The Slaves of the Padishah Part 14

Here Yffim Beg growled something or other.

"Now that saucy damsel swinging herself to and fro on the shawl,"

continued the dealer, "I got in China, where her parents abandoned her in a public place. She does not promise much at first sight, but touch her and you'll fancy you are in contact with warm velvet. I would let you have her, sir, for five hundred ducats, but I should charge anyone else as much again."

Yffim Beg nodded approvingly.

"And now do you see that fair damsel who, with a gold comb, is combing out tresses more precious than gold; she came to me from the northern islands, from a ship which the Kapudan Pasha sent to the bottom of the sea. I don't ask you if you ever saw such rich fair tresses before, but I do ask you whether you ever saw before a mortal maid with such a blindingly fair face? When she blushes, it is just as if the dawn were touching her with rosy finger-tips."

"Yes, but her face is painted," said Yffim Beg suspiciously.

"Painted, sir!" exclaimed Haji Baba with dignity. "Painted faces at my shop! Very well! come and convince yourself."

And, tearing aside the muslin veil, he entered the apartment with Yffim Beg.

At the sight of the men a couple of the charming hoydens rushed shrieking behind the tapestries, and only after a time poked their inquisitive little heads through the folds of the curtains; but the Georgian beauty continued to dance; the Chinese damsel went on swinging more provocatively than ever; the beauty from the northern islands allowed her golden tresses to go on playing about her shoulders; a fresh, tawny gipsy-girl, in a variegated, elaborately fringed dress, with ribbons in her curly hair, stood right in front of the approaching Beg, eyed him carefully from top to toe, seized part of his silken caftan, and rubbed it between her fingers, as if she wanted to appraise its value to a penny; while a tiny little negro girl with gold bracelets round her hands and legs, fumigated the entering guest with ambergris, navely smiling at him all the time with eyes like pure enamel and lips as red as coral.

The robber-chapman was right, there was not one of these girls who felt ashamed. They looked at the purchaser with indifference and even complacency, and everyone of them tried to please him in the hope that he would take them where they would have lots of jewels and fine clothes, and slaves to wait on them.

Haji Baba led the Beg to the above-mentioned beauty, and raising the edge of her white garment and displaying her blushing face, rubbed it hard, and when the main texture remained white, he turned triumphantly to the seller.

"Well, sir! I sell painted faces, do I? Do you suppose that every orthodox shah, emir, and khan would have any confidence in me if I did?

Will you not find in my garden those flowers which the Sultana Valideh presents to the greatest of Emperors on his birthday, and which in a week's time the Sultan gives in marriage to those of his favourite Pashas whom he delights to honour? Why, I don't keep Hindu bayaderes simply because they stain their teeth with betel-root and orange yellow, and gild their eyebrows; accursed be he who would improve upon what Allah created perfect! The black girl is lovely because she is black, the Greek because she is brown, the Pole because she is pale, and the Wallach because she is ruddy; there are some who like blonde, and some who like dark tresses; and fire dwells in blue eyes as well as in black; and G.o.d has created everything that man may rejoice therein."

While the worthy man-filcher was thus pouring himself forth so enthusiastically, Yffim Beg, with a very grave face, was gazing round the apartment, drawing aside every curtain and gazing grimly at the dwellers behind them, who, clad in rich oriental garments, were reclining on divans, sucking sugar-plums and singing songs.

Haji Baba was at his back the whole time, and had so much to say of the qualifications of every damsel they beheld, that the Turkish gentleman must have been sorely perplexed which of them to choose.

He had got right to the end of the apartment, when unexpectedly peeping into the remotest corner, he beheld a damsel who seemed to be entirely different from all the rest. She was wrapped in a simple white wadding-like garment, only her head was visible; and when the Beg turned towards her, both his eyes and his mouth opened wide, and he stood rooted to the spot before her.

It was the face of the Queen in the Kingdom of Beauty. Never had he seen such a look, such burning, glistening, flashing eyes as hers! The proud, free temples, beneath which two pa.s.sionate eyebrows sparkled like rainbows, even without a diadem dispensed majesty. At the first glance she seemed as savage as Diana surprised in her bath, at the next she was as timorous as the flying Daphne; gradually a tender smile transformed her features, she looked in front of her with a dazed expression like betrayed Sappho gazing at the expanse of ocean in which she would fain extinguish her burning love.

"Chapman!" cried the Beg, scarce able to contain himself for astonishment, "would you deceive me by hiding away from me a houri stolen from heaven?"

"I a.s.sure you, sir," said the chapman, with a look of terror, "that it were better for you if you turned away and thought of her no more."

"Haji Baba, beware! if perchance you would sell her to another, or even keep her for yourself, you run the risk of losing more than you will ever make up again."

"I tell you, sir, by the beard of my father, look not upon that woman."

"Hum! Some defect perhaps!" thought Yffim to himself, and he beckoned to the girl to let down her garment. She immediately complied, and, standing up, stripped her light mantle from her limbs.

Ah! how the Beg's eyes sparkled. He half believed that what he saw was not human, but a vision from fairy-land. The damsel's shape was as perfect as a marble statue carved expressly for the altar of the G.o.ddess of Love, and the silver hoop encircling her body only seemed to be there as a girdle in order to show how much whiter than silver was her body.

"Curses on your tongue, vile chatterer!" said Yffim Beg, turning upon the chapman. "Here have you been wasting an hour of my time with your empty twaddle, and hiding the beauties of Paradise from my gaze. What's the price of this damsel?"

"Believe me, sir, she won't do for you."

"What! thou man-headed dog! Dost fancy thou hast to do with beggars who cannot give thee what thou askest? I come hither to buy for Ha.s.san Pasha, the Governor of Buda, who is wont to give two thousand ducats to him who asks him for one thousand."

At these words the damsel's face was illuminated by an unwonted smile, and at that moment her large, fiery eyes flashed so at Yffim Beg that _his_ eyes could not have been more blinded if he had been walking on the seash.o.r.e and two suns had flashed simultaneously in his face, one from the sky and the other from the watery mirror.

"It is not that," said the slave merchant, bowing himself to the ground; "on the contrary, I'll let you have the damsel so cheaply that you will see from the very price that I had reserved her for one of the lowest _mushirs_, in case he should take a fancy to her--you shall have her for a hundred dinars."

"Thou blasphemer, thou! Dost thou cheapen in this fashion the masterpieces of Nature. Thou shouldst ask ten thousand dinars for her, or have a stroke on the soles of thy feet with a bamboo for every dinar thou askest below that price."

The merchant's face grew dark.

"Take her not, sir," said he; "you will be no friend to yourself or to your master if you would bring her into his harem."

"I suppose," said the Beg, "that the damsel has a rough voice, and that is why she is going so cheaply?" and he ordered her to sing a song to him if she knew one.

"Ask her not to do that, sir!" implored the chapman. But, already, he was too late. At the very first word the girl had laid hold of a mandolin, and striking the chords till they sounded like the breeze on an aeolian harp, she began to sing in the softest, sweetest, most ardent voice an Arab love-song:

"In the rose-groves of Shiraz, In the pale beams of moonlight, In the burning heart's slumber, Love ever is born.

"'Midst the icebergs of Altai, On the steps of the scaffold, In the fierce flames of hatred, Love never can die."

The Beg felt absolutely obliged to rush forthwith upon Haji Baba and pummel him right and left for daring to utter a word to put him off buying the damsel.

The slave-dealer patiently endured his kicks and cuffs, and when the jest was over, he said once more:

"And again I have to counsel you not to take the damsel for your master."

"What's amiss with her, then, thou big owl? Speak sense, or I'll hang thee up at thine own masthead."

"I'll tell you, sir, if only you will listen. That damsel has not belonged to one master only, for I know for certain that five have had her. All five, sir, have perished miserably by poison, the headman's sword, or the silken cord. She has brought misfortune to every house she has visited, and she has dwelt with Tartars, Turks, and Magyars. Against the Iblis that dwells within her, prophets, messiahs, and idols have alike been powerless; ruin and destruction breathe from her lips; he who embraces her has his grave already dug for him, and he who looks at her had best have been born without the light of his eyes. Therefore I once more implore you, sir, to let this damsel go to some poor mushir, whose head may roll off without anybody much caring, and do not convey danger to so high a house as the palace of Ha.s.san Pasha."

The Beg shook his head.

"I thought thee a sharper, and I have found thee a blockhead," said he, and he signified to the damsel to wrap herself in her mantle and follow him.

"Allah is my witness that I warned you; I wash my hands of it,"

stammered Haji Baba.

"The girl will follow me; send thou for the money to my house."

"The Prophet seeth my soul, sir. If you are determined to take the damsel, _I_ will not give her to you for money, lest so great a man may one day say that he bought ruin from me. Take her then as a gift to your master."

"But I have forgotten to ask the damsel's name?"

"I will tell you, but forget not every time that name pa.s.ses your lips to say: 'Mashallah!' for that woman's name is the name of the devil, and doubtless she does not bear it without good cause, nor will she ever be false to it."

"Speak, and chatter not!"

"That damsel's name is Azrael ... Allah is mighty!"