Oh! how, as she stood beside the casement, did she sigh for moonlight, when, despite the envious lattices, she might have looked upon her princely lover, and written his image on her heart! But the song ceased, and the caïque slowly dropped down with the current, and she scarcely knew, when she at length withdrew to the innermost recesses of her chamber, whether all had not been a dream.
Time passed on, and the wish of the fair Princess was accomplished. She had looked upon the Pasha, as his gilded boat passed lingeringly beneath the Imperial terrace—she had seen him as his proud steed curvetted gracefully under the palace windows—she had beheld him by the light of a bright moon when no eye save her’s was on him, and his low, soft accents came sweetly to her ear on the evening wind—and she had learnt to love him with all the fervour of a first affection. Now, indeed, she valued every gift which came to her from him, not because he made the world pay tribute to charm her fancy, but because he had first seen and approved the offering.
And the Pasha learned that he was loved—the rose withering in the hot sun amid the lattice-work of the Princess’s window—the long lock of dark hair waving in the wind beside it—the little flower which sometimes fell into the water beside the caïque during his midnight and solitary visit, told him the tale that he most wished to hear. It is even said that on one occasion he actually beheld by accident the face of his betrothed wife: be this as it may, however, it is certain that Mustapha Pasha returned to his Pashalik at Adrianople with his mind and thoughts full of the Princess Mihirmàh, and with little taste for the delay which was yet to take place ere his marriage.
The departure of the Pasha was the signal for court intrigue and court cabal, for the determination of the Sultan had spread dismay among the most influential of the nobles, who could ill brook the prospect of so dangerous a rival near the throne as the powerful and popular Mustapha Pasha. At the head of this party was the Seraskier, whose influence over the Sultan had long been unbounded, whose wealth had purchased friends, and whose favour had silenced enemies. He it was who first taught the light of Imperial favour to shine on Halil Pasha, who had originally been a groom in his own stables; and who ultimately determined Mahmoud to receive his protégé as the husband of his eldest daughter; a subtle stroke of policy which secured to him a firm adherent, knit to his cause by every bond of self-interest and gratitude; for the husband of the Princess Salihè was the adopted son of the Seraskier, the object of his munificence, and the sharer in his fortunes.
Thus, in lieu of a rival, whom his connexion with the Imperial family might have rendered dangerous, the old and wily courtier secured a new and influential ally, prompt to adopt his views and to further his ambition. The proposed marriage of the younger Princess involved the same risks, and demanded the same precautions; and it was consequently not without emotion that the Seraskier learnt from the lips of the Sultan that Mustapha Pasha was to be the new bridegroom.
He smiled as he heard it, and uttered the usual empty and meaningless compliment of congratulation; but his heart obeyed not the prompting of his words; and, as he left the Presence, he vowed a voiceless vow, that with the help of Allah, the Governor of Adrianople should never be the husband of the Princess Mihirmàh; for the more he reflected on the subject, the more he felt the necessity of exerting all his energies to prevent the domestication of Mustapha Pasha at court.
Young and handsome, he would be all powerful with his Imperial bride. Wealthy and high-spirited, he would neither from necessity nor inclination be amenable to his own dictation. Proverbially amiable, and chivalrously generous, he was already the idol of his province, and would soon become that of the capital; while his grasp of intellect and soundness of judgment, would render it equally impossible to degrade him into a dupe, or to use him as a tool.
Thus, then, the experienced courtier, whose career has been perhaps without parallel in Turkish history—whose beard has grown grey under the shadow of the Imperial throne—who has seen a hundred favourites rise into greatness, flourish for a brief season, and finally leave their dishonoured heads to bleach beneath a fierce sun, impaled above the fatal Orta Kapoussi, or Middle Gate of the Seraglio, or niched in gory grandeur beside the gilded entrance of the Sublime Porte; who throughout his long career has never failed in any important undertaking —the experienced courtier at once decided that Mustapha Pasha must not be permitted to fill a station, which would invest him with the privelege of thwarting his own plans, or of opposing his own party.[3]
Every Bey of the Imperial Household was in the interest of the Seraskier. It could not well be otherwise; for, during the long years of unchecked prosperity and unfailing favour which I have described, it will be readily conceived that there was not an individual among them who was not indebted to him for some benefit, which could be repaid only by devotion to his wishes.
Nor were there wanting many among the Pashas themselves who were easily taught to look with distrust and suspicion on the threatened rivalry of the young and high-spirited Mustapha; and who readily enlisted in the adverse party. Suffice it that the intrigue prospered: the Sultan first insisted—then wavered—and finally, driven, despite himself, to a compromise with the nobles in immediate contact with his person, ultimately proposed the extraordinary expedient to which I have already alluded; and with a weakness of purpose for which it were difficult to account in a despotic monarch, determined to cast the obloquy of irresolution from his own shoulders by leaving the fortunes of his daughter in the hands of Fate—that blind divinity in whom the Turks put such implicit trust, and on whom they philosophically fling the odium of every untoward circumstance.