Halil the Pedlar: A Tale of Old Stambul, Mór Jókai [i love reading .txt] 📗

class='pagenum'>[Pg 75] loud cry, and pitching his long hat into the air, rushed towards the slave-girl, and flinging himself down on his knees before her fell a-kissing, again and again, her hands and arms, and at last her pale face also, while the girl flung herself upon his shoulder and embraced the fellow's neck; and then the pair of them began to weep, and the words, "My daughter!" "My father!" could be heard from time to time amidst their sobs.

Halil could only gaze at them open-mouthed.

But Janaki, still remaining on his knees, raised his hands to Heaven, and gave thanks to God for guiding his footsteps to this spot.

"Allah Akbar! The Lord be praised!" said Patrona in his turn, and he drew nearer to them. "So her whom you have so long sought after you find in my house, eh? Allah preordained it. And you may thank God for it, for you receive her back from me unharmed by me. Take her away therefore!"

"You say not well, Halil," cried the father, his face radiant with joy. "So far from giving her back to me you shall keep her; yes, she shall remain yours for ever. For if I were thrice to traverse the whole earth and go in a different direction each time, I certainly should not come across another man like you. Tell me, therefore, what price you put upon[Pg 76] her that I may buy her back, and give her to you to wife as a free woman?"

Halil did not consider very long what price he should ask, so far as he was concerned the business was settled already. He cast but a single look on Gül-Bejáze's smiling lips, and asked for a kiss from them—that was the only price he demanded.

Janaki seized his daughter's hand and placed it in the hand of Halil.

And now Halil held the warm, smooth little hand in his own big paw, he felt its reassuring pressure, he saw the girl smile, he saw her lips open to return his kiss, and still he did not believe his eyes—still he shuddered at the reflection that when his lips should touch hers, the girl would suddenly die away, become pale and cold. Only when his lips at last came into contact with her burning lips and her bosom throbbed against his bosom, and he felt his kiss returned and the warm pulsation of her heart, then only did he really believe in his own happiness, and held her for a long—oh, so long!—time to his own breast, and pressed his lips to her lips over and over again, and was happier—happier by far—than the dwellers in Paradise.

And after that they made the girl sit down between them, with her father on one side and her husband on the other, and they took her hands and caressed[Pg 77] and fondled her to her heart's content. The poor maid was quite beside herself with delight. She kept receiving kisses and caresses, first on the right hand and then on the left, and her face was pale no longer, but of a burning red like the transfigured rose whereon a drop of the blood of great Aphrodite fell. And she promised her father and her husband that she would tell them such a lot of things—things wondrous, unheard of, of which they had not and never could have the remotest idea.

And through the thin iron shutters which covered the window the Berber-Bashi curiously observed the touching scene!

They were still in the midst of their intoxication of delight when the frequently before-mentioned neighbour of Halil, worthy Musli, thrust his head inside the door, and witnessing the scene would discreetly have withdrawn his perplexed countenance. But Halil, who had already caught sight of him, bawled him a vociferous welcome.

"Nay, come along! come along! my worthy neighbour, don't stand on any ceremony with us, you can see for yourself how merry we are!"

The worthy neighbour thereupon gingerly entered, on the tips of his toes, with his hands fumbling nervously about in the breast of his kaftan; for the poor fellow's hands were resinous to a degree. Wash[Pg 78] and scrub them as he might, the resin would persist in cleaving to them. His awl, too, was still sticking in the folds of his turban—sticking forth aloft right gallantly like some heron's plume. Naturally he whose business it was to mend other men's shoes went about in slippers that were mere bundles of rags—that is always the way with cobblers!

When he saw Gül-Bejáze on Halil's lap, and Halil's face beaming all over with joy, he smote his hands together and fell a-wondering.

"There must be some great changes going on here!" thought he.

But Halil compelled him to sit down beside them, and after kissing Gül-Bejáze again—apparently he could not kiss the girl enough—he cried:

"Look! my dear neighbour! she is now my wife, and henceforth she will love me as her husband, and I shall no longer be the slave of my slave. And this worthy man here is my wife's father. Greet them, therefore, and then be content to eat and drink with us!"

Then Musli approached Janaki and saluted him on the shoulder, then, turning towards Gül-Bejáze, he touched with his hand first the earth and next his forehead, sat down beside Janaki on the cushions that had been drawn into the middle of the room, and made merry with them.[Pg 79]

And now Janaki sent the slave he had brought with him to the pastry-cook's while Musli skipped homewards and brought with him a tambourine of chased silver, which he could beat right cunningly and also accompany it with a voice not without feeling; and thus Halil's bridal evening flowed pleasantly away with an accompaniment of wine and music and kisses.

And all this time the worthy Berber-Bashi was looking on at this junketing through the trellised window, and could scarce restrain himself from giving expression to his astonishment when he perceived that Gül-Bejáze no longer collapsed like a dead thing at the contact of a kiss, or even at the pressure of an embrace, as she was wont to do in the harem, indeed her face had now grown rosier than the dawn.

At last his curiosity completely overcame him, and turning the handle of the door he appeared in the midst of the revellers.

He wore the garb of a common woodcutter, and his simple, foolish face corresponded excellently to the disguise. Nobody in the world could have taken him for anything but what he now professed to be, and it was with a very humble obeisance that he introduced himself.

"Allah Kerim! Salaam aleikum! God's blessing go with your mirth. Why, you were so merry that I heard you at the cemetery yonder as I was passing.[Pg 80] If it will not put you out I should be delighted to remain here, as long as you will let me, that I may listen to the music this worthy Mussulman here understands so well, and to the pretty stories which flow from the harmonious lips of this houri who has, I am persuaded, come down from Paradise for the delight of men."

Now Musli was drunk with wine, Gül-Bejáze and Halil Patrona were drunk with love, so that not one of them had any exception to take to the stranger's words. Janaki was the only sober man among them, neither wine nor love had any attraction for him, and therefore he whispered in the ear of Halil:

"For all you know this stranger may be a spy or a thief!"

"What an idea!" Halil whispered back, "why you can see for yourself that he is only an honest baltaji.[1] Sit down, oh, worthy Mussulman," he continued, turning to the stranger, "and make one of our little party."

The Berber-Bashi took him at his word. He ate and drank like one who has gone hungry for three whole days, he was enchanted with the tambourine of Musli, listened with open mouth to his story of the miserly slippers, and laughed as heartily as if he had never heard it at least a hundred times before.

"And now you tell us some tale, most beautiful of[Pg 81] women!" said he, wiping the tears from his eyes as he turned towards the damsel, and then Gül-Bejáze, after first kissing her husband and sipping from the beaker extended to her just enough to moisten her lips, thus began:

"Once upon a time there was a rich merchant. Where he lived I know not. It might have been Pera, or Galata, or Damascus. Nor can I tell you his name, but that has nothing to do with the story. This merchant had an only daughter whom he loved most dearly. She had ne'er a wish that was not instantly gratified, and he guarded her as the very apple of his eye. Not even the breath of Heaven was allowed to blow upon her."

"And know you not what the name of the maiden was?" inquired the Berber-Bashi.

"Certainly, they called her Irene, for she was a Greek girl."

Janaki trembled at the word. No doubt the girl was about to relate her own story, for Irene was the very name she had received at her baptism. It was very thoughtless of her to betray herself in the presence of a stranger.

"One day," continued the maiden, "Irene went a-rowing on the sea with some girl friends. The weather was fine, the sea smooth, and they sang their songs and made merry, to their hearts' content.[Pg 82] Suddenly the sail of a corsair appeared on the smooth mirror of the ocean, pounced straight down upon the maidens in their boat, and before they could reach the nearest shore, they were all seized and carried away captive.

"Poor Irene! she was not even able to bid her dear father God speed! Her thoughts were with him as the pirate-ship sped swiftly away with her, and she saw the city where he dwelt recede further and further away in the dim distance. Alas! he was waiting for her now—and would wait in vain! Her father, she knew it, was standing outside his door and asking every passer-by if he had not seen his little daughter coming. A banquet had been prepared for her at home, and all the invited guests were already there, but still no sign of her! And now she could see him coming down to the sea-shore, and sweep the smooth shining watery mirror with his eyes in every direction, and ask the sailor-men: 'Where is my daughter? Do you know anything about her?'"

Here the eyes of the father and the husband involuntarily filled with tears.

"Wherefore do you weep? How silly of you! Why, you know, of course, it is only a tale. Listen now to how it goes on! The robber carried the maiden he had stolen to Stambul. He took her straight to the Kizlar-Aga whose office it is to pur[Pg 83]chase slave-girls for the harem of the Padishah. The bargaining did not take long. The Kizlar-Aga paid down at once the price which the slave-merchant demanded, and forthwith handed Irene over to the slave-women of the Seraglio, who immediately conducted her to a bath fragrant with perfumes. Her face, her figure, her charms, amazed them exceedingly, and they lifted up their voices and praised her loudly. But when Irene heard their praises she shuddered, and her heart died away within her. Surely God never gave her beauty in order that she might be sacrificed to it? At that moment she would have much preferred to have been born humpbacked, squinting, swarthy; she would have liked her face to be all seamed and scarred like half-frozen water, and her body all diseased so that everyone who saw her would shrink from her with disgust—better that than the feeling which now made her shrink from the contemplation of herself.

Then they put upon her a splendid robe, hung diamond ear-rings in her ears, tied a beautiful shawl round her loins, encircled her arms and feet with rings of gold, and so led her into the secret apartment where the damsels of the Padishah were all gathered together. This, of course, was long, long ago. Who can tell what Sultan was reigning then? Why, even our fathers did not know his name.[Pg 84]

"Pomp and splendour, flowers and curtains adorned the immense saloon, the ceiling whereof was inlaid with precious stones, while the floor was fashioned entirely of mother-o'-pearl—he who set his foot thereon might fancy he was walking on rainbows. Moreover, cunning artificers had wrought upon this mother-o'-pearl floor flowers and birds and other most wondrous fantastical figures, so that it was a joy to look thereon, for no carpet, however precious, was