Mohammed Ali and His House , livre ebook

Pub One Info - Luise Muhlbach

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

294 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

pubOne.info present you this new edition. Beautiful is the sea when it lies at rest in its sublimity, its murmuring waves gently rippling upon the beach, the sky above reflected with a soft light upon its dark bosom.

Informations

Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819947509
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

BOOK I
YEARS OF YOUTH
CHAPTER 1
THE SEA.
Beautiful is the sea when it lies at rest in itssublimity, its murmuring waves gently rippling upon the beach, thesky above reflected with a soft light upon its dark bosom.
Beautiful is the sea when it bears upon its surfacethe stately ships, as though they were rose-leaves caressinglytossed by one wave to another. Beautiful is the sea when the lightbarks with their red sails are borne slowly onward by the gentlebreeze, the careless fishermen casting nets from the decks of theirfrail craft into the deep, to draw thence, for the nourishment orpleasure of man, its silent inhabitants. Beautiful it is when inthe darkness of the night, relieved only by the light of the stars,and the moon just rising above the horizon, the pirates ventureforth in their boats from their lairs on the coast, and glidestealthily along within the shadow of the overhanging cliffs,awaiting an opportunity to rob the fishermen of their harvest; or,united in larger numbers, to suddenly surround the statelymerchantman, clamber like cats up its sides, murder the sleeping,unsuspecting crew, and put themselves in possession of thevessel.
The sea has witnessed all this for centuries, hassilently buried such secrets in its depths; and yet, after suchnights of blood and terror, the sun has again risen in splendorover its bosom, ever presenting the same sublime spectacle.
Beautiful is the sea when it lies at rest in theazure light of the skies-a very heaven on earth. But still morebeautiful, more glorious, is it when it surges in its mightywrath-a wrath compared with which the thunder of the heavens is butas the whispering of love, the raging of a storm upon the land, amere murmur. An immeasurable monster, the sea rushes with itsmighty waves upon the rock-bound coast, sends clouds of spray highinto the air, telling in tones of thunder of the majesty andstrength of the ocean that refuses to be fettered orconciliated.
You may cultivate the arts and sciences on the land,you may bring the earth into subjection, and make it yield up itstreasures; the sea has bounded in freedom since the beginning, andit will not be conquered, will not be tamed. The mind of man haslearned to command all things on the land, knows the secrets of thedepths of the earth, and uses them; but man is weak and powerlesswhen he dares to command, or ventures to combat, the ocean. At itspleasure it carries ships, barks, and boats; but at its pleasure italso destroys and grinds them to dust, and you can only fold yourhands and let it act its will.
Today it is surging fiercely; its waves are black,and their white heads curl over upon the rock Bucephalus, thatstretches far out into the bay of Contessa, pictured against theblue sky in the form of a gigantic black steed. Huddled together,at the foot of this rock, and leaning against its surface, is agroup of men and boys. They are eagerly gazing out upon the water,and are perhaps speaking to each other; but no one hears whatanother says, for the waves are roaring, and the storm howling inthe rocky caves, and the waves and storm, with their mighty chorus,drown the little human voices. The pale faces of the boys areexpressive of terror and anxiety, the knit brows of the menindicate that they are expecting a disaster, and the trembling lipsof the old men forebode that the next hour may bring with it somehorrible event.
They stand upon the beach, waiting anxiously; butthe monster— the sea— regards them not, and hurls one black waveafter the other in upon the cliff behind which they stand, oftendrenching them with spray.
But these people pay no attention to this, hardlynotice it; their whole soul is in their eyes, which are gazingfixedly out upon the waters. Thus they stand, these poor, weakhuman beings, in the presence of the grand, majestic ocean,conscious their impotence, and waiting till the monster shallgraciously allow his anger to abate. For a moment the storm holdsits breath; a strange, solemn stillness follows upon the roaring ofthe elements, and affords these people an opportunity to converse,and impart their terror and anxiety to each other.
“He will not return, ” said one of them, with ashake of the head and a sad look.
“He is lost! ” sighed another.
“And you boys are to blame for it! ” cries a third,turning to the group who stood near the men, closely wrapped intheir brown cloaks, the hoods pulled down over their eyes.
“Why did you encourage him to undertake so daring afeat? ” cried a fourth, pointing threateningly toward the boys.
“It is not our fault, Sheik Emir, ” said one ofthem, defiantly; “he would do so. ”
“Mohammed always was proud and haughty, ” exclaimedanother. “We told him that a storm was coming, and that we would gohome. But he wouldn't, sheik. ”
“That is to say, ” said the sheik, angrily— “that isto say, you have been ridiculing the poor boy again? ”
“He is always so proud, and thinks himself somethingbetter than the rest of us, ” murmured the boy, “though he issomething worse, and may some day be a beggar if— ”
The storm now began to rage more furiously; thewaves towered higher, and threw their spray far on to the shore andhigh upon the rock, as though determined to make known its dreadmajesty to the inhabitants of the city of Cavalla, which standswith its little houses, narrow streets, and splendid mosque, on theplateau of the rock of Bucephalus. On the summit of the rock awoman is kneeling, her hands extended imploringly toward heaven;she has allowed the white veil to fall from her face, and heragonized features are exposed to view, regardless of the law thatpermits her to reveal her countenance in the harem only. What arethe laws to her? where is the man to command her to veil hercountenance? who says to her: “You belong to me, and my heart glowswith jealousy when others behold you”?
No one is there who could thus address her; for sheis a widow, and calls nothing on earth her own, and loves nothingon earth but her son, her Mohammed Ali.
She knows that he has gone out to sea in a frailskiff to cross over to the island-rock Imbro. The boys have toldher of the daring feat which her son had undertaken with them.Filled with anxiety, they had come up to the widow of Ibrahim toannounce that her son had refused to return with them after theyhad started in their fisher- boats for the island of Imbro. “I havebegun it and I'll carry it out, ” the proud boy had replied tothem. “You have ridiculed me, and think yourselves better oarsmenthan I, and now you shall see that I alone shall cross over toImbro, while you cowardly return when the storm begins to rage.”
This was his reply, and in their anxiety they hadrepeated it to his mother Khadra, telling her, at the same time,that they were innocent of her son's misdeed, and had begged him inhis mother's name to return with them. There she kneels on the browof the rock, gazing out upon the water, imploring Allah to restoreher son, and conjuring the raging sea to bear back her child to theshore.
The mother's entreaties are ardent, and strong isher prayer to
Allah and to Nature.
The ghins, the evil spirits themselves, hold theirbreath and flap their black wings more gently when they rustle pastthe spot where a mother weeps and prays for her son!
But a tear drops from the eyes of the good spiritswhen they meet such a mother, and this tear is potent to save herchild. Perhaps at this moment an agathodaemon has flown by, hasseen the agonized mother, and has let fall a tear upon the waters,for at this moment they become more tranquil. Perhaps the ghinshave suddenly been swept away by the whirlwind, Zeboah, for thestorm is now hushed.
The storm is stilled, though from time to time itsmighty breath is again heard; and then it is again mute, and thewaves roll in upon the shore less furiously. The sky, too, beginsto grow clear. The sun looks out from between the clouds, andthrows a long golden streak of light across the waves, as if toconciliate with its smile the foaming sea, and smooth its furrowedbrow.
Now, a single, mighty cry resounds from above, fromthe place where the mother is kneeling. It seems to find its echohere below on the shore where the men and boys are standing. It isa cry of joy, of ecstasy. And all hands are raised and pointedacross the water to the spot where the island-rock, Imbro, mustlie. It is not visible; the waves have surged over it, as theyalways do when the storm rages, but they know that it must liethere. And there— a black spot! It dances on the waves, and islifted above the white spray. The sun throws its rays far out overthe waters, and over the black spot. Again a shout and a cryresound on the shore and above on the plateau.
Yes, it is the boat, dancing like a leaf up throughthe foam. The mother and the men are waiting on the shore inbreathless suspense, as it approaches nearer and nearer. Yes, it isthe boat in which Mohammed Ali went out to sea.
Yes, it is he; he is returning!
The men and boys are now rejoicing, and the poorwoman has fainted away. While the mother's heart was in doubt, itthrobbed violently in her breast; now that she knows her child isreturning, it stands still with joy and delight.
The women, who had vainly endeavored to console her,have now come to recall the mother to consciousness, and to cheerher with joyous words.
“Your son returns! Allah has protected him! Theghins had no power over him, his agathodaemon watched over him!Allah be praised, Allah is great! ”
The boat comes on dancing over the water. The boystands alone, no one to assist him in wielding his oar. He holds itfirmly grasped in his hands, using it lustily, and steering indefiance of the waves toward the shore. And now the men hastenforward to his assistance. They throw long ropes to him, and hailtheir success with a shout of joy, when one of them happily fallsinto the boy's boat. The latter grasps the end thrown to him, andholds it firmly. The men draw the rope and t