The Circassian Slave | Page 6

It was the arranging of flowers so as to make them speak the
language of her heart to another, a means of communication in which
the women of the East excel. Indeed it is the only mode in which they
can hold silent converse, since they know not the cunning of the pen.
Engaged in this gentle and pleasing occupation, the Circassian passed
hours and days in the study and practice of the sweet language of
flowers.
For hours together, while she was thus occupied, the idiot boy would sit
and watch her movements, and now and then receive some kindly
token of consideration from her hand that seemed to delight him
beyond measure. He followed her every movement with his eye, and
seemed only content when close by her side, sitting near her, patient
and silent; in fact he could utter but few audible sounds, and no one had
ever taught the poor idiot how to talk.
One afternoon, in the gardens that opened from the harem, the
Circassian had been engaged thus, sitting beneath the projecting roof of
a lattice-work summer house. The sun as it crept down towards the
western horizon threw lengthened shadows across the soft green sward
where minaret, cypress, or projecting angle of the palace intervened.
The boy would pick out one of those dark shadows, and sitting down
where it terminated, seem to think that he could keep it there, but when
the shadow lengthened every moment more and more, and seemed to
his untutored and simple comprehension to creep out from under him,
he would look amazed to see how it was done while he sat upon it.
In following up a projecting shadow thus, he had come at last almost to
the very side of the dumb slave just as a gaudy winged parrot lit upon
the eve of the summer house on a large piece of the picket work that
had been used as an ornament for its top, but which having been broken
from its position, had slid down to the very eaves and now hung but
half suspended upon the roof. Even the lighting of the parrot upon its
edge was sufficient to balance it from the fragile support that retained it
on the roof, and then it slid off immediately above the head of the
Circassian girl.
The boy was on his feet as quick as thought itself, and springing to the

spot, with both hands outspread above her head, he canted the heavy
frame work away from her so that it came upon the ground, sinking
deep into the earth from its sharp points and considerable weight. Had
the falling mass come upon her head, as it would most inevitably have
done but for the boy, its effect must have been instantly fatal. The
Circassian saw the imminent service the boy had rendered her, but he
was sitting on the end of another shadow in a moment after!
Was it reason or instinct that had caused him to make that successful
effort with such wonderful speed and accuracy? The slave looked at
him in wonder. It was very evident that he had already forgotten the
service which he had rendered, and the same listless, childlike, and
almost idiotic expression was in his face. this event endeared the boy
very much to the Circassian, and she never failed to show him every
kindness in her power. She would arrange his straggling dress, and part
his hair, smoothly away from his handsome forehead, and give him
always of each delicacy provided for herself, until the boy seemed to
feel himself almost solely dependent upon her, and to seek her side as a
faithful hound might have done.
Thus had time passed with the dumb slave in the Sultan's palace on the
Barbyses.
At times she would stroll among the rare beds of plants, and culling
fresh chaplets for her head, wreathe herself a fragrant garland, ever
finding some familiar scent that recalled her far off home in all its
freshness. Wearied of this she wandered among the jasper fountains,
and watched the play of those waters, the soft and rippling music of
which she might not hear, or still further on in the many labyrinths of
the garden and harem walks, would throw herself upon some rich
cushions beside a silver urn, where burnt sweet aloes and sandal wood
and rods of spice to perfume the air. At early morn she loved to pet the
blue pigeons that had been brought from far off Mecca, held so sacred
by the faithful, to feed them from her own hands, and to toy with the
golden thrushes from Hindostan, and the gaudy birds of Paradise that
flew about with other rare and beautiful songsters in this fairy palace of
the Sultan.

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