Baharkan was an intemperate Prince. He sacrificed everything to his passions, and, in order to gratify them, he boldly plunged into the greatest excess of tyranny. He never pardoned even the appearance of a crime: so that involuntary faults were punished no less than avowed transgressions.

Being one day at the chase, one of his officers inadvertently discharged from his bow an arrow which he was holding prepared. It struck the ear of the King, and unfortunately carried it off. Baharkan, in his fury, ordered the offender to be brought before him, and his head to be struck off. As soon as the unhappy young man was in his presence, having heard the sentence of death pronounced by the monarch, he spoke to him thus:

"Sire, the fault I have committed was unpremeditated on my part; it was the effect of the fatality of the stars. I throw myself on your clemency. I implore your pardon. It will be meritorious in the sight of God and approved of by men. In the name of the heavenly Power which hath put the sceptre into your hands, I entreat for pardon, and your Majesty will one day receive your reward."

This prayer softened the unrelenting heart of the King, and, contrary to the general expectation, the young officer obtained his pardon.

His name was Tirkan. He was a Prince who had fled from his father's Court in order to escape the punishment of a fault which he had committed. After having wandered unknown from kingdom to kingdom, he at length settled at the Court of Baharkan, where he obtained employment. He remained there for some time after the accident which had befallen him; but his father, having discovered the place of his retreat, sent him his pardon, and advised him to return to him. He did this in such affectionate and paternal terms that Tirkan, trusting in his father's goodness, immediately departed. His hopes were not deceived, and he was re-established in all his rights.

King Baharkan, desiring one day to amuse himself with pearl-fishing, embarked in a vessel with a design to coast along the shores of his kingdom in search of pearls. An unexpected storm drove the ship into the open sea. It became the sport of the winds and the waves, and, stripped of all its rigging, ran aground on an unknown shore, and was dashed to pieces against the rocks which surrounded it. The whole crew perished. Baharkan alone was saved from shipwreck by a plank which he had had the good fortune to seize. Fortunately, he landed on the dominions of the monarch whose son had shot away his ear, and whom he had pardoned.

Night began to descend when Baharkan landed. He wanted neither courage nor vigour, and therefore took the first road that presented itself, which led to a large fortified city. But, as the gates had just been shut, he was forced to wait without till next day, and to pass the night in a neighbouring churchyard.

Day began to appear, and the gates were opened. The first persons who came from the city found, at the gate of the churchyard, a man who had been murdered. Baharkan was coming out of it at the same time. The efforts he had made in the evening to reach the coast with his plank had given him some slight wounds, from which the blood was still trickling. This proof appeared sufficient in the eyes of the bystanders: he was taken for the murderer, and carried to prison.

There this unfortunate Prince, left to his own reflections, thus communed with himself: "Heaven chastises thee, Baharkan. Thou wast cruel, vindictive, and inexorable. With thee humanity had no value. Thou sacrificedst thy brethren on the slightest suspicion. Behold thyself now on a level with the vilest of mortals. Thou hast met with no more than thy desert."

As he rendered this terrible justice to himself, he perceived in the air a vulture, which hovered above the prison in the court of which he was walking. He instinctively took a flint, and threw it with great force at the bird, which avoided the stroke; but, in falling, the stone accidentally struck the same Prince Tirkan who formerly had carried off his ear by the stroke of an arrow. It wounded him exactly on the ear, but not so severely as Baharkan had been. Pain forced a cry from the young Prince, which brought all his courtiers around him. Surgeons were sent for, who soon cured this slight wound.

The King ordered a search to be made, in order to discover the person who had thrown the stone. Baharkan was accused by his fellow-prisoners of picking up and throwing it. He was brought before the monarch, who condemned him to lose his head, since, besides this, he believed him to be the murderer of the man who had been assassinated near the churchyard. The executioner of justice had already taken off the turban which covered him, and was drawing the sword from its scabbard, when the King, examining attentively the head which had just been uncovered, perceived that it wanted an ear.

"It appears," said he to the criminal, "that this is not your first offence. For what crime have you been already condemned to lose an ear?"

Baharkan, having assumed a manly spirit since his misfortunes, replied, with boldness, "Sire, if I have committed crimes, I owe no account of them but to Heaven; and till it should have determined to punish me, human justice had no right to inflict it. I have been, in one word, your equal—I was a King. The ear which I want was unfortunately carried off by an arrow, which escaped from the bow of one of my officers, whose name was Tirkan. Impelled by the first emotion of anger, I condemned him to death. He besought my pardon, and obtained it. My name is Baharkan."

Tirkan, without giving him time to finish, had already thrown himself into his arms. He recognized at once his ancient master and his deliverer. Baharkan, far from being punished, was treated as a King, and an unfortunate one. He related the adventure which had landed him in the dominions of Tirkan's father. The latter communicated to him his own, and especially the unfortunate accident which had wounded Baharkan.

"Recollect, sire," added he, "that in soliciting a pardon, I ventured to promise you, from Heaven, the same favour which I expected from you. Here you have received it, under the very same circumstances, through the instrumentality of my father."

After these discoveries, the two Sovereigns embraced each other, with marks of esteem and kindness. A short time after, Baharkan returned to his kingdom in a fleet well equipped, and at the head of an army of fifty thousand fighting men, commanded by Prince Tirkan.

"In this manner," added Aladin, "Baharkan was rewarded for suffering himself to be softened when he was personally offended. Heaven did not confine its blessings to his receiving the same treatment in a similar situation and restoring him to his subjects, it moreover granted to him every virtue requisite in a good King; and in governing his subjects, it enabled him always to govern himself."

Bohetzad, shaken in his resolution by this discourse, ordered the instruments of death to be again removed, and the minister to be conducted back to prison. He even pronounced these last words so hesitatingly, that the Viziers, who observed it, were alarmed.

The whole conspiracy formed against Aladin awoke with still greater force, and it was determined that the ten Viziers should go in a body to the King. Their danger would become so great, if Aladin should succeed in justifying himself, that every step should be taken to destroy him.

The next day they all repaired to the palace, and he who was possessed of the warmest eloquence spoke. If the monarch would believe it, the wicked story-teller, whose talents were so specious, was indebted for his success to the art of magic, in which he was well skilled. But he ought to distrust an illusion which exposes at once the laws, religion, morals, the honour of the throne, and the public welfare; and unless he punished this crime, it would be impossible to check disorder. All the other Viziers supported this insidious harangue. Each of them alleged his own disinterestedness, his zeal, and his fidelity.

"Unbridled audacity is in him united with matchless cunning," they said. "Everything is in danger if this offence remains unpunished."

Bohetzad could not resist the unanimous voice of so many counsellors. His anger re-awoke, and he ordered the criminal to be brought forth.

Aladin appeared in chains, and the King, perceiving him, exclaimed,

"Let the head of this unhappy man be struck off."

The ten Viziers hastened to seize the sword of the executioner, in order to dispute with him the execution of his office. This motion gave Aladin time to speak.

"Behold, sire, the eagerness of your Viziers to bathe themselves in the blood of innocence. Justice pursues the crime, but does not rush upon the criminal. Zeal, like every other virtue, should be moderated. Stop, eager and wicked men! I am here under the justice of the King, not under yours. You have no power over my life. It is sacred with respect to you, who are neither judges nor executioners. Speak! Show yourselves openly as you really are. I have offended you by checking your rapine. You are my enemies and base slanderers."

"You recriminate upon my Viziers," interrupted the King; "truth which flows from their mouths confounds you."

"Nothing from them can confound me," replied Aladin; "not even the blackness of their calumny. It is coeval with their existence. But for these, who have reduced me to the necessity of this defence, I must question them in my turn. They are all here, and let them answer. Does not the law require that every accuser or deponent should have been a witness of the crime? Their evidence is therefore objectionable in this case; the law rejects it. It is only the effect of envy and jealous rage by which they are devoured. Look at them, sire, and at me. The sword is above my head, yet I dare raise it up, while their eyes shun both yours and mine. Heaven supports me and condemns them; our sentence is written on our countenance. O great King! deserving of better ministers, beware of being drawn into the guilty plot they have contrived for you. One may, but without passion, bear testimony against the accused. If he is convicted, justice condemns him. But the judge, in describing the crime and pronouncing sentence, never forgets the duty due to the creature of God on whom the punishment is about to fall. Here I see nothing but fury and jealous rage. They are devoured by their thirst for blood, and equity is not the basis of their judgments. All the injurious imputations which have been levelled against me vanish. An invisible hand imprints on my forehead the serenity of innocence. An inward sentiment tells me that, having lived free from crimes, I shall not be confounded with the guilty. Unhappy is the man whose conscience gives a contrary testimony. He endeavours in vain to shun the stroke that threatens him. The history of the Sultan Hebraim and of his son is a proof of this."

Bohetzad, struck with astonishment at the intrepid firmness of Aladin and the united rage of his ministers, wished to hear the adventures of Hebraim; and the Superintendent, having obtained permission to relate them, thus began: