Maria Edgeworth - "The Parent's Assistant"

John Lothrop Motley - "History of the United Netherlands, 1588"

Owen M. Edwards - "A Short History of Wales"

Alexander Mackenzie - "History Of The Mackenzies"

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Books: Mohammed Ali and His House

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"Never! never!" cried the men. "Has not the sheik himself forbidden
us to do so? Did not the ulemas, as late as yesterday evening at
sunset, command us in Allah's name to be firm?"

"They did command it," cried the girl, passionately, "and they did
so because they wished to do their duty and obey the law. But it
devolves upon you, ye men, to obey the higher law that dwells in us.
Will you, ye men of Praousta, allow your best and noblest men to be
murdered for the sake of a paltry sum of money. Do you wish that
your children and grandchildren should one day point at you and say:
--Look at them, they are murderers! They slaughtered them that they
might keep their money, that they might keep that which they held
dearest!"

"No, Masa, it is not on account of the money!" cried the men. "It is
a question of our honor, of law, and of justice. And therefore the
sheik has commanded us not to pay. A double tax was imposed on us;
that was unjust. The sheik and the ulemas say that, if we pay this
double tax, they will the next time demand a treble, and the third
time a quadruple tax. In this way they would consume our substance,
and our fate would be poverty and the beggar's staff. Thus spoke the
sheik and the ulemas as late as yesterday evening, and therefore
must we remain firm, and, therefore, oh, forgive us, we should not
dare to pay even if we could."

"But we cannot even do it," cried one of the men. "No, Masa, you may
believe us, it is not in our power. The tobacco-crop has turned out
badly, and the storms have destroyed our nets, and let the fish
escape. Really, we could not pay even if we would. It was with the
greatest difficulty that we got the simple tax together, and now the
tschorbadji sends us word, by his collectors, that we must pay as
much more. By Allah, it is impossible, we cannot do it."

"No, it is impossible; we cannot do it," cried the rest, in a chorus
of lamentation.

"Then you are ready to let my father die--to become the murderers of
our ulemas," cried Masa, falling on her knees, and stretching out
her arms imploringly. "Oh, be merciful to yourselves, for I tell you
the evil spirits will obtain power over you, if you do not abandon
your cruel intention. I tell you, misery will be your portion, if
you allow your noblest men to be murdered for the sake of vile
money."

"And we tell you, Masa, that we cannot pay," cried the men, in
defiant, despairing tones. "We repeat, and call Allah to witness, we
have not the money they demand of us."

"You have not this money? But if you had it, would you then pay?
Would you bend your heads to save the heads of our noblest men?
Would you go to the tschorbadji and say--Here is the double tax. You
do us injustice, yet we humble ourselves in order to save the lives
of our sheik and the ulemas!' Say, would you do this?"

The people made no reply, but cast sorrowful glances at each other,
and whispered among themselves

"The sheik would not forgive us; he gave strict orders that we
should not pay."

"But his life, and the lives of the ulemas are at stake," murmured
one of them.

"Yes, his life is at stake!" cried Masa, who had heard this. "I
entreat you to grant my request. Let each of you go after the tax he
has laid by, and then come with me, all of you, to the tschorbadji.
I will attend to the rest."

"Masa, what are you about to do? " asked the men, regarding her in
astonishment. "It does not become a woman to meddle with such
affairs."

"It becomes a daughter to save her father's life. This is my only
purpose, and may Allah assist me in accomplishing it!" cried she,
with enthusiasm. "I pray you, go after the money, and wait at the
rocky stairway. I am only going to my house, and shall return
directly."

She flew across the square to her father's house. Two female
servants, who had been standing in the hall, anxiously awaiting the
return of their mistress, cried out with joy, and hastened forward
to kiss her bands.

She rushed past them up the stairway, and into her room, looking the
door behind her, that none might follow. She then took hastily from
a trunk, inherited from her mother, a casket, adorned with mother-
of-pearl and precious, stones. She opened it and looked at its
contents.

"Yes, there are the ear-rings; and there are the tiara and the
necklace."

Her mother had given her, on her death-bed, these, the bridal
ornaments she had brought with her from her father's house, and the
sheik had often remarked that these jewels were worth at least a
hundred sequins.

Until now, their value had been a matter of indifference to her.
What cared she how much money could be had for her pearls and
necklace? She loved this jewelry because it came from her mother,
but now she thinks differently.

"The jewelry is worth at least a hundred sequins, and the tax
certainly does not amount to more. And, if it were more, I should
entreat the governor until he accepted the jewelry as the second
tax. Thus it shall be. O dear mother, look down upon your daughter,
and do not be angry with her for parting with the costly souvenir
given her by you on your death-bed! Do not be angry, and see in it
only love for my father!"

She bowed her head, and kissed the pearls which had once adorned her
mother; kissed the necklace and the tiara that had once shone on her
dear head.

"O mother, I had thought, that on my wedding-day, I too should wear
these costly ornaments. But I know that it will be a matter of
indifference to him, the only one for whom I wish this day to come.
He would not look at the glittering jewels, but only at me. I
therefore willingly part with them; I do not care, for he whom I
love will not be grieved if I come to him unadorned."

A blissful smile overspread her lovely countenance.

She closed and locked the casket, and hid it under her veil. She
hastily walked down the stairway, out of the house, and toward the
mosque, where the men had begun to assemble, each one bringing with
him his proportion of the tax.

"Tell me, ye men," asked Masa, quickly, "what is the amount of the
tax you are called on to pay?"

"The simple tax, Masa, amounts to one hundred sequins. Consider how
heavy a burden this alone is. There are hardly fifty men of us
living here in Praousta, and really it seems to us quite sufficient
that each of us has two sequins to pay at the end of each summer.
But to pay the double tax is simply impossible. Your father well
knew this, Masa, and he therefore sternly commanded us not to pay,
as the demand was contrary to law and justice."

"A hundred sequins," cried she, with sparkling eyes. "Then all is
well. Come, ye men of Praousta let us ascend the stairway. The hour
of the second prayer has not yet come, and until then, with the
tschrobadji's consent, Mohammed Ali has granted us a respite. Wait
on the crest of the rock above until I call you. I shall now go to
the tschorbadji; pray ye, in the mean while, to Allah, that my words
may prove effectual."

She ascended the stairway with flying footsteps. With dejected
looks, the men slowly followed. "We are wrong in allowing her to
persuade us to submit to the tschorbadji. We will, however, pay the
just tax, and no more. We would not pay more, even if we could. Here
let us stay and await the call of our sheik's daughter."

"And let us pray, as she requested," murmured others. On bended
knees, and with solemn countenances, the men, but now so noisy and
fierce, awaited Masa's return in silence.

The white dove flew up the pathway, through the courtyard, and into
the palace, regardless of a number of her father's old friends who
were lying on the ground before the gate. She dare not stop to speak
to them, for the sheik could seek to learn on what errand his
daughter goes alone to the palace. If she should tell him, he would
command her to return to her father's harem, there to await in
patience the fate Allah should have in store for his children. No,
she cannot approach him, cannot brave his questioning; she would
then be compelled to disobey him, for her father's life must and
shall be preserved.

The tschorbadji stood in the lower hall. His heart was troubled, and
his countenance sorrowful. He should not have permitted Mohammed Ali
to go so far. How terrible it would be if this execution should
really take place here in his courtyard, if the heads of the best
men of Praousta should really fall to the ground! No, he should not
have permitted the stern, pitiless young man to pledge his honor for
the fulfullment of what he had undertaken. He had already asked his
son Osman to seek his friend and entreat him to desist from his
stern purpose. Osman was now pleading with his friend in soft,
persuasive tones.

"Will he succeed?" This is now the question that agitates the
tschorbadji. He had sworn by all that was holy that Mohammed should
have his will; and a Moslem cannot break his oath; honor forbids it.
The tachorbadji knows this very well, and therefore is he sorrowful
and dejected. Should the young man persist, he must therefore
unwillingly allow him to carry out his purpose. He sits there on the
divan, tortured with doubt and apprehension. Will Mohammed relent?
Will Osman succeed in softening his heart?

At this moment the door opens, and a veiled woman enters the room.
She advances with light and noiseless footstep, and kneels down
before the tschorbadji.

"O master, be merciful to your servant! Sheik Alepp's daughter
kneels before you ! Incline your heart to mercy, and give back to me
my father!"

"Gladly would I do so, were it in my power," sighed he. I swear it
by Allah! But I have pledged my word to the young man to whom I gave
authority to act in the name of the law, that he should have
unlimited power to do as he should deem proper in the matter. I can
therefore do nothing, though I would gladly liberate your father and
abandon the collection of the tax."

"O master, I do not ask you to give up the tax! You shall have all
you have commanded us to pay."

"You are prepared to pay it?" exclaimed the tschorbadji, joyously.
"Then our trouble is at an end. But pray why are you, the daughter
of the noble, worthy sheik, here?"

"I have come, O master, because I have an act of mercy to implore at
your hands. The men of Praousta are really not able to pay two
hundred sequins, but what they lack in money I have in money's
worth."

"You speak in enigmas, maiden," said the tschorbadji. "You have the
money, and yet you have it not. What does this mean?"

"I have not the money in coined sequins," said she, looking toward
the door as though she feared Mohammed might enter and be angry when
she presented her love-offering. "Look at this, tschorbadji; these
were my mother's jewels, but they are now mine, and no one else has
a right to them. Gladly will I part with them for the sake of the
men of our village. I have often been told that these jewels are
worth more than a hundred sequins. I pray you, take them of me for
that sum."

Still kneeling, she handed the tschorbadji the casket containing the
jewelry. He took it and regarded it thoughtfully.

"Did it devolve upon me alone to decide this question, gladly would
I take the jewelry, good maiden. But remember, I have sworn to
Mohammed Ali that the prisoners should only then be released when
the double tax shall have been paid in glittering gold-pieces. And I
must keep my word. Gladly would I give you their value, but I must
confess to the daughter of my sheik that I have not in my possession
so large a sum. But remain here; a thought occurs to me," said he.
"The ambassador who comes from Stamboul for the tax, and who arrived
here yesterday, brought with him for Couspouf Pacha a large purse
filled with sequins. If I show him this jewelry and ask him--yes, I
will do so. Remain here, maiden, until I return. You might think I
would keep your jewels and not return. Take your jewelry and remain
here. I am going in quest of one who may be able to assist us. I say
us, for I, too, shall be much pleased if the matter can be settled
in this peaceful manner. Wait here, daughter of my sheik, while I go
in search of one who can settle this matter fit the satisfaction of
all!"




CHAPTER V

THE DELIVERANCE.


"This, dear sir, is the woman of whom I spoke," said the
tschorbadji, throwing open the door of the room, and stepping aside
respectfully to allow his distinguished guest, Cousrouf Pacha, to
pass in. "Salute this gentleman with reverence, daughter of my
sheik," said he, turning to Masa. "You stand in the presence of a
mighty man; he alone can help you."

"O master, if it is in your power, I pray you to help me," cried the
maiden, falling upon her knees before the pacha. "Be merciful!
Deliver my father from his prison; deliver us all from fear and
danger!"

"What does all this mean?" asked Cousrouf, haughtily, turning to the
tschorbadji, who had respectfully stepped aside. "You bade me come
to decide an important question, and I find here only a young woman
who is weeping. What does this mean?"

"This young maiden is the daughter of Sheik Alepp, who is, as you
know, imprisoned in the court-yard. She loves her father dearly, and
has continually worked and pleaded for him since his imprisonment.
She now comes to say that the men of Praousta are really not able to
pay the double tax. You know that, although I would now gladly
abandon the collection of the tax, I have sworn to Mohammed Ali that
he alone should settle the matter. This tender-hearted maiden has
now thought of a means of solving this difficulty. She brings these
jewels, inherited from her mother, and asks me to give her their
value, a sum sufficient to pay the second tax. I, however, am a poor
man, and have not the hundred sequins to give her for her jewelry,
in order that she may take them to the people of Praousta, for from
them only will Mohammed accept payment of the tax. Therefore, pardon
my importunity. You are rich and mighty; when your purse is empty
you can easily refill it. You are noble and generous, and will
perhaps be disposed to take the jewelry, and let the loving daughter
have the money wherewith to obtain the deliverance of her father."

"Where are the jewels?" asked the pacha, gazing with impassioned
eyes upon the veiled figure of the maiden of whose countenance the
eyes alone were visible. But they were so beautiful, and rested upon
him with such an expression of tender entreaty, that he was moved to
the depths of his soul. "Where are the jewels?" repeated he,
slightly bending down over her.

She raised her hand and gave him the casket. "Here they are, noble
master. May Allah soften your heart, that I may not be deprived of
my beloved father!" He listened attentively to this voice. It seemed
to him he had never heard sweeter music than the tender, tremulous
tones of this maiden pleading for her father. His gaze still fixed
upon her, he opened the casket and glanced indifferently at its
precious contents. For a moment a strange smile played about his
lips, and he then turned with a mocking, contemptuous expression of
countenance, and addressed the tschorbadji:

"Tschorbadji, can you really so poorly distinguish between genuine
gold and precious stones and a worthless imitation? These are
playthings for children. These are not, pearls, and this is not
gold. A well-planned swindle, truly. No Jew would give you two
sequins for these things, not to speak of a hundred."

"Swindle!" she cried, springing to her feet, and her voice as now
clear and threatening. "You accuse me of planning a swindle! You are
wrong, sir; and if there be any one here who cannot distinguish true
gold and pearls from a base imitation, you are he! The gold and
pearls are genuine, and were inherited by me from my mother, who was
the daughter of a rich jeweler in Stamboul. She bequeathed them to
me, and the casket has not been opened before since her death. And
you accuse me of attempting to defraud you! You act ungenerously."

"Dear sir, forgive her, forgive her bold words!" said the
tschorbadji, addressing in earnest tones the pacha, whose eager gaze
was still fixed on the maiden. It seemed as though her anger had
power to excite his sympathy and admiration.

"It is of no moment," said he, haughtily: "I pray you, tschorbadji,
withdraw into the adjoining room. I wish to converse with her alone,
and if in my power I will assist her, notwithstanding her imitation
jewelry."

"O master, you are assuredly wrong," urged the maiden. "The pearls
are real, and the gold of the purest. I swear it by Allah! If you do
not intend to purchase my jewelry, and enable me to save my father,
tell me so at once, but you must not mock me."

"I am not mocking you I--Kindly withdraw into the next room,
tschorbadji, but leave the door open. You shall see all that passes
between us, but I beg that you will close your ear. I wish to deal
with the maiden alone, and it concerns no one to hear what we have
to say."

"I shall withdraw to the farther end of the adjoining room, where no
word of your conversation can reach me," said the tachorbadji,
respectfully. The pacha smiled condescendingly on the tschorbadji,
who walked into the next room, and seated himself at its farthest
end.

"Now, daughter of Sheik Alepp, now we will consider this matter,"
said the pacha. "I am willing to assist you, but you must do your
part."

"Master, what shall I do? I am anxious to do all I can."

"Do you love your father?"

"Yes, master! I love him with all my soul; he is the master given me
by Allah, and he is at the same time my friend. He is every thing to
me, mother, brother, sister. We two are alone together, and love
nothing in the world but each other!"

"Then I am sorry for you, poor child!" said the pacha. "Your father
is lost if the tax is not paid. You say yourself that the men of
Praousta cannot pay the double tax, and should they fail to do so
the heads of the four prisoners must fall."

"Be merciful! O master, be merciful," cried Masa. "You are rich and
mighty. You can save him. Oh, save him!"

"You are in error," said the pacha, "in this case I am powerless;
even the tschorbadji can do nothing. He pledged this word to
Mohammed Ali; he took the triple oath that he would allow him to act
as he should think best in this matter. Mohammed Ali has sworn that
the heads of the prisoners shall fall unless the people of Praousta
pay the tax, and that he will behead them himself if no other
executioner can be found."

"Horrible! and thus was his oath," cried Masa, shuddering.

"I pray you, master, tell me, were these his words; did he swear he
would himself execute my father?"

"He did. And, believe me, the youth will keep his word. He is blood-
thirsty and cruel, and it will gladden his heart to cool his wrath
in your father's blood."

"No! It is impossible!" cried Masa, in terror. "He cannot be so
cruel, and he is not!"

"Then you know him? " said the pacha, his eyes gleaming with hatred.

"I saw him this morning, and implored him to be merciful. I went
down on my knees before him, and besought him not to take my
father's life."

"And yet he will do it! I tell you this Mohammed is a fierce youth.
Mercy is a word of which he knows nothing. You yourself have seen
that he is relentless."

"Yes," murmured she ; "he is relentless."

"There is, therefore, nothing to be hoped for from him," said the
pacha. "The tax must be paid, or the prisoners' heads fall."

She sighed profoundly, and covered her face with her hands. She
knows it is so; he told her so himself, in an agony of pain and
sorrow. The men must pay the tax, or all is lost; her father, or he
whom she loves, must die. She knows and feels this; and, therefore,
has she come to implore mercy of the stranger, whose gaze fills her
with anxiety and terror. She thinks of her father, and of the youth
whom she loves, and her tongue is eloquent, for she is pleading for
both.

"I can help you," said the pacha, tranquilly and haughtily, "and I
will do so."

"You will?" cried she, joyously; and her eyes sparkled like the
stars of heaven, and filled the pacha, whose gaze was still fixed on
her; with delight. "You will help me, gracious master, sent by Allah
to my assistance, you will deliver my father from prison?"

"I will," replied the pacha. "That is, it depends on whether you
will grant a request of mine, and do what I wish."

"And what is it you desire, master?" asked the innocent, anxious
maiden in tremulous tones.

He gazed on her passionately, a smile lighting up his countenance.
"Lift your veil, and let me look upon your countenance."

She shuddered, and drew her veil so closely about her face, that it
concealed her eyes also.

"O master!" said she, in low tones of entreaty. "As you know, the
custom of our land forbids a girl to appear unveiled before a man."

"Unless he be the man who takes her into his harem," replied he,
smiling.

"Yes, master, only before him whom she follows into the harem, and
then only when she has already followed him, may she unveil her face
before him. Therefore, be merciful, O master! Honor the custom of
our land, and do not demand of me what I could never confess to my
father!"

"Silly girl," answered he. "I do demand it, and, if it is denied me,
your father's head falls. You admit he is the only man you love, and
your only shield. When he is dead, you will be a beggar, and will
not even be able to purchase a veil, for the poor are everywhere
unveiled, and are, on that account, no worse than you who mask your
faces with veils. Therefore, daughter of the sheik, lift your veil!"

"Mercy! mercy!" she exclaimed, raising her hands entreatingly. "I
cannot do what you desire. I dare not. I have sworn an oath!"

"An oath?" said he, gazing at her piercingly. "To whom did you swear
this oath?"

She trembled, and did not reply. She felt that she must not confess
the truth, for that would be to invoke destruction upon the head of
Mohammed.

"I swore it to myself," she whispered in low tones. "I swore to
remain pure and honest, as beseemed my mother's daughter, and never
to raise my veil in the presence of a strange man."

"Then keep your oath!" said he, stepping close to her. "You shall
not raise your veil, but I will; I will do it. I must see your face
before I fulfil my promise, before I deliver your father from
prison."

He raised his arm. She sought to defend herself, and prayed for
mercy. In vain! With a quick movement he lifted her veil, and
fastened his gaze on her countenance. At that moment a cry resounded
through the apartment, a cry of rage, and at the door of the
adjoining room appeared Mohammed Ali, pale and infuriated. He was
about to rush into the room, but with a bound the tachorbadji sprang
to his side, grasped him with all the strength which his anxiety
gave him, drew him back, closed the door, locked it, and drew the
key out of the lock.

"You ought not to enter, and, by Allah, you shall not!"

"I must enter!" cried Mohammed, gnashing his teeth, and looking like
an enraged lion, as he endeavored to wrest the key from the
tschorbadji. But the latter grasped the key firmly, and anxiously
called his son.

"What has happened?" asked Osman in anxious tones, as he entered the
room. Mohammed stood still, controlling his wrath with a gigantic
effort.

"You ask, Osman, what has happened. Within is Cousrouf Pacha with
the sheik Alepp's daughter, and he treats with her for her honor and
innocence, and she allows him to do so!" cried he, loudly and
fiercely.

"That is not true," said the governor. "You accuse him wrongly.
There is no reason why all the world should not see and hear what is
going on within. It is your fault alone that I found it necessary to
lock the door. What was your object in coming?"

"I came because the decisive hour has arrived, and I saw, in the
adjoining room, Cousrouf Pacha raising the girl's veil."

"You came and rushed past me like a madman. How do the girl's
actions concern you. She came to seek deliverance for her father."

"How her actions concern me, you ask, tschorbadji?" he cried,
clinching his fists. "How Masa's actions concern me, you wish to
know?"

"Be still, Mohammed!" said Osman, whose keen vision had read the
youth's soul, in low, entreating tones. "I pray you do not betray
your secret."

Mohammed shook convulsively, and covered his face with his hands.
"It is true," he murmured. "I must and will be silent. She is lost
to me. I will think of nothing but revenge, let all else be
forgotten. --Tschorbadji, you swore that I alone should decide the
fate of the prisoners, and you will keep your oath!"

"I will keep my oath, as beseems an honest man, yet I hope,
Mohammed, that you will not be relentless; if you had heard, as I
have, the poor young girl's lamentations, it would have softened
your heart, and it would not have become necessary to resort to the
pacha."

"As if he could assist her," he murmured to himself. "As if all
assistance were not now out of the question."

"Be composed, Mohammed," said Osman, entreatingly, as he threw his
arms around his friend's neck. "Do not complain, do not accuse. Be
firm, and prove that you have a strong and noble heart."