THEY RETURN TO CAIRO WITHOUT PEKUAH.
THERE was nothing to be hoped from longer stay. They returned to Cairo,
repenting of their curiosity, censuring the negligence of the government,
lamenting their own rashness, which had neglected to procure a guard,
imagining many expedients by which the loss of Pekuah might have been
prevented, and resolving to do something for her recovery, though none
could find anything proper to be done.
Nekayah retired to her chamber, where her women attempted to comfort her
by telling her that all had their troubles, and that Lady Pekuah had
enjoyed much happiness in the world for a long time, and might reasonably
expect a change of fortune. They hoped that some good would befall her
wheresoever she was, and that their mistress would find another friend
who might supply her place.
The Princess made them no answer; and they continued the form of
condolence, not much grieved in their hearts that the favourite was lost.
Next day the Prince presented to the Bassa a memorial of the wrong which
he had suffered, and a petition for redress. The Bassa threatened to
punish the robbers, but did not attempt to catch them; nor indeed could
any account or description be given by which he might direct the pursuit.
It soon appeared that nothing would be done by authority. Governors
being accustomed to hear of more crimes than they can punish, and more
wrongs than they can redress, set themselves at ease by indiscriminate
negligence, and presently forget the request when they lose sight of the
petitioner.
Imlac then endeavoured to gain some intelligence by private agents. He
found many who pretended to an exact knowledge of all the haunts of the
Arabs, and to regular correspondence with their chiefs, and who readily
undertook the recovery of Pekuah. Of these, some were furnished with
money for their journey, and came back no more; some were liberally paid
for accounts which a few days discovered to be false. But the Princess
would not suffer any means, however improbable, to be left untried.
While she was doing something, she kept her hope alive. As one expedient
failed, another was suggested; when one messenger returned unsuccessful,
another was despatched to a different quarter.
Two months had now passed, and of Pekuah nothing had been heard; the
hopes which they had endeavoured to raise in each other grew more
languid; and the Princess, when she saw nothing more to be tried, sunk
down inconsolable in hopeless dejection. A thousand times she reproached
herself with the easy compliance by which she permitted her favourite to
stay behind her. “Had not my fondness,” said she, “lessened my
authority, Pekuah had not dared to talk of her terrors. She ought to
have feared me more than spectres. A severe look would have overpowered
her; a peremptory command would have compelled obedience. Why did
foolish indulgence prevail upon me? Why did I not speak, and refuse to
hear?”
“Great Princess,” said Imlac, “do not reproach yourself for your virtue,
or consider that as blameable by which evil has accidentally been caused.
Your tenderness for the timidity of Pekuah was generous and kind. When
we act according to our duty, we commit the events to Him by whose laws
our actions are governed, and who will suffer none to be finally punished
for obedience. When, in prospect of some good, whether natural or moral,
we break the rules prescribed us, we withdraw from the direction of
superior wisdom, and take all consequences upon ourselves. Man cannot so
far know the connection of causes and events as that he may venture to do
wrong in order to do right. When we pursue our end by lawful means, we
may always console our miscarriage by the hope of future recompense.
When we consult only our own policy, and attempt to find a nearer way to
good by over-leaping the settled boundaries of right and wrong, we cannot
be happy even by success, because we cannot escape the consciousness of
our fault; but if we miscarry, the disappointment is irremediably
embittered. How comfortless is the sorrow of him who feels at once the
pangs of guilt and the vexation of calamity which guilt has brought upon
him!
“Consider, Princess, what would have been your condition if the Lady
Pekuah had entreated to accompany you, and, being compelled to stay in
the tents, had been carried away; or how would you have borne the thought
if you had forced her into the Pyramid, and she had died before you in
agonies of terror?”
“Had either happened,” said Nekayah, “I could not have endured life till
now; I should have been tortured to madness by the remembrance of such
cruelty, or must have pined away in abhorrence of myself.”
“This, at least,” said Imlac, “is the present reward of virtuous conduct,
that no unlucky consequence can oblige us to repent it.”