MAURUS JOKAI

THE LION OF JANINA
OR
THE LAST DAYS OF THE JANISSARIES

A Turkish Novel

TRANSLATED BY
R. NISBET BAIN

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
1898

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

THE GREEN BOOK; or, Freedom Under the Snow. A Novel. Translated by Mrs. Waugh. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 50. (In "The Odd Number Series.")

BLACK DIAMONDS. A Novel. Translated by Frances A. Gerard. With a Photogravure Portrait of the Author. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 50. (In "The Odd Number Series.")

HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
NEW YORK AND LONDON.

Copyright, 1897, by Harper & Brothers.

All rights reserved.

THE LION OF JANINA

PREFACE

The first edition of Janicsárok végnapjai appeared forty-five years ago. It was immediately preceded by the great historical romance, Erdely aranykora (The Golden Age of Transylvania), and the still more famous novel of manners, Egy Magyar Nábob (A Hungarian Nabob), which Hungarians regard as, indisputably, Jókai's masterpiece, while only a few months separate it from Kárpáthy Zoltán (Sultan Karpathy), the brilliant sequel to the Nabob. Thus it belongs to the author's best literary period.

It is also one of the most striking specimens of that peculiar group of Turkish stories, such as Törökvilag Magyarorszagon (Turkey in Hungary) and Török mozgolmak (Turkish Incursions), A kétszarvú ember (The Man with the Antlers), and the extremely popular Fehér rózsa (White Rose), which form a genre apart of Jókai's own creation, in which his exuberant imagination revels in the rich colors of the gorgeous East, as in its proper element, while his ever alert humor makes the most of the sharp and strange contrasts of Oriental life and society. The hero of the strange and terrible drama, or, rather, series of dramas, unfolded with such spirit, skill, and vividness in Janicsárok végnapjai, is Ali Pasha of Janina, certainly one of the most brilliant, picturesque, and, it must be added, capable ruffians that even Turkish history can produce. Manifold and monstrous as were Ali's crimes, his astonishing ability and splendid courage lend a sort of savage sublimity even to his blood-stained career, and, indeed, the dogged valor with which the octogenarian warrior defended himself at the last in his stronghold against the whole might of the Ottoman Empire is almost without a parallel in history.

With such a hero, it is evident that the book must abound in stirring and even tremendous scenes; but, though primarily a novel of incident, it contains not a few fine studies of Oriental character, both Turkish and Greek, by an absolutely impartial observer, who can detect the worth of the Osmanli in the midst of his apathy and brutality, and who, although sympathetically inclined towards the Hellenes, is by no means blind to their craft and double-dealing, happily satirized in the comic character of Leonidas Argyrocantharides.

Finally, I have taken the liberty to alter the title of the story. Janicsárok végnapjai (The Last Days of the Janissaries) is too glaringly inapt to pass muster, inasmuch as the rebellion and annihilation of that dangerous corps is a mere inessential episode at the end of the story. I have, therefore, given the place of honor on the title-page to Ali Pasha—the Lion of Janina.

I have added a glossary of the Turkish words used by the author in these pages.

R. Nisbet Bain.

Contents

The Lion of Janina

CHAPTER I
THE CAVERNS OF SELEUCIA

A savage, barren, inhospitable region lies before us, the cavernous valley of Seleucia—a veritable home for an anchorite, for there is nothing therein to remind one of the living world; the whole district resembles a vast ruined tomb, with its base overgrown by green weeds. Here is everything which begets gloom—the blackest religious fanaticism, the darkest monstrosities of superstition—while an eternal malediction seems to brood like a heavy mist over this region, created surely by God's left hand, scattering abroad gigantic rocky fragments, smiting the earth with unfruitfulness, and making it uninhabitable by the children of men.

Man rarely visits these parts. And, indeed, why should he come, or what should he seek there? There is absolutely nothing in the whole region that is dear to the heart of man. Even the wild beast makes no abiding lair for himself in that valley. Only now and then, in the burning days of summer, a lion of the wilderness, flying from before the sultry heat, may, perchance, come there to devour his captured prey, and then, when he is well gorged, pursue his way, wrangling as he goes with the echo of his own roar.

Solitary travellers of an enterprising turn of mind do occasionally visit this dreary wilderness; but so crushing an impression does it make on all who have the courage to gaze upon it, that they scarce wait to explore the historic ground, but hasten from it as fast as their legs can carry them.

What is there to see there, after all? A battered-down wall, as to which none can say who built it, or why it was built, or who destroyed it. A tall stone column, the column of the worthy Simon Stylites, who piled it up, stone upon stone, year after year, with his own hands, being wont to sit there for days together with arms extended in the shape of a cross, bowing himself thousands and thousands of times a day till his head touched his feet. The northern and southern sides of the valley are cut off from the rest of the world by gigantic masses of rocks as steep and solid as the bastions of a fortress; only towards their summit, at an elevation of some three to four hundred yards, is a little strip of green vegetation visible.

Darkly visible at intervals in this long and steep rocky wall are the mouths of a series of caverns, of various sizes, all close together. It looks as if some monstrous antediluvian race had cut two or three stories of doors and windows into the living rock, in order to make themselves palaces to dwell in.

The walls of these caverns are so rugged, their bases are so irregular, that it is scarcely conceivable that they could be the work of human hands, unless, indeed, the arched concavities of the chasms and the regular consecutiveness of the series may be assumed to bear witness to the wonder-working power of finite forces.

Three of the entrances to these caverns have all the loftiness of triumphal arches; nay, one of them, carved in the base of the rock, is so exceptionally vast that it rather resembles the nave of a huge church, and is said to penetrate the whole mountain to the sea beyond. It is said that if any one has the courage to attempt the journey, he will discover mysterious hieroglyphics carved on the walls. Who could have been the authors of this unknown runic language? The Chaldeans perhaps, or the worshippers of Mithra. What hidden secrets, what human memorials are enshrined in these symbols? That question must remain forever without an answer.

Most probably this valley was used as a burial-place by some long-vanished nation, whose tombs have survived them, making the whole region still more dreadful; the gaping crevices of the rocks seem to proclaim, as from a hundred open throats, that here an extinct race has found its last resting-place.

Moreover, the largest cavern of all has the unusual property of sometimes emitting whistling sounds like interrupted human voices. The shepherds on the mountain summits listen terror-stricken to this bellowing of its rocky throat. At first it resembles the buzzing of imprisoned wasps, but the din gradually gathers force and volume till it seems as if the demons of the wind had lost their way within the cavern, and were roaring tumultuously in their endeavors to find an exit. This noise is generally followed by the blast of the simoon, which no doubt penetrates into the cavern through a gap on the other side, and thus gives rise to the mysterious voices of the valley.

But not on these occasions only; at other seasons also the cavern is wont to speak. It happens now and then that a shepherd, more foolhardy than his fellows, ventures into the hollow of the cavern to light a fire, and, full of bravado, provokes the dzhin of the cavern to appear, till the cavern suddenly re-echoes his voice; but it does not re-echo the words he utters, but replies in a soft, low accent to the insolent youth, bidding him withdraw and cease to mock God's creatures.

On another occasion an adulterous woman and her paramour strolled towards the spot with the intent of using the deep darkness as the cloak for their sinful joys; but what terror filled the guilty lovers when their sweet whispering was interrupted by a voice which was neither near nor far, and belonged neither to man nor spirit, but whose cold sigh turned their hot blood into ice as it whispered, "Allah is everywhere present!"

Once, too, some robbers were lying in wait for their comrades, whom they intended to murder in that place, when a roaring began in the cave which seemed to make the very welkin ring, and the murderers clearly distinguished the terrible words: "The eye of Allah is upon you, and the flames of Morhut are burning for your souls!" whereupon, insane with fright, they rushed from the cave.

Every one who lived near the place knew of, and believed in, the dzhin of the cavern, who, they said, harmed not the good, but persecuted evil-doers.

But it was not only terror-stricken hearts who knew of the voice of the invisible dzhin—crushed and bleeding hearts likewise repaired thither. And the invisible dzhin read their secrets; they had no need to acquaint him with their griefs, and he gave them good counsel, and, for the most part, sent them away comforted. Doubtless anybody else might have given them similar counsels; but if the advice had come from ordinary men, the suppliants would not perhaps have welcomed it with such enthusiasm, or have turned it to such good account.

And people often came thither to inquire into the future; and the invisible being, it was found, could distinguish between those who came to him in real anguish of mind and those whom only curiosity had attracted thither, or who merely wished to prove him. To the latter he made no answer, but to the former he often spoke in prophetic parables, whose deeply figurative meaning was frequently fulfilled word for word.

The superstitious common folk made a merit of sacrificing to this unknown being. The dwellers round about made a point of living on good terms with him, took care not to provoke him with vain words, did not fly to him at every trifle; nay, on one occasion, the Kadi[1] of Seleucia even laid by the heels a couple of wanton rascals who were caught throwing stones into the cavern.

[1] For this and all other Turkish words see the glossary at the end of this book.

From the mouth of the cave inward extended a sort of staircase consisting of about forty steps, terminating at a point whither the light of day scarcely ever reached. Here stood a huge stone, not unlike a rude altar, in the midst of which was a slight hollow. This hollow the pious inhabitants of the district used to fill with rice or millet, and on returning next day they would see that the dzhin had removed it from thence, and, by way of payment, had left a small silver coin in this natural basin—a coin belonging to that old silver money which had been struck in the brilliant days of the Turkish Empire, and was worth thrice as much as the present coinage. Thus the dzhin would take nothing gratis, but paid for everything in ready money.

Those who wished to speak with him had to penetrate into the depths of the cave where no daylight was visible, for he was only to be found where the darkness was complete. If any one went with sword or dagger he got no answer at all. And a visitor standing alone there in the darkness was as plainly visible to the dzhin as if the glare of noonday were beating full upon him; not a change of countenance was hidden from this mysterious being. So they more readily believed that he who could thus see through the darkness of earth could also see through the darkness of human hearts and the darkness of the unrevealed future.

This marvel had now been notorious for fifty years, the ordinary span of human life, and princes, pashas, generals, wise men, priests, ulemas, were in the habit of visiting the abode of the dzhin, who seemed to know about everything that was going on in the world above. To many he prophesied death, and to those who pleased him not he foretold the Nemesis that was to come upon them as a reward for their iniquities.

In the year one thousand eight hundred and nineteen, at the season immediately following the raging of the simoon, it chanced that a pirate ship sailed into the haven of Suda, whence the magnificent ruins of the ancient Seleucia are still to be seen. The corsair carried the French flag, but her crew consisted entirely of Albanians. The deck was encumbered with wreckage, cast down upon it by the happily weathered tempest, and this the crew were energetically engaged in removing; but every one on shore was astounded to see her there at all, much more in such trim condition, for she had lost neither mast nor sail. But then, after the manner of corsairs in general, she was very much better equipped with both masts and sails than ships of ordinary tonnage are wont to be. In the same hour that the ship cast anchor the largest of her boats was lowered, and manned by four and twenty well-armed Trinariots. Every one of these stout fellows carried orders of merit on his cheek, the scars of many a battle, which accentuated the savage sternness of their weather-beaten faces.

A little old man descended after them into the boat; presently his horse was also let down by means of a crane. This was the officer in command. He was a middling-sized but very muscular old fellow, already beyond his seventieth and not very far from his eightieth year; but he was as vigorous now both in mind and body as he had been when his beard, which now swept across his breast like the wing of a swan, was as dark as the raven's plume.

His broad shoulders spoke of extraordinary strength, while the firm expression of his face, the flashing lustre of his eyes, and his calm and valiant look, testified to the fact that this strength was squandered upon no coward soul.

Some stout rowing brought the boat at last near to the shore, but not all the efforts of the men could bring her to land; the wash of the sea was so great that the foam-crested waves again and again drove the boat back from the shore.

At a sign from the old man three of the ship's crew leaped into the waves in order to drag after them the boat's hawser, but the sea tore it out of the hands of all three as easily as a wild bull would toss a pack of children.

Then the old man vaulted upon his steed, kicking the stirrups aside, and leaped among the churning waves. Twice the horse was jostled back by the assault of the foaming billows, but at the third attempt the shore was reached. The people on the shore said it was a miracle; but he, wasting no words upon any one, directed his way all alone along the shore of the haven, and leaving behind him the lofty turreted row of bastions—which crowns the edge of the rocky promontory, encircles the town, and hangs upon the shoulders of the hill like an ancient and gigantic necklace—picked his way among the lofty, scattered bowlders, and, unescorted as he was, quickly disappeared from view amid the wilderness.

He had scarcely proceeded more than half an hour among the fig and olive trees which covered the slopes of the hills, and whose scorched and withered leaves marked the passage of the burning wind, when he arrived at the place he sought. It was a crazy, tumble-down hut, whose shapeless mass was so clumsily compounded of wood, stone, and mud, that a swallow would have been ashamed to own it, let alone a beaver, whose ordinary habitation is an architectural masterpiece compared with it. Nature, however, had been gracious to this shanty, and clothed it with creeping plants, which nearly hid away all the superfluous cracks and crevices which the architect had left behind him.

It was here that the new-comer dismounted from his horse, tied it to a tree, and, proceeding to the latchless door, amused himself by reading the scrawl which had been written on the outside of it, and was, as usual, one of those sacred texts which the Turks love to see over their door-posts: "Accursed be he who disturbs a singing-bird!"

The stranger fell a listening. Surely there was no singing-bird here, he thought. Then he went on reading what followed: "He who knocks at the gate of him who prays will knock in vain at the gate of Paradise."

The stranger did not take the trouble to knock; he simply kicked the door down.

Within was kneeling an anchorite of the order of Erdbuhár on a piece of matting. He was naked to the girdle, and before him stood a wooden tub full of fresh water. He was just finishing his ablutions.

He did not seem to observe the violent inroad of the stranger, but concluded his religious exercises with great fervor. First of all he washed his hands, reciting thirty times the sacred words, "Blessed be God, Who hath given to water its purifying power, and hath revealed the true faith to us!" Next he thrice conveyed water to his mouth in his right palm, and prayed, "O Lord! O Allah! refresh me with the water Thou didst give to Thy Prophet Muhammad in Paradise, which is more fragrant than balm, whiter than milk, and sweeter than honey, and satisfies eternally those who pine with thirst!" Then, with the palm of his hand, he cast water upon his nostrils, and exclaimed, fervently, "O Lord! cause me to smell the perfume of Paradise, which is sweeter than musk and ambergris, and suffer me not to inhale the accursed fumes of hell!" Then, filling both palms with water and well washing his face, he said these words, "Purify my face, O Lord, like as Thou wilt purify the faces of Thy prophets and servants on the great Day of Judgment!" But even this did not suffice, for now he put water in his right palm again, and, letting it run down his elbows, he sighed, "Lord, suffer me at the last day to hold in my right hand, which is the hand of Thine elect, the book of my good deeds, and admit me to Thy Paradise!" With that he dipped his head into the tub of water, but so as to keep his mouth clear of it, and spake in this wise, "O Lord, when I appear before Thee, encompass me with Thy mercies, and crush not my head beneath the fiery wreath of my sins, but adorn it with the golden crown of my merits!" Then came the turn of his ears, the worthy man crying the while, with unction, "Grant, O Lord, that mine ears may hear, for ever and ever, those joyous sounds which are written in the Kuran!" This accomplished, he sprinkled his neck and throat, suitably exclaiming, "O Lord, deliver me from those fetters which will be cast upon the necks of the accursed!" After which pious ejaculation he sat down on the ground, and, reverently washing his right foot, exclaimed, "O Lord, suffer not my feet to slip on the bridge of Alserat which leads across hell to heaven!" Then he cleansed thoroughly his left foot also, and sighed, "May the Lord forgive me my trespasses and listen to my supplications!"

And the honest dervish did not utter all these pious ejaculations in a low mumble, but in an intelligible, exalted voice, as becomes an orthodox Mussulman, who does not consider it a shameful thing to pray to God in the presence of men.

After that he took up the tub and, carrying it out, sprinkled the water it contained over the wild flowers growing there, blessing them severally and collectively; then he filled it full again with fresh water from the spring, and bringing it back into the hut and turning the mat over, placed the tub full of water on it, whereupon the stranger immediately divested himself of his slippers and upper kaftan, unwound his turban, removed his red fez from his head, and proceeded to perform his ablutions also in the self-same manner.

When he had finished he kissed the hand of the dervish, and when the latter drew from his girdle a long manuscript reaching to the very ground, and began, from its eighty sections, to laud and magnify the eighty properties of Allah, the stranger repeated them after him with great unction, and, at the end of each one of them, intoned with him twice over the verse, "La illah, il Allah, Muhammad roszul Allah!"—in the chanting of which he was as practised as any muezzin.

All these pious practices were accomplished with the utmost devotion; but when the new-comer arose from his place, the expression of lowliness vanished from his features and he reassumed his former commanding look, while the dervish now humbly bowed down before him to the very earth and murmured:

"What are my lord's commands to his servant?"

The stranger let him lie there and slowly raised his sword.

"Art thou," cried he, "that dervish of Erdbuhár[2] to whom I despatched a fakir of the Nimetullahitas, who dwelleth in Janina?"

[2] The orders of Erdbuhár and Nimetullahita are the severest of all the Turkish religious fraternities: the former fast so rigorously twice a week that they do not even swallow their saliva; the latter observe the fast only during their year of probation, after which they are free to return to the joys of this world.

"Thy servant is that man."

The stranger thereupon, with his right hand, drew a dagger from his girdle, and with his left hand a purse.

"Dost thou see this dagger and this purse?" said he. "In the purse are a thousand sequins; on the blade of this sword is the blood of at least as many murdered men. I ask thee not—Dost thou recognize me? or dost thou know my name? Maybe thou dost know—for thou knowest all things—and, if so, thou dost also know that none hath ever betrayed me on whom I have not wreaked my vengeance. If, therefore, thou dost want a reward, listen; but if chastisement, speak!"

The dervish raised his hand to his ear to signify that he would prefer to listen.

"Arise, then! take my horse's bridle, and lead me to that cavern where dwelleth the dzhin of prophecy. Dost thou know him?"

"I know him, my master, but go to him I will not, for he is wroth with me. He loves not the dervishes, because they would always be teaching. If I go to him he throws stones at me from out of the cavern, or leads me into deep pitfalls. Therefore, if thou so desire it, I will lead thee thither; but I would not go with thee if I had as many heads upon my shoulders for thy sword to sever as there are sequins in that purse."

"There is no need of that. Thou canst remain outside and hold my horse."

And with that the herculean old man flung himself haughtily on his horse, and the dervish, seizing the steed's bridle, began to lead him along the mountain path among the rugged rocks and bowlders.

The moon was already high in the heavens when they reached the mouth of the cavern.

Looking back upon the country whence they came, the region seemed more desolate than ever. In front, the savage, natural ruins; behind, the black cedar forests, where thick foliage cast night-black shadows even at noonday; on each side, the endlessly sublime masses of rocks, which stood out still vaster in the moonlight. The caverns looked still blacker at night, and the rock and ruins more sterile; but, night and day alike, the place was deserted.

On reaching the cavern of the dzhin, the old man dismounted from his horse and, bidding the dervish stand and hold it till he returned, disappeared in the cavern without the slightest hesitation.

He could only grope his way, step by step, through the blinding darkness; cautiously he advanced, but without fear. He tested the ground in front of him as he advanced, with one hand over his eyes and the other on the hilt of his sword. It must, indeed, be a resolutely wicked spirit that would venture to attack him.

Every now and then a bat sped rapidly past him, close to his ears, with a sound like a mocking titter; at other times he trod upon some cold, moving body. But what cared he for these? The deep silence which encircled him was far more terrible than all the voices of hell; and not even the darkness terrified him, for his powerful voice now pierced that subterranean stillness as with a sword.

"I summon thee, thou spirit, whether thou art good or evil, whom Allah permits to hold discourse with living men—I summon thee to speak with me!"

"I am even now beside thee," a voice suddenly whispered. It was low and hollow, just as if the atmosphere of the cavern were speaking.

The stranger made a clutch after the voice, as if his audacious hand would have seized the spirit; but he found nothing. It was a voice without a shape.

"Speak to me!" cried the old man, in a voice that never quavered. "Dost thou know my fate?"

"I know it," answered the invisible voice; "thou art a poor man who hast lost what thou hadst, and what thou now hast is not thine."

"Thou art a senseless spirit," growled the stranger. "Go back to thy tomb and slumber; I will inquire nothing more of thee. Thou dost not even know my present fate; how canst thou know my future? Go back to thy hole, I say, and sleep in peace."

"I know thee," continued the voice, "and I have spoken the truth. Do not they call thee Ali Tepelenti?"

The stranger was amazed. "That is indeed my name," he answered.

"Wert thou not a fugitive yesterday, and wilt thou not be dust and ashes to-morrow?"

"True; but that yesterday was eighty years ago; and who shall say when to-morrow will be?"

"Thou knowest that here there is neither morning nor evening," answered the voice. "To me yesterday was when I last saw the sun, and to-morrow will be when I see it again. Ali Tepelenti, Lord of Janina, thou art poorer than the lowliest Mussulman who girds himself with a girdle of hair, for thou hast lost everything which thou didst account precious. Thy kinsmen, who were for thy defence, thou hast slain; thy mother, who loved thee, thou hast strangled; thy right hand has pulled down the house which thou didst build up; thy glory, in which thou didst exalt thyself, has become a curse to thee; and thou hast made bitter haters of those who loved thee best."

"So it is. I know what I have done. I repent me of nothing. The hare nibbles the flower, the vulture seizes the hare, the hunter slays the vulture, the lion fells the hunter, the worm devours the lion. All of us turn to earth. Allah is mighty, and He orders it so. What am I? Only a bigger worm than the rest. Who shall strive with God? What is my fate in the future?"

"But yesterday thou wert younger than thy newborn son, to-morrow thou shalt die older than thy oldest ancestors."

"Speak more plainly. I perceive the meaning of thy words as little as I perceive thyself."

"'He who sins with the sword shall perish with the sword,' saith Allah. He who sins with love, shall perish by love. Thou hast two hands, the right and the left; thou hast two swords, one covered with gold and one with silver; thou hast three hundred wives in thy harem, but only one in thy heart; thou hast twelve sons, but only one whom thou lovest. Look, now! Take good heed of thy life, for thy death lieth in what is nearest to thee; thine own weapon, thine own child, thine own property, thine own two hands, shall one day slay thee."

"Mashallah! Death is inevitable. Tell me but one thing. Shall I one day pass in triumph through the gates of the seraglio at Stambul?"

"Thou shalt. Thou shalt stand there on a silver pedestal in the face of the rejoicing multitude."

"When?"

"That day will come when thou shalt be in two places at the same time, in Janina and in Stambul; the days to come will explain it."

"One word more. Wherefore didst thou mention that woman whom I love best?"

"She will be the first to betray thee."

"Accursed one!" roared Ali, drawing his sword and madly striking in the direction of the voice.

The sword hissed fiercely through the vacant air, and the next moment the voice replied from a respectable distance:

"It has happened already."

"This is a dream, all a dream!" moaned Ali.

"'Tis no dream; thou art wide awake," cried the mysterious voice.

"If it be no dream, give me a sign that I may know before I depart hence that I have not been dreaming."

"First put thy sword into its sheath."

"I have done so," said Ali; but he lied, for he had only slipped it into his girdle.

"Into the sheath, I say," cried the voice.

It was with a tremor that Ali felt that this being could distinguish his slightest movement in the dark.

"And now stretch forth thy hand!" cried the voice. It was now quite close to him.

Ali stretched forth his hand, and the same instant he felt a vigorous, manly hand seize his own in a grasp of steel; so strong, so cruel was the pressure that the blood started from the tips of his fingers.

At last the invisible being let go, and said in a whisper as it did so:

"Not a muscle of thy face moved under the pressure of my hand; only Tepelenti could so have endured."

"And there is but one man living who could press my hand like that," replied Ali. "His name was Behram, the son of Halil Patrona,[3] who, forty years ago, was my companion in warfare, and has since disappeared. Who art thou?"

[3] The extraordinary adventures of this Mussulman reformer are recorded in another of Jókai's Turkish stories, A feher rózsa (The White Rose).

"Aleikum unallah!"[4] said the voice, instead of replying.

[4] "God be with thee!"

"Who art thou?" again cried Ali, advancing a step.

"Aleikum unallah!" was the parting salutation of the already far-distant voice.

The mighty pasha turned back in a reverie, and when he got back into the moonlight, he still saw plainly on his hand the drops of blood which that powerful grasp had caused to leap forth from the tips of his fingers.

CHAPTER II
EMINAH

And now for a story, a marvellous story, that would not be out of place in a fairy tale! Away to another clime where the very sunbeams and blossoms, where the very beating of loving hearts, differ from what we are accustomed to.

In whichever direction we look around us, we shall see the land of the gods rising up before us in classical sublimity, the mountains of Hellas, the triumphal home of sun-bright heroes. There is the mountain whence Zeus cast forth his thunderbolts, the grove where the thorns of roses scratched the tender feet of Aphrodite, and perchance a whole olive grove sprung from the tree into which the nymph, favored and pursued by Apollo, was metamorphosed. The sunlit summits of snowy Œta and Ossa still sparkle there when the declining sun kindles his beacons upon them, and Olympus still has its thunderbolts; yet it is no longer Zeus who casts them, but Ali Tepelenti, Pasha of Albania and master of half the Turkish Empire, and the rose which the blood of Venus dyed crimson blooms for him, and the laurel sprung from the love of Apollo puts forth her green garlands for him also.

The poetic figures of the bright gods are seen no more on the quiet mountain. With a long gun over his shoulder, a palikár walks hither and thither, who has built his hut in a lurking-place where Ali Pasha will not find it. The high porticos lie level with the ground; the paths of Leonidas and Themistocles are covered with sentry-boxes, that none may pass that way.

From the summit of the mighty Lithanizza you can look down upon the fairy-like city which dominates Albania. It is Janina, the historically renowned Janina.

Beside it stands the lake of Acheruz, in whose green mirror the city can regard itself; there it is in duplicate. It is as deep as it is high. The golden half-moons of the minarets sparkle in the lake and in the sky at the same time. The roofless white houses, rising one above another, seem melted into a compact mass, and they are encircled by red bastions, with exits out of eight gates.

But what have we to do with the minarets, the bazaars, the kiosks of the city? Beyond the city, where Cocytus, rippling down from the wooded mountain, forms, with the lake into which it flows, a peninsula, there, on an isthmus, stands the strong fortress of Ali Pasha, with vast, massive bastions, a heavy, iron-plated drawbridge, and a ditch in front of the walls full of solid sharp-pointed stakes in two fathoms of water. From the summits of the ramparts the throats of a hundred cannons gape down upon the town—iron dogs, whose barking can be heard four miles off. On the walls an innumerable multitude of armed men keep watch, and in front of the gate the guns look out upon each other from the port-holes of the steep bastions on both sides of it. Woe to those who should attempt to make their way into the citadel by force! The gate, fastened with a huge chain, is defended by three heavy iron gratings, and from close beneath the lofty projecting roof circular pieces of artillery shine forth, in front of which are pyramidal stacks of bombs.

The court-yard forms a huge crescent, in which nothing is visible but instruments of warfare, engines of destruction. In the lower part of the semicircular barracks stand the sentry-boxes, while in the opposite semicircle a long pavilion cuts the fortress in two, extending from the end of one semicircle to the end of the other, and here are three gates, which lead into the heart of the fortress.

In all this long building there are no windows above the court-yard, only two rows of narrow embrasures are visible therein. All the windows are on the other side overlooking the garden, and there dwell the odalisks of Ali Pasha's three sons. The three sons, Omar, Almuhán, and Zaid, inhabit the building with the three gates. The back of this building looks out upon the garden, in which the harems of the pasha's sons are wont to disport themselves.

Here again a long bastion barricades the garden, a bastion also protected by trenches full of water, across whose iron bridge you gain admission into the pasha's inmost fortress.

And what is that like? Nobody can tell. The brass gates, covered with silver arabesques, seem to be eternally closed, and none ever comes in or goes out save Ali and his dumb eunuchs, and those captives whose heads alone are sent back again. The bastion surrounding this central fortress is so high that you cannot look into it from the top of the citadel outside; but if any one could peep down upon it from the summit of the lofty Lithanizza he would perceive inside it a fairy palace, with walls of colored marble protected by silver trellis-work, with blue-painted, brazen cupolas, with golden half-moons on their pointed spires. One tower there, the largest of all, has a roof of red cast-iron, and this one roof stands out prominently from among all the other buildings of the inner fortress. The colored kiosks are everywhere wreathed with garlands of flowers, and the spectator perched aloft would plainly discern cradles for growing vines on the top of the bastion. He might also, in the dusk of the summer evenings, distinguish seductive shapes bathing in the basins of the fountains, and lose his reason while he gazed; or it might chance (which is much more likely) that Ali Pasha's patrols might come upon him unawares and cast him down from the mountain-top.

This wondrous retreat was Ali's paradise. Here he grouped together the most beautiful flowers of the round world—flowers sprung from the earth or from a human mother. For maidens also are flowers, and may be plucked and enjoyed like other flowers. But the most beautiful among so many beautiful flowers was Eminah, Tepelenti's favorite damsel, the sixteen-years-old daughter of the Pasha of Delvino, who gave her to Ali just as so many eminent Turks are wont to give their daughters. On the day of their birth they promise to give them to some powerful magnate, and by the time the fiancée is marriageable the fiancé has already one foot in his grave.

A pale, blue-eyed flower was she, looking as if she had grown up beneath the light of the moon instead of the light of the sun; her shape, her figure, was so delicate that it reminded one of those sylphs of the fairy world that fly without wings. Her voice was sweeter, more tender, than the voices of the other damsels; and, wiser than they, she could speak so that you felt rather than heard what she said. Ali loved to toy with her light hair, unwind the long folds of her tresses, cover his face with their silken richness, and fancy he was reposing in the shades of paradise.

And the child loved the man. Ali was a handsome old fellow. His beard was as glossy and as purely white as the wing of a swan; the roses of his cheeks had not yet faded; when he smiled he was no longer a tiger, but revealed a row of teeth even handsomer than her own. And, in addition to that, he was valiant—a hero. Even in old men love is no mere impotent desire when accompanied with all the vigorous passion of youth.

And Eminah knew not that there were such beings as youths in the world. Excepting her father and her husband, she had never seen a man, and therefore fancied that other men also had just such white beards and silvery eyelashes as they. Brought up from the days of her childhood in the midst of a harem, among women and eunuchs, she had not the remotest idea of the romantic visions which the hearts of love-sick girls are wont to form from the contemplation of their ideals; to her her husband was the most perfect man for whom a woman's heart had ever beaten, and she clung to him as if he had been a supernatural being.

In her heart Eminah pictured Ali as one of those beneficent genii who in the marvellous tales of the Arabs rise up from the bowels of the earth and the depths of the sea, a hundred times greater than ordinary men, ten times younger, and a thousand times more powerful, who are wont to give talismanic rings to their earthly favorites, appearing before them when they turn this ring in order to instantly gratify their desires, their wishes; to transport them from place to place with their huge muscular hands, to make them ride a cock-horse on their middle fingers, play hide-and-seek with them in the thousand corners of their vast palaces, watch over them when they sleep, overwhelm them with heaps and heaps of gifts and treasures, and yet are gentle and complacent in spite of their immense power. They need but take one step to crush the towers and bastions of the mightiest fortress in the dust, and yet they walk so warily as not even to graze the tiny ant they meet upon their path. Why, once Ali had waded into the lake up to his waist to rescue two amorously fluttering butterflies that had fallen into it! Oh! Ali has such a sensitive soul that he weeps over the bird that has accidentally beaten itself to death against the bars of its cage; whenever he plucks a flower from its stalk he always raises it to his lips to beg its pardon; and when they told him how at the siege of Kilsura all the poor doves were burned, the tears sparkled in his eyes!

Eminah does not fully know the meaning of a siege; she only grieves for the poor doves. How they would hover above the burning town in white clusters amid the black smoke, and fall down into the fire below!

In reality the matter stood thus: Ali was besieging Kilsura, but could not take it; the besiegers fought valiantly, and the natural advantages of the place prevented him from drawing near enough to it. So he signified to the inhabitants that he would make peace with them and depart from their town, and desired them, in earnest of their pacific intentions, to send him a number of white doves. The besieged fell in with his proposal, and collecting together all the white doves in the town they could lay they hands upon, sent them to Ali. He immediately withdrew his siege artillery, with which he had already wrought no small mischief, but at night, when every one was asleep, he fastened fiery matches by long wires to the feet of the doves, and then set them free. The natural instincts of the doves made them fly back to their old homes, the familiar roofs where their nests were, and in a moment the whole town was in flames, the doves themselves carrying the combustible material from roof to roof and perishing themselves among the falling houses.

Ali wept sore as he told to Eminah the story of the doves of Kilsura; yes, Ali was certainly a sensitive soul!

The beautiful woman had everything that eye could covet or heart desire. In her apartments were mirrors as high as the ceiling, masterpieces of Venetian crystal, and the floor was covered with Persian carpets embroidered with flowers. Blossoming flowers and singing birds were in all her windows, and a hundred waiting-women were at her beck and call. From morn to eve Joy and Pleasure were her attendants, and each day presented her with a fresh delight, a fresh surprise.

Thirty rooms, opening one into another, each more magnificent than the last, were hers, and hers alone. The eye that feasted on one splendid object quickly forgot it in the contemplation of a still more splendid marvel, and by the time it had taken them all in was eager to begin again at the beginning.

But there was one thing which did not please Eminah. When one had got to the end of all the thirty rooms, it was plain that they did not end there, for then came a round brass door; and this door was always closed against her—never was she able to go through it. Now this door led into that huge tower with the red cast-iron roof, which could be seen such a distance off.

The inquisitive woman very much wanted to know what was inside this door through which she was never suffered to go, though Ali himself used it frequently, always closing it most carefully behind him, and wearing the key of it fastened to his bosom by a little cord.

Now and then she had asked Ali what was in this tower that she was not allowed to see, and what he did when he remained there all night alone? At such times Ali would reply that he went there to consort with spirits who were teaching him how to find the stone of the wise, how to become perpetually young, how to foresee the future, and make gold and other marvels—all of which it was easy to make a woman believe who did not even know that all men do not wear white beards.

After all such occasions Eminah, when she was alone again, would conjure up before her all sorts of marvellous blue and green denizens of fairyland appearing before Ali in the elements of air, fire, and water, to teach him how to make gold. And Ali always proved to Eminah that what he told her was no idle tale, for whenever he returned the next day he was followed by a whole procession of dumb eunuchs carrying baskets filled with gold and precious stones. Thus Ali not only knew how to make gold, but also those things that are made of gold—that is to say, coined money and filigreed ornaments, which he piled up before her; and to Eminah it seemed a very nice thing, and quite natural that if these peculiar spirits could manufacture gold from nothing, they should also be able to make necklaces and bracelets out of smoke, as Ali told her they did without any difficulty at all.

Now any one would have been curious to get to the bottom of such mysteries, especially if they were close at hand; how much more, then, a spoiled and pampered young woman, who frequently was not able to sleep for the joy which the presents heaped upon her by Ali excited in her breast. How much she would have loved to see these benevolent spirits who had given her so much pleasure!

Frequently she implored Ali to take her with him when he went into the red tower; but the pasha always tried to frighten her by saying that these spirits were most cruel to strangers in general, and women in particular, whom they would be ready to tear limb from limb, so that Eminah always had to abandon her desire.

But when once a woman has made up her mind to do a thing, do it she will, though a seven-headed dragon were to stand in the way; and if fear is a great power in this world, curiosity is a still greater.

One evening Eminah accompanied Ali right up to the brass door, and as he went in she dexterously thrust a little pebble between the door and the threshold. Thus the door not being completely closed, the catch of the lock, despite a double turn of the key, shot back again; so instead of closing the door behind him, as Ali fondly imagined, he left it ajar.

Eminah waited till the sound of her husband's footsteps had quite ceased. Then she softly opened the door, and at first contented herself with peeping in. Perceiving nothing to frighten her back, she ventured right in, cautiously peering around at every step lest any angry spirit should suddenly rise up before her.

Before her lay a long corridor, and she went right to the very end of it. Then she came upon a spiral staircase, which was so dark that she had to painfully grope her way along. A fatal curiosity goaded her on in spite of the darkness, and presently she found herself in a large, round room, dimly lit by a hanging lamp.

All round the walls of this room were arranged marble benches, pitchers of water, funnels, and curious instruments of iron, leather, and wood, of all shapes and sizes, looking all the more incomprehensible in the semi-darkness. These were, no doubt, the implements with which Ali was in the habit of making gold, thought Eminah to herself, and, discovering a convenient niche at the head of the staircase, she squeezed herself into it so that she could see everything from thence without being seen herself.

A few moments afterwards the door at the opposite end of the room opened, and Ali and twelve dumb eunuchs entered with torches. The room was illuminated at once, the eunuchs thrusting the torches into large iron sconces; one of them then proceeded to light the fire and pile up various instruments around it; some sort of liquid also began bubbling in a caldron. Ali meanwhile was sitting down on a camp-stool and distributing his commands in a low voice. "Now we shall see how Ali makes gold," thought Eminah.

But now at a sign from Ali two of the eunuchs entered a trap-door, and a few moments afterwards the rattling of chains was audible; the trap-door opened again, and in came two old men, peculiar-looking creatures, with long gray hair, closely cropped beards, and strange garments, the like of which Eminah had never seen before.

"Ah! no doubt these are the spirits which help Ali to make gold," thought Eminah to herself. "Well, at any rate, they are in chains, so I need not be afraid of them." And, like the timid spectator of some strange drama, she looked out from her hiding-place at the scene which followed.

The two old men were led up to Ali, who, smiling and rubbing his hands, stood up before them, and for a long time did not speak, but only smiled. At last he gently stroked the face of the younger of the two.

"Merchant of Naples, thou still dost not know, then, where thy treasures lie hidden?" said he, gently.

"My lord," replied the other, with desperate obsequiousness, "I have given up everything that was mine. I am indeed a beggar."

"Merchant of Naples! how canst thou say so? Let me refresh thy memory! Thou didst go to Toulon with a full cargo of Indian goods, and there sold it all. When we met together on thy return journey thou didst offer me a thousand ducats, which I also took. But where is the remainder? A profit of twelve thousand ducats appears entered in thy trading-books."

"Those books are false, my lord," said the merchant, in a tearful voice. "I made those totally fictitious entries simply to preserve my credit."

"Merchant of Naples, thou dost calumniate thyself. Thou dost want to make me believe that thou art not an honest man. Forgive me if I enliven thy memory a little."

With that he beckoned to the eunuchs, and they, undressing the merchant, laid him on the torturing slab and tortured him for two mortal hours. It would be too horrible to say what they did to him. Oh, that curious woman amply atoned for her curiosity! She was obliged to look upon tortures which made her limbs shake and shiver as if she were in the grip of an ague. She covered her face, but the howls of the tortured wretch penetrated to her very soul, and her sensitive nerves suffered almost as much as if she had felt these torments herself. Gradually, however, a curious sort of torpor seemed to stop the beating of her heart; her limbs ceased to tremble, she opened her eyes and, motionless as a statue, watched the hellish scene to the very end.

Ali was evidently a past-master in this horrible science. He himself elaborately graduated the whole process, indicating briefly when and how long the thumb-screws, the Spanish boot, the boiling oil, and the water funnel were to be used. Last of all came the culminating torment. They wrapped the merchant round in a raw buffalo-skin and laid him down before the fiercely blazing fire. As the fire began to compress the raw hide, and slowly press together the tortured limbs, the limit of the poor wretch's endurance was reached, and he confessed that his treasures were concealed in an iron chest, fastened by a chain to the bottom of the ship.

Then they freed him from the torturing hide; in a state of collapse, with foaming lips, a bleeding body and dislocated limbs, he flopped down upon the cold marble.

"Thou seest now, my dear," observed Ali, gently, "what trouble thou mightest have saved thyself and me also." Then he beckoned to the eunuchs to remove the merchant.

So this was the way in which Ali made gold! A very simple sort of alchemy, certainly!

And now it was the turn of the second man. And a haughty, broad-shouldered fellow he was, who had regarded the torments of his comrade without moving a muscle of his face.

"Then thou wilt not tell me thy name, valorous warrior?" inquired Ali.

"I will tell thee thine—Devil, Belial, Satan!"

"I thank thee! Thou dost me too much honor. But it is thy name I should like to know. I suppose thou art some wealthy Venetian noble, whose whereabouts his kinsmen are rather anxious to discover, and who would not be ungrateful if any one sent thee back to them. For I value thee very highly."

"Know, then, that I am a rich noble, and that at home I have a palace and treasures, but not a para of my property shalt thou ever see, for I have taken poison. Dost thou not see the blue spots upon my hand? Presently thou wilt see them on my face. In five minutes' time I shall be dead."

And so indeed it fell out. The haughty noble died, while Ali, furious with passion, cursed the Prophet.

And Eminah, from her hiding-place, looked intently upon Ali's face. What must have been her thoughts at that moment?

The eunuchs removed the dead body, and Ali beckoned once more to them, whereupon they brought in through the opposite doors a wondrously beautiful damsel and a handsome youth. When the youth and the damsel beheld each other the tears gushed from their eyes. They were lovers, and lovers meet for each other.

Eminah now perceived with amazement that there were other kinds of men besides those who wore gray beards. The captive youth, with his frank and comely countenance and long black locks, so rejoiced her eyes that she could not take them off him. She had never seen anything of the sort before.

Ali approached the pair and smiled upon them both, and each of them said to him, "I curse thee!"

He said to the youth, "Renounce thy bride and thou shalt live!" and the youth replied, "I curse thee!"

He said to the damsel, "Love me, be mine, and thy betrothed shall live!" and the girl replied, "I curse thee!"

And Eminah unconsciously murmured after them each time, "I curse thee!" without knowing what she was saying.

Then Ali forced the youth down on his knees, and the eunuchs stripped off his robe. One of them then seized him by his beautiful long black hair, and raised him up into the air thereby, while the other stood behind him with a large sharp sword.

"Thy beloved shall die this instant," roared the infuriated Ali, "if thou dost not set him free! Embrace either me or his headless body."

Eminah turned her loathing eyes from the vile face of Ali, which, in that moment, was deformed out of all recognition.

And the young couple replied with one voice, "We curse thee!" It was as though they had taken an oath to say nothing else. The same instant the sword flashed around the youth. His beautiful head bounded into the air, then rolled along the floor to the foot of the spiral staircase, and stood still before the very niche where Eminah was concealed—at her very feet, in fact. The headless body, convulsed by a final spasm, rent its fetters in twain, and then falling prone, stretched out its hands towards the terror-stricken girl, while the severed head, which had rolled up to Eminah's feet, seemed to be murmuring something—anyhow the lips moved. Eminah bending down towards it, put her ears close to the quivering mouth and whispered, "I hear! I hear what thou sayest!" And she really believed she heard something. Perhaps it was only her heart that was speaking.

After that she wrapped the head in her shawl, and hastened away from the tower back into her own room, concealing the ghastly but still beautiful trophy beneath the pillows of her sofa. Then she commanded her odalisks to appear before her, that they might dance and sing.

Dawn was now not far distant, and still the entertainment was going on. Then Ali returned from the red tower—his face was gentle and smiling—and after him came two eunuchs carrying gold and treasure in large baskets; and they emptied them all at Eminah's feet. The damsel rejoiced, laughed at the sight of the treasures, and, throwing herself on Ali's neck, repaid him with kisses, and dragged him down to her on the sofa.

"Behold, the dzhins have sent thee treasures," said Ali. "But a strange thing hath befallen me; one of my treasures rolled away upon the floor, and, search where I will, I cannot find it."

Eminah laughed, and fell a-teasing him. "Perchance the dzhins have stolen it from thee," cried she. Suppose she had said, "Thou art sitting upon it, Ali Pasha?"

Ali Pasha took the damsel upon his lap, and rejoiced in her innocent, artless eyes and her childlike smile. He fancied he could look through those eyes down to the very depths of her heart. If only he could have seen into it!

And while he was thus toying with her, the kadun-keit-khuda entered the room of the odalisks, bringing with him a veiled damsel.

"Gracious lady," said he to Eminah, "I bring thee a Greek maiden, who hath heard the fame of thy benevolence, and hath come of her own accord to bask in the light of thy countenance, and gather fresh strength from my smiles;" and he drew the maiden forward towards Eminah, who immediately recognized the girl whose lover Ali Pasha had decapitated, and said, playfully, to the guardian of the harem:

"Lo, kadun-keit-khuda, the damsel is trembling! If thou dost not support her she will fall!"

"It is by reason of her great shyness, gracious lady."

"But how pale she is!"

"Thy beauty casteth a shadow upon her."

"But look!—she weeps!"

"They are tears of joy, lady."

Eminah gave the guardian of the harem a handful of ducats for his good answers, and allowed the bashful damsel to stand before her. Then she sent for sweetmeats, golden bread-fruits, wine with the lustre of garnets, and her opium narghily; and, cradling Ali's gray head in her bosom, seized her mandolin and sang to him Arab love-songs—hot, burning, rose-scented, dew-besprinkled love-songs—and the pasha drew over his face the long silken tresses of the damsel, as if he would envelop himself in the cool shade of Paradise, and sleep a sleep of sweet melody, intoxicating rapture, and soothing opium.

When the ivory stem of the narghily dropped from the hands of the pasha, Eminah sent from the room all the damsels; only the newly arrived Greek maiden remained behind. She made her sit down before her on a cushion, and, putting into her hands a large silk fan to fan the pasha with, she asked the damsel her name.

The damsel shook her head—she would not say.

"Why wilt thou not tell me?"

"Because I have still a sister at home."

Eminah understood the answer. "Come nearer," said she. "Last night I had a dream. Methought I was in a large tower, the interior of which was illuminated by twelve torches. Whichever way my eyes turned they lit upon horrors—strange, terrifying objects appeared before me; and, although, twelve torches were burning, darkness was still all around. And it seemed to me as if this darkness was not vapor or thick smoke, but a black mass of human beings all wedged together, who raised their eyelids every now and then. After that I saw Ali Pasha sitting in a red velvet chair with golden tiger feet, and as he sat cross-legged, after the Turkish manner, it looked as if the tiger feet were his own feet. Many terrifying shapes passed before me, and at last a young man and a young woman were all who remained in the room, and to every question put to them they replied, 'I curse thee!' Ali Pasha said to the damsel, 'Love me!' and she replied, 'I curse thee!' And immediately the head of the youth began rolling from one end of the marble floor to the other, right up to my feet; and a drop of blood dripped from it on to my slipper, and, strange to say, the drop of blood was still there when I awoke. Look, is that really a drop of blood, or is it only my imagination?"

And therewith Eminah put out her pretty little foot, which hitherto she had kept hidden beneath the folds of her garment, and showed it to the Greek girl. Then the girl fell weeping at her feet and kissed the slipper. But it was not the foot of her mistress that she kissed—no, no; what she kissed was the drop of blood that had dropped upon the slipper.

"Look! that drop of blood has burned right through the morocco leather of my shoe! What will it do, then, to the soul on which it has fallen?"

And with that she withdrew her hair from the pasha's face and looked at him with loathing. Yet he slept as calmly as if he were sleeping the sleep of the just.

For nine and seventy years he had lived happily, joyously, triumphantly, beloved by angels; and all the curses, all the murders, that were upon his aged head were unable to carve one wrinkle on his forehead, or distort a feature of his face, or cut off one day of his life, or even to disturb one of his dreams; and there he lies on one and the same couch with the head of his victim, the only difference being that his head lies on the pillow, while the head of the murdered man lies beneath it.

Eminah bent over him and bared the breast of the sleeper, who slept calmly and regularly all the time.

"On that table lies an enamelled dagger," said she to the girl; "bring it hither."

The girl darted away for the dagger, and came back with it. There she stood, grasping it convulsively in her hand, as if she only awaited a signal to drive it home.

"No, not so," said Eminah. "Cut not off his life, but cut through this cord!" and, taking the key which Ali wore round his neck, she cut it from its cord with the dagger. "This key opens the red tower. When they pitched the dead bodies through the trap-door I heard the roar of falling water. It is certain, therefore, that one can get through the torture-chamber to the lake of Acheruz. We can get down to it by ropes. I can swim, and thou canst also, I am sure; for art thou not a Hydriot girl?[5] When we have reached the heights of Lithanizza we shall find a safe refuge in the midst of the forests. Wherever it is, it will be all one to me. Better to be among wolves and lynxes than near Ali Pasha. Will you do what I say?"

[5] An inhabitant of the isle of Hydra. The Hydriots were remarkable for their enterprise and daring.

The damsel's bosom heaved violently; she hid her head on Eminah's shoulder and kissed her.

"Freedom!" she whispered, full of rapture; "freedom above all things! It is now my only joy."

"Nobody will observe us," said Eminah, spurning aside the jewels, which she loathed now that she knew whence they came. "It is the last night of the Feast of Bairam. Every one is hastening to compensate himself for the privations of the Fast of Ramadan, every one is sleeping or enjoying himself; the greater part of the garrison is making merry in the apartments of the beys; even the sons of Ali Pasha, all three of them, are feasting with Mukhtar Bey. We shall be able to escape them, and then the whole world lies before us."

The Greek girl pressed the lady's hand. "We will go together!" she cried. "My brother dwells among the mountains of Corinth; he is a valiant warrior, and will give us an asylum."

"Then go thither! I shall seek refuge with my kinsmen at Stambul. Now go into the apartments of the odalisks and ask for apparel. I have already hatched a good plan. If they are all asleep come softly back with thy clothes. The kadun-keit-khuda only sleeps with half an eye; beware of him! If he ask thee whither thou art going, show him the pasha's handkerchief, and he will fancy Ali awaits thee."

The face of the Greek girl blushed purple at these words; even to lie on such a subject was a horrible thought to her. But Eminah beckoned to her to be gone, and when she found herself alone she drew forth the head she had concealed beneath the pillow and placed it on a round table in front of her. For a long time she gazed at the sunken eyes, the gaping mouth, and the long black tresses which rolled over the table on both sides. The lady smoothed the raven-black tresses with her soft hand, and passed her fingers right across the noble features without a shudder at their icy coldness.

There she sat an hour long opposite the dead head; and beside her Ali Tepelenti, the terror of the whole region, lay prone in a deep, motionless slumber. It was a strange sight, this young girl alone there between these two horrors. She had resolved to quit Ali and set the Greek damsel free; but what she meant to do after that she herself could not have said.

In an hour's time the Greek damsel returned. She came so softly that nobody could have heard her; even Eminah did not perceive her till the damsel stood before the severed head and uttered a cry of terror. Only for an instant, only for the duration of a lightning-flash did this cry last; the damsel stifled it at once, and if it awoke any one in the palace he must have fancied he was dreaming or had dreamed it, and would go on sleeping again. Then the damsel, in an agony of speechless grief, bent over the head of her betrothed, and her tears flowed in streams, though not a word escaped her lips.

At last Eminah grasped the girl's hand and bade her make haste. So she dried her tears, and after placing the severed head in front of that of the sleeping pasha so that they confronted each other, and cutting off one of the locks from its temples, she covered the cold eyes with bitter, burning kisses, and then, taking up her things, rapidly followed Eminah through the long suite of rooms.

A few minutes later they were in the torture-chamber. It was quite empty; the blood stains had been washed away, there was nothing to recall the horrors of the night before.

They opened the trap-door through which the dead bodies were wont to be cast. At the bottom of the deep black void there was a roaring sound as if the lake were in a commotion. No doubt a tempest was raging outside. How were these girls to escape by way of the subterranean stream? Perhaps some of the headless corpses were also swimming down yonder amidst the foaming waves. Would those who ventured down into those depths ever see the light of day again? But to them it was all one. Better to perish in the deep void than be condemned to the embraces of Ali Pasha. How the two girls abominated him!—the one because he had murdered her love, the other because he had loved her.

"Don't be afraid," they said to each other; and fastening their bundles to a long rope which was used in torturing, they let it down into the deep well, with a lamp at the end of it, and when the water put out the light they fastened the other end of the rope to the hinge of the door, and each in turn let herself down by it.

And whether they lived or whether they died, Ali Pasha lost on that day two talismans which he should have guarded more jealously than the light of his eyes: one was the spirit of blessing, the other the spirit of cursing, both of which he had held fast bound, and both of which had now been let loose.

At the moment when the two damsels plunged into the lake of Acheruz the slumber of tranquillity disappeared from the eyes of Ali Pasha, and he began to see spectres.

A peculiar feeling came over him. He whom phantoms avoided even when he slept, he who had never even dreamed of fear, he whom the angel of sleep had never known to be a coward, now began to experience a peculiar sensation which was worse than any sickness and more painful than any suffering. He was afraid!

He dreamed that the head of the young Suliot, which had been cut off by his order, and which had rolled away and disappeared so that nobody could find it, was now standing face to face with him on a table, staring at him fixedly with stony eyes, and repeatedly addressing the sleeper by name: "Ali Pasha! Ali Pasha!"

The limbs of the sleeper shook all over in a strange tremor.

"Ali Pasha!" he heard the head call for the third time.

Groaning, writhing, and turning himself about, he contrived to knock the head off the cushion, smearing all the bed with blood. And now he saw and heard more terrible things than ever.

"One, two," said the severed head. And Ali understood that this was the number of the years he had still to live. "Thy head hath no longer either hand or foot," continued the head; and Ali was obliged to listen to what it said. "Two severed heads now stand face to face, mine and thine. Why dost thou not reply to me? Why dost thou not look into my eyes? Two headless trunks stand before the throne of God, mine and thine. How shall the Lord recognize thee? He inquires which is Ali. For every soul there is a white garment laid up. And thou deniest thy name, with thy right hand on thy heart. Thou art Ali, for on thy white garment are five bloody finger-prints."

Ali writhed in his sleep, and covered with his hand that part of his caftan which lay over his heart. And all the time the head never disappeared from before his eyes and its lips never closed. Presently it went on again.

"Listen, Ali! Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin! The hand which guided thee in the performance of thy mighty deeds is also bringing thine actions to an end, and thou shalt no longer be a hero whom the world admires, but a robber whom it curses. Those whom thou lovedest will bless the day of thy death, but thine enemies will weep over thee. Moreover, God hath ordained that thou shalt be the ruin of thine own nation."

Ali tossed, sighing and groaning, upon his couch, and could not awake; a world of crime lay upon his breast. He felt the earth shake beneath him, and the sky above his head was dark with masses of black cloud, and the thought of death was a terror to him.

The head went on speaking. "Two birds quitted thy rocky citadel at the same hour, a white dove and a black crow. The white dove is Peace, which has departed from thy towers; the black crow is Vengeance, which will return in search of carcasses at the scent of thy ruin. The white dove is thy damsel, the black crow is mine; and woe to thee from them both!"

Ali, in the desperation of his rage, roared aloud in his sleep, and his violent cry tore asunder the light fetters of sleep. He sprang from his couch and opened wide his eyes—and lo! the severed head was standing before him on the table.

The pasha looked about him in consternation; he was not sufficiently master of himself at first to tell how much of all this was a dream and how much reality. He still seemed to hear the terrible words which had proceeded from those open lips, and his hand involuntarily clutched at his breast as if he would have covered there the five bloody finger-marks. Then the cut cord from which the key was missing fell across his hand, and immediately his presence of mind returned. Drawing his sword, he rushed towards the brazen door, and discovered that the fugitives had had sufficient forethought to close the door and leave the key in the lock outside, so that it could only be opened by force. He turned back and rushed to the end of the dormitories. Some of the odalisks were awakened by the sound of his heavy footsteps, and perceiving his troubled face, plunged underneath their bedclothes in terror; in front of the doors stood the dumb eunuch sentries, leaning on their spears like so many bronze statues.

He rushed down into the garden to the end of the familiar walks, and when he came to the gate was amazed to perceive that the drawbridge which separated his palace from the dwellings of his sons had been let down and nobody was guarding it. The topidshis, the negroes, knowing that Ali always turned into his harem on the Feast of Bairam, had gone across to the palace of Mukhtar Bey, who was giving a great banquet in honor of Vely Bey and Sulaiman Bey, his brothers. All three had brought together their harems to celebrate the occasion, and while the masters were diverting themselves upstairs, their servants were making merry below. Music and the loud mirth of those who feast resounded from the house; every gate of the citadel was open; slaves and guards lying dead drunk in heaps, victims of the forbidden fluid, cumbered the streets. A whole hostile army, with drums beating and colors flying, might easily have marched into the citadel over their prostrate bodies.

Wrath and the cold night air gradually gave back to Ali his soul of steel. Wary and alert, he entered the palace of Mukhtar Bey.

CHAPTER III
A TURKISH PARADISE

Ali Pasha himself had built the whole citadel of Janina, and had been wise enough, as soon as the fortress was finished, to at once and quietly remove out of the way all the builders and architects who had had anything to do with it, so that he only knew all the secrets of the place. There were secret exits and listening-galleries in every part of the building, and each single group of redoubts which, viewed from the outside, seemed quite isolated, was really so well connected together by means of subterranean passages, that one could go backward and forward from one to the other without being observed in the least. At a later day Ali Pasha's enemies were to have very bitter experience of these architectural peculiarities.

One could go right round the palace of the three Beys, both above and below, by means of a secret corridor, and not one of the inhabitants of the building had the least idea of the existence of this corridor. It was in the midst of the fathom-thick wall between two rows of windows, and within this space invisible doors opened into every apartment, either between windows, or behind mirrors, or beneath the ceiling between two stories, and these doors could not be opened by keys, but turned upon invisible hinges set in motion by hidden screws, and they closed so hermetically as to leave not the slightest orifice behind them.

Ali Pasha stood there in the banqueting-chamber unobserved by any one. He stood beside a huge Corinthian column, and here hung a black board indicating the direction in which Mecca lay. He had no fear that any one would look thither. That place, towards which every truly believing Mussulman must turn when he prays, was carefully avoided by every eye, for fear it should encounter the golden letters which sparkle on the walls of the Kaaba.[6]

[6] The chief sanctuary of the Mussulmans standing in the midst of the great mosque at Mecca.

For now is the time for enjoyment. There is no need of a heavenly Paradise, for Paradise is already here below. There is no need to inquire of either Muhammad or the angel Izrafil concerning the wine which flows from the roots of the Tuba-tree; far more fiery, far more stimulating, is the wine which flashes in glass and goblet. The houris may hide their white bosoms and their rosy faces, for what are they compared with the earthly angels whose mundane charms intoxicate the hearts of mortals? Truly Muhammad was but an indifferent prophet, he did not understand how to arrange paradise; let him but regard the arrangements of Mukhtar Bey—they will show him how that sort of thing ought to be managed.

Muhammad imagined that the embraces of seven and seventy houris would make an enraptured Moslem eternally happy. Why, the bungler forgot the best part of it. Would it not be more satisfactory if now and then, say once in a thousand years or so, the Moslems were to exchange their own houris for those of their neighbors? In this way the aroma of brand-new kisses would prevent their raptures from growing stale, and the Paradise of Muhammad would be worth something after all. With all eternity before him, a man would scarcely mind waiting for his own wives for a paltry millennium or two while he enjoyed the wives of his neighbors, and when he returned to his seven and seventy original damsels again, what a pleasant reunion it would be!

Now the Prophet had forgotten to introduce this novelty into his own Paradise, and Mukhtar Bey was the happy man to whom the fairy Malach Taraif whispered the idea during the fast preceding the Feast of Bairam while he slept, and he immediately proceeded to discuss the matter with his kinsmen.

All three brothers lived under one roof, each of the three had his own special harem, and each of them possessed in their harems beauties far surpassing what the angels Monkar and Nakir could promise them in the next world. After the Feast of Bairam, when Mukhtar Bey had well plied his brethren with good wine, he said to them, "Let us exchange harems!"

Sulaiman Bey immediately gave his hand upon it; Vely Bey laughed at it as a good idea at first, but afterwards drew back. The other two worthies laughed uproariously at his simplicity, made fun of him, and proceeded at once to transfer to each other their respective damsels, and on the morrow and the following days aggravated Vely by extolling before him the exchanged odalisks, each of them confiding to him what novel attractions he had discovered in this or that bayadere. Thus Sulaiman could not sufficiently extol the extraordinary brilliance of the eyes of Mukhtar Bey's favorite damsel, while Mukhtar protested that the languishing Jewish maiden he had got in exchange from Sulaiman quivered in his arms like a dancing flame.

Vely laughed a good deal over the business, but still continued to shake his head, confessing at last that the reason why he did not exchange his harem was because it contained an Albanian damsel whom he had neither purchased nor captured, but who had come to him of her own accord, and whom he had promised long ago never to abandon, and her he would not give for both their harems put together; nay, he said he would not give her up for a whole world full of damsels. The two brethren thereupon assured Vely that if he loved this particular damsel so very much, he might exclude her from the others and keep her for himself, and it need make no difference. Then Vely Bey also acceded to this fraternal division of delights, and transferred his harem also, with the exception of Xelianthé.

Mukhtar Bey had fixed the last night of the great Bairam feast for the entertainment that was to rival Paradise, inviting his brethren and the Prophet Muhammad himself, in order that he might learn from them how to be happy, and might regulate heaven accordingly. To this end they had a fourth divan added to their three, with its own well-appointed table in front of it, and bade the attendant odalisks be diligent in keeping the fourth goblet well filled, and do their best to entertain the invited guest. Mockery of religious subjects was no unusual thing with Turkish magnates in those days. Blasphemy had gone so far as to become an open scandal; popular fanaticism and official orthodoxy made it all the more glaring.

So the sons of Ali Pasha invited the Prophet to be their guest, and had made up their minds that if he did appear among them he would not be bored.

All the odalisks danced and sung before them in turn, and the brethren diverted themselves by judging which of the damsels was the sweetest and loveliest.

In every song, in every dance, Rebecca, Mukhtar Bey's beautiful Jewish damsel, and the blue-eyed bayadere Lizza, who was Sulaiman Bey's favorite, equally excelled. It was impossible to decide which of the twain deserved the palm. At last they were made to dance together.

"Look!" cried Mukhtar, his eyes sparkling with delight, "look! didst ever behold a more beautiful figure? Like the flowering branch of the Ban-tree she sways to and fro. How proudly she throws her head back, and looks at thee so languishingly that thou meltest away for very rapture! Would that her light feet might dance all over me; would that she might encompass every part of me like the atmosphere!"

"She really is charming," admitted Sulaiman, "and if the other were not dancing by her side, she would be the first star in the firmament of beauty. But ah! one movement of the other one is worth all the life in her body. She is but a woman, the other is a sylph. She kills you with rapture, the other raises you from the dead."

"Thou are unjust, Sulaiman," said Mukhtar; "thou dost judge only with thine eyes. If thou wouldst take counsel of thy lips, they would speak more truly. Taste her kisses, and then say which of them is the sweeter."

With that he beckoned to the two odalisks. Rebecca, the lovely Jewish damsel, sank full of amorous languor on Sulaiman's breast, while Lizza, with sylph-like agility, sat her down upon his knee, and the intoxicated Bey, in an access of rapture, kissed first one and then the other.

"Rebecca's lips are more ardent," he cried, "but the kisses of Lizza are sweeter. The kiss of Rebecca is like the poppy which lulls you into sweet unconsciousness, but Lizza's kiss is like sweet wine which makes you merry."

"Lizza's kiss may perchance be like sweet wine," interrupted Mukhtar, "but Rebecca's kiss is like heavenly musk which only the Blessed may partake of, and those who partake thereof are blessed."

And with that Mukhtar caught up both the odalisks in his arms, that he might pronounce judgment as to the sweetness of their lips. It was an enviable process. The contending parties themselves were in doubt as to which of themselves should obtain a verdict. At length they called upon Vely Bey to decide—Vely, who was now lying blissfully asleep beside them on the divan, overcome with wine, his head in Xelianthé's bosom. His two brethren awoke him that he might judge between them as to the sweetness of rival kisses.

It took a good deal of trouble to make the stupidly fuddled Bey understand what was required of him, and when he did understand, the only answer he made was, "Xelianthé's kisses are the sweetest;" and with that he embraced his favorite damsel once more and, reclining his head on her bosom, went off to sleep again.

Then cried Mukhtar, "Wherefore dost thou ask for his judgment, when amongst us sits the Prophet himself? Let him judge between us."

With these words he pointed to the empty place which had been left for a fourth person. Rich meats were piled up there on gold and silver plate, and wine sparkled in transparent crystal.

"Come, Muhammad!" exclaimed Mukhtar, addressing the vacant place; "thou in thy lifetime didst love many a beauteous woman, and in thy Paradise there is enough and to spare of beauty. I summon thee to appear before us. Here is a dispute between us two as to whose damsel is the sweeter and the lovelier. Thou hast seen them dance, thou hast heard them sing; now taste of their kisses!"

With that he beckoned to the two damsels, and they sat down, one on each side of the empty divan, and made as if they were embracing a shape sitting between them, and filled the air with their burning, fragrant kisses.

"Well, let us hear thy verdict, Muhammad!" cried Mukhtar, with drunken bravado; and, taking the crystal goblet from the empty place and raising it in the air, looked around him with a flushed, defiant face, and exclaimed, "Come! drink of the wine of this goblet her health to whom thou awardest the prize!"

Ali Pasha, shocked and filled with horror at the shamelessly impudent words he heard from his hiding-place, drew a pistol from his girdle and softly raised the trigger.

"Drink, Muhammad!" bellowed Mukhtar, raising the goblet on high, "drink to the health of the triumphant damsel! Which shall it be, Rebecca or Lizza?"

At that same instant a loud report rang through the room, and the upraised crystal goblet was shivered into a thousand fragments in Mukhtar's hand. Every one leaped from his place in terror. But whichever way they looked there was nothing to be seen. The only persons in the room were the three brothers and the damsels. Only at the spot from whence the shot had proceeded a little round cloud of bluish smoke was visible, which sluggishly dispersed. Nobody present carried weapons, and there was no door or window there by which any one could have got in.

From the minarets outside the muezzins proclaimed the prayer of dawn: "La illah il Allah! Muhammad razul Allah!"—"There is no God but God, and Muhammad is His Prophet!"

Ali Pasha did not pursue the fugitives. That day he was praying all the morning. He locked himself up in his inmost apartments, that nobody might see what he was doing. He now did what he had not done for seventy years—he wept. For a whole hour his inflexible soul was broken. So that woman whom he had loved better than life itself, she forsooth had given the first signal of approaching misfortune, the first sign of the coming struggle! Let it come! Let her veil be the first banner to lead an army against Janina! Tepelenti would not attempt to stay her in her flight. For one long hour he thought of her, and this hour was an hour of weeping; and then he bethought him of the approaching tempest which the prophetic voice had warned him of, and his heart turned to stone at the thought. Ali Pasha was not the man to cringe before danger; no, he was wont to meet it face to face, and ask of it why it had tarried so long. He used even to send occasionally for the nimetullahita dervish who had been living a long time in the fortress, and question him concerning the future. It must not be supposed, indeed, that Tepelenti ever took advice from anybody; but he would listen to the words of lunatics and soothsayers, and liked to learn from magicians and astrologers, and their sayings were not without influence upon his actions.

The dervish was a decrepit old man. Nobody knew how old he really was; it was said that only by magic did he keep himself alive at all. Every evening they laid him down on plates of copper and rubbed invigorating balsam into his withered skeleton, and so he lived on from day to day.

Two dumb eunuchs now brought him in to Tepelenti, and, bending his legs beneath him, propped him up in front of the pasha.

"Sikham," said Ali to the dervish, "I feel the approach of evil days. My sword rusted in its sheath in a single night. My buckler, which I covered with gold, has cracked from end to end. A severed head, which hid itself away from me so that I could not find it, came forth to me at night and spoke to me of my death; and in my dreams I see my sons make free with the Prophet. I ask thee not what all these things signify. That I know. Just as surely as in winter-time the hosts of rooks and crows resort to the roofs of the mosques, so surely shall my sworn enemies fall upon me. I am old compared with them, and it is a thing unheard of among the Osmanlis that a man should reach the age of nine and seventy and still be rich and mighty. Let them come! But one thing I would know—who will be the first to attack me? Tell me his name."

The dervish thereupon caused a wooden board to be placed before him on which meats were wont to be carried; then he put upon it an empty glass goblet, and across the glass he laid a thin bamboo cane. Next he wrote upon the wooden board the twenty-nine letters of the Turkish alphabet, and then, thrice prostrating himself to the ground with wide-extended arms, he fixed his eyes steadily upon the centre of the goblet.

In about half an hour the goblet began to tinkle as if some one were rubbing his wet finger along its rim. This tinkling grew stronger and stronger, louder and louder, till at last the goblet moved up and down on the wooden board, and began revolving along with the light cane placed across it, revolving at last so rapidly that it was impossible to discern the cane upon it at all.

Then, quite suddenly, the dervish raised his fingers from the table, and the goblet immediately stopped. The point of the cane stood opposite the letter ghain—G.[7]

[7] The marvels of our modern table-turning and table-tapping spirits, and all the wonders of this sort, were known to the Arab dervishes long ago.—Jókai.

"That signifies the first letter of his name," said the dervish—"G!"

And then the mysterious operation was repeated, and the magic stick spelled out the name letter by letter: "G—a—s—k—h—o B—e—y." At the last letter the goblet stopped short and would move no more.

"I know no man of that name," said Ali, amazed that he whose name was so world-renowned was to tremble before one whose name he had never heard before.

"Where does the fellow live?" he inquired of the dervish.

The magic jugglery was set going again, and now the dancing goblet spelled out the name, "Stambul."

That was enough. Ali beckoned to the eunuchs to take the dervish away again.

Ali thereupon summoned forty Albanian soldiers from the garrison, and gave to each one of them twenty ducats.

"This," said he, "is only earnest money. I want a man put to death whose name and dwelling-place I know. His name is Gaskho Bey, and he lives in Stambul. This man's head is worth as many gold pieces as there are miles between him and me. He who brings the head can measure the distance and be paid for it. The first who brings but the report of his death shall receive two hundred ducats; he who slays him, a thousand."

The Albanians consulted together for a brief moment, and then intimated that if a bey of the name of Gaskho really existed, he was as good as dead already.

Towards mid-day Ali sent for his sons. He said not a word to them of the anxieties, the visions, and the apparitions of the night before, but made them, after they had respectfully kissed his hands, sit down all around him. Mukhtar Bey he invited to sit down on his left hand, Vely on his right, and Sulaiman directly opposite.

He addressed himself first of all to Sulaiman.

"Thou art the youngest and boldest," said he. "To-morrow thou must go to sea and take three ships with thee. These ships thou must take to Sicily, load them there with sulphur, and return without losing an instant."