No sooner was the Pasha gone than Umm ed-Dahak crept back softly to her
mistress and cooed of consolation in her ear. Muhammad, who had started
howling out of sympathy, she told to go and play with Ghandûr’s son.
“By Allah, it is all my fault, not thine,” she whispered. “I ought to
have foreseen this grief and warned thee. Vex not thy soul at all! It
is no matter! Praise be to Allah, we can change our policy. To-morrow
thou wilt beat thy son a little, and all the world will praise thy
management.”
But the mother’s tears were flowing less from sense of guilt than for
the helplessness, the lack of energy, which she discovered in herself
at such a crisis. The call to make an effort paralysed her; she hung
on Umm ed-Dahak like a frightened child, agreeing with loud sobs to
the old woman’s statement that on the morrow they would make a new
beginning.
That afternoon the little boy had been invited to Gulbeyzah’s house.
His mother being too unwell to bear him company, he started off on foot
in the custody of Ghandûr. Barakah adjured him to be very good and
mind his manners, on which he kissed her with a most angelic smile.
“See how obedient and how good he is!” she wailed, her anguish breaking
out afresh when he was gone. “How can they say he is not well brought
up?”
“Without a doubt they have been misinformed,” cooed Umm ed-Dahak.
“They have mistaken some exceptional disorder for his general conduct
Ma sh´Allah! With but a touch of discipline, a very little teaching
of good manners, thou wilt make him glorious, a pattern to all other
children of this age.”
But Muhammad, who had set forth as an angel, returned a little devil,
in a sullen rage. He would not speak a word, refused all nourishment,
and sat aloof with frowning brows and gnashing teeth. Ghandûr, who
brought him home, had sent in word that he had been a naughty boy and
needed punishment. So Ghandûr also was his mother’s enemy.
Muhammad struck at all the women who came near him. He swore by the
Most High to ravish every one of them, to tear their eyes out and
cut off their hands and feet. The servants laughed at his ferocious
impotence, which made things worse. When his mother came and knelt
beside him, he at first repelled her; but after half an hour’s
incessant coaxing she elicited his cause of grief.
He had been pretending in his play to kill Gulbeyzah’s little
girl--“not really hurting her,” he blubbered, “though she shrieked like
a dying fowl”--when all at once, without the slightest provocation, a
big boy assailed him, flung him down and knelt upon him, pinning his
two hands. While he was in that position the ladies of the harîm had
come in and reviled him, praising his cruel persecutor as a hero. They
had then conveyed him, kicking, to Ghandûr, who, like the beast he was,
believed their lies.
“It is no matter, O beloved! Dry thy tears! Never--never shalt thou
visit that unfriendly house again,” his mother whispered.
Muhammad hiccuped on a sob, “Wallahi!” and fell again to gnashing of
his teeth and moaning.
“See!” murmured Umm ed-Dahak. “See his dauntless spirit! By Allah, it
is true, he must be tamed a little.”
That night he cried himself to sleep, and in the morning was snappish
and morose, with furtive eyes. About the fourth hour of the day his
mother missed him, and having sought through all the house in vain,
conceived grave fears. She sent a eunuch to the Pasha’s palace, while
Ghandûr cried the tidings through the quarter. Distraught with grief,
she ran from room to room in the hottest hours of the day, always
expecting to find Muhammad hiding somewhere. At last she sank down on a
couch, exhausted.
The third hour after noon, as she was lying thus, Gulbeyzah and her
durrahs were announced. They entered with much tragic exclamation.
Then the truth was known. Muhammad had repaired that morning to their
house and joined the children’s games, appearing friendly. But he was
only waiting for his chance of vengeance; for, luring Gulbeyzah’s
little girl apart, he stabbed her with a dagger he had got--the Lord
knew how!--and cried to her big brother, “Thy account, O tyrant!”
His victim--praise to Allah--was not killed; nor even, by His mercy,
maimed for life; but the ensuing uproar in the house may be imagined.
The murderous child had been imprisoned in a room apart; the lord of
the harîm, when summoned, had sent at once for Yûsuf Bey, who was even
now examining the culprit. Directly the responsibility had been lifted
off them, they (the ladies) had flown straight to Barakah to assure her
of their unimpaired affection. But--merciful Allah!--what was the world
coming to? They sought refuge in Allah from such revengeful fury in so
small a child.
“You must have used him very cruelly,” the mother cried. “He is by
nature the most generous of children, not a criminal!”
At that, all four began to talk at once. Barakah talked against them,
and the slave-girls and dependants, looking on, raised cries. The
argument was at its height when Yûsuf was announced. The din ceased
instantly. The four Circassians raised their mouth-veils in alarm and
slipped away; the servants, silenced, went into another room.
Yûsuf entered, stern of countenance, dragging by the arm the peccant
boy, whose mouth hung open, while his eyes stared wildly, fixed in the
imbecility of abject fear.
Barakah fell down at her husband’s feet and screamed for mercy. He was
obdurate.
“Let be, O woman!” he commanded. “My child, as trained by thee, is now
a malefactor. He robs and kills; he breaks the law of hospitality. He
stole a weapon from Ghandûr, his foster-father, and with it stabbed a
little girl, whose guest he was. Henceforth I take him from thee, and
give him to my mothers to be educated. Seek not to counteract their
efforts, or by the Ca’abah I will beat thee soundly as I now beat him.”
With that, he marched his son into an inner room, whence presently
there issued sounds of blows and bitter wailing. Barakah ground her
face upon the floor and stopped her ears.
Muhammad, by his father’s orders, was shut off from her that night;
and the next morning, before Yûsuf went to business, the Pasha’s harîm
carriage came to fetch the child. The eunuch brought a letter from
Murjânah Khânum, inviting Barakah to come and give her counsel. But
Barakah’s sole answer was an angry cry.
For several days she would not budge from her own rooms, refused to see
the Pasha’s ladies when they called, and persisted, notwithstanding
every argument, in posing as the victim of most foul injustice. And Umm
ed-Dahak coaxed and soothed her all that while. At length, one day,
Murjânah Khânum entered, unannounced; and Barakah, in act to rise and
make indignant protest, was silenced by the sight of her own child.
“Go, O Muhammad, do what I have told thee,” said the old lady, with her
hand on the boy’s shoulder. Whereat Muhammad went up gravely and bowed
over his mother’s hand to kiss it, but she caught him in her arms,
preventing him. He called out to Murjânah Khânum that it was not fair,
and struggled to get free. She put him down, when he went on with his
polite performance, kissed her hand and pressed his forehead to it,
inquired after her health and asked her blessing; and then in the most
courtly Arabic asked what he had done that one of his parents, who were
dearer to him than all living creatures, should punish him by five days
of avoidance.
“The harîm of my grandfather, Muhammad Pasha Sâlih, depute me to
request that thou wilt honour us this day and every day with thy most
gracious presence, O my mother.”
Before the termination of this speech and ceremony, Barakah was lying
on her face in tears. She had thought, through the long hours of
deprivation, that they were teaching her own child to disregard, if not
to hate her. The relief was great. Murjânah sat beside her and caressed
her, while Muhammad, standing reverently, looked concerned.
They took her with them in the carriage to the Pasha’s house, where,
instead of reprobation, she met boundless sympathy. The ladies Fitnah
and Murjânah told her all that had been done for the small boy, with
evident anxiety for her approval. Muhammad showed her all the harîm
pets. He bade a slave-girl bring his own white doves. She brought three
in her bosom. At his call, they flew to him and settled on his head and
shoulders. There dwelt a parrot in the house of Na’imah, a monkey in
the house of Fitnah Khânum, which she had to visit; as well as roving
cats, and little birds in cages, and several street-dogs who came round
for food. He also showed with pride his plot of garden, consisting of
a box of scented herbs. And all the while that she was in the house,
he waited on her like a page, kissing her hand whenever he could get
a chance, and telling her the joy he felt in seeing her. When, left
alone with him, she strove to whisper consolation, he shook his head
decidedly, and told her: “O my mother, I have learnt to know that I was
very wicked. Thou wast ever much too gentle and too kind with me. Allah
knows how much I love thee--my grandmothers have taught me that--but
it is well that I should be removed from thee a while and brought to
reverence. It is not right that one so delicate as thou art should have
a rough, ill-mannered boy to vex her.”
He loved her more than ever, it appeared, but thought her not much
wiser than himself.
Her fear of the stern rules of El Islâm was tamed by reverence.
“By Allah, they are like the string and we the beads,” said Umm
ed-Dahak, holding up a rosary to point her meaning. “Thirty-three beads
of no intrinsic worth. If scattered, useless and soon lost. If strung
together, a comely instrument of praise to God.”
Barakah watched Muhammad with humility; not jealous of the change which
had been wrought by others, but choosing to regard it as a miracle
direct from Heaven. His pride, once wayward, now was focused on his
coming manhood. He told her all his thoughts, which seemed to her most
wise. He waited on her hand and foot when in her presence. Yet in this
deference there was a touch of condescension which was absent from the
honour which he paid to Yûsuf. His father was his sovereign, she his
tender care. Such wisdom in so small a child appeared miraculous. She
worshipped his perfections while he bowed before her.