Chapter C

THE DIVORCED,[1] A TRANSLATION FROM THE MOLDAVIAN.

“Ah! what a fatal gift from Heaven is a too sensitive heart!”--ROUSSEAU.

What is that yonder shimmering so?
Can it be swans? Can it be snow?
If it were swans they would move, I trow,
If it were snow it had melted ere now.
No: it is Ibrahim Aga’s tent--
There lies the warrior, wounded and spent.
Mother and sisters tend him there
Night and morn with busiest care;
His wife alone--through shame or grief--
Stays away from the suffering Chief.

Wherefore, as soon as his illness was gone,
Wrote he thus to the Sensitive One--
“Go thy way from my house and hearth,
And bide with the mother that gave thee birth.”

Sad was Ayoob at the sudden word!
It pierced her tender heart like a sword.
Hark! the sound of a charger’s tramp--
Ibrahim, then, is come from the camp!
So she fancies, and, in her despair,
Thinks she will scale the turret-stair,
And dash herself down from the castle-wall,
When, lo! her two little daughters call--
“It isn’t our father, mother dear!
This is our uncle, Djaffar-al-Meer.”

Turning around, the weeping mother
Flings her arms about her brother--
“Oh, brother! that this black day should arrive!
Oh, how can I leave these helpless five?”

But, cold and wordless, as one who has yet
To study Compassion, or feel Remorse,
The brother draws forth, all shiningly set
In silk and gold, the Brief of Divorce,
And sternly he states the Law’s command--
That again she return to her kindred and land,
Free once more to dispose of her hand.

The mother’s heart felt breaking, for now
All hope was buried;--she could not speak--
She kissed her two little boys on the brow,
And her two little girls she kissed on the cheek,
While the babe in the cradle--unconscious child!--
Held out its diminutive arms, and smiled!

The iron Djaffar would wait no more--
His barb was pawing the earth at the door:
“Up, woman!” he cried--and they galloped away,
And reached their home by the close of day.

But there not long she pined alone,
For, barely a week was over and gone
When many a suitor came to sue;
Kapitans, Beys, and Agas too,
Came to see her and staid to woo.

And Djaffar saw that the richest of all
Was the noble Khadi of Nourjahaul.

Afresh for sorrow were hourly shed
The bitter tears of the mourner then:
“I pray thee, brother,” she sadly said,
“Give me not in marriage agen!
My broken heart would cease to beat
Should I and the children chance to meet.”

But Djaffar was ever the Man of Steel--
The morrow, he vowed, should see her a wife!
“Then, hear me, brother!--thy sister’s life
Hangs upon this her last appeal!
Write to the Khadi thus, I entreat--
‘Health from Ayoob to her lordly lover!
Send, she prays thee, a veil to cover
Her sorrowful figure from head to feet,
Lest, while passing the Aga’s door,
Her children greet her as heretofore.’”

The letter was sent, and the veil came home;
And by noon on the morrow the bride was arrayed;
And a gorgeous train and cavalcade
Set out for the Khadi’s palace-dome.
They journeyed till sunset purpled the sky,
And now, alas! her trial is nigh--
Her trial is nigh, her bosom is swelling;
They come within sight of Ibrahim’s dwelling--
They near the gates--ah, well-a-day!
Her children cannot mistake their mother--
“Mamma! Mamma! ah, don’t go away!”
They cry, and their voices drown one another.

That mother groaned in her wretchedness!
“Live long!” she said, “my Lord and Master!
Mayest thou ever defy Disaster!
May thy shadow never be less!
Bid, I implore thee, the cavalcade wait
A moment in front of the Aga’s gate,
While I go into the house, and leave
Some gifts with my little ones, lest they grieve.”

Silently then, like a ghost from the tombs,
She enters once more the remembered rooms,
Gives to her sons little gold-laced boots,
Gives to her daughters little kapoots,[2]
And leaves with the babe in the cradle-bed
Some toys and a basket of sugar-bread.

Now, the desolate father was standing apart,
And he marked that she neither spake nor sighed,
And Agony wrung his manly heart--
“Come, come to me, hither, my children!” he cried,
“For I see that your mother’s bosom is grown
Colder and harder than marble stone.”

But, as soon as Ayoob heard Ibrahim speak,
And saw her children turning away,
She fell on the floor without a shriek,
And without a stir on the floor she lay;
And the funeral-wailers of Islambol
Were chanting ere night the hymn for her soul.[3]