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‘Study and toil, anxiety and sorrow, mighty action, perchance Time, and disappointment, which is worse than all, have done their work, and not in vain. I am no longer the same Jabaster that gazed upon the stars of Caucasus. Methinks even they look dimmer than of yore. The glory of my life is fading. My leaves are sear, tinged, but not tainted. I am still the same in one respect; I have not left my God, in deed or thought. Ah! who art thou?’
‘A friend to Israel.’
‘I am glad that Israel hath a friend. Noble Abi-dan, I have well considered all that hath passed between us. Sooth to say, you touched upon a string I’ve played before, but kept it for my loneliness; a jarring tune, indeed a jarring tune, but so it is, and being so, let me at once unto your friends, Abi-dan.’
‘Noble Jabaster, thou art what I deemed thee.’
‘Abidan, they say the consciousness of doing justly is the best basis of a happy mind.’
‘Even so.’
‘And thou believest it?’
‘Without doubt.’
‘We are doing very justly?’
‘‘Tis a weak word for such a holy purpose.’
‘I am most wretched!’
The High Priest and his companion entered the house of Abidan. Jabaster addressed the already assembled guests.
‘Brave Scherirah, it joys me to find thee here. In Israel’s cause when was Scherirah wanting? Stout Zalmunna, we have not seen enough of each other: the blame is mine. Gentle prophetess, thy blessing!
‘Good friends, why we meet here is known to all. Little did we dream of such a meeting when we crossed the Tigris. But that is nothing. We come to act, and not to argue. Our great minds, they are resolved: our solemn purpose requires no demonstration. If there be one among us who would have Israel a slave to Ishmael, who would lose all we have prayed for, all we have fought for, all we have won, and all for which we are prepared to die, if there be one among us who would have the Ark polluted, and Jehovah’s altar stained with a Gentile sacrifice, if there be one among us who does not sigh for Zion, who would not yield his breath to build the Temple and gain the heritage his fathers lost, why, let him go! There is none such among us: then stay, and free your country!’
‘We are prepared, great Jabaster; we are prepared, all, all!’
‘I know it; you are like myself. Necessity hath taught decision. Now for our plans. Speak, Zalmunna.’
‘Noble Jabaster, I see much difficulty. Alroy no longer quits his palace. Our entrance unwatched is, you well know, impossible. What say you, Scherirah?’
‘I doubt not of my men, but war against Alroy is, to say nought of danger, of doubtful issue.’
‘I am prepared to die, but not to fail,’ said Abidan. ‘We must be certain. Open war I fear. The mass of the army will side with their leaders, and they are with the tyrant. Let us do the deed, and they must join us.’
‘Is it impossible to gain his presence to some sacrifice in honour of some by-gone victory; what think ye?’
‘I doubt much, Jabaster. At this moment he little wishes to sanction our national ceremonies with his royal person. The woman assuredly will stay him. And, even if he come, success is difficult, and therefore doubtful.’
‘Noble warriors, list to a woman’s voice,’ exclaimed the prophetess, coming forward. ‘‘Tis weak, but with such instruments, even the aspirations of a child, the Lord will commune with his chosen people. There is a secret way by which I can gain the gardens of the palace. To-morrow night, just as the moon is in her midnight bower, behold the accursed pile shall blaze. Let Abidan’s troops be all prepared, and at the moment when the flames first ascend, march to the Seraglio gate as if with aid. The affrighted guard will offer no opposition. While the troops secure the portals, you yourselves, Zalmunna, Abidan, and Jabaster, rush to the royal chamber and do the deed. In the meantime, let brave Scherirah, with his whole division, surround the palace, as if unconscious of the mighty work. Then come you forward, show, if it need, with tears, the fated body to the soldiery, and announce the Theocracy.’
‘It is the Lord who speaks,’ said Abidan, who was doubtless prepared for the proposition. ‘He has delivered them into our hands.’
‘A bold plan,’ said Jabaster, musing, ‘and yet I like it. ‘Tis quick, and that is something. I think ‘tis sure.’
‘It cannot fail,’ exclaimed Zalmunna, ‘for if the flame ascend not, still we are but where we were.’
‘I am for it,’ said Scherirah.
‘Well, then,’ said Jabaster, ‘so let it be. Tomorrow’s eve will see us here again prepared. Good night.’
‘Good night, holy Priest. How seem the stars, Jabaster?’
‘Very troubled; so have they been some days. What they portend I know not.’
‘Health to Israel.’
‘Let us hope so. Good night, sweet friends.’
‘Good night, holy Jabaster. Thou art our cornerstone.’
‘Israel hath no other hope but in Jabaster.’
‘My Lord,’ said Abidan, ‘remain, I pray, one moment.’
‘What is’t? I fain would go.’
‘Alroy must die, my Lord, but dost thou think a single death will seal the covenant?’
‘The woman?’
‘Ay! the woman! I was not thinking of the woman. Asriel, Ithamar, Medad?’
‘Valiant soldiers! doubt not we shall find them useful instruments. I do not fear such loose companions. They follow their leaders, like other things born to obey. Having no head themselves, they must follow us who have.’
‘I think so too. There is no other man who might be dangerous?’
Zalmunna and Scherirah cast their eyes upon the ground. There was a dead silence, broken by the prophetess.
‘A judgment hath gone forth against Honain!’ ‘Nay! he is Lord Jabaster’s brother,’ said Abidan.
‘It is enough to save a more inveterate foe to Israel, if such there be.’
‘I have no brother, Sir. The man you speak of I will not slay, since there are others who may do that deed. And so again, good night.’
It was the dead of night, a single lamp burned in the chamber, which opened into an arched gallery that descended by a flight of steps into the gardens of the Serail.
A female figure ascended the flight with slow and cautious steps. She paused on the gallery, she looked around, one foot was in the chamber.
She entered. She entered a chamber of small dimensions, but richly adorned. In the farthest corner was a couch of ivory, hung with a gauzy curtain of silver tissue, which, without impeding respiration, protected the slumberer from the fell insects of an Oriental night. Leaning against an ottoman was a large brazen shield of ancient fashion, and near it some helmets and curious weapons.
‘An irresistible impulse hath carried me into this chamber!’ exclaimed the prophetess. ‘The light haunted me like a spectre; and wheresoever I moved, it seemed to summon me.
‘A couch and a slumberer!’
She approached the object, she softly withdrew the curtain. Pale and panting, she rushed back, yet with a light step. She beheld Alroy!
For a moment she leant against the wall, overpowered by her emotions. Again she advanced, and gazed on her unconscious victim.
‘Can the guilty sleep like the innocent? Who would deem this gentle slumberer had betrayed the highest trust that ever Heaven vouchsafed to favoured man? He looks not like a tyrant and a traitor: calm his brow, and mild his placid breath! His long dark hair, dark as the raven’s wing, hath broken from its fillet, and courses, like a wild and stormy night, over his pale and moon-lit brow. His cheek is delicate, and yet repose hath brought a flush; and on his lip there seems some word of love, that will not quit it. It is the same Alroy that blessed our vision when, like the fresh and glittering star of morn, he rose up in the desert, and bringing joy to others, brought to me only–
‘Oh! hush my heart, and let thy secret lie hid in the charnel-house of crushed affections. Hard is the lot of woman: to love and to conceal is our sharp doom! O bitter life! O most unnatural lot! Man made society, and made us slaves. And so we droop and die, or else take refuge in idle fantasies, to which we bring the fervour that is meant for nobler ends.
‘Beauteous hero! whether I bear thee most hatred or most love I cannot tell. Die thou must; yet I feel I should die with thee. Oh! that to-night could lead at the same time unto our marriage bed and funeral pyre. Must that white bosom bleed? and must those delicate limbs be hacked and handled by these bloody butchers? Is that justice? They lie, the traitors, when they call thee false to our God. Thou art thyself a god, and I could worship thee! See those beauteous lips; they move. Hark to the music!’
‘Schirene, Schirene!’
‘There wanted but that word to summon back my senses. Fool! whither is thy fancy wandering? I will not wait for tardy justice. I will do the deed myself. Shall I not kill my Sisera?’ She seized a dagger from the ottoman, a rare and highly-tempered blade. Up she raised it in the air, and dashed it to his heart with superhuman force. It struck against the talisman which Jabaster had given to Alroy, and which, from a lingering superstition, he still wore; it struck, and shivered into a thousand pieces. The Caliph sprang from his couch; his eyes met the prophetess, standing over him in black despair, with the hilt of the dagger in her hand.
‘What is all this? Schirene! Who art thou? Esther!’ He jumped from the couch, called to Pharez, and seized her by both hands. ‘Speak!’ he continued. ‘Art thou Esther? What dost thou here?’
She broke into a wild laugh; she wrestled with his grasp, and pulled him towards the gallery. He beheld the chief tower of the Serail in flames. Joining her hands together, grasping them both in one of his, and dragging her towards the ottoman, he seized a helmet and flung it upon the mighty shield. It sounded like a gong. Pharez started from his slumbers, and rushed into the chamber.
‘Pharez! Treason! treason! Send instant orders that the palace gates be opened on no pretence whatever. Go, fly! See the captain himself. Summon the household. Order all to arms. Speed, for our lives!’
The whole palace was now roused. Alroy delivered Esther, exhausted, and apparently senseless, to a guard of eunuchs. Slaves and attendants poured in from all directions. Soon arrived Schirene, with dishevelled hair and hurried robes, attended by a hundred maidens, each bearing a torch.
‘My soul, what ails thee?’
‘Nothing, sweetest; all will soon be well,’ replied Alroy, picking up, and examining the fragments of the shivered dagger, which he had just discovered.
‘My life has been attempted; the palace is in flames; I suspect the city is in insurrection. Look to your mistress, maidens!’ Schirene fell into their arms. ‘I will soon be back.’ So saying, he hurried to the grand court.
Several thousand persons, for the population of the Serail and its liberties was very considerable, were assembled in the grand court; eunuchs, women, pages, slaves, and servants, and a few soldiers; all in confusion and alarm, fire raging within, and mysterious and terrible outcries without. A cry of ‘The Caliph! the Caliph!’ announced the arrival of Alroy, and produced a degree of comparative silence.
‘Where is the captain of the guard?’ he exclaimed. ‘That’s well. Open the gates to none. Who will leap the wall and bear a message to Asriel? You? That’s well too. To-morrow you shall yourself command. Where’s Mesrour? Take the eunuch guard and the company of gardeners,76 and suppress the flames at all cost. Pull down the intervening buildings. Abidan’s troop arrived with succour, eh! I doubt it not. I expected them. Open to none. They force an entrance, eh! I thought so. So that javelin has killed a traitor. Feed me with arms. I’ll keep the gate. Send again to Asriel. Where’s Pharez?’
‘By your side, my lord.’
‘Run to the Queen, my faithful Pharez, and tell her that all’s well. I wish it were! Didst ever hear a din so awful? Methinks all the tambours and cymbals of the city are in full chorus. Foul play, I guess. Oh! for Asriel! Has Pharez returned?’
‘I am by your side, my lord.’
‘How’s the Queen?’
‘She would gladly join your side.’
‘No, no! Keep the gates there. Who says they are making fires before them? Tis true. We must sally, if the worst come to the worst, and die at least like soldiers. O Asriel! Asriel!’
‘May it please your Highness, the troops are pouring in from all quarters.’
‘‘Tis Asriel.’
‘No, your Highness, ‘tis not the guard. Methinks they are Scherirah’s men.’
‘Hum! What it all is, I know not; but very foul play I do not doubt. Where’s Honain?’
‘With the Queen, Sire.’
‘‘Tis well. What’s that shout?’
‘Here’s the messenger from Asriel. Make way! way!’
‘Well! how is’t, Sir?’
‘Please your Highness, I could not reach the guard.’
‘Could not reach the guard! God of my fathers! who should let thee?’
‘Sire, I was taken prisoner.’
‘Prisoner! By the thunder of Sinai, are we at war? Who made thee prisoner?’
‘Sire, they have proclaimed thy death.’
‘Who?’
‘The council of the Elders. So I heard. Abidan, Zalmunna–’
‘Rebels and dogs! Who else?’
‘The High Priest.’
‘Hah! Is it there? Pharez, fetch me some drink. Is it true Scherirah has joined them?’
‘His force surrounds the Serail. No aid can reach us without cutting through his ranks.’
‘Oh! that I were there with my good guard! Are we to die here like rats, fairly murdered? Cowardly knaves! Hold out, hold out, my men! ‘Tis sharp work, but some of us will smile at this hereafter. Who stands by Alroy to-night bravely and truly, shall have his heart’s content to-morrow. Fear not: I was not born to die in a civic broil. I bear a charmed life. So to it.’
‘Go to the Caliph, good Honain, I pray thee, go. I can support myself, he needs thy counsel. Bid him not expose his precious life. The wicked men! Asriel must soon be here. What sayest thou?’
‘There is no fear. Their plans are ill-devised. I have long expected this stormy night, and feel even now more anxious than alarmed.’
‘‘Tis at me they aim; it is I whom they hate. The High Priest, too! Ay, ay! Thy proud brother, good Honain, I have ever felt he would not rest until he drove me from this throne, my right; or washed my hated name from out our annals in my life’s blood. Wicked, wicked Jabaster! He frowned upon me from the first, Honain. Is he indeed thy brother?’
‘I care not to remember. He aims at something further than thy life; but Time will teach us more than all our thoughts.’
The fortifications of the Serail resisted all the efforts of the rebels. Scherirah remained in his quarters, with his troops under arms, and recalled the small force that he had originally sent out as much to watch the course of events as to assist Abidan. Asriel and Ithamar poured down their columns in the rear of that chieftain, and by dawn a division of the guard had crossed the river, the care of which had been entrusted to Scherirah, and had thrown themselves into the palace. Alroy sallied forth at the head of these fresh troops. His presence decided a result which was perhaps never doubtful. The division of Abidan fought with the desperation that became their fortunes. The carnage was dreadful, but their discomfiture complete. They no longer acted in masses, or with any general system. They thought only of self-preservation, or of selling their lives at the dearest cost. Some dispersed, some escaped. Others entrenched themselves in houses, others fortified the bazaar. All the horrors of war in the streets were now experienced. The houses were in flames, the thoroughfares flowed with blood.
At the head of a band of faithful followers, Abidan proved himself, by his courage and resources, worthy of success. At length, he was alone, or surrounded only by his enemies. With his back against a building in a narrow street, where the number of his opponents only embarrassed them, the three foremost of his foes fell before his irresistible scimitar. The barricaded door yielded to the pressure of the multitude. Abidan rushed up the narrow stairs, and, gaining a landing-place, turned suddenly round, and cleaved the skull of his nearest pursuer. He hurled the mighty body at his followers, and, retarding their advance, himself dashed onward, and gained the terrace of the mansion. Three soldiers of the guard followed him as he bounded from terrace to terrace. One, armed with a javelin, hurled it at the chieftain. The weapon slightly wounded Abidan, who, drawing it from his arm, sent it back to the heart of its owner. The two other soldiers, armed only with swords, gained upon him. He arrived at the last terrace in the cluster of buildings. He stood at bay on the brink of the precipice. He regained his breath. They approached him. He dodged them in their course. Suddenly, with admirable skill, he flung his scimitar edgewise at the legs of his farthest foe, who stopped short, roaring with pain. The chieftain sprang at the foremost, and hurled him down into the street below, where he was dashed to atoms. A trap-door offered itself to the despairing eye of the rebel. He descended and found himself in a room filled with women. They screamed, he rushed through them, and descending a Staircase, entered a chamber tenanted by a bed-ridden old man. The ancient invalid enquired the cause of the uproar, and died of fright before he could receive an answer, at the sight of the awful being before him, covered with streaming blood. Abidan secured the door, washed his blood-stained face, and disguising himself in the dusty robes of the deceased Armenian, sallied forth to watch the fray. The obscure street was silent. The chieftain proceeded unmolested. At the corner he found a soldier holding a charger for his captain. Abidan, unarmed, seized a poniard from the soldier’s belt, stabbed him to the heart, and vaulting on the steed, galloped towards the river. No boat was to be found; he breasted the stream upon the stout courser. He reached the opposite bank. A company of camels were reposing by the side of a fountain. Alarm had dispersed their drivers. He mounted the fleetest in appearance; he dashed to the nearest gate of the city. The guard at the gate refused him a passage. He concealed his agitation. A marriage procession, returning from the country, arrived. He rushed into the centre of it, and overset the bride in her gilded wagon. In the midst of the confusion, the shrieks, the oaths, and the scuffle, he forced his way through the gate, scoured over the country, and never stopped until he had gained the desert.
The uproar died away. The shouts of warriors, the shrieks of women, the wild clang of warfare, all were silent. The flames were extinguished, the carnage ceased. The insurrection was suppressed, and order restored. The city, all the houses of which were closed, was patrolled by the conquering troops, and by sunset the conqueror himself, in his hall of state, received the reports and the congratulations of his chieftains. The escape of Abidan seemed counterbalanced by the capture of Jabaster. After performing prodigies of valour, the High Priest had been overpowered, and was now a prisoner in the Serail. The conduct of Scherirah was not too curiously criticised; a commission was appointed to enquire into the mysterious affair; and Alroy retired to the bath77 to refresh himself after the fatigues of the victory which he could not consider a triumph.
As he reposed upon his couch, melancholy and exhausted, Schirene was announced. The Princess threw herself upon his neck and covered him with embraces. His heart yielded to her fondness, his spirit became lighter, his depression melted away.
‘My ruby!’ said Schirene, and she spoke in a low smothered voice, her face hidden and nestled in his breast. ‘My ruby! dost thou love me?’
He smiled in fondness as he pressed her to his heart.
‘My ruby, thy pearl is so frightened, it dare not look upon thee. Wicked men! ‘tis I whom they hate, ‘tis I whom they would destroy.’
‘There is no danger, sweet. ‘Tis over now. Speak not, nay, do not think of it.’
‘Ah! wicked men! There is no joy on earth while such things live. Slay Alroy, their mighty master, who, from vile slaves, hath made them princes! Ungrateful churls! I am so alarmed, I ne’er shall sleep again. What! slay my innocent bird, my pretty bird, my very heart! I’ll not believe it. It is I whom they hate. I am sure they will kill me. You shall never leave me, no, no, no, no! You shall not leave me, love, never, never! Didst hear a noise? Methinks they are even here, ready to plunge their daggers in our hearts, our soft, soft hearts! I think you love me, child; indeed, I think you do!’
‘Take courage, heart! There is no fear, my soul; I cannot love thee more, or else I would.’
‘All joy is gone! I ne’er shall sleep again. O my soul! art thou indeed alive? Do I indeed embrace my own Alroy, or is it all a wild and troubled dream, and are my arms clasped round a shadowy ghost, myself a spectre in a sepulchre? Wicked, wicked men! Can it indeed be true? What, slay Alroy! my joy, my only life! Ah! woe is me; our bright felicity hath fled for ever!’
‘Not so, sweet child; we are but as we were. A few quick hours, and all will be as bright as if no storm had crossed our sunny days.’
‘Hast seen Asriel? He says such fearful things!’
‘How now?’
‘Ah me! I am desolate. I have no friend.’
‘Schirene!’
‘They will have my blood. I know they will have my blood.’
‘Indeed, an idle fancy.’
‘Idle! Ask Asriel, question Ithamar. Idle! ‘tis written in their tablets, their bloody scroll of rapine and of murder. Thy death led only to mine, and, had they hoped my bird would but have yielded his gentle mate, they would have spared him. Ay! ay! ‘tis I whom they hate, ‘tis I whom they would destroy. This form, I fear it has lost its lustre, but still ‘tis thine, and once thou saidst thou lovedst it; this form was to have been hacked and mangled; this ivory bosom was to have been ripped up and tortured, and this warm blood, that flows alone for thee, that fell Jabaster was to pour its tide upon the altar of his ancient vengeance. He ever hated me!’
‘Jabaster! Schirene! Where are we, and what are we? Life, life, they lie, that call thee Nature! Nature never sent these gusts of agony. Oh! my heart will break. I drove him from my thought, and now she calls him up, and now must I remember he is my-prisoner! God of heaven, God of my fathers, is it come to this? Why did he not escape? Why must Abidan, a common cut-throat, save his graceless life, and this great soul, this stern and mighty being– Ah me! I have lived long enough. Would they had not failed, would–’
‘Stop, stop, Alroy! I pray thee, love, be calm. I came to soothe thee, not to raise thy passions. I did not say Jabaster willed thy death, though Asriel says so; ‘tis me he wars against; and if indeed Jabaster be a man so near thy heart, if he indeed be one so necessary to thy prosperity, and cannot live in decent order with thy slave that’s here, I know my duty, Sir. I would not have thy fortunes farred to save my single heart, although I think ‘twill break. I will go, I will die, and deem the hardest accident of life but sheer prosperity if it profit thee.’
‘O Schirene! what wouldst thou? This, this is torture.’
‘To see thee safe and happy; nothing more.’
‘I am both, if thou art.’
‘Care not for me, I am nothing.’
‘Thou art all to me.’
‘Calm thyself, my soul. It grieves me much that when I came to soothe I have only galled thee. All’s well, all’s well. Say that Jabaster lives. What then? He lives, and may he prove more duteous than before; that’s all.’
‘He lives, he is my prisoner, he awaits his doom. It must be given.’
‘Yes, yes!’
‘Shall we pardon?’
‘My lord will do that which it pleases him.’
‘Nay, nay, Schirene, I pray thee be more kind. I am most wretched. Speak, what wouldst thou?’
‘If I must speak, I say at once, his life.’
‘Ah me!’
‘If our past loves have any charm, if the hope ot future joy, not less supreme, be that which binds thee to this shadowy world, as it does me, and does alone, I say his life, his very carnal life. He stands between us and our loves, Alroy, and ever has done. There is no happiness if Jabaster breathe; nor can I be the same Schirene to thee as I have been, if this proud rebel live to spy my conduct.’
‘Banish him, banish him!’
‘To herd with rebels. Is this thy policy?’
‘O Schirene! I love not this man, although me-thinks I should: yet didst thou know but all!’