"Let us demean ourselves as we are commanded, as is becoming before Allah, the prophets, and the good spirits who hover about us; as is becoming in the presence of your mother, and of mine, who are looking down upon us; as a youth and maiden should who have not yet been united in the mosque. Do not touch me, but listen to what Masa has to say: You shall not die for my sake; you shall not fill my eyes with tears, and my soul with anguish. You shall live, Mohammed, that my whole existence may be yours, and yours mine! Let us think and dream of this; let us hope for this, and let us do all we can to make of this dream reality. and of this hope fulfilment. I shall go down to Praousta. I shall speak to them, and conjure them to pay this double tax in spite of my father's opposition. When they shall have done this, Mohammed, your honor will be saved, my father's life preserved, and his daughter's heart freed from anguish. The rest, Mohammed, we must leave to the good spirits, to the welis and the intercession of our mothers."
"But if the men should still refuse," said Mohammed—"and I know they will," he added, gloomily.
"They will not refuse. My lips will possess a charm to persuade them to do what we wish. They will not refuse. My love and anxiety for my father will give to my words such power that they must do, although with reluctance, what the daughter demands of them to save the father's life. I conjure you, Mohammed, wait patiently at least until the hour of second prayer. Prolong the time until then. Allow me to announce this to them; to bear a message to them from my father and from you; allow me to say: 'Mohammed will wait until the hour of second prayer; you can deliberate until then, and not until then, if it be necessary to pay the tax. Yet if, when the hour arrives, you do not appear, my father's life is lost, and you will be his murderers.' I will speak to them thus, and will entreat them with tears, and believe me, these men are good at heart, and full of tenderness and mercy. They, too, dearly love my father, the sheik, and they also love the ulemas, the wise men of the place, and they will surely yield to my entreaties if you will only wait, Mohammed."
As she finished speaking, she turned the gaze of her glowing eyes full upon him. He looked into the depths of these eyes, and a sweet tremor coursed through his whole soul.
"See how great is your power over me, Masa. Mohammed lays his honor, his pledged word, at your feet, and does what you request: I will wait until the hour of the second prayer. May Allah give strength to your words, and bless the charm of your crimson lips with success! I will wait. But one thing, Masa, tell me now, before you go."
"What is it? " asked she. But she seemed to know already, for she blushingly averted her eyes.
" Tell me that you love me, then I will wait. Tell me, Masa, do you love me?"
"How can I tell you what I do not understand?" murmured she. "I do not know what love is."
"You do not know what love is?" said he, gazing at her fixedly and almost threateningly. "Then tell me this, Masa, do you know that I love you?"
When he uttered these words his face was so near hers that she felt his breath on her cheeks—so near, that his eyes looked into the depths of her own and saw themselves reflected there.
"Do you know that I love you?"
A slight tremor possessed itself of all her being, and she bowed her head in confusion.
"Yes, Mohammed, I know that you love me."
He suddenly raised the white veil from her countenance, and softly and gently kissed her lips, as softly and gently as the bee touches with its wings the crimson rose in search of its sweetness. He then quickly let fall her veil again. "Swear, Masa, that no other man's hand shall ever raise this veil!"
"O Mohammed, how can I?' said she, in soft, pleading tones. "Am I not my father's slave, is not his daughter's life in his hands, must I not do what he commands? But this I can swear: that I will love you, Mohammed, that I will pray to Allah to bless our love. And now let me tell you, I not only know that you love me, but I also know that Masa's heart is yours, for it beats so loudly, so stormily, and I feel so happy. This I can swear, too, Mohammed, that my heart will remain true to you, and that I will rather die, than of my own free will allow another man to raise my veil."
"And this I can swear, Masa, that you shall not die," said, he, and his voice sounded almost harsh and threatening. "No, you shall not die, Masa! You shall live, and live for me, the husband of your future. And now, come, I will conduct you to the rocky stairway. This you will permit me to do."
She gently shook her head, raised her hand, and pointed to the landscape that lay spread out below in the bright sunshine.
"No, Mohammed! You called me a white dove. Then let the white dove fly away on its mission. You would not be the huntsman that takes its life? See, beneath us lies Cavalla, where people are now beginning to move about. The eyes of gossips might see me, and the sharp tongues of calumny defame my father's daughter. That may not be, for the sake of my good name, and for your sake too, Mohammed. Let me go down alone, and you remain until you see me descending the stairway. Do not go down until then. Do not give evil tongues occasion to suspect and speak ill of me. Let the white dove that is to wing her flight, when it pleases Allah, to the nest you have prepared for her, be pure and with. out reproach. Do not speak one more word, and do not look at me only see how weak I am: if you look at me again I shall stand still and wait till you command me to go. Turn away from me and let me go. Let us both pray to Allah that our wishes may be granted."
He turns away as she requested, and gazes in the opposite direction, at the blue sky and the foaming sea. He sees her not, but the pain he feels tells him Masa is leaving; he knows, without hearing her footsteps, that she is walking from him. He remains above as she had requested. After a while he turns around and looks after her. He sees the white dove fluttering downward from rock to rock, and at last disappear on the stairway that leads to Praousta.
"May Allah bless her mission, that I may live, live for Masa, for her I love so passionately! All that I do shall henceforth be for her, and Mohammed's life will be bliss and sunshine."
CHAPTER IV.
MASA'S JEWELRY
THE village of Praousta had now assumed a busy look. The men had assembled around the mosque, and were conversing in eager, anxious tones.
When they saw the veiled girl approaching they bowed their heads respectfully, as is becoming in the presence of the unhappy. They knew the beautiful Masa, in spite of her veil. They knew she had gone up to her father to implore him to take pity on himself and on her. They now stepped up to her and asked if her father still lived, and if there was any hope of preserving his life.
"His life is in your hands," replied Masa. "I come to conjure you to save the life of my father, and of the noble old men, the ulemas."
"How can we, daughter of Sheik Alepp?" cried the men. "How can we save their lives?"
"You ask me? Then I will tell you: You must bow your heads beneath the yoke. You must obey the commands of the tschorbadji."
"Never! never!" cried the men. "Has not the sheik himself forbidden us to do so? Did not the ulemas, as late as yesterday evening at sunset, command us in Allah's name to be firm?"
"They did command it," cried the girl, passionately, "and they did so because they wished to do their duty and obey the law. But it devolves upon you, ye men, to obey the higher law that dwells in us. Will you, ye men of Praousta, allow your best and noblest men to be murdered for the sake of a paltry sum of money. Do you wish that your children and grandchildren should one day point at you and say: —Look at them, they are murderers! They slaughtered them that they might keep their money, that they might keep that which they held dearest!"
"No, Masa, it is not on account of the money!" cried the men. "It is a question of our honor, of law, and of justice. And therefore the sheik has commanded us not to pay. A double tax was imposed on us; that was unjust. The sheik and the ulemas say that, if we pay this double tax, they will the next time demand a treble, and the third time a quadruple tax. In this way they would consume our substance, and our fate would be poverty and the beggar's staff. Thus spoke the sheik and the ulemas as late as yesterday evening, and therefore must we remain firm, and, therefore, oh, forgive us, we should not dare to pay even if we could."
"But we cannot even do it," cried one of the men. "No, Masa, you may believe us, it is not in our power. The tobacco-crop has turned out badly, and the storms have destroyed our nets, and let the fish escape. Really, we could not pay even if we would. It was with the greatest difficulty that we got the simple tax together, and now the tschorbadji sends us word, by his collectors, that we must pay as much more. By Allah, it is impossible, we cannot do it."
"No, it is impossible; we cannot do it," cried the rest, in a chorus of lamentation.
"Then you are ready to let my father die—to become the murderers of our ulemas," cried Masa, falling on her knees, and stretching out her arms imploringly. "Oh, be merciful to yourselves, for I tell you the evil spirits will obtain power over you, if you do not abandon your cruel intention. I tell you, misery will be your portion, if you allow your noblest men to be murdered for the sake of vile money."
"And we tell you, Masa, that we cannot pay," cried the men, in defiant, despairing tones. "We repeat, and call Allah to witness, we have not the money they demand of us."
"You have not this money? But if you had it, would you then pay? Would you bend your heads to save the heads of our noblest men? Would you go to the tschorbadji and say—Here is the double tax. You do us injustice, yet we humble ourselves in order to save the lives of our sheik and the ulemas!' Say, would you do this?"
The people made no reply, but cast sorrowful glances at each other, and whispered among themselves
"The sheik would not forgive us; he gave strict orders that we should not pay."
"But his life, and the lives of the ulemas are at stake," murmured one of them.
"Yes, his life is at stake!" cried Masa, who had heard this. "I entreat you to grant my request. Let each of you go after the tax he has laid by, and then come with me, all of you, to the tschorbadji. I will attend to the rest."
"Masa, what are you about to do? " asked the men, regarding her in astonishment. "It does not become a woman to meddle with such affairs."
"It becomes a daughter to save her father's life. This is my only purpose, and may Allah assist me in accomplishing it!" cried she, with enthusiasm. "I pray you, go after the money, and wait at the rocky stairway. I am only going to my house, and shall return directly."
She flew across the square to her father's house. Two female servants, who had been standing in the hall, anxiously awaiting the return of their mistress, cried out with joy, and hastened forward to kiss her bands.
She rushed past them up the stairway, and into her room, looking the door behind her, that none might follow. She then took hastily from a trunk, inherited from her mother, a casket, adorned with mother- of-pearl and precious, stones. She opened it and looked at its contents.
"Yes, there are the ear-rings; and there are the tiara and the necklace."
Her mother had given her, on her death-bed, these, the bridal ornaments she had brought with her from her father's house, and the sheik had often remarked that these jewels were worth at least a hundred sequins.
Until now, their value had been a matter of indifference to her. What cared she how much money could be had for her pearls and necklace? She loved this jewelry because it came from her mother, but now she thinks differently.
"The jewelry is worth at least a hundred sequins, and the tax certainly does not amount to more. And, if it were more, I should entreat the governor until he accepted the jewelry as the second tax. Thus it shall be. O dear mother, look down upon your daughter, and do not be angry with her for parting with the costly souvenir given her by you on your death-bed! Do not be angry, and see in it only love for my father!"
She bowed her head, and kissed the pearls which had once adorned her mother; kissed the necklace and the tiara that had once shone on her dear head.
"O mother, I had thought, that on my wedding-day, I too should wear these costly ornaments. But I know that it will be a matter of indifference to him, the only one for whom I wish this day to come. He would not look at the glittering jewels, but only at me. I therefore willingly part with them; I do not care, for he whom I love will not be grieved if I come to him unadorned."
A blissful smile overspread her lovely countenance.
She closed and locked the casket, and hid it under her veil. She hastily walked down the stairway, out of the house, and toward the mosque, where the men had begun to assemble, each one bringing with him his proportion of the tax.
"Tell me, ye men," asked Masa, quickly, "what is the amount of the tax you are called on to pay?"
"The simple tax, Masa, amounts to one hundred sequins. Consider how heavy a burden this alone is. There are hardly fifty men of us living here in Praousta, and really it seems to us quite sufficient that each of us has two sequins to pay at the end of each summer. But to pay the double tax is simply impossible. Your father well knew this, Masa, and he therefore sternly commanded us not to pay, as the demand was contrary to law and justice."
"A hundred sequins," cried she, with sparkling eyes. "Then all is well. Come, ye men of Praousta let us ascend the stairway. The hour of the second prayer has not yet come, and until then, with the tschrobadji's consent, Mohammed Ali has granted us a respite. Wait on the crest of the rock above until I call you. I shall now go to the tschorbadji; pray ye, in the mean while, to Allah, that my words may prove effectual."
She ascended the stairway with flying footsteps. With dejected looks, the men slowly followed. "We are wrong in allowing her to persuade us to submit to the tschorbadji. We will, however, pay the just tax, and no more. We would not pay more, even if we could. Here let us stay and await the call of our sheik's daughter."
"And let us pray, as she requested," murmured others. On bended knees, and with solemn countenances, the men, but now so noisy and fierce, awaited Masa's return in silence.
The white dove flew up the pathway, through the courtyard, and into the palace, regardless of a number of her father's old friends who were lying on the ground before the gate. She dare not stop to speak to them, for the sheik could seek to learn on what errand his daughter goes alone to the palace. If she should tell him, he would command her to return to her father's harem, there to await in patience the fate Allah should have in store for his children. No, she cannot approach him, cannot brave his questioning; she would then be compelled to disobey him, for her father's life must and shall be preserved.
The tschorbadji stood in the lower hall. His heart was troubled, and his countenance sorrowful. He should not have permitted Mohammed Ali to go so far. How terrible it would be if this execution should really take place here in his courtyard, if the heads of the best men of Praousta should really fall to the ground! No, he should not have permitted the stern, pitiless young man to pledge his honor for the fulfullment of what he had undertaken. He had already asked his son Osman to seek his friend and entreat him to desist from his stern purpose. Osman was now pleading with his friend in soft, persuasive tones.
"Will he succeed?" This is now the question that agitates the tschorbadji. He had sworn by all that was holy that Mohammed should have his will; and a Moslem cannot break his oath; honor forbids it. The tachorbadji knows this very well, and therefore is he sorrowful and dejected. Should the young man persist, he must therefore unwillingly allow him to carry out his purpose. He sits there on the divan, tortured with doubt and apprehension. Will Mohammed relent? Will Osman succeed in softening his heart?
At this moment the door opens, and a veiled woman enters the room. She advances with light and noiseless footstep, and kneels down before the tschorbadji.
"O master, be merciful to your servant! Sheik Alepp's daughter kneels before you ! Incline your heart to mercy, and give back to me my father!"
"Gladly would I do so, were it in my power," sighed he. I swear it by Allah! But I have pledged my word to the young man to whom I gave authority to act in the name of the law, that he should have unlimited power to do as he should deem proper in the matter. I can therefore do nothing, though I would gladly liberate your father and abandon the collection of the tax."
"O master, I do not ask you to give up the tax! You shall have all you have commanded us to pay."
"You are prepared to pay it?" exclaimed the tschorbadji, joyously. "Then our trouble is at an end. But pray why are you, the daughter of the noble, worthy sheik, here?"
"I have come, O master, because I have an act of mercy to implore at your hands. The men of Praousta are really not able to pay two hundred sequins, but what they lack in money I have in money's worth."
"You speak in enigmas, maiden," said the tschorbadji. "You have the money, and yet you have it not. What does this mean?"
"I have not the money in coined sequins," said she, looking toward the door as though she feared Mohammed might enter and be angry when she presented her love-offering. "Look at this, tschorbadji; these were my mother's jewels, but they are now mine, and no one else has a right to them. Gladly will I part with them for the sake of the men of our village. I have often been told that these jewels are worth more than a hundred sequins. I pray you, take them of me for that sum."
Still kneeling, she handed the tschorbadji the casket containing the jewelry. He took it and regarded it thoughtfully.
"Did it devolve upon me alone to decide this question, gladly would I take the jewelry, good maiden. But remember, I have sworn to Mohammed Ali that the prisoners should only then be released when the double tax shall have been paid in glittering gold-pieces. And I must keep my word. Gladly would I give you their value, but I must confess to the daughter of my sheik that I have not in my possession so large a sum. But remain here; a thought occurs to me," said he. "The ambassador who comes from Stamboul for the tax, and who arrived here yesterday, brought with him for Couspouf Pacha a large purse filled with sequins. If I show him this jewelry and ask him—yes, I will do so. Remain here, maiden, until I return. You might think I would keep your jewels and not return. Take your jewelry and remain here. I am going in quest of one who may be able to assist us. I say us, for I, too, shall be much pleased if the matter can be settled in this peaceful manner. Wait here, daughter of my sheik, while I go in search of one who can settle this matter fit the satisfaction of all!"
CHAPTER V
THE DELIVERANCE.
"This, dear sir, is the woman of whom I spoke," said the tschorbadji, throwing open the door of the room, and stepping aside respectfully to allow his distinguished guest, Cousrouf Pacha, to pass in. "Salute this gentleman with reverence, daughter of my sheik," said he, turning to Masa. "You stand in the presence of a mighty man; he alone can help you."
"O master, if it is in your power, I pray you to help me," cried the maiden, falling upon her knees before the pacha. "Be merciful! Deliver my father from his prison; deliver us all from fear and danger!"
"What does all this mean?" asked Cousrouf, haughtily, turning to the tschorbadji, who had respectfully stepped aside. "You bade me come to decide an important question, and I find here only a young woman who is weeping. What does this mean?"
"This young maiden is the daughter of Sheik Alepp, who is, as you know, imprisoned in the court-yard. She loves her father dearly, and has continually worked and pleaded for him since his imprisonment. She now comes to say that the men of Praousta are really not able to pay the double tax. You know that, although I would now gladly abandon the collection of the tax, I have sworn to Mohammed Ali that he alone should settle the matter. This tender-hearted maiden has now thought of a means of solving this difficulty. She brings these jewels, inherited from her mother, and asks me to give her their value, a sum sufficient to pay the second tax. I, however, am a poor man, and have not the hundred sequins to give her for her jewelry, in order that she may take them to the people of Praousta, for from them only will Mohammed accept payment of the tax. Therefore, pardon my importunity. You are rich and mighty; when your purse is empty you can easily refill it. You are noble and generous, and will perhaps be disposed to take the jewelry, and let the loving daughter have the money wherewith to obtain the deliverance of her father."
"Where are the jewels?" asked the pacha, gazing with impassioned eyes upon the veiled figure of the maiden of whose countenance the eyes alone were visible. But they were so beautiful, and rested upon him with such an expression of tender entreaty, that he was moved to the depths of his soul. "Where are the jewels?" repeated he, slightly bending down over her.
She raised her hand and gave him the casket. "Here they are, noble master. May Allah soften your heart, that I may not be deprived of my beloved father!" He listened attentively to this voice. It seemed to him he had never heard sweeter music than the tender, tremulous tones of this maiden pleading for her father. His gaze still fixed upon her, he opened the casket and glanced indifferently at its precious contents. For a moment a strange smile played about his lips, and he then turned with a mocking, contemptuous expression of countenance, and addressed the tschorbadji:
"Tschorbadji, can you really so poorly distinguish between genuine gold and precious stones and a worthless imitation? These are playthings for children. These are not, pearls, and this is not gold. A well-planned swindle, truly. No Jew would give you two sequins for these things, not to speak of a hundred."
"Swindle!" she cried, springing to her feet, and her voice as now clear and threatening. "You accuse me of planning a swindle! You are wrong, sir; and if there be any one here who cannot distinguish true gold and pearls from a base imitation, you are he! The gold and pearls are genuine, and were inherited by me from my mother, who was the daughter of a rich jeweler in Stamboul. She bequeathed them to me, and the casket has not been opened before since her death. And you accuse me of attempting to defraud you! You act ungenerously."
"Dear sir, forgive her, forgive her bold words!" said the tschorbadji, addressing in earnest tones the pacha, whose eager gaze was still fixed on the maiden. It seemed as though her anger had power to excite his sympathy and admiration.
"It is of no moment," said he, haughtily: "I pray you, tschorbadji, withdraw into the adjoining room. I wish to converse with her alone, and if in my power I will assist her, notwithstanding her imitation jewelry."
"O master, you are assuredly wrong," urged the maiden. "The pearls are real, and the gold of the purest. I swear it by Allah! If you do not intend to purchase my jewelry, and enable me to save my father, tell me so at once, but you must not mock me."
"I am not mocking you I—Kindly withdraw into the next room, tschorbadji, but leave the door open. You shall see all that passes between us, but I beg that you will close your ear. I wish to deal with the maiden alone, and it concerns no one to hear what we have to say."
"I shall withdraw to the farther end of the adjoining room, where no word of your conversation can reach me," said the tachorbadji, respectfully. The pacha smiled condescendingly on the tschorbadji, who walked into the next room, and seated himself at its farthest end.
"Now, daughter of Sheik Alepp, now we will consider this matter," said the pacha. "I am willing to assist you, but you must do your part."
"Master, what shall I do? I am anxious to do all I can."
"Do you love your father?"
"Yes, master! I love him with all my soul; he is the master given me by Allah, and he is at the same time my friend. He is every thing to me, mother, brother, sister. We two are alone together, and love nothing in the world but each other!"
"Then I am sorry for you, poor child!" said the pacha. "Your father is lost if the tax is not paid. You say yourself that the men of Praousta cannot pay the double tax, and should they fail to do so the heads of the four prisoners must fall."
"Be merciful! O master, be merciful," cried Masa. "You are rich and mighty. You can save him. Oh, save him!"
"You are in error," said the pacha, "in this case I am powerless; even the tschorbadji can do nothing. He pledged this word to Mohammed Ali; he took the triple oath that he would allow him to act as he should think best in this matter. Mohammed Ali has sworn that the heads of the prisoners shall fall unless the people of Praousta pay the tax, and that he will behead them himself if no other executioner can be found."
"Horrible! and thus was his oath," cried Masa, shuddering.
"I pray you, master, tell me, were these his words; did he swear he would himself execute my father?"
"He did. And, believe me, the youth will keep his word. He is blood- thirsty and cruel, and it will gladden his heart to cool his wrath in your father's blood."
"No! It is impossible!" cried Masa, in terror. "He cannot be so cruel, and he is not!"
"Then you know him? " said the pacha, his eyes gleaming with hatred.
"I saw him this morning, and implored him to be merciful. I went down on my knees before him, and besought him not to take my father's life."
"And yet he will do it! I tell you this Mohammed is a fierce youth. Mercy is a word of which he knows nothing. You yourself have seen that he is relentless."
"Yes," murmured she ; "he is relentless."
"There is, therefore, nothing to be hoped for from him," said the pacha. "The tax must be paid, or the prisoners' heads fall."
She sighed profoundly, and covered her face with her hands. She knows it is so; he told her so himself, in an agony of pain and sorrow. The men must pay the tax, or all is lost; her father, or he whom she loves, must die. She knows and feels this; and, therefore, has she come to implore mercy of the stranger, whose gaze fills her with anxiety and terror. She thinks of her father, and of the youth whom she loves, and her tongue is eloquent, for she is pleading for both.
"I can help you," said the pacha, tranquilly and haughtily, "and I will do so."
"You will?" cried she, joyously; and her eyes sparkled like the stars of heaven, and filled the pacha, whose gaze was still fixed on her; with delight. "You will help me, gracious master, sent by Allah to my assistance, you will deliver my father from prison?"
"I will," replied the pacha. "That is, it depends on whether you will grant a request of mine, and do what I wish."
"And what is it you desire, master?" asked the innocent, anxious maiden in tremulous tones.
He gazed on her passionately, a smile lighting up his countenance.
"Lift your veil, and let me look upon your countenance."
She shuddered, and drew her veil so closely about her face, that it concealed her eyes also.
"O master!" said she, in low tones of entreaty. "As you know, the custom of our land forbids a girl to appear unveiled before a man."
"Unless he be the man who takes her into his harem," replied he, smiling.
"Yes, master, only before him whom she follows into the harem, and then only when she has already followed him, may she unveil her face before him. Therefore, be merciful, O master! Honor the custom of our land, and do not demand of me what I could never confess to my father!"
"Silly girl," answered he. "I do demand it, and, if it is denied me, your father's head falls. You admit he is the only man you love, and your only shield. When he is dead, you will be a beggar, and will not even be able to purchase a veil, for the poor are everywhere unveiled, and are, on that account, no worse than you who mask your faces with veils. Therefore, daughter of the sheik, lift your veil!"
"Mercy! mercy!" she exclaimed, raising her hands entreatingly. "I cannot do what you desire. I dare not. I have sworn an oath!"
"An oath?" said he, gazing at her piercingly. "To whom did you swear this oath?"
She trembled, and did not reply. She felt that she must not confess the truth, for that would be to invoke destruction upon the head of Mohammed.
"I swore it to myself," she whispered in low tones. "I swore to remain pure and honest, as beseemed my mother's daughter, and never to raise my veil in the presence of a strange man."
"Then keep your oath!" said he, stepping close to her. "You shall not raise your veil, but I will; I will do it. I must see your face before I fulfil my promise, before I deliver your father from prison."
He raised his arm. She sought to defend herself, and prayed for mercy. In vain! With a quick movement he lifted her veil, and fastened his gaze on her countenance. At that moment a cry resounded through the apartment, a cry of rage, and at the door of the adjoining room appeared Mohammed Ali, pale and infuriated. He was about to rush into the room, but with a bound the tachorbadji sprang to his side, grasped him with all the strength which his anxiety gave him, drew him back, closed the door, locked it, and drew the key out of the lock.
"You ought not to enter, and, by Allah, you shall not!"
"I must enter!" cried Mohammed, gnashing his teeth, and looking like an enraged lion, as he endeavored to wrest the key from the tschorbadji. But the latter grasped the key firmly, and anxiously called his son.
"What has happened?" asked Osman in anxious tones, as he entered the room. Mohammed stood still, controlling his wrath with a gigantic effort.
"You ask, Osman, what has happened. Within is Cousrouf Pacha with the sheik Alepp's daughter, and he treats with her for her honor and innocence, and she allows him to do so!" cried he, loudly and fiercely.
"That is not true," said the governor. "You accuse him wrongly. There is no reason why all the world should not see and hear what is going on within. It is your fault alone that I found it necessary to lock the door. What was your object in coming?"
"I came because the decisive hour has arrived, and I saw, in the adjoining room, Cousrouf Pacha raising the girl's veil."
"You came and rushed past me like a madman. How do the girl's actions concern you. She came to seek deliverance for her father."
"How her actions concern me, you ask, tschorbadji?" he cried, clinching his fists. "How Masa's actions concern me, you wish to know?"
"Be still, Mohammed!" said Osman, whose keen vision had read the youth's soul, in low, entreating tones. "I pray you do not betray your secret."
Mohammed shook convulsively, and covered his face with his hands. "It is true," he murmured. "I must and will be silent. She is lost to me. I will think of nothing but revenge, let all else be forgotten. —Tschorbadji, you swore that I alone should decide the fate of the prisoners, and you will keep your oath!"
"I will keep my oath, as beseems an honest man, yet I hope, Mohammed, that you will not be relentless; if you had heard, as I have, the poor young girl's lamentations, it would have softened your heart, and it would not have become necessary to resort to the pacha."
"As if he could assist her," he murmured to himself. "As if all assistance were not now out of the question."
"Be composed, Mohammed," said Osman, entreatingly, as he threw his arms around his friend's neck. "Do not complain, do not accuse. Be firm, and prove that you have a strong and noble heart."
He cried out in piercing tones, as the lion cries when it sees the hyena rending his young, as the eagle cries when the storm-wind sweeps away its nest with its young. Then in wild emotion he threw his arms around his friend's neck, and groaned heavily. Within, in the saloon, nothing could be heard of the loud talking in, the adjoining room. The pacha still held the veil high uplifted and gazed at Masa.
"What is your name?" asked he, in low, soft tones. She cast down her eyes before his passionate glances, and a deep blush suffused itself over her features, making her still, more beautiful.
"My name is Masa," replied the girl, in a low voice. "But I pray you, sir, let my veil fall over my face again. I am afraid!"
"Let me gaze on you one short moment longer," whispered he, ardently. "You are beautiful, Masa, as are the stars of heaven, as are the blush-roses in my garden. No, you are still more beautiful, for they soon fade, but you are in the rosy dawn of your loveliness, and your youth is still radiant in the morning-dew of innocence. Oh, you are surpassingly beautiful, and it seems to me the prophet has graciously sent me one of his houris from Paradise."
"I entreat you, sir, let go my veil," said she, in dismay, while two great tears trickled through her long black eyelashes and rolled down her cheeks.
"These are pearls, more beautiful pearls, Masa, than are contained in yonder casket," whispered the pacha. "They will be genuine pearls if you let me kiss them from your cheeks."
She stepped back proudly, tore the veil from his hand, and drew it down over her face again. "I have given no one the right to insult me, and you insult me!"
"How musical this sounds! How sweet three words of indignant innocence!"
At this moment Mohammed's voice, in loud, angry tones, was heard in the adjoining room. The pacha smiled, and motioned with his head in that direction.
"You have seen Mohammed Ali, and you now hear him; he is a desperado, and will kill your father!"
"Yes," she murmured to herself, "he will now be pitiless, he will now kill him."
"But I," said the pacha, in gentle tones, "I have pity, and I will save your father."
"You will save him?" she said, tremblingly.
"I will," said he. "But hear me, Masa, charming crimson rose, hear me."
"I am listening," said she, sobbing.
He did not heed this, but stepped nearer, and bent down over her. "Masa, your jewelry I will not take, I want no such recompense; you shall even have money, all you may desire, if I can purchase you with it.
"Me, sir?" she cried, in horror. "You wish to purchase me?"
"Why are you so terrified? I have in my harem many women who are as beautiful and young as you are, and of much nobler birth, and they esteem themselves happy in belonging to me. But I tell you, Masa, I will hold you higher than them all. You shall rule over them all, and they shall all bow down before you, for Cousrouf Pacha will set them the example. By Allah! I swear it to you with the triple oath: not my slave, but my favorite, shall you be. Cousrouf Pacha will honor you as the first, as the queen of his harem."
"It is impossible, sir," she cried, in terror. "My father's daughter cannot sell herself. She is a free woman, and must remain so."
"Then remain so, and your father dies," said he, composedly. "Plume yourself with your freedom, but say, too, in your proud arrogance, that you are the murderess of your father. For, I say to you, Mohammed swore the oath, and he will keep it. Your father will die, and you will be his murderess."
"Allah be merciful! I cannot allow my father to die. No!" she groaned aloud.
"He dies if you do not accept what I offer. I repeat it, wealth and honors shall be yours. The daughter of the poor sheik of the wretched village shall become the favorite of the pacha. I shall not remain here long. The message will soon come that calls me to Stamboul; and you, Masa, shall go with me. At the court of the grand-vizier you shall be the first; I will honor you above all the rest, and lay at your feet all that I possess, for you are beautiful, and my heart is filled with love for you. I will make you happy at my side. And now decide. Without in the iron cage stands your father awaiting his deliverance, and here stands his daughter, and beside her Cousrouf Pacha, who offers her money, all she may desire, and lays every thing that he possesses at her feet. If you accept this offer, Masa, your father walks out of his prison a free man in spite of the blood-thirsty youth. Take the money and do not think I am purchasing you; it shall only be an earnest of your future. If you suppose you are to be, as you say, a slave, you are mistaken. You will only become the slave of your love for me."
"No, sir! never can I love you," she cried, vehemently.
"You cannot? It is thus the heart of the wild-dove speaks! Masa, you will, because you will be touched by my love. When you see me doing every thing to make you happy it will touch your heart, and you will love me."
At this moment loud cries and lamentations were heard from without.
"Those are the men of Praousta, who have come up and are lamenting. Do you not hear the call from the mosque? The second hour of prayer is at hand, the time has came. Decide, Masa!"
She sank down on her knees, groaning; and prayed to Allah for mercy.
"O Mass," said the pacha, raising her from her knees, "Cousrouf prays to you, be merciful to your father; yield, be mine and save him."
Loud cries of grief again resounded without. Masa, shook with terror. "I cannot allow my father to die, I cannot! I yield, I am ready; give me the money, that I may bring it to these people."
"I will give it to you, and you shall rescue your father. And now you are mine; not my slave, but my queen. Go up into my harem while I take the money out to these people."
"No, not so," she cried, entreatingly. "Leave me my freedom for this one day only; let me remain this one day with my father, and do not let him have a suspicion of the price I have paid for his liberty."
"Then let it be so," said he, regarding her fixedly. "You swear, by the memory of your mother, that you will voluntarily return to my harem early to-morrow morning."
"I swear, by the memory of my mother, that I will return here early to-morrow morning."
"You will come to the back-gate of my garden, where my servants will await you to conduct you to me. And now I am going after the money. Go into the adjoining room, to the tachorbadji."
He opened the door, and beckoned to the governor. "Await me here a moment; I am going after the money with which to release the prisoners."
He turned to her once more: "You understand, until early to-morrow morning. You have sworn by all you hold sacred—by Allah and by your mother."
"Yes, I have so sworn," said she, in a low voice.
"You will keep your word, and henceforth you will belong to me; for you are now mine: remember this. You are mine wherever you go, my property, my slave. This evening, when the night sinks down, and when your father has retired to rest, then you will come to my garden, where I shall await you with my eunuchs."
"I shall come, master. Am I not your slave, and have you not paid for me?"
He nodded to her, and then turned and left the room.
Masa drew her veil closer about her face, that none might see that it was wet with her tears.
CHAPTER VI
THE FLIGHT.
The court-yard without now presents a busy appearance. The fishermen of Praousta, becoming impatient and anxious, had hurried in a body up the stairway in the rock. When the signal for the morning prayer was sounded from the minarets they knew that nothing was to be hoped for from the efforts of the sheik's daughter, and they agreed among themselves that they would go up in a body and petition for mercy.
They hastily agreed upon what they should say to the governor, and determined, of course, in their generosity of heart, that they would yield, and promise the governor to pay the double tax if he would only patiently wait a little while. This was their resolve. The sheik and the ulemas must be rescued, cost what it might. With this firm resolve they hastened up the stairway, entered the outer court- yard of the palace, and loudly demanded to be conducted to the governor.
But their clamors were in vain. At the gate of the palace stood the eight soldiers of the body-guard, with drawn swords, prepared to defend the entrance.
Enraged, the fishermen pressed forward with uplifted knives, threatening destruction to all who should attempt to bar their passage.
"Where is the governor? We must speak with him; we must have mercy."
"No, no mercy," cried a loud, sonorous voice; and, as they turned in the direction from which the voice came, they saw a fearful object standing in the middle of the court-yard—the block covered with black cloth. Near by, proudly erect, his lips firmly compressed, as if to repress words of imprecation or wrath that struggled for utterance, stood Mohammed Ali, like an angry spirit, ready to judge and to punish. Thus he stood there, and, behind, a slave holding in his hands the glittering axe. "Behold this, ye men of Praousta, and bow down in the dust; pay what the tschorbadji has demanded of you, or the heads of my prisoners shall fall as I have sworn."
Horror, rage, and anger, were combined in the single cry that resounded from the breasts of all.
"Mercy, mercy! you cruel boy! Do you intend to prevent the men of Praousta from returning tranquilly to their homes? do you wish to make slaves of them?"
"I have authority to act as I am acting, and I will grant no mercy to the men of Praousta. Men must obey the laws, and humbly submit to them; and this you have not done, ye rebels! Why have you followed the sheik and the ulemas? You see they must bow down in the dust, after all; and, unless you pay the tax demanded by the tschorbadji, they shall die."
"Listen, ye men of Praousta, listen!" cried a loud voice from one of the windows of the palace.
There stood Cousrouf Pacha, beckoning to the fishermen with his uplifted hand.
"Come into the palace; I wish to speak with you.—Make free the passage, ye soldiers! In the name of the tschorbadji, command you to allow these men to enter!"
With a loud shout the men rushed toward the door, and the body-guard stepped aside, and left the passage free.
Mohammed's glittering eyes followed them, and he suddenly turned pale, for Masa's lovely form now appeared on the threshold of the palace. A cry resounded from his lips. He stood helpless and motionless with anger and humiliation. It was now clear to him. She, who had sworn to love, who had sworn by her father's spirit that no man but he should ever raise her veil, had proved unfaithful. She had broken her sacred oath! She, whom he now loved with his whole heart and soul, had blasted his hopes. The thought almost stopped the beating of his heart. "Masa shall repent! Mohammed will wreak vengeance upon humanity for her broken faith."
He trembled, and pressed his lips firmly together, when her white figure appeared in the doorway. But Masa saw him not, nor thought of him; her whole attention was occupied with her father. With a joyous cry, and widely-extended arms, she flew to the enclosure. "O father, O my father," cried she, in loud, exultant tones, "you are free!"
"Free?" exclaimed the sheik. "It is impossible! It cannot be!"
Mohammed sprang forward, and thrust Masa aside with such force that she sank upon the ground. A cry of anguish escaped her lips. She veiled herself, and gazed at him with anxious, imploring glance. He could not endure it; he turned his eyes away from her; he would not see her; he would be as strong in his hatred as he was in his love!
"There is no mercy for the traitoress!" murmured he. "I will punish thee for thy unfaithfulness. I will revenge myself upon thee!"
The men of Praousta now issue from the house, and shout joyfully before the cage in which the aged men are imprisoned.
"You are saved—you are free. A noble man was found who sent us assistance. Long live Cousrouf Pacha, your deliverer!"
The pacha threw open the window. He stood there, his form proudly erect. Upon his turban glittered the golden half-moon; above it waved the eagle's wing; the sun fell upon his sword and richly- chased poniard, playing gayly with the precious stones with which his garments were adorned. His eyes sparkled, and a wondrous smile hovered about his lips. And again they shouted: "Long live Cousrouf Pacha, our deliverer in time of need, our savior!"
He bowed his haughty head, and his eyes rested passionately upon the young maiden, kneeling upon the ground in her agony. From her his glance passed over to Mohammed Ali. He saw the pain and anguish imprinted upon the livid countenance of the youth, and smiled triumphantly.
He withdrew from the window, and hastened down to the court-yard, followed by the tschorbadji. He approached Masa, and, bending over her, said, softly: "Rise, daughter of thy father. Your sorrow and trouble have passed away. Be gay and happy once more. That which wicked men sought to do unto you has been frustrated. Your father is free.—Tschorbadji," said he, "command your servant Mohammed— command him to unlock the gate of this cage, and to release the prisoners he has guarded so closely."
"No!" shouted Mohammed, in a voice of thunder. With my consent alone can it be opened!—Guard the gates, ye officers; I go in quest of the key; and not one shall be released until, kneeling at my feet, with their heads in the dust, the rebels pay to me the double tax. What I have sworn—what I have sworn by my honor, that must be done."
"We will not consent! We will never yield!" cried the men, rushing about in confusion.
"Then the prisoners' heads shall fall!" cried he, exultingly waving his sword in the air. "The hour until which I granted a respite has come; the gold has not been paid; the law cannot be broken with impunity. You pay, or the hour of vengeance is at hand!"
"We will not kneel; we will not humiliate ourselves before you, you boy!"
With his sword still threateningly raised, Mohammed gazed around him.
The tschorbadji and his son now approached the men, and pleaded with them urgently. They explained to them that Mohammed was in the right; that he could not act differently. As he had sworn by his honor to force them to pay the double tax, he must therefore keep to his word.
"Do as he tells you," said the tschorbadji, in an entreating tone; "pay the tax he demands. Do it, ye men! I will reward you well, if you do as I say. He who goes to Mohammed to pay the money, he can ask at my hands a favor."
The men's anger became subdued by the soft, kind words of their master. With bowed heads and gloomy aspect, they approached Mohammed Ali, who still stood with threatening sword before the cage.
"We kneel before you in the dust; we have returned to our duty," said one of the men. "Here are the two sequins that I have to pay."
"Here are mine," "And mine," cried they all, with one accord. They knelt and offered Mohammed the gold.
He did not take it; but, gazing steadfastly and bitterly at the pacha, he thrust them aside with a movement of impatience. "Lay your gold upon the block. What, through your obstinacy, has occurred, cannot be obliterated by your gold. Lay your gold upon the block, for to it you offer your gold."
Laughing wildly, he turned and bowed before the veiled maiden. "But you pay for it with your honor, with your shame."
She fell forward, and a shriek of agony burst from her lips. But she still gazed with tender eyes upon the youth who looked down upon her so fiercely.
"Traitoress! You have forgotten your oath!"
"No, Mohammed," whispered she. "Hear me!"
"Away from me! do you still wish to deceive me?" Again he thrust her from him. Masa would have fallen, had not Osman hurried forward and sustained her.
"Forgive him," whispered he, softly. "He is wild with anger and pain."
"O Osman, is all known to you?" asked she, in trembling tones.
Osman bowed his head. Tears stood in his eyes. "Be quiet—we are watched. In the evening I will send you word."
"Open now the gates, and let the prisoners out," said the tschorbadji to Mohammed. "The law has been vindicated."
"It shall be as you command," said Mohammed, with the calmness sometimes born of despair. He drew forth the key, and placed it in the lock. Masa sprang forward. The gate opened, and now she stood beside her father. She threw her arms about him, and kissed his lips. Then she bowed her head upon his breast, and wept bitterly. The old man held her close to his heart, and then, lifting her up, bore her, trembling with emotion, from out the cage, in which he had endured such torture for four-and-twenty hours.
The ulemas followed him. Joyfully the men greeted the released prisoners, and prayed that they might escort them home in triumph.
"I see no cause for triumph," said the sheik, calmly. "You have done what I cannot approve. It were better, I think, to have laid my gray head upon the block, rather than you should place upon it your hard- earned gold, becoming hereby the slaves of him who gave it to you, and has thus lowered you by his gift.''
"No, sheik," said Cousrouf Pacha, advancing proudly. "He who gave this gold gave it not with such intent. He gave it not to humiliate these men. I gave it for your sake, and for your daughter's sake," continued he, in loud tones, and for an instant his eyes gleamed passionately on Masa.
He well knew his words would enter Mohammed's heart like a knife. Turning slowly, be glanced at him, and smiled at seeing him turn pale.
"I am now about to leave you," said the pacha. "The grand-sultan calls me from here. Fear not, therefore, O sheik, that my countenance will longer humiliate you. I give you freedom. Return to your friends; you are free!"
"Long live Cousrouf Pacha!" was the exultant cry of the men of
Praousta.
No one heard, amid the many voices, the one crying "Cursed be Cousrouf Pacha! Cursed be my enemy unto death! I swear revenge upon him!"
"Cease, Mohammed; be guarded, be silent! Dissemble your anger, your pain, O friend of my heart! Believe me, all will soon be changed: the sky that now seems so dark, will soon be clear with the light of the sun and of love!"
"No, never, Osman, never," murmured Mohammed, gazing bitterly at Masa, who, leaning upon her father's arm, and followed by the ulemas and the jubilant fishermen, was now leaving the court-yard. "Nevermore, Osman, nevermore, will the sun shine for me! Night and impenetrable darkness envelop my fate! But I swear to revenge myself upon those who have done me this wrong!"
"Silence, silence, Mohammed!" said Osman, entreatingly, to his friend. "See, my father approaches, and with him Cousrouf Pacha. How triumphant he seems! He knows he has pained you. Will you permit him to see and rejoice in your pain?"
"No, no, you are right! He shall not rejoice in my pain! Bitter heartache shall I prepare for him someday!" Laughing bitterly to himself, he advanced toward the two approaching him.
"Mohammed Ali," said the governor, solemnly, "I thank you for your good services. You have accomplished that which, by your honor, you swore to fulfil. And I affirm that I also have kept my word. I allowed you to do as you thought best, and did not restrain you when I thought your acts cruel; but I must nevertheless admit that you have acted with wisdom and with courage. Gladly will I reward you for that which you obtained through your daring. It is fit that such a man should have an office, and exercise the duties thereof from now on. Mohammed Ali, I have good news to impart to you! The scenes of yesterday have taught me that, to preserve peace and quiet, it is necessary to have soldiers at hand. I have already dispatched a courier to the neighboring town, and a garrison shall hereafter stay here or at Cavalla. You, Mohammed Ali, I appoint boulouk bashi, or captain of this company that is to enter Cavalla to-morrow."
A deep color overspread, like the morning sunlight, Mohammed's countenance:—"Master, you well know how to reward generously him who has done naught but his duty."
"And now, my Mohammed," whispered Osman, softly, "or rather boulouk bashi, let me be the first to congratulate you. How proud and happy I shall be when I see Mohammed Ali, in his glittering uniform, marching at the head of his company. Proud and happy shall I account myself when so handsome, so brave a soldier, considers me worthy of his protection!"
"You make sport of me," murmured Mohammed, a soft smile illuminating his countenance. In the spirit he saw himself in his handsome uniform at the head of his company. Truth and justice are once more acknowledged. The hour of humiliation and pain has gone by. The time he had so long looked for had arrived. He listened calmly to the tschorbadji's announcement that on the morrow his uniform would be ready, as well as those of his soldiers, which were to be sent, at once to Cavalla.
"There will be a number of uniforms, and the young boulouk bashi can make his choice from among them."
"And the sword, my father, the sword, I will give to my friend Mohammed Ali!" cried Osman, joyously. "Do you remember the gold- handled sword given me by the grand-vizier on his last visit? I have kept it jealously, though, alas! I can never wear it myself. And now my friend shall wear it in my place, and, when I see him pass by with the glittering weapon at his side, it will seem as if I carried it myself in defence of my beloved country. Come with me, Mohammed," said he, taking his friend's arm. "You are in need of rest. You have been deeply moved, and now let us retire. It is quiet within my father's apartments; there we will betake ourselves and repose together."
"We will all follow you," said the governor.—"I pray Cousrouf Pacha to accompany us. The day is bright and lovely, and I think we all stand in need of rest and refreshment. There we will take our coffee, and at the same time something more substantial together, and, enveloped by the smoke from our pipes, we will discuss the events of this day, which commenced so stormily, and now seems to end so pleasantly to our general joy."
"Who knows, tschorbadji, that it brings joy to all?" said Cousrouf Pacha, sneeringly. "I, of course, have cause to rejoice and be thankful, this day. But it strikes me, Mohammed Ali is by nature little inclined to be thankful. Instead of joyfully receiving his honors, he seems to gaze wrathfully upon us all."
"I think I have cause to do so," said Mohammed, impetuously turning to him.
"And wherefore?" said Cousrouf Pacha. "Wherefore? Speak on."
"Well," said Mohammed, "many, I think, receive honors which they have not deserved, and have done naught to earn, as if they were to be bought, and they knew how to purchase them. I say that honor, power, and consideration, often spring from hypocrisy and slavish submission; and that through cunning, deceit, and shame, many a free human soul becomes abject and lost. I hope I am understood by Cousrouf Pacha!"
"I regret that I can neither understand nor explain these strange words. But you must feel, tachorbadji, that I have to deny myself the pleasure of remaining longer with you in the company of this wild young man, whose mind seems bewildered by the honors conferred on him. Enjoy yourselves in quiet repose, and be happy at your feast."
"Do as it suits you," cried Mohammed. "I shall not share it. I am exhausted, and shall retire to rest and refresh myself. Farewell!"
He bowed his head, and carried his hand in greeting both to lip and brow. He then turned, and hastened rapidly away.
The pacha followed him with an evil glance. "The forward youth is forever in my path," said he, threateningly. "It was well for him he withdrew, for it might have come to bitter enmity between us. Should he dare again what he this day ventured upon, his life would no longer be secure. Being a guest in your house, and meeting him there, made me considerate to-day. But woe unto him should he cross my path, when no such considerations restrain me! Bitterly shall he repent of his words."
CHAPTER VII
THE MESSENGER.
Joy and merriment prevailed throughout the day in the village of Praousta; a continuous firing of guns was kept up, which delighted the boys, and terrified the sick, and the timid little girls. Joyous songs were sung, and, on the grand square before the mosque, men and women assembled for a dance.
The tambourine rang out merrily, and cymbals and flutes filled the air with sweet sounds.
A sail on the water was arranged for the afternoon, and the boats were gayly decked with flags for the occasion.
In the first large boat the sheik, the ulemas, and the leading men of the village, were reposing on carpets. Two boats containing the musicians followed; and then came, in four gayly-adorned ones, the women of the village, enveloped in their white veils, and greeting the men in the other boats with their bright eyes only. It was a beautiful spectacle. The sea itself seemed to rejoice over it; it murmured softly, and curled its waves caressingly upon the beach.
The governor, accompanied by his distinguished guest, Cousrouf Pacha, had come down to Praousta. Both were saluted from the boats with shouts of applause; handkerchiefs and caps were waved, and the blessing of Allah and of the prophet invoked upon their heads. But curses also resounded from time to time from their midst.
"These two gentlemen are kind-hearted. They saved us, and Mohammed Ali alone was the cause of all our trouble and anxiety. Woe to the traitor! He wished to make himself a name, to mount to honor and power upon our shoulders, though we should be ground down in the dust. Woe to him! woe to him ! The governor is kind, we have nothing to fear from him. Mohammed Ali alone is our foe—woe to him!"
This was the cry from one to the other; all joined in it; they all raised their fists menacingly against Mohammed Ali. "May he hear our curses, and see our threatening hands! We will be avenged on him for what he has done to us. He shall be repaid for all the evil he has done to the sheik; of this he can rest assured. We have loved and been kind to him; we have treated him as if he were our child; he is indebted to us for all he is, and for all he can do. From us he learned to manage a boat, to use a gun—and thus has he rewarded us. Woe to him!" This cry resounded again and again from boat to boat:
"Woe to him! Woe to Mohammed Ali, the son of Sitta Khadra!"
But he heard nothing of all this; neither the curses, nor the laughter and shouts of joy. He had gone to his solitary resort on the rock above. There he was alone, without fear of being observed by the eyes of men. There no one could hear his wails of anguish. There he was alone with wind and waves. Alas, how short a time had elapsed since he had stood there in joy and exultation! His soul had revelled in all the delights of the world, in all the glories of Paradise. Only a few hours had passed, and yet it seemed to him that he was entirely transformed, that he had became another man since then.
With what pious thoughts, with what ecstasy had he, that morning, greeted the rising sun! His heart had been filled with ineffable bliss; tears of delight had stood in his eyes. Now the evening is sinking down, the first evening after that blissful sunrise, and vanished is all he had gloried in; lost, all he believed he had won. A white dove had fluttered down from heaven, he had seen a fair swan full of innocence and loveliness at his side; and now, the white dove had transformed itself into a monster, and the fair swan had become an evil spirit. Yes, an evil spirit had assumed the form of a swan, and cast a wicked spell over his heart, and now—O Mohammed, learn to suffer! Rend yourself with your agony; press your hands convulsively to your breast till the blood trickles out from your finger-nails; cry out in your anguish, till the eagle, aroused in his nest, looks out with greedy eyes after the poor creature that has dared to disturb the king of the air! Let curses resound from the quivering lips that are as pale as those of the dead! Curse the swan for having become a ghin; the white swan for having transformed herself into a cat, and then awake from your despair. Behold her standing before you with the sweet expression on her delicate features, with the blushing cheeks as you raise the veil, with the crimson lips that grow more crimson still as yours touch them. Behold her, in all her loveliness, and kneel down on the place where she stood, and passionately kiss the earth her feet have touched. Bless her in your love, and curse her in the anger of your hatred!
First love is passionate in its bliss, burning its agony, and agony and bliss, fury and delight, are all pouring through your soul, and giving you the baptism of pain, making of the youth a man.
"Tear love from my soul, and enable me to tread it under foot!" he cries out fiercely, as he now rises from the place he had just touched with his lips. "Root out these memories from my breast, spirit of my mother! She to whom I here prayed, and swore fidelity, has proved untrue. Strike blind the eyes of my soul, that they may no longer see this horror! Make deaf my ears, that I may no longer hear the sweet voice that sounds like heavenly music! What was it she said, what were her words?
"'I will be thine, and love no other but thee!' she said. 'By my mother's spirit, I swear to you that no other man shall lift this veil from my face; I will be thine, alone!'
"It was music when she said it. It filled my heart with heavenly joyousness. And now it proves to have been evil spirits only, who had come up from the deep to deceive a poor heart! Oh, these memories, they will follow me like a black shadow throughout life. In wild merriment and conflict, I shall be able to hush them in the noisy day; but, in the stillness of the night, they will come back to charm—no, to tear my heart! O Masa, Masa, what have you done!"
Overwhelmed with his agony, he sank to the ground, and kissed again and again the place where she had stood, and wept aloud.
"Mohammed!" suddenly exclaimed a voice behind him. "Mohammed Ali! The man who weeps has no manly courage, and it would be vain to call on him for assistance!"
Is another evil spirit beside him? What woman is this who suddenly appears at his side, closely shrouded in a black veil? Is it another ghin come up from the deep?
"You are right," murmured he, "no one need longer hope for assistance from me; I will give vengeance and destruction to those who call on me for help!"
He springs to his feet and stares fiercely at the woman. "Away from me! Allah is Allah, the only one in heaven, and Mohammed is his prophet. Away from me, evil spirit!"
He exorcises this creature with the oath with which evil spirits are driven out. But it seems this spirit is not to be exorcised. The veiled woman remains quietly standing, regarding him sorrowfully.
"Mohammed, there are many who suffer, and yet do not break out into loud lamentations. Many a woman wails in the silence of her chamber; the lamentation of many a young girl resounds, unheard and unheeded, through the harem. I know a girl, Mohammed Ali, who weeps and laments, because she well knows that one whom she looked upon and greeted in the holy stillness of the morning as though he were her lord, entering the harem for the first time—that this one wrongfully accuses her, calls her faithless; yes, perhaps at this very moment, appeals to Allah for vengeance for a crime which she has not committed; for a wrong that does not burden her soul!"
"You know such a girl?" he cries, with loud, mocking laughter. "You are fortunate in knowing her. I do not know such a girl; I only know that they are all deceitful and traitorous."
"Then you assuredly do not know this one! She is as pure as an angel, and her name is Masa."
"Masa!" he exclaims, in loud and joyous tones. Then his countenance darkens, and, raising his clinched fists threateningly, he cries: "Masa! you deceive yourself. Of all deceitful women she is the worst. Do not say that I deceive myself with regard to her; I saw, with my own eyes, that which gives me death; that which will forever gnaw at my heart. Away from me, and announce to her who sent you that no woman shall ever deceive Mohammed again."
He turns to descend from the rock, but the woman holds him fast, regarding him with an anxious, entreating look.
"Do you wish to kill my darling, the beloved child of my mistress? Listen, Mohammed! On her death-bed the mother confided to me her only child. Grasping her cold hand, I swore by Allah that I would hold her as my own, that I would watch over and guard her from all evil. This morning I found my darling in an agony of grief. She did not go out with the joyous crowd, but remained at home in her own little room. I saw her wringing her hands, and heard her entreating Allah to take her life. I entered her room and said to her: 'O Masa, you know that your Djumeila is true to you. Confide in her. Tell me all that grieves you. What is it that gives you pain?' After I had thus appealed to her for a long time, she arose from her knees, fell on my neck, and whispered in my ear a wondrous tale of the starry sky, of sunrise, and heavenly delight, of the bliss and pain of love. And I swore by Allah and the prophet, by the spirit of her mother, that I would never speak to another a word of what she had told me! But, because I love the child of my mistress, the child that is to me as my own, so dearly, I promised that I would go to the man she loves and tell him everything in her name."
"Then go seek him she loves! You will find him in the governor's palace; there he sits enthroned in the midst of his grand and brilliant harem. She longs to see the doors of this harem thrown open to her. Go to him and tell what you have to say. You will be welcome."