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                           GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
              VOL. XXXVII.      October, 1850.      NO. 4.


                           Table of Contents

                    Fiction, Literature and Articles

          The Slave of the Pacha
          Music
          Pedro de Padilh
          Edda Murray
          Thomas Johnson
          Early English Poets—George Herbert
          Teal and Teal Shooting
          The Fine Arts
          Review of New Books

                       Poetry, Music and Fashion

          A Night at The Black Sign
          Sonnets: Suggested by Passages in the Life of
            Christopher Columbus
          To a Friend—with a Bunch of Roses
          Spring Lilies
          The Earth
          Alone—Alone!
          The Name of Wife
          Sonnet.—The Olive.
          Sin No More
          Wordsworth
          Inspiration. To Shirley.
          Sonnets, On Pictures in the Huntington Gallery
          Thinking of Minna
          The Maiden’s Lament for Her Shipwrecked Lover
          The Years of Love
          Ah, Do Not Speak So Coldly
          Le Follet

       Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook.

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[Illustration: THE SLAVE OF THE PACHA.

Painted by W. Brown and Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine by J.
  Brown]

                 *        *        *        *        *

                           GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.

        VOL. XXXVII.     PHILADELPHIA, OCTOBER, 1850.     NO. 4.

                 *        *        *        *        *




                        THE SLAVE OF THE PACHA.


                         A TALE OF ASIA MINOR.


                      FROM THE FRENCH OF SAINTINE.


I was botanizing lately in the woods of Luciennes, with one of my
friends, a distinguished Orientalist and renowned botanist, who had, a
few years since, traveled six thousand miles, and risked his life twenty
times, in order to obtain a handful of plants from the <DW72>s of the
Taurus or the plains of Asia Minor. After we had wandered for some time
through the woods, gathering here and there some dry grass and orchis,
merely to renew an acquaintance with them, we lounged toward the
handsome village of Gressets and the delightful valley of Beauregard,
directing our steps toward a breakfast, which we hoped to find a little
further on, when, beneath an alley of lofty poplars, on the left of the
meadows of the Butard, we saw two persons, a man and a woman, both
young, approaching us.

My companion made a gesture of surprise at the sight of them.

“Do you know those persons?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Of what class, genus and species are they?” I used the words merely in
their botanical sense.

“Analyze, observe and divine,” replied my illustrious traveler.

I determined then on applying to my individuals, not the system of
Linnæus, but that of Jussien, that of affinities and analogies. The
latter appeared to me to be more suitable and easier than the former.
The young man was dressed in a very simple and even negligent style,
wearing those high heeled shoes, three-quarter boots, which have
succeeded the half boots, (boots, since the introduction of comfort
among us, having steadily lessened,) and had not even straps to his
pantaloons. A pearl  sack,  shirt, and traveling cap with
a large visor, completed his costume.

Near him walked a young woman, of the middle height and finely formed,
but with such an air of indolence in her movements, flexibility of the
body, and jogging of the haunches, as proclaimed a southern origin or a
want of distinction. They advanced with their heads down, speaking
without looking up, and walking side by side without taking arms, but
from time to time one leant on the shoulder of the other, with a
movement full of affection.

It was not until we crossed them that I could see their figures; until
then I had been able to study only their costume and general outline.

The young man blushed on recognizing my companion, and saluted him with
a very humble air; I had scarcely time, however, to catch a single
pathognomic line of his face. The female was very handsome; the elegance
of her neck, the regularity of her features, gave her a certain air of
distinction, contradicted, however, by something provoking in her
appearance.

When they had passed on some distance, my friend said to me:

“Well, what judgment do you pass on our two persons?”

“Well,” replied I, positively, “the young man is your confectioner, who
is about to marry his head shop-girl;” but reading a sign of negation on
the countenance of my interrogator—“or a successful merchant’s clerk,
with a countess without prejudices.”

“You are wrong.”

I asked for a moment’s reflection, and, to render my work of observation
perfect, I looked after them.

They had reached, near the place where we were, the side of a spring,
called, in the country, the “Priest’s Fountain.” The young female had
already seated herself upon the grass, and drawing forth a napkin spread
it near her, whilst the young man drew a paté and some other provisions
carefully from his basket.

“Certainly,” I said to myself, “there are, evidently, in the face of
this beautiful person, traits both of the great lady and the grisette;
but, on thinking of her rolling fashion of walking, and especially
judging of her by the appearance of her companion, then stooping to
uncork a bottle, and whose unstrapped pantaloons, riding half way up his
leg, revealed his quarter boots, the grisette type prevailed in my
opinion.”

“The lady,” I replied, but with less assurance than at first, “is a
figurante at one of our theatres, or a female equestrian at the Olympic
circus.”

“There is some truth in what you say.”

“He is a lemonade seller.” I judged so from the practiced facility with
which he appeared to open the bottle.

“You are farther from the mark than ever,” said my companion.

“Well, then, let us talk about something else.”

Once at the Butard we thought no more of our two Parisian cockneys.
Whilst they were preparing our breakfast, and even whilst we were
breakfasting, my friend naturally recommenced speaking of his travels in
the Taurus and Anti-Taurus, in the Balkan, the Caucasus, on the banks of
the Euphrates, and then, to give me a respite from all his botanical and
geological descriptions, he related to me, piece by piece, without
appearing to attach the least importance to them, a story, which
interested me very much. He had collected the details of it (the scene
of which was laid not far from the shores of the Black Sea, between
Erzerum and Constantinople) from the lips of one of the principal actors
in it.

I endeavored to reduce it to writing when with him, not in the same
order, or disorder, as to events, but at least so far as regards their
exactness, and availing myself of the knowledge of persons and places
acquired by my traveler.


                               CHAPTER I.

Toward the middle of the month of July, in the year 1841, in the
pachalick of Shivas, in the vast gardens situated near the Red River, a
young girl, dressed in the Turkish costume, was walking slowly, with her
head bent down, followed by an old negress. At times she turned her head
rapidly, and when her eyes, through the massive maples and sycamores,
rested on the angle of a large building, with gilded lattices and
balconies of finely carved cedar, her complexion, usually pale, became
suddenly suffused, her small foot contracted against the ground, her
breast heaved, and she restrained with difficulty the sigh that
endeavored to escape.

Silent and pre-occupied she stopped, and with her finger designated a
plantain tree to the negress. The latter immediately entered an elegant
kiosk, a few paces distant, and returned, bearing the skin of a tiger,
which she placed at the foot of the tree. After the old negress had
passed and repassed several times from the skin to the kiosk, and from
the kiosk to the skin, the young girl seated herself, cross-legged, on
the latter, leaning against the plantain tree, on a cushion of black
velvet, holding carelessly in her left hand an ornamented pipe, with a
tube of Persian cherry, and in her right, in a small stand of filagreed
gold, shaped like an egg-cup, a slight porcelain cup, which the old
slave replenished from time to time with the fragrant Mocha.

Baïla was seventeen years old; her black and lustrous hair, parted over
her temples, resembled the raven’s wing; her eye-brows thin, and forming
a perfect arch, though of the same color as her hair, were, as well as
her long eye-lashes and the edge of the lids, covered with a preparation
of antimony, called _sourmah_. Still other colors had been employed to
heighten the lustre of her beauty; the carnation of her lips had
disappeared beneath a light touch of indigo; and, by way of contrary
effect, beneath her eyes, where the fine net work of her veins naturally
produced a light blue tint, the purple of the henna shone out. The
henna, a kind of vegetable carmine, much used in the east, also blushed
upon the nails of her hands and feet, and even upon her heels, which
peeped out, naked, from her small, beautiful sandals, embroidered with
gold and pearls.

Though thus tattooed, in the Asiatic fashion, Baïla was none the less
beautiful. Her costume consisted simply of a velvet caftan, muslin
pantaloons, embroidered with silver, and a cashmere girdle; but all the
knicknackeries of Oriental luxuriousness were displayed in her toilet.
The double row of sequins which swung on her head, the large golden
bracelets which covered her arms and graced her ankles, the chains, the
precious stones which shone on her hands and her corsage, and which
shook on the extremities of her long flowing hair and glittered on her
very pipe stem, graced in a singular manner her youthful charms.

The better to understand what kind of astonished admiration her
appearance might at this time produce, we should add that of the old
black slave, who, from her age as well as color, her short, thick
figure, her dull and heavy look, formed so striking a contrast with the
fresh beauty of Baïla, her fine and supple figure and her glance, still
lively and penetrating, notwithstanding the deep thought which then half
veiled it.

The better to lighten up this picture we must suspend over the heads of
these two females, so dissimilar, the beautiful blue sky of Asia, and
describe some incidents of the land, some singularities of the local
vegetation which surrounded them.

Some paces in advance of the plantain against which Baïla was reclining,
was a small circular basin of Cipolin marble, from which sprang a jet,
in the form of a sheaf, causing a delicious freshness to reign around. A
little farther on were two palm trees, which, springing up on either
hand and mingling their tops, presented the appearance of two columns,
forming an arcade of verdure. But before this entrance, judging from
appearances, the shadow even of a man should never appear. Baïla
belonged to a jealous master; her beauty, heightened by so much art and
coquetry, was to grow, blossom and flower for him alone.

From the foot of the palm trees parted a double hedge of purple beeches,
of silvery willows, of nopals of strange forms with saffron tints, and
of various shrubs with their many  flowers and fruits. The
dog-shades, with their stars of violet  velvet, the night-shades,
with their scarlet clusters involved amidst the mimosas, out of which
sprang the golden features of the cassia. Mingling their branches with
the lower branches of the plantain, the mangroves hung like garlands
above the head of Baïla, their large leaves hollowed into cups, and so
strangely bordered with flowers and fruits of orange color mixed with
crimson.

Farther back, behind the plantain, on a reddish, sandy spot, grew large
numbers of the ice plant, presenting to the deceived vision the
appearance of plants caught by the frost during the winter in our
northern climes, and the glass work covered the ground with crystalized
plates.

The picture was soon to become animated.

The magnificent eastern sun, sinking toward the horizon and throwing his
last flames beneath the verdant pediment of the palm trees, caused the
earth to sparkle as if covered with diamonds. His rays, broken by the
glittering sheaf in the basin, spread across those masses of flower and
foliage, rainbows, superb in golden and violet tints; they flashed from
the plantain to the variegated cups of the mangrove, and lighted up the
whole form of Baïla, from her brow, crowned with sequins, to her
spangled slippers; they even mingled with the smoke of her narghila, and
with the vapor of the Mocha, which arose like a perfume from the
porcelain cup, and glistening on the skin of the tiger on which she was
seated, appeared to roll about in small vague circles.

When the night breeze, rising, gently agitated the flowers and the
herbage, mingling in soft harmony all those zones of light and shade,
was it not a subject of regret that a human eye could not gaze upon the
beautiful odalisk, in the midst of those magical illusions, shining in
the triple splendor of her jewels, her youth, and her beauty?

And, yet, a man was to enjoy this bewitching scene, and that man not her
master.

Mariam, the old negress, was asleep at the foot of the tree, holding in
her hands the small mortar in which she had bruised the coffee to supply
the demands of her mistress. Baïla, half dozing, was holding out,
mechanically, toward her the china cup, when a man suddenly appeared
between the two palm trees.

At the sight of him the odalisk at first thought she was dreaming; then,
restrained by a feeling, perhaps of alarm, perhaps of curiosity,
remained quiet, immovable, without speaking—only the cup which she held
fell from her hands.

The stranger, who was a young Frank, having first made a motion as of
flight, became emboldened and approached her, with a heightened color
and trembling lips, arising from a too lively emotion or from an excess
of prudence on account of the negress. He merely inquired from Baïla the
way to the city.

He expressed himself very well in Turkish; she did not appear, however,
to understand him. What! a stranger, eluding the vigilance of guards,
had crossed the double circuit of the gardens which enclosed her—had
braved death—merely to ask his way!

Restored to a feeling of her situation, she rose, with an offended air,
drew from her girdle a small dagger, ornamented with diamonds—a
plaything, rather than offensive or defensive arms—and made an
imperious sign to him to retire.

The young man recoiled before the beautiful slave, with an appearance of
contriteness and embarrassment, but without ceasing to regard her
earnestly. He appeared to be unable to remove his eyes from the picture
which had riveted his attention; still, however, undecided and muttering
confused words, he was crossing the porch of the palm trees, when the
negress suddenly awoke.

At the sight of the shadow of a man, which reached into the enclosure,
she sprang up, uttering a cry of alarm.

“What are you doing?” said Baïla, placing herself before her, doubtless
from a feeling of pity toward the imprudent youth.

“But that shadow—do you not see it? It is that of a man!”

“Of a bostangy! Who else would have dared to enter here?”

“But the bostangis should be more careful. Has not our master prohibited
them from entering the gardens when we are here—when you are here? A
man has entered, I tell you; I saw his shadow.”

“Of what shadow are you speaking? Stop—look!” and Baïla stopped before
the negress.

“I saw it,” repeated the negress.

“The shadow of a tree—yes, that is possible.”

“Trees do not run, and it appeared to run.”

“You have been dreaming, my good Mariam,” and Baïla maintained so well
that no one had been there, that she had seen nothing, but in a dream,
that Mariam submissively feigned to believe her, and both prepared to
return to the house.

They were half way there when, on turning an alley, the negress uttered
a new cry, pointing to an individual who was escaping at full speed.

“Am I dreaming this time?” she said, and she was about to call for
assistance, when the odalisk, placing her hand on her mouth, ordered her
to keep silence. Mariam, who was devoted to her mistress, obeyed her.

Having returned to her apartment, Baïla reflected on her adventure.
Adventures are rare in a harem life. She was intriguing there
desperately, and would have been disquieted had she not had other cares.
These, in their turn, occupied her thoughts.

In thinking of them she became fretful, angry; she crushed the rich
stuffs which lay beside her. She even wept, but rather from passion than
grief.

Since the preceding evening Baïla was doubtful of her beauty; since then
she cursed the existence to which she had been condemned, and regretted
the days of her early youth. To remove from her mind the incessant idea
which tormented her, she essayed to remount to the past. She found
there, if not consolation, at least distraction.

The past of a young girl of seventeen is frequently but the paradise of
memory—a radiant Eden, peopled with remembrances of her family, and
sometimes of a first love. It was not so with Baïla; her family were
indifferent to her, and her first love had been imposed upon her.

She was born in Mingrelia, of a drunken father and an avaricious mother.
They, finding her face handsome and her body well proportioned, had
destined her, almost from the cradle, for the pleasures of the Sultan.
Her education had been suitable for her destined state. She was taught
to dance and sing, and to accompany herself in recitative; nothing more
had ever been thought of.

Although her parents professed externally one of the forms of the
Christian religion, had they sought to develop the slightest religious
instinct in her? What was the use of it? The morality of Christ could
but give her false ideas and be entirely useless to her in the brilliant
career which was to open before her.

But if the beautiful child only awakened toward herself feelings of
speculation, if she was, in the eyes of her parents, but a piece of
precious merchandise, she, at least, profited in advance by the
privileges it conferred upon her.

Whilst her brothers were unceasingly occupied with the culture of their
vineyard, with the gathering of grapes and honey—whilst her sister, as
beautiful as herself, but slightly lame, was condemned to assist her
mother in household cares, Baïla led a life of indolence. Could they
allow her white and delicate hands to come in contact with dirty
furnaces, or her well-turned nails to be bruised against the heavy
earthen ware, or her handsome feet to be deformed by the stones in the
roads? No—it would have been at the risk of injuring her, and of
deteriorating from her value.

Thus, under the paternal roof, where all the rest were struggling and
laboring, she alone, extended in the shade, having no other occupation
than singing and dancing, passed her life in indolence, or in regarding
with artless admiration the increase and development of her beauty, the
wealth of her family.

The common table was covered with coarse food for the rest; for her, and
her alone, are reserved the most delicate products of fishing and
hunting. Her brothers collected carefully for her those delicate bulbs,
which, reduced to flour, make that marvelous _salep_, at once an
internal cosmetic and a nutritive substance, which the women of the East
use to aid them in the development of their figures, and to give to
their skin a coloring of rosy white.

If they were going to any place, Baïla traveled on the back of a mule,
in a dress of silk, whilst the rest of the family, clothed in coarse
wool or serge, escorted her on foot, watching over her with constant
solicitude. Truly, a stranger meeting them by the way, and witnessing
all these cares and demonstrations, would have taken her for an idolized
daughter, guarded against destiny by the most tender affections.

If her father, however, approached her, it was to pinch her nose, the
nostrils of which were a little too wide; and her mother, as an habitual
caress, contented herself with pulling her eyebrows near the temples, so
as to give the almond form to her eyes.

Sometimes the husband, seized suddenly with enthusiasm on seeing Baïla
exhibit her grace when dancing by starlight, would say in a low voice to
his wife—

“By Saint Demetrius, I believe the child will some day bring us enough
to furnish a cellar with rack and tafita enough to last forever;” and a
laugh of happiness would light up his dull face.

“If we should be so unfortunate as to lose her before her time, it will
be ten thousand good piastres of which the Good God will rob us,”
replied his worthy companion; and she shed a tear of alarm.

Baïla was thirteen years old, when a barque ascending the Incour,
stopped at a short distance from the hut of the Mingrelian. A man
wearing a turban descended from it. He was a purveyor for the harem,
then on an expedition.

“Do you sell honey?” he said to the master of the hut, whom he found at
the door.

“I gather white and red.”

“Can I taste it?”

The honest Mingrelian brought him a sample of both kinds.

“I would see another kind,” said the man with a turban, with a
significant glance.

“Enter then,” replied the father of Baïla, and whilst the stranger was
passing the threshold, hastening to the room occupied by his wife, he
said to her—

“Be quick; the nuptials of thy daughter are preparing; the merchant is
here; he is below; arrange her and come down with her.”

At the sight of Baïla, the merchant could not restrain an exclamation of
admiration; then almost immediately, with a commercial manœuvre he threw
up her head, preparing to examine her with more attention.

During this inspection the young girl blushed deeply; the father and
mother seeking to read the secret thoughts of the merchant in his eyes
and face, kept a profound silence, beseeching lowly their patron saint
for success in the matter.

The man in the turban changing his course, and as if he had come merely
to lay in a supply of honey, took up one of the two samples deposited on
a table, and taking up some with his finger tasted it.

“This honey is white and handsome enough, but it wants flavor. How much
is the big measure?”

“Twelve thousand,” the mother hastened to reply.

“Twelve thousand paras?”

“Twelve thousand piastres.”

The merchant shrugged his shoulders—“You will keep it for your own use
then, my good woman.” He then went toward the door.

The woman made a sign to her husband not to stop him. In fact, as she
had foreseen, he stopped before reaching the door, and turning toward
the master of the house said—

“Brother in God, I have rested beneath your roof. In return for your
hospitality, I give you some good advice. You have children?”

“Two daughters.”

“Well, have an eye to them, for the Lesghis have recently descended from
their mountains and carried off large numbers in Guriel and Georgia.”

“Let them come,” replied the Mingrelian, “I have three sons and four
guns.”

The merchant then made a movement of departure, but having cast a rapid
glance on Baïla, he raised his right hand with his five fingers
extended.

Baïla, red with shame, cast on him a look of contempt and took the
attitude of an insulted queen. Thanks to that look and attitude, in
which he doubtless found some flavor, the merchant raised a finger of
his left hand.

The Mingrelian showed his ten fingers, not however without an angry
glance from his wife, who muttered, “it is too soon.”

“Honey is dear in your district,” said the man with the turban; “I
foresee I shall have to buy it from the Lesghis against my will.
Farewell, and may Allah keep you.”

“Can we not on the one hand sell any thing, nor on the other buy any
thing without your turning your back so quickly on us on that account?”
replied the father. “Repose still, the oar has doubtless wearied your
hands.”

“That is why they are so difficult to open,” growled the housewife.

“Since you permit it,” said the merchant, “I will remain here until the
sun has lost a little of its power.”

“I cannot offer you any thing but the shade. I know that the children of
the prophet avoid food beneath the roof of a Christian; but instead of
that you can indulge in a permitted pleasure; as my daughter is still
here, she can sing for you.”

Baïla sang, accompanying herself with an instrument. The man with the
turban, seated on his heels, his arms crossed on his knees, his head
resting on his arms, listened with a profound and immovable attention,
and when she finished, in testimony of his satisfaction, he contented
himself with silently raising one finger more.

Baïla, to the sound of ivory castanets and small silver bells, then
performed an expressive dance, imitating the voluptuous movements of the
bayaderes of India and the Eastern almas, but with more reserve however.

Forced this time to look at her, the man with the turban was unable to
disguise the impression made upon him by so much grace, suppleness and
agility, and, in an irrestrainable outbreak of enthusiasm, he raised two
fingers at once. They were near to a conclusion.

In this mysterious bargaining, this language of the fingers, these mutes
signs were used to enable the parties to swear, if necessary, before the
Russian authorities, by Christ or Mahommed, that there had