Story-telling is a most natural blossom upon the Oriental life tree. Silent, tropical, motionless days breed no restlessness of the life intellectual, no ravening after to-day’s knowledge and its fleeting fame, no feverish haste after anything. The past fades and the future becomes dim. It is a Land of the Present Moment. In the estimation of its people, the present moment, only, is to be compared with Paradise. As consequence, the dreaming of dreams or the relation of marvelous tales, concerning adventures and intrigues of imaginary characters, serves to satisfy the indolent and luxurious character. Disinclination [[11]]to travel has found expression in “Better be a dog at home than a lion afloat.” And universal custom exemplifies the belief that it is better also to recline at ease, with coffee and nargileh; enfolded in such peace that any relation of turbulence and romance is rendered thrilling by mere force of contrast—far better is all this than to fare forth one’s self. One does not marvel that natures pent in such inactive bodies should require, to their better satisfaction with the stories told them, blood-curdling elements, violence, with strange interventions and achievements of the supernatural. By this means is poise maintained and the slothful soul drugged into dreaminess.
Action and progress are discouraged in the Orient. Until the authorities grant permission, a man may not rebuild his house after the flames have destroyed it; nor may he celebrate the marriage of a child. Only during the feast month of Ramazan is any woman permitted outside of her walls after sunset; and a man, without his lighted lantern, is in danger of trouble with the police. Indeed, the dwellers not only are expected, but themselves expect, to retire at sunset into their separate home worlds, without whose walls the strait-laced effendi likes not to have his women seen at any time. Yet, even when within the home, cards seldom are resorted [[12]]to; and games of chance everywhere are forbidden the good Moslem.
Then how should this be other than a land for reverie? Certain hours of every day are witness to the sun’s terrible triumph. Its atmosphere becomes of intolerable sultriness. Its climate renders the people indolent in action, while permitting their intellects to remain keen and their passions lively. They have, moreover, quick sense of the ludicrous; a childish, untutored taste for practical jokes; a refinement of cunning, and, often seemingly asleep, in reality they never lose their sagacity. Only when in dispute are their voices and actions unsubdued. As a rule, they are not good in conversation; any point is made clear by the relation of some parallel tale; and always the men are ready to loiter and to loaf.
Although the dairy life of the women is enriched with the arts of cookery and exquisite needlework, it must become monotonous. They are passionately fond of the open air; but their fullest enjoyment of it consists in reclining upon rug and cushion, beneath some fragrant shade, while their slow, indolent eyes traverse the beauty of garden, sea, or sky, and the ear is soothed with some story which, at the same time, stirs the sense, gives wing to imagination, and satisfies the inaction of their present by calling up [[13]]visions of far-away activities, perhaps aided by the unseen and unknown.
One, for whom character needs not to consist in eternal effort, must find great charm in these people, with their childish love for the passing hour and readiness to give or accept friendliness. Often the youths are of ideal beauty. Usually the men are well built, healthful, abstemious. Always the women are splendidly robust and handsome. Nearly everyone is unmalicious, gentle in temper, leisurely—nay, more—loitering. Nobody is in a hurry. He who hastes is viewed with suspicion. Even punctuality in the payment of dues is decried; and no shopkeeper, worthy of a booth in the bazaar, will permit a customer to depart until after bewildering his sight with the most gorgeous properties upon the shelves. Should an unwary shopper ask the price of any article or permit his eye to linger upon it, coffee is at once served and the business call becomes a visit of ceremony.
With touching faith in his kismet—decreed fate—the peasant endures whatever of ill his days may bring. He receives every stranger with perfect faith; trusting that he may be the messenger of some long-delayed good. The thought of seeking an occupation rarely occurs to him—however needy he may be. With only a few piasters in his pouch for [[14]]present needs, he becomes wealthy; for, may he not dream of hidden treasure which, when found, will supply splendors ineffable? Beside, were he to make strenuous effort in the hope of bettering his estate, he might thwart some beautiful on-coming providence. In this land where gentle consideration reigns, children treat their mothers with a royal deference, which but increases with every added year of their own lives.
The Osmanlis will have nothing to do with hereditary rank. The misfortunes and sins which constitute the unanswerable Eastern Question, arise from the fact that their Prophet failed to provide a law by which his successors might be determined. Members of the reigning family marry the simplest family; and the genealogical records are forgotten. Sentiment is opposed to class lines between ruler and people; hence, in their stories, the young prince is free to marry any maiden, be she ever so lowly.
However somber this life, the pious Moslem finds content in letting his mind dwell upon the bliss of that life beyond. He is profoundly submissive in the presence of death; accepts its coming with unquestioning resignation, since his Edjel—appointed death hour—and that of his beloved ones, was decreed by Allah and invisibly inscribed upon the [[15]]brow at birth. Dying means that one is bidden, by “the Cupbearer of the Spheres,” to partake of the joys of Paradise. Why, then, should one regret the summons?
Devotion is natural to him. Five times each day does the dweller in village or city obey a call to prayer—even though the muezzin who cries may be far from holy and his intrigues furnish the point for many a tale. According to Lady Blunt, “nothing gives so much distinction, in this land, as regular attendance at prayers.” The name of Allah enters into every bargain, greeting, or conflict. To the really faithful, every living creature has some spiritual significance. The killing of a dog may cost a man many bushels of grain—perchance, his life. The stork and swallow are sacred. Even the unclean vulture must not be slain. His body is the abode of some sinful soul; and, if the bird be killed, the poor soul forever must perish.
The Land of Midian is a mysterious, dreary land of gloomy cliffs and broad deserts; of shadowless plains, narrow valleys, and monotonous wilderness regions. Its mirage allures to death; and the clear atmosphere suddenly may become dark with the burning heat of the simoon. Through its desert God’s Chosen People are believed to have wandered during their forty years of punishment and [[16]]preparation. Fiery serpents and scorpions made their passage hideous; and the undisciplined wanderers were “much discouraged because of the way.”