Mohammed Ali and His House [151]
life. Consider, Nefysseh, that this is the most enormous sacrifice that Osman can make for the woman he loves; he promises not to kill him upon whom she bestows her hand."
"And you, L'Elfi," said Nefysseh, in a soft voice, "will you swear the same?"
"I will," cried L'Elfi. "I swear that I will do as Osman Bey has said--I will still detest my enemy, but I will not kill him whom you love. Now speak, Sitta Nefysseh, and decide between us!"
For a moment all were silent. The two beys awaited her decision with wildly-throbbing hearts. She was still silent, her large eyes turned toward heaven with a wondrous expression.
At this moment the song of the slaves, accompanied by the music of the clarinet and violin, again resounded from the midst of the oleander and rose-bushes. The voice of a slave arose, singing of a slave who loves his mistress, and dies because of her indifference. He has borne this bitter sorrow for long days and nights, and dares not tell the tale of his love. He bore it, and was blessed in being permitted to see her, but her heart was cold and knew no love for him. But greater unhappiness was in store for him. One day there came a proud and mighty bey, and succeeded in winning the love of his adored; and Fate willed it that the poor, tortured slave should see her eyes fixed on the bey in a loving gaze, and he also saw him fall on his knees before his mistress and take her hand and carry it to his lips. Then the poor slave's heart broke, and, falling to the earth, he died, sighing, "I love thee!"
All three had listened to the sad air and words of the song. Sitta Nefysseh now turned to the beys.
"This song has no bearing upon you. You will never see Sitta Nefysseh give her love and hand to another! You who were my husband's friends I will ever consider my friends! But hear me: Mourad's widow will never marry again! As I knelt at the death-bed of my husband, bathing his wound with my tears, I swore that I would ever remain true to him I had loved so ardently my life long, and never become the wife of another. And now I ask, noble beys, can you desire Mourad's widow to perjure herself? I know you will say the heart knows no oaths, love cannot be restrained. That may be, but do not speak of it to me. You have come to ask with which of you I will share the remainder of my days; I ask you, decide yourselves, can I break this solemn oath?"
The two beys bow their heads still deeper, and sigh profoundly.
"Decide!" repeated Sitta Nefysseh.
They raise their heads and gaze at her sadly. "No, Sitta Nefysseh! You may not break the oath to your husband, sworn in the name of Allah and the prophet! No, you can never bestow your hand upon another. Alas, that this is so! alas, that we must submit!"
"No, it is well that it is so!" said Sitta Nefysseh, with a soft smile. "Mourad's widow has the right to be the friend of both of you; she may hold out her hands to you and say: `Be my friends, my brothers, and, as you love me, also love one another.' For the second time I entreat you, grasp each other's hands and be friends. For both let there be one common enemy--the enemy who confronts you on the field of battle--the Turk! Grasp hands in love and friendship!"
The two beys grasped each other's hands firmly.
"Let it be as our friend and sister wishes; she shall see us united. Let there be for us but one common enemy--the Turk!"
"An enemy who grows stronger each day!" said Sitta Nefysseh. "We thought to have peace when the Franks should have left, but unfortunately it is not so. The Turks are resolved to subjugate us. I know they will not rest until they have overthrown and destroyed the haughty Mameluke beys! They are continually bringing new troops, into the country, and their leader is a dangerous enemy, believe me!"
"For the second time you speak of this `dangerous enemy.' Tell us, Sitta, who is he?"
"He it is," said she, in earnest tones, "who brought the letter to the capitan pacha at Aboukir; he it is who confronted you in that bloody struggle, and whose courage, boldness, and determination,
"And you, L'Elfi," said Nefysseh, in a soft voice, "will you swear the same?"
"I will," cried L'Elfi. "I swear that I will do as Osman Bey has said--I will still detest my enemy, but I will not kill him whom you love. Now speak, Sitta Nefysseh, and decide between us!"
For a moment all were silent. The two beys awaited her decision with wildly-throbbing hearts. She was still silent, her large eyes turned toward heaven with a wondrous expression.
At this moment the song of the slaves, accompanied by the music of the clarinet and violin, again resounded from the midst of the oleander and rose-bushes. The voice of a slave arose, singing of a slave who loves his mistress, and dies because of her indifference. He has borne this bitter sorrow for long days and nights, and dares not tell the tale of his love. He bore it, and was blessed in being permitted to see her, but her heart was cold and knew no love for him. But greater unhappiness was in store for him. One day there came a proud and mighty bey, and succeeded in winning the love of his adored; and Fate willed it that the poor, tortured slave should see her eyes fixed on the bey in a loving gaze, and he also saw him fall on his knees before his mistress and take her hand and carry it to his lips. Then the poor slave's heart broke, and, falling to the earth, he died, sighing, "I love thee!"
All three had listened to the sad air and words of the song. Sitta Nefysseh now turned to the beys.
"This song has no bearing upon you. You will never see Sitta Nefysseh give her love and hand to another! You who were my husband's friends I will ever consider my friends! But hear me: Mourad's widow will never marry again! As I knelt at the death-bed of my husband, bathing his wound with my tears, I swore that I would ever remain true to him I had loved so ardently my life long, and never become the wife of another. And now I ask, noble beys, can you desire Mourad's widow to perjure herself? I know you will say the heart knows no oaths, love cannot be restrained. That may be, but do not speak of it to me. You have come to ask with which of you I will share the remainder of my days; I ask you, decide yourselves, can I break this solemn oath?"
The two beys bow their heads still deeper, and sigh profoundly.
"Decide!" repeated Sitta Nefysseh.
They raise their heads and gaze at her sadly. "No, Sitta Nefysseh! You may not break the oath to your husband, sworn in the name of Allah and the prophet! No, you can never bestow your hand upon another. Alas, that this is so! alas, that we must submit!"
"No, it is well that it is so!" said Sitta Nefysseh, with a soft smile. "Mourad's widow has the right to be the friend of both of you; she may hold out her hands to you and say: `Be my friends, my brothers, and, as you love me, also love one another.' For the second time I entreat you, grasp each other's hands and be friends. For both let there be one common enemy--the enemy who confronts you on the field of battle--the Turk! Grasp hands in love and friendship!"
The two beys grasped each other's hands firmly.
"Let it be as our friend and sister wishes; she shall see us united. Let there be for us but one common enemy--the Turk!"
"An enemy who grows stronger each day!" said Sitta Nefysseh. "We thought to have peace when the Franks should have left, but unfortunately it is not so. The Turks are resolved to subjugate us. I know they will not rest until they have overthrown and destroyed the haughty Mameluke beys! They are continually bringing new troops, into the country, and their leader is a dangerous enemy, believe me!"
"For the second time you speak of this `dangerous enemy.' Tell us, Sitta, who is he?"
"He it is," said she, in earnest tones, "who brought the letter to the capitan pacha at Aboukir; he it is who confronted you in that bloody struggle, and whose courage, boldness, and determination,