Фредерик Марриет
The Pacha of Many Tales
“Strike,” cried the sultan, in a paroxysm of rage. The bamboos fell, and I received a dozen blows. I bore them without a cry; I was too much choked by my feelings.
“Now, Zara, will you retract?” exclaimed the sultan, in a subdued tone.
“Never, sultan; I will prove to you that a woman has more courage than you may imagine; if I die under the punishment, my rival shall not have even the pleasure of a groan. You ask me to retract. I will not swerve from the truth. You have, and you know you have, and so does that vile parasite by your side know that you have a wen under your left arm.” I was faint with the pain, and my voice was weak and trembling.
“Proceed,” said the sultan.
When I had received thirty blows, I fainted with the agony, and the sultan ordered them to desist. “I trust, Zara, you are now sufficiently punished for your disobedience.” But I heard him not; and when the sultan perceiving that I did not reply, looked at me, his heart melted. He felt how arbitrary, how cruel he had been. The Circassian went to him; he ordered her, in a voice of thunder, to be gone, me to be unbound by the other ladies, laid on the sofa, and restoratives to be procured. When I came to my senses, I found myself alone with the sultan. “Oh Zara,” said he, as the tears stood in his eyes, “why did you tempt me thus—why were you so obstinate?”
“My lord,” answered I, in a feeble voice, “leave your slave and go to those who can teach their tongues to lie. I have never deceived you, although I may have displeased you. I have loved you with fidelity and truth. Now that you have witnessed what I can suffer rather than be guilty of falsehood, you ought to believe me. Take my life, my lord, and I will bless you; for I have lost you, and with you I have lost more than life.”
“Not so, Zara,” replied the sultan; “I love you more than ever.”
“I am glad to hear you say so, my lord, although it is now of no avail. I am no longer yours, and never will be. I am unfit to be yours; my person has been contaminated by the touch of Ethiopian slaves—it has been polluted by the hand of the executioner—it has been degraded by a chastisement due only to felons. Oblige me, as a last proof of your kindness, by taking a life which is a burthen to me.”
Despot as he was, the sultan was much moved; he was mortified at having yielded to his temper, and his passionate affection for me had returned. He intreated my pardon, shed tears over me, kissed my swelled feet, and humiliated himself so much, that my heart relented—for I loved him dearly still.
“Zara,” exclaimed he, at last, “will you not forgive me?”
“When, my lord, have I ever shown myself jealous? True love is above jealousy. This evening, to please you, although I have lately been neglected, did I not request your new favourite to meet you? In return, I was grossly insulted by neglect, and studied attentions to her. I was piqued, and revenged myself—for I am but a woman. I was wrong in so doing, but having told the truth, I was right in not retracting what I had said. Now that you have degraded me—now that you have rendered me unworthy of you, you ask me to forgive you.”
“And again I implore it, my dearest Zara!”
“There are my jewels, my lord. I have no other property but what I have received, and cherished as presents from you. Your treasurer well knows that. Take my jewels, my lord, and present them to her, they will make her more beautiful in your sight—to me they are now worthless. Go to her, and in a few days you will forget that ever there was such a person as the unhappy, the neglected, the disgraced, and polluted Zara.” And I burst into tears, for even with all his ill usage, I was miserable at the idea of parting with him; for what will not a woman forgive to a man who has obtained her favour and her love?
“What can I do to prove that I repent?” cried the sultan. “Tell me, Zara. I have supplicated for pardon, what more can I do?”
“Let my lord efface all traces and memory of my degradation. Was not I struck by two vile slaves, who will babble through the city? Was not I held down by an executioner? These arms, which have wound round the master of the world, and no other, polluted by his gripe.”
The sultan clapped his hands, and the kislar aga appeared. “Quick,” exclaimed he, “the heads of the slaves and executioner who inflicted the punishment.” In a minute the kislar aga appeared; he perceived how matters stood, and trembled for his own. He held up the three heads, one after another, and then returned them to the sack of sawdust in which they had been brought.
“Are you satisfied now, Zara?”
“For myself, yes—but not for you. Who was it that persuaded you to descend from your dignity, and lower yourself, by yielding to the instigations of malice? Who was it that advised the bastinado? As a woman, I am too proud to be jealous of her; but as one who values your honour, and your reputation, I cannot permit you to have so dangerous a counsellor. Your virgins, your omras, your princes, will all be at her mercy; your throne may be overturned by her taking advantage of her power.”
The sultan hesitated.
“Sultan, you have but to choose between two things; if she be alive to-morrow morning, I am dead by my own hand. You know I never lie.”
The sultan clapped his hands, the kislar aga again appeared. “Her head,” said he, hesitatingly. The kislar aga waited a little to ascertain if there was no reprieve, for too hasty a compliance with despots is almost as dangerous as delay. He caught my eye—he saw at once that if not her head it would be his own, and he quitted the room. In a few minutes he held up by its fair tresses the head of my beautiful rival; I looked at the distorted features, and was satisfied. I motioned with my hand and the kislar aga withdrew.
“Now, Zara, do you forgive me? Now do you believe that I sincerely love you, and have I obtained my pardon?”
“Yes,” replied I, “I do, sultan; I forgive you all; and now I will permit you to sit by me and bathe my feet.”
From that day I resumed my empire with more despotic power than ever. I insisted that I should refuse his visits when I felt so inclined, and when I imagined that there was the slightest degree of satiety on his part, he was certain to be refused admittance for a fortnight. I became the depositary of his secrets and the mover of his counsels. My sway was unlimited, and I never abused it. I loved him, and his honour and his welfare were the only guides to my conduct.
“But your highness will probably be tired; and as I have now told how it was that I suffered the bastinado, you will perhaps wait till to-morrow for the history of the bowstring.”
“I believe that the old woman is right,” said Mustapha, yawning, “it is late. Is it your highness’s pleasure that she shall return to-morrow evening?”
“Be it so; but let her be in close custody—you remember.”
“Be chesm—on my eyes be it. Guards, remove this woman from the sublime presence.”
“It appears to me,” said the pacha to Mustapha, “that this old woman’s story may be true. The description of the harem is so correct—commanding one day, bastinadoed the next.”
“Who can doubt the fact, your sublime highness? The Lord of Life dispenses as he thinks fit.”
“Very true; he might send me the bowstring tomorrow.”
“Allah forbid!”
“I pray with you; but life is uncertain, and it is our fate. You are my vizier to-day, for instance—what may you be to-morrow?”
“Whatever your highness may decide,” replied Mustapha, not much liking the turn of the conversation. “Am not I your slave—and as the dirt under your feet—and shall I not bow to your sovereign pleasure and my destiny?”
“It is well said, and so must I if the caliph sends me a Capitan Badji, which Allah forbid. There is but one God and Mahomet is his Prophet.”
“Amen,” replied Mustapha. “Will your highness drink of the water of the Giaour?”
“Yes, truly; for what says the poet? ‘We are merry to-day and to-morrow we die.’”
“Min Allah; God forbid! That old woman has lived a long while, why shouldn’t we?”
“I don’t know; but she has had the bowstring and is not yet dead. We may not be so fortunate.”
“May we never have it at all; then shall we escape, O pacha.”
“True, Mustapha; so give me the bottle.”
Volume Three–Chapter Six
The next evening the old woman made her appearance without raising any difficulty as on the previous day, and took her seat before the pacha, and thus continued:—
As I stated to your highness last evening when I broke off my narrative, I was in the highest favour with the sultan, who made me his confidant. He had often mentioned to me the distinguished services of a young seraskier, whom he had lately appointed capitar pacha, to combat in the north against a barbarous nation called Sclavonians, or Russians. My curiosity was raised to see this rustam of a warrior, for his exploits and unvaried success were constantly the theme of the sultan’s encomiums. A Georgian slave who had been the favourite previous to my arrival, and who had never forgiven my supplanting her, had been sent to him by the sultan as a compliment; and this rare distinction had been conferred upon him on the day when I requested leave to remain behind the screen in the hall of the divan, that I might behold this celebrated and distinguished person. He was indeed a splendid figure, and his face was equally perfect. He formed, in outward appearance, all that I could imagine of a hero. As I looked at him from behind the screen, he turned his head from me, and I beheld to my surprise the red stain on his neck, which told me at once that I had found my long-lost brother. Delighted at the rencontre, I retired as soon as the audience was over, and the sultan came to my apartment. I told him the discovery which I had made. The sultan appeared pleased at the information; and the next day sending for my brother he asked him a few questions relative to his lineage and former life, which corroborated my story, and loading him with fresh honours he dismissed him. I was delighted that in finding my brother I had found one who was not unworthy of the sultan’s regard, and I considered it a most fortunate circumstance; but how blind are mortals! My brother was the cause of my disgrace and eternal separation from the sultan. I mentioned to your highness that the Georgian slave who had preceded me in the sultan’s favour had been sent as a present to my brother. This woman, although she had always appeared fond of me, was in fact my most bitter enemy. She was very beautiful and clever, and soon obtained the most unlimited influence over my brother. Yet she loved him not; she had but one feeling to gratify, which was revenge on me. My brother had so often led the troops to victory, that he had acquired an unbounded sway over them. Stimulated by their suggestions and his own ambition, which like mine was boundless, he was at last induced to plot against his master, with the intention of dethroning him and reigning in his stead. To his new wife, the Georgian, he had entrusted his plans, and she resolved to regain the favour of the sultan and accomplish my ruin by making me a party, and then communicating to him the treason which was in agitation. She proposed to my brother that he should inform me of his intentions, alleging, that in all probability I would assist him, as I cared little for the sultan; and at all events if I did not join, my interest might save him from his wrath. For some time he refused to accede to her suggestions, but as she pointed out that if the plot were discovered, I, as his sister, would certainly share his fate, and that she well knew that I had never forgiven the punishment of the bastinado which I had received, and only waited for an opportunity to revenge myself, he at last consented to make me a party to his intentions. My brother had been allowed to visit me, and he took it opportunity of stating to me his schemes. I started from him with horror, pointed out to him his ingratitude and folly, and intreated him to abandon his purpose. Convinced that I was firmly attached to the sultan, he appeared to acquiesce in the justice of my remarks, confessed that he was wrong, and promised me faithfully to think no more of his treacherous designs. I believed him to be sincere, and I shed tears of joy as I thanked him for having yielded to my intreaties. We separated; and in a short time I thought no more of the subject.
But he had no idea of abandoning his purpose; in fact, he was already too deeply involved to be able to do so. His arrangements went on rapidly; and when all was ripe the Georgian gave information to the sultan, denouncing me as a party as well as my brother.
One morning as I was sitting in my apartment, arranging on a tray a present for my lord and master, I was surprised by the abrupt entrance of the kislar aga, accompanied by guards, who without explanation seized me, and led me into the presence-chamber, where the sultan and all the officers of state were assembled. It immediately rushed into my mind that my brother had deceived me. Pale with anxiety, but at the same time with a feeling of delight that the plot had been discovered, I entered the divan, where I beheld my brother in the custody of the palace guard. He had been seized in the divan, as his popularity was so great that a few minutes’ notice would have enabled him not only to escape, but to have put his treasonable plans into execution; but he bore himself with such a haughty air, with his arms folded across his breast, that I thought he might be innocent; and that he had, as he promised me, abandoned all thoughts of rebellion.
I turned towards the sultan, who fixed his eyes upon me; his brows were knit with anger, and he commenced, “Zara, your brother is accused of treason, which he denies. You, also, are charged with being privy to his designs. Answer me, do you know any thing of these plots?”
I did not know how to answer this question, and I would not tell a lie. I did know something about his intentions; but as he had denied the charge, it was not to be expected that he should be condemned by the mouth of his only sister. Perhaps he had, as he had promised me, abandoned his ideas;—perhaps it could not be proved against him. My answer would have been the signal for his death. I could not give the answer required; and I replied, “If my brother be found guilty of rebelling against his sovereign, let him suffer. I, my lord, have never plotted or rebelled against you.”
“Answer my question, Zara. Do you know any thing about this plot? Yes or no. Say no, and I shall believe you.”
“Your slave has never plotted against her lord,” replied I. “Further I cannot answer your question.”
“Then it is true;—and Zara—even Zara is false!” cried the sultan, clasping his hands in agony. “O! where can a person in my situation find one who is faithful and true, when Zara, even Zara is false?”
“No—no, my lord,” cried I, bursting into tears; “Zara is true;—always has been, always will be, true. That I can boldly answer—but do not press the other question.”
The sultan looked at me for a short time, and then consulted with the viziers and others, who stood by the throne with their arms folded. The chief vizier replied, “Those who know of treason, and conceal it, are participators in the crime.”
“True—most true. Zara, for the last time I ask you, what do you know of this intended insurrection? I must be trifled with no longer. A plain answer, or—”
“I cannot answer that question, my lord.”
“Zara, as you value your life, answer me immediately,” cried the sultan, with violence;—but I answered not.
Twice more did the forbearance and love of the sultan induce him to repeat the question; but I remained silent.
He waved his hands, I was seized by the mutes, and the bow-string encircled my neck. All was ready, they awaited but the last signal to tighten the fatal cord.
“Once more, Zara, will you answer; or brave me to your destruction?”
“Sultan, I will at least speak to you before I die. I only wish to declare my fidelity and my love to you in my last moments, to tell you that I forgive you for that which, when the truth is known, you will never forgive yourself. One moment more. Let me remove this jewelled chain from my neck, now superseded by the bowstring. You presented it to me when convinced of my attachment and my love. Take it, sultan, and when you find one as faithful and as true, present it to her; but until you do so, wear it in memory of Zara. And now let me throw my veil over those features which have always beamed with love and delight on you, that when I am dead, and you call them to your recollection, they may be as you have been used to see them, and not black with convulsions and distorted with agony. My lord, my dear and honoured lord, farewell!”
The sultan was deeply moved; he turned away his head, and covered his face with one hand, while the other dropped at his side from the intensity of his feelings.
Although it never was so intended, this dropping of his hand was considered as the signal for my death. The string was tightened, and buried itself, cutting deeply into the flesh of a neck once as fair and smooth as the polished marble of Patras. For the first moments my torture was excruciating—my eyes were forcing out of their sockets—my tongue protruded from my mouth—my brain appeared to be on fire—but all recollection soon departed.
“Staffir Allah! God forgive me! but are you not laughing at our beards, old scarecrow? What think you, Mustapha?” continued the pacha, turning to him. “What is all this but lies?”
“Lies!” screamed the old woman. “Lies! you tell me they are lies! Well, well—the time has been. Pacha, after what I have suffered by telling the truth all my life, it is hard, in my old age, to be told that I lie: but you shall be convinced;” and the old woman put her hands up to the shrivelled, pendent skin of her neck, and stretching it out smooth, showed a deep blue mark, which encircled it like a necklace. “Now are you satisfied?”
The pacha nodded his head to Mustapha, as if convinced; and then said, “You may proceed.”
“Yes, I may proceed; but I tell you pacha, that if you doubt what I say once more, I will return your twenty pieces of gold, and hold my tongue. I proved that I could do it as a young woman, and we become more obstinate as we get old.”
“That is no lie,” observed Mustapha. “Continue, old woman, and we will not interrupt you with doubts again.”
My brother, who had watched every motion of the sultan’s, and who had determined to reveal all rather than that I should suffer, when he perceived the fatal mistake, which he did not till some moments afterwards, uttered a loud cry, and attempted to burst from his guards. Roused by the cry, the sultan looked up, and perceived what had taken place. In a moment he darted from his throne, and was kneeling by me with frantic exclamations. The mutes hastily tore away the bowstring, but I was, to all appearance, dead.
“Yes, sultan, well you may rave;” exclaimed my brother; “for you have good cause. You have destroyed one who, as she declared with her last breath, was most faithful and most true. I acknowledge the conspiracy. I told her my intentions, and she thought that she had succeeded in preventing me, for I promised by the three, to abandon my design. She has been faithful both to you and to me, for she believed that, although accused, I had atoned for my fault by repentance.”
The sultan looked earnestly at my brother, but made no answer. He embraced me, at one moment bursting into tears, in the next calling for assistance. I was removed to my apartments, and after some time, the physicians succeeded in restoring me to life: but I was for many days confused and dizzy in the brain, during which every attention and care was lavished on me. One evening I felt sufficiently recovered to speak, and I demanded of my attendants what had taken place. They informed me that the mutes, who had mistaken the signal, had been impaled, and that the janissaries had risen and demanded my brother, whose execution had been deferred by the sultan; but that on the commotion taking place, by order of the grand vizier, my brother had been executed, and his head thrown out to the rebellious troops, who had then dispersed, and had since been brought to subjection, and some hundreds of their ringleaders had been executed. I turned away at this intelligence, for I loved my noble but misguided brother. The movement occasioned excruciating pain, which arose from the deep wound made by the bowstring in my neck.
The next morning I rose, that I might contemplate my person in the mirror, and I at once perceived the alteration which had taken place. There was a certain degree of distortion of features which I thought would never be removed. I felt, that although the sultan might respect me, I could not expect the same influence and undivided attention as before. With a heavy heart I threw myself on the couch, and planned for the future. I reflected upon the uncertain tenure by which the affections of a despot are held—and I resolved to part. Still I loved him, loved him in spite of all his cruelty; but my resolution was made. For six weeks I refused to see the sultan, although he inquired every day, and sent me magnificent presents. At the end of that period I had recovered, and all that remained from the effects of the bowstring, was a slight wrinkling of the skin from distension, and the deep blue mark round my neck which I have just shown to your highness.
When I first admitted the sultan, he was much affected. “Zara,” said he mournfully, “I swear by the holy Prophet that I meant not to give the signal.”
“I believe you, my lord,” replied I calmly.
“Neither did I intend that your brother should suffer. I meant to have gained your favour by his pardon.”
“He was a traitor, my lord, an ungrateful traitor, and deserved his death. So may all like him perish.”
“And now, Zara, may I hope for your forgiveness?”
“On one condition, sultan, and swear that you will grant what I require.”
“I do, by Allah!”
“It is, that you send me back to my own country.”
Not to detain your highness by dwelling too long upon what passed, it will suffice to say, that notwithstanding the intreaties of the sultan, and the pleadings of my own heart, my resolution was immovable. Every arrangement was made for my departure, and during the preparations, the sultan was continually with me, persuading me to abandon the idea. The magnificence and liberality which he showed in the costly presents bestowed upon me, that I might return with honour and wealth to my own country, more than once made me waver in my resolution. The evening before my departure he made a last attempt, but in vain. My refusal was at least softened by the tears which I shed, for now that the time of departure was so near, I felt how truly, how devotedly I was attached to him. We parted; I threw myself on the couch, and wept till the dawn of day, when I was summoned to commence my journey.
As your highness may be aware is the custom, when my brother was executed, all his property was seized by the sultan, and distributed among the favourites. The new capitan pacha who succeeded my brother was called Abdallah, and was said to be an excellent soldier. Part of my brother’s property was made over to him, and among the rest the Georgian slave, who had been the ruin of my brother, and had so fatally destroyed my happiness. To show me every attention and respect, the sultan had ordered Abdallah in person to escort me to my own country, with a picked body of cavalry. The cavalcade was magnificent—treasure had been heaped on treasure—present upon present; twenty women of my own country, and numerous slaves had been permitted to attend upon me, and the procession wore the appearance of a pageant. I ascended my litter with an aching heart; and, journeying by easy stages, arrived at the land of my nativity. The borders were passed, and Abdallah requested me to write an acknowledgment that he had done his duty, which the sultan would require of him upon his return. I gave him the paper; and, professing many wishes for my future happiness, he assembled his troops, and the escort turned the heads of their neighing steeds towards the city, where my heart had truly been left behind.
It will now be necessary to revert to the Georgian slave, who had been presented to my brother by the sultan, and had afterwards been made over to Abdallah. When she heard that I was about to depart for my own country, loaded with presents, her rage was without bounds. Already had her beauty and talents made great impression upon Abdallah, and she soon won him over to a plot which would be advantageous to him, at the same time that it would throw me, whom he distrusted, into her power. She proposed to Abdallah that, after having escorted me to the frontiers, and received from me the acknowledgment required by the sultan, he should follow my small escort of slaves, cut them to pieces, take possession of me and all my treasure, and return with it to Constantinople, where I might be immured in his harem. The avarice of Abdallah was not able to withstand the temptation; and, aware that there was no chance of the nefarious transaction being discovered by the sultan, he agreed to the proposal. On the second night after we had parted with Abdallah, a body of horsemen galloped down upon us, and all my attendants, male and female, were massacred. I was seized, put into a sack, and thrown across a horse; and as soon as the treasure could be collected, they set off at a rapid pace. I was nearly dead when they halted, and when I was removed from my painful situation I fainted away.
Abdallah had never seen my face; the soldiers reported me dead, and he was glad when he heard of it, for it was only to please his wife that he had promised to bring me back. He walked up to where I lay, and was, even in my miserable situation, enamoured with my beauty. His heart acknowledged that I was the most valuable of all his plunder. Every care and attention was bestowed upon me; and after several hours’ halt, to allow me to refresh myself, I was placed in a small litter, and our journey recommenced. He was studious to obtain my favour: at first I spurned him, but when he told me that the Georgian slave had instigated him to the deed, and had insisted that he should bring me back, I well knew for what purpose, and thought only of revenge. I feigned to be less averse to him, and before our journey was over, had used all my powers of fascination with triumphant success. At last our wearied horses arrived at Stamboul, and after waiting in the suburbs till the evening closed in, that the cavalcade might not attract attention, it proceeded to the house of Abdallah, and I was once more in the precincts of a harem. The Georgian slave hastened to meet me, when she was informed of our arrival, and taking off her slipper, she struck me contemptuously on the mouth, with such force as to cause the blood to flow. “Now sultana,” cried she, “the day is mine; again shall you receive the bastinado. Ay, and again shall the bowstring be applied to your proud neck—and more effectually than before.” She then ordered her slaves to strip me, and put on the meanest attire. When that was done, she spat in my face, and left me without speaking; but the flashing of her eyes gave evidence of the fiery passions which were raging in her bosom.
In the mean time Abdallah had proceeded to the palace, to present to the sultan the document proving my safe arrival, and having so done, he hastened back to his own house. As soon as he entered the harem, instead of visiting the Georgian slave, who had arrayed herself for his reception, he inquired of the astonished women in which chamber I had been accommodated. They hesitatingly replied, pointing it out to him. He entered, and found me clothed in a slave’s dress, with my face covered with blood. When I stated the treatment I had received, and the further threat of the bastinado and the bowstring, his rage was beyond all bounds. Ordering all the women to attend me, he quitted me, that I might resume my own dress, intimating that he hoped that I would allow him to sup with me that evening. My desire for revenge induced me to grant his request, and he quitted the harem to look after the treasure of which I had been robbed.
In the mean time, the other women had communicated to the Georgian slave all that had occurred, and she was frantic at the information. Fearful of her, I kept my door fast until the arrival of Abdallah, who sent to inquire whether I would receive him. He was admitted, and again expressed his indignation at the conduct of my rival, offering, as a proof of his attachment, to abandon her to my resentment. I had no time for reply before the door was burst open, the Georgian flew in and aimed her dagger at my heart. Abdallah had sufficient time to ward the blow, and as the weapon passed through his left arm, with his right hand he dashed her on the floor. Pale with rage and pain he called his people. “She threatened you, Zara, with the bastinado and the bowstring. She has sealed her own doom.”
By his orders her slippers were torn off, and she received fifty blows of the bastinado; then, as she screamed with pain, and held up her hands for mercy, the mutes were summoned, and the bowstring was applied. My revenge was more than satiated, and I covered up my eyes that I might not be a witness to the dreadful spectacle. When I removed my hands, I found Abdallah only in the apartment, and my rival lying a blackened corpse upon the floor.
For three years I remained in the harem of Abdallah; and, if not happy, was resigned to my fate. He was devotedly attached to me, and, if I could not return his love, was not deficient in gratitude. At last a second war broke out between the Turks and Russians, and Abdallah was ordered to put himself at the head of his troops, and drive the invaders back to their regions of frost and snow. As was the custom with Turkish commanders, all his harem accompanied him, and after travelling about from one territory to another, sometimes in pursuit of, and at others retreating before the enemy’s forces, we were shut up in the fortress of Ismael, with orders to defend it to the last.
