Chapter 9. The Setting And The Rising Sun

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_ CHAPTER IX. THE SETTING AND THE RISING SUN

The dead bodies of the victims were still lying in the streets when Sultan Achmed summoned the Ulemas to the cupolaed chamber. His countenance was dejected and sad.

Before coming to the council-chamber he had kissed all his children, one by one, and when it came to the turn of his little ten-year-old child, Bajazid, he saw that the little fellow's eyes were full of tears and he inquired the reason why. The child replied:

"Father, it is well with those who are thy enemies and grievous for them that love thee. What then will be our fate who love thee best of all? Amongst the wives of our brethren thou wilt find more than one in grey mourning weeds. Look, I prythee, at the face of Ummettulah; look at the eyes of Sabiha, and the appearance of Ezma. They are all of them widows and orphans, and it is thou who hast caused their fathers and husbands to be slain."

"To save thee I have done it," stammered Achmed, pressing the child to his breast.

"Thou wilt see that thou shalt not save us after all," sighed Bajazid.

In the years to come these words were to be as an eternal echo in the ears of Achmed.

So he sat on his throne and the Ulemas took their places around him on the divans covered with kordofan leather. Opposite to him sat the chief imam, Ispirizade. Sulali sat beside him.

"Lo, the blood of the victims has now been poured forth," said Achmed in a gloomy, tremulous voice, "I have sacrificed my most faithful servants. Speak! What more do the rebels require? Why do they still blow their field trumpets? Why do they still kindle their bivouac fires? What more do they want?"

And the words of his little son rang constantly in his ears: "It is well with those who are thy enemies and grievous for them that love thee."

No one replied to the words of the Sultan.

"Answer, I say! What think ye concerning the matter?"

Once more deep silence prevailed. The Ulemas looked at one another. Many of them began to nudge Sulali, who stood up as if to speak, but immediately sat down again without opening his mouth.

"Speak, I pray you! I have not called you hither to look at me and at one another, but to give answers to my questions."

And still the Ulemas kept silence. Dumbly they sat around as if they were not living men but only embalmed corpses, such as are to be found in the funeral vaults of the Pharaohs grouped around the royal tombs.

"'Tis wondrous indeed!" said Achmed, when the whole Council had remained dumb for more than a quarter of an hour. "Are ye all struck dumb then that ye give me no answer?"

Then at last Ispirizade rose from his place.

"Achmed!" he began--with such discourteous curtness did he address the Sultan!

"Achmed! 'tis the wish of Halil Patrona that thou descend from the throne and give it up to Sultan Mahmud...."

Achmed sat bolt upright in his chair. After the words just uttered every voice in the council-chamber was mute, and in the midst of this dreadful silence the Ulemas were terrified to behold the Padishah stand on the steps of the throne, extend his arm towards the imam, fix his eyes steadily upon him, and open his lips from which never a word proceeded.

Thus for a long time he stood upon the throne with hand outstretched and parted lips, and his stony eyes fixed steadily upon the imam, and those who saw it were convulsed by a feeling of horror, and Ispirizade felt his limbs turn to stone and the light of day grow dim before his eyes in the presence of that dreadful figure which regarded him and pointed at him. It was, as it were, a dumb curse--a dumb, overpowering spell, which left it to God and His destroying angels to give expression to his wishes, and read in his heart and accomplish that which he himself was incapable of pronouncing.

The whole trembling assembly collapsed before the Sultan's throne, crawled to his feet and, moistening them with their tears, exclaimed:

"Pardon, O master! pardon!"

An hour before they had unanimously resolved that Achmed must be made to abdicate, and now they unanimously begged for pardon. But the deed had already been done.

The hand of the Padishah that had been raised to curse sank slowly down again, his eyes half closed, his lips were pressed tightly together, he thrust his hands into the girdle of his mantle, looked down for a long time upon the Ulemas, and then quietly descended the steps of the throne. On reaching the pavement he remained standing by the side of the throne, and cried in a hollow tremulous voice:

"I have ceased to reign, let a better than I take my place. I demand but one thing, let those who are at this moment the lords of the dominion of Osman swear that they will do no harm to my children. Let them swear it to me on the Alkoran. Take two from amongst you and let them convey my desire to Halil."

Again a deep silence followed upon Achmed's words. The Ulemas fixed their gaze upon the ground, not one of them moved or made even a show of conveying the message.

"Perhaps, then, ye wish the death of my children also? Or is there not one of you with courage enough to go and speak to them?"

A very aged, tremulous, half paralyzed Ulema was there among them, the dervish Mohammed, and he it was who at length ventured to speak.

"Oh, my master! who is valiant enough to speak with a raging lion, who hath wit enough to come to terms with the burning tempest of the Samum, or who would venture to go on an embassy to the tempest-tost sea and bandy words therewith?"

Achmed gazed darkly, doubtfully upon the Ulema, and his face wore an expression of repressed despair.

Sulali had compassion on the Sultan.

"I will go to them," he said reassuringly; "remain here, oh, my master, till I return. Of a truth I tell thee that I will not come back till they have sworn to do what thou desirest."

And now Ispirizade said that he also would go with Sulali. He had not sufficient strength of mind to endure the gaze of the Sultan till Sulali should return. Far rather would he go with him also to the rebels. Besides they already understood each other very well.

The envoys found Halil sitting under his tent in the Etmeidan.

Sulali drew near to him and delivered the message of the Sultan.

But he did not deliver it in the words of Achmed. He neither begged nor implored, nor mingled his request with bitter lamentations as Achmed had done, but he spoke boldly and sternly, without picking his words, as Achmed ought to have done.

"The Padishah would have his own life and the lives of his children guaranteed by oath," said he to the assembled leaders of the people. "Swear, therefore, on the Alkoran that you will respect them, and swear it in the names of your comrades likewise. The Padishah is resolved that if you refuse to take this oath he will blow up the Seraglio and every living soul within it into the air with gunpowder."

The rebels were impressed by this message, only Halil Patrona smiled. He knew very well that such a threat as this never arose in the breast of Achmed. His gentle soul was incapable of such a thing. So he folded his arms across his breast and smiled.

Then the chief imam fell down in the dust before him, and said in a humble voice:

"Listen not, O Halil, to the words of my companion. The Padishah humbly implores you for his life and the lives of his children."

Halil wrinkled his brow and exclaimed angrily:

"Rise up, Ulema, grovel not before me in the name of the Sultan. Those who would slay him deal not half so badly with them as thou who dost humiliate him. Sulali is right. The Sultan is capable of great deeds. I know that the cellars of the Seraglio are full of gunpowder, and I would not that the blossoms of the Sheik-ul-Islam and the descendants of the Prophet should perish. Behold, I am ready, and my comrades also, to swear on the Alkoran to do no harm either to Sultan Achmed, or his sons, or his daughters, or his daughters' husbands. Whosoever shall raise his hand against them his head I myself will cut in twain, and make the avenging Angels of Allah split his soul in twain also, so that each half may never again find its fellow. Go back and peace rest upon Achmed."

Sulali flew back with the message, but Ispirizade hastened to the Aja Sophia mosque to give directions for the enthronement of the new Sultan.

Meanwhile Achmed had assembled his sons around him in the cupolaed chamber, and sitting down on the last step of the throne made them take their places round his feet, and awaited the message which was to bear the issues of life and death.

Sulali entered the room with a radiant countenance, carrying in his hand the copy of the Alkoran, on which Halil and his associates had sworn the oath required of them. He laid it at the Sultan's feet.

"Live for ever, oh, Sultan!" he cried, "and may thy heart rejoice in the prosperity of thy children!"

Achmed looked up with a face full of gratitude, and thanked Allah, the Giver of all good and perfect gifts.

His children embraced him with tears in their eyes, and Achmed did not forget to extend his hand to Sulali, who first raised it to his forehead and then pressed it to his lips.

Then Achmed sent the Kizlar-Aga for Sultan Mahmud, surnamed "the White Prince," from the pallor of his face, to summon him to his presence.

Half an hour later, accompanied by Elhaj Beshir, Prince Mahmud arrived. He was the son of Mustapha II., who had renounced the throne in favour of Achmed just as Achmed was now resigning the throne in favour of Mahmud.

The Sultan arose, hastened towards him, embraced him, and kissed him on the forehead.

"The people desire thee to ascend the throne. Be merciful to my children just as I was merciful to thy father's children."

Sultan Mahmud did obeisance to his uncle, and seizing his hand, as if it were worthy of all honour, reverently kissed it.

Then Achmed beckoned to his sons, and one by one they approached Mahmud, and kissed his hand. And all the time the Ulemas remained prostrate on the ground around them.

Then Achmed took the new sovereign by the right hand, and personally conducted him into the chamber of the Mantle of the Prophet. There, standing in front of the throne, he took from his hand the diamond clasp, the symbol of dominion, and with his own hand fastened it to the turban of the new Sultan, and placing his hand upon his head, solemnly blessed him.

"Rule and prosper! May those thou lovest love thee also, and may those that thou hatest fear thee. Be glorious and powerful while thou livest, and may men bless thy name and magnify thy memory when thou art dead!"

Then Achmed and his children thrice did obeisance to Mahmud, whereupon taking his two youngest sons by the hand, with a calm and quiet dignity, he quitted the halls of dominion which he was never to behold again, abandoning, one after another, every single thing which had hitherto been so dear to him.

In the Hall of Audience he gave up the Sword of the Prophet to the Silihdar, who unbuckled it from his body, and when he came to the door leading to the harem he handed over his children to the Kizlar-Aga, telling him to greet the Sultana Asseki in his name, and bid her remember him and teach his little children their father's name.

For henceforth he will see no more his sharp sword, or the fair Adsalis, or the other dear damsels, or his darling children. He must remain for ever far away from them behind the walls of a dungeon. A deposed Sultan has nought whatever to do with swords or wives or children. The same fate befell Mustapha II. six-and-twenty years before. He also had to part with his sword, his wives, and his children in just the same way. And this Achmed had good cause to remember, for then it was that he ascended the throne. And now he, in his turn, descended from the throne, and now that had happened to him for his successor's sake which had happened to his predecessor for his sake.

* * * * *

But the great men of the realm bowed their heads to the ground before Sultan Mahmud and did him homage.

The long procession of those who came to do him obeisance filled all the apartments of the Seraglio and lasted till midnight. The whole Court bent head and knee before the new Sultan, and the chief officers of state, the clergy, and the eunuchs followed suit. Only the captains of the host and Halil Patrona still remained behind.

Hastily written letters were dispatched to all the captains and to all the rebels, informing them that Sultan Achmed had been deposed and Sultan Mahmud was reigning in his stead; let them all come, therefore, at dawn of day next morning and do homage to the new Padishah.

The moon had long been high in the heavens and was shining through the coloured windows of the Seraglio when the magnates withdrew and Mahmud remained alone.

Only the Kizlar-Aga awaited his pleasure--the Kizlar-Aga whose sooty face seemed to cast a black shadow upon itself.

Mahmud extended his hand to him with a smile that he might kiss it.

And then Elhaj Beshir conducted him to the door of those secret apartments within which bloom the flowers of bliss and rapture, and throwing it open bent low while the new Sultan passed through.

Only three among the peris of loveliness had preferred eternal loveless slavery to the favours of the new Padishah, and among those who smiled upon the young Sultan as he entered the room, the one who had the happiest, the most radiant face, was the fair Adsalis, who still remained the favourite wife, the Sultana Asseki, even after the great revolution which had turned the whole Empire upside down and made the least to be the greatest and the greatest to stand lowest of all.

Among so many smiling faces hers was the one towards which the tremulously happy and enraptured Sultan hastened full of tender infatuation; she it was whom he raised to his breast and in whose arms he soothed himself with dreams of glory, while she stifled his anxieties with her kisses.

Everything was asleep in the Halls of Felicity, only Love was still awake. Mahmud, forgetful alike of himself and his empire, pressed to his bosom his dear enchanting Sultana, the most precious of all the treasures he had won that day; but the fair Sultana shuddered from time to time in the midst of his burning embrace. It seemed to her as if someone was standing behind her back, sobbing and sighing and touching her warm bosom with his cold fingers.

Perchance she could hear the sighing and the sobbing of him who lay sleepless far, far below that bower of rapture, in one of the cold vaults of the Place of Oblivion, thinking of his lost Empire and his lost Eden!

* * * * *

Early next morning the chief captains of the host, the Bashas and the Sheiks, appeared in the Seraglio to greet the new Sultan. It was only the leaders of the rebels who did not come.

Ever since Sulali had frightened the insurgents by telling them that the cellars of the Seraglio were full of gunpowder, they did not so much as venture to draw near it, and when the public criers recited the invitation of Mahmud in front of the mosques, thousands and thousands of voices shouted as if from one throat:

"We will not come!"

Not one of them would listen to the invitation from the Seraglio.

"It is a mere ruse," observed the wise Reis-Effendi. "They only want to entice us into a mouse-trap to crush us all at a blow like flies caught in honey."

"A short cut into Paradise that would be," scornfully observed Orli, who, despite his office of softa, did not hesitate to speak disrespectfully even of Paradise, whither every true believer ought joyfully to hasten.

Last of all "crazy" Ibrahim gave them a piece of advice.

"'Twill be best," said he, "to gather together from among us our least useful members--any murderers there may happen to be, or escaped gaol-birds for instance; call them Halil, Musli, and Suleiman, deck them out in the garments of Agas, Begs, and Ulemas, and send them to the Seraglio. Then, if we see them return to us safe and sound, we can, of course, go ourselves."

This crazy counsel instantly met with general applause. Everyone approved of it, of that there could be no doubt.

Halil Patrona regarded them all in contemptuous silence. Only when "crazy" Ibrahim's proposal had been resolved upon did he stand up and say:

"I myself will go to the Seraglio."

Some of them regarded him with amazement, others laughed. Musli clapped his hands together in his desperation.

"Halil! dost thou dream or art thou beside thyself? Dost thou imagine thyself to be one of the Princes of the Thousand and One Nights who can hew his way through monsters and spectres, or art thou wearied of beholding the sun from afar and must needs go close up to him?"

"'Tis no concern of thine what I do, and if I am not afraid what need is there for thee to be afraid on my account?"

"But, prythee, bethink thee, Halil! It would be a much more sensible jest on thy part to leap into the den of a lioness suckling her young; and thou wouldst be a much wiser man if thou wert to adventure thyself in the sulphur holes of Balsorah, or cause thyself to be let down, for the sake of a bet, into the coral-beds at the bottom of the Sea of Candia to pick up a bronze asper,[2] instead of going to the Seraglio where there are now none but thine enemies, and where the very atmosphere and the spider crawling down the wall is venomous to thee and thy deadly enemy."

"They may kill me," cried Halil, striking his bosom with both hands and boldly stepping forward--"they may kill me it is true, but they shall never be able to say that I was afraid of them. They may tear my limbs to pieces, but when it comes to be recorded in the Chronicles that the rabble of Constantinople were cowards, it shall be recorded at the same time that, nevertheless, there was one man among them who could not only talk about death but could look it fairly between the eyes when it appeared before him."

"Listen, Halil! I and many more like me are capable of looking into the very throat of loaded cannons. Many is the time, too, that I have seen sharp swords drawn against me, and no lance that ever hath left the smith's hand can boast that I have so much as winked an eye before its glittering point. But what is the use of valour in a place where you know that the very ground beneath your feet has Hell beneath it, and it only needs a spark no bigger than that which flashes from a man's eye when he has received a buffet, and we shall all fly into the air. Why, even if both our hands were full of swords and pistols, not one of them could protect us--so who would wish to be brave there?"

"Have I invited thee to come? Did I not say that I would go alone?"

"But we won't let thee go. What art thou thinking about? If they destroy thee there we shall be without a leader, and we shall fall to pieces and perish like the rush-roof of a cottage when the joists are suddenly pulled from beneath it. And thou thyself wilt be a laughing-stock to the people, like the cock of the fairy tale who spitted and roasted himself."

"That will never happen," said Halil, unbuckling his sword (for no weapon may enter the Seraglio) and handing it to Musli; "take care of it for me till I return, and if I do not return it will be something to remember me by."

"Then thou art really resolved to go?" inquired Musli. "Well, in that case, I will go too."

At these words the others also began to bestir themselves, and when they saw that Halil really was not joking, they accompanied him right up to the Seraglio. Into it indeed they did not go; but, anyhow, they surrounded the huge building which forms a whole quarter of the city by itself, and as soon as they saw Halil pass through the Seraglio gates they set up a terrific shout.

Alone, unarmed, and without an escort, the rebel leader passed through the strange, unfamiliar rooms, and at every door armed resplendent sentries made way before him, closing up again, with pikes crossed, before every door when he had passed through them.

On reaching the Hall of Audience, a couple of Kapu-Agasis seized him by the arm, and led him into the Cupola Chamber where Sultan Mahmud received those who came to render homage.

In all the rooms was that extraordinary pomp which is only to be seen on the day when a new Sultan has ascended the throne. The very ante-chamber, "The Mat-Room," as it is called, because of the variegated straw-mats with which it is usually covered, was now spread over with costly Persian carpets. The floor of the Cupola Chamber looked like a flower-bed. Its rich pile carpets were splendidly embroidered with gold, silver, and silken flowers of a thousand hues, interspersed with wreaths of pearls. At the foot of a sofa placed on an elevated dais glistened a coverlet of pure pearls. On each side of this sofa stood a little round writing-table inlaid with gold. On one of these tables lay an open portfolio encrusted with precious stones and writing materials flashing with rubies and emeralds; on the other lay a copy of the Alkoran, bound in black velvet and studded with rose brilliants. Another copy of the Alkoran lay open on a smaller table, written in the Talik script in letters of gold, cinnabar, and ultramarine; and there were twelve other Korans on just as many other tables, with gold clasps and pearl-embroidered bindings. On both sides of the fire-place, on stands that were masterpieces of carving, were heaped up the gala mantles exhibited on such occasions; and side by side, along the wall, on raised alabaster pedestals were nine clocks embellished with figures, each more ingenious than the other, which moved and played music every time the hour struck. Four large Venetian mirrors multiplied the extravagant splendours of the stately room.

Around the room on divans sat the chief dignitaries of the Empire, the viziers, the secretaries, the presenters of petitions according to rank, in splendid robes, and with round, pyramidal or beehive-shaped turbans according to the nature of their office.

Yet all this pomp was utterly eclipsed by the splendour which radiated from the new Padishah; he seemed enveloped in a shower of pearls and diamonds. Whichever way he turned the roses embroidered on his dress, the girdle which encircled his loins, the clasp of his turban, and every weapon about him seemed to scatter rainbow sparks, so that those who gazed at him were dazzled into blindness before they could catch a glimpse of his face.

Behind the back of the throne, flashing with carbuncles as large as nuts, stood a whole army of ministering servants with their heads plunged deep in their girdles.

It was into this room that Halil entered.

On the threshold his two conductors released his arm, and Halil advanced alone towards the Padishah.

His face was not a whit the paler than at other times, he stepped forth as boldly and gazed around him as confidently as ever.

His dress, too, was just the same as hitherto--a simple Janissary mantle, a blue dolman with divided sleeves, without any ornament, a short salavari, or jerkin, reaching to the knee, leaving the lower part of the legs bare, and the familiar roundish kuka on his head.

As he passed through the long apartment he cast a glance upon the dignitaries sitting around the throne, and there was not one among them who could withstand the fire of his gaze. With head erect he advanced in front of the Sultan, and placing his muscular, half-naked foot on the footstool before the throne stood there, for a moment, like a figure cast in bronze, a crying contrast to all this tremulous pomp and obsequious splendour. Then he raised his hand to his head, and greeted the Sultan in a strong sonorous voice:

"Aleikum unallah! The grace of God be upon thee!"

Then folding his hands across his breast he flung himself down before the throne, pressing his forehead against its steps.

Mahmud descended towards him, and raised him from the ground with his own hand.

"Speak! what can I do for thee?" he asked with condescension.

"My wishes have already been fulfilled," said Halil, and every word he then uttered was duly recorded by the chronicler. "It was my wish that the sword of Mahomet should pass into worthy hands; behold it is accomplished, thou dost sit on the throne to which I have raised thee. I know right well what is the usual reward for such services--a shameful death awaits me."

Mahmud passionately interrupted him.

"And I swear to thee by my ancestors that no harm shall befall thee. Ask thine own reward, and it shall be granted thee before thou hast yet made an end of preferring thy request."

Halil reflected for a moment, and all the time his gaze rested calmly on the faces of the dignitaries sitting before him. His gaze passed down the whole row of them, and he took them all in one by one. Everyone of them believed that he was seeking a victim whose place he coveted. The rebel leader read this thought plainly in the faces of the dignitaries. Once more he ran his eyes over them, then he spoke.

"Glorious Padishah! as the merit of thy elevation belongeth not to me but to thy people, let the reward be theirs whose is the merit. A heavy burden oppresses thy slaves, and the name of that burden is Malikane. It is the farming out of the taxes for the lives of the holders thereof which puts money into the pockets of the high officers of state and the pashas, so that the Sublime Porte derives no benefit therefrom. Abolish, O Padishah, this farming out of the revenue, so that the destiny of the people may be in thy hands alone, and not in the hands of these rich usurers!"

And with these words he waved his hand defiantly in the direction of the viziers and the magnates.

Deep silence fell upon them. Through the closed doors resounded the tempestuous roar of the multitudes assembled around the Seraglio. Those within it trembled, and Halil Patrona stood there among them like an enchanter who knows that he is invulnerable, immortal.

But the Sultan immediately commanded the Ciaus Aga to proclaim to the people with a trumpet-blast at the gates of the Seraglio, that at the desire of Halil Patrona the Malikane was from this day forth abolished.

The shout which arose the next moment and made the very walls of the Seraglio tremble was ample evidence of the profound impression which this announcement made.

"And now place thyself at the head of thy host," said Halil, "accept the invitation of thy people to go to the Ejub mosque, in order that the Silihdars may gird thee with the Sword of the Prophet according to ancient custom."

The Sultan thereupon caused it to be announced that in an hour's time he would proceed to the mosque of Ejub, there to be girded with the Sword of the Prophet.

With a shout of joy the people pressed towards the mosque in their thousands, crowding all the streets and all the house-tops between the mosque and the Seraglio. The cannons of the Bosphorus sent thundering messages to the distant mountains of the joy of Stambul, and an hour later, to the sound of martial music, Mahmud held his triumphal progress through the streets of his capital on horseback; and the people waved rich tapestries at him from the house-tops and scattered flowers in his path. Behind him came radiant knightly viziers and nobles, and venerable councillors in splendid apparel on gorgeous full bloods; but in front of him walked two men alone, Halil Patrona and Musli, both in plain, simple garments, with naked calves, on their heads small round turbans, and with drawn swords in their hands as is the wont of the common Janissaries when on the march.

And the people sitting on the house-tops shouted the name of Halil just as often and just as loudly as they shouted the name of Mahmud.

The firing of the last salvo announced that the Sultan had arrived at the Ejub mosque.

Ispirizade, the chief imam of the Aja Sophia mosque, already awaited him. He had asked Halil as a favour that he might bless the new Sultan, and Halil had granted his request. Since he had ventured into the Seraglio everyone had obeyed his words. The people now whispered everywhere that the Sultan was doing everything which Halil Patrona demanded.

Ispirizade had already mounted the lofty pulpit when Mahmud and his suite took their places on the lofty dais set apart for them.

The chief priest's face was radiant with triumph. He extended his hands above his head and thrice pronounced the name of Allah. And when he had thus thrice called upon the name of God, his lips suddenly grew dumb, and there for a few moments he stood stiffly, with his hands raised towards Heaven and wide open eyes, and then he suddenly fell down dead from the pulpit.

"'Tis the dumb curse of Achmed!" whispered the awe-stricken spectators to one another.

FOOTNOTE:

[2] Farthing. _

Read next: Chapter 10. The Feast Of Halwet

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