DIRECTING his course downwards towards the coast, the King found himself at night in a mean town six leagues from Setuval; some shops were open, and at one of them he purchased a homely dress, better calculated for disguise than the mutilated habit he had brought with him from Africa: but alas! the unfortunate Sebastian scarcely needed any other disguise than the alterations wrought on him by hardships and sorrows. The roundness of health and youth was no more to be seen in his figure, giving beauty to strength, and proportion to grace: his cheeks were wan and hollow, his eyes dim, his brow furrowed with the frequent contraction of thought; that enchanting smile which used to distinguish him from all mankind, never appeared on his lips; who then was to recognize Sebastian in this gloomy-looking traveller?
He slept in the town, and the next morning resumed the road to Setuval.
The second night he took up his abode in a cavern on the coast whence there was a noble view of the town and bay. A radiant moon, brightened by slight frost, (for it was now November,) illuminated this quiet retreat; its roof, hung with crystal stalactites, like natural fringes of diamonds, startled Sebastian on entering, he paused and looked back: the same resplendent moon was more temperately reflected from a vast stretch of sea; myriads of stars twinkled around her; the vessels in the bay, and the buildings in the town were silvered by her light, and only a faint dashing of waves broke the tranquillity of the scene.
Is there a heart to which moonlight is not hallowed by some association, or in which it does not awaken devotional feelings? Sebastian felt its softening, purifying influence, and making the sign of the cross over his breast and forehead, gently breathed a prayer to the Divine Being from whom that lovely orb derived her beauty and her light.
He entered the cavern with a calmed spirit: when he beheld its fantastic interior flashing splendor on him from a thousand tremulous crystals, he owned with admiration that no mortal palace could surpass the magnificence of this to which chance had conducted him.
The tumult of indignant emotions that had agitated him incessantly since his reception from Donna Gonsalva, now gave way for awhile to tenderness only: he was about to leave his country and his people, he was going to try the attachment of subjects, who, situated in another quarter of the globe, knew him solely by his choice of their former governors. Could he expect to find from them that grateful fidelity which his own court and familiar friends had failed to shew! and was it from the harshly-treated De Castro that he was to seek for love and duty?
“Yes, from De Castro!” answered the noble spirit of Sebastian, “I cannot better recompence his virtue and efface my own injustice than by voluntarily affording him an opportunity of serving me.”
To the Brazils therefore he determined to go, confidently expecting to be there recognized and obeyed; he might then dispatch letters to all the powers of Europe, notifying his existence, and requiring their assistance for the restoration of his rights; to regain those rights without bloodshed was his earnest wish: his heart sickened at the prospect of a civil war, should he, by remaining in Portugal, give the different parties a hope of securing his person; for if those now in authority chose to start doubts of his identity, he must call on his inferior subjects to rise in arms for his support.
This extremity was what he sought to avoid: indeed the wounds inflicted by the perfidy of his cousin and mistress, bled inwardly, making every well-known scene hateful to his eyes, and every friend to whom otherwise he might have revealed himself, an object of suspicion.
While these thoughts were gloomily displacing the serener melancholy with which he entered his present lodging, he had thrown himself along the ground, and raising his arm to form a support for his head, struck it against something, which, on moving out of the way, he found to be a tablet, with writing on it in discoloured ink. He cast his eyes incuriously over the writing; the first line struck the chief chord in his own breast; and with his hand shading the tablet from the dazzling glare of the cavern, he read the following wild effusion.
O that it were no sin to ask for death!
Then would I pray to yield this hateful breath;
Then from life’s desart vast, its spectred gloom,
These eyes would turn and rest upon the tomb!
There griefs approach not, pain and thought are still;
Nor hope, nor fear, can wake one trembling thrill:
Smote by the glare of death’s petrific eye,
Locked in eternal ice, life’s currents lie;
No more their tides quick-circling through each part,
Send warm emotions to the eager heart
No more the gates of sense delighted move;
No more weak reason yields her throne to love;
But all things cease; thought, feeling, mem’ry gone,
And black oblivion broods unmarked alone.
Whether our souls released, immediate go,
Or sleep in trance awhile, we ne’er shall know,
Till as our change begins, experience shews
The awful secret of the grave’s repose;
But pardon, Heav’n! a frantic wretch who dares
To own a heart so torn by rending cares,
So loathing each remembrance, so possessed,
As but to groan and pray for endless rest!
If when these vital fires have ceased to burn,
Thought, or mere consciousness, should e’er return,
Say, would not her idea rush again
And stab seraphic bliss with piercing pain?
Mixed with my being all, for ever mixed,
Of change incapable, her thought is fixed,
And here on earth, or there in Heav’n would come
To render still the same my bitter doom.
* * * * * * *
O God of mercy! from thy records raze
This guilty frenzy!—let some pitying rays
Beam on my madden’d brain, and teach my soul
To bow submissive to thy wise control!
Teach me to know, that when I loved too well,
I gave a mortal in thy place to dwell!
O teach me then to own thy just decree,
And bless the thorny path that leads to thee!
Pity, heightened to the poignancy of agony by fatal sympathy with the situation here described, seized Sebastian; he put down the tablet in extreme agitation, for love began now to struggle with indignation, and the tenderness of the unhappy unknown became infectious: a confusion of fond, delightful recollections, at once entered his soul; some rare moments of transcendent happiness again re-appeared,—moments in which the beauty, the accomplishments, the well-acted love and purity of Gonsalva had exalted him to beatitude. O! how was it possible that this transport had been deceptive, that this perfection of woman’s charms was even then immersed in the low gratifications of illicit passion, in the horrible practice of systematic deceit?
After this hateful idea rapidly followed a recapitulation of her various arts while urging on a secret marriage, which was too surely destined to cover the proof of her shameful conduct, as by no difficult manœuvre her child might have been passed upon him and on his people for the legitimate heir to the crown of Portugal. Fury flashed from Sebastian’s eyes at this thought; tenderness fled; and the frenzy of a heart outraged and betrayed in every point, suddenly succeeded. “No, perfidious monster!” he exclaimed aloud, “thy crimes murder regret.—Thou hast not been commonly frail, nor deserted me for another honorable lover; then I might have lamented thee, pity might have united with love in regretting that thou wast not perfect, and I might have still doated on the past, like this fond wretch: but thou hast fallen into such an abyss of guilt, that even memory sees thee only as thou art now.”
He closed his eyes as if to shut out her image, and turning to another part of the cavern, threw himself down once more in the hope of obtaining repose.
It was long ere his tumultuous feelings and throbbing brain were stilled by sleep: piercing thoughts, like flashes of lightning quivering by fits through the blackness of some starless night, frequently shot across the gloom that gradually succeeded to frenzy: but at length the dumb caresses of Barémel softened every emotion, and he sunk to rest amid the calm of rising resignation.
Sebastian dreamt, and he dreamt of Kara Aziek. He fancied himself once more going through the last interview with Donna Gonsalva, and dragged by her orders to a loathsome dungeon; there he beheld the gentle Aziek braving death for the sake of pouring balm upon his wounded spirit: he felt himself in her arms, he heard her touching voice, her tears dropt over his face, while bending down she impressed on it a kiss of tender compassion.
At this instant of his dream, Sebastian awoke; his heart was beating strongly; the kiss, the breath of Kara Aziek, seemed yet warm upon his lips: so lively was their impression that he stretched out his arms with an entranced look, believing he should indeed clasp her within them.—He leaped from the ground; no one was visible; the moon had set, and profound silence and darkness reigned throughout the cavern.
“Aziek! angelic Aziek!” he repeated in a voice tender as her own—“friend, comforter, benefactress! where art thou?” he stopped and scarcely respired; for as yet his heart and his imagination were dreaming, and he expected to hear her speak, or at least sigh.
While the echo of his own exclamation murmured along the walls, his senses gradually recovered from their delusion, and he knew himself to be alone in a place remote from her he dreamt of: tenderness rapidly diffused itself over his whole soul, while he supposed his dream realized, and himself held in the pitying arms of Kara Aziek. Her artlessness, her sweetness, her mild yet heroic goodness, her trembling soul-subduing love, her soft beauty, and still softer voice, floated before him, awaking hopes and wishes which a few hours previous, he would have deemed it impossible for him to feel.
How naturally does the warm and youthful heart cling to the source of man’s sweetest emotions! how eagerly does it embrace the hope of finding its transports renewed; of blessing and being blessed,—of learning again to behold the world with complacency for the sake of one amiable object!—Sebastian believed himself solely yielding to friendship, gratitude, and the desire of atoning to Aziek for the wounds he had unintentionally given her peace, when he was thus dwelling delighted on the probability of one day becoming her husband.
“She would share my varying fate without a murmur;” he said to himself, “if happy, she would exalt and refine my enjoyments; if wretched, she would alleviate my afflictions. On a throne, or in obscurity, with her my grateful heart could never know a want; her love, boundless as her virtues, would satisfy and fill it.”
While he uttered this sentence, a thrill of more genuine affection than had ever stirred his bosom for Donna Gonsalva, glided through his veins: perfect esteem, perfect admiration, perfect gratitude,—what are they, but the purest species of love?
To these sentiments were now added the conviction of no longer possessing any other source of happiness.
Delicacy gives law to woman’s heart; Honor to that of man: woman blushes at the idea of entertaining a second passion, yet naturally tender, adheres too tenaciously sometimes to a changed object. Man, accustomed to consider the weaker sex as dependent on him for protection, abhors to exercise his power in proportion as it is easy to do so, and while he believes himself beloved, refuses to break through ties of which he may have become weary.
Unconsciously this sentiment of honor had long been Gonsalva’s auxiliary while Sebastian was in Africa; the transporting emotions caused by Kara Aziek’s inestimable qualities, and those tenderer ones inspired by her devotedness, had then been uniformly repressed by remembrance rather than by anticipation: when he recollected whole days of exquisite felicity, he paused not to discover, that after having become acquainted with such a being as Kara Aziek, the less endearing character of Donna Gonsalva could no longer satisfy him.
Now was the moment for a perusal of the letter: Sebastian drew it from his vest, and hurried to the mouth of the cavern; but clouds and darkness had succeeded to the moon’s radiance, and it was impossible for him to read it. He returned with chagrin, and seated himself on a projection of rock, holding the precious vellum in his hand.
While thus watching the dawn of day, his mind became busied by a multitude of new projects to which the conviction of Aziek’s attachment gave birth; to bestow happiness on her, was now, he thought, an act of justice: while Gonsalva appeared virtuous and faithful, honour and inclination retained him in her chains; but since she had shamefully forfeited those rights, gratitude imperiously demanded him for Kara Aziek: the disinterestedness of her love had been proved, he had therefore no circumstance to lament or to dread in an union with her, except her hateful religion.
To this serious obstacle the ardent character of the King, yet sanguine and romantic, opposed the delightful hope of becoming Heaven’s instrument for her conversion: perhaps the fond zeal of a husband might be destined to remove this only blemish from what otherwise seemed perfection. He dwelt on so gratifying a conclusion, till expectation assumed the form of certainty.
Having determined on one day regaining Kara Aziek, he naturally fell into reflections upon the manner in which such an event was to be produced: was he to return immediately into Barbary, and under some disguise endeavour to see, and persuade her to abandon her country? or was he to pursue his voyage to Brazil, commence and conclude his attempt at recovering Portugal, honorably negociate for her hand, and wed her only when he had a throne to share with her? the last project was most in character with a generous Prince, and he resolved to adopt it.
By the former scheme, he might indeed earlier and more certainly secure Aziek, but then it would be selfishly tempting her to share exile, difficulties, dangers, perhaps ultimately disappointment or death: by the latter, he would merely delay domestic blessings to ensure their permanence; and reflecting on the delicacy of her character, he felt assured that years must elapse ere she could yield her heart to any other affection, or obey the customs of her country by wedding a man to whom she was indifferent.
These considerations reconciled him to the prospect of removing for a while yet further from her, and the bliss he hoped hereafter to bestow, gave him such exquisite delight in contemplation, that even the guardian angel of Kara Aziek must have smiled with satisfaction on reading the reveries of Sebastian.
“Yes Aziek!” he tenderly repeated, folding her letter to his breast, “we shall meet again, even in this faithless world! A time will come when thou only wilt reign in my heart: to appreciate thy tenderness, to know thy unrivalled excellence, it has been necessary for me to learn what dæmons charm under the forms of women. Ah! who is there like thee?”
At this impassioned question Sebastian sunk into a train of thought, in which he remained absorbed till morning shot her first beam into the cavern.
No sooner was there light enough to trace the characters made on the vellum, than he hastened to read what he believed would reanimate all his hopes and resolutions: who can describe the dismay which seized upon him when he found this letter contained Kara Aziek’s eternal farewel?
To procure his freedom and restoration to Donna Gonsalva, this generous friend had consented to become the wife of a Grandee who had long solicited her of her father: by this time she was his and living far from Morocco. Immurred within the walls of a Harem, her noble and delicate soul had no other enjoyment left than the conviction of having sacrificed herself for the sake of him she loved.
It was not from passionate complaint or studied explanation of her feelings, that Sebastian gathered the extent of her generosity—no—her relation was simple and brief, yet she was forced to tell him, that by marrying the Basha of Syria she was binding herself to the customs of his nation, and rendering it impossible for her to retain a male friend.
Sebastian was too well aware of her repugnance to such heartless connections, not to divine instantly, that his liberty had been offered only on such cruel terms.
Here then was the explanation of that mysterious sadness which had overwhelmed Kara Aziek several days before his departure: doubtless she had then been struggling against that virtuous horror which every woman ought to feel who meditates yielding her vows and her person to a man she cannot love.
The lock of her hair was now in the hand of Sebastian, his eyes were intently fixed on it, without his seeing or thinking of it; the complete distinction of all his hopes was contained in this fatal letter; the bright vision of gratitude had vanished, and misery’s last blow stunned both thought and feeling.
Such a benumbing influence was on him, that he remained nearly on the same spot from sunrise to sunset without food or sleep, or the consciousness of wanting either.
It happened that towards evening a sudden storm drove some countrymen into the cavern for shelter. The noise they made roused Sebastian; on seeing him, they naturally concluded that he had taken refuge from the same motive with themselves; and entering into conversation with him, he learnt that there was then a vessel in the bay of Setuval bound for Brazil. He no longer contemplated with lively emotions a voyage to the new world, but he was sick of that which he inhabited; and to the wretched, change of place seems ever desirable. He accompanied the men to Setuval, where he fortunately procured a passage in the ship described, and she sailed at midnight.
While the vessel was tossing among the turbulent waves of the Atlantic, Portugal’s self-exiled monarch had leisure to arrange those events, which by their painful rapidity had unsettled his reason: he gave up the hope of happiness; with a moody smile he gave up the hope of blessing his benefactress; but still it was not possible for him to abandon the expectation of regaining his rights, and with them the power of benefiting others. For him there was no middle station; he must either mount again to empire, or sink to utter desolation; and it was only in the active duties of sovereignty that he could lose the remembrance of his present sufferings.
Since Kara Aziek was lost,—and alas! how sad to think she was self-condemned for his sake! private affections had no claim on him, except indeed in the person of Gaspar, (for the worth of Don Emanuel was yet to be proved.) What a sterile scene did life then present! he pondered over the present and the future, till his heart took so deep a print from despair, as to make him wildly doubt whether he had ever known what happiness was.
In this state he was ill-adapted to share in the noisy garrulity of his fellow voyagers; he shunned their society, sitting retired in an obscure part of the vessel, from the deck of which he seemed to be stupidly watching her track through the waters.
It was on the sixth morning after their departure from Setuval, that the clearing away the thick mist discovered a Turkish galley which had been blown out to sea, striving to re-gain her course, and bearing up towards the straits: the captain of the Brazilman being a fellow of an adventurous spirit, proposed giving the infidel chase; though his vessel was inferior in size and weight of metal, the hope of a rich booty animated his sailors: by general consent their track was altered; they crowded sail, and soon came alongside the galley, whose heavy decorations impeded her motion.
The infidel perceiving flight impossible, resigned himself to necessity, and prepared for action.
At the first broadside, Sebastian, who had hitherto sat desperately inattentive to the hasty preparations, started up; his brave heart, roused at the alarm of war, and every nerve was braced; but suddenly recollecting those reflections in Barbary which had prompted him to vow he would never wantonly draw the offensive sword, he cast himself again on the deck, where he lay inactive.
His limbs shook with an internal struggle; the sailors supposed he trembled from fear; but as the balls showered over him, they changed their opinion, and pronounced him mad.
Though the Portuguese were lavish of their blood and their ammunition, they were no match for an experienced enemy: he manœuvred his vessel with a quickness and dexterity which soon gave him so decided a superiority, that the Brazilman, in despair, ordered his crew to strike. At that command Sebastian sprung from the deck, threw himself before the colours, and exhorted the sailors to defend them from infidel hands; then seizing a weapon, he rushed forward to the most exposed station.
It was no longer for mere conquest, but for liberty, for the honour of the Christian name, and the Portuguese flag, that he was about to fight: his eyes now flashed with their former fire, his figure seemed to dilate, and his inspiring voice roused and inflamed every heart. Used to command, and theoretically skilled in naval tactics, he was unconscious that he alone gave orders, that those orders were instantly approved and obeyed: the captain had just knowledge sufficient to perceive that he had got one on board, to whom war was familiar, and he therefore suffered his people to follow the dictates of their new leader.
The Turk fought ably; his vessel skilfully worked, and favoured by the wind, for a long time bade defiance to every effort at boarding her; her shot and fireballs hailed through the rigging of the Brazilman, but happily the wind fell, and the Portuguese rapidly throwing out their grappling-irons, succeeded in fastening her along-side.
The remembrance of former combats, and the fire of native valour, now shone on the brow of Sebastian: like a blaze of lightning he flamed on the enemy’s deck; his voice, his looks, his gestures, called on others to follow; in one moment he fell with the force of a thunderbolt amongst the infidels, whom his powerful arm crushed and scattered in every direction. After a short, yet desperate resistance, the Turkish captain cast a gloomy look over the blood and devastation around him, then dropping the point of his sword, he delivered it to Sebastian.
The King having returned the captain’s sword, flew from place to place to stop any wanton slaughter; destruction then ceased. The commander of the Brazilman eyed him with gathering discontent; “What share do you expect of the booty?” he asked sourly. “None,” returned Sebastian, “I ask only care and compassion for these wounded men.”
The gentleness of his manner testified sincerity, and well-pleased to be so cheaply served, the captain promised prompt obedience. While they were speaking, the shrieks of a woman were heard from below; at that sound Sebastian sprung over a heap of arms, and leaped down into the cabin: there he beheld a group of women clinging together, as if seeking to protect the entrance of an inner room where a lady had fainted. At his decisive voice, some sailors who had alarmed them, fell back; his intrepidity had gained their admiration, and admiration is quickly followed by submission.
“My friends, we do not war with women!” he exclaimed, in a tone of noble reproof; the men blushed and withdrew. Pleased with the effect of his ascendancy, the young monarch hastily fastened the door, and advanced respectfully; sobbing, the ladies prostrated themselves at his feet: touched with their distress, he tried to re-assure them, while he approached the one who had fainted, and was lying wrapt up in her shawl at full length upon the floor of the inner cabin.
Bending one knee to the ground, he raised her gently, and in doing so discomposed her veil; trembling, agitated, almost transported, he lifted hastily the long black hair that her fall had disordered, and beheld the soft features of Kara Aziek. “Gracious God! am I awake?” he exclaimed, gazing on her, and clasping her to his breast. The consternation of her attendants at this bold action was painted in their faces; Sebastian regarded them not, he held Kara Aziek still, calling on her to revive and behold her protector in him.
Did that voice, so beloved, penetrate the dull ear of insensibility? Aziek opened her eyes, and they met those of Sebastian fixed tenderly upon her: doubtful rapture flashed over her countenance, she sprang up, drew quickly back, looked at him an instant, then uttering a joyful cry, precipitated herself into the dear arms she had quitted.
This was not the action of one conscious of belonging to another: Sebastian was exalted to the extremest point of human felicity; happiness, lost happiness, he now clasped in the form of Kara Aziek, and enjoyed in the certainty of being able to confer it. “We part no more—we part no more!” he repeated.
Bewildered in a maze of delight, and merely conscious that the looks and voice of Sebastian breathed love like her own, Aziek forgot awhile every obstacle between them; her tears and sighs mingled with his, as she rested on his bosom with the sweet serenity of a pure heart, sure of loving and being beloved; his name, coupled with endearing epithets, breathed repeatedly from her lips, and her soft arms returned the pressure of his: at length, starting and trembling, she averted her eyes, and pronounced the name of Donna Gonsalva.
Indignation alone appeared on the brow of Sebastian; in a few words he detailed her perfidy and his own disappointment, and was about to paint to the horror-struck Aziek his new wishes, when voices at the door of the outer cabin called him away.
It was the captain of the Brazilman with his mate: Sebastian hastened to demand respect for Kara Aziek. He informed them that in their fair prisoner he had discovered a Moorish lady, to whom he had once been indebted for liberty; “I owe her my life,” he said, “and I will defend her with my life: her sex and situation ought to ensure her generous treatment. I hope and believe they will; but if not, this arm shall either protect or avenge her.”
“And a rare strong arm it is,” replied the captain, “we’ll keep to windward of it, be sure. He sha’nt overhaul the lady, only what we find in the money way is lawful prize; has she no coin nor jewels to pay the men for civilly treating her and the rest of the women?”
Sebastian had not time to reply before Aziek herself appeared; she came forth from her cabinet surrounded by her maids: her unsteady step and tearful eyes were directed towards him, for whom alone she feared when the voice of what she thought violence reached her ear. Struck with an apprehension of being discovered, Sebastian hastily told her in Moresco, that his rank was unknown, and that these men commanded there.
Aziek turned frightfully pale, she trembled, and leaned on him for support; the captain advanced bowing, his eyes fixed on her glittering armlets, spoke a language easily understood, she hastened to take them off and present them to him: at the same time she pointed to some large chests, the keys of which one of her maids laid at his feet.
During the examination of these chests, Aziek remained leaning on Sebastian, lost in painful conjectures upon his mysterious disguise: alas! was he a prisoner also! yet, how then could he have power to succour her? She turned her eyes on his countenance; the sunny look that met hers, the smoothed brow, and entrancing smile, promised permanent protection. What could she dread, when the looks of him she loved bade her dismiss apprehension?
Satisfied with a casket of jewels and several purses of gold coin, the mercenary seaman shut the boxes; “We shall leave you and the lady to yourselves,” said the captain, “that you may try to reconcile her to a voyage to Brazil; if she don’t like that, she may go to Portugal in the prize: settle that as she pleases.
“Whoever you are, friend, with your coarse doublet, you’re a strange brave fellow, and have a right to share our gains, and so if you like women better than money, there’s a whole lot of ’em for you.”
“I take you at your word,” interrupted the King, “these are my prizes.”
The men withdrew laughing, and Sebastian again alone with Kara Aziek, (her women having retired into the inner chamber,) proceeded to satisfy those anxious inquiries which her eloquent eyes had so long been making. He briefly detailed the circumstances of his return to Portugal, the conduct of his supposed friends, the intentions with which he was leaving it when he read her farewel letter; he painted the emotions that letter excited, with all the force of tender gratitude.
“Such were, such are my feelings, Kara Aziek;” he added, throwing himself at her feet, “I am again what I was when your generous pity first succoured me—a beggar, and a fugitive—one who must soon be every thing or nothing:—it remains for you to decide on the dearest part of my destiny. Speak your wishes, and they shall be obeyed; if they be to fulfil your engagement with the Basha, I will myself conduct you to him; but if a friendship more sacred even than love—a gratitude exalted to adoration—every sentiment in short, except passion itself; if these may touch you—if you can condescend to accept a heart yet smarting with a former wound—a heart that shudders at love, yet where your image is worshipped and cherished—”
“O say no more!—no more, beloved Sebastian!” interrupted Kara Aziek, hiding her blushes and tears on his shoulder, “thou knowest too well, that to be permitted to dwell but on the threshold of that noble heart, is happiness to Kara Aziek.”
How eloquent was the silence which followed these few words! how did the blissful sighs breathed by each, seem to incorporate their souls, and blend their destinies for ever!
It was long ere either of them could recover sufficiently to converse with calmness; when they did so, Aziek timidly explained her situation. She informed Sebastian that her hand had been frequently sought by the Basha of Syria, a relation of her father’s, but having avowed an invincible repugnance to marriage, (at least to marriage as it exists in Mahomeddan countries,) her indulgent father had forborne any importunity: his wishes however, were for the union, and seizing the opportunity afforded by her zeal for the supposed Fabian, he offered his liberty as the reward of her compliance.
At first, shocked and terrified, Kara Aziek utterly rejected the terms; every delicate and tender feeling revolted from the hateful prospect of submitting to the caresses of a man whom she remembered from her infancy as one with whom her heart could have no commune; far sooner would she have laid her head on the block for the dear sake of him she loved: but when she witnessed the failure of his hopes after the departure of Gaspar, and beheld his profound, and corroding melancholy; when she thought of his passion for Donna Gonsalva, and fancied her pining over his loss, her tender soul shook with irresolution, she hesitated—reflected—struggled with her repugnance—renewed those struggles, and at length determined upon the sacrifice.
Ravished with her consent, El Hader did not give her time to retract, he released the Christian, and immediately dispatched messengers to his kinsman: the Basha Ibrahim was at that time with the Sultan his master at Constantinople; he sent from thence a sumptuous galley, laden with presents for his young bride, and it was on its return with the self-devoted victim, that Providence threw them into the hands of the Portuguese.
To Kara Aziek the event did indeed appear an especial act of Providence, since beyond her fondest hopes it not only restored Sebastian to her, but re-united them at the very period in which they were priviledged never to part again. In her secret mind she did not regret the loss of his throne, for it was with Sebastian divested of power and grandeur, that her heart had first been woven: accustomed to profound retirement, her inexperienced nature shrunk from the vast sphere of duties which surrounded sovereignty; it seemed as if the love of one little heart would be lost in so wide an ocean: she looked with partial eyes to a scene of narrower views; to a home, private yet not unuseful, where the social virtues might have full room to expand and to adorn what they supported.
It was an amiable weakness in Kara Aziek, yet it was a weakness, to desire only that situation in which her love would be always felt, and always necessary; she judged rightly, that power and luxury are not friendly to the existence of any sentiment which is devoid of selfishness.—In accompanying Sebastian to Brazil, she hoped that he might be induced to resign his ungrateful people altogether, endeavour to forget his former state, and find in the bosoms of Affection and Friendship those calm delights which are never the companions of high responsibility.
To dwell with him any where, to see him, to hear him continually,—what joy did not such a prospect afford! Life seemed too short to her impassioned heart for the complete enjoyment of so much happiness.—Never, indeed, did woman love like Kara Aziek: it must be remembered, however, that her attachment concentrated all the ardour of her nature; the habits of her country did not suffer the growth even of friendship; she had no sisters, no brothers—and hitherto she had lived devoid of any other sentiment than that of duty towards her father.
As Sebastian contemplated the mixed expression of her ever-varying countenance, his enraptured feelings assured him that in her’s his soul had met its partner; but he sighed to think they should have met so late, when his exhausted heart had no longer love to bestow.
Excessive tenderness, admiration and gratitude, contending with as lively emotions of timidity and apprehension, by turns sparkled in Aziek’s eyes, or suffused her cheek; the aspen-like tremor of her voice thrilled the susceptible King: it was now that for the first time he felt the full sweetness of love, in the perfect conviction of giving happiness to the beloved object; devoid of this conviction all its other enjoyments are lifeless.—Cold as ice were the sensations awakened by the beauty of Gonsalva when compared with this heart-penetrating, ennobling glow! he looked back on them with amazement, and with something of that joy with which a man recals a danger from which he has recently escaped.
These new feelings enabled him to speak of the perfidious woman with composure; to Kara Aziek this calmness was animating; for though at one moment she believed herself indeed rewarded by his preference, at another she trembled lest Sebastian were self-deceived, and might hereafter find gratitude and esteem but feeble substitutes for love.
Having calmed the fears and satisfied the scruples of his gentle friend, Sebastian remembered that humanity had other claims upon him; the ascendancy he had gained over the captain and crew by his valour and disinterestedness, rendered him in some degree answerable to himself for the treatment of the Turkish prisoners; he therefore reluctantly quitted Kara Aziek.
By his advice the Brazil trader consented to send all the Turkish sailors, with their commander, into the first neutral port, whence they might easily find a conveyance home, and in that port the prize might be advantageously sold. It required all the King’s rhetoric to persuade his companion that it was merciless to push advantage to its uttermost verge, by insisting upon a ransom for all the prisoners; the man was a long time in perceiving that there was any merit in being generous to infidels.
Sebastian’s mingled arguments and persuasions at length succeeded; and the prize, manned by a few stout sailors, headed by the mate, was ordered to convey her former owners to Cadiz, in Spain, that country being then in amity with the Turks.
Concluding that the women were forcibly detained by the captors, the Turkish commander thought it unwise to contest about such immaterial objects; so making a profound obeisance to his conqueror, he suffered him, undisturbed, to lead Kara Aziek and her maids from their cabin to that of the Portuguese vessel: in a few minutes after, the galley hoisted sail and bore away before the wind for the shores of Andaluzia.
Anxious to obtain every accommodation for Kara Aziek, Sebastian thought it needful to inform the captain that he could reward him amply for every attention he might bestow, and that on landing at Brazil he would prove his truth by actions: having simply announced himself a Portuguese officer and a friend of Don Emanuel de Castro, he insured the respect and submission of all the sailors. His remonstrances had now the force of commands, and the Moorish ladies were permitted to live as retired in their cabin, as they might have done in Morocco.
Into their apartments no one intruded except Sebastian and Barémel: that faithful animal, interesting from the peculiar circumstances under which he had recognized his master, was constantly fed and caressed by the gentle Aziek; he formed the amusement of her women, whose simple minds sought no higher recreation than that of seeing him fetch and carry:—but to her he was an object of affection.
Often, while looking at Barémel, and pondering on the incidents his figure recalled, she shuddered at the incomprehensible conduct of Donna Gonsalva, and had to remember that Sebastian witnessed her depravity ere she could persuade herself of that depravity’s existence.
From the King’s mind the remembrance of Gonsalva was vanishing like a confused dream; to the agony of betrayed love had quickly succeeded indignation, aversion, and finally contempt: the charm of virtue and tenderness united in the person of Aziek, completed his cure, and his soul, formed for freedom, eagerly seized again upon its natural right.
How do our desires grow with our hopes! how does the possession of one blessing, quicken and inflame our thirst after others!—but a little while before, and Sebastian was indifferent to every thing; now, the smallest of his expectations was considered with lively interest: he contemplated his reception at Brazil, and his restoration to Portugal, with the anxiety of a spirit newly roused to action; and secure of domestic felicity, felt that no other station than that to which he was born, could fill the expansion of his large soul.
It is not difficult to communicate our own fire to a heart that lives only to reflect the feelings of ours. Kara Aziek lent not merely a docile, but a delighted ear, to the animated discourses of her lover. He talked to her of the charms of empire, of the sublime privilege of diffusing comfort and protection throughout nations; he painted the trials and the triumphs of that virtue which belongs to exalted stations, its fame here, its immortal reward hereafter; he spoke to her then of those softer joys which public duties endear and enhance; those delightful throbbings of the heart, sacred to the names of husband and of father, which contrasted with the severer virtues of royalty, seem like the serene beatitude of Heaven.
His voice, his eyes, his smiles, heightened the effect of his eloquence: Kara Aziek no longer saw before her the captive Fabian, but the powerful monarch of Portugal and the two Indies, who, in selecting her from all the world to share his throne and to fill his heart, was yielding the most delicious proof of his tenderness; she saw in him only a beneficent (not an ambitious) sovereign, who sought to extend the dominion of happiness.
At these moments she kindled with congenial enthusiasm, and her soul soaring after his, left far below its first humble and personal wishes.
But how were these ardours chilled, these transports arrested in their flight, by the spirit with which Sebastian spoke of his wrongs! he thirsted for vengeance: with the expectation of one day returning to take his place amongst the monarchs of Europe, came the fatal belief that he must wash out his stains in the blood of his injurers.
At mention of Don Antonio, a terrible light flamed on his brow, his limbs shook, and his articulation became smothered; every look and every word announced still that imperious and fierce character which had so often in Barbary blazed before Kara Aziek like sudden earth-fires.
Her soft nature trembled and grieved; for it was to this intemperance of feeling, this want of self-government, that all his misfortunes were attributable; while it continued to rule him, there was no security for his happiness either on a throne or in a cloister.
On the present subject, however, she found it difficult to oppose any arguments that were not immediately overturned by his impetuous and irresistible rhetoric: neither her education nor the precepts of her religion afforded support to the merciful pleadings of her nature; she could only urge that instinctive feeling which cries aloud from the depths of every human heart, that forbearance and forgiveness ought to be the virtues of erring man.
Sebastian’s vehement passions were deaf to the voice of her softer sentiments; pity and mercy could not make themselves heard, where insulted honour, love outraged into hatred, wounded pride, and disappointed confidence, were clamorous for retribution: he sought to teach her the lesson man learns from his cradle, that to preserve reputation he must often do violence to his character, and seek revenge where he would willingly concede pardon.
Ah fatal and monstrous spell, which not even Christianity itself has yet had power to dissolve!—by thy enchantment the sacred laws of humanity are disregarded, and murder is enrolled in the catalogue of honourable deeds!
Aziek had nothing to urge against opinions which she was thus told were sanctioned by great authorities; she could only repeat her native abhorrence to whatever was the effect rather of passion than of reason. To appease justice and to satiate revenge, were in her estimation very different things, and she strove to convince Sebastian that true dignity resided with the former.
Sometimes her gentle persuasives conquered: he would listen delighted to the music of her voice and the tenderness of her sentiments; his heart would melt under their genial softness, till the perfidious Antonio, his court, his crown, his wrongs, and his deprivations, all forgotten, he would remember only that he lived to love and to be loved by her.