MY BENEFACTOR
When I knew at length that I was going to leave Syria, I was seized
with a desire to buy all kinds of notions of the country to show to my
people at home--a very foolish way of spending money, I am now aware,
for such things lose significance when taken from their proper
setting.
In after days, when leaving Syria for England, the one thing I would
purchase for myself was a supply of reed pens for Arabic writing. But
on that first occasion I wished to carry the whole country with me.
There was an old, learned Christian of Beyrout, who had given me
lessons in Arabic at various times, and always waited on me honourably
whenever I alighted in that loveliest and most detestable of seaport
towns. He wore the baggiest of baggy trousers, looking just like
petticoats, a short fez with enormous hanging tassel, a black alpaca
coat of French design, a crimson vest, white cotton stockings, and
elastic-sided boots, convenient to pull off ere entering a room. He
always carried in the street a silver-headed cane, which he would lean
with care against the wall of any room he chanced to enter, never
laying it upon the ground, or on a chair or table. In all the time of
my acquaintance with him I never, that I can remember, saw him really
smile, though something like a twinkle would occasionally touch his
eyes beneath great bushy eyebrows, between black and grey. An
extraordinarily strong and heavy grey moustache, with drooping ends,
gave him a half-pathetic, half-imposing likeness to some aged walrus;
so that some of the common people actually called him 'Sheykh el Bahr'
(the old man of the sea)--which is the proper Arabic designation of a
walrus.
He came to see me after I had left the hospital and was staying with
some English friends for a few days before returning to the wilds for
a farewell; and repeatedly praised Allah for my safe recovery. There
never was a man more thoroughly respectable, more perfectly correct
in every word and movement. He disapproved of poor Rashîd as a
companion for me, because the latter dealt in vulgar language; and I
feel certain that he would have disapproved of Suleymân, if he had
ever seen that Sun of Wisdom in my company, for pandering to my desire
for foolish stories. He was known as the Mu'allim Costantîn, a worthy
man.
With his usual ceremonious salutation, suggestive of his high position
as a representative of learning, he placed himself at my command for
any purchases I wished to make; knowing, he said, that I was likely to
be busy in the weeks before departure. And his offer was extremely
welcome to me at the time. I wished, as I have said already, to buy
lots of things; among others--why, I cannot now imagine--the whole
costume of natives of the country. The Mu'allim Costantîn praised my
intention, gravely declaring that it could not fail to interest my
honoured relatives and lovers, and enlarge their minds, to know the
details of a dress the most becoming in the world. In order that a
full idea of Syrian raiment might be given, two suits and two long
garments (corresponding to two other suits) were necessary, he
pronounced. These, with the various articles of clothing which I then
possessed and had grown used to wearing in the country, would be
sufficient for the purposes of exhibition.
Upon the following day, as I was dressing, about ten o'clock (for I
was still to some extent an invalid), there came a light knock at the
door, and the Mu'allim Costantîn appeared, ushering in a friend of
his, who was a tailor--a man as grave and worthy as himself, who there
and then proceeded to take measurements, praising the proportions with
which nature had endowed me, and asking Allah to fill out those parts
which now were lean through illness. The moment of a man's uprising
is--or was at that time, for old customs are now dying out--the one
which servants, tradesmen, pedlars, and all who wished to ask a favour
chose for visiting. On the morning after my arrival in an Eastern city
where I happened to be known I have had as many as twelve persons
squatting round upon the floor, watching a barber shave me, while a
little boy, the barber's 'prentice, bearing towels, jug, and basin,
waited upon him like an acolyte.
The tailor, having made the necessary notes, withdrew with many
compliments. The Mu'allim Costantîn remained behind a moment, to
assure me, in a loud stage-whisper, that the said tailor was a man
whom I could trust to do the best for me, and that I might think
myself extremely fortunate to have secured his services, as, being
much sought after by the fashionables, he generally had more work than
he could really do; but that, having taken, as he said, a fancy to me,
he would certainly turn out a set of garments to enslave the heart.
Having said this in the finest classic phraseology, he went out to
rejoin the tailor in the passage; nor did I see him any more until the
very day of my departure, when, at the English Consul-General's
hospitable house, I was waiting for the carriage which would take me
to the quay.
I was told that someone wished to see me upon urgent business, and,
going to the great Liwân or entrance-hall, I found my friend, his
silver-headed cane leaned carefully against the wall as usual. He
carried underneath his arm a number of large books. These he presented
to me with a solemn bow.
'It occurred to me,' he said, 'that as your Honour has a predilection
for all those curious and often foolish tales which circulate among
the common people, you might not perhaps disdain these four poor
volumes which I chance to have in my possession. Deign to accept them
as a parting gift from me.'
I thanked him kindly, though in truth I was embarrassed, not knowing
where to stow the books, since all my things were packed. And then he
handed me the tailor's bill, which, with the clothes which I had
ordered, had escaped my memory.
'Where are the clothes?' I asked, 'I had forgotten them.'
He pointed to a bundle pinned up honourably in a silken wrapper,
reposing on the floor hard by the silver-handled cane. I tore the
envelope and opened out the bill. It came to twenty pounds.
And I had got my money ready for my journey. I was going to visit
some of the Greek Islands, Smyrna, and Constantinople, on my way to
England, and had hoped, besides, to see a little of the Balkan States.
To pay out twenty pounds was to reduce that journey by at least a
fortnight. And, as I said, I had forgotten all about the clothes,
regarding all my Syrian debts as fully paid.
The hall was empty; we were quite alone. I fear I stormed at the
Mu'allim Costantîn, reminding him that he had promised that the
clothes should not be dear.
'But,' he persisted, 'they are very cheap for the materials. If your
Honour's wish was to pay less, you ought not to have chosen fabrics
three parts silk. I did not know that you were counting money.'
He was right. Throughout my stay in Syria, until that moment, I had
never counted money. Compared with England, living in the country was
absurdly cheap, and on my small allowance I had lived at ease. He
might quite reasonably have supposed me to be very wealthy. But I was
not in reasonable mood just then. I paid the bill, but in an angry
manner; and while I was still talking to him, the Cawwâs arrived, and,
close upon his heels, Rashîd in tears, to tell me that the carriage
was in waiting. The grief I felt at leaving Syria, at parting from
Rashîd and our Sheytân and many friends took hold of me. Hurriedly I
said goodbye to the Mu'allim Costantîn, and I am glad to say I changed
my tone at that last moment, and had the grace to bid him think no
more of the whole matter. But I shall carry to my grave the
recollection of his face of horror while I scolded, the look that told
his grief that he had been deceived in me.
I went and shoved the books into my luggage here and there, gave
Rashîd orders to send on the clothes, took leave of my kind hosts, and
drove down in a hurry to the quay. It was not till some time after I
arrived in England that I realised that the volumes which he had
presented to me were a complete Bûlâc Edition of the _Thousand and One
Nights_--a valuable book--which is my greatest treasure.
Nor have I ever had the chance of thanking the giver in a manner
worthy of the gift, and wiping out the bad impression left by my
ill-temper, for a letter which I wrote from England never reached him
I am told, and when I next was in his country the Mu'allim Costantîn
had gone where kindness, patience, courtesy, and all his other virtues
are, I hope, rewarded.
GLASGOW: W. COLLIN'S SONS AND CO. LTD.
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