Narrative of the residence of Fatalla Sayeghir among the wandering Arabs of the great desert

Transcriber’s note
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.
DE LAMARTINE.
COLLECTED AND TRANSLATED BY THE CARE OF
M. DE LAMARTINE.
PHILADELPHIA : CAREY, LEA & BLANCHARD. 1836.
OF THE AMERICAN PUBLISHERS.
In presenting to the public the curious and interesting Narrative of Fatalla Sayeghir, it is proper to explain that it formed an appendix to the English edition of “De Lamartine’s Pilgrimage to the Holy Land;” but having no immediate connexion with it, the publishers thought, it proper to defer the publication of this work (as mentioned in their advertisement) until they should know what reception the “Pilgrimage” would meet with. A second edition being called for and nearly expended, it has induced the publication of the “Narrative” in a separate volume, which they hope will be acceptable to the public.
BY ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE.
We were encamped in the midst of the desert which extends from Tiberias to Nazareth, and were speaking of the Arab tribes we had met in the day, of their manners, and the connexions between them and with the great population by whom they are surrounded. We endeavoured to elucidate the mystery of their origin, their destiny, and that astonishing endurance of the spirit of race, which separates this people from all other human families, and keeps them, like the Jews, not without the pale of civilization, but within a civilization of their own, as unchangeable as granite.
The more I have travelled, the more I am convinced that races of men form the great secret of history and manners. Man is not so capable of education as philosophers imagine. The influence of governments and laws has less power, radically, than is supposed, over the manners and instincts of any people, while the primitive constitution and the blood of the race have always their influence, and manifest themselves, thousands of years afterwards, in the physical formations and moral habits of a particular family or tribe. Human nature flows in rivers and streams into the vast ocean of humanity: but its waters mingle but slowly, sometimes never; and it emerges again, like the Rhone from the Lake of Geneva, with its own taste and colour. Here is indeed an abyss of thought and meditation, and at the same time a grand secret for legislators. As long as they keep the spirit of race in view, they succeed; but they fail when they strive against this natural predisposition: nature is stronger than they are. This sentiment is not that of the philosophers of the present time, but it is evident to the traveller; and there is more philosophy to be found in a caravan journey of a hundred leagues, than in ten years’ reading and meditation. I felt happy in thus wandering about among deserts and unknown countries, with no route before me but my caprice; and I told my friends, and M. Mazolier, my interpreter, that if I were alone and without family ties, I would lead this manner of life for years and years. I would never sleep where I had arisen: I would transport my tent from the shores of Egypt to the Persian Gulf, and wish no aim for the evening but evening itself. I would wander on foot, and dwell with eye and heart on these unknown lands, these races of men so different from my own, and contemplate humanity, this most beautiful work of God, under all its forms. To effect this, what would be requisite?—a few slaves or faithful servants, arms, a little gold, two or three tents, and some camels. The sky of these countries is almost always warm and pure, life easy and economical, and hospitality certain and picturesque. I should prefer, a hundred times, years passed under different skies, with hosts and friends ever new, to the barren and noisy monotony of the life of our capitals. It is undoubtedly more difficult to lead the life of a man of the world in Paris or London, than to visit the universe as a traveller. The results of two such lives are, however, very different. The traveller either dies, or he returns with a treasure of thoughts and wisdom. The domesticated inhabitant of our capitals grows old without knowledge, without experience, and dies as much entrammelled, as much immersed in false notions, as when he first begins to exercise his senses. I should like, said I to my dragoman, to cross those mountains, to descend into the great desert of Syria, accost some of the large unknown tribes that traverse it, receive their hospitality for months, pass on to others, study their resemblances and differences, follow them from the gardens of Damascus to the banks of the Euphrates and the confines of Persia, and raise the veil which still hangs over the civilization of the desert,—a civilization where our chivalry had its birth, and where it must still exist: but time presses, and we may see but the borders of that ocean whose whole no one has yet crossed. No traveller has penetrated amidst those innumerable tribes, whose tents and flocks cover the plains of the patriarchs; one only man attempted it, but he is no more, and the notes which he had collected during ten years’ residence amongst the people were lost with himself. I desired to introduce M. de Lascaris to my readers: the following is a sketch of his character.