Mohammed Ali and His House [58]
crushed, by the careless foot of man, without his knowledge. He who protects the spiders in the trees and in the corners of the rooms, the birds of the air, and the monsters of the deep, will also care for us. Allah be praised!"
"Allah be praised!" echoed the men, as they turned their steps toward Praousta.
The maiden still knelt upon the rocky stairway and raised her hands in wild entreaty to the passers-by. "Yield, yield, I implore you! Do not deliver over your wisest and best men to a bloody death!"
Mohammed stood in the hall, behind a pillar, listening earnestly to the words spoken by the prisoners to the men of the village. From time to time Osman joined him, and begged him not to act the part of guard over the prisoners, but to come into the saloon and rest upon the divan. "They can not escape; the railing is high, and the gate securely locked. Come, grant me the pleasure of your company, and let me seek to soften your heart, and incline you to mercy."
"Impossible," said Mohammed, sternly. "If we yield now, the tschorbadji's authority is forever lost."
"But," said the tschorbadji, who joined them at that moment, "what is to come of all this, if the prisoners do not submit?"
"Their heads shall fall upon the block to-morrow morning, at the hour of prayer," said Mohammed, in so firm and clear a voice that his words were heard by Cousrouf Pacha, who had just entered the hall.
"He is right, tschorbadji," said he, bowing his head with great dignity. "Yes, he is right! If the rabble are rebellious, let the heads of some of them fall! Order and law must reign! Many-headed is the hydra, and it is no great misfortune if a few of their brawling heads are hewn off!"
"Allah is great! His will be done," said the tschorbadji. "I do not wish the court-yard of my dwelling to be stained with blood. I do not wish to rule harshly and unmercifully in the evening of my life, after governing my people so many years by mild and gentle rule."
"There you are wrong," said Cousrouf Pacha; "mildness and gentleness do not become a ruler; only by severity and an unbending will can he exalt himself to power, and, even when he reaches the goal, he must trust to arms, if he is to maintain himself."
"And if with sword and dagger he reaches the throne," said Osman, looking gently and reproachfully at the proud pacha, "may he then hope to hear music and hymns of praise, or must he not then only expect to hear cries of anguish uttered by those over whose heads he strode to power? He could not then expect to see a fair and blooming land, but a land full of corpses and blood! No, no, Cousrouf Pacha! I desire not to reach that height. I will rather dwell in the valleys-in the shadow of the cliffs on the sea shore-and gather shells, and revel in the gladness and delight of a modest and quiet existence."
"And you, Mohammed," said the pacha, smiling scornfully, "what is your ambition? Will you gather shells upon the sea-shore with Osman, or will you climb the heights with me to a splendid goal?"
Mohammed turned his eyes entirely away from the pacha, nodded to his friend Osman, and said: "I will tread my own path alone. Where fate will lead me I know not. I seek no companionship, and will follow no man's lead. From time to time, I may turn aside from my path, and wander, with joy and gladness, with my only friend, on the sea- shore, and seek for shells, and revel in the delights of a modest and quiet life."
With a kindly glance, Osman extended his hand, as if in a grateful greeting.
The men of Praousta continued to pass before the iron cage, and the sheik still appealed to them to be firm, and not to sacrifice their rights.
Suddenly the sun disappeared, and night came down upon the earth. The prisoners said their evening prayers in a loud voice, and when, from the minarets of Praousta, the call of the muredin rang out on the air, the prisoners commenced singing, firmly and devoutly: "God is great! There is no God but our God, and Mohammed is his prophet! Come to prayer! Come to be healed! God is just! There is no God
"Allah be praised!" echoed the men, as they turned their steps toward Praousta.
The maiden still knelt upon the rocky stairway and raised her hands in wild entreaty to the passers-by. "Yield, yield, I implore you! Do not deliver over your wisest and best men to a bloody death!"
Mohammed stood in the hall, behind a pillar, listening earnestly to the words spoken by the prisoners to the men of the village. From time to time Osman joined him, and begged him not to act the part of guard over the prisoners, but to come into the saloon and rest upon the divan. "They can not escape; the railing is high, and the gate securely locked. Come, grant me the pleasure of your company, and let me seek to soften your heart, and incline you to mercy."
"Impossible," said Mohammed, sternly. "If we yield now, the tschorbadji's authority is forever lost."
"But," said the tschorbadji, who joined them at that moment, "what is to come of all this, if the prisoners do not submit?"
"Their heads shall fall upon the block to-morrow morning, at the hour of prayer," said Mohammed, in so firm and clear a voice that his words were heard by Cousrouf Pacha, who had just entered the hall.
"He is right, tschorbadji," said he, bowing his head with great dignity. "Yes, he is right! If the rabble are rebellious, let the heads of some of them fall! Order and law must reign! Many-headed is the hydra, and it is no great misfortune if a few of their brawling heads are hewn off!"
"Allah is great! His will be done," said the tschorbadji. "I do not wish the court-yard of my dwelling to be stained with blood. I do not wish to rule harshly and unmercifully in the evening of my life, after governing my people so many years by mild and gentle rule."
"There you are wrong," said Cousrouf Pacha; "mildness and gentleness do not become a ruler; only by severity and an unbending will can he exalt himself to power, and, even when he reaches the goal, he must trust to arms, if he is to maintain himself."
"And if with sword and dagger he reaches the throne," said Osman, looking gently and reproachfully at the proud pacha, "may he then hope to hear music and hymns of praise, or must he not then only expect to hear cries of anguish uttered by those over whose heads he strode to power? He could not then expect to see a fair and blooming land, but a land full of corpses and blood! No, no, Cousrouf Pacha! I desire not to reach that height. I will rather dwell in the valleys-in the shadow of the cliffs on the sea shore-and gather shells, and revel in the gladness and delight of a modest and quiet existence."
"And you, Mohammed," said the pacha, smiling scornfully, "what is your ambition? Will you gather shells upon the sea-shore with Osman, or will you climb the heights with me to a splendid goal?"
Mohammed turned his eyes entirely away from the pacha, nodded to his friend Osman, and said: "I will tread my own path alone. Where fate will lead me I know not. I seek no companionship, and will follow no man's lead. From time to time, I may turn aside from my path, and wander, with joy and gladness, with my only friend, on the sea- shore, and seek for shells, and revel in the delights of a modest and quiet life."
With a kindly glance, Osman extended his hand, as if in a grateful greeting.
The men of Praousta continued to pass before the iron cage, and the sheik still appealed to them to be firm, and not to sacrifice their rights.
Suddenly the sun disappeared, and night came down upon the earth. The prisoners said their evening prayers in a loud voice, and when, from the minarets of Praousta, the call of the muredin rang out on the air, the prisoners commenced singing, firmly and devoutly: "God is great! There is no God but our God, and Mohammed is his prophet! Come to prayer! Come to be healed! God is just! There is no God