CHAPTER I.
THE PEDLAR.
Time out of mind, for hundreds and hundreds of years, the strugglebetween the Shiites and the Sunnites has divided the Moslem World.
Persia and India are the lands of the Shiites; Turkey, Arabia, Egypt,and the realm of Barbary follow the tenets of the Sunna.
Much blood, much money, many anathemas, and many apostasies have markedthe progress of this quarrel, and still it has not even yet been madequite clear whether the Shiites or the Sunnites are the true believers.The question to be decided is this: which of the four successors of theProphet, Ali, Abu Bekr, Osmar, and Osman, was the true Caliph. TheShiites maintain that Ali alone was the true Caliph. The Sunnites, onthe other hand, affirm that all four were true Caliphs and equally holy.And certainly the Shiites must be great blockheads to allow themselvesto be cut into mince-meat by thousands, rather than admit that God wouldenrich the calendar with three saints distasteful to them personally.
The head Mufti had already hurled three fetvas at the head of ShahMahmud, and just as many armies of valiant Sunnites had invaded theterritories of the Shiites. The redoubtable Grand Vizier, Damad Ibrahim,had already wrested from them Tauris, Erivan, Kermandzasahan, andHamadan, and the good folks of Stambul could talk of nothing else butthese victories--victories which they had extra good reason to remember,inasmuch as the Janissaries, at every fresh announcement of thesetriumphs, all the more vigorously exercised their martial prowess on thepeaceful inhabitants they were supposed to protect, and not only uponthem, but likewise upon the still more peaceful Sultan who, it must beadmitted, troubled himself very little either about the Sunnites, or thevictories of his Grand Vizier, being quite content with thecontemplation of his perpetually blooming tulips and of the damsels ofthe Seraglio, who were even fairer to view than the tulips whose bloomsthey themselves far outshone.
* * * * *
The last rays of sunset were about to depart from the minarets ofStambul. The imposing shape of the City of the Seven Hills loomed forthlike a majestic picture in the evening light. Below, all aflame from thereflection of the burning sky, lies the Bosphorus, wherein the Seraglioand the suburbs of Pera and Galata, with their tiers upon tiers ofhouses and variegated fairy palaces, mirror themselves tranquilly. Thelong, winding, narrow streets climb from one hill to another, and everysingle hill is as green as if mother Nature had claimed her due portionof each from the inhabitants, so different from our western cities, allpaved and swept clean, and nothing but hard stone from end to end. Here,on the contrary, nothing but green meets the eye. The bastions areplanted with vines and olive-trees, pomegranate and cypress trees standbefore the houses of the rich. The poorer folks who have no gardensplant flowers on their house-tops, or at any rate grow vines round theirwindows which in time run up the whole house, and from out of the midstof this perennial verdure arise the shining cupolas of eighty mosques.At the end of every thoroughfare, overgrown with luxuriant grass andthick-foliaged cypresses, only the turbaned tombstones show that here isthe place of sad repose. And the effect of the picture is heightened bythe mighty cupola of the all-dominating Aja Sofia mosque, which looksright over all these palaces into the golden mirror of the Bosphorus.Soon this golden mirror changes into a mirror of bronze, the sundisappears, and the tranquil oval of the sea borrows a metallic shimmerfrom the dark-blue sky. The kiosks fade into darkness; the vast outlinesof the Rumili Hisar and the Anatoli Hisar stand out against the starryheaven; and excepting the lamps lit here and there in the khans of theforeign merchants and a few minarets, the whole of the gigantic city iswrapped in gloom.
The muezzin intone the evening _noomat_ from the slender turrets of themosques; everyone hastens to get home before night has completely setin; the mule-drivers urge on their beasts laden on both sides withleather bottles, and their tinkling bells resound in the narrow streets;the shouting water-carriers and porters, whose long shoulder-poles blockup the whole street, scare out of their way all whom they meet; wholetroops of dogs come forth from the cemeteries to fight over the offal ofthe piazzas. Every true believer endeavours as soon as possible to getwell behind bolts and bars, and would regard it as a sheer tempting ofProvidence to quit his threshold under any pretext whatsoever before themorning invocation of the muezzin. He especially who at such a timeshould venture to cross the piazza of the Etmeidan would have beenjudged very temerarious or very ill-informed, inasmuch as three of thegates of the barracks of the Janissaries open upon this piazza; and theJanissaries, even when they are in a good humour, are not overparticular as to the sort of jokes they choose to play, for their ownprivate amusement, upon those who may chance to fall into their hands.Every faithful Mussulman, therefore, guards his footsteps from anyintrusion into the Etmeidan, as being in duty bound to know and observethat text of the Koran which says, "A fool is he who plunges into perilthat he might avoid."
The tattoo had already been beaten with wooden sticks on a wooden board,when two men encountered each other in one of the streets leading intothe Etmeidan.
One of them was a stranger, dressed in a Wallachian _gunya_, long shoes,and with a broad reticule dangling at his side. He looked forty yearsold and, so far as it was possible to distinguish his figure andfeatures in the twilight, seemed to be a strong, well-built man, with atolerably plump face, on which at that moment no small traces of fearcould be detected and something of that uncomfortable hesitation whichis apt to overtake a man in a large foreign city which he visits for thevery first time.
The other was an honest Mussulman about thirty years old, with a thick,coal-black beard and passionate, irritable features, whose truecharacter was very fairly reflected in his pair of flashing black eyes.His turban was drawn deep down over his temples, obliterating hiseyebrows completely, which made him look more truculent than ever.
The stranger seemed to be going towards the Etmeidan, the other man tobe coming from it. The former let the latter pass, by squeezing himselfagainst the wall, and only ventured to address him when he perceivedthat he had no evil intentions towards him.
"I prythee, pitiful Mussulman, be not wrath with me, but tell me wherethe Etmeidan piazza is."
The person so accosted instantly stopped short, and fixing theinterrogator with a stony look, replied angrily:
"Go straight on and you'll be there immediately."
At these words the knees of the questioner smote together.
"Woe is me! worthy Mussulman, I prythee be not wrath, I did not ask theewhere the Etmeidan was because I wanted to go there, but to avoidstraying into it. I am a stranger in this city, and in my terror I havebeen drawing near to the very place I want to avoid. I prythee leave menot here all by myself. Every house is fast closed. Not one of the khanswill let me in at this hour. Take me home with you, I will not be aburden upon you, I can sleep in your courtyard, or in your cellar, ifonly I may escape stopping in the streets all night, for I am greatlyafraid."
The Turk so addressed was carrying in one hand a knapsack woven out ofrushes. This he now opened and cast a glance into it, as if he weretaking counsel with himself whether the fish and onions he had justbought in the market-place for his supper would be sufficient for twopeople. Finally he nodded his head as if he had made up his mind atlast.
"Very well, come along!" said he, "and follow me!"
The stranger would have kissed his hand, he could not thank his newfriend sufficiently.
"You had better wait to see what you are going to get before you thankme," said the Turk; "you will find but scanty cheer with me, for I amonly a poor man."
"Oh, as for that, I also am poor, very poor indeed," the new-comerhastened to reply with the crafty obsequiousness peculiar to the Greekrace. "My name is Janaki, and I am a butcher at Jassy. The kavasseshave laid their hands upon my apprentice and all my live-stock at thesame time, and that is why I have come to Stambul. I shall be utterlybeggared if I don't get them back."
"Well, Allah aid thee. Let us make haste, for it is already dark."
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And then, going on in front to show the way, he led the stranger throughthe narrow winding labyrinth of baffling lanes and alleys which lead tothe Hebdomon Palace, formerly the splendid residence of the GreekEmperors, but now the quarter where the poorest and most sordid classesof the populace herd together. The streets here are so narrow that thetendrils of the vines and gourds growing on the roofs of the oppositehouses meet together, and form a natural baldachino for the benefit ofthe foot-passenger below.
Suddenly, on reaching the entrance of a peculiarly long and narrow lane,the loud-sounding note of a song, bawled by someone coming straighttowards them, struck upon their ears. It was some drunken man evidently,but whoever the individual might be, he was certainly the possessor of atremendous pair of lungs, for he could roar like a buffalo, and notcontent with roaring, he kept thundering at the doors of all the houseshe passed with his fists.
"Alas! worthy Mussulman, I suppose this is some good-humouredJanissary, eh?" stammered the new-comer with a terrified voice.
"Not a doubt of it. A peace-loving man would not think of making such abellowing as that."
"Would it not be as well to turn back?"
"We might meet a pair of them if we went another way. Take this lessonfrom me: Never turn back from the path you have once taken, as otherwiseyou will only plunge into still greater misfortunes."
Meanwhile they were drawing nearer and nearer to the bellowinggentleman, and before long his figure came full into view.
And certainly his figure was in every respect worthy of his voice. Hewas an enormous, six-foot high, herculean fellow, with his shirt-sleevesrolled up to his shoulders, and the disorderly appearance of his dolmanand the crooked cock of his turban more than justified the suspicionthat he had already taken far more than was good for him of that fluidwhich the Prophet has forbidden to all true believers.
"Gel, gel! Ne miktar dir, gel!" ("Come along the whole lot of you!")roared the Janissary with all his might, staggering from one side of thelane to the other, and flourishing his naked rapier in the air.
"Woe is me, my brave Mussulman!" faltered the Wallachian butcher in aterrified whisper, "wouldn't it be as well if you were to take mystick, for he might observe that I had it, and fancy I want to fight himwith it."
The Turk took over the stick of the butcher as the latter seemed to befrightened of it.
"H'm! this stick of yours is not a bad one. I see that the head of it iswell-studded with knobs, and that it is weighted with lead besides. Whata pity you don't know how to make use of it!"
"I am only too glad if people will let me live in peace."
"Very well, hide behind me, and come along boldly, and when you pass himdon't so much as look at him."
The Wallachian desired nothing better, but the Janissary had alreadycaught sight of him from afar, and as, clinging fast to his guide'smantle, he was about to slip past the man of war, the Janissary suddenlybarred the way, seized him by the collar with his horrible fist, anddragged the wretched creature towards him.
"Khair evetlesszin domusz!" ("Not so fast, thou swine!") "a word inthine ear! I have just bought me a yataghan. Stretch forth thy neck! Iwould test my weapon upon thee and see whether it is sharp."
The poor fellow was already half-dead with terror. With the utmostobsequiousness he at once began unfastening his neck-cloth, whimperingat the same time something about his four little children: what wouldbecome of them when they had nobody to care for them.
But his conductor intervened defiantly.
"Take yourself off, you drunken lout, you! How dare you lay a hand uponmy guest. Know you not that he who harms the guest of a true believer isaccursed?"
"Na, na, na!" laughed the Janissary mockingly, "are you mad, my worthyBalukji, that you bandy words with the flowers of the Prophet's garden,with Begtash's sons, the valiant Janissaries? Get out of my way whileyou are still able to go away whole, for if you remain here much longer,I'll teach you to be a little more obedient."
"Let my guest go in peace, I say, and then go thine own way also!"
"Why, what ails you, worthy Mussulman? Has anyone offended thee?Mashallah! what business is it of thine if I choose to strike off thehead of a dog? You can pick up ten more like him in the street any timeyou like."
The Turk, perceiving that it would be difficult to convince a drunkenman by mere words, drew nearer to him, and grasped the hand that heldthe yataghan.
"What do you want?" cried the Janissary, fairly infuriated at this actof temerity.
"Come! Go thy way!"
"Do you know whose hand thou art grasping? My name is Halil."
"Mine also is Halil."
"Mine is Halil Pelivan--Halil the Wrestler!"
"Mine is Halil Patrona."
By this time the Janissary was beside himself with rage at so muchopposition.
"Thou worm! thou crossed-leg, crouching huckster, thou pack-threadpedlar! if thou dost not let me go immediately, I will cut off thyhands, thy feet, thine ears, and thy nose, and then hang thee up."
"And if thou leave not go of my guest, I will fell thee to the earthwith this stick of mine."
"What, _thou_ wilt fell _me_? Me? A fellow like thou threaten to strikeHalil Pelivan with a stick? Strike away then, thou dog, thoudishonourable brute-beast, thou dregs of a Mussulman! strike away then,strike here, if thou have the courage!"
And with that he pointed at his own head, which he flung back defiantlyas if daring his opponent to strike at it.
But Halil Patrona's courage was quite equal even to such an invitationas that, and he brought down the leaded stick in his hand so heavily onthe Janissary's head that the fellow's face was soon streaming withblood.
Pelivan roared aloud at the blow, and, shaking his bloody forehead,rushed upon Patrona like a wounded bear, and disregarding a couple offresh blows on the arms and shoulders which had the effect, however, ofmaking him drop his yataghan, he grasped his adversary with his gigantichands, lifted him up, and then hugged him with the embrace of aboa-constrictor. But now it appeared that Patrona also was by no means anovice in the art of self-defence, for clutching with both hands thegiant's throat, he squeezed it so tightly that in a few seconds theJanissary began to stagger to and fro, finally falling backwards to theground, whereupon Patrona knelt upon his breast and plucked from hisbeard a sufficient number of hairs to serve him as a souvenir. Pelivan,overpowered by drink and the concussion of his fall, slumbered off wherehe lay, while Patrona with his guest, who was already half-dead withfright, hastened to reach his dwelling.
After traversing a labyrinth of narrow, meandering lanes, andzig-zagging backwards and forwards through all kinds of gardens androokeries, Halil Patrona arrived at last at his own house.
Were we to speak of "his own street door," we should be betraying agross ignorance of locality, for in the place where Patrona lived themere idea of a street never presented itself to anybody's imagination.There was indeed no such thing there. The spot was covered by half athousand or so of wooden houses, mixed together, higgledy-piggledy, soinextricably, that the shortest way to everybody's house was through hisneighbour's passage, hall, or courtyard, and inasmuch as the inmates ofwhole rows of these houses were in the habit of living together in theclosest and most mysterious harmony, every house was so arranged thatthe inhabitants thereof could slip into the neighbouring dwelling at amoment's notice. In some cases, for instance, the roofs were continuous;in others the cellars communicated, so that if ever anyone of theinhabitants were suddenly pursued, he could, with the assistance of theroofs, passages, and cellars, vanish without leaving a trace behind him.
Halil Patrona's house was of wood like the rest. It consisted of asingle room, yet this was a room which could be made to hold a gooddeal. It had a fire-place also, and if perhaps a chance guest were alittle fastidious, he could at any rate always make sure of a good bedon the roof, which was embowered in vine leaves. There was certainly noextravagant display of furniture inside. A rush-mat in the middle of theroom, a bench cove
red with a carpet in the corner, a few wooden platesand dishes, a jug on a wooden shelf, and a couple of very simplecooking-utensils in the fire-place--that was all. From the roof of thechamber hung an earthenware lamp, which Patrona kindled with anold-fashioned flint and steel. Then he brought water in a round-belliedtrough for his guest to wash his hands, fetched drinking-water from thewell in a long jug, whereupon he drew forward his rush-wovenmarket-basket, emptied its contents on to the rush-mat, sat him downopposite honest Janaki, and forthwith invited his guest to fall to.
There was nothing indeed but a few small fish and a few beautifulrosy-red onions, but Halil had so much to say in praise of the repast,telling his guest where and how these fish were caught, and in whatmanner they ought to be fried so as to bring out the taste; how youcould find out which of them had hard roes and which soft; whatdifferent sorts of flavours there are in the onion tribe, far more,indeed, than in the pine-apple; and then the pure fresh water too--whythe Koran from end to end is full of the praises of fresh pure water,and Halil knew all these passages by heart, and had no need to look inthe holy book for them. And then, too, he had so many interesting talesto tell of travellers who had lost their way in the desert and weredying for a drop of water, and how Allah had had compassion upon themand guided them to the springs of the oasis--so that the guest wasactually entrapped into imagining that he had just been partaking of themost magnificent banquet, and he enjoyed his meat and drink, and arosefrom his rush-carpet well satisfied with himself and with his host.
I'll wager that Sultan Achmed, poor fellow! felt far less contented whenhe rose from his gorgeous and luxurious sofa, though the tables besideit were piled high with fruits and sweetmeats, and two hundred odalisksdanced and sang around it.
"And now let us go to sleep!" said Halil Patrona to his guest. "I knowthat slumber is the greatest of all the joys which Allah has bestowedupon mankind. In our waking hours we belong to others, but the land ofdreams is all our own. If your dreams be good dreams, you rejoice thatthey are good, and if they be evil dreams, you rejoice that they are butdreams. The night is nice and warm, you can sleep on the house-top, andif you pull your rope-ladder up after you, you need not fear thatanybody will molest you."
Janaki said "thank you!" to everything, and very readily clambered tothe top of the roof. There he found already prepared for him the carpetand the fur cushion on which he was to sleep. Plainly these were theonly cushion and carpet obtainable in the house, and the guest observingthat these were the very things he had noticed in the room below,exclaimed to Halil Patrona:
"Oh, humane Chorbadshi, you have given me your own carpet and pillow; onwhat will you sleep, pray?"
"Do not trouble your head about me, muzafir! I will bring forth mysecond carpet and my second cushion and sleep on them."
Janaki peeped through a chink in the roof, and observed how vigorouslyHalil Patrona performed his ablutions, and how next he went through hisdevotions with even greater conscientiousness than his ablutions,whereupon he produced a round trough, turned it upside down, laid itupon the rush-mat, placed his head upon the trough, and folding his armsacross his breast, peacefully went to sleep in the Prophet.
The next morning, when Janaki awoke and descended to Halil, he gave hima piece of money which they call a golden denarius.
"Take this piece of money, worthy Chorbadshi," said he, "and if you willpermit me to remain beneath your roof this day also, prepare therewith amid-day meal for us both."
Halil hastened with the money to the piazza, bargained and chaffered forall sorts of eatables, and made it a matter of conscience to keep onlya single copper asper of the money entrusted to him. Then he preparedfor his guest pilaf, the celebrated Turkish dish consisting of ricecooked with sheep's flesh, and brought him from the booths of themaster-cooks and master-sugar-bakers, honey-cakes, dulchas, pistachios,sweet pepper-cakes filled with nuts and stewed in honey, and all mannerof other delicacies, at the sight and smell of which Janaki began toshout that Sultan Achmed could not be better off. Halil, however,requested him not to mention the name of the Sultan quite so frequentlyand not to bellow so loudly.
That night, also, he made his guest mount to the top of the roof, andhaving noticed during the preceding night that the Greek had beenperpetually shifting his position, and consequently suspecting that hewas little used to so hard a couch, Halil took the precaution ofstripping off his own kaftan beforehand and placing it beneath thecarpet he had already surrendered to his guest.
Early next morning Janaki gave another golden denarius to Halil.
"Fetch me writing materials!" said he, "for I want to write a letter tosomeone, and then with God's help I will quit your house and pursue myway further."
Halil departed, went a-bargaining in the bazaar, and returned with whathe had been sent for. He calculated his outlay to a penny in thepresence of his guest. The _kalem_ (pen) was so much, so much again the_muerekob_ (ink), and the _muehuer_ (seal) came to this and that. Thebalance he returned to Janaki.
As for Janaki he went up on to the roof again, there wrote and sealedhis letter, and thrust it beneath the carpet, and then laying hold ofhis stick again, entreated Halil, with many thanks for his hospitality,to direct him to the Pera road whence, he said, he could find his wayalong by himself.
Halil willingly complied with the petition of his guest, and accompaniedhim all the way to the nearest thoroughfare. When now Janaki beheld theBosphorus, and perceived that the road from this point was familiar tohim, so that he needed no further assistance, he suddenly exclaimed:
"Look now, my friend! an idea has occurred to me. The letter I have justwritten on your roof has escaped my memory entirely. I placed it beneaththe carpet, and beside it lies a purse of money which I meant to havesent along with the letter. Now, however, I cannot turn back for it. Ipray you, therefore, go back to your house, take this letter togetherwith the purse, and hand them both over to the person to whom they areaddressed--and God bless you for it!"
Halil at once turned round to obey this fresh request as quickly aspossible.
"Give also the money to him to whom it belongs!" said the Greek.
"You may be as certain that it will reach him as if you gave it to himyourself."
"And promise me that you will compel him to whom the letter is addressedto accept the money."
"I will not leave his house till he has given me a voucher in writingfor it, and whenever you come back again to me here you will find it inmy possession."
"God be with you then, honest Mussulman!"
"Salem alek!"
Halil straightway ran home, clambered up to the roof by means of therope-ladder, found both the letter and the money under the carpet,rejoiced greatly that they had not been stolen during his absence, andthrusting them both into his satchel of reeds without even taking thetrouble to look at them, hastened off to the bazaar with them, wherethere was an acquaintance of his, a certain money-changer, who knew allabout every man in Stambul, in order that he might find out from himwhere dwelt the man to whom the letter entrusted to him by the strangerwas addressed.
Accordingly he handed the letter to the money-changer in order that hemight give him full directions without so much as casting an eye uponthe address himself.
The money-changer examined the address of the letter, and forthwith wasfilled with amazement.
"Halil Patrona!" cried he, "have you been taking part in the Carnival ofthe Giaours that you have allowed yourself to be so befooled? Or can'tyou read?"
"Read! of course I can. But I don't fancy I can know the man to whomthis letter is directed."
"Well, all I can say is that you knew him very well indeed this timeyesterday, for the man is yourself--none other."
Halil, full of astonishment, took the letter, which hitherto he had notregarded--sure enough it was addressed to himself.
"Then he who gave me this letter must needs be a madman, and there is apurse which I have to hand over along with it."
"Yes, I see that your name is
written on that also."
"But I have nothing to do with either the purse or the letter. Of atruth the man who confided them to me must have been a lunatic."
"It will be best if you break open the letter and read it, then you will_know_ what you have got to do with it."
This was true enough. The best way for a man to find out what he has todo with a letter addressed to him is, certainly, to open and read it.
And this is what was written in the letter.
"WORTHY HALIL PATRONA!
"I told you that I was a poor man, but that was not true; on thecontrary, I am pretty well to do, thank God! Nor do I wander up and downon the face of the earth in search of herds of cattle stolen from me,but for the sake of my only daughter, who is dearer to me than all mytreasures, and now also I am in pursuit of her, following clue afterclue, in order that I may discover her whereabouts and, if possible,ransom her. You have been my benefactor. You fought the drunkenJanissary for my sake, you shared your dwelling with me, you made me lieon your own bed while you slept on the bare ground, you even took offyour kaftan to make my couch the softer. Accept, therefore, as a tokenof my gratitude, the slender purse accompanying this letter. It containsfive thousand piastres, so that if ever I visit you again I may find youin better circumstances. God help you in all things!
"Your grateful servant,
"JANAKI."
"Now, didn't I say he was mad?" exclaimed Halil, after reading throughthe letter. "Who else, I should like to know, would have given me fivethousand piastres for three red onions?"
Meanwhile, attracted by the noise of the conversation, a crowd of theacquaintances of Halil Patrona and the money-changer had gathered aroundthem, and they laid their heads together and discussed among themselvesfor a long time the question which was the greater fool of thetwo--Janaki, who had given five thousand piastres for three onions, orHalil who did not want to accept the money.
Yet Halil it was who turned out to be the biggest fool, for heimmediately set out in search of the man who had given him this sum ofmoney. But search and search as he might he could find no trace of him.If he had gone in search of someone who had stolen a like amount, hewould have been able to find him very much sooner.
In the course of his wanderings, he suddenly came upon the place wherethree days previously he had had his tussle with Halil Pelivan. Herecognised the spot at once. A small dab of blood, the remains of whathad flowed from the giant's head, was still there in the middle of thelane, and on the wall of the house opposite both their names werewritten. In all probability the Janissary, when he picked himself upagain, had dipped his finger in his own blood, and then scrawled thenames upon the wall in order to perpetuate the memory of the incident.He had also taken good care to put Halil Pelivan uppermost and HalilPatrona undermost.
"Nay, but that is not right," said Halil to himself; "it was you whowere undermost," and snatching up the fragment of a red tile he wrotehis name above that of Halil Pelivan.
He hurried and scurried about till late in the evening withoutdiscovering a single trace of Janaki, and by that time his head was soconfused by all manner of cogitations that when, towards nightfall, hebegan chaffering for fish in the Etmeidan market, he would not have beena bit surprised if he had been told that every single carp cost athousand piastres.
He began to perceive, however, that he would have to keep the moneyafter all, and the very thought of it kept him awake all night long.
Next day he again strolled about the bazaars, and then directed hissteps once more towards that house where he had chalked up his name theday before. And lo! the name of Pelivan was again stuck at the top ofhis own.
"This must be put a stop to once for all," murmured Halil, and beckoningto a load-carrier he mounted on to his shoulders and wrote his name highup, just beneath the eaves of the house on a spot where Pelivan's namecould not top his own again, from whence it is manifest that there was acertain secret instinct in Halil Patrona which would not permit him totake the lower place or suffer him to recognise anybody as standinghigher than himself. And as he, pursuing his way home, passed by theTsiragan Palace, and there encountered riding past him the Padishah,Sultan Achmed III., accompanied by the Grand Vizier, Ibrahim Damad, theKiaja Beg, the Kapudan Pasha, and the chief Imam, Ispirizade; and as hehumbly bowed his head in the dust before them, it seemed to him as ifsomething at the bottom of his heart whispered to him: "The time willcome when the whole lot of you will bow your heads before me in the dustjust as I, Halil Patrona, the pedlar, do obeisance to you now, ye lordsof the Empire and the Universe!"
Fortunately for Halil Patrona, however, he did not raise his face whilethe suite of the Lords of the Universe swept past him, for otherwise itmight have happened that Halil Pelivan, who went before the Sultan witha drawn broadsword, might have recognised him, and certainly nobodywould have taken particular trouble to inquire why the Janissary hadsplit in two the head of this or that pedlar who happened to come in hisway.