Part 15 (2/2)
”But I have. I tell you this Feriz Beg is a youth with magic power, in whose eyes is hidden a talisman, whose forehead is inscribed with magic letters, and from whose lips flow sorcery and magic spells, so that whenever he looks upon a woman, or whenever she hears his words even through a closed door, that woman is lost for ever. Just as he upon whom the moon s.h.i.+nes when he is asleep is obliged to follow the moon from thenceforth, so, too, this young man draws after him with the moonbeams of his eyes all the women who look upon him. Ah! many is the great man who has cursed the hour in which Feriz Beg galloped past his windows and thereby turned the heads of the most beauteous damsels. Even the Grand Vizier himself has wept the loss of his favourite bayadere Zaida, who descended from his windows by a silken cord into the sea, and swam after the s.h.i.+p which bore along Feriz Beg; and one night my kinsman, Kutub Alnuma, who is a far greater slave merchant than I am, was, while he slept, tied hand and foot by his own damsels to whom he heedlessly had pointed out Feriz Beg, and the whole lot incontinently ran after him.”
”And what does the youth do with all these women?”
”Oh, sir, that is the most marvellous part of the whole story. For if he culled all the fairest flowers of earth for the sake of love, I would say that he was a wise man, who tasted the joys of Paradise beforehand.
But it is quite another thing, sir. You will be horrified when I tell you that he at whose feet all the beauties of earth fling themselves, never so much as greets one of them with a kiss.”
”Is he sick, then, or mad?”
”He loves another damsel, a Christian girl, who is far from here, and for whom he has pined from the days of his childhood. At the time of his first battle he saw this girl for the first time, and as often as he has gone to war since, it is always with her name upon his lips that he draws his sword.”
”And what happens to the girls he takes away?”
”When the first of these flung themselves at his feet, offering him their hearts and their very lives and imploring him to kill them if he would not requite their love, to them he replied: 'You have not been taught to love as I love. Your love awoke in the shadows of rose-bushes, mine amidst the flas.h.i.+ng of swords; you love sweet songs, and the voice of the nightingale, I love the sound of the trumpet. If you would love me, love as I do; if you would be with me, come whither I go; and if Allah wills it, die where I die.' Ah, sir, there is an accursed charm on the lips of this young man. He destroys the hearts of the damsels with his words so that they forget that Allah gave them to men as playthings and delightful toys, and they gird swords upon their tender thighs, fasten cuira.s.ses of mail round their bosoms, and expose their fair faces to deadly swords.”
”And do these women really fight, or is it all a fable?”
”They do wonders, sir. No one has ever seen them fly before the foe, and frequently they are victorious; and if they have less strength in their arms than men, they have ten times more fire in their hearts. And if at any one point the fight is most dogged, and the enemy collecting together his most valiant bands has tired out the hardly-pressed spahis and timariots, then the youth draws his sword and plunges into the blackest of mortal peril. And then the wretched women all plunge blindly after him, and each one of them tries to get nearest to him, for they know that every weapon is directed against him, and they ward off with their bosoms the bullets which were meant for him. And so long as the youth remains there, or presses forward, they never leave him, the whole battalion perishes first. And at last, if he wins the fight and remains master of the field, the youth dismounts from his horse, collects the bodies of the slain who have fallen fighting beside him, kisses them one by one on their foreheads, sheds tears on their pale faces, and with his own hands lays them in the grave. And, believe me, sir, these bewitched, enchanted damsels are mad after that kiss, and their only wish is to gain it as soon as possible.”
”And is there none to put an end to this scandal? Have the generals no authority to abolish this abomination? Do not the outraged owners demand back their slave-girls?”
”You must know, sir, that Feriz Beg stands high in the favour of the Sultan. He is never prominent anywhere but on the battlefield, but there he gives a good account of himself; and if anybody who came to his tents to try and recover his slave-girls by force, he might easily be sent about his business minus his nose and ears. Besides, who could say that these warriors of Feriz are women? Do they not dispense thrusts and slashes instead of kisses? Do you ever hear them sing or see them dance and smile so long as they are under canvas? Oh, sir, I a.s.sure you that you would do well if you told all those who buy slave-girls from me to guard the damsels from the enchanting dark eyes of this man, for there is a talisman concealed in them. And, in particular, forget not to tell your master to conceal his damsel, for you know not what might happen if a magician caused a female Iblis[15] to enter into her. If an enamoured woman is terrible, what would an enamoured she-devil be? You bought her, take care that she does not sell you! The day before yesterday you threw his favourite women into the water, the day after to-morrow you might----but Allah guard my tongue, I will not say what I would. Watch carefully, that's all I'll say. Yet to keep a watch upon women is the most difficult of sciences. If you want to get into a beleagured fortress, hide an enamoured woman in it, and she'll very soon show you the way in. Take heed to what I say, sir, for if you forget my words but for half an hour, I would not give my little finger-nail for your head.”
[Footnote 15: Evil spirit.]
Whereupon Yffim Beg arose without saying a word and withdrew, deeply pondering the words of the slave-dealer. But Haji Baba that same night drew up his anchors, and at dawn he had vanished from the Danube, none knew whither.
CHAPTER X.
THE MARGARET ISLAND.
On the Margaret island, in the bosom of the blue Danube, was the paradise of Ha.s.san Pasha, and to behold its treasures was death. At every interval of twenty yards stands a eunuch behind the groves of the island with a long musket, and if any man fares upon the water within bullet-reach, he certainly will never tell anyone what he saw.
Paradise exhales every intoxicating joy, every transient delight; it is full of flowers, and no sooner does one flower bloom than another instantly fades away; and this also is the fate of those flowers which are called damsels, for some of these likewise fade in a day, whilst others are culled to adorn the table of the favourite. This, I say, is the fate of all the flowers, and frequently in those huge porcelain vases which stand before Azrael's bed, among its wreaths of roses and pomegranate flowers, one may see the head of an odalisk with drooping eyes who yesterday was as bright and merry as her comrades, the rose and pomegranate blossoms.
Oh, that woman is a veritable dream! Since he possessed her Ha.s.san Pasha is no longer a man, but a piece of wax which receives the impression of her ideas. He hears nothing but her voice, and sees nothing but her.
Already they are beginning to say that Ha.s.san Pasha no longer recognizes a man ten feet off, and is no longer able to distinguish between the sound of the drum and the sound of the trumpet. And it is true, but whoever said so aloud would be jeopardizing his head, for Ha.s.san would conceal his failings for fear of being deprived of the command of the army if they became generally known.
All the better does Yffim Beg see and hear, Yffim Beg who is constantly about Azrael; if he were not such an old and faithful favourite of Ha.s.san Pasha he might almost regret that he has such good eyes and ears.
But Azrael's penetrating mind knows well enough that Yffim Beg's head stands much more firmly on his shoulders than stand the heads of those whom Ha.s.san Pasha sacrifices to her whims, so she flatters him, and it is all the worse for him that she does flatter.
Ha.s.san Pasha, scarce waiting for the day to end and dismissing all serious business, sat him down in his curtained pinnace, known only to the dwellers on the fairy island, and had himself rowed across to his hidden paradise, where, amidst two hundred attendant damsels, Azrael, the loveliest of the living, awaits him in the hall of the fairy kiosk, round whose golden trellis work twine the blooms of a foreign sky.
Yffim Beg alone accompanies the Pasha thither.
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