Part 2 — THE CIRCASSIAN BRIDE.

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BY ESTHER WETHERALD.

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“She walks in beauty, like the nights

Of cloudless climes and starry skies.”

Byron.

Nerinda was the daughter of a shepherd, who dwelt in one of the charming portions of Circassia. If beauty was a blessing, Nerinda was blessed beyond the ordinary lot of mortals, for the fame of her loveliness had extended through the neighboring vallies, and at the early age of fourteen her hand had been sought by many, with an earnestness which showed her parents what a treasure they possessed in their eldest born. But no one had been able to obtain her.

Money is not so plentiful in the vales of Circassia, as in the mart of Constantinople; and few of the neighboring youths might venture therefore to aspire to her hand. There appeared, every day, less probability that the fair girl would be permitted to pass her life amidst scenes endeared to her by a thousand childish and tender recollections. Nerinda felt this and her eye became less bright, and her step less buoyant, than when she trod the flowery turf a few short months before, a happy careless child, attending those flocks now abandoned to the care of the younger children. She became pensive and melancholy. Her rich color faded, and her parents saw with surprise and concern that the dazzling beauty on which so much depended, would be tarnished by the very means they were taking to preserve it. What was to be done? She must resume her old employment, since healthful exercise was of such consequence to her appearance; she could do so in the neighboring meadows without danger, accompanied by her sister Leila. Oh! how happy was Nerinda, when she received this unlooked for indulgence; with what haste did she braid and arrange her beautiful hair, and fasten on the veil without which she must not be seen; then joining her sister, she visited every spot endeared to her by memory, and at length, seating herself on a mossy bank which separated her father’s possessions from those of a neighboring shepherd, began to arrange the many flowers she had culled into beautiful bouquets and chaplets, an occupation befitting one so young and lovely; but even whilst her hands were thus employed, it was evident her thoughts were far distant, for she fell into reveries so deep, that her sister, unable to arouse her from her abstraction, became weary of attempting it, and returned to her fleecy charge, leaving Nerinda to muse alone.

Nerinda believed herself alone, but immediately after the departure of Leila, a finely formed youth had crossed the stream, and stood at the distance of a few paces, gazing on her with a passionate tenderness which betokened the strength of his attachment. Almost afraid to disturb her meditations, yet anxious to obtain a single word, a single glance, he remained motionless; waiting, hoping that she might raise her eyes, and give him permission to advance. She raised them at length, uttered an exclamation of surprise, and in a moment the youth was at her feet. “Nerinda!” “Hassan!” were the first words that escaped their lips.

“Do I indeed see thee? and dost thou still love thy Nerinda?” said the maiden.

“Love thee?” replied the youth in an impassioned tone, “thy image is entwined with every fibre of my heart. They may tear thee from me, they may destroy me if they will, but while life remains I cannot cease to love.”

“Alas!” said Nerinda, “weeks have passed since I saw thee, and I feared—I—.” She stopped confused, for Hassan had seized her hand, and was pressing it to his lips with an energy which showed how well he understood what was passing in her mind.

“Oh! Nerinda,” said he, “I have entreated, I have implored thy father to bestow thee on me, but in vain, for all the money I could offer was not one tenth of the sum he requires; yet do not despair,” he said, as the color faded from her cheek, “I still may hope if thou remainest constant.”

“This very morning,” continued Hassan, “I sought thy father; at first he was unwilling to listen to me. At length I prevailed on him to hearken, even if he refused his assent to what I proposed: but he did not refuse. Pleased with my anxiety to obtain thee, he has promised that if in two years I can gain the required sum thou shalt be my wife; if I cannot he will wait no longer, but part with thee to him who will pay the highest price.”

The voice of the youth faltered—he was scarcely able to continue, “in two days I am to take all the money my father can spare, and join the caravan which proceeds to the south; fear not,” said he, replying to the alarm expressed in her varying countenance, “there is no danger, the caravan is large, and if fortunate as a trader, I shall return before two years have passed to claim my plighted bride. Wilt thou be true? may I trust thee?” were questions the lover asked, though he felt sure the answers would be such as he could desire, and when the assurance was given, he for the first time ventured to impress a kiss on those beautiful lips. Long did they thus converse, but at length they parted; Nerinda promising to come to the same spot on the next evening to bid him farewell.

They parted, Hassan vainly endeavoring to inspire Nerinda with his own hopes. She almost sank under the trial, and it was many days before she had strength to revisit the bank of turf, their accustomed trysting place. When she did, how changed did all appear; the flowers were still blooming around; the stream flowed on with its accustomed murmur; the birds carolled sweetly as of old; where then was the change? Alas! it was in her own heart: joy and happiness had fled with Hassan, and melancholy had taken their place.

Two years and six months had passed since the departure of the youth, and there seemed little probability of his return; even his venerable father mourned him as dead, when a company of traders entered the mountains. One of them was an old acquaintance in the valley. He renewed his solicitations to the father of Nerinda, that she might be placed under his charge; offering the highest price, and promising that her future lot should be as brilliant and delightful as her past had been obscure. The shepherd was greatly disappointed by the non-appearance of Hassan, for he would have preferred keeping his daughter near him if he could have done so with advantage to himself, but being poor as well as avaricious, and imagining he should be perfectly happy if possessed of so much wealth as the trader offered, he consented to part with her, who had ever been his chief delight, and the pride of his heart.

Language cannot paint the consternation of Nerinda when she learned her father’s determination. The delay of Hassan she accounted for by supposing he had not yet acquired the full amount necessary for his purpose, and hoped that after a while he would return to call her his. Now all hope was at an end. Hassan might still come, but she would be far distant, perhaps the wife of another. Her mother and sister too shared her grief, for they thought it would be impossible to live without Nerinda; but all entreaties and lamentations were vain, the shepherd had made the bargain and would abide by it; and she was hurried to the caravan in a state little short of insensibility.

And where was Hassan? He had determined in the first place to proceed with the caravan to Mecca, whither it was bound, and laying out the money he possessed in merchandise, to trade at the different towns on their route. Before they arrived at the holy city he had consequently so greatly increased his store, that he felt no doubt he should be able to return before the time appointed; but meeting soon afterward with a heavy loss, he was thrown back when he least expected it, and at the end of two years had not more than half the amount required. To return without it was useless, and he set about repairing his loss with a heavy heart. Six months passed in this endeavor, at the end of which time he found himself rich enough to return, but it was necessary he should proceed to Constantinople to settle some business, and join a caravan which was going toward his native country. His anxiety increased every day: of what avail would be his wealth, if she, for whose sake it had been accumulated, was lost forever?

The day before the one fixed for his departure from Constantinople, a company of traders arrived, bringing with them Circassian slaves. He happened to be passing by the slave-market, and impelled by sudden curiosity, entered the room. He had scarcely done so when he was struck by the graceful figure of one of the girls, which reminded him of Nerinda. He felt almost afraid to have her veil removed, then remembering that it would be impossible for her to recognise him in his present dress, and determining to suppress his emotions whatever the result, he made the request, which was instantly complied with. It was indeed Nerinda, but how changed! She stood before him pale as marble, with downcast eyes, looking as if no smile would ever again illumine those pensive features; once only a faint color tinged her cheek as he advanced toward her, then instantly gave place to more deathly paleness. The price was soon agreed upon, for the trader was now as anxious to get rid of his fair slave as he had been desirous to obtain her; having resigned the hope of making an immense profit in consequence of the continual dejection and grief she indulged, which had greatly impaired her health and beauty. Hassan ordered the trader to send her to his apartments immediately.

When he entered the room to which she had been conducted, he gently raised her veil. She looked up, and recognised him instantly; her joy was as unbounded as his own, but was displayed in a different manner. She threw herself into his arms and sobbed and wept. She was, however, at length able to listen tranquilly to the account of his adventures, and to relate her own.

The remembrance of his aged parent, doubly endeared by absence, and of his joyous childhood, were still alive in the breast of Hassan; and after a few days spent at Constantinople, he proposed to return to his native valley.

They set out, the health and beauty of Nerinda improving, in spite of the fatigues of their journey. The joy with which they were greeted was unbounded. All had given Hassan up for dead, and Nerinda was regarded as lost to them forever. Even her father had repented of his avarice, and would willingly have returned his gold, could he have once more had Nerinda by his side. Her mother and sisters hung around her with tears of joy; and the whole valley welcomed her return with glad rejoicings.

The young couple took up their residence with Hassan’s father; many a visit did they pay to that bank of turf, the scene of their former meetings, and never did they look on that spot without feeling their bosom swell with the emotions of gratitude to that kind Providence who had disposed all things for their good, and had watched over and protected them, even when they believed themselves deserted.