Mohammed Ali and His House [145]
and a tall, manly figure, stooping forward behind the trees and shrubbery, glides noiselessly along to the gate that leads into the inner court-yard. But, before he steps out, young Youssouf stands still, draws a long breath, and seems to summon all his resolution to his aid to resist the charm that carries him away.
"If she knew that I watched her, she would drive me from her, and then Youssouf would die. Alas! she may not dream that I love her, she is proud and unapproachable, and what am I to her? The poor kachef of her deceased husband! She tolerates me as she tolerates the dog that is accustomed to lie on the threshold of her door. Alas, I should die if she knew of Youssouf's love for her!"
Kachef Youssouf is handsome, and, were it not the noble Sitta Nefysseh, exception would be taken to a woman's having so handsome a kachef in her service. But Sitta Nefysseh is unapproachable, virtue attends her in all her ways, modesty and dignity are everywhere her companions. No one dares approach her chaste reputation with even a breath of reproach.
Youssouf steps into the inner court-yard; he lays his hand on his brown beard and strokes its curly locks.
"Be a man," murmur his lips. "Be resolute. Alas! I could endure not being the one if no other dared approach her. But here comes one of them already. He can approach her and speak of love. Woe is me!"
With profound deference, and forcing his features into a smile, Youssouf approached Osman Bey Bardissi, who at this moment came into the court, mounted on his proud, splendidly-equipped steed, and followed by a body of his Mamelukes.
"Is your mistress at home?" asked Bardissi, springing lightly to the ground, and throwing the purple-silk reins to the Mameluke who hurried forward.
"Yes, Sitta Nefysseh is in the park. She is resting in the kiosk, and I will announce to the female slaves that Osman Bey Bardissi wishes to see their mistress."
"Do so, Kachef Youssouf," said Bardissi. "But first listen to me. How would you like to be taken into my service, kachef? you are too good for this life of inactivity? If you desire it, I will ask Sitta Nefysseh to give you your freedom?"
"Give me my freedom? I am free!" said Youssouf, regarding Bardissi with proud composure. "I was a Mameluke with Mourad, as you know. My noble master had purchased me; he loved me, and often told me I should remain with him while I lived. He made me kachef, first kachef of his house. I swore eternal fidelity to him and to his house, and I will keep my oath."
"I do not doubt it," replied Bardissi, in kindly tones; "I only mean, Youssouf, that you are too young not to wish to wield the sword and join us in the conflict that is soon to be renewed. Poor Youssouf, you will then be shut out from our ranks, for Sitta Nefysseh no longer sends her Mamelukes with us to battle; she now uses them for her service only, and I am certain she would be well pleased if her kachef Youssouf, as it becomes him, draws his sword to win laurels in the field. You can make something great of yourself. Look at me, Youssouf: I was what you are; like you a Mameluke, also like you a kachef, and could let my beard grow, and now I am a Mameluke bey, and three thousand servants follow me to battle. You might accomplish as much, Youssouf."
"I am satisfied with what I am, and ask for nothing more," replied the kachef. "I swore to Mourad Bey to serve him and his house my life long, and I will keep my oath: I therefore entreat you to say nothing to Sitta Nefysseh. She might be displeased."
"I will not," replied Bardissi; "remain true to your word. And now go and inquire whether your mistress can see me."
Youssouf hastened to where the slaves were still singing their melancholy song, and sent one of them down into the park to inform her that the Mameluke bey, Osman Bardissi, had come, and desired to see her.
The slave advanced timidly to the entrance of the kiosk, and announced the visitor to Sitta Nefysseh, who, awakening from a dream she had dreamed with open eyes, gently inclined her head.
"He is welcome.
"If she knew that I watched her, she would drive me from her, and then Youssouf would die. Alas! she may not dream that I love her, she is proud and unapproachable, and what am I to her? The poor kachef of her deceased husband! She tolerates me as she tolerates the dog that is accustomed to lie on the threshold of her door. Alas, I should die if she knew of Youssouf's love for her!"
Kachef Youssouf is handsome, and, were it not the noble Sitta Nefysseh, exception would be taken to a woman's having so handsome a kachef in her service. But Sitta Nefysseh is unapproachable, virtue attends her in all her ways, modesty and dignity are everywhere her companions. No one dares approach her chaste reputation with even a breath of reproach.
Youssouf steps into the inner court-yard; he lays his hand on his brown beard and strokes its curly locks.
"Be a man," murmur his lips. "Be resolute. Alas! I could endure not being the one if no other dared approach her. But here comes one of them already. He can approach her and speak of love. Woe is me!"
With profound deference, and forcing his features into a smile, Youssouf approached Osman Bey Bardissi, who at this moment came into the court, mounted on his proud, splendidly-equipped steed, and followed by a body of his Mamelukes.
"Is your mistress at home?" asked Bardissi, springing lightly to the ground, and throwing the purple-silk reins to the Mameluke who hurried forward.
"Yes, Sitta Nefysseh is in the park. She is resting in the kiosk, and I will announce to the female slaves that Osman Bey Bardissi wishes to see their mistress."
"Do so, Kachef Youssouf," said Bardissi. "But first listen to me. How would you like to be taken into my service, kachef? you are too good for this life of inactivity? If you desire it, I will ask Sitta Nefysseh to give you your freedom?"
"Give me my freedom? I am free!" said Youssouf, regarding Bardissi with proud composure. "I was a Mameluke with Mourad, as you know. My noble master had purchased me; he loved me, and often told me I should remain with him while I lived. He made me kachef, first kachef of his house. I swore eternal fidelity to him and to his house, and I will keep my oath."
"I do not doubt it," replied Bardissi, in kindly tones; "I only mean, Youssouf, that you are too young not to wish to wield the sword and join us in the conflict that is soon to be renewed. Poor Youssouf, you will then be shut out from our ranks, for Sitta Nefysseh no longer sends her Mamelukes with us to battle; she now uses them for her service only, and I am certain she would be well pleased if her kachef Youssouf, as it becomes him, draws his sword to win laurels in the field. You can make something great of yourself. Look at me, Youssouf: I was what you are; like you a Mameluke, also like you a kachef, and could let my beard grow, and now I am a Mameluke bey, and three thousand servants follow me to battle. You might accomplish as much, Youssouf."
"I am satisfied with what I am, and ask for nothing more," replied the kachef. "I swore to Mourad Bey to serve him and his house my life long, and I will keep my oath: I therefore entreat you to say nothing to Sitta Nefysseh. She might be displeased."
"I will not," replied Bardissi; "remain true to your word. And now go and inquire whether your mistress can see me."
Youssouf hastened to where the slaves were still singing their melancholy song, and sent one of them down into the park to inform her that the Mameluke bey, Osman Bardissi, had come, and desired to see her.
The slave advanced timidly to the entrance of the kiosk, and announced the visitor to Sitta Nefysseh, who, awakening from a dream she had dreamed with open eyes, gently inclined her head.
"He is welcome.