exact his attendance; save where humanity demanded their united cares,
evinced the liveliest interest in his salvation, in short, offered him
every thing, granted him every thing except his freedom.--Could he then
basely turn these benefits into engines of ingratitude?
At liberty to go whithersoever he pleased, Sebastian was more a prisoner
than when shut up within the cells of El Hader’s residence: the
generosity of his present master was a wall of adamant in his eyes.
Unable to use stratagem, he tried the effect of entreaties; he combatted
his unsocial melancholy, and spoke unreservedly to Tefza of his desire
to quit Barbary: Tefza’s questions forced him to confess that he had
neither parents nor dear connexions to whom he wished to be re-united,
that he was a solitary wretch going to cross the Atlantic in the forlorn
hope of finding a lost friend.
“I love thee too much poor youth, to grant thy foolish suit,” said the
Hadgé, one day to him; “thou hast owned that death and perfidy have
swept away all thy possessions, where then wouldst thou seek happiness?
believe me it is only placed in piety. Stay contented with me, listen
to my instructions; it will be impossible for such a soul as thine to
remain long in darkness; I shall convert thee at last to the religion of
our holy prophet; then, thou wilt bless thy misfortunes which brought
thee to covet the bread of life. No, no, thou shalt not go; I am
interested for thy soul.”
This vain idea had fixed itself so firmly in the good mussulman’s mind
that no protestations of Sebastian’s could shake it: the more the one
resisted arguments the more the other redoubled them; and when he found
his slave resolute in rejecting every persuasive for him to be present
at one of their religious ceremonies, he merely shook his head, telling
him the time would come when he would look back upon his present
obstinate blindness with shame and compunction.
Neither the indulgence, nor the good intention of Tefza, moderated that
mixture of sorrow and resentment with which the still-impatient monarch
of Portugal received this decision: disdaining further solicitation, and
resolved never again to reveal his rank while it was in the power of
adverse accident to give an air of doubt to such an assertion, he
withdrew once more within himself; and like the proud steed newly
brought under man’s subjection, who champs his bit, and paws the ground
with indignation, he performed the duties of a slave with the haughty
air of a prince.
Adversity hardens some hearts, and melts others: Sebastian’s
unfortunately did not soften from the grasp of calamity: his eyes, not
yet opened to his own character, had not observed how inevitably some
lines of conduct produce certain misery. Had he reflected
dispassionately, he might have been convinced, that to his romantic
wilfulness and contempt of counsel, all the disasters of Alcazar were
attributable; that rash enterprize, together with his blameable
attachment to the betrothed wife of De Castro, had prepared the hearts
of his subjects for future indifference about his fate.
There were times, indeed, when Sebastian severely censured parts of his
own conduct, but for want of steadily tracing actions and their
consequences through the whole of their course, he remained
self-deluded, believing Providence, not himself, responsible for his
heaviest calamities. Often did he exclaim, “What have I done to merit
ruin like this!”
Remote from any social intercourse, (for he abhorred the society of the
Moors) and almost abandoned of hope, his spirit was gradually
contracting a severity bordering upon hardness: that soft being was gone
who alone knew how to melt him into tenderness; that soft being, who
ever possessed a charm capable of awakening him to philanthropy and to
delight.
Deprived of Kara Aziek, he was likely to lose all that was amiable in
his character, and to retain only the sterner virtues: sometimes he
sighed over this changing character, and felt sorrow at the alteration;
but except his faithful dog, whose attachment always affected him, he
possessed no object for tender solicitude. Was it wonderful then, that
he should become cold and unsocial?
The short winter of that sultry climate had now passed away, and the
almond trees were already covered with their bright, rosy blossoms; one
of the Moresco feasts was approaching, at which the Hadgé urged his
slave to be present: from such a proposition Sebastian started with
horror, hastening to redouble his devout prostrations before a wooden
cross which he had shaped for himself, and kept within his own chamber.
The Hadgé left him disappointed.
It was evening when he returned: the captive monarch was alone on one of
those terraces which the Moors raise upon the flat roofs of their
houses, and plant with odorous shrubs; he was stretched out under the
shade of a citron-tree, whose branches enveloped him, and plunged in a
reverie, did not hear the Hadgé utter the following words.
“Fabian, I have brought home a venerable traveller for rest and
refreshment, see that you prevent all his wants; I must go out again,
and trust him awhile to your care.”
The noise Tefza made in closing the door that opened on the terrace,
roused Sebastian, he started round, and beheld with rising emotion, an
aged man clad in a dark-brown garment, whose silver beard descended to
his girdle: the mildly-intellectual look, assured him it was Abensallah.
Uttering an exclamation of joy, Sebastian pressed forward to kiss his
hand; the dervise put his finger on his lip, they were both silent: at
length, venturing to believe Tefza beyond hearing, he stretched out his
arms, and pressing him within them, shed some tears, “We meet at last,
my son,” he said, in a low feeble voice, “the gracious Mahomet has
heard my prayers, and repaid me for this pilgrimage in search of thee.”
“In search of me!” repeated Sebastian, “surely, father, you have not
been wandering throughout Africa in pursuit of me, ever since the day we
parted.”
A benign smile gently moved the old man’s lips. “No, my son, I have not;
for I knew not then, whether thy departure had not been voluntary: since
that period I have heard the whole of thy sufferings; they have been
severe--but I come to thee now with comfort--I bring thee a strange
present from a hand deservedly dear.” As the old man spoke, he put aside
the foldings of his mantle, and drew out of his breast a milk-white dove
which nestled there.
“This bird,” he continued, “is destined to convey intelligence of thy
safety and my success, to one who scarcely values life preserved,
till----”
The violent emotion of Sebastian interrupted him: pale, trembling,
oppressed with sudden hope almost to agony, the King vehemently seized
one of Abensallah’s hands in both his, while his eyes only articulated
the name of Aziek: the dervise hastily replied to them.
“She lives, my son--she sends me to thee.”
At these life-giving words, Sebastian’s transported countenance might be
said to emit visible rays; he dropt the hand of Abensallah abruptly, and
raising his own to heaven, uttered with his heart the acknowledgment his
lips could not pronounce.
When this rapturous disorder of the senses would allow him power, he
exclaimed, “She lives--you say she lives, Abensallah!--how saved?--where
sheltered?--This bird, soft and tender like herself, (ah, fit emblem of
Kara Aziek) why is it sent?--assure me that she lives--you would not
deceive me.”
The impetuous agitation of youth was here gracefully contrasted by the
majestic calmness of age: Abensallah listened with mildness to these
broken and fluctuating sentences, then exhorting him to be composed,
began to detail the circumstances of Kara Aziek’s escape.
At the dreadful moment in which she was swept away from the arms of
Sebastian, Providence ordained that a large wicker basket should be
swept off also; by an instinctive action she snatched at it for support,
and borne up by its elasticity, continued floating forward.
The tide was flowing in, so that every surge impelled the basket, and
its precious freight, nearer shore: one wave stronger than another,
lifted them to a prodigious height, and then precipitated them upon the
land; Aziek had just life enough left to feel the possibility of
preserving life, and the fond idea that perhaps Sebastian was with her,
gave her strength to move among the ledges of the rock on which she was
cast, and to secure herself in a chasm: there she sunk down wholly
exhausted, no longer sensible of danger, though the foaming billows
alternately lashed and receded from the projection which sheltered her.
The same morning air that had revived her distant lover, brought her
back to a sense of existence; but she was incapable of motion, and
remained two whole days undiscovered by any one, even while she heard
people on the shore below, whom her feeble voice could not reach. She
called on Sebastian, but her doleful accents alone returned on the echo.
Some sea-fowl’s eggs deposited in the cleft that hid her, sufficed to
keep nature from perishing; but grief, and the wounds her tender body
had received while beaten against the rocks, had nearly terminated her
short life, when a Moorish child clambering up in search of birds’
nests, descried her, and ran off to tell his parents.
As her complexion, dress, and language, assured them she was a native of
Barbary, these people carried her to their fishing-boat with great
care; she fainted ere they reached it, reviving at last only to a state
more like death than life.
In this situation she was taken to their hut some miles further down the
coast, and remained there many days, almost expiring; at length the hand
of Heaven raised her, and she was able to tell her name and rank.
Deprived of her soul’s treasure, Kara Aziek believed that she should not
tarry after him on earth, but she was willing to die on the bosom of her
parent, and to receive the consolations of religion in her parting hour.
She therefore gave orders for being conveyed to the Alcayde of the
province, who deeming it his duty to forward her to her father, supplied
her with guards and a physician, under whose protection she was moved in
a sort of litter, by easy stages, from the kingdom of Suz to that of
Fez.
At this part of his narrative, the dervise suddenly broke off, “alas my
memory!” he exclaimed, “this bird was to have been dispatched with
tidings if I found thee--I see Tefza approaching along the road--thou
hast no time to write--the sight of her bird will suffice--”
“Stay Abensallah!” cried Sebastian, catching his arm as it was extended
to give the dove liberty;--the dervise paused, while the King hastily
pulled from his head a lock of hair, and pushing aside the loose sleeve
of his habit, untwisted a braid of Kara Aziek’s, which from its length
surrounded his wrist several times.
The sight of that lovely-soft hair, revived the memory of her lovelier
form, and Sebastian’s emotions now assumed a more passionate cast; his
eyes sparkling with vehement wishes, floated in a kind of rapturous
dizziness; half-closing them, he leaned for support against the shoulder
of Abensallah: an ardent sigh burst from his oppressed heart.
“Moderate this transport, my son!” said the dervise gravely, “or turn
it towards that God to whom thou owest so much.”--
Sebastian blushed, and roused himself. “My heart _does_ overflow with
gratitude;” he replied, “Heaven reads it: but surely I may be permitted
to feel the value of what that Heaven restores?”--
As he spoke, he was weaving the locks of hair together, intending them
to convey to Kara Aziek the sentiment of their inseparable union,----the
gentle dove scarcely fluttered in Abensallah’s grasp, while
Sebastian fastened the precious knot under her wing; no sooner was it
fixed, than running to the furthest edge of the terrace, he unloosed the
bird, which shot away with the velocity of light.
Her white pinions, rendered visible by the darkening twilight, enabled
them long to trace her course through air, but at length she diminished
to a mere speck, and the next moment disappeared wholly.
The eyes of the King remained fixed upon that part of the sky where she
had vanished; Abensallah had just time to whisper that he would finish
his story on the morrow, before Tefza joined them.
When the Hadgé found that the stranger had not partaken of any
refreshment, he was going to rebuke his slave, when Abensallah turned
his wrath into pleasure, by assuring him the young man had done better
by attending to his discourse.
Concluding that so pious a personage could only have talked upon one
topic, Tefza smiled graciously, and leading his guest down to a covered
apartment, ordered a dish of kusscason, and dried fruits.
During supper, Sebastian discovered that Abensallah had introduced
himself in the chief mosque to the Hadgé, and proclaiming himself the
hermit of Benzeroel, had immediately received an invitation to rest for
the night under his roof: he was to set off again the ensuing day.
“A charitable errand brought me to Riffa,” he said, addressing Tefza,
“our blessed prophet has allowed me to fulfil it: by sun-rise to-morrow
I must return to my mountain, for many unfortunates are now perhaps
waiting for me there to ask my feeble prayers,--let this Christian
accompany me a little on my way.”
Tefza joyfully consented, and they separated for the night.--There was
no sleep in the breast of Sebastian, agitated by anxiety to learn more
of Aziek’s situation, and thrilling with a multitude of sweet
anticipations, he left his bed, and traversed his room: sometimes he
stopt and embraced Barémel, thanking him for having preserved a life now
unspeakably dear to him; but still oftener he prostrated himself before
the cross, and yielded up his whole soul to the delightful duty of
gratitude.
It was in these moments that the proud spirit which had rebelled against
its trials, and dared to question divine justice, became soft and
malleable, and melted into penitence: how was he touched and overcome
when he reflected, that at the very time he was resisting the almighty
hand, that bounteous hand was preparing for him the most miraculous
blessing!
Struck, penetrated with remorse, he wept his fault; and never was the
imperious monarch of Portugal more humble, more impressed with a sense
of human dependance, than at this period when happiness seemed to woo
his embrace.
CHAP. VIII.
Day dawned over the high top of Atlas, bringing the hour for
Abensallah’s departure; Sebastian was first ready: they set off
together, the former seated on a quiet mule, which Tefza kindly forced
the dervise to accept; the latter walking by his side.
No sooner were they beyond the precincts of Riffa, and passing under the
refreshing shade of trees, than Sebastian besought his companion to
proceed with his narrative: Abensallah hastened to acquiesce.
“My story will not be much longer;” he observed, “it is enough to tell
thee that Kara Aziek reached her home in safety, where the ablest
physicians were employed to restore her health: but her soul languished
for thee, my son, and medicines cannot reach the soul.--her father too,
happy in beholding her again, and moved by her melancholy, though
ignorant of its cause, consented to defer sending information of her
safety to the Basha of Syria, till our prophet should have heard the
prayers of the physicians: this indulgence somewhat revived her, yet her
heart drooped again, for she believed thee lost. Wasted by sorrow and
sickness, every one supposed her fast descending to Hades, when lo, her
looks brightened, her spirit overflowed with joy, and she revived to a
second life. This wonderful change was wrought in her, by one of those
events which Providence orders, but which erring mortals so often
attribute to chance.”
Dost thou not remember, prince, having found a traveller in the road to
Riffa, whom robbers had stripped and left covered with wounds?--thou
did’st carry him in thine arms to the house of thy master, thy pious
cares restored him to life, he sojourned with thee five days, at
parting, thy words were these, “Moor, do not thank _me_, thank Christ,
whose servant I am, and who has taught me to succour even those who deny
his name.”
“Yes--I remember this man, but what had he to do with my fate?”
“Much,” returned Abensallah, “see how good actions bless
themselves!--this man came to Mequinez to visit a brother, who is
married to Kara Aziek’s favorite woman: he spoke of thee, he detailed
thy humanity, described thy person, and thy discourses, but chiefly he
spoke of yon faithful animal, whom he had heard thee call thy preserver
from shipwreck: at this relation Benzaide ran to her mistress,
transfused her own hopes into her bosom, and quickly suggested a mode of
being satisfied.--The Almoçadem El Hader, had been just offered the
government of Benzeroel; Kara Aziek was to persuade him to accept it,
as that step would bring her into a cavila near thee.
“No sooner was she removed thither, than remembering thy accounts of
Abensallah, she dispatched messengers for me, partly that I might teach
her how best to thank the great prophet for restoring her health, partly
to interest me with her own anxiety: the sad story she had to tell of
thy misfortunes, renewed all my affection, I set out, and found thee.”
At these words, Sebastian precipitated himself into the arms of the
benevolent dervise, his excessive emotion deprived him of utterance: “Ah
my son!” resumed Abensallah, “if Providence destines thee to regain thy
rights, thou hast promised to sheathe the sword, which for so many
centuries has desolated Africa;--be true to that promise, and then I
cannot believe myself culpable in seeking to obtain thy freedom, and
preserving for thee the heart of her, whose virtues will prove the best
guarantee of thy good faith. Thou knowest I am no bigot; wherever they
are to be found, sincerity and zeal obtain my respect. Christians are as
yet but walking in darkness, they see not the light that we do, but if
they walk uprightly according to their own laws, may we not hope for
their salvation? Obey _thy_ prophet, prince, and then I trust we shall
meet again, even in the paradise of his superior, Mahomet.”
“Hold, hold, father,” interrupted Sebastian, averting his face with a
look of horror, “I must not listen to such impious words. I acknowledge
no superior to Him under whose banner I fight.”
Abensallah cast on him a glance of pity, but did not answer: Sebastian
for some time preserved a dignified silence, at length suddenly
recollecting the commission he had formerly given the dervise, he
enquired whether he had ever sought out the Portuguese prisoners.
A new source of satisfaction opened to him when he learnt that
Abensallah’s charitable exertions had procured the release of several,
and that amongst them was Don Emanuel de Castro.
Had he then told De Castro of his sovereign’s existence? How had he
received that information? What sentiments had he uttered? These, and a
croud of other questions, followed each other with such impetuosity,
that the dervise scarcely found an opportunity of replying to them.
“When he took the ring thou didst instruct me to display,” said
Abensallah, “his otherwise calm and thoughtful aspect, became suddenly
as changeful my son, as thine own: his cheek alternately reddened and
grew pale, and his eyes bent on the momentous signet, seemed fraught
with past events: once or twice he sighed, but soon brightening into
joy, he put it respectfully to his lips, and devoutly blessed thy
prophet for having preserved thee. Having told him of thy strange
disappearance, he seemed greatly disturbed, although I endeavoured to
make him believe that some hasty impulse had prompted thee to brave thy
fate, without my assistance: he then won from me the ring, assuring me
that shouldst thou not be returned to Portugal, unless he could produce
that, such of the grandees as found it their interest to doubt, might
plausibly suspect him of falsehood. To this reasoning I yielded, and
soon after, journeying to Tangier, made my way to the governor, and
brought back with me a redemption friar, to treat for Don Emanuel’s
ransom.
“Ignorant of his rank, the person to whose lot he had fallen would have
sold him for a trifle, but thy friend refused to take advantage of this
circumstance: he left with him seven purses of gold crowns.”
“How like De Castro!” interrupted his once-intemperate rival, “nobleness
and he were twin-born! Father, it is one of my sins to have used this
man unworthily.”
“What an unworthy passion must that have been which blinded thee!”
exclaimed Abensallah, with an earnestness unusual to him. “Were I to
paint Truth, the majestic portrait should have the lineaments of Emanuel
de Castro.”
“It was an unworthy passion;” returned the King, casting his eyes down,
yet somewhat proudly still--“However, father, I believed the object of
it, what she appeared, an angel!”
This oblique defence produced some observations and admonitions from
Abensallah which carried along with them infinite instruction; Sebastian
listened with profound attention, and many of the exhortations he then
heard, were remembered in after years with solid advantage.
They parted near a village where the good dervise had some charitable
visits to make.
Reflective but happy, Sebastian returned homewards, too much occupied
with Kara Aziek’s safety, and Abensallah’s friendship, to recollect that
he was even now remote from enjoying them; fortunately for human nature,
it is ever inclined to take one good as the earnest of another; and
sweetly cheated by this self-delusion, the King of Portugal already
looked confidently to the ultimate possession of all his wishes.
Tefza welcomed him back with many an encomium upon the pious dervise,
whose discourses he ventured to hope would not be thrown away:
encouraged by the complacency with which his slave heard him, he renewed
his own arguments in favor of Mahomet, promising to make the Christian
his heir, provided he would embrace Islamism. At any other period such
a proposal would have drawn down on him a storm of indignation, but the
harmonized feelings of Sebastian were at present inclined to put the
most amiable construction upon every thing, he therefore saw only zeal
and affection in this weak attempt at bribing him to abandon his
peculiar faith, and answered him temperately yet firmly.
This unusual gentleness on a topic which had hitherto roused fiery
opposition, gave the good Hadgé grounds for believing him not unmoved by
the conversation of Abensallah.
While he was indulging unreal satisfaction during the days which
followed this, his royal slave was impatiently watching the
re-appearance of that winged messenger whose speedy return Abensallah
had led him to expect. The first glow of blissful surprise was now over,
chilling fears began to succeed; and in proportion to the value he set
on Liberty and Love, so increased his doubts of ever obtaining them.
Kara Aziek under the command of her father, and himself in slavery, were
ill able to give a happy change to their mutual destiny: it is true
Abensallah had informed him that she would purchase his freedom through
the medium of Benzaide’s brother-in-law, but observation of the Hadgé’s
character warned him not to rely too much upon his acquiescence, and
while contemplating the blind zeal of that devotee, he trembled to
think, that after all, this bright dawn might darken, and the sun of
felicity sink in clouds.
The fourth day elapsed without bringing any intelligence from Benzeroel:
every hour of those days had the King hurried to the terrace, and
hastily glanced round the whole circle of air; in the evenings when
Tefza was at the mosque, he repaired to his station, gazing with a
throbbing heart, which mistook every cloud for a bird.
The day was done, Tefza had come home and retired to rest, Sebastian
sought the terrace again; he leaned over its railing, and his eyes
wandered round a scene of solemn beauty.