THE citadel presents a scene of great animation; its apartments, especially those in which the viceroy's eons are to reside, are richly adorned and hung with flowers. All the doors are thrown open, and a number of richly-attired female slaves are standing in the hall at the head of the grand stairway which is covered with costly carpets from Damascus.
The citadel has put on festive attire in honor of the wife and sons of the viceroy Mohammed Ali, who are expected to arrive to-day.
The people are repairing in vast numbers to Boulak on the shore of the Nile, where the viceroy is to receive his family, and it is whispered among them that she who has resided in the palace of the Esbekieh is not his first, but a second wife. No one has seen her, but very beautiful she must be, else her husband would not guard her so closely. No one has seen her, but a woman certainly dwells there in the harem; its windows are lighted up at night, and eunuchs stand guard outside; veiled slaves have also been seen going in and out of the palace. Yes, the harem has an occupant, but it is only the second wife who lives there; the first is to arrive to-day with her sons from Alexandria!
The people repair in vast numbers to Boulak, to be present at the reunion of the family of their viceroy, who has already made himself beloved by his subjects. He throws money among the poor when he drives through Cairo. He is just, and punishes the guilty with perfect impartiality, the fellah and courtier alike.
Mohammed, accompanied by his officers, has ridden down to Boulak, where two landings have been prepared, and richly adorned with carpets, flowers, and overhanging silken awnings. Here, at the landing where the viceroy and his generals are waiting, will the sons, and at the other, where the women stand, will the wife arrive.
The viceroy, erect in his stirrups, looks down the river, and he is the first to discover the red flags that appear above the horizon.
The sight of the father is keener than that of the curious. A smile lights up his countenance, and he turns to Hassan, who stands beside him. "They are coming, Hassan; my sons are coming!""Yes, they are coming! The princes are coming!" cry the people. The splendid vessel approaches nearer and nearer; the flags flutter gayly in the sunshine; and now Mohammed sees the three figures, standing on the deck, waving white handkerchiefs in their outstretched hands. These are his sons. How changed the three boys seem to the father! These are no longer boys, they are now youths.
It is, however, not strange that they have altered in appearance;great changes take place in five years.
The vessel lands, and his sons spring quickly to the shore. The viceroy, Mohammed Ali, had determined to make the meeting a theatrical spectacle for the people. The people love such spectacles, and they were to be permitted to look into the sanctuary of his domestic life as through a glass door. Such had been his purpose. But at the moment, all this is forgotten, and it is not the viceroy, dismounting in a stately manner from his horse to receive his sons, his first servants; it is only the father who springs with a single bound from his saddle, encircles his three sons in one embrace, presses them to his heart, and kisses them tenderly.
The people shout with delight, "Long live our viceroy and the princes!" The guns of the citadel thunder forth a greeting, and announce to the people that the viceroy no longer rules alone, but that his sons now rule with him. The welfare of the land is assured, for the existence of the ruling house is assured.
The young princes mount the horses held in readiness for them, and ride into the city bide their father. The thunder of the cannon resounds continuously, shout after shout rends the air, the band of the regiment of soldiers that had been drawn up at the landing to receive the princes, joins in the acclaim with merry strains of music, and the regiment falls into line, and marches behind the viceroy and his suite. Dense masses of people, Turks and Armenians, Copts and Jews, Arabs and fellahs, throng the streets through which they pass. On the imposing procession moves toward the citadel.
At the same time a splendid debahieh has landed at the second place;it is the wife of Mohammed Ali, who stands on the deck. No soldiers, and in fact no men, await her on the shore. A wide space about the landing is kept free by the eunuchs, who drive the curious back with threatening gestures. Hundreds of women stand on either side of the landing-place in long rows, their heads enveloped in long white veils that fall down over the splendid dresses glittering with silver embroidery.
Mohammed has commanded that all the women of Cairo should go down to Boulak to meet his wife Ada, and obey they must, they well know, for he is certain to punish disobedience to his commands. They were also to tender her presents upon their arrival at the palace.
She stands on the deck, gazing around with indifference at the spectacle before her. She is looking for him only--for her husband.
But he is nowhere to be seen. He does not receive her. It would probably not become the great ruler to welcome his wife before the world. No one must perceive that the viceroy is also a husband, a man!
Yes, she has already heard of this: the heart must not be laid bare to the world, for the world ridicules it.
This is why Mohammed is not there. She draws her veil more closely about her, and, conducted by the eunuchs, descends slowly the stairway, strewed with flowers, to the landing-place, where the women press forward to greet her.
"Welcome, Sitta Ada! Blessed be your coming! Allah's blessings upon you, Sitta Ada!"Hundreds of voices repeat the words. She is glad to escape these noisy greetings by entering the gilded coach that now drives up to the landing-place. The equipage moves on slowly, followed by the procession of women who are to accompany her to the citadel.
