CHAPTER X (continued).

NOURMAHAL,

An Oriental Romance.

BY MICHAEL J. QUIN,

AUTHOR OF “A STEAM VOYAGE DOWN THE DANUBE,”

“A VISIT TO SPAIN,” ETC.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. III.

LONDON:

HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,

13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.

1838.

LONDON:

PRINTED BY STEWART AND MURRAY,

OLD BAILEY.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER X (continued).

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER XIII.

CHAPTER XIV.

CHAPTER XV.

CHAPTER XVI.

CHAPTER XVII.

CHAPTER XVIII.

CHAPTER XIX.

NOTES TO VOLUME I.

NOTES TO VOLUME II.

NOTES TO VOLUME III.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

PUBLISHER ADVERTISEMENTS

CHAPTER I.

Tell him the balmy breath of spring

Hath waked from winter sleep

The hills and vales;--that on the wing

In airy circles sweep

The blithesome birds from tree to tree,

Sweet minstrels of the grove!

Oh! bid him feel their ecstasy,

But tell not that I love!

Tell him the primrose now is seen

On every bank and brae;

That all the fields look gaily green

Beneath the cloudless day.

Hark! the brooks murmur as they fall,

Soft as the turtle-dove!

Oh! how these scenes the past recall!

But tell not that I love!

Tell him that now in every dale,

Beneath the hawthorn shade,

The shepherd woos, with artless tale,

The fond believing maid.

All nature smiles, and I alone

A sense of sadness prove;

Oh! bid him come ere Spring be gone,

But tell not that I love!

STORY-TELLER OF CASHMERE.

It would be vain to deny that the presence of the young prince inspired

the gay equestrians, amongst whom he rode towards the fortress of

Kebeer, (as old Chunder called the subah’s castle,) with a more than

ordinary degree of animation. Besides Nourmahal’s special attendants,

or rather companions, for as such she usually treated those whose

duty it was to render her personal service, all the ladies of the

harem happened to have been out with her upon this occasion. They had

expressed an ardent curiosity to see the hermit, concerning whom Kanun

had told them every thing she had heard from her mistress--and rather

something more, for she, led on by her fertile imagination, ascribed

to Zeinedeen many magical attributes to which he made no sort of

pretension.

It was unfortunate for the purpose of his light-hearted visitors, that

Nourmahal did not find the sage in a mood in which she could have

thought of asking him to admit them to his presence. She had access to

his tower under all circumstances, for he felt so deep an interest in

her fortunes, that he was never unprepared to receive her, or unwilling

to afford her the consolation and advice which the peculiarity of her

situation required.

On more than one occasion expressions of almost paternal affection

towards her escaped his lips. Kazim’s name, too, he mentioned, as if

it had been long familiar to him. To the surprise of Nourmahal, he

appeared fully acquainted with the history of her family, from Kazim’s

first entrance into the college of Ulug Beg, to his elevation to the

highest civil office of the empire. He moreover informed her that both

her parents had, by the order of the emperor, set out for Cashmere, but

he feared that they were summoned to the emperor’s presence for no good

purpose. He suspected that Bochari intended to use them as instruments

for promoting his design, in some way or other, to obtain possession of

prince Chusero.

This intelligence was at once the source of joy and alarm to the mind

of Nourmahal. Scarcely any event could have been more delightful to

her, than the arrival in Cashmere of those whom she loved with all the

tenderness of the only affection, that never in her bosom was mingled

with pain. But the dimly shadowed suspicions of Zeinedeen filled

her with anticipations of evil, which the immediate approach of the

imperial troops was by no means calculated to diminish.

It happened, that while Nourmahal was with the hermit, breathing

all her anxiety upon this subject, three foreign, and very

remarkable-looking persons were admitted into his chamber, with whom

he at once entered into discussions that seemed to have been going on

for some days, as topics were frequently alluded to, on which Zeinedeen

and the strangers appeared to have already agreed. The latter spoke in

the Persian language, with an accent novel to the ear of Nourmahal,

but with an elegance of idiom which, combined with the extraordinary

statements they made, won her for the moment from her own thoughts.

The strangers had the crowns of their heads closely shaved, a wreath

of hair being still preserved, which, broken only over the forehead,

fell gracefully towards the back and shoulders. Upon the eldest of the

three, who was named Aquaviva, the lapse of more than seventy years

appeared to have left few traces beyond the silvery lustre of his

locks. Monserrate and Euriquez, his companions, were much younger.

Their countenances, of the noble European mould, and browned by the

sun of Hindostan, through which they had recently travelled, exhibited

a degree of lofty resolution, and, at the same time, of angelic

sweetness, which at once fixed Nourmahal’s attention. They were arrayed

in long flowing garbs of white camlet, cinctured at the waist by black

woollen cords, from which depended beads of an ebony colour, having

attached to them silver medals impressed with the portrait of a saint,

whom they called the Virgin, and crucifixes of the same material,

bearing the outstretched figure of a divine sufferer, whom they styled

the Messiah. When they first entered the hermit’s chamber their heads

were enveloped in cowls, which they drew back upon their mantles in

making their obeisance. Their feet were sandalled.

Zeinedeen was not unwilling that Nourmahal should hear the tidings

these interesting strangers came to announce. They spoke of a land

that once flowed with milk and honey, and contained a people the

peculiar favourites of the High God, amongst whom this Messiah was

born--amongst whom he spent his life--teaching them doctrines of the

most sublime description. But while he was yet an infant they sought

his death, and not being able to discover him, they slew innocents

without number, filling their beauteous cities with mourning, in order

that he should not escape their unprovoked vengeance. To his words,

when he grew up, they would not listen; and when wonders, such as earth

had never witnessed before--a voice from the skies--the leper suddenly

cleansed--the incurable restored to health--the dead to life--doctrines

which no mind merely human could have conceived, bore in letters of

light, testimony to his origin and his mission--the very people who

ought to have been the first to love and worship him, condemned him to

crucifixion!

Nourmahal’s heart wept as Aquaviva unfolded the history of the Holy One

represented on his beads. She expressed a strong desire to learn more

upon the subject, but the advancing day, and the recollection that the

ladies of the harem were waiting below, prevented her from prolonging

her visit.

That group of fair equestrians, take them all in all, when joined by

Nourmahal, formed as lovely a cavalcade as the eye of a warrior could

desire to rest upon. Some three or four were originally captives, who

had become the property of Afkun by right of war, during the civil

contests which had taken place in Cashmere. Others he had purchased

from the masters of caravans passing through the country, with a view

to protect them from the tyranny of their owners, of whose conduct

towards them they had but too much reason to complain. They were

almost all Georgian or Mingrelian females, scarcely inferior to those

of Circassia in gracefulness of figure, or purity of complexion, and

more than equal to them in liveliness of temper and quickness of

intelligence.

The single passion by which the heart of the subah was engrossed, left

him but a slight fund of affection for the secondary ornaments of his

establishment. It was a necessary part of his state, as viceroy, to

have his harem filled with bright-eyed damsels. To a generous soul like

his, it was no small gratification to have the means of affording a

safe and agreeable home to females, whose exposure to vicissitude and

suffering became only more imminent, in proportion to the beauty by

which they were distinguished.

Amongst all his cares and griefs, Afkun never forgot what was due to

the happiness even of the lowliest of those inmates of his household.

He cherished them for their very dependence upon him. All that he knew

of love,--the deepest, the tenderest, that ever fired the pulse of

man,--he consecrated to Nourmahal. He gave it the more, the more he was

forsaken; for hope still lent a gleam of sunshine even to his visions

of despair. But, at the same time, he continued uniformly to discharge,

with the utmost delicacy and kindness, his duties towards all those

who were under his protection. They felt and returned his beneficence.

They beheld, without jealousy, the unequivocal homage which he paid to

his principal consort; they even sympathized in those sufferings which

his heart silently sustained; and their only rivalry with each other

was to see who should best succeed, by gaiety of manner, by composition

of new airs or dances, or dramatic amusements, to beguile him of that

despondency to which his noble spirit seemed a predestined victim.

Nevertheless, as they rode along,--so natural is coquetry to the

sex,--they were not insensible, as many a side-glance and playful

smile could tell, to the martial bearing of the young prince, who now

commanded their escort. Some pitied him for his misfortunes; some could

not help admiring him for the reports they had heard of his valour;

others thought it but right to yield him the allegiance of their

hearts, as the person best entitled, in the subah’s opinion, to the

crown of Hindostan. For some reason or other, or no reason at all, the

language of admiration was eloquent in every eye. Girths never before

had such a propensity to loosen, or whips to fall, or ponies, hitherto

as quiet as the caged dove, to discharge themselves of their tremulous

burthens. It was the prerogative of the prince to compose their alarms;

his highness had abundant work on his hands, to pay, on all sides, the

attentions which the exigencies of each moment demanded.

Afkun, riding by the side of Nourmahal, could well afford to smile

at these little accidents. Although she appeared more than usually

reserved, (the intelligence about her beloved parents,--the tidings

of the strange dervishes,--the unexpected meeting with the emperor,

might well have made her so,) still for Afkun it was enough to know

that he was so near to the star of his existence. There was something

even in the checked pacing of his proud Arabian, moving step for step

with her favourite palfrey, which afforded him pleasure. He spoke

cheerfully of the strong defences of the castle, which he pointed out

to Nourmahal as they approached that fortress. He showed her that its

heights were domineered by no others within the reach of the most

powerful artillery; that no hostile force could attempt to cross the

moat by which it was surrounded, without being exposed to instant

destruction, and that the idea of scaling the mural precipices which

ascended from the moat to the citadel would be insanity, even if all

other difficulties had been overcome. What pangs would not have rent

the bosom of that animated soldier, had he known how lightly his

observations fell upon the heart to which they were addressed, and that

other words, of more than magic power, were still breathing round it a

music that turned all other sounds adrift upon the empty air!

Behind Nourmahal, however, rode a maid,--that pale Circassian,--for

whom no look, no word that escaped the subah was ever lost, when she

was within its influence. Nothing, perhaps, would have surprised Kanun

so much as to be told by some lynx-eyed observer of her conduct, that

however contented she felt in the presence of her mistress, to whom

she was affectionately attached, she might have been said to live only

when breathing the same atmosphere with Afkun. He was indeed the sun in

whose rays her lilied countenance unfolded all its natural charms. But,

ah! that sun, she often thought to herself, was so far above her reach,

that beyond the delight of contemplating it often from her humble

station, she conceived no hope.

The subah never had the slightest cause for suspecting this tender and

silent love. As the handmaid of her to whom he was so utterly devoted,

she was always pleasing in his sight. So was any tree or plant which

Nourmahal preferred. So was any bird she fed from her own hand, or any

prospect of the scene around, which she thought particularly beautiful.

He could not indeed but have observed the diligence with which Kanun

always arranged his toilet, placing in the vases of his cabinet those

flowers which she knew he liked best, because they were favourites of

Nourmahal, and preparing for his use napkins fringed by her own skill

with gold, and perfumed with the most grateful essences. All these

attentions he marked with delight, because he hoped that they were

suggested by Nourmahal. It never occurred to him that they might have

emanated from any other source.

Kanun believed it to be her province, to busy herself as much as

possible in every thing of a domestic nature that related to the subah.

She kept the keys of his ward-robe--was always the first to enter his

cabinet after he quitted it--often rested her head, and gave free scope

to sighs, to tears, on the cushion still warm with his breath after his

noon-tide slumber. She suffered no hand but her own to gather up the

fine linen he had just left off. It exhaled a fragrance that revived

the fading bloom of her heart. But, affected as she was by all these

symptoms of an unchangeable, adoring, passion, she dared not to confess

even to her most secret reflections, that existence would for her have

no value, if Afkun were no more.

Nobody who had beheld that gay and gallant cavalcade crossing the

drawbridge of the castle, would have supposed that they were entering

a species of prison, in which, according to all probability, they were

likely to be strictly enclosed for months to come. With the exception

of the viceroy and his consort, all looked as cheerful as the open

day. The prince, full of the ardour of youth, entered into the playful

sallies of his fair companions, with unrestrained glee, carefully

preserving himself, however, within the limits of that decorous

familiarity, which, as a guest of the subah, it was incumbent upon him

not to violate. The least transgression, in this respect, would have

at once solved every bond between them. Omrah, prince, or emperor,

whatever the rank, or power, of the man, received within the door, be

to him sacred the treasures of the harem, or his blood must answer for

it. Upon this point our laws, our feelings of honour, know no exception

or indulgence. The harem we defend at the peril of all things,--wealth,

station, glory, life, a thousand lives if we possessed them.

CHAPTER II.

Oh! that I were a shepherd boy,

Upon some green hill side;

Fair flocks and herds my only joy,

A pipe my only pride!

Then far from war and thee I’d stray

In search of peace alone,

Courting the shade the live-long day,

Unknowing and unknown.

The birds that with sweet rapture greet

The morn, my mates would be;

And ocean murmuring at my feet,

Would lend its minstrelsy

To soothe the anguish of this breast,

That once lived on thy smile,

Nor feared, while in its sunshine blest,

’Twas meant but to beguile!

But no,--I ne’er shall thee accuse,

Thy heart no falsehood stains:

’Twas Fancy gave thy cheek those hues,

That held my soul in chains.

Forget thy vow--the heaven I felt,

Believing thou wert mine;

And think the valley where we knelt,

A visionary shrine!

STORY-TELLER OF CASHMERE.

The drawbridge being passed by the whole party, was, on the instant,

raised by the warders of the castle, one of whom stated to Afkun, in

a low voice, that not only the van-guards, but the imperial troops,

had been just seen from the watch-tower, descending the mountains, and

approaching rapidly towards the capital.

“Oh! thanks to Allah!” exclaimed Nourmahal, who over-heard the

communication.

The warder looked no less astonished than the subah, who controlled his

feelings, however, until having alighted, he assisted his consort to

dismount, and conducted her to her chamber.

“What am I to understand, Nourmahal, from these words you have just

uttered?”

“That I am transported with the hope of soon again beholding my beloved

parents!”

Afkun had not seen Nourmahal betray so much emotion, since the morning

she quitted Agra. He could not comprehend it. It came upon him as if a

thunder-cloud broke upon his head.

“Yes, Afkun--my parents--your friends--they are, or will speedily

be with the army. Zeinedeen has informed me so; and may Allah grant

that my father’s presence, his unfailing wisdom, his just influence

with both the contending parties, may bring these dire contests to a

peaceable issue!”

“I was not prepared for this. The high chancellor, Kazim;--he, indeed,

whom I have never ceased to love--he, Nourmahal, who placed this hand

in mine--if any power on earth can subdue the malice of Bochari--can

extinguish that torch which has set the empire in conflagration--it

must be Kazim.”

“Wonder then no longer, Afkun, at my feelings of joy.”

“I share them with you; nothing could happen which would afford me much

greater happiness than to receive within our gates those two beloved

sources of your existence, by you scarcely more beloved than by me.”

Nourmahal, in the flush of happiness that lightened in her countenance,

thanked her husband with one of those heavenly smiles, for which, were

it his to bestow, he would have given the empire of the world.

“Oh! cherished one,” he exclaimed, folding his arm round her waist, and

looking in fixed rapture upon her glowing cheek--“Oh! Nourmahal--should

it be Kazim’s fortune, by his sage counsels to terminate this war,

consistently with the just rights of the prince, and the interests

of the empire--say that we shall retire from these turmoils of lofty

station, and take up our abode in some solitude, where we shall

thenceforth live only for each other! Promise me but this--and for

myself I shall demand no other terms.”

“My hand is yours, Afkun. You know who it was that surrendered it to

your care. Never--I truly believe--never was a wife more beloved than I

have been--than I am!--beloved much--far beyond my deserts”----

“That, Nourmahal, were impossible.”

“You have often--too often,” she added, turning away her eyes, “felt

the insensibility with which I have met your affection--that affection

ever to me the same--ever generous--ever ardent. Forgive, Afkun, these

tears--they rush from all the fountains of my soul”----

“They are natural--sacred. The hope of seeing again, and soon, those

whom we both so truly love”----

“Would that that were the only cause!”

“You feel no alarm for the safety of the high chancellor?”

“None--no--no. Oh, these unbidden witnesses!--they will reveal all!”

exclaimed Nourmahal, endeavouring to check the tears that flooded her

cheek.

Afkun trembled, fearful that some dreadful disclosure was coming. He

led Nourmahal to the divan; sitting by her, he took her hand in his,

and repeatedly kissing it, besought her to be comforted.

“Alas! speak not thus to me--no kind word passes your lips that is not

a barbed arrow to my soul.”

“I have no suspicions, Nourmahal, of your honour--but if”----

“Say it at once--if you thought me false to you”----

“Ah, if that calamity be mine, Afkun has no further occupation in this

world!”

“You would plunge your knife here?”

“Allah be my witness that I would freely pour out all my blood for

you--be your guilt what it may!”

“Had you tendered me the poisoned bowl, I could now drain it to the

dregs!”

“Oh! why did I not perish at Lahore? Why on the battle-field was there

no sepulchre for me?”

“It is I--it is I--that should not have seen this day!”

“It is gone--the light of my heart--for ever! A hope--I will confess

it--was growing there that when these contentions were over, I should

abandon all pursuits of glory, and fly to some mountain home, where,

dedicated entirely to thee, Nourmahal, by thee solely cherished in

return, we should yield all our remaining days to the repose of

well-tried affection. That vision which has cheered me through many

a weary hour--which nerved my arm, and fired my soul in moments of

desperate engagement--which even forbade me to remember the marks

of indifference from thee that sometimes forced themselves on my

attention--that enchanting vision is no more. Oh, Allah!” exclaimed the

subah, rising and wringing his hands together in frantic grief--“Oh,

spirit of justice!--of benevolence, for such thou must be, who rulest

the world--what have I done to deserve this terrible penalty at thy

hands? Nourmahal faithless to me?”----

“Understand all my guilt--but not more. Your rights as my consort--my

honour as your wedded wife--remain, and ever shall remain to the last

moment of my life inviolate.”

Afkun heard this declaration, made in the emphatic and dignified tone

of innocence, with a manifest sense of joy. A gleam of light flashed

from his livid face.

“Repeat those words--they bring back the ebbing current to my heart.”

“The daughter of the house of Ayas--I will add, the wife of Shere

Afkun--knows too well the respect she owes to her family, to her

honoured lord, to herself, to incur any guilt that would degrade her in

her own, or in their esteem.”

“Spoken like an Ayas. Oh Heaven, I thank thee that I have lived to hear

these words, happen what may! What then is there, Nourmahal, which I

cannot endure--cannot forgive?”

“That which I dare not disclose to thee now, Afkun. Leave me. I am in

agony.”

“Ah, the fatal truth is now before me! I read it in those tears.--The

sultan!”----

“I am, indeed, betrayed. You now know that which I have long

endeavoured to conceal--the fate against which I have struggled, but

which my woman’s strength has not been sufficient to subdue. It is

written in the books of Heaven against me.”

The warrior of a hundred fields--the slayer of the lion and the

tiger--he who by his single arm rescued a besieged town from a host

of invaders--and tore up the mound that turned a river from its

course--fell breathless as the still-born babe beneath the withering

sound of these words.

Nourmahal shrieked in alarm, fearful that the noble spirit had

departed. Kanun was instantly with her. Beholding the subah fallen

on the floor,--Nourmahal on her knees,--her cheeks pale,--her hands

endeavouring to open his, which were still clasped,--her lips uttering

incoherent cries,--the trembling maid knew not for a moment what to do.

Instinctively hastening to her own room, she returned with vases of

spikenard and vinegar, which she poured upon Afkun’s temples, rubbing

them with all her force. Then kindling frankincense, she held it to

the channels of his breath, while some of her companions, whom she

called to her assistance, bore away Nourmahal to her bed-chamber. The

affectionate Circassian, baring the feet of the subah, directed others

to anoint them in hot oil, while she continued, until her strength

was exhausted by her often-renewed exertions, to increase the nearly

subsided pulse of life which she still felt in his veins. It grew

stronger by degrees. The lips trembled and received again the colour

of health. The eye-lids opened, and the spirit within them looked out,

apparently in search of an object no longer to be seen.

“She is gone!” said Afkun, with a sob of anguish that seemed to rend

his bosom; “she is gone from me. We meet no more here!”

Kanun, kneeling down by her master, gently raised his head, and

prevailed upon him to taste a little sherbet. The pressure of his hand

upon her burning forehead told her how much he thanked her for her

services. He held her still near him. Her hair being dishevelled by her

exertions, he kindly parted it, and gazed for a moment on those eyes

all beaming upon him with confessions, which fell like drops of evening

upon the parched flower.

“There is, at all events,” he said, in a melancholy voice, “one being

who loves Afkun. Be it thine, Kanun, to preserve the urn in which my

ashes shall soon be enclosed. I desire for it no other monument than

this faithful lap, in which my head is now laid. Open the sepulchre

sometimes,--speak to me, and let a tear witness that you love your

master. Be faithful to me while you live; it will be some consolation

to my afflicted spirit. And when your hour is come, let them deposit

your remains with mine.”

The subah, rising gently, extricated himself from the arms of the

weeping girl, who, lost to every recollection save that of her love so

long suppressed, so unexpectedly recognised beyond the highest hope

she had ever allowed herself to cherish, continued on the carpet as if

she feared to lose the position in which she had the double happiness

of restoring her lord to life, and of receiving from him permission to

cherish, even beyond the grave, the only idol of her soul. It was a

bequest which she would not have exchanged for a sceptre. Love never

before obtained such a reward. She was inspired with the presentiment

that she might be summoned, before many hours elapsed, to perform the

office assigned to her, an office fraught with pangs of unutterable

grief, but of grief made sacred to her by affection,--of grief dearer

to her than any joy,--of grief destined, sooner or later, to seal upon

them both the same tomb,--their bridal bed,--the nuptial bower, where

they were never to separate!

Afkun ascended the watch-tower of the citadel, and plainly observed

drawn scymitars and spear-heads flashing in the sun, through clouds

of dust, in the direction of the pass through which masses of cavalry

could alone enter Cashmere. Their appearance was not necessary to

confirm the dark forebodings with which his mind was filled, although

his reason was convinced that, in a military point of view, his

position was impregnable.

Accompanied by the prince, he walked several times round the ramparts,

examined the guns planted on them, sounded the fidelity of the men who

formed the garrison, inspected the fountains, the stores of rice,

corn, and ammunition, took into his own possession the keys of the

inner gate, between which and the port-cullis, now firmly secured, the

chains of the draw-bridge were coiled up. He felt satisfied that he

was prepared for a blockade, not of months, but of years, if the enemy

thought fit to persevere so long; as to any other species of hostility,

he gave it not a moment’s reflection.

Nothing which had occurred would, however, prevent him from sending

a messenger to the emperor, with letters for Kazim Ayas and Mangeli,

inviting them to the castle, and proposing a truce during the period

they might have permission to remain there. Having informed Nourmahal

of his intention upon this point, and letters from both, addressed

to the high chancellor, under cover to Jehangire, having been placed

in the hands of an officer, the latter, escorted by twenty spearmen,

with their shields upon their backs, set out for the encampment of the

imperial army.

CHAPTER III.

The islands saw it, and feared; the ends of the earth

were astonished; they drew near and came.

THE ROYAL PROPHET.

Chunder’s announcement of the approach of the emperor suspended the

conference, in which the hermit was engaged with the three foreign

dervishes. Zeinedeen, as well as his visitors, were fully apprised of

the entry of the imperial army into the province, but they were not

prepared to behold the sovereign, in the simple attire of a Himalayan

hunter. The hermit received Jehangire with every token of respect,

assuring him that, although unescorted, beneath his roof the son of

Acbar--of a master whom he loved and honoured for his virtues, his

matchless valour, his devotion to the welfare of all his people, to

whatever religious sect they belonged, his munificent patronage of

learned men, and his selection for the great offices of state of

persons entitled to them by their integrity and talents--was secure

from every danger, and welcome to all the hospitality, however humble,

which that roof could afford.

Jehangire was affected by the warm-hearted reception which he

experienced from the hermit. The three strangers were about to make

their obeisances, when the emperor interposed, and saying in a familiar

way that as he was at present nothing more than a pilgrim, they must

treat him as such. Probably they were proceeding also to the temple of

Mahadeo, and would permit him to accompany them.

Aquaviva confessed that he and his companions were indeed, as the

emperor conjectured, pilgrims; but that their homage was due to other

shrines, in which the presence of the divinity depended upon no time or

season.

Auzeem remarked the courtly, yet simple and earnest manner in which

the stranger uttered these words, and drawing Jehangire aside,

informed him in a low voice that he believed these persons to be the

missionaries from the country of the Franks, who had obtained a license

from his majesty not long since to visit Hindostan. The emperor,

expressing his satisfaction at having thus encountered them, questioned

them on that point. They immediately produced the imperial rescript

to which Auzeem alluded, and expressed their happiness on being so

unexpectedly placed in the imperial presence.

Jehangire prided himself, and not altogether unjustly, upon his

acquaintance with the theological points of difficulty, that formed

the principal subjects of controversy among the diversified sects with

which his empire abounded. He was, therefore, strongly disposed to

enter at once upon the discussion of the doctrines which the strangers

came to inculcate. But Aquaviva, feeling that the great object he had

in view might be endangered, by embarking at the moment in an argument

with the emperor, humbly sought permission to wait upon his majesty at

some more favourable season, when his mind would be relieved from the

pressure of the civil war.

The hermit took the same view; but the emperor, remarking that topics

of this description were to him a favourite source of recreation, fixed

that the missionaries should attend him in the camp the following day.

He then gave them leave to withdraw; but as his curiosity to learn

the species of faith which they professed was strongly excited, he

requested, after their departure, that Zeinedeen would enlighten him on

that subject. The hermit expressed his readiness to obey the emperor’s

desire, though he felt scarcely competent to unfold so mighty a theme,

as he had been enabled to catch only a faint glimmering of it from the

communications of the strangers.

“But, sire,” he continued, “I have heard enough from those holy

men--for such I believe them to be--to convince my mind that they come

amongst us with tidings of no common character. When I look upwards and

behold in the midst of night the numberless worlds by which this small

planet is surrounded, I am astonished at the immeasurable affection

which the Great Spirit must bear to the beings whom he has placed here,

if it be true, as these messengers declare, that he has sent hither,

not a seraph, nor an archangel, but a God, to open to us the path by

which we are to ascend to his presence!”

“The books of the sibyls, and the traditions of all ages,” observed

Jehangire, “abound in predictions upon this subject. Mahomet applied

them to himself; but I must confess that I have never been able to

satisfy my understanding as to the propriety of his claims.”

“The strangers,” pursued Zeinedeen, “have produced to me books of

unquestionable antiquity, of which it is manifest that the Koran is

little more than a paraphrase.”

“I had an opportunity of seeing in Persia,” remarked Auzeem, “the

writings to which you allude. The plagiarisms of the prophet are

palpable.”

“It is now about sixteen centuries ago, as these foreigners say, since

three or four sages, skilled in the science of the heavens, while

engaged in contemplating the myriads of lights that glow in those happy

regions, beheld an orb of singular lustre suddenly descend from the

utmost heights of space. It then moved in the direction of the Great

Sea, and the sages, struck with admiration of its wonderful beauty,

as well as with a profound impression that it was the herald of some

supernatural event, followed it in its course, until it stopped over

an obscure village near Jerusalem. On their way they inquired of some

shepherds, who were keeping the night watches over their flocks,

whether any great king was lately born in that country; but before

the shepherds could give any answer to their questions, they were

all encompassed by a canopy of fire, which could have been no other

than the brightness of God. The air was filled with breathings of

incomparable harmony, while in the canopy were seen hosts of angelic

forms, whose voices proclaimed the birth of an infant, come to redeem

mankind from the penalty which their early disobedience to the Supreme

One would otherwise have entailed upon them. ‘Glory, therefore,’ sung

the heavenly host, ‘be to God in the highest, and peace to men of good

will!’”

“I would have given my empire,” exclaimed Jehangire, “to have heard

those sounds.”

“Following the course indicated by the star, the sages and the

shepherds entered a cave that had been commonly used as a stable, and

there they found laid in a manger, wrapped in bands of coarse linen,

a child newly born. They worshipped him, declaring all that they had

heard, and made him offerings of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

“The Jewish authorities, fearful that the end of their power was come,

sought the destruction of the infant; but he was taken into Egypt,

where he was preserved from their hatred. Returning afterwards to

Syria, he spent his early years in retirement amongst the mountains

and by the sea of Tiberias, whose lonely shores he seems to have loved

with a particular affection. The humble fishermen, who frequented its

waters, were his chosen companions. To them he imparted his doctrines,

and confided the propagation of the faith which he came to establish.”

“This is strange, seeing that his first worshippers were sages,” said

Auzeem.

“Every thing about this visitor of our planet was wonderful. He

appears, throughout the whole of his life here, to have been raised

above all men, not by the display of any symbol of authority, but by

his invariable meekness and humility. The single word LOVE, embraced

the whole of his religion--love for the Highest God, of whom the angels

sung--love for men to whom they announced the tidings of his perpetual

peace.

“Many events above the course of nature bore witness to the origin and

mission of this Teacher. Persons troubled with evil demons he rescued

from their sufferings; by a word he raised the dead to life, stilled

the tempest, gave language to the dumb, and hearing to the deaf, and

blood to the withered hand, and vision to the faded eye. He walked upon

the foaming waves of the sea. He passed, unseen, through multitudes.

He fed thousands upon a small basket of fish and bread, and still

abundant fragments remained after they were satisfied. While he was

inculcating his doctrine, on one occasion, amidst his chosen ministers,

upon the summit of a mountain, his face was suddenly illuminated, and

his garments became whiter than the snow. Two of the patriarchs of

the elder days descended from heaven, and conversed with him upon the

approaching termination of his career upon earth. They were succeeded

by a cloud, from which the Great Spirit spoke, declaring the Messiah to

be his Son, and commanding obedience to his precepts.

“One would think, that after such evidence as these events furnished

to the character of the Holy One, the generation of that day, at all

events, would have unanimously accepted him as their master, and loved

him as their mediator. On the contrary, they gave no belief to the

awful signs of his office; they despised his admonitions, ridiculed him

as an impostor, and finally sacrificed him to the jealousy of their

priesthood. The sun shrouded itself while the mob of Jerusalem nailed

him to a cross. The dead looked out from their sepulchres, disturbed by

the woe which convulsed all nature. But for that act, the haughty city,

whose palaces and temples glittered as the fairest then upon earth,

soon after became a heap of ruins, which it still remains, and the

descendants of that mob have been scattered through all nations, never

to be re-united until they repent them of their crime.”

“I have often remarked those Hebrews,” said the emperor, “in the

bazaars at Agra. Their countenances betray them as an outlawed race.

They never look composed. There are traces of agitation on the

quivering lip and the heated cheek, which have always made me look

at them, I knew not why, with suspicion, as if they had been fugitive

murderers.”

“He, the crucified, in three days arose from his tomb, and after

repeating to his ministers all that he had previously taught them,

ascended to the bright regions whence he came.”

“This is, in truth,” observed Auzeem, “a marvellous narrative. We have,

in Hindostan, a variety of traditions which evidently relate to the

Syrian prophet; and several of our poets even assure us, that there are

nights so perfectly clear and calm, as to disclose the path of light by

which he trod through the stars on his way to his heavenly abode.”

“But the greatest wonder of all, as it seems to me,” pursued the

hermit, “is the rapid and secure progress which the new doctrine made

through many nations. The ministers of the Messiah were all of them,

without exception, poor and uneducated men. But a Spirit is said to

have descended upon them, before they went forth to teach, which fired

their hearts with indomitable fortitude, and endowed their tongues

with every language. These inspired priests, without the aid of torch

or sword, overthrew myriads of idols, and substituted in their shrines

the cross. The sanguinary and superstitious rites to which men had

been accustomed they abolished, and in their room they established an

unbloody sacrifice, and a system of worship the most pure, the most

spiritual and exalting, which the human mind could adopt, as a memorial

of the redeeming God, and as a bond of sanctity between earth and

heaven.”

“I am deeply interested in this subject which you have just disclosed

to us,” said the emperor, “and should be much delighted if, when next

the strangers celebrate the rites of their religion, I could be present

to witness them. As to the shrine of Mahadeo, let it be demolished.”

“Methinks it is the hour,” rejoined Zeinedeen, rising and looking at

the sun, “when they perform their mid-day worship. They have converted

a large cavern in the neighbouring mountain into a temple, where they

are already attended by many followers. Yes, I hear the echo of the

hymn to the Virgin by which they usually preface their service.”

“Let us join them,” exclaimed the emperor, “without delay.”

As the hermit and his companions proceeded towards the mountain whence

the sounds proceeded, they were struck by the peculiar solemnity and

harmony of the tones which reached their ears. There was no effort at

effect in the music. It was the simple modulation of a suppliant heart

bending before the throne of the Most High, breathing of confidence in

the affection of the Parent to whom it was addressed, and calculated to

raise the soul to the contemplation of other worlds.

It swelled and died gradually upon the air as they went along, and at

some turns in the path it floated apparently so near them, that they

could almost distinguish the words. At the next step the melody died

away, as if it were terminated, and again a few paces and the full

choir, for all the worshippers joined in the anthem, resounded from the

cavern, at the entrance to which Jehangire and his companions paused to

listen.

CHAPTER IV.

I myself will take of the marrow of the high cedar,

and will set it: on the high mountains of Israel will I

plant it; and it shall become a great cedar, and every

fowl shall make its nest under the branches thereof.

EZEKIEL.

Proceeding forward, the emperor and his companions perceived an altar

raised at the end of the subterranean gallery, and illumined by

torches, amidst which were arranged bunches of flowers. Upon the altar

was spread a snow-white cloth, fringed with gold, and before a small

shrine of variegated marble, which was erected on the middle of the

altar, stood a richly chased golden chalice, covered by a paten of the

same material. Over both was disposed a veil of brocade, embroidered

with silver.

The cavern chapel was nearly filled with shepherds and peasants,

dressed out in their holiday costume, for it happened to be a festival

of the Virgin. They were all kneeling, and waiting with profound

devotion for the commencement of the service. Aquaviva, and his two

companions, appeared prostrate at the foot of the altar, habited in

vestments of brocade like that with which the chalice was covered, the

figure of a cross being worked in silver on the backs of the sacred

garments. Aquaviva wore a mitre of silver tissue; his assistants were

bare-headed.

Rising from the attitude of silent supplication, which they had for

some minutes preserved, they stood and prayed aloud that God might send

them his light and truth, and pardon them their sins, that so they

might enter his sanctuary with pure minds. They appealed to the Virgin,

and to the saints by whom the eternal throne is surrounded, to mediate

in their behalf.

A beautiful boy, clad in a muslin surplice, then placed in Aquaviva’s

hand a golden censer, filled with kindled frankincense, with which he

fumed the altar. Having again intreated the mercy of God, he paused a

moment, and entoned in a sweet voice, tremulous with piety, that hymn

of joy, of which the heavenly messengers, who proclaimed the arrival of

the Messiah, pronounced the first words--“Glory to the God on high, and

on earth peace to men of good will.”

The assembly took up the anthem, and in a burst of exclamation declared

their adhesion to the faith of the Redeemer. Him they praised, and

blessed, and adored--him they acknowledged to be the Christ, come to

take away the sins of the world. To him, sitting in majesty at the

right hand of the Father, they prayed for protection, because he is

the Holy One, who, with the Spirit, is most high in the glory of the

Omnipotent.

A splendidly illuminated missal being then placed on a stand,

Monserrate read from it a selection of verses from the Canticles, each

of which bore some allusion to the Messiah. He was the graceful fawn

leaping on the mountains, and skipping over the hills;--the lover

peeping through the lattices, and calling on his beautiful one to come,

for that the winter was past, the rain was gone, the flowers appeared

in the land, it was the time of pruning, the voice of the turtle-dove

was heard, the fig-tree had put forth her green figs, and the vines in

flower yielded their delicious fragrance. “Arise, my beautiful one, and

come, shew me thy face; let thy voice sound in my ear, for thy voice is

sweet, and thy face comely.”

“Such is the affectionate language,” said the venerable prelate, when

he afterwards explained these verses to his simple and confiding

audience, “in which the Messiah is represented as addressing his

church, after the difficulties attending its first establishment were

surmounted. Ages of opposition and suffering were her winter; but the

spring-day of her hopes, the promise of her universal triumph, was

already at hand.”

These verses were followed by a history of the Virgin, during a visit

which she paid to one of her relatives in the hill-country of Juda, to

announce the tidings which an angel brought her, that the Spirit of

the Most High should overshadow her, and that she should bring forth

a Son. Her cousin, to whom she communicated this intelligence, was a

woman far advanced in years; but in her womb lived one who was to be

the predecessor of the Messiah, to proclaim his approach, to fill the

valley, to level the mountain before him, and to prepare the path in

which he should go. That infant, enshrined though he was, heard the

Virgin’s voice of salutation, and leaped with joy. Her aged hostess

blessed her, and the rejoicing maiden, inspired by the sublimity and

sanctity of her office, poured forth her soul in a hymn to the mighty

God, who regarded the humility of his handmaid, and entitled her to be

called “blessed” by all future generations.

The audience listened to these truths, and to the explanations

of Aquaviva, with earnest attention, and the most lively marks

of pleasure, feeling like travellers who had been long lost in a

wilderness, and at length rescued from despair by the arrival of a

guide, who pointed out the way of which they were in search.

Their hearts were in their voices, when they joined the prelate

in again plighting their allegiance to the Creator of heaven and

earth, and of all things visible and invisible--to the Redeemer,

the “Light of light,” and to the Holy Spirit by whom he became

incarnate--commemorating, at the same time, his crucifixion, his

resurrection, his ascension; and expressing their belief that he will

come again to earth, to judge those whom he shall find living, and all

the nations of the dead who shall rise from their tombs at the summons

of the dread archangel.

It was the great object of the rite, at which they were now assembled,

to prepare them for that awful day, and to propitiate the Deity through

the sacrifice about to be offered--an unspotted host, which the

suppliant prelate with upraised hands tendered to Heaven, not only for

his own sins, and for those of all present, but for all christians,

whether passing or passed through the stages of this life. With the

host the prelate offered also wine and water--mysterious symbols of

the union of the Divinity with human nature--raising the chalice as an

odour of sweetness for the salvation of the whole world.

The progress of the rite became more and more solemn as it advanced.

The censer was again filled with burning frankincense, and brought

by that beautiful boy to the prelate, who again fumed the altar, and

prayed that through the intercession of Michael the archangel, and of

all the elect standing round the eternal throne, the incense might be

blessed, and that, ascending to that throne, it might invoke upon the

worshippers the benedictions of the Most High.

The prelate then washed his hands among the “innocent”--and well they

might be so called, a cluster of boys all robed in white, one of whom

kneeling held a silver basin, while a second poured water on the

prelate’s fingers from a ewer of the same material. A third presented

him with a napkin fringed with gold.

Turning once more to the altar, and placing himself in the attitude

of a high-priest, filling the most sublime of all human stations, he

called upon the prostrate assembly to elevate their hearts to God, and

to give Him thanks, for it was truly fit and just that they should at

all times, and in all places, express their gratitude to the Eternal,

whom the angels and the archangels, the cherubim and the seraphim, and

the whole host of heaven, never ceased to proclaim as the holy God,

with whose glory the heavens and the earth were filled--in whose praise

unnumbered worlds, rolling through the oceans of space, resounded with

alleluias.

Many of the saints were then called upon by name--the Virgin

Mother--the glorious apostles--the armies of heroic martyrs, who had

sealed their faith by their heart’s blood--Peter and Paul, and John

and Damian--and the whole court of heaven, to give their aid on this

occasion, that the oblation tendered to the Supreme Father for his

human family might be accepted, and be converted into the body and

blood of the Redeemer.

The awful words of consecration, pronounced in a low solemn voice,

being breathed upon the host and chalice, they were held up, through

clouds of incense, to the adoration of the people, who, in profound

silence struck their breasts, filled with gratitude and wonder that so

great a God should visit them, and that too under a veil suitable to

human vision--and protecting it from being overwhelmed by the living

splendour of his glory!

It was an affectionate thought, to choose the moment after this

act, for uttering a prayer for parents, relations, friends, and

all christians, without exception, who had departed from this life;

and while the Redeemer was still present, to intreat that he would

grant them a place of refreshment, light, and peace. Nor was it less

appropriate, to offer up at such a time a fervent orison to God,

couched in the simple language which the Messiah had himself framed,

entreating that earth might be made to emulate heaven in blessing the

name of the Most High, and in executing his will; that he would protect

all those who called upon that sacred name, and forgive them as they

forgave those who offended them.

The lamb thus offered for the living and the dead being consumed, hymns

of thanksgiving followed;--in these the hermit joined with a degree of

enthusiasm, which attested his admiration of a faith that appeared at

once to have touched his soul with its light, and to have captivated

his heart by the divine love for mankind it disclosed through every

expression of its beautiful ritual.

“Oh, sire!” he exclaimed, when as they were returning from this

scene, the emperor questioned him upon the mystery of the sacrifice;

“do not ask my understanding to explain matters altogether above my

comprehension. Can this be a human conception? Could any intellect,

informed merely as yours or mine might be, however pregnant with

knowledge, however matured by experience, have thought of such

doctrines as those delivered by the Messiah; or have planned a

sacrifice such as he has directed his followers to offer?

“What is man? An insect living on a planet that is but as a mole-hill

to the Himalas. What do I understand even of what goes on under my own

eye? Can I tell you how the acorn becomes the spreading oak?--how the

wretched looking worm, that moves itself with difficulty along the

earth, by-and-by sports in celestial colours upon double wings through

the skies?--how the rain of winter becomes the wine of autumn?---the

dew of to-night the milk and honey of to-morrow? I break a fragment

of a rock, and I behold in it a creature full of life. Can I tell you

how it has slept there for thousands of years without dying? I take up

a drop of water, and I behold it teeming with a world of creatures of

its own. Can I tell you how or why they came there; for what purpose

they have received the most perfect organization which their wants

can require? I listen to the zephyr with delight,--to the tempest with

admiration,--to the thunder with awe. Can I say whence they come? Can

I measure the Power which tempers the one to the unshorn lamb, and

renders it music to the human ear? Can I check the storm or arrest the

lightning, and ask them to explain to me the mysteries that overwhelm

my mind, when I think of the worlds I am to see when I shake off this

clay by which my spirit is incumbered?

“Fool! It was my madness once to suppose that I could quell the

elemental tumults which sometimes break out amongst these mountains;

that I could count the stars, and calculate their influence upon the

destinies of mankind, as if men were the objects for whom those vast

worlds have been summoned to existence! I tremble at my inconceivable

presumption. I bow to the Supreme One henceforth. I am scarcely a child

in his presence. A child!--yes! his child--his creature,--for whom he

sent his own best beloved to this my dwelling. I have found the truth,

which the stars had failed to teach me--the peace which this world

could never give me--the hope, the certainty, if I but endeavour to

merit it, which no other worship could afford me, of mingling my voice

with those alleluias which I can almost hear as I speak, swelling to

the throne of light from all parts of the universe.”

CHAPTER V.

Sing, sing them forth

Songs of the past-away,

To mingle with the woe and mirth,

And music of to-day:

Legends of other hours,

Stray leaves of faded flowers,

Sing, sing them forth!

Hush! breathe ye low

The quaint love words;

The whisper-voice of long ago,

Fond, old records

Of dreamy hopes and fears,

And hearts of other years,

Oh! breathe them low!

YSSEB.

The display of the imperial standard upon the principal pavilion,

announced the arrival of Jehangire at the encampment of his troops,

which was established at the distance of little more than a league

from the subah’s castle. Attended by Bochari and Auzeem, he was on

horseback at the dawn of the day, and approaching the castle as nearly

as he could, without danger of being observed, he convinced himself

that the account given by Chunder, of the impregnable character of that

fortress, was by no means exaggerated. He was, therefore, the more

disposed to attend to the counsel of Bochari, who recommended that the

high chancellor should exert his influence with the subah to surrender

the castle upon reasonable conditions.

The question then was, what those conditions should be. Chusero’s

submission to the imperial authority could, under no circumstances,

be dispensed with. He must place himself absolutely at the disposal

of his father, upon whose indulgent consideration, however, he might

confidently rely. His right of succession to the throne was to be

preserved to him in case he should accept the terms now proposed.

It was resolved also that Shere Afkun should resign Cashmere, but that,

instead of it, he should be presented with Bengal. Kazim, who was

present at the council, during the discussion of these propositions,

fully approved of them. He only wondered at the moderate character

by which they were pervaded. Auzeem listened in silence to the very

conciliatory language held by Bochari on the occasion, who professed

to think that he knew of no other means of terminating the civil war,

seeing that the subah might hold out against them to an indefinite

period.

Nothing, therefore, added Bochari, could have been more opportune

than the arrival of the messengers, who were charged with letters

from the subah and his consort for Kazim. An answer might be returned

forthwith on his part, accepting their invitation, and if it were not

inconvenient to him, he might depart from the camp in the course of

the evening for the castle. The high chancellor having signified his

assent to this arrangement, Bochari observed that it was due to the

dignity of the exalted office held by Kazim that he should proceed to

the castle with all the outward circumstances of honour which could be

devised for that purpose, and with an abundance of presents for his

daughter, as was usual on such occasions. Jehangire fully approved of

this course, and directed that twenty palanquins filled with gold and

silver cloths of Persia, carpets, and shawls, and silks, should be

despatched in Kazim’s train. Bochari took it upon himself to arrange

all the necessary pageantry.

Shere Afkun’s messengers having received letters in answer to those

which he and Nourmahal had addressed to Kazim and Mangeli, and also

communications under the hand of the emperor, embracing the proposals

which had been agreed upon in council, they set out upon their return

to the castle. Upon dismounting within the gates they speedily diffused

the intelligence, with which Bochari took care they should have been

made fully acquainted, that the high chancellor was coming thither in

the evening, for the purpose of negotiating a peace upon terms that

could hardly fail to be acceptable to all parties. These tidings were

received with unbounded joy by the great mass of the inmates of the

fortress, who, however secure they deemed themselves from any immediate

danger, felt by no means free from alarm when they observed from the

eminences the powerful force by which the emperor was attended.

The ladies of the harem especially, relieved from the trepidations

with which that spectacle filled their minds, looked forward with more

than ordinary interest to the agreeable office of preparing for the

reception of Nourmahal’s beloved parents. The news reached them while

they were assembled in the general bath-room; and never, perhaps,

before did they enjoy with more intense delight the luxuries of that

scene. Perfumed waters were poured over them from silver vases by

black slaves, well experienced in all the arts by which the delicious

languor of exhaustion may be prolonged to the very verge of visionary

existence. Reclining on marble slabs, heated to the exact degree that

most favours repose, they were each wrapped in loose robes, which

when saturated might be said no longer to conceal the forms beneath

them, they presented the appearance of beings scarcely belonging to

this world. Surrounded by a hazy atmosphere of variable fragrance, the

slaves standing by the flowing fountains, and collecting the tempered

element in their vases, or pouring it with a gentle grace upon the

almost slumbering nymph below, seemed so many magicians empowered to

detain in forgetfulness all the beauteous victims entrusted to their

care.

At the appointed moment, however, the fountains ceased to flow,

otherwise the spell might know no limit. The vapours cleared away,

the humid garments were exchanged for ample well-aired wrappers, and

all hastened to the saloon, where the hair, after being thoroughly

dried, was anointed with fragrant oils, plaited in long folds, and

tied at the extremity with golden cords, from which tassels of the

same material depended. A painted handkerchief was intertwined with

it on the top of the head, the ends of which, fringed with gold, fell

gracefully on the shoulders. The hair in front, drawn down a little

over the forehead, was parted and braided over the ear, and decorated

by a few simple flowers, such as the geranium, or the monthly white

rose, according to the complexion or fancy of the wearer. A light

sleep, such as the houris enjoy when lulled to repose by the bulbul of

Paradise, restored the energies which the bath had almost stolen away;

and coffee, followed by viands of every description, confectionery,

ices, sherbets, and Kabul nectar, which the prophet himself could not

have rejected if offered to his lips, prepared for the further labours

of the toilet.

Fine lawn chemisettes, edged with lace, tunics of green or

ruby-coloured silk, descending below the knee, confined at the waist by

cinctures of gold or silver tissue, having in front clasps of emerald

or diamond, trowsers of snow-white lawn, necklaces of pearl, armlets

and bracelets of variegated precious stones, and tiny slippers richly

flowered with gold, generally completed the costume of the harem.

The operations of the toilet having been concluded, the ladies waited

the presence of Nourmahal, before they set about arranging the series

of amusements with which they resolved to entertain the expected

guests. She seldom passed a day of which she did not devote some

portion to her fair companions. She taught most of them to read, and

accustomed them, by her own example, to derive pleasure from the

writings of the most popular poets, which she put into their hands. To

her instruction also several of them were indebted for a knowledge of

embroidery. Before the commencement of the civil war, when all was at

peace in the castle, and before the happiness of Afkun received its

death-blow, he seldom claimed his privilege of entry into the harem

with more pleasure, than during the hours when he was likely to find

Nourmahal there, presiding over the operations of the frame, upon which

numbers of fairy fingers were busy, animating the canvass stretched out

before them with landscapes copied from her sketches, or scenes of real

or mimic war, dictated by her copious knowledge, or suggested by her

splendid imagination.

Mainuna, a Mingrelian, always took care that the hours usually devoted

to industry should not encroach upon those which belonged to pleasure.

At the first touch of her tambourine, which she flung up in the air and

then caught upon her fingers, while its silver bells resounded of joy,

a general clatter of merriment was raised, and all adjourned to the

music saloon.

Sometimes Nourmahal found herself surrounded by a mob of petitioners,

who would take no refusal, and bore her with them into the apartment,

from which there was no escape until she awoke for them those sounds

from the lyre which they all confessed they never could find in it

by any exertion of their own. They unanimously declared that the

modulations which she elicited, must have come from some viewless

chords, created for the moment by her enchanting power.

On the present occasion, however, her mind was not in a mood to assist

in the preparation of festivities. She hardly knew whether she should

experience more of pleasure or of sorrow from the visit of her

parents, to whom she would probably deem it necessary to disclose the

interview she had with the emperor, and the decisive confession she had

made to Afkun. To bare her whole heart to her mother--to hide in that

affectionate bosom her tears, her blushes, her exalted anticipations,

her agony for the sufferings she had inflicted on the subah, was the

only course by which she could relieve her heart from the accumulated

burthens by which it was oppressed.

To Mainuna, therefore, she delegated the office of arranging the

amusements of the harem, during the sojourn of the high-chancellor

and his attendants at the castle--an office which that light-hearted

girl undertook with measureless delight, as she was full of all sorts

of projects, masqued balls, fancy fairs, dramatic interludes, musical

concerts, and new dances, for the realization of which she had long

been importuning her stars.

Calling all her companions together in her own apartment, they sat on

the carpet in a circle, and as she developed her plans, they discussed

them one by one, with all due gravity. The parts which each was to

perform in the approaching exhibitions, were assigned in a way to

create no jealousies, and it having been settled that the first evening

was to be dedicated to the concert and the masquerade ball, the fair

senators dispersed for the purpose of selecting their most sumptuous

dresses and ornaments, that nothing might be wanted which could tend to

the gratification of their distinguished guests.

As the sun was setting, the sentinels on the watch-tower observed a

long train of palanquins winding down from the hill upon which the

imperial tents were erected. Orders were immediately given to let

the draw-bridge down. A veteran officer who happened to be in the

watch-tower when the palanquins first appeared in sight, was struck by

their number; he counted no less than five-and-twenty; and as to each

palanquin there were four bearers, his cautious habits of garrison

discipline suggested, that it was not in conformity with ordinary

rules, that so many men from the ranks of the enemy should be admitted

at once within the walls. He directed, therefore, that only one

palanquin should be suffered to enter at a time; and that the bearers,

after setting it down in a spacious hall, generally used for that

purpose, should immediately re-cross the drawbridge, and return to the

camp.

As the procession approached the gate, Zeinedeen made his appearance

in the plain, walking hastily towards it. Kazim and Mangeli, who

had been anxiously gazing on the windows of the castle, hoping that

they might discern, in some of them, the figure of her in whom all

their affections were concentrated, did not perceive the hermit until

they heard him ordering their bearers, in a peremptory tone, to stop

for a moment. Kazim, surprised, and by no means pleased, that his

progress should be retarded at such a moment, opening the curtain

of the palanquin, demanded the cause of the interruption. Zeinedeen

made no answer, but looking steadily at Kazim, smiled with a look of

recognition, which, to Mangeli, was altogether incomprehensible. The

palanquin, however, was immediately let down by order of her companion,

who, going forth, threw himself into the arms already wide extended to

receive him.

“My best of benefactors! my more than friend! my father! for such,

indeed, you have been to me! do I behold you once more?”

“You recollect the poor dervish, then, Kazim?”

“Recollect! Never has left my heart the impression of that face, which

came to my humble stall all wreathed in those smiles which are now

again upon your countenance, and announced to me those destinies, which

have ever since been fortunate.”

“You see my ambition was no mean one. A poor, despised dervish, a mere

mendicant; nevertheless, from the moment I saw you at Samarcand, and

witnessed the proofs of your genius, I resolved that you should not

pine in obscurity. The boy, in whom I delighted as a scholar, I now

behold as the high chancellor of Hindostan! Welcome, dear Kazim, to my

heart!”

Mangeli needed no explanation of this occurrence. Often had the

dervish--their good genius as they loved to call him--been the subject

of their conversation, when walking together in their garden, apart

from all the world, they talked over the steps of their chequered

career, from their hut on the Ilamish, to their palace on the Jumna.

She too would have gladly followed her husband’s example, and embraced

the kind old man; but Zeinedeen prevented her from rising.

“No,” he said, “Mangeli; for I shall know you by no other name. I

shall keep you no longer from the pleasure you are about to enjoy, in

beholding your beloved child. It is but a few days since I have seen

her, and gladdened her heart with the tidings of your speedy arrival in

the camp.”

“But you shall not part from us again,” said Mangeli, pressing the

arm of the dervish with both her hands. “You must come with us to our

Nourmahal.”

“You must, indeed,” added Kazim. “If the chancellor have any authority,

he shall use it in this instance.”

“And it shall be obeyed, provided the subah will admit me. I have some

things to say to you, which will demand instant attention. Allah, bless

you both! I shall walk beside your palanquin to the castle.”

As they were now, however, but a short distance from the draw-bridge,

Kazim would not permit the hermit to proceed thither alone. Closing

the curtains of the palanquin, he resigned Mangeli to the care of the

bearers; and, notwithstanding the remonstrances of Zeinedeen, who

urged the chancellor not to descend from his state by walking, side by

side, with an humble dervish, he proceeded on foot, having, he said, a

thousand questions to put to his friend, which he could not begin too

soon.

CHAPTER VI.

Within his halls are heard the songs of joy,

The clash of cymbals, and the thrilling notes

Of harps, and drums, and merry feet are seen

Winding the Labyrinthine dance. But hark!

What sounds are those that echo in the air?

Are they the wailings of the infant storm?

Or come they from the regions of the dead?

HINDOO DRAMA.

Afkun hastened across the bridge, to receive the man whom he esteemed

above all the other objects now left to him to love upon earth.

Profound and various were the emotions with which they met on both

sides. By political principle, enemies--by connexion, father and son,

and as much attached to each other as if the same blood circulated in

their veins,--they embraced in silence--a silence more affecting than

any language could be under the circumstances. For Zeinedeen, however,

as Kazim’s friend, the subah found the pleasant words of hospitality,

and for Mangeli, whose palanquin he attended into the hall, those

expressions of affection, which, for the moment, superseded all other

thoughts.

The four palanquins, which immediately followed that of Kazim,

contained his suite and the female attendants of his consort. The

remaining twenty, which were closely latticed, appeared to be heavily

stored with presents, over which superb Indian shawls were spread. As

there was not time for disburthening the latter, the servants of the

castle being all busily engaged in preparing for the festivities of the

evening, the vehicles were arranged in the hall, side by side.

Kanun was in attendance, to conduct the agitated parents to the chamber

where they were to see their child. As they approached it, the door

of the apartment was opened. “My mother!--my father!” exclaimed that

well-known voice, as Nourmahal came forth to meet them--pressing an arm

round the neck of each--kissing them again and again--her eyes filled

with tears--tears of that sacred joy, in which a grief still more

sacred had its share.

Upon the part of the parents there was the same mysterious double

emotion. The time that had elapsed since the marriage of Nourmahal

appeared to have been but a day. It brought with it the conviction,

however, that she whom they so deeply loved had been absent from the

home of her infancy, and with that thought came the anticipation of the

period when death would produce between them a separation still more

enduring. Maternal and filial love summoned together, at once, these

recollections of the past, these fears of the future. It was not until

they again became somewhat more accustomed to the presence and voices

of each other, that the feeling of delight, in thus meeting once more,

charmed away their apprehensions.

Seated between the two beloved fountains of her life, Nourmahal gave

herself up to all the luxury of rapture. Now looking at one dear

countenance, now on the other, she examined with affectionate curiosity

the changes wrought in each since last she beheld them. She was

herself the subject of similar vigilance, especially from the eye of

Mangeli, who had already noticed in that forehead, once so open and so

innocent, variations of expression approaching to traces of care, if

not of anxiety, which she had never discerned there before. It was too

soon yet to inquire farther into the cause of these external changes.

As their visit was to extend to several days, ample opportunities

would occur for every explanation which was necessary to soothe the

solicitude of a mother.

The sounds of many musical instruments from the harem, reminded

Nourmahal of the commencement of the festivities, which had been

prepared in honour of the subah’s guests. Having attended her parents

to the apartments assigned to their use, she proceeded, with Kanun’s

assistance, to arrange her toilet for the evening. No art of the

Circassian could, however, succeed in restoring to the cheek of

her mistress its wonted lustre. The first emotions caused by the

occurrences of the evening having subsided, she dreaded the idea of

again meeting Afkun--of meeting him too in the presence of those who

would necessarily notice her manner towards him with peculiar anxiety.

Nevertheless, the effort was to be made; and Nourmahal felt that when

her resolution was put to the test, she could at all times call to her

aid the powers of a mind of no common order.

It was some relief to her feelings, that when she went into the

ball-room with her mother, her rapid glance around could nowhere

discern the subah. He was still detained in the dining-hall, where, in

addition to the Prince and Kazim, several omrahs, and the principal

officers of the garrison, were engaged in consultation upon the

propositions which had been made by the emperor. Meantime masqued

figures, arrayed in every variety of fanciful costume, some as veteran

dames, whose business it was to go from harem to harem to arrange love

affairs--some as gipsies, who had the power to predict fortunes--some

as pilgrims, on their way to Mecca--some as story-tellers and reciters

of poetry--some as poor ballad-singers, lame and querulous, with a

patch on one eye, indicative of recent battle--some as doctresses,

skilled in those most baffling of all maladies, the diseases of the

heart--some as holy dervishes, full of all sorts of sanctified

admonitions for inexperienced maidens--some as slaves, just arrived

from Mingrelia, and offering to sell themselves to the highest

bidder--were moving about in all directions.

In one place an auction was going on, at which the auctioneer was most

eloquent in describing the charms of his own wife, whom he wished to

sell, as it was his intention to retire altogether from matrimonial

life. He had vowed, he said, to write a theological work in forty

volumes; he found study inconsistent with wedded occupations, his

wife complaining, very naturally, that he devoted more of his time to

books than he did to her; they therefore both agreed to part upon the

most amicable terms. He spoke of her eyes as rivals to the evening

star, displayed her ringlets as stolen from the head of a sleeping

goddess, and her face as the model of female beauty. The lady was

closely covered all the time, by way of consulting her modesty, which

would have blushed at such eulogies. Prices ran high. A hundred rupees

soon swelled to five hundred--then to a thousand--two--three--four

thousand. A sonorous voice having cried out ten thousand, the bargain

was at once struck, the lady was unveiled, when she turned out to be an

old beldame, with a face furrowed by wrinkles, a solitary eye, and a

pile of black hair, stolen, indeed, as the auctioneer said, from some

quarter or another. The buyer appealed to all that were present against

the fraud practised upon him; but they unanimously decided the bargain

to be irrevocable, and he was compelled to take his purchase home,

amidst the laughter of the assembly.

In another quarter actors were engaged in the performance of a drama,

the interest of which turned upon a dispute between two gossipping

dames, as to which of them was entitled to the higher reward for

bringing about a recent marriage. One alleged, that she was the first

to mention the gentleman to the lady--the other, that she was the first

to mention the lady to the gentleman. One swore, that in one day she

took seven messages from the gentleman to the lady--against which her

rival produced an account of seven-and-twenty refusals from the lady

to the gentleman, all despatched in one morning, and which would have

been fatal to the union but for her clever management. This claim

to superior skill threw her antagonist into a rage, during which she

enumerated all the marriages she had ever made--the difficulties which

she overcame in reconciling young maidens to ancient bachelors, and

cadets without fortune to opulent old widows, not always of the most

comely appearance.

The controversy seemed likely to have no end, except in an appeal to

blows, when the bride herself came forward and stated that the reward

for priority belonged to neither of the belligerents, for that a

third agent had commenced the affair before either of them knew any

thing about it. The bridegroom confirmed this statement, to which,

however, the parties declined giving any credit, unless the said agent

was produced. To this the bride consented, and going out, said she

would send the woman to them. In a few moments a wizen-faced little

creature, wrapped in a cloak, and supported on crutches, made her

appearance, whom the bridegroom acknowledged to be the first who gave

him intelligence of the attractions of the maiden who had since become

his wife, whereupon the two rivals both set to scolding her in the

most furious manner, and knocking her crutches from under her, reviled

her as an impostor. In the affray, the cloak was not spared, which they

tore off her shoulders, when, to their amazement and horror, the object

of their wrath turned out to be the bride herself, who, all blushing,

confessed that she had assumed that disguise to win the hand of one

towards whom her heart impelled her the first day she beheld him in the

streets through her lattice.

Mangeli and Nourmahal could not help being amused by these scenes of

merriment, which were sustained with all the spirit of mirth, doubly

zested by a long privation of similar enjoyments. The prince and the

omrahs now made their appearance, followed by the officers of the

garrison; the intelligence that the emperor’s propositions had been

accepted, was speedily diffused, and this circumstance, added to the

gay costume of the officers and their hearty participation in the

entertainments, contributed to heighten the animation of the scene.

Two closely masqued figures, whom Nourmahal suspected to be her

father and the subah remained at the lower end of the saloon in deep

conversation. She felt no wish to interrupt it, and affected to busy

herself, though her feelings were far from being at ease, in describing

to her mother the qualities of the different inmates of the harem, as

they came in succession to kiss the hem of her garments.

Zeinedeen, who had no occasion for disguise, passed through the saloons

to observe, for a moment, a spectacle so new to him. His curiosity,

however, having been soon satisfied, and the heat and glaring light

of a thousand lamps having affected him with a sense of giddiness, he

withdrew from this scene of merriment, and endeavoured to make his

way to the ramparts, in order to recover his usual composure. Being

unacquainted with the interior of the castle, he found himself involved

in a labyrinth of chambers appropriated to different purposes, until

he at length arrived in the spacious hall, where the palanquins that

had arrived with Kazim were arranged. It struck him, as he entered this

apartment, which was quite open to the air in front, and illuminated

almost throughout its whole extent by the moon, then riding in full

glory through the blue firmament, that he heard some rustling among

the palanquins, which were rather more remote than the others from the

light.

He stopped a moment, when he was still more startled by perceiving the

shadow of a head moving along the wall; he called out, hoping that

it was a sentinel who might shew him the way to the ramparts. But he

received no answer, the head disappearing the moment his call was

uttered.

Zeinedeen’s suspicions being roused, he retraced his steps a little

as softly as possible, and then stopping, he listened with all the

attention he could command in the first moment of his alarm. He felt

that he was near a number of persons, whose breathing discomposed the

stillness that ought to have prevailed, if the palanquins, round which

the curtains were still closed, had been all occupied only by the

presents sent to Nourmahal.

Seized by an irresistible presentiment, that some treachery was

meditated; and impelled, also, by the distrust which he always felt

with respect to Bochari, he returned to the ball-room, and addressing

himself to Kazim, entreated that he, and Mangeli, and Nourmahal, would

withdraw, one by one, from the saloon, and repair to the apartments of

the latter, without a moment’s delay, for that danger was at hand. He

would follow them thither as soon as possible.

The hermit then looked about anxiously in search of the subah, whom he

found in earnest conversation with Chusero. They had both noticed two

or three strange faces in the ball-room, which, upon being pointed out

to Kazim, he declared to be new also to him. The unbidden guests thus

observed, had entered the saloon separately; but were evidently, from

their side glances at one another, present for some common purpose.

They mingled in the dance; but their movements were so awkward, and

their manners so rude, that the fair damsels, whose hands they presumed

to touch, instinctively recoiled from their advances.

Zeinedeen asked the subah whether any person had examined the

palanquins containing the chancellor’s presents? Afkun answered

that he did not know. The hermit then mentioned to him his

suspicions--suspicions which were by no means diminished when Chusero

remarked, that the three strangers were no longer to be seen in the

ball-room.

This was no time for deliberation. Afkun resolved at once to proceed

to the hall, where the palanquins were placed; but, as he opened the

door of a gallery leading in that direction, a dark mass of armed men

hurrying along the gallery, rushed towards the saloon, at the same

time pouring on all before them a deadly discharge of musquetry. Afkun

fell, pierced by several balls, one of which passed through his heart.

He never breathed again. The prince was wounded in the thigh, and fell

also. But there was a cry amongst the assassins, “Take care of the

prince!” He was borne away upon the shoulders of a gigantic ruffian.

The hermit, who happened to be immediately behind Afkun when the door

was opened, escaped unhurt.

Being unarmed, he had no chance of offering any resistance. Hastening

to one of the windows of the saloon, which was open, as they all were

in consequence of the heat of the weather, he leaped down into the

court-yard, fortunately lighting on a pile of brambly wood collected

for firing.

Though astounded for a moment by the shock, he soon came to himself,

and hastened towards Nourmahal’s apartments, where, notwithstanding his

admonitions, he scarcely ventured to hope that he should find her and

her parents in safety.

Several of the women were slain by the first discharge of musquetry.

Some of the omrahs and officers of the garrison, who, as usual, wore

ataghans in their cinctures, having laid aside their pistols that they

might join the more easily in the dance, attacked their assailants with

all the fury of desperation. But the musquetry soon overpowered them.

The successive vollies which were repeated with fiendish deliberation,

strewed the floor with groups of dead and dying, who fell over each

other shrieking.

The cries of the defenceless females were appalling. Some appeared at

the windows, their garments on fire, stretching out their arms, and

rending the air with shouts for assistance from the garrison. But their

cries were shortly silenced. Lifted sabres hewed them down without

mercy. Torrents of blood ran along the boards that so lately resounded

to the merry step of the dancer. The echoes of rejoicing song, and

harp, and dulcimer, were overtaken in their career by screams of agony

which were heard in every direction.

CHAPTER VII.

Hark! ’tis the thunder of the war,

They call, the trumpets shrill;

Arise, go forth. Alas! ’tis vain,--

Thy gallant heart is still!

A banner waves above thy head,

And laurels deck thy brow;

But what avails this pageantry

To the beloved one now?

I never more shall hear thy voice,

My beautiful! my brave!

Thou’rt gone in all the pride of youth

And glory to thy grave.

Oh, would that I thy fate had shared!

That I were laid with thee;

For now thou’rt gone, the peopled world

Is desolate to me!

STORY-TELLER OF CASHMERE.

The soldiers of the garrison, taking up their arms, repaired as

speedily as possible to the scene of slaughter. Two or three of their

officers, though fearfully wounded, bravely led them on to the conflict

with the assassins, so long as the latter could be distinguished. But

the moment these heard the troops coming, they proceeded to break and

extinguish the lamps, and skulking away in the darkness, unfortunately

effected their escape with little loss. Their confederates had already

secured for them a retreat by the draw-bridge, to which, in the

dreadful confusion of the hour, the usual attention had not been paid;

and it was soon ascertained that the prince, who had been, in the first

instance, borne away wounded on the shoulders of one of the ruffians,

undoubtedly remained their captive.

Search was made, as soon as lights could be obtained, for the body of

the subah, who was already known to have been the first victim of this

infamous scheme of indiscriminate murder. It was found in a recess of

the gallery, near the spot where he first fell, but not alone. Kneeling

down by his side, and bent closely over his pallid cheek, was seen the

figure of a female, whose hand, filled with hair she had torn from her

head, was pressed upon Afkun’s bared breast, the hair being saturated

with blood which had welled from the death-wound. Looking up at the

group of soldiers who surrounded her, she beckoned them wildly to go

away.

“Oh foul murderers begone! Take my life too, if ye be not content with

all the blood ye have shed. Oh, my noble master! my brave warrior!

where is thy voice? speak to me but once--one little word,--’tis Kanun

that asks,--her whom you bade to love you!”

The men, each of whom would have sacrificed his life for his commander,

thought not of brushing away from their cheeks the tears that burst

forth when they beheld him there laid prostrate. Vainly hoping that he

still lived, they raised his head a little from the floor. The movement

seemed to increase Kanun’s distraction. Grasping a scymitar, which one

of the men held in his hand, she wrested it from him by an effort of

feverish strength, and repelling them from the dead body, dared them

to approach one step farther at their peril. But the weapon slipped

from her hold. A gush of blood from her side shewed that she, too, was

soon to be numbered in the holocaust immolated on that dreadful night.

Pressing her hand upon her forehead, she reeled and would have fallen,

had she not been sustained by one of the soldiers.

“Ye keep me from him,” she exclaimed. “Oh, in mercy spare me at least

while he breathes! Let me be near him,--let me warm him with my life!

Oh, look! his hand moves! My lord! my master! they are your friends.

I see they are. Their looks, their tears tell me so. They are come to

receive your orders. The enemy are out! I hear their horses tramping

this way! Up, before they are at the gates! Ah, you used not to be so

slow when the battle raged!”

One of the soldiers fetched some water, with which he chafed her

temples; while the others anxiously pressed their hands over every part

of Afkun’s frame, endeavouring to find there some pulse of life. But

all the veins were still. That voice, by them so much beloved, was for

ever silenced. That arm, once their protection, and the terror of a

thousand foes, was now laid low, never again to wield the blade that

had dealt destruction wherever it gleamed.

“Go, tell my mistress that the subah is here; that he waits to see her

before he goes to meet the invader. Why do you not go? you know how

he adores her. But she, alas! never loved him!--never! Oh, to see how

he kissed the earth on which she walked, and yet she loved him not!

But she had no hand in this murder. No, no; accuse her not of that.

This is all the work of that base-born Bochari. Yes, I know it. It is

written here. The very walls, do they not cry out, Bochari, Bochari,

the murderer!”

“She cannot be far from the truth,” said one of the soldiers. “It is

certain that the assassins came from the camp; that they got admission

within the gates in the palanquins which were supposed to be filled

only with presents for Nourmahal; that they lay concealed until the

festivities of the evening were at their height, and that they all

rushed forth in a body to the saloon, where they at once gained their

double object of murdering the subah, and capturing the prince. Some

affirm that Bochari himself was present, and that it was he who, laying

hands on the prince, bore him away.”

“Alas! it is all over!” exclaimed Kanun, taking up one of the subah’s

hands, which dropped lifeless again on the floor; “but thy fall will

not be unavenged. Blood will have blood. Ah! to think that thou

shouldest have perished in this manner! He said,--there are those

who heard him, and mind ye obey his words,--he said, that the same

urn,--the same, remember,--should contain the ashes of us both. My

moment is come,--it rankles here, whatever it was that the murderers

discharged upon us all,--the pain,--oh, the agony!--but it is nothing.

Joy! joy! that I remain not behind thee! I come, my beloved mistress!

Oh, where is she? Tell me if she be safe?”

The soldiers quieted her apprehensions upon this point, assuring her

that the high chancellor, his wife and daughter, had fortunately

quitted the saloon a few moments before the massacre had commenced.

“Oh, thanks to Allah! She was ever to me a good and kind mistress,--to

me, to all of us! May every happiness await her,--she deserves

it,--although she did not love thee as she ought. Ah, the pangs that

thou must have suffered on her account! Thy manly heart was indeed

bruised by many a long night’s grief! None knew thy secret sorrow so

well as Kanun. None lamented for thee but Kanun. The day-star of thy

life was set.--Remember, the same urn.--I come; thy voice--I hear

it from some other world--I come, beloved master! thy slave,--thy

Kanun,--thy”--

A sob of agony told that her spirit was no more on earth. The soldiers,

separating her gently from the body of the subah, upon whose knees her

hands were clasped, bore her into the saloon, where they laid her upon

a divan. They then conveyed the remains of the subah to his apartments

in the castle, and watched by them during the remainder of the night.

The dawn of the following morning displayed a melancholy spectacle in

those chambers, so lately the abode of mirth in its many forms. The

prospect of a speedy peace had lent wings to every body engaged in

those scenes of joy. But how changed from what they had been a few

hours before, were those now prostrated in every direction. Scarcely

a member of the harem escaped the slaughter. Some, whose clothes took

fire, were partially burnt; tresses upon which so much care had been

bestowed, were consumed to their roots; cheeks and lips, which the

sun of the preceding day had seen so full of health and loveliness,

presented but foul masses of deformity; limbs endowed with every grace,

while still moving in the circles of the cheerful dance, arrested in

their gaiety, bent beneath the sylph-like burdens they could no longer

bear, never to rise again. Mainuna was found with her tambourine still

in her hand; the instrument was pierced by no fewer than three balls.

A horrid gash on the neck disclosed the terrible destiny of that

guileless and light-hearted girl. Musical instruments broken, ornaments

thrown about in every part of the saloon, heaps of mangled bodies,

blood trickling through the floor and clotted in vast quantities,

fragments of gold and silver tissue, unbound turbans, broken scymitars,

separated hands and feet, blood-stained walls and cushions, related

with awful voices a tale of woe that called aloud to Heaven for

vengeance upon the perpetrators of that merciless tragedy.

The survivors of the garrison lost no time in preparing funeral pyres,

to which the unhappy victims were consigned. The ashes of the subah

were collected with particular care, as were those also of Kanun; and,

as he had directed, the relics of both were deposited in the same urn,

and placed in the mausoleum of the fortress.

The soldier was rightly informed, who mentioned that Nourmahal and

both her parents had retired from the saloon, but a few moments before

the first fatal discharge of musquetry was heard. Kazim, taking

warning, more from Zeinedeen’s alarming manner than even from the words

he used, hastened to Mangeli and his daughter, whom he found together,

and concealing his apprehensions as much as he could, directed them

to precede him out of the saloon, as he had something to say to both

of the utmost importance. They were scarcely arrived in Nourmahal’s

private apartments when the firing began. The terrible cries which

followed needed no interpretation. The apartments of Nourmahal offered

no better chance of safety than any other part of the castle from the

fury of assassins, such as those who, Kazim concluded, must by some

treacherous, stratagem have found their way into the fortress.

To consult for the safety of the two beings, who were infinitely dearer

to him than his own existence, was naturally his first, his only care.

They could give him no assistance. Every shriek that came from the

saloon, threw them both into agonies of alarm, which rendered even the

mind of Nourmahal incapable of offering any suggestion for effecting

their escape. Every noise they heard, they took to be the footsteps of

the approaching murderers. They utterly despaired of safety, and could

with difficulty clasp their trembling hands to utter a prayer to Heaven

for protection. Death appeared so near them, that they waited for it to

break into the chamber.

Moments passed, however, and they still lived. The tumult did not

spread beyond that part of the castle where it had begun. Kazim’s

presence of mind never left him for an instant. Opening the door, he

advanced a few paces into the adjoining corridor, and listened until

he heard footsteps. They approached him rapidly. He retreated, and,

shutting the door, locked it on the inside. The trembling women hung

upon his neck. He requested them to be silent, if they valued their

own lives. A knock, quickly repeated, and then a voice--“It is the

hermit”--hush!

Kazim having assured himself that he was not mistaken, opened the door.

“Oh! my beloved friends,” exclaimed Zeinedeen; “Allah be praised, you

three are here! So far well. But no part of the castle is safe. The

assassins will, doubtless, be here immediately. You have a better

chance of safety without than within. I heard the draw-bridge let down.

The stratagem has been too skilfully planned. Wrap shawls around you.

You, Kazim, take charge of Mangeli Leave this dear one to me.”

Zeinedeen led the way, having flung a shawl over Nourmahal’s head.

Kazim bore Mangeli in his arms, her limbs having refused to move.

Down they stepped rapidly by a private staircase into a small

court-yard--then through an archway to a passage which opened to the

ramparts. The firing still continued--the shouts of the combatants

came upon their ears with dreadful intensity. The hermit perceiving

the grand portal, ran towards it. Kazim followed, without knowing

whither he was going. A winding ladder led down to the porch. They were

speedily at its foot--then on to the gate. Men were fighting on the

draw-bridge--two were flung over into the water beneath--shots passed.

Zeinedeen rushed on, grasping Nourmahal in his arms--they passed.

Kazim with his burthen lingered. He too passed. Hastening through the

plain, they ran towards the mountain, seeking the first shade, the

first rock, that could shut out the view of pursuers, if any. There the

breathless fugitives checked their career.

No word was said. The four clung together, in silent thanksgiving to

the Omnipotent. Their palpitating hearts beat against each other. As

they calmed a little, they thought they heard other persons breathing

loudly near them. Zeinedeen searched anxiously around. They might

be pursuers, or fugitives like themselves. He could feel, or see

nobody. The breathing still went on louder than before. At length they

discovered that it was but the effect of their own excitement. The

hill-side on which they rested was in profound repose. Cattle were

sleeping beneath them in the quiet moonlight. A stream stole softly

by, glistening now and then. The hermit and Kazim presented a portion

of the delicious element, in the hollow of their hands, to Mangeli and

Nourmahal. It restored the exhausted spirits of the daughter at once;

but the mother’s terrors were still unallayed. She held Kazim close to

her--would not suffer him again to go to the brook. Nourmahal spoke to

her in vain--she was cold with terror. A slight hysterical laugh was

succeeded by a swoon, in which she remained for some minutes.

Nourmahal moistened her mother’s temples and her lips with water. When

she recovered she still trembled. Zeinedeen, who was well acquainted

with the spot where they now were, feeling that Mangeli might be in

danger if they remained here longer, resolved, at all hazards, to

proceed on towards his own residence.

CHAPTER VIII.

When morn is waking in its mirth,

And flowers are softly weeping,

The quiet bosom of the earth

In pearly dew-drops steeping:

I love to feel the zephyr’s sigh,

To list the wild birds’ singing;

And watch along the silent sky

The morn’s gay beauty springing.

YSSEE.

The fugitives, though able to walk but slowly onwards, felt a growing

consciousness of safety, which gradually restored strength to Mangeli

and Nourmahal, without lessening the sense of horror still pressing

on their minds. The moon had already grown pale. The day-star was

hastening through clouds whose lower edges were lines of a saffron

hue,--the faint reflection of the ocean of light still beneath the

horizon. These were succeeded by streaks of thin vapour, sprinkled here

and there by roseate tints, while the sheep, busily browsing on the

ridges of the eastern mountains, appeared clothed in fleeces of gold.

The birds, chirping lowly to each other, flitted timidly amongst the

trees, summoning their tribes to meet the morning with their usual

anthems of adoration. The mists of night, gradually disappearing, left

the meadows enriched with dews that soon sparkled in the coming rays,

and the scenery of the country becoming every moment more clearly

defined, shewed its pastures, and gardens, and villages in all the

beauty of renovated life.

Amidst the songs which burst from all sides upon the ears of the early

travellers, there were other tones of a still more soothing nature,

to which Zeinedeen called their attention. The missionaries were

already in their cavern chapel, engaged in the performance of their

matin-office, consisting partly of hymns and litanies which they sung,

aided by a small choir, partly of psalms, which they recited in those

solemn suppliant notes that seem to resound of the primitive ages of

the world. They called to their God, who they trusted would hear them

from his sacred hill, elevated above the heavens, who had made man

little less than the angels, and had subjected to him all creatures

that winged their way through the air, or trod the land, or moved

through the paths of the sea. Pure were the promises of that Great

Being, as silver tried by the fire: unblemished the tabernacles he had

prepared for those who loved him,--tabernacles set in the sun, from

which he came forth as a bridegroom from his bridal chamber. Ah! those

were the abodes to be desired more than the honey-comb--more than gold

or precious stones!

There were seasons when even the best man felt miserable--when he

walked sorrowful all the day long--when his brain was filled with

illusions, and he mourned in the depths of his heart. Friends and

neighbours who used to draw near to him, stood afar off, and those were

multiplied who hated him wrongfully. But these were seasons not without

their use. They taught him that his days on earth were measured--that

he was to pass from it as an image from the face of the waters, and

that to disquiet his soul was of all things the most vain, even though

the companion of his peace, who ate his bread, and in whom he trusted,

had supplanted him.

Those hours of sorrow passed, hope returned to him, because he was

right of heart, and bade him to look forward to the eternal firmament,

where it would be his happy destiny to join in the jubilee of those

spirits who exulted in the glory of the Supreme, who for ever sounded

the notes of joy from the trumpet, the psaltery, and the cymbal.

These voices--so soft--so harmonious--so full of peace--so different

from the terrific cries which lately assailed their ears, came upon the

trembling nerves of the hermit and his companions like a heavenly balm.

They lingered to hear those tones repeated. They entered the humble

chapel, where they found the missionaries, in their plain monastic

attire, kneeling before their sacred altar, and singing the Litany of

the Virgin, whose intercession with the most High they entreated. It

was reasonable, said Aquaviva, turning to his brethren and the novices

who had already entered their convent, that the earthly being selected

as the shrine, the mother, the protectress of the Infant Messiah, who

watched him through life, and whose maternal heart was pierced with

many griefs at his death, should possess influence near the throne of

the Eternal. That influence, therefore, they solicited in the most

affectionate language. They appealed to her as the Holy Mary, the

virgin of virgins, whose bosom was fraught with every good and gracious

inspiration--the emblem of purity, destined to be hailed by all nations

as the blessed one--the mirror of fidelity and justice, but at the same

time the advocate of mercy, distinguished at once by her simplicity

and wisdom, her humility and devotion. They hailed her as the mystical

rose--the tower that seen afar gave hope to the wearied traveller--the

golden mansion that promised him repose--the ark that held the covenant

of peace between heaven and earth--the beauteous star of morning

issuing from the celestial gate, bearing tidings of strength to the

weak, of hope to the afflicted, of pardon to the repentant. She was the

queen of the angelic hosts, of the patriarchs, the prophets, and the

apostles. To her they put up their orisons, that she might mediate for

them--that to their prayers for the protection of the Most High she

might add her own.

“Oh!” exclaimed Zeinedeen to Kazim, as quitting the chapel while

these thrilling words and tones still vibrated on his heart--“Oh!

how different the occupation of these good men from that of the

barbarians, from whose deadly weapons we have just escaped! How

soothing is that sweet music to my soul! The more I see of those holy

men, the more I know of the simplicity, the purity of their lives,--the

more I feel that they are to our land the harbingers of that truth

which it has never known before!”

Mangeli, relieved by the copious tears which these beautiful

supplications to the maternal virgin drew from the inmost fountains of

her heart, clasped her arms round the neck of her Nourmahal, whom she

kissed again and again. Following the impulse of the piety she had just

witnessed, she looked up to the heavens, and, kneeling, prayed that her

child might be guarded by her who knew the solicitude of a mother, from

the many perils by which she was surrounded! Her companions, imitating

her example, prostrated themselves on the thymy heath, through which

they were passing, and uniting in her fervent petitions, rose with

renewed spirit to resume their journey. Zeinedeen’s hermitage soon

appeared in view; and his gates having been at length passed, the

party, feeling assured of their safety, surrendered themselves for a

few hours to that repose of which they all stood so much in need.

The anxious mind of Kazim did not permit him, however, to prolong his

residence at the hermit’s abode. He felt it to be his duty to proceed

to the camp without delay, to lay before the emperor a statement of

the circumstances which he had witnessed, and to recommend that an

investigation should be made into the origin of a proceeding so much

at variance with the honour of the crown, so contrary to all the

recognized rules of warfare, and so fraught with indignity to himself

personally. He was not yet fully informed of all that had occurred on

that fatal evening of his visit to the subah’s castle. The observations

made by Zeinedeen in the hall of the palanquins,--the murderous

discharge of arms, to which the hermit had nearly fallen a victim in

the gallery--the tumult and combats which followed, created indeed

in his mind the most painful suspicions as to the participation of

Bochari in that dreadful tragedy. Inquiry would speedily bring home

the guilt to the real perpetrator, and that inquiry he was resolved

to prosecute--the criminal, whoever he was, should suffer for this

outrage upon all divine and human law, otherwise there was no longer

any justice to be found in Hindostan. If the emperor were weak enough

to permit such enormous iniquity to pass unexpiated, no man of prolity

could remain a moment longer in his service.

Full of these noble resolutions, worthy at once of the pupil of Fazeel,

of the representative of the house of Ayaz, and of the high chancellor

of the empire, Kazim presented himself at an early hour on the

following morning, in the imperial pavilion, to which, by reason of his

official station, he had always free access. He found there a council

already sitting, and engaged in discussing the question whether Chusero

was to be instantly executed in the presence of the whole army, as an

example to traitors for all time to come, or to be imprisoned for life

in the fortress of Gwalior.

Jehangire seemed irresolute--the natural feelings of the parent

opposing the sense of impartial justice, by which the sovereign ought

to be actuated in such a case. “For,” as Bochari put it, aided by the

omrahs, who servilely applauded every word he uttered as the oracles

of wisdom,--“how should it be possible for the laws to inflict due

punishment on other offenders against the majesty of the throne, if the

leader of the late rebellion--he on whose head was to be laid all the

blood shed in consequence of his foul attempt to dethrone his father,

were to go unpunished? Peace could never be restored--order could

never be established in the empire, where the very throne, assailed

by rebellion, was placed as a shield between the rebel and the axe of

justice. In this view of the case, he had no doubt the high chancellor

would at once coincide.”

Kazim, thus called on to speak his opinion, hesitated not to declare

his horror against the crime of treason. The duty imposed upon the

emperor in all cases where the guilt of that high crime appeared to

be clearly established, was to cause the perpetrators of it to be

punished according to the laws. “Had the prince, who I have learned

is now a prisoner in the camp, been taken with arms in his hands, and

in the act of carrying on war against his lawful sovereign--against

his father too--an aggravation which would render the crime still more

revolting,--no doubt could be entertained as to the mode in which the

question ought to be decided. But the prince was not taken with arms

in his hands. He was not overcome in the field of battle. During a

period agreed upon as a truce,--when I was commissioned by my imperial

master to proceed to the subah’s castle, to act there as a mediator

between the emperor and the prince, and to effect a reconciliation

upon terms which were propounded in this council-room by the commander

himself,--the castle was taken possession of through some stratagem

that will through all ages reflect infamy upon its authors:--the truce,

to which the honour of the empire was sacredly pledged, was violated

with every circumstance of horror that could attend such a departure

from all law and decorum; and at a moment when I had received full

authority from the prince, as well from Afkun, my brave and noble

son----”

“Another arch traitor, my lords,” exclaimed Bochari, rising and drawing

his sword. “The chancellor of the empire,--hear ye not this officer of

justice speak of the rebel subah, whose blood has already answered for

his deeds, as the brave subah--the noble subah? Vengeance, say I, upon

all traitors!”

“I know it; my son has perished; I appeal to my imperial lord,--have I

ever palliated his crime?”

“Let the high chancellor proceed,” said Jehangire. “It is his duty to

offer me his advice, and I _will_ hear it. Down with these swords;

you do but appear as executioners when you thus substitute your weapons

for deliberation. In this council all are free to speak their honest

opinions. This is not a charnel house, my lords; it is the council-room

of your emperor.”

Kazim, overcome by the emotions which the intelligence of the violent

death of Afkun had crowded together in his mind, could not proceed for

a few moments. Auzeem availed himself of the interval to suggest, that

in a matter of so much importance to the welfare of the empire, it were

desirable that both the civil and the military authorities should, if

possible, act in unison. The country had had experience of the fidelity

of their illustrious commander and of the high chancellor; and he hoped

that the council would listen to the opinions of those distinguished

officers with the respect that was due to them.

Bochari, who was astonished at the momentary energy displayed by

Jehangire, affected to yield to the course pointed out by Auzeem, and

restored his sword to its scabbard. The omrahs, his friends, followed

his example.

“I never did, I never will, palliate a deed of treason against the

state,” resumed Kazim, speaking in a voice somewhat more composed,

though still tremulous with the agony of grief that was in his heart.

“But it is my duty, as well as my glory, to repeat that I had put an

end to the civil war”--

“You!” cried Bochari.

“I,” repeated Kazim. “Here is my authority,” producing a written scroll

of paper; “it is signed by the prince.”

“Give it me, give it me,” said Jehangire, rising and almost snatching

the paper out of Kazim’s hand. “Oh, my child! yes, it is his signature!

he accepts the terms which were offered him,--he submits to his father!

Oh Chusero, Chusero! how little you must have known that father’s

heart!” he added, pressing the paper to his lips and to his bosom.

“I say, then, my lords,” resumed Kazim, with increasing firmness and

dignity, “that the prince has a right to the protection which he

has purchased by his submission to the terms that were proposed to

him. For the party who prescribed those conditions, to be the first

to violate them, would be to implicate the throne itself in a most

flagitious offence against all the laws of honour and good faith, and

to lower the emperor to the level of that assassin, who conceived and

executed the stratagem through which the fortress was entered, the

subah deprived of his life, and the inmates of his harem,--whom every

law of Hindostan surrounded with inviolable respect,--massacred without

discrimination!”

“What! Nourmahal, too?” eagerly inquired Jehangire, rising and putting

his hand on his ataghan----

“By a miracle she is safe, sire,” answered Kazim. “The interposition

of Heaven in our favour sent to us a good dervish, by whose vigilance

we three were rescued from the slaughter, intended, I doubt not, for

her, as well as for her mother and myself. But I set no value upon my

life, nor is your throne worth the meanest slave in your empire, my

sovereign, if the perpetrators of that base massacre remain unpunished.

They were in the midst of their rejoicing--as fair--as guileless--as

happy an assemblage of unoffending women as ever graced the sanctuary

of a harem, when the arm of the murderer was bared against them within

their own walls. Is there a manly heart throughout all Hindostan,--can

any living being, invested with the human form, hear of such a horror

as this, without feeling every pulse of his life in arms to avenge it?”

“It was a most foul deed,” said Jehangire. “Whom do you accuse as the

author of it?”

“Suspicion--rumour with a thousand tongues already proclaim the

culprit--but it is my office to judge, not to accuse. All that I demand

at present is instant investigation upon this subject, before the

empire is roused to anger by the diffusion of the intelligence of what

has been done. This I demand, as the chief administrator of the laws. I

next demand the personal safety of the prince, to which I stand pledged

as the mediator, appointed by your majesty to negociate the peace.”

“Spoken rightly, Kazim Ayaz,” said the emperor. “Go, tell my son that

the conditions to which he has here affixed his name shall be held

sacred. Also give the requisite orders for prosecuting the author

of the massacre at the castle; and may Allah forget me if I shall

suffer him to contaminate the earth, whoever he may be. The council is

dissolved.”

CHAPTER IX.

Beware, my Lord--there’s treason in the camp.

Go you not forth unarmed: men whisper low,

And shrug their shoulders, and the finger place

Upon the lip mysteriously.

HINDOO DRAMA.

Bochari was, for the moment, astounded at the firmness exhibited by

the emperor. But he felt that he had no time to lose in taking his

measures; the question now concerned his own personal safety much more

than that of the prince, whose life was in the balance a few moments

before. Proceeding to his tent with the omrahs, whom he had gained over

to his party by largesses, and promises of high promotion, he charged

two of them to take Chusero under their care, and attended by an escort

of Orcha rajaputs, whom he had lately taken into his private pay, to

set out at once for the fortress of Gwalior, where they were to detain

the prince until further orders.

These arrangements were put into a course of execution with so much

expedition, that before the high-chancellor could discover the tent in

which the prisoner had been confined, since his arrival in the camp,

the latter was on his way to the prison designed for him by Bochari.

But the precautions of the Persian did not stop here. The presence

of Kazim in the camp, instead of being any longer subservient to his

purposes, was calculated, on the contrary, in every way to thwart them.

The ascendancy of that dignitary in the council, was already apparent;

and the new position in which the death of the subah had placed

Nourmahal, would, of necessity, add so materially to the chancellor’s

influence over the mind of the emperor, that all would be lost unless

the most vigorous steps were adopted, and that too without a moment’s

deliberation. Bochari having intimated these dangers to his confederate

omrahs and rajaputs, they assembled together in his tent.

“You are perfectly aware, my friends,” said he, “that whatever outcry

may be raised against us for the contrivance to which we were obliged

to have recourse, in order to obtain an entrance into the subah’s

castle, it was one without which that fortress, in itself impregnable,

never could have been captured. The results justify all that we have

done.”

To this assertion his associates readily assented.

“I pledged myself to participate with you in the perils of that

enterprise. I was the first to quit the palanquins, to reconnoitre

the apartments of the castle, and to advance into the gallery. I have

the happiness to believe, that it was chiefly through my discharge

the arch-traitor fell. You know that I apprehended Chusero with my

own hand--and you will do me the justice to believe, that no motives,

except those arising from my deep interest in the welfare of the

empire, and my determination, that you shall receive the great rewards

due to you for your zealous co-operation with me on this important

occasion, could have induced me to expose your safety and my own to

the hazards, in which for several hours we were involved. Had we been

discovered before the moment for action arrived, can you doubt that we,

and not the enemies of the emperor, should have been the victims?”

“It was but the turn of the dice,” said one of the omrahs. “We won--and

we must now maintain our position, or we shall soon be trampled in the

dust.”

“The high-chancellor, you have observed--you, my lords, who were

present just now in the council--completely controls the emperor.

Nourmahal’s charms--and all must acknowledge that they are

unrivalled--will place the empire entirely at the feet of that family.

There is no act of sorcery which she will not put into requisition, in

order to prepare her way to the throne.”

The rajaputs drew their scymitars, and evinced, by their manner, that

they were prepared to execute any directions which the commander would

be pleased to give them.

“No, not yet. The moment has not arrived for measures of this

description. We cannot but know, that however hateful to us the

chancellor may be, and however incompatible with our just hopes his

influence with the emperor, there is a certain weight attached to his

name and office, which might operate to our prejudice if we were known

to have adopted any steps against him of a summary nature.”

“His language in the council,” remarked one of the omrahs, “is not to

be tolerated. It was clearly treasonable.”

“Treasonable, beyond all doubt,” said Bochari; “and Nourmahal can also

be considered in no other light than as a principal actor in the late

rebellion, seeing that she remained in the castle during the time, when

her consort was engaged in actual revolt against the emperor upon the

Sutledge, and afterwards at Lahore.”

“Moreover,” added the omrah, who had spoken before, “has she not now

fled, instead of submitting to the emperor, as it would have become a

faithful subject to do?”

“Our duty, therefore, is,” said Bochari, “to place the father and

daughter under arrest--to have them conveyed to Agra, whither the

emperor and army will forthwith return--to have the culprits regularly

arraigned for high treason--and to impose the responsibility of

convicting or acquitting them upon the lawful tribunals of the empire.”

A buzz of approbation followed this suggestion, and measures were

taken on the instant for acting in conformity with it. But before the

confederates separated, they asked what course was to be adopted, in

case the emperor should not give his assent to these proceedings.

“Leave that to me,” said Bochari; “I will secure you against any

opposition in that quarter.”

The high chancellor, who had gone forth from the emperor’s pavilion

in search of the prince, speedily returned with an account that

Chusero had been just seen to quit the camp, attended by a body of

rajaputs. Jehangire immediately directed the commander to be summoned

to his presence; but the officer despatched on that duty, having been

prevented for some time from approaching Bochari’s tent by the guards

surrounding it, he was obliged to wait until the confederate council

was broken up. Bochari did not hesitate to obey the summons.

“What have you done with my son, slave?” exclaimed the emperor, in

violent agitation.

“That which was due to his rank, and to your wishes, sire,” answered

Bochari, with consummate coolness.

“Explain.”

“It was your majesty’s pleasure that his life should be preserved. Your

standard is planted on the citadel of the castle. There is no longer a

rebel force in this province. The army, having nothing further to do

here, is preparing to accompany your majesty to your capital, where

the exigencies of public affairs demand your presence. The prince has

preceded you, attended only by an escort suitable to his station, and

I am here, your slave, as you deign to designate me, ready to execute

your majesty’s further orders.”

Jehangire looked bewildered. He examined Bochari’s countenance for a

moment or two, not knowing whether he should credit this statement, or

order the Persian under arrest.

“Why was my son not brought to me, at all events, before he quitted the

camp? Did you not know how I loved him? Did you never feel the yearning

of a father’s heart to behold the countenance of a long lost child?”

“It was his own desire to postpone the meeting for some days. His sense

of shame, he said--”

“Let him be recalled--take horse, my lords,” said Jehangire, turning

to two of the omrahs in waiting; “fly after my son with the speed

of lightning. Bring him thither; he shall go with me to Agra, in

my palanquin. Insolent man, to assume this authority without even

consulting me.”

The omrahs proceeded to execute the emperor’s mandate; but they

returned in a few minutes to his presence, and stated that the square

outside the pavilion was densely crowded with cavalry, who would not

permit them to pass through.

Bochari turned pale, but still remained firm.

The omrahs drew their swords, and placing themselves between the

emperor and the commander, declared their belief that designs were

entertained against his majesty’s life. They entreated him to retire.

Jehangire, hearing a tumult without, drew his knife, and cutting his

way through the screen of the pavilion, entered the bathing-tent which

was behind his sleeping apartment. Meantime the pavilion was filled

with armed men.

“I accuse Kazim Ayaz of high treason,” said Bochari, in a loud

and commanding voice. “Guards, do your duty!” The chancellor was

immediately surrounded by rajaputs. The commander, followed by several

of the confederate omrahs, with drawn swords, went in search of the

emperor, who, having called all the attendants in waiting to his

assistance, appeared in front of them with his bared scymitar, resolved

to defend himself to the last. He raised the weapon to attack Bochari,

when, perceiving that his nobles and attendants were disarmed by the

intruders, he dropped his point and said, “I am betrayed.”

“Say, on the contrary, my sovereign, that you are saved--saved from

machinations of which you had no conception.”

“What is the meaning of all this? What have I done, that I am placed in

this situation?”

“Conspirators had planned your destruction, sire. We have frustrated

their designs. The moment it was known that the prince had arrived a

prisoner in the camp, many of the omrahs, who had throughout the war

taken every occasion to exhibit their malignity against me, sought his

presence, and tendered him their allegiance. Your chancellor, even in

the council, dared to throw out the most infamous insinuations against

me; your life--my life--were no longer secure from danger.”

“For myself I have no fear,” said the emperor. “The attachment of the

nobles to my son, is but a pledge of their fidelity to me--a fidelity

too, of which I have too many proofs to doubt it for a moment.”

“If your majesty feel so assured upon this point, then all that it

remains for me to do is to place myself under your protection.”

“Be certain of that. Is there any thing further which you can desire?

If not, it is my pleasure that you should withdraw.”

“These omrahs, also, who stand behind me.”

“What do they require?”

“Full security for themselves and for me; without it we will not

retire.”

“Name your terms, Bochari. I did not expect this treatment from you. I

have always appreciated your services.”

“Your words in the council, sire--your words in the pavilion, when you

were pleased to vilify me by the appellation of slave, did not indicate

a very strong remembrance of my poor services to the empire.”

“I own I was offended--outraged in my feelings by the sudden removal of

my son.”

“Nay, sire, I presume not to make any remark upon your strange

language, or stranger manner to me--a traitor was by your side to whom

I impute both.”

An officer here entered the tent, and having informed the commander

that the troops were on the march, that all the tents were struck,

and that persons were in waiting to take down his majesty’s pavilion,

Bochari ordered his horses to be brought.

“These proceedings,” said Jehangire, “are altogether most

extraordinary. Well, let my horses be brought also.”

“Sire! mine are wholly at your service.”

“If I be still emperor of Hindostan, and have a horse which I can call

my own, I shall mount him.”

Jehangire’s desire, upon this point, having been complied with, he and

Bochari rode slowly away together in the midst of a strong troop of

Orcha rajaputs, but in a direction different from that which the great

body of the army had taken.

CHAPTER X.

Oh, Death! Death! Thou art a great avenger.

’Tis when thy arrow hath thy victim pierced,

That those, who mourn the lost, begin to know

His virtues, and remember in their heart

Of hearts how oft they caused the needless tear

To stain the cheek that ne’er shall blush again.

MINHAGE.

Upon his departure from the hermitage for the imperial camp, Kazim

assured Mangeli, that if he did not return thither in the course of

the day, he would despatch a messenger to give an account to her of

his proceedings. He possessed, however, no means of accomplishing his

promise. The rajaputs, to whose custody he was consigned by Bochari,

though they treated him personally with respect, stated that they had

no orders to forward communications from him to any person whomsoever,

and that their duty was limited to attendance upon him until his

arrival at Agra. Astonished at this intelligence, and alarmed for the

effect which his continued absence and silence might produce upon

the already too much agitated mind of Mangeli he entreated, at all

events, that he might be permitted to see his wife and daughter before

departing for the capital. He was told that the ladies would probably

be at Agra before him, as swift-paced elephants had been already placed

at their disposal, in order to enable them to return thither with as

little delay as possible.

Kazim needed no reflection to feel assured that he was now, with his

family, altogether in the hands of Bochari. He saw that, throughout

all the occurrences which had recently taken place, he had been an

instrument in the hands of that base and remorseless man. As to his

personal safety, he thought no more of it. Doubtless measures were

taken for sacrificing him, and having no longer any mode of avoiding

his fate, he resigned himself to the decrees of Providence, But to be

separated at such a moment from Mangeli and Nourmahal was, indeed, a

thought full of anxiety and grief. Could he be assured that they were

treated with ordinary respect,--could he be certain that they were yet

in existence,--even information to this extent would quiet the pangs

that every moment shot through his brain, threatening to bear away all

the power of reason. But the officer in command of the rajaputs was

inexorable. No entreaty could induce him to comply with Kazim’s desire

for gaining intelligence upon these points. They rode on night and day,

except for a few hours after noon-tide, sometimes on the public road,

more frequently through the bye-paths, taking the shortest course they

could find towards Agra.

Kazim’s feelings told him accurately what those of his consort and

daughter were, under the circumstances in which they were placed. They

agreed, without hesitation, in the opinion that his duty to the empire

imposed upon him the necessity of losing no time in repairing to the

camp, and in demanding a full and an immediate investigation into the

origin of the massacre which had taken place at the castle. Zeinedeen

already apprised them of the conclusions at which _his_ mind had

arrived as to the stratagem which was practised by Bochari, with a view

to obtain possession of the castle. But he concealed from them the

apprehensions which he could not help entertaining, that the tragedy

was designed to comprehend Nourmahal, as well as the prince and the

subah, if not even the chancellor, whose integrity and great popularity

must have been felt by Bochari as a continual reproach upon his own

character.

The distance of the imperial camp from the hermitage was not

considerable. It might easily be traversed by a horseman in an hour

or two. As the morning wore away without any letters from Kazim,

uneasiness became more and more wildly pictured upon Mangeli’s

countenance. Zeinedeen took them to the summit of the tower, whence

they could clearly see Kazim, if he were returning, or any messengers

despatched with communications for them. But they could discern no

object moving in any direction that led to the hermitage.

Now and then a trooper galloped out from the camp, and having watered

his horse at a brook, that tumbled down the hill-side, where the

tents were erected, seemed preparing to cross it. But he instantly

returned the same way. Once or twice spearmen were seen moving beyond

the outposts. They crossed the brook; after washing their feet, they

hastened over the plain; but they then turned towards the castle,

for the garrison of which they appeared to be charged with some

instructions. Peasants also occasionally passed through the lines,

again over the brook into the plain, and upon the very path that led to

the hermitage. But they were speedily lost sight of.

All Mangeli’s terrors of the preceding night were rapidly returning

upon her senses. Nourmahal endeavoured to soothe her mother’s alarm by

every suggestion she could make. But between watching at the window

for the appearance of her father, or of a messenger from him, and the

attentions of which her beloved parent stood so much in need, she

became almost distracted. Zeinedeen walked up and down in the apartment

where they were, his arms folded, and occasionally offering hopes, and

advising patience, which were very far from his own breast. Matters,

he plainly saw, were, from one quarter of an hour to another, assuming

a more sinister appearance, and it occurred to him that in not taking

steps for conveying Mangeli and Nourmahal from the hermitage, he was

not acting with his ordinary discretion.

At length the approach of a troop of horsemen was announced by

Nourmahal. Zeinedeen looked out, and observing that they were galloping

with all the rapidity they could command, he lost no further time in

urging his companions to go with him to a place of safety.

His intention was to lead them, by a secret passage at the foot of the

stair-case, to a subterranean chamber, where they might remain until

the object of the troopers in coming to the hermitage should be known.

Unhappily, Mangeli, at the moment, fell into her daughter’s arms in

a swoon. Nourmahal, overwhelmed by anxiety for her mother, could not

be made to comprehend the necessity of yielding instant obedience to

the advice of Zeinedeen. Mangeli breathed again. The trampling of the

horses was heard. The hermit, taking both his companions by the hand,

conducted them to the staircase, but before he descended half-way, he

found it crowded with officers, whose long scabbards clattered on the

steps as they were hastening upwards in search of his guests.

The hermit and his trembling companions were obliged to return to the

chamber they had just left. They were followed by the strangers. One

of the officers to whom the persons of Nourmahal and her mother were

well known, after paying them his homage in the most respectful manner,

stated that orders had been given for the immediate breaking up of

the encampment, and the return of the army to Agra; that the emperor,

after making arrangements for the future government of Cashmere, had

already set out for the capital, attended by the commander and the high

chancellor; and that the guards now in waiting were commissioned to

attend upon their highnesses on their journey homewards.

This communication, made with an air of soldierly frankness and

sincerity, tended in no small degree to confirm the apprehensions which

the first announcement of the approach of the troops had kindled in the

hermit’s mind.

“You have, of course,” he said, “letters from the high chancellor to

his family.”

“I have no letters,” answered the officer; “nor am I aware that any of

my comrades have been charged with any other communication than that

which I have now made. Swift elephants will be here presently with

palanquins, and as the emperor and chancellor cannot be far on their

road, I should hope that we may easily overtake them in a few hours.

“I own,” said Zeinedeen, “I am surprised that the chancellor was not

deputed by the emperor to take charge of his own family, or, at all

events, that you have no written, or even verbal communication from

him.”

“There seemed to have been little time for ceremony of any sort this

morning; for such was the suddenness with which the orders for the

march of the troops were given, and put into execution, that we have

been most of us obliged to entrust the collection and care of our

baggage to the suttlers of the camp, many of whom, as perhaps you know,

are very little to be depended upon.”

Mangeli and her daughter, having retired to a recess in one of the

windows, listened to this conversation with painful attention. The

arrival of the palanquins having been announced, they, however, had now

no alternative. It was not in Zeinedeen’s power, even had he wished

it, to defer their departure. They were informed that there were two

palanquins at their disposal; but that if they preferred proceeding

together in the same vehicle, they were perfectly at liberty to indulge

their wishes on that point. They might, moreover, rest assured of

meeting from the escort, appointed to accompany them, every possible

attention.

Zeinedeen’s fears were, in a great measure, disarmed by these

assurances. Still a sense of disquietude lingered in his mind, which he

in vain exerted himself to compose. When the cavalcade was declared to

be ready for departure, Mangeli gave him her hand, fully expecting that

he would accompany them to Agra. The thought had not before occurred to

him. He mentioned her wishes to the officer in command, who, without

hesitation, declared that he knew of no objection that could be offered

to that course. A palanquin would be at the hermit’s service, if he

chose to accept it.

Zeinedeen yielded to Mangeli’s entreaties, enforced as they were by

those of Nourmahal, and by the solicitude with which his thoughts were

filled for the fate of Kazim. Having informed his domestics of his

intention, and desired them, however, to be prepared for his speedy

return, he affectionately bade them farewell.

Poor old Chunder was sadly grieved at the departure of his beloved

master. If he had tears he would have wept, but he could not. He was

sure they would never meet again. Holding Zeinedeen’s hands in his,

he kissed them, and prayed that Allah might protect him, and shower

upon his head every good gift. He would allow nobody to assist him in

raising his master to the palanquin,--a service, indeed, which he was

ill able to perform. But the old man’s affection was allowed by the

escort to have its way.

All the preparations for the departure of the cavalcade having been

at length completed, it proceeded on its route. The lattices of the

palanquin in which Nourmahal and her mother reclined, were carefully

veiled, and female slaves were in readiness to wait upon them; so far

as their personal convenience was concerned, they found that every

arrangement had been provided necessary for a long journey.

Under other circumstances, the expectation of returning once more

to “dear Agra,” as she often loved to call it, would have awakened

in Nourmahal’s bosom its most fervent emotions of rapture. But what

a world of reflections crowded upon her, as she passed by the castle

lately her residence, now no longer ruled by the subah! It had been to

her the scene of much suffering,--of many, many a gloomy hour, through

which the rays of sunshine, that now and then struggled through them,

were indeed but few!

Her mother deeply sympathised with her in all the tears which the

retrospect of that scene called forth. They were tears of bitter

sorrow. It was now at last admitted by her once cold and alienated

heart, that she ought to have loved the husband who knew no joy on

earth which did not derive its light from her. His every look of

tenderness, to which, in life, she was indifferent; his timid advances

towards hope that she would love him, which she had repelled; his

generous abstinence from the slightest exhibition of unkindness, from

even a gesture that could be construed into reproach,--these and a

thousand other recollections now gathered in dense array before her,

and demanded, if not vengeance, at least expiation.

Nourmahal never was inclined to conceal from herself the merits

of Afkun’s character. His faults, if any she had known, were now

forgotten. Her memory was active in shadowing out every particular

transaction, in which the part of the sufferer fell to his share, in

consequence of apathy on her side. Many were the instances in which she

now acknowledged that she showed him too little forbearance; many those

in which, by a slight act of assiduity, she might have spared him pain.

His spirit looked upon her placidly, telling her that he forgave all;

but it was this very meekness which wrung her heart with anguish.

Would that the warrior had indeed heard the sobs of remorse which

escaped from that once proud breast, as pressing her head upon her

mother’s lap she yielded to all the intensity of a widow’s grief! She

mourned, not because she had ever felt for him the sentiment of love.

It would have been hypocrisy to have attributed her agony to any such

source. Nature, destiny, circumstances, for which it would have been

unjust to blame that beauteous woman, denied to her the faculty of

loving more than one being, who for good or for evil was appointed to

absorb all that she could ever know of that divine emotion.

No; Nourmahal mourned because she had no longer the opportunity of

repaying Afkun, as far as she might have done, any measure of the

gratitude which she owed him for all his true enduring love, for all

his god-like generosity,--the remembrance of which, now that he was no

more, pierced her soul like a barbed arrow.

CHAPTER X (continued).

The worse the ill that fate on noble souls

Inflicts, the more their firmness; and they arm

Their spirits with adamant to meet the blow.

HINDOO PLAY.

As the escort pursued their journey from day to day, they were

occasionally joined by stragglers from the main body of the army, who

seemed full of some extraordinary intelligence, which they communicated

in whispers, and with many shrugs of the shoulder to the officers.

The frequent occurrence of those communications, and the mysterious

manner in which the officers appeared to converse about them, amongst

themselves, attracted the observation, and renewed the alarm of

Zeinedeen. He more than once distinctly overhead the words “high

treason” connected with Kazim’s name. Nourmahal’s name also was often

mentioned. He saw, moreover, that after the officers received this

intelligence, whatever it was, they became more rigid in enforcing

discipline amongst the escort.

During the halts of the first day, Mangeli often inquired whether

they were yet in sight of the imperial guards, who would be easily

distinguishable by their begla plumes from the other regiments of the

army. But nothing of the kind was observable. Upon the route, by which

she was travelling, few objects were to be seen moving, except the

soldiers by whom her palanquin were attended. She counted the hours

with the most harassing anxiety, as they passed one after another,

without realizing the expectation she had been led to entertain,

that they would speedily overtake the imperial suite, and be under

the protection of her husband. At every halt she grew more and more

impatient. Her foreboding fears were shared by Nourmahal, who,

after the first outbursts of grief, with which her heart had been

overladen, applied all the energies she could command to control her

apprehensions, and to wear upon her countenance, for the encouragement

and consolation of her agonised mother, some degree of calmness.

After the difficult descents of Pees-Punchal, and the Bember were

passed, the travellers had still many wearisome days before them, until

they embarked on the Jumna. Nothing was yet heard of the emperor, or

the chancellor, beyond vague reports, that they were not with the

army, which took the road to Lahore, but that they might be expected

shortly to arrive at Agra. Mangeli, as well as Nourmahal, appeared to

feel considerable relief on entering the vessel which was to convey

them down the river. They had suffered much fatigue from the heavy,

and, at the same time, rapid movements of the elephants, and from

their close confinement within the palanquins. They had now a cabin

assigned to their own use, to which, on their request, Zeinedeen was

permitted unreserved access. His presence lent them fortitude, even

when his conversation failed to beguile them of the fears, by which

they continued to be affected concerning Kazim.

The lofty minarets, and domes of the capital, at length announced the

termination of their journey. They naturally expected to be conveyed

by water to the marble steps, which led from the shore of the Jumna

to the chancellor’s palace; but the officer, under whose care they

had been placed, stated that he had no orders to that effect. His

instructions, he said, which he was bound rigidly to obey, mentioned

particular apartments in one of the castles of the citadel, which were

prepared for their accommodation, until the arrival of the chancellor.

Zeinedeen did not conceal his surprise at this arrangement. Still he

had no advice to offer, but continued patience and resignation to the

will of Providence, who would doubtless sooner or later put a period to

their disappointments.

The astonishment of the good hermit, and the sense of alarm which

continued to prey upon the spirits of the mother and daughter, were

far from being mitigated, when upon being handed over by the commander

of the escort to the governor of the citadel, to whom at the same time

the former delivered a letter under the imperial seal, the wearied

travellers were conducted to a quarter of the citadel, which appeared

to be the residence of the lowest menials attached to the service of

the imperial palace. The chamber, into which they were first shown,

was lighted only by a small narrow window near the ceiling. Even that

solitary window had a strong iron bar running down the middle, which

not only added to the dimness of the apartment, but explained to them

at once their real situation.

“Are we then prisoners?” asked Nourmahal, turning to the governor,

after she had rapidly surveyed the chamber.

“My office has often been a painful one,” he replied, “but never more

so than at this moment. The orders which I have received from the

emperor----”

“From the emperor?”

“From the emperor.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Nourmahal.

“The seal and the signature leave no room for doubt upon that point.

Here is the imperial warrant, which I am bound at the peril of my head

to put into execution.”

“Oh! it must be some mistake. Jehangire would never think of assigning

to Nourmahal such an apartment as this,--it must be some cruel

imposition.”

Zeinedeen asked permission to look at the document, which he

immediately returned to the governor, observing that there seemed to be

no reason to doubt its authenticity.

“You see here, however,” added the governor, “the worst of your

apartments. There are others connected with it, which are much more

spacious and cheerful, and overlook the river; but they will not be

prepared for your use until to-morrow, as I was not apprised, until the

very moment of your arrival, that personages of so much distinction

were to be lodged in this wing of the citadel.”

“Every new circumstance of this business appears more inexplicable than

the one by which it is preceded,” said Zeinedeen. “Do you know if the

emperor be yet arrived?”

“His majesty is not yet arrived,” answered the governor, “but he is

expected early to-morrow morning.”

“That, at all events, is something,” said Nourmahal, pressing

her mother to her bosom. “The enigma will soon be solved--the

suspense--dearest and best of mothers,” she added, fervidly kissing her

pallid cheeks--“in which we must spend the night, will be of no great

duration. The high chancellor, sir, is he with the emperor?”

“So the last couriers say.”

“You hear that, mother? _He_ is safe at all events. He will,

indeed, be surprised to find us in this prison. You, of course, know,

sir, that this is the consort, and I am the daughter of Kazim Ayas.”

“I should have known that, even had your names not been set forth in

the warrant.”

It afforded Zeinedeen some relief to observe that Nourmahal’s natural

fortitude of mind had not abandoned her on this trying occasion; that,

on the contrary, it seemed growing upon her with each new difficulty,

which this sudden reverse of her fortunes presented to her view. He

most anxiously aided her in the exertions she made to infuse her own

courage into the bosom of her mother; but the mind of Mangeli was cast

in a different mould. She was altogether an instrument played upon

by the affections. “Were but Kazim with me,” she repeated a thousand

times, “I could endure any thing. But separate from him I am nothing.

I know not what to do or to say. I have no sense of any thing going

on around me. I feel that my child is here,” she added, pausing, and

looking steadfastly into Nourmahal’s eyes. “Oh, thanks to Alla!--Yes,

my beloved child! born to me in the desert, with no covering to protect

thee save the coiled serpent,--no pillow to sustain thee, save the

burning sand,--no food to nurture thee in this dried up bosom,--the

howling blast for thy lullaby,--and for thy nurse, the horrid vulture!

Oh, God, be again and again adored! We were then guarded by Thy

merciful hand!”

“And will be guarded still by Him, mother! Be comforted, to-morrow,

to-morrow must end our woes.”

The governor, who was himself a parent, could not witness this scene

without a degree of emotion, which he in vain endeavoured to repress.

Drawing Zeinedeen aside, he told him in a low voice, interrupted by

pangs which choked his utterance, that he would see if, by any exertion

he could make, the other rooms belonging to that suite could be placed

at their disposal before night. Warmly pressing the hermit’s arm, as

a token of the interest which he felt in their behalf, he quitted the

chamber, locking the door after him as gently as possible, to prevent

them from hearing that most dismal of all sounds, the shooting of the

bolt that announces the loss of liberty.

The only article of furniture which Zeinedeen could discover in the

prison where they now stood, was a low divan close to the bare wall,

constructed of wood, and a thin ragged cushion. The floor appeared to

be composed of hard clay. Drawing Nourmahal and her mother towards

the divan, he persuaded them to rest there for a while, and await

the result of the efforts of the governor, who, he had no doubt, was

disposed to render them all the service in his power.

During the journey from Cashmere to Agra, the hermit collected from

several members of the escort, with whom he conversed whenever the

halts permitted him to do so, various particulars concerning the

sanguinary scenes which had been perpetrated at the fortress of Kebeer.

These particulars he now took an opportunity of detailing to Mangeli

and Nourmahal, hoping that if they could give their attention to the

relation of woes much more grievous than their own, they might be

gradually prepared for the privations to which he clearly foresaw

they were now doomed for some time. The death of Kanun particularly

affected her mistress. The circumstances with which it was attended,

were calculated to touch her heart. She was much attached to that

girl, whom, though originally placed in attendance upon her as a

slave, she considered in the light of a sister. Far from entertaining

any impulse of jealousy, on hearing of the passion which Kanun had

secretly cherished for Afkun, she only wondered that she had not

herself observed it at an earlier period. Many little circumstances

now occurred to her recollection, which confirmed all Zeinedeen had

heard upon that subject; and it was even some consolation to her to

know, that in his last moments the subah was not wholly abandoned to

the merciless outlaws by whose hands he fell. It was some balm to her

troubled spirit to think, that the attendant whom she best loved, clung

to her suffering consort on that occasion, and rendered him the last

services which he was capable of receiving.

For the many other innocent victims of that dreadful night, Nourmahal

expressed deep regret. She called to mind, and mentioned to her mother,

the various traits of amiability by which they were distinguished,

and the brilliant talents they occasionally displayed, which required

nothing more than education to render them perfect.

But these details speedily led to the conclusion, that the annals of

Hindostan had furnished no instance of treachery more disgraceful to

its authors, than that by which the fortress was gained to the emperor.

Zeinedeen expressed his entire conviction, that Jehangire could have

known nothing of the nature of the presents, which were conveyed within

the walls in the fatal palanquins. Rumour universally ascribed the

contrivance of that iniquitous scheme to the mind of Bochari, to which

every base device, every species of crime, was known to be familiar.

“It is impossible, therefore, to doubt,” said Nourmahal, “that it is

to the Persian we are to attribute the position in which we are now

placed. It clearly entered into his designs to involve the whole of us

in destruction on that terrible night. The deed once consummated, it

could not be recalled; and by the power which he unhappily possesses,

he would have easily put an end to all inquiries about us. But Alla

having, through your instrumentality, Zeinedeen, protected us from the

machinations of that murderous scene, he durst not venture to attack

us again through the same kind of warfare. No doubt he now seeks to

accomplish his purpose by some other means.”

“Bochari is, indeed, to be dreaded,” observed the hermit. “But there is

an eye above us all, from which nothing can be concealed--an arm which,

sooner or later, is sure to overtake and strike down the murderer. The

Persian will, probably, fabricate some charge--indeed it is currently

reported, that he has already prepared an accusation of high-treason

against the chancellor.”

“Oh! that he would dare to charge my husband with treason to the

state,” exclaimed Mangeli, with an unwonted degree of energy. “Oh! that

the Persian would venture on such an accusation as that! There is not

a child in Hindostan, who does not know Kazim’s true attachment to the

emperor, and to the people under his sceptre! The day of that trial

would be the last that Bochari ever would see. No troops could protect

him from the indignation of the inhabitants of Agra, from the first

omrah down to the lowest slave!”

“It is publicly said, that the emperor himself is nothing more or less

than a captive in the hands of Bochari,” added Zeinedeen. “On leaving

the camp his majesty rode unarmed by the side of the Persian, and

surrounded by a troop of Orcha rajaputs.”

“Orcha rajaputs?” asked Mangeli.

“So I am informed.”

“Those are the assassins, by whose hands Abul Fazeel, our beloved

friend, perished, when on his way to the Deccan,” added Mangeli.

Nourmahal had not heard before of the death of Fazeel. The name

arrested her attention, for she had heard it recently pronounced in a

tone she was not likely to forget. She inquired minutely into all the

particulars of that transaction, which her mother related as far as she

knew them.

The governor at length re-appeared, followed by slaves with lights, his

beaming countenance indicating the pleasure which he said he felt in

having succeeded, in obtaining better accommodation for them than those

which that miserable chamber afforded. Proceeding to a door, opposite

to the one by which he entered, he opened it, and conducted Nourmahal

and her mother to a spacious apartment plainly carpeted, but furnished

with divans, cushions, and mattresses, sufficient for their use. This

room communicated with another, which, he added, would also be at their

service, and overlooked the Jumna, as they would perceive when the

day-light should return. A frugal supper was then placed before them,

of which, however, they were none of them in spirits to partake.

It was arranged, that Zeinedeen should avail himself of the hospitable

offer made by the governor of a suitable residence during the time he

might feel disposed to remain in Agra. The party then separated for

the night--Mangeli and Nourmahal consigning themselves to mattresses,

placed close to each other, little solicitous, however, of repose,

which they had no wish to enjoy, until they should be assured of the

return and the safety of the chancellor.