Domestic Life in Palestine/Chapter 13
CHAPTER XIII.
FROM JERUSALEM TO HÂIFA.
On Friday, July 25th, all was in readiness for our return to Hâifa by way of Yâfa. Khawadja Ody Azam, of Nablûs, had arranged to accompany us, and we started about one hour before sunset.
We hastened along the valleys and over the hills, now quite familiar to me, and reached Kyriat el Enab-commonly called Abu Ghôsh — at nine o'clock. Close to the village there is a large, smooth, circular platform of earth, slightly raised and surrounded by large stones and shrubs. A gigantic mulberry-tree stands in the center. Under its shade the chief men of the village assemble nearly every day. It is their council-chamber, their exchange, their lounging-place, and their play-ground. They smoke, they sleep, they play at draughts and other games, and transact all kinds of business there. This spot is the favorite camping-ground of travelers, and here we alighted. My brother led me over the stones on to the platform. Two or three lanterns were hanging from the tree-branches, and shone upon a little party of Moslems, who were seated in a circle just beneath. They rose on seeing us, and greeted us gravely. A large reed-mat, rolled up and leaning against the tree-trunk, was immediately put down for us.
Our arrival was made known to Hajj Mustafa Abu Ghôsh, the Governor. He sent us his greetings, with some melons, grapes, coffee, and a couple of wax candles. The latter, for want of candlesticks, we stuck in the ground. A white cloth spread over the mat served as our supper-table. The Moslems watched us in perfect silence while we chatted over our cold roast chickens. The stars shone splendidly, and a very slight breeze stirred the leaves of the tree above us. In the mean time, our tents had been pitched. The Moslems went up to the village, and we retired to rest.
At five o'clock on the following morning we started again. We lunched in a fruit-garden at Kubab, where prickly-pears were fine and abundant, and reached Ramleh at eleven o'clock. We rested during the heat of the day at the house which we had visited in August. A new drawing-room, or divan, had been built, and the white walls were bordered with blue arabesque designs, and hung with curious pictures, specimens of caligraphic art. Long histories were written in ornamental Arabic characters, arranged so as to represent animals, real and imaginary. There was a lion very carefully done. At a little distance it looked only like an ordinary quaint pen-and-ink drawing, though in reality every line consisted of part of a word. The Arabs very much admire these tedious, unartistic, and time-taking productions. Almost the only modern Arabic poetry which is published partakes of the same spirit of ingenious trifling; for the chief aim seems to be, to compose verses in which certain names and phrases are introduced intricately, in an acrostic form, with elaborate care, but without any true poetic feeling.
The real poetry of the country is unwritten. It is the every-day language of the people. They are all—more especially the Bedouins and the peasants—unconscious poets.
Their natural artistic feeling, and their sense of beauty and fitness, are shown in their costumes, which are always harmonious in color, and never embroidered except with pure and graceful designs. They show their skill and taste in the simple and appropriate forms of their home-made lamps, jars, dishes, stoves, and other articles of domestic use, which they model in clay and expose to the sun till they are thoroughly baked.
The windows of the new room commanded a fine view, the central object being the tall, Saracenic tower, for which Ramleh is renowned. It was built early in the 14th century. There are fruit-gardens on each side of it, and the white domes of the houses appear between the green trees. In an open space in front a troop of tired camels were kneeling, and their drivers were sleeping in the shade of the rough stone garden-walls and hedges of cactus. The olive-groves and palm-trees of Ramleh, and the wide undulating plain of Judea could be seen beyond, and the picture was bounded by a range of blue and gray hills, which the sunny haze caused to appear more distant than they were in reality. I sketched this scene, while my good-natured hostess watched my pencil. She said, "Peace be upon your hands, O my daughter!" We mounted again at about five, rode quickly over the sandy plain, and at about an hour after sunset we reached the Yâfa Gardens, where the air was balmy, warm, and fragrant, and reminded us of the atmosphere of a well-kept English conservatory. We went straight to the Latin Convent by the seaside, and found that the suite of rooms belonging to the Patriarch of Jerusalem had been prepared for us, by his orders. A Spanish monk spent the evening with us, on the starlit terrace, looking over the Mediterranean.
The next morning, Sunday, we breakfasted with Dr. Kayat, the English Consul, and then accompanied him to the Mission House, where service was conducted by Mr. Krusé. I spent the remainder of the day there with his family. Mrs. Krusé had established a day-school for Arab girls. She told me that she found it difficult and rather discouraging work, not on account of deficiency of capacity in the children, but because the ideas which they imbibed unconsciously, and therefore perhaps the more deeply, in their homes, constantly counteracted the influence of the lessons which they learned at school. We sat for a long time in the cool of the evening among the flowers on the terrace, and watched the sun as it went down.
The next day my brother was busy at the Consulate. He settled by arbitration a rather serious and long-standing dispute between an English naturalized subject and an English protégé. The Arabs praised his judgment and tact loudly, and said, "He has done well and wisely. He has saved the lamb without leaving the wolf to suffer hunger." The disputants declared themselves content and reconciled.
At four o 'clock we started to go by land up the coast to Hâifa. A large number of our friends walked with us as far as the town-gate, and then took leave of us, saying, "Go in peace," and "God direct you." The broad sandy road outside was, for the distance of a quarter of a mile, lined with people, sitting on very low stools, or half-reclining on mats. I do not know any place where there are so many well-dressed turbaned and tarbûshed loungers to be seen smoking, musing, gossiping, and playing with their rosaries, as outside the gate of the town of Yâfa just before sunset. In the same place a market is held in the early morning, and then there is a crowd as large, but much more motley, noisy, and busy.
We soon made our way to the shell-strewn shore. The sea was rolling toward us on our left hand, the white-crested waves washed over the half-buried skeletons of the many ships and boats which had been wrecked there, and threw under our horses' feet masses of sea-weed and large fragments of sponge. Little birds were running swiftly along the sands, and gulls were flapping their broad white wings above our heads. The cliffs on our right were very low, and here and there covered with thistles and shrubs. Sometimes we could see the inland country, the Plain of Sharon, bounded by the far-away hills of Judea. The sea margin is broad, and composed almost entirely of broken shells.
We were approaching a river called "Nahr el Aujêh." We saw some peasants who were ahead of us preparing to cross. They took off their clothes. One of the men made a tight bundle of his scanty clothing, and threw it with a bound safe on to the opposite bank. The others, less venturesome, tied their wardrobeson the backs of their laden mules. Then they plunged into the stream, and, leading their reluctant mules carefully, they walked through the water, which was as high as their waists. They were all safe over and hastily dressing themselves, by the time we reached the river-side. We found the stream very rapid, and even in the best fording-place it was at least three feet deep. My horse was rather tall for an Arab, and he carried me over so well that I did not get very wet, though in leaping and scrambling out of the stream on to the bank we were all well sprinkled. The sunset was cloudless, the sky was shaded in imperceptible gradations, from a deep red, which merged into orange tints of every shade; the palest was lost in a broad belt of delicate green, and this blended with the blue above us.
A multitude of crabs were running from their sand-holes toward the sea, and oyster-catchers were busily seeking an evening meal. The cliffs on our right hand were now considerably higher and steeper. They were formed of a conglomerate of shells and sand. In some places the beach was very narrow and rocky. The twilight deepened rapidly, and a thick mist rose from the ground, so that we could only see the upper parts of the figures moving before us. We met a long string of camels, swinging themselves lazily along, and a group of Bedouins followed them. They looked very strange and shadowy, partly concealed and partly magnified as they were by the mist. Our kawass, moving steadily before us, appeared to be gliding along without feet. We rode on quickly to El Haram, which we reached by making our way through a curious winding fissure in the cliffs. It is an ancient water-course, which now serves for a road. A low rough wall of rock stands in the center, and divides it into two natural causeways.
The groom alighted and led the way, groping along the winding road with a large lantern in his hand. As soon as we reached the top of the high cliffs we were out of the mist, and could see the silhouette of "El Haram Aly ebn
Aleim"—"the Sanctuary of Aly, the son of Aleim." This place consists of a few well-built stone houses, clustering round an ancient mosque. It is a very favorite retreat of Derwishes and Moslem saints. We were conducted through several court-yards and passages, then up a steep uncovered stone staircase, on to a wide terrace, where a party of Moslems were sitting round a little mountain of rice, and eating it quickly and silently by star and lantern light.
The sheikh of the village welcomed us, and invited us to enter the spacious and lofty guest-chamber, which opened on to the terrace. Little red earthenware lamps of antique form were lighted and placed in niches round the room, and then we could see that the roof was dome-shaped, the ceiling fluted, and the walls plastered and ornamented. But the whole surface was blackened with smoke from the wood-fires, which are always kept burning in the center of the floor in Winter-time.
There was nothing in this room except a few old reed mats, which were spread all round near the walls. We had some of our tent furniture brought in, and after taking supper, making notes, and chatting with the sheikh over our coffee and narghilés, we walked for a short time on the starlit terrace, where our fellow-travelers and servants, rolled up in their cloaks and wadded quilts, were already in deep sleep. We rested for a few hours in the great guest-chamber, and when the muezzin sang from the little minaret close by, saying, "Awake, sleepers, it is better to pray than to sleep," we answered to the call, and then went on to the terrace.
The day was just beginning to dawn. It was three o'clock, and the loud shrill voice echoing from the courtyard below, reminded us that it was the first hour of "cock-crowing."[1] The moon had not long risen. She was in her last quarter, but looked very clear and bright.
After breakfasting, we mounted at four o'clock, and continued our journey northward along the coast, but at a little distance from the sea, which was quite concealed from us by a ridge of drifted sand-hills. We traversed a wild, undulating, sandy plain, uncultivated, uninhabited, treeless, unwatered, and quite unmarked by roads. There were patches of poa bulbosa, marram-grass, sea-holly, and thistles of many kinds, with pink, blue, and yellow blossoms. Our guide had to look very carefully about him so as to keep in the right direction, for there was no sign of a beaten track any where; but occasionally we were reminded that we were not the first travelers on that road, by the skeletons and bleached bones of camels and horses which we saw half-buried in the sand.
The sun, though not yet in sight, brightened all the Eastern sky, and showed the dark outlines of the distant hills. We watched for his coming. Presently half of the red globe appeared, and by degrees we saw the whole, just resting as it were upon the horizon. After a moment's pause he seemed to leap up into the sky. At the same instant, we with one accord pronounced the name of "Edwin Arnold," quoting his sweet song of the "Marriage of the Rhine and the Moselle," and we repeated the well-remembered words with new pleasure as we rode along. The sky was intensely blue, and the moon still shone high above us.
After sunrise, we met many droves of camels laden with melons. It was the time of the melon harvest. Every step we advanced, we found the land firmer and richer. The long fibrous roots of the marram-grass had bound the sands together, and made a bed for shrubs of many kinds, but all were thorny and prickly. A few evergreen oaks and thorny bushes enlivened the desert-like scene. We drew near to a narrow winding river. Its course was marked by tall, flowering reeds, which, in the distance, looked like miniature palm-trees, and it was bordered by thickets of oleanders, lupins, and St. John's-wort, all in full flower. We crossed this stream, which is called the "Nahr el Fulik," and noticed on our left hand extensive ruins of an ancient city and fortress, which appeared to us to be Roman. We made our way through a wild shrubbery, formed chiefly of ilex, arbutus, hawthorns, and rue. Now and then from the rising ground we had a wide view of the sea, which was as yet only partially illuminated by the sun. Lines of light traversed its smooth surface, gleaming through the openings and breaks in the cliffs.
We had reached the melon-growing district, and a lively picture of Arab life was before us. Up to the very edge of the cliffs, all along the coast as far as we could see, there were beds of various kinds of melons; and groups of dusky peasants, in white shirts and white turbans, were busily engaged gathering them, counting them, and building them up in pyramids. Hundreds of camels were there too, some walking away well laden, others kneeling down patiently, while their panniers were being filled with the bulky fruit. We passed several mud-built villages. White tents were pitched in the midst of the gardens—I was told that they were the tents of the tax-gatherers, who had come to claim the tribute on the melon harvest.
We alighted in the midst of these scenes, near to the flourishing village of Um Khalîd. It was half-past seven. We rested for a little while under a large solitary tree. Looking westward, we could see a broad strip of the now sunlit Mediterranean beyond the melon-gardens, which are by no means picturesque. The large rough melon-leaves lie flat on the level ground, which looks as if it were strewed with great green and yellow marbles, fit for giants to play with. There were no hedges or trees to break the monotony of the view, but the busy laborers gave life to it. The plots of ground are divided by furrowed lines, where thorns and thistles flourished. I sketched the scene for the sake of its singularity and simplicity. We wished to buy a few melons, but the overseer of the laborers told us that we might take as many as we liked, but he could not sell them except by hundreds. After a refreshing rest, we remounted and rode through miles and miles of melon-ground. Wherever the land in this district was left uncultivated or fallow, the wild colocynth had sprung up plentifully. This fruit on an average was three inches in diameter, and firm and hard as a stone, with a smooth, green, white-and-yellow rind, marked like fine marble. We filled our saddle-bags with it, for it is only regarded by the Arabs as a weed. Squills, too, grow profusely, but are plowed up and destroyed.
We went down to the seaside, and found a pleasant strip of shade under the low cliffs, where there were mountains of melons waiting to be carried away in Arab boats, and the camels were coming and going quickly along the winding road from the cliff to the shore.
We watered our horses at a stream called Abu Zabura. It had not sufficient force to reach the sea, but formed a shallow lake not far from it.
We soon afterward caught sight of the picturesque ruins of Cæsarea, and alighted there at half-past ten, and rested in the shade of a large stone gateway. The horses were all unsaddled, and we made arrangements to remain there during the heat of the day. In a short time nearly all of our party were fast asleep. I tried to follow the example, but in vain; so I climbed up the cliff and looked about.
Not a human being was visible. Thorns and thistles grew among fallen columns and huge masses of masonry. The site of an ancient Christian church is marked by four massive buttresses, which stand erect and firm, though the walls they were intended to support fell long ago. The most important relic of ancient Cæsarea is the mole, which stands far out at sea, beaten by the waves, and fringed with surf. The large beveled stones and granite columns have fallen into strange and complicated disorder; but they seem to cling together, and to support each other in their desolation. I came down on to the sands again, and made a careful drawing of this remarkable ruin, stone by stone, while I sat exactly opposite to it, in the shelter of a short tunnel, which pierces the cliff in a sloping direction toward the sea. I supposed it to be part of an ancient sewer. I gathered some tall sea-poppies, with pale-yellow blossoms, which grew close to it, and picked up a few imperfect shells.
After taking some refreshments we mounted at half-past three, and continued our way along the sands. We could see in the broken cliffs the sections of the foundation of the outer walls of Cæsarea; three walls originally surrounded the city, each one at a considerable distance from the other. The beach was strewed with blocks of marble. Mounds of masonry resting on rocks, and festooned with sea-weed, stood there firmly, though continually washed by the waves.
We rode on quickly till we came to "Nhar Zurka"—"the River of Crocodiles." I have been told by many people that small crocodiles are found here even now. Tradition says that on the shores of this river there was once a colony of Egyptians. The colonists procured some young crocodiles from their beloved Nile, and succeeded in thoroughly establishing them here.
There is a fable, often told by the Arabs to this day, which gives another version of the history of the introduction of crocodiles into this river:
"Once upon a time, an old man and his two sons dwelt upon the banks of the river, and fed their flocks in the green pastures of the plain.
"And the old man died, leaving to his two sons his hidden treasure, and his flocks and herds.
"Now the younger son was industrious and prudent, and his wealth increased greatly.
"The elder one was idle and profligate, and he became poor. In his poverty he looked with jealous anger on the rich flocks and herds of his brother, and considered in his heart how he might destroy them. He journeyed to Egypt, and thence brought young crocodiles and placed them in the river. His hope was, that his brother's flocks would be devoured on going to drink, or while feeding on the banks. "Now, a short time afterward, the young man went down to the river to wash himself, without taking thought of the danger which he in his wickedness had spread there.
"The crocodiles swiftly approached him, and seized upon him and destroyed him.
"Such was the will of God, and thus the wicked fall into the nets which they spread for their neighbors."
On the south side of the river stands an isolated stone building, now in ruins. We supposed it to have been an outpost of Cæsarea, and perhaps it marks the site of the city called by ancient geographers, "The City of Crocodiles."
We found the river rather difficult to ford, for it was deep, broad, and rapid, and there was no one near to guide us to the easiest fording-place. A few hours sometimes makes a vast difference in the character of the mouth of a river; the wind may entirely carry away the sand-bar, or change its position. Our kawass made many experiments before he found a safe path for us, which we traversed carefully, one after the other in single file, and landed on the opposite side very wet and chilly.
We soon came to a picturesque but dangerous and rocky bay, where small coasting-boats are often wrecked. Here Colonel the Hon. F. Walpole had a short time previously attacked a party of Arabs who were remorselessly plundering some half-drowned sailors, and pillaging their wrecked vessel. Some of the wreckers were taken to Yâfa as prisoners by the Colonel. We saw about fifty rice-baskets on the beach, relics of the freight of the vessel which he had protected.
In the year 1858 a little Arab craft—laden with rice and oranges, and carrying a Jewish family, consisting of a father and mother, and several children—was wrecked here in a fearful storm. The boat struck, and was split in half. One or two of the boatmen were saved; the passengers were all drowned or dashed to death on the rocks, with the exception of a boy about a year old, who was thrown by a high wave safely on to the shore, where a number of wreckers were assembled to watch the fate of the vessel. They took up the young child wonderingly. A small party of Bedouins, who were passing by at the time, offered to take charge of him, and bring him up as one of their own children, saying, "Do no harm to him, for it is the will of God that he should live." So the wreckers gave him up to them, and the little Hebrew boy was carried away I know not where. Some peasants who were on their way to Hâifa witnessed this singular transaction, and through them I heard of it. They said that the boy was fair, strong, and healthy, and they would themselves have taken him if the Bedouins had not done so. This boy has perhaps been nursed by a Bedouin mother, and will learn to live a wandering life in the land of his forefathers, in utter ignorance of his real origin. It would be very interesting, if it were possible to watch his career, to see how far he will retain his national characteristics, physical and moral, and what influence he will have on the little tribe with which he will no doubt at an early age incorporate himself by marriage. I should like to meet him when he has arrived at manhood, if I could be convinced of his identity.
Bedouins frequently name their children after some circumstance connected with their nativity, or some contemporary event; but there is every reason to expect that this little Hebrew boy, like Moses, is called by a name having some allusion to his strange history. For instance, "Ebn el Bahr"—Son of the Sea, or "Minbahr"—From the Sea, would be natural Bedouin names for him. It would be difficult but not impossible, I think, to trace him out now. My first impulse, on hearing of the circumstance, was to try to recover the boy, and restore him to the Hebrew community, but it was not in my power to do so.
It was said that his parents were Algerine Jews, who were about to settle in Palestine. The wrecked vessel had conveyed them from Egypt to their untimely graves on the shores of the land which they so longed to see, but which their youngest child alone was permitted to reach in safety. He probably was the only one of the family who had not learned to love it, and to believe it to be the land which was promised to his forefather Abraham, and to his seed forever.
Perhaps the descendants of this little Hebrew boy will some day be a subject of discussion, and a puzzling ethnological enigma for scientific travelers.
Beyond the bay the sands were broad and smooth. I could see in the distance, straight before us, the well-remembered rocky islands, and the village of Tantûra, where, in September, we landed, "because the winds were contrary." When we had nearly reached this place we turned away from the seashore, and rode inland toward a little Moslem village, called Kefr Lamm. We approached it through a district in which fine building-stone abounds. We rode through ancient quarries, and over large, smooth slabs of rock, polished like marble. We looked into the arched recesses, and peered into large, artificial, gloomy caverns, where, perhaps, the stone-cutters of old used to eat and sleep. These quarries have evidently not been worked for centuries—not, perhaps, since Athlite and Dora were built. Large trees and shrubs had sprung up out of the earth which had fallen from above, or had been drifted by wind and rain into sheltered places in the bottom of the quarries.
The sheikh, and all the chief men of Kefr Lamm, came out to meet us, for we were expected, and were well known there. We rode through flourishing fields of Indian corn, millet, sesame, and tobacco, and alighted on the outskirts of the village, which consists of low houses, built of mud and stone. I found my tent, which had preceded me, already pitched amid little mountains of wheat and barley, near to an extensive thrashing-floor, where oxen were busy treading out the corn. Carpets and cushions were soon spread for us on rising ground, in the open air, and coffee and pipes were brought. The sheikh, and the priest, and the old men of the village sat opposite to us in a half circle, while the young men were standing round, or resting on the heaps of wheat near.
We were not quite a mile from the shore, and were facing the sea and the setting sun. A long line of coast was in sight. The rocky islands and ruins of Tantûra—the ancient Dora—could be plainly seen, a little way to the south, and the tall tower of Athlite, or Castelum Pelegrinum, appeared far away in the north.
At the moment when the sun dropped down into the sea, the village priest rose, and stood in the middle of a large, smooth, and well-swept thrashing-floor, which was close by. He looked earnestly and solemnly toward the south, and sang, in a loud and sonorous voice, the call to evening prayer. There was no minaret or mosque in the village. The sheikh, and the elders who had gathered round us, immediately rose and assembled on the thrashing-floor, in a double row behind the priest, who thus looked truly like the leader of the little band. They echoed his words, and followed all his movements with precision, kneeling and bowing their faces to the ground, and uplifting their hands and rising to their feet with one accord. They were joined by the laborers from the other thrashing-floors and by our Moslem servants, but the younger men who had been talking with us hesitated at first to attend to the call to prayer. They looked at each other as if undecided what to do, and then at us, as if they were ashamed. We tried, by keeping perfectly still and silent, to make them understand that we did not expect or wish them to neglect their devotions on our account. Suddenly they rose altogether and ranged themselves in a row on the border of the thrashing-floor, and their strong voices blended with the voices of their fathers as they cried, "There is no God but God, and Mohammed is his Prophet."
No women came forward to pray, but I saw some standing afar off watching the assembly. The prayers occupied rather more than a quarter of an hour. I had never seen a service conducted with more solemnity, even within the sacred inclosure of the Sanctuary at Jerusalem.
Immediately afterward, supper was brought for us, and at the same time a wooden bowl—rather shallow, but about a yard in diameter, and filled with steaming rice boiled in butter—was placed on the ground at a little distance from us. Metal dishes containing meat, eggs, vegetables, and cream, were added to the feast, round which the sheikh, the priest, and the elders of the village assembled. They ate quickly and silently, dipping pieces of their thin leathery loaves into the dishes of fried eggs or into the cream—tearing the tender morsels of meat to pieces with their fingers—dipping their hands together into the mound of rice and skillfully and neatly taking it up in pellets. When they were satisfied, they retired one after the other to wash their hands and to light their pipes. Their places were quickly taken by the younger men and boys in turn, and, when they had all finished, the servants gathered round, eating from the same dishes, the simplest of which had been replenished during the repast. Several sets of Arabs silently swallowed their supper while we leisurely used our knives and forks. The fragments that remained after the feast were not carried away till all the men and boys of the village had eaten there, but the women ate elsewhere in private.
We had some fine green figs, the first I had tasted that year. We found all the fruits and vegetables in the plain of Dor, in a much more advanced state than those in the hill-country of Judea. After sitting in the open air till about nine I retired to my tent. My fellow-travelers, including my brother, wrapped themselves in cloaks, and slept on the hillocks of wheat. I rose at five, and from the door of my tent I watched the rising of the sun above the range of Carmel.
After taking some excellent milk and coffee, we started and rode through the well-cultivated fields, the fruit and vegetable gardens, and the neglected quarries north of Kefr Lamm. We were soon by the seaside and in the road which we had traversed in September. We again looked with admiration on the ruins of Athlite, and passed through the ancient defile into the plain, across which the road formerly passed; many traces of it may still be seen. This plain was much more green and beautiful than when we had seen it before, and the fountain called "Ain Dustrei" was bordered with oleanders covered with pink blossoms. At about eight we paused by a spring, down on the sands, half-way between Athlite and the headland of Carmel. There is a square stone building over the spring with a deep trough or reservoir all round it. Here we alighted and breakfasted on fish and peasant bread, and then rode on quickly to Hâifa, which we reached at ten o'clock, July 30th, and the hearty welcome with which we were greeted gave us great pleasure.
Our friend Mohammed Bek was one of our first visitors, and he was soon followed by Saleh Bek Abdul Hady, the ex-governor, who told me that his wives whom I had visited at Arrabeh were established in Hâifa, and were longing to see me. There were some additions to the European colony, and when Signor Vegetti, the Dutch Vice-Consul, called, he informed us that he had obtained a piano. It was the first which had ever been introduced into Hâifa, and there was no one in the town, excepting myself, who knew how to touch it.
He invited all the Europeans to a soirée a few days after our arrival, that the new instrument might be inaugurated. I had previously tried it and consented to preside on the occasion, as there was no one else to do so.
There was quite a sensation in Hâifa that night, and the open space in front of the house was crowded with listeners, among whom were the new governor, Zachariah Agha, a Turk, Mohammed Bek, and all the chief Moslems. They called the next day on Signor Vegetti, begging him to invite me to meet them at his house, that they might see and hear me play. Then they came to my brother and requested him to induce me to go; so an evening was fixed upon, and we went. We found the Governor and about twenty Moslem gentlemen, in their richest embroidered costumes, assembled in the drawing-room, at the Dutch Vice-Consulate, where we were received by Signor Vegetti and his aged father and mother. The antechamber was crowded with servants and lantern-bearers.
The piano had been tried in turn by nearly all the guests, and they said, "We can not make it speak the same language which you cause it to speak, O lady!" I handed to them some pieces of music, saying, "Could you do so with the help of these?" It was very amusing to hear their exclamations, and to observe the surprise with which they watched my fingers, especially when they found that I looked all the while at the book before me. They are accustomed only to see small and portable musical instruments, and they wondered at my command over one so large. They said, "The laborers at harvest-time do not work so hard or move their hands so quickly." They seemed to be more struck with the rapidity with which the keys were touched than with the sounds which were produced, till I played their national anthem, "AbdulMedjid." Then they all seemed roused, and a clear-voiced singer, the Sims Reeves of Hâifa, came forward immediately and sang. The rest of the company joined in chorus. One of the Beks seemed to appreciate music so much that I told him that if he would buy a piano for his wife I would teach her the use of it. He said, "O my sister, our women are not capable of learning their heads are made of wood—it would be as easy to teach donkeys as to teach them."
By degrees nearly every one in the town became familiar with the sounds of the piano, and it gave rise to many very pleasant soirées. This was the dawn of a new era in the history of the little European colony at Hâifa, and music and singing were cultivated with energy.
I was very busy in the mean time putting our house in order, after my long absence from it. Katrîne, my old servant, had returned to Bethlehem; so I trained a young girl of Hâifa to take her place.
I had not time to visit the harem of Saleh Bek till August 11th, which was the first day of the Feast of Bairam, when all Moslems are to be seen in holiday costume. I went to the house attended by a kawass, who waited for me in the inner court while I was led up a crooked, uncovered, stone stairway to a small square court, and thence into a large and lofty but rather gloomy room. In a moment I was surrounded by my well-remembered friends of Arrabeh. The children came forward shyly, and Helweh led me to a cushioned seat on the floor, saying, "We have been longing to see you, O light of our eyes; let us see you often. You are not like us; you may come to us whenever your heart tells you to come, but we may not go to you. When we first came here, and found ourselves in a strange place, and heard that you were not yet arrived, our hearts sank within us."
The house which they occupied was in the castle square, and was not so comfortable or so well built as the one in which I had seen them at Arrabeh. Narrow mattresses were ranged all round the chief room of the harem where I was received, and the floor was covered with matting. The ceiling was vaulted, and all the windows which looked out on to public places were blocked up, so that the light only came from the door and window which opened to the half-covered private court. Mattresses, pillows, and wadded quilts were piled up in an arched recess, and a thin muslin curtain was drawn in front of it. Two red boxes and a red cradle stood at one end of the room, and a charcoal brazier with all the requisites for making coffee and preparing narghilés were close to the door. A large embroidered camel’s-hair cloak, and a sword, gun, and spear, were hanging against the white cemented walls. Coffee flavored with ambergris, and delicate sherbet made of almonds and rose leaves, were handed to me. The servants who were present were the same whom I had seen at Arrabeh. Helweh, the youngest and prettiest of the three wives, looked much more womanly and sedate, though not less affectionate, than formerly. She wore very full, deep, rose-colored silk trowsers, and a tight jacket of violet and white striped Damascus satin, sprinkled with small bunches of flowers, and round her waist was a fine Cashmere shawl. The eldest wife was dressed in flowered silk, and her three young daughters—of whom the eldest, named Asmé, had grown very beautiful—wore violet-colored silk jackets, embroidered with silver-braid, and quite closed in front. Their trowsers were of light muslin, and made very full and long. They each wore little red-cloth Constantinople tarbûshes, put on coquettishly a little on one side. The other wife was busy with an infant boy of whom she seemed to be very proud.
While I was answering their many questions about my long journey, and receiving their commiserations because neither I nor my brother were yet married, the lord of the harem sent word that he would, with my permission, enter in to greet me. So he came. When he appeared the wives and the women-servants immediately rose and stood deferentially till he was seated; then, as they resumed their seats, they saluted him by touching their foreheads gracefully with their hands. In the mean time the children came forward and kissed his hands. He seemed to be very kind and gentle to all his family. He said to me, "I rejoice to see you here, O lady; I hope that you will often come, for where you are there is clearness and brightness."
His children unconsciously proved to me that they were accustomed to be caressed by him, for they clustered round him lovingly, and little Saîd was especially demonstrative. He said, coaxingly, "O my father, may I go to see the house of the English lady? it is her wish that I should go." Asmé, his eldest daughter, scarcely spoke a word, and sat sedately still and impassive; and the face which a few minutes before had seemed to be so beautiful with vivacity and cheerfulness looked quite unattractive. It seems to me to be a part of Oriental etiquette for the elder children to preserve a kind of grave decorum in the presence of a father; the younger children alone are free to show their natural feelings, and demonstrative affection is regarded as childish and undignified.
The wives did not look quite at their ease, perhaps because it was the first time that they had ever seen their husband in the presence of a stranger, but they trimmed his pipe and waited on him with assiduity. The servants and slaves were standing near to the door, whispering together, and appeared very much amused.
Saleh Bek informed me that he was about to send two of his sons, aged fifteen and sixteen, to the Latin college at Antûra, a French establishment, not far from Beirût. He said that if there had been an English college in the country, where as good an education could have been obtained, he should have chosen it in preference. While we were talking an Arab lady was announced, so Saleh Bek immediately rose, and, hastily taking leave of me, retreated. The lady kept her face closely vailed as she passed him in the court. When she came into the room the eldest wife rose, and, kindly welcoming her, assisted her to take off her white sheet and colored-muslin vail, which she handed to a slave to fold up. I found that the newly-arrived guest was Um Selim, who had left Yâfa to reside in Hâifa near to us. She had come to the harem to meet me there. After the usual greetings had been exchanged, an animated conversation was carried on by two of the wives and Um Selim. They spoke so rapidly and vehemently that I could scarcely understand a word. In the mean time Helweh, who was by my side, explained to me in simple words, gently spoken, the subjects of the conversation and the causes of the occasional bursts of laughter.
After inviting the children to come and see me on a certain day, I took leave and went with Um Selim down into the court, where the kawass awaited me. We passed the open door of the divan or reception-room for men. It was filled with visitors. The son of Yassîn Agha, on seeing me go by, came out and asked to be allowed to lead me to his house that I might visit his mother. I did so, and afterward went to three other harems.
On the second day of the feast I visited some of the poorer Moslem families in the back streets of the town. Following the kawass, I made my way with Um Selim through dirty narrow lanes, with gutters running down the middle of them.
We paused at the house of a Moslem who was in my brother's employ, and who had very recently married a poor gardener's daughter. We went through an arched doorway into a square ill-paved court-yard, where a tent or booth of palm-branches and evergreen shrubs had been made. An old mat was spread within it, and we were invited to sit down there. The young wife was rather shy and not at all prepossessing in appearance. Her wide mouth and large glistening teeth were made to appear still more prominent by the row of blue spots round the edge of her thick lips. Her eyes were dark with kohl, and her chest painted and exposed. She seemed to be kept completely in awe by an elderly woman—I think it was her mother-in-law—who played the part of hostess and acted as guardian to the young wife, who did not appear to be very comfortable nor accustomed to her new life. She had never seen her husband till her marriage-day, not quite a month before. The "honeymoon" is not understood among the Moslems; they have, I believe, no word or idea answering to it.
After we had taken a tiny cup of strong coffee without sugar, the elder woman took us to see the house, which consisted of one room only, which opened into the court. It was large, lofty, and windowless, and looked like a barn, and the door was large enough to admit a laden camel. This room served as parlor, kitchen, and bedroom, except in bright weather, when the tent of tree-branches was used. I was very much surprised to see an old Italian print, representing Moses holding the tables of the Law, nailed against the smoke-blackened wall, and ostrich eggs and ornamented lamps suspended from the ceiling. I asked the woman what the eggs were for. She said, "They will keep darkness and sorrow far from us;" but she did not know whence the picture came, or what it was for, and seemed surprised when I told her that it represented "Neby Mûssa," the prophet Moses.
A few days afterward, when Saleh Bek Abdul Hady called, he saw a set of chessmen on our table. He eagerly inquired if we could play, adding, "I have not had a game at chess since the time of Ibrahîm Pasha. I used to play with his officers at 'Akka." When he found that I understood the game he exclaimed, "El-hâmdou lillah! [praised be God!] I will come every day to play with you!" I said, "Excuse me, that would be too often; I have not time to play every day." However, we spent an afternoon at chess about once a fortnight, and I found that I had a skillful and careful antagonist. He was the only Arab in Hâifa who could play chess.
His children, especially the boys, frequently came to our house, and were soon quite at home there. They and their young cousins from Arrabeh, who sometimes came on a visit to Hâifa, were very intelligent and inquiring, and picked up, almost unconsciously, a great deal of information from our illustrated books.
The three little girls came sometimes, but were always accompanied by an old female servant—or duenna—to prevent them from being seen by strangers. These visits were only made when it was known that my brother was out of town. The women came once to see me, by special permission, but the doors of the Consulate were guarded by their own servants all the while they were there. I went to see them as often as I could, and was always heartily welcomed. Except on fête-days, they were generally dressed in jackets and trowsers made of Manchester prints or muslins. I found that the senior wife, who had evidently once been very handsome, formerly belonged to a wealthy Turk, and had been presented to Saleh Bek, in her youth, as a reward for some special service. She had been brought up in great privacy, in a harem in Constantinople, and was thence conveyed to her new home at Arrabeh, where she was at first very unhappy, for she was a complete stranger there, and spoke only Turkish. Fortunately for her, Saleh Bek understood it, and she, by degrees, acquired the Arabic language. Though she had come from a great city, she had seen so little of it, that she knew no more of the world and its history than her new companions in Arrabeh, and hardly so much perhaps as the wives, concubines, and servants which Saleh Bek afterward took from the little villages in the neighborhood. The seclusion in which Moslem girls are kept is more or less strict, in accordance with their rank or position—the poor having unavoidably more liberty than the wealthy.
Helweh, who came from the little village of Kefr Kâra, seemed to possess more natural quickness of comprehension than any of the other women.
They had long before heard Christians spoken of, but in terms so vague that they hardly regarded them as fellow creatures; but now that they lived in the little sea-coast town of Hâifa, where there was a mixed population, including Moslems, Jews, and Christians of distinctly various sects, and people of many nations, they were by degrees receiving new impressions, and ideas which probably would not have entered their minds if they had continued to live in the interior, and in such an exclusively Moslem district as the Jebel Nablûs.
They had already become acquainted with a few of their neighbors, and were constantly hearing of something which was to them new and strange. Whenever I visited them, I found that they had some wonder to relate to me, or some story to tell, which had reached them either through female servants, or Christian or Jewish guests, or the professional singing women, or, more often still, through the gossiping attendants at the Turkish baths; stories which were almost always entirely misunderstood, and which gave rise to false yet strong impressions. It was an interesting study for me to watch the constructions which they put on the circumstances, manners, customs, and forms of worship, of which they heard, but which they could not comprehend or realize. I found it almost as difficult to help them to understand the ways that were not as their ways, and the thoughts that were not as their thoughts, as it would be to describe the nature and effect of light and color to a man blind from his birth.
Helweh, especially, used to ask me suggestive questions about religion. She often said, "Why are not all people of one religion? Why are they not all Moslems? it would be much better."
She always seemed to forget that I was not a Moslem. She sometimes appealed to me, with touching confidence, asking me to tell her what it was right to do under particular circumstances. Instead of deciding for her, I used to try to awaken in her mind some principle by which she might judge rightly for herself.
I often found appropriate and ready answers, by adopting the very words of Christ, conveying the simplest and most comprehensive of those lessons of love which were taught long ago in this land, and listened to by people as uninstructed and eager as Helweh herself, and by Scribes and Pharisees who were put to silence by words addressed not to any particular sect, but to all the world.
These women who thus questioned me made me think more earnestly and carefully than I had ever thought before, and they unconsciously helped me to understand the natural progress and growth of ideas. I could, by identifying myself with them, partially imagine the absence of all those thoughts, feelings, and conceptions which had grown with my growth and strengthened with my strength, till they seemed almost to be a part of my mind. But this interesting harem was not my only school. I mingled at the same time with European and native Christians, and especially with the Sekhali family, and with devout Jews, who kindly helped me to understand all the laws, and the fasts, and the feasts which they observed. The Oriental Christians are unhappily very bitter in their hatred of the Jews. They generally treat them with great contempt, and make a merit of avoiding association with them; but they agree with the Moslems in admitting that the Jews throughout the East are, as a body, remarkable for the purity of their lives, the simplicity of their manners, and the strictness with which they observe their religious services. They are, however, notorious for the quarrels which take place among themselves, and for the noisy disputes which sometimes arise between the representatives of the different congregations or communities. The Jewesses, especially of the Ashekenazi communities, are renowned for their domestic virtue and industry,
On October 5th my brother started for Beirût on business. I remained at Hâifa, and then more than ever I found how very kind and thoughtful my neighbors of all classes were; especially I thank the French Consul, M. Aumann, and his family, for the friendly and active sympathy which made me feel that I was not alone, although there was no one in the town who could speak an English word to me.
Nearly all the Moslem ladies of Hâifa took the opportunity for visiting me then, and the Governor and the members of the town council called several times to see if they could serve me in any way.
On the 10th of October, early in the morning, a boat was lost in a whirlpool within sight of Hâifa. The day was very sultry, and in the evening the sea was perfectly calm, and the air heavy. After spending a few hours with the French Consul and his family, in their moonlit and marble-paved court, I went home, and notwithstanding the almost suffocating heat, I slept soundly, till I was roused by a deep murmuring sound, which was like subterranean thunder, and I felt my bed trembling beneath me. At first I thought a wind storm had risen, but that was impossible, for the muslin musketo curtains were not more agitated than my brass bedstead, which rocked from east to west. I was very soon satisfied that I was for the first time in my life experiencing a shock of earthquake. I rose immediately. The room was bright with moonlight, which streamed through the rattling Venetian shutters. I opened the window. The moon was nearly full; and, just above the range of Carmel, it was as red as the sun appears to be when seen through an English fog. The ground trembled violently three distinct times, the second shock being the strongest. There were heavy storm-clouds resting over Hâifa, their western edges were tinged with the lurid light of the red moon. My maid-servant was sleeping soundly. I walked out into the open court of the house. The two kawasses were rolled up in their wadded quilts on their mattresses in the arched corridor, and seemed undisturbed. A storm of thunder and lightning followed, and I walked through the house from room to room, watching the progress of the storm and the breaking up of the clouds.
The next morning, early, the Governor, several of the vice-consuls, and many Arab friends, called to hear if I had been disturbed and alarmed by the earthquake. Those who lived near the mosque told me that they had taken the precaution of moving out of their houses in the night, for the minaret rocked so violently, that every one who watched it expected that it would fall. Happily no accident of consequence occurred—a few old walls only were cracked and shaken. Mons. A. told me that during the shock he had observed that the sea was violently agitated, and covered with foam, though there was no wind.
The Arabs were all in great consternation, for they regarded this convulsion of nature as an ill omen. For several subsequent days nothing else was talked of. The shocks had been strongly felt at 'Akka, Sûr, and Saida, and slightly in the interior.
All my visitors had some story to tell me about former earthquakes, and especially about the terrible one which occurred in 1837, when Safed and Tiberias were destroyed, and when Hâifa was for three days almost deserted, and people lived outside in the open air, not venturing to enter their houses, the shocks being so frequent. The heavens, they said, were dark at midday, and the sea had a strange red tinge. Some people went so far as to declare that "its waters were turned into blood," and all agreed that it lost its saline flavor, and had rather a sweet taste.
On the 22d of October there were steady showers of rain during the day, and in the evening I watched one of the grandest thunder-storms I had ever seen; it was followed by a wild storm of wind and rain, which lasted all night. Soon after sunrise the wind ceased, and there was a great calm; but the streets of Hâifa were like canals, and some of the old walls, which had been damaged by the earthquake, were quite broken down. In the gardens many of the finest trees had been uprooted or stripped of their branches: the pliant palm-trees seem best calculated to resist the fury of these equinoctial gales.
I spent the afternoon of the 23d of October with the young widow of Ibrahîm Sekhali. She was still mourning bitterly over her loss. I tried to excite her interest, and succeeded in gaining her attention by telling her about the home of my childhood and my school-days. She seemed for a while to forget her own troubles, in wondering how I could leave my parents and my country, and having left them, how I could consent to stay alone in a town where there were none of my "own people."
We were thus talking, when her black slave, who was sitting on a mat at needle-work in the sunshine close to the open door, suddenly rose, and, kissing my hands, said, "There is joy for you! there is joy!—your brother, the Consul, has even now arrived. I hear the sounds of many voices in your court." She was right; for at the same moment we saw the flag hoisted, and as I hastened away she said, "This is your reward; God has brought happiness to you, even as you have to-day spoken pleasant words to the mother of fatherless children."
In another minute I was with my brother. He was accompanied by a Turkish gentleman, who had traveled with him from Beirût, and who had just received the appointment of Governor of Hâifa. His son, a nice boy of about ten years of age, was with him. They dined with us, and the little Turk found it rather difficult to manage a knife and fork. The father asked me if I would undertake to civilize him. They were complete strangers in the town, so they remained at our house for two or three days.
On the 25th, Zachariah Agha, the ex-Governor, called to take leave of me, and then the new Governor established himself at the castle. He told me he did not think that he should send for his wives, as he could not tell how long he should be allowed to remain in office at Hâifa.
Some wealthy Moslems have a home, and a wife or two, in each of the villages or towns where their public or private business obliges them to reside for any length of time during the year.
A few days after my brother's return I observed that nearly all the shops of Hâifa were closed, and the streets and market-places were almost deserted. On inquiry I learned that "the day of ill luck" had arrived, a day on which Moslems will not, on any account, make bargains or transact business. This dreaded day is the first Wednesday in the month of Safar, the second month of the Mohammedan year. (In 1856, the year of which I am writing, it fell on October 29th.) The Moslems will not, if they can possibly avoid it, even speak or think on any subject of importance, and they generally remain in-doors on this ill omened day.
Mohammed Bek came to the Consulate at midday, asking me to be his guardian, and to allow him to remain in my presence till sunset, pretending that he thought that no evil spirits could approach him there.
I was told by a "true believer" that bad angels have, on that particular day, full power to carry out all the mischief which they may have plotted during the year. In Constantinople all the public offices are closed, in consequence of the prevalence of this impression!
On Thursday, the 4th of December, the Feast of "Sainte Barbe" was celebrated by all the Christians of the Latin Church at Hâifa. I went early in the morning to see Madame Aumann. I found her planting grains of wheat, barley, and millet, and seeds of lentils and grass, in plates and ornamental saucers and large shells. She merely covered the grain or seeds with water, and then ranged the dishes in the sun. "This," she said, "is always done on the fête-day of Ste. Barbe, and by Christmas-day the grass and the grain will have grown." But she did not know what it was intended to signify.
She invited us to meet all the Europeans at the French Consulate that night, and we went. We found every one full of fun and merriment, and one of the guests, a Mons. Jullien, who had lately arrived from Algiers, and had served in the army there, appeared with mock solemnity, in a scarlet robe and white cardinal cape, in the character of the priest of Ste. Barbe. To my surprise, the most devout Catholics present did not seem to be shocked. I asked one lady, whom I knew to be very earnest in the performance of what she believed to be her religious duties, if it gave her pain to see such mockery, but she simply said, "It is custom; there is no harm in it."
When we were all assembled, we were led into a room, in the center of which was a low stool, on which was a very large dish made of wood. It was filled with wheat, boiled in honey or sugar, and mixed with pomegranate seeds. Over the surface sweetmeats and bleached nuts were sprinkled, and round the edge of the dish twelve tapers were burning, and a flag was stuck in the middle. Before we partook of these sweets, the soi-disant priest chanted a litany in an unknown tongue, which neither he nor any one present understood. After this mummery was over, Madame Aumann fetched a smooth, silver, blunt pointed pin, about three inches long and the eighth of an inch thick, with an ornamental head. She then burned some sweet gum and frankincense in the flame of a little antique lamp, and held the pin in the flame till it had become quite black; then, after waiting till the pin had cooled, she inserted it dextrously between her half-closed eyelids, and rubbed it backward and forward, as if really "rending her eyes," as Jeremiah expresses it,[2] till she had produced the effect so much admired by Orientals. She handed the little instrument round, and nearly every one of her guests followed her example. It was astonishing how the appearance and expression of all the faces, especially of the fairest ones, were altered immediately. I scarcely recognized my brother, who certainly would not have submitted to this adornment if he had not believed that he could wash it off immediately; but to his dismay it was many days before the black tinge disappeared, and then only after persevering and frequent rubbing. Hélâny, one of the female servants, took the lamp and the frankincense which Madame A. had used, and held a white earthenware plate over the flame. She thus collected a quantity of soot. The soot thus prepared is mixed with antimony, and kept in little ornamental bottles, ready to be used in the manner described on page 113.
The Europeans, especially the semi-Europeans, strictly avoid those customs which they regard as peculiar to the Arabs, but at the feast of Ste. Barbe they seem to tolerate that which at other times they most condemn.
No one could give me the slightest reason for this fantasia, or tell me any thing of its history or origin, or what Ste. Barbe had to do with the germination of grain, the dish of sweets, and the twelve candles, which I suppose represented the twelve apostles. Even the village curé, of whom I made inquiries the next day, could not give me any information. He said, "It is a custom peculiar to the Eastern Christians." The Greeks kept it much in the same style on the 16th of December.
On referring to Butler's "Lives of the Saints," I find it is recorded, under the head of December 4th, that Saint Barbara was a holy virgin and martyr, "who is honored with particular devotion in the Latin, Greek, Muscovite, and Syriac calendars; but her history is obscured by a variety of false acts. Some say that she was a scholar of Origen, and suffered martyrdom at Nicomedia; but others say that she suffered at Heliopolis, in Egypt, about the year 306—there stood an old monastery near Edessa which bore her name."
I was surprised to see with what fidelity and enthusiasm the people kept this festival, and yet showed no curiosity to learn its origin or history. In fact, they keep all kinds of fasts and feasts, and perform all sorts of ceremonies, without pausing to consider what they mean. It is enough for them to know that they are "ancient customs"—and customs in the East are like the laws of the Medes and Persians. I do not pretend that in England we are altogether exempt from this kind of folly, but it is much more apparent among the Greeks and Latins of the East.
On Saturday, the 6th of December, I was playing at chess with Saleh Bek Abdul Hady, when one of his servants entered the drawing-room, and approaching his master, said, "A son is born to you, my lord." Mohammed Bek and Saleh Sekbali, who happened to be present, united with me in congratulating the father, but he received the tidings very quietly, and to my surprise persisted in finishing the game, which he did as coolly as he had commenced it. He afterward lingered to read some ancient Arabic poetry aloud to my brother, and did not leave us till long after sunset.
On Monday, the 8th of December, I visited his harem. In the chief room I found a large number of people assembled, and in one corner there was a bed, consisting of two mattresses, on the floor, and Helweh, my favorite, was half reclining on it. When I approached her she threw herself on my neck and burst into tears, but quickly recovered herself, and said, "Welcome, O light of my eyes." I said softly, "You are very happy, Helweh, in being the mother of a son. Where is the boy?" She answered sadly, "I have no son. My child is a female child, and is made no account of."
I sat on the edge of her bed, and she lifted up the heavy coverings by her side, and handed to me a little figure swaddled in white and purple linen, and crimson silk, with its head bandaged and its eyelids blackened with kohl. I said, "What name shall you give your little girl?" She answered, "The Bek will name her—I have no power." I said, "Have you any choice?" She replied, "I should like it to be called Miriam, because that is your name, and it is a good name." I said, "That would please me greatly, and your little child would remind you always of me. I will ask the Bek if he will allow it." She answered immediately, "Then the child is named already—its name is Miriam."
A number of women were sitting round the room leaning against the walls. After coffee had been brought for me, and a narghilé had been prepared, the nurse, a strange-looking woman, with long ragged hair dyed with henna, till it had become a tawny red, began in a low monotonous key to sing a welcome to the first-born child of Helweh, and all the women clapped their hands beating the time.
I found that there had been a very serious quarrel in the harem, and to prevent mischief Saleh Bek had been obliged to hire a separate house for one of his wives, and she had gone there with her children and servants.
Soon after I returned home I saw Saleh Bek, and I asked him if he had seen his new-born child. He said, "No, custom forbids me to see it or its mother before seven days have passed." He added, "I have heard your wish that the child should be called 'Miriam;' it is sufficient, and I am reconciled to having a daughter instead of a son, because she may thus take your name. If after three years you will undertake the charge of her and teach her even as you have been taught, I shall think myself happy."
He afterward explained to me that the messenger who had brought the false tidings to him of the birth of a son knew perfectly well that it was a daughter which had been born to him; "but," he added, "in this land people are so foolish that my servant was ashamed and afraid to announce to me, in public, the birth of a female child, for it is thought no honor to be the 'father of girls.'"[3]
He assured me that he did not himself entertain this prejudice, though he certainly showed more pleasure and pride in his sons than in his daughters. This was natural, for he had the opportunity of educating the former and training them according to the best of his judgment, while the latter were a subject of great perplexity to him. He had become convinced that the civilization of a country depends very much on the character and position of its women, and he had liberal and enlightened notions about the advantageous influences of female education and freedom, but he did not know how to take any steps in the way of reform. He wisely observed that any sudden change would be dangerous, and lead to more harm than good. This was a subject on which I also had thought deeply and seriously. I found it rather difficult to come to any practical conclusions.
Reform in any system or institution, to be safe and sure, and on a firm foundation, must arise naturally and from within. Women like my friend Helweh might do much toward effecting a change for the better in the mode of life in harems, and men like Saleh Bek would aid and encourage it.
It seems to me that all that we can do is to enter into sympathy with the Moslem women, and try to awaken and develop all the highest feelings of their nature, and to help them to understand and feel the power which they have of governing and elevating themselves, and to encourage them to exercise that power, and to think seriously. This may be done without the aid of books, and without perplexing them with new mysteries and dogmas. We might lead them insensibly to acknowledge and understand those ancient and universal laws of love which Christ declared to be the foundation of all religion—"The Lord our God is one Lord.... Love him with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind, and love thy neighbor as thyself. This do, and thou shalt live." Words like these can rouse no anger or opposition, and they will daily become more clear and comprehensive to every one who truly takes them as a guide and rule of life. By striving earnestly to obey these simple laws, by measuring every thought and action by them, women shut up in their harems would become Christians, though they might still be called Moslems. Then their daughters would at an early age be led to love God with a trustful reverence, and taught to contribute to the happiness of all around them. Their sons, whose hearts and minds would naturally be ennobled and enlarged, would in manhood respect and honor their early teachers.
Thus, by degrees, women might be safely and surely emancipated, and the most jealously-guarded harems would be gradually converted into enlightened and happy homes. The character of the whole nation might thus be changed; but any attempt to exercise an influence from without, would certainly fail, if the religious prejudices or ancient customs of the people were directly attacked or condemned, for a dangerous spirit of antagonism and indignation would be immediately roused. All we can do is to try to excite Moslems to think more earnestly, and to endeavor to awaken in their minds the spirit of truth, by which they may be led to condemn all those customs and practices which are at variance with it, but which no mere words of ours will ever induce them to abandon. Indeed, they will probably be adhered to more obstinately than ever, if arguments be raised against them. "Overcome evil with good."
Missionaries, in the common acceptation of the word, would find it very difficult to obtain access to harems. I do not refer to men, for they, of course, could not enter. I am thinking of the persevering, enterprising, and talented Sisters of Mercy—who are now established in many parts of Syria in Latin convents, studying Arabic—and of the devoted wives of Protestant missionaries. But if they gain admittance they will certainly find that they will make no impression by teaching creeds or doctrines, or by trying to prove that Christianity is true, and Islamism is false—that the Bible is a Divine revelation, and the Koran a forgery—that Christ is the Son of God, and that Mohammed is an impostor. This would not touch the hearts, nor reach the minds of the matter-of-fact Moslem women; but any one who will help really to elevate them and reform their homes, will be helping indirectly to strengthen and confirm Turkey as a nation, for the men will be more vigorous and noble-hearted when the women are made free.
On the 13th of December, just a week after the birth of my little Miriam, I visited the harem of Saleh Bek again. I found it crowded with guests, for it was one of the days of congratulation. I heard the sounds of the tambourine and the voices of the singing women before I entered. When I was announced, there was comparative silence for a minute or two, and the women and girls made way for me, that I might approach Helweh. She was sitting up in a cushioned corner. She looked delicate, but prettier than ever, and was very gayly dressed. She had a rosebud and string of pearls in her hair. Her eyelids were newly dressed with kohl, and her hands with henna. There was a new joy in her face, and a striking expression of resolution, earnestness, and tenderness, when she placed my little swaddled namesake in my arms. I sat down by her side. A slave rose and put a small thin mattress on my knees, that I might rest the child on it.[4]
By this time the tambourine sounded again, and the chief singer commenced an impromptu song, having reference especially to the fact that the child had been named by me, and suggesting that it was a happy omen for the little one to have gained my love and protection from the moment of its birth. Then they sang songs in my praise, using extravagant similes, but so picturesque and full of imagery that I could not help thinking of the Song of Songs which is Solomon's. A third woman sang a sort of prayer for me, or rather wishes for my prosperity. In this song she forcibly portrayed the Oriental idea of the highest happiness—the delight of the mother, who in her youth opens her eyes upon her first-born son, and in her old age sees her children's children around her. It was a passionate outpouring of emotion, and every one present seemed to enter into the spirit of it. I do not suppose that it was an improvisation, but rather an adaptation of one of those old unwritten songs handed down from one generation of singers to another. Some dancing followed, and especial songs were sung in praise of the various guests as they arrived. The room was close and warm, and filled with smoke, for all the women were in turn supplied with narghilés, and I was glad to go out into the fresh air again.
On Christmas morning, at an early hour, the chief Moslems of Hâifa came to the Consulate to greet us, and wish us happy returns of the "Eid el Miladi," that is, "the Feast of the Nativity." About forty people came and staid long enough to take coffee and smoke a narghilé or chibouque, and taste our preserves. Saleh Bek and Yassîn Agha remained after the other guests had left us, and the former told me that he had sent his wife Helweh and little Miriam to Arrabeh, for change of air, as they were both delicate. I was surprised to hear that he had allowed the little one to go away without having once looked at her. Later in the day, after high mass had been celebrated in the Latin church, we were visited by the Christian population.
On the 2d of January, 1857, Dr. Kölle, a German, arrived in Hâifa, under the auspices of the Church Missionary Society, and I had the pleasure of welcoming his English wife and little daughter.
There was a threat of excommunication uttered from the churches against any one who would dare to let a house to the new missionary. Nevertheless, a good house was found, and his landlord was heard to say, "I shall be excommunicated for this, I suppose, but if so, I will learn the English religion, and the new priest will receive me into communion."
This arrival did not make any impression on the town generally, for the doctor lived a studious and secluded life. He had suffered severely in Damietta from brain-fever, and was sent to Hâifa to recruit his strength and to learn Arabic. He studied from books laboriously, and not from intercourse with people, so that the work was doubly difficult.[5]
On the 20th of January my brother invited all the best informed of the Arabs, without regard to creed, to meet at the Consulate in the evening, to make arrangements for the formation of a society for the acquisition and diffusion of useful knowledge, relative to the arts and sciences, and the history of civilization. The project was eagerly welcomed, and my brother was elected president. Mons. Aumann, the French Consul, delivered the inaugural address to a large assembly on the following Wednesday. He spoke energetically of the powers of the human mind, and the advantages of study and scientific research, and alluded with great feeling to the past history of the East, its grandeur, its scientific attainments, and its intellectual and moral influence over the world at large.
The subjects most eagerly studied were, the elements of geography, voyages of discovery, general history, and the rise and progress of civilization in different countries. Some of the members took especial interest in the history of the arts and manufactures. I was never present at any of these meetings. I used to retire to my room when the president took the chair.
One evening, when as usual I had retreated, and was busy writing an Arabic exercise, somebody tapped at my door. It was Yassin Agha, one of the most wealthy and influential Moslems in the Pashalic. (See page 118.) He apologized for disturbing me, but said, "I entreat you to allow me to come and smoke my pipe here, that I may ask your counsel and help in a great matter." I welcomed him, and after having requested permission to close the door, he took a seat and said, "I have been greatly wishing to speak to you; it is now two months since you have been to my house—why have you ceased to come?" I answered, "Since the lamented death of your wife, there is in your house no one to receive meas a guest, therefore I no longer go there." He answered, "It is even as I thought; but now I have come to ask you to do me a great service. I wish to ask your advice about taking another wife. I have thought of one—you know her—and I want you to tell me if she is good and if she is beautiful. She is the daughter of Saleh Bek Abdul Hady, and her name is Asmé." I answered, "In all the country, I think, there is not a girl more beautiful or more pleasant than Asmé."
I had taken her portrait carefully, and I handed it to him. He was delighted with it, and said, gazing at the picture, "How tall is she? Does she speak softly? What is her age? Does her mother know you well?" I said, "Yes." He answered, "Then she must needs trust you. Tell her, I pray you, how I wish to have her daughter for my wife—tell her all you can to make her have favorable thoughts of me—tell her I have a beautiful new house tell her that my wife shall live like a princess. If you do this business for me, I will be your slave forever. I am fierce to marry that girl. Speak also to her father, Saleh Bek. Call him here to play chess with you, but do not think of the game; think only how to win this girl for me. Saleh Bek will take your counsel."
When he had concluded his vehement appeal, and began soothing himself with his chibouque, I told him that I must consider before I could promise to speak in his behalf; but I undertook to ascertain for him whether Asmé had been already betrothed, or promised. I knew that one of my Moslem friends had at one time thought of asking for her, so I questioned him, and found that he had abandoned the project.
Shortly afterward I called at Saleh Bek's harem. It did not seem like the same place to me now that Helweh and my little Miriam had been sent away. The senior wife, the Turkish lady, however, received me very kindly, and her daughters were gentle and affectionate in their greetings. I ascertained, in course of conversation, that Asmé was betrothed to her young cousin, the son of Mohammed Bek Abdul Hady, of Arrabeh, and that the marriage would take place very shortly. The bridegroom was only sixteen.
On my return home I sent for Yassîn Agha to inform him of this, that he might at once abandon his project.
- ↑ The second "cock-crowing " is at sunrise.
- ↑ Jeremiah iv, 30.
- ↑ Not only among the Moslems does this prejudice exist, but among the native Christian population also; and I am assured that in Southern Italy the same feeling prevails. Miss Cobbe, in an article on "Women in Italy, 1862," says: "An English lady, long resident in Naples, and married to a Neapolitan, informed me that till quite of late years it was customary among the poorer classes to hang a small black flag out of the window of the apartment wherein a girl was born, to save the painful necessity of informing inquirers of the unfortunate sex of the infant."
- ↑ These nursing mattresses are commonly used, and are covered with frilled or embroidered cases.
- ↑ Dr. Kölle and his family left Haifa after having remained there about two years and a half.