Janizaries -- Fiction; Turkey -- History -- Mahmud I, 1730-1754 -- Fiction
Halil Patrona regarded them all in contemptuous silence. Only when
"crazy" Ibrahim's proposal had been resolved upon did he stand up and
say:
"I myself will go to the Seraglio."
Some of them regarded him with amazement, others laughed. Musli clapped
his hands together in his desperation.
"Halil! dost thou dream or art thou beside thyself? Dost thou imagine
thyself to be one of the Princes of the Thousand and One Nights who can
hew his way through monsters and spectres, or art thou wearied of
beholding the sun from afar and must needs go close up to him?"
"'Tis no concern of thine what I do, and if I am not afraid what need is
there for thee to be afraid on my account?"
"But, prythee, bethink thee, Halil! It would be a much more sensible
jest on thy part to leap into the den of a lioness suckling her young;
and thou wouldst be a much wiser man if thou wert to adventure thyself
in the sulphur holes of Balsorah, or cause thyself to be let down, for
the sake of a bet, into the coral-beds at the bottom of the Sea of
Candia to pick up a bronze asper,[2] instead of going to the Seraglio
where there are now none but thine enemies, and where the very
atmosphere and the spider crawling down the wall is venomous to thee and
thy deadly enemy."
"They may kill me," cried Halil, striking his bosom with both hands and
boldly stepping forward--"they may kill me it is true, but they shall
never be able to say that I was afraid of them. They may tear my limbs
to pieces, but when it comes to be recorded in the Chronicles that the
rabble of Constantinople were cowards, it shall be recorded at the same
time that, nevertheless, there was one man among them who could not only
talk about death but could look it fairly between the eyes when it
appeared before him."
"Listen, Halil! I and many more like me are capable of looking into the
very throat of loaded cannons. Many is the time, too, that I have seen
sharp swords drawn against me, and no lance that ever hath left the
smith's hand can boast that I have so much as winked an eye before its
glittering point. But what is the use of valour in a place where you
know that the very ground beneath your feet has Hell beneath it, and it
only needs a spark no bigger than that which flashes from a man's eye
when he has received a buffet, and we shall all fly into the air. Why,
even if both our hands were full of swords and pistols, not one of them
could protect us--so who would wish to be brave there?"
"Have I invited thee to come? Did I not say that I would go alone?"
"But we won't let thee go. What art thou thinking about? If they destroy
thee there we shall be without a leader, and we shall fall to pieces and
perish like the rush-roof of a cottage when the joists are suddenly
pulled from beneath it. And thou thyself wilt be a laughing-stock to the
people, like the cock of the fairy tale who spitted and roasted
himself."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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