Eastern Tales by Many Story Tellers 21 – Anonymous · Verses Across
Literature · Short Stories
Eastern Tales by Many Story Tellers 21The Four Talismans (part 6)
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Literature · Short Stories
Eastern Tales by Many Story Tellers 21
The Four Talismans (part 6)
AnonymousEnglish
But while the presumptive heir of the Persian throne was reduced to such a strange situation, how was Queen Chamsada employed? Every day this disconsolate mother felt her uneasiness increase. In the struggle betwixt her affection for her son and the secret which she must keep from the monarch, for the sake of her uncle's honour, her situation was as distressing as that of Shaseliman. There was at the Court of Bensirak an old slave of Selimansha, who had accompanied the Queen into Egypt, and who since that time had remained in her service. He had all her confidence, and was frequently the depository of the uneasiness of this tender mother. One day she perceived him alone, and made him a signal to approach her.
"Well," said she to him, "you know my attachment for my son; you know my fears on his account, and you have taken no step in order to know what has become of him."
"Queen!" replied the slave, "that which you wish to know is extremely difficult, and I know no means by which I could get information of it. You know that you have yourself confirmed the report of his death, which was attested by Selimansha; and although by chance your son should appear here, how could you destroy the public opinion? How could you make him known?"
"Ah! would to God that my son were here, although I should even be deprived of the pleasure of seeing him. To know that he was still alive would be sufficient to confirm my repose and happiness."
"Queen," replied the slave, "I am willing to sacrifice my life for you: what do you require of me?"
"Take from my treasures," said the Queen, "the sum which you judge necessary for your journey: go to Persia and bring my son."
"Money alone is less necessary here than prudence. Some plausible reason must be given for the journey which your Majesty proposes to me. You know that the Sultan honours me with his bounty, and that, engaged in his service, I cannot remove from his Court without his express permission. You yourself must ask and obtain it under some specious pretence, which may prevent him from entertaining any suspicion, and at the same time secure the success of your application. Tell him that during the disturbances which preceded the death of your husband you concealed, in a place known only to me, a casket of precious jewels, which you were anxious to put beyond the reach of accident. Beseech his Majesty to grant you permission to send me into Persia in search of this treasure. The care of the rest belongs to me."
The Queen, convinced of her slave's attachment, and approving his counsels, flew instantly to put them in execution, and found no difficulty in obtaining her desire.
The faithful emissary speedily departed, disguised as a merchant, that he might not be recognized in Persia. After much fatigue, he arrived at Ispahan, and having privately made inquiry concerning the fate of Shaseliman, received at first the most distressing accounts of him.
Some days after, as he was walking in the environs of the palace, he found by chance one of the officers who had assisted the young Prince when he was sitting near the fountain which we have already mentioned. Having served together under the reign of Selimansha, they recollected one another, and entered into conversation.
"You come from Egypt," said the officer: "did you meet Prince Shaseliman?"
"Shaseliman!" replied the slave. "Ah! can he be alive after the dreadful news that are spread here concerning him?"
"Yes, he is alive, and I will tell you, in confidence, how we learned this."
He then related everything which had befallen him, as well as the other officers, when they had met the Prince, and how, upon their advice, the latter had taken the road to Egypt.
The pretended merchant, transported with joy, wished, in his turn, to return the confidence of his former companion, and revealed to him the whole mystery of his mission into Persia; after this he took his leave of him to return into Egypt. In every place through which he passed he made diligent inquiry after the young Prince, describing his appearance as the officer had represented it to him. Being arrived at the village where he expected to meet him, he was very much surprised that no person could give any information concerning him. As he was preparing to continue his journey, he found, at his going out of the city, a young man asleep under a tree, near which some sheep were feeding quietly.
He cast a look of compassion upon this poor creature, whose tattered garments announced his misery.
"Alas!" said he, "it is impossible that this can be the man whom I seek. This is doubtless the child of some unhappy shepherd. My trouble will be lost; yet what do I risk by awaking this young man, and inquiring concerning the person of whom I am in search? Let me not neglect even this hopeless expedient."
Having soon awakened him, he put the same questions to him which he had been accustomed to propose to every one.
"I am a stranger in these places," replied Shaseliman, who was afraid to make himself known, being ignorant of the motives of this curiosity; "but, if I am not greatly mistaken, from the description which you have given, the person whom you are in search of is Shaseliman, the young King of Persia, and grandson to Selimansha. His father was killed by his barbarous brother Balavan, who usurped his throne; the son was wounded in his cradle, yet Allah preserved the life of that unfortunate infant."
"O Heaven!" exclaimed the slave, "am I so happy as to hear Shaseliman mentioned? How, young man, have you guessed the cause which made me travel from Egypt into Persia? Who could inform you of it? Do you know, then, what has become of this unfortunate Prince? Shall I reap at length the fruit of my anxiety and labours? Where could I find him?"
When Shaseliman was convinced that he who thus spoke to him was a messenger from his mother, he thought he might make himself known.
"In vain would you run over the whole world," said he to him, "in order to find Shaseliman, since it is he who now speaks to you."
At these words, the slave fell at the feet of his Sovereign, and covered his hands with tears and kisses.
"Ah," exclaimed he, "how overjoyed will Chamsada be! What happy news shall I bring to her! Remain here, my Prince: I am going to find everything that is necessary for your going with me."
He ran quickly to the village, and brought from it a saddled horse and more suitable clothes for Shaseliman, and they both took the road to Grand Cairo.
An unforeseen event interrupted their journey. As they were crossing a desert, they were surrounded by robbers, seized, plundered, and let down into a well. Shut up in this frightful place, the slave abandoned himself to grief.
"How! are you disconsolate?" said the young Prince. "Is it the prospect of death which terrifies you?"
"Death hath nothing dreadful to me," replied he; "but can I remain insensible to the hardships of your lot? Can I think calmly upon the loss which the sorrowful Chamsada will suffer?"
"Take courage," said Shaseliman. "I must fulfill the decrees of the Almighty. All that has happened to me was written in the Book of Life; and, if I must end my days in this dreadful abode, no human power can rescue me from it, and it becomes me to be submissive and resigned."
In these sentiments and in this dreadful situation did this virtuous Prince and his slave pass two days and two nights.
In the meantime, the eye of Providence continually watched over Shaseliman. It brought the King of Egypt, in pursuit of a roebuck, to the place where this Prince was shut up. The animal, struck by a deadly arrow, came to lie down and die on the brink of the well.
A hunter, outstripping the King's retinue, came first to seize the prey. As he approached it, he heard a plaintive voice from the bottom of the well. Having listened to ascertain whether it was so, he ran to report this to the King, who was speedily advancing with his train, and ordered some of them to descend into the well. Shaseliman and the slave were immediately drawn out of it. The cords which tied them were cut, cordials recalled them to life; and no sooner had they opened their eyes than the King recognized in one of them his own officer.
"Are not you," said he to him, "the confidant of Chamsada?"
"Yes, sire, I am."
"Well, what has brought you into this situation?"
"I was returning," said the slave, "loaded with the treasure the Queen had ordered me to search for in Persia; I was attacked by robbers, plundered, and thrown alive into this sepulchre."
"And who is this young man?"
"He is son to the nurse of your Majesty's august spouse. I was bringing him to your Court, with the view of procuring him a place."
After these two unfortunate men had received proper food, the King returned to his palace. He flew instantly to Chamsada, to give her an account of what he had seen, of the return of her slave with a young man, and of the loss of her treasure. When the Queen learned that they had been thrown into a well, grief took possession of her soul. She tried to hide her disorder, which was, however, betrayed by the visible alteration of her countenance under the mask of apparent tranquillity. The King, who was looking at her, and perceived the efforts she employed to restrain herself, wished to penetrate into the cause of her trouble.
"What is the matter with you, Chamsada?" said he. "Are you afflicted at the loss of your treasure? Is not mine at your disposal?"
"I swear by your life, O glorious Sultan," replied she, "that I am less sorry for the loss of my treasures, than for the sufferings of the poor slave, of which I have been the cause. I have a feeling heart, and you know how much I am affected by the misfortunes of others."
However, as the King continued to relate the adventure of the well, and as she learned that the slave and the young man had been drawn up from it, she recovered her tranquillity, and at the end of her husband's relation her feelings were entirely calm.
"Be comforted, my dear Chamsada," said he to her. "If all that I possess is not sufficient to make up for the loss of your treasure, think that you have one that is inexhaustible in the affection of a heart which is yours for life."
Having said this, he retired.
As soon as Chamsada was alone she called for her slave. He gave her an account of the manner in which he had got information of the Prince's adventures; of the means which Providence had employed in saving him from the cruelties and snares of his uncle; of the barbarity of the Infidels; and even of his too great confidence, when, having escaped being dashed to pieces by the fall, from which no Mussulman before him was ever saved, he was about again to deliver himself into the power of the barbarous Balavan. He continued his recital even to the moment when, drawn up from the well, the young Prince had been seen by the Egyptian monarch, whose curiosity he had excited.
The Queen then interrupted him.
"Ah!" said she to him, "what answer did you make to the King when he asked you who this young man was?"
"Alas!" replied the slave, "I told a lie, and I beseech you to pardon it. I told him that he was the son of your nurse, and that he was intended for his Majesty's service."
"Wise and faithful friend!" exclaimed Chamsada, her eyes bathed in tears, and still moved with what she had heard, "what gratitude will ever repay the service you have rendered to the most tender mother? Watch over my son. I trust him to your zeal and prudence. Never shall I forget the obligation I am under for what you have already done for him, and for what your attachment may still be able to do."
"Queen! the recommendation is unnecessary. I know what I owe to the posterity of my Sovereigns, and there is no sacrifice I am not ready to make for your Majesty."
These were not empty promises; the slave was no courtier. Considering what care and precaution would be necessary to repair the health and constitution of the young Prince, wasted by sufferings and fatigue, he made this his only study. A salutary and light diet, the use of the bath, and moderate exercise, gradually succeeded in renewing his strength. Nature resumed her empire; his body and mind regained their energy and every external charm, restored at length to the fairest of Queens the most beautiful Prince in the world.
A happy similarity of disposition gained him the monarch's heart, who distinguished this page above all the rest. He soon became so necessary to his service, that he alone was admitted into his private apartment. The monarch boasted continually of his virtues, and praised this new favourite to the grandees of his Court, endeavouring to render him as dear to them as he was to himself.
Amidst these flattering praises, which resounded in the ears of Chamsada, what conflicts of tenderness did not this feeling mother experience in the loss of her own son! She often perceived him, but durst not cast upon him one affectionate look. She was forced to restrain the affection of her heart, and give no visible tokens of her regard. Every day she observed his steps, and secretly longed for the moment when she might pour out her soul in his embraces. As he passed one day before the door of her apartment, and when she presumed no one would perceive her, she suddenly yielded to a mother's transports, threw herself on his neck, and in that happy moment forgot many years of sorrow.
While this fond mother was indulging the sweetest feelings of nature, danger surrounded her. One of the King's ministers, coming accidentally out of the neighbouring apartment, was the unintentional witness of this scene. He was uncertain what to think of it. As Chamsada was veiled he might have mistaken her. But having asked of the eunuchs the name of the lady who inhabited the apartment before which he had passed, he came trembling to his Majesty, eager to discover the mystery of which chance had made him a witness. The charming page had already gone before him to the throne.
"August Majesty," said the minister, "you see me still in horror at the crime which has just now been committed, and of which I have been a witness. Pardon me, sire, if I am under the necessity of discovering to you the conduct of a spouse whom you have loved too dearly, but as I passed before her apartment, I saw her embracing the vile slave who is at your side."
He knows not the power of the passions who cannot figure to himself the sudden revolution which this report occasioned in the soul of the enamoured Sultan. The confusion of Shaseliman seemed still to increase it, and to remove every doubt concerning the truth of the fact. The Sultan instantly ordered the young man and the slave who had brought him from Persia to be thrown into a dungeon.
"What abominable treachery!" exclaimed he. "What! was this pretended treasure nothing but a slave?" And running hastily into Chamsada's apartment, "What has she become," said he, addressing himself to Chamsada, "whose prudence, wisdom, and love were the glory of my Court and the pattern of wives? How has this mirror of perfection been tarnished in a moment! How has she become my shame after having been my true honour, and a subject of reproach to the world after having been its admiration! How, alas! have appearances deceived me! Henceforward, every woman shall be dishonoured in my eyes, from past and present to all future generations."
Having said this, the King went out, his soul struggling betwixt love and jealousy, fury and grief.
Chamsada was astonished at the reproaches she had just heard, and tormented by the false suspicions to which her husband, whom she loved, was abandoned. But how could she remove them? She had always confirmed to the Sultan the false report of her son's death intentionally spread by her father Selimansha, and she could not venture to discover him at present without exposing him to the utmost danger. Alas! when one has so long wandered from truth, is it possible to return? Could one regain confidence who has not known how to deserve it by a sincere and timely confession?
"No, no," would she say, "it was my inclination, and, without doubt, my duty, to spare the reputation of my uncle, and to-day I would in vain attempt to sully it. O Sovereign Wisdom! Divine Goodness! only resource of the innocent, to Thee I lift my hands and my heart. By invisible means you formerly snatched my unfortunate son from the snares of death with which he was on all sides surrounded. He falls into them still, notwithstanding his innocence. The fatality of his star draws along with him my faithful slave and myself, and even the Sultan my husband, who is weighed down by the too well-founded presumption of our crime. Deliver us, O Allah, from the horrors of suspicion! And thou, great Prophet! if thou bearest in thy heart thy faithful followers--if all thy prayers in their behalf are heard--make mine ascend before the God of Justice! And since all the wisdom of the world could not untie the fatal knot in which we are bound, be pleased to employ in this work thy omnipotent power."
After this invocation, she placed her confidence in Allah, and waited the event with resignation.
In the meantime the irresolute soul of the Sultan was abandoned to the greatest uncertainty. His passion for Chamsada seemed to acquire new strength in proportion as he attempted to destroy it. He knew not what step to take. How should he take vengeance on the guilty? How could he discern if they were both equally so? How could he know which of the two he ought to spare? How could he strike two objects who were so dear to him? Harassed by these painful and afflicting considerations, he lost his repose and his health, and his nurse, who still remained in the seraglio, was alarmed at this change. This woman, whom age and experience had rendered prudent, having deserved the confidence of her masters, had acquired the right of approaching them whenever she thought proper, and accordingly she went to the Sultan.
"What is the matter with you, my son?" said she to him. "You are not as you used to be. You shun the amusements which, till now, appeared agreeable to your inclinations. Riding, walking, and hunting, please you no more. You do not now assemble your Court, nor give feasts and entertainments. I well know that you scarcely take food. What secret grief consumes you? Open to me your heart, my son. You know my tender attachment, and you ought to fear nothing from my indiscretion. We often allow ourselves to be prepossessed by phantoms, and perhaps I may be able to dissipate, in a moment, those which disturb your imagination. Trust me with your affliction, my son, and I hope to soothe it."
Whatever confidence this Prince had in his good nurse, and notwithstanding the great estimation in which he held her excellent qualities, he did not think it proper to disclose his grief to her. He must speak against Chamsada, and this remembrance would make the wound bleed afresh which she had made in his heart. The sage old woman was not discouraged by the ill success of her first attempt: she watched every opportunity of being seen by her master; and the tender looks which she cast upon him seemed to say, "O my dear son! speak to me, unfold your heart to your good nurse." But all her cares were fruitless.
Finding that she could not succeed by this method, and presuming that Chamsada must have been informed of the Sultan's grief, and conjecturing, moreover, that a woman would more easily reveal the secret which she wished to know, she flew to the Queen, whom she found plunged in sorrow apparently as deep as that which consumed the Sultan. She employed every method which address and experience could furnish her, in order to deserve the confidence of Chamsada.
"But why this cruel reserve with me?" said the good nurse. "Look, my daughter, upon my grey hairs! If age and time have furrowed my brow with wrinkles, they have also given me experience. I am no more the sport of passion, and my counsels will be dictated by prudence."
Chamsada, shaken but not convinced by these arguments, replied to her,
"My secret is very weighty, my dear nurse; it weighs down my heart; but it is impossible it should ever come out of it. In trusting you with it, I must be well assured that it will remain for ever shut up in your breast."
"Your wishes shall be fulfilled," said the old woman. "I am discreet, and never shall my lips divulge your secret; but let it be no more one with her who takes so lively an interest in your happiness."
At length Chamsada could resist her no longer: she related to her all her adventures, and informed her that the young man of whom the Sultan was become jealous was her son Shaseliman, who had been supposed to have been dead.
"O great Prophet, I thank you!" exclaimed the nurse. "Praised be Mahomet! we have nothing to struggle with but chimeras! Be comforted, my daughter: every cloud will disappear: I behold the rising of a bright day."
"O my good mother, we shall never, never reach it. Never will this young man be believed to be my son. We shall be accused of falsehood, and I would prefer the loss of his life, and of my own, rather than be suspected of this infamy."
"I approve of your delicacy," said the nurse; "but my precautions shall prevent everything that might hurt it."
Upon this she went out, and immediately entered the Sultan's apartment, whom she found in the same state of dejection and sorrow in which she had left him; she embraced him and took him by the hand.
"My son," said she to him, "you are too much afflicted. If you are a true Mussulman, I conjure you by the name of the great Prophet to reveal to me the true cause of the grief which afflicts you."
Unable any longer to withstand the force of this intercession, the Sultan was forced to reveal all his distress.
"I loved Chamsada with my whole heart," said the Sultan. "Her graces, her wisdom, her virtues, all the charms, in a word, with which she was adorned, appeared to me a delicious garden, where my thoughts wandered with delight. All is now changed into a frightful desert, where I see nothing but hideous monsters and dreadful precipices. Chamsada is faithless. The false Chamsada whom I adored, and whom I love still, has betrayed me. She has given her heart to a vile slave. I am fallen from the height of an imaginary happiness into a hell where every evil torments me. The two criminals must perish: nothing remains for me but to proportion the punishment to the crime, and endeavour to distinguish on which of the two my severest justice ought to fall. But, alas! what will it cost me to execute this fatal sentence! The same weapon which pierces the heart of my adorable Chamsada, will wound my own with a deadly stroke."
"My son! do nothing rashly," said the nurse. "You may expose yourself to eternal repentance. Those whom you think guilty are in your hands: you will always have time to punish them: allow yourself time to examine them. 'Time,' says the proverb, 'is the wisest of all counsellors: many things are brought to light by time and patience.'"
"Ah! my good nurse, what explanation can I expect? Is there any that could destroy an attested fact? Chamsada loves this young man; and pretending that she had a treasure in Persia, she abused my confidence and affection to obtain from me an order to go in search of him."
"My dear son, be calm," said the old woman. "I have a method of laying open to you the soul of Chamsada. Cause your hunters to bring me an egret. I will tear out the heart of this bird, which I will give to you, and as soon as Chamsada shall be asleep, you must bring it near hers, and it will be impossible for her to conceal from you the smallest secret."
The King, delighted with having it in his power to discover so easily the mystery which kept him in such perplexity, instantly ordered his officers to go and catch an egret in his gardens. One was brought to him, which he immediately gave to the old nurse. She tore its breast, accompanying this action, extremely simple in itself, with a magical charm, and the Sultan was put in possession of its reeking heart.
While the Prince was reflecting on the surprising virtues of this method, the nurse had gone secretly to the apartment of Chamsada.
"Everything goes well," said she to her. "Let your heart be filled with hope, and let your mouth be prepared to disclose the truth, without any reserve. Expect this night to receive a mysterious visit. It will be from the Sultan himself, with the heart of an egret in his hand. As soon as you perceive that he brings it near yours, feign to be asleep, but answer with precision all the questions which he may put to you, and let truth flow from your mouth, unsullied by the slightest scruple."
Chamsada tenderly thanked the nurse, and prepared herself to second this innocent stratagem, beseeching the favour of the holy Prophet to carry conviction to his heart who was endeavouring to discover the truth.
As soon as night had spread her shades, Chamsada, contrary to her custom, signified that she had need of rest. She sent away her slaves, and threw herself upon a sofa. Scarcely had she been there two hours when the Sultan, impatient to prove the nurse's secret, presented himself at the apartment of his favourite: he found there the chief of the eunuchs.
"How is Chamsada employed?" demanded he.
"She had need of rest," replied the eunuch, "and I believe she is upon her sofa."
The Sultan entered without making the least noise, and found her asleep. He approached very near her, in order the better to judge of the soundness of her sleep, and, thinking it profound, he judged it proper to try his experiment, and gently applied the heart of the bird to that of Chamsada, saying to her, "Chamsada, who is that young man whom you were caressing when one of my ministers surprised you?"
"He is Shaseliman," replied she, without awaking, "the only child of my first marriage with the son of Selimansha my uncle."
"This child was stabbed in his cradle; I am assured of this by letters from your uncle himself."
"He was indeed wounded, but the stroke was not mortal; skilful surgeons restored him to life; and this was kept a secret from the murderer of my husband."
"Why have you concealed it from me, who loved you so dearly?"
"Because my uncle, whose memory I cherished, and wished to be respected, had for a political reason imposed upon you respecting this fact. If what I have told you does not appear possible, interrogate the young man, and his mouth will confirm the truth of this declaration."
Having got this ray of light, the Sultan gave over his inquiries, withdrew from his spouse, whom he supposed still asleep, left her apartment, and gave orders that the young man and the slave should be brought out of the dungeons in which they were shut up. This order was immediately executed.
The unfortunate Shaseliman, who was languishing in his prison, suddenly hearing the vaults resound with the noise of the bolts and keys, believed that his last hour was come, and that the ignominy of punishment was about to terminate his existence.
"O Allah!" said he, raising his innocent hands to heaven, "my life is in Thy hands; to Thee I resign it; but watch over the life of my mother!"
Shaseliman and the slave were brought before the Sultan. The Prince did not leave to others the care of proving a fact so important to his honour and repose. He ran to the young man, and searched in his bosom for the scar of Balavan's poniard; he found it, and, transported with joy, he exclaimed, "O Allah! for ever be Thou blessed for having preserved me from the dreadful crime I was about to commit! and thou His great Prophet, a signal mark of whose protection the virtues of Chamsada have drawn down upon me, to so many favours still add that of enabling me to efface, by my services, the dreadful sorrows I have occasioned, and the idea of the injustice I was about to commit!"
Then throwing himself into the arms of Shaseliman, "Come, dear and unfortunate Prince, come to my heart! Let your image be joined there with that of my beloved Chamsada, that my most tender affections may henceforth be centred on one object alone! But deign to satisfy my curiosity, and inform me by what chain of events you have been conducted hither, unknown to all the world. How have you existed? Speak, Prince. I am impatient to know more particularly the person who restores me to happiness."
Shaseliman, encouraged by the demonstration of such affecting kindness, then gave a faithful detail of his adventures, from the very moment in which he had been hurled from the throne into prison, even to that in which, reduced to the humble condition of a shepherd, he had been found by the messenger of his mother, surrounded by robbers, drawn up out of the well into which they had been let down, and conducted to the Court of the Sultan.
While this recital engaged the attention of Bensirak, Chamsada, his spouse, although less troubled than on the preceding days, was not altogether in a tranquil state. The events had become too important for her. She endeavoured to find out with what design the Sultan, after having questioned her, had departed so abruptly. She had not been able to learn what he had done, nor what was become of him, since the confession which she had made to him. She was indulging these reflections, and continued sunk in the sleep in which the Sultan seemed to surprise her. All at once twenty slaves, carrying flambeaux, came to illuminate her apartment; they walked before the Sultan, who conducted by the hand and looked with kindness on the beloved son of the most virtuous of mothers. He had caused Shaseliman to be dressed in the most magnificent garments; he was adorned with beautiful diamonds, in which Bensirak had delighted to be decked on the days of triumph.
"Soothe your sorrows, adorable Chamsada," cried he, throwing himself into her arms. "The favour of Heaven restores to you a husband and a son, whose feelings and affection secure your felicity for ever."
Shaseliman, on his knees, kissed the hands of his mother; and tears of consolation expressed the sentiments of the son and of the delighted pair.
As soon as day had succeeded this happy night, the Sultan assembled the best of his troops, and put himself at their head, accompanied by Shaseliman. He took the road for Persia, causing heralds go before him, and announce to the people of that kingdom that he was about to re-establish on the throne their rightful King, assassinated, persecuted, and dethroned by the usurper Balavan. Scarcely had they reached the frontiers of Persia, when a party of the faithful subjects of the old King Selimansha, always attached to the blood of this august family, came to range themselves under the banners of the Sultan of Egypt and of Shaseliman. The perfidious Balavan heard this intelligence, and endeavoured to assemble his forces, in order to dispute the ground with a powerful enemy who came to overwhelm him; but no one would repair to his colours, and he was obliged to shut himself up in his capital with his usual guard and the few subjects on whose fidelity he thought he could depend.
But if virtue, pursued by a superior force, is so often deserted, where are the resources of guilt?
Ispahan is invested, and Balavan, betrayed by his ministers, is delivered up to the Sultan Bensirak, who, turning his eyes from a monster who had dishonoured the throne by the most dreadful crimes, and directing himself to Shaseliman,
"My son," said he, "to you I commit the scourge of your subjects and your father's murderer; dispose of his lot, and give orders for his punishment."
"O my benefactor! O my father! it belongs not to me to dispose of him," replied Shaseliman; "vengeance must come down from above. Let him go to the frontiers to guard that dangerous post with which I was entrusted. If he is innocent, he will be preserved as I have been; but if he is guilty, his decree is pronounced, and nothing can suspend its execution."
The Sultan approved of the decision of Shaseliman, and Balavan set out to make head against the infidels. But divine justice was now prepared to inflict its stroke. He was taken, chained, and thrown into the fatal well, where gnawing remorse and dreadful despair continued to torment him till the moment of his death.
Meanwhile the presumptive heir of the Persian crown, the happy Shaseliman, seated on the throne of his ancestors, received the oaths of his people. He commenced a reign of which the wisdom and piety recalled to the Persians the sublime virtues of the Grand Caliph Moavie. The Sultan of Egypt, after having seen this young Sovereign shine in the splendour of the most distinguished virtues, and having tenderly embraced him, returned to his dominions, and by his presence completed the joy of Chamsada. Nothing afterwards disturbed the repose of this happy pair, and having reached at last the term allotted to human greatness, they fell asleep in that peace which is the portion of faithful Mussulmans.
"Sire," said Aladin to King Bohetzad, after having finished his recital, "see by what secret and wonderful ways Providence delivered Shaseliman from the hands of persecution! See how it led Balavan into the very gulf he had dug for another! No, Allah will never suffer guilt to triumph and innocence to be punished. His vigilance and justice nothing can escape, and sooner or later He will tear asunder the veil with which the wicked are covered. As for me, sire, encouraged by my conscience and convinced that man cannot alter the decrees of my destiny, I am always firm and hopeful. I only fear that your justice will light on your Viziers, my accusers."
At this discourse, equally firm, wise, and modest, the King was left still more irresolute than ever.
"Let the execution of the sentence be suspended," said he; "let this young man be conducted back to prison. The silence of the night, and the reflections which his recital will occasion, may enlighten my judgment, and to-morrow I shall more easily take my resolution."
As soon as Aladin had been led back to his dungeon, one of the Viziers began:
"Sire, your Majesty suffers yourself to be overcome by the magic of this young impostor's discourses. The great Prophet preserve you from yielding to sentiments of mercy in his behalf! When guilt remains unpunished, the splendour of the throne is obscured. You are seated there for no other purpose but to administer justice: the crime of this villain is evident, and his punishment ought to be signal; the most awful should be fixed upon, that it may serve as an example to such."
"Let orders be immediately given," interrupted Bohetzad eagerly, "to erect a scaffold without the walls of the city, on the most elevated situation. Let the dread of death terrify those who might attempt to follow his footsteps. Such is my final resolution, and let it be announced to the people by the public criers."
The ten Viziers were well pleased to hear this resolution. They hoped at length, by their secret plots, to make the object of their envy fall beneath the sword of justice, and were eager to order the apparatus of punishment.
On the morning of the following day, which was the eleventh since the confinement of Aladin, the ten Viziers went to the King.
"Sire," said they, "your orders are obeyed; your pleasure is known, and the people assembled round the spot wait only for him who is to die there."
Bohetzad gave orders that the criminal should be brought to him. As soon as he appeared the ten Viziers lifted up their voices against him.
"Wretch! offspring of villains!" said they to him, "the scythe of death is raised over thy head; thy stratagems are exhausted, and thou art about to receive the reward of thy crimes and rashness."
"Audacious ministers," said Aladin, looking at them with a confident but modest air, "it belongs not to you to mark my forehead with the seal of death! If the decree which strikes me comes not from Heaven, what could all your attempts avail? Guilt alone can be afraid of them. But since I have nothing wherewith to reproach myself, had I even my head under the fatal sword, I should be preserved from the stroke, like the slave who was accused although innocent."
"Sire," interrupted all the Viziers at once, "impose silence on this audacious fellow; he wishes still to deceive your Majesty by a new tale."
"I wish not to impose upon the King," said Aladin; "it is you who cherish falsehood and imposture."
"Stop!" said Bohetzad to him; "I will yet put my patience to a last effort, and agree to hear the history of your slave and of his deliverance."
"Oh, the clemency of my King!" replied Aladin. "May truth at length reach your heart, which is so difficult of access! I wish not by a false relation to deceive your Majesty; the story I am going to relate is well known throughout all Chaldea."
HISTORY OF THE KING OF HARAM, AND OF THE SLAVE.
The King of Haram, uneasy at the manner in which his Viziers and Cadis administered justice in the provinces of his empire, went one night from his palace disguised, and only escorted by two eunuchs. By chance he passed near a dungeon, from whence he heard a plaintive and lamentable voice. He learned that this place served as a prison, in which criminals condemned to death were shut up; and approaching nearer it in order to hear distinctly the doleful accents, which appeared to come from the bowels of the earth, he heard these words:
"O powerful Allah! Thou who watchest constantly over the unfortunate, stooping under the burden of his misery, wilt Thou suffer innocence, falsely accused, to sink under presumptions which a fatal destiny hath heaped upon it? Infinite mercy! none of Thy creatures are insignificant in Thy eyes; Thou hearest the cries of a worm; listen to that of Thy slave; and if my death is not determined by Thy providence, arrest the stroke with which I am threatened."
A silence, interrupted only by sighs, succeeded this prayer. The King of Haram returned to his palace with a heart moved by these lamentations, and a spirit troubled with this adventure. In vain did he seek repose: the idea of the death of an innocent person agitated him, and he only waited the return of day to clear up this mystery.
As soon as the sun had enlightened the earth, he called together his ministers, and described to them the place from which the cries came that had excited his pity. They informed him that the unfortunate person confined in this dungeon was destined to die that very day upon the scaffold. They gave him an account of his trial, from which the crime appeared clear, and two witnesses certified that the slave, whom his Majesty had heard, was the perpetrator of it. The King of Haram could not resist what human justice reckons evidence, and immediately confirmed the order for his execution.
The slave, convicted of the crime, was taken from the dungeon: he walked to punishment with a firm and modest countenance; his hands bound, and his eyes lifted up to Heaven, which was now his only hope. He was at the foot of the scaffold; the executioners were preparing to strip him of his clothes, when an unexpected noise entirely changed the aspect of this scene of death. A hostile party, having formed the design of making themselves masters of the city, waited until the people, attracted by curiosity to see the execution, should have gone out of it. They hastily quitted the ambuscade in which they were concealed, fell upon the guard, and dispersed it. All those who endeavoured to defend it either fell by the sword or were made prisoners; not one escaped except the unhappy slave who was about to suffer an ignominious death.
The enemy, dreading the approach of the King, then withdrew to a distance in order to increase their forces, carrying with them the booty they had got, and deferred to another time the consummation of their enterprise.
Meanwhile, the slave, delivered from his chains by the hands of the enemy, and still fearing lest people should be dispatched to pursue him, gained the country, and walked day and night without stopping. At length, overcome with fatigue, he stopped under the shade of a laurel, which, from its size and height, appeared coeval with the world, and sat down. Opposite to this tree, and very near it, was the entrance of a dark cave; two torches threw a dreadful light around it, without altogether dispelling its darkness. His attention was fixed with astonishment on these objects, which inspired him with terror, when he thought he observed these two lights move and advance towards him. These bright fires were nothing but the glaring eyes of a monstrous lion, which came out of the cave and slowly approached the unhappy slave, who had nothing with which he could defend himself. The animal seized him, and, without hurting him, carried him into the cave. He instantly went out of it again, tore down the enormous laurel under which the man had been formerly seated, and, having placed it at the mouth of the cave in order to shut up its passage, ran into the desert in search of its mate, whom the need of food for their whelps had carried far from their common haunt.
The mouth of this cave, shut up by the trunk of the tree, was inaccessible to all human power. However, there was still sufficient light left for the slave to view the inside of this dreadful habitation, to distinguish its inhabitants, and to see there the fragments of bones and food with which the ground was covered. He saw likewise two young lions couching on a heap of moss, who were not frightened by his presence. In an opposite corner he perceived a heap of human bones, the sad remains of the unfortunate whom the same destiny that had brought him there had drawn toward this frightful abode. Nevertheless, amid these objects, fear did not damp his courage: he turned towards the south, and, like a faithful Mussulman, addressed his prayer to the great Prophet with as much zeal and fervour as if he had been in the most splendid mosque and in the most secure asylum.
Full of confidence in the Sovereign Arbiter of Destiny, he then cast his eyes into the dark cavities of this den. There were many clothes in it: he put his hand into the pockets of one garment, and found there a stone and a piece of steel for striking fire; the earth was covered with a dry moss, which served as litter to the savage inhabitants of this dwelling. The possibility of getting out revived his courage; and scarcely was the enterprise conceived when it was put in execution. He set fire to the moss which he had collected at the mouth of the cave; the flames penetrated the moist bark of the laurel's roots, and the fire speedily increasing, the tree lost its support and fell upon its side with a crash, so as to leave the mouth of the cave quite open. In examining this cave he had seen a bow, sabres, and poniards, which might serve for his defence. He had also discovered, by the light, a pan with coined gold, and pieces of this metal, with precious jewels of different kinds. Provided in this manner, with everything which could assist his escape, he armed himself with what was necessary, cut away with his sabre the burning branches which opposed his passage, and, blessing Heaven, at length recovered his liberty.
Scarcely had the slave got out of this dangerous cave, when he perceived the lion at the distance of four bowshots, and the lioness somewhat farther off in the plain. He put upon his bow a deadly arrow; and the lion, thinking to dart upon his prey, ran with great rapidity against the arrow, which was discharged at him. The steel reached his heart, and he fell lifeless.
The slave, freed from this enemy, soon had the other also to contend with. He darted another arrow, but it made only a slight wound. The animal, rendered still more furious, rushed forwards to throw him on the ground. The slave opposed her with his poniard, and plunged it into her side. The lioness, roaring aloud, made a new effort; but with his scimitar he struck off one of her fore-paws, and disabled her for further combat. She rolled along the earth, making the echoes resound with her roaring: the young lions from the cave answered her with hideous cries, which would have filled the most warlike soul with terror. In the meantime the conqueror secured his victory by piercing the animal in the vital parts, till at length she sank under the vigour of his arm. He ran immediately to kill the whelps, and drew them out of the cave. After this feat of valour, he looked in the plain for a tree, the fruit of which might afford him nourishment, and a stream in which he might quench his thirst; and still aided by Providence, everything seemed subject to his desires and offered itself to his hand.
Having at length recruited his strength, exhausted by so much fatigue, he re-entered the cave whose inhabitants he had destroyed, made himself master of the treasures it contained, shut up its entrance with the branches of a tree, and, armed to as much advantage as possible, and furnished with gold and silver to satisfy his wants, he took the road to his native country. He arrived there at the end of some days, and gave an account of his history to his relations. Camels and slaves were dispatched to bring away the precious effects which were left in the lions' den. Possessed of so much riches, the beneficent slave shared them with the indigent. Not far from his habitation he built an asylum for caravans, pilgrims, and travellers who might be obliged to take that road; and from the spoils of a lions' den he erected a temple of charity.
"Sire," added Aladin, after having finished his relation, "you see how this slave, condemned to perish upon the scaffold, on the false evidence of his enemies, and in danger of being devoured by lions, was miraculously delivered from these dangers; while his accusers and enemies, eager to feast their eyes with the sight of his tortures, were massacred and punished. The King of Haram, deprived of part of his subjects, suffered the punishment of his negligence in not examining the proceedings himself, and not listening sufficiently to complaints which, although they moved his pity, had not armed his justice."
Bohetzad felt an unusual struggle betwixt his own power, the relations and reflections of Aladin, and the solicitations of his ministers. A voice within him pleaded powerfully against the judgment he had pronounced; yet the orders which he had given publicly, the scaffold already prepared without the walls of the city, the crowd of people impatient to enjoy this execution, so long delayed, all seemed to increase the embarrassment of the King. His Viziers, seeing him hesitate again, were eager to fix his resolution by the strongest remonstrances; and going over all the arguments they had already alleged, they ended by alarming the King respecting the duration of his power.
"I feel in spite of you," said the King, "that my heart revolts at what I am doing; nevertheless, as the safety of my kingdom depends upon this decree, I yield to your reasons. Let the criminal be conducted to punishment."
That very instant the guard seized Aladin. He was bound with cords, loaded with chains, and led without the city to the place where he was to terminate his existence. The King himself, mounted upon an elephant, and followed by his whole Court, repaired to the place of punishment: he was seated upon a throne from which he would behold the execution. The unfortunate Aladin was already on the scaffold, when suddenly a stranger, rushing through the crowd, and removing the guards and every obstacle that opposed his passage, threw himself into the arms of Aladin.
"Oh, my son! my dear son!" exclaimed he, the tears flowing in a torrent from his eyes. He could say no more, for grief stopped his utterance.
This unexpected event threw the people into commotion, and the King gave orders that the stranger should be brought before him.
"Sovereign monarch," said he to him, embracing his knees, "save the life of the unfortunate young man whom you have condemned to death. If a criminal must die, give orders for my punishment: I await it at your feet."
"Who are you?" said the King. "What interest have you in this criminal?"
"Sire, I am the chief of a band of robbers. Searching one day in the desert for a fountain to allay the thirst of my company, I found upon the grass, on the brink of a fountain, and at the feet of five palm-trees, which covered it with their shadow, a piece of cloth interwoven with gold, and some swaddling-clothes, on which an infant lay. Moved with compassion for this innocent creature, I carried him to my house, where my wife became his nurse. This child was not ours, sire; but he was to us a gift from Heaven, and became dearer to us than our own. He was endowed with such excellent qualities and so many virtues, that we regretted our having abandoned those which the exercise of our profession had made us forget; for in short--to my shame I avow it, sire--we were robbers. He followed us in our expeditions, and distinguished himself on every occasion by deeds of valour and humanity. We lost him in a conflict with your troops."
No other circumstance was necessary to inform the King that he who was about to die by his command was his only son! He rushed from his throne, flew to Aladin, with his own poniard struck the cords off him, and clasped him in his arms, with marks of the most tender affection.
"Ah! my son," exclaimed he, "I have been on the point of plunging in my heart the dagger of endless repentance. My heart must have been torn at the sight of a cruel punishment, and it has been mercifully converted into a spectacle of triumph and joy, whose ravishing splendour my soul can with difficulty support!"
He again embraced Aladin, set him upon his elephant, and returned to the palace, amid the din of trumpets and the acclamations of the people.
Baherjoa had been already informed of his unexpected happiness in finding a son for whose fate she had been so often alarmed. In a short time the King himself presented to her this dear child, dressed in such splendid garments that it was not easy to discover the alteration which a tedious confinement had produced upon him. The joy of this event soon spread through all ranks in the kingdom. Courtiers, merchants, and artists partook of it; the mosques were opened, and the people crowded thither to render thanks to Allah and His Prophet; public rejoicings testified the general happiness; the city of Ispahan was on this day transformed into a scene of pleasure; and everything, even the birds of heaven, sang the glory of the monarch and the deliverance of Aladin.
The ten Viziers alone, far from participating in the public happiness, were thrown into a dark dungeon, where the remorse of their consciences anticipated the punishment which, at the end of the thirty days that had been appointed for feasting, they were doomed to suffer. At length, by the orders of the Sovereign, they were brought to the foot of the throne, which was now become so formidable to them. Aladin was seated at his father's right hand. They turned away their guilty eyes, and after a silence that imposed respect and terror, Bohetzad thus addressed them:
"Pretended supports of my throne!" said he to them, "ministers so jealous of my glory! behold this criminal whom, with so much cruel obstinacy and such distinguished eagerness, you pursued. I ought to have sent him to punishment without hearing him! by listening to his stories, I exposed my glory, my safety, and the peace of my subjects! Justify yourselves if you can: you have liberty to speak."
In vain did the King endeavour to make these guilty ministers open their mouths. They were seized with a mortal coldness; their eyes, fixed on the ground, could not be drawn from it; their lips quivered; their feeble limbs bent under their knees and seemed ready to fail them.
"Speak," said Aladin to them in his turn: "where now is that attachment to the rules of justice which rendered you so eloquent against the son of a chief of the robbers, whose mere mistake was in your eyes a crime which ought to be expiated by the most infamous punishment? Are your courage and your zeal for the glory of the kingdom annihilated? Guilt weighs you down, remorse preys upon you, and you are confounded with shame."
"Your sentence, already written in heaven," resumed Bohetzad, "is about to be executed on earth. On the scaffold where my son was to suffer let these ten wretches finish their days, and let the public criers announce this decree to the people."
The order was instantly executed.
Bohetzad then leading back his son to the palace, continually renewed the tender proofs of his affection.
"Ah, dear son!" would he say, "how were you so little intimidated by the death which threatened you as to recollect all the circumstances you related? Whence have you drawn those numerous maxims and judicious reflections which can only be the fruit of experience and study?"
"Sire," replied Aladin, "it was not I who spoke, but Heaven which inspired me. In my infancy I had not been neglected; and since the happy moment in which I had the good fortune to be placed near your Majesty, I have been perfected in wisdom. The woman, whom I took for my mother, early directed my attention to the divine Koran, by whose sacred precepts, she told me, I ought to regulate my conduct. And that which will appear most extraordinary to you, sire, is, that her husband, led away by the force of habit, brought up in guilt almost from his infancy, and not hesitating in the least to plunder caravans, should yet be afraid of breaking his word. He was a faithful husband, a kind master to his slaves, to me more than an affectionate father, and of all men the least greedy of plunder. He cherished me; and as at that time I was not so well informed as I am at present, I honoured him as a benefactor and loved him as a parent."
