THE SERENADE.
Beautiful as a poet's fancy can picture, is the seraglio, a fitting
home for the proud Turkish monarch, gemmed with gardens, fantastic
palaces, and every variety of building and tree on its gentle slope,
descending so gracefully towards the sea, spreading before the eye
its towers, domes, and dark spots of cypresses like a sacred
division of the city of Constantinople, as indeed it is to the eye
of the true believer.
The Sultan's household were removed at his will from the Valley of
Sweet Waters hither and back again, as fancy might dictate. Thus
Komel had met her lover Aphiz Adegah here before his sentence; and
here she was now, still queen of its royal master's heart, still the
fairest creature that shone in the Sultan's harem. Every luxury and
beauty that ingenuity could devise or wealthy purchase, surrounded
her with oriental profusion. Still left entirely to herself, the
same occupation employed her time, of tending flowers and toying
with beautiful birds. Sometimes the Sultan would come and sit by her
side, but he found that the wound he had given was not one to heal
so quickly as he had supposed, and that the Circassian cherished the
memory of Aphiz as tenderly as ever.
The idiot boy, almost the only person in whom she seemed to take any
real interest, still followed her footsteps hither and thither, now
toying with some pet of the gardens, a parrot or a dog, now
performing most incredible feats of legerdemain, running off upon
his hands, with his feet in a perpendicular position, to a distance,
and coming back again by a series of summersets, until suddenly
gathering his limbs and body together like a ball, he went off
rolling like a helpless mass down some gentle slope, and having
reached the bottom, would lie there as if all life were gone, for
the hour together, yet always so managing as to keep one eye upon
Komel nearly all the while.
The Circassian loved the poor half-witted boy, for love begets love,
and the lad had seemed to love her from the first moment they had
met in the Sultan's halls, since when they had been almost
inseparable.
It was on a fair summer's afternoon, that the Sultan, strolling in
the flower gardens of the palace, either by design or accident, came
upon a spot where Komel was half reclining upon one of the soft
lounges that were strewn here and there under tiny latticed pagodas,
to shelter the occupant from the sun. While yet a considerable way
off, the Turk paused to admire his slave as she reclined there in
easy and unaffected gracefulness, apparently lost in a day dream.
She was very beautiful there all by herself, save the half-witted
boy, who seemed to be asleep now, away out on the projecting limb of
a cypress tree that nearly overhung the spot, and where he had
coiled himself up, and managed to sustain his position upon the limb
by some unaccountable means of his own.
The Sultan drew quietly nearer until he was close by her side before
she discovered him, when starting from the reverie that had bound
her so long, she half rose out of respect for the monarch's
presence, but no smile clothed her features; she welcomed him not by
greeting of any kind.
"What dreams my pretty favorite about, with her eyes open all the
while?" asked the Sultan.
"How knew you that I dreamed?"
"I read it in your face. It needs no conjuror to define that,
Komel."
"Would you know of what I was thinking?"
"It was my question, pretty one."
"Of home--of my poor parents, and of my lost Aphiz," she answered,
bitterly.
"I have told thee to forget those matters, and content thyself here
as mistress of my harem."
"That can never be; my heart to-day is as much as ever among my
native hills."
"Well, Komel, time must and will change you, at last. We are not
impatient."
Had the monarch rightly interpreted the expression of her face at
this moment, he would have understood how deeply rooted was her
resolve, at least, so far as he was concerned, and that she bitterly
despised the murderer of Aphiz, and in this spirit only could she
look upon the proud master of the Turkish nation. He mistook Komel's
disposition and nature, in supposing that she would ever forgive or
tolerate him. He did not remember how unlike her people she had
already proved herself. He did not realize that his high station,
his wealth, the pomp and elegance that surrounded his slave, were
looked upon by her only as the flowers that adorn the victim of a
sacrifice. Having never been thwarted in his will and purpose, he
had yet to learn that such a thing could be accomplished by a simple
girl.
As the Sultan turned an angle in the path that led towards the
palace, he was met by one of the eunuch guards, who saluted him
after the military style with his carbine, and marched steadily on
in pursuance of his duty. The monarch did not even lift his eyes at
the guard's salute--his thoughts were uneasy, and his brow dark with
disappointment.
It was but a few hours subsequent to the scene which we have just
described, that Komel was again seated in the seraglio gardens on
the gentle slope where it curves towards the sea. She had wandered
beneath the bright stars and silvery moon as far as it was prudent
for her to do, and cleft only the narrow path trod by the silent
guard between her and the wall of the seraglio. The hour was so late
that stillness reigned over the moon-lit capital, and the place was
as silent as the deep shadows of night. The half-witted boy had
followed her steps by swinging himself from tree to tree, until now
he was close by the spot where she sat, though lost to sight among
the thick foliage of the funereal cypress.
Komel was thinking of the strange vicissitudes of her life, of her
lost lover, of the dear cottage where she was born, and the happy
home from which she had been so ruthlessly torn by violent hands. It
was an hour for quiet thoughtfulness, and her innocent bosom heaved
with almost audible motion as it realized the scene and her own
memories. She sat and looked up at those bright lamps hung in the
blue vault above her, until her eyes ached with the effort, and now
the train of thoughts in which she had indulged, at last started the
pearly drops upon her check, and dimmed her eyes. It was not often
that she gave way to tears, but her thoughts, the scene about her,
and everything, seemed to have combined to touch her tenderest
sensibilities.
In this mood, breathing the soft and gentle night breeze, she
gradually lost her consciousness, and fell asleep as quietly as a
babe might have done in its cradle, and presented a picture as pure
and innocent.
She dreamed, too, of home and all its happy associations. Once more,
in fancy, she was by her own cottage door; once more she breathed
her native mountain air, once more sat by the side of Aphiz, her
loved, dearly loved companion. Ah! how her dimpled cheeks were
wreathed in smiles while she slept; how happy and unconscious was
the beautiful slave. And now she seems to hear the song of her
native valley falling upon her ear as Aphiz used to sing it. Hark!
is that delusion, or do those sounds actually fall upon her waking
ear? Now she rouses, and like a startled fawn listens to hear from
whence come those magic notes, and by whom could they be uttered.
She stood electrified with amazement.
And still there fell upon her ear the song of her native hills,
breathed in a soft, low chant, to the accompaniment of a guitar, and
in notes that seemed to thrill her very soul while she listened.
They came evidently from beyond the seraglio wall, and from some
boatman on the river. Then a sort of superstitious awe crept over
the slave as she remembered that it was in these very waters that
Aphiz had been drowned. Had his spirit come back to sing to her the
song they had so often sung together? Thus she thought while she
listened, and still the same sweet familiar notes came daintily over
the night air to her ears. The only spot that commanded a view
beyond the wall was occupied by the sentinel, and Komel could not
gratify the almost irresistible desire to satisfy herself with her
own eyes from whence these well remembered notes came. It was either
Aphiz's spirit, or the voice of one born and bred among her native
hills--of this she felt assured.
So marked was her excitement, and so peculiar her behaviour, that
the guard seemed at last aroused to take notice of the affair, and
in his ignorance of the circumstances, presumed that the serenader,
who could be seen in a small boat on the river from the spot where
he stood, was attempting some intrigue with the Sultan's people, and
knowing well the object of his being placed there was to prevent
such things, he took particular note of both the slave and the
serenader for many minutes, until at last, satisfied of the
correctness of his surmise, he resolved to gain for himself some
credit with his officer, by making an example of the venturesome
boatman, whoever he might be.
Where the sentinel stood, as we have said, he could command a
perfect view of the spot from whence the song came, and also discern
the serenader himself. He saw him, too, pull the little egg-shell
caique in which he sat still nearer the wall of the seraglio. Komel,
too, had observed the guard, and now perceived that it was evident
by his actions that he saw some tangible form from whence came that
dear song; and as she saw him deliberately raise and aim his carbine
towards that direction, she could not suppress an involuntary scream
as she beheld the Turkish guard preparing to shoot probably some
native of her own dear valley.
There had been another though silent observer of this scene, and as
he heard the cry from Komel's lips, he dropped himself from the tree
under which the sentry stood, right upon his shoulders, bearing him
to the ground, while the contents of the carbine were cast into the
air harmlessly. The half-witted boy had destroyed the aim, and the
alarm given by the report of his carbine enabled the boatman,
whoever he was, to make good his escape at once. The enraged guard
turned to vent his anger upon the cause of his failure to kill the
boatman, but when he beheld the half-witted being gazing up at the
stars as unconcernedly as though nothing had happened, he remembered
that the person of the boy was sacred.
With a suppressed oath the guard resumed his weapon, and paced along
the path that formed his post.
As soon as the excitement attendant upon the scene we have related
had subsided, Komel once more turned in wonder to recall those sweet
notes, so endeared to her by a thousand associations, and to wonder
from whom and whence they came. Was it possible that some dear
friend from home had discovered her prison, her gilded cage, and
that those notes were intended for her ear, or had the singer, by
some miraculous chance, come hither and uttered those notes
thoughtlessly? Thus conjecturing and surmising, Komel scarcely
closed her eyes all night, and when she did so, it was to live over
in her dreams the scenes we have referred to, and to seem to hear
once more those thrilling and tender notes of her far off home. Then
she seemed once more to behold the Turk taking his deadly aim, and
the idiot boy dropping from the tree to frustrate his murderous
intention, and throwing the guard by his weight to the ground; and
then the imaginary report of the carbine would again arouse her, to
fall asleep and dream once more.
During the whole of the day that followed she could think of nothing
but that strange serenade; she even thought of the possibility of
her father having traced her hither, and sung that song to ascertain
if she were there, and then she wondered that she had not thought on
time instant to reply to it, and resolved on the subsequent evening
to watch if the song should be repeated, resolving that if this was
the case, to respond to its notes come from whom they might. And
with this purpose, a little before the same hour, she repaired
thither with her light guitar hung by a silken cord by her neck.
But in vain did she listen and watch for the song to be repeated.
All was still on those beautiful waters, and no sound came upon the
ear save the distant burst of delirious mirth from some opium shop
where the frequenters had reached a state of wild and noisy
hilarity, under the influence of the intoxicating drug. The
half-witted boy seemed to comprehend her wishes, and already with a
leap that would have done credit to a greyhound, had thrown himself
on the top of the seraglio wall on the sea side, and sat there,
watching first Komel, and then the water beneath the point.
Despairing at last of again hearing the song, she lightly struck the
strings of her guitar, and thus accompanied, sung the song that she
had heard the previous night. The boy recognized the first note of
the air, and springing to his feet, peered off into the shadows upon
the water, supposing they came from thence; but seeing by a glance
that it was the slave who sung, he dropped from the wall and crept
quietly to her side. Before the song was ended he lay down at her
feet in a state apparently of dormancy, though his eyes, peering
from beneath one of his arms, were fixed upon a cluster of stars
that shone the heavens above him.
The bell from an English man-of-war that lay but an arrow's shot
off, had sounded the middle watch before Komel left the spot where
she had hoped once more to hear those to her enchanting sounds. She
arose and walked away with reluctant steps from the place towards
the palace, leaving the idiot boy by himself. But scarcely had she
gone from sight, before he jumped to his feet, leaped once more to
the top of the wall, looked off with apparent earnestness among the
shipping and along the shore of the sparkling waters, where the moon
lay in long rays of silver light upon it, and then dropping once
more to the ground, came to the spot where Komel had sat, and lying
down there, slept, or seemed to do so.
Here Komel came night after night, but the song was no more
repeated. Either the sentry's shot had effectually frightened away
the serenader, or else he had not come hither with any fixed object
connected with his song. In either case the poor girl felt unhappy
and disappointed in the matter, and her companions saw a cloud of
care upon her fair face. The Sultan, too, marked this, and seemed to
wonder that time did not heal the wounded spirit of his slave. His
kindly endeavors to please and render her content bore no fruit of
success. She avoided him now; the feeling of gratitude that she had
at first entertained towards him, had given way to one of deep but
silent hatred.
The monarch could read as much in her face whenever they chanced to
meet, and the feelings of tenderness which he had entertained for
her were also changing, and he felt that he should soon exercise the
right of a master if he could make no impression upon the beautiful
Circassian as a lover.
"You treat me with coldness, Komel," he said to her, reproachfully.
"Our actions are only truthful when they speak the language of the
heart," replied she.
"You forget my forbearance."
"I forget nothing, but remember constantly too much," she replied.
"It may be, Komel, that you do not remember on thing, which it is
necessary to recall to you mind. You are my slave!"
Leaving the Sultan and his household, we will turn once more to
Capt. Selim, and see with what success he treated his fair patient,
the old Bey's daughter, in his assumed character of a Jewish leech.