Penny Dreadful Multipack Vol. 1 (Illustrated. Annotated. 'Wagner The Wehr-Wolf,' 'Varney The Vampire,' 'The Mysteries of London Vol. 1' + Bonus Features) (Penny Dreadful Multipacks) (33 page)

Even before the appointed hour
was Alessandro pacing the square in front of the splendid temple which the
Sultan Selim—the conqueror of Egypt—had erected, and which bore his imperial
name. At length the agent, for whom he waited, made his appearance. This man,
though actually a Turkish dependent in the service of the Florentine Envoy,
was, as before stated, neither more nor less than one of the numerous spies
placed by the reis-effendi round the person of that embassador. Alessandro was
aware of this, in consequence of the offers and representations that had been
made to him through the means of this agent, and though the youth suspected
that the man knew more concerning the beauteous idol of his heart than he had
chosen to admit, yet he had seen enough to convince him of the inutility of questioning
him on that head.

It was, therefore, in silence
that Alessandro followed his guide through several by-streets down to the
margin of the waters of the Golden Horn. There a boat, in which two rowers and
a female slave were seated, was waiting.

“Here, must you be blindfolded,”
said the spy.

For a few moments Alessandro
hesitated, in regret that he had gone so far with this adventure. He had heard
fearful tales of dark deeds committed on the waters of the Bosporus and the
Golden Horn; and he himself, when roving during his leisure hours along the
verdant banks of those waters, had seen the livid corpse float with the
tale-telling bow-string fastened round the neck.

The spy seemed to divine his
thoughts.

“You hesitate, signor,” he said;
“then let us retrace our way. But remember,” he added in a low tone, “that were
treachery intended, it would be as easy to perform the deed where you now
stand, as on the bosom of that star-lit gulf.”

Alessandro hesitated no longer,
but suffered himself to be completely hooded in a cap which the spy drew over
his countenance. He was then conducted into the boat and guided to a seat next
to the female slave. The spy leapt upon the strand, the boatmen plied their
oars, and the skiff shot away from the bank, no one uttering a word.

[END OF PART I]

PART II

THE LADY OF CONSTANTINOPLE

For
 
upward of half an hour did the
boat skim the surface of the Golden Horn, the dip of the oars in the water and
the rippling around the sharp prow alone breaking the solemn silence of the
night. At length the skiff stopped, and the female slave took Alessandro’s
hand, whispering in a low tone, “I will serve as thy guide, Christian; but
speak not till thou hast permission.”

She then led him from the boat,
up a flight of steps, and through a garden—for he occasionally came in contact
with the outstretching branches of shrubs, and there was moreover a delicious
odor of flowers, as he proceeded in the total darkness of his blindfolding. At
the expiration of ten minutes the guide stopped; and Alessandro heard a key
turn in a lock.

“Enter there,” said the slave,
pushing him gently forward, and speaking in a low tone. “Take off the
cap—attire yourself in the raiment you will find ready provided, and then pass
fearlessly through the door at the further end of the room. You will meet me
again in the hall which you will thus reach.”

And, without waiting for a reply,
the slave closed and locked the door through which Alessandro had just passed.
Hastily did he remove the cap, which had indeed almost suffocated him; and he
now found himself in a small apartment, elegantly furnished in the most
luxurious Oriental fashion, and brilliantly lighted. A table spread with
confectionery, cakes, fruits, and even wines—though the fermented juice of the
grape be expressly forbidden by the laws of the Prophet Mohammed—occupied the
center of the room. Around the walls were continuous sofas, or ottomans, so
conducive to the enjoyment of a voluptuous indolence; the floor was spread with
a carpet so thick that the feet sunk into the silky texture, as into newly
fallen snow;
 
 and whichever
way he turned Alessandro beheld his form reflected in vast mirrors set in
magnificent frames. There were no windows on any side of this apartment; but
there was a cupola fitted with stained glass on the roof, and Alessandro judged
that he was in one of those voluptuous kiosks usually found in the gardens of
wealthy Turks.

Precisely as the slave had
informed him, he found an elegant suit of Moslem garments set out on the sofa
for his use; and he hastened to exchange his Italian costume for the Oriental
raiment. As he thus attired himself, it was necessary to contemplate himself in
the mirror facing him, so as properly to adjust clothes to which he was totally
unaccustomed; and it struck him that the garb of the infidel became him better
than that of the Christian. He did not, however, waste time in the details of
this strange toilet; but as soon as it was completed he opened the door at the
further end of the room, in pursuance of the instructions he had received.
Alessandro found himself in a large marble hall, from which several flights of
stairs led to the apartments above. The place was refulgent with the light of
numerous chandeliers, the glare of which was enhanced by the vast mirrors
attached to the walls, and the crystal pillars that supported the roof.

Not a human being met
Alessandro’s eyes; and he began to fear either that he had mistaken the
directions he had received, or that some treachery was intended, when a door
opened, and the female slave, wrapped in a veil, made her appearance. Placing
her forefinger upon that part of the veil which covered her lips, to enjoin
silence, she led the way up the nearest staircase, Alessandro following with a
heart beating audibly. They reached a door at which a negro male slave was
stationed.

“The hakim” (physician), said
Alessandro’s guide, laconically addressing herself to the negro, who bowed in
silence and threw open the door. The female slave conducted the pretended
physician into a small but splendidly furnished ante-room, in which there were
several other dependents of her own sex. A door at the further end was opened,
and Alessandro passed through into another, larger, and still more
magnificently furnished room; the door closed behind him, and he found himself
alone with the idol of his adoration.

Half seated, half lying upon
cushions of scarlet brocade, the glossy bright hue of which was mellowed by the
muslin spread over it, appeared the beauteous creature whose image was so faithfully
delineated in his memory. She was attired in the graceful and becoming dualma,
a purple vest which set close to her form, and with a species of elasticity
shaped itself so as to develop every contour.

But in accordance with the custom
of the clime and age, the dualma was open at the bosom, sloping from each
lovely white shoulder to the waist, where the two folds joining, formed an
angle, at which the purple vest was fastened by a diamond worth a monarch’s
ransom. The sleeves were wide, but short, scarcely reaching to the elbow, and
leaving all the lower part of the snowy arms completely bare. Her ample
trousers were of purple silk, covered with the finest muslin, and drawn in
tight a
 
 little above the
ankles, which were naked. On her feet she wore crimson slippers cut very low,
and each ornamented with a diamond. Round her person below the waist she wore a
magnificent shawl, rolled up, as it were, negligently, so as to form a girdle
or zone, and fastened in front with two large tassels of pearls. Diamond
bracelets adorned her fair arms; and her head-dress consisted of a turban or
shawl of light but rich material, fastened with golden bodkins, the head of
each being a pearl of the best water. Beneath this turban, her rich auburn
hair, glowing like gold in the light of the perfumed lamps, and amidst the
blaze of diamonds which adorned her, was parted in massive bands, sweeping
gracefully over her temples and gathered behind the ears, then falling in all
the luxuriance of its rich clustering folds over the cushion whereon she
reclined. Her finger-nails were slightly tinged with henna, the rosy hue the
more effectually setting off the lily whiteness of her delicate hand and full
round arm. But no need had she to dye the lashes of her eyes with the famous kohol,
so much used by Oriental ladies, for those lashes were by nature formed of the
deepest jet—a somewhat unusual but beauteous contrast with the color of her
hair. The cheeks of the lovely creature were slightly flushed, or it might have
been a reflection of the scarlet brocade of the cushion on which, as we have
said, she was half-seated, half-lying, when Alessandro appeared in her
presence.

For a few moments the young
Italian was so dazzled by her beauty, so bewildered by the appearance of that
lady, whose richness of attire seemed to denote the rank of sultana, that he
remained rooted to the spot, uncertain whether to advance, to retire, or to
fall upon his knees before her. But in an encouraging tone, and in a voice
musical as a silver bell, the lady said: “Approach, Christian!” and she pointed
to a low ottoman within a few paces of the sofa which she herself occupied.
Alessandro now recovered his presence of mind; and no longer embarrassed and
awkward, but with graceful ease and yet profound respect, he took the seat
indicated.

“Beauteous lady,” he said, “how
can I ever demonstrate the gratitude—the illimitable, boundless gratitude which
fills my heart, for the joy, the truly elysian delight afforded me by this
meeting?”

“You speak our language well,
Christian,” observed the lady, smiling faintly at the compliment conveyed by
the words of Alessandro, but evading a direct reply.

“I have for some years past been
in the service of the Florentine envoy, lady,” was the answer; “and the
position which I occupy at the palace of the embassy has led me to study the
beauteous language of this clime, and to master its difficulties. But never,
never did that language sound so soft and musical upon my ears as now, flowing
from those sweet lips of thine.”

“The Moslem maiden dares not
listen to the flattery of the infidel,” said the beauteous stranger in a
serious but not severe tone. “Listen to me, Christian, with attention, for our
meeting must not be prolonged many minutes. To say that I beheld
 
 thee with indifference when we
first encountered each other in the bazaar, were to utter a falsehood which I
scorn; to admit that I can love thee, and love thee well,” she added, her voice
slightly trembling, “is an avowal which I do not blush to make. But never can
the Moslem maiden bestow her hand on the infidel. If thou lovest me—if thou
wouldst prove thyself worthy of that affection which my heart is inclined to
bestow upon thee, thou wilt renounce the creed of thy forefathers, and embrace
the Mussulman faith. Nor is this all that I require of thee, or that thou must
achieve to win me. Become a true believer—acknowledge that Allah is God and
Mohammed is his prophet—and a bright and glorious destiny will await thee. For
although thou wilt depart hence without learning my name, or who I may be, or
the place to which you have been brought to meet me,—though we shall behold
each other no more until thou hast rendered thyself worthy of my hand, yet
shall I ever be mindful of thee, my loved one! An unseen, an unknown influence
shall attend thee: thy slightest wishes will be anticipated and fulfilled in a
manner for which thou wilt vainly seek to account,—and, as thou provest thy
talents or thy valor, so will promotion open its doors to thee with such
rapidity that thou wilt strain every nerve to reach the highest offices in the
state—for then only may’st thou hope to receive my hand, and behold the
elucidation of the mystery which up to that date will envelop thy destinies.”

While the lady was thus speaking,
a fearful struggle took place in the breast of Alessandro—for the renunciation
of his creed, a creed in which he must ever in his heart continue to believe,
though ostensibly he might abjure it—was an appalling step to contemplate. Then
to his mind also came the images of those whom he loved, and who were far away
in Italy:—his aunt, who had been so kind to him, his sister whom he knew to be
so proud of him, and Father Marco, who manifested such deep interest in his
behalf. But on his ears continued to flow the honeyed words and the musical
tones of the charming temptress; and, as she gradually developed to his
imagination the destinies upon which he might enter, offering herself as the
eventual prize to be gained by a career certain to be pushed on successfully
through the medium of a powerful, though mysterious influence—Florence,
relatives, and friends, became as secondary considerations in his mind; and by
the time the lady brought her long address to a conclusion—that address which
had grown more impassioned and tender as she proceeded—Alessandro threw himself
at her feet, exclaiming, “Lovely houri that thou art—beauteous as the maidens
that dwell in the paradise of thy prophet—I am thine. I am thine!”

The lady extended her right hand,
which he took and pressed in rapture to his lips. But the next moment she rose
lightly to her feet, and assuming a demeanor befitting a royal sultana, said in
a sweet, though impressive tone:

“We must now part—thou to enter
on thy career of fame, I to set in motion every spring within my reach to advance
thee to the pinnacle of glory and power. Henceforth thy name is
 
 Ibrahim! Go, then, my Ibrahim,
and throw thyself at the feet of the reis-effendi, and that great minister will
forthwith present thee to Piri Pasha, the grand vizier. Toil diligently—labor
arduously—and the rest concerns me. Go, then, my Ibrahim, I say, and enter on
the path which will lead thee to the summit of fame and power!”

She extended her arms toward
him—he snatched her to his breast, and covered her cheeks with kisses. In that
paradise of charms he could have reveled forever; but the tender caresses
lasted not beyond a few moments, for the lady tore herself away from his
embrace and hurried into an adjacent apartment. Alessandro—or rather, the
renegade, Ibrahim—passed into the anteroom where his guide, the female slave,
awaited his return. She conducted him back to the hall, and advanced toward the
door of the voluptuous kiosk, where he had changed his raiment.

“Goest thou forth a Christian
still, or a true believer?” she asked turning suddenly round.

“As a Mussulman,” answered the
renegade, while his heart sank within him, and remorse already commenced its
torture.

“Then thou hast no further need
of the Christian garb,” said the slave. “Await me here.”

She entered the kiosk, and returned
in a few moments with the cap, which, in obedience to her directions, he once
more drew on his head and over his countenance. The slave then led him into the
garden, which they treaded in profound silence. At length they reached the
steps leading down to the water, and the slave accompanied him into the boat,
which immediately shot away from the bank. Alessandro had now ample time for
calm reflection. The excitement of the hurried incidents of the evening was
nearly over, and, though his breast was still occupied with the image of his
beautiful unknown, and with the brilliant prospects which she had opened to
view, he nevertheless shrank from the foul deed of apostasy which he had vowed
to perpetrate. But we have already said that he was essentially worldly-minded,
and, as he felt convinced that the petty jealousy of the Florentine Envoy would
prevent him from rising higher in the diplomatic hierarchy than the post of
secretary, he by degrees managed to console himself for his renegadism on the
score that it was necessary—the indispensable stepping-stone to the
gratification of his ambition.