"Mustapha," said the pacha, "I feel as the caliph Haroun Alraschid, in
the tale of Yussuf, related by Menouni, full of care; my soul is
weary--my heart is burnt as roast meat."
Mustapha, who had wit enough to perceive that he was to act the part of
Giaffar, the vizier, immediately replied, "O pacha! great and manifold
are the cares of state. If thy humble slave may be permitted to advise,
thou wilt call in the Chinese dog with two tails, who hath as yet
repeated but one of his tales."
"Not so," replied the pacha; "I am weary of his eternal ti-tum,
tilly-lilly, which yet ringeth in mine ears. What else canst thou
propose?"
"Alem penah! refuge of the world, wilt thou be pleased to order out thy
troops, and witness the exercise of djireed? The moon is high in the
heavens, and it is light as day."
"Not so," replied the pacha; "I am tired of war and all that appertains
to it. Let the troops sleep in peace."
"Then, O pacha! will you permit your slave to send for some bottles of
the fire-water of the Giaour, that we may drink and smoke until we are
elevated to the seven heavens?"
"Nay, good vizier, that is as a last resource, for it is forbidden by
the laws of the Prophet. Think once more, and thou must have no more
brains than a water-melon, if this time thou proposest not that which
will give me ease."
"Thy slave lives but to hear, and hears but to obey," replied Mustapha.
"Then will it please my lord to disguise himself, and walk through the
streets of Cairo; the moon is bright, and the hyena prowls not now, but
mingles his howlings with those of the jackal afar off."
"Your face is whitened, Mustapha, and it pleaseth us. Let the disguises
be prepared, and we will sally forth."
In a short time the disguises were ready, the vizier taking care that
they should be those of Armenian merchants, knowing that the pacha would
be pleased with the similarity to those worn by the great Alraschid; two
black slaves, with their swords, followed the pacha and his vizier at a
short distance. The streets were quite empty, and they met with nothing
living except here and there a dog preying on the garbage and offal, who
snapped and snarled as they passed by. The night promised nothing of
adventure, and the pacha was in no very good humour, when Mustapha
perceived a light through the chinks of a closed window in a small
hovel, and heard the sound of a voice. He peeped through, the pacha
standing by his side. After a few seconds the vizier made signs to the
pacha to look in. The pacha was obliged to strain his fat body to its
utmost altitude, standing on the tips of his toes to enable his eyes to
reach the cranny. The interior of the hovel was without furniture, a
chest in the centre of the mud floor appeared to serve as table and
repository of everything in it, for the walls were bare. At the
fireplace, in which were a few embers, crouched an old woman, a
personification of age, poverty, and starvation. She was warming her
shrivelled hands over the embers, and occasionally passed one of her
hands along her bony arm, saying, "Yes, the time has been--the time has
been."
"What can she mean," said the pacha to Mustapha, "by 'the time has
been'?"
"It requires explanation," replied the vizier; "this is certain, that it
must mean something."
"Thou hast said well, Mustapha; let us knock, and obtain admittance."
Mustapha knocked at the door of the hovel.
"There's nothing to steal, so you may as well go," screamed the old
woman; "but," continued she, talking to herself, "the time has been--the
time has been."
The pacha desired Mustapha to knock louder. Mustapha applied the hilt of
his dagger, and thumped against the door.
"Ay--ay--you may venture to knock now, the sultan's slippers are not at
the door," said the old woman: "but," continued she, as before, "the
time has been--the time has been."
"Sultan's slippers! and time has been!" cried the pacha. "What does the
old hag mean? Knock again, Mustapha."
Mustapha reiterated his blows."
"Ay--knock--knock--my door is like my mouth; I open it when I choose,
and I keep it shut when I choose, as once was well known. The time has
been--the time has been."
"We have been a long time standing here, and I am tired of waiting; so,
Mustapha, I think the time is come to kick the door open. Let it be
done."
Whereupon Mustapha put his foot to the door, but it resisted his
efforts. "Let me assist," said the pacha, and retreated a few paces; he
and Mustapha backed against the door with all their force. It flew open,
and they rolled together on the floor of the hovel. The old woman
screamed, and then, jumping on the body of the pacha, caught him by the
throat, crying, "Thieves; murder!" Mustapha hastened to the assistance
of his master, as did the two black slaves, when they heard the cries,
and with some difficulty the talons of the old Jezebel were disengaged
from the throat of the pacha, who, in his wrath, would have immediately
sacrificed her. "Lahnet be Shitan! Curses on the devil!" exclaimed the
pacha; "but this is pretty treatment for a pacha."
"Knowest thou, vile wretch, that thou hast taken by the throat, and
nearly strangled, the Lord of Life--the pacha himself," said Mustapha.
"Well," replied the old woman, coolly, "the time has been--the time has
been."
"What meanest thou, cursed hag, that 'the time has been'?"
"I mean that the time has been, when I have had more than one pacha
strangled. Yes," continued she squatting down on the floor, and
muttering, "the time has been."
The pacha's rage was now a little appeased. "Mustapha," said the pacha,
"let this old woman be carefully guarded; to-morrow afternoon we will
understand the meaning of those strange words, 'the time has been.'
Depend upon it, thereby hangs a good story; we will have that first--and
then," whispered the pacha, "her head off afterwards."
The old woman, hearing the order to take her into custody, again
repeated. "Ah, very well--the time has been." The slaves laid hold of
her; but she defended herself so vigorously with her teeth and nails,
that they were under the necessity of gagging her, and tying her hand
and foot. They then hoisted her on their shoulders, and marched off with
her to the palace, followed by Mustapha and the pacha, the latter quite
delighted with his adventure. When the divan of the ensuing day had
closed, the old woman was ordered to be brought into the presence of the
pacha; and as she refused to walk, she was brought on the shoulders of
four of the guards, and laid on the floor of the council-chamber. "How
dare you rebel against the sublime commands?" inquired Mustapha with
severity.
"How dare I rebel!" cried the old woman with a shrill voice. "Why, what
right has the pacha to drag me from my poor hovel; and what can he want
with an old woman like me? It's not for his harem, I presume."
At this remark the pacha and Mustapha could not help laughing; having
recovered his gravity, Mustapha observed, "One would imagine, old
carrion that thou art, that the idea of such a punishment as the
bastinado had never entered your mind."
"There you are mistaken, Mr Vizier, for I have suffered both the
bastinado and the bowstring."
"And the bowstring! Holy Prophet! what a lying old hag!" exclaimed the
pacha.
"No lie, pacha, no lie!" screamed the old woman in her wrath. "I have
said it--and the bowstring. Yes, the time has been, when I was young and
beautiful; and do you know why I suffered? I'll tell you--because I
would not hold my tongue--and do you think that I will now that I'm an
old piece of carrion? Yes--yes--the time has been."
"Fortunately, then," replied Mustapha, "you are not required by the
pacha to hold your tongue. You are required to do the very contrary,
which is, to speak."
"And do you know why I received the bowstring?" screamed the old hag.
"I'll tell you--because I would not speak; and I do not intend so to do
now, since I find that you wish that I should."
"Then it appears," said the pacha, taking the pipe out of his mouth,
"that the bastinado was as ill-managed as the bowstring. We do these
things better at Cairo. Hear me, old mother of Shitan! I wish to know
what you mean by that expression which is ever in your mouth--'time has
been.'"
"It means a great deal pacha, for it refers to my life--you want the
story."
"Exactly," replied Mustapha, "so begin."
"You must pay me for it--it is worth twenty pieces of gold."
"Do you presume to make conditions with his sublime highness the
pacha?" exclaimed Mustapha. "Why, thou mother of Afrits and Ghouls, if
thou commencest not immediately, thy carcass shall be thrown over the
walls for the wild dogs to smell at, and turn away from in disgust."
"Vizier, I have lived long enough to trust nobody. My price is twenty
pieces of gold counted out in this shrivelled hand before I begin; and
without they are paid down--not _one word_." And the old beldam folded
her arms, and looked the pacha boldly in the face.
"God is great!" exclaimed the pacha. "We shall see." At his well-known
signal the executioner made his appearance, and holding up the few
scattered gray hairs which still remained upon her head, he raised his
scimitar, awaiting the nod which was to be succeeded by the fatal blow.
"Strike, pacha, strike!" cried the old woman, scornfully. "I shall only
lose a life of which I have long been weary; but you will lose a story
of wonder, which you are so anxious to obtain. Strike--for the last
time, I say, 'Time has been'--before time shall be no more!"
"That is true, Mustapha," observed the pacha. "I forgot the story. What
an obstinate old devil; but I must hear the story."
"If it appears good to your absolute wisdom," said Mustapha, in a low
voice, "would it not be better to count down to this avaricious old hag
the twenty pieces of gold which she demands? When her story is ended, it
will be easy to take them from her, and her head from her shoulders.
Thus will be satisfied the demands of the old woman, and the demands of
justice."
"Wallah Thaib! it is well said, by Allah! Your words are as pearls.
Count out the money, Mustapha."
"His highness the pacha has been pleased, in consideration of the fear
and trembling with which you have entered his presence, to order that
the sum which you require shall be paid down," said Mustapha, pulling
out his purse from his girdle. "Murakkas, you are dismissed," continued
the vizier to the executioner, who let go the old woman, and
disappeared. Mustapha counted out the twenty pieces of gold, and shoved
them towards the old woman, who, after some demur, as if imagining that
they ought to have been brought to her, got up and took possession of
them. She counted them over, and returned one piece as being of light
weight. Mustapha, with a grimace, but without speaking, exchanged it for
another.
"By the beard of the Prophet!" muttered the pacha--"but never mind."
The old woman took out a piece of dirty rag, wrapped up the gold pieces,
and placing them in her vest, smoothed down her sordid garments, and
then commenced as follows:--
"Pacha, I have not always lived in a hovel. These eyes were not always
bleared and dim, nor this skin wrinkled and discoloured. I have not
always been covered with these filthy rags--nor have I always wanted or
coveted the gold which you have just now bestowed on me. I have lived in
palaces--I have commanded there. I have been robed in gold--I have been
covered with jewels. I have dispensed life and death--I have given away
provinces. Pachas have trembled at my frown--have received by my orders
the bowstring--for at one time I was the favourite of the grand sultan.
Time has been."
"It must have been a long time ago, then," observed the pacha.
"That is true," replied the old woman; "but I will now narrate my
adventures."
STORY OF THE OLD WOMAN.
I was born in Georgia, where, as your highness knows, the women are
reckoned to be more beautiful than in any other country, except indeed
Circassia; but in my opinion, the Circassian women are much too tall,
and on too large a scale, to compete with us; and I may safely venture
my opinion, as I have had an opportunity of comparing many hundreds of
the finest specimens of both countries. My father and mother, although
not rich, were in easy circumstances; my father had been a janissary in
the sultan's immediate employ, and after he had collected some property,
he returned to his own country, where he purchased some land, and
married. I had but one brother, who was three years older than myself,
and one of the handsomest youths in the country. He was disfigured a
little by a scarlet stain on his neck, somewhat in shape resembling a
bunch of grapes, and which our national dress would not permit him to
conceal. My father, intending that he should serve the sultan, brought
him up to a perfect knowledge of every martial exercise. Even at
fourteen years old, few could compete with him in the use of the bow,
and throwing the djireed, and as a horseman he was perfect. As for me, I
was, I am certain, intended for the sultan's seraglio, for as a child I
was beautiful as a houri. My father was a man who would not scruple to
part with his children for gold, provided he obtained his price. I was
considered, and I believe that I was, the most beautiful girl in the
country, and every care was taken that I should not injure my appearance
or hurt my complexion by domestic labour or exposure. I was not
permitted to assist my mother, who, induced by my father's orders,
waited upon me. I was indulged in every whim, and I grew up as selfish
and capricious as I was beautiful. Smile not, pacha--time has been.
One day, when I was about fourteen years old, I was sitting at the
porch, when a large body of Turkish cavalry suddenly made their
appearance from a wood close to the house, and surrounded it. They
evidently came for me, for they demanded me by name, threatening to burn
the house down to the ground, if I was not immediately delivered up. Our
house, which was situated near the confines of the country, had been
constructed for defence; and my father, expecting assistance from his
neighbours, refused to acquiesce in their terms. The assault was made,
my father and mother, with all their household, were murdered, my
brother severely wounded, the house plundered, and burnt to the outside
walls. I was, of course, a prisoner as well as my brother. He was tied,
wounded as he was, upon one horse, and I upon another, and in a few
hours the party had regained the frontiers. A young man, handsome as an
angel, was the leader of the band, and I soon perceived that all his
thoughts and attentions, were directed to me. He watched me with the
greatest solicitude when we halted, procured me every comfort, and was
always hovering about my presence. From the discourse of the soldiers I
discovered that he was the only son of the grand vizier at Stamboul. He
had heard of my beauty, had seen me, and offered a large sum to my
father, who had refused, as his ambition was, that I should belong to
the sultan--in consequence I had been carried off by force. I could have
loved the beautiful youth, although he had murdered my father and
mother, but it was the taking me by force which steeled my heart, and I
vowed that I never would listen to his addresses, although I was so
completely in his power. During the time that I had been in his
possession I had never spoken one word, and it came into my head that I
would pretend to be dumb. In three weeks we arrived at Constantinople.
Since I quitted the country I never had seen my brother, his wound was
too severe to allow him to travel with the same rapidity, and it was not
until years afterwards that I knew what had become of him. I was taken
to Osman Ali's house, and allowed a few days' repose from the fatigue of
the journey; after which, as I was still but a child, I was ordered to
be instructed in music, dancing, singing, and every other accomplishment
considered necessary for the ladies of a harem. But I adhered to my
resolution, every method to induce me to speak was tried in vain; even
blows, torture from pinching, and other means were resorted to, but
would not induce me to swerve from my resolution; at last they concluded
that I was either born dumb, or had become so from fright at the time
that the attack and slaughter of my family took place. I was eighteen
months in the harem of Osman Ali, and never spoke one word.
* * * * *
"Mashallah! but this is wonderful!" exclaimed the pacha--"a woman hold
her tongue for eighteen months! Who is to believe this?"
"Not at all wonderful!" replied the old woman, "when you recollect that
she was required to speak."
* * * * *
Once and once only, did I nearly break through my resolution. Two of the
principal favourites were conversing in my presence.
"I cannot imagine," said one, "what Ali can see in this little minx to
be so infatuated with her. She is very ugly--her mouth is large--her
teeth are yellow--and her eyes not only have no expression, but look
different ways. She has one shoulder higher than the other, and worse
than all, being dumb, cannot be taught anything but dancing, which only
shows her ugly broad feet."
"That is all true," replied the other. "If I was Ali, I should employ
her as a common slave; she is fit for nothing but to roll up and beat
carpets, boil rice, and prepare our coffee. A little of the slipper on
her mouth would soon bring her to her senses."
I must own that I was near breaking through my resolution, that I might
have indulged my revenge, and had not the door suddenly opened, I should
have proved to them that I could have spoken to some purpose, for never
would I have ceased, until they had both been sewn up in sacks, and cast
into the Bosphorus. But I restrained myself, although my cheeks burned
with rage, and I more than once put my hand to my jewelled dagger.
I was often visited by Osman Ali, who in vain attempted to make me
speak; a harsh guttural sound was all which I would utter to express
pain or pleasure. At last, being convinced that I was dumb, he exchanged
me with a slave-merchant for a beautiful Circassian girl. He did not
state my supposed infirmity, but gave it as a reason for parting with
me, that I was too young, and required to be taught. As soon as the
bargain was struck, and the merchant had received the money which had
been given by Ali to effect the exchange, I was despoiled of my dress
and ornaments, and put in a litter, to be conveyed to the house of the
slave-merchant. As your highness may imagine, not a little tired of
holding my tongue for a year and a half----
* * * * *
"By the beard of the prophet, we can believe you on that point, good
woman. You may proceed."
"Yes, yes, I may proceed. You think women have no resolution, and no
souls--be it so--and what you dignify with the name of perseverance in
your own sex, you call obstinacy in ours. Be it so--time has been."
* * * * *
I was no sooner in the litter than I let loose my tongue, and called out
to the women who were appointed to conduct me to the door of the harem.
"Tell Osman Ali, that now that I am no longer his slave, I have found my
tongue." Then closing the curtains, I was carried away. As soon as I
arrived, I told the merchant all that had passed, and the reason why Ali
had parted with me. The merchant, who was astonished at having made so
good a bargain, laughed heartily at my narrative. He told me that he
intended me for the seraglio of the sultan--flattered me by declaring
that I should be certainly the favourite, and advised me to profit all I
could by the masters he would provide. In the meantime, Osman Ali having
heard from the women the message I had sent, was very wroth, and came to
the slave-merchant to procure me again; but the slave-merchant informed
him that the Kislar Aga of the sultan had seen me, and ordered me to be
reserved for the imperial seraglio; by this falsehood screening himself,
not only from Ali's importunities, but also from his vengeance. I took
the advice of my master, and in a little more than a year became a
proficient in music and most other accomplishments; I also learnt to
write and read, and to repeat most of the verses of Hafiz, and other
celebrated poets. At seventeen I was offered to the Kislar Aga as a
prodigy of beauty and talent. The Kislar Aga came to see me, and was
astonished; he saw at once that I should immediately become first
favourite; and having heard me sing and play, he demanded my price,
which was enormous. He reported me to the sultan, stating that he had
never beheld such perfection, and at the same time informing him of the
exorbitant demand of the slave-merchant. The sultan, who had felt little
interest in the inmates of his harem, and was anxious for novelty,
ordered the sum to be paid, and I was conducted to the seraglio in a
royal litter.
That I was anxious to be purchased by the sultan I confess: my pride
rebelled at the idea of being a slave, and if I was to be so, at least I
wished to be the slave of the sultan. I indulged the idea that I should
soon bring him to subjection, and that the slave would lord it over her
master, and that master the dispenser of life and death, honour and
disgrace, to millions. I had made up my mind how to behave; the poets I
had read had taught me but too well. Convinced that a little wilfulness
would, from its novelty, be most likely to captivate one who had been
accustomed to dull and passive obedience, I allowed my natural temper to
be unchecked. The second day after my arrival, the Kislar Aga informed
me that the sultan intended to honour me with a visit, and that the
baths and dresses were prepared. I replied that I had bathed that
morning, and did not intend to bathe again--as for the dresses and
jewels, I did not require them, and that I was ready to receive my lord
the sultan, if he pleased to come. The Kislar Aga opened his eyes with
astonishment at my presumption, but not venturing to use force to one
who, in his opinion, would become the favourite, he returned to the
sultan, reporting to him what had passed. The sultan, as I expected, was
more amused at the novelty than affronted at the want of respect. "Be it
so," replied he; "this Georgian must have a good opinion of her own
charms."
In the evening the sultan made his appearance, and I prostrated myself
at his feet, for I did not wish to proceed too far at once. He raised me
up and appeared delighted.
"You are right, Zara," said he; "no jewels or dress could add to the
splendour of your beauty."
"Pardon me, O gracious lord," replied I, "but if thy slave is to please
thee, may it be by her natural charms alone. If I have the honour to
continue in thy favour, let me adorn myself with those jewels which
ought to decorate the chosen of her master--but as a candidate I have
rejected them, for who knows but in a few days I may be deserted for one
more worthy of your preference?"
The sultan was delighted at my apology, and I certainly was pleased with
him. He was then about forty years of age, very handsome and well made;
but I was still more gratified to find that my conversation amused him
so much that he remained with me for many hours after his usual time for
retiring. This gave promise of an ascendancy which might survive
personal charms. But not to detain your highness, I will at once state,
the sultan soon thought but of me. Not only my personal attractions, but
my infinite variety, which appeared natural, but was generally planned
and sketched out previous to his visits, won so entirely upon him, that
so far from being tired, his passion, I may say his love, for me was
every day increased.
* * * * *
"Well, it _may_ be all true," observed the pacha, looking at the
wrinkled and hideous object before him. "What do you say, Mustapha?"
"O pacha! we know not yet her history. The mother of your slave, as I
have heard from my father, was once most beautiful. She is still in our
harem, and _pooh_," said Mustapha, spitting, as if in abhorrence.
"Right, good vizier--right--recollect, pacha, what I have said: time has
been." The pacha nodded, and the old woman proceeded.
* * * * *
Once sure of the sultan's affections, I indulged myself in greater
liberties--not with him, but with others; for I knew that he would
laugh at the tricks I might play upon his dependents, but not be equally
pleased with a want of respect towards himself; and other people of the
harem were the objects of my caprice and amusement. So far from
preventing him from noticing the other women in the harem, I would
recommend them, and often have them in my apartments when he would visit
me, and wish to be alone. I generally contrived to manage a little
quarrel about once a month, as it renewed his passion. In short, the
sultan became, as I intended, so infatuated, that he was my slave, and
at the same time I felt an ardent attachment to him. My power was well
known. The presents which I received from those who required my good
offices were innumerable, and I never retained them, but sent them as
presents to the sultan, in return for those which he repeatedly sent to
me. This indifference on my part to what women are usually too fond of,
increased his regard.
* * * * *
"By the holy Prophet but you seemed fond enough of gold just now,"
observed the pacha.
"Time has been," replied the old woman. "I speak not of the present."
* * * * *
For two years I passed a happy life; but anxious as the sultan was, as
well as myself, that I should present him with an heir, that happiness
was denied me, and was eventually the cause of my ruin. The queen
mother, and the Kislar Aga, both of whom I had affronted, were
indefatigable in their attempts to undermine my power. The whole
universe, I may say, was ransacked for a new introduction into the
seraglio, whose novelty and beauty might seduce the sultan from my arms.
Instead of counter-plotting, as I might have done, I was pleased at
their frustrated efforts. Had I demanded the woolly head of the one, and
poisoned the other, I had done wisely. I only wish I had them now; but I
was a fool--it cannot be helped--but time has been.
Like most of the sex, the ruling passion of the sultan was vanity, a
disease which shows itself in a thousand different shapes. He was
peculiarly proud of his person, and with reason, for it was faultless,
with one little exception, which I had discovered, a wen, about the size
of a pigeon's egg, under the left arm. I had never mentioned to him that
I was aware of it; but a circumstance occurred which annoyed me, and I
forgot my discretion.
The Kislar Aga had at last discovered a Circassian slave, who, he
thought, would effect the purpose. She was beautiful, and I had already
engrossed the sultan's attentions for more than two years. Men will be
fickle, and I expected no otherwise. What I required was the dominion
over the mind; I cared little about the sultan's attentions to other
women. Like the tamed bird which flies from its cage, and after
wandering a short time, is glad to return to its home and reassume its
perch, so did I consider it would be the case with the sultan. I never,
therefore, wearied him with tears or reproaches, but won him back with
smiles and good humour. I expected that this new face would detach him
for a short time, and for a fortnight he never came into my apartment.
He had never been away so long before, and I was rather uneasy. He
visited me one morning, and I asked him to sup with me. He consented,
and I invited three or four of the most beautiful women of the seraglio,
as well as the lady of his new attachment, to meet him. I thought it
wise so to do, to prove to him that I was not displeased, and trusting
that the Circassian might suffer when in company with others of equal
charms, who from neglect might reassume their novelty. The Circassian
was undeniably most beautiful; but, without vanity, she was by no means
to be compared to me; she had the advantage of novelty, and I hoped no
more, for I felt what a dangerous rival she might prove if her wit and
talents were equal to her personal charms. The sultan came, and I
exerted myself to please, but, to my mortification, I was neglected; all
his attentions and thoughts were only for my rival, who played her part
to admiration, yielded to him that profound respect and abject
adulation, which, on my part, had been denied him, and which he
probably, as a novelty from a favourite, set a higher price upon. At
last I was treated with such marked insult, that I lost my temper, and I
determined that the sultan should do the same. I handed him a small
apple. "Will my lord accept this apple from the hand of his slave? Is it
not curious in shape? It reminds me of the wen under your Majesty's left
arm."
The sultan coloured with rage.
"Yes," replied I, laughing, "you have one of them, you know very well."
"Silence! Zara," cried the sultan, in a firm tone.
"And why should I be silent, my lord? Have not I spoken the truth?"
"False woman! deny what you have falsely uttered."
"Sultan, I will not deny the truth. I will, if you command me, hold my
tongue."
"Your slave has been honoured with my lord's attentions, and denies the
assertion as a calumny," observed my rival.
"Peace, wretch! thou hast proved thyself unworthy of the honour, by thy
lying tongue."
"I tell thee, Zara, silence! or you shall feel my indignation."
But I was now too angry, and I replied, "My lord, you well know that I
once held my tongue for eighteen months, I therefore can be silent when
I choose; but I can also speak when I choose, and now I do choose to
speak. I have said it, and I will not retract my words."
The sultan was white with rage; my life hung upon a thread; when the
Circassian maliciously observed, "The bastinado might induce her to
retract."
"And shall," exclaimed the sultan, clapping his hands.
The Kislar Aga appeared, in obedience to the sultan's orders; the
executioner of the harem, and two slaves stretched me on the floor,--I
made no resistance or complaint; my jewelled slippers were taken off,
and all was ready for the disgraceful punishment.
"Now, Zara, will you retract?" said the sultan, solemnly.
"No, my lord, I will not. I repeat that you have a wen under your left
arm."
"Strike!" cried the sultan, in a paroxysm of rage. The bamboos fell, and
I received a dozen blows. I bore them without a cry,--I was too much
choked by my feelings.
"Now, Zara, will you retract?" exclaimed the sultan, in a subdued tone.
"Never, sultan; I will prove to you that a woman has more courage than
you imagine; if I die under the punishment, my rival shall not have even
the pleasure of a groan. You ask me to retract. I will not swerve from
the truth. You have, and you know you have, and so does that vile
parasite by your side know, that you have a wen under your left arm." I
was faint with the pain, and my voice was weak and trembling.
"Proceed," said the sultan.
When I had received thirty blows, I fainted with the agony, and the
sultan ordered them to desist. "I trust, Zara, you are now sufficiently
punished for your disobedience." But I heard him not; and when the
sultan, perceiving that I did not reply, looked at me, his heart melted.
He felt how arbitrary, how cruel he had been. The Circassian went to
him; he ordered her in a voice of thunder to be gone, me to be unbound
by the other ladies, laid on the sofa, and restoratives to be procured.
When I came to my senses, I found myself alone with the sultan. "Oh!
Zara," said he, as the tears stood in his eyes, "why did you tempt me
thus--why were you so obstinate?"
"My lord," answered I, in a feeble voice, "leave your slave, and go to
those who can teach their tongues to lie. I have never deceived you,
although I may have displeased you. I have loved you with fidelity and
truth. Now that you have witnessed what I can suffer rather than be
guilty of falsehood, you ought to believe me. Take my life, my lord, and
I will bless you; for I have lost you, and with you I have lost more
than life."
"Not so, Zara," replied the sultan; "I love you more than ever."
"I am glad to hear you say so, my lord, although it is now of no avail.
I am no longer yours, and never will be. I am unfit to be yours; my
person has been contaminated by the touch of Ethiopian slaves--it has
been polluted by the hand of the executioner--it has been degraded by a
chastisement due only to felons. Oblige me, as a last proof of your
kindness, by taking a life which is a burden to me."
Despot as he was, the sultan was much moved; he was mortified at having
yielded to his temper, and his passionate affection for me had returned.
He entreated my pardon, and shed tears over me, kissed my swelled feet,
and humiliated himself so much, that my heart relented--for I loved him
dearly still.
"Zara," exclaimed he, at last, "will you not forgive me?"
"When, my lord, have I ever shown myself jealous? True love is above
jealousy. This evening, to please you, although I have lately been
neglected, did I not request your new favourite to meet you? In return,
I was grossly insulted by neglect, and studied attentions to her. I was
piqued, and revenged myself--for I am but a woman. I was wrong in so
doing, but having told the truth, I was right in not retracting what I
had said. Now that you have degraded me--now that you have rendered me
unworthy of you, you ask me to forgive you."
"And again I implore it, my dearest Zara!"
"There are my jewels, my lord. I have no other property but what I have
received, and cherished as presents from you. Your treasurer well knows
that. Take my jewels, my lord, and present them to her, they will make
her more beautiful in your sight--to me they are now worthless. Go to
her, and in a few days you will forget that ever there was such a person
as the unhappy, the neglected, the disgraced, and polluted Zara." And I
burst into tears; for even with all his ill-usage, I was miserable at
the idea of parting with him; for what will not a woman forgive a man
who has obtained her favour and her love?
"What can I do to prove that I repent?" cried the sultan. "Tell me,
Zara. I have supplicated for pardon, what more can I do?"
"Let my lord efface all traces and memory of my degradation. Was not I
struck by two vile slaves, who will babble through the city? Was not I
held down by an executioner? These arms, which have wound round the
master of the world, and no other, polluted by his gripe."
The sultan clapped his hands, and the Kislar Aga appeared. "Quick,"
exclaimed he, "the heads of the slaves and executioner who inflicted the
punishment." In a minute the Kislar Aga appeared; he perceived how
matters stood, and trembled for his own. He held up the three heads, one
after another, and then returned them to the sack of sawdust in which
they had been brought.
"Are you satisfied now, Zara?"
"For myself, yes--but not for you. Who was it that persuaded you to
descend from your dignity, and lower yourself, by yielding to the
instigations of malice? Who was it that advised the _bastinado_? As a
woman, I am too proud to be jealous of her; but as one who values your
honour, and your reputation, I cannot permit you to have so dangerous a
counsellor. Your virgins, your omras, your princes, will all be at her
mercy; your throne may be overturned by her taking advantage of her
power."
The sultan hesitated.
"Sultan, you have but to choose between two things; if she be alive
to-morrow morning, I am dead by my own hand. You know I never lie."
The sultan clapped his hands, the Kislar Aga again appeared. "_Her_
head," said he, hesitatingly. The Kislar Aga waited a little, to
ascertain if there was no reprieve, for too hasty a compliance with
despots is almost as dangerous as delay. He caught my eye--he saw at
once, that if not her head, it would be his own, and he quitted the
room. In a few minutes he held up by its fair tresses the head of my
beautiful rival; I looked at the distorted features, and was satisfied.
I motioned with my hand, and the Kislar Aga withdrew.
"Now, Zara, do you forgive me? Now do you believe that I sincerely love
you, and have I obtained my pardon?"
"Yes," replied I, "I do, sultan; I forgive you all; and now----I will
permit you to sit by me and bathe my feet."
From that day I resumed my empire with more despotic power than ever. I
insisted that I should refuse his visits when I felt so inclined; and
when I imagined that there was the slightest degree of satiety on his
part, he was certain to be refused admittance for a fortnight. I became
the depositary of his secrets and the mover of his counsels. My sway was
unlimited, and I never abused it. I loved him, and his honour and his
welfare were the only guides to my conduct.
* * * * *
"But your highness will probably be tired, and as I have now told how it
was that I suffered the bastinado, you will perhaps wait till to-morrow
for the history of the bowstring."
"I believe that the old woman is right," said Mustapha, yawning; "it is
late. Is it your highness's pleasure that she shall return to-morrow
evening?"
"Be it so; but let her be in close custody--you remember."
"Be chesm--on my eyes be it. Guards, remove this woman from the sublime
presence."
"It appears to me," said the pacha to Mustapha, "that this old
woman's story may be true. The description of the harem is so
correct--commanding one day, bastinadoed the next."
"Who can doubt the fact, your sublime highness? The Lord of Life
dispenses as he thinks fit."
"Very true; he might send me the bowstring to-morrow."
"Allah forbid!"
"I pray with you; but life is uncertain, and it is our fate. You are my
vizier to-day, for instance, what may you be to-morrow?"
"Whatever your highness may decide," replied Mustapha, not much liking
the turn of the conversation. "Am not I your slave, and as the dirt
under your feet--and shall I not bow to your sovereign pleasure, and my
destiny?"
"It is well said, and so must I, if the caliph sends me a Capitan Badji,
which Allah forbid. There is but one God, and Mahomet is his Prophet."
"Amen," replied Mustapha. "Will your highness drink of the water of
Giaour?"
"Yes, truly; for what says the poet? 'We are merry to-day and to-morrow
we die.'"
"Min Allah; God forbid! That old woman has lived a long while, why
shouldn't we?"
"I don't know; but she has had the bowstring and is not yet dead. We may
not be so fortunate."
"May we never have it at all; then shall we escape, O pacha."
"True, Mustapha; so give me the bottle."