The Pacha of Many Tales

That I was anxious to be purchased by the sultan I confess: my pride rebelled at the idea of being a slave, and if I was to be so, at least I wished to be the slave of the sultan. I indulged the idea that I should soon bring him to subjection, and that the slave would lord it over her master, and that master the dispenser of life and death, honour and disgrace, to millions. I had made up my mind how to behave; the poets I had read had taught me but too well. Convinced that a little wilfulness would, from its novelty, be most likely to captivate one who had been accustomed to dull and passive obedience, I allowed my natural temper to be unchecked. The second day after my arrival, the kislar aga informed me that the sultan intended to honour me with a visit, and that the baths and dresses were prepared. I replied that I had bathed that morning, and did not intend to bathe again—as for the dresses and jewels, I did not require them, and that I was ready to receive my lord, the sultan, if he pleased to come. The kislar aga opened his eyes with astonishment at my presumption; but not venturing to use force to one who, in his opinion, would become the favourite, he returned to the sultan, reporting to him what had passed. The sultan, as I expected, was more amused at the novelty than affronted at the want of respect. “Be it so,” replied he, “this Georgian must have a good opinion of her own charms.”

In the evening the sultan made his appearance, and I prostrated myself at his feet, for I did not wish to proceed too far at once. He raised me up, and appeared delighted.

“You were right, Zara,” said he, “no jewels or dress could add to the splendour of your beauty.”

“Pardon me, O gracious lord,” replied I, “but if thy slave is to please thee, may it be by her natural charms alone. If I have the honour to continue in thy favour, let me adorn myself with those jewels which ought to decorate the chosen of her master—but as a candidate I have rejected them, for who knows but in a few days I may be deserted for one more worthy of your preference?”

The sultan was delighted at my apology, and I certainly was pleased with him. He was then about forty years of age, very handsome and well made; but I was still more gratified to find that my conversation amused him so much that he remained with me for many hours after his usual time for retiring. This gave promise of an ascendancy which might survive personal charms. But not to detain your highness, I will at once state, the sultan soon thought but of me. Not only my personal attractions, but my infinite variety, which appeared natural, but was generally planned and sketched out previous to his visits, won so entirely upon him, that so far from being tired, his passion, I may say his love, for me was every day increased.

“Well, it may be all true,” observed the pacha, looking at the wrinkled and hideous object before him. “What do you say, Mustapha?”

“O pacha! we know not yet her history. The mother of your slave, as I have heard from my father, was once most beautiful. She is still in our harem, and pooh,” said Mustapha, spitting, as if in abhorrence.

“Right, good vizier—right—recollect, pacha, what I have said. Time has been.” The pacha nodded and the old woman proceeded.

Once sure of the sultan’s affections, I indulged myself in greater liberties—not with him, but with others; for I knew that he would laugh at the tricks I might play upon his dependants, but not be equally pleased with a want of respect towards himself; and other people of the harem were the objects of my caprice and amusement. So far from preventing him from noticing the other women in the harem, I would recommend them, and often have them in my apartments when he would visit me, and wish to be alone. I generally contrived to manage a little quarrel about once a month, as it renewed his passion. In short, the sultan became, as I intended, so infatuated, that he was my slave, and at the same time I felt an ardent attachment to him. My power was well known. The presents which I received from those who required my good offices were innumerable, and I never retained them, but sent them as presents to the sultan, in return for those which he repeatedly sent to me. This indifference on my part to what women are usually too fond of increased his regard.

“By the holy Prophet, but you seemed fond enough of gold just now,” observed the pacha.

“Time has been, replied the old woman. I speak not of the present.”

For two years I passed a happy life; but anxious as the sultan was, as well as myself, that I should present him with an heir, that happiness was denied me, and eventually was the cause of my ruin. The queen mother, and the kislar aga, both of whom I had affronted, were indefatigable in their attempts to undermine my power. The whole universe, I may say, was ransacked for a new introduction into the seraglio, whose novelty and beauty might seduce the sultan from my arms. Instead of counterplotting, as I might have done, I was pleased at their frustrated efforts. Had I demanded the woolly head of the one, and poisoned the other, I had done wisely. I only wish I had them now—but I was a fool—it cannot be helped—but time has been.

Like most of the sex, the ruling passion of the sultan was vanity, a disease which shows itself in a thousand different shapes. He was peculiarly proud of his person, and with reason, for it was faultless, with one little exception, which I had discovered, a wen, about the size of a pigeon’s egg, under the left arm. I had never mentioned to him that I was aware of it; but a circumstance occurred which annoyed me, and I forgot my discretion.

The kislar aga had at last discovered a Circassian slave, who, he thought, would effect the purpose. She was beautiful, and I had already engrossed the sultan’s attentions for more than two years. Men will be fickle, and I expected no otherwise. What I required was the dominion over the mind; I cared little about the sultan’s attentions to other women. Like the tamed bird which flies from its cage, and after wandering a short time, is glad to return to its home and re-assume its perch, so did I consider it would be the case with the sultan. I never, therefore, wearied him with tears or reproaches, but won him back with smiles and good-humour. I expected that this new face would detach him for a short time, and for a fortnight he never came into my apartment. He had never been away so long before, and I was rather uneasy. He visited me one morning, and I asked him to sup with me. He consented, and I invited three or four of the most beautiful women of the seraglio, as well as the lady of his new attachment, to meet him. I thought it wise so to do, to prove to him that I was not displeased, and trusting that the Circassian might suffer when in company with others of equal charms, who from neglect might reassume their novelty. The Circassian was undeniably most beautiful; but, without vanity, she was by no means to be compared to me; she had the advantage of novelty, and I hoped no more, for I felt what a dangerous rival she might prove if her wit and talents were equal to her personal charms. The sultan came, and I exerted myself to please, but, to my mortification, I was neglected; all his attentions and thoughts were only for my rival, who played her part to admiration, yielded to him that profound respect and abject adulation, which, on my part, had been denied him, and which he probably, as a novelty from a favourite, set a higher price upon. At last, I was treated with such marked insult, that I lost my temper, and I determined that the sultan should do the same. I handed him a small apple. “Will my lord accept this apple from the hand of his slave? is it not curious in shape? It reminds me of the wen under your majesty’s left arm.”

The sultan coloured with rage.

“Yes,” replied I laughing, “you have one of them, you know very well.”

“Silence, Zara,” cried the sultan, in a firm tone.

“And why should I be silent, my lord? Have not I spoken the truth?”

“False woman! deny what you have falsely uttered.”

“Sultan, I will not deny the truth. I will, if you command me, hold my tongue.”

“Your slave has been honoured with my lord’s attentions, and denies the assertion as a calumny,” observed my rival.

“Peace, wretch! thou hast proved thyself unworthy of the honour, by thy lying tongue.”

“I tell thee, Zara, silence! or you shall feel my indignation.”

But I was now too angry, and I replied, “My lord, you well know that I once held my tongue for eighteen months; I therefore can be silent when I choose; but I can also speak when I choose, and now I do choose to speak. I have said it, and I will not retract my words.”

The sultan was white with rage; my life hung upon a thread; when the Circassian maliciously observed, “The bastinado might induce her to retract.”

“And shall,” exclaimed the sultan, clapping his hands.

The kislar aga appeared, in obedience to the sultan’s orders; the executioner of the harem, and two slaves, stretched me on the floor—I made no resistance or complaint; my jewelled slippers were taken off, and all was ready for the disgraceful punishment.

“Now, Zara, will you retract?” said the sultan, solemnly.

“No, my lord, I will not. I repeat, that you have a wen under your left arm.”

“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.”