CHAPTER VMuhammad Pasha Sâlih went again to see the Consul, this time upon receiving a peremptory summons. He came away with smart sensations of indignity, the unbeliever having warned him to take care of his behaviour to the English governess. The marriage contract, he was told, must be in order, and every detail of her treatment strictly honourable. These admonitions thrown as to a dog, to him, the known embodiment of goodness, made him cry. When he got home it was to find a note from the Grand Câdi, requesting him to call at once upon that dignitary, who besought him, for the honour of the Faith, to be precise in all his dealings with the English convert. And when, that afternoon, he waited in his duty on the lord of Egypt, that prince demanded tidings of the Englishwoman and, jesting, told him to be sure and use her kindly.“She must be a rare pearl,” the sovereign chuckled. “The English Representative is maddened by her loss. By God and His Apostle, I have half a mind to snatch her from thee.”For one whose house had always been a guardedsanctuary, who never made nor brooked the least allusion to his women, such language from licentious lips, in hearing of the throng of courtiers, was sheer ignominy. He cursed the parents and religion of the English Consul, the cause of this indecent noising of a private matter. The dog appeared to fancy that he had to do with fellâhîn or small officials; for he had spoken of the facility of divorce and the danger of the Englishwoman being cast adrift. Among the vulgar there were men who changed wives constantly, even persecuting her they had till she herself besought the Câdi for release, thus forfeiting the dowry which was justly hers. Such men might be, who thought it clever to defraud poor maidens. But that any one could think that he, Muhammad Pasha, or a child of his, could harbour such iniquity seemed barely credible. The hot tears stung his eyeballs at the thought of it.“Just Allah!” he exclaimed within himself. “Does he suppose that we have no morality? Would he, whose native customs are as shameless as the ways of beasts, leaving females unprotected and at large, instruct us how to cherish and to guard a woman? He talks as if I were some pimp or ruffian, when I am dealing with the maid as faithfully as if she were my only child!”In truth, before this trouble with the Consul, at the ceremony of betrothal, when he himself had prompted the bride’s proxy, he had assigned to hera dowry of three thousand pounds—a sum sufficient to make Yûsuf hesitate, however angry, before he gave the order for divorce. He had, moreover, spoken to his son most gravely, pointing out the friendless state of the young woman, and informing him that if he took her it must be for life. Yûsuf had made frantic answer in the way of lovers, comparing his fidelity to stars and blossoms. The Pasha bound him by a solemn oath always to show forbearance to his foreign wife. He then drove him forth to spend the time until the wedding in a cousin’s house; where, as he had heard this afternoon from the said cousin, Yûsuf kept raving of his love—in abstract terms, for decency—till the whole selamlik was infected with the trick of sighing. Nothing could have been more honourable than his conduct. The girl was better off than ever in her life before, and knew it. He swore an oath to let the Consul know it too.Accordingly, returning to his house that evening, he craved immediate audience of the sometime governess; and shortly entered her apartments, which, providing simply for an upper servant of his house, he had furnished in the Frankish manner to seem homelike. If he had gone to so much trouble for a stranger’s comfort, was it likely he would prove a niggard towards his dear son’s bride? The pig who thus traduced him must be taught.The girl was sitting in a chair beside the window,reading an English book. It pleased him to reflect that she was highly educated. In these bad times, when Frankish lore was in demand, her instructions might secure advancement to a man like Yûsuf, who knew French already.She laid aside her book and rose to meet him with a charming blush. He took her hand and raised it to his lips; then sank down on a chair and clasped his brow.“Ah, mademoiselle!” he moaned, “I am so troubled. God knows my heart is sad, profoundly wounded. You are kind and generous, and you know our hearts. But those others of your nation.... Pouf! How bitter! How fanatical! They treat me and my house as dirt. Here is the case: You honour my poor house; you are alone; you have no parents. I say to myself, ‘She is an orphan; I will be her father.’ I therefore do what parents do according to our customs. I provide the trousseau; I also bargain with the bridegroom’s people to endow you richly.“Let me explain what that means, since it must be quite unknown to you. With us, divorce is easy; it suffices for the man to say a little formula; but the husband must support the wife for three months afterwards, and he must pay the balance of the dowry stated in the marriage-contract, or, if no portion has been paid beforehand, then the whole of it. That makes him think. And the greater the dowry, the longer will he meditate beforedivorcing her. Now I, your father, have talked the matter over with myself, the bridegroom’s father, and have obtained for you a dowry of three thousand pounds Egyptian. This sum will be stated in the contract, signed and sealed before the judge, and my son will have to pay it if ever he desires divorce, which God forbid! Your trousseau, with the jewels and the slaves that I am going to give you, the furniture of these rooms and more which I shall buy to supplement it—I wish your house to be the kind you are accustomed to—all this, I say, will be your absolute property, and so stipulated in the contract.”The girl had seized his hand. She pressed it to her lips and sighed:“How good you are!”His own emotion was no less than hers. The humiliations of that day had taxed his fortitude, and the sense of his integrity beneath aspersion was like a bubbling fount of tears in outer darkness. The warm touch of her gratitude unmanned him quite. He sobbed aloud:“Ah, mademoiselle! God knows that I have done my best! Yet here is the Consul threatening me, and moving all the Government to watch me closely; as if I had entrapped you for some evil purpose!—as if I were the worst of criminals, intent to harm you!... I cannot vindicate myself. It would be too degrading. And if he thinks me such a first-classcanaillehe wouldnot believe me. Therefore I come to beg you, mademoiselle, yourself to deign to write a little word to this good monsieur, assuring him that we are not the monsters he supposes.”The girl’s face flamed. “I write at once!” she said, and rose to do so.But the Pasha cried: “One moment, mademoiselle!” He wiped his eyes and struggled to recover firmness. “Do not suppose that I complain! Even if the happiness of my dear son were not concerned, I would suffer more than this—much more—abominations!—to serve so beautiful and good a lady. I fear my words have saddened you. Oh, God forbid! Never, I pray you, think of it again, your letter written. You must be all happy. To-morrow you must go among our ladies. You will find there mothers, sisters, longing to embrace you. They will help you choose the stuffs for your trousseau. They speak Arabic, of which you know few words as yet, or Turkish, which is quite unknown to you. But my widowed sister speaks a little French, and Murjânah Khânum owns a young Circassian who can talk it fluently. She is a present from relations in Constantinople who have bred her from a child in every elegance. At the time of the great war with Russia, French was much the mode; even girls learnt it, and this maid of whom I speak, Gulbeyzah, talks it well. She shall be attached to you as interpreter. The wedding, if it please you, can take place nextweek. We will have it in the mode of Europe—nothing barbarous!”“I love your customs!” she replied. “Let it be just as if I were a native bride.”“No, no,” remarked the Pasha, with a chuckle. “There are many usual ceremonies here in Egypt which are condemned by our religion, strictly speaking. These we shall exclude, preserving only one or two which may amuse you. My son also will modify his life to suit your foreign standards; it is only just; although the life of our own ladies is by no means terrible, as you will find. Tomorrow you shall spend in the haramlik. You will find there many friends. All, all will love you and make glad your heart. And now, with your permission, mademoiselle, I shall retire. Forget not that small letter to the Consul.”Muhammad Pasha, coming from that interview, was traversing the hall of the selamlik towards his study, when a sudden clamour at the house-door startled him.“Curse thy father! Wait, I say! Be still a minute!” cried the doorkeeper; while another voice yelled madly, “I must see the Pasha. Where is he? Let me pass, I say! The need is urgent!”“Cut short thy life! Wait only! Are these manners? He has entered the harîm, I tell thee!”There followed sounds as of a struggle, andbefore the Pasha could divine the meaning of the uproar, a youth in poor attire rushed in and fell before him, panting:“He told me to win to thee, O my lord—to fight my way through armed hosts if necessary, to seek thee even in the secrecy of the harîm, saying that the letter which I bear would be my full excuse.”It was a poor familiar of the palace, named Ghandûr, one who from early childhood had been Yûsuf’s humble shadow, a youth so simply honest in his judgments that to subtler wits they wore the look of imbecility. But yesterday he had been here as usual, sitting in the entrance on the watch for Yûsuf. To-day he had been absent, but without disloyalty: he had been sitting in the entrance of the house where Yûsuf sojourned temporarily.“He bade me run, and Allah witness I have done his bidding. I am thy slave, give pardon, O my lord the Pasha!”“Salvation be upon thee, O Ghandûr. What letter, now, is this of which thou speakest? Give!”Reassured by the kind tone, Ghandûr arose, and smiling with a flash of perfect teeth, produced a letter from his bosom, touched his forehead with it, then reverently laid it in the Pasha’s outstretched hand. It ran:“My garden of delight is in thy custody. The palpitations of my heart inform me danger shadowsit. Alas! the grievous power of jealousy, which can make of a gazelle a tigress, and turn a mother’s love into a sword. This is the third time I have written to thee, yet no answer. Say that thou hast taken measures to preserve my lovely blossom from envious trampling and from poisoned water....”The Pasha crumpled up the letter and stood wrapped in thought. Coming so close upon his promise to the English girl that all the women in the house would love and cherish her, the warning had a flavour of fatality. He recalled the lady Fitnah’s frowardness. She had been punished. Who could say that she had changed her mind? And, with the Consul’s evil eye upon the house, the shame of any outbreak would be doubled.“Run to my son!” he told Ghandûr. “Assure him that a guard is kept, none safer, under Allah. Bid his soul have rest.”Having watched the youth depart, he called the eunuchs and ordered them to guard the English lady as their life. Then he proceeded to the kitchens and there gave command that every dish and drink prepared for the table of the governess should come first to him that he might taste and judge its quality. And he took good care to let the women know of this precaution.
Muhammad Pasha Sâlih went again to see the Consul, this time upon receiving a peremptory summons. He came away with smart sensations of indignity, the unbeliever having warned him to take care of his behaviour to the English governess. The marriage contract, he was told, must be in order, and every detail of her treatment strictly honourable. These admonitions thrown as to a dog, to him, the known embodiment of goodness, made him cry. When he got home it was to find a note from the Grand Câdi, requesting him to call at once upon that dignitary, who besought him, for the honour of the Faith, to be precise in all his dealings with the English convert. And when, that afternoon, he waited in his duty on the lord of Egypt, that prince demanded tidings of the Englishwoman and, jesting, told him to be sure and use her kindly.
“She must be a rare pearl,” the sovereign chuckled. “The English Representative is maddened by her loss. By God and His Apostle, I have half a mind to snatch her from thee.”
For one whose house had always been a guardedsanctuary, who never made nor brooked the least allusion to his women, such language from licentious lips, in hearing of the throng of courtiers, was sheer ignominy. He cursed the parents and religion of the English Consul, the cause of this indecent noising of a private matter. The dog appeared to fancy that he had to do with fellâhîn or small officials; for he had spoken of the facility of divorce and the danger of the Englishwoman being cast adrift. Among the vulgar there were men who changed wives constantly, even persecuting her they had till she herself besought the Câdi for release, thus forfeiting the dowry which was justly hers. Such men might be, who thought it clever to defraud poor maidens. But that any one could think that he, Muhammad Pasha, or a child of his, could harbour such iniquity seemed barely credible. The hot tears stung his eyeballs at the thought of it.
“Just Allah!” he exclaimed within himself. “Does he suppose that we have no morality? Would he, whose native customs are as shameless as the ways of beasts, leaving females unprotected and at large, instruct us how to cherish and to guard a woman? He talks as if I were some pimp or ruffian, when I am dealing with the maid as faithfully as if she were my only child!”
In truth, before this trouble with the Consul, at the ceremony of betrothal, when he himself had prompted the bride’s proxy, he had assigned to hera dowry of three thousand pounds—a sum sufficient to make Yûsuf hesitate, however angry, before he gave the order for divorce. He had, moreover, spoken to his son most gravely, pointing out the friendless state of the young woman, and informing him that if he took her it must be for life. Yûsuf had made frantic answer in the way of lovers, comparing his fidelity to stars and blossoms. The Pasha bound him by a solemn oath always to show forbearance to his foreign wife. He then drove him forth to spend the time until the wedding in a cousin’s house; where, as he had heard this afternoon from the said cousin, Yûsuf kept raving of his love—in abstract terms, for decency—till the whole selamlik was infected with the trick of sighing. Nothing could have been more honourable than his conduct. The girl was better off than ever in her life before, and knew it. He swore an oath to let the Consul know it too.
Accordingly, returning to his house that evening, he craved immediate audience of the sometime governess; and shortly entered her apartments, which, providing simply for an upper servant of his house, he had furnished in the Frankish manner to seem homelike. If he had gone to so much trouble for a stranger’s comfort, was it likely he would prove a niggard towards his dear son’s bride? The pig who thus traduced him must be taught.
The girl was sitting in a chair beside the window,reading an English book. It pleased him to reflect that she was highly educated. In these bad times, when Frankish lore was in demand, her instructions might secure advancement to a man like Yûsuf, who knew French already.
She laid aside her book and rose to meet him with a charming blush. He took her hand and raised it to his lips; then sank down on a chair and clasped his brow.
“Ah, mademoiselle!” he moaned, “I am so troubled. God knows my heart is sad, profoundly wounded. You are kind and generous, and you know our hearts. But those others of your nation.... Pouf! How bitter! How fanatical! They treat me and my house as dirt. Here is the case: You honour my poor house; you are alone; you have no parents. I say to myself, ‘She is an orphan; I will be her father.’ I therefore do what parents do according to our customs. I provide the trousseau; I also bargain with the bridegroom’s people to endow you richly.
“Let me explain what that means, since it must be quite unknown to you. With us, divorce is easy; it suffices for the man to say a little formula; but the husband must support the wife for three months afterwards, and he must pay the balance of the dowry stated in the marriage-contract, or, if no portion has been paid beforehand, then the whole of it. That makes him think. And the greater the dowry, the longer will he meditate beforedivorcing her. Now I, your father, have talked the matter over with myself, the bridegroom’s father, and have obtained for you a dowry of three thousand pounds Egyptian. This sum will be stated in the contract, signed and sealed before the judge, and my son will have to pay it if ever he desires divorce, which God forbid! Your trousseau, with the jewels and the slaves that I am going to give you, the furniture of these rooms and more which I shall buy to supplement it—I wish your house to be the kind you are accustomed to—all this, I say, will be your absolute property, and so stipulated in the contract.”
The girl had seized his hand. She pressed it to her lips and sighed:
“How good you are!”
His own emotion was no less than hers. The humiliations of that day had taxed his fortitude, and the sense of his integrity beneath aspersion was like a bubbling fount of tears in outer darkness. The warm touch of her gratitude unmanned him quite. He sobbed aloud:
“Ah, mademoiselle! God knows that I have done my best! Yet here is the Consul threatening me, and moving all the Government to watch me closely; as if I had entrapped you for some evil purpose!—as if I were the worst of criminals, intent to harm you!... I cannot vindicate myself. It would be too degrading. And if he thinks me such a first-classcanaillehe wouldnot believe me. Therefore I come to beg you, mademoiselle, yourself to deign to write a little word to this good monsieur, assuring him that we are not the monsters he supposes.”
The girl’s face flamed. “I write at once!” she said, and rose to do so.
But the Pasha cried: “One moment, mademoiselle!” He wiped his eyes and struggled to recover firmness. “Do not suppose that I complain! Even if the happiness of my dear son were not concerned, I would suffer more than this—much more—abominations!—to serve so beautiful and good a lady. I fear my words have saddened you. Oh, God forbid! Never, I pray you, think of it again, your letter written. You must be all happy. To-morrow you must go among our ladies. You will find there mothers, sisters, longing to embrace you. They will help you choose the stuffs for your trousseau. They speak Arabic, of which you know few words as yet, or Turkish, which is quite unknown to you. But my widowed sister speaks a little French, and Murjânah Khânum owns a young Circassian who can talk it fluently. She is a present from relations in Constantinople who have bred her from a child in every elegance. At the time of the great war with Russia, French was much the mode; even girls learnt it, and this maid of whom I speak, Gulbeyzah, talks it well. She shall be attached to you as interpreter. The wedding, if it please you, can take place nextweek. We will have it in the mode of Europe—nothing barbarous!”
“I love your customs!” she replied. “Let it be just as if I were a native bride.”
“No, no,” remarked the Pasha, with a chuckle. “There are many usual ceremonies here in Egypt which are condemned by our religion, strictly speaking. These we shall exclude, preserving only one or two which may amuse you. My son also will modify his life to suit your foreign standards; it is only just; although the life of our own ladies is by no means terrible, as you will find. Tomorrow you shall spend in the haramlik. You will find there many friends. All, all will love you and make glad your heart. And now, with your permission, mademoiselle, I shall retire. Forget not that small letter to the Consul.”
Muhammad Pasha, coming from that interview, was traversing the hall of the selamlik towards his study, when a sudden clamour at the house-door startled him.
“Curse thy father! Wait, I say! Be still a minute!” cried the doorkeeper; while another voice yelled madly, “I must see the Pasha. Where is he? Let me pass, I say! The need is urgent!”
“Cut short thy life! Wait only! Are these manners? He has entered the harîm, I tell thee!”
There followed sounds as of a struggle, andbefore the Pasha could divine the meaning of the uproar, a youth in poor attire rushed in and fell before him, panting:
“He told me to win to thee, O my lord—to fight my way through armed hosts if necessary, to seek thee even in the secrecy of the harîm, saying that the letter which I bear would be my full excuse.”
It was a poor familiar of the palace, named Ghandûr, one who from early childhood had been Yûsuf’s humble shadow, a youth so simply honest in his judgments that to subtler wits they wore the look of imbecility. But yesterday he had been here as usual, sitting in the entrance on the watch for Yûsuf. To-day he had been absent, but without disloyalty: he had been sitting in the entrance of the house where Yûsuf sojourned temporarily.
“He bade me run, and Allah witness I have done his bidding. I am thy slave, give pardon, O my lord the Pasha!”
“Salvation be upon thee, O Ghandûr. What letter, now, is this of which thou speakest? Give!”
Reassured by the kind tone, Ghandûr arose, and smiling with a flash of perfect teeth, produced a letter from his bosom, touched his forehead with it, then reverently laid it in the Pasha’s outstretched hand. It ran:
“My garden of delight is in thy custody. The palpitations of my heart inform me danger shadowsit. Alas! the grievous power of jealousy, which can make of a gazelle a tigress, and turn a mother’s love into a sword. This is the third time I have written to thee, yet no answer. Say that thou hast taken measures to preserve my lovely blossom from envious trampling and from poisoned water....”
“My garden of delight is in thy custody. The palpitations of my heart inform me danger shadowsit. Alas! the grievous power of jealousy, which can make of a gazelle a tigress, and turn a mother’s love into a sword. This is the third time I have written to thee, yet no answer. Say that thou hast taken measures to preserve my lovely blossom from envious trampling and from poisoned water....”
The Pasha crumpled up the letter and stood wrapped in thought. Coming so close upon his promise to the English girl that all the women in the house would love and cherish her, the warning had a flavour of fatality. He recalled the lady Fitnah’s frowardness. She had been punished. Who could say that she had changed her mind? And, with the Consul’s evil eye upon the house, the shame of any outbreak would be doubled.
“Run to my son!” he told Ghandûr. “Assure him that a guard is kept, none safer, under Allah. Bid his soul have rest.”
Having watched the youth depart, he called the eunuchs and ordered them to guard the English lady as their life. Then he proceeded to the kitchens and there gave command that every dish and drink prepared for the table of the governess should come first to him that he might taste and judge its quality. And he took good care to let the women know of this precaution.
CHAPTER VIThe women’s quarters were a rambling place, with three small courtyards all on different levels, tunnels, staircases inside and out, and passages which ran in all directions. Besides the ladies Fitnah and Murjânah and their households, a widowed sister of the Pasha, and a former slave who had enjoyed his favour, kept separate state, with children and attendants. Freed slaves and poor relations, recognized go-betweens and sycophants came in and out, and slept there when they chose—a privilege extending to their offspring. Old women with a secret, knowing look edged through the corridors; untidy children sprawled upon the stairs; outside the door of each of the great ladies stood rows of coloured slippers, signifying humble callers. The place seemed always populous and full of noise. In a sense, good order reigned there; but it was the order of a township rather than a private residence, including all degrees of cleanliness, of wealth and squalor. The corps of eunuchs, ten in all, were the police.This little world of women had its liberties. From the third hour of the day until the sunsetcall to prayer, the lord of the harîm was absent. If he happened to return, it was his duty to announce the fact beforehand, allowing time for visitors to veil and slip away. The inmates had their private interests, their games and jokes. The clash of tambourines, the quick soft beat of darabukkahs made a pulse of glee. They all seemed happy and in love with life, although they hardly ever saw the sun or breathed free air; for when they drove abroad it was in shuttered carriages; and the family mausoleum, where they went for picnics, was a second palace with its own haramlik.But what surprised the Englishwoman more than anything was the charm of majesty—the exquisite prestige—which certain of these Eastern women radiated; making her feel small. They called her “Barakah”; it was her name thenceforward, and meant a Godsend, so the courtly Pasha told her. That name increased her awkwardness at first, sounding sarcastic from the lips of queenly women.On the morning after she had written her indignant letter to the Consul, she was awakened by soft singing. A beautiful and stately girl sat by her bed, who, seeing her at last awake, sprang up and kissed her. Murjânah Khânum, claiming Yûsuf’s bride as her own guest until the wedding, had sent her slave Gulbeyzah to attend her to the bath, attire her in a robe of honour (which wasshown), and then escort her to Murjânah Khânum’s rooms, where Barakah was asked to breakfast and to spend the day. It was useless to resist. Gulbeyzah knew her duties, and performed them scrupulously. By the time they left the bathhouse, Barakah arrayed in gorgeous silk, her fingers hennaed and her eyes enlarged with kohl, they were laughing friends.Murjânah Khânum took the Englishwoman in her arms and kissed her; then sitting down beside her, subjected her to a prolonged inspection, none the less embarrassing for being tender.“Ma sh´Allah!” she exclaimed, and added some soft words in Turkish, looking to Gulbeyzah, who translated:“Madame says you are more beautiful than she was told. Your beauty is more excellent than the rose. Your eyes remind her of the Bosphorus. You make her think of her own country. The desire which you inspire is like home-sickness.”Barakah could only blush and hang her head—a posture which drew down fresh compliments upon her modesty.Slaves brought in trays of fruit and set them down, retiring silently. Then an old negress came in with a brazier and made coffee, with which was served a kind of fritter smeared with honey. Then a young girl appeared with ewer and basin and fine towels, going first to Barakah, who rinsed her hands. Murjânah and Gulbeyzah,she saw afterwards, used soap and washed their teeth as well—a cause of spluttering.Murjânah Khânum rolled a cigarette. She lounged at ease with eyes intent on Barakah, and while she smoked, gave vent to her reflections, which Gulbeyzah rendered into French as best she could.“It is a great distress to me not to be able to convey my loving thoughts directly to the mind of one so near. Ask the dear one if she speaks Romaic, or a little Persian. No? A pity! She is learning Arabic? In sh´Allah, she will soon acquire that tongue and Turkish too....“I fear she must feel strange and lonely in a life so different: I wish I could expound its beauty to her. Ask her whether she has read the tragedies of Sophocles, an ancient Greek. No? That surprises. I had thought them known among the Franks. Say, I have read them in the Turkish version and admired them greatly.... At least, she knows that, in old times, before the prophets, there were priestesses who guarded mysteries of the false gods?... Well, we secluded women of the East are the guardians of the mysteries of God Most High—the verities of life and death, of birth and growth and of decay—of all those things which come directly from the hand of God. These are the sense of life; though much obscured by all the surface agitation which disturbs the life of men. We, in our calm retirement, always view them ...“And then, when one regards the strife of tribes, the tumults and rebellion in this world, is it not well that womanhood should be kept sacred and aloof, respected in the strife of Muslims—the ark which bears the future of the Faith?... Then, even as it is, much crime is caused by love and jealousy. What would it be if women went unveiled? I say not, in her land where men’s blood may be more equable; but here.... Just Allah! Youth would be a curse. If marriageable girls were barefaced, what could preserve them from atrocious accidents? We guard their youth and train them to be lovers, child-bearers; we send forth healthy boys to serve the Faith....“Tell her that I myself, by Allah’s visitation, have lost all my children; yet, thanks to El Islâm, I am not desolate. I have her Yûsuf and a score of others for delight.”Hearing these words translated by Gulbeyzah, Barakah felt abashed to insignificance. The habit of confronting the brute facts of life, which Europeans cover over, clothed this old woman in a tragic grandeur which was almost terrifying. She was relieved when other ladies came and talk grew shallow. Silks and fine linen fabrics were spread out before her. Hearing that she was required to choose among them for her trousseau, she implored Gulbeyzah with despairing gestures to say that she resigned selection to the ladies. The answer caused relief. The ladies setto work methodically, feeling, stroking, comparing the materials in the best light, discoursing all the while like happy birds. Fitnah Khânum was less forward than the others in politeness, and kept her face averted from the gaze of Barakah. She took her leave before the service of the midday meal.The Pasha’s widowed sister begged of Barakah to spend the following day with her in her apartments. Murjânah was approached and gave consent.“I can give you dinner on a proper table with chairs and knives and forks,” the widow said in broken French.Murjânah Khânum’s tables were brass trays on little stands, and everybody ate with fingers from the dish.The day with Leylah Khânum was less serious. The widow’s talk was all of love and lovers. A perfect host of go-betweens was kept employed to find her a fresh husband; but, though ageing fast, she was fastidious and asked perfection.“God grant she may not die a widow,” sighed Gulbeyzah, who explained the case to Barakah.Leylah Khânum was much exercised to know whether Barakah had had much love-experience in England. Hearing “No,” she raised her hands in marvel. One so beautiful! The mistress of so much charm! And unveiled among men! She asked the reason.“I was poor,” said Barakah.At that there was loud outcry; Leylah Khânum and Gulbeyzah called on God for pity.“But you are beautiful! Men pay for beauty, need no bribe with it. And you mean to say they would have let you die a virgin—with that loveliness? O Lord of Heaven! What a wicked waste!”Their dread of dying in virginity appealed to Barakah as something comical when she remembered the ideals preached in Christendom.Leylah Khânum told her stories of true love, all far from proper judged by English taste; and shocked her by the cool assertion that poison was a woman’s natural weapon. In the afternoon they were invited to Murjânah Khânum’s rooms, where the business of the trousseau still proceeded. It went on for days. Each morning when she woke, the bride-elect found some fresh present from the Pasha in her room, which Gulbeyzah made her carry forth and show to every one. The whole haramlik frolicked round her in excitement.Gulbeyzah’s status in the household puzzled her. The Circassian seemed the equal of the ladies, yet was called a slave.She said to her one day:“You are as white as I am. How can you bear to be a slave like Wardah or Fatûmah?”“Not like Wardah or Fatûmah, if you please!” was the superb rejoinder. “They or their fathers were captured in a warlike raid and made to islam, I, God be praised, was born in the Faith. Look!” she cried, and with a splendid gesture bared her bosom. “This is the paste of which they make sultanas. My parents sold me—they were poor—that I might come to honour, as others of the family have done before me.”“But what chance have you here? Do you expect to captivate the Pasha?”“God forbid! I never even see him. Here I serve the sweetest of all ladies, who will one day find me a rich husband. It is a famed harîm, and my lady is renowned for goodness and refinement. The greatest in the land would not disdain a fair Circassian girl of her instructing.”“But do you never miss your freedom? You can form no projects, being, it seems, entirely in the hands of others. Surely your thoughts are not so ruly? You must sometimes dream?”Gulbeyzah fixed her great eyes on the questioner as though debating whether she were to be trusted. Then, with a smile, she grasped her hand and whispered, “Come!”She led the English girl across the court where grew the orange trees, down a foul-smelling passage towards the kitchens, and up a flight of stairs into a corridor which served the chambers of the humblest servants. In its wall was a recess with a small window neither barred nor latticed. Here Gulbeyzah stopped.The reason why that window had been left uncaged was plain, since it looked out upon blindwalls and distant housetops. But one small angle of a terraced roof appeared within clear seeing range, and on that angle sat a man. When Gulbeyzah leaned her elbows on the window-sill, he sprang to his feet and made despairing gestures. She watched his antics for a moment, then drew in her head.“It is a secret, mind!” she cautioned Barakah. “I spent an afternoon here once, when I was sulky, and he was walking on that roof by chance. Ever since then I see him every day. He always sits there. I sign to him to climb up, but I know he cannot.” She laughed scornfully. “I make romances in my mind about him. It is evident he dies of love. He has grown thinner.”“How cruel! How can you torment him so?”“He is a man, you understand. One does not feel compassion as one would for girls. Perhaps if he could climb up here I should reward him, but, thanks to God, he cannot, poor young man!”“But are you not ashamed to think such thoughts—you, the pupil of Murjânah Khânum? So immoral!”“It is my fancy, there! Morality is not our business. We are strictly guarded. One gets a conscience—what you call a soul—when one has children. How droll you are! You talk just like a man. God knows I love you, and should like to be your durrah.” (The word means colleague in the married state.)Gulbeyzah flung her arms round Barakah. A sound of footsteps in the passage made them turn and peep.“It is a eunuch!” the Circassian whispered. “He has been there all the time. He attends you like your shadow, have you noticed? How sweet to be so precious; and so respected, for he keeps his distance!”Barakah preferred these confidences with Gulbeyzah to the endless fuss and noise about the trousseau. The hive was in commotion over the approaching marriage; angry, Gulbeyzah told her, with the Pasha for his wish to shear the festival of ancient ceremonies regarded as the woman’s right. When approached upon this subject in a crowded conclave, she said that she was anxious to conform to all their customs—an answer which was hailed with cries of triumph.Mrs. Cameron appeared one afternoon, the Consul’s envoy, to ascertain that all was well with the perverted girl. She was shown to the state-room, and there regaled with tea in glasses and sweet biscuits, in what was thought to be the English manner. The ladies pestered her with eager questions, persisting, despite frank denials, in regarding her as a near and dear relation of the bride. She glanced reproachfully at Barakah from time to time. “You’re quite at home with them, I see,” she said at parting. “It sounds unkind, but I must say I wish you weren’t. It isa fall for any woman bred as you were. How can you put that kohl round your eyes?... Good-bye, my dear, and don’t forget our compact.”The visit leaving an unpleasant, sad impression, Barakah withdrew to her own room, alleging headache. She was lying on her bed with eyes half closed, endeavouring to lay the ghost of former days, when some one entered without knocking, shut the door with care, and crept towards her. It was a strange old woman. She sidled up with much grimacing; whispered “Yûsuf,” laid her shrivelled cheek upon her hand; “Yûsuf,” again, and smacked her lips delectably; “Yûsuf Bey, thy bridegroom,” and made the motion of embracing with ecstatic grins.Barakah grew interested. She longed to see the man she was to marry and, fresh from Mrs. Cameron’s reproach, was feeling reckless. She tried to question the old woman, but without result. The crone kept nodding, “Yûsuf Bey” and “Come.” She had brought with her a habbarah and mouth-veil, which Barakah put on by her direction. Then they stole forth, the temptress in high glee.But they had not made ten steps in the hall before two eunuchs pounced on them and stared into their eyes. One beat the hag, whose screams were frightful. The other, smiling, dragged back Barakah, pushed her inside her room and locked the door.The meaning of the whole adventure remained dark to her. Gulbeyzah, when informed of it, declared that the old woman could not have been employed by Yûsuf, who was much too honourable and obedient to his father to indulge in such low games. She ascribed the incident to machinations of the lady Fitnah, beheld a plot to lure the English girl to some lone place, there to be ravished if not slain. Barakah laughed at such wild fancies. That Yûsuf’s mother did not like her much was plain to see; she had doubtless cherished other projects for her first-born; but to impute the thought of crime to her was too absurd.“I bring good news,” Gulbeyzah said to change the subject. “The Pasha has granted us the visit to the bath with you. He has engaged the best musicians and some famous dancers, and all the maidens of good houses are to be invited Oh, what joy!”
The women’s quarters were a rambling place, with three small courtyards all on different levels, tunnels, staircases inside and out, and passages which ran in all directions. Besides the ladies Fitnah and Murjânah and their households, a widowed sister of the Pasha, and a former slave who had enjoyed his favour, kept separate state, with children and attendants. Freed slaves and poor relations, recognized go-betweens and sycophants came in and out, and slept there when they chose—a privilege extending to their offspring. Old women with a secret, knowing look edged through the corridors; untidy children sprawled upon the stairs; outside the door of each of the great ladies stood rows of coloured slippers, signifying humble callers. The place seemed always populous and full of noise. In a sense, good order reigned there; but it was the order of a township rather than a private residence, including all degrees of cleanliness, of wealth and squalor. The corps of eunuchs, ten in all, were the police.
This little world of women had its liberties. From the third hour of the day until the sunsetcall to prayer, the lord of the harîm was absent. If he happened to return, it was his duty to announce the fact beforehand, allowing time for visitors to veil and slip away. The inmates had their private interests, their games and jokes. The clash of tambourines, the quick soft beat of darabukkahs made a pulse of glee. They all seemed happy and in love with life, although they hardly ever saw the sun or breathed free air; for when they drove abroad it was in shuttered carriages; and the family mausoleum, where they went for picnics, was a second palace with its own haramlik.
But what surprised the Englishwoman more than anything was the charm of majesty—the exquisite prestige—which certain of these Eastern women radiated; making her feel small. They called her “Barakah”; it was her name thenceforward, and meant a Godsend, so the courtly Pasha told her. That name increased her awkwardness at first, sounding sarcastic from the lips of queenly women.
On the morning after she had written her indignant letter to the Consul, she was awakened by soft singing. A beautiful and stately girl sat by her bed, who, seeing her at last awake, sprang up and kissed her. Murjânah Khânum, claiming Yûsuf’s bride as her own guest until the wedding, had sent her slave Gulbeyzah to attend her to the bath, attire her in a robe of honour (which wasshown), and then escort her to Murjânah Khânum’s rooms, where Barakah was asked to breakfast and to spend the day. It was useless to resist. Gulbeyzah knew her duties, and performed them scrupulously. By the time they left the bathhouse, Barakah arrayed in gorgeous silk, her fingers hennaed and her eyes enlarged with kohl, they were laughing friends.
Murjânah Khânum took the Englishwoman in her arms and kissed her; then sitting down beside her, subjected her to a prolonged inspection, none the less embarrassing for being tender.
“Ma sh´Allah!” she exclaimed, and added some soft words in Turkish, looking to Gulbeyzah, who translated:
“Madame says you are more beautiful than she was told. Your beauty is more excellent than the rose. Your eyes remind her of the Bosphorus. You make her think of her own country. The desire which you inspire is like home-sickness.”
Barakah could only blush and hang her head—a posture which drew down fresh compliments upon her modesty.
Slaves brought in trays of fruit and set them down, retiring silently. Then an old negress came in with a brazier and made coffee, with which was served a kind of fritter smeared with honey. Then a young girl appeared with ewer and basin and fine towels, going first to Barakah, who rinsed her hands. Murjânah and Gulbeyzah,she saw afterwards, used soap and washed their teeth as well—a cause of spluttering.
Murjânah Khânum rolled a cigarette. She lounged at ease with eyes intent on Barakah, and while she smoked, gave vent to her reflections, which Gulbeyzah rendered into French as best she could.
“It is a great distress to me not to be able to convey my loving thoughts directly to the mind of one so near. Ask the dear one if she speaks Romaic, or a little Persian. No? A pity! She is learning Arabic? In sh´Allah, she will soon acquire that tongue and Turkish too....
“I fear she must feel strange and lonely in a life so different: I wish I could expound its beauty to her. Ask her whether she has read the tragedies of Sophocles, an ancient Greek. No? That surprises. I had thought them known among the Franks. Say, I have read them in the Turkish version and admired them greatly.... At least, she knows that, in old times, before the prophets, there were priestesses who guarded mysteries of the false gods?... Well, we secluded women of the East are the guardians of the mysteries of God Most High—the verities of life and death, of birth and growth and of decay—of all those things which come directly from the hand of God. These are the sense of life; though much obscured by all the surface agitation which disturbs the life of men. We, in our calm retirement, always view them ...
“And then, when one regards the strife of tribes, the tumults and rebellion in this world, is it not well that womanhood should be kept sacred and aloof, respected in the strife of Muslims—the ark which bears the future of the Faith?... Then, even as it is, much crime is caused by love and jealousy. What would it be if women went unveiled? I say not, in her land where men’s blood may be more equable; but here.... Just Allah! Youth would be a curse. If marriageable girls were barefaced, what could preserve them from atrocious accidents? We guard their youth and train them to be lovers, child-bearers; we send forth healthy boys to serve the Faith....
“Tell her that I myself, by Allah’s visitation, have lost all my children; yet, thanks to El Islâm, I am not desolate. I have her Yûsuf and a score of others for delight.”
Hearing these words translated by Gulbeyzah, Barakah felt abashed to insignificance. The habit of confronting the brute facts of life, which Europeans cover over, clothed this old woman in a tragic grandeur which was almost terrifying. She was relieved when other ladies came and talk grew shallow. Silks and fine linen fabrics were spread out before her. Hearing that she was required to choose among them for her trousseau, she implored Gulbeyzah with despairing gestures to say that she resigned selection to the ladies. The answer caused relief. The ladies setto work methodically, feeling, stroking, comparing the materials in the best light, discoursing all the while like happy birds. Fitnah Khânum was less forward than the others in politeness, and kept her face averted from the gaze of Barakah. She took her leave before the service of the midday meal.
The Pasha’s widowed sister begged of Barakah to spend the following day with her in her apartments. Murjânah was approached and gave consent.
“I can give you dinner on a proper table with chairs and knives and forks,” the widow said in broken French.
Murjânah Khânum’s tables were brass trays on little stands, and everybody ate with fingers from the dish.
The day with Leylah Khânum was less serious. The widow’s talk was all of love and lovers. A perfect host of go-betweens was kept employed to find her a fresh husband; but, though ageing fast, she was fastidious and asked perfection.
“God grant she may not die a widow,” sighed Gulbeyzah, who explained the case to Barakah.
Leylah Khânum was much exercised to know whether Barakah had had much love-experience in England. Hearing “No,” she raised her hands in marvel. One so beautiful! The mistress of so much charm! And unveiled among men! She asked the reason.
“I was poor,” said Barakah.
At that there was loud outcry; Leylah Khânum and Gulbeyzah called on God for pity.
“But you are beautiful! Men pay for beauty, need no bribe with it. And you mean to say they would have let you die a virgin—with that loveliness? O Lord of Heaven! What a wicked waste!”
Their dread of dying in virginity appealed to Barakah as something comical when she remembered the ideals preached in Christendom.
Leylah Khânum told her stories of true love, all far from proper judged by English taste; and shocked her by the cool assertion that poison was a woman’s natural weapon. In the afternoon they were invited to Murjânah Khânum’s rooms, where the business of the trousseau still proceeded. It went on for days. Each morning when she woke, the bride-elect found some fresh present from the Pasha in her room, which Gulbeyzah made her carry forth and show to every one. The whole haramlik frolicked round her in excitement.
Gulbeyzah’s status in the household puzzled her. The Circassian seemed the equal of the ladies, yet was called a slave.
She said to her one day:
“You are as white as I am. How can you bear to be a slave like Wardah or Fatûmah?”
“Not like Wardah or Fatûmah, if you please!” was the superb rejoinder. “They or their fathers were captured in a warlike raid and made to islam, I, God be praised, was born in the Faith. Look!” she cried, and with a splendid gesture bared her bosom. “This is the paste of which they make sultanas. My parents sold me—they were poor—that I might come to honour, as others of the family have done before me.”
“But what chance have you here? Do you expect to captivate the Pasha?”
“God forbid! I never even see him. Here I serve the sweetest of all ladies, who will one day find me a rich husband. It is a famed harîm, and my lady is renowned for goodness and refinement. The greatest in the land would not disdain a fair Circassian girl of her instructing.”
“But do you never miss your freedom? You can form no projects, being, it seems, entirely in the hands of others. Surely your thoughts are not so ruly? You must sometimes dream?”
Gulbeyzah fixed her great eyes on the questioner as though debating whether she were to be trusted. Then, with a smile, she grasped her hand and whispered, “Come!”
She led the English girl across the court where grew the orange trees, down a foul-smelling passage towards the kitchens, and up a flight of stairs into a corridor which served the chambers of the humblest servants. In its wall was a recess with a small window neither barred nor latticed. Here Gulbeyzah stopped.
The reason why that window had been left uncaged was plain, since it looked out upon blindwalls and distant housetops. But one small angle of a terraced roof appeared within clear seeing range, and on that angle sat a man. When Gulbeyzah leaned her elbows on the window-sill, he sprang to his feet and made despairing gestures. She watched his antics for a moment, then drew in her head.
“It is a secret, mind!” she cautioned Barakah. “I spent an afternoon here once, when I was sulky, and he was walking on that roof by chance. Ever since then I see him every day. He always sits there. I sign to him to climb up, but I know he cannot.” She laughed scornfully. “I make romances in my mind about him. It is evident he dies of love. He has grown thinner.”
“How cruel! How can you torment him so?”
“He is a man, you understand. One does not feel compassion as one would for girls. Perhaps if he could climb up here I should reward him, but, thanks to God, he cannot, poor young man!”
“But are you not ashamed to think such thoughts—you, the pupil of Murjânah Khânum? So immoral!”
“It is my fancy, there! Morality is not our business. We are strictly guarded. One gets a conscience—what you call a soul—when one has children. How droll you are! You talk just like a man. God knows I love you, and should like to be your durrah.” (The word means colleague in the married state.)
Gulbeyzah flung her arms round Barakah. A sound of footsteps in the passage made them turn and peep.
“It is a eunuch!” the Circassian whispered. “He has been there all the time. He attends you like your shadow, have you noticed? How sweet to be so precious; and so respected, for he keeps his distance!”
Barakah preferred these confidences with Gulbeyzah to the endless fuss and noise about the trousseau. The hive was in commotion over the approaching marriage; angry, Gulbeyzah told her, with the Pasha for his wish to shear the festival of ancient ceremonies regarded as the woman’s right. When approached upon this subject in a crowded conclave, she said that she was anxious to conform to all their customs—an answer which was hailed with cries of triumph.
Mrs. Cameron appeared one afternoon, the Consul’s envoy, to ascertain that all was well with the perverted girl. She was shown to the state-room, and there regaled with tea in glasses and sweet biscuits, in what was thought to be the English manner. The ladies pestered her with eager questions, persisting, despite frank denials, in regarding her as a near and dear relation of the bride. She glanced reproachfully at Barakah from time to time. “You’re quite at home with them, I see,” she said at parting. “It sounds unkind, but I must say I wish you weren’t. It isa fall for any woman bred as you were. How can you put that kohl round your eyes?... Good-bye, my dear, and don’t forget our compact.”
The visit leaving an unpleasant, sad impression, Barakah withdrew to her own room, alleging headache. She was lying on her bed with eyes half closed, endeavouring to lay the ghost of former days, when some one entered without knocking, shut the door with care, and crept towards her. It was a strange old woman. She sidled up with much grimacing; whispered “Yûsuf,” laid her shrivelled cheek upon her hand; “Yûsuf,” again, and smacked her lips delectably; “Yûsuf Bey, thy bridegroom,” and made the motion of embracing with ecstatic grins.
Barakah grew interested. She longed to see the man she was to marry and, fresh from Mrs. Cameron’s reproach, was feeling reckless. She tried to question the old woman, but without result. The crone kept nodding, “Yûsuf Bey” and “Come.” She had brought with her a habbarah and mouth-veil, which Barakah put on by her direction. Then they stole forth, the temptress in high glee.
But they had not made ten steps in the hall before two eunuchs pounced on them and stared into their eyes. One beat the hag, whose screams were frightful. The other, smiling, dragged back Barakah, pushed her inside her room and locked the door.
The meaning of the whole adventure remained dark to her. Gulbeyzah, when informed of it, declared that the old woman could not have been employed by Yûsuf, who was much too honourable and obedient to his father to indulge in such low games. She ascribed the incident to machinations of the lady Fitnah, beheld a plot to lure the English girl to some lone place, there to be ravished if not slain. Barakah laughed at such wild fancies. That Yûsuf’s mother did not like her much was plain to see; she had doubtless cherished other projects for her first-born; but to impute the thought of crime to her was too absurd.
“I bring good news,” Gulbeyzah said to change the subject. “The Pasha has granted us the visit to the bath with you. He has engaged the best musicians and some famous dancers, and all the maidens of good houses are to be invited Oh, what joy!”
CHAPTER VIIThe party at the bath with all its ritual was one of the ordeals which Muhammad Pasha had wished to spare the English girl. As a man he hated all the pranks that women play alone, and deemed them of necessity immodest. But the feeling roused in the harîm was too intense for him; and as Barakah, he was told, herself desired the entertainment, he could adduce no cogent reason for refusal. The place in the haramlik being ill adapted to a large assembly, he hired the finest of the public baths for the occasion. The dependants of the household clamouring for a procession through the streets, he gave them one, putting in place of Barakah a humbler bride whose nuptials would be celebrated at his cost.About the first hour after noon, the bride of Yûsuf left the house, sped by the ululations of the whole harîm. In a carriage with the Pasha’s nieces and Gulbeyzah, she was driven through the streets to the Hammam. There, at the entrance, stood two eunuchs, and in the antechamber many women-servants of the Pasha’s house. The ladies on arrival were conducted to a second ante-room and there divested of all clothing. Each put on a pair of clogs and had her hair tied up in an embroidered kerchief. While they were disrobing, other veiled ones entered who laughed heartily at Barakah’s confusion. The procession of the humbler bride had arrived some minutes since, they were informed.The elder of the Pasha’s nieces and Gulbeyzah took each a hand of Barakah and led her on from room to room, pausing in each to get accustomed to the growing warmth. Suddenly they came upon a noisy crowd. Two shiny negresses sprang forth, and, singling out the bride, lifted her up and bore her to a corner of the hall, beneath a tap. They flung her on her back. Seeing a razor flash, she uttered shriek on shriek the while they fell to rubbing, making her joints crack, kneading her very bones with their hard fingers. With eyes half blind with soapsuds, she beheld a wreath of naked figures moving round her in a kind of dance. The wall and vaulted ceiling of the building sweated. The windows were high up and gave no light; there entered not a whiff of outer air. A pulse beat at her temples. She felt suffocated.At last the women stopped their rubbing, and by playful slaps informed her that her turn was ended. Like a sheep from the shearing she rose up, staggering, intent to flee. But she wascaught again and made to sit down while her hair was plaited. Then some one—it was Gulbeyzah—grasped her hand and led her to the other end of the great hall, where were two tanks of water gently steaming. The hall presented a strange spectacle, for it was full of naked figures, ebon and mouse-brown, amber and snow-white. Singers, all naked, sat beside one wall, and hummed and droned and shrilled distractingly.At a call, “The bride!” the whole crowd rushed on Barakah with ululations. Her shame became acute, an agony. Gulbeyzah led her up to one of the tanks. Some one behind administered a push, and she fell in; when some one else sprawled in upon the top of her. Her head was under water for some seconds. Spluttering, indignant, her throat choked with sobs, she found herself among a group of laughing girls, all colours, who were ducking one another as they splashed about. Gulbeyzah cried, “The butterflies! Look! Look!” and pointed to the smooth stone marge, where all the ripples in the light of smoky cressets were reflected like a thousand fluttering moths. The stir subsiding when all stopped to look, the moths united into one great butterfly, dimly perceived, whose wings beat faint and fainter as the water stilled.“She has eaten them all! Behold, how fat she is!” cried out Gulbeyzah. “I believe she is just going to have some others. Look!” Sheplunged, and made fresh ripples. Laughter hailed this sally. A brown girl, lissom as a snake, sprang hard on the facetious one and promptly ducked her.Angry, humiliated, feeling lost eternally, Barakah scrambled out to face a row of grinning, dancing hags. They and the shameless girls, the fiendish music, the sweating walls, the fumes of incense hiding the high roof, combined to make her fancy she was underneath the earth assisting at an orgy of malignant jinn.Some one smote her from behind. She turned round angrily. A fair-haired girl was running. She ran after her. Another struck her lightly as she ran. She turned again. A third sprang on her, pinioned both her arms and kissed her on the mouth, amid applause. Then first she realized that it was all a game; the girls were friendly. In the magnitude of her relief, her shyness vanished. She soon led the romp. It was one long dancing game of follow-my-leader, varied with moods of hide-and-seek and leapfrog. All the while the singers kept up their wild din, the hired dancers never ceased their weird contortions.Afterwards, when they were all rubbed down and clothed again, there was a feast of most delicious dainties in the ante-rooms, and Barakah was introduced to her late playfellows, transformed as if by magic to polite young ladies. Every oneof them, she found, had brought a present for her. She chattered merrily in French, and ate and drank with appetite unknown before. Driving home in the carriage with three delicately perfumed maidens, whose soft hands caressed her, she experienced a blissful languor, like thanksgiving.
The party at the bath with all its ritual was one of the ordeals which Muhammad Pasha had wished to spare the English girl. As a man he hated all the pranks that women play alone, and deemed them of necessity immodest. But the feeling roused in the harîm was too intense for him; and as Barakah, he was told, herself desired the entertainment, he could adduce no cogent reason for refusal. The place in the haramlik being ill adapted to a large assembly, he hired the finest of the public baths for the occasion. The dependants of the household clamouring for a procession through the streets, he gave them one, putting in place of Barakah a humbler bride whose nuptials would be celebrated at his cost.
About the first hour after noon, the bride of Yûsuf left the house, sped by the ululations of the whole harîm. In a carriage with the Pasha’s nieces and Gulbeyzah, she was driven through the streets to the Hammam. There, at the entrance, stood two eunuchs, and in the antechamber many women-servants of the Pasha’s house. The ladies on arrival were conducted to a second ante-room and there divested of all clothing. Each put on a pair of clogs and had her hair tied up in an embroidered kerchief. While they were disrobing, other veiled ones entered who laughed heartily at Barakah’s confusion. The procession of the humbler bride had arrived some minutes since, they were informed.
The elder of the Pasha’s nieces and Gulbeyzah took each a hand of Barakah and led her on from room to room, pausing in each to get accustomed to the growing warmth. Suddenly they came upon a noisy crowd. Two shiny negresses sprang forth, and, singling out the bride, lifted her up and bore her to a corner of the hall, beneath a tap. They flung her on her back. Seeing a razor flash, she uttered shriek on shriek the while they fell to rubbing, making her joints crack, kneading her very bones with their hard fingers. With eyes half blind with soapsuds, she beheld a wreath of naked figures moving round her in a kind of dance. The wall and vaulted ceiling of the building sweated. The windows were high up and gave no light; there entered not a whiff of outer air. A pulse beat at her temples. She felt suffocated.
At last the women stopped their rubbing, and by playful slaps informed her that her turn was ended. Like a sheep from the shearing she rose up, staggering, intent to flee. But she wascaught again and made to sit down while her hair was plaited. Then some one—it was Gulbeyzah—grasped her hand and led her to the other end of the great hall, where were two tanks of water gently steaming. The hall presented a strange spectacle, for it was full of naked figures, ebon and mouse-brown, amber and snow-white. Singers, all naked, sat beside one wall, and hummed and droned and shrilled distractingly.
At a call, “The bride!” the whole crowd rushed on Barakah with ululations. Her shame became acute, an agony. Gulbeyzah led her up to one of the tanks. Some one behind administered a push, and she fell in; when some one else sprawled in upon the top of her. Her head was under water for some seconds. Spluttering, indignant, her throat choked with sobs, she found herself among a group of laughing girls, all colours, who were ducking one another as they splashed about. Gulbeyzah cried, “The butterflies! Look! Look!” and pointed to the smooth stone marge, where all the ripples in the light of smoky cressets were reflected like a thousand fluttering moths. The stir subsiding when all stopped to look, the moths united into one great butterfly, dimly perceived, whose wings beat faint and fainter as the water stilled.
“She has eaten them all! Behold, how fat she is!” cried out Gulbeyzah. “I believe she is just going to have some others. Look!” Sheplunged, and made fresh ripples. Laughter hailed this sally. A brown girl, lissom as a snake, sprang hard on the facetious one and promptly ducked her.
Angry, humiliated, feeling lost eternally, Barakah scrambled out to face a row of grinning, dancing hags. They and the shameless girls, the fiendish music, the sweating walls, the fumes of incense hiding the high roof, combined to make her fancy she was underneath the earth assisting at an orgy of malignant jinn.
Some one smote her from behind. She turned round angrily. A fair-haired girl was running. She ran after her. Another struck her lightly as she ran. She turned again. A third sprang on her, pinioned both her arms and kissed her on the mouth, amid applause. Then first she realized that it was all a game; the girls were friendly. In the magnitude of her relief, her shyness vanished. She soon led the romp. It was one long dancing game of follow-my-leader, varied with moods of hide-and-seek and leapfrog. All the while the singers kept up their wild din, the hired dancers never ceased their weird contortions.
Afterwards, when they were all rubbed down and clothed again, there was a feast of most delicious dainties in the ante-rooms, and Barakah was introduced to her late playfellows, transformed as if by magic to polite young ladies. Every oneof them, she found, had brought a present for her. She chattered merrily in French, and ate and drank with appetite unknown before. Driving home in the carriage with three delicately perfumed maidens, whose soft hands caressed her, she experienced a blissful languor, like thanksgiving.
CHAPTER VIIIMeanwhile the anguish of the lady Fitnah had become unbearable. The beating she had received, which kept her silent, was only part of the injustice which prevailed against her. She alone, she had assurance, was vouchsafed clear vision of the horror of this marriage; all the rest were drugged and blinded by the creature’s spells. She had heard of Frankish women, who were barren, holding men entranced for life, thus ending families; and had no doubt at all but this was one of them. A woman of volcanic passions, always righteous, for her to look on evil was to seek to slay it.She said, “The fiend will suck my Yûsuf’s life out and then vanish.”Her group of flatterers replied:“Alas, yes! She will suck him as one sucks an orange, and go her way refreshed,” giving the sad mother a distracting picture of her first-born as an empty orange-skin flung in the gutter among other refuse.She cried, “By Allah! she shall die!”The sycophants replied, “Yes, by thy blessed womb, she shall—an awful death,” and began to meditate the form that death should take.“But she has islamed,” one objected.“Who knows if she has really islamed?” was the answer. “Our lord the Pasha is bewitched. He has forgone in her case every ordeal that might test her faith. It is ascertained that she is barren and will drink the bridegroom’s life. Woe! Woe! The end of a most noble race!”Inspired by hatred of iniquity, fanned and encouraged by her little court, the anguished mother had made sure arrangements for the English girl’s dishonour, thinking no crime to vilify so bad a thing. The scheme, alas! had been frustrated by the eunuchs; whose vigilance redoubled the poor lady’s grief. What dreadful magic must reside in that foul creature to make the Pasha guard her like a pearl? to make poor Yûsuf cling to her and shun his mother? Her cronies recommended her to summon negresses, of those who have familiar intercourse with demons, and hold the mystic ceremony called a zâr—the latest novelty. But Fitnah Khânum feared the Pasha, who denounced such consolations as against religion. She was in despair. The hours flew by towards the wedding; and she, perceiving all its horror, had no power to stop it.On the very morning of the day appointed for the final ceremonies, she received two visitors, not in her own room, but in a dirty closet used for rubbish. The first to enter was the same old woman who had lured Barakah from her chamberwith the name of Yûsuf. The second, throwing off the veil, revealed a goatish face with pointed ears beneath a foul white skull-cap. It was Abu Sumûm, the most renowned of sorcerers.He spread out his hands and chanted:“In the name of Allah, Er Rahmân, Er Rahîm,Who taught the words of might to Suleymân el Hakîm,And gave the seal of power into his hand,Lo, here I stand,Abu Sumûm, your humble servant to command!Would you love-potions, I can give you thoseWill bring the loved one to your feet though walls opposeAnd all the doors be guarded by his foes.Or have you enemies, but name their namesAnd I will torture them with hellish flames.Wouldst thou their death? I’ll write a potent spellUpon an ass’s thigh-bone, hide it wellBeneath the threshold where they dwell.Wouldst thou their madness? I will tie their mindTo some low creature of a restless kind,A bird or fish, that when it moves they rage,And when it rests their fury they assuage;And none shall know the secret saving I,So that for lack of remedy they die.Abu Sumûm the wily one I am,State but your need of me and so—Salâm!”Having concluded this doggerel, setting forth his stock-in-trade, the wizard stood with arms crossed, grinning widely.“I have an enemy,” faltered the lady, “and she is dreadful, being a ginniyeh, and no child of Adam.”“Think not to instruct me,” said the warlock. “Nothing uncanny comes to Masr, but my hosts of servants who are in the air inform me instantly.Ah, if it is the Englishwoman thou opposest, have a care, for she is full of art, having attained the secret of invisibility, of self-protection, and also of transforming people into dogs. Now, what, I ask, dost thou require of me exactly—a potion that shall make her love thee, or her madness, or a wasting illness?”“Nothing, nothing, save her instant death,” sobbed Fitnah—“the wedding is to-day—and then take all my wealth.”“By thy leave, lady,” cried the wizard, much offended, “I am not him thou seekest! Send for an assassin! My business is with art and not brutality. Find out some chopper-up of wood: I am a carver!”“But I know of no assassin! How can we women find and bring one hither? O Abu Sumûm, be generous, for Allah’s love!”“Hear the excellent lady, the very mother of kindness! Hear her, O Abu Sumûm! Behold her sufferings! Grant her petition, for the love of Allah, and our Lord reward thee!” pleaded the old woman who had brought him in.“I know not. It is not my line of business. And yet, I bethink me, there is art in it,” muttered the sorcerer, relenting visibly—“much art, for she is the most skilful witch on earth; and no one else in Masr, under Allah, could hope to overcome her—Ha! What is this?” He raised his hand to his right ear, and stood intently listening,as if to something just above him in the air. “I thank thee, O Tarshûshak!—What is this?” He turned to Fitnah with a mien of righteous anger. “My servant tells me she has islamed. Is that true? If so, why not inform me at the first? My time is wasted. If she has islamed it is a crime most heinous to assail her. May Allah——”“Mercy! O my uncle, mercy!” Both the women flung themselves upon the wizard, stopping his mouth and dragging down his arm upraised to curse them. “Wait but a moment! Only listen! They say that she has islamed, being all bewitched. She has not gone through all the ceremonies. She refuses, and our lord the Pasha, by her spells, supports her. Whether or no, she weds to-day my first-born son, and she is barren and will keep him from all other women. Thou shalt have much wealth.”Again the sorcerer went through the process of relenting visibly. “Allah knows,” he groaned, “it is a cruel task you set me. It will take three days and nights of fasting and seclusion spent in ceaseless study, to overcome her servants who are in the air. Not until they are vanquished can I mix the potion, for they would neutralize my spells and make it harmless.”“But the wedding is to-day!” wailed Fitnah, out of patience.“What matter, since her bale is of the lingering sort, and not swift-slaying. Hear what I tellthee! If I fight for thee with demons and obtain the potion, use it not till three whole moons have waxed and waned. Watch how thy son looks; notice his behaviour! It may be she has islamed in good faith.”“All that thou wishest, only give the potion!”“After three days thou shalt have it, by the leave of Allah!”The sorcerer then changed his tone for one of caution, urging, “The reward, O blessed lady! It is worth much money. And it is usual to give something in advance by way of earnest.”Fitnah untied a bundle which had lain beside her all the while, and thrust it towards him. It contained the best of all her jewels. Poor lady, all her treasures—nay, her life itself—seemed light to give to save her Yûsuf from that thirsty ghoul. The wizard’s small eyes gloated on the heap.“Woe on thee, Abu Sumûm!” cried the old woman. “Art thou not ashamed to take more than is just from so benevolent and kind a lady? Thy heart is of stone, not to be moved to bounty by her pious tears.”“Silence, woman!” With a dignified and bounteous gesture, the sorcerer pushed back the bag of trinkets, selecting for himself a single ring containing stones of value. “Allah witness, that I did but test the generosity of our good mistress. But, being poor and with some dreadful workbefore me—having, moreover, risked my two old ears in coming hither—I will, with thy permission, O Most Excellent, accept this trifle. That and thy gracious favour be my only payment!”Uprising, he resumed again the woman’s headdress, and in a woman’s piping voice enjoined, as he prepared to go, “Forget not to delay three months. A day too soon might cause tremendous evil.”“Three months—I will remember!” answered Fitnah dutifully; adding beneath her breath, “Three days—too long! I think thou hast a mind to fool me, O thou father of three months! Well, bring thy potion. But first we will essay some common poison without ceremony. Alas for Yûsuf did we wait three months!”She pressed both hands to her left side as if it pained her.
Meanwhile the anguish of the lady Fitnah had become unbearable. The beating she had received, which kept her silent, was only part of the injustice which prevailed against her. She alone, she had assurance, was vouchsafed clear vision of the horror of this marriage; all the rest were drugged and blinded by the creature’s spells. She had heard of Frankish women, who were barren, holding men entranced for life, thus ending families; and had no doubt at all but this was one of them. A woman of volcanic passions, always righteous, for her to look on evil was to seek to slay it.
She said, “The fiend will suck my Yûsuf’s life out and then vanish.”
Her group of flatterers replied:
“Alas, yes! She will suck him as one sucks an orange, and go her way refreshed,” giving the sad mother a distracting picture of her first-born as an empty orange-skin flung in the gutter among other refuse.
She cried, “By Allah! she shall die!”
The sycophants replied, “Yes, by thy blessed womb, she shall—an awful death,” and began to meditate the form that death should take.
“But she has islamed,” one objected.
“Who knows if she has really islamed?” was the answer. “Our lord the Pasha is bewitched. He has forgone in her case every ordeal that might test her faith. It is ascertained that she is barren and will drink the bridegroom’s life. Woe! Woe! The end of a most noble race!”
Inspired by hatred of iniquity, fanned and encouraged by her little court, the anguished mother had made sure arrangements for the English girl’s dishonour, thinking no crime to vilify so bad a thing. The scheme, alas! had been frustrated by the eunuchs; whose vigilance redoubled the poor lady’s grief. What dreadful magic must reside in that foul creature to make the Pasha guard her like a pearl? to make poor Yûsuf cling to her and shun his mother? Her cronies recommended her to summon negresses, of those who have familiar intercourse with demons, and hold the mystic ceremony called a zâr—the latest novelty. But Fitnah Khânum feared the Pasha, who denounced such consolations as against religion. She was in despair. The hours flew by towards the wedding; and she, perceiving all its horror, had no power to stop it.
On the very morning of the day appointed for the final ceremonies, she received two visitors, not in her own room, but in a dirty closet used for rubbish. The first to enter was the same old woman who had lured Barakah from her chamberwith the name of Yûsuf. The second, throwing off the veil, revealed a goatish face with pointed ears beneath a foul white skull-cap. It was Abu Sumûm, the most renowned of sorcerers.
He spread out his hands and chanted:
“In the name of Allah, Er Rahmân, Er Rahîm,Who taught the words of might to Suleymân el Hakîm,And gave the seal of power into his hand,Lo, here I stand,Abu Sumûm, your humble servant to command!Would you love-potions, I can give you thoseWill bring the loved one to your feet though walls opposeAnd all the doors be guarded by his foes.Or have you enemies, but name their namesAnd I will torture them with hellish flames.Wouldst thou their death? I’ll write a potent spellUpon an ass’s thigh-bone, hide it wellBeneath the threshold where they dwell.Wouldst thou their madness? I will tie their mindTo some low creature of a restless kind,A bird or fish, that when it moves they rage,And when it rests their fury they assuage;And none shall know the secret saving I,So that for lack of remedy they die.Abu Sumûm the wily one I am,State but your need of me and so—Salâm!”
“In the name of Allah, Er Rahmân, Er Rahîm,Who taught the words of might to Suleymân el Hakîm,And gave the seal of power into his hand,Lo, here I stand,Abu Sumûm, your humble servant to command!Would you love-potions, I can give you thoseWill bring the loved one to your feet though walls opposeAnd all the doors be guarded by his foes.Or have you enemies, but name their namesAnd I will torture them with hellish flames.Wouldst thou their death? I’ll write a potent spellUpon an ass’s thigh-bone, hide it wellBeneath the threshold where they dwell.Wouldst thou their madness? I will tie their mindTo some low creature of a restless kind,A bird or fish, that when it moves they rage,And when it rests their fury they assuage;And none shall know the secret saving I,So that for lack of remedy they die.Abu Sumûm the wily one I am,State but your need of me and so—Salâm!”
“In the name of Allah, Er Rahmân, Er Rahîm,Who taught the words of might to Suleymân el Hakîm,And gave the seal of power into his hand,Lo, here I stand,Abu Sumûm, your humble servant to command!Would you love-potions, I can give you thoseWill bring the loved one to your feet though walls opposeAnd all the doors be guarded by his foes.Or have you enemies, but name their namesAnd I will torture them with hellish flames.Wouldst thou their death? I’ll write a potent spellUpon an ass’s thigh-bone, hide it wellBeneath the threshold where they dwell.Wouldst thou their madness? I will tie their mindTo some low creature of a restless kind,A bird or fish, that when it moves they rage,And when it rests their fury they assuage;And none shall know the secret saving I,So that for lack of remedy they die.Abu Sumûm the wily one I am,State but your need of me and so—Salâm!”
“In the name of Allah, Er Rahmân, Er Rahîm,
Who taught the words of might to Suleymân el Hakîm,
And gave the seal of power into his hand,
Lo, here I stand,
Abu Sumûm, your humble servant to command!
Would you love-potions, I can give you those
Will bring the loved one to your feet though walls oppose
And all the doors be guarded by his foes.
Or have you enemies, but name their names
And I will torture them with hellish flames.
Wouldst thou their death? I’ll write a potent spell
Upon an ass’s thigh-bone, hide it well
Beneath the threshold where they dwell.
Wouldst thou their madness? I will tie their mind
To some low creature of a restless kind,
A bird or fish, that when it moves they rage,
And when it rests their fury they assuage;
And none shall know the secret saving I,
So that for lack of remedy they die.
Abu Sumûm the wily one I am,
State but your need of me and so—Salâm!”
Having concluded this doggerel, setting forth his stock-in-trade, the wizard stood with arms crossed, grinning widely.
“I have an enemy,” faltered the lady, “and she is dreadful, being a ginniyeh, and no child of Adam.”
“Think not to instruct me,” said the warlock. “Nothing uncanny comes to Masr, but my hosts of servants who are in the air inform me instantly.Ah, if it is the Englishwoman thou opposest, have a care, for she is full of art, having attained the secret of invisibility, of self-protection, and also of transforming people into dogs. Now, what, I ask, dost thou require of me exactly—a potion that shall make her love thee, or her madness, or a wasting illness?”
“Nothing, nothing, save her instant death,” sobbed Fitnah—“the wedding is to-day—and then take all my wealth.”
“By thy leave, lady,” cried the wizard, much offended, “I am not him thou seekest! Send for an assassin! My business is with art and not brutality. Find out some chopper-up of wood: I am a carver!”
“But I know of no assassin! How can we women find and bring one hither? O Abu Sumûm, be generous, for Allah’s love!”
“Hear the excellent lady, the very mother of kindness! Hear her, O Abu Sumûm! Behold her sufferings! Grant her petition, for the love of Allah, and our Lord reward thee!” pleaded the old woman who had brought him in.
“I know not. It is not my line of business. And yet, I bethink me, there is art in it,” muttered the sorcerer, relenting visibly—“much art, for she is the most skilful witch on earth; and no one else in Masr, under Allah, could hope to overcome her—Ha! What is this?” He raised his hand to his right ear, and stood intently listening,as if to something just above him in the air. “I thank thee, O Tarshûshak!—What is this?” He turned to Fitnah with a mien of righteous anger. “My servant tells me she has islamed. Is that true? If so, why not inform me at the first? My time is wasted. If she has islamed it is a crime most heinous to assail her. May Allah——”
“Mercy! O my uncle, mercy!” Both the women flung themselves upon the wizard, stopping his mouth and dragging down his arm upraised to curse them. “Wait but a moment! Only listen! They say that she has islamed, being all bewitched. She has not gone through all the ceremonies. She refuses, and our lord the Pasha, by her spells, supports her. Whether or no, she weds to-day my first-born son, and she is barren and will keep him from all other women. Thou shalt have much wealth.”
Again the sorcerer went through the process of relenting visibly. “Allah knows,” he groaned, “it is a cruel task you set me. It will take three days and nights of fasting and seclusion spent in ceaseless study, to overcome her servants who are in the air. Not until they are vanquished can I mix the potion, for they would neutralize my spells and make it harmless.”
“But the wedding is to-day!” wailed Fitnah, out of patience.
“What matter, since her bale is of the lingering sort, and not swift-slaying. Hear what I tellthee! If I fight for thee with demons and obtain the potion, use it not till three whole moons have waxed and waned. Watch how thy son looks; notice his behaviour! It may be she has islamed in good faith.”
“All that thou wishest, only give the potion!”
“After three days thou shalt have it, by the leave of Allah!”
The sorcerer then changed his tone for one of caution, urging, “The reward, O blessed lady! It is worth much money. And it is usual to give something in advance by way of earnest.”
Fitnah untied a bundle which had lain beside her all the while, and thrust it towards him. It contained the best of all her jewels. Poor lady, all her treasures—nay, her life itself—seemed light to give to save her Yûsuf from that thirsty ghoul. The wizard’s small eyes gloated on the heap.
“Woe on thee, Abu Sumûm!” cried the old woman. “Art thou not ashamed to take more than is just from so benevolent and kind a lady? Thy heart is of stone, not to be moved to bounty by her pious tears.”
“Silence, woman!” With a dignified and bounteous gesture, the sorcerer pushed back the bag of trinkets, selecting for himself a single ring containing stones of value. “Allah witness, that I did but test the generosity of our good mistress. But, being poor and with some dreadful workbefore me—having, moreover, risked my two old ears in coming hither—I will, with thy permission, O Most Excellent, accept this trifle. That and thy gracious favour be my only payment!”
Uprising, he resumed again the woman’s headdress, and in a woman’s piping voice enjoined, as he prepared to go, “Forget not to delay three months. A day too soon might cause tremendous evil.”
“Three months—I will remember!” answered Fitnah dutifully; adding beneath her breath, “Three days—too long! I think thou hast a mind to fool me, O thou father of three months! Well, bring thy potion. But first we will essay some common poison without ceremony. Alas for Yûsuf did we wait three months!”
She pressed both hands to her left side as if it pained her.
CHAPTER IXThe Englishwoman had surrendered to the importunities of all the household, and submitted to be dressed entirely as an Eastern bride. Her feet and hands had been well dyed with henna overnight; her hair was intricately plaited, smeared with ointment smelling strong of ambergris and sprinkled with gold dust until it made a close and shining covering; her lips and cheeks were painted, and her eyes enlarged with kohl. Then came the putting on of splendid clothes amid a din of chatter, above which strains of music could be heard, wafted by gusts from the selamlik, where festivity had reigned for two days past. A jewelled crown completing her apparel, she was led with joy-cries to the great reception-room, and there enthroned upon the dais. The room was fairly full of visitors already, and every minute there were fresh arrivals.Early that morning, Gulbeyzah had shown Barakah her future lodging—five rooms within the women’s portion of the house, but self-contained, and with a private door to the selamlik. She had beheld a salon hung with mirrors, full of gilded chairs and tables; and then the nuptial chamber,the bed with silken bed-clothes, much too good to use, beneath a canopy of cloth-of-gold embroidered. Four monstrous candles placed around the bed looked ceremonial, and the perfume of rare flowers reminded her of English death-rooms.The vision of that room oppressed her now as she sat idle, feeling like a wooden image, and met the criticizing stare of strangers who perfunctorily blessed her. At first Gulbeyzah stayed with her and played interpreter. Murjânah Khânum came and kissed her, praying: “May the crown upon thy brow inure thee to the burden of responsibility, may the rich robes and the throne foreshadow honour for thee; may the ordeal of long stillness teach thee patience and long-suffering with dignity. May all our blessings and our prayers to-day secure thee fruitfulness, and mayst thou live to see thy children’s children flourish round thee. Our Lord preserve thee ever in His grace. Amîn.”Apart from this soft murmur of the Turkish lady, she discerned no hint of a religious feeling with regard to marriage. After an hour Gulbeyzah mingled with the throng of visitors, and Barakah was left alone to face the curiosity, the unknown talk about her. Every one of all those women used strong scent, and the smoke of divers kinds of incense dimmed the air. The bride herself was saturated with perfumery; which, however, could not drown the odour of her own new garments.This grew sickening. Her brain swam. She was stuck there like a painted doll to be appraised, inspected.Anon the crowd was drawn away from her. She sat unnoticed. A group of female musicians had arrived, with them a well-known singer. There ensued a frightful caterwauling, as it seemed to Barakah, but the rest were charmed, to judge from their enraptured “Ah’s!” and ravished gestures.Then a brown girl, clad diaphanously, writhed a dance of lewd suggestion, ogling the bride the while maliciously. Her performance was applauded even by Murjânah Khânum. Gulbeyzah flew up to the bride and whispered: “We are in great luck! Tâhir, the greatest singer in the world, has been performing for the bridegroom’s friends in the selamlik. He is coming here to sing to us, behind that screen. Look! Those are his children.” A small boy and girl had stolen shyly in, and were made much of, being passed from hand to hand. Gulbeyzah ran off to convey the news to other rooms.Another minute and dead silence fell. All watched the screen. Up leapt an eerie note, sustained till it became a terror to the ear, when all at once it broke into a shower of trills like impish laughter. This was repeated thrice, and then the singer struck a solemn and majestic measure—a religious strain, which his strange voice embroideredwith all human passions in their natural tones. Barakah forgot her weariness. This singing was like nothing she had ever heard. It seemed to dignify all life with a tremendous meaning. All unawares she joined the gusty sigh which swept the whole assembly when the last note died. There followed a quick panting melody of lover’s sighs, more like a bird’s song than the effort of a human voice; then came a wail of more than human anguish, and then the singing ceased quite unexpectedly. There was a storm of moans and prayers for more, but Tâhir, the great singer, had already gone.Barakah became once more aware of stiffness, headache, and a burning mouth. She called to Hamdi, Yûsuf’s little brother, one of her former pupils, to bring water to her. He ran off at once, but brought, instead of water, cloying sherbet which increased her thirst. Her eyelids were so stiffened they would hardly close; her eyeballs ached; the stiffness of the paint upon her cheeks became an iron mask. She felt pilloried, derided, miserably alone, when lo! a small soft hand touched hers confidingly. It was the singer’s little daughter, who, grown tired of sweets and petting, had come to the one lonely person in the room, the quiet place. She looked up in the face of Barakah and smiled. Her brother, a still smaller child, had followed her. They both sat down without the slightest ceremony, and withtheir heads against her knees, their hands in hers, fell fast asleep. This little group, when it was noticed, caused much laughter and a shout: “Mabrûkah!” (lucky). The bride, a statue of endurance, paid no heed.At last a great noise came from the selamlik. A eunuch rushed to say that the procession of the bridegroom to the mosque had just returned. At once, a heavy veil, precluding sight, was flung on Barakah. The bride’s train formed. With tapers and with garlands, amid joy-cries, she was led to her own gilded salon, and there left alone. In the same instant, so it seemed to her, the bridegroom came. Her veil was lifted. She felt like to die. She dared not raise her eyes for fear of weeping. The ritual words she had been schooled to say escaped her memory. But, as luck befell, they were unneeded.“Grand Dieu!” cried Yûsuf Bey. “The fools—the miscreants have made you look like one of them. Your face—your hair! Ah, mon amour! Ma colombe!”She was obliged to laugh, and the nice-looking, eager youth laughed with her. Fatigue and headache fell off from her like a garment.On the next afternoon, when Barakah, at peace with all the world, was sitting in her gilded parlour, on the cushioned window-sill, peeping through the lattice at red masts and flags, the decorations for her wedding not yet taken down, it happenedthat she called for water. That cry resounded through the whole haramlik in the hours of heat, and slaves with pitchers waited always ready to obey it. The girl who answered brought a vase of amber fluid, which she proclaimed the most delicious sherbet known to woman. The lady Fitnah had herself prepared it for the bride’s delight. Barakah took one sip, disliked the taste, and, only waiting for politeness till the maid had gone, poured out the rest upon a plant of jasmine in a flower-pot which stood upon a shelf within the lattice. A little later she was very sick, and went and lay down on her bed. She was feeling better when her husband was announced.“Yûsuf!” she cried, as he came in, “it is so curious. Madame your mother sent me up some special sherbet. I tasted it, and found it disagreeable, so I emptied all the rest upon the plant there. Then I felt so ill——”She got no further. Yûsuf, following the direction of her gesture, had fixed his eyes upon the flower-pot. They were riveted. The plant was dead, a shrivelled, blackened object. With one despairing cry he clutched his forehead and rushed headlong from the room.
The Englishwoman had surrendered to the importunities of all the household, and submitted to be dressed entirely as an Eastern bride. Her feet and hands had been well dyed with henna overnight; her hair was intricately plaited, smeared with ointment smelling strong of ambergris and sprinkled with gold dust until it made a close and shining covering; her lips and cheeks were painted, and her eyes enlarged with kohl. Then came the putting on of splendid clothes amid a din of chatter, above which strains of music could be heard, wafted by gusts from the selamlik, where festivity had reigned for two days past. A jewelled crown completing her apparel, she was led with joy-cries to the great reception-room, and there enthroned upon the dais. The room was fairly full of visitors already, and every minute there were fresh arrivals.
Early that morning, Gulbeyzah had shown Barakah her future lodging—five rooms within the women’s portion of the house, but self-contained, and with a private door to the selamlik. She had beheld a salon hung with mirrors, full of gilded chairs and tables; and then the nuptial chamber,the bed with silken bed-clothes, much too good to use, beneath a canopy of cloth-of-gold embroidered. Four monstrous candles placed around the bed looked ceremonial, and the perfume of rare flowers reminded her of English death-rooms.
The vision of that room oppressed her now as she sat idle, feeling like a wooden image, and met the criticizing stare of strangers who perfunctorily blessed her. At first Gulbeyzah stayed with her and played interpreter. Murjânah Khânum came and kissed her, praying: “May the crown upon thy brow inure thee to the burden of responsibility, may the rich robes and the throne foreshadow honour for thee; may the ordeal of long stillness teach thee patience and long-suffering with dignity. May all our blessings and our prayers to-day secure thee fruitfulness, and mayst thou live to see thy children’s children flourish round thee. Our Lord preserve thee ever in His grace. Amîn.”
Apart from this soft murmur of the Turkish lady, she discerned no hint of a religious feeling with regard to marriage. After an hour Gulbeyzah mingled with the throng of visitors, and Barakah was left alone to face the curiosity, the unknown talk about her. Every one of all those women used strong scent, and the smoke of divers kinds of incense dimmed the air. The bride herself was saturated with perfumery; which, however, could not drown the odour of her own new garments.This grew sickening. Her brain swam. She was stuck there like a painted doll to be appraised, inspected.
Anon the crowd was drawn away from her. She sat unnoticed. A group of female musicians had arrived, with them a well-known singer. There ensued a frightful caterwauling, as it seemed to Barakah, but the rest were charmed, to judge from their enraptured “Ah’s!” and ravished gestures.
Then a brown girl, clad diaphanously, writhed a dance of lewd suggestion, ogling the bride the while maliciously. Her performance was applauded even by Murjânah Khânum. Gulbeyzah flew up to the bride and whispered: “We are in great luck! Tâhir, the greatest singer in the world, has been performing for the bridegroom’s friends in the selamlik. He is coming here to sing to us, behind that screen. Look! Those are his children.” A small boy and girl had stolen shyly in, and were made much of, being passed from hand to hand. Gulbeyzah ran off to convey the news to other rooms.
Another minute and dead silence fell. All watched the screen. Up leapt an eerie note, sustained till it became a terror to the ear, when all at once it broke into a shower of trills like impish laughter. This was repeated thrice, and then the singer struck a solemn and majestic measure—a religious strain, which his strange voice embroideredwith all human passions in their natural tones. Barakah forgot her weariness. This singing was like nothing she had ever heard. It seemed to dignify all life with a tremendous meaning. All unawares she joined the gusty sigh which swept the whole assembly when the last note died. There followed a quick panting melody of lover’s sighs, more like a bird’s song than the effort of a human voice; then came a wail of more than human anguish, and then the singing ceased quite unexpectedly. There was a storm of moans and prayers for more, but Tâhir, the great singer, had already gone.
Barakah became once more aware of stiffness, headache, and a burning mouth. She called to Hamdi, Yûsuf’s little brother, one of her former pupils, to bring water to her. He ran off at once, but brought, instead of water, cloying sherbet which increased her thirst. Her eyelids were so stiffened they would hardly close; her eyeballs ached; the stiffness of the paint upon her cheeks became an iron mask. She felt pilloried, derided, miserably alone, when lo! a small soft hand touched hers confidingly. It was the singer’s little daughter, who, grown tired of sweets and petting, had come to the one lonely person in the room, the quiet place. She looked up in the face of Barakah and smiled. Her brother, a still smaller child, had followed her. They both sat down without the slightest ceremony, and withtheir heads against her knees, their hands in hers, fell fast asleep. This little group, when it was noticed, caused much laughter and a shout: “Mabrûkah!” (lucky). The bride, a statue of endurance, paid no heed.
At last a great noise came from the selamlik. A eunuch rushed to say that the procession of the bridegroom to the mosque had just returned. At once, a heavy veil, precluding sight, was flung on Barakah. The bride’s train formed. With tapers and with garlands, amid joy-cries, she was led to her own gilded salon, and there left alone. In the same instant, so it seemed to her, the bridegroom came. Her veil was lifted. She felt like to die. She dared not raise her eyes for fear of weeping. The ritual words she had been schooled to say escaped her memory. But, as luck befell, they were unneeded.
“Grand Dieu!” cried Yûsuf Bey. “The fools—the miscreants have made you look like one of them. Your face—your hair! Ah, mon amour! Ma colombe!”
She was obliged to laugh, and the nice-looking, eager youth laughed with her. Fatigue and headache fell off from her like a garment.
On the next afternoon, when Barakah, at peace with all the world, was sitting in her gilded parlour, on the cushioned window-sill, peeping through the lattice at red masts and flags, the decorations for her wedding not yet taken down, it happenedthat she called for water. That cry resounded through the whole haramlik in the hours of heat, and slaves with pitchers waited always ready to obey it. The girl who answered brought a vase of amber fluid, which she proclaimed the most delicious sherbet known to woman. The lady Fitnah had herself prepared it for the bride’s delight. Barakah took one sip, disliked the taste, and, only waiting for politeness till the maid had gone, poured out the rest upon a plant of jasmine in a flower-pot which stood upon a shelf within the lattice. A little later she was very sick, and went and lay down on her bed. She was feeling better when her husband was announced.
“Yûsuf!” she cried, as he came in, “it is so curious. Madame your mother sent me up some special sherbet. I tasted it, and found it disagreeable, so I emptied all the rest upon the plant there. Then I felt so ill——”
She got no further. Yûsuf, following the direction of her gesture, had fixed his eyes upon the flower-pot. They were riveted. The plant was dead, a shrivelled, blackened object. With one despairing cry he clutched his forehead and rushed headlong from the room.