Фредерик Марриет
The Pacha of Many Tales
“If your highness will call to mind that at the same time the cloud took up several tons of water, you cannot be surprised at its supporting me.”
“Very true,” replied the pacha. “This is a very wonderful story; but before you go on, I wish to know what the cloud was made of.”
“That is rather difficult to explain to your highness. I can only compare it to a wet blanket. I found it excessively cold and damp, and caught a rheumatism while I was there, which I feel to this day.”
When the cloud was saturated, the column divided, and we rapidly ascended until the cold became intense. We passed a rainbow as we skimmed along, and I was very much surprised to find that the key of my chest and my clasp knife, forced themselves through the cloth of my jacket, and flew with great velocity towards it, fixing themselves firmly to the violet rays, from which I discovered that those peculiar rays were magnetic. I mentioned this curious circumstance to an English lady whom I met on her travels, and I have since learnt that she has communicated the fact to the learned societies as a discovery of her own. However, as she is a very pretty woman, I forgive her. Anxious to look down upon the earth, I poked a hole with my finger through the bottom of the cloud, and was astonished to perceive how rapidly it was spinning round. We had risen so high as to be out of the sphere of its attraction, and in consequence remained stationary. I had been up about six hours; and although I was close to the coast of America when I ascended, I could perceive that the Cape of Good Hope was just heaving in sight. I was enabled to form a very good idea of the structure of the globe, for at that immense height I could see to the very bottom of the Atlantic ocean. Depend upon it, your highness, if you wish to discover more than other people can, it is necessary to be “up in the clouds.”
“Very true,” replied the pacha; “but go on.”
“I was very much interested in the chemical process of turning the salt water into fresh, which was going on with great rapidity while I was there. Perhaps your highness would like me to explain it, as it will not occupy your attention more than an hour.”
“No, no, skip that, Huckaback, and go on.”
But as soon as I had gratified my curiosity, I began to be alarmed at my situation, not so much on account of the means of supporting existence, for there was more than sufficient.
“More than sufficient! Why what could you have to eat?”
Plenty of fresh fish, your highness, which had been taken up in the column of water at the same time I was, and the fresh water already lay in little pools around me. But the cold was dreadful, and I felt that I could not support it many hours longer, and how to get down again was a problem which I could not solve.
It was however soon solved for me, for the cloud having completed its chemical labours, descended as rapidly as it had risen, and joined many others, that were engaged in sharp conflict. As I beheld them darting against each other, and discharging the electric fluid in the violence of their collision, I was filled with trepidation and dismay, lest, meeting an adversary, I should be hurled into the abyss below, or be withered by the artillery of heaven. But I was fortunate enough to escape. The cloud which bore me descended to within a hundred yards of the earth, and then was hurried along by the wind with such velocity and noise, that I perceived we were assisting at a hurricane.
As we neared the earth, the cloud, unable to resist the force of its attraction, was compelled to deliver up its burthen, and down I fell, with such torrents of water, that it reminded me of the deluge. The tornado was now in all its strength. The wind roared and shrieked in its wild fury, and such was its force that I fell in an acute angle.
“What did you fall in?” interrupted the pacha. “I don’t know what that is.”
“I fell in a slanting direction, your highness, describing the hypotenuse between the base and perpendicular, created by the force of the wind, and the attraction of gravitation.”
“Holy Prophet! who can understand such stuff? Speak plain; do you laugh at our beards?”
“Min Allah! God forbid! Your servant would indeed eat dirt,” replied Huckaback.
I meant to imply, that so powerful was the wind, it almost bore me up, and when I first struck the water, which I did upon the summit of a wave, I bounded off again and ricochetted several times from one wave to another, like the shot fired from a gun along the surface of the sea, or the oyster-shell skimmed over the lake by the truant child. The last bound that I gave, pitched me into the rigging of a small vessel on her beam-ends, and I hardly had time to fetch my breath before she turned over. I scrambled up her bends, and fixed myself astride upon her keel.
There I remained for two or three hours, when the hurricane was exhausted from its own violence. The clouds disappeared, the sun burst out in all its splendour, the sea recovered its former tranquillity, and Nature seemed as if she was maliciously smiling at her own mischief. The land was close to me, and the vessel drifted on shore. I found that I was at the Isle of France, having, in the course of twelve hours thus miraculously shifted my position from one side of the globe unto the other. I found the island in a sad state of devastation; the labour of years had been destroyed in the fury of an hour—the crops were swept away—the houses were levelled to the ground—the vessels in fragments on the beach—all was misery and desolation. I was however kindly received by my countrymen, who were the inhabitants of the isle; and, in four-and-twenty hours, we all danced and sang as before. I invented a very pretty quadrille, called the Hurricane, which threw the whole island into an ecstasy, and recompensed them for all their sufferings. But I was anxious to return home, and a Dutch vessel proceeding straight to Marseilles, I thought myself fortunate to obtain a passage upon the same terms as those which had enabled me to quit the West Indies. We sailed, but before we had been twenty-four hours at sea, I found that the captain was a violent man, and a most dreadful tyrant. I was not very strong; and not being able to perform the duty before the mast, to which I had not been accustomed, I was beat so unmercifully, that I was debating in my mind, whether I should kill the captain and then jump overboard, or submit to my hard fate; but one night as I lay groaning on the forecastle after a punishment I had received from the captain, which incapacitated me from further duty, an astonishing circumstance occurred which was the occasion, not only of my embracing the Mahomedan religion, but of making use of those expressions which attracted your highness’s attention when you passed in disguise. “Why am I thus ever to be persecuted?” exclaimed I in despair. And, as I uttered these words, a venerable personage, in a flowing beard, and a book in his hand, appeared before me, and answered me.
“Because, Huckaback, you have not embraced the true faith.”
“What is the true faith?” inquired I, in fear and amazement.
“There is but one God,” replied he, “and I am his Prophet.”
“Merciful Allah!” exclaimed the pacha, “why, it must have been Mahomet himself.”
“It was so, your highness, although I knew it not at the time.”
“Prove unto me that it is the true faith,” said I.
“I will,” replied he; “I will turn the heart of the infidel captain,” and he disappeared. The next day the captain of the vessel, to my astonishment, came to me as I lay on the forecastle, and begging my pardon for the cruelty that he had been guilty of, shed tears over me, and ordered me to be carried to his cabin. He laid me in his own bed, and watched me as he would a favourite child. In a short time I recovered; after which he would permit me to do no duty, but insisted upon my being his guest, and loaded me with every kindness.
“God is great!” ejaculated the pacha.
I was lying in my bed, meditating upon these thing when the venerable form again appeared to me.
“Art thou now convinced?”
“I am,” replied I.
“Then prove it by submitting to the law the moment that you are able. You shall be rewarded—not at once, but when your faith has been proved. Mark me, follow your profession on the seas, and, when once you find yourself sitting in the divan at Cairo, with two people originally of the same profession as yourself, without others being present, and have made this secret known, then you shall appointed to the command of the pacha’s fleet, which under your directions shall always meet with success. Such shall be the reward of your fidelity.”
It is now four years that I have embraced the true faith, and, sinking under poverty, I was induced to make use of the exclamation that your highness heard; for how can I ever hope to meet two barbers at the divan without other people being present?
“Holy Prophet! how strange! Why Mustapha was a barber, and so was I,” cried the pacha.
“God is great!” answered the renegade, prostrating himself. “Then I command your fleet?”
“From this hour,” replied the pacha. “Mustapha, make known my wishes.”
“The present in command,” replied Mustapha, who was not a dupe to the wily renegade, “is a favourite with the men.”
“Then send for him and take off his head. Is he to interfere with the commands of Mahomet?”
The vizier bowed, and the pacha quitted the divan.
The renegade, with a smile upon his lips, and Mustapha with astonishment looked at each other for a few seconds “You have a great talent, Selim,” observed the vizier.
“Thanks to your introduction, and to my own invention, it will at last be called into action. Recollect, vizier, that I am grateful—you understand me;” and the renegade quitted the divan, leaving Mustapha still in his astonishment.
Volume Two–Chapter Seven
“Mustapha,” said the pacha, taking his pipe out of his mouth, after an hour’s smoking in silence, “I have been thinking it very odd that our Holy Prophet (blessed be his name!) should have given himself so much trouble about such a son of Shitan as that renegade rascal, Huckaback, whose religion is only in his turban. By the sword of the Prophet, is it not strange that he should send him to command my fleet!”
“It was the will of your sublime highness,” replied Mustapha, “that he should command your fleet.”
“Mashallah! Was it not the will of the Prophet?”
Mustapha smoked his pipe, and made no reply.
“He was a great story-teller,” observed the pacha, after another pause.
“He was,” drily replied Mustapha. “No kessehgou of our true believers could equal him; but that is now over, and the dog of an Isauri must prove himself a Rustam in the service of your sublime highness. Aware that your highness would require amusement, and that it was the duty of your slave, who shines but by the light of your countenance, to procure it, I have since yesterday, when the sun went down, despairing to find his glory eclipsed by that of your sublime highness, ordered most diligent search to be made through the whole of the world, and have discovered, that in the caravan now halted on the outskirts of the town, there was a famous kessehgou proceeding to Mecca to pay his homage to the shrine of our Prophet: and I have despatched trusty messengers to bring him into the presence of the Min Bashi, to whom your slave, and the thousands whom he rules, are but as dust:” and Mustapha bowed low.
“Aferin, excellent:” exclaimed the pacha; “and when will he be here?”
“Before the tube now honoured by kissing the lips of your highness shall have poured out in ecstasy the incense of another bowl of the fragrant weed, the slippers of the kessehgou will be left at the threshold of the palace. Be chesm, on my eyes be it.”
“’Tis well, Mustapha. Slave,” continued the pacha, addressing the Greek who was in attendance, with his arms folded and his eyes cast down to the ground; “coffee and the strong water of the Giaour.”
The pacha’s pipe was refilled, the coffee was poured down their respective throats, and the forbidden spirits quaffed with double delight, arising from the very circumstance that they were forbidden.
“Surely there must be some mistake, Mustapha. Does not the Koran say, that all that is good is intended for true believers; and is not this good? How then can it be forbidden? Could it be intended for the Giaours? May they, and their fathers’ graves, be eternally defiled!”
“Amen!” replied Mustapha, laying down the cup, and drawing a deep sigh.
Mustapha was correct in his calculations. Before the pacha had finished his pipe, the arrival of the story-teller was announced: and after waiting a few minutes from decorum, which seemed to the impatient pacha to be eternal, Mustapha clapped his hands, and the man was ushered in.
“Kosh amedid! you are welcome,” said the pacha, as the kessehgou entered the divan: he was a slight, elegantly moulded person, of about thirty years of age.
“I am here in obedience to the will of the pacha,” replied the man in a most musical voice, as he salaamed low. “What does his highness require of his slave Menouni?”
“His highness requires a proof of thy talent, and an opportunity to extend his bounty.”
“I am less than dust, and am ready to cover my head with ashes, not to feel my soul in the seventh heaven at the condescension of his highness; yet would I fain do his bidding and depart, for a vow to the Prophet is sacred, and it is written in the Koran—”
“Never mind the Koran just now, good Menouni; we ask of thee a proof of thy art. Tell me a story.”
“Most proud shall I be of the honour. Will not my face be whitened to all eternity? Shall your slave relate the loves of Leilah and Majnoun?”
“No, no,” replied the pacha; “something that will interest me.”
“Then will I narrate the history of the Scarred Lover.”
“That sounds well, Mustapha,” observed the pacha.
“Who can foresee so well as your sublime highness?” replied Mustapha. “Menouni, it is the pleasure of the pacha that you proceed.”
“Your slave obeys. Your sublime perspicuity is but too well acquainted with geography—?”
“Not that I know of. Hath he ever left his slippers at our threshold, Mustapha?”
“I suspect,” replied Mustapha, “that he goes all over the world, and therefore he must have been here. Proceed, Menouni, and ask not such questions. By virtue of his office, his sublime highness knows everything.”
“True,” said the pacha, shaking his beard with great dignity and satisfaction.
“I did but presume to put the question,” replied Menouni, whose voice was soft and silvery as a flute on a summer’s silent eve, “as, to perfectly understand the part of the world from which my tale has been transmitted, I thought that a knowledge of that science was required: but I have eaten dirt, and am covered with shame at my indiscretion, which would not have occurred, had it not been that the sublime sultan, when I last had the honour to narrate the story, was pleased to interrupt me, from his not being quite convinced that the parts of the world were known to him. But I will now proceed with my tale, which shall go forward with the majestic pace of the camel, proud in his pilgrimage over the desert, towards the shrine of our Holy Prophet.”
The Scarred Lover
In the north-eastern parts of the vast peninsula of India, there did exist a flourishing and extended kingdom, eminent for the beauty of the country, the fertility of the soil, and the salubrity of the climate. This kingdom was bounded on the east by a country named Lusitania, that lies northerly towards the coast of Iceland, so called from the excessive heat of the winter. On the south it was bounded by a slip of land, the name of which has slipped my memory; but it runs into the seas under the dominion of the great chain of Tartary. On the west it is bounded by another kingdom, the name of which I have also forgotten; and on the north by another kingdom, the name of which I do not remember. After this explanation, with your sublime highness’s knowledge, to which that of the sage Lokman was but in comparison as the seed is to the water-melon, I hardly need say that it was the ancient kingdom of Souffra.
“Menouni, you are quite right,” observed the pacha. “Proceed.”
“Fortunate is your slave to stand in the presence of so much wisdom,” continued Menouni, “for I was in doubt; the splendour of your presence had startled my memory, as the presence of the caravan doth the zebra foal of the desert.”
In this delightful kingdom, where the nightingales sang away their existence in their love for the rose, and the roses gave forth their perfume until the air was one continued essence of delight, such as is inhaled by the true believers when they first approach the gates of Paradise, and are enchanted by the beckoning of the houris from the golden walls, there lived a beautiful Hindu princess, who walked in loveliness, and whose smile was a decree to be happy to all on whom it fell; yet for reasons which my tale shall tell, she had heard the nightingale complain for eighteen summers and was still unmarried. In this country, which at that time was peopled by Allah with infidels, to render it fertile for the true believers, and to be their slaves upon their arrival, which did occur some time after the occurrences which I now relate; it was not the custom for the females of Souffra to lead the life of invisibility, permitted only to those who administer to the delights of the followers of the Koran; and although it was with exceeding modesty of demeanour, still did they on great occasions expose their charms to the public gaze, for which error, no doubt if they had had souls, beautiful as they were, they would have been damned to all eternity. Civilisation, as Menou hath said, must extend both far and wide before other nations will be so polished as to imitate us in the splendour, the security, and the happiness of our harems; and when I further remark to your highness—
“Proceed, good Menouni,” interrupted Mustapha, “his highness is not fond of remarks.”
“No, by our beard,” rejoined the pacha; “it is for you to tell your story and for me to make remarks when it is over.”
“I stand in the presence of wisdom,” said Menouni, who bowed low and proceeded.
The beauteous Babe-hi-bobu, for such was the name of the princess, and which in the language of the country implied “the cream-tart of delight,” was left queen of the Souffrarians by the death of her father; and by his will, sworn to by all the grandees of the empire, she was enjoined at twelve years of age to take to herself a husband; but it was particularly expressed that the youth so favoured should be of the same high caste as herself, and without scar or blemish. When, therefore, two years after her father’s death, the beautiful Babe-bi-bobu had attained the age of twelve years, swift runners on foot, and speedy messengers mounted upon the fleetest dromedaries and Arab horses of the purest race, were despatched through all the kingdom of Souffra to make known the injunctions of the will; the news of which at last flew to the adjacent kingdoms, and from them to all the corners of the round world, and none were ignorant. In the kingdom of Souffra, from which the choice was to be made, all the youth of caste were in a state of fermentation, because they had a chance of obtaining the honour; and all those of lower caste were in a state of fermentation, to think they had no chance of obtaining such an honour; and all the women of high caste, or low caste, or no caste, were all in a state of fermentation, because—because—
“Because they always are so,” interrupted the pacha. “Proceed, Menouni.”
“I thank your sublime highness for having relieved me in my case of difficulty; for who can give reasons for the conduct of women?”
It is sufficient to say that the whole country was in a state of fermentation, arising from hope, despair, jealousy, envy, curiosity, surmising, wondering, doubting, believing, disbelieving, hearing, narrating, chattering, interrupting, and many other causes too tedious to mention. At the first intelligence every Souffrarian youth new-strung his mandolin, and thought himself sure to be the happy man. Hope was triumphant through the land, roses advanced to double their price; the attar was adulterated to meet the exorbitant demand, and nightingales were almost worshipped; but this could not last. Doubt succeeded to the empire of hope, when reflection pointed out to them, that out of three millions of very eligible youths, only one could be made happy. But when the counsellors are so many, the decision is but slow; and so numerous were the meetings, the canvassings, the debates, the discussions, the harangues, and the variety of objections raised by the grandees of the country, that at the age of eighteen the beauteous bird of paradise, still unmated, warbled her virgin strain in the loneliness of the royal groves.
“But why,” interrupted the pacha, “why did they not marry her, when there were three millions of young men ready to take her? I can’t understand the cause of six years’ delay.”
The reason, most sublime, was, that the grandees of Souffra were not endowed with your resplendent wisdom, or the beautiful Babe-bi-bobu had not so long languished for a husband. All this delay was produced by doubt, which the poets truly declare to be the father of delay. It was a doubt which arose in the mind of one of the Brahmins, who, when a doubt arose in his mind, would mumble it over and over, but never masticate, swallow, or digest it; and thus was the preservation of the royal line endangered. For years had the aspirants for regal dignity, and more than regal beauty, hovered round the court, each with his mandolin on his arm, and a huge packet of love-sonnets borne behind him by a slave, and yet all was doubt; and the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-bobu remained unmarried.
“I doubt whether we shall ever come to the doubt,” interrupted the pacha impatiently, “or the princess to a husband.”
The doubt shall now be laid at your excellency’s feet. It was, as to the exact meaning of the words, without scar or blemish, and whether moles were to be considered as scars or blemishes. The Brahmin was of opinion that moles were blemishes, and many others agreed with him; that is, all those who had no moles on their persons were of his opinion; while, on the other hand, those who were favoured by nature with those distinguishing marks, declared that so far from their being scars or blemishes, they must be considered as additional beauties granted by Heaven to those most favoured. The dispute ran high, and the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-bobu remained unmarried. This great question was at last very properly referred to the mufti; these sages handled it, and turned it, and twisted it, added to it, multiplied it, subtracted from it, and divided it, debated it fasting, debated it on a full stomach, nodded over it, dreamt on it, slept on it, woke up with it, analysed it, criticised it, and wrote forty-eight folio volumes, of which twenty-four were advocates of, and twenty-four opponents to the question; the only conclusion which they could come to at last was, that moles were moles: and the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-bobu remained unmarried.
The question was then taken up by the dervishes and fakirs of the country in a religious point of view; they split into two parties, tried the question by a dispute under a banyan tree, which lasted eighteen months, and still not half of the holy men had given their sentiments upon the question; tired of talking, they proceeded to blows, and then to anathematisation and excommunication of each other; lastly, they had recourse to impalement to convince each other; more than a thousand perished on each side; and still the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-bobu remained unmarried.
The colleges and schools of the kingdom took up the question, and argued it metaphysically, and after having irrecoverably lost, between the two sides, twenty-two millions of threads of arguments, the question was as fresh as ever, and the beautiful princess Babe-bi-bobu remained unmarried.
But this was not all; for at last the whole nation joined in the quarrel, splitting into violent and angry factions, which divided town against town, inhabitants against inhabitants, house against house, family against family, husband against wife, father against son, brother against sister; and in some cases, where he had doubts on both sides, a man against himself. The whole nation flew to arms, distinguishing themselves as Molists and Anti-molists; four hundred insurrections, and four civil wars, were the consequence; and what was a worse consequence, the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-bobu remained unmarried. Your sublime highness must allow that it was a very nice question—
“What is your opinion, Mustapha?” demanded the pacha.
“Is your slave to speak? Then I would say, that it was absurd to make such a mountain of a mole-hill.”
“Very true, Mustapha. This princess will never be married; so proceed, good Menouni.”
I should observe to your sublime highness, that the Molists were the strongest party, and the most arrogant; not content with wearing the marks of nature, they stuck upon their faces fictitious moles of every hue and colour, and the most violent partisans appeared as if they were suffering from some cutaneous disorder. It was also a singular circumstance, that no Molist was ever known to change sides, whereas, after bathing, many of the Anti-molists were found most shamefully to apostatise. Every thing was disastrous, and the country in a state of anarchy and confusion, when the question was most fortunately settled by the remark of a little slave about twelve years old, who was regularly flogged by his master every morning that he got up, upon a suspicion of Molism, and as regularly every evening by his mistress, on a second suspicion of Anti-molism. This poor little fellow whispered to another boy, that moles were blemishes or not, just as people happened to think them, but, as for his part, he thought nothing about the matter. The espionage at that time was so strict, that even a whisper was to be heard at the distance of miles, and this observation was reported; it certainly was new because it was neutral, when neutrality was not permitted or thought of; it was buzzed about; the remark was declared wonderful, it ran like wildfire through the suburbs, it roared through the city, it shook the very gates of the palace; at last it reached the holy in divan, who pronounced it to be inspiration from the Deity, and immediately there was issued a solemn edict, in which it was laid down as a most positive and important article of Souffrarian faith, that moles were not scars, and only blemishes when they were considered so to be. Every one praised the wisdom of this edict; it was read and subscribed to as an article of faith; towns greeted towns, house congratulated house, and relations shook hands; what was still stranger was, husbands and wives were reconciled—and what was even more delightful, there was now some chance of the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-bobu no longer remaining unmarried.
This fortunate edict, by which it was clear that those who believed a mole to be a blemish were quite safe, and who did not believe it, were in no manner of danger, set every thing to rights; the metropolis was again filled with aspirants, the air tortured with the music of the mandolins, and impregnated with the attar of roses. Who can attempt to describe the sumptuousness of the palace, and the splendour of the ball in which the beautiful princess sat, to receive the homage of the flower of the youth of her kingdom. Soothingly soft, sweetly, lovingly soft, were the dulcet notes of the warbling asparas, or singing girls, now ebbing, now flowing in tender gushes of melody, while down the sides of the elegant and highly pillared hall, now advancing, now retreating, the dancing girls, each beautiful as Artee herself in her splendour, seemed almost to demand, in their aggregate, that gaze of homage due only to the peerless individual who at once burned and languished on her emerald throne. Three days had the princess sat in that hall of delight, tired and annoyed with the constant stream of the Souffra youths, who prostrated themselves and passed on. The fourth morning dawned, and none could say that either by gesture, sigh, or look, they had been distinguished by even a shadow of preference. And the noble youths communed in their despair, and murmured among themselves; many a foot was stamped with unbecoming impatience, and many a moustache twisted with a pretty indignation. The inhabitants of the capital blamed the impetuosity of the youths; to say the least of it, if it were not disloyal, it was ungallant; and what was worse, they showed no regard for the welfare of the citizens, over whom they each aspired to reign as sovereign, for they must be aware that now was the time that the citizens, from such an influx of aspirants, were reaping a golden harvest. And they added, with great truth, that a princess who had been compelled to wait six years to satisfy the doubts of others, had a most undeniable right to wait as many days to satisfy her own. On the fourth day, the beautiful Babe-bi-bobu again took her seat on the golden cushions, with her legs crossed, and her little feet hidden under the folds of her loose, azure-coloured satin trousers, and it was supposed that there was more brightness in her eyes, and more animation in her countenance than on the previous days; but still the crowd passed on unnoticed. Even the learned brahmins, who stood immovable in rows on each side of her throne, became impatient: they talked about the fickleness of the sex, the impossibility of inducing them to make up their minds; they whispered wise saws and sayings from Ferdistan and others, about the caprice of women, and the instability of their natures, and the more their legs ached from such perpetual demand upon their support, the more bitter did they become in their remarks. Poor, prosing old fools! the beauteous princess had long made up her mind, and had never swerved from it through the tedious six years during which the doubts and discussions of those venerable old numskulls had embroiled the whole nation in the Molean and Anti-molean controversy.
