While the events recorded in the preceding chapter and covering some years had their influence on the affairs of state, life within the harem went quietly on. Kayenna, the faithful spouse of Muley Mustapha, accepted the congratulations of her friends on the birth of little Muley; and it was remarked that, so devoted a mother was she, nobody but herself was ever allowed to nurse or watch or otherwise care for the beloved child.
“My daughter will spoil the brat and bring him up a regular milksop,” growled the great Sultan one day after paying a prolonged visit to the happy couple. “I thought you had an idea, Muley, of rearing the boy to be a manly fellow and letting him see the world.”
“Truly, I had,” was the reply, rather sadly made; “but, as he is our only child, his mother is so passionately attached to him that I cannot find it in my heart to train him as robustly as I should wish.”
“Bosh!” ejaculated the fiery old monarch. “My grandson should be taught to fear nothing, whereas he looks and acts like a girl. Send him to Kopaul for a while, and I promise you he will learn some manliness.”
But to this proposition Kayenna demurred so vigorously that the old Sultan was forced to desist; for that truly admirable woman had the happy faculty, whether as daughter, wife, or mother, of bending every will in her own direction, which was that of righteousness always. Heaven had blessed her from infancy with a fine flow of language, accompanied by a noble firmness of purpose, so that such was the repute of her wisdom, whenever she opened the coral portals of her speech, the whole court was ready to accept her dictum on any question rather than waste time and invite humiliation by the fruitless attempt to controvert her.
The Sultan went home discontented. Before departing, he took Muley Mustapha aside, and said impressively: “Muley, if I had a wife like yours, I would teach her humility if I used up a cord of bamboos and half a dozen eunuchs.” Then, sighing heavily, he added: “After all, it is not your fault, but that of myself, who brought her up sparingly as to the bamboo. If you should ever have a daughter, Muley,”—the Pasha gave a slight start at the word,—“which Allah forbid!” continued the Sultan, “take the advice of an old man, and”—He finished the sentence with an eloquent gesture of the right arm extended from the shoulder at an upward angle of forty-five degrees, fingers close together, and palm forward. This gesture, when made with the arm raised perpendicularly, is a sign of peace among the Bedouins and other nomads. It was not as such that the Sultan employed it.
“What did my father mean by lifting his hand like the sail of a windmill? And of what was he speaking as he bade you farewell?” asked Kayenna, when she and Muley found themselves alone. “Oh, nothing,” was the reply. “He was talking about the education of our daught”—
“Muley Mustapha! Do you mean to say that you told him?”