Hassan; or, The Child of the Pyramid: An Egyptian Tale

by Sir Charles Augustus Murray

The old soldier, knowing the severity of Mohammed Ali in all cases where his authority had been publicly braved, hastened to the Viceroy’s presence to explain to him the strange circumstances under which he had recovered his long-lost son, and to solicit a full pardon of the latter’s offences against the laws in Upper Egypt. He delivered also to the interpreter the letter written by Müller, which was forthwith read to the Viceroy. Mohammed Ali, who had listened with grave attention to all the arguments adduced by Dervish Bey and to the contents of the letter, said—

“Dervish, you know how highly I regard your services and your long-tried fidelity, and how willingly I would grant any request of yours. I rejoice, also, that you have recovered a son who is in many respects so well worthy of you; for I confess to you that I took a great liking to the lad, and our good hakim here is always speaking in his favour. I own that I owe him a debt for saving your life, my faithful old comrade, when he did not know that you were his father.”

So far Mohammed Ali spoke in a kind and friendly tone: he added, with somewhat of severity in his manner, “But, Dervish, you must not forget that Hassan for some time openly defied my authority, and I am bound to listen to the complaints of the villagers and caravans who were plundered by his band: such deeds cannot go unpunished while I rule in Egypt. The government of the interior I intrust to the Kiahia Pasha, and I must consult with him before coming to a decision. Meanwhile go to your home, and consider Hassan as being under arrest in your house: you are answerable for his appearance when required, and I will cause the orders issued for his apprehension to be cancelled. For the present be satisfied with this. You may retire, and Allah be with you!”

Dervish Bey well knew from the tone in which these words were spoken that all further appeal at the time was unavailing, so, with a respectful salam to the Viceroy, he withdrew and returned home to report to Hassan the result of his interview.

Our hero was by no means discouraged thereby, for he saw that he stood high in the Viceroy’s opinion, and he felt tolerably sure that both in Delì Pasha and in the Kiahia himself he would find advocates of his cause. On the subject his mind was soon made easy by his old friend and comrade Reschid, who no sooner heard of his arrival in Cairo than he hastened to him and embraced him heartily.

“Mashallah!” said Reschid, gazing at Hassan, whose countenance was bronzed and his figure developed by a year passed in constant exercise and exposure; “I left you a lion, and I find you an elephant. By the life of the Prophet, Hassan, I have often secretly envied your Bedouin life. I laughed heartily, and I can tell you that my Pasha in his private room laughed heartily also, at your having sent that ill-favoured cur Osman Bey into his own town tied on the back of an ass!”

“Then you do not think,” said Hassan, “that the Kiahia will be very hard on my follies? Much will depend upon it, for the Viceroy told my father that he intended to consult the Kiahia on the subject.”

“In the mejlis” (i.e., the council), “and in the presence of others,” replied Reschid, “the Kiahia will talk before Mohammed Ali with great solemnity and severity about offences against the laws, &c., but when they are together in private, he will tell him that you were a hot-blooded youngster, driven mad by the insulting cruelty of Osman Bey; and it is fortunate that even the merchants and villagers who have sent in complaints of having been plundered by your band have always written that you never permitted any bloodshed, and that you often restored to the poorest the booty taken from them. No, no, Hassan; you have nought to fear, for we will bring such a battery to bear upon the Viceroy that he will not be able long to hold out. We will attack him in front, while a certain Khanum, whom I could mention, will besiege the harem; for we have all heard how you saved the life of Delì Pasha’s daughter, and as Fate seems to have destined you to be a robber, you began your trade by stealing her heart.”

“Not so, Reschid,” replied Hassan, laughing; “I gave her my own first, and if she would not give it me back, but chose to give me hers in place of it, you cannot accuse me of theft.”

“I wish some dark-eyed houri would steal mine,” said Reschid, “for it is a very troublesome article to keep in one’s own possession. I know not why I should have lent you a large slice of mine from the date of our first acquaintance, for you do not deserve it; you have not even offered me your congratulations.”