Material Object
Hitherto, we have examined two dragons – one from the story of Sekandar in Shahnameh, one from Beowulf – and the Serpent-King Zahhak. However, there is another dragon worth mentioning: the dragon form of King Feridun. Where the first dragons we examined earlier were clearly monsters, and where Zahhak the Serpent-King treads the line between monster and human, Feridun crosses it at will.
The object pictured here, titled “Faridun Tests His Sons”, is retained by the Aga Khan Museum; it is a painting on parchment from an illuminated MS folio of the Shahnameh of Shah Tamasp, and was published in the 16th century. The miniature depicts a scene from the Shahnameh after the transformation of King Zahhak and before Sekandar’s encounter with the dragon. The story goes that Faridun has three sons whom he has refrained from naming (Firdausi 9). When they are grown, Faridun transforms himself into a dragon and presents himself to them in an effort to “test their hearts” (Ibid.) before returning to human form to provide them each with an appropriate name. When confronted by the dragon, the oldest son, Silim, demonstrates cowardice; he forfeits his weapon, firmly stating that “a wise man striveth not with dragons” (Ibid.). The middle son, Tur, demonstrates naivety; he draws his bow to slay the monster before the youngest, Irij, steps in front of him and attempts to reason with it. He advises the dragon to “flee” or face the three sons in battle as a collective (Ibid.), demonstrating both bravery and diplomacy.
In the centre and bottom right of the painting, Faridun’s sons are shown on horseback. From top to bottom left are Silim retreating, Tur weapon drawn, and Irij, hand raised in dialogue. Left centre, twisted amongst the rocks, is Faridun in the form of a dragon. True to its description in the story of Sekandar, the dragon is massive in comparison to the humans, has two strands of hair on its head, and breathes fire (as dragons do). What is striking about the scene is not only Faridun’s ability to transform from human to monster at will (in contrast to Zahhak’s cursed serpent form), but the reason why he does it: to judge his sons’ characters. Above all he praises Irij, the youngest, for “he chose the midway between the flame and the ground, as it beseemeth a man of counsel, and he hath proven himself brave, prudent, and bold…for first did he show gentleness, but his bravery sprang forth” (Ibid. 10). Where Silim chose cowardice and Tur was foolish in his impulsivity, Irij was tempered, sharp-witted, and courageous. Ultimately, his father names Irij King of Iran to the dismay of his elder brothers, who saw themselves as the rightful heirs of the hereditary throne (Ibid.).
So far from the Shahnameh, we have met the dragon slayed by Sekandar, the Serpent-King Zahhak, and the shape-shifting King Feridun who transforms into a dragon. All of these monsters have something in common: in each instance that they appear, they have a moral to share regarding kingship – they demonstrate what makes a king good, and embody what makes a king bad.