Yûsuf Effendi, Câdi of El Cûds, was sullen and discontented, in the
mood to strike his best friend. An hour ago a scribbled note from the
Mutesarrif had dashed the complacency with which he sat listening to a
case of fraud between a Jew and a Greek, having garnered more than the
sum sued for in bribes from either party. The court had to be cleared,
judgment given hastily, when he loved deliberation and the dainty
quibbling of the pleaders before him. Other cases, no less profitable,
had to be adjourned—rich plaintiffs and defendants driven forth with
the money in their hands; and all in favor of a cause prejudged by his
superior—a political cause for which no gifts could be received, no
advocates employed—at the behest of an unclean beast, the English consul.
“It is imperative that the delinquents die ere sunset. Make some show of
trial. Shut the door.”
There was no evading the clear orders of one on whose will he depended
for rank and honor. Yet he would fain have shirked the responsibility,
for in a fat and easy way he feared God. Though he received gifts, of
course, from all and sundry, in giving judgment he knew no influence save
the rights of the case.
He was no roving, conscienceless official to level foul with clean, but a
man of fixed abode and consequent respectability, who, though urbane in
his dealings with the infidels, esteemed them no more than dogs in his
way to business. This charge to do the dirty work of a Frank humiliated
him. It galled his pride, also, to have to endure the familiarity and
regard the hints of a low-born Christian of his own city, who actually
had the impudence to sit at his right hand, in the place of honor.
Yûsuf would fain have invoked the Mûfti, as usual in cases of religious
difference; but, knowing the anxiety of the governor that the trial
should be hid especially from the mosque authorities, he dared not do so.
He groaned in soul:
“O day of evil! Is it not enough that I, who had ever enjoyed the
security which belongs to respect, have been robbed of my rents,
stripped, and foully insulted within this week? Must I afterwards
jeopardize my salvation at the call of the wicked?”
The inflow of so many prisoners as almost to fill the hall caused the
judge to discern faint rays of hope. It could be necessary to condemn
only a few of them; and the rest, in the rapture of escape, might well
make thank offerings to their preserver.
He turned from converse with the noisome beast beside him to whisper in
his scribe’s ear:
“Write: How many are to die? and address to his Highness the Mutesarrif.”
The scribe straightway wrote as commanded, while the Nazarene, sweetly
smiling, craned his neck in a vain attempt to spy what was written. The
note was given to an attendant who, crying, “Oäh! Oäh!” pushed his way to
the door.
Then, having enjoined silence, Yûsuf began to harangue the multitude,
without looking, in a manner of abstract reprobation, heedless of the
impatience of the consul’s representative and the rising murmur in the
court, until an answer was received; when he took breath just long enough
to decipher:
“As many as you judge fit. The wild beast is bloodthirsty—a danger unless
we glut him. At sight of this, tear up.”
Upon that, in a few words, he closed his lecture on jurisprudence, which
had served its turn.
“In mercy let the trial now begin,” murmured the Offense at his side
pointedly.
“Interrupt not, I beseech thee,” rejoined Yûsuf, giving sting for sting.
He could not look upon those true believers he was doomed to wrong.
Shame dropped a curtain at the edge of the dais. With eyes downcast upon
a chaplet with which his hands kept toying, he asked, “Who accuses?”
“I am he,” returned the Christian; “on behalf of the illustrious consul
of Her Britannic Majesty, and as representing one Jurjus Mekkuswell, a
missionary doctor, who is a British subject.”
“Against whom, and of what nature, the accusation?”
“Against divers Circassians, colonists, from Jebel Ajlûn, for attacking
the house of the hakìm and murdering one Ismaìl, his servant. But
principally against the Sheykh Shems-ud-dìn El Attâr, likewise from Jebel
Ajlûn, who instigated the said attack, the said murder.”
“The Sheykh Shems-ud-dìn El Attâr, is he present in the court?” cried the
judge, without looking up from his beads.
“Present,” answered a full, clear voice.
“Are there any Circassians present in the court?”
“No need to ask, O lord! The court is full of them,” murmured the scribe
at his feet.
“It is well. The accused are before us. Let the English hakìm testify
against them.”
At that the Christian showed annoyance, calling the demand vexatious,
unnecessary. The hakìm had made deposition before the consul, which was
quite sufficient. Naturally, after the outrages committed against him,
he was not calm enough to appear in public. To what purpose on earth
should he come? The crime was indisputable, for it was the talk of the
whole city. And the prisoners had made themselves so notorious on former
occasions, that any lad out of the street could identify them.
The Câdi appeared dissatisfied with the representations of his loathsome
colleague. He would not submit without a wrangle. But at length, after
prolonged whisperings, he said aloud:
“Good. Then what witness have you?”
“We have a capital witness—none like him!—a certain vender of cooling
drinks, who saw all that befell. He has been examined already before the
consul, but is now in this court, at your Excellency’s pleasure. His name
is Mûsa. If it please you, hear him.”
“Call Mûsa the sherbet seller,” murmured the Câdi wearily; and “Mûsa the
sherbet seller” was called on every hand.
A Muslim of middle age pushed forward through the crowd. He bent double
before the dais.
“To hear is to obey, O majesty!”
“Do thou interrogate him, O khawâjah,” said the Câdi bitingly. “Thou, it
seems, art conducting this trial.”
“Allah forbid that I should usurp any function of your Grace!” murmured
the supple Christian. Nevertheless he proceeded to question the witness,
while the judge told his beads sulkily, never lifting his eyes.
Did the witness recognize among the men in court a certain sheykh who
had been wont to go often to the house of the English physician, for the
reason that his sick daughter lay there?
Most certainly he did, and was glad to see the excellent man in life
and health, after the grievous blow he had sustained in the loss of his
daughter.
It was not the answer required by the consul’s delegate; but he swallowed
his disconcertion and proceeded.
“What kind of a man did the witness consider him to be?”
“The very best kind of man. No less than a saint, by Allah.”
Stung by a cackling noise in the throat of the judge, the Nazarene
thundered:
“O lying dog! Thou didst tell another tale to the consul’s excellency.
Thou hast made oath that he was concerned in the riot.”
“No, no, by thy leave, O dear lord; I said not that he knew aught of the
riot, but that they who made the tumult might have been his companions.”
“Are they here present, those rioters?”
“Allah knows! In so great a crowd there may be some of them. But my eyes
see some who are very certainly innocent. That man there, who leans upon
his neighbor, is one of the victims, having both his legs injured in the
battle. I know well, for he is a customer of mine and refreshed himself
at my stall afterwards. And the Sheykh Shems-ud-dìn, he is very innocent;
and the negro Mâs, his servant——”
“Liar! Dolt! Madman! He is the chief offender, that Sheykh Shems-ud-dìn!
Get thee gone, O perjured wretch! May Allah destroy thee!” The Christian
turned from denouncing the recreant to murmur suavely in the Câdi’s ear,
“It is my error. This witness ought to have been examined privately. He
dares not to speak truth in the hearing of the prisoners for fear of
vengeance, since they all know him.”
“What? Is it finished already? Have you no other witness?” Again that
strange sound was heard in the throat of the judge.
“No, O Excellency; but the charge is clear, the case proven beforehand.
Wilt thou not give judgment?”
Yûsuf Effendi feigned not to hear the suggestion. Since it was God’s will
that he, the Câdi of El Cûds, should be chained to an ape, the shackles
should not gall him only. The monkey, too, must feel them on the raw.
There were yet some hours till sunset.
“It behooves first to hear the defense,” he said languidly; and then sat
in silence for some minutes.
Peace had fallen on the court. The prisoners and their guards, tired of
standing, all sat now upon the floor.
At length the Câdi, still intent on his beads, murmured sleepily:
“Who is chief among you reprobates, let him speak.”
At that there arose some whispered debate among the accused, as though to
adjust the preëminence. But soon a clear voice uttered:
“O Excellency, what can be said? I am an old man, and my life is of
small account. If one here must die, be mine the lot, and let all these
go free. It is the will of Allah, unto Allah praise! Is it not better
for a man to die being innocent than being guilty? For Allah is just
and compassionate; He will correct the balance. But thou, O my son,
consider, I beseech thee, how heinous thy sin is! Thy mind is bent,
not to minister justice, but to slay. Thou hast not even recited the
charge against me. The hand of the infidel is well seen in thy behavior.
A tempter grins at thy right ear. Beware, O judge, how thou pervert
judgment; for thyself shalt be judged and shalt wander blind at the Last
Day!”
Yûsuf did not look up nor cease from telling his beads. He said irritably:
“Shall the caitiff rebuke his judge? Smite his mouth some of you!... Let
a second now speak, and see that he be not insolent.”
This time a rougher voice, using the speech of the common soldiers with
an accent like the Turkish, declaimed:
“O most Excellent, I am a Circassian, chief of those who migrated to this
land years ago from the yoke of the Muscovite. The Sultàn Abdul Mejìd
named me Guardian of the Frontier by express firmàn. Great honor had we
in those days, I and my companions, both at Istanbûl the mighty and on
arrival in this land. Then men vied one with another in kindness toward
us. Power stood by us like a sworn brother. But to-day all is changed. No
man regards us any more. I have served the Sultàn faithfully at my post
these many years. I have swept back the Bedû from the borders of this
province, as one strikes the dust off a friend’s robe. I have furthered
every effort of the government. And for what reward? To be denied a few
rifles, a sufficiency of ammunition, by your garrison. To be treated
worse than you treat the beggar in your gates. To be haled before your
Grace this day upon a charge I comprehend not!
“Truly the faith of those in authority is but for a day, and their
obligation but as shifting sand. Let none deceive himself to think it
lasting, lest he stand as I stand now, ashamed in his old age.”
Overcome with emotion, the speaker paused; to resume shortly:
“What would be said of a man who thus used his servant? Now I care not
though we die, I and my companions, for death is not more bitter than
has been our undeceiving. We have sinned oft and grievously, and it
may be we deserve to die. But put to death the upright and illustrious
Shems-ud-dìn, that friend of all the learned, dear to Allah, and may all
thy bones rot painfully joint by joint! May all men spew at sight of
thee! May thy children——”
A mighty uproar drowned the curse. The whole court rose as one man. The
Câdi bounced to his feet, mouthing, gesticulating, a-tremble with rage
and terror.
“Dog!” he yelled. “Be silent, madman! Pluck his tongue out, scourge him,
flay him! Ho, you soldiers! Is it fear holds you there idle?”
At the taunt a dozen soldiers ran and seized on Hassan, who had stood his
ground defiantly.
Not until the wretch was clearly powerless did Yûsuf Effendi venture to
meet his eyes. The effect of that glance was magical. The fat and sleepy
Câdi turned a maniac. He shrieked and shrieked again, in convulsions as
if his robe had been poisoned.