“Again the caliph goes in, and a third time lets out the young slave, replenishes the table, fills a goblet with wine, and carries it to his lips. Suddenly he hears a clatter on the terrace: ‘This time,’ said he, ‘there is Zobëide, sure enough.’ He pushes the slave into her hiding-place, removes the fruit and the wine, and burns some pastils to drive away the smell. He hastens up to the terrace of the pavilion, finds nobody but Hakem there, and says to him ‘Was that Zobëide?—where is she?—is she coming?’—‘No, no, Commander of the Faithful,’ said Hakem; ‘the princess is not here; but I saw the mule making a clatter with her feet, just as I did myself, and I am really quite uncomfortable about her; I was afraid she had the colic, and I feel quite alarmed.’—‘I wish to God thou may’st have the colic all thy life, cursed fool that thou art! Out with thee, and let me never see thy face again! If thou ever presumest to come into my presence again, I will have thee hanged.’ Hakem went home and told his wife that the caliph had dismissed him, and had forbidden him ever to show his face at court again. He remained some time in his house, until he thought that the caliph’s anger had subsided. He then said to his wife, ‘Go to the palace, kiss Zobëide’s hand; tell her that the caliph is angry with me, and beg her to intercede with him for me.’ The wife fulfilled his commission. The Princess Zobëide interceded for Hakem, and the caliph pardoned him.”
My narrator, after receiving my thanks for his entertaining story, took his leave, mounted his horse, and rode off. The conversation now became general, and turned on the river Damôor, which empties itself into the sea midway between Beyrout and Sayda, and often swells, from the rains and the melting of the snows in the mountain, so as to become exceedingly dangerous to ford, as there is no bridge over it. “What a fool the Jew was,” cried one, “to lose his life for a few piasters! The guides offered to take him across for a khyréah—four of them, two at the head and two at the flanks of his mule; but he must needs haggle, and would give no more than ten piasters; and, seeing one of the Pasha’s estafettes get across safe, he fancied he could do the same: but they know the ford as well as the guides; for they traverse it daily. So the Jew was carried off, and neither he nor his mule were ever seen afterwards.”—“It was just the same,” said a second speaker, “with the peasant from Medjdeloony who was going to buy wheat at Beyrout: for you know, gentlemen, a Greek vessel had arrived from Tarsûs with very good corn, at four and a half piasters the roop. Well, he too was rash enough to suppose he could get across alone, and they only asked him five piasters—only a fourth of what they wanted of the Jew. But the waters were up to his armpits; and, his foot slipping just in the deepest part, he fell, and, after a few struggles, was carried out to sea. All the peasants of the village, which, you know, is close by where the English queen lives, came down to watch if the body was cast ashore: for they say he had above a thousand piasters in his girdle from different poor families who had commissioned him to buy for them: and the poor creatures were naturally anxious to recover it.”
Having smoked my pipe, I mounted my ass, crossed the Damôor in safety, and halted again at Nebby Yuness, a santon’s, where there are two comfortable rooms for travellers, attached to the shrine. Here I smoked another pipe, heard a long string of compliments and grateful expressions from the imàm (who lived there to show the shrine to pilgrims), in return for the donations which Lady Hester sent occasionally to the shrine, and which he pocketed. I remounted, struck off at Rumelly from the high road into the mountain by a cross country path, and at about five o’clock reached Jôon.
Khaldy, of which mention was made above, is a spot which has been too much neglected by travellers; and it would be well if some one, who had leisure and ability for such researches, would pass a day or two there, to make an accurate examination, and to take drawings of the numberless sarcophagi which lie about on the ground, or are hewn in the solid rock. Many of them have bas-reliefs on them; and, as such a mass of tombs must necessarily imply the former vicinity of some ancient city, diligent research might lead to the discovery of historical antiquities in the neighbourhood.
There is a day in the year, in the month of June or July, I now forget which, when hundreds of Christians resort to this spot from Beyrout, Sayda, and the villages of Mount Lebanon, for the celebration of a saint’s festival; and a part of the holiday consists in washing themselves in the sea. The craniologist might have a fine field for study in beholding a hundred bare heads at the same time around him. I happened once to ride through Khaldy on that very saint’s day, and never was I so struck with anything as with the sight of countless shaved heads, almost all having a conical shape, quite unlike European heads. But, besides this, a stranger would see much merry-making, dancing, drinking, and many mountain female dresses united here, which he would have to seek for through twenty districts at any other time. Monsieur Las Cases has a painting of this spot, which may, or might once, be seen at the Gobelins manufactory at Paris, of which establishment he was director some years ago, or else in Monsieur Denon’s collection. It is one of those exaggerated fancy paintings which artists are never pardonable for making, when they are intended to be shown as faithful copies; because, like certain historical novels, they lend a false colouring to facts and realities. There are other untruths besides those which are spoken or written; and these undoubtedly may be classed amongst the most reprehensible. I often regretted that my numerous occupations prevented me from wandering over this interesting field of inquiry.
Sunday, May 20.—I gave Lady Hester an account of the tragical end of poor Mrs. K., which induced her to write a letter of consolation to the afflicted widower, of whom, though she had never seen him, she was a sincere well-wisher. This is a copy of it:—
To Mr. K., merchant at Beyrout.
Jôon, May 20, 1838.
Sir,
Nearly a year ago I had commissioned Mohadýn—Mr. Lancaster’s idle and talkative ci-devant young servant—to felicitate you upon your marriage: but now the task of administering consolation for the late sad event devolves upon me. Mrs. K.’s conduct, from the first, had made a strong impression upon my mind. Young and handsome, as she was, to have left her country to follow you, argued her to be of no common mould. Avoiding to be detrimental to your interests, and giving up the empty homage, which vanity would have demanded with most women, that you should have left your affairs to accompany her—above considering what scandal might set afloat in the world—she followed the dictates of her own heart, and relied upon your honour: a circumstance, which, in the annals of your life, ought not to be forgotten.