mohammed ali and his house-第49部分

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will　of　Allah；　and　it　surely　cannot　be　his　will　that　you　should　forsake　wife　and　children；　but；　rather；　that　you　should　remain　patiently　with　them。

He　returned　to　his　house；　but　it　was　in　vain　that　he　endeavored　to　silence　the　voices　that　whispered　in　his　heart。

With　earliest　dawn　he　arose　noiselessly　from　the　couch　on　which　he　had　passed　a　restless　night。

The　sun　has　risen！　Is　it　for　the　last　time　that　he　sees　it　mount　above　these　cliffs？　Perhaps！　He　ascends　the　mountain…rock；　higher　and　higher。　Now　he　stands　still；　he　is　approaching　a　consecrated　spot！

Why　should　he　come　to　this　place　now？　His　heart　had　never　before　permitted　him　to　approach　it　since　he　had　become　Ada's　husband。　Why　does　he　now　long　again　to　mount　to　the　spot　on　which　he　had　never　stood　after　those　days？　Since　then　he　has　become　a　man　and　another　being。　There　he　had　exchanged　vows　of　eternal　love　with　his　Masa！　There；　all　Nature　heard　him　swear：　〃I　love　you　alone；　and　no　other　woman　shall　ever　stand　at　my　side！〃

The　youth　which　had　uttered　these　words　died　in　him　long　ago。　Mohammed　Ali　was　now　a　man；　had　a　wife；　and　children　called　him　father；　and　the　man　had　hitherto　avoided　treading　on　this　consecrated　ground。　But　now　he　is　driven　there　by　an　irresistible　longing！

He　walks　rapidly　on；　and　is　soon　there。

He　stands　where　he　had　stood　with　Masa；　where　he　had　called　down　imprecations　on　her　head　because　he　thought　her　faithless；　where　he　had　also　listened　in　pious　devotion　to　the　holy　revelation　of　her　love。

Ten　years　have　passed　since　then。　What　has　remained　of　those　hopes；　and　of　that　love？

His　dreams　have　ended；　and　his　illusions　are　dissipated。

〃O　Masa！　and　people　call　me　a　happy　man。　O　Mother　Khadra；　look　down　into　your　son's　heart！　The　voices　I　long　since　thought　silenced　forever；　are　again　arousedthe　voices　of　love　and　ambition。　O　mother；　it　is　as　though　I　saw　you　before　me　again；　and　heard　you　relate　your　dream！　You　saw　your　son　standing　upon　the　pinnacle　of　a　palace；　a　sword　uplifted　in　his　hand；　a　crown　encircling　his　brow；　and　you　knew；　mother；　that　this　man　with　crown　and　sceptre；　attired　in　purple；　was　your　son；　and　this　man　transformed　himself　into　an　angel；　and　flew　to　you　and　kissed　you。　The　man　you　beheld　as　a　prince　and　hero；　has　again　transformed　himself；　and　this　time　into　a　miserable　merchant。　Nothing　has　remained　to　him　of　the　prince；　and　angel；　and　hero；　he　is　nothing　more　than　a　poor　worm　of　earth！〃

He　cries　out　loudly　and　fiercely。　All　the　anguish　of　former　days；　all　the　ungratified　longings　of　the　past；　are　again　awakened；　and；　long　pent　up；　now　break　forth　in　a　fiery　flood；　and　sweep　away　and　burn　to　ashes　all　reason；　all　calm　reflection；　all　the　fruit　of　these　ten　long；　desolate　years　of　tranquility　and　patient　industry。

After　a　struggle　with　himself；　he　arose；　and　a　deep　sigh；　like　a　death…groan；　escaped　his　breast。

It　was　his　intention　to　go　to　Osman　and　say：　〃It　is　settled；　I　remain！　I　have　just　committed　a　murder　on　myself；　I　have　killed　Mohammed　Ali；　the　eagle；　as　his　mother　called　him；　and　there　remains　only　the　merchant　Mohammed！　He　will　creep　on；　composedly；　over　the　surface　of　the　earth；　collecting　tobacco；　rolling　it　into　great　balls；　and　rejoicing　when　he　finds　his　profit　in　so　doing。〃

But　it　seemed　as　though　his　footsteps　were　clogged；　as　though　an　invisible　hand　held　him　back；　and　compelled　him　to　remain　a　while　longer　on　this　spot　where　he　had　stood　with　Masa。　And　now　it　seemed　to　him　that　her　form　suddenly　arose　from　her　cold　grave　in　the　waves　over　there　beyond　the　cliffs。　She　was　arrayed　in　purple；　her　starlike　eyes　were　fixed　on　him；　and　her　long　hair　enveloped　her　beloved　form　as　with　a　golden　veil；　the　water　dripping　from　her　like　glittering　pearls。　It　gradually　arose　out　of　the　waters。　He　had　seen　such　visions；　such　fata　morgana；　that　appeared　not　unfrequently　on　this　coast；　many　a　time；　and　had　hitherto　smiled　at　such　illusions。　But　today　he　forgot　his　knowledge　and　experience；　and　the　illusion　was　to　him　reality。　He　stretched　out　his　arms；　and　gazed　at　the　heavenly　picture　that　had　risen　out　of　the　waves；　and　his　lips　whispered　in　longing　accents：　〃Masa；　come　to　me；　let　the　water　that　drips　from　you　fall　on　my　burning　heart；　soothe　my　anguish；　speak　to　me　of　my　future；　and　tell　me　what　you　desire　me　to　do。　Oh；　speak　to　me；　Masa！〃

Enraptured；　he　still　gazed　out　into　the　air　at　the　sweet　vision　that　rose　higher　and　higher　out　of　the　waves。　At　last　it　stretched　out　its　arms　over　him；　and　a　cold　breath　kissed　his　lips！　After　a　long　pause；　he　opened　his　eyes　again。　Had　he　been　dreaming？　Was　it　reality？　He　lay　on　the　rock　alone　in　the　morning　light　of　the　sun。　The　image　had　disappeared；　and　silence　surrounded　him；　profound　silence。

And　in　this　silence　Mohammed　formed　his　last；　his　decisive　resolve。　As　he　lay　there；　he　had　entreated　Allah　to　deliver　him；　by　death；　from　this　tormenting　struggle；　this　doubt。　The　hour　of　irresolution　had　now　passed；　and　he　felt　strengthened　with　renewed　life。　He　looked　up　at　the　heavens；　and　a　hitherto　undreamed　of　world　seemed　to　lie　open　before　him。　He　looked　out　into　the　purple　distance；　and　he　seemed　to　be　hold　the　minarets；　and　temples；　and　mountains；　and　plains　of　a　new　land。　Was　he　never　to　reach　this　land？　Were　all　the　dreams　of　his　youth　to　come　to　naught；　and　the　prophecies　made　by　the　woman　who　had　told　his　mother　that　he　was　to　be　a　hero；　to　remain　unfulfilled？　And　was　Masa　to　remain　unavenged　in　her　cold　grave？　He　has　duties　to　fulfil　toward　wife　and　children。　But　revenge　is　also　a　sacred　duty；　and　he　has　sworn　to　himself　a　thousand　times；　that　he　will　perform　this　duty。　Vengeance　for　Masa！　Vengeance　on　him！　The　hour　has　come！　Grasp　the　occasion！　He　may　fail　in　his　career；　but；　if　successful；　his　success　will　be　great；　divine。　It　will　be　heavenly；　if　he　must　die；　to　fall　on　the　field　of　battle　amid　the　roar　of　artillery；　and　the　clash　of　arms。　Such　a　death　were　far　preferable　to　a　life　like　that　he　now　leads；　protracted　through　long；　weary　years。　Who　has　brought　about　this　struggle；　and　implanted　these　aspirations　in　his　breast？　It　is　Allah's　work！　In　his　early　youth；　his　mother　had　told　him　of　her　dreams；　and　hope　for　her　boy！　Who　was　it　that　arose　from　the　waves　and　permitted　him　to　see　in　her　dewy　hand　a　sword　and　a　crown！　It　was　Masa；　his　Masa！　These　three；　Allah；　his　mother；　and　Masa；　have　spoken　to　him；　and　Mohammed　has　heard　and　understood　their　words。

As　he　stands　there　on　the　verge　of　the　cliff；　gazing　out　into　the　distance；　and　listening　to　the　sea　murmuring　at　his　feet；　he　now　feels　that　he　is　the　instrument　chosen　to　do　great　deeds。　He　must　obey　Destiny；　he　must　respond　to　the　appeal　of　revenge；　of　honor；　and　of　renown。　And　a　threatening　voice　whispers　in　his　soul：　〃Cousrouf　Pacha；　beware！　You　have　called　your　judge　yourself。　Beware；　the　avenger　will　appear！　You　will　not　recognize　him；　for　his　countenance　will　smile；　and　his　bearing　will　be　soft　and　composed。　You　will　not　recognize　him；　but　he　will　come。　Beware；　Cousrouf　Pacha！〃

Mohammed　now　turns　to　descend　to　Cavalla；　and　he　feels　himself　a　changed；　a　new　man。

He　slowly　descended；　his　head　erect；　his　breast　swelling　with　a　proud　joyousness。　The　struggle　is　over；　and　the　voice　of　anguish　is　forever　stilled。　Mohammed　cones　among　men　again　another　and　a　better　man；　and；　before　returning　to　his　own　house；　he　repairs　to　the　palace　of　the　tschorbadji；　to　seek　his　friend　Osman。

When　Osman　saw　him　coming　he　smiled；　nodded　to　him；　and　held　out　his　hand。

〃Well；　my　Mohammed；　I　see　by　your　countenance　that　the　struggle　is　over；　and　that　Mohammed　knows　what　future　is　in　store　for　him。〃

Mohammed　grasped　his　friend's　hand　warmly　in　his　own；　a　bright　smile　lighting　up　his　countenance。

〃He　at　least　knows；　my　Osman；　what　demands　he　intends　to　make　of　the　future；　and；　if　they　are　not　accorded；　he　will　at　least　know　how　to　die　gloriously。〃




CHAPTER　IV

THE　EMBARKATION。


〃Is　it　then　really　true；　Osman？〃　asked　the　governor；　with　tears　in　his　eyes。　〃Have　you　resolved　to　leave　me　and　assume　command　of　the　troops？〃

〃Yes；　my　dear　father；　I　have。　It　is　time　I　showed　myself　to　be　a　man！　And　do　you　not　think　the　uniform　of　a　bim　bashi　will　become　me　well；　and　that　I；　too；　have　some　desire　to　parade　in　my　finery　before　beautiful　women；　and　be　honored　with　their　gracious　looks？〃

〃You　are　jesting；　my　son；〃　said　the　tschorbadji；　sadly。　〃With　a　grave　air　your　lips　speak　joyous　words　of　which　your　heart　knows　nothing。　No；　you　cannot　deceive　your　father。　It　is　not　the　uniform　that　charms　you；　nor　has　or　can　war　have　any　thing　attractive　for　you。〃

〃You　mean　by　that；　father；　that　a　sickly；　weak　man；　like　myself；　can　take　no　pleasure　in　military　service。　Believe　me；　it　will　make　me　healthier　and　stronger。　I　have　been　treated　like　an　invalid　long　enough；　and　have　not　benefited　by　such　treatment。　Let　us　now　defy　fate　and　ill　health。　Moreover；〃　he　continued；　after　a　short　pause；　〃moreover；　I　have　chosen　Mohammed　to　be　my　companion；　my　lieutenant；　in　order　that　I　might　have　a　strong　arm　to　lean　on。　With　Mohammed　at　my　side；　I　shall　have　no　fear　in　the　conflict。　His　presence　will　give　me　the　needful　strength。　I　tell　you　I　feel　stronger　and　better　already。　But　now　let　me　go　and　put　on　my　uniform。　And　do　you　not　think　you　will　be　proud　of　my　soldierly　appearance　yourself　when　you　walk　down　to　the　ship　with　me；　and　hear　people　whisper　to　each　other：　'That　is　Osman！　We　would　not　have　believed　him　to　be　so　stately　and　strong　a　man！'　Tell　me；　would　this　not　gladden　your　heart？〃

He　nodded　to　his　father；　and　without　awaiting　his　answer　turned　and　went　hastily　to　his　apartments；　to　put　on　his　uniform。

The　tschorbadji　looked　after　him　sadly。

〃If　I　could　only　discover　what　secret　purpose　induces　my　son　to　play　the　soldier！　I　will　ask　Mohammed；　and　also　request　him　to　watch　over　my　son。〃

He　went　down　into　the　court…yard　where　Mohammed；　dressed　in　the　uniform　of　the　boulouk　bashi　again；　was　engaged　in　drawing　up　his　soldiers　in　rank　and　file；　preparatory　to　marching　them　down　to　the　harbor；　where　they　were　to　embark。　He　beckoned　to　Mohammed　to　come　into　the　hall；　and　laid　his　hand　gently　on　his　shoulder。　〃I　can　count　on　you；　my　friend；　can　I　not？〃

〃Tschorbadji；　you　can　count　o