“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.”