"Have I not said so?" replied the man, and it was agreed that I was to hire two horses as far as Yuzgat, paying the regular tariff of three piastres for each horse per hour.
"People in Turkey who deal in horses are great rogues," said the Bey; "are they the same in your country? A horse-dealer near Kars would try and get the best of his dearest friend in a bargain."
"They are much the same in England," I replied; and the young Bey began to tell us some stories of horse-copers in Aleppo, where he had passed some years, and in which town the fair sex was more than usually frail.
"The young men in that city have a curious way of showing their affection to the lady of their choice," continued the speaker. "A girl has, say, three lovers—a small allowance for a lady in that part of the world—she does not know which to select, each one of the suitors is eager to display his gallantry."
"What does she do?" asked one of the party. "Accept them all?"
"No, she takes three bits of live charcoal from out of the fire; giving each of her lovers a piece, she tells them to place it in the palms of their hands. The fire burns through the skin, the tendons are laid bare; sometimes the amorous gentlemen will resist till the flesh has been burnt to the bone. Here one or two of them generally succumb to the torture; the man who resists the longest, wins the lady."
"But if they are all equally indifferent to pain, and the charcoal burns out, what happens then?" I inquired.
"The lady takes three more pieces of charcoal, and begins again with the other hand," replied the Bey. "The more they resist, the better the girl likes them, because it is a proof to her mind that they value her more than their own torture."
"Did you ever try it?"
"No," said the Bey, laughing. "I can get a wife without any trouble, so I do not care about burning my fingers. We burn our fingers quite soon enough after marriage, as it is."