THE SETTING AND THE RISING SUN.
The dead bodies of the victims were still lying in the streets when
Sultan Achmed summoned the Ulemas to the cupolaed chamber. His
countenance was dejected and sad.
Before coming to the council-chamber he had kissed all his children, one
by one, and when it came to the turn of his little ten-year-old child,
Bajazid, he saw that the little fellow's eyes were full of tears and he
inquired the reason why. The child replied:
"Father, it is well with those who are thy enemies and grievous for them
that love thee. What then will be our fate who love thee best of all?
Amongst the wives of our brethren thou wilt find more than one in grey
mourning weeds. Look, I prythee, at the face of Ummettulah; look at the
eyes of Sabiha, and the appearance of Ezma. They are all of them widows
and orphans, and it is thou who hast caused their fathers and husbands
to be slain."
"To save thee I have done it," stammered Achmed, pressing the child to
his breast.
"Thou wilt see that thou shalt not save us after all," sighed Bajazid.
In the years to come these words were to be as an eternal echo in the
ears of Achmed.
So he sat on his throne and the Ulemas took their places around him on
the divans covered with kordofan leather. Opposite to him sat the chief
imam, Ispirizade. Sulali sat beside him.
"Lo, the blood of the victims has now been poured forth," said Achmed in
a gloomy, tremulous voice, "I have sacrificed my most faithful servants.
Speak! What more do the rebels require? Why do they still blow their
field trumpets? Why do they still kindle their bivouac fires? What more
do they want?"
And the words of his little son rang constantly in his ears: "It is well
with those who are thy enemies and grievous for them that love thee."
No one replied to the words of the Sultan.
"Answer, I say! What think ye concerning the matter?"
Once more deep silence prevailed. The Ulemas looked at one another. Many
of them began to nudge Sulali, who stood up as if to speak, but
immediately sat down again without opening his mouth.
"Speak, I pray you! I have not called you hither to look at me and at
one another, but to give answers to my questions."
And still the Ulemas kept silence. Dumbly they sat around as if they
were not living men but only embalmed corpses, such as are to be found
in the funeral vaults of the Pharaohs grouped around the royal tombs.
"'Tis wondrous indeed!" said Achmed, when the whole Council had remained
dumb for more than a quarter of an hour. "Are ye all struck dumb then
that ye give me no answer?"
Then at last Ispirizade rose from his place.
"Achmed!" he began--with such discourteous curtness did he address the
Sultan!
"Achmed! 'tis the wish of Halil Patrona that thou descend from the
throne and give it up to Sultan Mahmud...."
Achmed sat bolt upright in his chair. After the words just uttered every
voice in the council-chamber was mute, and in the midst of this dreadful
silence the Ulemas were terrified to behold the Padishah stand on the
steps of the throne, extend his arm towards the imam, fix his eyes
steadily upon him, and open his lips from which never a word proceeded.
Thus for a long time he stood upon the throne with hand outstretched and
parted lips, and his stony eyes fixed steadily upon the imam, and those
who saw it were convulsed by a feeling of horror, and Ispirizade felt
his limbs turn to stone and the light of day grow dim before his eyes
in the presence of that dreadful figure which regarded him and pointed
at him. It was, as it were, a dumb curse--a dumb, overpowering spell,
which left it to God and His destroying angels to give expression to his
wishes, and read in his heart and accomplish that which he himself was
incapable of pronouncing.
The whole trembling assembly collapsed before the Sultan's throne,
crawled to his feet and, moistening them with their tears, exclaimed:
"Pardon, O master! pardon!"
An hour before they had unanimously resolved that Achmed must be made to
abdicate, and now they unanimously begged for pardon. But the deed had
already been done.
The hand of the Padishah that had been raised to curse sank slowly down
again, his eyes half closed, his lips were pressed tightly together, he
thrust his hands into the girdle of his mantle, looked down for a long
time upon the Ulemas, and then quietly descended the steps of the
throne. On reaching the pavement he remained standing by the side of the
throne, and cried in a hollow tremulous voice:
"I have ceased to reign, let a better than I take my place. I demand but
one thing, let those who are at this moment the lords of the dominion of
Osman swear that they will do no harm to my children. Let them swear it
to me on the Alkoran. Take two from amongst you and let them convey my
desire to Halil."
Again a deep silence followed upon Achmed's words. The Ulemas fixed
their gaze upon the ground, not one of them moved or made even a show of
conveying the message.
"Perhaps, then, ye wish the death of my children also? Or is there not
one of you with courage enough to go and speak to them?"
A very aged, tremulous, half paralyzed Ulema was there among them, the
dervish Mohammed, and he it was who at length ventured to speak.
"Oh, my master! who is valiant enough to speak with a raging lion, who
hath wit enough to come to terms with the burning tempest of the Samum,
or who would venture to go on an embassy to the tempest-tost sea and
bandy words therewith?"
Achmed gazed darkly, doubtfully upon the Ulema, and his face wore an
expression of repressed despair.
Sulali had compassion on the Sultan.
"I will go to them," he said reassuringly; "remain here, oh, my master,
till I return. Of a truth I tell thee that I will not come back till
they have sworn to do what thou desirest."
And now Ispirizade said that he also would go with Sulali. He had not
sufficient strength of mind to endure the gaze of the Sultan till
Sulali should return. Far rather would he go with him also to the
rebels. Besides they already understood each other very well.
The envoys found Halil sitting under his tent in the Etmeidan.
Sulali drew near to him and delivered the message of the Sultan.
But he did not deliver it in the words of Achmed. He neither begged nor
implored, nor mingled his request with bitter lamentations as Achmed had
done, but he spoke boldly and sternly, without picking his words, as
Achmed ought to have done.
"The Padishah would have his own life and the lives of his children
guaranteed by oath," said he to the assembled leaders of the people.
"Swear, therefore, on the Alkoran that you will respect them, and swear
it in the names of your comrades likewise. The Padishah is resolved that
if you refuse to take this oath he will blow up the Seraglio and every
living soul within it into the air with gunpowder."
The rebels were impressed by this message, only Halil Patrona smiled. He
knew very well that such a threat as this never arose in the breast of
Achmed. His gentle soul was incapable of such a thing. So he folded his
arms across his breast and smiled.
Then the chief imam fell down in the dust before him, and said in a
humble voice:
"Listen not, O Halil, to the words of my companion. The Padishah humbly
implores you for his life and the lives of his children."
Halil wrinkled his brow and exclaimed angrily:
"Rise up, Ulema, grovel not before me in the name of the Sultan. Those
who would slay him deal not half so badly with them as thou who dost
humiliate him. Sulali is right. The Sultan is capable of great deeds. I
know that the cellars of the Seraglio are full of gunpowder, and I would
not that the blossoms of the Sheik-ul-Islam and the descendants of the
Prophet should perish. Behold, I am ready, and my comrades also, to
swear on the Alkoran to do no harm either to Sultan Achmed, or his sons,
or his daughters, or his daughters' husbands. Whosoever shall raise his
hand against them his head I myself will cut in twain, and make the
avenging Angels of Allah split his soul in twain also, so that each half
may never again find its fellow. Go back and peace rest upon Achmed."
Sulali flew back with the message, but Ispirizade hastened to the Aja
Sophia mosque to give directions for the enthronement of the new Sultan.
Meanwhile Achmed had assembled his sons around him in the cupolaed
chamber, and sitting down on the last step of the throne made them take
their places round his feet, and awaited the message which was to bear
the issues of life and death.
Sulali entered the room with a radiant countenance, carrying in his hand
the copy of the Alkoran, on which Halil and his associates had sworn the
oath required of them. He laid it at the Sultan's feet.
"Live for ever, oh, Sultan!" he cried, "and may thy heart rejoice in the
prosperity of thy children!"
Achmed looked up with a face full of gratitude, and thanked Allah, the
Giver of all good and perfect gifts.
His children embraced him with tears in their eyes, and Achmed did not
forget to extend his hand to Sulali, who first raised it to his forehead
and then pressed it to his lips.
Then Achmed sent the Kizlar-Aga for Sultan Mahmud, surnamed "the White
Prince," from the pallor of his face, to summon him to his presence.
Half an hour later, accompanied by Elhaj Beshir, Prince Mahmud arrived.
He was the son of Mustapha II., who had renounced the throne in favour
of Achmed just as Achmed was now resigning the throne in favour of
Mahmud.
The Sultan arose, hastened towards him, embraced him, and kissed him on
the forehead.
"The people desire thee to ascend the throne. Be merciful to my children
just as I was merciful to thy father's children."
Sultan Mahmud did obeisance to his uncle, and seizing his hand, as if it
were worthy of all honour, reverently kissed it.
Then Achmed beckoned to his sons, and one by one they approached Mahmud,
and kissed his hand. And all the time the Ulemas remained prostrate on
the ground around them.
Then Achmed took the new sovereign by the right hand, and personally
conducted him into the chamber of the Mantle of the Prophet. There,
standing in front of the throne, he took from his hand the diamond
clasp, the symbol of dominion, and with his own hand fastened it to the
turban of the new Sultan, and placing his hand upon his head, solemnly
blessed him.
"Rule and prosper! May those thou lovest love thee also, and may those
that thou hatest fear thee. Be glorious and powerful while thou livest,
and may men bless thy name and magnify thy memory when thou art dead!"
Then Achmed and his children thrice did obeisance to Mahmud, whereupon
taking his two youngest sons by the hand, with a calm and quiet dignity,
he quitted the halls of dominion which he was never to behold again,
abandoning, one after another, every single thing which had hitherto
been so dear to him.
In the Hall of Audience he gave up the Sword of the Prophet to the
Silihdar, who unbuckled it from his body, and when he came to the door
leading to the harem he handed over his children to the Kizlar-Aga,
telling him to greet the Sultana Asseki in his name, and bid her
remember him and teach his little children their father's name.
For henceforth he will see no more his sharp sword, or the fair Adsalis,
or the other dear damsels, or his darling children. He must remain for
ever far away from them behind the walls of a dungeon. A deposed Sultan
has nought whatever to do with swords or wives or children. The same
fate befell Mustapha II. six-and-twenty years before. He also had to
part with his sword, his wives, and his children in just the same way.
And this Achmed had good cause to remember, for then it was that he
ascended the throne. And now he, in his turn, descended from the throne,
and now that had happened to him for his successor's sake which had
happened to his predecessor for his sake.
* * * * *
But the great men of the realm bowed their heads to the ground before
Sultan Mahmud and did him homage.
The long procession of those who came to do him obeisance filled all the
apartments of the Seraglio and lasted till midnight. The whole Court
bent head and knee before the new Sultan, and the chief officers of
state, the clergy, and the eunuchs followed suit. Only the captains of
the host and Halil Patrona still remained behind.
Hastily written letters were dispatched to all the captains and to all
the rebels, informing them that Sultan Achmed had been deposed and
Sultan Mahmud was reigning in his stead; let them all come, therefore,
at dawn of day next morning and do homage to the new Padishah.
The moon had long been high in the heavens and was shining through the
coloured windows of the Seraglio when the magnates withdrew and Mahmud
remained alone.
Only the Kizlar-Aga awaited his pleasure--the Kizlar-Aga whose sooty
face seemed to cast a black shadow upon itself.
Mahmud extended his hand to him with a smile that he might kiss it.
And then Elhaj Beshir conducted him to the door of those secret
apartments within which bloom the flowers of bliss and rapture, and
throwing it open bent low while the new Sultan passed through.
Only three among the peris of loveliness had preferred eternal loveless
slavery to the favours of the new Padishah, and among those who smiled
upon the young Sultan as he entered the room, the one who had the
happiest, the most radiant face, was the fair Adsalis, who still
remained the favourite wife, the Sultana Asseki, even after the great
revolution which had turned the whole Empire upside down and made the
least to be the greatest and the greatest to stand lowest of all.
Among so many smiling faces hers was the one towards which the
tremulously happy and enraptured Sultan hastened full of tender
infatuation; she it was whom he raised to his breast and in whose arms
he soothed himself with dreams of glory, while she stifled his anxieties
with her kisses.
Everything was asleep in the Halls of Felicity, only Love was still
awake. Mahmud, forgetful alike of himself and his empire, pressed to his
bosom his dear enchanting Sultana, the most precious of all the
treasures he had won that day; but the fair Sultana shuddered from time
to time in the midst of his burning embrace. It seemed to her as if
someone was standing behind her back, sobbing and sighing and touching
her warm bosom with his cold fingers.
Perchance she could hear the sighing and the sobbing of him who lay
sleepless far, far below that bower of rapture, in one of the cold
vaults of the Place of Oblivion, thinking of his lost Empire and his
lost Eden!
* * * * *
Early next morning the chief captains of the host, the Bashas and the
Sheiks, appeared in the Seraglio to greet the new Sultan. It was only
the leaders of the rebels who did not come.
Ever since Sulali had frightened the insurgents by telling them that the
cellars of the Seraglio were full of gunpowder, they did not so much as
venture to draw near it, and when the public criers recited the
invitation of Mahmud in front of the mosques, thousands and thousands of
voices shouted as if from one throat:
"We will not come!"
Not one of them would listen to the invitation from the Seraglio.
"It is a mere ruse," observed the wise Reis-Effendi. "They only want to
entice us into a mouse-trap to crush us all at a blow like flies caught
in honey."
"A short cut into Paradise that would be," scornfully observed Orli,
who, despite his office of softa, did not hesitate to speak
disrespectfully even of Paradise, whither every true believer ought
joyfully to hasten.
Last of all "crazy" Ibrahim gave them a piece of advice.
"'Twill be best," said he, "to gather together from among us our least
useful members--any murderers there may happen to be, or escaped
gaol-birds for instance; call them Halil, Musli, and Suleiman, deck them
out in the garments of Agas, Begs, and Ulemas, and send them to the
Seraglio. Then, if we see them return to us safe and sound, we can, of
course, go ourselves."
This crazy counsel instantly met with general applause. Everyone
approved of it, of that there could be no doubt.
Halil Patrona regarded them all in contemptuous silence. Only when
"crazy" Ibrahim's proposal had been resolved upon did he stand up and
say:
"I myself will go to the Seraglio."
Some of them regarded him with amazement, others laughed. Musli clapped
his hands together in his desperation.
"Halil! dost thou dream or art thou beside thyself? Dost thou imagine
thyself to be one of the Princes of the Thousand and One Nights who can
hew his way through monsters and spectres, or art thou wearied of
beholding the sun from afar and must needs go close up to him?"
"'Tis no concern of thine what I do, and if I am not afraid what need is
there for thee to be afraid on my account?"
"But, prythee, bethink thee, Halil! It would be a much more sensible
jest on thy part to leap into the den of a lioness suckling her young;
and thou wouldst be a much wiser man if thou wert to adventure thyself
in the sulphur holes of Balsorah, or cause thyself to be let down, for
the sake of a bet, into the coral-beds at the bottom of the Sea of
Candia to pick up a bronze asper,[2] instead of going to the Seraglio
where there are now none but thine enemies, and where the very
atmosphere and the spider crawling down the wall is venomous to thee and
thy deadly enemy."
"They may kill me," cried Halil, striking his bosom with both hands and
boldly stepping forward--"they may kill me it is true, but they shall
never be able to say that I was afraid of them. They may tear my limbs
to pieces, but when it comes to be recorded in the Chronicles that the
rabble of Constantinople were cowards, it shall be recorded at the same
time that, nevertheless, there was one man among them who could not only
talk about death but could look it fairly between the eyes when it
appeared before him."
"Listen, Halil! I and many more like me are capable of looking into the
very throat of loaded cannons. Many is the time, too, that I have seen
sharp swords drawn against me, and no lance that ever hath left the
smith's hand can boast that I have so much as winked an eye before its
glittering point. But what is the use of valour in a place where you
know that the very ground beneath your feet has Hell beneath it, and it
only needs a spark no bigger than that which flashes from a man's eye
when he has received a buffet, and we shall all fly into the air. Why,
even if both our hands were full of swords and pistols, not one of them
could protect us--so who would wish to be brave there?"
"Have I invited thee to come? Did I not say that I would go alone?"
"But we won't let thee go. What art thou thinking about? If they destroy
thee there we shall be without a leader, and we shall fall to pieces and
perish like the rush-roof of a cottage when the joists are suddenly
pulled from beneath it. And thou thyself wilt be a laughing-stock to the
people, like the cock of the fairy tale who spitted and roasted
himself."
"That will never happen," said Halil, unbuckling his sword (for no
weapon may enter the Seraglio) and handing it to Musli; "take care of it
for me till I return, and if I do not return it will be something to
remember me by."
"Then thou art really resolved to go?" inquired Musli. "Well, in that
case, I will go too."
At these words the others also began to bestir themselves, and when
they saw that Halil really was not joking, they accompanied him right up
to the Seraglio. Into it indeed they did not go; but, anyhow, they
surrounded the huge building which forms a whole quarter of the city by
itself, and as soon as they saw Halil pass through the Seraglio gates
they set up a terrific shout.
Alone, unarmed, and without an escort, the rebel leader passed through
the strange, unfamiliar rooms, and at every door armed resplendent
sentries made way before him, closing up again, with pikes crossed,
before every door when he had passed through them.
On reaching the Hall of Audience, a couple of Kapu-Agasis seized him by
the arm, and led him into the Cupola Chamber where Sultan Mahmud
received those who came to render homage.
In all the rooms was that extraordinary pomp which is only to be seen on
the day when a new Sultan has ascended the throne. The very
ante-chamber, "The Mat-Room," as it is called, because of the variegated
straw-mats with which it is usually covered, was now spread over with
costly Persian carpets. The floor of the Cupola Chamber looked like a
flower-bed. Its rich pile carpets were splendidly embroidered with gold,
silver, and silken flowers of a thousand hues, interspersed with wreaths
of pearls. At the foot of a sofa placed on an elevated daïs glistened a
coverlet of pure pearls. On each side of this sofa stood a little round
writing-table inlaid with gold. On one of these tables lay an open
portfolio encrusted with precious stones and writing materials flashing
with rubies and emeralds; on the other lay a copy of the Alkoran, bound
in black velvet and studded with rose brilliants. Another copy of the
Alkoran lay open on a smaller table, written in the Talik script in
letters of gold, cinnabar, and ultramarine; and there were twelve other
Korans on just as many other tables, with gold clasps and
pearl-embroidered bindings. On both sides of the fire-place, on stands
that were masterpieces of carving, were heaped up the gala mantles
exhibited on such occasions; and side by side, along the wall, on raised
alabaster pedestals were nine clocks embellished with figures, each more
ingenious than the other, which moved and played music every time the
hour struck. Four large Venetian mirrors multiplied the extravagant
splendours of the stately room.
Around the room on divans sat the chief dignitaries of the Empire, the
viziers, the secretaries, the presenters of petitions according to rank,
in splendid robes, and with round, pyramidal or beehive-shaped turbans
according to the nature of their office.
Yet all this pomp was utterly eclipsed by the splendour which radiated
from the new Padishah; he seemed enveloped in a shower of pearls and
diamonds. Whichever way he turned the roses embroidered on his dress,
the girdle which encircled his loins, the clasp of his turban, and every
weapon about him seemed to scatter rainbow sparks, so that those who
gazed at him were dazzled into blindness before they could catch a
glimpse of his face.
Behind the back of the throne, flashing with carbuncles as large as
nuts, stood a whole army of ministering servants with their heads
plunged deep in their girdles.
It was into this room that Halil entered.
On the threshold his two conductors released his arm, and Halil advanced
alone towards the Padishah.
His face was not a whit the paler than at other times, he stepped forth
as boldly and gazed around him as confidently as ever.
His dress, too, was just the same as hitherto--a simple Janissary
mantle, a blue dolman with divided sleeves, without any ornament, a
short salavari, or jerkin, reaching to the knee, leaving the lower part
of the legs bare, and the familiar roundish kuka on his head.
As he passed through the long apartment he cast a glance upon the
dignitaries sitting around the throne, and there was not one among them
who could withstand the fire of his gaze. With head erect he advanced
in front of the Sultan, and placing his muscular, half-naked foot on the
footstool before the throne stood there, for a moment, like a figure
cast in bronze, a crying contrast to all this tremulous pomp and
obsequious splendour. Then he raised his hand to his head, and greeted
the Sultan in a strong sonorous voice:
"Aleikum unallah! The grace of God be upon thee!"
Then folding his hands across his breast he flung himself down before
the throne, pressing his forehead against its steps.
Mahmud descended towards him, and raised him from the ground with his
own hand.
"Speak! what can I do for thee?" he asked with condescension.
"My wishes have already been fulfilled," said Halil, and every word he
then uttered was duly recorded by the chronicler. "It was my wish that
the sword of Mahomet should pass into worthy hands; behold it is
accomplished, thou dost sit on the throne to which I have raised thee. I
know right well what is the usual reward for such services--a shameful
death awaits me."
Mahmud passionately interrupted him.
"And I swear to thee by my ancestors that no harm shall befall thee.
Ask thine own reward, and it shall be granted thee before thou hast yet
made an end of preferring thy request."
Halil reflected for a moment, and all the time his gaze rested calmly on
the faces of the dignitaries sitting before him. His gaze passed down
the whole row of them, and he took them all in one by one. Everyone of
them believed that he was seeking a victim whose place he coveted. The
rebel leader read this thought plainly in the faces of the dignitaries.
Once more he ran his eyes over them, then he spoke.
"Glorious Padishah! as the merit of thy elevation belongeth not to me
but to thy people, let the reward be theirs whose is the merit. A heavy
burden oppresses thy slaves, and the name of that burden is Malikane. It
is the farming out of the taxes for the lives of the holders thereof
which puts money into the pockets of the high officers of state and the
pashas, so that the Sublime Porte derives no benefit therefrom. Abolish,
O Padishah, this farming out of the revenue, so that the destiny of the
people may be in thy hands alone, and not in the hands of these rich
usurers!"
And with these words he waved his hand defiantly in the direction of the
viziers and the magnates.
Deep silence fell upon them. Through the closed doors resounded the
tempestuous roar of the multitudes assembled around the Seraglio. Those
within it trembled, and Halil Patrona stood there among them like an
enchanter who knows that he is invulnerable, immortal.
But the Sultan immediately commanded the Ciaus Aga to proclaim to the
people with a trumpet-blast at the gates of the Seraglio, that at the
desire of Halil Patrona the Malikane was from this day forth abolished.
The shout which arose the next moment and made the very walls of the
Seraglio tremble was ample evidence of the profound impression which
this announcement made.
"And now place thyself at the head of thy host," said Halil, "accept the
invitation of thy people to go to the Ejub mosque, in order that the
Silihdars may gird thee with the Sword of the Prophet according to
ancient custom."
The Sultan thereupon caused it to be announced that in an hour's time he
would proceed to the mosque of Ejub, there to be girded with the Sword
of the Prophet.
With a shout of joy the people pressed towards the mosque in their
thousands, crowding all the streets and all the house-tops between the
mosque and the Seraglio. The cannons of the Bosphorus sent thundering
messages to the distant mountains of the joy of Stambul, and an hour
later, to the sound of martial music, Mahmud held his triumphal progress
through the streets of his capital on horseback; and the people waved
rich tapestries at him from the house-tops and scattered flowers in his
path. Behind him came radiant knightly viziers and nobles, and venerable
councillors in splendid apparel on gorgeous full bloods; but in front of
him walked two men alone, Halil Patrona and Musli, both in plain, simple
garments, with naked calves, on their heads small round turbans, and
with drawn swords in their hands as is the wont of the common
Janissaries when on the march.
And the people sitting on the house-tops shouted the name of Halil just
as often and just as loudly as they shouted the name of Mahmud.
The firing of the last salvo announced that the Sultan had arrived at
the Ejub mosque.
Ispirizade, the chief imam of the Aja Sophia mosque, already awaited
him. He had asked Halil as a favour that he might bless the new Sultan,
and Halil had granted his request. Since he had ventured into the
Seraglio everyone had obeyed his words. The people now whispered
everywhere that the Sultan was doing everything which Halil Patrona
demanded.
Ispirizade had already mounted the lofty pulpit when Mahmud and his
suite took their places on the lofty daïs set apart for them.
The chief priest's face was radiant with triumph. He extended his hands
above his head and thrice pronounced the name of Allah. And when he had
thus thrice called upon the name of God, his lips suddenly grew dumb,
and there for a few moments he stood stiffly, with his hands raised
towards Heaven and wide open eyes, and then he suddenly fell down dead
from the pulpit.
"'Tis the dumb curse of Achmed!" whispered the awe-stricken spectators
to one another.
FOOTNOTE:
[2] Farthing.