CHAPTER IX.
Death in the Revel—Marriage of the Princess Mihirmàh—The Imperial Victim—The First Lover—Court Cabal—Policy of the Seraskier—The Second Suitor—The Miniature—The Last Gift—Interview between the Sultan and Mustapha Pasha.
It is strange how often events, which to the crowd appear redolent of joy and happiness, are to the principal actors replete with heartburning and misery—how what is a pageant to the many may be a penance to the few—and how the triumphant acclaim of the multitude may be hollowly echoed back in bitterness from the depths of a bereaved and stricken spirit. The price of greatness must be paid, even although it should be in the coinage of despair, wrung slowly, through a long life, like blood-drops from the heart; and it is well for the shouting, holyday-seeking crowd, that the gaunt spectre of reality is not permitted, like the skeleton of the Egyptian banquets, to take its seat at the feast, and startle them into a knowledge of the heavy price paid for the “funeral-baked meats” of their empoisoned revel!
Only a few weeks had elapsed since Constantinople had held a general holyday; since her joy had been written in characters of fire; and her tens of thousands had collected together like one vast family, to celebrate the same happy event. Who that looked around and about him during the marriage festivities of the Imperial Bride of Saïd Pasha—the young, the fair, the high-born maiden, descended from a long-line of Emperors, “born in the purple,” and on whom no sunbeam had been suffered to rest, lest it should mar the brightness of her beauty—Who could have guessed, amid the flashing of jewels, the echo of compliments, and the lavish congratulation by which he was surrounded, that the idol to whom all this incense was offered up was already lying shivered at the foot of the altar on which it had been reared?—That the roses of the bridal wreath had fallen leaf by leaf, withered by the burning of the brow they cinctured?—and that the victim of an Empire’s holyday was seated heart-stricken and despairing in her latticed apartment, weeping hot tears over her compulsatory sacrifice?
And yet thus it was:—even I myself, when the rumour reached me, that had the Princess been free to chuse from among the many who sighed for, without venturing to aspire to her hand, she would have made another selection—even I, remembering only that she was an Oriental, and forgetting that she was also a woman, never doubted for an instant that she would resign herself to her fate with true Turkish philosophy, and find consolation for a passing disappointment in the gaud and glitter of her new state. But it was not so: the arrow had been driven home, and the wound was mortal!
Two long years had elapsed since the Sultan had announced to her his intention of bestowing her hand on Mustapha Pasha of Adrianople; and she had received with indifference the intimation of a resolve which made the heart of the Sultana-Mother throb with maternal pride. But ere long the fair Princess herself learnt to believe that her constellation had been a happy one; and to listen with smiling attention to the flattering accounts which the ladies of the Imperial Harem failed not to pour into her willing ears of the Pasha’s wealth, influence, and great personal beauty. The singing-women improvised in his honour, with all the gorgeous hyperbole of the East—the massaldjhes[1] told tales of his wisdom and valour that brought a brighter light to the dark eyes of their listener—and ultimately the Sultan forwarded to his daughter a miniature likeness of her intended bridegroom.
Then it was that the Princess became convinced that the personal qualifications of the Pasha had been by no means exaggerated even by his most partial chroniclers; and the young beauty sat for hours amid her embroidered cushions, silently gazing on the portrait which she held in her hand, and marvelling whether she should look as fair in the eyes of her destined lord as he already seemed in her own. She was not long to remain in doubt; for the Pasha, to whom his good fortune had been communicated by his Imperial Master, obeyed the summons that called him to the capital, and forwarded to his high-born mistress his first costly offering.
The heart of the Princess beat high. He was in Stamboul! The wife of the meanest camal[2] might look on him as his shadow fell upon her in the streets of the city; while she, his affianced bride, could only picture him to her fancy by gazing on the cold inanimate ivory. She turned from the diamonds that her slaves had officiously displayed upon the sofa on which she sat; they came from him, it was true, but they told no tale of love—they were the offering of ceremony—the tribute of the honoured Pasha to his honouring bride—they had pleased her fancy, but they had not touched her heart.
Night spread her sable robe upon the waters—the channel lay hushed, for the soft wind failed to disturb the ripple over which it lightly skimmed—the Sultana-mother and the affianced Princess were dwelling in the gilded saloons of the Asiatic Harem—in the fairy palace of Beglierbey, and the slaves had long been hushed in sleep—and it was at this still hour that the dark-eyed daughter of the Sultan, who had been leaning against the lattices of an open window, listening to the nightingales, and weaving sweet fancies into a graceful web of thought, turned from the casement to seek the rest which she had hitherto neglected to secure; when as she moved away, a sound of distant oars fell on her ear, and with a vague feeling of curiosity she paused and listened.
A solitary caïque neared the palace, and stopped beneath the terrace of the Harem: there was no moon; and the clear stars, which were dropped in silver over the purple mantle of the sky, did not betray the secret of the bold midnight visiter. The Princess bent her ear eagerly against the lattice: her brow flushed, and her breath came quick—her heart had not deceived her—it was indeed the Pasha; and soon a soft strain of music swelled upon the air; and words of passion blending with the melody, taught her that this was his first spirit-offering to his bright young love.