TRAGEDY
The sun was sinking down over the sea, the mountain wall with all its
clefts and promontories wore a cloak of many colours, when we saw
before us on a rock a ruined tower. We were looking for some human
habitation where we might get food and shelter for the night; but we
should have passed by that building, taking it to be deserted, had not
we espied a woman's figure sitting out before it in the evening light.
Experience of late had taught us to shun villages, belonging
thereabouts to a peculiar sect, whose members made a virtue of
inhospitality. At noon that day, when wishing to buy food, we had been
met with such amazing insults that Rashîd, my henchman, had not yet
recovered from his indignation, and still brooded on revenge. On
seeing that the ruined tower had occupants, he said:
'If these refuse us, we will force an entrance mercilessly; for see,
they dwell alone, with none to help them.'
He rode before me towards the tower, with shoulders squared and whip
upraised.
It surprised me that the woman sitting out before the door appeared
indifferent to his approach, until, upon a closer view, I saw that she
was old and blind. She must, I thought, be deaf as well, since she had
failed to move at sound of hoof beats; which sound brought out an aged
man, who shattered Rashîd's plan of vengeance by exclaiming:
'Itfaddalû! (Perform a kindness!' that is, 'Enter!').
'It is thou who doest kindness,' I replied, by rote. 'We are thy
suppliants for food and rest this night.'
'All mine is thine,' the old man answered, coming to hold my horse's
head, while I dismounted. His wrinkled face was moulded to a patient,
sad expression, which became more noticeable when he smiled; and he
was always smiling.
I went into the tower and down a flight of much-worn steps, which
ended in a heap of fallen masonry.
'Deign to proceed,' called out the tenant from behind me; when,
climbing over the obstruction, I found myself in a large room, of
which the only furniture consisted in a heap of bedding and some
cooking things. Rather to my surprise the place was clean. The old man
flung himself upon the ground and blew upon the mass of charcoal in a
brazier, and presently a smell of coffee stewing filled the dungeon;
for such it doubtless had been in the past, its only window being high
above our heads, yet only just above the level of the rock, as I
discovered when I went to seek Rashîd, who, by our host's direction,
had bestowed the horses in a cavern by the sea. The blind old woman
still sat out before the door.
I walked all round the tower and noticed small fields neatly fenced
below it on the landward side, and a few hobbled goats upon a strip of
herbage near the shore; which, with some fishing-nets spread out upon
the rocks to dry, informed me how our host obtained a livelihood.
As I went back towards the door, I met Rashîd bringing our saddlebags.
He nodded to the woman, who still sat there motionless, and told me:
'She is mad, the poor old creature--but not dangerous. Fear nothing.
They are quite good people. It is strange, but he informs me she is
not his mother nor his wife, nor anyone by birth allied to him. And
yet he waits upon her, helpless as she is.'
Just then, the master of the tower appeared, and, going to the woman,
took her hand and raised her. 'Itfaddalû!' he said, with just the same
polite alacrity with which he welcomed us on our arrival, as if she,
too, had been an honoured guest. We all went down the broken steps
into the dungeon. A meal of fish and bread was set before us. The
woman took her food apart. The master of the house did not sit down
till she was satisfied; and, after supper, he set out a bed for her,
and then washed out the vessels, before he came again and sat with us.
By that time the old woman was asleep. Two lighted wicks, passed
through a piece of cork which floated in a bowl of oil and water,
roused the shadows of the vault. A sudden outcry at the far end of the
room made us both jump.
'Fear nothing!' said our entertainer. 'She is dreaming. Ah, poor lady!
Our Lord repay her goodness in the next life for all the evil she has
borne in this!'
'Is it permissible to ask to hear her story?' said Rashîd.
The old man looked at me with a reluctant smile, as who should say:
'It is a sad tale. Would you really care to hear it?'
I nodded gravely, and, with a deep sigh, he began:
'Many years ago--how many it is now impossible for me to say, for,
dwelling here, I have lost count of time--a certain chieftain of the
desert Arabs had a son who loved the daughter of his father's enemy.
There was no intercourse between the houses, but the young prince of
whom I speak contrived to see the maiden and to meet her stealthily,
even riding in among the dwellings of her people at risk of his own
life and mine; for I must tell you that I am his foster-brother,
though not by blood a scion of the desert, and so I served him, as was
usual with us, in the quality of an esquire.
'Both tribes were of those Arabs which have villages for their
headquarters, without renouncing the old life of war and wandering.
Our village was upon the borders of the Belka, and hers far north
towards the Hauran. In those days there were no Turkish military posts
beyond the Jordan. The feuds and customs of the tribes were then the
only law; though now, they tell me, that that country is made safe for
travel.
'There was no means to bridge the gulf which custom fixed between the
lovers; and so my foster-brother, being mad with longing for the maid,
decided to abduct her and escape into the settled country. I, loving
him, applauded all his schemes. The princess Amîneh--for she was the
daughter of a sovereign chief--was of a spirit equal to his own. She
rode out from her father's town by night upon the best mare of the
tribe with but one girl attendant. My lord and I were waiting by a
certain well. And then we rode, well knowing that both tribes would
hunt us, towards the wilâyet, where there was law and Turkish power to
protect us. The princess Amîneh lacked a man's endurance, and her
woman suffered greatly from fatigue. Their weakness had to be
considered, and there came a time when it was evident that they could
go no further without rest.
'We were then within a short day's journey of the nearest Government
post, attaining which we should have been in safety. We took refuge in
a ruined sheepcote. I was keeping the look-out while all the others
slept, when I noticed a small cloud of dust uprising in the distance.
I roused my lord, and told him: "The pursuers come." He looked upon
the princess and her maiden: they lay fast asleep, exhausted by
fatigue.
'"Let be," he said. "There is no hope for us in flight. Lie low.
Perhaps they will pass by without perceiving us."
'And so they might have done, God knows, had not our horses neighed,
winding the other horses.'
The old man wrung his hands, then hid his eyes with them.
'Never, never can I tell the details of what followed. We fought, and
the princess fought beside us, snatching a scimitar which I was
wearing from my side. Her boldness helped us somewhat to delay the
end, for our assailants were her father's people, and they feared to
hurt her. But the end came; it was from the first inevitable. I was
lying helpless on the ground, wounded, but fully conscious, when they
slew my lord. At once they hewed his body into fragments, each of
which was soon exalted on a spear. The princess, wounded in the face,
and pinioned, witnessed that. Her damsel lay inanimate, and at the
time I thought her dead. She was my promised bride. Then the Emir
approached with a great spear--as I suppose, to kill his daughter, but
just then there were loud shouts, and then another battle, in which I
heard the war-cry of our tribe. The father of my lord, pursuing also
with intent to punish us, had come upon his ancient enemy at unawares.
He won the day. The other Arabs broke and fled. The noblest of our
braves pursued them; but several of the lewder sort remained behind to
torture and dishonour my unhappy lady. I tried to rise and rescue her,
but, with the effort, my spirit left my body, and I lay as dead--the
praise to Allah!--which is the reason why I am alive to-day.
'So great a fight could not take place so near the guarded country
without coming to the knowledge of the Government. Ten Turkish
soldiers, armed with carbines, and an ombashi, coming to the spot
next day, discovered us, and carried the survivors to a place of
safety. The princess was then, as you yourselves have seen her, except
that she was young and now is old. Her damsel had survived the fight
without much hurt, by God's protection, having lain upon the ground so
still that she was left for dead. When I recovered from my wounds, I
married her.
'So tragic was our tale that all men pitied us. The Governor himself
protected the princess, and placed her with the women of his
household. But she could not be happy in the city, in that kind of
life; her soul grew restless, pining. My wife, who visited her every
day, was grieved for her; and when I found that it was as she said, I
went and asked the Governor's permission to support our lady.
Perceiving that she was not happy in his house, he yielded; and we
three wandered through the settled country for long months, the people
showing kindness to us through compassion, for our tale was known. At
last we reached this ruin by the sea, which pleased our lady because,
my wife believed, the mountains are so like a wall raised up between
her and the country of her grief. That must be thirty years ago; but
she has never wandered since.
'My wife died and I buried her beside the shore; for years I have
performed her duties to our lady. The people of these parts are
wicked, but they let us be, because they think that we are under some
enchantment. My prayer is always that I may survive my lady, for how
could she, poor creature, fare alone? So far, we have been very
fortunate, praise be to Allah!'
Rashîd was loud in his expressions of amazement at the story, his mind
intent upon the central tragedy. He said no word of praise or wonder
at our host's self-sacrifice. That he accepted, as a thing of course.
This attitude of his, which I observed, prevented me from uttering the
words of pity and condolence which were on my tongue; and I am glad
those words were never uttered, for they were impertinent, and would
have seemed absurd to Orientals, who have not our sentiment.
So, after the conclusion of the tale, we went to bed.