with the feelings of an impassioned lover: he smiled at the importance
which a sentiment he had never felt, could bestow upon women; but he
forbore uttering his thoughts: he tasked himself to consider how it
would be best to procure from the Sophi that trust the stranger sought.
A review of the Persian levies was to take place on the morrow; Sir
Anthony settled that they should repair thither together, when the
knight would be enabled to demonstrate his military knowledge in a scene
calculated to call it forth, and the Sophi might investigate his
observations through the medium of an interpreter:--meanwhile Sebastian
was requested to consider the Englishman’s house as that of an ancient
friend; to reside in it, and to command there.
Shirley now made many anxious inquiries about the precise state of his
countrywoman, which Sebastian could only answer by assuring him that she
was in the hands of the tenderest and most generous of women:--he then
besought some particulars of the battle of Alcazar.
Eager to seize this opportunity of dissipating the error into which he
perceived all the European courts had fallen (an error which attributed
the failure of Portugal to unskilfulness, and not treachery,) Sebastian
willingly called back the sufferings of that painful period: he gave a
distinct account of the Portuguese operations from the moment in which
the army touched African ground, till that period in which Muley Hamet
caused its overthrow.
His animated descriptions--alternately prosperous and pathetic, rivetted
the attention of Shirley; he followed the speaker’s glowing language
with answering enthusiasm, yet did he retain sufficient coolness to note
as he went along, every expression which might develope the great
commander or disclose the mere novice.
With surprize and gratification he witnessed the emotion with which
Sebastian made the eulogium of his countryman: the gallant deeds of
Stukeley lived again in the hurried eloquence of a brother in arms: his
fall was but mentioned, not dwelt on, for at that part, the lips of the
orator quivered, and his voice was choaked in its passage.
Pleased with this sensibility, and satisfied with the observations which
had grown out of their interesting discourse, Shirley assumed a more
confidential tone, and hazarded a conjecture about the fate of the King
and his surviving adherents: Sebastian rose in disorder.
“We will speak on this subject no more;” he said abruptly, “it is
painful to me.--the destiny of Don Sebastian is in the hands of
God;--who may venture to determine it?--If he live, Providence assuredly
will restore him a sceptre which he wished to wield worthily: his
misfortunes will have been his instructors; and Europe may perhaps find
with astonishment an example for Kings, in him who has tasted the
bitterness of every situation, and thus learned--but enough of this--I
divine not his fate.”
The broken voice, flushed and averted cheek, together with the
severely-noble air of Sebastian, startled Sir Anthony; a vague suspicion
crossed his mind: it was the suspicion of a moment: for to a man of
quiet feelings, untinctured with romance, no sufficient motive for
Sebastian’s concealment and errantry presented itself to his fancy. He
regarded him curiously once more, then said,--
“I mistake much, Sir Knight, if you were not a confidential companion of
Don Sebastian’s; but I ask not whom: suffice it to me, that you are a
Christian, a soldier, and a gentleman.”
Sebastian bowed without speaking, and retired abruptly.
Early on the morrow, the ambassador and his unknown guest appeared at
the review of the Persian troops; soon after the Sophi’s son arrived,
surrounded by nobles sumptuously attired, on milk-white horses, whose
chanfraines sparkled with precious stones. When Shirley approached with
one whose plain armour (ill-suited and unbrightened) formed a contrast
to the gold and polish of theirs, all the young Persians regarded him
with surprize; they exchanged glances of contempt together: but how
quickly was that contempt changed into a sentiment of awe, when the
stranger, uncovering himself with an air of command and submission
mingled, displayed a countenance on which were stamped majesty,
intrepidity, self-respect, and the sweetest benignity.
Deeply read in courts, Sir Anthony Shirley noted the address of his
companion: he beheld him meet the gaze of the Persian Prince and his
suite, not only without embarrassment, but with looks of growing
nobleness. Who was he then? and what high station had he held near the
throne of Portugal? Shirley’s thoughts could not determine these
questions, but they answered one more important; they assured him he
might rely on the ability and the faith of the man he scrutinized.
Having previously explained to Prince Abbas, that the stranger sought
permission to take the field in his cause, he had now only occasion to
present his gallant friend, and to interpret for him during the day.
The Prince reviewed his army, visited some works of defence that were
constructing round Ispahan, examined his magazines, in short, devoted
the whole day to an inspection of his military resources: while doing
so, he developed the genius of his new officer.
The questions, remarks, and details of Sebastian, were faithfully
translated to him by Shirley, and these convinced the young Persian that
in this stranger he was acquiring an able knight, one to whom war was
familiar.
The plans of their meditated operations were then displayed and
discussed in the royal tent; it was here that the pre-eminence of
European skill was peculiarly visible; it was here that Sebastian’s fire
blazed out again. He examined every map, and weighed every calculation
with the profoundest attention; he balanced their advantages and
disadvantages; he detected their defects; he explained the justness of
some, and the error of others; he then frankly proposed such alterations
as his sounder experience dictated, and in elucidating these, gave loose
to all the impetuous energy of his character.
Sebastian was now on the theme which long habit had too much endeared;
and as the track of glory opened and brightened before his mental eye,
the prospect it held forth kindled new ardour and awoke new powers. His
rusted cuirass and ill-fashioned greaves were forgotten by the young
courtiers, as they circled round the foreign knight and listened to his
interpreted discourse: Sebastian himself forgot that he was not
dictating to his own war-council; on his brow sat the authority of a
King, on his lips the convincing eloquence of a great commander.
“What manner of man is this?” exclaimed the Sophi’s son, with
astonishment--“Has he not headed armies in his own country?”
Shirley replied in a low voice, unwilling to be heard by others, “I have
signified to your highness’s sublime father, that he wishes his name and
rank to be forgotten; he would be known only as Knight of the Cross. His
illustrious master Don Sebastian King of Portugal perished in an
unsuccessful expedition against the Moors, and since then I understand
this faithful subject has devoted himself to serve religion and
humanity, by combating only in their separate or united causes. I pledge
myself for this stranger; and I predict that Persia will find no reason
to repent of the confidence with which she reposes on my pledge.”
Prince Abbas bowing graciously to Sir Anthony turned towards Sebastian;
“Christian! he said, I accept your services; this day enrolls you in my
royal father’s list of warriors: see that you do not dishonour our
trust. Ask what you wish; the armory, the treasury, the magazine of
horses, all are open to you; I feel assured that you will not make an
indiscreet use of this generosity.”
As the interpreter repeated this speech, the Christian King lifted up
his eyes, and fixed them proudly for an instant on the haughtier face of
the young Prince; his nice honour was somewhat shocked by the oblique
repetition of an exhortation to act worthily: recollecting however, that
perfect amenity of heart is not to be expected where the religion of the
Lamb is not practised, he smoothed his feelings, and replied gravely;
“Success is in the hand of Heaven, but truth and action are dependent on
our own wills: I may fail and fall, but I cannot live and be unworthy.
Prince! you must pardon my refusing to accept any other mark of your
goodness than that of being permitted to share in the warfare of your
troops; as however, the knowledge of your language is important in such
a situation, I beg you will order one of your ablest teachers to
instruct me in it.”
This request was immediately granted, after which Prince Abbas invited
the two Christians to return with him to Ispahan.
A sumptuous banquet awaited them in the palace of the Sophi, but the
aged Xatama himself, did not appear: during the repast music and
perfumes flowed around, and at its conclusion the guests were
alternately delighted by the recitation of Persian poetry, and the
graces of dancing girls.
The severe taste of Sebastian received no gratification from the studied
and voluptuous attitudes of the latter, but he listened eagerly to the
chaster compositions of their poets, whose tender lays were chiefly
devoted to eulogise the nightingales, the roses, and the moonlight by
which they were surrounded.
Having been seated next to the Sophi’s son, he perceived that the noble
Persian, though at that age when man’s senses are most awake, did not
vouchsafe a glance to the dancers, nor appear to heed the seducing music
which custom led him to command: he sat coldly abstracted, evidently
revolving matters of great importance.
Pleased with the character this dignified seriousness announced,
Sebastian won him into conversation; they conversed much together, and
although their interpreter did not preserve all the shades of their
discourse, it was yet sufficiently charming to delight each other.
Prince Abbas gallantly challenged his new friend to a trial of skill the
ensuing day, when he meant to draw forth in a sprightly joust the
military address of his associates.
On the morrow, three hours after sunrise, an equerry entered the court
of Sir Anthony Shirley’s habitation, leading a beautiful horse
caparisoned with gold and gems: it came from the Abbas, with these words
wrought in pearls on a roll of Indian silk.
“Accomplished stranger! accept this present from the son of the
Sophi:--it is not the Prince but the friend who offers it.”
So courteous an act completely effaced from Sebastian’s mind all memory
of Abbas’s first reception: he replied with grace, and adjusting his
plain armour, proceeded to the field of combat.
The lists were crouded with Persian nobles, the stand filled with female
beauty: in every manly exercise, the superior skill and natural grace of
Sebastian was pre-eminent; in the contest of the sword, in the
management of their steeds, in vaulting, hurling the quoit, darting the
spear, elancing the arrow, his happier star destined him to excel. One
by one, the effeminate Persians yielded to his ascendancy, and even
Prince Abbas himself willingly ceded to a Christian knight the
magnificent prize of the day, a suit of gold armour.
This prize was awarded by the Sophi, who from a window of his palace had
witnessed the amicable contest: he received his new officer with much
graciousness, but feeble from age and sickness, shunned further
discourse, and broke up a short levée by referring all things to Prince
Abbas.
That discerning Prince, thoroughly satisfied with the display of
Sebastian’s personal accomplishments, now appointed him to a
distinguished situation on the frontier, where a large force was
immediately going in order to check the bold movements of Ibrahim.
Should he continue advancing, this force was to take and occupy all the
forts in his rear lying along the line of Armenia; this step would
enable them to oppose a formidable barrier to his retreat, while Prince
Abbas marched to meet him between Ispahan and the Tigris.
As the Basha Ibrahim had recently received a check from a Persian
general, he had fallen back, and lay inactive for the present in a
strong position, waiting for reinforcements.
This inaction afforded Sebastian time to acquire a tolerable knowledge
of the language now so necessary to him; he devoted himself to it with
ardour and application: his natural facility thus assisted by an intense
desire, soon enabled him to vanquish its difficulties, and in less than
three weeks he knew sufficient to require only occasionally the aid of
Shirley’s interpreter.
During this period, military details, the study of Persian tactics,
(which it was requisite for him to understand, in order to guard against
their errors) the study of the Persian soldiery, occupied all his days:
his evenings were devoted to the gallant court of Prince Abbas, where
the young nobles were accustomed to entertain their ladies by martial
shews and feats of dexterity. In these oriental tournaments Sebastian
wore the costly gift of the Sophi, but no sooner did the war-cry call
him into serious action, than he threw aside his glittering attire, and
resumed that of knight of the cross.
With what impatience had he waited for this moment! the destiny of
Aziek, so long unknown, would now be unfolded to him; but a little
while, and he hoped to march at the head of victorious troops to set her
free: yet sometimes his blood chilled, when apprehension suddenly seized
him, and he dwelt for an instant upon the possibility of Aziek’s having
been forced to yield to the despotic will of Ibrahim.
So much doubt, so much fear, was mixed up with his present success, that
he tasted only a troubled joy when he saw himself thus miraculously
placed in a post of honour and trust, by a Prince whom policy would
have justified in very different conduct.
The implicit confidence of Sir Anthony Shirley excited in him emotions
of another kind; and hoping one day to give him gratifying proofs of
gratitude from the throne of Portugal, he consoled himself for present
inability by this remote prospect.
Prince Abbas, without betraying the slightest suspicion, acted like a
man of sound judgment: he surrounded the stranger by such officers as he
himself relied on the most; he took every precaution against treachery,
while at the same time he left open to him the path of honourable
action.
This conduct did not escape the sensitive feelings of Sebastian: at
first he was stung with indignation; (for it was not always that
Sebastian could recollect man is not omniscient, and that unless he can
read the hearts of others, he is justified in ceding to the force of
suspicious appearance; and mystery is invariably suspicious) he gave
way for a while to a perfect transport of anger: but by degrees the
propriety of Abbas’s precautions became visible to him, and remembering
that the Prince, being entrusted by his father with the protection of
their empire, owed the duty of prudence not only to the Sophi but to the
people, his unjust resentment changed into respect.
It was only to Sir Anthony Shirley that Sebastian had disclosed the
prime motive of his appearance at Ispahan; the name of her he loved was
too sacred for lighter ears: and besides, the impression made even by a
description of beauty on these sons of sensual pleasure, was sufficient
to deter him from mentioning her charms to others; Abbas’s apparent
insensibility to beauty, and the prejudices of his religion, were
motives too strong for Sebastian uselessly to break through.
In the luxury of solitude alone, or when caressing Barémel, he permitted
his whole soul to diffuse itself over her dear idea: then, past hours
of virtuous endearment, of tenderness and heart-felt happiness unallayed
by one jealous pang, rose to remembrance; then arms, and fame, and proud
distinction lost their pre-eminence; then, the re-attainment of his
throne and his country ceased to excite turbulent emotion: nothing was
prized for its own sake, all things moved him only as they had reference
to her without whom no situation could bestow felicity.
When he recollected their last interview, and the sudden conjecture to
which it had given birth, a mixture of joy and alarm quickened the
pulses of his heart: Kara Aziek had surely indicated a change in her
religious sentiments; her female companion was then affecting that
conversion which her lover had vainly attempted. But what was the creed
of this Christian? if she were of the Reformed Church (the new religion
of England,) she was instilling “a damnable heresy,” instead of planting
the true faith.
In the ear of Sebastian the names of Luther and Calvin, sounded like
the voice of Satan: with the tremulous pertinacity of a son of Rome, he
had constantly refused even to hear their doctrines discussed, and now
that he apprehended Kara Aziek might be bewitched by their sophistry, he
gave himself up to temporary despair.
This transport of zeal aggravated his impatience for the hour which
should restore her to him, and made him quicken the preparations of that
part of the Persian army which he was destined to command in conjunction
with a native officer.
On the night preceding the march of these new levies, Sebastian was
surprised by an extraordinary visit. His courteous host had given up to
him a Kiosk in the gardens, which he occupied solely, and slept in,
without guard or attendants.
The tranquil beauty of a fine night detained him long from rest; he
leaned over an open trellis (through which the most luxuriant
honeysuckles and jessamine had interlaced themselves,) alternately
admiring the universal blush caused by the thickets of roses, and the
splendor of the Kiosk, whose alabaster sides reflected the brighter
moonlight.
Nightingales answering each other from different distances, some near,
some remote, blending their liquid notes together in sweet confusion,
now pausing, now proceeding, diffused enchantment over the scene. Those
melodious sobbings which seem the overflowings of love too exquisite,
too happy,--those melodious sobbings were echoed by the sighs of
Sebastian: his country, his friend Caspar, his beloved Aziek, seemed
speaking in every note; he felt them present to his heart, though absent
from his sight, and the most passionate melancholy, an emotion at once
painful and delicious, penetrated his whole being.
In this state of abstraction, the steps of two persons advancing to the
Kiosk were long unheard; at length the rustling of some shrubs through
which they pressed, made the King look towards the spot, and he beheld
with some surprize a female figure, and one in male attire, whose dress
bespoke him a servant. The lady motioned for the slave to remain
without, and entered the saloon.
Of what “fantastic stuff,” are the thoughts of a lover formed! Sebastian
lived only for Aziek, and without conceiving how she could have come
thither, he believed that it was her whom he now saw: he rose, rushed
towards her, and extending his arms to snatch her to him, found himself
modestly repulsed.
“I am mistaken in you, Christian!” said an unknown voice, “or you
mistake me for another: doubtless there are many in the court of Persia
who forget your religion and your country in your accomplishments; but
learn that I am not one of those.”
Sebastian drew respectfully back: reassured by this submission, the lady
sat down on one of the divans, and still concealing herself in her
veil, addressed him again.
“I come not here, Sir Knight! with either the hope or the wish of
charming you; my errand is of another kind. I come to ask a
boon.--Attracted by your seeming nobleness and gentleness, (for I have
seen you at the court festivities) convinced of your worthiness from
your friendship with Prince Abbas,” (here the lady faltered and sighed,
then added faintly,) “I venture to believe you will not deny me what I
would solicit.”
“Say not solicit, Madam!” replied Sebastian courteously, “a virtuous
woman commands everywhere. Speak your will and see me eager to obey it.”
The Persian lady moved her veil a little that she might read his looks;
in doing so she discovered a milk-white forehead, finely pencilled with
jet-black eyebrows; the eyes beneath them were brilliant, noble, and
pleasing, but they wanted the melting softness of Kara Aziek’s: she
fixed them an instant on Sebastian with a complacent smile, tears
gathered in them, and then she closed her veil abruptly.
“I must first inform you,” she said in a low trembling voice, “that in
me you see Maimuna, the daughter of one of the Sophi’s bravest generals:
six moons since my father fell on the field of battle. I alone remain to
keep his name in remembrance,--what do I say? his renown is his
monument.--Amongst my household there is an orphan youth, (the child of
a favorite relation) whose heart is smit with a passion for arms; he
wishes to serve against the Turks:--his years are so tender, my regard
for him is so great,--yet his desire is so ardent, that,”----again
Maimuna faltered, hesitated, and stopped.--
Sebastian eyed her doubtfully: it was evident that some strong emotion
agitated her; yet even now nothing that she had said appeared to justify
it. He approached respectfully, and regarding her with one of those
kindly smiles, which ever opened to him the hearts of others, he said.
“Dismiss apprehension, fair lady! behold in me one whose breast Love has
already sanctified and set apart: I am therefore incapable of yielding
to any impulse which might alarm your delicacy, or teach you to conclude
yourself vainly interpreted.--My faith is another’s, but my friendship
and my services are at the command of every virtuous or suffering woman.
This youth you speak of, is it to my care you would entrust him? or
would you that I try to obtain for him some honorable station near the
person of Prince Abbas?”
“O no!” exclaimed Maimuna hastily, “it is to you I would confide him for
safety and instruction. To cure his fatal passion for war, I consent to
let him witness one campaign; only to witness it: for this I have sought
you Christian. I entreat you to become his guardian; trusting to your
power of keeping him as far from personal danger as is possible in a
scene of warfare.”
Maimuna’s voice was so broken and varied while she uttered these
sentences, that Sebastian could not forbear suspecting her of too warm
an interest in the youth she recommended; but delicacy imposed silence,
and he replied solely by promising the protection she required.
His strange visitor then rose to depart: under the portico of the Kiosk
she paused again. “I need not ask you to be secret,” she said, “your own
thoughts, (perhaps somewhat injurious to me, and I call Heaven to
witness, unjustly!) will teach you what hard constructions may be put
upon my conduct.”
“I hazard no conjecture that is not honorable to your tenderness and
generosity;” returned Sebastian, gallantly kissing the hem of her veil,
“if this youth deserve so much rare solicitude, (and can I doubt that
he does?) what heart may censure you?”
Maimuna looked back at him with the air of one struck by an unexpected
remark; she repeated his last words in a livelier tone, then breaking
off with a sigh, asked at what hour, Zaphna, her protegée, should join
him on the morrow. Sebastian named the hour after sun-rise, and the lady
departed.
The reflections occasioned by this singular adventure, were interrupted
by the appearance of Prince Abbas: he came to inform the Portuguese
knight of some unexpected movement of the enemy, which rendered a change
in the Persian dispositions absolutely indispensible: after settling the
new plan, and having dispatched his page with orders to the different
officers, Prince Abbas said carelessly.
“I disturbed you in an evil hour: if I may judge from the charming
figure of the lady who had just quitted you, your mind was not in the
mood for severe considerations.”