(1) When the birds had listened to this discourse of the Hoopoe their heads drooped down, and sorrow pierced their hearts. Now they understood how difficult it would be for a handful of dust like themselves to bend such a bow. So great was their agitation that numbers of them died then and there. But others, in spite of their distress, decided to set out on the long road. For years they travelled over mountains and

valleys, and a great part of their life flowed past on this journey. But how is it possible to relate all that happened to them? It would be necessary to go with them and see their difficulties for oneself, and to follow the wanderings of this long road. Only then could one realize what the birds suffered.

In the end, only a small number of all this great company arrived at that sublime place to which the Hoopoe had led them. Of the thousands of birds almost all had disappeared. Many had been lost in the ocean, others had perished on the summits of the high mountains, tortured by thirst; others had had their wings burnt and their hearts dried up by the fire of the sun; others were devoured by tigers and panthers; others died of fatigue in the deserts and in the wilderness, their lips parched and their bodies overcome by the heat; some went mad and killed each other for a grain of barley; others, enfeebled by suffering and weariness, dropped on the road unable to go further; others, bewildered by the things they saw, stopped where they were, stupefied; and many, who had started out from curiosity or pleasure, perished without an idea of what they had set out to find.

So then, out of all those thousands of birds, only thirty reached the end of the journey. And even these were bewildered, weary" and dejected, with neither feathers nor wings. But now they were at the door of this Majesty that cannot be described, whose essence is incomprehensible - that Being who is beyond human reason and knowledge. Then flashed the lightning of fulfilment, and a hundred worlds were consumed in a moment. They saw thousands of suns each more resplendent than the other, thousands of moons and stars all equally beautiful, and seeing all this they were amazed and agitated like a dancing atom of dust, and they cried out: 'O Thou who art more radiant than the sun! Thou, who hast reduced the sun to an atom, how can we appear before Thee? Ah, why have we so uselessly endured

(13 °)

all this suffering on the Way? Having renounced ourselves and all things, we now cannot obtain that for which we have striven. Here, it little matters whether we exist or not.'

Then the birds, who were so disheartened that they resembled a cock half-killed, sank into despair. A long time passed. When, at a propitious moment, the door suddenly opened, there stepped out a noble chamberlain, one of the courtiers of the Supreme Majesty. He looked them over and saw that out of thousands only these thirty birds were left.

He said: 'Now then, O Birds, where have you come from, and what are you doing here? What is your name? O you who are destitute of everything, where is your home? What do they call you in the world? What can be done with a feeble handful of dust like you?'

'We have come,' they said, 'to acknowledge the Simurgh as our king. Through love and desire for him we have lost our reason and our peace of mind. Very long ago, when we started on this journey, we were thousands, and now only thirty of us have arrived at this sublime court. We cannot believe that the King will scOrn us after all the sufferings we have gone through. Ah, no! He cannot but look on us with the eye of benevolence! '

The Chamberlain replied: 'O you whose minds and hearts are troubled, whether you exist or do not exist in the universe, the King has his being always and eternally. Thousands of worlds of creatures are no more than an ant at his gate. You bring nothing but moans and lamentations. Return then to whence you came, O vile handful of earth! ' At this, the birds were petrified with astonishment. Nevertheless, when they came to themselves a little, they said: 'Will this great king reject us so ignominiously? And if he really has this attitude to us may he not change it to one of honour? Remember Majnun who said, "If all the people who dwell on earth wished to sing my praises, I would not accept them; I would rather have the insults of Laila. One

of her insults is more to me than a hundred compliments from another woman! '' '

'The lightning of his glory manifests itself/ said the Chamberlain, 'and it lifts up the reason of all souls. What benefit is there if the soul be consumed by a hundred sorrows? What benefit is there at this moment in either greatness or littleness?'

The birds, on fire with love, said: 'How can the moth save itself from the flame when it wishes to be one with the flame? The friend we seek will content us by allowing us to be united to him. If now we are refused, what is there left for us to do? We are like the moth who wished for union with the flame of the candle. They bfegged him not to sacrifice himself so foolishly and for such an impossible aim, but he thanked them for their advice and told them that since his heart was given to the flame for ever, nothing else mattered.'

Then the Chamberlain, having tested them, opened the door; and as he drew aside a hundred curtains, one after the other, a new world beyond the veil was revealed. Now was the light of lights manifested, and all of them sat down on the masnad, the seat of the Majesty and Glor}' They were given a writing which they were told to read through; and reading this, and pondering, they were able to understand their state. When they were completely at peace and detached from all things they became aware that the Simurgh was there with them, and a new life began for them in the Simurgh. All that they had done previously was washed away. The sun of majesty sent forth his rays, and in the reflection of each other's faces these thirty birds (si-murgh) of the outer world, contemplated the face of the Simurgh of the inner world. This so astonished them that they did not know if they were still themselves or if they had become the Simurgh. At last, in a state of contemplation, they realized that they were the Simurgh and that the Simurgh was the thirty birds. W'hen they gazed at the Simurgh they

saw that it was truly the Simurgh who was there, and when they turned their eyes towards themselves they saw that they themselves were the Simurgh. And perceiving both at once, themselves and Him, they realized that they and the Simurgh were one and the same being. No one in the world has ever heard of anything to equal it.

Then they gave themselves up to meditation, and after a little they asked the Simurgh, without the use of tongues, to reveal to them the secret of the mystery of the unity and plurality of beings. The Simurgh, also without speaking, made this reply: ' The sun of my majesty is a mirror. He who sees himself therein sees his soul and his body, and sees them completely. Since you have come as thirty birds, si-murgh, you will see thirty birds in this mirror. If forty or fifty were to come, it would be the same. Although you are now completely changed you see yourselves as you were before.

'Can the sight of an ant reach to the far-off Pleiades? And can this insect lift an anvil? Have you ever seen a gnat seize an elephant in its teeth? All that you have known, all that you have seen, all that you have said or heard - all this is no longer that. When you crossed the valleys of the Spiritual Way and when you performed good tasks, you did aU this by my action; and you were able to see the valleys of my essence and my perfections. You, who are only thirty birds, did well to be astonished, impatient and wondering. But I am more than thirty birds. I am the very essence of the true Simurgh. Annihilate then yourselves gloriously and joyfully in me, and in me you shall find yourselves.'

Thereupon, the birds at last lost themselves for ever in the Simurgh - the shadow was lost in the sun, and that is all.

All that you have heard or seen or known is not even the beginning of what you must know, and since the ruined habitation of this world is not your place you must renounce it. Seek the trunk of the tree, and do not worry about whether the branches do or do not exist.

(90) All the eagles and vultures and ravens and kites were gathered together, and there came with them all the sheep of the field, yea, they all came together, and helped each other to break that horn of the ram.

(1) Eager already to search in and round The heavenly forest, dense and living-green, Which tempered to the eyes the new-born day, Withouten more delay I left the bank, Taking the level country slowly, slowly Over the soil that everywhere breathes fragrance. A softly-breathing air, that no mutation Had in itself, upon the forehead smote me No heavier blow than of a gentle wind, Whereat the branches, lightly tremulous, Did all of them bow downward toward that side Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain; Yet not from their upright direction swayed, So that the little birds upon their tops Should leave the practice of each art of theirs; But with full ravishment the hours of prime, Singing, received they in the midst of leaves, That ever bore a burden to their rhymes, Such as from branch to branch goes gathering on Through the pine forest on the shore of Chiassi, When Eolus unlooses the Sirocco. Already my slow steps had carried me Into the ancient wood so far, that I Could not perceive where I had entered it.

(6) The Navarrese selected well his time; Planted his feet on land, and in a moment Leaped, and released himself from their design. Whereat each one was suddenly stung with shame, But he most who was cause of the defeat; Therefore he moved, and cried: "Thou art o'ertakern." But little it availed, for wings could not Outstrip the fear; the other one went under, And, flying, upward he his breast directed; Not otherwise the duck upon a sudden Dives under, when the falcon is approaching, And upward he returneth cross and weary. Infuriate at the mockery, Calcabrina Flying behind him followed close, desirous The other should escape, to have a quarrel. And when the barrator had disappeared, He turned his talons upon his companion, And grappled with him right above the moat.

(2) Then to the wheels the maidens turned themselves, And the Griffin moved his burden benedight, But so that not a feather of him fluttered. The lady fair who drew me through the ford Followed with Statius and myself the wheel Which made its orbit with the lesser arc. So passing through the lofty forest, vacant By fault of her who in the serpent trusted, Angelic music made our steps keep time. Perchance as great a space had in three flights An arrow loosened from the string o'erpassed, As we had moved when Beatrice descended. I heard them murmur altogether, "Adam!" Then circled they about a tree despoiled Of blooms and other leafage on each bough. Its tresses, which so much the more dilate As higher they ascend, had been by Indians Among their forests marvelled at for height. "Blessed art thou, O Griffin, who dost not Pluck with thy beak these branches sweet to taste, Since appetite by this was turned to evil." After this fashion round the tree robust The others shouted; and the twofold creature: "Thus is preserved the seed of all the just."

(3) Never to thee presented art or nature Pleasure so great as the fair limbs wherein I was enclosed, which scattered are in earth. And if the highest pleasure thus did fail thee By reason of my death, what mortal thing Should then have drawn thee into its desire? Thou oughtest verily at the first shaft Of things fallacious to have risen up To follow me, who was no longer such. Thou oughtest not to have stooped thy pinions downward To wait for further blows, or little girl, Or other vanity of such brief use. The callow birdlet waits for two or three, But to the eyes of those already fledged, In vain the net is spread or shaft is shot." Even as children silent in their shame Stand listening with their eyes upon the ground, And conscious of their fault, and penitent; So was I standing; and she said: "If thou In hearing sufferest pain, lift up thy beard And thou shalt feel a greater pain in seeing." With less resistance is a robust holm Uprooted, either by a native wind Or else by that from regions of Iarbas,

(13) "What manner of bird is this?" cried Chuang Tzŭ. "With strong wings it does not fly away. With large eyes it does not see." So he picked up his skirts and strode towards it with his cross-bow, anxious to get a shot. Just then he saw a cicada enjoying itself in the shade, forgetful of all else. And he saw a mantis spring and seize it, forgetting in the act its own body, which the strange bird immediately pounced upon and made its prey. And this it was which had caused the bird to forget its own nature. "Alas!" cried Chuang Tzŭ with a sigh, "how creatures injure one another. Loss follows the pursuit of gain." So he laid aside his bow and went home, driven away by the park-keeper who wanted to know what business he had there. For three months after this, Chuang Tzŭ did not leave the house; and at length Lin Chü asked him, saying, "Master, how is it that you have not been out for so long?" "While keeping my physical frame," replied Chuang Tzŭ, "I lost sight of my real self. Gazing at muddy water, I lost sight of the clear abyss. Besides, I have learnt from the Master as follows:—"When you go into the world, follow its customs." Now when I strolled into the park at Tiao-ling, I forgot my real self. That strange bird which flew close past me to the chestnut grove, forgot its nature. The keeper of the chestnut grove took me for a thief. Consequently I have not been out." When Yang Tzŭ went to the Sung State, he passed a night at an inn.

(1) Fear and apprehension drew plaintive cries from the birds as they faced a road without end, where the strong wind of detachment from earthly things split the vault of heaven. In their anxiety they crowded together and asked the Hoopoe

for advice. They said: 'We do not know how we should present ourselves to the King with due reverence. But you have been in the presence of Solomon, and know the usages of etiquette. Also you have ascended and descended this road, and many times flown round the earth. You are our Imam, to bind and to loose. We ask you now to go up into the minabar and instruct us. Tell us about the road and about the King's court and the ceremonies there, for we do not wish to behave foolishly. Also, all kinds of difficulties arise in our minds, and for this journey one needs to be free from disquiet. We have many questions to ask, and we wish you to resolve our misgivings, otherwise we shall not see clearly on this long road.'

The Hoopoe then set the crown on her head, sat on her throne and disposed herself to speak to them. When the army of birds was ranged in front of her in ranks, the Nightingale and the Turtle-dove went up and as two readers with the same voice together gave forth a melody so sweet that all who heard were lifted out of themselves. Then one after another, a number of birds went up to her to speak about their difficulties and to make excuses.

(1) When they had pondered over the story of Shaikh San'an, the birds decided to give up all their former way of life. The thought of the Simurgh lifted them out of their apathy; love for him alone filled their hearts, and they began to consider how to Start on the journey. They said: 'First, we must have a guide to tie and untie the knots. We need a leader who will tell us what to do, one who can save us from this deep sea. We will obey him from our hearts and do what he says, be it pleasant or unpleasant, so that our ball will fall on the mallet of the Caucasus. Then the atom will be united to the majestic sun; and the shadow of the Simurgh will fall on us. Now, let us draw lots for a leader. He on whom the lot falls shall be our guide; he shall be great among the small.'

Then began a commotion, everyone talking at once, but when everything was ready, the twittering and chattering died down and the birds fell silent. The drawing was conducted with due ceremony, and eventually the lot fell on the spirited Hoopoe. All with one accord agreed and promised to obey her even at the risk of their lives, and to spare neither soul nor body. The Hoopoe came forward and a crown was placed on her head.

At the setting-out place, so great was the number of birds who flocked there that they hid the moon and the fish; but when they saw the entrance to the first valley, they flew up to the clouds in fright. Then, with much fluttering of wings and feathers and mutual encouragement, their eagerness to renounce every"thing revived. But the task before them was heavy and the way was long. Silence brooded over the road which stretched before them and a bird asked the Hoopoe why it was so deserted. 'Because of the awe that the King inspires, to whose dwelling it leads" she answered.

(1) Two birds, inseparable friends, cling to the same tree. One of them eats the sweet fruit, the other looks on without eating.

(6) When the Hoopoe had finished the birds began excitedly to discuss the glory of this king, and seized with longing to have him for their own sovereign they were all impatient to be off. They resolved to go together; each became a friend to the other and an enemy to himself. But when they began to realize how long and painful their journey was to be, they hesitated, and in spite of their apparent good-will began to excuse themselves, each according to his type.

(5) It falls into the forest, and no part Is chosen for it; but where Fortune hurls it, There like a grain of spelt it germinates. It springs a sapling, and a forest tree; The Harpies, feeding then upon its leaves, Do pain create, and for the pain an outlet. Like others for our spoils shall we return; But not that any one may them revest, For 'tis not just to have what one casts off. Here we shall drag them, and along the dismal Forest our bodies shall suspended be, Each to the thorn of his molested shade." We were attentive still unto the trunk, Thinking that more it yet might wish to tell us, When by a tumult we were overtaken, In the same way as he is who perceives The boar and chase approaching to his stand, Who hears the crashing of the beasts and branches; And two behold! upon our left-hand side, Naked and scratched, fleeing so furiously, That of the forest, every fan they broke. He who was in advance: "Now help, Death, help!" And the other one, who seemed to lag too much, Was shouting: "Lano, were not so alert

(18) The princes of Xibalba (so the Popol Vuh recounts) sent their four owl messengers to Hunhun-ahpu and Vukub-hunhun-ahpu, ordering them to come at once to the place of initiation in the fastnesses of the Guatemalan mountains. Failing in the tests imposed by the princes of Xibalba, the two brothers--according to the ancient custom--paid with their lives for their shortcomings. Hunhun-ahpu and Vukub-hunhun-ahpu were buried together, but the head of Hunhun-ahpu was placed among the branches of the sacred calabash tree which grew in the middle of the road leading to the awful Mysteries of Xibalba. Immediately the calabash tree covered itself with fruit and the head of Hunhun-ahpu "showed itself no more; for it reunited itself with the other fruits of the calabash tree." Now Xquiq was the virgin daughter of prince Cuchumaquiq. From her father she had learned of the marvelous calabash tree, and desiring to possess some of its fruit, she journeyed alone to the somber place where it grew. When Xquiq put forth her hand to pick the fruit of the tree, some saliva from the mouth of Hunhun-ahpu fell into it and the head spoke to Xquiq, saying: "This saliva and froth is my posterity which I have just given you. Now my head will cease to speak, for it is only the head of a corpse, which has no more flesh."

(10) The old man of Tsang was silent and made no reply. He then abruptly took leave, and by the evening of that same day had disappeared, never to be heard of again. Yen Yüan said to Confucius, "If Wên Wang was unable to do this of himself, how was he able to do it by a dream?" "Silence!" cried Confucius: "It is not for you to criticise Wên Wang who succeeded in fulfilling his mission. The dream was merely to satisfy the vulgar mind." Lieh Yü K'ou instructed Po Hun Wu Jên in archery. Drawing the bow to its full, he placed a cup of water on his elbow and began to let fly. Hardly was one arrow out of sight ere another was on the string, the archer standing all the time like a statue. "But this is shooting under ordinary conditions," cried Po Hun Wu Jên; "it is not shooting under extraordinary conditions. Now I will ascend a high mountain with you, and stand on the edge of a precipice a thousand feet in height, and see how you can shoot then." Thereupon Wu Jên went with Lieh Tzŭ up a high mountain, and stood on the edge of a precipice a thousand feet in height, approaching it backwards until one-fifth of his feet overhung the chasm, when he beckoned to Lieh Tzŭ to come on. But the latter had fallen prostrate on the ground, with the sweat pouring down to his heels. "The perfect man," said Wu Jên, "soars up to the blue sky, or dives down to the yellow springs, or flies to some extreme point of the compass, without change of countenance. But you are terrified, and your eyes are dazed. Your internal economy is defective."

(7) As he entered the forest surrounding his little house, it seemed to C.R.C. that all Nature had joyously prepared for the wedding. As he proceeded singing merrily, he came to a green heath in which stood three great cedars, one bearing a tablet with an inscription describing the four paths that led to the palace of the King: the first short and dangerous, the second circuitous, the third a pleasant and royal road, and the fourth suitable only for incorruptible bodies. Weary and perplexed, C.R.C. decided to rest and, cutting a slice of bread, was about to partake thereof when a white dove begged it from him. The dove was at once attacked by a raven, and in his efforts to separate the birds C.R.C. unknowingly ran a considerable distance along one of the four paths--that leading southward. A terrific wind preventing him from retracing his steps, the wedding guest resigned himself to the loss of his bread and continued along the road until he espied in the distance a great gate. The sun being low, he hastened towards the portal, upon which, among other figures, was a tablet bearing the words Procul hinc procul ite profani.

(15) Then Chuang Tzŭ went to see Hui Tzŭ, and said, "In the south there is a bird. It is a kind of phœnix. Do you know it? It started from the south sea to fly to the north sea. Except on the wu-t'ung tree, it would not alight. It would eat nothing but the fruit of the bamboo, drink nothing but the purest spring water. An owl which had got the rotten carcass of a rat, looked up as the phœnix flew by, and screeched. Are you not screeching at me over your kingdom of Liang?" Chuang Tzŭ and Hui Tzŭ had strolled on to the bridge over the Hao, when the former observed, "See how the minnows are darting about! That is the pleasure of fishes." "You not being a fish yourself," said Hui Tzŭ, "how can you possibly know in what consists the pleasure of fishes?" "And you not being I," retorted Chuang Tzŭ, "how can you know that I do not know?" "If I, not being you, cannot know what you know," urged Hui Tzŭ, "it follows that you, not being a fish, cannot know in what consists the pleasure of fishes." "Let us go back," said Chuang Tzŭ, "to your original question. You asked me how I knew in what consists the pleasure of fishes. Your very question shows that you knew I knew. I knew it from my own feelings on this bridge."

(92) Sound the note of every bird that draws near; When God sent, thee to the birds, To the predestinarian bird talk predestination, To the bird with broken wings preach patience, To the patient well-doer preach comfort and pardon, To the spiritual 'Anka relate the glories of Mount Qaf, To the pigeon preach avoidance of the hawk, To the lordly hawk mercy and self-control; As for the bat, who lingers helpless in the dark, Acquaint him with the society of the light;

(7) But sooth the other was a doughty sparhawk To clapperclaw him well; and both of them Fell in the middle of the boiling pond. A sudden intercessor was the heat; But ne'ertheless of rising there was naught, To such degree they had their wings belimed. Lamenting with the others, Barbariccia Made four of them fly to the other side With all their gaffs, and very speedily This side and that they to their posts descended; They stretched their hooks towards the pitch-ensnared, Who were already baked within the crust, And in this manner busied did we leave them.

(1) [This chapter is supplementary to chapter iv.] Chuang Tzŭ was travelling over a mountain when he saw a huge tree well covered with foliage. A woodsman had stopped near by, not caring to take it; and on Chuang Tzŭ enquiring the reason, he was told that it was of no use. "This tree," cried Chuang Tzŭ, "by virtue of being good for nothing succeeds in completing its allotted span." When Chuang Tzŭ left the mountain, he put up at the house of an old friend. The latter was delighted, and ordered a servant to kill a goose and cook it. "Which shall I kill?" enquired the servant; "the one that cackles or the one that doesn't?" His master told him to kill the one which did not cackle. And accordingly, the next day, a disciple asked Chuang Tzŭ, saying, "Yesterday, that tree on the mountain, because good for nothing, was to succeed in completing its allotted span. But now, our host's goose, which is good for nothing, has to die. Upon which horn of the dilemma will you rest?" "I rest," replied Chuang Tzŭ with a smile, "halfway between the two. In that position, appearing to be what I am not, it is impossible to avoid the troubles of mortality; though, if charioted upon Tao and floating far above mortality, this would not be so. No praise, no blame; both great and small; changing with the change of time, but ever without special effort; both above and below; making for harmony with surroundings; reaching creation's First Cause; swaying all things and swayed by none;—how then shall such troubles come? This was the method of Shên Nung and Huang Ti.

(6) The one uprose and down the other fell, Though turning not away their impious lamps, Underneath which each one his muzzle changed. He who was standing drew it tow'rds the temples, And from excess of matter, which came thither, Issued the ears from out the hollow cheeks; What did not backward run and was retained Of that excess made to the face a nose, And the lips thickened far as was befitting. He who lay prostrate thrusts his muzzle forward, And backward draws the ears into his head, In the same manner as the snail its horns; And so the tongue, which was entire and apt For speech before, is cleft, and the bi-forked In the other closes up, and the smoke ceases. The soul, which to a reptile had been changed, Along the valley hissing takes to flight, And after him the other speaking sputters.