"Mustapha," said the pacha, "I feel as the caliph Haroun Alraschid, in
the tale of Yussuf, related by _Menouni_, full of care; my soul is
weary--my heart is burnt as roast meat."
Mustapha, who had wit enough to perceive that he was to act the part of
Giaffar, the vizier, immediately replied, "O pacha! great and manifold
are the cares of state. If thy humble slave may be permitted to advise,
thou wilt call in the Chinese dog with two tails, who hath as yet
repeated but one of his tales."
"Not so," replied the pacha, "I am weary of his eternal ti-tum,
tilly-lilly, which yet ringeth in mine ears. What else canst thou
propose?"
"Alem penah! refuge of the world, wilt thou be pleased to order out thy
troops, and witness their exercise of djireed? The moon is high in the
heavens, and it is light as day."
"Not so," replied the pacha; "I am tired of war and all that appertains
to it. Let the troops sleep in peace."
"Then, O pacha! will you permit your slave to send for some bottles of
the fire-water of the Giaour, that we may drink and smoke until we are
elevated to the seven heavens?"
"Nay, good vizier, that is as a last resource, for it is forbidden by
the laws of the Prophet. Think once more, and thou must have no more
brains than a water-melon, if this time thou proposest not that which
will give me ease."
"Thy slave lives but to hear, and hears but to obey," replied Mustapha.
"Then will it please my lord to disguise himself, and walk through the
streets of Cairo; the moon is bright, and the hyena prowls not now, but
mingles his howlings with those of the jackal afar off."
"Your face is whitened, Mustapha, and it pleaseth us. Let the disguises
be prepared, and we will sally forth."
In a short time the disguises were ready, the vizier taking care that
they should be those of Armenian merchants, knowing that the pacha would
be pleased with the similarity to those worn by the great Alraschid: two
black slaves, with their swords, followed the pacha and his vizier at a
short distance. The streets were quite empty, and they met with nothing
living except here and there a dog preying on the garbage and offal, who
snapped and snarled as they passed by. The night promised nothing of
adventure, and the pacha was in no very good humour, when Mustapha
perceived a light through the chinks of a closed window in a small
hovel, and heard the sound of a voice. He peeped through, the pacha
standing by his side. After a few seconds the vizier made signs to the
pacha to look in. The pacha was obliged to strain his fat body to its
utmost altitude, standing on the tips of his toes to enable his eyes to
reach the cranny. The interior of the hovel was without furniture, a
chest in the centre of the mud floor appeared to serve as table and
repository of every thing in it, for the walls were bare. At the
fireplace, in which were a few embers, crouched an old woman, a
personification of age, poverty, and starvation. She was warming her
shrivelled hands over the embers, and occasionally passed one of her
hands along her bony arm, saying, "Yes, the time has been--the time has
been."
"What can she mean," said the pacha to Mustapha, "by the time has been?"
"It requires explanation," replied the vizier; "this is certain, that it
must mean something."
"Thou hast said well, Mustapha; let us knock, and obtain admittance."
Mustapha knocked at the door of the hovel.
"There's nothing to steal, so you may as well go," screamed the old
woman; "but," continued she, talking to herself, "the time has been--the
time has been."
The pacha desired Mustapha to knock louder. Mustapha applied the hilt
of his dagger, and thumped against the door.
"Ay--ay--you may venture to knock now, the sultan's slippers are not at
the door," said the old woman; "but," continued she, as before, "the
time has been--the time has been."
"Sultan's slippers! and time has been!" cried the pacha. "What does the
old hag mean? Knock again, Mustapha."
Mustapha reiterated his blows.
"Ay--knock--knock--my door is like my mouth; I open it when I choose,
and I keep it shut when I choose, as once was well known. The time has
been--the time has been."
"We have been a long time standing here, and I am tired of waiting; so,
Mustapha, I think the time is come to kick the door open. Let it be
done."
Whereupon Mustapha put his foot to the door, but it resisted his
efforts. "Let me assist," said the pacha, and retreated a few paces; he
and Mustapha backed against the door with all their force. It flew
open, and they rolled together on the floor of the hovel. The old woman
screamed, and then, jumping on the body of the pacha, caught him by the
throat, crying, "Thieves! murder!" Mustapha hastened to the assistance
of his master, as did the two black slaves, when they heard the cries,
and with some difficulty the talons of the old Jezebel were disengaged
from the throat of the pacha, who, in his wrath, would have immediately
sacrificed her. "Lahnet be Shitan! Curses on the devil!" exclaimed the
pacha; "but this is pretty treatment for a pacha."
"Knowest thou, vile wretch, that thou hast taken by the throat, and
nearly strangled, the Lord of Life--the pacha himself," said Mustapha.
"Well," replied the old woman coolly, "the time has been--the time has
been."
"What meanest thou, cursed hag, that the time has been?"
"I mean that the time has been, when I have had more than one pacha
strangled. Yes," continued she, squatting down on the floor, and
muttering, "the time has been."
The pacha's rage was now a little appeased. "Mustapha," said the pacha,
"let this old woman be carefully guarded; to-morrow afternoon we will
understand the meaning of those strange words, `the time has been.'
Depend upon it, thereby hangs a good story; we will have that first--and
then," whispered the pacha, "her head off afterwards."
The old woman, hearing the order to take her into custody, again
repeated, "Ah, very well--the time has been." The slaves laid hold of
her; but she defended herself so vigorously with her teeth and nails,
that they were under the necessity of gagging her, and tying her hand
and foot. They then hoisted her on their shoulders: and marched off
with her to the palace, followed by Mustapha and the pacha, the latter
quite delighted with his adventure. When the divan of the ensuing day
had closed, the old woman was ordered to be brought into the presence of
the pacha; and as she refused to walk, she was brought on the shoulders
of four of the guards, and laid on the floor of the council-chamber.
"How dare you rebel against the sublime commands?" inquired Mustapha
with severity.
"How dare I rebel!" cried the old woman with a shrill voice. "Why, what
right has the pacha to drag me from my poor hovel; and what can he want
with an old woman like me? It's not for his harem, I presume."
At this remark the pacha and Mustapha could not help laughing: having
recovered his gravity, Mustapha observed, "One would imagine, old
carrion that thou art, that the idea of such a punishment as the
bastinado had never entered your mind."
"There you are mistaken, Mr Vizier, for I have suffered both the
bastinado and the bowstring."
"The bowstring! Holy Prophet! what a lying old hag!" exclaimed the
pacha.
"No lie, pacha, no lie!" screamed the old woman in her wrath. "I have
said it--and the bowstring. Yes, the time has been, when I was young
and beautiful; and do you know why I suffered? I'll tell you--because I
would not hold my tongue--and do you think that I will now, that I'm an
old piece of carrion? Yes--yes--the time has been."
"Fortunately, then," replied Mustapha, "you are not required by the
pacha to hold your tongue. You are required to do the very contrary,
which is, to speak."
"And do you know why I received the bowstring?" screamed the old hag.
"I'll tell you--because I would not speak; and I do not intend so to do
now, since I find that you wish that I should."
"Then it appears," said the pacha, taking the pipe out of his mouth,
"that the bastinado was as ill managed as the bowstring. We do these
things better at Cairo. Hear me, old mother of Shitan! I wish to know
what you mean by that expression which is ever in your mouth, `time has
been.'"
"It means a great deal, pacha, for it refers to my life--you want the
story."
"Exactly," replied Mustapha, "so begin."
"You must pay me for it--it is worth twenty pieces of gold."
"Do you presume to make conditions with his sublime highness the pacha?"
exclaimed Mustapha. "Why, thou mother of afrits and ghouls, if thou
commencest not immediately, thy carcass shall be thrown over the walls
for the wild dogs to smell at, and turn away from in disgust."
"Vizier, I have lived long enough to trust nobody. My price is twenty
pieces of gold counted out in this shrivelled hand before I begin; and
without they are paid down--not _one word_." And the old beldame folded
her arms, and looked the pacha boldly in the face.
"God is great!" exclaimed the pacha. "We shall see." At his well-known
signal the executioner made his appearance, and holding up the few
scattered grey hairs which still remained upon her head, he raised his
scimitar, awaiting the nod which was to be succeeded by the fatal blow.
"Strike, pacha, strike!" cried the old woman scornfully. "I shall only
lose a life of which I have long been weary; but you will lose a story
of wonder, which you are so anxious to obtain. Strike--for the last
time, I say, `Time has been'--before time shall be no more!"
"That is true, Mustapha," observed the pacha. "I forgot the story.
What an obstinate old devil; but I must hear the story."
"If it appears good to your absolute wisdom," said Mustapha in a low
voice, "would it not he better to count down to this avaricious old hag
the twenty pieces of gold which she demands? When her story is ended,
it will be easy to take them from her, and her head from her shoulders.
Thus will be satisfied the demands of the old woman, and the demands of
justice."
"Wallah thaib! it is well said, by Allah! Your words are as pearls.
Count out the money, Mustapha."
"His highness the pacha has been pleased, in consideration of the fear
and trembling with which you have entered his presence, to order that
the sum which you require shall be paid down," said Mustapha, pulling
out his purse from his girdle. "Murakkas, you are dismissed," continued
the vizier to the executioner, who let go the old woman, and
disappeared. Mustapha counted out the twenty pieces of gold, and shoved
them towards the old woman, who after some demur, as if imagining that
they ought to have been brought to her, got up and took possession of
them. She counted them over, and returned one piece as being of light
weight. Mustapha, with a grimace, but without speaking, exchanged it
for another.
"By the beard of the Prophet!" muttered the pacha; "but never mind."
The old woman took out a piece of dirty rag, wrapped up the gold pieces,
and placing them in her vest, smoothed down her sordid garments, and
then commenced as follows:--
"Pacha, I have not always lived in a hovel. These eyes were not always
bleared and dim, nor this skin wrinkled and discoloured. I have not
always been covered with these filthy rags--nor have I always wanted or
coveted the gold which you have just now bestowed upon me. I have lived
in palaces--I have commanded there. I have been robed in gold--I have
been covered with jewels. I have dispensed life and death--I have given
away provinces. Pachas have trembled at my frown--have received by my
orders the bowstring--for at one time I was the favourite of the grand
sultan. Time has been."
"It must have been a long time ago, then," observed the pacha.
"That is true," replied the old woman; "but I will now narrate my
adventures."