A SINGULAR MEETING.
Turning from the mountain scenes we have described, let us back once
more to Constantinople, and direct our footsteps up the fragrant
valley where the Barbyses threads its meandering course. Here let us
look once more into the gilded cage that holds the Sultan's
favorites, where art had exhausted itself to form a fairy-like spot,
as beautiful as the imagination could conceive. We find here, once
more, amid the fragrant atmosphere and the playing fountains, the
form of Lalla, and by her side again that form, before which all the
tribes of the faithful kneel in humble submission. It was strange
what a potent charm the dumb but beautiful Circassian had thrown
about herself. It seemed as though some fairy circle enshrined her,
within which no harm might possibly reach the gentle slave.
An observant person could have noticed also a third party in that
presence, though he was some distance from Lalla's side, lying upon
the ground, so near the jet of a fountain, that the spray dampened
his face. It was the idiot. To the monarch, or his slave, he
appeared unconscious of aught save the play of water; but one nearer
to him would have seen that no movement of either escaped the now
watchful eye of the boy. Was it possible that he possessed a degree
of reason, after all, and more than half assumed the strange guise
that seemed to enshroud his wits.
Now he tossed the pure white pebble stones into the playing waters,
and saw them carried up by the force of the jets, and now half
rising to his elbow, startled the gold and silver fish in the basin
by a tiny shower of gravel, but still with a strange tenacity, ever
watching both the Sultan and his slave, though not appearing to do
so.
A change had come over that proud, eastern prince. He had been
awakened to fresh impulses, and a new and joyful sense of
realization; the sentiments that actuated him were novel, indeed, to
his breast. From childhood he had been taught by every association
to look upon the gentler sex as toys, merely, of his own; but here
was one, yes, and the first one, too, who had caused him to realize
that she had a soul, a heart, a brilliant, natural intelligence of
mind, that surprised and delighted him. Besides this, the fact of
her sad physical misfortune had, no doubt, increased his tender and
respectful solicitude, and thus altogether he was most peculiarly
situated, as it regarded his dumb slave.
The stern warrior, the relentless foe, the severe judge, and the
pampered monarch, all were merged in the man, when by her side--and
Sultan Mahomet, for the first time in his life, felt that he loved!
As we have shown, it was not the headstrong promptings of passion
that actuated him--far from it; for had the monarch been heedless of
her love and respect in return, how easily might he have commanded
any submission, on her part, that he could wish. The truth was, he
feared to risk the love he now felt that he coveted so strongly, by
any overt act, and thus day by day her life stole quietly on, and
lie was still ever tender and respectful, ever thoughtful for her
comfort or pleasure, and ever assiduous to make her feel contented
and happy with her lot.
It would have been most unnatural had not Lalla experienced, in
return for all this kindness, the warmest sentiments of gratitude,
and this she showed in the expression of her dark, dreamy eyes, at
all times; and to speak truly, the Sultan felt himself amply repaid
by her gentle gratitude and tender smiles.
In the mean time, as days and weeks passed on, silently registering
the course of life, the chill of homesickness, which had been so
keen and saddening at first, wore gradually away from the radiant
face of the slave, though she thought no less earnestly and dearly
of her friends and her home, far away in the Circassian hills; yet
absence and time had robbed her grief of its keenness, while the
easy and luxuriant mode of living that she enjoyed had again
restored the roundness of her beautiful form, had once more imparted
the rose to her check, and the elasticity of her childhood's day to
her movements. In short, she who was so lovely when she entered the
harem, had now grown so much more so, that the companions who
surrounded her, with sentiments almost akin to awe, declared her too
beautiful to live, and sagely hinting that ere long she would hear
the songs of those spirits who chant around Allah's throne.
All this had wrought a corresponding change in the heart of the
Sultan; indeed his affection and, interest for Lalla had even more
than kept pace with this improvement in her appearance; and now it
was for the first time since she came there, that those scarcely
less beautiful Georgians, the petted favorites, heretofore, of the
monarch, now evinced feelings of envy that it was impossible to
disguise. They saw but too plainly that the Sultan cared only for
the dumb slave, had smiles for no one else, and that he was ever by
her side when within the precincts of the harem.
Nor is it to be wondered at that they should feel thus. In a country
where personal beauty constitutes the marketable value of a woman,
it was but natural, that they should be led to prize this endowment,
and perhaps also in the end to dislike all who should successfully
contest the palm with them in this respect. Still, so sweet was
Lalla's disposition, so yielding and considerate, that they could
not openly express the feelings that brooded in their breasts; nor
had one unkind word yet been expressed towards her, since the first
hour that she had entered the Sultan's household.
Leaving the dumb slave thus bound by silken cords, thus chained in a
gilded cage, we will once more turn to the fortunes of the lone and
weary traveller, whom we left in the Armenian quarter of the
capital.
He was evidently a wanderer, and, save the liberal means he had
received from the hands of the grateful Turk whom he had so
providentially rescued near the forest borders of Belgrade, he was
poor indeed. Yet with strict economy this purse had served him well,
and for a long while; whatever his errand in this capital might be,
he seemed to keep it sacredly to himself, and to wander day after
day, front morning until night, here, there, and everywhere, now in
the slave market, now in the opium bazaar, now among the silk
merchants, now among the splendid and picturesque dwellings along
the banks of the Bosphorus, and now in this quarter, now in that,
seemingly in search of some one he hoped to find; but as night
returned, he, too, came to his temporary home, tired, dejected and
unhappy.
But day after day and week after week had at last entirely emptied
his purse of its golden contents, and he stood now very near the
spot where we first introduced him to the reader. The purse was in
his hand, and he was consulting with himself now as to what course
he should pursue for the future, when his eyes rested once more upon
the jewelled receptacle he held in his hand. He had often marked its
richness, and the thought came across him that he might realize a
small sum by selling it at some of the fancy bazaars, and he had
even made up his mind to adopt this plan, when he suddenly
remembered, for the first time, that the Turk had told him to
present it at the gates of the seraglio gardens when he needed
further aid.
"Fool that I have been!" ejaculated the wanderer, vehemently,
"perhaps I might not only obtain the necessary pecuniary aid from
him, but also that information which I so sadly but earnestly seek.
Why should I, until this late hour, have forgotten his proffered
aid? I will away to him at once, tell him my sad history, and
beseech him to lend me the assistance I require." Thus saying, he
turned his eyes towards the little point of land that jets out
towards Asia from the Turkish city, known as Seraglio Point, a
fairy-like cluster of gardens and palaces marking the spot.
His quick, nervous step soon brought him to the gilded portal that
formed the entrance to the splendid gardens beyond, and through the
sentinel who guarded the spot he summoned an officer of the
household, to whom he showed the purse, telling him that he had
received it from the owner as a token of friendship, and that he had
bidden him, when necessity should dictate, to show it at the
seraglio gates, and he would be admitted to his presence.
"God is great!" said the officer, as he looked upon the purse with a
profound reverence, astonishing the humble wanderer by the respect
he showed to the jewelled bag.
"And what place is this?" he asked of the officer, as hie looked
curiously about him.
"By the beard of the Prophet, young man, do you not know?" asked the
official.
"I do not."
"Not know whose purse you hold, and in whose grounds you stand!"
reiterated the soldier.
"Not I."
"Allah akbar! it is the palace of the defender of the faith, Sultan
Mahomet!"
"The Sultan!" exclaimed the lone wanderer, struck dumb with
amazement.
"The Brother of the Sun," repeated the official, with a profound
salaam as he repeated the name, while at the same time he noted the
astonishment of the stranger.
"The Sultan," repeated the new comer, musing to himself, "rides he
forth alone?"
"At times, yes, when it suits him. No harm can come to him--he is
sacred, and need not fear."
"Perhaps not," answered the other, as he recalled the scene on the
borders of the forest.
At the singular piece of intelligence which he had received, the
stranger seemed to hesitate. He surely would not have come hither
had he known to whom he was about to apply for assistance. Could it
be the Sultan that he so opportunely aided? If so, he surely need
not fear to meet him again; perhaps he might even venture still to
tell him honestly his story, and ask at least for advice in the
pursuit of the object which had brought him to Constantinople. In
this half undecided mood he stood musing for some minutes, and then
with a struggle for resolution, bade the officer lead him to his
master.
Let us look in upon the royal presence for a moment. It is a
gorgeous saloon, where the monarch lounges upon satin cushions, with
the rich amber mouthpiece of his pipe between his lips, and the
perfumed tobacco gently wreathing in blue smoke above his head.
Mahomet was at this moment seated on a pedestal of cushions, so rich
and soft that he seemed almost, lost in their luxuriance. Reclining
by his side was a creature so lovely in her maidenly beauty, that
pencil, not pen, should describe her. Ever and anon the monarch cast
glances of such tenderness towards her that an unprejudiced observer
would have noticed at once the warmth of his feelings towards her,
while the gentle slave, for it was Lalla, turned over a pile of rich
English engravings, pausing now and then to hold one of more than
usual interest before his eyes.
It was an interesting scene. The pictures had deeply interested the
slave, and with graceful abandon she had forgotten everything but
them; now smiling over some curious representation, or sighing over
another no less truthful, and her fair, young face expressing the
feelings that actuated her bosom with telltale accuracy all the
while. Her dark hair was interwoven with pearls by the running hands
of the Nubian slaves, and its long plaits reached nearly to her
feet, while across her fair brow there hung a cluster of diamonds
which might have ransomed an emperor--a gift from the Sultan himself.
The Sultan seemed, of late, scarcely contented to have her from his
side for a single hour, and even received his officials and gave
audience, with her in the presence oftentimes, first motioning her,
on such occasions, to cover her face, after the style of the Turkish
women; but even this precaution was rarely taken, for Lalla was not
used to it, and the Sultan pressed nothing upon her that he found to
be in any way disagreeable to her feelings. So when the officer
announced a stranger who had shown a purse which bore the Sultan's
arms as his talisman, he was bidden to admit him at once.
The slave turned her back by chance as the stranger entered, and
hearing not his steps she still bent absorbedly over the roll of
engravings while the new comer with profound respect told the Sultan
that until a moment since he had not known that it was his good
fortune to have served his highness, and that perhaps had he
realized this he would not then be before him.--But the monarch
generously re-assured him by his kindness, and repeated his offer of
any service in his power.
"I feel that I am already a heavy pensioner on your bounty,
excellency," he replied.
"Not so; your bravery and prompt assistance stood us in aid at an
important moment.--Speak then, and if there be aught in which we can
further your wishes or good, it will afford us pleasure."
"It is of a matter, which would hardly interest your excellency that
I would speak."
"We are the best judge of that matter."
"Shall I tell my story then, excellency?"
"Ay, speak on," said the monarch, resuming his pipe, and pouring
forth a lazy cloud of smoke from his mouth.
"Excellency," he commenced, "I am it very humble mountaineer of the
Caucasus, but until these few months past have been as happy as
heart could wish. True, we have often been called upon to confront
the Cossack, but that is a duty and a pleasure, and the tide of
battle once over, we have returned with renewed joy to our cottage
homes. Our hearths are rude and homely, but our wants are few, and
our hearts are warm among our native hills.
"Suddenly, a hawk swooped down upon our mountain side, and bore away
the sweetest and most innocent dove that nestled there, making
desolate many hearts, and causing an aged mother and father to weep
tears of bitter anguish. I loved that being, excellency, so well
that my whole soul was hers, and she too in turn loved me. Broken
hearted and most miserable I have wandered hither to seek her, for
hither I found that she had been brought, and perhaps even now is
the unhappy slave of some heartless one, and is pining for the home
she has been torn from. If you would bless me, excellency, ay, bless
yourself by a noble deed, then aid me to find her in this great
capital."
The monarch listened with unfeigned interest, he, had a strong dash
of romance in his disposition, besides which he could feel for the
disconsolate lover now, since his own heart bad been so awakened to
itself.
"Your story interests me," said the Sultan, still regarding him
intently.
"It is very simple, excellency, but alas! it is also very true," was
the reply.
"What name do you bear?"
"Aphiz Adegah, excellency!"
"And what was her name of whom you have spoken?"
"Her name was Komel."
At the same moment that he answered thus, Lalla turned by chance
from her engravings, towards them, when her eyes resting upon those
of Aphiz, she rose, staggered a few steps towards him, and uttered a
scream so shrill and piercing that even the imperturbable Turk
sprang to his feet in amazement, while Aphiz cried:
"It is she, it is my lost Komel!"