“And how old is the husband?” I asked.
“Ten years old, Signore.”
Seeing that we still doubted, the other women all asserted the same, adding that it was quite rare for a girl to marry after twelve years of age; that the greater part of them are married at ten, many at eight, and some even at seven, to boys of about their own age; and that, naturally, while they are so young, they live with their parents, who continue to treat them like children, feed, clothe, and correct them, without the least regard to their marital dignity; but they are always together, and the wife is submissive to the husband.
To us all this seemed news from another world than ours, and we listened with open mouths, divided between a desire to laugh, pity, and anger.
A breakfast at the house of the Minister of War.
We were received in a narrow court, enclosed by four high walls, and as dark as a well. On one side there was a door about three feet in height, on the other a great doorway without doors, and a bare room, with a mattress on the floor, and some sheets of paper strung on a string and hanging on one of the walls: the daily correspondence, I imagine, of his Excellency.
He is called Sid-Abd-Alla Ben Hamed, is the elder brother of Sid-Moussa, is about sixty years old, black, small, lean, infirm on his legs, trembling and decrepit. He speaks little, shuts his eyes often, and smiles courteously, bowing his head, which is almost concealed in an immense turban. Nevertheless, his appearance and manners are agreeable.
After the exchange of a few words, we were invited into the dining-hall. The Ambassador first, and then all the others one by one, stooping almost to a right angle, passed the little low door, and came out into another court, spacious, surrounded by an elegant arcade, and covered with splendid and various ornaments in mosaic. It is a palace which was presented to Sid-Abd-Alla by the Sultan. He himself gives us this information, bowing his head and closing his eyes with an air of religious veneration.
In one corner of the court there was a group of officials in white turbans and robes; on the other side a troop of servants, among whom towered a very handsome young giant, dressed all in blue, with a long pistol at his belt. At all the little doors and windows in the four walls heads of women and children of various shades of complexion appeared and disappeared, and on every side was heard the voice of infancy.
We sat down around a small table, in a little room encumbered by two enormous beds. The Minister placed himself next to, but a little behind, the Ambassador, and sat there all the time of the breakfast, vigorously rubbing his bare black foot, which he had planted on his knee; so that the ministerial toes appeared just above the edge of the table, at a few inches from the commandant’s plate. The soldiers of the Legation waited at table. Close to it stood the young blue giant, with his hand on his pistol.