



Produced by K. Kay Shearin





THE RISE OF ISKANDER

By Benjamin Disraeli





CHAPTER 1


The sun had set behind the mountains, and the rich plain of Athens was
suffused with the violet glow of a Grecian eye. A light breeze rose; the
olive-groves awoke from their noonday trance, and rustled with returning
animation, and the pennons of the Turkish squadron, that lay at anchor
in the harbour of Piraeus, twinkled in the lively air. From one gate
of the city the women came forth in procession to the fountain; from
another, a band of sumptuous horsemen sallied out, and threw their
wanton javelins in the invigorating sky, as they galloped over the
plain. The voice of birds, the buzz of beauteous insects, the breath of
fragrant flowers, the quivering note of the nightingale, the pattering
call of the grasshopper, and the perfume of the violet, shrinking from
the embrace of the twilight breeze, filled the purple air with music and
with odour.

A solitary being stood upon the towering crag of the Acropolis, amid
the ruins of the Temple of Minerva, and gazed upon the inspiring scene.
Around him rose the matchless memorials of antique art; immortal columns
whose symmetry baffles modern proportion, serene Caryatides, bearing
with greater grace a graceful burthen, carvings of delicate precision,
and friezes breathing with heroic life. Apparently the stranger, though
habited as a Moslemin, was not insensible to the genius of the locality,
nor indeed would his form and countenance have misbecome a contemporary
of Pericles and Phidias. In the prime of life and far above the common
stature, but with a frame the muscular power of which was even exceeded
by its almost ideal symmetry, white forehead, his straight profile, his
oval countenance, and his curling lip, exhibited the same visage that
had inspired the sculptor of the surrounding demigods.

The dress of the stranger, although gorgeous, was, however, certainly
not classic. A crimson shawl was wound round his head and glittered with
a trembling aigrette of diamonds. His vest which set tight to his form,
was of green velvet, richly embroidered with gold and pearls. Over this
he wore a very light jacket of crimson velvet, equally embroidered, and
lined with sable. He wore also the full white camese common among the
Albanians; and while his feet were protected by sandals, the lower part
of his legs was guarded by greaves of embroidered green velvet. From
a broad belt of scarlet leather peeped forth the jewelled hilts of
a variety of daggers, and by his side was an enormous scimitar, in a
scabbard of chased silver.

The stranger gazed upon the wide prospect before him with an air of
pensive abstraction. "Beautiful Greece," he exclaimed, "thou art still
my country. A mournful lot is mine, a strange and mournful lot, yet not
uncheered by hope. I am at least a warrior; and this arm, though trained
to war against thee, will not well forget, in the quick hour of battle,
the blood that flows within it. Themistocles saved Greece and died
a Satrap: I am bred one, let me reverse our lots, and die at least a
patriot."

At this moment the Evening Hymn to the Virgin arose from a neighbouring
convent. The stranger started as the sacred melody floated towards
him, and taking a small golden cross from his heart, he kissed it with
devotion, and then descending the steep of the citadel, entered the
city.

He proceeded alone the narrow winding streets of Athens until he at
length arrived in front of a marble palace, in the construction of which
the architect had certainly not consulted the surrounding models which
Time bad spared to him, but which, however, it might have offended
a classic taste, presented altogether a magnificent appearance.
Half-a-dozen guards, whose shields and helmets somewhat oddly contrasted
with the two pieces of cannon, one of which was ostentatiously placed on
each side of the portal, and which had been presented to the Prince of
Athens by the Republic of Venice, lounged before the entrance, and paid
their military homage to the stranger as he passed them. He passed
them and entered a large quadrangular garden, surrounded by arcades,
supported by a considerable number of thin, low pillars, of barbarous
workmanship, and various- marbles. In the midst of the garden
rose a fountain, whence the bubbling waters flowed in artificial
channels through vistas of orange and lemon trees. By the side of the
fountain on a luxurious couch, his eyes fixed upon a richly-illuminated
volume, reposed Nicaeus, the youthful Prince of Athens.

"Ah! is it you?" said the Prince, looking up with a smile, as the
stranger advanced. "You have arrived just in time to remind me that we
must do something more than read the Persae, we must act it."

"My dear Nicaeus," replied the stranger, "I have arrived only to bid you
farewell."

"Farewell!" exclaimed the Prince in a tone of surprise and sorrow; and
he rose from the couch. "Why! what is this?"

"It is too true;" said the stranger, and he led the way down one of the
walks. "Events have occurred which entirely baffle all our plans and
prospects, and place me in a position as difficult as it is harrowing.
Hunniades has suddenly crossed the Danube in great force, and carried
everything before him. I am ordered to proceed to Albania instantly, and
to repair to the camp at the head of the Epirots."

"Indeed!" said Nicaeus, with a thoughtful air. "My letters did not
prepare me for this. 'Tis sudden! Is Amurath himself in the field?"

"No; Karam Bey commands. I have accounted for my delay to the Sultan by
pretended difficulties in our treaty, and have held out the prospect of
a larger tribute."

"When we are plotting that that tribute should be paid no longer!" added
Nicaeus, with a smile.

"Alas! my dear friend," replied the Turkish commander, "my situation
has now become critical. Hitherto my services for the Moslemin have been
confined to acting against nations of their own faith. I am now suddenly
summoned to combat against my secret creed, and the best allies of what
I must yet call my secret country. The movement, it appears to me, must
be made now or never, and I cannot conceal from myself, that it never
could have been prosecuted under less auspicious circumstances."

"What, you desponding!" exclaimed Nicaeus; "then I must despair. Your
sanguine temper has alone supported me throughout all our dangerous
hopes."

"And AEschylus?" said the stranger, smiling.

"And AEschylus, certainly," replied Nicaeus; "but I have lived to find
even AEschylus insipid. I pant for action."

"It may be nearer than we can foresee," replied the stranger. "There is
a God who fashions all things. He will not desert a righteous cause.
He knoweth that my thoughts are as pure as my situation is difficult. I
have some dim ideas still brooding in my mind, but we will not discuss
them now. I must away, dear Prince. The breeze serves fairly. Have you
ever seen Hunniades?"

"I was educated at the Court of Transylvania," replied Nicaeus,
looking down with a somewhat embarrassed air. "He is a famous knight,
Christendom's chief bulwark."

The Turkish commander sighed. "When we meet again," he said, "may we
meet with brighter hopes and more buoyant spirits. At present, I must,
indeed, say farewell."

The Prince turned with a dejected countenance, and pressed his
companion to his heart. "'Tis a sad end," said he, "to all our happy
hours and lofty plans."

"You are as yet too young to quarrel with Fortune," replied the
stranger, "and for myself, I have not yet settled my accounts with her.
However, for the present farewell, dear Nicaeus!"

"Farewell," replied the Prince of Athens, "farewell, dear Iskander!"



CHAPTER 2


Iskander was the youngest son of the Prince of Epirus, who, with the
other Grecian princes, had, at the commencement of the reign of Amurath
the Second, in vain resisted the progress of the Turkish arms in Europe.
The Prince of Epirus had obtained peace by yielding his four sons as
hostages to the Turkish sovereign, who engaged that they should be
educated in all the accomplishments of their rank, and with a due
deference to their faith. On the death of the Prince of Epirus, however,
Amurath could not resist the opportunity that then offered itself
of adding to his empire the rich principality he had long coveted. A
Turkish force instantly marched into Epirus, and seized upon Croia, the
capital city, and the children of its late ruler were doomed to death.
The beauty, talents, and valour of the youngest son, saved him, however,
from the fate of his poisoned brothers. Iskander was educated at
Adrianople, in the Moslemin faith, and as he, at a very early age,
exceeded in feats of arms all the Moslemin warriors, he became a prime
favourite of the Sultan, and speedily rose in his service to the highest
rank.

At this period the irresistible progress of the Turkish arms was the
subject of alarm throughout all Christendom.

Constantinople, then the capital of the Greek Empire, had already been
more than once besieged by the predecessors of Amurath, and had only
been preserved by fortunate accidents and humiliating terms. The despots
of Bosnia, Servia, and Bulgaria, and the Grecian princes of Etolia,
Macedon, Epirus, Athens, Phocis, Boeotia, and indeed of all the regions
to the straits of Corinth, were tributaries to Amurath, and the rest of
Europe was only preserved from his grasp by the valour of the Hungarians
and the Poles, whom a fortunate alliance had now united under the
sovereignty of Uladislaus, who, incited by the pious eloquence of the
cardinal of St. Angelo, the legate of the Pope, and, yielding to the
tears and supplications of the despot of Servia, had, at the time our
story opens, quitted Buda, at the head of an immense army, crossed the
Danube, and, joining his valiant viceroy, the famous John Hunniades,
vaivode of Transylvania, defeated the Turks with great slaughter,
relieved all Bulgaria, and pushed on to the base of Mount Haemus, known
in modern times as the celebrated Balkan. Here the Turkish general,
Karam Bey, awaited the Christians, and hither to his assistance was
Iskander commanded to repair at the head of a body of Janissaries, who
had accompanied him to Greece, and the tributary Epirots.

Had Iskander been influenced by vulgar ambition, his loftiest desires
might have been fully gratified by the career which Amurath projected
for him. The Turkish Sultan destined for the Grecian Prince the hand
of one of his daughters, and the principal command of his armies. He
lavished upon him the highest dignities and boundless wealth; and,
whether it arose from a feeling of remorse, or of affection for a
warrior whose unexampled valour and unrivalled skill had already added
some of the finest provinces of Asia to his rule, it is certain that
Iskander might have exercised over Amurath a far greater degree of
influence than was enjoyed by any other of his courtiers. But the heart
of Iskander responded with no sympathy to these flattering favours.
His Turkish education could never eradicate from his memory the
consciousness that he was a Greek; and although he was brought up in
the Moslemin faith, he had at an early period of his career, secretly
recurred to the creed of his Christian fathers. He beheld in Amurath the
murderer of his dearest kinsmen, and the oppressor of his country; and
although a certain calmness of temper, and coolness of judgment, which
very early developed themselves in his character, prevented him from
ever giving any indication of his secret feelings, Iskander had long
meditated on the exalted duty of freeing his country.

Dispatched to Greece, to arrange the tributes and the treaties of the
Grecian princes, Iskander became acquainted with the young Nicaeus;
and their acquaintance soon matured into friendship. Nicaeus was
inexperienced; but nature had not intended him for action. The young
Prince of Athens would loll by the side of a fountain, and dream of the
wonders of old days. Surrounded by his eunuchs, his priests, and his
courtiers, he envied Leonidas, and would have emulated Themistocles. He
was passionately devoted to the ancient literature of his country, and
had the good taste, rare at that time, to prefer Demosthenes and Lysias
to Chrysostom and Gregory, and the choruses of the Grecian theatre to
the hymns of the Greek church. The sustained energy and noble simplicity
of the character of Iskander, seemed to recall to the young prince the
classic heroes over whom he was so often musing, while the enthusiasm
and fancy of Nicaeus, and all that apparent weakness of will, and those
quick vicissitudes of emotion, to which men of a fine susceptibility are
subject, equally engaged the sympathy of the more vigorous and constant
and experienced mind of his companion.

To Nicaeus, Iskander had, for the first time in his life, confided much
of his secret heart; and the young Prince fired at the inspiring tale.
Often they consulted over the fortunes of their country, and, excited
by their mutual invention, at length even dared to hope that they might
effect its deliverance, when Iskander was summoned to the army. It was
a mournful parting. Both of them felt that the last few months of
their lives had owed many charms to their companionship. The parting of
friends, united by sympathetic tastes, is always painful; and friends,
unless this sympathy subsist, had much better never meet. Iskander
stepped into the ship, sorrowful, but serene; Nicaeus returned to his
palace moody and fretful; lost his temper with his courtiers, and, when
he was alone, even shed tears.



CHAPTER 3


Three weeks bad elapsed since the parting of Iskander and Nicaeus, when
the former, at the head of ten thousand men, entered by a circuitous
route the defiles of Mount Haemus, and approached the Turkish camp, which
had been pitched, upon a vast and elevated table-ground, commanded
on all sides by superior heights, which, however, were fortified and
well-garrisoned by Janissaries. The Epirots halted, and immediately
prepared to raise their tents, while their commander, attended by a few
of his officers, instantly proceeded to the pavilion of Karam Bey.

The arrival of Iskander diffused great joy among the soldiery; and as he
passed through the encampment, the exclamations of the Turkish warriors
announced how ready they were to be led to the charge by a chieftain who
had been ever successful. A guard of honour, by the orders of Karam Bey,
advanced to conduct Iskander to his presence; and soon, entering the
pavilion, the Grecian prince exchanged courtesies with the Turkish
general. After the formal compliments had passed, Karam Bey waved his
hand, and the pavilion was cleared, with the exception of Mousa, the
chief secretary, and favourite of Karam.

"You have arrived in good time, Iskander, to assist in the destruction
of the Christian dogs," said the Bey. "Flushed with their accursed
success, they have advanced too far. Twice they have endeavoured to
penetrate the mountains; and each time they have been forced to retire,
with great loss. The passages are well barricadoed with timber and huge
fragments of rock. The dogs have lost all heart, and are sinking under
the joint sufferings of hunger and cold. Our scouts tell me they
exhibit symptoms of retreat. We must rush down from the mountains, and
annihilate them."

"Is Hunniades here in person?" inquired Iskander.

"He is here," replied Karam, "in person, the dog of dogs! Come,
Iskander, his head would be a fine Ramadan present to Amurath. 'Tis a
head worth three tails, I guess."

Mousa, the chief secretary, indulged in some suppressed laughter at this
joke. Iskander smiled.

"If they retreat we must assuredly attack them," observed Iskander,
musingly. "I have a persuasion that Hunniades and myself will soon
meet."

"If there be truth in the Prophet!" exclaimed Karam. "I have no doubt
of it. Hunniades is reserved for you, Bey. We shall hold up our heads at
court yet, Iskander. You have had letters lately?"

"Some slight words."

"No mention of us, of course?"

"Nothing, except some passing praise of your valour and discretion."

"We do our best, we do our best. Will Isa Bey have AEtolia, think you?"

"I have no thoughts. Our royal father will not forget his children, and
Isa Bey is a most valiant chieftain."

"You heard not that he was coming here?" inquired Karam.

"Have you?" responded the cautious Iskander.

"A rumour, a rumour," replied Karam. "He is at Adrianople, think you?"

"It may be so: I am, you know, from Athens."

"True, true. We shall beat them, Iskander, we shall beat them."

"For myself, I feel sanguine," replied the Prince, and he arose to
retire. "I must at present to my men. We must ascertain more accurately
the movements of the Christians before we decide on our own. I am
inclined myself to reconnoitre them. How far may it be?"

"There is not room to form our array between them and the mountains,"
replied Karam.

"'Tis well. Success attend the true believers! By to-morrow's dawn we
shall know more."



CHAPTER 4


Iskander returned to his men. Night was coming on. Fires and lights
blazed and sparkled in every direction. The air was clear, but very
cold. He entered his tent, and muffling himself up in his pelisse of
sables, he mounted his horse, and declining any attendance, rode for
some little distance, until he had escaped from the precincts of the
camp. Then he turned his horse towards one of the wildest passes of
the mountain, and galloping at great speed, never stopped until he had
gained a considerable ascent. The track became steep and rugged. The
masses of loose stone rendered his progress slow; but his Anatolian
charger still bore him at intervals bravely, and in three hours' time he
had gained the summit of Mount Haemus. A brilliant moon flooded the broad
plains of Bulgaria with shadowy light. At the base of the