In a paroxysm of humility Saïd replied that he was destitute, friendless, having no resource but to beg. He addressed himself always to the Sherìf, who smiled as he listened—reflectively, as at some inward suggestion. He had heard, as who had not, the fame of his Excellency which was noised abroad through the whole city; how that he was a pious man—none like him—and a kindly. So, being in grievous trouble, he had made all haste to kiss the ground between his Grace’s feet, to crave were it but a small sum to save him from dying of hunger. He suited the action to the words, falling again prostrate upon the pavement.
“Die of hunger, saidst thou?—Pshaw!” ejaculated the Mufti, stroking his belly, which seemed very full. “What man ever did die of hunger in Damashc-esh-Shâm since Ibrahìm El Khalìl was king over it? Such things occur, they say, in the cities of the Franks, where a poor man is used worse than a dog. But show me the true believer who would refuse thee bread to eat and water to drink! Thou speakest folly, young man.”
Saïd seemed not to hear the remarks of the worthy judge, but lay still prone at the feet of the Sherìf.
“Rise!” said Ismaìl Abbâs, presently, in that gentle voice of his which allowed of no evasion. “Who am I that thou shouldst fall down before me? And who, pray, is this person in the extraordinary garment?”
Saïd, upon his heels once more, glanced over his shoulder and beheld Selìm standing shyly at a little distance behind him.
“This is my servant, may it please your honour!”
“Mashallah!” cried the Mufti, fairly startled out of the calm appropriate to him as a fat man and a prosperous. “Is there then found a creature to call the dog master? Has the flea then an attendant? Come hither, thou fellow, and answer: Art thou in truth this man’s servant?”
Selìm came forward, shamefaced, with the lowest of salaams.
“It is true, O my lord. He is my master and the father of kindness. It is he who gave me this grand robe which I now wear. That was in the day of his prosperity; and now that he is poor it were a sin for me to forsake him!”
“A miracle!” gasped the Mufti, and held his peace, fearing, perhaps, apoplexy.
“Since when hast thou been his servant?” asked Ismaìl Abbâs with a smile more kindly than that he had bestowed on Saïd’s wondrous tale.
“Since before yesterday,” was the answer.
At that the Mufti’s fat quivered and shook with laughter, and even his dignified neighbour was moved to smile.
“Tell me the tale of thy meeting with him, my son,” said the Sherìf, stroking his beard.
Selìm complied with seemly brevity; not forgetting, however, to celebrate the bounty of his sworn brother, the tavern-keeper, and his famous plan of partnership in a petty trade. When he had heard all, Ismaìl Abbâs turned a stern face to the suppliant, who blenched at his look.
“Thou art destitute, thou saidst; yet this good man has agreed to share with thee as a partner. Thou spakest of death by hunger when thy belly is full as my own. I tell thee that this man, who has humbled himself as a servant before thee, is thy lord in all goodness. Thou spakest many words concerning thy former wealth and position, whereas thou speakest with the tongue of the lowest of the people.
“Now listen! Thou wast a fisherman before thou camest hither; I have learnt it from thy mouth. Didst thou not liken thyself to a fish that flaps in the trough of the net when it is lifted out of the sea? A tailor would have found his likeness in a garment; a gardener in a piece of fruit. Thou art clever, doubtless: let thy wit suffice thee. I shall give thee nothing.”
“A wise judgment, brother!” grunted the Mufti, with an approving nod. “I myself, who am a judge, could hardly have shown more acuteness. Of a truth, our lot falls in a degenerate age,” he continued, with an oratorical flourish of his podgy hand. “In the time of the early Khalifs, the immediate successors of the Prophet, a Muslim had something else to do than to lie and steal and betray his neighbour. Then the minds of all the faithful were set to convert the unbelievers with fire and sword. Where is the Imâm, Omar el Hattab (peace to him!)? And Khalid, the Sword of Allah, where is he? Is their memory clean gone from the earth? Truly the end draws nigh. Dejìl is present with us in the person of the Frankish envoys. The Sultàn himself is led astray. The Nazarenes sit with us in the place of honour. They pass the faithful in the streets with never a salutation. Is the soul then gone from Islâm that these things are allowed in our midst?”
“Ah, brother, thou hast well said,” sighed the Sherìf. “There is indeed now but the shadow of ancient majesty. Yet, for my part, I do rather regret a later time, when Khalifs of the line of Abbâs ruled in the City of Peace, when learning flourished like a young tree, and the desire of knowledge was with every man as the breath of life.”
“I hate the unbelievers as bitterly as any man,” muttered Saïd, supposing his orthodoxy was somehow called in question.
“Ha! That is well said!” exclaimed the Mufti—“very well! The hour is perhaps not distant when—”
“Hush, my friend!” interrupted his stately neighbour in a low tone of rebuke. “Thy speech is not of wisdom. The idle words of one in authority are like sparks blown on a wind. They may die harmless on the ground; but they have power to set a whole town in a blaze. It
