Mohammed Ali and His House [42]
my clothing is my own. It is certainly not as handsome as yours, the caftan not embroidered, the shawl not of Persian make, and the kuffei around my fez not inworked with gold. But yet it is my own, and it pleases me to be thus plainly dressed, as it becomes the son of Ibrahim Aga. I live as it becomes me; my hut is dark and poor--but it is mine, and in it I am a free man. I do not sleep on soft cushions; a plain mat is my bed, but on this mat my mother reposed, and on it she died. To me it is sacred. I pray to my mother each night, Osman, and I greet her each morning when I drink out of the wooden cup so often touched by her lips. I should have to give up all this, and come here to repose in splendid apartments, sleep on silken mattresses, and allow myself to be waited on by slaves who do not belong to me. No, Osman, do not demand this; let me come to you each day, of my own free-will and love."
He extended his hand to his friend, who, as usual, lay reclining on his couch, and Osman pressed it warmly in his own.
"You are a proud boy," said he, in low tones, "and though your refusal gives me pain, I can still understand that in your sense you are right, Mohammed. In short, you do not wish to be grateful to anybody."
"And yet I am grateful to you, Osman," said Mohammed, regarding him tenderly; "all my heart is full of gratitude and love for you; but how much do I owe to you! Is it not for your sake that your father, the proud tschorbadji, is so kind and friendly to me? Does he not allow me, the lowly born, to sit with him at his table, and treat me as his equal?"
"Because he well knows that you would otherwise never come to me again," said Osman, with a sad smile. "He is careful not to hurt or offend you in any way, for, as you know, my father loves me very dearly, and it would give him pain to deprive me of the only friend I possess. My father knows that you are my benefactor, and that I live from your life, Mohammed. Look at me wonderingly, if you will; I am a sick child, and shall remain one, although years have made me a youth. And let me tell you, Mohammed, I shall never become a strong, healthy man. I have very weak lungs, inherited from my mother, and if it were not for you, if I had not been sustained by your healthy and vigorous mind and disposition, I should have died long since. Therefore, do not say that you have cause to be grateful to me. My father and I both have cause to be grateful to you, for my father loves me and rejoices in my life; and I, too, am very glad to live. The sun is so beautiful, it is so delightful to look at the deep-blue sky, the flowers are so fragrant, and finally it is such a pleasure to see you and to rejoice in your vigorous mind. I therefore owe every thing to you, Mohammed, and father and I know this, and are very thankful."
"Those are sweet words, Osman," said Mohammed, bestowing an affectionate look on his friend. "You are so noble and generous, that you wish to make it appear that all the benefits I have received from you were bestowed by me. But Allah knows that I am profoundly grateful, and I am aware, too, that I have cause to be. Only consider, that to you and your father I owe all that I know. Have I not been allowed to share the instruction given you? Has not the scha-er, whom your father, as his narratives pleased us so much, kept here at a heavy expense, instructed me, too, and taught us both the history of our own and of all other countries? Have I not had the same opportunities as yourself of learning of all that is going on out in the world? Did I not share your instruction in all other branches? Have not the poems of our land been read to us, and have we not learned to understand the Koran, and receive into our souls the wise teachings of the prophet Mahommed? Have we not also learned the difficult science of algebra, and are we not familiar with the laws of justice? Do I not owe it entirely to the instruction which I have shared with you that I can also read the Koran and the books of the prophets and poets? Ah, Osman, I still remember with shame how
He extended his hand to his friend, who, as usual, lay reclining on his couch, and Osman pressed it warmly in his own.
"You are a proud boy," said he, in low tones, "and though your refusal gives me pain, I can still understand that in your sense you are right, Mohammed. In short, you do not wish to be grateful to anybody."
"And yet I am grateful to you, Osman," said Mohammed, regarding him tenderly; "all my heart is full of gratitude and love for you; but how much do I owe to you! Is it not for your sake that your father, the proud tschorbadji, is so kind and friendly to me? Does he not allow me, the lowly born, to sit with him at his table, and treat me as his equal?"
"Because he well knows that you would otherwise never come to me again," said Osman, with a sad smile. "He is careful not to hurt or offend you in any way, for, as you know, my father loves me very dearly, and it would give him pain to deprive me of the only friend I possess. My father knows that you are my benefactor, and that I live from your life, Mohammed. Look at me wonderingly, if you will; I am a sick child, and shall remain one, although years have made me a youth. And let me tell you, Mohammed, I shall never become a strong, healthy man. I have very weak lungs, inherited from my mother, and if it were not for you, if I had not been sustained by your healthy and vigorous mind and disposition, I should have died long since. Therefore, do not say that you have cause to be grateful to me. My father and I both have cause to be grateful to you, for my father loves me and rejoices in my life; and I, too, am very glad to live. The sun is so beautiful, it is so delightful to look at the deep-blue sky, the flowers are so fragrant, and finally it is such a pleasure to see you and to rejoice in your vigorous mind. I therefore owe every thing to you, Mohammed, and father and I know this, and are very thankful."
"Those are sweet words, Osman," said Mohammed, bestowing an affectionate look on his friend. "You are so noble and generous, that you wish to make it appear that all the benefits I have received from you were bestowed by me. But Allah knows that I am profoundly grateful, and I am aware, too, that I have cause to be. Only consider, that to you and your father I owe all that I know. Have I not been allowed to share the instruction given you? Has not the scha-er, whom your father, as his narratives pleased us so much, kept here at a heavy expense, instructed me, too, and taught us both the history of our own and of all other countries? Have I not had the same opportunities as yourself of learning of all that is going on out in the world? Did I not share your instruction in all other branches? Have not the poems of our land been read to us, and have we not learned to understand the Koran, and receive into our souls the wise teachings of the prophet Mahommed? Have we not also learned the difficult science of algebra, and are we not familiar with the laws of justice? Do I not owe it entirely to the instruction which I have shared with you that I can also read the Koran and the books of the prophets and poets? Ah, Osman, I still remember with shame how