Memoirs of an Arabian Princess | Page 8

children outweighed her personal inclinations,
as she afterward told me. Scarcely had her decision to move become
known, when on all hands the complaint was addressed to her: "Jilfidan
(this was my dear mother's name), is your heart closed to us, that you
are deserting us forever?" "Ah, my friends," was her reply, "it is not by
my will that I leave you; but my departure is ordained." No doubt some
readers will mentally cast a glance of pity at me, or shrug their
shoulders, because I say "ordained." Perhaps those individuals have
hitherto kept their ears and eyes shut against the will of God, rejecting
His divine manifestations while allowing mere chance full sway. It
must, of course, be noted that the author of this book was originally a
Mohometan, and that she was brought up as such. Furthermore, I am
telling about Arabian life, about an Arabian household, where - in a
real Arabian family - two things were totally unknown, that word
"chance" and also materialism. The Mahometan acknowledges God not
only as his creator and preserver; but is conscious of the Lord's
omnipresence, and believes that not his own will, but the Lord's must
govern in all matters, great or small.
Several days sped by pending our preparations, and we then waited for
the return of Majid, who was to supervise our journey in person. Three
playmates I particularly regretted leaving, two of my sisters and one of
my brothers, almost exactly my age. On the other hand, I was
overjoyed at the prospect of bidding adieu to our new, unmercifully
severe schoolmistress. Owing to the forthcoming separation, our

quarters resembled a huge beehive. Everybody, according to their
circumstances and degree of affection, brought us farewell presents - a
very popular custom there. However trifling the present he is able to
give, nothing will induce an Arab to withhold it from the departing
friend. I remember a case in point. One day - I was quite a small girl
then - after visiting a plantation, we were about to start the homeward
journey to Bet il Mtoni in our boats. Suddenly, I felt a slight jerk at my
sleeve, and upon turning round beheld a little old Negro woman. She
handed me an article wrapped in banana leaves, saying, "This is for you,
mistress, in honour of your departure; it is the first ripe thing from my
plot." Speedily opening the leaves, I found a freshly picked head of
maize. I did not know the old Negro woman, but subsequently learned
that she was a long-standing favourite of my mother's.
Well, at last Majid arrived, with the announcement that the captain of
the Ramahni had been ordered to send a cutter for us the next evening
and another boat for the luggage and the escort. My father happened to
be at Bet il Mtoni the day we were to leave, and we repaired to the
benjile expecting to find him there. He was thoughtfully pacing up and
down, when, seeing my mother approach, he came forward to meet her.
They were soon absorbed in a lively conversation touching the journey,
the Sultan having meanwhile commanded a eunuch to bring me some
sweetmeats and sherbet, probably to stop my everlasting questions. As
may easily be imagined, I was tremendously excited and curious
regarding our future home, and in fact about everything that concerned
the town-life. Up till then, I had been in town only once, and but for a
very short time, hence I had the acquaintance of many brothers, sisters,
and stepmothers in store for me. We eventually betook ourselves to the
apartments of the high and mighty Azze bint Sef, who graciously
vouchsafed to dispose of us standing up, a concession on her part, so to
speak, because she usually received and dismissed people in a sitting
position. My mother and I were privileged to touch her dainty hand
with our lips - and to turn our backs upon the lady forever. Then we
travelled upstairs and down, to say good-bye to our friends, but barely
half were in, so my mother determined to go back at the next hour for
prayer, when she would be sure to see them all.

At seven in the evening our large cutter - not used except on special
occasions - appeared before the benjile. She was manned by a dozen
sailors, I remember, and at the stern, as well as at the bow hung a plain
crimson flag, our ensign, which bears no pattern nor any kind of
symbol. The rear part of the vessel was covered with an expansive
awning, and under this were silken cushions for perhaps ten persons.
Old Jahar, a trusted eunuch of my father, came to inform us that
everything was in readiness; he and