There once was a king whose face was fair as the moon, radiant as the sun, and who had a son as charming as Joseph. Never had anyone a son so beautiful, nor was anyone ever possessed of such rank and dignity. All loved him and would gladly have been the dust of his feet; the lords of his court were the slaves of his face. If he came forth at night from behind his curtain, one would have thought that a new sun had appeared in the desert. There is no way to describe his face, for the day is not even a hair of that face. Had a rope been made of his black hair, thousands of hearts would likewise have descended into the well. The hair of this lighted candle set the world ablaze and cast a long spell over the whole universe. It would be impossible, even in the space of fifty years, to describe the hook of the tresses of this Joseph of beauty. When he looked with his eye like a narcissus, he set the whole world on fire. His smile spread sweetness, and a hundred thousand roses bloomed without waiting for spring. His mouth was so small that one could not speak of it, for nothing can be said of what cannot be perceived. When he came forth from behind the curtain of his chambers, each of his hairs wrought a thousand murders. The young prince brought grief to the soul of the whole world. He was beyond all that I could say.
Whenever he urged his horse towards the plain, naked swords were held before and behind him, and anyone who looked towards this young prince was at once made to leave the road. Now there was an ill-
A happy dervish who, in his simplicity, had lost his reason for love of this young prince. From this mad love he reaped nothing but dejection and distress; his life was ebbing away, and he had not the courage to speak. Since he found no one who felt compassion for his ill-starred love, he sowed the seed of affliction in his heart. Day and night he sat in the young prince’s street, and had closed his eyes to the creatures of the world. He wept in vain, without obtaining what he desired, keeping silent; he wasted away, for he neither slept nor ate. No one in the world could have been his confidant, and thus he kept his secret hidden day and night. His face was yellow as gold, and his tears white as silver; day and night he sat, his heart broken in two. What nevertheless kept this impatient dervish alive was that from time to time the young prince passed by at a distance from him. Whenever he appeared, the whole bazaar was in an uproar; everyone was on their feet, but each fled lest he be in the prince’s path. His attendants stood before and behind him, and slew many who were too curious. The noise they made resounded in the clouds and was heard as far as the moon. The prince’s retinue occupied nearly a parasang. When the dervish heard their cries, he turned his head, and his legs failed him. He swooned, he was covered in blood, and lost all sense of his own existence. At that moment, he would have needed a hundred thousand eyes to shed blood-tears to his heart’s content. At times the wretch’s complexion was livid; at other times blood flowed from his eyes. Sometimes his tears were frozen by his sighs, and at others burned by his grief. He was half-slain, half-dead, half-alive, and because of his misery he had not even half a loaf to eat. How could such a prince have brought relief to a man fallen into such a state? This simple man, who was no more than a shadow or half an atom, wished to take this sun to his breast.
One day, when the prince was at the head of the army, this beggar uttered a cry. Beside himself, he therefore cried out and said: “My soul is aflame, and reason has departed from me. How long shall I yet consume my soul? But now I have neither patience nor strength left to endure.”
Thus spoke this afflicted man, and at every moment, in his distress, he struck his head against a stone in the road. When he had uttered these words, his spirit failed him, and blood flowed from his eyes and ears. A servant of the prince noticed this and, wishing to put the dervish to death, went to the king, to whom he said: “He openly declares his love for the prince, your son.” The king was so deeply affected by this news that the heat of indignation set his brain boiling, and he said: “Rise and go impale this audacious man. Bind his feet and place him head down upon the stake.” At once the king’s horsemen set out; they made a noose around the beggar’s neck, then dragged him toward the stake, while a crowd of people tried to wrest him from their hands. Yet no one knew the cause of his sorrow, nor interceded for him. When the vizier had brought him beneath the gallows, he gave a cry wrung from him by the fire of grief and said to the vizier: “For God’s sake, grant me some respite, that at least I may say my prayer beneath the gallows.” The vizier, though of a sorrowful disposition, granted him the reprieve he asked for. The faquir therefore laid his head upon the earth. Then, amid his prostrations, he said: “O God! Since the king is putting me to death, though I am innocent, grant me, ignorant as I am, before I depart this life, the good fortune of seeing the beauty of this young man. Let me at least once behold his face, and on that occasion offer my life to him as a sacrifice. If I see this prince’s face in all its perfection, I could willingly give a hundred thousand souls. O my God and my King! Thy servant beseeches Thee; he is in love, and consents to Thy putting him to death in the path of love. I am heartily devoted to this door, and am a true lover, far from being unfaithful. Since Thou grantest a hundred thousand wishes, grant this one and fulfil my desires.”
This dervish, repelled from the path of love, had no sooner expressed his wish than the arrow of his desire reached its mark. The vizier guessed his secret prayer, and his heart felt pain at the pain of this dervish. He went to the king and wept. He told the king the true condition of this poor dervish, who had given his heart. He spoke to him of the groans he had uttered in his prayer,
of the wishes he had expressed in his prostrations. Then compassion also took hold of the king’s heart; he was satisfied with these explanations and resolved to pardon the dervish. He said at once to the prince, his son: “Do not turn your head away from this wretch who has brought himself low! Rise and hasten to the gallows, to the man who has given you his heart and is covered in blood. Speak to this dervish who longs for you. He has lost his heart because of you; give it back to him. Be kind to him, for he has endured your anger; drink with him, for he has tasted your poison. Take him from the side of the path where he stands, and lead him to the garden; bring him with you and lead him before me.”
of the wishes he had expressed in his prostrations. Then compassion also took hold of the king’s heart; he was satisfied with these explanations and resolved to pardon the dervish. He said at once to the prince, his son: “Do not turn your head away from this wretch who has brought himself low! Rise and hasten to the gallows, to the man who has given you his heart and is covered in blood. Speak to this dervish who longs for you. He has lost his heart because of you; give it back to him. Be kind to him, for he has endured your anger; drink with him, for he has tasted your poison. Take him from the side of the path where he stands, and lead him to the garden; bring him with you and lead him before me.”
The young prince, another Joseph, set out to go to the dervish. This sun with a face of fire began his journey to be alone with an atom. This ocean, filled with the finest pearls, wished to go in search of a drop of water.
Strike your heads in joy, stamp your feet, and clap your hands.
In short, the young prince went beneath the gallows, he whose sight stirred a commotion like that of the resurrection. The prince saw the dervish in the greatest dejection, his face bowed down to the dust. The dust had turned to mud through the blood from his two eyes; a whole world was filled with his sighs. Annihilated, lost, reduced to nothing, could he have been in a more wretched state? When the young prince saw the dervish thus fallen in blood, tears came to his eyes. He wished to hide them from the army, but in vain. When, then, he began thus to weep, a hundred worlds were won over to the dervish. Indeed, when one attains true love, the passive object of love becomes its active subject. Yes, if thou possessest true love, Thy friend will come to seek thee of His own accord.
Strike your heads in joy, stamp your feet, and clap your hands.
In short, the young prince went beneath the gallows, he whose sight stirred a commotion like that of the resurrection. The prince saw the dervish in the greatest dejection, his face bowed down to the dust. The dust had turned to mud through the blood from his two eyes; a whole world was filled with his sighs. Annihilated, lost, reduced to nothing, could he have been in a more wretched state? When the young prince saw the dervish thus fallen in blood, tears came to his eyes. He wished to hide them from the army, but in vain. When, then, he began thus to weep, a hundred worlds were won over to the dervish. Indeed, when one attains true love, the passive object of love becomes its active subject. Yes, if thou possessest true love, Thy friend will come to seek thee of His own accord.
At last, the young prince, as beautiful as the sun, graciously called to the dervish. The latter had never heard the prince’s voice, but had often seen him from afar. When he raised his head from the dust of the road, he saw the prince’s face before him; then there was a burning fire and an ocean of water, for though he burned, he imparted no warmth to the prince’s heart. This dervish, bereft of his heart, was like a fire with the ocean for its neighbour. He brought his soul to his lips and said: “O prince! Since I am in this state, you may well deprive me entirely of life. You need not have brought this army with you.”
Thus he spoke, and it was seen that he was about to cease to exist. Indeed, he uttered a cry, yielded up his soul, and died. When he knew that he was united with his beloved, he was utterly annihilated and extinguished. Those who traverse the hippodrome of spiritual love know what annihilation in love brings about among them.
Thus he spoke, and it was seen that he was about to cease to exist. Indeed, he uttered a cry, yielded up his soul, and died. When he knew that he was united with his beloved, he was utterly annihilated and extinguished. Those who traverse the hippodrome of spiritual love know what annihilation in love brings about among them.
O thou whose existence is mingled with nothingness, and whose happiness is mingled with pain! So long as thou hast not dwelt for some time in anxiety, how canst thou appreciate repose? Thou dost stir like lightning, with hand outstretched, yet art halted by sweepings before a little snow. Dost thou reflect upon it? Enter bravely upon the spiritual path, burn reason, and give thyself over to madness. If thou wouldst make use of this alchemy, at least show thyself once. Reflect a little, and, after my example, renounce thyself; occupy thyself for a few moments, within thy soul, with thine own thoughts, so that at last thou mayst attain spiritual poverty (faqr) and the perfection of the taste of self-abnegation. As for me, who have remained neither myself nor anyone other than myself, what is good and evil in me is worth more than my reason. I have utterly strayed far from myself; I find no remedy for my state but despair. When the sun of spiritual poverty shone upon me, it burned the two worlds more easily than a grain of millet. When I saw the rays of that sun, I did not remain apart; but the drop of water returned to the ocean. Though in my game I have sometimes won and sometimes lost, nevertheless I ended by casting everything into the black water. I was effaced, I disappeared; nothing remained of myself; I was no more than a shadow, not the least atom of me remained. I was a drop lost in the ocean of mystery, and now I cannot even find that drop. Although it is not granted to everyone to disappear thus,
I may have lost myself in annihilation with many others who were as I was. Is there anyone in the world, from the fish to the moon, who does not desire to be lost here?