The unfortunate minister, disgusted with glory and opulence, renounced the search for his diamonds, abandoned the vessel and its lading, and supporting the tottering steps of a weeping mother, they both walked along the shore of the sea mournfully demanding of it the treasures which the Vizier had cruelly committed to the inconstancy of its waves.

"Your Majesty," continued Aladin, "will pardon me, if, for a short time, I make you lose sight of this disconsolate pair, while I fix your attention on their unhappy children."

The billows, to whose caprice they had been abandoned, were so agitated that, although they were frequently thrown against one another, they were immediately separated again. One of them, after having struggled for two days against the billows, and after having escaped the danger of being dashed to pieces on the rocks against which he was continually driven, found himself, all at once, ashore on the coast of a neighbouring kingdom. The chains which fixed him to the plank were much worn by the sea, and notwithstanding his fatigue and hunger, he had still strength enough to disengage himself from them, and reach the land. He there found an officer who was going to refresh his horse at the stream of a neighbouring fountain. This man, affected with the sight of the unfortunate child, gave him part of his clothes, set him behind him, and carried him to his own house. There nourishing food and repose completely recovered the shipwrecked youth.

After decently dressing him, his benefactor presented him to the King, already informed of the event.

The happy physiognomy of the young man made an impression on the King, and his answers soon completed the very favourable opinion he had of him. He became a distinguished officer in the palace, where his conduct gained the complete esteem and confidence of his Sovereign. This Prince, to whom Heaven had not granted children, thought he could not do his people a greater service than by adopting the youth, whom fortune had thrown into his arms. His choice was applauded by the whole Court, and confirmed by the divan. The people were happy, and the abilities of the young Prince soon placed him in the number of the most valiant Kings of Asia. Age and infirmities rendered the King unable to support the weight of the government, and he abdicated the sceptre in favour of his adopted son. He saw him married, and thus terminating his career of glory, calmly resigned his life into the hands of his Creator.

The young Sovereign, bewailing the loss of his benefactor, gave himself up to the justest sorrow. He wished to fulfil the duties of gratitude and piety, and summoned his divan, that he might honour the ashes of his predecessor by prayers and solemn ceremonies. The people repaired to the mosques. The Imam, the Nabib, the dervishes, and all those who serve at them, paid to his memory the homage which was due to it. He caused many alms to be distributed among the poor and through all the hospitals of the kingdom. These religious duties early announced the wisdom of his government, and they were not proved false by the event. He was always a just and active King, and governed his people with the affection of a father.

In this manner did fortune snatch from the fury of the waves one of the Vizier's children, to raise him to the summit of greatness. But this unhappy father continued to grieve for the loss of his two sons, until, in one of the islands where he had his residence, he heard the Dellal proclaim, with a loud voice, that there was a young slave to be sold, and that the curious were invited to come and examine him. Illage stopped, looked at the young man, and, constrained by a feeling of which he knew not the cause, he determined to purchase him.

The figure of this stranger had attractions which he could not resist. His age corresponded to that of one of his own children; and if the beauty of his features was a true indication of the virtues of his mind, he hoped he would supply the place of one of those whom he had lost. He returned home with his new purchase.

His wife, who perceived them at a distance, recognized the youth, and was about to throw herself into his arms, but sank under this unexpected surprise. But although her joy deprived her of the use of her senses, she was still able to utter the name of her son. The attention of her husband, and that of the young man, who bathed her with his tears, recalled her to life. The father, affected with what he saw, recognized the cry of nature, and returning thanks to Heaven for the unexpected favour he had received, mingled together his tears and caresses at this moving picture, and partook of the happiness of an unlooked-for discovery. Nevertheless, he was tormented by a new uneasiness: the presence of his son recalled to him his brother—"What is become of him?"

"Alas!" replied the young man, "the waves soon separated the planks on which we were carried, and I can tell you nothing of his fate."

This answer redoubled the affliction of the husband and wife; but they seemed to be comforted with the hope of another blessing similar to that which they had just received; and in this pleasing expectation their tenderness centred on the beloved son whom Heaven had at length restored to their arms.

Several years had elapsed. Achib, the son of Illage, grew stronger every day. He acquired knowledge, and became capable of following commerce, in which his father had instructed him. Seeing him fit even to undertake a profitable voyage, his father purchased a ship, loaded it with merchandise, and destined it for the capital of the islands in which they were settled, entrusting him with the management of it. Upon his arrival in the capital, Achib hired a storehouse in the kan, deposited his goods there, and passed some days in arranging them to advantage.

The Feast of the Ramezan came. The young man, a faithful Mussulman, possessed the art of singing so perfectly, that he was able to fulfil with dignity the functions of the Imam.[14] He dressed himself in his faragi, and went to the principal mosque. There the King, with all his Court and the grandees of the kingdom, were present at the noonday service. The young man took his place near the King, and when the Athib[15] mounted the pulpit and began to chaunt the Falhea,[16] Achib repeated three times, Alla Akbar.

[Footnote 14: Imam is a priest who reads and explains the Koran.]

[Footnote 15: Athib is a reader who chaunts over the prayers in plain song.]

[Footnote 16: Falhea, the Mahommedan Confession of Faith.]

The assembly, and the King himself, were astonished at this young stranger seating himself so near his Majesty; but the pleasure of his melodious and affecting voice excited so agreeable a surprise, that they soon forgot his assurance. All agreed that they had never heard anything so exquisite and perfect. The Athib was jealous of him: he had never supposed that there was a voice in the world superior to his own, and the despair which he felt deprived him of the use of it—he felt it die upon his lips. Achib did not give him time to recover it: he continued the prayer with a force and ease which the efforts of the Athib, supposing him to have had the courage to attempt it, could not have surpassed.

When the King had ended his prayer, as he came out of the mosque he ordered his officers to wait for the new singer, to have a horse ready for him, and to conduct him to the palace, where his Majesty desired to see him. Achib received this invitation with respect, and obeyed the orders of his Sovereign.

The monarch gave him a most gracious reception, bestowing the highest praise upon his talents, and soon felt himself prejudiced in favour of this stranger by a sympathy of which he could not discover the springs; but it seemed to be of the most interesting nature. Achib was only in his seventeenth year, and was endowed with every personal grace. Everything seemed to unite in strengthening the liking which the King showed for this stranger. Thus, whether on this pretence or to do a beneficent action, he made him lodge in his palace, and gave him a distinguished preference over the pages and those who composed his household.

The officers soon conspired the destruction of their rival. In the meantime the virtuous Achib, after a long residence at Court, became desirous of seeing his parents and giving them an account of the goods with which he had been entrusted. Afraid lest he should not obtain the monarch's permission to return to them, he wrote to them and informed them of the favour he enjoyed. This motive, and the desire he expressed of seeing them again, determined the family to go to him immediately.

Illage and his wife bore in their hearts the letter which they had just received; and both being flattered with having a son who at so early an age had been able to gain the good graces of a King, they instantly determined to hasten their departure, and informed their son of this resolution. As soon as Achib received this information, he purchased a house and suitable furniture, and in a short time embraced in it the authors of his existence, to whom the King sent presents of such magnificence as showed that they were intended for the family of his favourite.

The fineness of the season having invited the King to one of his country houses, he removed thither, and gave entertainments for the amusement of his Court. One evening, contrary to his usual custom, he gave himself up to the pleasures of the table, and drank of a strange liquor of which he knew not the strength. In a short time after he was suddenly seized with such a stupidity that he was obliged to throw himself on a sofa, where he soon fell asleep. Pleasure had removed from him all his servants. Achib alone, following from affection every step of his master and benefactor, entered into the apartment and found him asleep. Then placing himself within the door, he drew his sabre, and stood there as a guard.

One of the pages having returned, was surprised to find him in this situation, and asked him the cause of it.

"I am watching," said Achib, "for the safety of my King: my attachment and my duty fix me here."

The page ran and told his companions what he had seen. They thought they might easily avail themselves of this event to destroy him, and went in a body to the monarch. The witness swore that he had found Achib with a naked sabre in his hand in his Majesty's chamber while he was asleep. He ascribed the most criminal intentions to this faithful guard, and pretended that nothing but some sudden alarm had prevented the intended blow.

"If your Majesty, sire," added he, "suspects the truth of my report, you need only to-day feign giving yourself up to sleep without any precaution, and we do not doubt that this rash man, pursuing his detestable purpose, will come to renew his attempt."

Though moved by this accusation, the King was unwilling to trust entirely to the declaration of his pages, and thought it his duty to clear up his doubts himself.

In the meantime the pages had gone to find the young favourite.

"The King," said they to him, "is highly pleased with the zeal you have shown for the safety of his person. 'Achib,' hath he said, 'is to me as a shield; under his protection I can sleep without fear.'"

Night came, and the King, after a repast, during which he affected much gaiety and cheerfulness, suddenly retired, and threw himself upon a sofa, apparently in the same state in which he had been the night before. Achib, who never lost sight of him, supposing he was asleep, entered the apartment to place himself on guard, with his sabre uplifted and naked.

As soon as the King saw the gleam of the sabre he was seized with terror, and a cry which he uttered brought to him all the officers of his guard. Achib was arrested by his order, loaded with chains, and led away to prison.

The next morning, after the first prayer, the King assembled his divan, ascended his throne, and caused the man to be brought before him whom slanderous and false reports and deceitful appearances had exposed to the presumption of so much guilt.

"Ungrateful that you are!" said he to him. "Is it by putting me to death that you would show your gratitude and repay my favours? I will not delay to take signal vengeance on your detestable baseness."

Achib, having made no reply to these reproaches, was sent back to prison.

Scarcely was he gone out, when two of the courtiers who were most eager for his destruction approached the King.

"Sire," said they to him, "everybody is surprised to see the execution of the criminal delayed. There is no crime equal to that which he intended to commit; and you ought to give such a speedy example of justice as your personal safety and the tranquillity of your people require."

"Let us not be rash," replied the King, "in a judgment of this nature. The criminal is in chains, and cannot make his escape. And as to public vengeance, it will never be too late to gratify it. It is easy to take away a man's life, but it is impossible to restore it. Life is a blessing of Heaven which we ought to respect, and it becomes not us to deprive our fellow-creatures of it without the most mature deliberation. The evil, once done, can never be repaired. I have it now in my power to reflect on what I ought to do, and wish not that the future should have to reproach me with the improper conduct of the present."

Having said this, the King dismissed the divan, ordered his hunting equipage to be got ready, and gave himself up for some days to the amusements of the chase.

On his return, he was again set upon by the enemies of Achib. The longer, according to them, that this criminal's punishment was delayed, the more the people were discontented. Clemency and moderation ceased to be virtues when they spared such crimes as his. These new remarks embarrassed the Sovereign, who had now nothing to oppose to them, since the delay which he had granted had brought nothing to light. He determined to inflict that severe punishment which justice seemed to require, and ordered the criminal to be brought before him, accompanied by the officers of justice and the executioner.

Achib stood blindfolded at the foot of the throne. The executioner, with the sword in his hand, waited the King's command. At that instant a confused noise was heard; a stranger pierced through the crowd, and hastened to the feet of the King. It was the unfortunate Illage.

"Mercy, sire! mercy!" exclaimed he: "pardon the only child that Heaven has restored to me! My son could not intend an attack upon your life: he was incapable of designing so unnatural a murder; your life is dearer to him than his own. I have letters of his which made me fly to your Majesty, that I might admire more nearly those virtues which I adored. But, O monarch, whose illustrious virtues are renowned through the most distant corners of the world, justify the public admiration by a new display of wisdom, in overcoming a resentment with which false appearances have inspired you! Consider with horror the melancholy consequences of a too rash judgment! Behold in me a dreadful example of the consequence of being led away by passion, and of yielding, without reflection, to its imprudent follies. Heaven blessed me with children; but having been separated from them from their earliest infancy, the day at length came when we were to be reunited. Not knowing them, and being blinded by passion, I abused the power with which I was invested. I had them bound upon planks and thrown into the sea. The man whom you threaten with death alone escaped from perishing in the waves, and must I this day be the witness of his death? Behold the reward of my guilty rashness! My heart is filled with bitterness, and tears will flow from mine eyes till they are closed in death."

During this discourse, the King stood motionless through astonishment. It was his own history he had just heard. The man who spoke was his father, and the supposed criminal his brother!

Having happily acquired, in the exercise of power, the habit of self-command, he knew how to shun the dangers of too sudden a discovery. Nature, however, yielded at length to his eagerness, and he affectionately embraced the author of his life. He ordered his brother to be set free from those shameful chains with which envy had bound him. He made himself known to him; and after mutual consolation.

"Behold," said he to his divan, "to what a dreadful evil I should have exposed myself, had I lightly credited the detractions of slander, and, upon your artful reports, had hastened the punishment which you so eagerly urged! Go, and be ashamed! Was there one among you all who supported innocence?"

After these few words, the King retired into his apartments with his father and brother. He admitted them to a share in all the joys of his Court, and sent twenty slaves, magnificently dressed, in quest of his mother. This family, so happily reunited, lived in the blessings of the most affectionate unity, grateful to the Almighty, and faithful to the law written by His great Prophet, till the moment when they were called, by the decree of fate, from this world to a better.

* * * * *

Aladin, having thus finished the history of "Illage Mahomet, or the Imprudent," added some reflections fitted to make an impression on the mind of the King, whose attention he had been so fortunate as to engage.

"Sire!" said he to him, "if the son, when he became a King, had conducted himself as rashly as the father when he was a minister, innocence would have been sacrificed to jealousy and ambition, and a whole family devoted for life to misery and remorse. There is always something gained by delay. Appearances are equally against me, and envy hath availed itself of them to make me appear guilty; but I have Heaven and your wisdom on my side."

When the young man had done speaking, Bohetzad turned towards his ministers.

"I do not mean," said he, "that crimes should remain unpunished. But truth, even when it comes from the mouth of an enemy, ought to be esteemed precious. This criminal hath well remarked, that there can be nothing lost by taking time to reflect. Let him be carried back to prison."

The Viziers were enraged. Delay might discover the truth, through the cloud under which they had concealed it. As they jointly endeavoured to conceal the stratagems they had devised in secret, the third among them went early the next day to the palace.

The King inquired if the interval that had elapsed had produced no new light.

"Sire," replied this minister, "the police which, under your Majesty's orders, we exercise, maintains the peace of your capital, and all would be perfectly quiet if the throne were avenged of the outrage of this son of a villain, whose punishment your Majesty still delays. The people are murmuring at it, and I should have thought myself wanting in my duty had I concealed from you their uneasiness, the consequences of which may be dangerous. It is never too soon to prevent a rebellion, and that which is now forming would be extremely fatal."

Constrained by these observations, the King commanded the criminal to be brought before him.

"Unhappy man!" said he to him, "thou shalt never summon me to the tribunal of Heaven for having hastened thy punishment. I have listened to all the weak shifts by which thou hast defended thyself. I have weighed their value. But reserve and circumspection have an end. My people murmur. Their patience and mine is exhausted. Heaven and earth look to me for justice, and thou hast reached thy last moment."

"Sire," replied the modest Aladin, "do the people look for an example of your justice? Impatience is the fault of the people. But patience ought always to sit upon the throne, amidst the virtues which form its basis and safety. This virtue, necessary to all, and which calls upon us for that resignation which we owe to the eternal decrees, raised the patient Abosaber from the bottom of a well even to the throne."

"Who is this Abosaber?" asked the King. "Give me a short account of his history."



THE HISTORY OF ABOSABER THE PATIENT.

Sire (said Aladin), Abosaber, surnamed the Patient, was a wealthy and generous man, who lived in a village which he rendered happy by his charities. He was hospitable and beneficent to the poor, and every one that applied to him. His granaries were full, his ploughs were continually at work, his flocks covered the plains, and he maintained plenty in the country. He had a wife and two children, and the happiness of this way of life was disturbed by nothing but the devastations of a monstrous lion, which ravaged the stables and folds belonging to the peaceful cultivators of these happy regions, according to its necessities and those of its young.

The wife of Abosaber wanted her husband, at the head of his people, to hunt this animal, by whose devastation they, on account of their riches, were more particularly affected.

"Wife," said Abosaber to her, "let us have patience! I have not any skill in lion hunting; leave it to others."

The King of the country heard of the ravages of this lion, and ordered a general chase. The people immediately took arms: the lion was sought for, and soon surrounded on every side. A shower of arrows was discharged upon him. He became furious: his bristles stood on end, his eyes flashed, he beat his sides with his terrible tail, and, setting up tremendous roarings, darted with fury upon the nearest of the hunters. This was a young man of nineteen years of age, mounted upon a vigorous horse.

At the cries of the lion the courser was seized with terror, and his strength instantly failed him. He fell, and died as if he had been struck with a thunderbolt. The valiant knight soon got upon his feet, and, invoking the name of the great Prophet, he plunged his spear into the enormous jaws which were opened to devour him. This exploit of courage and intrepidity gained him, together with the applauses of his Sovereign, the office of commander-in-chief of all his troops.

Abosaber, hearing of the lion's death, said to his wife, "See of what advantage patience hath been to us! Had I followed your advice, and exposed myself to the danger of attacking an animal against which it was necessary to draw out so much strength, I should have lost my life, with all my people, to no purpose."

The dangerous lion did not alone disturb the peaceful retreat of Abosaber; the inhabitants of the village did not all enjoy the same good character. One of them committed a considerable robbery in the capital, and made his escape, after having murdered the master of the house he had plundered. The King, informed of this double crime, sent in search of the relations and slaves of the man who had been so inhumanly murdered. No one could give him any information, but by throwing out suspicions against the inhabitants of the village where Abosaber dwelt. These had the character of being very bad people, and were known to have frequented the house in which the murder and theft had been committed, the perpetrators of which they were endeavouring to discover. Upon this declaration alone, and without having recourse to any other proof, the enraged monarch commanded an officer at the head of a detachment to lay waste the village, and bring away its inhabitants loaded with chains.

Those who are employed in the execution of severe commands frequently go beyond the orders they have received. Troops very ill disciplined spread their devastation over all the neighbouring country. They spared only the dwelling of Abosaber and six persons of his household; but they pillaged his granaries and his standing corn, with those of all the inhabitants.

The wife of Abosaber bewailed this disaster.

"We are ruined," said she to her husband; "you see our flocks carried off with those of the guilty, notwithstanding the orders they have to spare whatever belongs to us. See with what injustice we are treated. Speak to the officers of the King."

"I have spoken," said Abosaber, "but they have not time to hear me. Let us have patience: the evil will recoil on those who commit it. Unhappy the man who gives orders at once rigorous and urgent! unhappy the man who acts without reflection! I fear that the evils which the King has brought upon us will soon return upon himself."

An enemy of Abosaber had heard this discourse, and reported it to the King.

"Thus," said he, "speaks the man whom the goodness of your Majesty had spared!"

The monarch instantly gave orders that Abosaber, his wife, and his two children, should be driven from the village and banished from his dominions.

The wife of the wise and resigned Mussulman made loud complaints: she reproached the authors of her calamity, and carried her resentment to excess.

"Have patience, wife," said he to her: "this virtue is the sovereign balm against adversity; it gives salutary counsel, and carries with it hope and consolation. Let us go to the desert, since they persecute us here."

The good Abosaber lifted up his eyes and blessed the Almighty as he pursued his journey with his family. But they had scarcely entered the desert when they were attacked by a band of robbers. They were plundered, their children were carried off, and, deprived of every resource or human aid, they were left to the care of Providence.

The wife, having lost by this new stroke of fate what was most dear to her, gave free course to her grief, and set up mournful cries.

"Indolent man!" said she to her husband, "lay aside your listlessness. Let us pursue the robbers: if they have any feeling of humanity left, they will restore us our children."

"Let us have patience," replied Abosaber; "it is the only remedy for evils which appear desperate. These robbers are well mounted; naked and fatigued as we are, there is no probability of our overtaking them. And suppose we should succeed in that, perhaps these barbarous men, harassed with our lamentations, might put us to death."

The wife grew calm, for the decay of her strength made her unable to complain; and they both arrived on the bank of a river, from whence they discovered a village.

"Sit down here," said Abosaber to his wife; "I will go to seek a lodging and some clothes to cover us."

Saying this, he went away, taking the road to the village, from which they were not far distant.

Scarcely was Abosaber out of sight when a gentleman passing near her stopped in astonishment at seeing a most beautiful woman plundered and abandoned thus in a solitary road. He put several questions to her, which this singular adventure might seem to authorize, and she answered them with sufficient spirit. These replies increased the fancy of the young man.

"Madam," said he to her, "you seem formed to enjoy a happier lot, and if you will accept of that which I will prepare for you, follow me, and, together with my heart and hand, I offer you a situation that deserves to be envied."

"I have a husband," replied the lady, "to whom, unfortunate as he is, I am bound for life."

"I have no time," replied the gentleman, "to convince you of the folly of a refusal in your situation. I love you. Mount my horse without reply, or with one stroke of my scimitar I will terminate both your misfortunes and your life."

The wife of Abosaber, forced to yield, before she departed wrote these words upon the sand: "Abosaber, your patience hath cost you your fortune, your children, and your wife, who is carried off from you. Heaven grant that it may not prove still more fatal to you!"

While she traced these words, the gentleman quitted his horse's bridle, and when everything was ready, he seized his prey and disappeared.

Abosaber, on his return, sought for his spouse, and called upon her in vain. He demanded her of all nature, but nature was silent. He cast his eyes upon the ground, and there learned his misfortune. He could not restrain the first accents of grief: he tore his hair, rent his breast, and bruised himself with strokes. But soon becoming quiet, after all this agitation,

"Have patience, Abosaber!" said he to himself; "thou lovest thy wife, and art beloved by her. Allah hath undoubtedly suffered her to fall into the situation in which she is in order to snatch her from more dreadful evils. Does it become thee to search into the secrets of Providence? It is thy part to submit, and also to cease from fatiguing and offending Heaven by thy cries and thy complaints."

These reflections completely restored his tranquillity, and abandoning the design he had of returning to the village from which he came, he took the road to a city whose distant spires had attracted his attention.

As he approached it, he perceived a number of workmen engaged in constructing a palace for the King. The overseer of this work took hold of him by the arm, and obliged him to labour with his workmen, under pain of being sent to prison. Abosaber was forced to have patience, while he exerted himself to the utmost, receiving no wages but a little bread and water.

He had been a month in this laborious and unprofitable situation, when a workman, falling from a ladder, broke his leg. This poor unhappy man set up dreadful cries, interrupted by complaints and imprecations. Abosaber approached him.

"Companion," said he to him, "you increase your misfortunes instead of relieving them. Have patience! The fruits of this virtue are always salutary: it supports us under calamity, and such is its power that it can raise a man to the throne, even though he were cast into the bottom of a well."

The monarch of the country was at this moment at one of the windows of his palace, to which the cries of the unfortunate workman had drawn him. He had heard Abosaber's discourse, and was offended at it.

"Let this man be arrested," said he to one of his officers, "and brought before me."

The officer obeyed. Abosaber was in the presence of the tyrant whose pride he had unintentionally shocked.

"Insolent fellow!" said this barbarous King to him, "can patience then bring a man from the bottom of a well to a throne? Thou art going to put the truth of thy own maxim to the trial."

At the same time he ordered him to be let down to the bottom of a dry and deep well which was within the palace. There he visited him regularly every day, carrying him two morsels of bread.

"Abosaber," would he say to him, "you appear to me to be still at the bottom of the well: when is your patience to raise you to the throne?"

The more this unfeeling monarch insulted his prisoner, he became the more resigned.

"Let us have patience," would he say to himself; "let us not repel contempt with reproach; we are not suffered to avenge ourselves in any shape whatever. Let us allow the crime to come to its full height: Heaven sees, and is our judge. Let us have patience."

The King had a brother, whom he had always concealed from every eye in a secret part of the palace. But suspicion and uneasiness made him afraid lest he should one day be carried off and placed upon the throne. Some time ago he had secretly let him down into the bottom of this well we have spoken of. This unhappy victim soon sank under so many difficulties. He died, but this event was not known, although the other parts of the secret had transpired.

The grandees of the realm and the whole nation, shocked at the capricious cruelty, which exposed them all to the same danger, rose with one accord against the tyrant, and assassinated him. The adventure of Abosaber had been long since forgotten. One of the officers of the palace reported that the King went every day to carry bread to a man who was in the well, and to converse with him. This idea led their thoughts to the brother who had been so cruelly used by the tyrant. They ran to the well, went down into it, and found there the patient Abosaber, whom they took for the presumptive heir to the crown. Without giving him time to speak, or to make himself known, they conducted him to a bath, and he was soon clothed in the royal purple and placed upon the throne.

The new King, always steady to his principles, left Heaven to operate in his favour, and was patient. His deportment, his reserve, and his coolness disposed men to prophecy well of his reign, and the wisdom of his conduct justified these happy presages. Not contented to weigh with indefatigable patience the decisions of his own judgment, he was present as often as possible at all the business of the State. "Viziers, Cadis, ministers of justice," said he to them, "before deciding hastily, take patience and inquire."

They admired his wisdom, and yielded themselves to its direction. Such was the disposition of their minds with respect to him, when a train of events produced a great change in it.

A neighbouring monarch, driven from his dominions by a powerful enemy, vanquished, and followed by a small retinue, took refuge with Abosaber, and implored on his knees the hospitality, assistance, and good offices of a King renowned for his virtues, and especially for his patience.

Abosaber dismissed his divan to converse with this exiled Prince, and, as soon as they were alone, he said to him, "Behold in me Abosaber, your former subject, unjustly spoiled by you of all his fortune, and banished from your kingdom. Observe the just difference in the conduct of Heaven towards us. I departed from my village, reduced by you to the last point of wretchedness. I submitted, however, to my lot, was patient, and Providence hath conducted me to the throne, while your passionate, cruel, and rash conduct hath brought you down from one. It appears to me that, in seeing you thus at my discretion, I am commissioned to execute on you the decrees of Heaven, as a warning to the wicked."

After this reproof, and without waiting a reply, Abosaber commanded his officers to drive the exiled King and all his followers from the city. These orders were instantly put in execution, but they occasioned some murmurs. Should an unfortunate and suppliant King be treated with so much rigour? This seemed contrary to all the laws of equity, of humanity, and of policy.

Some time after this Abosaber, having been informed that a band of robbers infested a part of his dominions, sent troops in pursuit of them. They were surprised, surrounded, and brought before him. The King recognized them to be those who had carried off his children, and privately interrogated their chief.

"In such a situation," said he to him, "and in such a desert, you found a man, a woman, and two children. You plundered the father and mother, and carried away their children. What have you done with them? What is become of them?"

"Sire," replied the chief of the robbers, "these children are among us, and we will give them to your Majesty to dispose of them as you please. We are ready, moreover, to deliver into your hands all that we have heaped up in our profession. Grant us life and pardon; receive us into the number of your subjects; we will return from our evil courses, and no soldiers in your Majesty's service shall be more devoted to you than we."

The King sent for the children, seized the riches of the robbers, and caused their heads to be instantly struck off, without regarding their repentance or entreaties.

The subjects of Abosaber, seeing this hasty conduct, and recollecting the treatment of the exiled Monarch, in a short time did not know what might be their own. "What precipitation!" said they. "Is this the compassionate King, who, when the Cadi was about to inflict any punishment, continually repeated to him, 'Wait, examine, do nothing rashly; have patience'?" They were extremely surprised, but a new event rendered them still more astonished.

A gentleman came with complaints against his wife. Abosaber, before hearing them, said to him, "Bring your wife with you: if it be just for me to listen to your arguments, it cannot be less so to hear hers."

The gentleman went out, and in a few moments after returned with his wife. The King had scarcely looked at her, when he ordered her to be conducted into the palace, and the man's head to be cut off, who had come to complain of her. The order was obeyed. The Viziers, the officers, and the whole divan murmured aloud, that Abosaber might hear them.

"Never was there seen such an act of violence," said they among themselves. "The King who was beheaded was never guilty of so shocking an action, and this brother, coming out of a well, and promising at first wisdom and prudence, is carried in cold blood to an excess which borders on madness."

Abosaber listened and remained patient, till at length a wave of his hand having imposed silence, he spoke as follows:

"Viziers, Cadis, ministers of justice, and all ye vassals of the Crown who hear me, I have always advised you against precipitation in your judgments; you owe me the same attention, and I pray you hear me.

"Arrived at a point of good fortune to which I had never even dared to aspire, the circumstances which were necessary for my success being so difficult to be united; indifferent as to the crown which I wear, and to which I had no right by my birth; it only remains for me to gain your esteem by justifying the motives of my conduct, and making myself known to you.

"I am not brother to the King whom you judged unworthy to reign; I am a man of mean birth. Persecuted, undone, and driven from my country, I took refuge in this kingdom, after having seen my two children and my wife torn from me in the way. I devoutly submitted to the strokes which fate had laid on me, when, at the entrance of this city, I was seized by force, and constrained to labour at the building of the palace. Convinced in my mind that patience is the most necessary virtue to man, I exhorted one of my fellow-labourers to bear with resignation a dreadful evil he had met with in breaking his leg. Patience, said I to him, is so great a virtue, that it could raise a man to the throne, although he were cast into the bottom of a well.

"The King, my predecessor, heard me. This maxim shocked him, and that instant he caused me be let down into the well, from which you took me to set me on the throne.

"When a neighbouring monarch, driven by an usurper from his dominions, came to implore my assistance, I recognized in him my own Sovereign, who had unjustly stripped me of my possessions and sent me into banishment. I was not the only object of his capricious cruelties: I saw all his subjects groaning under them.

"The robbers, whom I punished, had carried off my children and reduced me to the last point of wretchedness.

"In fine, the gentleman whom I caused to be beheaded is he who violently took away my wife.

"In all these judgments, I have not had the revenge of my own particular offences in view. King of these dominions by your choice, the instrument of God upon earth, I did not think myself at liberty to yield to an arbitrary clemency, which would have weakened your power. It was my duty to execute the decrees of Providence upon such as were clearly convicted of guilt, and to cut off from society mortals too dangerous for it.

"A tyrannical King who respects not the laws, and is only directed by his passions and caprice, is the scourge of his people. If it is not lawful to make any attempt upon his life, it is still less so to grant him such assistance as would authorize him in the perpetual exercise of revenge, and in the indulgence of the injustice and atrocity of his disposition. It is even wise to deprive him of the means of it.

"Villains whose sole occupation is to attack caravans, plunder travellers, and who are accustomed to nothing but disorder, can never become useful and valuable citizens. They deserve still less to be admitted to the honour of defending their country. Banishment to them is only a return to their former life. By increasing their number, the evils of the world are rendered perpetual.

"The ravisher of a wife is a monster in society from which it ought to be freed. The man who indulges himself in this crime is capable of every other.

"Such are the motives of my conduct: severity costs me more than any one else. But I should have been unworthy of the confidence of my people, and wanting in the duties of the throne, had I not exercised it in this situation.

"If I have exceeded the limits of my authority, I am ready to resign it into your hands. Reunited to my wife and my children, and thus loaded with the most precious blessings of the Almighty, I should have nothing left but to wish you happy days under a government wiser than mine."

When Abosaber had finished this justification of his conduct, admiration and respect held the whole assembly in silence. Soon, however, a shout followed by a thousand others resounded through the divan.

"Long live Abosaber! long live our King! long live the patient monarch! may he live for ever! and may his reign endure to eternity!"

The King having returned into his apartment, sent for his wife and his children, and after yielding to the sweet impulses of nature, "Behold," said he to his spouse, "the fruits of patience, and the consequences of rashness. Give up at last your prejudices, and engrave on the hearts of our children these important truths. Good and evil happen under the inspection of Providence, and divine wisdom infallibly bestows the punishment or the reward. The patient man who submits to his lot is sooner or later crowned with honour."

* * * * *

After having ended his story Aladin kept a respectful silence. Bohetzad seemed lost in thought.

"How is it possible," said he, "that the maxims of wisdom should flow from the lips of a man whose heart must be corrupted, and whose soul must be guilty? Young man!" added he, addressing himself to the supposed criminal, "I will still defer your punishment till to-morrow. You are to be carried back to prison. The counsels which you have given me shall have their proper effect. A professed robber ought to be cut off from the class of citizens, from that of the defenders of the kingdom, and from the whole world. But as you have at the same time guarded me against precipitation in judgment, I consent that you may live during the remainder of this day and the following night."

At these words the King dismissed the assembly.

The Viziers took counsel together respecting the step they should take to secure the destruction of the favourite. Perceiving the punishment so often delayed, it was their business to alarm the King respecting the dangerous effects of his clemency, and his weakness in allowing himself to be led away by these discourses, prepared on purpose to suspend an act of justice which was absolutely necessary. He ought to banish from the people every suspicion of weakness on the part of the government, and show them that equity was its foundation.

The artful detail of this reasoning was entrusted to the Fourth Vizier; and this minister came next morning to Bohetzad to perform his part.

The poison of flattery was artfully mingled with remonstrances, which appeared to be dictated by a disinterested zeal, and made a deep impression on the King. He ordered the Superintendent to be brought before him, as formerly, with all the apparatus of punishment. "Unhappy man!" said he to him, "I have reflected enough to punish you for your crime. May your death, if it be possible, make me forget you for ever!"

"Sire," replied Aladin, with respect and firmness, "I receive with submission the sentence of my crime. It is dictated by circumstances; and were it not, I feel that the misery of having fallen under your disgrace would be worse to me. The sacrifice once made, I can repent of it no more. But the day will come, when your Majesty, regretting your unjust precipitation, will repent that you did not sufficiently consult the rules of prudence, as it happened to Bhazad, the son of Cyrus, founder of the Syrian empire."

HISTORY OF BHAZAD THE IMPATIENT.

Bhazad was a Prince possessed of every external accomplishment. His beauty, celebrated by the poets, was become proverbial among all nations. He was the delight of every company, and scarcely anything was noticed in it but himself. One day, while he was unperceived, his beauty became the subject of conversation. After it had been much praised, one who was present, and had till then been silent, added,

"Prince Bhazad is doubtless one of the most beautiful men in the world; but I know a woman who in this respect is much more superior to her own sex than he is to his."

This discourse roused the curiosity of Bhazad more than his pride; and, addressing himself in private to the man who spoke thus:

"Might one know from you," said he to him, "the name of this beauty, in whose praise you have just now spoken?"

"Prince," replied this man, "she is the daughter of one of the most illustrious vassals of the Syrian throne; and if she enchants every eye by her external charms, the virtues of her heart and of her mind contribute still more to make her perfect."

Those few words made a lively impression upon the heart of Bhazad. He could think of nothing but of the object whose praises he had heard, and he endeavoured to make a conquest of her. The love which consumed him injured his health, rendered him thoughtful and solitary; and the King his father, being surprised at this change, upon inquiring of him, was informed of its cause.

Bhazad, after having made a confession of his passion to Cyrus, suffered from him some reproaches for his reserve.

"Why have you concealed from me the state of your heart?" said he to him. "Are you ignorant that I have all power over the Prince whose daughter you are desirous to marry? Are you afraid that he will not accept the honour of our alliance?"

Upon this Cyrus sent in quest of the father of the young beauty, and demanded her for his son. The dowry, which was to be three hundred thousand pieces of gold, was agreed upon at once. But the future father-in-law required that the celebration of the nuptials should be delayed for nine months.

"Nine months without seeing her!" said the impatient Bhazad to himself. "Nine months without her! It is insupportable."

He quickly formed the design of going to her. He mounted the best courser in his stables, and immediately departed, having provided himself with some necessary articles, such as a bow, a lance, and a scimitar. He was not far from the capital of Syria when he was attacked by a band of robbers. His undaunted countenance and his martial air made an impression upon them; and far from endeavouring, according to their usual custom, to murder him after they had robbed him, they proposed to him a very different plan, and promised him his life on condition that he would associate with them. Bhazad thought it necessary to discover to these vagabonds his rank, his projects, and the fatal delay of nine months, which his impatience had been unable to endure. Upon this declaration, the chief of the robbers replied to him,

"We will shorten this delay. We know the castle in which the object of your love dwells, and the strength that defends it. March at our head; we will attack it, and no object shall be able to resist us. All we ask of you for this important service is a share in the dowry, your future protection, and a delay of some days to prepare ourselves for the enterprise."

Bhazad, in his impatience, thought himself already on the very point of happiness. Every method seemed just to him which could serve his passion, and he was by no means delicate in the choice of them. Thus he deliberated no more, but continued his journey at the head of the robbers.

They soon met a numerous caravan, and the robbers, constrained by their natural propensity, attacked it in disorder. They were repulsed, however, with the loss of several men and a considerable number of prisoners, among whom Bhazad was included. He was conducted to the capital of the country to which the caravan was travelling. The commander of it, after relating his adventure, presented Bhazad to the King.

"Here, sire, is a young man who, in our opinion, deserves to be distinguished from the rest, and we beseech your Majesty to dispose of him according to your pleasure."

The countenance of the captive attracted the particular attention of the King.

"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.



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.