Don Sebastian; or, The house of the Braganza: An Historical Romance: Volume 1 by Anna Maria Porter - HTML preview

CHAP. VI.

AS Gaspar was sure of learning from the good-natured Moor who had spoken to him of the redemption friars, when father Mansonada would be at Mequinez, he had cautioned the King not to put the absolute question to Hafiz, before the friar’s arrival was actually announced, but to employ the intermediate period in gaining his good will, urging the request at the time when it must be either instantly refused or granted: this precaution would leave no time for repentance.

Pursuant to this prudent resolution, the King continued to exert his strength and his talents in every work given him by Hafiz: under his hands the uncouth earthen passage grew into a romantic labyrinth, diversified by spars and mosses, and hung with natural garlands of flowering plants. Often while he was placing a stone or a shrub, he smiled bitterly at what to him seemed womanish employment, and was forced to remember that no occupation is disgraceful which is submitted to for a great and virtuous purpose.

Having acquired many of the Morocco words, he was now able to hold short conversations with Hafiz, who though grave, and somewhat dull, was not insensible to merit; he liberally praised Sebastian, and for his sake granted new indulgences to sickly slaves.

Sebastian marked his increasing influence with re-animated hope: having his eye fixed but on one object, (freedom, in which every blessing is included,) he disregarded all else, distributing among his fellow captives such presents of dress and delicate food, as Hafiz occasionally made him.

But the satisfaction arising from these circumstances was considerably diminished by an unforseen distress; Gaspar was taken ill: he had been unusually fatigued lately, during an insufferably burning day; and at night, had slept on some marshy ground with other Christians, who were all attacked the following morning with illness:—The disorder seized his lungs. From that hour a suffocating cough and slow fever preyed on his strength. At all times delicate, he now lost his appetite and sleep; and appeared hastening fast to that world “where the weary are at rest.”

Afflicted beyond measure, his royal friend no longer thought of exerting any influence over Hafiz for his own peculiar gratification, but tried to use it for Gaspar; he represented his situation in the most moving terms, soliciting the Moor to get him transferred from the fields into the gardens, where he promised to work in his place, allowing himself no instant of recreation through the day, and but four hours of rest at night.—His importunities at length wrung from Hafiz a promise that he would go and solicit the Almoçadem’s leave for the transfer.

Sebastian communicated this to Gaspar with all the ardour of pleasure, the latter turned pale and faltered out an exclamation of regret; painfully disappointed, Sebastian enquired the reason of this disinclination to be near him, and soon found, from the generous soldier, that it arose from concern at the sacrifices which he must make on his account.

This indeed was part of the truth; but the most powerful cause was alarm at a removal, which however agreeable to Gaspar, would put it out of his power to serve his master: from the gardens he could not attempt escape without involving him in his ruin should he be retaken, and therefore it was necessary for him to wait no longer a return of health, but seize this last opportunity of flying from the fields.—Perhaps another day would close the door of freedom for ever, as Hafiz, who had been sent for to Mequinez by the Almoçadem, might return ere night: this thought determined Gaspar.

Many and violent were his emotions when he parted from his beloved master at the door of their cheerless lodging; the poor fellow felt death at his heart, and scarcely knew how to hope for sufficient strength to carry him to Mequinez, where, however, the arrival of friar Mansonada was now happily ascertained. He fastened his eyes on the countenance of Sebastian with the most sorrowful expression; the benign smile that sat there, revived him for an instant, but fearful of betraying any unusual agitation, he retired without speaking.

The next day Hafiz did not return, and at night Sebastian was surprized by the non-appearance of Gaspar; concluding that he was cruelly kept out at distant labour, he began to grow impatient for the sight of Hafiz: still the governor returned not, and the next night and the one following that Gaspar, too was absent.

Disturbed and alarmed, Sebastian approached a French Christian with whom he had once seen Gaspar enter from work, and asked the man, in his own language, what had become of him: the answer overwhelmed him with grief.

Gaspar had attempted to escape two days before, while the wood-slaves were dispersed, and their guards carousing; he had got half way to Mequinez when he was overtaken by two of the Moors, who having heard him question another about the Friars Redemptione, guessed which way he was going. After a short struggle, a wound in the leg brought Gaspar to the ground, and rendered resistance impossible; he was now in the prison of the Cassavee, where Ben Tarab threatened him with the extremity of the bastinado that very night.

Sebastian too quickly comprehended the motive of his friend’s rash action; penetrated with gratitude and sorrow, he flew to the dark building called the prison, intreating to be admitted, and offering extravagant rewards to the Moors who guarded it:—Sebastian could not always remember that he was no longer able to reward any one!—But these vain promises were no sooner past his lips, than he disclaimed them, with a stifled groan, and turned once more to intreaties.

The brutal Ben Tarab advanced cautiously, “You see I am armed;” was his salutation, (pointing to a pair of huge pistols in his belt, and drawing out a Moorish knife,) “in that case you dare not touch me: what is all this tumult about?—is it because the dog is a Portuguese like yourself?—or because you are colleagues? By the holy prophet! I believe you deserve as sound a bastinadoing as he does. If he dies under the thong, this night he shall receive a thousand lashes. Get you to your sleeping hole, and pretend not to thwart a Mussulman in his duty.”

Without replying, Sebastian shot an eagle glance round, as if in search of something, the next instant he darted forwards, and snatching up a hatchet which lay accidentally among some rubbish, flashed it in the eyes of Ben Tarab.

“I too am armed!” he exclaimed fiercely, “approach but one step nearer and this hatchet shall lay you dead at my feet.—I can die but once—yet if I do fall, I will sell my life dearly.—Mark me! the man who takes Gaspar to punishment from this prison must cut his way to him through my heart.”

As he concluded, the stern frown of the young monarch withered Ben Tarab’s courage, he drew back trembling, and tried to pull out one of his pistols; Sebastian saw the action, and sprung on him like a tiger; his powerful grasp pinioned the arms of the Moor, who believing himself in the very gripe of death, cried out for mercy: before any one could come to his rescue, Sebastian flung him disdainfully away, saying—

“Take your worthless life—I want nothing beyond pity for a poor dying man. Suffer me unmolested to keep watch before this prison till Hafiz returns; then let the punishment of Gaspar be referred to the Almoçadem: you will appear against him, I shall plead for him, I hope from the lips of the humane Hafiz.”

Livid and trembling, Ben Tarab now sheltered himself behind a group of Moors who had run in to his assistance: conscious that Sebastian was indeed only to be conquered by death, and aware of the high value set on him by El Hader, he feared to order the violence his base soul longed to inflict.

“Stay then,” he cried at last, “Stay! and may plagues blister you for your pains!—There you may watch and fast, for neither bed nor meal shall you have till Hafiz comes back and rids me of you altogether. Soldiers, take care he is not too subtle for you; look to him well.”—So saying, Ben Tarab left the court, shutting its huge stone gates after him, with a rage that threatened to crash them.

Sebastian grasped his hatchet and sat quietly down upon the steps of the prison, while two Moorish guards walked backwards and forwards, discoursing about this mad Christian, who would certainly be condemned to the rack by their illustrious master.

In this situation, full of agitating thoughts, the King of Portugal past the night: fortunately for him, Hafiz returned the next day, and having missed Sebastian in the gardens, came to inquire for him of Ben Tarab; that brutal fellow related the events of the last few days with all the exaggerations of inveterate animosity, sending Hafiz to threaten his favorite slave with a chain or a log.

Sebastian’s character was one of extremes; he was alternately the fiercest and the gentlest of mankind; where he saw the trace of humanity he could quell every movement of passion, and enter into the calmest and most considerate explanations: he now let the wrath of Hafiz take its course, waiting till it was spent, before he expatiated upon the natural love we bear our countrymen; and the impossibility of refraining from some shew of violence when any object whom we sincerely love is threatened with danger. The poor dying youth being menaced with the bastinado, was, on this reasoning, a sufficient plea for his own vehemence.

Sebastian mingled these with strong appeals to that sentiment of Liberty which he presumed dwelt in the bosom of Hafiz, in common with every honest man, he besought his pity;—and finished by declaring, that if Gaspar perished, neither whips nor daggers should ever compel him to any act of labour.

All these arguments had their weight, but especially the last; Hafiz feared to lose the very flower of his workmen, and therefore promised to go immediately to Kara Aziek, the daughter of El Hader, and try to obtain Gaspar’s pardon from her: this favorite and only surviving child of the Almoçadem had come that morning from Mequinez, merely to see the subterraneous labyrinth, and having been enchanted with its novelty and beauty, Hafiz hoped might be induced to pronounce the desired forgiveness. Hastening away, he returned in a short time with the Moorish Lady’s order for the release and removal of Gaspar.

Penetrated with gratitude proportionate to his late apprehension, Sebastian vehemently thanked the good Moor, and went with him into the prison.

As they approached the dungeon in which Gaspar was, his feeble groans alone broke the sullen silence; he was the only human being who had slept in that dismal place during three nights, and might have perished there, without even the hope of succour: at the sound of his royal master’s voice, he slowly raised his head, and supported himself for an instant; but he sunk again, overpowered with pain and weakness.—Sebastian hastened to catch him on his breast, while Hafiz assured him he was pardoned, and going to be removed entirely from the influence of Ben Tarab.

The prejudiced yet well-meaning Moor accompanied this information with several animadversions upon the folly and ingratitude of attempting an escape from a residence where all the slaves were treated like trusty servants; bidding him remember, that as it was solely for Fabian’s sake he was forgiven, a second fault would draw Fabian into the same destruction.

Gaspar could only reply by a submissive motion of the head, for a merciless neglect of sending him food had rendered him so weak he could scarcely speak; he was besides too joyful for utterance; but he held his sovereign’s hand alternately to his lips and to his heart, with an energy of gratitude that needed no additional eloquence.

The wound in Gaspar’s leg was more painful that it appeared dangerous, so that Sebastian trusted he might yet recover both from it and his pulmonary complaint, if properly nursed, and kept for awhile from labouring amongst evening and morning mists:—he now made an earnest petition to Hafiz for permission to inhabit some chamber adjoining that allotted to Gaspar, in order that he might be thus enabled to devote every leisure moment to his suffering friend.

After long resisting, Hafiz reluctantly yielded; first stipulating some new exercise of his favorite’s ingenuity, by way of equivalent:—Gaspar was then conveyed to another quarter of the Cassavee, where the household slaves are lodged, and a small but not wretched apartment was assigned to him.

His wound was examined, and his internal disorder prescribed for, by a skilful renegado who acted as family physician and surgeon; Sebastian would fain have staid to assist this man, but Gaspar himself could not bear the thought of so employing his King, and Hafiz now waited for him at the labyrinth.

Eager to repay the worthy Moor’s kindness by increased diligence, Sebastian hurried into the gardens; all his generous and delighted heart beamed on his noble countenance as he moved through the verdant groves and lawns leading to the grotto; as he was hastily advancing, he was checked by an unusual sight: a group of Moorish women were just issuing from the entrance.

Rightly conjecturing that these were the Almoçadem’s daughter and her attendants, he drew back: one of the ladies was richly habited after the Morocco fashion, in a kaftan and turban embroidered with coloured silks and precious stones; her mildly superior air declared her to be Kara Aziek: she drew her veil closer at sight of a man, but stopping at the same time, said a few words to Hafiz in a very soft voice. Sebastian ventured to advance; he bent one knee to the ground, making a sign expressive of gratitude; Kara Aziek courteously motioned him to rise, and then moved away: but she frequently looked back as she went, and on turning into another walk, graciously noticed him still, by a gentle inclination of her head.

Sebastian’s eyes remained fixed on the vacant space which her figure had occupied: it was the first time he had seen a woman since he had entered Africa, (for he would not give that title to the female Alarbes) and for the first time, a train of sweet and tender emotions, glided through his bosom.

The appearance of a young and pleasing woman, is ever associated in the mind of man when under affliction, with hope of consolation and expectation of relief—Kara Aziek’s dove-like voice and pitying manner, would of themselves have been sufficient to rouse up the sanguine spirit of Sebastian, but when to these were added the late proofs of her humanity or yieldingness, he could not help indulging in reveries as delightful as they were unexpected: in five minutes his ardent imagination had gone through a whole romance of disinterested generosity on her part, and boundless gratitude on his; she had facilitated his escape, restored him to his people, and become the friend of his soul’s treasure, the incomparable Donna Gonsalva.

Transported with these fantastic day-dreams, he scarcely heard the precise Hafiz, who was all this while endeavouring to explain to him, Kara Aziek’s commands about the gardens: starting at her name, he begged to have those commands repeated.

Hafiz deliberately recapitulated them; adding, that their young mistress, who was going immediately back to Mequinez, wished her new orders to be fulfilled before the feast of Ramadan, on which she should return with her father; that on hearing the particulars of Gaspar’s situation, she had instructed Hafiz, to have him carefully attended, and supplied with proper nourishment; avowing her intention of reporting Ben Tarab’s barbarity to the Almoçadem, who though strict with his slaves, was averse to their being cruelly treated.

When Hafiz ended, Sebastian abruptly exclaimed—“Perhaps I should bless my captivity, since it daily frees me from prejudice!—Hafiz, when I first fought against your countrymen, I believed myself combatting a set of wretches, devoid of every human feeling: since then, I have learned to think that the Maker of Heaven and earth, breathes so much of his divine spirit through some rare souls, that not even the pollutions of a false religion, can wholly deface their original beauty!—I had been told that your women were little better than agreeable images, without thought or will: how is it that this young and admirable lady, has been thus moved to compassionate a Christian, and condemn a Mahometan?”

“O, I can soon satisfy you;” answered the simple-minded Hafiz, “I begged for this Gaspar, in the name of Sidie Absalom.”

“And who is Sidie Absalom?” asked Sebastian.

“You would not ask that,” returned his companion, “if you had ever read the Holy Book of the Jews; he was a beautiful young man, the son of one King David—‘From the sole of his foot even to the crown of his head, there was no blemish in him.’—our women pray to him as to a saint; ask them any thing in his name, and they are afraid to deny you, for fear of not getting a husband as handsome as he was.”

Sebastian smiled at his simplicity; Kara Aziek’s actions seemed worthy of a better motive, and he failed not to bestow on them one infinitely nobler.

Hafiz now hurried him to labour: the good Moor, proud of distinction, and aware that to the activity and taste of his Portuguese slave, he should owe some liberal mark of the Almoçadem’s satisfaction, exhorted Sebastian to employ all his invention in new adornments for the baths and fountains, and in bringing to perfection the nursery of fragrant exotics, which Kara Aziek had requested he might attend.

Sebastian needed not an additional incitement to these humble tasks: it was motive enough for him, that by fancying light decorations, requiring more ingenuity than strength to accomplish, he spared his fellow-captives many a weary labour: Hafiz had long trusted them almost solely to his direction, well satisfied with seeing beautiful novelties rising around him, though he knew that they did not occupy half the time, nor exhaust half the bodily powers he had formerly been forced to lavish.

The slaves blessed with longer intervals of rest, were no more pale and squalid; they had leisure for decent attention to their persons, and permitted to form for themselves many minor comforts, health and resignation (for content can never dwell with slavery) began to appear in their looks: at this sight Sebastian’s heart glowed within him, and the consciousness of being the source from whence these blessings flowed, increased the glow. On retiring for the night of this eventful day, Hafiz allowed the King to gather some choice fruits for Gaspar, with which he hastened from the gardens.

Gaspar was already supplied with a basket of the finest grapes, and a flask of medicated asses milk, (balm of Mecca being infused in it) by a servant of Kara Aziek’s: he had temperately partaken of these presents, and was even then revived by them.

The details which now took place between the King and his humble friend, were not unmixed with pleasure; Gaspar could not conceal the affectionate motive of his mad enterprize, nor could his royal master refrain from shewing the extent of his gratitude, by describing the scene which had passed between him and Ben Tarab—new plans for their mutual liberation were then canvassed, and these might all be summed up in a determination of seeking the favour of Kara Aziek, through whose interference perhaps they might prevail on the Almoçadem to permit some communication between them and the Christian forts.

At this prospect, Gaspar could not check a sigh purely selfish: his cruel disorder forbade him to indulge the fond hope of ever again beholding Portugal: this painful emotion burst forth, followed by a reflection far more grievous to Sebastian than it was to himself.

“I must submit,” he said, “if it pleases Heaven to deny me the joy of witnessing my sovereign’s restoration to his people: doubtless I sinned in deserting my poor mother and sisters for the mere sake of fighting against infidels; my wrong notions of duty perhaps, have left these dear relations to starve, for I was their only protector.—Jesu help me! I did not think then, what I have often thought since, that our blessed Redeemer must be better pleased with us when we seek to preserve lives, than when we go to destroy them!”

This artless remark made the King change colour: if Gaspar believed that to die in miserable servitude was only a just punishment for moral ignorance, what must be his destiny by whose powerful example multitudes had been allured into a similar error?—Sebastian’s heart was disturbed; and he paused at this question. Though he did not answer it to himself at that moment, he often repeated it afterwards; and the subject connected with it, was then attentively examined. His days of prosperity had been unreflecting days,—adversity now taught him to scrutinize the past, and to prepare stores of principle for the future: formerly, he had only acted of himself; now he began to think for himself.

Without suffering Gaspar to perceive the pain his remark had caused, Sebastian soothed the poor fellow’s self-accusing feelings, joined in an act of devotion with him, and did not leave him till he saw that he was tranquillized in sleep: he then repaired to a neighbouring chamber, where he spent nearly all the remaining hours of night in earnest supplications for an enlightened spirit.

From this period the attention of Sebastian was divided between so many objects of anxiety that he had not leisure for regret: though he was often wrung by the thought of Gonsalva’s too-probable grief, and apprehension for the fates of Antonio and De Castro, present cares forbade him to dwell on such considerations; he thought yet oftener of escape, and while so much was left him to hope, did not feel privileged to lament.

Each day now saw him incessantly occupied, each evening restored him to Gaspar; that poor youth’s slow-consuming disorder had not yet given way to the Moorish prescriptions,—unable to stand long upon his wounded limb, Gaspar could not be employed in field-work, but his grateful disposition taught him a new species of usefulness, and he amused his solitary hours by the manufacture of ingenious trifles, such as ornamental baskets, brocaded sandals, &c. with which Hafiz was to present Kara Aziek on her return to the cassavee.

Sebastian had found leisure intervals for the accomplishment of a trifling object with which he frequently lulled the depressed spirits of his friend; it was a flute formed of cane; he had contrived to furnish it with stops, &c. and had at length made it capable of “discoursing most excellent music.”

In the tranquillity of evening, when Gaspar was laid on his narrow pallet, and their minds equally exhausted by agitating conversation, Sebastian would take his flute and play Portuguese airs, till Africa was forgotten, and their native country alone remembered.—It was in these moments that love reigned absolute over the heart of the young King; he could not breathe a note that did not recal some song of Donna Gonsalva’s; her celestial voice seemed floating around him, till tenderness melted him into weakness, or impatience lashed him into agony, and the instrument would then fall from his hand.

Experience alone teaches us the mutability of fortune: we hear of it, we see it, we think we understand and believe it,—but when we find ourselves precipitated from an height of happiness into an abyss of misery, it is then for the first time that we really discover the slightness of our former perceptions.—The adversity of others “we write in sand;” our own “we engrave on brass.”

Sebastian had now constant opportunities of making this reflection, for until his dismal change, absolute power had prevented him from even dreaming of a reverse in his own person: since that reverse had happened, he bitterly lamented his precipitate promise to the pope, whose sanction might otherwise have been obtained, and then Gonsalva would have been left at least a queen, protected by wealth and authority.

But these regrets could not recal the past; they were useful only as lessons for the future:—he averted his mind from such reflections, directing all its energies, towards the present objects of his care.

Some of these were attained: his fellow-slaves of the garden were comparatively happy through his means; Hafiz continued to shew him increasing regard; and Gaspar was losing most of those alarming symptoms which so lately threatened his life.—Though in slavery, and condemned to perpetual labour, the young monarch had never yet smarted under one degrading indignity which he would hereafter blush to have survived: this was a consolation almost transporting; it assured him of divine protection, he thought, seeming to say, that Providence might bend but would not crush him.

As it was from Kara Aziek that Sebastian anticipated the completion of every hope, he was naturally inquisitive about her character and habits of life: by his facility of acquiring languages (the most enviable because the most useful of talents,) he was now competent to converse with Hafiz in excellent Moresco; he therefore seized an opportunity one day when they were alone together inspecting her nursery of exotics, and questioned him respecting their gentle mistress.

He learnt in reply that Kara Aziek was the sole surviving child of the Almoçadem by a Portuguese lady who had been carried off by a set of those pirates, who frequently plundered the neighbouring coasts, and brought to Morocco: as she was scarcely passed childhood, El Hader had succeeded in persuading her to change her religion, and to become his wife, upon the condition that he never would marry any others; this promise he had kept, living in harmony with her many years, until they were separated by death.

Though this lady was not a woman of much sense, she was accomplished, and constitutionally humane; her influence had softened the prejudices of the Almoçadem, so that he suffered her to educate her daughter after the European fashion, in all respects, save religion: Kara Aziek was therefore mistress of the Portuguese and Italian languages, and the literature of both countries; she was a Mahometan it is true; but her expanded and inquiring mind, her pure, beneficent spirit, etherialized the grossness of her creed, and made her almost a Christian, in action.

After her mother’s death, Aziek became sole arbiter of her father’s decrees; at her request he granted such indulgencies to his slaves as no other slaves throughout Barbary ever enjoyed, but unhappily these indulgencies had never been faithfully administered:—Kara Aziek was too young and inexperienced to conceive the possibility of her father’s benevolent commands being disobeyed, or rather not obeyed with eagerness; she therefore believed the Christians to be well fed, moderately worked, humanely treated; when in reality most of their task-masters appropriated the liberal allowances to themselves; sold their surplus of labour; and in fact tyranized over both their bodies and their souls.

The freedom of a captive she had never obtained. El Hader thought it argued well for his piety that neither money nor persuasions could induce him to liberate an enemy of his prophet; on this point he was inflexible; and Sebastian, on hearing it, scarcely knew how to hope any thing for himself:—but hope is a sturdy plant that will grow on the most rocky soil; it is destined for the aliment of man’s spiritual part, and without it he could not exist.

Encouraged by the gentleness of Aziek’s character, Sebastian believed that she might be easily induced to pity, and finally to assist him—perhaps her intreaties might not always be unsuccessful:—Fraught with these ideas he heard of her return with the Almoçadem.

The day after their arrival he was sent for by El Hader:—“Young man!” said he in Moorish, “come hither, I want to ask you if you are now willing to accept the distinguished post I had destined for you, that of attending on my person wherever I go, even into the presence of the illustrious Xeriff himself? I hear you have been a perfect whirlwind amongst my people, and that you will do nothing but what you please; is this true?”

“I have not been used to obey:” replied Sebastian, proudly, “but I believe my incessant labours will shew that I am not ungrateful for kindness. These limbs are young and strong, and capable of much fatigue; but some of my unfortunate companions are sick, and old, and oppressed, and for them I have struggled.”

“Aye, so it seems;” answered El Hader, with a gracious nod, “my daughter tells me that your rash attack upon my servant, Ben Tarab, was to be applauded; to that I do not assent, for you should respect the servants of the great El Hader as his delegates: however, we will pass that over, in consideration of your youth and folly, and natural wish to defend a countryman.—I have pardoned both you, and that still more rebellious slave Gaspar, at my daughter’s intreaty: see that you behave better in future; if either of you attempt a second escape, or brave a domestic of mine a second time, not even the tears of my well-beloved Kara Aziek shall save you from destruction.—But tell me, are you inclined to accept the high distinction of waiting on my person?”

The proud and fiery King of Portugal started at this question; he surveyed the infidel from head to foot with a look of insufferable disdain, and then burst into a scornful laugh:—his laugh had something terrible in it, independent of the consuming fire of his eyes; El Hader nimbly started up from the cushions on which he was lolling, and retreated through an adjacent door:—Sebastian did not wait for his re-appearance, but immediately withdrew.

The degrading mark of favor offered by one whom he esteemed only a few degrees above some harmless brute animal, had stung the feelings of Sebastian almost to madness; he traversed the gardens with a swelling heart, but a glimpse of Kara Aziek changed the indignant throb into a thrill of pleasure:—he saw her at a little distance walking with some other Moorish ladies. Crossing his hands over his breast, he stopt and bowed his head; she recognized him through her veil, and graciously returned the salutation; her visitors half uncovered their faces to look at the Christian about whom they had been conversing, but Aziek moved away, and Sebastian dared not remain.

After that day he constantly beheld her in the gardens; sometimes only at a distance, reading or playing on her guitar. No opportunity had yet occurred of addressing her in private; for when she went with him over the quarter assigned to the culture of Portuguese shrubs, to learn their names and qualities, she was surrounded by her maids, and he was followed by Hafiz. But obstacles only stimulated the king’s impatience; other circumstances tended to counteract them. For some time he had every night found in his chamber the most exquisite confections, bread, and sherbet: (presents, evidently the product of female hands,) he shared them with Gaspar, not doubting the benevolent giver was she who had already been so generous.

The only return he could make, was daily offerings of flowers formed into garlands or arranged in bouquets, for the head and bosom of Kara Aziek; these were presented to her by Hafiz, who reluctantly acknowledged that they came from his slave Fabian: Aziek would smile, accept them, inhale their scent awhile, admire their arrangement, and then place them among her beautiful hair instead of more costly ornaments.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.