GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
VOL. XXXVII. October, 1850. NO. 4.
Table of Contents
Fiction, Literature and Articles
The Slave of the Pacha
Music
Pedro de Padilh
Edda Murray
Thomas Johnson
Early English Poets—George Herbert
Teal and Teal Shooting
The Fine Arts
Review of New Books
Poetry, Music and Fashion
A Night at The Black Sign
Sonnets: Suggested by Passages in the Life of
Christopher Columbus
To a Friend—with a Bunch of Roses
Spring Lilies
The Earth
Alone—Alone!
The Name of Wife
Sonnet.—The Olive.
Sin No More
Wordsworth
Inspiration. To Shirley.
Sonnets, On Pictures in the Huntington Gallery
Thinking of Minna
The Maiden’s Lament for Her Shipwrecked Lover
The Years of Love
Ah, Do Not Speak So Coldly
Le Follet
Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE SLAVE OF THE PACHA.
Painted by W. Brown and Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine by J.
Brown]
* * * * *
GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
VOL. XXXVII. PHILADELPHIA, OCTOBER, 1850. NO. 4.
* * * * *
THE SLAVE OF THE PACHA.
A TALE OF ASIA MINOR.
FROM THE FRENCH OF SAINTINE.
I was botanizing lately in the woods of Luciennes, with one of my
friends, a distinguished Orientalist and renowned botanist, who had, a
few years since, traveled six thousand miles, and risked his life twenty
times, in order to obtain a handful of plants from the slopes of the
Taurus or the plains of Asia Minor. After we had wandered for some time
through the woods, gathering here and there some dry grass and orchis,
merely to renew an acquaintance with them, we lounged toward the
handsome village of Gressets and the delightful valley of Beauregard,
directing our steps toward a breakfast, which we hoped to find a little
further on, when, beneath an alley of lofty poplars, on the left of the
meadows of the Butard, we saw two persons, a man and a woman, both
young, approaching us.
My companion made a gesture of surprise at the sight of them.
“Do you know those persons?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Of what class, genus and species are they?” I used the words merely in
their botanical sense.
“Analyze, observe and divine,” replied my illustrious traveler.
I determined then on applying to my individuals, not the system of
Linnæus, but that of Jussien, that of affinities and analogies. The
latter appeared to me to be more suitable and easier than the former.
The young man was dressed in a very simple and even negligent style,
wearing those high heeled shoes, three-quarter boots, which have
succeeded the half boots, (boots, since the introduction of comfort
among us, having steadily lessened,) and had not even straps to his
pantaloons. A pearl colored sack, colored shirt, and traveling cap with
a large visor, completed his costume.
Near him walked a young woman, of the middle height and finely formed,
but with such an air of indolence in her movements, flexibility of the
body, and jogging of the haunches, as proclaimed a southern origin or a
want of distinction. They advanced with their heads down, speaking
without looking up, and walking side by side without taking arms, but
from time to time one leant on the shoulder of the other, with a
movement full of affection.
It was not until we crossed them that I could see their figures; until
then I had been able to study only their costume and general outline.
The young man blushed on recognizing my companion, and saluted him with
a very humble air; I had scarcely time, however, to catch a single
pathognomic line of his face. The female was very handsome; the elegance
of her neck, the regularity of her features, gave her a certain air of
distinction, contradicted, however, by something provoking in her
appearance.
When they had passed on some distance, my friend said to me:
“Well, what judgment do you pass on our two persons?”
“Well,” replied I, positively, “the young man is your confectioner, who
is about to marry his head shop-girl;” but reading a sign of negation on
the countenance of my interrogator—“or a successful merchant’s clerk,
with a countess without prejudices.”
“You are wrong.”
I asked for a moment’s reflection, and, to render my work of observation
perfect, I looked after them.
They had reached, near the place where we were, the side of a spring,
called, in the country, the “Priest’s Fountain.” The young female had
already seated herself upon the grass, and drawing forth a napkin spread
it near her, whilst the young man drew a paté and some other provisions
carefully from his basket.
“Certainly,” I said to myself, “there are, evidently, in the face of
this beautiful person, traits both of the great lady and the grisette;
but, on thinking of her rolling fashion of walking, and especially
judging of her by the appearance of her companion, then stooping to
uncork a bottle, and whose unstrapped pantaloons, riding half way up his
leg, revealed his quarter boots, the grisette type prevailed in my
opinion.”
“The lady,” I replied, but with less assurance than at first, “is a
figurante at one of our theatres, or a female equestrian at the Olympic
circus.”
“There is some truth in what you say.”
“He is a lemonade seller.” I judged so from the practiced facility with
which he appeared to open the bottle.
“You are farther from the mark than ever,” said my companion.
“Well, then, let us talk about something else.”
Once at the Butard we thought no more of our two Parisian cockneys.
Whilst they were preparing our breakfast, and even whilst we were
breakfasting, my friend naturally recommenced speaking of his travels in
the Taurus and Anti-Taurus, in the Balkan, the Caucasus, on the banks of
the Euphrates, and then, to give me a respite from all his botanical and
geological descriptions, he related to me, piece by piece, without
appearing to attach the least importance to them, a story, which
interested me very much. He had collected the details of it (the scene
of which was laid not far from the shores of the Black Sea, between
Erzerum and Constantinople) from the lips of one of the principal actors
in it.
I endeavored to reduce it to writing when with him, not in the same
order, or disorder, as to events, but at least so far as regards their
exactness, and availing myself of the knowledge of persons and places
acquired by my traveler.
CHAPTER I.
Toward the middle of the month of July, in the year 1841, in the
pachalick of Shivas, in the vast gardens situated near the Red River, a
young girl, dressed in the Turkish costume, was walking slowly, with her
head bent down, followed by an old negress. At times she turned her head
rapidly, and when her eyes, through the massive maples and sycamores,
rested on the angle of a large building, with gilded lattices and
balconies of finely carved cedar, her complexion, usually pale, became
suddenly suffused, her small foot contracted against the ground, her
breast heaved, and she restrained with difficulty the sigh that
endeavored to escape.
Silent and pre-occupied she stopped, and with her finger designated a
plantain tree to the negress. The latter immediately entered an elegant
kiosk, a few paces distant, and returned, bearing the skin of a tiger,
which she placed at the foot of the tree. After the old negress had
passed and repassed several times from the skin to the kiosk, and from
the kiosk to the skin, the young girl seated herself, cross-legged, on
the latter, leaning against the plantain tree, on a cushion of black
velvet, holding carelessly in her left hand an ornamented pipe, with a
tube of Persian cherry, and in her right, in a small stand of filagreed
gold, shaped like an egg-cup, a slight porcelain cup, which the old
slave replenished from time to time with the fragrant Mocha.
Baïla was seventeen years old; her black and lustrous hair, parted over
her temples, resembled the raven’s wing; her eye-brows thin, and forming
a perfect arch, though of the same color as her hair, were, as well as
her long eye-lashes and the edge of the lids, covered with a preparation
of antimony, called _sourmah_. Still other colors had been employed to
heighten the lustre of her beauty; the carnation of her lips had
disappeared beneath a light touch of indigo; and, by way of contrary
effect, beneath her eyes, where the fine net work of her veins naturally
produced a light blue tint, the purple of the henna shone out. The
henna, a kind of vegetable carmine, much used in the east, also blushed
upon the nails of her hands and feet, and even upon her heels, which
peeped out, naked, from her small, beautiful sandals, embroidered with
gold and pearls.
Though thus tattooed, in the Asiatic fashion, Baïla was none the less
beautiful. Her costume consisted simply of a velvet caftan, muslin
pantaloons, embroidered with silver, and a cashmere girdle; but all the
knicknackeries of Oriental luxuriousness were displayed in her toilet.
The double row of sequins which swung on her head, the large golden
bracelets which covered her arms and graced her ankles, the chains, the
precious stones which shone on her hands and her corsage, and which
shook on the extremities of her long flowing hair and glittered on her
very pipe stem, graced in a singular manner her youthful charms.
The better to understand what kind of astonished admiration her
appearance might at this time produce, we should add that of the old
black slave, who, from her age as well as color, her short, thick
figure, her dull and heavy look, formed so striking a contrast with the
fresh beauty of Baïla, her fine and supple figure and her glance, still
lively and penetrating, notwithstanding the deep thought which then half
veiled it.
The better to lighten up this picture we must suspend over the heads of
these two females, so dissimilar, the beautiful blue sky of Asia, and
describe some incidents of the land, some singularities of the local
vegetation which surrounded them.
Some paces in advance of the plantain against which Baïla was reclining,
was a small circular basin of Cipolin marble, from which sprang a jet,
in the form of a sheaf, causing a delicious freshness to reign around. A
little farther on were two palm trees, which, springing up on either
hand and mingling their tops, presented the appearance of two columns,
forming an arcade of verdure. But before this entrance, judging from
appearances, the shadow even of a man should never appear. Baïla
belonged to a jealous master; her beauty, heightened by so much art and
coquetry, was to grow, blossom and flower for him alone.
From the foot of the palm trees parted a double hedge of purple beeches,
of silvery willows, of nopals of strange forms with saffron tints, and
of various shrubs with their many colored flowers and fruits. The
dog-shades, with their stars of violet colored velvet, the night-shades,
with their scarlet clusters involved amidst the mimosas, out of which
sprang the golden features of the cassia. Mingling their branches with
the lower branches of the plantain, the mangroves hung like garlands
above the head of Baïla, their large leaves hollowed into cups, and so
strangely bordered with flowers and fruits of orange color mixed with
crimson.
Farther back, behind the plantain, on a reddish, sandy spot, grew large
numbers of the ice plant, presenting to the deceived vision the
appearance of plants caught by the frost during the winter in our
northern climes, and the glass work covered the ground with crystalized
plates.
The picture was soon to become animated.
The magnificent eastern sun, sinking toward the horizon and throwing his
last flames beneath the verdant pediment of the palm trees, caused the
earth to sparkle as if covered with diamonds. His rays, broken by the
glittering sheaf in the basin, spread across those masses of flower and
foliage, rainbows, superb in golden and violet tints; they flashed from
the plantain to the variegated cups of the mangrove, and lighted up the
whole form of Baïla, from her brow, crowned with sequins, to her
spangled slippers; they even mingled with the smoke of her narghila, and
with the vapor of the Mocha, which arose like a perfume from the
porcelain cup, and glistening on the skin of the tiger on which she was
seated, appeared to roll about in small vague circles.
When the night breeze, rising, gently agitated the flowers and the
herbage, mingling in soft harmony all those zones of light and shade,
was it not a subject of regret that a human eye could not gaze upon the
beautiful odalisk, in the midst of those magical illusions, shining in
the triple splendor of her jewels, her youth, and her beauty?
And, yet, a man was to enjoy this bewitching scene, and that man not her
master.
Mariam, the old negress, was asleep at the foot of the tree, holding in
her hands the small mortar in which she had bruised the coffee to supply
the demands of her mistress. Baïla, half dozing, was holding out,
mechanically, toward her the china cup, when a man suddenly appeared
between the two palm trees.
At the sight of him the odalisk at first thought she was dreaming; then,
restrained by a feeling, perhaps of alarm, perhaps of curiosity,
remained quiet, immovable, without speaking—only the cup which she held
fell from her hands.
The stranger, who was a young Frank, having first made a motion as of
flight, became emboldened and approached her, with a heightened color
and trembling lips, arising from a too lively emotion or from an excess
of prudence on account of the negress. He merely inquired from Baïla the
way to the city.
He expressed himself very well in Turkish; she did not appear, however,
to understand him. What! a stranger, eluding the vigilance of guards,
had crossed the double circuit of the gardens which enclosed her—had
braved death—merely to ask his way!
Restored to a feeling of her situation, she rose, with an offended air,
drew from her girdle a small dagger, ornamented with diamonds—a
plaything, rather than offensive or defensive arms—and made an
imperious sign to him to retire.
The young man recoiled before the beautiful slave, with an appearance of
contriteness and embarrassment, but without ceasing to regard her
earnestly. He appeared to be unable to remove his eyes from the picture
which had riveted his attention; still, however, undecided and muttering
confused words, he was crossing the porch of the palm trees, when the
negress suddenly awoke.
At the sight of the shadow of a man, which reached into the enclosure,
she sprang up, uttering a cry of alarm.
“What are you doing?” said Baïla, placing herself before her, doubtless
from a feeling of pity toward the imprudent youth.
“But that shadow—do you not see it? It is that of a man!”
“Of a bostangy! Who else would have dared to enter here?”
“But the bostangis should be more careful. Has not our master prohibited
them from entering the gardens when we are here—when you are here? A
man has entered, I tell you; I saw his shadow.”
“Of what shadow are you speaking? Stop—look!” and Baïla stopped before
the negress.
“I saw it,” repeated the negress.
“The shadow of a tree—yes, that is possible.”
“Trees do not run, and it appeared to run.”
“You have been dreaming, my good Mariam,” and Baïla maintained so well
that no one had been there, that she had seen nothing, but in a dream,
that Mariam submissively feigned to believe her, and both prepared to
return to the house.
They were half way there when, on turning an alley, the negress uttered
a new cry, pointing to an individual who was escaping at full speed.
“Am I dreaming this time?” she said, and she was about to call for
assistance, when the odalisk, placing her hand on her mouth, ordered her
to keep silence. Mariam, who was devoted to her mistress, obeyed her.
Having returned to her apartment, Baïla reflected on her adventure.
Adventures are rare in a harem life. She was intriguing there
desperately, and would have been disquieted had she not had other cares.
These, in their turn, occupied her thoughts.
In thinking of them she became fretful, angry; she crushed the rich
stuffs which lay beside her. She even wept, but rather from passion than
grief.
Since the preceding evening Baïla was doubtful of her beauty; since then
she cursed the existence to which she had been condemned, and regretted
the days of her early youth. To remove from her mind the incessant idea
which tormented her, she essayed to remount to the past. She found
there, if not consolation, at least distraction.
The past of a young girl of seventeen is frequently but the paradise of
memory—a radiant Eden, peopled with remembrances of her family, and
sometimes of a first love. It was not so with Baïla; her family were
indifferent to her, and her first love had been imposed upon her.
She was born in Mingrelia, of a drunken father and an avaricious mother.
They, finding her face handsome and her body well proportioned, had
destined her, almost from the cradle, for the pleasures of the Sultan.
Her education had been suitable for her destined state. She was taught
to dance and sing, and to accompany herself in recitative; nothing more
had ever been thought of.
Although her parents professed externally one of the forms of the
Christian religion, had they sought to develop the slightest religious
instinct in her? What was the use of it? The morality of Christ could
but give her false ideas and be entirely useless to her in the brilliant
career which was to open before her.
But if the beautiful child only awakened toward herself feelings of
speculation, if she was, in the eyes of her parents, but a piece of
precious merchandise, she, at least, profited in advance by the
privileges it conferred upon her.
Whilst her brothers were unceasingly occupied with the culture of their
vineyard, with the gathering of grapes and honey—whilst her sister, as
beautiful as herself, but slightly lame, was condemned to assist her
mother in household cares, Baïla led a life of indolence. Could they
allow her white and delicate hands to come in contact with dirty
furnaces, or her well-turned nails to be bruised against the heavy
earthen ware, or her handsome feet to be deformed by the stones in the
roads? No—it would have been at the risk of injuring her, and of
deteriorating from her value.
Thus, under the paternal roof, where all the rest were struggling and
laboring, she alone, extended in the shade, having no other occupation
than singing and dancing, passed her life in indolence, or in regarding
with artless admiration the increase and development of her beauty, the
wealth of her family.
The common table was covered with coarse food for the rest; for her, and
her alone, are reserved the most delicate products of fishing and
hunting. Her brothers collected carefully for her those delicate bulbs,
which, reduced to flour, make that marvelous _salep_, at once an
internal cosmetic and a nutritive substance, which the women of the East
use to aid them in the development of their figures, and to give to
their skin a coloring of rosy white.
If they were going to any place, Baïla traveled on the back of a mule,
in a dress of silk, whilst the rest of the family, clothed in coarse
wool or serge, escorted her on foot, watching over her with constant
solicitude. Truly, a stranger meeting them by the way, and witnessing
all these cares and demonstrations, would have taken her for an idolized
daughter, guarded against destiny by the most tender affections.
If her father, however, approached her, it was to pinch her nose, the
nostrils of which were a little too wide; and her mother, as an habitual
caress, contented herself with pulling her eyebrows near the temples, so
as to give the almond form to her eyes.
Sometimes the husband, seized suddenly with enthusiasm on seeing Baïla
exhibit her grace when dancing by starlight, would say in a low voice to
his wife—
“By Saint Demetrius, I believe the child will some day bring us enough
to furnish a cellar with rack and tafita enough to last forever;” and a
laugh of happiness would light up his dull face.
“If we should be so unfortunate as to lose her before her time, it will
be ten thousand good piastres of which the Good God will rob us,”
replied his worthy companion; and she shed a tear of alarm.
Baïla was thirteen years old, when a barque ascending the Incour,
stopped at a short distance from the hut of the Mingrelian. A man
wearing a turban descended from it. He was a purveyor for the harem,
then on an expedition.
“Do you sell honey?” he said to the master of the hut, whom he found at
the door.
“I gather white and red.”
“Can I taste it?”
The honest Mingrelian brought him a sample of both kinds.
“I would see another kind,” said the man with a turban, with a
significant glance.
“Enter then,” replied the father of Baïla, and whilst the stranger was
passing the threshold, hastening to the room occupied by his wife, he
said to her—
“Be quick; the nuptials of thy daughter are preparing; the merchant is
here; he is below; arrange her and come down with her.”
At the sight of Baïla, the merchant could not restrain an exclamation of
admiration; then almost immediately, with a commercial manœuvre he threw
up her head, preparing to examine her with more attention.
During this inspection the young girl blushed deeply; the father and
mother seeking to read the secret thoughts of the merchant in his eyes
and face, kept a profound silence, beseeching lowly their patron saint
for success in the matter.
The man in the turban changing his course, and as if he had come merely
to lay in a supply of honey, took up one of the two samples deposited on
a table, and taking up some with his finger tasted it.
“This honey is white and handsome enough, but it wants flavor. How much
is the big measure?”
“Twelve thousand,” the mother hastened to reply.
“Twelve thousand paras?”
“Twelve thousand piastres.”
The merchant shrugged his shoulders—“You will keep it for your own use
then, my good woman.” He then went toward the door.
The woman made a sign to her husband not to stop him. In fact, as she
had foreseen, he stopped before reaching the door, and turning toward
the master of the house said—
“Brother in God, I have rested beneath your roof. In return for your
hospitality, I give you some good advice. You have children?”
“Two daughters.”
“Well, have an eye to them, for the Lesghis have recently descended from
their mountains and carried off large numbers in Guriel and Georgia.”
“Let them come,” replied the Mingrelian, “I have three sons and four
guns.”
The merchant then made a movement of departure, but having cast a rapid
glance on Baïla, he raised his right hand with his five fingers
extended.
Baïla, red with shame, cast on him a look of contempt and took the
attitude of an insulted queen. Thanks to that look and attitude, in
which he doubtless found some flavor, the merchant raised a finger of
his left hand.
The Mingrelian showed his ten fingers, not however without an angry
glance from his wife, who muttered, “it is too soon.”
“Honey is dear in your district,” said the man with the turban; “I
foresee I shall have to buy it from the Lesghis against my will.
Farewell, and may Allah keep you.”
“Can we not on the one hand sell any thing, nor on the other buy any
thing without your turning your back so quickly on us on that account?”
replied the father. “Repose still, the oar has doubtless wearied your
hands.”
“That is why they are so difficult to open,” growled the housewife.
“Since you permit it,” said the merchant, “I will remain here until the
sun has lost a little of its power.”
“I cannot offer you any thing but the shade. I know that the children of
the prophet avoid food beneath the roof of a Christian; but instead of
that you can indulge in a permitted pleasure; as my daughter is still
here, she can sing for you.”
Baïla sang, accompanying herself with an instrument. The man with the
turban, seated on his heels, his arms crossed on his knees, his head
resting on his arms, listened with a profound and immovable attention,
and when she finished, in testimony of his satisfaction, he contented
himself with silently raising one finger more.
Baïla, to the sound of ivory castanets and small silver bells, then
performed an expressive dance, imitating the voluptuous movements of the
bayaderes of India and the Eastern almas, but with more reserve however.
Forced this time to look at her, the man with the turban was unable to
disguise the impression made upon him by so much grace, suppleness and
agility, and, in an irrestrainable outbreak of enthusiasm, he raised two
fingers at once. They were near to a conclusion.
In this mysterious bargaining, this language of the fingers, these mutes
signs were used to enable the parties to swear, if necessary, before the
Russian authorities, by Christ or Mahommed, that there had been no
conversation between them except about honey, furs or beaver skins.
After some more bargaining on both sides, the mother finally received
the ten thousand piastres in her apron, and disappeared immediately, to
conceal it in some hiding-place, careless whether she should see her
daughter again or not.
Whilst she was gone the merchant glanced on the elder sister of Baïla,
who had assisted at the bargaining, whilst she was kneading bread in a
kneading trough.
“And she,” said he; “shall I not carry her off also?”
The elder sister, flattered in her vanity, made him a reverence.
“She is lame,” said the father.
“Oh, oh!” said the other, “let us see—it does not matter.”
They bargained anew, and the Mingrelian, taking advantage of his wife’s
absence, ended by selling his oldest daughter for six English guns, a
large supply of powder and lead, some smoking materials and two tuns of
rack. Whilst he was in the humor, he would cheerfully have sold his
wife, still in fine preservation, if custom, agreeing this time with the
new Russian code, had permitted him to do so.
The two men were touching hands in conclusion of this new bargain when
the mother returned. She uttered at first loud cries, thinking that all
the household cares were henceforth to devolve on herself alone. The
merchant was enabled to quiet her by a present of a necklace of false
stones, and some ornaments of gilded brass.
On the following day the two Mingrelian sisters reached a small port on
the shores of the Black Sea, whence they soon embarked for Trebizond. A
month afterward, the man with the turban being suddenly seized with a
desire to have a wife for himself, after having furnished so many to
others, married the eldest sister, who had won his affections by her
skill in making cake.
Such were the remembrances of her family which were awakened in the mind
of the young odalisk, when retired and alone in her apartment, pouting
and jealous.
She then called up the images of that other portion of her life, in
which love was to play a part. She returned in imagination to Trebizond,
to the house of her purchaser, become her brother-in-law. There, like
the companions of her captivity, surrounded by attention and care, under
a superintendence minute but not severe, she passed a year, during which
she had acquired the Turkish language and skill in the toilette, at the
same time perfecting herself in singing and dancing.
A year having passed, the brother-in-law of Baïla embarked with her and
several of her companions for Constantinople. One fine morning he had
dressed his graceful cargo in white, their hair had been anointed and
perfumed, and after having passed the walls of the old seraglio and
traversed some narrow and crooked streets, merchant and merchandise were
installed in a chamber of the slave bazaar.
European ideas concerning the sales of females in the East are generally
erroneous. Our knowledge on this subject rests essentially on what we
have seen in the theatres and in pictures. But dramatic authors and
painters desirous of obtaining the picturesque above all else, do not
regard exactness very closely.
The latter, in order not to divide their pictures into apartments, have
shown us a great common room, in which all, males and females, all
young, all handsome and half naked, divided into groups, pass under the
inspection of the first comers. The promenaders make the circuit of the
galleries; huge Turks, crushed beneath their turbans, and muffled in
their cashmere robes, their silk caftans and their furs, smoke
tranquilly, seated in the corner as in a coffee-house. Sometimes, in
these fantastic sketches, a slender greyhound, with his sharp muzzle, or
a beautiful spaniel, with a flowing tail, figures as an accessory, as in
the great compositions of Reubens or Vandyke; but in Turkey dogs are
prohibited from entering.
The former, dramatic poets or authors, have boldly established their
markets on the public square, before a crowd of chorus singers, with
pasteboard camels to add to the local coloring. It is true, that, thanks
to the convenience of the scene, the costume of the beautiful slaves for
sale has been increased. The purchasers of women at the opera are forced
to be content with a very superficial examination.
A bazaar of this kind is much less accessible than these gentlemen would
induce us to believe. Divided into private chambers, the women of every
color and all ages, especially those whose youth and beauty command a
high price, are lodged almost alone, under the custody of their sellers.
In order to penetrate the sanctuary one must be a Mussulman, and offer
guarantees, either from his position or his fortune; for the first
curious person who presents himself is not permitted to see and buy.
Baïla and her companions entered, then, into a saloon of the grand
bazaar of Constantinople, to take up their positions in the upper port
of a chamber. Each desirous of reigning over the heart of one of the
grand dignitaries, sought the most favorable position to show off her
attractions to the greatest advantage, and was disposing herself so as
to arm herself with all her natural or acquired graces, when a small old
man, with a meager and mean turban, a caftan without embroidery or furs,
as old-fashioned as its master, entered the room almost furtively. It
was an Armenian renegade, who had made his fortune by superintending the
affairs of an old vizier, whose treasurer or _khashadar_ he was.
Whilst he was in the service of the latter, he had carefully increased
his wealth, and his wife, espoused by him before his apostacy, had never
permitted him to give her a rival. By a double fate, his wife died about
the same time his vizier was sent into exile in disgrace. Become free on
both sides, the Armenian feared no longer to exhibit his gold and his
amorous propensities, both of which he had concealed so well for thirty
years.
Although it was a little late, he determined to recommence his youth, to
live for pleasure, and to organize a harem. Thus, at this moment,
rubbing his hands, his figure inflamed, his small, red eyes glistening
like carbuncles, he glided round the chamber, like a hungry fox around a
poultry-yard.
The beautiful young girls were enraged at the sight. In their dreams of
love, each of them had doubtless seen in her happy possessor, a handsome
young man, with a capacious brow, majestic carriage, and black and
glistening beard; and the ex-treasurer of the vizier did not appear to
have ever possessed any of these fortunate gifts of nature.
Not being desirous of such a customer, instead of sweet smiles and their
premeditated graceful postures, they assumed frowning and cross looks,
when the old man stopped before Baïla, who at once trembled and was
seized with an immoderate desire to cry. She was, however, forced to
rise up, to walk about, and notwithstanding all the want of grace she
could assume, the khashadar found her charming; he approached her,
looked at her feet and hands, and examined her teeth, then taking the
merchant aside, said, “Thy price?”
“Twenty thousand piastres.”
The khashadar made a bound backward; his lips puckered up like those of
a baboon who has bitten a sharp citron; he recommenced walking around
the room, examined all those beautiful fruits of Georgia and Circassia
submitted to his inspection; he then stopped again before Baïla. She
feigning to think that he wished to examine her mouth again, put out her
tongue and made a face at him.
This demonstration did not appear to cool his fire. He reapproached the
merchant, and when they had bargained for some time, seated
cross-legged, the latter rose, saying,
“By the Angel Gabriel, I promised my wife, whose own sister she is, not
to part with her for less than twenty thousand, for the honor of the
family.”
Baïla, who had drawn her veil around her figure, perceived that the
bargain was concluded; and, unable to restrain herself, burst into sobs.
The door of the room was at that moment opened roughly. A man of lofty
stature and imperious look, walked straight up to the desolate girl; he
raised her veil, that veil which, though it concealed her tears, could
not drown her sobs.
“How much for this slave?” he asked.
“She is mine,” said the khashadar.
“How much?” he repeats.
“But I am her purchaser, and not her seller,” said the little old man,
rising on his toes, so as to approximate his length toward that of the
interlocutor.
The latter thrust him aside with a glance of contempt. “I came here,” he
said, “to make a purchase to the amount of nineteen thousand piastres.”
“Twenty thousand is her price,” observed the seller.
“I offer twenty-five thousand for her,” he replied, throwing the veil
over the figure of Baïla.
The merchant bent himself; the khashadar, though pale with rage,
restrained himself, for he had recognized in his rival Ali-ben-Ali,
surnamed _Djezzar_, or the Butcher, the pacha of Shivas.
Thus the young girl having been once sold by her father, was again sold
by her brother-in-law.
Djezzar Pacha, whom a slight difficulty with the divan had called for a
short time to the capital of the empire, took his beautiful slave back
with him to his usual residence, and she at once occupied the first
place in his heart. The joy which she felt at seeing herself elevated
above all her rivals, was not confined to a feeling of pride; she
thought she loved Djezzar.
Although he was no longer in his first youth, and the severity of his
glance sometimes inspired Baïla with a feeling of terror rather than of
love, yet the first look she had cast on him in the bazaar of
Constantinople, the comparison she had then made between him and the old
khashadar, had been so much to his advantage, that she thought him young
and handsome. He had since shown himself to be so generous, so much in
love, had complied with her caprices and fancies with such tender
indulgence, that closing her ears to the stories in circulation about
him, she thought him good and patient.
If, however, she is first in the love of the pacha, she is not alone;
Djezzar does not pique himself on an unalterable fidelity. At this very
time a daughter of Amasia has entered the harem; and the women of Amasia
are regarded as the most beautiful in Turkey. Who knows whether the
scepter of beauty is not about to change hands? May not another inspire
in Djezzar a love still stronger than that he has shown for Baïla?
Such were the ideas that so sadly preoccupied the young Odalisk, when
walking in the garden, she cast by stealth those jealous looks toward
the building with gilded lattices which contained her new rival.
Now her courage is strengthened, her mind lit up by sweeter lights. Did
not the picture of her whole life, which passed before her, show her
that her beauty must be incomparable, since after having dwelt at her
ease in her father’s house, she had been an object of speculation for
her brother-in-law surpassing his extremest hopes? In the bazaar of the
women two purchasers had alone appeared, and they, notwithstanding the
choice offered them, had disputed for her possession. But that which
above all appeared to prove her power, was the boldness of the young
Frank, who at the risk of his life had passed the dreaded entrance of
the palace of Djezzar; who at the sight of her was so overcome as to
lose his presence of mind; who, after having seen her, had again wished
to behold her, and had anew placed himself in her way.
Did he not fear death as the price of his temerity? He did not fear
because he loves—and it is thus the Franks love. Had they not seen the
most celebrated of them, Napoleon, then Sultan, conquer Egypt with an
army, in order to seek there for a beautiful female, whose beauty and
whose country had been revealed to him in a dream sent by God.[1] Is it
not also in a dream that this young Frank has received a revelation of
the charms of Baïla? Perhaps he had seen her during her residence at
Trebizond, or on her voyage to Constantinople? What matters it; she owes
it to him that she now feels confident and reassured. Let Djezzar bestow
his affections for one night on the daughter of Amasia; to-morrow he
will return to the Mingrelian. And Baïla went to sleep thinking of the
young Frank.
Did she feel already for him one of those inexplicable affections that
sometimes spring up in the hearts of recluses? By no means; his scanty
costume and beardless chin did not render him very seductive in her
eyes, and he had not been enabled to charm her by his eloquence. But she
thought she owed him gratitude; besides, she perhaps wished to try to
avenge herself on Djezzar, even during her sleep.
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[1] The Arabians, Egyptians, and Turks still believe this.