News from the world of men reached the harÎm like voices from the street without. From time to time some item, interesting them, was cried in tones of censure or approval; but always in a manner of abstraction. This apathy arose from centuries of strict seclusion, in which, through change of dynasties and strife of factions, the privilege of the harÎm had been respected. The women felt that politics could not come near them; the government which ruled the men was none of theirs. A realm within the realm, they had their own excitements, their own concerns of life and death and amorous crime. Events the most important failed to move them, while trifling breaches of religion or old custom caused a vast commotion in that nursery of fanaticism.

One day, when Barakah was out driving in her carriage, she was stopped near AbdÎn palace by the pressure of excited crowds and heard the sounds of angry tumult. The driver backed the horses and then turned. On reaching home she asked the eunuch of the matter.

He shrugged: “It is the soldiers, O my lady. They are angry at the coming of the Frank commissioners.”

It was then that she presumed to question YÛsuf, and learnt that two commissioners, one French, one English, had come to take control of the finances of the country. The Khedive, that jovial libertine and spendthrift, was now bankrupt. The Europeans, as his creditors, assumed the reins.

“But why the English?” questioned Barakah with irritation, for up to then the French alone had been a power in Egypt.

“Wallahi, just because their men are clever,” was the answer. “They bought up all our Sovereign’s shares in the canal. Their guile is great, but greater Allah’s mercy, for the arrival of these Franks is good for me. Knowing both their languages I am put forward to receive them, and so rise in honour.”

In fact, a few days later he was made a Pasha.

But Barakah could not regard the case thus philosophically. The intrusion of the English frightened her. If they should ever come to lord it in the country her degradation would be unendurable. She confided her displeasure to Muhammad, who took an interest in politics as schoolboys will. He bade her have no fear; the Muslims would destroy them presently. The women told her God would intervene. But things went rapidly from bad to worse.

Since a French force under Bonaparte had entered Cairo, before the era of Muhammad Ali, no such fury had possessed the world of women as that which seized them on the deposition of the Khedive IsmaÎl. Whatever touched the majesty of El IslÂm excited them; vile infidels had here contrived the downfall of a Muslim ruler. And there ensued a host of innovations, in which the hand of unbelief was plainly visible.

The slave-trade had been formally abolished under IsmaÎl, to please the Franks, but with the customary wink of that facetious monarch. The trade continued gaily with his sly connivance. Now, in his son’s reign, it began to be suppressed in earnest. The slaves themselves were loud in lamentation. When it was known that slavery itself was menaced, the harÎm chattered like ten thousand angry parrots.

“The Lord have mercy on us! It is gross impiety,” screamed Fitnah KhÂnum. “Does not the august CorÂn lay down strict rules for the control of slaves? Is it not therefore Allah’s will that they exist?”

“The trade in slaves is holy,” cried Gulbeyzah; “bringing every year a thousand converts out of heathendom. If some are slain, it is no matter, since the death of heathens is uncounted, like the death of beasts. Without the cruel raids, the bloodshed, the survivors had not known salvation. Praise be to Allah, they cannot suppress the trade in us white people, since a father’s right to sell his child resides in nature. Only since the English meddle do we hear such wickedness.”

Besides the slave-trade, good old customs were abolished—one ceremony called the trampling, in particular, in which a sheykh, renowned for piety, was wont to ride on horseback over strewn believers. Some people thought the world was coming to an end, and looked for the appearance of the final prophet. The times were full of omens, portents, monstrous births. The French and English, in collusion, gave command in Egypt; the monarch was a puppet in their hands. The apathy of men amazed the women looking on. The good Khedive appeared a devil to those hot non-combatants; rebellion a plain duty upon all believers. They prayed for a deliverer to be raised up; and in the absence of the prophet whom they half expected, applauded the exertions of a simple soldier, who ventured to oppose the wicked rulers.

With the exception of some Turks, who sneered from pride of race, the whole harÎm acclaimed ArÂbi from his first appearance as a champion. The women viewed the question very simply. Here, on one hand, was a man who wished to free the land from foreign interference, whose cry of Egypt for the Egyptians, must mean Egypt for the Muslims, since the Copts were nobody; on the other, an infirm, if not a wicked, ruler who was letting all the privilege of El IslÂm be torn away. In vain their men assured them the Khedive was a good Muslim, and only deferential to the Franks from sheer expediency; that ArÂbi’s faction was the work of clever rascals, and boasted not one man of solid parts. They took religious ground and would not listen. They taught their children to admire ArÂbi. Muhammad, now a student in the school of war, assisted by his faithful Ali, fought five boys who dared to ridicule the peasant soldier. Though beaten many times the two did not give way, though Ali, for his own part, would have fled thrice over. But Muhammad was indomitable. Bruised and bleeding, he returned with fury to the charge, till his opponents fled in pure religious terror of such dauntless rage. A few weeks later the whole land was cringing before ArÂbi’s power. And then excitements followed thick and fast. Muhammad brought his mother all the latest rumours. One day it was:

“Great tidings, O my mother! All the Franks are flying! Ali and I have been to watch them at the railway station. Such a crowd! The faithful, past all patience, have risen up at Tantah and IskenderÎyeh and slain thousands of them.”

A number of the loyal Turks were also flying. AmÎnah KhÂnum and Bedr-ul-BudÛr came to take leave of Barakah. They were bound for Alexandria, in the train of the Khedive, and thence would take ship for Constantinople if things grew no better. Muhammad, when informed of their departure, rendered praise to Allah.

“They are vanquished,” he remarked. “But would to Allah that we had more Turks on our side. These fellÂhÎn, though braggarts, are great cowards. They need the whip to urge them into battle. I, who am half a Turk and half an Englishman, cannot endure the sluggishness of this Nile mud.”

The boy forgot the portion of his blood which was derived from Fitnah KhÂnum, his paternal grandmother. It was Nile mud of the thickest, but it did not show in him. All hot and noble counsels moved him to enthusiasm; the lukewarm and the philosophical enraged his soul. Stupidity or insolence in an inferior he could not brook. If his commands were not obeyed at once and with intelligence, he struck hard with the first instrument that came to hand, and called down Allah’s wrath on the offender. The old Pasha was delighted by those outbursts, as showing the commanding spirit of his Turkish race.

“When all these low-born troubles have passed over, we must procure him some small government,” he said to YÛsuf, who acquiesced with a pathetic smile. He had not that supreme contempt for the Egyptian rebels which kept his aged father calm amid the storm. He held a good position, and he feared to lose it; whereas his father had retired from public life.

Barakah delighted in her son’s account of the disorders. His excitement and the animation of each glance and gesture provided her with pictures upon which she brooded in the vacancy of summer days. The air which drifted through her lattice was oppressive, the sunlight like a furnace fire without; the voices of the street complained of dust and heat; the ceaseless buzz of flies benumbed the brain; the call for water rang incessantly through all the house, and even Umm ed-Dahak felt too weak to talk. But Barakah was happy, since Muhammad spent much time with her, finding her conversation more congenial to his patriotic mood than that of YÛsuf. In his absence she lay still and smoked, and quenched her thirst at frequent intervals, taking scant notice of her little daughter—the only other of her many children who had managed to survive the second year. Umm ed-Dahak loved the child and schooled her privately, telling her stories of man’s love and woman’s duty, and teaching her to pose and ogle in the proper way. But for the rest she was of no importance; Muhammad’s known affection for her was her only merit.

One afternoon Muhammad came in with a mien of wild excitement and, having kissed his mother’s hand, cried out:

“Most dreadful news! O horror! O revenge! The English have destroyed IskenderÎyeh with their cruel guns! The English only, since the French, more honourable, fled from the hateful sight with tears of shame. Simply because the forts were being mended, and work was not relaxed at their command. But, praise to Allah, we have hurt them also. Quite half their fleet has been destroyed by our brave fire. After this, we give no quarter—no, by Allah! It is holy war. Muhammad Tewfik is proclaimed a scoundrel. Our ArÂbi is Dictator. The army is to be augmented fourfold by forced levies. I met a boy, no older than myself, who goes to fight. I go this minute to implore my father to let me likewise join the army in the field.”

“Thy age is but fifteen. O Lord, he must not go!” cried out his mother in an agony of apprehension.

“I am a man full-grown, proficient in all exercises that belong to war. As young as I are going. Think, it is against the English, O my mother—thy vile enemies!”

Embracing her without a thought for her despair, he left her in great haste to find his father.