DON SEBASTIAN;
OR,
THE HOUSE OF BRAGANZA.
J. M‘CREERY, Printer, Black-Horse-Court, Fleet-Street, London.
DON SEBASTIAN;
OR,
THE HOUSE OF BRAGANZA.
AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE.
IN FOUR VOLUMES.
BY MISS ANNA MARIA PORTER.
AUTHOR OF THE HUNGARIAN BROTHERS.
Take Physic, Pomp!
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
So shall thou shake the superflux to them,
And shew the Heavens more just.
KING LEAR.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME,
PATERNOSTER ROW.
1809.
DON SEBASTIAN,
OR
THE HOUSE OF BRAGANZA.
CHAP. I.
During Sebastian’s absence, Abensallah had informed Tefza of the
numerous calvacade, belonging to the Turkish Basha, which was proceeding
nearly in the direction of the yearly caravans to Mecca, and with which
if he hastened, he might fall in, and reach Syria safely, whence it
would be easy to pass into Arabia: on the contrary, if he let this
escape him, he must wait several months for the setting out of the
annual one from Fez; and so unnecessarily protract the period either of
his slave’s freedom or conversion.
This information had determined Tefza to proceed without delay in search
of this private caravan, while he dispatched one of his servants to a
kinsman at Riffa, with directions for the management of his affairs
during his absence, and an order for him to return the slave, (with such
money as the journey required) in the track of the caravan.
This arrangement was most welcome to Sebastian, who retired to rest on a
heap of dried mosses, with a lightened and grateful spirit.
On the morrow they departed: tears fell from the venerable Abensallah,
as he gave a parting blessing to the fugitive King: Sebastian in return
kissed his hands repeatedly, with much emotion. The great age of
Abensallah forbade him to believe that they should meet again, till they
met in the kingdom of Heaven: but sorrow was checked by the thought,
that Abensallah had long divorced every selfish care, and considered
death only as an angel that was to open for him the gates of Paradise.
His unblemished and benevolent life warranted such an expectation.
Many were the exhortations against rashness, which the good dervise had
given Sebastian before Tefza awoke; he now whispered them afresh: the
King listened submissively; his last injunctions to Abensallah were to
cherish Babec, for Kara Aziek’s sake.
Babec indeed shared his regret, although he saw her joyfully nestling
over her young ones in a cage of oziers, which Ismael had slung under
the shade of a plane tree, near the cave;--without knowing where she was
put, Tefza heard that she was given to Abensallah; and as doves in
Barbary are considered the especial bird of God, he looked on such a
present as a favorable omen.
The travellers came up with the caravan, formed by the Basha’s people,
after a journey of two days.
With what tumult of heart did Sebastian behold the close litter of Kara
Aziek! he dared not approach too near, lest the sound of her voice might
reach him, and hurry him into a transport that must betray their
attachment.
Slowly traversing the desart of Zala, he and his pious companion shared
in the advantages of the armed guard, and passed securely on through
hordes of wandering people: at night he would draw near the tent where
Aziek slept; his soul had no disquiet save for her safety; and for her
he sometimes feared, when the indolent soldiers lay scattered about,
offering an easy conquest to the robbers of those wilds.
In one of these nights, when all the party were sunk to rest, Sebastian
left the sleeping Tefza, and affecting to seek rest also, lay down
before the women’s tent with Barémel at his side. As he lay, his ear
caught the sound of a light tread; he drew back; some one advanced to
the opening of the tent, as if to breathe fresher air; the person
sighed,--ah! that soft but profound sigh, it could proceed from no other
heart than Kara Aziek’s.
Trembling with joy and apprehension, he now drew near again, and
applying his face close to the tent, said in a low voice, “I am with
thee, Aziek!”
For a moment all was still; the next instant the drapery of the tent was
drawn aside, and Kara Aziek herself appeared her face was lighted up
with joy; she shrunk back, yet stretched out her arms towards him; he
flew forward, he prest her to his heart, and then hastily relinquished
her: she retreated quickly and dropt the curtain, while he threw himself
again upon the ground.
All this was done with such rapidity and in such silence, that he
doubted whether he had or had not embraced the living Aziek; but
transient was the doubt; sweet and consoling recollections succeeded.
The throbbing of the faithful heart that had panted against his, yet
seemed to say in every beat, “I am re-united to thee again--I will never
belong to another!”
Every thing appears possible to chaste and requited love: Sebastian now
fondly believed that they were indeed re-united for ever; he dared
presume that saints and angels, pleased with the sight of two hearts so
purely attached, would plead for them in Heaven, and obtain their
happiness of the Most High.
Like all other lovers he fancied that no one loved like him; like all
other lovers he believed that _his_ passion must be crowned with
success. Erring Sebastian! perhaps the very reason upon which thou didst
ground this presumptuous certainty, should have been the awakener of thy
fears! Happiness is not for mortality; and would not happiness uniformly
result from the enjoyment of a virtuous affection exactly returned?--
He now calculated the number of days in which the caravan would arrive
on the confines of Egypt, they must then separate: by the most sacred
promise he was bound to accompany Tefza in his progress to the tomb of
Mahomet, after which he would be free; but in the meantime what would
become of Kara Aziek? would the laws of Moorish mourning protect her
from the coarse passion of Ibrahim? She had assured him that they
would.--
Satisfied with this assurance, (satisfied because his hopes were changed
into confidence,) he revolved in his mind a multitude of visionary
projects for her escape from the Basha, which alternately seized and
abandoned, employed all his faculties so entirely, that he did not
perceive himself deserted by Barémel.--The overjoyed animal had sprung
into the tent after Kara Aziek, and now re-appeared; his master
instantly felt the use that might be made of him, and extending an eager
hand to his collar, found what he expected, a piece of writing beneath
it. As he crushed the precious vellum in his hand, he darted round a
glance of apprehension; no one had observed, for all were only beginning
to rouse themselves from sleep.--
It was not till he had removed to a distance, and knew himself concealed
by a cluster of palm-trees, that he opened and read these brief
sentences.
“We must not trust ourselves to behold each other again, while
surrounded by the Basha’s people;--I know thou art near to me, and that
must be sufficient--convey thy plans to me--rely on the eternity of my
love--I will live and die, only thine.”--
Transported with a prospect of correspondence, yet determining to use it
with prudence, Sebastian hid the letter in his breast, and hastened to
rejoin his companions, who were by this time preparing to strike their
tents and re-load their camels.
As they rode slowly together in the track of the caravan, the
persevering Hadgé resumed his old theme; both his eloquence and his
pertinacity seeming to increase as he drew nearer the native country of
Mahomet. Sebastian had no longer thoughts for so futile a subject:
neither arguments nor bursts of scorn interrupted Tefza, and charmed
with this fancied attention, the good man believed himself on the point
of saving a soul from perdition.--
At night they halted again; and then, while Tefza slept, the anxious
lover briefly sketched to Kara Aziek his situation and his views:
Barémel once more played the part of Babec, but it was not till the
succeeding day, that Sebastian learnt the effect of his letter.--Kara
Aziek determined to visit the tomb of the prophet ere she went into
Syria: she announced this intention to the captain of her guard, who
dared not disobey the commands of his master’s bride, when those
commands were associated with a pious object.
Orders were then issued for the caravan to direct its course to the
western bank of the Red Sea, instead of proceeding through Egypt. Tefza
extolled the youthful devotee, and called on his slave to let so
memorable an example influence his prejudices.
It was only from these new movements that Sebastian joyfully gathered
the intentions of Aziek: fearful of discovery, she would not trust their
mute messenger too often, but contented herself with caressing him in
her tent, soothed by the mere consciousness of his belonging to
Sebastian.
By slow stages the travellers had traversed the desarts of Zala and
Nubia, skirted the kingdom of Sennaar, and proceeding along the western
coast of the Red Sea, were preparing to cross it into Arabia: it was at
this period that Aziek hazarded another letter to her lover.
She informed him, that if on their arrival at Mecca, he would assume the
disguise of a female merchant of perfumes, and present himself at her
door, she would incur the risk of receiving him, as then they might
concert together the means of escape.
Impatient for this blissful moment, time seemed stationary to Sebastian,
while the caravan proceeded along the varied land of Arabia towards the
city of Mecca: at length they entered it, the different persons were
dispersed, and Kara Aziek took up her abode in a habitation without the
walls of the town.
Inclination would have hurried the impatient Sebastian immediately to
the feet of his beloved, but he sought to enjoy that felicity unalloyed,
and he could not do so while he knew himself a slave: to shake off his
servitude by fulfilling the conditions upon which freedom had been
promised him, was his first determination. He reminded Tefza of their
compact, he recapitulated the words of Abensallah, and declaring himself
eager to witness the ceremonies that were expected to work his
conversion, called on the old man to lead him quickly to the mosque.
The admission of Christians into their holy city or their mosques is
prohibited to the Mahometans, but this law is sometimes waved in
singular cases; so that Tefza had procured a warrant from his spiritual
superior, authorizing him to lodge his slave in the suburbs of Mecca,
and to edify him by a view of the Mahometan worship.
It was to eyes blinded and ears deafened by intent attention to one
precious object, that all the frivolous pomp of Mahometan ceremony was
now directed: Sebastian endured it, but he could not bring his mind to
observe and investigate its absurdities.
Tefza with grief beheld him enter the mosque, apparently look at, and
listen to all that passed, yet never once did an air of abstraction quit
his features, nor would he for an instant join in the slightest
appearance of worship.
The third day closed; his probation was at an end.
As they returned together from evening prayers to their lodgings near
the city, profound silence subsisted between them; but there was no
silence in their hearts: Tefza’s intreating eyes spoke only too audibly,
as they perpetually turned and fixed themselves upon the face of
Sebastian.
The regards of the King were cast down; his head was inclined, his step
slow; but this downcast look, this regulated pace, the burning glow that
increased every moment upon his cheek, plainly developed the struggles
of a man, the expression of whose gladness, decency and gratitude united
to control.
Tefza could with difficulty restrain his tears; when he entered his
lodgings they burst forth: he turned abruptly round, and throwing
himself upon the neck of Sebastian, exclaimed in a broken voice:--
“You will leave me then, my Son?--my desolate old age--my love for
thee--will nothing plead?”
Interrupted by sobs he proceeded no further. This affecting resignation,
this mild remonstrance, this fidelity to the promise given at Riffa,
melted Sebastian; he ran his eyes eagerly over the amiable figure of the
old man: his grey hairs and gentle countenance, the supplicating look
with which he regarded him, pierced him with regret.
“Alas! my father,” he cried, falling at his feet, “I leave you with a
sorrow which my conduct may seem to contradict:--O may you one day know
my heart! may all whom I loved, or who have served me in Africa, know
the imperious destiny that has controled my actions! I am not what I
appear, Tefza: that God whom we equally adore, ordained me to a far
different lot from that to which you have seen me condemned; I must
endeavour to regain it. I leave you only for the fulfilment of duties,
and in the hope of obtaining happiness. Ah! Why has fate thrown me
amongst so many excellent persons whom I can never hope to behold
again!”
“And am I never to see thee again, my son!” cried Tefza; as he spoke,
the blood forsook his cheeks, and he sunk down overpowered with
affliction: Sebastian prest his lips upon that trembling hand in
agitated silence.
The Hadgé wept audibly: “O Fabian!” he cried at last, “my sand is nearly
run, might I but hope to meet thee in another existence, that hope
alone”--
“Father!” interrupted the young King, with a steadier voice, “I feel
that another world will re-unite us: I love you, I owe you infinite
gratitude, my soul thirsts to pay its debt, but here it cannot be; our
different creeds, and different fates, sever us decisively. It is for
this necessity you blame me; you are good and just according to your
judgment, yet you wrong me, and it is only in another existence, that
learning my motives, you will cease to condemn my actions. O my father!
time, suffering, and reflection, have assured me, (me, who once
persecuted unto death) that all who sincerely love their God, and his
creatures; all who strive conscientiously to fulfil what they believe to
be his law; whether they be Jew or Gentile, whether disciples of Christ
or of Mahomet, will, at the last great day, be accepted into his
heavenly kingdom.”
Tefza gazed at him as he would have eyed the opening Heavens, then
catching him in his arms, he cried in an ardent tone, “I _will_ think
so, my son, I _will_ think so; it is impossible that such a soul as
thine should be devoted to perdition.”
The Christian and the Mahometan wept in each others arms: that fierce
and indignant Sebastian, whom the slightest shew of authority inflamed
to madness, was in a single moment softened to woman’s tenderness, and
wrought to regret the necessity which severed him from one whom so
lately he had opposed and upbraided.
“When we have been separated one year,” said he, as he rose from the
neck of the good Hadgé, “ask of Abensallah my story; he will tell it
you, for I have instructed him in it. You will then pity and pardon me
perhaps--at least you will own that only the strongest affections, and
the most powerful duties, tear me from you.”
Sebastian hastily embraced him while speaking, and was going to break
away, when Tefza put into his hands one of those beautiful shawls which
the Moors call Haegs, requesting him to accept and wear it for his sake.
“Think of my paternal love when thou dost first unfold it,” he said
faintly, “may the great prophet forgive thy blindness, and bless thee
wherever thou goest. Alas! Fabian! thou didst make life dear to me, what
will it be soon?”
Pierced, penetrated with honorable regret, Sebastian turned again to
embrace him, exclaiming--“You rive my heart, Tefza, for God’s sake
cease.--how it would console me to think that you and Abensallah spent
your days together.”
At this suggestion the countenance of the Hadgé suddenly brightened, he
grasped his young companion’s hand, saying in a more animated tone,
“Would it console thee? then I promise it,--that pious man will not
refuse my wish to share his peaceful abode--my wealth shall become in
his hand the property of others:--together will we talk of thee my
son--together will we pray for thee: then wilt thou think of us
together?”
Sebastian joyfully promised to do so, and once more embracing Tefza,
tore himself away.
As Tefza supposed him going to seek an immediate conveyance to Cairo,
whence he might embark for some Christian port in Europe, it was prudent
to avoid the chance of a future rencontre with him; Sebastian therefore
repaired to the remotest suburb of the city, inhabited mostly by Jews,
who being accustomed to trade with the Portuguese settlers at Ormuz,
were able to understand their language.
He procured lodgings at one of their houses, and retiring to the chamber
allotted him, threw himself on a mattrass, not to rest, but to revolve
the scheme of his conduct.
It was his intention to attempt seeing Kara Aziek early on the morrow;
for this purpose he must procure some merchandise and some disguise. At
this necessity he started as from sleep; how were these to be acquired,
utterly destitute as he was of the means to purchase them! never before
had the exiled monarch felt the grasp of penury: while in slavery money
would have been useless, and therefore it was an unfelt want; Aziek’s
tender precaution had enriched him when he returned to Portugal, and
since his second captivity, though that treasure had been swallowed by
the ocean, its loss had been unmarked, since Sebastian could have no use
for gold, except to relieve the wretchedness of others, and for that
purpose the hand of Tefza was always open.
Paralized with this blow, which threatened destruction to every plan his
heated fancy had been forming, he started up, and stood rooted to one
spot, anxiously seeking some other resource; the gift of Tefza then came
to his recollection. It was a Haeg of such transparent fineness, and so
curiously flowered with gold, that it might well afford a specious
excuse for traffic; he decided therefore to present it for sale at
Aziek’s gate, and as the garments he wore were of silk stuff, it would
not be difficult to obtain in exchange for them a Jew’s black gown.
These ideas no sooner arose in his mind than he took out the shawl, and
hastened towards a window to examine it more attentively; while
unfolding it he heard something fall on the ground, which lifting, he
found to be a purse stuffed with gold coin: the last words of Tefza
then recurred to him--“Think of my paternal love.”--
He did think of that love, he did gratefully acknowledge it. Enhanced by
his late perplexity, this considerate benefaction excited no common
emotion of gladness and gratitude: it was from the hand of Tefza then,
that he was receiving the means of happiness; without this present every
effort must have been feeble and confined, and now he might command all
that money could purchase towards its attainment.
He looked at the purse with moistened eyes, for he thought of the
generous old man’s cheerless age and pitiable character. Tefza’s was not
one of those vigorous minds which are sufficient for themselves: he
needed objects to enliven and to interest him; without these he sunk
into sadness. Piety however offered such a character consolation, and
Sebastian comforted himself by hoping, that in the mildly-cheerful
society of Abensallah, his weaker spirit would find a stay and a charm.
On the morrow, after sunrise, when half the inhabitants of Mecca were
hastening to the shrine of their prophet, and the remainder were opening
their shops, arranging their merchandize, &c. Sebastian enquired of his
host where perfumes were to be purchased; the Jew hastened to produce
some scented handkerchiefs, and having just received a small portion of
the flowers of the keura, (an Arabian tree, the blossoms of which retain
their celestial fragrance even when dried,) he soon disposed of them to
one who caught eagerly at any thing which might prove a passport to
Aziek.
The Jew was well paid and incurious; so he neither openly nor secretly
commented upon the stranger’s additional purchase of a woman’s black
gaberdine and large hat. Having made these useful acquisitions,
Sebastian went to one of those public places where coffee is sold, and
having obtained some, he retired to a back apartment, and there stained
his face and hands, already darkened by many a burning sun and scorching
wind: he threw the gaberdine over his other clothes, and watching an
opportunity when all the men in the coffee-house were gathered round one
of those story-tellers, that in the east make a trade of amusing
strangers, he glided into the street, and was soon lost amongst the
crowd.
By the least frequented ways, he reached the abode of Kara Aziek: it was
the hour of morning prayers, and every man was at the mosque; all but a
few soldiers who relieved each other as guards at her door. Sebastian
eyed them well, to observe if they were men he had ever conversed with
during their journey over the desarts: he did not remember their faces,
and trusting to a similar forgetfulness on their side, he approached and
asked, in a stifled jargon, whether they would look at his merchandize.
The soldiers, who were Turks, did not understand, and roughly repulsed
him; he unfolded his shawl, and the delicious scent of the keura flowers
instantly perfuming the whole air around them, induced one of the guards
to call out an old negro, whose office it was to convey the commands of
Kara Aziek from her women to the Basha’s officer: by this negro the
soldiers had been instructed not to turn away any vender of perfumes.--
The unsuspecting slave now beckoned for Sebastian to enter, and led him
through a suite of apartments to a chamber adjoining that of Kara Aziek;
the negro left him for a moment, then re-appearing, said something in
his own language, and went out the way they had come.
Left alone, eager and apprehensive, Sebastian knew not whether to follow
or to proceed; while he hesitated, the door of the inner chamber softly
opened;--he bent forward--a female figure came forth--she put aside her
veil, and shewed him an unknown but engaging countenance, fair, pale,
and mildly sad.
Past the prime of life, and evidently wasted by sickness, the lady
looked like some interesting phantom; she smiled and courteously bowed
as she passed slowly to the opposite door, which she bolted, then
re-approaching, took him by the hand and led him to the entrance of the
other chamber.
This unknown European, his incertitude, his grief, his fears, all were
forgot, when in the retired chamber to which she pointed, he beheld Kara
Aziek alone, unveiled, trembling with love and expectation: he flew
forward, he locked her in his arms, he held her to his heart in silence;
but that heaving heart, his quick and disturbed breathing, his trembling
convulsive grasp, spoke more eloquently than words the extent and the
intensity of his joy.
The softer and fainter spirit of Aziek seemed to sink under the weight
of happiness: she lay on his bosom nearly insensible; her eyes closed,
and her feeble hand incapable of returning the frequent pressure of his.
At length Sebastian spoke, and the sound of that beloved voice, like
some strain of music, suddenly dissolved the spell; a few relieving
tears trickled from beneath the eyelids of Aziek.
It was but a moment of happiness; those joyful tears which the devoted
lover gently kissed away, were soon replaced by mists of fond
apprehension: they must part again! their fate was yet darkened by
menacing clouds, which might burst in destruction over their hapless
heads.
In answer to Aziek’s expression of these fears, Sebastian eagerly
besought her to say whether she had learned where she was destined to
remain in Syria: Aziek informed him that she heard the Basha had given
orders for her to follow his camp, which some Syrian merchants at
Mecca, had described as being in the interior of Persia; part of which
kingdom he had already traversed as a conqueror.
“It is in this hurry of war, and triumph of success, that I hope for
awhile to be forgotten;” she said, “and perhaps the confusion of such
scenes may render escape less difficult: at any rate I trust to this
altered person for abating that strange passion of the Basha’s, which a
picture (drawn in my days of peace,) had created.--When he sees me,
surely--I know not how to explain my meaning, Sebastian--but it is not
love he feels for me--and nothing less than love can be satisfied with
Aziek as she is now.”
She spoke this blushing and looking down; and Sebastian felt such
delightful tenderness as he gazed on her, that it was some moments ere
he perceived the justice of her suggestion.
His beloved was changed: it has been remarked that “folly and
insensibility season beauty;” they preserve it indeed, from that
alteration which reflection and extreme tenderness, inevitably produce.
Aziek’s gentle form was constructed too finely for duration under
violent emotions of any kind: her grief at his supposed death, and her
joy at finding that grief unfounded, had wasted her visibly; it had
exhausted her strength, and gradually dried up the rosy spring that used
to colour her cheeks. The brightness of her beauty indeed was clouded,
but no disease had fixed on her constitution, no languor pervaded her
countenance; and when Sebastian first saw her again after their long
separation, he felt not the absence of perfection while his senses were
un-shocked by an appearance of absolute decay.
The devoted lover ardently kissed the hand which Aziek had extended to
him; “I complain of nothing, sweetest Aziek, if I may but retain
_yourself_--your heart--your soul!--Live for me, continue to love
me--and time, which hastens to wear away such passions as those
inspired by mere beauty, will only bind _our_ affections in closer
union.--Yes Aziek, it was reserved for your precious character to teach
me the nature and the value of real love; of that love which the _Great
Being_ beholds with complacency, and will bless hereafter:--till I knew
you, I was ignorant how much that sentiment can exalt as well as
delight.--We must not part, Aziek!--I cannot--cannot quit you.”--
The tone in which he pronounced the last words, penetrated Kara Aziek;
she lifted her dark eyes, and fixed them on his, with the look of one
whose heart is overflowing with some feeling they long to express, and
share with a beloved object; tears of strong emotion gushed from them, a
vivid colour spread over her face, and she threw herself suddenly into
his arms, exclaiming--“we are divided now perhaps, by Heaven’s will,
only that we may meet again for eternal re-union.”
The expression given by her touching voice to the word _eternal_, struck
Sebastian forcibly: he recalled the European woman that had conducted
him; he looked intently at Aziek:--resolved to believe what he wished,
and without giving utterance to his thoughts, he pressed her against his
heart with an emotion only to be conceived by one who has felt the same.
“That Christian lady whom thou hast just seen,” said Aziek, as she
disengaged herself from his arms after a short pause, “is my friend; she
was a slave in my uncle’s house, and I bought her to give her liberty,
and convey her to a countryman now residing at the Persian court. She
was taken in a vessel returning from Venice to England (of which country
she is a native,) and having lost her husband during the engagement of
the ships, cared too little for life to lament her captivity. I love
her, and confide in her: I have told her our story, (but concealing thy
rank,) and it is with her I hope to fly to the court of Persia.”
“And what is her countryman, Aziek?”
“The queen of England’s ambassador, Sir Anthony Shirley; a sage and
worthy gentleman; one, she says, that will protect me, and would aid
thee, if--”
A sudden light shone over the face of Sebastian--“Tell me Aziek,” he
said, “have you heard the grounds of this war? which are the aggressors,
the Turks, or the Persians?”
Ignorant of her lover’s motive for this inquiry, Kara Aziek proceeded to
detail what had been casually communicated to her by the old negro, and
by the captain of her guard; from their accounts it was evident that the
Persians had been forced into hostilities. A most atrocious act had been
committed on their frontiers in the time of peace by a Turkish grandee
whom the Sultan refused to punish; this insult had been followed by a
train of enormities which obliged the sufferers to take up arms, and
the merciless Ottomans had already traversed part of Persia, with
desolation and cruelty as their attendants. It was a war of justice on
the part of Persia;--not a barbarous contest for supremacy.
“Once more then in the broad field of honour--once more in open day and
fearless truth, will I press onward to my wishes!”--this exclamation
burst from the heart of Sebastian: as he spoke, his hand habitually
sought the place where his sword formerly hung; joy smoothed his noble
brow, his whole being seemed to dilate.
“What meanest thou, Sebastian?”--faintly articulated Kara Aziek.
“To gain you like a King and a soldier!--Tremble not my beloved; think
you that the God we serve, will not bless me more in the open path of
sincerity, than when shrinking from scrutiny, planning, deceiving, and
over-reaching?--my soul abhors artifice, Aziek,--’tis a yoke that galls
me worse than servitude or chains.--I will abandon this disguise, trust
your dear safety to angels like yourself, hasten to Persia, enroll
myself in her list of champions, and with my sword clear out the way to
thee.--I will win thee----I will deserve thee Aziek!”
In an ecstacy of hope, the young and ardent monarch fell at the feet of
Kara Aziek; he was restored to himself, he was Sebastian of Portugal
again! never had she beheld him thus.
What new charm did this proud fire spread over his countenance! his
figure was concealed by its loose black drapery, but his uncovered head
breathed indeed both the King and the soldier.
Aziek regarded him more fondly, more admiringly, more devotedly than
ever: “Ah why must I love thee thus (she exclaimed) with an increasing
passion?” her blushing face hid itself on the shoulder of her lover.
Soothing, grateful and tender, Sebastian checked his enthusiasm to raise
the drooping spirits of Aziek: while endearing vows, and chaste
caresses, assured her of his attachment, she forgot every apprehension,
and whispered only this sentiment of regret, “Life is too short to love
thee in.” But when he spoke again of his intention to join the forces of
Persia and win her by deeds of arms; her fears returned, and her tears
flowed.
It was long ere Sebastian could convince her that his life would be more
secure, and their prospect of union more certain, were he to incur the
chances of open warfare, than if he should follow her disguised into
Syria, and there loiter near her, subject to suspicion and to discovery.
War, tremendous war! how did it shock the tender soul of Aziek! but the
dignity and integrity of Sebastian was too precious in her eyes for her
to urge any conduct by which they might be compromised. “Go then,” she
said, at length, “Go! beloved of my soul! delight of my eyes! treasure
of my days! obey the dictates of thy brave and upright spirit! I will
believe that the God thou dost worship, that God who did create and make
thee what thou art, the most excellent, most dear,--ah! foolish Aziek,
say what thou wilt, to this thou recurrest at last!” again she leaned
her glowing face on his breast, and smiling through crouding tears,
ceased to speak.
“Was man ever loved thus?”--exclaimed Sebastian, half-wild with an
emotion too exquisite for mortality to sustain. “Angelic Aziek! this
moment is cheaply bought by all my past sufferings. Take every thing,
high Heaven! so you leave me but her.”
The silence that followed, was interrupted only by soft and delightful
sighs, which alternately seemed to waft to their different bosoms, the
souls of each: every painful fear had faded from their minds, all was
forgotten.
In the midst of this sweet oblivion, the Englishwoman appeared; her
looks and gesture expressed haste and alarm; Sebastian started from the
arms of Aziek, he hastened to the door: then turning to look on her once
more, saw her pale, trembling, her arms yet extended, and her touching
eyes fixed upon him: he hastened back, folded her to his breast, and
without speaking or being spoken to, tore himself away.
While he hurried after his directress, she whispered in imperfect
French, “Be under the eastern side of this house at prayer time to
night.” She then unlocked the door of the apartment, and leading him
forward, called the negro, who soon appeared and conducted him out.
The crowds hurrying home from the mosques, proved to Sebastian that
Aziek’s friend had not been too careful; a moment’s stay might have
exposed him to the scrutiny of her whole household, and suspicion must
have followed, from his female habit so ill-suited with his
countenance. He returned to his lodging, where he shut himself up with
Barémel till the hour of evening prayer.
How hope-inspiring were the reveries with which he delighted his
naturally-blissful spirit, during this interval!
“Too sure the passion that his soul misled,
Was checked, not conquered; buried, but not dead!”
The activity of camps and armies, “the pomp and circumstance of war,”
the exercise of bodily power and mental energy, the chivalric glow of
perilous enterprize, still had charms for this unquenchable spirit: in
renouncing their attractions at the command of principle, his heart had
yet yearned after them; he had bidden them adieu with such fond regret
as the lover feels who tears himself away from a faithless mistress,
exclaiming, “Ah why are so many charms united with so much frailty!”
Now his soul sprung back with impetuous force, for now he should at
once fight for an oppressed people and a beloved object: he rose, he
traversed his apartment with disordered steps; his burning cheek and
kindling eye were full of noble purposes: again his limbs seemed to feel
the gallant clasp of mailed armour; the knightly helm again seemed to
press his brow; and once more his manly arm wielded the tremendous
faulchion.
Who that had seen Sebastian at this moment, would have failed to
discover in him that enthusiastic, rash heroic King of Portugal, who had
once risked and lost every thing for the sake of glory?--he was no
longer the same Sebastian that had so lately been stricken to the dust
by despair and misanthropy.
How often does the spirit of man die and revive! in the season of youth
grief may destroy, but hope will renew it. Like the hardy eagle which
poets have fabled immortal, the soul decays, sheds her plumes, sinks
into transient death, then suddenly glows again with life, rises
new-winged from dust, and soars to Heaven!
Into the mind of Sebastian no visions entered, except such as were
bright and blissful: an instant of time, an atom only of distance,
seemed to divide him from the possession of all he panted for. In the
vigour of youth, and the full zenith of ardour, he felt an inward
strength, which assured him that his destiny was yet in his own hands.
“I shall acquire thee, Aziek!” he said exultingly, “I shall regain my
crown, my people’s hearts, my friends, and my own respect!”
Yet erring Sebastian!--didst thou weakly think that a throne and a name
were necessary to make thee great? thou wast more worthy thy own respect
when performing the meanest tasks for thy fellow-slaves in the cassavee
of El Hader, than when issuing commands to crowds of obedient
courtiers, from thy palace of Ribera.
Sebastian’s proud nature was yet but imperfectly amended; he had to
suffer and to learn still more.
At the hour appointed, he repaired to the place marked out by Aziek’s
friend: it was a spot calculated for concealment, being surrounded by
decayed buildings and thick clusters of sycamores: he looked up at the
sound of an opening blind, which was put aside by Kara Aziek herself,
who regarding him tenderly, took a small packet from her bosom, and
pressing it to her lips with a smile that seemed to say “I send this
kiss to thee,” threw down the packet, motioned him away, and withdrew
immediately.
The King seized his prize and hurried home to examine it.
The contents were a letter from Aziek’s friend to her countryman in
Persia, and one from Aziek to Sebastian: she conjured him to hasten to
Ispahan, where the Sophi held his court, there to seek Sir Anthony
Shirley. Perhaps the zeal of that Englishman for a highly-allied
countrywoman, would quicken his exertions for the man beloved by her
protectress; and by his advice, or through his means, some safe plan for
their flight from Syria might be devised.--At all events, she conjured
him to couple prudence with enterprise, and to remember, that if her
freedom was to be purchased by his death, the blessing would change into
a curse.
The instructions for his conduct contained in this letter, were so full
and satisfactory, that Sebastian lost not a moment in fulfilling them:
he calculated justly, that Kara Aziek would scarcely have reached the
Basha’s camp, ere he should have entered Ispahan, procured permission to
join the Sophi’s army, and perhaps carried that formidable camp sword in
hand.
He hastened to seek his Jewish host, and having engaged him to procure a
trusty Arab as a guide, enjoining him to be ready early on the morrow,
he returned to his chamber, where he threw himself on the ground to
renovate his strength with sleep, ere he commenced his journey.
CHAP. II.
The morning sun shone cheeringly over the city, and the long line of
varied coast which runs southward towards the straits of Babelmandel:
from the groves of citron and the surrounding coffee-grounds, ascended a
rich odour which the sea-breezes softened and refreshed. Sebastian
paused a moment ere he mounted his horse; he looked back upon the city
which contained Kara Aziek and the good Tefza. “Poor old man!” he
exclaimed, “you will never see me more.”
A tear started in his eye as he spoke, he thought of all Tefza’s past
kindness, and his heart melted: but soon recovering, he laid his hand on
the horse’s neck, vaulted into his seat, and galloped off after the
Arabian guide.
The new and fertile country through which they travelled, perpetually
awakened the most lively emotions in the breast of a man, amiably
susceptible to every charm of nature: its hills, covered with that
enchanting jessamine which grows there so profusely, and perfumes the
air almost insufferably; its vallies, embalmed with the gentler perfume
of the sea-daffodil; the noble verdure which shaded these, composed of
cedars, sycamores, and palms; that exquisite union of fruits, flowers,
and living green, which the dews bathe and the sun embellishes; the song
of birds and the hum of bees, all conspired to touch Sebastian’s heart,
and to ravish his senses.
His mind, animated by hope, had acquired fresh vigour for the enjoyment
of delightful objects: the sentiment of happy love diffused its own
sweetness over every sense, and had he not _found_ them beautiful, that
sentiment would have made them so.
During his rapid journey, the idea of Gaspar perpetually followed that
of Kara Aziek: till this period that dear friend’s image had been almost
effaced by intense anxiety for the fate of Aziek, and by ineffectual
attempts at regaining her: now, that he had beheld and conversed with
his beloved, and was hastening to fields of contest for her sake, he
felt proudly secure, and turned with tender solicitude to the
remembrance of his distant friend.
The nights in Arabia are bright as noon; yet their tranquillity, their
freshness, their crystal clearness, are so celestially unlike the
relentless fire of their days, that the traveller stretches himself out
on the terrace of the house which lodges him, not to sleep, but to gaze
on the resplendent Heavens.
Those enchanting nights elevate man’s nature; they refresh his body,
they purify his soul: their serene influence appears to render sleep
unnecessary, and a sublime calm, like that repose which imagination
attributes to God’s, pervades his whole being, and alone regenerates his
powers.
Under such impressions, Sebastian lay thinking of Gaspar: the sacred
sentiment of friendship was worthy of the scene.
Departing from the luxuriant neighbourhood of Mecca, Sebastian passed
over the mountains of Gabel el Ared, toiled through the Arabian desart,
crossed the date-shaded Euphrates, and entered Persia: shortly
afterwards he knew himself to be approaching Ispahan, by the
far-stretching fields of roses, amongst which that famed city was in
those days embosomed.
Soon its high walls and lofty domes were seen along the horizon, forming
but a comparatively diminutive line at the feet of the gigantic
mountains of Taurus. How little, how atom-like are all the labours of
art, when contrasted with the vast and eternal productions of nature!
He approached the town; troops of warriors were pouring from different
gates: the trampling of their white steeds, was mixed with the sound of
martial music; banners and spears rose above their thick lines, and
their leaders clad in magnificent habits, superbly mounted, and
completely armed, rode onward with an air of troubled haste.
Every thing announced alarm and precipitation; the fate of Persia was
then hanging in the balance; a day longer, and she might cease to exist
among nations!
At the sound of the trumpet, the war-horse long dismissed to pasture,
starts, flashes his fiery eyes, tosses his proud neck aloft, strains
every sinew, and rushes upon the shock of battle: Sebastian’s limbs
shook like his, with a powerful emotion excited by the troops of the
Sophi: his heart beat high; it swelled with a sentiment of fraternity
towards every soldier before him. His eyes long pursued their hurried
march, till distance lessened them, and then turning into one of the
gates, he sought impatiently some house where he might obtain
information of Sir Anthony Shirley.
The expressive countenance of Sebastian, and his own quickness of
perception, supplied the place of language between him and the Persians:
after some difficulty, he procured a bath, refreshment, and then a
conductor to the mansion of the ambassador.
Having thrown off his Moorish habit, and put on a suit of old armour,
which he had collected from different shops at Mecca, he prepared to
issue forth. Ill-assorted and imperfect as this armour was, it yet
clouded not the manly graces of the wearer: his gallant looks ennobled a
homely cuirass, and might have made the harness of trimmer knights
appear but the trapping of military idleness. Brightened by a variety of
animating feelings, his countenance formed a strong contrast to the
sombre hue of his iron mail.
The man who acted as guide led him through streets intersected with
gardens and canals, to a wide square, in which stood the palace of the
Sophi, and the residence of the ambassador: there he left him.
Among the domestics of the Englishman, fortunately there was an Italian,
to whom Sebastian addressed himself, “Tell your master,” he said, “that
a stranger, a Christian knight, asks to converse with him alone.”
The Italian eyed him with surprize, but the air of the stranger awed
curiosity into silence, and he respectfully withdrew.
Sir Anthony Shirley,[A] (to whom is that name unknown?) had lived in
the memorable court of Queen Elizabeth, he had breathed the same air
with Raleigh, Cecil, and Sidney; he had listened with admiration to the
immortal Shakespeare; he was now come to represent his sovereign at the
distant court of Persia, giving there a wondrous example of perfect
goodness and profound wisdom unalloyed by one visible failing.
[A] To lessen the number of agents necessary for the plan of this
romance, the author has ventured occasional violations of chronology:
in the above instance, she has antedated the birth and mission of Sir
Anthony Shirley, who did not really reside at the magnificent capital
of Schah Abbas, till several years later.
The title of stranger was an immediate passport to his courtesy, but
when coupled with that of a Christian knight, courtesy changed into
kindness.
On the entrance of Sebastian, he rose and embraced him: “in this
country,” he said, “Christians should indeed think themselves
brethren,--far from our homes and our altars the heart eagerly throws
off the restraint of ceremony, and finds relationship in opinions and
principles.”
Sir Anthony spoke in his own language, of which Sebastian was ignorant;
he shook his head with a thanking smile, that shewed he felt the
meaning of those words merely from the tone in which they were uttered,
and recollecting himself an instant, replied in Portuguese, and then in
Latin: Shirley looked at him with pleased surprize while opening the
letter which he presented.
The serene dignity of Sir Anthony now gave way to a variety of emotions:
perplexity and concern were painted on his face while he successively
read a description of his countrywoman’s widowed state, her sickness,
her slavery, and lastly, her hope of reaching Persia only to die under a
Christian roof. Tears gathered in his eyes, which he turned aside to
conceal.
After some moments’ silence he addressed the King. “By what name am I to
address the noble gentleman of whom this unfortunate lady writes so
impressively?”
“By what name!” repeated the young monarch, regarding him with the
estranged air of a man whom that question had swiftly hurried to other
thoughts:--an interval of abstraction was followed by one of extreme
agitation.
Sebastian evidently felt an impulse to confide in the Englishman; he saw
in him the representative of a sovereign, and his imperious spirit
revolted from the supposition of inferiority: stepping back with an air
of dignity, he was about to pronounce the words “Sebastian of Portugal,”
when recollecting himself, and remembering the prudent resolution he had
formerly taken, as well as the difficulties into which Sir Anthony’s
political views might plunge him, he smiled, shook his head, and replied
only by a bright flush of emotion.
The courteous ambassador did not repeat his question; he remained
thoughtfully silent: Sebastian spoke at length.
“Let my name be forgotten in that of Knight of the Cross; I have
suffered much for that title, have forsaken much to deserve it: let me
then be known only as a Christian soldier.--You behold in me, Sir
Anthony, a Portuguese nobly born, not destined to the profession of
arms, but embracing it from inclination. I was one in the
fatally-memorable expedition of Don Sebastian!--After many hardships,
and more sorrows, I am come hither to offer my services to the Sophi; a
Christian knight _may_ war by the side of infidels when their cause is
just, for then, he sees in them only men and brethren.--Have you
confidence enough in this countenance to believe me what I profess
myself? dare you pledge your faith for my integrity while presenting me
to the Persian?”
The young monarch advanced as he spoke, and putting aside the hair which
darkened his forehead, fixed his eyes on Sir Anthony with a look that
courted scrutiny.
Shirley regarded him attentively; for Shirley was past that age in which
men’s hearts wait not for the sanction of their judgments: he still
looked steadily at him; at last stretching out his hand with an aspect
changed from consideration to confidence, he exclaimed, “I _will_ pledge
myself for your worthiness.”
It was not the aim of Sebastian to conceal more than was necessary;
though evidently delighted in making mystery indispensible to him, it
was abhorrent to a soul that loved to walk unveiled before men and
angels.
He now candidly confessed to his courteous entertainer, that gratitude
and love united, formed the strongest motives to the action he
meditated: he sought to be entrusted with some command, chiefly that it
might bring him into contact with the Basha, and afford him an
opportunity of winning rather than stealing Kara Aziek.