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The Circassian Slave; or, The Sultan\'s Favorite: A Story of

L >> Lieutenant Maturin Murray >> The Circassian Slave; or, The Sultan\'s Favorite: A Story of



Edited by Charles Aldarondo (aldarondo@yahoo.com)



THE CIRCASSIAN SLAVE:

OR, THE SULTAN'S FAVORITE.

A Story of Constantinople and the Caucasus.

BY LIEUTENANT MURRAY.

BOSTON:

1851.






PUBLISHER's NOTE.--The following Novelette was originally published
in THE PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION, and is but a specimen of
the many deeply entertaining Tales, and the gems of literary merit,
which grace the columns of that elegant and highly popular journal.
THE COMPANION embodies a corps of contributors of rare literary
excellence, and is regarded as the ne plus ultra, by its scores of
thousands of readers.






PREFACE.





The following story relates to that exceedingly interesting and
romantic portion of the world bordering on the Black Sea, the Sea of
Marmora, and the Bosphorus. The period of the story being quite
modern, its scenes are a transcript of the present time in the city
of the Sultan. The peculiarities of Turkish character are of the
follower of Mahomet, as they appear to-day; and the incidents
depicted are such as have precedents daily in the oriental capital.
Leaving the tale to the kind consideration of the reader, the author
would not fail to express his thanks for former indulgence and
favor.






THE CIRCASSIAN SLAVE.

CHAPTER I.

THE SLAVE MARKET.





Upon one of those hot, sultry summer afternoons that so often
prevail about the banks of the Bosphorus, the sun was fast sinking
towards its western course, and gilding as it went, the golden
crescents of a thousand minarets, now dancing with fairy feet over
the rippling waters of Marmora, now dallying with the spray of the
oarsmen's blades, as they pulled the gilded caique of some rich old
Mussulman up the tide of the Golden Horn. The soft and dainty
scented air came in light zephyrs off the shore of Asia to play upon
the European coast, and altogether it was a dreamy, siesta-like hour
hat reigned in the Turkish capital.

Let the reader come with us at this time into the circular area that
forms the slave market of Constantinople. The bazaar is well filled;
here are Egyptians, Bulgarians, Persians, and even Africans; but we
will pass them by and cross to the main stand, where are exposed for
sale some score of Georgians and Circassians. They are all chosen
for their beauty of person, and present a scene of more than usual
interest, awaiting the fate that the future may send them in a kind
or heartless master; and knowing how much of their future peace
depends upon this chance, they watch each new comer with almost
painful interest as he moves about the area.

A careless crowd thronged the place, lounging about in little knots
here and there, while one lot of slave merchants, with their broad
but graceful turbans, were sitting round a brass vessel of coals,
smoking or making their coffee, and discussing the matters
pertaining to their trade. Some came there solely to smoke their
opium-drugged pipes, and some to purchase, if a good bargain should
offer and a beauty be sold cheap. Here were sprightly Greeks, sage
Jews, and moody Armenians, but all outnumbered by the sedate old
Turks, with beards sweeping their very breasts. It was a motley
crowd that thronged the slave market.

Now and then there burst forth the ringing sound of laughter front
an enclosed division of the place where were confined a whole bevy
of Nubian damsels, flat-nostriled and curly-headed, but as slight
and fine-limbed as blocks of polished ebony. They were lying
negligently about, in postures that would have taken a painter's
eye, but we have naught to do with then at this time.

The females that were now offered for sale were principally of the
fair and rosy-cheeked Circassian race, exposed to the curious eve of
the throng only so far as delicacy would sanction, yet leaving
enough visible to develope charms that fired the spirits of the
Turkish crowd; and the bids ran high on this sale of humanity, until
at last a beautiful creature, with a form of ravishing loveliness,
large and lustrous eyes, and every belonging that might go to make
up a Venus, was led forth to the auctioneer's stand. She was young
and surpassingly handsome, while her hearing evinced a degree of
modesty that challenged their highest admiration.

Of course the bidding was spirited and liberal for such a specimen
of her race; but suddenly the auctioneer paused, and declared that
he had forgotten to mention one matter which might, perhaps, be to
some purchasers even a favorable consideration, which was, that the
slave was deaf and dumb! The effects of this announcement were of
course various; on some it did have a favorable effect, inasmuch as
it seemed to add fresh interest to the undoubted charms she evinced,
but other shrank back disappointed that a creature of so much
loveliness should be even partially bereft of her faculties.

"Are you deaf and dumb?" asked an old Turk, approaching the
Circassian where she stood, as though he wished to satisfy himself
as to the truth of what the salesman had announced.

The slave lifted her eyes at his approach, and only shook her head
in signification that she could not speak, as she saw his lips move
in the utterance of some words, which she supposed addressed to her.
The splendid beauty of her eyes, and the general expression of her
countenance, seemed to act like magic on the Musselman, who, turning
to the auctioneer, bid five hundred piasters, a hundred advance on
the first offer.

At this moment a person wearing the uniform of the Turkish navy,
made his way towards the stand from the centre of the bazaar, where
he had for some minutes been intently regarding the scene, and bid

"Six hundred piasters."

"Seven," said the previous bidder.

"Eight," continued the naval officer.

"Eight fifty," responded the old Turk.

"Nine hundred," said the officer, with a promptness that attracted
the attention of the crowd.

"One thousand piasters," said his competitor, as he continued to
regard her exquisite and beautiful mould, and her features, so like
a picture, in their regular and artistic lines of beauty. It was
very plain that the old Turk felt, as he gazed upon her, so silent
yet so beautiful, that she was richly worth her weight in pearls.

"A thousand piasters," repeated the vender of the slave market,
turning once more to the officer, then added, as he received no
encouraging sign from him, "a thousands piasters, and sold!"

The officer regarded her with much interest, and turned away in
evident disappointment, for the old Turk who had outbid him, had
gone beyond any means that he possessed. The purchaser handed forth
the money in a couple of small bags, and throwing a close veil over
the head of the slave, led her away through the narrow and winding
streets of old Stamboul to the water's side, where they entered a
caique that awaited them, and pulled up the harbor.

Its shooting caiques, its forest of merchantmen, and its hoard of
Turkish war ships; were changed, in a few moments of swift pulling,
for the breathless solitude of the Valley of Sweet Waters, which
opens with a gentle curve from the Golden Horn, and winds away into
the hills towards Belgrade, where the river assumes the character of
a silvery stream, threading its way through a soft and verdant
meadow on either hand, as beautiful in aspect as the Prophet's
Paradise. The spot where the Sultan sends his swift-footed Arabians
to graze on the earliest verdure that decks the face of spring.

It was up this fairy-like passage that the dumb slave was swept in
her master's caique, and by scenes so beautiful as even to enchant
her sad and silent bosom. The Turk marked well the influence of the
scenery upon the Circassian, and slowly stroked his beard with
silent satisfaction at the sight.

The caique soon stopped before a gorgeous palace, in the midst of
this fine plain, and the Turk, by a signal, summoned the guard of
eunuchs from a tent of the Prophet's green, that was pitched near
the banks of the Barbyses, that ran its meandering course through
this verdant scene. It was a princely home, the proudest harem in
all this gem of the Orient, for the old Turk had acted not for
himself in the purchase he had made, but as the agent of a higher
will than his own, and the dumb slave was led to the seraglio of the
Sultan.

The old Turk was evidently a privileged body, and following close
upon the heels of the eunuchs, he divested himself of his slippers
at the entrance of the palace, and led the slave before the "Brother
of the Sun."

The monarch was a noble specimen of his race, tall, commanding, and
with a spirit of firmness breathing from his expressive face. His
beard was jetty black, and gave a much older appearance to his
features than belonged to them. He was the child of a seraglio,
whose mothers were chosen for beauty alone, and how could he escape
being handsome? The blood of Circassian upon Circassian was in his
veins, and the trace of their nationality was upon his brow, but
there was in the eye a doomed darkness of expression that caused the
beautiful creature before him to almost tremble with fear.

"Beautiful, indeed," mused the Sultan, as he gazed upon the slave
with undisguised interest; "and how much did she cost us, good
Mustapha?"

"One thousand piasters, excellency" answered the agent, with
profound respect.

"A thousand piasters," repeated the monarch, again gazing at the
slave.

"Yes, excellency, the bids ran high."

"A goodly sum, truly, Mustapha, but a goodly return," continued the
Sultan.

"There was one fault, excellency," continued the agent, "that I
feared might disappoint you."

"And what is that, good Mustapha?"

"She is both deaf and dumb, excellency."

"A mute?"

"Yes, excellency."

"Both deaf and dumb," repeated the Sultan, rising from his divan and
approaching the lovely Circassian, actuated by the interest that he
felt at so singular an announcement.

While the old Turk stroked his beard with an air of satisfaction at
the result of his purchase as it regarded the approval of his
master, the slave bent humbly before the monarch, for though she
knew not by any word or sign addressed to her who her master was,
yet she felt that no one could assume that air of dignity and
command but the Sultan. A blush stole over the pale face of the
Circassian as the monarch laid his hand on her arm and gazed
intently upon her face, and whatever his inward thoughts were, his
handsome countenance expressed a spirit of tenderness and gentle
concern for her situation that became him well, for clemency is the
brightest jewel in a crown.

"Deaf and dumb," repeated the Sultan against to himself, "and yet so
very beautiful."

"She is beautiful, indeed, excellency," said the old Turk, echoing
his master's thoughts.

"So they sought her eagerly at the market, good Mustapha, did they
not?"

"Excellency, yes. One of your own officers bid against me heavily;
he wore the marine uniform."

"Ha! did the fellow know you?" asked the Sultan, quickly, with a
flashing eye that showed how capable that face was of a far
different expression from that which the dumb slave had given rise
to.

"I think he did not know me, excellency."

After a moment's pause the Sultan turned again to the gentle girl
that stood before him, and taking her hand, endeavored by his looks
of kind assurance to express to her that he should strive to make
her happy; and as he smoothed her dark, glossy hair tenderly, the
slave bent her forehead to the hand that held her own, in token of
gratitude for the kindness with which she was received, and when she
raised her face again. Both the Sultan and Mustapha saw that tears
had wet her cheeks, and her bosom heaved quickly with the emotion
that actuated her.

At this moment the Circassian felt her dress slightly drawn from
behind, and turning, confronted the person of a lad who might,
judging from his size, be some seventeen years of age. His form was
beautiful in its outline, and his step light and graceful; but the
face, alas! that throne of the intellect was a barren waste, and his
vacant eye and lolling lip showed at once that the poor boy was
little less than an idiot. And yet, as he looked upon the slave, and
saw the tear glistening in her eye, there seemed to be a flash of
intelligence cross his features, as though there was still a spark
of heaven in the boy. But 'twas gone again, and seeming to forget
the object that had led him to her side, he sank down upon the
cushioned floor, and played with a golden tassel as an infant would
char have done.

The idiot was an exemplification of a strange but universal
superstition among the Turks. With these eastern people there is a
traditionary belief in what is called the evil eye, answering to the
evil spirit that is accredited to exist by more civilized nations.
Any human being bereft of reason, or seriously deformed in any way,
is held by them to be a protection against the blight of the evil
eye, which, being once cast upon a person, renders him doomed
forever. Holding, therefore, that dwarfs, idiots or mad-men are
partially inspired, every considerable such establishment supports
one or more, whose privilege it is to follow, untrammeled, their own
pleasure. The idiot boy, in the Sultan's palace, was one of this
class, whom no one thwarted, and who was regarded with a half
superstitious reverence by all.

While this scene had been transpiring between the idiot boy and the
slave, the Sultan had been talking with Mustapha concerning the
latter. It seemed by his story that she had been very ill since she
was brought from her native valley, and that she was hardly yet
recovered from the debility that had followed her sickness. She
would not write nor read one word of either the Turkish or
Circassian tongue, and therefore could only express herself by signs;
for which reason, neither those who sold her nor the purchaser
knew aught of her history beyond the fact that she was a Circassian,
and also that she seemed to be less happy than those of her
countrywomen generally who come to Constantinople. This might be
owing to the affliction under which she labored as to being dumb,
but it was evident that Sultan Mahomet thought otherwise as he gazed
silently at her.

"She came not of her own free will from her native vales, Mustapha,"
said his master.

"No one knows, excellency, though her people generally come most
cheerfully to our harems."

"There is no means of understanding her save by signs?" asked the
Sultan.

"None, excellency."

"Take her to the harem, Mustapha," said his master, after a few
moments of thoughtful silence, "take her to the harem, and give
strict charge that she be well cared for."

"Excellency, yes," said the old Turk, with a profound reverence
after the manner of the East, "your wish is your slave's law," he
continued, as he turned away.

"And look you, good Mustapha," said the Sultan, recalling him once
more, "say it is our will that she be made as happy as may be."

"Excellency, yes," again repeated the old man with a salaam, and
then turning to the Circassian, he signed to her to follow him.

As the slave retired she could not but look back at the Sultan, who
had greeted her with such kind consideration, and as she did so she
met his dark, piercing eye bent upon her in gentle pity. She almost
sighed to leave the presence of one who had showed her the first
kindness, the first token of thoughtful consideration for her
situation since she left her own home, far away beyond the sea. But
Mustapha beckoned her forward, and she hastened to obey his summons,
wondering as she went what was to be her fate; whether that was to
be her future home, and what position she was to hold there. Musing
thus, she followed the Turk towards the sacred precincts of the
harem.

The monarch left alone, save the thoughtless boy, who lay upon the
rich divan, coiled up like an animal gone to sleep, seemed to be
troubled in his mind. Stern and imperious by nature, it was not
usual for him to evince such feeling as had exercised him towards
the dumb slave, and it was plain that his heart was moved by
feelings that were novel there. Touching a silver gong that hung
pendent from the wall, just within reach of his arm, a Nubian slave
opened the hangings of the apartment, and appeared as though he had
come out of the wall.

The slave knew well his master's summons, and preparing for him the
bowl of his pipe, and lighting it, coiled the silken tube to his
hand, and on his knee presented the amber mouthpiece.

Thus occupied, the Sultan was soon lost in the dreamy narcotic of
the tobacco.






CHAPTER II.

THE SULTAN'S HAREM.





The harem into which the dumb Circassian girl was conducted by the
woman to whom the old Turk delivered his message, was a place of
such luxuriant splendor as to puzzle her, and she stood like one
amazed for some moments.--The costly and grateful lounges, the heavy
and downy carpets, the rich velvet and silken hangings about the
walls, the picturesque and lovely groups of female slaves that
laughed and toyed with each other, mingling in pleasant games, the
rich though scanty dress of these favorites of the Sultan, all were
confusing and dazzling to her untutored eye, and when, after a few
moments' minutes, a dozen of these lovely girls crowded about her
with curious eyes to know who was the new comer that was to be their
companion, the poor girl shrunk back half abashed, for she could not
speak to them.

They too were puzzled that she made no reply to them, and stood
there in wonder.

It was only for a moment, however, when the beautiful stranger
pointed to her mouth and ears significantly, and gently shook her
head with a sadness of expression that was electrical, for each one
instantly understood her meaning, and pitied her. Some little
feeling of envy might have been ready to burst forth in the breasts
of those about her, but gentle pity loves to linger by beauty's
side, and so they all loved and condoled with the fair stranger. One
took her hand and led her to a cushion in the centre of the little
circle that had just been formed, another unloosed the wealth of
beautiful hair that astonished them by its dark richness and
profusion as it fell about her fair neck. She who had unloosed the
new comer's hair, now fell to braiding it in solid masses and
plaiting it about her head.

A second one taking a rare bracelet of pearls off her own fair arms,
placed it upon the Circassian's, and sealed it there with a
kiss!--Another removed the leather shoes she wore, and replaced them
with satin ones of curious workmanship and richly wrought with
thread of gold, and still another loosened the coarse mantle that
enshrouded her shoulders, and covered her with a shawl that had come
across the desert from the far east, rich in texture and beautiful
as costly. And as another tossed a handful of fresh flowers into her
lap, the poor girl's cheeks became wet with tears, for their
unselfish kindness and generous tenderness had touched heart.

But these tokens were quickly brushed away and kisses took their
place, while fair and delicate hands were busy upon her, until the
poor slave who had so lately stood exposed in the open bazaar of the
capital, now saw among this family of the Turkish monarch, literally
as a star of the harem. In beauty, she did indeed outshine them all,
but they forgot this in the memory of her misfortune, and envied not
the dumb slave. They touched her fingers with henna dye, and
anointed her with rare and costly perfumes, seeming to vie with each
other in their interesting efforts to deck and beautify one who had
only the voluptuous softness of her dark eyes to thank them with,
for those lovely lips, of such tempting freshness in their coral
hue, could utter no sound.

They brought to her all their jewels and rich ornaments to amuse
her, and each one contributed to give her from out their store some
becoming ornament, now a diamond broach, and now a ruby ring, next a
necklace of emeralds, interspersed with glowing opals, a fourth
added a girdle of golden chain braced at every link by close and
richly cut garnets, and other rings of sapphire and amethysts, until
the lovely stranger was dazzling with the combined brilliancy and
reflection of so many rare and beautiful jewels about her person.

It was not the jewels that so gratified the young Circassian, but
the good will they represented. She cared little for them
intrinsically, beautiful and rich as they were, but she grew very
fast to love the donors.

Days passed on in this manner, and the Sultan was no less surprised
than delighted to witness this voluntary kindness and affection that
was so freely rendered to the lovely girl. Her affliction seemed to
render her sacred in his eyes, and there was no kindness on his part
that was forgotten. Her manners and intelligent bearing showed her
to belong to the better class of her own nation, and her gentle
dignity commanded respect as well as love. She had already come to a
degree of understanding with those about her that was sufficient as
it regarded her ordinary wishes and wants, but of the past or future
she had not means to communicate, her tongue was sealed, and for
this reason her history must remain a hidden mystery to those about
her whom she loved, and would gladly have confided in.

One occupation seemed to delight her above all else, it was so
simple and beautiful, besides which it enabled her to convey her
feelings by means of an agency that, as far as it went, supplied to
her the loss of her speech. It was the arranging of flowers so as to
make them speak the language of her heart to another, a means of
communication in which the women of the East excel. Indeed it is the
only mode in which they can hold silent converse, since they know
not the cunning of the pen. Engaged in this gentle and pleasing
occupation, the Circassian passed hours and days in the study and
practice of the sweet language of flowers.

For hours together, while she was thus occupied, the idiot boy would
sit and watch her movements, and now and then receive some kindly
token of consideration from her hand that seemed to delight him
beyond measure. He followed her every movement with his eye, and
seemed only content when close by her side, sitting near her,
patient and silent; in fact he could utter but few audible sounds,
and no one had ever taught the poor idiot how to talk.

One afternoon, in the gardens that opened from the harem, the
Circassian had been engaged thus, sitting beneath the projecting
roof of a lattice-work summer house. The sun as it crept down
towards the western horizon threw lengthened shadows across the soft
green sward where minaret, cypress, or projecting angle of the
palace intervened. The boy would pick out one of those dark shadows,
and sitting down where it terminated, seem to think that he could
keep it there, but when the shadow lengthened every moment more and
more, and seemed to his untutored and simple comprehension to creep
out from under him, he would look amazed to see how it was done
while he sat upon it.

In following up a projecting shadow thus, he had come at last almost
to the very side of the dumb slave just as a gaudy winged parrot lit
upon the eve of the summer house on a large piece of the picket work
that had been used as an ornament for its top, but which having been
broken from its position, had slid down to the very eaves and now
hung but half suspended upon the roof. Even the lighting of the
parrot upon its edge was sufficient to balance it from the fragile
support that retained it on the roof, and then it slid off
immediately above the head of the Circassian girl.

The boy was on his feet as quick as thought itself, and springing to
the spot, with both hands outspread above her head, he canted the
heavy frame work away from her so that it came upon the ground,
sinking deep into the earth from its sharp points and considerable
weight. Had the falling mass come upon her head, as it would most
inevitably have done but for the boy, its effect must have been
instantly fatal. The Circassian saw the imminent service the boy had
rendered her, but he was sitting on the end of another shadow in a
moment after!

Was it reason or instinct that had caused him to make that
successful effort with such wonderful speed and accuracy? The slave
looked at him in wonder. It was very evident that he had already
forgotten the service which he had rendered, and the same listless,
childlike, and almost idiotic expression was in his face. this event
endeared the boy very much to the Circassian, and she never failed
to show him every kindness in her power. She would arrange his
straggling dress, and part his hair, smoothly away from his handsome
forehead, and give him always of each delicacy provided for herself,
until the boy seemed to feel himself almost solely dependent upon
her, and to seek her side as a faithful hound might have done.

Thus had time passed with the dumb slave in the Sultan's palace on
the Barbyses.

At times she would stroll among the rare beds of plants, and culling
fresh chaplets for her head, wreathe herself a fragrant garland,
ever finding some familiar scent that recalled her far off home in
all its freshness. Wearied of this she wandered among the jasper
fountains, and watched the play of those waters, the soft and
rippling music of which she might not hear, or still further on in
the many labyrinths of the garden and harem walks, would throw
herself upon some rich cushions beside a silver urn, where burnt
sweet aloes and sandal wood and rods of spice to perfume the air. At
early morn she loved to pet the blue pigeons that had been brought
from far off Mecca, held so sacred by the faithful, to feed them
from her own hands, and to toy with the golden thrushes from
Hindostan, and the gaudy birds of Paradise that flew about with
other rare and beautiful songsters in this fairy palace of the
Sultan.

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