“Those are lies, shameful lies!” cried Akbar, suddenly awakening from the composure with which, until now, he had listened to the fanatic’s ravings. “Shameful scandal, of which you religious zealots are alone capable, when you leave reason in the lurch and seek to throw blemishes on a noble character. How Abú-l Fazl died, and what were his dying words, I know from one I can trust; therefore spare me your idle inventions. I will not hear them. I have listened patiently to the insolent words you have dared to use towards me; I have shown you an indulgence that perhaps no prince in my place would have done, and you have misused it, which I will not suffer. Attack me, insult my dearest convictions, revile me, Akbar your Emperor,—it is well; all that I will pardon. But do not calumniate my truest and treacherously murdered friend, or I will make use of my power to silence for ever the tongue that has attacked in so cowardly a manner a hated opponent who can no longer defend himself.”
“Take my head,” said Abdul Kadir, as, undismayed, he looked the Emperor in the face. “You know that I have ever desired to give my life for you. If my death can do you no service, it may at least appease your unjust wrath. I have said what I believed to be the truth, whether you believe it or not. I did my duty, and you can do yours, or what you are pleased to consider as such.”
“Enough,” said Akbar, recovering from his indignation; “I desire your life as little as your death. Go hence unharmed, but do not dare ever again to come into my presence.”
Without a word of greeting, Abdul Kadir turned round, and with a proud and defiant look strode towards the door; but as he laid his hand on the curtain that hung before it, the Emperor called him by his name, and the proud Muhammadan turned round in surprise.
“Abdul Kadir,” he said, “do not let us part so. We have known each other too long, and learnt to respect each other too highly, to part in such a manner. For I know, in spite of our difference, your respect and esteem are mine—even your vehemence proves it; and I, on my side, do not only look upon you as a learned and wise, but as a brave and honourable man, which in these days is of far greater value. I would not willingly see any one leave me in anger, and you least of all. Go; I understand that it is necessary you should do so, and that it cannot be otherwise; but do not go with wrath in your heart: think on the long years that we have passed together in peace and friendship, and forget the cause that makes our parting unavoidable.”
As Akbar began to speak, Abdul Kadir’s countenance still retained its defiant expression; but by degrees this softened at the generous words of the forgiving prince, and though he said nothing, his whole bearing spoke, as Akbar held out his hand. He grasped it warmly, and a tear fell on it as he bent his head. Then he turned and went, never to return, for he also was one of those whom the Emperor would see no more. Akbar remained for some time gazing towards the curtain that had closed behind his friend of former years. At last, with faltering step he approached the open gallery, and gazed out on the gardens, with their softly falling fountains, lying in profound peace under the silvery moonlight. Then, wearied out, he sank on one of the marble seats, and covered his face with his hands.
Thus, they all forsook him one after another: Abú-l Fazl cruelly torn from him, the Christian missionaries departing in anger, and now Abdul Kadir bade him farewell for ever; and all this happened in the moment when, above all, he needed the support of true friends—in the midst of dangers and difficulties, when even his own son rose against him, and strove to wrench from his hands the sceptre he had so long wielded for the prosperity and welfare of his subjects. And all this for the sake of religion! For that Salim took up arms in the name of the true faith was certain; and it was generally believed that Nara Singh had been a tool in the hands of religious fanatics.
“Religion,” said Akbar to himself, “what is it, then? Is it a blessing bringing peace and joy to the soul of man, showing him his utter nothingness, leading him to humility and adoration, and awakening in him the love of his fellow-man, and the desire to live for the good of others? Or is it a fatal thing, making man prouder, more overbearing to others, the deeper his convictions are rooted; a madness that at times masters the greatest and noblest, forcing them to hate and curse, and that brings crime, murder, and bloody strife amongst the people? Would it be fortunate, or unfortunate, should the human race with one consent cease to possess any religion? Unanswerable question! Full of the greatest contradiction, and yet to which every one would be ready to reply without thought. Without religious worship all are agreed that there can be no salvation for man, no order in society. But when the question of the choice of a religion arises, at once the flames of conflict break out; and each man cries ‘Mine, and mine alone!’ Swords leap from their scabbards, and steel and violence are to decide what is truth. Is it possible that some day a religious system may arise that will content all, and unite the human race in one bond of love? Were they idle and foolish dreams with which I flattered myself when I believed that I had found it? Alas! it is hard to lose friends, but harder to lose cherished illusions that are dearer still.”
A hand laid gently on his shoulder made Akbar look up. By his side stood Faizi, to whom was allowed the privilege of approaching the Emperor unannounced.
“Akbar,” said Faizi, “awaken from your sad and useless musing. Must I be the one to say to you, be a man!—I, who, in comparison with you, am so weak? But it is necessary that I should so speak. I do not feel less keenly the loss of my dear brother, than you the loss of a true councillor and a much-loved friend. It is necessary that we should both rouse ourselves, and not allow grief so to overwhelm us as to make us weak in the face of dangers that still threaten the kingdom; therefore I dare to say to you, show yourself again a man. To be so cast down is unworthy of you; and if Abú-l Fazl could know it, he might perchance acknowledge for the first time in his life that Akbar is not faultless.”