1Cademy - بخش ۷۴ - تعزیت نامه ارسطو به مادر اسکندر / Section 74 - Aristotles Letter of Condolence to Alexanders Mother

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بخش ۷۴ - تعزیت نامه ارسطو به مادر اسکندر / Section 74 - Aristotle's Letter of Condolence to Alexander's Mother

Original content

پی راحت جان آگاه خویش
مهیا کند توشه راه خویش

فن خویش نیکی کن ای نیک زن
که به گر بود نیک زن نیک فن

همه کارها را به یزدان گذار
که بیرون ز تقدیر او نیست کار

سکندر به شاهی ازو راه یافت
به توفیق او جان آگاه یافت

ز عالم نه از بهر سختیش برد
به فیروزی و نیکبختیش برد

نگویم که بر مردنش صبر کن
که بر نزد خود بردنش صبر کن

به صبر ار برآید تو را نام نیک
دهد نام نیکت سرانجام نیک

نگین دار این چرخ فیروزه فام
پی نام نیکو بود والسلام

ارسطو گهر سنج یونان زمین
که بر گنج یونانیان بود امین

چو کلکش سر گنج حکمت شکافت
سکندر ازو یافت نقدی که یافت

ز مرگ سکندر چو آگاه شد
دلش همدم ناله و آه شد

پس از عنبرین خامه پیراستن
به نام خدا نامه آراستن

ز خونابه دل سیاهی سرشت
سوی مادرش عذرخواهی نوشت

که بایستی از فرق پا کردمی
به خاک حریم تو جا کردمی

درین ماتم از دیده خون راندمی
به تسکین دردت فسون خواندمی

ولی ضعف پیریم بسته ست پای
نیارم که یک گام جنبم ز جای

سکندر که سلطان آفاق بود
به سلطانی اندر جهان طاق بود

اگر چه ازین تنگنا رخت بست
مخور غم که رخت از سر تخت بست

به رخ پرده شرمساری نرفت
به کام حسودان به خواری نرفت

نه از نادرستان شکستن رسید
نه از ناکسان زخم دستش رسید

به تیغ قضای خداوند پاک
که باشد روان از سمک تا سماک

به شاهی و فرماندهی جان سپرد
به جز بر همه خلق سلطان نمرد

که رسته ست ازین درد تا او رهد
که جسته ست ازین داغ تا او جهد

درین باغ یک شاخ و یک برگ نیست
که لرزنده از صرصر مرگ نیست

اگر مرده افتاده تیر اوست
وگر زنده در بند تدبیر اوست

گذشته ازو خفته در زیر خاک
و زو مانده آینده در ترس و باک

چه نامهربانی که گردون نکرد
که یکسر ازین حلقه بیرون نکرد

اگر شه و گر کمترین چاکر است
گذارش در آخر بر این چنبر است

خوشا حال آن زیرک پند گیر
که از مرگ غیر است عبرت پذیر

ز مرگ کسانش رسد زندگی
کند زندگی صرف در بندگی

English translation

For the comfort of his own aware soul, he prepares the provisions for his road. Make goodness your craft, O good woman, for a good woman is best when she is of good craft. Entrust all affairs to God, for nothing lies outside His decree. Alexander found his way to kingship through Him; by His grace he attained an aware soul. He took him from the world not for the sake of hardship, but bore him toward triumph and good fortune. I do not say: be patient over his dying, but be patient over His bearing him unto Himself. If through patience a good name accrues to you, your good name will bring a good end at last. The bezel-holder of this turquoise-hued wheel is for the sake of a good name — and peace. Aristotle, the jewel-weigher of the land of Greece, who was the trustee over the treasure of the Greeks: when his pen split open the treasury of wisdom, Alexander gained from him whatever coin he gained. When he became aware of Alexander's death, his heart became a companion to wailing and sighs. Then, after trimming his ambergris pen and adorning the letter in the name of God, from the heart's blood he kneaded black ink and wrote an apology to his mother: That I ought to have made, from head to foot, a place in the dust of your sanctuary; in this mourning I would have shed blood from my eyes and recited charms to soothe your pain, but the weakness of old age has bound my feet; I cannot stir a single step from my place. Alexander, who was sultan of the horizons and unmatched in kingship throughout the world — though he has packed his baggage from this narrow place, grieve not, for he packed it up from the throne. No veil of shame fell over his face; he did not depart into disgrace to the delight of the envious. No breaking came to him from the dishonest, nor did a blow of the hand reach him from the base. He fell by the sword of the decree of the pure Lord, which runs from the fish of earth to the star Arcturus. In kingship and command he yielded up his soul; he died as none other than sultan over all creatures. Who has escaped this pain, that he alone should be freed? Who has fled this grief, that he alone should leap away? In this garden there is not one branch or one leaf that does not tremble at the storm-wind of death. If one is dead, he has fallen by its arrow; if alive, he is in the bond of its contriving. The past has gone from it, asleep beneath the dust, and what remains, the future, lives in fear and dread. What unkindness has the turning heaven not done, that it has not cast every one wholly out of this ring? Whether a king or the meanest servant, his passage comes at last upon this hoop. Happy the state of that clever heeder of counsel who takes admonition from the death of others: from the death of others his own life is renewed, and he spends his life in servitude to God.

Updated 2026-07-19

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