Persian Literature, Ancient and Modern

It was a ship belonging to a distant province that carried the Persian prince beyond the reach of the angry Shāh, and after a long trading voyage, during which they battled with angry seas and perilous rocks, they landed upon the friendly coast.

The commander was also a merchant, and he bore the name of Sherf; he had become greatly attached to the prince during the weeks they had spent together, even though he knew not of his royal rank, for Meher had given strict orders to his attendants that no hint of his identity should be given; he was known, therefore, simply as a Persian youth, who, with his companions, had chosen to seek his fortune in travel.

On his arrival in port the merchant sold his ship, and fitting out a large caravan he made ready for the journey to his native city. He warmly urged the prince and his friends to join his party, and Meher consented to do so, not only because of the greater safety thus afforded, but also because he disliked to be separated from his newly found friend.

The known wealth of the merchant caravan, however, was a source of danger, as the country was infested with banditti, and they were only three days’ journey from the coast when a night attack was made upon the encampment; the men were hastily awakened by the guard; but in the confusion of the darkness the well-planned assault proved only too successful, and with one daring raid much valuable merchandise was seized, and several men left in a wounded and dying condition. Meher sprang to his horse, and calling to his attendants to follow, he rode away in bold pursuit of the banditti, who were only a few minutes ahead of him; his horse was in good condition, and the rider well trained, but the banditti knew every inch of the ground which was new to their pursuers, and they were thus enabled to pursue a circuitous path which, for a time, baffled them.

After a long chase in the darkness, however, they were overtaken, and a desperate struggle ensued. Meher had been followed, not only by his own attendants, but a few of the more daring among the servants of Sherf had also answered to his call. The banditti were armed only with arrows and spears, while the prince and his attendants carried the best Persian fire-arms, and the men of the caravan were also well equipped, or would have been, but for the suddenness of the attack.

The banditti were overpowered, for they had depended largely upon the panic they caused for an opportunity to make their escape in the darkness, and their quivers were only partially filled with arrows. The prince had been carefully trained in the use of his weapons, and his quick and repeated firing brought man after man to the ground, and though several of his own party had fallen, he soon had the robbers in his power. He then demanded the stolen property, which was surrendered; but not satisfied with this, he determined that they should pay more dearly for their baseness, and he required the stolen jewels which he knew must be hidden upon their persons, and also their finest horses. They protested that they had no jewels, but the argument which demanded their treasures or their lives was inexorable, and the pursuers bore away more than double the wealth which had been stolen. The morning dawned before they reached the encampment, and then the prince divided the booty among the servants of Sherf, who had bravely followed him in the hour of peril. The wounded men were carried to the camp, and they received a double share of the spoils.

The owner of the caravan was more than grateful, for he knew that he could never have recovered the property but for the bravery of the gallant strangers.

His admiration for Meher knew no bounds, and when order was again restored and the line of march resumed, he declared that only one woman in the world was worthy to be his wife, and that was the beautiful princess Nahīd, the daughter of the king of Khārizm.

Meher answered that his whole anxiety at present was to find a dearly loved friend, and when that was accomplished perhaps he might think of marriage.

On their arrival at the city, Sherf insisted that Meher and his friends should take up their abode in his own spacious home, and for the time being they consented to do so.

The next day the prince visited the public bath, and his splendid physique won the admiration of all beholders, greatly to the satisfaction of his friend. The merchant, on his return from his long journey, went to the court of King Keiwan, and laid costly gifts at his feet, as was the custom on the completion of a successful expedition. The king was anxious to hear the adventures of the traveler, and listened long to the story of his voyage and wonderful escapes.

The merchant was glad of an opportunity to thus communicate with the king, and always loyal to Meher he related at length the story of the night attack, and the daring pursuit of the Persian youth, who succeeded not only in restoring the property of his host, but also in gaining from the banditti a rich reward for the servants who so bravely responded to his call.

ROYAL INTERVIEWS.

The king was greatly interested in the gallant stranger, and he immediately sent a chamberlain to request his presence at court.

Meher stepped with easy grace into the royal presence and saluted with due courtesy, but there was no fear in his manner, no awkwardness in the salute, and the keen-eyed monarch saw at once that he was accustomed to the presence of royalty, and suspected that he carried noble blood in his veins.

He was most graciously received, and after a long conversation the king presented him with a beautiful horse; delighted with the gift, Meher sprang to the saddle, and rode away like the prince that he was, while the king looked admiringly on.

The next morning he received another invitation to visit the palace, and on this occasion he presented a poem which he had written in honor of the king, when the eloquence of his diction, the music of his rhythm, and the historical knowledge betrayed by his allusions to the past, made his production an object of admiration to the literati of the court. It was customary for those who were presented to make an offering to royalty, and after apologizing for the humble character of his gift, Meher ordered one of his attendants to present to his majesty a little casket which he carried in his hand. With a feeling of curiosity, mingled with a desire to extend an especial favor, Keiwan received the gift in his own hands, and upon opening the casket he was astonished to find richer jewels than any that gleamed in his own treasury. There was one ruby in that little collection, which, on being placed in water, radiated a light which colored the water like the blood of the grape, and the diamonds flashed back the green and purple fire of the emerald and amethyst beside them.

Here was another factor in the problem which was agitating the mind of Keiwan, for unless this youth was of royal birth he must surely belong to some band of robbers who had successfully raided a king’s treasury. But with true Oriental reticence he forbore to express his surprise, determined to wait until he could solve the mystery without questions.

Again Meher was summoned to the court and challenged to a game of drafts with a skillful opponent; being successful in this, he was invited to a contest in chess with the best player of the kingdom. The king looked on and saw his young friend checkmate the veteran with six moves. Afterward the monarch sent him a letter requiring an immediate reply at a time when his secretary was known to be absent. The messenger waited a few minutes, and then carried to his royal master a letter which was a model in its literary style as well as in its mechanical execution. Every triumph of this kind raised the Persian youth more highly in the estimation of the king, but he was not yet satisfied, and after a time he was invited to a trial of strength and agility; the contest took place in front of the palace, while the queen and the princess Nahīd looked upon the combatants from behind a screen. Meher rode into the arena upon his white Arabian steed, and never royal rider mounted a more magnificent animal, or rode with more grace and ease; as the horse circled proudly around the arena, his young master shot his arrows through the distant target until the quiver by his side was empty, then he threw the javelin, and in a later contest with spears, he carried off the prize.

Safely hidden behind her costly screen, the beautiful princess watched the contest, and the victor won not only the plaudits of the multitude, but also the heart of Nahīd; the prince rode quietly away, but the princess went to her rooms, with her cheeks flushed and her heart beating with terror. Already offers had been received from foreign courts for her hand, and her father had hesitated only to find a more powerful ally. Full well she knew that, according to the custom of the East, she was liable to be bargained away at any time, without even a question in relation to her own preference, for the Eastern woman is supposed to give her affection wherever policy decides that her hand shall go. At last she went to her faithful nurse, and told the story of her love for the stranger, told her how impossible it would be for her to love any other than the gallant youth who now held her heart in his hands, and declared that she would take her own life if she were compelled to marry another.

The nurse was frightened by her strong emotion, and hastened to the queen with the information; the mother received the message with great agitation, and soon afterward she sought the presence of the king. Long and carefully the subject was considered, for they were both favorably impressed with the stranger, but an alliance of the royal house could not be lightly made, and whatever might be the accomplishments of Meher they were obliged to content themselves with his own representations, for surely there could be no good reason why a man of royal birth should deny his parentage.

No decision was made, but it must be confessed that Meher stood still nearer to their hearts on account of the love which their only daughter bore him. Although a confessed favorite at court, and living in the enjoyment of luxury, the heart of the prince was oppressed with grief and loneliness, for he constantly mourned the absence of his friend, and the fearful uncertainty which hung over his fate.

THE CONFLICT.

A messenger from the king of Samarcānd bore to the court of Keiwan an offer for the hand of the princess, for the fame of her wondrous loveliness had spread through all the neighboring kingdoms. The ambassador came laden with the costliest jewels and the richest brocades of the East as presents for the bride, for there was no thought in the heart of King Kāra Khān that his offer might be refused.

Keiwan had long considered the fading rose on the cheek of his beloved daughter, and more than once he had asked himself if her happiness was not worth as much as an alliance with some neighboring monarch, who was liable to betray his trust whenever it might be considered profitable to do so.

There was a shade of superiority, too, in the manner of the ambassador—an evident feeling that his master was bestowing a high honor that stung the proud spirit of King Keiwan, and he returned an unqualified refusal to the proposition.

This decision was made in opposition to the advice of the Grand Vizir, who dreaded to insult so powerful a prince, but the king refused to reconsider his action, and the ambassador went away in anger.

King Kāra Khān received the message of refusal, first with incredulity, and afterwards with rage; having never seen the girl, he cared nothing for her personally, but his indignation knew no bounds when he learned that his expressed wish had been disregarded.

As the Vizir had feared, the return of the disappointed ambassador was promptly followed by a declaration of war, and soon the Tartar horde was marching directly upon Khārizm.

King Keiwan was almost overcome with dismay when the news of the invasion was brought to him, for the Tartar chief was not a foe to be despised; the court was in more or less confusion on account of the suddenness of the attack, and in the midst of the general terror, the nurse of Nahīd went to Meher and told him the story of the great love that the princess bore for him, and informed him that it was in deference to this feeling that the king had refused to give his daughter to the king of Samarcānd.

Feeling that he was the unfortunate cause of the attack upon his royal friend, the prince went to the king and offered to withstand the foe with five hundred chosen men. Although the offer was refused, being looked upon as a useless sacrifice, Meher and his friends insisted that they should be allowed the privilege of joining the army which marched out to repulse the attack of the Tartars.

Soon the wild horde of mountaineers bore down upon the Khārizmians, and it could be seen that the attacking force greatly outnumbered them, but the troops of Keiwan stood bravely at their post and sent their death-dealing arrows into the ranks of the foe.

The Tartar chief clad in black armor was leading his troops in person, and he looked a very fiend as his bloody falchion made great vistas in the ranks that opposed his progress. The heads of horsemen rolled beneath his splendid charger, and it seemed that only another Rustem could withstand the fury of his attack. The black banners were spread upon the air, and the wild music of gong and tymbalons cheered his reckless hordes in their fatal work.

There was the clash of spears, the ringing of armor, and the shouts of the chieftains, mingled with the trampling of horses and the cries of dying men; still onward came the Tartar chief, cleaving his path through the opposing forces, even while blade for blade sprang up to meet him. The Khārizmians were falling back before the irresistible fury of the onset, and victory was surely perching upon the black banner above the fatal field. Confusion already reigned amidst the flying troops, when a warrior youth with a broidered vestment rode out of the retreating ranks and called upon the men to follow him.

It was a voice of imperial command, the order of a man who rode fearlessly into the ranks of the foe, and the troops of Keiwan quickly rallied, the officers reformed their lines, and followed the new leader into the very jaws of death.

Kāra Khān laughed mockingly as he saw the stripling, who had turned the retreating lines, riding towards him, but in another moment the boy was by his side, and before he could draw his sword a quick motion had thrown him from his horse; the cry went through the Tartar ranks that the king was slain, and, in the momentary panic caused by the false alarm, he was captured by the dauntless youth, who hurried him back within the Khārizmian lines.

Leaving his prisoner in the hands of his own attendants the prince again turned his horse to the front, and again he led the troops of Keiwan, this time to an easy victory; the fate of the day being turned by the capture of the Tartar king, the hordes of the invader either fled from the field or surrendered to the new leader.

When the royal prisoner was brought before the victorious king, the order was issued according to the barbaric custom, that he should be beheaded; but Meher interfered, with the plea that it were far better to send him back to his own dominions pledged to make an annual tribute to Keiwan. This would not only increase the royal revenue, but it would hold the Tartar host in subjection, and also preserve the peace; whereas, upon the execution of their king his successor would declare perpetual war against the Khārizmians.

After a time Meher succeeded in convincing the king of the wisdom of a humane policy, and the captive was allowed to depart in peace, having taken a solemn pledge to send a rich tribute to the conqueror every year on the anniversary of his attack.

Keiwan acknowledged that the victory had been secured by Meher, and he was escorted back to the palace by a portion of the royal guard, while the honors bestowed upon the prince were second only to those received by the king himself.

A GARDEN SCENE.

The enameled cupola of the palace, rich with its arabesques of gold, was partially hidden by the boughs of the tall trees that stood like sentries around it; at their feet were fountains that poured their silvery streams into marble tanks, where the gold-fish glided through the waves, and white lotus blossoms rose above them, filling all the air with their fragrant breath. There were aloes with their spikes of silvery blossoms, and pink oleander sprays were reflected back in the water of the lilied tanks. The bulbul sang in the thickets of roses, and the sunbirds fluttered through the taller trees, where their eggs of mottled gray were safely hidden.

As the triumphant warriors returned to the palace the low sun dappled the green with creeping shadows, and rays of golden light tinted the trees with splendor. The prince was exhausted with the strong excitement of the last few days, and especially wearied by the bitter conflict which he had just passed through: the voices even of victory seemed to jar upon his ears and he sought in the cool shades of the garden the rest which he could not hope to find within the palace walls. Here, upon a bank of verdure, he laid his weary form, and soon fell asleep amidst the flowers.

On the other side of the tall trees, the princess Nahīd was walking with her nurse, and they were talking in low tones of the great victory, the news of which had reached even the apartments of the women. The princess stood beneath an orange tree, and the tints of rose were blushing through the soft olive shades of her face, while the dark eyes were beaming with a wondrous light, for she had heard the name of her beloved in connection with the deeds of valor upon that well fought field. Her love-lighted eyes were curtained with long sweeping lashes, and the mouth of rose and pearl was curved with a smile divine, as they walked through the green aisles and spoke in joyous whispers of this new triumph, which could not fail to bring Meher nearer to the heart of the king. Nahīd was walking slowly in advance of her attendant when she came to a little opening in the trees, and there upon the bank lay the man she loved, still held in the restful arms of sleep. She checked the exclamation of surprise that sprang to her lips, and, cautiously advancing, she bent above the silent figure and looked long and lovingly upon the face she knew so well.well.

The sleeping prince felt her presence, and through his mind there passed a vision of loveliness; he dreamed that a beautiful woman bent above his couch holding a pomegranate blossom—the flower of faith. Upon her dark hair there rested a little cap sewn thick with beaded pearls, and something whispered in his dream that this was the princess who had scorned a Tartar king for his sake.

And still the prince dreamed on, and still the bright face bent above him, all unheeding the frantic gestures of the attendant who would call the imprudent Nahīd away. But the bulbul in the rose-tree had bolder grown, and his voice rose higher in a joyous song,—the sleeping prince awoke, and lo! the vision of his dream was bending o’er him; with one quick movement, all unheeding Eastern law, he caught her in his arms, and, as she lay blushing and trembling there, he told her the sweet old story, which is ever new to the listening heart.

In vain the attendant pleaded that he had no right to even look upon her unveiled face—in vain she warned them that if this meeting came to the ears of the king, the life of Meher must pay the penalty of the forbidden kiss; long he held her there in his warm embrace, and then a Huma bird floated slowly above them and the attendant thought that a future king and his queen were before her; for never doth this bird of happy omen fly around a human head but it will sometime wear a crown. The sun had rolled away behind the crimson curtains of the west before the princess stole to her room, but not to sleep, for if a treacherous eye had seen her with Meher, she might be called with the dawn to witness his execution.

AFTERWARDS.

The prince went to his chambers with his heart filled with conflicting emotions; on the one hand was the beautiful princess, who had confided her love to him, and on the other was the humiliating knowledge that he had betrayed the trust of his royal friend, the king, who had taken an unknown youth into his heart and home. Full well he knew that he had no right to even look into the unveiled face of the princess, no right to touch the soft hands which were henna stained upon the palms, and yet he had violated the most sacred law of hospitality by holding her in his arms—nay, he had even pressed her crimson lips with his own; in that hour of strong self-condemnation he did not dread the righteous anger of the king, he felt rather, that it devolved upon him to go into the court, and make a full confession of his base act and bravely receive the deserved punishment.

Another bitter thought added not a little to his self-reproach, for was he not also a traitor to the sacred trust of friendship? His chosen friend was in constant peril, he knew not where, and he was living in ease and luxury without trying to find him; he thought he could go to the king, and, by proving his royal birth and his claim to the Persian throne, he could hopefully ask for the hand of the princess, but this would be a virtual desertion of the cause of his friend, and he could not consent to thus sacrifice the sacred claims of fraternal love for his own pleasure and happiness. Long he tossed upon his sleepless couch and still the matter was far from settled; at last he fell into a feverish slumber which was haunted by a fair face, with dark, loving eyes, but there were also visions of a loyal friend who was suffering on account of his unyielding devotion to the prince—even the vindictive face of Behrām passed before his mind, and the morning found him still weary and disturbed. He decided, however, to pursue his search for Mūshteri, even at the risk of losing Nahīd, for was not this his first and most sacred obligation?

Having resolved to follow what seemed the path of duty, at whatever cost, his tempest-torn heart was at rest. Surely the sacrifice and renunciation were better than the gratification of self-love, and when he had found his friend he would present to the king a formal request for the hand of Nahīd. While yet he pondered, a messenger was announced from the king with an order for his immediate presence in the council chamber of the palace.

THE DECISION.

The imperative nature of the summons bore with it an air of danger; it was not the kindly invitation which he had been wont to receive, or at least the messenger did not deliver it as such, and the scene in the garden with all its possible consequences, flashed before the mind of the prince. He dismissed the chamberlain with the reply that the call would be promptly obeyed, and then sat down to collect his thoughts in order to be prepared for whatever ordeal might await him.

He could not avoid the conviction that he must now pay the penalty for his betrayal of the king’s trust, and he thought of the broken-hearted mother who was grieving her life away over the uncertain fate of her child; he had no hope that he could even send her a message, for Oriental monarchs were not in the habit of granting such privileges to men who were condemned to execution.

But he had little time for sad reflections, and soon he was on his way to obey the imperial summons. He was ushered into the royal presence and was received with the usual courtesies, but the king ordered the Vizir to leave the room, and then Meher knew that he should soon learn his fate.

The monarch slowly recounted the principal incidents of their acquaintance, and after giving an account of the battle and the victory which Meher had snatched from the very hands of defeat, he said: “I have consulted with my principal counselors, and we have decided that the only suitable reward which we can confer upon the unknown Persian youth is to give him the Princess Nahīd in marriage.”

Meher fell upon his knees in an ecstacy of gratitude, and it was some time before he could even thank the king for his great kindness; but he could not prove himself further unworthy of this great trust, and after expressing, as best he could, his appreciation of the priceless gift, he proceeded with true manliness, to tell his whole story to King Keiwan. He told of his parentage, his claims to the crown of Persia, his unchanging friendship with Mūshteri, who was exiled for his sake, of his determination to find his friend, and his great appreciation of the kindness of his royal host.

Nothing was hidden in this manly confession; the scene in the garden was given with unfaltering truthfulness, even while the narrator watched the dark frown that was gathering upon the brow of Keiwan. The angry king listened in dismay, though he could but admire the moral courage of the prince, who, when he had finished, threw himself upon the clemency of Keiwan.

There was a silence that seemed to bode little good to Meher, and then the king said: “I have seen how thou could’st forgive, even a foe; I have seen thee plead for Kāra Khān, who would gladly have taken thy life, if it were in his power; a king cannot afford to be less magnanimous than thyself—arise and receive my forgiveness. But the grateful prince remained at his feet and there expressed his devout thankfulness.

In this long and candid interview he also told Keiwan that while he held in his heart a great love for the beautiful princess, and nothing in life could give him greater joy than to call her his own, still he dared not give up, even for her sake, his search for the friend of his childhood, who might even now be in jeopardy on account of his loyalty. Again he braved the royal displeasure, by seeming to undervalue the priceless gift, even while his own heart cried out for his love. Again that ominous frown passed over the brow of the king, and his words were followed by a silence so profound that he could hear his own heart-beats. After a time the king spoke, but only to chide him for his ill-chosen friendship, only to tell him that his hope was useless, and to urge him to give up the fruitless search.

Meher replied that it was impossible—that he could not be happy in heaven itself, if he had betrayed the trust of his friend, and whatever might be the cost, he must either find him or give his life to the unavailing search; he was then dismissed from the king’s presence, and went away feeling that although he was under the royal displeasure, he must still be true to himself.

A caravan which was approaching Khārizm was observed to have in custody two prisoners, who had evidently been cruelly beaten. The report was carried to the city, and the king’s officers were sent out to investigate the circumstances. They questioned the owner of the caravan in relation to the matter, and he informed them that these men were his slaves, who had escaped from his service and carried off with them large quantities of stolen goods; he had pursued them many days and at great expense, had finally captured them, but had succeeded in obtaining only a small portion of his merchandise, the rest having been sold and the proceeds expended in riotous living.

The man was evidently a Persian, and the captives seemed to be Persian also, therefore the story seemed probable, and the officers returned to the king with the statement that the matter had been fully investigated, and that the master of the caravan had evidently good reasons for whatever severity might have been used, and thus the matter was allowed to rest, while the strangers encamped in security just outside the city limits. A close guard was kept over the prisoners, and they were constantly told that if they varied from this story, in case they were questioned, that their lives should pay the forfeit of their imprudence. In view of the dreadful beating they had already received, they had good reason to believe that they would not only be murdered, but that, too, in the most barbarous manner, in case of exposure; Mūshteri decided to tell the truth if he were questioned, whatever the result might be, but there was little prospect that such an opportunity might present itself, for they were not only closely guarded, but the indolent officers of the crown were glad to have the matter so easily disposed of.

After a few days of rest, therefore, in the suburbs, Behrām gave the order to proceed, and the men under his command slowly packed the camp utensils, and the caravan made its way into the city, where some of the merchant’s goods were offered for sale. The rich Persian stuffs brought high prices, and the burdens of the pack animals were not only lightened but the master was rapidly changing his wealth into a more portable form. One of the attendants of Meher was attracted by the sale, for with his longing for home was mingled a desire to obtain some of the goods which had a familiar look in their fabric. He was merely looking on, however, at a short distance, for the crowd around the caravan was not easy to penetrate, and he wondered in an indolent way what portion of Persia thethe new comers were from, when he was startled by the sound of a familiar voice; the indifference in his manner quickly vanished, and he listened eagerly until he heard it again, for he could not at first recall the tone that seemed so strangely familiar. He pressed anxiously nearer, and at last caught sight of the face of Behrām, who was so deeply engaged in the sale of his goods that he did not notice an eager look upon the face of one of the bystanders, and the man hurried away to carry the news to Meher. Feeling that he had possibly found a clue to the whereabouts of his friend, the prince applied for an interview with the king; but his cordial relations with royalty had been greatly interrupted by what the monarch chose to consider his indifference to the princess, and he refused to see him, sending out a message to the effect that he was too busy to be interrupted.

The prince sent his friend back to watch, unobserved, the movements of the caravan, and also to see if possibly he might not have been mistaken in the identity of Behrām. This was all he could do at present, and he realized that even if it should prove to be his old attendant his discovery might not lead to any information concerning Mūshteri. The man returned, however, to Meher with the information that it was surely Behrām, and he carried two captives, but they were so closely guarded that it was impossible to see who they were. In an agony of suspense the prince again applied for an audience with the king, but only to meet with a second refusal. In the morning he learned that, having sold all the goods which he wished at present to dispose of, Behrām was preparing to leave the city.

ARREST AND TRIAL.

Meher would have been willing to follow and attack him with the aid only of his own attendants, but he knew that in case of an attack Behrām’s first act would be to slay his captives, whoever they might be; he therefore wrote a most piteous appeal to the king, saying that he knew the owner of the caravan to be a man of basest purpose, and beseeching that he might at least be arrested and more thoroughly examined.

Keiwan at last consented to this plan, but the caravan was already two days’ journey from the city. The king’s officers overtook them, and brought them back to appear before the tribunal in the council hall. Meher had succeeded in obtaining an audience with the king, who treated him with great formality. He consented, however, that the prince should be present at the forthcoming examination of the prisoners, and he chose to do so without being himself observed.

Behrām and his slaves were brought into the hall and the prisoners were also compelled to appear, all the excuses of Behrām having been unavailing with the officers, who had strict orders from Keiwan. Meher looked closely and anxiously at them from behind his screen, but they had been so completely changed by the barbarous treatment to which they had been subjected that he could not recognize them. Feeling grievously disappointed, he lost to a great extent his interest in the trial, for he cared little to have Behrām punished merely as a matter of revenge.

The owner of the caravan was first plied with questions, and he told with great freedom the story which he had first given to the king’s officers. He declared that both of his prisoners were his former slaves, and one of them being his treasurer had been intrusted with large sums of money; he had betrayed his trust, however, and with his companion had stolen a vast amount of money and jewels, taking them to a foreign land. The owner had pursued them at great expense of both time and money, and now having secured them he was taking them back to deliver them up to the proper officers. He then called his slaves to swear to the truth of his story, which they promptly did.

As the story proceeded, Meher was stirred with indignation, and with great difficulty succeeded in keeping his place behind the screen. He contented himself, however, with writing out questions to be asked the prisoner, and sending them by his attendant to the proper officer.

In this way he soon had the traitor involved in a mass of hopeless contradictions and lost in wonder at the ingenuity of a stranger who seemed to understand his entire history.

At last one of the captives was brought forward to testify in his own behalf, and Mūshteri took the stand. His head had been shaved and his face painted; his clothing was in fragments, and he was so weakened by the brutalities to which he had been subjected that he could hardly stand. His own mother would not have recognized him when he was led forward, but when the first question was put to him and he began to reply, the tones of his voice carried his identity to Meher, and, unable to conceal his emotions, the prince came quickly forward and caught him in his arms. The captive gave one glad cry of recognition, and then fainted at the feet of his friend. Keiwan was melted to tears by this scene of fraternal devotion, and, quickly giving an order to have Behrām placed in irons, he called for restoratives to be applied to the victim of his cruelty. The face of Mūshteri was bathed in rose water, and when he revived he was driven with Bader to the apartments of the prince.

Their wounds were carefully dressed, and the most delicate food placed before them; wardrobes were provided, and every luxury that art could devise or money could purchase, was placed at their disposal.

Long hours were spent in recounting to each other the history of the past, before Meher could consent to leave his friend, even to visit the palace.

ROYAL FAVOR.

When Meher again applied for an interview with the king, his request was not refused, for Keiwan could but honor the loyalty of a man who had so persistently followed his friend, and at last rescued him from the hands of a man who would soon have murdered him in the most barbarous manner but for the timely intercession of the prince.

After enjoying the cordial reception which the king vouchsafed to him, Meher said: “I have a right to speak to thee now, for no other duty intervenes. I come before thee as the heir of the Persian throne, and come to ask the hand of the beautiful princess in marriage. Having discharged the most sacred duties of friendship, I ask thee to give me also the blessings of love.”

The king replied that the man who could be so loyal in his friendship could not be unworthy the hand of even the princess Nahīd, and their betrothal was formally sealed.

A message was sent to the apartments of Nahīd to inform the happy princess of her betrothal to the man she loved, and thus it happened that in an Eastern court a woman’s heart was given with her hand. She was not allowed to see her lover, even the stolen interview in the garden being looked upon as criminal; but she told the story to the bulbul in the rose-tree, and the bulbul sang a sweet new tune as he looked down into the sheltered nest where three blue eggs were waiting the touch of life.

The princess told her story to the lotus blossoms, and they breathed a sweeter fragrance; she told the pomegranate tree that had witnessed their first betrothal, and the rich flowers grew more vivid and seemed to tremble with a new happiness; the sunbirds flew more joyously through the branches of the trees, and even the skies were of rose and pearl.

THE SENTENCE.

There came a day when Behrām was brought forth from his dark cell to receive his sentence, and there beside the throne stood Meher and Mūshteri, while Bader was only a little way in the background.

The face of the culprit was dark with shame and the poison of defeated malice, as he stood in the presence of those whose lives he had so nearly wrecked. There was a cloud even upon the face of the prince, for he remembered the suffering which this man had brought upon the friend of his boyhood, and, more than all, upon his gentle mother in her loneliness and grief.

The list of his crimes was formally read to the prisoner, and then his sentence was pronounced by the king, and the executioner was ordered to lead him away.

Mūshteri looked upon the guilty wretch before him, and remembered the years of malice with which this man had followed him. He remembered the faithful father who but for him might still be living, and he felt that the sentence was just, but was not mercy the better part of valor? Could another death bring back the dead or aid in any way the living? Surely not; and stepping forward with the grace of one who was accustomed to the presence of royalty, he besought the king to forgive this relentless foe and let him go back in peace to his aged father. Keiwan looked in astonishment upon this gallant youth who could plead for so relentless a foe, almost as soon as he was released from his power, and he hesitated to grant the strange request.

Mūshteri then knelt before the king and continued his plea, while the officers of the court looked on in wonder. At last, however, the king yielded, and told Mūshteri that he might loosen the bonds of the prisoner. There was no reproach in the kind eyes of the victor as he came forward and unfastened with his own hands the fetters of Behrām. The prisoner looked amazed and humiliated; he had nerved himself to meet the executioner with a sullen courage; but freedom, and that, too, from the man whom he had so grievously and persistently wronged, he was unprepared for, and he broke down in a flood of tears.

Mūshteri led him to the door of the council chamber, and bade him go to his home and friends. “Alas!” said he, “I have no home—I have no friends. I have outraged the confidence of the Shāh, there is no room for me in his dominions, and even the father who taught me the lessons of hypocrisy is now ashamed of his son. I have no home but the desert—no friend but death.”

He went away, but the disappointed malice, and the hopeless future, had wrought a change in the strong man that he was powerless to overcome; he returned to his caravan which had been restored to him by the intercession of Meher and Mūshteri, but in a few days his lifeless body was found upon the plains, and his servants claimed that he had died by his own hand.

A pavilion was built beneath the palm trees, and the fire-flies lit their signals afresh in the thickets of foliage, for it was amidst the shades of the garden that the singers were placed, whose sweetest notes were to be poured forth at the royal wedding. Within the palace, the courts were all ablaze with light and loveliness; lamps of graven silver were swinging from the fretted roof, suspended by long chains, and fed with the perfumed oils of distant lands. Their soft light fell on silken hangings and tapestries from Eastern looms, while crystal vases gleamed here and there, filled with branches of orange trees or sprays of magnolia blossoms. It was here that Meher received his royal bride, and when the ceremony was finished, the notes of music floated in through the casement, and mingled with the breath of the flowers. Still nearer seemed to come the dream-like harmonies, as the tones of pipe and lute were mingled with the voices of the singers and the musical ripple of the fountains.

Then the dancing girls floated into the bright halls, and swayed gracefully through the soft measures, and all was motion, light and jewels. Golden chains were woven in their dark hair, and silver bangles gleamed upon the shapely ankles, where little bells kept time with gliding feet. Each dancer held a dainty lute of gold and sandal wood, which answered to the swaying of her arms and the soft beat of graceful hands. And still the music from without floated through the lattice and mingled with the harmonies within. But in this festal scene Love was the honored guest. He came to rule the court and grove; his were the symphonies that breathed a richer note than all the garden singers; his were the harmonies that shaped the loyal lives, and led the happy feet along the aisles of time.

Bewildered with the beauty and love of his bride, Meher lived for weeks unheeding the lapse of time, for all the days were crowned with gold and radiant with the blossoms of love. But there came a morning when the picture of his grieving mother was forced upon his heart and mind with all its power, and he remembered that not alone to his lovely wife belonged his fealty.

They were sitting together beneath the sheltering branches of a great magnolia tree, whose creamy flowers were bursting from the green sheath of the bud, and the air was rich with fragrance. On the green bank beyond them, the peacocks drew their gorgeous trains, and birds sang in the tall trees in the distance.

The dark eyes of the prince had a look of sadness in them, and there was a cloud, the first that Nahīd had ever seen upon his handsome brow; she drew closer within the sheltering arm, and her soft, dark eyes looked anxiously into his. His own heart read her pleading question, even before her lips had framed it, and then he told her of the loving mother who was grieving her life away amidst the splendors of another court—of the faithful heart that looked longingly for his return and refused to be comforted, because he came not.

“But what can we do?” questioned the princess. “Thou canst not leave the wife to go even to the mother.”

“No,” answered the prince, “but can I not take my bride with me? Can I not take my peerless pearl to the royal court which is my rightful inheritance? Can I not bear to her arms the beauteous daughter that I have given her? Surely my wife should receive my mother’s blessing! Let me take thee there before the faithful mother-heart is cold in death.”

“But my father,” faltered Nahīd, “will he consent? Will he allow thee to bear me away to a strange land to claim the lost inheritance?”

“The king should remember that not only filial love demands my return, but I can never make my bride the queen that she should be—I can never place a royal crown upon her lovely brow unless I return to the land of my fathers,” answered the prince; and then he told her, with loving thought, of the land where the palms grew higher by striving toward the sun, of the marble palaces of Istakhar, standing beside the river that came down from the heights rippling with low harmonies, as the waves dashed on the sanded shores; told her, too, of the mountains beyond the marble city, where the wild swans came to their nesting places,—white voyagers on the seas of blue, calling, in soft notes, down the line, while love was leading them homeward, to the sheltered nooks beside the pools of the mountain stream.

Long they stayed in loving converse, and when they turned to the palace court, the prince had won from his bride a promise that she would see the king, and win, if possible, his consent to the long bridal trip, that she now looked forward to with pleasure.

ROYAL CAVALCADE.

The king listened patiently to the plea of Nahīd, for though he knew that the long journey would take her from him, perhaps forever, he also knew that the throne of Persia might be waiting for their coming, and at last he consented that the prince should bear his bride away to wear a crown in the halls of the proud Sassanian kings.

But she should not go dowerless to the home of her husband. Keiwan therefore gave orders for the fitting out of a magnificent cavalcade, comprising a thousand camels of the purest Syrian blood, a thousand splendid Arabian steeds and a thousand Indian slaves, besides a military escort composed of the finest troops in the service of the king.

The morning was radiant with golden sunlight when the splendid procession left the city of Khārizm; the streets were gorgeous with flags, and branches of flowering trees stood by every doorway, while the palace itself was covered with silken banners, lightly draped with wreaths of flowers. The excited horses, with their golden caparisons, tossed their heads in the air, and pranced with joy as the strains of music rang out from the balconies around them, and the camels gently shook their light-toned bells in every passing breeze. Hundreds of banners floated above the troops and waved like the wings of birds in the sunlight; the gleaming swords of the warriors were pointed up to heaven, and a thousand voices rang with joyous acclamation. Keiwan and his queen rode in the imperial chariot immediately behind the camels bearing the luxurious cushions of the prince and his bride, for they traveled a day’s journey with them before bidding their children farewell, and then returned sorrowfully to their lonely palace home.

The gorgeous cavalcade moved slowly onward, over hill and plain, and through a forest where all the branches laughed with songs of birds, and trusses of scarlet pomegranate blossoms gleamed here and there through the rich foliage. When night came down upon the landscape an encampment was made beside a river, and pavilions of scarlet and gold were furnished with costly cushions that invited repose.

THE MESSENGER.

The uneventful days passed slowly by, and still the great cavalcade was far from its destination, when Meher ordered his especial attendant to mount one of the swiftest Arabian horses and carry a letter to his father asking if he wished him to return.

The Persian monarch was sitting in the council hall surrounded by his counselors, and they were considering an important affair of state when a messenger was announced. He was ordered into an adjoining room to wait until King Shapur was ready to receive him, and here he could look upon the once familiar form of his sovereign.

He was astonished to see how greatly the Shāh had changed with the passing years; only three times had the seasons made their cycles, and yet the stalwart form was bent as if with age, the dark hair was already silvered and the furrows upon the weary brow told that grief and remorse were leaving their impress upon his once serene countenance. At last the word was brought that the messenger could now approach the king, but he replied that his was a secret mission, he must see his majesty alone, and after a time he was ushered into the private audience room.

He then told the king that he brought him news from Behrām, who had obtained a magnificent caravan under the pretext of finding the prince. The king listened eagerly while the messenger gave a graphic description of the pursuit and capture of Mūshteri but his brow darkened with an ominous frown as the recital continued. He had been the prey of evil advisers who cared only to flatter him for their own gain, and in the years that had gone he sadly missed the faithful advice and unfailing loyalty of his old Vizir. He often reproached himself as the indirect cause of his death, and decreed in his heart that if the banished son could be found he should be recompensed, so far as lay in his power, for all sufferings of the past. When, therefore, he learned of the persistent brutality of Behrām his anger grew almost uncontrolable. He inquired anxiously for the prince. “You bring me bad news enough;” he cried, “can you give me no knowledge of my son?” And he answered: “Oh, king, great and mighty ruler of the wide realm, I can bring thee news of the prince, for I have seen him in a foreign court.” “Where didst thou see him? What is he doing, and why does he not return to the land of his fathers?” he rapidly questioned. “He has risen, oh, king, to great eminence at the court of a foreign potentate, and he hath no need to return to thee, but his heart yearns for his native land; he cares much to spend his years near to the father whom he still loves, and he longs to take his beloved mother into his arms again. I have brought thee a letter from him,” and then he placed the document in the royal hand. “A letter!” cried the Shāh, “a letter from my son!” and he ceased to be a king, for now he was only a father, and the manly tears coursed down his cheeks as he caught the precious missive and pressed the hand of the messenger.

As soon as he could read the communication from Meher he called for writing materials, and with his own hand he penned a long and loving letter to his son, telling him that not only his home but also the Persian crown awaited his coming, urging him to return and bring with him the faithful friend who had suffered so much on account of his loyalty to the prince. Then he hastened the messenger away, that he might reach Meher at the earliest possible moment, and he himself went to bear the glad tidings to the sorrowful queen.

The next day a proclamation was issued that the heir of the throne was coming to the capital city, and orders were given to the Grand Vizir, to the chamberlains and other officers of the crown that suitable preparations be made to welcome the prince and his bride.

THE RECEPTION.

The announcement of his coming was a signal for general rejoicing; even the children loved the young heir and knew the story of fraternal affection between him and Mūshteri. The Shāh had been bitterly blamed in the hearts of his subjects, although such was the force of Oriental despotism that a man scarcely knew the thought of his neighbor. Never were the imperial orders more willingly obeyed than when the Shāh commanded a festal scene to be arranged for the reception of Meher, and never was the marble city fairer than when the coming of the royal cavalcade was announced. Silken banners waved in triumph from every wall and battlement, while strains of martial music floated through the air, and the streets were strewn with white lilies and the fragrant roses of Persia. Gilded barges on the river wore their festal flags, and bore the minstrels down the stream to the shore, where the voices of singers were mingled with the notes of lute and psaltery.

Without the city the Persian road of palms was festooned with arches of roses and strewn with the flowers of the valley, for all the way was glad with blossoms and vocal with the songs of welcome.

In the early morning a swiftly-mounted courier had been stationed on an eminence a few miles from the city, where he could see the approaching cavalcade far down the valley, and when he rode into the city with the message that the advance guard was already in sight there were loud acclamations of joy. For hours the finest horses in the royal stables had stood impatient, with tossing plumes and gorgeous trappings, waiting for the advance, and now the Shāh, with his chosen guard, rode out in royal state to meet the coming prince.

The white Arabian steeds, the costly armor of the troops and the rich raiment of the Shāh, made a gorgeous picture in the sunlight, when they swept down through the rose-covered arches and under the palms. As they rode onward a new strain of music saluted their ears, and a long line of camels came swinging slowly into view, their heads tufted with bright tassels, while their light-toned bells were shaking silvery notes upon the air, and their drivers were singing and playing on pipes. But lo! the lines were opened for a small troop of horsemen who galloped towards the Shāh, and Meher, swinging gracefully down from the saddle, came to his father’s feet.

King Shapur quickly recognized the familiar face, and hastily dismounting, he caught his son in his arms. The hardy Persian soldiers turned away from the sacred scene with tears in their eyes, but after a time Mūshteri came forward, and humbly kneeling at the monarch’s feet he craved forgiveness. The Shāh laid his hand upon the head of him who, in his childhood, had seemed almost as near as his own son, and freely gave the royal pardon; then the lines were reformed, Meher and Mūshteri riding on either side of the king, and the horses were turned toward Istakhar.

The sun was sinking behind the western mountains when the cavalcade approached the gates of the city, and the dark thickets by the roadside were vocal with the song of the nightingale; but his voice was soon hushed by the notes of martial music and the triumphant shouts of welcome that greeted their first appearance to the people who had been held back by the spears of the soldiery. Although the distant peaks still wore the crimson crowns of sunset, the side of the mountain was already dark with the gathering shades of twilight, and signal fires flashed from the gray depths of the forest or blazed upon the leafless slopes of granite beyond them. Within the city all was joyous tumult; but Meher had little heart for the general rejoicing, and scarcely waiting to be announced he hurried away to the apartments of his mother. A little later the Princess Nahīd was ushered into the rooms of the queen, and was folded closely to the warm, loving heart, so fully prepared to receive her. Little cared the mother for the wondrous beauty of the princess, but much she valued the loyal heart which had been given so fully into the keeping of her son, and from that day forth she was cherished as a loving daughter in the royal household.

The days flew by on joyous feet, but King Shapur was weary of the cares of state—weary of a life whose very pleasures were burdened with responsibility and embittered with the knowledge that treachery waited only for a favorable opportunity to show her cruel fangs. He therefore abdicated in favor of his son, and voluntarily invested Meher with the robes of sovereignty.

All the resources of the kingdom were taxed to provide for the splendors of the coronation ceremony. Again the royal procession swept through the streets, and feasts were given where the richest wines of the East were poured in jeweled cups and the tables were laden with the choicest viands from many climes. There were plantains, golden and green, and grapes of gold; there were apples and pomegranates from Kabūl, apricots from the fairest gardens of Īrān, and the sunniest fruits in all the lands of the Orient.

Again the dark face of the mountain blazed forth at night with the signal-lights of victory, the river was covered with barges bearing illuminations, and the night rivaled the day in the splendor of its offerings at the feet of the new Shāh, and Mūshteri, his Grand Vizir.