——“i cannot bear
to be the scorned and trampled thing i am
in this degraded land. its very skies,
that smile as if but festivals were held
beneath their cloudless azure, weigh me down
with a dull sense of bondage.”—hemans.
the inhabitants of the once beautiful island of scio, were among the last to rise against their oppressors and throw off the turkish yoke. a combination of causes prevented them from taking part in the revolt when it first broke out. the spirit of enterprise and commerce, while it enriched and refined the people, had withdrawn them, by degrees, from those warlike habits which had distinguished many of the neighboring isles. they were immediately under the coast of asia minor, from whence, without a moment’s warning, they might be overwhelmed by hordes of merciless barbarians. they could not look out upon their vine-clad hills and their cultivated fields, where the orange, citron and pomegranate bloomed in oriental richness, and think that the fair scene should be polluted by the horrors of a desolating war. learning and religion were protected. they were prosperous and happy under a government which, to them at least, had been an indulgent one, and they wisely preferred their present safety to the uncertain chance of future benefit. the young men of the island, many of whom had been educated in the universities of france and italy, with the generous impulse of their age, hastened, at the first cry, to join the ranks of the revolters; and we may well imagine that many, who were themselves unable to take up arms, prayed for the success of the cause and aided it in secret.
a year had now passed, and such was the situation of scio.
it was an evening in the month of march, when a young greek might be seen hastening along the beach in the direction of the principal town of the island. in the dress of the person—which14 was that of the higher class of citizens—there was nothing remarkable; but in his manner there was much to draw attention. his countenance was marked by an expression of cool and high-strung desperation. he strode on, as if to escape from the burthen of some intolerable thought, and muttered to himself from between his close set teeth. we may catch the import of his words.
“well, well! it is over; and in sooth, she carried it nobly for one so young; but that pride shall have a fall, my haughty beauty,—and that stripling antonio, too—by the cross! to be outwitted, circumvented, thus—that he should step in and pluck the fruit i had coveted so long. most excellent constantine! truly thy wits have grown sharp of late to be thus miserably foiled by a beardless boy, and thine own egregious self conceit.—fool! fool!” he paused for an instant, and a demoniac scowl passed across his features. “ay, revenge——and she shall kneel to me even as i knelt to her, and pray to me in her agony and i will not hear her. wo to those who would trifle with the proffers of constantine.”
that night he disappeared from the island, and his absence excited little remark and less regret. of his history scarcely any thing was known; but the mystery with which he chose to envelope his early days, his unbounded prodigality of wealth, and the recklessness of his character, gave rise to a strong suspicion, that his life had been one of desperate and unlawful courses.
and who was she against whom that fearful malediction had been uttered? a gentle spiritual being, unfit for the stormy waves on which she had been cast, destined to struggle with difficulty against them, and perhaps, ere long, to float away on the wilderness of waters, a withered and a broken thing. surrounded with all that wealth could bring, she had grown up, shadowed from the gaze of the world, beautiful and accomplished in person, but still more lovely, if possible, in her intellectual being. to her the literature of the present and the past were unfolded, and she drank deeply of all that is high or impassioned therein. but most she loved to dwell upon the records of her country, and her young blood would thrill as she read of the ancient glory of her people, of their triumphs in arts and arms, of their bards, and warriors, and sages, and she wept when she beheld the degeneracy of their descendants. the beautiful in nature “haunted her like a passion.” she loved the egean and its isles and the blue sky above them, because they were beautiful themselves, but still more because antiquity had hallowed them. and she was wont to steal away from her companions, and in some shady nook made pleasant by the dashing of a mountain rivulet, to read the stories of the ‘olden time,’ till consciousness stole from her and she lived and moved an actor in the scene. on one thus constituted, the first tidings of the revolt struck like an electric shock. the day-dream of her existence seemed to be on the eve of its accomplishment. already, in imagination, she saw the chains15 falling from her nation, and greece, with her bright coronet of isles, smiling in her recovered independence and happiness. she saw the ruined temples and altars reconstructed, and the statues of the renowned of old, restored to their long deserted niches. she lamented that she too might not grasp the lance and wield the sword. but all the interest of an actual combatant was hers. her soul was with niketas, among the passes of the morea, with miaulis and canaris in their desperate engagements by sea, and her prayers were daily with god, that he would crown their efforts with success. she mingled no longer in the song or dance, she was no longer seen in the masque or revel of the festival—a high and holy enthusiasm filled her soul, and
“the boon that nature gave her at her birth,
her own original gaiety of heart”
was gone. as a mother watches with intense solicitude, the varying pulses of a dying child, so did zara watch the rising and sinking fortunes of the cause to which she had bound her happiness forever.
it was the night on which commences our story, and zara is gazing out upon the sea, and the evening breeze that comes in through the lattice, lifts her dark hair and caresses her cheek, as if conscious of the beauty around which it played. the scene through which she had passed, and which had resulted so bitterly to one, had vanished entirely from her mind. the stars were looking down from an unclouded sky, and the waves made music as they broke upon the shore, but both were equally unmarked by her. she thought of her lover beyond the sea, she watched him in all the hazards of a fierce contest, she heard his voice, nerving with confidence his fainting friends and sending dismay into the ranks of the enemy. she saw him driving the moslem before him, now he is among the thickest of the foe, he struggles valiantly, the infidels hem him in on every side, holy virgin preserve him, he is down!—she was suddenly aroused from her painful thoughts. a light boat, containing a single individual, shot rapidly round a curve of the shore, and glided into the dark, smooth water of the little bay that lay beneath her window. a moment after a rich, manly voice rose gaily on the air:—
lady, from thy lofty bower
look not out so tearfully,
lady know, this joyous hour,
from beyond the star-lit sea
brings thy lover back to thee,
brings him, love, to life and thee!
that voice! it was antonio’s—a moment more and she is in his arms.
“ah recreant!” said she, smiling fondly upon him, “is this your boasted patriotism? what sends you from your post in the hour of danger?”
16 “can you ask, zara, and do you forget, that it is a whole year, an age since i have seen you?”
“it is indeed a long weary time, and it has changed you much, antonio.”
“in all things else, perhaps, but not in my devotion to you. but you are paler, zara, than when we parted, and your voice is more low and melancholy than i have ever heard it. i fear you have not lived happily as you were wont. a soldier’s mistress should never repine at his absence.”
“i could not be gay, while greek swords were striking for liberty, and while you, antonio, were hazarding your life; but now that you are here, and i listen to you and see you.”——
——“and feel this warm kiss upon your cheek.”——
“i am happy indeed.”
“you have lived too much in your own sad fancies, and while i remain i must contrive some diversion for you. suppose we excite a conspiracy in scio, by way of amusement.”
“oh delightful!”
“yes, and so romantic. you shall assume the manly toga; the costume of an albanian chief will become that dark beauty of yours right well; and with your eloquence of words and looks we shall soon get up an insurrection. to tell the truth, zara,” he continued more seriously, “it was not love alone that brought me here; our cause is going forward nobly, and the sciots must give to it all their strength and influence. these degenerate countrymen of ours must be awakened from their lethargy, and i have come to rouse them.” and thus, from trifling to serious, from serious to trifling, he wandered on, and zara was sad no longer.
time passed, and antonio had not appealed to his countrymen in vain. the sciots responded to his call, and were only waiting a favorable opportunity to evince their patriotism. at this juncture, history informs us that two adventurers, with troops from samos, landed on the island. the sciots rose. a considerable force sent out against them was repulsed, and the whole body of the turks were finally driven into the citadel and there besieged. the greeks, however, had no means of securing their advantage from want of cannon to batter down the walls, and they were forced to wait in anxious suspense, till artillery might be sent them from abroad. their hopes were frustrated, and all their plans destroyed by the arrival of a turkish fleet of fifty sail, which anchored in the bay, and immediately began to bombard the town. their faithless allies, the samians, at the first appearance of the enemy, had deserted them, and sought safety in flight. under the guns of the castle thousands of turkish troops were disembarked. some resistance was attempted, but all resistance was in vain. hordes of barbarians rolled on and thronged the coast, fit instruments for the horrible tragedy which had been planned in the divan of the sultan, and was now soon to be enacted.
17 that day had worn wearily with zara. hour after hour she had heard the firing of cannon from the fleet; she knew that the turks were landing; she had seen at a distance, troops passing and re-passing across the country, and her lover came not. a thousand doubts, a thousand misgivings, harassed her mind. the sun had set, and yet she had received no tidings from antonio. the booming of the cannon broke incessantly on her ear, and sounded like a knell to all her hopes. her anxiety was now increased to agony. her heart beat with joy as she heard a quick step along the corridor. it approached the apartment. was that her lover’s step? the door opened, and a stranger stood before her.
“i have come!”
“i know you not; who are you?”
“you will know me sooner than you think—one whom you once despised, one whom your scorn has made a seared and blasted thing. but i bear no malice, lady; no, i am merciful compared with you. i have come to save you. listen! the people of scio are doomed to inevitable, indiscriminate massacre.” a red light fell across the room. “hah! at work so soon? lady, do you doubt me, look! scio is in flames! the work of pillage and slaughter has commenced. the fiends will soon be here—a boat lies moored below, in which i will convey you to a place of safety—away! away!”
“villain! no. what means that moslem dress? apostate from your country and your god! if i must perish, i will perish here; not to thee will i owe my safety.”
“no! well, listen to me, and be calm as i am: mark me. ’twas i who urged upon the sultan the strong necessity of taking summary vengeance on the sciots. ’twas i who poured upon the shore these swarms of merciless barbarians. ’twas i who ordered the burning of yonder town. ’twas i that slew thy lover—perhaps you like me better now.”
“miscreant! back, lay not your hand upon me. oh god!” she caught a slender dagger from her girdle, and assumed an attitude of self-defense. “i am not so weak and timid as you think.”
“this is folly: i am wasting time.” he seized her by the wrist, and with a smile of pity, forced the weapon from her delicate hand. she fainted.
the last words of gratuitous cruelty, “’twas i that slew thy lover,” false as they were, had done their office, and constantine, lifting her in his arms, bore her swiftly away.
as long as it was possible, antonio, with a few brave greeks, made head against the enemy. he saw that the enterprise in which he had toiled so long had failed, but he could not bear tamely to relinquish the field. overpowering numbers at length forced him to retire, and he sullenly watched from a distance the landing of the enemy. from what he had already witnessed of turkish warfare, he soon suspected the scene that would ensue. the thought of zara18 flashed upon his mind—giving a few brief orders to those under his command, he hastened towards her home. what he heard and saw by the way increased his alarm. yells and groans, and the report of musketry, rose from the city, while, here and there, the flames had begun to burst forth. now and then, a crowd of women and children, frantic with fear, crossed his path, seeking for safety in the country. he hurries forward—the house is now in sight, but all is dark and desolate; he crosses the threshold—no one answers to his call; he reaches her apartment—it is empty.
he hastens again from the house. following with his eye the path that led to the shore, he caught a glance of constantine moving swiftly forward with his burden.
with the fierceness of a maniac, he bounds down the declivity. constantine hears his pursuer, and quickens his pace. he is near the boat. on! on! if you would save your bride. too late—too late. yet there is one, though a desperate resource. antonio’s pistol rings upon the air. hah! he staggers with his burthen, but struggles forward—in vain—he supports his sinking form against a rock, while his life blood ebbs fast away. with the look of a baffled fiend, he turns towards his pursuer. rage and disappointment writhe his lip, while his brow grows pale in death. he seeks his sash, and a stiletto gleams in the moonlight. what means that strange, ghastly smile? oh god! he cannot mean——the blow is struck, and as he sinks to the earth, the life blood of zara mingles with his own upon the sands. in an instant her lover kneels over her, but she hears him not, she answers him not. thy pure soul has fled, unconscious of the blow thy ‘demon lover’ dealt. thou hast gone ere the storm had desolated thy beautiful island-home—ere the sorrows of thy country had entered into thy soul. it is well with thee, sweet enthusiast, it is well with thee as thou art.
antonio knelt over her, and called loudly upon her name, but he only heard it repeated, as if in derision, by the echoes of the cliffs. that tremendous moment when doubt struggles against a dreadful certainty passed by, and he knew that she was dead.
pride, wealth, ambition, glory, what now are they to him? one word from those pale lips, one ray of light from those darkened eyes were worth them all.
the bodies were found the next morning on the spot where they had fallen, but antonio had disappeared. he was never seen again in his native island. life with him had ceased to have any attractions, and he sought release from it in the most desperate engagements with the enemies of greece. he perished in battle, but not till he had obtained the glad assurance that the cause in which he had suffered so much would eventually triumph. as for zara,
“she sleeps well,
by the sea-shore whereon she loved to dwell.”
