A viewless bow directs the dart;
I feel, yet know not whence the smart.
No outward scar to sight reveals
The wound my struggling bosom feels.
PERSIAN POEM.
The death of the subah of Cashmere at length enabled Acbar to confer
upon Afkun the command of that important province. The moment the
chieftain received his nomination, he said that he had another favour
to ask from his sovereign, which, if it were granted, would render
his felicity indeed complete. He then mentioned the feelings which he
entertained towards the daughter of his majesty’s high treasurer, and
entreated the exertion of Acbar’s influence in that quarter, which
could hardly fail to be successful. The emperor readily acceded to
the solicitations of Afkun, and sent for Kazim, to whom he opened the
subject, as one deserving immediate consideration. It was not, of
course, proposed, he said, that any extraordinary expedition should
be adopted, with reference to the union of the parties; the more
especially as the unquiet state of Cashmere demanded the presence of
the new governor there without delay. But if no previous engagement or
difficulty interposed, the preliminary ceremonies of betrothing might
take place, before the departure of Afkun. Kazim frankly confessed that
the proposition afforded him the highest gratification, as it was well
known that he had long entertained towards that young nobleman the
most unaffected esteem. But he hoped that, however unusual it was in
Hindostan to consult the party who was, perhaps, the most interested on
such an occasion, he might be permitted to refer Afkun to Mher-Ul-Nissa
herself, for an answer. In the mean time, he proceeded to communicate
to his family the results of his interview with the emperor.
The intelligence which her father brought, fell upon the ear of
Mher-Ul-Nissa like a thunderbolt. It had never occurred to her before
that at any time of her life she should be under the necessity of
abandoning her paternal home. In the first emotions of her breast, she
clasped her arms round her mother, and wept upon her bosom, as if the
greatest calamity that could happen had befallen her, on that fatal
morning. The thoughts of becoming the wife of Afkun,--of removing
with him to the distant province of Cashmere,--of being exiled from
her parents,--from Agra, whose splendour had powerful fascinations
for her mind, habituated as she had been to the luxuries of that
metropolis,--and (perhaps, above all) the extinction of that small ray
of hope, which she cultivated with a fond devotion in secret, derived
from the bouquet of the prince!--threw her into a state of depression
and grief, little suited to an occasion that required from her feelings
of a very different description.
Nothing could have been more remote from Kazim’s intentions, than
a pressure of the slightest possible degree upon the wishes of
his daughter. He fancied that he had, more than once, observed an
expression of no ordinary pleasure in her countenance, whenever he
announced that Afkun was to share their private family dinner. Neither
could she deny, that the young Turcomanian had often walked with her
alone in the garden; that she played on her lute, and sang for him;
and that she listened with a lively attention to the description which
he gave her of the peculiar customs of his country, and of the battles
in which he had been engaged. But when she was reminded of all these
indications of a favourable feeling on her part, as well as of the
many circumstances which, on his side, also gave proof of the decided
preference he entertained for her society, she replied that there was
nothing in all that of the kind of sacred feeling which ought to bind
two hearts together,--that feeling, for instance, which she beheld
exemplified in the daily intercourse of her beloved parents. She was
told, indeed, that such a sentiment as that, identifying two persons
so completely as to cause every thought and hope to flow in the same
channel, could only be the result of years. But she could not be
persuaded that there was not some ardent and overwhelming impulse of
the heart, which made up for the want of time, and converted a moment
of genuine emotion into an eternity of love. She had read of such a
passion in the verses of Binai, who sang them to his own enchanting
music. The poet Ahili, also, though he could neither read nor write,
had well expressed what she meant.
Kazim looked upon his daughter with deep anxiety, while she spoke in
this style, of feelings which he supposed she had hardly as yet known
from experience. But the emphasis of her expressions--the rapture
that glowed in her countenance, while she opened her heart thus
innocently to her parent, excited in his mind a strong apprehension
that Mher-Ul-Nissa had already engaged her affections to another. She
assured him, however, that such was by no means the case, and that she
only repeated what she had read in the compositions he had himself
placed before her. As a decisive proof of her sincerity upon this
point, she said that she had no objection whatever to receive Afkun,
whom she much esteemed; but whether or not she could ever know any
higher feeling in his regard, would entirely depend on circumstances.
Kazim kissed his daughter for her compliance with his desire, that, at
all events, the advances of his young friend should be treated with the
utmost delicacy and respect.
Afkun, rejoicing in the permission that was accorded to him, presented
himself the next morning to Mangeli, who told him that he would find
her daughter feeding a whole tribe of gazelles in the garden. The
chieftain, to whom fear had never been known, trembled from head
to foot, as he proceeded towards the spot where the animals were
assembled. Mher-Ul-Nissa, who had not expected him so soon, was
occupied in examining the foot of one of her favourites, which had been
lamed for some time. The beautiful eyes of the gazelle were looking
into hers, as if to express all the gratitude which it felt for her
attentions, while she spoke to it in that soft tone of affection, which
falls upon a lover’s heart, like the gentle rain from heaven on the
flowers, in the season of their opening.
“Go your way, Hilali; you will soon be well now. Your pretty foot is
almost as strong as ever. But mind, you must not scramble up the trees,
and then leap down again upon the earth, as you did when you nearly
killed yourself the other day. Go your way, Hilali; and now, where is
my gay Pezu?” asked Mher-Ul-Nissa, turning round, when the whole troop,
to her surprise, scampered away to the lower part of the garden.
“I fear I have disturbed your gazelles, Mher-Ul-Nissa,” said Afkun,
approaching her.
“They are very wild and shy of strangers.”
“They are the most beautiful animals of the kind I have seen; they must
be happy too, since they are the objects of your care.”
“I hope they know what happiness is; grateful I am sure they are for
the little attention I have been able to show them.”
“They must have intelligence and affection, if we believe the eloquence
of their eyes, and all that the poets have sung in their praise.”
“At all events they cannot deceive; they know not how to flatter.”
“Those are the acts of courtiers, Mher-Ul-Nissa; you will soon find
that out, if you remain much longer in Agra.”
“Those wild gazelles! they will trample down all my flowers. Hilali!
Hilali! come hither; as usual, you are the leader in every kind of
mischief!”
Mher-Ul-Nissa, while she thus called to the animals, which were
frisking about among her yellow roses like mad creatures, hastened
along an avenue of palms, accompanied by Afkun, who assisted her to
collect the gazelles together, until a slave approaching, relieved them
from further anxiety, by calling the flock away.
“The emperor,” resumed Afkun, leading his fair companion to a green
bank, on which he entreated her to sit down; “has honoured me, as
perhaps you may have already heard, by giving me the vice-royalty of
Cashmere.”
“An honourable appointment; I congratulate you sincerely.”
“As new disturbances have broken out, which demand my presence there, I
am ordered to quit Agra to-morrow.”
“So soon!”
“Such are the emperor’s commands; I shall leave the capital with
regret; I did hope that my duties might have permitted me to enjoy the
society of your family somewhat longer. The attentions which I have
uniformly received, I may say from every member of it, shall ever hold
a place in my heart.”
“My father will miss you in his rides, and in those evening walks which
you used so often to take together in these groves.”
“Ah! that you would say as much, Mher-Ul-Nissa, for another, whose kind
remembrance of me occasionally would be still more valuable in my eyes.”
“Doubtless, we shall all think of one whom my father so much esteems.”
“I thank you, from my soul, for these words; I know not the man who is
so much to be envied as Kazim Ayas! What a happiness, above all price,
for him, occupied as he is during the greater portion of his time, in
matters of the highest importance, to be able to fly from the cares of
state, as I have often seen him do, to these delightful shades; certain
of meeting in his family those genial affections which at once relax
the mind, and attemper it for the renewal of its noblest efforts!”
“He deserves every thing from us!” said Mher-Ul-Nissa, her affection
melting as she spoke, into tears, which stood suspended on her cheeks
like pearls of dew on the rose.
“Would that I were enabled to look forward to felicity such as his!”
added Afkun, taking Mher-Ul-Nissa’s hand, which she did not draw away.
“You must forgive me, but I find it impossible to set out from Agra
without confessing the spell that is on my heart. Could I have been
so often seated by you, listening to your voice--your mandolin--and
have observed the affectionate attentions which you shew, upon all
occasions, to your admirable parents, without feeling a desire, that
you were to me as Mangeli is to Kazim Ayas?”
Mher-Ul-Nissa was silent. The tears, which she now endeavoured to hide,
still coursed each other down her cheek, as if the source whence they
flowed were never to be exhausted. Afkun, following her averted eyes,
found her gazing on a lily-of-the-valley, which she had taken from her
bosom. It was one of the symbols which composed the bouquet of Selim!
“May I wear it?” asked Afkun, endeavouring to snatch the flower. “May I
wear it as a token of you?”
“Not that, not that--I love it too much--I mean I cannot part with it;
it was the first gift I have ever received.”
“Which would have made me value it the more! Oh! Mher-Ul-Nissa, you
know not how passionately I love you. I could not have refused you an
empire, had it been at my command--and you refuse me a flower!”
“I have said it was a gift--the first gift I ever received. If I
presented it to you, would you part with it to another?”
“Not for worlds!”
“Then why blame me?”
“You then love another!”
“My father has taught me to respect--to esteem his friend.”
“You cannot love me, Mher-Ul-Nissa!--your hand is pledged to some more
fortunate being?”
“Not so, Afkun--if that had been the case, I should have confessed it
to you at once, with that frankness which I hope belongs to me.”
“If I go to Cashmere, without some hope that I may expect a more
favourable answer from you, I shall care little what becomes of me.
With you, life, power, dignity, would be precious to me; but without
you they can be nothing.”
“You will, doubtless, often hear from my father, after you arrive in
Cashmere.”
“But shall he be permitted to speak of Mher-Ul-Nissa?”
“Perhaps!”
“That is as much as I can press for at present. May Allah bless you,
and direct you towards that which may be most for your own happiness!”
“Be assured, Afkun, that happen what may, you will be often remembered
by us, while you are absent,” added Mher-Ul-Nissa, much softened by the
ardour of her lover, and at the same time looking at him with a degree
of tenderness, which he had not experienced from her before.
Rising from the bank, she led the way to the house, where they found
Kazim and Mangeli waiting, with no common anxiety, to learn the
result of the interview. The experienced minister, well-accustomed to
penetrate the feelings of men from the expression of the countenance,
read at once in Afkun’s quivering lip and pallid cheek, the
disappointment which he had met. He saw, however, from the manner of
his daughter, before she retired with her mother, that some hope still
remained of the accomplishment of the object, to which he himself
looked forward with the deepest interest.
Afkun mentioned, in a despairing tone, every thing that passed; with
the exception of his own fears, that Mher-Ul-Nissa had already given
her affection to another. Those fears he could not prevail upon himself
to disclose, as it was clear that, if they were well-founded, Kazim
was ignorant of the existence of any such predilection; and it would
scarcely be generous towards the maid, that he should be the first to
discover her secret.
“Well! well!” observed Kazim, “after all, I do not see why you should
despair. She is still young in years, though in intellect so mature.
Go to your government. A battle or two will do wonders for you; and if
you come back with a few gashes on your breast, after tranquillizing
your province, be assured that you cannot have a better passport to the
heart of a woman.”
The chieftain soon took leave, without feeling much encouragement from
the soothing language addressed to him by Kazim; and before dawn, on
the following morning, he was on his way to Cashmere.