The Slaves of the Padishah Part 35

And with these words he drew from his pouch a letter written on all four sides of the sheet and handed it to Feriz, who before reading it covered with kisses the lines traced by that dear hand, while Master Panajot looked at Gregory in amazement.

"Go along, you old fox, Gregory," said he; "next time you come, I'll throw _you_ into the fire to boot."

But Gregory, highly delighted, feasted his eyes on the youth's face all the time he was reading the letter.

As if his soul had changed within him, as if he had pa.s.sed from the troubles of this world to the joys of Paradise, every feature of the youth's face became smiling and joyful. The farther he read the brighter grew his eyes; and when he came to the last word he pressed the leaf to his heart with an expression of the keenest rapture, and held it there a long time, closing his eyes as if in a happy dream, as if he had shut them to see no other object when he conjured up her image before his mind.

Master Panajot was alarmed, fancying some mischief had happened to the invalid, and turned upon Gregory with gnashing teeth:

"What infernal doc.u.ment have you brought along with you, Gregory?"

Feriz meanwhile smilingly nodded his head as if he would thank some invisible shape, and whispered softly:

"So it shall be, so it shall be."

"I'm afraid you feel bad, my master," said the doctor.

Feriz looked up, and his face had grown quite round.

"I?--I feel very well. Take your drugs from my table, and bring me wine and costly meats dear to the eyes and mouth. I would rejoice my soul and my palate. Call hither musicians, and open wide my gate. Pile flowers upon my windows, I would be drunk with the fragrance of the flowers that the breeze brings to me."

Panajot fancied that the invalid had gone out of his mind, and yet full of the joy of life he rose from his couch, laid aside his warm woollen garment, put on instead a light silk robe, wound round his head a turban of the finest linen instead of the warm s.h.a.ggy shawl, and he who had hitherto been brooding and fretting apathetically, had suddenly become as light as a bird, paced the room with rapid steps, with proudly erected face, from which the livid yellow of sickness had suddenly disappeared, and his eyes sparkled like fire.

Panajot could not account for the change, and really believed that the patient had fallen into some dangerous paroxysm and in this persuasion bawled for all the members of the negro family. The old Egyptian door-keeper, a young Nubian huntsman, a Chinese cook, trampling upon each other in their haste, all rushed into the room at his cry.

Feriz Beg, with boyish mirth, stopped them all before the doctor could say a word.

"Thou, Ali," he said to the old door-keeper, "go to the mosque and cast this silver among the poor that they may give thanks to Allah for my recovery. And thou, O cook! prepare a dinner for twelve persons, looking to it that there is wine and flowers and music; and thou, my huntsman, bring forth the fieriest steed and put upon him the most costly wrappings; and ye others, take this worthy doctor and lock him up among his drugs that he may not get away, and call hither all my friends and acquaintances, and tell them we will celebrate the festival of my recovery."

The servants with shouts of joy fulfilled the commands of Feriz. First of all they shoved good Panajot into his drug-brewing kitchen, and then they dispersed to do their master's bidding.

Feriz then took the hand of the Szekler who had brought the message and shook it violently, saying to him in a loud firm voice:

"Thou must remain with me till I have accomplished thy mistress's commands. For she has laid a command upon me which I must needs obey."

Meanwhile, the ostlers had brought forward the good charger. It was a fiery white Arab, ten times as restless as usual because of its long rest; not an instant were its feet still. Two men caught it by the head and were scarce able to hold it, its pink, wide open nostrils blew forth jets of steam, and through its smooth white mane could be seen the ruddy hue of the full blood.

The unfortunate Panajot poked his head through the round window of his laboratory, and from thence regarded with stupefaction his whilom invalid bestride the back of the wild charger, that same invalid who, if anyone knocked at his door an hour or two before, complained that his head was bursting.

The charger pranced and caracolled and the doctor with tears in his eyes besought the bystanders if they had any sense of feeling at all not to let the Beg ride on such a winged griffin. They only laughed at him.

Feriz flung himself into the saddle as lightly as a gra.s.shopper. The two stablemen let go the reins, the steed rose up erect on his hind legs and bucked along as a biped for several yards. Then the Beg struck the sharp stirrups into its flank, and the steed, snorting loudly, bowed its head over its fore-quarters and galloped off like lightning.

The doctor followed him with a lachrymose eye, every moment expecting that Feriz would fall dead from his horse; but he sat in the saddle as if grown to it, as he had always been wont to do. When the road meandered off towards the fortress he turned into it and disappeared from the astonished gaze of those who were looking after him.

A few moments later the horseman was in the courtyard of the fortress.

He demanded an interview with the general, and was told that he was receiving n.o.body. He applied therefore to his favourite eunuch instead.

He arrived at the fortress with a full purse, he quitted it with an empty one; but he now knew everything he wanted to know, viz., that Ha.s.san had entrusted the captive Princess to Azrael; that the two girls were tied by the hands to one chain; that he greatly feared someone would come and filch the Princess from him; that he got up ten times every night to see whether anyone had stolen into the palace; and that since Mariska had been placed in his hands he had drunk no wine and smoked no opium, and would eat of no dish save from the hands of his favourite damsel.

Feriz Beg knew quite enough. Again he mounted his horse and galloped back to his kiosk, taking the neighbouring mosque on his way, on reaching which he called from his horse to the old dervish, who immediately appeared in answer to his summons.

"Tell her who was wont to visit me in thy stead that I want to see and speak to her early to-morrow morning."

And with that he threw some gold ducats to the dervish and galloped off.

The dervish looked after him in astonishment, and picking up the ducats, instantly toddled off to the fortress, prowled about the gate all night, met Hajat at early dawn, and gave her the message for Azrael.

This was the joyful tidings which the odalisk had received in response to her first prayer, and which had made her so happy.

Next morning she ordered her servants to admit none but the old dervish, and to close every door as soon as he had entered.

Shortly afterwards, Azrael with her retinue of servants arrived at the mosque, and a few moments after she had disappeared behind the trellised railings the form of the old dervish appeared in the street, hobbling along with his crutch till he reached the kiosk. Feriz Beg perceived him through the window, and sent everyone from the room that he might remain alone with him.

The dervish entered, closed the door behind him, let down the tapestries, took off his false beard and false raiment, and there before Feriz--tremulous, blushing, and shamefaced--stood the odalisk.

"Thou hast sent for me," she stammered softly, "and behold--here I am!"

"I would beg something of thee," said Feriz, half leaning on his elbow.

"Demand my life!" cried the odalisk impetuously, "and I will lay it at thy feet!" and at these words she flung herself at the foot of the divan on which the youth was sitting.

"I ask thee for nothing less than thy life. Once thou saidst that thou didst love me. Is that true now also?"

"Is it not possible to love thee, and yet live?"

"Say then that I might love thee if I knew thee better. Good! I wish to know thee."

The damsel regarded the youth tremblingly, waiting to hear what he would say to her.

The youth rose and said in a solemn, lofty voice:

"In my eyes not the roses of the cheeks, or the fire of the eyes, or bodily charms make a woman beautiful, but the beauty of the soul, for I recognise a soul in woman, and she is no mere plaything for the pastime of men. What enchants me is n.o.ble feeling, self-sacrifice, loyalty, resignation. Canst thou die for him whom thou lovest?"

"It would be rapture to me."

"Canst thou die for her whom thou hatest in order to prove how thou dost love?"

"I do not understand," said Azrael hesitating.

"Thou wilt understand immediately. There is a captive woman in Ha.s.san's castle who is entrusted to thy charge. This captive woman must be liberated. Wilt _thou_ liberate her?"

At these words Azrael's heart began to throb feverishly. All the blood vanished from her face. She looked at the youth in despair, and said with a gasp:

"Dost _thou_ love this woman?"

"Suppose that I love her and thou dost free her all the same."

The woman collapsed at the feet of Feriz Beg, and embracing his knees, said, sobbing loudly: