“Did I not love my unknown protectress,” murmured Ibrahim to himself, as he sped rapidly back to his palace, “I feel that Calanthe’s eyes would make an impression upon my heart.”
Scarcely had he resumed his magnificent garb, on his return home, when a slave announced to him that his imperial majesty, the sultan, required his immediate attendance at the seraglio, whither he was to repair in the most private manner possible. A sudden misgiving darted through Ibrahim’s imagination. Could Solyman have repented of the step which he had taken in thus suddenly elevating him to the pinnacle of power? Was his viziership to last but a few short hours? had the secret influence, which had hitherto protected him, ceased?
Considering the times and the country in which he lived, these fears were justifiable; and it was with a rapidly beating heart that the new minister hastened, attended only by a single slave, to the dwelling of his imperial master. But when he was ushered into the presence of the sultan—his own slave remaining in the ante-room—his apprehensions were dissipated by the smiling countenance with which the monarch greeted him. Having signaled his attendants to retire, Solyman the Magnificent addressed the grand vizier in the following manner:
“Thy great talents, thy zeal in our service, and the salvation which I owed to thee in the breach at Rhodes, have been instrumental, oh, Ibrahim! in raising thee to thy present high state. But the bounties of the sultan are without end, as the mercy of Allah is illimitable! Thou hast doubtless heard that among my numerous sisters, there is one of such unrivaled beauty—such peerless loveliness, that the world hath not seen her equal. Happy may the man deem himself on whom the fair Aischa shall be bestowed; and thou art that happy man, Ibrahim—and Aischa is thine.”
The grand vizier threw himself at the feet of his imperial master, and murmured expressions of gratitude—but his heart sank within him—for he knew that in marrying the sultan’s sister he should not be allowed the enjoyment of the Mussulman privilege of polygamy, and thus his hopes of possessing the beautiful unknown to whom he owed so much appeared to hover on the verge of annihilation. But might not that unknown lady and the beauteous Aischa be one and the same person? The unknown was evidently the mistress of an influence almost illimitable; and was it not natural to conceive that she, then, must be the sister of the sultan? Again, the sultan had many sisters; and the one who had exerted her interest for Ibrahim, might not be the Princess Aischa, who was now promised to him! All these conjectures and conflicting speculations passed through the mind of Ibrahim in far less time than we have taken to describe their nature; and he was cruelly the prey to mingled hope and alarm, when the sultan exclaimed, “Rise, my Vizier Azem, and follow me.”
The apostate obeyed with beating heart, and Solyman the Magnificent conducted him along several passages and corridors to a splendidly furnished room, which Ibrahim immediately recognized as the very one in which he had been admitted, many months previously, to an interview with the beauteous unknown. Yes—that was the apartment in which he had listened to the eloquence of her soft, persuasive voice—it was there that, intoxicated with passion, he had abjured the faith of a Christian and embraced the creed of the false Prophet Mohammed. And, reclining on the very sofa where he had first seen her—but attended by a troop of charming female slaves—was the fair unknown—his secret protectress—more lovely, more bewitching, than she appeared when last they met.
An arch smile played upon her lips, as she rose from the magnificent cushions—a smile which seemed to say, “I have kept my word, I have raised thee to the highest dignity, save one in the Ottoman Empire—and I will now crown thine happiness by giving thee my hand.”
And, oh, so beauteous, so ravishingly lovely did she appear, as that smile revealed teeth whiter than the Oriental pearls, which she wore, and as a slight flush on her damask cheek and the bright flashing of her eyes betrayed the joy and triumph which filled her heart—so elegant and graceful was her faultless form, which the gorgeous Ottoman garb so admirably became, that Ibrahim forgot all his recent compunction—lost sight of home and friends—remembered not the awful apostasy of which he had been guilty—but fell upon his knees in adoration of that charming creature, while the sultan with a smile which showed that he was no stranger to the mysteries of the past, exclaimed in a benignant tone, “Vizier Azem! receive the hand of my well-beloved sister Aischa!”
CHAPTER L.
THE COUNT OF ARESTINO—THE PLOT THICKENS.
Return we now to the fair city of flowers—to thee, delightful Florence—vine crowned queen of Tuscany! The summer has come, and the gardens are brilliant with dyes and hues of infinite variety; the hills and the valleys are clothed in their brightest emerald garment—and the Arno winds its peaceful way between banks blushing with choicest fruits of the earth.