While the star-gazing fool is waiting for luck, the luck goes by; The star of luck is luck, and not any star in the sky. In the appendix to my edition of the Persian story-book entitled BakhtyÁr NÁma, pp. 218-223, may be found some rather droll anecdotes of the blunders of astrologers. Their thirst allayed, the princes ply the chase, And a fat stag soon falls beneath their arrows. A fire they kindle next, and dress their prize; Then, offering to the gods and manes made, With SitÁ they the social banquet share. And readers of the Arabian Nights will remember how young Bedr ed-DÍn Hasan was discovered by the delicious tarts for the making of which he had been always famed. Man is supreme lord and master Of his own ruin and disaster, Controls his fate, but nothing less In ordering his own happiness: For all his care and providence Is too feeble a defence To render it secure and certain Against the injuries of fortune; And oft, in spite of all his wit, Is lost with one unlucky hit, And ruined with a circumstance And mere punctilio of a chance. Butler’s Remains. But the HindÚ sages give forth no uncertain sound on this subject, as may be seen from these verses, which are cited in the Hitopadesa, a Sanskrit version of the celebrated Fables of BidpaÏ: “As from a lump of clay a workman makes whatever he pleases, in like manner a man obtains the destiny prepared by himself.” “Fortune waits upon that lion of a man who exerts himself. Abject fellows say: ‘It is to be given by destiny.’ Put forth manliness with all your strength. If when effort has been made it succeed not, what blame is there in such a case?” “And now I bid the very wind To speed my loving message on, As though I might its fury bind, Like Solomon.” The wind is a common messenger of love in the amatory poetry of the East;—thus a pre-Islamite Arabian poet exclaims in apostrophising his beloved: “O may the western breeze tell thee of my ardent desire to return home!” In the KathÁ Sarit SÁgara—an ancient Sanskrit story-book—we read of trees with golden trunks, branches of jewels, the clear white flowers of which were clusters of pearls; golden lotuses, etc. Aladdin, it will be remembered, found in the cave, where was deposited the magic lamp, trees bearing “fruit” of emeralds and other gems of great price, with which he took care to stuff his pockets. In the mediÆval romance of Alexander we are told how the world-conqueror jousted with Porus for his kingdom, and having overthrown him, he found in the palace of the vanquished monarch innumerable treasures, and amongst others a vine of which the branches were gold, the leaves emerald, and the fruit of other precious stones—a fiction, says Dunlop, which seems to have been suggested by the golden vine which Pompey carried away from Jerusalem. The garden of Duke Isope, as described in the Tale of Beryn (Supp. Canterbury Tales: Ch. Soc., p. 84), had a similar tree: “In mydward of this garden stant a feire tre, Of alle maner levis that under sky [there] be, I-forgit and i-fourmyd, eche in his degre, Of sylvir, and of goldÈ fyne, that lusty ben to see.” As the treasures coveted by the Arimaspians were guarded by griffins, and the golden apples of the Hesperides by a dragon, so this garden of Duke Isope was kept by eight “tregetours,” or magicians, who looked like “abominabill wormys,” enough to frighten the bravest man on earth. The Italian poet Boiardo, in the 12th canto of his Orlando Innamorato, represents the virtuous Tisbina as promising her love to Iroldo, who is madly enamoured of her, on condition that he perform a certain task for her: “Beyond the forest of Barbary,” says she, “is a fair garden, which has an iron wall. Herein entrance can be obtained by four gates: one Life keeps, Death, another, Poverty, another, and Riches, another. Whoso goes therein must depart by the opposite gate. In the midst is a tree of vast height, far as an arrow may mount aloft; that tree is of marvellous price, for whenever it blossoms it puts forth pearls, and it is called the Treasure-Tree, for it has apples of emerald and boughs of gold. A branch of this tree,” adds the fair Tisbina, “I must have, otherwise I am in heavy case.” Astrologers having predicted for the year 1523 incessant rains and disastrous floods, the good abbot of St. Bartholomew, in Smithfield, London, built a house at Harrow-on-the-Hill, and stored it with provisions. Many people followed his example and repaired to high places, in order to escape the expected deluge. But no extraordinary rains occurring, the disappointed soothsayers pacified the people by confessing themselves mistaken just one hundred years in their calculation!—Readers of Chaucer will remember how the arch-rogue Clerk Nicolas, for his own wicked ends, predicted, to his simple landlord, the carpenter, that a flood was presently to come upon the earth, greater than that which Noah and his family “rode-out” in the Ark. Mrs. Meer Hasan Ali, in her interesting Observations on the Mussulmans of India, says: “It is wonderful the influence which a najÚm [i.e. astrologer] acquires in the houses of many great men in India. Wherever one of those idlers is entertained he is the oracle to be consulted on all occasions. I know those who submit with a childlike docility to the najÚm’s opinion, when their better reason, if allowed sway, would decide against the astrologer’s prediction. If the najÚm says it is not proper for NawÁb Sahib and his lady to eat, drink, or sleep, to take medicine, to give away or accept any gift, the najÚm has said it, and the najÚm must be right.” (Vol. i, pp. 69, 70.) “A drop of rain trickled from a cloud into the ocean; when it beheld the breadth of its waters it was utterly confounded. ‘What a place this sea is, and what am I? If it is existent, verily I am non-existent.’ Whilst it was thus regarding itself with the eye of contempt, an oyster received it into its bosom. Fortune preferred it to a place of honour; for it became a renowned royal pearl. Because it was humble, it found exaltation;—it knocked at the door of nonentity, that it might arise into being.”—Robinson’s Persian Poetry for English Readers, p. 328. “Grace was in every step, heaven in her eye, In every gesture dignity and love.” The “witchery,” or “magic,” of a pretty girl’s eyes is quite as common a subject of complaint, or admiration, in Western as in Eastern amatory poetry: by Muslims it is called “Babylonian magic,” because the Chaldeans were past masters in magical arts. “Let Nature, if she please, disperse My atoms over all the universe; At the last they easily shall Themselves know, and together call; For thy love, like a mark, is stampt on all— ALL OVER LOVE!” “Forty times over let Michaelmas pass, Grizzling hair the brain doth clear; Then you know a boy is an ass, Then you know the worth of a lass, Once you’ve come to Forty Year!” And do we not speak of a buxom dame as “fat, fair, and forty”? “Ha, Lord, wel may the man be riche Whom that a king list for to riche”; the other exclaims: “But he is riche and wel bego Whom that God wold sende wele.” “Il a en mon cors une piere, Qui tant est prÉcieuse et chiere, Bien est de trois onces pesans; La vertus est en il si grans, Qui en sa baillie l’aroit, JÀ riens demander ne saroit, Que maintenant ne l’Éust preste.” |