in grammar, and such knowledge as belongs to a Doctor of Law; and thus did you waste the precious hours of my youth in the dry, unprofitable, and never-ending task of learning words! ... Ought you not to have instructed me on one point at least, so essential to be known by a king, namely, on the reciprocal duties between the sovereign and his subjects? Ought you not also to have foreseen that I might at some future period be compelled to contend with my brothers, sword in hand, for the crown, and for my very existence? Such, as you must well know, has been the fate of the children of almost every king of Hindústán. Did you ever instruct me in the art of war, how to besiege a town, or draw up an army in battle array? Happy for me that I consulted wiser heads than thine on these subjects! Go! withdraw to thy village. Henceforth let no person know either who thou art or what is become of thee[1].'
The theory of royal education, thus expressed with some French periphrasis, would have done credit to Roger Ascham when he was training the vigorous intellect of the future Queen Elizabeth in her seclusion at Cheshunt. Aurangzíb’s ideal of enlightened kingship is further expressed in a speech addressed to one of the most distinguished of the nobles, on the occasion of a remonstrance with the Emperor on his incessant application to affairs of State, which it was feared might endanger his health — and which very probably interfered with the licence and perquisites of the landed nobility.
'There can surely be but one opinion,' said the Emperor, 'among you wise men as to the obligation imposed upon
- ↑ Bernier, pp. 155—161.
