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!”