No comprehensive translation of this important classical work has hitherto been placed before the reading public, but it cannot be doubted that the character of its contents is such as to fully1 justify2 the attempt now made to familiarize English readers with the entertaining anecdotes3 and devotional wisdom which the Sage4 of Shiraz embodied5 in his Palace of Wealth. This is the name which he applies to the Bustān in an introductory chapter, and it is one which springs from something more than a poet’s fancy, for the ten doors, or chapters, with which the edifice6 is furnished lead into a garden that is indeed rich in the fruits of knowledge gained by a wide experience of life in many lands, and earnest thought.
The Bustān is written in verse—a fact which adds considerably7 to the difficulties of translation, since the invariable rule of Sadi, like that of every other Persian poet we have read, is to sacrifice sense to the exigencies8 of rhyme and[10] metre. In not a few cases the meaning is so confused on this account that even the native commentators9, who possess a fund of ingenuity10 in explaining what they do not properly understand, have been compelled to pass over numerous couplets through sheer inability to unravel11 their intricacies and the abstruse12 ideas of the poet.
Probably in no other language in the world is poetic13 license14 so freely permitted and indulged in as in Persian. The construction of sentences follows no rule; the order of words is just that which the individual poet chooses to adopt, and the idea of time—past, present, and future—is ignored in the use of tenses, that part of a verb being alone employed which rhymes the best.
Notwithstanding idiosyncrasies of this kind, the Bustān is written in a style that is delightfully15 pure and admirably adapted to the subject. The devout16 spirit by which Sadi was characterized throughout his chequered life is revealed in every page of the book. In the Gulistān he gave free rein17 to the quaint18 humour which for many centuries has been the delight of the Eastern peoples, and which an ever-increasing body of English readers is learning to appreciate and admire. In the Bustān the humour is more restrained; its place is taken by a more sober reasoning of the duties of mankind towards the Deity19 and towards their fellow-men. Devotion to God and the inflexibility20 of Fate are the underlying21 texts[11] of every poem, and the ideality of the one and the stern reality of the other are portrayed22 in language the beauty of which, it is to be feared, the English rendering23 does not always adequately convey.
The poems abound24 in metaphor25, a figure of style which Eastern writers employ to a degree that is always exaggerated, and sometimes tedious; but for the purpose of this translation, which aims at a happy medium between literal accuracy and the freedom requisite26 in order to render Oriental phraseology into polite English, numerous of the more far-fetched allusions27 have been discarded, to the benefit of the text.
Although a memoir28 of Sadi’s life is included in another volume of this series, it may not be out of place to give here a brief outline of the poet’s career, especially as the Bustān contains several references to his childhood and travels.
Sheikh Muslih-ud-din Sādi was born in Shiraz, in Persia, A.D. 1175; that is to say, 571 years after the flight of Muhammad from Mecca to Medina. He was the son of one Abdu’llah (servant of God), who held a Government office under the Diwān of that time. Sadi was a child when his father died, as is made clear from the pathetic poem in the second chapter, ending with these words:
Well do I know the orphan’s sorrow,
For my father departed in my childhood.
[12]
But poorly endowed with earthly riches, Sadi endured many hardships in consequence of this bereavement29, and was eventually obliged to live, together with his mother, under the protection of a Saracen chief. How long he remained there it is impossible to say, for the reason that his biographers are the reverse of informing. This much is, however, known, that being imbued30 from early childhood with an insatiable thirst for knowledge, he eventually journeyed to Baghdad, then at the zenith of its intellectual fame, and was enabled to enter a private school there through the generosity31 of a wealthy native gentleman. Making full use of the opportunity so favourably32 presented, the young aspirant33 progressed rapidly along the path of learning, and at the age of twenty-one made his first essays in authorship. Some fragmentary poems which he submitted with a long dedication34 to Shams-ud-din, the Professor of Literature at the Nizāmiah College of Baghdad, so pleased that able and discerning man that he at once fixed35 upon Sadi a liberal allowance from his own private purse, with the promise of every further assistance in his power. Soon after this, Sadi was admitted into the college, and ultimately gained an Idrār, or fellowship. In the seventh chapter of the Bustān he narrates36 an instructive story reminiscent of his studies at Nizāmiah, and, prone37 to conceit38 though he often is, he tells the story against himself.
[13]
His scholastic39 life did not terminate until he had reached the age of thirty. Of the value of this prolonged period of study he himself was fully cognisant. “Dost thou not know,” he asks in the seventh chapter, “how Sadi attained40 to rank? Neither did he traverse the plains nor journey across the seas. In his youth he lived under the yoke41 of the wise: God granted him distinction in after-life. And it is not long before he who is submissive in obedience42 exercises command.” No better example of the truth of this passage could be cited than that afforded by his own case.
On leaving Baghdad, he went in company with his tutor, Abdul Qādir Gīlāni, on a pilgrimage to Mecca. This was the first of many travels extending over a period of thirty years, in the course of which he visited Europe, India, and practically every part of what are known as the Near and Middle East. A trip through Syria and Turkey is specifically mentioned in this book as inspiring the composition of the Bustān. Not wishing, as he tells us, to return empty-handed to his friends at Shiraz, he built the Palace of Wealth, and offered it to them as a gift. He does not conceal43 the high opinion which he himself placed upon this product of his gifted pen. The gracefully44 worded phrases with which he predicted the undying popularity of the Gulistān finds a parallel in the dedication of the Bustān to Atabāk Abu Bakr-bin-Sád, the illustrious[14] monarch45 of Persia beneath whose protection Sadi spent the latter half of his life.
“Although not wishing to sing the praises of kings,” he writes, “I have dedicated46 this book to one so that perhaps the pious47 will say that Sadi, who surpassed all in eloquence48, lived in the time of Abu Bakr Sád.” Then, addressing the king, he adds: “Happy is thy fortune that Sadi’s date coincides with thine, for as long as the moon and sun are in the skies thy memory will remain eternal in this book.” This conceit is pardonable, since it has been amply justified49 by time.
After the thirty years of travel, Sadi, becoming elderly, settled down in Persia, where, as has been said, he gained the favour of the ruling prince, from whom he derived50 not only the dignity and the more tangible51 advantages of the post of Poet Laureate, but his takhallus, or titular52 name, of Sadi. He died at the ripe age of 116, and was buried in his native city.
If the Bustān were the only monument that remained of his genius, his name would assuredly still be inscribed53 in the roll of the Immortals54. One feature of his great intellectual faculties55 needs to be emphasized, and all the more so because it is apt to be overlooked. That is the increasing power which they assumed as he advanced in years, the truth of which can be understood when it is stated that he composed the Bustān at the age of 82, the Gulistān appearing[15] twelve months later. Few, if any, instances of such sustained mental activity are to be found elsewhere in the entire world’s history of letters.
Under the several headings of the various chapters a wide range of ethical56 subjects is discussed, the whole forming a compendium57 of moral philosophy the broad principles of which must remain for all time as irrefutable as the precepts58 of Scriptural teaching.
Sadi’s spiritual message is not that of a visionary. His religion was an eminently59 practical one—he had no sympathies with the recluse60 and the ascetic61. To fulfil one’s duties towards one’s fellow-men is to fulfil one’s duty towards the Deity. That is the root-idea of his teachings. “Religion,” he observes, “consists only in the service of the people: it does not lie in the rosary, or prayer-rug, or mendicant’s habit.”
This couplet, occurring in the opening chapter, is put into the mouth of a certain pious man whom one of the kings of Persia is said to have visited in a repentant62 mood for the purpose of seeking counsel. The story, like many others in the book, may or may not have any foundation in fact, “the histories of ancient kings,” which the poet frequently quotes as his authority, being rather too vague to be convincing. At the same time, the historical allusions form an interesting and instructive background to the legends and the moral precepts so abundantly interwoven among them.
[16]
Although Persia is only yet in the process of readjusting her ideas of government and the prerogatives63 of rulers, principles more advanced than seem compatible with despotism have been for many centuries current among her people, in theory, at least, if not in practice. Muhammad said that a little practice with much knowledge was better than much practice with little knowledge. On that ground Persia has defence, for the knowledge certainly was there. What could better describe the true relationship between king and people than Sadi’s thirteenth-century epigram?—
Subjects are as the root and the king is as the tree,
And the tree, O son, gains strength from the root.
Not many months ago the autocratic tree at Teheran was rudely severed64 from its root; perchance the successors of Abu Bakr were not of those to whom “the words of Sadi are agreeable.”
The saving grace of benevolence65 is illustrated66 in the second chapter by means of some entertaining anecdotes, of two of which the hero is Hātim Tai, the famous Arabian chief, whose generosity was such that he preferred to die rather than disappoint the messenger sent by a jealous king to slay67 him. The story of the Darwesh and the Fox is noteworthy inasmuch as it throws a much-needed light upon the Eastern interpretation69 of all that is implied by “qismat.” It is commonly supposed that the[17] sense of inevitability70 removes from the Eastern’s mind the necessity for individual effort. This view is distinctly erroneous. No such pernicious doctrine71 is, at any rate, subscribed72 to by the educated classes; to the lazy and ne’er-do-well who plead Fate as their excuse, Sadi points the moral.
After demonstrating in the two succeeding chapters the powerlessness of man to avert73 the decrees of Fate, and the virtues74 of contentment, the poet passes on to discuss the cultivation75 of the mind. The comparison here drawn76 between the human mind and a city “full of good and evil desires,” of which the Ego77 is the Sultan and Reason the Vazier, is original and full of meaning. Despite his own much-vaunted eloquence and facility of speech, Sadi condemns78 in scathing79 terms the man of many words, remarking poignantly80 that “a grain of musk81 is better than a heap of mud.” So, too, in his opinion, is a thief better than a back-biter, and, apropos82 of the gentler sex, a woman of good nature better than one of beauty. The advice to take a new wife every year cannot be regarded seriously, even though it be true that last year’s almanac has lost its usefulness. More worthy68 of the poet is the discourse83 on the training of children. Nothing truer than the sentiments expressed in this poem did he ever utter, and in England to-day there can be few who would dispute them.
Excessive charm pervades84 the three concluding[18] chapters. If that bigotry85 and spirit of intolerance of which the Mussulman, no less than the followers86 of other creeds87, is guilty is revealed in no small measure, criticism on that score must give place to wonder and admiration88 for the sincere and perfervid homage89 which the poet renders to the Deity whom, in the essence, all nations worship.
The narrative90, in the eighth chapter, of Sadi’s adventure with the idolaters in Guzerat will be found amusing as well as enlightening.
Never have I heard it said
The wise found fault with what they read.
Though of Chinese cloth a robe be made,
If thou wouldst but the cloth, seek not to condemn—
Forgiven, through them that have purity.
If in my words thou evil find,
Do likewise, forgive, for more is behind.
If a word in a thousand suit thy taste,
Do not denounce the rest in haste.
The poet goes on to remark that his compositions are esteemed96 in Persia as is the choicest musk of Tartary: the translator is less fortunate and more modest.
A. H. E.
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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embodied
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| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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exigencies
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commentators
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| n.评论员( commentator的名词复数 )；时事评论员；注释者；实况广播员 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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unravel
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| v.弄清楚（秘密）；拆开，解开，松开 | |
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abstruse
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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inflexibility
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| n.不屈性，顽固，不变性；不可弯曲；非挠性；刚性 | |
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underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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rendering
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abound
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metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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memoir
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| n.[pl.]回忆录，自传；记事录 | |
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bereavement
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| n.亲人丧亡，丧失亲人，丧亲之痛 | |
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imbued
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| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的过去式和过去分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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aspirant
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| n.热望者；adj.渴望的 | |
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dedication
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| n.奉献，献身，致力，题献，献辞 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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narrates
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| v.故事( narrate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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scholastic
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| adj.学校的，学院的，学术上的 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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titular
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| adj.名义上的，有名无实的；n.只有名义（或头衔）的人 | |
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inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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immortals
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| 不朽的人物( immortal的名词复数 )； 永生不朽者 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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ethical
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| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
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compendium
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| n.简要，概略 | |
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precepts
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| n.规诫，戒律，箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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ascetic
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| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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repentant
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| adj.对…感到悔恨的 | |
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prerogatives
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| n.权利( prerogative的名词复数 )；特权；大主教法庭；总督委任组成的法庭 | |
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severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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inevitability
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| n.必然性 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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ego
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| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
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condemns
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| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的第三人称单数 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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scathing
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| adj.（言词、文章）严厉的，尖刻的；不留情的adv.严厉地，尖刻地v.伤害，损害（尤指使之枯萎）( scathe的现在分词) | |
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poignantly
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81
musk
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| n.麝香, 能发出麝香的各种各样的植物，香猫 | |
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apropos
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| adv.恰好地；adj.恰当的；关于 | |
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83
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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84
pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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85
bigotry
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| n.偏见，偏执，持偏见的行为[态度]等 | |
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86
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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87
creeds
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| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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88
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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89
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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90
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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91
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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92
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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93
gloss
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| n.光泽，光滑；虚饰；注释；vt.加光泽于；掩饰 | |
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94
acumen
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| n.敏锐，聪明 | |
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95
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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