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In briefThe poet turns to the story of Khosrow and Shirin. He claims sixty thousand couplets for his work, complains that the king, misled by slanderers, gave the old tales no heed, hopes the chief minister will read them, and closes with a dehqan’s saying on experience.
Now I resume the histories of old,Of ’s love and Khosrow’s reign retold.
This ancient book, grown old, records the deedsAnd words of upright men for him who reads.
I now renew this record of the past,Memorial of the mighty, made to last.
Full sixty thousand couplets I have wrought,A lasting monument of verse and thought.
No Persian book of verse on earth can showSuch vast endurance in its measured flow.
Sift all these lines, and critics will agreeFive hundred flawed ones are the most they see!
Yet that world-ruling king of exalted birth,Who shines supreme above the lords of earth,
Gave these old tales no heed; the fault was laidOn evil fortune and the slanderer’s trade.
They envied all my labor and its song,And poisoned royal judgment with their wrong.
But when the Shah’s chief reads these tales with rareDiscernment, and finds all their worth laid bare,
His bounty then may lift my heart from fear;May no foe’s malice ever reach his ear.
Then he may speak of me before the throne,And let the seed bear fruit that toil has sown.
May crown and throne endure while ages run,His star of Fortune brighter than the sun.
A learned , old and wise, once said:“By knowledge humankind is helped and led.
Both grief and joy are ours to undergo;The salt and bitter, too, our tongues must know.
For youths, though wise and noble from their birth,Win only through experience their worth.
Experience brings excellence to view,The key to every task we would pursue.”
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In briefShirin, Khosrow’s love since before his accession, has been neglected through the war with Bahram. As he rides out with a vast hunting train she dresses in her finest, climbs to the roof, and reproaches him in Pahlavi. He weeps, sends her to his bower, and marries her.
While still his father lived, Parviz was bold,A youthful of royal mold.
was then his mate, his living light,Dear as the pupils shining in his sight.
Among the moon-faced beauties of that place,No other form could win his heart or grace.
As king, he spent a time far from her side,At war with , restless, forced to ride.
She mourned his waning love; she could not sleep,And, while he stayed away, would wake and weep.
One day the Shah resolved to hunt the plain,As kings had done through many an ancient reign.
The hunt was furnished with imperial care,With pomp and servants gathered everywhere.
Three hundred steeds, all decked in beaten gold,Were led before the king, high-necked and bold.
Eleven hundred sixty servants came,On foot, with javelins, to serve his name.
A thousand forty men bore club and blade,With s worn beneath their rich brocade.
Seven hundred falconers came in train,With hawks and falcons for the hunting plain.
Sparrow-hawks too they carried for the prey,While mounted keepers followed on the way.
Three hundred men who tended cheetahs rode,Behind the hawks along the hunting road.
They led full seventy lions, pards in train,All trained, their mouths restrained by golden chain.
Each beast in Chinese brocade showed royal pride,With folds of silk drawn tightly round its hide.
Seven hundred hounds for deer were kept in line,Their golden collars cast a radiant shine.
Behind them, borne on camels, rode a throngOf minstrels, full two thousand, skilled in song.
Gold crowns were set above each singer’s brow,Five hundred camels bore the tentage now.
Those bore the seats, pavilions, screens for rest,And tents prepared for every beast and guest.
Two hundred slaves were there to tend the fire,And lift the censers with their perfumed pyre.
They burned rich aloeswood; the road was sweetWith ambergris and smoke beneath their feet.
Before the Shah two hundred youths advanced,By saffron blooms and narcissus enhanced.
They bore their flowers in ordered, bright array,And fragrance reached the monarch on his way.
One hundred water-bearers led the train,And sprinkled down the dust along the plain.
Rose-water fell across the scented ground,And ambergris spread fragrance all around.
So sudden gusts would leave no dusty traceUpon the king of that auspicious race.
Three hundred youthful princes rode beside,In yellow, red, and violet-dyed pride.
The king rode, high,With crown and earrings flashing toward the sky.
Gold cloth, a torque, bright armlets met the sight,A gold belt’s jeweled fittings flashed with light.
When Shirin heard, “The mighty Shah is near,Before his army, coming toward us here,”
She put a yellow musk-sweet vestment on,And made her face like blooms at early dawn.
She wore a Roman robe of crimson thread,On cloth of gold, with jeweled patterns spread.
Upon her head she set a royal crown,With Pahlevan-bright jewels blazing down.
She left the pleasant hall and climbed the roof,Her heart from every happiness aloof.
She waited there until the Shah drew near,Then tears ran down the face he once held dear.
At sight of him she rose to all her height,And spoke of former sweetness, love, and light.
Her ailing eyes washed cheeks like flowers in rain;The flowers were sound, the eyes were sick with pain.
All tears and beauty, she began her tale;In she voiced her love’s travail:
“O mighty lion, leader in the fight,Great conqueror, the pride of warriors’ might,
Where is that love, that flood of tears you bore,Which seeing Shirin healed in days before?
Where are those days that into night would creep,With smiling lips, while heart and eyes would weep?
Where are our bonds, our covenant of old?Where are the vows and oaths we used to hold?”
Her bitter, sorrowing tears began to flow,And stained her saffron robe with all her woe.
Khosrow beheld her tears; his own would run;His face turned yellow, likened to the sun.
He sent a led horse decked in beaten gold,And forty trusted Roman eunuchs bold.
They took her to his bower of gold and light,A dwelling rich with jewels shining bright.
Then to the hunting plain he rode along,With drinking comrades, wine and strains of song.
When hill and field had yielded all their pleasure,He turned back toward the city at his leisure.
The roads were dressed to welcome him from chase,While karnays, songs, and voices filled the place.
The king, the fruit of that exalted line,Rode toward his palace under Fortune’s sign.
From his bower Shirin came, her love expressed;She kissed his feet, the ground, and then his breast.
He bade the Mobad: “Keep reproach behind,And let no censure cloud your priestly mind;
Give her to Khosrow; let the tidings ring,And to the world this joyful message bring.”
He took her as his wife by custom old,The proper rite their age was taught to hold.
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In briefThe city curses the marriage and the nobles stay away three days. The Mobad tells the Shah to his face that Shirin stains the royal line. Khosrow has a bowl of blood carried in, then scoured and filled with wine, and the objection collapses into blessings.
When news of Khosrow’s marriage reached the court,The nobles and the troops heard this report:
They heard, “ is in the royal bower;The old affair has gained its former power.”
The city grieved; in every street and squareRose curses, pain, and sorrow everywhere.
For three days none of them came to his hall;At dawn upon the fourth he sent his call.
He seated them where noble men should meet,Then spoke with anxious care from his high seat:
“These past few days I have not seen you here;Your absence grieves my heart and dims its cheer.
Your hurt has hurt me; sorrow fills my mind,And in your grief no peace my heart can find.”
He spoke, but none replied to what was said;They held their tongues and bowed each silent head.
Aggrieved, they turned with anger in their gazeToward the Mobad, versed in sacred ways.
He read their looks, then rose in open sight,And voiced their bitter grievance and their plight.
He said, “O generous king of upright name,You came in youth to Fortune, crown, and fame.
You have seen Fortune’s kindness and its force,And heard how rulers’ deeds may shape their course.
Now royal stock is stained, its greatness gone;No former glory in that line lives on.
When sire is pure but mother’s virtue fails,No pure fruit ripens where her vice prevails.
None seeks the straight within a crooked way;Through uprightness, all faults are swept away.
Our hearts are sad: since a , fierce and great,Now sits beside the guardian of the state.
Had no other woman lived within the land,How could Iran’s Shah grant her his royal hand?
If Shirin only left the royal sight,Your face would fill the courts and world with light.
Your wise forefathers, upright, clean of thought,Would never turn toward what the Shah has sought.”
He spoke at length; the king made no reply,But kept his counsel, stern and seated high.
The Mobad said, “At dawn we come again;Perhaps the Shah will answer all the men.
Our speech today has lasted long; we mayReceive the king’s reply at break of day.”
At dawn they rose, prepared to serve the throne;Their thoughts on what was said were soon made known.
One said, “Such words should never have been heard,”Another, “Wisdom governed every word.”
A third said, “He will answer us today;May his auspicious words our fears allay.”
The approached with solemn grace;The nobles sat, each in his chosen place.
A servant brought a golden basin near,Whose burnished rim had shone like sunlight clear.
He bore it round before the chiefs in row,Where fresh, warm blood defiled the bowl below.
He set it gently by the monarch’s side;The nobles turned their faces all aside.
The hall grew loud with murmurs of dismay;They watched the Shah, their courage drained away.
The Shah asked, “Why, Iranians, meets my sightThis gory vessel that was pure and bright?”
The Mobad said, “That gore makes men abhorThe noble gold they reverenced before.”
When he had spoken, men removed it; thenThe bowl passed hand to hand among the men.
They scoured the bowl with earth and water clean,Till not a stain of gore could dim its sheen.
The bowl was clean; the man who washed it pouredThe wine within, its brightness now restored.
They sprinkled rosewater and musk; the bowlShone like the risen sun, its luster whole.
toward the priest then turned:“Is this the bowl that all men lately spurned?”
The Mobad answered, “May your days be bright;From evil now has goodness come to light.
Your order made a paradise from hell,And laid on ugly deeds a lovely spell.”
Khosrow replied, “Shirin, within this town,Was like that bowl when foulness weighed it down.
But in my bower, she is a bowl of wine;Her fragrance rises, sweetened now by mine.
Through me her name was stained; she did not courtThe friendship of the great, nor their support.”
Then all the nobles blessed his royal reign:“Long may your crown and throne on earth remain.
You make the good grow better by your hand;Those you make great stand foremost in the land.
You are our king, our Mobad and our guide,God’s shadow on the earth where we abide.”
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In briefShirin poisons Maryam unseen and a year later receives her chambers. At sixteen Shiruyeh neglects his lessons for savage toys, and his tutor takes fright. By the twenty-third year of the reign the Shah shuts Shiruyeh and more than three thousand of his followers in a comfortable prison.
From then the Shah’s great fortune mounted high,The moon became the sun within the sky.
He passed his days with ’s daughter, raisedAbove his other women, highest praised.
Because of her, grew sick with pain,Her cheeks were pale with envy’s inward stain.
At last she gave her poison, darkly planned,And died beneath her hidden hand.
No person knew the trick Shirin had played,For in her heart alone the plot was laid.
A year had passed since Maryam died; his fairGold chambers then he gave to Shirin’s care.
When reached at last his sixteenth year,His height above grown men began to appear.
His father summoned learned men to teachThe prince, and set all wisdom in his reach.
One Mobad held the royal charge to keepThe youth in view, a watch that knew no sleep.
One day the Mobad came from court and foundThe prince at sport, to idle pastimes bound.
He cast ’s pages to the floor,Refusing ancient wisdom’s moral lore.
In his left hand he clutched a wolf’s dried claw,A baleful plaything that the Mobad saw.
His right a horn, which against the claw he beat,Boasting of battle, bloodshed, and defeat.
The Mobad shivered at that grim design,Where slaughter stood inscribed in every sign.
He feared the harm that might in time ariseFrom such a luckless prince of haughty guise.
He saw the birth-chart; he had heard with dreadWhat minister and treasurer had said.
He sought the High Mobad in deep dismay:“This youth has given all his heart to play.”
The High Mobad approached the king with awe,And told him what the watchful Mobad saw.
The Shah then kept close watch upon his heir;His cheeks grew pale with grief and anxious care.
His heart was full of pain, his liver burnedAt what the star-reckoner had discerned.
He said, “I wait for Heaven’s Lord to showHow this affair will end in joy or woe.”
When twenty-three years of his reign had passed,Shiruyeh’s frame had grown both strong and vast.
The monarch’s mind, which once had smiled in ease,Grew troubled as his son grew by degrees.
He shut the youth within his palace walls,With one foster-brother in those royal halls.
All those attached to him who sought his aidAnd counsel were confined; with him they stayed.
More than three thousand men were gathered near,Confined with him, kept under watch in fear.
The royal workman opened hall to hall,To make one prison dwelling of them all.
With clothes and food, with gifts and coverings fine,They decked the halls and sent them slaves and wine.
Attendants served them; players came to play,And ample wealth was theirs throughout their stay.
At proper times they ate and took delight;Their forty guardsmen kept them in their sight.
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In briefThe poet gives the throne’s history: made for Fereydoon by Jahan Barzin, enlarged by each king, given the heavens by Jamasp, broken by Iskandar, its fragments hoarded. Khosrow gathers eleven hundred and twenty masters and rebuilds it in two years, with a jeweled carpet of the world spread before it.
I speak of , throne of kingly fame,Which Khosrow raised, as truthful tongues proclaim.
He set it in the hippodrome on high,A marvel built to captivate the eye.
Its oldest story reached ’s dark day,When that foul tyrant made the world obey.
When ’s heroic hand had thrustThe Arab tyranny into the dust,
A noble dwelt upon ’s height,Whom Fereydoon held high in royal sight.
was that favored man of might,Renowned within the realm, his name shone bright.
For that great Shah he made a jeweled throne,With gems like stars in splendor thickly sown.
When Fereydoon beheld the work complete,His joy rose high; he praised the artist’s feat.
He gave him silver coins, a rich reward:Full thirty thousand from the grateful lord.
A crown of gold, two earrings shining bright,Were added to the gifts in his delight.
He granted him by royal writ made sureBoth and to hold secure.
Those northern lands, granted by the monarch’s hand,Were like a paradise, so rich and grand.
To , youngest son, he gave commandOf all Iran, that ancient royal land.
He gave three treasures to his royal son,To add to Iran’s royal wealth, each one:
The jeweled throne; the ox-head of might,Whose fame through every royal hall burned bright;
And third, that gem of multifaceted designs,The , wherein all splendor shines.
When Iraj passed away, those treasures remained,And rejoiced in what he gained.
Each crowned king added something to that seat,And made its wealth and majesty complete.
When it came down to fortunate ,He raised its height and made its grandeur grow.
It passed in turn to ’s royal hand,Then reached , the ruler of the land.
Goshtasb beheld it, moved by what was shown:“Great work,” he said, “must never stay unknown.”
He said to wise , “O noble man,Add to this throne what lasting wisdom can.
Look everywhere; seek ways to win us praiseThat will endure beyond our mortal days.”
Jamasp beheld the throne; before his eyesLay wisdom’s key, a treasure for the wise.
He marked the ordered heavens’ every sign,And traced the courses of their vast design.
By order of the Shah, from Saturn’s height,He set each planet down to lunar light.
Thus through the years the throne passed evermore,Until it reached ’s royal store.
Each Shah who saw it added wealth and art,With gold and silver set in every part.
With ivory and wood added too,Its splendor through the generations grew.
In ignorance, Iskandar broke the throne,And shattered all the splendor it had known.
Yet nobles hid and saved full many a shard,And handed fragments down with watchful guard.
So matters stood until reigned;The throne’s old name through passing years remained.
He found no trace; so, leaving that, he soughtAnother throne, for his own glory wrought.
He lived to taste the joys of high command,Then died and left it to the royal land.
His heirs received it, each in turn and state,Until Parviz assumed the throne of fate.
From every land he summoned noble men,And spoke about the ancient throne again.
He found among them fragments of that seat,And hastened, glad to make the work complete.
He brought the throne of Ardeshir in view,And gathered all Iran’s best craftsmen too.
So in that victorious monarch’s days,They built the throne again for royal praise.
From and distant Chin the craftsmen sped,From , , Iran were led.
One thousand and one hundred twenty came;They knew the throne’s construction and its frame.
Each master had beneath him thirty hands,From Rum, Babylon, all Iran’s wide lands.
The Shah commanded all to labor hard,And every pause and respite firmly barred.
In two years’ toil they raised the royal throne,And when it rose, high Fortune brightly shone.
The royal cubit marked its measured span;One hundred seventy its length then ran.
Its breadth, one hundred twenty cubits wide,A mountain made of treasure, craft, and pride.
Five common cubits made the royal measure;So vast the throne that bore the king’s great treasure.
Each morning through the month a carpet lay,A different splendor greeted every day.
One hundred forty thousand plates of goldBore turquoise figures, wondrous to behold.
The nails and fittings were of silver rare,Exact in weight and fashioned with great care.
Each weighed full sixty-six mithqals; each shoneWithin the framework of the finished throne.
When Aries’ sun lit up the garden’s face,Behind the throne the plain stretched out in space.
When sunlight raged in Leo’s sign, the seatWas turned, its back against the blazing heat.
In Tir, the month of festival and fruit,The throne faced gardens, flower, branch, and root.
It caught the fragrance of the fruit and flowers,And filled with sweetness all the royal hours.
In winter days of rain and bitter cold,No seated lord felt storm within that hold.
The arches, screened with hangings rich and wide,Had and sable draped on every side.
Against the chill, the wardrobe keeper broughtA thousand globes of gold and silver wrought.
Each weighed five hundred mithqals, bright with flame,And glowed like coral in the royal frame.
One half lay in the fire to gather heat;The other faced the warriors at their seat.
The twelve celestial signs, the planets seven,The ordered motions of the vault of heaven,
The moon within whatever sign it crossed,And fixed and wandering lights through darkness tossed,
Were shown upon the throne to watching eyes,With all the measured turning of the skies.
One skilled in stars could judge how night had run,And how the heavens wheeled to bring the sun.
Among the towers some were made of gold;Their jeweled wealth was more than thought could hold.
No expert mind could count their full array,Or price the gems that blazed in bright display.
The cheapest cost some seventy gold coins’ weight;For some, seven hundred fell below their rate.
Full many crimson gems were beyond price,And lit the night like Venus clear as ice.
Three seats upon the throne were raised on high,Their jewels heaped in splendor to the eye.
Four golden steps, with gems inlaid between,Rose from one seat to the next in golden sheen.
They called the first the Ram’s Head, gleaming bright;There s sat with those of lesser might.
The next, called Lapis, rose in splendor proud,Where mighty horsemen sat above the crowd.
The turquoise seat above was set apartFor loyal ministers of mind and heart.
A cloth of gold, with jeweled fringes fine,Displayed the heavens in its woven design.
Seven realms, with dehqans, filled its woven ground;And scenes of warriors’ battles there were found.
With forty-eight crowned kings the fabric shone,Their royal crowns depicted, throne by throne.
Through seven years a peerless man of ChinHad worked whole worlds into its golden sheen.
When renewed the turning year,On ’s day he made his work appear.
They spread the cloth; with wine, a feast was made; sang praise while tuneful strings were played.
Upon the cloth the nobles’ jewels were cast;They called it the great carpet, rich and vast.
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In briefIn the twenty-eighth year Barbad comes to court, and Sarkash bribes the chamberlain to bar him. Barbad dyes his clothes and lute green, hides in a cypress in the royal garden, and sings three songs between cups. The delighted Shah finds him and makes him chief minstrel.
Still greater was the Shah on Fortune’s throne,While year by year the Shah’s renown had grown.
When twenty-eight full years had crowned his reign,No suitor at his court had sought in vain,
heard news of all the royal cheer,And what the people told him reached his ear:
“The mighty Shah holds minstrels’ music dear;If both of you were brought for him to hear,
He would set you above in praise,And grant the higher honor to your lays.”
Then longing stirred within Barbad’s breast;Though well supplied, he would not stay at rest.
He left his province for the royal court,And studied all the minstrels and their sort.
When Sarkash heard him play, his heart was sore;Confounded, he could bear the sound no more.
He sought the chamberlain who kept the way,And bribed him well with gold and silver pay.
He said, “A minstrel waits before the gate,In years and skill above my present state.
He must not stand before the monarch’s eyes;We grow stale here, while he may freshly rise.”
The keeper heard and barred the singer’s road;Barbad gained nothing from the skill he showed.
Whenever he approached, the door was closed;His hope grew thin, his offered art opposed.
Despairing of the court, he made his wayWith lute in hand to where the gardens lay.
The royal garden drew him through its shade,Where served and tended every glade.
That gardener revived his fading hope,And gave his thwarted wish a wider scope.
At New Year feasts, the Shah would often spendTwo weeks in feasting there from end to end.
Barbad approached the gardener that same day,And friendship eased his trouble and delay.
He said, “You are the soul, and I the frame;One little favor is my modest claim.
When mighty Khosrow comes here for delight,Let me behold him, hidden from his sight.”
Mardvi replied, “This favor I will do,And lift the burden of concern from you.”
When Khosrow wished to visit that green place,The gardener’s heart shone bright with sudden grace.
He sought Barbad, and hastened to declare:“The Shah will soon be here; so now prepare.”
His clothes and lute alike he colored green,To rest among the branches there unseen.
He reached the spot the king would choose in spring,Where every year he held his festal ring.
A verdant cypress spread its leafy crown,Its branches broad and bending richly down.
Its limbs like warrior ranks stretched all around;He climbed, his lute held close, above the ground.
He waited, still and high, within the shade,Till Khosrow left his palace for the glade.
The gardener had prepared the royal place;With wine there came a youth of moonlike face.
The youthful bearer brought the king his wine;The Shah received the crystal, bright and fine.
The crimson liquor made the crystal fade,As though red fire through glass had been displayed.
When daylight yellowed and the evening came,And night was lapis with a deep-blue flame,
The minstrel in the cypress, hid from sight,Began a hero’s song that filled the night.
He sang so sweetly from the cypress bough,The wakeful Shah sat rapt and wondering now.
The tune that we call by namePoured from his voice like clear and living flame.
The court was struck with wonder and surprise,While nobles searched the dark with questing eyes.
The music drove Sarkash toward frantic dread;He knew the source, yet not a word he said.
He thought, “None plays like Barbad; none can knowThat heroic song, or make its music flow.”
The Shah commanded, “Search the garden through.”They searched and came with nothing else in view.
Sly Sarkash said, “No wonder at this thing;Fortune has filled the garden for the king.
So favored is the Shah that tree and roseMake music everywhere his garden grows.”
He added, “May his crown and head endure,His Fortune fixed, his royal glory sure.”
The lovely cupbearer came back and broughtThe wine; the king received the cup he sought.
The hidden minstrel changed his opening strain,And shaped another song to entertain.
He sang the tune called by name,The name by which that song to others came.
The Shah drank wine and listened to the sound,Then ordered, “Let this player now be found.
Search all the garden, every inward place.”They carried lamps and moved through every space.
They found no player underneath the trees,But cypress, willow, pheasant, rose, and breeze.
They saw the pheasants pacing through the close,But not the man from whom the music rose.
The king of kings commanded wine be poured,And raised his head to catch the coming chord.
Again the lute-song came with altered art,A tune called that pierced the heart.
Thus art can weave enchantment through its lays;Khosrow rose up in wonder and in praise.
The king called for a brimming cup of wine;It held one man, a measure of the vine.
He drank it in one breath, then spoke his thought,In wonder at the music’s marvel caught:
“Were this an angel, musk would form his frame,With ambergris; but were a to blame,
He could not sing, nor would he understandThe art of striking strings with skillful hand.
Find out the player; search both left and right,Through garden beds and flowers in the light.
I shall fill his mouth and lap with royal treasure,And make him chief of minstrels for my pleasure.”
When Barbad heard the monarch’s gracious call,His fear dissolved; he chose to answer all.
He climbed down from the cypress, glad of heart,And came before the king who praised his art.
He placed his face upon the dust, bowed low;The king said, “Speak! Who are you? Let me know.”
He answered, “Shah, I am your slave, and liveOnly by what your voice and throne can give.”
He told the king his story from the start,And all that he had borne in flesh and heart.
The king rejoiced to see him, as the roseRejoices when the springtime wind first blows.
He turned to Sarkash: “You have earned disgrace;Beside his sweetness, gall is in your place.
Why did you bar his entrance to my hall,And grudge his music to us, one and all?”
Barbad sang on; the monarch drank his wine,Till sleep began to make his head incline.
The Shah filled Barbad’s mouth with pearls of light;Barbad became chief minstrel in his sight.
The tale of Barbad now has reached its end;May you be spared a false, destructive friend.
Since chief and commoner to death descend,Why should the sage let grief his spirit bend?
So many, high and low, have passed from sight;I seek no waking from my final night.
Now sixty-six full years of life have fled;Let none bring harm upon an old man’s head.
When I have brought these famed lays to a close,My praise through every countryside then flows.
I shall not die; I live beyond death’s reach,For I have scattered wide the seed of speech.
All those of Faith, sound counsel, learned lore,Will praise my name when I am seen no more.
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In briefKhosrow gathers craftsmen and sets a Roman master over the palace at Madain. Told the walls must settle before vaulting, the Shah refuses; the man flees and returns in the fourth year to prove by a sealed cord that they have sunk seven cubits. The palace takes seven years.
I tell of and Khosrow’s grand seat,The palace he raised in splendor complete.
An Iranian sage recalled that former age,And calmly told the tale from memory’s page.
Khosrow sent men to , , Chin, and landsWhere skill had shaped the work of master hands.
From every clime three thousand craftsmen came,All men of practice, reputation, fame.
From these he chose a hundred masters tried,Whose skill in brick and mortar none denied.
Iran, , and Roman lands suppliedThe experts who were tested at his side.
From these he chose but thirty men of fame,And three supreme among the thirty came:
Two Romans and one craftsman from Iran;And at their head a Roman named .
The seasoned builder stood before the king,And spoke of what his soaring skill could bring.
The Roman’s words revealed his practiced skill;In speech he bested Iran’s speaker still.
The Shah said, “Hear the work that I command;Attend my words and clearly understand.
I need a palace for my child and line,To last two hundred years by your design.
No rain, no snow, no sun shall make it bow,Nor heat nor cold shall ever harm it now.”
The expert took the task: “My skill,” he said,“Is equal to the work that lies ahead.”
Ten royal cubits deep he laid the base;Five royal cubits marked its breadth of space.
With stone and plaster, following his art,He laid foundations, mindful of his part.
When palace walls had risen from the clay,He came before the Shah without delay.
He said, “Send men whose years have made them wise,Whose practiced knowledge fits them to advise.
A kindly Mobad with them should be sent,To view the wall and judge the work’s extent.”
The Shah sent men to view the work as planned;They saw the wall, how straight it came to stand.
The artist brought them silk, and from that silkThey twisted one thin cord, as pale as milk.
They measured from the wall-top to the ground,And in the cord preserved the height they found.
He measured out the cord before their eyes,Before the Shah’s officials, old and wise.
He bore it to the treasury to seal,And gave the keeper charge with honest zeal.
Then, at the court, he spoke in measured tone:“The walls have risen high in brick and stone.
Although the Shah has urged me, ‘Build with speed,’I will not press the work beyond its need.
For forty days allow the work to rest;The Shah chose me from craftsmen he deemed best.
When it is time to raise the vault on high,Its height shall rival Saturn in the sky.
Let not the Shah’s wrath ruin careful toil,Nor haste make sound and ordered labor spoil.”
Khosrow replied, “Why seek delay today,And let your discontent hold work at bay?
You must not leave the work to stand this way;No longer let delay prolong your stay.”
He ordered thirty thousand coins be paidIn silver, lest the man should be dismayed.
They paid the man to keep his anger tame;Yet still he feared his fellow craftsmen’s blame.
If experts saw the haste his work displayed,He stood to lose his living and his trade.
And if the palace fell, his name would fall;His fortune, too; he would have lost it all.
That night he disappeared from every eye;None knew where he had gone, nor could say why.
When Khosrow heard, “The Roman’s fled away,”His wrath struck him who brought the news that day.
He cried, “How could a dullard dare to claimSuch airs before my throne and royal name?”
He ordered, “View the work from end to end,And all the Romans into prison send.
Bring craftsmen here, and let the workmen bearThe plaster, bricks and stones we must prepare.”
But those who came to view the walls took flight;Fearing the Shah, they fled beyond his sight.
The Shah was forced to leave the work alone,And turned his mind where other skill was known.
He looked to Ahvaz, hoping he might meetAn architect whose skill was made complete.
For three full years they searched at his command,But no surpassing master crossed the land.
Still people spoke about the former man,The architect who had conceived the plan.
Then in the fourth year he retraced the road;Swift ran the tidings to the king’s abode.
A prudent man informed the anxious king;The Roman came as swiftly as on wing.
The Shah said, “Guilty man, what can you say?What plea will turn my wrath from you away?”
The Roman said, “If now the king will sendOne trusted man with me, my case may mend.
I will explain my doings on the site;When truth is shown, my pardon will be right.”
The Shah dispatched them from the palace gate,The noble artist and his man of state.
The clever Roman took the measuring line,And with the Shah’s own man reviewed the sign.
They measured; seven cubits less they foundThan when the cord first reached from wall to ground.
They carried back the line in open sight;The expert’s comrade set the matter right.
The Roman said, “Had I raised vault and wall,No work, O Shah, could have endured at all.
No arch or roof or chamber would have stayed;And I would answer for the ruin made.”
Khosrow perceived the truth within his speech,And saw that skill had justified its reach.
He freed the prisoners, harmful men and kind;No one within the prison stayed confined.
A purse of gold was given to the man;To prisoners, too, the royal bounty ran.
Much time had passed; the Shah still longed to viewThe finished palace rising grand and new.
After seven years the noble work was done,And wise Khosrow approved what skill had won.
He gave him water, land, and gold; to raiseHis name, he added silver coins and praise.
All went to view that palace in its pride;The Shah spent in its halls inside.
No eye had seen, no craftsman known before,A palace of such wonder, wealth, and lore.
A golden ring was fixed above the hall,Hung from the vaulted structure over all.
From that ring swung a ruddy chain of gold,With jeweled links for royal eyes to hold.
When Khosrow sat upon the ivory seat,They hung the crown above him, rich, complete.
When Nowruz came and Khosrow took his place,A Mobad sat the nearest, shown due grace.
Below him sat the chiefs of noble race,With those who dealt provision in that space.
Below the nobles sat the men of trade;Beneath, the poor whom their own toil repaid.
Below, the limbs of traitors met the eye,Whom royal justice had condemned to die.
Then from the throne a proclamation came,To stir all hearts beneath the monarch’s name:
“O subjects of the king who rules the land,Let no dark thought or doubt your hearts command.
Who looks above himself will find his thoughtDisturbed by all the things his eyes have sought.
Look farther from the throne;Count those below the station you have known.
Then look upon the bodies of the deadAlong the path that you once more will tread.”
Then none, accused or guiltless, stayed confined;The Shah gave clothes and coin of every kind.
The poor who had no share in New Year’s cheerWere seated at the palace entrance near.
The Shah poured silver from his treasure-hoard;The guilty feared the anger of their lord.
The heedless woke as if from heavy sleep;The Shah had roused them from their slumber deep.
Another herald cried as men withdrew:“O proud and gifted chiefs, these words are true:
Why seek so many marks of higher place?Look on the lowly; mourn their hapless case.
First ponder what you do, that you may staySecure in life and health from day to day.
Reflect before you act; do not impartFresh grief to those less wise, nor break their heart.
First measure, then cut out; let wisdom guide;Give ear to those whose knowledge has been tried.
Who keeps the proper path may rest at night,Secure from royal anger and its might.
But he who reaches for another’s shareWill find our wrath lies waiting, like a snare.”
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In briefThe poet describes the height of the reign: tribute from Hind and Turan, six named treasuries, twelve thousand women in the bower, elephants and horses past counting. Twice he breaks off to say that none of it held, and that a base-born hireling’s hand brought the king down.
I next recall the Shah in all his prime,Reviving greatness lost to passing time.
Such majesty as his, among the great,Lives in no memory of equal state.
Who reads the royal record ought to shakeHis hem free of the world, for wisdom’s sake.
And I may speak these words, assured and clear,For wise men will defend what they shall hear.
Be not at home in this world’s house of pain;Its bane is greater than its healing gain.
Shun greed and hate; make not this house of strifeYour settled home, this passing road of life.
It is a passing house; you age, and thenNewcomers take your place among its men.
One comes, another passes and is gone;They strut and feed awhile, and all pass on.
The ant’s small head and elephant’s vast frame,At death’s command, return to dust the same.
When you have heard Khosrow’s astounding tale,Hold it in mind, and let its truth prevail.
His power and lofty rank were both so great,So grand his throne and crown, his royal state,
That should you ask of every learned sage,Not one would name his peer in any age.
From and from Turan, in ceaseless flow,Came tribute such as subject lands bestow:
Young slaves and serving maids, a wondrous sight,With pearls and rubies, gems of luster bright.
His treasures and his gold surpassed all count;No king had ever held such an amount.
The eagle, falcon, hawk all paid him heed,And served his royal will in thought and deed.
The leopard, lion, and s obeyed;All honored him and kept the pact they made.
His mind was bright as sunlight over land;The world obeyed the scepter in his hand.
First : Chin and supplied its store,And and added treasures more.
The next held watered pearls in rich supply,And rose an arrow’s flight into the sky.
The Arab chiefs and sages named that treasureThe , rich beyond all count or measure.
Then came , driven from the sea,When ocean storms enriched his treasury.
Then , famed and bright,With ’s hoard of matchless light.
No hoard like it was found on sea or land;Then blazed, a wonder vast and grand.
Its luster filled the realm with spreading rays,And turned the darkest nights to shining days.
Then great , which minstrels celebrate,A treasure fit for songs of royal state.
On red gold, gems were woven, bright to view,With twisted golden threads that shimmered through.
and served the royal hall,And answered Khosrow’s wish with every call.
Their market flourished under royal praise;Song filled his halls through all his golden days.
Twelve thousand slave girls filled his golden bower,As fair as springtime gardens, flower by flower.
Two thousand elephants, two hundred more,Seemed more than earth could bear from shore to shore.
Twelve thousand warhorses made up the score,Two hundred riding horses swelled the store.
Twelve thousand camels bore loads in the train,And sixty-six bore litters on the plain.
No white-haired veteran had known or toldOf herds so vast a monarch’s stalls could hold.
Yet by a base-born hireling’s hand he fell,As turning skies and ancient records tell.
Choose rather life made free from anxious care,If you would earn through justice praises fair.
For good and evil pass away with death,And time is counting every mortal breath.
Though throne and crown and treasury be your part,At last dust claims the labor of your heart.
So sow good seed and shun the grasping hand;Let goodness be the harvest of your land.
His throne and crown, his world-embracing state,Could not content him, though his power was great.
He raised the dust throughout those mighty lands,Iran and Turan, under his commands.
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In briefThe just Shah becomes a tyrant. Farrokhzad strips the people, who flee the country cursing him. Guraz, holding the Roman frontier, is the first to turn; Zad Farrokh controls all access to the throne. The two conspire, and Guraz writes to Caesar to come and take Iran.
The Shah, once just, now took a tyrant’s part,His servants’ wrongs brought gladness to his heart.
, who appeared with sullen face,Was harsh to every man of humbler place.
He seized their wealth and set them all at strife,One with another, souring common life.
The shepherd turned a wolf against the sheep;The land was plunged in lamentations deep.
His single wish was wealth beyond all need,And fresh distress arose from all that greed.
With neither bread nor water, worn with pain,They fled Iran, too weak to bear the strain.
The broken people crossed to hostile ground,From town rose smoke of curses all around.
A mighty chief, , the Boar of fame,To whom the frontier’s high command once came,
Held all the Roman march with stern command,The proudest warrior in the Western land.
When that once righteous Shah embraced disgrace,Guraz first turned from Iran and shamed his race.
Another favorite rose within the court,, who controlled the king’s resort.
None reached the king within his hall of stateUnless Zad Farrokh pleaded at the gate.
As royal Fortune neared its destined end,This favorite’s heart to evil too would bend.
He joined with old Guraz in secret thought,From realm to realm their secret plans were brought.
Guraz wrote : “Rise, seize Iran’s land;I shall be first to come and lend a hand.”
Then Caesar read and marshaled his command,And led ’s legions toward that borderland.
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In briefKhosrow’s planted letter makes Caesar distrust Guraz and withdraw. Suspected himself, Zad Farrokh turns the army, and the chiefs resolve to crown the imprisoned Shiruyeh. Tukhar storms the prison and brings him out, and that night the watchmen cry Qobad’s name while Khosrow sleeps beside Shirin.
The king dismissed the danger as but slight,And knew had stirred ’s lord to fight.
He summoned him, but Guraz would not come,For fear had struck his heart and made it numb.
He feared Khosrow, the court, the chiefs of state,And shunned the summons, wary of his fate.
The king of kings then sat among the great,With Iran’s leading chiefs, to hold debate.
He cleared his heart of care and searched aroundFor every craft by which relief was found.
At last a bright expedient filled his mind;He wrote to Guraz words designed to blind:
“The course you take has all my warm applause;I praised it to my court without a pause.
Your cunning arts have brought him to his fall;You have outwitted , schemes and all.
When this arrives, let sharpest wisdom wake;Wait till I move, then your own action take.
So Caesar, caught between forces, shall fail,And all his Roman purposes grow pale.
We shall lead Caesar captive in our chain,And take his Roman legions in our train.”
Then from his court he chose one man of skill,Resourceful, eloquent, and firm of will.
He said, “In secret let this letter go;Bear it as those who spy upon the foe.
Yet shape your road so Roman eyes may seeAnd question you on what your task may be.
Let them interrogate you on the road,Then carry you to Caesar’s own abode.
Do not reveal from where your travels start;Say, ‘I am but a servant skilled in art.
I have come far along a weary way;A letter meant for Guraz I convey.’
Bind it upon your right arm, firm and tight;If they remove it, then our plan is right.”
The courtier left the court by Khosrow’s will,And bound the letter to his arm with skill.
A Roman patrician saw him on the road,And seized him with the letter and its load.
They brought him straight to Caesar, dust on head,With pallid cheeks and lips like livid lead.
Then Caesar asked, “Where does Parviz remain?Speak truth, and make your answer clear and plain.”
The envoy stood bewildered in that place,And fear drew down the features of his face.
Then Caesar said, “Search him, this man of ill,With wicked speech and thoughts and evil will.”
Shrewd men searched all his garments, arm, and hand,And found the letter tied beneath its band.
They sought a learned man to read the scroll,Whose would yield its meaning whole.
The scribe read out the letter, word by word;Like pitch grew Caesar’s face at what he heard.
Within his heart he spoke in deep disdain:“Guraz has drawn us toward a deadly chain.
The king of kings commands so vast a force:Three hundred thousand men of foot and horse.
His elephants for war exceed all count;No man can tell their number or amount.
Guraz would cast me in the monarch’s net;May darkness shroud the end that waits him yet.”
He left his purpose, wheeled his army round,And turned from conquest on Iranian ground.
When Guraz learned that Caesar had withdrawnTo Rum, his cheek grew pale, all gladness gone.
He picked a rider from his troops, then wroteWith sighs, and sorrow rising in his throat:
“Why is great Caesar now displeased and cold?Why leave Iran and cast me from your fold?
The Shah knows I have brought this state of pain;His heart will turn to hatred and disdain.”
When Caesar read the letter Guraz sent,He chose a noble, who as envoy went.
He sent him swiftly with this sharp reply:“God freed you from such need; then tell me why:
Would you make desolate my crown and reign,And burn my troops with fire for your own gain?
Your former letter, wretch, was meant to throwMy wealth to ruin, lay my legions low.
Its purpose was to hand me over boundTo on Iranian ground.
May greatness never enter at your door;May Fortune keep you wretched evermore.
You should have known, while kings of Kayan reign,Iranians will not choose a foreign chain.
No Caesar-born, however wise or great,Would find Iranians welcoming his state.”
Guraz sent many pleas toward Caesar’s throne,But Caesar’s ear was barred as if by stone.
Then Khosrow chose an envoy from his side,A learned counselor, eloquent and tried.
He sent to Guraz words of cold disdain:“You worthless villain, steeped in guilt and stain.
I summoned you to court time after time,But you have turned from loyalty to crime.
The troops beside you, through each month and year,Like , have sustained your fortunes here,
All back great Caesar both in heart and will,And hide their inward treason, seeming still.
Send me those men who turn from my command,Who plot rebellion in your armed band.”
When this arrived, the wary chieftain thought,And weighed the danger that the letter brought.
He chose twelve thousand horsemen, brave and bold,And spoke to loosen fear’s increasing hold:
“Be one in heart and let no tongue betray;Let no man’s words divide you on the way.
Remain awhile upon this river’s side,And do not hurry on with hasty stride.
If tongue and heart are joined in single will,You may uproot a mountain through that skill.”
The army moved ahead in ordered train,Toward ’s broad plain.
Beside the stream they formed in rank,And pitched their rebel tents upon the bank.
The king refused to look upon their face,But sent forth to state his case.
He ordered him to say, “Till now you stoodBeside the Shah and served him as you should.
Why did you let great Caesar cross our bound,And bring invading armies onto our ground?
Who has transgressed the road of God and right,And left the path of duty for the night?”
At Khosrow’s message, edged with royal dread,The soldiers’ faces darkened as it spread.
None dared to answer; all remained in pain,Pale-faced and silent by the river plain.
The messenger served Guraz in his heart,Yet hid that loyalty with subtle art.
He went in private to the leaders’ side,And lit their darkened thoughts where fears abide.
“Fear not, O chiefs; let heart and tongue combine;The Shah has found no open fault or sign.
Be one in heart and tongue; let none point outWhich man among you stands beneath a doubt.
If one is blamed, one tent shall cover all;We stand as one, whatever may befall.”
The chiefs all heard him, understood his aim,And shaped their answer in the selfsame frame.
Then Zad Farrokh returned with flying speed,And told the Shah their answer as agreed.
The Shah said, “Go again to them and say:‘Which man among you chose betrayal’s way?
Whom has ill-fated Caesar made his ownWith treasure, arms, with royal crown and throne?
That man has sinned against our royal name,And turned from crown and throne to lasting shame.
Send all such disaffected men to me,Or every rebel shall my anger see.
If not, the dungeon and the gibbet wait,For those who leave obedience to the state.’”
Then Zad Farrokh conveyed the royal threat;Old griefs awoke, and anger fed regret.
None dared to speak; they mourned in silence deep,Their minds awake, though tongues were sunk in sleep.
Then Zad Farrokh spoke out with shameless breath:“Why fear the Shah and all his threats of death?
Among these young and valiant troops, I findNo weakling and no coward left behind.
His troops are scattered through the world afar;At court no chief upholds his royal star.
Despise my words; fear none of my own threats;Curse me and curse the Shah without regrets.”
They heard and knew the king’s good Fortune fled;Their lips shaped curses, wrath within them spread.
Then Zad Farrokh returned and spoke his mind:“The troops stand joined, of one accord and kind.
If sent again, I fear for my own life;Their hearts are armed with mutiny and strife.”
Khosrow perceived, “This knave will cause a floodOf tears and battle, and a waste of blood.”
He feared the envoy’s brother, held his tongue,And hid the truth, though bitter thoughts had stung.
For had revolted in that land,With ten full thousand swordsmen at command.
He kept Zad Farrokh’s cause close to his heart,And drew his own men to the rebels’ part.
Now Zad Farrokh knew well the Shah had guessedWhose hand had stirred the army to unrest.
So when the malcontent had left the hall,He dared not face the Shah again at all.
He stayed outside and worked upon the crowd,And spoke to men in whispers and aloud.
He won them one by one, till every cordOf loyalty was severed from their lord.
He told them all; they answered with one voice:“Another Shah must be the nation’s choice.
This king has lost the , the royal way,The Fortune that once brightened every day.”
With Zad Farrokh there was an ancient man,Skilled in affairs and careful in his plan.
He said, “The Shah imputes the army’s faultTo you; his hidden anger will not halt.
Until you find a king to take the crown,Let no more quarrels tear this country down.
This thriving land will fall to ruin and woe;Iran, like , grief and strife will know.
Look through his sons for modesty and grace,And choose the one who gives no quarrel place.
Enthrone him, give him honor and the crown,And over him let gold be showered down.
Since shrewd , eldest-born, lies bound,No other prince need anywhere be found.”
They all agreed; within a few short days’s troops marched on through the dusty haze.
His coming made their daunting tasks seem light,And gave them hope to carry through their fight.
Then Zad Farrokh went out to Tukhar’s side,With many troops in martial ranks allied.
They met, and much discourse between them passed,In public and in private, first and last.
Then Zad Farrokh let loose his tongue and toldThe wrongs Khosrow had done in days grown cold.
He said, “The troops, through counsel and through might,Will set a king upon the throne outright.”
The replied, “I shun all talk;In war I block each path my foes would walk.
This king, when young, was loved by every chief,By every beyond belief.
When such a man’s bright day is turned to night,May crown and throne be kept from every sight.
The fatal hour began when he turned unjust,And loved the crimes of servants he would trust.”
When Zad Farrokh heard all that Tukhar said,He chose him from the chiefs; to him he pled:
“We go to prison, where the luckless wait,And bear Shiruyeh, the brave prince, through the gate.
Six thousand proven horsemen, with their chief,Keep watch upon the captives in their grief.”
Tukhar replied, “We held that captain light,That guardian with all his troops of might.
If Khosrow rises once more to command,No Pahlevan will live in Iran’s land.
The gibbet, bonds, and dungeon wait for all;No man shall flee the kingdom’s coming fall.”
He spoke and urged his charger toward the fight,Like in his fiery might.
He led his forces forward in array;The captain met him fiercely on the way.
Those famous troops were shattered in the fray,The army’s captain met his death that day.
The royal forces scattered in that strife;The day grew dark; the king’s cause lost its life.
In battle dress, through battle’s opened way,He entered that cramped prison straightaway.
He called exalted Shiruyeh from the cell;The prince replied, and knew his purpose well.
At Tukhar’s shining face, his sorrow spread;His heart swelled up with grief and aching dread.
Yet still he wept: “Where is Parviz today?To free us is no task for you, I say.”
Tukhar replied, “Do not deny our will,Or count yourself apart, resisting still.
If one in sixteen sons should fail our need,Still fifteen brothers wait of royal seed.
Each one is fit for sovereignty and crown;Each one would grace the throne of high renown.”
Shiruyeh, still bewildered, wept, then passedBeyond the prison door that held him fast.
Meanwhile, Zad Farrokh barred the royal gate,And kept all news from Khosrow until late.
He stood as chamberlain before the court,And barred all access, cutting off report.
As daylight faded, each lord sought his bed;He summoned those by whom the watch was led.
He said, “Tonight proclaim a different word;Let not last night’s old name again be heard.
Through every watch cry out alone;Let that new title through the night be known!”
They answered: “Khosrow’s name shall fade tonight;Qobad shall ring till dawn brings back the light!”
When night had drawn about its pitch-black cloak,From town and market one great clamor broke:
“Forever live Qobad, of noble strain;May every province glorify his reign.”
Khosrow lay sleeping, by his side;She heard the watchmen’s cry and shook inside.
She cried, “O Shah, what shall we do tonight?What act remains to meet this sudden plight?”
Her voice awoke the Shah; he stirred in pain,And heard her anxious words with sharp disdain.
He said, “Moon-face, why rouse me from my sleep?”She said, “The watchmen cry from every keep.”
He paled, and said, “Three watches now have fled;Recall the words the star-reader once said.
I named him so in secret; all the courtCalled him Shiruyeh, by the world’s report.
This steward calls him Qobad in the night;We must make ready for a secret flight.
To Chin, or , we may go,And pass by guile beyond our watchful foe.
Then from the I shall seek a force,And ask the lord of Chin to aid our course.”
But darkened Fortune made his counsel vain;His guile could find no path beyond his pain.
Then Shirin said, “The destined hour is here;Our foes have mastered all our guile, I fear.
Now use your wisdom; on no foe rely;At dawn our enemies will draw close by.”
He called for , helm of Roman craft,Two Indian swords, and shaft on feathered shaft.
His quiver and his golden shield were brought,With one brave servant, fearless when he fought.
He reached the garden in the dark of night,When waking crows foretold the morning light.
No room among the trees for a throne was found;His shield hung from a branch above the ground.
On saffron and narcissus sat the king;Beneath his knee he laid his sword’s cold sting.
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In briefHungry in the garden, Khosrow has a servant cut jeweled studs from his belt to buy food; a jeweler knows the workmanship and the search finds him. Zad Farrokh talks him into yielding, the old prophecy comes clear to him, and after thirty-eight years he is carried to Tisfoon.
When sunlight shot its arrows on the plain,The enemy approached the palace lane.
The workers of the ’s dark labor came,And circled round the splendid royal frame.
They found the throne abandoned and alone,And men despoiled the treasures as their own.
No one considered Khosrow’s grief and pain;They seized his wealth beneath the new king’s reign.
They all returned with tears that filled their eyes,Dismayed by all the changes of the skies.
What shall we ask of heaven’s turning sphere,That never rests throughout the circling year?
To one it grants a crown and royal state;To feed the fishes is another’s fate.
One wanders bareheaded, and without bread,And sleeps without a shelter or a bed.
Another tastes of milk and honey sweet,In silk, brocade, and furs from head to feet.
At last both lie beneath the burial ground;In death’s dark snare both high and low are bound.
For sages, never to be born were best,Since being gives no mortal creature rest.
Now hear new toil for Khosrow’s fallen state;I bring fresh knowledge of his altered fate.
The Shah remained within that meadow wide,A lofty tree above him at his side.
When half the lengthened day had passed him by,The pangs of hunger made his strength run dry.
Within the garden, one poor laborer stayed,Who did not know the king whom he obeyed.
The sun-faced Shah addressed the slave, who knelt:“Cut off the jeweled strip of this gold belt.”
That piece displayed five golden studs of worth,With jewels bright as stars above the earth.
The king then told the gardener, “Take these;They may provide us what we need with ease.
Buy bread and roast within the market square,And shun the crowds, and of all eyes beware.”
The gems were worth, to one who prized their kind,Full thirty thousand silver coins combined.
The gardener brought the golden piece for bread,And showed it to the baker, who then said:
“Its worth is more than I can claim to know;I dare not let this golden treasure go.”
They next approached a jeweler skilled in gold,And asked what price the workmanship might hold.
He scanned each stud and cried, “Who would be boldEnough to buy such treasure, were it sold?
Such pieces lay in Khosrow’s jeweled store;Each year a hundred new ones swelled it more.
From whom were these bright jewels stolen away?Cut from a sleeping servant where he lay?”
The three men hurried to ’s gate,And brought the gold and gems to learn their fate.
He saw the severed piece of golden band,Then bore it to the prince who held command.
said, “Now name the owner here,And make the source of these bright jewels clear.
Refuse, and I shall strike your head away,And all your kin shall meet that fate today.”
The gardener answered, “In the garden’s shade,A man in sits there, fearless, staid.
He holds a bow, a tall and royal sight;His spring-bright cheeks make all the garden bright.
His jowshan shines like sun across the field;A branch above him bears his golden shield.
Before him stood a servant, girdle bound,Who cut this piece with gems set all around.
He handed it to me and bade me goTo market for bread and meat, avoiding show.
Swift as the wind, I left him there just now.”Shiruyeh knew Khosrow by that shape and brow.
He sent three hundred horsemen out in force,Who raced toward the garden on their course.
When Khosrow saw them coming from afar,He paled and drew his keen-edged scimitar.
But when they saw the king of kings arrayedIn jowshan, back they turned, in tears, dismayed.
They went to Zad Farrokh and said in shame:“We are but slaves; he bears the royal name.
He is , our rightful king,Whom this black day has stripped of everything.
No man in garden or in battle-frayWould dare affront him in the slightest way.”
Then Zad Farrokh brought soldiers from the court,And went alone to make his own report.
He said, “If now the Shah will let me speak,And grant the safety for my deeds I seek,
I will come in and speak, or turn my face,And make my way again to my own place.”
Khosrow replied, “Say what you have to say;You bring no comfort, seek no war today.”
He said, “Consider this with sober thought:Though you should slay a thousand as you fought,
You still would weary of the war you wage,While all Iran stands fast against your rage.
Against you all stand joined in heart and mind;Wait now, and see what Heaven has designed.
Perhaps this hate may turn to love one day.”Khosrow replied, “Yes, it is as you say.
What most I fear are vile men drawing near,Who may abuse me without shame or fear.”
When Zad Farrokh had spoken to the king,The old prediction made his sorrow sting.
For astrologers had once foretold his fate,And stirred his heart to grief at what might wait:
“Between two mountains shall your death be found,A servant kills you, with no crowd around.
One height is gold, the other silver-bright;Between them, broken-hearted, ends your light.
Your sky is gold; beneath you iron lies;Your Fortune turns to grief before your eyes.”
He said, “This armor now is earth to me,My golden shield the heaven I can see.
The mountains are these garden treasures bright,That filled my heart, as lamps fill rooms with light.
In truth my days are drawing to their end;Where is my star that once made worlds attend?
Where are the peace and joy that once were mine?Where are the crowns on which my name would shine?”
They brought an elephant; his soul was dark,And sorrow quenched in him its royal spark.
He mounted, and the troops led him away;In he cried aloud that day:
“O treasure, if you have become my foe,Be not a friend to those who bring me low.
Today I stand in ’s command;You do not help me in this hostile land.
Conceal yourself and show yourself to none;Let not my foes rejoice in what is done.”
then gave his minister this word:“Let no ill word concerning him be heard.
Convey him now to , lead the way,And guide him to that house where he shall stay.
Keep him some days in custody, but safe;Let no rough hand or word his spirit chafe.
Let the keeper’s charge fulfill,A thousand horsemen subject to his will.”
When heaven had turned its circle overhead,His reign through thirty-eight full years had spread.
On Dey-day, under frosty Azar’s sign,When hearth-fires glow and feasters ask for wine,
Then Qobad rose and took the royal seat,And sat upon the throne in joy complete.
All Iran’s troops paid homage at his court;He gave a year’s full pay for their support.
He lived but seven months beyond that day;Call him a Shah or nothing, as you may.
Such is this house of wrong in which we stay;Expect no faith from it along the way.
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In briefCrowned as Qobad, Shiruyeh promises justice and sends Ashtad and Kharrad Barzin to Tisfoon with a written charge against his father. Galinush admits them. A quince rolls from Khosrow’s cushion to the floor; he reads his house’s ruin in it, hears the charges out, and answers with a rebuke.
When sat upon the splendid throne,And took the royal crown to be his own,
Iran’s chiefs gathered round the royal seat,And offered fitting blessings at his feet.
They cried, “O honored Shah, whom God has crowned,O king of many gifts, of worth renowned.
The ivory throne bears you safe and sure;May earthly rule within your line endure.”
replied, “Be conquering and blessed;May happiness within your hearts find rest.
We never will take evil as our part;Justice with mercy gladdens every heart.
The world I keep in peace beneath my hand,And ’s works I cut from the land.
By law of old and precedent secure,The Faith’s full grace shall steadfastly endure.
I will dispatch a message to my sire,And tell him all that justice must require.
His wicked deeds have brought him to this plight,For he forsook the path of truth and right.
Let him before confess his sin,And let a life of just accord begin.
If he shall heed me, he will not resentMy conduct, nor condemn my whole intent.
Then I will strive for justice in all cares,In public and in private state affairs.
I will do good where good is rightly due,And break no poor man’s heart in what I do.
I need two honest men of measured speech,Whose minds old lore and ancient lessons teach.”
He asked the gathered chiefs, “Whom shall I send?Who in Iran is shrewd, a truthful friend?”
The warriors’ glances silently bestowedTheir choice on two wise men to take the road.
Qobad perceived the choice in every glance: was one, well versed in circumstance.
was named, the other sage,Who spoke with wisdom gathered through his age.
Qobad addressed them: “O experienced men,Wise chiefs who know how Fortune turns, and when,
Do not find worldly hardship strange or vain;The great through travail gather wealth and gain.”
With brimming eyes the two prepared to ride,Their purpose firm, though sorrow swelled inside.
Kharrad Barzin set forth upon the way,With Ashtad , sorrowing that day.
When both had mounted, Qobad, as they went,Said, “Leave the palace now with good intent.
Take now the road to ; there conveyTo my glorious sire the words I say.
Bear every word in mind from first to last,And let no part be hidden, blurred, or passed.
Say: ‘Neither we nor Iran caused your fall;Your own misjudgments brought about it all.
You left the path of Faith and goodness due;God’s punishment has therefore fallen on you.
No rightful son would strike his father dead,Nor give assent when others urged bloodshed.
Again, your treasures overflow the earth,While your exactions drain each province’s worth.
You filled the hearts of upright men with pain,And left them bowed beneath your harsh domain.
Many brave riders, famed in Iran’s name,Who gladdened courts with courage, birth, and fame,
Have left their lands, their sons, their kin most dear,And scattered through , Chin, and each frontier.
Again, when labored much for you,And gave you legions, daughter, treasure too,
He asked that Christ’s own Cross to Rum be brought,To bless his land and home, as he had sought.
What profit was the Cross, kept in its place,When yielding it would win his friendly grace?
You did not yield it; wisdom failed your mind,And none could turn your heart toward being kind.
Again, your greed obscured clear wisdom’s eye;You seized poor people’s goods and heard their cry.
Their curses rose and brought ill on your head;Your justice failed where royal law lay dead.
Moreover, sixteen sons you kept confined,Year after year to prison walls consigned.
No chief could sleep secure because of you;Each hid in fear from what your will might do.
Know, what has struck you now is sent by God;Reflect upon the evil roads you trod.
For all your wrongs, I was the means, no more,By which this trouble reached your royal door.
By God, it was not my design or aimTo wreck the throne or bring the Shah to shame.
Seek pardon for these wrongs; tell Iran’s chiefs;Turn back to God for help in all your griefs.
Perhaps He will relieve the griefs you bear,And show a passage from your last despair.’”
On hearing this, the two rode from the court,Their hearts grief-stricken by the dark report.
In tears they rode until they reached the wallOf great Tisfoon; grief lay on them like a pall.
To ’s ancestral house they pressed,With heavy grief weighing on every breast.
For there the exalted king was kept confined,With court and royal power left behind.
sat before the palace gate;His martial splendor seemed to shake the state.
He wore his helm and breastplate, armed for fight,With steel grasped, his heart all storm and light.
The Arab steeds wore armor row on row,And sword-armed soldiers stood with martial show.
When old and Ashtad had dismounted,Those sages whose renown the wise recounted,
Galinush rose, rejoicing at their sight,And welcomed both famed chiefs with great delight.
He gave them fitting place and proper cheer,And honored them as men of name held dear.
The eloquent Kharrad then spoke with art,With boldness on his tongue and in his heart:
“The glorious Qobad, now crowned, maintainsIn peace the wide domains.
Iran, Turan, and Rum have heard the thing:Shiruyeh sits now as king of every king.
Why helm and armor, why this ready bow?Whom do you fear? Whom do you count a foe?”
Galinush answered, “Veteran, prosper long;May Fortune keep your honored spirit strong.
You ask about this delicate frame of mine,Clad in an iron shirt of such design.
Your kindness wins my blessing; you deserveRich gems and honors, all that kings reserve.
Your words are good. May sunlight crown your way;First state your purpose; then ask what you may.”
Kharrad replied, “The glorious Qobad’s wordHas sent me here, and it must now be heard.
He charged me to address the fallen king;Now seek an audience for the words I bring.”
Galinush said, “Who else could keep them true,O honored sage, remembering as you do?
Yet Qobad gave me counsel on this head,And charged me thus about the king; he said:
‘Let no man visit Khosrow night or day,Until you first have heard what he would say.’
In or in , I must hearWhatever message you would carry here.”
Ashtad replied, “My message is not sealed,O favored warden, with your sword and shield.
It says, ‘The sword bears fruit in this embrace:Proud chieftains’ heads within the lap find place.’
Now ask for audience of the captive king,That we may speak what Shah Qobad would bring.”
Galinush heard and rose and bound his belt,Then entered where the fallen monarch dwelt.
With folded arms, as servants should, he said:“Live ever, Shah; let no ill touch your head.
Ashtad and Kharrad Barzin, men of fame,Bring words from him who bears the royal name.”
Khosrow laughed and said, “Speak words more wise;If he is king, what am I in your eyes?
If I am held a captive in this place,Why seek my leave to come before my face?
Whether their words be false or words be true,What need to ask my leave to bring them through?”
Galinush came back to the waiting two,And gave the Shah’s reply, complete and due.
He said, “Go in with folded arms, and sayThe words you bear; then hear him out today.”
In Chinese silk they wrapped the mouth and chin,As ancient rites required of men within.
They bowed before the Shah, their heads bent low,And stood a long while there before him so.
Upon his jeweled throne the Shah reclined;There sheep and wolves in woven gold were twined.
With gems and gold the figures shone arrayed;His mattress lay beneath yellow brocade.
He leaned against a cushion lapis-blue,A quince in hand, while grief within him grew.
When he beheld those chiefs of wisdom bright,He roused himself and prayed to God for light.
He set the quince upon the cushion down,Then greeted both the envoys of the crown.
The quince slipped from the cushion, smoothly round,Rolled down across the couch and reached the ground.
Ashtad ran forward, wiped away the dust,And laid it on his head in loyal trust.
Khosrow turned his face from Ashtad’s place,So he would neither see nor scent its trace.
They set the quince again upon the throne,And stood aside, uncertain, still as stone.
The falling quince alarmed the captive king;He found no happy omen in the thing.
He said, “O Judge of truth, the One, the Just,Who raises what Your sentence casts to dust?
Who joins what You have broken with Your hand?Who can restore what You will not let stand?
Bright Fortune from our house has taken flight,And brought deep sorrow after days of light.”
Then to Ashtad he said, “Now bring the wordFrom my own monstrous child, whose shame is heard,
And from that scattered band of servants, soreWith hatred, black of heart and base at core.
Malignant fools they are; in folly’s net,They drown in malice, blind to all regret.
Our Fortune leaves; our joy and crown decay;The throne will pass to worthless folk one day.
This royal tree will be destroyed by fate;The base will rise, the noble fall from state.
Nor will our line remain as high and great;Our friends will turn against us, filled with hate.
They will revile and ruin all our race;This quince has shown the secret to my face.
The throne of kings is stripped of fruit and flower;Now speak the words you heard in this dark hour.
His words are worth less than the stream’s swift flow;Repeat his charges; let me hear and know.”
The two men loosed their tongues and told him all,All Qobad said concerning rise and fall.
They kept not even one small whisper back;The king heard all and felt his spirit crack.
He writhed in grief and drew a deep cold sigh,Then spoke to them with pain in voice and eye:
“Hear now my answer; carry every wordTo that young prince whose charge from you I heard.
Say: ‘Quit your own misdeeds before you blame;These are not words that from your own mind came.
A curse upon your tongue for such a speech;Do not let folly give your foes such reach.
Nor let them learn from words that others frameYour mind lacks knowledge worthy of your name.
If you put trust in speech that brings no gain,Both soul and judgment suffer equal stain.
Who calls you wicked, then proclaims you kingShould not before you judge a single thing.
Let no such man direct affairs of state,In any matter, whether small or great.
Send no such messages another day,Or foes will take delight in what you say.
God has prepared my work and paved my road;My treasure in the other world is stowed.
And by these lying charges you have made,No noble heart will praise the part you played.’”
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In briefKhosrow answers every charge: his flight from Hormizd, his vengeance on Bandvi and Gostaham, the comfort of his sons’ prison, the sealed horoscope, his treasuries, the frontier armies, his gifts to Caesar, the worthlessness of the Cross. Then he blesses the world, names the dead kings, and says farewell.
“Now I will make full answer; mark it well,Repeat my words wherever people dwell.
They shall remain my witness when I die,A truthful record none may set awry.
Then you will know, when I unfold my pain,That all my treasures came through toil and strain.
You first have spoken of my father’s days,Of ’s anger and his bitter ways.
My father’s wrath against us rose through lies,By slanderers’ tongues that darkened royal eyes.
When I perceived the purpose of his thought,By night I fled the roads his servants sought.
I sought a road of flight and slipped away,Nor let the trap of trouble make me stay.
His hostile purpose was no fault of mine;Escape alone could foil his dark design.
When tidings of my father’s harm were heard,I left upon that grievous word.
That knave with his trainOpposed me fiercely on the battle plain.
I fled from him upon the day of fight,Lest I should fall within his grasp and might.
But afterward I came with troops afield,And fought him with the force I chose to wield.
Not once alone did we contend in strife;The world looked on as each fought for his life.
By God’s command, whose blessings never cease,Who guides through good and ill, through war and peace,
Iran and Turan came to peace again,And all of ’s schemes proved fruitless then.
Released from war, I turned at once to takeThe vengeance owed for my slain father’s sake.
and , my mother’s brothers,Were peerless men, surpassing many others.
They risked their lives for me through love and kin,And yet my father’s blood cried out within.
His murder left me grieving and dismayed;I would not let my vengeance be delayed.
I struck off Bandvi’s hand and foot that day,For he had helped to sweep my sire away.
And Gostaham, who sought a distant land,Was suddenly struck down at my command.
Those murderers’ lives and purposes were crossed;Their aims were broken, and their hopes were lost.
Next, as to what you said of your own case,Your narrow bonds, your prison, and disgrace,
I kept my sons apart from evil ways,Lest harm recoil upon their future days.
You were not bound in hardship or in pain,Nor made to fear disgrace or hurtful strain.
No scorn was meant; my treasury was yours,As former Shahs had opened royal stores.
I acted by precedent, not in pride,Nor cast ancestral custom there aside.
The chase, the harp, the polo field, the feast,All princely sports were yours, from most to least.
You had your hawks and cheetahs, gems and gold,And all delights a princely house could hold.
Your so-called prison was a palace bright,Where you passed days in pleasure and delight.
I feared you, too, for what the star-readers said,Their dark prediction burning in my head.
Yet now the very harm I feared appears,And all their words have ripened into tears.
I never parted with the starry scrollThat warned of danger to the crown and soul.
I sealed it, then to gave the same,To keep the secret of your star and name.
When thirty-six years of my reign had passed,Amid those happy days that could not last—
You surely keep this matter still in mind,Though time has left those distant days behind—
From distant a letter reached your hand;I too had read it, and I understand.
The sent us with that letter’s graceFine jewels, cloth, and treasures from each place,
An Indian sword, an elephant snow-white,And all that I could wish for my delight.
With that keen sword came cloth of golden weave,And polished gems whose worth none could conceive.
The letter sent to you on silk then boreThe script of Hind, whose words I would explore.
When I beheld the Indian script displayed,I called an Indian scribe to give me aid.
He read the Raja’s words, then shook his head,And shed his tears upon the words he read.
It said, ‘Live joyfully, for you are worthBoth joy and realm and mastery on earth.
In Azar’s month, when Dey’s day comes around,You shall become world-ruler, and be crowned.
Your sire will reign for thirty-eight full years;Then stars will set your crown above your peers.
Your fortunate days will shine with royal light,A crown of greatness on your head set bright.’
These words have been fulfilled to me today,Yet love should not be washed from hearts away.
I knew that fortune had decreed for youA throne made bright while mine was darkened too.
I knew my portion would be grief and care,My shining day would darken to despair.
Compassion, faith, and kinship held their part;Through love, that letter never chilled my heart.
I read it, pondering each warning deep,Then gave the letter to Shirin to keep.
In Shirin’s keeping lie the letter sealed,And horoscope that once your fate revealed.
No great or small man knows of either one;The secret has been hidden from the sun.
If you would see them, ask, and you shall learn;Then judge what thoughts within your heart may turn.
I think that seeing it will make you rue,And seek some cure for what you came to do.
You spoke of bonds, imprisonment, and pain,And how we injured others in our reign.
That is the rule of kings from former days;Ask learned of the old ways.
If you do not know, ask what they advise;Their answer will stand clear before your eyes:
‘For him who is God’s enemy, this lifeIs evil, darkened by his wicked strife.’
Those in our prison were mere s in form,Whose deeds against the just became a storm.
Bloodshed and cruelty were never mine;I never made oppression kingship’s sign.
I kept the wicked caged, because their spiteHad wrought such harm as no man counted slight.
But now I hear that you have freed these men,Worse than fierce dragons loosed from pit and den.
For this you sin alike in word and deed,Before the God whose judgment all must heed.
Now you are king, be prudent in your will;Consult the wise if you lack royal skill.
Spare not the man from whom afflictions flow,Though hopes of treasure from his service grow.
What better check than prison to restrainThe man who brings the world but grief and pain?
Your charge about my wealth reveals you blindTo royal judgment and a prudent mind.
We sought but toll and tribute men could pay,From those with strength to bear that charge each day.
Men called them foes, born of an evil breed,The wicked offspring of ’s seed.
But since we kept the thought of God in view,We passed those words by, giving them no due.
From Him I had the crown and royal state;The price was dear, as all men know my fate.
The Maker, righteous Judge of king and slave,Has willed this change and darkened what He gave.
In all this world His will is paramount;We seek no more when He has closed account.
We sought to please our Judge through every toil,Yet could not flee the share of fate’s recoil.
When He shall question me, I will tell all;His judgment weighs both rise and final fall.
That Questioner is wiser far than you,And judges what is false and what is true.
Those miscreants who stand before you nowAre neither friends nor faithful to their vow.
What they say now of me, they will say tooOf you before your foes when time is due.
They are the slaves of silver and of gold;No helper will you find in such a fold.
Through them your heart is stained; yet let us clearThe guilt with which you charge your father here.
These words lie far beyond your mind’s poor reach;No man shall profit from such evil speech.
I speak for those in future days who readThis account of word and deed.
It shall remain a record, standing fast,A banner of wise counsel at the mast.
It shall console each searching, thoughtful mind,And teach our policy to humankind.
After our death, whoever reads this pageWill know the rule that governed king and sage.
From and from Chin troops I conveyed,And s throughout the realm arrayed.
I struck my foes through mountain, plain, and land,Till none against me dared arise and stand.
When they were scattered, treasure filled each store;The whole land labored and produced still more.
So many gems they drew from ocean’s floor,The sailors wearied with the work they bore.
Plain, sea, and mountain all my will obeyed;Their wealth was daily to my treasury paid.
When all the silver in our vaults ran dry,New minted gold renewed the whole supply.
There precious stones and royal jewels lay,With clothes and gear of war in bright array.
When I had worn the crown for twenty-six years,Our treasuries were rich beyond all fears.
I struck new silver coins and turned to joy,To merriment no sorrow could destroy.
That year, I counted tribute, reckoned all;A hundred thousand bags of coin met the call.
Each bag held twelve full thousand coins of gold;Their royal worth was more than could be told.
Besides came wealth from India’s royal hand,From and every distant foreign land.
Besides came tribute from each province wide,And gifts from lords and rulers on each side.
Our court received their offerings at New Year,And Mehr brought gifts when autumn days drew near.
They brought fine horses and fair-faced slaves,And arms in shining heaps like running waves.
Cuirasses, helmets, gorzes, blades well-wrought,As tribute to our palace door were brought.
Musk, camphor, sable, costly furs they bore,Black, white, and tawny pelts piled on the floor.
Our subjects loaded beasts with costly freight,And hastened to our royal palace gate.
None held back tribute or refused to serve;Their payments did not falter, fail, or swerve.
We built this guarded hoard through toil and care,Reserved for war and hardships we might bear.
Beside the hoards and layThis wealth, reserved against an evil day.
We long debated what its name should be,And called it by royal decree.
Thus in the twenty-sixth year of my crown,High Heaven smiled and set my foes all down,
Until the thirty-eighth full year had come;My chiefs were safe, my enemies struck dumb.
Now I have heard the orders you have made;Through them, the world is troubled and dismayed.
The world, deprived of pleasure, must be mute;Your reign will fill the earth with bitter fruit.
You will make earth calamitous and bare,With suffering and ruin everywhere.
Moreover, those destructive men you found,Whose counsel lights your darkness all around,
Will cast your throne away and leave no trace,And rob your kingship of its joy and grace.
Were there one sage beside you in your hall,To light your darkened mind before its fall,
You would not err in giving wealth away;The worthy would receive it day by day.
My son, your days are few, your wisdom slight;Anxiety will rob your soul of light.
Know this: our treasures are your royal stay;The chance remains within your grasp today.
These treasures are the sinews of the crown;A king without them soon is beaten down.
A pauper Shah will rule unjustly still,And empty hands lack strength for royal will.
Without the means to give, a king will fall,Declared a fraud and not a Shah by all.
Should riches reach your foes at your command,They are like idols in a ’s hand.
Then worshippers will turn aside from God,And spurn your fame beneath dishonor’s rod.
If you are treasureless, no army stays;Your subjects will not hail you with their praise.
The dog begs bread; but sate his appetite,And he may turn against you with a bite.
Again, you blamed my battle plans and saidI stationed troops along each road ahead.
You blame through ignorance, not knowing gainFrom loss, nor how kings guard the open plain.
Through toil I gathered treasure for the crown,Took foreign cities, fought and struck foes down,
That we might sit in peace, without alarm,Upon the pleasant throne secure from harm.
I set my horsemen on each frontier line,To guard the realm and keep its borders mine.
When you recall the troops from every side,The foe will see the roads stand open wide.
Iran is like a garden in the spring,Where happy blossoms never fail to cling.
It bears pomegranate, quince, and flowers bright,And apple branches fragrant with delight.
But when that orchard stands with none to tend,Its fragrant roots and branches meet their end.
The quince and pomegranate boughs they break;The fragrant herbs up by their roots they take.
Iran’s stout wall is army, arms, and gear;Along its fence, each thorn a sharpened spear.
If wantonly you tear its garden wall,The garden’s bloom will perish, root and all.
What then divides that garden from the plain,The sea or upland, when no walls remain?
Cast not its wall down through a rash mistake,Or hearts and backs throughout Iran will break.
Then raid and ravage, horsemen’s battle-cry,And drawn-out vengeance follow, rising high.
Expose not wives and children, realm and landTo ruin by your young and reckless hand.
Let but one such year pass, and sages allWill name you fool for that destructive fall.
Now I have heard you give high place and rankTo men unworthy, men whose hearts are blank.
Know this: wise , ’s son,Set down this counsel on what should be done:
Who gives his weapons to a hostile handGives up his life to slaughter in the land.
When he would claim those arms again for fight,His foe will turn them on him in his might.
As for the message sent to you,You called me self-willed, wavering, untrue.
You do not know the facts, nor judge them right;Some counselor has darkened all your sight.
You praise his faith, and blame my faithless way;What faith or faithlessness is, can you say?
Receive my answer, you of little wit,Yet hear the right in what I now submit.
You are the plaintiff and the witness too,A thing no man of wisdom ought to do.
When Caesar cast the dust of grief away,He chose me as his son-in-law that day.
For valor’s sake he joined his house to mine,And placed his kin within my royal line.
Who does not walk with evil as his guideKnows Bahram first began that violent tide.
The Iranians took his side to strike me down,And raised their hands once more against my crown.
No Roman force could make that army yield;Can drifting sand contest a mountain’s field?
But God granted His aid upon that day,And all the world’s great armies seemed as clay.
The Iranians know these matters as they stood;Ask them and judge the truth, as wise men should.
As for myself, I gave him every goodAnd served kindly as I could.
Upon the day of battle I showed grace,And dealt with him in honor face to face.
I reckoned his reward upon that day; too can witness what I say.
Look not upon the world with boyish eyes;Let tell you where the record lies.
He was our treasurer and kept the store;Our minister, the priest, can tell you more.
I gave the Roman legions from my hoardA hundred thousand bags of coin as reward.
A thousand ruby jewels to him I sent,Red stones for earrings, rich in ornament.
Each jewel weighed a thousand mithqals then,By treasury weight accounted among men.
I gave a thousand robes of Chin, arrayedWith gems and gold upon their rich brocade.
A hundred thousand silver coins would payFor each, so those who valued gems would say.
I gave a hundred flawless pearls, a giftWhose value jewelers alone could sift.
Each pearl was worth full thirty thousand more,In silver coins by every jeweler’s score.
I sent one hundred noble steeds beside,Selected from my stables in their pride.
Fifty were saddled, fifty choice and fleet,Each fit to race where desert pathways meet.
They wore brocade and matched the wind in pace;I sent them all to Caesar with my grace.
As for the Cross of Christ within my store,That ancient wood you asked about before,
It brought no loss or gain to me at all;Some Christian’s talk has held your mind in thrall.
I marveled that great Caesar, strong and wise,With priests and learned men before his eyes,
With philosophers and counselors of fame,Should call one executed God by name.
As for that dry and rotten piece of wood,If it were God, Himself there stood
Within our treasury, where it would not stay,But vanish like Christ from the world away.
Again, you said: ‘Before Yazdan confess;Amend your conduct, and your wrongs redress.’
My answer is: may Qobad’s hands decline,His feet and tongue and lips all waste and pine.
It was God who placed the crown upon my head;I took His gift and wore it till it fled.
Since He required the crown, I gave it back;What more remains upon this bitter track?
To Him I will confess, not to a childWho cannot judge what ruin has defiled.
All that God ordains is welcome to my soul,Though grief and misery have claimed their toll.
For thirty-eight full years I held the land;No king among all kings matched my command.
He who bestowed the world can grant it twice,And lays on me no debt, and asks no price.
I will pronounce a blessing on the realm:May wise men ever guide the turning helm.
While God remains our helper and our aid,No curse against us need by men be made.
Say to that foolish, rash, impetuous boy:‘The luster of our face has lost its joy.
Farewell forever. Now my words shall findTheir home among the sages of mankind.’
And as for you, illustrious envoys both,Eloquent Iranians, faithful to your oath,
To both of you I also bid farewell;Repeat only the words you heard me tell.
I give my blessing to the world at large,A passing thing that none may keep in charge.
All born of mothers die, however great; and Kay Qobad shared that fate.
, , and are dead,Though fear and hope once gathered round each head.
And all whom Div and beast acknowledged diedWhen time extinguished all their strength and pride.
Blessed , who brought to harm,And checked the Arab tyrant’s cruel arm,
Escaped not fate, though brave in heart and hand;No valor made his mortal lifespan stand.
So died, whose shaft flew far from sight,Its flight by farsangs measured in its might.
So , lion-catcher, paid death’s debt;So Kay Qobad’s bright day of kingship set.
From came a man of strength and worth,Who won the rule of all the folk on earth.
He built a world-famed house of crystal bright,With pearl and jeweled gates of gleaming light.
So , famed lion, passed from sight,Who slew two tigers in his youthful might.
He built with toil, yet did not gainEnduring treasure from that work or pain.
Where , , and of fame,Whose memories are monuments of name?
Where and his seventy chosen sons,Those lions of the fray, those mounted ones?
Where Shah , who chose the Good Faith’s light,And made its holy renew its might?
Where now , who read the heavens clear,Whose wisdom outshone sunlight in its sphere?
Gone are the wise and great, the men of old;Gone are the warriors, valorous and bold.
All left the palace, hall, and riding-ground;Their pride is dust, their fame a passing sound.
My son’s throne too shall pass when I am gone;His Fortune from that seat shall hasten on.
When comes the angel, I shall make this plea:‘Take gently now this parting soul from me.’
Repentance shall make bright the heart within;Our harmlessness be armor for our skin.
When we must cross the Bridge one day,May flowers lie beneath our feet, we pray.
This is the message that I leave behind:My words are for the world, for all mankind.
Farewell to you; may gladness with you stay,And cast all evil thoughts of me away.”
and heard with grief,And beat their heads before the fallen chief.
They rued the words that they themselves had said,And struck their cheeks, with dust upon each head.
They left in tears; heard each word,The Shah’s full message, just as they had heard.
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In briefShiruyeh weeps at his father’s answer and leaves the throne, and the chiefs take fright: if Khosrow is restored, they hang. The young Shah asks one month’s patience, hoping still for the treasure, and orders rich dishes sent to the prisoner, who eats only from Shirin’s hand.
When heard, his bitter tears ran down;His heart grew fearful of the throne and crown.
The gathered chiefs withdrew; their words had fedThe call for blood against his father’s head.
Their ugly words had burned the young king’s heart;He left the throne and drew himself apart.
With both his hands he clasped his head to weep;His grief denied him food and peaceful sleep.
For Khosrow’s pain, his eyes with tears were red;He wept; his bosom caught the blood he shed.
The army heard; its chiefs were filled with fearTo learn the king still held his father dear.
They gathered, spoke of Khosrow’s fallen state,And spoke of all they feared would be their fate:
“If he should sit upon the throne again,The gallows wait for us, his leading men.”
When sunlight climbed above the eastern hills,The malcontents awoke with angry wills.
They went to court; the Shah, when this was known,Came forth and took his place upon the throne.
Then chiefs, both kin and strangers, filled the place;They sat in silence, anger on each face.
He knew the cause of all their silent grief,And spoke these words to every troubled chief:
“A king not moved by his own father’s painIs base in heart and birth, and earns disdain.
For he is like a willow rotted through,Yet fouler still; let none believe him true.”
“Who serves two kings,” a rebel captain said,“Is fool and wretch, however nobly bred.”
Shiruyeh said, “A king must have his storeOf treasure, or his army is no more.
For one month more, let gentle words be heard;Let no one speak a harsh or bitter word.
His counsel yet may bring us joy and gain;His treasures fill the breadth of his domain.”
On hearing this, the chiefs rose from their place,And each went homeward with a guarded face.
Then to the cooks Shiruyeh gave commands:“Withhold no food that Khosrow’s need demands.
Serve rich and sweetened dishes, all displayedOn golden trays before the captive laid.”
The servers brought him dishes of each kind,But Khosrow, touching none of them, declined.
From ’s loving hand alone he fed,While on her breast she wept with grief and dread.
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In briefBarbad comes from Jahram to Tisfoon, stands a while before his fallen master, then goes out and laments in Pahlavi for the crown, the horse Shabdiz, the armies and the halls. He curses Shiruyeh, swears never to touch a lute, cuts off four fingers, and burns his instruments at home.
Now hear ’s lament; within your breastLet love for noble greatness find its rest.
He heard the Shah had lost his throne and state,Driven against his will to such a fate.
From Barbad came in grief profound,To seek , where royal woes abound.
He saw the fallen Shah, his aspect bleak;The ruby glow had faded from his cheek.
Awhile before the king he stood in pain,Then left the hall and raised his mourning strain.
The Shah could hear his lamentation rise;His keeper heard those agonizing cries.
The guards began to weep; their hearts becameAs flesh consumed upon affection’s flame.
With faded face, and heart that grief laid low,In he let his mourning flow:
“O Shah, O noble chief, O great Khosrow,O mighty hero, hear my cry of woe:
Where is your greatness, where your royal throne,Your crown and all the splendor you have known?
Where is your stature, where your crown so bright?Where armlets, ivory throne, and royal might?
Where is the manliness that ruled alone,Beneath whose wings the world became your own?
Where are your women, minstrels, now withdrawn,Your gate, your hall, your chiefs from dusk to dawn?
Where is your crown, the Kaviani sign,And violet swords that made your armies shine?
Where are your earrings, golden throne on high,The lofty state that none but you came by?
Where is your helmet, wrought of gold,Your gem-linked armor glorious to behold?
Where is , with golden stirrups bright,Who stirred beneath you, restless in his might?
Where are the riders, gold upon each rein,Whose swords found sheaths in foes that they had slain?
Where are your mules, the litters bright with gold,The servants who obeyed your word of old?
Your mounts and camels, white elephant too,Have lost all hope that life remains for you.
Where is your fluent tongue, your courteous art,Your purpose, ardent soul, and kingly heart?
Why have you now been left bereft and lone?What book foretold the grief this day has shown?
Trust not this world, whose cure is weak and vain;Its remedy is feebler than its bane.
You wished a son to lend you strength and aid;Now with his gift of pain you are repaid.
By sons kings gather strength that will endure,And pass through time’s dark night with honor pure.
Yet as his son grew strong and straight and tall,The king of kings beheld his vigor fall.
Let none who hears ’s fateTrust worldly promises and learn too late.
Count ruined all Iran, a broken land,Where leopards, lions roam on every hand.
The Shah stood head of ’s royal line;No crown or throne shall see his equal shine.
The foemen’s wishes now are satisfied;The line lies ruined, Iran at its side.
No king commanded troops of greater might;Yet who among them helped him in his plight?
The realm’s protector caused this bitter fall;Now through the breach the wolf comes past the wall.
Say this to : ‘Shah devoid of shame,Such conduct stains the court and royal name.
Your army will not stand and hold its groundWhen war arises on all sides around.’
God aid your soul, my master, in its pain,And fling your foemen headlong to the plain.
By God, your name, my king, I swear this thing,By , Mehr, and by the joyous spring:
If ever this hand touches harp or lute,May blessings shun my door, and joy be mute.
My instruments of music I will burn,And from your enemy in loathing turn.”
Four fingers from his plucking hand he sheared,His face with blood and tears of sorrow smeared;
He went back home and lit a blazing fire,And burned his instruments upon the pyre.
All who had wronged the Shah took deep alarm,And feared lest Fortune’s turning bring them harm.
Shiruyeh, young and fearful, came to seeHis throne a trap from which he could not flee.
Each man of judgment saw the realm’s decline:The days of greatness would no longer shine.
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In briefThe conspirators frighten Shiruyeh into consent, and Zad Farrokh hires a nameless wretch for a bag of gold. Khosrow calls for water, musk and clean robes, prays over the barsom, confesses his faults, and covers his head; the man stabs him. Fifteen imprisoned brothers are killed the same day.
The men who had conspired against his reignCame to the royal court, a sullen train.
They stood before , grim men of guile,And pressed their dark design with speech of bile:
“We said before, and now repeat our claim:Your heart’s concern and ours are not the same.
Two kings now share a single royal seat:One holds the throne, and one lies at his feet.
If love should grow between the son and sire,Your servants’ heads will answer to their ire.
This cannot be; of such things speak no more.”At this, the Shah grew frightened to the core.
He shook with fear, for there within their handHe was a slave, though lord of crown and land.
He said, “None but a man of evil nameWould draw to this snare of shame.
Go home, take counsel, find a man who mayIn secret take this grievous care away.”
The Shah’s ill-wishers sought a murderer then,To kill by stealth the greatest one of men.
But none had courage for that bloody deed,Or dared to make the royal Khosrow bleed.
Who dared to hang a mountain round his neck?The very thought would hold such men in check.
They found a wretch, blue-eyed and pale of face;Dust on his feet proclaimed his wretched case.
His body gaunt and hairy, lips dark blue,His head was bare, and hunger gnawed him through.
No man of high or low rank knew his name;May Paradise deny his soul all claim.
For his slain father’s blood, and gold beside,He pledged to pierce the monarch in his pride.
“This task is mine,” he said. “Give ample fare;Then this proud quarry falls within my snare.”
said, “Go, if your strength is true;Speak now no more of what you mean to do.
I have a bag of gold to pay your fee,And I shall hold you as a son to me.”
He gave the man a keen and bright;The murderer hurried to the captive’s sight.
He came upon the king in his retreat,And saw the fetters binding both his feet.
now trembled, full of dread,And down his cheeks the bitter tears were shed.
He cried, “What name is yours, you wretch? Now speak;Your mother’s tears must flow upon her cheek.”
The man replied, “Mehr is my name;Without a friend or fellow here I came.”
Khosrow replied, “My final hour I see;The basest hand has come to murder me.
That face is not a man’s; no heart draws nearTo seek your love or hold your friendship dear.”
He bade the boy who waited at his side,“Bring basin, water, musk, and robes,” he cried.
“Bring , too, and garments fresh and clean.”The boy was blind to what these words might mean.
The little servant hastened on his way,And brought the golden basin straightaway.
He brought the robes, with ewer, water too;The Shah urged haste in all he had to do.
He held the twigs, took in prayer,And cleansed his soul of worldly grief and care.
He donned the robes and murmured, breath by breath,Confession for his faults before his death.
He drew a new cloth closely round his head,That he might not behold the face of dread.
Then Mehr Ormozd, with khanjar drawn to slay,Shut fast the door and pulled the robe away.
He plunged the blade into the monarch’s waist;The king expired, in death’s cold arms embraced.
Such is the working of the whirling sphere,Whose secret no created eye sees clear.
The sage and braggart judge its whole domainAnd find that all its works are void and vain.
Be rich, or trapped in evil case and pain,You will not in this fleeting world remain.
Choose harmlessness and truth in all your ways,If you would win through justice honest praise.
When roads and markets rang with cries of woe,“Khosrow Parviz is slain by treachery’s blow,”
His foes went to the prison-house of grief,Where fifteen sons were bound without relief.
They killed the guiltless prisoners that day;The Shah’s good Fortune now had turned away.
Shiruyeh, though now crowned, dared not complain,But hid the tears he struggled to restrain.
He wept awhile; then twenty guards would goTo shield their wives and children from the foe.
So fell that mighty reign beyond recall:Force, majesty, and manhood, power, all.
No king of kings had held such power before,Nor tales of ancient glory told of more.
He now was equal to the man who ownsNo ample bread, no land, no palace stones.
The wise hold cheap the man who feels secureAgainst the dragon, certain to endure.
This world, a fierce with tooth and claw,Gnaws every prey it seizes in its maw.
The work of Khosrow Parviz now is past;His hoards, his throne, his famed troops could not last.
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In briefFifty-three days after the murder Shiruyeh summons Shirin as a sorceress, then offers her marriage. Before the nobles she defends her name, unveils, and is cleared; she secures her wealth, gives it all away, and drinks poison beside Khosrow in his tomb. Shiruyeh is poisoned in his eighth month.
Now Khosrow’s tale is told; hear what befell and , whose end I tell.
When fifty-three full days had passed since then,Since that great Shah was slain by faithless men,
Shiruyeh dispatched a messenger to sayTo Shirin, “Wicked sorceress, come away.
You potent mistress of the darkened arts,Most guilty woman known in Iran’s parts,
By spells you kept the Shah beneath your hand,And drew the moon down at your own command.
Tremble, guilty one, and heed my decree;Do not sit in palace ease, secure and free.”
Shirin grew furious at his foul abuse;Such vile and senseless words had no excuse.
She said, “May he who has his father slainLose height and ; may neither one remain.
I will not see that wretch in joy or woe,Not even from afar will I do so.”
That mourning lady called a scribe to hand,To set in what she had planned.
She gave instructions, set her wealth in view,And told the learned scribe its value too.
She kept some poison in a chest close by;No need to search the town for a supply.
She sewed a burial shroud for her own form,That garden-cypress soon to leave the storm.
Then she returned this answer to the king:“O crowned, exalted Shah, hear what I bring.
Your words are leaves and wind, of little worth;May your vile heart and soul sink to the earth.
Who knows of witchcraft more than just its name?Who ever found delight in such a claim?
Had Khosrow’s mind found joy in magic’s grace,What witch within his bower had seen his face?
He kept me for good fortune and delight,And called me from his bower at morning light.
At sight of me he gladdened, soul and mind;Why slander him with words so harsh, unkind?
Remember God, whose gifts sustain us here;Speak not these words for anyone to hear.”
They bore her words; the king blazed into flameAgainst the woman who was free of blame.
He said, “You must come here, before my throne;No thirst for blood so fierce as yours is known.”
Shirin, on hearing this, was filled with pain;She writhed as pallor spread its ashen stain.
She answered, “I will come, but first there mustBe learned elders, men of lore and trust.”
Shiruyeh then summoned fifty aged men,Experienced chiefs of speech and practiced pen.
He sent to her, “Arise. Enough of talk.”She robed in mourning blue and black to walk.
She hastened to the rose garden, where allThe nobles gathered at the royal call.
Behind the royal curtain she took a seat,As modest women keep themselves discreet.
He sent to her, “Two mourning months are done;Become my wife and share what I have won.
Avoid a mean estate and take your pleasure;I will support you with still greater treasure.
My father kept you honored in his day;I will give more respect in every way.”
Shirin replied, “First grant me justice; thenMy life is yours before these noblemen.
I will not hesitate in answering you,If justice first declares my honor true.”
Shiruyeh quickly gave his full assent;The noble lady spoke, on justice bent.
Behind the curtain thus she spoke: “O king,May crown and victory their blessings bring.
You called me wicked, treacherous, and vile,A witch whose purity was lost to guile.”
Shiruyeh said, “My youth spoke in that way;Bear no resentment for what young men say.”
Then Shirin turned toward Iran’s chiefs in hall,The gathered nobles, elders, one and all.
“What have you seen in me of fraud or ill,Of folly, crookedness, or darkened will?
For years Iran had hailed me as its queen;I gave the brave a strength on which to lean.
I sought the truth in everything I tried;From crookedness and fault I stood aside.
Through me, men gained whole cities in their hand,And many kinds of fortune in the land.
Who saw my shadow pass beyond my door?Speak, if you ever witnessed this before.
Who saw the shadow of my crown pass by,Or of my jewels? Let him testify.”
The nobles answered fairly, one and all:“No peer has she in private court or hall.”
Then Shirin said, “O lords of honored name,Three things bring women honor and acclaim.
First, modesty with wealth to grace a spouse,That he may deck and dignify his house.
Next, she must bear a son of blessed birth,And add to her good husband’s joy and worth.
Third, beauty in her stature and her face,With hair kept veiled in modesty and grace.
When I was joined to ’s side,And knew the world anew as his own bride,
He came from with thwarted hopes, and foundNo place to settle on his native ground.
But afterward he reached such royal heightAs none had heard or seen beneath the light.
Moreover, I bore four sons to his joy:, , , each noble boy,
And , the jewel of the sky;Their father’s joy in them was lifted high.
Jam and sired no sons to vie;May my tongue perish if I speak a lie.”
Then she unveiled her face before them all;Her musky hair in waves began to fall.
“This is the third: my face, now shown to you;Speak out if what I said has been untrue.
My hidden excellence was all my hair;No eye on earth had ever seen it bare.
This face and hair comprise my magic art;No fraud or dark enchantment played a part.”
No eye had seen her hair; astounded, allBit on their fingers in that silent hall.
When Shiruyeh saw Shirin’s face unveiled,His spirit fled him, and his senses failed.
He cried, “I want none but yourself as wife;Iran could give no greater gift to life.”
The lady of the lovely face replied,“First let my own requests be now supplied.
I have two wishes I would now declare;May kingship long remain within your care.”
Shiruyeh said, “My soul is at your feet;Whatever you desire, I shall complete.”
She said, “Assign me all the treasured storeThat I have laid within this land before.
Before these noble chiefs now make it clearThat every part of it is mine to steer.
Write on this roll that you renounce the whole.”Shiruyeh made haste and granted her control.
When she had gained her wish, she left the hall,The rose garden, the chiefs, the court, and all.
She went back home and freed her slaves, and pouredRich gifts upon them from her private hoard.
She gave her other wealth to those in need,And more to family, by loving deed.
She gave to fire-temples, rites, and days,To and to ’s sacred blaze.
She gave to ruined homes and lodgings whereGreat men had rested, free of toil and care.
She gave in Khosrow’s name, that goodness mightBring to his soul rejoicing and delight.
Unveiled, she sat upon the garden ground,Bereft of scent and color, sorrow-bound.
She summoned all her folk at her behest,And kindly bade each one sit as a guest.
She cried aloud, “All hear, for none of youShall see my face again as now you do.
Speak only truth; let no deceit arise,For falsehood is unworthy of the wise.
Since first I entered Khosrow Parviz’s bower,And was his chief wife, joy, and garden flower,
Has any fault appeared in me at all?Speak now the truth before my final call.
No need remains to save my face from blame;For one who seeks escape, what use is fame?”
All rose and answered, “Lady wise and chaste,Bright-souled, whose name no slander has defaced,
By God, no man has seen you or once heardYour voice beyond the curtain, not one word.
Your like has never sat on royal throneSince Shah made kingly greatness known.”
The watchful slaves replied from every side,“O lady praised in Rum, Chin, and wide,
Who dares speak ill of you or of your grace?Could evil deeds befit so pure a face?”
Then Shirin said, “This wretch, whom skies condemn,Has slain his father for the diadem.
May he no more behold fair Fortune’s smile,Nor joy return to one so base and vile.
Has he built walls to keep out death and doom,Who lightly sent his father to the tomb?
His message darkened all my soul; I liveTo serve the Maker; this reply I give.
I stated fully what I meant to do,Lest he defame me when my life is through.”
Her words released their sorrow from its chains;They wept for her and Khosrow’s bitter pains.
Her hearers sought the Shah, and there they toldWhat they had heard from Shirin, pure and bold.
He asked, “Has that good lady one wish more?”She sent, “One final grace I now implore.
Let Khosrow’s tomb be opened, and revealedOnce more the face that death has now concealed.”
He gave consent; the keeper of the tombDrew back the seal, and bared the royal room.
That pious lady entered weeping low,And laid her face on Khosrow’s face in woe.
She spoke of former days and drank the bane,Its poison broke her hold on life’s domain.
Beside the Shah she sat with veiled face,Clad in one robe of camphor-scented grace.
She leaned against the wall; her life was done,Her voice forever silenced, her course run.
Shiruyeh sickened when he heard; his heartGrew pained to see her, pierced by sorrow’s dart.
Beside the Shah he laid her form to rest,In that same vault, with musk and camphor dressed.
He sealed the Shah’s tomb; little time went by.They gave him poison; he in turn would die.
The world had had its fill of Shahs; his birthAnd death were ill-omened upon the earth.
He left the throne of kingship to his son;His short and troubled sovereignty was done.
He reigned seven months; in the eighth he woreThe camphor crown and passed through death’s own door.
Of earthly goods, the throne is counted best;Of evils, early death brings deepest unrest.
Next in the poemE9 · The Years of ChaosOr read the notes on E7 and E8, or see Khosrow Parviz’s page.