“Beautiful princess, you are mistaken if you think you have given a fitting answer to my question; the son of Timurtasch is not covered with glory, and overwhelmed with joy; he is rather covered with shame, and overwhelmed with grief.”
“I agree with you,” replied the princess, “that at this moment you are not overwhelmed with glory and joy, but you were so when you proposed this question; so, prince, instead of having recourse to vain quibbles, confess honestly that you have lost your right to Tourandocte. I therefore can, if I choose, refuse you my hand, and abandon you to the regret of having lost your prize; nevertheless, I will acknowledge to you, and declare here publicly, that I entertain different feelings towards you to what I did. The friendship my father has conceived for you, and your own merit, have determined me to take you for my husband.”
At these words all etiquette was for a moment forgotten; the council-chamber resounded with shouts of joy. The mandarins and doctors applauded the words of Tourandocte. The king approached her, and kissing her, said, “My child, you could not have formed a decision more agreeable to me; by this act you will efface the bad impression you have made upon the minds of my people, and you confer upon your father a joy to which he has long been a stranger, and which hitherto he had hoped for in vain. Yes, that aversion you entertained for marriage, that aversion so contrary to nature, robbed me of the sweet hope of seeing princes of my own blood spring from you. Happily, that aversion has ceased, and what crowns my wishes is, that you have extinguished it in favour of a young hero who is dear to me. But tell us,” added he, “how you have been able to guess the name of a prince who was unknown to you.”
“My lord,” replied Tourandocte, “it was not by enchantment that I learned it; it was by perfectly natural means. One of my slaves sought the prince Khalaf, and had subtlety enough to rob him of his secret, and I hope he will forgive me for taking advantage of this treachery, since I have made no worse use of it.”
“Ah! charming Tourandocte,” hereupon cried the prince of the Nagäis, “is it possible that you entertain such favourable sentiments towards me? From what a frightful abyss do you draw me, to raise me to the height of bliss! Alas, how unjust was I! whilst you were preparing such a glorious fate for me I thought you guilty of the blackest of all treachery. Deceived by a horrible fable which darkened my reason, I repaid your good intentions with injurious doubts. Oh! what impatience do I feel to expiate my unjust suspicions at your feet.”
Altoun-Khan ordered the preparations for the marriage of Khalaf and Tourandocte to be set on foot, and whilst they were engaged about them he sent ambassadors to the tribe of Berlas, to inform the khan of the Nagäis of all that had taken place in China, and to beg him to come with the princess his wife.
The preparations being concluded, the marriage was celebrated with all the pomp and magnificence which belonged to the high birth of the happy pair. Khalaf was raised to the rank of the highest subject, and the king himself made a public declaration that, to mark his sense of the esteem and consideration he entertained for his son-in-law, he should allow him to dispense with the customary obeisances to his bride. During a whole month nothing was seen at the court but feasting and pageants, and in the city nothing but gaiety and rejoicings.
The possession of Tourandocte did not diminish the love Khalaf entertained for her, and the princess, who had hitherto regarded men with so much contempt, could not but love so perfect a prince. Some time after their marriage the ambassadors whom Altoun-Khan had sent to the country of Berlas returned, bringing with them not only the father and mother of the king’s son-in-law, but also prince Almguer, who, to pay honour to Elmaze and Timurtasch, insisted on accompanying them, with the most distinguished of his nobles, and conducting them to Pekin.
The young prince of the Nagäis, apprized of their arrival, immediately rode out to meet them. He found them nearly at the gate of the palace. The joy he felt on seeing his father and mother, and their transports on seeing him, can be scarcely conceived, much less described. They all three embraced each other over and over again, and the tears they shed drew forth corresponding signs of emotion from the Chinese and Tartars who were present.
After these tender embraces, Khalaf saluted the khan of Berlas; he expressed to him how deeply he felt his kindness, and more especially his condescension in himself accompanying his parents to the court of China; the prince Almguer replied that, being ignorant of the rank of Timurtasch and Elmaze, he had not shown towards them the respect that was due to them, and thus to atone for any neglect they might have experienced, he thought it his duty to pay them this mark of honour; the khan of the Nagäis and his wife the princess, however, paid a high tribute to the attentive kindness of the khan of Berlas; they then all entered the palace of the king, to be presented to Altoun-Khan. They found this monarch awaiting them in the first hall. He embraced them all, one after the other, and received them very graciously; he then conducted them into his cabinet, where, after expressing the pleasure he felt at seeing Timurtasch, and his sympathy in his misfortunes, he assured him that he would employ all his power to avenge him on the sultan of Carisma. This was no empty offer, for that very day he despatched orders to the governors of the provinces to march with all speed with the soldiers who were in the towns within their jurisdiction, and to take the route to lake Baljouta, which was chosen for the rendezvous of the formidable army he proposed to assemble there.
For his part, the khan of Berlas, who had foreseen this war, and who wished to assist in the re-establishment of Timurtasch in his dominions, had, previous to his departure from his tribe, ordered the general of his army to be in readiness to take the field at the first summons. He now commanded him also to repair to lake Baljouta with all possible speed.
During the time the officers and soldiers who were to compose the army of Altoun-Khan, and who were dispersed throughout the kingdom, were marching to assemble at the spot indicated, this king spared no pains to express his high consideration for his new guests; he appointed a separate palace to each, with a great number of eunuchs, and a guard of two thousand men. Every day some new fête was contrived for their entertainment, and the king’s whole attention seemed turned towards affording them pleasure. Khalaf, although he had now every day a thousand matters to occupy his attention, did not forget his kind hostess; he remembered with gratitude the solicitude she expressed for him; he sent for her to the palace, and begged Tourandocte to receive her amongst her attendants.
The hope that Timurtasch and Elmaze entertained of reascending the throne of the Nagäi-Tartars, by the assistance of the king of China, insensibly made them forget their past troubles; and when Tourandocte gave birth to a beautiful prince, they were quite overwhelmed with joy. The birth of this child, who was named the prince of China, was celebrated in all the cities of this vast empire by public rejoicings.
Whilst these festivities were taking place, news was brought by couriers, sent by the officers who had orders to collect the army, that all the troops of the kingdom, and those of the khan of Berlas, had assembled at lake Baljouta. Immediately Timurtasch, Khalaf, and Almguer set out for the camp, where they found every thing in readiness, and seven hundred thousand men ready to march; they immediately took the read to Kotan, from whence they marched to Raschar, and at length entered the dominions of the sultan of Carisma.
This prince, informed of their numbers, and of the invasion of his territories, by couriers whom the governors of the frontier towns had despatched, far from being alarmed at the number of his enemies, courageously prepared to meet them. Instead even of intrenching himself, he had the boldness to take the field himself, at the head of four hundred thousand men, whom he had hastily collected. The armies met near Cogendi, where they drew up in battle array. On the side of the Chinese, Timurtasch commanded the right wing, prince Almguer the left, and Khalaf the centre. On the other side, the sultan confided the command of his right wing to the ablest of his generals, opposed the prince of Carisma to the prince of the Nagäis
, and reserved the left to himself, where the elite of his cavalry were stationed. The khan of Berlas began the attack with the soldiers of his tribe, who, fighting like men who knew the eyes of their master were on them, soon turned the right wing of their enemies; the officer who commanded it, however, succeeded in reforming it almost immediately. Meanwhile the right wing, commanded by Timurtasch, was not so fortunate; the sultan broke them at the first onset, and the Chinese in disorder were on the point of taking flight, in spite of every effort of the khan of the Nagäis, when Khalaf, informed of what had taken place, confided the care of the centre to an experienced Chinese general, and rushed to the assistance of his father at the head of reinforcements. In a short time things assumed a different aspect. The left wing of the Carismians was driven back, and in turn routed; the whole of the ranks fell into disorder and were easily broken — the entire wing was put to flight. The sultan determined to conquer or die, and made incredible efforts to rally his soldiers; but Timurtasch and Khalaf gave them no time, and surrounded them on all sides, whilst prince Almguer having defeated the right wing, victory declared in favour of the Chinese.
There remained but one chance of safety for the sultan of Carisma, and that was to cut his way through the ranks of his enemies, and to take refuge with some foreign prince; but he preferred not surviving his defeat to exhibiting amongst the nations his brow despoiled of the diadem; so rushing blindly into the thickest of the carnage, he fell bravely, fighting to the last, and pierced with a thousand mortal wounds, on a heap of slain. The prince of Carisma, his son, shared the same fate; two hundred thousand of their troops were killed or made prisoners, the rest seeking safety in flight. The Chinese also lost a great number of men; but if the battle had been a bloody one, it was decisive. Timurtasch, after thanking Heaven for this signal success, despatched an officer to Pekin to give an account of the battle to the king of China; he then advanced into Zagatay, and seized upon the city of Carisma.
He made a proclamation in this capital that he would not touch the property, or interfere with the liberty of the Carismians; that Heaven having made him master of the throne of his enemy, he intended to take possession of it, and that henceforth, Zagatay, and the other countries which had been under the sway of the sultan, should acknowledge for their sovereign his son Khalaf.
The Carismians, tired of the harsh rule of their late master, and persuaded that that of Khalaf would be milder, submitted readily, and proclaimed as sultan this young prince, with whose merits they were acquainted. Whilst the new sultan took all necessary measures to strengthen his position, Timurtasch departed with a body of Chinese troops with all possible speed to his own dominions. The Nagäi-Tartars received him like faithful subjects, and were overjoyed to see their legitimate sovereign; but he was not content with regaining his throne; he declared war against the Circassians, in order to punish them for their treachery to prince Khalaf at Jund. Instead of trying to appease him by submission, these warlike people speedily collected an army to oppose him. He attacked them, and cut them nearly all to pieces; after which he caused himself to be proclaimed king of Circassia, and then returned to Zagatay, where he found Elmaze and Tourandocte, whom Altoun-Khan had sent to Carisma in great state.
Such was the end of the misfortunes of prince Khalaf, who gained by his virtues the love and esteem of the Carismians. He reigned long and peacefully over them, and never abated in his love for Tourandocte; he had a second son by her, who became afterwards the sultan of Carisma. As for the prince of China, Altoun-Khan brought him up, and chose him for his successor. Timurtasch and the princess Elmaze passed the rest of their days at Astrachan, and the khan of Berlas, after having received from them and their children all the tokens of gratitude which his generosity merited, retired to his tribe with the remainder of his troops.
IV.
THE WISE DEY.
Chaaban, Dey of Algiers, being dead, the Turkish janissaries bethought themselves of electing a new dey; and their intention was to place in this high station an inert, weak, and indolent man, who would allow them to be their own masters, to act as they pleased either with or without justice, and who would never inflict any punishment upon them. Passing through the streets of Algiers, they beheld Hadgi-Achmet, a man of ripe age, seated peaceably at the door of his dwelling, and carefully mending his old slippers, without taking any part either in the outcries, the conversation, or the gossiping going on all around him. Hadgi-Achmet seemed to them to be just the sort of apathetic man they were in search of, a man who would never interfere with any one, would allow them to do exactly as they pleased, and who, in short, would be but the shadow of a dey. They therefore laid hold of Hadgi-Achmet, tore him from his work, led him to the divan, and elected him dey in spite of himself.
Hadgi-Achmet, thus forced to assume the reins of government, wisely examined into the duties of his new position, and set himself to fulfil them with as much assiduity and zeal as he had employed in the humbler task of mending his old slippers. He watched over the interests of the country, and over those of justice, and punished severely all misdeeds which came under his observation; having a stern, strange habit of knitting his shaggy eyebrows and flashing his brilliant eyes whenever any thing mean or wicked came under his notice. All this was very displeasing to the Turkish janissaries, and to several members of the divan. Four of these latter formed a species of plot with the design of bringing Hadgi-Achmet into contempt in the eyes of the public. Now as it was the pleasure of the dey to administer justice himself, and to enquire into the smallest matter that concerned the interests of the people, they thought to render him ridiculous, by begging him one day to judge four distinct matters, unworthy, in their opinion, to occupy the attention of a great ruler.
“Hadgi-Achmet,” said one of the members of the divan to the dey, “my lord, here is a culprit who can only be judged by thee, O sun of justice! He is a Tunisian merchant, who has established himself a short time since at Bab-a-Zoun street, not far from the mosque. At first he carried on his trade with tolerable honesty; but by degrees it has been shown that he is nothing better than a rogue, and has cheated a great number of his customers in the weight, the quality, and the value of his goods. Thou knowest well the law which condemns such offenders to lose an ear. This man was seized, carried before the cadi, and his rogueries being but too apparent, condemned by the cadi to lose his left ear, the right being reserved in the event of fresh misdemeanors. But when the man’s turban was removed, it was discovered that his left ear was already gone. The cadi, being informed of the fact, ordered the right ear to be cut off. To execute this order, they had to pull the hand of the culprit away from his right ear, and when this had been done, it was discovered that the Tunisian’s right ear was missing as well as the left. The cadi therefore sent to inform me, and I, knowing the pleasure thou takest in resolving grave and important questions, have come to submit this one to thy consummate prudence, to thy glorious justice.”
Hadgi-Achmet, having heard these words, knit his brows, his eyes flashed fire upon him who had just spoken, and upon all those who were present at this audience; then, turning towards the man without ears, he said,
“Since thou hast always been a rogue, and that nothing could reform thee, I condemn thee all thy life long to wear neither turban nor any head-dress whatsoever to conceal the mutilation of thy ears. Purchasers, on beholding this mutilation, will shun thee if they are wise, for no one is ignorant that a merchant without ears is nothing else than a rogue.”
The earless Tunisian went sadly away. Being compelled to exhibit to every one and at all times the mutilation he had undergone, was a far worse punishment than the loss of five hundred ears, if he had had them.
This judgment pronounced, a second member of the divan addressed the dey,
“Hadgi-Achmet, our lord and master, here are two men who are quarrelling upon a question which thou only canst decide by thy profound wisdom. One of these men is the father of a beautiful and promising boy. He had this son and two
others. One day, about ten years ago, Ibrahim, his neighbour, who was childless, said to him, ‘Chamyl, give me thy youngest son, I will adopt him; he shall live in my house, inherit my wealth, and be happy. If thou desirest it, I will give thee in exchange for thy son my country-house at Boudjaréah; thou knowest that the north breeze is wafted there in the hottest days of summer.’
“Chamyl consented to give his son, and took the house at Boudjaréah in exchange. Ormed, the son of Chamyl, went to live with Ibrahim, who soon loved him very tenderly, whilst Ormed, if only out of gratitude, soon became much attached to him.
“Chamyl has now lost both his other sons, and having become rich, desires to take back Ormed, saying, ‘This child is henceforth the sole hope of my race, the joy of my heart, and I wish him to become my heir.’
“As for Ibrahim, he has lost nearly the half of his fortune, but he has not lost the attachment which he bears to his adopted son. On the contrary, his affection continues daily to strengthen for this child, who is endowed with the finest qualities of mind, and with a grateful and affectionate heart.
“With whom dost thou decree that Ormed shall remain? with his adopted or with his real father?”
Hadgi-Achmet, addressing himself to Chamyl, said, “In what does thy fortune consist?”
Chamyl enumerated his possessions: a house, a ship, several country houses, and merchandise.
“Can these things be removed?” asked Hadgi-Achmet.
“Some of them can,” replied Chamyl.
“And the others,” replied Hadgi-Achmet; “couldst not thou, if necessary, dispose of them, and buy others with the price?”
“I could,” replied Chamyl.
“And the affection which thou hadst for thy sons who are dead, couldst thou transfer it, and bestow it upon other children.”
“Ah! that would be impossible,” replied Chamyl, sorrowfully.
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