“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.