Don Sebastian; Or, the House of the Braganza: An Historical Romance: Volume 2 by Anna Maria Porter - HTML preview

 

CHAP. VIII.

DAY dawned over the high top of Atlas, bringing the hour for Abensallah’s departure; Sebastian was first ready: they set off together, the former seated on a quiet mule, which Tefza kindly forced the dervise to accept; the latter walking by his side.

No sooner were they beyond the precincts of Riffa, and passing under the refreshing shade of trees, than Sebastian besought his companion to proceed with his narrative: Abensallah hastened to acquiesce.

“My story will not be much longer;” he observed, “it is enough to tell thee that Kara Aziek reached her home in safety, where the ablest physicians were employed to restore her health: but her soul languished for thee, my son, and medicines cannot reach the soul.—her father too, happy in beholding her again, and moved by her melancholy, though ignorant of its cause, consented to defer sending information of her safety to the Basha of Syria, till our prophet should have heard the prayers of the physicians: this indulgence somewhat revived her, yet her heart drooped again, for she believed thee lost. Wasted by sorrow and sickness, every one supposed her fast descending to Hades, when lo, her looks brightened, her spirit overflowed with joy, and she revived to a second life. This wonderful change was wrought in her, by one of those events which Providence orders, but which erring mortals so often attribute to chance.”

Dost thou not remember, prince, having found a traveller in the road to Riffa, whom robbers had stripped and left covered with wounds?—thou did’st carry him in thine arms to the house of thy master, thy pious cares restored him to life, he sojourned with thee five days, at parting, thy words were these, “Moor, do not thank me, thank Christ, whose servant I am, and who has taught me to succour even those who deny his name.”

“Yes—I remember this man, but what had he to do with my fate?”

“Much,” returned Abensallah, “see how good actions bless themselves!—this man came to Mequinez to visit a brother, who is married to Kara Aziek’s favorite woman: he spoke of thee, he detailed thy humanity, described thy person, and thy discourses, but chiefly he spoke of yon faithful animal, whom he had heard thee call thy preserver from shipwreck: at this relation Benzaide ran to her mistress, transfused her own hopes into her bosom, and quickly suggested a mode of being satisfied.—The Almoçadem El Hader, had been just offered the government of Benzeroel; Kara Aziek was to persuade him to accept it, as that step would bring her into a cavila near thee.

“No sooner was she removed thither, than remembering thy accounts of Abensallah, she dispatched messengers for me, partly that I might teach her how best to thank the great prophet for restoring her health, partly to interest me with her own anxiety: the sad story she had to tell of thy misfortunes, renewed all my affection, I set out, and found thee.”

At these words, Sebastian precipitated himself into the arms of the benevolent dervise, his excessive emotion deprived him of utterance: “Ah my son!” resumed Abensallah, “if Providence destines thee to regain thy rights, thou hast promised to sheathe the sword, which for so many centuries has desolated Africa;—be true to that promise, and then I cannot believe myself culpable in seeking to obtain thy freedom, and preserving for thee the heart of her, whose virtues will prove the best guarantee of thy good faith. Thou knowest I am no bigot; wherever they are to be found, sincerity and zeal obtain my respect. Christians are as yet but walking in darkness, they see not the light that we do, but if they walk uprightly according to their own laws, may we not hope for their salvation? Obey thy prophet, prince, and then I trust we shall meet again, even in the paradise of his superior, Mahomet.”

“Hold, hold, father,” interrupted Sebastian, averting his face with a look of horror, “I must not listen to such impious words. I acknowledge no superior to Him under whose banner I fight.”

Abensallah cast on him a glance of pity, but did not answer: Sebastian for some time preserved a dignified silence, at length suddenly recollecting the commission he had formerly given the dervise, he enquired whether he had ever sought out the Portuguese prisoners.

A new source of satisfaction opened to him when he learnt that Abensallah’s charitable exertions had procured the release of several, and that amongst them was Don Emanuel de Castro.

Had he then told De Castro of his sovereign’s existence? How had he received that information? What sentiments had he uttered? These, and a croud of other questions, followed each other with such impetuosity, that the dervise scarcely found an opportunity of replying to them.

“When he took the ring thou didst instruct me to display,” said Abensallah, “his otherwise calm and thoughtful aspect, became suddenly as changeful my son, as thine own: his cheek alternately reddened and grew pale, and his eyes bent on the momentous signet, seemed fraught with past events: once or twice he sighed, but soon brightening into joy, he put it respectfully to his lips, and devoutly blessed thy prophet for having preserved thee. Having told him of thy strange disappearance, he seemed greatly disturbed, although I endeavoured to make him believe that some hasty impulse had prompted thee to brave thy fate, without my assistance: he then won from me the ring, assuring me that shouldst thou not be returned to Portugal, unless he could produce that, such of the grandees as found it their interest to doubt, might plausibly suspect him of falsehood. To this reasoning I yielded, and soon after, journeying to Tangier, made my way to the governor, and brought back with me a redemption friar, to treat for Don Emanuel’s ransom.

“Ignorant of his rank, the person to whose lot he had fallen would have sold him for a trifle, but thy friend refused to take advantage of this circumstance: he left with him seven purses of gold crowns.”

“How like De Castro!” interrupted his once-intemperate rival, “nobleness and he were twin-born! Father, it is one of my sins to have used this man unworthily.”

“What an unworthy passion must that have been which blinded thee!” exclaimed Abensallah, with an earnestness unusual to him. “Were I to paint Truth, the majestic portrait should have the lineaments of Emanuel de Castro.”

“It was an unworthy passion;” returned the King, casting his eyes down, yet somewhat proudly still—“However, father, I believed the object of it, what she appeared, an angel!”

This oblique defence produced some observations and admonitions from Abensallah which carried along with them infinite instruction; Sebastian listened with profound attention, and many of the exhortations he then heard, were remembered in after years with solid advantage.

They parted near a village where the good dervise had some charitable visits to make.

Reflective but happy, Sebastian returned homewards, too much occupied with Kara Aziek’s safety, and Abensallah’s friendship, to recollect that he was even now remote from enjoying them; fortunately for human nature, it is ever inclined to take one good as the earnest of another; and sweetly cheated by this self-delusion, the King of Portugal already looked confidently to the ultimate possession of all his wishes.

Tefza welcomed him back with many an encomium upon the pious dervise, whose discourses he ventured to hope would not be thrown away: encouraged by the complacency with which his slave heard him, he renewed his own arguments in favor of Mahomet, promising to make the Christian his heir, provided he would embrace Islamism. At any other period such a proposal would have drawn down on him a storm of indignation, but the harmonized feelings of Sebastian were at present inclined to put the most amiable construction upon every thing, he therefore saw only zeal and affection in this weak attempt at bribing him to abandon his peculiar faith, and answered him temperately yet firmly.

This unusual gentleness on a topic which had hitherto roused fiery opposition, gave the good Hadgé grounds for believing him not unmoved by the conversation of Abensallah.

While he was indulging unreal satisfaction during the days which followed this, his royal slave was impatiently watching the re-appearance of that winged messenger whose speedy return Abensallah had led him to expect. The first glow of blissful surprise was now over, chilling fears began to succeed; and in proportion to the value he set on Liberty and Love, so increased his doubts of ever obtaining them.

Kara Aziek under the command of her father, and himself in slavery, were ill able to give a happy change to their mutual destiny: it is true Abensallah had informed him that she would purchase his freedom through the medium of Benzaide’s brother-in-law, but observation of the Hadgé’s character warned him not to rely too much upon his acquiescence, and while contemplating the blind zeal of that devotee, he trembled to think, that after all, this bright dawn might darken, and the sun of felicity sink in clouds.

The fourth day elapsed without bringing any intelligence from Benzeroel: every hour of those days had the King hurried to the terrace, and hastily glanced round the whole circle of air; in the evenings when Tefza was at the mosque, he repaired to his station, gazing with a throbbing heart, which mistook every cloud for a bird.

The day was done, Tefza had come home and retired to rest, Sebastian sought the terrace again; he leaned over its railing, and his eyes wandered round a scene of solemn beauty.

The “moon walking in brightness,” cast her sublime shadow upon the city below; the minaurets of its mosques, and the flat roofs of its houses were covered with light as with a mantle; profound repose rested on these buildings; but a moment before they had been full of hurry and noise: distant groves of tall palms, and the far-off mountains of Atlas with their snowy summits, glittered faintly on the horizon, filling the imagination with yet nobler images, and prompting genius and piety to awake together. The whole prospect breathed peace, and all nature appeared to feel in this majestic stillness the immediate presence of her Almighty Maker.

Sebastian’s heart was touched, a sweet melancholy penetrated and filled it, never before had he thought of Kara Aziek with so little passion or so much love; never before had he contemplated eternity with her, with so much enthusiasm; he repeated her name softly, and some tears stole down his cheek.

“O beautiful planet!” he exclaimed, fixing his swimming eyes on the orb above, “Thou alone art like my beloved! perhaps she is looking on thee at this moment, and thinking of her Sebastian: our souls are then meeting, Kara Aziek, sympathy unites them, though a hard fate separates our lives.—Are we not destined to live together in another world?—O yes, thou wilt abjure thy error, and give thyself to the God I worship.”

He stopt, mused awhile, then recollecting the dove, again looked wistfully round. Perhaps some disaster had happened to her, some wandering Alarbe might have shot her as she flew! at so probable an idea composure vanished, and anxiety blended with pity began to encrease insupportably.

But at that instant a bright speck is seen on the deep blue of the Heavens; it increases, approaches! soon the white wings of a bird are visible, they move swifter, they pause, it is the dove!

She drops from her height and alights beside him: Sebastian seizes her hastily, but his trembling hand almost fears to grasp his prize; he covers her head, her wings, with kisses, he feels the letter beneath them, yet, as if afraid of too much joy, is unable to do more than to renew those kisses and to call on Heaven as the witness of his gratitude!

Having at last secured his treasure, neither humanity nor justice would permit him to enjoy it, till he had rewarded its carrier; he ran with the little creature in his bosom to his own chamber where he gave it food and water, caressing it all the time with a fondness which excited Barémel’s jealousy; he barked, and leaped upon his master as if to remind him that he too had served him.

“What a change!” exclaimed Sebastian, musing, “from a court and crowds of serving nobles, to this Moorish hovel; and these two mute creatures! ah well, they love me, and are faithful.”

He now placed the pigeon in a cage of oziers which he had before prepared for her, and while her weary eyes closed in sleep, and Barémel was comforted by licking his master’s hand unchidden, the momentous letter was opened and read.

All that the tenderest and freeest of hearts could dictate when addressing the object dearest to it on earth, that letter contained; it repeated vows of eternal constancy, and assured him that his freedom would immediately be attempted: but the joy diffused over Sebastian’s mind by this promise was blighted at once by learning, that a lamentable disorder had seized El Hader, and that in consequence of it, Aziek believed herself bound to remain with him.

“Thou wilt quit Barbary,” she wrote, “alas! thou wilt then have to quit it alone, (for how can I clandestinely desert a dying father who has indulgently heard my prayer of being released from the Basha?) but thoughts of Kara Aziek’s love will live in thy generous soul, and thou wilt claim her after thy return to Portugal.”

“Yet O! think not my beloved, that I will not follow thee to the remotest corner of the globe, should the angel of death summon away my kind parent: my soul is inseparable from thine; it is lost, confounded, mixed with thine for ever. Whatever be thy destiny I have a precious right to share it: in happiness or in misery art thou not my Sebastian?”

In another part she described in the most affecting language her emotions on receiving the proof of his preservation Sebastian did not require so lively a picture of Kara Aziek’s devotedness to be convinced that she lived only in him, and that while a sacred duty withheld her from sharing his fate immediately, she was rending her heart to obey its dictates. Alas! if he were to quit Barbary without her, how many years might pass ere he could return to claim her!

The joyful tumults excited at first, now sunk into sadness; trouble and apprehension took possession of that breast which so lately seemed filled with an eternity of happiness, and reclining his head on his hand, the sorrowful Sebastian sat thinking away the hours of night in cheerless solitude.

Aziek had settled that Babec (the dove was so called,) should remain in his care till after the arrival of Benzaide’s brother-in-law, and that then the pretty messenger was to be dispatched with news to his impatient mistress: Sebastian was to journey with his purchaser to the house of Benzaide, from whence it would not be difficult to manage an interview with Kara Aziek.

These were all the arrangements Aziek had yet made, at least all that she had written down; for in her heart were multitudes of contrary wishes, fantastic plans, seducing hopes, which she meant to communicate to her lover when they met. She was indeed meditating a full avowal to her father, whose sanction alone could reconcile such opposite affections; this project however, required infinite consideration, as El Hader might not easily give credit to the royal dignity, and base injuries of his former slave, or if he did, might deem it an act of conscience to betray him into the hands of his own sovereign: at any rate a Mussulman’s antipathy to a Christian would cost much pains to overcome.

After the lapse of a few days, Benzaide’s brother appeared at Riffa; the Hadgé instantly recollected in him the merchant whom his slave had succoured, and welcomed him, as he did all strangers, with benevolent hospitality: but when he proposed purchasing his benefactor, and so returning his goodness by the gift of freedom, Tefza turned pale, stammered out some encomiums upon his gratitude, and refused the request; a look of indignation from Sebastian made him cast down his eyes.

The traveller ventured to name a decided sum of money, and receiving no answer, doubled its amount; the Hadgé replied by a short angry negative: again the traveller redoubled his offer, and again Tefza refused it; the whole day was wasted in fruitless proposals on the one side, and firm denials on the other.

Meanwhile Sebastian watched with breathless anxiety the countenances of each; the letter Kara Aziek had sent him by Benzaide’s brother increased this anxiety, as it contained an account of her father’s heightened danger, warning him to prepare for many fresh obstacles if he were not free at the moment of his death to snatch her from the power of her relations. Tefza’s obstinacy almost irritated him to utter bitter invectives against that bigotted religion by which it was dictated: never before had he expressed himself so violently.

The Hadgé was grieved, somewhat displeased, but not shaken. “Come, come, no more of this my son, you speak the language of the evil-one, and he would fain make prey of that well-disposed heart of yours.—I know what is good for you—my frequent prayers do not arise in vain—some day our prophet will hear them, and you will feel that he does. What is money to me?—I have plenty of it—I covet only the treasure of good works;—and is it not a good work to save a soul?—once for all, I say I will not part with you.—Traveller you have your answer.”—

Kara Aziek’s agent sorrowfully departed.—

Sebastian hesitated a moment, then remembering that he owed her a sacrifice, he surmounted his towering spirit, and threw himself at the old man’s feet: there he implored his generosity, he acknowledged his obligations, he described his own affection and respect, but then he painted his passionate longing for freedom in the liveliest colours, and ventured to touch upon his own fidelity in having so long borne the weight of servitude, rather than act treacherously to a confiding master. In short he left no persuasion unapplied.

Tefza shed tears, and raised him tenderly; but he began upon the old argument, repeating his unjust determination.

Lashed into fury Sebastian now flung away the Hadgé’s hand, and looking at him with an inflamed countenance, exclaimed—“Take back then, all your favours;—at least oppress me with them no more—— I here abjure them, tell you I abhor them—will retain them no longer!—from this hour I hold myself released from every scruple of honour, and will employ my whole soul in trying to fly your accursed country! look well to me then—say not I have basely deceived you, for I tell it you in the face of Heaven.—— Why do you force me to this ingratitude, old man?—you have used me most graciously—may God bless you for it”—his voice faultered as he spoke the last words, but impatient of reply, he rushed out of the apartment.—

Blinded by passion, his reason did not see the folly of a too hasty communication to Kara Aziek; he hurried to his own chamber, wrote her a short detail of his disappointment, ending with an assurance that he would break his bonds at any rate, and soon hasten to her: having taken Babec from her cage, and fastened the vellum under her silver wing, he opened the casement and let her fly.

Scarcely waiting till she should disappear, he left his room and ran with the quickness of chafed feelings towards the town, where he had several sick persons to visit, and much alms to distribute: this occupation, by reminding him of the Hadgé’s best qualities, caused him to regret having expressed his purpose, however determined, in such harsh terms: regret increased painfully, and brought him back sooner than his accustomed hour.—

Tefza was out, and did not re-appear till night was far wasted: on seeing his slave quietly standing at the gate watching his return, he uttered an exclamation of joy; Sebastian then found that the Hadgé had been all these hours in search of him, whom he believed gone to put his threat of flight into execution.

The garments of Tefza were dripping with wet, for it had rained heavily after sun-set, and he was too solicitous to get tidings of his runaway, to think of sheltering himself: he now embraced Sebastian, saying, he trusted that Alla had made him repent his cruel anger, and disposed him to continue happily with one who loved him like a father.

Gratitude and compunction did indeed appear in the King’s reply, but he gently repeated his unaltered determination, even while occupied in changing the old man’s soaked galebia, with a careful tenderness hostile to his words. Tefza sighed, squeezed the Christian’s hand, and withdrew shivering to his chamber.

The night was spent by Sebastian in such disturbance of mind as keeps sleep far distant: passion and gratitude urged him to fly to Kara Aziek; gratitude joined by honour forbade him to escape from Tefza. In the storm raised by those contradictory emotions, reason’s voice was unheard; what passion wished, she pronounced lawful, what her rival attempted to say was hastily silenced.

Never before had Sebastian found it difficult to discover the path of duty; he dreaded his final decision, because it might be influenced by his desires, and nearly leaned to the erroneous side merely from fearing himself too much.

The next morning however, found him resolved to regain his rightful liberty by any means, since he had neither consented to part with it, nor forfeited his claim by the commission of crimes: accident alone, not even the chance of War, had brought him into bondage; perhaps, he thought, they who enlist under her banners bind themselves to abide by her nicer laws; here, however, no laws exist to chain me.—

Cheered by the serenity which always follows a resolution grounded upon conscientious deliberation, he lightly left his room, and was proceeding out of the house with an intent of purchasing in Riffa some coarse habit to serve as a disguise, when a low groan arrested his steps; he listened,—another, and another followed,—they came from the sleeping-room of his master.

Forgetful of all those anxieties which but a moment before had engrossed him, he pushed open the door, and cautiously entered; the sound of his tread startled Tefza, he faintly unclosed his eyes, exclaiming “ah! is it you, my son!—give me some drink—I am very ill.”

Sebastian hastened to his bed-side, on touching Tefza’s hand he found it dry and burning; his eyes were heavy, his breath short—every symptom announced one of those malignant fevers which so frequently ravage Barbary, and are produced by excessive moisture after intense heats.

Struck with the conviction that it was to the search for him that Tefza owed his malady, Sebastian’s heart smote him more powerfully than justice required; he hurried to rouse the household slaves, and have the physician sent for, then he returned to the old man, and sat watching and soothing him by turns.

The Moorish doctor was just skilful enough to perceive his patient’s extreme danger, and to prescribe a few innoxious useless simples; he repeated his visit at night, by which time the Hadgé was delirious, and his fever alarmingly increased.

Observing the ignorance of this practitioner, and remembering the remedies resorted to by the Portuguese, Sebastian assumed some command, and ventured to act according to the suggestions of his own understanding; the medicines he administered were in some degree successful: but a fierce disease must have its course; the fever raged for one-and twenty days, till it had spent its fires, and then they went out of themselves.

During this tedious period Sebastian was agitated by the greatest inquietude for Kara Aziek; Benzaide’s brother-in-law (having delayed his return a few days,) had been the bearer of a letter describing the tie which now bound him to Riffa, and Babec had afterwards appeared with the information of El Hader’s death, and the removal of Aziek to the neighbouring house of an uncle.

Plunged in filial sorrow, she had scarcely said more than that her sad heart needed the consolation of its dearest object, though at the same time she urged him by every sacred law of gratitude and humanity not to desert the Hadgé till death had released him, or health returned.

As Sebastian sat by the old man’s pillow, contemplating his wasted figure while it lay composed in sleep, (for the fever had left him,) he could not refrain from heaving deep and repeated sighs; a tedious convalescence must follow such a violent disorder: Tefza, reduced to infantine feebleness, would long require the tenderest care—who would bestow it in the absence of Sebastian?—Alas, even goodness cannot always insure to itself a comforter in the time of need! most men are capable of making one great sacrifice to their benefactor, but how few are disposed to yield without murmuring, their time, their enjoyments, nay their rest and personal liberty, in a continued round of privations!

“Poor childless old man!” said Sebastian, looking tenderly on him, “thou hast thy wish, I remain with thee.”

At this virtuous resolution, some sweetness mingled with the pain of regret: O delightful emotion of self-approval, how amply dost thou repay the soul for any sacrifice!

Sebastian’s heart was calmed yet elevated, and he added devoutly—“This is Heaven’s will.”

It was his purpose to stay at Riffa, till Tefza should be sufficiently recovered, and then he hoped to obtain freedom from his gratitude, without having recourse to violent measures. Kara Aziek, shut up in her uncle’s house with the privacy of mourning, would be almost inaccessible, were he near her abode, and it was therefore as well, perhaps, for them to be thus far asunder, till her grief was enough abated for them to concert together a mode of flight: two or three weeks longer, and he hoped to be with Benzaide in the cavila of Benzeroel.

Tefza’s recovery was tryingly slow; and though he felt and acknowledged his obligation to the heroic faithfulness of Sebastian, he had not the heroism himself to repay it instantly by freedom:—he would only promise freedom hereafter, but no intreaties could prevail on him to fix the period.

The sickly state of his body and mind pleaded so powerfully for indulgence, that Sebastian forbore to press the subject, secretly making up his mind to a decisive step, should the old man’s wearying irresolution render it necessary.

In the midst of these inquietudes, another billet arrived from Kara Aziek, it was written hastily, and with a trembling hand: “Alas!” she said, “we are lost, my beloved! my uncle has just informed me, that the Basha of Syria, acquainted with my existence, has reclaimed my person—he is set out to receive me—light of my soul! am I again to be torn from thee? art thou to be lost to me at last?—despair and love change my whole nature; I am no longer thy timid, starting Aziek. I meditate a rash, ah me! perhaps an immodest step: I am going, disguised like one of thy sex, to seek refuge in flight; Benzaide and her husband will accompany me: we will bend our course to the dwelling of Abensallah, his piety will be our protection and our guide, wilt thou not meet me there, Sebastian? at least when gratitude and humanity have no longer claims on thee, wilt thou not hasten to her, whom the most passionate wishes, the wildest fears, consume hourly?—but oh! how sweet it is, to feel life burning out for thee!

“Providence opens to me the door of liberty, this night perhaps, this night, ah! haste my beloved.”

The most frightful pangs seized Sebastian on reading this letter, in their first paroxysm he was on the point of hastening to Tefza, casting himself at his feet, declaring his situation, and imploring permission to depart; but the next moment he trembled at the rash suggestion, confident that Tefza’s bigotry, would never pardon a Mahometan woman for loving a Christian.

He then sought to allay his apprehensions by reflecting on the safe asylum Kara Aziek had chosen; yet how would she arrive there? she, so delicate, so timid, so inexperienced! was her tender frame made for the haste and fatigue of flight! and that flight too, performed under burning skies, upon uneasy animals, and exposed to numberless accidents! were her sex discovered in that relentless country, (where women are deemed impious if they believe themselves created without roots) shame and punishment would follow.

At that thought the devoted lover fancied himself ready to pay any price for her safety,—nay, even that of wholly resigning her; he thought so only an instant; her soft beauties in the arms of another, was an idea so abhorrent, that it maddened him as it passed, and banished all wish for her delay.

He now hurried out in search of Tefza, and found him stretched along a paillasse in his garden, enjoying the evening air; as he approached, the infirm old man eyed him with an expression of thanking kindliness, which pained while it pleased Sebastian: having uttered several assurances of reviving health, and eaten heartily of some dish brought by a servant, he afforded the impatient King an opportunity of remarking upon his convalescence, and consequently of re-urging his suit.

The subject was once more discussed with vehement importunity by the one, and useless arguments by the other; Sebastian was again inflamed to passion, and again the weak Tefza became sick, and tearful, and relenting.

“But one trial more!” he cried, detaining the King by his mantle, “thou knowest how my heart yearns for thy conversion—gratitude for thy late goodness encreases this desire, and makes me seem cruel to thee, when I mean to be most kind. Only accompany me to Mecca; with the first caravan, I go thither to bless the prophet for my life, and to implore him for thee: should he not hear my unworthy prayers, should thy soul remain unconverted by the piety thou wilt behold there, I swear to thee by Mahomet himself, that in three days after our arrival, thou shalt be free!”

Sebastian turned quickly round, and fixed his eyes on him with a look that searched his soul: “Swear it to me!” he exclaimed, then as suddenly stopping, he added, “Tefza I cannot consent, it will be too late.”

His fate at this period depended on the chance of a single moment; a day, an hour, might ravish Kara Aziek from him, and with her all hope of future happiness from the attainment of minor objects. Tefza’s repeated refusal and desolate ill health, by turns maddened and melted him; yet was he just enough to respect the old man’s motive, even while suffering under its pernicious effects.

A new thought struck him: “we are not many leagues from Benzeroel,” he cried, “let us go thither Tefza! you venerate the worthy dervise who dwells among its mountains: we will state our case—you shall urge every argument suggested by this fruitless wish of converting me,—I will simply state the mode by which I became a slave, my desire of freedom, my dutiful care of you in illness, and your indefinite promise:—if he bid me go with you to Arabia, I will comply,—if he exhort you to torture me no longer, but fulfil your promise, may I not expect that you will obey him?”

Transported out of himself, Tefza caught the ardent King in his arms, exclaiming—“I consent—we set out to-morrow.”

Leaving him no time for consideration, Sebastian hastily obtained permission, and left the garden to order preparations for their journey: while doing so, he reflected with some confusion upon the stratagem he had used: his ingenuous nature abhorred even the appearance of artifice, and this was not the first time in his life that he had given that name to prudence.

To conceal any thing from another, interested in the subject of that concealment, had uniformly seemed to him a species of insincerity, which he never practised without extreme repugnance: this noble prejudice now covered his brow with the colouring of shame: he paused and considered “But what advantage do I mean to make of this artifice? none that the Hadgé will not himself sanction; we shall both gain the benefit of Abensallah’s counsel; he will perhaps convince Tefza, that equity demands my freedom, and that not even their religion authorizes unjust actions; he will persuade him, possibly, from this perilous journey into Arabia,—if not, I do not mean to take sanctuary with Abensallah, I will perform my engagement, and hasten back from Mecca to Benzeroel; alas! all the good this stratagem may bestow, will be only the satisfaction of seeing my beloved, of knowing that she is safe, and can wait securely for me.”

Sebastian’s heart said all this sincerely, and he endeavoured to think, that by withholding the principal motive of his present conduct from Tefza, he was not deceiving, though he was not confiding in him.

By day-break on the morrow the travellers set forth: Tefza on a camel, attended by two trusty servants, Sebastian on a stout mule, guarded by the faithful Barémel, and cherishing in his bosom Kara Aziek’s dove.

This tender little creature, seemed in her lover’s eyes, a part of Aziek herself: whenever he softly kissed its warm plumage, delightful emotions thrilled through his veins; the balmy breath of its gentle mistress appeared to be yet there, and he could fancy a thousand fond caresses lavished on Babec, meant for him, and so rendered to him at last.

As he now mounted his mule, he lightly smoothed the bird’s silver wings, pressed them yet lighter with his lips, and carefully laid her to rest next his heart: the look he gave her, was such as a mother bestows on her first born and only child!

Tefza smiled at his favorite slave’s playthings, as he called Barémel and Babec, half inclined to think his wits disordered from such unmanly solicitude about a bird; but too indulgent to say so, he waited till Sebastian had safely adjusted his charge, and then ordered the camels, &c. to proceed.

Travelling instead of exhausting, revived the Hadgé, for he rested during the hot hours of noon, and only moved when the air was tempered by morning or evening breezes: Sebastian had a thousand times to recollect that Tefza was old and sick ere he could prevent himself from impatiently urging a quicker method; his soul was already at the cave of Abensallah. Imagination had placed him in the embrace of Kara Aziek; that timid, ardent embrace, to which Love at one moment gave the most transporting character, and the next instant changed it into tremors of apprehension and shame: he fancied her pitying tears over the grave of his friend; at that sad image, passion’s intoxicating reveries suddenly fled, Sebastian’s thoughts assumed a severer cast, and many were the pangs of self-reproach which now tyrannised over him.

Reflections like these happily abstracted some portion of his anxiety about Aziek, and the attentions required by his feeble companion completed their effect.

They reached the extremity of Mounts Benzeroel on the evening of the ninth day.

At sight of Abensallah’s tranquil abode, where Sebastian had experienced so much goodness, where he had performed the last melancholy duties to Stukeley, where so many hopes and wishes (now annihilated,) had once agitated his heart, where at length he was come to seek the most faithful and tender of women, he was inexpressibly moved; a variety of feelings melted him; he stopt, gazed wistfully on the rock, and precipitately concealed his face in his garment.

He was roused by the well-remembered voice of Ismael, now at the mouth of the cave, who was praying the travellers to alight: as the Hadgé entered first, Sebastian had an opportunity of discovering himself to Ismael, and charging him not to mention their former acquaintance before Tefza or his servants; after this precaution, he entered.

On passing the threshold he cast a trembling glance round the narrow cell; no one was there but Tefza and Abensallah: his heart died away; yet, did he expect to behold Kara Aziek? no, she must be secured in the interior apartment which Abensallah reserved as an asylum for persecuted persons.

Occupied with the most frightful anxiety (for his inconsistent heart could not recover from its first shock,) he scarcely saw the reverend dervise who was folding him to his breast and saving; him his benediction; an observation from Tefza roused him, and faultering out a few grateful words, he sat down opposite to the chamber he longed to penetrate.

His eyes now searched those of Abensallah, but extreme earnestness blunted his perception, for he knew not whether it was comfort or commiseration he read in that gently-expressive face: his own looks were only too distinct a transcript of his disturbed soul: the alternate flushings and mortal paleness of his cheeks, could not escape the notice of Tefza, he believed that they were occasioned by the workings of a mind which began to feel the true religion.

In fact the Hadgé was now diffusely detailing his errand to Benzeroel, and calling upon Abensallah to assist the great work he had humbly taken in hand: Abensallah bestowed many sincere encomiums upon his pious intention of visiting Mecca, but required to hear the Christian’s sentiments ere he could properly pronounce his own opinion.

“Speak to him alone if thou wilt; said the triumphant Tefza, I will yield him every advantage, he shall confess at least, that I am solely actuated by affection for his soul.”

At this acceptable proposal, Ismael was called to lead the Hadgé up a flight of steps cut in the rock which led to another cell where lay the Koran and other holy books, and which the dervise denominated his mosque.

Sebastian started up on their departure, and stood trembling with repressed eagerness, till the echo of their feet above, was no longer distinct, he then grasped Abensallah’s arm with one hand, while he stretched out the other towards the spring of the secret door.—“She is here? my father?” he said, in a voice that half-demined and half asked the question.

“No my son, she is not: prepare thy spirit for still further trials: she is with the servants of the Basha, on the road to Syria.”

Abensallah’s first words were sufficient for Sebastian; his soul, already enfeebled by an extreme indulgence of delightful anticipations, had not strength to bear this shock, he staggered a few paces, and fell apparently lifeless against the wall of the cell.

On loosening his unhappy friend’s vest, Abensallah perceived Babec, whom he hastily shut into a basket, then returned to the King, and sprinkled his face with water: he revived at length; but with every breath he drew, repeated sighs seemed rending life a second time away.

Abensallah meanwhile gently spoke of resignation to Heaven’s decrees, of those unexpected turns in our destiny which so often make light spring out of darkness; Sebastian smiled sadly, and again sighed heavily: the dervise then pressed upon him the peculiar mercies which had already been shewn him by the Great Being who thought fit to cloud his sunshine awhile. The young Monarch at that moment despised thrones and courts, too certain, that with Kara Aziek would go all his happiness; ashamed of his weakness he looked aside with a flushed cheek; “O my father!” he said, “think not that I am thus vanquished by selfish regret, no, I call Heaven to witness it is for her my heart is wrung so sorely.”

The compassionate Abensallah hastened to alleviate this pain, he informed him that Kara Aziek had but just dispatched her last letter to Riffa, when a numerous cavalcade of camels, horsemen, and presents, headed by an officer of the Basha’s army, had arrived at El Hader’s mansion: the Basha himself was in Syria, where he was detained by a war with the Persians, and having learned from the uncle of Aziek that she still lived, had sent his people to claim her.

Callous to her tears, intreaties, and protestations of being released by her father from this hated engagement, her relentless uncle insisted upon her immediate departure; she could not doubt that he was actuated by avarice, as he would inherit that fortune the proud Basha refused to accept, were she to quit Barbary, and she therefore offered to resign every thing into his hands: but her kinsman persisted in his commands, for he mistrusted her sincerity.

Narrowly watched, and so precluded from escaping, the unhappy victim could only steal into Benzaide’s hand as she embraced her at parting, a letter for Abensallah, and some directions for her own conduct; the latter enjoined her to dispatch her brother-in-law to Benzeroel with the billet for Abensallah, and the young brood of Babec. Aziek’s tender heart could not disregard even the instincts of a bird; and she well knew that if Sebastian believed her journeying towards the cave of the dervise, he would not release the dove, nor lose sight of it, till he had brought it thither. Babec therefore would come to Benzeroel; to whom then could she bequeath her pretty favorite with its little nestlings, so cheerfully as to Abensallah?

She wrote to tell him so, and to intreat that he would soften to Sebastian the dreadful blow which her forced departure must inflict. In the most solemn manner she besought her lover to believe that she would perish rather than yield herself to the Basha; that wherever she might be conveyed, however oppressed or threatened, she would consider her heart and her person equally the property of her absent Sebastian, and that he might be certain, that whether Aziek lived or died, she lived or died worthy of his love. She coupled this declaration with an earnest entreaty that he would follow her into Syria, where during the months sacred to mourning in those countries, she might find some mode of escaping to him, were he near enough to aid and to receive her.

Many tears had blotted the characters traced by her hand, but the feelings of Sebastian instructed him in hers, and he was obliged to turn away from Abensallah, that his weakness might not again be visible: when he came to that passage which announced her future intention, and required him to follow her, his emotions were suddenly changed; the Phœnix hope sprung from her own ashes, and made him now as impatient to fly with Tefza into the vicinity of Syria, as he had before been solicitous to avoid it.

Strange vicissitude of human affairs! how often do the changes of a single hour convert events from curses into blessings! Sebastian had considered the Hadgé’s pilgrimage as the most fatal mischance that could have arisen, now it seemed only a kind interposition of Providence in his favour.

The re-appearance of Tefza abruptly terminated the discourse which his absence had permitted: Abensallah then pronounced the decision required of him, and became the witness of that compact which bound Tefza to give his slave freedom in three days after their arrival at Mecca, should he still require it.

The lively satisfaction which this decision afforded to Sebastian’s master, was somewhat damped by hearing sentiments from Abensallah different from his own: that excellent old man mildly tried to moderate the other’s flaming zeal, and at last convinced him that it is not given to fallible man to tyrannise over the consciences of his brethren.

But see the inconsistency of human nature! Tefza had not resolution to act conformably with this conviction; he still adhered to the plan of leading his slave over desolate and dangerous tracts of country for the mere chance of converting him by the imposing spectacle of Mahomet’s crouded tomb. The piety and wisdom of Abensallah he could not doubt, but he secretly complimented himself upon greater fervour in the same faith.

While the two Mussulmen were earnestly conversing on the life and doctrines of their prophet, Sebastian went out to visit the grave of Stukeley. He found it piously adorned with evergreens, which the dervise had planted round it: nearly two years had now elapsed since that period, and the myrtles and box were expanded into perfect luxuriance.

The old cluster of locust-trees still cast its deep shadow along the solitary mound; but the ground about it, was thickly set with flowers, whose balmy breath incensed the honoured clay, and whose charming colours gave beauty to the bed of death.

Night was approaching, and so gloomily, that the lanthorn Sebastian carried, scarcely threw light enough around to discover more than detached parts of the scene: soon however, flashes of pale lightning, which begun to quiver at distant intervals among the clouds, momentarily illuminated every object, and distinctly shewed the fearfully-steep rocks, the grave at their feet, and the moss-grown crucifix which surmounted it.

Sebastian’s heart was heavily oppressed; a mortal sadness weighed it down, but he shed no tears; he knelt before the cross, and there poured out his regrets, lamented his errors, prayed for Stukeley’s soul, and implored a blessing on the desperate enterprize he was about to attempt.

What was that enterprize? he knew not—he considered not;—it must grow out of circumstances: all he felt assured of was, that to rescue Kara Aziek, he would attempt impossibilities, and meet destruction in any shape.

Again his thoughts reverted to Stukeley, and again they retraced with anguish, that happy period in which the gallant Englishman had become known to him. O happy period indeed! for then the youth of Sebastian was in its first gloss; then, he looked round upon nature, and saw in it only the reflection of his own sweet and ingenuous spirit; all men appeared to him just, benevolent, and faithful, and every thing he possessed, secure and permanent: now, experience had swept away these vain pageants; security was no more, doubt and apprehension had succeeded.

As he leaned sadly against the cross, his reflections imperceptibly assumed that form which a poetical mind so naturally gives to melancholy subjects: as the ideas flowed, he cut them with the point of a moorish knife upon the wooden base of the crucifix.

Rest, rest, ye ashes dear!

I come not here

Your peace to alter, nor remove you where

Honor and Pomp attend,

To wait the buried friend,

And yield his hov’ring shade, the choral prayer.

Singly I come, alas! with tears alone,

To mourn youth’s trusting hour, for ever flown!

O friend beloved! O brother of my soul!

How long shall time and fortune various roll,

Yet bear no pang away,

With which this honored clay,

Now rives the heart, that wrongs have turned to stone?

I think of thee—and with that dear-lov’d thought,

Comes many a melting thrill for human kind:

Thou wast of mortal make, yet I did find

Each grace celestial in thy fabric wrought.

O Genius! Friendship! Heav’n-attaining worth!

Ye once were joined on earth;

In Stukeley’s soul, by God’s own purpose fixed,

Ye once did dwell and grow,

Breathing e’en here below

The air of Eden pure, with dross unmixed.

Ah little understood!

That soul refined,

That ardent heart, that piercing mind,

Those views etherial, which his purer eye

Read in their native sky,

Were deem’d but fancies vain, by souls of grosser mood.

He lived to suffer, and to give

A noble lesson how to live;

On Glory’s bed, his latest sigh,

Was breathed to teach us how to die!—

At this sentiment, so long associated with all his feelings, Sebastian’s imagination suddenly checked itself: troubled and confused doubts, as to so general an application of the sentiment (however just, when applied to him who acted from a strong impulse of conscience) succeeded to his more passionate regrets: in the midst of them, Ismael appeared.

He came to say that his master was going to retire for the night, and waited his Christian guest.

Sebastian arose, fixed a long look on the earth which covered the brave Englishman, and turned away. He never saw it again.

 

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.