No More Learning

Captain Davenne bowed slightly, as did Dr. Antonio. A parting
recommendation to Lucy to keep quiet, and to go to bed early
if she did not feel better in the evening, and the doctor with-
drew.
Aubrey began kicking about in the most uproarious manner
all the chairs and arm-chairs that were in the room, every fresh
kick eliciting a fresh start from Lucy; till at last, having dis-
posed them somewhat symmetrically by the side of the sofa, he
stretched his ponderous limbs on this extempore couch, talking
loudly all the while. Lucy was thus made aware, between one
kick and the other, of the string of lucky circumstances which
had procured for her so unexpectedly the blessing of her broth-
er's company. They were briefly these: The invalid brother offi
cer, whose duties had devolved upon Aubrey, recovering more
rapidly than had been anticipated, Captain Davenne had in con-
sequence been enabled to sail by the very Indian mail the arrival
of which, without a letter from him, had caused Sir John's un-
easiness in the morning. What was the use of writing when he
should reach England at the same time as his letter? In London
he had met Tom Carnifex,- eldest son of Lord Carnifex,- who
had just received a hasty summons from his father to join him
at Florence as quickly as he could. Tom had offered Aubrey a
place in his britschka; Aubrey had accepted it, and here he was.
Of the stranger he had found in his sister's company, of the
pleasant or unpleasant impression made on him by the sight, not
a single word.
Who so surprised and happy and elated as Sir John, when on
entering the room soon after, the first thing his eyes fell upon
was his long-missed treasure, Aubrey, seated by the side of his
sister? Sir John would, had his sense of decorum permitted,


## p. 12478 (#536) ##########################################

12478
GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
have done foolish things. How proudly and fondly he gazed on
the "boy," as he called him! Truth to say, Aubrey's Herculean
proportions and handsome features must have excited the admi-
ration of a more impartial judge than his father. The baronet's
eager inquiries immediately brought forth a second edition of
Aubrey's statements just related; and then began between father
and son a brisk fire of queries and answers, like hammers plying
in quick succession on an anvil. No wonder they had much to
say to one another, considering their ten years' separation. They
rattled on uninterruptedly, until John Ducket's advent to lay the
cloth for dinner put an end to their effusions. Captain Davenne
complimented John on his good looks; an honor which spread
on John's grave face a grin of intense complacency. The two
gentlemen then adjourned to Sir John's own room, from whence
they were shortly after summoned forth by the announcement
that dinner was on the table. Aubrey ate and drank enough for
two; and as he ate and drank, his praises of the fare, the wines,
the situation, rendered still more impressive by sundry oaths and
tremendous peals of laughter, which made plates, glasses, decan-
ters, and the very glass door ring again, grew louder and louder.
"By-the-by, my dear boy," said the baronet, "at what inn did
Carnifex leave you? "
"At none," was the answer. "I left my portmanteau at a
kind of pot-house, where he changed horses. I say, John, you
must go there after dinner and have my portmanteau brought
here. "
"I am afraid," said Sir John, "that there is no room for
you here: it is a mere nutshell; there is not a hole to spare, I
know. "
"Never mind," retorted Aubrey: "à la guerre comme à la
guerre; I can sleep on the sofa, or on the ground, anywhere.
Here I am, and here I mean to stay; for I suppose you won't
turn me out by force. "
This being Aubrey's ultimatum, from which it was clear that
no reasons, however good, would divert him, a short consultation
ensued between Sir John and John Ducket, the upshot of which
was that John should manage to find a resting-place for him-
self where he could, and that his room should be made as com-
fortable as possible for his young master. To be of service to
Aubrey, John would have willingly slept in the fields.


## p. 12479 (#537) ##########################################

GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
12479
Dinner over, Captain Davenne, to Sir John's great amaze-
ment and consternation, lighted an enormous cigar. "First-rate
cigar," said he, puffing away: "I hope you don't dislike the smell,
Lucy; I know my father doesn't. " Lucy protested she had no
objection to it—she rather liked it than not. Now the truth
was that she could not bear it. What was it that forced from
her an assertion so little consonant with the truth? Lucy almost
unconsciously felt a sort of necessity to humor her brother.
Poor, timid, weak Lucy! How many of thy sisters have I seen,
as candid and artless as thou art, sin in a like and worse way,
to propitiate such bears as this brother of thine! For all which
sins, let us hope, not the weak, sensitive things will be called to
account some day, but the blustering, overbearing rulers in whose
violence the sins originated.
Sir John neither openly admitted nor contradicted Aubrey's
declaration as to himself: it might be he did not feel sure how
a flat denial on his part would be received, or it might be that
he chose on the first day of reunion to be indulgent. He only
prudently proposed a levée en masse to the garden, where they
would have coffee.
The usual hour for Antonio's evening call was now past, and
no Antonio had appeared. "I hope the doctor is not going to
give us the slip," said Sir John, after he had consulted his watch
two or three times. "My son's company is no good reason why
I should not have my friend's also. I wish you very much to
make his acquaintance, Aubrey: as nice a man, this Dr. Anto-
nio, as you could meet anywhere,- quite a gentleman; we are
under infinite obligations to him. " And then Sir John told his
son all over again the story of the overturn, and the Italian's
timely help, already related in sundry letters to India; and warm-
ing with the subject, the baronet went on to enlarge on all the
unremitting attention Antonio had paid to Lucy, and how ingen-
iously he had contrived to amuse her during her confinement to
the house. The lending of books, the lectures on botany, the
lessons on the guitar, were all set forth; the catalogue winding
up with that stupendous master-stroke, the easy-chair invented
by the doctor. To all of which discourse Aubrey listened with
an attention quite edifying, and an appearance of great grati-
fication, a gratification made more evident as he watched the
pleasure the details afforded to his darling sister, on whose glow-
ing countenance the sympathizing brother's eyes rested all the
while.
-


## p. 12480 (#538) ##########################################

12480
GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
"I long to shake hands with this phoenix of doctors," said
Aubrey, "and apologize for my rudeness. I suppose it was he I
found here this morning? "
"Yes," said Lucy.
"What do you say," continued Aubrey, speaking to Sir John,
but looking at his sister, "to our going and laying violent hands
on this forgetful friend of yours, and dragging him captive here?
ha ha ha! "
"Ah, do! " said Lucy, with sparkling eyes, and inwardly call-
ing herself all sorts of names for having so unkindly misjudged
her brother. Sir John agreeing immediately to the proposal,
Captain Davenne lit a fresh cigar, and out they sallied. As they
passed through the garden-gate, Aubrey was seized by a violent
fit of laughing.
"What are you laughing at? " asked Sir John, perplexed.
"Why, this is such a devilish queer house-such a wrong-
sided look about it. I would give something to carry it bodily
to London, and show it at a shilling a head. I bet something no
one would credit that Sir John and Miss Davenne had lived con-
tentedly weeks in it. I verily believe Hutchins and John have
forgotten what a decent room is like. "
Sir John felt his son's words as a personal reproach. He
hung his head.
"Apropos de bottes» (Aubrey had been in love with a French
actress at Madras, and spoke French fluently, and liked to show
that he did), "the old Duke of B asked after you. "
"Very kind of him," said the baronet, his features expanding.
"How is the old gentleman ? "
"As fresh as ever," said Aubrey. "He wondered what had
become of you. Indeed, everybody does: Lady Deloraine most
of all, at whose house I met theian ambassadress, and her
daughter-in-law Lady Charlotte Tuicy, both of them full of sus-
picions about your absence, and willing to join in any conspiracy
for carrying you off by force from your mysterious hiding-place. '
"God forbid they should put their threat in execution! " said
the baronet chuckling. "But talking of carrying off, have you
heard of that pretty business of Fanny Carnifex's elope->
"Blast the cowardly Italian beggar! " yelled out Aubrey. « I
have heard all about it. "
"Are they married, at least? " asked Sir John with an effort.
«< They are; but it is a matrimonial alliance that won't last
long. Fanny will soon be a jolly widow, I can tell her. "


## p. 12481 (#539) ##########################################

GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
12481
"How do you mean? " inquired Sir John, surprised.
Aubrey stopped short, slowly raised his right arm, held it out
as if taking aim, and with a clack of his tongue, imitated the
report of a pistol. "Tom Carnifex is one of the best shots in
England, my dear sir," said he carelessly, by way of explanation.
The acting of this little scene was so splendidly natural, there
was in the look of the performer something so savage, that Sir
John could not help a shudder. However desirable it might have
once seemed to him that the offender should be made an example
of, it was no part of Sir John's programme of to-day to be pres-
ent at the execution.
Engrossed by such pleasant converse and anticipations, the
chief of the Davenne dynasty and his heir had come in sight of
Dr. Antonio's poor dwelling just as its tenant, in no very pleas
ant mood, was issuing from the door. Antonio was little pre-
pared for the present warm greeting from the surly stranger of
a few hours back, who now, shaking him heartily by the hand,
made a sort of laughing apology for having been so unceremoni
ous in the morning. Though rather taken by surprise, the Ital-
ian returned Aubrey's advances in as kindly a spirit as he could
summon on such short notice; and the three, Antonio in the
middle, walked back to the Osteria, where they found the count,
between whom and young Davenne an introduction in due form
took place. The evening passed, if not as quietly as usual, not
the less agreeably, perhaps, for being rather noisy. Captain
Davenne was in the most communicative of humors, and rattled
away famously, laughing a good deal at his own jokes and sto-
ries, drinking freely all the while of what he called lemonade; and
so it was, only with a strong infusion of old Jamaica rum. Some
of his tiger-hunting adventures, which he told with great spirit,
were listened to with thrilling interest,- Antonio translating for
the count, who had learnt about as much English as Sir John had
Italian. Lucy retired early, but not before she had seen a real
good-will and friendship springing up between her brother and
her doctor and friend. Let us hope that she slept well, poor girl.
As ten struck, Sir John and Antonio according to habit sat down
to their game of chess, which was on the baronet's part a series
of continual blunders. His thoughts were otherwise engaged.
When Lucy, about eight next morning, after her early bath
and one
or two hours of additional rest, crossed the anteroom
on her way out, she found her brother already installed on the
sofa, and yawning violently.
XXI-781


## p. 12482 (#540) ##########################################

12482
GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
"Where are you going? " asked Aubrey.
"To water my flowers. I have a nice little garden of my
own: come and look at it. "
Aubrey raised his long length, went, looked at it, and admired
it. The garden was not her own making, was it? Oh no! Spe-
ranza had made it; Speranza, the landlady's daughter, a very nice
girl. Dr. Antonio had given Lucy most of the plants. "Are they
not beautiful ? »
"Very," said Aubrey; adding, "Do you know, Lucy, I am quite
in love with that doctor of yours? "
"Are you? " said Lucy, looking up at him with such beaming
eyes!
"I have seldom seen a more commanding figure than his; and
he is very gentleman-like, certainly. I wish he were an English
duke. "
"Why? " said Lucy. "I assure you he is quite contented
with his lot. "
"Because if he were, young lady, you would make a hand-
some couple. " Lucy grew scarlet. "As it is," pursued Aubrey
slowly, in a clear, cruel, stern voice,-"as it is, I would rather
see you dead and buried than married to that man. "
The little watering-pot slipt out of her hand, and her knees
gave way.
"D it! " cried Aubrey, raising her from the ground, "you
needn't take fright at a mere supposition! " And without another
word he passed his powerful arm round his sister's waist, and
led her up the stairs to the sofa. This was the first and the
last time that Antonio's name was mentioned between them.
The doctor called, as was his wont, during the morning; but
instead of his usual warm recognition from Lucy he received
a silent bow. Her cheeks were dreadfully pale, her eyes red.
He inquired about her health, and got a hurried answer that
she was very well. He would have felt her pulse: there was
no need, she assured him,- she was very comfortable. When
he stooped over her shoulder to examine her drawing, she recol-
lected that she had left a brush in her room which was indis-
pensable at that moment, and got up to fetch it. There was a
constraint about poor Lucy which Antonio had never seen. His
heart contracted painfully. That Aubrey was the cause of the
sweet girl's altered looks and manner, Antonio had not the least
doubt; but how and why? Was he, Antonio, in any way con-
nected with this new state of things? To solve the mystery he


## p. 12483 (#541) ##########################################

GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
12483
would have willingly shed his blood. Oh for ten seconds alone
with her, but ten, to ask one question, receive one answer!
He loitered longer than he generally did, to take advantage of a
possible chance. In vain. There stood between him and her a
moving Chinese wall.
―――
Four days passed without the situation mending. Aubrey had
taken such a fancy to the wretched Osteria that neither the
count's pressing invitations, nor his father's exhortations to take
his horse and go and enjoy the fine scenery, could prevail upon
the colossal dragoon to leave its precincts for a moment; unless
Lucy did, which was commonly the case in the evening, when
he would put her arm under his and fondly support her steps.
All the rest of the day, from seven in the morning to eleven
at night, Aubrey would spend indoors, most of the time stretched.
at full length, smoking and indulging in his favorite beverage;
or shaking the poor inn with his ponderous strides. His most
gracious smile and heartiest squeeze of the hand was for Antonio,
to whom he had taken such a liking that for nothing in the
world would Aubrey have missed a minute of his new friend's
company. A boisterous, rather vulgar, lively, good-tempered, com-
panionable fellow, this young Davenne, easily satisfied with every-
thing and everybody, making light of the inconveniences of his
far from comfortable room down-stairs, never hinting by word or
look at any the least wish on his part to leave his present quar-
ters. His conversation with Sir John turned almost exclusively,
it is true, on London (the London, we mean, whose existence is
acknowledged by people of rank and fashion), London gayeties,
the illustrious relatives and acquaintances of the Davenne fam-
ily, or the general regret at the baronet's prolonged absence, and
so on. But nine times out of ten it was Sir John himself who
broached the subject; and then, was it not natural and proper
for a dutiful son to dwell on such topics as were palpably the
most agreeable to his father?
It
Meanwhile the healthy bloom was fading fast from Lucy's
cheek, and her head drooped like a lily deprived of sunshine.
was not enough that poor Lucy was to be weaned all at once
from the joys and benefits of the friendly intercourse which habit
had made a sweet necessity to her But she had to wear a mask,
and act a part too cruelly at variance with her feelings. Why
she was compelled to do so she scarcely knew; but a mysteri-
ous warning from within told her that only at such a cost might
something awful be averted. Her heart was full of strange


## p. 12484 (#542) ##########################################

12484
GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
misgivings and fears. Aubrey's show of friendship to Antonio,
far from reassuring her, added to her uneasiness. It was clear,
even to her inexperienced eye, that all that extreme good-will was
assumed, a mere display; and being so, what could be Aubrey's
motive? And the saddened girl brooded till her head grew
giddy over the hostility of the two young men's first meeting,
the significant hint given to her on the morrow, and Aubrey's
sudden change of manner.
No pleasant early associations connected with the boy came
to counteract the painful impressions aroused by the full-grown
man. Aubrey, be it remembered, had spent his boyhood at Eton;
and of his holidays Lucy recalled little, excepting her terrors for
her doll, and for a favorite kitten it had been his delight to tor-
ment. But there was no want of clearness in her perceptions
with regard to his six-months' stay at home previous to his en-
tering the army. The almost daily quarrels between father and
son, her mother all in tears, the gloom that pervaded the family,
Aubrey's angry scowl, and something worse, in return for her
childish attempts at conciliation (she was scarcely ten years old
at the time), and the fear in which she stood of him: such were
Lucy's sole recollections, such the images and feelings linked in
her memory with that brother of hers. Intervening years had
softened, but not obliterated, these impressions; and the Aubrey
that to the day of his arrival figured in his sister's mind was
anything but the type of youthful dutifulness and affection.
What she had now seen of him brought the conviction home to
her that the man had kept the promise of the boy. Lucy from
the first had felt afraid of him. His boisterous ways and over-
bearing manners, his frequent oaths and coarse mirth, told cruelly
on her nerves, and wounded all the sympathies of her refined
nature.
-
Delicate, sensitive organizations like Lucy's have an inborn
horror of violence in any shape: it is with them a dissolving
element, something incompatible with their being, from which
they shrink as instinctively as those plants to which Miss Da-
venne had likened herself in her last conversation with Dr.
Antonio, shrink from the touch of a hand. On these grounds
alone would the pressure of Aubrey's presence have been too
much for Lucy. How incomparably more so when fancy ob-
scurely hinted at the possible bursting of that violence, of which
she stood in such awe, in a direction where much of her grateful
affection and reverence lay!


## p. 12485 (#543) ##########################################

GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
12485
On the fourth day from his son's arrival, Sir John gave a
farewell dinner, and announced to the small but select party-
the count, the mayor, Dr. Antonio, etc. —that his departure was
fixed for the day after the next. Aubrey might watch his sister
as much as he pleased, Lucy did not wince. Indeed, her misery
was such that she felt almost relieved by the announcement.
her!
So that she may but say, "Thank you, Dr. Antonio: God
bless you and your country! "- so that she may but say this to
him freely, as her heart prompts, without restraint, with no eye
upon her, Lucy will depart in peace. This thought is ever upper-
most in her mind; nay, she has no thought but this one, which
presses on her temples like a crown of thorns,— to thank and
bless him. It would look so unfeeling not to do so. This man
has been all forbearance, all gentleness, all kindness to her. What
could a friend, a brother, a father, do more than he has done for
"Bless you and your country. " She murmurs the words to
herself; she would fain write them down for him, but that they
look so cold on paper. He has no idea, she is sure, of the depth
of her gratitude, of all that she is feeling. Fool that she was,
not to have let him know when time was her own,- when no
dark cloud cast its shadow between them; on one of these bright
mornings frittered away in general conversation on the balcony;
on one of these moonlit evenings spent by the water's edge, so
near that the silvery wave came creeping lovingly to their very
feet. Oh, those sweet strolls in the garden,- those boatings on
the blue sea,- that blessed trip to Lampedusa! Oh that she
could recall one minute, only one, of that past!
Vain yearnings, vain imaginings!
Unrelenting time rolls.
on, the day is come, the very hour of departure is at hand, and
Lucy has found no opportunity of unburdening her heart. She
sits on her invalid-chair looking vacantly before her, as though
in a dream; Aubrey and Antonio stand in the balcony and dis-
cuss the English policy in India, Antonio with a very pale face
and unwonted animation of manner; Sir John paces the room,
meditating a farewell speech, casting now and then a disconso-
late glance at his daughter; Hutchins is bustling up and down,
in and out, in a state of flurry and excitement; John Ducket left
for Nice in the morning to make room for the captain in the
rumble; and poor Hutchins has been working for two.
She an-
nounces that the horses are to the carriage. "Now, Lucy," says
the baronet encouragingly. Aubrey is already at his sister's side,


## p. 12486 (#544) ##########################################

12486
GIOVANNI DOMENICO RUFFINI
and helps her to rise.
Hutchins has noticed a small basket
hanging on Lucy's arm, and offers to carry it for her; Lucy
draws it back hurriedly, and frowns on her maid. A handful
of poor withered, almost colorless flowers, once so blue,- such is
the treasure she clings to so closely.
As Sir John and the doctor go down the steps, followed by
Aubrey and Miss Davenne, a number of persons assembled in
the garden take off their hats and caps and wave them in the
air. Sir John's tongue cleaves to his palate, and he gives up his
speech. He even thinks it prudent to proceed to the shaking of
hands in silence. Those who choose to kiss his hand - Prospero,
his younger brother, their aged mother-all are free to do so
now. Sir John offers no resistance. Meanwhile Aubrey hurries
Lucy on to the little gate where the carriage is waiting. Rosa
and Speranza, and a little in the rear, Battista, are crying like
fountains. Lucy returns half unconsciously the warm caresses
of the two women, who kiss her hands and clothes, and cling
desperately to their young benefactress, until Aubrey with an
oath jerks her into the carriage. Antonio helps the baronet in.
"Pleasant journey, Sir John; buon viaggio, signorina, take care
of yourself. " The signorina does not say a word, does not
smile, does not bow, but stares at the kind face-the kind face
that dares not even smile, alas! for it feels the evil eye resting
on it.
A clack from the postilion; a shout from the assembled
bystanders, "Buon viaggio, il signore gli accompagni; "— the pon-
derous machine rolls up the lane, and the kind face disappears.
Lucy arouses from her trance: "Papa, are we going? " and she
bursts into a passion of tears. It was like the giving way of a
dam in a river. Papa fairly gives way too, hugs the suffering
child to his bosom, and father and daughter mingle their tears.
While this passes within, Aubrey, in the rumble, lights a fresh
cigar from the one he had been smoking.
Those left behind stood on the highway watching the fast
diminishing carriage. They watched till it disappeared. Poor
Antonio was sick at heart, and would fain throw off his mask.
But no: he must listen to the idle verbiage of the count and the
mayor, who insisted on accompanying him home. He reached it
at last, threw himself upon his bed, and-man is but man after
all
wept like a child.
―――


## p. 12487 (#545) ##########################################

12487
JALĀL-AD-DİN RŪMĪ
(A. D. 1207-1273)
BY A. V. WILLIAMS JACKSON
HE appellation Rūmī, or Syrian, is given to the Persian poet
Jalāl-ad-din because most of his life was passed at Iconium
in Rum, or Asia Minor. His full name is recorded as
Jalāl-ad-din Mohammed Rūmī; he is generally known as Jalāl-ad-din,
or "Splendor of the Faith," but it is convenient to record his name,
according to Western methods, under the simple form Rūmi.
This Persian poet may best be remembered as the founder of the
Maulavi sect of dervishes, or the whirling dervishes as they are often
called; whose austerity of life, mystic philosophy, enthusiastic devo-
tion, and religious ecstasy superinduced by the whirling dance, are
familiar to readers of Eastern literature. The writings of Jalāl-ad-dīn,
like Jāmī, Nizāmī, and others, breathe the religious spirituality of
Sufi philosophy: the world and all that is comprised therein is but
a part of God, and the universe exists only through God; the Love
Divine is all-pervading, and the rivers of life pour their waters into
the boundless ocean of the supreme soul; man must burnish the
mirror of his heart and wipe away the dross of self that blurs the
perfect image there. This is a keynote to the "Rumian's" religious
and mystic poetry.
Jalāl-ad-din Rūmi was not only himself renowned, but he inherited
renown from a noble father and from distinguished ancestors. The
blood of the old Khvarismian kings flowed in his veins. He was
born in Balkh, Bactria, A. D. 1207. The child's father was a zealous
teacher and preacher, a scholar whose learning and influence won for
him so great popularity with the people of Balkh as to arouse the
jealous opposition of the reigning Sultan. Obliged to leave his native
city, this worthy man wandered westward with his family, and ulti-
mately settled in Syria, where he founded a college under the gener-
ous patronage of the Sultan of Rūm, as Asia Minor is termed in the
Orient. He died honored with years and with favors, at a moment
when his son had recently passed into manhood.
Upon his father's death Jalāl-ad-din succeeded to the noble teach-
er's chair, and entered upon the distinguished career for which his
natural gifts and splendid training had destined him. He was already


## p. 12488 (#546) ##########################################

12488
JALAL-AD-DIN RUMI
married; and when sorrow came in the untimely death of a son, and
in the sad fate of a beloved teacher, his life seems to have taken on
a deeper tinge of sombre richness and a fuller tone of spiritual
devotion, that colors his poetry. Revered for his teaching, his purity
of life, and his poetic talents, the "Rumian's" fame soon spread, and
he became widely followed. Among many anecdotes that are told of
his upright but uneventful life is a sort of St. Patrick story, that
ascribes to him supernatural power and influence. Preaching one
time on the bank of a pond, to a large concourse of eager listeners
who had assembled to drink in his inspired words, his voice was
drowned by the incessant croaking of innumerable frogs. The pious
man calmly proceeded to the brink of the water and bade the frogs
be still. Their mouths were instantly sealed. When his discourse
was ended, he turned once more to the marge of the lake and gave
the frogs permission again to pipe up. Immediately their hoarse
voices began to sound, and their lusty croaking has since been allowed
to continue in this hallowed spot.
To-day, Jalāl-ad-din Rumi's fame rests upon one magnum opus, the
'Masnavi' or 'Mathnavi. ' The title literally signifies "measure,” then
a poem composed in that certain measure, then the poem par excel-
lence that is composed in that measure, the 'Masnavi. ' It is a large
collection of some 30,000 or 40,000 rhymed couplets, teaching Divine
love and the purification of the heart, under the guise of tales, anec-
dotes, precepts, parables, and legends. The poetic merit, religious fer-
vor, and philosophic depth of the work are acknowledged. Six books
make up the contents of the poem; and it seems to have been finished
just as Jalāl-ad-din, the religious devotee, mystic philosopher, and
enthusiastic poetic teacher, died A. D. 1273.
The best collection of bibliographical material is that given by
Ethé in Geiger and Kuhn's 'Grundriss der Iranischen Philologie,'
Vol. ii. , pages 289-291. The first of the six books of the 'Masnavi'
is easily accessible in a metrical English version by J. W. Redhouse,
London, 1881 (Trübner's Oriental Series); and three selections are to
be found in S. Robinson's 'Persian Poetry for English Readers,' 1883,
pages 367-382. Both these valuable works have been drawn upon for
the present sketch. The abridged English translation of the 'Mas-
navi' by E. H. Whinfield, London, 1887 (Trübner's Oriental Series), is
a standard to be consulted.
is Jackun
A. r. Webeams


## p. 12489 (#547) ##########################################

JALAL-AD-DİN RÜMİ
12489
THE SONG OF THE REED, OR DIVINE AFFECTIONS
From the Masnavi
L
IST how that reed is telling its story; how it is bewailing the
pangs of separation:-
Whilst they are cutting me away from the reed-bed, men
and maidens are regretting my fluting.
My bosom is torn to pieces with the anguish of parting, in
my efforts to express the yearnings of affection.
Every one who liveth banished from his own family will long
for the day which will see them reunited.
To every assembly I still bore my sorrow, whether the com-
panion of the happy or the unhappy.
Every one personally was ever a friend, but no one sought to
know the secrets within me.
My affections and my regrets were never far distant, but
neither eye nor ear can always discern light.
The body is not veiled from the soul, nor the soul from the
body; but to see the soul hath not been permitted.
It is love that with its fire inspireth the reed; it is love that
with its fervor inflameth the wine.
Like the reed, the wine is at once bane and antidote; like
the reed, it longeth for companionship, and to breathe the same.
breath.
*
The reed it is that painteth in blood the story of the journey,
and inspired the love-tale of the frenzied Mejnun. *
Devoid of this sense, we are but senseless ourselves; and the
ear and the tongue are but partners to one another.
In our grief, our days glide on unprofitably; and heart-
compunctions accompany them on their way.
But if our days pass in blindness, and we are impure, O re-
main Thou Thou, like whom none is pure.
――――
No untried man can understand the condition of him who
hath been sifted; therefore, let your words be short, and let him
go in peace.
Rise up, young man; burst thy bonds, and be free! How
long wilt thou be the slave of thy silver and thy gold?
If thou shouldest fill thy pitcher from the ocean, what were
thy store? The pittance of a day!
Mejnun and Laila, the Romeo and Juliet of the East. Their love-tale
forms the subject of poems by several eminent Persian poets.


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12490
JALAL-AD-DIN RÜMİ
In the eye of the covetous man it would not be full. If the
shell lay not contented in its bed, it would never be filled with
the pearl.
He whose garment is rent by Love Divine - he only is
cleansed from avarice, and the multitude of sins.
Hail to thee, Love, our sweet insanity! O thou, the physician
of all our ills!
Thou, our Plato and our Galen, the medicine of our pride and
our self-estimation!
By Love the earthly eye is raised to heaven, the hills begin
to dance, and the mountains are quickened.
Could I join my lip to that of one who breatheth my breath,
I would utter words as melodious as my reed.
When the rose-garden is withered, and the rose is gone, thou
wilt hear no longer news of the nightingale.
How should I be able any longer to retain my understanding,
when the light of my beloved one no longer shineth upon me?
If the lover no longer receiveth his nourishment, he must
perish like a bird deprived of its food.
Translation of S. Robinson.
THE MERCHANT AND THE PARROT
From the Masnavi
T
HERE was a merchant owned a parrot which was kept shut
up in a cage, the paroquet's world.
On a certain occasion the merchant made preparations
for a journey, beginning with Hindustan.
Calling each of his man-servants and his maid-servants, he
said: "What am I to bring back to you? Let me know. "
Each expressed a wish according to his own choice; and the
good man promised something to every one.
Turning to the poll-parrot, he said: "And what gift am I to
bring you from the land of Hindustan ? »
Polly replied: "When you see those parrots there, make my
situation known to them, and
say:
There is a certain parrot who is longing for you, but is
confined from the free vault of heaven, shut up in a cage.
<< < He sends you his greetings, and he asks of you direction
and some means of deliverance. '
--


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JALAL-AD-DIN RŪMI
12491
"And add: 'Does it seem fair for me to be wasting my life
in longing and to die here far away?
"Am I to be allowed to continue in durance vile, while you
are in green nooks among the boughs?
"Is this to be the loyalty of friends-for me to be in a
cage, and you out in the gardens?
"Recall to memory that grieving bird, O ye grandees, in
the morning draft amid your delightsome nooks. '»
[The parrot proceeds then to expatiate upon love, and upon the union
existing between souls. ]
The merchant received the message, with its salutation, to
Ideliver to the bird's kindred.
And when he came to the far-off land of Hindustan, he saw
in the desert parrots, many a one.
Stopping his beast and raising his voice, he delivered his sal-
utation and his message.
Then, wonderful to relate, one of the parrots began a great
fluttering, and down it fell, dead, and breathed its last.
The merchant sore repented of telling his message, and said:
Tis only for the death of a living creature I am come.
<<
"There was perchance a connection between these parrots,
two bodies with but a single soul.
"Ah, why did I do it! Why did I carry out my commission!
I am helplessly grieved at telling this. "
[The merchant moralizes at some length upon life, and upon the soul and
its relation to God. ]
When the merchant had finished up his business abroad, he
returned to his glad home.
And to every man-servant he presented some gift, and to
each maid-servant he handed out a gift.
Then up spake the Polly: "What gift for the prisoner?
What did you see and what did you say? Tell me that. "
Said the merchant: "Ah me! That whereof I repent me,
for which I could bite my hand and gnaw my fingers.
and
"Why did I, through ignorance and folly, vainly carry that
idle message? "
Said Poll: "Merchant, what's this repentance about? And
what has brought about this passion and grief? "


## p. 12492 (#550) ##########################################

12492
JALĀL-AD-DÎN RŪMI
He replied: “I told that plaintive story of yours to a flock of
parrots that looked just like you.
"And a certain parrot felt so keenly for your distress that its
heart broke in twain, and it fluttered and dropped dead.
"I felt deep regret. What was this I had said? But what
does regret help, whatever I said? "
[The merchant moralizes at some length. ]
As soon as the parrot heard what that bird had done, he too
fluttered and dropped down and grew cold.
When the merchant observed it thus fallen, he started up and
flung down his turban upon the ground.
And when he saw the bird in such plight and condition, he
started to tear the very clothes at his throat,
Saying: "O Polly, my pretty creature, what is this, alas, that
has happened thee? Why art thou thus?
"Ah, alas, my sweet-voiced bird! Ah, alas, my companion
and confidant!
"Ah, alas, my sweet-note bird; my spirit of joy and angel of
the garden! "
[He continues to lament over the departed bird. But it must have fallen
in accordance with the Divine Will. Man's dependence upon God. ]
Thereupon the merchant tossed the bird out of the cage; but
the paroquet instantly flew up on a high bough. The merchant
was dumbfounded at the bird's conduct; amazed and at a loss, he
marveled at the mystery of the bird.
And looking upward he said: "My nightingale, give some
explanation of what you have done!
>>>
Said the parrot: "That bird it was gave me counsel how I
should act; in effect, this: 'Rid yourself of your speech, voice,
and talking;
"For it is your voice that has brought you into captivity. '
And then to prove its counsel it died itself. "
[The parrot dilates further in religious manner upon the changes and
chances of mortal life. ]
Then Polly gave one or two bits more of guileless advice, and
now said:-
"Adieu, good-by! Farewell, my merchant; you have done a
mercy to me: you have set me free from bonds and oppression.


## p. 12493 (#551) ##########################################

JALAL-AD-DIN RŪMI
12493
"Farewell, O merchant: I am now going home; and one day.
mayest thou become free just like me. "
The merchant responded: "To God's keeping go thou; thou
hast taught me from this instant a new path of life. "
Version by A. V. W. Jackson.
THE CHINESE AND ROMAN ARTISTS; OR, THE MIRROR OF
THE HEART
HIS contest heed, of Chinaman's and Roman's art.
THIS
The Chinese urged they had the greater painters'
skill;
The Romans pleaded they of art the throne did fill.
The sovereign heard them both: decreed a contest fair;
Results the palm should give the worthiest of the pair.
The parties twain a wordy war waged in debate;
The Romans' show of science did predominate.
The Chinamen then asked to have a house assigned
For their especial use; and one for Rome designed.
Th' allotted houses stood on either side one street;
In one the Chinese, one the Roman artists meet.
The Chinese asked a hundred paints for their art's use:
The sovereign his resources would not them refuse.
Each morning from the treasury, rich colors' store
Was served out to the Chinese till they asked no more.
The Romans argued, "Color or design is vain:
We simply have to banish soil and filth amain. "
They closed their gate. To burnish then they set them-
selves;
As heaven's vault, simplicity filled all their shelves:
Vast difference there is 'twixt colors and not one.
The colors are as clouds; simplicity's the moon.
Whatever tinge you see embellishing the clouds,
You know comes from the sun, the moon, or stars in
crowds.
At length the Chinamen their task had quite fulfilled;
With joy intense their hearts did beat, their bosoms
thrilled.
The sovereign came, inspected all their rich designs,
And lost his heart with wonder at their talents' signs.


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12494
JALĀL-AD-DİN RŪMİ
He then passed to the Romans, that his eyes might see;
The curtains were withdrawn to show whate'er might be.
The Chinese paintings all, their whole designs in full,
Reflected truly were on that high-burnished wall.
Whatever was depicted by the Chinese art
Was reproduced by mirrors, perfect every part.
Those Romans are our mystics, know, my worthy friend:
No art, no learning; study, none: but gain their end.
They polish well their bosoms, burnish bright their hearts,
Remove all stain of lust, of self, pride, hate's deep smarts.
That mirror's purity prefigures their hearts' trust;
With endless images reflections it incrust.
Translation of J. W.