The Circassian Slave, or, the Sultan's favorite : a story of Constantinople and the Caucasus
Ballou, Maturin Murray, 1820-1895
English
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Below is a summary of The Circassian Slave, or, the Sultan's favorite : a story of Constantinople and the Caucasus
Edited by Charles Aldarondo (aldarondo@yahoo.com)
THE CIRCASSIAN SLAVE:
OR, THE SULTAN'S FAVORITE.
A Story of Constantinople and the Caucasus.
BY LIEUTENANT MURRAY.
BOSTON:
1851.
PUBLISHER's NOTE.--The following Novelette was originally published
in THE PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION, and is but a specimen of
the many deeply entertaining Tales, and the gems of literary merit,
which grace the columns of that elegant and highly popular journal.
THE COMPANION embodies a corps of contributors of rare literary
excellence, and is regarded as the ne plus ultra, by its scores of
thousands of readers.
PREFACE.
The following story relates to that exceedingly interesting and
romantic portion of the world bordering on the Black Sea, the Sea of
Marmora, and the Bosphorus. The period of the story being quite
modern, its scenes are a transcript of the present time in the city
of the Sultan. The peculiarities of Turkish character are of the
follower of Mahomet, as they appear to-day; and the incidents
depicted are such as have precedents daily in the oriental capital.
Leaving the tale to the kind consideration of the reader, the author
would not fail to express his thanks for former indulgence and
favor.
THE CIRCASSIAN SLAVE.
CHAPTER I.
THE SLAVE MARKET.
Upon one of those hot, sultry summer afternoons that so often
prevail about the banks of the Bosphorus, the sun was fast sinking
towards its western course, and gilding as it went, the golden
crescents of a thousand minarets, now dancing with fairy feet over
the rippling waters of Marmora, now dallying with the spray of the
oarsmen's blades, as they pulled the gilded caique of some rich old
Mussulman up the tide of the Golden Horn. The soft and dainty
scented air came in light zephyrs off the shore of Asia to play upon
the European coast, and altogether it was a dreamy, siesta-like hour
hat reigned in the Turkish capital.
Let the reader come with us at this time into the circular area that
forms the slave market of Constantinople. The bazaar is well filled;
here are Egyptians, Bulgarians, Persians, and even Africans; but we
will pass them by and cross to the main stand, where are exposed for
sale some score of Georgians and Circassians. They are all chosen
for their beauty of person, and present a scene of more than usual
interest, awaiting the fate that the future may send them in a kind
or heartless master; and knowing how much of their future peace
depends upon this chance, they watch each new comer with almost
painful interest as he moves about the area.
A careless crowd thronged the place, lounging about in little knots
here and there, while one lot of slave merchants, with their broad
but graceful turbans, were sitting round a brass vessel of coals,
smoking or making their coffee, and discussing the matters
pertaining to their trade. Some came there solely to smoke their
opium-drugged pipes, and some to purchase, if a good bargain should
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