I saw Mr. K. the following day, and condoled with him on his loss. He was like a distracted man, and lay prostrate on his sofa, vowing vengeance against the French doctor, whom he denounced as his wife’s murderer.
Saturday, May 19.—As the Franks had now begun to shut up their houses, and the report of fresh cases of plague had created some consternation, I returned to Jôon. The preceding evening, whilst paying a visit to Monsieur and Madame Guys, he put into my hands a file of newspapers, a packet of letters, and a parcel, just arrived by a French merchant-vessel from Marseilles. The parcel contained Mr. George Robinson’s “Three Years’ Residence in the East,” which the author himself had kindly forwarded to me from Paris. I had the pleasure of opening it at the thirty-sixth page of his volume on Syria, and of reading to my friends, Monsieur and Madame Guys, the well-deserved tribute paid to their hospitality and distinguished merits, which excited in them a lively emotion. “We do our best,” said Monsieur Guys, “to make Beyrout agreeable to such travellers as we are fortunate enough to become acquainted with; but it is not always that we meet with such grateful acknowledgments.” Mr. Robinson, in his Arab dress, was the exact similitude of Burckhardt, alias Shaykh Ibrahim. He also spoke Arabic with a degree of fluency that made it probable, had he spent as many years in the East as Mr. Burckhardt, he would have been able, like him, almost to have passed for a native.
Being long familiar with the road from Beyrout to Sayda, it would be difficult for me to conjure up such a picture of its rocky and solitary horrors as that which has been drawn by M. Lamartine. Features so romantic could have been portrayed only under the sudden inspiration of novelty and surprise. First impressions are strongly contrasted with the hackneyed indifference of one who has traversed the same ground over and over again, and is become familiar with its peculiarities. Instead, therefore, of describing what would strike the eye of the new-comer, let us substitute a sketch or two of the actual manners of the people in the khans or on the high road, as they are presented to the habitual observer.
I left Beyrout on my return as soon as the city gates were open, which was before sunrise. The mulberry grounds and olive groves through which the road lies extend in this direction for four or five miles. Then the sandy soil ceases, the spurs of Mount Lebanon come down to within a few hundred yards of the seashore, and sometimes meet the waves. I was overtaken hereabout by three horsemen, all Christians—for Christians and Turks are seldom seen riding in company—and one of this goodly trio was, thus early in the morning, singing with all the force of his lungs. Osman Chaôosh, who was with me, said, “That man, who is so merry, is reputed to have the best voice in all Sayda; he goes very often into the Mountain to the different Emirs’ palaces, where he remains a fortnight together, and diverts them by his songs. They say the princes are so fond of him that he sometimes brings away bags full of money. Then he is invited to weddings, and to merchants’ and agas’ parties, and wherever gaiety or amusement of any kind is going forward.” By this time they had come up with us, and were questioning Osman, in a low voice, where I had been, &c. They then kissed their hands, touched their turbans, and, passing a-head, being well mounted on good mares, they soon outstripped us, and left us behind. Osman resumed the conversation—“Did you observe that rider, with a full face, on the chestnut mare, with a saddle covered with brocade? well, that is one of the best penmen we have in all the pashalik. He was a government secretary at Acre, and vast sums of money passed through his hands; but some stuck to his fingers, and, being found out, he was bastinadoed and sent by the Pasha to the Lemàn,” (place for convicts) “where he remained some months. He was not badly off, however, as he did nothing except smoking his pipe all day. He has now been out a good bit, but is employed again.”—“And is he well received in society after such an exposure?” I asked.—“Why not?” replied Osman; “he was not quite clever enough, and he suffered for it—that’s all.”
We soon after came to a khan, called El Khaldy, where we found the three horsemen dismounted, and seated under the shed, drinking arrack and smoking. I made a halt likewise to get something for breakfast. The khankeeper spread a clean mat on the floor of the estrade, and on this I sat down. A brown earthenware dish of leben, or curdled milk, was served up with a wooden spoon, and about half a dozen bread-cakes, in size and substance like pancakes, were placed before me. When I had eaten this, a pipe and a finjàn of coffee, with a lump of sugar out of a little provision which Osman had in his saddle-bags (a precaution necessary in these public-houses, where no such luxury is found), finished my temperate meal. The ex-convict and the singer were treated as great gentry, which I could easily observe by the attention the master paid them. Whilst I was smoking my pipe, another horseman arrived with a groom on foot. The groom tied up the horse in front of the khan, took off the saddle-bags, and, from a napkin, which he spread on the mat where his master had been littered down like myself, he pulled out bread, cheese, and a paper of halâwy or nougat, as the French call it. Then, having unstrapped the nosebag of corn, he tied it over the horse’s head, and came and seated himself opposite his master, and both began to eat with sharp appetites, master and servant without any distinction. The landlord brought a small bottle with a spout to it, full of arrack, and a tumbler, which were set down without a word being spoken, showing he was well acquainted with his guests’ taste. The gentleman—as persons always do in the East—invited me to join him; and, on my thanking him, he did the same to a poor peasant who was seated near us. Good breeding among them requires that, when they eat, they should ask those present to do the same; but nobody ever thinks of accepting the invitation, unless pressed upon him in a manner which is understood to preclude a refusal. I however accepted a bit of halâwy, not to appear uncivil, upon which the traveller asked me if we had any such sweetmeat in my country. I declared we had none more to my taste, although our confectioners’ shops possessed a great variety. He remarked that it was an excellent thing on the road wherewith to stay the appetite, and assured me that Haroun el Raschid himself, if I had ever heard of that caliph, did not disdain it. “Oh!” replied I, “we have many stories of the Caliph Haroun.”—“Have you?” cried he: “then, if you will give me leave, I will add one more to your store.[25]
“Hakem was one of the familiar friends of the Commander of the Faithful, Haroun el Raschid. The caliph said to him one day, ‘Hakem, I mean to hunt to-morrow, thou must go with me.’—‘Most willingly,’ answered Hakem. He went home and said to his wife, ‘The caliph has ordered me to go a hunting with him to-morrow, but really I cannot; I am accustomed to dine early, and the caliph never takes his dinner before noon: I shall die of hunger. Faith, I will not go.’—‘God forbid!’ said the wife: ‘you do not mean to say you will disobey the caliph’s order?’—‘But what am I to do?’ said Hakem; ‘must I die of hunger?’—‘No,’ quoth the wife; ‘you have nothing to do but to buy a paper of halâwy, which you can put in the folds of your turban, and so eat a bit every now and then whilst you are waiting for the caliph’s dinner time, and then you will dine with him.’—‘Upon my word,’ said Hakem, ‘that’s an excellent idea.’ The next day Hakem bought a paper of halâwy, stuck it into his turban, and went to join the caliph. As they were riding along, Haroun turned round, and looking at Hakem, spied out in the folds of his turban, rolled round his head, the paper in which the halâwy was wrapped. He called to his Vizir Giaffer. ‘What is your pleasure, Commander of the Faithful?’ said the Vizir.—‘Do you see,’ said the caliph, ‘the paper of halâwy that Hakem has stuck in his turban? By the Prophet, I’ll have some fun with him: he shall not eat a bit of it.’ They went on for a while talking, until the caliph, pretending that he saw some game, spurred on his mule as if to pursue it. Hakem raised his hand up to his turban, took a bit of halâwy out of it, and put it into his mouth. The same moment, the caliph, turning back to him, cried out, ‘Hakem!’ Hakem spit out the halâwy, and replied:—‘Please your Highness!’—‘The mule,’ said Haroun, ‘goes very badly; I can’t think what is the matter with her.’—‘I dare say the groom has fed her too much,’ replied Hakem submissively; ‘her guts are grumbling.’ They went on again, and the caliph again took the lead. Hakem thought the opportunity favourable, took out another bit of halâwy, and whipped it slily into his mouth, when Haroun suddenly turned round, crying ‘Hakem! Hakem!’—‘What is your Highness’s will?’ said Hakem, again dropping the halâwy. ‘I tell you,’ rejoined the caliph, ‘that this mule is a vile beast: I wonder what the devil it is that troubles her!’—‘Commander of the Faithful,’ said Hakem, ‘to-morrow the farrier shall look at her, and see what ails her. I dare say it is nothing.’ A few moments elapsed, and Hakem said to himself, ‘Am I a farrier, that that fool should bore me with his questions every moment? mule! mule! I wish to God the mule’s four feet were in the master’s belly!’
“Shortly after, the caliph pushed forward again. Hakem cautiously carried his hand to the halâwy, and made another trial; but, before he had time to put it into his mouth, the caliph rode up to him, crying out, ‘Hakem! Hakem! Hakem!’—‘Oh Lord,’ said Hakem, ‘what a wretched day for me! nothing but Hakem, Hakem! What folly is this!’—‘I think the farrier must have pricked the mule’s foot,’ said Haroun: ‘don’t you see that she is lame?’—‘My lord,’ said Hakem, ‘to-morrow we will take her shoe off; the farrier shall give her another shoe, and, please God, we shall cure her.’
“Just then a caravan came along the road on its way from Persia. One of the merchants approached the caliph, prostrated himself before him, and presented him with several objects of value, as also with a young slave of incomparable beauty and of a lovely figure, remarkable for the charms of her person, with taper waist and swelling hips, eyes like an antelope’s, and a mouth like Solomon’s seal. She had cost the merchant a hundred thousand denàrs. When Haroun saw her, he was charmed at her aspect, and became at once passionately enamoured of her. He immediately gave orders to turn back to Bagdad, and said to Hakem, ‘Take that young creature with you, and make haste with her to the city. Get down at the palace—go up to the Pavilion—put it in order—uncover the furniture, set out the table—fill the bottles—and look that nothing is wanting.’ Hakem hastened on, and executed his commission. The caliph soon after arrived, surrounded by his cortège of vizirs, emirs, and courtiers. He entered the Pavilion, and dismissed his suite. Going into the saloon, where the young slave awaited him, he said to Hakem, ‘Remain outside the door of the saloon; stir not a single step from it; and see that the Princess Zobëide does not surprise us.’—‘I understand,’ said Hakem. ‘A thousand times obedience to the orders of God and to the Commander of the Faithful.’
“The caliph sat down to table with the young slave: they ate, and then went into another room, where wines and dessert were prepared. Haroun had just taken a seat, had filled his glass, and had got it to his mouth, when there was a knock at the door. ‘As sure as fate,’ said the caliph, ‘here is the Princess Zobëide.’ He rose in a hurry, put away the wine and everything that was on the table, hid the young lady in a closet, and opened the door of the pavilion, where he finds Hakem. ‘Is the Princess Zobëide coming?’ said he to him. ‘No, my lord,’ said Hakem: ‘but I fancied you might be uneasy about your mule. I have questioned the groom, and, true enough, he had overfed her: the beast’s stomach was crammed. To-morrow we will have her bled, and all will be right again.’—‘Don’t trouble thyself about the mule,’ said the caliph; ‘I want none of thy impertinent stories now. Remain at thy post, and, if thou hearest the Princess Zobëide coming, let me know.’—‘Your highness shall be obeyed,’ replied Hakem.
“Haroun re-entered the apartment, fetched the beautiful slave out of the closet, and placed everything on the table as before. He had hardly done, when another knock was heard. ‘A curse on it! there is Zobëide,’ cries the caliph. He hides the slave in the closet, shuffles off the wine and dessert, and runs to the door. There he sees Hakem. ‘Well,’ says he, ‘what did you knock for?’—‘Indeed, Commander of the Faithful,’ replied Hakem, ‘I can’t help thinking about that mule. I have again interrogated the farrier, and he pretends there is nothing the matter with her, but that she has stood too long without work in the stable, and that’s the reason why she was a little lazy when you rode her to-day: otherwise she is very well?—‘To the devil with ye both—thee and the mule!’ said Haroun; ‘didn’t I tell thee I would have none of thy impertinence? Stand where I told thee to remain, and take care that Zobëide does not catch us; for, if she did, this day would be a bad one for thee.’—‘May my head answer for my vigilance,’ said Hakem.