Mohammed's countenance was graver and paler than usual when he came down from Bucephalus. But it seemed that his heart had there received milder and softer impressions. He spoke to his wife in more gentle and cordial tones; and instead of repairing, as was his custom, to a coffee-house, where merchants assembled and exchanged their views and opinions, smoked the chibouque together, and discussed the news received from foreign countries, he remained at home in the family circle. At his request, Osman had come to pass the evening with them, for Mohammed well knew that this was the young man's only happiness. These ten years did not benefit Osman's health; he was still the withered stalk that bows its head, but is not torn down by the wind, but only swayed to and fro by it at its pleasure.
Yes, Osman was weak, and firm and constant in one thing only, in his love for his friend.
With him this feeling took the place of all else; Mohammed was to Osman what the latter was to his father--his only joy in life! And for these two Osman sustained himself, bore his ill health and suffering, and let the sunlight shine upon, and the storms of life sweep over him.
Osman understood why Mohammed was so kind and genial to-day. He knew that the day had its significance, and that the wound bled within secretly and incessantly. In silence Mohammed is praying for forgiveness, for having on this day permitted his thoughts to wander back to the past, for having sunk down in sadness upon the spot on the brow of the rock that had once witnessed his happiness; and he desires to be mild and gentle to his family this evening. His wife Ada is thankful and very happy. Mohammed so rarely laughs and jests with her, so rarely plays with the boys! To be sure he has never grieved her, has always been kind and gentle, and has never opposed her wishes. But yet she knows she has no share in his inmost heart. He talks with her of the daily affairs of life, he allows her to participate in all such matters, but he never speaks to her of his heart's inmost thoughts, and whether he suffers and longs to leave these desolate cliffs, or whether he is discontented with the monotonous, matter-of-fact life he is leading--she knows not! Mohammed has never complained to her, neither has he to his friend. But the latter has read his friend's heart, and understands it better than Mohammed himself. And a day was soon to come which proved this.
A message came from Stamboul. A large ship arrived at Cavalla, and her sailors related that a number of ships still larger and handsomer had arrived in the Bay of Sta. Marmara. The ship put out a boat, which came to the shore and landed a richly-attired officer who went up to Cavalla. He repaired to the palace and delivered a letter, secured with magnificent seals, to the tschorbadji. The letter was from Cousrouf Pacha to his host of former years. He had not been heard from since that time, and the tschorbadji had supposed himself long since forgotten. He was familiar with the ways of the great, whose lips are ever ready to utter promises, which are forgotten, the next hour. Ten years have elapsed, and but rarely have Cousrouf Pacha, his new grandeur, and the great things the future had in store for him, been heard of in Cavalla. And now a letter announces that Cousrouf Pacha still remembers, and gladly remembers, former days.
"The Sublime Porte has determined," so read the pacha's letter to the governor, "the Sublime Porte has determined to oppose the French occupation of Egypt with energy. The rich land of Egypt belongs to the Sublime Porte, and without any color of right France takes possession of it as its own property."
Yes, the republic of France had done this, had landed at Alexandria with large armies, and had inundated almost the whole of Egypt with its soldiers. But the Mameluke Beys, who have so long considered themselves the masters of the country, had taken the field and fought the invaders. In Stamboul, also, they had long been preparing for war, and now that all preparations were made, and an army ready to take the field against the French, each province, yes, each village of the empire, was to furnish its quota of soldiers in addition. Messengers had been sent out to every city and village in the empire to call on the young men in the name of the grand-sultan to flock to the flag to defend Egypt.
Cavalla was also to furnish its quota, and the pacha's instructions were, that the governor should with all speed uniform three hundred young men, and send them to him.
Cousrouf Pacha had, however, also written, "That the governor may see in what glad remembrance I hold the past, and that I am grateful, I request that his son Osman be placed at their head as captain, and come with them. And," continued the pacha, "as his lieutenant, young Mohammed Ali, if still living, may be serviceable. However, I suppose that his own violence and passion have consumed this young man, as he persistently labored at his own destruction. If this, how ever, is not the case, and his extraordinary strength of constitution has preserved him, the youth must have become a strong man, and we need such men for our army."
The governor informed Mohammed and his son of what the pacha had written. He requested Mohammed to assist him in recruiting and equipping the men, and Mohammed willingly gave his assistance. He repaired to Praousta and the neighboring places and assisted in the work. He soothed the displeasure of the men called on to take the field, spoke of the heroic deeds they could perform, and of the beautiful land to which they were to go, so distant from the quiet, desolate Praousta.
And in a few days the three hundred men were ready to embark. But how was it with regard to the captain and his lieutenant? Osman had reserved his decision for the last day, and Mohammed seemed to have entirely forgotten that he was selected as the captain's lieutenant. He had not spoken of it during these days; Cousrouf's mention of him seemed to have made no impression on him, and his attention appeared to have been directed wholly to the equipment of the soldiers. Now that all was in readiness, Osman sent his friend word to come to him, as he wished to converse with him on a matter of grave importance. Mohammed willingly acceded to this request and repaired at once to the garden-house, where, since the days of his childhood, a couch had at all times stood in readiness for the governor's poor, sickly son, and seated himself at his side, as he was in the habit of doing.
"You wished to see me about something, Osman. What is it?"
"What is it?" said Osman, with his softest smile, laying his hand on his friend's shoulder and regarding him fixedly. "Well, I should think you ought to know. Try to divine it!"
Mohammed slowly shook his head. "By Allah, I am ignorant what it is, Osman!"
"Well," said the latter, smiling, "I wish to speak of our departure with the troops."
"What do you mean by that?"
"What do I mean? The pacha, Cousrouf, has appointed me captain of the three hundred soldiers, and you my lieutenant."
"He has done so, to be sure, but we of course decline the appointment," said Mohammed, shrugging his shoulders.
"And why?" asked Osman, with an expression of profound astonishment.
"Why? Well, my Osman, you surely cannot think of--"
"I understand you," said Osman, nodding his head; "you mean I cannot think of accepting any such position as it would beseem a man of my rank to hold. But I feel myself in better health; it seems as though the thought of such a possibility had given me new strength and energy. Who knows, perhaps, the luxurious, effeminate life I have always led is the great cause of my ill-health and weakness; a new or adventurous life may do me good. It is often said that the greater part of disease is mere imagination. If one shakes this off, he shakes his disease off with it. Therefore, I have decided to try this remedy myself. After full consideration, I have concluded to accept the position of captain of our troops."
"You are really in earnest!" exclaimed Mohammed, springing to his feet in alarm. "You will actually take this position of captain, go to the war, and leave as!"
"Leave us? " repeated Osman. "No, we two, of course, remain together, my friend. You go with me. You are selected as my lieutenant. You know Cousrouf Pacha added words of praise and acknowledgment for you, too."
Mohammed's eye glittered for a moment, but he looked down quickly. "Yes, he did this, and his conduct is very noble and generous, for he well knows that I do not love him, and that I was once his enemy."
"Once," repeated Osman, closely regarding his friend. "But that was a long while ago, and we have done with the dreams of our youth long since, have we not, Mohammed? What then was, has passed away. He no longer thinks of the childlike defiance you displayed toward him, the great pacha; and the sorrow and suffering he caused you are long since forgotten."
"Yes," replied Mohammed, in low tones, "yes, it is forgotten. All sorrow and suffering are over. You are right. All things pass away, and time heals all wounds-mine, too. They are healed. Cousrouf has forgotten the boy's defiance, as you say, and you observe that what I have suffered at his hands is also forgotten. But I shall not leave this place-I may not."
"You may and you shall," said Osman, and there was a more earnest and manly ring in his voice than Mohammed had ever before heard. "Do you not suppose, my boy, my beloved, my second self--do you not suppose that I read your soul, and know what is smouldering and lamenting in your inmost heart? Mohammed, I believe you do not wish to understand yourself. You have enveloped your heart in a veil which you do not wish to rend asunder, even before your own vision. But I, my Mohammed, can see through this covering, and know your heart's most secret thoughts. Be still--say nothing yet. First consider, and then give me a reply. Your Osman accepts the position, and it seems to me it would become his friend Mohammed to go with him where laurels, glory, and magnificence, are awaiting you. Look at me, my friend; look at the poor, frail body for which you are so necessary a support, and let us be silent about all the rest for the present. Yet do not forget that Osman loves you, and is ready to make any sacrifice for you. Say nothing now, Mohammed, but reflect on what I have said. And if you love me, and think you owe me your love, and wish to prove your friendship for me, accept the proffered position, and go out with me into the world. Go, and reflect about it, Mohammed, and, when you have decided, come to me with your answer."
Mohammed left the garden as his friend had asked him, the words "you must go with me where laurels, glory, and magnificence await you," resounding in his heart. He hears them everywhere, at home with his wife, in the midst of his family. And then the voice of reason would in its turn make itself heard: "You should not abandon the woman who rescued you from death, and has given you comfort, wealth, and position. You should not abandon the children, whom you are called on to instruct and protect."
"No, I ought not to go," he repeated to himself, as he sat down beside Ada, and called his children to him. "No, I must remain here."
And yet, again and again, Osman's words come back to him.
He could not bear to chat with his lips, while such voices were speaking in his heart. He must leave the house, seek solitude, and consult with his own thoughts. He made some pretence of pressing business requiring his attention, and went out into the street. He started to walk rapidly toward the spot on the rock, where he had so often sought solitude and consolation. Suddenly he felt a hand laid on his shoulder, he turned and saw the old Sheik of Praousta, the successor of Masa's father, who gave him a kindly greeting.
Mohammed always found pleasure with the old man of whom the people said that he had the gift of prophecy, and could read the future. Mohammed did not believe in this, but he did believe in his wisdom and experience of the world; and knew that much was to be learned from the old man, who had been a great traveller, and had now returned to his home to rest, to spend the evening of his days as Sheik of Praousta.
"How fares it with you?" repeated the sheik, fixing his large dark eyes on Mohammed in a kindly gaze.
"Well, my business affairs are prosperous."
The sheik shook his head. "It was not concerning such matters that I inquired. Ah, Mohammed, it is frequently well with our business affairs, and just the reverse with ourselves."
"Well, then, things go well with myself, also," replied Mohammed, but with averted gaze.
The old man shook his head. "I can read a man's thoughts on his forehead, Mohammed, and I tell you sad thoughts are inscribed on yours." And with another shake of the head he continued: "The governor has, as you know, raised a body of three hundred soldiers; Osman has been appointed their captain, and yourself his lieutenant."
"Cousrouf Pacha is a generous man," said Mohammed, in a peculiar tone. "He graciously forgets the days that have been."
"No, my son," said the sheik, "Cousrouf Pacha is a proud, cruel man, and he now wishes to show himself to those who saw him in those days when he was powerless, and an exile, in his grandeur and magnificence. You must know, my son, that oftentimes that which seems noble and generous, consists really only of vaingloriousness and love of display."
"I thank you for these words, O sheik," cried Mohammed, with a fierce gesture, "I thank you for having spoken from my soul. Young as I then was, I believe I thoroughly understood this man, and I am glad you interpret my thoughts so well."
"Mohammed," said the sheik, after a pause, "you must accompany your young friend Osman."
"Osman! no, that is impossible; how can Osman fill such a position?"
"He can," said the sheik, "for you, Mohammed, will accompany him."
"No, sheik, I shall not accompany him; I shall remain here."
"You will remain here, and why?"
"I have a wife and children," replied Mohammed, quickly, as if speaking to himself. "I cannot separate myself from them. I must not think of it; I have a home, a family, a prosperous business, and I live a peaceful life; why, therefore, O sheik, go out into the troubled world to end my days, perhaps, in misery? Here, I know what I am--a respected merchant, a favorite of the governor, the friend of his son, and I may boast of your friendship, too, sheik. Tell me, why should I subject myself to the tempest of life again, and go to Egypt to fight the unbelievers? The distance is great, the future beset with danger and difficulties; and here I have happiness, and an assured future."
"You are right; the distance is great, and your future one of danger and difficulties," replied the sheik. "Yes, therein you are right, but you are wrong when you determine not to go."
"Wrong--wrong, you say?"
"Yes, Mohammed, you are wrong; for, though the way is long and the future one of danger and difficulty, yet is the reward that awaits you, laurels and renown, glorious."
"Sheik, do not speak thus to me," cried Mohammed, "do not tempt me to do what I may repent; what may bring misfortune upon my wife and children. No, rather tell me to silence these voices that are ever resounding in my heart. Oh, do not tell me to make ambition the pursuit of my life."
"And yet I must do so," replied the sheik. "I tell you, you would act with great injustice if you should refuse to awaken the hero that slumbers in you, if you should condemn the warrior to inactivity, for the sake of the merchant. Allah himself would be displeased, Mohammed, for he has given you the capacity to perform great things, and implanted great thoughts and plans in your heart. And now the way is open to you, and you can carry out these plans. Therefore, when you see Osman again, tell him that you will go with him. And now, farewell, Mohammed; consult with your thoughts, and be strong."
Greeting Mohammed with a wave of his hand, the sheik turned and walked away, leaving his friend gazing after him in amazement.
The people are right: the sheik is a prophet; else how could he know what he had discussed with Osman that day, inducing him to consider the matter and give his decision by the following morning? But, then, if he is a prophet, he has also announced the truth and foretold the future. Very great things are in store for him, and the whole world of glory dreamed of in his youth lies open to him. This may then still be realized. No, Mohammed, deny yourself and be strong. Bow beneath the will of Allah; and it surely cannot be his will that you should forsake wife and children, but, rather, that you should remain patiently with them.
He returned to his house, but it was in vain that he endeavored to silence the voices that whispered in his heart.
With earliest dawn he arose noiselessly from the couch on which he had passed a restless night.
The sun has risen! Is it for the last time that he sees it mount above these cliffs? Perhaps! He ascends the mountain-rock, higher and higher. Now he stands still; he is approaching a consecrated spot!
Why should he come to this place now? His heart had never before permitted him to approach it since he had become Ada's husband. Why does he now long again to mount to the spot on which he had never stood after those days? Since then he has become a man and another being. There he had exchanged vows of eternal love with his Masa! There, all Nature heard him swear: "I love you alone, and no other woman shall ever stand at my side!"
The youth which had uttered these words died in him long ago. Mohammed Ali was now a man, had a wife, and children called him father; and the man had hitherto avoided treading on this consecrated ground. But now he is driven there by an irresistible longing!
He walks rapidly on, and is soon there.
He stands where he had stood with Masa; where he had called down imprecations on her head because he thought her faithless; where he had also listened in pious devotion to the holy revelation of her love.
Ten years have passed since then. What has remained of those hopes, and of that love?
His dreams have ended, and his illusions are dissipated.
"O Masa! and people call me a happy man. O Mother Khadra, look down into your son's heart! The voices I long since thought silenced forever, are again aroused--the voices of love and ambition. O mother, it is as though I saw you before me again, and heard you relate your dream! You saw your son standing upon the pinnacle of a palace, a sword uplifted in his hand, a crown encircling his brow, and you knew, mother, that this man with crown and sceptre, attired in purple, was your son; and this man transformed himself into an angel, and flew to you and kissed you. The man you beheld as a prince and hero, has again transformed himself, and this time into a miserable merchant. Nothing has remained to him of the prince, and angel, and hero; he is nothing more than a poor worm of earth!"
He cries out loudly and fiercely. All the anguish of former days, all the ungratified longings of the past, are again awakened, and, long pent up, now break forth in a fiery flood, and sweep away and burn to ashes all reason, all calm reflection, all the fruit of these ten long, desolate years of tranquility and patient industry.
After a struggle with himself, he arose, and a deep sigh, like a death-groan, escaped his breast.
It was his intention to go to Osman and say: "It is settled, I remain! I have just committed a murder on myself; I have killed Mohammed Ali, the eagle, as his mother called him, and there remains only the merchant Mohammed! He will creep on, composedly, over the surface of the earth, collecting tobacco, rolling it into great balls, and rejoicing when he finds his profit in so doing."
But it seemed as though his footsteps were clogged, as though an invisible hand held him back, and compelled him to remain a while longer on this spot where he had stood with Masa. And now it seemed to him that her form suddenly arose from her cold grave in the waves over there beyond the cliffs. She was arrayed in purple, her starlike eyes were fixed on him, and her long hair enveloped her beloved form as with a golden veil, the water dripping from her like glittering pearls. It gradually arose out of the waters. He had seen such visions, such fata morgana, that appeared not unfrequently on this coast, many a time, and had hitherto smiled at such illusions. But today he forgot his knowledge and experience, and the illusion was to him reality. He stretched out his arms, and gazed at the heavenly picture that had risen out of the waves, and his lips whispered in longing accents: "Masa, come to me; let the water that drips from you fall on my burning heart, soothe my anguish; speak to me of my future, and tell me what you desire me to do. Oh, speak to me, Masa!"
Enraptured, he still gazed out into the air at the sweet vision that rose higher and higher out of the waves. At last it stretched out its arms over him, and a cold breath kissed his lips! After a long pause, he opened his eyes again. Had he been dreaming? Was it reality? He lay on the rock alone in the morning light of the sun. The image had disappeared, and silence surrounded him, profound silence.
And in this silence Mohammed formed his last, his decisive resolve. As he lay there, he had entreated Allah to deliver him, by death, from this tormenting struggle, this doubt. The hour of irresolution had now passed, and he felt strengthened with renewed life. He looked up at the heavens; and a hitherto undreamed of world seemed to lie open before him. He looked out into the purple distance, and he seemed to be hold the minarets, and temples, and mountains, and plains of a new land. Was he never to reach this land? Were all the dreams of his youth to come to naught, and the prophecies made by the woman who had told his mother that he was to be a hero, to remain unfulfilled? And was Masa to remain unavenged in her cold grave? He has duties to fulfil toward wife and children. But revenge is also a sacred duty, and he has sworn to himself a thousand times, that he will perform this duty. Vengeance for Masa! Vengeance on him! The hour has come! Grasp the occasion! He may fail in his career, but, if successful, his success will be great, divine. It will be heavenly, if he must die, to fall on the field of battle amid the roar of artillery, and the clash of arms. Such a death were far preferable to a life like that he now leads, protracted through long, weary years. Who has brought about this struggle, and implanted these aspirations in his breast? It is Allah's work! In his early youth, his mother had told him of her dreams, and hope for her boy! Who was it that arose from the waves and permitted him to see in her dewy hand a sword and a crown! It was Masa, his Masa! These three, Allah, his mother, and Masa, have spoken to him, and Mohammed has heard and understood their words.
As he stands there on the verge of the cliff, gazing out into the distance, and listening to the sea murmuring at his feet, he now feels that he is the instrument chosen to do great deeds. He must obey Destiny, he must respond to the appeal of revenge, of honor, and of renown. And a threatening voice whispers in his soul: "Cousrouf Pacha, beware! You have called your judge yourself. Beware, the avenger will appear! You will not recognize him, for his countenance will smile, and his bearing will be soft and composed. You will not recognize him, but he will come. Beware, Cousrouf Pacha!"
Mohammed now turns to descend to Cavalla, and he feels himself a changed, a new man.
He slowly descended, his head erect, his breast swelling with a proud joyousness. The struggle is over, and the voice of anguish is forever stilled. Mohammed cones among men again another and a better man, and, before returning to his own house, he repairs to the palace of the tschorbadji, to seek his friend Osman.
When Osman saw him coming he smiled, nodded to him, and held out his hand.
"Well, my Mohammed, I see by your countenance that the struggle is over, and that Mohammed knows what future is in store for him."
Mohammed grasped his friend's hand warmly in his own, a bright smile lighting up his countenance.
"He at least knows, my Osman, what demands he intends to make of the future, and, if they are not accorded, he will at least know how to die gloriously."
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