Mohammed Ali and His House [168]
nothing Butheita can do for you. You are wearied; this space is too narrow for you. Your soul, whose wings are pinioned, would fly out into the world. The world without is very beautiful, I know."
"Do you know this world?" asked Mohammed, his lips smiling as he looked at her.
"Yes, I do," said she. "I have been with father to Tantah several times. While there I heard the scha-er tell their beautiful stories of Ey-Zahir. I listened with breathless attention. And then, too, I heard the female singers, the Gavasi. They sang beautiful songs, and the words and tones have often since resounded in my heart. Do you know, sarechsme, that often, when my father had gone out with his Bedouins to fight or to plunder, as was sometimes the case, then my only pleasure was to take down the zammarah bisoan, on which my mother played, and sing to its accompaniment the songs I had learned from the Gavasi. "Shall I sing them for you? Shall I?" But you must not laugh at me for repeating what the Gavasi sang in Tantah."
Without awaiting a reply, she took down the little bagpipe with its bag of goat-skin, and to its shrill accompaniment sang a quaint love-song with an admixture of the comic.
Her countenance had become grave, and a sweet fire burned in her eyes, while singing to the monotonous air in a shrill, vibrating voice, as was customary with the street-singers of the Egyptian towns. When she had finished her song, she turned the gaze of her dark eyes upon Mohammed with an inquiring expression. When she saw the smile on his countenance, and encountered the wondrous glance that seemed to penetrate to her very soul, she stated. "It pleases you," said she. "I read in your countenance that you are pleased. Then I will sing you another song."
She took up her instrument again, and sang, in loud, joyous tones, a song about a gazelle-like maiden who had run away with her lover's soul, concluding with,
"Throughout the long, long night his sighing ceases not, his sighing for the dear gazelle that stole away his soul. Have pity on your lover; come back to me, gazelle. "
"Gazelle, come back to me! " cried Mohammed, with outstretched arms. "Gazelle, have pity on your lover."
She seemed not to have heard him, bowed down over her instrument, and played in such loud, shrill tones, that it almost deafened Mohammed, who well understood Butheita's motive in playing so.
He smiled at her in silence. Butheita laughed.
"You see my song has gladdened you, and your countentance smiles again. O joy! See, there in the distance! Yes, there come two figures. That is my father, that is Sheik Arnhyn. Some one accompanies him. Rejoice, sarechsme; you will be relieved of your ennui!"
He laid his band gently on her shoulder, and regarded her with a long, earnest look, that recalled the roses to her brown cheeks.
"I do not rejoice, Butheita, Queen of the Desert. I have erected a throne for you in my heart, and my heart spoke to you in the words of your song--'Throughout the long, long night my sighing ceases not, my sighing for the dear gazelle that stole away my heart.' Then speak, gazelle, shall I take you with me? Will you live with me in the great city? Speak to me, gazelle."
She gazed far out over the yellow sand toward the two specks, in which her keen eye recognized two human figures, but in which he saw only two black specks that gradually increased in size.
"Answer me, Butheita. Their coming does not gladden me, and the thought of leaving you makes me sad. If you fancy I have found it dull here, you are in error. My heart is only too much occupied. Butheita, sweetest of maidens, speak to me! Speak to me, gazelle!"
"See, sarechsme--father waves his hand!" cried she. "He already sees us standing here; his eye is as keen as an eagle's. He sees us! Come, let us step back for a moment, I have something to say to you. --To be sure I might have told you where we were," she continued, blushing, as she stepped behind the curtain. "I might as well have told you at the door, for father could not have heard it, although he could see
"Do you know this world?" asked Mohammed, his lips smiling as he looked at her.
"Yes, I do," said she. "I have been with father to Tantah several times. While there I heard the scha-er tell their beautiful stories of Ey-Zahir. I listened with breathless attention. And then, too, I heard the female singers, the Gavasi. They sang beautiful songs, and the words and tones have often since resounded in my heart. Do you know, sarechsme, that often, when my father had gone out with his Bedouins to fight or to plunder, as was sometimes the case, then my only pleasure was to take down the zammarah bisoan, on which my mother played, and sing to its accompaniment the songs I had learned from the Gavasi. "Shall I sing them for you? Shall I?" But you must not laugh at me for repeating what the Gavasi sang in Tantah."
Without awaiting a reply, she took down the little bagpipe with its bag of goat-skin, and to its shrill accompaniment sang a quaint love-song with an admixture of the comic.
Her countenance had become grave, and a sweet fire burned in her eyes, while singing to the monotonous air in a shrill, vibrating voice, as was customary with the street-singers of the Egyptian towns. When she had finished her song, she turned the gaze of her dark eyes upon Mohammed with an inquiring expression. When she saw the smile on his countenance, and encountered the wondrous glance that seemed to penetrate to her very soul, she stated. "It pleases you," said she. "I read in your countenance that you are pleased. Then I will sing you another song."
She took up her instrument again, and sang, in loud, joyous tones, a song about a gazelle-like maiden who had run away with her lover's soul, concluding with,
"Throughout the long, long night his sighing ceases not, his sighing for the dear gazelle that stole away his soul. Have pity on your lover; come back to me, gazelle. "
"Gazelle, come back to me! " cried Mohammed, with outstretched arms. "Gazelle, have pity on your lover."
She seemed not to have heard him, bowed down over her instrument, and played in such loud, shrill tones, that it almost deafened Mohammed, who well understood Butheita's motive in playing so.
He smiled at her in silence. Butheita laughed.
"You see my song has gladdened you, and your countentance smiles again. O joy! See, there in the distance! Yes, there come two figures. That is my father, that is Sheik Arnhyn. Some one accompanies him. Rejoice, sarechsme; you will be relieved of your ennui!"
He laid his band gently on her shoulder, and regarded her with a long, earnest look, that recalled the roses to her brown cheeks.
"I do not rejoice, Butheita, Queen of the Desert. I have erected a throne for you in my heart, and my heart spoke to you in the words of your song--'Throughout the long, long night my sighing ceases not, my sighing for the dear gazelle that stole away my heart.' Then speak, gazelle, shall I take you with me? Will you live with me in the great city? Speak to me, gazelle."
She gazed far out over the yellow sand toward the two specks, in which her keen eye recognized two human figures, but in which he saw only two black specks that gradually increased in size.
"Answer me, Butheita. Their coming does not gladden me, and the thought of leaving you makes me sad. If you fancy I have found it dull here, you are in error. My heart is only too much occupied. Butheita, sweetest of maidens, speak to me! Speak to me, gazelle!"
"See, sarechsme--father waves his hand!" cried she. "He already sees us standing here; his eye is as keen as an eagle's. He sees us! Come, let us step back for a moment, I have something to say to you. --To be sure I might have told you where we were," she continued, blushing, as she stepped behind the curtain. "I might as well have told you at the door, for father could not have heard it, although he could see