The Witch of Prague & Khaled: A Tale of Arabia. Francis Marion Crawford

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СКАЧАТЬ man could give in words the precise reason why he or she loves, then love itself could be defined in language; but as no man or woman has ever succeeded in doing this, I infer that they who love best do not themselves know in what love consists—still less therefore can any one else know, wherefore the definition is impossible, and no one need waste time in trying to find it.

      A certain wit has also said that although it be impossible for any man to explain the nature of love to many persons at the same time, he generally finds it easy to make his explanations to one person only. But this is a mere quibbling jest and not deserving of any attention.

      Zehowah expected an answer to her question, and Khaled was silent, not because he was as yet too little acquainted with the feelings of a man to give them expression, but because he already felt so much that it was hard for him to speak at all.

      Zehowah laughed and shook her head, for she was not of a timid temper.

      'How can you expect me to say that I love you, when you yourself are unable to answer such a simple question?' she asked. 'And besides, are you not my lord and my master? What is it then to you, whether I love you or not?'

      But again Khaled was silent, debating whether he should tell her the truth, how the angel had promised in Allah's name that if she loved him he should obtain an undying soul, and how the task of obtaining her love had been laid upon him as a sort of atonement for having slain the Indian prince. But as he reflected he understood that this would probably estrange her all the more from him.

      'Yet I can answer your question,' he said at last. 'What is love? It is that which is in me for you only.'

      'But how am I to know what that is?' asked Zehowah, drawing up the smooth gold bracelets upon her arm and letting them fall down to her wrist, so that they jangled like a camel's bell.

      'If you love me you will know,' Khaled answered, 'for then, perhaps, you will feel a tenth part of what I feel.'

      'And why not all that you feel?' she asked, looking at him, but still playing with the bracelets.

      'Because it is impossible for any woman to love as much as I love you, Zehowah.'

      'You mean, perhaps, that a woman is too weak to love so well,' she suggested. 'And you think, perhaps, that we are weak because we sit all our lives upon the carpets in the harem eating sweetmeats, and listening to singing girls and to old women who tell us tales of long ago. Yet there have been strong women too—as strong as men. Kenda, who tore out the heart of Kamsa—was she weak?'

      'Women are stronger to hate than to love,' said Khaled.

      'But a man can forget his hatred in the love of a woman, and his strength also,' laughed Zehowah. 'I would rather that you should not love me at all, than that you should forget to be strong in the day of battle. For I have married you that you may lead my people to war and bring home the spoil.'

      'And if I destroy all your enemies and the enemies of your people, will you love me then, Zehowah?'

      'Why should I love you then, more than now? What has war to do with love? Again, I ask, what is it to you whether I love you or not? Am I not your wife, and are you not my master? What is this love of which you talk? Is it a rich garment that you can wear? A precious stone that you can fasten in your turban? A rich carpet to spread in your house? A treasure of gold, a mountain of ambergris, a bushel of pearls from Oman? Why do you covet it? Am I not beautiful enough? Then is love henna to make my hair bright, or kohl to darken my eyes, or a boiled egg with almonds to smooth my face? I have all these things, and ointments from Egypt, and perfumes from Syria, and if I am not beautiful enough to please you, it is the will of Allah, and love will not make me fairer.'

      'Yet love is beauty,' Khaled answered. 'For Kadijah was lovely in the eyes of the Prophet, upon whom be peace, because she loved him, though she was a widow and old.'

      'Am I a widow? Am I old?' asked Zehowah with some indignation. 'Do I need the imaginary cosmetic you call love to smooth my wrinkles, to lighten my eyes, or to make my teeth white?'

      'No. You need nothing to make you beautiful.'

      'And for the matter of that, I can say it of you. You tell me that you love me. Is it love that makes your body tall and straight, your beard black, your forehead smooth, your hand strong? Would not any woman see what I see, whether you loved her or not? See! Is your hand whiter than mine because you love and I do not?'

      She laughed again as she held her hand beside his.

      'Truly,' thought Khaled, 'it is less easy than I supposed. For the heart of a woman who does not love is like the desert, when the wind blows over it, and there are neither tracks nor landmarks. And I am wandering in this desert like a man seeking lost camels.'

      But he said nothing, for he was not yet skilled in the arguments of love. Thereupon Zehowah smiled, and resting her cheek upon her hand, looked into his face, as though saying scornfully, 'Is it not all vanity and folly?'

      Khaled sighed, for he was disappointed, as a thirsty man who, coming to drink of a clear spring, finds the water bitter, while his thirst increases and grows unbearable.

      'Why do you sigh?' Zehowah asked, after a little silence. 'Are you weary? Are you tired with the feasting? Are you full of bitterness, because I do not love you? Command me and I will obey. Are you not my lord to whom I am subject?'

      He did not speak, but she drew him to her, so that his head rested upon her bosom, and she began to sing to him in a low voice.

      For a long time Khaled kept his eyes shut, listening to her voice. Then, on a sudden, he looked up, and without speaking so much as a word, he clasped her in his arms and kissed her.

      Before it was day there was a great tumult in the streets of Riad, of which the noise came up even to the chamber where Khaled and Zehowah were sleeping. Zehowah awoke and listened, wondering what had happened and trying to understand the cries of the distant multitude. Then she laid her hand upon Khaled's forehead and waked him.

      'What is it?' he asked.

      'It is war,' she answered. 'The enemy have surprised the city in the night of the feast. Arise and take arms and go out to the people.'

      Khaled sprang up and in a moment he was clothed and had girt on his sword. Then he took Zehowah in his arms.

      'While I live, you are safe,' he said.

      'Am I afraid? Go quickly,' she answered.

      At that time the Sultan of Nejed was at war with the northern tribes of Shammar, and the enemy had taken advantage of the month of Ramadhan, in which few persons travel, to advance in great numbers to Riad. During the three days' feast of Bairam they had moved on every night, slaying the inhabitants of the villages so that not one had escaped to bring the news, and in the daytime they had hidden themselves wherever they could find shelter. But in the night in which Khaled and Zehowah were married they reached the very walls of the city, and waiting until all the people were asleep, a party of them had climbed up upon the ramparts and had opened one of the gates to their companions after killing the guards.

      Khaled found his mare and mounted her without saddle or bridle in his haste, then drawing his sabre he rode swiftly out of the palace into the confusion. The enemy with their long spears were driving the panicstricken guards and the shrieking people before them towards the palace, slaughtering all whom they overtook, so that the gutters of the streets were already, flowing with blood, and the horses of the enemy stumbled over СКАЧАТЬ