THE VICTIM.
The Princess was saved, but she who had saved her was doomed.
Along the banks of the rivers, and on the summits of the bastions,
alarm-beacons had been kindled announcing the flight of the fugitives.
It was late. On the shore the swift Arab horses of the pursuers were
racing with the wind. But the wind was not idle, but blew and raged and
fought with the foaming waves of the Danube, and tossed and pitched
about every little boat that lay upon it.
There was only one skiff, however, that ventured to cross the Danube and
rise and fall with its billows, which were like the waves of the sea. A
white form stood stonily motionless in the boat, and the blast kept
twisting its soft garments round its body. The trembling boatman called
upon the name of Allah.
"Fear not, when you carry me," Azrael said to him, and her eyes hung
upon a star which shone above her head, shining through the tatters of
the scurrying clouds.
The skiff reached the shore of the Margaret island. The damsel got out,
and her last bracelet dropped from her hand into the hand of the
boatman.
"Remember me, and begone."
"Dost thou remain here?"
"No."
"Whither wilt thou go?"
Azrael answered nothing, but pointed mutely to the sky.
The boatman did not understand much about it; but, anyhow, he understood
that he could not give the damsel a lift up there, so he drew back his
canoe and departed.
Azrael remained alone on the island, quite alone; for that day everyone
had been withdrawn by command of the Vizier; the damsels, the guards,
and the eunuchs had all migrated to the fortress, the paradise was empty
and uninhabited.
Azrael strolled the whole length of the shore of the island. The mortars
were still thundering down from the fortress, the horsemen were still
shouting on the river's bank, the signal fires were blazing on the
bastions, the night was dark, the wind blew tempestuously and scattered
the leaves of the trees--but she saw neither the beacon fires, nor the
darkness; she heard neither the tumult of men nor the howling of the
blast; in her soul there was the light of heaven and an angelic harmony
with which no rumour, no shape of the outer world would intermingle.
She came to the kiosk in the centre of the island. Wandering aimlessly
she had hit upon the labyrinthine way to it unawares. The sudden view of
the summer-house startled her, and it awoke a two-fold sensation in her
heart, it appealed equally to her memory and her imagination. She
bethought her of the resolve she had made on coming to the island. She
remembered that when she parted from the youth of her heart she had
said: "When thou comest to thy kiosk, do not lie down to sleep; sit down
at thy window, and look towards the island in the direction of the dawn.
This night will be soon over, and the dawn will dawn more quickly than
at other times. When thou seest it think of me and say for me the prayer
of direction for the departing."
She reflected that the youth must now be sitting at the window, looking
towards the island, with his fine eyes weary of staring into the
darkness. She would not weary those fine eyes for long.
She hastily opened the door with her silver key and entered the hall. A
hanging lamp was burning in the room just as the servants had left it in
the morning. She drew forth a wax taper, and having lit it, proceeded to
the other rooms, which opened one out of another, and whose floors were
covered by precious oriental carpets, whose walls were inlaid with all
manner of woods brought from foreign countries, and covered with
tapestries, all splendid masterpieces of eastern art; the atmosphere of
the rooms was heavy with intoxicating perfumes.
All this was frightful, abominable to her now. As she walked over the
carpets, it was as if she were stepping on burning coals; when she
inhaled the scented atmosphere, it was as though she were breathing the
corruption of the pestilence; everything in these rooms awoke memories
of sin and disgust in her heart--costly costumes, porcelain vases,
silver bowls, all of them the playthings of loathsome moments, whose
keenest punishment was that she was obliged to remember them.
But they shall all perish. And if they all perish, if these symbols of
sin and the hundred-fold more sinful body itself become dust, then
surely the soul will remember them no more? Surely it will depart far,
far away--perchance to that distant star--and will be happy like the
others who are near to God and know nothing of sin, but are full of the
comfort of the infinite mercy of God, who has permitted them to escape
from hence?
With the burning torch in her hand she went all through the rooms,
tearing down the curtains and tapestries, and piling them all on the
divan; and when she entered the last of the rooms she saw a pale white
figure coming towards her from its dark background. The shape was as
familiar to her as if she had seen it hundreds of times, although she
knew not where; and its face was so gentle, so unearthly--a grief not of
this world suffused its handsome features and the joy of heaven flashed
from its calm, quiet eyes--its hair clung round its head in tiny curls,
as guardian-angels are painted.
The damsel gazed appalled at this apparition. She fancied Heaven had
sent her the messenger of the forgiveness of her sins; but it was her
own figure reflected from a mirror concealed in the dark
background--that gentle, downcast, sorrowful face, those pure, shining
eyes she had never seen in a mirror before; the cut-off hair increased
the delusion.
Tremblingly she sank on her knees before this apparition, and touching
the ground with her face, lay sobbing there for some time; and when she
again rose up, it appeared to her as if that apparition extended towards
her its snow-white arms full of pity, full of compassion; and when she
raised her hands to Heaven it also pointed thither, raising a face
transformed by a sublime desire. No, she could not recognise that face
as her own, never before had she seen it so beautiful.
Azrael placed her hands devoutly across her breast and beckoned to the
apparition to follow her, and raising the curtain she returned into that
room where she had already raised a funeral pyre for herself.
There, piled up together, lay cushions of cloth of gold, Indian
feather-stuffs, divans filled with swansdown, light, luxurious little
tables, harps of camphor-wood adorned with pearls, lutes with the
silvery voices of houris, a little basin filled with fine fragrant oils
composed from the aroma of a thousand oriental flowers; this she
everywhere sprinkled over the heaped-up stuff, and also saturated the
thick carpets with it, the volatile essence filled the whole atmosphere.
Then she pressed her hand upon her throbbing heart, and said: "God be
with me!"
And then she fired the heaped-up materials at all four corners, and, as
if she were ascending her bridal bed, mounted her cushions with a
smiling, triumphant face, and lay down among them, closing her eyes with
a happy smile.
In a few moments the flames burst forth at all four corners, fed freely
by the light dry stuff, and combining above her like a wave of fire,
formed a flaming canopy over her head. And she smiled happily, sweetly,
all the time. The air, filled with volatile oil, also burst into flame,
turning into a sea of burning blue; white clouds of smoke began to
gather above the pyre; the strings of the harp caught by the flames
burst asunder one by one from their burning frame, emitting tremulous,
woeful sounds as if weeping for her who was about to die. When the last
harp-string had burnt--the odalisk was dead.
* * * * *
The night was now drawing to a close. Feriz Beg, quietly intent, was
sitting at the window of his kiosk, as he had promised the odalisk. He
had not understood her mysterious words, but he did as she asked, for he
knew instinctively that it was the last wish of one about to die.
Suddenly, as he gazed at the black waves of the Danube and the still
blacker clouds in the sky, he saw a bright column of fire ascend with
the rapidity of the wind from the midst of the opposite island, driving
before it round white clouds of smoke. A few moments later the flames of
the burning kiosk lit up the whole region. The startled inhabitants
gazed at the splendid conflagration, whose flames mounted as high as a
tower in the roaring blast. Nobody thought of saving it.
"No human life is lost, at any rate," they said quietly; "the harem and
its guards were transferred yesterday."
The wind, too, greatly helped the fire. The kiosk, built entirely of the
lightest of wood, was a heap of ashes by the morning, when Feriz,
accompanied by the muederris in his official capacity, got into a skiff
and were rowed across to the island. Not even a remnant of embers was to
be found, everything had been burnt to powder. Nothing was to be seen
but a large, black, open patch powdered with ashes. The fire had
utterly consumed the abode of sin and vice. Nothing remained but a black
spot. In the coming spring it will be a green meadow.
* * * * *
In the afternoon of the following day we see a familiar horseman
trotting up to the gates of the fortress--if we mistake not, it is Yffim
Beg.
All the way from Klausenburg he had been cudgelling his brains to find
words sufficiently dignified to soften the expression of the insulting
message which the Estates of Transylvania had sent through him to his
gracious master. On arriving in front of Hassan's palace he dismounted
as usual, without asking any questions, and gave the reins to the
familiar eunuchs that they might lead the horse to the stables.
There was no trace of the scaffold that had been erected in front of the
gate the day before. Yffim Beg entered and passed through all the rooms
he knew so well, all the doors of which were still guarded by the
drabants of Hassan as of yore; at last he reached Hassan's usual
audience chamber, and there he found Olaj Beg sitting on a divan reading
the Alkoran.
Yffim Beg gazed around him, and after a brief inspection, not
discovering what he sought, he addressed Olaj Beg:
"I want to speak to Hassan Pasha," said he.
Olaj Beg looked at him, rose with the utmost aplomb, and approached a
table on which was a silver dish covered by a cloth. This cloth he
removed, and a severed bloody head stared at Yffim Beg with stony eyes.
"There he is--speak to him!" said Olaj Beg gently.