"If we yield now, the
tschorbadji's authority is forever lost."
"But," said the tschorbadji, who joined them at that moment, "what
is to come of all this, if the prisoners do not submit?"
"Their heads shall fall upon the block to-morrow morning, at the
hour of prayer," said Mohammed, in so firm and clear a voice that
his words were heard by Cousrouf Pacha, who had just entered the
hall.
"He is right, tschorbadji," said he, bowing his head with great
dignity. "Yes, he is right! If the rabble are rebellious, let the
heads of some of them fall! Order and law must reign! Many-headed is
the hydra, and it is no great misfortune if a few of their brawling
heads are hewn off!"
"Allah is great! His will be done," said the tschorbadji. "I do not
wish the court-yard of my dwelling to be stained with blood. I do
not wish to rule harshly and unmercifully in the evening of my life,
after governing my people so many years by mild and gentle rule."
"There you are wrong," said Cousrouf Pacha; "mildness and gentleness
do not become a ruler; only by severity and an unbending will can he
exalt himself to power, and, even when he reaches the goal, he must
trust to arms, if he is to maintain himself."
"And if with sword and dagger he reaches the throne," said Osman,
looking gently and reproachfully at the proud pacha, "may he then
hope to hear music and hymns of praise, or must he not then only
expect to hear cries of anguish uttered by those over whose heads he
strode to power? He could not then expect to see a fair and blooming
land, but a land full of corpses and blood! No, no, Cousrouf Pacha!
I desire not to reach that height.
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