"Queen of the
Roses," thus is she called by all Cairo.
Who does not know her--who has not heard of her, of the Rose of
Cairo, of the wife of the great Mourad Bey, the Mameluke chieftain?
Even the Franks bowed humbly before her grace and dignity, and the
scha-er sings and relates, on the street-corners, of the French
general, Kleber, who loved Mourad's beautiful wife, and who often,
in the stillness of the evening, haunted the vicinity of his palace,
awaiting, perhaps, an opportunity to invade the harem in which the
Rose of Cairo dwelt. And in his songs he also intimates that the
dagger-stroke which lay the general low near the palace, was dealt
at the instigation of the jealous bey.
Who does not know Sitta Nefysseh, the benefactress of the poor, the
proud heroine who fought at her husband's side, who shared with
Mourad the dangers of war, a heroine in battle, a gentle, modest
woman in the harem?
All is still about her. The waters of the fountains near the kiosk
murmur gently as they fall in the basins beneath, as if to lull the
beautiful woman to rest with their music, and now the soft music
from behind the rose-bushes is also wafted over, to the kiosk.
The slaves accompany the instruments with their voices.
What are they singing? What song is this that exults and is yet
filled with sadness? whose strains are so passionate, so lamenting,
so longing?
Sitta Nefysseh well knows what they are; although the words are
inaudible, yet she knows them, knows the sad love-song "of her whom
he loved, of him who slew her.
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