THE CAPEDJt BACHI. 



tack ere it reaches the final destination ; the wells being rarely met 

 with in a straight line, and in order to find them, it is obliged to de- 

 viate from the direct course. What a long and painful navigation 

 for such it is. The desert appears to isolate you more even than the 

 ocean the prison of sand that surrounds you is more dreary than 

 that of the waves. The former is monotonous, motionless ; while the 

 latter, by their undulations, recall to your mind some remains of 

 animated nature. But in the Desert, nothing reminds you that life 

 exists beyond the sphere of your own person ; and then the desert 

 between Damascus and Bagdad is a desert formed by the hand of 

 man, more dreary than those of Africa, the work of nature. A ruin 

 in the desert 'tis the idea of nothingness, coupled to that of de- 

 struction. 



After forty days' march, Ahmed reached Bagdad the brilliant 

 wreck of two eras, that recalls to the memory the glory of Babylon, 

 and the days of Aroun al Raschid. Since she ceased to be Babylon 

 she has often changed masters, religion, and name ; but her manners 

 have never varied, she has impressed them upon every religious and 

 political form to which she has submitted. Ahmed repaired imme- 

 diately to the Turkish camp, where Hussein Pacha, commanded in 

 person. Hussein Pacha was not one of those courtly favourites, more 

 a eunuch in mind than even the Arabians of the Seraglio, their rivals 

 he was not one of those scourges of the East, who look upon 

 power as upon merchandise who take a pachalic from the Sultan as 

 a farm, and at the end of two years having exhausted its resources, 

 returns it a desert to the Porte. Neither was he one of those restless 

 chiefs who, by raising the standard of revolt, speculates upon the 

 feirs of the Porte, in order to obtain exile with a rich pachalic. 

 Hussein was a brave and active pacha, hated by the eunuchs of the 

 harem and the minions of the court when the state was tranquil, but 

 around whom the whole empire appeared to rally when the tempest 

 roared. Then it was that the gallant Pacha quitted his retreat on the 

 shores of the Bosphorus, and girding on his Khorassan scymitar, re- 

 turned to it but when he had appeased the storm. In fact it was 

 quite inexplicable that, having rendered the state so many services, 

 his head should still be on his shoulders. All allowed that although 

 he possessed so many brilliant qualities, his good fortune was some- 

 thing miraculous. 



Ahmed went straight to his tent, full of confidence in his generosity, 

 and in the hope that he might preserve some grateful recollection of 

 his sire, who as barber-bachi more than once protected the saviour 

 of the empire. It was a beautiful green tent, with a gold border a 

 Persian carpet concealed the entrance ; an Egyptian mat was laid 

 along it; at the extremity was a red divan, with green fringe. The 

 Pacha was alone, seated on the angle of the divan a crowd of 

 kawas and officers stood at some distance round it, in most respectful 

 attitudes. Ahmed advanced up to the divan, and raised its fringe to 

 his mouth and forehead, not daring yet kiss the garment of its mas- 

 ter. This done, he retired silently towards the other extremity of 

 the tent. Then Hussein Pacha cast his eyes towards him, and re- 

 vealed the face of an old man, martial in spite even of his venerable 



