_What Befell Mr. Middleton Because of the Eighth and Last Gift of theEmir._
Getting into the hack and settling into the sole remaining vacantspace Mesrour had left in loading the vehicle with the emir's gifts,Mr. Middleton was so preoccupied by a gloomy dejection as he reflectedthat a most agreeable, not to say inspiring and educating, intimacywas at last ended, that he reached his lodgings and had begun tounload his new possessions, before he thought of the odalisque. Therelay the coffee sack lengthwise on the front seat and partiallyreclining against the side of the carriage. He was greatly surprisedat the size of the unknown creature and began to surmise that it wasan anthropoid ape, though before his speculations had ranged fromparrots through dogs to domesticated leopards. Leaving the coffee sackuntil the last, he gingerly seized the slack of the top of the bag andproceeded to pull it upon his shoulders, taking care to avoid holdingthe creature where it could kick or struggle effectually, for despiteall the emir had told him of the gentleness of the odalisque, he wasresolved to take no chances. Whatever the creature was, she had sliddown, forming a limp lump at the end of the bag, when he charilydeposited it on the floor and turned to consult his dictionary beforeuntying it. He was going to know what the creature was before he dealtwith her further, a creature so large as that.
_Odalisque._ A slave or concubine in a Mohammedan harem!!
A woman!!!
Mr. Middleton tore at the string by which the bag was tied, full ofthe keenest self-reproach. The uncomfortable position during the longride, the worse position in which she now lay. The knots refused tobudge and snatching a knife, with a mighty slashing, he ripped the bagall away and disclosed the slender form of a woman crouched, huddled,collapsed, face downward, head upon her knees. Turning her over andsupporting her against his breast in a sitting posture, Mr. Middletonlooked upon the most loveliness, unhappiness, and helplessness he hadever beheld.
For a moment his heart almost stopped as he looked into the stillface, but he saw the bosom faintly flutter, slow tears oozed out fromunder the long lashes of the closed lids, and the cupid's bow mouthgave little twitches of misery and hopelessness. With what exquisiteemotions was he filled as he looked down upon the head pillowed uponhis breast, with what sentiments of anger, with what noble chivalry!
A Moslem woman. A Moslem woman, who even in the best estate of her sexas free and a wife, goes to her grave like a dog, with no hope of alife beyond, unless her husband amid the joys of Paradise should turnhis thoughts back to earth and wish for her there among his houris.But this poor sweet flower had not even this faint expectation, forshe was no wife nor could be, slave of a Mohammedan harem. No rightsin this world nor the next. Not even the attenuated rights which lawand custom gave the free woman. No sustaining dream of a divinerecompense for the unmerited unhappiness of this existence. A slave, aharem slave, wanted only when she smiled, was gay, and beautiful; whomust weep alone and in silence, in silence, with never a sympatheticshoulder to weep upon after they sold her from her mother's side. Tiedin a bag, going she knew not whither, thrown in a carriage like somuch carrion, in these indignities she only wept in silence, for herlord, the man, must not be discomposed. Like the timorous, helplesswild things of the woods whose joys and sorrows must ever be voicelesslest the bloody tyrants of their domain come, who even in the crunchof death hold silence in their weak struggles, this poor young thingbore her sufferings mutely, for her lord, the man, must not bediscomposed, choking her very breath lest a sob escape. Mr. Middleton,in a certain illuminating instinct which belongs to women but onlyoccasionally comes to some men, saw all this in a flash without anypondering and turning over and reflecting and comparing, and he saidto himself under his breath, not eloquently, but well, as there camehome to him the heinousness of that abhorrant social system dependentupon the religious system of the Prophet of Mecca, "Damn the emir andMohammed and the whole damned Mohammedan business, kit and boodle!"
In this imprecation there was a piece of grave injustice which Mr.Middleton would not have allowed himself in calmer mood, for the emirwas about to become a member of one of the largest and mostfashionable Presbyterian congregations in the city and ought not tohave been included in an anathema of Moslemry and condemned foranything he upheld while in the benighted condition of Mohammedanism.
Mr. Middleton continuing to gaze, as who could not, upon thatbeautiful unhappy face, suddenly he imprinted upon the quivering lipsa kiss in which was the tender sympathy of a mother, the hearteningencouragement of a friend, and the ardent passion of a lover. Theodalisque opened her lovely hazel eyes and _seeing_ corroboration ofall the _touch_ of the kiss had told her, as she looked into eyes thatbrimmed with tears like hers, upon lips that quivered like hers, shelet loose the flood gates of her woes in a torrent of sobs and tears,and throwing herself upon his shoulders, poured out her long pentsorrows in a good cry.
It was only a summer shower and the sun soon shone. She did not weeplong. Too filled with wonder and surpassing delight was this daughterof the Orient in her first experience with the chivalry of theOccident. She must needs look again at this man whose eyes had welledfull in compassion for her. She would court again his light andsoothing caresses, his gentle ministrations, so different from thebrutal pawing of the male animals of her own race, the moiety withsouls. Ah, how poignantly sweet, how amazing, that which to herAmerican sisters was the usual, the commonplace, the everyday!
She raised her head. Her tears no longer flowed, but her lips stillquivered, in a pleading little smile; and her bosom still fluttered,in a shy and doubting joy, and in her mind floated a half-formedprayer that the genii whose craft had woven this rapturous dream,would not too soon dispel it.
Mr. Middleton gazed at her. He had never seen a face like that, soperfectly oval; never such vermillion as showed under the dusk of hercheeks and stained the lips, narrow, but full. What wondrous eyes werethose, so large and lustrous, illumining features whose basal lines ofclassic regularity were softly tempered into a fluent contour. Acirclet of gold coins bound her brow, shining in bright relief againstthe luxuriant masses of chestnut hair. A delicate and slender figurehad she, yet well cushioned with flesh and no bones stood out in herbare neck.
Moved not by his own discomfort on the hard floor, but by the possiblediscomfort of the odalisque, Mr. Middleton at length raised her andconducted her to a red plush sofa obtained by the landlady for soapwrappers and a sum of money, which having turned green in places andtherefore become no longer suitable for a station in the parlor, hadbeen placed in this room a few days before. Upon this imposing articleof furniture the two sat down, and though at first Mr. Middleton didno more than place his arm gently and reassuringly about the girl'swaist and hold her hand lightly, in the natural evolution,progression, and sequence of events, following the rules of contiguityand approach--rhetorical rules, but not so here--before long the cheekof the fair Arab lay against that of the son of Wisconsin and her armwas about his neck and every little while she uttered a little sigh ofcomplete, of unalloyed content. What had been yesterday, what might beto-morrow, she was now happy. As for Mr. Middleton, what a stream ofdelicious thoughts, delicious for the most part because of theirunselfishness and warm generosity, flowed through his head. What a joyit would be to make happy the path of this girl who had been sounhappy, to lay devotion at the feet of her who had never dreamedthere was such a thing in the world, to bind himself the slave of herwho had been a slave.
Then, too, he luxuriated in the simple, elementary joy of possessionand the less elementary joy of possession of new things, whether newhats, new clothes, new books, new horses, new houses, or new girls,and which is the cause why so many of us have new girls and new beaux.And when he looked ahead and saw only one logical termination of theepisode, he swelled with a pride that was honest and unselfish, as hethought how all would look and admire as he passed with this lovelywoman, his wife.
He could have sat thus the whole night through, but the girl must betired, worn by the sufferings of this day and many
before. He motionedtoward the bed and indicated by pantomime that she should go to it.She would have descended to her knees and with her damask lips brushedthe dust from his shoes, if she had thought he wished it, but she knewnot what he meant by his gesturing and sat bewildered in eager andanxious willingness. So arranging the bed for her occupancy, he tookher in his arms and bore her to it and dropped her in. The riotousblushes chased each other across her cheeks as she lay there with eyesclosed, so sweet, so helpless, so alone.
For a little season he stood there gazing, gloating, enravished, liketo hug himself in the keen titillation of his ecstasy and this was notall because this lovely being was his, but because he was hers.
Glancing about the room preliminarily to leaving, and wondering whatfurther was to be done for the girl's comfort and peace of mind, hebethought him of an ancient tale he had once read. In this narration,fate having made it unavoidable that a noble lord should pass thenight in a castle tower with a fair dame of high degree and therebeing but one bed in the apartment, he had placed a naked sword in themiddle of the bed between them and so they passed the night, guardedand menaced by the falchion, for the nonce become the symbol of brighthonor and cold virtue. Mr. Middleton had often wondered why the knightdid not sleep on the floor, or outside the door, as he himself nowintended doing. But it occurred to him that some such symbol mightreassure the Arab damosel and having no sword, he drew one of thelarge pistols the emir had given him and approached the bed to lay itthere.
The girl's eyes had now opened and Mr. Middleton started as he beheldher face. Once more the hunted, helpless look it had worn when firsthe had looked on it. But more. Such an utter fear and sickening untodeath. But not fear, terror for herself. Fear for the death of anideal, a fear caused by her misinterpretation of his intent with thepistol. It had not been real, it had not been real. He was as othermen, the men of her world and all the world was alike and life notworth living. With a finesse he had not suspected he possessed, helaid the pistol on a pile of legal papers on a table at the bed'shead, a pile whose sheets a suddenly entering breeze was whirlingabout the room. How obvious it was he had brought the pistol for apaper weight. Once more the girl was smiling as he drew the clothesover her, all dressed as she was, and kissing shut her drowsy eyes, heleft her in her virginal couch.
On the mat before the door in the hallway without, he disposed himselfas comfortably as he could. With due regard for the romanticproprieties, he tried to keep within the bounds of the mat. But it wastoo short, his curled up position too uncomfortable, and so heoverflowed it and could scarcely be said to be sleeping on the mat. Itwas too late to arouse the landlady and although he was there bychoice, it could not have been otherwise.
After snatches of broken sleep, after dreams waking and dreamssleeping, which were all alike and of one thing and indistinguishable,he was at length fully awake at a little before six and aware of anodor of tobacco smoke. Applying his nose to the crack of the door, hefinally became convinced that it came from his room. Wondering what itcould possibly mean, and accordingly opening the door, opening it soslowly and gradually that the odalisque could have ample time to seekthe cover of the bed clothes, he stepped in.
There sat the odalisque on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, puffingaway at his big meerschaum, blowing clouds that filled the room. Onthe table lay an empty cigarette box that had been full the nightbefore. This had not belonged to Mr. Middleton, who was not acigarette smoker and despised the practice, but had been forgotten byChauncy Stackelberg on a recent visit. The fingers of her right handwere stained yellow, not by the cigarettes of that one box, but theunnumbered cigarettes of years. Mr. Middleton had not noticed thesefingers the night before, but had been absorbed by her face, and thisas beautiful, as piquant, as bewitching as before, looked up at him,the lips puckered, waiting, longing.
He stood there, stock-still, stern, troubled, dismayed.
She moved over, where she sat on the edge of the bed, with muteinvitation, and Mr. Middleton continuing to stand and stare, she movedagain and yet again, until she was against the headboard. And still hedid not sit beside her, thinking all the time of the young lady ofEnglewood whose pure Puritan lips never had been and never could bedefiled by cigarettes and tobacco. The young lady of Englewood, theyoung lady of Englewood, what a jewel of women was she and what a foolhe had been and how unkind and inconsiderate! Recalled by a littlesnuffle from the odalisque, he saw the puckered lips were relaxingsorrowfully and fearing the girl would cry, he hastily sat down besideher and put his right arm about her. But he did not take the shapelyhand that now laid down the meerschaum, and though her head fell onhis shoulder and her breath came and went with his, he did not kissher, for that breath was laden with tobacco. Nor did his fingers straythrough those masses of silken hair, for he was sure they were full ofthe fumes of tobacco. There with his arm about the soft, uncorsettedform of that glorious beauty, her own white forearm smooth and coolabout his neck, he was thinking of the young lady of Englewood.
Poor odalisque! Why cannot he speak to you and tell you? You wouldwash away those yellow stains with your own blood, if you thought hewished it. Forego tobacco? Why, you would cease to inhale the breathof life itself, for his sake.
Out of the grave came all the dead Puritan ancestors of Mr. Middleton,a long procession back to Massachusetts Bay. The elders of Salem whohad ordained that a man should not smoke within five miles of a house,the lawgivers who had prescribed the small number, brief length, andsad color of ribbons a woman might wear and who forbade a man to kisshis wife on Sunday, all these righteous and uncomfortable folk stirredin Mr. Middleton's blood and obsessed him.
Fatima, Nouronhor, or whatever your name might be, my fair Moslem, whydid fate throw you in with a Puritan? Yet I wot that had it been onefrom a strain of later importation from Europe, you had not been sosafe there last night. The Puritans may be disagreeable, but they aresafe, safe.
Part of this Mr. Middleton was saying over and over to himself--thelatter part. The Puritans are safe. The young lady of Englewood wassafe. She was good, she was beautiful, too, in her calm, sweet,Puritan way. He must see her at once, he would go---- A sigh, notaltogether of content, absolute and complete, recalled to him thewoman pressed against his side. She must be taken care of, disposedof. Asylum? No. Factory? No, no. Theater, museum? No, no, no. He wouldfind some man to marry her. There must be someone, lots of men, infact, who would marry a girl so lovely, who needn't find out shesmoked until after marriage, or who would not care anyway. All thismight take time. He would be as expeditious as possible, however. Hecalled Mrs. Leschinger, the landlady, and entrusting the girl to hercare, departed to visit a matrimonial agency he knew of.
He looked over the list of eligibles. He read their misspelled,crabbedly written letters. There was not one in the lot to whom a manof conscience could entrust the Moslem flower, even if she did smoke.
"There is apparently not one man of education or refinement in thewhole lot," exclaimed Mr. Middleton.
"That's about right," said the president of the agency. "Between youand I, there ain't many people of refinement who would go at marryingin that way. You don't know what a lot of jays and rubes I have todeal with. Often I threaten to retire. But occasionally a realgentleman or lady does register in our agency. Object, fun ormatrimony. Now I have one client that is all right, all right exceptin one particular. He is a man of thirty-five or six, fine looking,has a nice house and five thousand dollars a year clear and sure. Buthe's stone deaf. He wants a young and handsome girl. Now I could gethim fifty dozen homely young women, or pretty ones that weren'tchickens any longer, real pretty and refined, but you see a realhandsome young girl sort of figures her chances of marrying are good,that she may catch a man who can hear worth as much as this Crayburn,which ain't a whole lot, or that if she does marry a poor young chap,he'll have as much as Crayburn does when he is as old as Crayburn. NowI'm so sure you'll only have your trouble for your pains, that I won'tcharge you anything for his address and a
letter of introduction. Idon't believe you have got a girl who will suit, for if you have, shewon't take Crayburn. Here's his picture."
Mr. Middleton looked upon the photograph of a man who seemed to bepossessed of some of the best qualities of manhood. It was true thatthere was a slight suspicion of weakness in the face, but above all itwas kindly and sympathetic.
"A good looking man," said Mr. Middleton.
"Smart man, too," said the matrimonial agent. "He graduated from theuniversity in Evanston and was a lawyer and a good one, until a friendfired off one of those big duck guns in his ear for a joke."
Taking the odalisque with him in a cab, Mr. Middleton was off for theresidence of Mr. Crayburn.
"Will she have me?" asked Mr. Crayburn, when he had read Mr.Middleton's hastily penciled account of the main facts of hisconnection with the fair Moslem, wherein for brevity's sake he hadomitted any mention of the fifteen hundred dollars the emir had givenhim for assuming charge of her.
"Of course," wrote Mr. Middleton.
"I never saw a more beautiful woman," exclaimed Mr. Crayburn. "By theway, have you noticed any predilections, habits, wants, it would bewell for me to know about?"
"She smokes," wrote Mr. Middleton, not knowing why he wrote it, andwishing like the devil that he hadn't the moment he had.
"All Oriental women smoke. I will ask her not to as soon as she learnsEnglish."
Mr. Middleton was amazed to think that such a simple solution had notoccurred to him. But he was glad it was so, for he had not beenunscathed by Cupid's darts there last night and he might not now beabout to visit the young lady of Englewood.
"Your fee," said Mr. Crayburn.
Mr. Middleton had not thought of this. He looked about at thehandsomely furnished room. He thought of the five thousand dollars ayear and the very much smaller income he could offer the young lady ofEnglewood. He thought of these things and other things. He thought ofthe young lady of Englewood; of the odalisque, toward whom he occupiedthe position of what is known in law as next friend. She sat behindhim, out of his sight, but he saw her, saw her as he saw her for thefirst time, when, ripping the bag away, she lay there in her piteous,appealing helplessness.
"There is no fee. The maiden even has a dowry of fifteen hundreddollars. Please invest it in her name. Oh, sir, treat her kindly."
"Treat her kindly!" exclaimed the deaf man with emotion. "He would bea hound who could ill treat one so helpless and friendless, a strangerin a strange land, whose very beauty would be her undoing, were shewithout a protector."
Much relieved, Mr. Middleton prepared to depart and the odalisque sawshe was not to be included in his departure. She noted the luxuriousappointments of the house, so different from the threadbare and seedyfurnishings of Mr. Middleton's one lone room, but rather a thousandtimes would she have been there. A tumult of yearning and love filledher heart, but beyond the slow tears in her eyes and the tremblinglips, no one could have guessed it. Once more she was a Moslem slave,sold by the man whom last night she had thought----She bowed to kismetand strangled her feelings as she had so many times before. And soafter a shake of the hand, Mr. Middleton left her, left her to learnas the idol of Mr. Crayburn's life, with every whim gratified, thatthe first American she had known was but one of millions.
Away toward Englewood hastened Mr. Middleton, reasoning with himselfin a somewhat casuistical manner. His conscience smote him as hethought of the previous night. But what else could anybody have done?Deprived of the power of communicating by the means of words, he hadby caresses assuaged her grief and stilled her fears and now it wastoo plain he had made her love him and he had left her in desolation.But heigho! what was the use of repining over spilled milk andnicotined fingers that another man and good would care for, and hehimself had not been unscathed by Cupid's darts there the nightbefore.
The young lady of Englewood was just putting on her hat to go out andwas standing before the mirror in the hallway. Mr. Middleton had nevercalled at that hour of the day. For months he had not called at alland she never expected that he would again. So without anyapprehension at all, she was wearing one of the green silk shirtwaists she had made from the Turkish trousers he had given her, andhad just got her hat placed to suit her, when there he was!
She turned, blushing furiously. Whether it was the confusion causedher by being discovered in this shirt waist, or the joy of seeing himagain and the complete surrender, she made in this joy, so delectableand unexpected and which was not unmixed with a little fear that if hewent away this time, he would never come back again, never! whether itwas these things or what not, she made no struggle at all as Mr.Middleton threw his arms about her, threw them about her as if shewere to rescue him from some fate, and though he said nothingintelligible for some time, but kissed her lips, cheeks, and nose,which latter she had been at pains to powder against the hot sun thenprevailing, she made no resistance at all and breathed an audible"yes," when he uttered a few incoherent remarks which might beinterpreted as a proposal of marriage.
Here let us leave him, for all else would be anti-climax to thissupreme moment of his life. Here let us leave him where I wish everydeserving bachelor may some day be: in the arms of an honest andloving woman who is his affianced wife.
The Strange Adventures of Mr. Middleton Page 15