There was a King in Egypt Part 17

"Drifting closer to the Light," Hada.s.sah said. "It has all been in order, it has all been a part of the Guiding Power."

"Do you think so? I wish I knew. Lampton thinks I've no ambition. I have, of a sort, but it's not of a money-making kind, it's not going to make my name or what you could call a career. I want to teach people how to live, and I don't know how to do it myself."

"I understand," Ireton said. "There's something out here, in the simplicity of desert life and the East generally, that lessens our wants. The fruits of hard labour are not so necessary as in England; the flesh-pots of Egypt are in the sunshine. If you have just enough to get along with, here in the East, and have cultivated tastes, life can be wonderfully beautiful. Poverty need never mean degradation--in fact, it has its advantages."

"That's it!" Michael Amory said. "I want to let people know how wonderfully beautiful life can be, even without wealth and worldly power, and why it is beautiful. I want them to realize the essence of things, to let those poor, crowded, degraded wretches in London know the sweetness of work in G.o.d's open s.p.a.ces. I feel that I must do my little bit in helping things forward. I want to let in a few c.h.i.n.ks of light. . . ."

Hada.s.sah, oddly enough, finished his quotation from "Pippa Pa.s.ses": "You want to give them eyes to see that

"'The year's at the Spring, And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hillside's dew-pearled: The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn; G.o.d's in His heaven-- All's right with the world!'"

Michael Ireton suggested that he should go off for a time into the desert and find himself. "There's nothing else so helpful," he said.

"I've tried it." Hada.s.sah's eyes met her husband's. She understood; she remembered.

And so Michael Amory left them strengthened and helped, not so much by their advice as by their understanding. Hada.s.sah had charmed him, as she charmed everyone who met her. Her happiness as the wife of the Englishman who had scorned the gossiping tongues of Cairo by marrying her, and her pride in the young Nicholas, their son, who was just learning to walk, made Michael Amory a little envious. Michael Ireton's home and life seemed almost ideal. This wealthy, happy couple lived in the world and yet not for the world; they had discovered the true meaning of life.

Michael's thoughts were brimful of Hada.s.sah and her husband, her beauty and the romance of their marriage, the details of which were familiar to him, as he pushed his way through the labyrinth of native streets in mediaeval Cairo.

After the silence of the desert, the noise was terrific--the shouts of the water-carriers, the yells of the native drivers of the swaying cabs, as they dashed at a reckless pace through the struggling and idling crowds. It was the most crowded hour of the day; the native town was wide awake. Camels laden with immense burdens of sugar-canes brushed the foot pa.s.sengers almost off the narrow sideway; small boys, with large black eyes and small white _takiyehs_, darted in and out with bra.s.s trays piled high with little enamelled gla.s.s bowls.

Michael longed to close his ears with his fingers, but had he attempted to do so, a donkey, carrying terracotta water-jars of an ancient and unpractical shape, or a portly, high-stomached Turk would a.s.suredly have robbed him of his balance.

He drifted on in a semi-conscious state of all that was going on around him, hating the noise, but enjoying every now and then the feast of colour which some group of strangely-mixed races presented. More than once, in the midst of all this noise and clamour, he saw a devout Moslem alone with his G.o.d. Before all the world, he was praying in absolute solitude. His mind had created perfect silence.

And so Michael drifted on. Only his subconscious self was leading him to his destination. He was going to a court of peace, to a strange friend who had taught him much simple philosophy and beauty, an African whose acquaintance he had made two years before, when he was in Gondokoro. Michael had saved the African's life by giving him some pecuniary a.s.sistance and carrying him on his own camel to the nearest village. He had come across him while he was on his journey which he performed on foot--from the heart of Africa to the university of el-Azhar in Cairo.

Since his youth, this old man had saved up money for the journey. It had been the ambition and the desire of his life to study in the great university of el-Azhar, the most important Moslem university in the world. His money had all been stolen from him, when Michael's servant found him. When he told his master of the condition the poor creature was in, a state of semi-starvation, Michael had taken him to the nearest village and there paid for a doctor to attend to him, and had supplied him with sufficient money to greatly mitigate the fatigue and suffering of his long pilgrimage to Cairo.

The journey had, of course, not been of such a hopeless character as might be supposed, for in every Moslem village there is a rest-house with free food for poor travellers; but even so, Michael knew that the distances between the desert villages are often enormous, and that they only supplied the food for the period of rest which the pilgrim needed.

Eight months later, when Michael was in England, he heard through the _'Ulama_ of the _riwak_ in el-Azhar to which he belonged by nationality, that the old man had arrived and that he was now living the life of a mystic and a recluse. In a beautiful imagery of words, he had begged the _'Ulama_ to send his grat.i.tude and thanks to the Englishman by whom, G.o.d, in His everlasting mercy, had sent him relief.

On Michael's return to Egypt the next year, almost the first thing which he had done on reaching Cairo was to go to el-Azhar and inquire at the ancient abode of peace if he could see his old friend. He had been admitted and exceptional courtesy had been extended to him. He was an unbeliever and a despised Christian, yet it had been through his act of charity that one of Allah's children had been nursed back to life and enabled to give his last years to the study of the Koran. He had been allowed to visit the old man from time to time.

To-day, as he walked through the noisy streets and smelt the obnoxious smells coming from an infinite variety of Oriental foods and customs, he longed to be back in the quiet valley, to feel the golden sand once more under his feet, to see Margaret's eyes smile their welcome. If he had caught the midday train, he would have been far away from Cairo by now. Yet something had led him to the heart of Islam, to that strange and unworldly seat of ancient learning. The very meaning of the word Islam suggests the atmosphere of the place--resignation, self-surrender.

When at last he arrived at the gates and was admitted into the splendour of the s.p.a.cious court, his heart was lifted up. Its ancient dignity, its divine sense of calm and, above all, the sonorous sounds of the Moslems chanting their _suras_ of the Koran, intoxicated his senses. As St. Augustine was intoxicated with G.o.d, so Michael was intoxicated with the spirit of Islam.

He knew that at certain times--during Moslem festivals, for instance--fanaticism often ran so high in this, the greatest of all Moslem centres, that it would be dangerous for a Christian to set foot inside the courtyard gate. It made him glow with pleasure that he, by his little act of love--or charity, as it is less pleasantly termed--was permitted to enter the courtyard at almost any time. This, of course, he would not do; the _'Ulama_ had given him permission, but he would not take advantage of his gracious offer.

To this richly-endowed university students come from all parts of the world, merely to study the interpretations of problematical pa.s.sages in the Koran--poor students from India and China, wealthy citizens from Tunis, delicate-featured Malays from the Straits Settlements and negroes from Central Africa.

In the courts of el-Azhar these children of Allah become brothers; their united flag is the green banner of Islam; their nationality is Islam. This, Michael felt, was what religion ought to do for mankind.

He tiptoed softly along, winding his way through the devout groups of students, until he reached a deep colonnade, supported by antique columns of great beauty, columns which had probably come from ancient Coptic churches, from Christian churches built in Old Cairo long before Islam was preached in Egypt. The colonnade was dark and almost cool after the open court, where the sun was blazing down upon the groups of picturesque worshippers and students, who seemed to be totally oblivious of its heat. Some elderly men were merely meditating. It was a wonderful sight, gracious and solemn and mysterious. The concentration of many of the worshippers on G.o.d was so strong that they seemed to see Him with their eyes; it was written on their faces; they looked as if they actually belonged to G.o.d.

Filled with the religious spell of the place, Michael wound his way through the different cla.s.s-rooms into which the colonnade was divided, cla.s.s-rooms which so little resembled the cla.s.s-rooms of his own school or Oxford, that unless he had known what was going on, it would not have dawned on him that the various professors and teachers were delivering their lectures and instructing their scholars. The divisions of the cla.s.s-rooms were merely an unwritten law; there was no boundary-line. Here and there groups of students, seated on the floor of the immense colonnade, which was supported on the inner side by columns of superb proportions, were waiting for their masters. Here and there a professor had already arrived; he was standing close to a column with his pupils grouped round him, just as the village-children surrounded their native teacher in a desert school.

Out of the eleven thousand pupils who attend the university every year not one of them would receive any instruction which would enable him to earn his living, or take his place in the struggle for wealth and power in the ordinary world of mankind. Devotion to Islam, and a desire to enter into a fuller understanding of G.o.d through the teachings of the Koran, alone brought them together from far and near.

Michael knew his way and presently he found himself in the residential quarter of the university and outside a part.i.tion which divided the small bare room of the man he had come to see from that of his fellow-students. The room or cell was empty, except for one praying-mat and a shelf, which was close to the floor. On it was a copy of the Koran and some religious books bound in paper. In the wall of this narrow living-room there was an opening which led into another cell; a tall man would have had to bend almost double to pa.s.s under it.

The small recess served as a bedroom.

Michael gently pulled a bell, whose chain hung against the iron grating which fronted the humble abode. As it sounded, an emaciated figure appeared under the arched aperture and a sonorous voice cried out in Arabic, "Peace be with you."

Michael, who knew that this Moslem greeting is reserved for all true believers, for members of the Islamic brotherhood, that it is rarely, if ever, offered to Christians, thought that the old man had not seen him, that his gracious salutation was for one of his own faith. He did not venture to return it in the prescribed Moslem fashion, "On you be peace and the mercy of G.o.d and His Blessing." He merely waited for a few moments, until the bent figure stood upright, and the dark eyes in the thin face met his own.

"It is you, O my son. I have long looked for you."

Michael's heart warmed with happiness. Then the Moslem greeting had been for him. He felt that peace was with him.

"I seek your counsel, O my father."

"May Allah counsel me and bring you prosperity." A lean arm, a mere bone covered with a sun-tanned skin, reached for a key which was hanging from a nail in the wall. Without speaking, he unlocked the gate. Michael noticed the fleshlessness of the fingers and wrist.

"Enter, my son, if it so please you to honour my humble abode."

Michael entered and waited in silence, until the old African had slowly and carefully locked the door again.

"To you, O my son, my dwelling-place seems empty and bare; to me it is filled with the treasures of paradise, the sweet fragrance of white jasmine."

"I understand," Michael said.

"My son," the old man said, "it is because you understand that I am here, in this little room, glorified by the presence of Allah, made beautiful by His exceeding great beauty. I see many flowers; I can hear the singing of birds and the running of cool waters."

"Your home is an abode of peace. Its beauty is the perfection of understanding. Your jasmine is the fragrance of love."

"Our thoughts, my son, are our real riches. In no place are we far from Allah. What of your work--has it prospered?"

This was, Michael knew, the usual Moslem greeting to a friend; it did not refer to any particular form of work or to his worldly affairs.

"All is well, O my father."

"I have no bodily refreshment to offer you, my son." He smiled a queer, grim smile; it stretched the hard skin of his face, which mid-African suns had tanned.

"I need no material food, O my father," Michael said, "I have eaten well and I know your frugal life. I seek better food."

"That is well, my son. Prayer is better than food. I have prayed for you."

Michael knew that at el-Azhar all studies are absolutely free; the teaching is entirely gratuitous. The poor students even receive their food from the rich endowments of the various _riwaks_ to which they belong. This Michael had learned when he saved the old man's life at Gondokoro. He had discovered the fact that when once he was inside the gate of this gracious inst.i.tution, he would be sheltered and fed and taught by the love of Islam. Wealthy students pay for privileges and for more luxurious quarters. This visionary and pilgrim asked for nothing more than food enough to keep him alive. What he desired of life was the time and means for studying the teachings of the Koran and the receiving of instruction from learned professors in the refinements of theology and in the sacred traditions. His life had been spent in a treadmill of hard labour. In mid-Africa his duty had been, for as long as he could remember, the guiding of a camel in its unceasing round of a primitive native well, the drawing up and emptying of buckets.

His smile was so mystical and ecstatic while he offered his apologies to Michael for the lack of hospitality, that Michael knew that he was visualizing and enjoying far greater luxury and affluence than had ever been the lot of the richest Mameluke of old days.

They were seated on the floor of the outer cell.

"You have been much in my thoughts, O my son. Allah has desired it. I have seen strange happenings for you. I know that the Light has come nearer."

Michael bowed his head and murmured a few words inaudibly.