But the youth knew that he was playing a dangerous game, and he consequently moved away without making any answering gesture; and resolved to stroll in the other direction, rather than encourage the advances which had been made to him. Once or twice, he accordingly walked as far as the slipper-stall of a Jew merchant; but this uninteresting individual squinted hideously, and smoked tobacco of so odious a quality that it half suffocated the more fastidious Osmanli. Of course there was no persevering in such an encounter, and he was consequently compelled to resume his original line of march; being the more readily induced to do so by importunate memories of the little white hand which had showered down upon him the sweet-scented lavender buds; although he did not suffer himself to suspect that such was the case; and lest he should be addressed from the dangerous lattice, and thus become more deeply involved in the adventure, he amused himself by singing one of Sultan Mahmoud’s ballads in his best style.
But, unfortunately for the success of this laudable intention, the Imperial poet has written none but love-ditties; and the young soldier chanced inadvertently to fix upon one in which an anxious suitor calls upon his mistress to reveal to him the beauty that he has hitherto beheld only in his dreams—he invokes the moon from behind the clouds that veil it—the hidden leaf from the heart of the rose where it is folded—and loses himself in hyperbole on the subject of the concealed loveliness on which he longs to look.
No wonder that the imprisoned Yasumi Hanoum listened until she believed that the Prophet’s paradise was opening about her—No wonder that on the morrow a lock of hair as black as midnight fell at the feet of the minstrel, as he paced his accustomed beat;—and still less wonder that the white hand and the dark tress began to trouble the dreams of the gallant Moslem, and to bewilder his imagination.
He was smoking his evening chibouk seated on a low wicker stool at the door of the guard-room, when chancing to look up, he perceived a female rapidly approaching from the direction of the Emir’s house. There was nothing remarkable in such a circumstance, for the street was a great thoroughfare, and many women had traversed it during the day; and yet his attention was irresistibly attracted to the stranger; and as she reached his side, their eyes met:— “Shekiur Allah!—Praise be to God! I may speak to you at last;” murmured a low soft voice; “Perhaps I should not tell you that I love you, but who can war against fate?”
The deep dark eyes were averted—the light figure moved away—He had looked upon the Emir’s Daughter!
Prudence was at an end; and many a midnight hour did the young soldier spend beneath the latticed casement of the enamoured beauty. At length her adventurous hand raised the envious jalousie; and as the moonlight fell bright upon her, the lover looked upon the fair face which was destined never more to be forgotten; and from that moment he vowed that death alone should make him relinquish his suit.
But, alas! what hope could be indulged that a saintly Emir would bestow his daughter upon a soldier—upon an individual doubly obnoxious both from his profession, and from the fact that it had grown to power upon the ruin of the Janissaries? The youth asked, supplicated, and was answered with contempt and loathing.
But the tears of the fair girl when she learnt from his own lips the failure of his suit, only strengthened him in his determination of success; and having confided his adventure to a friend who was devoted to his interests, he resolved either to compel the consent of the Emir, or to incur the penalty of exile, rather than exist near the woman whom he loved without a hope that she could be his. Accordingly, having summoned half a dozen of his men, he informed them that he had a quarrel with the Emir which he was determined to decide; and instructed them to loiter about the house of the Priest, and should they hear any disturbance, to enter as if by accident; and, in the event of the Emir desiring them to seize their officer, and carry them before the Seraskier, to obey without hesitation.
This arrangement made, the lover once more intruded on the seclusion of the Priest, and with all the eloquence inspired by sincere affection, besought him to revoke his resolution, and to give him his daughter. But the haughty Emir only added insult to refusal; and the enraged suitor, casting back the injuries which were addressed to him, sprang towards the door that communicated with the harem, and vowed that he would force his way, and carry off his bride despite every Priest in Stamboul. The affrighted father, shrieking forth sacrilege and murder, clapped his hands, and a couple of stout slaves entered, to whom he issued orders to seize the madman, and put him forth; but the suitor was young and vigorous, and he had already beaten down one of his antagonists, when the soldiers, perceiving from the clamour that was going on above, that the critical moment had arrived, rushed up stairs, and demanded the occasion of the outcry.
The Emir, breathless with terror, and trembling with rage, only pointed to the lover, as he exclaimed; “To the Seraskier! To the Seraskier! Inshallàh! I will have justice.”