Once sure of the sultan’s affections, I indulged myself in greater liberties—­not with him, but with others; for I knew that he would laugh at the tricks I might play upon his dependents, but not be equally pleased with a want of respect towards himself; and other people of the harem were the objects of my caprice and amusement.  So far from preventing him from noticing the other women in the harem, I would recommend them, and often have them in my apartments when he would visit me, and wish to be alone.  I generally contrived to manage a little quarrel about once a month, as it renewed his passion.  In short, the sultan became, as I intended, so infatuated, that he was my slave, and at the same time I felt an ardent attachment to him.  My power was well known.  The presents which I received from those who required my good offices were innumerable, and I never retained them, but sent them as presents to the sultan, in return for those which he repeatedly sent to me.  This indifference on my part to what women are usually too fond of, increased his regard.

* * * * *

“By the holy Prophet but you seemed fond enough of gold just now,” observed the pacha.

“Time has been,” replied the old woman.  “I speak not of the present.”

* * * * *

For two years I passed a happy life; but anxious as the sultan was, as well as myself, that I should present him with an heir, that happiness was denied me, and was eventually the cause of my ruin.  The queen mother, and the Kislar Aga, both of whom I had affronted, were indefatigable in their attempts to undermine my power.  The whole universe, I may say, was ransacked for a new introduction into the seraglio, whose novelty and beauty might seduce the sultan from my arms.  Instead of counter-plotting, as I might have done, I was pleased at their frustrated efforts.  Had I demanded the woolly head of the one, and poisoned the other, I had done wisely.  I only wish I had them now; but I was a fool—­it cannot be helped—­but time has been.

Like most of the sex, the ruling passion of the sultan was vanity, a disease which shows itself in a thousand different shapes.  He was peculiarly proud of his person, and with reason, for it was faultless, with one little exception, which I had discovered, a wen, about the size of a pigeon’s egg, under the left arm.  I had never mentioned to him that I was aware of it; but a circumstance occurred which annoyed me, and I forgot my discretion.

The Kislar Aga had at last discovered a Circassian slave, who, he thought, would effect the purpose.  She was beautiful, and I had already engrossed the sultan’s attentions for more than two years.  Men will be fickle, and I expected no otherwise.  What I required was the dominion over the mind; I cared little about the sultan’s attentions to other women.  Like the tamed bird which flies from its cage, and after wandering a short time, is