not overwhelmed with glory and joy, but you were so when you proposed
this question; so, prince, instead of having recourse to vain
quibbles, confess honestly that you have lost your right to
Tourandocte. I therefore can, if I choose, refuse you my hand, and
abandon you to the regret of having lost your prize; nevertheless, I
will acknowledge to you, and declare here publicly, that I entertain
different feelings towards you to what I did. The friendship my father
has conceived for you, and your own merit, have determined me to take
you for my husband."
At these words all etiquette was for a moment forgotten; the
council-chamber resounded with shouts of joy. The mandarins and
doctors applauded the words of Tourandocte. The king approached her,
and kissing her, said, "My child, you could not have formed a decision
more agreeable to me; by this act you will efface the bad impression
you have made upon the minds of my people, and you confer upon your
father a joy to which he has long been a stranger, and which hitherto
he had hoped for in vain. Yes, that aversion you entertained for
marriage, that aversion so contrary to nature, robbed me of the sweet
hope of seeing princes of my own blood spring from you. Happily, that
aversion has ceased, and what crowns my wishes is, that you have
extinguished it in favour of a young hero who is dear to me. But tell
us," added he, "how you have been able to guess the name of a prince
who was unknown to you."
"My lord," replied Tourandocte, "it was not by enchantment that I
learned it; it was by perfectly natural means. One of my slaves sought
the prince Khalaf, and had subtlety enough to rob him of his secret,
and I hope he will forgive me for taking advantage of this treachery,
since I have made no worse use of it."
"Ah! charming Tourandocte," hereupon cried the prince of the Nagaeis,
"is it possible that you entertain such favourable sentiments towards
me? From what a frightful abyss do you draw me, to raise me to the
height of bliss! Alas, how unjust was I! whilst you were preparing
such a glorious fate for me I thought you guilty of the blackest of
all treachery. Deceived by a horrible fable which darkened my reason,
I repaid your good intentions with injurious doubts. Oh! what
impatience do I feel to expiate my unjust suspicions at your feet."
Altoun-Khan ordered the preparations for the marriage of Khalaf and
Tourandocte to be set on foot, and whilst they were engaged about them
he sent ambassadors to the tribe of Berlas, to inform the khan of the
Nagaeis of all that had taken place in China, and to beg him to come
with the princess his wife.
The preparations being concluded, the marriage was celebrated with all
the pomp and magnificence which belonged to the high birth of the
happy pair. Khalaf was raised to the rank of the highest subject, and
the king himself made a public declaration that, to mark his sense of
the esteem and consideration he entertained for his son-in-law, he
should allow him to dispense with the customary obeisances to his
bride. During a whole month nothing was seen at the court but feasting
and pageants, and in the city nothing but gaiety and rejoicings.
The possession of Tourandocte did not diminish the love Khalaf
entertained for her, and the princess, who had hitherto regarded men
with so much contempt, could not but love so perfect a prince. Some
time after their marriage the ambassadors whom Altoun-Khan had sent to
the country of Berlas returned, bringing with them not only the father
and mother of the king's son-in-law, but also prince Almguer, who, to
pay honour to Elmaze and Timurtasch, insisted on accompanying them,
with the most distinguished of his nobles, and conducting them to
Pekin.
The young prince of the Nagaeis, apprized of their arrival, immediately
rode out to meet them. He found them nearly at the gate of the palace.
The joy he felt on seeing his father and mother, and their transports
on seeing him, can be scarcely conceived, much less described. They
all three embraced each other over and over again, and the tears they
shed drew forth corresponding signs of emotion from the Chinese and
Tartars who were present.
After these tender embraces, Khalaf saluted the khan of Berlas; he
expressed to him how deeply he felt his kindness, and more especially
his condescension in himself accompanying his parents to the court of
China; the prince Almguer replied that, being ignorant of the rank of
Timurtasch and Elmaze, he had not shown towards them the respect that
was due to them, and thus to atone for any neglect they might have
experienced, he thought it his duty to pay them this mark of honour;
the khan of the Nagaeis and his wife the princess, however, paid a high
tribute to the attentive kindness of the khan of Berlas; they then all
entered the palace of the king, to be presented to Altoun-Khan. They
found this monarch awaiting them in the first hall. He embraced them
all, one after the other, and received them very graciously; he then
conducted them into his cabinet, where, after expressing the pleasure
he felt at seeing Timurtasch, and his sympathy in his misfortunes, he
assured him that he would employ all his power to avenge him on the
sultan of Carisma. This was no empty offer, for that very day he
despatched orders to the governors of the provinces to march with all
speed with the soldiers who were in the towns within their
jurisdiction, and to take the route to lake Baljouta, which was chosen
for the rendezvous of the formidable army he proposed to assemble
there.
For his part, the khan of Berlas, who had foreseen this war, and who
wished to assist in the re-establishment of Timurtasch in his
dominions, had, previous to his departure from his tribe, ordered the
general of his army to be in readiness to take the field at the first
summons. He now commanded him also to repair to lake Baljouta with all
possible speed.
During the time the officers and soldiers who were to compose the army
of Altoun-Khan, and who were dispersed throughout the kingdom, were
marching to assemble at the spot indicated, this king spared no pains
to express his high consideration for his new guests; he appointed a
separate palace to each, with a great number of eunuchs, and a guard
of two thousand men. Every day some new fete was contrived for their
entertainment, and the king's whole attention seemed turned towards
affording them pleasure. Khalaf, although he had now every day a
thousand matters to occupy his attention, did not forget his kind
hostess; he remembered with gratitude the solicitude she expressed for
him; he sent for her to the palace, and begged Tourandocte to receive
her amongst her attendants.
The hope that Timurtasch and Elmaze entertained of reascending the
throne of the Nagaei-Tartars, by the assistance of the king of China,
insensibly made them forget their past troubles; and when Tourandocte
gave birth to a beautiful prince, they were quite overwhelmed with
joy. The birth of this child, who was named the prince of China, was
celebrated in all the cities of this vast empire by public rejoicings.
Whilst these festivities were taking place, news was brought by
couriers, sent by the officers who had orders to collect the army,
that all the troops of the kingdom, and those of the khan of Berlas,
had assembled at lake Baljouta. Immediately Timurtasch, Khalaf, and
Almguer set out for the camp, where they found every thing in
readiness, and seven hundred thousand men ready to march; they
immediately took the read to Kotan, from whence they marched to
Raschar, and at length entered the dominions of the sultan of Carisma.
This prince, informed of their numbers, and of the invasion of his
territories, by couriers whom the governors of the frontier towns had
despatched, far from being alarmed at the number of his enemies,
courageously prepared to meet them. Instead even of intrenching
himself, he had the boldness to take the field himself, at the head of
four hundred thousand men, whom he had hastily collected. The armies
met near Cogendi, where they drew up in battle array. On the side of
the Chinese, Timurtasch commanded the right wing, prince Almguer the
left, and Khalaf the centre. On the other side, the sultan confided
the command of his right wing to the ablest of his generals, opposed
the prince of Carisma to the prince of the Nagaeis, and reserved the
left to himself, where the elite of his cavalry were stationed. The
khan of Berlas began the attack with the soldiers of his tribe, who,
fighting like men who knew the eyes of their master were on them, soon
turned the right wing of their enemies; the officer who commanded it,
however, succeeded in reforming it almost immediately. Meanwhile the
right wing, commanded by Timurtasch, was not so fortunate; the sultan
broke them at the first onset, and the Chinese in disorder were on
the point of taking flight, in spite of every effort of the khan of
the Nagaeis, when Khalaf, informed of what had taken place, confided
the care of the centre to an experienced Chinese general, and rushed
to the assistance of his father at the head of reinforcements. In a
short time things assumed a different aspect. The left wing of the
Carismians was driven back, and in turn routed; the whole of the ranks
fell into disorder and were easily broken--the entire wing was put to
flight. The sultan determined to conquer or die, and made incredible
efforts to rally his soldiers; but Timurtasch and Khalaf gave them no
time, and surrounded them on all sides, whilst prince Almguer having
defeated the right wing, victory declared in favour of the Chinese.
There remained but one chance of safety for the sultan of Carisma, and
that was to cut his way through the ranks of his enemies, and to take
refuge with some foreign prince; but he preferred not surviving his
defeat to exhibiting amongst the nations his brow despoiled of the
diadem; so rushing blindly into the thickest of the carnage, he fell
bravely, fighting to the last, and pierced with a thousand mortal
wounds, on a heap of slain. The prince of Carisma, his son, shared the
same fate; two hundred thousand of their troops were killed or made
prisoners, the rest seeking safety in flight. The Chinese also lost a
great number of men; but if the battle had been a bloody one, it was
decisive. Timurtasch, after thanking Heaven for this signal success,
despatched an officer to Pekin to give an account of the battle to the
king of China; he then advanced into Zagatay, and seized upon the city
of Carisma.
He made a proclamation in this capital that he would not touch the
property, or interfere with the liberty of the Carismians; that Heaven
having made him master of the throne of his enemy, he intended to take
possession of it, and that henceforth, Zagatay, and the other
countries which had been under the sway of the sultan, should
acknowledge for their sovereign his son Khalaf.
The Carismians, tired of the harsh rule of their late master, and
persuaded that that of Khalaf would be milder, submitted readily, and
proclaimed as sultan this young prince, with whose merits they were
acquainted. Whilst the new sultan took all necessary measures to
strengthen his position, Timurtasch departed with a body of Chinese
troops with all possible speed to his own dominions. The Nagaei-Tartars
received him like faithful subjects, and were overjoyed to see their
legitimate sovereign; but he was not content with regaining his
throne; he declared war against the Circassians, in order to punish
them for their treachery to prince Khalaf at Jund. Instead of trying
to appease him by submission, these warlike people speedily collected
an army to oppose him. He attacked them, and cut them nearly all to
pieces; after which he caused himself to be proclaimed king of
Circassia, and then returned to Zagatay, where he found Elmaze and
Tourandocte, whom Altoun-Khan had sent to Carisma in great state.
Such was the end of the misfortunes of prince Khalaf, who gained by
his virtues the love and esteem of the Carismians. He reigned long and
peacefully over them, and never abated in his love for Tourandocte; he
had a second son by her, who became afterwards the sultan of Carisma.
As for the prince of China, Altoun-Khan brought him up, and chose him
for his successor. Timurtasch and the princess Elmaze passed the rest
of their days at Astrachan, and the khan of Berlas, after having
received from them and their children all the tokens of gratitude
which his generosity merited, retired to his tribe with the remainder
of his troops.
FOOTNOTES:
[8] The Chinese mourning colour is white.
IV.
THE WISE DEY.
Chaaban, Dey of Algiers, being dead, the Turkish janissaries bethought
themselves of electing a new dey; and their intention was to place in
this high station an inert, weak, and indolent man, who would allow
them to be their own masters, to act as they pleased either with or
without justice, and who would never inflict any punishment upon them.
Passing through the streets of Algiers, they beheld Hadgi-Achmet, a
man of ripe age, seated peaceably at the door of his dwelling, and
carefully mending his old slippers, without taking any part either in
the outcries, the conversation, or the gossiping going on all around
him. Hadgi-Achmet seemed to them to be just the sort of apathetic man
they were in search of, a man who would never interfere with any one,
would allow them to do exactly as they pleased, and who, in short,
would be but the shadow of a dey. They therefore laid hold of
Hadgi-Achmet, tore him from his work, led him to the divan, and
elected him dey in spite of himself.
Hadgi-Achmet, thus forced to assume the reins of government, wisely
examined into the duties of his new position, and set himself to
fulfil them with as much assiduity and zeal as he had employed in the
humbler task of mending his old slippers. He watched over the
interests of the country, and over those of justice, and punished
severely all misdeeds which came under his observation; having a
stern, strange habit of knitting his shaggy eyebrows and flashing his
brilliant eyes whenever any thing mean or wicked came under his
notice. All this was very displeasing to the Turkish janissaries, and
to several members of the divan. Four of these latter formed a species
of plot with the design of bringing Hadgi-Achmet into contempt in the
eyes of the public. Now as it was the pleasure of the dey to
administer justice himself, and to enquire into the smallest matter
that concerned the interests of the people, they thought to render him
ridiculous, by begging him one day to judge four distinct matters,
unworthy, in their opinion, to occupy the attention of a great ruler.
"Hadgi-Achmet," said one of the members of the divan to the dey, "my
lord, here is a culprit who can only be judged by thee, O sun of
justice! He is a Tunisian merchant, who has established himself a
short time since at Bab-a-Zoun street, not far from the mosque. At
first he carried on his trade with tolerable honesty; but by degrees
it has been shown that he is nothing better than a rogue, and has
cheated a great number of his customers in the weight, the quality,
and the value of his goods. Thou knowest well the law which condemns
such offenders to lose an ear. This man was seized, carried before the
cadi, and his rogueries being but too apparent, condemned by the cadi
to lose his left ear, the right being reserved in the event of fresh
misdemeanors. But when the man's turban was removed, it was discovered
that his left ear was already gone. The cadi, being informed of the
fact, ordered the right ear to be cut off. To execute this order, they
had to pull the hand of the culprit away from his right ear, and when
this had been done, it was discovered that the Tunisian's right ear
was missing as well as the left. The cadi therefore sent to inform me,
and I, knowing the pleasure thou takest in resolving grave and
important questions, have come to submit this one to thy consummate
prudence, to thy glorious justice."
Hadgi-Achmet, having heard these words, knit his brows, his eyes
flashed fire upon him who had just spoken, and upon all those who were
present at this audience; then, turning towards the man without ears,
he said,
"Since thou hast always been a rogue, and that nothing could reform
thee, I condemn thee all thy life long to wear neither turban nor any
head-dress whatsoever to conceal the mutilation of thy ears.
Purchasers, on beholding this mutilation, will shun thee if they are
wise, for no one is ignorant that a merchant without ears is nothing
else than a rogue."
The earless Tunisian went sadly away. Being compelled to exhibit to
every one and at all times the mutilation he had undergone, was a far
worse punishment than the loss of five hundred ears, if he had had
them.
This judgment pronounced, a second member of the divan addressed the
dey,
"Hadgi-Achmet, our lord and master, here are two men who are
quarrelling upon a question which thou only canst decide by thy
profound wisdom. One of these men is the father of a beautiful and
promising boy. He had this son and two others. One day, about ten
years ago, Ibrahim, his neighbour, who was childless, said to him,
'Chamyl, give me thy youngest son, I will adopt him; he shall live in
my house, inherit my wealth, and be happy. If thou desirest it, I will
give thee in exchange for thy son my country-house at Boudjareah; thou
knowest that the north breeze is wafted there in the hottest days of
summer.'
"Chamyl consented to give his son, and took the house at Boudjareah in
exchange. Ormed, the son of Chamyl, went to live with Ibrahim, who
soon loved him very tenderly, whilst Ormed, if only out of gratitude,
soon became much attached to him.
"Chamyl has now lost both his other sons, and having become rich,
desires to take back Ormed, saying, 'This child is henceforth the sole
hope of my race, the joy of my heart, and I wish him to become my
heir.'
"As for Ibrahim, he has lost nearly the half of his fortune, but he
has not lost the attachment which he bears to his adopted son. On the
contrary, his affection continues daily to strengthen for this child,
who is endowed with the finest qualities of mind, and with a grateful
and affectionate heart.
"With whom dost thou decree that Ormed shall remain? with his adopted
or with his real father?"
Hadgi-Achmet, addressing himself to Chamyl, said, "In what does thy
fortune consist?"
Chamyl enumerated his possessions: a house, a ship, several country
houses, and merchandise.
"Can these things be removed?" asked Hadgi-Achmet.
"Some of them can," replied Chamyl.
"And the others," replied Hadgi-Achmet; "couldst not thou, if
necessary, dispose of them, and buy others with the price?"
"I could," replied Chamyl.
"And the affection which thou hadst for thy sons who are dead, couldst
thou transfer it, and bestow it upon other children."
"Ah! that would be impossible," replied Chamyl, sorrowfully.
"Then affection cannot be transferred or exchanged," said
Hadgi-Achmet; "and as it forms part of the heart of man, it is of far
higher consequence than material things, is it not?"
"Yes, my lord," answered Chamyl.
"So that," continued the dey, "we may say to a man, Sell, or give
away, thy possessions; but we cannot, without absurdity, say to any
one, Cease to love him whom thou lovest. For which reason, Chamyl, I
condemn thee to leave with Ibrahim the child whom he loves, and whom
thou voluntarily gavest him when thou hadst affection for thy two sons
who are no more. As to thy possessions, thou canst bear them
whithersoever thou wilt, for riches are not the heart."
"But I love my son," cried Chamyl, "and I will have him, and him only,
for my heir."
"Ah! thou lovest thy son," rejoined Hadgi-Achmet. "It may be so, but
thou gavest no proofs of it so long as thy two other children were
alive. Moreover, thou hast taken a house in exchange for thy son; it
is exactly the same as if thou hadst sold thy child."
"I was poor," murmured Chamyl.
"A lame excuse," said the dey, "for there are many more poor men than
rich men, yet we do not see poor men giving up their children for any
gain whatsoever."
"No, no! I have not sold my son," cried Chamyl, "and my son is mine."
"No, thy son is no longer thine," said the dey, "for thou art not a
father after my heart, and for ten years thy son has been cared for by
the man to whom thou gavest him in exchange for a house. Ibrahim has
not deserved that the child whom he so tenderly loves should be taken
from him, and I order him to be left with him. But since thou wilt
have none other than thy son for thine heir, I decree moreover that
all thy property shall revert to him after thy death, which is nothing
but justice."
Ibrahim then interposed. "My lord," said he to the dey, "Ormed and I
have no need of the fortune of Chamyl. What Allah has left to us is
sufficient for our wants. Permit Chamyl then to preserve the right of
choosing for himself an heir among orphans or poor children, of whom
he will now probably adopt one."
"No," replied the dey, "the man who has been able to calmly select one
from among his own children and barter him for a house, can never
attach himself to the orphan or the unfortunate. I see no reason to
alter the judgment I have pronounced. Ormed will have for his
inheritance the love of his adopted father and the wealth of his real
one."
Chamyl withdrew, greatly incensed at this judgment, which seemed to
him unjust, but which appeared highly equitable to the inhabitants of
Aldgezaire.
A third member of the divan then addressed Hadgi-Achmet:
"All thy words bear the impress of the wisdom which illuminates thee.
It suffices to hear thee, in order to know and venerate thee. If we do
not abuse thy patience and thy goodness, it is because both are
inexhaustible. Behold," added he, "a woman veiled, according to the
law. She accuses her husband of leaving her to perish with hunger,
whilst her husband here maintains that the woman tells an infamous
untruth, and that he supplies her with ample means for becoming fat
and strong; he adds, that the famished locusts from the desert eat not
more voraciously than doth this woman, all the while remaining lean
and feeble, as thou seest. The woman persists in asserting that her
husband scarcely gives her sufficient to languish on like a dying
tree, and she claims thy pity and thy justice."
Hadgi-Achmet, having heard these words, knit his brows, his eyes
flashed fire upon him who had just spoken, and upon those present at
this audience. Then he said, "Mahmoud, dost thou declare that thou
affordest sufficient nourishment to thy wife?"
"Yes, my lord," replied Mahmoud.
"And thou, woman," said the dey, "dost thou still maintain that thy
husband leaves thee in want of nourishment?"
"Yes, my lord," replied the poor starving woman in a faint voice, and
extending her transparent hands and long thin arms, in a supplicating
manner towards her master and her judge.
"Art thou poor?" demanded Hadgi-Achmet of Mahmoud.
"No, my lord," replied Mahmoud, "I could support several wives if I
wished, but it pleases me to have only this one in my house."
"Ah! thou couldst support several wives," replied the dey; "and why
then dost thou not give to this one all she desires, even supposing
she devoured as voraciously as the famished locusts of the desert?"
"I never refuse her any thing," said Mahmoud.
The poor veiled woman sighed.
"Well," added Hadgi-Achmet, "since thou art both rich and generous, I
will put thee in the position to repel an accusation so disgraceful to
thee as that of leaving the woman whom thou hast espoused to perish of
hunger. To which end I order that thy wife shall dwell in my palace in
the apartments of my women and receive from thee a pension which will
enable her to purchase whatever food she may desire. If at the end of
a year of peace and plenty she should still possess that feeble voice
and that excessive thinness which inspire my compassion, I shall
regard her as inflicted with an incurable malady, and will leave her
to go and die beneath thy roof; but if, on the contrary, she regains
strength and voice, thou shalt be hung, not only for having violated
the law which commands the husband to minister to the support of his
wife, but still more for having lied before thy lord and thy judge,
who knows and ever will know how to punish those who offend him."
Having spoken thus, Hadgi-Achmet cast terrible looks upon all the men
present at this audience. Mahmoud withdrew only too sure of being hung
next year, and every one preserved a gloomy silence which lasted for
several minutes.