DIVÁN I HAFIZ. "Khule mujh pah hain raz e nihufta e Háfiz, WHAT is a Divan? A bizarre establishment, you reply, in which the comtemplative Cockney delighteth to inhale the fragrance of his native cheroot. You are deceived. There is a document in the British Museum that is so labelled, says the antiquarian lounger; an Arachnean production under a glass case near the Gorilla. My last ingenious respondent is a representative man. Let us call him British Appreciative Acquaintance with Oriental Literature. 66 I see a look of offended dignity lighting up the features of the B. A. A. O. L. as he vindicates his Saracenic taste, Why I dote on Moore, and surely he is Oriental enoughthere are plenty of bulbuls, and all that sort of thing; besides, have we not the assurance of one of his contemporaries that his lays are sung "By midnight in the Persian tongue A pleasing illusion this; you doubtless picture to yourself a lanky, dark, troubadour, accompanying himself on a noisy tom-tom to some pathetic selection from Lalla Rookh; a work that bears to Persian poetry about the same relation as the Alhambra of Leicester Square does to its Granada prototype*. Shall I tell you of Guebres (pronounced gabbers), Those who are desirous of seeing Tom Moore in an Eastern dress, may consult the Birgis Baris (Paris Jupiter) No. 156, June 21st, 1865, which contains a translation of "Paradise and the Peri" into Arabic Verse, entitled Al Janneh wel Jinniyeh, by the writer of the present paper. Arab hating, thoroughbred Parsee patriots, with purely Arab names? of..... You tear your hair. Poor Moore! and yet his réchauffe of d'Herbelot is a charming work. But what is a Divan? It is a collection of ghazuls or short odes, of from five to fifteen verses each, with the same rhyme throughout. When a certain number of these have been completed, they are arranged in alphabetical order of rhymes and called a Divan. Voila. To the superficial reader, the ahl i surat, they are but anacreontic songs, love and wine being the constant theme, but the initiated, the all i ma'ni, finds a deeper and purer meaning that lurks beneath the fascinating garb of glowing imagery and amorous complaint; for ghazuls are the hymns of the most extraordinary sect the East has ever produced, the philosophical Súfis. The aim of the Oriental poet is to elevate mankind to the contemplation of spiritual things through the medium of their most impressionable feelings. The charms of visible objects are enthusiastically described by him, but it is easy to pierce this veil of allegory, and reach the grand ideal of eternal love and perfection that lurks behind. The subtle union of philosophy and revelation which is the characteristic of Súfi poetry, is the esoteric doctrine of Islam.. Steering a mid course between the pantheism of India on the one side, and the deism of the Koran on the other, the Súfi's cult is the religion of beauty, where heavenly perfection is considered under the imperfect type of earthly loveliness. But as the ladies of the East never issue unveiled from their Harem's retreat, and would consider any public praise of their charms as a deadly affront, for which the poet would have to pay dear at the hands of indignant relatives, the beauty of a mistress is less often lauded by him than by our own poets. The Oriental, therefore, is compelled to dwell on beauty in the abstract, and draw upon an ideal that shall arouse no scandal or prejudices; hence it is that a youth is more often eulogized than a maiden's charms; much as an European might sing of the beauty of a little child.* Here, under various beautiful allegories, is celebrated the aspiration of the soul after God; now it is the nightingale * Cf. (Euvres de Wali, par M. Garcin de Tassy, Préface pp. viii. intoxicated with ecstacy at the fragrance of the rose, now the moth annihilated by the intensity of the brilliant object of his contemplation. And all this without a taint of Muslim superstition. For the Súfi takes his stand on higher ground, and all creeds may bow down with him before the sublime presence of the Infinite. Háfiz is a Súfi of Súfis. Islam claims him for its own. An Englishman has written a treatise to prove him to have been a Christian. The ardent out-pourings of the Hebrew sage, are they not a Divan too? If you would feel that "song of songs, if you would learn how an Oriental mind, filled at once with the soft influence of poesy and fired with the inspiration of a Divine love, seeks to clothe its thoughts in words, then join awhile the mystic circle of the Súfis, and take a chalice of intellectual joy from the hands of Háfiz, their great high priest. Towbah!* my readers nod. Here I might become profound, and submit you to the torture of a disquisition on the origin and progress of philosophy in the East, but I forbear. The circumvolutory cockchafer of my boyhood's days stings my conscience even now. Khaja Shamsuddin was born at Shiraz, his nom de plume was Háfiz, a name that will have a magic in its sound as long as there is a sun to warm an Iráni heart. A son of the chilly North, I cannot read one of his warm and flowing verses without an emotion bordering on hysteria. On such occasions I pity my mathematical neighbours, for my voice is not melodious, and Persian is caviare to the million. But what a task do I assign myself, in endeavouring to display before you this enchanting string of pearls? alas! I fear that my unskilful setting will mar the beauty of the gems, and reduce them to the commonest of beads. For how can I translate what is untranslateable? How convey the exquisitely-refined shades of meaning, point out the nice contrasts, or, even in our own plastic language, reproduce a versification which rivals the softness of the Italian, and the stately grandeur of the Greek? Astaghfirullah !† *Towbah "repentance." † Astaghfiru 'llah "I ask pardon of These expressions are used by Persians by way of deprecating a sentiment or course of action. God." The roses may wither at my touch, but some fragrance will perhaps remain to tell of what they were. Here is one of his ghazuls: Shab az Mútrib ki dil khosh bád Vairá. But yester e'en upon mine ear There fell a pleasing gentle strain, That straightway sprung the glistening tear, For such a deep harmonious flood Came gushing as he swept each string, To make my growing weakness weak, Was blended strangely day with night. With that bright silvery hand of thine. In Hafiz we are especially charmed with the smooth elegance of the metres. An almost endless variety of rhythm is presented to us, alternately flowing softly, as the gentle stream of a fountain, or babbling along like a running brook Come bring the wine, oh, page of mine, for now the roses blow, And again, the well-known song, “tāza ba tāza now ba now," often sung by the tawny troubadour even in our own unromantic streets Oh minstrel wake thy lay divine, * Cup-bearer. Seated beside a maiden fair, I gaze with a loving and raptured view, Who of the fruit of life can share, Yet scorn to drink of the grape's sweet dew, She who has stolen my heart away, Freshly fresh and newly new! Balmy breath of the western gale, These in the original are full of the sweetest melody. But perhaps the greatest charm of Hafiz' songs is their richness in simile and metaphorical conceits. In some of these last, too, we recognize sentiments that have from long familiarity become household words to us; for instance, in the very first ghazul, we read, The night is dark, the ocean boils, and loud the billows roar, What know they of the seaman's toils who ramble on the shore? Which smacks somewhat of the old song, Little do the landsmen know The toils we seamen undergo. Nor can we believe that a mere coincidental relation exists between the vulgar proverb anent the impossibility of capturing an aged and experienced fowl by a transparent paleous imposition; and the following: Who looks on beauty's treacherous hue, And deems it true as well as fair, His simple faith ere long will rue; But ah! what fowler's net beguiles A bird when nought but chaff is there? The limits of this article will not allow me to give a selection from this necklace of "Orient pearls at random strung." |