HUMAN HOPES.
A time will come when the star has risen so high that it can rise no
higher, and perchance learns to know that before long it must begin its
inevitable descent!...
All Halil Patrona's wildest dreams had been realised. There he stood at
the very apex of sovereignty, whence the course of empires, the destiny
of worlds can be controlled. Ministers of State were pulled down or
lifted up at his bidding, armies were sent against foreign powers as he
directed, princes were strengthened on their thrones because Halil
Patrona wished it, and the great men of the empire lay in the dust at
his feet.
For whole days at a time he sat reading the books of the Ottoman
chroniclers, the famous Rashid and the wise Chelbizade, and after that
he would pore over maps and charts and draw lines of different colours
across them in all directions, and dot them with dots which he alone
understood the meaning of. And those lines and dots stretched far, far
away beyond the borders of the empire, right into the midst of Podolia
and the Ukraine. He knew, and he only, what he meant by them.
The projects he was hatching required centuries for their
fulfilment--what is the life of a mere man?
In thought he endowed the rejuvenescent Ottoman Empire with the energies
of a thousand years. Once more he perceived its conquering sword winning
fresh victories, and extending its dominions towards the East and the
South, but especially towards the North. He saw the most powerful of
nations do it homage; he saw the guardian-angels of Islam close their
eyes before the blinding flashes of the triumphant swords of the sons of
Osman, and hasten to record in the Book of the Future events very
different from those which had been written down before.
Ah, human hopes, human hopes!--the blast blows upon them and they
crumble away to nothing.
But Halil's breast beat with a still greater joy, with a still loftier
hope, when turning away from the tumult of the world, he opened the door
of his private room and entered therein.
What voices are those which it does his soul good to hearken to? Why
does he pause and stand listening before the curtain? What is he
listening to?
It is the feeble cry of a child, a little baby child. A few days before
Gül-Bejáze bore him a son, on the anniversary of the very day when he
made her his wife. This child was the purest part of Halil's joy, the
loftiest star of his hopes. Whithersoever I may one day rise, he would
reflect, this child shall rise with me. Whatever I shall not be able to
achieve, he will accomplish. Those happier, more glorious times which I
shall never be able to see, he will rejoice in. Through him I shall
leave behind me in Ottoman history an eternal fame--a fame like to that
of the Küprili family, which for a whole century and a half gave heroes
and saints and sages to the empire.
Gül-Bejáze wanted the child to be called Ferhád, or Sender, as so many
of the children of the poor were wont to be called; but Halil gave him
the name of Behram. "He is a man-child," said Halil, "who will one day
be called to great things."
Human calculations, human hopes, what are they? To-day the tree stands
full of blossoms, to-morrow it lies prone on the ground, cut down to the
very roots.
Who shall strive with the Almighty, and from what son of man does the
Lord God take counsel?
Halil stole on tip-toe to the bed of his wife who was playing with the
child; she did not perceive him till he was quite close to her. How they
rejoiced together! The baby wandered from hand to hand; how they
embraced and kissed it! Both of them seemed to live their lives over
again in the little child.
And now old Janaki also drew nigh. His face was smiling, but whenever he
opened his mouth his words were sad and gloomy. All joy vanished from
his life the moment he was made a voivode, just as if he felt that only
Death could relieve him of that dignity. He had a peculiar joy in
perpetually prophesying evil things.
"If only you could bring the child up!" he cried; "but you will not live
long enough to do that. Men like you, Halil, never live long, and I
don't want to survive you. You will see me die, if see you can; and when
you die, your child will be doubly an orphan."
With such words did he trouble them. They were always relieved when, at
last, he would creep into a corner and fall asleep from sheer weariness,
for his anxiety made him more and more somnolent as he grew older.
But again the door opened, and there entered the Kadun-Kiet-Khuda, the
guardian of the ladies of the Seraglio, accompanied by two slave-girls
carrying a splendid porcelain pitcher, which they deposited at the sick
woman's bed with this humble salutation:
"The Sultana Validé greets thee and sends thee this sherbet!" The
Sultana Validé, or Dowager, used only to send special messages to the
Sultan's favourite wives when they lay in child-bed; this, therefore,
was a great distinction for the wife of Halil Patrona--or a great
humiliation for the Sultana.
And a great humiliation it certainly was for the latter.
It was by the command of Sultan Mahmud that the Sultana had sent the
sherbet.
"You see," said Halil, "the great ones of the earth kiss the dust off
your feet. There are slaves besides those in the bazaars, and the first
become the last. Rejoice in the present, my princess, and catch Fortune
on the wing."
"Fortune, Halil," said his wife with a mournful smile, "is like the eels
of the Bosphorus, it slips from your grasp just as you fancy you hold it
fast."
And Halil believed that he held it fast in his grasp.
The highest officers of state were his friends and colleagues, the
Sultan himself was under obligations to him, for indeed Halil had
fetched him from the dungeon of the Seven Towers to place him on the
throne.
And at that very moment they were digging the snare for him into which
he was to fall.
The Sultan who could not endure the thought that he was under a debt of
gratitude to a poor oppressed pedlar, the Sultana who could never
forget the humiliation she had suffered because of Gül-Bejáze, the
Kizlar-Aga who feared the influence of Halil, the Grand Vizier who had
been compelled to eat humble pie--all of them had long been waiting for
an occasion to ruin him.
* * * * *
One day the Sultan distributed thirty wagon-loads of money among the
forty thousand Janissaries and the sixteen thousand Topadshis in the
capital because they had proposed to be reconciled with the Seraglio and
reassemble beneath the banner of the Prophet. The insurgent mob,
moreover, promised to disperse under two conditions: a complete amnesty
for past offences, and permission to retain two of their banners that
they might be able to assemble together again in case anything was
undertaken against them. Their requests were all granted. Halil Patrona,
too, was honoured by being made one of the privy councillors of the
Divan.
Seven-and-twenty of the popular leaders were invited at the same time to
appear in the Divan and assist in its deliberations. Halil Patrona was
the life and soul of the lot.
He inspired them with magnanimous, enlightened resolutions, and when in
his enthusiastic way he addressed them, the worthy cobblers and
fishermen felt themselves turned into heroes, and it seemed as if _they_
were the leaders of the nation, while the pashas and grandees sitting
beside them were mere fishermen and cobblers.
Everyone of his old friends and his new colleagues looked up to and
admired him.
Only one person could not reconcile himself with the thought that he
owed his power to a pedlar who had risen from the dust--and this man was
Kaplan Giraj, the Khan of the Crimea.
He was to be Halil's betrayer.
He informed the Grand Vizier of the projects of Halil, who wished to
persuade the Sultan to declare war against Russia, because Russia was
actively assisting Persia. Moldavia and the Crimea were the starting
points of the armies that were to clip the wings of the menacing
northern foe, and thereby nullify the terrible prophecies of the "Takimi
Vekai."
Kaplan Giraj informed Kabakulak of these designs, and they agreed that a
man with such temerarious projects in his head ought not to live any
longer--he was much too dangerous.
They resolved that he should be killed during the deliberations at the
house of the Grand Vizier. For this purpose they chose from among the
most daring of the Janissaries those officers who had a grudge against
Halil for enforcing discipline against them, and were also jealous of
what they called his usurpation of authority. These men they took with
them to the council as members of the Divan.
It was arranged thus. When Halil had brought forward and defended his
motion for a war against Russia, then Kaplan Giraj would argue against
the project, whereupon Halil was sure to lose his temper. The Khan
thereupon was to rush upon him with a drawn sword, and this was to be
the signal for the Janissary officers to rise in a body and massacre all
Halil's followers.
So it was a well-prepared trap into which Halil and his associates were
to fall, and they had not the slightest suspicion of the danger that was
hanging over their heads.
* * * * *
The Grand Vizier sat in the centre of the councillors, beside him on his
right hand sat Kaplan Giraj, while the place of honour on his left was
reserved for Halil Patrona. All around sat the Spahi and Janissary
officers with their swords in their hands.
The plot was well contrived, the whole affair was bound to be over in a
few minutes.
The popular deputies arrived; there were seven-and-twenty of them, not
including Halil Patrona. The Janissary officers were sixty in number.
Kabakulak beckoned to Halil to sit on his left hand, the others were so
arranged that each one of them sat between a couple of Janissary
officers. As soon as Kaplan Giraj gave the signal by drawing his sword
against Halil, the Janissaries were to fall upon their victims and cut
them down.
"My dear son," said the Grand Vizier to Halil, when they had all taken
their places, "behold, at thy desire, we have summoned the council and
the chief officers of the Army; tell them, I pray thee, wherefore thou
hast called them together!"
Halil thereupon arose, and turning towards the assembly thus addressed
it:
"Mussulmans! faithful followers of the Prophet! If any one of you were
to hear that his house was on fire, would he need lengthy explanations
before hastening away to extinguish it? If ye were to hear that robbers
had broken into your houses and were plundering your goods--if ye were
to hear that ruffians were throttling your little children or your aged
parents, or threatening the lives of your wives with drawn swords, would
you wait for further confirmation or persuasion before doing anything,
or would you not rather rush away of your own accord to slay these
robbers and murderers? And lo! what is more than our houses, more than
our property, more than our children, our parents, or our wives--our
Fatherland, our faith is threatened with destruction by our enemy. And
this enemy has all the will but not yet the power to accomplish what he
threatens; and his design is never abandoned, but is handed down from
father to son, for never will he make peace, he will ever slay and
destroy till he himself is destroyed and slain--this enemy is the
Muscovite. Our fathers heard very little of that name, our sons will
hear more, and our grandsons will weep exceedingly because of it. Our
religion bids us to be resigned to the decrees of fate, but only cowards
will be content to sit with their hands in their laps because the
predestined fate of the Ottoman Empire is written in Heaven. If the
prophecy says that a time must come when the Ottoman Empire must fall to
pieces because of the cowardice of the Ottoman nation, does it not
depend upon us and our children whether the prophecy be accomplished, or
whether its fulfilment be far removed from us? Of a truth the
signification of that prophecy is this: We shall perish if we are
cowards; let us _not_ be cowards then, and never shall we perish. And if
the foe whose sword shall one day deal the nations of Muhammad the most
terrible wounds, and whose giant footsteps shall leave on Turkish soil
the bloodiest and most shameful imprints--if I say this foe be already
pointed out to us, why should we not anticipate him, why should we wait
till he has grown big enough to swallow us up when we are now strong
enough to destroy him? The opportunity is favourable. The Cossacks
demand help from us against the Muscovite dominion. If we give them this
help they will be our allies, if we withhold it they will become our
adversaries. The Tartars, the Circassians, and Moldavians are the
bulwarks of our Empire, let us join to them the Cossacks also, and not
wait until they all become the bulwarks of our northern foe instead, and
he will lead them all against us. When he built the fortress of Azov he
showed us plainly what he meant by it. Let us also now show that we
understood his intentions and raze that fortress to the ground."
With these words Halil resumed his place.
As pre-arranged Kaplan Giraj now stood up in his turn.
Halil fully expected that the Tartar Khan, who was to have played such
an important part in his project, inasmuch as his dominions were
directly in the way of an invading enemy, and therefore most nearly
threatened, would warmly support his proposition. All the greater then
was his amazement when Kaplan Giraj turned towards him with a
contemptuous smile and replied in these words:
"It is a great calamity for an Empire when its leading counsellors are
ignorant. I will not question your good intentions, Halil, but it
strikes me as very comical that you should wish us, on the strength of
the prophecy of a Turkish recluse, to declare war against one of our
neighbours who is actually living at peace with us, is doing us no harm,
and harbours no mischievous designs against us. You speak as if Europe
was absolutely uninhabited by any but ourselves, as if there was no such
thing as powerful nations on every side of us, jealous neighbours all of
them who would incontinently fall upon us with their banded might in
case of a war unjustly begun by us. All this comes from the simple fact
that you do not understand the world, Halil. How could you, a mere petty
huckster, be expected to do so? So pray leave in peace Imperial affairs,
and whenever you think fit to occupy your time in reading poems and
fairy-tales, don't fancy they are actual facts."
The representatives of the people regarded the Khan with amazement.
Halil, with a bitter look, measured him from head to foot. He knew now
that he had been betrayed. And he had been betrayed by the very man to
whom he had assigned a hero's part!
With a smiling face he turned towards him. He had no thought now that he
had fallen into a trap. He addressed the Khan as if they were both in
the room together alone.
"Truly you spoke the truth, Kaplan Giraj, when you reproached me with
the shame of ignorance. I never learnt anything but the Koran, I have
never had the opportunity of reading those books which mock at the
things which are written in the Koran; I only know that when the Prophet
proclaimed war against the idolators he never inquired of the
neighbouring nations, Shall I do this, or shall I not do it? and so he
always triumphed. I know this, too, that since the Divan has taken to
debating and negociating with its enemies, the Ottoman armies have been
driven across the three rivers--the Danube, the Dnieper, and the
Pruth--and melt away and perish in every direction. I am a rough and
ignorant man I know, therefore do not be amazed at me if I would defend
the faith of Mohammed with the sword when, perhaps, there may be other
means of doing so with which I am unacquainted. I, on the other hand,
will not be astonished that you, a scion of the princely Crimean family,
should be afraid of war. You were born a ruler and know therefore that
your life is precious. You embellish the deeds of your enemy that you
may not be obliged to fight against him. You say 'tis a good neighbour,
a peaceful neighbour, he does no harm, although you very well know that
it was the Muscovite guns which drove our Timariots out of Kermanshan,
and that the Persians were allowed to march through Russian territory in
order to fall upon our general Abdullah Pasha from behind. But there is
nothing hostile about all this in your eyes, you are perfectly contented
with your fate. War might deprive you of your Khannish dignity, while in
peaceful times you can peaceably retain it. It matters not to you whose
servant you may be so long as you hold sway in your own domain, and you
call him a blockhead who does not look after himself first of all. Yes,
Kaplan Giraj, I am a blockhead no doubt, for I am not afraid to risk
losing this wretched life, awaiting my reward in another world. I was
not born in silks and purples but in the love of my country and the fear
of God, while you are wise enough to be satisfied with the joys of this
life. But, by way of reward for betraying your good friend, may Allah
cause you, one day, to become the slave of your enemies, so that he who
was wont to be called Kaplan[17] may henceforth be named Sichian."[18]
Even had nothing been preconcerted, Kaplan Giraj's sword must needs have
leaped from its sheath at these mortally insulting words. Furiously he
leaped from his seat with his flashing sword in his hand.
Ah! but now it was the turn of the Grand Vizier and all the other
conspirators to be amazed.
The Janissaries who had been placed by the side of the popular leaders
never budged from their seats, and not one of them drew his weapon at
the given signal.
Such inertia was so inexplicable to the initiated that Kaplan Giraj
remained standing in front of Halil paralyzed with astonishment. As for
Halil he simply crossed his arms over his breast and gazed upon him
contemptuously. The Janissary officers had disregarded the signal.
"I am well aware," said Halil to the Khan with cold sobriety--"I am well
aware what sort of respect is due to this place, and therefore I do not
draw my sword against yours even in self-defence. For though I am not so
well versed in European customs as you are, and know not whether it is
usual in the council-chambers of foreign nations to settle matters with
the sword, or whether it is the rule in the French or the English
cabinet that he who cuts down his opponent in mid-council is in the
right and his opinion must needs prevail--but of so much I am certain,
that it is not the habit to settle matters with naked weapons in the
Ottoman Divan. Now that the council is over, however, perhaps you would
like to descend with me into the gardens where we may settle the
business out of hand, and free one another from the thought that death
is terrible."
Halil's cold collected bearing silenced, disarmed his enemies. The eyes
of the Grand Vizier and the Khan surveyed the ranks of the Janissary
officers, while Halil's faithful adherents began to assemble round their
leader.
"Then there is no answer to the words of Halil Patrona?" inquired
Kabakulak at last tentatively.
They were all silent.
"Have you no answer at all then?"
At this all the Janissaries arose, and one of them stepping forward
said:
"Halil is right. We agree with all that he has said."
The Grand Vizier did not know whether he was standing on his head or his
heels. Kaplan Giraj wrathfully thrust his sword back again into its
scabbard. All the Janissary officers evidently were on Halil Patrona's
side.
It was impossible not to observe the confusion in the faces of the chief
plotters; the well-laid plot could not be carried out.
After a long interval Kabakulak was the first to recover himself, and
tried to put a new face on matters till a better opportunity should
arise.
"Such important resolutions," said he, "cannot be carried into effect
without the knowledge of the Sultan. To-morrow, therefore, let us all
assemble in the Seraglio to lay our desires before the Padishah. You
also will be there, Halil, and you also, Kaplan Giraj."
"Which of us twain will be there Allah only knows," said Halil.
"There, my son, you spake not well; nay, very ill hast thou spoken. It
is a horrible thing when two Mussulmans revile one another. Be
reconciled rather, and extend to each other the hand of fellowship! I
will not allow you to fight. Both of you spoke with good intentions, and
he is a criminal who will not forget personal insults when it is a
question of the commonweal. Forgive one another and shake hands, I say."
And he seized the reluctant hands of both men and absolutely forced them
to shake hands with each other. But he could not prevent their eyes from
meeting, and though swords were denied them their glances of mutual
hatred were enough to wound to the death.
After the council broke up, Halil's enemies remained behind with the
Grand Vizier. Kaplan Giraj gnashed his teeth with rage.
"Didn't I tell you not to let him speak!" he exclaimed, "for when once
he opens his mouth he turns every drawn sword against us, and drives
wrath from the breasts of men with the glamour of his tongue."
So they had three days wherein to hatch a fresh plot.
* * * * *
The session of the Divan was fixed for three days later. Halil Patrona
employed the interval like a man who feels that his last hour is at
hand. He would have been very short-sighted not to have perceived that
judgment had already been pronounced against him, although his enemies
were still doubtful how to carry it into execution.
He resigned himself to his fate as it became a pious Mussulman to do. He
had only one anxiety which he would gladly have been rid of--what was to
become of his wife and child.
On the evening of the last day he led Gül-Bejáze down to the shore of
the Bosphorus as if he would take a walk with her. The woman carried her
child in her arms.
Since the woman had had a child she had acquired a much braver aspect.
The gentlest animal will be audacious when it has young ones, even the
dove becomes savage when it is hatching its fledgelings.
Halil put his wife into a covered boat, which was soon flying along
under the impulse of his muscular arms. The child rejoiced aloud at the
rocking of the boat, he fancied it was the motion of his cradle. The
eyes of the woman were fixed now upon the sky and now upon the unruffled
surface of the watery mirror. A star smiled down upon her wheresoever
she gazed. The evening was very still.
"Knowest thou whither I am taking thee, Gül-Bejáze?" asked her husband.
"If thou wert to ask me whither thou oughtest to send me, I would say
take me to some remote and peaceful valley enclosed all around by lofty
mountains. Build me there a little hut by the side of a bubbling spring,
and let there be a little garden in front of the little hut. Let me
stroll beneath the leaves of the cedar-trees, where I may hear no other
sound but the cooing of the wood-pigeon; let me pluck flowers on the
banks of the purling brook, and spy upon the wild deer; let me live
there and die there--live in thine arms and die in the flowering field
by the side of the purling brook. If thou wert to ask me, whither shall
I take thee, so would I answer."
"Thou hast said it," replied Halil, shipping the oars, for the rising
evening breeze had stiffened out the sail and the little boat was flying
along of its own accord; then he sat him down beside his wife and
continued, "I am indeed sending thee to a remote and hidden valley,
where a little hut stands on the banks of a purling stream. I have
prepared it for thee, and there shalt thou dwell with thy child."
"And thou thyself?"
"I will guide thee to the opposite shore, there an old family servant of
thy father's awaits thee with saddled mules. He loves thee dearly, and
will bring thee into that quiet valley and he must never leave thee."
"And thou?"
"This little coffer thou wilt take with thee; it contains money which I
got from thy father; no curse, no blood is upon it, it shall be thine
and thy children's."
"And thou?" inquired Gül-Bejáze for the third time, and she was very
near to bursting into tears.
"I shall have to return to Stambul. But I will come after thee. Perhaps
to-morrow, perhaps the day after to-morrow, perhaps later still. It may
be very much sooner, it may be much later. But thou wait for me. Every
evening spread the table for me, for thou knowest not when I may
arrive."
The tears of Gül-Bejáze began to fall upon the child she held to her
breast.
"Why weepest thou?" asked Halil. "'Tis foolish of thee. Leave-taking is
short, suspense only is long. It will be better with thee than with me,
for thou wilt have the child while I shall have nothing left, yet I do
not weep because we shall so soon meet again."
Meanwhile they had reached the shore, the old servant was awaiting them
with the two mules. Halil helped his wife to descend from the boat.
Gül-Bejáze buried her head in her husband's bosom and tenderly embraced
him.
"Go not back, leave me not alone," said she; "do not leave us, come with
us. What dost thou seek in that big desolate city when we are no longer
there? Come with us, let us all go together, vanish with us. Let them
search for thee, and may their search be as vain as the search for a
star fallen from Heaven; it is not good for thee to be in high places."
Halil made no reply. His wife spoke the truth, but pride prevented him
from escaping like a coward when he knew that his enemies were
conspiring against him. Presently he said to Gül-Bejáze with a
reassuring voice:
"Do not be anxious on my account, I have a talisman with me. Why dost
thou smile? Thou a Christian woman dost not believe in talismans? My
talisman is my heart, surely thou believest in it now? It has always
helped me hitherto."
And with that Halil kissed his wife and his child and returned to the
boat. He seized the oars in his powerful hands and was soon some
distance from the shore. And as he rowed further and further away into
the gloom of evening he saw his abandoned wife still standing on the
shore with her child clasped to her breast, and the further he receded
the keener grew his anguish of heart because he durst not turn back to
them and kiss and embrace them once more.
* * * * *
Early in the morning the gigantic Halil Pelivan, accompanied by twelve
bostanjis, appeared among the Janissaries with three asses laden with
five little panniers, containing five thousand ducats which he emptied
upon the ground and distributed among the brave fellows.
"The Grand Vizier sends you this, my worthy comrades," cried he.
This was the only way of talking sense to the Janissaries.
"And now I have to ask something of you."
"Say on!"
"Is there among you any fellow who loves nobody, who would be capable of
slaying his own dear father if he were commanded so to do and well paid
for it, who is afraid of nothing, has no bowels of compassion, and
cannot be made to falter by the words of the wise?"
In response to this challenge, hundreds and hundreds of the Janissaries
stepped out of their ranks, declaring that they were just the boys to
satisfy Pelivan's demands.
Pelivan selected from amongst them two-and-thirty of the most muscular
and truculent, and commanded them to follow him into the Seraglio.
Once there he conducted them into the Porcelain Chamber, made them squat
down on the precious carpets, put before them quantities of the most
savoury food, which they washed down with the rich wine of Cypress and
the heating Muskoveto, a mysterious beverage generally reserved for the
Sultan's use, which is supposed to confer courage and virility. When
they had well eaten and drunken moreover, Pelivan supplied them with as
much opium as they wanted.
Shortly afterwards there came out to them the Grand Vizier, the lame
Pasha, Topal Ozman, Patsmajezade, the chief Justiciary of Rumelia, the
cobbler's son, and the Tartar Khan, who patted their shoulders, tasted
of their food, drank out of their goblets, and after telling them what
fine brave fellows they were, discreetly withdrew.
The Divan meanwhile had assembled in the Hall of Lions.
There were gathered together the Ulemas, the Viziers, and the
representatives of the people. Halil Patrona was there also; and
presently Kabakulak, Topal Ozman, Patsmajezade, and Kaplan Giraj
arrived likewise and took their places.
The Grand Vizier turned first of all to Halil, whom he addressed with
benign condescension.
"The Padishah assures thee through me of his grace and favour, and of
his own good pleasure appoints thee Beglerbeg of Rumelia."
And with that a couple of dülbendars advanced with the costly kaftan of
investiture.
Halil Patrona reflected for an instant.
The Sultan indeed had always been gracious towards him. He evidently
wanted to favour him with an honourable way of retreat. He was offering
him a high dignity whereby he might be able to withdraw from the
capital, and yet at the same time gratify his ambition. The Sultan
really had a kindly heart then. He rewards the man whom his ministers
would punish as a malefactor.
But his hesitation only lasted for a moment. Then he recovered himself
and resolutely answered:
"I will not accept that kaftan. For myself I ask nothing. I did not come
here to receive high office, I came to hear war proclaimed."
The Grand Vizier bowed down before him.
"Thy word is decisive. The Padishah has decided that what thou and thy
comrades demand shall be accomplished. The Grand Seignior himself
awaits thee in the Porcelain Chamber. There war shall be proclaimed,
and the kaftans of remembrance distributed to thee and thy fellows."
And with that the Ulemas and Halil's comrades were led away to the kiosk
of Erivan.
"And ye who are the finest fellows of us all," said Kabakulak, turning
to Halil and Musli--"ye, Halil and Musli, come first of all to kiss the
Sultan's hand."
Halil with a cold smile pressed Musli's hand. Even now poor Musli had no
idea what was about to befall them. Only when at "the gate of the cold
spring" the Spahis on guard divested them of their weapons, for none may
approach the Sultan with a sword by him--only, then, I say, did he have
a dim sensation that all was not well.
In the Sofa Chamber, where the Divan is erected, is a niche separated
from the rest of the chamber by a high golden trellis-work screen,
behind whose curtains it is the traditional custom of the Sultan to
listen privately to the deliberations of his counsellors. From behind
these curtains a woman's face was now peeping. It was Adsalis, the
favourite Sultana, and behind her stood Elhaj Beshir, the Kizlar-Aga.
Both of them knew there would be a peculiar spectacle, something well
worth seeing in that chamber to-day.
The curtains covering the doors of the Porcelain Chamber bulged out,
and immediately afterwards two men entered. They advanced to the steps
of the Sultan's throne, knelt down there, and kissed the hem of the
Sultan's garment.
Mahmud was sitting on his throne, the same instant Kabakulak clapped his
hands and cried:
"Bring in their kaftans!"
At these words out of the adjoining apartment rushed Pelivan and the
thirty-two Janissaries with drawn swords.
Mahmud hid his face so as not to see what was about to happen.
"Halil! we are betrayed!" exclaimed Musli, and placing himself in front
of his comrade he received on his own body the first blow which Pelivan
had aimed at Halil.
"In vain hast thou written thy name above mine, Patrona," roared the
giant, waving his huge broadsword above his head.
At these words Halil drew forth from his girdle a dagger which he had
secreted there, and hurled it with such force at Pelivan that the sharp
point pierced his left shoulder.
But the next moment he was felled to the ground by a mortal blow.
While still on his knees he raised his eyes to Heaven and said:
"It is the will of Allah."
At another blow he collapsed, and falling prone breathed forth his last
sigh:
"I die, but my son is still alive."
And he died.
Then all his associates were brought into the Sofa Chamber one by one
from the Erivan kiosk where they had been robed in splendid kaftans, and
as they entered the room were decapitated one after the other. They had
not even time to shut their eyes before the fatal stroke descended.
Six-and-twenty of them perished there and then.
Only three survived the day, Sulali, Mohammed the dervish, and Alir
Aalem, the custodian of the sacred banner and justiciary of Stambul. All
three were Ulemas, and therefore not even the Sultan was free to slay
them.
Accordingly the Grand Vizier appointed them all Sandjak-Begs, or
governors of provinces.
As they knew nothing of the death of their comrades they accepted the
dignities conferred upon them, renouncing at the same time as usual
their office of Ulemas.
The following day they were all put to death.
On the third day after that the people of the city in their walks abroad
saw eight-and-thirty severed heads stuck on the ends of spears over the
central gate of the Seraglio. All these heads, with their starting eyes
and widely parted lips, seemed to be speaking to the amazed multitudes;
only Halil Patrona's eyes were closed and his lips sealed.
Suddenly a great cry of woe arose from one end of the city to the other,
the people seized their arms and rushed off to the Etmeidan under three
banners.
They had no other leader now but Janaki, all the rest had escaped or
were dead. So now they brought _him_ forward. The tidings of Halil's
death wrought no change in him, he had foreseen it long before, and was
well aware that Gül-Bejáze had departed from the capital. He had himself
prepared for her the little dwelling in the valley lost among the
ravines of Mount Taurus, which was scarce known to any save to him and
the few dwellers there, and he had brought back with him from thence a
pair of carrier-pigeons, so that in case of necessity he might be able
to send messages to his daughter without having to depend on human
agency.
When the clamorous mob invited him to the Etmeidan he wrote to his
daughter on a tiny shred of vellum, and tied the letter beneath the wing
of the pigeon.
And this is what he wrote:
"God's grace be with thee! Wait not for Halil, he is dead. The
Janissaries have killed him. And I shall not be long after him, take my
word for it. But live thou and watch over thy child.--JANAKI."
With that he opened the window and let the dove go, and she, rising
swiftly into the air, remained poised on high for a time with fluttering
pinions, and then, with the swiftness and directness of a well-aimed
dart, she flew straight towards the mountains.
"Poor Irene!" sighed Janaki, buckling on his sword with which he
certainly was not very likely to kill anybody--and he accompanied the
insurgents to the Etmeidan.
In Stambul things were all topsy-turvy once more. The seventh Janissary
regiment, when the two-and-thirty Janissaries returned to them with
bloody swords boasting of their deed, rushed upon them and cut them to
pieces. The new Janissary Aga was shot dead within his own gates.
Kabakulak retired within a mosque. Halil Pelivan, who had been appointed
Kulkiaja, hid himself in a drain pipe for three whole days, and never
emerged therefrom so long as the uproar lasted.
Three days later all was quiet again.
A new name came to the front which quelled the risen tempest--the last
scion of the famous Küprili family, every member of which was a hero.
Achmed Küprilizade collected together the ten thousand shebejis,
bostanjis, and baltajis who dwelt round the Seraglio, and when everyone
was in despair attacked the rebels in the open streets, routed them in
the piazzas, and in three days seven thousand of the people fell beneath
his blows--and so the realm had peace once more.
Janaki also fell. They chopped off his head and he offered not the
slightest resistance.
As for Pelivan and Kabakulak they were banished for their cowardice.
So Achmed Küprilizade became Grand Vizier.
As for Achmed III. he lived nine years longer in the Seven Towers, and
tradition says he died by poison.
FOOTNOTES:
[17] Tiger.
[18] Mouse.