IV
HARUN PASHA
I
I will tell you this story (said Ferrier of the Egyptian Civil) withone reservation; comments are to be reserved for some future time. Ican only tell you what I saw with my own eyes and heard with my ownears; I offer no explanation; I pass on the story; you can take it orleave it.
Some of you will remember Dunlap--I don't mean Robert Dunlap, who ischief officer of the _Pekin_, but Jack Dunlap his cousin, theirrigation man who used to be stationed at Assuan.
You remember the build of the beggar?--the impression of scaffoldinghis figure conveyed? I always used to think of him as an ironframework, and he had the most hard-bitten head-piece I have everstruck; steel blue eyes and a mouth that was born shut. The dash ofginger in his hair, complexion, and constitution made up a Scotch brewthat was very strongly flavored.
He came down to Cairo one spring, and a lot of us got together in theclub--on a Sunday night, I remember, it was. The conversation gotalong that silly line; what we were all doing, and why we were doingit, what we had really intended to do, and how Fate had butted in andmade sailors of those that had meant to be parsons, engineers of thepoets, and tramps of the chaps who had proposed to become financiers.
Well, we had traveled up and down this blind alley for hours, I shouldthink, when Dunlap mounted on his hind legs and took the rug with theproposition that nothing--_nothing_--was impossible of achievement tothe man of single purpose. Someone put up an extreme case; askingDunlap how he should handle the business of the son of a respectablegreengrocer who, with singleness of purpose, proposed to become kingof England.
He said it was not a fair case, but he accepted the challenge; and theway this junior greengrocer, under Dunlap's guidance, plunged intopolitics, got elected M.P., wormed himself into the confidence of theentire Empire by a series of brilliant campaigns conducted from Johno' Groats to Van Diemen's Land; induced the reigning monarch, publicly,to advocate his own abdication; established a sort of commonwealth withhis ex-Majesty on the board and Dunlap occupying a post between that ofa protector and a Roman Caesar--well, it was wonderful.
Of course, you can judge of the lateness of the hour from the factthat a group of moderately intelligent men tolerated, and contributedto, a chat of this nature. But what brings me down to the story is thefew words which I exchanged with Dunlap at the break-up of the party,when he was leaving.
His cousin Robert, as you know, is well on the rippity side; but Jack,with all his fine capacity for heather-dew, had always struck me assomething of a psalmster. I've heard that Bacchus holds the keys oftruth, and it may be right; for out on the steps of the club, I saidto Jack Dunlap:
"It seems you don't practise what you preach?"
"Don't I?" he snapped hardly. "What do you suppose I am doing here?"
"Engineering, I take it. Do you aspire to a pedestal beside DeLesseps?"
"De Lesseps be damned!" he retorted sourly. "Look at these."
He held out his hands, hardened with manual toil--the hands of agrinder.
"Clearly you are a glutton for work," I said.
"I am aiming at never doing another hand's stroke in my life," hereplied, with an odd glint in his blue eyes. "My idea of life--_life_,mind you, not mere existence--is to be a pasha--one of the old school,with gate porters, orange trees, fountains, slaves, mosaic pavements,a marble bath."
He mixed his ambitions oddly.
"Someone to do all the shifting for me, and even the thinking; to holda book in front of me if I wanted to read, to poke my pipe in my mouth,and to take it out when I wanted to blow smoke rings--and to _know_when I wanted it taken out without being told."
"On your showing, you are traveling by the wrong road."
"Am I?" he snapped viciously. "Just wait awhile."
That was all the indication I had of Dunlap's ideas, and rememberingthe time of night and other circumstances, I did not count upon itworth a brass farthing; putting it down to the heather-dew rather thanto any innate viciousness of the man. But listen to the sequel, whichshifts us up just about twelve months, to the spring of the followingyear, in fact.
II
I had seen no more of Dunlap, and concluded that he was back inAssuan, or somewhere on the river, foozling with his irrigation again.I never had the clearest conception of the work of his department, bythe way. An irrigation man once started to explain to me about hissection, mixing up surveying paraphernalia in his talk, telling mesomething about an allowance of half an inch variation in half a mileof bank, or chat to that effect; but I couldn't quite make it out. Myimpression of Dunlap at business was very hazy; I pictured himmeasuring the bank of the Nile with a six-foot rule, and periodicallykneeling down in the smelly mud to footle with a spirit-level. But hewas a Senior Wrangler, as you remember, and a man, too, of moresubstantial accomplishments, and he drew five hundred a year from theEgyptian Government; so that probably I underestimated his usefulness.
At any rate, I had forgotten his iron framework and mahoganycountenance, together with his response (under the afflatus ofheather-dew) at the time of which I am now speaking.
A little matter had cropped up which touched me on a weak spot; andwith a mob of jabbering Egyptians and one very placid Bedouin floodingmy room, I found myself thinking again of Dunlap and envying him hisintimate acquaintance with Arabic.
Although I had been in the country quite twice as long as Dunlap, myArabic was far from perfect, for I have always been a rotten linguist.Dunlap, as I now remembered, might have passed for a native (exceptinghis Scottish headpiece), and I ascribed his proficiency to an inherenttrick of mimicry. There was something of the big ape about him; andafter one function at which we both were present, I remember how heconvulsed the entire club with an imitation of a certain highly placedEgyptian dignitary, voice and gesture being equal in comic effect toCyril Maude at his best. In fact, if you notice, you will find thatthe best linguists, as a rule, have a marked apish streak in theircomposition.
Well, here was I at my wits' ends to grasp twenty points of view atone and the same time; no two expressed in quite the same dialect,and each orator more excited than another. You know the brutes?
That got me thinking of Dunlap, and even after the incident wasclosed, I found myself thinking of him. Some friends from home werestaying at Shepheard's, and of course they had claimed me as dragoman;not that I objected in the least, for one of the party--when it waspossible to dodge her mother--was, well, a very agreeable companion,you understand.
On this particular morning we were doing the bazaars. I have found bycomparison that the average tourist knows far more of the Muski thanthe average resident; in the same way, I suppose that for informationregarding the Tower of London or the British Museum, one must go, notto a Cockney, but to an American visitor. At any rate, my party toldme more than I could tell them, and my job degenerated into that ofa mere interpreter. In the matter of purchases, I possibly saved themmoney, but their knowledge of the wares was miles ahead of my own.These up-to-date guide books must be very useful reading, I think.
Although I had tried hard to rush them past that dangerous quarter,the _Gohargiya_, the ladies of the party had discovered a shop wherelittle trays of loose gems, turquoises, rubies, bits of lapis-lazuli,and so forth, were displayed snarefully.
After that I knew where I could find them up to any time before lunch;I knew they were safe enough for the rest of the morning; and acceptingmy defeat at the hands of the jewel merchant who turned his slow eyesupon me and shrugged apologetically, I drifted off, after a decentinterval (leaving young Forrest, who, mysteriously, had turned up, todo the cavalierly), intending to visit my acquaintance, Hassan, in the_Suk el-Attarin_ (Street of the Perfumers), not twenty yards away.
You know Hassan? A large, mysterious figure in the shadows of hislittle shop, smoking amber-scented cigarettes as though he liked them,and turning his sleepy eyes slowly upon each passer-by. Well, Idrifted around in his direction.
Right at the corner of
the street, a big limousine was standing; anup-to-date car, fawn cushions, silver-plated fittings, and simplystuffed with fresh-cut flowers. A useful-looking Nubian was chauffeur,and on the step squatted a fat and resplendent being in all the gloryof much gold braid.
These _harem_ guards are rarely seen in Cairo nowadays--they belongto the other picturesque Oriental institutions which have begun tofade with the crescent of Islam. There was something startlinglyincongruous about this full-grown specimen, that bloatedrepresentative of Eastern despotism squatting on the step of anup-to-date French car.
It was a kind of all-round shock; I cannot describe how it struck me.It was something like running into Martin Luther at the Grand Nationalor Nero, say, at an aviation meeting.
This was a frightfully hot morning, and the adipose object on the carstep was slumbering blissfully. A moment later I spotted the chargewhich he was guarding with such sedulous care. She was seated inHassan's shop--well back in the shadows--a gauzy white vision, alleyes and _yashmak_. A confidential female servant accompanied her.They made a pleasing picture enough, and a more suitable setting couldnot well be found. It was an illustrated page of the _Arabian Nights_,and it appealed strongly even to my jaded perceptions.
Of course, I was not going to interrupt the _tete-a-tete_; but fromwhere I stood I could observe the group very well whilst remainingmyself unobserved. It presently became evident that the lady of the_yashmak_, under the pretence of purchasing perfumes, was merelykilling time, and my interest increased as the hour of noon grew nearand the artistic group remained unbroken. You know the Mosque ofEl-Ashraf by Hassan's shop? Its minaret almost overhung the place.Well, in due course, out popped the _mueddin_.
"_La il aha illa Allah...._"
There he was a very sweet-voiced singer, as I noted at the time,telling them there was no God but God, and all the rest of it; andpresently he worked round to the side of the gallery overlookingHassan's shop.
Then I could see which way the wind blew. He seemed to be deliberatelysinging _at_ the picturesque trio--and the dark eyes of the lady ofthe _yashmak_ were lifted upward--in reverence, perhaps; but I hardlythought so.
There was no doubt about the _mueddin's_ final glance, as he turnedand retired from the gallery. I remained where I was until the_yashmak_ left the shop; and as she had to pass quite close to me inorder to rejoin the waiting car, I had a good look at her.
It was just an impression, of course, an impression of red lips underthe white gauze, an oval Oriental outline, with very fine eyes--notablyfine, where fine eyes are common--and a little exquisitely chiselednose; a bewitching face. Just that one glimpse I had and a vagueimpression of rustling silk with the tap of high heels. A faint breathof musk still proclaimed itself above the less pleasing odors of thestreet; then, the female attendant having cuffed the slumbering Silenusinto wakefulness, the car moved off and this _harem_ lily vanished fromthe bazaar.
I knew that my party was safe for another half an hour, at any rate,so I nipped along to Hassan's shop. Of course, he began brazenly bydeclaring that no ladies had been there that morning. I had expectedit, and the attitude confirmed my suspicions.
Presently, when his boy had made fresh coffee, and Hassan, from theblack cabinet, had produced some real cigarettes, we got moreintimate. There was a scarcity of European visitors that morning; andexcepting one interruption by a party of four American ladies, I hadHassan to myself for half an hour.
He raised his fat finger to his lips when I pressed my question, androlled his eyes fearfully.
"She is from the palace of Harun Pasha," he whispered with moresidelong glances. "Ah! _effendim_, I fear...."
We smoked awhile; then--
"The Pasha's wife?" I inquired.
"It is the Lady Zohara," he said.
This did not add greatly to my information; but I continued: "Andthe _mueddin_?"
"Ah!--do not whisper it.... That is my brother, Said!"
"He raises his eyes very high?"
"Not so, _effendim_; it is she who raises her eyes. I fear--I fearfor Said. The Pasha ... you have heard of him?"
"I may have heard his name," I replied; "but I am quite unfamiliarwith his reputation."
Hassan shook his head gloomily.
"He is the last of his race," he explained; "the race of the Khalifs.He inhabits the ancient palace--but much has been rebuilt, and muchadded--in Old Cairo, close behind the Coptic Church...."
"I did not know that such a palace even existed."
Again Hassan raised his finger to his lips.
"He is not like the other pashas," he said; "in the house of HarunPasha are observed to-day all the old customs as in the day of hisgreat ancestor Harun al-Raschid."
"But a motor-car!"
"Ah, _effendim_, he does not scorn to employ modern comforts, nor doI mean that he is a strict Moslem. But you saw the one who sat uponthe step? The _harem_ of the Pasha is well guarded; not only by suchas he, but by the Nubians and by the other mutes."
"Mutes!"
"He has many slaves. His agent in Mecca procures for him the pick ofthe market."
"But there is no such thing as slavery in Egypt!"
"Do the slaves know that, _effendim_?" he asked simply. "Those whohave tongues are never seen outside the walls--unless they are guardedby those who have no tongue!"
It was a curious sidelight upon a more curious possibility and I wasmuch impressed.
"Your brother----"
"Alas! I have warned him! I fear, most sincerely I fear, that one darknight the same will befall him that befell the son of my cousin, Ali."
"And what was that?"
"He climbed the wall of the Pasha's garden. There is a fig treegrowing close beside it at one place. Someone assisted him to descendon the other. But he had been betrayed; the Nubian mutes took him--andthey----"
He bent and whispered in my ear.
"Impossible!" I cried--"impossible! _bass! bass!_"
"Not so, _effendim_--nor was that all. After that they----"
"Enough, Hassan, enough!" I cried. "_Usbur!_"
Hassan sighed, raising fearful eyes to the minaret.
III
There has been nothing you are likely to disbelieve so far; butnow--well, I specified at the beginning--no comments. Let me tell thestory in my own way, and you have permission to _think_ what youplease.
There was a dance at Shepheard's that night, and young Forrest ratherinterfered with my plans again as to one of the members of the Englishparty; I think I have referred to her before? That sent me home in abad humor--at least not home; for as I was standing over by theEzbekiyeh Gardens, wondering whether to go along to "Jimmy's" or not,I formed a sudden determination to go and have a look at the abode ofHarun Pasha instead!
Mind you, I was not surprised to have lived in Cairo all these yearswithout having heard of the place; I had learned things about theMuski in the morning, from my tourist friends, which had revealed tome something of my pitiable ignorance. But I was determined to mend myways, so to speak, and I thought I would turn my restless mood to goodpurpose, by improving my knowledge of my neighbors.
I induced the torpid driver of an _arabiyeh_ to drive me out to OldCairo. He obviously considered me to be even more demented than therest of my countrymen, but since the fare would be a substantial one,he tackled the job. Mad expedition? Quite so; but you appreciate themood?
After we had passed a certain quarter--a quarter which neversleeps--there was nothing livelier than decayed tombs _en route_. Inthe chill of the evening I began to weigh up my own foolishnessappreciatively, but having got so far as the Coptic Church--you knowthe church I mean?--I was not going back unsatisfied; so I told my manto wait, and started off to look for the famous palace.
I must say the scene was impressive; a sky full of diamonds and a moonjust bursting with light. The liquid night--sounds of the Nile alonedisturbed the silence, and the buildings might have been made ofmother-o'-pearl, so flawless and pure did they seem, gleaming thereunder the moo
n.
Well, I wandered up some narrow streets--past ruins of formerimportant houses, and all that--until I found myself in the shadow ofa high wall which obviously was kept in good repair. I followed thisfor some distance, and I could see trees on the other side; at oneplace a perfect mat of those purple flowers hung over the top;gorgeous things; the name begins with a B, but I can never rememberit. This seemed promising, and as there was not a soul in sight, nor,on the visible evidences, a habitable building near me, I began tofossick for a likely place to climb up.
Presently I found the spot, and at the same time confirmation of mybelief that these were the precincts of the Pasha. A fig tree grewbeside the wall, affording an admirable means of reaching the top--anatural ladder. In a jiffy I was up ... and overlooking one of themost glorious gardens I had ever seen or dreamt of!
It must have been planned by an artist simply soaked in the lore ofthe Orient. It set me thinking of Edmond Dulac's illustrations to the_Arabian Nights_. Apart from those pages, you never saw anything likeit, I swear. The position of each tree was a study; the arrangement ofthe flowerbeds was poetic--that is the only word for it; there was apond with marble seats around and a flight of steps with big copperurns filled with growing flowers, mosaic paths, and lesser pools withfountains playing. I peered down into the water, and the moon raysglittered magically upon the scales of the golden carp which dartedthere. And all this fairy prospect was no more than an introduction,as it were, a sort of lead-up, to the Aladdin's Palace beyond.
I saw now that what with palms and the natural rise of the land backfrom the Nile, the wonderful palace, with its terraces and gleamingdomes, must actually be invisible from all points; a more secretlocality one could not well imagine.
As to this magician's abode, which lay before me, I shall not attemptto describe it. But turn to the illustrations which I have mentioned,or to those of Burton's big edition; I will leave it to the artist'sand your imagination to fill up the canvas.
Lights shone out from a hundred windows. Out of the ghostly, tomb-likesilence of Old Cairo, I had clambered into a sort of fairyland; Istood there with the spray from a fountain wetting me, and rubbed myeyes. Honestly, I should not have been surprised to find myselfdreaming. Well, you may be sure I was not going back yet; there wasnot a living soul to be seen in the gardens, and I meant to have apeep into the palace, whatever the chances.
The likeliest point, as I soon determined, was to the west--where along, low wing of the building extended, and was lost, if I may usethe term, in a great bank of verdure and purple blooms. I took fulladvantage of the ample shadow cast by the trees, and came right upunder the white wall without mishap.
To my right, the wall was obviously modern, but to my left, althoughin the distance and under the moon it had seemed uniform, it was builtof sandstone blocks and was evidently of great age. The palace proper,you understand, was fully forty yards east; the place before me was asort of low extension and evidently had no real connection with theresidential part.
Just above my head was a square window, iron-barred, but this did notlook promising, and cautiously, for I was hampered by the creeperswhich grew under the wall, I felt my way further west. Presently Iencountered a pointed door of black, time-seared wood, and heavilyiron-studded. Then, with alarming suddenness, the quietude of myadventure was broken; things began to move with breathless rapidity.
A most dreadful screaming and howling split the stillness and made mejump like a startled frog!
The sound of a lash on bare flesh reached me from some place behindthe pointed door. Screams for mercy in thick, guttural Arabic, mingledand punctuated with horrifying shrieks of pain, informed my ignoranceunmistakably that mediaeval methods yet ruled in the civilized NearEast.
Screams and supplications merged into a dull moaning; but the whistleof the lash continued uninterruptedly. Then that too ceased, and dimlycame the sounds of a muffled colloquy; a sort of gurgling talk thatgot me wondering.
I had just time to creep away and conceal myself behind a thick clumpof bushes, when the door was thrown open, and the most gigantic negroI have ever set eyes upon appeared in the opening, outlined againstthe smoky glare from within. He had one gleaming bare arm about theneck of an insensible man, and he dragged him out into the garden asone might drag a heavy sack; dropping him all in a quivering heap uponthe very spot which I had just vacated!
The negro, who was stripped to the waist and whose glistening bodyreminded me of a bronze statue of Hercules, stood looking down at theinsensible victim, with a hideous leer. I ventured to raise myselfever so slightly; and in the ghastly, sweat-bedaubed face of thetortured man--whose bare shoulders were bloody from the lash--Irecognized the Silenus of the limousine!
In response to a guttural inarticulate muttering by the black giant, asecond Nubian, of scarcely lesser dimensions, emerged from the dungeonwith a jar of water. He drenched the swooning man, evidently in orderto revive him; and, when the wretched being ultimately fought his wayback to agonized consciousness--to my horror he was seized, dragged inthrough the doorway again, and once more I heard the whistle of thelash being applied to his lacerated back, the skin of which wasalready in ribbons.
I suppose there are times when the most discreet man is snatchedoutside himself by circumstances? The door of this beastlytorture-room had not been reclosed, and before I could realize what Iwas about, I found myself inside!
The wretched victim had been hauled up to a beam by his bound wrists,and the huge Nubian was putting all his strength into the wielding ofthe cat-o'-nine-tails, drawing blood with every stroke; whilst hisassistant hung on to the rope running through a pulley-block in thelow ceiling.
All in a sort of whirl (I was raving mad with indignation) I gotamongst the trio, and landed a clip on the jaw of the son of Erebuswhich made his teeth rattle like castanets.
Down came the fat sufferer all in a heap in his own blood. Down wentmy man, and began to cough out broken molars. Then it was my turn;and down _I_ went with the second mute on top of me, and the pair ofus were playing hell all about the blood-spattered floor--up, down,under, over--straining, punching, kicking ... then my antagonistintroduced gouging, and I had to beat the mat.
It had been a stiff bout, and the stinking shambles were whirlingabout me like a bloody maelstrom. When things settled down a bit, Ifound myself lying in a small cell skewered up like a pullet, and witha prospect of iron grating and stone-flagged passage before me. I wasmore than a trifle damaged, and my head was singing like a kettle. IfI had thought that I dreamed before, it was a struggle now to convincemyself that this was not a nightmare.
Amid the rattling of chains and dropping of bars, a fantasticprocession was filing down the passage. First came a hideous,crook-backed apparition, hook-nosed, and bearing a lantern. Behind himappeared two guards with glittering scimitars. Behind the guardswalked a fourth personage, black-robed and white-turbaned--a sort ofdignified dragoman, carrying an enormous bunch of keys.
The iron grating of my dungeon was unlocked and raised, and I wasrequested, in Arabic, to rise and follow. Realizing that this was notime for funny business, I staggered to my feet, and between the twoScimitars marched unsteadily through a maze of passages with doorsunlocked and locked behind us, stairs ascended and stairs descended.
From empty passages, our journey led us to passages richly carpetedand softly lighted. By a heavy door opening on to the first of thelatter, we left the squinting man; and, with the two Scimitars andBlack Robe, I found myself crossing a lofty pavilion.
The floor was of rich mosaic, and priceless carpets were spread aboutin artistic confusion. Above my head loomed a great dome, lighted bystained glass windows in which the blue of lapis-lazuli predominated.By golden chains from above swung golden lamps burning perfumed oiland flooding the pavilion with a mellow blue light. There were inlaidtables and cabinets; great blue vases of exquisite Chinese porcelainstood in niches of the wall. The walls were of that faintlyamber-tinted alabaster which is quarried in the Mo
kattam Hills; andthere were fragile columns of some delicately azure-veined marble,rising, graceful and slender, ethereal as pencils of smoke, to abalcony high above my head; then, from this, a second series of fairycolumns crept in blue streaks up into the luminous shadows of thedome.
We crossed this place, my heel taps echoing hollowly and before acurtained door took pause. An impressive interval of perfumed silence;then in response to the muffled clapping of hands, the curtain wasraised and I was thrust into a smaller apartment beyond.
I found myself standing before a long _diwan_, amid an opulence ofOriental appointment which surpassed anything which I could haveimagined. The atmosphere was heavy with the odor of burning perfumes,and, whereas the lofty pavilion afforded a delicate study in blue,this chamber was voluptuously amber--amber-shaded lamps, ambercushions, amber carpets; everywhere the glitter of amber and gold.
Amid the amber sea, half immersed in the golden silks of the dais,reclined a large and portly Sheikh; full and patriarchal his beard,wherein played amber tints, lofty and serene his brow, sweeping up tothe snowy turban. From a mouthpiece of amber and gold he inhaled thescented smoke of a _narghli_. Behind him, upon a cushioned stool,knelt a female whose beauty of face and form was unmistakable, sinceit was undisguised by the filmy artistry of her attire. With agigantic fan of peacock's feathers, she cooled the Sheikh, anddispersed the flies which threatened to disturb his serenity. A secondhouri received in her hands the amber mouthpiece as it fell from herlord's lips; a third, who evidently had been playing upon a lute, roseand glided from the apartment like an opium vision, as I enteredbetween the guardian Scimitars.
I found myself thinking of Saint Saen's music to _Samson and Delilah_;the barbaric strains of the exquisite _bacchanale_ were beating on mybrain.
Black Robe advanced and knelt upon the floor of the _diwan_.
"We have brought the wretched malefactor into your glorious presence,"he said.
The Pasha (for I knew, beyond doubt, that I stood before Harun Pasha)raised his eyes and fixed a stern gaze upon me. He gazed long andfixedly, and an odd change took place in his expression. He seemedabout to address me, then, apparently changing his mind, he addressedthe recumbent figure at his feet.
"Have the slaves returned with the female miscreant and her partner inSatan?" he demanded sternly.
"Lord of the age," replied the other, rising upon his knees, "they areexpected."
"Let them be brought before me," directed the Pasha, "upon the instantof their arrival. Has Misrun confessed his complicity?"
"He fainted beneath the lash, excellency, but confessed that heslept--that pig who prayed without washing and whose birth was acalamity--on several occasions when accompanying the lady Zohara."
"Leave us!" cried the Pasha. "But, first, unbind the prisoner."
He swept his arm around comprehensively, and everyone withdrew fromthe apartment, including the Scimitars (one of whom cut my lashings)and the lady of the fan. I found myself alone with Harun Pasha.
IV
"Sit here beside me!" directed the Pasha.
Being yet too dazed for wonder or protest, I obeyed mechanically. Myexact situation was not clear to me at the moment and I was a long wayoff knowing how to act.
"I am much disturbed in mind, and my bosom is contracted," continuedthe Pasha, with a certain benignity, "by reason of a conspiracy in my_harem_, which came to a head this night, and which led to the loss ofthe pearl of my household, a damsel who cost me her weight in gold,who entangled me in the snare of her love and pierced me with anguish.Know, O young Inglisi, that love is difficult. Alas! she who hadcaptivated my reason by her loveliness fled with a shame of theMoslems who defamed the sacred office of _mueddin_! In truth he isnaught but the son of a disease and a consort of camels. My soulcries out to Allah and my mind is a nest of wasps. Relate to me yourcase, that it may turn me from the contemplation of my sorrows. Atanother time, it had gone hard with you, and penalties of a mostunfortunate description had been visited upon your head, O disturberof my peace; but since this child of filth and progeny of mules hasshattered it forever, your lesser crime comes but as a diversion.Relate to me the matters which have brought you to this miserablepass."
There was some still little voice in my mind which was trying to speakto me, if you understand what I mean. But what with the suffocatingperfume of ambergris (or it may have been frankincense), my incrediblesurroundings, and the buzzing of my maltreated skull, I simply could_not_ think connectedly.
A memory was struggling for identification in my addled brain; butwhether it was due to something I had seen, heard, or smelled, I couldnot for the life of me make out. I heard myself spinning my ownimprobable yarn as one listens to a dreary and boresome recitation;_I_ didn't seem to be the raconteur; my mind was busy about that amberroom, furiously chasing that hare-like memory, which leaped anddoubled, dived under the silken cushions, popped up behind the Pasha,and flicked its ears at me from amid the feathers of the peacock fan.
I driveled right on to the end of my story, mechanically, withouthaving got my mind in proper working order; and when the Pasha spokeagain--there was that wretched memory still dodging me, sometimesalmost within my grasp, but always just eluding it.
"Your amusing narrative has diverted me," said the Pasha; and heclapped his hands three times.
It never occurred to me, you will note, to assert myself in any way; Iaccepted the lordly condescensions of this singular personage withoutprotest. You will be wondering why I didn't kick up a devil of ahullabaloo--declare that I had come in response to screams forassistance--wave the dreaded name of the British Agent under thePasha's nose, and all that. I can only say that I didn't; I wassubdued; in fact I was down, utterly down and out.
Black Robe entered with eyes averted.
"Well, wretched vermin!" roared the Pasha in sudden wrath; "do youtell me they are not here?"
The man, with his head bumping on the carpet, visibly trembled.
"Most noble," he replied hoarsely, "your lowly slave has exertedhimself to the utmost----"
"Out! son of a calamity!" shouted the Pasha--and before my astonishedeyes he raised the heavy _narghli_ and hurled it at the bowed head ofthe man before him.
It struck the white turban with a resounding crack, and then wasshattered to bits upon the floor. It was a blow to have staggered amule. But Black Robe, without apparent loss of dignity, rose anddeparted, bowing.
The Pasha sat rocking about, and plucking madly at his beard.
"O Allah!" he cried, "how I suffer." He turned to me. "Never since theday that another of your race (but, this one, a true son of Satan)came to my palace, have I tasted so much suffering. You shall judgeof my clemency, O imprudent stranger, and pacify your heart with thespectacle of another's punishment."
He clapped his hands twice. This time there was a short delay, whichthe Pasha suffered impatiently; then there entered the squint-eyedman, together with the two Scimitars.
"I would visit the dungeon of the false Pasha," said my singular host;and, rising to his feet, he placed his hand upon my shoulder andindicated that we were to proceed from the apartment.
Led by Crook Back, in whose hand the gigantic bunch of keys rattledunmelodiously, and followed by the Scimitars, we proceeded upon ourway; and it was beyond the powers of my disordered brain to dismissthe idea that I was taking part in a Christmas pantomime. Many stepswere descended; many heavy doors unbolted and unbarred, bolted andbarred behind us; many stone-paved passages, reminding me of operaticscenery, were traversed ere we came to one tunnel more gloomy than therest.
Upon the right was a blank stone wall, upon the left, a series ofdoors, black with age and heavily iron-studded. The only illuminationwas that furnished by the lantern which Crook Back carried.
Before one of the doors the Pasha paused.
"In which is Misrun?" he demanded.
"In the next, excellency," replied the jailer--for such I took to bethe office of the hunchback.
As he spoke, he h
eld the lantern to the grating.
I found myself peering into a filthy dungeon, the reek of which mademe ill; and there, upon the stone floor, lay poor Silenus! He raisedhis eyes to the light.
"Lord of the age," he moaned, lifting his manacled wrists, "glory ofthe universe, sun of suns! I have confessed my frightful sin, and mostdire misfortunes. Of your sublime mercy, take pity upon the meanestthing that creeps upon the earth----"
"Proceed!" said the Pasha.
And with the moaning cries of Misrun growing fainter behind us, wemoved along the passage. Before a second door, we halted again, andthe jailer raised the lantern.
"Look upon this!" cried the Pasha to me--"look well, and look long!"
Shudderingly I peered in between the bars. It had come home to me howI was utterly at the mercy of this man's moods. If he had chosen tohave me hurled into one of his dungeons, what prospect of releasewould have been mine? Who would ever know of my plight? No one! Andbeyond doubt I was in the realm of an absolute monarch. I silentlythanked my lucky stars that my lot was not the lot of him who occupiedthis second dungeon.
As the dim light, casting shadow bars across the filthy floor, pickedout the features of the prisoner, I gave a great start. Save that thebeard was more gray, longer, filthy and unkempt, and that, in placeof the nearly shaven skull, this unhappy being displayed dishevelledlocks, the captive might easily have passed for the Pasha.
I met the eye of this terrible despot.
"Look upon the false Pasha," he said; "look upon the one who thoughtto dispossess me! For years, by his own miserable confession, hestudied me in secret. When I journeyed to my estates in Assuan" (Istarted again) "he was watching--watching--always watching. Hisscheme, which was whispered into his ear by the Evil One, was no plantof sudden growth, but a tree, that, from a seed of Satan planted infertile soil, had flourished exceedingly, tended by the hand ofvillainous ambition."
I clutched at the bars for support. The stench of the place was simplyindescribable; but it was neither the stench nor the bizarre incidentsof the night which accounted for my dizziness: it was the suddentangibility of that hitherto elusive memory.
In build, in complexion, in certain mannerisms underlying thedignified assumption, Harun Pasha might well have been the twinbrother of Jack Dunlap!
A frightful possibility burst upon me like a bomb; clutching the barswith quivering hands, I stared and stared at the wretched impostor inthe cell. _Could_ it be? Had he been mad enough to make some attemptupon the Pasha? And was this his end?
I looked around again. I searched the bearded features of the Pashawith eager gaze. Good God! either I was going mad, or incrediblethings had been done, were being done, in Cairo.
I had not seen Dunlap for a year, remember, and in the ordinary wayI did not see him more than half a dozen times in twelve months, sothat, all things considered, it was not so remarkable that I hadoverlooked the resemblance. A full beard and mustache, artificiallydarkened eyelashes, a shaven head and a white turban, are effectualdisguises; but if you can imagine Dunlap--the Dunlap you remember--soarrayed, then you have Harun Pasha. Imagine Harun Pasha, dirty,bedraggled, a hopeless captive ... and you have the prisoner whocrouched upon the straw in that noisome dungeon!
For the second time that night I was lifted out of myself. I turnedon the man beside me in a blazing fury.
"You villain!" I shouted at him, and clenched my fists--"do you _dare_to confine a Britisher in your stinking cellars. By God! sir...."
Harun Pasha clapped his hand over my mouth; the two guards had me bythe arms from behind. But my cries had aroused the man in the dungeon,and, as I was dragged down the passage, these moaning words reachedme, spoken in Arabic:
"Help! help! Englishman! A crime has been committed! I appeal toLord----."
A door was slammed fast with a resounding bang, and the rest of thecaptive's appeal was lost to me. One of my guards had substituted hishand for that of the Pasha, but now it was removed; and, speechlesswith rage, I found myself being thrust up stone stairs--and I realizedthat by a moment's indiscretion, I had ruined everything.
Back in the amber apartment once more, with the two Scimitars at thedoor and Harun Pasha reclining upon the cushions, I found speech.
"What are you going to do with me?" I demanded.
"My son," replied the Pasha with benignity, "I pardon all! Your greatcourage and address, together with the modesty of your deportment, andthe spirit of adventure which has brought you to your presentunfortunate case, plead for you in a manner which my clemency cannotresist. It is my unhappy lot often to be called upon to punish.To-night, those gloomy dungeons which you have seen will echo, alas,with the howls of miserable wretches who are responsible for the lossof the pearl of my soul; for I am persuaded that she has fled with theson of offal who profaned the words of Allah from the minaret. Thisbeing so, I would temper my proper severity with a merciful deed. Youshall never speak of what you have seen within these walls, save interms suitably disguised. You shall never seek to return, nor, byspeech with any man, to confirm whatsoever you may suspect. Upon thiswarranty, you shall depart in peace."
He clapped his hands twice, and a houri of most bewitching aspectglided into the _diwan_.
"Bring sherbet!" ordered the Pasha.
The maiden departed; and whilst I was yet trying to come to adecision (the Pasha had mentioned no alternative, but my imaginationwas equal to the task of supplying one!) she returned with a tray uponwhich were porcelain cups and two vessels of beautifully chased gold.
Harun Pasha decocted a sparkling beverage, and, with his own hands,passed the brimming cup to me.
* * * * *
I knew you would not believe it; but I warned you, and I made astipulation. Your idea is that I must be a poor sort of animal toaccept so dishonorable a compromise? I agree. But the situation waseven more peculiarly difficult than is apparent to you at the moment.Without _seeking_ the information, I learned from Hassan of the ScentBazaar that his brother had indeed fled with the beauteous LadyZohara, no one knew whither; and this confirmation of the Pasha'ssorrows touched a very tender spot in my heart!
Then there is another little point.
When the Pasha removed the elaborate stopper from the first of thegolden vessels to which I have just referred, _my_ eye alone perceivedthat a bottle, bearing a familiar black and white label, was containedin this golden casing. The flavor of the decoction with which wesealed our infamous bargain clinched the matter.
I was absolutely thrust out of the presence chamber before I had timefor another word; but, looking back from the door and meeting the eyeof the Pasha, I encountered a most portentous wink. Therefore I havestuck to my bargain.
Oh! I have not given much away. The Pasha is not called Harun, and thepalace is nowhere near the Coptic Church in Old Cairo. Because, yousee, I only knew one man who winked in quite that elaboratefashion--and his name was Jack Dunlap!