Halil the Pedlar Part 8

Everywhere along the sea-front was to be seen an armed mult.i.tude; sparkling swords and lances in thousands flash back the rays of the sun.

The whole of the gra.s.s plain round about was planted with tents of every hue; white tents for the chief muftis, bright green tents for the viziers, scarlet tents for the kiayaks, dark blue tents for the great officers of state, the Emirs, the Mecca, Medina, and Stambul justiciaries, the Defterdars, and the Nishandji; lilac-coloured tents for the Ulemas, bright blue tents for the Muderesseks, azure-blue tents for the Ciaus-Agas, and dark green designates the tent of the Emir Alem, the bearer of the sacred standard. And high above them all on a hillock towers the orange-coloured pavilion of the Padishah, with gold and purple hangings, and two and three fold horse-tails planted in front of the entrance.

At sunset yesterday there was not a trace of this vast camp, all night long this city of tents was a-building, and at dawn of day there it stands all ready like the creation of a magician's wand!

The plain is occupied by the Spahis, the finest, smartest hors.e.m.e.n of the whole host; along the sea-front are ranged the topidjis, with their rows and rows of cannons. Other detachments of these gunners are distributed among the various hillocks. On the wings of the host are placed the Albanian cavalry, the Tartars, and the Druses of Horan. The centre of the host belongs of right to the flower, the kernel of the imperial army--the haughty Janissaries.

And certainly they seemed to be very well aware that they were the cream of the host, and that therefore it was not lawful for any other division of the army to draw near them, much less mingle with them, unless it were a few _delis_, whom they permitted to roam up and down their ranks full of crazy exaltation.

The whole host is full of the joy of battle, and if, from time to time, fierce shouts and thunderous murmurings arise from this or that battalion, that only means that they are rejoicing at the tidings of the declaration of war: the war-ships express their satisfaction by loud salvoes.

Sultan Achmed, meanwhile, is engaged in his morning devotions, day by day he punctually observes this pious practice.

The previous night he did not spend in the harem, but shut himself up with his viziers and counsellors in that secret chamber of the Divan, which is roofed over with a golden cupola. Grave were their deliberations, but n.o.body, except the viziers, knows the result thereof; yet when he issues forth from his prayer-chamber the Kizlar-Aga is already awaiting him there and hands the Sultan a signet-ring.

"Most glorious of Padishahs! the most delicious of women sends thee this ring. Well dost thou know what was beneath this ring. Deadly venom was beneath it. That venom is no longer there. The Sultana a.s.seki sends thee her greeting, and wishes thee good luck in this war of thine. 'Hail to thee!' she says, 'may thy guardian angels watch over all thy steps!'

The Sultana meanwhile has locked herself up in her private apartments, and in the very hour in which thou quittest the Seraglio she will take this poison, which she has dissolved in a goblet of water, and will die."

The Sultan had all at once become very grave.

"Why didst thou trouble me with these words!" he exclaimed.

"I do but repeat the words of the Sultana, greatest of Padishahs. She says thou art off to the wars, that thou wilt return no more, and that she will not be the slave-girl of the monarch who shall come after thee and sit upon thy throne."

"Wherefore dost thou trouble me with these words?" repeated the Sultan.

"May my tongue curse my lips, may my teeth bite out my tongue because of the words I have spoken. 'Twas the Sultana that bade me speak."

"Go back to her and tell her to come hither!"

"Such a message, oh, my master, will be her death. She will not leave her chamber alive."

For a moment the Sultan reflected, then he asked in a mournful voice:

"What thinkest thou?--if thy house was on fire and thy beloved was inside, wouldst thou put out the flames, or wouldst thou not rather think first of rescuing thy beloved?"

"Of a truth the extinguishing of the flames is not so pressing, and the beloved should be rescued."

"Thou hast said it. What meaneth the firing of cannons that strikes upon my ears?"

"Salvoes from the host."

"Can they be heard in the Seraglio?"

"Yea, and the songs of the singing-girls grow dumb before it."

"Conduct me to Adsalis! She must not die. What is the sky to thee if there be no sun in it? What is the whole world to thee if thou dost lose thy beloved? Go on before and tell her that I am coming!"

The Kizlar-Aga withdrew. Achmed muttered to himself:

"But another second, but another moment, but another instant long enough for a parting kiss, but another hour, but another night--a night full of blissful dreams--and it will be quite time enough to hasten to the cold and icy battlefield." And with that he hastened towards the harem.

There sat the Sultana with dishevelled tresses and garments rent asunder, without ornaments, without fine raiment, in sober cinder-coloured mourning weeds. Before her, on a table, stood a small goblet filled with a bluish transparent fluid. That fluid was poison--not a doubt of it. Her slave-girls lay scattered about on the floor around her, weeping and wailing and tearing their faces and their snowy bosoms with their long nails.

The Padishah approached her and tenderly enfolded her in his arms.

"Wherefore wouldst thou die out of my life, oh, thou light of my days?"

The Sultana covered her face with her hands.

"Can the rose blossom in winter-time? Do not its leaves fall when the blasts of autumn blow upon it?"

"But the winter that must wither thee is still far distant."

"Oh, Achmed! when anyone's star falls from Heaven, does the world ever ask, wert thou young? wert thou beautiful? didst thou enjoy life?

Mashallah! such a one is dead already. My star shone upon thy face, and if thou dost turn thy face from me, then must I droop and wither."

"And who told thee that I had turned my face from thee?"

"Oh, Achmed! the Wind does not say, I am cold, and yet we feel it. Thy heart is far, far away from me even when thou art nigh. But my heart is with thee even when thou art far away from me, even then I am near to thee; but thou art far away even when thou art sitting close beside me.

It is not Achmed who is talking to me. It is only Achmed's body.

Achmed's soul is wandering elsewhere; it is wandering on the b.l.o.o.d.y field of battle amidst the clash of cold steel. He imagines that those banners, those weapons, those cannons love him more than his poor abandoned, forgotten Adsalis."

The salvo of a whole row of cannons was heard in front of the Seraglio.

"Hearken how they call to thee! Their words are more potent than the words of Adsalis. Go then! follow their invitation! Go the way they point out to thee! The voice of Adsalis will not venture to compete with them. What indeed is my voice?--what but a gentle, feeble sound! Go!

there also I will be with thee. And when the long manes of thy horse-tail standards flutter before thee on the field of battle, fancy that thou dost see before thee the waving tresses of thy Adsalis who has freed her soul from the incubus of her body in order that it might be able to follow thee."

"Oh, say not so, say not so!" stammered the tender-hearted Sultan, pressing his gentle darling to his bosom and closing her lips with his own as if, by the very act, he would have prevented her soul from escaping and flying away.

And the cannons may continue thundering on the sh.o.r.es of the Bosphorus, the Imperial Ciauses may summon the host to arms with the blasts of their trumpets, the camp of a whole nation may wait and wait on the plains of Scutari, but Sultan Achmed is far too happy in the embraces of Adsalis to think even for a moment of seizing the banner of the Prophet and leading his bloodthirsty battalions to face the dangers of the battlefield.

The only army that he now has eyes for is the army of the odalisks and slave-girls, who seize their tambourines and mandolines, and weave the light dance around the happy imperial couple, singing sweet songs of enchantment, while outside through the streets of Stambul gun-carriages are rattling along, and the mob, in a frenzy of enthusiasm, clamours for a war of extermination against the invading Shiites.

Meanwhile a fine hubbub is going on around the kettle of the first Janissary regiment. These kettles, by the way, play a leading part in the history of the Turkish Empire. Around them a.s.semble the Janissaries when any question of war or plunder arises, or when they demand the head of a detested pasha, or when they wish to see the banner of the Prophet unfurled; and so terrible were these kettles on all such occasions that the anxious viziers and pashas, when driven into a corner, were compelled to fill these same kettles either with gold pieces or with their own blood.

An impatient group of Janissaries was standing round their kettle, which was placed on the top of a lofty iron tripod, and amongst them we notice Halil Patrona and Musli. Both were wearing the Janissary dress, with round turbans in which a black heron's plume was fastened (only the officers wore white feathers), with naked calves only half-concealed by the short, bulgy pantaloons which scarce covered the knee. There was very little of the huckster of the day before yesterday in Halil's appearance now. His bold and gallant bearing, his resolute mode of speech, and the bountiful way in which he scattered the piastres which he had received from Janaki, had made him a prime favourite among his new comrades. Musli, on the other hand, was still drunk. With desperate self-forgetfulness he had been drinking the health of his friend all night long, and never ceased bawling out before his old cronies in front of the tent of the Janissary Aga that if the Aga, whose name was Ha.s.san, was indeed as valiant a man as they tried to make out, let him come forth from beneath his tent and not think so much of his soft bearskin bed, or else let him give his white heron plume to Halil Patrona and let him lead them against the enemy.

The Janissary Aga could hear this bellowing quite plainly, but he also could hear the Janissary guard in front of the tent laughing loudly at the fellow and making all he said unintelligible.

Meanwhile a troop of mounted ciauses was approaching the kettle of the first Janissary regiment in whose leader we recognise Halil Pelivan.

Allah had been with him--he was now raised to the rank of a ciaus-officer.

The giant stood among the Janissaries and inquired in a voice of thunder:

"Which of you common Janissary fellows goes by the name of Halil Patrona?"

Patrona stepped forth.

"Methinks, Halil Pelivan," said he, "it does not require much brain-splitting on your part to recognise me."