"Who are you, young man?" inquired the Prince. "You seem not to have

been born for the criminal profession you follow. How did you fall

into the hands of the caravan?"

Bhazad, lest he should dishonour his respectable name, was unwilling

to make himself known.

"Sire," replied he, "my appearance ought not to impose upon your

Majesty: I am, and always have been, a professed robber."

"Your answer," said the King, "is your sentence of death. Yet," said

he to himself, "I ought to be rash in nothing. Regard must be had to

his youth and external qualities, which seem to distinguish him from

people of his profession. If this young man is in reality a robber, he

deserves punishment; but if he is an unfortunate sport of destiny, who

hath sought for death as a deliverance from the sorrows of life, one

may become an accomplice in his crime by not preventing his death."

The prudent Sovereign, having made this soliloquy, ordered Bhazad to

be shut up in close confinement, expecting some great discovery

respecting his rank.

In the meantime the King of Syria, having in quest of his son searched

his dominions in vain, addressed circular letters to all the

Sovereigns of Asia. One of them came to the King in whose dominion

Bhazad was in custody. From the description which it gave of him, he

had no doubt that the young adventurer whom he kept in prison was the

well-beloved son of the powerful monarch of Syria. What reason had he

to applaud himself for not having hurried his judgment!

He sent immediately for the handsome prisoner, and asked his name.

"My name is Bhazad," replied the young man.

"You are the son, then, of King Cyrus. But what motives determined you

to conceal your birth? Had I not been slow in the execution of

punishment, it would have cost you your life, and me the remorse of

having treated you as a vile assassin."

"Sire," replied Bhazad, after having revealed to him the secret of his

escape, "finding myself seized among robbers, in whose crimes I had

involuntarily shared, I preferred death to shame, and was unwilling to

dishonour a name so illustrious."

"Son," replied the sage monarch, "there has been a great deal of

imprudence in your behaviour. You were in love, and assured of wedding

in a few months the object of your affection. See to what rashness and

impatience have brought you. Instead of waiting patiently till you

should become the son-in-law of one of your father's noble vassals,

after having quitted the Court of Syria without permission, and after

having incautiously exposed yourself to be murdered by the robbers who

infest these deserts, you joined yourself to these vagabonds to carry

off by force the woman who was voluntarily to be given you in

marriage. See into what a train of crimes you have drawn yourself.

Check this passion and calm your impatience. I will procure you the

means of uniting yourself soon to the Princess whose hand you are

anxious to obtain. But as everything ought to be done in a manner

suitable to her condition and your rank, we will hurry nothing."

After this, the King, having caused Bhazad to be magnificently

dressed, appointed him lodgings in his palace, and admitted him to his

table. He wrote to Cyrus to set him at ease respecting the fate of his

son, whose equipage was getting ready that he might appear with more

splendour at the Court of the Prince whose daughter he was about to

espouse.

The impatient Bhazad saw these preparations with uneasiness. The

attention which was paid to them retarded his happiness. At length,

however, the order for his departure was given, and he might begin his

journey. A small army escorted him, but every halt which it made

appeared an age to this impatient Prince.

Messengers had been dispatched to the father of the Princess, to

inform him of the arrival of his son-in-law. He came, with his

daughter covered with a veil, to receive him at the gate of his

castle, and allotted him a magnificent apartment next to that of his

future spouse. All the arrangements had been previously fixed by the

two fathers. The term of nine months would have elapsed in three days,

and all the preparations suitable to this so much wished-for union

were finished.

Bhazad was only separated from the object of his affection by the

breadth of a thin wall. In three days he might see her. But this wall

was like Mount Ararat to him, and these three days seemed an eternity.

As he constantly inquired what she was doing, he learnt that she was

at her toilet, assisted by her female slaves, and without her veil.

This was the time for him to surprise her and behold her at his

pleasure. He presently examined all the openings of his apartment, to

find some way of gratifying his impatience and curiosity. He

discovered, to his misfortune, a small grated window, to which he

applied his eye. But an eunuch, placed there on guard, perceived the

inquisitive man, and, without knowing him, struck him with the point

of his scimitar, which at once ran through both his eyes, and drew

from him a piercing cry, which soon collected around him all those

engaged in his service.

They stood around the wounded, inquiring the cause which could have

reduced him to the unhappy situation he was in. His misfortune

discovered to him his crime.

"It was my impatience," replied he, with sorrow. "I have too soon

forgotten the sage counsels of the King my benefactor. In three days I

would have seen her who was to crown my happiness; but I was unable to

bear this delay with patience. I wished to enjoy beforehand the

pleasure of seeing her, and for this I am punished with the loss of my

sight."

* * * * *

"In this manner," added Aladin, "did the impatient Bhazad, on the very

point of becoming happy, lose that hope for ever, and was condemned to

the most cruel loss in being deprived of the sense of sight. He ought

to have recollected the dangers to which his former imprudence had

exposed him; with what maturity of deliberation, with what wise delay,

the monarch to whom he was indebted for his fortune and life had

conducted himself with respect to him, and he ought to have yielded

entirely to his advice. But it is not from acting without reflection

that experience is acquired, and the wise alone can profit by that of

others."

* * * * *

The young Superintendent, having made an end of speaking, Bohetzad,

drowned in thought, dismissed the assembly, and remanded the criminal

to prison.

The ten Viziers, afraid lest their victim should escape, assembled

again next day, and sent three of their number in a deputation to the

King to strike the last blow against the young Aladin. They assured

Bohetzad that the dangerous consequences of his clemency were already

felt.

"Every day," said they, "ordinary justice is engaged in checking the

audacious crimes of your subjects against the sanctity of the harem.

Prevaricating criminals have the boldness to defend themselves by the

example that is before their eyes; and the delays which arise from

your Majesty in this affair are so many pretences which they allege in

their justification. We conjure you, sire, to put an end to this

disorder, which your ministers will soon be unable to restrain."

Bohetzad, ashamed of his too great indulgence, caused the

Superintendent to be brought before him.

"Thou appearest at length," said he to him, "for the last time, on the

scaffold, which thou art about to stain with thy blood. The crime

which thou hast committed allows me no rest. The too long suspension

of the sword of the law draws along with it an example fatal to my

subjects. Every voice is united against thee, and not one justifies

thee."

"Men pursue me," interrupted the undaunted Aladin. "I am the object of

hatred and slander; but, if the Eternal and His Prophet are for me, I

have nothing in this world to fear. Heaven protects my innocence, and

the sword cannot deprive me of it. It will always shine upon my

forehead, even when it shall be separated from my body. My confidence

is in God. I expect everything from Him, as King Bazmant at length did

after the reverses he experienced."

HISTORY OF BAZMANT, OR THE CONFIDENT.

This Sovereign, too much addicted to the pleasures of the table, was

giving himself up one day to the immoderate enjoyment of a sumptuous

feast, when his Vizier came to inform him that the enemy was coming to

besiege his capital.

"Have not I," replied he, "excellent generals and good troops? Let

them take care of everything, and beware of disturbing my pleasures."

"I will obey, sire," replied the Vizier; "but remember that the

Almighty disposes of thrones, and that if you invoke not His aid, your

riches and power will not support you or yours."

Disregarding this wise counsel, Bazmant fell asleep in the arms of

sensuality; and when he awoke was obliged to take to flight:

notwithstanding the bravery of his soldiers, the enemy had become

masters of the city.

The fugitive King withdrew to one of his allies, his father-in-law and

friend, who granted him a powerful army, with which he hoped in a

short time to re-enter his dominions and take vengeance on his enemy.

Full of confidence in this assistance, he marched at the head of his

troops, and advanced towards the capital which he had lost. But

victory again declared in favour of the usurper. His army was routed,

and he himself owed his safety to the swiftness and vigour of his

horse, which, pursued by the enemy, crossed an arm of the sea which

lay in his way, and soon landed him on the opposite shore.

Not far from the shore was situated a fortified city called Kerassin,

at that time under the dominion of King Abadid. Bazmant went to it,

and demanded an asylum in the hospital destined for the reception of

poor strangers. He learned that King Abadid resided in Medinet-Ilahid,

the capital of the kingdom. He took the road to it, arrived there, and

demanded an audience of the Sovereign, which was immediately granted.

His external appearance prejudiced the monarch in his favour, and he

asked him concerning his rank, his country, and the motives which had

brought him to Medinet-Ilahid.

"I was," replied he, "a distinguished officer in the Court of King

Bazmant, to whom I was much attached. This unfortunate Prince has been

driven from his kingdom, and as it became necessary for me to choose a

master, I am come to make a voluntary offer of my person and services

to your Majesty."

Abadid, full of prudence and penetration, conceived a favourable

opinion of the stranger. He loaded him with presents, and assigned him

a distinguished rank among his officers. Bazmant might have been proud

of his new situation could he have banished from his memory the

fortune he had once enjoyed, and had he not been still wholly occupied

with the loss of his kingdom.

A neighbouring power at that time threatened Abadid with an invasion

of his dominions. The Sovereign put himself in a posture of defence,

and took every necessary precaution to repel his enemy. He himself

took arms, and left his capital at the head of a formidable army.

Bazmant had the chief command of the van.

The battle was soon begun, during which Abadid and Bazmant conducted

themselves like experienced chiefs, and were distinguished by

remarkable feats of courage and intrepidity. The enemy was entirely

defeated and repulsed. Bazmant extolled to the skies the mighty deeds

and wise plans of Abadid.

"Sire," said he to him, "with an army so well disciplined and so much

good conduct you might easily humble the most formidable nations."

"You are mistaken," replied the wise monarch; "without the assistance

of Allah I could not resist the most feeble atoms in the creation. It

is by trusting in Him alone that we have the power of posting our

troops to advantage, of directing our plans with wisdom, and of

preserving that presence of mind which is the guide of all our

operations. If I had not had recourse to Him, the greatest force would

have vanished in my hands."

"I am convinced of it," replied Bazmant, "and the misfortunes which I

have experienced are a proof of it. A false prudence induced me to

conceal my name and my misfortunes. But your virtues forcibly draw the

secret from me. You see before you the unhappy Bazmant, whom too much

confidence in his own troops could not preserve upon the throne."

Upon this confession, Abadid, seized with astonishment, wished to make

an apology to Bazmant for the reception he had given him.

"How could you know me," replied the dethroned Prince, "since shame

and confusion obliged me to be silent? Could you read upon my forehead

a character which the justice of Heaven had effaced? Great King,"

added he, embracing him, "I owe to your generosity a full account of

my faults: lend me your attention."

At these words Bazmant related his history.

"My dear brother," said Abadid to him, after having heard it, "cease

to humble yourself before a man brought up in your very principles,

and corrected at last by a series of misfortunes similar to yours. I

have not been wiser than you. It appears that we must be instructed by

misery! Formerly I put my confidence in my troops and my own

abilities, and at the head of a numerous army I was conquered by an

enemy who had nothing to oppose me but a handful of men. Forced to

take to flight, I retired to the mountains, with fifty men who would

not abandon me. Providence caused me to fall in with a dervish in his

hermitage, where he was wholly devoted to the exercise and duties of

religion. He showed me the cause of my misfortunes, and told me that

the enemy had put his trust in Allah alone, and was thus enabled to

strike me with unerring blows; while I, depending upon the effort of

my spear and the thickness of my battalions, and full of audacious

pride, neglected my duty, and gave no order which did not lead to an

error. 'Put,' said he to me, 'your confidence in Him who directs

everything here below, and if His arm is engaged in your behalf, fifty

men will be sufficient to regain your kingdom.' These discourses of

the sage made a strong impression upon me. I raised my eyes on high,

and, full of a salutary confidence, I returned to my capital.

Prosperity had blinded my enemy. He had forgotten in the lap of

pleasure the wise maxims to which he was indebted for his victory.

Everything seemed quiet in his dominions. He believed himself secure

in the possession of them, and neglected the maintenance of an army. I

arrived unawares at the beginning of the night. I hastened to the

palace with my small party, which curiosity, however, increased. It

became a formidable army within the palace: dismay and terror marched

in its train. The usurper had only just time to make his escape and

avoid the danger which surrounded him. And the next day beheld me

re-established on my throne, and in the undisturbed possession of my

kingdom."

The recital of Abadid's adventures completely changed the opinions of

Bazmant.

"You have," said the Prince to him, "inspired me with a confidence

equal to that which animated you, and henceforward I will place it

nowhere else. God alone and His great Prophet are able to restore me

my crown; and in order to regain it, I will follow the same method

that you did."

At these words he took leave of Abadid, and hastened into a desert,

through which he was obliged to pass in order to reach his dominions.

Guided by the confidence which he had placed in the Sovereign Ruler of

men, and imploring His support by prayer, he gained the summit of a

mountain. He was oppressed with fatigue, and, having fallen asleep, he

saw a vision in a dream.

He thought he heard a voice say to him, "Bazmant, Allah has heard thy

prayers: He accepts thy penitence, and thou mayest march without fear

whither thou intendest."

The Prince believed he had heard his guardian angel, and hastened his

journey towards the capital of his kingdom. Scarcely had he reached

the frontiers, when he met a party of those who had been most faithful

to him. They lived under a tent, ready to seek another asylum on the

least instance of tyranny in the usurper. Without making himself

known, he entered into conversation, and told them that he was

travelling to the capital. They endeavoured to divert him from his

design. They described the avenues to the city as extremely dangerous.

They told him that suspicion and fear were upon the throne; that

strangers who approached it were believed to be emissaries of Bazmant,

and were, without distinction, beheaded by order of the tyrant.

"He causes the former King to be regretted, then?" inquired the

Prince, certain that they could not know him.

"Alas!" replied they, "would indeed that our worthy monarch were here!

He would find a safe asylum in the hearts of all his subjects, and a

hundred thousand arms to avenge him. The monster who has dethroned

him, confiding in his forces, sacrifices everything to his unbridled

desires, and frees himself by the sword of his slightest alarms."

"He is in the wrong," replied Bazmant, "to trust wholly in his army:

the true support of Kings is the favour of Heaven. As for me, who have

come here with no other intention than to acquire knowledge by

travelling, knowing that no one can injure me while I have the divine

protection, I will, without fear, approach the place which the vain

precautions of your master have caused to be looked upon as so

dangerous."

"We conjure you not to do this," replied these worthy people, in a

feeling tone: "do not give us another misfortune to bewail. Since you

are a good Mussulman, wait patiently till the divine justice shall

have struck this tyrant: the time is not far distant, for the measure

of his iniquity is full. And should the arm of man delay to strike,

the pillars of his palace will fall upon him."

At these words, Bazmant felt his hopes revive. He laid aside all

disguise, and declared that he was the monarch whom they wished to

return. At that instant his faithful subjects, exiled on his account,

fell at his feet. They kissed his hands and moistened them with their

tears. A part of the knights who were there devoted themselves as his

life-guard. The rest spread all around to announce his happy return,

and appoint a place of rendezvous. A formidable army was soon in a

condition to advance to the capital, the tyrant was overthrown, and

Bazmant resumed the reins of government and power amidst the

acclamations of all his people.

* * * * *

At the end of this history, Aladin ventured to add some reflections of

his own.

"You see," said he to Bohetzad, "how Bazmant reascended his throne,

without any other assistance than that of Heaven. My true throne,

sire, is my innocence; and, as if inspired from above, I have a fixed

belief that I will yet be re-established on it, and triumph over mine

enemies."

As the young minister mingled sage truths with the recital of his

stories, the Sovereign, who had listened to him, felt his anger

relent.

He again ordered the punishment to be deferred, and the criminal was

carried back to prison.

The Viziers again resolved to diffuse in the mind of the King the

poison of those perfidious insinuations which had hitherto been so

unsuccessful.

One of them accordingly arrived well prepared. He brought with him

seditious libels and a list of disorders which, he said, the violation

of a law that was refused to be put in execution had occasioned, in

leaving unpunished a crime which appeared in so obvious a manner.

These reports, which seemed to be dictated by disinterestedness and

fidelity, again inflamed Bohetzad. He resumed his first resolutions,

and sent for the criminal to his presence.

"I have hesitated too long," said he. "Thy death is essential to the

safety of my kingdom, and thou canst no more hope either for delay or

mercy."

"Sire," said Aladin, "every fault deserves pardon. I have committed

one in indulging myself in a drink which I did not know, and which

deprived me, for a moment, of reason. But I have a right to obtain

your Majesty's pardon. I am incapable of the crime of which I am

accused. Sovereigns, sire, have a noble right which they derive from

Heaven: it is that of exercising mercy when it is proper. Let us

suppose that, after a little delay and deliberate examination, you had

snatched an innocent person from punishment, would not your Majesty

have done an action something like that of raising him from the dead?

An action may often appear agreeable to strict justice, while in

reality it is only the effect of lawless tyranny. And what glory is

there not, even in pardoning an offence? He who is capable of mercy

will, like Baharkan, sooner or later receive his reward."

Aladin, perceiving Bohetzad inclined to listen to him, proceeded thus

in the explanation of what he had advanced:

HISTORY OF BAHARKAN.

Baharkan was an intemperate Prince. He sacrificed everything to his

passions, and, in order to gratify them, he boldly plunged into the

greatest excess of tyranny. He never pardoned even the appearance of a

crime: so that involuntary faults were punished no less than avowed

transgressions.

Being one day at the chase, one of his officers inadvertently

discharged from his bow an arrow which he was holding prepared. It

struck the ear of the King, and unfortunately carried it off.

Baharkan, in his fury, ordered the offender to be brought before him,

and his head to be struck off. As soon as the unhappy young man was in

his presence, having heard the sentence of death pronounced by the

monarch, he spoke to him thus:

"Sire, the fault I have committed was unpremeditated on my part; it

was the effect of the fatality of the stars. I throw myself on your

clemency. I implore your pardon. It will be meritorious in the sight

of God and approved of by men. In the name of the heavenly Power which

hath put the sceptre into your hands, I entreat for pardon, and your

Majesty will one day receive your reward."

This prayer softened the unrelenting heart of the King, and, contrary

to the general expectation, the young officer obtained his pardon.

His name was Tirkan. He was a Prince who had fled from his father's

Court in order to escape the punishment of a fault which he had

committed. After having wandered unknown from kingdom to kingdom, he

at length settled at the Court of Baharkan, where he obtained

employment. He remained there for some time after the accident which

had befallen him; but his father, having discovered the place of his

retreat, sent him his pardon, and advised him to return to him. He

did this in such affectionate and paternal terms that Tirkan, trusting

in his father's goodness, immediately departed. His hopes were not

deceived, and he was re-established in all his rights.

King Baharkan, desiring one day to amuse himself with pearl-fishing,

embarked in a vessel with a design to coast along the shores of his

kingdom in search of pearls. An unexpected storm drove the ship into

the open sea. It became the sport of the winds and the waves, and,

stripped of all its rigging, ran aground on an unknown shore, and was

dashed to pieces against the rocks which surrounded it. The whole crew

perished. Baharkan alone was saved from shipwreck by a plank which he

had had the good fortune to seize. Fortunately, he landed on the

dominions of the monarch whose son had shot away his ear, and whom he

had pardoned.

Night began to descend when Baharkan landed. He wanted neither courage

nor vigour, and therefore took the first road that presented itself,

which led to a large fortified city. But, as the gates had just been

shut, he was forced to wait without till next day, and to pass the

night in a neighbouring churchyard.

Day began to appear, and the gates were opened. The first persons who

came from the city found, at the gate of the churchyard, a man who had

been murdered. Baharkan was coming out of it at the same time. The

efforts he had made in the evening to reach the coast with his plank

had given him some slight wounds, from which the blood was still

trickling. This proof appeared sufficient in the eyes of the

bystanders: he was taken for the murderer, and carried to prison.

There this unfortunate Prince, left to his own reflections, thus

communed with himself: "Heaven chastises thee, Baharkan. Thou wast

cruel, vindictive, and inexorable. With thee humanity had no value.

Thou sacrificedst thy brethren on the slightest suspicion. Behold

thyself now on a level with the vilest of mortals. Thou hast met with

no more than thy desert."

As he rendered this terrible justice to himself, he perceived in the

air a vulture, which hovered above the prison in the court of which

he was walking. He instinctively took a flint, and threw it with great

force at the bird, which avoided the stroke; but, in falling, the

stone accidentally struck the same Prince Tirkan who formerly had

carried off his ear by the stroke of an arrow. It wounded him exactly

on the ear, but not so severely as Baharkan had been. Pain forced a

cry from the young Prince, which brought all his courtiers around him.

Surgeons were sent for, who soon cured this slight wound.

The King ordered a search to be made, in order to discover the person

who had thrown the stone. Baharkan was accused by his fellow-prisoners

of picking up and throwing it. He was brought before the monarch, who

condemned him to lose his head, since, besides this, he believed him

to be the murderer of the man who had been assassinated near the

churchyard. The executioner of justice had already taken off the

turban which covered him, and was drawing the sword from its scabbard,

when the King, examining attentively the head which had just been

uncovered, perceived that it wanted an ear.

"It appears," said he to the criminal, "that this is not your first

offence. For what crime have you been already condemned to lose an

ear?"

Baharkan, having assumed a manly spirit since his misfortunes,

replied, with boldness, "Sire, if I have committed crimes, I owe no

account of them but to Heaven; and till it should have determined to

punish me, human justice had no right to inflict it. I have been, in

one word, your equal--I was a King. The ear which I want was

unfortunately carried off by an arrow, which escaped from the bow of

one of my officers, whose name was Tirkan. Impelled by the first

emotion of anger, I condemned him to death. He besought my pardon, and

obtained it. My name is Baharkan."

Tirkan, without giving him time to finish, had already thrown himself

into his arms. He recognized at once his ancient master and his

deliverer. Baharkan, far from being punished, was treated as a King,

and an unfortunate one. He related the adventure which had landed him

in the dominions of Tirkan's father. The latter communicated to him

his own, and especially the unfortunate accident which had wounded

Baharkan.

"Recollect, sire," added he, "that in soliciting a pardon, I ventured

to promise you, from Heaven, the same favour which I expected from

you. Here you have received it, under the very same circumstances,

through the instrumentality of my father."

After these discoveries, the two Sovereigns embraced each other, with

marks of esteem and kindness. A short time after, Baharkan returned to

his kingdom in a fleet well equipped, and at the head of an army of

fifty thousand fighting men, commanded by Prince Tirkan.

* * * * *

"In this manner," added Aladin, "Baharkan was rewarded for suffering

himself to be softened when he was personally offended. Heaven did not

confine its blessings to his receiving the same treatment in a similar

situation and restoring him to his subjects, it moreover granted to

him every virtue requisite in a good King; and in governing his

subjects, it enabled him always to govern himself."

Bohetzad, shaken in his resolution by this discourse, ordered the

instruments of death to be again removed, and the minister to be

conducted back to prison. He even pronounced these last words so

hesitatingly, that the Viziers, who observed it, were alarmed.

The whole conspiracy formed against Aladin awoke with still greater

force, and it was determined that the ten Viziers should go in a body

to the King. Their danger would become so great, if Aladin should

succeed in justifying himself, that every step should be taken to

destroy him.

The next day they all repaired to the palace, and he who was possessed

of the warmest eloquence spoke. If the monarch would believe it, the

wicked story-teller, whose talents were so specious, was indebted for

his success to the art of magic, in which he was well skilled. But he

ought to distrust an illusion which exposes at once the laws,

religion, morals, the honour of the throne, and the public welfare;

and unless he punished this crime, it would be impossible to check

disorder. All the other Viziers supported this insidious harangue.

Each of them alleged his own disinterestedness, his zeal, and his

fidelity.

"Unbridled audacity is in him united with matchless cunning," they

said. "Everything is in danger if this offence remains unpunished."

Bohetzad could not resist the unanimous voice of so many counsellors.

His anger re-awoke, and he ordered the criminal to be brought forth.

Aladin appeared in chains, and the King, perceiving him, exclaimed,

"Let the head of this unhappy man be struck off."

The ten Viziers hastened to seize the sword of the executioner, in

order to dispute with him the execution of his office. This motion

gave Aladin time to speak.

"Behold, sire, the eagerness of your Viziers to bathe themselves in

the blood of innocence. Justice pursues the crime, but does not rush

upon the criminal. Zeal, like every other virtue, should be moderated.

Stop, eager and wicked men! I am here under the justice of the King,

not under yours. You have no power over my life. It is sacred with

respect to you, who are neither judges nor executioners. Speak! Show

yourselves openly as you really are. I have offended you by checking

your rapine. You are my enemies and base slanderers."

"You recriminate upon my Viziers," interrupted the King; "truth which

flows from their mouths confounds you."

"Nothing from them can confound me," replied Aladin; "not even the

blackness of their calumny. It is coeval with their existence. But for

these, who have reduced me to the necessity of this defence, I must

question them in my turn. They are all here, and let them answer. Does

not the law require that every accuser or deponent should have been a

witness of the crime? Their evidence is therefore objectionable in

this case; the law rejects it. It is only the effect of envy and

jealous rage by which they are devoured. Look at them, sire, and at

me. The sword is above my head, yet I dare raise it up, while their

eyes shun both yours and mine. Heaven supports me and condemns them;

our sentence is written on our countenance. O great King! deserving of

better ministers, beware of being drawn into the guilty plot they have

contrived for you. One may, but without passion, bear testimony

against the accused. If he is convicted, justice condemns him. But the

judge, in describing the crime and pronouncing sentence, never forgets

the duty due to the creature of God on whom the punishment is about to

fall. Here I see nothing but fury and jealous rage. They are devoured

by their thirst for blood, and equity is not the basis of their

judgments. All the injurious imputations which have been levelled

against me vanish. An invisible hand imprints on my forehead the

serenity of innocence. An inward sentiment tells me that, having lived

free from crimes, I shall not be confounded with the guilty. Unhappy

is the man whose conscience gives a contrary testimony. He endeavours

in vain to shun the stroke that threatens him. The history of the

Sultan Hebraim and of his son is a proof of this."

Bohetzad, struck with astonishment at the intrepid firmness of Aladin

and the united rage of his ministers, wished to hear the adventures of

Hebraim; and the Superintendent, having obtained permission to relate

them, thus began:

HISTORY OF THE SULTAN HEBRAIM AND HIS SONS, OR THE PREDESTINATED.

[Illustration]

The Sultan Hebraim, called by his birth to the government of extensive

dominions, had enlarged them considerably by the success of his arms.

But the want of an heir disturbed the enjoyment of his glory. At

length, however, a son was born, whose birth was celebrated by public

rejoicings and feasts, which, during forty days, announced to the

people the happiness of the Sovereign.

This time was employed in a very different manner by the astrologers

who were employed to cast the infant's nativity. They could not

conceal from the Sultan that an evil star had presided at the birth of

his son. The orbit of his planet, black and stained with blood,

announced misfortunes, which it would be difficult to resist. They

unanimously declared that before he was seven years old, the infant

would be exposed to the devouring jaws of a tiger; and that if he

could escape the fury of that animal during this determinate space of

time, his hand would become fatal to the author of his existence; and

that there was no other way by which he could escape the evils that

threatened him but by becoming, from the effects of education, an

enlightened, wise, and virtuous Prince.

The annunciation of so mournful a prediction dissipated the joy of

Hebraim, and the days of public happiness were spent by him in tears

and in grief. Nevertheless, as hope never forsakes the unfortunate, he

flattered himself, and was happy to think, that it was possible to

screen the heir of his power from the decrees of fate. It did not

appear to him impossible to protect his son from the attacks of the

tiger during the appointed term of seven years; and after having

snatched him from the first decree of destiny, he might, by carefully

watching over his education, beget in him sentiments of wisdom and the

love of virtue, and thus disprove the prediction of the astrologers.

After these reflections, the Sultan prepared a retreat on the summit

of a mountain, in which he hoped that his son would be safe from the

attacks of the tiger for the seven years determined by fate. A number

of workmen were employed in forming in the rock a cavity of a hundred

feet in depth, about a hundred and fifty in length, and thirty in

breadth. They let down into this every material necessary to make a

commodious lodging; a spring of water was found there, and they

contrived a passage for it, as well as for the rain-water which might

be collected in this cavity. They carried earth to it, and put plants

there, which were soon in a thriving condition.

After having furnished this little palace in a proper manner, they let

down into it the Prince and his nurse by the help of a pulley,

together with every necessary article for a month. At the end of every

moon Hebraim came regularly to visit his son. The nurse laid the

child in a basket made of bulrushes, which was lifted up to the very

brim of the entrance; and while the father yielded to the sweetest

emotions of nature in caressing his son, a numerous guard, by the

thundering sound of their instruments, kept the wild beasts at a

distance. When the visit was over the provisions were renewed, and the

cord, rolling upon the pulley, gently returned to the bottom of the

cave the basket and the infant.

The young Prince grew and prospered in this solitary habitation, which

a very strong vegetation had adorned with trees and shrubs of every

kind. The fatal term marked out by the astrologers had almost elapsed.

Only twenty days were wanting to fulfil the seven years, when a troop

of unknown hunters, in vigorous pursuit of an enormous tiger which

they had already wounded, came to the summit of the mountain in full

view of their prey. The furious animal, terrified by their shouts, and

struck by arrows which were shot at it from every quarter, found this

cavity in its course, and either blinded by terror or being now in

despair, immediately sprang down it. It fell upon a tree, which,

bending under its weight, considerably broke the force of a fall which

would have dashed it to pieces on the bottom of this pit.

The terrified nurse endeavoured to conceal herself, and the monster

found the child, which it grievously wounded on the shoulder. On

hearing the cries of the infant, however, the nurse, forgetting her

own danger, flew to his assistance. The tiger darted at her, and

having torn her in pieces, was about to devour her, when the huntsmen,

coming suddenly up to the brink of the precipice, discharged at once a

shower of arrows upon the voracious animal. His body was full of them,

the blood gushed from every part of it, and an enormous stone thrown

at his head killed him on the spot.

After this exploit the huntsmen, anxious to discover the child whose

cries resounded in this frightful habitation, eagerly descended into

it. But what was their astonishment when they found there at the side

of a dead woman a beautiful infant, richly dressed, and swimming in

the blood of the wounds it had received! Their first care was to

assist the innocent creature, which still breathed. They bathed its

wounds, and wrapped them up with healing herbs. As soon as the infant

appeared more calm, they buried the nurse and examined this strange

retreat. The furniture of this small habitation appeared extremely

rich, and a quantity of provisions was found there, which seemed to

have come down from heaven. The huntsmen took possession of everything

by the right of conquest, and sought how they might take out of this

dungeon everything it concealed.

The basket of bulrushes was first employed in drawing up the young

child out of this habitation, and next all the effects, the furniture,

and the provisions, were raised by means of the pulley which was fixed

at the top of the cave. When everything was out a division was made.

The chief of the troop took possession of the infant, in whose

preservation he felt himself strongly interested, and carried it with

him to his own house.

The only son of the Sultan Hebraim had fallen into good hands. His

benefactor was a man of distinction, wealthy, and without a fault but

that of an unlimited passion for the chase. Struck with the beauty and

the sweetness of his young charge, he paid the greatest attention to

him. And when he found him capable of answering his questions, he

endeavoured to learn from him who he was, and for what reason he had

been made to dwell in so extraordinary a habitation.

"I know not," replied the child. "I lived with the woman whom you

found dead; she gave me everything I wanted. From time to time a man,

much bigger than you, came and stood at the top of the dwelling where

you found me. I was put into a basket and drawn up to him. He caressed

me very much, and called me his dear child. I called the woman Nurse,

and she likewise said I was her dear child. I know nothing more."

The benefactor could not conclude, from this simple declaration,

anything else than that this child owed its birth to parents of an

illustrious rank, but he could not discover the very extraordinary

reason which had forced them to conceal its existence by a method

still more extraordinary. Expecting that time would unravel this

mystery, he paid every attention to the boy's education, had him

instructed in the sciences, and trained up in exercises suitable to

the most illustrious descent.

The young disciple early answered the hopes of his friend. He excelled

particularly in the art of horsemanship, handled every sort of weapon

with dexterity, and in general acquired all the knowledge necessary

for the most resolute warrior or hunter.

One day, as they were both hotly engaged in the pursuit of some

tigers, they were suddenly surrounded by a band of robbers. Abaquir

(for that was the young man's name) displayed, as well as his master,

prodigious feats of valour. But, overpowered by numbers, they were

both plundered. The protector of Abaquir lost his life, and he himself

received some slight wounds; but the faintness which succeeded was

more the effect of fatigue than of blows. As soon as the robbers had

disappeared he came to himself, and being naturally courageous, he

attempted, though deprived of every aid, to cross the desert, in order

to reach some inhabited place, having nothing for his defence but a

hunter's javelin, which had been left on the field of battle.

He had travelled but a few hours when he perceived in the plain a man

in the habit of a dervish. He made haste to join him, to address and

salute him. The dervish prevented him by beginning the conversation

himself.

"Beautiful young man," said he to him, "you are naked and wounded. Who

hath reduced you to the distressed situation in which I see you?"

Abaquir did not hesitate to relate his adventure to this man, whom he

took for some holy person, and confidently asked from him some food

and clothing.

"One ought," replied the dervish, "to know what it is to strip himself

in order to clothe his brother, and to share with him his food in

order to preserve him."

At the same time he covered the young man with his cloak, made him sit

down, and drew from a sort of wallet some dates, bread baked with the

milk of a camel, and a bottle of the skin of a goat, containing five

or six pints of water.

"Hold," said he, "you shall have the repast of a penitent. I carry

these with me to supply my own wants and those of others; but we will

go to my cave, and there you will find both repose and plenty."

Abaquir, before he began to eat, returned thanks to the holy Prophet

for so seasonable a relief. When the first calls of hunger were

satisfied, the dervish prevailed upon him to go with him to his cell,

which was at no great distance.

Abaquir was received therewith every mark of benevolent charity. His

wounds were washed and dressed, and the most nourishing food was set

before him. In this wild habitation the tables and chairs were nothing

but stones rudely thrown together, and the beds were made of heaps of

moss; but it was very well for Abaquir, who had been reduced to the

want of everything. Besides, the attention of his landlord supplied

the want of conveniences in this retreat. The young man conceived the

highest idea of the profession of a dervish, from its inspiring

sentiments so humane.

"My dear child," said the disguised person to him, "I take pleasure in

bestowing care on you; do not place all to the account of religion.

You inspire me with a strong interest, and if you wish to go away from

me, you must at least tarry till you are perfectly recovered of your

wounds, for the passage from this desert is extremely difficult."

Although the young man could not but show himself grateful for so much

attention, yet it did not appear uncommon to him. Accustomed to the

tender caresses of his nurse, to those of his father, and of his

generous benefactor who had since directed his education, the

attentions of the pretended dervish seemed to him affectionate and

natural. The latter, by degrees, came to know all the adventures of

Abaquir, and appeared to take in him an interest always more marked.

"Either I am much deceived, child," said the recluse, "or I perceive

that you are reserved for very high fates, and I devote myself to

become your conductor in this fortunate career. I will restore to you

this father who took so much pleasure in lavishing his caresses upon

you."

"Ah! if you can," replied Abaquir, "conduct me to him immediately."

"In your present condition? No, my child, you are unacquainted with

mankind. Nature speaks not with the great in favour of a stranger

covered with the old cloak of a dervish. Before you could obtain a

hearing, you would experience the treatment reserved for an impostor,

and there would be a number of interested people ready to forbid you

all access. But at present you are with a man who loves you, and whose

resources are inexhaustible. A disgust at the riches and vanities of

the world made me form the resolution of retiring from it. But

to-morrow, if I choose, I can have more of them in my possession than

would satisfy the ambition of the most wealthy potentates on earth. I

can show you part of them. The earth conceals treasures which I can

force her to give up. Not far from this there is great abundance of

them, and I will conduct you thither. You shall take what may be

necessary to carry you to your father's Court, preceded by a hundred

camels, loaded with the richest stuffs of the East, and each of them

led by a slave. You shall be surrounded by a guard, which will secure

you respect wherever you pass."

Abaquir was lost in admiration. He could not imagine that these

magnificent promises were real when he looked upon the coarse cloak

with which he was covered, the furniture, and the fantastic utensils

of his landlord. The latter, after having been some moments lost in

reflection, thus resumed his speech:

"O my child, never let appearances deceive you! The more you advance

in years, the more you will learn to distrust its illusions. I am a

dervish by inclination, but all the garments I wear are not mean. Here

is one which becomes none but brave and powerful men." At the same

time the pretended dervish opened his cassock, and discovered a girdle

of red, yellow, and green silk.

"Take courage, young man," continued he: "to-morrow I will show you

great things. Our attention shall be engaged about your fortune. I

shall be able, without being obliged to go far, to find out this

singular cave in which you were brought up. I shall know the

architect; and in a month, after having finished all our preparations,

we will depart for your father's Court, with a train of attendants

that will force everybody to welcome us."

The discovery of this girdle under rags had struck Abaquir with

astonishment. He depended upon the promises of his new protector, and

accepted his offers.

"But," continued this extraordinary man, "as soon as you shall be at

your father's house, and, notwithstanding the pain which our

separation will cost you, I shall require your permission to return to

my solitary manner of life."

"Willingly," replied Abaquir; "but you will not prevent me from

conducting you thither."

On the morning of the next day the dervish made the young man take a

basket with provisions for breakfast, and a parcel of ropes, and they

went together to the bottom of a steep mountain. When they had arrived

there, the companion of Abaquir encouraged him to exert new strength.

"You may," said he, "suffer a little fatigue, but reflecting that you

are to reap the fruit of it, you must redouble your courage. Be not

astonished at what you are about to see. This mountain contains in its

bosom a treasure which cannot be estimated. These riches are abandoned

to magi, like me; but we despise using them for ourselves. Do not

spend your time in gathering gold, which you will find here in great

quantity: take nothing but precious stones. This is the best method of

enriching yourself speedily."

After this advice, the dervish threw off his cloak, and appeared as a

magician. He was covered only with his large particoloured girdle

which adorned his breast. He took from a purse which hung from his

girdle an instrument for striking fire, and, having lighted a taper,

he burnt perfumes, and running over a book, he pronounced with a loud

voice a magical charm. Scarcely had he finished when the earth shook

under his feet, opened before him, and discovered a square stone of

marble, upon the middle of which the magician immediately scattered

perfumes. When he thought the air sufficiently purified and refreshed

with them, he girded Abaquir with a rope under his arms, put a taper

in his hand, and let him down into the opening.

As soon as Abaquir had got into it, his eyes were dazzled by the

splendour of the riches with which he was surrounded. But, faithful

to the advice of the magician, he picked up only precious stones, with

which he filled the basket which his guide had let down to him by a

cord. When it was full and lifted out of the pit, the magician took

it; and at that moment a dreadful noise was heard, the fatal trap was

shut, and the young Abaquir found himself swallowed up in the bowels

of the earth, without any hope of ever getting out.

He believed he was betrayed by the magician, and, without great vigour

of mind, would have abandoned himself to despair. But, after having

shed some tears, he retraced in his memory the events of his former

life. Threatened in his early infancy with becoming the prey of a

tiger, Providence had protected him from danger. Attacked afterwards

by robbers, the same protection had saved him. "The arm which hath

defended me," said he, "will not cease to do so still. I am innocent

and betrayed." In this confidence he prostrated himself before Him who

has the keys of the deep, and rested with confidence in His

assistance.

By the light of the candle, which was still burning, he examined the

immense cave which served him as a prison. He thought he perceived at

the bottom a passage, the path of which could not be followed without

stooping. He approached it with his light, but there came from it so

strong a wind that it was instantly extinguished. Far from lessening

his hopes, this accident increased them. So violent a wind announced

to him a passage outward. He entered it with great difficulty, and

almost creeping in the darkness. As he advanced he heard a hollow

noise, the murmur of which presaged to him some singular event. He

soon perceived that he dipped his hands and his knees in a spring of

running water. He raised his head, and finding that he could take some

rest, he sat down upon a stone which he had met with, amid the murmurs

of many other streams which flowed from these deep caves. He filled

the hollow of his hand with the water, which was fresh and delicious.

He drank of it, and after having recruited his strength, he continued

this fatiguing journey. But these little streams, which thus far had

only run upon the ground, had here hollowed out a bed for themselves.

He was obliged to enter it, and the farther he advanced the more the

danger increased, till at last he began to swim. The darkness around

him at length began to be dissipated. The cavern grew wider and

higher, and admitted a feeble ray of light, which seemed to announce

that the outlet was near. The strength of the swimmer increased with

his hopes; and he soon found himself under the vault of heaven, at the

moment when the sun was ceasing to adorn it, and the goddess of the

night was succeeding to her task.

Abaquir might now repose without fear, and his strength was exhausted.

He laid himself upon the ground, and, overcome with fatigue, soon fell

asleep. He had but few of the wet clothes which he had received from

the magician to put off, for the rubbing of the flints had carried

away part of them, and the remainder were but shreds.

The singing of birds announced the return of morning, and the first

rays of the sun awakened Abaquir. The young Prince, on opening his

eyes, recollected the dangers from which he had just escaped. He

retraced the most trifling circumstances of them in his memory. He

thought he remembered to have seen, in the frightful cavern he had

traversed, the carcasses of many who had fallen victims to the avarice

of the wicked magician. This remembrance filled his soul with terror

and dismay; but, at the same time, he felt the value of the blessings

of the Almighty hand, which had miraculously rescued him from this

tomb. His eyes, raised to heaven and swimming in tears, expressed his

gratitude, while his lips celebrated the praises of the Almighty and

of His Prophet.

These first duties being fulfilled, it became necessary to appease the

hunger which preyed upon him. In running round the borders of a small

lake where he was, he perceived some reeds, of which he sucked the

stalks, and chewed the roots with his teeth. He dug up the earth all

around, which furnished him such supplies as his urgent need required.

By the help of care and patience he at last regained strength, and

with it, courage. He then took up some shreds of his clothes, already

dried by the sun, and fixed them to a girdle made of the leaves of

reeds; and by searching carefully he found a stick, which served him

at once for support and defence. He arrived, after much fatigue, upon

a little plain, from whence he discovered a neighbouring city, to

which he directed his steps by the first road that presented itself.

As soon as he was perceived by the inhabitants, one of them ran to

meet him, and appeared eager to lavish upon him the assistance of

which his external appearance showed he had need. He obliged him to

take an asylum in his house, where he was received with kindness; the

recital of his adventures was listened to with feeling, and he found

friends in his misfortunes.

And now, without feeling a moment's uneasiness concerning the fate of

this young Prince, let us return to the Sultan Hebraim, his father,

much more afflicted than he by the accomplishment of the mournful

prediction.

The second day after the defeat of the tiger was the term assigned by

the astrologers. The Sultan, thinking to reap at length the fruit of

his cares and prudence, appeared at the top of the opening, and

announced his arrival as usual by the sound of a horn. But nobody

having answered his first signal, Hebraim, uneasy at this silence,

made some of his officers go down into the pit, who, after much

diligent but fruitless search, found nothing in it but the dead body

of a tiger. The unhappy father doubted no longer the death of his son:

he returned in haste to his palace, and sent for the same astrologers

whom he had formerly consulted respecting the fate of his heir.

"Unhappy that I am!" said he to them, "your fatal prediction is

verified: my son has been devoured by a tiger before the expiration of

the seven years; for in the retreat which I prepared for him I have

found nothing but the body of an enormous tiger."

"Invincible Sultan!" replied the astrologers, "since the event forces

from you an acknowledgment of the truth of our presage, we must

congratulate you now on being beyond the reach of an inevitable death,

which he whose loss you deplore would have brought upon you. Your son,

falling under his destiny, has died in innocence and you are

preserved."

This reflection brought some relief to the natural sorrow of the

Sultan, and time completely effaced the remembrance of it.

In the meantime, Abaquir, of whom we must not lose sight, grew weary

of his idleness in this little village where he had been so well

received. His landlord had a numerous family, and but very small

resources for their maintenance. The young Prince being unwilling to

be a burden on him, went frequently to hunt in the country. One day as

he had killed a deer, and was preparing to lay it on his shoulders, he

was suddenly surrounded by a troop of horsemen, and doubted not that

he was in the middle of a band of robbers.

"Companion!" said the chief to him, "you hunt on foot, and carry

nothing but a bow. There are, however, in these deserts many lions and

tigers, and you may some day be worsted. Come and hunt along with us,

and we will give you an excellent horse."

Abaquir, already eager for the chase, thought he had found an

excellent opportunity of following his inclination, and of relieving

his landlord of the burden of his entertainment. He briskly replied to

this offer by saying that he accepted the favour they intended him of

admitting him into their number. The chief of the band perceived by

this reply that the young man, who was as yet a novice, had not

understood his proposal in its true sense, and thus resumed his

speech:

"Since you are willing to join us, we will breakfast together to

confirm our acquaintance."

Upon this the rest of the band dismounted, opened their knapsacks, and

began each to satisfy his appetite.

"Since you are one of us," said the chief, "I must inform you of the

laws by which we are governed. We love and assist one another as

brethren, we make an equal division of our booty, and we swear to be

faithful in life or in death."

"I have already lived among hunters," replied Abaquir; "I love that

way of life, and you must know that if I do not owe my birth to them,

I am at least indebted to them for my life. Your laws appear to me

extremely equitable."

"Since it is so," said the chief, "I have nothing more to do but

instruct you in our rules. Although I am only your equal, every one

here submits to me as their chief. And as it is necessary that I

should be feared and respected, I treat with extreme rigour all those

who disobey my orders."

"The moment you associate in a band," said Abaquir, "subordination is

essentially necessary."

"Swear, then, upon the Koran, and by the name of the holy Prophet,"

replied the chief, "to submit to all our laws without limitation."

As soon as Abaquir heard the divine book mentioned, he believed he had

got among saints, and without hesitating took the Koran, put it thrice

upon his heart, his head, and his lips, and promised more than was

required of him. Thus was he enrolled without knowing it in the number

of the greatest miscreants of the desert. All his new companions

embraced him with joy. He mounted a fine horse, was covered with a

cloak, and armed with a bow, a sabre, and a spear. Abaquir was

delighted, and perceived not till next day the rashness of the

engagements he had made.

In a short time these vagabonds spread themselves over the desert, and

robbed and plundered travellers and caravans. Their number was every

day increased by the success of their fatal expeditions. At length

their ravages became so considerable that the Sovereign of these

countries put himself at the head of some troops to pursue them. This

was the Sultan Hebraim. The robbers were surrounded on every side; and

Abaquir, being at the head of the band, was particularly aimed at by

the Sultan. But the young man, warding off the danger which threatened

him, wounded his adversary with an arrow; while, in another quarter,

the subjects of the Prince had made themselves masters of the robbers.

Every one that did not fall by the sword was taken prisoner, and the

deserts were at last cleared of this wandering and destructive band.

The Sultan, however, was very grievously wounded. On his return to the

capital, and after having received some medicines for his hurt, he

sent for the astrologers.

"Impostors!" said he to them. "Did you foretell that I was to die by

the hand of a robber?--you who threatened me only with dying by that

of my son?"

"Sultan," replied they, "everything which we have foretold is

unhappily but too true. First let your Highness examine the criminal;

inform yourself from what hand the fatal arrow came, and then form

your opinion of us."

Hebraim ordered all the prisoners to be brought into his presence, and

promised them their lives and their liberty if they would discover the

person that wounded him.

"It was I," said Abaquir, with firmness; "I have been so unfortunate

as to attack the life of my Sovereign, whom I did not know, and I

deserve death."

"Take courage, young man," said the astonished Sultan. "Tell me only

who you are, and who is your father."

Upon this demand, Abaquir gave a full detail of his history, so far as

was consistent with his knowledge, up to that part of it where the

tiger wounded him and devoured his nurse. The relation was interrupted

by the visible change which was observed on the countenance of the

Sultan. But somewhat recovered from this first emotion, Hebraim warmly

solicited the account of his adventures. The young Prince continued

his history, and ended by describing the dread he had felt when

fighting against the Sultan.

"Stop!" said Hebraim, with tears in his eyes. "Approach, and show me

the bite of the tiger."

Abaquir obeyed.

"I have found the truth," exclaimed the Sultan, as he examined the

scar. "Hesitate no more, my dear son; come into my arms! Let me have

at least the consolation, before going down to the grave, of having

found my only son.--Astrologers!" said he, turning towards them, "you

have told me truth as far as it was possible for you, but I was in the

wrong to consult you about my destiny: we ought to submit in silence

to the decree pronounced upon us; in seeking to shun it, we only

increase its weight."

Then addressing the whole Court:

"Viziers, and grandees of the realm!" said he to them, "acknowledge as

your rightful Sovereign Ben-Hebraim, my only son and assist him in

fulfilling with dignity the difficult duties of the throne."

Abaquir having been immediately crowned, under the name of

Abaquir-Ben-Hebraim, his father died; for he caused the arrow which

had entered his body to be pulled out, and his life escaped with the

blood which issued from the large wound, while he reverenced the

decree whose execution he had drawn upon himself, and blessed God for

granting him an heir worthy of his crown.

Ben-Hebraim, early called to the government of a kingdom, but

instructed by adversity, brought up amid labour, and virtuous from

principle, showed himself worthy of the public confidence. The

adventure of the magician and the robbers put him on his guard against

appearances. He pardoned the latter, but ardently wished that Heaven

would bring the former under his power, that he might make him an

example of justice.

One day, as the young Sultan was passing through the market-places of

the city in disguise, he perceived a stranger surrounded by a crowd,

whom curiosity had attracted. They were admiring some diamonds and

jewels of the most exquisite beauty.

Ben-Hebraim observed this stranger attentively, and, under the rich

dress of an Armenian, he recollected his wicked dervish. The tone of

his voice and his striking air marked him so strongly, that it was

impossible to mistake him.

The Sultan speedily returned to his palace, and sent secretly for the

youngest of the robbers, whom he had kept on account of the happy

dispositions he had discovered in him, and of the aversion he had

shown for a manner of life which he had formerly been compelled to

embrace.

"Margam," said he to him, "I have need of your assistance in

delivering the world from a most dangerous man."

And at the same time he pointed out to him the part he was to act in

the plan which they concerted together.

Two days after, Ben-Hebraim sent his chief eunuch, attended by four

officers of the palace and a train of slaves, to invite the Armenian

jeweller Daboul to come to the palace. And for this purpose one of the

finest horses in the stables was led to him.

The pretended Armenian was astonished at so much honour; and not

supposing that this invitation had any other motive than curiosity, he

collected his most precious effects, and intended to dazzle every eye

by the magnificence of the present he was to carry to the Sultan. He

entrusted two of his own slaves with it, and allowed himself to be

conducted by the eunuch.

As soon as he arrived at the gates of the palace, a deputation from

the Sultan, with an officer at their head, came to present him with a

richly-ornamented box filled with betel-nuts. All the halls of the

palace which he crossed were perfumed with aloes and sandal-wood; he

passed thus even to the most retired closet of the Sultan's

apartments.

Margam, in the robes of a Sultan, seated upon an elevated sofa, well

instructed in what he was to do and say, was waiting for the stranger.

Ben-Hebraim had acquired some knowledge in the magical art, the effect

of which will soon be perceived.

At the sight of Daboul, Margam descended from the sofa, and came to

meet the pretended Armenian, without allowing him time to kneel, as

was usual, and made him sit down on the sofa, giving him the

right-hand place.

"Permit this homage," added he: "it is that of a young magician

towards his master." The astonished Daboul was silent. "Here are my

proofs," pursued Margam, and, uncovering his deliman, he showed him

the red, yellow, and green-coloured girdle which adorned his breast.

"I earnestly wished," continued the false Sultan, "again to bring near

me the man for whom wonderful circumstances have inspired me with as

much respect as curiosity. The moment is now come, and I congratulate

myself upon it."

"Sultan," replied Daboul, "when science is united with power,

everything must bend before them. And you see me in admiration at

being within the reach of kissing the feet of another Solomon."

"Let us leave to ordinary men," said Margam, "the desire of external

respect. I seek not for empty homage, but am desirous to obtain new

knowledge. Besides, what is an earthly sovereignty, subjected to so

much labour and exposed to so many dangers, compared to that which you

enjoy? What a happiness to be able to acquire immense riches, and to

diffuse the blessings thereof, without being burdensome to any!"

"I cannot, O wise Sultan," replied Daboul, "but approve of this noble

ambition and these virtuous sentiments. We can make ourselves masters

of many things with great facility, and without delivering a whole

people to misery and the horrors of war: we sacrifice but one man."

"That is precisely," interrupted Margam, "what I wanted to avoid. I

would wish to be able to save a man, and it is on this very subject I

was desirous to consult you."

"To save him?" said Daboul. "When he is predestined to it, one could

not preserve him even by putting oneself in his place."

"In this case, he must be abandoned; but I would wish, at least, that

he might only be a slave."

"Sultan, you would obtain nothing. He must be a victim of consequence,

and of a distinguished rank."

"But it appears to me," said Margam, "that in a choice like this one

is exposed to dangerous resentments."

"There is a method of consulting beforehand," replied the magician,

"such as I made use of in my last search, and I received for answer,

'_In order that you may run some danger, it would be necessary that

you should meet with your victim on earth_.' Now, having put him two

hundred feet below ground, I could not fear the danger of his return."

After appearing to muse, Margam added, "It will be necessary, then,

that I overcome my scruples. I have only one thing to desire of you.

We can work together during your residence here. I am going to show

you the book which I have upon my breast, and wish you to give me

yours."

Daboul could not refuse; he was in a place where everything was

subject to the power of the Sultan. Margam took the book, carelessly

approached a burning pan, and threw it in. The magician wished to pull

it out; but at that instant the real Sultan, coming from behind a

curtain, stopped him.

"Wretch," said he, "thy hour is come! Thou art in presence of Abaquir,

thy victim, and at the same time of Ben-Hebraim, Sovereign of these

dominions."

Then, addressing his page, "Margam," said he to him, "lay aside your

royal dress, and make my eunuchs approach. Infamous magician!"

continued he, speaking to Daboul, "see how the deceitful illusions of

thy art have hurried thee under the sword which must strike thee.

Whither shall guilt flee when Heaven pursues it?--when the Divine

vengeance arises from the earth to strike?"

At these words the magician remained horror-stricken. But in a short

time the terrible remorse which gnawed his conscience appeared to have

the same effect upon him that the hot fire had upon his detestable

book.

"I burn!" exclaimed he at short intervals, and setting up dismal

shrieks.

"Let him be conducted from the palace," said the Sultan, "and let his

head be cut off in presence of his slaves and of the people who are

there assembled."

* * * * *

Aladin thus finished the history of the Sultan Hebraim and of his son;

and, after a moment's silence, he again addressed himself to Bohetzad.

"Sire, I might here apply to my own adventures the reflections which

naturally arise from the history you have just heard. But if the

decree of Heaven hath not determined my deliverance, there is no means

whatever which could save me from the danger in which I am involved.

The characters imprinted upon my forehead decide concerning my safety,

and the success or the shame of my enemies. But at all events I shall

remain rich in my innocence, and sooner or later it will triumph."

Bohetzad, more irresolute than ever, gave notice by a signal that the

minister was to be conducted back to prison.

The seventh day had just appeared since the condemnation of the young

Aladin had been so often deferred. It was the time of a festival. The

grandees, the courtiers, and the nobility of the kingdom were

assembled around the throne, a duty they were obliged to fulfil. The

ten Viziers had all their creatures there. Some of these, authorized

by the duties of their station, undertook to speak to the King

against the Superintendent, by repeating all the strongest and most

deceitful things that had been said, in order to bring the Sovereign

to the resolution of exercising against this convicted criminal all

the severity of justice. They finished by insinuating that, being

descended from robbers, nothing was to be expected from him but

crimes. Every one appeared to support these assertions by looks and

gestures.

The unanimity of these advices, in appearance so disinterested, shook

the monarch once more. He thought himself obliged to acknowledge these

marks of zeal by thanks, and to justify the irresolution of his

conduct. "I do not mean," he said, "that the wicked should remain

unpunished, but I would wish that the criminal himself, convinced that

he has merited death, should be forced to acknowledge the equity of

the judgment by which he is condemned."

After this observation he ordered the criminal, who was still loaded

with irons, to be brought before him.

"Audacious young man!" said he to him, "you see around me the

representatives of my nation, to whom the continuance of your life is

a grievance. It is only by your death that the murmurings of my people

can be appeased."

"Sire," replied Aladin, with respect and dignity, "as to the crime

with which so many voices seem to accuse me, and with whose vengeance

I am pursued, I throw it always far from me, even to the shadow of

suspicion. If the nation were here worthily represented, its voice

would be the voice of God, and would be lifted up in favour of my

innocence. This voice, to whose sound every one is deaf at this

moment, yet resounds at the bottom of your Majesty's heart. The fowler

has less power to smother with his hands the bird which he holds in

them, than you have to take away my life. Your clemency alone would

not have led you to have deliberated so long, if the finger of Allah

did not weigh in your heart the atrocity of the imputations with which

I am charged, and if the power of the star which rules my fortune were

not opposed to my fall. I find, among the adventures of the family of

Selimansha, innumerable circumstances that have a resemblance to

mine. Balavan, his son, found, in attempting the death of one of his

nephews, that no human power can hasten the moment of death marked out

by Providence."

"I should wish to know," said Bohetzad, "if you can show us in the

history of this family an example of ingratitude like yours."

HISTORY OF SELIMANSHA AND HIS FAMILY.

Sire (replied the young Superintendent immediately) history has

preserved to us the memory of a King of Persia, named Selimansha, who

possessed all the virtues of a great Sovereign. His family consisted

of two sons, but was increased by an only daughter of Kalisla, his

brother, whom the latter, when dying, had entrusted to his care.

Sensible of his preference, Selimansha forgot nothing in order to

return his confidence. His love for his brother, joined to the purest

virtues, engaged him to bestow the greatest care on the education of

this Princess, whom he looked upon as his own daughter. Favours so

delicate met in this young disciple the happiest dispositions, and

soon brought her to a great degree of perfection.

From the age of twelve the charms of her person and the graces of her

mind caused her to be remarked by persons of her own sex as the star

of morning in the bosom of the firmament. Her well-stored memory

always enabled her to display the soundness of her judgment. She was

so well acquainted with the Koran as to repeat chapters of it at

pleasure, and she explained its meaning with a precision that

delighted every hearer.

Selimansha, seeing his amiable niece fit for marriage, thought he

could not dispose of her hand better than by bestowing it on one of

his sons. He proposed this to the Princess, leaving her, however,

absolute mistress of her choice.

"It is only your happiness that I seek, daughter; pronounce, and my

will shall follow your decision."

"On whose judgment could I better rely than on yours?" replied

Chamsada. "I commit myself entirely to the tenderness of which I have

every day the most affecting proofs, and I submit with pleasure to

everything which your wisdom shall determine concerning me."

"Your confidence flatters me," replied the good monarch, "and would

redouble my affection for you were it capable of being increased.

Since you leave to me the disposal of your lot, I will join it to that

of my second son. The happy similarity which I have observed in your

dispositions seems to me to promise the most agreeable union. I

discern in him virtues which, now unfolding themselves, will soon

become the rivals of your own. You are born to govern kingdoms, and I

think he possesses virtues worthy of a throne. In giving him your

hand, and in allotting him my crown, I promote your happiness, his,

and that of my people."

The amiable Princess cast down her eyes, while she thanked her uncle

for his goodness. Selimansha immediately ordered the preparations

necessary for the celebration of the nuptials.

Public rejoicings followed it, and manifested the general

satisfaction. They lasted sixty days. At the end of this term

Selimansha, desirous of repose, abdicated the crown in favour of the

son to whose fortunes he had just united the lovely Chamsada.

Balavan, the eldest of Selimansha's sons, expected to ascend the

throne at the death of his father. Smitten with the charms of his

beautiful relation, he was reckoning upon offering her his hand, and

associating her with his fortune. Indignation and jealousy took

possession of his heart when he saw the rank and happiness to which he

thought himself called by the right of age pass into the hands of his

brother. Even if his merit had not been a reason for this preference,

he knew that the Sovereigns of this part of the East have the power of

choosing their successors in their family without regard to the

prerogatives of age. But the impetuous Balavan thought they should

have departed from this usage in his behalf, and followed that of

other nations.

The birth of a son to his brother increased his rage, and was another

obstacle to his pretensions. He found means to introduce himself

secretly into the apartment of the King his brother, and with a

furious hand plunged his poniard into his breast. He entered with the

same precautions and the same design into that where the infant was

asleep; but lifting the veil which concealed this young Prince, more

beautiful than the day, a supernatural feeling seemed to withhold his

hand.

"Thou shouldst have been my son," said he, "if injustice had not torn

from me the heart and the hand of Chamsada."

And recognizing at the same time in this innocent victim the features

of her whose charms he adored, an involuntary emotion made him strike

a feeble blow; the poniard wavered in his trembling hand, and the

wound of the stroke was not mortal.

Balavan was only induced to spare his sister-in-law from the hopes he

entertained of one day obtaining her hand. This hope, however,

restrained his murdering arm. As for Selimansha, he escaped this

monster by the vigilance of his guards. At the moment when he

approached the apartment of his father, in the dreadful design of

completing his crimes by embruing his hands in his parent's blood, he

was perceived by a slave, who, assisted by the eunuchs of the guard,

deprived the murderer of every hope of success in the crime he was

about to commit. Convinced then that he could not escape suspicion, he

fled and concealed himself on the frontiers of the kingdom, in a

castle fortified both by nature and by art.

Day, which began to appear, was soon to discover the horrors of this

bloody night. With the first rays of morning the nurse went to feed

her tender care, whose blood deluged the cradle. Lost in astonishment,

she ran to the apartment of the King and Queen to announce this fatal

news. Her despair and shrieks went before her, and awakened Chamsada.

The unhappy Queen opened her eyes, and found her husband breathing his

last at her side. The cries of the nurse made her dread misfortunes

still more terrible. A widowed spouse and a weeping mother, she ran to

the cradle of her son and took him in her arms. He still breathed, and

she conceived the hope of saving his life. The whole palace was in

motion. Selimansha arrived with his eunuchs, and surgeons were called,

whose skill and attention restored the life of this innocent creature.

But they were employed to no purpose on the body of the young monarch,

whose death the unfortunate Chamsada deplored. Aromatic and medicinal

herbs and the balms of the East produced their effect on the wound of

the child, and rekindled the hopes of his mother. He was again placed

in the bosom of his nurse, and the presumptive heir of Selimansha was

at length out of danger.

In the meantime the aged monarch endeavoured to discover the murderer

of his children. The hasty flight of Balavan, his poniard stained with

blood, which was found in the apartment, soon confirmed the suspicions

to which his vicious disposition had at first given rise. The

unfortunate old man with difficulty restrained the excess of his

grief.

"Heaven," exclaimed he, "keep far from me the angel of death, since it

is your will that I should still be useful on earth."

After this he assembled the grandees and the Viziers, and announced to

them his intention of resuming the reins of government.

His first care was to comfort the disconsolate Chamsada, and they

agreed in directing their attention to the lovely infant whom

Providence had preserved. While they strengthened his constitution,

they also formed his understanding and his heart. The mother explained

to him passages of the law which ought to guide his manners and his

conduct, and the old man instructed him in the important knowledge of

the world and of men.

At the age of eight, the young Prince was so robust that he was able

to handle arms and endure the fatigue of riding; and in a few years

more, his moral virtues were unfolded, and promised one day to eclipse

those which had shone so conspicuous in the King his father.

Selimansha, now judging that his grandson, with the assistance of good

counsel, was capable of wearing the crown, resigned the reins of

empire into his hands amidst the assembled divan, and caused him to be

proclaimed King, under the name of Shaseliman, amidst the acclamations

of the kingdom. The people, not yet recovered from astonishment at the

dreadful stroke which had deprived them of a Sovereign they adored,

promised his heir the same attachment, and expected from him the same

love.

The new King, directed by wise counsels, did not belie the happy

anticipation of his subjects in his favour. The Cadis and Viziers,

fulfilling with propriety the duties of their office, made the laws

beloved, the wise and speedy execution of which confirmed the

happiness of all. Equally punctual in the duties of religion as in

those of the throne, Shaseliman was regular in his ablutions, attended

prayers in the mosques, held three divans in the week, was every day

busied with his ministers, and was found in every place where his

presence was necessary to restore tranquillity and good order. The

people, happy under his government, enjoyed their felicity in peace,

when new crimes came to disturb it, and tear from them the hope of a

durable happiness.

The accursed Balavan, pursued by remorse at the crime which he had

committed, and not thinking himself safe among a people by whom he was

hated, left the fortified place where he had taken refuge, and

attempted to retire into Egypt, in order to implore the protection of

the Sovereign of that vast empire. There, concealing his crimes, he

presented himself as an unfortunate Prince, the victim of a woman, and

sacrificed by a father whom age had rendered weak. The King of Egypt

received him with kindness, and was preparing to give him assistance,

when an envoy of Selimansha arrived and demanded audience.

This old monarch, informed by his spies of the road which Balavan had

taken, had sent deputies to all the Courts at which this wretch might

beg a retreat or support. A very full description was given of the

fugitive, and all his crimes were mentioned.

The Sultan, in communicating to the criminal the despatches he had

received, gave immediate orders that he should be shut up in close

confinement, waiting the sentence which an enraged father should pass

against him. Such was the order intimated to Balavan, and such was the

import of the answer which was given to the King Selimansha. But this

father, too weak and affectionate, committed at once two capital

blunders.

In order to excite against his son all the anger of the Egyptian King,

he had concealed from him that the young Shaseliman had escaped the

mortal blow which was aimed at him. He did not correct this opinion

in his second letter, and advised the King of Egypt to set the

criminal at liberty.

"Already too unhappy," said he, "I do not wish to stain my hand by

tracing the order for my son's death. Let him wander from place to

place, destitute of resources and assistance, having no companion but

remorse, and no society but the tigers of the desert, less inhuman

than himself. Assailed by want, tormented by grief, and detested by

others, may he himself become the instrument of my vengeance, which I

leave to the King of Kings."

Upon this resolution, the Sultan set Balavan at liberty, and banished

him for ever from his kingdom. Of this he gave an account to

Selimansha, with whom he entered upon a much more agreeable

negotiation.

The fame of the beauty and valuable qualities of Chamsada had reached

even to Egypt. Bensirak, the Sultan just mentioned, perceiving that it

was possible to obtain her hand, made the proposal to Selimansha in

the most urgent and respectful terms, beseeching him to gain the

consent of her whom both nature and blood had made subject to him as

his niece and daughter-in-law.

The aged monarch of Persia, pleased with a demand which offered to his

amiable niece so advantageous an establishment, instantly laid the

proposal before her. The feeling Chamsada could not hear it without

tears. Her heart still belonged wholly to the husband whom she had

lost, and she must tear herself from the arms of her uncle and her

child to be able to open her soul to the impressions of a new

affection!

"Alas! dear uncle," said she, "what sentiments will ever replace those

whose sweetness I here experience? Where could I find duties so

pleasant to fulfil?"

"My dear daughter," replied Selimansha, "you are asked in marriage by

one of the most powerful monarchs in the world. His virtues are highly

praised, and his person favourably spoken of. Your son, whom I have

placed upon my throne, stands in need of a protection more vigorous

and lasting than mine. You will be able by your address to bring about

a strict alliance betwixt the two monarchs. But forget not that, in

order to procure the expulsion of Balavan, I have charged him with

the double crime of having assassinated his brother and his nephew.

Shaseliman reigns in Persia as a descendant of my house, and his

mother must be concealed from Bensirak. You will become dearer to him

when he can hope for your undivided affections, and that they will

only be extended to the children who shall be born of this marriage.

My experience hath taught me the weakness of the human heart. A

powerful man always distrusts discourses in which personal interest is

concerned. You can render your son upon the Persian throne the most

essential services as a distant relation without being suspected of

sacrificing the interests of your husband and children; but were you

to speak in behalf of a son, you would be looked on as a mother

blinded by an excess of love. Besides, it is very fortunate for us

that Bensirak expects from our favour that which he might force from

us by his power. Let us not by a refusal draw the scourge of war upon

our people, and let us sacrifice to their repose and our own interests

the pleasure we should have in living together."

Chamsada made no opposition to these arguments, more specious than

solid; and Selimansha in a short time returned, in answer to the

Sultan, that his niece found herself extremely honoured by the choice

of the powerful Sovereign of Egypt, and that she was ready to be

united to him. On hearing this, the Sultan, intoxicated with joy, sent

an ambassador with a superb retinue to bring his spouse. Selimansha,

informed of the arrival of the Egyptian minister in his kingdom, went

twenty leagues from his capital to meet him, received him in a

magnificent camp, and after having feasted him for two days, delivered

to him his niece. The ceremonies were shortened, as well to gratify

the impatience of the Sultan as to conceal from the ambassador the

secret of the existence of Chamsada's son. The aged monarch at that

time assumed the dignity of envoy from the King of Persia, to fulfil

the conditions of the treaty.

No sooner had Chamsada arrived in the capital of Egypt, than the

Sultan sent for the Mufti and the Cadi for the contract and ceremony

of marriage. Their obedience was immediately rewarded by a present of

robes and five thousand pieces of gold. The Princess entered the

apartment allotted for the nuptials. A crowd of most beautiful slaves,

and magnificently dressed, conducted her to the bath, carrying pots in

which the most precious spices were burning. At her coming out of the

bath she was dressed by her attendants with the greatest care. They

fanned her with peacocks' feathers while her long and lovely hair was

dressed, and spared no pains to attire her in the most costly

garments, till her splendour outshone the lights of the apartment, and

her beauty eclipsed that of everything around her. Thus attired, she

was conducted to the Sultan.

The monarch received her with demonstrations of the most tender

affection, and seated her by his side. A supper was served up to them,

of which the delicacy exceeded the profusion of the dishes; and he

presented his future spouse with several boxes stored with the rarest

jewels.

In the meantime Chamsada, far from partaking of the public felicity

and of the happiness of her husband, pined in secret. Separated from

her son, she was occupied about him alone, to whom her heart was truly

attached. Seconding the political and foolish views of her uncle, she

would hazard nothing with the Sultan which might lessen the character

of this respectable old man, and she durst not speak of her son. What

evils, however, might she not have prevented by a proper confidence!

And what might she not have expected from the love of Bensirak, which

grew stronger every day!

The event was soon to justify the tender uneasiness of the Queen

respecting her son. Balavan, informed of the marriage of his

sister-in-law with the Sultan of Egypt, and having learned that

Selimansha reigned in Persia, felt his projects of vengeance awaken in

his heart. He beheld himself deprived of the fruit of his crimes, of

the throne of Persia, the object of his ambition, and of the beauty he

was anxious to conquer. The wretch, delivered over to his

inclinations, infested by every sort of crime the kingdom, which he

hoped to seize after the death of his father. He lived by rapine and

robbery.

At length Selimansha, sinking under the weight of years, resigned his

soul into the hands of his Creator. No sooner was Balavan informed of

this event than he placed himself at the head of the banditti of whom

he was the chief, stirring them up to revolt, drawing together new

forces--gaining some by magnificent promises, and seducing others by

the allurement of the gold which his crimes had amassed. They

concerted their measures together. He dethroned his nephew, threw him

into a dungeon, and was proclaimed in his stead.

This cruel usurper, not content with his success, determined to put to

death the innocent victim, who had formerly had such a miraculous

escape from his murdering arm. But compassion, which could find no

avenue to his soul, had entered the heart of his wretched accomplices.

"We cannot consent to the death of a young man that hath done no

evil," said they to Balavan: "keep him in close confinement if you are

afraid of his interest, but spare his life."

He was forced to comply with their demand, and shut up his nephew in a

cave.

Chamsada, having heard this afflicting news, was unable to restrain

her excessive grief. But she could not inform her husband of the

misfortunes of her son without exposing the memory of her uncle

Selimansha, without representing him as an impostor, since he had

written that the young Shaseliman had been assassinated. In the

meantime the detestable Balavan completed the conquest of Persia. All

the grandees of the kingdom came to pay him homage. The young

Shaseliman remained shut up four years, scarcely receiving as much

food as was necessary for his subsistence. Loaded with misfortune, his

beauty no longer recalled the image of his mother, of whom he was the

perfect resemblance. At length it pleased Providence, that watched

over him, to relieve him for a time from so many evils.

Balavan, seated in his divan and surrounded by a brilliant Court,

seemed to enjoy in peace an authority which appeared immovable. In

midst of grandees whose confidence he thought he possessed, and of

courtiers whose flattery he received, a voice was heard. This voice,

sacred to truth, and still devoted to the memory of Selimansha, spake

as follows:

"Sire, Heaven has crowned you with prosperity: in giving you, with

this empire, the hearts of your people, your throne appears to rest

upon an immovable foundation; show yourself more and more worthy of

the favours of the Most High. Cast a look of compassion upon a feeble

young man, whose innocence is his only support; who never opens his

eyes to the light but to shed tears; every moment of whose existence

has been marked by sufferings and misfortune. The unfortunate

Shaseliman never could offend you: restore him his liberty."

"I would agree to your request," replied Balavan, "had I not some

reasons to fear that he would form a party against me, and become the

leader of the malcontents whom a King never fails to make in spite of

his best intentions."

"Alas! sire," replied the Prince who had spoken, "who would follow a

young man in whom nature is partly wasted by suffering, and whose soul

has no longer any vigour? Your subjects are devoted to your interest,

and where would he find any who would be foolish enough to cherish

ambitious designs against you?"

Balavan yielded to these arguments, and affecting clemency in the

presence of his Court, he set the young Shaseliman at liberty, dressed

him in a rich robe, and gave him the command of a distant province.

But this was not so much with a view to procure him prosperity as to

get rid of him altogether, by sending him to the defence of a country

which was continually exposed to the attacks of Infidels. He presumed,

with some reason, that he would sacrifice his life there, since none

of his predecessors had ever escaped the dangers with which that part

of Persia was threatened.

The young Prince departed with a small party. Scarcely had they

arrived at the place of their destination when the conjectures of his

uncle Balavan were partly verified. The Infidels made an irruption.

Shaseliman, having nothing to oppose to them but a handful of men, was

forced to yield to numbers, and fell himself into the hands of the

enemy. But they, on account of his age and beauty (departing from the

cruel usage they practised on such occasions), instead of putting him

to death, were satisfied with letting him down into a well, where

several Mussulmans were already shut up prisoners. This unhappy

Prince, the victim of destiny, saw a whole year elapse in this

dreadful captivity.

These Infidels had a custom every year, on a certain day, of carrying

such as they had made prisoners to be thrown from the top of a very

high tower.

Shaseliman was drawn up from the well, conducted to the top of the

tower, and thrown down with others. But Providence, who watched over

his life, made him fall upon the body of one of his companions in

misfortune. This body partly bearing him up, and the air supporting

his clothes, preserved him from a mortal fall. He was stunned by the

rapidity of the motion, but he neither met with a fracture nor a

contusion, and except a long swoon, he experienced no other accident.

He was at length recalled to life amidst the unfortunate people who

had lost it. His first step was to raise his soul to God, and to

testify his gratitude to Him, through the intercession of His great

Prophet. He discovered that he was in the middle of an immense forest,

and that the corpses which surrounded him must necessarily attract the

wild beasts; he therefore removed from this dangerous spot. He walked

all night, and as soon as he thought himself beyond the reach of men

and animals, he ascended a tree, endeavouring to conceal himself in

its foliage from the notice of travellers, and supporting himself by

wild fruits. This way of life he constantly pursued till he reached

the dominions of Balavan his uncle.

He was near entering the first city of Persia when he perceived five

or six men conversing together. Perceiving them to be Mussulmans, he

accosted them, and gave them an account of the treatment he had

received from the Infidels, and of the miraculous way in which he had

been saved. The simplicity of his relation leaving no room to suspect

its truth, they were affected with compassion in his favour, and

conducted him to their house, where he enjoyed all the rites of

hospitality. After some days' rest he took leave of his benefactors,

in order to continue his journey towards the capital where Balavan

reigned. His hosts, after furnishing him with whatever he had need of,

showed him the way, without suspecting that the young man whom they

had entertained in so obliging a manner was the nephew of their

Sovereign.

The young Prince walked night and day. Fatigued, tired, his legs and

feet torn by the brambles and flints, he at length arrived under the

walls of Ispahan, and sat down near a basin which served as a

reservoir to a neighbouring fountain. Scarcely had he time to recover

his breath, when he saw several gentlemen on horseback approaching.

They were officers of the King who were returning from the chase, and

were going to give their horses drink. Looking about them, they

perceived the young Shaseliman; and notwithstanding the disorder of

his dress, and the change which sufferings and dejection had made upon

the natural charms of his countenance, they easily distinguished its

sweetness and beauty, and were not able to look at him without feeling

an emotion of the most tender interest.

"What are you doing here, young man?" asked one of the officers.

"Brother!" replied the wise Shaseliman, "you know the proverb: 'Ask

not a stranger who is naked where are his clothes.' Let that answer

for me. I am hungry and thirsty, I am weak and deprived of every

resource."

At this reply one of the officers ran to their beasts of burden, and

taking some venison and bread, brought it to him. As soon as he had

profited by this food, and seemed to have sufficient strength to

continue the conversation,

"Brother!" said one of the officers of the company to him, "we are

interested in your fortune. Would it be indiscreet in us, should we

beg of you to give us some account of your history?"

"Before satisfying you," replied the unfortunate Prince, "answer, if

you please, one question of the greatest consequence to me. Is King

Balavan, your Sovereign, still alive?"

"Do you know the King?"

"Yes. You see before you Shaseliman, his nephew."

"How can you be Shaseliman," replied the officer, "since we know that

his uncle, after delivering him from a dungeon in which he had been

for four years shut up, gave him the command of a province, where it

was impossible but he must have died by the hands of the Infidels?

Besides, we have heard that he was thrown down from the summit of a

high tower by them with many other Mussulmans."

Then the young Prince, in order completely to convince them, entered

into the detail of all his adventures, and of the wonderful manner in

which Providence had preserved his life. At this relation the officers

were struck with astonishment: they prostrated themselves at his feet

and watered his hand with their tears.

"You are King, sire," said they to him, "the son of our rightful

Sovereign, and in all respects worthy of a better fate. But, alas!

what do you come to seek at a Court where you can find nothing but

death? Recollect the cruelties of which you have been the victim--the

treatment you have experienced, and the dangerous snare by which,

under the shadow of power, you were devoted to certain death in the

office to which you were appointed. Fly! Seek the country where the

beautiful Chamsada reigns Queen over the heart of the Sultan of Egypt.

It is there you will find happiness."

"Alas! how can I direct my steps to Egypt? Selimansha, my grandfather,

deceived the Sovereign of that empire by assuring him that I was dead:

my mother and I would be considered as impostors should I hazard an

appearance there."

"You are right," replied he to him; "but should you be reduced to the

necessity of living concealed in Egypt, you will at least be beyond

the reach of your uncle's attempts, whose cruelties you will not

escape if he learns that you are alive."

To these advices the oldest of the officers likewise added his

entreaties.

"O my master and my King!" said he to the Prince, throwing himself on

his knees, "the only and true descendant of Selimansha! Alas! must the

slave who for thirty years was subject to his orders, who was the

witness of his virtues and the object of his kindness, see you reduced

to this depth of misfortune? Does fate, then, pursue this monarch even

beyond the grave? Fly, dear Prince and wait not till you are attacked

by greater misfortunes!"

Each of them was eager to supply the most urgent necessities of

Shaseliman. One stripped himself of part of his garments in order to

clothe him; another divided with him his little provision; and all

together made up a small sum of money, which might enable him to

continue his journey. The unfortunate Prince, availing himself of

their beneficence and counsel, took his leave. They did not separate

from him without giving proofs of their attachment; and Shaseliman

began his journey, recommending himself to God, and Mahomet His great

Prophet.

After a long and fatiguing journey, he at length arrived in Egypt,

where Chamsada, his mother, reigned. When he drew near to Grand Cairo,

he was unwilling to enter that great city, lest he should expose

himself to discovery. He therefore stopped at a village at a little

distance from the road, with the intention of entering into the

service of some of its inhabitants. He offered himself to a farmer of

the place to tend his flocks. He did not demand high wages, and lived

in this obscure and miserable situation, subsisting with difficulty on

the crumbs which fell from his master's table.

But while the presumptive heir of the Persian throne was reduced to

such a strange situation, how was Queen Chamsada employed? Every day

this disconsolate mother felt her uneasiness increase. In the struggle

betwixt her affection for her son and the secret which she must keep

from the monarch, for the sake of her uncle's honour, her situation

was as distressing as that of Shaseliman. There was at the Court of

Bensirak an old slave of Selimansha, who had accompanied the Queen

into Egypt, and who since that time had remained in her service. He

had all her confidence, and was frequently the depository of the

uneasiness of this tender mother. One day she perceived him alone, and

made him a signal to approach her.

"Well," said she to him, "you know my attachment for my son; you know

my fears on his account, and you have taken no step in order to know

what has become of him."

"Queen!" replied the slave, "that which you wish to know is extremely

difficult, and I know no means by which I could get information of it.

You know that you have yourself confirmed the report of his death,

which was attested by Selimansha; and although by chance your son

should appear here, how could you destroy the public opinion? How

could you make him known?"

"Ah! would to God that my son were here, although I should even be

deprived of the pleasure of seeing him. To know that he was still

alive would be sufficient to confirm my repose and happiness."

"Queen," replied the slave, "I am willing to sacrifice my life for

you: what do you require of me?"

"Take from my treasures," said the Queen, "the sum which you judge

necessary for your journey: go to Persia and bring my son."

"Money alone is less necessary here than prudence. Some plausible

reason must be given for the journey which your Majesty proposes to

me. You know that the Sultan honours me with his bounty, and that,

engaged in his service, I cannot remove from his Court without his

express permission. You yourself must ask and obtain it under some

specious pretence, which may prevent him from entertaining any

suspicion, and at the same time secure the success of your

application. Tell him that during the disturbances which preceded the

death of your husband you concealed, in a place known only to me, a

casket of precious jewels, which you were anxious to put beyond the

reach of accident. Beseech his Majesty to grant you permission to send

me into Persia in search of this treasure. The care of the rest

belongs to me."

The Queen, convinced of her slave's attachment, and approving his

counsels, flew instantly to put them in execution, and found no

difficulty in obtaining her desire.

The faithful emissary speedily departed, disguised as a merchant, that

he might not be recognized in Persia. After much fatigue, he arrived

at Ispahan, and having privately made inquiry concerning the fate of

Shaseliman, received at first the most distressing accounts of him.

Some days after, as he was walking in the environs of the palace, he

found by chance one of the officers who had assisted the young Prince

when he was sitting near the fountain which we have already mentioned.

Having served together under the reign of Selimansha, they

recollected one another, and entered into conversation.

"You come from Egypt," said the officer: "did you meet Prince

Shaseliman?"

"Shaseliman!" replied the slave. "Ah! can he be alive after the

dreadful news that are spread here concerning him?"

"Yes, he is alive, and I will tell you, in confidence, how we learned

this."

He then related everything which had befallen him, as well as the

other officers, when they had met the Prince, and how, upon their

advice, the latter had taken the road to Egypt.

The pretended merchant, transported with joy, wished, in his turn, to

return the confidence of his former companion, and revealed to him the

whole mystery of his mission into Persia; after this he took his leave

of him to return into Egypt. In every place through which he passed he

made diligent inquiry after the young Prince, describing his

appearance as the officer had represented it to him. Being arrived at

the village where he expected to meet him, he was very much surprised

that no person could give any information concerning him. As he was

preparing to continue his journey, he found, at his going out of the

city, a young man asleep under a tree, near which some sheep were

feeding quietly.

He cast a look of compassion upon this poor creature, whose tattered

garments announced his misery.

"Alas!" said he, "it is impossible that this can be the man whom I

seek. This is doubtless the child of some unhappy shepherd. My trouble

will be lost; yet what do I risk by awaking this young man, and

inquiring concerning the person of whom I am in search? Let me not

neglect even this hopeless expedient."

Having soon awakened him, he put the same questions to him which he

had been accustomed to propose to every one.

"I am a stranger in these places," replied Shaseliman, who was afraid

to make himself known, being ignorant of the motives of this

curiosity; "but, if I am not greatly mistaken, from the description

which you have given, the person whom you are in search of is

Shaseliman, the young King of Persia, and grandson to Selimansha. His

father was killed by his barbarous brother Balavan, who usurped his

throne; the son was wounded in his cradle, yet Allah preserved the

life of that unfortunate infant."

"O Heaven!" exclaimed the slave, "am I so happy as to hear Shaseliman

mentioned? How, young man, have you guessed the cause which made me

travel from Egypt into Persia? Who could inform you of it? Do you

know, then, what has become of this unfortunate Prince? Shall I reap

at length the fruit of my anxiety and labours? Where could I find

him?"

When Shaseliman was convinced that he who thus spoke to him was a

messenger from his mother, he thought he might make himself known.

"In vain would you run over the whole world," said he to him, "in

order to find Shaseliman, since it is he who now speaks to you."

At these words, the slave fell at the feet of his Sovereign, and

covered his hands with tears and kisses.

"Ah," exclaimed he, "how overjoyed will Chamsada be! What happy news

shall I bring to her! Remain here, my Prince: I am going to find

everything that is necessary for your going with me."

He ran quickly to the village, and brought from it a saddled horse and

more suitable clothes for Shaseliman, and they both took the road to

Grand Cairo.

An unforeseen event interrupted their journey. As they were crossing a

desert, they were surrounded by robbers, seized, plundered, and let

down into a well. Shut up in this frightful place, the slave abandoned

himself to grief.

"How! are you disconsolate?" said the young Prince. "Is it the

prospect of death which terrifies you?"

"Death hath nothing dreadful to me," replied he; "but can I remain

insensible to the hardships of your lot? Can I think calmly upon the

loss which the sorrowful Chamsada will suffer?"

"Take courage," said Shaseliman. "I must fulfill the decrees of the

Almighty. All that has happened to me was written in the Book of Life;

and, if I must end my days in this dreadful abode, no human power can

rescue me from it, and it becomes me to be submissive and resigned."

In these sentiments and in this dreadful situation did this virtuous

Prince and his slave pass two days and two nights.

In the meantime, the eye of Providence continually watched over

Shaseliman. It brought the King of Egypt, in pursuit of a roebuck, to

the place where this Prince was shut up. The animal, struck by a

deadly arrow, came to lie down and die on the brink of the well.

A hunter, outstripping the King's retinue, came first to seize the

prey. As he approached it, he heard a plaintive voice from the bottom

of the well. Having listened to ascertain whether it was so, he ran to

report this to the King, who was speedily advancing with his train,

and ordered some of them to descend into the well. Shaseliman and the

slave were immediately drawn out of it. The cords which tied them were

cut, cordials recalled them to life; and no sooner had they opened

their eyes than the King recognized in one of them his own officer.

"Are not you," said he to him, "the confidant of Chamsada?"

"Yes, sire, I am."

"Well, what has brought you into this situation?"

"I was returning," said the slave, "loaded with the treasure the Queen

had ordered me to search for in Persia; I was attacked by robbers,

plundered, and thrown alive into this sepulchre."

"And who is this young man?"

"He is son to the nurse of your Majesty's august spouse. I was

bringing him to your Court, with the view of procuring him a place."

After these two unfortunate men had received proper food, the King

returned to his palace. He flew instantly to Chamsada, to give her an

account of what he had seen, of the return of her slave with a young

man, and of the loss of her treasure. When the Queen learned that they

had been thrown into a well, grief took possession of her soul. She

tried to hide her disorder, which was, however, betrayed by the

visible alteration of her countenance under the mask of apparent

tranquillity. The King, who was looking at her, and perceived the

efforts she employed to restrain herself, wished to penetrate into the

cause of her trouble.

"What is the matter with you, Chamsada?" said he. "Are you afflicted

at the loss of your treasure? Is not mine at your disposal?"

"I swear by your life, O glorious Sultan," replied she, "that I am

less sorry for the loss of my treasures, than for the sufferings of

the poor slave, of which I have been the cause. I have a feeling

heart, and you know how much I am affected by the misfortunes of

others."

However, as the King continued to relate the adventure of the well,

and as she learned that the slave and the young man had been drawn up

from it, she recovered her tranquillity, and at the end of her

husband's relation her feelings were entirely calm.

"Be comforted, my dear Chamsada," said he to her. "If all that I

possess is not sufficient to make up for the loss of your treasure,

think that you have one that is inexhaustible in the affection of a

heart which is yours for life."

Having said this, he retired.

As soon as Chamsada was alone she called for her slave. He gave her an

account of the manner in which he had got information of the Prince's

adventures; of the means which Providence had employed in saving him

from the cruelties and snares of his uncle; of the barbarity of the

Infidels; and even of his too great confidence, when, having escaped

being dashed to pieces by the fall, from which no Mussulman before him

was ever saved, he was about again to deliver himself into the power

of the barbarous Balavan. He continued his recital even to the moment

when, drawn up from the well, the young Prince had been seen by the

Egyptian monarch, whose curiosity he had excited.

The Queen then interrupted him.

"Ah!" said she to him, "what answer did you make to the King when he

asked you who this young man was?"

"Alas!" replied the slave, "I told a lie, and I beseech you to pardon

it. I told him that he was the son of your nurse, and that he was

intended for his Majesty's service."

"Wise and faithful friend!" exclaimed Chamsada, her eyes bathed in

tears, and still moved with what she had heard, "what gratitude will

ever repay the service you have rendered to the most tender mother?

Watch over my son. I trust him to your zeal and prudence. Never shall

I forget the obligation I am under for what you have already done for

him, and for what your attachment may still be able to do."

"Queen! the recommendation is unnecessary. I know what I owe to the

posterity of my Sovereigns, and there is no sacrifice I am not ready

to make for your Majesty."

These were not empty promises; the slave was no courtier. Considering

what care and precaution would be necessary to repair the health and

constitution of the young Prince, wasted by sufferings and fatigue, he

made this his only study. A salutary and light diet, the use of the

bath, and moderate exercise, gradually succeeded in renewing his

strength. Nature resumed her empire; his body and mind regained their

energy and every external charm, restored at length to the fairest of

Queens the most beautiful Prince in the world.

A happy similarity of disposition gained him the monarch's heart, who

distinguished this page above all the rest. He soon became so

necessary to his service, that he alone was admitted into his private

apartment. The monarch boasted continually of his virtues, and praised

this new favourite to the grandees of his Court, endeavouring to

render him as dear to them as he was to himself.

Amidst these flattering praises, which resounded in the ears of

Chamsada, what conflicts of tenderness did not this feeling mother

experience in the loss of her own son! She often perceived him, but

durst not cast upon him one affectionate look. She was forced to

restrain the affection of her heart, and give no visible tokens of her

regard. Every day she observed his steps, and secretly longed for the

moment when she might pour out her soul in his embraces. As he passed

one day before the door of her apartment, and when she presumed no one

would perceive her, she suddenly yielded to a mother's transports,

threw herself on his neck, and in that happy moment forgot many years

of sorrow.

While this fond mother was indulging the sweetest feelings of nature,

danger surrounded her. One of the King's ministers, coming

accidentally out of the neighbouring apartment, was the unintentional

witness of this scene. He was uncertain what to think of it. As

Chamsada was veiled he might have mistaken her. But having asked of

the eunuchs the name of the lady who inhabited the apartment before

which he had passed, he came trembling to his Majesty, eager to

discover the mystery of which chance had made him a witness. The

charming page had already gone before him to the throne.

"August Majesty," said the minister, "you see me still in horror at

the crime which has just now been committed, and of which I have been

a witness. Pardon me, sire, if I am under the necessity of discovering

to you the conduct of a spouse whom you have loved too dearly, but as

I passed before her apartment, I saw her embracing the vile slave who

is at your side."

He knows not the power of the passions who cannot figure to himself

the sudden revolution which this report occasioned in the soul of the

enamoured Sultan. The confusion of Shaseliman seemed still to increase

it, and to remove every doubt concerning the truth of the fact. The

Sultan instantly ordered the young man and the slave who had brought

him from Persia to be thrown into a dungeon.

"What abominable treachery!" exclaimed he. "What! was this pretended

treasure nothing but a slave?" And running hastily into Chamsada's

apartment, "What has she become," said he, addressing himself to

Chamsada, "whose prudence, wisdom, and love were the glory of my Court

and the pattern of wives? How has this mirror of perfection been

tarnished in a moment! How has she become my shame after having been

my true honour, and a subject of reproach to the world after having

been its admiration! How, alas! have appearances deceived me!

Henceforward, every woman shall be dishonoured in my eyes, from past

and present to all future generations."

Having said this, the King went out, his soul struggling betwixt love

and jealousy, fury and grief.

Chamsada was astonished at the reproaches she had just heard, and

tormented by the false suspicions to which her husband, whom she

loved, was abandoned. But how could she remove them? She had always

confirmed to the Sultan the false report of her son's death

intentionally spread by her father Selimansha, and she could not

venture to discover him at present without exposing him to the utmost

danger. Alas! when one has so long wandered from truth, is it possible

to return? Could one regain confidence who has not known how to

deserve it by a sincere and timely confession?

"No, no," would she say, "it was my inclination, and, without doubt,

my duty, to spare the reputation of my uncle, and to-day I would in

vain attempt to sully it. O Sovereign Wisdom! Divine Goodness! only

resource of the innocent, to Thee I lift my hands and my heart. By

invisible means you formerly snatched my unfortunate son from the

snares of death with which he was on all sides surrounded. He falls

into them still, notwithstanding his innocence. The fatality of his

star draws along with him my faithful slave and myself, and even the

Sultan my husband, who is weighed down by the too well-founded

presumption of our crime. Deliver us, O Allah, from the horrors of

suspicion! And thou, great Prophet! if thou bearest in thy heart thy

faithful followers--if all thy prayers in their behalf are heard--make

mine ascend before the God of Justice! And since all the wisdom of the

world could not untie the fatal knot in which we are bound, be pleased

to employ in this work thy omnipotent power."

After this invocation, she placed her confidence in Allah, and waited

the event with resignation.

In the meantime the irresolute soul of the Sultan was abandoned to the

greatest uncertainty. His passion for Chamsada seemed to acquire new

strength in proportion as he attempted to destroy it. He knew not what

step to take. How should he take vengeance on the guilty? How could he

discern if they were both equally so? How could he know which of the

two he ought to spare? How could he strike two objects who were so

dear to him? Harassed by these painful and afflicting considerations,

he lost his repose and his health, and his nurse, who still remained

in the seraglio, was alarmed at this change. This woman, whom age and

experience had rendered prudent, having deserved the confidence of her

masters, had acquired the right of approaching them whenever she

thought proper, and accordingly she went to the Sultan.

"What is the matter with you, my son?" said she to him. "You are not

as you used to be. You shun the amusements which, till now, appeared

agreeable to your inclinations. Riding, walking, and hunting, please

you no more. You do not now assemble your Court, nor give feasts and

entertainments. I well know that you scarcely take food. What secret

grief consumes you? Open to me your heart, my son. You know my tender

attachment, and you ought to fear nothing from my indiscretion. We

often allow ourselves to be prepossessed by phantoms, and perhaps I

may be able to dissipate, in a moment, those which disturb your

imagination. Trust me with your affliction, my son, and I hope to

soothe it."

Whatever confidence this Prince had in his good nurse, and

notwithstanding the great estimation in which he held her excellent

qualities, he did not think it proper to disclose his grief to her. He

must speak against Chamsada, and this remembrance would make the wound

bleed afresh which she had made in his heart. The sage old woman was

not discouraged by the ill success of her first attempt: she watched

every opportunity of being seen by her master; and the tender looks

which she cast upon him seemed to say, "O my dear son! speak to me,

unfold your heart to your good nurse." But all her cares were

fruitless.

Finding that she could not succeed by this method, and presuming that

Chamsada must have been informed of the Sultan's grief, and

conjecturing, moreover, that a woman would more easily reveal the

secret which she wished to know, she flew to the Queen, whom she found

plunged in sorrow apparently as deep as that which consumed the

Sultan. She employed every method which address and experience could

furnish her, in order to deserve the confidence of Chamsada.

"But why this cruel reserve with me?" said the good nurse. "Look, my

daughter, upon my grey hairs! If age and time have furrowed my brow

with wrinkles, they have also given me experience. I am no more the

sport of passion, and my counsels will be dictated by prudence."

Chamsada, shaken but not convinced by these arguments, replied to her,

"My secret is very weighty, my dear nurse; it weighs down my heart;

but it is impossible it should ever come out of it. In trusting you

with it, I must be well assured that it will remain for ever shut up

in your breast."

"Your wishes shall be fulfilled," said the old woman. "I am discreet,

and never shall my lips divulge your secret; but let it be no more one

with her who takes so lively an interest in your happiness."

At length Chamsada could resist her no longer: she related to her all

her adventures, and informed her that the young man of whom the Sultan

was become jealous was her son Shaseliman, who had been supposed to

have been dead.

"O great Prophet, I thank you!" exclaimed the nurse. "Praised be

Mahomet! we have nothing to struggle with but chimeras! Be comforted,

my daughter: every cloud will disappear: I behold the rising of a

bright day."

"O my good mother, we shall never, never reach it. Never will this

young man be believed to be my son. We shall be accused of falsehood,

and I would prefer the loss of his life, and of my own, rather than be

suspected of this infamy."

"I approve of your delicacy," said the nurse; "but my precautions

shall prevent everything that might hurt it."

Upon this she went out, and immediately entered the Sultan's

apartment, whom she found in the same state of dejection and sorrow in

which she had left him; she embraced him and took him by the hand.

"My son," said she to him, "you are too much afflicted. If you are a

true Mussulman, I conjure you by the name of the great Prophet to

reveal to me the true cause of the grief which afflicts you."

Unable any longer to withstand the force of this intercession, the

Sultan was forced to reveal all his distress.

"I loved Chamsada with my whole heart," said the Sultan. "Her graces,

her wisdom, her virtues, all the charms, in a word, with which she was

adorned, appeared to me a delicious garden, where my thoughts wandered

with delight. All is now changed into a frightful desert, where I see

nothing but hideous monsters and dreadful precipices. Chamsada is

faithless. The false Chamsada whom I adored, and whom I love still,

has betrayed me. She has given her heart to a vile slave. I am fallen

from the height of an imaginary happiness into a hell where every evil

torments me. The two criminals must perish: nothing remains for me but

to proportion the punishment to the crime, and endeavour to

distinguish on which of the two my severest justice ought to fall.

But, alas! what will it cost me to execute this fatal sentence! The

same weapon which pierces the heart of my adorable Chamsada, will

wound my own with a deadly stroke."

"My son! do nothing rashly," said the nurse. "You may expose yourself

to eternal repentance. Those whom you think guilty are in your hands:

you will always have time to punish them: allow yourself time to

examine them. 'Time,' says the proverb, 'is the wisest of all

counsellors: many things are brought to light by time and patience.'"

"Ah! my good nurse, what explanation can I expect? Is there any that

could destroy an attested fact? Chamsada loves this young man; and

pretending that she had a treasure in Persia, she abused my confidence

and affection to obtain from me an order to go in search of him."

"My dear son, be calm," said the old woman. "I have a method of laying

open to you the soul of Chamsada. Cause your hunters to bring me an

egret.[17] I will tear out the heart of this bird, which I will give

to you, and as soon as Chamsada shall be asleep, you must bring it

near hers, and it will be impossible for her to conceal from you the

smallest secret."

[Footnote 17: Egret. A bird with a tuft upon its head.]