THUS it is recorded by the authors of remarkable histories, and the narrators of delightful tales, that there was once in the country of Sīstān, a certain King, possessing a crown and a throne, whose name was Āzādbakht; and he had a Vizier entitled Sipahsālār, a person of such bravery and skill that the moon concealed herself among the clouds from fear of his scimitar. This Vizier had a daughter endowed with such exquisite beauty that the rose of the garden and the moon of the heavenly spheres were confounded at the superior lustre of her cheeks. Sipahsālār loved this daughter with excessive fondness, so that he could scarcely exist an hour without her. Having gone on an expedition to inspect the state of the country, it happened that he found himself under a necessity of passing some time from home. He immediately de­spatched confidential persons with orders to bring his daughter to him from the capital. These persons, having arrived at the Vizier's palace, paid their obei­sance to the damsel, who ordered her attendants to prepare for the journey to her father. The horses were instantly caparisoned, and a litter provided with magnificence suitable to a princely traveller. The damsel, seated in this, commenced her journey, and went forth from the city.

It happened that the King, who had gone on a hunting-party, was at that moment returning from the chase. He beheld the litter with its ornaments and splendid decorations; and, whilst he gazed, it was borne quite out of the town. He sent to inquire about it; and the attendants said that it belonged to the daughter of Sipahsālār, who was going to her father. When the King's servants returned and reported to him this intelligence, he rode up to the litter that he might send his compliments to Sipahsālār. On his approach the attendants alighted from their horses, and kissed the ground of respectful obedience. The King, having desired that they would bear his salutations to the Vizier, and they having promised punctually to do so, was preparing to turn back, when suddenly, the wind lifting up a corner of the hangings which covered the litter, his eyes were fixed by the fascinating beauty of the damsel; and he who in the chase had sought for game became now the captive prey of this lovely maid, and fell into the snares of love. At length he ordered the attendants to de­spatch a messenger to the north, where Sipahsālār was, and to inform him that the King would accept his daughter as a wife, hoping that he might not be esteemed an unworthy son-in-law.

When the attendants heard this, they kissed the ground of obedience, saying: “Long be the King's life!—the sovereign of the earth and of the age, and the ruler of the world! If Sipahsālār could even dream of this honour, he would be supreme in happiness. But, if the King permit, we will proceed with the damsel to her father, and inform him of what has happened, that he may prepare everything neces­sary for the occasion, and then send her back to the city.” When the servant of the damsel had thus spoken, the King, who was displeased with his dis­course, exclaimed: “How darest thou presume to counsel or advise me?” He would have punished the servant on the spot, but he feared lest the tender heart of his fair mistress should be distressed thereby. He accordingly remitted the punishment; and taking the reins into his own hands, he conducted the litter back towards the city, which he entered at the time when the shades of evening began to fall.

The next day he assembled the magistrates and chief men; and, having asked the damsel's consent to the marriage, he caused the necessary ceremonies to be performed. The secretaries were employed in writing letters of congratulation; and Sipahsālār was informed of the insult offered to him during his absence, which caused the tears to flow from his eyes whilst he perused the letters of congratulation. He dissembled, however; and, concealing his vexation, wrote letters to the King, and addressed him in lan­guage of the strongest gratitude, declaring himself at a loss for words whereby to express his sense of the honour conferred upon him.

Such was the purport of his letters; but in his mind he cherished hopes of revenge, and day and night were employed in devising stratagems by means of which he might obtain it.

After two or three months spent in this manner, Sipahsālār assembled all the chief officers of the army, and informed them that, confiding in their secrecy and fidelity, he would communicate to them an affair of considerable importance. They all assured him of their attachment and regard; and declared that the flourishing state of the empire was the result of his wisdom, prudent management, and bravery. To this Sipahsālār replied: “You all know what actions I have performed, and what troubles I have undergone, to raise the empire to its present state of glory and prosperity: but what has been my recompense? You have seen how the ungrateful monarch carried off my daughter.” Having thus spoken, a shower of tears fell from his eyes; and the chiefs who were assembled about him said: “We have been ac­quainted with this matter for some time, and it has given us great concern. But now the moment is arrived when we may depose this king.”

Then Sipahsālār threw open the doors of his treasury, and distributed considerable sums of money amongst the soldiers; so that in a little time he assembled a multitude of troops, almost innumerable. He then resolved to attack the King, and, with that intention, seized, during the night, upon all the avenues of the city, both on the right hand and on the left.

The King, astonished and alarmed at the tumult, consulted with the Queen, saying: “What can we do in this misfortune? For it is a night to which no morning shall succeed, and a war in which there is not any hope of peace.”—The Queen replied: “Our only remedy for this evil is to fly and seek pro­tection in the dominions of some other prince, and solicit his assistance.”—Āzādbakht approved of this counsel, and resolved to seek an asylum from the King of Kirmān, who was renowned for his generosity throughout the world.

In the palace there was a certain door which opened into a subterraneous passage leading towards the desert. The King gave orders that two horses should be in­stantly saddled; and having put on his armour, and taken from the royal treasury many precious jewels and fastened them in his girdle, he placed the Queen on one of the horses, and mounting the other himself, they went forth privately through the door above­mentioned, and directed their course towards the desert.

Now it happened that the Queen had been for nine months in a state of pregnancy; and, after travel­ling during a whole day and night in the desert, they arrived at the side of a well, whose waters were more bitter than poison, and unpleasant as the revolutions of inconstant Fortune. Here the Queen was affected by the pains of labour; whilst heat and thirst reduced both the King and her to despair: their mouths were parched up for want of water, and they had no hopes of saving their lives; for the sword of the enemy was behind them, and before them the sand of the desert. In this forlorn situation the Queen said: “As it is impossible for me to proceed any farther, I entreat you to save your own life, and find out some place where water may be obtained. Though I must perish here, you may be saved; and a hundred thousand lives such as mine are not in value equal to a single hair of the King's head.”—Āzādbakht replied: “Soul of the world! I can relinquish riches and resign a throne; but it is impossible to abandon my beloved; her who is dearer to me than existence itself.”

Thus were they engaged in conversation, when suddenly the Queen brought forth a son; in beauty he was lovely as the moon, and from the lustre of his eyes the dreary desert was illumined. The Queen, pressing the infant to her bosom, began to perform the duties of a mother, when the King told her that she must not fix her affections on the child, as it would be impossible to take him with them: “We must, therefore,” added the King, “leave the infant on the brink of this well, and commit him to the providence of the Almighty, whose infinite kindness will save him from destruction.”—They accordingly wrapped up the child in a cloak embroidered with gold and fastened a bracelet of ten large pearls round his shoulders; then, leaving him on the brink of the well, they both proceeded on their journey to Kirmān, whilst their hearts were afflicted with anguish on account of their helpless infant. When they ap­proached the capital of Kirmān, the King of that place was informed of their arrival. He sent his servants to welcome them, and received them with the greatest respect and hospitality; he provided a princely banquet, and assembled all the minstrels, and sent his own son and two attendants to wait on Āzād-bakht.

During the feast, whilst the musicians were em­ployed in singing and playing, and the guests in drinking, whenever the wine came round to Āzād-bakht, his eyes were filled with tears. The King of Kirmān, perceiving this, desired him to banish sorrow, and to entertain a hope that Heaven might yet be propitious to him. Āzādbakht replied: “O King of the world! how can I be cheerful, whilst thus an exile from my home, and whilst my kingdom and my treasures are in the possession of my enemies?”

The King of Kirmān then inquired into the par­ticulars of Āzādbakht's misfortunes, which he related from beginning to end. The heart of the King of Kirmān was moved with compassion; and during that whole day he endeavoured, by every sort of amusement, to divert the mind of his guest from dwelling on the past misfortunes. The next day he ordered a powerful army to be led forth, and placed it under the command of Āzādbakht, who marched immediately towards the capital of his own dominions. On the King's approach, Sipahsālār, who had usurped his authority, fled in confusion, and all the troops, the peasants, and other inhabitants paid homage to Āzādbakht, and entreated his forgiveness. He par­doned them; and again ascending the royal throne, governed his people with justice and generosity; and having liberally rewarded the King of Kirmān's soldiers, he sent them back with many rare and valuable presents for that monarch.

After these transactions, Āzādbakht and his Queen passed their time in a state of tranquillity, interrupted only by the remembrance of the child whom they had left in the desert, and whom, they were persuaded, wild beasts must have devoured the same hour in which they abandoned him: but they little knew the kindness which Providence had shown him.

It happened that the desert in which they had left the infant was frequented by a gang of robbers, the chief of whom was named Farrukhsuwār; and very soon after the King and Queen had departed, these robbers came to the well; there they discovered a beautiful infant crying bitterly. Farrukhsuwār alighted from his horse and took up the child; and his extra­ordinary beauty induced them to believe him the son of some prince or illustrious personage. In this opinion they were confirmed by the ten valuable pearls which were fastened on his shoulders. As Farrukhsuwār had not any child, he resolved to adopt this infant as his own, and accordingly bestowed on him the name of Khudādād; and having taken him to his home, committed him to the care of a nurse. When he was of a proper age, Farrukhsuwār instructed him in all necessary accomplishments, and in horse­manship and the use of arms, which rendered him, with his natural bravery, when fifteen years of age, able to fight, alone, five hundred men. Farrukh-suwār loved this youth with such affection that he could not exist one moment without him, and took him along with him wheresoever he went. When­ever it happened that the robbers were proceeding to attack a caravan, Khudādād, who felt compassion for the merchants and travellers, and at all times dis­liked the profession of a robber, requested that Farrukh-suwār might dispense with his attendance, and leave him to guard the castle. Farrukhsuwār consented that he should not join in attacking the caravan; but entreated him to accompany the robbers to the scene of action. It happened, however, one day, that they attacked a caravan consisting of superior numbers, and of such brave men that they fought against the robbers with success, and took several of them pri­soners. In this action Farrukhsuwār received a wound, and was near falling into the hands of his enemies, when Khudādād, mounting his charger, galloped into the midst of the battle, and put many of them to death.

But it was so ordained that he should fall from his horse; in consequence of which, he was taken prisoner, and with many of the robbers, led in chains to the capital.

The chief of the caravan having brought them all before the tribunal of Āzādbakht, the King's eyes were no sooner fixed upon the countenance of Khudādād, than paternal affection began to stir his heart: he wept, and said: “Alas! if the infant whom I aban­doned in the desert were now alive, he would probably appear such a youth as this!” He continued to gaze involuntarily upon him, and, desiring him to approach, inquired his name, and said: “Art thou not ashamed to have abused the favours of Heaven, which has endowed thee with so much beauty and strength, by plundering travellers, and seizing on the property to which thou hadst not any right?”—Khudādād, with tears, replied: “The Lord knows my innocence, and that I have never partaken of the plunder.”—Āzād-bakht then granted him a free pardon, and took him into his service, desiring that his chains might be taken off; he also put on him his own robe, and said: “I now give you the name of Bakhtyār; from this time forth Fortune shall be your friend.”* The King then dismissed the other robbers; to whom, on condition that they would never again commit any depredations, he granted not only their lives, but a pension, by which he engaged them in his service.

After this Bakhtyār continued day and night in attendance on the King, whose affection for him hourly increased. To his care were entrusted the royal stables, which he superintended with such skill and good management that in a few months the horses be­came fat and sleek; and the King, one day remarking their improved condition, understood that it was the result of Bakhtyār's care and attention, and conceiving that a person who evinced such abilities was capable of managing more important matters, he sent for Bakht-yār, at his return to the palace, and ordered that the keys of the treasury should be presented to him, and thus constituted him keeper of the treasures. Bakht-yār, having kissed the ground, was invested with a splendid robe of honour. He discharged the duties of his high station with such fidelity and attention that he every day increased in favour with the King, and at length was consulted on every measure, and entrusted with every secret of his royal master. If on any day it happened that Bakhtyār absented him­self from the palace, on that day the King would not give audience to any person: and the advice of Bakhtyār was followed on every occasion of import­ance. In short, he was next in power to the King, and his conduct was discreet and skilful.

But there were Ten Viziers, who became envious of his exaltation, and conspired against him, resolving to devise some stratagem whereby they might deprive him of the King's esteem, and effect his degradation.

It happened one day that Bakhtyār, having indulged in the pleasures of wine beyond the bounds of modera­tion, lost the power of his reason, and continued in a state of sleepy intoxication until night came on and the world became dark; the porters fastened the gates, and the sentinels repaired to their respective stations. Bakhtyār, after some time, came forth from the treas­ury, but knew not whither he went, so completely had the wine deprived him of recollection: he wandered on, however, until he found himself in one of the King's private apartments, where he saw tapers burn­ing, a couch with pillows and cushions, a splendid throne, or seat, and various embroidered robes and silken coverings. This was the apartment in which the King used to sleep. Here, from excessive in­toxication, Bakhtyār flung himself upon the throne: after a little while the King entered, and discovering the unfortunate young man, inquired, with violent anger, his business in that place. Bakhtyār, roused by the noise, threw himself from the throne, and crept beneath it, where again he fell asleep.

The King, having called some attendants, ordered them to seize him, and, drawing his sword, hastened to the Queen, of whom he asked how Bakhtyār found admittance to the private apartments of the palace; and added, that he could not have come there with­out her knowledge. The Queen, shocked at such an imputation, declared herself ignorant of the whole transaction but desired the King, if he still enter­tained any suspicions, to confine her that night, and inquire into the matter on the next morning, when her innocence would appear, and the guilty might be punished. The King accordingly ordered her to be confined, and suspended the execution of vengeance during that night.

When morning came, being seated on the royal throne, he gave audience to his ten Viziers. The first of these, having paid his respects to the King, inquired into the transactions of the preceding night, and was informed of all that had occurred. The enmity which this Vizier had long cherished in his heart against Bakhtyār induced him to conceive that a fair oppor­tunity now offered of destroying that unfortunate young man; and he said within himself: “Though he may have a thousand lives, he shall not be able to save one of them.” He then addressed the King, and said: “How could a person bred up in the desert, and by profession a robber and assassin, be fit for the ser­vice of a King? I well knew that his wickedness would appear, but durst not say so; now, however, that it is manifest, let the King ordain for him such a punish­ment as may be a lesson to all the world.”—The King gave orders that Bakhtyār should be brought before him. “Ungrateful wretch!” said he, “I forgave your offences; I spared your life; I raised you to dignities almost equal to my own; and you requite these favours by treason and perfidy: you have entered into the recesses of my harem, and have presumed to occupy my place.”—Bakhtyār on hearing this began to weep; declared himself ignorant of all those transac­tions, and that if he had been found in the royal apart­ments, he must have wandered there unconsciously.

The first Vizier solicited the King's permission that he might go to the harem, and inquire from the Queen all that she knew concerning this affair. Having obtained permission, he went to the Queen, and told her, that there were various reports on the subject of that young robber Bakhtyār, in which she was implicated; that, as the King was exceedingly enraged against her, the only means whereby she could appease his anger would be to accuse Bakhtyār, and to say,—“O King! thou hast brought hither the son of a robber; thou hast bestowed on him the name of ‘Fortune's Favourite,’ and hast exalted him to honours; but his baseness has at length appeared: he has presumed to make amorous proposals to me, and has threatened, should I not comply with his licentious desires, to use violence with me, to kill the King, and to seize upon the throne.”

“This declaration,” said the Vizier to the Queen, “will induce the King to order the immediate execu­tion of Bakhtyār, and you will at the same time re­establish yourself in his good opinion.”—The Queen was astonished, and replied: “How can I, even to save myself, thus destroy the life of an innocent person by a false testimony?”

“The life of Bakhtyār,” said the Vizier, “has long been forfeited to the laws, since he exercised the pro­fession of a robber and a murderer; therefore, any scruples on that subject are vain; and I'll answer at the day of judgment for your share in this transac­tion.”

The Queen at last consented to follow the Vizier's advice; and he returned to the presence of the King, who desired to know the result of his conference with the Queen. The artful Vizier replied: “That which I have heard, I have not the power of relating; but the Queen herself will tell it.” The King, having retired, sent for the Queen, and she repeated to him all that the Vizier had instructed her to say. The King, acknowledging that he was himself to blame, as having bestowed favours on the base-born son of a robber, gave orders that heavy irons should be put on the feet of Bakhtyār, and sent him to prison; declaring that in due time he should suffer such a punishment as would strike terror into all men.

In the meantime, Bakhtyār languished in the prison, appealing to God for relief; and the Viziers returned to their homes, devising means whereby they might induce the King to hasten the execution of the young man.

ON the following day the second Vizier came before the King, and, having paid his respects, recom­mended that Bakhtyār should be no longer kept in prison, but led out to execution. The King approved of this advice, and gave orders that Bakhtyār and the executioner should be brought before him. When they were come, he addressed the young man, and told him that he had directed the tree of his existence to be rooted out from the soil of his empire. Bakhtyār replied: “Long be the King's life! Such is my prayer, as I stand here on the eve of departure from this world; yet, as it is every man's duty to endeavour by honest means to save himself, I appeal to the Almighty, who knows my innocence. But alas! my situation is like that of the Merchant, whom good fortune constantly avoided, and evil fortune incessantly pursued, so that all his exertions ended in disappoint­ment, and all his projects failed of success.”—The King desired to hear the story of this ill-fated Mer­chant, and Bakhtyār, after the usual compliments, began to relate it as follows: