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VISITS TO THE HARAM, BY MEERZA AHMED TUBEEB.
Translated from the Persian.
VISIT THIRD.

ALL night long I could not sleep,
for thinking of the beautiful Meiram
and her misfortunes; and I was impa-
tient for the time which should make
me acquainted with the rest of her
story. One difficulty occurred. I had
forgotten to ask at what hour I was to
go back, and I doubted whether she
would send for me again.
This per-
plexed me; but I determined to return
at the same hour at which I had visit-
ed her the day before; and, in the
meantime, I went to the house of the
poet Futteh Allee Khan, to arrange his
differences with his head wife about
the painting of her eyebrows.

When I arrived at the poet's house, I found him occupied in contemplating a very curious machine, which he had himself invented, and which was moved by the wind on dry land, as a ship is at sea. This machine, he informed me, had exhibited itself before his Majesty the King, at the Camp in Sooltaneeah, and had excited the admiration of every one-even of the King himself. A small deficiency, however, was found to exist in its construction, which the Khan was now endeavouring to rectify. A very stormy day had been chosen for the exhibition, and the machine set off in fine style from the steps of the King's summer palace at Sooltaneeah, rattling away straight for the Camp. The farther it went, the quicker it fled; and it was not until it threatened the destruction of tents, and even the lives of the soldiers, that it was discovered that no provision had been made for stopping it. On it went, overturning tents, and frightening horses, and alarming the whole Camp. The people, not knowing whence it had come, or what it was, took it for some horrible animal, or an engine sent by an enemy to destroy them, and fled in every direction. The machine, glorying in its own strength, went on and on, straight through the centre of the Camp, till, at last, tumbling into a ravine, it overset, and gave, as the Poet observed, an admirable example of the instability of power. His Majesty fined

VOL. XVI.

the Khan in a sum of two hundred tomans, for the injury done by his machine, but let him off for the composition of a casseeda,* in which he introduced the moral which his machine had afforded.

The Khan shewed me many curious machines of his own invention, which, for their ingenuity, rivalled the contrivances of Feringistan.†

Futteh Allee Khan is a man of extraordinary talent. He is more knowing in mechanics than any man now in Persia, and few have so extensive a knowledge of chemistry. He is acknow. ledged to be the greatest epic poet since the time of Ferdoosi, and there is not a man who has so accurate an acquaintance with the Persian language. His satires and lampoons are dreaded by all the men in power, and his laudatory verses are as elegantly turned as his satires are cutting. He has lately devoted some attention to painting, in which art he has made so much progress, that he is already a tolerable artist. There are few books of any note which he has not read, and his memory is so retentive, that he never forgets anything which he has once known. He has long been a very intimate friend of mine,-in fact, the similarity of our pursuits has drawn us much together.

The Khan, on the present occasion, seemed much more inclined to give me a full account of his machinery, his printing-press, &c. than to accompany me into the underoon. The fact was, that the Khan, with all his accomplishments, had never been able to manage his own family, and, in particular, had long been completely subjected by his head wife, with whom it was now my wish to reconcile him.

As soon as we entered the inner court, his wife, whom he dreaded, and who had often been my patient, came to receive me. She saluted me in the politest manner, and said many kind things to me, without taking the slightest notice of the Khan, though she had not seen him for nearly twenty-four hours.

*Casseeda, a poem corresponding nearly to an epigram.
Feringistan, Europe.

C

standing for a week; but now she will be ashamed of herself, and she will be unhappy till she has done something to remove the unfavourable impression which she knows she has left upon your mind."

The Khan judged rightly. The lady presently returned in another mood she came into the room weeping, and told me, it was very hard, that, after having born the Khan two sons, she should be treated by him so badly. "Since his young wife has come to the house," said she, "he has taken no more notice of me than if I was a hubbushee."†

When we had seated ourselves, and taken a cup of coffee, I opened to her the business of my mission, and spoke of her husband in terms so handsome, as could not fail to make her proud of him. She thanked me for my good opinion of him civilly enough, but said, that all these qualities were more than counterbalanced by his vices. She made bitter complaints of his having taken a young wife, to whom he gave more money and finer clothes than to her, though she had born him two sons. "Only think," said she," he told me yesterday that I was an old fool, for painting my eyebrows; and no longer ago than the night before last, when he ought to have been in my room, I found him in his own apartment, with a young slave-girl assisting him to undress, because, forsooth, he had a pain in his shoulder, and could not pull off his own coat. And, for all this, he tells me that I am too old to paint my eyebrows!-Why, he is at least twenty years older than I am! Shame upon him!—an old greyheaded man like him. But no matter -If he thinks me not worth the trouble of painting my eyebrows, I can tell him that there are others- yes, others, younger and better-looking than ever he was, who think differently.-He, indeed, to call me old !—tuh* upon his beard!-I would not give that for him!"-accompanying her words with a loud crack of her fingers, and almost at the same moment bouncing out of the room. I looked at the Khan in astonishment. He shook his head, and spoke not a word.

I felt myself under the necessity of expressing my regret that I had not been able to do any good, and proposed to return again in the evening, when I hoped to be more successful.

"O," said the Khan, "I see you do not understand the matter. I was quite pleased when I saw her get into such a passion, and behave so absurdly;-there is now some hope of her coming round. If she had conducted herself reasonably before you, she would not have come to any under

After some difficulty, I persuaded her to sit down between the Khan and myself, and reasoned with her on the subject. While I was speaking, the Khan once or twice whispered something in her ear. At first she only answered him by a look of surprise, and even of indignation; but, however, he persevered, and, on his second attempt, she deigned to call him an old ass ; on the third, she was forced to smile, and gave the Khan a small pat on the cheek, which had more of kindness in it than of anger. It was evident that the quarrel was now at an end; I accordingly took another pipe of very good Tubbus tobacco, which the Khan preferred to that of Sheeraz, and departed; for the hour was approaching when I hoped to see the lovely Meiram, and hear the rest of her story.

I went to the Haram- Khanah on foot, for the first time, and entered so quietly, that I was quite unperceived, except by the eunuchs at the gate, who rose and saluted me as I passed them.

I had no sooner entered, however, than I was beset by half the slavewomen in the place, each eager to attract my attention to the narrative of their own complaints, which were more various than the whole list of human diseases given by the celebrated Aboo Allee. I at first attempted to lend an ear to their entreaties, but I found them so numerous, that it would have occupied me a week to have prescribed for them all, and so unintelligible, that, in the end, I should

Tuh! an interjection of contempt. It represents the act of spitting, and is used to signify the same degree of contempt, as if the person was actually spit upon.

African black.

Tubbus, the name of a district famous for its tobacco.

§ Haram-Khanah-Haram, forbidden, and Khanah, house.

have had to prescribe at random. I therefore put them off as well as I could, saying, that I should attend to them on my return, but that the business on which I was going was urgent, and would not admit of delay.

As I passed on, I heard some remarks made regarding my patient's state of health, which shewed me plainly that they more than suspected my visits, as a professional man, were not much required; and I could perceive that they did not consider me too old to be subjected to some unpleasant suspicions, which considerably alarmed me. I was once or twice on the point of making some reply to their insinuations, but I thought it wiser to pretend not to hear or understand them; for, in truth, I did not well know what reply to make.

When I entered the apartments of my patient, I found the outer room deserted, and though I coughed once or twice loud enough to be heard within, still no one came to me. I was at a loss what to do, and was on the point of going away, when I observed Aga Jewah's slippers; and being satisfied that he must be in the house, I called to know whether there was any one within. Still no one answered. My heart misgave me-I fancied, I know not why, that something wrong must have happened-my curiosity and my fears were excited, and I called again louder than before. Aga Jewah immediately made his appearance with a very doleful countenance, and told me that his mistress had been weeping all morning. I made no reply, but moved forward.

I entered her room in some anxiety, and not without a small share of displeasure. There were several women in the apartment, some of whom hurriedly veiled themselves as I entered. There was dejection in their countenances; and one old woman, who sat apart from the rest, had been weeping, but endeavoured to conceal her sorrow when I approached. She rose slowly, and pointing to a place near to where she sat, motioned to me to sit down. She wore no veil, and, from her dress, I perceived that she was an Armenian. She might be about sixty. Her face had on it the lines of age, and perhaps of care; but her eye was full and bright, and there was in her appearance something more elevated than usually be longs to her people. Her manner was

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solemn, calm, and collected; and she seemed to be as much a stranger to those around her as I was, who had never seen them till now. I addressed her in Turkish, and the manner of her reply shewed that she was acquainted with the politest expressions of that language. I asked for Meiram-she pointed to the bed on which I had first seen her in her loveliness, and for a moment I saw nothing; but on looking attentively, I perceived that some one was hid by the coverlid, which shook as if the person beneath it had an ague.

I raised it, and saw Meiram bathed in tears. Her hair was loose and dishevelled, partly covering her face, which was pale, save for one bright spot on her cheek-Her eyes were red with weeping, and she had a confused and distracted appearance, which much alarmed me. On finding that some one disturbed her, she cast a hurried look of anxiety and alarm upon meand seeing who it was, burst again into tears.

The old woman kept her eye steadily fixed upon me while this was passing, and, as I again dropped the coverlid, said to me in Turkish, "Can you, who are a Persian, weep for an Armenian woman? If so, God preserve youyou are not like your people." This was said with a tone and manner so strange, that it startled me, and I was half afraid of her ; for it is well known that many Armenian women have supernatural power at their command. But as I looked round to observe her, I saw her dashing from her eyes tears which came too fast to be concealed, and I was then assured that she was nothing bad.

The other women sat by-their elbows on their knees-their cheeks rested on their hands, with looks of dejected composure, which scarcely indicated sorrow, and whispered to one another about something foreign to the scene before them. It was evident that they did not enter into the feelings of Meiram, and I therefore intimated that I wished to be left alone with my patient. They looked at one another, muttered something, and went slowly and sulkily away.

The old Armenian woman took no notice of their departure, and as she seemed to be as deeply interested as myself, I made no attempt to remove her.

I sat down by Meiram's bed-side; and again raising the cover under which she lay, I forced her to sit up; but she covered her face with her hands, and sobbed aloud. "My child," said I, "what new grief has fallen so heavy on your young heart, which has already suffered sorrow beyond its years? Must I see you weeping, without knowing the cause of your pain? Why will you not trust me? I am an old man, and youth should seek the council of age.' Believe me, my soul is grieved to see you thus; and if it is in my power to relieve you from any portion of your sorrow, it will lighten my own heart to do so."

"Oh, Meerza," said Meiram," you do not know the extent of my misery. There is no hope left for me-no human aid can save me now-I am gone, gone for ever. The only hope to which my heart clung has vanished-This very day all hope of earthly happiness has passed from Meiram."

"God forbid !" said I. "You are young, and know little of the world. What may seem to you so terrible, may yet to me be easily remedied. Do not make yourself so wretched. Tell me what has happened, and I swear to you, by the blessed Koran, that I shall do everything in my power to serve you."

"You are good, yes, very good and kind," said Meiram," to value so much my happiness-God will reward you for it. But I fear, alas! that you can render me no service. Oh no-I know you cannot, for the King is absolute, and no one dare dispute or argue with him; and they will poison his ears with false things, and no man dares to tell him truly; and he will be wroth, and will not listen to the words of any one, if any should be found to speak in my behalf; and my name will be branded with infamy, and I shall die as one whose virtue has been stained. But God, who knows our hearts, and knows mine pure from this offence, will grant me mercy, which I cannot hope for here. Yes, Meerza Ahmed, long after the grave has closed over my misery, it will be told how Meiram, the Armenian daughter, died in infamy-my name, till now, so kindly cherished, that it was chosen by lovers for their mistresses, and sung in love songs, will henceforth be a reproach unto my people-they will not dare to utter it.'

"What have you done?" said I"Of what are you accused?-Who are your accusers?-What have they done?-Have they spoken to the King? I trust, young woman, that your warm youthful blood has not broken down the restraints of prudence. Tell me truly, and if you be truly innocent, my tongue at least shall do you justice. I am not quite unknown to him you fear the King of kings, my master-and if you are falsely spoken of to him, I can speak to him truly-my word will go as far with him as that of most men.'

"Then God give you exemption from all sorrow," said the old woman, "for you alone can save this girl; and if you have in your heart a place for kindness, and for boldness too, now shew it for you will have need of both. The prayers of all her race shall be raised for you; and if you value not the prayers of those whom you call infidels, their last and dearest services shall be at your command."

"Woman," said I, "what can be done, that will I do. That I have kindness for this daughter of your people, you may have seen already else why should I be here. And for the boldness which you speak of, let me tell you, that I have spoken to the late King in terms which no one else dared to have used, and he was to his present Majesty as a hungry lion to a lamb. But let me know what has been done→→→ what has been said-what is to dowhat is the matter-tell me all about it, and see you tell me truly."

"You already know," said Meiram, “much of my story—almost all of it; and I have promised to let you hear the rest-Would to God that I had told you sooner!

"You may remember, Meerza, that when I told you of my own captivity, I told you, too, that many others had been taken, and mentioned, more particularly, one whom the Persian struck, because I flew to him for safety in my terror and distress.

"I sought, in speaking of him, to conceal the agitation which I felt; and though I longed to do so, yet I could not bring myself to tell you that he was all the world to me.

"We had been play-mates from our infancy, and first I used to call him brother; but as we grew up in years, his manner to me changed he wished me not to call him brother-he spoke

to me with hesitation-and his tenderness, which ever had been great, grew still much greater, though less constant; for he could not bear to see me speak to any of our former play-mates, and sometimes he bitterly reproached me for it.

"I knew not then the meaning of this change, and it was not until I saw some other maidens looking kindly on him, and courting his attention, that I knew how much I loved him, or could feel why he disliked to see me speak to other men.

"I remember it was one day just after the long fast, when we were met together many of us at a feast. After we had dined, some of the young men came to where the women were collected, and Eusuf came along with them. He was the fairest and the handsomest by far, and many of the maidens fixed their eyes upon him, and one of them persuaded him to sit down beside her, and smiled upon him, and whispered many words in his ear-and I thought they pleased him. I felt, for the first time, as if he had neglected me my heart was full-the tear was near my eye, and I could have wept, but shame prevented me.

"When he came round to where I sat, I could not conceal that I was angry with him, and I gave him short and pettish answers. He made no reply, but looked most kindly on mehis eyes filled, and he turned away and left us.

"In the evening he came to me, and we talked much together, and there were some tears shed, but no reproaches uttered. Then I felt my love for him, and his for me, and he wrung from me a confession that I loved him, and made me say that I would one day be his wife. And then he spoke of all his hopes, and of a time yet distant, and of the happiness we should enjoy, for then our fears were few; and when we parted, he kissed me, and called me even then his wife.

"I had never concealed anything from my father, for, with my love for him, there was mixed no fear except the fear lest I should give him pain. But I had never heard him speak of love such as I felt ; and though I hoped that I had not done anything which could displease or pain him, I found it difficult to tell him what had passed. But he himself found out the secret of my heart, and when he spoke to me I

owned it. He told me that in virtuous love there was no sin-that he approved my choice that he himself had loved as tenderly and fervently as any one, and had been loved again,→→ and now I saw that he took pleasure in observing how we loved each other. "Had the Persians not come to our village, Eusuf would in another week have been my husband. That very day we had been solemnly betrothed, and I had on my bridal clothes, and all that day I had been called the bride. A woful bridal-day it was to me and all of us-for ere the night came down, I had forgotten, in my present misery, all that had befallen me in my life before; and when I came to think more calmly, I thought most of my dear father, and his murder-and that dreadful night-and of the future ;-and when I thought of Eusuf, I thought of him as one whom I should never see again, unless in hea

ven.

"From that fatal night on which my sorrows first began, I never saw him till some days ago when going to the garden. We scarce had passed the gate of Shameroon, when a man passed us riding on horseback, and as he rode along, he sung a song in my native language, which I had often heard in our own village-It was a song which some lover had written for his love, whose name, like mine, was Meiram, and therefore Eusuf often -sung it to me. I thought I knew the voice, and when I saw his face I knew it-my frame all shook-my eyes grew dim-my head ran round; and without knowing what I said, I named his name aloud. He started, and looked round, but could not tell from which of us the voice had come, for we were many riding together, but he followed at a distance, singing still the song of Meiram, and almost broke my heart.

"When we were returning, we found him still lingering on the way, and as we passed, he looked at us so narrowly, that the guards ordered him off the road, and then he went away.

"I never had ceased to love him, but I knew not where he was-or if he lived. I feared that he had died-or if alive, that he had long ago forgotten me and I had ceased to lament for him; yet when I found him seeking still for me, still loving me, I felt as if my heart had been untrue to him, and that I therefore owed him much

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