Meeting IV

In the province of Nakhchevan there lived a youth renowned for his uncommon courage, his name was Demurchy-Oglou, the son of a blacksmith. Passing one day through the town bazaar, he stopped to listen to the conversation of two Turks, who were extolling the liberality with which Kurroglou used to reward every brave man that entered his service. He said to himself, 46 My heart is bursting for want of action in this town. I must go and serve that warrior, who knows the value of men.” He then got up, saddled his horse, and putting on his armour, rode towards Chamly-bill.

Kurroglou at that time was hunting with the whole of band. He looked before him, and thinking that he saw a gazelle, or some other game, put his horse into a gallop in the direction of an object which appeared like a dark spot at a distance. It was Demurchy-Oglou. “Who art thou, young man, and whence dost thou 00010?” “I go to Chamly-bill. I have heard that Kurroglou, who lives there, is a liberal master, and knows the value of men. I desire to serve under him.” Kurroglou said in his heart: “Fine lad this!” he then gave him this reply: “My soul! I am Kurroglou. Thou hast heard I was liberal and always ready to give bread away, but thou must also know that I only give it to the brave, the cowards get nothing from me.”

By that time Kurroglou’s cavalry had joined him, he then said: “My children, my souls! Here have I hunted down my game.” Saying these words, he took an apple from his pocket and a ring from his finger. He fixed the ring into the apple, and said to Demurchy-Oglou: “Sit down in the Persian mode,” Then turning to his servants, he ordered them to take off the cap from the head of the new-comer. He then placed the apple on the latter’s bare head and rode aside. He bent his bow and continued to pass one arrow after the other through the ring. Out of the sixty arrows that were shot, not one went astray.

Kurroglou was glad to see that Demurchy did not even once wink or change his countenance. He said, “My soul, my children! whoever loves me let him contribute towards Demurchy-Oglou’s dress and saddle.” In an instant the stranger found himself rich, so many things were given him. Kurroglou said: “It is not often that one can get into his service a youth like him. I remember a song fit for the occasion, and shall sing it to you:—

Improvisation.—“Above all the gardens of the world I prefer my valley of Chamly-bill, and I like the walks in the bowers there. It is there that, together with my Esmarah, we shall arrange the bottles and the tumblers in a long line. What cheer, my Ayvaz? —fill the goblets full, full, and carry them round. I have conquered, a crowd of pashas took to their heels before me. Eighty arrows have I passed without failure through the ring; I am now envious of no bowman on earth.”

He then turned towards Ayvaz, who stood before him with his head leaning on his shoulder, and sang as follows:—

Improvisation.—“O my eye! cupbearer, reach me a bowl. Ayvaz is the candle of Kurroglou’s eyes. I envy not the riches of all the merchants of the world as long as I dwell at Chamly-bill, as long as I ride on Kyrat. Kurroglou tells you, if he did not improvise his pretty songs, no man on earth would know of his deeds. Yes, whatever I have done, I did it for friendship’s sake. The passion of base gain has never arisen in my soul.”

Having concluded these verses, Kurroglou rode away to Chamly-bill with his horsemen, and with Demurchy-Oglou. During fifteen days his only occupation was the instruction of his new followers, and thus both Ayvaz and Demurchy became excellent warriors, and were amongst the best of the band.

But listen now to the tale about the Princess Nighara, daughter of the Turkish Sultan Murad. In the neighbourhood of Constantinople, lived a man who was known there under the name of Belly- Ahmed. One day Princess Nighara went out for a walk through the bazaars of Constantinople. At the same time Kurroglou’s fame spread over all Turkey; everybody was telling stories about him, and all were struck with wonder. The Princess Nighara’s fond heart particularly, was filled with an ardent wish of seeing this extraordinary hero; and she often thought in her mind: “O my God, when will you allow me to behold Kurroglou?” It happened that whilst Belly-Ahmed was taking a walk in the bazaar of Istambul, he looked and beheld on the platform of the building, daroghs beating drums, whilst all the inmates of the bazaar, the workmen as well as the merchants, were flying in great hurry after having left their shops ajar. “Why are they thus running?” inquired Belly- Aimed, of a Turk. “Dost thou know nothing then listen: Our king, Sultan Murad, is gone on a pilgrimage to Mecca. His son, Burji Sultan, reigns temporarily until his father’s return. He has a sister, whose name is the Princess Nighara. Every Friday she goes to pray at the great mosque. The Sultan’s will is, that during the princess’s passage through the bazaars, no man should remain there, but that all the shops be left open. This is the reason of this panic and flight. As soon as Nighara has passed, the merchants and workmen will return to their shops again.”

Belly-Ahmed said in his heart: “Thy name is Belly-Ahmed, and shalt thou not see this beautiful Princess Nighara? If not, then thou art unworthy the name of Belly-Ahmed!” He then looked right and left, and entered stealthily into a green-grocer’s shop inclosed with a few boards. The princess’s train now approached. First passed with their whips, ferrashes and yassauls, who opened the procession; they were followed by eunuchs with canes of office ( chogan) in their hands. At last appeared the Princess Nighara, surrounded by a score of waiting women; she walked with a downcast countenance in their front, and lowering her eyes on the ground, said to herself: “O thou earth on which my foot is treading, i beseech thee, receive my prayer.” Belly-Ahmed saw and heard her through the chinks of the boards behind which he sat concealed. When Nighara saw the shop with vegetables, she wondered why this should be the only shop inclosed with boards, whilst all the other shops were standing open. She then said to her waiting women, “What is the reason of this? whilst goldsmiths, who possess a capital of one hundred thousand tumans, have left their shops open; how is that this petty merchant of vegetables, whose poor shop used always to be open, had shut it up to-day. There must be something extraordinary in all this. Break down the inclosure, my girls, and throw the boards aside.”

Belly-Ahmed heard it, and his soul was on the point of making an exit. He threw himself with his face downwards, as if he was laid down with severe illness. When her orders had been executed, Nighara entered the shop. Perceiving a fellow stretched out in his whole length, and embracing the floor with both hands, she kicked him with her foot, exclaiming: “Who art thou that wallowest in the dirt?” Belly-Ahmed sprang up on his feet, and bowing to the princess, said: “Lady! I am a stranger here, God preserve you from being in a strange land anywhere. I saw that the merchants of the bazaar were beaten and driven away, and I was frightened. But what was I to do? If I should hide myself in some rich shop, I might be taken for a thief. I have therefore chosen this miserable hovel, where nothing can be found except greens, onions, and rotten biscuits. And even if there was in it a few copper pieces, the owner at his departure must have taken them away. Pardon me, princess, my soul was at stake, and I hid myself.” Nighara inquired, “Stranger, what countryman art thou?” “I am a native of Erzeroum.” “Hast thou seen in those parts, the valley of Chamly-bill?” “Yes, lady, I have seen it.” “In that valley lives a man named Kurroglou, didst thou see him?” “O my fair princess, I am one of his servants, I am a slave purchased with his gold.” “Canst thou then deliver him a letter from me?”

“And wherefore not, fairest! thou hast only to write, and entrust it to me.”

The Princess Nighara immediately wrote a letter to Kurroglou with her own hand. And what did she write? Here it is: “O thou who art called Kurroglou! The glory of thy name has thrown a spell on all the countries of Turkey. I have heard that thou hast carried away Ayvaz from the town of Orfah. My name is Princess Nighara, Sultan Murad’s daughter. I tell thee, that thou mayest learn, if thou dost not know it, that, for a long time, I have felt an ardent desire of seeing thee. If thou art distinguished by courage, come to Istambul and carry me away.”

Having sealed the note, she gave it to Belly- Ahmed; the latter could read, and contrived to peruse the last words she had written,—“come and carry me away.” He therefore grew bolder, and said, “O princess! If thou desirest to see Cliamly-bill, I can serve thee, and accompany thee in thy journey.” Nighara was offended, and said, “Thou must not eat dirt. How didst thou presume to think that thou art worthy of the honour of carrying me to Chamly-bill?” Belly-Ahmed said, “Kurroglou will not trust a scrawl of paper like this.” “Then what is to be done?” “If thou speakest in earnest, give me thy miniature, and I shall carry it to him.” The princess took a medallion from her bosom, and, giving it to him, enquired—“What is thy name?” “Thy servant, Belly-Ahmed.” “The name Ahmed I comprehend well, but what is the meaning of that surname of Belly f’ “Thanks to your bounty, princess, I have got a piece of old chibouque with a notched bowl, a jug of cold water, and a bit of bread and cheese; all I possess I am in the habit of sharing with those who are poorer than me, and this is why I am specially called Belly- Ahmed.” Nighara commanded him to hold up his skirt, in which she threw two handfuls of gold. “Take care to carry this letter speedily to Chamly-bill.” This said, she left him.

Belly-Ahmed went to the caravansary, saddled his horse, and, whilst he was getting on it, he said in his heart, “It would be ungenerous in me not to deliver this letter to Kurroglou:”—and he acted as Belli/, famous, virtuous, notorious. lie thought. As soon as Kurroglou’s scouts perceived him, they seized Belly-Ahmed and brought him before their master. Belly-Ahmed made a low bow. Kurroglou, who was pleased with his appearance, allowed him to be seated in his presence, and directed Ayvaz to fetch some wine. Belly-Ahmed drank freely, and became jolly; he then told his name, and added, that he had come from Constantinople. Kurroglou gave orders that Kyrat should be brought, and, after showing him to his guest, he said, “Belly-Ahmed, if thou hast seen a finer horse than this at Istambul, say it?” “I have not, hero Kurroglou.” “Hast thou seen a handsomer warrior than Ayvaz is?” “I have not, hero Kurroglou.”

Hast thou seen there a feast more gay than mine?” “Never.—But, O Kurroglou! I have seen, at Istambul, the Princess Nighara; and if she had been present to adorn such a feast, Noushirvan himself could not then boast of a more complete entertainment.”

Kurroglou had heard before this of the Princess Nighara, and had planned certain designs on her. However, he was ashamed to confess it now, and sat with his head down, rapt in thoughts. This did not escape the penetration of Belly-Ahmed. he took from his bosom Nighara’s letter, and handed it to Kurroglou. Kurroglou having perused such a delightful billet-doux, was very indignant, and exclaimed, “Thou miscreant, thou art styled learned Ahmed, and thou hadst not brains enough in thy head to pay the painter for her likeness.” In answer, Belly-Ahmed showed him the medallion with the miniature in it. At the first glance Kurroglou felt enamoured of the princess with a thousand hearts. “Daly Hassan! Fetch us the lock and the chain here!” Belly-Ahmed said in his heart,— “How now! if I am not mistaken, these fetters will be given to me as a reward for my trouble.” Indeed, he did not deceive himself, for he was treated precisely as Khoja Yakub had been before him.

To saddle Kyrat,—to arm himself with sevenfold weapons, was, for Kurroglou, the work of a few minutes. Having collected his band together, he enjoined them not to pass their time in debauchery and drunkenness until his return. He appointed Ayvaz to be his lieutenant; and, after taking leave of every one, not forgetting his belles, he rode away, and journeyed on from one menzill to another until he arrived at Constantinople.

Having entered the city-gate, he dismounted from Kyrat, and led him through the streets. [That wonderful horse possessed also this peculiarity, that whenever he came to any strange city, he dropped his ears like an ass, made his bristles stand up on end, and with his mane dishevelled, his tail thrust between his legs, walked along like a jade, in order that none of the passers-by might covet him, or throw a spell on him.] Kurroglou looked, and beheld a decrepit old woman, with her back bent in the shape of a new moon, who was coming limping along. At one glance of the eye Kurroglou found out that she was a witch, skilful enough to twist and untwist seventy-two plots, and as many Satanic tricks. Kurroglou bowed, and said, “Welcome mother.” “I thank thee, my son!” “Mother, let me be thy guest to-night.” “My son, I have been begging all the morning, but I got no alms from anybody. Thou hadst better be a guest of some one richer than myself.” Kurroglou threw her some small silver and gold coins. The old woman s eyes brightened up at the sight of money. “Come my son, and follow me,” said she.

Kurroglou followed her step by step, leading Kyrat after him. They came to the old woman’s house, but the door was so small that it was found impossible to get in the horse. “Wait here a minute, my son, I shall go to fetch the spade, in order to dig the lower part of the door and widen it for thy horse.” Kurroglou waited and waited,’, until at last he lost all patience, and drawing his sword, with which he struck so powerfully, that, at the first blow, the wall was cut in halves. He then led Kyrat into the court-yard. The old woman comes: “My son, may thy own house fall in ruins; thou hast pulled down one of the walls, and broken open the door of my court-yard;” here she commenced striking her bosom and head, crying and wailing. “Do not despond, mother, I will call a mason here, and have a wide fine gate built for thee.” Kurroglou, having thus soothed the old woman, led the horse into the stable. “Mother, thou hast told me thou wast poor, and yet the stable has mangers, and stalls, and all requisite appurtenances; and what sayest thou of these fine apartments?” “O my son, I am a widow; my husband was a merchant; from the day of his death the house has been deserted.” “Give me a bundle of hay mother.” The old woman gathered here and there a small quantity of hay, straw, and dry brambles, which she brought and threw into the manger. Kyrat was by no means fastidious, and, like his master, ate of everything, provided it was a trifle softer than stone. “Well, my son, let us now go in.” Kurroglou having examined all, saw that the room was neat and well lighted, but the carpets were very old. He took from his pocket a handful of money, and exclaimed, “Come here, mother, go to the bazaar and buy a suite of carpets. Let the felt-carpet be of the manufacture of Jam, and the middle carpet (Kdly) of the workmanship of Kliorassan. Go, buy and fetch them speedily, and then lay out this room with them. The old woman soon returned, followed by a porter, who brought beautiful carpets, with which she laid out two snug rooms for her guest. “My son, it is time to take off thy armour, and to put aside thy weapons, they must be heavy.” And as Kurroglou was taking off the different articles of his dress, she suspended them one after the other on the nails. “My little mother, thy gown is so old and dirty, that I cannot look on it; here, take this small handful of money, and buy new clothes, to be clad decently. “This is a true son to me,” thought the old woman to herself, “O God, send me a dozen more such offspring.” She then went to a tailor’s shop, and having selected some clothes ready made, put them on. She bound a white kerchief round her mouth; the reason of her doing so was, that she had no teeth.

“Well, mother, it is high time to think of supper. I have as many as twelve servants, who will be here before evening. You must not forget them; let there be plenty of everything, rice, butter, meat, and spices.” The old woman went to the bazaar, and having bought provisions and liquors for thirteen, she brought them home, and kept them ready.

Kurroglou was also busying himself; he rubbed down his Kyrat, then watered him, and, after giving him some barley, left the stable, washed his hands and feet, in order to repeat the namaz.

“Old woman!” called Kurroglou. “Look at him—Old woman! what means this nickname? I am neither so old, nor so ugly; what a rude man.” Kurroglou began to laugh and to make apologies: “Don’t be angry, I shall call thee bride, maiden, all thou likest, only let us make peace. But it grows late, my servants are not likely to come; bring and put down here all that thou hast got in the kitchen. Pour the rice in one heap on the large tray, and put all the meat over the rice.” The old woman said in her heart, “May I fall a sacrifice to my son. H e must be very rich; he desires to have a supper served before him for thirteen persons, and yet he is alone. No doubt he is a lordling, and a delicate one. He will eat two or three mouthfuls, and be satisfied; the remnants will afford me food for twenty days.”

The old woman then heaped up on an immense salver an entire mountain of rice, which she afterwards covered with a thick layer of meat. She spread before Kurroglou, who was sitting on the floor, a table-cloth, and on the table-cloth a napkin made of leather; but when the time came to bring the salver with the meal into the room, she was not able to raise it. “My son, I have not strength enough to carry so much food” Kurroglou got up, went to the kitchen, and fetching his meal himself he said, “My little old—I mean young woman, be seated, and let us eat, in God’s name.” “Eat, and please yourself, my darling son; while the supper was cooking, I satisfied my hunger with the odour of the meats alone.” “Just as you please; as for me, I have warned you, that you may not regret it too late, when the harm is done. I fear, lest in the desert of thy belly the blast of destruction should. riot; the sin would lie on my soul, and on doomsday, I should have to answer for it before our prophet; as it is, thou shalt be alone responsible to God.”

The old gossip thought that it was but a jest,— that Kurroglou, having taken a few morsels, would leave the rest for her; that she would eat it afterwards comfortably at her leisure, and should be able to treat, besides, the old gossips her neighbours.

Kurroglou extended his hand, and opened it like a lion’s paw; he then continued snatching from the tray one handful after another and flung them into his mouth. The old woman’s eyes were on Kurroglou’s lips. She saw that there wanted but five or six more such snatches, and and not one grain of rice would be left on the tray. Kurroglou observed that the old woman, crouching and watchful as a squatting kitten, was looking greedily on him, and already seemed to regret that she had not accepted the invitation. She said in her heart, “My God, inspire him with the thought of asking me again to supper.”

Kurroglou said, “Sit down, dear old soul, and take your supper.” This time she availed herself duly of the opportunity. She rushed towards the tray, seated herself close to it, and ate away. She felt much displeasure at Kurroglou’s swallowing too large pieces. She filled hastily her old meagre hand with as much rice and meat as it could grasp, and stuffed her mouth withal. A grain of rice was driven from the mouth into the nose, and now she kept coughing, sneezing, and choking. In the mean time Kurroglou cleared the remnants, and said, “Old—I mean young woman, I have now filled but one half of my stomach, the other half yawns to be filled; take the tray away.” The old woman rubbed her hand on the floor as in the act of searching. “Old woman, why dost thou rub thy hand?” She replied, “Mayst thou die young, my son; the leathern napkin that w r as left me by my mother as a keepsake, I laid it before t;hee, but I cannot find it now.” “Was it thy napkin, then? mayhap I have stuffed it, by inadvertence, into my mouth; the last morsel was somewhat hard and bitter, I had some difficulty in swallowing it; why didst thou not caution me?” The old woman said in her heart, “My guest must be no other than Famine personified; if he should feel hungry again, he w ill swallow up my own poor self.”

Kurroglou, after chatting with her for some time longer, directed his bed to be made. “Where wilt thou have thy bed made, my son?” “Make me a bed in the hall close to the door, because I must rise in the night to have a peep into the stable.” The old woman said in her heart, “As he has eaten so much he may have some bad designs; he wishes to lay at the threshold that I may not escape from the house;” she then said, “I am old, my son, my sleep is broken, and I must often go out in the night.” “No matter, I allow thee to trample over my bed; fear nothing.”

At midnight Kurroglou coughed and awoke. He hears that the old woman lies sleepless. “Dost thou watch, mother?” he inquired. “Yes, I cannot fall asleep.” The old woman was possessed of uncommon penetration, and was thinking all the time what sort of a man her guest was; at last she asked him. “My darling son, thou must surely be Nazar Djellaly, from the wandering tribe of the Terdjumans. I conjure thee by God the creator, tell me the truth.” “No.” “Thou art then Gurizoglou?” “No.” “Perchance thou art Reyhan Arab, from the town of Orfah?” “Wrong.” “Then surely thou art no other than the chief of the band of Seven Hundred and Seventy-seven, the renowned Kurroglou. It is from Chamly-bill thou art come here?” “This time you have guessed right, mother. To morrow morning, thou shouldst go into the streets of the bazaar and proclaim as loud as thy lungs can bawl, that Kurroglou has arrived here from Chamly-bill, to carry away the Princess Nighara, daughter of Sultan Murad, the Turkish Monarch.” The tongue of the poor old woman stiffened in her mouth when she had heard these words; she was in a great fright. “Be not afraid, old body.” “How can I help not being afraid. The reports that circulate here about thee are so dreadful, that if a child cries and the mother desires to silence it, she tells it, Be quiet, for the wolf is come and is sure to devour thee if thou shouldest shriek any longer; the child cries on. The leopard is come; the child continues to cry. But no sooner is it told, Kurroglou is come to fetch it to Chamly-bill, than the child leaves off crying immediately, and being frightened, hides its face in the pillow and falls asleep. See, then, my son, and be rather surprised that I am bold enough not to have fled from the room after I had heard thy confession.” Kurroglou said, “I swear to thee by the most pure spirit of the Creator of the earth and heaven, that I shall deal with thee as if thou wert my own mother. But woe to thee if thou shouldst reveal this secret to any man. Then wert thou even seated in the seventh heaven 1 would throw a noose over thee to drag thee down, or if thou wert to turn into a jinn and hide thyself in the depths of the earth, there also I would plunge the tongs and drag thee up to the surface, in order to have thy wretched body torn in pieces.” The old woman said, “Thou mayst trust me, my son, my lips shall never open as long as I live.” “Tell me, dear old, I mean, young soul, where is now Sultan Murad, for whose daughter I came here in reality.” “The Sultan, O my son, is gone on a pilgrimage to Mecca. His son Burji Sultan is his lieutenant.” “Where is the residence of the Princess Nighara?” “In a palace surrounded with seven walls built of stone; on each of these walls guards are stationed.”

When morning came, Kurroglou repeated his name, and having paid a visit to Kyrat in the stable, he took his breakfast and said to the old woman, “I go now to the bazaar; fasten the door, and let nobody enter the house.” In the bazaar he ordered a white dress to be prepared for him, similar to that worn by the Mollahs; he then bought some yards of white linen, and got a cornelian stone, on which he ordered an engraver to cut the name of Sultan Murad. He said in his heart, “Princess Nighara is sure to ask me to play on the guitar for her; I have not brought my guitar with me, but there is an instrument-maker here whose name is Yakub, every year he sends me a guitar, for which he receives yearly, a remuneration of one hundred tumans.” Having found out the shop of the artificer Yakub, he repaired to it covered with a peasant’s cloak. “Master, give me a guitar.” Yakub motioned with his hand to one of his boys to fetch the instrument. Kurroglou did not like it, and requested that a more costly guitar, inlaid with mosaic (hatemi), should be shown him, and that it should have a screwed handle, so adapted as to be easily taken out from the guitar, or put in again according to the circumstances. The artificer Yakub was not a little offended: “Go along, wretch: art thou a Kurroglou to ask for a guitar worth a hundred tumans?” Kurroglou looked him in the face and smiled, “I tell thee, boor, be off! if not, I shall pass this awl through thy foolish head” Kurroglou thought, “This scoundrel does not know me, he will not give me a good guitar unless I show him what my fingers can do.” He then took one of the guitars that had been brought, placed it on his bosom, and improvised for master Yakub the following song: —

Improvisation.—“I came to thee from Chamly-bill, singing all the way. O master, may I be thy slave, let me depart. My guitar has been broken and I am at a loss what to do. Master, I am thy slave, let me depart. My guitar was mute, suspended on the wall. I got up, I took the guitar and placed it on my bosom. Ayvaz was drunk, the guitar was broken. Master, I am thy slave, let me depart.”

The artificer Yakub had a man servant, this man having examined Kurroglou’s face when the latter pronounced the name of Ayvaz, had recognised him and whispered into the merchant’s “Master, may thy house fall in ruins, this is Kurroglou.” “Hold your tongue, fool,” replied Yakub, giving the boy at the same time a box in the ear; “no power will ever drag Kurroglou to Istambul.” Kurroglou then improvised another song.

Improvisation.—“Oil! why am I not walking in the valley of Chamly-bill! I must fall a victim to beauty’s eyes. There my little darling Khurde- Khanum is wont to balance her diminutive limbs to the music of my guitar. Master, I am thy slave, only let me proceed on my journey.”

But the foolish merchant would not take the hint, and began again to scold Kurroglou. “Impudent liar, I send every year one guitar to Kurroglou, for which he gives me a hundred tumans reward; now, thou hast hardly as much as a hundred lice on thy skin.” Kurroglou gave a song.

Improvisation.—“O my curved sword, where art thou, that I may rip this braggadocio through the middle of his body. Workman, do not refuse me a guitar, and let me depart.”

Saying this he fell into a great fit of passion, and had already snatched the handle of a knife, but said in his heart, “If I should slay this dog’s son, a workman like him is nowhere to be found.” He sang again.

Improvisation. — “At Chamly-bill they say, ‘Make Tlio name of oin of Kurroglou’s nrntrrssea. way for Beg, Beg!’ I am that Be; I will pardon the workman’s guilt, I will not touch him. 1 would not bend my neck for five hundred tumans. Master, I am thy slave, only let me proceed on my journey speedily.”

At last Yakub recognised Kurroglou and fell down at his feet. “Pardon, my lord, I am a blockhead, I did not know thee.” “Arise, I forgive thee provided thou makest me a guitar with a handle that may be removed as I directed.” The merchant immediately ran himself for the instrument in question and fetched it. Kurroglou tried it and approved of it. He then took off the handle and put the guitar into his pocket. He gave fifty lu-mans to the merchant, and twenty-five tumans to the boy who had recognised him, then said: “Yakub, thou hast been earning from me as much as one hundred tumans every year, and thou didst not know me; this lad had never eaten of my bread, and yet he recognised me. If thou takest from him one farthing after my departure, I will punish thee most severely.” Then he asked, “Hast thou seen the camel?” “I have not seen so much as its foot marks.”

Kurroglou on his return to the old woman’s house encountered a Turkish Fakky and greeting him courteously said, “My mother is on her death-bed, I beg of you to read over the sick woman one chapter of the Koran.” “Pay me for my trouble first.” Kurroglou gave him a ducat and they continued to walk together. When they had entered the court-yard, Kurroglou let the fakky in before him and fastened the door after him. The fakky saw an old woman walking in the court-yard, and enquired, “Didst thou not tell me thy mother was on her death-bed? I perceive now that she is well and able to walk.” Kurroglou answered, “A miracle! When I left the house she was on the point of death, now she is come to life again.” “Then I may go?” “Stay, fakky! take a piece of paper and write down what I shall dictate to thee.” The fakky then reached an inkstand from under his girdle, took a leaf of paper, and \was ready. Kurroglou said, “Thou must write a letter from Sultan Murad to his daughter Princess Nighara.” “Slay me rather, for I will write no such thing.” “How now? Thou canst not write then.” “I cannot.” Kurroglou caught him by the throat and squeezed it so that the fakky’s eyes were forced from their sockets, and his blackened tongue protruded from his mouth; he was scarcely able to stammer out, “My lord, do not strangle me, I will write all thou l|f ’vi t. That is another thing; now write fakky, My daughter,! nd this dm vubli, lUnujlum by name, to thee from Mecca. All the caresses, services, and esteem which thou wouldst show to me in person, show unto him. A man so pious, so deeply skilled in theological lore, by night or by day, so true a servant of Allah as he is, does not exist on the surface of the earth.’.... The fakky thought. This man is an ass and cannot read, I must write something else. Eventually, what he wrote was this, ‘Nighara Khanum, a chavush, Roushan by name, the bearer of this letter is the greatest scoundrel, swindler, and brigand, that the world ever saw; whip him well, but let him not enter the town lest he should disturb my capital.’ “I have written it, sir, give me a seal that I may apply it now.” Kurroglou said, “Let me see how thou didst write it.” Fakky whispered to himself, “Woe to me, this man can read;” and he added aloud, “I have still a few words to add, allow me to finish it.” Kurroglou snatched the paper from his hands; he read and saw what absurdities the rascal had been scribbling. “What does this mean?” he enquired. The fakky replied, “Thou hast squeezed my throat so badly 7 that the blood has drowned my 7 brains, I am frightened and cannot tell my 7 self what I have written. My lord, my benefactor, may I fall a victim to thee, only pardon me, 1 shall now write so well that thou wilt thyself approve it.”

Kurroglouhm tiimiplutl on him ami cxt luiinucl, “Thun write now, miwre&Dt!’ To joke any longer was out of question, the fakky was obliged to write as he was led by his master; he even added from himself, ‘You will ride four farsukhs out of town to meet this phoenix of sanctity. 5 Kurroglou perused the letter and sealed it with the seal on which he had previously ordered the name of Sultan Murad to be engraved. “And now, fakky, thou must write a separate order to the watchmen of the five ramparts of the Princess’ palace. ‘I have sent to you my chavush Roushan; he is honoured by me with entire confidence and trust; do not hinder him from visiting the Princess Nighara, and let him remain with her as long as he pleases.’” Kurroglou read the paper, and saw that all was properly written. He sealed it with Sultan Murad’s seal; he moreover ordered the fakky to prepare a number of blanks, with the sultan’s seal, and put them in his pocket. “Well, aga, let me depart now.” Kurroglou replied, “I feel some compassion for thee; thou hast executed the writing well, but the ducat I gave thee is a false one; give it back to me that I may exchange it for a good ducat.” Having placed the ducat, which the fakky returned to him, in his purse, he thought in himself: “The head that is chopped off cannot tell tales.” He then took the fakky aside, and dealt him such a blow on the head with his club, that the poor fellow’s skull was flattened like a closed book. The fakky was dispatched to hell. Kurroglou then flung the corpse against the wall, which he afterwards struck with so much strength with his foot that it fell down covering the dead man with its ruins.

The old woman saw all that passed from a distance, and commenced to cry, striking her bosom, and exclaiming, “May thy father be burnt, my son! on the soil of my house no innocent blood has ever before been shed. Why didst thou defile it?” Kurroglou replied and said, “Shouldst thou like me to slay thee also, thou infidel Sunnite, and to pull down the remainder of this wall upon thy withered body?” “I am guilty, my son, pardon me, and do as thou pleasest.” Kurroglou covered his dress with the white gown of a mollah, which he had bought in the bazaar; he then put on white trousers, and throwing over all a pilgrim’s mantle (ciubah), wrapped his head in a white turban. He concealed a poniard in his bosom; in one hand he held a walking-stick, and in the other a rosary. With half-closed eyes, and his head piously lowered, he proceeded, with slow and grave steps, towards the palace of Princess Nighara.

At the gate he was stopped by the guards, who asked, “Haji, whither art thou going? this is the sultan’s harem, which no man is permitted to enter.” “1 can enter it, ye cursed giaours!” “May God in heaven accept thy pilgrimage, but our orders are strict, and we cannot let in even thee.” Kurroglou said “My name is Clin vush Roushan; I come from Mecca, sent here by the sultan. Surely Nighara would not have caught cold in the head if she had ridden out, as properly she should, to meet me herself.” “Dost thou hold in thy hand an order from the sultan?” Kurroglou gave them the order addressed to the wardens of the palace. When they had perused it they all fell down at his feet, and respectfully kissed the skirt of his mantle. “May God accept thy pilgrimage!—pardon us, for we were not aware of it.” “May God likewise procure you the blessing of beholding Mecca.”

In this manner, this scoundrel of scoundrels was permitted to enter the harem—a man capable of cutting out the breast of a mother nursing her child. Having cleared the gates of all the seven walls, he reached Nighara’s apartments. On all sides appeared gardens abounding with flowers; there were four ponds of running water, and fountains were playing. Kurroglou, folding his mantle in four, spread it on the banks of one of the pieces of water, and sitting upon it, looked on the gardens, in the midst of which stood Nighara’s palace, surrounded with magnificent kiosks. In one of those he perceived the princess herself, who sat in a room whose windows were open. She was drinking wine in the company of some beautiful girls. One of the waiting-maids came to the edge of the pond to fetch water, and saw a mollah sitting there in a white turban, with his eyes half closed, holding a rosary in his hand, upon which he counted his prayers. “What wouldst thou here, man?” she inquired; <c this is the sultan’s harem.” “Man! what name is this? Nasty girl—is not thy mouth large enough to pronounce the word 4 Haji V Couldst thou not as well congratulate me upon my return from Mecca? And that mistress of yours, Nighara, could she not afford to wear out half her slipper to go out and meet me?” 44 Who art thou, then?” “I am the royal Chavush Roushan; 1 come from Mecca, sent here by the sultan.”

Hearing these words, the maid forgot, in her joy, to fill her jug with water, and hastened with the news to her mistress. Entering the room, she snatched the shawl of the princess’s turban, as well as her jewels that lay on the carpet. 44 What is that?” inquired Nighara, 44 art thou drunk, to appropriate thus, with a familiarity far above thy station, the shawl and jewels belonging to me?” The maid replied, 44 It is thyself that art drunk, not I. All I take is now my property, as a reward for my good tidings. A chavush has arrived from Mecca, sent, by the sultan.” “So soon; impossible!" “1 swear by thy head, my lady; and such a holy man is he, a heavenly fire breathes from his eyes, and his countenance shoots its ray towards the sun.” “Get up, my girls, and let us run to meet the chavush. I have read it in the sacred traditions, that whoever shall hasten to meet those that return from Mecca, so that the dust from their horse’s hoof may fall upon him, the fires of hell shall have no power to consume him.”

Kurroglou looked, and saw a great movement in the princess’s room: all the women were getting ready to go out and meet him. He tore quickly the turban from his head, and flung it from him; he then took a cap from his pocket, which he put on sideways in the fashion of the Kajjars. He threw off the white mollah’s gown, and adjusted the folds of his dress, made of dark olive-coloured cloth, cut in the Persian fashion. He tied in a more graceful manner the shawl that served him for a girdle, from under which protruded the handle of a poniard, richly set with brilliants, worth four hundred tumans. He took the guitar from his pocket, whose handle he fastened, and after having stretched its strings, tuned it, and placing it on his knees, commenced striking it with the mezraub. The guitar resounded like a nightingale.

Princess Nighara came soon after with her maidens. No Haji was to be seen, but instead of him, she beheld a manly face, with mustachios protruding beyond the ears, a true pattern and compendium of a perfect Looty. “Thou mischievous story-teller,” said she, turning towards the maid-servant, “where is the chavush?” “I swear by Allah that this very man was the Haji, and had a turban on his head.” “Thou must then ask this musician what is become of the Haji?” The maid ran to Kurroglou, and said, “The Haji has been here before thee, where is he now?” Kurroglou answered angrily, “Avaunt, and vanish, nasty girl! no living soul was seen here, except myself.” The poor maid came back to the princess, and swore by everything, that the Haji whom she had seen had been transformed. “Go along, ruffian, thou hast introduced me to a pretty Haji indeed He had, no doubt, given thee a kiss or so. Quick, my girls, fetch the rods here!” In a glance the feet of the innocent maid were attached to the falakn, and innumerable blows came down on her heels Kurroglou was moved with compassion when he saw the poor girl thus unjustly whipped.

He rose from his seat, and, placing himself before Nighara, was going to salute her, but he said in his heart: She is the sultan’s daughter, and, moreover, dissimulation is sanctioned by our creed. He therefore exclaimed, at the top of his voice, “Salam Auleikum /’ The Princess Nighara fell into a great passion, and, from spite, gave him no answer. Kurroglou was sorely afflicted; one would say that a knife had been plunged in his breast. He thought in his mind: She did not answer me, and he added aloud: “Princess, give an order that the whipping of the servant-maid be stopped, the poor girl is innocent.” Upon this he took the guitar, and sang:—

Improvisation.—“I said to her ‘Welcome!’ but she would not accept the greeting. I am a pennyless lover; I am without gold. I am not rich enough to purchase such a jewel as thou art.”

Nighara came nearer to him, and said: “Thou brigand, miscreant, if thou hadst even a hundred thousand tumans in thy possession, who would think of placing so much as my corpse upon thy shoulders V Having said these words, she gave him a kick with her feet in the bosom. One of the maids then exclaimed: “Princess, it is a pity thou shouldst profane thy slender foot against the unwashed breast of this dirty wretch.” Kurroglou said to the girl, “How dost thou know, foolish girl, that my breast is not more precious than thy mistress’s heel?’ 5 Then turning to the princess, he sang as follows:—

Improvisation.—“In thy breath there is the fragrance of the violet and hyacinth; like them thou art blooming in solitude. Thou art an arrow in my heart’s core; Heaven will take vengeance on thee, because thou wouldst not listen to my complaints.”

Nighara listened to this answer with angry looks, whilst her breasts, not larger than an orange, heaved, as their whiteness put to shame the virgin snow on the top of the mountain Savalan. Kurroglou said in his heart; Whatever may happen, let us proceed. It would be a pity to compare the whiteness of this breast to silver: silver, like a courtezan, passes from one hand to another, and soon is worn out. I should likewise be sorry to compare it to snow, because the snow will be melted and disappear before the very first sun. I should rather compare it to white paper; yes, paper will last long, and, even if placed on the breast, will not lose its whiteness. Upon this he sang as follows:—

ImprovisaHcm. —“Thou art a garden full of violets and of hyacinths. Why dost thou wound my bosom? Those breasts of thine are white paper. Why is it then that they hinder my pen from tracing on them a tale of love?”

The Princess Nighara listened to the lay, and did not move. Kurroglou said in his heart. Let us proceed, and tell her our name. He then sang:_

Improvisation.—“Thou art the freshest fruit in the gardens of the spring. Thou art the scented quince and the pomegranate. O, Nighara!—thou beloved of Kurroglou. Think not that the world is ignorant of thy worth.”

At the time when Kurroglou received from Belly-Ahmed s hands the letter and the miniature he was drunk, and had no recollection of them, as well as of all that happened with the Princess Nighara and with Belly-Ahmed in the shop of the merchant of vegetables. Before he was able to recal it to his mind, Nighara directed her maidservants to give a thrashing to the impudent fellow. (God preserve any man from being placed under the nails or the fingers of an angry woman!) The girls continued to pour a hail of blows upon Kurroglou. His olive-coloured dress of cloth soon fell to pieces on his body. The scourged man called out, “O Princess, if thou hast no pity for me, he merciful to thy own servant maids; their hands and feet grow callous from beating me.” The princess said, “Come girls, let us take some wine, after which we will return to thrash again this mustachioed impostor.” They then departed. Nighara, walking, threw some glances behind on Kurroglou’s tall figure and his manly beauty. When the latter perceived it, he forgot the pain caused by the whips, seized his guitar, and improvised a song on Nighara’s eyes.

Improvisation.—“0 Nighara, thou gazelle-eyed princess, shall I see thy bosom turn into stone? Thou hast thrown me down upon my face, may thy eyes be filled with tears.”

The princess listened, and examined Kurroglou with increasing attention, He saw it, and sang again:—

Improvisation.—“Command, deliver me rather to the executioners, but do not betray the secret to strangers’ ears. If thou shouldst ride on horseback, ride no other than a Kohlan steed. Whoever mounts him will be filled with delight.”

Nighara exclaimed, “Girls, get me a glass of wine here!” While she was drinking, Kurroglou gazed on her, and improvised as follows:—

Improvisation.—“Give an order that I may be put to death! Let the tears be quenched in my eyes, their source. Let the goblets be filled. Drink my blood,—a bumper toast to thy good health!”

Kurroglou said in his heart, “Thou hast undergone so many troubles. Thou earnest to Stambul,_

What then? If it were possible at least to find, as a compensation, some fourteen or fifteen girls as beautiful as she is, what a valuable addition to my stock at Chamly-bill. I would carry away every one of them to console myself after my failure of this day.” He then sang:—

Improvisation.—“I wandered about that I might find her,—I wandered through the alleys, through the bazaars. Oh, let fifteen girls as beautiful as Nighara appear before Kurroglou’s face!”

Nighara proceeded to the kiosk, and took some wine. Since his departure from Chamly-bill, Kurroglou had had no opportunity of drinking. His heart was gnawing with a desire for wine. He saw Nighara’s eyes fixed on his, and began to lick and bite his lips. The princess said, “Girls! go and dissolve in butter some balm, mumiah, and fetch it to him, that he may drink, lest he should die, for he has been very much frightened. Tell him also that the princess desires not his death. Let him drink, and depart afterwards, otherwise 1 will kill him.” Kurroglou was delighted when he saw the girls carrying a basin filled with liquid; he thought it was wine, and asked, “What is that?” “It is the extract of mumiah. My mistress told me to give thee one tumbler only;—I have filled an entire basin. My mistress directed me to tell thee to go away when thou hadst drunk it, or else she will have thee killed.”’ Kurroglou was offended; he drove away the girl, whom he ordered to tell Nighara to send him the same beverage which she was drinking herself.

“How now! Does the holy Haji take prohibited liquor?—bravo’” replied the princess, when she had heard the message. By her orders carpets were spread on the back of the piece of water, bottles and dainties were placed upon them; and then all the women, following the example of the princess, seated themselves on the lawn.

“At the request of my lord Haji we shall give him wine, but he must dance for us, after which, let us whip the swindler again, and drive him away from the harem.”

Kurroglou examined with his eyes the approaching train. The princess’s gait was full of loveliness and grace. She halted from time to time, and took from her numerous waiting-women such dainties as a piece of roast meat, or something of that kind. The carpets were spread before Kurroglou. He thought in his heart, “If thou shouldst now play no air in honour of her arrival, thyself, as well as thy talent, are not worth a farthing.” He then played a tune, and began as follows:_

Improvisation.—“O Aghas, my brethren! i\i-ghara is come again. Tears of joy are flowing from my eyes;—the Princess Nighara is come. The Armenian is fond of his cross, although his prophet has suffered on it. I shall snatch one kiss from her white face. Look how she has adorned her black hair, which she had allowed to fall on her slender neck. —She is come!”

Nighara’s body, whilst she walked, was swinging luxuriously, and her eyes were turned towards Kurroglou. He w r as delighted, and improvised as follows:—

Improvisation. — “Am I then allowed to hope still? Oh! the thought of thee has planted a camp in my breast. I look on my Nighara. From one of her hands she eats dainties; in the other hand is a crystal cup full of wine. She is come to teach me her beauty; she is come that she may pour out, —that she may exhaust to the very bottom, the source of my tears. The Princess Nighara is come again that she may kill Kurroglou.”

As soon as Kurroglou had ended his song, Nighara called on her waiting women, “Now crush the ruffian!” The blows poured down on him in torrents again. Kurroglou, who was wallowing on the earth from great pain, approached gradually the piece of water, until at last he plunged into it, and, holding the guitar over his head, swam with one hand to the middle where the fountain was playing from a column of marble, upon which he then placed himself.

The girls, by their mistress’s order, commenced pelting him with stones. Thus persecuted, he thought in his heart, “If it pleases God to conduct me safely from this place, I will burn thy father, O Belly-Ahmed. She has never loved me, and thou hast deceived me.” He then turned to the princess, and exclaimed, “Lady! give me leave to sing an air which comes to my memory; when I have done, thou art at liberty to command again that I should be beaten.

Improvisation.—“O Aghas! I fell in love with a young beauty; I became mad, —raving-mad. The passion had seized me suddenly, and I was whirled by it towards the gazelle-eyed maiden.— If I had known her cruelty I would have avoided love, I should not now feed upon grief and lamentations as on my daily bread. I should not call, as I do now, upon treacherous fortune: spare me—spare me thy cruelties; be merciful to me!”

Here Nighara’s bosom panted from under her robe. Kurroglou’s heart fluttered, and he sang again:—

Improvisation.—“The sun is risen above the eastern hill. She is the garden of flowers. Roses are bursting from the buds upon her cheeks. Let no foe dare to peep into the lover s garden. Whose lot will it be to pluck those roses?”

Nighara listened, evidently with growing pleasure. Kurroglou continued to sing:—

Improvisation.—“Forbid no longer Kurroglou to suck the freshness of thy lips. The man who shall touch thy waist but once, will become immortal. O Nighara! I am thy slave in good and bad fortune.”