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 guarded sanctuary, 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 her a 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 before divorcing 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-class _canaille_ he would not 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 next week. 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, and before 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 shadows it. 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.