Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
“Doth she aspire to become his
wife?” asked Ibrahim.
“She would be contented to serve
him as his veriest slave,” responded Constantine, now strangely excited, “were
he but to look kindly upon her: she would deem herself blest in receiving a
smile from his lips, so long as it was bestowed as a reward for all the tender love
she bears him.”
“Who is this man that is so
fortunate as to have excited so profound an interest in the heart of one so
beautiful?” demanded the grand vizier. “Name him to me—I will order him to
appear before me—and, for thy sake, I will become an eloquent pleader on behalf
of thy sister.”
Words cannot express the joy
which flashed from the eyes of the page, and animated his handsome though
softly feminine countenance, as, casting himself on his knees at the feet of
Ibrahim Pasha, he murmured, “Great lord, that man whom my sister loves, and for
whom she would lay down her life, is thyself!”
Ibrahim was for some minutes too
much overcome by astonishment to offer an observation—to utter a word; while
the page remained kneeling at his feet. Then suddenly it flashed to the mind of
the grand vizier that the only humble abode which he had entered since he had
become an officer holding a high rank in the service of Solyman, was that of
his Greek emissary, Demetrius; and it now occurred to him, that there was a
striking likeness between the young page and the beautiful Calanthe: whom he
had seen on that occasion.
“Constantine,” he said, at
length, “art thou, then, the brother of that Demetrius whom I dispatched some
three months ago to Florence?”
“I am, my lord—and ’tis our
sister Calanthe of whom I have spoken,” was the reply. “Oh! pardon my
arrogance—my presumption, great vizier!” he continued, suddenly rising from his
kneeling position, and now standing with his arms meekly folded across his
breast—“pardon the arrogance, the insolence of my conduct,” he exclaimed; “but
it was for the sake of my sister that I sought service in the household of your
highness. I thought that if I could succeed in gaining your notice—if in any
way I could obtain such favor in your eyes as to be admitted to speak with one
so highly raised above me as thou art, I fancied that some opportunity would
enable me to make those representations which have issued from my lips this
day. How patiently I have waited that occasion, Heaven knows! how ardent have
been my hopes of success, when from time to time your highness singled me out
from amongst the numerous free pages of your princely household to attend upon
your privacy—how ardent, I say, these hopes have been, your highness may
possibly divine. And now, my lord, that I
have
succeeded in gaining your attention
and pouring this secret into your ears, I will away to Calanthe and impart all
the happiness that is in store for her. Though the flowers may hold up their
heads high in the light of the glorious sun, yet she shall hold hers higher in
the favor of your smile. Generous master,” he added, suddenly sinking his voice
to a lower tone and reassuming the deferential air which he had partially lost
in the excitement of speaking, “permit me now to depart.”
“This evening, Constantine,” said
the grand vizier, fixing his dark eyes significantly upon the page, “let your
sister enter the harem by the private door in the garden. Here is a key; I will
give the necessary instructions
to the female slaves to welcome her.”
Constantine received the key,
made a low obeisance, and withdrew, leaving the grand vizier to feast his
voluptuous imagination with delicious thoughts of the beauteous Calanthe.
THE SULTANA VALIDA—THE THREE BLACK
SLAVES
In
the meantime the Princess Aischa,
the now neglected wife of the grand vizier, had repaired to the imperial
seraglio to obtain an interview with her brother, Solyman the Magnificent. The
sultan, as the reader has already learnt, was deeply attached to Aischa. Their
mother, the sultana, or empress mother, who was still alive, occupied
apartments in the seraglio. Her children entertained the greatest respect for
her: and her influence over the sultan, who possessed an excellent heart,
though his sway was not altogether unstained by cruelties, was known to be
great.
It was therefore to her mother
and her brother that the beautiful Aischa proceeded; and when she was alone
with them in the Valida’s apartment, and removed her veil, they immediately
noticed that she had been weeping. Upon being questioned relative to the cause
of her sorrow, she burst into an agony of tears, and was for some time unable
to reply. At length, half regretting that she had taken the present step,
Aischa slowly revealed her various causes of complaint against the grand
vizier.
“By Allah!” exclaimed the sultan,
“the ungrateful Ibrahim shall not thus spurn and neglect the costly gift which
I, his master, condescended to bestow upon him! What! when the Shah of Persia,
the Khan of the Tartars, and the Prince of Karamania all sought thine hand, and
dispatched embassadors laden with rich gifts to our court to demand thee in
marriage, did I not send them back with cold words of denial to their
sovereigns? And was it to bestow thee, my sister, on this ungrateful boy, who
was so late naught save a dog of a Christian, ready to eat the dirt under our
imperial feet,—was it to bestow thee on such an one as he, that I refused the
offers of the Persian Shah! By the tomb of the prophet! this indignity shall
cease!”
“Restrain your wrath, my son,”
said the Sultana Valida. “Ibrahim must not be openly disgraced: the effects of
his punishment would redound on our beloved Aischa. No—rather intrust this
affair to me; and fear not that I shall fail in compelling this haughty pasha
to return to the arms of his wife—ay, and implore her pardon for his late
neglect.”
“Oh! dearest mother, if thou
canst accomplish this,” exclaimed Aischa, her countenance becoming animated
with joy and her heart palpitating with hope, “thou wouldst render me happy
indeed.”
“Trust to me, daughter,” replied
the Sultana Valida. “In the meantime seek not to learn my intentions; but, on
thy
return home, send me by
some trusty slave thy pass-key to the harem. And thou, my son, wilt lend me thine
imperial signet-ring for twelve hours!”
“Remember,” said the sultan, as
he drew the jewel from his finger, “that he who wears that ring possesses a
talisman of immense power—a sign which none to whom it is shown dares disobey;
remember this, my mother, and use it with caution.”
“Fear not, my dearly beloved
son,” answered the Sultana Valida, concealing the ring in her bosom. “And now,
Aischa, do you return to the palace of your haughty husband, who ere twelve
hours be passed, shall sue for pardon at thy feet.”
The sultan and Aischa both knew
that their mother was a woman of powerful intellect and determined character;
and they sought not to penetrate into the secret of her intentions.
Solyman withdrew to preside at a
meeting of the divan; and Aischa returned to the palace of the grand vizier,
attended by the slaves who had waited for her in an anteroom leading to her
mother’s apartments.
It was now late in the afternoon,
and the time for evening prayer had arrived ere the Sultana Valida received the
pass-key to Ibrahim Pasha’s harem. But the moment it was conveyed to her, she
summoned to her presence three black slaves, belonging to the corps of the
bostanjis, or gardeners, who also served as executioners, when a person of rank
was to be subjected to the process of bowstring, or when any dark deed was to
be accomplished in silence and with caution. Terrible appendages to the
household of Ottoman sultans were the black slaves belonging to that corps—like
snakes, they insinuated themselves, noiselessly and ominously into the presence
of their victims, and it were as vain to preach peace to the warring elements
which God alone can control, as to implore mercy at the hands of those
remorseless Ethiopians!
To the three black slaves did the
Sultana Valida issue her commands; and to the eldest she intrusted Solyman’s
signet-ring and the pass-key which Aischa had sent her. The slaves bowed three
times to the empress mother—laid their hands on their heads to imply that they
would deserve decapitation if they neglected the orders they had received—and
then withdrew. There was something terribly sinister in their appearance, as
they retired noiselessly but rapidly through the long, silent and darkened
corridors of the imperial harem.
It was night—and the moon shone
softly and sweetly upon the mighty city of Constantinople, tipping each of its
thousand spires and pinnacles as with a star.
Ibrahim Pasha, having disposed of
the business of the day, and now with his imagination full of the beautiful
Calanthe, hastened to the anteroom, or principal apartment of the harem.
The harem, occupying one complete
wing of the vizier’s palace, consisted of three stories. On the ground floor
were the apartments of the Princess Aischa and her numerous female dependents.
These opened from a spacious marble hall; and at the folding-doors leading into
them, were stationed two black dwarfs, who were deaf and dumb. Their presence
was not in
any way
derogatory to the character of Aischa, but actually denoted the superior rank
of the lady who occupied those apartments in respect to the numerous females
who tenanted the rooms above. As she was the sister of the sultan, Ibrahim
dared not appear in her presence without obtaining her previous assent through
the medium of one of the mutes, who were remarkably keen in understanding and
conveying intelligence by means of signs. A grand marble staircase led from the
hall to the two floors containing the apartments of the ladies of the harem;
and thus, though Aischa dwelt in the same wing as those females, her own abode
was as distinct from theirs as if she were the tenant of a separate house
altogether.
On the first floor there was a
large and magnificently furnished room in which the ladies of the harem were
accustomed to assemble when they chose to quit the solitude of their own
chambers for the enjoyment of each other’s society. The ceiling of the
anteroom; as this immense apartment was called, was gilt entirely over; it was
supported by twenty slender columns of crystal; and the splendid chandeliers
which were suspended to it, diffused a soft and mellow light, producing the
most striking effects on that mass of gilding, those reflecting columns, and
the wainscoted walls inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and with ivory of different
colors. A Persian carpet three inches thick was spread upon the floor. Along
two opposite sides ran continuous sofas, supported by low, white marble
pillars, and covered with purple figured velvet fringed with gold. In the
middle of this gorgeous apartment was a large table, shaped like a crescent,
and spread with all kinds of preserved fruits, confectionery, cakes, and
delicious beverages of a non-alcoholic nature.
The room was crowded with
beauteous women when the presence of Ibrahim was announced by a slave. There
were the fair-complexioned daughters of Georgia—the cold, reserved, but lovely
Circassians—the warm and impassioned Persians—the voluptuous Wallachians—the
timid Tartars—the dusky Indians—the talkative Turkish ladies—beauties, too, of
Italy, Spain, and Portugal—indeed, specimens of female perfection from many,
many nations. Their various styles of beauty, and their characteristic national
dresses, formed a scene truly delightful to gaze upon: but the grand vizier
noticed none of the countenances so anxiously turned toward him to mark on
which his eyes would settle in preference; and the ladies noiselessly withdrew,
leaving their master alone with the slave in the anteroom.
Ibrahim threw himself on a sofa,
and gave some hasty instructions to the slave, who immediately retired. In
about a quarter of an hour he came back, conducting into the anteroom a lady
veiled from head to foot. The slave then withdrew altogether; and Ibrahim
approached the lady, saying, “Calanthe—beauteous Calanthe! welcome to my
palace.”
She removed her veil; and Ibrahim
fixed his eager eyes upon the countenance thus disclosed to him; but he was
immediately struck by the marvelous resemblance existing between his page
Constantine, and the charming
Calanthe. It will be remembered that when he called, in a mean disguise, at the
abode of Demetrius, he saw Calanthe for the first time, and only for a short
period; and though he was even then struck by her beauty, yet the impression it
made was but momentary: and he had so far forgotten Calanthe as never to behold
in Constantine the least resemblance to any one whom he had seen before.
But now that Calanthe’s
countenance burst upon him in all the glory of its superb Greek beauty, that
resemblance struck him with all the force of a new idea; and he was about to
express his astonishment that so wondrous a likeness should subsist between
brother and sister, when the maiden sunk at his feet, exclaiming, “Pardon me,
great vizier; but Constantine and Calanthe are one and the same thing.”
“Methought the brother pleaded
with marvelous eloquence on behalf of his sister,” said Ibrahim, with a smile;
and raising Calanthe from her suppliant posture, he led her to a seat, gazing
on her the while with eyes expressive of intense passion.
“Your highness,” observed the
maiden, after a short pause, “has heard from my own lips how profound is the
attachment which I have dared to conceive for you—how great is the admiration
which I entertain for the brilliant powers of your intellect. To be with thee,
great Ibrahim, will I abandon my country, friends—ay, and even creed, shouldst
thou demand that concession; for in thee—and in thee only—are all my hopes of
happiness now centered!”
“And those hopes shall not be
disappointed, dearest Calanthe!” exclaimed Ibrahim, clasping her in his arms.
“But a few minutes before you entered this room a hundred women—the choicest
flowers of all climes—were gathered here; and yet I value one smile on thy lips
more than all the tender endearments that those purchased houris could bestow.
For thy love was unbought—it was a love that prompted thee to attach thyself to
me in a menial capacity——”
The impassioned language of the
grand vizier was suddenly interrupted by the opening of the door, and three
black slaves glided into the anteroom—half crouching as they stole along—and
fixing on the beauteous Calanthe eyes, the dark pupils of which seemed to glare
horribly from the whites in which they were set.
“Dogs! what signifies this
intrusion?” exclaimed Ibrahim Pasha, starting from the sofa, and grasping the
handle of his scimiter.
The chief the three slaves
uttered not a word of reply, but exhibited the imperial signet, and at the same
time unrolled from the coil which he had hitherto held in his hand a long green
silken bowstring. At that ominous spectacle Ibrahim fell back, his countenance
becoming ashy pale, and his frame trembling with an icy shudder from head to
foot.
“Choose between this and her,”
whispered the slave, in a deep tone, as he first glanced at the bowstring and
then looked toward Calanthe, who knew that some terrible danger was impending,
but was unable to divine where or when it was to fall.
“Merciful Allah!” exclaimed
the grand vizier; and throwing himself upon the floor, he buried his face in
his hands.
In another moment Calanthe was
seized and gagged, before even a word or a scream could escape her lips; but
Ibrahim heard the rustling of her dress as she unavailingly struggled with the
monsters in whose power she was. The selfish ingrate! he drew not his scimiter
to defend her—he no longer remembered all the tender love she bore him—but,
appalled by the menace of the bowstring, backed by the warrant of the sultan’s
signet ring, he lay groveling on the rich Persian carpet, giving vent to his
alarms by low and piteous groans.
Then he heard the door once more
close as softly as possible: he looked up—glared with wild anxiety around—and
breathed more freely on finding himself alone! For the Ethiopians had departed
with their victim! Slowly rising from his supine posture, Ibrahim approached
the table, filled a crystal cup with sherbet to the brim, and drank the cooling
beverage, which seemed to go hissing down his parched throat—so dreadful was
the thirst which the horror of the scene just enacted had produced.
Then the sickening as well as
maddening conviction struck to his very soul, that though the envied and almost
worshiped vizier of a mighty empire—having authority of life and death over
millions of human beings, and able to dispose of the governments and patronage
of huge provinces and mighty cities—he was but a miserable, helpless slave in
the eyes of another greater still—an ephemeron whom the breath of Solyman the
Magnificent could destroy! And overcome by this conviction, he threw himself on
the sofa, bursting into an agony of tears—tears of mingled rage and woe. Yes;
the proud, the selfish, the haughty renegade wept as bitterly as ever even a
poor, weak woman was known to weep!