Egypt -- History -- Fiction; German fiction -- Translations into English
Before his departure for Constantinople one of his father's palm-groves
had occupied the spot where Amru's residence now stood opposite the half-
finished mosque. Where, now, thousands of Moslems, some on foot, some on
richly caparisoned steeds, were passing to and fro, turbaned and robed
after the manner of their tribe, with such adornment as they had stolen
or adopted from intercourse with splendor-loving nations, and where long
trains of camels dragged quarried stones to the building, in former times
only an occasional ox-cart with creaking wheels was to be seen, an
Egyptian riding an ass or a bare-backed nag, and now and then a few
insolent Greek soldiers. On all sides he heard the sharper and more
emphatic accent of the sons of the desert instead of the language of his
forefathers and their Greek conquerors. Without the aid of the servant
who rode at his side he could not have made himself understood on the
soil of his native land.
He soon reached Amru's house and was there informed by an Egyptian
secretary that his master was gone out hunting and would receive him,
not in the town, but at the citadel. There, on a pleasant site on the
limestone hills which rose behind the fortress of Babylon and the newly-
founded city, stood some fine buildings, originally planned as a
residence for the Prefect; and thither Amru had transported his wives,
children, and favorite horses, preferring it, with very good reason, to
the palace in the town, where he transacted business, and where the new
mosque intercepted the view of the Nile, while this eminence commanded a
wide prospect.
The sun was near setting when Orion reached the spot, but the general had
not yet come in from the chase, and the gate-keeper requested that he
would wait.
Orion was accustomed to be treated in his own country as the heir of the
greatest man in it; the color mounted to his brow and his Egyptian heart
revolted at having to bend his pride and swallow his wrath before an
Arab. He was one of the subject race, and the thought that one word from
his lips would suffice to secure his reception in the ranks of the rulers
forced itself suddenly on his mind; but he repressed it with all his
might, and silently allowed himself to be conducted to a terrace screened
by a vine-covered trellis from the heat of the sun.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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