Sebastian meant to deliver him into the hands of the Basha; his whole
conduct therefore must have been a tissue of falsehood from the
commencement, and doubtless the throne or government of Persia, was to
be the price of his successful treachery.--In order to make vengeance
secure, he believed it right to let the traitor enter upon his base
project.
Having stood ruminating awhile, he gave the woman his purse, and bidding
her follow him, hastened to the palace.
The surprize of the Sophi exceeded that of his son; his indignation
could not pass beyond that of Abbas: an order was immediately issued for
several persons to watch the movements of Sebastian, and when he was
fairly entered on his plan, and out of the city with his companions, to
seize them all and cast them into a dungeon until the return of Prince
Abbas.
Forced by duty, Abbas was now obliged to join his troops and commence
his march: but his heart in tumults, his brain almost maddened by rage,
disappointed love, betrayed friendship, made him ill able to conduct the
army of Persia.
Meanwhile Sebastian’s soul respiring only the tenderest and most
generous emotions, was anxiously waiting the signal for joining his
associates: if his thoughts wandered from Aziek, they left her sweet
image only to seek the throne of Almighty Power and Almighty Goodness;
they did not leave her, since it was for her he prayed.
Night now had cast her sudden shadow over the city of Ispahan: armed
with authority, and permitted to go whither he would, and at whatever
hour, the Christian knight called his page, and accompanied by the
Turkish soldier, (with whom he appeared conversing about the resources
of Ibrahim) he traversed the streets, and passing one of the remotest
gates, quickly joined his Italians, who with four stout horses waited at
a short distance among some trees.
It was then that Sebastian, who had hitherto preserved a thoughtful
silence, which the agitated Zaphna did not appear inclined to break,
turned towards him, and giving him a written paper, which the boy took
and put into his breast, began to inform him of his destination: at this
juncture a band of armed men, headed by an officer of Prince Abbas’s,
rushed from behind a thicket, and sprung on the astonished party.
Seized before he could be aware of their approach, and ignorant of his
crime, Sebastian knew it would be fruitless to attempt resistance; his
calm undaunted air awed his captors; he listened with amazement to their
accusation of perfidy; but perceiving the force of appearances, he
simply requested to be taken either to the Sophi or to the English
Ambassador.
Neither of these requests were granted; he was hurried back to Ispahan,
brought to the state-prison, and there thrust into its vilest cell.
Zaphna, whose senses had forsaken him at these terrible words--“the
Prince of Persia denounces you as a traitor,” was also confined in a
dungeon, and left there to weep the consequence of a fatal abandonment
of woman’s law.
All these events passed with so much circumspection, secrecy, and
promptitude, that not even Sir Anthony Shirley heard the news till the
next day at noon: transfixed with horror, scarcely crediting his senses,
and incapable of lightly attributing such unexampled baseness to the
noble Portuguese, feeling too that not only his own honour was
implicated, but the interest of his sovereign endangered by her
ambassador’s indiscreet confidence, he lost no time in seeking an
audience of the Sophi.
The aged monarch’s faculties had received a stimulus from these
extraordinary circumstances, and he spoke with as much discrimination as
vehemence, while he refused to permit an interview between Shirley and
the foreigner, until the return of Prince Abbas.
Overwhelmed with regret and trouble, Sir Anthony retired, still
wandering in a maze of contradictory fears, conjectures, and hopes.
Meanwhile Sebastian remained in his dungeon the prey of agonizing
thoughts: his guards had informed him that he was accused of intending
to betray the Persians, that his guilt was proved by the evidence of the
Italians, who confessed that they were employed to attend him to the
Basha’s fortress; and that the pretence of going to release a favorite
lady, was rendered absurd by the circumstance of his being detected in
carrying off a Persian woman. That crime alone deserved death, more
especially since this woman was now known to be the object of Prince
Abbas’s concealed attachment.
At this detail Sebastian gave himself up for lost: innocent as he was,
circumstances had fatally conspired to give an air of falsehood to his
conduct, and from whatever motive Maimuna had sought his protection, it
was evident his life must pay the forfeit of her indiscretion. Not for
himself, he alternately supplicated Heaven’s assistance, or wildly
bewailed its hard decree; it was for Kara Aziek that he raved, for her
who only lived in the fond hope of obtaining liberty and happiness from
his hands.
One ray of consolatory expectation beamed on him; it proceeded from a
knowledge of Abbas’s naturally noble character: perhaps even outraged
love might not be powerful enough to harden so upright a heart against
the impression of truth. If Sebastian were frankly to relate the story
of his attachment, Abbas might eventually discover, that the friend in
whom he had confided, had neither betrayed his mistress nor his King.
This expectation was soon destroyed: the first day closed, the second
night was already far advanced, when tumultuous sounds were heard in the
streets of Ispahan; confusion, consternation, sorrow, evidently reigned
throughout the capital; murmurs and lamentations reached even to the
dungeon of Sebastian: half-starting from the ground on which he was
lying, he listened to catch some articulate sound, nothing was distinct;
all was hurry and distress.
Divining part of the truth, his agitation became intolerable: Abbas,
most likely, had been again defeated.--Mighty God! and Sebastian’s
avenging arm was chained down by iron bolts! at this thought, the groan
that burst from his great heart shook the wails of his cell: he pulled,
he tugged his heavy chain; he essayed to tear up the ponderous staple
by which it was rivetted to the stone pavement. Vain were all his
efforts; again the noise increased--it approached--it was in the prison!
At the echo of several hasty steps passing his door, he demanded loudly
what had happened? for a while no one attended to him; at length a
person answered sternly, “the Prince is taken, the Sophi is dead--the
people call aloud for your head!” the man moved away as he spoke,
leaving Sebastian transfixed with an emotion to which no name could be
given: it might be hope, it might be despair; Sebastian himself knew not
which it was.
While yet motionless, he heard his name repeated vehemently without, and
re-echoed through all the passages of the vaults; a moment after, the
door of his cell flew open.
Prepared to meet instant death, the brave and unfortunate King roused
himself to breast the torrent of popular fury; his whole soul was
collected in his eyes, as he drew back like one who stations himself,
and directed a steady look towards his murderers.
A croud rushed in; amongst these, he beheld Sir Anthony Shirley, and the
still-disguised Maimuna: sinking at his feet, while some soldiers
knocked off his fetters, she exclaimed, “you are free! hasten to rescue
the Prince!”
The dream-like amazement of Sebastian suspended utterance, he looked
round on the persons who filled the cell with an air which asked
explanation; Sir Anthony Shirley with less agitation but equal haste
briefly replied, that the paper found on Zaphna, added to her voluntary
confession, and the testimony of him who had acted as interpreter
between him and the Turkish prisoner, had cleared his reputation; that
the people no longer doubted his fidelity, but trusted to him for
succour in this their time of extremity.
Prince Abbas had been taken by a stratagem, with all his principal
officers, and overcome with such news, the aged Sophi had expired of
grief: the soldiers now called for their former general, and so far from
thirsting for his blood, they swore not to unsheath a sword unless at
his command.
On the wings of the wind, with a heart triumphing in the hope of again
rescuing his friend, Sebastian broke through the crowd, and joined the
diminished troops; a sword caught from the hand of a guard flamed in his
grasp; his eyes communicated electric fire to every desponding
individual: with one voice they hailed their war-genius, and marshalling
around him, called on him to lead them to victory.
This spontaneous acquittal touched him sensibly: these people then, were
better judges of his character than the man who believed himself his
friend; but these people compared his actions without prejudice, and
Abbas was blinded by jealousy.
Did Sebastian meditate what is called a _noble revenge_, when he
traversed with the velocity of light, the tract of country which divided
him from Abbas? no; his heart was only eager to prove its own integrity
and to save his friend.
Animated by his example, the troops respired confidence and conquest:
they ran rather than marched; and in a few hours came up with the Basha,
who, evading the remnant of Abbas’s army, had made a skilful turn, and
leaving a small force to amuse and keep them in check, was advancing
rapidly upon Ispahan.
Inequality of numbers was now an atom; where everything must be lost,
where everything is not risked, there remains no alternative. Sebastian
drew up his little army in an advantageous position, which from the
nature of the ground, rendered the enemy’s cavalry useless, and blocked
out part of his infantry; there he offered, and he gave battle.
Who may doubt the success of loyalty and enthusiasm? Sebastian poured
the tide of battle at will: his troops repulsed those of the Basha;
attacked in their turn, broke through the thick squadrons, dispersed,
drove, pursued, routed them!
The Basha himself fell by the hand of a Persian soldier: at this event
the Turks and Syrians laid down their arms and terminated the contest.
Sebastian flew to their camp; he enquired for the Prince of Persia and
was shewn a tent strictly guarded, where the soldiers delivered up their
swords and led him in. Seated on the ground in a posture of sullen
despair, he beheld Abbas; the Prince raised his eyes, the lightning that
flashed from them announced his error: “what, traitor? escaped?” he
started up as he spoke, and would have rushed upon his deliverer, but
Sebastian wrested his arm, exclaiming in a voice that made itself
obeyed, “hold Prince! there are some things which not even a friend may
pardon:--I _am_ your friend still.”
At this instant the tent was crouded with Persian officers and soldiers;
some fell at their beloved monarch’s feet, some pressed forward to kiss
his hand, while all expressed, in confused sentences, admiration of
Sebastian. Abbas eagerly inquired the meaning of these eulogiums.
His royal father’s chief equerry, who had been present during the
strange avowal of Maimuna, hastened to inform him, that one of the
officers who had assisted in seizing the Christian, recollected a paper
which, had been found on the page, and which though directed to Sir
Anthony Shirley, he carried to the Sophi: this paper contained
Sebastian’s narrative to the ambassador of his intended enterprize, and
its motives. The Sophi astonished and bewildered sent for Shirley, and
by his advice caused the man to be sought for, who had interpreted
between the knight and the Turk; this man’s evidence was in strict
conformity with the contents of the letter: nothing remained but to
elucidate the mystery of Sebastian’s female page.
Maimuna was sent for; it was then, that wild with despair at having
caused so much horror, the trembling girl sunk on her knees, and
confessed that a hopeless passion for the Prince had prompted her to
assume a disguise, and seek the protection of one with whom she thought
herself assured of seeing Abbas: she protested that her wishes had not
gone beyond that of ever being near him, and perhaps of succouring him
if wounded. His apparent unobservance of her, (for how often does love
thus painfully blind us to what we wish to see!) had persuaded her that
she might be seen by him under any form without being recognized; since
however he had discovered her, since it was Abbas who deemed her guilty
of an unpardonable crime, she was willing to expiate her fault, and end
her grief with her life.
This extraordinary recital was accompanied by an emotion too powerful
for art to assume; her tears and blushes while she spoke of Prince
Abbas, bore conviction to the Sophi, who pitying so excessive a passion,
and moved by the memory of her dead father’s services, granted her
forgiveness, and commanded all mention of her disguise to cease amongst
his attendants.
The other companions of Sebastian having been separately re-examined,
continued to bear the same testimony to the fidelity of their
master--they were therefore honourably discharged, and the Sophi was
just about to charge the impatient Shirley with an order for his gallant
friend’s release, when a messenger arrived with the news of Prince
Abbas’s capture.
At the first words spoken by this indiscreet person, the aged Sophi fell
into the arms of an attendant, deprived of sense: he breathed again, but
he spoke no more; his eyes were for awhile raised with anguish to
Heaven, then weighed down by the hand of death, closed for ever!
When the officer who narrated these events came to this part of his
recital, the young Sophi uttered a cry, and throwing himself on the
earth, covered his head with his mantle; no one ventured to disturb his
grief:--the tears of a virtuous son for a tender parent are precious in
the sight of men and angels.
After awhile he raised himself with a serious but desolated air, and
looked wishfully round for his friend; but he saw him not. Sebastian had
disappeared the moment his own justification began; he had gone in
search of Kara Aziek.
Trembling at every question he put to the Turks and Syrians, lest their
answers should inflict a deadly wound, he hurried from tent to tent: at
length one of the Basha’s officers confirmed the account given by Jusuf,
and assured Sebastian that the Moorish lady with her attendants were
still in the fortress of Ebhn Sait.--There was yet another question to
ask, and again the lover’s heart died within him; the inquiry rose to
his lips, and fell back.
After some efforts he was able to ask whether the Basha’s marriage had
yet been solemnized?--“No--the Moorish lady had at first pleaded the
rights of mourning; then followed the death of an European woman who
accompanied her; and that event, united to the warlike anxieties which
forcibly engrossed the Basha, had delayed his happiness; since that
period she had suddenly proclaimed herself a Christian, and swore to die
rather than unite her soul with that of an infidel.”
What became of Sebastian at this information?--a pang of joy (for it was
joy even to agony,) seized his passionate and pious heart; he caught the
arm of the man who spoke, and closing his eyes, exclaimed in a
suffocated voice, “stop--stop--I can bear no more!”
A few moments recovered him; he moved his hand from the Mussulman’s
arm, and rushing away, to a solitary spot, prostrated himself before
that Saviour whose divine mission Aziek had at length acknowledged.
He wept in the fullness of virtuous satisfaction: her conversion, her
safety, his late perilous situation, the triumph of his arms, the rescue
of Abbas, those tumultuous changes of his fate from disgrace to
exultation, from despair to transport, changes which had hurried and
exhausted his soul--all flowed in these relieving tears. It might be
said that this was the most delicious moment of Sebastian’s life.
Having indulged his emotion, he arose, and returned to find Prince
Abbas: they met seeking each other.--Abbas abashed at sight of a man to
whom he owed so much, and whom he had used so violently, stopped, drew
back, and averting his head with a look of shame, timidly stretched out
his arms: the generous Sebastian sprung forward and strained him to his
breast; that embrace supplied the place of speech.
They remained silent for some time; at length preventing the faltering
voice of the young Sophi, Sebastian exclaimed, “we part here, my friend,
for awhile--you doubtless hasten to re-animate Ispahan--I fly to secure
her, without whom I am nothing.--When thou seest her Abbas!--thou wilt
confess--but no--it is her soul thou shouldst see, to make a love like
mine lose its seeming madness.”
The Sophi answered by ordering his troops to follow at the command of
Sebastian; he would not pain his noble friend by obstinately recurring
to those thanks he wished to wave, but he grasped his hand while
speaking, with an agitation of eye and limb, which left no doubt of his
gratitude. The army then arranged themselves in the order of march, with
their prisoners and their spoil, and headed by their new sovereign, took
the road to Ispahan.
Sebastian selected a small band in case of resistance, and crossed the
country to the fortress of Ebhn Sait.
As he ascended the steep heights leading to this interesting place, his
heart alternately rushed forward and receded: how much did he still
fear! for how much he loved!
The oriental architecture of the building, and the romantic scenery
amongst which it stood, rendered its appearance rather beautiful than
threatening: a few pieces of Turkish ordnance mounted the walls; these
however were deserted; and as Sebastian approached, he beheld the gates
open and the courts unguarded.--His hopes withered at once; he halted an
instant, then recovering himself, gave some brief orders in case of
being allured by a stratagem; he then led part of his troops into the
interior.
No one was visible; they penetrated the passages and the chambers; all
were abandoned.--Struck with grief and dismay Sebastian pronounced in a
sorrowful tone the name of Kara Aziek; that well-known voice was
answered by a cry of joy: a door hitherto unseen, flew open, and the
object of all his hopes and fears springing from a couch on which she
had been sleeping, flew towards him, and threw herself into his arms.
His animated air, the dress of the soldiers by whom he was surrounded,
the very manner with which he held and embraced her, assured her that he
came as a conqueror and a deliverer: her spirit had been long racked
with various alarms; the dreadful scenes of war, and the more terrifying
contests with the Basha’s rude passion, had completely subdued her, and
she was no longer mistress of herself when she felt freedom and
happiness on the breast of him she loved.
Her joy took the character of delirium: she wept, and smiled, and
sobbed; repeated the same unconnected words again and again; held
Sebastian with wild strength, and gazed at him with such a fixed yet
troubled look, as a person might be supposed to give, who feared to
behold another vanish into air.
This strange transport perhaps mixed a salutary alloy with that of
Sebastian; he trembled for her delicately-constructed frame, and far
from giving loose to his own feelings, was only assiduous to soften, and
gently control hers.
By degrees her joy lost its fearfulness and its tumult, and settled into
delightful certainty: she ceased to speak; but she remained leaning on
the shoulder of her hero; at intervals raising his hand to her lips with
an expression of happiness and gratitude in her eyes, as she lifted them
towards heaven.
With what fulness of delight, with what tenderness, did Sebastian sit
contemplating her, as their hearts only spoke to each other! The
information of the Basha’s officer had taken away every sentiment of
regret or self-blame at indulging an attachment which his bigotted
tenets sometimes led him to condemn: it was now, that he felt privileged
to pour his whole soul into hers,--to mix, to unite, to confound them
indeed for ever.
While his arms encircled her, he thought no more of camps or of courts,
of the world and its vain pageants; nay, he ceased to think of the
beauteous body which enclosed the spirit he loved: he felt that spirit
only, and believed that an eternity of such sweet and pure emotions as
the present, would be an eternity of beatitude.
The Persian soldiers now re-entered, impatient for permission to sack
the fortress and to return home; Sebastian roused himself, and moving
with many a lingering look from Kara Aziek, hurried over the building to
discover whether any Turks were concealed.--It was evident that these
people had precipitately abandoned it on the news of their general’s
defeat, (without caring for the women, whom they left as completely
ignorant of their flight, as of the motive which prompted it) and had
fled homewards.
Having ascertained their absence, and booty, Sebastian prepared litters
for his beloved and her women, which they joyfully entered, and borne by
soldiers, set forward on their way to the capital.
CHAP. V.
It was night when the triumphant band entered Ispahan: they found the
streets and the gardens illuminated; every place was crowded with people
rending the air with acclamations, in which the names of the new Sophi
and his victorious friend were joined.
Sebastian’s heart throbbed with virtuous exultation: it was to him this
populous city was indebted for her deliverance and for her monarch!--His
steps were now impeded by frequent parties of the citizens forcibly
stopping him to crown his head with garlands, and to bless him for their
freedom: it was with difficulty he could reach the house of Sir Anthony
Shirley, where he assisted Kara Aziek to quit her litter, and led her
into the apartments of the ambassador.
Shirley welcomed back his guest with open arms, Sebastian returned his
embrace, and thanking him for the justice he had rendered to his
principles, presented the fair proof of his truth.
When the lovely Moor threw back her veil to answer the courteous
salutation of the Englishman, a modest glow animated her softly-speaking
eyes, but those eyes floated in tears, for the sight of Sir Anthony
Shirley brought back the memory of his countrywoman whom death had so
lately torn away. She spoke, she moved, and the grave statesman
delighted with the melody of her voice, and the grace and symmetry of
her shape, forgot that the hue of the olive was spread over those
exquisite limbs.
Sweet to the lover is the tributary admiration paid to the object of his
adoration! Sebastian read Shirley’s approval in his looks, and eager to
display the still lovelier part of his Aziek, won her into discourse.
Their theme was the story of Aziek’s friend; of her last illness, her
resignation, her saint-like piety, her death!--regret and affection made
Kara Aziek eloquent, and both her auditors hung on her accents with
intent pleasure. As she described the important scenes that had passed
between her and this superior woman, each listened attentively: Kara
Aziek was describing the progress of her own conversion. Sebastian was
only attentive to discover whether she really had deserted the standard
of the false prophet; Shirley anxiously hoped to hear that she had
become a convert to the new doctrine of Luther.
Both were satisfied;--Aziek was a Christian and a Lutheran: the
death-bed of Amelia had sealed her arguments.
“What a noble soul! what a rare judgment!” exclaimed Sir Anthony,
inwardly: “She has acknowledged Jesus!” said Sebastian to himself,
“that is the first step--and I should be satisfied with it. The false
creed of this Englishwoman will soon be displaced by our sublime
mysteries: my Aziek’s mind is capable of being darkened by the prejudice
of affection, but affection also may enlighten it again.”
With this soothing thought he yielded to his joy, and expressed it
rapturously: the entrance of the Sophi, whom not even his august dignity
could restrain from hastening to his preserver, interrupted the
conversation.