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HALIL THE PEDLAR
A Tale of Old Stambul
by
MAURUS JÓKAI
Author of
"The Green Book," "Black Diamonds," "The Poor Plutocrats," etc.
Authorised Edition, Translated by R. Nisbet Bain
[Illustration]
SANS PEUR ET
SANS REPROCHE
Third Edition
London
Jarrold & Sons, 10 & 11, Warwick Lane, E.C.
[All Rights Reserved]
1901
Copyright
London: Jarrold & Sons
New York: McClure, Phillips, & Co.
Translated from the Hungarian, "A fehér rózsa,"
by R. Nisbet Bain.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTION 7
I. THE PEDLAR 11
II. GÜL-BEJÁZE--THE WHITE ROSE 36
III. SULTAN ACHMED 49
IV. THE SLAVE OF THE SLAVE-GIRL 69
V. THE CAMP 99
VI. THE BURSTING FORTH OF THE STORM 123
VII. TULIP-BULBS AND HUMAN HEADS 134
VIII. A TOPSY-TURVY WORLD 153
IX. THE SETTING AND THE RISING SUN 179
X. THE FEAST OF HALWET 203
XI. GLIMPSES INTO THE FUTURE 216
XII. HUMAN HOPES 240
XIII. THE EMPTY PLACE 270
INTRODUCTION.
On September 28th, 1730, a rebellion burst forth in Stambul against
Sultan Achmed III., whose cowardly hesitation to take the field against
the advancing hosts of the victorious Persians had revolted both the
army and the people. The rebellion began in the camp of the Janissaries,
and the ringleader was one Halil Patrona, a poor Albanian sailor-man,
who after plying for a time the trade of a petty huckster had been
compelled, by crime or accident, to seek a refuge among the mercenary
soldiery of the Empire. The rebellion was unexpectedly, amazingly
successful. The Sultan, after vainly sacrificing his chief councillors
to the fury of the mob, was himself dethroned by Halil, and Mahmud I.
appointed Sultan in his stead. For the next six weeks the
ex-costermonger held the destiny of the Ottoman Empire in his hands
till, on November 25th, he and his chief associates were treacherously
assassinated in full Divan by the secret command, and actually in the
presence of, the very monarch whom he had drawn from obscurity to set
upon the throne.
This dramatic event is the historical basis of Jókai's famous story, "A
Fehér Rózsa," now translated into English for the first time. No doubt
the genial Hungarian romancer has idealised the rough, outspoken,
masterful rebel-chief, Halil Patrona, into a great patriot-statesman, a
martyr for justice and honour; yet, on the other hand, he has certainly
preserved the salient features of Halil's character and, so far as I am
competent to verify his authorities, has not been untrue to history
though, as I opine, depending too much on the now somewhat obsolete
narrative of Hammer-Purgstall ("Geschichte des osmanischen Reichs").
Almost incredible as they seem to us sober Westerns, such incidents as
the tame surrender of Achmed III., the elevation of the lowliest
demagogues to the highest positions in the realm, and the curious and
characteristically oriental episode of the tulip-pots, are absolute
facts. Naturally Jókai's splendid fancy has gorgeously embellished the
plain narrative of the Turkish chroniclers. Such a subject as Halil's
strange career must irresistibly have appealed to an author who is
nothing if not vivid and romantic, and ever delights in startling
contrasts. On the other hand, the unique episode of Gül-Bejáze, "The
White Rose," and her terrible experiences in the Seraglio are largely,
if not entirely, of Jókai's own invention, and worthy, as told by him,
of a place in The Thousand and One Nights.
Finally--a bibliographical note.
Originally "A Fehér Rózsa," under the title of "Halil Patrona," formed
the first part of "A Janicsárok végnapjai," a novel first published at
Pest in three volumes in 1854. The two tales are, however, quite
distinct, and have, since then, as a matter of fact, frequently been
published separately. The second part of "A Janicsárok végnapjai" was
translated by me from the Hungarian original, some years ago, under the
title of "The Lion of Janina," and published by Messrs. Jarrold and Sons
as one of their "Jókai" Series in 1898. The striking favour with which
that story was then received justifies my hope that its counterpart,
which I have re-named "Halil the Pedlar," from its chief character, may
be equally fortunate.
R. NISBET BAIN.
_September, 1901._
HALIL THE PEDLAR.
CHAPTER I.
THE PEDLAR.
Time out of mind, for hundreds and hundreds of years, the struggle
between the Shiites and the Sunnites has divided the Moslem World.
Persia and India are the lands of the Shiites; Turkey, Arabia, Egypt,
and the realm of Barbary follow the tenets of the Sunna.
Much blood, much money, many anathemas, and many apostasies have marked
the progress of this quarrel, and still it has not even yet been made
quite clear whether the Shiites or the Sunnites are the true believers.
The question to be decided is this: which of the four successors of the
Prophet, Ali, Abu Bekr, Osmar, and Osman, was the true Caliph. The
Shiites maintain that Ali alone was the true Caliph. The Sunnites, on
the other hand, affirm that all four were true Caliphs and equally holy.
And certainly the Shiites must be great blockheads to allow themselves
to be cut into mince-meat by thousands, rather than admit that God would
enrich the calendar with three saints distasteful to them personally.
The head Mufti had already hurled three fetvas at the head of Shah
Mahmud, and just as many armies of valiant Sunnites had invaded the
territories of the Shiites. The redoubtable Grand Vizier, Damad Ibrahim,
had already wrested from them Tauris, Erivan, Kermandzasahan, and
Hamadan, and the good folks of Stambul could talk of nothing else but
these victories--victories which they had extra good reason to remember,
inasmuch as the Janissaries, at every fresh announcement of these
triumphs, all the more vigorously exercised their martial prowess on the
peaceful inhabitants they were supposed to protect, and not only upon
them, but likewise upon the still more peaceful Sultan who, it must be
admitted, troubled himself very little either about the Sunnites, or the
victories of his Grand Vizier, being quite content with the
contemplation of his perpetually blooming tulips and of the damsels of
the Seraglio, who were even fairer to view than the tulips whose blooms
they themselves far outshone.
* * * * *
The last rays of sunset were about to depart from the minarets of
Stambul. The imposing shape of the City of the Seven Hills loomed forth
like a majestic picture in the evening light. Below, all aflame from the
reflection of the burning sky, lies the Bosphorus, wherein the Seraglio
and the suburbs of Pera and Galata, with their tiers upon tiers of
houses and variegated fairy palaces, mirror themselves tranquilly. The
long, winding, narrow streets climb from one hill to another, and every
single hill is as green as if mother Nature had claimed her due portion
of each from the inhabitants, so different from our western cities, all
paved and swept clean, and nothing but hard stone from end to end. Here,
on the contrary, nothing but green meets the eye. The bastions are
planted with vines and olive-trees, pomegranate and cypress trees stand
before the houses of the rich. The poorer folks who have no gardens
plant flowers on their house-tops, or at any rate grow vines round their
windows which in time run up the whole house, and from out of the midst
of this perennial verdure arise the shining cupolas of eighty mosques.
At the end of every thoroughfare, overgrown with luxuriant grass and
thick-foliaged cypresses, only the turbaned tombstones show that here is
the place of sad repose. And the effect of the picture is heightened by
the mighty cupola of the all-dominating Aja Sofia mosque, which looks
right over all these palaces into the golden mirror of the Bosphorus.
Soon this golden mirror changes into a mirror of bronze, the sun
disappears, and the tranquil oval of the sea borrows a metallic shimmer
from the dark-blue sky. The kiosks fade into darkness; the vast outlines
of the Rumili Hisar and the Anatoli Hisar stand out against the starry
heaven; and excepting the lamps lit here and there in the khans of the
foreign merchants and a few minarets, the whole of the gigantic city is
wrapped in gloom.
The muezzin intone the evening _noómát_ from the slender turrets of the
mosques; everyone hastens to get home before night has completely set
in; the mule-drivers urge on their beasts laden on both sides with
leather bottles, and their tinkling bells resound in the narrow streets;
the shouting water-carriers and porters, whose long shoulder-poles block
up the whole street, scare out of their way all whom they meet; whole
troops of dogs come forth from the cemeteries to fight over the offal of
the piazzas. Every true believer endeavours as soon as possible to get
well behind bolts and bars, and would regard it as a sheer tempting of
Providence to quit his threshold under any pretext whatsoever before the
morning invocation of the muezzin. He especially who at such a time
should venture to cross the piazza of the Etmeidan would have been
judged very temerarious or very ill-informed, inasmuch as three of the
gates of the barracks of the Janissaries open upon this piazza; and the
Janissaries, even when they are in a good humour, are not over
particular as to the sort of jokes they choose to play, for their own
private amusement, upon those who may chance to fall into their hands.
Every faithful Mussulman, therefore, guards his footsteps from any
intrusion into the Etmeidan, as being in duty bound to know and observe
that text of the Koran which says, "A fool is he who plunges into peril
that he might avoid."
The tattoo had already been beaten with wooden sticks on a wooden board,
when two men encountered each other in one of the streets leading into
the Etmeidan.
One of them was a stranger, dressed in a Wallachian _gunya_, long shoes,
and with a broad reticule dangling at his side. He looked forty years
old and, so far as it was possible to distinguish his figure and
features in the twilight, seemed to be a strong, well-built man, with a
tolerably plump face, on which at that moment no small traces of fear
could be detected and something of that uncomfortable hesitation which
is apt to overtake a man in a large foreign city which he visits for the
very first time.
The other was an honest Mussulman about thirty years old, with a thick,
coal-black beard and passionate, irritable features, whose true
character was very fairly reflected in his pair of flashing black eyes.
His turban was drawn deep down over his temples, obliterating his
eyebrows completely, which made him look more truculent than ever.
The stranger seemed to be going towards the Etmeidan, the other man to
be coming from it. The former let the latter pass, by squeezing himself
against the wall, and only ventured to address him when he perceived
that he had no evil intentions towards him.
"I prythee, pitiful Mussulman, be not wrath with me, but tell me where
the Etmeidan piazza is."
The person so accosted instantly stopped short, and fixing the
interrogator with a stony look, replied angrily:
"Go straight on and you'll be there immediately."
At these words the knees of the questioner smote together.
"Woe is me! worthy Mussulman, I prythee be not wrath, I did not ask thee
where the Etmeidan was because I wanted to go there, but to avoid
straying into it. I am a stranger in this city, and in my terror I have
been drawing near to the very place I want to avoid. I prythee leave me
not here all by myself. Every house is fast closed. Not one of the khans
will let me in at this hour. Take me home with you, I will not be a
burden upon you, I can sleep in your courtyard, or in your cellar, if
only I may escape stopping in the streets all night, for I am greatly
afraid."
The Turk so addressed was carrying in one hand a knapsack woven out of
rushes. This he now opened and cast a glance into it, as if he were
taking counsel with himself whether the fish and onions he had just
bought in the market-place for his supper would be sufficient for two
people. Finally he nodded his head as if he had made up his mind at
last.
"Very well, come along!" said he, "and follow me!"
The stranger would have kissed his hand, he could not thank his new
friend sufficiently.
"You had better wait to see what you are going to get before you thank
me," said the Turk; "you will find but scanty cheer with me, for I am
only a poor man."
"Oh, as for that, I also am poor, very poor indeed," the new-comer
hastened to reply with the crafty obsequiousness peculiar to the Greek
race. "My name is Janaki, and I am a butcher at Jassy. The kavasses
have laid their hands upon my apprentice and all my live-stock at the
same time, and that is why I have come to Stambul. I shall be utterly
beggared if I don't get them back."
"Well, Allah aid thee. Let us make haste, for it is already dark."
And then, going on in front to show the way, he led the stranger through
the narrow winding labyrinth of baffling lanes and alleys which lead to
the Hebdomon Palace, formerly the splendid residence of the Greek
Emperors, but now the quarter where the poorest and most sordid classes
of the populace herd together. The streets here are so narrow that the
tendrils of the vines and gourds growing on the roofs of the opposite
houses meet together, and form a natural baldachino for the benefit of
the foot-passenger below.
Suddenly, on reaching the entrance of a peculiarly long and narrow lane,
the loud-sounding note of a song, bawled by someone coming straight
towards them, struck upon their ears. It was some drunken man evidently,
but whoever the individual might be, he was certainly the possessor of a
tremendous pair of lungs, for he could roar like a buffalo, and not
content with roaring, he kept thundering at the doors of all the houses
he passed with his fists.
"Alas! worthy Mussulman, I suppose this is some good-humoured
Janissary, eh?" stammered the new-comer with a terrified voice.
"Not a doubt of it. A peace-loving man would not think of making such a
bellowing as that."
"Would it not be as well to turn back?"
"We might meet a pair of them if we went another way. Take this lesson
from me: Never turn back from the path you have once taken, as otherwise
you will only plunge into still greater misfortunes."
Meanwhile they were drawing nearer and nearer to the bellowing
gentleman, and before long his figure came full into view.
And certainly his figure was in every respect worthy of his voice. He
was an enormous, six-foot high, herculean fellow, with his shirt-sleeves
rolled up to his shoulders, and the disorderly appearance of his dolman
and the crooked cock of his turban more than justified the suspicion
that he had already taken far more than was good for him of that fluid
which the Prophet has forbidden to all true believers.
"Gel, gel! Ne miktár dir, gel!" ("Come along the whole lot of you!")
roared the Janissary with all his might, staggering from one side of the
lane to the other, and flourishing his naked rapier in the air.
"Woe is me, my brave Mussulman!" faltered the Wallachian butcher in a
terrified whisper, "wouldn't it be as well if you were to take my
stick, for he might observe that I had it, and fancy I want to fight him
with it."
The Turk took over the stick of the butcher as the latter seemed to be
frightened of it.
"H'm! this stick of yours is not a bad one. I see that the head of it is
well-studded with knobs, and that it is weighted with lead besides. What
a pity you don't know how to make use of it!"
"I am only too glad if people will let me live in peace."
"Very well, hide behind me, and come along boldly, and when you pass him
don't so much as look at him."
The Wallachian desired nothing better, but the Janissary had already
caught sight of him from afar, and as, clinging fast to his guide's
mantle, he was about to slip past the man of war, the Janissary suddenly
barred the way, seized him by the collar with his horrible fist, and
dragged the wretched creature towards him.
"Khair evetlesszin domusz!" ("Not so fast, thou swine!") "a word in
thine ear! I have just bought me a yataghan. Stretch forth thy neck! I
would test my weapon upon thee and see whether it is sharp."
The poor fellow was already half-dead with terror. With the utmost
obsequiousness he at once began unfastening his neck-cloth, whimpering
at the same time something about his four little children: what would
become of them when they had nobody to care for them.
But his conductor intervened defiantly.
"Take yourself off, you drunken lout, you! How dare you lay a hand upon
my guest. Know you not that he who harms the guest of a true believer is
accursed?"
"Na, na, na!" laughed the Janissary mockingly, "are you mad, my worthy
Balukji, that you bandy words with the flowers of the Prophet's garden,
with Begtash's sons, the valiant Janissaries? Get out of my way while
you are still able to go away whole, for if you remain here much longer,
I'll teach you to be a little more obedient."
"Let my guest go in peace, I say, and then go thine own way also!"
"Why, what ails you, worthy Mussulman? Has anyone offended thee?
Mashallah! what business is it of thine if I choose to strike off the
head of a dog? You can pick up ten more like him in the street any time
you like."
The Turk, perceiving that it would be difficult to convince a drunken
man by mere words, drew nearer to him, and grasped the hand that held
the yataghan.
"What do you want?" cried the Janissary, fairly infuriated at this act
of temerity.
"Come! Go thy way!"
"Do you know whose hand thou art grasping? My name is Halil."
"Mine also is Halil."
"Mine is Halil Pelivan--Halil the Wrestler!"
"Mine is Halil Patrona."
By this time the Janissary was beside himself with rage at so much
opposition.
"Thou worm! thou crossed-leg, crouching huckster, thou pack-thread
pedlar! if thou dost not let me go immediately, I will cut off thy
hands, thy feet, thine ears, and thy nose, and then hang thee up."
"And if thou leave not go of my guest, I will fell thee to the earth
with this stick of mine."
"What, _thou_ wilt fell _me_? Me? A fellow like thou threaten to strike
Halil Pelivan with a stick? Strike away then, thou dog, thou
dishonourable brute-beast, thou dregs of a Mussulman! strike away then,
strike here, if thou have the courage!"
And with that he pointed at his own head, which he flung back defiantly
as if daring his opponent to strike at it.
But Halil Patrona's courage was quite equal even to such an invitation
as that, and he brought down the leaded stick in his hand so heavily on
the Janissary's head that the fellow's face was soon streaming with
blood.
Pelivan roared aloud at the blow, and, shaking his bloody forehead,
rushed upon Patrona like a wounded bear, and disregarding a couple of
fresh blows on the arms and shoulders which had the effect, however, of
making him drop his yataghan, he grasped his adversary with his gigantic
hands, lifted him up, and then hugged him with the embrace of a
boa-constrictor. But now it appeared that Patrona also was by no means a
novice in the art of self-defence, for clutching with both hands the
giant's throat, he squeezed it so tightly that in a few seconds the
Janissary began to stagger to and fro, finally falling backwards to the
ground, whereupon Patrona knelt upon his breast and plucked from his
beard a sufficient number of hairs to serve him as a souvenir. Pelivan,
overpowered by drink and the concussion of his fall, slumbered off where
he lay, while Patrona with his guest, who was already half-dead with
fright, hastened to reach his dwelling.
After traversing a labyrinth of narrow, meandering lanes, and
zig-zagging backwards and forwards through all kinds of gardens and
rookeries, Halil Patrona arrived at last at his own house.
Were we to speak of "his own street door," we should be betraying a
gross ignorance of locality, for in the place where Patrona lived the
mere idea of a street never presented itself to anybody's imagination.
There was indeed no such thing there. The spot was covered by half a
thousand or so of wooden houses, mixed together, higgledy-piggledy, so
inextricably, that the shortest way to everybody's house was through his
neighbour's passage, hall, or courtyard, and inasmuch as the inmates of
whole rows of these houses were in the habit of living together in the
closest and most mysterious harmony, every house was so arranged that
the inhabitants thereof could slip into the neighbouring dwelling at a
moment's notice. In some cases, for instance, the roofs were continuous;
in others the cellars communicated, so that if ever anyone of the
inhabitants were suddenly pursued, he could, with the assistance of the
roofs, passages, and cellars, vanish without leaving a trace behind him.
Halil Patrona's house was of wood like the rest. It consisted of a
single room, yet this was a room which could be made to hold a good
deal. It had a fire-place also, and if perhaps a chance guest were a
little fastidious, he could at any rate always make sure of a good bed
on the roof, which was embowered in vine leaves. There was certainly no
extravagant display of furniture inside. A rush-mat in the middle of the
room, a bench covered with a carpet in the corner, a few wooden plates
and dishes, a jug on a wooden shelf, and a couple of very simple
cooking-utensils in the fire-place--that was all. From the roof of the
chamber hung an earthenware lamp, which Patrona kindled with an
old-fashioned flint and steel. Then he brought water in a round-bellied
trough for his guest to wash his hands, fetched drinking-water from the
well in a long jug, whereupon he drew forward his rush-woven
market-basket, emptied its contents on to the rush-mat, sat him down
opposite honest Janaki, and forthwith invited his guest to fall to.
There was nothing indeed but a few small fish and a few beautiful
rosy-red onions, but Halil had so much to say in praise of the repast,
telling his guest where and how these fish were caught, and in what
manner they ought to be fried so as to bring out the taste; how you
could find out which of them had hard roes and which soft; what
different sorts of flavours there are in the onion tribe, far more,
indeed, than in the pine-apple; and then the pure fresh water too--why
the Koran from end to end is full of the praises of fresh pure water,
and Halil knew all these passages by heart, and had no need to look in
the holy book for them. And then, too, he had so many interesting tales
to tell of travellers who had lost their way in the desert and were
dying for a drop of water, and how Allah had had compassion upon them
and guided them to the springs of the oasis--so that the guest was
actually entrapped into imagining that he had just been partaking of the
most magnificent banquet, and he enjoyed his meat and drink, and arose
from his rush-carpet well satisfied with himself and with his host.
I'll wager that Sultan Achmed, poor fellow! felt far less contented when
he rose from his gorgeous and luxurious sofa, though the tables beside
it were piled high with fruits and sweetmeats, and two hundred odalisks
danced and sang around it.
"And now let us go to sleep!" said Halil Patrona to his guest. "I know
that slumber is the greatest of all the joys which Allah has bestowed
upon mankind. In our waking hours we belong to others, but the land of
dreams is all our own. If your dreams be good dreams, you rejoice that
they are good, and if they be evil dreams, you rejoice that they are but
dreams. The night is nice and warm, you can sleep on the house-top, and
if you pull your rope-ladder up after you, you need not fear that
anybody will molest you."
Janaki said "thank you!" to everything, and very readily clambered to
the top of the roof. There he found already prepared for him the carpet
and the fur cushion on which he was to sleep. Plainly these were the
only cushion and carpet obtainable in the house, and the guest observing
that these were the very things he had noticed in the room below,
exclaimed to Halil Patrona:
"Oh, humane Chorbadshi, you have given me your own carpet and pillow; on
what will you sleep, pray?"
"Do not trouble your head about me, muzafir! I will bring forth my
second carpet and my second cushion and sleep on them."
Janaki peeped through a chink in the roof, and observed how vigorously
Halil Patrona performed his ablutions, and how next he went through his
devotions with even greater conscientiousness than his ablutions,
whereupon he produced a round trough, turned it upside down, laid it
upon the rush-mat, placed his head upon the trough, and folding his arms
across his breast, peacefully went to sleep in the Prophet.
The next morning, when Janaki awoke and descended to Halil, he gave him
a piece of money which they call a golden denarius.
"Take this piece of money, worthy Chorbadshi," said he, "and if you will
permit me to remain beneath your roof this day also, prepare therewith a
mid-day meal for us both."
Halil hastened with the money to the piazza, bargained and chaffered for
all sorts of eatables, and made it a matter of conscience to keep only
a single copper asper of the money entrusted to him. Then he prepared
for his guest pilaf, the celebrated Turkish dish consisting of rice
cooked with sheep's flesh, and brought him from the booths of the
master-cooks and master-sugar-bakers, honey-cakes, dulchas, pistachios,
sweet pepper-cakes filled with nuts and stewed in honey, and all manner
of other delicacies, at the sight and smell of which Janaki began to
shout that Sultan Achmed could not be better off. Halil, however,
requested him not to mention the name of the Sultan quite so frequently
and not to bellow so loudly.
That night, also, he made his guest mount to the top of the roof, and
having noticed during the preceding night that the Greek had been
perpetually shifting his position, and consequently suspecting that he
was little used to so hard a couch, Halil took the precaution of
stripping off his own kaftan beforehand and placing it beneath the
carpet he had already surrendered to his guest.
Early next morning Janaki gave another golden denarius to Halil.
"Fetch me writing materials!" said he, "for I want to write a letter to
someone, and then with God's help I will quit your house and pursue my
way further."
Halil departed, went a-bargaining in the bazaar, and returned with what
he had been sent for. He calculated his outlay to a penny in the
presence of his guest. The _kalem_ (pen) was so much, so much again the
_mürekob_ (ink), and the _mühür_ (seal) came to this and that. The
balance he returned to Janaki.
As for Janaki he went up on to the roof again, there wrote and sealed
his letter, and thrust it beneath the carpet, and then laying hold of
his stick again, entreated Halil, with many thanks for his hospitality,
to direct him to the Pera road whence, he said, he could find his way
along by himself.
Halil willingly complied with the petition of his guest, and accompanied
him all the way to the nearest thoroughfare. When now Janaki beheld the
Bosphorus, and perceived that the road from this point was familiar to
him, so that he needed no further assistance, he suddenly exclaimed:
"Look now, my friend! an idea has occurred to me. The letter I have just
written on your roof has escaped my memory entirely. I placed it beneath
the carpet, and beside it lies a purse of money which I meant to have
sent along with the letter. Now, however, I cannot turn back for it. I
pray you, therefore, go back to your house, take this letter together
with the purse, and hand them both over to the person to whom they are
addressed--and God bless you for it!"
Halil at once turned round to obey this fresh request as quickly as
possible.
"Give also the money to him to whom it belongs!" said the Greek.
"You may be as certain that it will reach him as if you gave it to him
yourself."
"And promise me that you will compel him to whom the letter is addressed
to accept the money."
"I will not leave his house till he has given me a voucher in writing
for it, and whenever you come back again to me here you will find it in
my possession."
"God be with you then, honest Mussulman!"
"Salem alek!"
Halil straightway ran home, clambered up to the roof by means of the
rope-ladder, found both the letter and the money under the carpet,
rejoiced greatly that they had not been stolen during his absence, and
thrusting them both into his satchel of reeds without even taking the
trouble to look at them, hastened off to the bazaar with them, where
there was an acquaintance of his, a certain money-changer, who knew all
about every man in Stambul, in order that he might find out from him
where dwelt the man to whom the letter entrusted to him by the stranger
was addressed.
Accordingly he handed the letter to the money-changer in order that he
might give him full directions without so much as casting an eye upon
the address himself.
The money-changer examined the address of the letter, and forthwith was
filled with amazement.
"Halil Patrona!" cried he, "have you been taking part in the Carnival of
the Giaours that you have allowed yourself to be so befooled? Or can't
you read?"
"Read! of course I can. But I don't fancy I can know the man to whom
this letter is directed."
"Well, all I can say is that you knew him very well indeed this time
yesterday, for the man is yourself--none other."
Halil, full of astonishment, took the letter, which hitherto he had not
regarded--sure enough it was addressed to himself.
"Then he who gave me this letter must needs be a madman, and there is a
purse which I have to hand over along with it."
"Yes, I see that your name is written on that also."
"But I have nothing to do with either the purse or the letter. Of a
truth the man who confided them to me must have been a lunatic."
"It will be best if you break open the letter and read it, then you will
_know_ what you have got to do with it."
This was true enough. The best way for a man to find out what he has to
do with a letter addressed to him is, certainly, to open and read it.
And this is what was written in the letter.
"WORTHY HALIL PATRONA!
"I told you that I was a poor man, but that was not true; on the
contrary, I am pretty well to do, thank God! Nor do I wander up and down
on the face of the earth in search of herds of cattle stolen from me,
but for the sake of my only daughter, who is dearer to me than all my
treasures, and now also I am in pursuit of her, following clue after
clue, in order that I may discover her whereabouts and, if possible,
ransom her. You have been my benefactor. You fought the drunken
Janissary for my sake, you shared your dwelling with me, you made me lie
on your own bed while you slept on the bare ground, you even took off
your kaftan to make my couch the softer. Accept, therefore, as a token
of my gratitude, the slender purse accompanying this letter. It contains
five thousand piastres, so that if ever I visit you again I may find you
in better circumstances. God help you in all things!
"Your grateful servant,
"JANAKI."
"Now, didn't I say he was mad?" exclaimed Halil, after reading through
the letter. "Who else, I should like to know, would have given me five
thousand piastres for three red onions?"
Meanwhile, attracted by the noise of the conversation, a crowd of the
acquaintances of Halil Patrona and the money-changer had gathered around
them, and they laid their heads together and discussed among themselves
for a long time the question which was the greater fool of the
two--Janaki, who had given five thousand piastres for three onions, or
Halil who did not want to accept the money.
Yet Halil it was who turned out to be the biggest fool, for he
immediately set out in search of the man who had given him this sum of
money. But search and search as he might he could find no trace of him.
If he had gone in search of someone who had stolen a like amount, he
would have been able to find him very much sooner.
In the course of his wanderings, he suddenly came upon the place where
three days previously he had had his tussle with Halil Pelivan. He
recognised the spot at once. A small dab of blood, the remains of what
had flowed from the giant's head, was still there in the middle of the
lane, and on the wall of the house opposite both their names were
written. In all probability the Janissary, when he picked himself up
again, had dipped his finger in his own blood, and then scrawled the
names upon the wall in order to perpetuate the memory of the incident.
He had also taken good care to put Halil Pelivan uppermost and Halil
Patrona undermost.
"Nay, but that is not right," said Halil to himself; "it was you who
were undermost," and snatching up the fragment of a red tile he wrote
his name above that of Halil Pelivan.
He hurried and scurried about till late in the evening without
discovering a single trace of Janaki, and by that time his head was so
confused by all manner of cogitations that when, towards nightfall, he
began chaffering for fish in the Etmeidan market, he would not have been
a bit surprised if he had been told that every single carp cost a
thousand piastres.
He began to perceive, however, that he would have to keep the money
after all, and the very thought of it kept him awake all night long.
Next day he again strolled about the bazaars, and then directed his
steps once more towards that house where he had chalked up his name the
day before. And lo! the name of Pelivan was again stuck at the top of
his own.
"This must be put a stop to once for all," murmured Halil, and beckoning
to a load-carrier he mounted on to his shoulders and wrote his name high
up, just beneath the eaves of the house on a spot where Pelivan's name
could not top his own again, from whence it is manifest that there was a
certain secret instinct in Halil Patrona which would not permit him to
take the lower place or suffer him to recognise anybody as standing
higher than himself. And as he, pursuing his way home, passed by the
Tsiragan Palace, and there encountered riding past him the Padishah,
Sultan Achmed III., accompanied by the Grand Vizier, Ibrahim Damad, the
Kiaja Beg, the Kapudan Pasha, and the chief Imam, Ispirizade; and as he
humbly bowed his head in the dust before them, it seemed to him as if
something at the bottom of his heart whispered to him: "The time will
come when the whole lot of you will bow your heads before me in the dust
just as I, Halil Patrona, the pedlar, do obeisance to you now, ye lords
of the Empire and the Universe!"
Fortunately for Halil Patrona, however, he did not raise his face while
the suite of the Lords of the Universe swept past him, for otherwise it
might have happened that Halil Pelivan, who went before the Sultan with
a drawn broadsword, might have recognised him, and certainly nobody
would have taken particular trouble to inquire why the Janissary had
split in two the head of this or that pedlar who happened to come in his
way.