PREFACE.
 The Romance which forms the staple of this little volume is generally considered as belonging to the Sindibād cycle of tales. It has for ages been popular in the East, though to the average English reader the very name of Prince Bakhtyār is unknown. Many years ago the learned Orientalist Sir W. Ouseley presented his countrymen with an English translation of this romance, but copies of his work have now become extremely scarce. Dr Johnson’s dictum, that the scarcity of a book is evidence of its worthlessness, otherwise copies of it would have been multiplied, is (like not a few of his other tea-table sayings) more specious than true. Many causes, besides that of uselessness, may render a book scarce. A book may be a very good book yet lack interest, excepting for only a few readers; and such was doubtless the case of Sir W. viOuseley’s translation; for, strange to say, considering our vast Asiatic possessions, the cultivation of Oriental literature in this country has hitherto met with little or no encouragement from the English people generally.
But among the more intelligent class of readers there has lately sprung up considerable interest in the curious migrations and transformations of popular tales, the tracing of which from country to country, and from modern to remote times, is not only a fascinating, but a highly instructive pursuit; and the idea occurred to me that a reprint of Sir W. Ouseley’s translation of the Romance of Prince Bakhtyār, together with explanatory and illustrative notes, and—by way of introduction—such particulars as could be ascertained regarding its origin and that of similar Oriental fictions, might now find “readers fit, though few.” My little project has been supported by members of the Royal Asiatic Society and the Folk-Lore Society. I have, moreover, been materially assisted by several eminent scholars: amongst others, by Mr William Platt, to whom I am indebted for the substance of many of the Notes; and by Dr R. Rost, who not only very kindly supplied me with scarce and valuable books and manuscripts from the viiIndia Office Library, but also furnished me with much useful information on Eastern Fiction—a subject upon which he is one of the highest authorities in this country.
Of the present collection of Tales it is remarked by a learned and acute writer that they are, for the most part, well wrought-out, probable, and without anything magical or supernatural. And those readers who do not delight in the extravagant creations of Oriental fancy—enchanted groves and fairy palaces beneath lakes, where carbuncles of immense size supply the place of the sun—will find little in this romance to shock their “common sense.” Nor are there—except one or two expressions in the opening passages—any of those hyperbolical descriptions of female beauty and the puissance of monarchs which are so characteristic of most of the fictions of the East. These Tales are, indeed, singularly free from such extravagancies, and may be considered as well adapted to check the often fatal impetuosity of Eastern monarchs, which was doubtless the purpose of the original author.
The Notes and Illustrations may seem disproportionate in bulk to that of the text. They are, however, designed, not only to explain and illustrate viiiallusions to Oriental manners and customs, but also to supply deficiencies of Sir W. Ouseley’s translation, from a comparison of other Persian texts, and furnish variants of the several tales as they are found in other versions of the Romance. And while it is not impossible that critics whose absurd shibboleth is “originality” may be disposed to consider my little book as “a thing of mere industry, without wit or invention—a very toy,” yet I venture to think that these Notes will prove to most readers not the least interesting part of the work. In the Introduction will be found some curious matter regarding this romance and its congeners which has not before been presented to English readers, the result of much research; for, however defective my share of the work may be, I have spared no pains to render it as complete and accurate as I could: in short, I would fain hope that, as a whole, the volume will be accepted as a humble contribution to the still unwritten History of Fiction; for even Dunlop’s meritorious work can now only be regarded as a large contribution to this “research of olde antiquitie.”
W. A. CLOUSTON.
Glasgow, December, 1882.
INTRODUCTION.
 I—ORIENTAL FICTIONS—THE ARABIAN NIGHTS—THE BOOK OF SINDIBāD.
 
 
he Persians, like all Eastern nations, remarks Sir John Malcolm, “delight in Tales, Fables, and Apothegms; the reason of which appears obvious: for where liberty is unknown, and where power in all its shapes is despotic, knowledge must be veiled to be useful.” The ancient Persians also had their Tales and Romances, the substance of many of which is probably embodied in the celebrated Shāh Nāma, or Book of Kings, of Firdausī. And the fondness of the old pagan Arabs for the same class of compositions seems to have threatened the success of Muhammad’s great mission, to win them back from their vain idolatry to the worship of the ONE God. For an Arabian merchant having brought from Persia the marvellous stories of Rustam, Isfendiar, Feridūn, Zohāk, and other famous heroes, which he recited to the tribe of Kuraysh, they were so delighted with them, that they plainly told Muhammad that they much preferred hearing xivsuch stories to his legends and moral exhortations; upon which the Prophet promulgated some new passages of the Kur`ān (chapter xxx), in which the merchant who had brought the idle tales and all who listened to them were consigned to perdition. This had the desired effect: the converts to Islām rejected Tales and Poetry; and it was not until the brilliant series of Muslim conquests in all parts of the then known world were almost completed that the Arabs began to turn their attention to literature and science, and thus preserved to the world the remains of the learning and philosophy of antiquity, during the long period of intellectual darkness in Europe. And it is remarkable that to a people distinguished for nearly two centuries by their religious bigotry and intolerance, and contempt for every species of literature outside the Kur`ān, Commentaries, and Traditions—that to the descendants of the fanatical destroyers of the library at Alexandria and of the literary treasures of ancient Persia are we indebted for many of the pleasing fictions which have long been popular in Europe. For, while India seems to have been the cradle-land of those folk-tales, yet they came to us chiefly through an Arabian medium: brought to Europe, among other ways by the Saracens who settled in Spain in the eighth century, by crusaders and pilgrims returning from the Holy Land, and also, perhaps, by Venetian merchants trading in the Levant and the Muslim provinces of xvNorthern Africa. However this may be, there can be no doubt that, as Isaac D’Israeli remarks, “tales have wings, whether they come from the East or the North, and they soon become denizens wherever they alight. Thus it has happened, that the tale which charmed the wandering Arab in his tent, or cheered the northern peasant by his winter’s fireside, alike held on its journey towards England and Scotland.”
Many of the Fabliaux of the Trouvères of northern France are evidently of Oriental origin; and their prose imitators, the early Italian Novelists, also drew much of their material—of course indirectly—from similar sources. German folk-tales comprise variants of the ever-charming Arabian story of `Alī Bābā and the Forty Robbers, as in the tale of “The Dumberg,”[1] and of Aladdin (`Alā-`u-`d-Dīn) and the Wonderful Lamp, as in the tale of “The Blue Light.”[2] Norse Tales, too, abound in parallels to stories common to Arabia, Persia, and India. And some of the incidents in one of them, “Big Peter and Little Peter,”[3] apparently find their origin in the Hebrew Talmud. A very considerable proportion of old European humorous stories ascribed to Arlotto, xviTyl Eulenspiegel, Rabelais, Scogin (Andrew Borde), Skelton, Mother Bunch, George Peele, Dick Tarlton, etc., have somehow, and at some time or another, winged their way from the Far East; since they are found, with little modification save local colouring, in very old Indian works. Galland, well-nigh two hundred years ago, pointed out that the story of the fellow in a tavern (according to our version, a blundering Irishman in a coffee-house), who impudently looked over a gentleman’s shoulder while he was writing a letter, came from the East; and a version of it is given in Gladwin’s Persian Moonshee. The prototype of the popular Scottish song, “The Barrin’ o’ the Door,” is an Arabian anecdote. The jest of the Irishman who dreamt that he was invited to drink punch, but awoke before it was prepared, is identical with a Chinese anecdote translated by M. Stanislas Julien in vol. iv of the Journal Asiatique, and bears a close resemblance to one of the Turkish jests ascribed to Khōja Nasru-`d-Dīn Efendī.[4] xviiOf stories of simpletons, such as the one last cited, perhaps the largest and oldest collection extant is contained in a section of that vast storehouse of tales and apologues, aptly entitled, Kathá Sarit Ságara, Ocean of the Rivers of Story, where may be found parallels to the famous—the truly admirable!—exploits of the Wise Men of Gotham, and to a similar class of stories of fools and their follies referred to in Mr Ralston’s Russian Folk-Tales. The story of “The Elves and the Envious Neighbour,” in Mr Mitford’s Tales of Old Japan, is practically identical with a fairy tale of a hunchbacked minstrel in Mr Thoms’ Lays and Legends of France. In the Arabian Nights (Story of Abou Neeut and Abou Neeuteen, vol. vi of Jonathan Scott’s edition) and in the Persian romance of the Seven Faces (Heft Paykar), by xviiiNizāmī, the reader will find parallels to the “Three Crows” in Grimm’s German popular tales. Our favourite nursery story of Whittington and his Cat (also common to the folk-tales of Scandinavia and Russia, Italy and Spain) is related by the Persian historian Wasāf in his “Events of Ages and Fates of Cities,” written A.H. 699 (A.D. 1299). The original of the Goose that laid Eggs of Gold is a legend in the great Indian epic, Mahábharata, and variants exist in other Hindū works; but this may be a “primitive myth,” common to the whole Aryan race. Largely, indeed, are popular European tales indebted to Eastern sources.
For several centuries previous to the publication of the first professed translation of a work of Eastern fiction into a European language, there existed two celebrated collections of Tales, written in Latin, mainly derived from Oriental sources, to which may be traced many of the popular fictions of Europe; these are, the Clericali Disciplina of Peter Alfonsus, a Spanish Jew, who was baptized in the twelfth century; and the Gesta Romanorum, the authorship of which is doubtful, but it is believed to have been composed in the 14th century. The latter work greatly influenced the compositions of the early Italian Novelists, and its effect on English Poetry is at least equally marked. It furnished to Gower and Chaucer their history of Constance; to Shakspeare his King Lear, and his Merchant of Venice, which is an xixEastern story; to Parnell the subject of his Hermit—primarily a Talmudic legend, afterwards adopted in the Kur’ān. The Clericali Disciplina, professedly a compilation from Eastern sources, contains a number of stories of undoubted Indian origin, which Alfonsus must have obtained through an Arabian medium in Spain, however they may have come thither. These fictions of Oriental birth were, of course, filtered through the clerical mind of medi?val Europe, and in the process they lost all their native flavour. But on the publication of Galland’s Les Mille et Une Nuits, the Thousand and One Nights, in the beginning of last century, garbled and Frenchified as was his translation, the richness of the Eastern fancy, as exhibited in these pleasing fictions, was at once recognised, and, as the learned Baron de Sacy has remarked, in the course of a few years this work filled Europe with its fame. And its success has continued to increase, so that there is perhaps no work of fiction, whether native or exotic, which is at the present day so universally popular throughout Europe: it is at once the delight of the school-boy and the recreation of the sage. Shortly after its appearance in a French dress, Addison introduced it to English readers in the Spectator, where he presented a translation—or adaptation—of the now famous story of Alnaschar (according to Galland’s French transliteration of the name) and his basket of brittle wares: a story which is not only calculated to xxplease the “rising generation,” but may also instruct “children of larger growth.”
When this work was first published in England it seems to have made its way very rapidly into public favour; and Weber, in his Introduction to the Tales of the East, relates, as follows, a singular instance of the effects they produced soon after their first appearance: “Sir James Stewart, Lord Advocate for Scotland, having one Saturday evening found his daughters employed in reading the volumes, he seized them, with a rebuke for spending the evening before the Sabbath in such worldly amusements; but the grave advocate himself became a prey to the fascination of these tales, being found on the morning of the Sabbath itself employed upon their perusal, from which he had not risen during the whole night!” The popularity of the Arabian Nights is due, no doubt, to the peculiar charm of its descriptions of scenes and incidents which the reader is well aware could only exist and occur in the imagination; but we like to be taken away from our hard, matter-of-fact surroundings—away into a world where, if we cannot ourselves become endowed with supernatural powers, at least we may summon mighty spirits to do our will, to transport us whither we please, to bring us in an instant the choicest fruits from the most distant regions, to construct for us palaces of gold and silver, and precious gems, to supply us with dainties in dishes made of single diamonds and xxirubies. In this very outraging of probability, and even possibility, lies the strange fascination which some of these Tales exercise over the reader’s mind. He surrenders his judgment to the author, and such is the force of the spell, that even when it has been partly removed by closing the book, he will gravely ask himself: “And why may not such things be?” It has been justly observed by Lord Bacon, that, “as the active world is inferior to the rational soul, so Fiction gives to mankind what History denies, and in some measure satisfies the mind with shadows when it cannot enjoy the substance.”
This famous work is, of course, a compilation, and not by a single hand and at one time, or from a particular source, but from a variety of sources. Many of the Tales are found in the oldest Indian collections; probably the witty and humorous are purely Arabian, while the tender and sentimental love-tales are derived from the Persian. The origin of the Arabian Tales has long been (and perhaps needlessly) a vexed question among the learned. Baron De Sacy has stoutly contended with M. Langles and M. Von Hammer, on the questions of whether the work was a mere translation or adaptation of an old Persian collection, entitled the “Thousand Days,” and when and where it was composed. But the general opinion of scholars at the present day is that the work was probably compiled by different hands, in Egypt, about the 15th or 16th centuries, though it xxiiis very probable that many additions were made at a later date, by the insertion of romances, which formed no part of the original collection, as we shall presently see.[5]
A peculiarity of most collections of Eastern fictions is their being enclosed within a frame, so to say, or leading story; as in the Arabian Nights: a plan which appears to have been introduced into Europe by a Latin translation of a romance of Indian origin, known in this country by the title of The Seven Sages, and which was first adopted by Boccaccio in his celebrated Decameron, where it is represented that a party of ladies and gentlemen, during the prevalence of the great plague in Florence, retire for safety to a mansion at some distance from the city, and there amuse themselves by relating stories. And our English poet Chaucer, after the same fashion, in his Canterbury Tales, represents a number of pilgrims, of different classes, as bound for the shrine of Thomas à Becket, and, to alleviate the tediousness xxiiiof the journey, reciting stories of varied character. But although this plan of making a number of stories all subordinate to a leading story was introduced into Europe in the 13th century, when the Latin version of the “Seven Sages” was published, yet in the East it had been in vogue many centuries previously.
The oldest extant collection of Fables and Tales (excepting the Buddhist Birth-Stories, recently made known to English readers by Mr T. W. Rhys Davids’ translation of a portion) is that called in Europe The Fables of Pilpay, or Bidpai, of which the Sanskrit prototype is entitled Panchatantra, or Five Sections, with its abridgment, Hitopadésa, or Friendly Instruction. This work, or one very similar, existed in India and in the Sanskrit language as early at least as the 6th century of our era, when it was translated into Pahlavi, the ancient language of Persia, during the reign of Nushīrvān, surnamed the Just (A.D. 531-579). This Pahlavi version—though no longer extant—escaped the general wreck of Persian literature on the conquest of the country by the Arabs, and was translated, during the reign of the Khalīf Mansur (A.D. 753-774), into Arabic, from which several versions were made in modern Persian, and also translations into Hebrew, Greek, Latin, and most of the European languages. Perhaps no book of mere human composition ever had such a remarkable literary history and enduring popularity. These Fables, although arranged in sections, are sphered one within xxivanother in a rather bewildering manner, yet all are subordinated to a leading story or general frame.[6] It is worthy of note that, while there is no proof that this work, in its present form, existed before the sixth century, yet many, if not all, of the Fables themselves have been discovered in Buddhistic works which were certainly written about or before the commencement of our era. Their translation from the Pali, which the learned Benfey seems to have conclusively proved, and their arrangement in the form in which they exist in Sanskrit, may have been done any time between the first and the sixth centuries.
But there was another Indian work, now apparently lost, formed on the same plan, which, if we may credit El-Mas’ūdī, the Arabian historian, who lived in the tenth century, certainly dates before our era; namely, the Book of Sindibād, of which there have xxvbeen so many translations and imitations in Asiatic and European languages, and to which the Persian romance reproduced in the present volume is considered to bear some relation. El-Mas’ūdi, in his famous historical work, “Meadows of Gold and Mines of Gems,” states very plainly that “in the reign of Khūrūsh (Cyrus) lived Es-Sondbād, who was the author of the Book of the Seven Viziers, the Teacher, the Boy, and the Wife of the King.” According to another Arabian writer, Sindibād was an Indian philosopher who lived about a hundred years B.C. El-Mas’ūdī does not mention the version through which the work was known in his time, but it was probably either in Arabic or Persian. The oldest version known to exist is in Hebrew, and is entitled Mishlī Sindabar, Parables of Sindabar; the change of the name from Sindibād to Sindibar, Deslongchamps conjectures to be a mistake of the copyist, the Hebrew letters D and R being very similar in form. This Hebrew version has been proved to date as far back as the end of the twelfth century. Under the title of Historia Septem Sapientum Rom?, a Latin translation was made—from the Hebrew, it is supposed—by Dam Jehans, a monk of the abbey of Haute Selve, in the diocese of Nancy, early in the 13th century. A Greek version, entitled Syntipas, the date of which is not known, was made by a Christian named Andreopulus, who states in his prologue that he translated it xxvifrom the Syriac. Notwithstanding this very distinct statement, several learned scholars—Senglemann, among others—have contended that the Syntipas was made from the Hebrew version; of late years, however, a unique but unfortunately mutilated manuscript of the Syriac version, transcribed about the year 1560, was discovered by R?diger, and reproduced in his Syriac Chrestomathie, in 1868; and a year later Baethgens published, at Leipsic, this text, together with a German translation, under the title of Sindban, oder die Sieben wiesen Meister, from which it appears certain that the Greek version of Andreopulus was made from the Syriac, the order of the stories being the same in both. Besides the Hebrew and Syriac versions of the Book of Sindibād, there exist translations or adaptations in at least two other Oriental languages, the Arabic and the Persian. The Arabian version (to which perhaps El-Mas’ūdī alluded in his mention of the work, as above) now forms one of the romances comprised in the Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night (the “Arabian Nights’ Entertainments”), under the title of “The Story of the King, his Son, his Concubine, and his Seven Viziers;” and an English translation of it was published, in 1800, by Dr Jonathan Scott, in his Tales, Anecdotes, and Letters, from the Arabic and Persian.[7] Two xxviipoetical versions have been composed in Persian; one of which, entitled Sindibād Nama,[8] by Azraki, who died, at Herat, A.H. 527 (A.D. 1132-3), is mentioned by Daulet-Shāh, in his life of Azraki, in these terms: “And they say the Book of Sindibād, on precepts of practical philosophy, is one of his compositions.”[9] The other Persian version is known in Europe, I believe, only through Professor Forbes Falconer’s excellent analysis[10] of a unique manuscript, entitled Sindibād Nāma, composed A.H. 776 (A.D. 1374).
It was through the Latin version, Historia Septem Sapientum Rom?, that this very remarkable work was communicated to nearly all the languages of Western Europe; Herbers, or Hebers, an ecclesiastic of the 13th century, made a translation, or rather xxviiiimitation, of it in French verse, under the title of Dolopatos. Many imitations in French prose subsequently appeared, and from one of these the work was rendered into English, under the title of The Sevyn Sages, and The Seven Wise Masters, one of which is among the reprints for the Percy Society, and of the other Ellis gives an analysis, with specimens in his Early English Metrical Romances. In 1516 an Italian version, entitled “The History of Prince Erastus,” was published, which was afterwards translated into French.
In all these works, a young prince is falsely accused by his step-mother of having attempted to violate her, and the King, his father, condemns him to death, but is induced to defer the execution of the sentence from day to day, during seven days, by one of his seven counsellors, viziers, or wise men, relating to the King one or more stories, designed to caution him against the wicked wiles of women; while the Queen, every night, urges the King to put his son to death, and, in her turn, tells him a story, intended to show that men are faithless and treacherous, and that fathers must not expect gratitude or consideration from their sons. In the sequel, the innocence of the Prince is established, and the wicked step-mother is duly punished for her gross iniquity. This is the leading story of most of the romances which have been derived, or imitated, from the Book of Sindibād; but the subordinate Tales vary materially in the several translations or versions.
xxixDunlop, in his History of Fiction, remarks that “the leading incident of a disappointed woman accusing the object of her passion is as old as the story of Joseph, and may thence be traced through the fables of mythology to the Italian novelists.” But surely there was nothing so very peculiar in the conduct of Zulaykha (as Muslims name the wife of Potiphar)—nothing very different from human (or woman) nature in general, that should lead us to conclude, with Dunlop, that all the numerous stories based upon a similar incident had their common origin in the celebrated tale of Joseph and Potiphar’s wife. We have no reason to suppose a Hebrew origin for the well-known classical legend of Ph?dra, who was enamoured of Hippolytus, and, unable to suppress her passion, made overtures to him, which were disdainfully rejected; upon which Ph?dra accused Hippolytus to her husband Theseus of attempting to dishonour her. And although the work ascribed to the Indian sage Sindibād now appears to be lost, yet this “leading incident” of works of the Sindibād-cycle forms the subject of several Indian romances, one of which is a story in verse of a Prince named Sárangdhara, whose step-mother Chitrángí falls in love with him. He rejects her advances, on which she accuses him to the King of attempting to violate her, and the King orders him to have his feet cut off and to be exposed to wild beasts in the forest. The innocence of the Prince is afterwards proved, and the wicked Queen is put to death.
xxxThere is yet another work usually considered as belonging to the Sindibād class of romances, namely, the Turkish Tales of the Forty Viziers, which is said to have been composed, during the reign of Sultān Murād II, in 1421, after an Arabian romance entitled “Tales of the Forty Mornings and Forty Evenings,” composed by Shaikh Zāda. But the author of this work, as M. Deslongchamps has justly remarked, has borrowed little from the Book of Sindibād besides the frame. The tales—which are eighty in number, forty of which are told by the Viziers, and forty by the Queen—are quite different from, yet no whit inferior to, those of any version of the King and his Seven Counsellors. M. Petit de Lacroix, last century, made a French translation of this work as far as the story of the Tenth Vizier, which was soon afterwards rendered into English, but divested of much of the Oriental costume and colour. In 1851 Behrnauer issued a German rendering of the Turkish text. And it may interest some readers to know that Mr E. J. W. Gibb—whose recently published translations of Ottoman Poems, with Introduction, Biographical Notices, and Notes, have received the approbation of competent judges—is at present engaged on a complete English translation of this highly entertaining romance.
xxxi
II—THE BAKHTYāR NāMA AND ITS VERSIONS.
 
 
aving in the preceding section glanced at the various works of fiction in different languages which have been derived or imitated from the Book of Sindibād, let us now proceed to examine the degree of relationship which the Bakhtyār Nāma bears to the same work. The learned writer of an able and interesting analysis, in the Asiatic Journal, vol. xxx, 1839, of two different manuscripts of the Thousand and One Nights, preserved in the British Museum, has fallen into a singular mistake when he says: “It is curious enough that in each of the two MSS. a tale is interpolated on the plan of the Bakhtyār Nāma. A King wishes to destroy his son, and his Viziers relate stories to prove the malice of women, alternately with the King’s concubine, who has falsely accused the young man, and who tells stories of the subtlety of men.” This is the frame of the Sindibād Nāma, not that of the Bakhtyār Nāma, since in the former the Viziers are the defenders of the innocent, and relate stories on his behalf; while the case is precisely reversed in the Bakhytār Nāma, where the Viziers are the accusers, eager for the death of the innocent young man, and it is the accused youth himself who relates the stories. The only resemblance which the Romance xxxiiof Prince Bakhtyār bears to the leading story of the Book of Sindibād (and its offspring) is the incident of a youth being falsely accused of attempting to violate the Queen, as will be seen from the following outline of the Bakhtyār Story.
A King, flying from his own kingdom, with his Queen, is obliged to abandon in the desert a new-born male infant, close to a well. This infant is discovered by a band of robbers, the chief of whom, struck with his beauty and the richness of his clothes, carries him to his house, adopts him as his own son and gives him an excellent education. At the age of fifteen years the youth accompanies all the banditti on a plundering expedition, in which they attack a caravan, but are defeated, and many of their number, including the adopted son of their chief, are taken prisoners and brought before the King—the father of the youth, who had in the meanwhile recovered his kingdom. The young man’s grace and beauty so win the King’s heart, that he not only pardons the whole company, but takes the youth into his service, changing his name from Khudādād (God-given) to Bakhtyār (Befriended by Fortune). Bakhtyār acquits himself of his new duties so well that the King promotes him to a more important position—that of keeper of the royal treasury, and his own intimate friend and counsellor. These distinguished favours excite the envy of the King’s Ten Viziers, who become eager for some opportunity of bringing the favourite to disgrace and ruin. xxxiiiAnd it so chances, one evening, that Bakhtyār, being muddled with wine, straggles into one of the chambers of the harem, and throws himself upon the royal couch, where he falls asleep. Shortly afterwards, the King enters, and, discovering his favourite in the forbidden part of the palace, his jealousy is aroused, and he orders the attendants to seize the unhappy young man, then sends for the Queen, and accuses her of having introduced Bakhtyār into the harem. The Queen protests that she is entirely innocent of the charge, and at her suggestion the King causes them both to be confined for that night in separate apartments, resolving to investigate the affair in the morning. Next day, the first of the Viziers, waiting on the King, is informed of the supposed violation of the harem by Bakhtyār, upon which the Vizier obtains leave to visit the Queen, and ascertain from her the particulars of the affair. The Queen, on being questioned by the Vizier, denies all knowledge of Bakhtyār’s presence in the King’s chamber (it does not appear, indeed, that she had ever seen him before); but the Vizier assures her that the King would not credit her assertion, and counsels her, if she would save her own life, to accuse Bakhtyār to the King of having presumed to make dishonourable proposals to her, which she had, of course, rejected with indignation. After much persuasion, she at length consents, and accordingly accuses the young man of this capital offence. The King immediately commands Bakhtyār to be brought xxxivbefore him, and after bitterly reproaching him with ingratitude for the many and unprecedented favours which he had bestowed upon him, in the meantime sends him back to prison. On the following day, the second Vizier urges the King to put him to death; and the King causes him to be brought into his presence, and tells him that he must forfeit his life. Bakhtyār, however, in eloquent terms, protests that he is perfectly innocent of the crime of which he is accused, but expresses his submission to the will of Providence, like a certain unlucky merchant, with whom no affair prospered. This arouses the King’s curiosity, and Bakhtyār is permitted to relate the story, after which the King sends him back to prison for that day. Every morning of the eight following days one of the Viziers, in turn, presents himself before the King, and urges that Bakhtyār’s execution should be no longer delayed; but when the youth is brought into the King’s presence, as on the first day, he pleads his own cause so well, and excites the King’s curiosity by reference to some remarkable story, which he is allowed to relate, that his execution is deferred from day to day, until at length the King is reluctantly compelled by the Viziers’ complaints to give orders for the public execution of the young man. It happens, however, that the robber-chief who had found the royal infant at the well, and brought him up, is, with a party of his men, among the crowd assembled round the scaffold, and recognising in Bakhtyār his adopted son, rescues xxxvhim from the guard, and hastens to the palace, where, obtaining audience of the King, the secret of Bakhtyār’s birth is discovered; and the King resigns the throne in favour of his son, and causes the Ten envious Viziers to be put to death.
Such is the frame within which nine different stories are inserted; and although it was doubtless imitated from, it has but a faint likeness to, that of the Book of Sindibād. The work which appears most closely to resemble the Romance of Prince Bakhtyār, in the frame, is a collection of Tales in the Tamul language, entitled, Alakeswara Kathá, in which four ministers of the King of Alakapur are falsely accused of violating the King’s private apartments, and vindicate their innocence, and disarm the King’s wrath, by relating a number of stories.[11]
According to M. Deslongchamps, in his learned and elaborate Essai sur les Fables Indiennes, there exist in Oriental languages three versions of the Bakhtyār Nāma—Persian, Arabic, and Turkī (i.e., Eastern Turkish—Uygur). Of the Persian version it is said there are numerous manuscripts in the great libraries of England and France; and besides the printed text appended to Sir William Ouseley’s English translation, published in 1800, a lithographed text was issued, at Paris, in 1839, probably from a manuscript xxxviin the Royal Library. The Arabian version, under the title of “The History of the Ten Viziers,” forms part of the text of the Thousand and One Nights, in 12 volumes, of which Dr Maximilian Habicht edited vols. 1 to 8, published at uncertain intervals, at Breslau, from 1825 to 1838 inclusive, when the work was stopped by Habicht’s death. In 1842-3 Professor H. L. Fleischer issued the remaining vols., 9 to 12. The same year when Habicht began the publication of his Arabian text he issued a complete German translation, also at Breslau, in 15 small square volumes, under the title of Tausend und Eine Nacht: Arabische Erz?hlungen. Zum erstenmal aus einer Tunesischen Handschrift, erg?nzt und vollst?ndig übersetzt, von Max. Habicht, F. H. Von der Hagen, und Karl Schall.[12] But both the number and the order of the tales of our romance are quite different in the translation and the text: the sixth volume of the latter, which contains the romance, was not published till 1834, or nine years after the first issue of the translation; and it would seem that Habicht, in editing his Tunisian manuscript, compared it with other texts, and made very considerable changes. The romance is found in a dislocated form in a work, published at Paris in 1788, entitled, Nouveaux Contes Arabice, ou Supplement aux Mille et Une Nuits, &c., par M. xxxviil’Abbè * * * In this book (which is of little or no value) the several tales are not placed within the frame, or leading story, which, however, appears in connection with one of them. It is also included in the French Continuation of the Thousand and One Nights, translated by Dom Chavis and edited by M. Cazotte,[13] “but singularly disfigured,” says Deslongchamps, “like the other Oriental Tales published by Cazotte;” in Caussin de Perceval’s excellent edition of the Nights, published, at Paris, in 1806, vol. viii, and in Gauttier’s edition, vol. vi. The learned Swede Gustav Kn?s published, at G?tingen, in 1806, a dissertation on the Romance of Prince Bakhtyār, and the year following the Arabic text, with a Latin translation, under the title of Historia Decem Vizirorum et filii Regis Azād-bacht. He also issued a translation in the Swedish language, at Upsal, in two parts, the second of which appeared in 1814. Of the Turkī version M. Amédée Jaubert has furnished, in the Journal Asiatique, Mars 1827, t. x, an interesting account, together with a translation of one of the stories,[14] from the unique manuscript preserved in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, xxxviiiwhich he describes as very beautifully written, the titles of the several tales and the names of the principal characters being in red ink. Unfortunately the manuscript is imperfect; at present it comprises 294 folia. M. Jaubert remarks that this Turkī version is characterised by “great sobriety of ornament and extreme simplicity of style, and the evident intention on the part of the translator to suppress all that may not have appeared to him sufficiently probable, and all that might justly be taxed with exaggeration.”
There is another Oriental rendering, of which M. Deslongchamps was ignorant, in the language of the Malays, with whom the romance is said to be a great favourite, indeed they have at least two very different versions of its frame, if not of the subordinate stories. In Newbold’s work on Malacca,[15] vol. ii, an outline is given of the leading story, or frame, of one Malay version, which exactly corresponds with that of the Persian original, excepting that for āzād-bakht we find Zād-bokhtin, and that the minister’s daughter, who is carried to the city by the King and in our version is nameless, is called Mahrwat. I am indebted to the courtesy of the learned Dr R. Rost, Librarian to the India Office, for the following particulars regarding two other Malay versions, from Van den Berg’s account of Malay, Arabic, Javanese and other MSS., published at xxxixBatavia, 1877. One of these (p. 21, No. 132) is entitled “The History of Ghulām, son of Zād-bokhtān, King of Adān, in Persia,” and the frame agrees with that of our version, as already sketched in the present section, excepting that the robber-chief who had brought up Ghulām (our Bakhtyār),[16] “learning that he had become a person of consequence,” says Van den Berg, “came to his residence to visit him, but finding him imprisoned, he was much concerned, and asked the King’s pardon on his behalf, telling him at the same time how he had formerly found Ghulām in the jungle; from which the King knew that Ghulām was his son,” and so on. The other version (p. 32, No. 179), though similar in title to the Persian original, “History of Prince Bakhtyār,” differs very considerably in the frame, which is thus analysed by Van den Berg: “This Prince, when his father was put to flight by a younger brother, who wished to dethrone him, was born in a jungle and abandoned by his parents. A merchant, Idrīs (Enoch), took charge of him and xlbrought him up. Later on he became one of the officers of state with his own father, who had in the meanwhile found another kingdom, and decided with fairness the cases laid before him. He was, however, put in prison, on account of a supposed attempt upon the King’s life, and he would have been put to death had he not stayed the execution by telling various beautiful stories. Even the King came repeatedly to listen to him. At one of these visits Bakhtyār’s foster-father Idrīs was likewise present, who related to his adopted son how he had found him in the jungle. The King, on hearing this, now perceived that it was his son who had been brought up by Idrīs, recognised Bakhtyār as such, and made over to him his kingdom.”
So far as I am aware, there are but two translations of the Persian version in European languages; one in English, by Sir William Ouseley,[17] which is reproduced in the present volume; the other in French, by M. Lescallier.[18] In his Preface, Sir William Ouseley states that he selected for translation a text composed in the least ornate style, and he seems to have contented xlihimself with a rather free rendering (see prefatory remarks, Notes and Illustrations, page 121 of the present work). M. Lescallier takes care to inform his reader that he adopted another plan: picking out passages from two different manuscripts, and amalgamating his selections into a work which, it is safe to say, does not find its original in any single Persian text extant: his object, indeed, seems to have been to present an entertaining romance to French readers, rather than to produce a translation of any particular Persian original; and it must be admitted that many of the lengthy conversations which occur in his volume are quite as well omitted by Ouseley.
The name of the author of this romance and the precise time when it was composed are not known. Ouseley states that none of the manuscripts of the work which he had seen appeared to be much older than the end of the 17th century. But we are now able to place the date of its composition at least three centuries earlier, since the manuscript of the Turkī version, already referred to, bears to have been transcribed A.H. 838, or A.D. 1434; and it is not unlikely that the translation was made several years before that date. And as well-known or popular works are usually selected for translation, we may reasonably conclude that the Persian Romance of Prince Bakhtyār was composed not later than the end of the 14th century. That it is posterior to the end of the 13th century might be supposed from the circumstance xliithat the author in two instances[19] employs maxims which are found in the writings of the great Persian poet Sa`dī, if we were sure that these maxims are really Sa`dī’s own.[20] It has struck me as rather singular that I can recognise only two of the nine stories which xliiiBakhtyār relates as existing in another Eastern work, namely, the Tūtī Nāma, or Tales of a Parrot, of Nakshabī. This work, according to Pertsch, was written in A.D. 1330, and was preceded by another Persian book on the same subject, by an unknown writer, which was based on an older Sanskrit book (now lost), of which the Suka Saptati, or Seventy Tales of a Parrot, is only an abstract. Nakshabī’s work (adds Pertsch), copies of which are rare, has been greatly superseded by Kāderī’s abridgment, which was written in India, probably about the middle of the 17th century.[21] The “Story of the King of Abyssinia” (pp. xliv74-85 of the present work) is identical with the story told by the Parrot on the 50th Night in the Tūtī Nāma of Nakshabī (India Office MS. 2573), where it bears the title of “Story of the Daughter of the Kaisar of Rūm, and her trouble by reason of her Son;” and the “Story of the King of Abyssinia” (pp. 62-72) corresponds with the 51st Night, “Story of the Daughter of the Vizier Khāssa, and how she found safety through the blessing of her own purity” (for King Dādīn, and his Viziers Kāmkār and Kārdār of our story, Nakshabī has King Bahrām, and the Viziers Khāssa and Khalāssa). Here the question naturally suggests itself: did Nakshabī take these two stories from the Bakhtyār Nāma, or did the author of the latter borrow them from Nakshabī? It is at least a rather curious coincidence that in the Persian romance of the “Four Dervishes” (Chehār Darvīsh), ascribed to Amīr Khusrū (about A.D. 1300), a work which is best known by its Hindustanī version, Bāgh o Bāhar, or Garden and Spring, occur the names of three of the persons who figure in the Bakhtyār romance: the King, as in our work, is called āzādbakht, his son Bakhtyār, and Bihzād is the name of a third.
Lescallier, in the Preface to his translation, makes a very extraordinary statement: he says that although xlvnothing is known regarding the authorship and date of the romance, yet the work appears to be very ancient; and remarks that there is nothing found in the book to announce the institution of Muhammadanism—the invocation of the Deity and salutation of the Prophet, at the opening of the work, he thought likely to be an interpolation of the copyists. Now the fact is, that even in his own translation allusions to the rites of Islām, if they are not of frequent occurrence, are yet sufficiently numerous to prove beyond question that the Bakhtyār Nāma, as it exists at present in Persian, has been written, or modified, by a Muslim. To cite a few instances: At page 17 of Lescallier’s volume, we find the King, when he had abandoned his child in the desert, represented as comparing his condition to that of Jacob the Hebrew patriarch when he believed that his son Joseph was dead. M. Lescallier could never suppose that the romance was written either by a Jew or a Christian; therefore this passage clearly came from a Muslim pen. At page 27 mention is made of the “hour of mid-day prayer,” one of the five times of obligatory prayer prescribed to Muslims. At page 94 (p. 52 of the present volume) the two sons of Abū Saber are represented as having said to the merchant who purchased them of the robbers: “We are free-born and Mussulmans.” At page 140 (p. 70 of this work) the cameleer and the lady reach the city “at the hour of evening prayer.” Nevertheless M. Lescallier could not find anything in xlvithe work “qui annonce l’établissement du Mahométisme!”
Since the Arabian version of the Romance of the Ten Viziers given in the French Continuation of the Thousand and One Nights, translated, as already stated, by Dom Chavis and edited by M. Cazotte, is not mentioned by M. Lescallier, we must conclude, either that he did not know of it, or that he deemed it beneath his notice. Dom Chavis and M. Cazotte have, in truth, received rather hard treatment at the hands of their critics. Dr Jonathan Scott, amongst others, must gird at Cazotte, though without the shadow of reason. In his edition of the Arabian Nights, published in 1811,[22] Appendix to vol. vi, referring to the English translation of the “Continuation” (see foot-note, page xxxvii), he says that “the twelve first stories in the third volume had undoubtedly an Oriental foundation: they exist, among many others, in a Persian manuscript, lately in my possession, entitled Jamī’u-’l-Hikāyāt, or a Collection of Narratives. Sir William Ouseley has published a xlviiliberal[23] translation of them, with the Persian text, by reading which the liberties M. Cazotte has taken in the tale of ‘Bohetzād and his Ten Viziers’ may be fairly seen, and a reasonable conjecture formed of his amplification of all others. Sir William Ouseley’s hero is named Bakht-yār, i.e., Befriended by Destiny, as in my manuscript, in that of M. Cazotte it is probably Bakht-zād, i.e., Born under a Fortunate Planet.” In this last sentence Scott has strangely blundered: the hero of the Persian Tale is certainly called Bakhtyār, but in Cazotte’s version it is the King who is called Bohetzād (or Bakht-zād), and the hero, Aladdin. From these strictures of his it is very obvious that he was not aware of the existence of an Arabian version of this romance. According to Lowndes’ Bibliographer’s Manual, “a valuable edition of the Arabian Nights was published, in 1798, by Richard Gough, considerably enlarged, from the Paris edition, with notes of illustration, and a preface, in which the supplementary tales published by Dom Chavis are proved to be a palpable forgery.” Gough’s name has not come down to us in connection with the Arabian Nights—except through Lowndes, where it is but a xlviiiname. And Habicht’s Arabian text has very conclusively disproved all Gough’s absurd “proofs;” and, what is more, a comparison of the Romance as given by M. Cazotte with Habicht’s text will not only show that in both are the Tales of the same number and placed in the same order, but the incidents are almost invariably identical. The following is a comparative table of the order of the Tales in the “History of the Ten Viziers,” as they are found in Habicht’s Arabian text, Cazotte, Caussin de Perceval, the German translation, and the Persian version—of the last the order and number of the tales are alike in Ouseley, Lescallier, and the lithographed text:
Habicht’s Arabian Text.	Cazotte’s Translation.	C. de Perceval.	German Translation.	Persian Texts.
1	Introductory Story (King āzādbakht)	1	1	1	1
2	History of the Merchant pursued by Ill-Fortune	2	4	2	2
3	History of the Jewel Merchant	3	8	8	8
4	History of Abū Saber	4	7	4	4
5	History of Prince Bihzād	5	3	3	3
6	History of King Dādbīn and his Two Viziers	6	10	6	6
7	History of Bakhtzamān	7	6	 	 
8	History of King Bīhkard	8	5	5	5
9	History of īlan Shāh and Abū Temām	9	[24]	9	9
10	History of King Ibrahīm and his Son	10	9	 	10
11	History of Sulaymān Shāh, his Sons, his Niece, and their Children	11	2	7	7
It will be observed from this table that in Habicht’s xlixArabian text, in Cazotte, and C. de Perceval there are eleven stories, including the Introductory Tale, which forms part of the frame; and this arrangement is more in accordance with what was evidently the original plan of the romance than is our Persian version, in which there is no story to counteract the arguments employed by the First Vizier against Bakhtyār. In all other romances of the Sindibād cycle, where the sages, or counsellors, relate stories in behalf of the accused, the narrators appear in regular succession, from the first to the seventh (or, in the case of the Forty Viziers, from the first to the fortieth); and there can be little doubt, I think, that in the original Persian romance—probably no longer extant—the First Vizier, as in the Arabian version, was represented as appearing before the King on the first day after Bakhtyār was committed to prison, urging his immediate execution, and the youth, on being brought into the King’s presence, as relating one of the tales included in Habicht’s text, but omitted in our present version. On the Eleventh Day in Cazotte (reckoning the day of our hero’s unhappy adventure as one) the young man relates two stories, that of “Sulaymān Shāh and his Family,” which exactly agrees with Habicht’s text; and a rather pointless story, entitled “The King of Haram and his Slave,” which is probably identical with the eleventh tale in C. de Perceval, entitled “The Freed Slave,” which takes the place of the story of Abū Temām, omitted. The titles of the several stories as given in lthe above table are those in Habicht’s text. No. 3 in Cazotte is entitled “Ilage Mahomet and his Sons.” No. 8 is “Baharkan, or the Intemperate (i.e., hasty-tempered) Man”—our “King of Yemen” and in the German translation “The Prince of Zanzībār.” No. 10 is in Cazotte also “Ibrahīm and his Son,” and the incidents are the same in both. No. 7, “The History of Bakht-zamān,” also in Cazotte and C. de Perceval, but omitted in the Persian version, treats of the vain attempts of a man to succeed in war or peace without God’s help—utterly vain, unless prayers are offered up for His assistance. No. 11 (our “King of Abyssinia”) has the same title in Cazotte, and in both the story is very differently told from the Persian narrative; it is, however, an excellent tale, and I regret that I have not space here for an analysis of it. In the German translation our tenth story (“King of Persia”) is omitted, although it is found in the Arabian text.
To conclude: I am disposed to believe that the Turkī translation was made from the Arabic, because the story of “King Dādīn and his Two Viziers,” given in pages 189-194, corresponds with Habicht’s text and with Cazotte’s translation, but varies materially from the Persian text, in which the cameleer, who discovers the pious daughter of the murdered Vizier, is represented as being in the service of King Dādīn, who, when informed of the lady’s wonderful sanctity, visits her at the cameleer’s house and becomes reconciled to her; while in the Turkī version, in Habicht’s text, and in liCazotte (who probably knew nothing of the Turkī translation) the cameleer is in the service of the King of Persia, who visits the maiden, marries her, and punishes King Dādīn and the wicked Vizier. If, then, the Turkī version, which dates as far back as A.D. 1434, was made from the Arabic, and if the latter was translated, or adapted, from the Persian, it is not unlikely that the History of the Ten Viziers in its Arabian dress existed some time before the Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night was composed in its present form; and therefore the Persian version may be, as Lescallier conjectured, “very ancient.” And since we have discovered that two of the stories exist in a work which is of Sanskrit origin (see pp. xliii and xliv—and in line 6 of the latter for “King of Abyssinia” read “King Dādīn,”), we may go a step farther, and suppose the other stories in the Romance of Bakhtyār to have been also derived from Indian sources.
CHAPTER I.
 HISTORY OF KING āZāDBAKHT AND THE VIZIER’S DAUGHTER.
 
 
hus it is recorded by the authors of remarkable histories, and the narrators of delightful tales, that there was once in the country of Sīstān, a certain King, possessing a crown and a throne, whose name was āzādbakht; and he had a Vizier entitled Sipahsālār, a person of such bravery and skill that the moon concealed herself among the clouds from fear of his scimitar. This Vizier had a daughter endowed with such exquisite beauty that the rose of the garden and the moon of the heavenly spheres were confounded at the superior lustre of her cheeks. Sipahsālār loved this daughter with excessive fondness, so that he could scarcely exist an hour without her. Having gone on 4an expedition to inspect the state of the country, it happened that he found himself under a necessity of passing some time from home. He immediately despatched confidential persons with orders to bring his daughter to him from the capital. These persons, having arrived at the Vizier’s palace, paid their obeisance to the damsel, who ordered her attendants to prepare for the journey to her father. The horses were instantly caparisoned, and a litter provided with magnificence suitable to a princely traveller. The damsel, seated in this, commenced her journey, and went forth from the city.
It happened that the King, who had gone on a hunting-party, was at that moment returning from the chase. He beheld the litter with its ornaments and splendid decorations; and, whilst he gazed, it was borne quite out of the town. He sent to inquire about it; and the attendants said that it belonged to the daughter of Sipahsālār, who was going to her father. When the King’s servants returned and reported to him this intelligence, he rode up to the litter that he might send his compliments to Sipahsālār. On his approach the attendants alighted from their horses, and kissed the ground of respectful obedience. 5The King, having desired that they would bear his salutations to the Vizier, and they having promised punctually to do so, was preparing to turn back, when suddenly, the wind lifting up a corner of the hangings which covered the litter, his eyes were fixed by the fascinating beauty of the damsel; and he who in the chase had sought for game became now the captive prey of this lovely maid, and fell into the snares of love. At length he ordered the attendants to despatch a messenger to the north, where Sipahsālār was, and to inform him that the King would accept his daughter as a wife, hoping that he might not be esteemed an unworthy son-in-law.
When the attendants heard this, they kissed the ground of obedience, saying: “Long be the King’s life!—the sovereign of the earth and of the age, and the ruler of the world! If Sipahsālār could even dream of this honour, he would be supreme in happiness. But, if the King permit, we will proceed with the damsel to her father, and inform him of what has happened, that he may prepare everything necessary for the occasion, and then send her back to the city.” When the servant of the damsel had thus spoken, the King, who was displeased with his discourse, 6exclaimed: “How darest thou presume to counsel or advise me?” He would have punished the servant on the spot, but he feared lest the tender heart of his fair mistress should be distressed thereby. He accordingly remitted the punishment; and taking the reins into his own hands, he conducted the litter back towards the city, which he entered at the time when the shades of evening began to fall.
The next day he assembled the magistrates and chief men; and, having asked the damsel’s consent to the marriage, he caused the necessary ceremonies to be performed. The secretaries were employed in writing letters of congratulation; and Sipahsālār was informed of the insult offered to him during his absence, which caused the tears to flow from his eyes whilst he perused the letters of congratulation. He dissembled, however; and, concealing his vexation, wrote letters to the King, and addressed him in language of the strongest gratitude, declaring himself at a loss for words whereby to express his sense of the honour conferred upon him.
Such was the purport of his letters; but in his mind he cherished hopes of revenge, and day and 7night were employed in devising stratagems by means of which he might obtain it.
After two or three months spent in this manner, Sipahsālār assembled all the chief officers of the army, and informed them that, confiding in their secrecy and fidelity, he would communicate to them an affair of considerable importance. They all assured him of their attachment and regard; and declared that the flourishing state of the empire was the result of his wisdom, prudent management, and bravery. To this Sipahsālār replied: “You all know what actions I have performed, and what troubles I have undergone, to raise the empire to its present state of glory and prosperity: but what has been my recompense? You have seen how the ungrateful monarch carried off my daughter.” Having thus spoken, a shower of tears fell from his eyes; and the chiefs who were assembled about him said: “We have been acquainted with this matter for some time, and it has given us great concern. But now the moment is arrived when we may depose this king.”
Then Sipahsālār threw open the doors of his treasury, and distributed considerable sums of money amongst 8the soldiers; so that in a little time he assembled a multitude of troops, almost innumerable. He then resolved to attack the King, and, with that intention, seized, during the night, upon all the avenues of the city, both on the right hand and on the left.
The King, astonished and alarmed at the tumult, consulted with the Queen, saying: “What can we do in this misfortune? For it is a night to which no morning shall succeed, and a war in which there is not any hope of peace.”—The Queen replied: “Our only remedy for this evil is to fly and seek protection in the dominions of some other prince, and solicit his assistance.”—āzādbakht approved of this counsel, and resolved to seek an asylum from the King of Kirmān, who was renowned for his generosity throughout the world.
In the palace there was a certain door which opened into a subterraneous passage leading towards the desert. The King gave orders that two horses should be instantly saddled; and having put on his armour, and taken from the royal treasury many precious jewels and fastened them in his girdle, he placed the Queen on one of the horses, and mounting the other himself, 9they went forth privately through the door above-mentioned, and directed their course towards the desert.
Now it happened that the Queen had been for nine months in a state of pregnancy; and, after travelling during a whole day and night in the desert, they arrived at the side of a well, whose waters were more bitter than poison, and unpleasant as the revolutions of inconstant Fortune. Here the Queen was affected by the pains of labour; whilst heat and thirst reduced both the King and her to despair: their mouths were parched up for want of water, and they had no hopes of saving their lives; for the sword of the enemy was behind them, and before them the sand of the desert. In this forlorn situation the Queen said: “As it is impossible for me to proceed any farther, I entreat you to save your own life, and find out some place where water may be obtained. Though I must perish here, you may be saved; and a hundred thousand lives such as mine are not in value equal to a single hair of the King’s head.”—āzādbakht replied: “Soul of the world! I can relinquish riches and resign a throne; but it is impossible to abandon my beloved: her who is dearer to me than existence itself.”
10Thus were they engaged in conversation, when suddenly the Queen brought forth a son; in beauty he was lovely as the moon, and from the lustre of his eyes the dreary desert was illumined. The Queen, pressing the infant to her bosom, began to perform the duties of a mother, when the King told her that she must not fix her affections on the child, as it would be impossible to take him with them: “We must, therefore,” added the King, “leave the infant on the brink of this well, and commit him to the providence of the Almighty, whose infinite kindness will save him from destruction.”—They accordingly wrapped up the child in a cloak embroidered with gold and fastened a bracelet of ten large pearls round his shoulders; then, leaving him on the brink of the well, they both proceeded on their journey to Kirmān, whilst their hearts were afflicted with anguish on account of their helpless infant. When they approached the capital of Kirmān, the King of that place was informed of their arrival. He sent his servants to welcome them, and received them with the greatest respect and hospitality; he provided a princely banquet, and assembled all the minstrels, and sent his own son and two attendants to wait on āzādbakht.
11During the feast, whilst the musicians were employed in singing and playing, and the guests in drinking, whenever the wine came round to āzādbakht, his eyes were filled with tears. The King of Kirmān, perceiving this, desired him to banish sorrow, and to entertain a hope that Heaven might yet be propitious to him. āzādbakht replied: “O King of the world! how can I be cheerful, whilst thus an exile from my home, and whilst my kingdom and my treasures are in the possession of my enemies?”
The King of Kirmān then inquired into the particulars of āzādbakht’s misfortunes, which he related from beginning to end. The heart of the King of Kirmān was moved with compassion; and during that whole day he endeavoured, by every sort of amusement, to divert the mind of his guest from dwelling on the past misfortunes. The next day he ordered a powerful army to be led forth, and placed it under the command of āzādbakht, who marched immediately towards the capital of his own dominions. On the King’s approach, Sipahsālār, who had usurped his authority, fled in confusion, and all the troops, the peasants, and other inhabitants paid homage to āzādbakht, and entreated his forgiveness. He pardoned 12them; and again ascending the royal throne, governed his people with justice and generosity; and having liberally rewarded the King of Kirmān’s soldiers, he sent them back with many rare and valuable presents for that monarch.
After these transactions, āzādbakht and his Queen passed their time in a state of tranquillity, interrupted only by the remembrance of the child whom they had left in the desert, and whom, they were persuaded, wild beasts must have devoured the same hour in which they abandoned him: but they little knew the kindness which Providence had shown him.
It happened that the desert in which they had left the infant was frequented by a gang of robbers, the chief of whom was named Farrukhsuwār; and very soon after the King and Queen had departed, these robbers came to the well; there they discovered a beautiful infant crying bitterly. Farrukhsuwār alighted from his horse and took up the child; and his extraordinary beauty induced them to believe him the son of some prince or illustrious personage. In this opinion they were confirmed by the ten valuable pearls which were fastened on his shoulders. As 13Farrukhsuwār had not any child, he resolved to adopt this infant as his own, and accordingly bestowed on him the name of Khudādād; and having taken him to his home, committed him to the care of a nurse. When he was of a proper age, Farrukhsuwār instructed him in all necessary accomplishments, and in horsemanship and the use of arms, which rendered him, with his natural bravery, when fifteen years of age, able to fight, alone, five hundred men. Farrukhsuwār loved this youth with such affection that he could not exist one moment without him, and took him along with him wheresoever he went. Whenever it happened that the robbers were proceeding to attack a caravan, Khudādād, who felt compassion for the merchants and travellers, and at all times disliked the profession of a robber, requested that Farrukhsuwār might dispense with his attendance, and leave him to guard the castle. Farrukhsuwār consented that he should not join in attacking the caravan; but entreated him to accompany the robbers to the scene of action. It happened, however, one day, that they attacked a caravan consisting of superior numbers, and of such brave men that they fought against the robbers with success, and took several of them prisoners. In this action Farrukhsuwār received a wound, 14and was near falling into the hands of his enemies, when Khudādād, mounting his charger, galloped into the midst of the battle, and put many of them to death.
But it was so ordained that he should fall from his horse; in consequence of which, he was taken prisoner, and with many of the robbers, led in chains to the capital.
The chief of the caravan having brought them all before the tribunal of āzādbakht, the King’s eyes were no sooner fixed upon the countenance of Khudādād, than paternal affection began to stir his heart: he wept, and said: “Alas! if the infant whom I abandoned in the desert were now alive, he would probably appear such a youth as this!” He continued to gaze involuntarily upon him, and, desiring him to approach, inquired his name, and said: “Art thou not ashamed to have abused the favours of Heaven, which has endowed thee with so much beauty and strength, by plundering travellers, and seizing on the property to which thou hadst not any right?”—Khudādād, with tears, replied: “The Lord knows my innocence, and that I have never partaken of the plunder.”—āzādbakht 15then granted him a free pardon, and took him into his service, desiring that his chains might be taken off; he also put on him his own robe, and said: “I now give you the name of Bakhtyār; from this time forth Fortune shall be your friend.”[25] The King then dismissed the other robbers; to whom, on condition that they would never again commit any depredations, he granted not only their lives, but a pension, by which he engaged them in his service.
After this Bakhtyār continued day and night in attendance on the King, whose affection for him hourly increased. To his care were entrusted the royal stables, which he superintended with such skill and good management that in a few months the horses became fat and sleek; and the King, one day remarking their improved condition, understood that it was the result of Bakhtyār’s care and attention, and conceiving that a person who evinced such abilities was capable of managing more important matters, he sent for Bakhtyār, at his return to the palace, and ordered that the keys of the treasury should be presented to him, and thus constituted him keeper of the treasures. Bakhtyār, 16having kissed the ground, was invested with a splendid robe of honour. He discharged the duties of his high station with such fidelity and attention that he every day increased in favour with the King, and at length was consulted on every measure, and entrusted with every secret of his royal master. If on any day it happened that Bakhtyār absented himself from the palace, on that day the King would not give audience to any person: and the advice of Bakhtyār was followed on every occasion of importance. In short, he was next in power to the King, and his conduct was discreet and skilful.
But there were Ten Viziers, who became envious of his exaltation, and conspired against him, resolving to devise some stratagem whereby they might deprive him of the King’s esteem, and effect his degradation.
It happened one day that Bakhtyār, having indulged in the pleasures of wine beyond the bounds of moderation, lost the power of his reason, and continued in a state of sleepy intoxication until night came on and the world became dark; the porters fastened the gates, and the sentinels repaired to their respective stations. Bakhtyār, after some time, came forth from the treasury, 17but knew not whither he went, so completely had the wine deprived him of recollection: he wandered on, however, until he found himself in one of the King’s private apartments, where he saw tapers burning, a couch with pillows and cushions, a splendid throne, or seat, and various embroidered robes and silken coverings. This was the apartment in which the King used to sleep. Here, from excessive intoxication, Bakhtyār flung himself upon the throne: after a little while the King entered, and discovering the unfortunate young man, inquired, with violent anger, his business in that place. Bakhtyār, roused by the noise, threw himself from the throne, and crept beneath it, where again he fell asleep.
The King, having called some attendants, ordered them to seize him, and, drawing his sword, hastened to the Queen, of whom he asked how Bakhtyār found admittance to the private apartments of the palace; and added, that he could not have come there without her knowledge. The Queen, shocked at such an imputation, declared herself ignorant of the whole transaction but desired the King, if he still entertained any suspicions, to confine her that night, and inquire into the matter on the next morning, when 18her innocence would appear, and the guilty might be punished. The King accordingly ordered her to be confined, and suspended the execution of vengeance during that night.
When morning came, being seated on the royal throne, he gave audience to his ten Viziers. The first of these, having paid his respects to the King, inquired into the transactions of the preceding night, and was informed of all that had occurred. The enmity which this Vizier had long cherished in his heart against Bakhtyār induced him to conceive that a fair opportunity now offered of destroying that unfortunate young man; and he said within himself: “Though he may have a thousand lives, he shall not be able to save one of them.” He then addressed the King, and said: “How could a person bred up in the desert, and by profession a robber and assassin, be fit for the service of a King? I well knew that his wickedness would appear, but durst not say so; now, however, that it is manifest, let the King ordain for him such a punishment as may be a lesson to all the world.”—The King gave orders that Bakhtyār should be brought before him. “Ungrateful wretch!” said he, “I forgave your offences; I spared your life; I raised you to dignities 19almost equal to my own; and you requite these favours by treason and perfidy: you have entered into the recesses of my harem, and have presumed to occupy my place.”—Bakhtyār on hearing this began to weep; declared himself ignorant of all those transactions, and that if he had been found in the royal apartments, he must have wandered there unconsciously.
The first Vizier solicited the King’s permission that he might go to the harem, and inquire from the Queen all that she knew concerning this affair. Having obtained permission, he went to the Queen, and told her, that there were various reports on the subject of that young robber Bakhtyār, in which she was implicated; that, as the King was exceedingly enraged against her, the only means whereby she could appease his anger would be to accuse Bakhtyār, and to say,—“O King! thou hast brought hither the son of a robber; thou hast bestowed on him the name of ‘Fortune’s Favourite,’ and hast exalted him to honours; but his baseness has at length appeared: he has presumed to make amorous proposals to me, and has threatened, should I not comply with his licentious desires, to use violence with me, to kill the King, and to seize upon the throne.”
20“This declaration,” said the Vizier to the Queen, “will induce the King to order the immediate execution of Bakhtyār, and you will at the same time reestablish yourself in his good opinion.”—The Queen was astonished, and replied: “How can I, even to save myself, thus destroy the life of an innocent person by a false testimony?”
“The life of Bakhtyār,” said the Vizier, “has long been forfeited to the laws, since he exercised the profession of a robber and a murderer; therefore, any scruples on that subject are vain; and I’ll answer at the day of judgment for your share in this transaction.”
The Queen at last consented to follow the Vizier’s advice; and he returned to the presence of the King, who desired to know the result of his conference with the Queen. The artful Vizier replied: “That which I have heard, I have not the power of relating; but the Queen herself will tell it.” The King, having retired, sent for the Queen, and she repeated to him all that the Vizier had instructed her to say. The King, acknowledging that he was himself to blame, as having bestowed favours on the base-born son of a robber, 21gave orders that heavy irons should be put on the feet of Bakhtyār, and sent him to prison; declaring that in due time he should suffer such a punishment as would strike terror into all men.
In the meantime, Bakhtyār languished in the prison, appealing to God for relief; and the Viziers returned to their homes, devising means whereby they might induce the King to hasten the execution of the young man.
CHAPTER II.
 n the following day the second Vizier came before the King, and, having paid his respects, recommended that Bakhtyār should be no longer kept in prison, but led out to execution. The King approved of this advice, and gave orders that Bakhtyār and the executioner should be brought before him. When they were come, he addressed the young man, and told him that he had directed the tree of his existence to be rooted out from the soil of his empire. Bakhtyār replied: “Long be the King’s life! Such is my prayer, as I stand here on the eve of departure from this world; yet, as it is every man’s duty to endeavour by honest means to save himself, I appeal to the Almighty, who knows my innocence. But alas! my situation is like that of the Merchant, whom good fortune constantly avoided, and evil fortune incessantly pursued, so that all his exertions ended in disappointment, and all his projects failed of success.”—The 23King desired to hear the story of this ill-fated Merchant, and Bakhtyār, after the usual compliments, began to relate it as follows:
STORY OF THE ILL-FATED MERCHANT, AND HIS ADVENTURES.
 
In the city of Basra there was a certain man, a merchant, who possessed immense riches; but it was decreed that the light of prosperity should be changed into the darkness of misfortune, so that in a short space of time very little of all his wealth remained, and whatsoever commercial projects he tried invariably terminated in loss.
It happened one year, that the price of corn was increased, and the Merchant thought that, by laying out what remained of his money in purchasing some loads of corn and keeping it till the next year, he might profit considerably. He therefore hired a granary, purchased some corn, and laid it by, in expectation that the price would rise.
But corn became more abundant, and consequently 24more cheap, the following season. When the Merchant perceived this, he resolved to keep that which he had in store until the next year, thinking it probable that a barren season might succeed a plentiful one. But it happened that the next year, so much rain fell, that most of the houses were washed away, and the water found its way into the Merchant’s granary, where it spoiled all his corn, and caused it to send forth a smell so intolerable, that the people of the city compelled him to throw it away.
He was confounded by this misfortune; but after some time, finding that he could not derive any profit from idleness or inactivity, he sold his house, and joined a company of merchants, who were setting out on a voyage by sea. With them, he embarked on board a vessel, and after three days and three nights, the world became dark, the tempest arose, the billows rolled: at length the ship was wrecked, and many of the crew perished. The Merchant, with a few others, was saved on a plank, and cast on dry land.
Hungry and naked, he wandered into a desert, when, after advancing some leagues, he discovered a man at a little distance. Delighted to find that the country 25was inhabited, and hoping to be relieved from hunger and thirst, which had now become almost insupportable, he directed his course towards that man, and soon perceived an extensive and populous village, with trees and running streams. At the entrance to this village he stopped. The chief man, or dihkān, of the place was a person of considerable wealth, and of great generosity; he had erected in the outlets of this village, a summer-house, in which he happened to be when the Merchant arrived. As soon as he discovered the stranger, he ordered his servants to bring him into the summer-house. The stranger paid his respects, and was entertained by the dihkān with politeness and hospitality. Having satisfied his hunger and thirst, he related, at the desire of his host, all the circumstances of his past life, and all the misfortunes he had undergone. The story excited compassion in the breast of the generous dihkān, who gave the Merchant a suit of his own clothes, and bade him not despair, for he would keep him with himself until his affairs should be again in a prosperous condition.
After this, the dihkān gave into the Merchant’s charge the account of his property and possessions, 26and said that he would allow him, for his own share, the eleventh part of all the corn. The Merchant, much delighted, was very diligent in superintending the concerns of his employer; and as the harvest proved very abundant, when the corn was gathered in, he found his portion so considerable, that he said within himself: “The dihkān most probably will not consent to allow me such a share; I shall therefore take it and conceal it, until the settlement of accounts, when, if he think proper to bestow so much on me, I shall give back this.” He accordingly took this quantity of the corn, and concealed it in a cavern; but it happened that a thief discovered what he had done, and stole the corn away by night.
When the dihkān inspected the accounts of the harvest, and had made his calculation of the produce, he assigned to the Merchant the eleventh part of the corn. The Merchant returned him thanks, and acknowledged the doubts which he had entertained, and told him how he had set apart a certain portion of the corn, “which,” said he, “I shall now go and cause to be deposited in the granary.” The dihkān sent two of his people with him to the place where he had concealed the corn, but none could be found. They 27were astonished, and bit the finger of amazement. When the dihkān was informed of this circumstance, he became angry, and ordered that the Merchant should be driven forth out of the village.
In melancholy plight, the unlucky Merchant turned his face towards the road which led to the sea-shore. There he chanced to meet six of those persons who gain a livelihood by diving for pearls. They knew him, and inquired into his situation. He related to them all that had happened, and his story so much excited their compassion that they agreed to bestow on him, for the sake of God, whatsoever their next descent to the bottom of the sea should produce. They accordingly, with this charitable intention, plunged all six into the sea, and each brought up from the bottom a pearl of such exquisite beauty that its equal could not be found amongst the treasures of any monarch. The Merchant received from the divers those six precious pearls, and set forward with a joyful heart.
It happened that after some time he fell into company with certain robbers, whom he much feared, and he resolved to save part, at least, of his property, by concealing three of the pearls in his mouth, and the 28other three among his clothes; hoping that, if they should search him, they might be contented with these, and that he might save those concealed within his mouth. He accordingly put three of the pearls among his clothes, and the other three into his mouth, and went on for some time without exciting any suspicion, or attracting the notice of the robbers. But unluckily opening his mouth to address them, the pearls fell on the ground; and when the robbers saw them, they seized the Merchant, and so terrified him with their threats and violence that he became senseless. The robbers, perceiving this, took up the three pearls and went away. After some time the Merchant recovered his senses, and was overjoyed to find that he had still three of the pearls left.
Proceeding on his journey, he arrived by night at a certain city, where he slept; and next morning went to the shop of a jeweller, to whom he offered the pearls for sale. The jeweller, on beholding them, was astonished; for they far exceeded anything he had ever seen: then casting his eyes on the mean and squalid garments of the Merchant, he immediately seized him by the collar, and exclaimed with a loud voice, accusing the unfortunate stranger of having stolen the pearls 29from his shop: a violent struggle and dispute ensued, and at length they both proceeded to the tribunal of the King.
The jeweller was a man of some repute in the city, and that which he said was believed by the inhabitants. He accused the Merchant of having contrived a hole through which he stole away a casket of gold and jewels from his shop, and those three pearls were part of the contents of the casket. The Merchant declared himself innocent; but the King ordered him to deliver the pearls to the jeweller, and he was loaded with chains and thrown into prison.
There he pined in misery and affliction, until after some time those divers who had given him the pearls arrived in that city; and going to visit the prison, that they might benefit by seeing the punishment of vice and wickedness, they distributed some money among those who were confined, and at last discovered the Merchant in a corner, loaded with chains. They were astonished, and inquired into the occasion of his disgrace. He related the whole affair, and they, feeling great indignation on account of the injurious treatment which their friend had suffered, desired him not to 30despair, as they would soon procure him his liberty. They immediately hastened from the prison to the palace. The chief of them was a man whom the King much respected; and when he had related the story of the Merchant, and of the pearls which they had given him, the King became convinced of the jeweller’s guilt, and instantly ordered him to be seized and brought before him, and at the same time that the Merchant should be released from prison. When the jeweller appeared before the King, his confusion and trembling betrayed his guilt. The King asked him why he had thus injured a stranger; but he remained silent; and was then led away to execution. The King caused to be proclaimed throughout the city: “Such is to be the punishment of those who shall injure or do wrong to strangers.”
He directed also, that the property of the jeweller should be transferred to the Merchant. Supposing that a man who had seen so much of the world, both of prosperity and adversity, must be well qualified for the service of a King, he ordered a splendid robe to be given to the Merchant; and desired that he should be purified from the filth of a prison in a warm bath, and appointed him keeper of the treasury.
31The Merchant employed himself diligently in the duties of his station; but there was a vizier who became envious of his good fortune, and resolved to devise some stratagem whereby to effect his ruin.
The King’s daughter had a summer-house adjoining the treasury, and it was her custom to visit this summer-house during six months of the year, once every month. It happened that a mouse had made a hole quite through the wall of the treasury; and one day the Merchant having reason to drive a nail into the wall, it entered into the hole which the mouse had made, and went through and caused a brick to fall out on the road which led to the Princess’s summer-house. The Merchant went immediately and stopped up the hole with clay.
The malicious vizier, having discovered this circumstance, hastened to the King, and informed him that he had seen the Merchant making a hole through the wall of the summer-house, and that, when he had found himself detected, he had, in shame and confusion, stopped it up with clay. The King was astonished at this information: he arose and proceeded to the treasury, where finding the Merchant’s 32hands yet dirty from the clay, he believed what the vizier had told him; and on returning to his palace, ordered his attendants to put out the Merchant’s eyes, and to turn him out at the palace-gate. After this the King went to the summer-house, that he might pay a visit to his daughter; but he found that she had not been there for some time, having gone to amuse herself in the gardens. On proceeding to the treasury, the King discovered the hole, which had evidently been the work of a mouse. From these circumstances he began to suspect the truth of the vizier’s information, and at last being convinced that the Merchant was innocent, he ordered the vizier to be punished. He lamented exceedingly the hard fate of the Merchant, and was much grieved at his own precipitancy; but his condolence and his sorrow were of no avail.
Having related this story, Bakhtyār observed, that the King would have prevented all this distress had he taken some time to inquire into the affair, and entreated a further respite, that he might be enabled to prove his innocence.—The King, being pleased with the recital of this story, complied with Bakhtyār’s request, and ordered him to be taken back to prison for that day.
CHAPTER III.
 n the following morning the third Vizier presented himself before the King, and, having paid his respects, expressed many apprehensions that the indulgence shown to Bakhtyār might prove of dangerous consequences, by encouraging other criminals, and strongly advised his speedy execution. The King, having sent for Bakhtyār, the executioner prepared to blindfold him; but he petitioned for mercy, and said: “The imprisonment of suspected persons is certainly a just measure, as the guilt or innocence of the prisoner will probably be ascertained in the course of time; but if a King will not have patience, but punish without due investigation of the offence, what can result from such precipitancy but affliction and repentance? Thus it happened to a son of the King of Aleppo, whose impatience occasioned the loss of that kingdom, and infinite misery.”
34The King’s curiosity being excited, he desired Bakhtyār to relate the story of the Impatient Prince of Aleppo; and Bakhtyār, having kissed the ground of obedience, thus began:
STORY OF THE IMPATIENT PRINCE OF ALEPPO.
 
The King of Aleppo was an upright and generous monarch, who protected strangers and permitted not any person to oppress or insult another; and he had a son named Bihzād, a young man of excellent genius, polite accomplishments, and many good qualities; but so very impatient, that he would not admit a moment’s delay in the gratification of any desire, whatsoever might be the consequences of his rash haste.
It happened once, that, being seated with several of his companions, he desired one of them to relate his adventures. The young man accordingly began his story in the following words:
“About two years ago, being in possession of considerable wealth, I purchased several beasts of burthen, and, having loaded them with various commodities, I undertook a journey, but on the way was attacked 35by robbers, who plundered me of all my property, and I proceeded with a disconsolate heart until night came on, and I found myself in a place without any vestige of inhabitants. I took shelter beneath a great tree, and had remained there for some time, when I perceived a light, and several persons who passed by with much festivity and mirth. After them came some who held vessels full of burning incense, so very fragrant, that the desert was perfumed by its delightful odour. When they had passed on, a magnificent litter appeared, before which walked several damsels holding torches, scented with ambergris. In this litter was seated a fair one, of such exquisite beauty, that the radiance of her charms far exceeded the light of the torches, and quite dazzled my fascinated eyes.”
When the young man had advanced thus far in his narrative, Bihzād began to show symptoms of impatience, having fallen in love with the lady, though unseen. The young man continued his story, and said:
“The next morning I proceeded on my journey, and arrived at the city of Rūm, the capital and residence of the Kaisar, or Greek Emperor; and having 36made inquiries, I was informed that the beautiful damsel whom I had seen was the Princess Nigārīn, daughter of the Kaisar, who had a villa at a little distance from the city, to which she sometimes went for recreation.”
Here the young man concluded his narrative, and Prince Bihzād immediately arose and hastened to the house of the vizier, and said: “You must go this moment to my father, and tell him that if he is solicitous about my happiness, he will provide me a wife without delay.” The vizier accordingly went to the palace and informed the King of Bihzād’s wishes. The King desired the vizier to assure the Prince that he only waited to find a suitable match for him; but that, if he had fixed his affections on any fair object, he would do everything in his power to obtain her for him.
This being reported to Bihzād, he sent back the vizier with another message to the King, informing him that the object of his choice was the Princess Nigārīn, the lovely daughter of the Kaisar of Rūm, and requesting that ambassadors might be sent to ask her in marriage for him. The King replied to this message, 37and said: “Tell Bihzād that it were in vain for me to send ambassadors on such an errand to the Kaisar: he is the powerful Emperor of Rūm, and I am only a petty sovereign of Aleppo; we are of different religions and of different manners; and there is not any probability that he would comply with our demand.”
The vizier returned to Bihzād, and delivered him this message from his father. The impatient Prince immediately declared that, if the King would not send ambassadors to solicit the Kaisar’s daughter in marriage for him, he would set out on that errand himself.
The King, being informed of his son’s resolution, sent for the Prince, whom he loved with a tender affection, and at last consented that ambassadors should be despatched to Rūm. The Kaisar received with due respect the ambassadors from the King of Aleppo; but when they disclosed the object of their mission, he replied, with great indignation, and informed them, that no one should obtain his daughter without paying the sum of one hundred lacs of dīnars (or pieces of gold); and that whoever should consent to pay that sum might become her husband.
38The ambassadors returned to Aleppo, and related to the King all that the Kaisar had said. “Did I not tell you,” said the King to Bihzād, “that the Greek Emperor would refuse his consent to so unequal a match?”—“He has not refused his consent,” replied Bihzād; “but he requires money, which must be immediately sent.”—The King declared that he could not make up so considerable a sum; but, at Bihzād’s request, having collected all his wealth, he found he possessed thirty lacs. Bihzād then urged him to sell his male and female slaves, and all his household goods. Having done so, he found that they produced twenty lacs.
Then Bihzād advised the King to make up the requisite sum, by compelling his subjects to contribute their money; but the King was not willing to distress his people. However, by the persuasion of Bihzād, he extorted from them an additional sum of twenty lacs. Having thus collected seventy lacs of dīnars, Bihzād proposed that they should be immediately transmitted to the Kaisar of Rūm. Letters were accordingly written, and messengers despatched with the money, who were instructed to say, that the remaining sum of thirty lacs should speedily be sent 39after. When these messengers arrived at Rūm, they presented the letters and gifts to the Kaisar, with the money. He treated the messengers with great respect, accepted the money, and agreed to the proposed conditions; after which they returned to Aleppo, and reported their success. Bihzād then urged his father to collect by any means the thirty lacs of dīnars still deficient, either by a forced loan from the merchants, or by taxing the peasants of the country; but the King advised him to be patient, and wait until they should recover from the effects of the late exactions; and said: “You have already rendered me poor, and now you wish to complete my ruin, and occasion the loss of my kingdom.”
Bihzād desired his father to keep his kingdom, and declared his intention of setting out immediately. The King, much afflicted at the thought of his son’s departure, entreated him to wait one year, that the people might forget the sums they had already paid; but Bihzād would not consent. The King then begged that he would be patient for six months; this also he refused.—“Wait even three months,” said his father.—“I cannot wait three days,” said the impatient youth. On which the King, disgusted with such obstinacy, 40desired his son to go wherever he pleased. Bihzād immediately retired; and, having clothed himself in armour, with two confidential servants set out upon his journey.
It happened that one morning they overtook a caravan, consisting of a hundred camels loaded with valuable commodities, proceeding on the way to Rūm. The chief of this caravan was a man of considerable wealth, with a numerous train of attendants, and he was held in great esteem by the Kaisar. When Bihzād and his two companions espied the caravan, they rushed forward with loud shouts, but were instantly seized, and their hands and feet bound: they were then brought before the chief, who ordered that they should be flung upon a camel. When they arrived at Rūm, the chief took Bihzād to his own house, and kept him confined for three days.
On the third day, having looked attentively at his prisoner, he discovered in his air and manner something that bespoke his princely origin and education. He inquired into the circumstances of his adventure, but Bihzād answered only with tears. The chief then said: “If you tell me the truth of this affair, I will 41set you free; and if you do not, I shall inform the Kaisar of your offence, and he will cause you to be hanged.”
Bihzād, not knowing what else to do, related his whole history to the chief of the caravan, who, moved with compassion, desired him not to despair, for he would lend him the thirty lacs of dīnars, and procure him the Kaisar’s daughter, on condition of his being repaid whenever Bihzād should become king.
To this Bihzād gladly consented; and the chief, having unloosed his fetters, clothed him in royal garments, and dressed his servants also in splendid attire; and having given him thirty lacs of dīnars, he led him to the palace: then he left Bihzād at the door, whilst he himself went in and informed the Kaisar that the Prince of Aleppo was waiting for the honour of presenting to his Majesty the thirty lacs of dīnars, which he had brought sealed up.
The Kaisar consented to receive Bihzād, who, on being introduced, paid due homage, and was treated with great kindness, and placed by the Kaisar’s side. 42After much conversation, the Kaisar desired him to declare the object of his wishes, and promised that, whatever it might be, he would endeavour to procure it for him. Bihzād replied, that his only desire in this world was to obtain the Princess for his wife. The Kaisar begged that he would wait ten days; but to this delay he would not consent. The Kaisar then entreated that he would be patient for five days; and this also he refused to do.—“At least,” said the Kaisar, “wait three days, that the women may have time to make the necessary preparations.” But Bihzād would not consent.—“This one day, however,” then said the Kaisar, “you must be patient, and to-morrow you shall espouse my daughter.”—“Since it must be so,” replied Bihzād, “I’ll wait this day, but no longer.”
The Kaisar gave orders that the Princess should be brought to the garden of the palace, and all the nobles assembled, and banquets provided for the entertainment of Bihzād. When night came, Bihzād, having indulged in wine, became impatient to behold the Princess, and, going to the summer-house, in which she was, he discovered an aperture in the wall, to which he applied his eye. The Princess at that moment happened to perceive the aperture, and found that some person was 43looking at her through it. She immediately ordered her attendants to burn out his eyes with red-hot irons.
This order was put in execution without delay. The unhappy Bihzād, crying aloud, fell on the ground, deprived of sight. His voice being at length recognised, the servants ran out and beheld him rolling in agony on the ground. They exclaimed, and tore their hair, but all in vain. The news was brought to the Kaisar, who said: “What can be done? This silly youth has brought the evil on himself by his own impatience, and has occasioned the loss of his own eyes.” He then directed that Bihzād should be sent back to Aleppo, as he could not give his daughter to a person deprived of sight.
When the unhappy youth returned to Aleppo, his father and mother, and the inhabitants of the city, all wept at his misfortunes; but their compassion was of no avail. After some time the King died; but the people introduced a stranger, and placed him on the throne, saying that a blind man was not capable of governing. And the remainder of Bihzād’s life passed away in misery, and in repentance for his rashness and impatience.
44“Now,” added Bakhtyār, “had that unfortunate young man waited until night, the Princess Nigārīn would have been his, and he would have saved his eyes and his kingdom, and not have had occasion to repent of impatience. If the King will send me back to prison, he will not be sorry for the delay, as my innocence will hereafter appear; and if he hasten my execution, any future repentance will not avail.”
The King ordered Bakhtyār to go back to prison for that day.
CHAPTER IV.
 n the following day, the fourth Vizier presented himself before the King, and, having paid his respects, advised him not to defer any longer the execution of Bakhtyār. The King immediately gave orders that the young man should be brought from the prison; the executioner with a drawn sword stood ready to perform his part, when Bakhtyār exclaimed: “Long be the King’s life! Let him not be precipitate in putting me to death; but as I have, in the story of Bihzād, described the fatal consequences of rashness, let me be permitted to celebrate the blessings attendant on forbearance, and recount the adventures of Abū Saber, the Patient Man.”
The King’s curiosity being excited, he desired Bakhtyār to relate the story, which he accordingly began in the following words:
46
STORY OF ABū SABER; OR, THE PATIENT MAN.
 
There lived in a certain village, a worthy man, whose principal riches consisted in a good understanding and an inexhaustible stock of patience. On account of those qualifications he was so much respected by all his neighbours, that his advice was followed on every occasion of importance.
It happened once that a tax-gatherer came to this village, and extorted from the poor peasants their miserable pittance, with such circumstances of cruelty and injustice that they could not any longer submit to the oppression: a number of the young men, having assembled in a body, slew the tax-gatherer and fled.
The other inhabitants, who had not been concerned in this transaction, came to Abū Saber, and begged that he would accompany them to the King, and relate to his Majesty the circumstances as they had happened; but Abū Saber told them, that he had drank of the sherbet of patience, and would not intermeddle in such affairs. When the King was 47informed of the tax-gatherer’s death, he ordered his servants to punish the people of that village, and to strip them of all their property.
After two years it happened that a lion took up his abode in the neighbourhood, and destroyed so many children that no person would venture to cultivate the ground, or attend the harvest, from fear of being devoured. In this distress the villagers went to Abū Saber, and entreated him to associate with them in some measure for their relief; but he replied, that patience was his only remedy.
It happened soon after, that the King, being on a hunting-party, arrived in the vicinity of this place; and the inhabitants, presenting themselves before him, related the story of the tax-gatherer, the consequences of the King’s anger, and their dread of the lion. The King pitying them, asked why they had not sent some person to inform him of their distresses. They replied, that Abū Saber, the chief man of the village, whose assistance they solicited, had declined interfering in the matter. The King, hearing this, was enraged, and gave orders that Abū Saber should be driven forth from the village. These orders were 48instantly put in execution, and the King sent people to destroy the lion.
With a heavy heart, Abū Saber commenced his journey, accompanied by his wife and two sons. It happened that they were soon overtaken by some robbers, who, not perceiving any thing more valuable of which they might strip him, resolved to carry off the two boys and sell them; they accordingly seized the poor children and bore them away. The wife began to cry and weep most bitterly; but Abū Saber recommended patience. They then proceeded on their journey, and travelled all night and all day, till, faint from hunger and thirst, weary and fatigued, they at length approached a village, in the outlets of which Abū Saber left his wife, whilst he went to procure some food. He was employed on this business in the village, when a robber happened to discover the woman, and seeing that she was a stranger, handsome, and unprotected, he seized her with violence, and declared that he would take her as his wife. After many tears and supplications, finding the robber determined to carry her away, she contrived to write upon the ground with blood, which she had procured by biting her own finger. When Abū Saber returned from the 49village, and sought his wife in the spot where he had left her, the words which she had written sufficiently explained the occasion of her absence.
He wept at this new misfortune, and implored the Almighty to bestow patience on his wife, and enable her to bear whatever should befall her.
With a disconsolate heart, Abū Saber proceeded on his solitary journey, until he came to the gate of a certain city where a King resided, who was very tyrannical and impious. And it happened at this time that he had ordered a summer-house to be erected, and every stranger who approached the city was by his command seized and compelled to work, guarded day and night, and fed with a scanty portion of coarse black bread.
Abū Saber was immediately seized and dragged to the building; when a heavy load was placed upon his shoulders, and he was obliged to ascend a ladder of seventy steps. In this distress he consoled himself by reflections on the advantages of patience, the only remedy within his power, for the evils which had occurred.
50It happened on this day, that the King was sitting in a corner of the building, superintending the work, when he overheard Abū Saber inquire of another man, what time they might expect to be relieved from this excessive fatigue. The man informed Abū Saber that it was three months since he had been thus laboriously employed, and languishing for a sight of his beloved wife and children. “During this space of time,” added he, “I have not had any intelligence of them; and I long for permission to visit them, were it but for one night.” Abū Saber desired him to be patient; for Providence would relieve him at last from the oppression under which he suffered.
All this conversation the King overheard. After some time Abū Saber, being faint from excessive fatigue, fell senseless from the steps of the ladder, by which accident his legs and arms were dislocated. The King, however, provoked to anger by what he had heard, ordered that Abū Saber should be brought before him, and, having upbraided him with inconsistency in recommending patience to another person, when he himself could not practise it, he ordered him to be punished with fifty stripes and thrown into prison. This sentence was immediately put into execution, 51and Abū Saber, supporting his head on the knees of patience, implored the protection of the Almighty, with perfect submission to His divine dispensations.
After some time had elapsed, it happened that the King was affected one night by a violent cholic, of which he died in excessive agony; and as he did not leave any heir to the crown, the people of the city assembled in order to elect a King.
It was resolved that they should go to the prison, and propose three questions to the criminals confined there; and that whoever gave the best answer should be chosen King. In consequence of this resolution, they proceeded to the prison, and asked the three questions, to which none of the prisoners replied, except Abū Saber, whose answers were so ingenious, that he was borne triumphantly away, washed in a warm bath, clothed in royal garments, and placed upon the throne; after which all the inhabitants came and paid him homage. And he governed with such mildness and wisdom, that the people night and day offered up their prayers for him; and the fame of his justice and liberality was spread all over the world.
52One day it happened that two men attended at his tribunal and demanded an audience. Abū Saber caused them to be brought before him. One of those men was a merchant, and the other the robber who had carried off the sons of Abū Saber. The robber he immediately recognised, but was silent. The merchant then addressed him, and said: “Long be the King’s life! This man sold to me two boys; and after some time these boys began to say, ‘We are freemen—we are the sons of a Mussulman; and that man carried us away by force, and sold us, at which time, from fear of him, we were afraid to say that we were freemen.’ Now,” added the merchant, “let the King order this man to return me the money, and take back the boys.”
Abū Saber then asked the robber what he had to say. The man answered, that it was the merchant’s fault, who had not taken good care of the boys; but that for his own part he had always treated them well, which induced them to make this complaint, in order that he might take them back. Abū Saber then sent for the two boys, who proved to be his own sons. He knew them, but they had not any recollection of him. He desired them to explain this matter; and they 53declared that the robber had carried them away from their father and mother to his own dwelling, and had desired them not to say, on any account, that they were freemen; but that when sold as slaves they could not any longer suppress their complaints. Abū Saber, much affected by their story, ordered them to tell their names, and then sent them to his own apartments; after which he caused the robber to be imprisoned, and the merchant’s money to be deposited in the public treasury.
On another day it happened that two persons in like manner solicited an audience of the King. When they were admitted, one proved to be the wife of Abū Saber, and the other the man who had taken her away by force. But Abū Saber did not know his wife, because she wore her veil. The robber, having paid his respects, informed the King that this woman, who had lived with him for some time, would not consent to perform the duties of a wife. Abū Saber addressed the woman, and asked her why she refused to obey her husband. She immediately answered, that this man was not her husband; that she was the wife of a person named Abū Saber; and that this man had taken her to his house against her inclination.
54Abū Saber ordered his servants to take the woman to his harem; and, having made a proclamation and assembled all the inhabitants of the city, caused the robber who had taken away his sons and the man who had carried off his wife to be brought before them; and, having explained the nature of their offences and related the circumstances of his own story, he gave orders for their execution.
After this he passed the remainder of his life in peaceful enjoyment of the supreme power, which at his death devolved upon his son, and continued for many generations in the family, as the reward of his patience.
Here Bakhtyār concluded his story, and by order of the King was sent back to prison.
CHAPTER V.
 hen the next morning arrived, the fifth Vizier waited upon the King, and represented the danger that might attend any further delay in the execution of Bakhtyār, as the indulgence which had been shown to him would be an encouragement to others, and induce them to commit offences, by giving them hopes of impunity. In consequence of this, the King ordered everything to be prepared for the execution of the young man, who, being brought before him, entreated his Majesty for a longer respite, and assured him that he would, on a future day, be as rejoiced at having spared his life, as a certain King of Yemen was at having pardoned the offence of his slave.
The King desired Bakhtyār to relate the particular circumstances of this story; and he accordingly began it in the following manner:
56
STORY OF THE KING OF YEMEN AND HIS SLAVE ABRAHA.
 
In former times the kingdom of Yemen was governed by a very powerful but tyrannical Prince, who, for the slightest offences, inflicted the most severe punishments. He had, however, a certain slave, named Abraha, of whom he was very fond. This young man was the son of the King of Zangībār, who by chance had fallen into slavery, and never disclosed the secret of his birth.
Abraha used frequently to attend the King of Yemen on his hunting parties. During one of these excursions, it happened that a deer bounded before the King’s horse: he discharged some arrows at it without effect; when Abraha, who was close behind him, spurred on his horse, and aimed a broad-bladed arrow at the deer; but it so happened that the arrow passed by the side of the King’s head, and cut off one of his ears. The King, in the first impulse of anger, ordered his attendants to seize Abraha; but afterwards declared that he pardoned his offence.
57They then returned to the city; and, after some time had elapsed, having gone on board a vessel and sailed into the ocean, a tempest arose, and the ship was wrecked, and the King saved himself by clinging to a plank, and was driven on the coast of Zangībār.
Having returned thanks to Providence for his preservation, he proceeded till he reached the chief city of that country. As it was night, the doors of the houses and all the shops were shut; and, not knowing where he might find a better place of repose, he sheltered himself under the shade of a merchant’s house. It happened that some thieves, in the course of the night, broke open the house, and having murdered the merchant and his servants, plundered it of everything that was valuable. The King of Yemen, overcome by fatigue, had slept the whole time, unconscious of this transaction; but some of the blood had by accident fallen on his clothes.
When morning came, everybody was employed in endeavouring to discover the murderers of the merchant; and the stranger, being found so near the house, with blood upon his clothes, was immediately seized and dragged before the tribunal of the King.
58The King of Zangībār asked him why he had chosen his capital as the scene of such an infamous murder; and desired him to acknowledge who were his accomplices, and how he had disposed of the merchant’s property. The King of Yemen declared that he was innocent, and perfectly ignorant of the whole transaction; that he was of a princely family; and, having been shipwrecked, was driven on the coast, and had by accident reposed himself under the shade of that house when the murder was committed. The King of Zangībār then inquired of him by what means his clothes had become stained with blood, and finding that the stranger could not account for that circumstance, he ordered the officers of justice to lead him away to execution. The unfortunate King of Yemen entreated for mercy, and asserted that his innocence would on some future day become apparent. The King consented to defer his execution for a while, and he was sent to prison.
On one side of the prison there was an extensive plain, with a running stream, to which every day the prisoners were brought, that they might wash themselves; and it was the custom that once every week the King resorted to that plain, where he gave public 59audience to persons of all ranks. On one of those days the King of Zangībār was on the plain, surrounded by his troops, and the prisoners were sitting by the side of the stream, along which ran a wall of the prison. It happened that Abraha, who had been the King of Yemen’s slave, was standing near this wall, but his former master did not recognise him, as they had been separated for some time, Abraha having found means to return to Zangībār, his native country.
At this moment a crow chanced to light upon the wall, which the King of Yemen perceived, and taking up a large flat bone, he threw it with his utmost strength, and exclaimed, “If I succeed in hitting that crow, I shall obtain my liberty,” but he missed his aim; the bone passed by the crow, and striking the cheek of Abraha, cut off one of his ears. Abraha immediately caused an inquiry to be made, and the person who had thrown the bone to be brought before the King, who called him a base-born dog, and ordered the executioner to cut off his head. The King of Yemen sued for mercy, and requested that at most he might be punished according to the law of retaliation, which would not award a head for an ear. The King gave orders that one of his ears should be cut 60off; and the executioner was preparing to fulfil this sentence when he perceived that the prisoner had already lost an ear.
This circumstance occasioned much surprise, and excited the King’s curiosity. He told the prisoner that he would pardon him, on condition of his relating the true story of his adventures.
The King of Yemen immediately disclosed his real name and rank, described the accident by which he lost his ear, the shipwreck which he suffered, and the circumstances which occasioned his imprisonment.
At the conclusion of his narrative, Abraha, having recognised his former master, fell at his feet, embraced him, and wept. They mutually forgave each other; and the King of Yemen, being taken to a warm bath, was clothed in royal garments, mounted on a noble charger, and conducted to the palace; after which he was furnished with a variety of splendid robes and suits of armour, horses, slaves, and damsels. During two months he was feasted and entertained with the utmost hospitality and magnificence, attended constantly by Abraha. In the course of this time, the 61robbers who had murdered the merchant were discovered and punished; and after that the King of Yemen returned to his own country.
Bakhtyār having thus demonstrated that appearances might be very strong against an innocent person, the King resolved to defer his execution for another day, and he was accordingly led back to prison.
CHAPTER VI.
 n the following day the sixth Vizier, having paid his respects to the King, represented the danger of letting an enemy live when in one’s power, and, by many artful speeches, induced his Majesty to order the execution of Bakhtyār, who was immediately brought from the prison. When he came before the King, he persisted in declaring his innocence, and advised him not to be precipitate, like King Dādīn, in putting to death a person on the malicious accusation of an enemy. The King, desirous of hearing the story to which Bakhtyār alluded, ordered him to relate it; and he began as follows:
STORY OF KING DāDīN AND HIS TWO VIZIERS.
 
There was a certain King named Dādīn, who had two viziers, Kārdār and Kāmgār; and the daughter of Kāmgār was the most lovely creature of the age. It 63happened that the King, proceeding on a hunting excursion, took along with him the father of this beautiful damsel, and left the charge of government in the hands of Kārdār.
One day, during the warm season, Kārdār, passing near the palace of Kāmgār, beheld this fair damsel walking in the garden, and became enamoured of her beauty; but having reason to believe that her father would not consent to bestow her on him, he resolved to devise some stratagem whereby he might obtain the object of his desires. “At the King’s return from the chase,” said he, “I’ll represent the charms of this damsel in such glowing colours, that he will not fail to demand her in marriage; and I’ll then contrive to excite his anger against her, in consequence of which he shall deliver her to me for punishment; and thus my designs shall be accomplished.”
One day after the King’s return from the hunting party, he desired Kārdār to inform him of the principal events which had occurred during his absence. Kārdār replied that his Majesty’s subjects had all been solicitous for his prosperity; but that he had himself seen one of the most astonishing objects of 64the universe. The King’s curiosity being thus excited, he ordered Kārdār to describe what he had seen; and Kārdār dwelt with such praises on the fascinating charms of Kāmgār’s daughter, that the King became enamoured of her, and said: “But how is this damsel to be obtained?”—Kārdār replied: “There is not any difficulty in this business; it is not necessary to employ either money or messengers: your Majesty needs only to acquaint her father with your wishes.”
The King approved of this counsel, and having sent for Kāmgār, mentioned the affair to him accordingly. Kāmgār, with due submission, declared that if he possessed a hundred daughters they should all be at his Majesty’s command; but begged permission to retire and inform the damsel of the honour designed for her. Having obtained leave, he hastened to his daughter, and related to her all that had passed between the King and him. The damsel expressed her dislike to the proposed connection; and her father, dreading the King’s anger in case of a refusal, knew not how to act. “Contrive some delay,” said she; “solicit leave of absence for a few days, and let us fly from this country!” Kāmgār approved of this advice; and having waited on the King, obtained leave to absent 65himself from court for ten days, under pretence of making the preparations necessary for a female on the eve of matrimony; and when night came on, he fled from the city with his daughter.
Next day the King was informed of their flight; in consequence of which he sent off two hundred servants to seek them in various directions, and the officious Kārdār set out also in pursuit of them. After ten days they were surprised by the side of a well, taken and bound, and brought before the King, who, in his anger, dashed out the brains of Kāmgār; then looking on the daughter of the unfortunate man, her beauty so much affected him, that he sent her to his palace, and appointed servants to attend her, besides a cook, who, at his own request, was added to her establishment. After some time Kārdār became impatient, and enraged at the failure of his project; but he resolved to try the success of another scheme.
It happened that the encroachments of a powerful enemy rendered the King’s presence necessary among the troops; and on setting out to join the army, he committed the management of affairs and the government of the city to Kārdār, whose mind was wholly 66filled with stratagems for getting the daughter of Kāmgār into his power.
One day he was passing near the palace, and discovered her sitting alone on the balcony; to attract her attention, he threw up a piece of brick or tile, and on her looking down to see from whence it came she beheld Kārdār. He addressed her with the usual salutation, which she returned. He then began to declare his admiration of her beauty, and the violence of his love, which deprived him of repose both day and night; and concluded by urging her to elope with him, saying that he would take as much money as they could possibly want; or, if she would consent, he was ready to destroy the King by poison, and seize upon the throne himself.
The daughter of Kāmgār replied to this proposal by upbraiding Kārdār with his baseness and perfidy. When he asked her how she could ever fix her affections on the man who had killed her father, she answered, that such had been the will of God, and she was resolved to submit accordingly. Having spoken thus, she retired. Kārdār, fearing lest she should relate to the King what had passed between them, 67hastened to meet him as he returned in triumph after conquering his enemies; and whilst walking along by the side of the King’s horse, began to inform his Majesty of all that had happened in his absence. Having mentioned several occurrences, he added, that one circumstance was of such a nature that he could not prevail on himself to relate it, for it was such as the King would be very much displeased at hearing.
The King’s curiosity being thus excited, he ordered Kārdār to relate this occurrence; and he, declaring that it was a most ungrateful task, informed him that it was a maxim of the wise men: “When you have killed the serpent, you should also kill its young.” He then proceeded to relate that, one day during the warm season, being seated near the door of the harem, he overheard some voices, and his suspicions being excited, he concealed himself behind the hangings, and listened attentively, when he heard the daughter of Kāmgār express her affection for the cook, who, in return, declared his attachment; and they spoke of poisoning the King in revenge for his having killed her father. “I had not patience,” added Kārdār, “to listen any longer.”—At this intelligence the King changed colour with rage and indignation, and on arriving 68at the palace, ordered the unfortunate cook to be instantly cut in two. He then sent for the daughter of Kāmgār, and upbraided her with the intention of destroying him by poison. She immediately perceived that this accusation proceeded from the malevolence of Kārdār, and was going to speak in vindication of herself, when the King ordered her to be put to death; but being dissuaded by an attendant from killing a woman, he revoked the sentence of death; and she was tied hands and feet, and placed upon a camel, which was turned into a dreary wilderness, where there was neither water nor shade, nor any trace of cultivation.
Here she suffered from the intense heat and thirst, to such a degree that, expecting every moment to be her last, she resigned herself to the will of Providence, conscious of her own innocence. Just then the camel lay down, and on that spot where they were a fountain of delicious water sprang forth; the cords which bound her hands and feet dropped off: she refreshed herself by a hearty draught of the water, and fervently returned thanks to Heaven for this blessing and her wonderful preservation. On this the most verdant and fragrant herbage appeared around the borders of the fountain; 69it became a blooming and delightful spot, and the camel placed himself so as to afford his lovely companion a shade and shelter from the sunbeams.
It happened that one of the King’s camel-keepers was at this time in pursuit of some camels which had wandered into the desert, and without which he dared not return to the city. He had sought them for several days amidst hills and forests without any success. At length on coming to this spot he beheld the daughter of Kāmgār and the camel, which at first he thought was one of those he sought, and the clear fountain with the verdant banks, where neither grass nor water had ever been seen before. Astonished at this discovery, he resolved not to interrupt the lady, who was engaged in prayer; but when she had finished, he addressed her, and was so charmed by her gentleness and piety, that he offered to adopt her as his child, and expressed his belief that, through the efficacy of her prayers, he should recover the strayed camels.
This good man’s offer she thankfully accepted; and having partaken of a fowl and some bread which he had with him, at his request she prayed for the recovery of his camels. As soon as she had concluded 70her prayer, the camels appeared on the skirts of the wilderness, and of their own accord approached the camel-keeper.
He then represented to the daughter of Kāmgār the danger of remaining all night in the wilderness, which was the haunt of many wild beasts; and proposed that she should return with him to the city, and dwell with him in his house, where he would provide for her a retired apartment, in which she might perform her devotions without interruption. To this proposal she consented, and being mounted on her camel, she returned to the city, and arrived at the house of her companion at the time of evening prayer. Here she resided for some time, employing herself in exercises of piety and devotion.
One day the camel-keeper, being desired by the King to relate his past adventures, mentioned, among other circumstances, the losing of his camels, the finding them through the efficacy of a young woman’s prayers, the discovery of a spring where none had been before, and his adopting the damsel as his daughter: he concluded by telling the King that she was now at his house, and employed day and night in acts of devotion.
71The King, on hearing this, expressed an earnest wish that he might be allowed to see this young woman, and prevail on her to intercede with Providence in his behalf. The camel-keeper, having consented, returned at once to his house accompanied by the King, who waited at the door of the apartment where the daughter of Kāmgār was engaged in prayer. When she had concluded he approached, and with astonishment recognised her. Having tenderly embraced her, he wept, and entreated her forgiveness. This she readily granted, but begged that he would conceal himself in the apartment whilst she should converse with Kārdār, whom she sent for.
When he arrived, and beheld her with a thousand expressions of fondness, he inquired the means whereby she had escaped; and he told her that on the day when the King had banished her into the wilderness, he had sent people to seek her, and to bring her to him. “How much better would it have been,” added he, “had you followed my advice, and agreed to my proposal of poisoning the King, who, I said, would endeavour to destroy you, as he had killed your father! But you rejected my advice, and declared yourself ready to submit to whatsoever Providence 72should decree. Hereafter,” continued he, “you will pay more attention to my words. But now let us not think of what is past: I am your slave, and you are dearer to me than my own eyes!” So saying, he attempted to clasp the daughter of Kāmgār in his arms, when the King, who was concealed behind the hangings, rushed furiously on him, and put him to death. After this he conducted the damsel to his palace, and constantly lamented his precipitancy in having killed her father.
Here Bakhtyār concluded the story; and having requested a further respite, that he might have an opportunity of proving his innocence, he was sent back to prison by order of the King.
CHAPTER VII.
 he Seventh Vizier, on the following day, approached the King, and having told him that his lenity towards Bakhtyār was made the subject of public conversation, added many arguments to procure an order for the execution of that unfortunate young man. The King, changing colour with anger, sent immediately for the Queen, and asked her advice concerning Bakhtyār. She declared that he deserved death; in consequence of which the King ordered his attendants to bring him from the prison. When he came into the royal presence, he begged for mercy, saying: “My innocence will appear hereafter; and though your Majesty can easily put to death a living man, you cannot restore a dead man to life.”—“How,” said the King, “can you deny your guilt, since the women of the harem all bear witness against you?”—Bakhtyār replied: 74“Women, for their own purposes, often devise falsehoods, and are very expert in artifice and fraud, as appears from the story of the daughter of the King of `Irāk and her adventures with the King of Abyssinia, which, if your Majesty permit, I shall briefly relate.”—Having obtained permission, he began the story as follows:
STORY OF THE KING OF ABYSSINIA, SHOWING THE ARTIFICE OF WOMEN.
 
It is related that Abyssinia was once governed by a certain monarch, whose armies were very numerous, and his treasury well filled; but not having any enemy to engage him in war, he neglected his troops, and withheld their pay, so that they were reduced to great distress, and began to murmur, and at last made their complaints to the Vizier. He, pitying their situation, promised that he would take measures for their relief, and desired them to be patient for a little while. He then considered within himself what steps he should take; and at length, knowing the King’s inclination to women, and understanding that the Princess of `Irāk was uncommonly beautiful, he resolved to praise her 75charms in such extravagant language before the King, as to induce him to demand her from her father, who, from his excessive fondness, would not probably consent to bestow her on him, and thus a war would ensue, in which case the troops should be employed, and their arrears paid off.
Pleased with the ingenuity of this stratagem, the vizier hastened to the King, and after conversing for some time on various subjects, he contrived to mention the King of `Irāk, and immediately described the beauty of his daughter in such glowing colours, that the King became enamoured, and consulted the vizier on the means whereby he might hope to obtain possession of that lovely Princess. The vizier replied, that the first step was to send ambassadors to the King of `Irāk, soliciting his daughter in marriage. In consequence of this advice, some able and discreet persons were despatched as ambassadors to `Irāk. On their arrival in that country, the King received them courteously; but when they disclosed the object of their mission he became angry, and declared that he would not comply with their demand.
The ambassadors returned to Abyssinia, and having 76reported to the King the unsuccessful result of their negotiation, he vowed that he would send an army into `Irāk, and lay that country waste, unless his demands were complied with.
In consequence of this resolution, he ordered the doors of his treasury to be thrown open, and caused so much money to be distributed among the soldiers that they were satisfied. From all quarters the troops assembled, and zealously prepared for war. On the other hand, the King of `Irāk levied his forces, and sent them to oppose the Abyssinians, who invaded his dominions; but he did not lead them to the field himself, and they were defeated and put to flight. When the account of this disaster reached the King of `Irāk, he consulted his vizier, and asked what was next to be done. The vizier candidly declared that he did not think it necessary to prolong the war on account of a woman, and advised his Majesty to send ambassadors with overtures of peace, and an offer of giving the Princess to the King of Abyssinia. This advice the King of `Irāk followed, although reluctantly. Ambassadors were despatched to the enemy with offers of peace, and a declaration of the King’s consent to the marriage of his daughter.
77These terms being accepted, the Princess was sent with confidential attendants to the King of Abyssinia, who retired with her to his own dominions, where he espoused her; and some time passed away in festivity and pleasure. But it happened that the King of `Irāk had some years before given his daughter in marriage to another man, by whom she had a son; and this boy was now grown up, and accomplished in all sciences, and such a favourite with the King of `Irāk, that he would never permit him to be one hour absent from him. The Princess, when obliged to leave him, felt all the anxiety of a mother, and resolved to devise some stratagem whereby she might enjoy his society in Abyssinia.
One day the King of Abyssinia, on some occasion, behaved harshly to the Queen, and spoke disrespectfully of her father. She in return said: “Your kingdom, it is true, is most fertile and abundant; but my father possesses such a treasure as no other monarch can boast of—a youth sent to him by the kindness of Heaven, skilled in every profound science, and accomplished in every manly exercise; so that he rather seems to be one of the inhabitants of Paradise than of this earth.” These praises so excited the 78curiosity of the King, that he vowed he would bring this boy to his court, were he even obliged to go himself for him. The Queen replied: “My father would be like a distracted person were he deprived, even for an hour, of this boy’s society; but some intelligent person must be sent to `Irāk in the character of a merchant, and endeavour by every means to steal him away.”
The King approved of this advice, and chose a person well skilled in business, who had experienced many reverses of fortune, and seen much of the world. To this man he promised a reward of a hundred male slaves and a hundred beautiful damsels, if he should succeed in bringing away this boy from the King of `Irāk’s court. The man inquired the name of the boy, which was Farrukhzād, and, disguised as a merchant, set out immediately for `Irāk.
Having arrived there, he presented various offerings to the King; and one day found an opportunity of conversing with the boy. At last he said: “With such accomplishments as you possess, were you in Abyssinia for one day, you would be rendered master of slaves and damsels, and riches of every kind.” He 79then described the delights of that country, which made such an impression on Farrukhzād, that he became disgusted with `Irāk, and attached himself to the merchant, and said: “I have often heard of Abyssinia, and have long wished to enjoy the pleasures which it yields. The King’s daughter is now in that country, and if I could contrive to go there, my happiness would be complete. But I know not how to escape from this place, as the King will not permit me to be one hour absent from him.”
The merchant gladly undertook to devise some means for the escape of Farrukhzād; and at last having put him into a chest, and placed him upon a camel, he contrived one evening to carry him off unnoticed. The next day the King of `Irāk sent messengers in all directions to seek him. They inquired of all the caravans and travellers, but could not obtain any intelligence concerning him. At last the merchant brought him to Abyssinia, and the King, finding that his accomplishments and talents had not been over-rated, was much delighted with his society; and as he had not any child, he bestowed on him a royal robe and crown, a horse, a sword, and a shield, and adopted him as his son, and brought him into the harem.
80When the Queen beheld Farrukhzād, she wept for joy, embraced him, and kissed him with all the fondness of a mother. It happened that one of the servants was a witness, unperceived, of this interview. He immediately hastened to the King, and represented the transaction in such a manner as to excite all his jealousy and rage. However, he resolved to inquire into the matter; but Farrukhzād did not acknowledge that the Queen was his mother; and when he sent for her she answered his questions only by her tears. From these circumstances he concluded that they were guilty; and accordingly he ordered one of his attendants to take away the young man to a burying-ground without the city, and there to cut off his head.
The attendant led Farrukhzād away, and was preparing to put the King’s sentence into execution, but when he looked in the youth’s face, his heart was moved with compassion, and he said, “It must have been the woman’s fault, and not his crime;” and he resolved to save him. When he told Farrukhzād that he would conceal him in his own house, the boy was delighted, and promised that if ever it was in his power he would reward him for his kindness. Having taken him to his house, the man waited on the King, 81and told him that he had, in obedience to his orders, put Farrukhzād to death.
After this the King treated his wife with the utmost coldness; and she sat melancholy, lamenting the absence of her son. It happened that an old woman beheld the Queen as she sat alone, weeping, in her chamber. Pitying her situation, she approached, and humbly inquired the occasion of her grief. The Queen made no reply; but when the old woman promised, not only to observe the utmost secrecy, if entrusted with the story of her misfortunes, but to find a remedy for them, she related at length all that had happened, and disclosed the mystery of Farrukhzād’s birth.
The old woman desired the Queen to comfort herself, and said: “This night, before the King retires to rest, you must lay yourself down, and close your eyes, as if asleep; he will then place something, which I shall give him, on your bosom, and will command you, by the power of the writing contained in that, to reveal the truth. You must then begin to speak, and, without any apprehension, repeat all that you have now told me.”
82The old woman, having then found that the King was alone in his summer-house, presented herself before him, and said: “O King, this solitary life occasions melancholy and sadness!” The King replied that it was not solitude which rendered him melancholy, but vexation on account of the Queen’s infidelity, and the ingratitude of Farrukhzād, on whom he had heaped so many favours, and whom he had adopted as his own son. “Yet,” added he, “I am not convinced of his guilt; and since the day that I caused him to be killed, I have not enjoyed repose, nor am I certain whether the fault was his or the Queen’s.”
“Let not the King be longer in suspense on this subject,” said the old woman, “I have a certain talisman, one of the talismans of Solomon, written in Grecian characters, and in the Syrian language; if your Majesty will watch an opportunity when the Queen shall be asleep, and lay it on her breast, and say: ‘O thou that sleepest! by virtue of the talisman, and of the name of God, which it contains, I conjure thee to speak to me, and to reveal all the secrets of thy heart,’ she will immediately begin to speak, and will declare everything that she knows, both true and false.”
83The King, delighted at the hopes of discovering the truth by means of this talisman, desired the old woman to fetch it. She accordingly went home, and taking a piece of paper, scrawled on it some unmeaning characters, folded it up, and tied it with a cord, and sealed it with wax; then hastened to the King, and desired him to preserve it carefully till night should afford an opportunity of trying its efficacy.
When it was night, the King watched until he found that the Queen was in bed; then gently approaching, and believing her to be asleep, he laid the talisman on her breast, and repeated the words which the old woman had taught him. The Queen, who had also received her lesson, still affecting the appearance of one asleep, immediately began to speak, and related all the circumstances of her story.
On hearing this the King was much affected, and tenderly embraced the Queen, who started from her bed as if perfectly unconscious of having revealed the secrets of her breast. He then blamed her for not having candidly acknowledged the circumstance of Farrukhzād’s birth, who, he said, should have been considered as his own son.
84All that night they passed in mutual condolence, and on the next morning the King sent for the person to whom he had delivered Farrukhzād, and desired him to point out the spot where his body lay, that he might perform the last duty to that unfortunate youth, and ask forgiveness from his departed spirit. The man replied: “It appears that your Majesty is ignorant of Farrukhzād’s situation: he is at present in a place of safety; for although you ordered me to kill him, I ventured to disobey, and have concealed him in my house, from whence, if you permit, I shall immediately bring him.” At this information the King was so delighted that he rewarded the man with a splendid robe, and sent with him several attendants to bring Farrukhzād to the palace.
On arriving in his presence, Farrukhzād threw himself at the King’s feet, but he raised him in his arms and asked his forgiveness, and thus the affair ended in rejoicing and festivity.
“Now,” said Bakhtyār, having concluded his story, “it appears that women are expert in stratagems; and if Farrukhzād had been put to death, according to the 85King’s command, what grief and sorrow would have been the consequence! To avoid such,” added he, “let not your Majesty be precipitate in ordering my execution.”
The King resolved to wait another day, and Bakhtyār was sent back to prison.
CHAPTER VIII.
 n the next morning, the Eighth Vizier, having paid his compliments to the King, addressed him on the subject of Bakhtyār, and said: “Government resembles a tree, the root of which is legal punishment. Now, if the root of a tree become dry, the leaves will wither: why then should the punishment of Bakhtyār be any longer deferred?”
In consequence of this discourse, the King ordered the executioner to prepare himself, and Bakhtyār was brought from prison. When the unfortunate young man came before the King, he addressed him, and said: “If your Majesty will consider the consequences of haste and precipitancy, it will appear that they are invariably sorrow and repentance; as we find confirmed in the Story of the Jewel-Merchant.”
The King expressed his desire of hearing the story 87to which he alluded; and Bakhtyār began it accordingly, in the following manner:
STORY OF THE JEWEL-MERCHANT.
 
There was a certain jewel-merchant, a very wealthy man, and eminently skilled in the knowledge of precious stones. His wife, a very prudent and amiable woman, was in a state of pregnancy when it happened that the King sent a messenger to her husband, desiring his attendance at court, that he might consult him in the choice of jewels. The merchant received the King’s messenger with all due respect, and immediately prepared to set out on his journey to the capital. When taking leave of his wife, he desired her to remember him in her prayers; and, in case she should bring forth a boy, to call his name Bihrūz.
After this injunction he departed from his house, and at length arrived in the capital, where he waited on the King, and having paid his respects, was employed in selecting from a box of pearls those that were most valuable. The King was so much pleased with his skill and ingenuity, that he kept him constantly near his own person, and entrusted to him 88the making of various royal ornaments, crowns, and girdles studded with jewels.
At length the wife of this jewel-merchant was delivered of two boys; one of whom, in compliance with her husband’s desire, she called Bihrūz, the other Rūzbih; and she sent intelligence of this event to the father, who solicited permission from the King that he might return home for a while and visit his family; but the King would not grant him this indulgence. The next year he made the same request, and with the same success. Thus during eight years he as often solicited leave to visit his wife and sons, but could not obtain it.
In the course of this time the boys had learned to read the Qur’ān, and were instructed in the art of penmanship and other accomplishments; and they wrote a letter to their father, expressing their sorrow and anxiety on account of his absence. The jewel-merchant, no longer able to resist his desire of seeing his family, represented his situation to the King in such strong colours that he desired him to send for his wife and children, and allowed him an ample sum of money to defray the expenses of their journey.
89A trusty messenger was immediately despatched to the jewel-merchant’s wife, who, on receipt of her husband’s letter, set out with her two sons on their way to the capital. One evening, after a journey of a month, they arrived at the sea-side. Here they resolved to wait until morning; and, being refreshed with a slight repast, the boys amused themselves in wandering along the shore.
It happened that the jewel-merchant, in expectation of meeting his wife and children, had come thus far on the way; and having left his clothes and money concealed in different places, he bathed himself in the sea, and on returning to the shore put on his clothes, but forgot his gold. Having taken some refreshment, he was proceeding on his journey, when he thought of his money, and went back to seek it, but could not find it. At this moment he perceived the two boys, who had wandered thus far, amusing themselves playing along the shore. He immediately suspected that these boys had discovered and taken the gold, and accused them accordingly. They declared their ignorance of the matter, which so enraged the jewel-merchant, that he seized them both, and cast them headlong into the sea.
90After this he proceeded on his way; whilst the wife was so unhappy at the long absence of her sons, that the world became dark in her eyes, and she raised her voice and called upon the boys. When the jewel-merchant heard the voice of his wife, he hastened to meet her, and inquired after his two sons, expressing his eager desire of seeing them. The wife told him that they had left her some time before, and had wandered along the sea-side. At this intelligence the jewel-merchant began to lament, and tore his clothes, and exclaimed: “Alas, alas, I have drowned my sons!” He then related what had happened, and proceeded with his wife along the shore in search of the boys, but they sought in vain. Then they smote their breasts and wept. And when the next morning came, they said: “From this time forth, whatsoever happens must be to us a matter of indifference;” and they set out on their journey towards the city, with afflicted bosoms and bleeding hearts, being persuaded that their sons had perished in the water.
But they were ignorant of the wonderful kindness of Providence, which rescued the two boys from destruction; for it happened that the King of that country, being on a hunting excursion, passed along 91the shore on that side where Bihrūz had fallen. When he perceived the boy, he ordered his attendants to take him up, and finding him of a pleasing countenance, although pale from the terror of the water and the danger he had escaped, he inquired into the circumstances which had befallen him. The boy informed him, that with his brother he had been walking on the shore, when a stranger seized upon them, and flung them into the water. The King, not having any child, inquired the name of the boy; and when he answered, that his name was Bihrūz, he exclaimed: “I accept it as a favourable omen,[26] and adopt you as my own son.” After this, Bihrūz, mounted on a horse, accompanied the King to his capital, and all the subjects were enjoined to obey him as heir to the crown. After some time the King died, and Bihrūz reigned in his place, with such wisdom, liberality, and uprightness, that his fame resounded through all quarters of the world.
It happened in the meantime, that the other boy, whose name was Rūzbih, had been rescued from the water by some robbers, who agreed to sell him as a 92slave, and divide the price amongst them. The jewel-merchant and his wife had reached the city and purchased a house, where they resolved to pass the remainder of their lives in prayer and exercises of devotion. But finding it necessary to procure an attendant, the jewel-merchant purchased a young boy at the slave-market, whom he did not know, but whom natural affection prompted him to choose. On bringing home the young slave, his wife fainted away, and exclaimed: “This is your son Rūzbih!” The parents as well as the child wept with joy, and returned thanks to Heaven for such an unexpected blessing.
After this the jewel-merchant instructed Rūzbih in his own profession, so that in a little time he became perfectly skilled in the value of precious stones; and having collected a very considerable number, he expressed a wish of turning them to profit, by selling them to a certain King in a distant country, one who was celebrated for his generosity and kindness to strangers.
The father consented that he should visit the court of this monarch, on condition that he would not afflict his parents by too long an absence. Rūzbih accordingly 93set out, and arrived at the capital of that King, who happened to be his own brother Bihrūz. Him, however, after the lapse of many years, he did not recognise. The King, having graciously received the present which Rūzbih offered, purchased of him all the jewels, and conceived such an affection for him that he kept him constantly in the palace, day and night.
At this time a foreign enemy invaded the country; but the King thought the matter of so little importance, that he contented himself with sending some troops to the field, and remained at home carousing and drinking with Rūzbih. At length, one night, at a very late hour, all the servants being absent, the King became intoxicated, and fell asleep. Rūzbih, not perceiving any of the guards or attendants, resolved that he would watch the King until morning; and accordingly, taking a sword, he stationed himself near the King’s pillow.
After some time had elapsed, several of the soldiers who had gone to oppose the enemy returned, and, entering the palace, discovered Rūzbih and the King in this situation. They immediately seized Rūzbih; 94and when the King awoke, they told him that, by their coming, they had saved his Majesty from assassination, which the jeweller, with a drawn sword, had been ready to perpetrate. The King, at first, ordered his immediate execution; and as day was beginning to dawn, and the approach of the enemy required his presence at the head of his troops, he sent for the executioner, who, having bound the eyes of Rūzbih and drawn his sword, exclaimed: “Say, King of the world, shall I strike or not?”
The King, considering that it would be better to inquire more particularly into the affair, and, knowing that, although it is easy to kill, it is impossible to restore a man to life, resolved to defer the punishment until his return, and sent Rūzbih to prison.
After this he proceeded to join the army, and having subdued his enemies, returned to the capital; but, during the space of two years, forgot the unfortunate Rūzbih, who lingered away his life in confinement. In the meantime his father and mother, grieving on account of his absence, and, ignorant of what had befallen him, sent a letter of inquiry by a confidential messenger to the money-changers (or bankers) of that 95city. Having read this, they wrote back, in answer, that Rūzbih had been in prison for two years.
On receiving this information, the jewel-merchant and his wife resolved to set out and throw themselves at the feet of this King, and endeavour to obtain from him the pardon and liberty of their son. With heavy hearts they accordingly proceeded on their journey, and having arrived at the capital, presented themselves before the King, and said: “Be it known unto your exalted Majesty, that we are two wretched strangers, oppressed by the infirmities of age, and overwhelmed by misfortune. We were blessed with two sons, one named Bihrūz, the other Rūzbih; but it was the will of Heaven that they should fall into the sea, where one of them perished, but the other was restored to us. The fame of your Majesty’s generosity and greatness induced our son to visit this imperial court; and we are informed that, by your orders, he is now in prison. The object of our petition is, that your Majesty might take compassion on our helpless situation, and restore to us our long-lost son.”
The King on hearing this was astonished, and for 96a while imagined that it was all a dream. At length, when convinced that the old man and woman were his own parents, and that Rūzbih was his own brother, he sent for him to the prison, embraced them and wept, and placed them beside him on the throne; and for the sake of Rūzbih, set at liberty all those who had been confined with him. After this he divided the empire with his brother, and their time passed away in pleasure and tranquillity.
This story being concluded, Bakhtyār observed, that the jewel-merchant, by his precipitancy, had nearly occasioned the death of his two sons; and that Bihrūz, by deferring the execution of his brother, had prevented an infinity of distress to himself and his parents. This observation induced the King to grant Bakhtyār another day’s reprieve, and he was taken back to prison.
CHAPTER IX.
 hen the next morning came, the Ninth Vizier appeared before the King and said, that his extraordinary forbearance and lenity in respect to Bakhtyār had given occasion to much scandal; as every criminal, however heinous his offence, began to think that he might escape punishment by amusing the King with idle stories.
The King, on hearing this, sent to the prison for Bakhtyār, and desired the executioner to attend. When the unfortunate young man came before the King, he requested a respite only of two days, in the course of which he hoped his innocence might be proved; “although,” said he, “I know that the malice of one’s enemies is a flame from which it is almost impossible to escape: as appears from the story of Abū Temām, who, on the strength of a false accusation, 98was put to death by the King, and his innocence acknowledged when too late.”
“Who was that Abū Temām?” demanded the King, “and what were those malicious accusations which prevailed against him?”
STORY OF ABū TEMāM.
 
Abū Temām (said Bakhtyār) was a very wealthy man, who resided in a city, the King of which was so tyrannical and unjust, that whatever money any one possessed above five direms he seized on for his own use. Abū Temām was so disgusted and terrified by the oppressions and cruelties of this King, that he never enjoyed one meal in peace or comfort, until he had collected all his property together and contrived to escape from that place. After some time he settled in the capital of another King, a city adorned with gardens, and well supplied with running streams. This King was a man of upright and virtuous principles, renowned for hospitality and kindness to strangers. In this capital Abū Temām purchased a magnificent mansion, in which he sumptuously entertained 99the people of the city, presenting each of them, at his departure, with a handsome dress suited to his rank. The inhabitants were delighted with his generosity, and his hospitality was daily celebrated by the strangers who resorted to his house. He also expended considerable sums in the erection of bridges, caravanseries, and mosques. At last the fame of his liberality and munificence reached the King, who sent to him two servants with a very flattering message and an invitation to court. This Abū Temām thankfully accepted; and having prepared the necessary presents for the King, he hastened to the palace, where he kissed the ground of obedience and was graciously received.
In a short time he became so great a favourite that the King would not permit him to be one day absent, and heaped on him so many favours that he was next in power to his royal master; and his advice was followed in all matters of importance.
But this King had ten viziers, who conceived a mortal hatred against Abū Temām, and said, one to another: “He has robbed us of all dignity and power, and we must devise some means whereby we 100may banish him from this country.” The chief vizier proposed that, as the King was a very passionate admirer of beauty, and the Princess of Turkestān one of the loveliest creatures of the age, they should so praise her charms before him as to induce him to send Abū Temām to ask her in marriage; and as it was the custom of the King of Turkestān to send all ambassadors who came on that errand to his daughter, who always caused their heads to be cut off, so the destruction of Abū Temām would be certain.
This advice all the other viziers approved of; and, having proceeded to the palace, they took an opportunity of talking on various subjects, until the King of Turkestān was mentioned, when the chief vizier began to celebrate the charms of the lovely Princess.
When the King heard the extravagant praises of her beauty, he became enamoured, and declared his intention of despatching an ambassador to the court of Turkestān, and demanding the Princess in marriage. The viziers immediately said, that no person was so properly qualified for such an embassy as Abū Temām. The King accordingly sent for him, and, addressing him as his father and friend, informed him that he 101had now occasion for his assistance in the accomplishment of a matter on which his heart was bent. Abū Temām desired to know what his Majesty’s commands might be, and declared himself ready to obey them. The King having communicated his design, all the necessary preparations were made, and Abū Temām set out on his journey to the court of Turkestān. In the meantime the viziers congratulated one another on the success of their stratagem.
When the King of Turkestān heard of Abū Temām’s arrival, he sent proper officers to receive and compliment him, and on the following day gave him a public audience; and when the palace was cleared of the crowd, and Abū Temām had an opportunity of speaking with the King in private, he disclosed the object of his mission, and demanded the Princess for his master. The King acknowledged himself highly honoured by the proposal of such an alliance, and said: “I fear that my daughter is not qualified for so exalted a station as you offer; but if you will visit her in the harem, and converse with her, you may form an opinion of her beauty and accomplishments; and if you approve of her, preparations for the marriage shall be made without delay.”
102Abū Temām thanked his Majesty for this readiness in complying with his demands; but said that he could not think of profaning the beauty of her who was destined for his sovereign by gazing on her, or of allowing his ears to hear the forbidden sounds of her voice;—besides, his King never entertained a doubt on the subject of her charms and qualifications: the daughter of such a monarch must be worthy of any King, but he was not sent to make any inquiry as to her merits, but to demand her in marriage.
The King of Turkestān, on hearing this reply, embraced Abū Temām, and said: “Within this hour I meditated thy destruction; for of all the ambassadors who have hitherto come to solicit my daughter, I have tried the wisdom and talents, and have judged by them of the Kings who employed them, and finding them deficient, I have caused their heads to be cut off.” On saying this, he took from under his robe a key, with which he opened a lock, and going into another part of the palace, he exhibited to Abū Temām the heads of four hundred ambassadors.
After this the King directed the necessary preparations for the departure of his daughter, and invested 103Abū Temām with a splendid robe of honour, who, when ten days had elapsed, embarked in a ship with the Princess, her damsels, and other attendants. The news of his arrival with the fair Princess of Turkestān being announced, the King, his master, was delighted, and the viziers, his mortal enemies, were confounded at the failure of their stratagems. The King, accompanied by all the people, great and small, went two stages to meet Abū Temām and the Princess, and, having led her into the city, after three days celebrated their marriage by the most sumptuous feasts and rejoicings, and bestowed a thousand thanks on Abū Temām, who every day became a greater favourite.
The ten viziers, finding, in consequence of this, their own importance and dignity gradually reduced, consulted one with another, saying: “All that we have hitherto done only tends to the exaltation of Abū Temām; we must devise some other means of disgracing him in the King’s esteem, and procuring his banishment from this country.”
After this they concerted together, and at length resolved to bribe two boys, whose office was to rub 104the King’s feet every night after he lay down on his bed; and they accordingly instructed these boys to take an opportunity, when the King should close his eyes, of saying that Abū Temām had been ungrateful for the favours bestowed on him; that he had violated the harem, and aspired to the Queen’s affections, and had boasted that she would not have come from Turkestān had she not been enamoured of himself. This lesson the viziers taught the boys, giving them a thousand dīnars, and promising five hundred more.
When it was night the boys were employed as usual in their office of rubbing the King’s feet; and when they perceived his eyes to be closed, they began to repeat all that the viziers had taught them to say concerning Abū Temām.
The King, hearing this, started up, and dismissing the boys, sent immediately for Abū Temām, and said to him: “A certain matter has occurred, on the subject of which I must consult you; and I expect that you will relieve my mind by answering the question that I shall ask.”—Abū Temām declared himself ready to obey.—“What, then,” demanded the King, “does that servant merit, who, in return for various 105favours, ungratefully attempts to violate the harem of his sovereign?”—“Such a servant,” answered Abū Temām, “should be punished with death: his blood should expiate his offence.” When Abū Temām had said this, the King drew his scimitar, and cut off his head, and ordered his body to be cast into a pit.
For some days he gave not audience to any person, and the viziers began to exult in the success of their stratagem; but the King was melancholy, and loved to sit alone, and was constantly thinking of the unfortunate Abū Temām.
It happened, however, that one day the two boys who had been bribed by the viziers were engaged in a dispute one with the other on the division of the money, each claiming for himself the larger share. In the course of their dispute they mentioned the innocence of Abū Temām, and the bribe which they had received for defaming him in the King’s hearing.
All this conversation the King overheard; and trembling with vexation, rage, and sorrow, he compelled the boys to relate all the circumstances of the affair; in consequence of which the ten viziers were 106immediately seized and put to death, and their houses levelled with the ground; after which the King passed his time in fruitless lamentation for the loss of Abū Temām.
“Thus,” said Bakhtyār, “does unrelenting malice persecute unto destruction; but if the King had not been so hasty in killing Abū Temām, he would have spared himself all his subsequent sorrow.”
The King, affected by this observation, resolved to indulge Bakhtyār with another day, and accordingly sent him back to prison.
CHAPTER X.
 arly on the next morning the Tenth Vizier sent a woman to the Queen with a message, urging her to exert her influence over the King, and induce him to give orders for the execution of Bakhtyār. The Queen, in consequence of this, addressed the King on the subject before he left the palace, and he replied, that Bakhtyār’s fate was now decided, and that his execution should not be any longer deferred. The King then went forth, and the Viziers attended in their proper places. The Tenth Vizier was rising to speak, when the King informed him of his resolution to terminate the affair of Bakhtyār by putting him to death on that day.
He was brought accordingly from the prison; and the King on seeing him said: “You have spoken a great deal of your innocence, yet have not been able 108to make it appear; therefore no longer entertain any hopes of mercy, for I have given orders for your execution.”—On hearing this, Bakhtyār began to weep, and said: “I have hitherto endeavoured to gain time, conscious of my innocence, and hoping that it might be proved, and a guiltless person saved from an ignominious death; but I now find it vain to struggle against the decrees of Heaven. Thus the King of Persia foolishly attempted to counteract his destiny, and triumph over the will of Providence, but in vain.”
The King expressed a desire of hearing the story to which Bakhtyār alluded, and the young man began to relate it as follows:
STORY OF THE KING OF PERSIA.
 
There was a certain King of Persia, a very powerful and wealthy monarch, who, not having any child, employed all the influence of prayers and of alms to procure the blessing of a son from Heaven. At length one of his handmaids became pregnant, and the King was transported with joy; but one night, in a dream, he was addressed by an old man, who said: “The Lord has complied with your request, and to-morrow 109you shall have a son; but in his seventh year a lion shall seize and carry off this son to the top of a mountain, from which he shall fall, rolling in blood and clay.” When the King awoke, he assembled the viziers, and related to them the horrors of his dream. They replied: “Long be the King’s life! If Heaven has decreed such a calamity who can oppose or control it?”—The King presumptuously declared that he would struggle against and counteract it; but one of his viziers, eminently skilled in astrology, discovered one day, by the power of his science, that the King would, after twenty years, perish by the hand of his own son. In consequence of this, he immediately waited on the King, and informed him that he had to communicate a certain matter, for the truth and certainty of which he would answer with his life. The King desired him to reveal it; and he, falling on the knees of obedience, related all that he had discovered in the stars. “If it happens not according to what you predict,” said the King, “I shall certainly put you to death.”
In the meantime, however, he caused a subterraneous dwelling to be constructed, to which he sent the boy, with a nurse. There they remained during 110the space of seven years, when, in compliance with the heavenly decree, a lion suddenly rushed into the cave, and devoured the nurse, and having wounded the child, carried him up to the summit of a neighbouring mountain, from which he let him fall to the bottom, covered with blood and earth. It happened that one of the King’s secretaries came by, in pursuit of game, and perceived the boy in this situation, and the lion standing on the summit of the mountain. He immediately resolved to save the child; and having taken him to his own house, he healed his wounds, and instructed him in various accomplishments.
On the day after the nurse had been devoured and the child carried away by the lion, the King resolved to visit the cave, and finding it deserted, he concluded that the nurse had escaped to some other place. He instantly despatched messengers to seek her in every quarter, but in vain.
In process of time the boy grew up, and acted as keeper [of pen and ink] to the secretary. In this situation, having been employed at the palace, it happened that the King saw and was much pleased with him, and felt within his bosom the force of paternal 111affection. In consequence of this he demanded him of the secretary, and clothed him in splendid garments; and after some time, when an enemy invaded the country, and required the King’s presence with his army, he appointed the young man to be his armour-bearer; and, accompanied by him, proceeded to battle.
After a bloody conflict, the troops of the enemy were victorious, and those of the King began to fly; but he, in the impulse of rage and fury, threw himself into the midst of his adversaries, fighting with the most desperate valour. In this state of confusion it was impossible to know one person from another; the young armour-bearer, who fought also with the utmost bravery, no longer distinguishing the King, rushed into a crowd of combatants, and striking furiously on all sides, cut off the hand of one man whom he supposed to be of the enemy’s side; but this person was the King, who, on recognising the armour-bearer, upbraided him with this attempt upon his life, and being unable to remain any longer in the field, he retired, with his troops, to the capital, and the next day concluded a peace with the enemy, on condition of paying a considerable sum of money. He then 112gave orders that the armour-bearer should be arrested, and although he persevered in declarations of innocence, they availed him not; he was thrown into prison, and loaded with chains.
In the meantime the King was reposing on the pillow of death; and when he found that all hopes of recovery were vain, he resolved to punish the vizier who had told him that his son should be torn by a lion, and that he should fall by the hand of that son. “Now,” said the King, “my son has been carried away to some other country by his nurse, and I have been wounded by the hand of a different person.” Having said this, he sent for the vizier, and desired him to prepare for death. “This armour-bearer,” added he, “and not my own son, has wounded me, contrary to your prediction; and, as you consented to be punished in case your prediction should not be accomplished, I have resolved to put you to death.”—“Be it so,” replied the vizier; “but let us first inquire into the birth of this young armour-bearer.”
The King immediately sent for the young man, and asked him concerning his parents and his country. He answered that of the country which gave him 113birth he was ignorant; but that he had been with his mother in a subterraneous place, and that she had informed him of his father’s being a king, but he had never seen his father; that one day a lion carried him away to the summit of a mountain, from which he fell, and was taken up by the secretary, by whom he was instructed in various accomplishments, and from whose service he passed into that of the King.
When the King heard this, he was amazed, and his hair stood on end; and he sent for the viziers and secretary, who confirmed what the young man had said.
Having thus ascertained that the armour-bearer was his own son, he resigned to him the crown and throne; and having invested the vizier with the robe of prime-minister, he expired in the course of three days.
Here Bakhtyār concluded his narrative, and observed, that he had struggled against his evil destiny, like that king, but in vain. Having said this, the King wished to send him back to prison; but the Ten 114Viziers unanimously declared that they would leave the country if Bakhtyār’s punishment was any longer deferred.
The King then acknowledged that he could not bear to behold the execution of the young man; in consequence of which the Viziers led him away, and assembled all the people by proclamation, that they might see him put to death.
CONCLUSION.
 It happened at this time that Farrukhsuwār, who had found Bakhtyār at the side of the well, came, with some of his companions, to the city, and was wrapped in that embroidered cloak which the King and Queen had left with the infant. In passing by the place of execution he beheld the guards leading out Bakhtyār to punishment, on which he rushed amongst them with his companions, and rescued the young man from their hands, and then solicited an audience of the King.
On coming into the royal presence Farrukhsuwār exclaimed: “This young man is my son; I cannot bear to see him executed: if he must perish, let me also be put to death.”—“Your wish in this respect,” said the King, “may be easily gratified.”—“Alas!” cried Farrukhsuwār, “if the father of this youth, who was a king, or his mother, who was a queen, were informed 116of his situation, they would save him from this ignominious death!” The King laughed at the seeming inconsistency of Farrukhsuwār, and said: “You told me at one time that Bakhtyār was your son, yet now you describe him as the child of royal parents.”
Farrukhsuwār, in reply, told all the circumstances of his finding Bakhtyār near the well, and showed the cloak in which he had been wrapped. The King immediately knew it to be the same which he had left with the infant, and asked whether Farrukhsuwār had found anything besides. He produced the bracelet of pearls, and the King, now convinced that Bakhtyār was not the son of Farrukhsuwār, but his own, took the cloak and the bracelets to the Queen, and asked her if she had ever before seen them. She instantly exclaimed: “They were my child’s!—what tidings do you bring of him?”—“I shall bring himself,” replied the King; and he immediately sent an order to the Viziers that they should conduct Bakhtyār to the palace.
When he arrived, the King, with his own hands, took off his chains, placed a royal turban on his head, 117and covered him with the embroidered cloak, and then led him to the Queen, saying: “This is our son, whom we left on the brink of the well.” When the Queen heard this, and beheld Bakhtyār, the tears gushed forth from her eyes, and she embraced him with the greatest emotion. Bakhtyār then asked the Queen why she had endeavoured to destroy him by a false accusation, and she confessed that the Viziers had induced her; on which the King ordered their immediate execution, and then resigned the throne to Bakhtyār, who was acknowledged sovereign by all the people. Farrukhsuwār was invested with the dignity of chief Vizier, and his companions rewarded with honourable appointments; and Bakhtyār continued for many years to govern with justice, wisdom, and generosity.

The End