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Title: Nourmahal, an Oriental romance. Vol. 3 of 3
Author: Michael J. Quin
Release date: March 8, 2026 [eBook #78143]
Language: English
Original publication: London: Henry Colburn, 1838
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78143
Credits: Richard Illner and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOURMAHAL, AN ORIENTAL ROMANCE. VOL. 3 OF 3 ***
NOURMAHAL,
An Oriental Romance.
BY MICHAEL J. QUIN,
AUTHOR OF “A STEAM VOYAGE DOWN THE DANUBE,”
“A VISIT TO SPAIN,” ETC.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1838.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY STEWART AND MURRAY,
OLD BAILEY.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER X (continued).
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
NOTES TO VOLUME I.
NOTES TO VOLUME II.
NOTES TO VOLUME III.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
PUBLISHER ADVERTISEMENTS
CHAPTER I.
Tell him the balmy breath of spring
Hath waked from winter sleep
The hills and vales;--that on the wing
In airy circles sweep
The blithesome birds from tree to tree,
Sweet minstrels of the grove!
Oh! bid him feel their ecstasy,
But tell not that I love!
Tell him the primrose now is seen
On every bank and brae;
That all the fields look gaily green
Beneath the cloudless day.
Hark! the brooks murmur as they fall,
Soft as the turtle-dove!
Oh! how these scenes the past recall!
But tell not that I love!
Tell him that now in every dale,
Beneath the hawthorn shade,
The shepherd woos, with artless tale,
The fond believing maid.
All nature smiles, and I alone
A sense of sadness prove;
Oh! bid him come ere Spring be gone,
But tell not that I love!
STORY-TELLER OF CASHMERE.
It would be vain to deny that the presence of the young prince inspired
the gay equestrians, amongst whom he rode towards the fortress of
Kebeer, (as old Chunder called the subah’s castle,) with a more than
ordinary degree of animation. Besides Nourmahal’s special attendants,
or rather companions, for as such she usually treated those whose
duty it was to render her personal service, all the ladies of the
harem happened to have been out with her upon this occasion. They had
expressed an ardent curiosity to see the hermit, concerning whom Kanun
had told them every thing she had heard from her mistress--and rather
something more, for she, led on by her fertile imagination, ascribed
to Zeinedeen many magical attributes to which he made no sort of
pretension.
It was unfortunate for the purpose of his light-hearted visitors, that
Nourmahal did not find the sage in a mood in which she could have
thought of asking him to admit them to his presence. She had access to
his tower under all circumstances, for he felt so deep an interest in
her fortunes, that he was never unprepared to receive her, or unwilling
to afford her the consolation and advice which the peculiarity of her
situation required.
On more than one occasion expressions of almost paternal affection
towards her escaped his lips. Kazim’s name, too, he mentioned, as if
it had been long familiar to him. To the surprise of Nourmahal, he
appeared fully acquainted with the history of her family, from Kazim’s
first entrance into the college of Ulug Beg, to his elevation to the
highest civil office of the empire. He moreover informed her that both
her parents had, by the order of the emperor, set out for Cashmere, but
he feared that they were summoned to the emperor’s presence for no good
purpose. He suspected that Bochari intended to use them as instruments
for promoting his design, in some way or other, to obtain possession of
prince Chusero.
This intelligence was at once the source of joy and alarm to the mind
of Nourmahal. Scarcely any event could have been more delightful to
her, than the arrival in Cashmere of those whom she loved with all the
tenderness of the only affection, that never in her bosom was mingled
with pain. But the dimly shadowed suspicions of Zeinedeen filled
her with anticipations of evil, which the immediate approach of the
imperial troops was by no means calculated to diminish.
It happened, that while Nourmahal was with the hermit, breathing
all her anxiety upon this subject, three foreign, and very
remarkable-looking persons were admitted into his chamber, with whom
he at once entered into discussions that seemed to have been going on
for some days, as topics were frequently alluded to, on which Zeinedeen
and the strangers appeared to have already agreed. The latter spoke in
the Persian language, with an accent novel to the ear of Nourmahal,
but with an elegance of idiom which, combined with the extraordinary
statements they made, won her for the moment from her own thoughts.
The strangers had the crowns of their heads closely shaved, a wreath
of hair being still preserved, which, broken only over the forehead,
fell gracefully towards the back and shoulders. Upon the eldest of the
three, who was named Aquaviva, the lapse of more than seventy years
appeared to have left few traces beyond the silvery lustre of his
locks. Monserrate and Euriquez, his companions, were much younger.
Their countenances, of the noble European mould, and browned by the
sun of Hindostan, through which they had recently travelled, exhibited
a degree of lofty resolution, and, at the same time, of angelic
sweetness, which at once fixed Nourmahal’s attention. They were arrayed
in long flowing garbs of white camlet, cinctured at the waist by black
woollen cords, from which depended beads of an ebony colour, having
attached to them silver medals impressed with the portrait of a saint,
whom they called the Virgin, and crucifixes of the same material,
bearing the outstretched figure of a divine sufferer, whom they styled
the Messiah. When they first entered the hermit’s chamber their heads
were enveloped in cowls, which they drew back upon their mantles in
making their obeisance. Their feet were sandalled.
Zeinedeen was not unwilling that Nourmahal should hear the tidings
these interesting strangers came to announce. They spoke of a land
that once flowed with milk and honey, and contained a people the
peculiar favourites of the High God, amongst whom this Messiah was
born--amongst whom he spent his life--teaching them doctrines of the
most sublime description. But while he was yet an infant they sought
his death, and not being able to discover him, they slew innocents
without number, filling their beauteous cities with mourning, in order
that he should not escape their unprovoked vengeance. To his words,
when he grew up, they would not listen; and when wonders, such as earth
had never witnessed before--a voice from the skies--the leper suddenly
cleansed--the incurable restored to health--the dead to life--doctrines
which no mind merely human could have conceived, bore in letters of
light, testimony to his origin and his mission--the very people who
ought to have been the first to love and worship him, condemned him to
crucifixion!
Nourmahal’s heart wept as Aquaviva unfolded the history of the Holy One
represented on his beads. She expressed a strong desire to learn more
upon the subject, but the advancing day, and the recollection that the
ladies of the harem were waiting below, prevented her from prolonging
her visit.
That group of fair equestrians, take them all in all, when joined by
Nourmahal, formed as lovely a cavalcade as the eye of a warrior could
desire to rest upon. Some three or four were originally captives, who
had become the property of Afkun by right of war, during the civil
contests which had taken place in Cashmere. Others he had purchased
from the masters of caravans passing through the country, with a view
to protect them from the tyranny of their owners, of whose conduct
towards them they had but too much reason to complain. They were
almost all Georgian or Mingrelian females, scarcely inferior to those
of Circassia in gracefulness of figure, or purity of complexion, and
more than equal to them in liveliness of temper and quickness of
intelligence.
The single passion by which the heart of the subah was engrossed, left
him but a slight fund of affection for the secondary ornaments of his
establishment. It was a necessary part of his state, as viceroy, to
have his harem filled with bright-eyed damsels. To a generous soul like
his, it was no small gratification to have the means of affording a
safe and agreeable home to females, whose exposure to vicissitude and
suffering became only more imminent, in proportion to the beauty by
which they were distinguished.
Amongst all his cares and griefs, Afkun never forgot what was due to
the happiness even of the lowliest of those inmates of his household.
He cherished them for their very dependence upon him. All that he knew
of love,--the deepest, the tenderest, that ever fired the pulse of
man,--he consecrated to Nourmahal. He gave it the more, the more he was
forsaken; for hope still lent a gleam of sunshine even to his visions
of despair. But, at the same time, he continued uniformly to discharge,
with the utmost delicacy and kindness, his duties towards all those
who were under his protection. They felt and returned his beneficence.
They beheld, without jealousy, the unequivocal homage which he paid to
his principal consort; they even sympathized in those sufferings which
his heart silently sustained; and their only rivalry with each other
was to see who should best succeed, by gaiety of manner, by composition
of new airs or dances, or dramatic amusements, to beguile him of that
despondency to which his noble spirit seemed a predestined victim.
Nevertheless, as they rode along,--so natural is coquetry to the
sex,--they were not insensible, as many a side-glance and playful
smile could tell, to the martial bearing of the young prince, who now
commanded their escort. Some pitied him for his misfortunes; some could
not help admiring him for the reports they had heard of his valour;
others thought it but right to yield him the allegiance of their
hearts, as the person best entitled, in the subah’s opinion, to the
crown of Hindostan. For some reason or other, or no reason at all, the
language of admiration was eloquent in every eye. Girths never before
had such a propensity to loosen, or whips to fall, or ponies, hitherto
as quiet as the caged dove, to discharge themselves of their tremulous
burthens. It was the prerogative of the prince to compose their alarms;
his highness had abundant work on his hands, to pay, on all sides, the
attentions which the exigencies of each moment demanded.
Afkun, riding by the side of Nourmahal, could well afford to smile
at these little accidents. Although she appeared more than usually
reserved, (the intelligence about her beloved parents,--the tidings
of the strange dervishes,--the unexpected meeting with the emperor,
might well have made her so,) still for Afkun it was enough to know
that he was so near to the star of his existence. There was something
even in the checked pacing of his proud Arabian, moving step for step
with her favourite palfrey, which afforded him pleasure. He spoke
cheerfully of the strong defences of the castle, which he pointed out
to Nourmahal as they approached that fortress. He showed her that its
heights were domineered by no others within the reach of the most
powerful artillery; that no hostile force could attempt to cross the
moat by which it was surrounded, without being exposed to instant
destruction, and that the idea of scaling the mural precipices which
ascended from the moat to the citadel would be insanity, even if all
other difficulties had been overcome. What pangs would not have rent
the bosom of that animated soldier, had he known how lightly his
observations fell upon the heart to which they were addressed, and that
other words, of more than magic power, were still breathing round it a
music that turned all other sounds adrift upon the empty air!
Behind Nourmahal, however, rode a maid,--that pale Circassian,--for
whom no look, no word that escaped the subah was ever lost, when she
was within its influence. Nothing, perhaps, would have surprised Kanun
so much as to be told by some lynx-eyed observer of her conduct, that
however contented she felt in the presence of her mistress, to whom
she was affectionately attached, she might have been said to live only
when breathing the same atmosphere with Afkun. He was indeed the sun in
whose rays her lilied countenance unfolded all its natural charms. But,
ah! that sun, she often thought to herself, was so far above her reach,
that beyond the delight of contemplating it often from her humble
station, she conceived no hope.
The subah never had the slightest cause for suspecting this tender and
silent love. As the handmaid of her to whom he was so utterly devoted,
she was always pleasing in his sight. So was any tree or plant which
Nourmahal preferred. So was any bird she fed from her own hand, or any
prospect of the scene around, which she thought particularly beautiful.
He could not indeed but have observed the diligence with which Kanun
always arranged his toilet, placing in the vases of his cabinet those
flowers which she knew he liked best, because they were favourites of
Nourmahal, and preparing for his use napkins fringed by her own skill
with gold, and perfumed with the most grateful essences. All these
attentions he marked with delight, because he hoped that they were
suggested by Nourmahal. It never occurred to him that they might have
emanated from any other source.
Kanun believed it to be her province, to busy herself as much as
possible in every thing of a domestic nature that related to the subah.
She kept the keys of his ward-robe--was always the first to enter his
cabinet after he quitted it--often rested her head, and gave free scope
to sighs, to tears, on the cushion still warm with his breath after his
noon-tide slumber. She suffered no hand but her own to gather up the
fine linen he had just left off. It exhaled a fragrance that revived
the fading bloom of her heart. But, affected as she was by all these
symptoms of an unchangeable, adoring, passion, she dared not to confess
even to her most secret reflections, that existence would for her have
no value, if Afkun were no more.
Nobody who had beheld that gay and gallant cavalcade crossing the
drawbridge of the castle, would have supposed that they were entering
a species of prison, in which, according to all probability, they were
likely to be strictly enclosed for months to come. With the exception
of the viceroy and his consort, all looked as cheerful as the open
day. The prince, full of the ardour of youth, entered into the playful
sallies of his fair companions, with unrestrained glee, carefully
preserving himself, however, within the limits of that decorous
familiarity, which, as a guest of the subah, it was incumbent upon him
not to violate. The least transgression, in this respect, would have
at once solved every bond between them. Omrah, prince, or emperor,
whatever the rank, or power, of the man, received within the door, be
to him sacred the treasures of the harem, or his blood must answer for
it. Upon this point our laws, our feelings of honour, know no exception
or indulgence. The harem we defend at the peril of all things,--wealth,
station, glory, life, a thousand lives if we possessed them.
CHAPTER II.
Oh! that I were a shepherd boy,
Upon some green hill side;
Fair flocks and herds my only joy,
A pipe my only pride!
Then far from war and thee I’d stray
In search of peace alone,
Courting the shade the live-long day,
Unknowing and unknown.
The birds that with sweet rapture greet
The morn, my mates would be;
And ocean murmuring at my feet,
Would lend its minstrelsy
To soothe the anguish of this breast,
That once lived on thy smile,
Nor feared, while in its sunshine blest,
’Twas meant but to beguile!
But no,--I ne’er shall thee accuse,
Thy heart no falsehood stains:
’Twas Fancy gave thy cheek those hues,
That held my soul in chains.
Forget thy vow--the heaven I felt,
Believing thou wert mine;
And think the valley where we knelt,
A visionary shrine!
STORY-TELLER OF CASHMERE.
The drawbridge being passed by the whole party, was, on the instant,
raised by the warders of the castle, one of whom stated to Afkun, in
a low voice, that not only the van-guards, but the imperial troops,
had been just seen from the watch-tower, descending the mountains, and
approaching rapidly towards the capital.
“Oh! thanks to Allah!” exclaimed Nourmahal, who over-heard the
communication.
The warder looked no less astonished than the subah, who controlled his
feelings, however, until having alighted, he assisted his consort to
dismount, and conducted her to her chamber.
“What am I to understand, Nourmahal, from these words you have just
uttered?”
“That I am transported with the hope of soon again beholding my beloved
parents!”
Afkun had not seen Nourmahal betray so much emotion, since the morning
she quitted Agra. He could not comprehend it. It came upon him as if a
thunder-cloud broke upon his head.
“Yes, Afkun--my parents--your friends--they are, or will speedily
be with the army. Zeinedeen has informed me so; and may Allah grant
that my father’s presence, his unfailing wisdom, his just influence
with both the contending parties, may bring these dire contests to a
peaceable issue!”
“I was not prepared for this. The high chancellor, Kazim;--he, indeed,
whom I have never ceased to love--he, Nourmahal, who placed this hand
in mine--if any power on earth can subdue the malice of Bochari--can
extinguish that torch which has set the empire in conflagration--it
must be Kazim.”
“Wonder then no longer, Afkun, at my feelings of joy.”
“I share them with you; nothing could happen which would afford me much
greater happiness than to receive within our gates those two beloved
sources of your existence, by you scarcely more beloved than by me.”
Nourmahal, in the flush of happiness that lightened in her countenance,
thanked her husband with one of those heavenly smiles, for which, were
it his to bestow, he would have given the empire of the world.
“Oh! cherished one,” he exclaimed, folding his arm round her waist, and
looking in fixed rapture upon her glowing cheek--“Oh! Nourmahal--should
it be Kazim’s fortune, by his sage counsels to terminate this war,
consistently with the just rights of the prince, and the interests
of the empire--say that we shall retire from these turmoils of lofty
station, and take up our abode in some solitude, where we shall
thenceforth live only for each other! Promise me but this--and for
myself I shall demand no other terms.”
“My hand is yours, Afkun. You know who it was that surrendered it to
your care. Never--I truly believe--never was a wife more beloved than I
have been--than I am!--beloved much--far beyond my deserts”----
“That, Nourmahal, were impossible.”
“You have often--too often,” she added, turning away her eyes, “felt
the insensibility with which I have met your affection--that affection
ever to me the same--ever generous--ever ardent. Forgive, Afkun, these
tears--they rush from all the fountains of my soul”----
“They are natural--sacred. The hope of seeing again, and soon, those
whom we both so truly love”----
“Would that that were the only cause!”
“You feel no alarm for the safety of the high chancellor?”
“None--no--no. Oh, these unbidden witnesses!--they will reveal all!”
exclaimed Nourmahal, endeavouring to check the tears that flooded her
cheek.
Afkun trembled, fearful that some dreadful disclosure was coming. He
led Nourmahal to the divan; sitting by her, he took her hand in his,
and repeatedly kissing it, besought her to be comforted.
“Alas! speak not thus to me--no kind word passes your lips that is not
a barbed arrow to my soul.”
“I have no suspicions, Nourmahal, of your honour--but if”----
“Say it at once--if you thought me false to you”----
“Ah, if that calamity be mine, Afkun has no further occupation in this
world!”
“You would plunge your knife here?”
“Allah be my witness that I would freely pour out all my blood for
you--be your guilt what it may!”
“Had you tendered me the poisoned bowl, I could now drain it to the
dregs!”
“Oh! why did I not perish at Lahore? Why on the battle-field was there
no sepulchre for me?”
“It is I--it is I--that should not have seen this day!”
“It is gone--the light of my heart--for ever! A hope--I will confess
it--was growing there that when these contentions were over, I should
abandon all pursuits of glory, and fly to some mountain home, where,
dedicated entirely to thee, Nourmahal, by thee solely cherished in
return, we should yield all our remaining days to the repose of
well-tried affection. That vision which has cheered me through many
a weary hour--which nerved my arm, and fired my soul in moments of
desperate engagement--which even forbade me to remember the marks
of indifference from thee that sometimes forced themselves on my
attention--that enchanting vision is no more. Oh, Allah!” exclaimed the
subah, rising and wringing his hands together in frantic grief--“Oh,
spirit of justice!--of benevolence, for such thou must be, who rulest
the world--what have I done to deserve this terrible penalty at thy
hands? Nourmahal faithless to me?”----
“Understand all my guilt--but not more. Your rights as my consort--my
honour as your wedded wife--remain, and ever shall remain to the last
moment of my life inviolate.”
Afkun heard this declaration, made in the emphatic and dignified tone
of innocence, with a manifest sense of joy. A gleam of light flashed
from his livid face.
“Repeat those words--they bring back the ebbing current to my heart.”
“The daughter of the house of Ayas--I will add, the wife of Shere
Afkun--knows too well the respect she owes to her family, to her
honoured lord, to herself, to incur any guilt that would degrade her in
her own, or in their esteem.”
“Spoken like an Ayas. Oh Heaven, I thank thee that I have lived to hear
these words, happen what may! What then is there, Nourmahal, which I
cannot endure--cannot forgive?”
“That which I dare not disclose to thee now, Afkun. Leave me. I am in
agony.”
“Ah, the fatal truth is now before me! I read it in those tears.--The
sultan!”----
“I am, indeed, betrayed. You now know that which I have long
endeavoured to conceal--the fate against which I have struggled, but
which my woman’s strength has not been sufficient to subdue. It is
written in the books of Heaven against me.”
The warrior of a hundred fields--the slayer of the lion and the
tiger--he who by his single arm rescued a besieged town from a host
of invaders--and tore up the mound that turned a river from its
course--fell breathless as the still-born babe beneath the withering
sound of these words.
Nourmahal shrieked in alarm, fearful that the noble spirit had
departed. Kanun was instantly with her. Beholding the subah fallen
on the floor,--Nourmahal on her knees,--her cheeks pale,--her hands
endeavouring to open his, which were still clasped,--her lips uttering
incoherent cries,--the trembling maid knew not for a moment what to do.
Instinctively hastening to her own room, she returned with vases of
spikenard and vinegar, which she poured upon Afkun’s temples, rubbing
them with all her force. Then kindling frankincense, she held it to
the channels of his breath, while some of her companions, whom she
called to her assistance, bore away Nourmahal to her bed-chamber. The
affectionate Circassian, baring the feet of the subah, directed others
to anoint them in hot oil, while she continued, until her strength
was exhausted by her often-renewed exertions, to increase the nearly
subsided pulse of life which she still felt in his veins. It grew
stronger by degrees. The lips trembled and received again the colour
of health. The eye-lids opened, and the spirit within them looked out,
apparently in search of an object no longer to be seen.
“She is gone!” said Afkun, with a sob of anguish that seemed to rend
his bosom; “she is gone from me. We meet no more here!”
Kanun, kneeling down by her master, gently raised his head, and
prevailed upon him to taste a little sherbet. The pressure of his hand
upon her burning forehead told her how much he thanked her for her
services. He held her still near him. Her hair being dishevelled by her
exertions, he kindly parted it, and gazed for a moment on those eyes
all beaming upon him with confessions, which fell like drops of evening
upon the parched flower.
“There is, at all events,” he said, in a melancholy voice, “one being
who loves Afkun. Be it thine, Kanun, to preserve the urn in which my
ashes shall soon be enclosed. I desire for it no other monument than
this faithful lap, in which my head is now laid. Open the sepulchre
sometimes,--speak to me, and let a tear witness that you love your
master. Be faithful to me while you live; it will be some consolation
to my afflicted spirit. And when your hour is come, let them deposit
your remains with mine.”
The subah, rising gently, extricated himself from the arms of the
weeping girl, who, lost to every recollection save that of her love so
long suppressed, so unexpectedly recognised beyond the highest hope
she had ever allowed herself to cherish, continued on the carpet as if
she feared to lose the position in which she had the double happiness
of restoring her lord to life, and of receiving from him permission to
cherish, even beyond the grave, the only idol of her soul. It was a
bequest which she would not have exchanged for a sceptre. Love never
before obtained such a reward. She was inspired with the presentiment
that she might be summoned, before many hours elapsed, to perform the
office assigned to her, an office fraught with pangs of unutterable
grief, but of grief made sacred to her by affection,--of grief dearer
to her than any joy,--of grief destined, sooner or later, to seal upon
them both the same tomb,--their bridal bed,--the nuptial bower, where
they were never to separate!
Afkun ascended the watch-tower of the citadel, and plainly observed
drawn scymitars and spear-heads flashing in the sun, through clouds
of dust, in the direction of the pass through which masses of cavalry
could alone enter Cashmere. Their appearance was not necessary to
confirm the dark forebodings with which his mind was filled, although
his reason was convinced that, in a military point of view, his
position was impregnable.
Accompanied by the prince, he walked several times round the ramparts,
examined the guns planted on them, sounded the fidelity of the men who
formed the garrison, inspected the fountains, the stores of rice,
corn, and ammunition, took into his own possession the keys of the
inner gate, between which and the port-cullis, now firmly secured, the
chains of the draw-bridge were coiled up. He felt satisfied that he
was prepared for a blockade, not of months, but of years, if the enemy
thought fit to persevere so long; as to any other species of hostility,
he gave it not a moment’s reflection.
Nothing which had occurred would, however, prevent him from sending
a messenger to the emperor, with letters for Kazim Ayas and Mangeli,
inviting them to the castle, and proposing a truce during the period
they might have permission to remain there. Having informed Nourmahal
of his intention upon this point, and letters from both, addressed
to the high chancellor, under cover to Jehangire, having been placed
in the hands of an officer, the latter, escorted by twenty spearmen,
with their shields upon their backs, set out for the encampment of the
imperial army.
CHAPTER III.
The islands saw it, and feared; the ends of the earth
were astonished; they drew near and came.
THE ROYAL PROPHET.
Chunder’s announcement of the approach of the emperor suspended the
conference, in which the hermit was engaged with the three foreign
dervishes. Zeinedeen, as well as his visitors, were fully apprised of
the entry of the imperial army into the province, but they were not
prepared to behold the sovereign, in the simple attire of a Himalayan
hunter. The hermit received Jehangire with every token of respect,
assuring him that, although unescorted, beneath his roof the son of
Acbar--of a master whom he loved and honoured for his virtues, his
matchless valour, his devotion to the welfare of all his people, to
whatever religious sect they belonged, his munificent patronage of
learned men, and his selection for the great offices of state of
persons entitled to them by their integrity and talents--was secure
from every danger, and welcome to all the hospitality, however humble,
which that roof could afford.
Jehangire was affected by the warm-hearted reception which he
experienced from the hermit. The three strangers were about to make
their obeisances, when the emperor interposed, and saying in a familiar
way that as he was at present nothing more than a pilgrim, they must
treat him as such. Probably they were proceeding also to the temple of
Mahadeo, and would permit him to accompany them.
Aquaviva confessed that he and his companions were indeed, as the
emperor conjectured, pilgrims; but that their homage was due to other
shrines, in which the presence of the divinity depended upon no time or
season.
Auzeem remarked the courtly, yet simple and earnest manner in which
the stranger uttered these words, and drawing Jehangire aside,
informed him in a low voice that he believed these persons to be the
missionaries from the country of the Franks, who had obtained a license
from his majesty not long since to visit Hindostan. The emperor,
expressing his satisfaction at having thus encountered them, questioned
them on that point. They immediately produced the imperial rescript
to which Auzeem alluded, and expressed their happiness on being so
unexpectedly placed in the imperial presence.
Jehangire prided himself, and not altogether unjustly, upon his
acquaintance with the theological points of difficulty, that formed
the principal subjects of controversy among the diversified sects with
which his empire abounded. He was, therefore, strongly disposed to
enter at once upon the discussion of the doctrines which the strangers
came to inculcate. But Aquaviva, feeling that the great object he had
in view might be endangered, by embarking at the moment in an argument
with the emperor, humbly sought permission to wait upon his majesty at
some more favourable season, when his mind would be relieved from the
pressure of the civil war.
The hermit took the same view; but the emperor, remarking that topics
of this description were to him a favourite source of recreation, fixed
that the missionaries should attend him in the camp the following day.
He then gave them leave to withdraw; but as his curiosity to learn
the species of faith which they professed was strongly excited, he
requested, after their departure, that Zeinedeen would enlighten him on
that subject. The hermit expressed his readiness to obey the emperor’s
desire, though he felt scarcely competent to unfold so mighty a theme,
as he had been enabled to catch only a faint glimmering of it from the
communications of the strangers.
“But, sire,” he continued, “I have heard enough from those holy
men--for such I believe them to be--to convince my mind that they come
amongst us with tidings of no common character. When I look upwards and
behold in the midst of night the numberless worlds by which this small
planet is surrounded, I am astonished at the immeasurable affection
which the Great Spirit must bear to the beings whom he has placed here,
if it be true, as these messengers declare, that he has sent hither,
not a seraph, nor an archangel, but a God, to open to us the path by
which we are to ascend to his presence!”
“The books of the sibyls, and the traditions of all ages,” observed
Jehangire, “abound in predictions upon this subject. Mahomet applied
them to himself; but I must confess that I have never been able to
satisfy my understanding as to the propriety of his claims.”
“The strangers,” pursued Zeinedeen, “have produced to me books of
unquestionable antiquity, of which it is manifest that the Koran is
little more than a paraphrase.”
“I had an opportunity of seeing in Persia,” remarked Auzeem, “the
writings to which you allude. The plagiarisms of the prophet are
palpable.”
“It is now about sixteen centuries ago, as these foreigners say, since
three or four sages, skilled in the science of the heavens, while
engaged in contemplating the myriads of lights that glow in those happy
regions, beheld an orb of singular lustre suddenly descend from the
utmost heights of space. It then moved in the direction of the Great
Sea, and the sages, struck with admiration of its wonderful beauty,
as well as with a profound impression that it was the herald of some
supernatural event, followed it in its course, until it stopped over
an obscure village near Jerusalem. On their way they inquired of some
shepherds, who were keeping the night watches over their flocks,
whether any great king was lately born in that country; but before
the shepherds could give any answer to their questions, they were
all encompassed by a canopy of fire, which could have been no other
than the brightness of God. The air was filled with breathings of
incomparable harmony, while in the canopy were seen hosts of angelic
forms, whose voices proclaimed the birth of an infant, come to redeem
mankind from the penalty which their early disobedience to the Supreme
One would otherwise have entailed upon them. ‘Glory, therefore,’ sung
the heavenly host, ‘be to God in the highest, and peace to men of good
will!’”
“I would have given my empire,” exclaimed Jehangire, “to have heard
those sounds.”
“Following the course indicated by the star, the sages and the
shepherds entered a cave that had been commonly used as a stable, and
there they found laid in a manger, wrapped in bands of coarse linen,
a child newly born. They worshipped him, declaring all that they had
heard, and made him offerings of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
“The Jewish authorities, fearful that the end of their power was come,
sought the destruction of the infant; but he was taken into Egypt,
where he was preserved from their hatred. Returning afterwards to
Syria, he spent his early years in retirement amongst the mountains
and by the sea of Tiberias, whose lonely shores he seems to have loved
with a particular affection. The humble fishermen, who frequented its
waters, were his chosen companions. To them he imparted his doctrines,
and confided the propagation of the faith which he came to establish.”
“This is strange, seeing that his first worshippers were sages,” said
Auzeem.
“Every thing about this visitor of our planet was wonderful. He
appears, throughout the whole of his life here, to have been raised
above all men, not by the display of any symbol of authority, but by
his invariable meekness and humility. The single word LOVE, embraced
the whole of his religion--love for the Highest God, of whom the angels
sung--love for men to whom they announced the tidings of his perpetual
peace.
“Many events above the course of nature bore witness to the origin and
mission of this Teacher. Persons troubled with evil demons he rescued
from their sufferings; by a word he raised the dead to life, stilled
the tempest, gave language to the dumb, and hearing to the deaf, and
blood to the withered hand, and vision to the faded eye. He walked upon
the foaming waves of the sea. He passed, unseen, through multitudes.
He fed thousands upon a small basket of fish and bread, and still
abundant fragments remained after they were satisfied. While he was
inculcating his doctrine, on one occasion, amidst his chosen ministers,
upon the summit of a mountain, his face was suddenly illuminated, and
his garments became whiter than the snow. Two of the patriarchs of
the elder days descended from heaven, and conversed with him upon the
approaching termination of his career upon earth. They were succeeded
by a cloud, from which the Great Spirit spoke, declaring the Messiah to
be his Son, and commanding obedience to his precepts.
“One would think, that after such evidence as these events furnished
to the character of the Holy One, the generation of that day, at all
events, would have unanimously accepted him as their master, and loved
him as their mediator. On the contrary, they gave no belief to the
awful signs of his office; they despised his admonitions, ridiculed him
as an impostor, and finally sacrificed him to the jealousy of their
priesthood. The sun shrouded itself while the mob of Jerusalem nailed
him to a cross. The dead looked out from their sepulchres, disturbed by
the woe which convulsed all nature. But for that act, the haughty city,
whose palaces and temples glittered as the fairest then upon earth,
soon after became a heap of ruins, which it still remains, and the
descendants of that mob have been scattered through all nations, never
to be re-united until they repent them of their crime.”
“I have often remarked those Hebrews,” said the emperor, “in the
bazaars at Agra. Their countenances betray them as an outlawed race.
They never look composed. There are traces of agitation on the
quivering lip and the heated cheek, which have always made me look
at them, I knew not why, with suspicion, as if they had been fugitive
murderers.”
“He, the crucified, in three days arose from his tomb, and after
repeating to his ministers all that he had previously taught them,
ascended to the bright regions whence he came.”
“This is, in truth,” observed Auzeem, “a marvellous narrative. We have,
in Hindostan, a variety of traditions which evidently relate to the
Syrian prophet; and several of our poets even assure us, that there are
nights so perfectly clear and calm, as to disclose the path of light by
which he trod through the stars on his way to his heavenly abode.”
“But the greatest wonder of all, as it seems to me,” pursued the
hermit, “is the rapid and secure progress which the new doctrine made
through many nations. The ministers of the Messiah were all of them,
without exception, poor and uneducated men. But a Spirit is said to
have descended upon them, before they went forth to teach, which fired
their hearts with indomitable fortitude, and endowed their tongues
with every language. These inspired priests, without the aid of torch
or sword, overthrew myriads of idols, and substituted in their shrines
the cross. The sanguinary and superstitious rites to which men had
been accustomed they abolished, and in their room they established an
unbloody sacrifice, and a system of worship the most pure, the most
spiritual and exalting, which the human mind could adopt, as a memorial
of the redeeming God, and as a bond of sanctity between earth and
heaven.”
“I am deeply interested in this subject which you have just disclosed
to us,” said the emperor, “and should be much delighted if, when next
the strangers celebrate the rites of their religion, I could be present
to witness them. As to the shrine of Mahadeo, let it be demolished.”
“Methinks it is the hour,” rejoined Zeinedeen, rising and looking at
the sun, “when they perform their mid-day worship. They have converted
a large cavern in the neighbouring mountain into a temple, where they
are already attended by many followers. Yes, I hear the echo of the
hymn to the Virgin by which they usually preface their service.”
“Let us join them,” exclaimed the emperor, “without delay.”
As the hermit and his companions proceeded towards the mountain whence
the sounds proceeded, they were struck by the peculiar solemnity and
harmony of the tones which reached their ears. There was no effort at
effect in the music. It was the simple modulation of a suppliant heart
bending before the throne of the Most High, breathing of confidence in
the affection of the Parent to whom it was addressed, and calculated to
raise the soul to the contemplation of other worlds.
It swelled and died gradually upon the air as they went along, and at
some turns in the path it floated apparently so near them, that they
could almost distinguish the words. At the next step the melody died
away, as if it were terminated, and again a few paces and the full
choir, for all the worshippers joined in the anthem, resounded from the
cavern, at the entrance to which Jehangire and his companions paused to
listen.
CHAPTER IV.
I myself will take of the marrow of the high cedar,
and will set it: on the high mountains of Israel will I
plant it; and it shall become a great cedar, and every
fowl shall make its nest under the branches thereof.
EZEKIEL.
Proceeding forward, the emperor and his companions perceived an altar
raised at the end of the subterranean gallery, and illumined by
torches, amidst which were arranged bunches of flowers. Upon the altar
was spread a snow-white cloth, fringed with gold, and before a small
shrine of variegated marble, which was erected on the middle of the
altar, stood a richly chased golden chalice, covered by a paten of the
same material. Over both was disposed a veil of brocade, embroidered
with silver.
The cavern chapel was nearly filled with shepherds and peasants,
dressed out in their holiday costume, for it happened to be a festival
of the Virgin. They were all kneeling, and waiting with profound
devotion for the commencement of the service. Aquaviva, and his two
companions, appeared prostrate at the foot of the altar, habited in
vestments of brocade like that with which the chalice was covered, the
figure of a cross being worked in silver on the backs of the sacred
garments. Aquaviva wore a mitre of silver tissue; his assistants were
bare-headed.
Rising from the attitude of silent supplication, which they had for
some minutes preserved, they stood and prayed aloud that God might send
them his light and truth, and pardon them their sins, that so they
might enter his sanctuary with pure minds. They appealed to the Virgin,
and to the saints by whom the eternal throne is surrounded, to mediate
in their behalf.
A beautiful boy, clad in a muslin surplice, then placed in Aquaviva’s
hand a golden censer, filled with kindled frankincense, with which he
fumed the altar. Having again intreated the mercy of God, he paused a
moment, and entoned in a sweet voice, tremulous with piety, that hymn
of joy, of which the heavenly messengers, who proclaimed the arrival of
the Messiah, pronounced the first words--“Glory to the God on high, and
on earth peace to men of good will.”
The assembly took up the anthem, and in a burst of exclamation declared
their adhesion to the faith of the Redeemer. Him they praised, and
blessed, and adored--him they acknowledged to be the Christ, come to
take away the sins of the world. To him, sitting in majesty at the
right hand of the Father, they prayed for protection, because he is
the Holy One, who, with the Spirit, is most high in the glory of the
Omnipotent.
A splendidly illuminated missal being then placed on a stand,
Monserrate read from it a selection of verses from the Canticles, each
of which bore some allusion to the Messiah. He was the graceful fawn
leaping on the mountains, and skipping over the hills;--the lover
peeping through the lattices, and calling on his beautiful one to come,
for that the winter was past, the rain was gone, the flowers appeared
in the land, it was the time of pruning, the voice of the turtle-dove
was heard, the fig-tree had put forth her green figs, and the vines in
flower yielded their delicious fragrance. “Arise, my beautiful one, and
come, shew me thy face; let thy voice sound in my ear, for thy voice is
sweet, and thy face comely.”
“Such is the affectionate language,” said the venerable prelate, when
he afterwards explained these verses to his simple and confiding
audience, “in which the Messiah is represented as addressing his
church, after the difficulties attending its first establishment were
surmounted. Ages of opposition and suffering were her winter; but the
spring-day of her hopes, the promise of her universal triumph, was
already at hand.”
These verses were followed by a history of the Virgin, during a visit
which she paid to one of her relatives in the hill-country of Juda, to
announce the tidings which an angel brought her, that the Spirit of
the Most High should overshadow her, and that she should bring forth
a Son. Her cousin, to whom she communicated this intelligence, was a
woman far advanced in years; but in her womb lived one who was to be
the predecessor of the Messiah, to proclaim his approach, to fill the
valley, to level the mountain before him, and to prepare the path in
which he should go. That infant, enshrined though he was, heard the
Virgin’s voice of salutation, and leaped with joy. Her aged hostess
blessed her, and the rejoicing maiden, inspired by the sublimity and
sanctity of her office, poured forth her soul in a hymn to the mighty
God, who regarded the humility of his handmaid, and entitled her to be
called “blessed” by all future generations.
The audience listened to these truths, and to the explanations
of Aquaviva, with earnest attention, and the most lively marks
of pleasure, feeling like travellers who had been long lost in a
wilderness, and at length rescued from despair by the arrival of a
guide, who pointed out the way of which they were in search.
Their hearts were in their voices, when they joined the prelate
in again plighting their allegiance to the Creator of heaven and
earth, and of all things visible and invisible--to the Redeemer,
the “Light of light,” and to the Holy Spirit by whom he became
incarnate--commemorating, at the same time, his crucifixion, his
resurrection, his ascension; and expressing their belief that he will
come again to earth, to judge those whom he shall find living, and all
the nations of the dead who shall rise from their tombs at the summons
of the dread archangel.
It was the great object of the rite, at which they were now assembled,
to prepare them for that awful day, and to propitiate the Deity through
the sacrifice about to be offered--an unspotted host, which the
suppliant prelate with upraised hands tendered to Heaven, not only for
his own sins, and for those of all present, but for all christians,
whether passing or passed through the stages of this life. With the
host the prelate offered also wine and water--mysterious symbols of
the union of the Divinity with human nature--raising the chalice as an
odour of sweetness for the salvation of the whole world.
The progress of the rite became more and more solemn as it advanced.
The censer was again filled with burning frankincense, and brought
by that beautiful boy to the prelate, who again fumed the altar, and
prayed that through the intercession of Michael the archangel, and of
all the elect standing round the eternal throne, the incense might be
blessed, and that, ascending to that throne, it might invoke upon the
worshippers the benedictions of the Most High.
The prelate then washed his hands among the “innocent”--and well they
might be so called, a cluster of boys all robed in white, one of whom
kneeling held a silver basin, while a second poured water on the
prelate’s fingers from a ewer of the same material. A third presented
him with a napkin fringed with gold.
Turning once more to the altar, and placing himself in the attitude
of a high-priest, filling the most sublime of all human stations, he
called upon the prostrate assembly to elevate their hearts to God, and
to give Him thanks, for it was truly fit and just that they should at
all times, and in all places, express their gratitude to the Eternal,
whom the angels and the archangels, the cherubim and the seraphim, and
the whole host of heaven, never ceased to proclaim as the holy God,
with whose glory the heavens and the earth were filled--in whose praise
unnumbered worlds, rolling through the oceans of space, resounded with
alleluias.
Many of the saints were then called upon by name--the Virgin
Mother--the glorious apostles--the armies of heroic martyrs, who had
sealed their faith by their heart’s blood--Peter and Paul, and John
and Damian--and the whole court of heaven, to give their aid on this
occasion, that the oblation tendered to the Supreme Father for his
human family might be accepted, and be converted into the body and
blood of the Redeemer.
The awful words of consecration, pronounced in a low solemn voice,
being breathed upon the host and chalice, they were held up, through
clouds of incense, to the adoration of the people, who, in profound
silence struck their breasts, filled with gratitude and wonder that so
great a God should visit them, and that too under a veil suitable to
human vision--and protecting it from being overwhelmed by the living
splendour of his glory!
It was an affectionate thought, to choose the moment after this
act, for uttering a prayer for parents, relations, friends, and
all christians, without exception, who had departed from this life;
and while the Redeemer was still present, to intreat that he would
grant them a place of refreshment, light, and peace. Nor was it less
appropriate, to offer up at such a time a fervent orison to God,
couched in the simple language which the Messiah had himself framed,
entreating that earth might be made to emulate heaven in blessing the
name of the Most High, and in executing his will; that he would protect
all those who called upon that sacred name, and forgive them as they
forgave those who offended them.
The lamb thus offered for the living and the dead being consumed, hymns
of thanksgiving followed;--in these the hermit joined with a degree of
enthusiasm, which attested his admiration of a faith that appeared at
once to have touched his soul with its light, and to have captivated
his heart by the divine love for mankind it disclosed through every
expression of its beautiful ritual.
“Oh, sire!” he exclaimed, when as they were returning from this
scene, the emperor questioned him upon the mystery of the sacrifice;
“do not ask my understanding to explain matters altogether above my
comprehension. Can this be a human conception? Could any intellect,
informed merely as yours or mine might be, however pregnant with
knowledge, however matured by experience, have thought of such
doctrines as those delivered by the Messiah; or have planned a
sacrifice such as he has directed his followers to offer?
“What is man? An insect living on a planet that is but as a mole-hill
to the Himalas. What do I understand even of what goes on under my own
eye? Can I tell you how the acorn becomes the spreading oak?--how the
wretched looking worm, that moves itself with difficulty along the
earth, by-and-by sports in celestial colours upon double wings through
the skies?--how the rain of winter becomes the wine of autumn?---the
dew of to-night the milk and honey of to-morrow? I break a fragment
of a rock, and I behold in it a creature full of life. Can I tell you
how it has slept there for thousands of years without dying? I take up
a drop of water, and I behold it teeming with a world of creatures of
its own. Can I tell you how or why they came there; for what purpose
they have received the most perfect organization which their wants
can require? I listen to the zephyr with delight,--to the tempest with
admiration,--to the thunder with awe. Can I say whence they come? Can
I measure the Power which tempers the one to the unshorn lamb, and
renders it music to the human ear? Can I check the storm or arrest the
lightning, and ask them to explain to me the mysteries that overwhelm
my mind, when I think of the worlds I am to see when I shake off this
clay by which my spirit is incumbered?
“Fool! It was my madness once to suppose that I could quell the
elemental tumults which sometimes break out amongst these mountains;
that I could count the stars, and calculate their influence upon the
destinies of mankind, as if men were the objects for whom those vast
worlds have been summoned to existence! I tremble at my inconceivable
presumption. I bow to the Supreme One henceforth. I am scarcely a child
in his presence. A child!--yes! his child--his creature,--for whom he
sent his own best beloved to this my dwelling. I have found the truth,
which the stars had failed to teach me--the peace which this world
could never give me--the hope, the certainty, if I but endeavour to
merit it, which no other worship could afford me, of mingling my voice
with those alleluias which I can almost hear as I speak, swelling to
the throne of light from all parts of the universe.”
CHAPTER V.
Sing, sing them forth
Songs of the past-away,
To mingle with the woe and mirth,
And music of to-day:
Legends of other hours,
Stray leaves of faded flowers,
Sing, sing them forth!
Hush! breathe ye low
The quaint love words;
The whisper-voice of long ago,
Fond, old records
Of dreamy hopes and fears,
And hearts of other years,
Oh! breathe them low!
YSSEB.
The display of the imperial standard upon the principal pavilion,
announced the arrival of Jehangire at the encampment of his troops,
which was established at the distance of little more than a league
from the subah’s castle. Attended by Bochari and Auzeem, he was on
horseback at the dawn of the day, and approaching the castle as nearly
as he could, without danger of being observed, he convinced himself
that the account given by Chunder, of the impregnable character of that
fortress, was by no means exaggerated. He was, therefore, the more
disposed to attend to the counsel of Bochari, who recommended that the
high chancellor should exert his influence with the subah to surrender
the castle upon reasonable conditions.
The question then was, what those conditions should be. Chusero’s
submission to the imperial authority could, under no circumstances,
be dispensed with. He must place himself absolutely at the disposal
of his father, upon whose indulgent consideration, however, he might
confidently rely. His right of succession to the throne was to be
preserved to him in case he should accept the terms now proposed.
It was resolved also that Shere Afkun should resign Cashmere, but that,
instead of it, he should be presented with Bengal. Kazim, who was
present at the council, during the discussion of these propositions,
fully approved of them. He only wondered at the moderate character
by which they were pervaded. Auzeem listened in silence to the very
conciliatory language held by Bochari on the occasion, who professed
to think that he knew of no other means of terminating the civil war,
seeing that the subah might hold out against them to an indefinite
period.
Nothing, therefore, added Bochari, could have been more opportune
than the arrival of the messengers, who were charged with letters
from the subah and his consort for Kazim. An answer might be returned
forthwith on his part, accepting their invitation, and if it were not
inconvenient to him, he might depart from the camp in the course of
the evening for the castle. The high chancellor having signified his
assent to this arrangement, Bochari observed that it was due to the
dignity of the exalted office held by Kazim that he should proceed to
the castle with all the outward circumstances of honour which could be
devised for that purpose, and with an abundance of presents for his
daughter, as was usual on such occasions. Jehangire fully approved of
this course, and directed that twenty palanquins filled with gold and
silver cloths of Persia, carpets, and shawls, and silks, should be
despatched in Kazim’s train. Bochari took it upon himself to arrange
all the necessary pageantry.
Shere Afkun’s messengers having received letters in answer to those
which he and Nourmahal had addressed to Kazim and Mangeli, and also
communications under the hand of the emperor, embracing the proposals
which had been agreed upon in council, they set out upon their return
to the castle. Upon dismounting within the gates they speedily diffused
the intelligence, with which Bochari took care they should have been
made fully acquainted, that the high chancellor was coming thither in
the evening, for the purpose of negotiating a peace upon terms that
could hardly fail to be acceptable to all parties. These tidings were
received with unbounded joy by the great mass of the inmates of the
fortress, who, however secure they deemed themselves from any immediate
danger, felt by no means free from alarm when they observed from the
eminences the powerful force by which the emperor was attended.
The ladies of the harem especially, relieved from the trepidations
with which that spectacle filled their minds, looked forward with more
than ordinary interest to the agreeable office of preparing for the
reception of Nourmahal’s beloved parents. The news reached them while
they were assembled in the general bath-room; and never, perhaps,
before did they enjoy with more intense delight the luxuries of that
scene. Perfumed waters were poured over them from silver vases by
black slaves, well experienced in all the arts by which the delicious
languor of exhaustion may be prolonged to the very verge of visionary
existence. Reclining on marble slabs, heated to the exact degree that
most favours repose, they were each wrapped in loose robes, which
when saturated might be said no longer to conceal the forms beneath
them, they presented the appearance of beings scarcely belonging to
this world. Surrounded by a hazy atmosphere of variable fragrance, the
slaves standing by the flowing fountains, and collecting the tempered
element in their vases, or pouring it with a gentle grace upon the
almost slumbering nymph below, seemed so many magicians empowered to
detain in forgetfulness all the beauteous victims entrusted to their
care.
At the appointed moment, however, the fountains ceased to flow,
otherwise the spell might know no limit. The vapours cleared away,
the humid garments were exchanged for ample well-aired wrappers, and
all hastened to the saloon, where the hair, after being thoroughly
dried, was anointed with fragrant oils, plaited in long folds, and
tied at the extremity with golden cords, from which tassels of the
same material depended. A painted handkerchief was intertwined with
it on the top of the head, the ends of which, fringed with gold, fell
gracefully on the shoulders. The hair in front, drawn down a little
over the forehead, was parted and braided over the ear, and decorated
by a few simple flowers, such as the geranium, or the monthly white
rose, according to the complexion or fancy of the wearer. A light
sleep, such as the houris enjoy when lulled to repose by the bulbul of
Paradise, restored the energies which the bath had almost stolen away;
and coffee, followed by viands of every description, confectionery,
ices, sherbets, and Kabul nectar, which the prophet himself could not
have rejected if offered to his lips, prepared for the further labours
of the toilet.
Fine lawn chemisettes, edged with lace, tunics of green or
ruby-coloured silk, descending below the knee, confined at the waist by
cinctures of gold or silver tissue, having in front clasps of emerald
or diamond, trowsers of snow-white lawn, necklaces of pearl, armlets
and bracelets of variegated precious stones, and tiny slippers richly
flowered with gold, generally completed the costume of the harem.
The operations of the toilet having been concluded, the ladies waited
the presence of Nourmahal, before they set about arranging the series
of amusements with which they resolved to entertain the expected
guests. She seldom passed a day of which she did not devote some
portion to her fair companions. She taught most of them to read, and
accustomed them, by her own example, to derive pleasure from the
writings of the most popular poets, which she put into their hands. To
her instruction also several of them were indebted for a knowledge of
embroidery. Before the commencement of the civil war, when all was at
peace in the castle, and before the happiness of Afkun received its
death-blow, he seldom claimed his privilege of entry into the harem
with more pleasure, than during the hours when he was likely to find
Nourmahal there, presiding over the operations of the frame, upon which
numbers of fairy fingers were busy, animating the canvass stretched out
before them with landscapes copied from her sketches, or scenes of real
or mimic war, dictated by her copious knowledge, or suggested by her
splendid imagination.
Mainuna, a Mingrelian, always took care that the hours usually devoted
to industry should not encroach upon those which belonged to pleasure.
At the first touch of her tambourine, which she flung up in the air and
then caught upon her fingers, while its silver bells resounded of joy,
a general clatter of merriment was raised, and all adjourned to the
music saloon.
Sometimes Nourmahal found herself surrounded by a mob of petitioners,
who would take no refusal, and bore her with them into the apartment,
from which there was no escape until she awoke for them those sounds
from the lyre which they all confessed they never could find in it
by any exertion of their own. They unanimously declared that the
modulations which she elicited, must have come from some viewless
chords, created for the moment by her enchanting power.
On the present occasion, however, her mind was not in a mood to assist
in the preparation of festivities. She hardly knew whether she should
experience more of pleasure or of sorrow from the visit of her
parents, to whom she would probably deem it necessary to disclose the
interview she had with the emperor, and the decisive confession she had
made to Afkun. To bare her whole heart to her mother--to hide in that
affectionate bosom her tears, her blushes, her exalted anticipations,
her agony for the sufferings she had inflicted on the subah, was the
only course by which she could relieve her heart from the accumulated
burthens by which it was oppressed.
To Mainuna, therefore, she delegated the office of arranging the
amusements of the harem, during the sojourn of the high-chancellor
and his attendants at the castle--an office which that light-hearted
girl undertook with measureless delight, as she was full of all sorts
of projects, masqued balls, fancy fairs, dramatic interludes, musical
concerts, and new dances, for the realization of which she had long
been importuning her stars.
Calling all her companions together in her own apartment, they sat on
the carpet in a circle, and as she developed her plans, they discussed
them one by one, with all due gravity. The parts which each was to
perform in the approaching exhibitions, were assigned in a way to
create no jealousies, and it having been settled that the first evening
was to be dedicated to the concert and the masquerade ball, the fair
senators dispersed for the purpose of selecting their most sumptuous
dresses and ornaments, that nothing might be wanted which could tend to
the gratification of their distinguished guests.
As the sun was setting, the sentinels on the watch-tower observed a
long train of palanquins winding down from the hill upon which the
imperial tents were erected. Orders were immediately given to let
the draw-bridge down. A veteran officer who happened to be in the
watch-tower when the palanquins first appeared in sight, was struck by
their number; he counted no less than five-and-twenty; and as to each
palanquin there were four bearers, his cautious habits of garrison
discipline suggested, that it was not in conformity with ordinary
rules, that so many men from the ranks of the enemy should be admitted
at once within the walls. He directed, therefore, that only one
palanquin should be suffered to enter at a time; and that the bearers,
after setting it down in a spacious hall, generally used for that
purpose, should immediately re-cross the drawbridge, and return to the
camp.
As the procession approached the gate, Zeinedeen made his appearance
in the plain, walking hastily towards it. Kazim and Mangeli, who
had been anxiously gazing on the windows of the castle, hoping that
they might discern, in some of them, the figure of her in whom all
their affections were concentrated, did not perceive the hermit until
they heard him ordering their bearers, in a peremptory tone, to stop
for a moment. Kazim, surprised, and by no means pleased, that his
progress should be retarded at such a moment, opening the curtain
of the palanquin, demanded the cause of the interruption. Zeinedeen
made no answer, but looking steadily at Kazim, smiled with a look of
recognition, which, to Mangeli, was altogether incomprehensible. The
palanquin, however, was immediately let down by order of her companion,
who, going forth, threw himself into the arms already wide extended to
receive him.
“My best of benefactors! my more than friend! my father! for such,
indeed, you have been to me! do I behold you once more?”
“You recollect the poor dervish, then, Kazim?”
“Recollect! Never has left my heart the impression of that face, which
came to my humble stall all wreathed in those smiles which are now
again upon your countenance, and announced to me those destinies, which
have ever since been fortunate.”
“You see my ambition was no mean one. A poor, despised dervish, a mere
mendicant; nevertheless, from the moment I saw you at Samarcand, and
witnessed the proofs of your genius, I resolved that you should not
pine in obscurity. The boy, in whom I delighted as a scholar, I now
behold as the high chancellor of Hindostan! Welcome, dear Kazim, to my
heart!”
Mangeli needed no explanation of this occurrence. Often had the
dervish--their good genius as they loved to call him--been the subject
of their conversation, when walking together in their garden, apart
from all the world, they talked over the steps of their chequered
career, from their hut on the Ilamish, to their palace on the Jumna.
She too would have gladly followed her husband’s example, and embraced
the kind old man; but Zeinedeen prevented her from rising.
“No,” he said, “Mangeli; for I shall know you by no other name. I
shall keep you no longer from the pleasure you are about to enjoy, in
beholding your beloved child. It is but a few days since I have seen
her, and gladdened her heart with the tidings of your speedy arrival in
the camp.”
“But you shall not part from us again,” said Mangeli, pressing the
arm of the dervish with both her hands. “You must come with us to our
Nourmahal.”
“You must, indeed,” added Kazim. “If the chancellor have any authority,
he shall use it in this instance.”
“And it shall be obeyed, provided the subah will admit me. I have some
things to say to you, which will demand instant attention. Allah, bless
you both! I shall walk beside your palanquin to the castle.”
As they were now, however, but a short distance from the draw-bridge,
Kazim would not permit the hermit to proceed thither alone. Closing
the curtains of the palanquin, he resigned Mangeli to the care of the
bearers; and, notwithstanding the remonstrances of Zeinedeen, who
urged the chancellor not to descend from his state by walking, side by
side, with an humble dervish, he proceeded on foot, having, he said, a
thousand questions to put to his friend, which he could not begin too
soon.
CHAPTER VI.
Within his halls are heard the songs of joy,
The clash of cymbals, and the thrilling notes
Of harps, and drums, and merry feet are seen
Winding the Labyrinthine dance. But hark!
What sounds are those that echo in the air?
Are they the wailings of the infant storm?
Or come they from the regions of the dead?
HINDOO DRAMA.
Afkun hastened across the bridge, to receive the man whom he esteemed
above all the other objects now left to him to love upon earth.
Profound and various were the emotions with which they met on both
sides. By political principle, enemies--by connexion, father and son,
and as much attached to each other as if the same blood circulated in
their veins,--they embraced in silence--a silence more affecting than
any language could be under the circumstances. For Zeinedeen, however,
as Kazim’s friend, the subah found the pleasant words of hospitality,
and for Mangeli, whose palanquin he attended into the hall, those
expressions of affection, which, for the moment, superseded all other
thoughts.
The four palanquins, which immediately followed that of Kazim,
contained his suite and the female attendants of his consort. The
remaining twenty, which were closely latticed, appeared to be heavily
stored with presents, over which superb Indian shawls were spread. As
there was not time for disburthening the latter, the servants of the
castle being all busily engaged in preparing for the festivities of the
evening, the vehicles were arranged in the hall, side by side.
Kanun was in attendance, to conduct the agitated parents to the chamber
where they were to see their child. As they approached it, the door
of the apartment was opened. “My mother!--my father!” exclaimed that
well-known voice, as Nourmahal came forth to meet them--pressing an arm
round the neck of each--kissing them again and again--her eyes filled
with tears--tears of that sacred joy, in which a grief still more
sacred had its share.
Upon the part of the parents there was the same mysterious double
emotion. The time that had elapsed since the marriage of Nourmahal
appeared to have been but a day. It brought with it the conviction,
however, that she whom they so deeply loved had been absent from the
home of her infancy, and with that thought came the anticipation of the
period when death would produce between them a separation still more
enduring. Maternal and filial love summoned together, at once, these
recollections of the past, these fears of the future. It was not until
they again became somewhat more accustomed to the presence and voices
of each other, that the feeling of delight, in thus meeting once more,
charmed away their apprehensions.
Seated between the two beloved fountains of her life, Nourmahal gave
herself up to all the luxury of rapture. Now looking at one dear
countenance, now on the other, she examined with affectionate curiosity
the changes wrought in each since last she beheld them. She was
herself the subject of similar vigilance, especially from the eye of
Mangeli, who had already noticed in that forehead, once so open and so
innocent, variations of expression approaching to traces of care, if
not of anxiety, which she had never discerned there before. It was too
soon yet to inquire farther into the cause of these external changes.
As their visit was to extend to several days, ample opportunities
would occur for every explanation which was necessary to soothe the
solicitude of a mother.
The sounds of many musical instruments from the harem, reminded
Nourmahal of the commencement of the festivities, which had been
prepared in honour of the subah’s guests. Having attended her parents
to the apartments assigned to their use, she proceeded, with Kanun’s
assistance, to arrange her toilet for the evening. No art of the
Circassian could, however, succeed in restoring to the cheek of
her mistress its wonted lustre. The first emotions caused by the
occurrences of the evening having subsided, she dreaded the idea of
again meeting Afkun--of meeting him too in the presence of those who
would necessarily notice her manner towards him with peculiar anxiety.
Nevertheless, the effort was to be made; and Nourmahal felt that when
her resolution was put to the test, she could at all times call to her
aid the powers of a mind of no common order.
It was some relief to her feelings, that when she went into the
ball-room with her mother, her rapid glance around could nowhere
discern the subah. He was still detained in the dining-hall, where, in
addition to the Prince and Kazim, several omrahs, and the principal
officers of the garrison, were engaged in consultation upon the
propositions which had been made by the emperor. Meantime masqued
figures, arrayed in every variety of fanciful costume, some as veteran
dames, whose business it was to go from harem to harem to arrange love
affairs--some as gipsies, who had the power to predict fortunes--some
as pilgrims, on their way to Mecca--some as story-tellers and reciters
of poetry--some as poor ballad-singers, lame and querulous, with a
patch on one eye, indicative of recent battle--some as doctresses,
skilled in those most baffling of all maladies, the diseases of the
heart--some as holy dervishes, full of all sorts of sanctified
admonitions for inexperienced maidens--some as slaves, just arrived
from Mingrelia, and offering to sell themselves to the highest
bidder--were moving about in all directions.
In one place an auction was going on, at which the auctioneer was most
eloquent in describing the charms of his own wife, whom he wished to
sell, as it was his intention to retire altogether from matrimonial
life. He had vowed, he said, to write a theological work in forty
volumes; he found study inconsistent with wedded occupations, his
wife complaining, very naturally, that he devoted more of his time to
books than he did to her; they therefore both agreed to part upon the
most amicable terms. He spoke of her eyes as rivals to the evening
star, displayed her ringlets as stolen from the head of a sleeping
goddess, and her face as the model of female beauty. The lady was
closely covered all the time, by way of consulting her modesty, which
would have blushed at such eulogies. Prices ran high. A hundred rupees
soon swelled to five hundred--then to a thousand--two--three--four
thousand. A sonorous voice having cried out ten thousand, the bargain
was at once struck, the lady was unveiled, when she turned out to be an
old beldame, with a face furrowed by wrinkles, a solitary eye, and a
pile of black hair, stolen, indeed, as the auctioneer said, from some
quarter or another. The buyer appealed to all that were present against
the fraud practised upon him; but they unanimously decided the bargain
to be irrevocable, and he was compelled to take his purchase home,
amidst the laughter of the assembly.
In another quarter actors were engaged in the performance of a drama,
the interest of which turned upon a dispute between two gossipping
dames, as to which of them was entitled to the higher reward for
bringing about a recent marriage. One alleged, that she was the first
to mention the gentleman to the lady--the other, that she was the first
to mention the lady to the gentleman. One swore, that in one day she
took seven messages from the gentleman to the lady--against which her
rival produced an account of seven-and-twenty refusals from the lady
to the gentleman, all despatched in one morning, and which would have
been fatal to the union but for her clever management. This claim
to superior skill threw her antagonist into a rage, during which she
enumerated all the marriages she had ever made--the difficulties which
she overcame in reconciling young maidens to ancient bachelors, and
cadets without fortune to opulent old widows, not always of the most
comely appearance.
The controversy seemed likely to have no end, except in an appeal to
blows, when the bride herself came forward and stated that the reward
for priority belonged to neither of the belligerents, for that a
third agent had commenced the affair before either of them knew any
thing about it. The bridegroom confirmed this statement, to which,
however, the parties declined giving any credit, unless the said agent
was produced. To this the bride consented, and going out, said she
would send the woman to them. In a few moments a wizen-faced little
creature, wrapped in a cloak, and supported on crutches, made her
appearance, whom the bridegroom acknowledged to be the first who gave
him intelligence of the attractions of the maiden who had since become
his wife, whereupon the two rivals both set to scolding her in the
most furious manner, and knocking her crutches from under her, reviled
her as an impostor. In the affray, the cloak was not spared, which they
tore off her shoulders, when, to their amazement and horror, the object
of their wrath turned out to be the bride herself, who, all blushing,
confessed that she had assumed that disguise to win the hand of one
towards whom her heart impelled her the first day she beheld him in the
streets through her lattice.
Mangeli and Nourmahal could not help being amused by these scenes of
merriment, which were sustained with all the spirit of mirth, doubly
zested by a long privation of similar enjoyments. The prince and the
omrahs now made their appearance, followed by the officers of the
garrison; the intelligence that the emperor’s propositions had been
accepted, was speedily diffused, and this circumstance, added to the
gay costume of the officers and their hearty participation in the
entertainments, contributed to heighten the animation of the scene.
Two closely masqued figures, whom Nourmahal suspected to be her
father and the subah remained at the lower end of the saloon in deep
conversation. She felt no wish to interrupt it, and affected to busy
herself, though her feelings were far from being at ease, in describing
to her mother the qualities of the different inmates of the harem, as
they came in succession to kiss the hem of her garments.
Zeinedeen, who had no occasion for disguise, passed through the saloons
to observe, for a moment, a spectacle so new to him. His curiosity,
however, having been soon satisfied, and the heat and glaring light
of a thousand lamps having affected him with a sense of giddiness, he
withdrew from this scene of merriment, and endeavoured to make his
way to the ramparts, in order to recover his usual composure. Being
unacquainted with the interior of the castle, he found himself involved
in a labyrinth of chambers appropriated to different purposes, until
he at length arrived in the spacious hall, where the palanquins that
had arrived with Kazim were arranged. It struck him, as he entered this
apartment, which was quite open to the air in front, and illuminated
almost throughout its whole extent by the moon, then riding in full
glory through the blue firmament, that he heard some rustling among
the palanquins, which were rather more remote than the others from the
light.
He stopped a moment, when he was still more startled by perceiving the
shadow of a head moving along the wall; he called out, hoping that
it was a sentinel who might shew him the way to the ramparts. But he
received no answer, the head disappearing the moment his call was
uttered.
Zeinedeen’s suspicions being roused, he retraced his steps a little
as softly as possible, and then stopping, he listened with all the
attention he could command in the first moment of his alarm. He felt
that he was near a number of persons, whose breathing discomposed the
stillness that ought to have prevailed, if the palanquins, round which
the curtains were still closed, had been all occupied only by the
presents sent to Nourmahal.
Seized by an irresistible presentiment, that some treachery was
meditated; and impelled, also, by the distrust which he always felt
with respect to Bochari, he returned to the ball-room, and addressing
himself to Kazim, entreated that he, and Mangeli, and Nourmahal, would
withdraw, one by one, from the saloon, and repair to the apartments of
the latter, without a moment’s delay, for that danger was at hand. He
would follow them thither as soon as possible.
The hermit then looked about anxiously in search of the subah, whom he
found in earnest conversation with Chusero. They had both noticed two
or three strange faces in the ball-room, which, upon being pointed out
to Kazim, he declared to be new also to him. The unbidden guests thus
observed, had entered the saloon separately; but were evidently, from
their side glances at one another, present for some common purpose.
They mingled in the dance; but their movements were so awkward, and
their manners so rude, that the fair damsels, whose hands they presumed
to touch, instinctively recoiled from their advances.
Zeinedeen asked the subah whether any person had examined the
palanquins containing the chancellor’s presents? Afkun answered
that he did not know. The hermit then mentioned to him his
suspicions--suspicions which were by no means diminished when Chusero
remarked, that the three strangers were no longer to be seen in the
ball-room.
This was no time for deliberation. Afkun resolved at once to proceed
to the hall, where the palanquins were placed; but, as he opened the
door of a gallery leading in that direction, a dark mass of armed men
hurrying along the gallery, rushed towards the saloon, at the same
time pouring on all before them a deadly discharge of musquetry. Afkun
fell, pierced by several balls, one of which passed through his heart.
He never breathed again. The prince was wounded in the thigh, and fell
also. But there was a cry amongst the assassins, “Take care of the
prince!” He was borne away upon the shoulders of a gigantic ruffian.
The hermit, who happened to be immediately behind Afkun when the door
was opened, escaped unhurt.
Being unarmed, he had no chance of offering any resistance. Hastening
to one of the windows of the saloon, which was open, as they all were
in consequence of the heat of the weather, he leaped down into the
court-yard, fortunately lighting on a pile of brambly wood collected
for firing.
Though astounded for a moment by the shock, he soon came to himself,
and hastened towards Nourmahal’s apartments, where, notwithstanding his
admonitions, he scarcely ventured to hope that he should find her and
her parents in safety.
Several of the women were slain by the first discharge of musquetry.
Some of the omrahs and officers of the garrison, who, as usual, wore
ataghans in their cinctures, having laid aside their pistols that they
might join the more easily in the dance, attacked their assailants with
all the fury of desperation. But the musquetry soon overpowered them.
The successive vollies which were repeated with fiendish deliberation,
strewed the floor with groups of dead and dying, who fell over each
other shrieking.
The cries of the defenceless females were appalling. Some appeared at
the windows, their garments on fire, stretching out their arms, and
rending the air with shouts for assistance from the garrison. But their
cries were shortly silenced. Lifted sabres hewed them down without
mercy. Torrents of blood ran along the boards that so lately resounded
to the merry step of the dancer. The echoes of rejoicing song, and
harp, and dulcimer, were overtaken in their career by screams of agony
which were heard in every direction.
CHAPTER VII.
Hark! ’tis the thunder of the war,
They call, the trumpets shrill;
Arise, go forth. Alas! ’tis vain,--
Thy gallant heart is still!
A banner waves above thy head,
And laurels deck thy brow;
But what avails this pageantry
To the beloved one now?
I never more shall hear thy voice,
My beautiful! my brave!
Thou’rt gone in all the pride of youth
And glory to thy grave.
Oh, would that I thy fate had shared!
That I were laid with thee;
For now thou’rt gone, the peopled world
Is desolate to me!
STORY-TELLER OF CASHMERE.
The soldiers of the garrison, taking up their arms, repaired as
speedily as possible to the scene of slaughter. Two or three of their
officers, though fearfully wounded, bravely led them on to the conflict
with the assassins, so long as the latter could be distinguished. But
the moment these heard the troops coming, they proceeded to break and
extinguish the lamps, and skulking away in the darkness, unfortunately
effected their escape with little loss. Their confederates had already
secured for them a retreat by the draw-bridge, to which, in the
dreadful confusion of the hour, the usual attention had not been paid;
and it was soon ascertained that the prince, who had been, in the first
instance, borne away wounded on the shoulders of one of the ruffians,
undoubtedly remained their captive.
Search was made, as soon as lights could be obtained, for the body of
the subah, who was already known to have been the first victim of this
infamous scheme of indiscriminate murder. It was found in a recess of
the gallery, near the spot where he first fell, but not alone. Kneeling
down by his side, and bent closely over his pallid cheek, was seen the
figure of a female, whose hand, filled with hair she had torn from her
head, was pressed upon Afkun’s bared breast, the hair being saturated
with blood which had welled from the death-wound. Looking up at the
group of soldiers who surrounded her, she beckoned them wildly to go
away.
“Oh foul murderers begone! Take my life too, if ye be not content with
all the blood ye have shed. Oh, my noble master! my brave warrior!
where is thy voice? speak to me but once--one little word,--’tis Kanun
that asks,--her whom you bade to love you!”
The men, each of whom would have sacrificed his life for his commander,
thought not of brushing away from their cheeks the tears that burst
forth when they beheld him there laid prostrate. Vainly hoping that he
still lived, they raised his head a little from the floor. The movement
seemed to increase Kanun’s distraction. Grasping a scymitar, which one
of the men held in his hand, she wrested it from him by an effort of
feverish strength, and repelling them from the dead body, dared them
to approach one step farther at their peril. But the weapon slipped
from her hold. A gush of blood from her side shewed that she, too, was
soon to be numbered in the holocaust immolated on that dreadful night.
Pressing her hand upon her forehead, she reeled and would have fallen,
had she not been sustained by one of the soldiers.
“Ye keep me from him,” she exclaimed. “Oh, in mercy spare me at least
while he breathes! Let me be near him,--let me warm him with my life!
Oh, look! his hand moves! My lord! my master! they are your friends.
I see they are. Their looks, their tears tell me so. They are come to
receive your orders. The enemy are out! I hear their horses tramping
this way! Up, before they are at the gates! Ah, you used not to be so
slow when the battle raged!”
One of the soldiers fetched some water, with which he chafed her
temples; while the others anxiously pressed their hands over every part
of Afkun’s frame, endeavouring to find there some pulse of life. But
all the veins were still. That voice, by them so much beloved, was for
ever silenced. That arm, once their protection, and the terror of a
thousand foes, was now laid low, never again to wield the blade that
had dealt destruction wherever it gleamed.
“Go, tell my mistress that the subah is here; that he waits to see her
before he goes to meet the invader. Why do you not go? you know how
he adores her. But she, alas! never loved him!--never! Oh, to see how
he kissed the earth on which she walked, and yet she loved him not!
But she had no hand in this murder. No, no; accuse her not of that.
This is all the work of that base-born Bochari. Yes, I know it. It is
written here. The very walls, do they not cry out, Bochari, Bochari,
the murderer!”
“She cannot be far from the truth,” said one of the soldiers. “It is
certain that the assassins came from the camp; that they got admission
within the gates in the palanquins which were supposed to be filled
only with presents for Nourmahal; that they lay concealed until the
festivities of the evening were at their height, and that they all
rushed forth in a body to the saloon, where they at once gained their
double object of murdering the subah, and capturing the prince. Some
affirm that Bochari himself was present, and that it was he who, laying
hands on the prince, bore him away.”
“Alas! it is all over!” exclaimed Kanun, taking up one of the subah’s
hands, which dropped lifeless again on the floor; “but thy fall will
not be unavenged. Blood will have blood. Ah! to think that thou
shouldest have perished in this manner! He said,--there are those
who heard him, and mind ye obey his words,--he said, that the same
urn,--the same, remember,--should contain the ashes of us both. My
moment is come,--it rankles here, whatever it was that the murderers
discharged upon us all,--the pain,--oh, the agony!--but it is nothing.
Joy! joy! that I remain not behind thee! I come, my beloved mistress!
Oh, where is she? Tell me if she be safe?”
The soldiers quieted her apprehensions upon this point, assuring her
that the high chancellor, his wife and daughter, had fortunately
quitted the saloon a few moments before the massacre had commenced.
“Oh, thanks to Allah! She was ever to me a good and kind mistress,--to
me, to all of us! May every happiness await her,--she deserves
it,--although she did not love thee as she ought. Ah, the pangs that
thou must have suffered on her account! Thy manly heart was indeed
bruised by many a long night’s grief! None knew thy secret sorrow so
well as Kanun. None lamented for thee but Kanun. The day-star of thy
life was set.--Remember, the same urn.--I come; thy voice--I hear
it from some other world--I come, beloved master! thy slave,--thy
Kanun,--thy”--
A sob of agony told that her spirit was no more on earth. The soldiers,
separating her gently from the body of the subah, upon whose knees her
hands were clasped, bore her into the saloon, where they laid her upon
a divan. They then conveyed the remains of the subah to his apartments
in the castle, and watched by them during the remainder of the night.
The dawn of the following morning displayed a melancholy spectacle in
those chambers, so lately the abode of mirth in its many forms. The
prospect of a speedy peace had lent wings to every body engaged in
those scenes of joy. But how changed from what they had been a few
hours before, were those now prostrated in every direction. Scarcely
a member of the harem escaped the slaughter. Some, whose clothes took
fire, were partially burnt; tresses upon which so much care had been
bestowed, were consumed to their roots; cheeks and lips, which the
sun of the preceding day had seen so full of health and loveliness,
presented but foul masses of deformity; limbs endowed with every grace,
while still moving in the circles of the cheerful dance, arrested in
their gaiety, bent beneath the sylph-like burdens they could no longer
bear, never to rise again. Mainuna was found with her tambourine still
in her hand; the instrument was pierced by no fewer than three balls.
A horrid gash on the neck disclosed the terrible destiny of that
guileless and light-hearted girl. Musical instruments broken, ornaments
thrown about in every part of the saloon, heaps of mangled bodies,
blood trickling through the floor and clotted in vast quantities,
fragments of gold and silver tissue, unbound turbans, broken scymitars,
separated hands and feet, blood-stained walls and cushions, related
with awful voices a tale of woe that called aloud to Heaven for
vengeance upon the perpetrators of that merciless tragedy.
The survivors of the garrison lost no time in preparing funeral pyres,
to which the unhappy victims were consigned. The ashes of the subah
were collected with particular care, as were those also of Kanun; and,
as he had directed, the relics of both were deposited in the same urn,
and placed in the mausoleum of the fortress.
The soldier was rightly informed, who mentioned that Nourmahal and
both her parents had retired from the saloon, but a few moments before
the first fatal discharge of musquetry was heard. Kazim, taking
warning, more from Zeinedeen’s alarming manner than even from the words
he used, hastened to Mangeli and his daughter, whom he found together,
and concealing his apprehensions as much as he could, directed them
to precede him out of the saloon, as he had something to say to both
of the utmost importance. They were scarcely arrived in Nourmahal’s
private apartments when the firing began. The terrible cries which
followed needed no interpretation. The apartments of Nourmahal offered
no better chance of safety than any other part of the castle from the
fury of assassins, such as those who, Kazim concluded, must by some
treacherous, stratagem have found their way into the fortress.
To consult for the safety of the two beings, who were infinitely dearer
to him than his own existence, was naturally his first, his only care.
They could give him no assistance. Every shriek that came from the
saloon, threw them both into agonies of alarm, which rendered even the
mind of Nourmahal incapable of offering any suggestion for effecting
their escape. Every noise they heard, they took to be the footsteps of
the approaching murderers. They utterly despaired of safety, and could
with difficulty clasp their trembling hands to utter a prayer to Heaven
for protection. Death appeared so near them, that they waited for it to
break into the chamber.
Moments passed, however, and they still lived. The tumult did not
spread beyond that part of the castle where it had begun. Kazim’s
presence of mind never left him for an instant. Opening the door, he
advanced a few paces into the adjoining corridor, and listened until
he heard footsteps. They approached him rapidly. He retreated, and,
shutting the door, locked it on the inside. The trembling women hung
upon his neck. He requested them to be silent, if they valued their
own lives. A knock, quickly repeated, and then a voice--“It is the
hermit”--hush!
Kazim having assured himself that he was not mistaken, opened the door.
“Oh! my beloved friends,” exclaimed Zeinedeen; “Allah be praised, you
three are here! So far well. But no part of the castle is safe. The
assassins will, doubtless, be here immediately. You have a better
chance of safety without than within. I heard the draw-bridge let down.
The stratagem has been too skilfully planned. Wrap shawls around you.
You, Kazim, take charge of Mangeli Leave this dear one to me.”
Zeinedeen led the way, having flung a shawl over Nourmahal’s head.
Kazim bore Mangeli in his arms, her limbs having refused to move.
Down they stepped rapidly by a private staircase into a small
court-yard--then through an archway to a passage which opened to the
ramparts. The firing still continued--the shouts of the combatants
came upon their ears with dreadful intensity. The hermit perceiving
the grand portal, ran towards it. Kazim followed, without knowing
whither he was going. A winding ladder led down to the porch. They were
speedily at its foot--then on to the gate. Men were fighting on the
draw-bridge--two were flung over into the water beneath--shots passed.
Zeinedeen rushed on, grasping Nourmahal in his arms--they passed.
Kazim with his burthen lingered. He too passed. Hastening through the
plain, they ran towards the mountain, seeking the first shade, the
first rock, that could shut out the view of pursuers, if any. There the
breathless fugitives checked their career.
No word was said. The four clung together, in silent thanksgiving to
the Omnipotent. Their palpitating hearts beat against each other. As
they calmed a little, they thought they heard other persons breathing
loudly near them. Zeinedeen searched anxiously around. They might
be pursuers, or fugitives like themselves. He could feel, or see
nobody. The breathing still went on louder than before. At length they
discovered that it was but the effect of their own excitement. The
hill-side on which they rested was in profound repose. Cattle were
sleeping beneath them in the quiet moonlight. A stream stole softly
by, glistening now and then. The hermit and Kazim presented a portion
of the delicious element, in the hollow of their hands, to Mangeli and
Nourmahal. It restored the exhausted spirits of the daughter at once;
but the mother’s terrors were still unallayed. She held Kazim close to
her--would not suffer him again to go to the brook. Nourmahal spoke to
her in vain--she was cold with terror. A slight hysterical laugh was
succeeded by a swoon, in which she remained for some minutes.
Nourmahal moistened her mother’s temples and her lips with water. When
she recovered she still trembled. Zeinedeen, who was well acquainted
with the spot where they now were, feeling that Mangeli might be in
danger if they remained here longer, resolved, at all hazards, to
proceed on towards his own residence.
CHAPTER VIII.
When morn is waking in its mirth,
And flowers are softly weeping,
The quiet bosom of the earth
In pearly dew-drops steeping:
I love to feel the zephyr’s sigh,
To list the wild birds’ singing;
And watch along the silent sky
The morn’s gay beauty springing.
YSSEE.
The fugitives, though able to walk but slowly onwards, felt a growing
consciousness of safety, which gradually restored strength to Mangeli
and Nourmahal, without lessening the sense of horror still pressing
on their minds. The moon had already grown pale. The day-star was
hastening through clouds whose lower edges were lines of a saffron
hue,--the faint reflection of the ocean of light still beneath the
horizon. These were succeeded by streaks of thin vapour, sprinkled here
and there by roseate tints, while the sheep, busily browsing on the
ridges of the eastern mountains, appeared clothed in fleeces of gold.
The birds, chirping lowly to each other, flitted timidly amongst the
trees, summoning their tribes to meet the morning with their usual
anthems of adoration. The mists of night, gradually disappearing, left
the meadows enriched with dews that soon sparkled in the coming rays,
and the scenery of the country becoming every moment more clearly
defined, shewed its pastures, and gardens, and villages in all the
beauty of renovated life.
Amidst the songs which burst from all sides upon the ears of the early
travellers, there were other tones of a still more soothing nature,
to which Zeinedeen called their attention. The missionaries were
already in their cavern chapel, engaged in the performance of their
matin-office, consisting partly of hymns and litanies which they sung,
aided by a small choir, partly of psalms, which they recited in those
solemn suppliant notes that seem to resound of the primitive ages of
the world. They called to their God, who they trusted would hear them
from his sacred hill, elevated above the heavens, who had made man
little less than the angels, and had subjected to him all creatures
that winged their way through the air, or trod the land, or moved
through the paths of the sea. Pure were the promises of that Great
Being, as silver tried by the fire: unblemished the tabernacles he had
prepared for those who loved him,--tabernacles set in the sun, from
which he came forth as a bridegroom from his bridal chamber. Ah! those
were the abodes to be desired more than the honey-comb--more than gold
or precious stones!
There were seasons when even the best man felt miserable--when he
walked sorrowful all the day long--when his brain was filled with
illusions, and he mourned in the depths of his heart. Friends and
neighbours who used to draw near to him, stood afar off, and those were
multiplied who hated him wrongfully. But these were seasons not without
their use. They taught him that his days on earth were measured--that
he was to pass from it as an image from the face of the waters, and
that to disquiet his soul was of all things the most vain, even though
the companion of his peace, who ate his bread, and in whom he trusted,
had supplanted him.
Those hours of sorrow passed, hope returned to him, because he was
right of heart, and bade him to look forward to the eternal firmament,
where it would be his happy destiny to join in the jubilee of those
spirits who exulted in the glory of the Supreme, who for ever sounded
the notes of joy from the trumpet, the psaltery, and the cymbal.
These voices--so soft--so harmonious--so full of peace--so different
from the terrific cries which lately assailed their ears, came upon the
trembling nerves of the hermit and his companions like a heavenly balm.
They lingered to hear those tones repeated. They entered the humble
chapel, where they found the missionaries, in their plain monastic
attire, kneeling before their sacred altar, and singing the Litany of
the Virgin, whose intercession with the most High they entreated. It
was reasonable, said Aquaviva, turning to his brethren and the novices
who had already entered their convent, that the earthly being selected
as the shrine, the mother, the protectress of the Infant Messiah, who
watched him through life, and whose maternal heart was pierced with
many griefs at his death, should possess influence near the throne of
the Eternal. That influence, therefore, they solicited in the most
affectionate language. They appealed to her as the Holy Mary, the
virgin of virgins, whose bosom was fraught with every good and gracious
inspiration--the emblem of purity, destined to be hailed by all nations
as the blessed one--the mirror of fidelity and justice, but at the same
time the advocate of mercy, distinguished at once by her simplicity
and wisdom, her humility and devotion. They hailed her as the mystical
rose--the tower that seen afar gave hope to the wearied traveller--the
golden mansion that promised him repose--the ark that held the covenant
of peace between heaven and earth--the beauteous star of morning
issuing from the celestial gate, bearing tidings of strength to the
weak, of hope to the afflicted, of pardon to the repentant. She was the
queen of the angelic hosts, of the patriarchs, the prophets, and the
apostles. To her they put up their orisons, that she might mediate for
them--that to their prayers for the protection of the Most High she
might add her own.
“Oh!” exclaimed Zeinedeen to Kazim, as quitting the chapel while
these thrilling words and tones still vibrated on his heart--“Oh!
how different the occupation of these good men from that of the
barbarians, from whose deadly weapons we have just escaped! How
soothing is that sweet music to my soul! The more I see of those holy
men, the more I know of the simplicity, the purity of their lives,--the
more I feel that they are to our land the harbingers of that truth
which it has never known before!”
Mangeli, relieved by the copious tears which these beautiful
supplications to the maternal virgin drew from the inmost fountains of
her heart, clasped her arms round the neck of her Nourmahal, whom she
kissed again and again. Following the impulse of the piety she had just
witnessed, she looked up to the heavens, and, kneeling, prayed that her
child might be guarded by her who knew the solicitude of a mother, from
the many perils by which she was surrounded! Her companions, imitating
her example, prostrated themselves on the thymy heath, through which
they were passing, and uniting in her fervent petitions, rose with
renewed spirit to resume their journey. Zeinedeen’s hermitage soon
appeared in view; and his gates having been at length passed, the
party, feeling assured of their safety, surrendered themselves for a
few hours to that repose of which they all stood so much in need.
The anxious mind of Kazim did not permit him, however, to prolong his
residence at the hermit’s abode. He felt it to be his duty to proceed
to the camp without delay, to lay before the emperor a statement of
the circumstances which he had witnessed, and to recommend that an
investigation should be made into the origin of a proceeding so much
at variance with the honour of the crown, so contrary to all the
recognized rules of warfare, and so fraught with indignity to himself
personally. He was not yet fully informed of all that had occurred on
that fatal evening of his visit to the subah’s castle. The observations
made by Zeinedeen in the hall of the palanquins,--the murderous
discharge of arms, to which the hermit had nearly fallen a victim in
the gallery--the tumult and combats which followed, created indeed
in his mind the most painful suspicions as to the participation of
Bochari in that dreadful tragedy. Inquiry would speedily bring home
the guilt to the real perpetrator, and that inquiry he was resolved
to prosecute--the criminal, whoever he was, should suffer for this
outrage upon all divine and human law, otherwise there was no longer
any justice to be found in Hindostan. If the emperor were weak enough
to permit such enormous iniquity to pass unexpiated, no man of prolity
could remain a moment longer in his service.
Full of these noble resolutions, worthy at once of the pupil of Fazeel,
of the representative of the house of Ayaz, and of the high chancellor
of the empire, Kazim presented himself at an early hour on the
following morning, in the imperial pavilion, to which, by reason of his
official station, he had always free access. He found there a council
already sitting, and engaged in discussing the question whether Chusero
was to be instantly executed in the presence of the whole army, as an
example to traitors for all time to come, or to be imprisoned for life
in the fortress of Gwalior.
Jehangire seemed irresolute--the natural feelings of the parent
opposing the sense of impartial justice, by which the sovereign ought
to be actuated in such a case. “For,” as Bochari put it, aided by the
omrahs, who servilely applauded every word he uttered as the oracles
of wisdom,--“how should it be possible for the laws to inflict due
punishment on other offenders against the majesty of the throne, if the
leader of the late rebellion--he on whose head was to be laid all the
blood shed in consequence of his foul attempt to dethrone his father,
were to go unpunished? Peace could never be restored--order could
never be established in the empire, where the very throne, assailed
by rebellion, was placed as a shield between the rebel and the axe of
justice. In this view of the case, he had no doubt the high chancellor
would at once coincide.”
Kazim, thus called on to speak his opinion, hesitated not to declare
his horror against the crime of treason. The duty imposed upon the
emperor in all cases where the guilt of that high crime appeared to
be clearly established, was to cause the perpetrators of it to be
punished according to the laws. “Had the prince, who I have learned
is now a prisoner in the camp, been taken with arms in his hands, and
in the act of carrying on war against his lawful sovereign--against
his father too--an aggravation which would render the crime still more
revolting,--no doubt could be entertained as to the mode in which the
question ought to be decided. But the prince was not taken with arms
in his hands. He was not overcome in the field of battle. During a
period agreed upon as a truce,--when I was commissioned by my imperial
master to proceed to the subah’s castle, to act there as a mediator
between the emperor and the prince, and to effect a reconciliation
upon terms which were propounded in this council-room by the commander
himself,--the castle was taken possession of through some stratagem
that will through all ages reflect infamy upon its authors:--the truce,
to which the honour of the empire was sacredly pledged, was violated
with every circumstance of horror that could attend such a departure
from all law and decorum; and at a moment when I had received full
authority from the prince, as well from Afkun, my brave and noble
son----”
“Another arch traitor, my lords,” exclaimed Bochari, rising and drawing
his sword. “The chancellor of the empire,--hear ye not this officer of
justice speak of the rebel subah, whose blood has already answered for
his deeds, as the brave subah--the noble subah? Vengeance, say I, upon
all traitors!”
“I know it; my son has perished; I appeal to my imperial lord,--have I
ever palliated his crime?”
“Let the high chancellor proceed,” said Jehangire. “It is his duty to
offer me his advice, and I _will_ hear it. Down with these swords;
you do but appear as executioners when you thus substitute your weapons
for deliberation. In this council all are free to speak their honest
opinions. This is not a charnel house, my lords; it is the council-room
of your emperor.”
Kazim, overcome by the emotions which the intelligence of the violent
death of Afkun had crowded together in his mind, could not proceed for
a few moments. Auzeem availed himself of the interval to suggest, that
in a matter of so much importance to the welfare of the empire, it were
desirable that both the civil and the military authorities should, if
possible, act in unison. The country had had experience of the fidelity
of their illustrious commander and of the high chancellor; and he hoped
that the council would listen to the opinions of those distinguished
officers with the respect that was due to them.
Bochari, who was astonished at the momentary energy displayed by
Jehangire, affected to yield to the course pointed out by Auzeem, and
restored his sword to its scabbard. The omrahs, his friends, followed
his example.
“I never did, I never will, palliate a deed of treason against the
state,” resumed Kazim, speaking in a voice somewhat more composed,
though still tremulous with the agony of grief that was in his heart.
“But it is my duty, as well as my glory, to repeat that I had put an
end to the civil war”--
“You!” cried Bochari.
“I,” repeated Kazim. “Here is my authority,” producing a written scroll
of paper; “it is signed by the prince.”
“Give it me, give it me,” said Jehangire, rising and almost snatching
the paper out of Kazim’s hand. “Oh, my child! yes, it is his signature!
he accepts the terms which were offered him,--he submits to his father!
Oh Chusero, Chusero! how little you must have known that father’s
heart!” he added, pressing the paper to his lips and to his bosom.
“I say, then, my lords,” resumed Kazim, with increasing firmness and
dignity, “that the prince has a right to the protection which he
has purchased by his submission to the terms that were proposed to
him. For the party who prescribed those conditions, to be the first
to violate them, would be to implicate the throne itself in a most
flagitious offence against all the laws of honour and good faith, and
to lower the emperor to the level of that assassin, who conceived and
executed the stratagem through which the fortress was entered, the
subah deprived of his life, and the inmates of his harem,--whom every
law of Hindostan surrounded with inviolable respect,--massacred without
discrimination!”
“What! Nourmahal, too?” eagerly inquired Jehangire, rising and putting
his hand on his ataghan----
“By a miracle she is safe, sire,” answered Kazim. “The interposition
of Heaven in our favour sent to us a good dervish, by whose vigilance
we three were rescued from the slaughter, intended, I doubt not, for
her, as well as for her mother and myself. But I set no value upon my
life, nor is your throne worth the meanest slave in your empire, my
sovereign, if the perpetrators of that base massacre remain unpunished.
They were in the midst of their rejoicing--as fair--as guileless--as
happy an assemblage of unoffending women as ever graced the sanctuary
of a harem, when the arm of the murderer was bared against them within
their own walls. Is there a manly heart throughout all Hindostan,--can
any living being, invested with the human form, hear of such a horror
as this, without feeling every pulse of his life in arms to avenge it?”
“It was a most foul deed,” said Jehangire. “Whom do you accuse as the
author of it?”
“Suspicion--rumour with a thousand tongues already proclaim the
culprit--but it is my office to judge, not to accuse. All that I demand
at present is instant investigation upon this subject, before the
empire is roused to anger by the diffusion of the intelligence of what
has been done. This I demand, as the chief administrator of the laws. I
next demand the personal safety of the prince, to which I stand pledged
as the mediator, appointed by your majesty to negociate the peace.”
“Spoken rightly, Kazim Ayaz,” said the emperor. “Go, tell my son that
the conditions to which he has here affixed his name shall be held
sacred. Also give the requisite orders for prosecuting the author
of the massacre at the castle; and may Allah forget me if I shall
suffer him to contaminate the earth, whoever he may be. The council is
dissolved.”
CHAPTER IX.
Beware, my Lord--there’s treason in the camp.
Go you not forth unarmed: men whisper low,
And shrug their shoulders, and the finger place
Upon the lip mysteriously.
HINDOO DRAMA.
Bochari was, for the moment, astounded at the firmness exhibited by
the emperor. But he felt that he had no time to lose in taking his
measures; the question now concerned his own personal safety much more
than that of the prince, whose life was in the balance a few moments
before. Proceeding to his tent with the omrahs, whom he had gained over
to his party by largesses, and promises of high promotion, he charged
two of them to take Chusero under their care, and attended by an escort
of Orcha rajaputs, whom he had lately taken into his private pay, to
set out at once for the fortress of Gwalior, where they were to detain
the prince until further orders.
These arrangements were put into a course of execution with so much
expedition, that before the high-chancellor could discover the tent in
which the prisoner had been confined, since his arrival in the camp,
the latter was on his way to the prison designed for him by Bochari.
But the precautions of the Persian did not stop here. The presence
of Kazim in the camp, instead of being any longer subservient to his
purposes, was calculated, on the contrary, in every way to thwart them.
The ascendancy of that dignitary in the council, was already apparent;
and the new position in which the death of the subah had placed
Nourmahal, would, of necessity, add so materially to the chancellor’s
influence over the mind of the emperor, that all would be lost unless
the most vigorous steps were adopted, and that too without a moment’s
deliberation. Bochari having intimated these dangers to his confederate
omrahs and rajaputs, they assembled together in his tent.
“You are perfectly aware, my friends,” said he, “that whatever outcry
may be raised against us for the contrivance to which we were obliged
to have recourse, in order to obtain an entrance into the subah’s
castle, it was one without which that fortress, in itself impregnable,
never could have been captured. The results justify all that we have
done.”
To this assertion his associates readily assented.
“I pledged myself to participate with you in the perils of that
enterprise. I was the first to quit the palanquins, to reconnoitre
the apartments of the castle, and to advance into the gallery. I have
the happiness to believe, that it was chiefly through my discharge
the arch-traitor fell. You know that I apprehended Chusero with my
own hand--and you will do me the justice to believe, that no motives,
except those arising from my deep interest in the welfare of the
empire, and my determination, that you shall receive the great rewards
due to you for your zealous co-operation with me on this important
occasion, could have induced me to expose your safety and my own to
the hazards, in which for several hours we were involved. Had we been
discovered before the moment for action arrived, can you doubt that we,
and not the enemies of the emperor, should have been the victims?”
“It was but the turn of the dice,” said one of the omrahs. “We won--and
we must now maintain our position, or we shall soon be trampled in the
dust.”
“The high-chancellor, you have observed--you, my lords, who were
present just now in the council--completely controls the emperor.
Nourmahal’s charms--and all must acknowledge that they are
unrivalled--will place the empire entirely at the feet of that family.
There is no act of sorcery which she will not put into requisition, in
order to prepare her way to the throne.”
The rajaputs drew their scymitars, and evinced, by their manner, that
they were prepared to execute any directions which the commander would
be pleased to give them.
“No, not yet. The moment has not arrived for measures of this
description. We cannot but know, that however hateful to us the
chancellor may be, and however incompatible with our just hopes his
influence with the emperor, there is a certain weight attached to his
name and office, which might operate to our prejudice if we were known
to have adopted any steps against him of a summary nature.”
“His language in the council,” remarked one of the omrahs, “is not to
be tolerated. It was clearly treasonable.”
“Treasonable, beyond all doubt,” said Bochari; “and Nourmahal can also
be considered in no other light than as a principal actor in the late
rebellion, seeing that she remained in the castle during the time, when
her consort was engaged in actual revolt against the emperor upon the
Sutledge, and afterwards at Lahore.”
“Moreover,” added the omrah, who had spoken before, “has she not now
fled, instead of submitting to the emperor, as it would have become a
faithful subject to do?”
“Our duty, therefore, is,” said Bochari, “to place the father and
daughter under arrest--to have them conveyed to Agra, whither the
emperor and army will forthwith return--to have the culprits regularly
arraigned for high treason--and to impose the responsibility of
convicting or acquitting them upon the lawful tribunals of the empire.”
A buzz of approbation followed this suggestion, and measures were
taken on the instant for acting in conformity with it. But before the
confederates separated, they asked what course was to be adopted, in
case the emperor should not give his assent to these proceedings.
“Leave that to me,” said Bochari; “I will secure you against any
opposition in that quarter.”
The high chancellor, who had gone forth from the emperor’s pavilion
in search of the prince, speedily returned with an account that
Chusero had been just seen to quit the camp, attended by a body of
rajaputs. Jehangire immediately directed the commander to be summoned
to his presence; but the officer despatched on that duty, having been
prevented for some time from approaching Bochari’s tent by the guards
surrounding it, he was obliged to wait until the confederate council
was broken up. Bochari did not hesitate to obey the summons.
“What have you done with my son, slave?” exclaimed the emperor, in
violent agitation.
“That which was due to his rank, and to your wishes, sire,” answered
Bochari, with consummate coolness.
“Explain.”
“It was your majesty’s pleasure that his life should be preserved. Your
standard is planted on the citadel of the castle. There is no longer a
rebel force in this province. The army, having nothing further to do
here, is preparing to accompany your majesty to your capital, where
the exigencies of public affairs demand your presence. The prince has
preceded you, attended only by an escort suitable to his station, and
I am here, your slave, as you deign to designate me, ready to execute
your majesty’s further orders.”
Jehangire looked bewildered. He examined Bochari’s countenance for a
moment or two, not knowing whether he should credit this statement, or
order the Persian under arrest.
“Why was my son not brought to me, at all events, before he quitted the
camp? Did you not know how I loved him? Did you never feel the yearning
of a father’s heart to behold the countenance of a long lost child?”
“It was his own desire to postpone the meeting for some days. His sense
of shame, he said--”
“Let him be recalled--take horse, my lords,” said Jehangire, turning
to two of the omrahs in waiting; “fly after my son with the speed
of lightning. Bring him thither; he shall go with me to Agra, in
my palanquin. Insolent man, to assume this authority without even
consulting me.”
The omrahs proceeded to execute the emperor’s mandate; but they
returned in a few minutes to his presence, and stated that the square
outside the pavilion was densely crowded with cavalry, who would not
permit them to pass through.
Bochari turned pale, but still remained firm.
The omrahs drew their swords, and placing themselves between the
emperor and the commander, declared their belief that designs were
entertained against his majesty’s life. They entreated him to retire.
Jehangire, hearing a tumult without, drew his knife, and cutting his
way through the screen of the pavilion, entered the bathing-tent which
was behind his sleeping apartment. Meantime the pavilion was filled
with armed men.
“I accuse Kazim Ayaz of high treason,” said Bochari, in a loud
and commanding voice. “Guards, do your duty!” The chancellor was
immediately surrounded by rajaputs. The commander, followed by several
of the confederate omrahs, with drawn swords, went in search of the
emperor, who, having called all the attendants in waiting to his
assistance, appeared in front of them with his bared scymitar, resolved
to defend himself to the last. He raised the weapon to attack Bochari,
when, perceiving that his nobles and attendants were disarmed by the
intruders, he dropped his point and said, “I am betrayed.”
“Say, on the contrary, my sovereign, that you are saved--saved from
machinations of which you had no conception.”
“What is the meaning of all this? What have I done, that I am placed in
this situation?”
“Conspirators had planned your destruction, sire. We have frustrated
their designs. The moment it was known that the prince had arrived a
prisoner in the camp, many of the omrahs, who had throughout the war
taken every occasion to exhibit their malignity against me, sought his
presence, and tendered him their allegiance. Your chancellor, even in
the council, dared to throw out the most infamous insinuations against
me; your life--my life--were no longer secure from danger.”
“For myself I have no fear,” said the emperor. “The attachment of the
nobles to my son, is but a pledge of their fidelity to me--a fidelity
too, of which I have too many proofs to doubt it for a moment.”
“If your majesty feel so assured upon this point, then all that it
remains for me to do is to place myself under your protection.”
“Be certain of that. Is there any thing further which you can desire?
If not, it is my pleasure that you should withdraw.”
“These omrahs, also, who stand behind me.”
“What do they require?”
“Full security for themselves and for me; without it we will not
retire.”
“Name your terms, Bochari. I did not expect this treatment from you. I
have always appreciated your services.”
“Your words in the council, sire--your words in the pavilion, when you
were pleased to vilify me by the appellation of slave, did not indicate
a very strong remembrance of my poor services to the empire.”
“I own I was offended--outraged in my feelings by the sudden removal of
my son.”
“Nay, sire, I presume not to make any remark upon your strange
language, or stranger manner to me--a traitor was by your side to whom
I impute both.”
An officer here entered the tent, and having informed the commander
that the troops were on the march, that all the tents were struck,
and that persons were in waiting to take down his majesty’s pavilion,
Bochari ordered his horses to be brought.
“These proceedings,” said Jehangire, “are altogether most
extraordinary. Well, let my horses be brought also.”
“Sire! mine are wholly at your service.”
“If I be still emperor of Hindostan, and have a horse which I can call
my own, I shall mount him.”
Jehangire’s desire, upon this point, having been complied with, he and
Bochari rode slowly away together in the midst of a strong troop of
Orcha rajaputs, but in a direction different from that which the great
body of the army had taken.
CHAPTER X.
Oh, Death! Death! Thou art a great avenger.
’Tis when thy arrow hath thy victim pierced,
That those, who mourn the lost, begin to know
His virtues, and remember in their heart
Of hearts how oft they caused the needless tear
To stain the cheek that ne’er shall blush again.
MINHAGE.
Upon his departure from the hermitage for the imperial camp, Kazim
assured Mangeli, that if he did not return thither in the course of
the day, he would despatch a messenger to give an account to her of
his proceedings. He possessed, however, no means of accomplishing his
promise. The rajaputs, to whose custody he was consigned by Bochari,
though they treated him personally with respect, stated that they had
no orders to forward communications from him to any person whomsoever,
and that their duty was limited to attendance upon him until his
arrival at Agra. Astonished at this intelligence, and alarmed for the
effect which his continued absence and silence might produce upon
the already too much agitated mind of Mangeli he entreated, at all
events, that he might be permitted to see his wife and daughter before
departing for the capital. He was told that the ladies would probably
be at Agra before him, as swift-paced elephants had been already placed
at their disposal, in order to enable them to return thither with as
little delay as possible.
Kazim needed no reflection to feel assured that he was now, with his
family, altogether in the hands of Bochari. He saw that, throughout
all the occurrences which had recently taken place, he had been an
instrument in the hands of that base and remorseless man. As to his
personal safety, he thought no more of it. Doubtless measures were
taken for sacrificing him, and having no longer any mode of avoiding
his fate, he resigned himself to the decrees of Providence, But to be
separated at such a moment from Mangeli and Nourmahal was, indeed, a
thought full of anxiety and grief. Could he be assured that they were
treated with ordinary respect,--could he be certain that they were yet
in existence,--even information to this extent would quiet the pangs
that every moment shot through his brain, threatening to bear away all
the power of reason. But the officer in command of the rajaputs was
inexorable. No entreaty could induce him to comply with Kazim’s desire
for gaining intelligence upon these points. They rode on night and day,
except for a few hours after noon-tide, sometimes on the public road,
more frequently through the bye-paths, taking the shortest course they
could find towards Agra.
Kazim’s feelings told him accurately what those of his consort and
daughter were, under the circumstances in which they were placed. They
agreed, without hesitation, in the opinion that his duty to the empire
imposed upon him the necessity of losing no time in repairing to the
camp, and in demanding a full and an immediate investigation into the
origin of the massacre which had taken place at the castle. Zeinedeen
already apprised them of the conclusions at which _his_ mind had
arrived as to the stratagem which was practised by Bochari, with a view
to obtain possession of the castle. But he concealed from them the
apprehensions which he could not help entertaining, that the tragedy
was designed to comprehend Nourmahal, as well as the prince and the
subah, if not even the chancellor, whose integrity and great popularity
must have been felt by Bochari as a continual reproach upon his own
character.
The distance of the imperial camp from the hermitage was not
considerable. It might easily be traversed by a horseman in an hour
or two. As the morning wore away without any letters from Kazim,
uneasiness became more and more wildly pictured upon Mangeli’s
countenance. Zeinedeen took them to the summit of the tower, whence
they could clearly see Kazim, if he were returning, or any messengers
despatched with communications for them. But they could discern no
object moving in any direction that led to the hermitage.
Now and then a trooper galloped out from the camp, and having watered
his horse at a brook, that tumbled down the hill-side, where the
tents were erected, seemed preparing to cross it. But he instantly
returned the same way. Once or twice spearmen were seen moving beyond
the outposts. They crossed the brook; after washing their feet, they
hastened over the plain; but they then turned towards the castle,
for the garrison of which they appeared to be charged with some
instructions. Peasants also occasionally passed through the lines,
again over the brook into the plain, and upon the very path that led to
the hermitage. But they were speedily lost sight of.
All Mangeli’s terrors of the preceding night were rapidly returning
upon her senses. Nourmahal endeavoured to soothe her mother’s alarm by
every suggestion she could make. But between watching at the window
for the appearance of her father, or of a messenger from him, and the
attentions of which her beloved parent stood so much in need, she
became almost distracted. Zeinedeen walked up and down in the apartment
where they were, his arms folded, and occasionally offering hopes, and
advising patience, which were very far from his own breast. Matters,
he plainly saw, were, from one quarter of an hour to another, assuming
a more sinister appearance, and it occurred to him that in not taking
steps for conveying Mangeli and Nourmahal from the hermitage, he was
not acting with his ordinary discretion.
At length the approach of a troop of horsemen was announced by
Nourmahal. Zeinedeen looked out, and observing that they were galloping
with all the rapidity they could command, he lost no further time in
urging his companions to go with him to a place of safety.
His intention was to lead them, by a secret passage at the foot of the
stair-case, to a subterranean chamber, where they might remain until
the object of the troopers in coming to the hermitage should be known.
Unhappily, Mangeli, at the moment, fell into her daughter’s arms in
a swoon. Nourmahal, overwhelmed by anxiety for her mother, could not
be made to comprehend the necessity of yielding instant obedience to
the advice of Zeinedeen. Mangeli breathed again. The trampling of the
horses was heard. The hermit, taking both his companions by the hand,
conducted them to the staircase, but before he descended half-way, he
found it crowded with officers, whose long scabbards clattered on the
steps as they were hastening upwards in search of his guests.
The hermit and his trembling companions were obliged to return to the
chamber they had just left. They were followed by the strangers. One
of the officers to whom the persons of Nourmahal and her mother were
well known, after paying them his homage in the most respectful manner,
stated that orders had been given for the immediate breaking up of
the encampment, and the return of the army to Agra; that the emperor,
after making arrangements for the future government of Cashmere, had
already set out for the capital, attended by the commander and the high
chancellor; and that the guards now in waiting were commissioned to
attend upon their highnesses on their journey homewards.
This communication, made with an air of soldierly frankness and
sincerity, tended in no small degree to confirm the apprehensions which
the first announcement of the approach of the troops had kindled in the
hermit’s mind.
“You have, of course,” he said, “letters from the high chancellor to
his family.”
“I have no letters,” answered the officer; “nor am I aware that any of
my comrades have been charged with any other communication than that
which I have now made. Swift elephants will be here presently with
palanquins, and as the emperor and chancellor cannot be far on their
road, I should hope that we may easily overtake them in a few hours.
“I own,” said Zeinedeen, “I am surprised that the chancellor was not
deputed by the emperor to take charge of his own family, or, at all
events, that you have no written, or even verbal communication from
him.”
“There seemed to have been little time for ceremony of any sort this
morning; for such was the suddenness with which the orders for the
march of the troops were given, and put into execution, that we have
been most of us obliged to entrust the collection and care of our
baggage to the suttlers of the camp, many of whom, as perhaps you know,
are very little to be depended upon.”
Mangeli and her daughter, having retired to a recess in one of the
windows, listened to this conversation with painful attention. The
arrival of the palanquins having been announced, they, however, had now
no alternative. It was not in Zeinedeen’s power, even had he wished
it, to defer their departure. They were informed that there were two
palanquins at their disposal; but that if they preferred proceeding
together in the same vehicle, they were perfectly at liberty to indulge
their wishes on that point. They might, moreover, rest assured of
meeting from the escort, appointed to accompany them, every possible
attention.
Zeinedeen’s fears were, in a great measure, disarmed by these
assurances. Still a sense of disquietude lingered in his mind, which he
in vain exerted himself to compose. When the cavalcade was declared to
be ready for departure, Mangeli gave him her hand, fully expecting that
he would accompany them to Agra. The thought had not before occurred to
him. He mentioned her wishes to the officer in command, who, without
hesitation, declared that he knew of no objection that could be offered
to that course. A palanquin would be at the hermit’s service, if he
chose to accept it.
Zeinedeen yielded to Mangeli’s entreaties, enforced as they were by
those of Nourmahal, and by the solicitude with which his thoughts were
filled for the fate of Kazim. Having informed his domestics of his
intention, and desired them, however, to be prepared for his speedy
return, he affectionately bade them farewell.
Poor old Chunder was sadly grieved at the departure of his beloved
master. If he had tears he would have wept, but he could not. He was
sure they would never meet again. Holding Zeinedeen’s hands in his,
he kissed them, and prayed that Allah might protect him, and shower
upon his head every good gift. He would allow nobody to assist him in
raising his master to the palanquin,--a service, indeed, which he was
ill able to perform. But the old man’s affection was allowed by the
escort to have its way.
All the preparations for the departure of the cavalcade having been
at length completed, it proceeded on its route. The lattices of the
palanquin in which Nourmahal and her mother reclined, were carefully
veiled, and female slaves were in readiness to wait upon them; so far
as their personal convenience was concerned, they found that every
arrangement had been provided necessary for a long journey.
Under other circumstances, the expectation of returning once more
to “dear Agra,” as she often loved to call it, would have awakened
in Nourmahal’s bosom its most fervent emotions of rapture. But what
a world of reflections crowded upon her, as she passed by the castle
lately her residence, now no longer ruled by the subah! It had been to
her the scene of much suffering,--of many, many a gloomy hour, through
which the rays of sunshine, that now and then struggled through them,
were indeed but few!
Her mother deeply sympathised with her in all the tears which the
retrospect of that scene called forth. They were tears of bitter
sorrow. It was now at last admitted by her once cold and alienated
heart, that she ought to have loved the husband who knew no joy on
earth which did not derive its light from her. His every look of
tenderness, to which, in life, she was indifferent; his timid advances
towards hope that she would love him, which she had repelled; his
generous abstinence from the slightest exhibition of unkindness, from
even a gesture that could be construed into reproach,--these and a
thousand other recollections now gathered in dense array before her,
and demanded, if not vengeance, at least expiation.
Nourmahal never was inclined to conceal from herself the merits
of Afkun’s character. His faults, if any she had known, were now
forgotten. Her memory was active in shadowing out every particular
transaction, in which the part of the sufferer fell to his share, in
consequence of apathy on her side. Many were the instances in which she
now acknowledged that she showed him too little forbearance; many those
in which, by a slight act of assiduity, she might have spared him pain.
His spirit looked upon her placidly, telling her that he forgave all;
but it was this very meekness which wrung her heart with anguish.
Would that the warrior had indeed heard the sobs of remorse which
escaped from that once proud breast, as pressing her head upon her
mother’s lap she yielded to all the intensity of a widow’s grief! She
mourned, not because she had ever felt for him the sentiment of love.
It would have been hypocrisy to have attributed her agony to any such
source. Nature, destiny, circumstances, for which it would have been
unjust to blame that beauteous woman, denied to her the faculty of
loving more than one being, who for good or for evil was appointed to
absorb all that she could ever know of that divine emotion.
No; Nourmahal mourned because she had no longer the opportunity of
repaying Afkun, as far as she might have done, any measure of the
gratitude which she owed him for all his true enduring love, for all
his god-like generosity,--the remembrance of which, now that he was no
more, pierced her soul like a barbed arrow.
CHAPTER X (continued).
The worse the ill that fate on noble souls
Inflicts, the more their firmness; and they arm
Their spirits with adamant to meet the blow.
HINDOO PLAY.
As the escort pursued their journey from day to day, they were
occasionally joined by stragglers from the main body of the army, who
seemed full of some extraordinary intelligence, which they communicated
in whispers, and with many shrugs of the shoulder to the officers.
The frequent occurrence of those communications, and the mysterious
manner in which the officers appeared to converse about them, amongst
themselves, attracted the observation, and renewed the alarm of
Zeinedeen. He more than once distinctly overhead the words “high
treason” connected with Kazim’s name. Nourmahal’s name also was often
mentioned. He saw, moreover, that after the officers received this
intelligence, whatever it was, they became more rigid in enforcing
discipline amongst the escort.
During the halts of the first day, Mangeli often inquired whether
they were yet in sight of the imperial guards, who would be easily
distinguishable by their begla plumes from the other regiments of the
army. But nothing of the kind was observable. Upon the route, by which
she was travelling, few objects were to be seen moving, except the
soldiers by whom her palanquin were attended. She counted the hours
with the most harassing anxiety, as they passed one after another,
without realizing the expectation she had been led to entertain,
that they would speedily overtake the imperial suite, and be under
the protection of her husband. At every halt she grew more and more
impatient. Her foreboding fears were shared by Nourmahal, who,
after the first outbursts of grief, with which her heart had been
overladen, applied all the energies she could command to control her
apprehensions, and to wear upon her countenance, for the encouragement
and consolation of her agonised mother, some degree of calmness.
After the difficult descents of Pees-Punchal, and the Bember were
passed, the travellers had still many wearisome days before them, until
they embarked on the Jumna. Nothing was yet heard of the emperor, or
the chancellor, beyond vague reports, that they were not with the
army, which took the road to Lahore, but that they might be expected
shortly to arrive at Agra. Mangeli, as well as Nourmahal, appeared to
feel considerable relief on entering the vessel which was to convey
them down the river. They had suffered much fatigue from the heavy,
and, at the same time, rapid movements of the elephants, and from
their close confinement within the palanquins. They had now a cabin
assigned to their own use, to which, on their request, Zeinedeen was
permitted unreserved access. His presence lent them fortitude, even
when his conversation failed to beguile them of the fears, by which
they continued to be affected concerning Kazim.
The lofty minarets, and domes of the capital, at length announced the
termination of their journey. They naturally expected to be conveyed
by water to the marble steps, which led from the shore of the Jumna
to the chancellor’s palace; but the officer, under whose care they
had been placed, stated that he had no orders to that effect. His
instructions, he said, which he was bound rigidly to obey, mentioned
particular apartments in one of the castles of the citadel, which were
prepared for their accommodation, until the arrival of the chancellor.
Zeinedeen did not conceal his surprise at this arrangement. Still he
had no advice to offer, but continued patience and resignation to the
will of Providence, who would doubtless sooner or later put a period to
their disappointments.
The astonishment of the good hermit, and the sense of alarm which
continued to prey upon the spirits of the mother and daughter, were
far from being mitigated, when upon being handed over by the commander
of the escort to the governor of the citadel, to whom at the same time
the former delivered a letter under the imperial seal, the wearied
travellers were conducted to a quarter of the citadel, which appeared
to be the residence of the lowest menials attached to the service of
the imperial palace. The chamber, into which they were first shown,
was lighted only by a small narrow window near the ceiling. Even that
solitary window had a strong iron bar running down the middle, which
not only added to the dimness of the apartment, but explained to them
at once their real situation.
“Are we then prisoners?” asked Nourmahal, turning to the governor,
after she had rapidly surveyed the chamber.
“My office has often been a painful one,” he replied, “but never more
so than at this moment. The orders which I have received from the
emperor----”
“From the emperor?”
“From the emperor.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Nourmahal.
“The seal and the signature leave no room for doubt upon that point.
Here is the imperial warrant, which I am bound at the peril of my head
to put into execution.”
“Oh! it must be some mistake. Jehangire would never think of assigning
to Nourmahal such an apartment as this,--it must be some cruel
imposition.”
Zeinedeen asked permission to look at the document, which he
immediately returned to the governor, observing that there seemed to be
no reason to doubt its authenticity.
“You see here, however,” added the governor, “the worst of your
apartments. There are others connected with it, which are much more
spacious and cheerful, and overlook the river; but they will not be
prepared for your use until to-morrow, as I was not apprised, until the
very moment of your arrival, that personages of so much distinction
were to be lodged in this wing of the citadel.”
“Every new circumstance of this business appears more inexplicable than
the one by which it is preceded,” said Zeinedeen. “Do you know if the
emperor be yet arrived?”
“His majesty is not yet arrived,” answered the governor, “but he is
expected early to-morrow morning.”
“That, at all events, is something,” said Nourmahal, pressing
her mother to her bosom. “The enigma will soon be solved--the
suspense--dearest and best of mothers,” she added, fervidly kissing her
pallid cheeks--“in which we must spend the night, will be of no great
duration. The high chancellor, sir, is he with the emperor?”
“So the last couriers say.”
“You hear that, mother? _He_ is safe at all events. He will,
indeed, be surprised to find us in this prison. You, of course, know,
sir, that this is the consort, and I am the daughter of Kazim Ayas.”
“I should have known that, even had your names not been set forth in
the warrant.”
It afforded Zeinedeen some relief to observe that Nourmahal’s natural
fortitude of mind had not abandoned her on this trying occasion; that,
on the contrary, it seemed growing upon her with each new difficulty,
which this sudden reverse of her fortunes presented to her view. He
most anxiously aided her in the exertions she made to infuse her own
courage into the bosom of her mother; but the mind of Mangeli was cast
in a different mould. She was altogether an instrument played upon
by the affections. “Were but Kazim with me,” she repeated a thousand
times, “I could endure any thing. But separate from him I am nothing.
I know not what to do or to say. I have no sense of any thing going
on around me. I feel that my child is here,” she added, pausing, and
looking steadfastly into Nourmahal’s eyes. “Oh, thanks to Alla!--Yes,
my beloved child! born to me in the desert, with no covering to protect
thee save the coiled serpent,--no pillow to sustain thee, save the
burning sand,--no food to nurture thee in this dried up bosom,--the
howling blast for thy lullaby,--and for thy nurse, the horrid vulture!
Oh, God, be again and again adored! We were then guarded by Thy
merciful hand!”
“And will be guarded still by Him, mother! Be comforted, to-morrow,
to-morrow must end our woes.”
The governor, who was himself a parent, could not witness this scene
without a degree of emotion, which he in vain endeavoured to repress.
Drawing Zeinedeen aside, he told him in a low voice, interrupted by
pangs which choked his utterance, that he would see if, by any exertion
he could make, the other rooms belonging to that suite could be placed
at their disposal before night. Warmly pressing the hermit’s arm, as
a token of the interest which he felt in their behalf, he quitted the
chamber, locking the door after him as gently as possible, to prevent
them from hearing that most dismal of all sounds, the shooting of the
bolt that announces the loss of liberty.
The only article of furniture which Zeinedeen could discover in the
prison where they now stood, was a low divan close to the bare wall,
constructed of wood, and a thin ragged cushion. The floor appeared to
be composed of hard clay. Drawing Nourmahal and her mother towards
the divan, he persuaded them to rest there for a while, and await
the result of the efforts of the governor, who, he had no doubt, was
disposed to render them all the service in his power.
During the journey from Cashmere to Agra, the hermit collected from
several members of the escort, with whom he conversed whenever the
halts permitted him to do so, various particulars concerning the
sanguinary scenes which had been perpetrated at the fortress of Kebeer.
These particulars he now took an opportunity of detailing to Mangeli
and Nourmahal, hoping that if they could give their attention to the
relation of woes much more grievous than their own, they might be
gradually prepared for the privations to which he clearly foresaw
they were now doomed for some time. The death of Kanun particularly
affected her mistress. The circumstances with which it was attended,
were calculated to touch her heart. She was much attached to that
girl, whom, though originally placed in attendance upon her as a
slave, she considered in the light of a sister. Far from entertaining
any impulse of jealousy, on hearing of the passion which Kanun had
secretly cherished for Afkun, she only wondered that she had not
herself observed it at an earlier period. Many little circumstances
now occurred to her recollection, which confirmed all Zeinedeen had
heard upon that subject; and it was even some consolation to her to
know, that in his last moments the subah was not wholly abandoned to
the merciless outlaws by whose hands he fell. It was some balm to her
troubled spirit to think, that the attendant whom she best loved, clung
to her suffering consort on that occasion, and rendered him the last
services which he was capable of receiving.
For the many other innocent victims of that dreadful night, Nourmahal
expressed deep regret. She called to mind, and mentioned to her mother,
the various traits of amiability by which they were distinguished,
and the brilliant talents they occasionally displayed, which required
nothing more than education to render them perfect.
But these details speedily led to the conclusion, that the annals of
Hindostan had furnished no instance of treachery more disgraceful to
its authors, than that by which the fortress was gained to the emperor.
Zeinedeen expressed his entire conviction, that Jehangire could have
known nothing of the nature of the presents, which were conveyed within
the walls in the fatal palanquins. Rumour universally ascribed the
contrivance of that iniquitous scheme to the mind of Bochari, to which
every base device, every species of crime, was known to be familiar.
“It is impossible, therefore, to doubt,” said Nourmahal, “that it is
to the Persian we are to attribute the position in which we are now
placed. It clearly entered into his designs to involve the whole of us
in destruction on that terrible night. The deed once consummated, it
could not be recalled; and by the power which he unhappily possesses,
he would have easily put an end to all inquiries about us. But Alla
having, through your instrumentality, Zeinedeen, protected us from the
machinations of that murderous scene, he durst not venture to attack
us again through the same kind of warfare. No doubt he now seeks to
accomplish his purpose by some other means.”
“Bochari is, indeed, to be dreaded,” observed the hermit. “But there is
an eye above us all, from which nothing can be concealed--an arm which,
sooner or later, is sure to overtake and strike down the murderer. The
Persian will, probably, fabricate some charge--indeed it is currently
reported, that he has already prepared an accusation of high-treason
against the chancellor.”
“Oh! that he would dare to charge my husband with treason to the
state,” exclaimed Mangeli, with an unwonted degree of energy. “Oh! that
the Persian would venture on such an accusation as that! There is not
a child in Hindostan, who does not know Kazim’s true attachment to the
emperor, and to the people under his sceptre! The day of that trial
would be the last that Bochari ever would see. No troops could protect
him from the indignation of the inhabitants of Agra, from the first
omrah down to the lowest slave!”
“It is publicly said, that the emperor himself is nothing more or less
than a captive in the hands of Bochari,” added Zeinedeen. “On leaving
the camp his majesty rode unarmed by the side of the Persian, and
surrounded by a troop of Orcha rajaputs.”
“Orcha rajaputs?” asked Mangeli.
“So I am informed.”
“Those are the assassins, by whose hands Abul Fazeel, our beloved
friend, perished, when on his way to the Deccan,” added Mangeli.
Nourmahal had not heard before of the death of Fazeel. The name
arrested her attention, for she had heard it recently pronounced in a
tone she was not likely to forget. She inquired minutely into all the
particulars of that transaction, which her mother related as far as she
knew them.
The governor at length re-appeared, followed by slaves with lights, his
beaming countenance indicating the pleasure which he said he felt in
having succeeded, in obtaining better accommodation for them than those
which that miserable chamber afforded. Proceeding to a door, opposite
to the one by which he entered, he opened it, and conducted Nourmahal
and her mother to a spacious apartment plainly carpeted, but furnished
with divans, cushions, and mattresses, sufficient for their use. This
room communicated with another, which, he added, would also be at their
service, and overlooked the Jumna, as they would perceive when the
day-light should return. A frugal supper was then placed before them,
of which, however, they were none of them in spirits to partake.
It was arranged, that Zeinedeen should avail himself of the hospitable
offer made by the governor of a suitable residence during the time he
might feel disposed to remain in Agra. The party then separated for
the night--Mangeli and Nourmahal consigning themselves to mattresses,
placed close to each other, little solicitous, however, of repose,
which they had no wish to enjoy, until they should be assured of the
return and the safety of the chancellor.
CHAPTER XI.
May Heaven preserve your gentle heart
From every sorrow mortals know!
What joys this world can here impart,
And what the next, may each bestow.
HAFIZ.
Never was the return of morning expected with more anxiety by
Nourmahal, than during that night, which to her, particularly,
appeared as if it would never end. For the first hour or two she
sustained her mother’s head upon her arm. Perceiving that her dear
parent, overwhelmed by the fatigue and pain she had endured, gradually
lapsed into sleep, she gently withdrew her arm, and substituting a
cushion for it rose from the mattress, with a view to penetrate to the
apartment, which, as the governor said, overlooked the Jumna.
Taking in her hand a small lamp, which one of the slaves had left on
the floor, she proceeded bare-footed, listening, now and then, to
ascertain that her mother remained undisturbed, and, passing into an
outer room, discovered that the only window it contained was strongly
secured by an iron lattice within, and by shutters that opened on the
outside. It occurred to her that, as was usually the case on the river,
where external access to the shutters would be inconvenient, they were
under the control of a spring-bolt, fixed in some part of the frame
of the window within. After searching carefully at both sides of the
frame, she failed to find any indication of the spring, and was about
to give up the object of her pursuit in despair, when the light of the
lamp gleamed on a brass ring, suspended in one of the squares of the
lattice. On her pulling this ring, the bolt by which the shutters were
made fast, immediately receded from its place, they flew back, and
disclosed the river tranquilly flowing beneath.
The canopy of the heavens exhibited myriads of suns of other worlds,
shining with that clear and intense brightness, which still indicated
that the night was scarcely half way through its course. Nourmahal
gazed on them earnestly, as if she would intreat them to pale their
light, and make way for the morning. But they continued to assert their
dominion over the earth, shining through a sky without a cloud, azure
from the horizon to the zenith, without a break prophetic of the day
that was still to come. She sat listening to the current, that now and
then gently rippled as it passed by, without disturbing, even by a
murmur, the profound silence that reigned every where around.
Putting the lamp down she sat in the window, and clasping her hands
fervently, prayed to the Creator of those glorious orbs, whose
admirable harmony gave token every moment of his perpetual presence and
power, that he would look down upon her beloved parents, and preserve
them from the persecutions to which, she feared, they were about to be
subjected.
While these tacit supplications occupied her whole mind, the chill
of the night-air passed with a tremor through her thinly-covered
limbs. Returning to her mattress, she found her mother still sleeping.
Kneeling by her side, she renewed her prayer. Undesirous even of a
moment’s repose, she resumed her usual apparel, and again took her
place at the window, to watch for the earliest indications of the dawn.
But the stars appeared to have lost not a ray of their lustre. The
transparent azure of the firmament was still perfectly undisturbed, as
far as her limited range of vision could enable her to observe.
Leaning her cheek upon her hand, she gave herself up to the thousand
thoughts that pressed upon her unquiet mind. “Is all this a dream?”
she asked herself. “Am I once more in Agra? Is this the Jumna, upon
whose banks I have spent so many days of happiness;--ah! of true
happiness,--when I knew no feeling save intense love for my dear
parents, and had no care, except what was brought upon me by my
gazelles and favourite flowers?
“In Agra! in the citadel! within the same walls that inclose the
emperor’s palace, and yet in a prison!--and for what? What have I done
to call for such treatment as this? Whom have I offended? The emperor?
It is by his order, and under his signature, that my beloved mother and
I have been sent to this dreary abode! When I last saw him, how little
did I expect this!
“But it cannot be his act. It cannot be that Jehangire has willingly
affixed his signature to any decree against me. He has been imposed
upon by some wicked invention. My life upon it, Bochari is the author
of this proceeding. I know not what my father may have said in the
council to draw upon him that bad man’s wrath. Kazim’s noble soul would
disdain to hide the indignation he felt, at the flagitious stratagem by
which the fortress was entered. It is not improbable that high words
passed between them, and that something fell from my father capable of
being misinterpreted. But I,--what have I said? what deed have I even
attempted, to palliate any accusation against me?
“No matter; I suffer with my parents. I share their destiny, whatever
it may be. That is a consolation. To be united with them in the
residence of misery,--if misery is to come,--oh, how infinitely more
acceptable is it to me than all the splendour which Hindostan can
afford!
“The vision of life is then passed. There was a time when Nourmahal
looked forward to other scenes, painted by her glowing fancy in
etherial colours which she thought could never deceive her, could never
fade. Alas! those bright hallucinations have vanished. But a little
month ago the vice queen of Cashmere, now a prisoner in the meanest
part of the seraglio! But a little month ago worshipped by the supreme
lord of Hindostan,--_worshipped_, why should I not say it? and now
reduced below the condition of a slave!
“They will doubtless apply against my father all the machinery of
falsehood. He knows not how to meet such an adversary as Bochari. He
will exhibit his ingenuous and stainless forehead without a shield to
ward off their arrows. They will degrade him from his high office. They
will endeavour to tarnish his splendid name. They will confiscate his
wealth, and reduce him to mendicancy; no, not to mendicancy,--that they
shall never do, while Nourmahal has a hand to labour for him.
“It is now I ought to thank thee, God! for having endowed me
with gifts which may enable me to administer to the support of my
beloved parents. Even though in prison my mind is free, my hands are
unshackled. Zeinedeen shall be our steward. I can work; I can make
dresses for the courtly dames, I can get a tambour and make tapestry, I
can flower muslins and brocades. Our wants will be but few; we are not
unacquainted with poverty, and we may still be happy, if our enemies do
but leave us together.
“My mother will at first feel these vicissitudes deeply,--not for her
own sake, but for ours. My father can take to his books again. He may
find ample occupation in writing the story of his own eventful life;
he may, perhaps, add to it some of the scenes which his daughter has
witnessed during her short career; and haply the day may come when the
fates of Kazim Ayas and Nourmahal shall afford entertainment, if not
instruction, to distant nations. Oh, those alone who have truly loved
will know how to appreciate the difficulties in which she has been
placed! They will not say that Nourmahal had no heart because she could
not dispose of it at will,--because she could not transfer it from one
shrine to another, as if it were a victim that could be renewed!
“Poetry, music, painting, oh divine arts! oh possessions beyond the
control of the tyrant’s animosity! these shall be our lights to
cheer our prison-home, and to win even my weeping mother back to her
beautiful smiles!
“Hush! what step was that? does my mother wake? I shall see. No; she
breathes lowly, quietly. Thanks to Heaven! she will rise refreshed. It
is near again. Not a footstep, it is the fall of the oar on the waters.
It approaches. I may, perhaps, see it through the window if it be a
boat. Yes. There it moves rapidly down the middle of the stream, almost
like a phantom on the waters. The night, me-thinks, has grown darker.
The stars have nearly all gone out, and those that remain seem shorn
of more than half their brilliancy. It feels colder too. Oh, welcome
sight! A greyish hue is in the east. It is expanding gradually on each
side, and rising higher and higher. The stars have wholly vanished. The
mysterious hand of Time is throwing back the curtains of night. How
regal are those folds of their lining which I see, all gold and purple!
There he comes! the glorious sun! a god bounding up the arches of
space, dispensing joy to all creatures, to all save the doomed family
of Ayas!”
Nourmahal had scarcely turned from the window when her footsteps were
arrested by a sudden blast of trumpets, followed by numerous volleys
of artillery. These were the well known heralds that proclaimed to all
Agra the entry of the emperor into his palace. She had no occasion to
awake her mother to listen to these sounds. Her unhappy parent was
already roused from her lethargy, for such it was, rather than sleep,
in which her senses were wrapped during the greater portion of the
night. Looking vacantly around her, she asked, “Where am I? What place
is this? Ah! my Nourmahal--thee--thee, I know, my beloved. Where thou
art it must be our home! But your father. Has he risen? Has he gone
to the council? Nay; I do not remember that he was here in the night.
Tell me!--oh, my child! tell me, where is thy father, or I shall go
distracted? These walls--this chamber--these cushions;--all are strange
to me. Where are we?”
“In Agra, dearest mother.”
“In Agra? Impossible! In Agra! we should be in our own home. I should
not have forgotten our own bed-chamber. But this place--I have never
seen any place like it, it is so dismal!”
“We are in Agra, mother; but not yet at home.”
“What noise was that I heard just now?”
“The trumpets and artillery announcing, I believe, the arrival of the
emperor.”
“The emperor! Ah! I remember. Your father is with him. Yes--yes--he
will soon be here. Will he not, my beloved?”
While Nourmahal was assisting her mother to rise, and to arrange her
attire, the sounds of several footsteps were heard hurrying along the
passages, outside their apartments. The door was immediately opened,
and several female slaves entered to tender their services to the
mother and daughter, and at the same time to prepare them for a visit
from the governor. In a few minutes the latter made his appearance,
accompanied by one whom the quick rush of Mangeli towards him, almost
before he entered, declared to be Kazim.
“My cherished one, my child!” he exclaimed, in his well-known
affectionate voice, embracing them both at once; for Nourmahal’s
expectant eyes had scarcely allowed her mother to anticipate her in
pressing her arms around him. “Nothing is lost--all remains safe while
you are with me. Honours, office, wealth,--let them take all. We are
again together. I ask nothing more!”
The governor considerately ordering the slaves to retire, withdrew,
also, himself, leaving the family alone. The first moments of meeting
were to each hours of joy. The uncertainty that they should ever see
each other again, was over. The anxiously-looked-for morning had come,
and with it doubt disappeared. The past was forgotten--the future not
yet thought of. They met--in a prison too--but even that circumstance
was overlooked in the gladness of those hearts that felt as if they
should never again be separated.
When the first impulses of delight had in some measure subsided, Kazim
related to his dear companions all that had occurred to him since he
had left them at the hermitage.
“On arriving at the camp, I found that preparations were making
for the execution of Chusero. I made my way to the emperor, fearful
that I should not arrive in time to prevent the decree for his death
from being signed; and I own that I entered the council, where he
was engaged, with very little of the senator about me. My blood was
in a fever of indignation, first, that my visit to the fortress, as
a mediator, should have been made the cover for all the calamity
that ensued; and next, that the prince, who had in truth surrendered
and placed his life in my hands, should have been dealt with so
perfidiously. I did not, you know I could not, conceal my thoughts, or
measure my language, in denouncing such an unheard-of violation of all
the principles of honour and justice. I produced the capitulation. The
emperor was as furious as I could be against that base Persian. Angry
words passed. Bochari and his friends drew their swords.”
“In the council?”
“In the emperor’s presence?”
“In the council. I knew not whether they were about to sacrifice
the emperor, or me, or both. But, for myself, I had only one duty
to perform. I demanded the prince’s safety. I insisted upon it:
and drew up a decree on the spot, which the emperor signed, which I
counter-signed, securing full pardon to the prince, upon the terms
already agreed to. Bochari talked of treason, for I had spoken of my
son--my brave and noble Afkun; brave and noble he could never cease to
be, even though guilty of revolt,--this was my treason. I laughed at
the ignorance, the presumption, of the base-born slave. I looked upon
his words as empty sounds, and quitted the pavilion to seek Chusero.
“Some time elapsed before I could discover the tent which he occupied.
As I approached it, I found it surrounded by a body of cavalry; before
I could pass through them, the prince was led out, compelled to ascend
a close howda, placed on a swift-footed elephant; and to depart from
the camp, attended by a strong escort. They said that they had the
emperor’s orders to take him to the fortress of Gwalior, which I knew
to be untrue.
“I remonstrated against this proceeding, and declared my intention to
bring the authors of it to punishment. But my words had no effect, the
prince was out of sight in a few moments. On my return towards the
emperor’s pavilion, to inform him of this abuse of all authority, I
was myself apprehended under a decree, accusing me of high treason. I
demanded to see the decree. It was produced, signed by the emperor!
I could not believe my senses: I looked again and again, at the
signature. It was undoubtedly his hand-writing. But the law required
that it should be also signed by a civil member of the council. It was
so signed--by Auzeem!”
“By Auzeem?” exclaimed Mangeli. “He, who has affected to be one of your
most intimate friends!”
“It is inexplicable. No man’s faith is to be depended upon in these
times of civil strife. In our confidential conversations Auzeem has
much oftener taken exceptions to Bochari’s conduct than I have done.
Nevertheless he seldom, indeed, never opposes him in the council. On
the contrary, he seems to shrink from every occasion which might, by
possibility, bring him into collision with that person. And yet, to
do Auzeem justice, I must say that I have met with very few men of
more discernment, of more experience in the management of public
affairs, or of more unquestionable integrity than he is. By what arts
of seduction, or intimidation, he could have been prevailed upon to
countersign that decree, I am wholly at a loss to conjecture.”
“It is too obvious, that Bochari is now the real emperor of Hindostan,”
observed Nourmahal.
“He also accuses thee, my child, of the same crime that is laid to my
charge--of high treason; but upon what ground he rests that accusation
I could not learn.”
“Good God! what is to become of us?”
“My beloved Mangeli, it becomes us to be resigned to the ordinances of
that Supreme Being, whom you have well styled, the good God. He has,
indeed, been hitherto most bountiful to us. Let us place our dependence
upon Him, and rest assured He will not fail us, in this our hour of
adversity!”
CHAPTER XII.
“But they shall not obtain that for which they have
perpetrated their wicked deed.
“And in place of benefit I will send them wretchedness.
“Lo! they shall meet with retribution.”
PERSIAN PROPHETS.
A general sense of alarm appeared to pervade the population of Agra,
upon its being made known that the emperor had returned to his palace,
without any of those exhibitions of triumph by which they conceived he
ought to have been accompanied on such an occasion. One of the most
formidable rebellions which had for many years disturbed the peace of
Hindostan, had been completely put down. The arms of Jehangire had not
only vindicated his right to the throne, but had been wielded with a
degree of valour, worthy of the best days of Acbar. Even to the omrahs,
and the troops who had distinguished themselves in the war, a public
entry into the capital, upon their return from the northern provinces,
was eminently due. But nothing of the kind was now to be expected.
The emperor had come back almost by stealth. It was ascertained that
he had arrived in a small boat by the Jumna, and landing at a private
staircase, that led into the seraglio, was conducted to his apartments
as if he had been a captive, instead of a conqueror.
It was soon after further ascertained, that the omrahs, whose duty
it was, from their high birth, as well as from official station, to
keep guard at the palace, had been already displaced, and that their
functions were entrusted to common spearmen, members of that corps of
Orcha rajaputs, on whom the commander-in-chief seemed now resolved
to lavish all his favours. The very name of these troops was odious
in Agra. They were the known--unpunished--detested assassins of the
lamented Fazeel. They had taken no part in the late war. They had
been sent for by Bochari, while he was upon the march to Cashmere. It
was said, that besides their stipend from the treasury, he presented
them with double pay from his own purse; that they were, therefore,
instruments entirely subservient to his will, and that the late
revolt, though completely extinct, was to be made the pretext for new
regulations in the government of the most tyrannical nature.
The public audiences, given from time immemorial by the emperors,
were discontinued. No person was allowed access to Jehangire, except
Bochari, and those specially furnished with his permission--and then
he could only be seen surrounded by a guard of the Orcha chieftains.
The reason assigned by the Persian for these extraordinary precautions
was, that he possessed in his hands undoubted evidence of a conspiracy,
in which most of the omrahs, and many of the inhabitants of Agra,
were engaged, the object of which was to assassinate the emperor, and
to raise Chusero to the throne. One of the chief conspirators, he
alleged, was the high-chancellor, against whom proceedings were about
to be instituted forthwith.
These tidings, with the many false or exaggerated rumours to which
they gave birth, diffused a deep gloom over the whole capital. The
occupations and amusements of the people were, in a great measure,
suspended. Men were afraid to converse with each other upon any
matter relating to the empire, lest they should incur the vengeance
of Bochari, whose emissaries, profusely paid out of the imperial
treasury, were known to be actively employed in all directions. The
prisons were filled with persons of note, who had been apprehended upon
the denunciations of these spies, without the slightest proof of any
offence being brought against them. Each succeeding morning teemed with
mysterious reports of new arrests, and of secret decapitations, carried
into effect in defiance of every established form of legal procedure.
This calamitous state of things continued for several months, during
which it became manifest that Bochari was the real master of the
empire, although the public ordinances were still signed by Jehangire.
He did not yet venture to displace the subahs of the provinces, who
had been appointed previously to the expedition to Cashmere. It was
not concealed, however, that they were all distributed amongst the
Orcha chieftains, who were to take possession of their offices as
soon as they could be spared from attendance in the capital. As they
constituted the principal support of the usurper, he feigned a variety
of excuses, from time to time, in order to detain them near his person.
Zeinedeen, who was obliged to act with the greatest circumspection,
notwithstanding the sacredness usually attached to his character as a
dervish, did not fail to convey to Kazim accurate intelligence of these
events, which, he very justly stated, were felt with tenfold severity
by the people of Agra, as they were no longer under the protection of
the high-chancellor. While he was to be seen, they said, in the seat of
judgment, they smoked their chibouques in tranquillity, because they
knew that no injustice could reach them, if the administration of the
law were in the hands of Kazim Ayas.
The first act of open resistance to the absolute authority exercised
by Bochari during a period of more than twelve months, occurred in
consequence of an attempt that was made by his order to raze the
mansion of the high chancellor to the ground. A private execution might
be attended with serious consequences the moment it became known. An
open trial might prove equally perilous. In order to feel the public
pulse with respect to his desired victim, he instructed his myrmidons
to proceed to that officer’s state residence, on the bank of the Jumna,
and to demolish it. The design became known, however, and the persons
employed to effect it no sooner commenced operations than an immense
crowd assembled at the place, and assailed them with bitter reproaches.
The men persevered,--troops having in the mean time arrived to their
assistance. This was the signal for a general tumult. A part of the
building had been already thrown down. The materials were made use of
by the people as missiles, which they hurled against their antagonists.
The cavalry found it impossible to act, so dense was the crowd by which
their movements were impeded. They were slaughtered in detail, and in
a few moments the whole of the workmen assembled to execute the orders
of Bochari, were compelled to fly from the ground.
This event filled his mind with alarm. It demonstrated to him the very
slight foundation upon which his power was based, although it had
been suffered to continue so long, without meeting any considerable
opposition. He had failed, it was true, to obtain the concurrence of
any of the principal omrahs or rajahs in his system of tyranny. But
before this occurrence he felt an impression that his authority, armed
as it was with all the terrors which his position enabled him to call
to his assistance, was too formidable to permit of any serious attempt
at resistance. He trembled on his pinnacle.
The long year already spent by Kazim and his family within the walls of
their prison, seemed nevertheless likely to be succeeded by another.
From an early period the governor of the citadel had been displaced,
because he was suspected of being favourable to their interests. The
estates bestowed upon Kazim, by Acbar and Jehangire, as rewards for his
important services to the empire, had been confiscated. His property of
a moveable nature, consisting of money, household furniture, horses,
and cattle of every description, had been seized and distributed,
as well as his estates, amongst the Orcha rajaputs whose rapacity
was insatiable. His office was abolished as no longer necessary in a
country, that had ceased to be governed by law. He and his wife and
daughter were studiously subjected to every species of privation. No
other food was allowed them than that which was daily divided among the
meanest prisoners,--rice, barley bread, and water. They were indeed
suffered to retain three female slaves, the daughters of a nurse
who had formerly lived in Kazim’s family. But no other persons were
permitted to enter their apartments, Zeinedeen alone excepted.
These persecutions, accumulated one upon another, and accompanied
with every petty circumstance of mortification which the Persian
could invent, at first produced a sensible effect upon the health
and spirits of Mangeli. But the mild suggestions of her husband, and
the affectionate attentions of Nourmahal, whose character now shone
out in all its native dignity and beauty, soon beguiled her from the
melancholy anticipations in which she was prone to indulge.
“We are, it is true,” he would say, “deprived of station, fortune, and
liberty. But we suffer in common with many others, who possess not our
resources for rendering these evils tolerable. Disease takes from some
the power of enjoyment in the midst of riches. We still have health. As
to high station, it can hardly be desirable to any elevated mind in the
present state of Hindostan; and the sense of freedom is in our souls,
although we are confined personally within these three chambers.
“At all events let us not shadow out new misfortunes before they
actually come. When they do arrive, they are seldom so difficult to
bear as we imagine. Something altogether unforeseen occurs to limit
their duration, or to disarm them of their terrors. By anticipating
them, we give them reality so far as mental pain is concerned, when
in fact they may never approach us; and when they do, we suffer them
over again, thus unnecessarily doubling the affliction, with which they
would have been otherwise attended.”
Nourmahal was not long in reducing to practice the resolutions,
which had often passed through her mind, as to providing against the
pressure of calamity, such as that in which she and her beloved
parents were now involved. She found means, through Zeinedeen’s
co-operation, of disposing of the jewels and trinkets which she
fortunately happened to have about her person, on the night of her
escape from the fortress, when she was so suddenly transferred from
the ball-room to the hermitage. The produce of these articles enabled
her to purchase, not merely the ordinary necessaries, but even some of
the luxuries of life, to which her parents had been accustomed; and,
moreover, a considerable quantity of brocade, silks, muslins, and other
materials, which, with the assistance of her attendants, she converted
into dresses of the most elegant description. Those maidens were at
first little versed in this sort of employment, but she spared no pains
in instructing them. Her patience, in shewing them how to execute their
work with the requisite degree of neatness, was admirable.
Never perhaps did Kazim contemplate his daughter with a warmer
affection, or, more properly speaking, with a higher degree of
gratitude to Heaven, for having given him such a child, than when he
beheld her engaged in teaching those young women the very rudiments of
needlework, with which they had been before unacquainted, as they had
been brought up to the employment of cultivating flowers, destined to
be sold in the market of Agra. But they were of docile dispositions,
and they soon learned from their young mistress how to perform, with
readiness and precision, their assigned tasks, and even to bestow upon
them those little graces beyond the reach of mechanism, which flowed so
naturally from her own hand.
Nothing could be more beautiful than the flowered muslins which
emanated occasionally from this domestic factory. It was Nourmahal’s
habit to draw the flowers first, and then when her fancy was pleased,
not only with their form, but their variety, to work them herself upon
the plain muslin. She did not follow the usual fashion of strewing only
one species of flower upon the material. She selected such as in colour
and feature best harmonised together, and these she disposed within
her tambour frame so tastefully, that the eye was at once struck with
the novelty, and captivated with the poetic elegance of her invention.
By the industry of her handmaids, these specimens of her art were
multiplied. They found a ready sale in the bazaars of Agra, and of
Delhi, whither they were conveyed by the care of Zeinedeen, and were
speedily so much in vogue amongst the ladies of the two cities, who
converted them into turbans, that the supply was seldom adequate to the
demand.
In the same manner, the dresses in brocade and rich silks, which were
executed by Nourmahal and her gentle companions, were acknowledged,
even by persons the most experienced in the manufacture of female
apparel, to be inimitable. Even when nothing was done to improve the
texture of the material, there was an effect about the fashion of the
robe itself, which pronounced it to be fit only for a noble woman. But
when to the texture were added ornaments in gold or silver--whether
they assumed the resemblance of flowers, or bees, or butterflies, or
the insects that illuminate the forest, or the fishes that lighten over
the deep,--it was said that none but empresses ought to be allowed to
assume such splendid vestments.
CHAPTER XIII.
O branch of an exquisite rose plant, for whose
sake dost thou grow? Ah! on whom will that
smiling rose-bud confer delight?
HAFIZ.
Nor did Nourmahal confine herself to these occupations, although, in a
profitable point of view, they were the most productive in which she
could have been engaged. The prices to which her manufactures speedily
rose, in consequence of the avidity with which they were sought
throughout Hindostan, would have enabled her to realize a handsome
fortune. But it was her pride to vary her employments, in order that
she should feel no talent under her command, which she did not
exercise on this occasion, in the service of her beloved parents.
She had acquired, almost while she was a child, the art of carving in
ivory. This she now put into requisition, and imparted also to her
handmaids. They combined to create from the shapeless masses, which
Zeinedeen procured for them, miniature temples, towers, baskets, images
of the Hindoo gods, chessmen, and small essence cases of the most
exquisite description.
One of the most remarkable of their productions, was a model of the
market-place in Agra, and of portions of the streets immediately
leading into it. There were to be seen, either in the market, or
hastening towards it, vendors of fruits, vegetables, flowers, milk,
rice, honeycomb, perfumes, medicines, jewels, trinkets, books, and
ballads; horses, camels, and elephants; birds and beasts of every kind.
The actors in this varied scene were so cunningly displayed, in the
expression of countenance,--in attitude,--in costume sometimes very
ragged,--often scanty in the extreme, that they seemed actually to
live, and to be shouting out the names of the different objects which
they had to sell. Those objects were necessarily all upon the most
minute scale. But they were imitated in every respect with the most
elaborate skill, and with a degree of perfection altogether unrivalled.
It was said, that for this production alone Nourmahal received a
thousand gold rupees.
Excelling, as she did, all other persons in almost every thing she
undertook, this pious daughter attended also with an assiduity which
she suffered no other occupation to interrupt, even to the meanest
department of her little household. She was usually the first to awake
every morning. Arraying herself in a plain cotton robe cinctured at
the waist and plaited on her bosom, in trowsers of the same material,
and slippers of russet cloth, her beautiful and abundant hair folded
into the narrowest possible compass on the crown of her head, and
braided over her temples, she called her handmaids to her assistance,
and proceeded to cleanse and put in order the apartment opening to
the Jumna, which was the sitting room of the family. This chamber,
so meanly furnished when they first took possession of it, she had
converted into a little paradise. The window, overlooking the river,
though of ample size, and admitting a quantity of light sufficient to
give the room a cheerful appearance, was, nevertheless, so closely
latticed, that it was calculated always to remind them of their captive
condition. She contrived, however, to modify its unpleasant effect in
that way, by gilding the bars, and wreathing them with festoons of
an artificial clematis, which, without intercepting any considerable
portion of the light, gave the window an airy and graceful appearance,
through the muslin curtains and drapery she suspended over it. The
walls were hung with rich damask of a bright amber colour, and the
vaulted ceiling was covered with folds of azure silk, which made the
room resemble the interior of a pavilion. For the wretched divan
which originally ran round the apartment, were substituted sofas and
ottomans, covered with purple velvet, decorated with superb fringes
and tassels of gold bullion. A Persian carpet, representing a leopard
in pursuit of antelopes and foxes, was spread upon the floor. Round
ebony-tables, and stands of red rose-wood, were disposed in the
corners, and exhibited a variety of beautiful porcelain jars and
vases, abundantly replenished with perfumes; silver filagree cases,
holding small china coffee cups, sherbet glasses, and gold baskets
always filled with the most delicious confectionary, and golden ewers
for ablutions.
If any of the fringes, or linings, happened to be rent, Nourmahal was
ready with a needle and thread, in a silken case suspended from her
girdle, to repair them. She took her full share in brushing the carpet,
in preventing any dust from accumulating on the drapery, in arranging
the table for the morning meal, pounding the coffee in a mortar,
and preparing the beverage itself, in which she skilfully preserved
the fine aroma, that constitutes the juice of the mocha an almost
intoxicating nectar. Her father was fond of a small saffron cake, with
coriander seed mixed in it. She was careful to have a fresh supply for
him every morning, kneaded by her own hand, and baked under her own
eye on the hearth of a recess in the tower, which they were allowed to
use as a kitchen. The other meals of the day were arranged under her
mother’s superintendance. From these luxury was absent, Kazim always
preferring viands dressed with the utmost simplicity, followed by a
cup or two of generous wine, which he found conducive to health and
cheerfulness.
Under Nourmahal’s care the two other apartments assigned to their use,
were also speedily altered from their original gloomy appearance. That
next to the principal saloon was the bed-chamber of her parents; the
other was occupied for the same purpose, by herself and her attendants.
The walls and ceilings of these rooms were hung with blue or green
silk, and abundantly furnished with carpets, mattresses, and cushions,
whose soft and soothing aspect invited to repose.
The morning meal over, Nourmahal changed her cotton dress for a
snow-white lawn tunic and trowsers, and seated herself, with her
assistants, to the occupation marked out for the day. They were usually
richly apparelled, unless when menially employed; for, although their
mistress preferred very plain attire for herself, she felt a pleasure
in seeing her companions exhibiting some of the profits of their
labour, in the variety and elegance of their costume--a taste, on
her part, to which they--artless and rather pretty maidens--had no
objection. Mangeli now and then participated in their operations; but
she more frequently sat by her husband, knitting stockings, while he
read for the whole circle passages from the poetry he admired; or tales
from the Persian, which seemed to have peculiar charms for the slaves.
It was delightful to him to give them an indulgence in that respect.
But he always reserved some hours to himself for graver pursuits--the
study of law, the perusal of philosophical works, or the collection of
materials from his memory for a history of his own times. The evenings
were generally devoted to music.
The spectacle of family affection, industry, innocence, cheerfulness,
and religion, presented by these illustrious prisoners and their
domestics, when congregated together during the coolness of the early
summer morning, was one which even a cherub, winging his way through
space charged with a message from heaven to distant worlds, would have
stopped to contemplate. What could Bochari have done against persons
of this description, whose mental resources defied all his powers of
persecution? The fame of Nourmahal’s productions was spread all over
the empire. But the admiration in which they were universally held,
was secondary to the applause and sympathy which she won from every
parent, for the earnest and successful application of her varied
talents to the support of those whom her filial piety rendered so
sacred in her estimation. Bochari well knew that any attempt to follow
up his fabricated charges of high treason against her, would be, in
truth, to bring upon his head a revolution. For any such consequence as
that, he was as yet insufficiently prepared. Nothing was left undone
by which he could hope eventually to accomplish the extirpation of the
house of Ayas. So long as Kazim and Nourmahal existed, he felt them as
obstacles in his way to the throne, at which he now aimed. But time
was still wanted to mature his designs. The experiment tried upon the
mansion of the chancellor, afforded him a warning which he had not yet
forgotten.
The spirit of deep discontent was, he knew from his emissaries,
spreading from day to day amongst the people. The emperor was seldom
seen by them beyond the walls of the seraglio. Indeed he was scarcely
ever heard of, as, although all the acts of authority were still
carried on in his name, it was known that he was very little consulted
with respect even to measures of the first importance. The only person
with whom the Persian seemed to share his absolute power was Auzeem,
from whom, on every occasion on which he sought them, he received
assistance and counsel, to the astonishment and regret of all those
omrahs who were acquainted with that minister’s character. They could
not understand how Auzeem, hitherto looked up to for the experience
of the statesman, the honour of the true nobleman, the fidelity with
which he served the emperor abroad and at home, and even the particular
and zealous regard which he evinced towards Jehangire, could have been
prevailed upon to abandon the interest of his master and friend; of the
man who, in familiarity, called him uncle; and dedicate all his powers
to the consolidation of the tyranny which the usurper had established.
Indeed, Bochari himself sometimes wondered at the readiness with which
Auzeem entered into his views. He never found in that adviser any
disposition to halt at measures of a moderate character, when a crisis,
or even a minor disturbance was apprehended. Auzeem always resolved
in favour of the sternest course. His suggestions were shaped with
a direct tendency to put down all chance of any successful revolt
against Bochari’s authority. His influence over the emperor was every
day becoming greater; but Bochari had no reason to be jealous of it,
because it was manifestly used for the purpose of reconciling Jehangire
to the idea that his life was in perpetual danger from the poniards of
conspirators, and that he could not do better than allow Bochari to
take into his hands the uncontrolled government of the empire.
So entirely did the Persian rely upon Auzeem’s zeal in his favour, that
he latterly seldom thought it necessary to communicate personally with
the emperor. The bickerings, and downright quarrels which occurred
between him and Jehangire, at almost every interview, produced feelings
so opposite to those kindled in the heart of the Persian by the daily
increasing adulation of his numerous parasites, that most of his time
was passed in their company.
Nothing was now talked of amongst these persons but the abdication
of the emperor. They induced Bochari to believe that the apparent
tranquillity which had prevailed for some time, without any remarkable
interruption, was an unequivocal testimony of his success in the plans
he had put into action for reducing the country under his yoke. The
idea was readily taken up by the Orcha chieftains and their dependants,
who had become very impatient, on account of the procrastinating
answers which the Persian was obliged to give to their importunities
for the vice-royalties he had promised them. If the emperor were
dethroned, the authority under which the different subahs of the
provinces had been acting would, of course, altogether cease, and their
successors would experience no difficulty in taking possession of their
offices.
Even in this audacious design, Auzeem appeared to concur. The moment it
was hinted to him by Bochari, he declared himself in favour of it.
“Indeed,” said he, “to be candid with you, this is a measure which I
have already considered in all its bearings. Nor do I apprehend that
the emperor will strongly object to it. He has lately almost wholly
alienated his mind from affairs of state.”
“And has returned, no doubt, to his theological follies, mingling with
them, as usual, his devotions also to the wine-cup?”
“As to that, you are aware of his habits from a very early age.”
“It would be a pity to disturb them. If the reports of the seraglio may
be depended upon, the uncle and the nephew still spend many a night
together, alternately reading the Koran, and shewing their respect for
it, by having their tables laden with flasks of Cabul wine. Ha! ha! ha!”
“Ha! ha! ha! Ah, my friend, I believe, after all, that we have found
the true philosopher’s stone; the real talisman of happiness. To you
we consign all the cares of the empire; while no hour passes us by,
that is not redolent of pleasure. Ha! ha! ha!”
“Keep to that--keep to that, Auzeem. His majesty shall never want
supplies from Cabul. Now as to the abdication.”
“There will be no difficulty in the matter, if you do but arrange it
prudently.”
“What would you advise me to do?”
“You are aware of that foolish passion which Jehangire has long
entertained for Nourmahal.”
“She is a dangerous woman. Her name is in every body’s mouth. It is
chalked upon all the walls in Agra.”
“It must be owned that she is an extraordinary woman. Hurled by
your arm from a palace to a prison, she has contrived to diffuse
her reputation throughout the empire, by the productions of her
industry--productions having nothing in them which you can charge as
treasonable, and yet calculated to produce political consequences of
the most important character.”
“That is precisely my feeling, though I had never been able so clearly
to understand her designs before.”
“Every brocade she sends out is a proclamation against your authority.”
“This must be put a stop to.”
“I agree with you; but the question is, how?”
“Jehangire is still, you say, attached to her?”
“Ardently. I am convinced that he would give his crown for her hand.”
“Depend upon it, she would then put the crown on her own head.
No--Auzeem, this must not be thought of. Cannot your experience
suggest some other course for getting rid of that woman?”
“Let Jehangire marry her, upon condition that he abdicates, and that
both retire to Persia upon an adequate income, secured to them out of
the treasury.”
“Well thought of. You have proved my best friend, Auzeem. When the
sceptre shall be grasped in this hand, look upon Cashmere as yours.”
“That would be a reward far above my merits. It is a sufficient
compensation to me to feel, that I have in any way contributed to the
establishment of the power, which you now so worthily exercise. I shall
go, forthwith, to sound the emperor.”
“If I am deceived in that man,” thought Bochari to himself, as Auzeem
quitted the cabinet in which they had been conversing, “I can never
again put trust in any human being. Jehangire wedded to Nourmahal!
Would they not then be too strong for me? Her name has a sorcery about
it, which seems to have turned the heads of the people of Agra. The
very ballads sung through the market-place are full of her praises.
Conspiracy is at the bottom of this. I have no doubt of it. If she
would go to Persia, however, and be contented to remain there, that
would be some security. And then the diadem of Hindostan would indeed
be mine! Oh! glorious destiny for the son of a portrait-painter, as
the malignant omrahs are pleased to call me! Their day will come yet.
Nourmahal too, and her imperial lover, let them be but once beyond the
confines of the empire; I shall take good care that they never return.”
CHAPTER XIV.
As calm in danger’s hour,
As if from peril far he stood
In some sequestered bower.
ANTAR.
“When shall the long days of this thraldom be over?” asked the emperor,
upon seeing Auzeem at their usual hour of meeting in the evening.
“Patience, my sovereign--patience, but for a little time further, and
you will find that the policy we have adopted was the only one that
could have guided you safely, through the perilous rocks amidst which
the vessel of the state has been so long, and so fearfully struggling.
The Orcha rajaputs are growing fiercer every day in their demands upon
the usurper. Those demands he dare not yet comply with.”
“The monies of the state,--of my people,--are all at the command of
that set of banditti. They have emptied the treasury, which, when it
was under my care, was always overflowing.”
“They are worthy of the master whom they serve. But for the moment,
power is in their hands. You know how we have failed in endeavouring to
bring together the omrahs, who ought to come to rescue the throne from
its present degradation. Their mutual jealousies,--their fears,--their
horror of co-operating with the people whom they despise as slaves, in
any well organised measure for the overthrow of the Persian,--will earn
for them infamy in the annals of Hindostan.”
“Do you consider, then, that all our hopes are at an end in that
quarter?”
“Entirely so. I have exhausted every means within my reach for
gathering their opinions, and dispositions. It was necessary that I
should proceed with the utmost precaution; for if a single false step
were taken, which tended to betray my real intentions, the cause was
lost.”
“Bochari has then no suspicions of your attachment to his interests?”
“I believe none--at least none which he can render tangible. A mind
like his, full of the recollections of guilt, cannot be free from doubt
as to the length to which he can depend upon any person, with whom he
is engaged in the conduct of affairs. But I am necessary to him. It
was my object to make myself so. He has nobody in his confidence who
can draw up a decree, upon the most ordinary matters referred to the
council, and if I were to absent myself from it for a day, I know not
what calamities might follow.”
“My dear Auzeem, you expose yourself to no common dangers in the
difficult part which you have to perform. Upon your head, at this
moment, rest the destinies of my people.”
“You know Auzeem, sire,--you know that his heart and his head are
yours. This is no common tyranny which we have to destroy. These
Orcha rajaputs are restrained by no law, divine or human. They are
ready instruments for the perpetration of any crime which their
remorseless employer may think necessary to his safety. That you, and
the chancellor, and Nourmahal have hitherto been secured from their
poniards, is to be attributed solely to his fear that the time is not
yet arrived, when he might venture upon such quarry with impunity. The
inferior prey of the forest is still sufficient to feed the vultures by
whom he is surrounded.”
“Have none of them yet departed for the provinces?”
“None! He dare not part with them. Upon whom could he depend, if they
were away?”
“Upon the people of Agra! Has he not been lately distributing largesses
privately amongst them, with a view to induce them to proclaim him
emperor?”
“There again he is hampered with difficulties. It became known to the
rajaputs that sums of money were sent, by his order, to several of the
cadis, to be divided amongst the poor of the different districts of
the capital,--the poor, being described by his decree, however, to be
only those capable of bearing arms, and who would bind themselves in
allegiance to him by the great oath.”
“Have the cadis then turned against me?”
“He has put creatures of his own into almost every office connected
with the police, and the administration of the laws. But the
rajaputs, as soon as they heard of this appropriation of the public
money, remonstrated against it, in terms which soon deterred him
from repeating that experiment. Let him but pursue his own course a
little longer, and you will find that he must become their slave. I
ascertained this morning, that the Orcha chieftains have had, within
these ten days, more than one meeting, at which Bochari was not
present.”
“Indeed! that is of importance. What are they about, think you?”
“They have conducted their councils with the utmost secrecy. But from
all I could learn, I conclude that they have resolved to fix a day,
beyond which they will not wait in Agra for the official warrants of
their appointments to the provinces, which they claim for the services
they have already performed.”
“Do they expect me to sign these warrants?”
“They expect that you will abdicate the throne.”
“They shall take my head first. May this right hand be palsied, if ever
it should hold the reed for any such purpose!”
“Sire, there are occasions when sovereigns, situated as you now
unfortunately happen to be, must appear for a season to go with the
stream. It was by taking this course, that we have hitherto steered
amongst the quicksands by which we have been beset. Your determination
is mine. Nevertheless, permit me to hold out to the Persian that the
idea is not altogether impracticable.”
“Upon that, as upon all other matters relating to my interests, I
confide, my dear Auzeem, in your well-tried fidelity and discretion.”
“I have hitherto dissuaded you from opening any communication with
Nourmahal.”
“In that, also, the matter of all others nearest to my heart, I
have yielded to your suggestions. Say, have I not some merit for my
self-denial in that respect, seeing that by her conduct in captivity
she has won the esteem of the whole empire, and, by her tenderness
for her beloved parents, has increased a hundred-fold, if that were
possible, her claims to my affection. Oh, Nourmahal! the light of my
heart--if Heaven would promise thee to be yet mine--there are no
arrows in the quiver of adversity which could reach my soul!”
“Adversity has, indeed, no power over a mind like hers.”
“Is she not a noble being? Was I wrong in giving her my heart, from the
moment I was able to appreciate her charms? Her beauty was matchless;
but it was the lustre shed over it by her brilliant mind that
fascinated me.”
“Her natural place is undoubtedly beside thee, upon the Indian throne.”
“Had she been in that place when I first occupied it myself, this
cruel tyranny would never have dared to lift its head. But it is a
consolation to me that I made no attempt to interfere with Afkun’s
lawful rights, as secured to him by his marriage. No! Allah is my
witness, that I held, as I still, and ever shall hold, it to be my
first duty to adhere rigidly in all things, to the ordinances which I
have received from my ancestors.”
“We must not appear to take any step at present, without the knowledge
of Bochari. He is fully impressed with the idea, that if an ample
income were secured to you, you would have no difficulty in retiring
with Nourmahal to Persia, and giving up all your rights, as well as
those of your descendants, to the throne.”
“He is, then, under a complete illusion.”
“It is, however, an illusion necessary at this moment to your safety.
Suppose you see Nourmahal.”
“Nothing would be more delightful to me. But is that a matter so easy
to be accomplished?”
“We shall see.”
“He would not permit her to quit her prison, even for a day.”
“Nor is it necessary. He is already prepared for your visiting her
secretly.”
“Then let us go at once.”
“Zeinedeen informed me, that the family occupy three chambers, and that
the apartment we first enter is sufficiently gloomy to conceal you
there for a few minutes, while I break the matter to her, as well as
to the chancellor. At present they must labour under impressions, not
advantageous either to your majesty, or me. For instance, the order for
their imprisonment is signed by your hand, as well as by mine.”
“True, I had forgotten that. The chancellor would, no doubt, more than
conjecture that we acted on that occasion, under a coercion which we
had no power to resist.”
“These are things I must clear up to him. But here comes Zeinedeen. I
charged him this morning, to make the best of his way through the most
frequented parts of the city, and to ascertain what is going on there
with reference to the intentions of Bochari.”
Zeinedeen, having made his obeisance to the emperor, stated that agents
were very actively employed in almost every quarter of the metropolis,
in diffusing intelligence that the emperor had abdicated, in
consequence of ill health, and that he was about to proceed to Persia,
under the advice of his physicians, in order that he might benefit from
a change of climate.
“It is well,” said Auzeem. “And the rajaputs--have you heard any thing
of their proceedings, since you were with me this morning?”
“I have seen the merchant.”
“The merchant?” asked Jehangire. “Who is this merchant?”
“One of the unhappiest of men, sire,” answered Zeinedeen. “It is but
a few weeks ago since he sought me at my residence, and prostrating
himself on the ground before me, entreated that I would pray with him
to Allah, for pardon of many enormities which he has perpetrated upon
the instigation of Bochari.”
“He was formerly much engaged,” added Auzeem, “in chemical experiments,
with a view to discover the talismanic compound, which would enable
him to convert all things into gold. He spent all his fortune in that
vain pursuit; but, in the course of his inquiries, he lighted upon many
curious secrets of nature, which were before unknown.”
“He was, unhappily,” resumed Zeinedeen, looking on the ground, “one of
the principal agents of Bochari, in procuring the assassination of the
greatest ornament of this empire.”
“Ah! you mean Abul Fazeel,” observed the emperor, in a voice trembling
with emotion. “I, too, ought to pray with him for pardon--if, indeed,
some words, which in the madness of a moment I once uttered, tended
in any way to encourage that Persian in his hatred to the very name
of that most distinguished man. I never can sufficiently repent me of
those hasty expressions. Often, in the height of prosperity, have
they come back upon the fibres of my heart, forbidding me to entertain
any sense of happiness, while his blood remained unavenged. And
when care was on my brow, and trouble in my soul, these words were
still whispered in my ears, still calling for vengeance. Oh! Fazeel,
if you could now witness the situation to which Hindostan and its
nominal master are reduced, by the hand of the minion whom I was then
fostering--whose counsels I so foolishly preferred to thine--with whom
I took part against thee, whenever opportunity offered, thy noble soul
would pity Jehangire!”
“This man,” resumed Zeinedeen, “being possessed of great ingenuity
in almost every kind of art, in mechanism, in the modes of preparing
different kinds of poison, and of increasing, or altogether
neutralising the power of those matches which are commonly used by
gunners, was sent for one evening by Bochari, who, shewing a large
bag of gold, promised that that treasure should be his reward, if he
would undertake the performance of a task which required the greatest
possible expedition. The unfortunate merchant having inquired what it
was, Bochari said, that Fazeel had set out for the Deccan, attended,
it was true, only by a small escort. It was probable that they would
be attacked on their way by the Orcha rajaputs; but he feared that the
latter might be worsted in the encounter, unless the match-locks of
their antagonists were rendered ineffective. The merchant at once saw
all that was required of him, and undertook to effect it, receiving at
the time half the promised reward. The result I need not state. He it
was who destroyed all the matches of the escort, under the pretence of
affording them the benefit of a new and infallible invention.”
“It is, however,” observed Auzeem, “something in his favour, that he
appears now really overwhelmed by a sense of his crimes, and anxious to
repair them, as far as reparation is possible.”
“At first I doubted,” continued Zeinedeen, “the purpose for which he
came to me. It very naturally occurred to me that he was still in the
employment of Bochari.”
“And so he undoubtedly is,” said Auzeem. “I have indisputable evidence
of that fact; for he has been engaged during these last three days in
a secret chamber of the tower, occupied by Bochari, in concocting a
large quantity of poison, of the most subtle nature, for some purpose
or another.”
“You are correctly informed,” resumed Zeinedeen, “the merchant has
disclosed that circumstance to me, and it was not until he unveiled
his mind in every respect, that I had courage to allow him to visit me
again. His desire now is, that he may be instrumental in saving the
empire from the tyranny by which it is oppressed. He hopes that he may
thus, in some measure, expiate his former guilt. I am to see him again
at midnight, when he proposes to make further revelations.”
The hermit then withdrew.
CHAPTER XV.
Love ye the moon? Behold her face!
And there the lucid planet trace.
If breath of musky fragrance please,
Her balmy odours scent the breeze.
Possessed of every sportive wile,
’Tis bliss, ’tis heaven, to see her smile.
FERDOSI.
Auzeem, accompanied by the emperor, proceeded in the dusk of the
evening, both muffled up in cloaks, towards that quarter of the
seraglio in which the illustrious prisoners were confined. The keys
having been already sent to Auzeem, by order of Bochari, who fondly
hoped that the result would not fail to promote his own designs, the
minister opened the door as gently as possible. He then locked it again
on the inside, and requesting Jehangire to remain in the apartment
used as a sleeping-room by Nourmahal and her attendants, he advanced
to their sitting-chamber, where he found the family engaged in evening
prayer. Amongst the other orisons which they uttered, in an audible and
fervent tone, was one for the rescue of the empire from the thraldom
in which it was now held by the usurper, and for the preservation of
their imperial master, “for still our master he is,” added Kazim, “even
though this intelligence, we have received of his abdication, be true.
No other sovereign lord shall we acknowledge while he lives. May Allah
look down upon him, and protect him from his enemies, even though his
was the hand which authorised our confinement within these walls!”
Auzeem, checked by these sounds, stopped near the door of their saloon,
which happened to be half open. The emperor, on whose ear some of the
words also alighted, could not restrain himself from going forward.
Placing himself behind Auzeem, he contemplated the group within, with
the most lively emotion. A silver lamp, suspended from the roof of
the chamber, diffused over it a brilliant light, which enabled them
clearly to distinguish every object.
As soon as the family rose from prayer they sat in a circle, when
Nourmahal, by Kazim’s desire, read some portions of a book which she
held in her hand, and which purported to be a history of the Syrian
prophet, of whose mission Jehangire and his companion had heard in
Cashmere. It was a narrative of the sufferings of the god, written in
a simple style of language, that touched the heart. It lost none of
its sweetness or power in the accents of Nourmahal. She then took her
mandolin, and preluding, with her accustomed grace upon the instrument,
sung the first notes of a vesper hymn, in which her handmaids joined.
They purposely restrained their voices within a low compass, in order
that they might not be heard beyond the precincts of their prison. But
the melody seemed, on that account, still more enchanting. It reminded
Auzeem of the warbling of the birds at even-tide, during their late
excursion amongst the forests of the Himalas. Jehangire was tremulous
with rapture, on hearing again that voice which exercised so much
power over his soul. It was with the utmost difficulty he restrained
himself from rushing forward, and at all hazards, folding the admirable
musician in his arms.
Auzeem advanced into the saloon, and throwing back his cloak,
apologised for intruding on their privacy, adding that he was charged
with a communication for Kazim, whom he still designated as chancellor,
which would permit of no delay. Although the different members of the
group were more or less startled by the suddenness of his appearance,
they were in some degree prepared for it, as Auzeem had previously
instructed the hermit to give them an intimation of his intentions.
“How is this?” asked Kazim; “you do me the honour to address me as
chancellor, although there is no man in the empire who knows better
than you do, that I have no longer either office or fortune in this
country. The decrees by which I was stripped of both were under your
signature.”
“Of this we will talk at another time,” said Auzeem. “I appear here by
no means in the character of an enemy to the happiness of your family.
On the contrary, I hope very shortly to convince you, that you have
never had a friend more sincerely anxious than I am, to relieve you
from the position in which you have been so long unhappily placed.”
“Undoubtedly, explanation is necessary upon this point. Indeed,
looking to the present condition of the empire, as it is reported to
us from those who have an opportunity of observing it, I can imagine
many circumstances by which your conduct might have been influenced.
Zeinedeen has taught us to rely upon your good faith, although hitherto
appearances have been so violently against you. Your open co-operation,
in almost all the acts of the usurper, would, you must allow, be a
serious obstacle in the way of your obtaining the confidence of any
faithful servant of the emperor--if, indeed, Jehangire still continue
to bear that title. We are informed that his majesty has abdicated.”
While Kazim was yet speaking, Mangeli and Nourmahal, feeling that the
conversation was assuming a tone of importance, withdrew to the lower
part of the saloon, leaving the two statesmen together. Nourmahal and
her attendants resumed their labours at a piece of tapestry, upon which
they had been engaged for some days, representing one of the battles
of Acbar. Her mother took up her tambour, and endeavoured to proceed
with a rose she was embroidering on muslin; but her anxiety to know the
object of Auzeem’s mission, allowed her to make very little progress.
Jehangire, concealed in the obscurity of the outer chamber, observed
the whole scene with a degree of solicitude scarcely inferior to that
of the wife and mother.
“If this report be true,” continued Kazim, “it must, I presume, be the
result of dire necessity; and if affairs have arrived at such a crisis
as this, I fear that those who, whether designedly or not, have been
instrumental to it, have brought upon their heads responsibility of a
most formidable nature.”
“It does seem an essential portion of Bochari’s plans,” replied Auzeem,
“to compel the emperor to abdicate the throne; and I should be glad if
any man would inform me, what means we possess to resist his design,
in case he should persevere in his measures for carrying it into
execution.”
Nourmahal now listened to their discourse with more earnestness even
than Mangeli.
“Can he not find some mode of withdrawing from the seraglio,” asked
Kazim, “and of be-taking himself to Delhi or Lahore, where, I am
convinced, he would be soon surrounded by faithful subjects, more than
sufficiently numerous to destroy the odious faction now leagued against
him?”
“I much fear that any attempt of that kind would be perilous in the
extreme. Failure would be instantly followed by assassination. Bochari
has himself proposed the retirement of Jehangire to Persia.”
“Then it is all over. The fate of the empire is sealed.”
“He further proposes to discontinue your imprisonment, and that of your
family, upon condition that”--
“Do not say any condition which shall separate my fate from that of
my imperial master. I would much rather abide here, than be free upon
terms of that description.”
“Excellent man!” breathed Jehangire; “it is only in adversity that I
can truly estimate all thy worth.”
“The condition proposed is,” resumed Auzeem, “that you and your family
should also withdraw from Hindostan.”
“Dear, dear father,” exclaimed Nourmahal, rising and hastening to
Kazim, whom she tenderly embraced, “do not hesitate one moment in
accepting this offer. We shall go back to the Ilamish,--to the home you
once loved,--where we shall be happy as the day is long.”
“And if you suffer Jehangire to join you,” exclaimed the emperor,
no longer capable of remaining in his place of concealment, “his
happiness, too, will be complete!”
“The emperor! my lord! my master!” said Kazim, first touching the
ground, and then his forehead with his right hand. Nourmahal followed
his example, but kept her eyes fixed on the ground.
“No longer emperor, my friend, if the usurper may be believed. I am
now before you, simply as Selim,--once the ruler of Hindostan, now a
prisoner within the walls of his own palace, and soon, I suppose, to be
even an exile from the land of his birth!”
“God is great,” said Kazim, in his voice of noble resignation. “Empire
is in his hands; he gives and resumes it at his pleasure, and we can
only bend to his decree.”
“Here are, indeed, examples of submission to the will of the most High,
which dignify misfortune. What do I behold? A wretched, gloomy prison
absolutely turned into a splendid residence! I can recognise the hand
that has worked this miracle; it is here,” added Jehangire, taking
Nourmahal’s right hand between both of his. “Whatever be thy future
destiny, Nourmahal, would that these rooms could be for ever preserved
in their present beauty and magnificence, as a record at once of thy
skill and industry, and above all, of thy piety towards the best of
parents! Heaven surely will reward virtues such as you have displayed
during the whole of this long and severe trial, imposed upon you by the
basest of men.”
“If I deserved any reward, Sire, I have already received it, and much
more, in these words of approbation.”
“You have heard, Nourmahal, from Auzeem, of the critical state to
which the empire has been reduced by the oppressor, into whose hands
a combination of most unexpected circumstances appears to have, for
the present, transferred my sceptre. For these two years back I have
been no more than the nominal ruler of Hindostan. I am now required
to abdicate, and to become an outcast from my own dominions. Should
necessity compel me to take that course, say, shall there be a home for
me, too, on the Ilamish?”
“Oh yes! it will be our delight to surround thee; as thy slaves to wait
upon thee, to administer to thy happiness, to beguile thee from the
recollection of thy natural pre-eminence, and to cheer thee, to the
last hour of existence, by every means in our power.”
“Auzeem, I have hitherto resisted the demands of the usurper for
my abdication. Let him be informed forthwith, that I oppose them
no longer. I feel that I shall be much happier on the banks of the
Ilamish, with these dear companions of my solitude, than I ever could
be again upon a throne, which I have hitherto found only a fountain
of every bitterness. From the height to which I was elevated, I saw,
with very few exceptions,--exceptions almost comprehended in the circle
that now hears me,--nothing but selfishness, ingratitude, rapacity, and
meanness, in mankind. I have been shocked by the picture of innate
hypocrisy and worthlessness which they have constantly exhibited before
me. They are not worth any further sacrifices. Be it arranged that I
quit this wretched country.”
Auzeem observed, that it might be prudent not to yield too easily to
the usurper’s exactions, lest he might withhold also the provision of
which he spoke, for the emperor’s future maintenance.
“That shall be no bar,” said Nourmahal. “Yield nothing upon that
ground, for here,” she added, opening a cabinet filled with gold, the
produce of her industry, “here is a supply of wealth sufficient, at
least for the present, to meet every exigency. For the future, while
health and reason shall remain, those who have earned this treasure,
may be able to replenish it--if, indeed, it will be accepted.”
“Dearest--noblest of women,” said Jehangire in a tone of deep emotion,
“how proud I feel in confessing before those who love you, as they love
their own hearts, that you have been long the object of my warmest
affection. Kazim, my best of friends, you will bear witness, that so
long as the laws of the empire interposed obstacles between me and
this idol of my soul, I never even so much as hinted to you the state
of my feelings upon this subject, agonising as they often have been.”
“We are aware, sire, of the generous restraints which you imposed upon
yourself in that respect. And had I but known, at an earlier period,
your predisposition in favour of Nourmahal, much pain might have been
spared on either side.”
“If I have an ambition still to recover my throne, which, I may say, is
lost, it would only be that I might enjoy the satisfaction of sharing
it with this dear one.”
“I thank destiny for giving me the opportunity to shew, that it was
not your imperial station I looked at, when my heart first knew those
emotions which drew me towards you--emotions which I have never
forgotten--never could conquer. My beloved mother knows what I have
suffered--she will tell you all.”
“And I will listen to your disclosures, Mangeli, with feelings which
I shall often intreat you to renew. Oh! how delightful it is to know
that one is loved for one’s self!--that no motive of external splendour
or station alloys the purity of that divine affection which moves two
souls to mutual adoration, the first moment they meet! This is a joy
which I never felt before. I would not give it away for an empire!”
Some pebbles flung up against the lattice attracted the attention of
Auzeem, who happened to be standing near the window. He mentioned the
circumstance to Kazim, who said,
“It must be Zeinedeen. Whenever he cannot obtain entrance into our
prison, he takes this mode of communicating with us. I shall speak to
him. All is safe here, Zeinedeen--have you any message?”
“There is a terrible tumult going on in the city,” answered Zeinedeen,
who was alone in a small boat on the Jumna. “There is a vast crowd
of the populace in the neighbourhood of a house, where they say the
conspirators are assembled, who are to proclaim Bochari emperor at
the break of day. The people are indignant beyond any thing I can
describe. They are endeavouring to pull the house down. Listen! There
are discharges of fire-arms.”
“The people--they are for Jehangire?”
“All for Jehangire--they swear that they will no longer live under the
usurper.”
“My noble, faithful people,” exclaimed Jehangire. “Let us go forth,
Auzeem, and place ourselves at their head.”
“I have been expecting this outbreak, sire,” said Auzeem; “but I fear
it is premature. It would not be prudent to expose yourself at this
moment. Zeinedeen,” he continued, addressing the hermit, “the emperor
is here. Can you inform us where are the rajaputs?”
“They have just gone down from the citadel, to rescue their party from
the perils with which they are threatened. Let me pray you to take care
of the emperor. The night is teeming with rumours of his assassination.
It is given out that he refused to abdicate, and that upon attempting
to escape from the seraglio, he was murdered by his own guards. I must
depart. I perceive a boat coming this way. Be admonished in time.”
“Then this is their real plot. I thought I had tracked the Persian
through all his deceptions; but I see he has over-reached me at last,”
said Auzeem.
“Yours, my lord, has been a most hazardous policy,” remarked Kazim.
“I own it--but the emperor is still safe--that is the principal object,
and I do not yet despair. Bochari is aware that we are here.”
“If he be, then you may expect to see the rajaputs around us
presently,” said Kazim.
“They will have sufficient employment with the people for a while. But
I confess we have not a moment to lose.”
CHAPTER XVI.
They shall not drink wine with a song; the drink
shall be bitter to them that drink it.
THE ROYAL PROPHET.
While the emperor, Auzeem, and Kazim, were still in consultation as to
the course which they ought to pursue, several discharges of fire-arms
were heard from the lower parts of the city, followed by loud shoutings.
“If I rightly recollect, sire,” continued the minister, “there is an
entrance somewhere in this part of the seraglio to the canal, that
was formerly used for supplying the large marble bath, constructed by
Acbar.”
“Let me remember. Yes, there is a door leading to the sluices. The
sluices are hard by--are they not?”
“They are in a small creek--just near the foot of this tower.”
“Then the door--”
“Oh! yes, yes--I know where it is,” said Nourmahal. “I noticed it when
we were arranging the drapery on the wall. It was almost covered with
cobwebs.”
“The bath, I believe, would contain a hundred of us, if we were so
many,” continued Auzeem.
“Five hundred have banqueted there occasionally,” said the emperor,
“when the heats were violent.”
“The door is here,” cried out Nourmahal, pressing with her hand
against a part of the drapery, with which the walls of her own and her
handmaids’ bed-chamber were hung. “Shall we cut through the silk?”
“If we do,” said Auzeem, “it may lead to our immediate detection.
Loosen it at the bottom, and at the extreme ends of the wall, and let
it be lifted up altogether, while I try the door.”
His directions were speedily executed, the emperor and Kazim busily
helping in the operation. The door was easily found, but it was
strongly locked.
“Perhaps the key will be found amongst these,” said Auzeem, producing
an iron chain, to which several keys, amongst them the key of the door
by which he and the emperor entered, were appended.
After trying one or two, he found the third readily admitted into the
lock, but it was so rusty that it was with great difficulty he was
enabled to force back the bolt. The door yielded to his pressure,
and, taking the lamp from Nourmahal’s hand, he looked into the hollow
space below, to which he discovered a descent, by means of stone steps
inserted in the wall.
While Auzeem and the emperor explored the entrance to the canal
sluices, Kazim suggested to Nourmahal the expediency of collecting
their money and precious stones, as quickly as possible.
These were speedily put into small rice-bags, and Auzeem having felt
assured that they might escape through the canal, (from which water had
been long excluded), to the marble bath, suggested that they should
lose no time in flying thither, until the result of the tumult should
be known.
The whole party descended safely into the canal, the drapery was then
permitted to fall down as it was before, and the door having been
locked on the inside, by Auzeem, he preceded them, holding the lamp in
his hand.
They had not advanced many paces, when they heard the trampling of feet
in the corridors above their head, and then a loud knocking. Auzeem
concealed the lamp under his cloak, and prayed his companions, in a low
voice, to remain as they were for a few moments. The knocking still
continued. It was evidently at the outer door of their late prison.
Orders were issued repeatedly to open the door, and threats were
uttered to force it, if these orders were not instantly obeyed. A loud
crash followed soon after, and a crowd of persons were heard rushing
into the apartments.
Kazim could not help feeling strange suspicions passing through his
mind, while this scene was going on. Auzeem had by no means as yet
won his entire confidence. The acts of that minister, during the two
years of the usurpation which had just elapsed, were all in favour
of the success of the Persian. His coolness, at the present arduous
moment,--his knowledge of the subterraneous localities of that part of
the seraglio,--his possession of the keys, which he could only have
procured from the governor by a special order from Bochari,--all tended
to excite his alarm, not only for himself and his family, but for the
emperor.
“It is obvious,” Kazim thought to himself, “that we are all, at this
moment, in the power of any person who has admission to the sluices.
If they were opened, a body of water would be in upon us in a moment
from the Jumna, from which it would be impossible for us to effect
our deliverance. Can it be that we have been brought here by the
instrumentality of this man, in order that, after being sacrificed,
no trace might remain, by which the deed should be brought home to
Bochari?”
Labouring under these apprehensions, to which the circumstances
appeared to give probability, but which, however, he ventured not to
breathe to any of his companions, he asked Auzeem to let him have the
lamp for a moment, to look for some article which he had purposely
dropped.
“Hush, my dear friend,” said Auzeem,--“hush! Hear you not these
voices;--they are the rajaputs,--they are in the prison we have just
quitted. Be cautious, or we shall be betrayed.”
“There is nobody here,” exclaimed several voices at once,--“it must be
all a trick,--this is no prison,--these are apartments equal to the
palace itself.”
“It is a trick,” others repeated. “Bochari never meant us to find
prisoners here. He told us that we should meet not merely with the
chancellor, but also with Auzeem and the emperor.”
“They must be somewhere here,” said a rajaput,--“we shall soon find
them, if we set fire to the drapery.”
“No; no;” said another,--“if we set fire to the drapery, we may burn
down the whole seraglio. Pull down every hanging and curtain, and leave
no nook unexplored.”
“It is all idle,” observed a third. “We have been manifestly dispatched
here on a wrong scent. These rooms are so splendidly furnished, that
it is absurd to suppose they were ever used as a prison. They belong to
some special favourite of the harem.”
The rajaputs remained for some time in the apartments, exploring every
corner, and venting their anger, in the most violent expressions,
against Bochari, who had, as they said, debarred them of their prey.
They forthwith proceeded to plunder the rooms of every thing costly
they could find in them, and to divide the spoil amongst themselves.
This was an operation of no small difficulty, and attended by loud
and passionate contentions, during which the clashing of sabres was
frequently heard by the fugitives below.
Kazim still persevered, until he obtained the lamp from Auzeem, when,
having picked up the article he had dropped, he moved forward a little
way, and, carefully examining the walls of the canal, observed that in
one part some repairs had been made, evidently of a recent character.
Pieces of timber, and chips, freshly cut, were on the floor, and near
them a saw, and an axe, quite bright, as if the workman had only just
left them there. These appearances tended not a little to increase his
suspicions.
“If I recollect right,” said Jehangire, “there is somewhere hereabout a
small bath, which I have sometimes used myself. The walls, I perceive,
have been falling in here. Somebody has been at work propping them up.”
“These timbers seem fresh from the saw,” remarked Kazim. “There is a
recess here, which evidently leads into the small bath you mention,
sire. But I cannot conceive for what purpose these repairs have been
made at this moment. The baths, I presume, have not been recently used?”
“Not to my knowledge,” said Jehangire.
“Give me the lamp; let me cover it,” said Auzeem. “See, there is a
light advancing towards us. Let us withdraw into the recess.”
This fresh occurrence gave new strength to Kazim’s suspicions. He was
determined to watch very closely. Looking out from the recess, he
observed a light advancing rapidly from the further end of the canal,
and behind it a figure that seemed almost a shadow. As the figure
hastened onward, Kazim retired with the whole party into the small
bath, in order to elude observation.
“I think it will now do,” said the person to himself, whoever he was,
that held the light. “Any obstruction falling in this direction might
have been fatal to the whole scheme. These timbers will prevent the
wall here from falling in, at least for the present. For the future,
it is no concern of mine. Let me now go on to the sluices. I fear they
will hardly yield to the spring, unless the wheels be thoroughly oiled;
it is so long since they have been worked.”
“Here,” thought Kazim, “is a revelation of the very design which has
crossed my mind. The man, however, seems unaccompanied. It would not be
difficult for us to master him.”
Pulling the emperor by the cloak, Kazim whispered into his ear, “Have
you no fears, Sire. Is not all this very strange?”
“Hush!” said Jehangire; “he is only going to examine the sluices.
Something, no doubt, is meditated; but let us be prudent.”
The figure passed on to the sluices. Kazim observed him carefully
oiling the wheels, and examining every part of the machinery belonging
to them. They were composed of two iron gates, one of which, being on
a level with the usual height of the river, was capable of being let
down as low as the surface of its bed, to admit the water into the
baths either gradually, or in a volume sufficient to fill them in a
moment, as might be required. The other gate was fitted to be drawn
upward, so as to allow a boat to proceed from the Jumna to the larger
bath, that bath having been, in former days, occasionally used by the
ladies of the harem as a sort of haven, where they landed from their
covered boats, or embarked in them, when they chose to take excursions
on the river. The immediate entrance into the bath was guarded by a
gate of bronze, richly gilt, and cut through in arabesque designs, to
admit the cool air from the river on those occasions, when the bath was
converted into a banqueting hall.
Kazim looked anxiously for the return of the figure which he had
observed. At length it did retrace its steps, and carrying away the saw
and axe, and other tools which had been upon the floor, disappeared.
After remaining in the recess for some time, Auzeem proposed to advance
alone, with a view to discover some place of safety for the party, and
also to communicate, if he could, with Zeinedeen, from whom he now
became extremely anxious to learn the progress of events in the city.
The hermit also, had promised to see the merchant at midnight, and to
obtain from him information as to the purpose for which the poison,
prepared with so much care, was intended. To Kazim, whose suspicions
were far from being as yet lulled, it appeared better that they should
all go forward together, at least as far as the bath. Jehangire was of
the same opinion. He added, that there was a secret staircase near the
bronze gate, which led to the dome, and it struck him that in no place
could they be more assured of safety than within the gallery by which
the dome was surrounded.
The party, therefore, proceeded forward, until they approached near
the bronze gate, through the apertures in which they perceived a light
moving about in the marble bath. Again concealing the lamp beneath his
cloak, Auzeem stepped stealthily to the gate, followed by Kazim, who
recognized the figure he had already seen, standing in the middle of
the bath, and holding up his torch so as to flash its glare around him
as far as he could.
Much to their astonishment, they saw that tables were laid out all
round the chamber, laden with candelabras and gold vases, sherbet,
ices, and confectionery, and every preparation made, necessary for
the entertainment of a large number of guests. A separate table was
placed near the centre, and before it a divan covered with cloth of
gold, evidently intended as a throne for the master of the feast. Upon
this table were seen several small phials. While Auzeem and Kazim were
observing this scene, with the greatest anxiety, a second figure,
wrapped up in a cloak, was observed descending into the bath by the
marble stairs that led into it from the palace. Advancing towards the
person who held the light, the new visitor grasped him by the throat:
snatching the torch out of his hand, he held it up in his face, and
asked in a fierce, broken voice:--
“Why are you here at this hour? I have been in search of you at your
own apartment. I found that cursed Dervish there. What is the meaning
of all this? This saw and axe, what are they for? Tell me instantly,
or your life is not worth this torch.”
The voice in which these words were uttered, and the face unveiled
by his cloak falling on the floor, at once announced the angry
interrogator. It was Bochari.
CHAPTER XVII.
Boast not of to-morrow, for thou knowest not what the
day to come may bring forth.
PROVERBS.
“Your highness,” answered the merchant, “may easily see what has
brought me hither. Look on that table.”
“Ha! the phials. True; I--I had forgotten. Will these be sufficient?”
“There is enough in one to destroy an army.”
“Is it of that powerful compound essence you described to me?”
“It is,” answered the wretched man, trembling the while so much, that
his words were scarcely audible.
“You have not yet distributed any portion of it in the vases?”
“Not yet. I have just come hither for the purpose.”
“Stay awhile. I am not sure yet whether I shall adhere to my original
purpose. These rajaputs, they have served me well in that tumult. They
rescued my own life from peril. But for them the house in which my
friends were assembled, would have been levelled to the ground. But
again, can I depend upon them at the moment I am proclaimed? Have you
heard aught else of that chieftain of theirs, Mohabet, whom you said
they talked of elevating to the throne instead of me?”
“No more than I have already told your highness. What they said amongst
themselves, as I overheard them in their discourse, was, that they did
not see why they should not have an emperor of their own blood.”
“Of course, they reviled the Persian--the upstart--the son of the
portrait-painter,--did they not?”
“They said a great many things, which I dare not repeat to your
highness.”
“Caitiff! tell me all; or, by the Heavens, you die!”
“They did use the words you have mentioned.”
“Villains! they shall soon be with Fazeel. Open the phials.”
The unfortunate slave, already wasted to a mere skeleton, could
scarcely collect from his trembling muscles, sufficient strength to
uncork the phials.
“And yet, if Mohabet could be secured; for, on whom am I to depend, if
these rajaputs fail me? My confederates among the omrahs are, after
all, but few. The slightest turn of fortune against me would sever the
bond between us. True--I have bought over a large party amongst the
people, by giving them largesses, and by promising to divide amongst
them the mines of Golconda. Could I be but secure of their fidelity!
Yes--open the phials. Let me see--it is not a liquid.”
“It is a composition to be spread by this brush at the bottom of the
vases into which the wine is to be poured.”
“Bring hither the vases.”
“By this time,” said Bochari, throwing himself on the divan, while
his demon-like agent was employed in collecting the vases from the
tables--“By this time, the fate of the emperor, and of his two choice
ministers, is sealed. That was a splendid combination--Auzeem--the
wisest of men, as he believed himself to be, whom I so long succeeded
in cajoling; Kazim, whom I dreaded even more than the emperor; and,
above all, Nourmahal, who, if she lived, would have overthrown me
by the mere exhibition of her presence in the palace before the
people,--all cut off by one masterly movement! It was a grand act in
this swelling drama. All collected in one focus, by my management.
Auzeem, my prime agent, and at a moment too, when he, perhaps--for he
is a consummate dissembler--conceived that he was forwarding his own
plans for the restoration of power to Jehangire! It was excellent.
Little did they expect, when this morning’s sun rose, that they should
be sleeping to-night in the bed of the Jumna! Such was the account you
received, also; was it not?”
“Did your highness speak?”
“Why, man, you tremble as if you were looking on an evil genius. What
is the matter?”
“Has your highness seen nothing?”
“What do you mean?”
“Methought I saw shadows moving near you.”
“Ha! ha! ha! The shadows of the emperor, I suppose, and of his faithful
ministers.”
“Alas! if the report be true, they are in a cold and lowly sepulchre.”
“If true, sayest thou? Doubt it not.”
“There they are again; they stare upon me through the portal. Oh,
mercy!--mercy!”
The emperor had been attracted to the bronze gate, where Auzeem and
Kazim could not help remaining to witness the issue of this scene of
treachery and guilt. The light flashing on their countenances as the
merchant passed near them, struck his soul, already steeped in crime,
with terror. They instantly drew back; and, prepared by a simultaneous
impulse, if the gate were opened, to rush at once upon the usurper, and
slay him on the spot. But the merchant’s terror took a different turn.
“No!--of the emperor’s blood, these hands are guiltless. It is
Fazeel--see--see--and his brave companions--the victims of my cursed
act. Oh! kill me a thousand times--but look not at me thus!” exclaimed
the wretch, falling on his knees, and clasping together his withered
hands.
Bochari rose from his couch, looking almost as pale as his companion.
“This is a madness that has come over you! Come--come.”
“That is he--that is he--the real murderer. Not me--he it was who did
it all--I was but a machine in his hands.”
“Another word of this, vile slave! and this knife shall be buried in
your heart.”
“Heart? Oh! you will find neither heart nor blood here. Here is my
naked breast; relieve me of life--I ask nothing more.”
Bochari paused, while he contemplated, with horror, the convulsed
features of his accomplice. The knife fell from his hand on the marble
floor. Affrighted by the sound of his own weapon, he started back. The
torch, still held between the trembling hands of the merchant, glared
upon the countenances of the two murderers. They looked as if they had
already met in those regions upon which Hope is never to dawn!
The emperor and his companions, now fully aware of the dangers which
they had just escaped, looked forward with just alarm to those which
they had still to encounter. Matters had arrived at such a crisis, with
respect to Bochari, that there appeared to be no crime which he was
not ready to perpetrate; no hazard which he was not resolved to court,
in defence of his usurpation. Lavish as he had been in his presents
to the Orcha rajaputs, and faithful as they had hitherto been to his
cause, nevertheless, it seemed that as the hour approached, which was
to put their allegiance to the most important test, he trembled for
their sincerity. He was to be proclaimed emperor of Hindostan, as soon
as the sun should appear above the horizon. But how long should he
retain the throne, which was to depend for its security upon such venal
support? They had already divided amongst themselves the provinces of
the empire. Should they proceed to take possession of them, what was to
become of his crown?
The people! Could he look to them for assistance? He had sent his
emissaries amongst them to canvass for their voices--to purchase
them--and he had received promises of extensive aid. But the great
danger he had to apprehend was that arising from the ambition of
Mohabet, a proud and fierce Orcha chieftain, whom some of his followers
seemed resolved to set up in opposition to the Persian. It would be a
disgrace; they said, to their ancient blood, and to the rank which they
had formerly held in the empire--a rank which they had now a favourable
prospect of recovering--to prostrate themselves before a foreigner of
mean birth, who possessed no title whatever to the throne except his
sword. Without them, that sword would be of little value. Counting upon
the facility with which they had hitherto maintained him in possession
of supreme authority, they began to feel that they were themselves the
real masters of the empire, and that the throne was a prize which it
was in their discretion to bestow upon any person whom they thought fit
to elevate to the imperial mantle.
Bochari was fully aware of the notions which the rajaputs entertained
upon this subject. He felt all the insecurity of his position,
and scarcely knew what measures he could take to improve it. The
destruction of the whole band, by means of the deadly composition which
his unhappy agent had prepared, suggested itself to his mind as an
alternative, in case he should find the populace in his favour. But if
the latter failed him, then he had no resource to fly to except the
rajaputs. Agitated by the doubtful prospects in which he was involved,
he had invited all the Orcha chieftains, and as many of their followers
as the large bath could hold, to a banquet, at which they were to swear
allegiance to him, after his proclamation the following morning. He had
instructed the merchant to diffuse over the interior of the wine-vases
the solution contained in the phials; and yet, at the moment when that
operation was to have been carried into effect, he entered the bath, in
order to prevent it. Again he wavered in his purpose--again resumed it.
The thought occurred more than once to Auzeem, that while the two
demons--for such they might be truly called--were holding their
atrocious council, it would have been a most just retribution, if,
after placing his companions in safety, he should hasten to the
sluices, and suffer the Jumna to avenge the cause of the empire. But
the idea, that the destruction of Bochari at that moment, would only
lead, very probably, to the proclamation of Mohabet, instead of the
Persian, taught him the prudence of delay.
Meantime the morning was rapidly advancing. Bochari, still doubtful as
to the course he should take, beheld his prime instrument before him,
in the last agonies of death. The wretched man had never known what it
was to possess a peaceful mind, since the period when, seduced by a
large reward, he had made the weapons of Fazeel’s escort powerless in
their hands. Before that time, he had given his time and his thoughts
chiefly to chemical experiments, in which he displayed uncommon
perseverance, and a wonderful acquaintance with the secrets of nature.
But, in following up his labours, he reduced himself to the lowest
degree of poverty. To redeem his fortunes, he accepted the infamous
mission confided to him by Bochari; but the price for which he bartered
his soul, was soon exhausted, and then he had nothing to depend upon,
save the precarious bounty of his patron. In return, he was compelled
to refuse no task, however criminal it might be, which that hard master
imposed. Tranquil sleep he never knew again. Horror filled his mind,
and attenuated his frame to such a degree, that he looked the very
picture of the evil one. His residence was a secret chamber in the
tower occupied by the Persian; and there, through the lonely night, he
pursued experiments dictated by his tyrant, with a view to discover the
compounds most capable of extinguishing life in the shortest possible
space of time. He was right in stating, that of the phials which he had
placed on the table in the banquet-room, the quantity contained in one
alone would have been enough to cause the destruction of an army. The
slightest portion of it, lodged in the bottom of a large vase, would be
sufficient to poison all the wine it could contain.
But there was now little time for deliberation--the day dimly dawned
through the dome-lights of the bath. The wretched merchant, overcome
by the terrors with which his soul had been appalled, and reduced to
the last extremity of impotence by misery and disease, gave up his
wearied spirit on the floor. There was no other creature in existence,
to whom Bochari dared to intrust the secret of his infernal design. He
had not the time to accomplish it himself, for the sounds of shoutings
were already echoing through the air. To execute the work partially,
would only expose him to discovery, and to certain revenge. There were
upwards of five hundred vases on the tables. When he beheld their
number, and looked on the breathless thing, upon whose agency he had
depended, a pang of despair shot through his frame, which, like a flash
of the anger-lightning of Heaven, opened before him the dreadful volume
that contained the record of his crimes.
“Oh! those shouts,” he exclaimed, “are they for, or against me?
Methinks, I hear them utter the cursed name of Mohabet. Hush! What is
to be done? This body--how am I to dispose of it? Bochari! do they
say? These phials--if found here, will betray all. Let me hide them
in my girdle. My ataghan!--what has become of it? Aye, here it is. It
may yet serve me to good purpose, when all other weapons fail. I must
wrap this horrid burthen in my cloak,--true, it is not very heavy--and
bear it on my back to his chamber! Courage--they come. Bochari? Yes--it
is--in every voice--Bochari--Bochari! The diadem of India is mine.
The people are with me. The artillery confirms the tale. Oh! glorious
sounds. Roll on--I come. They call for Bochari--the emperor! Now let
the Orchas call me the foreigner--upstart--if they dare!”
Saying these words, he took up his knife, and stowing the phials in his
girdle, and covering the lifeless body with his cloak, he placed it on
his back. He then retraced his way by the marble steps, and disappeared.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Honour to him, who knows no fear,
But seeks the thickest fight;
While thousands fall before the spear
Held by that arm of might.
Antar.
It was with the utmost difficulty that Mangeli, even with all the
assistance she could receive from her affectionate child and consort,
maintained her presence of mind, during the progress of the painful
scene just terminated. All personal anxiety was, however, now no
further thought of. The safety of the emperor was the principal object
of their solicitude, and the events, about to occur, became every
moment of such absorbing interest, that measures of a decided nature
could no longer be postponed.
Jehangire declared his readiness to return at once to his apartments in
the palace, or even to proceed into the market-place of Agra, to shew
himself to his people, and thus to afford the best contradiction to the
rumours that had been circulated of his assassination. Auzeem feared,
that in the present state of things, any step of this kind would be
attended with a degree of hazard which ought not to be incurred. The
reign of the usurper, he said, was clearly drawing to a close. He
felt no doubt that the jealousy of Mohabet would speedily deprive the
Persian of the support of the main body of the rajaputs, and that if
the rival candidates for the throne, which they supposed to be vacant,
were left to settle their disputes amongst themselves, they would both
soon perish.
Under these circumstances, Kazim strongly dwelt upon the expediency of
the emperor’s proceeding, with as much secrecy as possible, to Delhi,
where he would be certainly received with open arms, and be defended
with the utmost fidelity and enthusiasm.
Auzeem inclined to this opinion, which Jehangire cordially adopted. He
would never hesitate, he said, if he had the opportunity, of throwing
himself upon the love of his subjects, in any part of his empire.
Whatever his personal faults and errors may have been--and that they
were numerous he would not deny--he was conscious of no act to which
he had been a willing party in his sovereign capacity, that was not
intended to promote the happiness of those whom Providence had placed
under his authority. Now that he was no longer under the restraint,
which had for more than two years kept him a prisoner in his own
palace, he was prepared to dare any danger, in order to rid the empire
of the oppression by which it was disgraced.
It was then resolved that, at all events, Jehangire, attended by the
chancellor and his family, should proceed, by the Jumna, towards Delhi,
in a covered boat, if one could be immediately procured,--that Auzeem
should remain in Agra, to watch the course of events; and that if those
events should assume, as he confidently expected, a favourable turn,
he should despatch faithful messengers to inform the emperor, and to
recall him to the capital forthwith.
It was still the grey of morning. Auzeem hastened towards the
apartments which had been so opportunely abandoned the night before,
and looked anxiously through the window, hoping that Zeinedeen’s boat
might present itself. He had no doubt that the solicitude of the
hermit, for the safety of the late prisoners, would have induced him to
collect all the intelligence he could as to the events going on in the
city, and to hover about in the river, until he could communicate them
without danger of detection.
Fortunately Auzeem was not disappointed. The hermit’s boat was already
under the window. Auzeem desired him instantly to row on close to the
wall, until he should come to an iron gate, and to wait there. While
Zeinedeen was occupied in executing this direction, the minister
conducted his companions to the gate, and, raising the upper division
of it, by means of the machinery of the sluices, shewed them the
hermit’s boat just outside. Their embarkation was but the work of a
moment: the awning of the little vessel was immediately adjusted;
consisting of a canvass, which, being spread over hoops, completely
screened the passengers from view; and a sail was set, which, catching
a favourable breeze, bore the precious bark gaily against the lethargic
current of the Jumna.
Jehangire felt transported with delight at the sudden change which
had taken place in his circumstances. He was now beside her who had
been so long the object of all his waking and sleeping visions of
felicity. Nothing was wanted to complete his happiness in that respect,
except the legal sanctions of marriage, which he was resolved to have
performed by the cadi of the first village at which they could land,
without incurring any danger of premature discovery. He was in the
bosom of a family he esteemed, not only on account of his Nourmahal, as
he now loved to call her, but because they had been uniformly zealous
in their attachment to him. The chancellor he admired for the noble and
disinterested character which he had displayed on every occasion that
called it into action; and the hermit, whose learning, and virtues, and
splendid intellect had won his regard the first hour he had known him,
gained so rapidly upon his heart, that he was resolved, if possible, to
detain him always near his own person.
The bark was speedily out of sight of the capital, and beyond the
reach even of its sounds. Zeinedeen turned out to be an excellent
pilot. While they proceeded on their way, he stated that at midnight,
according to appointment, he had gone to the apartments of the
merchant, where he waited for two hours. Just as he was coming away, he
met Bochari at the door, who asked him what had brought him there. To
this question he found it difficult to give a direct answer, without
violating the confidence reposed in him by the merchant. He therefore
said that he was there at the request of the latter, who had promised
to explain some experiments of a chemical nature, in which he was
engaged; but as the merchant was not there, he would return another
time. Zeinedeen confessed that he much doubted whether the Persian
would, upon this representation, permit him to depart. However, finding
his movement not opposed, he proceeded down the stairs of the tower,
and returning to his boat, anxiously rowed up and down opposite their
prison window, until he was called by Auzeem.
The emperor related to Zeinedeen all that they had witnessed in the
bath. The hermit was horror-struck. He lamented the fate of the unhappy
man, who had evinced a degree of contrition for his crimes, which
promised much in favour of his future efforts to expiate them as far as
he could, by a total change of life, and supplications to the Merciful
One. Whatever were his notions upon this point, it appeared highly
probable that his object, in making the midnight appointment with
Zeinedeen, was to inform the latter of some project he had contemplated
with reference to the sluices. It was evident that he had prepared them
for some purpose or another, which he dared not reveal to Bochari, and
of which the latter entertained not the most remote suspicion.
The voyagers met scarcely any boats, except those of poor fishermen.
One of these they employed to procure them a store of provisions at a
farm-house, near which they passed. The provender thus obtained was
not very sumptuous, consisting chiefly of hard boiled eggs, some cold
fowls, a few cakes of unleavened bread, a basket of grapes, and a jar
of spring-water. The fresh air of the Jumna, however, gave the party a
relish for any thing they could obtain. Jehangire separated the limbs
of one of the bipeds with considerable tact, and distributed it with
his own hand. Kazim undertook the division of the bread; and Nourmahal,
spreading some vine-leaves on her lap, arranged there the bunches of
grapes, which she dispensed with a smiling hospitality, that dispelled
the gloom of the night from every body’s countenance.
Her exertions, in this respect, were readily assisted by Zeinedeen,
who, as the bark rode steadily along over the rippling waters, related
various anecdotes of his life, interweaving with them admirably drawn
portraits of distinguished persons, whom he had known during his
intercourse with the world. From these he deviated into those tales
with which our Asiatic world abounds, much to the delight of Jehangire,
who owned that the cares of state had not yet been able to erase from
his mind the recollection of the raptures with which, when a boy, he
pored over the wondrous narratives of “The Enchanted Horse,” “The Forty
Thieves,” “Aladdin,” and “The Merchant of Bagdad.”
“The human mind,” observed the hermit, “is truly a most astonishing
creation. The more we examine it, the less we can comprehend it.
We listen, as the child, the youth, the matured man, nay, as the
patriarch, with intense earnestness to the story-teller, while he
is weaving his web of fiction. We know that his production has no
truth in it, and yet, I doubt if truth, in its most attractive forms,
can exercise over us the charming influence which those productions
possess.”
“I confess,” said Kazim, “that I must plead guilty to the same frailty,
if such it may be called. Many histories--many books and systems
of philosophy, which I have studied with all the diligence I could
command, have totally vanished from my memory. But I can even now
repeat, word for word, the adventures of the three princes, Houssain,
Ali, and Ahmed, during their struggle for the hand of Nourounihar.”
“I remember it well,” said Jehangire, “and that piece of tapestry he
purchased at Bisnagar, by sitting on which, he was enabled to transport
himself wherever he wished.”
Thus conversing, they arrived at length within view of a considerable
village, where the emperor knew there must be a cadi. He immediately
requested Zeinedeen to land, to proceed to the cadi’s house, and to
make arrangements for the solemnization of the ceremony, which was now
the first object of all his thoughts. Zeinedeen joyfully performed the
mission with which he was charged. The whole party debarked in the dusk
of the evening, and under the names of Selim and Mher-Ul-Nissa, were
united the two, whose hearts had long been intertwined by the most
ardent affection. The cadi, a venerable old man, who had never stirred
beyond the precincts of his village, little dreamed, when he was
setting down those names in his register, that he recorded the marriage
of the emperor and Nourmahal. The simple forms of the law having been
thus complied with, the party returned to their boat, and resumed their
voyage towards Delhi.
Meanwhile, Auzeem, upon whose fidelity, prudence, and courage, the
fate of the empire now devolved, having carefully restored the upper
division of the sluices to its usual position, returned through the
subterraneous passage, near enough to the bronze portal, to be enabled
to observe every thing that might take place within the bath; or
rather, as it should now be called, the banquet-chamber. Soon after
Bochari had taken his departure, crowds of male and female slaves
entered the chamber and proceeded to heap the tables with cold viands,
filling the vases with rich Cabul wine, and making all the necessary
preparations for the inauguration feast, which was to be commenced at
sun-set.
Bochari had succeeded in reaching his own apartments, without meeting
any obstacle. Thence he conveyed his horrid burthen to the secret
chamber previously occupied by the merchant. Having carefully secured
the door, he again listened, as the sun rose, to the sounds that were
rapidly approaching the citadel, until he convinced himself that he
heard his own name vociferated again and again. He felt, therefore,
no further hesitation in proceeding to the palace. There he met about
two hundred of the rajaputs, who, upon his appearance, hailed him as
emperor of Hindostan.
He accepted their congratulations in a confused and awkward manner;
and when the imperial mantle, which two of the chieftains held in
their hands, was placed upon his shoulders, he trembled violently,
as if he had been seized by some fatal pestilence. He, however, soon
shook off the uneasy sensation, and entering the hall, in which the
emperor usually gave audience to the people, he ascended the throne.
The great state drum was then struck as a signal to the artillery on
the ramparts; and the gates of the citadel were thrown open, when
some hundreds of the lowest dregs of the populace appeared in the
great square, shouting “Long live Bochari, emperor of India!” Many of
them appeared intoxicated with wine. Some were evidently malefactors,
who had been permitted to escape from the prisons, upon condition of
aiding in the cry of the minions, who had been hired to proclaim the
new sovereign. The homage of such a motley crew had nothing in it of
a character to redeem their want of numbers. The exhibition of their
scantiness in that respect, as well as of the miserable apparel in
which they were brought to perform their assigned task, struck upon the
Persian’s heart as a fatal omen.
He had been taught by his agents to expect that many of the opulent
merchants of Agra had espoused his cause, under the hope that he would
elevate them to the rank of omrahs. He was further led to believe
that the artizans, and a large number of the people, above the class
of mendicants, would join in hailing his accession to the throne. But
when he looked at the villanous bands before him, waving their ragged
turbans and girdles, or tossing up in the air their greasy caps, he
could not conceal from himself that his power was much more secure
when he wielded it in the name of Jehangire, than it could be with the
sceptre in his own hands.
Bochari speedily discovered, also, that the attendance of the rajaputs
was by no means numerous. There were nearly a thousand of that body
altogether in his pay, and yet not above two or three hundred, at the
utmost, were present to greet his accession to the crown. Mohabet was
absent, together with all the rajaputs who were suspected of adhesion
to that chieftain’s cause.
These circumstances wore a sinister aspect. Nevertheless, all the
fire of his ambition glowed within him, when he beheld the diadem,
glistening in its glorious pride of jewellery, placed before him upon
a cushion, and beside it the massive golden sceptre, set with emeralds
and rubies. Rising, he gave the signal for the great state-drum to be
again struck, and the silver trumpets to be sounded. He then planted
the crown upon his head--beneath the weight of which, however, he
felt as if he were sinking into the earth. The sceptre, also, he
grasped, but with a tremulous hand. The rajaputs, and the groups in the
square, again hailed him with the title of emperor; and the ceremony
being concluded, the miserable pageantry of the usurper’s first court
speedily passed away.
The intelligence of his accession, together with the rumours spread, in
every quarter, of the emperor’s abdication and death, diffused a deep
gloom over the capital. Mohabet and his friends kept in close council
the whole of the day. They learned from their emissaries, from time to
time, a variety of circumstances, which enabled them to conclude, that
nothing would be less difficult of execution at that moment than the
complete overthrow of Bochari. They saw, that without their aid, he was
utterly powerless, and they therefore resolved, that unless he agreed
to assign to their party the principal offices of state, and the best
subahships in the empire, they should no longer acknowledge him as the
sovereign.
The question, whether, after dethroning him, Mohabet should be set up
in his place, was attended, however, with greater difficulties than
they had at first foreseen. It was soldiers of their party who had been
despatched to Kazim’s prison, charged with the sanguinary commission
they had declared. But their promised victims had either escaped, or
must have been immolated by other hands. They could gain no clear or
decisive information upon this point. They sometimes suspected that
Bochari had concealed the emperor in some secret chamber of the palace,
for the purpose of using his popularity against Mohabet, in case the
latter should gain the ascendancy; but, at all events, they determined
on attending the inauguration banquet, to which they had been invited,
well armed. Before swearing the great oath of allegiance, they would
interrogate the Persian; and if they were satisfied as to the death or
abdication of the emperor, they would then compel him to concede the
terms they had already talked of, or transfer the throne to Mohabet.
The latter, accompanied by about three hundred of his partizans,
proceeded in a body to the palace an hour before sunset, and, entering
the banquet-chamber, took their places at the tables. Bochari was duly
informed of their arrival, which he heard of with a lively sense of
pleasure. He looked upon it as a token of their adhesion to his cause,
which, from their absence during the morning, and the whole of the day,
he feared they had determined not to support any longer. Accompanied by
the two hundred rajaputs, who had remained faithful to him, decked out
in the most brilliant attire with which the imperial wardrobes could
furnish, he proceeded at the appointed hour to the place of meeting.
The silver trumpets, stationed on the fifty steps that led down to the
chamber, announced the approach of the new sovereign, who, as he moved
forward, surrounded by his guards, wearing the crown of Hindostan upon
his head, and bearing its sceptre in his hand, assumed for the moment
an appearance of real dignity, which, one would hardly have supposed,
the Persian could exhibit.
CHAPTER XIX.
“In the morning, when the raven of night had flown
away, the bird of dawn began to sing; the nightingales
warbled their enchanting notes, and rent the thin veils
of the rose-bud and the rose; the jasmine stood bathed
in dew, and the violet also sprinkled his fragrant locks.
At this time Zelika was sunk in pleasing slumber; her
heart was turned towards the altar of her sacred vision.
It was not sleep; it was rather a confused idea; it
was a kind of frenzy caused by her nightly melancholy.
Her damsels touched her feet with their faces; her
maidens approached and kissed her hand. Then she removed
the veil from her cheek, like a tulip besprinkled
with dew; she opened her eyes, yet dim with sleep.
From the border of her mantle the sun and moon arose;
she raised her head from the couch, and looked around
on every side.”
JAMI.
Having taken his seat upon the divan, in the centre of the room, a
herald, superbly attired, then appeared beside him, and read out
the record of his accession to the throne, while the whole assembly
were standing. The herald having concluded with the words--“And,
therefore, Long live Bochari--Conqueror of the World--and the Padishah
of Hindostan,” the cry was loudly repeated on all sides, with so much
apparent enthusiasm and unanimity, that his spirit catching new fire
from the homage he had received, prompted him to rise, and to express,
in an improvised address, his sense of the proud honour they had
conferred upon him. He then desired the banquet to proceed, the herald,
in the mean time, making preparations for administering the great oath.
The rajaputs, seated all round the chamber, on divans placed close by
the wall, the tables piled with gold and silver dishes, containing
the most sumptuous fare--the usurper enthroned in the centre, before
a golden table, also copiously supplied--the crowds of pages and
footmen, in splendid liveries, waiting on the guests--the trumpeters
on the fifty steps--the groups of black slaves employed in bringing
to the banquet the numerous dishes prepared for the occasion--the
candelabras, which shed their abundant and brilliant lustre over the
whole scene--myriads of censers, fuming with fragrance, amid the sounds
of martial music, interrupted now and then by the firing of artillery,
exhibited, upon the whole, a spectacle of human grandeur, worthy of a
better cause.
The wine-vases were rapidly emptied, and as rapidly replenished, in
every quarter,--the imperial cellars having been thrown open on the
occasion. The festival appeared to be passing off with every symptom
of harmony and joy. Conversation was loud, eloquent, undisguised, at
every table. No whisperings were observed; no dark looks shed upon
the scene any shade of that sinister aspect, which had given to the
morning so desponding a character. Bochari looked upon his possession
of the throne as secured beyond all danger, and was already preparing
in his mind measures for suppressing any revolt that might break out in
the city, when his eye, which from the dreadful recollections of the
previous night, had been more than once fixed upon the bronze portal,
suddenly caught a shadowy figure moving inside it.
The horrors that had overwhelmed the mind of the merchant seemed to
have been at once, as if by contagion, transferred to his own. His
gaze was fixed. His countenance, hitherto flushed with wine and the
excitement of the occasion, became deadly pale. In that shadowy
form he beheld Fazeel, as he thought, beckoning all his slaughtered
companions to assemble and witness the enthronement of their murderer.
“Wine, wine!” exclaimed the usurper, in a voice scarcely audible, while
he still looked with glaring eyes upon the portal. The herald suggested
to him that the time had arrived for taking the great oath.
“Wine!” repeated the Persian, his tongue cleaving to the roof of
his mouth;--“wine, I say. I am sick, sick at heart.” The words were
followed by a deep moan, which startled the whole assembly. Some of
the rajaputs already noticed the extraordinary attitude in which the
usurper had placed himself, half risen from his seat, his hand waving
as if in compliance with the call of some person through the portal,
his lips quivering, his limbs trembling beneath him.
“But why me alone? I was not there. I touched thee not,” he exclaimed.
“What means all this?” asked Mohabet, as, quitting his seat and
crossing the table, he hastened to Bochari. “What is all this? Has the
crown already turned your head?”
“The crown! Ha! ha! ha! Take it,--see if it will deliver you from that
dreadful spectacle. Here--the leader of these rajaputs--here is your
real immolator.”
“The Persian is mad,” said Mohabet; “hear ye what he says?”
“Aye, hear ye what I say? Answer to those bleeding warriors,--answer to
Fazeel; were ye not his murderers?”
The rajaputs, by an instantaneous impulse, all drew their scymitars.
The herald and all the attendants fled up the steps of the chamber,
looking backward affrighted, not knowing what was about to occur.
“Are you the man to upbraid us,” cried out several voices; “you who, if
you were not the disguised astrologer that told us of the prey, at all
events employed that merchant who ensured it.”
“It is false.”
“He raves. Give him water. This is not like a sovereign. For shame!
Shake off this weakness. We wait to take the great oath,” said one of
the chieftains, who was attached to Bochari’s cause.
“He begins his reign by insulting us all,” said Mohabet.
“He knows not what he says,” resumed the usurper’s partizan. “Back to
your seats. It is but a cloud passing over his mind.”
“I go--hush!--look at their hands, red with your blood. None of it is
here,” added Bochari, holding out both his hands; “they are white as
the lotus.”
“We will not suffer this language. What! call us murderers? as if upon
us only rested the blood which he procured to be shed for his own
purposes.”
“Down with the Persian!”
“Down with the traitors!” cried out the two parties, as, separating,
they rushed upon each other.
But before victory could declare on either side,--a victory that,
giving preponderance at that moment to one faction or the other, might
have been followed by many years of calamity to Hindostan, a hand
unseen was unerringly preparing the penalty due to both. Auzeem was
without the portal, anxiously expecting the very scene of contention
which had now arisen, though he presumed it would have proceeded from a
different cause. Fearful of involving the innocent with the guilty, he
waited until the herald and the attendants had hastened up the steps
in dismay. Then flying to the sluices, he struck the spring that held
the lower gate in its place, and at the moment that the scymitars of
the double oppressors of his country were lifted against each other,
the sudden inundation from the Jumna, like an angry god, quelled the
battle.
No groan was heard. The weight of the waters above the heads of the
banditti was so tremendous, that nothing rose to the surface. The
attendants, who had reached the upper steps, looked in silent horror
upon the dark gulf below.
“Now,” thought Auzeem, as he returned to the palace to find out some
faithful messengers whom he might despatch to the emperor; “now Kazim
will do me justice. I ought not to wonder at his suspicions. Mine was,
indeed, as he well designated it, an adventurous policy. To be seen
co-operating openly, and even zealously, with the late usurper during
a period of more than two years; countersigning his decrees; attending
his councils; suggesting and advising measures of state policy, and
assisting him even through the mazes of intrigue in which he was
frequently involved; and in all things acting (he believed) as if I had
utterly abandoned the emperor, whom I represented to be incapacitated
for his functions, I did, no doubt, incur an awful responsibility.
“But I saw my course clearly from the moment the emperor was made
prisoner in his own tent in Cashmere. I saw we were completely in the
hands of the most ambitious, and the most remorseless of men. His next
step I knew would be the assumption of the crown. Nothing could be
gained--on the contrary--every thing would be hazarded by any premature
resistance.
“The moment, long desired, however, has come at last. Success--more
complete than I ever dared to hope, has crowned my proceedings. So
perish all traitors to the honoured crown of the master, whom it will
be the glory of my life to have thus rescued from the base tyranny of
that Persian!”
Before the morning dawned, all the imperial galleys were assembled
by the orders of Auzeem, and fully manned by crews attached to them,
the men dressed in their state apparel, and the imperial standards
flying. Intelligence of the awful event, which had put so decisive,
and so unexpected an end to the usurpation, was diffused with the
speed of lightning through the capital. The gloom, with which it had
been overspread the day before, was dispersed, as if by an enchanter’s
command. Every face beamed with rapturous joy. Families were seen in
the streets and market-places, embracing each other, and pouring out
tears of gladness. It was every where proclaimed that their beloved
emperor was safe, and that he might be expected in Agra the following
morning. The people seemed frantic with joy, for they venerated the
house of Acbar, and loved their lawful sovereign with an enthusiasm,
rendered still more intense by their hatred of the alien who had
usurped his sceptre.
Couriers, on fleet Arabians, were directed by Auzeem to proceed
along both banks of the Jumna, with despatches for the emperor,
announcing, in a few words, what had taken place. The minister
described Zeinedeen’s boat so minutely, that they could hardly fail
to discover it. The state galleys, drawn against the current, by
trains of swift-paced elephants, and filled with those of the omrahs
and household officers, who had never wavered in their allegiance,
followed the couriers. The first messenger, who had the good fortune
to perceive the hermit’s boat just as the sun was setting, dashed
into the river on horseback, directing the animal’s head towards the
little bark, which was quietly gliding on in its course. He held up the
despatch in his right hand, waving it in triumph over his head, and
shouting--“Long live the emperor!”
The glorious tidings first caught the ear of Nourmahal, whose heart
swelled with measureless delight, when, kissing her imperial consort,
she repeated the salutation--“Long live the emperor--my own beloved--my
husband--long and triumphantly may he reign in the hearts of his people
as he reigns in mine!” Jehangire, pressing her in his arms, returned
the kiss tenfold.
The messenger flung the despatch into the boat as soon as he could get
near enough for that purpose. It was caught by Kazim, who handed it to
the emperor.
“Admirable Auzeem! Read it, my lord chancellor, and suspect no more the
‘Preserver of the empire,’ as he shall henceforth be titled. Mangeli!
behold the empress of Hindostan!”
The parents and the daughter were already locked in each other’s
arms. Their many griefs were now all merged in a flood of transport.
Zeinedeen, raising his eyes to Heaven, gave, from the bottom of his
soul, thanks to Heaven that he had been permitted to witness this
day of happiness for his country; and of just exultation for those
dear friends--his children he might call them--whose virtues had
been severely tried by prosperity, as well as by adversity. Without
waiting for a carpet to be spread, the emperor followed his example,
and the whole party, prostrating themselves, expressed, in silent
fervent prayer, their gratitude to the Omnipotent, for the transcendant
blessings He was then pleased to confer upon them.
The banks of the river were speedily crowded by couriers, who arrived
one after another, but whose despatches were now superfluous. They
were followed by two hundred state galleys, one of which, looked
upon the waters, as the sun cast his parting rays upon them, a mass
of burnished gold. Approaching Zeinedeen’s boat, they formed in a
circle around it, and while the men, rising from their benches, and,
lifting their oars straight in the air, hailed their sovereign with
enthusiastic cheers, and the bands on board joined in the beautiful
national anthem, composed by Oustad Nâë, Jehangire ascended, by a
ladder of golden cords, to the deck of his own galley, on which the
imperial flag was immediately hoisted.
Kazim and Zeinedeen assisted Nourmahal and Mangeli to the deck, where
they were received, and successively embraced by the emperor, who,
directing the cheers and music to cease for a moment, and, holding
Nourmahal by the right hand, proclaimed her the empress of Hindostan.
The intelligence was received with cheers, again and again repeated;
for her virtues, her accomplishments, and her beauty--beauty heightened
by the simplicity of her prison dress, which she still wore,--had
gained her the love of every man, who had a heart to recognize the
charms of filial affection, combined with an exalted passion, which
knew not how to descend from its throne.
The couriers, returning to the capital, diffused the tidings of the
spectacle they had just witnessed, along the whole line of the Jumna.
The train of barges, forming in the rear of the imperial galley,
proceeded down the river, the oars moving to the sounds of martial
airs. The banks were every where crowded with people, who hastened
thither from the neighbouring towns and villages, holding in their
hands torches of pinewood, which gave to the darkening night almost
the splendor of day. Myriads of small fishing boats were launched on
the river, occupying it almost from bank to bank, at a short distance
behind the courtly procession.
As the day approached, boats of every description were seen coming from
the capital, filled with gaily dressed parties, anxious to pay their
homage to the emperor and empress, who appeared on the deck of their
galley, and received the congratulations of the joyous people in the
most endearing manner. The beauty of Nourmahal was the theme of every
tongue, and never did that noble being look more captivating than when
thus beside him, whom she loved so well, fanned by the fresh zephyrs of
the summer morning, and arrayed in a plain muslin robe and turban, the
work of her own fingers, she stood under the flag of Hindostan.
As soon as the crowds moving down the river were observable from the
tower of the citadel, the signal was given to the artillery. The guns
summoned from the city and its extensive suburbs, all their vast
population. The gates of the citadel were flung wide open; the great
square was in a moment filled with the exulting multitude, whose
incessant shouts, amidst the thunders of the ramparts and the music of
a hundred bands, proclaimed the universal gladness that prevailed.
Upon arriving at the steps which led from the Jumna to the palace,
the emperor beheld Auzeem waiting to receive him. Jehangire summoned
him on board, and without permitting him to kneel, warmly embraced
him, and immediately invested him with the title of “Preserver of the
Empire.” In paying his homage to Nourmahal, Auzeem expressed to her the
sincerity of his joy, that she was now in the station to which it had
long been his hope that he would be instrumental in raising her. Kazim
and Mangeli poured out their gratitude to him for his services to
their family and their country; the chancellor, by the pressure of his
hand upon his heart, rather than by any words, telling him how truly
penitent he felt for having, even during a single hour, entertained the
slightest suspicions of the minister’s unabated zeal for the welfare of
Jehangire.
The debarkation of the emperor and his consort took place under fresh
salutes of artillery from all parts of the capital. Upon surmounting
the steps, which were spread with cloth of gold, they beheld the whole
line before them strewed with flowers; on each side were ranged the
daughters of the faithful omrahs, arrayed in white robes, their heads
crowned with chaplets. Behind these beauteous maidens stood their
fathers, many of them of venerable age, weeping with joy for having
witnessed the restoration of their lawful sovereign, of whose cause
they had almost despaired.
Jehangire and Nourmahal walked, hand-in-hand, along this fragrant path,
to the palace, where officers were in attendance with the imperial
vestments. Immediately proceeding to the Am-kas, the emperor and his
consort ascended the throne, the former wearing his crown. He was
followed by pages bearing upon a cushion another diadem, which he
placed on the brow of Nourmahal, amidst repeated bursts of acclamation
from the vast assembly below. They spent a great part of the day in
receiving the petitions of the people--petitions, unhappily filled with
the most afflicting narratives of the wrongs sustained by every class
of the community during the usurpation.
It is needless to add, that the chancellor was speedily restored to
the eminent station which he had so long dignified by his virtues,
and adorned by his talents. His re-appearance in the supreme court of
justice was hailed with a degree of enthusiasm, scarcely secondary to
that with which the restoration of the lawful sovereign was rendered so
memorable in the annals of the capital.
Zeinedeen contemplated all these unlooked-for changes with a sanguine
delight, which he would not, for the present at least, suffer to be
clouded in his mind by presages of those changes to which all human
happiness is liable. He made no effort to explore the future history of
Hindostan, contented that he saw, in the ascendancy which Nourmahal
appeared already to exercise over the mind of the emperor, a powerful
corrective of any defects which might have weakened his authority,
and prepared fresh troubles for his reign. It was too much to hope,
that the remaining years of that reign should be altogether free from
vicissitude; but from the united talents and power of the empress and
her father, he expected, with little fear of disappointment, that their
influence would ensure to Hindostan many years of felicity.
For himself, Zeinedeen had now no further desire, except to return
to Cashmere, and to devote the evening of his life to the religious
and philosophical contemplations, that would best prepare him for
the brighter worlds, to which he looked forward with so much ardour.
Jehangire, however, would not hear of any plan, which would remove the
good hermit from the neighbourhood of Agra. It was arranged, therefore,
that a monastery should be constructed within a short distance of the
capital, upon the banks of the Jumna, which Aquaviva and his companions
should be invited to occupy; that in their sacred society, Zeinedeen
should spend his remaining years; and that thither Jehangire,
Nourmahal, Kazim, and Mangeli, should often repair, to talk over the
events by which they had been bound together in links of sympathy,
never to be solved at this side of the grave, and to renew their
thanksgivings to the Omnipotent, in those beautiful forms of prayer
furnished so abundantly by the ritual of the missionaries.
THE END.
NOTES TO VOLUME I.
_Page 1._
The great chain of the Himalas divides Northern from Southern Asia.
Parallel to this chain, on the northern side, runs another considerable
range, called the Ice Mountains. These two ranges are connected by
a third, which commencing near Hindu-Kush, in the Himalas, proceeds
northward, and revives again beyond the Ice Mountains. This third
range, after it passes the Ice Mountains, goes under the name of the
Hills of Arjun.
_Page 23._
The _Indian_ pink indicates the country of its birth. We have
scarcely a flower, or a fruit, in Europe, which does not flourish in
Asia, as in its native place.
_Page 145._
This account of the birth of the infant, afterwards called Nourmahal,
is almost strictly historical.
_Page 149._
Our travellers in the East have made the phenomena of the “Mirage of
the Desert,” familiar to every body. Mr. George Robinson, whose tour
in Palestine and Syria (recently published by Mr. Colburn), written in
a most unpretending style, gives the best account I have ever read of
those highly interesting countries, thus speaks of a _moonlight_
mirage, which he observed on his way from Damascus to Aleppo:--“Soon
after quitting the khan (it was still moonlight), I inquired of my
guide the name of some water, which I fancied I saw in the plain of the
East. The inquiry produced a laugh amongst my hearers. They told me
that what I took to be water, was nothing more than the bed of a salt
lake, the water of which, evaporating in summer, leaves an incrustation
of salt on the earth. It was either this, or a mirage of the moon,
which produced the delusion on the sight. On my arrival at Aleppo, I
mentioned the circumstance to a gentleman who had frequently performed
the journey from thence to Bagdad, and had, therefore, more than once
observed the latter phenomenon in the desert. On one occasion, he had
actually alighted from his camel, to fill his cup with the water he
thought he saw before him, ere he discovered his error.”--_Travels in
Palestine and Syria, by George Robinson, Esq._, vol. ii. p. 236.
NOTES TO VOLUME II.
_Page 9._
Jehangire has left behind a very curious auto-biographical fragment,
which has been translated by Major David Price, and published by the
Oriental Translation Committee--a body of distinguished persons, to
whom the country is much indebted for many publications of great
interest and value. In these “Memoirs” the emperor thus speaks of
Indragui:--
“Among my brother’s elephants devolved to me on the occasion was one
of which I could not but express the greatest admiration, and to
which I gave the name of Indraguj (_the elephant of India_). It
was of a size I never before beheld: such as to get upon its back
required a ladder of fourteen steps. It was of a disposition so gentle
and tractable, that under its most furious excitements, if an infant
unwarily threw itself in its way, it would lay hold of it with its
trunk, and place it out of danger with the utmost care and tenderness.
The animal was, at the same time, of such unparalleled speed and
activity, that the fleetest horse was not able to keep up with it; and
such was its courage, that it would attack, with perfect readiness, an
hundred of the fiercest of its kind. Such, in other respects, although
it may appear in some degree tedious to dwell upon the subject, were
indeed the qualities of this noble and intelligent quadruped, that I
assigned a band of music to attend upon it, and it was always preceded
by a company of forty spearmen.”--_Memoirs, &c._, p. 62.
_Page 39._
Bernier, in his amusing account of the Mogul Empire, mentions the
fountain of Send Brare. In the month of May, he says, when the melting
of the snows on the mountains of Cashmere has taken place, the fountain
flows and ebbs three times a-day--at the dawn, at noon, and at night.
After the lapse of fifteen days the fountain becomes dry, and so
remains until the same month in the following year. During the period
of its ebbing and flowing, pilgrims, he says, flocked from all parts to
purify themselves in the sacred spring, and to perform their devotions
in the temple that stood near it. The general belief in the efficacy
of the fountain to distribute the flowery messengers cast into it, is
stated by Abul Fazeel in his account of Cashmere. See the _Ayeen
Akberry_, vol. ii. p. 127. London. 1800.
_Page 41._
Bernier states, that on the summit of Pees-Punchal (from which a view
of Cashmere is first obtained by travellers from India) there lived
in the time of Jehangire a hermit, who was reputed to be a great
worker of miracles. He was said to have the power of raising all sorts
of storms. His white uncombed beard, extremely long and bushy, gave
him a remarkably savage aspect. He imposed a species of toll on all
persons passing the top of the mountain. He forbade them to make the
least noise during their progress, threatening them with tempest if
they dared to violate his mandate. Jehangire, according to Bernier,
when passing the mountain, in defiance of the hermit’s injunction,
ordered the kettle-drums to beat, and the trumpets to be sounded, the
consequence of which was, a furious tempest that menaced destruction
to his whole army. The phenomenon is, in fact, consistent with the
meteorological history of the Alps, where the concussions caused in the
atmosphere, by the discharge even of a pistol, are known to have been
attended with considerable danger.
_Page 62._
The fate of Sodom and Gomorrah was not limited to those two cities. It
is very well known, that in several parts of the east, towns have been
inhumed, either by the agency of the tempest or the earthquake. It is
not improbable that excavations, rightly directed in that region, would
bring to light more than one Herculaneum.
_Page 83._
In the memoirs of Jehangire, already alluded to, the operations of
the Bauzigurs are related at considerable length. The imperial author
prefaces his account of them in these words:--
“At the period of which I am about to speak there were to be found,
in the province of Bengal, performers in slight-of-hand, or jugglers,
of such unrivalled skill in their art, that I have thought a few
instances of their extraordinary dexterity not unworthy of a place
in these memorials. On one occasion, in particular, there came to
my court seven of these men, who confidently boasted that they were
capable of producing effects so strange as far to surpass the scope of
the human understanding: and most certainly, when they proceeded to
their operations, they exhibited in their performances things of so
extraordinary a nature, as without the actual demonstration the world
would not have conceived possible; such, indeed, as cannot but be
considered among the most surprising circumstances of the age in which
we live.”--_Memoirs, &c._ p. 96.
The imperial author, after enumerating the performances of the
Bengalese, concludes with the following observations:--
“In very truth, however we may have bestowed upon these performances
the character of trick or juggle, they very evidently partake of the
nature of something beyond the exertion of human energy; at all events,
such performances were executed with inimitable skill, and if there
were in the execution any thing of facility, what should prevent their
accomplishment by a man of ordinary capacity? I have heard it stated,
that the art has been called the Semnanian (perhaps _asmaunian_,
‘celestial’), and I am informed that it is also known and practised
to a considerable extent among the nations of Europe. It may be said,
indeed, that there exists in some men a peculiar and essential faculty,
which enables them to accomplish things far beyond the ordinary scope
of human exertion, such as frequently to baffle the utmost subtilty of
the understanding to penetrate.”--_Memoirs, &c._ p. 104.
_Page 111._
May I confess that the portrait of Purveis, painted in the text, was
literally copied from a child of my own,--the delight of my heart,--my
only boy, who was standing at my knee while I wrote that page? He was
then little more than five years old, a model of meekness, beauty,
and affection. His intellect already gave promises of superiority,
which I dare not enumerate. The sheet containing that passage had
scarcely passed through the press, when a sudden blight--one of those
awful dispensations of Providence, into which we cannot presume to
enquire--descended upon my flower, and withered it almost in an
instant. On the Wednesday, our beloved Edward was the joy of his
home--all life and loveliness;--on the Monday, he was in his shroud.
_Page 115._
Jehangire’s decrees against drinking wine, are thus mentioned in his
“Memoirs:”--
“No person was permitted either to make or sell either wine or any
other kind of intoxicating liquor. I undertook to institute this
regulation, although it is sufficiently notorious that I have myself
the strongest inclination for wine, in which from the age of sixteen
I have liberally indulged. And in very truth, encompassed as I was
with youthful associates of congenial minds, breathing the air of a
delicious climate--ranging through lofty and splendid saloons, every
part of which decorated with all the graces of painting and sculpture,
and the floors bespread with the richest carpets of silk and gold,
would it not have been a species of folly to have rejected the aid of
an exhilarating cordial--and what cordial can surpass the juice of the
grape?”--_Memoirs, &c._ p. 6.
The imperial author is very frank upon the subject of his own excesses;
but promises to give them up _some time or another_.
“For myself, I cannot but acknowledge that such was the excess to which
I had carried my indulgence, that my usual daily allowance extended to
twenty, and sometimes to more than twenty cups, each cup containing
half a seir (about six ounces), and eight cups being equal to a maunn
of Irak. So far, indeed, was this baneful propensity carried, that
if I were but an hour without my beverage, my hands began to shake,
and I was unable to sit at rest. Convinced by these symptoms, that if
the habit gained upon me in this proportion my situation must soon
become one of the utmost peril, I felt it full time to devise some
expedient to abate the evil: and in six months I accordingly succeeded
in reducing my quantity gradually from twenty to five cups a day. At
entertainments I continued, however, to indulge in a cup or two more:
and on most occasions I made it a rule never to commence my indulgence
until about two hours before the close of the day. But now that the
affairs of the empire demand my utmost vigilance and attention, my
potations do not commence until after the hour of evening prayer, my
quantity never exceeding five cups on any occasion; neither would more
than that quantity suit the state of my stomach. Once a day I take
my regular meal, and once a day seems quite sufficient to assuage my
appetite for wine; but as drink seems not less necessary than meat for
the sustenance of man, it appears very difficult, if not impossible,
for me to discontinue altogether the use of wine. Nevertheless, I bear
in mind, and I trust in heaven that, like my grandfather Homayun, who
succeeded in divesting himself of the habit before he attained to the
age of forty-five, I also may be supported in my resolution, some time
or other to abandon the pernicious practice altogether. ‘In a point
wherein God has pronounced his sure displeasure, let the creature exert
himself ever so little towards amendment, and it may prove, in no small
degree, the means of eternal salvation.’” _Memoirs, &c._ p. 6, 7.
_Page 118._
Captain Hawkins (in “Purchas,” vol. i. p. 222,) gives the following
quaint sketch of the routine of the emperor’s life, from his own
observation:--
“First in the morning, about the break of day, he is at his beads,
with his face turned to the westward. The manner of his praying, when
he is at Agra, is in a private fair room, upon a goodly jet stone,
having only a Persian lamb-skin under him: having also some eight
chains of beads, every one of them containing four hundred. The beads
are of rich pearl, ballace rubies, diamonds, emeralds, lignum aloes,
Eshem, and coral. At the upper end of this jet stone, the pictures of
Our Lady and Christ are placed, graven in stone: so he turneth over
his beads, and saith three thousand two hundred words, according to
the number of his beads, and then his prayer is ended. After he hath
done, he sheweth himself to the people, receiving their salaams--unto
him multitudes do resort every morning for this purpose. This done,
he sleepeth two hours more, and then dineth and passeth his time with
his women, and at noon he sheweth himself to the people again, sitting
till three of the clock, viewing and seeing his pastimes and sports
made by men, and fighting of many sorts of beasts--every day sundry
kinds of pastime. Then at three o’clock all the nobles in general
(that be in Agra, and are well) resort unto the court, the king coming
forth in open audience, sitting in his seat royal, and every man
standing in his degree before him; his chiefest sort of nobles standing
within a red rail, and the rest without. They are all placed by his
lieutenant-general. This red rail is three steps higher than the place
where the rest stand, and within this red rail I was placed among the
chiefest of all. The rest are placed by officers, and they likewise
be within an outer very spacious place, railed; and without that
rail stand all sorts of horsemen and soldiers, that belong unto his
captains, and all other comers. At these rails there are many porters,
who have white rods to keep men in order. In the midst of the place,
right before the king, standeth one of his sheriffes, together with
his master-hangman, who is accompanied with forty hangmen, wearing on
their heads a certain quilted cap, different from all others, with an
hatchet on their shoulders; and others, with all sorts of whips, being
there ready to do what the king commandeth. The king heareth all causes
in this place, and stayeth some two hours every day. (These kings sit
daily in justice, and on the Tuesdays do their devotions.) Then he
departeth towards his private place of prayer. His prayer being ended,
four or five sorts of very well dressed and roasted meats are brought
him, of which, as he pleaseth he eateth a little to stay his stomach,
drinking once of his strong drink. Then he cometh forth into a private
room, where none can come but such as himself nominateth. (For two
years together I was one of his attendants here.) In this place he
drinketh other five cupfulls, which is the portion that the physicians
allot him. This done, he eateth opium, and then he ariseth; and being
in the height of his drink, he layeth him down to sleep, every man
departing to his own home. And after he hath slept two hours, they
awake him, and bring his supper to him, at which time he is not able to
feed himself; but it is thrust into his mouth by others, and this is
about one of the clock, and then he sleepeth the rest of the night.”
_Page 119._
Jehangire gives a similar account of the visit of Oustad Nâë, in his
“Memoirs.”
_Page 138._
The emperor’s visit to this hermit, is mentioned in his “Memoirs.”
_Page 146._
The wealth of the collector, and his acts of tyranny, as well as his
punishment, are recorded by Jehangire in his “Memoirs.”
_Page 149._
The emperor thus speaks of this Mogul merchant in his “Memoirs:”--
“A certain Moghûl had resided for some time in the place, employed, as
was supposed, in the pursuit of some commercial concern; and he was,
it seems, in the habit of inviting such females as he observed to be
addicted to liquor, to meet him in some of the gardens in the vicinity,
where he told them they would find and experience from him such a
reception as would surpass their most luxurious expectations.
“The women thus invited, usually arrayed themselves in their richest
ornaments, and thus repaired to the place of appointment; where, as
it afterwards appeared, it was the practice of the villain first to
reduce them to a state of intoxication, and then to murder and strip
them of their ornaments, with which he returned to his own residence.
This he was permitted to continue for many a week, until he had, by
these nefarious means, contrived to amass treasure to the amount of
five-and-forty thousand tomauns.”[1]--_Memoirs, &c._ p. 118.
[1] At thirty-three rupees to the tomaun, this would
be about fourteen lacs and eighty-five thousand rupees, or about
150,000_l_.
_Page 287._
We find the following curious passage in the “Memoirs of Jehangire.”
“While I remained in the precincts of Delhy, at the period to which
I shall now return, they described to me a species of feathered
game, with tails of a particular description, and the flesh of which
was of a flavour in the highest degree delicious. But what more
particularly attracted my curiosity was, that they spoke a language
known to none but to the natives of Kashmeir, who, by using a sort
of note or call, took from them the power of flight; and who were
thus able to catch them by thousands at a time. On a plain in the
neighbourhood, frequented by thousands of these birds in a flock, by
way of experiment, I employed about a thousand of the Kashmeirians
accustomed to the business, to give me a proof of their skill, and I
attended in person to view the sport. As had been represented to me,
about twenty of the Kashmeirians collected together, and produced a
sort of murmuring sound, which, attracting the attention of these
birds, they were drawn by degrees within such a distance of the men,
that they were taken in entire flocks. My pity was greatly moved by
the reflection that these harmless birds should have fallen victims to
this sort of treachery; that they should have been betrayed into the
hands of the destroyer by their irresistible love of harmonious sounds,
and that I should be found capable of consigning them to slaughter
from a mere idle and vicious curiosity; the next day, therefore, I
caused the whole, to the number of twenty thousand birds which had been
taken on the occasion, to be set at liberty. My object was obtained
in witnessing the fact; but to have seen them slaughtered would have
bespoken a want of compassion foreign to my nature.”--_Memoirs, &c._
p. 132.
_Page 290._
The Rawil, Kuhy, or Laughing crows, assemble in numbers of from twenty
to fifty in the forests, and make a noise closely resembling many
persons laughing together. The plumage of the back, wings, and sides,
is of an olive brown; the tail of umber brown. The head is ornamented
with an elevated crest of rounded feathers. A black line passes from
the base of the beak, through the eyes, and occupies the ear coverts.
Excepting this black mark the whole of the head, throat, and breast,
are white. The feathers of the crest, as they approach the occiput,
appear as if slightly washed with Indian ink. The whole of this white
space is bounded by a band of rufous, which loses itself in the olive
brown of the rest of the body.
NOTES TO VOLUME III.
_Page 249._
Jehangire’s admiration of Eastern tales, was in keeping with his
fondness for wonders of every description. He relates, in his
“Memoirs,” a story which he states was told to him by a native of
Arabia. It might be well included in a new edition of the “Arabian
Nights:”--
“I shall here take upon me to relate, that once upon a time a native of
Arabia, who had passed the age of forty, was brought to the metropolis
for the purpose of being presented to me. When introduced to my
presence, I observed that he had lost his arm close to the shoulder,
and it occurred to me to ask him whether this was his condition from
his birth, or whether it was an injury which he had received in
battle. He seemed considerably embarrassed by the question; but stated
that the accident which had deprived him of his arm was attended
with circumstances so very extraordinary, as to be rather beyond
credibility, and might perhaps expose him to some degree of ridicule:
he had therefore made a vow never to describe it. On my importuning
him further, however, and urging that there could exist no reason for
concealment compatible with what he owed me for my protection, he
finally relented, and related what follows:
“When I was about the age of fifteen, it happened to me to accompany my
father on a voyage to India; and at the expiration of about sixty days,
during which we had wandered in different directions through the ocean,
we were assailed by a storm so dreadful, as to be for ever impressed
upon my recollection. For three days and three nights successively, it
raged with such indescribable fury, the sea rose in such tremendous
surges, the rain descended in such torrents, and the peals of thunder
accompanied by lightning so incessant, as to be terrific in the utmost
degree. To complete the horrors of our situation, the ship’s mast,
which was as large in compass as two men with arms extended could
encircle, snapped in the middle, and falling upon the deck, destroyed
many of the crew. The vessel was therefore on the very verge of
foundering; but the tempest subsiding at the close of the third day,
we were for the present preserved from destruction, although we were
driven far from the course which led to the port of our destination.
“When, however, the ship had for some days been pursuing this uncertain
course, we came in sight, unexpectedly, of what appeared to be a lofty
mountain in the midst of the ocean; and as we neared the spot it was
soon ascertained to be an island, covered with numerous buildings, and
interspersed with trees and river streams in most agreeable variety.
Our stock of water in the ship was nearly exhausted, and we therefore
steered close in land; and from certain fishermen, who were out in
their boats, we now learnt that the island was in possession of the
Portuguese Franks; that it was extremely populous, and that there were
no Mussulman inhabitants; moreover, that they had no intercourse with
strangers.
“To be as brief as possible: as soon as the ship had reached the
anchoring ground and dropped her anchor, a Portuguese captain and
another officer came on board; and instantly, without leaving even an
infant child to take care of the ship, conveyed the whole of the ship’s
company, passengers and all, in boats to the shore; desiring, at the
same time, that we might not be under any apprehensions, for that as
soon as it could be discovered that there was among us a person that
suited a particular purpose, which they did not choose to explain, that
one alone would be detained, and the others dismissed without injury.
The port being theirs, and ourselves entirely at their mercy, we were
compelled to submit to all they said; and accordingly the whole ship’s
company, merchants, slaves, and mariners, to the number of twelve
hundred persons, were all crowded into one house.
“From thence they sent for us one by one alternately, and stripping us
stark-naked, one of their hakeims, or physicians, proceeded to make
the minutest examination of our bodies, in every muscle, vein, and
limb, telling each respectively, after undergoing such examination,
that he was at liberty to go about his business. This they continued
to do until it came to the turn of myself and a brother who was with
us; and what was our dismay and horror when, after the described
examination, the hakeim delivered us into the custody of some of the
people in attendance, with orders to place us behind the curtain;
that is, where we should not be open to human intercourse. With the
exception of my brother and myself, the whole of the ship’s company, on
whose bodies they failed to discover the marks of which they were in
search, were now dismissed. Neither could my father, either by tears
or remonstrances succeed in diverting them from their purpose; to his
repeated demands to know in what his sons could have offended, that
out of a ship’s company of twelve hundred persons they alone should
be detained, they replied only by a frown, utterly disregarding every
entreaty.
“They now conveyed my brother and myself to a part of the place where
they lodged us in separate chambers, opposite, however, to each other.
Every morning they brought us for food fowl kabaubs, honey, and white
bread, and this continued for the space of ten days. At the expiration
of that period the naokhoda (or commander of the ship), demanded
permission to proceed on his voyage. My father implored that he would
delay his departure, if it were only for two or three days longer,
when, peradventure, the Portuguese might be induced to give up his
sons. He presented himself to the ruler of the port, and again, by the
most humble entreaties endeavoured to obtain our release, but in vain.
“The same medical person, on whose report we were detained, now came
with ten other Franks to the house or chamber where my brother was
confined, and again stripping him naked, they laid him on his back on
a board or table, where he was exposed to the same manual examination
as before, They then left him and came to me, and stretching me out
on a board in the same manner and plight, again examined my body in
every part as before. Again they returned to my brother; for, from the
situation of our prisons, the doors being exactly opposite, I could
distinctly observe all that passed. They sent for a large bowl and
a knife, and placing my brother, with his head over the bowl,--his
cries and supplications all in vain,--they struck him over the mouth,
and with the knife actually severed his head from the body, both the
head and his blood being received in the bowl. When the bleeding had
ceased, they took away the bowl of blood, which they immediately poured
into a pot of boiling oil, brought for the purpose, stirring the whole
together with a ladle, until both blood and oil became completely
amalgamated. Will it be believed, that after this they took the head,
and again fixing it exactly to the body, they continued to rub the
adjoining parts with the mixture of blood and oil, until the whole had
been applied. They left my brother in this state, closed the door, and
went their way.
“At the expiration of three days from this, they sent for me from
my place of confinement, and telling me that they had obtained, at
my brother’s expense, all that was necessary to their purpose, they
pointed out to me the entrance to a place under ground, which they
said was the repository of gold and jewels to an incalculable amount.
Thither they informed me I was to descend, and that I might bring
away for myself as much of the contents as I had strength to carry.
At first I refused all belief to their assertions, conceiving that
doubtless they were about to send me where I was to be exposed to some
tremendous trial; but as their importunities were too well enforced, I
had no alternative but submission.
“I entered the opening which led to the passage, and having descended
a flight of stairs, about fifty steps, I discovered four separate
chambers. In the first chamber, to my utter surprise, I beheld my
brother apparently restored to perfect health. He wore the dress and
habiliments of the Ferenguies, or Portuguese,--had on his head a cap
of the same people, profusely ornamented with pearl and precious
stones,--a sword, set with diamonds, by his side, and a staff,
similarly enriched, under his arm. My surprise was not diminished when
the moment he observed me I saw him turn away from me, as if under
feelings of the utmost disgust and disdain. I became so alarmed at a
reception so strange and unaccountable, that although I saw that it was
my own brother, the very marrow in my bones seemed to have been turned
into cold water. I ventured, however, to look into the second chamber,
and there I beheld heaps upon heaps of diamonds and rubies, and pearls
and emeralds, and every other description of precious stones, thrown
one on the other in astonishing profusion. The third chamber into which
I looked contained, in similar heaps, an immense profusion of gold; and
the fourth chamber was strewed middle deep with silver.
“I had some difficulty in determining to which of these glittering
deposits I should give the preference. At last I recollected that a
single diamond was of greater value than all the gold I could gather
into my robe, and I accordingly decided on tucking up my skirts and
filling them with jewels. I put out my hand in order to take up some
of these glittering articles, when from some invisible agent, perhaps
it was the effect of some overpowering effluvia, I received a blow so
stunning, that I found it impossible to stand in the place any longer.
In my retreat, it was necessary to pass the chamber in which I had seen
my brother. The instant he perceived me about to pass, he drew his
sword, and made a furious cut at me. I endeavoured to avoid the stroke
by suddenly starting aside, but in vain; the blow took effect, and my
right arm dropped from the shoulder-joint. Thus wounded and bleeding,
I rushed from this deposit of treasure and horror, and at the entrance
above, found the physician and his associates, who had so mysteriously
determined the destiny of my unhappy brother. Some of them went below,
and brought away my mutilated arm; and having closed up the entrance,
with stone and mortar, conducted me, together with my arm, all bleeding
as I was, to the presence of the Portuguese governor, men, and women,
and children, flocking to the doors to behold the extraordinary
spectacle.
“The wound in my shoulder continued to bleed; but having received from
the governor a compensation of three thousand tomauns, a horse, with
jewelled caparison, a number of beautiful female slaves, and many
males, with the promise of future favour in reserve, the Portuguese
physician was ordered to send for me, and applying some styptic
preparation to the wound it quickly healed, and so perfectly, that it
might be said I was thus armless from my birth. I was then dismissed,
and having shortly afterwards obtained a passage in another ship,
in about a month from my departure reached the port for which I was
destined.
“On the above relation,” continues our imperial memorialist, “I have
to observe, that in all probability the extraordinary circumstances
to which it refers were effected through the operations of chimia
(‘alchemy’), known to be extensively practised among the Franks,
and in which the jugglers from Bengal appear to have been very well
instructed.”
_Page 264._
Nitocris, an Egyptian queen of great beauty, revenged herself for the
death of her brother and predecessor on the throne in a similar manner.
“On her accession, she invited those whom she suspected of being privy
to his murder, to a festival. A large subterraneous hall was prepared
for the occasion; and though it had the appearance of being fitted
up with a view to celebrate the proposed feast, it was, in reality,
designed for a very different purpose; for, when the guests were
assembled, the water of the Nile was introduced by a secret canal into
the apartment; and thus, by their death, she gratified her revenge,
without giving them an opportunity of suspecting her designs.”--See Mr.
Wilkinson’s _Manners and Customs of the Egyptians_, vol. i. p. 91.
London, Murray. 1838. This work appears to be the result of infinite
labour and research. It is fraught with the deepest interest for minds
anxious to dive into the early history of that most mysterious people.
The style in which it is got up is truly splendid.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY STEWART AND MURRAY,
OLD BAILEY.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
Small caps have been changed to all caps. Italics changed to _italic_.
Due to a probable printer’s error, there are two chapters titled
_Chapter X_. The original numbering has been preserved as it appears in
the printed work, however “(continued)” has been added to the second
_Chapter X_ for clarity.
A Table of Contents has been added by the transcriber.
Variations in spelling of the same words have been left as originally
printed.
Minor punctuation errors and missing or misplaced quotation marks have
been silently corrected.
The following probable printing errors have been changed as listed
below:
Page 7: “conntry” changed to “country”:
...passing through the country, with a view...
Page 53: “assen” changed to “assent”:
The high chancellor having signified his assent to this arrangement...
Page 180: “obtascles” changed to “obstacles”:
So long as Kazim and Nourmahal existed, he felt them as obstacles in
his way...
Page 181: “Perian” changed to “Persian”:
The only person with whom the Persian seemed to share...
Page 205: “circustances” changed to “circumstances”:
I can imagine many circumstances by which...
Page 219: “may” changed to “many”:
They had not advanced many paces, when they heard...
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MISS LAWSON, mild and gentle, yet opposing the fortitude of virtue to
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MISS BAGOT, the irreproachable wife of two libertine Lords.
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The COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND, distinguished for her uncommon grace
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Nobleman, who, to the valour and bearing of a Paladin of old Romance,
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