Notes on Chapter X.

Page 107. The King of Persia (Shāh `Ajam).—The term `Ajam includes all who cannot speak Arabic, or who do not speak it with elegance. Among the Arabs it applies to all people not of Arab descent, and carries the same idea as Barbarians with the Greeks, Gentiles with the Hebrews. Hence Persia is called `Ajamistān, the land of the stranger, or barbarian. And so two famous Arabian poems are distinguished respectively by the nationalities of their authors: Lāmiyyatu-’l-`Arab, by the Arabian brigand-poet Shanfará, and Lāmiyyātu-’l-`Ajam, by Et Tugrā`ī, a native of Isfahān: that is, the L-Poem (from its rhyming in lam, or L) of the Arab, and the L-Poem of the Foreigner.

Page 108. “Not having any child,” &c.—The desire of offspring, and especially of male children, seems to have always been very strong among Asiatics of all classes, and by Jews the want of children was considered sufficient ground for divorce, as the following beautiful rabbinical story will show: A man, 217it is related, brought his wife before Rabbi Simon, expressing his desire to be divorced, since he had been married over ten years without being blessed with children. The Rabbi at first endeavoured to dissuade the man from his purpose, but finding him resolute, he gravely addressed the pair thus: “My children, when you were married did ye not make a feast and entertain your friends? Well, since you are determined to be divorced, do likewise: go home, make a feast, entertain your friends, and on the following day come to me and I will comply with your wishes.” They returned home, and, in accordance with the good Rabbi’s advice, the husband caused a splendid feast to be prepared, to which were invited their friends and relations. In the course of the entertainment, the husband, being gladdened with wine, said to his wife: “My beloved, we have lived many happy years together; it is only the want of children that makes me wish for a separation. To convince thee, however, that I still love thee, I give thee leave to take with thee out of my house whatever thou likest best.” “Be it so,” answered his wife. The wine-cup was freely plied by the guests, and all became merry, until at length many had fallen asleep, and amongst these was the master of the house, which his wife perceiving, she caused him to be carried to her father’s house and put to bed. Having slept off the effects of his carouse, he awoke, and, finding himself in a strange house, exclaimed: “Where am I?—how came I here?” His wife, who had placed herself behind a curtain to await the issue of her little stratagem, came up to him, and told him that he had no cause for alarm, since he was in her father’s house. “In thy father’s house!” echoed the astonished husband—“how should I come hither?” “I will soon explain, my dear husband. Didst thou not tell me last night that I might take out of thy house whatever I most valued? Now, my beloved, believe me, amongst all thy treasures there is none I value so much as I do thyself.” The sequel may be readily imagined: overcome by such devotion, the husband affectionately embraced his wife, was 218reconciled to her, and they lived happily together ever afterwards.^[88]—Throughout the East, indeed, the want of children is considered as a great disgrace. Readers of Oriental romances, such as those contained in Elf Layla wa Layla, or The Thousand and One Nights; Bahār-i Dānish, or the Spring of Knowledge, and Kissa-i Chehār Darvīsh, or Tale of the Four Dervishes, will easily call to mind the many stories of Khalīfs, Sultāns, Shāhs, Viziers, &c. being childless, and of the pious and even magical means they adopted to obtain the blessing of a son and heir.

Page 108. “In a dream.”—Muslims consider dreams as the predictions of future events. Good dreams are believed to be from God, and false ones from the Devil. “Whoever seeth me,” said the Prophet, “in his sleep, seeth me truly; for Satan cannot assume the similitude of my form.”—Lane’s Thousand and One Nights, iii, p. 512, note.

Page 108. “Was addressed by an old man,” &c.—According to Lescallier, “by a genie, resplendent with light.”

Page 109. “The top of a mountain, from which he shall fall, rolling in blood and clay.”—Lescallier’s rendering goes on to say: “He shall yet escape the murderous teeth of that lion; and when he has attained his twentieth year, he shall give you a wound, and put you to death.”

Page 109. “One of his Viziers eminently skilled in astrology”—Lescallier adds, “assisted by many other astronomers.”—In Eastern courts an astronomer would be held in disrespect if he did not debase the truth of his science to the vain predictions of astrology (‘ilmu-’n-nujūn). Every professional astrologer hangs an astrolabe—which is not larger than the hollow of the hand—in a neat case, at his girdle. Some have an astrolabe two or three inches in diameter, which at a distance looks like a 219medal conferred on the wearer as a mark of honour, or as an order of merit.^[89] “A very slight knowledge of astronomy,” says Sir John Malcolm, “is sufficient to allow a Persian student to profess the occult science of judicial astrology. If a person can take an altitude with an astrolabe, knows the names of the planets and their different mansions, and a few technical phrases, and understands the astrological almanacs that are annually published, he deems himself entitled to offer his services to all who wish to consult him; and that includes every person in Persia who has the means to reward his skill. Nothing is done by a man of any consequence or property without reference to the stars. If any measure is to be adopted, if a voyage or journey is to be commenced, if a new dress is to be put on—the lucky or unlucky moment must be discovered, and the almanac and astrologer are consulted. A person wishing to commence a journey will not allow a fortunate day to escape, even though he is not ready to set out. He leaves his own house at the propitious moment, and remains, till he can actually proceed, in some incommodious lodging in its vicinity, satisfied that, by quitting his house, he has secured all the benefit which the influence of good stars can afford him.”^[90] When Sir John Malcolm entered Tehrān as British Ambassador, the King’s astrologer so timed the progress of the cavalcade that the “Elchī’s” charger should put his foot over the threshold of the gate at the precise lucky moment, which he had previously ascertained.

The Chaldeans were the first astrologers, and the so-called science was sedulously cultivated and in high estimation among the Hindūs, the Greeks, the Egyptians, and their Alexandrian disciples. Even the illustrious Tycho Brahe was devoted to astrology from his early youth until within a few years of his death, when he finally abandoned it as a fallacy. At first, and 220for a very long period afterwards, astrology was not separated into the two divisions or departments of natural astrology, or observations of the regular motions of the heavenly bodies (which is now termed astronomy), and judicial astrology, or the pretended science of foretelling events from observation of the relative positions of the planets. Isidore of Seville, it is said, was the first to distinguish between astronomy and astrology. The professors of judicial astrology in Europe pretended—as those in Asiatic countries still pretend—to be able to predict the destiny of any one who came to consult them, by a process called casting his horoscope, which was done by first ascertaining the precise hour of the person’s birth, and the sign the sun was in at that time, and then drawing conclusions from observation of the conjunction and relative position of the planets towards each other. But European astrologers very frequently—probably as a general rule—did not trouble themselves to “read the stars;” they were for the most part accomplished physiognomists, and it may be said that they usually contented themselves with telling fortunes by faces rather than by the appearance of the heavenly bodies. There can be little doubt that, with the exception of a few deluded individuals who thoroughly believed in their own skill, those who professed a knowledge of astrology were arrant impostors—cunning knaves, who traded on the prevalent superstition and credulity of mankind in the days before science began to shed its pure light.

El-Hajjāj, a general under the Khalīf El-Walīd I, consulted, in his last illness, an astrologer, who predicted to him his approaching death. “I rely so completely on your knowledge,” said El-Hajjāj to him, “that I wish to have you with me in the next world, and I shall therefore send you thither before me, in order that I may be able to employ your services from the time of my arrival.” He then ordered the soothsayer to be put to death, although the time fixed for this event by the planets had not yet arrived.—Abū-’l-Ma`shar, the oracle of astrology, left in writing, that he found the Christian religion, 221according to the indications of the stars, should last but fourteen hundred years—he has been belied by nearly five hundred years already.—Tiberius, when he was at Rhodes, wished to satisfy his curiosity with respect to judicial astrology. He sent, in succession, for all those who pretended to foretell future events. One of his enfranchised slaves, of great stature and extraordinary strength, conducted them to him through the intricacies of the precipices. If Tiberius discovered that the astrologer was a cheat, the slave, upon a given signal, immediately cast him into the sea. At that time there was at Rhodes a man named Trasullus, who was deeply skilled in astrology, and of a cunning disposition. He was taken, in the same manner as the others, to this retired spot, assured Tiberius that he should be Emperor, and revealed to him many other events that should take place. Tiberius asked him if he knew his own destiny, and if he had consulted his own horoscope. Trasullus—who had had some suspicions when he did not see any of his companions return, and felt his fears increase on viewing the countenance of Tiberius, the man who had been his conductor (who did not quit him for a moment), the elevated place where he stood, and the precipice which lay beneath him—turned his eyes up to heaven, as if to consult the stars; he immediately appeared fear-stricken, turned pale, and exclaimed, in an apparent agony of terror, that he was menaced with death. Tiberius was full of joy and admiration on hearing this reply, ascribing to astrology what was only presence of mind and cunning, cheered the spirits of Trasullus, embraced him, and from that time regarded him as an oracle.—An astrologer foretold the death of a lady whom Louis XI passionately loved. She did, in fact, die, and the King imagined that the prediction of the astrologer was the cause of it. He sent for the man, intending to have him thrown out of the window as a punishment. “Tell me,” said the King, “thou who pretendest to be so clever and learned a man, what thy own fate will be?” The soothsayer, who suspected the intentions of the King, and knew his foible, replied: 222“Sire, I foresee that I shall die three days before your Majesty.” Louis believed him, and was careful of the astrologer’s life.—An astrologer, fixing his eyes upon the Duke of Milan, said to him: “My Lord, arrange your affairs, for you have not long to live.” The Duke asked: “How dost thou know this?” “By my acquaintance with the stars,” answered the astrologer. “And pray, how long art thou to live?” “My planet promises me a long life.” “Well, thou shalt shortly discover that we ought not to trust the stars.” And the Duke ordered him to be hanged instantly.—Our own King Henry VIII asked an astrologer if he knew where he should pass the festivities at Christmas. The astrologer answered that he knew nothing on the subject. “Then,” said the King, “I am wiser than thou art; for I know that thou shalt pass them in the Tower of London;” and the unlucky astrologer was at once conducted thither.—William, Duke of Mantua, had in his stables a brood mare which gave birth to a mule. He immediately sent to the most famous astrologers in Italy the hour of the birth of this animal, requesting them to inform him what should be the fortune of a bastard that had been born in his palace; he took care, however, not to intimate that he was speaking of a mule. The soothsayers used their best endeavours to flatter the Prince, not doubting that the bastard belonged to himself. Some declared that it should be a general; others made it a bishop; some raised it to the rank of cardinal; and there were even some who elevated it to the papal chair!

It is truly marvellous that the same age which produced a Newton should also have seen flourish that arch-astrologer William Lilly (inimitably satirised by Butler under the name of Sidrophel),^[91] whose preposterous predictions were credited even by persons of education. Swift may be said to have dealt 223the death-blow to astrology by his celebrated squib, entitled “Prediction for the year 1718, by Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq.,” in which he ridiculed the prophetic almanac-makers of the day. Astrology having permeated all science and literature, it is not surprising that many of its peculiar terms should have become embodied in our language, as, for example, in the words consider and contemplate, disaster and disastrous; and we still speak of jovial, mercurial, and saturnine men.—Kepler, in the preface to his Rudolphine tables, observes that Astrology, though a fool, was the daughter of a wise mother, to whose support and life the foolish daughter was indispensable.^[92]

Page 109. “In the meantime he caused a subterraneous dwelling to be constructed, to which he sent the boy, with a nurse.”—Sir William Ouseley has omitted to mention that the boy was born—on the following day, according to Lescallier.—Many instances of a father trying to belie the predictions of soothsayers occur in Eastern fiction, and also in classical and European legends. The story of Danae, the daughter of Acrisius, King of Argos, by Eurydice, who was confined in a brazen tower by her father, who had been told by an oracle that his daughter’s son should put him to death, is well known. The underground dwelling of our present tale may be compared with that described in chapter 79 of the English Gesta Romanorum; also that in the Arabian Nights (Story of the Second Kalender); and in the Bāgh o Bahār (Tale of the Second Dervish), a young prince, in consequence of the prediction of astrologers that he is menaced with great danger until his fourteenth year, is confined in a vault, lined with felt, so that he should not behold the sun or moon. In Mr Ralston’s Tibetan Tales, 224under the title of “The Fulfilled Prophecy,” the diviners declare that “a son should be born who should take the King’s life and usurp the royal power, setting the diadem on his own head.” In the Norse story of “Rich Peter the Pedlar,”^[93] a prediction that his daughter should one day wed a poor man’s son is fulfilled in spite of many efforts to defeat it—a story which seems to have been adapted from the Gesta Romanorum, Tale xx of Swan’s translation. And in the Netherlandish Legend of “St Julian the Ferryman,” it is predicted that Julian shall one day put his own father and mother to death; and although the unhappy youth flies into a far distant country, he cannot flee from his terrible destiny, for many years afterwards the prediction proves only too true.^[94]

Page 110. “Keeper [of pen and ink] to the secretary” (dav dari).—The Orientals are great admirers of caligraphy. Jamshīd, the Pīshdādian king, in respect to scribes and writers, thus expressed himself: “As the monarch’s sword establishes the foundation of his kingdom, so the tongue of the scribe’s pen transacts the concerns of the faith:

“The sharp-edged sword and pen are twins; the reigning monarch,

By reliance on these two supporters, elevates his neck on high.”

And the Persian Vizier Nizām declared that his cap and inkhorn, the badges of his office, were connected by the divine decree with the throne and diadem of the Sultan (Gibbon, ch. lvii). It is worthy of remark that Mīrzā placed before a person’s name means “a man of the pen;” but if it follow, it means Shāh-Zāda, a prince. For different styles of writing see A.F.S. Herbin’s Essai de Calligraphie Orientale, Paris, 1803, 4to; Chardin’s Voyages en Perse, et autres lieux de l’Orient, t. ii, ch. iv, pp. 107–110; and Lane’s Modern Egyptians, vol. i, ch. ix. (See also second Note, page 202.)

225Page 113. “His hair stand on end.”—Thus Job, iv, 15: “The hair of my flesh stood up;” and Homer, speaking of Priam, when terrified at the appearance of Mercury: “His hair stood upright on his bending limbs;” and the Ghost, addressing Hamlet, i, 4:

Thy knotted and combined locks to part,

And each particular hair to stand on end,

Like quills upon the fretful porcupine.

Page 114. “Assembled all the people by proclamation”—that they might take warning from the young man’s fate. But the Persians require no invitation to scenes of this nature. “The curiosity,” says Dr Chodzko,^[95] “which gathers crowds of people to witness the execution of culprits in Europe is very feeble in comparison with what can be seen in Asia on similar occasions. There many of those present are not only fond of looking at, but even take an active part in tormenting the condemned, though they never saw him before, or have any motive of revenge. To stab the poor dying wretch with a knife, or at least to spit in his face, is an innocent pleasure, which even the women do not refuse themselves. Those who are moved by revenge are still more savage. Riza Kūlī Khān, the governor of Yezd, having expelled from that town one of the sons of the Shāh (in 1830), was afterwards taken prisoner and sent to Tehrān. The Shāh gave the culprit up to the offended prince, who, after promising to pardon and forget all, invited him to supper in the harem, and there stabbed him with his own hands. His wives, and the maid-servants of the harem, cut to pieces the body, weltering in blood, with scissors, and pricked and tortured him till he gave up his last breath!—I can see no reason for this but their brutalising education. A child begins by wringing off the heads of living sparrows. When he grows up they buy him a little sword, and exercise the boy in cutting in two halves, first living fowls, then lambs, sheep, and so on. Grown-up people consider 226it as a very fashionable pastime to snatch a ram from the flock, order two of their servants to hold it by the head and feet, and placing a bundle of straw underneath, in order to prevent the sword from striking against the ground, to cut the bleating animal to pieces while it is alive. The most famous of such swordsmen in Persia was Sulaymān Mīrza, son of Fatah `Alī Shāh. He has often, in the presence of the Shāh and numerous witnesses, with one blow of his huge scimitar cut in two an ass, and severed the head of a camel from its neck.”

In Lescallier’s version, for the King of Persia we have the King of Arabia.—In Cazotte’s rendering, under the title of “The Sultan Hebraim [Ibrahīm] and his Son, or The Predestined,” is found a considerably amplified but very interesting version of this story. After the young prince has been discovered and carried away from the underground palace by a huntsman (not the King’s secretary, but “a man of rank and fortune”), the incidents are totally different from those of our version. Abaquir—the young prince—is carefully brought up by his master, and in course of time becomes accomplished in all the exercises befitting a noble youth. One day he accompanies his master to the chase, when they are suddenly attacked by robbers, who slay the elder of the hunters, and having severely wounded Abaquir, leave him for dead. Recovering after a long period of insensibility, he rises and walks onwards through the forest, till he meets with a dervish, who takes him to his cave and treats him with kindness and hospitality. This dervish proves to be a wicked magician, who prevails upon Abaquir to descend into the bowels of a mountain to bring up precious stones, which the false dervish having drawn safely up, the poor youth is then cruelly abandoned to his fate. From this cavern Abaquir escapes, and after a long journey he reaches a city, where a kind-hearted man receives him into his house, and he remains with him some time. 227Weary at length of inaction, he resolves to go out to hunt, and meets with a party of robbers, whose real avocation he does not know, and joins them—the robbers binding him to fidelity by a solemn oath. Too late he discovers the true character of his companions, but is compelled to accompany them on their plundering expeditions. The daring outrages perpetrated by this gang of robbers become so notorious that the Sultan Hebraim marches against them at the head of some chosen troops. The robbers are utterly defeated, but the Sultan himself is grievously wounded. On returning to his capital he sends for his astrologers, and angrily asks them whether in their predictions they had foreseen that he should die by the hand of a robber. They affirm that what the stars had predicted could not prove false, and suggest that the Sultan should ascertain who it was, among the robbers, that wounded him, and then inquire into his birth and history. Abaquir, his own son, is the robber who inflicted the fatal wound; and after he has given the best account he could of his early years, and shown the scars of the lion’s claws on his breast, the Sultan submits to the decree of Fate, and dies shortly after declaring Abaquir his successor.—In Habicht’s Arabian text (which agrees with Cazotte in nearly all the details) it is stated that the King went once every month to the opening of the underground dwelling, let down a rope, and drew up his son, embraced and kissed and played with him awhile, then let him down again.

Notes on Conclusion.

Page 116. “Sent an order to the Viziers,” &c. The lithographed text says: “Instantly he commanded Bakhtyār to be fetched. The King with his own hands drew off the fetters, brought him before the Queen, and put on him a kabā [see Note p. 135] and a kulāh”—that is, a robe and a turban.—Certain officers of the King of Persia’s household who wear gold tiaras are called Zarrin-Kullāhān, Golden Caps.

228Page 117. “Resigned the throne to Bakhtyār.”—In Hindū stories a very usual conclusion is the King’s abdication of his throne in favour of his son; and it is highly probable that such was actually the custom formerly. In the European mediæval romance of “The Knight with the Swan,” King Oriant abdicates in favour of his son Helias.—See Mr W. J. Thoms’ Early English Prose Romances.

Page 117. “Dignity of Chief Vizier.”—The text reads: “He conferred on Farrukhsuwār, with complete honour and reverence, the Vizier’s Khil`at [see Note p. 136], and appointed him Commander-in-chief (Sipahsālār).”

The lithographed text thus concludes: “This book is finished by the aid of the King the Giver [i.e. God]”: tamma-’l-kitāb bi `awni-’l-Māliki-’l-Wahhāb.

Additional Notes.

As a few notes remain to be added to the foregoing, I take the opportunity of correcting in this place some errors which have occurred while these sheets were passing through the press.

Page 157, line 1, for Berica read Berœa.

Page 160, line 19 for chemy read cheraiy, or sheraiy.

Page 167, lines 7 and 8.—It may be as well to explain that the words tavakkul bar Khudā are a Persian translation (in the text) of the Arabic tawakkal `ala-’llāhi of the Kur’ān, ch. xxxiii (not xxxvii), 3—“put thy trust in God.”

Page 169, line 19, for Trinchinopoli read Trichinopoli.

The following note, by mischance, has been omitted in its proper place (Notes on Chapter VIII):

Page 93. “The King graciously received the present which Rūzbih offered.”—It is well known that, in all parts of the East, whoever visits a great person must carry him a present. 229“It is counted uncivil,” says Maundrell, p. 26, “to visit in this country without an offering in hand. All great men expect it as a tribute due to their character and authority; and look upon themselves as affronted, and indeed defrauded, when the compliment is omitted.” In the sacred writings we find mention made of this custom. For instance, 1 Samuel ix, 7: “But behold, if we go, what shall we bring the man? for the bread is spent in our vessels, and there is not a present (teshurah) to bring to the man of God—what have we?” Menachem explains teshurah to signify “an offering or gift, which is presented in order to be admitted into the presence of a King or some great man.” See also Isaiah lvii, 9, lit.: “And thou hast visited the King with a present of oil.”

“The King of Yemen and his Slave”—see page 56, and last note, page 174.—This story in Habicht’s Arabian text is entitled “The History of King Bihkard,” and the following passages may be compared with those of our text and with Lescallier, above referred to: On a certain day he went on a hunting excursion, and one of his servants shot an arrow, and it struck the King’s ear, and cut it off. The King asked: “Who shot this arrow?” The attendants instantly conducted the bowman to the front, and his name was Yatrū. Fainting from fear, he threw himself on the ground, and the King said: “Put him to death.” But Yatrū said: “O King, this fault is not of my own choice or knowledge—pardon me, then, out of thy kindness, since grace is the most gracious of actions, and oftentimes on some future day becomes a treasure and a benefit, and in the sight of God a recompense at the last day. Pardon me, then: as you avert evil from me, so will God ward off from thee a similar evil.” When the King heard these words, he admired and forgave Yatrū, yet never had he before pardoned any one.

Now this servant was of royal extraction, and had fled from his country, by reason of some transgression, and had entered 230the service of King Bihkard. And this is what happened to him. By chance a person who knew him passed that way, and gave information to his father, who sent him a letter, which gratified his heart and disposition; and he returned to his father, who inclined indulgently towards him. Yatrū rejoiced, and his affairs were rectified.—Compare also Lescallier and Cazotte, cited in pp. 178, 179.

Arabian Version of Abū Temām’s Mission.

(Comp. pp. 101–103, and 212, 213.)

According to Habicht’s text, the account of Abū Temām’s delicate—not to say dangerous—mission to the King of Turkistān is very different from that of the Persian version. The King desires him to enter the harem, and see and converse with the Princess; and he proceeds thither, reflecting on the way that “Wise men have averred that whoever deprives his sight [that is, closes his eyes] no evil can attach to him; and whoever bridles his tongue hears nothing disagreeable; and whoever restrains his hand, it can neither be shortened nor lengthened.” He accordingly enters the chamber of the Princess, and sits down on the floor, gathering together the extremities of his robe. When the King’s daughter requests him to raise his head, look upon and converse with her, Abū Temām remains mute, and with downcast eyes. She then requests him to take the pearls, and the gold and silver which lie near him, but he does not extend his hand towards anything. At this the Princess is vexed, and tells her father that they have sent a blind, and deaf, and foolish ambassador; whereupon the King of Turkistān demands of Abū Temām why he had not looked upon and conversed with his daughter: he replies that he had seen everything [he should see]; and in answer to the inquiry, why he had not taken the proffered pearls, he says that it was not proper for him to extend his hand to aught that belongs to another. The King, overjoyed at his prudence, embraces him, 231shows him the heads of former ambassadors (see page 214, line 4), consents to give his daughter in marriage to Abū Temām’s royal master, and presents him with a robe of honour, after which Abū Temām departs, and in due course the Princess is sent to the palace of Īlan Shāh.

Arabian Version of the Conclusion of the Romance.

In Habicht’s Arabian text the conclusion is as follows (comp. pp. 115–117):

When the youth had finished his narrative, the King said: “Still thou wouldest bewilder us with thy discourses, but the time is now come for your execution.”—At the moment when they were conducting the youth to the gallows, the robber-chief who had educated him arrived in the town. When he observed the people assembling together, he inquired the cause, and they said to him: “The King has commanded a young culprit to be executed.” The robber-chief, who wished to see the youth, immediately recognised him, and kissed him on the mouth, and said: “This youth, when a child, I found near a fountain. I adopted him, and brought him up. One day we attacked a caravan, and were driven into flight, and he was taken prisoner. Since then I have sought everywhere for him, and never could gain any news respecting him.” When the King heard this he cried aloud, threw himself on the youth, embraced and kissed him, and said: “I should have put my own son to death, and in consequence should have died of grief.” The King then unfettered the Prince, took the crown from his own head, and placed it on that of his son. The news was made public by the beating of drums and the braying of trumpets, the town was illuminated, and there arose such a shouting of joy that the birds could scarcely support themselves in the air. All prisoners were released by order of the King, and a seven days’ festival proclaimed throughout the kingdom.

On the eighth day the King placed his son at his side, and 232summoned all his friends, the city notables, and the viziers. To these last the Prince said: “You see now the work of God’s providence—you now perceive His aid was near.” The Viziers were struck dumb, and the King added: “I observe that on this day all the people rejoice, even the birds of the air—ye only are downcast; that is truly a proof of rancour against me. Had I listened to your advice, I should have died from the effects of despair and repentance.” The King then summoned to his presence the robber-chief, made him many presents, and said: “Whoever loves the King, let him lavish gifts on this man.” Whereupon he was so overwhelmed with presents that he could not take any more; and the King then conferred upon him the governorship of the province in which he had dwelt.

Soon afterwards the King ordered nine sets of gallows to be erected near the one already set up, and said to his son: “Thou wast guiltless—these wicked Viziers slandered thee in my eyes.” The Prince rejoined: “My crime consisted of my loyalty to thee—seeing that I removed their hands from thy treasures, they envied me, and wished my death.” “On that account,” said the King, “let their punishment now be near, for their crime is great: to destroy thee, they did not scruple to disgrace my house in the opinion of all sovereigns.” He then turned to the Viziers, and said to them: “Woe be to you! Wherewith can you excuse yourselves?” They replied: “O King, there is no excuse for us—we were unkind to the youth, and wished his misfortune, which has recoiled on us;—for him we dug a grave and have fallen into it ourselves.” Hereupon the King issued an order for their execution—“for,” said he, “God is just, and all His judgments are true.” The King afterwards lived in happiness and peacefully with his spouse and his son, until the disturber of all earthly friends reached them likewise.

WILLIAM BURNS, PRINTER, LARKHALL, LANARKSHIRE.