The Bride of the Nile, Volume 3.

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THE BRIDE OF THE NILE

By Georg Ebers

Volume 3.

CHAPTER X.

After the great excitement of the night Paula had thrown herself on her
bed with throbbing pulses. Sleep would not come to her, and so at rather
more than two hours after sunrise she went to the window to close the
shutters. As she did so she looked out, and she saw Hiram leap into a
boat and push the light bark from the shore. She dared neither signal
nor call to him; but when the faithful soul had reached open water he
looked back at her window, recognized her in her white morning dress and
flourished the oar high in the air. This could only mean that he had
fulfilled his commission and sold her jewel. Now he was going to the
other side to engage the Nabathaean.

When she had closed the shutters and darkened the room she again lay
down. Youth asserted its rights the weary girl fell into deep, dreamless
slumbers.

When she woke, with the heat drops on her forehead, the sun was nearly at
the meridian, only an hour till the Ariston would be served, the Greek
breakfast, the first meal in the morning, which the family eat together
as they also did the principal meal later in the clay. She had never yet
failed to appear, and her absence would excite remark.

The governor's household, like that of every Egyptian of rank, was
conducted more on the Greek than the Egyptian plan; and this was the case
not merely as regarded the meals but in many other things, and especially
the language spoken. From the Mukaukas himself down to the youngest
member of the family, all spoke Greek among themselves, and Coptic, the
old native dialect, only to the servants. Nay, many borrowed and foreign
words had already crept into use in the Coptic.

The governor's granddaughter, pretty little Mary, had learnt to speak
Greek fluently and correctly before she spoke Coptic, but when Paula had
first arrived she could not as yet write the beautiful language of Greece
with due accuracy. Paula loved children; she longed for some occupation,
and she had therefore volunteered to instruct the little girl in the art.
At first her hosts had seemed pleased that she should render this
service, but ere long the relation between the Lady Neforis and her
husband's niece had taken the unpleasant aspect which it was destined to
retain. She had put a stop to the lessons, and the reason she had
assigned for this insulting step was that Paula had dictated to her pupil
long sentences out of her Orthodox Greek prayerbook. This, it was true,
she had done; but without the smallest concealment; and the passages she
had chosen had contained nothing but what must elevate the soul of every
Christian, of whatever confession.

The child had wept bitterly over her grandmother's fiat, though Paula had
always taken the lessons quite seriously, for Mary loved her older
companion with all the enthusiasm of a half-grown girl--as a child of ten
really is in Egypt; her passionate little heart worshipped the beautiful
maiden who was in every respect so far above her, and Paula's arms had
opened wide to embrace the child who brought sunshine into the gloomy,
chill atmosphere she breathed in her uncle's house. But Neforis regarded
the child's ardent love for her Melchite relation as exaggerated and
morbid, imperilling perhaps her religious faith; and she fancied that
under Paula's influence Mary had transferred her affections from her to
the younger woman with added warmth. Nor was this idea wholly fanciful;
the child's strong sense of justice could not bear to see her friend
misunderstood and slighted, often simply and entirely misjudged and
hardly blamed, so Mary felt it her duty, as far as in her lay, to make up
for her grandmother's delinquencies in regard to the guest who in the
child's eyes was perfection.

But Neforis was not the woman to put up with this demeanor in a child.
Mary was her granddaughter, the only child of her lost son, and no one
should come between them. So she forbid the little girl to go to Paula's
room without an express message, and when a Greek teacher was engaged for
her, her instructions were that she should keep her pupil as much as
possible out of the Syrian damsel's way. All this only fanned the
child's vehement affection; and tenderly as her grandmother would
sometimes caress her--while Mary on her part never failed in dutiful
obedience--neither of them ever felt a true and steady warmth of heart
towards the other; and for this Paula was no doubt to blame, though
against her will and by her mere existence.

Often, indeed, and by a hundred covert hints Dame Neforis gave Paula to
understand that she it was who had alienated her grandchild; there was
nothing for it but to keep the child for whom she yearned, at a distance,
and only rarely reveal to her the abundance of her love. At last her
life was so full of grievance that she was hardly able to be innocent
with the innocent--a child with the child; Mary was not slow to note
this, and ascribed Paula's altered manner to the suffering caused by
her grandmother's severity.

Mary's most frequent opportunities of speaking to her friend were
just before meals; for at that time no one was watching her, and her
grandmother had not forbidden her calling Paula to table. A visit to her
room was the child's greatest delight--partly because it was forbidden--
but no less because Paula, up in her own room, was quite different from
what she seemed with the others, and because they could there look at
each other and kiss without interference, and say what ever they pleased.
There Mary could tell her as much as she dared of the events in their
little circle, but the lively and sometimes hoydenish little girl was
often withheld from confessing a misdemeanor, or even an inoffensive
piece of childishness, by sheer admiration for one who to her appeared
nobler, greater and loftier than other beings.

Just as Paula had finished putting up her hair, Mary, who would rush like
a whirlwind even into her grandmother's presence, knocked humbly at the
door. She did not fly into Paula's arms as she did into those of
Susannah or her daughter Katharina, but only kissed her white arm with
fervent devotion, and colored with happiness when Paula bent down to her,
pressed her lips to her brow and hair, and wiped her wet, glowing cheeks.
Then she took Mary's head fondly between her hands and said:

"What is wrong with you, madcap?"

In fact the sweet little face was crimson, and her eyes swelled as if she
had been crying violently.

"It is so fearfully hot," said Mary. "Eudoxia"--her Greek governess--
"says that Egypt in summer is a fiery furnace, a hell upon earth. She is
quite ill with the heat, and lies like a fish on the sand; the only good
thing about it is. . ."

"That she lets you run off and gives you no lessons?"

Mary nodded, but as no lecture followed the confession she put her head
on one side and looked up into Paula's face with large roguish eyes.

"And yet you have been crying!--a great girl like you?"

"I--I crying?"

"Yes, crying. I can see it in your eyes. Now confess: what has
happened?"

"You will not scold me?"

"Certainly not."

"Well then. At first it was fun, such fun you cannot think, and I do
not mind the heat; but when the great hunt had gone by I wanted to go
to my grand mother and I was not allowed. Do you know, something very
particular had been going on in the fountain-room; and as they all
came out again I crept behind Orion into the tablinum--there are such
wonderful things there, and I wanted just to frighten him a little;
we have often played games together before. At first he did not see me,
and as he was bending over the hanging, from which the gem was stolen--I
believe he was counting the stones in the faded old thing--I just jumped
on to his shoulder, and he was so frightened--I can tell you, awfully
frightened! And he turned upon me like a fighting-cock and--and he gave
me a box on the ear; such a slap, it is burning now--and all sorts of
colors danced before my eyes. He always used to be so nice and kind to
me, and to you, too, and so I used to be fond of him--he is my uncle too
--but a box on the ears, a slap such as the cook might give to the
turnspit--I am too big for that; that I will certainly not put up with
it! Since my last birthday all the slaves and upper servants, too, have
had to treat me as a lady and to bow down to me! And now!--it was just
here.--How dare he?" She began to cry again and sobbed out: "But that
was not all. He locked me into the dark tablinum and left--left me...."
her tears flowed faster and faster, "left me sitting there! It was so
horrible; and I might have been there now if I had not found a gold
plate; I seized my great-grandfather--I mean the silver image of Menas,
and hammered on it, and screamed Fire! Then Sebek heard me and fetched
Orion, and he let me out, and made such a fuss over me and kissed me.
But what is the good of that; my grandfather will be angry, for in my
terror I beat his father's nose quite flat on the plate."

Paula had listened, now amused and now grave, to the little girl's story;
when she ceased, she once more wiped her eyes and said:

"Your uncle is a man, and you must not play with him as if he were a
child like yourself. The reminder you got was rather a hard one, no
doubt, but Orion tried to make up for it.--But the great hunt, what was
that?"

At this question Mary's eyes suddenly sparkled again. In an instant all
her woes were forgotten, even her ancestor's flattened nose, and with a
merry, hearty laugh she exclaimed:

"Oh! you should have seen it! You would have been amused too. They
wanted to catch the bad man who cut the emerald out of the hanging. He
had left his shoes and they had held them under the dogs' noses and then
off they went! First they rushed here to the stairs; then to the
stables, then to the lodgings of one of the horse-trainers, and I kept
close behind, after the terriers and the other dogs. Then they stopped
to consider and at last they all ran out at the gate towards the town. I
ought not to have gone beyond the court-yard, but--do not be cross with
me--it was such fun!--Out they went, along Hapi Street, across the
square, and at last into the Goldsmith's Street, and there the whole pack
plunged into Gamaliel's shop--the Jew who is always so merry. While he
was talking to the others his wife gave me some apricot tartlets; we do
not have such good ones at home."

"And did they find the man?" asked Paula, who had changed color
repeatedly during the child's story.

"I do not know," said Mary sadly. "They were not chasing any one in
particular. The dogs kept their noses to the ground, and we ran after
them."

"And only to catch a man, who certainly had nothing whatever to do with
the theft.--Reflect a little, Mary. The shoes gave the dogs the scent
and they were set on to seize the man who had worn them, but whom no
judge had examined. The shoes were found in the hall; perhaps he had
dropped them by accident, or some one else may have carried them there.
Now think of yourself in the place of an innocent man, a Christian like
ourselves, hunted with a pack of dogs like a wild beast. Is it not
frightful? No good heart should laugh at such a thing!"

Paula spoke with such impressive gravity and deep sorrow, and her whole
manner betrayed such great and genuine distress that the child looked tip
at her anxiously, with tearful eyes, threw herself against her, and
hiding her face in Paula's dress exclaimed: "I did not know that they
were hunting a poor man, and if it makes you so sad, I wish I had not
been there! But is it really and truly so bad? You are so often unhappy
when we others laugh!" She gazed into Paula's face with wide, wondering
eyes through her tears, and Paula clasped her to her, kissed her fondly,
and replied with melancholy sweetness:

"I would gladly be as gay as you, but I have gone through so much to
sadden me. Laugh and be merry to your heart's content; I am glad you
should. But with regard to the poor hunted man, I fear he is my
father's freedman, the most faithful, honest soul! Did your exciting
hunt drive any one out of the goldsmith's shop?"

Mary shook her head; then she asked:

"Is it Hiram, the stammerer, the trainer, that they are hunting?"

"I fear it is."

"Yes, yes," said the child. "Stay--oh, dear! it will grieve you again,
but I think--I think they said--the shoes belonged--but I did not attend.
However, they were talking of a groom--a freedman--a stammerer. . . ."

"Then they certainly are hunting down an innocent man," cried Paula with
a deep sigh; and she sat down again in front of her toilet-table to
finish dressing. Her hands still moved mechanically, but she was lost in
thought; she answered the child vaguely, and let her rummage in her open
trunk till Mary pulled out the necklace that had been bereft of its gem,
and hung it round her neck. Just then there was a knock at the
door and Katharina, the widow Susannah's little daughter, came into the
room. The young girl, to whom the governor's wife wished to marry her
tall son scarcely reached to Paula's shoulder, but she was plump and
pleasant to look upon; as neat as if she had just been taken out of a
box, with a fresh, merry lovable little face. When she laughed she
showed a gleaming row of small teeth, set rather wide apart, but as white
as snow; and her bright eyes beamed on the world as gladly as though they
had nothing that was not pleasing to look for, innocent mischief to dream
of. She too, tried to win Paula's favor; but with none of Mary's devoted
and unvarying enthusiasm. Often, to be sure, she would devote herself to
Paula with such stormy vehemence that the elder girl was forced to be
repellent; then, on the other hand, if she fancied her self slighted, or
treated more coolly than Mary, she would turn her back on Paula with
sulky jealousy, temper and pouting. It always was in Paula's power to
put an end to the "Water-wagtails tantrums"--which generally had their
comic side--by a kind word or kiss; but without some such advances
Katharina was quite capable of indulging her humors to the utmost.

On the present occasion she flew into Paula's arm, and when her friend
begged, more quietly than usual that she would allow her first to finish
dressing, she turned away without any display of touchiness and took
the necklace from Mary's hand to put it on herself. It was of fine
workmanship, set with pearls, and took her fancy greatly; only the empty
medallion from which Hiram had removed the emerald with his knife spoiled
the whole effect. Still, it was a princely jewel, and when she had also
taken from the chest a large fan of ostrich feathers she showed off to
her play-fellow, with droll, stiff dignity, how the empress and
princesses at Court curtsied and bowed graciously to their inferiors.
At this they both laughed a great deal. When Paula had finished her
toilet and proceeded to take the necklace off Katharina, the empty
setting, which Hiram's knife had bent, caught in the thin tissue of her
dress. Mary disengaged it, and Paula tossed the jewel back into the
trunk.

While she was locking the box she asked Katharina whether she had met
Orion.

"Orion!" repeated the younger girl, in a tone which implied that she
alone had the right to enquire about him. "Yes, we came upstairs
together; he went to see the wounded man. Have you anything to say to
him?"

She crimsoned as she spoke and looked suspiciously at Paula, who simply
replied: "Perhaps," and then added, as she hung the ribbon with the key
round her neck: "Now, you little girls, it is breakfast time; I am not
going down to-day."

"Oh, dear!" cried Mary disappointed, "my grandfather is ailing and
grandmother will stay with him; so if you do not come I shall have to sit
alone with Eudoxia; for Katharina's chariot is waiting and she must go
home at once. Oh! do come. Just to please me; you do not know how
odious Eudoxia can be when it is so hot."

"Yes, do go down," urged Katharina. "What will you do up hereby
yourself? And this evening mother and I will come again."

"Very well," said Paula. "But first I must go to see the invalids."

"May I go with you?" asked the Water wagtail, coaxingly stroking Paula's
arm. But Mary clapped her hands, exclaiming:

"She only wants to go to Orion--she is so fond of him. . . ."

Katharina put her hand over the child's mouth, but Paula, with quickened
breath, explained that she had very serious matters to discuss with
Orion; so Katharina, turning her back on her with a hasty gesture of
defiance, sulkily went down stairs, while Mary slipped down the bannister
rail. Not many days since, Katharina, who was but just sixteen, would
gladly have followed her example.

Paula meanwhile knocked at the first of the sickrooms and entered it as
softly as the door was opened by a nursing-sister from the convent of St.
Katharine. Orion, whom she was seeking, had been there, but had just
left.

In this first room lay the leader of the caravan; in that beyond was the
crazy Persian. In a sitting-room adjoining the first room, which, being
intended for guests of distinction, was furnished with royal
magnificence, sat two men in earnest conversation: the Arab merchant and
Philippus the physician, a young man of little more than thirty, tall and
bony, in a dress of clean but very coarse stuff without any kind of
adornment. He had a shrewd, pale face, out of which a pair of bright
black eyes shone benevolently but with keen vivacity. His large cheek-
bones were much too prominent; the lower part of his face was small, ugly
and, as it were, compressed, while his high broad forehead crowned the
whole and stamped it as that of a thinker, as a fine cupola may crown an
insignificant and homely structure.

This man, devoid of charm, though his strongly-characterized
individuality made it difficult to overlook him even in the midst of
a distinguished circle, had been conversing eagerly with the Arab, who,
in the course of their two-days' acquaintance, had inspired him with a
regard which was fully reciprocated. At last Orion had been the theme of
their discourse, and the physician, a restless toiler who could not like
any man whose life was one of idle enjoyment, though he did full justice
to his brilliant gifts and well-applied studies, had judged him far more
hardly than the older man. To the leech all forms of human life were
sacred, and in his eyes everything that could injure the body or soul of
a man was worthy of destruction. He knew all that Orion had brought upon
the hapless Mandane, and how lightly he had trifled with the hearts of
other women; in his eyes this made him a mischievous and criminal member
of society. He regarded life as an obligation to be discharged by work
alone, of whatever kind, if only it were a benefit to society as a whole.
And such youths as Orion not only did not recognize this, but used the
whole and the parts also for base and selfish ends. The old Moslem, on
the contrary, viewed life as a dream whose fairest portion, the time of
youth, each one should enjoy with alert senses, and only take care that
at the waking which must come with death he might hope to find admission
into Paradise. How little could man do against the iron force of fate!
That could not be forefended by hard work; there was nothing for it but
to take up a right attitude, and to confront and meet it with dignity.
The bark of Orion's existence lacked ballast; in fine weather it drifted
wherever the breeze carried it, He himself had taken care to equip it
well; and if only the chances of life should freight it heavily--very
heavily, and fling it on the rocks, then Orion might show who and what he
was; he, Haschim, firmly believed that his character would prove itself
admirable. It was in the hour of shipwreck that a man showed his worth.

Here the physician interrupted him to prove that it was not Fate, as
imagined by Moslems, but man himself who guided the bark of life--but at
this moment Paula looked into the room, and he broke off. The merchant
bowed profoundly, Philippus respectfully, but with more embarrassment
than might have been expected from the general confidence of his manner.
For some years he had been a daily visitor in the governor's house, and
after carefully ignoring Paula on her first arrival, since Dame Neforis
had taken to treating her so coolly he drew her out whenever he had the
opportunity. Her conversations with him had now become dear and even
necessary to her, though at first his dry, cutting tone had displeased
her, and he had often driven her into a corner in a way that was hard to
bear. They kept her mind alert in a circle which never busied itself
with anything but the trivial details of family life in the decayed city,
or with dogmatic polemics--for the Mukaukas seldom or never took part in
the gossip of the women.

The leech never talked of daily events, but expressed his views as to
other and graver subjects in life, or in books with which they were both
familiar; and he had the art of eliciting replies from her which he met
with wit and acumen. By degrees she had become accustomed to his bold
mode of thought, sometimes, it is true, too recklessly expressed; and the
gifted girl now preferred a discussion with him to any other form of
conversation, recognizing that a childlike and supremely unselfish soul
animated this thoughtful reservoir of all knowledge. Almost everything
she did displeased her uncle's wife, and so, of course, did her familiar
intercourse with this man, whose appearance certainly had in it nothing
to attract a young girl.--The physician to a family of rank was there to
keep its members in good health, and it was unbecoming in one of them to
converse with him on intimate terms as an equal. She reproached Paula--
whose pride she was constantly blaming--for her unseemly condescension
to Philippus; but what chiefly annoyed her was that Paula took up many
a half-hour which otherwise Philippus would have devoted to her husband;
and in him and his health her life and thoughts were centred.

The Arab at once recognized his foe of the previous evening; but they
soon came to a friendly understanding--Paula confessing her folly in
holding a single and kindly-disposed man answerable for the crimes of a
whole nation. Haschim replied that a right-minded spirit always came to
a just conclusion at last; and then the conversation turned on her
father, and the physician explained to the Arab that she was resolved
never to weary of seeking the missing man.

"Nay, it is the sole aim and end of my life," cried the girl.

"A great mistake, in my opinion," said the leech. But the merchant
differed: there were things, he said, too precious to be given up for
lost, even when the hope of finding them seemed as feeble and thin as a
rotten reed.

"That is what I feel!" cried Paula. "And how can you think differently,
Philip? Have I not heard from your own lips that you never give up all
hope of a sick man till death has put an end to it? Well, and I cling to
mine--more than ever now, and I feel that I am right. My last thought,
my last coin shall be spent in the search for my father, even without my
uncle and his wife, and in spite of their prohibition."

"But in such a task a young girl can hardly do without a man's succor,"
said the merchant. "I wander a great deal about the world, I speak with
many foreigners from distant lands, and if you will do me the honor, pray
regard me as your coadjutor, and allow me to help you in seeking for the
lost hero."

"Thanks--I fervently thank you!" cried Paula, grasping the Moslem's hand
with hearty pleasure. "Wherever you go bear my lost father in mind; I am
but a poor, lonely girl, but if you find him. . ."

"Then you will know that even among the Moslems there are men. . ."

"Men who are ready to show compassion and to succor friendless women!"
interrupted Paula.

"And with good success, by the blessing of the Almighty," replied the
Arab. "As soon as I find a clue you shall hear from me; now, however,
I must go across the Nile to see Amru the great general; I go in all
confidence for I know that my poor, brave Rustem is in good hands, friend
Philippus. My first enquiries shall be made in Fostat, rely upon that,
my daughter."

"I do indeed," said Paula with pleased emotion. "When shall we meet
again?"

"To-morrow, or the morning after at latest."

The young girl went up to him and whispered: "We have just heard of a
clue; indeed, I hope my messenger is already on his way. Have you time
to hear about it now?"

"I ought long since to have been on the other shore; so not to-day, but
to-morrow I hope." The Arab shook hands with her and the physician, and
hastily took his leave.

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