“Oh!” said the mistress of the house, “it is that very curious grotto, the subterranean chamber, the walls of which are painted over with”—(I must suppress her expression, admissible in Italian, but hardly tolerable to English ears)—“they say that the inhabitants thereabouts used to worship these symbols; and even now the Ansaréas retain the same profane worship, which has continued down to them from the days when the inhabitants of these countries adored Astarte. Strange indeed are these aberrations of the human intellect! The name of the grotto is Megâara el bizàz.”
M. Conti resumed—“The prince is not like the English; he does not even inquire about antiquities: he only spoke to me of Bâalbec.”
Some fish, fresh from the net, were brought in for sale. The mistress, for her family, and I, for mine, each bought two fine ones at the rate of fourpence the oka (4lbs.). Just before, there came in a Turk, who sat down without being asked to do so, and as soon as there was a break in the conversation, addressed himself to M. Conti about some property in litigation in the cadi’s office. “That man,” said the mistress of the house in Italian, which, of course, the Turk did not understand, “is an imàm, and the cadi’s clerk: he is talking about justice. Do you know what he calls justice! it is this. When my husband has any suit, which he and the cadi have to decide, and he comes to talk it over, I take an opportunity, and hold up one or more fingers, as the importance of the affair may require. He has a pretty quick eye, and he understands the number of fingers to mean so many khyreeas” (gold pieces of money) “as a present for himself and master if the business should be settled in our favour. If he has not been bribed higher, before the end of the week you may be sure how the case will go.”
The imàm addressed himself to me, and said that the Syt (her ladyship) had always been accustomed to give forty piasters a year to his mosque for charity, and, he did not know why, for the last two years, her donation had been discontinued. “I tell Logmagi of it,” added he, “but he always puts me off by saying he has forgotten to mention it: and now, when I meet him in the street, he thinks, I suppose, that I am going to bother him about it, and looks another way. ‘Ya, Logmagi,’ I cry; ‘ya Hassan el Logmagi!—ya Hassan Captàn—ya Abu Mohammed;’ and, although I use the politest appellations, they are of no avail: he turns his head away, and pretends not to hear me. This is very hard, for it used to be a few piasters in my pocket: and the cadi is going to dismiss me from my place, which is a certain two piasters a day (fivepence), besides other little perquisites, in order to give it to his son, who is now grown a young man.”
“Yes, poor fellow!” interrupted Madame C.; “he picks up a few piasters by saying prayers over the graves for the dead, by writing petitions, letters, and so on:” then, turning to the imàm, she added, “Allah kerým! I dare say the doctor will speak a word for you.”
“In shállah—please God—he will,” ejaculated the man. “Good, my lady! May the Almighty restore her to health: she is the benefactress of the poor; and, when we heard she was so ill, half Sayda was in tears. God prolong her life!”
“Amen!” echoed the whole party. And the imàm, who, hearing I was in M. Conti’s house, had, no doubt, come for no other purpose than to try his luck, took his leave.
The imàm spoke the truth. Several poor families lived on Lady Hester’s bounty, and she subscribed to nearly all the mosques and charitable institutions. The old and infirm frequently received little comforts at her hands which their own means would not enable them to procure; and it created no little surprise that, without any previous inquiry, she always seemed to know the precise nature of their wants. Her presents, too, were enhanced in value by being bestowed at the right moment: nobody had to wait for her benevolence.
Madame Conti, the lively and loquacious lady of the khan, had been a severe sufferer by the earthquake of 1837. During that fearful convulsion, one of her ancles was crushed by the fall of a massive stone. One Abdhu, the son of a mason, and himself uniting the double occupations of mason and bone-setter, was immediately called in. The ancle was so mutilated that a European surgeon would have instantly proceeded to amputation; but Abdhu bound up the lacerated parts as well as he could with bandages, and, placing the patient in a damp vaulted warehouse on the ground-floor—the only room which the earthquake had not destroyed—confidently predicted her ultimate recovery. Prince Joinville, happening to be at Beyrout at the time in his frigate, very humanely sent his surgeon to Sayda to see what assistance he could render to the sufferers: the consul’s lady was, of course, the first person attended to. The surgeon pronounced his deliberate conviction that, if the leg were not amputated, the patient must sink under it: Dr. Canova, the Pasha’s physician, who was present, entertained the same opinion. Poor Abdhu lay crouched in a corner during the consultation; for his European brethren looked upon him with too much contempt even to recognize his presence in the room: but, when they were gone, Madame Conti again appealed to him, and he again reassured her. “Do not be alarmed,” he exclaimed; “my father and I have cured many worse cases than this.” She followed his advice, the European doctors making no scruple in saying that she must pay with her life the penalty of her obstinacy. The result proved that she was right, nevertheless; for, at this time, March, 1838, she was in perfect health, with the prospect of being able to walk without the help of crutches, and in June following she became a mother. The case is a curious one, and shows what nature can do in some instances; but it is quite certain that, under such circumstances, amputation would be considered in Europe the only means of saving the patient’s life.
On surgery in the East, which, it must always be recollected, is in the hands of barbers, one more anecdote may find a place. Hassan Tirâany, a brave Albanian soldier, and one of those who, after the siege of Acre, found refuge in Lady Hester’s house, once had his leg shattered by a cannon-ball. A considerable portion of the tibia was carried away. A Turkish barber replaced the piece that was wanting by another piece, of as nearly similar length and dimensions as he could, from a dog that was killed immediately for the purpose. Union took place, the leg healed; and, with the exception of a little deformity, the man was as active as ever. This story Lady Hester used to relate with great exultation. “There!” she would say; “tell Mr. Green that, and acquaint him with a discovery so useful to humanity.” But it is right to observe that the man was not a person of strict veracity; and that a little farther doubt is thrown on the anecdote by the fact that all Mussulmans consider dogs as unclean animals, so that they will hardly touch them, and are, therefore, very unlikely to consent to an osseous union with them.