Part 15

“Lady, if you are not treacherous, your slaves might be so. The Nile and I are old friends: if you are silent and your slaves faithful, you have nothing to fear for or from Hassan.” So saying, he sprang head-foremost from the casement into the rushing waters below. Uttering a faint shriek, she looked forth from the window, and soon afterwards, at a distance of fifty or sixty yards from where he dropped, she saw by the moonlight that he had risen to the surface, and was swimming leisurely down with the swift current of the Nile. “Mashallah! Mashallah! what a man is that! and what a woman am I!” And for the first time—perhaps for the last—during a period of many years that victim of ungoverned passion buried her face in her hands and wept tears of shame and remorse.[88]

During the same evening Osman Bey, who had received orders to precede his chief to Siout, and who was now on the eve of departure, sat in the corner of a private room in his house, leisurely smoking a chibouq, and questioning his confidential servant, Ferraj, who stood before him with his hands crossed on his breast.

“So the old woman told you that she saw the young vagabond safe within the door of the harem, did she?”

“It is even so, my lord, and she heard the bolts of the door shut upon him by the _bowàb_” [porter].

“Allah be praised!” said the Bey, with a grim smile; “that upstart will not cross my path again—he will never leave that house alive. Be on your guard, Ferraj, and warn that old gossip to put a key on her tongue; for if it were to be known that you or she had a hand in this matter, your feet would be beat into a pudding, and she would sup with the fishes of the Nile.”

Leaving this worthy vice-governor to continue the preparations for his journey, let us return to our hero, whom we have most unkindly left swimming down the river on a cold November night. His course was rapid enough, and ere long he saw some lights on the right bank which he knew to mark a café where he often smoked his evening pipe, and which was not very far from Delì Pasha’s house: there he landed, and having wrung the water from his clothes, walked on towards the café, which he found occupied by only two or three drowsy smokers, the night being now far advanced.

Making his way into the host’s room, with whom he was well acquainted, he asked him to afford him lodging for the night, and to lend him a dry blanket or two, explaining his present appearance by saying that he had accidentally fallen into the water.

The host, with whom Hassan was a favourite, from his quiet habits and from his always paying ready money for his coffee and pipe, willingly granted his request, and ordered a fire to be lighted, at which our hero’s clothes were hung that they might be dry by daylight. Hassan himself, after drinking a cup of hot coffee, lay down on the floor in his blanket, and in a few minutes was in a sleep as profound as if he had been reposing on the softest bed in Cairo. Rising at the first grey of dawn, and making the best toilet that the circumstances admitted, he proceeded to Delì Pasha’s house before any of the servants were loitering about the door, and reached his own room unobserved.

Very few hours elapsed before he was summoned to the presence of his chief, whom he found in one of the private apartments, and before him stood a woman’s figure, in whom, although she dropped her veil over her face on his entrance, he recognised Fatimeh Khanum, the Kiahia, or governess of the harem. She was about to retire, but the Pasha stopped her, saying, “It is not necessary that you should go; I have but a few words to say to Hassan, and they contain no secrets.”

The Khanum withdrew a few steps aside, while the Pasha proceeded to inform Hassan that the Viceroy had suddenly arrived at Shoobra, and as it was necessary that a messenger should be sent to compliment his Highness on his arrival and inquire after his health, it would be a good opportunity for Hassan to take the message, and also to present the Arab mare Nebleh.

“I have written a letter,” he added with a smile, “which you will also bear, and which will inform our lord how I came to offer him this present.”

“May your bounties always increase,” replied Hassan; “on my head be it to obey your orders, but if I might be bold enough to make an observation——” here he hesitated, and cast his eyes aside at the Khanum, as if he would rather communicate what he had to say to his lord’s ear alone.

“Speak out, man,” said the impatient Pasha; “mind not our good Kiahia Khanum. She has been long in our house, and we know her discretion.”

“I wished to say,” replied Hassan, “that your _mirakhor_, Ahmed Aga, is a true and faithful servant of your lordship, and he is a true and good friend of mine: it is his right and privilege to convey to the Viceroy any horse presented by your lordship. On such occasions you know that his Highness gives a liberal present to the bearer. Were you to send me with the horse, it would be an unjust slight to a faithful servant, and would give me the pain of supplanting a friend.”

“Wallah! Wallah! you are right, boy. I had not thought of it. You shall go together: you may deliver the compliments and the letter, while he presents the horse.”

Before Hassan could reply, a servant came in to say that the Viceroy’s secretary was in the saloon with a message from his Highness. Starting up from the corner where he sat, Delì Pasha told them to remain where they were, while he went in to learn the secretary’s business with him. Thus were Hassan and the Khanum again accidentally left together.

“My mother,” said our hero in a low and melancholy voice, “I remember well what you said to me when we last met: your words cost me much pain, but they were wise and true. I feel how far more humble I am in rank than the priceless pearl whom you guard, and that it would be selfish in me to do aught that could mar her high fortunes. Inshallah! I will never cost her a tear; but there is no harm in my loving her with my whole heart and soul as the Gheber loves and worships the sun, though he knows he never can reach it. Such is my destiny; Allah has willed it; and I could more easily pluck out my eyes from my head than her image from my heart. Tell me, then, is she well and happy?”

“She is well,” replied the Khanum in a trembling voice, while she muttered to herself in an agony of sorrow, “Allah, Allah, what is to be done? Both these young loving hearts will be broken, for her love is as deep and passionate as his!”

Hassan saw that she was weeping; a secret instinct told him that he was loved by Amina. The ominous question shot from his eager eyes and rushed to his lips, but by a strong and determined effort he conquered himself, and compressed within him the words on which his destiny hung. He saw that the Khanum pitied him, that her heart was under the influence of tender sympathies, and he would not tempt her to forget her duty and betray a secret which she was bound to preserve.

Fatimeh Khanum saw the struggle, and loved him the more for it. The Pasha’s returning steps being now audible, she had just time to say, “Allah preserve and bless you with all good,” when he re-entered the room and resumed his seat.

“Hassan,” he said, “I have informed the secretary of your mission to Shoobra, and he says that the Viceroy will be disengaged about the time of the _âs’r_ to-day [three o’clock P.M.] Ahmed Aga shall go with you, and present the mare as you propose, and you will deliver to his Highness this letter.”

Having received the letter, Hassan withdrew, leaving his chief to continue his conversation with the Khanum.

“What is the matter with Amina?” he said; “I have lately found her sad and weeping.”

“How can your servant tell?” replied the Khanum. “Perhaps my young lady is still afraid that your lordship will oblige her to marry some one whom she cannot love—you had spoken to her on some such subject.”

“Foolish child!” replied the Pasha. “Tell her, then, to dry her tears, for, Wallah! I only wish to see her happy, and I will not marry her by force to any one.”

“I will convey your gracious message, and it will give her much comfort,” said the Khanum, glad to escape from her lord’s presence; for she felt oppressed by the secret of the mutual passion of the young lovers, and dreaded lest by some unforeseen word it should come to light.

Nebleh had been washed from head to foot in tepid water, and then rubbed dry with cloths until her coat shone like the finest satin. Her sweeping mane and tail had been carefully combed, and as she walked by the side of the _sàis_ who led her, with a light elastic tread that scarcely touched the ground, Ahmed Aga sighed to think that such a beautiful animal was about to leave the stable of his chief.

When they reached the garden and mentioned their names to the porter at the gate, they were at once admitted, and found the Viceroy reclining on the crimson damask cushions of a divan in the corner of his kiosk, and smoking a chibouq. On the floor, at a little distance, sate a Bedouin sheik from the neighbourhood of Mount Sinai; and a little farther stood, in respectful silence, a good-looking boy, with a round chubby face and dark eyes, whose dress and jewel-hilted sword showed him to be of high birth.

Hassan and Ahmed Aga having entered and made their salam, the former informed the Viceroy that he was charged by Delì Pasha to present his respects, and to congratulate his Highness on his safe arrival. Having said this he came forward, and touching his forehead with the hem of the Viceroy’s pelisse, delivered his letter. Mohammed Ali took it, and bending his keen eyes on the bearer, as was his custom, with a scrutinising look, he desired his secretary, who then entered the room, to read it to him.[89]

The latter did so in a low voice that reached only his master’s ear, but it was easy to see from the twinkling of his eyes and the expression of his countenance that he was both interested and pleased by the contents. When it was concluded he simply said, “Peki, peki” (Very well, very well), then asked Ahmed Aga his business.

“May your Highness’s life be prolonged. I am your servant, Ahmed Aga, _mirakhor_ to Delì Pasha, who has charged me to present to you in his name the Arab mare Nebleh, who is, I believe, mentioned in the letter just honoured by your perusal.”

“Where is she?” said Mohammed Ali; “I would see her.”

“I left her outside the garden gate,” said Ahmed. “The walks in your Highness’s garden are not for horses’ feet.”[90]

“True, true,” replied the Viceroy. “Inshallah! we will go out and see her. Come along, Sheik Abou-Fazl, you should know an Arab mare; and you too, Abbas, will like to see one.” So saying he walked to the garden gate, followed by the party and preceded by a dozen of his _kawàsses_.

When they reached the gate, Ahmed Aga stripped Nebleh of the light gold-edged cloth which he had thrown over her to keep the dust from her glossy coat, and the Viceroy’s eye fell on her form, in whose symmetrical proportions neither envy nor criticism could find a flaw.

Mohammed Ali looked at her in grave and silent admiration, the Arab sheik gave a strange grunt conveying a similar impression, while the young Abbas’s eyes told the same tale, though he could not venture to speak until spoken to in the presence of his grandfather. After being led about for a few minutes amidst the “Mashallahs!” of all who saw her, she was saddled and bridled by the Viceroy’s order, who turned to Hassan, saying—

“We know your horsemanship well; we should like to see her gallop and play.”

“My lord,” replied Hassan, casting down his eyes upon the large proportions of his frame, “although Nebleh could carry me, and would carry me until she dropped dead, she would look better and move more easily under a lighter rider. If your Highness will permit this young Prince (for such I take him to be) to mount her, I think it would please him much, and would show the mare to better advantage.”

“Well, be it so,” said the Viceroy, adding in a lower tone, “She is not violent or restive, is she?”

“Quiet and docile as a lamb, though swift as an eagle,” was the reply.

With eyes sparkling with joy the young Prince jumped into the saddle, and in a moment Nebleh was in full career: now wheeling to the right, now to the left, at the slightest touch of the heel or bridle, and after a few minutes returning to the spot whence she had started, with her transparent nostril widely dilated and her proud eye awakened by the inspiriting gallop.

“Aferin! aferin! [well done] Abbas,” said the Viceroy; “it is enough for the present. Ahmed Aga and Hassan, you may return to Delì Pasha, and convey to him our friendly greeting and our wish that Allah may prolong his days.”

The two friends made their obeisance and slowly returned towards Boulak.

“Do you know who is that youth?” said Ahmed Aga to his companion.

“I know him not,” replied Hassan; “but from his dress and bearing I suppose him to belong to the Viceroy’s family.”

“You conjecture rightly, and the Viceroy is said to be very fond of him: he is the son of Toussoun Pasha, Effendina’s second son,[91] who distinguished himself so much in the war against the Wahabees. Alas! his fate was a strange and sad one.”

“I have heard,” said Hassan, “that he died in the prime of life, but I know nothing more.”

“After his successes in Arabia,” continued Ahmed Aga, “he was so popular in the army that Ibrahim Pasha grew jealous of him and hated him; but what is more strange is that his own father also grew jealous of him, and of his popularity with the soldiers: perhaps his suspicions were strengthened by the tales of slanderers, who told him that Toussoun meant to rebel against him and dethrone him. Certain it is that the unfortunate Prince died of poison administered to him in some sherbet or wine that he drank during a feast given by him to some of his friends: he died immediately, and it is believed that the poison was given by Mohammed Ali’s order.”

“Horrible!” ejaculated Hassan. “Father and son! As it is not proved, let us hope it is not true.”[92]

“The Discoverer of Secrets [_i.e._, Allah] knows,” replied Ahmed; and conversing on various matters, they reached the house of Delì Pasha.

No sooner had they put their feet on the stairs leading to the saloon than they became aware that something unusual had occurred: a crowd of servants had gathered near the door of the room, and from within was heard the voice of the Pasha pouring forth at its highest pitch a torrent of threatening vituperation. “You have never seen him in one of these fits of passion,” whispered Ahmed Aga to Hassan; “when they seize him he is mad and ungovernable.”

Hassan having inquired from one of the servants the cause of this storm, was informed that it was about a sword with a jewelled hilt of great value which Mohammed Ali had given to the Pasha after the war with the Wahabees. It had been in charge of a young Mameluke named Kasem, who filled the office of Master of the Wardrobe, and as it was now missing, Delì Pasha charged him with stealing it, and threatened to have him beaten to death. As this lad was one of those who had sportively attacked Hassan on the day of the jereed play, and from his frank and merry character was one of our hero’s favourites, he would not believe him guilty of such a crime without the strongest proofs, and he resolved at once to hear what those proofs were.

Forcing his way through the crowd at the door, he entered the room, and his eye immediately fell upon the youth accused, standing apparently under arrest, between two of the servants. Hastily walking up to him, Hassan fixed his searching gaze on the countenance of the youth and said, “Kasem, tell me, by your life and by your father’s head, have you committed this crime?”

“Wallah, I have not!” replied the youth, looking up in Hassan’s face with a firm voice and clear, untroubled eye; “but our lord will not hear nor listen: the sword has been stolen from my room, but who is the thief is only known to Him to whom the absent is present.”

During this short dialogue the Pasha had continued, like an angry lion in a cage, pacing up and down the upper end of the room as if “nursing his wrath to keep it warm” by rapid motion as well as by curses and threats; his eyes were inflamed, and his face red up to the very temples. These violent bursts of passion, although of late less frequent than of old, when they procured him his name of Delì (mad), were well known to his followers and servants, and while they lasted none dared to speak a word to him. Suddenly he stopped and shouted to the youth, “Viper! son of a dog! wilt thou confess thy crime, and where thou hast hid the sword?”

“My lord,” replied the youth in a humble yet sincere tone of voice, “I have told you all I know: the sword has been stolen from my room—I know not where it is.”

“Dog of a liar!” cried the Pasha in a still louder tone. “Take him away and beat him till he confesses: give him three hundred on the feet, and throw him into the dungeon. Away with him!”

With a hasty signal to the man who held the youth to delay a moment, Hassan came forward, and, to the astonishment of all the household, walking composedly to within a few feet of the Pasha, said to him—

“My lord, let me entreat you to have a little patience, and defer the punishment of this youth; perhaps we may find the sword or discover the thief.”

“And who are you?” cried the Pasha, astonished at this unwonted audacity; “who are you that dare to offer me your unasked counsel, and come between me and my revenge?”

“I am your servant Hassan, whom you have already loaded with favours, and therefore it is that I love my lord so well that I wish his displeasure rather than see him commit an act of injustice.”

“Begone,” roared the Pasha, “if you would not drive me mad. When that imp of Satan has stolen a sword, the reward of my services and my blood, am I to be told by an upstart like you that I may not punish him?”

“You may punish him, doubtless,” said Hassan calmly; “you may punish any in your house, for you have the power: but if you do punish him now, and after a few days we bring you the sword, or proof that it was stolen not by him but by others—I know your generous heart—you will then suffer tortures; you will curse this hour of hasty passion, and will say, ‘Had I not one faithful servant to say to me, Do not stain your name with this act of cruelty?’”

During this speech the rage of the Pasha had been burning with a fiercer fire: to be thus lectured and reproved in the height of his fury by a mere youth, and in the presence of all his household, was a trial to which his fierce temper had never before been exposed. His lip grew white, and his limbs literally trembled with concentrated passion.

“Son of a dog!” he cried, “if thou wilt not hold thy peace this shall silence thee——”

As he spoke he drew his dagger from his shawl-sash and rushed at Hassan, who was standing a few yards in front of him.

Hassan plainly saw the movement, and with his activity and gigantic strength could easily have either sprung back a few feet and drawn his sword or have wrested the dagger from the feebler hand of the Pasha, but he saw before him only Amina’s father. Opening wide his arms, with a calm, unblenching eye, he presented his broad chest to the descending blade: it fell, but harmlessly over his shoulder, for the demon-spirit had overpowered the frame which it possessed, and muttering, “Allah! I cannot do it,” Delì Pasha staggered back a few paces, and would have fallen to the ground had not Hassan caught him in his arms and borne him gently to the divan whence he had so lately risen in the full tide of excited passion.

All the attendants now crowded round the insensible form of their lord, whom, by the order of Ahmed Aga and Hassan, they caused to be instantly transported to the private apartments of the harem, while servants were sent in all directions for the most skilful surgeon that could be found. Not many minutes elapsed before the arrival of one possessed of some skill and of presence of mind; blood was freely taken from the arm; soon afterwards twenty or thirty leeches were applied to the back of the neck, and before nightfall the symptoms that threatened a dangerous brain fever had passed away.

Meanwhile Kasem was confined to his room and a guard placed at the door. He was a general favourite, and none believed him guilty of the theft; but as the sword had been in his custody, it was judged necessary to keep him in confinement until some further light could be thrown on the case, or the Pasha’s ulterior pleasure be ascertained.

In the course of two days, during which the invalid was tended by the affectionate and unremitting care of Amina, the Pasha made rapid progress towards recovery, but he observed a sullen and profound silence as to the cause of his illness, neither did he issue any orders respecting the punishment of Kasem; but all the circumstances were already known throughout the harem, the eunuchs having gathered them from the servants and repeated them, with various additions and exaggerations, to the women under their charge. On one subject all the reports agreed—namely, that Hassan had mortally offended his chief, and that his dismissal was certain.

Meanwhile all the exertions made by Ahmed Aga, Hassan, and others to trace the missing sword or discover the thief had been unavailing, until on the third day Reschid, the favourite Mameluke of the Kiahia Pasha, came to see his friend Hassan, and the smile on his countenance announced that he had some good news to communicate.

“Hassan,” he said, “you may remember that on the evening of your Pasha’s illness I was sent here to make inquiries after his health by my lord: you told me about the missing sword which he so much valued. One was brought to me for sale this morning by a Jew who resides in the farthest part of Cairo, which formerly belonged, as he said, to Ibrahim Elfi, the great Mameluke Bey. I doubt the story. Should you know your Pasha’s sword if you saw it?”

“Yes,” replied Hassan eagerly, “for I have seen it more than once in the hands of young Kasem when he was rubbing the blade to keep it bright. I know the sword even if the scoundrel has picked the diamonds out of the hilt.”

“Come, then, with me,” said his friend; “we have no time to lose, for I told the Jew this morning that I was busy and had not leisure to bargain with him then for the price, but that he might leave it till the _âs’r_ [3 P.M.], when he might return, and if we agreed on the price, I would pay him the money.”

A short hour’s ride brought the two friends to the Kiahia’s palace, where they dismounted and proceeded at once to Reschid’s room, in one corner of which was a sword. Hassan drew the sword from its sheath and exclaimed—

“Wallah! it is the same. See, near the hilt is a lion of inlaid gold, and below the words Fath-min-Allah [Victory is from God]. But, as I expected, the rascally Jew has taken the diamonds from the hilt and replaced them by these strips of gold.”

“El-hamdu-lillah!” cried Reschid; “the character of poor young Kasem will, I trust, now be cleared.”