The rich have influence enough to evade the law which obliges lepers to be kept apart from their fellow-citizens. Mansûr, son of Syt Habûs, a Drûze princess, was generally said to be afflicted with leprosy, which the peasants of Mount Lebanon call aat, or da-el-kebýr (the great malady). His friends were very shy in saying what was the matter with him, lest the Turkish authorities should compel him to quit his house for the infirmary.
As it was Ramazán at this time, the whole city was illuminated every night, and the tops of the minarets were encircled with a row of lamps. Although, on these occasions, a Turkish city is less brilliant than the common lighting of a London street, still as, at other parts of the year, the streets are not lighted at all in the evening, these feeble illuminations during Ramazán have an enlivening effect. I went several times to the coffee-houses and shows, which form the amusement of the people during this festival. I saw a rope-dancer who was tolerably clever; but his loose trowsers (tight breeches being considered unseemly) somewhat obstructed his movements.
A coffeehouse in Turkey means no more than a bench, from three to four feet deep, running along the front of a room open to the street, and shaded by a shed or sometimes by an orange-tree or a vine, upon which bench is spread a clean mat. There the guests squat crosslegged, or seat themselves on wooden or rush-bottomed stools. Small hookas, called narkýlys, are smoked, or else the long pipe; and coffee is served out in small cups, holding about two tablespoonfuls of liquid, at the price then of one para each cup. Nothing else is sold at these places, and the thirsty person trusts to the casual passing by of a sherbet-seller, or drinks the pure element out of an earthen jug that stands ready for those who call for water. There is one coffeehouse in Damascus where there is a fountain which throws up water enough to dance a round melon on the top of the jet for a long time without its falling.
It is during the evenings of Ramazán that the reciters of the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, of the story of Antar, and of other amusing tales, are to be heard. The story-teller walks backward and forward, narrating with suitable gesticulation, and in a loud voice. Sometimes he is listened to, sometimes not, according to the fancy of the hearers or the interest which the tale excites. Some of these men are very clever, and will move the passions as strongly as our best actors; which will not appear strange when it is known that, in the eloquence of common conversation, the Arabs, both of towns and of the Desert, are inferior to no people in the world.
The karacûz or Ombres Chinoises is one of the favourite shows of this people. A subject often treated by them was—the sickness of a lady; her wish to have a Frank doctor; the blunders of the Frank doctor in broken Arabic, when questioning the lady respecting the seat and nature of her malady; the jealousy of the husband; the belabouring the doctor; the quarrel of the husband and wife; &c., &c.
There are performers on violins with seven strings. Some of these from time to time accompanied their instruments with the voice, and sung plaintive airs that seemed to affect their audience even to tears.
The Ottomans in general appeared to me to be very fond of sweetmeats, and indulged their children with them as much or more than fond mothers do in England. In Ramazán, the shops which sold them were much in request. There were several kinds unknown, or at least not known to me. One sort, of which I was particularly fond, was haláwy jozy, or blanched walnuts embedded in a composition of dibs and almond meal. Damascus is famous for its preserved apricots, which are sent to all parts of the Turkish empire.
The bazars of Damascus are rows of shops covered in: they are as well furnished almost as those of Constantinople, but are particularly rich in the stuffs which are manufactured in the place. I regret that I did not note down the names and texture of these brocades, and of the silks and satins, as also of the cottons. Of the taste displayed in the colours of these latter, some idea may be formed when it is known that all the prevailing patterns for gowns among us during the last eight or ten years have been copied from them.
In the mean time, almost the whole of each day was taken up by the importunate applications of the sick, many of whom, affected with incurable diseases, would not believe that there were cases in which all art is vain. I was requested to give to the consumptive a fresh pair of lungs, to make the paralytic walk, to restore sight to the blind, and to do many other things equally easy of accomplishment. Abd el Rahmán, the proprietor of the house in which we lived, was very instrumental in carving me out work of this sort: and when I reproached him for it, he said—“What will you have me do? I cannot define to them the exact limits of your abilities; and, although I am sure you do not perform miracles, nay, although I may suppose, as you say, that you come to seek knowledge, not to pretend to impart it, still I know that the ardent imaginations of my fellow-countrymen will always make an Hippocrates of a Frank doctor, and that the sight of you will do them good, even though your medicines should not.”
Abd el Rahmán, one morning, introduced to me two black eunuchs, by the names of Mukhtar Aga and Ambár Aga, informing me that they held places of trust in the administration of the female department of the family of Ahmed Bey, son of Abdullah Pasha, ex-pasha of Damascus. I was already so far accustomed to the dignities and the titles of the country as to understand the enumeration of these to mean—I present you the deputies of a great man. I had also heard frequent mention made of the ancient house of Adam, the family name of Ahmed Bey, and that it was considered one of the oldest and richest in Syria.