It is said that the Sultan was so overcome by the reading of this note, which revealed to him the marvellous power of Hassan-Sebbah over his trusty followers, that he relinquished for the time being his plan of attack.
But let us return to Khayyam, who, remaining a stranger to all these alternatives of wars, intrigues, and revolts with which this epoch was so filled, lived tranquilly in his native village, giving himself up to a passionate study of the philosophy of the Sufis. Surrounded by numerous friends he sought with them, in study and entertainment, that ecstatic contemplation which others believe that they find in uttering cries and screams until the voice is gone, as the crying dervishes do; or in the circular movements that are practiced with frenzy until vertigo ensues, as by the whirling dervishes; or finally, in the atrocious tortures which the Hindoos inflict upon themselves, until they lose consciousness. The Persian historians state that Khayyam loved especially to converse and drink with his friends, in the moonlight on a terrace before his house, seated upon a carpet, surrounded by singers and musicians, with a cup-bearer, who, cup in hand, presented it in turn to the joyous guests. We believe we cannot better terminate this rapid biographical and historic sketch than in adding to the life and works of our poet two very characteristic quotations.
During one of these evenings of which we are speaking, there suddenly came a gust of wind which extinguished the candles and overturned the pitcher of wine that was imprudently placed too near the edge of the terrace. The pitcher was broken and the wine spilled. Immediately Khayyam, irritated, improvised this impious quatrain, addressed to the All-Powerful:
Thou hast broken my pitcher of wine, my God! Thus hast Thou shut upon me the gate of joy, O Lord! It is I who drink, and it is Thou who committest the disorder of drunkenness! Oh! (would that my mouth were filled with earth!) couldst Thou be drunk, my Lord?
The poet, after having pronounced this, casting his eyes upon a mirror, perceived that his face was black as coal. It was a punishment from heaven. Then he made this other quatrain, not less audacious than the first, and which expresses in an absolute manner, the repulsion of the poet for the doctrine of future punishment written in the Koran, and preached so ardently by the mullahs. The Sufis consider this doctrine not only in direct opposition to their own, but as unworthy the pity and clemency of the Divinity. Here is the quatrain:
What man here below has not sinned, can you say? And how could he have lived, had he not committed sin, can you tell? So, if I do wrong and you punish me wrongly, what is the difference which exists between you and me, I ask?
But let us come to the complete thought of the poet which deduces itself so energetically and with so much unity through the fantasy or the mysticism of his quatrains.
J.B. Nicolas.
NOTE.--The Translator being unfortunately familiar with at least seven translations and paraphrases of Omar, has found it by no means easy to expunge from memory the various renderings of the text. This sponging out was necessary in order that a faithful presentation of Nicolas' version of Omar should be made. With this comment, he leaves the translation to be judged on its possible merit, adding only this--that, declining metre (Fitzgerald's own domain), he has sought to clothe the prose in verbal sonance which should not disguise or mar the inherent music of the Omarian brook. Fidelity to the text, however, has been the first consideration.
R.A.
THE QUATRAINS OF OMAR KHAYYAM
1.
One morning, coming from the tavern I heard a voice which said: Come, joyous drinkers, youthful fools, arise, and fill with me a cup of wine, ere Fate shall come to fill the cup of our existence.
2.
O Thou who in the universe art the object chosen of my heart! Thou who art more dear than the soul which gives me life, than the eyes which give me light!
O Idol, though in life there be no thing more precious than this life, Thou art indeed a hundred times more precious than that life.
3.
Who led thee here this night, thus given up to wine?
Who, indeed, raising the veil which hid thee, has been able to lead thee here? Who, finally, brought thee as rapidly as the wind which fans the fire that still burned in thy absence?
4.
We meet but chagrin and misfortune in this world, which serves us as a tent for the time. Alas! No problem of creation has been solved for us, and behold! we leave it with hearts full of regret at knowing naught about it.
5.
O Khadja, give us lawfully a single one of our desires; reserve thy breath and lead us into the way of God.
Surely we walk aright, it is thou that seest crosswise; heal, then, thine eyes and leave us here in peace.
6.
Come, come, arise, and, for the healing of my heart, one problem solve for me: yet quickly bring me a pitcher of wine, and let us drink before they make pitchers out of our own dust.
7.
When I am dead, wash me with the juice of the vine; in place of prayer, sing above my tomb the praise of the cup and the wine, and, if you would find me again at the day of doom, seek me in the dust of the tavern floor.
8.
Since no one has ever been able to answer thee from one day to the next, hasten to glad thy heart filled with sadness. Drink, O adorable Moon! drink from thy silver cup, for long shalt thou turn in the firmament without finding us here again.
9.
Would that the lover [the true believer] were intoxicated the whole year, mad, absorbed with wine, covered with dishonor! For, when we have sound reason, chagrin assails us on all sides; but when we are in wine, well, let come what will!
10.
In Heaven's name! with what hope does the sage attach his heart to the illusory treasures of this palace of misfortune?
Oh! that the One who gave me the name of drunkard would recant his error, for how can he see the tavern's sign from his exalted abode.
11.
The Koran, which is but a name for The Sublime Word, is, however, read only from time to time and not with constancy; while ever on the brim of the cup is found a verse full of light which one can read always and everywhere.
12.
Thou that drinkest not wine shouldst not for this reason blame the drunkard, for I am ready to renounce God, myself, should He order me to renounce wine. Thou glorifiest thyself for not drinking wine, but such glory but ill befits those who commit acts a hundredfold more reprehensible than drunkenness.
13.
Though my body be beautiful, and the perfume it exhales agreeable, though the color of my face rival that of the tulip, and my figure be supple as the cypress, it has not been demonstrated why my celestial author placed me upon this earth.
14.
I would drink so much wine that the odor should come out of the earth when I have been returned to it, and that drinkers who wish to visit my tomb may fall senseless from the sole effect of this odor.