Shut up in her palanquin, in the suite of the master, as she was passing
with the escort through one of suburbs of Shivas, on their return to the
Red River, and was amusing herself with looking at the inhabitants,
Turks and Christians, fly, pell-mell, in disorder, so as to hide or
prostrate themselves at the sight of the pacha, she remarked one, who,
remaining erect and motionless, did not appear to participate in the
emotions of the crowd.
Baïla was at first astonished that the guards, the _cawas_, did not
force him to assume a more humble posture; she examines him with more
attention and starts. He wears the dress of a Frank, and as far as she
can judge through her double veil, and the muslin curtains of the
palanquin, which were spangled with gold, his features are those of the
unknown.
By a movement quicker than thought, veil, curtains, all are at once
thrown aside. It is he—their looks meet. The stranger is troubled. He
is doubtless again overcome by the resplendent lustre of so much beauty;
then, with an expression full of love, he raises his eyes to heaven, and
places one hand upon his heart; he moves quickly in this hand a small
brilliant, gilded object which Baïla could not distinguish, for the
curtains had already fallen.
This imprudent, daring scene, which occurred in the midst of a crowd,
had no witnesses, all were flying or were prostrate on the ground.
During the remainder of the route Baïla believed she had dreamed. What,
this stranger, then, was not dead; he had not been denounced by Haïder,
and slain by Djezzar. Had she then been unjust and cruel toward these?
She owed them a reparation. Perhaps the Frank had been only wounded.
This was very light, then, for it had not prevented him from
encountering her. Why light? Was not he who feared not to brave every
thing to reach her, capable of enduring pain, in order to see her? But
what object had he held before her, with his hand on his heart, and his
eyes turned toward heaven? Doubtless a present which he wished to make
her, which he desired to throw into her palanquin as a souvenir. She had
let her spangled curtains fall too quickly. Or rather, is it not some
jewel of her own, something which had fallen from her dress, and been
found by him at the foot of the plantain, or in the alleys of the
garden? Yes, he preserves it as a precious relic, as his guardian amulet
which he wears above his heart; for it was from thence he drew it—it
was there she saw him replace it in his transport of love.
She then asked, what could this young man be among the Franks, who had
remained erect and standing with so bold a look during the passage of
the pacha, and whom the _cawas_ had, notwithstanding, appeared to
respect? Yes, there were secrets connected with him yet to be
discovered. No matter! Whatever the rank or power of this mysterious
unknown might be, she is to him an object of frenzied love. Could she
doubt it? Her vanity is gratified by it, and in her revery, remembering
Egypt and Napoleon a second time, she came to the conclusion that should
the unknown ever command an army in the country of the Franks, they
might on some fine day invade the pachalick of Shivas.
Until now, in order to rid herself of the narcotic influence of the
monotonous life of the harem, Baïla had had recourse to fantasies of all
kinds, to her thousand and one caprices, her strifes, her poutings, her
revolts, her tyrannies over her master, his lion, and the slaves; now,
however, her character appeared to change; she resumed the indolent and
equal humor of early days with Djezzar; she tormented her good Mariam
and her other serving women less; her taste for dress appeared to be
modified; instead of four toilets a-day, she now only made three; she
became grave; she reflected; she thought; she thought of the giaour; she
reflected on the singular chain of circumstance, which, in despite of
her, had mixed up this young man with all her pre-occupations, and all
the events of her recluse life.
Without recurring to the dangerous practice of a leaf of haschich
bruised in her hookah, or a grain of arsenic dissolved in treacle, her
imagination could now create a new and charming world for her. She
foolishly pursued her vain reveries about the conquest of Shivas. She
saw herself transported to another country—to Paris—where every one
could freely admire her beauty, now the property of one only, where she
could receive the homage of all, conquering a thousand hearts at once,
whilst still reserving her own for the beloved object. Is not that the
greatest joy and happiness known on earth to woman?
But could not this revery be realized without the intervention of any
army? Baïla waited for some time for some realization of her chimera;
then, when she had ceased to think of it, ennui, terrible ennui again
took possession of her. Sickly languor succeeded. She sought a cause for
her suffering, and that cause she found in the walls of the harem, which
oppressed and stifled her.
The Sultan Mahmoud, during the latter part of his life, had permitted
his women to leave the seraglio, well escorted and supervised. The
younger dignitaries of the Sublime Porte, the avowed partisans of the
new order of things, following his example, had in their turn essayed
this usage. Baïla knew it, and she determined to conquer this pleasant
liberty for herself.
At the very mention of it to the pacha, he regarded her with fierce and
flashing eyes, and swore by Mahomet and the four caliphs, it was his
dreaded oath, that if any other of his women had made such a proposal to
him, her head would have already leaped off at a blow from his yatagan.
Baïla desisted, but the refusal increased the intensity of the desire
which she felt. She also swore, not by the four caliphs, but by her
woman’s will, to attain her end, whatever road she must travel, or
whatever peril she must brave. The mere idea of this new struggle in
which she was engaged, cured her of half her languor.
What was this end? She must first examine herself in order to define it.
From the summit of the terraces of the winter palace she had already
seen a part of the monuments of the city; she had visited the citadel,
the caravansery, the mosque in the train of the pacha. It was not,
therefore, for this that she aspired to this phantom of freedom.
The bazaars remained; but had not the pacha caused to be conveyed to the
harem whatever they contained precious and rare in brocades, velvets,
precious stones, and sculptured gold, that she might see and choose from
them? The privation could not then be felt on this account.
Magicians, jugglers, the musicians of Persia and Kurdistan, every pigmy
deformity, every curious object which traversed the pachalick, was, at a
word from her, admitted into the palace. She arrived at this logical
conclusion, that if she desired to visit and traverse Shivas, it was in
the hope of finding there again the unknown, of finding the key of the
mysteries which surrounded her; and this unknown was certainly the only
one of the curiosities of the city, to which Djezzar would refuse
permission to enter his harem for the diversion of the favorite.
But could not another make the discovery for Baïla? She thought at once
of Mariam.
The latter, who was a partial purchaser of provisions for the harem;
freed by her employment, her age, and her color, from the ordinary
ceremonial, she traversed the streets and market-places at pleasure.
Baïla knew her devotion to her person, and should she refuse to serve
her in her researches, she knew that the old negress would not betray
her. She spoke to her then about it.
The Abyssinian seized with a sudden trembling, exclaimed,
“By the Holy Christ! do not repeat those words, my dear mistress; resist
the temptation, stifle it in your heart; it is an inspiration of the
Evil Spirit, or, perhaps, a purpose of Providence, perhaps an
inspiration from on high,” she murmured in a low voice, as if
apostrophizing herself.
“You will have nothing to fear, Mariam; of what crime will you be
guilty, for endeavoring to make some inquiries about this stranger? It
is well known that old women are curious.”
“Young ones are no less so,” she replied, casting a reproachful glance
at her, “and their curiosity draws more perils after it. Our holy
mother, Eve, was young when—”
“Then you refuse to serve me?”
“This time I do; do not exact it, do not insist upon it. I have already
had so much to struggle against on the other side.”
“How?”
“This young Frank. He is born to be your destruction and mine. But no;
if you knew—”
“You know him then? Are you dreaming?”
“Have I spoken of that? By the black angel I hope it is nothing.”
“Thou wert about to betray thyself; hast thou seen him?”
“Ah! my dear mistress do not destroy me,” exclaimed the old slave,
trembling with fright. “Yes, I have seen him to my misfortune.”
“Well, who is he? What keeps him at Shivas? What does he want? What does
he hope for? What are his plans?”
“Is it for me to inform you? In the name of the God of the Christians,
who has been yours and is still mine, cease to question me. If our
master should only discover that this young man has penetrated here into
the gardens, I know that I should be put to death. I should be cut to
pieces and thrown to feed the fish in the ponds.”
“But he shall not know it. Thou hast nothing to fear, I tell thee; am
not I here to protect thee?”
“But thee? Who will protect thee?”
“What matters it? Then you know this stranger? Thou hast met him, and
hast told me nothing of it?”
“Doubtless it has so happened, though he would have preferred meeting
another.”
“And who is that other?”
“Thyself.”
“Me!” exclaimed Baïla, with her face suffused with blushes, as if she
did not expect this reply, which she had skillfully extracted in order
to force Mariam into her confidence. “And what does he want with me?”
“What does he want?” replied the old negress, again a prey to her first
emotion. “What does he want? God keep me from saying?! He alone can tell
you. But it will be death perhaps for us three.”
Baïla was silent for a moment. “He has hoped to see me again?” she then
asked.
“If one may believe him, he would give his life a thousand times to
realize this hope; and moreover—”
“What else does he wish?”
“It is his secret, not mine, I have already said too much.”
They were interrupted; Mariam retired abruptly and Baïla remained alone
with the serpent of curiosity which was gnawing into her heart.
Shortly afterward, during the night, whilst the pacha was at the city of
Tocata, where the cares of government detained him, a man was brought
furtively into the gardens of the Red River. A bostangi had found means
to introduce him in a flower vase. This bostangi, gained by rich
presents, conducted him by then deserted paths to the pavilion of the
favorite.
Baïla was in the bath, when the Abyssinian negress appeared and made her
a signal. The beautiful odalisk, under a pretext of a desire to repose,
then dismissed her serving-women, after they had bound up her hair and
carefully perfumed her person.
Her slaves dismissed, she dressed herself with the assistance of Mariam,
but in such haste that her cashmere girdle, tied negligently, kept her
robe scarcely half closed, and her long veil thrown around her, alone
concealed the richness of her shoulders and bust.
She stopped on her way to the saloon in which the mysterious visiter
awaited her. Her respiration failed, a nervous tremor agitated her
beautiful limbs, and made her skin, still moist with rose-water and the
essence of sandal-wood, to shiver—placing her hand on her heart to
restrain, as it were, its tumultuous beatings, she murmured, “I am
afraid!”
“What do you fear now?” said Mariam, sustaining her by her arms, and
whose courage, like a game of see-saw, appeared to be exalted and
strengthened in proportion as that of her mistress failed. “The pacha is
far off—every thing around us sleeps; this Frank, whom you desired to
see and whom you are about to see, has crossed the portals of the palace
without awakening suspicion. He awaits you; he has not trembled in
coming to you; time is precious, he counts it impatiently, let us join
him.”
“I am afraid,” said Baïla, resisting the impulse which the old slave
wished to give her, and trembling all over, with her body bent, her eyes
half closed, she appeared to drink in with delight the alarm she
experienced; as the sick, saturated with tasteless and sugared
beverages, rejoice in the bitter draughts of abscynthe. It was an
emotion, and every emotion is precious to a recluse of the harem.
She entered finally the saloon in which the unknown awaited her, but not
without casting another glance on the _abandon_ of her toilet. By the
feeble light of two candles placed in a bracket, she saw the stranger
standing in a meditative posture.
At the rustling of her robe, at the light sound of her step, he raised
his head, crossed his hands with a kind of ecstatic transport, and his
eyes, raised to the gilded ceiling, sparkled so brightly, that it
appeared to the Mingrelian as if the light about her was doubled.
When Mariam had disappeared, the better to watch over them, when Baïla
found herself alone with her unknown, with the lover of her day dreams,
casting her veil suddenly aside, she revealed herself to him in all the
glory of her Georgian beauty.
She enjoyed his pleasure, his surprise, for a moment, then seating
herself on a corner of the sofa, motioned him to a seat by her side. But
the stranger remained immovable; his only motion was to cover his eyes
as if the light had suddenly blinded him. After having sweetly gratified
her pride by the stupefying effect produced by her resplendent beauty,
she repeated her gesture.
The Frank, still embarrassed and hesitating, went now toward the sofa,
and bending with downcast eyes almost to the earth before her, took hold
of the end of her long veil and re-covered her entirely, turning away
his head. This movement surprised Baïla strangely; but she said to
herself, “perhaps it is one of the preliminaries of love among the
Franks.”
“Listen to me,” said the young man, then, with a voice full of emotion,
and seating himself beside her; “listen to me with attention; the
present moment may become for you as well as for myself the commencement
of a new era of glory and safety.”
She did not understand him, she drew nearer to him.
“You are born a Christian,” he continued, “Mingrelia is your country.”
Baïla thought for an instant that he had himself come from the ancient
Colchis; that he had seen her family; and in the rapid flight of her
fancy she saw the love of this young man remount not only to a recent
period, but also to that time in which she was still the property of her
father. The recollections of her natal country beaming pleasanter to her
by uniting themselves with the idea of a love from childhood, she came
yet nearer to him and looked at him carefully, hoping to find in his
face features impressed of old upon her memory.
“You are then a friend of my brothers?” she said to him. At this moment
of expansion the Mingrelian placed her hand on that of the stranger. The
latter trembled, rose at once and making the sign of the cross, said
with a voice full of unction and solemnity—
“Yes, I am the friend of your brothers, your brothers the Christians,
now trampled under foot by a cruel despot, but one whom you can soften.
The terrible Daker, the master of a part of Syria and Palestine, after
he took for his minister a Christian, Ibrahim Sabbar, became the
protector of the disciples of Jesus Christ. Do you not exercise over
your master a power greater than Ibrahim did over his? A power that they
say the very lions do not resist. God made use of Esther to touch the
heart of Ahasuerus; he has marked you like her with his seal, to concur
in the deliverance of his people. Faith has revealed it to me. Thanks to
you, Ali-ben-Ali, the Pacha of Shivas, the butcher, the executioner,
shall no longer turn his rage but against the enemies of the church. The
divine light descending from the cross of Calvary shall penetrate the
most hardened hearts—”
“Wretch!” exclaimed Baïla, awakening at last from the stupor into which
this unexpected discourse had thrown her, “what has brought you here?”
“To teach you to mourn over your past life, to assist you in washing
yourself from your sins, to save you, and with you, and by you, our
brethren the Christians of Shivas.”
“Go then, apostle of the demon—retire, insolent,” repeats the beautiful
odalisk, enveloping herself in her veil, the better to conceal herself
from the looks of the profane; “go then, and be accursed.”
“No, you shall not drive me away thus,” replied the young enthusiast;
“you shall hear me. God, who inspired me with the idea of this holy
mission which I am now discharging, is about to change your heart; he
can, he will.”
“Thy God is not mine, impious; depart.”
“Ah! do not blaspheme the God of your fathers; do not deny the holy
belief which even without your knowledge has perhaps remained in your
heart. Was it not you who, in a retired part of your garden, reared the
humblest of crosses, doubtless to go thither to pray in private?”
This word, this remembrance of the branch of the azalea, brought
suddenly to the memory of the young odalisk all the chimeras of her
fantastic loves, all the hopes, all the illusions which were grouped by
her around a single idea; the disgust at finding all her reveries
effaced; the frightful thought of the peril she had sought, had braved,
and which still threatens her at that very moment, and all to arrive at
such a deception—to find an apostle when she expected a lover—so
troubled her mind, that her voice, gradually rising, appeared to reach
beyond the pavilion, and reach the sleeping slaves. To endeavor to calm
her, the stranger, with a suppliant gesture, advanced a step.
“Do not approach me,” she exclaimed, and rising with a groan, she called
Mariam. She was about to leave the room, still uttering imprecations,
when the door was thrown quickly open and the pacha appeared suddenly,
surrounded by soldiers, and carrying a complete arsenal of arms of all
kinds at his girdle.
Whether the wrath of the Mingrelian had reached its height, or whether
the sentiment of self preservation awakened imperiously in her, rendered
her pitiless, she exclaimed—
“Kill him—kill him!” and with her finger designated the unfortunate
Frank to the vengeance of the pacha.
The young man cast a momentary sad and pitying look upon her, which made
her start; he then held out his head, a soldier raised his sabre, but
Djezzar turned the blow aside.
“No,” said he, “he must not die so quickly;” and casting a suspicious
glance by turns upon the two, he murmured in a low voice this
frightfully poetic phrase, “his blood should not leap suddenly like
water from the fountain, but flow gently like that of the spring which
falls drop by drop from the rock.”
In the East, poetry is found every where.
He then said something in the ear of a Mangrebian slave near him, and
the Christian was led away.