This, the grandmother undertook to procure; and after having extorted her husband’s tacit consent, she applied to her son-in-law, by his consort, who was her daughter. This Princess, although so nearly related to Seradj-ed-döulah, bore him an invincible hatred; but at that time there had happened a little misunderstanding between her and Hossëin-c8ly-qhan for an inconsiderable subject, which it would be improper to mention;* and she was so dissatisfied with him, that she joined her mother in persuading Navazish-mahmed-qhan. The latter, who had been at all times a weak man, and now was discontented with both earth and heaven, gave his consent to an infamous action which contained in itself his condemnation in this world, and in the other; the more so, as he was an intimate friend of Hossëin-c8ly-qhan’s; and oaths and promises upon the glorious Coran had intervened between them, that he would at all times take as much care of the life and honour of his friend, as he might of his own. All these preparations being over, Aaly-verdy-qhan, to save appearances, as he fancied, and to conceal his share in the perpetration of the crime, went to Radjmahl, on pretence of a hunting party. This hunting coming to the ears of Sàyd-ahmed-qhan, his son-in-law, he repaired thither from P8raniah, to pay him his respects; and it is that nobleman that did me the honour to present me to Aaly-verdy-qhan. This Prince was pleased to make much of me; and he seemed desirous to attach me to his person; but fate did not allow him time, and as I was already provided for, his desire did not take place; but it is very probable, that had I repaired to his capital immediately after Sáyed-ahmed-qhan’s demise, he would have amply provided for me to the utmost of my wishes, and in a manner suitable to my rank in life. But Aaly-verdy-qhan died soon after; and it became too late to avail myself of his good will. And thanks be to God, that I was not reduced to the necessity of appearing at a new door. After such a digression, which the reader will pardon, we shall return to the thread of our history.

Seradj-ed-döulah then on his grandfather’s departure, made a visit to his uncle, Nevazish-mahmed-qhan, and having received his consent, he was returning home in the evening; and this was A. D. 1754-55. in the beginning of the year 1168. But as Hossëin-c8ly-qhan’s house lay full in his way, and that poor wretch, who expected his death these many days, had constantly kept himself at home, he stopped at the gate, and ordered that both brothers should be brought forth directly. Hossëin-c8ly-qhan, warned by the throng at his gate, fled, and took shelter in Hadji-mehdy’s house, which was close to his own; and he desired him to go immediately, and to give notice to Navazish-mahmed-qhan, (whose gentleman usher Hadji-mehdy was) of his friend, Hossëin-c8ly-qhan’s dan­ger. Thither Hadji-mehdy went immediately; but receiving no favourable answer, he was returning home in a dejected state of mind. Meanwhile the satellites having broke into the man’s house, and into the adjoining ones, soon found Hossëin-c8ly qhan, whom they brought to their master. That cruel, relentless, remorseless monster, no sooner cast his eyes upon him, than he ordered his being hacked to pieces; and he was hacked to pieces accordingly. It was in this manner that unfortunate man drank up his cup of martyrdom. His brother, Háider-aaly-qhan, who was blind, being brought in the same manner, was made a par­taker of his brother’s fate. But as he was an ancient warrior and a valorous man, instead of descending to supplications and tears, as had done his brother, he gave his murderer foul language, and loaded him with taunting reproaches, in which he severely reflected on his person, his mother, and his family. Thou worthless felow! said he, it is thus that thou murderest brave men? He was not suffered to say more, but was instantly cut down.

The innocent blood spilt in that occasion proved as fertile in troubles, as that of Siavush of old. It produced a series of events that proved fatal to that power and dominion, which Aaly-verdy-qhan had been rearing with so much bodily labour, and so much toil; it lighted up a blind fire which soon after these two murders, commenced emitting smoke; and which breaking out in flames at last, destroyed in its progresses all that numerous family; and extending its ravages far and near, consumed every thing in those once happy regions of Bengal, prostrating and overwhelming totally those rich provinces which it has reduced to a heap of ashes, and yet smoking coals. It verified that tre­mendous sentence once revealed to the Prince of Messengers: So shalt thou have done; so shalt thou receive.

Noble reflec­tions of the author on that subject.

After that unhapy transaction, Aaly-verdy-qhan returned to his capital; and his son-in-law, Sàyd-ahmed-qhan, took the road of P8raniah; but the latter was uneasy in his mind, and thought­ful at what he had seen, and heard lately; and as this had put an end to all the confidence which he had hitherto reposed in both the uncle and the nephew, he resolved henceforward to spare nothing that might secure himself in his post; and it is from that moment that an avenging Providence commenced pro­viding materials for its future exertions. But as it is the faithful historian’s duty to assemble such events as are come to his knowledge, and to speak of them precisely as they shall have happened, without being biassed by either envy or love, and without flattering either side or party; so I repose so much con­fidence in the candour and equity of my generous readers, as to flatter myself, that without suffering their minds to be darkened by the dust of discontent, they shall abate in behalf of the poor man (me) something of the punctilious delicacy of their taste; and that they shall overlook all the blemishes of this history in favour of its sincerity and exactitude. I flatter myself, I say, that they shall cover the writer with the cloak of forbearance, should they judge the writing itself unworthy of their praise.

Nevazish-mahmed-qhan ever since Ecram-ed-döulah’s demise, had fallen into a course of despondence and sorrow, that inces­santly preyed upon his spirits; so that he was seldom himself, and seldom easy or in full health. After a length of time symp­toms of an hydropsy were discovered upon him. A little before that distemper had declared itself, the physician, Aaly-naky-qhan the Isfahanian, used to say that the distemper was preparing to make its appearance, and that now was the time to provide against it by taking more care of his person, or never; but the disconsolate Lord continued as insensible as usual. After the distemper had declared itself, his consort and friends intreated him, but to no purpose, to allow himself to be taken care of. Matters growing worse, Aaly-verdy-qhan ordered him to be brought to his palace, together with his consort, and his whole family and dependants, without excepting the women that were connected with his nephew, and in particular Bhag-bhai, a favourite actrisse* and some others. As soon as he arrived, he was made over to the physicians; but as it is in vain for a man to arm himself with a bucler against the shafts of destiny, the sick lord’s condition became worse and worse; and signs of an approaching dissolution made their appearance. His consort, who although actually in her father’s house, trembled lest Seradj-ed-döulah should confine her in that very palace, now resolved to provide for her safety; and putting herself in a covered chair together with her dying husband, she carried him to her own lodgings, where the sick man paid no attention to that change. But on the evening of the day in which he was to depart this life, he asked what day of the week would be to-morrow, and being answered, it would be Monday, he expressed his joy and said: a pleasing day! I will be joined to my love. And whether he gave directions accordingly, or that his people paid a regard to his attachment to the young Prince, it is certain A. D. 1754-55. that he was entombed close to him. He died the thirteenth of the second Reby, in the year 1169 of the Hedjra; and his Secre­tary has enclosed this date in a chronogram in verses which he composed on the occasion. As soon as it was daylight, his body was attended by the Prince of the learned, Mir-mahmed-aaly-fazyl, (whose learning may God preserve!) by Aaly-verdy-qhan himself, and by all the relations and kinsmen of that family, as well as by the principal persons of the city, joined to an infinity of persons of all sexes and ranks. After purifying the body according to law, and pronouncing over it the customary prayers, they took it up, and carried it alternately upon their shoulders, to Moty-djil, a country-seat which he had built himself and much embellished. There they deposed it for a while in the mosque which he had raised in that palace’s garden; and then they committed it to the ground close to Ecram-ed-döulah, in the very yard of that mosque. The moment they first raised his body from the ground, such a cry and such a scream broke out at once from an infinity of men and women, as seemed to rend the air; it was such as had never been seen or heard on the like occasion at any time before. But there is no wonder if he was so much regretted. He used to spend thirty-seven thousand rupees per month in charities to old impotent persons, whether distant relations or not, whether acquaintances or strangers; and this was over and above the stated pensions that were borne in his books. These secret charities were every first day of the month put in small cloth-bags of several bignesses, and sealed in his presence; after which they were ranged in several classes upon large trays or covered tables, and entrusted to eunuchs and trusty old women of his seraglio, who carried them round from house to house to each respective owner. May God’s mercy rest upon him for ever! His compassion to the distressed, the impotent, the orphan and the friendless, was so extensive, that he surpassed in beneficence every member of a family where that quality seemed to be of natural growth. He was fond of living well, and of amusements and pleasures; could not bear to be upon bad terms with any one; and was not pleased when a disservice was rendered to another. Every distressed widow and orphan of the city of M8rsh8d-abad seemed to him to be of his family. If any one of them had no certain livelihood, or if having any, it proved insufficient, or if sufficient, it was liable to some impediment; any person of such a description was sure of finding a patron in him. All such persons were sure to be relieved, and relieved with an exactitude, and a modesty that seemed striving to oblige handsomely. He was averse to flattery, and disinclined from those rules of state, and those airs of reservedness imposed on persons of his high rank. He loved to live with his servants, as their friend and companion, and with his acquaintances, as their brother and equal. All his friends and acquaintances were admitted to the liberty of smoking their Hoccas or Pipes in his presence, and to drink coffee, whilst he was conversing familiarly with them; and he made it a point to oblige them, without making a parade of it; and also to grant a favour in secret, for which he had excused himself in public, and had asked their pardon. One day Naky-c8ly-qhan, son to Hadji-abdollah the historian, a man of letters who had been Divan of Burhanp8r in Aoreng-zib’s time, having interceded for a Séyd, who was now in prison at Djehanghir-nugur for a balance of six thousand rupees due to Government, and which he could not pay, he represented “that it would be a pity that so worthy a Séyd should be in penances, whilst so many thousand rupees, to the double and even the quadruple of that sum, were monthly spent in alms and in charities; and he added that it was to be hoped that the above sum would be forgiven the man, and also that he would be sent for to the presence, and provided for.” This short request had its full effect on that beneficent nobleman. With evident signs of emotion and pity, he ordered that letters of pardon should be immediately dis­patched for that man, with orders to send him to M8rsh8d-abad; and he returned thanks to the intercessor for having put him in mind of so meritorious a piece of work. May God bless you, said he, for your having brought such an action in my way, and procured me such a happiness! If the Crown-officers prove dila­tory, give me notice of it quickly, that I may provide against their malice, and deliver that poor Séyd from that scene of evil and affliction. Such instances of his beneficence were without number, and they are remembered by all to this day. My mother having been obliged to quit Patna in order to go to M8rsh8d-abad, where she had some particular business, carried her whole family thither, to wit, my two younger brothers, Séyd-aaly-qhan and Ghalib-aaly-qhan, as well as her daughter’s husband, Mir-assed-aaly; and finding herself obliged to remain in that city longer than she expected, she was somewhat at a loss how to subsist honourably. That blessed man no sooner heard of this, than he undertook her support; and without waiting for any prayer or recommendation, he of his own accord settled upon her a plentiful and honourable pension; and besides that, he made her yearly presents of precious stuffs fit for her person and family, especially of those that were bespoke for his own family in quanties at Djehanghir-nugur, Maldah and Nediah. And as Ghalib-aaly-qhan, her younger son, was of the same age with his adoptive son, Ecram-ed-döulah, he took a pleasure in carrying him together with the young Prince to his country-seats and gardens in his parties of pleasure. In one of those parties, a dance-girl of the troupe in Ecram-ed-döulah’s service chanced to take a liking to Ghalib-aaly-qhan, and was now and then in her very performance dropping amorous glances at the young man; who being himself so very young and so unexperienced in what might be right or wrong, and withal so exposed to all the inad­vertencies incident to humanity at that age, used to return the glances in the same style. The young noblemen of the same age, who accompanied Ecram-ed-döulah having observed that rising intelligence, were fired with jealousy and emulation, and they gave notice of the matter to him; so that he quitted the garden with apparent marks of displeasure. Nevazish-mahmed-qhan informed of this, sent for my mother, and with the greatest gentleness and circumspection, he gave her notice of what had happened; and added that in his opinion the best way to pre­vent the two children from falling out together, would be to keep her son at home for some days. Ecram-ed-döulah, who in thoughtlessness and violence of temper was a true copy of his elder brother, Seradj-ed-döulah, did not seem fully satisfied with that retreat; and to give himself the merit of having repressed his anger out of complaisance to his adoptive father, he was heard to say in his presence, “that yesterday Ghalib-aaly qhan had fairly escaped out of his hands; else,” added he, “I would have killed him on the spot.” These words having been several days together successive repeated in his presence, the good natured lord comprehended that the speaker wanted to feel his pulse on the subject; and losing patience at once, he screamed out: By the thirty chapters of the word of God, had you killed him, I would have cut your throat with my own hands. After this sudden flash of resentment, he recovered his usual tone of voice, and after having spoken with all that tenderness which he constantly shewed him, he gave him a severe reprimand. Ecram-ed-döulah surprised at a speech that proved so contrary to his expectation, wept much and sobbed much, and then said: “You would have killed me for him, then? Yes,” replied the “blessed man, “I see no great difference between you and him. You are son of one sister of mine, and he is son of another.” Ecram-ed-döulah hearing a language to which he was not accustomed, cooled by degrees, and repressed his anger. Such was that blessed man’s temper; and it must be acknowledged that the care he took of another’s life, where his own heart was so deeply concerned by the ties of an attachment that even exceeded the most impassionate love, could not arise from anything else than a peculiar excellence of character. But there is here a still stronger proof of it. He was fond of a famous actrisse or dancer called Bhag-bhái. Her rank in his family was next to that of his consort; and to oblige him, the Princesses of his kindred paid her much regard and much deference; but my mother, (may God long keep her shade stretched over my head!) who was haughty and sometimes of a strange temper, could not bear to see her, and would not even converse with her on any account. Now it must be observed, that it was customary for him in speaking to my blessed mother to make use of the expressions, Hear lady, or hear biby. Bhag-bhái having inadver­tently made use of the same expression, my mother flew into a passion, and said: “Who art thou, woman, that thou should dare to speak at that rate? This way of speaking becomes supe­riors, when speaking to inferiors, or masters when speaking to their dependants; but thou art in neither predicament. Look at this maid of mine yonder; I set no great difference between you and her. If there be any, it is in this, that she wears a few trinkets of silver and gold, and that thou wearest many gems and much jewel-work.” Bhag-bhái stooped and did not answer a single word; but she was deeply wounded, and she complained bitterly to her lord. His answer was, that such was that lady’s temper, that she knew it; and why then did she put herself in her way? My mother went home, with an intention to return to Azim-abad; and she for a long time abstained from going to Court. But such a separation was more than the blessed man could bear. He sent persons of distinction to soothe her mind, but all in vain; till at last he sent her this message: Please to come of yourself; else, I declare to you that we shall go, Biby-Gahassity and myself, and by all means shall bring you along. My mother on this message, repaired to the palace, where he received her with the highest distinction, requesting her to be reconciled to his family and house. She answered that she wanted to repair to Azim-abad. And why so, replied the worthy man, with a melting tone of voice? Why should you insist upon leaving us? No one has said anything disagreeable to you; you have of yourself taken offence, and have said whatever you had a mind to. At this moment his consort, Gahassity-biby, who had her cue, made suddenly her appearance. She was in company with Nefissa-begum, mother to the late Ser-effraz-qhan, a Princess who was treated with the highest regard by the reign­ing family. Pray, sister, what is the matter with your anger, said she? And what is the matter that you are so angry with your brother? What he tells you seems to be right; and you, sister, wholly taken up with a quarrel of your own making, do not mind all the uneasiness you give him. To all this my blessed mother continued to pay no attention, seemingly intent only on asking and obtaining leave to be gone; upon which the good natured man arose from his Mesned, and went up to her. Well then, said he, I am guilty! I am guilty! And now I come to your feet to obtain my pardon. These words overpowered my blessed mother; her sensibility broke forth into a flood of tears, and she poured a torrent of blessings upon him. She got up, uttered a fervent prayer that God Almighty might prolong his days, and his power, and she promised to remain.