Mohammed Ali and His House

Contents:
Author: Luise Mühlbach

Chapter I Revenge.

The night was mild and warm; the sea rested in silent majesty like a slumbering lion, and the wind seemed to hold its breath in order that his repose might not be disturbed. To be in the open air on such a night was good for the weak breast of an invalid, and Osman’s father was therefore not surprised when his son expressed a desire to pass the night in the garden pavilion, in preference to remaining in the close apartments of the palace. He would be protected from wind and rain by the roof of the pavilion, and from all other sources of danger the two slaves that had been his faithful and devoted servants from his earliest youth would guard him. The two servants carried his cushions down into the garden, and Osman now lay there, wrapped in his silken coverlet; the two slaves were crouched down at his side. They were still there when the tschorbadji, before retiring for the night, came down to see his son once more and bid him good-night; and there they remained until all the lights were extinguished in the apartments of the tschorbadji as well as in those of the pacha. Then, when all had become still, one of them stooped down and addressed his master in low tones; after they had carried on a short, whispered conversation the slave arose and glided noiselessly away toward the garden-wall, which formed no obstacle to his progress—as the faithful servant could climb like a cat—and he was soon on the other side.

Osman remained on his couch, conversing in low tones with the other servant. Both were attentively observing the pacha’s harem, and it surprised them to see that lights were being carried to and fro in the lower apartments at so late an hour.

"Something extraordinary is surely taking place there," murmured Osman, "and we must be on our guard, and listen to the slightest noise."

Hours passed, and the same activity was still being displayed in the harem; and from time to time the attentive servant perceived shadows flitting up and down the avenue that led to the harem.

Footsteps are now heard approaching. It is the slave Nadeg, and he comes swiftly to his master’s couch, kneels down and speaks to him for some time in low, earnest tones. Osman rises from his cushions.

"The time has come, we must warn him, we must help him! Be quick, both of you!—Jabad, hasten to the summit of the rock. Here, take the pistol and give the signal agreed upon, three shots fired at short intervals.—But you, Nadeg, hasten down to the mouth of the cave again, and when, aroused by my shots, my friend comes out, call him, tell him I am awaiting him, and bring him to me at once. Oh, I am anxious on his account: be quick, that you may get there in time!"

The two walk stealthily and rapidly down the garden-path. Osman listens to their retreating footsteps, and, as they die away in the distance, he draws a breath of relief. They are good, zealous servants, and will obey his instructions faithfully. He listens again eagerly, and again looks over toward the harem, where be sees the lights still flitting about and shadows passing the windows.

Osman’s heart tells him that something unusual, something that bodes no good to his friend, is going on there, and his love gives strength to his poor, weak body. He rises from his cushions; his limbs are stiff, and his breast pains him, but he is heedless of this. Cautiously he descends the steps into the garden, and walks noiselessly down the pathway. He knows that a high hedge separates the garden of the harem from the rest of the park at the end of this path. Hitherto all have respected this boundary, and no one has dared to cross it; may the good spirits pardon the young man for venturing to do so now! He is in the garden of the harem. It is certainly dangerous to enter it, and, if the eunuchs should discover him there, they would seize him. But, fortunately, he is the tschorbadji’s son, and that will protect him. He is on his father’s property. He walks onward, no longer painfully; he no longer feels that his breast hurts him; he is only thinking of his friend; he can perhaps discover something for him, perhaps something for him. He now stands still and listens. In the distance he hears the reports of the pistol.

"Ah, Mohammed is warned! He has been aroused from his sweet repose, and will come to me."

But he must know what all this disturbance and running about means. Osman has approached close to the harem, and stands at the iron gate that opens into the court-yard. He stands there for a moment and listens, and then crosses the court-yard and looks toward the door in the wall that opens into the street. All is still in the house, as in the yard; but now he hears a noise at the door that opens into the vestibule of the building. It is opened, and two dark figures appear, and descend the steps into the yard. They are carrying something; it looks like a cot; it is a cot covered with white sheets, but it is empty. They carry it across the yard, and out into the street.

He hears them lock the door from the outside; hears the murmuring of voices, and then all is again quiet. What was the cot intended for? What could it all mean?

He listens, and looks around anxiously; but all is still. Perhaps his care and anxiety have been groundless; perhaps these are only things the servants are carrying to the ship to prepare for Cousrouf’s departure on the morrow.

He again listens awhile, and then returns through the garden to the pavilion. Wearily he throws himself on his cushions, and lies there, for a moment, with closed eyes.

Now he hears footsteps approaching. Who can it be? he asks in a low voice, and the two servants emerge from the darkness, come to his side, and whisper something in his ear. Osman draws a breath of relief.

"Allah be praised, he is coming, he is saved!"

Yes, other footsteps are now rapidly approaching, and, in a moment, Mohammed is at his friend’s side.

"You called me, my friend, and here I am! What has happened?"

"I do not know, Mohammed. It seems to be nothing, and yet my heart was filled with care and anxiety on your account, and I could not resist the inclination to call you. Listen: Nadeg was among the cliffs not far from the entrance of your cave, to which you came late at night. He was standing guard there, but be was not alone,"

"He was not alone? What does that mean?" asked Mohammed, in dismay.

"Not alone; for in the vicinity, hidden in the shadow of a rock, stood two dark figures, and he heard them whispering and telling each other that you were there, and that they were now sure of their prey. When Nadeg had heard this, he returned hastily to me, and told me of it. I then sent both servants out, the one to stand guard near the cave, the other to the summit of the rock to fire the pistol, and give the warning signal. Nadeg found the two men still near the cave, lying in wait like panthers, and he saw that they were gradually creeping nearer and nearer to the cave. In the meanwhile, I had gone into the harem-garden, where I saw two eunuchs carry a cot out into the street. Now you know all, and now it seems to me that all is well. I was anxious on your account, fearing these men, who were lying in wait, might attack and kill you. This was why I sent my servants out. But now I am happy, for you are safe, and with me. I beg you to stay with me until to-morrow; stay here, that every one may know where you have passed the night. Do not refuse me. This is the last night of danger and anxiety. Cousrouf departs to-morrow, and then you will be safe."

"No, Osman, no, it is impossible!" said Mohammed, who could not himself account for the anxiety that made his heart throb so wildly. "I thank you for your warning, and beg you to let me have your pistol. Is it loaded?"

"Yes," said Nadeg. "I loaded it again after firing."

"Yes, give it to him!—If you will not remain, Mohammed, take the weapon, and, if I hear a shot, I shall know you are attacked and in danger; then I will wake my father, and beg him to send the soldiers to your assistance. But stay with me yet awhile, my friend!"

"No, Osman, I can remain no longer. I must be off! My heart is filled with a sense of impending evil, with gloomy forebodings."

"Then go, Mohammed, and may Allah bless and protect you! Oh, that this fearful night were at an end!"

Mohammed hastens away down the garden path, and soon disappears in the darkness.

"Stay with me, you good, faithful servants. Oh, how anxious I am, how wildly my heart beats! Yet I do not fear for myself, but for my dear friend Mohammed. Pray to Allah for grace and mercy! Yes, let us all pray to Allah!"

Mohammed rushes on through the night, down the stone stairway. He flies with the speed of an arrow from rock to rock. Now he is down by the cave. He looks behind him once more. There is nothing to be seen, nowhere a human figure. Nothing! Osman must have been mistaken; no one observed him, no one was there! He creeps through the fissure in the cliff, to the inner grotto to the place where the passage becomes narrow, and where Masa was to have rolled the stone before the opening. He feels for this stone to push it back. But what does this mean? The stone is no longer there, the cave is open!

He recoils for a moment with terror. He then resolutely creeps on through the opening. Masa must have forgotten it, that is all! He calls her—no answer.

But he had told her to retire into the second grotto, and await him there. There she will be, there she must be.

"Masa, where are you? Masa, my white dove, Masa!"

All is still; no answer comes, no voice replies in tender greeting to his anxious and repeated call.

"Masa! where are you, Masa?"

The silence is profound. He utters a cry that resounds fearfully through the cave. He gropes about in the darkness. Then he turns again, and cries out loudly, but all is still as before. He goes back to the passage, and into the first grotto, the one with the large opening in the roof, to the place where the sky can be seen. The clouds have disappeared, and the moon sheds its soft light into the cave.

"Masa, are you asleep?" he cries, as he kneels down beside the cushions.

But they are empty, and things are thrown about in disorder in the grotto. The moonlight shines brightly in the cave, and shows that a terrible struggle has taken place here. The carpets and cushions are thrown together confusedly; fragments of broken cups and saucers strew the ground, and every thing is overturned. At last he must recognize the fact. Masa is gone, he has been robbed of his Masa.

He sinks down upon the earth and cries in loud, heartrending tones: "Masa is gone; the slave-dealer has recovered his slave. Oh, horror, Masa is gone!" He springs to his feet, and rushes toward the entrance; then he stands still again, and cries in piercing tones that make the rocks reverberate: "Masa, where are you?" No answer. It was thus that her father had cried out a few days before: "Masa, where are you?"

Punishment has overtaken the undutiful daughter, and him who had harbored her.

"Masa, where are you?" For the second time, the agonized voice of love resounded through the cave. Masa is gone.

Ah, where can she be? All is still. A struggle has taken place here. Hired assassins, perhaps robbers, have broken into this paradise here beneath the earth that he considered so secure. But nothing is secure from man; cruel men have broken into his sanctuary and desecrated his paradise.

He no longer groans and laments. He raises his clinched fists, and swears by Allah that be will be revenged on the robbers and murderers of his Masa. Suddenly he is seized from behind, two arms encircle him like iron rings, and bind his arms to his side. Another hand seizes the pistol be carries in his girdle, and draws his sword from his scabbard. Mohammed opens his lips to cry out, but a hand is laid on them, and he is incapable of uttering a single tone.

"It would be vain to cry out, Mohammed Ali, young boulouk bashi. No one can hear you but we, and we are indifferent to your cries.—Be quick, Aga, put the gag in his mouth and bind the cloth over it. Let us finish our work! Day is breaking, and it must be done quickly! Our master’s orders here to do it quickly."

Mohammed is securely bound and motionless. He is now a mere package borne along by the eunuchs, but a package that thinks, feels, and suffers. His eyes are wide open, and up at his enemies with a fearful expression. He knows he cannot pierce them through with his eyes, for they are not daggers, and his hands are bound. But he swears that he will have vengeance on his enemies, either above, before Allah’s throne, or here on earth already, if he is permitted to live. He has no fear for himself, for his own life. For that he cares not. He cares only for Masa, he thinks only of her, and his roving glance seeks her anxiously.

He is being borne to the sea-shore. Do they intend to cast into the waves? Let it be so. Death is sweet, divine, when one has lost all on earth. And he feels that all, that his Masa, is lost.

If she is lost to him, what further need of the stars in heaven, of the moonlight, of the bright sunshine? Then all is darkness and desolation. Will they kill him? Will they cast him into the sea?

The waves will murmuringly receive him, and consign him to their depths. There he will rest tranquilly. They have now reached the beach, and the eunuchs lay him down on the sand; not carelessly as a package is thrown down, but cautiously and gently.

"Remember, Aga," murmured one to the other, "that we have orders not to injure a hair of his head, or to cause him slightest pain. We will lay him down here, here he can rest easily, and can raise his head and see. The eyes of the young boulouk bashi, accustomed as they are to the dark, will easily be able to detect who it is that approaches from over there." And the eunuch raised his hand and pointed toward the path that led to Cavalla.

Yes, his eyes are accustomed to the dark, and he does see figures advancing from that direction. Not one or two, but a crowd of figures are approaching, and in their midst he sees something white, that is being borne along by others.

For a moment his heart stands still with horror, and then beats again with redoubled violence.

The procession comes nearer and nearer. Now he hears a low, wailing voice. It is she, he recognizes Masa’s voice. And alas! he can utter no tone, he cannot rise and fly to her assistance. His mouth is gagged, his hands and feet are securely bound. There he lies perfectly helpless; he can do nothing but swear vengeance to himself. Oh, he cannot utter a single word to tell that he is there, and that he shares her grief and anguish.

They have now come close to him. Mohammed sees them deposit a cot on the ground. He sees a white veiled figure lying motionless on this cot. He also sees and recognizes the haughty man who now comes to the side of the cot. It is Cousrouf Pacha, his hated and now dreaded enemy. Alas! he is now in his power. The young lion lies bound at the panther’s feet; he is helpless and must submit to all.

Cousrouf commands the eunuchs, who had stood still awaiting his orders, to retire after first placing the cot a little nearer to the sea.

They noiselessly do as directed, and then retire. Now they are alone—Cousrouf Pacha and the two bound, helpless creatures.

A few rosy little clouds have appeared in the east, it is growing lighter, and the dark mantle of night is being lifted. The sea is beginning to swell with the breath of morning, and to caress the beach, and murmur at the feet of the fettered man. He looks neither at the sea beneath, nor at the heavens above. He gazes up with flaming eyes at him who stands composedly by his side, looking down upon him contemptuously.

"Mohammed, you have a friend who loves you well, and this friend was too shrewd for me. I had sworn with the triple oath that I would grant the request he should ask of me. He asked for your life and your safety."

A low groan escaped the breast of the bound man. Though be could not denounce his enemy in words, he could nevertheless give expression to the curse that burned in his heart in the proud, fierce glance of his eye. But he must bear his enemy’s scornful words and smiles in silence.

"I gave my word that you should suffer no bodily injury, and I will keep it. But you shall see how Cousrouf Pacha punishes where no oath binds him, and how he avenges himself on those who dare to defy him and his authority. Yes, you shall see, and shall carry with you throughout life the remembrance of what you have seen. Thus Cousrouf avenges himself on you. Now look and hear. Incline your head a little, and look down at that cot on which the white figure lies.

Oh, why is the sun so cruel as to begin to shed its light around them, and illumine this figure, that the poor bound man may see it distinctly!

It is she, it is Masa! So near and yet so far, so widely, eternally separated from him. No longer can they grasp hands or exchange vows of undying love. A grave lies between, a fearful, impassable barrier. That they both know. For they know the law—the law of the land that permits the master to punish the slave he has purchased. Yes, to punish her according to the law if he finds her unfaithful. She is tied up in a sack and cast into the sea, that no mound may designate the spot where a poor traitoress has found her place of burial; that she may disappear from the world untalked of and unnoticed.

Cousrouf stands haughtily erect beside the cot on which the figure lies.

"Masa, daughter of the Sheik of Praousta, confess that you are rightfully and according to the law my slave. I paid you the purchase-money, and you accepted it. I was gracious, and granted your request that you might pass the day with your father. I was a fool, and trusted to human faith. Because you swore by the spirit of your mother and by Allah, and all you held sacred, that you would return to me in the evening. as it beseemed a purchased slave, to my harem, where the eunuchs awaited you. I granted you this delay out of kindness. You mocked at my mercy and scorned my kindness. You broke your oath. And you fled from your master with this boy in shameless infidelity."

He paused and looked down at the white figure, as if expecting an answer, although he knew that Masa, too, had been gagged in order that no cry for help might escape her pale lips. They are both bound. The same fate has overtaken both, and they must bear it in silence. Their fearful anguish can find no utterance.

"Masa, I repeat what I said before. Repent and attempt to repair the wrong you have done; show your master that you will belong to him in love; show this, as he requires it of you. Go with me voluntarily to the sheik, your father, tomorrow, and say to him: ’Cousrouf Pacha has purchased me, and I will follow him out into the world, of my own free will and love.’ Say this to the boy, too, who lies there; tell him that henceforth you will be your master’s faithful slave, and will serve him in love and joyousness. Do this, Masa, and I will pardon you for the sake of your youth and beauty, and because my heart prompts me to do so. Raise your hand three times in token of your assent, and, I repeat, I will forgive you. Yet your repentance must be public. I demand this in justice to myself, and on account of that proud boy, that he may receive his punishment through you. Now, answer! Give the sign!"

He pauses and waits. Nothing breaks in upon the stillness but the murmuring of the waves upon the shore.

The two unhappy creatures cannot pour out their anguish in each other’s ears, or exchange their vows of undying love. And yet for a moment they are blessed, for their hearts understand each other, and their souls are filled for an instant with ineffable love and happiness and anguish.

Mohammed knows that Masa refuses what the haughty man requires of her. Mohammed knows that Masa prefers death to life at the side of another man, and he feels some consolation in his heart at the thought that she is there, and that her death is but the manifestation of the immortality of her love.

He is the witness of her death and of her fidelity, and this soothes his anguish. Ah! it is sweet to die under the glance of love, heavenly and blissful to sink into the grave with gaze fixed on the countenance of the beloved one, heart communing with heart, though lips can find no utterance. It is a grand and elevating sight to him who loves to behold so faithful and heroic a death. After long years have elapsed, Mohammed will still think of this hour when Masa stood firm and immovable in her vows, nobly and disdainfully rejecting life.

Blessed be the love that is strong even unto death! Blessed be death when such a spirit hovers over and consecrates it.

A long pause. And Cousrouf Pacha speaks again in harder and more imperious tones than before:

"Raise your hand, Masa, and give the sign I require."

Masa remains motionless. Death awaits her; she knows this, and is glad. Oh, that her face were not veiled! Mohammed might then read her love in her eyes—in these stars fallen from heaven, as he had called them a few short hours before.

"Masa, give the sign; this is your last opportunity."

She does not move.

"Then I curse you, and you die! You have pronounced judgment on yourself!—Here, ye slaves!"

They flutter to his side like the ravens of the night, greedily seeking their prey.

"Take hold of her and tie her up in the sack."

Mohammed’s hands and feet are bound, and he cannot rise, but he can lift his head and gaze at the dread deed that is being done, and he does so. Yes, he sees his white dove disappear in the sack in the black grave that is closed over her.

"Thus are unfaithful slaves punished; and thus the law allows and commands. Tie the mouth of the sack securely. Is it done? Is the boat ready?"

They murmur that all is in readiness.

"Good! Row her out on the water. Yet not too far, in order that this boy may see what takes place."

He must bear it, and look on while the black ravens drag his white dove down to the shore, and cast the living burden into the boat.

They row with rapid strokes from the shore, but not far out, for they know the sea is deep at this place, and that it greedily swallows all that is confided to it. To the rope with which the mouth of the sack is tied up they have secured two heavy iron balls, that it may sink rapidly into the deep. They stop.

"Take in the oars! Now lift the sack; cast it into the sea!"

The waves receive their prey, and the water foams and eddies for a moment over the place where it went down. All is still again. The boat is turned and rowed back to the shore.

Cousrouf Pacha has stood there, composedly gazing at this fearful, horrible burial. Now he steps to the side of the poor, bound man, and takes leave of him in cruel, mocking words.

Does he hear them? His widely-opened eyes stare out fixedly upon the waters. He is motionless, no quivering muscle indicates that he has understood the pacha’s words of triumph and mockery. Cousrouf turns and beckons to the slaves.

"Leave him lying there! He will be found in the morning, for he will be looked for. Nothing has been done to him, and I have kept my word. Now let us go; the ship is ready to sail, is it not?"

"Yes, gracious master, all is in readiness," replied the eunuchs.

He turns and walks off toward Cavalla. An hour later, Cousrouf Pacha leaves the governor’s house, and leaves it to return no more.

His harem had been conveyed to the ship before the morning dawned; and all his treasure and baggage had been packed, and taken on board the day before. All is in readiness to weigh the anchor and sail as soon as the pacha shall have come on board.

Cousrouf Pacha walks proudly down toward the harbor, at his side the governor, who insists on accompanying his honored guest to the shore. The servants in gold-embroidered liveries, and the slaves, follow his excellency.

And, gayly smiling, Cousrouf chats with the governor all the way down to the shore, grasps his hand in parting, and thanks him for his hospitality. He then enters the boat covered with costly carpets that is to convey him to the ship.

The tschorbadji stands on the shore gazing after him, vainly endeavoring to display a sorrowful, countenance, and repress all evidence of gladness that fills his heart at the thought that, after long years, the haughty pacha, who entered his house as master, has at last departed. Ah, it will be delightful to be able to walk in the park and garden, with his Osman, without the fear of meeting his proud guest.

Hastily the tschorbadji returns to Cavalla, to his son who is still reclining in the garden house, and relates that Cousrouf has departed, and that he has sent his dear Osman the kindest greetings, and the best wishes for his welfare.

Osman listens with an air of indifference and anxiety, and his father regards him with dismay.

"Osman, what is the matter, what is it that grieves you?"

"Father, I must say it. Something fearful has taken place this night!"

"What can have happened, Osman? Tranquillize yourself! You are trembling! What has occurred?"

"Father; I do not know as yet; I have been listening for the shot Mohammed was to fire. I have not yet heard it, and yet I feel that some misfortune has happened to him, and that something dreadful has taken place."

"But what can have happened to Mohammed?"

"I cannot speak of it now, and I am a poor, unhappy being whose feet are too weak to bear him. I pray you go down to Praousta yourself. Oh, go to the cliffs, father, go to the caves and openings in the rock! Take the servants with you! I conjure you, father, do not delay a moment!"

He could speak no further, and the tschorbadji saw, with dismay, that his son’s face was deathly pale.

"Be courageous, my Osman! It shall be as you say. I will call the servants. See, I am already going!"

He hastily left the palace with his servants. All is still quiet in Praousta—the walk among the cliffs, and down to the shore. Then suddenly—

"What is that on the beach? O Allah, the merciful! Is that not a dead body? Is it not Mohammed? Bound and gagged! He does not move! Quick, cut the ropes, take the gag out of his mouth!"

This is speedily done, but still Mohammed does not move.

"Is he dead? There are no wounds to be seen on his person! No, not dead, he is only insensible. Bring water, wet his temples, cool his forehead!"

Allah be praised! He moves, he lives! Yes, he lives, and he bounds suddenly to his feet, and he gazes around with the expression not of a man, but of a tiger. He then utters a cry so fearful, so terrible a cry, that the tschorbadji’s heart is filled with anxiety and compassion.

With outstretched arms, Mohammed walks down to the verge of the sea.

The servants rush after him, and endeavor to hold him back. He clinches his fists and strikes them, but they grasp him firmly, and at last succeed in overcoming him.

"Mohammed, compose yourself and be strong!" said the tschorbadji, clasping his arms about him. "Friend of my son, take pity on me, and remember that Osman dies if you die."

He shakes his head, but cannot speak. He looks at the sea, the terrible sea! His eyes stare in horror at the place where Masa sank, then close, and he falls to the ground insensible. The servants now raise him in their arms, and carry him to the governor’s house.

His countenance deathly pale, Osman stands at the gate awaiting them. He sees the sad procession approaching. He knows they are bringing his friend, and, hastening forward to meet them, he receives the motionless body, hot, glowing tears pouring from his eyes.

Awakened by the dew of his friend’s falling tears, Mohammed opens his eyes and looks up. His lips part, and murmur softly, "Dead, Masa is dead!"—nothing more!

The whole history of his anguish lies in the words, "Dead, Masa is dead!"

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Chicago: Luise Mühlbach, "Chapter I Revenge.," Mohammed Ali and His House, ed. CM01B10.Txt - 149 Kb, CM01B10.Zip - 56 Kb and trans. Coleman, Chapman, Mrs., 1813-1891 in Mohammed Ali and His House (New York: The Modern Library Publishers, 1918), Original Sources, accessed March 29, 2024, http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=M2B7NC9GYSH55DL.

MLA: Mühlbach, Luise. "Chapter I Revenge." Mohammed Ali and His House, edited by CM01B10.Txt - 149 Kb, CM01B10.Zip - 56 Kb, and translated by Coleman, Chapman, Mrs., 1813-1891, in Mohammed Ali and His House, New York, The Modern Library Publishers, 1918, Original Sources. 29 Mar. 2024. http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=M2B7NC9GYSH55DL.

Harvard: Mühlbach, L, 'Chapter I Revenge.' in Mohammed Ali and His House, ed. and trans. . cited in 1918, Mohammed Ali and His House, The Modern Library Publishers, New York. Original Sources, retrieved 29 March 2024, from http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=M2B7NC9GYSH55DL.