Joy-giving minstrel! Use your pen like a plectrum and let the melodies flow forth.
The lines of the verses on the page resemble the thin and thick strings of a dulcimer.
Bring forth the handled inkpot and let it be your bow in which you set the pen as if it were an arrow.
Begin to set down harmonious lines filled with joy. Make your pen speak; make it sing like a trumpeted invitation to the festival.
Make me a companion of the pen-like flute. With one voice let us sing praises for the monarch of the world and then make them both dance to relate what transpired.
Ahmed Khan, the sultan of this age, who gives life to the way of His Excellency Mo-hammed
The equitable ruler of the age, God's Caliph, for whom the universe is a nine-chambered tent.
The shadow of God, the benevolent sovereign, whose shadow, like that of Mohammed, resembles no other
Duly set forth his law, for his business is to observe the rule of the apostle of God.
The reign of that sovereign, the equal of Jemshid, who is superior by God's grace, has become an age of festivities.
Who ever saw such days as those of his reign were? Every day of people's lives was a festive holiday.
Tell me, was there any other sultan whose reign was so carefree and untroubled?
The janissaries were paid on time and many also received regular support according to their needs and circumstances.
He eliminated excess and unessentials, bringing order to the state; during his reign the coinage was restored.
He was knowledgeable about developments and events in the world, be they as inscruta-ble as Kufic letters.
He took part in holy wars and earned the title of Ghazi by his sword.
Thanks to him, those living in his reign enjoyed peace and prosperity. Protected by him, the world was carefree and untroubled.
First he made the world glad with peace. And then he celebrated it with a festival.
His true aim was to create a world free of trouble and distress; the festival was just a pre-text for this.
He had his princes circumcised. And through his generosity on this occasion he gave thanks for the blessings he had.
He arranged a celebration for his princes as they had attained the age of circumcision.
It was agreed by one and all that the place for the celebration should be Arrow-Field.
That garden as vast as space itself was adorned with pavilions and flowers.
People took wing like arrows and flocked to that broad field.
Rivers of folk flowed there and the field turned into a boisterous and bubbling sea.
That great plain resembled a sea of men. And every pavilion there was an island in the sea's midst.
Sun and moon became invisible, replaced by the feast-trays laid out night and day.
Great was the banquet laid out for the folk: tables seemed to stretch from east to west.
On that field, the heavens were the masters of its protocol and the angels its sergeants-at-arms.
Eyes beheld neither sun nor moon but trays of rice and saffron-pudding.
Rain-clouds were the festival's water-carriers, transporting water in their skins.
I lack the power to describe that feast's fare. Better you let your own delights and imagi-nation be your guide.
Grasping moon and sun like tambourines, Morning-Star sparked the dawn afire.
Rays of daylight rose in the sky like masts from the dawning-place. The sun resembles an earthenware jar set on this spar of light.
Do not suppose that thunderbolts are striking here and there. Those are the reverberating flash and roar of cannon-shots.
The welkin resembles a huge bass drum and like it causes everywhere to resound with its thunder.
And what is that! A hurtling thunderbolt? Or else a tightrope-walking acrobat?
Is that the moon coursing above the lines of the firmament-covering clouds? Or else a cart moving upon a rope?
Is what we see the moon dancing flamboyantly in the sky? Or else a galleon sailing through the air?
The effulgent moon above the cypress resembled a bright gold coin set on a mast.
Rockets scattered wandering stars while guns seemed to spew lightning.
The heavens resembled nested hoops; the agile lightning put on a display of swordplay.
Like a fireman, the sky scattered drops of water from its clouds.
A fortress moved swiftly across the parade-ground as if a mountain were being eagerly grappled and overthrown,
Such that the parade-ground turned into Judgment Day: Are mountains marching? How can it be?
The tree erected on the field for the festival was as a glittering rose-bush on Mount Si-nai.
Its dew-bedecked roses on it were dippers filled with fresh-minted silver coins.
Cavalrymen drove their mounts madly and played jereed like dashing stars.
In short, horsemen and footmen paraded alike; but in the end, the field remained to those who train imaginary steeds.
They then came out one by one and in pairs, their pens resembling dusky, slender horses.
Eagerly each one straightened himself aright and shot, sending his bolt off with a "gid-dyap".
The thin reed pen was like a wooden horse; but this was not child's play.
Some of the participants in this contest of pens composed chronograms in Arabic or Per-sian to warm up their poetic skills.
They had thought the field uncontested; but like crooked-shafted arrows, their efforts fell short of the target and skewered the earth.
This horse-race was literary. It was no place for amateurs.
The winners of the contest's prizes were Vehbi and fleet-of-foot Raşid.
These two grasped the victory. The others were confounded like shadows.
The day ended thus and in its wake came the night appearing like the day.
The felicitous and solar sovereign made the House of Aries his throne and transformed night into day.
Torches illuminated everything like the sun; night and day became as one.
The lights of the lamps turned the night into a bright morning.
That night a sea of light engulfed the darkness and rendered it so invisible that
Had the sun not risen at dawn, the rockets' fulgence would still have sufficed for day.
A hearth took flame and blazed. Fire not water boiled forth. The skyrockets resembled balls of fire.
The scattering sparks caused the heavens themselves to panic.
The bengals spread out hundreds of colors like a peacock's tail.
As the rocket headed for the sky, its gleam illuminated the House of Sagittarius.
When it suddenly struck the earth, it was like a disaster had descending from heaven.
St Catherine's wheel spun round and round and befuddled the House of Aquarius.
Spinning and scattering its amazing light, its diversion watered the garden with joy.
Whirling like a sling, it hurled stones into the wheeling firmament.
Every flame shed from its mouth was like a shimmering bridge giving it the appearance of a merry-go-round.
The appearance of the flash rocket was bright enough to blind the planet Mars.
The dragon-bundles of rockets resembled night-prowling House of Scorpio.
These fireworks had the appearance of a dragon with flames spewing from its mouth. Fire seemed to spout from them.
The ram-jets butted heads and the Houses of Aries and Taurus bellowed.
The chestnut-rockets were so hot that they hopped about incessantly.
As chestnuts do when being roasted, they leaped and jumped like a flirtatious young girl.
The crocodile grows jealous: the sea-rockets drowned with a steamy, sizzling sound.
The bombardier's rocket stupefied the crowd. It was if a powder-mill exploded.
The mortar-mines resembled an overflowing pool with gushing jets that scattered light.
And what is that? A luminescence wandering in the darkness of night? Or else a war-galley advancing overland?
In brief, it was an amazing spectacle and the festivity's spectators were astounded.
Neither goblet nor proffered wine nor cupbearers passing them round were niggardly. The generosity with which this festival was presented intoxicated all. Hooray!
For the world it was a single never-ending festival. Those who lived in this age tasted the sweetmeats of thanks.
If only Venus would play her rainbow as a harp and begin to sing its praise.
In fine, never before was such a festival seen nor was such delight experienced.
Behold the felicity of the sultan of the age, adorning town and country with merriment.
His own joy diffused everywhere and the festivities were exactly as he wished.
Everything needful for joy and revelry there was; only poor Misfortune was nowhere to be seen.
May God render that sultan's feast blessed and increase his joy daily.
May God, the One and Only, grant the princes long lives.
May his assistants have assistance. May he aid those who assist him.
Dear God! Grant favors to those who wish him well.
And in particular, grant that his esteemed son-in-law dwell in the shade of his power and prosperity.
For that precious being, that distinguished and benevolent grand vizier
Performs charities beyond telling. He is a vast sea of goodness greater than will fit be-tween the nibs of a pen.
He is a pure-hearted and upright servant of the world's sovereign: let us know his worth.
The head of the viziers, he is the deputy empowered to act on the sultan's behalf.
He is the namesake of the Prophet Abraham, a friend of God.
His personage is a source of joy for us, like a benevolent verse of God's scripture.
The purity of his heart and honesty are innate; his charity is intrinsic.
His charities have won the hearts of the folk and made them his servants.
Forsooth, praying sincerely and continuously for his well-being is like a duty incumbent upon all.
Dear God, for the sake of the steadfast rules Thou hast given us, grant him long life in the felicitous office he occupies.
Oh Vehbi! Enough of this! Prolong it no more lest the profusion of your words should cause tedium.
'Tis true we said "your words are the delight of the soul"; but who told you to bore us to tears?
Your verse we may liken to a necklace of pearls. Now it's time for you to strew about a few gems of prose.
Set forth on the path of meaning and lose it not. Do not go astray or for naught.
Whereas the grand vizier has commanded that the work be written in prose,
Now therefore string each of those priceless pearls of meaning and tell what happened at the circumcision-feast.
With great zeal, embark upon that incredible tale and begin to relate those extraordinary events.
Like a dervish friend of God make your beginning and start your account.
Clap one hand against the other and change from lyric verse to strophe.