"Water shall not pass my lips, nor fruits assuage the cravings of hunger, until I know more of thee, old man!" exclaimed Wagner, a terrible suspicion flashing to his mind; and without another instant's hesitation or delay, he made the sign of the cross.

A yell of rage and fury burst from the lips of the false anchorite, while his countenance became fearfully distorted—his eyes glared fiercely—his whole aspect changed—and in a few moments he stood confessed in shape, attire and features, the demon who had appeared to Fernand in the prison of Florence!

"Fiend! what wouldst thou with me?" exclaimed Wagner, startled and yet unsubdued by this appearance of the evil spirit amidst that region of desolation.

"Mortal," said the demon, in his deepest and most serious tones, "I am here to place happiness—happiness ineffable—within thy reach. Nay, be not impatient: but listen to me for a few moments. 'Twas my power that conducted thy ship, amidst the fury of the storm which He whose name I dare not mention raised, to the shores of this island. 'Twas my influence which yesterday, as thou wast seated on the sunny banks, filled thine imagination with those delicious thoughts of Nisida. And it was I also who, by the wonders of the mirage, showed thee the form of the only female inhabitant of this isle. And that one female, Wagner—that woman who is now as it were within thy reach—that lovely being whose presence on this island would teach thee to have no regret for the world from which you are separated, and whose eyes would cast forth rays of joy and gladness upon everything around—that charming lady, who has already decked herself with those flowers which her fair hands have woven into wildly fantastic arabesques, that being is thy Nisida, the Island Queen."

"Fiend! you mock—you deceive me," cried Fernand, wildly hovering between joyous hope and acute fear.

"Did I deceive thee, Wagner, when I showed thee thy Nisida in the power of the corsairs?" said the demon, with a smile of bitter, sardonic triumph. "I tell thee, then, that Nisida is on this island—there, in the very region into which thou wouldst descend, but to which thou wilt find no avenue save by my aid."

"Nisida is here—on this island," exclaimed Fernand in an ecstasy of joy.

"Yes—and Stephano, the bandit, likewise," added the demon. "It was his doublet which you found—it was he who slaked his thirst with the juice of the fruits which I, then invisible, beheld thee contemplate with attention."

"Stephano here also!" cried Wagner. "Oh! Nisida—to thy rescue!"

And he bounded forth from the cave, and was rushing madly down one of the tortuous defiles leading toward the chasm, when the voice of the demon suddenly caused him to stop short.

"Fool!—insensate mortal!" said the fiend, with a derisive laugh. "How canst thou escape from these mountains? But tarry a moment—and behold thy Nisida—behold also her persecutor, who lusts after her."

Thus speaking; he handed Wagner a magic telescope, which immediately brought the most remote objects to a distance of only a few yards.

Then what a delicious scene met Fernand's eyes! He beheld Nisida bathing in the sea—sporting like a mermaid with the wavelets—plunging into the refreshing depths—then wringing out the water from her long raven hair, now swimming and diving, then wading on her feet,—unconscious that a human eye beheld her.

At length she came forth from the sea, beauteous as a Venus rising from the ocean; and her toilet commenced upon the sand. But scarcely had she decked herself with the flowers which she had gathered early in the morning for the purpose, when she started and rose up; and then Wagner beheld a man approaching her from the nearest grove.

"That is Stephano Verrina!" murmured the demon in his ears.

Fernand uttered a cry of dismay, and threw down the telescope.

"You may save her—save her yet," said the demon, speaking in a tone of unusual haste. "In a few minutes she will be in his power—he is strong and desperate; be mine, and consent to serve me—and in a moment Nisida shall be clasped in thy arms—the arms of thee, her deliverer."

"No—no! I will save her without thine aid, dread fiend!" exclaimed Wagner, a prey to the most terrible excitement.

Then making the sign of the cross, he rushed forward to leap the yawning chasm; his feet touched the opposite side, but he lost his balance, reeled, and fell back into the tremendous abyss, while the demon, again baffled, and shrinking in horror from the emblem of Christianity, disappeared with cries of rage and vexation.

Down—down fell Wagner,—turning over and over in the hideous vacancy, and clutching vainly at the stunted shrubs and dead roots which projected from the rugged sides of the chasm.

In another moment he was swallowed up by the boiling torrent; but his senses did not leave him, and he felt himself hurried along with the furious speed of the mad waters. Thus nearly a minute passed; and then his headlong course was suddenly arrested by the boughs of a tree, which, having given way at the root, bent over into the torrent. He clung to the boughs as if they were arms stretched out to rescue him; he raised himself from amidst the turbid waters—and in a few moments reached a bank which shelved upward to the edge of a dense forest.

Precisely on the opposite or inner side there was an opening in the rocks, and Wagner's eye could trace upward a steep but still practicable path, doubtless formed by some torrent of the spring, which was now dried up amidst the mountains above,—that path reaching to the very basis of the volcano.

Thus, had circumstances permitted him to exercise his patience and institute a longer search among the defiles formed by the crags and rocks around the conical volcano, he would have discovered a means of safe egress from that region without daring the desperate leap of the chasm, desperate even for him, although he bore a charmed life, because his limbs might have been broken against the rugged sides of the precipice.

Between the opening to the steep path just spoken of, and the shelving bank on which Wagner now stood, there was so narrow a space, that the bent tree stretched completely across the torrent; thus any one, descending from the mountains by the natural pathway, might cross by means of the tree to the side which Fernand had gained.

"This, then, must have been the route by which the villain Stephano emerged from the mountains," he said to himself, "and the fiend deceived me when he declared that I could not reach the plains below without his aid."

Such were his reflections as he hurried up the shelving bank: and when he reached the summit his glance embraced a scene already described to the reader.

For, flying wildly on toward the forest, was his beauteous Nisida, scattering flowers in her whirlwind progress, those flowers that had ere now decked her hair, her neck and her waist.

At some distance behind her was the bandit Stephano; with sword in hand he still maintained the chase, though breathless and ready to sink from exhaustion. Not an instant did Wagner tarry upon the top of the bank which he had reached; but darting toward Nisida, who was now scarce fifty yards from him, he gave vent to an ejaculation of joy.

She saw him—she beheld him: and her speed was checked in an instant with the overpowering emotion of wonder and delight.

Then, as he hurried along the verge of the forest to encounter her—to fold her in his fond embrace—to protect her,—she once more sprung forward, with outstretched arms, to fly into his arms, which were open to receive her. But at that instant there was a horrible rustling amidst the foliage of the huge tree beneath which she was hastening on;—a monstrous snake darted down with a gushing sound, and in another moment the beauteous form of Nisida was encircled by its hideous coils.

Then fled that wondrous self-command which for long years she had exercised with such amazing success:—then vanished from her mind all the strong motives which had induced her to undertake so terrible a martyrdom as that of simulating the loss of two faculties most dear and most valuable to all human beings;—and with a cry of ineffable anguish, she exclaimed, "Fernand, save me! save me!"



CHAPTER XLIII.

NISIDA AND WAGNER.

Oh! with what astonishment and joy would Wagner have welcomed the sound of that voice, so long hushed, and now so musical even in its rending agony,—had not such an appalling incident broken the spell that for years had sealed the lips of his beloved! But he had no time for thought—there was not a moment for reflection. Nisida lay senseless on the ground, with the monster coiled around her—its long body hanging down from the bough to which it was suspended by the tail. Simultaneously with the cry of anguish that had come from the lips of Nisida, exclamations of horror burst alike from Wagner and Stephano.

The latter stood transfixed as it were for a few moments, his eyes glaring wildly on the dreadful spectacle before him; then, yielding to the invincible terror that had seized upon him, he hurled away the sword—knowing not what he did in the excitement of his mind, and fled! But the gleaming of the naked weapon in the sunbeams met Wagner's eyes as it fell, and darting toward it, he grasped it with a firm hand—resolving also to use it with a stout heart. Then he advanced toward the snake, which was comparatively quiescent—that portion of its long body which hung between the tree and the first coil that it made round the beauteous form of Nisida alone moving; and this motion was a waving kind of oscillation, like that of a bell-rope which a person holds by the end and swings gently.

But from the midst of the coils the hideous head of the monster stood out—its eyes gleaming malignantly upon Wagner as he approached. Suddenly the reptile, doubtless alarmed by the flashing of the bright sword, disengaged itself like lightning from the awful embrace in which it had retained the Lady Nisida, and sprung furiously toward Fernand. But the blow that he aimed at its head was unerring and heavy; its skull was cloven in two—and it fell on the long grass, where it writhed in horrible convulsions for some moments, although its life was gone.

Words cannot be found to describe the delirium of joy which Wagner felt, when having thus slain the terrible anaconda, he placed his hand on Nisida's heart and felt that it beat—though languidly. He lifted her from the ground—he carried her in his arms to the bank of the limpid stream—and he sprinkled water upon her pale cheeks.

Slowly did she recover; and when her large black eyes at length opened, she uttered a fearful shriek, and closed them again—for with returning life the reminiscence of the awful embrace of the serpent came back also. But Wagner murmured words of sweet assurance and consolation—of love and joy, in her ears; and she felt that it was no dream, but that she was really saved! Then, winding her arms round Fernand's neck, she embraced him in speechless and still almost senseless trance, for the idea of such happy deliverance was overpowering—amounting to an agony which a mortal creature could scarcely endure.

"Oh! Nisida," at length exclaimed Wagner, "was it a delusion produced by the horrors of that scene?—or did thy voice really greet mine ears ere now!"

There was a minute's profound silence—during which, as they sat upon the bank of the stream, locked in a fond embrace, their eyes were fixed with fascinating gaze upon each other, as if they could not contemplate each other too long—he in tenderness, and she in passion.

"Yes, Fernand," said Nisida, breaking that deep silence at last, and speaking in a voice so mellifluously clear, so soft, so penetrating in its tone, that it realized all the fond ideas which her lover had conceived of what its nature would be if it were ever restored, "yes, Fernand, dearest Fernand," she repeated, "you did indeed hear my voice, and to you never again shall I be mute."

Wagner could not allow her time to say more: he was almost wild with rapture! His Nisida was restored to him, and no longer Nisida the deaf and dumb, but Nisida who could hear the fond language which he addressed to her, and who could respond in the sweetest, most melting and delicious tones that ever came from woman's lips.

For a long time their hearts were too full, alike for total silence or connected conversation, and while the world from which they were cut off was entirely forgotten, they gathered so much happiness from the few words in which they indulged, and from all that they read in each other's eyes, that the emotions which they experienced might have furnished sensations for a lifetime.

At length—she scarcely knew how the subject began, although it might naturally have arisen of its own spontaneous suggestion—Nisida found herself speaking of the long period of deception which she had maintained in relation to her powers of speech and hearing.

"Thou lovest me well, dearest Fernand," she said in her musical Italian tones; "and thou would'st not create a pang in my heart? Then never seek to learn wherefore, when at the still tender age of fifteen, I resolved upon consummating so dreadful a sacrifice as to affect dumbness. The circumstances were, indeed, solemnly grave and strangely important, which demanded so awful a martyrdom. But well did I weigh all the misery and all the peril that such a self-devotion was sure to entail upon me. I knew that I must exercise the most stern—the most remorseless—the most inflexible despotism over my emotions—that I must crush as it were the very feelings of my soul—that I must also observe a caution so unwearied and so constantly wakeful, that it would amount to a sensitiveness the most painful—and that I must prepare myself to hear the merry jest without daring to smile, or the exciting narrative of the world's stirring events without suffering my countenance to vary a hue! Oh! I calculated—I weighed all this, and yet I was not appalled by the immensity of the task. I knew the powers of my own mind, and I did not deceive myself as to their extent. But, ah! how fearful was it at first to hear the sounds of human voices, and dare not respond to them; how maddening at times was it to listen to conversation in which I longed to join, and yet be compelled to sit like a passionless statue! But mine was a will of iron strength—a resolution of indomitable power! Even when alone when I knew that I should not be overheard—I never essayed the powers of my voice, I never murmured a single syllable to myself so fearful was I lest the slightest use of the glorious gift of speech might render me weak in my purpose. And strange as it may seem to you, dearest Fernand, not even on this island did I yield to the temptation of suddenly breaking that long, that awful silence which I had imposed upon myself. And, until this day, one human being only, save myself, was acquainted with that mighty secret of ten long years, and that man was the generous-hearted, the noble-minded Dr. Duras. He it was who aided me in my project of simulating the forlorn condition of the deaf and dumb: he it was who bribed the turnkeys to admit me unquestioned to your cell in the prison of the ducal palace. And for years, perhaps, should I have retained my wondrous secret even from you, dearest Fernand; for through dangers of many kinds—in circumstances of the most trying nature, have I continued firm in my purpose; abjuring the faculty of speech even when it would have saved me from much cruel embarrassment or from actual peril. Thus, when the villain Stephano Verrina bore me away by force from my native city, I maintained the seal upon my lips, trusting to circumstances to enable me to escape from his power without being compelled to betray a secret of such infinite value and importance to myself. But when I found that I was so narrowly watched at Leghorn that flight was impossible, I seriously debated, in my own mind, the necessity of raising an alarm in the house where I was kept a prisoner for two whole days; and then I reflected that I was in the power of a desperate bandit and his two devoted adherents, who were capable of any atrocity to forward their designs or prevent exposure. Lastly, when I was conveyed at dead of night on board the corsair-ship, the streets were deserted, and the pirates with whom Stephano was leagued, thronged the port. I therefore resigned myself to my fate, trusting still to circumstances, and retaining my secret. But that incident of to-day—oh! it was enough to crush energies ten thousand times more powerful than mine: it was of so horrifying a nature as to be sufficient to loose the bands which confine the tongue of one really dumb."

And a strong shudder convulsed the entire form of Nisida, as she thus, by her own words, recalled so forcibly to mind that terrible event which had broken a spell of ten years' duration.

Fernand pressed her to his bosom, exclaiming, "Oh, beloved Nisida, how beautiful dost thou appear to me!—how soft and charming is that dear voice of thine! Let us not think of the past, at least not now; for I also have explanations to give thee," he added, slowly and mournfully; then, in a different and again joyous tone, he said: "Let us be happy in the conviction that we are restored to each other; let this be a holiday—nay, more," he added, sinking his voice almost to a whisper; "let it be the day on which we join our hands together in the sight of Heaven. No priest will bless our union, Nisida; but we will plight our vows—and God will accord us his blessing."

The lady hid her blushing, glowing countenance on his breast, and murmured in a voice melodious as the music of the stream by which they sat, "Fernand, I am thine—thine forever."

"And I am thine, my beauteous Nisida; thine forever, as thou art mine!" exclaimed Wagner, lifting her head and gazing on her lovely, blushing face as on a vision of heaven.

"No; she is mine!" thundered the voice of the forgotten Stephano, and in a moment the bandit flung himself upon Wagner, whom he attempted to hurl into the crystal but deep river.

Fernand, however, caught the arm of the brigand and dragged him along with him into the water, while a terrific scream burst from the lips of Nisida. Then furious was the struggle that commenced in the depths of the stream. But Stephano lay beneath Wagner, who held him down on the pebbly bottom. In another moment Nisida herself plunged into the river with the wild hope of aiding her lover to conquer his foe, or to rescue him from the grasp which the bandit maintained upon him with the tenacity that was strengthened rather than impaired by the agony of suffocation.

But she rose again to the surface in an instant by the indomitable influence of that instinct for self-preservation which no human being, when immersed in the deep water, can resist if the art of swimming has been attained. Again she dived to succor her lover, but her aid, even if she could have afforded any, was no longer necessary, for Fernand rose from the crystal depths and bore his Nisida to the bank, while the corpse of the drowned bandit was carried away by the current.

Wagner and Nisida were now the sole human inhabitants of that isle—the king and queen of the loveliest clime on which the sun shone. Toward the sea-shore they repaired, hand in hand, and having partaken of the fruits which they gathered in their way, they set to work to form a hut with the planks, cordage, and canvas of the wreck. It will be remembered that Nisida had saved the carpenter's tools, and thus the task became a comparatively easy one.

By the time the sun went down a tenement was formed, rude, it is true, but still perfect enough to harbor them in a clime where the nights were warm and where the dews prevailed only in the verdant parts of the isle. Then with what joyous feelings did Nisida deck the walls of the hut with a tapestry of flowers and prepare the bridal couch with materials which she had saved from the wreck.

Softly and sweetly shone the moon that night; and, as its silver rays penetrated through the crevices of the little cottage so hastily and so rudely formed, they played kissingly upon the countenances of the happy pair who had wedded each other in the sight of Heaven.



CHAPTER XLIV.

ALESSANDRO FRANCATELLI.

In order that the reader should fully understand the stirring incidents which yet remain to be told, it is necessary for us to explain certain particulars connected with Alessandro Francatelli, the brother of the beautiful Flora. It will be recollected that this young man accompanied the Florentine envoy to Constantinople, in the honorable capacity of secretary, some few years previous to the commencement of our tale.

Alessandro was strikingly handsome, tall, well-formed, and of great physical strength. His manners were pleasing, his conversation agreeable to a degree. Indeed, he had profited so well by the lessons of the excellent-hearted Father Marco, that his mind was well stored with intellectual wealth. He was, moreover, a finished musician, and played the violin, at that period a rare accomplishment, to perfection. In addition to all these qualifications, he was a skillful versifier, and composed the most beautiful extemporaneous poetry, apparently without an effort. But his disposition was by no means light or devoted to pursuits which worldly-minded persons would consider frivolous. For he himself was worldly-minded, keen, shrewd, far-seeing, and ambitious. He deplored the ruin which had overtaken his family, and longed ardently to rebuild its fortunes, adding thereto the laurels of glory and the honors of rank.

The situation which he enjoyed in the establishment of the Florentine envoy appeared to him the stepping-stone to the attainment of these objects, but the embassy had not been long settled at Constantinople, when Alessandro found that his master was one who, being ignorant himself, was jealous of the talents displayed by others. Great interest had alone procured the envoy the post which he held as negotiator plenipotentiary with the Ottoman Porte, on behalf of the Republic of Florence; and the Turkish reis-effendi, or minister of foreign affairs, soon perceived that the Christian embassador was quite incompetent to enter into the intricacies of treaties and the complex machinery of diplomacy. But suddenly the official notes which the envoy addressed to the reis-effendi began to exhibit a sagacity and an evidence of far-sighted policy which contrasted strongly with the imbecility which had previously characterized those communications. It was at that period a part of the policy of the Ottoman Port to maintain spies in the household of all the foreign embassadors residing in Constantinople; and through this agency the reis-effendi discovered that the Florentine envoy had condescended to avail himself of the brilliant talents of his secretary, Alessandro Francatelli, to infuse spirit into his official notes.

The reis-effendi was himself a shrewd and sagacious man; and he recognized in the abilities evinced by the youthful secretary, those elements which, if properly developed, would form a great politician. The Turkish Minister accordingly resolved to leave no stone unturned, in order to entice so promising an individual into the service of the sultan. To accomplish this object indirect means were at first attempted; and the secret agents of the minister sounded Alessandro upon the subject. He listened to them at first in silence, but not unwillingly. They grew bolder, and their speech became more open. He encouraged them to lay bare their aims; and they hinted to him how glorious a career might be opened to him were he to enter the service of the high and mighty sultan, Solyman the Magnificent, who then sat upon the proud throne of the Ottoman Empire.

The more attentively Alessandro listened, the less reserved became those who were instructed to undermine his fidelity toward his master, the Florentine Envoy. They represented to him how Christians, who had abjured their creed and embraced the Moslem faith, had risen to the highest offices, even to the post of grand vizier, or prime minister of the empire. Alessandro was completely master of his emotions; he had not studied for some years in the school of diplomacy without learning how to render the expression of his countenance such as at any moment to belie the real state of his feelings. He did not, therefore, suffer the spies and agents of the reis-effendi to perceive how deep an impression their words had made upon him; but he said and looked enough to convince them that the topics of their discourse would receive the most serious consideration at his hands. His mind was already made up to accept the overtures thus made to him; but he affected to hesitate, for he saw that his services were ardently longed for, and he resolved to drive as advantageous a bargain as possible.

He was one afternoon lounging through the principal bezestein or bazaar, when he was struck by the elegant form, imposing air, and rich apparel of a lady who rode slowly along upon a mule, attended by four female slaves on foot. The outlines of her figure shaped the most admirable symmetry he had ever beheld; and though her countenance was concealed by a thick veil, in accordance with the custom of the East, yet he seemed to have been impressed with an instinctive conviction that the face beneath that invidious covering was eminently beautiful. Moreover, the eyes whose glances flashed through the two holes which were formed in the veil so as to permit the enjoyment of the faculty of sight, were gloriously brilliant, yet black as jet. Once, too, when the lady raised her delicate white hand, sparkling with jewels, to arrange the folds of that hated veil, Alessandro caught a rapid, evanescent glimpse of a neck as white as snow.

The little procession stopped at the door of a merchant's shop in the bazaar; the slaves assisted the lady to dismount, and she entered the warehouse, followed by her dependents, the mule being left in charge of one of the numerous porters who thronged in the bezestein.

Alessandro lingered near the door, and he beheld the merchant displaying various pieces of rich brocade before the eyes of the lady, who, however, scrupulously retained the dense veil over her countenance. Having made her purchases, which were taken charge of by one of the slaves, the lady came forth again; and Alessandro, forgetting that his lingering near now amounted to almost an act of rudeness, was chained to the spot, lost in admiration of her elegant gesture, her graceful yet dignified carriage, and the exquisite contour of her perfect shape. Her feet and ankles, appearing beneath the full trousers, that were gathered in just at the commencement of the swell of the leg, were small and beautifully shaped; and so light was her tread, that she scarcely seemed to touch the ground on which she walked.

As the lady issued from the door of the merchant's shop, she cast a rapid but inquiring look toward Alessandro, though whether in anger or curiosity he was unable to determine, for the eyes only could he see, and it was impossible for him to read the meaning of the glances they sent forth, when unassisted by a view of the general expression worn by her countenance at the same time.

Accident, however, favored him far more than he could have possibly anticipated. At the very moment when the lady's head was turned toward him, she tripped over the cordage of a bale of goods that had shortly before been opened beneath the painted awning over the front of the shop, and she would have fallen had not Alessandro sprung forward and caught her in his arms.

She uttered a faint scream, for her veil had shifted aside from its proper position; and her countenance was thus revealed to a man, and that man evidently by his dress a Christian!

Instantly recovering her self-possession, she readjusted her veil, gave a gentle but graceful inclination of the head toward Alessandro, mounted her mule by the assistance of the slaves, and rode away at a somewhat hasty pace. Alessandro stood gazing after her until she turned the angle of the nearest street, and it struck him that her glance was for an instant cast rapidly back toward him, ere she disappeared from his view.

And no wonder that he stood thus rooted to the spot, following her with his eyes; for the countenance which accident had revealed to him was already impressed upon his heart. It was one of those lovely Georgian faces, oval in shape, and with a complexion formed of milk and roses, which have at all times been prized in the East, as the very perfection of female beauty; a face which, without intellectual expression, possesses an ineffable witchery, and all the charms calculated to fascinate the beholder. The eyes were black as jet, the hair of a dark auburn, and luxuriantly rich in its massive beauty; the lips were of bright vermilion, and between them were two rows of pearl, small and even. The forehead was high and broad, and white as marble, with the delicate blue veins visible through the transparent complexion.

Alessandro was ravished as he reflected on the wondrous beauty thus for a moment revealed to him, but his raptures speedily changed to positive grief when he thought how improbable it was that this fair creature would ever cross his path again. He entered the warehouse, made a small purchase, and inquired casually of the Turkish merchant if he knew who the lady was. The reply was in the negative, but the merchant informed Alessandro that he had no doubt the lady was of some rank, from the profound respect with which her slaves treated her, and from the readiness with which she paid the prices demanded of her for the goods she had purchased, Turkish ladies generally being notorious for their disposition to drive a hard bargain with traders.

Alessandro returned to the suburb of Pera, in which the mansion of the Florentine Embassy was situated—his mind full of the beautiful creature whose countenance he had seen for a moment, and whose soft form he had also for a moment—a single moment—held in his arms. He could not apply himself to the duties of his office, but feigned indisposition and retired to the privacy of his own apartment. And never did that chamber seem so lonely, so cold, so cheerless. His entire disposition appeared to have become suddenly changed; he felt that the world now contained something the possession of which was positively necessary to his happiness. One sole idea absorbed all his thoughts: the most lovely countenance which, in his estimation, he had ever seen was so indelibly reflected in the mirror of his mind, that his imagination could contemplate naught besides. He knew not that whenever he went abroad, he was watched by one of the spies of the reis-effendi; and he was therefore surprised when, on the following day, that secret agent of the minister whispered in his ear, "Christian, thou lovest—and it depends on thyself whether thou wilt be loved in return!"

Alessandro was stupefied at these words. His secret was known, or at least suspected. He questioned the individual who had thus addressed him, and he found that the incident of the preceding day was indeed more than suspected—it was known. He besought to know who the lady was; but the spy would not, or could not satisfy him. He, however, promised that he would endeavor to ascertain a point in which Alessandro appeared to be so deeply interested. The intriguing spirit of Turkish dependents is notorious: the reader will not therefore be surprised when we state that in a few days the spy made his appearance in Alessandro's presence with a countenance denoting joyous tidings. The young Italian was impatient to learn the results of the agent's inquiries.

"I know not who the lady is," was the reply; "but this much I have to impart to you, signor—that she did not behold you the other day with indifference; that she is grateful for the attention you paid in offering your aid to save her from perhaps a serious accident—and that she will grant you a few moments' interview this evening, provided you assent to certain conditions to be imposed upon you, respecting the preliminary arrangements for your meeting."

"Name them! name them!" exclaimed Alessandro, wild with joy, and almost doubting whether he were not in the midst of a delicious dream.

"That you consent to be blindfolded while being conducted into her presence—that you maintain the most profound silence while with those who will guide you to her abode—and that you return from the interview under the same circumstances."

"I should be unworthy the interest which she deigns to manifest in my behalf, were I to refuse compliance with those terms," answered Alessandro.

"An hour after sunset," said the spy, "you will meet me at the gate of the Mosque of Selimya;" and with those words he hurried away, leaving the young Florentine in a state of excited hope, amounting to a delirium of joy.

Alessandro was well aware that adventures, such as the one in which he found himself suddenly involved, were by no means uncommon in the East; and that ladies of the most unimpeachable virtue, as well as of the highest rank, frequently accorded interviews of this private nature to those men who were fortunate enough to merit their attention—such visits being the first step toward matrimonial connections. But then he remembered that he was a Christian, and the fair object of his devotion was probably of the Moslem faith. What, then, would be the result? Was some wealthy lady of high rank about to abandon her creed for his sake? or would the sacrifice of his faith be required as the only condition on which his complete happiness might be achieved? He knew not—cared but little; it was sufficient for him that he was to meet the charming being whose image had never once quitted his mind, from the first moment he had seen her in the bezestein!

Even before the appointed hour was Alessandro pacing the square in front of the splendid temple which the Sultan Selim—the conqueror of Egypt—had erected, and which bore his imperial name. At length the agent, for whom he waited, made his appearance. This man, though actually a Turkish dependent in the service of the Florentine Envoy, was, as before stated, neither more nor less than one of the numerous spies placed by the reis-effendi round the person of that embassador. Alessandro was aware of this, in consequence of the offers and representations that had been made to him through the means of this agent, and though the youth suspected that the man knew more concerning the beauteous idol of his heart than he had chosen to admit, yet he had seen enough to convince him of the inutility of questioning him on that head.

It was, therefore, in silence that Alessandro followed his guide through several by-streets down to the margin of the waters of the Golden Horn. There a boat, in which two rowers and a female slave were seated, was waiting.

"Here, must you be blindfolded," said the spy.

For a few moments Alessandro hesitated, in regret that he had gone so far with this adventure. He had heard fearful tales of dark deeds committed on the waters of the Bosporus and the Golden Horn; and he himself, when roving during his leisure hours along the verdant banks of those waters, had seen the livid corpse float with the tale-telling bow-string fastened round the neck.

The spy seemed to divine his thoughts.

"You hesitate, signor," he said; "then let us retrace our way. But remember," he added in a low tone, "that were treachery intended, it would be as easy to perform the deed where you now stand, as on the bosom of that star-lit gulf."

Alessandro hesitated no longer, but suffered himself to be completely hooded in a cap which the spy drew over his countenance. He was then conducted into the boat and guided to a seat next to the female slave. The spy leapt upon the strand, the boatmen plied their oars, and the skiff shot away from the bank, no one uttering a word.



[END OF PART I.]



PART II.



CHAPTER XLV.

THE LADY OF CONSTANTINOPLE.

For upward of half an hour did the boat skim the surface of the Golden Horn, the dip of the oars in the water and the rippling around the sharp prow alone breaking the solemn silence of the night. At length the skiff stopped, and the female slave took Alessandro's hand, whispering in a low tone, "I will serve as thy guide, Christian; but speak not till thou hast permission."

She then led him from the boat, up a flight of steps, and through a garden—for he occasionally came in contact with the outstretching branches of shrubs, and there was moreover a delicious odor of flowers, as he proceeded in the total darkness of his blindfolding. At the expiration of ten minutes the guide stopped; and Alessandro heard a key turn in a lock.

"Enter there," said the slave, pushing him gently forward, and speaking in a low tone. "Take off the cap—attire yourself in the raiment you will find ready provided, and then pass fearlessly through the door at the further end of the room. You will meet me again in the hall which you will thus reach."

And, without waiting for a reply, the slave closed and locked the door through which Alessandro had just passed. Hastily did he remove the cap, which had indeed almost suffocated him; and he now found himself in a small apartment, elegantly furnished in the most luxurious Oriental fashion, and brilliantly lighted. A table spread with confectionery, cakes, fruits, and even wines—though the fermented juice of the grape be expressly forbidden by the laws of the Prophet Mohammed—occupied the center of the room. Around the walls were continuous sofas, or ottomans, so conducive to the enjoyment of a voluptuous indolence; the floor was spread with a carpet so thick that the feet sunk into the silky texture, as into newly fallen snow; and whichever way he turned Alessandro beheld his form reflected in vast mirrors set in magnificent frames. There were no windows on any side of this apartment; but there was a cupola fitted with stained glass on the roof, and Alessandro judged that he was in one of those voluptuous kiosks usually found in the gardens of wealthy Turks.

Precisely as the slave had informed him, he found an elegant suit of Moslem garments set out on the sofa for his use; and he hastened to exchange his Italian costume for the Oriental raiment. As he thus attired himself, it was necessary to contemplate himself in the mirror facing him, so as properly to adjust clothes to which he was totally unaccustomed; and it struck him that the garb of the infidel became him better than that of the Christian. He did not, however, waste time in the details of this strange toilet; but as soon as it was completed he opened the door at the further end of the room, in pursuance of the instructions he had received. Alessandro found himself in a large marble hall, from which several flights of stairs led to the apartments above. The place was refulgent with the light of numerous chandeliers, the glare of which was enhanced by the vast mirrors attached to the walls, and the crystal pillars that supported the roof.

Not a human being met Alessandro's eyes; and he began to fear either that he had mistaken the directions he had received, or that some treachery was intended, when a door opened, and the female slave, wrapped in a veil, made her appearance. Placing her forefinger upon that part of the veil which covered her lips, to enjoin silence, she led the way up the nearest staircase, Alessandro following with a heart beating audibly. They reached a door at which a negro male slave was stationed.

"The hakim" (physician), said Alessandro's guide, laconically addressing herself to the negro, who bowed in silence and threw open the door. The female slave conducted the pretended physician into a small but splendidly furnished ante-room, in which there were several other dependents of her own sex. A door at the further end was opened, and Alessandro passed through into another, larger, and still more magnificently furnished room; the door closed behind him, and he found himself alone with the idol of his adoration.

Half seated, half lying upon cushions of scarlet brocade, the glossy bright hue of which was mellowed by the muslin spread over it, appeared the beauteous creature whose image was so faithfully delineated in his memory. She was attired in the graceful and becoming dualma, a purple vest which set close to her form, and with a species of elasticity shaped itself so as to develop every contour.

But in accordance with the custom of the clime and age, the dualma was open at the bosom, sloping from each lovely white shoulder to the waist, where the two folds joining, formed an angle, at which the purple vest was fastened by a diamond worth a monarch's ransom. The sleeves were wide, but short, scarcely reaching to the elbow, and leaving all the lower part of the snowy arms completely bare. Her ample trousers were of purple silk, covered with the finest muslin, and drawn in tight a little above the ankles, which were naked. On her feet she wore crimson slippers cut very low, and each ornamented with a diamond. Round her person below the waist she wore a magnificent shawl, rolled up, as it were, negligently, so as to form a girdle or zone, and fastened in front with two large tassels of pearls. Diamond bracelets adorned her fair arms; and her head-dress consisted of a turban or shawl of light but rich material, fastened with golden bodkins, the head of each being a pearl of the best water. Beneath this turban, her rich auburn hair, glowing like gold in the light of the perfumed lamps, and amidst the blaze of diamonds which adorned her, was parted in massive bands, sweeping gracefully over her temples and gathered behind the ears, then falling in all the luxuriance of its rich clustering folds over the cushion whereon she reclined. Her finger-nails were slightly tinged with henna, the rosy hue the more effectually setting off the lily whiteness of her delicate hand and full round arm. But no need had she to dye the lashes of her eyes with the famous kohol, so much used by Oriental ladies, for those lashes were by nature formed of the deepest jet—a somewhat unusual but beauteous contrast with the color of her hair. The cheeks of the lovely creature were slightly flushed, or it might have been a reflection of the scarlet brocade of the cushion on which, as we have said, she was half-seated, half-lying, when Alessandro appeared in her presence.

For a few moments the young Italian was so dazzled by her beauty, so bewildered by the appearance of that lady, whose richness of attire seemed to denote the rank of sultana, that he remained rooted to the spot, uncertain whether to advance, to retire, or to fall upon his knees before her. But in an encouraging tone, and in a voice musical as a silver bell, the lady said: "Approach, Christian!" and she pointed to a low ottoman within a few paces of the sofa which she herself occupied. Alessandro now recovered his presence of mind; and no longer embarrassed and awkward, but with graceful ease and yet profound respect, he took the seat indicated.

"Beauteous lady," he said, "how can I ever demonstrate the gratitude—the illimitable, boundless gratitude which fills my heart, for the joy, the truly elysian delight afforded me by this meeting?"

"You speak our language well, Christian," observed the lady, smiling faintly at the compliment conveyed by the words of Alessandro, but evading a direct reply.

"I have for some years past been in the service of the Florentine envoy, lady," was the answer; "and the position which I occupy at the palace of the embassy has led me to study the beauteous language of this clime, and to master its difficulties. But never, never did that language sound so soft and musical upon my ears as now, flowing from those sweet lips of thine."

"The Moslem maiden dares not listen to the flattery of the infidel," said the beauteous stranger in a serious but not severe tone. "Listen to me, Christian, with attention, for our meeting must not be prolonged many minutes. To say that I beheld thee with indifference when we first encountered each other in the bazaar, were to utter a falsehood which I scorn; to admit that I can love thee, and love thee well," she added, her voice slightly trembling, "is an avowal which I do not blush to make. But never can the Moslem maiden bestow her hand on the infidel. If thou lovest me—if thou wouldst prove thyself worthy of that affection which my heart is inclined to bestow upon thee, thou wilt renounce the creed of thy forefathers, and embrace the Mussulman faith. Nor is this all that I require of thee, or that thou must achieve to win me. Become a true believer—acknowledge that Allah is God and Mohammed is his prophet—and a bright and glorious destiny will await thee. For although thou wilt depart hence without learning my name, or who I may be, or the place to which you have been brought to meet me,—though we shall behold each other no more until thou hast rendered thyself worthy of my hand, yet shall I ever be mindful of thee, my loved one! An unseen, an unknown influence shall attend thee: thy slightest wishes will be anticipated and fulfilled in a manner for which thou wilt vainly seek to account,—and, as thou provest thy talents or thy valor, so will promotion open its doors to thee with such rapidity that thou wilt strain every nerve to reach the highest offices in the state—for then only may'st thou hope to receive my hand, and behold the elucidation of the mystery which up to that date will envelop thy destinies."

While the lady was thus speaking, a fearful struggle took place in the breast of Alessandro—for the renunciation of his creed, a creed in which he must ever in his heart continue to believe, though ostensibly he might abjure it—was an appalling step to contemplate. Then to his mind also came the images of those whom he loved, and who were far away in Italy:—his aunt, who had been so kind to him, his sister whom he knew to be so proud of him, and Father Marco, who manifested such deep interest in his behalf. But on his ears continued to flow the honeyed words and the musical tones of the charming temptress; and, as she gradually developed to his imagination the destinies upon which he might enter, offering herself as the eventual prize to be gained by a career certain to be pushed on successfully through the medium of a powerful, though mysterious influence—Florence, relatives, and friends, became as secondary considerations in his mind; and by the time the lady brought her long address to a conclusion—that address which had grown more impassioned and tender as she proceeded—Alessandro threw himself at her feet, exclaiming, "Lovely houri that thou art—beauteous as the maidens that dwell in the paradise of thy prophet—I am thine. I am thine!"

The lady extended her right hand, which he took and pressed in rapture to his lips. But the next moment she rose lightly to her feet, and assuming a demeanor befitting a royal sultana, said in a sweet, though impressive tone:

"We must now part—thou to enter on thy career of fame, I to set in motion every spring within my reach to advance thee to the pinnacle of glory and power. Henceforth thy name is Ibrahim! Go, then, my Ibrahim, and throw thyself at the feet of the reis-effendi, and that great minister will forthwith present thee to Piri Pasha, the grand vizier. Toil diligently—labor arduously—and the rest concerns me. Go, then, my Ibrahim, I say, and enter on the path which will lead thee to the summit of fame and power!"

She extended her arms toward him—he snatched her to his breast, and covered her cheeks with kisses. In that paradise of charms he could have reveled forever; but the tender caresses lasted not beyond a few moments, for the lady tore herself away from his embrace and hurried into an adjacent apartment. Alessandro—or rather, the renegade, Ibrahim—passed into the anteroom where his guide, the female slave, awaited his return. She conducted him back to the hall, and advanced toward the door of the voluptuous kiosk, where he had changed his raiment.

"Goest thou forth a Christian still, or a true believer?" she asked turning suddenly round.

"As a Mussulman," answered the renegade, while his heart sank within him, and remorse already commenced its torture.

"Then thou hast no further need of the Christian garb," said the slave. "Await me here."

She entered the kiosk, and returned in a few moments with the cap, which, in obedience to her directions, he once more drew on his head and over his countenance. The slave then led him into the garden, which they treaded in profound silence. At length they reached the steps leading down to the water, and the slave accompanied him into the boat, which immediately shot away from the bank. Alessandro had now ample time for calm reflection. The excitement of the hurried incidents of the evening was nearly over, and, though his breast was still occupied with the image of his beautiful unknown, and with the brilliant prospects which she had opened to view, he nevertheless shrank from the foul deed of apostasy which he had vowed to perpetrate. But we have already said that he was essentially worldly-minded, and, as he felt convinced that the petty jealousy of the Florentine Envoy would prevent him from rising higher in the diplomatic hierarchy than the post of secretary, he by degrees managed to console himself for his renegadism on the score that it was necessary—the indispensable stepping-stone to the gratification of his ambition.

Thus by the time the boat touched the landing-place where he had first entered it, he had succeeded to some extent in subduing the pangs of remorse. The female slave now bade him remove the cap from his face and resume his turban. A few moments sufficed to make this change; and he was about to step on shore, when the woman caught him by the sleeve of his caftan, and, thrusting a small case of sandal-wood into his hand, said: "She whom you saw ere now, commanded me to give thee this."

The slave pushed him toward the bank: he obeyed the impulse and landed, she remaining in the boat, which instantly darted away again, most probably to convey her back to the abode of her charming mistress. On the top of the bank the renegade was accosted by the spy whom he had left there when he embarked in the skiff.

"Allah and the Prophet be praised!" exclaimed the man, surveying Alessandro attentively by the light of the lovely moon. "Thou art now numbered amongst the faithful!"

The apostate bit his lips to keep down a sigh of remorse which rose to them; and his guide, without uttering another word, led the way to the palace of the reis-effendi. There Alessandro or Ibrahim, as we must henceforth call him—was lodged in a splendid apartment, and had two slaves appointed to wait upon him. He, however, hastily dismissed them, and when alone, opened the case that had been placed into his hands by the female slave. It contained a varied assortment of jewelry and precious stones, constituting a treasure of immense value.



CHAPTER XLVI.

THE APOSTATE IBRAHIM.

Constantinople, like haughty Rome, is built on seven hills—the houses being so disposed that they do not intercept the view commanded by each on the amphitheatrical acclivities. But the streets are narrow, crooked, and uneven; and the grand effects of the numerous stately mosques and noble edifices are subdued, and in many cases altogether lost, either by the very insignificant width of the thoroughfares in which they stand, or by the contiguity of mean and miserable wooden tenements.

The mosque of St. Sophia, once a Christian church, with its magnificent portico, supported by marble columns, its nine vast folding doors, adorned with bas-reliefs, and its stupendous dome, a hundred and twenty feet in diameter; the mosque of the Sultan Solyman, forming an exact square with four noble towers at the angles, and with its huge cupola, in the midst; the mosque of the Sultan Ahmed, with its numerous domes, its tall minarets, and its colonnades supported by marble pillars; and the mosque of the Sultana Valida, or queen mother of Mohammed the Fourth, exceeding all other Mussulman churches in the delicacy of its architecture and the beauty of its columns of marble and jasper, supplied by the ruins of Troy—these are the most remarkable temples in the capital of the Ottoman empire.

The Grand Bezestein, or exchange, is likewise a magnificent structure—consisting of a spacious hall of circular form, built of free-stone, and surrounded by shops displaying the richest commodities of Oriental commerce. In the Ladies' Bazaar there is a marble column of extraordinary height, and on the sides of which, from the foot to the crown, are represented in admirable bas-reliefs the most remarkable events which characterized the reign of the Emperor Arcadius, ere the capital of Roman dominions of the East fell into the hands of the descendants of Osman.

But of all the striking edifices at Constantinople, that of the Sultan's Palace, or seraglio, is the most spacious and the most magnificent. Christian writers and readers are too apt to confound the seraglio with the harem, and to suppose that the former means the apartments belonging to the sultan's ladies; whereas the word seraglio, or rather sernil, represents the entire palace of which the harem, or females' dwelling, is but a comparatively small portion.

The seraglio is a vast inclosure, occupying nearly the entire site of the ancient city of Byzantium, and embracing a circumference of five miles. It contains nine enormous courts of quadrangular form, and an immense number of buildings—constituting a complete town of itself. But within this inclosure dwell upward of ten thousand persons—the entire court of the sultan. There reside the great officers of state, the body guards, the numerous corps of bostandjis, or gardeners, and baltojis, or fire-wood purveyors—the corps of white and black eunuchs, the pages, the mutes, the dwarfs—the ladies of the harem, and all their numerous attendants.

There are nine gates to the palace of the sultan. The principal one opens on the square of St. Sophia, and is very magnificent in its architecture. It is this gate which is called the Sublime Porte—a name figuratively given to the court of the sultan, in all histories, records, and diplomatic transactions. It was within the inclosure of the seraglio that Alessandro Francatelli, whom we shall henceforth call by his apostate name of Ibrahim—was lodged in the dwelling of the reis-effendi or minister of foreign affairs. But in the course of a few days the renegade was introduced into the presence of Piri Pasha, the grand vizier—that high functionary who exercised a power almost as extensive and as despotic as that wielded by the sultan himself.

Ibrahim, the apostate, was received by his highness Piri Pasha at a private audience—and the young man exerted all his powers, and called to his aid all the accomplishments which he possessed, to render himself agreeable to that great minister. He discoursed in an intelligent manner upon the policy of Italy and Austria, and gave the grand vizier considerable information relative to the customs, resources, and condition of these countries. Then, when the vizier touched upon lighter matters, Ibrahim showed how well he was already acquainted with the works of the most eminent Turkish poets and historians; and the art of music being mentioned, he gave the minister a specimen of his proficiency on the violin. Piri Pasha was charmed with the young renegade, whom he immediately took into his service as one of his private secretaries.

Not many weeks elapsed before the fame of Ibrahim's accomplishments and rare talents reached the ears of the sultan, Solyman the Magnificent; and the young renegade was honored with an audience by the ruler of the East. On this occasion he exerted himself to please even more triumphantly than when he was introduced to the grand vizier; and the sultan commanded that henceforth Ibrahim should remain attached to his person in the capacity of keeper of the imperial archives.

We should observe that the dispatches which the Florentine Envoy wrote to the government of the republic, contained but a brief and vague allusion to the apostasy of Alessandro Francatelli; merely mentioning that the youth had become a Mussulman, and entered the service of the grand vizier, but not stating either the name which he had adopted or the brilliant prospects which had so suddenly and marvelously opened before him. The Florentine Embassador treated the matter thus lightly, because he was afraid of incurring the blame of his government for not having kept a more stringent watch over his subordinate, were he to attach any importance to the fact of Alessandro's apostasy. But he hoped that by merely glancing at the event as one scarcely worth special notice, the Council of Florence would be led to treat it with equal levity. Nor was the embassador deceived in his calculation; and thus the accounts which reached Florence relative to Alessandro's renegadism—and which were not indeed communicated to the council until some months after the occurrence of the apostasy itself—were vague and indefinite to a degree.

And had Ibrahim no remorse? Did he never think of his lovely sister Flora, and of his affectionate aunt who, in his boyhood, had made such great and generous sacrifices to rear them honorably? Oh! yes;—but a more powerful idea dominated the remembrance of kindred, and the attachment to home—and that idea was ambition! Moreover, the hope of speedily achieving that greatness which was to render him eligible and worthy to possess the charming being whose powerful influence seemed to surround him with a constant halo of protection, and to soothe down all the asperities which are usually found in the career of those who rise suddenly and rise highly—this ardent, longing hope not only encouraged him to put forth all his energies to make himself master of a glorious position, but also subdued to no small extent the feelings of compunction which would otherwise have been too bitter, too agonizing to endure.

His mind was, moreover, constantly occupied. When not in attendance upon the sultan, he devoted all his time to render himself intimately acquainted with the laws, polity, diplomatic history, resources, condition, and finances of the Ottoman Empire; he also studied the Turkish literature, and practiced composition, both in prose and verse, in the language of that country which was now his own! But think not, reader, that in his heart he was a Mussulman, or that he had extinguished the light of Christianity within his soul. No—oh! no; the more he read on the subject of the Mohammedan system of theology, the more he became convinced not only of its utter falsity, but also of its incompatibility with the progress of civilization. Nevertheless, he dared not pray to the True God whom he had renounced with his lips; but there was a secret adoration, an interior worship of the Saviour, which he could not and sought not to subdue.

Solyman the Magnificent, was an enlightened prince, and a generous patron of the arts and sciences. He did not persecute the Christians, because he knew, in his own heart, that they were further advanced in all human ideas and institutions than the Ottomans. He was, therefore, delighted whenever a talented Christian embraced the Moslem faith and entered his service; and his keen perception speedily led him to discern and appreciate all the merits and acquirements of his favorite Ibrahim.

Such was the state of things at Constantinople, when those rapidly successive incidents, which we have already related, took place in Florence. At this time immense preparations were being made by the sultan for an expedition against the Island of Rhodes, then in the possession of the Knights of St. John, commanded by their grand master, Villiers of Isle Adam.

This chieftain, aware of the danger which menaced him, dispatched envoys to the courts of Rome, Genoa, Venice, and Florence, imploring those powers to send him assistance against the expected invasion of the Turks. Each of these states hastened to comply with this request; and numerous bodies of auxiliaries sailed from various ports in Italy to fight beneath the glorious banner of Villiers of Isle Adam, one of the stanchest veteran champions of Christendom.

Thus, at the very time when Nisida and Wagner were united in the bonds of love on the island of which they were the possessors—while, too, Isaachar the Jew languished in the prisons of the Inquisition of Florence, at which city the chivalrous-hearted Manuel d'Orsini tarried to hasten on the trial and give his testimony in favor of the Israelite—and moreover while Flora, and the Countess Giulia dwelt in the strictest retirement with the young maiden's aunt—at this period, we say, a fleet of three hundred sail quitted Constantinople under the command of the kapitan-pasha, or lord high admiral, and proceeded toward the Island of Rhodes. At the same time, Solyman the Magnificent crossed into Asia Minor, and placing himself at the head of an army of a hundred thousand men, commenced his march toward the coast facing the island, and where he intended to embark on his warlike expedition. His favorite Ibrahim accompanied him, as did also the Grand Vizier Piri Pasha, and the principal dignitaries of the empire.

It was in the spring of 1521 that the Ottoman fleet received the army on board at the Cape in the Gulf of Macri, which is only separated by a very narrow strait from the Island of Rhodes; and in the evening of the same day on which the troops had thus embarked, the mighty armament appeared off the capital city of the Knights of St. John.



CHAPTER XLVII.

THE SIEGE OF RHODES.

On the following morning, salvoes of artillery throughout the fleet announced to the inhabitants and garrison of Rhodes, that the sultan was about to effect a landing with his troops.

The debarkment was not resisted; for it was protected by the cannonade which the ships directed against the walls of the city, and the Christians had no vessel capable of demonstrating any hostility against the mighty fleet commanded by the kapitan-pasha.

Villiers of Isle Adam, the generalissimo of the Christian forces, had reduced to ashes all circumjacent villages, and received their inhabitants into the city itself. But the Ottomans cared not for the waste and desolation thus created around the walls of the city; but while their artillery, alike on land and by sea, maintained an incessant fire on the town, they threw up works of defense and established depots of provisions and ammunition. The sultan went in person accompanied by Ibrahim, and attended by a numerous escort, to reconnoiter the fortifications, and inspect the position of his troops.

On the other side, Villiers of Isle Adam distributed his forces in such a manner that the warriors of each nation defended particular gates. Thus the corps of Spaniards, French, Germans, English, Portuguese, Italian, Auvergnese and Provincials, respectively defended eight of the gates of Rhodes; while the lord general himself, with his body-guard, took his post at the ninth. For the knights of Rhodes comprised natives of nearly all Christian countries, and the mode in which Villiers thus allotted a gate to the defense of the warriors of each nation, gave an impulse to that emulative spirit which ever induces the soldiers of one clime to vie with those of another.

The Ottoman troops were disposed in the following manner: Ayaz Pasha, Beglerbeg (or governor) of Roumilia, found himself placed in front of the walls and gates defended by the French and Germans; Ahmed Pasha was opposed to the Spaniards and Auvergnese; Mustapha Pasha had to contend with the English: Kasim, Beglerbeg of Anatolia, was to direct the attack against the bastion and gates occupied by the natives of Provence; the Grand Vizier, Piri Pasha, was opposed to the Portuguese, and the sultan himself undertook the assault against the defenses occupied by the Italians.

For several days there was much skirmishing, but no advantage was gained by the Ottomans. Mines and countermines were employed on both sides, and those executed by the Christians effected terrible havoc amongst the Turks. At length in pursuance of the advice of the renegade Ibrahim, the sultan ordered a general assault to be made upon the city, and heralds went through the entire encampment, proclaiming the imperial command. Tidings of this resolution were conveyed into the city by means of the Christians' spies; and while the Ottomans were preparing for the attack, Villiers of Isle Adam was actively employed in adopting all possible means for the defense.

At daybreak, the general assault commenced, and the aga (or colonel) of the janizaries succeeded in planting his banner on the gate intrusted to the care of the Spaniards and Auvergnese. But this success was merely temporary in that quarter; for the Ottomans were beaten back with such immense slaughter, that fifteen thousand of their choicest troops were cut to pieces in the breach and the ditch. But still the assault was prosecuted in every quarter and every point, and the Christian warriors acquitted themselves nobly in the defense of the city. The women of Rhodes manifested a courage and zeal which history has loved to record as most honorable to their sex. Some of them carried about bread and wine to recruit the fainting and refresh the wearied, others were ready with bandages and lint to stanch the blood which flowed from the wounded, some conveyed earth in wheelbarrows, to stop up the breaches made in the walls, and others bore along immense stones to hurl down upon the assailants.

Oh! it was a glorious, but a sad and mournful sight—that death-struggle of the valiant Christians against the barbarism of the East. And many touching proofs of woman's courage and daring characterized that memorable siege. Especially does this fact merit our attention:—The wife of a Christian captain, seeing her husband slain, and the enemy gaining ground rapidly, embraced her two children tenderly, made the sign of the cross upon their brows, and then, having stabbed them to the heart, threw them into the midst of a burning building near, exclaiming, "The infidels will not now be able, my poor darlings, to wreak their vengeance on you, alive or dead!" In another moment she seized her dead husband's sword, and plunging into the thickest of the fight, met a death worthy of a heroine.

The rain now began to fall in torrents, washing away the floods of gore which, since daybreak, had dyed the bastions and the wall; and the assault continued as arduously as the defense was maintained with desperation. Solyman commanded in person the division which was opposed to the gate and the fort intrusted by the lord general of the Christians to the care of the Italian auxiliaries. But, though it was now past noon, and the sultan had prosecuted his attack on that point with unabated vigor since the dawn, no impression had yet been made. The Italians fought with a heroism which bade defiance to the numerical superiority of their assailants; for they were led on by a young chieftain who, beneath an effeminate exterior, possessed the soul of a lion. Clad in a complete suit of polished armor, and with crimson plumes waving from his steel helmet, to which no visor was attached, that youthful leader threw himself into the thickest of the medley, sought the very points where danger appeared most terrible—and, alike by his example and his words, encouraged those whom he commanded to dispute every inch of ground with the Moslem assailants.

The sultan was enraged when he beheld the success with which that Italian chieftain rallied his men again after every rebuff; and, calling to Ibrahim to keep near him, Solyman the Magnificent advanced toward the breach which his cannon had already effected in the walls defended so gallantly by the Italian auxiliaries. And now, in a few minutes, behold the sultan himself, nerved with wonderful energy, rushing on—scimiter in hand—and calling on the young Italian warrior to measure weapons with him. The Christian chieftain understood not the words which the sultan uttered, but full well did he comprehend the anxiety of that great monarch to do battle with him; and the curved scimiter and the straight, cross-handled sword clashed together in a moment. The young warrior knew that his opponent was the sultan, whose imperial rank was denoted by the turban which he wore; and the hope of inflicting chastisement on the author of all the bloodshed which had taken place on the walls of Rhodes inspired the youth with a courage perfectly irresistible.

Not many minutes had this combat lasted, before Solyman was thrown down in the breach, and the cross-handled sword of his conqueror was about to drink his heart's blood, when the renegade Ibrahim dashed forward from amidst the confused masses of those who were fighting around, and by a desperate effort hurled the young Italian warrior backward.

"I owe thee my life, Ibrahim," said the sultan, springing upon his feet. "But hurt not him who has combated so gallantly: we must respect the brave!"

The Italian chieftain had been completely stunned by his fall; he was, therefore, easily made prisoner and carried off to Ibrahim's tent.

Almost at the same moment a messenger from Ahmed Pasha presented to the sultan a letter, in which was stated that the grand master, Villiers of Isle Adam, anxious to put a stop to the fearful slaughter that was progressing, had offered to capitulate on honorable terms. This proposition was immediately agreed to by the sultan, and a suspension of hostilities was proclaimed around the walls. The Ottomans retired to their camp, having lost upward of thirty thousand men during the deadly strife of a few hours; and the Christians had now leisure to ascertain the extent of their own disasters, which were proportionately appalling.



CHAPTER XLVIII.

THE PRISONER.

In the meantime Ibrahim had ordered his prisoner, the young Italian chieftain, to be conveyed to his tent; and when the renegade's slaves had disencumbered the Christian of his armor, he began to revive. As Ibrahim bent over him, administering restoratives, a suspicion, which had already struck him the moment he first beheld his face, grew stronger and stronger; and the apostate at length became convinced that he had seen that countenance on some former occasion.

Ordering his slaves to withdraw, Ibrahim remained alone with his prisoner, who was now able to sit up on the sofa and gaze around him.

"I understand it all!" he exclaimed, the blood rushing back to his pale cheek; "I am in the power of the barbarians!"

"Nay, call us not harsh names, brave chieftain," said Ibrahim, "seeing that we do not treat you unworthily."

"I was wrong!" cried the prisoner; then, fixing his fine blue eyes upon the renegade, he added, "Were you not habited as a Moslem, I should conceive, by the purity with which you speak my native language, that you were a Christian, and an Italian."

"I can speak many languages with equal fluency," said Ibrahim, evasively, as a pang shot through his heart. "But tell me thy name, Christian—for thou art a brave man, although so young."

"In my own country," answered the youth, proudly, "I am called the Count of Riverola."

We have before stated that Ibrahim was the complete master of his emotions: but it required all his powers of self-possession to subdue them now, when the name of that family into which he was well aware his sister had entered fell upon his ears. His suspicion was well founded; he had indeed seen Francisco before this day—had seen him when he was a mere boy, in Florence, for Alessandro was three or four years older than the young count. But he had never, in his native land, exchanged a word with Francisco; he had merely, occasionally, seen him in public; and it was quite evident that even if Francisco had ever noticed him at that time, he did not recollect him now. Neither did Ibrahim wish the young count to ascertain who he was; for the only thing which the renegade ever feared was the encounter of any one who had known him as a Christian, and who might justly reproach him for that apostasy which had led him to profess Mohammedanism.

"Lord Count of Riverola," said Ibrahim, after a short pause, "you shall be treated in a manner becoming your rank and your bravery. Such, indeed, was the command of my imperial master, the most glorious sultan; but even had no such order been issued, my admiration of your gallant deportment in this day's strife would lead to the same result."

"My best thanks are due for these assurances," returned Francisco. "But tell me how fares the war without?"

"The grand master has proffered a capitulation, which has been accepted," answered Ibrahim.

"A capitulation!" exclaimed Francisco. "Oh! it were better to die in defense of the cross, than live to behold the crescent triumphant on the walls of Rhodes!"

"The motive of the grand master was a humane one," observed Ibrahim; "he has agreed to capitulate, to put an end to the terrific slaughter that is going on."

"Doubtless the lord general acts in accordance with the dictates of a matured wisdom!" exclaimed the Count of Riverola.

"Your lordship was the leader of the Italian auxiliaries?" said Ibrahim, interrogatively.

"Such was the honorable office intrusted to me," was the reply. "When messengers from Villiers of Isle-Adam arrived in Florence, beseeching succor against this invasion, which has, alas! proved too successful, I panted for occupation to distract my mind from ever pondering on the heavy misfortunes which had overtaken me."

"Misfortunes!" exclaimed Ibrahim.

"Yes—misfortunes of such a nature that the mere thought of them is madness!" cried Francisco, in an excited tone. "First, a beauteous and amiable girl—one who, though of humble origin, was endowed with virtues and qualifications that might have fitted her to adorn a palace, and whom I fondly, devotedly loved—was-snatched from me. She disappeared I know not how! All trace of her was suddenly lost, as if the earth had swallowed her up and closed over her again! This blow was in itself terrible. But it came not alone. A few days elapsed, and my sister—my dearly beloved sister—also disappeared, and in the same mysterious manner. Not a trace of her remained—and what makes this second affliction the more crushing—the more overwhelming, is that she is deaf and dumb! Oh! Heaven grant me the power to resist, to bear up against these crowning miseries! Vain were all my inquiries—useless was all the search I instituted to discover whither had gone the being whom I would have made my wife, and the sister who was ever so devoted to me! At length, driven to desperation, when weeks had passed and they returned not—goaded on to madness by bitter, bitter memories—I resolved to devote myself to the service of the cross. With my gold I raised and equipped a gallant band; and a favoring breeze wafted us from Leghorn to this island. The grand master received me with open arms; and, forming an estimation of my capacities far above my deserts, placed me in command of all the Italian auxiliaries. You know the rest; I fought with all my energy, and your sultan was within the grasp of death, when you rushed forward and saved him. The result is that I am your prisoner."

"So young—and yet so early acquainted with such deep affliction!" exclaimed Ibrahim. "But can you form no idea, Christian, of the cause of that double disappearance? Had your sister no attendants who could throw the least light upon the subject?" he asked, with the hope of eliciting some tidings relative to his own sister, the beauteous Flora.

"I dare not reflect thereon!" cried Francisco, the tears starting into his eyes. "For, alas! Florence has long been infested by a desperate band of lawless wretches—and my God! I apprehend the worst—the very worst."

Thus speaking, he rose and paced the spacious tent with agitated steps; for this conversation had awakened in his mind all the bitter thoughts and dreadful alarms which he had essayed to subdue amidst the excitement and peril of war. A slave now entered to inform Ibrahim that the sultan commanded his immediate presence in the imperial pavilion.

"Christian," said Ibrahim, as he rose to obey this mandate, "wilt thou pledge me thy word, as a noble and a knight, not to attempt to escape from this tent?"

"I pledge my word," answered Francisco, "seeing that thou thyself art so generous to me."

Ibrahim then went forth; but he paused for a few moments outside the tent to command his slaves to serve up choice refreshments to the prisoner. He then hastened to the pavilion of the sultan, whom he found seated upon a throne, surrounded by the beglerbegs, the councilors of state, the viziers, the lieutenant-generals of the army, and all the high dignitaries who had accompanied him on his expedition. Ibrahim advanced and prostrated himself at the foot of his throne; and at the same moment two of the high functionaries present threw a caftan of honor over his shoulders—a ceremony which signified that the sultan had conferred upon him the title of beglerbeg, or "prince of princes."

"Rise, Ibrahim Pasha!" exclaimed Solyman, "and take thy place in our councils, for Allah and his prophet have this day made thee their instrument to save the life of thy sovereign."

The newly-created pasha touched the imperial slipper with his lips, and then rising from his prostrate position, received the congratulations of the high functionaries assembled.

Thus it was that in a few months, protected by that secret influence which was hurrying him so rapidly along in his ambitious career, the Italian apostate attained to a high rank in the Ottoman Empire; but he was yet to reach the highest, next to that of the sovereign, ere he could hope to receive the fair hand of his mysterious patroness as the crowning joy of his prosperity, for her image, her charming image, ever dwelt in his mind, and an ardent fancy often depicted her as she appeared, in all the splendor of her beauty, reclining on the sofa at the dwelling to which he had been conducted with so much precaution, as detailed in a preceding chapter. On the following day peace was formally concluded between the Ottomans and the knights of Rhodes, the latter consenting to surrender the island to the formidable invaders. An exchange of prisoners was the result, and Francisco, Count of Riverola, again found himself free within twenty-four hours after his capture.

"Your lordship is now about to sail for your own clime," said Ibrahim, when the moment of separation came. "Is there aught within my power that I can do to testify my friendship for one so brave and chivalrous as thou art?"

"Nothing, great pasha!" exclaimed Francisco, who felt his sympathy irresistibly attracted toward Ibrahim, he knew not why, "but, on the other hand, receive my heartfelt thanks for the kindness which I have experienced during the few hours I have been thy guest."

"The history of thy afflictions has so much moved me," said Ibrahim Pasha, after a brief pause, "that the interest I experience in your behalf will not cease when you shall be no longer here. If then you would bear in mind the request I am about to make, gallant Christian——"

"Name it!" cried Francisco; "'tis already granted!"

"Write me from Florence," added Ibrahim, "and acquaint me with the success of thy researches after thy lost sister and the maiden whom thou lovest. The ships of Leghorn trade to Constantinople, whither I shall speedily return, and it will not be a difficult matter to forward a letter to me occasionally."

"I should be unworthy of the kind interest you take in my behalf, great pasha, were I to neglect this request," answered Francisco. "Oh! may the good angels grant that I may yet recover my beloved sister Nisida, and that sweetest of maidens—Flora Francatelli!"

Francisco was too overpowered by his own emotions to observe the sudden start which Ibrahim gave, and the pallor which instantaneously overspread his cheeks as the name of his sister thus burst upon his ears—that sister who, beyond doubt, had disappeared most strangely.

But, with an almost superhuman effort, he subdued any further expression of the agony of his feelings, and, taking Francisco's hand, said, in a low, deep tone: "Count of Riverola, I rely upon your solemn promise to write me, and write soon and often. I shall experience a lively pleasure in receiving and responding to your letters."

"Fear not that I shall forget my promise, your highness," responded Francisco.

He then took leave of Ibrahim Pasha, and returned to the city of Rhodes, whence he embarked on the same day for Italy, accompanied by the few Florentine auxiliaries who had survived the dreadful slaughter on the ramparts. The hustle and excitement attending the departure from Rhodes somewhat absorbed the grief which Ibrahim felt on account of the mysterious disappearance of his sister Flora.

Solyman left a sufficient force, under an able commander, to garrison the island, which was speedily evacuated by Villiers of Isle Adam and his knights; and by the middle of May the sultan, attended by Ibrahim and the other dignitaries of the empire, once more entered the gates of Constantinople.

Not many days had elapsed when, at a divan or state council, at which Solyman the Magnificent himself presided, Ibrahim Pasha was desired to give his opinion upon a particular question then under discussion. The renegade expressed his sentiments in a manner at variance with the policy recommended by the grand vizier; and this high functionary replied, in terms of bitterness and even grossness, at the same time reproaching Ibrahim with ingratitude. The apostate delivered a rejoinder which completely electrified the divan. He repudiated the charge of ingratitude on the ground of being influenced only by his duty toward the sultan; and he entered upon a complete review of the policy of the Grand Vizier Piri Pasha. He proved that the commerce of the country had greatly fallen off—that the revenues had diminished—that arrears were due to the army and navy—that several minor powers had not paid their usual tribute for some years past—and, in a word, drew such a frightful picture of the maladministration and misrule, that the grand vizier was overwhelmed with confusion, and the sultan and other listeners were struck with the lamentable truth of all which had fallen from the lips of Ibrahim Pasha. Nor less were they astonished at the wonderful intimacy which he displayed with even the minutest details of the machinery of the government; in a word, his triumph was complete.

Solyman the Magnificent broke up the divan in haste, ordering the members of the council to return each immediately to his own abode. In the evening a functionary of the imperial household was sent to the palace of the grand vizier to demand the seals of office; and thus fell Piri Pasha.

It was midnight when the sultan sent to order Ibrahim Pasha to wait upon him without delay. The conference that ensued was long and interesting, and it was already near daybreak when messengers were dispatched to the various members of the divan to summon them to the seraglio. Then, in the presence of all the rank and talent in the capital, the sultan demanded of Ibrahim whether he felt sufficient confidence in himself to undertake the weight and responsibility of office. All eyes were fixed earnestly upon that mere youth of scarcely twenty-three, who was thus solemnly adjured.

In a firm voice he replied that with the favor of the sultan and the blessing of the Most High, he did not despair of being enabled to restore the Ottoman Empire to its late prosperity and glory. The astronomer of the court declared that the hour was favorable to invest the new grand vizier with the insignia of office; and at the moment when the call to prayer, "God is great!" sounded from every minaret in Constantinople, Ibrahim Pasha received the imperial seals from the hand of the sultan.



CHAPTER XLIX.

THE NEW GRAND VIZIER.

The call to prayer, "God is great," sounded from every minaret in Constantinople, when Solyman the Magnificent raised the renegade Ibrahim to a rank second only to his own imperial station. The newly appointed prime minister received the congratulations of the assembled dignitaries of the empire; and when this ceremony was accomplished, he repaired to the palace of the viziership, which Piri Pasha had vacated during the night.

A numerous escort of slaves, and a guard of honor, composed of an entire company of Janizaries, attended Ibrahim to his new abode, the streets through which he passed being lined with spectators anxious to obtain a glimpse of the new minister.

But calm, almost passionless, was the expression of Ibrahim's countenance: though he had attained to his present high station speedily, yet he had not reached it unexpectedly; and, even in the moment of this, his proud triumph, there was gall mingled with the cup of honey which he quaffed. For, oh! the light of Christianity was not extinguished within his breast; and though it no longer gleamed there to inspire and to cheer, it nevertheless had strength enough to burn with reproachful flame.

The multitudes cheered and prostrated themselves as he passed; but his salutation was cold and indifferent, and he felt at that moment that he would rather have been wandering through the Vale of Arno, hand-in-hand with his sister, than be welcomed in the streets of Constantinople as the Grand Vizier of the Ottoman Empire!

O crime! thou may'st deck thy brow with flowers, and adorn thy garments with the richest gems—thou may'st elicit the shouts of admiring myriads, and proceed attended by guards ready to hew down those who would treat thee with disrespect—thou may'st quit the palace of a mighty sovereign to repair to a palace of thine own—and in thy hands thou may'st hold the destinies of millions of human beings; but thou canst not subdue the still small voice that whispers reproachfully in thine ear, nor pluck from thy bosom the undying worm.

Though Ibrahim Pasha felt acutely, yet his countenance, as we have before said, expressed nothing—he was still sufficiently master of his emotions to retain them pent up in his own breast; and if he could not appear perfectly happy, he would not allow the world to perceive that his soul harbored secret care. He entered the palace now destined to become his abode, and found himself the lord and master of an establishment such as no Christian monarch in Europe possessed. But as he passed through marble halls and perfumed corridors lined with prostrate slaves—as he contemplated the splendor and magnificence, the wealth and the luxury, by which he was now surrounded—and as he even dwelt upon the hope—nay, the more than hope, the conviction, that he should full soon be blest with the hand of a being whose ravishing beauty was ever present to his mental vision—that still small voice which he could not hush, appeared to ask what avail it was for a man, if he gain the whole world but lose his own soul?

But Ibrahim Pasha was not the man to give way to the influence of even reflections so harrowing as these; and he immediately applied himself to the business of the state, to divert his mind from unpleasurable meditations. Holding a levee that same day, he received and confirmed in their offices all the subordinate ministers; he then dispatched letters to the various governors of provinces to announce to them his elevation to the grand viziership; and he conferred the Pashalic of Egypt upon the fallen minister, Piri Pasha. In the afternoon he granted audiences to the embassadors of the Christian powers; but the Florentine envoy, it should be observed, had quitted Constantinople some weeks previously—indeed, at the time when the sultan undertook his expedition against Rhodes; for the representative of the republic had entirely failed in the mission which had been intrusted to him by his government.

In the evening, when it was quite dusk, Ibrahim retired to his apartment; and hastily disguising himself in a mean attire, he issued forth by a private gate at the back part of the palace. Intent upon putting into execution a scheme which he had hastily planned that very afternoon, he repaired to the quarter inhabited by the Christians. There he entered a house of humble appearance where dwelt a young Greek, with whom he had been on friendly terms at that period when his present greatness was totally unforeseen—indeed, while he was simply the private secretary of the Florentine envoy. He knew that Demetrius was poor, intelligent and trustworthy; and it was precisely an agent of this nature that Ibrahim required for the project which he had in view.

Demetrius—such was the young Greek's name—was seated in a small and meanly furnished apartment, in a desponding manner, and scarcely appearing to notice the efforts which his sister, a beautiful maiden of nineteen, was exerting to console him, when the door opened, and a man dressed as a water-carrier entered the room.