Despite the occasional interruptions that I have described, our conversation became gradually extremely interesting. The young beauty talked of Albania—of the proud and happy life that she had led there during her father’s prosperity; and then of the misery which she had endured in exchanging its delights for the chilling observances and restraints of the Turkish capital. Had the heart of Heyminè Hanoum beat in the breast of her father, let the result have been what it might, he never would have recanted his rebellion.
From the political position of her family, she digressed to its social condition; and I was not a little amused by the perfect sang froid with which she entered into a detail of the domestic arrangements of the household.
“You have seen my brother;” she said, “and I need not tell you that he is delicate and sickly. He was my mother’s last child, and the Pasha feared that he should be left without a son. In this dilemma, he expressed to the Buyuk Hanoum his desire to contract a second marriage; but this she would by no means permit. She could not, however, avoid seeing that his anxiety was but too well founded: and she accordingly proposed a compromise, to which he at once agreed. Without loss of time, he wrote to a friend in Constantinople to purchase for him four young Circassians, and to embark them, under the charge of an elderly woman, for Albania.
“Young as I was, I shall not attempt to describe to you my mortification on their arrival. I saw the tears of my mother, which, when alone with me, she did not attempt to suppress; we had hitherto had but one heart and one interest in the harem of my father, and we became suddenly domesticated with strangers—women of another land and another language; to whom we were knit by no ties, bound by no sympathies.
“But all this is idle. You saw the Odalique who sat nearest to my mother? Allah has been gracious to her—she has borne two sons to the Pasha.—She with the large dark eyes, who when you entered was nursing her infant, has no other child than that one little girl. A third you will shortly see, when she pays me her visit previously to retiring for the night: I love her much, but she, poor thing! is childless. The fourth died in consequence of her sufferings during the passage to Albania, which was tempestuous and protracted. The aged woman who received you on your arrival was the person who accompanied the four Circassians from Constantinople, and—but here is Dilaram Hanoum.”
As she spoke, the curtain that shaded the door was pushed aside, and the Odalique entered. She was by far the prettiest woman of the three, but there was a subdued and hopeless expression about her, which showed at once that she had not been a favourite child of fortune. She was slight and beautifully formed, with a low, soft voice which was almost music. She appeared much attached to the lovely Heyminè, and hastened, after the first salutations were over, to replenish the pipe that rested beside the young beauty, and to hand it to her; a mark of attention and respect which was acknowledged by its object with the graceful salutation common in the East—the pressure of the fingers of the right hand to the lips and brow.
The conversation was, of course, changed on her entrance; and the subject of jewels having been mentioned, Heyminè Hanoum despatched a slave for a handkerchief with which she was in the habit of binding up her hair, in order to show us one of the Albanian fashions. It was of black muslin, painted with groups of coloured flowers, and bordered all round with a deep fringe of fine pearls. I never in my life saw any mixture which produced a more striking effect; and when she wound it about her head—the dark glossy tresses of her hair relieved by the bright tints of the flowers, and the whiteness of her clear brow rivalling the pearls that rested on it—her crimson jacket, lined with sable, falling back, and revealing the transparent chemisette of gauze, and the fair throat which it shaded—the pale blue silk trowsers trimmed with silver, and the small white naked foot that peeped for an instant from beneath them as she altered her position—I thought that earth could hold nothing more lovely than Heyminè Hanoum!
I was very busily engaged in examining an elegant hand-mirror set in a frame of chased silver, when a couple of negroes entered to invite us to the presence of the Pasha, who was awaiting us in his apartment. I have already mentioned that one room in the harem is appropriated to the master of the house, wherein he receives such of its inmates as he desires to converse with.
The message was scarcely delivered when the Buyuk Hanoum, whom the Pasha had desired to introduce us, entered the apartment, evidently somewhat surprised at the honour which was about to be bestowed upon two female Infidels. I had heard a great deal of the Scodra Pasha, and I naturally desired to see him; nor perhaps may it be amiss to impart to my readers a portion of his history.
Mustapha Pasha was residing on his Pashalik in Albania when Sultan Mahmoud reformed the national costume of the country, and replaced the lofty turbans and flowing garments of past centuries, with the scarlet fèz and frock coat of the present day. When the order for this change reached the Pasha, he at once communicated it to the troops, who resisted it with such violence as to threaten not only the liberty, but the life of their Chief if he persisted in its enforcement. In vain did he argue, explain, and persuade; the soldiery, wedded to their ancient usages, refused to listen to his reasonings; their opposition being furthermore aggravated by a conscription, enforced with sufficient severity to lend them arguments against all concession to a power by which they were thus oppressed; and he finally found himself compelled to adopt a decided line of conduct in order to insure his own personal safety.