The Reverend Farouche, therefore, holds a secret conference with her father.
“No,” says he, “God would never have forgiven you for giving your daughter to one utterly destitute of morality, religion, money, and health. But praise Allah! the Church has come to her rescue. She shall be saved, wrested from the hands of Iblis. Yes, Holy Church, through us, will guide her to find a god-fearing life-companion; one worthy of her charms, her virtues, her fine qualities of heart and mind. The young man we recommend is rich, respected in the community; is an official of the Government with a third-class Medjidi decoration and the title of Bey; and is free from all diseases. Moreover, he is a good Catholic. Consider these advantages. A relation this, which no father would reject, if he loves his daughter and is solicitous of her future well-being. Speak to her, therefore, and let us know soon your mind.”
And our Scribe, in relating of this, loses his temper.––“An Official of the Government, a Bey with a third-class Medjidi decoration from the Sultan! As if Officialdom could not boast of a single scoundrel––as if any rogue in the Empire, with a few gold coins in his purse, were not eligible to the Hamidian decorations! 178 And a third-class decoration! Why, I have it on good authority that these Medjidi Orders were given to a certain Patriarch in a bushel to distribute among his minions....”
But to our subject. Abu-Najma does not look upon it in this light. A decorated and titled son-in-law were a great honour devoutly to be wished. And some days after the first conference, the Padre Farouche comes again, bringing along his Excellency the third-class Medjidi Bey; but Najma, as they enter and salaam, goes out on the terrace roof to weep. The third time the third-class Medjidi Dodo comes alone. And Najma, as soon as she catches a glimpse of him, takes up her earthen jar and hies her to the spring.
“O the hinny! I’ll rope noose her (hang her) to-night,” murmurs the father. But here is his Excellency with his Sultan’s green button in his lapel. Abu-Najma bows low, rubs his hands well, offers a large cushion, brings a masnad (leaning pillow), and blubbers out many unnecessary apologies.
“This honour is great, your Excellency––overlook our shortcomings––our beit (one room house) can not contain our shame––it is not becoming your Excellency’s high rank––overlook––you have condescended to honour us, condescend too to be indulgent.––My daughter? yes, presently. She is gone to church, to mass, but she’ll return soon.”
But Najma is long gone; returns not; and the third-class Dodo will call again to-morrow. Now, Abu-Najma brings out his rope, soaps it well, nooses 179 and suspends it from the rafter in the ceiling. And when his daughter returns from the spring, he takes her by the arm, shows her the rope, and tells her laconically to choose between his Excellency and this. Poor Najma has not the courage to die, and so soon. Her cousin Khalid is in prison, is excommunicated––what can she do? Run away? The Church will follow her––punish her. There’s something satanic in Khalid––the Church said so––the Church knows. Najma rolls these things in her mind, looks at her father beseechingly. Her father points to the noose. Najma falls to weeping. The noose serves well its purpose.
For hereafter, when the Dodo comes decorated, SHE has to offer him the cushion, bring him the masnad, make for him the coffee. And eventually, as the visits accumulate, she goes with him to the dress-maker in Beirut. The bridal gown shall be of the conventional silk this time; for his Excellency is travelled, and knows and reverences the fashion. But why prolong these painful details?
“Allah, in the mysterious working of his Providence,” says Shakib, “preordained it thus: Khalid, having served his turn in prison, Najma begins her own; for a few days after he was set free, she was placed in bonds forged for her by the Jesuits. Now, when Khalid returned from Damascus, he came straightway to me and asked that we go to see Najma and try to prevail upon her, to persuade her to go with him, to run away. They would leave on the night-train to Hama this time, and thence set 180 forth towards Palmyra. I myself did not know what had happened, and so I approved of his plan. But alas! as we were coming down the main Street to Najma’s house, we heard the sound of tomtoms in the distance and the shrill ulluluing of women. We continued apace until we reached the by-way through which we had to pass, and lo, we find it choked by the zeffah (wedding procession) of none but she and the third-class Medjidi....”