XVII
Half an hour later Yûsuf and Hâfiz were in each other’s arms, sighing gustily and rocking to and fro in the ecstasy of reconciliation. Barakah had explained things to her husband in the interim, taking him to task severely for his savage conduct. To be thought uncivilized had always been his dread, and just then, with red eyes and all dishevelled, a-quiver from the fray, he stood convicted. With repentant tears he ran to ask forgiveness of his late antagonist.
It was decided that they twain, with their respective consorts, should spend the evening quietly in Yûsuf’s room; in pursuance of which resolution they had supped together, and Bedr-ul-Budûr, who owned a lute, was going to sing, when a card was brought to Hâfiz by the chambermaid. He frowned and clenched his teeth as he examined it.
“It is the Prince, my uncle!” he exclaimed. “He has been told our whereabouts; it must be by my father, since we have been careful not to call on any of the Turks in Paris. O Calamity! My uncle is correct and cold, a madman who condemns all pleasure.”
With haste he sent his concubine into her own apartment, while Yûsuf hustled Barakah into the dressing-room and locked the door. No would-be Franks received the exiled Prince, but a pair of ceremonious Orientals, with fezes carried at the most respectful angle, who strove with one another to be first to kiss his hand.
The Prince was a tremendous talker. A scion of the ruling house of Egypt, enduring banishment for his political opinions, he began upon the state of that unhappy country for which he saw no hope save in a European form of government. He wished the young men to attend the meetings of his club, “the Friends of Progress,” at a café on the Boulevard des Italiens; and the young men swore to do so on the first evening they could spare from the study of French thought and institutions which at present took up every minute of their time.
From national affairs the Prince passed on to household matters, advocating education for all women and promotion to an equal rank with men. At this his nephew cried:
“We think as you do, having each a lady whom we treat precisely in the Frankish manner. Yûsuf here present has espoused a noble Englishwoman, who instructs us. Introduce her, Yûsuf, since my uncle shares our views.”
Barakah expected her release, which she had long desired, for the Prince’s voice was wonderfully sweet and winning, and she burned with curiosity to see his face. But the talk sheered off from her. The Prince, resenting the intrusion of a concrete instance on ideas, rebuked the young men sternly, causing both to cringe.
“You mistake my meaning,” he informed them. “God forbid that I should wish our ladies to resemble closely those of Europe. If you desire that, you are very foolish. The harem life, or something like it, is the best for women. It only needs reform and elevation. It is a system founded on the laws of God expressed in nature, whereas the European way of treating women has no sanction. The latter seems entirely meretricious when one sees how ladies here make sport of marriage and shun motherhood—how children flout and override their parents. If the understanding of our women were improved, their status raised, I think our way would be acknowledged better by impartial judges. No, all that I would borrow from the Franks would be a weapon. They excel us in mechanical contrivances, in practical education, and in method. These gifts I covet, for with equal weapons we should be their masters; our Faith exceeding any motive power which they possess.”
He went on talking in this strain till nearly midnight, when he left abruptly. Barakah was then let out of her dark prison. Alone with Yûsuf, she inquired his real opinion of the Prince’s views, which seemed to her inspiring.
“Like pitch! Like dung!” he answered in the vulgar speech of Egypt. “The production of ideas is an amusing pastime. It is strange, the things a man can think of if he applies his mind to it. And when a Prince is speaking one admires, of course; though this one is a madman who has lost a fine position and will lose his life merely for love of argument. What we are and do belongs to Allah. No thinking or wild talk affects it, praise to Him!”
He seemed glad to change the subject. Putting his arm round Barakah, he begged her in seductive tones to confide to him the secret about Frankish women.
“It is not for myself I ask,” he whispered fondly; “but Hâfiz, Izz-ud-dîn, and Saïd die to know. Where are these balls at which distinguished women fling aside all shame? We have been to dances, but the women there are base and ribald, showing none of that refinement in depravity which charms the mind in writings of this country.”
In vain did she assure him that good Frankish women were every whit as moral as good Orientals.
“We have their books for testimony,” was his answer. And again he told her: “It is for my friends I plead. I myself, as is well known, desire thee only.”
The women were left more and more alone, the private explorations of their lords bereaving them by day as well as night. Barakah did her best to entertain them. Together with the landlady she planned excursions, and took them to the ateliers where modes are created. But the sense of desolation
