 Ferdowsi, Abu’l-Qâsem 65, 100, 134, 135, 153, 154, 184 Shâh-nâme (Book of Kings) 4, 7, 11–20, 50, 54, 58, 92, 121– 22, 135, 150, 157, 161, 174, 177, 186, 216, 217, 223, 226, 231, 237, 275, 317, 318, 319, 321, 322, 326, 338, 340–43, 344, 345, 350, 353, 354–56, 361, 370, 373, 389, 396, 401, 443–61, 462, 465, 473, 477, 480, 483, 484, 486, 488, 491, 492, 494, 495, 504, 506, 511, 513, 516, 519, 520, 523, 524, 525, 528, 538–39, 541, 542 Fereydun, King 446, 527 Fereydun, Prince, 533 Fetne 534 Filqus (Philip), King 447, 466, 467, 533 Firuz Shâh Toghlaq, Sultan of Delhi 498 Floire et Blanchefleur 94, 103 Forughi, Moḥammad-ʿAli 73 Forunzânfar, Badiʿ-al-Zamân 117 Fouchécour, Charles-Henri de 132, 434, 435, 472, 497

Fur (see also Poros), King 444, 447, 448, 452, 528 Gabrieli, Francesco 111 Gaillard, Marina 529 Ganj-e ravân (Mir Jaʿfar Beyg Kashmiri, Binesh) 512 Gardizi, Zeyn al-akhbâr 428–29 Garshâsp-nâme (Asadi Ṭusi) 20– 22, 132, 221 Gaugamela, Battle of 385 Gelder, G. J. H. van 127 Geography (Strabo) 411 Germanicus, Drusus 482 Gharaqil 496, 514 Ghazâli, Abu-Ḥâmed Moḥammad 2, 80 Eḥyâʾ ʿolum al-din 514–15 Kimiyâ-ye saʿâdat 337 Naṣiḥat al-moluk 174, 324, 434 al-Tebr al-masbuk fı naṣiḥat almoluk 435 Ghazâli, Aḥmad 43, 80 ghazals 3, 4, 90–91, 93, 266–67, 274, 285 Ghaznavid dynasty 516 Ghiyâth-al-Din Bâysonghor 286 Ghiyâth-al-Din Key Khosrow 227 Ghiyâth-al-Din Moḥammad, Khʷâje 74 Ghiyâth-al-Din Moẓaffar, Solṭân 417 Ghorâr akhbâr moluk al-Fors (Thaʿâlebi) 450 Gilgamesh 379, 416 Gisiyâ Banu 534 Giustiniani, Marc’Antonio 374

612

INDEX Gol va Khosrow/Gol va Hormoz see Khosrow-nâme Gol va Nowruz (Jalâl Ṭabib) 220, 227–30, 233, 288 Gol va Nowruz (Khʷâju Kermâni) 80, 220–21, 222–23, 227–28 Golestân (romantic heroine) 184, 211–12, 213, 214, 218 Golestân (Saʿdi) 66, 67, 71, 72 Gondophares, Indo-Parthian king, 452–53, 454 Gorgâni, Fakhr-al-Din, Vis va Râmin 95, 104–11, 115, 130, 161, 162–63, 170, 185, 218, 221, 229, 242 Goshtâsp, King 151, 193, 216, 217, 218, 220, 240 Gostaham 186 Gottfried of Strasbourg 110 Gozzi, Carlo 334 Graf, Karl Heinrich 73 Granicus, Battle of 385 Greater Bundahišn 386 Gregory, St. 458 Grunebaum, Gustave E., von 127 Gulanducht, St. (Golândokht) 122, 182–83, 184, 218 Ha-Dani, Eldad 434 Ḥadiqat al-ḥaqiqe (Ar. Ḥadiqat alḥaqiqa wa shariʿat al-ṭariqa) or Fakhri-nâme (Sanâʾi) 28, 33–42, 43, 45, 52, 53, 57, 74, 77, 132, 312, 314, 467 Ḥadith Dhi’ l-Qarneyn (anon.) 500 Ḥâfeẓ, Shams-al-Din Moḥammad 34, 73, 79, 93

Divân-e Ḥâfeẓ 146, 442–43 Haft akhtar (ʿAbdi Shirâzi) 372 Haft manẓar (Hâtefı) 209, 349, 367–69, 372 Haft owrang (Ashraf of Marâghe) 371 Haft owrang (Jamâli) 370–71 Haft peykar (Neẓâmi) 91, 95, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 129, 132, 134–35, 142, 144, 145, 147, 159, 163, 180, 225, 226, 231, 286, 312–77, 462, 469 astrology and occult sciences in 314, 348–52 Bahrâm in 317–26 dedicatee 315–16 hunt with the handmaid episode 352–57 problem of sources 326–28 seven tales: analysis and sources 328–37 Haft peykar-e Bahrâm-e Gur (anon.) 373 Hägg, Tomas 98, 99 Hamadan (Ecbatana) 152, 153, 351, 352 Hammer-Purgstall, Joseph von 99 Ḥamze 536 Ḥamze Eṣfahâni 390, 422 Ḥamze-nâme 536 Hanaway, William 529 Harb, Lara 127 Ḥasan (b.ʿAli) 36 Ḥasan of Basra 80 Hasht behesht (Amir Khosrow) 129, 276, 349, 351, 358–67, 368, 369, 372, 373, 375, 376–77

613

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY frame-narrative: First Paradise 361–64 seven tales and death of Bahrâm 364–67 sources and structure 358–61 Hâtefı, ʿAbd-Allâh 129, 134 Haft manẓar 209, 349, 367–69, 372 Leyli va Majnun 124, 131, 203, 303–9, 310, 367 Shirin va Khosrow 133–34, 144, 202–9, 218, 221, 223, 228, 241, 304, 367, 368 Timur-nâme/Ẓafar-nâme 511 Havart, Daniel 72–73 hazaj 92, 95 Heinrichs, Wolfhart 127 al-Ḥekmat al-khâlede (EbnMeskaweyh) 497 Heliodorus, Aethiopica 238 Hellenistic tradition 2, 27, 36, 83, 94, 96–97, 98–99, 103, 155, 219, 232, 233, 236, 238, 245, 246, 381, 387, 391, 402 Hephthalites (White Huns) 337 Heracles 379, 381 Heraclides Ponticus 496, 514 Heraclius, Emperor 173, 389, 404 Hermes 399, 469, 470, 505, 507 Dhakhirat al-Eskandar 471 Herodotus 351, 380 Histories 382, 525 Heshâm b. ʿAbd-al-Malek, Caliph 399 Hesiod 136 Hindu 68, 142, 189, 273, 496 Hindu Kush 452

Hippocrates 505, 507, 514, 528 Hippolytus, Euripides 238–39 Hippolytus, myth of 353 Histories (Herodotus) 382, 525 Histories of Alexander the Great (Curtius Rufus) 385, 390, 449 History of Armenia (Agathangelus) 458 Hjelmslev, Louis 131 Homây va Homâyun (Khʷâju Kermâni) 100, 289 Homer 136 Iliad 238, 378, 391, 402 Hormoz IV 149–50, 182–83, 190, 192, 205, 212 Ḥosâm-al-Din Chelebi 54, 55 Ḥoseyn (b. ʿAli) 36, 536 Ḥoseyni, Maryam 35 Ḥosn va Del (Fattâḥi) 91, 230 Hoveyzi, Shaikh Moḥammad 417 Huart, Clément 440 Ḥunayn b. Esḥâq 232, 233, 235 Huns 419 Hushang 511 Hushang b. Kâʾus 210 Iliad (Homer) 238, 378, 391, 402 imitatio Alexandri 380, 388, 391 Isaac 467 Issus, Battle of 385, 392 Jacobi, Renate 251, 252, 266–67 Jaʿfari, Jaʿfar b. Moḥammad, Târikh-e Yazd 432 Jahân Shâh 371 Jâheliyye 266, 267 614

INDEX Jâḥeẓ 153 Ketâb al-maḥâsen wa’ l-ażdâd 174, 175 Jalâl Ṭabib, Gol va Nowruz 220, 227–30, 233, 288 Jalayerid dynasty 210, 223 Jamâl-al-Din (vizier) 48 Jamâli 124, 128, 130, 134 Haft owrang 370–71 Khamse 141, 197, 371, 511–12 Maḥzun va Maḥbub 286–89, 290 Mehr va Negâr 187, 188, 197–202 Jâmeʿ al-tavârikh (Rashid-al-Din) 430 Jâmi, Mowlânâ ʿAbd-al-Raḥmân 37, 50, 81–88, 124, 131, 203, 220, 230–46, 367 Asheʿʿat al-lamaʿât 23 daftars 230–31 Khamse 82, 83, 231, 511 Kherad-nâme-ye Eskandari 231, 435, 491, 504–10, 511, 516, 537 Leyli va Majnun 134, 208, 231, 276, 277, 292, 293–302, 304 Sabʿe (Haft owrang) 82, 230, 372, 504 Salâmân va Absâl 83–84, 143, 231–36, 246, 293 Selselat al-dhahab 85–88, 230, 372 Sobḥat al-abrâr 64, 82–83, 231 Toḥfat al-aḥrâr 64, 82, 129, 231, 232

Yusof va Zoleykhâ 91, 95, 139, 231, 236–46, 293 Jamshid 73, 223–24, 379, 462 Jamshid va Khʷorshid (Sâvaji) 202, 221, 223–24 javâb 78, 126–27, 130, 287 Javâher-nâme (Shahrestâni Esfahâni) 512 Javâmeʿ al-ḥekâyât (ʿOwfı) 344, 436–37 javânmardi 534 Jerome, St. 409 Jerusalem 404, 424, 476 Jewish War (Josephus) 405 John, Bishop of Nikiu 184 Joseph (Yusof) 40, 62,143, 231, 236-45, 284, 415 Josephus, Flavius 414 Jewish War 405 Judean Antiquities 405 Judaism 404–5 Judean Antiquities (Josephus) 405 Kaʿb-al-Aḥbâr 410 Kalile va Demne (see also Kalila and Demna, Book of )1, 8, 43, 164 Kalila and Dimna, Book of 394–95 Kamâl-nâme (Khʷâju) 80 Kappler, Claire 350 Kâr-nâme-ye Balkhi (Sanâʾi) 28 Kârnâmag î Ardakhšîr î Pâbagân 386, 401, 451 Kâshefı, Vâʿez, Anvâr-e Soheyli 291 Kashf al-asrâr va ʿoddat-al-abrâr (Meybodi) 413

615

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Kâshgari, Maḥmud, Divân loghât al-Tork 429 Kashmiri, Badr-al-Din Baḥr al-owzân 516–17 Eskandar-nâme/qeṣṣe-ye Dhu’ l-Qarneyn 517 Rosol-nâme 517 Ẓafar-nâme 517 Kashmiri, Mir Jaʿfar Beyg see Binesh Katâyun 216, 217, 220, 240 Kâtebi Torshizi 224 Kazia, King 477 Kazymov, M.D. 328, 329 Kermâni, Nâṣeri, Eskandar-nâme 518–19 Ketâb al-aghâni (Abu’l-Faraj Eṣfahâni) 101, 249 Ketâb al-estamâkhis 466 Ketâb al-oluf (Abu-Maʿshar) 466 Ketâb al-sheʿr wa’ l-shoʿarâʾ (EbnQoteybe) 101, 249, 268 Ketâb al-tijân (Ebn-Heshâm) 406, 412, 488, 493 Ketâb sovâr al-aqâlim 438 Key Khosrow, King 18, 73, 325, 462, 479, 480, 498, 517, 527 Key Qobâd 349 Key-Kâʾus (Kâvus) b. Eskander, Qâbus-nâme 8, 16, 77, 436 Key-Kâʾus (Kâvus), Sultan Ezz-alDin 8, 350–51 Keyanid dynasty 382, 447, 457, 479 Keyd, King 418, 430, 439, 444, 445, 450, 451–52, 454, 462, 528 Keydâvar 528

Khʷadây-nâmag 389, 397, 422, 424, 445 khafıf 95 Khairallah, Asʻad 251, 264, 279 Khʷâja Abu-Naṣr b. Manṣur 104 Khʷâju Kermâni Gol va Nowruz 80, 220–21, 222–23, 227–28 Homây va Homâyun 100, 289 Kamâl-nâme 80 Khamse 79, 80 Rowżat al-anvâr 64, 79–80 Khaleghi-Motlagh, Djalal 324, 340, 345 Khamse (Amir Khosrow) 78–79, 126, 188, 285, 491, 510 Khamse (Jamâli) 141, 197, 371, 511–12 Khamse (Jâmi) 82, 83, 231 Khamse (Khʷâju Kermâni) 79, 80 Khamse (Neẓâmi) 4, 44, 57, 59, 63, 78, 82, 94, 119, 125, 146, 147, 236, 254, 285, 303, 358, 510, 512, 519 Eskandar in 461–90, 491 Khâqân-e Turân 511 Khâqâni 57, 58, 181 Toḥfat al-ʿErâqeyn 48–49, 132 Kharaqil 496 Khayyâm, ʿOmar 60–61 Khazars 419 Kheng bot va Sorkh bot (ʿOnṣori) 98 Kherad-nâme-ye Eskandari (Jâmi) 231, 435, 491, 504–10, 511, 516, 537 kherad-nâmes 497, 505, 507 616

INDEX Kherad-nâme az maqâlat-e ḥokamâ 434 Khetagurov, L.A. 145 Khezânat al-Ḥekma (Baghdad) 99 Kheżr 48–49, 142, 408, 409, 415, 416, 417, 419, 430, 441, 443, 455, 463, 484, 485, 486, 502, 503, 512 Khiyâl va veṣâl (Mowlânâ ʿAli Âsi) 290–91 Khosrow I Anushirvân, King 16, 62, 151, 172, 182, 183, 341, 396 Khosrow II Parviz, King 120, 121, 149–50, 172, 175, 186, 190, 192, 198, 201, 205, 212, 215, 216, 217, 218, 321–22, 345, 389, 446, 457, 458 Khosrow, King (son of Bahrâm IV) 321, 345 Khosrow o Shirin (Neẓâmi) 95, 119, 120–24, 128–29, 130, 131, 133, 134, 135, 136, 139, 140–42, 145, 148, 149–88, 189–246, 251, 257, 261, 269, 289, 293, 299, 315, 317, 325, 328, 350, 371 characters 172–88 critical responses 210–14 date of composition 155–57 historical and geographical context 149–55 language of images 168–72 and poems of love and adventure 215–26 responses to 188–214 Khosrow-nâme (ʿAṭṭâr) 106, 111– 18, 218–19, 220, 227

Kolliyât-e haft-jeldi-ye Eskandarnâme 532 Kolliyyât-e Haft peykar va Bahrâm-e Gur (anon.) 374 Korp Arslân, ʿAlâ-al-Din Moḥammad b. Aq-Sonqor 315–16, 336, 371 Kračkovskij, I. J. [I. Y. Krachkovskiĭ] 249, 251 Lakhmid dynasty 337 Lamaʿât (ʿErâqi) 230 Lâmeʿi 99 Landahur, Ebn-Saʿdân 533 Lazard, Gilbert 8, 442 Lees. W. Nassau 110 Leo, Archpriest 397, 401, 500 Letter of Tansar 386, 423 Letters on Wonders 400, 421, 457, 459 Leyli and Majnun 187, 236, 237, 247–311 legend in 15th century 290–92 Leyli, in Neẓâmi 268–69 Leyli va Majnun (Hâtefı) 124, 131, 203, 303–9, 310, 367 Leyli va Majnun (Jâmi) 134, 208, 231, 276, 277, 292, 293–302, 304 Leyli va Majnun (Maktabi Shirâzi) 309–11 Leyli va Majnun (Neẓâmi) 119, 120, 123–25, 128, 129, 131, 132, 134, 135, 139, 144, 145, 147, 156, 249, 252–77, 278, 286, 287, 288, 290, 291–92, 293–94, 301, 302, 303, 305, 306, 309, 371

617

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY formal characteristics 272–77 Leyli and other main characters 268–72 Neẓâmi’s re-reading of legend of Majnun 261–68 problem of the text 254–61 Leyli va Majnun (Soheyli) 291, 304 El libro de los buenos proverbios 433 Life of Alexander (Plutarch) 378, 385, 391, 402, 411, 432, 452, 456, 474, 489, 499, 519 Life of Apollonius of Tyana (Philostrates) 453–54 Lingwood, Chad 232 Lives of the Philosophers 433 Lobâb al-albâb (ʿOwfı) 8 Loghat-e Fors (Asadi) 98, 100 Lohrâsp, King 216 Loqmân 2, 528 Lysias 469 al-Madine al-fâżele (Fârabi) 463 Magerramov, T.A. 145, 278 Maghâzi al-nabi (Ṣarfı) 512 Maḥjub, Moḥammad-Jaʿfar 373, 522–23 Maḥmud of Ghazni, Sultan 98, 100, 441, 443, 445, 454, 522, 524 Maḥzun va Maḥbub (Jamâli) 286–89, 290 Majnun in Amir Khosrow 279–86 legend of 247–50 in Neẓâmi 270–72 Majnun va Leyli (Amir Khosrow) 260, 277–86, 287, 289, 292, 293, 294, 300, 305, 309

Makhzan al-asrâr (Neẓâmi) 57– 64, 65, 78, 80, 82, 119, 124, 126, 129, 132, 231, 309 Maktabi Shirâzi 205 Leyli va Majnun 135, 291, 309–11 Malek Arslân 39–40 al-Ma’mun, Caliph 99 Manṭeq al-ʿoshshâq (Owḥadi) 74 Manṭeq al-ṭeyr (ʿAṭṭâr) 50–51, 53, 231 Manuchehr Ḥakim 532–33, 536 Manuchehr Qare-chaqâi Khân 532 Manuchehr Shast-kalle 532 Manuchehri 441 Marâgheʾi, Moḥammad-Ḥoseyn 373 Marvazi, Daqâyeqi, Sendbâd-nâme 469 Mary the Copt 471 Maryam 182–84, 194, 217, 218 Massé, Henri 21 Masʿudi, Abu’l-Ḥasan ʿAli, Moruj al-dhahab 426–27, 450, 479, 500 Maʿṣum, Mir Moḥammad, Akbarnâme 512 Mathnavi-ye maʿnavi (Rumi) 5, 34, 52, 53–56, 231–32, 440, 514 mathnavis romantic pre-Safavid 90–118 secular didactic 1–89 Maṭlaʿ al-anvâr (Amir Khosrow) 64, 79, 129, 278 Maurice, Emperor 150, 172, 175, 183

618

INDEX Mehin Bânu, Queen 151, 153, 154, 193–94, 203–4, 206, 212, 213, 214 Mehr-Narseh 33 Mehr va Moshtari (ʿAṣṣâr Tabrizi) 202 Mehr va Negâr (Jamâli) 187, 188, 197–202 Mehtar Nasim 533, 534 Meisami, Julie Scott 127, 271 Melikian-Chirvani, Assadullah Souren 100 Menhâj al-abrâr (Ashraf of Marâghe) 371 Meʿrâj (ascent to heaven) 132–33, 142, 315 Merkelbach, Reinhold 402 Merṣâd al-ʿebâd men al-mabda ʾ elâ’ l-maʿâd (Najm-al-Din Dâye) 32–33, 43 Meskawayh, Abu-ʿAli 33 Metamorphoses (Ovid) 467 Metiokhos and Parthenope 98–99, 219 Meybodi, Abu’l-Fażl Rashid-alDin Aḥmad, Kashf al-asrâr va ʿoddat-al-abrâr 43, 413 Meysari, Ḥakim, Dânesh-nâme 3, 9–11, 15, 24 Midas, King of Phrygia 467–68 Minorsky, Vladimir 105, 111 minstrels 96 Mirkhʷând, Moḥammad b. Khâʷandshâh 332 Rowżat al-ṣafâ 430–31 mirrors-for-princes 314, 423, 434– 35, 455, 464, 465 Alexander mirrors 491–519

Moʾayyed-al-Din Nasafı 45–47 Nasim al-ṣabâ elâ’ l-ṣabâ 45–46 Pahlavân-nâme 46, 47 Mobârez-al-Din Moḥammad 222 Mobashsher b. Fâtek, Mokhtâr alḥekam va maḥâsen al-kalem 433, 434 Modarres-Rażavi, Moḥammad-Taqi 35 Moʿezz-al-Din 198 moḥâkât (imitation) 136 Moḥammad b. Ildegoz JahânPahlavân 155, 156, 157 Moḥammad b. Manṣur, Seyf-alḤaqq Abu’l-Mafâkher 28, 32 Moḥammad Shah (Mughal emperor) 518 Mojaddedi, Jawid 55 Mojmal al-tavârikh 153, 429, 450, 496 Mokhtâr al-ḥekam va maḥâsen alkalem (Mobashsher b. Fâtek) 433, 434 Mokhtâr-nâme (ʿAṭṭâr) 111, 117 Mokhtasar ketâb al-boldân (Ebn-alFaqih Hamadâni) 352, 353, 434, 488 Molé, Marijan 105 moluk al-ṭawâʾef 423 monâẓare 131 Mondher I 319, 321, 337, 363 Mongols 420, 430 moqaṭṭaʿât 4 al-Moqtader, Caliph 249 Moralia (De Alexandri Magni fortuna aut virtute) (Plutarch) 432–33

619

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Moruj al-dhahab (Masʿudi) 426– 27, 450, 479, 500 Moses 85, 405, 408–9, 412, 415, 482, 485 Moshkdâne 175, 180 Moṣibat-nâme (ʿAṭṭâr) 51–52, 132 motaqâreb 92, 464 Mount Alvand (Orontes) 153 Mount Bisotun 152, 185–86, 187, 194–95, 207, 214 Mowlânâ ʿAli ʿÂṣi, Khiyâl va vesâl 290–91 Moẓaffar b. Ḥoseyn, ʿAmid Abu’lFatḥ 104 Moẓaffar, Seyf-al-Din 180–81 Nadhri, Jura Bayk 309 Nafısi, Saʿid 6, 50, 74, 117, 522 Nâhid 383 naqqâls (professional storytellers) 275 Naqshband, Bahâ-al-Din 82 Nâṣer-al-Din Shah 519, 532 Nâṣer-e Dowlat 10 Nâṣer-e Khosrow, Abu-Moʿin 4, 23–27, 36 Divân 27 Rowshanâʾi-nâme 23–27, 33 Safar-nâme 23 Naṣiḥat al-moluk (Ghazâli) 174, 434–35 Nasim al-ṣabâ elâ’ l-ṣabâ (Moʾayyed-al-Din) 45–46 Naṣr II 6 Naṣr-e Qoteyb 450 Nativitas et victoria Alexandri Magni regis 500

Navâder al-falâsefe va’ l-ḥokamâ (Ebn-Esḥâq) 433 Navâʾi, Mir ʿAli-Shir 105, 203, 230, 237, 291, 294, 304 Sabʿa-yi sayyâr 371–72 Sadd-e Eskandari 510 Naẓire (emulation) 78 Nearchus, Admiral 499 Nebuchadnezzar II of Babylon (see also Bokht-e Naṣar) 434 Nectanebus, Pharaoh 382, 392, 394 Nehâyat al-arab fı akhbâr al-Fors va’ l-ʿArab (anon.) 175, 353, 424, 449 Neoplatonism 36, 396, 463, 497, 516 Nequmâkhos (Nicomachus) 468 Nestorianism 395, 396, 535 Neẓâm-al-Din Owliyâ 278, 358 Neẓâm-al-Molk, Siyar al-moluk 153, 176, 179, 314, 324 Neẓâmi ʿArużi, Chahâr maqâle 86 Neẓâmi of Ganje (Ganjavi) 47, 50, 74, 77, 81, 110, 115 Eskandar-nâme 91, 119, 124, 132–33, 137, 142–43, 144, 145, 146, 159, 164, 231, 414, 421, 451, 461–90, 491, 492, 494, 495, 497, 498, 503–4, 505, 506, 509, 511, 512, 514– 15, 516, 517, 518, 520, 524, 525, 536, 538, 541, 542 Haft peykar 91, 95, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 129, 132, 134–35, 142, 144, 145, 147, 159, 163, 180, 225, 226, 231, 286, 312–77, 462, 469 620

INDEX Khamse (Panj ganj) 4, 44, 57, 59, 63, 78, 79, 82, 94, 119, 125, 146, 147, 230, 254, 285, 303, 358, 461–90, 491, 510, 512, 519 Khosrow va Shirin 95, 119, 120– 24, 128–29, 130, 131, 133, 134, 135, 136, 139, 140–42, 145, 148, 149–88, 189–246, 251, 257, 261, 269, 289, 293, 299, 315, 317, 325, 328, 350, 371 Leyli va Majnun 119, 120, 123– 25, 128, 129, 131, 132, 134, 135, 139, 144, 145, 147, 156, 249, 252–77, 278, 286, 287, 288, 290, 291–92, 293–94, 301, 302, 303, 305, 306, 309, 371 Makhzan al-asrâr 57–64, 65, 78, 80, 82, 119, 124, 126, 129, 132, 231, 309 romantic poems 119–48 Nicanor 535 Nicholson, Reynold A. 54, 55 Nisâburi, Abu-Esḥaq Ebrâhim, Qeṣaṣ al-anbiyâ 418–19 Nitétis 382 Nöldeke, Theodore 11, 389, 395 Noʿmân I of Hira 318–19, 363 Noṣrat-al-Din Abu-Bakr 156 Noṣrat-al-Din Bishkin b. Moḥammad 464 Nowfal b. Mosâḥeq 248, 262, 265, 280, 288, 298, 308 Nuḥ I 8 Nushâbe, Queen 462, 476–78, 482, 517, 524

ʿObeyd-Allâh, Nâṣer-al-Din 82 Odatis 216, 240 Ohrmazd 401 Olympias 382, 392, 393 ʿOmar, Caliph 36 ʿOmâre Ebn-Zeyd, Qeṣṣat al-Eskandar 398, 450, 493, 500, 520 ʿOnsori, Abu’l-Qâsem 100, 105, 441 Kheng bot va Sorkh bot 98 Shâdbahr va ʿEyn-al-Ḥayât 98 Vâmeq va Adhrâ 97–99, 219 oral tradition 96, 105, 328, 520, 531 ʿOrfı, Farhâd va Shirin 188 Orsatti, Paola 119–48, 149–246, 247–311, 312–77, 511 ʿOrwa b. Ḥezâm 101 ʿOthmân, Caliph 36 Oveys, Sheykh 210, 223 Ovid, Metamorphoses 467 ʿOwfı, Moḥammad 98 Javâmeʿ al-ḥekâyât 344, 436–37 Lobâb al-albâb 8 Owḥad-al-Din, Shaikh 74 Owḥadi 88 Divân 74 Jâm-e Jam 73–77 Manṭeq al-ʿoshshâq 74 Oxyartes 380 ʿOyun al-akhbâr (Ebn-Qoteybe) 353–55 Pahlavân-nâme (Moʾayyed-al-Din) 46, 47 Palladius, Bishop of Helenopolis, Commonitorium Palladii 412, 434, 488

621

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Panj ganj (ʿEmâd-al-Din) 80–81 Panj ganj (Neẓâmi) see Khamse Pantke, Mechthild 326, 373, 374 Parthenope, St. 99, 219 Parthians 96, 381, 387, 388, 396, 423 Parthicus/Persicus 380, 388 Peeters, Paul 184 Peregrinaggio di tre giovani figliuoli del re di Serendippo (anon.) 374–77 Persepolis 380, 385, 393, 446 Pétis de la Croix, François 334 Pezhmân-Bakhtiyâri, Ḥoseyn 146 Philip II of Macedon 382, 383, 392, 427, 466, 505, 527 Philostratus, Life of Apollonius of Tyana 453–54 Piemontese, Angelo Michele 495 Pir Budâq 371 Plato 136, 438, 469, 470, 472, 494– 95, 496, 497, 499, 501, 505, 507, 514, 516, 530, 533 Critias 503 Protagoras 469 Timaeus 503 Plutarch Life of Alexander 378, 385, 391, 402, 411, 432, 452, 456, 474, 489, 499, 519 Moralia (De Alexandri Magni fortuna aut virtute) 432–33 Poetics (Aristotle) 137–38 Polignac, François de 455 Poros (see also Fur), King 393, 394, 431, 444, 447, 452 Porphyry 469, 496, 505 Problems (Aristotle) 501

Propp, Vladimir 329 Protagoras (Plato) 469 Provincial Capitals of Êrânšahr 386 Pseudo-Callisthenes (Alexander Romance) 381, 382, 389, 391–403, 406, 408, 411, 412, 415, 416, 420, 421, 423, 424, 425, 426–27, 428, 430, 431, 433, 434, 437, 438, 443, 444, 445, 447, 448, 449, 451, 452, 456, 457, 459, 462, 469, 476, 477, 482, 488, 496, 499, 502, 508, 520, 521, 522–23, 530, 537, 539, 540 Pseudo-Ferdowsi, Yusof va Zoleikhâ 239, 241 Ptolemy 390 Canon 422 Ptolemy II 427 Puccini, Giacomo 335 Pythagoras 505 Pytheas of Massalia 482 Qâbus-nâme (Key-Kâʾus) 8, 16, 77, 436 Qajar dynasty 55, 518, 532 Qâneʾi, Aḥmad b. Maḥmud 8 Qarakhanid dynasty 524 Qâsem b. Amir Manṣur 309 Qâsem-e Anvâr 304 qaṣide(s) 3, 23, 26, 29, 34,48, 52, 75, 88, 258, 266, 441 Qazvini, Zakariyyâ, ʿAjâʾeb al-makhluqât 489 Qeṣaṣ al-anbiyâ 417–21, 427, 429, 431, 443, 445, 477, 485, 520, 521, 523, 531

622

INDEX Qeṣaṣ al-anbiyâ (Nisâburi) 418–19 Qeṣṣat Bahrām-shāh (anon.) 373–74 Qeṣṣat al-Eskandar (ʿOmâre EbnZeyd) 398, 450, 493, 500, 520 Qeṣṣe-ye Dhu’ l-Qarneyn 503, 535 Qeṣṣe-ye Eskandar va âb-e ḥayât 440–41 qeṭʿe 4 Qeydâfe, Queen of Andalus 444, 448–49, 450, 462, 477, 523, 524 Qeys al-ʿÂmeri 287 Qeys b. Molavvaḥ 247, 248, 262, 295 Qezel Arslân 155, 156 Qobâd II 150, 222 Qoṭb 148 Qurʾan 406–8, 410–13, 415, 416, 418, 420, 434, 466, 472, 481, 485, 488, 523, 525, 535 al-Raffâ, Moḥammad b. ʿAli 35 Râḥat al-ṣodur (Ravândi) 532 Rashid-al-Din, Jâmeʿ al-tavârikh 430 Rashid-al-Din Fażl-Allâh 7 Ravândi, Moḥammad b. ʿAli b. Soleymân, Râḥat al-ṣodur 532 Râzi, Abu’l-Fotuḥ, Rowż al-jenân va rowḥ al-janân 413 Resâle fı ta ʾthir al-ruḥâniyyât fi’ l-morakkabât (Apollonius) 471 Resâle fı’ l-qadar (Avicenna) 232 Ring of the Dove, The (Ebn-Ḥazm) 169

Ritter, Hellmut 50, 51, 53, 117, 144, 146, 169, 251, 252 Riyâż al-ʿâsheqin (Ashraf of Marâghe) 371 robâʿiyyât 4 Rosen, Georg 55 Rosol-nâme (Kashmiri) 517 Rowshan, Moḥammad 147 Rowshanâʾi-nâme (Nâṣer-e Khosrow) 23–27, 33 Rowshanak see Roxane Rowż al-jenân va rowḥ al-janân (Râzi) 413 Rowżat al-anvâr (Khʷâju Kermâni) 64, 79–80 Rowżat al-ṣafâ (Mirkʷhând) 430–31 Roxane (Rowshanak) 380, 381, 393, 430, 447, 460–61, 462, 530 Rubanovich, Julia 477 Rudaki, Abu-ʿAbd-Allâh Jaʿfar 6–8 Rum, Sultanate of 8 Rumi, Jalâl-al-Din 49–50 Mathnavi-ye maʿnavi 5, 34, 52, 53–56, 231–32, 440, 514 Rusanov, M.A. 260 Ruzbehân Baqli Shirâzi 81 ʿAbhar al-ʿâsheqin 43 Rypka, Jan 27, 105, 111, 144, 146, 221, 285–86 Saʿâdat-nâme (Nâṣer-al-Din b. Khosrow Eṣfahâni) 23 Sabʿa-yi sayyâr (Navâʾi) 371–72 Sabʿe (Haft owrang) (Jâmi) 82, 230, 372, 504

623

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Ṣâber Shirâzi 188 Sadd-e Eskandari (Navâʾi) 510 Saʿdi of Shiraz 27, 50, 77 Bustân (Saʿdi-nâme) 64–73, 81 Golestân 66, 67, 71, 72 Ṣafâ, Dhabib-Allâh 100, 247, 255 Ṣafâ-nâme (ʿEmâd-al-Din Faqih) 81 Safar-nâme (Nâṣer-e Khosrow) 23 Safavid dynasty 516, 518 Ṣâfı, Amin-al-Din Moḥammad, Bahrâm va Golandâm 221, 224–26 Ṣaḥiḥ (Bokhâri) 327, 328, 332 Šahrestânîhâ î Êrânšahr 386, 389 Saʿidi-Sirjâni, ʿAli-Akbar 291–92 Salâmân va Absâl (Jâmi) 83–84, 143, 231–36, 246, 293 Sâlem Abu’l-ʿAlâʾ 399, 423, 438 al-Siyâse al-ʿâmmiyye 435 Salimi Jâruni, Shirin va Farhâd 187–88, 291 Sallâm the Interpreter 420, 478 Saʿd-e Salmân, Masʿud, Divân 442 Sanâʾi, Abu’l-Majd Majdud b. Âdam 4, 27–42, 43–45, 47, 49, 50, 54, 57–58, 59, 80, 85, 88, 95 Divân-e Sanâʾi 34, 442 Ḥadiqat al-ḥaqiqe va shariʿat al-ṭariqe (Fakhri-nâme) 28, 33–42, 43, 45, 52, 53, 57, 74, 77, 132, 231, 312, 314, 467 Kâr-nâme-ye Balkhi 28 Seyr al-ʿebâd elâ’ l-maʿâd 28, 29–33, 35, 36–37, 80 Sanjar, Sultan 45, 46, 62

Ṣarfı, Yaʿqub Kashmiri, Maghâzi al-nabi 512 Sasanid Empire/dynasty 96, 120, 149, 150, 151, 215, 216, 281, 316, 387, 388, 389, 390, 396, 397, 401, 444, 446, 458, 479, 539 Sattâri, Jalâl 225 Sâvaji, Salmân, Jamshid va Khʷorshid 202, 221, 223–24 al-Ṣâwi, ʿAbd-Allâh 373 Ṣâyen, Shams-al-Din Maḥmud 79 Scarcia, Gianroberto 183, 186 Scholasticus, Evagrius 173 Scythians 405, 419, 456 Secretum secretorum (Serr al-asrâr) 399 Sekandar-nâme (Sadd-e Sekandar/Bâgh-e Eram) (Thanâʾi Mashhadi) 517–18 Sekandar-nâme-ye jabali (anon.) 518 Seljuk dynasty 516 Selselat al-dhahab (Jâmi) 85–88, 230, 372 Semiramis, Queen 152–53 Semnâr/Sennemâr 318–19, 339, 351 Sendbâd-nâme 1, 8, 239, 469 Sendbâd-nâme (Marvazi) 469 Sendbâd-nâme (Ẓahiri Samarqandi) 239, 469 Sergius, St. 173–74 serqat/sareqe 126–27 Serr al-asrâr (Secretum secretorum) 399 Sesostris/Sesonchosis 379 624

INDEX Seth 421 Seven Cupolas 313, 314, 316, 323, 324, 347, 348, 350, 351, 363 Seyr al-ʿebâd elâ’ l-maʿâd (Sanâʾi) 28, 29–33, 35, 36–37, 80 Shabdiz 152 Shâdbahr va ʿEyn-al-Ḥayât (ʿOnsori) 98 Shaddâd b. ʿÂd 427, 480–81 Shafı, Moḥammad 97–98 Shafiʿi-Kadkani, Moḥammad-Reżā 117 Shâh Gharib Mirzâ 367 Shâh-malek 524 Shâh-nâme (Book of Kings, Ferdowsi) 4, 7, 11–20, 54, 58, 92, 121–22, 135, 150, 157, 161, 174, 177, 186, 216, 217, 223, 226, 231, 237, 275, 317, 318, 319, 321, 322, 326, 338, 340–43, 344, 345, 350, 353, 354–56, 361, 370, 373, 389, 396, 401, 513, 523 Eskandar in 443–61, 462, 465, 473, 477, 480, 483, 484, 486, 488, 491, 492, 494, 495, 503, 504, 506, 511, 516, 519, 520, 524, 525, 528, 538–39, 540 Shahrestānihā ı Ērān 352 Shâhjahân-âbâdi, Vâred, Farât-e farrokhi 512 Shakar 185, 191, 194, 195, 204, 217, 218 Shalmaneser V of Assyria 434 Shâmlu, Aḥmad 148 Shams-al-Din Moḥammad 224 Shams-al-Din of Tabriz 55

Shams-e Qeys 4 Shâpur I 428 Shâpur II 387, 401–2, 457, 458 Sharaf-nâme see Eskandar-nâme (Neẓâmi) Shaybanid dynasty 517 Shebli 251 Shemʿi 72 Shirin 93, 115, 120, 122, 123, 128, 129, 131, 136, 151–52, 154, 172–82, 191–92, 193–97, 203, 213–14 Shirin va Farhâd (Salimi Jâruni) 187-88, 291 Shirin va Khosrow (Amir Khosrow) 128–29, 130, 131, 134, 144, 158, 167, 187, 188–97, 207, 208, 209, 214, 227, 229, 278, 279, 285 Shirin va Khosrow (Hâtefı) 133–34, 144, 202–9, 218, 221, 223, 228, 241, 304, 367, 368 Sibylline Oracles 387 Simocatta, Theophylact 173, 389 Simoni, Renato 335 Sindbad, Book of 394 Sirat al-Eskandar (Ebn-Mofarrej Ṣuri) 521, 535 Sirat al-malek Eskandar Dhu’ lQar­neyn (Ebn-ʿAṭiye, Yusof [Qozmān], copyist) 398, 520–21 Sirat-e Firuz-Shâhi (anon.) 498 Siyar al-ʿAjam 353 Siyar al-moluk (Neẓâm-al-Molk) 153, 176, 179, 314, 324 siyar moluk al-ʿAjam 390, 422 625

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY al-Siyâse al-ʿâmmiyye (Sâlem Abu’l ʿAlâʾ) 435 Skylitzes, John, Synopsis Historion 488 Sobḥat al-abrâr (Jâmi) 64, 82–83, 231 Socrates 469, 472, 489–90, 497, 505 Soḥbat-nâme (Emâd-al-Din Faqih) 81 Soheyli, Amir Neẓâm-al-Din Aḥmad, Leyli va Majnun 291, 304 Sohravardi, Shehâb-al-Din 43 Sokhan 518 Solomon 331–32, 379, 414–15, 523 Solṭân-Ḥoseyn Bâyqarâ, Sultan 83, 85, 230, 236, 367, 504, 510 Solvân al-moṭâʿ (Ebn-Ẓafar alṢeqelli) 340 Soruri 72, 73 Sprenger, Aloys 110 Stateira II 380 Stephan, Bishop of Hierapolis 182, 184 Stheneboea (Euripides) 238 storytellers (qoṣṣâṣ) 96, 275, 378, 520, 539 Strabo, Geography 411 Sudi 72 Sufı literature 3, 28 Surâbâdi, Abu-Bakr ʿAtiq, Tafsir 416–17 Susa 380 Sylvester I, Pope (St. Sylvester) 416 Synopsis Historion (Skylitzes) 488 Syriac Alexander Homily 403, 405, 408, 410, 415, 420

Syriac Alexander Legend 403–4, 405, 410, 424 Ṭabari, Abu-Jaʿfar Moḥammad b. Jarir Tafsir al-Ṭabari 410, 412–13, 420, 428, 475 Ta ʾrikh al-rosol wa’ l-moluk 121, 176, 317, 327, 328, 339, 343, 349, 353, 410, 424, 425–26, 427 Tarjome-ye Tafsir-e Ṭabari 412 Ṭabaristân 122 Tacitus, Annales 387, 482 Tafsir (Surâbâdi) 416–17 Tafsir al-Ṭabari (Ṭabari) 410, 412– 13, 420, 428, 475 Ṭahmâsp Ṣafavi, Shah 513, 517 Taḥrimat al-qalam (Sanâʾi?) 44 Tâj al-tarâjem fı tafsir al-Qorʾân le’ l-aʻ âjem (Esfarâyeni) 413, 414, 420 Takallu, Ḥasan-Beyg ʿAtâbi, Eskandar-nâme 518 takhyil (images) 139 Talmud, Babylonian 411, 415, 418, 420 Talmud, Palestinian 499 Tamerlane (Timur) 198, 511 Tâq-e Bostân 185 Tarbiyat, Moḥammad-ʿAli 99 Târikh (Balʿâmi) 176, 339, 343, 344, 349, 353, 427–28 Ta ʾrikh al-rosol wa’ l-moluk (Ṭabari) 121, 176, 317, 327, 328, 339, 343, 349, 353, 410, 425–26, 427

626

INDEX Târikh-e Beyhaqi (Beyhaqi) 431– 32, 448 Târikh-e Moẓaffar Yunâni 535 Târikh-e Sistân 432 Târikh-e Ṭarbarestân (Ebn-Esfandiyâr) 423 Târikh-e Yazd (Jaʿfari) 432 Târikh-e moluk-e ʿAjam 344 tarjome 43 Tarjome-ye Tafsir-e Ṭabari 412 Ṭarsusi, Moḥammad b. Ḥasan b. ʿAli b. Musâ Abu-Ṭâher Abu Moslem-nâme 526 Dârâb-nâme 99, 450–51, 495, 501, 524, 526–31, 533, 542 taṣavvuf 27 tatabboʿ 126 al-Tebr al-masbuk fı naṣiḥat almoluk (Ghazâli) 435 Testament of Adam 420 Thaʿâlebi, Abu-Manṣur 153, 424, 426 Ghorâr akhbâr moluk al-Fors 450 Thaʿlabi, Abu-Esḥâq 424 ʿArâʾes al-majâles 417 Thanâʾi Mashhadi, Khᵂâje Ḥoseyn, Sekandar-nâme (Sadd-e Sekandar/Bâgh-e Eram) 517–18 Tharvatiyân, Behruz 148, 254, 255, 256, 258, 274 Thecla, St. 219 Thomas, St. 453 Thousand and One Nights 67, 174, 328–29, 334, 341, 395, 435 Timaeus (Plato) 503 Timur see Tamerlane

Timur-nâme (Ẓafar-nâme) (Hâtefı) 511 Timurid dynasty 511, 516 Tiridates, King of Armenia 458 Tobbaʿ-al-Aqran, King 425 Toghrel Beg, Sultan 104 Toghrel III b. Arslân, Sultan 155, 315 Toghrel II, Sultan 43 Toḥfat al-aḥrâr (Jâmi) 64, 82, 129, 231, 232 Toḥfat al-ʿErâqeyn (Khâqâni) 48–49, 132 Toḥfat al-moluk (Eṣfahâni) 442 Tortel, Christiane 52 Towḥid 142 Trabulsi, Amjad 127 Trajan, Emperor 388, 391 Tramezzino, Michele 376 Tristan and Isolde 94, 110 Trogus, Pompeus 390 Tubarlaq, King 404 Turândokht 334–35 Ṭusi, Moḥammad, ʿAjâyeb al-makhluqât 438–40, 495, 527 Ṭusi, Naṣir-al-Din 2, 83, 232–33, 238 Akhlâq-e nâṣeri 497 ʿUdhri love (al-ḥobb al-ʿodhri) 250–52, 255, 263–64, 267, 290, 302 Ulugh Beg 511 Ulysses 379 Umayyad Caliphate 248, 249, 250, 252, 399, 433

627

PERSIAN NARRATIVE POETRY Utas, Bo 45, 98, 99 Uzbekistan 534 Vahshi Bâfqi 188 Valens, Vettius 469, 505 Valerius, Julius 402 Vâmeq va Adhrâ (ʿOnsori) 97–99, 219, 236 Varqe va Golshâh (ʿAyyuqi) 100– 103, 105, 109, 221 vasf 136 Verethraghna 344, 348 Veṣâl (Shirâzi) 188 Vis va Râmin (Gorgâni) 95, 104– 11, 115, 130, 161, 162–63, 170, 185, 218, 221, 229, 242 Vishtâsp, King 97, 151 Voltaire, Zadig, ou de la destinée 365 Wagner, Richard 110 Wahb Ebn-Monabbeh 406, 410, 412, 413–14, 488, 493 Wahrām ī Warzāwand 121, 317, 324, 344, 346, 347 Wâlebi, Abu-Bakr, Divân al-Maj­ nun 249, 263, 266 al-Wâtheq, Caliph 420, 478 Wesselski, Albert 332, 376 Whinfield, Edward 55 Wickens, G.M. 67 Williams, Alan 55 Wilson, Charles 55 Wonders and Mirabilia of Sistan (Abdîh ud sahîgîh î Sagestân) 386 Würsch, Renate 60

Xenophon 380 Cyropaedia 96 Ephesiaca 238 Xerxes I the Great 380, 393, 457 Xwadây-nâmag 121 Yamanaka, Yuriko 446 Yamin-al-Dowle 98 Yaʿqub Beg Âq Qoyunlu 83, 232, 309 Yasavi, Ahmad 534 Yashts 20 Yazdegerd III 479 Yazdgerd I Bazehgar 317–18, 338, 340, 368 Yazdi, Jamâli, Farrokh-nâme 421 Yusof va Zoleikhâ (PseudoFerdowsi) 239, 241 Yusof va Zoleykhâ (Jâmi) 91, 95, 139, 231, 236–46, 293 Yusof and Zoleykhâ 236 Yusofı, Gholâm-Ḥoseyn 73 Zadig, ou de la destinée (Voltaire) 365 Ẓafar-nâme (Ashraf of Marâghe) 371 Ẓafar-name (Hâtefı) 511 Ẓafar-nâme (Kashmiri) 517 Ẓahiri of Samarkand, Sendbâd-nâme 239, 469 Zâl 536 Żamiri (Kamâl-al-Din Ḥoseyn Eṣfahâni) 518 Zand 386, 387 Zand î Wahman Yasn 386 Zanjâni, Barât 147, 254, 260 628

INDEX Zariades (Zarêr), Prince 96, 97, 216, 239 Zarrinkub, ʿAbd-al-Ḥoseyn 105, 185 Ẓell-al-Solṭân 518–19 Zeyd b. al-Molawwaḥ al-Khâreji 287 Zeyd va Zeynab (Astarâbâdi) 291 Zeyd and Zeynab 255, 256 Zeyn al-akhbâr (Gardizi) 428–29 Zipoli, Riccardo 126–27 Zobeyde 257 zohdiyyât 3, 23 Zoleykhâ 220, 239–46 Zoroastrianism 1, 2, 381, 383, 386–87, 388, 390, 404, 422, 423, 425, 427, 428, 446, 462, 473, 486, 496, 535

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