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.]

The King, delighted with having it in his power to discover so easily the mystery which kept him in such perplexity, instantly ordered his officers to go and catch an egret in his gardens. One was brought to him, which he immediately gave to the old nurse. She tore its breast, accompanying this action, extremely simple in itself, with a magical charm, and the Sultan was put in possession of its reeking heart.

While the Prince was reflecting on the surprising virtues of this method, the nurse had gone secretly to the apartment of Chamsada.

"Everything goes well," said she to her. "Let your heart be filled with hope, and let your mouth be prepared to disclose the truth, without any reserve. Expect this night to receive a mysterious visit. It will be from the Sultan himself, with the heart of an egret in his hand. As soon as you perceive that he brings it near yours, feign to be asleep, but answer with precision all the questions which he may put to you, and let truth flow from your mouth, unsullied by the slightest scruple."

Chamsada tenderly thanked the nurse, and prepared herself to second this innocent stratagem, beseeching the favour of the holy Prophet to carry conviction to his heart who was endeavouring to discover the truth.

As soon as night had spread her shades, Chamsada, contrary to her custom, signified that she had need of rest. She sent away her slaves, and threw herself upon a sofa. Scarcely had she been there two hours when the Sultan, impatient to prove the nurse's secret, presented himself at the apartment of his favourite: he found there the chief of the eunuchs.

"How is Chamsada employed?" demanded he.

"She had need of rest," replied the eunuch, "and I believe she is upon her sofa."

The Sultan entered without making the least noise, and found her asleep. He approached very near her, in order the better to judge of the soundness of her sleep, and, thinking it profound, he judged it proper to try his experiment, and gently applied the heart of the bird to that of Chamsada, saying to her, "Chamsada, who is that young man whom you were caressing when one of my ministers surprised you?"

"He is Shaseliman," replied she, without awaking, "the only child of my first marriage with the son of Selimansha my uncle."

"This child was stabbed in his cradle; I am assured of this by letters from your uncle himself."

"He was indeed wounded, but the stroke was not mortal; skilful surgeons restored him to life; and this was kept a secret from the murderer of my husband."

"Why have you concealed it from me, who loved you so dearly?"

"Because my uncle, whose memory I cherished, and wished to be respected, had for a political reason imposed upon you respecting this fact. If what I have told you does not appear possible, interrogate the young man, and his mouth will confirm the truth of this declaration."

Having got this ray of light, the Sultan gave over his inquiries, withdrew from his spouse, whom he supposed still asleep, left her apartment, and gave orders that the young man and the slave should be brought out of the dungeons in which they were shut up. This order was immediately executed.

The unfortunate Shaseliman, who was languishing in his prison, suddenly hearing the vaults resound with the noise of the bolts and keys, believed that his last hour was come, and that the ignominy of punishment was about to terminate his existence.

"O Allah!" said he, raising his innocent hands to heaven, "my life is in Thy hands; to Thee I resign it; but watch over the life of my mother!"

Shaseliman and the slave were brought before the Sultan. The Prince did not leave to others the care of proving a fact so important to his honour and repose. He ran to the young man, and searched in his bosom for the scar of Balavan's poniard; he found it, and, transported with joy, he exclaimed, "O Allah! for ever be Thou blessed for having preserved me from the dreadful crime I was about to commit! and thou His great Prophet, a signal mark of whose protection the virtues of Chamsada have drawn down upon me, to so many favours still add that of enabling me to efface, by my services, the dreadful sorrows I have occasioned, and the idea of the injustice I was about to commit!"

Then throwing himself into the arms of Shaseliman, "Come, dear and unfortunate Prince, come to my heart! Let your image be joined there with that of my beloved Chamsada, that my most tender affections may henceforth be centred on one object alone! But deign to satisfy my curiosity, and inform me by what chain of events you have been conducted hither, unknown to all the world. How have you existed? Speak, Prince. I am impatient to know more particularly the person who restores me to happiness."

Shaseliman, encouraged by the demonstration of such affecting kindness, then gave a faithful detail of his adventures, from the very moment in which he had been hurled from the throne into prison, even to that in which, reduced to the humble condition of a shepherd, he had been found by the messenger of his mother, surrounded by robbers, drawn up out of the well into which they had been let down, and conducted to the Court of the Sultan.

While this recital engaged the attention of Bensirak, Chamsada, his spouse, although less troubled than on the preceding days, was not altogether in a tranquil state. The events had become too important for her. She endeavoured to find out with what design the Sultan, after having questioned her, had departed so abruptly. She had not been able to learn what he had done, nor what was become of him, since the confession which she had made to him. She was indulging these reflections, and continued sunk in the sleep in which the Sultan seemed to surprise her. All at once twenty slaves, carrying flambeaux, came to illuminate her apartment; they walked before the Sultan, who conducted by the hand and looked with kindness on the beloved son of the most virtuous of mothers. He had caused Shaseliman to be dressed in the most magnificent garments; he was adorned with beautiful diamonds, in which Bensirak had delighted to be decked on the days of triumph.

"Soothe your sorrows, adorable Chamsada," cried he, throwing himself into her arms. "The favour of Heaven restores to you a husband and a son, whose feelings and affection secure your felicity for ever."

Shaseliman, on his knees, kissed the hands of his mother; and tears of consolation expressed the sentiments of the son and of the delighted pair.

As soon as day had succeeded this happy night, the Sultan assembled the best of his troops, and put himself at their head, accompanied by Shaseliman. He took the road for Persia, causing heralds go before him, and announce to the people of that kingdom that he was about to re-establish on the throne their rightful King, assassinated, persecuted, and dethroned by the usurper Balavan. Scarcely had they reached the frontiers of Persia, when a party of the faithful subjects of the old King Selimansha, always attached to the blood of this august family, came to range themselves under the banners of the Sultan of Egypt and of Shaseliman. The perfidious Balavan heard this intelligence, and endeavoured to assemble his forces, in order to dispute the ground with a powerful enemy who came to overwhelm him; but no one would repair to his colours, and he was obliged to shut himself up in his capital with his usual guard and the few subjects on whose fidelity he thought he could depend.

But if virtue, pursued by a superior force, is so often deserted, where are the resources of guilt?

Ispahan is invested, and Balavan, betrayed by his ministers, is delivered up to the Sultan Bensirak, who, turning his eyes from a monster who had dishonoured the throne by the most dreadful crimes, and directing himself to Shaseliman,

"My son," said he, "to you I commit the scourge of your subjects and your father's murderer; dispose of his lot, and give orders for his punishment."

"O my benefactor! O my father! it belongs not to me to dispose of him," replied Shaseliman; "vengeance must come down from above. Let him go to the frontiers to guard that dangerous post with which I was entrusted. If he is innocent, he will be preserved as I have been; but if he is guilty, his decree is pronounced, and nothing can suspend its execution."

The Sultan approved of the decision of Shaseliman, and Balavan set out to make head against the infidels. But divine justice was now prepared to inflict its stroke. He was taken, chained, and thrown into the fatal well, where gnawing remorse and dreadful despair continued to torment him till the moment of his death.

Meanwhile the presumptive heir of the Persian crown, the happy Shaseliman, seated on the throne of his ancestors, received the oaths of his people. He commenced a reign of which the wisdom and piety recalled to the Persians the sublime virtues of the Grand Caliph Moavie. The Sultan of Egypt, after having seen this young Sovereign shine in the splendour of the most distinguished virtues, and having tenderly embraced him, returned to his dominions, and by his presence completed the joy of Chamsada. Nothing afterwards disturbed the repose of this happy pair, and having reached at last the term allotted to human greatness, they fell asleep in that peace which is the portion of faithful Mussulmans.

* * * * *

"Sire," said Aladin to King Bohetzad, after having finished his recital, "see by what secret and wonderful ways Providence delivered Shaseliman from the hands of persecution! See how it led Balavan into the very gulf he had dug for another! No, Allah will never suffer guilt to triumph and innocence to be punished. His vigilance and justice nothing can escape, and sooner or later He will tear asunder the veil with which the wicked are covered. As for me, sire, encouraged by my conscience and convinced that man cannot alter the decrees of my destiny, I am always firm and hopeful. I only fear that your justice will light on your Viziers, my accusers."

At this discourse, equally firm, wise, and modest, the King was left still more irresolute than ever.

"Let the execution of the sentence be suspended," said he; "let this young man be conducted back to prison. The silence of the night, and the reflections which his recital will occasion, may enlighten my judgment, and to-morrow I shall more easily take my resolution."

As soon as Aladin had been led back to his dungeon, one of the Viziers began:

"Sire, your Majesty suffers yourself to be overcome by the magic of this young impostor's discourses. The great Prophet preserve you from yielding to sentiments of mercy in his behalf! When guilt remains unpunished, the splendour of the throne is obscured. You are seated there for no other purpose but to administer justice: the crime of this villain is evident, and his punishment ought to be signal; the most awful should be fixed upon, that it may serve as an example to such."